juning02



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    “Hello,” Ilya repeats, still kind of stuck on those freckles.

    “Hi?” the man says.

    “Hi,” Ilya says—again.

    Oh god, he's said hello three times now. He should literally say anything else. His name, probably. His phone number, preferably.

    “Hi,” Ilya says again, because he can’t help it. “I am—”

    “Are you Nick?” the man asks, and it comes out as a breathless sound.

    OR: Shane gets stood up on a blind date, and Ilya comes to the rescue, and proceeds to make a series of questionable decisions.

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    02 Jul 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    “But how did you know you liked guys? Like did you think about fucking them or were you just wondering and decided to try it out?”

    “Why do you ask me this?” 

    His brick wall shaped - and minded - friend shrugs, turning his head to look out the window to his right while he speaks noncommittally. 

    “Just, eh, whatever. It’s nothing.”

    “You are thinking overall? Or you have a crush do you think?”

    “Not a crush, fuck I don’t - I don’t know. Forget it.”

    “You make me tell you about my feelings, you can do too. Go.”

    Cliff sighs and dares not to meet Ilya’s eyes. 

    “The other day, when you and Hollander were talking shit to each other. I don’t know. It was sweet. I’ve never seen Hollander act like that with anyone.”

    Ilya waits for him to continue, cogs turning and creaking in his brain as more silence passes by them. He snaps his head towards Cliff, who looks away. It’s almost endearing to see his boisterous friend shy like this - it would be, if it weren’t over his Shane. 

    “You…you want to fuck Hollander?”

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    02 Jul 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya Rozanov has always understood the power of a name.

    On the ice, it’s a threat.
    In headlines, it’s a brand.
    In Boston, it’s a chant.

    But in Moscow, it was once a lullaby.
    And in Shane Hollander’s voice, it becomes something softer. Something dangerous. Something that makes Ilya want more than he was ever meant to have.

    From a golden kitchen in Moscow to the roar of Boston crowds, from hotel rooms and tuna melts to hospital monitors and wedding vows, this is the story of how a boy who learned what silence feels like finds someone who refuses to stop saying his name.

    And maybe—just maybe—that’s what saves him.

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    02 Jul 2026

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    Life feels so chaotic for Shane sometimes, with all the loud noises and the unwritten rules he’s expected to follow, even though no one ever taught them to him. It’s why the bookstore feels more like home to him than anywhere else in Boston. It doesn’t ask Shane to be anything other than himself. Doesn’t ask for any more than he can give.

    He can just exist here.

    Shane likes slow, likes taking his time. And Ilya - without saying or doing anything in particular - makes Shane feel like that’s okay. Like he isn’t doing anything wrong by standing still sometimes.

    (Or, Shane works in a bookstore, Ilya plays hockey, and they both go to the same college. They fall in love in every universe.)

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    01 Jul 2026

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    “It’s okay. I don’t need anything.” 

    “I am not going to eat in front of you while you have nothing, Hollander,” Ilya scoffs. He plucks a can of cold ginger ale from the top shelf as casually as he can manage and slides it over the island, interrupting Hollander’s fidgeting thumbs. “You must be hungry, yes? It’s been hours since you left hotel. I can make something. Easy.” 

    “Make… what?” he asks warily.  

    Ilya rolls his eyes and tosses a look over his shoulder. “Do not worry. I will find something that works for your special hockey diet,” he teases. He reaches back into the fridge. “Tuna melt okay?” 

    “No,” Hollander says primly. “And it’s a disease. Not a diet.” 

    He pulls his hands out of the cold and turns, blinks. “What?” 

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    01 Jul 2026

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