Ohmegaa



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    "Never have I ever checked out my teammates in the locker room." Comeau said, looking directly at him.

    Shane left his beer exactly where it was and met Comeau's gaze without saying a word, waiting for someone else to break the silence, because surely that had to have been a joke.

    "Come on, Cap. It's no fun if you're just gonna lie." Drapeau let out with a quiet snort.

    Shane frowned, genuinely confused. "What?"

    "You really expect us to believe you've never taken a peek at us in the showers?"

    ⎯⎯⎯

    Or: A game of Never Have I Ever with the Voyageurs turns ugly, it's a good thing Ilya is not too far way.

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    13 Aug 2026

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    “They need to return to a conference based system,” Svetlana said, slamming her hand against the table. “It was fucking fine the way it was, why are we handing out participation trophies to shitty divisions?”

    Ilya raised his eyebrows from where he hovered in the kitchen, cracking open another Red Bull.

    “This is fun,” he said, deadpanned. “You guys should start a podcast or something. I would not listen, you are both terribly boring.”

    * * *

    Or, after an injury on the ice forces Shane into an early retirement, he and Svetlana start a podcast.

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    28 Jul 2026

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    Ilya should have been scratched before the game against Montreal, but what was a little bronchitis in the face of Boston's legendary rivalry? When he collapsed during a face off, Cliff assumed he was going to be the one nursing his sick friend back to health. Instead, he became party to one of the best kept secrets in Major League Hockey.

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    25 Jul 2026

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    Cliff Marlow had figured out who Jane was. That’s how he knew to confront Shane after the game post-tuna melt, letting him know he’d broken Ilya’s heart.

    Shane makes things right.

    OR: Cliff does a good deed, and two hockey boys play vulnerability chicken trying to actually communicate. A Tuna Meltdown fix-it.

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    25 Jul 2026

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    Two years of playing together, and it still hit him every time. The casualness of it. My husband. Said out loud, in public. After years of hiding—stolen moments in hotel rooms, careful distance in public, the constant exhausting performance of just teammates, just rivals, nothing to see here—now Ilya could say it like it was nothing. Like it was easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

    Because it was. Finally.

    In which Ilya Hollander-Rozanov cannot shut up about his husband. (Subtitled: No one asked, Ilya. Ilya. No one asked.)

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    24 Jul 2026