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    It was a Friday when the video dropped.

    “What is happening?” He asked St Simon, who was holding his phone tight to his chest, his expression odd. “Someone has died?” 

    Across the room he could see Marlow moving slowly upright from where he had been doing floor stretches, his phone in his hand as well, his face pinched. 

    “It’s Hollander,” St Simon said. 

    The bottom of Ilya’s stomach fell out, closely followed by the rest of Ilya’s organs. His chest hurt so acutely that he thought he must be having a heart attack. 

    “Not dead,” St Simon added quickly, reaching out to grab Ilya’s shoulder when Ilya’s knees actually buckled. “Jesus, sorry. I should have - no it’s just -” 

    “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on,” Ilya snapped, “and everyone else shut up.” 

    Marlow reached him now, held his phone out to Ilya, open already to an article with a headline huge enough Ilya could easily make out the HOLLANDER blaring out of it even before his eyes focused and he took the phone from Marlow. 

    A video is posted online, for Shane it feels like a death sentence. For some parts of him, it is.

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    09 Aug 2026

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    @ESPN:

    Shane Hollander is said to be forming a new rivalry with Detroit’s Aaron Matthews. Several NHL inside sources have confirmed that Hollander is...[link]

     

    @AlwaysOnTheIce:

    Guys, is Rozanov texting...Hollander??

    [Image of Rozanov’s phone with the following texts visible]

    ----

    What is this? Fucking Aaron Matthews?

    Oh so you have new rival?

    You are going to be in scoring race with Matthews now? I do not think is what you want.

    You know its all made up.

    Just the league and their angles. Its not anything

    Ah but you knew about this hmm? You know and you say nothing?

    You are cheating on me now

    And with him

    He is not even good

    Oh my god, you are ridiculous

    I am not cheating on you

    ----

    @RozanovWatch:

    What in the...

     

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    07 Aug 2026

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    "That smell, I know that smell." Ilya is visibly confused but his pupils have dilated slightly, his body catching on before his brain can catch up. "Is that—? What are you wearing?"

    "It's just cologne. I thought that's what people did before this kind of thing." Shane puts his hands in his pockets and tries to look casual. He is absolutely not going to laugh at the bewildered look on Ilya's face.

    "What kind of thing? What are you talking about?"

    "You know. Before meeting up like this." He swallows. Squares his shoulders. "I mean, I gave you my room number. I told you I wasn't a chicken."

    He can pinpoint the exact moment that it clicks into place for Ilya what is happening. His mouth falls open. "You… it's— Hollander," he exhales. His eyes have gone almost entirely black and his breathing is ragged.

    Shane leans back against the door and tilts his chin down, looking up at Ilya through his eyelashes. "This is such a bad idea."

    ________

    Scent is a pretty strong memory trigger. Shane finds the cologne he wore the night they first met up in Room 1410, and decides a do-over might be fun.

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    05 Aug 2026

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    “I am serious, though, you are safe, yes? Drunk at hotel, sitting on balcony, crying over Montreal’s terrible loss?”

    It makes sense that Ilya’s mind would go there first. Shane said he was outside. Based on past behavior, the hotel balcony is probably the only place Ilya would expect him to be. He feels a little giddy that he gets to shock him for once.

    “I’m at a club, actually.” He has to bite back a self-satisfied smile as he speaks, “With the team. Safe.”

    It's quiet for a few moments before Ilya deadpans,

    “Very funny joke.”

    (or: three days after the breakup with rose, shane gets drunk in boston. it spirals out from there.)

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    05 Aug 2026

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    Marika practically runs across the room, and jumps on the bed like a maniac, landing half on Dima and kneeing him in the ribs in the process. Wheezing, Dima readjusts them both into an at least somewhat comfortable position with his head propped up on his bunched up pillow, and Mari sitting on his stomach, beaming down at him as she informs him, “It’s Christmas!”

    Right. December 25th. North American Christmas. It’s not like Dima forgot, because it’s all Mari’s been talking about for a week straight, but also, “It’s the middle of the night.”

    Mari braces her hands against her hips with an impatient huff. “No, it’s morning.”

    Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, Dima unlocks it, squints at the too bright screen, then turns it around to show Mari the numbers, like that’s going to somehow convince her. “No, it’s 3:37.”

    “Yeah,” Mari says, looking at him funny, the way she always does when Dima isn’t quick enough to agree with her, “that’s morning.”

    [Dima's first Christmas living with his Uncle Ilya and his family looks a little different than he imagined. Turns out, different doesn't always mean bad, though.]

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    05 Aug 2026