Chapter Text
Chapter Three
A day later Ilya barely noticed the lingering press crowd outside the bus, questions thrown at him, camera flashes popping in his peripheral vision. He answered on autopilot, polite smiles, practiced phrases, words following reflex rather than thought. The usual spark that made post-game interviews almost enjoyable was gone, replaced by a soft detachment that carried him up the bus steps.
It was after an evening game and night had truly fallen, accompanied by threatening dark clouds heavy with rain that blocked out the moon.
The team bus smelled of sweat, energy drinks, and fresh ice. Fourth game into the road trip, and they’d finally met with a loss. The lights were dimmed low, leaving only the pale glow of overhead panels switched on by guys rummaging through backpacks or trying to read.
Most of the team was slumped against windows now, headphones in, eyelids heavy ready to return to the hotel for the night. Only half-hearted murmurs drifted through the dark.
Ilya moved down the cramped aisle last, shoulders dragging as he hauled his bag along. His fingers felt cold and stiff, almost unresponsive as he stowed it overhead. He barely registered the familiar pulse of fatigue in his legs - yes, the exhaustion was there, but a lingering deep ache in his joints was louder.
Normally after a game his body hummed with adrenaline or a stratified heavy soreness. Tonight, it felt hollow and jagged all at once, like he was watching someone else move and they were moving wrong.
Shane stood to let him take his usual window seat. Ilya collapsed into it, tugged his headphones on, and pressed play on one of his post-game playlists. A sexy K-pop song burst to life, heavy bass, sharp synths, bright voices, and the sudden noise hit him wrong, electric and overwhelming, bordering on disgusting.
He winced and quickly tapped out of it, scrolling until he found a playlist with a black-and-white photo of a woman staring out a bus window streaked with rain.
for when it’s raining and you’re looking out a bus window in a sad way
Too tired to make fun of the title, he hit play.
Quiet piano, melancholic guitar, soft voices singing small, aching songs filled his ears. Outside, it really did start to rain, blurring the city lights into long, watery trails. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, breath fogging the window.
At first, the music was comforting. Unabrasive. Easy.
Then, slowly, something shifted.
The mournful notes of each new song began to taste like sadness in his mouth. A hollow ache opened in his chest, spreading until it felt like everything was wrong and he was utterly alone with it, this empty, displaced sorrow that seemed endless.
Memories folded in without warning: things he’d never said, moments he wished he could erase, the sharp grief of his mother, the dull disappointment of the loss of the game. It all collapsed into one heavy, consuming feeling.
He blinked hard, eyes fixed on the rain, and swallowed, wishing he could anchor himself anywhere, anything to stop the rising tide. A tear slipped free despite him and traced down his cheek. His eyes burned as he wiped at it with his sleeve.
Beside him, Shane shifted. He’d been watching from the corner of his eye. He didn’t speak, this wasn’t the place, and he didn’t yet have the words, but he reached over and laced their fingers together, a quiet comfort.
Ilya managed a single, soft squeeze before his hand went slack in Shane’s grip. Shane’s brow creased, worry flickering obviously across his face, but he respected the fragile bubble of silence Ilya seemed to need.
No more tears fell. No words came. Ilya sat heavy against the seat, letting each mournful song crack his chest open a little more. The sadness had weight now, but no name.
Shane nudged closer, leg pressed along Ilya’s, shoulder touching shoulder, contact from shoe to sleeve. He kept his gaze soft but steady. He didn’t look away. Something was wrong, and he wasn’t going to miss it.
Ilya didn’t notice. He was already far away, adrift, nowhere and everywhere at once, as the sad songs played on, steady as the rain against the window.
—-----
Back at the hotel, the team had dissipated into their rooms and with muttered goodnights and promises of a better day tomorrow. Doors clicked shut along the hallway, voices fading into the constant hum of hotel plumbing and air conditioning.
Ilya dropped his bag just inside the door, the weight of it thudding dully against the carpet. He felt exhausted in a way that didn’t quite make sense, his muscles ached, but the familiar satisfied post-game burn was muted, distant, like it belonged to someone else and instead all he was left with was a bone deep ache.
Shane followed him in, setting his own bag down more carefully. He lingered a step behind Ilya, watching him.
“Ilyusha,” Shane said softly, voice deliberate. “Sit for a second. Let’s talk.”
Ilya frowned, already bracing and unable to look Shane in the eyes for fear that he would start to cry if he was offered any sort of comfort by anyone. “Talk? About what?”
Shane bullied Ilya to sit on the edge of the bed, sliding his hands down his sides, crouching on the carpet kneeling between Ilya’s knees holding each thigh. “About today. About the bus. About breakfast the other day. About how you’ve barely eaten, you’ve been jittery, quiet, kind of—off.”
Ilya flinched at the word. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just - travel, weird dreams, lost game, too much bad coffee.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Everything’s fine.” Even he didn’t believe the sound of his lie.
Shane shook his head, slow and certain. “I don’t think so. You’re pale. You’ve been shaking. You’re snapping more than usual. You weren’t hungry yesterday, you forgot words during interviews, and just now it was like you weren't there at all on the bus.” His voice softened. “Ilyusha, it’s okay to admit something’s wrong.”
“I—” Ilya’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine, Shane. I don’t need—”
“You are not fine,” Shane said, firmer now, but not unkind. “And don’t do the tough-guy thing with me, okay?” He leaned forward slightly. “If you’re sick—flu, stomach thing—or if you just need a day to rest, we can figure that out. Hockey isn’t the most important thing anymore.” His eyes held Ilya’s. “You are. And you are not okay.”
The words landed heavier than a crosscheck to the boards.
Shane was right. Ilya knew it in the crack open hollow part of his chest. He wasn’t okay, but he wasn’t injured. He wasn’t sick, exactly, even though nausea had curled in his stomach every time he tried to eat. And he and Shane weren’t fighting, not really, except right now. Road trips were nothing new. Hard games weren’t new.
The only thing that was different this trip was—
“Oh.”
The realization struck him like lighting.
A sob left him before he could stop it, and then the tension in his chest broke all at once.
He fell forward slightly, shoulders caving, hands coming up to his face as tears spilled through his fingers.
“I’m stupid,” he choked. “I forgot my pills. I didn’t call my doctor. I thought I’d be fine - I forgot he said I could feel bad if I stopped too fast.”
Shane was on him immediately, one hand firm and grounding between his shoulder blades, the other still holding his thigh “Hey. Hey. No,” he murmured. “You’re not stupid. It happens, it will be okay. We can fix this.”
Ilya’s breath hitched, sobs pulling out of him in uneven bursts. “I feel… empty. And sick. Like everything is wrong. My skin feels wrong.” He swallowed hard. “Like I’m inside a video game, like I’m not seeing things properly. And I—how could I forget?”
Shane didn’t interrupt. He let Ilya cry it out for a moment, then gently shifted away. He crouched by his own bag and began rummaging through it, methodical even now. Zippers opened and closed. Fabric rustled.
After a minute, he straightened and held out a small orange prescription bottle.
“Here,” he said quietly. “This is an emergency week.”
Ilya stared at it, disbelief cutting through the fog. His hands trembled as he took it. “You… How do you have this?”
Shane nodded. “After last season. When we thought you’d lost your pills and then found them an hour later.” He gave a small, self-aware huff. “In that hour I Googled what could happen if you stopped suddenly and absolutely freaked myself out. Withdrawal symptoms. Discontinuation syndrome. The fact that like twenty percent of people get hit pretty hard with harsh symptoms really quickly.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re on the road a lot. Bags get lost. Things go missing. And I noticed you’re bad at finishing the last pills in a bottle before starting a new one.” He shrugged, a little sheepish. “So I started saving them. Just in case.”
Ilya blinked, fresh tears welling. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to,” Shane admitted. “I knew you’d say I worry too much about worst-case scenarios. And you’d be right.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “But having them made traveling less scary for me. And my therapist said it wasn’t a harmful coping thing if it helped more than it hurt.”
His voice softened again, coming to wrap his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and holding his husband’s head to his stomach. “So. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
The last of Ilya’s fragile composition collapsed. He clutched the bottle to his chest like it was something sacred.
“You did all this,” he whispered.
“I did,” Shane said simply. “Because I love you. And because I worry. And because I wanted to know that no matter what, you’d be okay.”
Ilya’s tears spilled freely now, no longer sharp with panic but heavy with relief. “I… I love you,” he managed, his lip wobbling helplessly.
Shane pulled him up into his arms, wrapping around him fully, rocking him slow and steady as Ilya cried against his shoulder, deep shuddering breaths shaking them both.
“It’s okay,” Shane murmured into his hair. “You don’t have to figure anything out tonight. You’re going to take your meds. We will take a shower, have some water. I will text Terry about checking in tomorrow to make sure you can get back to feeling okay, and then you are going to rest, while I will hold you to keep all the bad away. I have you always.”
For the first time since the game, Ilya felt something settle—a thin but real thread pulling him back toward himself, toward the world. The nausea, the numbness, the wrongness were still there, but they had a name now. And he wasn’t alone in them.
He pulled back just enough to look at Shane, eyes red and shining. “I was right, you know,” he said quietly. “You aren’t boring. You are dependable. When the world is chaos, you are still the same. Always there when I stumble.” His voice softened, full of warmth. “I love you to the moon and back, moye solnyshko.”
Shane smiled, pressing his forehead to Ilya’s. “YA lyublyu tebya sil'neye, chem mogut dotyanut'sya zvozdy.” (I love you further than the stars can reach).
—------
Days later the rink was still buzzing when Ilya stepped up to the mic, sweat cooling along the back of his neck, adrenaline humming where it belonged again. The Centaurs had dominated tonight - clean entries, fast passes, lines moving like they shared a single pulse. It had been one of those games where everything clicked.
He felt like himself.
“Big win tonight,” the reporter said, angling the microphone up toward him. “What changed for the team compared to earlier this week?”
Ilya smiled, easy and genuine. “We played like we trust each other,” he said. “Simple hockey. Fast support. Everyone knew where the next pass was going to be.”
Another question came, then another. His answers came smoothly, English settling easily on his tongue, no searching, no lag. He spoke about the defense stepping up, about the rookies finding their confidence, about the bench staying loud and engaged even when the plays were in a lull.
“And as Captain,” a reporter added, “how do you keep the team steady through a tough road trip like this?”
Ilya paused - not because he was lost for words, but because he wanted to choose the right ones.
“I don’t do it alone,” he said finally. “None of us do.” He glanced back beyond the reporters, to where a few of the guys were still joking and shoving each other as they signed merch for lingering fans. “I’m lucky. I have a team that supports each other on and off the ice. Coaches who listen. Teammates who speak up when something’s not right.”
His smile softened, something more personal threading through it. “And I have people in my life who make sure I’m okay too. That matters. When you’re supported, you play freer. You lead better.”
A different reporter nodded. “So what’s the takeaway from tonight?”
Ilya’s grin widened, bright and unmistakably his. “That we’re better together than apart,” he said.
“On the ice, off the ice, it’s the same thing.”
Behind the cameras, Shane caught his eye and gave him a small nod, pride written plainly across his face.
Ilya nodded back, steady and whole, the noise of the arena swelling around him familiar in its chaos.
—----
The hotel room was quiet in the way only late nights could be, lights low, city noise muffled behind thick curtains, the faint hum of the heater filling the spaces between breaths.
Ilya sat in the desk chair at the foot of the bed, unlacing his shoes slowly, deliberately, grounding himself in the small, familiar motions. No shaking hands. No fluttering heartbeat. Just his body doing what it normally did.
Shane moved around the room in easy patterns, setting his wallet on the desk, lining his phone up with the charger out of habit. No rush. No urgency. Just the soft choreography of someone settling into a temporary space like it was home.
After a moment, Ilya spoke.
“Hey.”
Shane glanced over. “Hi?”
“I wanted to say something.”
Ilya rolled his shoulders once and let them fall. He picked at the edge of the generic hotel notepad with his thumb.
“About earlier this week. About… my meds.”
Shane crossed the room and leaned lightly against the desk beside him. Close, but not crowding.
“Okay.”
“It scared me,” Ilya said. “A little. Not like panic. Just…” He searched for the word. “Realizing how fast things can tilt if I stop paying attention. How quickly the sad can sneak up on me.”
Shane nodded, steady and quiet.
“I hate that I forgot it could happen,” Ilya went on. “Not just because I felt bad. But because I didn’t notice right away. I thought I was tired. Or old.” A small huff of a laugh. “Turns out I was just missing my good brain chemicals. And I should have treated that like it mattered.”
Shane’s mouth softened, but he let him continue.
“I don’t want to make it a big thing,” Ilya said. “I am okay now. I feel like myself again. But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen either.”
He looked up then, meeting Shane’s eyes fully.
“Next time, I will tell you sooner. I will call my doctor. I won’t try to be brave about the wrong things.”
Something in Shane’s expression eased, like a knot loosening. He stepped forward and rested his hands lightly on Ilya’s shoulders, drawing him closer until their knees brushed.
“That’s all I want,” Shane said. “We’re partners. I lean on you. You lean on me. We work through the hard stuff together. That only works if I get the whole picture.”
“I can do whole picture,” Ilya murmured. “For you. For us.”
They stayed like that for a quiet moment. Then Shane slid his fingers gently through Ilya’s curls, still damp from his post-game shower. Slow. Familiar. Grounding.
“You played beautifully tonight,” Shane said softly.
A real smile curved across Ilya’s mouth. “We played beautifully.”
Shane leaned forward until their foreheads touched, breath shared between them.
“Come to bed?” he asked.
And for the first time since the road trip began, warmth unfurled low in Ilya’s stomach, something sparking and alive with want and desire.
He stood and gently crowded Shane backward until the backs of his legs hit the mattress and he sat down with a soft bounce.
“Da,” Ilya said, voice low and playful now. “Is very good idea, sweetheart. I think the bed is exactly where we need to be.”
Shane’s smile turned sly, the private one, the one Ilya was certain only he got to see, as he shifted back against the pillows, knees falling open in invitation.
“You waiting for a written invitation, Roz?”
Ilya climbed onto the bed and settled between Shane’s legs until they were nose to nose.
“I was just memorizing it,” he said quietly.
“Memorizing what?” Shane whispered into Ilya’s skin letting his lips graze against him.
“This.” Ilya brushed his thumb along Shane’s jaw. “Feeling safe. Feeling loved. Like there is no other shoe about to drop. We are good here. I am good here.” His voice softened further. “And I love you very much for that.”