Chapter Text
The noise of the TV faded into the background. Ilya hadn’t really been paying attention to it to begin with, but it fully fell into non-existence with everything else around him while he re-read the email on his phone.
Then he read it again. And again.
His hands trembled a little, but he swallowed and steeled himself. Shane was only a few feet away, moseying around in the kitchen and picking up after lunch while he half-heartedly watched whatever nature documentary was playing on the TV a few minutes ago.
He didn’t want to bother Shane. Not yet. Not with this.
The past few months were extremely hard. He’d always been an independent person before, had always lived alone and been entirely self-sufficient. His weeks at the cottage with Shane during the summer had been a nice change of pace. He’d finally had someone to keep him company, from cooking meals together to exercising to falling asleep in each other's arms. But he still valued his occasional alone time, and would break away for morning smoke breaks outside or a quick jog around the lake to clear his head.
And he’d lost all of that in the blink of an eye.
The Hollander’s- all 3 of them- had flat out refused to allow Ilya to go to Boston for his recovery. Shane being the loudest and most stubborn, which he often was. It would have been hard in Boston, Ilya knew that. He would have had to hire a nurse, or ask Svetlana to move in with him part-time for help. But when he suggested that particular idea to Shane, his boyfriend had turned so red that Ilya asked if he was having some kind of an allergic reaction, and then he’d promptly gotten the silent treatment for the rest of the day.
He moved into the cottage the next week after he was released, too scared to argue further about it.
There were a lot of times he couldn’t shake feeling like a burden. In the first few weeks of recovery he’d practically had to beg Shane to leave the house, to get some fresh air instead of hanging over Ilya like a worried gargoyle. The role switch bothered him, too. He loved taking care of Shane. When in the bedroom, he loved to cuddle Shane close to him as aftercare. To take the time to drag his boyfriend’s pliant, sleepy body into the bathroom and bathe him. Out of the bedroom, Ilya loved to bring him water or a snack whenever Shane got too lost in a book or a workout. Now, Shane was Ilya’s primary caretaker. He did everything for him, from cooking all of his meals to hobbling him to bed at night and setting his leg up.
As hard of an adjustment as it was, it had been for the better, in the end. Yuna and David were close while Shane was out of town for the season, and when Shane was home Ilya got to have a caretaker who was far more enjoyable than any live-in nurse would have been. And far more attractive. The only thing that would have made it better was if Shane had worn the outfit Ilya had begged for him to buy, but he was considering that effort to be a lost cause.
Ilya should have known that was all on borrowed time.
He dropped his phone heavily onto his chest and breathed heavily, trying to hold in a sob but accidentally letting out a noise close to a strangled whine instead. Dammit.
Shane rounded the corner immediately, kitchen towel still in hand from where he’d been drying the countertop.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, dropping to his knees by where Ilya’s head was laying on the couch, his leg propped up carefully on a pile of Shane’s various pillows. A soft hand went straight into Ilya’s hair.
Ilya swallowed again. “Email, from my agent. They are dropping me.”
He brought a hand up and pinched his brow, trying to focus on the pressure that brought and not the tears pricking behind his eyes. With no agent, he had no visa. With no visa, he had no reason to stay. He would have to go back to…
He’d known it was coming. He hadn’t deluded himself into thinking they would just forget about him. They had no reason to keep him on payroll if he was never going to play hockey again. He no longer had any worth to them. It wasn’t personal, just business. The Bears had already scouted their next center, and Ilya was fading into the background of everyone’s mind as nothing but a tragic story of a career ending too soon.
He just thought he would have more time. He wasn’t even able to fully stand yet. Let alone pack his life up and move back to Russia when his visa expired. His mind was racing a mile a minute. He would have to sell his house that was still waiting for him in Boston, unoccupied and collecting dust, probably with all of the rest of his things. He would have to send for movers to bring what he did have in Boston back to Russia. He would have to get accommodations for the plane. Then there would be finding a new place to live, and finding a medical team for his continued care. He would have to call Alexei- fuck- and admit that he would need help when he got home.
Except that he hadn’t thought of Russia as home in a long time. And Alexei hadn’t reached out once. His own brother.
He was shaking. He couldn’t do this, he already struggled every single day with the loss of his hockey career. He already struggled with finding the will to move forward with his life at this point, lost in the thoughts of what his father would say if he’d seen what he’d become. If he lost the cottage, if he lost Shane…
“Ilya, stop.” Shane said, the hand in Ilya’s hair becoming a little more firm. “You’re panicking.”
“No shit, Hollander!” Ilya snapped, the emotions whirling in him like a maelstrom and peaking. He breathed heavily through his nose, trying to tamper down the rage filling his throat. “They are sending me back to Russia!”
After everything, the years he’d given to his team and the country, he was being dropped like nothing. Now that he couldn’t perform for them and win them another Stanley cup he was being banished to the one place he wanted to go least of all in the entire world. They had retired his number like that would slap a bandaid on this whole big mess and shoved him out the door. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. He just knew it.
“Ilya,” Shane said again, without an ounce of irritation at the way Ilya had just snapped at him, and Ilya broke.
“I’m sorry,” Ilya choked out as the floodgates opened and full, shuddering sobs tore through his body.
“Come here,” Shane whispered as he worked his hands under Ilya’s shoulders and gently shifted him to a sitting position. He wiggled into the space behind him on the couch, his chest to Ilya’s back. Shane's arms came around his waist and he snuggled his face into the back of his neck, kissing at the base of his curls.
He tried not to flinch as the movement jostled his leg, a sharp pain shooting up his spine. He just cried even harder at that. His boyfriend could hardly even comfort him anymore without it causing pain. He hated all of this so much.
Shane wrestled his phone from his hand, reading the email from his agent himself while Ilya tried to get a grip on his emotions. There was a long, unbearable moment while Shane absorbed the email and the horrible, sinking feeling tore like a violent hurricane in Ilya’s stomach with the painful realization that he would have to be leaving Shane here in a few months.
Shane handed his phone back after a minute, and Ilya grabbed it miserably, locking it and dropping it into his lap. His tears still dripped steadily but Shane’s arm around his waist had grounded him, and he no longer felt the shuddering sobs building up in his throat.
“I don’t want to go back.” Ilya admitted shakily, the words sticking in his mouth as he choked them out. It wasn’t news to either of them that he had no real interest in returning to Russia. But Ilya had never really articulated it in so many words.
“You’re not going to.” Shane said, his lips moving against the base of Ilya’s neck, his breath warm.
Ilya made a small, confused noise.
Shane shifted behind Ilya, hooking his chin over his shoulder and pressing their cheeks together. Ilya closed his eyes. Shane hesitated before he responded, like he was getting nervous.
“I… you can say no,” Shane started slowly. “But I was talking to Farah about it and I think I know a way we could get you on a visa. It’s… It’s a lot, and I know that. But I want you to stay here, with me, and right now I think the only way to do that is if we were to get married”
Ilya froze. He’d known that’s where Shane was headed when he’d started that sentence.
“This isn’t how I wanted this to go. Obviously.” Shane kept going, filling the space around them with more words like he always did when he was stressed. “I know it’s not how you wanted this either.”
“Obviously,” Ilya agreed, voice quiet and fragile.
Shane sighed. “This is so not how I wanted to ask you.”
That got Ilya’s attention. “You have thought about asking me?”
“Of course. After last summer, I thought… I thought we were on the same page about how we felt about each other. I know it hasn’t been that long since then but I figured that was the direction we were heading. Unless…”
Shane sounded so unsure of himself that it spurred Ilya into speaking to save him from rambling on. “We are on same page, Hollander. I just do not want you to marry me if the only reason is for keeping me here.”
“It’s not!” Shane said, suddenly loud and desperate, sitting up straighter. “I mean, right now that's a big part of it, yea. But I would want to marry you with or without the visa being a problem. And look, we can just do it legally, to start. And in a few years we can do it again, the right way, with a ceremony and everything. If you want.”
Ilya nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He wanted that, he wanted it so bad. It almost felt too easy, that Ilya could stay here with Shane, to have everything he wanted without the stress of his visa.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Shane offered. Giving Ilya an escape. “We have some time. Farah and I talked it out a while ago, she was aware this was a possibility and didn’t want us to be blindsided. I just… didn’t tell you yet because I didn’t want to stress you out more if I didn’t have to. Sorry, if that was the wrong choice.”
“No, no.” Ilya said. “I’m glad you did not say anything. I would have worried.”
Shane nuzzled his cheek against Ilya, and leaned down to press a brief kiss to his neck.
“I have my decision right now.” Ilya continued, turning his face to plant a kiss right on Shane’s lips, catching him by surprise.
Shane smiled into the kiss, and Ilya’s lips landed more on his teeth than anything else until he was smiling, too. They kissed again, sweet and languid, their mouths moving together.
“So, just to clarify, are we getting married?” Shane pulled away to ask, meeting Ilya’s gaze with a soft smile dancing across his face.
“I don’t know, Hollander,” Ilya teased. “I do not remember being asked.”
Shane snorted, but pulled his face away anyway. He slid from his spot behind Ilya and off the couch, getting straight onto one knee. He held his hand up like he would have a propped ring box, miming the shape with his empty hands.
“Ilya,” He said softly, a playful twinkle in his eyes but a dead serious expression. “Will you marry me?”
“Of course I will.” Ilya said, feeling so, so fragile.
Shane leaned forward, cupping the sides Ilya’s face with his hands and bringing him forward for a searing kiss.