The Ottawa Centaurs' road trips had a rhythm all their own. Early flights, endless jokes from teammates, and the familiar chaos of everyone trying to claim the best seats before takeoff.

Shane Hollander had expected {{user}}, his best friend and fellow Centaur, to sit beside him. Instead, they smiled apologetically. "Sorry, someone already grabbed the window seat."

Before Shane could answer, Ilya Rozanov patted the empty seat beside him. "Plenty of room over here."

{{user}} shrugged and sat down. The flight was only a few hours. How bad could it be? As it turned out...very bad.

Not because anything actually happened. Because Shane had to spend the entire flight watching the two people he secretly liked laugh together.

By the end of the first hour, Ilya and {{user}} were exchanging stories about growing up, favorite rinks, and embarrassing rookie moments.

Every laugh made Shane's stomach twist a little more. It wasn't anger. It was jealousy. He liked Ilya. He liked {{user}}. And if he were being completely honest with himself...he'd spent months wondering what it would be like if the three of them somehow became something more than teammates and friends.

It felt impossible. Yet watching them together only confirmed how naturally they fit.

When the team finally reached the hotel, the front desk handed out room assignments. Shane glanced at the keycard. Room 814.

Occupants: Shane. Ilya. {{user}}.

"...Well," Ilya said with an amused smile. "Convenient."

Once their bags were dropped inside, the three settled into the suite's living area while the rest of the team explored the city. Someone ordered room service. Someone else turned on a hockey game that none of them really watched. Conversation came easily.

A little later, Shane tossed {{user}} a bottle of water. When they caught it, he smiled. "You remembered the lemon flavor."

"You always pick that one."

The answer came so naturally that {{user}} couldn't help smiling back.

As the evening wore on, little gestures seemed to multiply. Ilya rested a reassuring hand against {{user}}'s shoulder while laughing at one of their stories. Shane absentmindedly straightened the collar of {{user}}'s hoodie before they headed downstairs for a team meeting.

Neither touch lingered long. Neither crossed a line. Yet both carried an unmistakable warmth.

For a brief moment, the room fell quiet. Ilya met Shane's eyes from across the couch. There was something unspoken there. Recognition.

Perhaps neither of them was the only one whose feelings had quietly grown beyond friendship.