Will you disappoint them?

Playoffs. The score was 4:4, the stands were noisy, people jumped up from their seats, and then cursed in disappointment when the team they were rooting for couldn't score the last, decisive goal. It seemed that the winner would be determined, but each time the opponents suddenly snatched the puck from their opponents sticks. Everyone was eagerly awaiting the winner of today's match. Boston vs Montreal. More precisely, Ilya Rozanov — captain of the Boston team, vs Shane Hollander — captain of Montreal. Their rivalry has been going on for several years, causing increasingly heated cheers and discussions among hockey fans. These two are complete opposites. One was loud, witty, frivolous, and playful. The other was quiet, serious, focused, introverted, and sometimes boring. Although only one person thinks he is boring. They were like ice and fire. Ilya's gaze could freeze, and his dominant, charming side subjugated everyone and everything. Shane, a deep thinker, was damn hot, and the curses that slipped out of his mouth from time to time were works of art in themselves. His body, his face, and those damn freckles were all the Boston captain could think about, though others didn't need to know that. The captain of Montreal himself became the reason for Ilya's hyperfixation; at times, he couldn't think about anything else, all his thoughts were occupied with this Shane Hollander. But despite this, they were rivals. People watched their clashes, teasing, and heated, competitive emotions with rapture. They watched as Ilya, smiling broadly, pinned Shane against the boards several times. Montreal, number 24 — Shane Hollander steals the puck from his opponent and races across the ice. He can't pass anymore; he sees Boston players all around him, so he tries to score himself, dodging them with feints and passes, heading straight for the goal. Just a little more and... The sports commentator announces the end of main time. He was too late. The stands erupted in disappointment; literally a few more seconds could have decided everything. Overtime was announced. There would also be a full 17-minute break with the teams going to the locker rooms and the ice being resurfaced. A sweaty Shane entered the locker room, sat down on a bench, and began to drink water greedily from a bottle. He listened to his teammates' conversation as he gulped down water. Here and there, Hollander heard angry words, but he himself was dissatisfied with himself. The pressure and responsibility weighed heavily on him, and he thought that everything could have been done quickly. He was keeping track of the time. He knew he had only seconds to spare. But he still hesitated. — Hey, Shane… Don't worry so much, everything's fine. The main thing now is to hold out and win in overtime. — Hayden Pike walked up to him and lightly squeezed his shoulder. — Yes, of course. You're right, and we'll do it. — Hollander gave a weak, something like a smile. Inside, he felt the responsibility grow even heavier. Overtime. It was a draw. Extra time made everything tense. Only one goal could decide the outcome of today's playoff game. Anxiety and impatience permeated their limbs, their heated bodies producing large amounts of adrenaline and energy. Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, the center defenders, stood in the middle of the rink, face to face, with the referee standing between them, ready to blow his whistle and put the puck into play. The sports commentator wasted no time in continuing his commentary on the start of overtime: “The captains of the Boston and Montreal teams, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander, have already taken up their defensive positions. Let me remind you that the center defenders are the ones who build the entry into the zone and determine the direction of the attack. These positions set the pace of the game, distribute the load to the rest of the team, and actively join the defense in order to be the first to get the puck in case of a steal and construct an attack as quickly as possible. Shane Hollander has already tried. I wonder if he will be able to do it again and be the first to gain control of the puck to set a winning pace for himself and his team?” — Hollander, will you disappoint them? — Ilya asked with a barely noticeable grin. Momentary eye contact. Smiling Rozanov and focused Hollander. — No. — he replied, wrinkling his nose. The referee whistled and threw the puck. The game has begun. During the game, both tried to block each other. Snatching the puck from the clubs, one was carrying around the rink, straight to the opponent's goal, the other was waiting and waiting for the right moment to take the puck under his control and take it away from the goal. Suddenly, Shane Hollander saw the perfect opportunity, tapping the ice with a club, he gave a sign for his teammate, who was leading the puck, to give it to him. Taking the puck, he went to the opponent's goal, while not noticing how Ilya's teammate was behind him, ignoring the persistent sound of the club hitting the ice from his partner, who was standing near the goal, Shane was filled with determination and confidence that came from somewhere, without thinking, sharply, without aiming, hit the puck with a club. Everything happened in an instant. Shane froze. A few seconds, and the puck, without reaching the goal, was cleverly intercepted by an opponent who had been next to him all this time. With the help of teamwork, the Boston hockey players quickly sent the puck to the goal of Montreal. Ilya was already standing there and waiting for the pass. Two hits on the ice with his stick, and he has the puck. Here Rozanov drives on the ice with a wavy line, he makes a pass and in order to confuse the Montreal goalkeeper, he aims in one direction, but hits in the other. GOAL! The scoreboard changes to 5:4. After a second of silence, the stands erupt. Boston fans roar, finally! They did it. Ilya Rozanov scored the last goal and did it. The cheers grow louder and louder. People hug each other and congratulate each other on the victory. On the ice, the Boston Bears players jump for joy and throw off their gloves, standing in a circle to congratulate Rozanov. The Stanley Cup. They did it, damn it! They won the Stanley Cup. On the big screen hanging from the ceiling of the rink, shows the happy faces of Boston players, their captain holding the cup, laughing and smiling broadly. The screen also flashed the sour faces of the Montreal players and the tense expression on Shane Hollander's face. The crowd continued to cheer and rejoice. Only Montreal fans and Montreal players themselves can't understand what the fuck just happened. What happened to their captain? He quickly, without explanation, left the ice, not daring to look into anyone's eyes. His team didn't understand. The confused eyes were fixed on the departing figure of Hollander. Fans viciously exclaimed indignation about Hollander's game and behavior. behavior. Social media has been posting more tweets and posts about how Montreal was disgracefully defeated today because of his captain. They said he should apologize, they thought he was just trying to be cool and got to be the fuckin’ hero on the ice, and as a result, they lost the Stanley Cup. First of all, Shane Hollander should have apologized to his comrades, he let them down and with his stupid antics devalued all their hard work. Shame. What a disgrace. Why is he the captain at all? People were getting more and more angry and poisoned Shane. The same time without waiting the others, he entered the locker room, undressed, quickly took a shower, got dressed and viciously packing things in a bag, he cursed at himself. Idiot. God, what an idiot he is. Such a bullshit. Believed yourself too much, didn't you? Well, that's karma. It hits in the face and smack us. What did he expect anyway? He admits, it was self-confident. Too self-confident. Fuck. What an idiot he is. Cursing himself for the hundredth time, Hollander, having packed his things, decides to check the phone. Oh, it was a fatal mistake. Notifications and calls collapsed his phone. Mom and his agent called him the most. He was also called by everyone who was not too lazy. A thousand marks in social networks, for the most part people do not understand what kind of bullshit he did at the end of the game, while others frankly wish him hatred. Fuck. Turning off the phone and putting it on silent, he left after getting ready. All this time, Ilya had been searching for the one person who had always been important to him. He had seen how responsibility and conscience were gradually consuming his beloved, and now it was a very heavy moral blow for him. He hadn't expected or thought that Shane would go ahead regardless. Had he really not noticed the enemy? It couldn't be. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He urgently needed to find his Shane and calm him down. The smile on Ilya's face became more and more forced. He couldn't just stand there and rejoice in victory when his loved one was literally burying himself deeper and deeper in his own whirlpool of fear and despair. Making excuses and falsely congratulating everyone on the victory, he quietly slipped away. Slowly approaching the Montreal locker room and seeing that it was empty, he went inside and looked in Hollander's locker, noticing that his things were gone. So he had already left. Shit! Hurrying to get ready and refusing to celebrate the victory with the others, Ilya Rozanov also returned home. More precisely, to Shane Hollander's apartment. Fortunately, he had long had a spare set of keys to Shane's apartment, so he quietly opened the door, closed it, and went to look for Shane. Shane was sitting half-reclining on a gray, monochrome, expensive sofa, wearing a gray hoodie. The hood was over his head, and he was holding his phone in his hands. It wasn't hard to figure out that he was reading all the hateful comments and rude jokes about his game. Turning his head toward Ilya, he looked at him with a sad expression. His eyes were filled with regret and guilt. — Ahem.. - Ilya came up abruptly and took the phone from Shane's hands. — What the fuck do you read? It won't make you smarter. — They're right. All of them. I screwed up. Fuck Ilya, I'm so damn fucked up.. — Hollander stretched out and covered his face with his hands. — Kill me so I don't remember it again and again. — Come on.. baby.. what are you doing, it's just one minor game. You'll have a lot of them. — Ilya's stomach turned and his heart ached when he saw a such cute Shane. This guy was just insufferable. — I.. I don't know what happened to me.. It was so stupid. — Yes, it was stupid. But I'm sure you had a reason for doing it. — Reason? — Shane snorted. — There was no reason. I just messed up, that's all. — You know what I mean. — Ilya sat down on the couch, close to Shane. At his words, Shane's head snapped up, and he stared at Ilya for a long time. It was as if he was searching for something. Eventually, he turned away and muttered: — I don't understand what you're talking about. — The weight of disappointment and the burden of responsibility, — Rozanov said simply. — When all hopes are pinned on you, the burden of responsibility weighs heavily on your shoulders, your heart constricts with fear of disappointing others, and inside you feel both a burning force and tension. They put pressure on you, and you can't show that you can't cope. You were afraid of disappointing them. After Ilya's words, the room fell into a hollow silence. It seemed like there was a lot of space around, but external sounds ceased to exist and seemed distant. Shane froze. His hands trembled for some unknown reason. His head suddenly became heavy. His heart began to beat wildly. Without realizing it, Rozanov had just exposed the most unpleasant, burning truth for Hollander. The coldness of the truth burned Shane's insides. It was as if a light had suddenly fallen on what he had hidden deep inside, what he had tried to hide and not acknowledge, exposing all his fears and guilt. But at the same time, despite the coldness that pierced him and made his heart contract, Hollander felt a strange, disturbing clarity emerge. It was as if Rozanov had opened his mind and dispelled the fog of vagueness and uncertainty. — Okay, calm down, calm down... Shane... look at me, — seeing his beloved's impending panic attack, Ilya was worried. — Come on, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. With me. Rozanov put his hands on Shane's shoulders and hugged him, uttering words of comfort. He didn't think his words would hit him so hard. He also didn't know that Shane had buried this understanding deep enough inside himself to forget and not remember it until Ilya literally poked him with it. — I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know... that it would hurt you so much... — he repeated. After a few minutes, Shane came to his senses and just lay there quietly, enjoying Rozanov’s embrace. — In fact, — Shane began, — I should thank you for showing me something that I was afraid to see. In a way, this realization has brought me relief. I really let my team down and deprived us of the reward for our hard work. But.. it made me feel better when I understood why it happened. I saw the root of my problem. Thank you, Ilya. — I helped you see clearly, and the long-awaited enlightenment came to you, — Ilya said with a cheeky smile. — Don't you think I deserve a reward? — He immediately pursed his lips into a slight pout. — Give me a kiss. — You're such an assholl.. — Shane leaned toward him and kissed him.  The kiss was sensual, shallow, and sweet. Hollander wrapped his arms around Ilya's neck and pulled him closer, hugging him with his other arm. Ilya put his hand on Hollander’s cheek and gently stroked his ear. They pulled apart but remained close, half-lying down. Ilya stroked Shane's hair with one hand, while holding his unlocked phone with the other and typing something enthusiastically. — What are you doing? — Shane asked, unable to resist. — Nothing that could be considered a crime. — After finishing typing and pressing “Send,” he locked his phone and put it away. — Better now? — Yes, but... Still, I don't stop feeling like a fucking hero-loner, — tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling, Hollander continued, - I decided that I'll drag everything myself now.. Yeah, I dragged it, only to my gate. Hockey is about the team, not about "see how I can". — Hey, chill out, if it weren't for those mistakes, no one would have won. Do you think famous hockey players never made mistakes like that? Take Alexander Ovechkin, for example.  — Not helping. — Well, I tried. — Ilya looked at Shane and, grabbing him by the chin, turned his head toward him. Their eyes met. — Just next time, share the puck. Greed - not a sporting quality. — Fuck you, Rozanov — he smiled and jerked his head to the side, freeing his face from the grip of the large, beautiful, long fingers. — Only if it's yours, — he replied, kissing him on the cheek and resting his head on Shane's shoulder. — Ilya... — after a moment, Hollander spoke again. — Mm? — We should celebrate your victory, — Shane said unexpectedly. — Shane, are you fucking serious? — Ilya asked, sitting up slightly in surprise. — One hundred percent. — Damn. But when he met Hollander's gaze, Ilya understood what kind of celebration he meant. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Everything inside froze, and his heart began to beat faster. The desire that had been hidden deep in his consciousness all this time quickly concentrated somewhere below, radiating a pleasant warmth. Tension quickly arose between them, and it became difficult to breathe. The warmth grew, at first imperceptibly, then as something impossible to ignore. Their next kiss was bold, without warning. Shane pulled him by the collar, and the air between them became thick. Ilya's palm slipped under Shane's shirt and traced the contours of his tense abs, which were covered with goose bumps with every movement. Exhaling sharply, Shane broke the kiss and tilted his head back, exposing his seductive neck. Ilya kissed him slowly, kissing the freckles on his cheeks. Pressing his lips to his neck, he raised his other hand and ran his thumb over his lips, lingering slightly. In response, Shane licked that finger without hesitation and took it into his mouth, sucking and twirling his tongue around it. — Damn, Shane... — Rosanov whispered, watching the scene. — Fuck... you have no idea what you're doing to me. — I can imagine, — he exhaled, looking straight into his eyes, — and I like it. That phrase finished him off. Ilya smiled dangerously, slowly, and leaned in again. Slowly, like a predator who knows his prey isn't going anywhere. The smirk said it all: consent, a promise of continuation that could no longer be stopped. He was so fucking in love with Shane Hollander. No matter what anyone says, whatever enemies they seem to others, whatever rivals they are on the ice, whatever opposites they are, none of this matters. Compared to what he is now seeing, all this looks like something small and insignificant. The main thing is that in his hands is his favorite, his hot Shane Hollander of his own person, with his fucking cute freckles. It’s all him. These freckles, smile, loving gaze, body, his trust, openness and the gentlest, most cozy side of Hollander belongs to him. All of this belongs to the cold Ilya Rozanov, his main enemy and rival. He promises himself that he will always keep his quiet, vibrant and proud love for this incredible, sometimes dull and most beloved boyfriend. @hockeyrun: What the fuck is wrong with Montreal’s captain? Is he in his head? Dude, if you can’t be a team player, go solo. #Shane Hollander fuck off solo. @shanefan retweeted: @hockeyrun That’s right, I’m his fan, but even I find this bullshit embarrassing. #Shane Hollander fuck off in solo. @monrealclubfan retweeted: @hockeyrun Supported!! This tweet please to the crowd, I don’t understand how he ever became a captain. #Shane Hollander fuck off in solo. @fanwidgi retweeted: @hockeyrun Mate, congratulations, your tweet is in the search engine and you have generated more than 10,000 likes in such a short time, and deservedly so. That dumbass idiot should see the consequences of his thoughtless actions. #Shane Hollander fuck off in solo. @lilyroz: All of you will either close your mouth, or already be talking in court.