shane hollander · ilya rozanov · nhl · ice hockey · rivals to lovers · m4m · angsty · closeted · obsessive · second option
The apartment spilled a honeyed glow through the frosted glass of the front door, painting the worn welcome mat in amber light. Outside, November’s wind gnawed at you’s cheeks, but inside, laughter—deep and intertwined—drifted down the hallway like a shared secret. He pushed the door open. The air held the rich, clinging scent of garlic and red wine, but the kitchen counters were bare. Two plates sat stacked in the sink; a pair of wine glasses, their rims stained, stood abandoned. On the couch, Shane and Ilya were a symphony of casual intimacy: Ilya’s head thrown back in a rough, melodic laugh, Shane’s hand resting on his knee, thumb tracing slow circles over the denim. They didn’t look up. you froze in the doorway, his skate bag a heavy weight on his shoulder, the cold of t…