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Something was wrong with Hollander.
Ilya didn't even know how to define it. Whatever it was, it hadn't impacted Hollander's playing, still as deadly an opponent as ever.
He could see it, though, in the way the man moved. When he was on the bench, he seemed to slump forward, shoulders curling in on himself. His interviews were even briefer than usual, like he couldn't quite find the energy to give his normal platitudes. When he bent for the face-off, his eyes were dim, no longer gleaming with the old competitive streak.
No one else seemed to notice, a fact that frustrated Ilya. He didn't understand how everyone could just sit quietly and say nothing when the man was so somber. He found himself mentioning Hollander in passing conversation, just to see what others might say about him.
They only referred to their rivalry, or to Hollander's ability on the ice. Everyone just wanted to talk about hockey, like they couldn't see how the Metros were slowly killing their star player.
Ilya felt like he was losing his mind. He pushed himself to respect the boundary Hollander had set, to not text him even as he worried for him. Instead, he looked forward to the All-Stars game, knowing he would get to observe him that weekend.
In the meantime, Ilya tore himself apart thinking about how the Metros' coaching staff could be hurting Hollander, still bothered by the bruises he had seen the year prior. The news Hollander had delivered last November—the claim that he was seeing someone—was almost as worrisome, leaving Ilya preoccupied with all the ways an alpha might be mistreating Hollander.
"Well, I am not leaving until you tell me."
Ilya leaned back against the hotel wall, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Shane Hollander sit on the edge of the bed. They were at a standstill, having a silent face off in this hotel room, after Hollander had avoided him the whole All-Stars weekend.
Unwilling to be ignored, Ilya had followed Hollander up to his hotel room after the game, pushing inside and shutting the door behind them. After several minutes of arguing, Ilya was intent on dragging the truth out of Hollander.
Ilya felt a little guilty, trapping the man into a conversation like this. There was a part of him that knew Hollander's well-being was none of his business. However, a larger part of Ilya was still losing his sanity, having spent the past couple of months worrying over his hockey rival. Ilya just needed to know he was okay.
Hollander huffed, annoyed and avoiding Ilya's eye. "You should really leave."
Ilya shook his head, still careful to keep his distance, wary of making Hollander feel unsafe. Verbally, he pushed forward. "Who are you dating? What is wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," Hollander insisted, keeping his voice flat.
The insistence only frustrated Ilya, feeling almost gaslit. "You are different now," he argued, pleading with Hollander. "You act different. You talk different. I never see you smile."
Hollander watched Ilya for a moment, considering. Finally, he sighed. "His name is George Bergstrom. He's one of our assistant coaches. We're together now. It's been good for me."
"Yes, I know who he is. Big guy, was kind of good like one hundred years ago." Ilya couldn't keep from snarking, even as his heart felt like it was shrinking in on itself. He wasn't sure he believed Hollander, but he wanted to hope he was okay. "Bergstrom intervenes for you? With Theriault?"
Hollander was silent for a beat too long. "Theriault doesn't punish me anymore."
Ilya watched the careful phrasing, certain that it was hiding something. "Bergstrom does it now? How does he do it?"
Hollander's face crinkled with displeasure, quick to grow defensive. "What? You're looking for new material to jerk off to?"
"I am-" Ilya stopped himself, hesitant to admit to anything. "I am worried about you."
"No one is asking you to worry about me."
The words stung, a sharp reminder of what Ilya was to Hollander. He wasn't the omega's alpha. He wasn't even sure he was the omega's friend. It didn't matter how his chest ached when he thought of him, how he worried on his behalf. He had no business with Hollander.
Still, Ilya couldn't let the issue die. "I do not need to be asked."
Hollander bit his lip, looking away from Ilya. "Things aren't… great," he conceded. "But I really am okay. I'm just an omega. There are trade-offs I have to make if I want to play hockey, which I do. George spanks me anyways because he's my coach. This way I get other things, too. He holds me sometimes."
Ilya nodded, even as his chest felt tight. "There should not be trade-offs," he argued, though he understood the reality of it. "Does he hurt you? Do you have marks like… Can I see, please?"
"I don't have marks," Hollander insisted, agitated.
Ilya didn't believe him, noting the guilty shift of his shoulder, the bob of his throat. "Is he rough with you? You do not deserve to have an alpha who is rough with you, Hollander."
The sentence upset Hollander. Ilya could see it in his face, watching as the man fidgeted with the comforter beneath him. "How can you- " Hollander's voice was thick with emotion. "How can you know that?"
Ilya pushed off the wall, drawing closer to him. "Know what?"
"That I don't deserve a rough alpha?" Hollander's eyes were glassy, a little pink, though he wasn't crying.
Ilya frowned, not fully understanding the motive behind the question, curious about the sudden emotion over such an obvious sentiment. "I just know," he answered. "You are sweet, and you try hard. Why would an alpha need to be rough with you?"
Ilya watched Hollander's shoulders shake, and he found himself reaching for the omega, wanting to pull him into a hug. He froze when Hollander flinched away from him.
Hollander leaned back, dark eyes wide with panic as he scrambled to explain himself. "If George smells you on me, I'll get in trouble."
"What?" Ilya tilted his head, confused. "You cannot shower?"
Hollander shook his head, still scared as he dug his fingers into the blanket. "Your scent will get on my clothes, and he'll notice when I get home and unpack my suitcase."
Ilya almost dropped the offer, but he could see Hollander's rounded shoulders, the way the omega quivered and watched him with wide, wanting eyes. Ilya could practically feel his longing. It had been months since Ilya had last had him in his arms.
He wondered if Hollander had had anyone be gentle with him in that time, wondered if he was the only alpha who would set him at ease. The thought made him feel like someone was ripping into his chest, suddenly desperate for a solution that would allow him to hold Hollander. "Okay, so… undress then, so my scent won't get on your clothes."
Hollander's hands responded, lifting to begin unbuttoning his shirt before stilling suddenly. "I'm- I'm okay. I don't need a hug."
Ilya suspected he knew what realization the omega was having. "Right. You cannot undress because you have marks you do not want me to see."
Hollander didn't answer, face flushing red, eyes still wet.
Ilya considered for a moment before offering another solution. "What if I turn out the lights?"
Hollander was quick to nod, hands returning to his shirt buttons. "Please?"
Ilya went to the closet, finding the spare blanket and pillow that some hotels had. He spread the blanket on the floor before turning out the lights and returning to it. Reaching out, Ilya caught Hollander's shadowy form, pulling him closer and sinking to the blanket, until they were both on the floor.
Hollander was warm, solid even with his shaking shoulders. Ilya pulled him lower, laying Hollander's body along his, bringing Hollander's head to rest on his shoulder. Hollander buried himself in Ilya, moving closer, pressing his face against Ilya's scent gland.
He clung to Ilya, like he was afraid the alpha would be taken from him. There was a desperation that Ilya hadn't seen before, not from Hollander, at least. He didn't know what to make of it, just focused on rubbing his back, kissing his temple to soothe the anxious omega.
They were silent for a long while, just laying there, holding each other. Ilya had begun to wonder if Hollander had fallen asleep when he finally spoke. "I miss you." The words were whispered against his skin, a confession.
"I miss you, too," Ilya answered, turning his face to bury it in Hollander's hair.
Hollander's voice shook when he next spoke. "I don't know what I can do about it, though."
"You can leave Bergstrom?" Ilya offered, even as he expected to be rejected.
"It's not that simple. No one else knows about my designation." Hollander's breath was warm against Ilya's neck. "I would be alone again."
"I know about your designation," Ilya responded, throat tight.
The words were met with silence. Several heartbeats later, Hollander spoke again. "But you live in Boston."
Ilya let the room lapse into silence then, trying to shove down the pathetic swell of emotion. Ilya lay there for hours, letting Hollander fall asleep against him, only dozing off a few times. His back hurt against the hard floor, but he wouldn't move, not when this was the only way he could hold Hollander, his only chance to feel the man's warmth against his chest.
Ilya kept reaching for a plan, digging through the pockets of his mind and coming up empty. He knew Hollander was hurting; he didn't know how to save him.