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June 2009, Los Angeles
“Mr. Rozanov, what are you most excited about regarding your signing with Boston?”
Ilya didn’t fucking know. He was drafted less than an hour ago and didn’t have the grasp on English to respond eloquently and even if he did know - would that be a response people wanted to hear? God, he hated interviews already.
So, he did what Ilya Rozanov did best - put a coy smirk on and spoke with a syrupy lilt that made his Russian accent sound sensual rather than metallic. “I am excited to meet American women, yes? I know there is much… how do you say…options?”
That was absolutely not what he was most excited about. If he had the time to sit with it for more than a fucking hour he might’ve come up with the answer “leaving Russia” but that wasn’t very PR friendly and Ilya isn’t an idiot. He’d never give that part of himself away publicly. Or at all, probably. More realistically, his answer would’ve been “feeling challenged and losing myself in the game,” but that too felt itchy in its honesty. The reversion to women was simple. Easy. Painted a picture of Russian Ilya Rozanov that he could live with. Accept. Not fear.
Ilya liked to have sex, sure. With women. With men. He knew this about himself. He knew this would be something that the hockey world would pick up on too. He isn’t ashamed. He isn’t stupid enough to think that this quote won’t define his entire NHL persona the second after it leaves his mouth - but his sexual endeavors are always safe and consensual so he isn’t particularly concerned.
The press room laughed lightheartedly, accepting Ilya’s answer at face-value. Not once thinking that maybe he said what he said to move on. To avoid trying to express himself in his still fragile English. To avoid exposing himself to this new and frankly frightening world of public perception.
The flash of the cameras pricked at Ilya’s temples, goading his face into tightening. He looked annoyed, probably. Aloof. It all worked for his persona. Ilya wasn’t interested in the world knowing him outside of what he wanted to show: his talent in hockey, his humor, his good looks. If that made people think he was an asshole, so be it. Hockey is a game both on the ice and off. Ilya was already known as a performer on the ice, why not bring that energy off it too?
“Ilya do you think your rookie season will be one for the record books? Are you already working on ways to return Boston to its former glory?”
Ilya. He didn’t like that reporters called him that. He was more than okay with being called Rozanov or even Mr.Rozanov but these people didn’t know him. Yet they had deemed themselves worthy of referring to him like he was a close friend. And the worst part was the utter butchering of his name by the American/Canadian accent. Non-Russians speaking English drew out his name, making it sound like il-eee-ah rather than the correct pronunciation of il’ya. He knew this too was something he’d have to accept - a sacrifice he’d made in order to start a new life. But it still stung to see such a small thing be molded and shaped to his new western, NHL identity.
Despite his growing discomfort and desire to runleavecrythrowupscreamdoalinetakeashotjumpoffaroof, Ilya let out a cocky and boisterous laugh. “I am ready to show world that any team with me on it is best team.”
He knew what it looked like. He knew it was presumptuous of his to say such things; however, he also knew that this is what people paid for - to be entertained. Plus, he was really fucking good. And he would turn the Boston Bears around, he was damn sure of it. The pit in his stomach didn’t ease though. To think he’d be doing interviews, press, questions, multiple times a week in upcoming years was utterly petrifying. Ilya supposed he’d better get started on what he wanted to say - who he wanted Boston’s Star Center and First Draft Pick Ilya Rozanov to be.
At least he had a year before the shitstorm truly began.
********************
December 2011
It was another boring press junket after another boring game. The Bears had demolished San Jose with an abysmal 8-1 score and it really hadn’t been all that much fun. Ilya would rather get his ass kicked by a team like the Voyageurs every day and actually get the adrenaline rush of playing real hockey than win like this every game.
It was his second season playing with the Bears and Ilya had begun to find himself familiar with the reporters that sat in their press room every game. Julie Grey was one of his favorites. A woman in her 40s, wiry red hair, extremely passionate about hockey. So, he breathed a minuscule sigh of relief when she stood to ask her question.
“Rozanov, I know we normally engage in serious hockey business during these junkets but I think we can all agree that game wasn’t much to discuss - your 4 goals were excellent, though.”
Ilya let out a genuine laugh. “Okay, Julie. What is question then?”
She smiled, an almost maternal smile. It made Ilya’s heart ache. His mother had passed just about 8 years prior but Ilya barely went an hour without thinking about her. Most of the time he was able to shake it off, compartmentalize it, even smile with fondness at memories; but moments like these made Ilya’s stomach drop to his toes, his fingers twitch involuntarily, his brain scream at him to jump ship.
“My son is a big Bears fan, of course. And he wanted me to ask you what your favorite hobby is besides hockey?”
Well, that was quite a question. Ilya knew it was a little stupid for this to be something that made him stumble. Everyone had hobbies. Things they did outside of hockey. Things that connected them to the real world, made them normal. Ilya didn’t really though, unless you count sex and driving too fast and dancing at clubs-
“Ice fishing,” Ilya felt the words tumble from his mouth before he could even process them. He had never once in his life been ice fishing. Why on earth was that what he went with?
Julie raised her brows in surprise and Ilya saw many of the other reporters do so as well. But before she could ask any follow up questions, the head of communications was already ushering the next reporter to ask a question. They were on a tight schedule, after all.
No one else asked him about anything besides hockey the rest of the evening. And luckily his lie had come off shockingly seriously and people seemed to believe that Ilya Rozanov, hockey extraordinaire, was an ice fisher in his spare time. Americans and Canadians really knew nothing about Russians.
——
Later, once he was settled back in his still impersonal Boston penthouse, he felt his phone buzz on the couch beside him.
Jane (11:05 P.M):
Ice fishing?
Ilya grinned down at his phone like an idiot. It made him feel gooey inside to know Shane Hollander kept tabs on him close enough to hear about his apparent love of ice fishing mere hours after he proclaimed it.
Ilya (11:06 P.M):
do you have google alerts on for me or something?
Hollander responded immediately, of course he did. He could never back down from anything especially not when the anything in question had come from Ilya.
Jane (11:06 P.M)
Hard to ignore when it’s plastered all over the internet.
Ilya snorted, reaching for the glass of vodka he had placed on a coaster in front of him. The vodka was honestly not good - the cons of being under 21 and needing others to source your alcohol for you. But it softened everything enough.
He and Sha- Hollander weren’t particularly chummy over text normally. This was new. This was strange. Ilya felt the same adrenaline pumping up his spine that he felt after delivering a hard check, or scoring a beautiful goal, or fucking someone.
Maybe he should talk about ice fishing more often.
****************
March 2014
Ilya needed this season to be over. With a cup in his arms. With the proof that he was capable of leading a team to victory. With the vindication that he was Ilya fucking Rozanov.
He also probably needed to stop thinking about Shane Hollander. They hadn’t talked since Ilya all but told him to fuck all the way off in Sochi. He knew it was harsh but it was fucking Russia. Hollander isn’t an idiot, he should have known better.
Shit. Maybe he should take Marlow up on his clubbing offer. God knows he needed to let off some steam. Winning against the Voyageurs (read: Shane) didn’t even fill him with the typical joy. He just felt empty. He needed something to do with his hands, his mouth, his dick. Something he couldn’t lose at. Something that would let him be blissfully thoughtless.
But of course he first needed to answer stupid fucking press questions. He was the first star of the game, having scored 2 of Boston’s 3 goals and assisting on the third. Actually, Ilya was just generally on fire since Russia. He knew he’d be asked about it - he also wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t want to admit what they thought was the cause behind his new ferocity nor did he want to be honest. It was a sticky situation. Ilya needed to go out and fuck someone. Not Shane Hollander (though he would be lying if he said he didn’t dream about it and think about it).
Years of constant press and pictures and flashing, bright lights and Ilya was still not used to it. But at least the pounding in his chest when answering questions had dulled over the years. He knew English better now. And he knew what the world wanted to see from Ilya Rozanov better, too.
A man who Ilya couldn’t quite recall the name of stood up to ask a question. He was stout and balding, with horn-rimmed glasses and a navy blue blazer.
“Mr. Rozanov, the game against Montreal tonight was hard fought. But for you it seemed easy. What has changed for you since returning from Russia? Is it motivation?”
Kind of a stupid question, if you asked Ilya. Of course it’s motivation. Of course losing in your home country as the captain of your home team is fucking humiliating. Of course the second his flight landed in Boston he was already fighting for his moment to life the Stanley Cup.
He was tired. He was hungry. Ilya felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. He didn’t want to answer this stupid question. He wanted to go on and live his life and ignore being a fucking hockey player for once in his life.
“I began a new routine,” he responded with a signature smirk, watching with a slight feeling of joy as he saw reporters lean forward waiting to break the story of Ilya Rozanov’s secret to success. “I started waking up at 4 in the morning. Every morning. And I turn on phone, open Spotify and I play…” he paused with what he hoped was a dramatic effect but really he was just trying to figure out the stupidest music he could name, “I play the songs from Frozen.” Ah perfect, incredibly apt. So strange it must be true.
Ilya had never seen Frozen before. He knew not one of the songs. He was honestly scared that he picked a movie that didn’t have songs, but obviously he chose right. Ice movie for King on Ice. The entire room, including the comms director, stood still in shock.
Ilya was a jokester, sure. But he was also an enigma. They had to assume everything he said was genuine. There was no reason to lie about such ridiculous things.
He continued, giving the room no more opportunity to absorb what he said. “I listen to songs from Frozen. And then I play a game of Mancala. By myself. Is very good for…waking up brain.”
The room continued to be silent. Ilya wanted to burst out laughing. He played Mancala often as a child, sometimes alone when he was bored, but it was legitimately a 2 player game. He didn’t know how popular it was in the United States but he knew it was known well enough to have a name, a name that Ilya used rather than its Russian variant. Just to make things even more confusing.
He takes it all back, actually. He fucking loves doing press.
Ilya leaned back in his chair, smiling at the range of shock and disbelief that played across the journalists faces. “Is there any questions? I think if you want to be good hockey player, you need routine. This is mine. It seems to be a good one, yes? Working out well so far.”
Sometimes being a burly, stoic Russian had its benefits. Ilya could fuck with the press and they’d be none the wiser because they don’t understand cultural distinctions.
Ilya nodded towards the head of communication, Sarah, and said, “no more questions? this is good. let me know if you try my routine.” And with that, he walked out of the press room and back towards the locker room where he could shower off the plethora of thoughts and feelings that swirled through his body.
——
The news of Ilya Rozanov loving Frozen and Mancala died down within a week or two, and Ilya frankly forgot all about it. No one ever asked about his routine again.
Well he had forgotten all about it.
Apparently Shane hadn’t. 6 years later.
They were babysitting Hayden Pike’s 4 small children as a favor to Hayden and Jackie, who were on a long overdue dinner date. Shane was the only one who was supposed to be there, but Ilya had surprised him by driving up from Ottawa to spend the afternoon and evening together - a rare treat that only worked because Shane had a home game the next evening and Ilya was off until he left for a 2 week road trip at the end of the weekend.
The twins, Jade and Ruby, are 7 years old and Ilya is only now realizing that he didn’t quite know how much 7 year olds are. Young enough to barely know how to read or speak with correct grammar but old enough to be very… vocal. With words. And also shockingly effective with physical torment. Pike should consider getting his daughters into some Karate or something, they were very accurate punchers and kickers.
Anyway, the twins bickered over what movie they wanted to watch and seemed ready to throw hands over their differences until Shane stepped between them, holding an almost 3 year old Amber in his arms.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Shane said authoritatively yet softly, melting Ilya’s heart just a little. “We are going to flip a coin. The winner's movie is watched first. Rubes you’re gonna be tails, what is your movie choice?”
Ruby smiled brightly. “Horton Hears a Who!”
Shane turned to Jade, “you’re gonna be heads, Jade. Tell me what movie you want.”
“Frozen!” The little girl exclaimed the title with such force that Arthur smacked his hands over his ears and, if Ilya was being honest, he wanted to as well on instinct.
Shane hummed. Then he fished a coin from his wallet and handed Amber off to Ilya to hold while he explained to the girls how a coin flip would work.
Ilya watched distantly as the coin flew into the air, half registering the slap of Shane’s hand flying to keep it in place. He was instead focused on how good Shane was with kids. It was unreal how natural it came to his boyfriend and it made Ilya want to cry with pure affection.
“…FROZEN YES I WIN!” Ilya tuned back in to hear Jade’s squeals of victory while Ruby huffed and moved to sit back on the couch.
The movie was turned on without much fanfare, Ilya felt his close lightly as Amber slept soundly against his chest and the opening notes of the movie played. But of course, this was Ilya’s life which meant any moment of peace was bound to immediately be ruptured.
This time though, it was by the man who normally brought Ilya peace.
“Hey, I would’ve expected you to be chanting along to the lyrics right now. Isn’t this your favorite movie soundtrack? Or wasn’t it at some point?”
This was actually the first time Ilya Rozanov was actually watching Frozen. Shane looked so sweet and excited, though, face mirroring the twins that he sat between on the large couch. Ilya didn’t want to break the poor guys heart. But… wait. He said something about Frozen a few months after it came out. In 2014. Long before Shane and Ilya admitted they wanted to be more before they became more. 6 years ago, in fact.
What?
Ilya opened his eyes sharply and turned towards Shane, accidentally jostling Amber in the process. He repeated his thought out loud. “What?”
Shane didn’t have the decency to even look ashamed. “I know you said something about the soundtrack from Frozen at some point or another. I know you did.”
Unfortunately for Amber, and for the twins who were trying to listen to the movie, Ilya burst into extremely loud laughter. Shane looked confused. Ilya wanted to squish his cheeks.
“Oh Моя любовь. That was a joke I made. I was lying. I didn't want to answer the question they gave me so I lied and said the first most crazy thing that I thought of.” Ilya wiped tears from his eyes. He was still laughing as he spoke, genuinely so enamored that Shane not only believed that but kept the information safe in his heart for over half a decade.
Shane wasn’t laughing. He was dead silent actually. It was slightly concerning. Ilya felt his laugh die in his throat. Oh god, was the lying a turn off? He never would’ve thought Shane would even know about that let alone believed it and hung onto it.
Shane stared at him for a moment. A far to draw out moment, if you asked Ilya. He was beginning to worry, legitimately.
Then, just as he was about to open his mouth and apologize, Shane spoke quietly. “I almost bought you a fucking Mancala set for Christmas last year because you didn’t have one in Ottawa. Are you seriously telling me you just lied about all of that? You just came up with it out of the blue and said it?”
“That is exactly what I’m telling you. I did not know you saw the interview or would believe it. I am sorry. Did not mean to lie.”
Shane just looked at him, in that scary analytical way. “Holy shit you don’t like ice fishing either!”
“Swear jar, Uncle Shane!” One of the Pike twins berated Shane but Ilya was too caught up in Shane’s sudden realization to clock who it was.
Ilya snorted at that. He had said that almost a decade ago. People still brought it up from time to time. It was deeply funny to him.
“You seriously believed that I like ice fishing?”
Shane sputtered. “Well what else was I supposed to believe!”
Ilya cackled, “Shane, you’ve known me since we were 17. We’ve been together officially for almost 3 years. You seriously thought I liked ice fishing and just never mentioned it? Or never had anything to show I ice fished?”
“I don’t know!” Shane’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his face. The song that Ilya vaguely was able to tell was about ice faded out of the movie. “I thought it was something you only did in Russia. So you didn’t want to talk about it.”
Oh.
How was Shane so perfect? It was honestly torture. It made Ilya want to tackle him but in present company, a teaching hand to curl his fingers into Shane’s hair and gently scratching his scalp would have to do. Shane being predictable immediately melted into the touch.
They sat like that for a moment, letting the sounds of the movie wash over them. It was serene. It made Ilya so excited for their future. To have kids of their own. To be a family.
Eventually, Ilya broke the quiet and said softly, “when I first came to America, I was not so good at English. It made me very nervous. I did not want people to think I was stupid. I wanted to have control over how people saw me. Is very silly but one way I learned how to do that was to lie. To confuse people. I didn't want you to be one of those people though.”
Ilya moved his hand to caress Shane’s cheek - the man exhaling a soft sigh. “I get that. It’s easier to have a persona to protect yourself. I just hurts to know that you felt like you had to do that.”
“No,” Ilya replied, “is okay really. At some point it became not sad. It became fun game. What would people believe? How would stupid hockey players try to chirp me with stuff that could never get to me because it isn’t real.”
“What else did you lie about?”
Ilya let out a soft laugh. “Oh so much I cannot remember. I know I told people I have a cousin who is a… what is word for people who draw blood?”
“A phlebotomist?”
Ilya snapped his fingers, “Да, yes. Phlebotomist. I said I had cousins who drew people’s blood for living in Ecuador. Was great. I got to avoid question about family. Oh and another time I told people that growing up I had pet snake named Пожиратель персиков.”
Shane raised his eyebrows. “Peach… eater?”
Ilya nodded.
“Why? Literally any name under the sun. Why that name?”
Ilya looked at Shane seriously. It was his classic “you’re not this fucking dumb stare”. It worked.
Shane blushed. “Oh. I get it now. That’s pretty good, Ilya. Did anyone catch on?”
“No I am very very good liar. Especially with lies that cannot be proven real or fake. Is fun. Has no consequences.”
They both settled into silence and Ilya continued to pet Shane’s hair with one arm while rubbing Amber’s back with the other. Back on Pike's massive TV screen, Anna is begging Elsa to let her in and talking to paintings.
Ilya felt oddly aligned with the little ginger girl at that moment. He tried to shake it off but when they showed her begging her sister to come out and be with her after their parents’ death… Ilya’s hand stilled on Shane’s head and he sucked in a breath. He looked over at the twins, who were both watching intently and quietly. It was crazy how even kids were able to grasp the gravity of situations like death so well. So fully. He would know, Ilya supposed.
Shane craned his head to look at Ilya, obviously having noticed his change in presence. He moved his hand until he was caressing Ilya’s cheek gently and he smiled softly at him. “You’ve really never seen this movie before?”
Ilya shook his head. “No,” he didn’t expect to sound so choked up. “Is kids movie. I was never around kids.”
There was a soft reverence in the way Shane looked at Ilya in times like that, almost like he wanted to bundle him up and hide him away in a safe place. Like he wanted to jump in a Time Machine and shield Ilya from the pain of his childhood. It was a look that most people didn’t care to notice or realize the depth of. Shane was an enigma like Ilya but it was not for lack of honesty; rather for lack of anyone else bothering to watch and learn.
Ilya continued, feeling tears well up in his eyes without consent (seriously was he really this soft?), “is very sad though? Why does Disney always make mom or dad die. What is this teaching children?”
Shane snorted and moved to answer Ilya’s question until Jade did it for him, "Uncle Ilya it helps us see why Elsa and Anna aren’t best friends. And it makes it so we don’t hate them but know them.”
Ruby jumped to add on to her sister. “Yeah! Mommy told us it’s called… uh enthapee?”
What the fuck is enthapee, was what Ilya wanted to say. But, because Shane is amazing and will be an amazing father one day, he immediately knew what Ruby was trying to say.
“Empathy?”
Ruby nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. Empathy. And Aunt Lulu said that when the parents die in a movie it teaches lessons.”
Ilya tried and failed to not snort at that. Death sure taught lessons, alright. But it was different watching little blobs of animation face it from the comfort of your couch wrapped in blankets your mom knit for you than feeling it in real life. The kids meant no harm, obviously. And he hoped they’d never have to know those lessons like he did but still. It sucked sometimes. To be blatantly reminded of his past because people didn’t know.
Shane continued to look at Ilya, analyzing him with so much vigor that Ilya was worried he’d shatter under his gentle touch. Despite the pangs of hurt fluttering through him, he felt the warmth radiating from the tips of Shane’s fingers, emanating straight from his very alive and very beautiful heart.
He settled back into the couch, ignoring how Amber’s deadweight was causing his arm to go numb and resumed the movement of his fingers on Shane’s head. Shane moved his hand down to rest on Ilya’s chest and he leaned onto it. The movie played on - Jade and Ruby screeched along to their favorite songs and made Arthur recite all of the Olaf lines.
Eventually, the movie was over, the kids had been put to bed, and all Shane and Ilya were waiting for was the return of Jackie and Hayden so they too could go home.
Shane lay against Ilya’s chest, folded into him, and mumbled something incoherent.
“What was that, Мой карандаш?” Ilya said and smiled into the crown of Shane’s head.
Shane looked up at Ilya and furrowed his brown slightly. “Why pencil?”
Ilya shook his head, “no answer my question first.”
Shane suddenly looked shy. He grabbed at the strings of Ilya’s hoodie, avoiding eye contact. “I was just saying that I can’t believe I really thought you loved the Frozen soundtrack. I don’t know why I never thought that was just bullshit. It’s weird.”
Ilya pulled Shane’s head back gently so they could look at one another directly. “You listened because I said so. And I said so to make people believe so. You are good listener. And very good partner.”
Shane hummed. “Mhm, keep complimenting me. I deserve it after spending hours entertaining the idea of getting tickets for you to see Frozen on Broadway as a surprise.”
Ilya laughed brightly. He couldn’t believe he had spent so long pretending he was anything but deeply in love with this man. He pulled Shane back into his chest and the conversation closed.
——————
Three days later, Ilya walked into the Cens locker room in Edmonton and quickly realized that whoever was on aux had weird fucking taste.
The song playing was subtly familiar, very theater sounding and dramatic. Ilya knew he’d heard the song before but for the life of him couldn’t place where.
Before he was given too long to think about it, Wyatt Hayes bounded up to him.
“Rozy!”
Ilya nodded, accepting the goalie’s bright welcome. “Hello, Hazy. Is this your music today? Is very strange.”
Wyatt gave him an odd look.
“I mean it’s not not my music but it isn’t for me. It’s for you!”
“What do you mean for me?”
Wyatt seemed to be processing something in slight confusion but continued to talk.
“Last night Hayden Pike sent me an interview of you from years ago talking about how you listened to the Frozen soundtrack every morning. I thought this might put you in a good mood.”
Ilya could tell his jaw had dropped. Shane was a fucking traitor. And don’t get him started on Hayden Pike.
Of course this was when Bood decided he too wanted to join the conversation. “Rozy, it's a good soundtrack. My niece was obsessed with this movie for like 2 years. It’s not like that bullshit music Dykstra plays.” A loud, offended “hey” could be heard from where Dykstra was taping his stick.
Ilya sat down, composure briefly lost. He wanted to kill Hayden Pike. This was unbelievable.
Ilya really didn’t think people truly believed him when he had said that. He was known to jest. But apparently enough people did that a song about “letting it go” was bursting through the loudspeakers. No thank you, Ilya was not about to let this go.
With his head in his hands, he mumbled, “was a joke. I said as joke. Like so many years ago.”
He could practically feel Bood and Wyatt smirking at one another. Was Wyatt out to get him too? Was that confusion an act. Before he could work up the nerve to ask, he heard the two men burst out into laughter.
He looked up to see Bood wiping tears from his eyes and Wyatt leaning against a locker like he was about to faint from laughing so hard.
“Why the hell would you lie about that, Rozanov? That’s so fucking stupid.” Ilya felt a smile ghost on his face. Damn it, he kind of loved these guys.
“Was asked stupid question! I was on winning streak and they asked what had changed. It was after Olympics! Was dumb question.” He felt his face grow hot and red. Good god, now he was blushing? Ilya hated that he was becoming a pseudo-canadian.
Bood, still wheezing, replied, “but why Frozen?”
Ilya groaned. “Was first movie I thought of that I was pretty sure had music!”
Wyatt laughed so hard he started to cough and luckily, coach walked in effectively ending the conversation. Frozen was cut from the speakers.
Small miracles.
But Ilya wasn’t an idiot. He knew that for as long as he was an Ottawa Centaur, Frozen would follow him.
And two seasons later when he scored his first goal of the season as Mr. Rozanov-Hollander, he couldn’t even find himself surprised that the goal song blared was “Let it Go”. Fucking Shane. Fucking Hazy and Bood.
He was never going to lie about stupid shit again.