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Sochi, 2014
It’s fucking cold.
So cold that Hudson can’t even bother to get up any time soon, relaxing on his hotel room’s bed with the heater on, almost purring at how comfortable he is. Being the only family mmber that the infamous Shane Hollander brought along with him to the event sure had its perks, and Hudson was going to enjoy each of them at his own pace, while his brother could have the time of his life licking ice and shoving men around.
The warm, yellow lighting in his room only made the bed feel more comfortable, sinking into it with a quiet smile. Don’t get him wrong, he had been very, very excited for the invitation to the Olympics, and he wasn't planning on resting for the whole time.
However, there was this “tension” in the air whenever he and Shane were out on the Russian streets that he hadn’t felt in a while, and he wasn’t very happy about it either. When their plane landed and the twins briefly talked to some of the event’s staff, he didn’t feel it more than usual, but, a few days ago, it was very obvious. Far too obvious.
He knew how Russia was surrounding politics, he wasn’t stupid; maybe a little careless, sure. He wasn’t about to go out of his fancy hotel room looking like a wreck, and this weather really wasn’t doing any good for his skin; so makeup it was. A little red eyeshadow and some concealer didn’t seem like much, at least, to him.
It wasn’t much to Shane either, judging by how his brother just smiled and nodded when they met before going out on their second day there, finally having unpacked their things and rested enough to go back to existing and interacting with other people.
At events, whenever the opportunity arose for them to go together, they had their go-to routine, by now; with Shane sticking to his brother’s side, practically glued, polite smile sewn onto his face for the whole night and hand gripped tight around any non-alcoholic beverage that Hudson could get for his brother.
It worked perfectly, with Hudson’s bright personality and teasing humor making people focus more on talking to him rather than the actual star trying to hide behind his brother’s charming smile and relaxed composure. He knew he wasn’t actually “stealing Shane’s thunder”, as multiple magazines and news articles had pointed out and judged by his behavior, since every time they got home Shane would thank him countless times, eyes glassy with water from how tired and overstimulated he felt.
Their dynamic worked, and that’s what they planned to do today. Shane was content, thanking him countless times, happy for Hudson to do the talking and for him to be able to rest and not waste too much energy on events like this; mind always focused on hockey, as usual.
It was supposed to be simple; just some important Russian government and hockey people, meeting Canada’s hockey team. Shane didn’t give him too many specifics, just told him to dress formally and that it would be a small, quick meeting event. He could handle this with his eyes closed.
So, when both brothers noticed how people were shamelessly ignoring Hudson, they weren’t so sure on what to do.
Ignoring felt like minimizing the blow, really; no one’s eyes ever met Hudson’s when he spoke, like he wasn’t even there to begin with.
Shane’s smile was tight, always looking so wrong on his face, far from genuine in moments like this. Hudson tried to keep his cool throughout the night, annoyed that he didn’t know anyone else from team Canada, who seemed to be the only ones that were happy to make conversation with him.
He couldn’t really let his frustration show, despite the situation. Knowing Shane, he was probably feeling guilty about the whole situation, blaming himself for making his brother go through this event.
Hudson wouldn’t let that kind of thought make Shane’s Olympic experience fall apart so easily, especially when he hadn’t played yet. Shane already had far too much to worry about right now. So, he smiled, quiet and polite, nursing champagne and letting his thoughts wander here and there.
Shane and him wandered quietly around the venue, nursing drinks and trying to avoid talking more to anyone else. Hudson tries to lighten up the mood between them, cracking a few hockey jokes with his limited knowledge, about how Shane’s abilities would make Scott Hunter remind him of how he felt when fire was first discovered.
His attempts seemed to fall flat, with Shane’s gaze wandering around here and there, stuck on the same place while giving Hudson polite nods and fake hums that served as an excuse for a laugh.
Following Shane’s gaze, he noticed the reason for their abrupt stop.
There was a man drinking champagne, not too far from them. He was older, probably around their parent’s age, wearing a nice tuxedo, far more fashionable than most people here, at least.
And he was staring right back at Hudson.
It was awkward, making the feeling of ‘being caught” spike up his back, shoulders getting tense for a brief second. Hudson looked away, but he could feel the man’s gaze burning him. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used at people staring at him – he was an actor, for fuck’s sake –, it was the previous context of this nightmare of a party that made his blood go cold, the unfamiliar ground making him shift his feet uncomfortably.
Hudson didn’t have enough time to sort his thoughts, because by the time he looked up at Shane once again, his brother was marching towards the man, who seemed surprised by the unexpected approach.
“Hello. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother, just,” Shane huffs, looking down at the ground briefly, struggling to hold eye contact after the tiring day they had. There’s a tired bitterness to his tone, followed by a frustration. “Why are you staring at my brother like that?”
The question makes Hudson’s act fall apart for a short second, eyes going wide and brows shooting up. His gaze alternates between his brother and the man, mouth slightly open before going back to his usual composure.
He gets closer, carefully, “Shane, it’s fine. I’m sure he was just looking around.” Hudson attempts to get the situation under control, but the fancy tuxedo guy didn’t seem bothered much.
“Ah, don’t worry. All okay.” His ‘kay’s are deep, Russian accent roughly coating his words; but he seemed used to speaking in English, far more than other guests. “You look like my daughter’s friend. Reminds me of him.” The man taps his own earlobe and points at his ear, referring to Hudson’s single earring.
If this man really did mean any harm, he wouldn’t be so relaxed at the sudden accusation, and Shane’s posture showed how he is quick to realize the same.
“Oh.” Shane’s eyes widened, noticing there truly wasn’t any harm in the staring. “I’m-, I’m so sorry for being so blunt,”
“No, no. Don’t apologize. You take care of family, that is good.” The man seemed to approve of his brother’s behavior, which made this interaction even more unexpected. He looked around, nose scrunching up before nodding at his brother. “Listen,”
He leaned in and whispered to Shane. Hudson couldn’t make out exactly what the man was saying, looking away to try and at least pretend to be polite about it, but he managed to decipher enough.
“He looks different.”
Ah. He should’ve figured this whole situation was about this.
This being the fact that he doesn’t look like shit, like these hockey guys. Doesn’t find the need to scratch his balls in public, manspread to take up 3 seats, or smell fucking horrible. That isn’t going to make him more of a man.
Before pursuing acting and modelling, he already had a taste for art. Him and Shane grew up playing together, trying things out with each other. As time passed, they started to develop their own personalities and tastes, preferences. Hudson didn’t mind being the worst goalie in the world for Shane to practice in their parent’s garage, and Shane didn’t mind sitting for hours while Hudson drew different designs and doodles on his arms.
He always was more of an artist than his brother; that’s what his parents said, at least. It wasn’t very surprising for them when Hudson’s art hobbies turned into makeup, especially by how much fun he had painting stars and flowers on his brother’s arms and face, giggling excitedly thinking about Shane’s reactions.
Leaving that part of his life aside for a while was challenging as he got older, and slowly, he started to miss it more than anything. Movies, clothes, art; it all just made sense to him, it was how he expressed his feelings. It made him feel seen, and now that Hudson knew that feeling so very well, it was hard to keep it hidden and neglected.
So, he started pursuing modelling and acting.
It was a shot in the dark, something that made his chest flicker with excitement that maybe, maybe was the spark he needed to be happy with himself and his career. Maybe, this path would fit him much better than he thought, and he would meet more people like him.
It did, and Hudson couldn’t be happier.
Sure, his career was still growing to this day, far from being as famous as the great Shane Hollander, but he didn’t care about it anymore. Fame would come along with it; he wanted to be able to experience art in his life again, let himself have more fun with life, and now, he could.
Shane’s success was inevitable since his first time playing hockey, and the comparisons that followed along as well. “Failed MMA Player VS. Hockey Prodigy”, Hudson had read it once on the cover of a magazine, and it made him laugh for far too long. Shane didn’t find it as funny.
I just… I don’t like how they speak about you.
Hudson knew the comments would only grow along with Shane’s fame, despite his personal life not being the focus of his career. Hudson was prepared to deal with any bullshit he could come across on the internet, especially when more and more opportunities for his career arose. He couldn’t let it get to him.
The dreaded comments slowly started to appear, and even if Hudson knew they would come around some day, it didn’t make the situation any less unpleasant. Pictures of his clothes, his painted nails or makeup, followed by comments that, if said to his face, would result in someone missing a few teeth, were scattered around the internet in posts and articles.
“Shane Hollander’s twin: MMA Failure turned gay by the media.”
It was so absurd that he couldn’t help but laugh anytime he saw a title like that.
He had been seen in public with plenty of women as well, as opposed to his brother. Hudson didn’t mind about being open about his life or relationships, unlike Shane, who kept everything private, and Hudson couldn’t blame him for it.
Any posts theorizing he could be gay always fell short; pictures of him and his flings out on dates were scattered around the internet, easy to find.
Even then, these people here didn’t know about Hudson as much as they did about Shane, so, they just… Assumed. Right.
So, after the event, it was safe to say that Shane really didn’t want to bring Hudson to any other meeting that would throw him into uncomfortable situations or force him to dress in a way that he didn’t feel as comfortable.
Russia’s politics were far more strict than Shane had seemed to think. Hudson noticed his uneasiness right away, and it only made him worry more about his brother. He knew Shane could be overly protective, but this whole trip was about him and hockey, not about how Hudson looked so hot that people refused to believe he was into women.
“I don’t actually mind it much, Shane.” He reassured his brother throughout the day. His fashion sense wasn’t always as experimental as well. On most days, he just wore some simple accessories, just to avoid looking like he got up and grabbed the first pair of clothes he came across.
Well, it was safe to say from his experience that hockey players always did look like they just woke up, or were going to the gym.
So, Hudson wasn’t joining Shane until later in the day, leaving the boring interviews without any snacks or fancy drinks just for his brother.
After a few minutes, he got a text from NHL’s sleep paralysis demon, which made a smile curl up on his lips quickly. He reaches for his phone, opening his text messages with Shane.
Shane: Hey, we just wrapped up the interviews for today.
Shane: I felt like grabbing some ice cream, do you wanna join?
Hudson: we are in RUSSIA and you want ice cream?
Hudson: i’ll leave in 5, meet you there mr gold medal
Shane: Don’t jinx it! :)
The ice cream parlor was a short walk from his hotel, and he opted for something a little less flashy than usual; not bringing unwanted attention seemed like the best option for this trip. They sat comfortably, shoes pressed together against each other’s.
“You could go to some museums as well. I know that there are parties here, too..?”
“They’re not really my kind of party, Shane.” The public didn't seem friendly enough, judging from his interactions, and the thought of going out looking fucking ugly really truly utterly disturbed him. “Besides, I came on this trip to watch my brother shove his gold medal on everyone’s faces.”
Shane’s gaze softened, eyes on his ice cream. They remain in silence; not uncomfortable, just usual. A familiar silence that lingered between them for years.
But, there was something up with Shane.
He knew his brother well enough to know when something had happened, when something was stirring in his gut and Shane couldn’t say what was bothering him out loud just yet. Hudson had seen it countless times.
His brother would keep it to himself until he couldn’t bear to hold himself any longer, and would only confide in his twin. It was how they worked; how they both were with each other.
Hudson couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was, but he knew Shane’s longing stares at his phone only seemed to get worse with the years.
Shane hadn’t told him what was eating him alive since he joined the NHL, and that fact always left a bitter taste on Hudson’s tongue every time he was reminded of it.
“Thank you for coming with me.”
Hudson looks up from his own ice cream, and sees Shane looking back at him, a small, shy smile. He laughs, teasing, trying to strain away from his worried thoughts.
“Yeah, yeah. You better win a medal so I can use the fancy tuxedo I brought.” He always used a very obvious joking tone with Shane whenever he teased him, just to make sure his brother didn’t misread the situation. Shane laughs along, cheeks rosy from the cold.
“You’ll have to keep it in your closet, Huddy.”
Vaughn’s sudden voice interrupts them, catching the twins off guard with a laugh. Scott Hunter was beside him, grinning politely as they stood up to give the USA teammates a handshake.
“Oh, wow. Didn’t know you guys missed us so much that you’re willing to eat ice cream in Russia.” Hudson teases.
He had attended enough events to get to know plenty of players, but Scott Hunter always stood out to him. He was one of the nicest hockey players he had met, but it wasn’t just that.
There was something about Scott that really just made him feel more at ease around the other hockey players. The feeling of being seen lingered in between them.
Maybe he was being dramatic, but still, it was nice to talk to Hunter. He actually made the conversation fun, and knew how to talk about something other than hockey, beer, and women.
They all sat together at the same table, with Hudson joining here and there in the conversation whenever the topic strayed away from sports. He wasn’t completely ignorant about hockey, but he had no fucking idea of what half of the terms his brother was throwing around, and judging by Vaughn’s focused face, they for sure weren’t so common.
The conversation flowed nicely, with Shane checking his phone as usual when getting a little overwhelmed, probably texting their mom, and Hudson leading the conversation whenever that happened.
However, things took an unexpected turn as soon as they mentioned the figure skating male program.
“Yeah, dude,” Vaughn started, a smile on his lips, “I’ll show up to any dude who is that brave.”
Hudson doesn’t show any reaction. He is sat between Shane and Scott, gaze lingering quietly between the other two players. Shane responds, confused.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, assuming your buddy might be gay.” Vaughn’s voice gets quiet towards the end of his phrase, cocking his head awkwardly. His gaze remains on Shane, who stirs his ice cream.
“I mean,” Shane’s voice is quiet, more than usual.
“Fucking brave of him, dude, to show up to a place like this and be like-, ‘Hey, here’s me.”
And then Vaughn’s gaze meets Hudson’s.
There’s a weird, lingering tension in the air, that Vaughn doesn’t seem to grasp. Scott doesn’t seem as tense as Shane, who scrunches up his nose and bites his lower lip in the same way Hudson has watched for far too long; habits that he also mimicked.
“Russia is not safe for folks like that.” He finishes, cocking his head and giving a nod to Scott. “Fucking balls of steel, man.”
Hudson thinks for a second that maybe this could be a hook, an attempt of catching the truth about his sexuality. Is that why Vaughn said all of this? To try and see if he would crack and tell him all the gossip? To see if Shane would get defensive about his brother?
He doesn’t show any reaction, just nodding back at Vaughn before he sees his gaze properly.
It’s routine, at this point. Not showing much emotion, despite feeling like he would drown in his own thoughts.
He didn’t understand the appeal of knowing anyone’s sexuality, really. If he wasn’t trying to get into their pants, why the fuck he would even bother thinking about it? The media was always on their neck, trying to find out any slips they might have done, to try and make up a story and expose ‘the truth’, like he was lying to the public for not letting the world know who he was fucking.
It frustrated him, but he wouldn’t let it show.
His anxiety was just amping this situation up to an uncomfortable amount; he was sure of it, judging by how the hockey player looked so calm in front of him.
Vaughn smiles at Hudson, and Hudson smiles back, going back to his ice cream.
The weight seems to have lifted, only enough for the silence to turn into a comfortable one, instead of the dreadful feeling that was sitting in his gut.
He will be a good brother and wait for Shane to be ready to talk to him.
For now, he won’t push Shane; won’t ask who he was messaging when the conversation was over, or remind him that he hasn’t finished his ice cream yet.
-
He opts to not watch the male figure skating program.
Hudson knew Vaughn meant well, just like the fancy tuxedo man from the party, but he can’t bring himself to go and maybe put Shane in an unnecessary spotlight. He could already read the news.
The problem wasn’t what the news and gossip websites said about him, it was how Shane would go crazy about it. His image was perfect, so, so perfect, that any commentary talking shit about his abilities on the ice made him practice three times harder for a week.
His brother’s anxieties were something he grew used to, growing up with Shane and reassuring him of everything he needed. He knew how much Shane hated the feeling of being watched, of being analyzed; how he felt like everything he was doing was wrong, and he didn’t know how to be a normal person like the other people around them.
So, Hudson would try to avoid making any appearances that could get them too much attention, for now. Shane Hollander’s supposed queer brother didn’t need to be at the figure skating program.
Shane’s extra Canada coat made him feel a little comforted, even if he was stuck sitting in one of the practically empty lounging rooms. Everyone else was watching some game, practicing, or having some freaky, olympic sex.
Maybe he had to go back to sports.
… Not a chance. Probably not worth it. Probably.
He fidgeted with the coat, enjoying the warmth contrasting with the cold, faint breeze on his skin. After God knows how long he had waited, he gave in and left the room, trying to hunt for a coffee machine around the building.
As he walked around, his thoughts eventually went back to Shane’s behavior back in the ice cream parlor.
He never would go through his brother’s things, much less his phone, but, sometimes, Shane really worried him.
The unual habbit of checking his phone so often was very out of the ordinary, if you knew his brother. Shane had never been a fan of technology, so, when he started to stare at his phone for hours on end and check it constantly, it caught Hudson off guard.
The thing is; Shane doesn’t have any fucking apps on his phone. Not even Subway Surfers, for Christ’s sake. He only has the apps that come with his phone, and Hudson had only seen him actually use his phone to message other people.
So, maybe someone must be making Shane feel like an emotional rollercoaster, not something.
“Fuck-,”
His train of thought is interrupted by a wall. A Russian wall.
It’s partially his blame for not looking around while he was walking, but this fucking hallway is very wide, and Ilya Rozanov is the one that practically shoved him while making way for himself.
He doesn’t even look at Hudson’s face, walking fast past him, and he can only look at the blond’s back with a disgusted face.
“Watch it.” Hudson barks. It’s quiet, while he tries to remind himself to not cause any problems for Shane.
Rozanov doesn’t even hesitate in his step, still walking away, pretending to not have heard a single thing.
It makes his blood boil.
Who does he think he is? His last game was fucking pathetic, and now he is just treating his another player’s brother like he doesn’t exist, just like the other stupid, fancy Russians in this disgusting country.
Has he really not noticed how Shane’s success also meant his own success? This guy is a fucking blind idiot if not, really. Rozanov would be nothing without his rival.
His nose scrunched up, annoyed, but it didn't last too long. Being annoyed wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he had other things to worry about. He could kick Rozanov’s ass when they were back in Canada.
Hudson groaned under his breath, walking closer to the wall and leaning against it, resting, even if for a short amount. It was more of an attempt to ground himself, go to his happy place, or something. Maybe his happy place would also be kicking Ilya Rozanov in the balls, who knows.
Clicking his tongue, he reached for his phone, aiming to ask Shane when he would be back, and maybe shit talk about how rude Rozanov was; but there was something in his pocket.
If this jacket wasn’t Shane’s, he would have just assumed it was some candy wrapper paper, but we are talking about Mr. Diet here.
Taking the piece of paper out of his pocket, he unfolds it carefully, and the messy handwriting only makes him far more confused.
Sorry for earlier. Will make up for it next time. ;)
Huh.
Hudson stares longer at the paper.
The implications are obvious, but maybe that’s just his freak of a brain.
He decides to leave it in the pocket and pretend he has never seen it.
Making his way back to the waiting room, he shoots Shane a few messages, a quiet smile on his lips when he immediately replies, letting him know that they’re getting there in a few minutes.
Hudson sits down at one of the chairs in the lounging room, looking around it. He doesn’t spot any other familiar face, pleasant or not.
Shane was nice enough to have everyone go back for him to grab his extra jacket for Hudson, brand new, just so he wouldn’t freeze, and maybe, feel a little more like he belonged as well. Hudson had only run into their friend group and Rozanov while wearing it.
Chewing on his lower lip, he closes his eyes with a sigh;
He really doesn’t want to think about how there’s cyrillic handwriting in the back of the paper.
Las Vegas, 2014.
It had been a few weeks since the Boston Raiders won the Stanley Cup.
It was a rare occasion whenever his and Shane’s plans didn’t collide and they were in the same town, so Hudson had used the opportunity to meet up with the Metros at Hayden’s house to watch the game.
Not everyone in the team seemed to like Hudson at first, but as years went by, his charm had seemed to work on them. It was a gift how people seemed to just like him as soon as he spoke, really, and he was very thankful for it.
So, he had been sitting beside his twin while the buzzer went off, declaring the end of the match and the victors of the Stanley Cup.
Everyone else’s mood seemed to go down, with a few snark remarks about the teams; and, at that point, his brother was the only one staring at the screen, eyes glistening and lip wobbling.
Shane was trying not to smile.
He has heard too many comments about how “complicated” it was to get to know Shane Hollander, how hard it was to get him to talk to you, but Hudson could never understand these claims; if they took a second to actually sit down and get to know Shane and how he works, it wouldn’t be an issue.
Carefully, he placed a comforting hand on Shane’s back.
“It was a great game to watch. They played really well.” He said, smiling at Shane.
It was a trick that he was far too used to doing by now; making a safe conversation topic for Shane to be able to express his feelings, creating an excuse for his emotions so his brother could feel safe showing them.
Shane’s instant, sincere smile was so bright, that Hudson felt it’s warmth settling in his chest, his own smile widening.
Hockey wasn’t just a sport, or a career, to his brother. No, it was what made him work, what made him wake up in the morning at ungodly times and dedicate each second to it. He knew Shane loved the sport, and watching a match, despite the team, was something that his brother truly felt passionate about. He loved taking notes, analyzing every play while Hudson just sat beside him, eyes glancing away from the TV screen here and there and landing on the neat handwriting in his brother’s journals.
“Yes,” Shane nods, voice quiet in a whisper. “They deserve it.”
There was something different about this match.
Hudson had seen his brother feel all of the emotions possible while watching a hockey match; and now, he was certain something was different.
Shane’s smile turned awkward, – not like usual, something more to it, but Hudson just can’t point what it is –, and then he speaks.
He doesn’t know any Russian, but he could recognize that voice anywhere by now.
Rozanov’s voice echoing in the room makes Hudson think about some months ago; about a crumbled piece of paper that he knew was no longer hidden in Shane’s jacket, since he checked after they got back to Canada.
What the fuck had Shane gotten himself into?
It’s not his business, but it just makes him fucking anxious. What should he do if Rozanov meets with him again? “Hey, I’m not actually Shane, I’m his actor twin that you fucking shoved and slipped a note to, so whatever the fuck is going on, I also know about it now! Crazy, right?”
He is gonna throw up if he thinks too much about it, and he is not about to waste this fancy MVP Awards champagne.
Avoiding Rozanov during the night wasn’t an issue, considering how Hudson is pretty sure that he doesn’t even know he fucking exists.
He understands that they’re twins, but Shane’s lack of fashion sense being attributed to him makes him think that hockey people are really fucking blind to not notice any difference after all these years.
This time, however, he can’t really blame them in case they mess up, considering the boring, plain tuxedo his mother picked out for him. The growing popularity in each of their careers had brought many eyes closely following them, for Hudson’s joy, and Shane’s dread.
Hence why Hudson has stopped wearing flashy outfits to his brother’s events. He didn’t need the spotlight here; this was Shane’s moment. Hudson was happy to just be his brother’s twin, now that his career seemed to be shaping itself without news about him feeling the need to associate his public image with hockey stars.
Talking about Shane, his brother was nowhere to be seen after the awkward bit him and Rozanov had to perform, and Hudson was becoming uneasy by how long his brother was away.
These events weren’t any news to them, especially Shane. He knew his brother could handle himself just fine, but there was something off about him today.
Routine was something that Hudson had grown used to, living with Shane for most of his life. It made life easier, in some aspects of it. Shane wouldn’t be like Hudson, who would spend a few too many hours in front of the mirror trying to make his hair look perfect; in the end, he would just give up and avoid getting too frustrated.
He knew he looked hot either way, he was rocking that shit even if he didn’t see it.
No, Shane would do his routine of getting ready for events, with his pre-planned outfit and phone completely charged “just to make sure he is ready for emergencies”.
So, the scene from earlier was something new to watch, even if unnoticeable.
Shane had put his tuxedo back on and off at least four times, fidgeting with his handcuffs and muttering under his breath. He didn’t really speak, just let out frustrated noises.
It wasn’t a texture problem, judging by how he had tried on other tuxedos in his closet, – he was bothered by something else, something he wasn’t comfortable enough to share with Hudson.
But now, they were here, and Shane had come back from the bathroom with his cheeks rosy, despite not drinking a single drop of alcohol throughout the whole night; and his fidgeting had finally stopped.
Hudson is usually the one speaking in public, the spotlight’s warmth making his skin buzz with passion, emotion; and that’s what he assumes Shane was frustrated about, having to go there with Ilya Rozanov out of all people and talk in front of strangers.
That’s what he assumes, at least, until later on.
Shane’s phone sat on the table, forgotten about while they talked with their family. The previous tension had melted away, and he could tell that their mom was very relieved about it, considering how much talking they would still have to do throughout the night.
His focus is on the conversation, or at least most of it, before the screen from the phone in front of him lights up, and Hudson’s gaze immediately darts to it.
[ 2 New Messages!
Lily: See you later
Lily: I’m staying at the penthouse ]
Okay.
Lily.
A girl.
A woman who is talking to Shane.
That is, for sure, code for fucking, if Hudson has ever seen it;
And he has seen it plenty, thank you very much.
Shane doesn’t even look at his phone when his hand shoots up to grab it, shoving it in his pocket while still looking at their mom, who has been so focused on going over all the sponsors and people they have to talk to, that she hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
The whole scene feels so alien that he has to check his glass; maybe he drank too much, and was just imagining Shane getting a text about a hypothetical bootycall. Sure.
Hudson leans away quickly, pretending to spot someone across the room before muttering that he was going to be right back, just going to say hi, that’s all, while getting up quickly.
When he gets to the bar, he orders a whiskey.
He considers, for a second, a cigar.
Hudson has seen enough detective movies to know that fancy cigars are key to deciphering mysteries, but he can’t afford to make his skin look bad this week, so he will just have to settle for the whiskey.
Hey, he knows it’s absolutely none of his business, but Shane really isn’t helping his curiosity here, flaunting his phone while talking to a mystery woman.
A mystery woman.
Hudson had never really talked about it with Shane, but he really thought that he knew.
He knew, because he felt it too.
Or, maybe, his gut was very fucking wrong, and Shane never even considered liking guys.
Since they could understand the weight of relationships, it slowly created a mutual, silent understanding that the topic was something that they would never bring up with each other.
Anytime any of their parents would bring up girlfriends, Shane would remain indifferent, and so would Hudson, but neither of them would carry the conversation, trying to shut it down as quickly as possible.
Hudson had dated some girls, and so did Shane, but his brother never seemed happy about it; just relieved.
The way he spoke about family, about marriage and having kids; whenever Shane had a girlfriend, it seemed like she was a pathway for him to be able to achieve the life goals that he dreamed about, and not because his brother actually pictured a future with her.
So, Lily was a surprise.
The first feeling that creeps up in Hudson’s gut is a quiet sadness, filled with worry. He thought that maybe Shane had noticed how miserable he was in relationships, how he would forget about replying to texts and, whenever he did remember, avoid his phone like the plague.
It’s something very new to see Shane happy about a girl.
Hudson can’t blame himself for feeling worried, brows furrowed and lips pursed while staring at his half empty cup. He sat at the bar, the furthest away from everyone else, just focused on his own thoughts while avoiding anyone to actually come up to him.
The few sips he takes of the whiskey do actually help to clear his mind, clearing his thoughts.
Shane was excited to see this girl; so excited that he would go throughout this whole event, talk to all of these people, and still manage to have energy to see her later.
He would have to wait and see where this would lead to.
-
Hudson considers that maybe he had far too much to drink earlier, considering how Captain Shane Hollander isn’t in his room past midnight.
Someone will probably come by his room later and wish Hudson a goodnight, and that person won’t be his brother, but, instead, a very bad clone – especially bad if they don’t show up wearing a facemask.
Getting separate hotel rooms was a luxury in itself, and Hudson was happy for it; but, sometimes, he did miss sharing a room with Shane. Whenever they did, he would feel like a little kid again, annoying his brother until they both fell asleep.
It’s way past midnight when he hears faint footsteps in the hallway, turning off his phone to try and make out the noises, trying to see if this was Shane.
An unlocking noise fills the air in the hallway, far too close to not be Shane’s room beside his, and Hudson’s shoulders relax to know that his brother had made it safely.
His relief is short-lived.
Their beds seem to be only separated by one wall, and Hudson can hear Shane’s shoes hit the floor with a thud, like he kicked them off angrily before throwing himself on his bed.
He scoots closer to the wall, squinting, trying to hear anything that could help him figure out what’s going on,
Shane is crying.
It’s quiet, so quiet that if Hudson hadn’t heard it before, he would never have recognized the sound as quick.
It’s the kind of cry from situations that Shane felt guilty about, that he felt so, so dumb, and wanted to hide from the world how he was feeling, like nothing could help the hole caving in his chest.
A bitter taste coats his tongue, and Hudson feels too many feelings at once to even attempt to name them, holding back a sigh with gritted teeth.
He can’t even fucking comfort his brother, because he knows that Shane would pretend like everything is fine the second that he enters his room.
Shane has to carry the weight of whatever the fuck was going on all alone, and Hudson can’t be there for him.
He can, at least, give his twin the illusion he needs.
His phone unlocks quickly, and Hudson types as fast as he can, knowing Shane wouldn’t think too much about the coincidental timing in this state.
Hudson: heey, i forgot to tell you that i went out to meet with a few friends after the event
Hudson: we’re going clubbing, so i’ll crash at their house
The few minutes after he hits send are excruciating, a quiet anxiety running from head to toe, shoulders tense while he presses his face against the wall, just wanting to hear anything that would give away a sign of how his brother was feeling.
Shane eventually reads his texts, and his phone’s screen feels too bright, blinding, and that blue checkmark makes his stomach knot.
It takes a few seconds until he hears his brother start to sob, comforted by the illusion that he wouldn’t bother anyone about his non-existent problems.
And Hudson stays there, glued to the wall, body relaxed against it; like he would do if he was in the room with Shane. He would always be there for him, even if he didn’t know about it.
The sobs are violent, dragged out of his throat like a pile of frustration just came down, echoing in the room like it’s taking up all of the space and suffocating Shane.
Slowly, the uncontrollable sobbing dies down, but Shane’s quiet hiccups while trying to catch his breath are just as heartbreaking.
Hudson finds himself lost in thought, lost in the attempt to somehow make Shane know that he is there for him, even if he doesn’t want him to be, when his phone buzzes against his thigh. The screen lights up, and he holds back a sharp inhale.
Shane: Okay
Shane: Be safe :) I love you
The words feel like a stab to his heart, and he can’t bring himself to ignore them.
Hudson: love you too, shane
Hudson: i’ll see you tomorrow, get some rest
Hudson: let’s go to that salad place you like before flying back
There’s some shuffling on the other side of the wall, which makes Hudson not dare to move a muscle; if he can hear Shane so well, the probability of his brother hearing him as well and his lie crumbling apart in seconds is far too close to reality.
So, Hudson waits.
He runs his thoughts throughout the night, and his exhaustion doesn’t really let him put the pieces together. It’s the expensive whiskey’s fault for making him so fuzzy.
Enough time passes by that he is pretty sure that Shane fell asleep, with all of the adrenaline in his body flowing away at least the exhaustion after it would guarantee that he is resting, even if shortly.
On the other hand, Hudson doesn’t get much sleep that night.
The last thing he concludes before finally falling asleep is that he really doesn’t fucking like Lily.
New York, 2016
The sudden spike in popularity caused by his last project was not something Hudson had planned at all, but he for sure wasn’t complaining.
Really, if you travelled back in time and told him that wearing a leopard print bra and doing backflips for a friends’ indie film project would launch him deals as insane as they had been, he would laugh for days; and then, he would absolutely do it all over again. He looked fucking sexy in leopard print, no matter the type of clothing.
No leopard print for tonight, though.
Going out to a club with his friends sounded like a well deserved reward after the hectic routine he had to suddenly adapt to, and he was over the moon at the thought of getting a little tipsy and dancing.
The club itself is huge, and if he hadn’t visited almost every time he was in New York, he could easily get lost in the ocean of people swarming around. The lights are bright, and he feels fucking hot, both in looks and temperature.
Currently, his friends are on the dance floor, while Hudson’s eyes gaze around the party while waiting for his drink to be made, leaning against the bar with a quiet hum; that’s when he spots her.
There is a really, really, pretty girl across the bar; and Hudson never thought of himself as a coward, but maybe he was wrong, after all.
And to top it all off, she is staring right back at him, and now, she smiles wide.
Oh, God.
Hudson smiles back, feeling the muscles on his face fidgeting uncomfortably. He really needed this drink to get done, or he would absolutely not have courage to walk up to her.
This girl is so pretty that Hudson doesn’t even notice the sparkly dress she is wearing at first, just admires her curls and green eyes, her makeup being so carefully done; so, so gorgeous. Her gaze lingers on him as well, and there’s something almost like recognition in her gaze, but he doesn’t remember ever seeing her – and, for sure, he would remember.
The bartender has to tap on his hand for him to notice that his drink has been sitting in front of him.
Hudson feels so caught off guard, that he mutters an apology quickly, grabbing his drink and drinking half of it in one go. To his dismay, however, when he looks back at the previous spot the girl was sitting, she is no longer there. It makes him immediately curse at himself for not just having gotten up and immediately talked to her.
His eyes scan the room, trying to not seem far too obvious about it.
Then, he finally spots her once again, and she is right beside Ilya Fucking Rozanov.
The recognition is immediate by now, and Hudson can’t seem to escape this man, really. He is everywhere, absolutely everywhere, and he has been avoiding him like the plague since his last discoveries.
It’s not like he has talked to Rozanov before, but the chance of it happening made his blood go cold, considering how delicate the situation between him and Shane seemed to be.
And now, the gorgeous girl betrays Hudson when she spots him once again, pointing at him and nudging at Rozanov. It’s instant, how their gazes find each other, and his eyes go wide with the realization that the man is walking up to him.
Oh, fuck.
His drink is long forgotten about, and Hudson can only think about how he needs to find somewhere more private for Rozanov not to kill him in public. That sounds like the best of outcomes, really.
By now, he isn’t even sure that the man knows he exists, even if the concept seems ridiculous to hear about; but, there were plenty of people in the NHL that never met Hudson, since his appearances at events were irregular.
Still, the chance of Rozanov having figured out that he exists, and he knows far too much, scares him to death.
It’s not like he would do any harm to Hudson, for sure, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation yet, not when Shane hasn’t told him anything about it. He doesn’t want to hear from anyone else but his brother; so, he flees to the smoker’s area, closing the door behind him and letting out a quiet sigh.
There are a couple of groups of friends lounging, laughing filling the air along with the smoke sizzling off from their cigarettes, and Hudson groans annoyed when remembering that he left his pack with his friend.
A familiar corner welcomes his presence, far from too many prying eyes, and, hopefully, far from Ilya Rozanov.
Of course, he isn’t lucky like that, and he can hear the man walking in his direction before hearing the Russian accent.
“Hollander?”
Hudson holds back from showing how relieved he is. There’s still a lot going on in his mind, don’t get him wrong, but the lack of murderous intent in Rozanov’s drunken tone makes him way more relaxed than he thought he could feel in this situation.
Ilya looks drunk, drunk enough to not remember any of this, hopefully. “One of them, yeah.”
There is a nice smile on his lips, the one that he reserves for interviews, when showing what he actually is feeling would be far too risky here. Instead of masking his emotions, Rozanov is very obvious with them, brows scrunched down with a confused glare, almost like trying to believe that the sight in front of him isn’t an illusion.
“You play in New York today?” Rozanov is squinting before looking around them, looking like he is still trying to figure out what is going on. “You are partying?”
Okay, he doesn’t know Hudson exists, and he thinks he is Shane.
Great, just great.
“Partying feels like an exaggeration,” He starts with a mutter, but Rozanov is quick to interrupt him. Hudson doesn’t know how to clarify this situation quickly enough and well enough for drunk Rozanov to actually understand it.
“Shane Hollander does not party.” It’s a fact, and he knows it far too well.
He wonders how much Rozanov knows about his brother as well. Maybe not so much, since he thinks Hudson, wearing a slutty white tank top, is his boring brother who is at home doing crosswords with his dad.
“Amen to that, sounds like a fucking awkward place to see him.” The mental image of Shane attempting to dance makes him snort, and his smile turns a bit more genuine than before. Rozanov’s gaze hasn’t trailed away from him for a second, and he isn’t really sure what to do here. “... You're drunk.”
“You wear makeup.” It’s blunt, with no opinion clear in his tone. Just a statement.
“What?”
“No freckles.” He taps his own cheeks, and points at Hudson’s. Ah, the lack of his brother’s freckles; that was something people didn’t really notice, only if they were close to one of the brothers. “I like glitter on your eye. You look so pretty.”
Endearment and care walk along Rozanov’s tone, even if his words are messy, drunk; there is almost pride in them.
“Rozanov,-” Hudson shouldn’t be hearing any of this, for sure. Danger is written all over how careful Rozanov is when talking to ‘Shane’, a drunk gaze taking in the sight before him and analyzing every detail of his smudged makeup.
“You look gay.” He interrupts Hudson before he can muster up the courage to clarify things.
There’s a beat, and Hudson isn’t even sure on how to reply to this, but Rozanov doesn’t look like he says it out of spite, nor a chirp; it still sounds sincere, almost happy, even.
“... Okay?”
“You are getting better at being gay, Hollander?” Rozanov finally teases, smiling wide. It’s not ironic, just a familiar tease, like how Hudson would tease his own brother.
“What?”
He was fucking right.
Of course he was, no doubt whatsoever. Nuh uh.
He can't laugh yet. He has to hold it in; can’t bask in the glory of being so correct all the time.
That did explain a lot about Shane’s behavior, but he doesn’t let his thoughts linger on it for too long, quickly going back to the fact that he should be hearing this from anyone else but his brother. He had kept it hidden from everyone for a reason.
And Hudson is pretty sure that the reason is standing in front of him.
“Vegas was fucking hot.” Rozanov’s drunk smile is not captivating at all, but it seems to have worked on Shane, judging by how he goes on to get closer. His words confirm his fear, and now, he has to deal with this way more carefully than he previously thought.
It wouldn’t be the first time he pretends to be Shane, but never for something serious like this. Shane had done the same for him here and there, but his brother was shit at lying; so shit that Hudson had discovered this whole situation by himself.
Rumours about Shane’s sexuality weren’t any news, really, but he always did his best to ignore them. That was his brother, and he understood more than anyone else how annoying the media was with speculations on their private lives.
But this involved more than Shane; it involved his rival as well, and it didn’t seem like they wanted anyone else to know about it just yet, or maybe, ever.
“We should not be doing this in public, Rozanov.” Stepping away, he attempts to create a safe distance between them, just enough to avoid something too risky from happening.
The warning tone seems to have done something to Ilya, who takes another sip of whatever the fuck is in the cup he is holding. Jesus. “And you should tell me when you go out, Hollander.”
Hudson doesn’t stop his glaring when Rozanov attempts again to get closer to him, smile getting softer, head tilted to the side like a puppy. The defying gaze softens as well, landing on his lips, and he bites the inside of his mouth in response.
“Missed you.”
It’s said like a confession, so quiet that Hudson isn’t even sure that Ilya even meant to say it out loud.
It’s not a confession meant for him to hear, and he feels a sharp guilt blossom in his chest.
He doesn’t reply.
The quiet in between them is not uncomfortable, but he feels tense, either way. Rozanov seems to at least notice that, despite his state, when he leans away until they look like having a normal conversation.
Intimacy is the feeling in the air, Hudson concludes; like Rozanov and Shane had been close like this countless times, sharing a comfortable quietness, not needing any words to enjoy each other’s company.
“Wish you told me you’d be in this town. Would’ve brought the strap you like.” He says casually, swirling the drink in his grip.
It takes a few seconds for Hudson to even process that phrase. Of course, Ilya Rozanov would ruin the cute image he was putting together of his brother having a cute PG friendly crush.
First of all: What?
Second: Is this how he talks to Shane in public? His brother is a fucking freak, and now Hudson has to up his game.
His thoughts don’t catch up with his mouth when he blurts it out, still replaying what he just heard in his brain.
“Strap?”
He is squinting, trying to go back to this whole detective scheme he has laid out about Shane’s headache of a problem, but Rozanov laughs with another sway of his bottle, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.
“Yes, fingers are not enough for my slutty girl.” Ilya Rozanov is biting his lip at him, and he wants to puke so bad.
Hudson is not going to judge his brother’s taste in men; however, he couldn't pretend to understand the appeal, really.
“I’m not sure-,” Hudson feels like the stutter in his words is giving Shane enough, and he fucking wishes his aparrent distress would be enough to make Rozanov shut the fuck up already.
“You want my pussy, Hollander?” His grin only widens, and Hudson doesn’t even have time to process what he just told him, “Want me to fuck your mouth with my clit?”
God, kill him.
Kill him right fucking now. Please.
This is far too much; far too dangerous, and Hudson is worried about how much he has heard. He already had been worried, but this is far too much, and his brother didn’t have a single clue about it.
“Rozanov.” His tone is firm, eyes wide. Shane, Shane, Fucking Shane. What would he do right here, right now?
With a shaky breath out, Hudson looks around the place, eyes staying on other friend groups nearby. Not close enough for them to hear the obscenities Rozanov was spilling, but enough to see the unusual proximity between them.
The smoking area had people going in and out constantly, and it wouldn’t take much time until there was no room left in here, considering how many people were inside and how they would need to eventually catch a breath of fresh air.
People that, certainly, could recognize them, could see how friendly they were already.
And then, they’d take pictures, post on social media, which would be picked out by news and stupid gossip websites, and Shane wouldn’t be able to escape it. He wouldn’t be able to pretend this wasn’t happening anymore, and this dilemma would consume him even more than already had. His passion for hockey fed off of so many sacrifices, and they only seemed to get worse with time.
“Please.” Hudson pleas, eyes wide when meeting Rozanov’s, glistening slightly. The fear sounds sincere, because it is.
It is, because he shares it.
And Rozanov does, too.
“... Right. You’re right, sorry.” The Russian mutters, stepping away with a nod. He doesn’t look hurt, instead, looks worried, and drunk.
For the first time, he thinks about the burden that Ilya carries, which seems to be much heavier than he previously thought it was.
Ilya Rozanov had just – very accidentally – confessed to him he was not only into men, but also transgender.
His thoughts don’t linger around the topic for too long, just because it doesn’t change a fucking thing in the situation him and his brother were stuck in. Also, doesn’t change how Rozanov is a fucking asshole in the ice, but Hudson can respect the possible lengths he has gone through to play in the NHL.
It feels terrifying, how much he already knew about this hypothetical situation, and now, Ilya Rozanov was standing in front of him, spilling more secrets so casually, not aware of the situation. It makes him feel guilty for not interrupting him earlier, for just pretending to be his brother-, but what was he supposed to do?
Hudson would never confront Shane about any of this; he clearly wasn’t ready to talk about it. So, pretending to not know any of it was the best option he had here.
“It’s fine.” Hudson looks up at him, a sigh escaping with real relief rushing through his blood. There’s a small smile on his lips, an attempt to mimic the one that he has seen while growing up, “I have to leave. Text me tomorrow, when you’re not drunk and stinking of cigarettes.”
Rozanov nods, a quiet smile sitting on his lips. The expression is messy, crooked, with a loopy grin, and Hudson doesn’t know if Ilya is aware of the heart eyes he is giving ‘Shane’. Nodding back, he mutters a quick goodbye, leaning away.
However, Rozanov interrupts his escapade, “Hollander.”
His tone is hushed, giddy, but still quiet.
How many times had Shane heard his name like this, instead of how it’s spat out in the ice? How many times he had gotten so giddy and kept it all to himself? It makes Hudson relieved, to see it for himself, that Rozanov was just as excited at the thought of texting with Shane.
He looks back, “Yeah?”
“What’s your favorite afternoon food?” His English stumbles; Hudson notices by the frustrated sigh coming out of Rozanov’s lips, along with wild hand gestures, “The-, Like, snack?”
Ah. That is a question he can easily answer.
“Tuna melts.” Hudson can’t help the corner of his lips tilting up.
It takes him all of his strength to not laugh at his own answer, considering how many times he has made fun of Shane for that to be his favorite snack. He already went on far too long tangents about how tuna melts don’t count as a cheat snack, but it all fell on deaf ears.
And, even if the answer is ridiculous, Rozanov is smiling even wider at him.
“Okay.” It’s quiet, and the Russian accent is even more noticeable because of how drunk he is, making his excitement seem even more genuine.
Hudson doesn’t want to participate in this anymore.
Not because he has any problems with it, but because he wants Shane to be the one that notices the weight of this, how it has blossomed into something else entirely; and that’s his view from afar. He can’t even imagine the rollercoaster of emotions these two had gone through.
There’s plenty of people entering the smoking area while he is attempting to leave, and he can’t help but to feel a little relieved that he managed the situation as quickly as he could. He shoots a text to his friends, letting them know he would be going home, not to worry about not finding him at the club.
Shoving his phone into his pocket, Hudson leaves, not looking back at the club, thoughts bouncing between Shane’s whole hypothetical situation and about the bubble bath he would prepare when he got to his hotel.
It takes a few minutes walking for him to notice the smile sitting on his lips.
Maybe Lily isn’t so bad.
Montreal, 2017
Hudson sees Shane’s phone screen light up in his grip, and his stomach tosses and turns.
He can’t fucking do this right now.
This whole day was his personal hell, really, with his mom and dad calling him desperately in the middle of a shooting, only for him to find out that Shane had been knocked out during a game.
They don’t say how bad it was, – most likely as an attempt to not avoid Hudson from worrying far too much –, but his mother’s need to call him about it is enough for Hudson to call off his plans and get in a plane as fast as physically could.
Hockey is not a forgiving game, and he knows this far too well. It isn’t the first time his brother had injured himself in the ice, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it never makes the blow easier; instead, it only makes it worse.
The tale is as old as time, and Hudson has watched it closely throughout the years: this injury will only make Shane ask more of his body, make him unforgiving enough to compensate for this game, and it will haunt him until he is faced with that fucking cup once again.
Throughout the day, Hudson doesn’t see the time pass, really. The dreaded hours feel like a blur, just faceless people around him allowing him to get closer to his brother. The time in his phone’s clock felt like nothing but numbers stacking up, like everything else had stopped existing and things would only go back to normal once he is finally able to see Shane; to make sure he is okay.
It feels different from his usual injuries because it is different. There’s worry in his mother’s voice and pleas for him to not look at the news, because they’re amping it up and being far too dramatic, but Hudson isn’t sure what to believe in until he sees it for himself. He opts to ignore any media sources.
He can’t text Shane a joke about his black eye, or make fun of him for falling on his ass like an idiot. He can’t, because Shane was hurt enough for him to not even be able to pick up his phone, apparently.
Even when he finally gets to the hospital, the rush of adrenaline doesn’t seem to go away. It was the next day, judging by the rays of early sunshine reflecting off of the hospital’s large windows, but Hudson doesn’t feel tired at all, with the goal of seeing Shane making his body far too awake.
A concussion, the nurse tells him first, before going on to list every single diagnosis and procedures his brother had gone through. Apparently, he already had visitors today, despite how early it was. It doesn’t surprise him when his parents are listed.
However, Hudson thinks that he should feel a little more surprised when the nurse mentions the Boston Raider’s Captain, but he is tired, and he won’t try to lie to himself, even if he will keep pretending to not notice.
He will keep pretending to not notice Shane’s long hours talking to Lily, will keep pretending to not see the pictures of a snowy, old town that have been sent to him, and he will keep pretending to not see notifications on his brother’s phone turned on about any news articles recently published relating to the infamous rivalry.
He will keep pretending to not hear Shane’s excitement over the phone whenever they have a game in Boston, and how he doesn’t ever text until later on the next day.
He will keep pretending to not have seen Shane browsing through the NHL games when he got his new console, ignoring the copies where he is on the cover, only to pick out his rival’s.
Hudson will keep pretending that Lily is a woman.
And he will laugh at Hayden’s teasing about Boston Lily, but not encourage it, because he knows.
He knows his brother, and he can see how happier Shane has been after all this time.
It’s not the first time he has ever wondered how much his brother had suffered about this all alone in his room, so scared to ever say a word; scared enough to start dating Rose Laundry, enamoured by the idea of her being the one, the one girl that could ever make him get rid of these feelings.
It also didn’t surprise Hudson when Rose texted him, saying that she and Shane had decided to just be friends. How she really hoped this wouldn’t affect their professional relationship as actors, and how she wants them all to still be friends.
Hudson can’t really keep himself from thinking how they all had just been friends to begin with, especially Rose and Shane. What, you two don’t make out with your friends here and there? Live a little, guys.
Now, staring down at Shane, who is sound asleep and on so many fucking drugs, these thoughts run wildly in his brain. Thoughts about the weight that Shane has been carrying all alone, and how maybe, maybe, he has hopefully found a friend in Rose who he trusts enough to share the burden with.
There’s so much more going through his mind, that he can’t even attempt to name the feelings. Seeing Shane resting is enough for his shoulders to finally stop tensing up, and the adrenaline pumping in his blood wildly slowly dims away, exhaustion taking it’s place.
Shane is stable, and very healthy; the nurses tell him that right away, and he knows it’s true. His brother is stubborn enough to magically make his own body recover faster than it should, really.
Even so, he needs the rest, deserves it much more than people give him credit, really. That’s why Hudson gets fucking pissed when the phone beside his brother’s bed starts buzzing.
It’s on silent mode, which makes him relieved, even if for a short second. Their parents had probably forgotten it, far too focused on Shane’s well being to even care about his phone, which Hudson would never blame them about.
Shane doesn’t use his phone too often, only to talk to the people he loves; which were all here, in their parents minds.
Hudson, on the other hand, knows that isn’t true, since “Lily” is calling.
There is a knot in his stomach, but the bitter taste on his tongue has long vanished since his last encounter with Lily. Still, the guilt of knowing far too much about this whole situation is something that he tries his best to ignore, turning away his thoughts from it any time they make him remember all of the things he has witnessed.
Shane tosses and turns on his bed, brows furrowed, and Hudson thinks about how he is used to only having his phone on vibrate. Maybe his brother had developed a Pavlov response to it.
His brother’s well being and resting time was his priority now, so Hudson doesn’t judge himself for taking the phone with him out of the room.
The hallway is emptier than he expects for a hospital, only a few other visitors sitting around the lounging areas. By the time that he sits down at a chair on the far corner of one of the rooms, Shane’s phone has stopped vibrating in his grip.
It doesn’t take a second for the ringing to pick back up, and he has to take a few deep breaths before answering.
“Hello?” His tone is quiet, not wanting to disturb the peace of the other few people here. They probably had enough on their plate already, just like he did.
“Fuck, Shane,” The voice on the other end cracks, “I didn't know if you were going to answer.”
He knows this voice, has heard it far too often for him to not recognize it immediately; it haunts him since the day that Shane joined the NHL.
But, at the same time, it sounds completely different from what he has heard before.
Rozanov sounds so careful, so quiet, like saying the wrong thing will make his whole world crumble apart. He doesn’t know what to do about it, just like last time.
“I have to be quiet.” Hudson’s exhaustion is clear in his voice, and that’s enough to sell to Ilya that he is actually Shane.
It won’t be the first time he did this, but he feels just as dirty about it, even if there isn’t any other option on the table. One day, he hopes that he will be able to tell Shane about all of this, and they’ll laugh at how absurd it all was. Maybe Ilya Rozanov would even be with them at that moment, that doesn’t sound too far from possible.
Sadly, for now, his brother is in the fucking hospital and he has to pretend to be him, again, so his secret russian hockey player lover doesn't freak out.
Shane owed him a big fucking part of the earnings whenever they make a movie based off of their romance story.
“I know, I know. I just,” There’s a pause, and Ilya mutes himself over the phone. When he speaks again, he sounds much clearer, like something that was no longer stuck in his throat. “Just needed to hear you again, needed to be sure.”
Hudson responds with a hum, closing his eyes and leaning against the chair. It’s uncomfortable, and it stabs his back weirdly as he tries to adjust himself, but to not avail. The unsteady breathing over the phone only furthers his worry, and he never thought he would feel like that about Ilya fucking Rozanov.
“You should also take care.” There’s no need for him to hold back from expressing that emotion, at least. “You must be tired.”
His twin was like that, focused on other people’s well being despite being in no shape of actually helping. Maybe that’s something else that they shared.
There’s a confused huff on the other side of the line, “What? Shane,-”
“Please.” The plea is weak, but enough to interrupt Rozanov, who seems to be listening so carefully to his words that he won’t allow himself to even breathe too loudly, not risking the chance of missing anything. “Take care of yourself. For me.”
It doesn’t taste bitter on his tongue, because he knows this is what Shane would want to say, if he could. If he let himself feel it and say it.
The line is quiet, and the beats in between words feel deafening; time still feels like a weird blur to Hudson.
“Okay.” Ilya eventually says softly, afraid of speaking too loud, like his voice could vibrate enough to break the porcelain state Shane found himself in, “Text me when you wake up again.”
There’s an implied please in his tone, and Hudson nods, even if the other man can’t see him, “Okay, bye bye.”
“Lily” is still showing on the screen, the countdown for the few minutes they had called growing as his thumb hovers over the red button. It doesn’t feel finished.
Despite being far away, something still lingers in the air, something that both Rozanov and Shane want to say to each other.
Hudson is quick to hang up.
The chance of stealing that moment has his blood going cold. No, he wouldn’t risk it. When the time comes, he wants Shane to hear it, and say it back.
It’s a comforting thought, to picture his brother happy, and having someone who cares so deeply about him. It’s enough to relax Hudson, despite his state, knowing that his brother would be well taken care of, even if he wasn’t always around.
He manages to fall asleep, the cranky chair not feeling so uncomfortable anymore.
Ottawa, 2017
With hockey games, he would usually be bored out of his fucking mind, wincing at the thought of blades slicing skin and how the players were expected to just go back to the game, not even waiting more than a minute for them to fix themselves up.
It’s dangerous, but the world surrounding it feels far more dangerous than the sport.
The Stanley Cup finals are the only games he actually enjoys watching with his family or friends, the excitement vibrates through the room, especially with his family’s contagious laughter and grins while they loudly bet on which teams will win.
He makes sure his schedule is always clear for the finals, just in case he is able to either watch his brother lift up the cup once again, or just to be with his family. It’s an unspoken tradition, at this point, and he loves sharing the adrenaline.
“I think I deserve some wine as well, dad.” Hudson teases, sitting down beside his brother, who has his eyes glued to the TV. Their father just handed a glass to their mother, “Shane is the one who can’t drink, not me!”
There’s quiet laughter in the room, with his dad nodding and going back to the kitchen to fetch another glass for him. Shane nudges at him with his good arm. “I hope you break your tongue in your next set.”
It earns a sharp laugh from Hudson, “You’d miss me rambling far too much.”
Their mom laughs loudly at the statement, and the room fills once again with laughter and playful banter.
He feels lucky for being able to enjoy this time with his family, even if he never was much of a fan of the sport playing on the screen. Mom had already bet on the Admirals, and she seemed to have guessed correctly, as usual.
At least Scott Hunter is hot.
And Lily seems to agree with him, since he soon sends a text to Shane voicing exactly Hudson’s thoughts.
Previously, he had wondered if his brother was this unaware of how easy he made to read his texts with Lily, especially considering how big the secret they kept was. It worried Hudson, and it made him far more observant at the next few events they attended together.
It was a relief to learn that Shane would become so unpreoccupied only when he was sat beside Hudson. Whenever Hayden or any other person would get closer, his phone would be shoved away in his pocket, and long forgotten about until they left. In the few cases that he needed to reply, his phone would be tilted up, like a little kid hiding something from his parents.
Even if not on purpose, Shane felt at ease near his brother, and that made his heart warmer.
So, Hudson sat in between him and their mom, quietly creating an opportunity for him and Lily to text throughout the game without his brother having to put far too much worry in it.
The game is fun, more than usual. He feels a bit bad for thinking how he is a little happy that Shane isn’t playing, but he can’t help but to feel worried about it. He had watched the clip of Shane’s injury that was plastered around the whole internet throughout that nightmare of a week, and the sight of his brother face down on the ice made his body go cold.
Of course, he didn’t miss how the captain of the opposing team had lingered around, barking at the medics while skating messily near his brother. Rozanov seemed to just have forgotten how to skate, just letting his body hang upright, trying to catch a glimpse of Shane’s state.
It took a while for Hudson to mentally prepare to watch the game with his family, but he was overjoyed at how at ease he currently felt.
The wave of Admiral fans on the screen screamed in joy, faces painted the team colors with posters being thrown into the air at the final buzz. They had won the Stanley Cup, just like Scott Hunter had promised.
Scott deserved it, really. To say the man was hardworking was an understatement, and Hudson always appreciated how well he treated their family, especially Shane. The ice carried isolation with it, despite the warmth of his brother’s love for the sport. Hudson knew it far too well.
During events, Scott was one of the few people that made sure he was feeling included, despite the distance between his public image and hockey being on purpose. Hunter didn’t treat it like a sport, or a career; no, he treated it like it was a family. An ever changing family that he had cultivated throughout the years, and Hudson could understand that.
The emotion blasting through the screen is contagious, and he can’t help but laugh in endearment at the fans ripping off their shirts, throwing them in the air, laughing and hugging. Shane is far too busy texting on his phone, and Hudson has finished his wine by now.
All cameras are focused on the teammates, who are finally reunited with their families. It’s a pleasant sight, if you don’t notice the absence of the team’s captain along with them. It makes Hudson’s brows scrunch up, however, when they pan to Scott Hunter motioning at the crowd.
It happens so fast, that Hudson can’t believe his eyes while someone walks down the sea of Admiral fans, awkwardly making his way to the bottom of the stairs.
Yes, his way.
Despite his professional training having taught him how to not show emotion with ease, he can’t suppress the sharp inhale that fills his lungs, unable to contain himself as his eyes go wide. His family don’t seem to have gotten it just yet, but Hunter is pulling this man by the hand, and sliding further onto the ice.
Scott Hunter understood him so much, because he knew.
Because he felt it too.
The realization confirms itself when the two men on the center of the screen giggle, sharing private words that none of the mics pick up, when they suddenly kiss.
Long seconds of his whole family watching one of the best NHL players kiss another man stretch out into what feels like hours, but also, feels too short. The room has turned quiet, with everyone’s eyes glued to the TV screen.
Finally, he faces Shane, who is unable to look back at him. His mouth is agape, eyes wider than Hudson has seen, and there’s something else to them. They reflect the image on the screen with a glisten, shocked, but also so, so hopeful.
I want that.
It’s written all over Shane’s face, and Hudson knows, because he can recognize the yearning for it so easily. The longing of a fantastical freedom, that is impossible to grasp; but, now, Scott Hunter had opened a path to it on live television.
“Oh, wow.” Their mother’s voice cuts through the silence, and Hudson looks at his lap. Sitting half filled up on the table, his dad’s glass of wine feels like an invitation; he is quick to grab it and take a long sip of it.
Shane’s phone rings only for a second before his brother is up on his feet, walking out of the room.
He doesn’t make up exactly what Shane is saying, distracted at the prospect of this situation, since it’s a tricky one for Hudson himself. His parents aren’t blind; they probably know far more than Hudson thinks they do, but still, it’s not like they ever sat down and talked about any sexuality related topic.
Maybe clear words weren’t needed, he considers, but the attempt of getting something out of their parents felt like a shot in the dark, making his lower lip wobble with fear, even if just for a short second until he bites down on it. He really fucking wishes Shane was right beside him.
“That was beautiful.” He manages out, eventually, eyes glued to the screen as commentators go on about the sudden spotlight stealing moment.
His tone is careful, dipping his feet onto unknown territory. The silence doesn’t stretch for too long.
“It was.” His mother tone is just as soft, careful. She doesn’t often sound like this, being far too much like Hudson, announcing loudly her words with a constant smile on her face.
When he looks at her, she is still smiling, and the familiarity is enough to make his shoulders relax. Both of his parents look at ease, comfortable in the familiar setting of the home he has grown up in.
His father concludes with a nod, “Everyone deserves sunshine.”
The moment doesn’t stretch out uncomfortably, since Hudson doesn’t reply. He just looks at his parents, their ease and how they don’t look anything but surprised; there’s no sign of disgust in their gazes when talking about Scott. Hudson would know how to spot it, since he has been a target of said aversion far too many times.
None of it fills the room. Instead, they seem just comfortable, happy.
It makes him smile, and nod back at their parents. He can’t bring himself to keep this conversation going, reminding himself that this isn’t just about him; it’s about Shane as well, and he will never want to put his brother in an uncomfortable place, where he feels like he needs to reveal his secret to their family.
“Sunshine!” Their father suddenly exclaims, interrupting his overly worried thoughts while running back to the kitchen and only coming back with a crosswords magazine on hand and his glasses on, looking far too smug.
They laugh, and mom is quick to reprehend him, “Oh, no, you won’t. If you start playing again, you and Shane won’t leave this couch for hours.”
“Maybe we will just have to eat all of the food, mom.” Hudson teases, and soon, Shane joins in the conversation, phone no longer in sight.
“What?” His brother’s confused tone is enough to have them laughing, and the peace settled in the room is enough.
It’s far more than enough, the easiness that carries along the night, how nothing seems to have changed. They eat and talk about the game, as always, just like any other Stanley Cup.
Hudson doesn’t miss the new glint on Shane’s eye, how he says he will go to sleep earlier than usual because he wants to get better faster; but, instead, he hears his brother on the phone when he thinks everyone else has gone to sleep.
He wishes Shane had heard their parents' words, too.
+1
Ottawa, 2017
The past year felt like a blessing, after the hectic routine Hudson had trained himself to follow as his career increased in popularity. Surely, this is what people mean by referring to the calm after the storm.
Most of his projects were wrapped up, and the new ones had far better recording hours, – ones that wouldn’t force him to only sleep 5 hours and travel far too many places. His current, biggest project was being recorded in his hometown of Ottawa, a coincidence that made him overly excited at being able to not only see his parents, but eventually, his twin brother.
Apparently, his brother wasn’t going to be joining them so soon, since he needed some time for himself and opted to stay at his cottage for a while.
His parents may think that this is very on brand for Shane, and he would usually agree, but he is almost certain that there’s more to this story. Hudson doesn’t pry, just agreeing, hoping that their parents do the implied request in his brother’s words: don’t come to the cottage.
Hudson is asleep on his family’s couch when he hears the frantic conversation coming from the kitchen.
He takes a few extra seconds to wake up, rubbing his eye with the back of his palm as he sits up. The voices are just his mom and dad, for sure, and that makes his worry settle down, even if it doesn’t last too long.
His dad’s keys sit at the center table in front of the couch, no longer hanging up near the entrance door. There’s a phone charger beside it, and Hudson does the math far too quickly, getting up and stumbling to the kitchen in a hurry.
It wouldn’t be the first time that their dad had forgotten his phone charger at Shane’s cottage, and his suspicions are confirmed by the hushed tone filling the kitchen.
“We shouldn’t tell him-,”
“What’s going on?” Hudson’s voice fills the room, loudly interrupting his mom. Both of their parent’s eyes are wide open, caught off guard and looking far too anxious to pretend nothing happened.
His dad attempts, anyway, “Nothing, son. We thought you were asleep.”
The smile he gives Hudson isn’t enough to comfort him, and the attempt to change the subject makes him grimace in response. “What happened?”
The silence filling up the room is weird, to say the least. It’s not usual; almost like they were the ones who were caught doing something wrong. He doesn’t attempt to lie to himself, this time. He knows exactly what this is about, and he is far too worried about Shane to beat around the bush.
“Is he okay?” His tone is careful, quieter.
“Yes, of course he is okay…” His mother sighs, eyes fidgeting around, almost as if trying to believe what was currently happening. She had the same problem as him; had to see it for herself to actually believe it.
They all flinch in unison at the sudden noise of a familiar car approaching the house and parking in front of it.
Everyone seems to be stepping on eggs as they make their way to the living room, with dad pursing his lips and mom running her fingers through her hair anxiously. Hudson has been picking at his nail polish throughout the conversation, but is only able to actually notice it by now, after half of his manicure is gone.
“Let him speak before moving to questions. Please.”
They’re all sitting on the couch when he finally speaks, cutting the silence with a knife. His dad looks more understanding than his mom, whose eyebrows shot up with a scoff.
“There’s nothing going on, Hudson-,”
“Please, mom.”
His voice feels so, so small, along with the plea. It makes him feel like a little kid again, by how childish he sounds to himself, asking for his mother’s understanding. He knows her far too well, and knows she doesn’t mean any harm; she wants to protect Shane, always. She gives Hudson a short nod, and her hands are back on her hair.
It doesn’t take long for him to spot Shane coming up the stairs to the house, along with the familiar, Russian wall of a man behind him.
Their mom is the first to get up, along with Hudson quickly following her. He glances at his dad, whose eyes are glued to the entrance, jaw tight as he gets up from the couch and joins them. He doesn’t feel like fixing himself up when the door finally opens.
“Hey, it’s me. Shane…” There’s a pause, and Shane stands alone, with his hands tucked away in his pockets, forcing himself to look at his family and not avoid the contact. Someone else closes the door. “Hi.”
“I left my charger at your place, and it’s the old one that fits in my phone,” Their dad starts, voice filled with guilt, “and all the other charges we have-,”
He suddenly doesn’t hear any words anymore, because his attention has been very quickly stolen by Ilya Rozanov stepping in the room, joining Shane.
After all this time, he thought he had seen Rozanov in all possible states. Has seen his face bleeding, pressed against the glass, smiling wide with fury in his eyes, blood pumping with adrenaline; and has seen his drunken, lovesick state, while whispering secret confessions about his brother.
Rozanov has never looked so small before.
He doesn’t look at anyone’s faces, just puts his arms in front of him and holds his hands together, letting Shane do the talking. Hudson has no idea what his own expression looks like right now, but, at least, he can tell it’s not a bad one.
“It’s okay, dad.” Shane’s voice trembles, and Hudson wants nothing more than to grab his hand and take him away from this moment. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have found out that way.”
The pause isn’t long enough, and his mom cuts the silence too abruptly, “Find out what?”
Her tone is far from harsh – more confused rather than anything else –, but it makes Hudson flinch either way. He hasn’t been in Shane’s place, but has imagined this scenario countless times, with him being in his brother’s shoes, without being able to do it on his own accord. Their dad had seen too much, and now Shane was forced to confront this before he was ready to. His nightmare was his brother’s reality.
Hudson huffs in response, shoulders sagging before tensing up, eyeing their mother with a quiet plea, one that she doesn’t see.
His brother’s eyes don’t meet his, still looking back at their mom with reluctance. “I’m gay.”
“Shane.” He is unable to stop himself from speaking out loud. It’s quiet, but he hopes Shane knows him enough to know what it means: you don’t have to do this, not right now.
His brother doesn’t look at him, and he hates it, but Shane is right. There was nothing else left to do; their father knew, and so did his mother, so why keep the lie going? And for how long?
Shane continues, “Which I was going to tell you all soon-, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Hudson’s gaze had fallen to Rozanov’s hands, fidgeting quietly and carefully, running his thumb against his own skin in an attempt to ease his nerves. He wonders if that’s something Ilya has picked up from Shane.
“This is Ilya,” Shane’s gaze meets his rival’s. It’s a short moment, but maybe enough to gather up courage to go on,”Rozanov, but you already know that.”
“Hi.” Ilya says quietly, gaze meeting with everyone else in the room.
“Hi.” Hudson replies, voice light, trying to be a friendly face during this nightmare of a situation. “Again.”
Shane purses his lips at the comment, awkwardly biting his lower lip. “Right. He’s visiting, and we are-. Uh.”
“Lovers.” Ilya concludes, placing a hand on Shane’s shoulder. The countless emotions that seem to go through his brother’s thoughts are hilarious, and, if Hudson wasn’t so tense, he would have laughed at how ridiculous the scene is.
“No, Ilya.” His brother groans, annoyed. “That’s gross.”
Their mom steps in, “But you hate him.”
“No-, I mean,-, I mean, I get that, but no.” Shane sounds tired, exhausted at how long this conversation would clearly be. “I, actually… I love him.”
Their gazes meet, and it feels like it’s only them in the room, for a brief moment. Hudson nods at his brother, a silent offer to be his shoulder to cry on later, and another to remind him he had someone there that would always stand by his side, no matter the outcome.
Shane’s breathing stutters, “Can we just sit down, please?”
Ilya Rozanov is sitting down at their family table, and Hudson is sitting right in front of him.
The scene feels alien, but not as much as he thought it would. It would be far too pretentious of him to keep lying to himself, but he genuinely could never guess how serious it actually was.
Judging by the nightmare of a hockey player that has been turned into a quiet, polite boy, “lovers” didn’t sound like enough to describe what was going on here.
“What we did not suspect was that you were so… Friendly, with Rozanov.” Their father adds on when Shane asks him more about how they wondered about his sexuality.
They don’t add Hudson’s own ‘situation’ to the conversation, and he is relieved. That conversation was for another time.
“Ilya.” Rozanov corrects, and the corner of Hudson’s lips tilt up.
“Yes, with Ilya. Sorry.”
He laughs. It’s quiet, a little teasing, and he feels bad about it in the same instant.
“I did.” Hudson’s smile widens while looking at their guest, who doesn’t dare to look back at him.
“I know.” Shane eyes him before his glare turns to Rozanov, who’s eyes are glued down at his cup, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“You two have met before?” Their mother’s eyes are wide with shock as he joins them at the table, gripping her mug tightly.
Hudson previously had mentioned to his mother how he never had talked to Rozanov before. As paranoid and worried as she usually was, it was no surprise when she sat him down and went through what exactly he could or could not say to Ilya, in case they ever met.
He remembers the scene far too well, of his mother shocked by how, in so many years, they never had talked before. How relieved she was, “You’re lucky, Huddy. He is a nightmare.”
“Not really, no.” Hudson can’t help but to be smug about it, now that he knows that Shane has been made aware of at least one of his previous encounters with Ilya.
“I thought he was Shane.” Ilya’s voice is quiet, embarrassed while admitting it out loud. “We met at a party in New York, I was visiting my friend.”
"Ilya actually didn't know I had a brother." Shane says quietly, and his eyebrow quirks up, amused, in response.
"So, when did you break the news?" Their dad joins in, leaving the pair in front of them glancing at each other, before Shane manages to reply.
"Yesterday...?" His brother's tone is careful, and Rozanov is quick to interrupt,
"No, that is not true. It was this morning, remember?"
There's a quiet laugh in the air that breaks some of the tension apart, and he notices how the atmosphere seems to have been shifting to the extremes as the conversation moves from topic to topic.
Sadly, Shane knows his brother, knows him even far more than he expects. His brother works on patterns, and having grown up watchinh Hudson’s expressions, he has memorized some of their meanings. He is quick to notice his brother’s gaze falling away from his “lover” and back at him, smile becoming wider, despite the laughter having died down.
“Oh my God.” Shane groans, hands coming up to run down his face, heels sitting against his eyes with a sigh. “Spill it out already. When did you guys actually meet?”
The conclusion that the party wasn’t the only time they met was just funny to Hudson, but he understood how it would feel on the other end. Ilya looked even more worried now, checking on Shane with stolen glances, and he wondered just how many times they had done this dance; with worried, hidden looks back at each other.
“Shane, you and your brother can talk more about this later, okay? Let’s-,” Their mother pauses, and there’s an attempt to hide how confused and lost she was over this situation. “Let’s just focus here.”
Their dad puts a hand over their mom’s hand, giving it a light squeeze, “When did this even start…?”
Things go better than he expects, despite the odds being against it.
Shane seems to have calmed down, now that things have been settled back into routine, with Ilya fitting in with ease. Mom is hunched over her laptop in the living room, as a clear attempt to not voice her thoughts surrounding the situation and plan ahead, but writing them down was enough to keep the management demon inside her going.
Dad and Shane sat near her at the couch, with his brother looking over their dad’s shoulders and helping him with crosswords. Hudson finds himself in the kitchen, just quietly listening to his family, a smile resting easy on his lips.
“I help with dishes, yes?” He hears from afar, and his smile gets a little wider. He would have never thought Ilya Rozanov would be at his family home, trying to impress his parents.
“Rozanov-,”
“Ilya.” He corrects their mom, who mutters loudly enough for Hudson to hear it from another room.
“Yes, Ilya. There’s no need to worry about that, Hudson is already on it.”
He doesn’t hear anything else, but he is not surprised when he feels another presence in the kitchen along with him.
“Hey.” His tone is friendly, not wanting to scare Rozanov off. Turning off the sink, he looks back at Ilya.
Rozanov looks far more comfortable than earlier, but still, very much dipping his feet into unknown waters. Not so scary like this, huh.
“Hi.” Ilya’s quiet voice fills the air, after a few quiet, anxious seconds.
“You wanna wash while I dry ‘em up?” Hudson proposes, and the other man nods at him, managing to smile back as his previous anxieties slip away.
They fall onto a simple pattern, with Hudson’s quiet humming filling the room as he dried up the kitchenware that Ilya handed to him. The silence had turned comfortable quickly, and he couldn’t feel happier about it.
He had seen more than anyone else the lengths that these two had gone through to be able to love each other freely, and he couldn’t be any more proud. Something stirs in his chest, and he notices it’s the excitement for the future, for more days like this.
Shane deserves this more than anyone else. He deserves to be comfortable in his family’s house, playing crosswords with his parents while his brother washes the dishes with his boyfriend; and it doesn’t have to be a big deal, they can simply exist together, and that is more than enough.
There’s a few stolen glances at each other, especially from Ilya, who breaks the silence.
“You don’t even look like him.” Ilya eventually confesses, and laughs at himself. He shakes his head, almost in disbelief, eyes still focused on the task rather than looking at Hudson.
“I think we do, just a little bit.” Hudson teases, and Rozanov rolls his eyes back at him with a laugh, only making him giggle back at him. “I get what you mean, don’t worry.”
“It’s American Vodka’s fault for that night.” He adds on, now looking at Hudson while handing him a washed plate. Ilya glances back at the kitchen’s door, before whispering to Hudson, “When Stevlana told me Shane Hollander was there, wearing a tank top, I thought I had gone insane, or was in heaven.”
Hudson’s laugh fills the room in a second, face quickly getting red. He is glad he had already dried off the plate and put it to the side, or this would have turned into a mess of broken porcelain all over the floor.
After catching his breath, he notices the proud smile Ilya is sporting. Ah, he is aiming to impress his boyfriend’s family. Smart.
He notices that, for the first time, he is actually able to talk to Ilya and actually get to know him, rather than dance around subjects or pretend to be his brother.
“Svetlana? Is that the friend you were visiting?”
“Da, yes. She told me you were looking at her.” Ilya’s words take him back to that night for a few seconds, and Hudson’s eyes open wide.
“That’s your friend? Oh my God.” He must sound and look insane, judging off of Rozanov’s amused smile at his reaction, “I thought she was looking at me because she thought I was hot, not because I was Shane.”
The laughter following his words is genuine, despite being a little disappointed. Damn, he looked so hot that night. He should’ve gone to that party wearing leopard print.
“Ah, I’m sure she finds you sexy. I can ask.” Ilya says it casually, and Hudson can’t help but laugh in response.
“You’re being real smart trying to win me over.” Hudson follows up with a tease, lightly nudging at Ilya with his elbow.
He gives his shoulders away, “A lady doesn’t please and tell.”
“Kiss and tell, Ilya.” Shane’s voice invades the room, making both men face the kitchen’s door. His brother is leaning against it, arms crossed while watching the scene, very clearly amused.
Hudson recognizes that smile right away, how Shane was biting his lower lip and his cheeks were going red in seconds. As Hayden calls it, ‘the Lily effect’ is very obvious, once you spot the patterns of it.
Ilya is quick to abandon the dishes, and Hudson doesn’t mind it, considering how they’re almost all done with them. He watches amusedly at this big Russian man, who he has heard absolute atrocities about, pampering his brother with kisses all over his face, leaving Shane muttering quiet ‘stop’s and ‘Hudson is right there’, along with giggles.
It’s sweet, and Hudson turns away to give them a bit of privacy, even if they did seem so happy about not having to hide their love for each other in front of someone else.
While finishing the dishes, he remembers the first time something seemed to be going on in between these two, and how he would have never guessed just how much they truly loved each other. Thinking further about it, he is pretty sure that this connection had been there from the start, considering the push and pull these two had for so many years.
They still had a long way to go, but Shane’s lighter mood felt like a breath of fresh air, and he couldn’t explain how happy he felt for him. Hudson had seen bits and pieces of their relationship, and judging by what he knew, he saw how much the pair would do for each other, and Shane deserved someone like that.
Despite all of these corny thoughts, he wasn’t about to have his brother and his rival makeout in their family’s kitchen.
Hey, he loves Shane and thinks he deserves all of this attention, but these two look like they’re seconds away from sucking face, and Hudson doesn’t want to see any of it; and he knows how to shift his brother’s attention in seconds.
“Hey, Shane,” His grin widens, “Lily was telling me about how he thought I was you in Sochi.”