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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Harris: Hi, Shane!
    Harris: This is Harris Drover.
    Harris: I got your number from Ilya.
    Harris: Sorry to bother you, but I had a question.
    Harris: I know you’re coming in to sign contracts tomorrow, and I had an idea for a social media thing to announce your signing, if you’d be up for it?

    Shane: Oh, yeah, okay.
    Shane: I’ll be there, so we can do whatever.
    Shane: Always happy to help the team with a little internet humiliation that’ll be around for decades.

    Harris: Perfect!
    Harris: I promise, I think you’ll really like this, though.
    Harris: No humiliation involved.
    Harris: The only caveat is, you can’t tell Ilya.

    Shane: Okay?
    Shane: Why?

    Harris: Well.
    Harris: Here’s what I’m thinking.

    Language:
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    1/1
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    29 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 70

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    Ilya sneezed, and immediately regretted it.

    Shane turned slowly to look at him, his dark eyes narrowed. “What,” he said slowly, “was that?”

    “Nothing,” Ilya said, hoping that the congestion was more mental than audible.

    Then he sneezed again.

    “Are you fucking serious?”

    “The thing is,” Ilya started.

    “You specifically told me that you weren't sick!”

    “In my defense,” Ilya said, missing haughty and hitting raspy instead, “it was not supposed to rain.”

    Ilya and Shane's first camping trip immediately goes south when they realize Ilya has a cold

    Language:
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    11,341
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    1/1
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    28 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    And yeah, Shane knew that Ilya hadn’t been okay last time he was in Russia, but Ilya had had the very real excuse of a funeral to blame things on. Ilya had downplayed it as much as he could, and Shane hadn’t been there, he’d heard the fatigue and he’d seen Ilya’s tired smile, but he hadn’t felt the way Ilya’s hands were cold the entire time he was there, hadn’t seen through the screen the way Ilya dropped eight pounds in three weeks, hadn’t kept time when there were twenty hours in Ilya’s day instead of something closer to sixteen. Or, on the flip side, for the week or two after, when there had been approximately ten conscious hours in a day.

    It was one thing to see something. It was another to feel it in your hands.

    Ilya and Shane are so, so happy for their first year married. They’re playing in Ottawa together, they’re fucking winning, they’re together and out.

    So now, after a year, Ilya should be fine. He should be great. He should not be flinching at small noises or nearly punching people off the clock or feeling like he’s drowning whenever he’s not on the ice.

    Or: Ilya Rozanov, meet your PTSD.

    Language:
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    11/11
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    28 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Men do not cry. Ilya knows this, as much as he knows that being strong is only part of the battle ahead of him; being seen to be strong matters more. Ilya is twelve years old, and no longer a child. It has been four long, brittle days since his mother— since her accident.

    The practice rink is busy, tonight. Under the stern tutelage of Coach Baranov, everyone here is fighting to justify their time on the ice. Hockey, Baranov tells them, often, is not a team sport. Hockey is an act of violence, and of endurance.

    Ilya believes he is practiced at both.

    -

    Six times Ilya gets his teeth knocked out (not metaphorically), and learns to heal a little trauma

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    28 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    The first sound Ilya hears is a thin, discordant symphony of beeps and whirs. Something vibrating. 

    The next thing he hears is…wet. A sort of shaking, gargling sound, that feels like the ugliest crying he’s ever heard. And through it, Shane’s voice. 

    “I’m with him now, mom. He’s— he’s not fine. He’s not. I know—”

    Ilya wants to ask who's not fine, but he can’t feel his own body, his mouth, enough to ask.

    “Yeah,” Shane is saying, only slightly calmer. “I know. He wasn’t breathing—"

    Ilya knows there's a link, between the clinical musicality of medical settings, Shane’s audible, awful distress, and his own physical incapacity. It’s just, it’s so tenuous, and the air around him is so thick, so heavy. It would be easy, to sleep, a little. 

    -
    Footage of the last game between Ottawa and Montreal is everywhere; it’s breached containment from the sports world, and now it seems like everyone is baying for Montreal’s blood. Except, Ilya is oblivious. Not exactly blissfully so, but as the fight for accountability within the league rages on without him, Ilya just wants someone, anyone, to tell him what happened.

    Language:
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    28 Jun 2026