Chapter Text
Ilya often wished his body could produce the flowers. He wished there was a way for his love to physically manifest, to hurt him in a more tangible way. He loved and hurt so much, he often thought it would kill him even without the disease. That one day he would go to bed, and simply never wake up out of loneliness.
And then he met Shane Hollander. Anxious, awkward and oh so genuine Shane Hollander. Sometimes he tries to remember when exactly he falls in love with him, but he never quite manages the moment. Part of him feels like it was that first meeting.
“Oh- I-I’m not sure you’re supposed to smoke here,” Shane had said as Ilya’s lighter finally caught. He mimicked smoking a cigarette as if he was unsure if Ilya knew what he was talking about.
Ilya should have been annoyed. Always was when people underestimated him. Sure, his accent was strong and if people talked fast he had to struggle to keep up, but he wasn’t stupid. But instead of that annoyance Ilya found himself staring at Shane. Endlessly endeared as the Canadian tried to make conversation, but eventually gave up. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling to himself as the other man walked off.
Maybe that was when he’d fallen in love with Shane. With cigarette smoke curling in his lungs, his dad’s voice in his head and the pressure of an entire country watching him on his back. In another life, that might’ve been when his throat started itching.
Or maybe it was that first time. The hotel room, after the shoot he had casually suggested. Maybe he fell in love with Shane Hollander as he watched the man, eager and willing, scared and out of his element. He couldn’t stop the stupidly fond smile on his face when Shane started to fold his shirt.
He finally admits it to himself that first night in Las Vegas. As he watches Shane accept the rookie of the year award he isn’t even jealous. There’s no envy. He’s just proud of him. Shane deserved this, he was well aware. It stung, because he knew he had to go home now. Without the award. He could already hear his dad’s disappointed tenor. And fuck, he was going to miss Hollander.
He gets snapped out of his melancholy thoughts by footsteps behind him and he shakes his head. He can’t do this right now, can’t look at Shane with the fear of what he’s feeling. With the loneliness already creeping up on him. With Russia’s cold embrace beckoning him home. So he does what he does best. He lashes out, pushes and prods. If he could just get Shane to leave him alone, he could pretend nothing was wrong. He could pretend it was all fine. He would go to Russia, get yelled at by his father, go out with Svetlana, and he wouldn’t think of boring boys who only look at him in secret.
But then he looks over at Shane, and he immediately regrets what he’s just done. He hates how much like his father he is sometimes. Shane looks off into the distance, his jaw is clenched and his eyes are a little too distant. Fuck, Ilya thinks to himself. If this was the last time he saw Shane this year- he didn’t want it to be like this.
“I go home in three days.” He says. I don’t want to go. I might never come back. I’m sorry I’m like this. Please, ask me to stay. He tries to say, but none of the words make their way out of his mouth.
“Okay?” Shane looks confused. Ilya clenches his jaw. “That must be nice.”
Ilya shuts down immediately. Shane doesn’t get it, of course he doesn’t. He tries to swallow down the pain, as Shane tries to talk to him. His heart is pounding out of his chest as Shane turns to leave.
“Guess I’ll see you next season.”
Ilya realises it doesn’t matter when he fell in love with Shane Hollander. He looks at the man in front of him, still painfully awkward, still trying to reach out, and the only thing he knows for certain is that he would rather die than never see him again. Before he knows what he’s doing he has him pushed against the cold wall, is pressing their lips together, trying to memorise the scent and taste of him.
Shane pulls away instead. Starts rambling about being in public, being found out. He refuses to look Ilya in the eye. Ilya desperately tries to soothe his panic, but the moment is over. He watches Shane Hollander walk away from him, with absolute certainty that if he could he would be doubled over choking on petals at this moment.
That night he dreams of his mother. That in and of itself isn’t that odd. Most nights he spends sober he wakes up with the memories of her cold hands fresh in his mind. But this time she’s alive. He’s younger, maybe eight years old. She’s reading him a fairytale about a prince and princess who managed to thwart the flowers, overcome the curse. He remembers telling her he can’t wait to feel the flowers for the first time
She had pushed his curls up and kissed him on his forehead. “Ilyusha, darling,” Her voice is a painful memory even in a happy dream, “you do not need petals to prove your love. You already love big enough, you hear me?”
He wakes up with tears streaming down his face. He ignores the urge to call Shane.
Montreal, 2013
They lost the game, and Ilya couldn’t bring himself to care. He had missed Shane. It had been two years since they properly saw each other, not on the ice or during an event. They had texted, sure, but that was mostly Ilya trying (and succeeding, he believed) to get a rise out of the other.
He felt giddy now, as he walked down the alley in Montreal. He tried to seem nonchalant as Shane slammed the door open, but he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding. Ilya had forgotten what the raw force of seeing Shane Hollander in the flesh did to him.
Shane was just as desperate as him, and that made something curl warm and satisfied in Ilya’s chest. Shane might not love him the way he loved him, but this was a side of Shane only Ilya could see. The desperation, the want, the way he acted when he felt safe.
Later, in Shane’s bed, Ilya realised he was making a horrible mistake. He loved Shane. Had loved him for the past two years only through memories. He had forgotten what it felt like to be with him, how painful it was to know that he could never do anything with that love. Couldn’t say it out loud, and even if he did? Even if Shane for some preposterous reason loved him back, what would they do then? Hide, live in secret? He couldn’t do that to Shane, who already flinched at windows, at footsteps, at offhanded comments about their rivalry.
He did the hardest thing he ever had to do. Ilya ripped himself away from Shane’s warm and spent form. He tried to ignore the pit in his stomach as he turned on the shower water. Standing underneath Hollander’s way too fancy shower, he made a promise to himself. He had to stop. Maybe not the sex, he didn’t genuinely believe he could stop as long as Hollander was willing, but the feelings. The lingering after. It would only hurt the both of them in the long run.
Sochi, 2014
Russia lost the olympics. His father was losing himself. Ilya tried not to remember.
Las Vegas, 2015
Ilya knew he couldn’t ignore Hollander forever, their careers were too intertwined for them to not be paired together. But he had hoped that their reunion would be less public. A photoshoot, even rehearsals would have been better than this. Seeing Hollander again was like being struck down. He didn’t know how he kept managing to forget how it felt, but he shrugged the feelings off. If there was ever a moment he couldn’t show anything, it was now. For once he was glad for his rigid upbringing.
The show itself was a bit of a blur. Ilya read the script, prodded and teased Hollander where he could, tried to ignore the hurt in his brown eyes and failed miserably. Before he knew it, they were back backstage, and Hollander was rushing off.
Something was wrong. Ilya wasn’t sure what it was, didn’t know how to put his finger on it, but Hollander wasn’t just hurt because he gave him the cold shoulder.
Fuck it
If his boy was hurting, he needed to fix it in any way he could. He followed the Canadian at a lower pace, trying to appear neutral and relaxed. He smirked a little when he saw the bathroom door shut, and pushed against it with a single foot. He prepares himself to say something suggestive. “Well-”
And then the world stops.
Shane is hunched over the sink, coughing and retching as red roses fall from his mouth. These aren’t just petals, but the full thing. Blood stains Shane’s pretty lips and Ilya’s heart breaks. In all his pondering and wishing about this curse, he had never once thought that Shane Hollander might have the gene. It made perfect sense. Sensitive, quiet Shane who always hid how he felt from the world, with something dark and festering and painful growing inside him. It was so unfair.
Shane coughs up another rose, and the world comes back into focus. Ilya is by his side before he can realise what he’s doing. His hands hover over Shane’s back, desperate to fix but terrified of making it worse.
“Shit!” Russian comes easier to him in this moment. There’s not a lot else to say, not when Shane is hunched over in pain.
Shane flinches away from his touch and Ilya tries not to let it hurt. “Ilya-” He coughs out. “You- you have to- just go.”
Genuine tears well up in Ilya’s eyes. “Shit, Shit. Come here, what is happening to you?” His hands wrap around Shane’s wrists as he tries to ignore the blood staining his fingers. He had of course heard about people succumbing to the curse, but it had always seemed oddly romantic. There was nothing romantic about this.
Shane sinks to his knees in front of him and Ilya goes without a second thought. His hands are on Shane’s head, and neck, trying to keep him upright.
““Who did this to you, baby? You have to tell me, so I can drag them here. You will be fixed, yes?” Ilya knows that he’s begging, but if that saves Shane’s life, he can’t bring himself to acknowledge the shame of it. He can’t even bring himself to care about the fact that Shane Hollander is so madly in love with someone he’s dying over it, and that someone isn’t him. None of that matters.
Shane shakes his head, and moans in pain at the movement. “No- They- It doesn’t matter. Won’t change anything.”
That makes Ilya pause for a second, and then scoff. Doesn’t Shane know who he is? “No, Shane- Baby, don’t say that. Don’t- This is fixable. They love you back. You are Shane Hollander, nobody could resist.” He’s incredibly aware that he’s essentially just admitted his most precious secret, but he has to get Shane to tell him her name. He has to fix him.
Shane’s laugh made his blood run cold. It was usually his favourite sound on earth, no matter the context, but this version of it.. The haunted sadness, the quiet acceptance- No. Ilya could not let this be the last moments of Shane, no matter what he did.
“Doesn’t matter. He can. Doesn’t want me like this.”
Ilya freezes. He. Shane Hollander was in love with a man. Had fallen in love with a man that wasn’t Ilya Rozanov, and was dying over it. Ilya fumbled for his phone. “Then he is stupid. And not worth you. I call hospital, you get surgery. Come on, Hollander.” His hands were shaking as he tried to put in his code, that was probably the only reason that Shane managed to push the device out of his hands, with a soft no.
“Ilya- please. I can’t forget. Not- not this.”
“Shit, baby- don’t do this to me, please. Just stay with me,” Ilya begs in Russian. “Then who? Shane, tell me. Please, please, baby. Tell me so I can fix this, so that I can do anything?”
“Ilya..” Shane whispered. The way he looked up at him, his brown eyes so pained and so pleading, it sent Ilya reeling.
“No.” He shook his head violently, “Hollander, tell me you don’t- I’m not worth this. This is your life. Please, don’t tell me- Not because of me.” He wasn’t worth this. He was barely worth the time they had spent together, but this- Ilya feels sick with the weight of his cowardice. If he had only told Shane, had held him the way he wanted to in Montreal, he might’ve prevented this. How long had Shane felt like this? How long had he been torturing himself because of Ilya?
“I didn’t want you to find out. I’m sorry. You should go, just- give me a seco-”
This was torture. Ilya couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand to listen to the man he loved begging him to leave him. He didn’t know how to tell Shane how much he loved him, how much he had always meant for him, so he opted for a language they both spoke. His lips were on Shane’s, desperate but not needy, like all of their kisses before. He doesn’t care about the blood, or the muffled gasp Shane lets out. His eyes are squeezed shut as he tries to convey how much he feels for Shane.
As he pulls away from Shane, he studies his face desperately. He recognises that he probably looks mad like this. Bloody lips and wild, angry eyes. Shane’s eyes are still hazy.
“I am not good with English. I do not know how to- Shane. Shane. I love you.” Ilya had never wished he was American before, but in this moment he would give up everything he stood for if he could just make it clear to Shane. “Shit. I am doing this wrong. Я тебя люблю. I love you. I don’t-”
He watches in horror as Shane doubles over and starts pulling full flowers from his mouth. The roses have stems, and thorns and he feels sick as he sees the pain on Shane’s face. Why wasn’t it working? Was he still not enough?
“No, no, no. Shane, baby, don’t do this. This can’t be happening. Not to you- Shane- Stay with me, please.” His hands were desperately trying to soothe, trying to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone. Ilya would stick with him. He was trying to find his phone as well. Shane might not want to forget Ilya, for some reason, but Ilya refused to live in a world without Shane Hollander in it. Shane would never forgive him but then again, Shane also wouldn’t remember him.
Shane pulls roots out of his lungs, and finally the horrible sounds stop. Ilya stares at the flower between them in horror. It’s so fragile, but it did so much damage. The only sound in the bathroom is Shane’s heavy breathing but it sounds like the best thing Ilya has ever heard.
“Wow,” Shane murmurs as he looks at the flower.
Ilya can’t stop looking at Shane. He’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Don’t you dare do that to me again.”