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    “Ilya, you’re playing the Voyageurs next, in Montreal. How are you feeling about that?” An ESPN mic is held to his face.

    Rozanov grins. “Really good. About time. I know we have been winning a lot, but is always the most fun to beat Montreal.”

    “The situation’s kind of changed though, hasn’t it?”

    “Is true.” Rozanov looks almost thoughtful. “It used to be the most fun to beat them because they had the best player on their team. Now…” Rozanov trails off. He chances a look to the side, as if to check if someone’s there or not. “Now is going to be fun because they are very stupid.” Rozanov’s face is very hard. Serious. Angry. Scary.

    Or: Signing with the Montreal Voyageurs should have been the best day in Jordan Bicker’s career. If only it weren’t for Ilya Rozanov…

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    24 Feb 2026

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    Ilya doesn’t even know why he takes the bottle, maybe as some sort of weird memento of Shane bending for Ilya and the things Ilya likes, despite his diet and his no drinking during the season rule. And, of course, as a reminder of Shane’s moans echoing off of Ilya’s kitchen counters.

    He’s not even thinking about what it looks like when he reaches for the bottle in the locker room after practice and chugs half its contents.

    “Fuck, Roz,” Marleau says next to him. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

    Or: Five times people think Ilya is drinking vodka straight from the bottle, and one time he actually does.

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    24 Feb 2026

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    20 Feb 2026

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    So Shane Hollander is, how do you say in English, a dirty little thief. A clothing thief, to be precise. Ilya can't say he saw that coming, but he also can't pretend he's all that mad about it.

    His shirt looks good on his Shane. On Shane. On Hollander.

    Right. His shirt looks good on Hollander.

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    11 Feb 2026

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    10 Feb 2026