The #1 fan always losing ticketing war #13

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Shane POV.

The trophy

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The 2013-14 NHL season is BACK! Following the Olympic break, the Montreal Metros open the final stretch as the heavy favorites to win the Eastern Conference. Fresh off capturing Olympic Gold for Team Canada, can Captain Shane Hollander lead the Metros to a Stanley Cup victory? #GoMetrosGo

Nate92@MetrosGo_N92: is he wearing a metros cap AGAIN lmao😂 the white ink looks EXACTLY like Hollzy's autograph👀👀 seriously how many metros caps does this pianist even own ?????

Ilya Rozanov@ilyarozanovofficial: Must have extras. Why throw away signed cap during hat trick?

Wife of Ilyusha@rozanovhousewife: he really logged onto his official account just to say this💀

Jane🎹losing mind@rozno1fan: Ohgod

＊

<div class="twt"><div class="twt-header"><div class="twt-icon-container"><img class="twt-icon" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4H7wXRVNdw-a5_R_-Dj36lu91ViTgE-IWI-WX566fjvWL8XDj90OOGQtZGMdU9S4Bq6Le4kLFGbho0P7AsSzkgX26Lu16W4JbbrOgACOcSLYbQ8gv_gBaO8_L8RXDhxbqZp36HFdNg3-8Ilcmafvzxvh9RMw8yCWFk1rZbNA3asFW1h0FfnuT_MtgjFF_=s70"></div><div class="twt-id"><span class="twt-name">TSM 690 Montreal</span><img src="https://i.imgur.com/wStuVM9.png" class="twt-socialimg"><span class="twt-handle">@TSM690</span></div></div><div class="twt-content"><app-content><span>The 2013-14 NHL season is BACK! Following the Olympic break, the Montreal Metros open the final stretch as the heavy favorites to win the Eastern Conference. Fresh off capturing Olympic Gold for Team Canada, can Captain Shane Hollander lead the Metros to a Stanley Cup victory? <span class="twt-hl">#GoMetrosGo</span></span></app-content></div><app-image><img class="twt-image" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRo8CFcfxD5DgKgT9CqF3ezqXzCS1riarlp5QESq0MOkHVet4jA4GXUgRVMOvk5TP0g7v-02vbX4p9wr2l-fhtf5aGyPnRIF4_Mn0UmYAMi6EEF4eU4A_rudcjHYL698yo9ICwz4rMHsVeii5sROl_EgVJZp_EiwX8kcd0ErPFzxnR68v8Ysnnozjz0UZR=s600"></app-image><div class="twt-timestamp">11:00 AM · Feb 25, 2014</div><hr class="twt-sep"><div class="twt-stat1"><strong>12</strong> Retweets    <strong>4</strong> Quote Tweets    <strong>31</strong> Likes </div></div>

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<div class="twt"><div class="twt-header"><div class="twt-icon-container"><img class="twt-icon" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiq1dd7457nbNvLjfQ2OVcczOaaZoE1T-j0gjQ8FH9bybjmbdo3MowUSSysuKXsiO8Fy8NppM745VOjhWzFC1ez0GjwcQTFiahj98q2Qt5yPpzEHcdbNTuJuIPBVVFyzm0h9616hB38fNDgrlexzUpx_Z8HWM_lU8XSERPMet-nMiFTjD1HMilSgJGJ0nBl"></div><div class="twt-id"><span class="twt-name">Ilya Rozanov </span><img src="https://i.imgur.com/wStuVM9.png" class="twt-socialimg"><br><span class="twt-handle">@ilyarozanovofficial</span></div></div><div class="twt-content"><app-content><span>Must have extra hat. Why throw away signed hat during hat trick?</span></app-content></div><app-quote><div class="twt-quotebox"><div class="twt-header"><div class="twt-icon-container"><img class="twt-iconquote" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibOD94P_vRCKV0cU4Pz2JvxpWHzXRu3f_Ofg2_2H_G8_4FoOEivSWR2WDdxAygL7_OuoqxsUeWym64E13Kq0YUb4AjbarleT2Q7NSMcT7RMC9xajlW8OiXPm_ZofMfKdZZlpQuC897bKgHhaXwBk-ErphmQazEW223oShFQp0D14jKQgplb_1ghFasod4I"></div><div class="twt-id"><span class="twt-name">Nate92 </span><span class="twt-handle">@MetrosFan_92 · Feb 25</span></div></div><div class="twt-contentquote"><app-content><span>is he wearing a metros cap AGAIN lmao😂 the white ink looks EXACTLY like Hollzy's autograph👀👀 seriously how many metros caps does this pianist even own ?????</span></app-content></div><app-image><img class="twt-image" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj54q7aFbJ1xw5FLIDXY0YKYgXcUlWw8kS5XJF9tcn3PbTLhAhMh97Nb50M4eHcPIDr2ZLGC5NaLDnAyGRrLf_S5cxJ8aJS1t21JPg1m4VRgpphyExjKHfk_kj7MmNJNDCpfZN0dX1RCf7b0k2Obuvv32pN9R5JLXVx6SUZtGQMYuITmpWyqC7ut369bkWh=s400"></app-image></div></app-quote><div class="twt-timestamp">21:48 PM · Feb 26, 2014</div><hr class="twt-sep"><div class="twt-stat1"><strong>24</strong> Retweets    <strong>12</strong> Quote Tweets    <strong>143</strong> Likes </div><hr class="twt-sep-reply"><app-reply><div class="twt-replybox"><div class="twt-icon-replycontainer"><img class="twt-icon" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgeKGHIYnag6oMXrvFcpn6igW0gun8X3yBkG6_XPT5FjaBEA2uFbeSkmUy4eSRFjh9gdqb43UGgxrUAf91d_QBQCMp5K4fA6mxMrlZMGkw3hXFkzmZAslo7Rp9mP8aEGNv2yO2uH-uey0jWyfBE1XVczHEYCu_WBWExKjjm0h-WXr1dypRi3c9r9TqpK1z=s50"></div><div class="twt-replycontainer"><span class="twt-name">Wife of Ilyusha </span><span class="twt-handle">@rozanovhousewife · Feb 26 </span><span class="twt-handle">Replying to</span><span class="twt-hl"> @ilyarozanovofficial</span><div class="twt-replycontent"><app-content><span>he really logged onto his official account just to say this💀</span></app-content></div><div class="twt-stat2"><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dJg9v1v.png" class="twt-socialimg">5 </div><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/UeOnwXk.png" class="twt-socialimg">0 </div><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/eM56CN2.png" class="twt-socialimg">16 </div></div></div></div></app-reply><hr class="twt-sep-reply"><app-reply><div class="twt-replybox"><div class="twt-icon-replycontainer"><img class="twt-icon" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNNKi-phc5zZQ9pUv_v3dI3dXgWX5Gwewi4O_HN9kmVBaixLyjott5E_R6X1X7WmE3FEugXGLUFF19xXuIjCl8ARhXS11l1BcGZq2597VUJhLAxU-UFyPG1Ic9v6B7L1hAdNGVcbz1MqAyDAYf7nEHDXB6UzE93tB8nspj2jLHg72HvIUYH-ja23PbeGCH"></div><div class="twt-replycontainer"><span class="twt-name">Jane🎹losing mind </span><span class="twt-handle">@rozno1fan · Feb 26 </span><span class="twt-handle">Replying to</span><span class="twt-hl"> @ilyarozanovofficial</span><div class="twt-replycontent"><app-content><span>Oh god</span></app-content></div><div class="twt-stat2"><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dJg9v1v.png" class="twt-socialimg">0 </div><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/UeOnwXk.png" class="twt-socialimg">0 </div><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/eM56CN2.png" class="twt-socialimg">8 </div></div></div></div></app-reply></div>

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<h1 class="contact">Ilya Rozanov</h1>

<dd>Good luck. Hope it wont end so soon like last season.</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>We're going all the way this year, Rozanov. Don't worry.</dd>

<dd>Besides, I know I have a VERY dedicated fan watching the game tonight.</dd>

</div>

<dd>I watch game only to see if you fall on ice. Very funny to watch.</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>Liar. The whole internet saw your post.</dd>

<dd>Exactly how many Metros caps do you own now? Are you sleeping with them too?</dd>

</div>

<dd>Whoa whoa. Captain Hollander quite concerned what fan wear to bed, huh?</dd>

<dd>Tell you. I wear nothin</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>Hmm. Hard not to imagine that now.</dd>

<dd>But I'm in full gear right now, so it's a bit difficult.</dd>

</div>

<dd>You are very bad captain. Distracting yourself before big game.</dd>

<dd>Focus on puck, Hollander.</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>I am focusing. I'm focusing on the cup.</dd>

<dd>If I get a hat trick tonight, are you going to throw that signed cap onto the ice for me?</dd>

</div>

<dd>Never. Signed cap stay on head.</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>So, a cap with your signature on it instead?</dd>

</div>

<dd>Hollander</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>Is this difficult for my favorite pianist?</dd>

</div>

<dd>I will be waiting for your show.</dd>

</div>

</dl>

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<div class="twt"><div class="twt-header"><div class="twt-icon-container"><img class="twt-icon" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibOD94P_vRCKV0cU4Pz2JvxpWHzXRu3f_Ofg2_2H_G8_4FoOEivSWR2WDdxAygL7_OuoqxsUeWym64E13Kq0YUb4AjbarleT2Q7NSMcT7RMC9xajlW8OiXPm_ZofMfKdZZlpQuC897bKgHhaXwBk-ErphmQazEW223oShFQp0D14jKQgplb_1ghFasod4I=s70"></div><div class="twt-id"><span class="twt-name">Nate92 </span><br><span class="twt-handle">@MetrosGo_N92</span></div></div><div class="twt-content"><app-content><span>did I just see Hollzy wearing a signed cap during the post-game interview or am I losing my mind???</span></app-content></div><div class="twt-timestamp">22:05 PM · Apr 16, 2014</div><hr class="twt-sep"><div class="twt-stat1"><strong>12</strong> Retweets    <strong>6</strong> Quote Tweets    <strong>42</strong> Likes </div><hr class="twt-sep-reply"><app-reply><div class="twt-replybox"><div class="twt-icon-replycontainer"><img class="twt-icon" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgeKGHIYnag6oMXrvFcpn6igW0gun8X3yBkG6_XPT5FjaBEA2uFbeSkmUy4eSRFjh9gdqb43UGgxrUAf91d_QBQCMp5K4fA6mxMrlZMGkw3hXFkzmZAslo7Rp9mP8aEGNv2yO2uH-uey0jWyfBE1XVczHEYCu_WBWExKjjm0h-WXr1dypRi3c9r9TqpK1z=s50"></div><div class="twt-replycontainer"><span class="twt-name">daughter of Hollanov </span><span class="twt-handle">@rozanovhousewife · Apr 16, 2014 </span><span class="twt-handle">Replying to</span><span class="twt-hl"> @MetrosGo_N92</span><div class="twt-replycontent"><app-content><span>its ILYA on it jesuschrismylord😭😭😭💀💀</span></app-content></div><div class="twt-stat2"><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dJg9v1v.png" class="twt-socialimg">3 </div><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/UeOnwXk.png" class="twt-socialimg">15 </div><div class="twt-social"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/eM56CN2.png" class="twt-socialimg">153 </div></div></div></div></app-reply></div>

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<span class="twt-name">TSM 690 Montreal</span>

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<app-content>

<span>Listen: ARE YOU READY, MONTREAL?! The 2013-14 MLH Cup Finals are officially here, and it all comes down to a grueling best-of-seven series! Can Captain Shane Hollander bring the trophy back to where it belongs? Check out at TSM690.ca to hear us break down the Metros' odds of winning it all!</br><span class="twt-hl">#GoMetrosGo</span></span>

</app-content>

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<div class="twt-stat1"><strong>342</strong> Retweets    <strong>89</strong> Quote Tweets    <strong>1,205</strong> Likes </div>

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<h1 class="contact">Ilya Rozanov</h1>

<dd>So you win three games, but lose tonight? Unbelievable.</dd>

<dd>Win next game, Hollander. I do not want see Buffalo boys celebrate on their green bridge. Very ugly view.</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>We just wanted to win it at home in front of our fans.</dd>

<dd>It wouldn't be fun to sweep them anyway. See you back in Montreal in two days.</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

</div>

<dd>You are too nice, Captain. Too soft. Save your kindness for we bump into each other again at coffee shop, not for ice tomorrow.</dd>

<dd>Do not be gentle to Buffalo.</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>I won't be gentle. Trust me.</dd>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

</div>

</dl>

＊

蒙特婁對上水牛城的總決賽第五場，Metros以3-1聽牌，再贏下一場就能把獎盃握在手裡。然而，第三局開球時Metros仍落後一分。比賽時間剩餘13分鐘，Metros終於獲得致勝的強打機會，Shane朝空檔射門，球卻在水牛城的後衛身上折射。守在門前的Hayden眼疾手快，從門將雙腿之間把反彈球補進網內；2:2。

第三局的結束哨音響起時，比數仍是平手，只好進入疲勞對決的延長賽。冰球季後賽的延長賽是「驟死制」(Sudden Death)，不論打到第幾次延長賽，只要任何一隊先進球，比賽就立刻結束，進球的那隊直接獲勝。雙方的前鋒持續往球門抽射，但是透支的體力讓他們錯失許多次黃金機會，球哐啷一聲從門柱上彈開。

第二次延長。此時比賽時間已經進行了九十分鐘，球員每一次滑倒都比平常多三倍的時間從地上爬起。在Shane經歷一次射門失敗、兩次助攻無效，他從J.J.手裡接過球。

頃刻間，冰上彷彿瞬間靜音。水牛城的球員朝他奔來，Shane卻聽不到碰撞聲，看台被Metros的深藍色佔滿，呼聲應援卻是無聲的。

他們正屏息以待冠軍誕生的那一刻。

Shane劃開腳下的冰面，他帶球高速衝過中線，球還在他手下、球還在他手下、球還在他手下。Shane橫傳給左路的Hayden，Hayden看準時機大力抽射，黑衣的門將跳起擋下，球卻從他身上反彈——

球還在Shane手下！他凌空推射。

球落進網袋的那瞬間，片刻的窒息終於湧入氧氣，噪音也隨之而來。Shane朝天叫喊著，深藍色的隊友扔下裝備衝向他，將他壓倒在地，場上的哨音是刺耳卻動聽。

汗水、歡呼將Shane黏在冰面上，久久不起，他的胸口醞釀著痛快，勝利的喜悅。

Game 5 of the finals, Montreal Metros versus Buffalo. The Metros were up 3-1 in the series, just one win away from holding the cup in their hands. However, at the start of the third period, the Metros were still down by one. With thirteen minutes left on the clock, they finally got a crucial power play opportunity. Shane took a shot at an open space, but the puck deflected off a Buffalo defenseman. Screening the net, Hayden reacted instantly, tucking the rebound right between the goalie's legs. 2-2.

When the final buzzer of the third period sounded, the score was still tied, forcing the game into a grueling, exhausting overtime. In the hockey playoffs, overtime is sudden death. No matter how many overtime periods it takes, the first team to score wins the game instantly. Forwards from both teams kept firing shots at the net, but sheer exhaustion made them miss several golden opportunities, the puck clanging loudly off the goal posts.

Double overtime. By now, the game had been going on for ninety minutes. Every time a player wiped out, it took them three times longer than usual to crawl back up from the ice.

After a missed shot of his own and two failed assists, Shane took a pass from J.J..

In an instant, the ice seemed to go completely silent. Buffalo players lunged toward him, but Shane couldn't hear the sounds of crashing bodies. The stands were a sea of Metros deep blue, their cheering strangely mute.

Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the champion to be born.

Shane dug his skates into the ice, carrying the puck across the center line at high speed. The puck is still on his stick. The puck is still on his stick. The puck is still on his stick. Shane centered a pass to Hayden on the left wing. Hayden timed it perfectly and let loose a powerful slap shot. The goalie in black leaped to block it, but the puck bounced right off his pads—

The puck is still on Shane's stick! He swatted it out of mid-air.

The moment the puck hit the back of the net, the brief suffocation vanished as oxygen rushed back in, followed by a deafening roar. Shane screamed at the ceiling. His teammates threw down their gloves and sticks, rushing him and tackling him to the ice. The final horn was loud, piercing, and beautiful.

Sweat and cheers kept Shane glued to the ice, unable to get up for a long time. His chest burned with pure, intense relief— the overwhelming joy of victory.

＊

</div>

<div class="banner-title">MLH 2013-14 Championship Final</div>

</div>

</div>

<h2 class="main-title">Montreal Metros vs Buffalo Blazers</h2>

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</div>

<div class="game-status">Final/OT</div>

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<div class="game-footer">MTL leads 1-0</div>

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</div>

<div class="game-status">Final/2OT</div>

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<div class="game-footer">MTL leads 2-0</div>

</div>

</div>

</div>

<div class="game-status">Final</div>

</div>

<div class="game-footer">MTL leads 3-0</div>

</div>

</div>

</div>

<div class="game-status">Final</div>

</div>

<div class="game-footer">MTL leads 3-1</div>

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</div>

</div>

<div class="game-status">Final/2OT</div>

</div>

</div>

＊

<h1 class="contact">Ilya Rozanov</h1>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

</div>

</div>

<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>

<dd>Guys are heading to a bar downtown to celebrate. We rented out the whole place, so it's completely private. A lot of families and WAGs are going to be there too.</dd>

<dd>I know it's incredibly late, but do you want to come?</dd>

</div>

<dd>Oh You missed me, didnt you?</dd>

<dd>which bar</dd>

</div>

</dl>

＊

球員全都沖了個快速的澡，透支的腎上腺素卻催促他們邁開步伐，投向家人的懷抱與深夜的慶祝。剛推門走進酒吧，Metros的家人送上熱烈的歡呼與彩帶，Shane擁抱了爸跟媽，他看到Hayden夫妻在彼此的懷裡痛哭。他們在自己的主場贏了夢寐以求的冠軍，帶著獎盃回家。然後J.J.在總教練Theriault的護衛下舉著獎盃走進來，喜悅的尖叫聲隨後四起。派對開始。

作為隊長，Shane向所有WAGs打了招呼，恭喜隊友的家人，勝利是屬於所有Metros。隊長的職責差點讓他忘了自己遞出的邀請函，直到酒吧門口出現一個他熟悉不已，卻被隊友們驚嘆的身影。

「恭喜奪冠，我-呃，『有人』告訴我，你們在這慶祝勝利。」

「我的天啊，ILYA ROSA- uh, Rusa- 」

「Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov，很高興認識你，Boiziau. 你今晚的傳球很驚人。」

「Mon Dieu! 你知道我！我女友是你的粉絲，幫我的、呃，在我的帽子上簽名可以嗎？」

「老天啊，J.J.你的第幾個女友居然還聽古典樂嗎？」

「閉嘴，Comeau，想要簽名就排隊。」

Shane根本不需要越過隊友聚成的小圈，因為Hayden正在後方小聲地尖叫。Shane剛現身，Ilya的目光就沒有一開過。

「Mr.Rozanov, 很高興你順利抵達了，還以為深夜的蒙特婁會造成你的困擾。」他克制地朝Ilya點頭致意，臉上的笑容卻無法抑制的上揚，酒氣的溫熱攀上他的雙頰。

「真是生疏的問候，不過恭喜奪冠，Shane… Hollander.」

酒吧昏暗的光線投在Ilya身上，卻呈現金光的輪廓與黃金的髮絲。Shane甚至不知道自己注視了多久，背景的音樂替他數著心跳拍數，「呃，你想去看看獎盃長什麼樣子嗎？」

「Sure.」

Shane著急地帶著Ilya穿過酒吧，隊友放過了他們。獎盃放在酒吧深處的舞台上，Metros與家屬圍著它拍照。

「Wow.」

「Right? 'Wow.'」

「Good job, Shane Hollander. Well done. Well done.」

Shane尷尬地拉扯自己的手指，眼神在Ilya與獎盃間掃視，思緒反覆咀嚼Ilya那幾聲簡短的驚嘆，想把它們都刻進自己的腦海中。「Uh, 你想-你現在想要-」

「Hollander, 那裡有架鋼琴。」Shane順著Ilya的視線看去，然後皺起眉頭。

「對？這間是音樂酒吧，我知道那裡有—」Shane還沒說完，Ilya已經邁開腳步。

鞋跟在木板看台上嗑出回音，Ilya拉開直立鋼琴前的琴凳，椅腳在地板上磨擦的刺耳聲頓時引起全場的靜默，從喇叭傳出的音樂也隨之漸細。然後Ilya流暢地划動琴鍵，悅耳的高低聲瞬間引來注目，但他聳聳肩，「需要調音，不過還行。」

「你是打算彈…古典樂？」Shane不可置信地驚呼。

「這裡可是酒吧，Hollander，那也太無聊了吧，」Ilya隨即扣下指頭。

琴音剛落，Shane便認出那首時至今日仍不退流行的七零年代經典。搖滾聖歌的第一小節，俐落且緊湊，Ilya的右手切出乾淨、剔除雜質的三連音和弦，毫不拖泥帶水，他的左手奏出沉重如心跳的低音，極致的精緻琴音彷彿繃緊的鋼絲，抽走整間酒吧的空氣與嘆息。

隨著主歌推進，情緒在音樂裡翻攪，逐漸堆疊，高昂。那熟知的歌詞正在舌尖上翻騰，喧鬧著想要衝出在場所有勇士們的喉嚨。在這短短的和弦裡，Shane看見Ilya繃緊的雙肩與額頭冒出的碎汗，他看見他投注的專注不低於任何一場公開演奏會，Ilya Rozanov一心一意地，將這首歌獻給Metros，獻給Shane。

Ilya的背脊繃成一道硬弓，密集交織的和弦逼近極限，手腕的力量徹底爆發，狠狠地落在黑白鍵上，老舊直立鋼琴的木造琴身發出近乎散架的共鳴。那不是流行樂的純粹律動，而是以音符的撞擊對著冰面上存活下來的王者，發出的讚美與咆哮。那四聲經典的重音—

We
are the champions, my friend
And we'll
keep on fighting

till the end

Metros攔過彼此的肩膀，朝著舞台齊聲大唱。既不是撕扯高音的歌唱，也不是低語，他們反而怒吼著。將至今以來接受過的質疑評論、錯過的時機、失守的進球與輸掉的比賽，隨著旋律咆哮而出。捨棄它們，踏過所有的失敗，迎接終將屬於自己的冠冕。

Shane急躁且狼狽地爬上舞台，三步併作兩步地奔向直立鋼琴，靠著那架搖搖欲墜的老舊樂器，他對上Ilya雙眼裡綻放的光芒，喜悅、熱情與驕傲。伴著琴聲及俄語口音的歌聲，Shane高唱這首獻給他的歌，他們對著彼此吟唱代替心跳的節奏。

Cause <ruby>we<rt>you</rt></ruby> are the champions
Of the world

The players all took a quick shower, but their maxed-out adrenaline pushed them to keep moving, eager to throw themselves into the arms of their families and the late-night celebrations. The moment they pushed open the bar doors, the Metros' families greeted them with loud cheers and confetti. Shane hugged his mom and dad, and saw Hayden and his wife sobbing in each other's arms. They had won the dream championship on their own home ice, bringing the cup home. Then, J.J. walked in holding the trophy high, flanked by Coach Theriault, triggering a new wave of joyful screams. The party was officially on.

As the captain, Shane greeted all the WAGs and congratulated his teammates' families. The victory belonged to the entire Metros team. His captain duties almost made him forget the invitation he had sent out, until a deeply familiar figure appeared at the bar entrance, drawing gasps of surprise from his teammates.

"Congratulations on win. I—uh, 'someone' told me you celebrate victory here."

"Oh my god, ILYA ROSA-uh, Rusa-"

"Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov. Nice to meet you, Boiziau. Your pass tonight was amazing."

"MON DIEU! YOU KNOW MY NAME. My girlfriend is a huge fan. Can you, uh... sign my cap?"

"Jesus, J.J., which number girlfriend actually listens to classical music?"

"Shut up, Comeau. Get in line if you want an autograph."

Shane didn't even need to push through the small circle of his teammates, especially with Hayden quietly squealing in the back. The moment Shane showed up, Ilya's eyes locked onto him and didn't move.

"Mr. Rozanov, glad you made it safely. I was worried late-night Montreal might be trouble for you," Shane said, nodding politely to try and stay composed. But he couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face, the warmth of the alcohol flushing his cheeks.

"Such formal greeting. But congratulations on win, Shane... Hollander."

The dim bar lights hit Ilya, tracing a golden outline around him and making his blonde hair glow like gold. Shane didn't even know how long he stood there staring, the background music counting out the beats of his heart.

"Uh, do you want to... go see what the cup looks like?"

"Sure."

Shane quickly led Ilya through the bar, and his teammates let them pass. The trophy sat on the stage at the back of the bar, surrounded by Metros players and their families taking pictures.

"Wow."

"I know, right?"

"You did really good, Shane Hollander. Just... amazing."

Shane nervously fiddled with his fingers, his eyes darting between Ilya and the trophy. His mind replayed Ilya's brief words of praise over and over, wanting to engrave them into his memory.

"Uh, do you want to... do you want to get a—"

"Hollander, there is piano over there." Shane followed Ilya's gaze and frowned.

"Yeah? This is a music bar, I know there's—" Before Shane could finish, Ilya was already walking away.

Ilya's heels clicked against the wooden platform. He pulled out the stool in front of the upright piano. The harsh screech of the legs scratching the floor instantly brought a hush over the room, and the music coming from the speakers faded down. Then, Ilya ran his fingers smoothly across the keys. The beautiful cascade of notes caught everyone's attention.

He shrugged. "It need tuning. But okay."

"Are you planning to play... classical music?" Shane gasped in disbelief.

"This is bar, Hollander. That would be too boring," Ilya said, and immediately struck the first chord.

The moment the notes hit, Shane recognized the 70s classic that remained timeless to this day. The first bar of the rock anthem was sharp and tight. Ilya's right hand cut clean, pure triplet chords without a trace of hesitation, while his left hand pounded out a heavy bassline like a heartbeat. The incredible precision of his playing felt like a tightening wire, sucking the air and sighs right out of the bar.

As the verse moved forward, the emotions churned in the music, building and soaring. The familiar lyrics danced on the tips of everyone's tongues, begging to burst from the throats of every warrior in the room. Through these short chords, Shane saw Ilya's tense shoulders and the beads of sweat on his forehead. He saw a level of focus no less intense than any public concert. Ilya Rozanov was wholeheartedly dedicating this song to the Metros.

For Shane.

Ilya's back arched like a drawn bow. The densely woven chords pressed to the limit, and the sheer power of his wrists exploded onto the black and white keys. The wooden body of the old upright piano resonated so deeply it felt like it might fall apart. This wasn't just the rhythm of pop music; it was a roar of praise crashing down on the warriors who had survived the ice. Then came those four classic, heavy beats—

We
are the champions, my friend
And we'll
keep on fighting

till the end

The Metros threw their arms around each other's shoulders, singing along toward the stage at the top of their lungs. It wasn't beautiful singing or soft murmurs, they were roaring. They let out every piece of criticism they had ever faced, the missed opportunities, the undefended goals, and the lost games, roaring them all out with the melody. Casting them aside, stepping over every failure to welcome the crown that was finally theirs.

Shane scrambled onto the stage in a frantic rush, taking the steps two at a time to sprint toward the upright piano. Leaning against the shaky, old instrument, he locked eyes with the light shining in Ilya's eyes, pure joy, passion, and pride. Guided by the piano chords and a singing voice touched with a Russian accent, Shane sang along to the song dedicated to him.

They sang to each other, their voices replacing the rhythm of their heartbeats.

'Cause <ruby>we<rt>you</rt></ruby> are the champions
Of the world

<p></p>

<hr/>

<p></p>

Ilya又彈了好幾首經典的搖滾樂，Metros乾脆圍在舞台前，舉著裝酒的獎盃唱歌，唯獨他們的隊長可以纏著鋼琴家點歌。凌晨三點，酒吧的人潮開始散去，有家庭的隊友都提早回家了，爸媽也早在兩點多就道別離開，Shane身為隊長，守著剩下的單身瘋子，直到四點才把他們都塞進計程車的後座。

「你的計程車要來了嗎？」Shane打著哈欠，儘管昏昏欲睡，他的目光也無法從Ilya臉上移開。Ilya Rozanov即使不坐在鋼琴前，整晚卻也從未離開過他超過兩公尺。

他們站在酒吧外的屋簷下，夜空依然呈現路燈照耀後的黑藍色，但Shane確信六月早晨的太陽很快就會露臉，但在日出前，牆上的一盞小燈是讓他得以凝視Ilya的一抹太陽。Ilya的雙眼有些迷離，眼神裡的真實涵義似乎躲在了陰影裡，Shane想將其撥開，他想知道陽光能不能照到那裡。

「Nuh-uh. 我不是你該照顧的人，Captain，我會等你上車再走。」Ilya退後了一步，牆邊的燈失去了它應有的作用。

「如果我沒把你好好送到家，Svetlana會殺了我。」Shane不滿地嘟囔。

Ilya的目光又朝陰影滑入了幾吋，以至於Shane有點辨識不清，「只有我們的時候，別提其他人，Shane。」

「即使是Svetlana？」雖然酒精會讓Shane變得迷糊，跳過腦中幾個思考步驟，但他在冰面上的理智依然銳利，如今，他正在抽絲剝繭；所以Shane朝前蹬了幾個不穩的步伐。

Ilya伸手穩住他的雙肩，影子也踏入了燈光下，「即使是Svetlana。」

而現在，一切都清楚多了。Shane花了一年搞懂自己的想法，又耗費近四個月在冰上贏得獎盃，這段期間沒有任何人逃走。Shane是不是可以對眼前的事實，再更信任一點？更誠實一點？

「我只是你的粉絲嗎？所以你才會來酒吧。」他無畏地發問，口袋裡的手機傳來震動。

「No.」Ilya直接了當的回答與堅定的目光，穿透了Shane心底裡的最後堅持，「如果我請求一個奪冠的獎勵，你會給嗎？Ilya.」

他的視線卻飄向Ilya哼唱過歌詞的雙唇。

「你明天清醒後會後悔的。」Ilya頃刻急促的呼吸聲以及飄忽的目光，一度讓Shane以為他猜錯了。

「我不會後悔你的吻，我-」Shane脫口而出，但他隨即後悔了；他成為兩人之中第一個撇開目光的人，在這形影不離的四小時裡的第一個人。

Shane聆聽著耳膜裡逐漸加快的心跳聲宣布自己的判決，他望著地平線上的一線藍光，知道絕望將會是他的死法。然而，那雙征服琴鍵的手卻拉過他的下顎，寬恕了他。

這不是那種點在臉頰上的問候，也不是輕柔的吻別。Ilya的碰觸帶有深沉的渴望，Shane的肌膚上會因此留下指腹按壓的記憶，他會被迫記得—另一人嘴裡的溫度、伏特加的辛辣、鬍渣冒頭的粗糙，以及蒙特婁六月日出時的潮濕悶熱。

Shane深呼吸，記起自己還活著；記起他們的鼻尖相觸，氣息交織，而他嚐過一口又一口Ilya下唇的味道，以至於汗的鹹味都留在了他的舌尖上。為了將這些深深刻進清醒後的記憶裡，他的手指陷入金色捲髮裡，鋼琴家的大手撫過他的顴骨，直到他嚐盡了調酒糖漿的甜味。

Shane緩緩睜眼，Ilya的雙眼是清澈的灰藍色。

是結冰的湖面，在冬陽下赤裸裸地，沒有任何雲影遮掩，結凍聲甚至悅耳；是Shane會套上冰刀鞋，飛奔而去的冰面。

他們分別片刻，舔拭唇上的黏膩水光，彼此的目光滿溢於視野裡。

「Your cab is definitely here.」Shane伸進口袋裡拿出手機，吸入彼此的氣息都讓他深深震顫。

Ilya哼了聲，音帶笑意。直到計程車的車燈照亮酒吧外的陰影處，Ilya的目光都沒有抽離，Shane會在那些凝視裡追尋語意之外的涵義。

「Bye.」

他看著Ilya上了計程車，直到後車燈消失，才替自己叫了第二部車。

Ilya played several more rock classics. The Metros eventually crowded around the stage, using the alcohol-filled trophy as a chalice to sing along, though only their captain could pester the pianist for requests. By 3:00 AM, the crowd in the bar began to thin out. Teammates with families left early, and Shane's parents had already said their goodbyes around two. As the captain, Shane stayed behind to look after the remaining single crazies, finally stuffing them all into the backseats of cabs by 4:00 AM.

"Is your cab coming?" Shane asked, yawning. Despite being incredibly drowsy, he couldn't move his eyes away from Ilya's face. Even when Ilya wasn't sitting at the piano, he never stayed more than three meters away from Shane the entire night.

They stood under the awning outside the bar. The night sky was still that streetlamp-lit dark blue, but Shane was certain the June morning sun would show its face soon. Until sunrise, a small lamp on the wall was the only sun he had to look at Ilya. Ilya's eyes were a bit unfocused, the true meaning in his gaze seemingly hidden in the shadows. Shane wanted to brush them away, he wanted to know if the sunlight could reach that deep.

"Nuh-uh. I am not person you need to care for, Captain. I wait until you get in car, then leave." Ilya took a step back, stepping into the shadows where the light couldn't reach him.

"If I don't get you home safe, Svetlana will kill me," Shane mumbled, annoyed.

Ilya's gaze slipped a few inches deeper into the shadows, making it hard for Shane to read him clearly. "When it is just us, don't mention other people, Shane."

"Even Svetlana?" Although the alcohol made Shane's brain fuzzy, causing him to skip a few steps of logic, his on-ice sharpness remained. Right now, he was chasing the truth through the dark. Shane took a few unsteady steps forward.

Ilya reached out to steady Shane's shoulders, his own shadow stepping back into the light. "Even Svetlana."

And now, everything was much clearer. Shane had spent a year figuring out his own feelings, and another four months winning a trophy on the ice. During that time, nobody had run away. Couldn't Shane trust the reality in front of him just a little more? Couldn't he be more honest?

"Am I still just a fan to you? Is that why you came to the bar?" he asked fearlessly, his phone vibrating in his pocket.

"No." Ilya's direct answer and steady gaze broke through the last line of Shane's defense.

"If I ask for a championship reward, will you give it to me, Ilya?" Shane's eyes drifted down to the lips Ilya had used to sing those lyrics.

"You will regret tomorrow when sober." Ilya's sudden, shallow breaths and drifting gaze almost made Shane think he had guessed wrong.

"I won't regret your kiss. I—" Shane blurted out.

But he regretted those words instantly. He became the first of the two to look away, the first time in the four hours they had been glued to each other's side.

Shane listened to the racing heartbeat in his ears, feeling like he was pronouncing his own death sentence. He looked at the thin line of blue light on the horizon, certain that despair would be the death of him. But then, the hands that had conquered the piano keys pulled his jaw forward, granting him mercy.

This wasn't some polite greeting on the cheek, nor was it a gentle kiss goodbye. Ilya's touch carried a desperate, heavy longing that left the ghost of his thumb pressed deep into Shane's skin. Shane would be forced to remember everything—the searing heat of the other man's mouth, the sharp bite of vodka, the rough scrape of emerging stubble, and the heavy, humid air of a Montreal sunrise in June.

Shane took a deep breath, remembering he was alive. He remembered the brush of their noses, their tangled breaths, and how he tasted Ilya's lower lip over and over until the salt of sweat lingered on his tongue. Wishing to engrave all of this into his sober memory, Shane sank his fingers into the golden curls. The pianist's large hands swept over his cheekbones, deepening the kiss until they had tasted every last bit of the sweet cocktail syrup.

Shane slowly opened his eyes. Ilya's eyes were a clear, gray-blue.

They were a frozen lake, stark and naked under the winter sun, untouched by the shadow of a cloud, the sound of the freezing ice ringing clear and beautiful. It was the exact kind of ice Shane would lace up his skates for and fly toward with everything he had.

They broke apart for just a moment to lick the slick, sticky sheen from their lips, their gazes locked so tightly that nothing else remained in their vision.

"Your cab is definitely here," Shane said, reaching into his pocket for his phone, a deep shiver running through him with every breath they shared.

Ilya hummed, a trace of a laugh in his voice.

Until the car's headlights cut through the shadows outside the bar, Ilya's gaze never pulled away. Shane found himself searching those eyes, chasing the meanings that existed far beyond words.

"Bye."

He watched Ilya get into the cab, waiting until the taillights vanished into the distance before calling a second car for himself.

＊

<p></p>

<br />

<span class="dm-reply">I watched him get into the cab safely. Thanks for coming to watch my games.</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply1">That's just a side note, you don't have to answer. But do dating rumors usually affect a musician's career?</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply2">I'm just curious, it's not a big deal.</span><br />

</p></div>

＊

－－－

In the GC universe, the 2013-14 trophy originally belonged to Boston, but Ilya from this fic went to play the piano, and Boston was even kicked out of the playoffs by Montreal. So, it's not unreasonable for this season's trophy to belong to Shane, yes?🫢

My girls won their cup! Allez Victoire!🏆

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