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    Cliff was only aiming to push the guy off the puck, maybe disrupt his stride long enough to give Rozanov time to catch up, but Hollander wasn’t expecting the hit, and it caught him at an awkward angle, knocking one of his legs out from under him.

    Cliff watched as he slid uncontrolled, his momentum carrying him into the boards ahead of them at full speed. His shoulder hit first, but then Cliff heard his helmet hit the boards with a deafening crack.

    For a moment, the arena was deathly silent, as though the whole crowd was holding its breath. Cliff dropped to a crouch above Hollander’s body, still splayed out on the ice. There was blood streaming out of his nose. He wasn’t moving.

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    26 Aug 2026

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    When the unsentimental financial imperative of the NHL sees Shane traded to the Boston Raiders, he and Ilya are thrown into closer extended proximity than ever before. As they adjust to life as teammates, they are forced to contend with the nature of their relationship -and must answer for themselves: is it even a relationship at all?
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    Sliding down the wall, Shane hunched over his untied sneakers, shoved on hastily when Coach had called him in for a meeting after morning skate.

    “Boston wanted you specifically. I’ve already spoken to their GM. You’re flying this evening or tomorrow morning: I’ll confirm once the paperwork clears.”

    “Mom,” Shane managed.

    “Oh sweetie. I know, okay. Those fuckers, how dare they do this! Two fucking cups! Now all of a sudden they decide they want a reset and you’re going to fund it.”

    Shane put his head between his knees and tried to breathe. God, Boston. They hated him there; it was so far away; he was fucking their captain.

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    25 Aug 2026

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    “Don’t–” Ilya starts, already reaching, already cupping Shane’s face between both hands, thumbs warm and tender against his cheekbones like they’ve always belonged there.

    Shane’s eyes are big and gorgeous and genuinely curious. “Don’t what?”

    Don’t make me look like a lovesick idiot. Don’t make my heart trip over itself for a way out of my chest and into yours. Don’t say it like that—so fucking sincere—like you don’t know how devastating it is for me.

    “Don’t butcher my language,” he says instead and kisses Shane’s smile hard, like reflex, like gravity, like there was never going to be another option.

    -

    Shane sets out to learn Russian. Ilya discovers he's incapable of keeping his composure.

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    24 Aug 2026

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    24 Aug 2026

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    24 Aug 2026