Chapter Text
The morning, a few days after their game against the Admirals, felt different.
The smell hit Ilya before he even stepped into the kitchen: a mix of crispy potatoes, onion, garlic, and something slightly… burned.
He smiled quietly. Ilya had a vague idea of what was going on, but he couldn’t help but be curious and maybe somewhat concerned.
This was not usually something that happened in the morning. It went against routine.
He found Shane standing by the stove, brow furrowed in concentration, flipping a lopsided potato pancake that looked more like a golden, crispy blob than the delicate draniki of Ilya’s memories. Flour dusted Shane’s forearms, and a faint smear of batter clung to the corner of his mouth.
Ilya leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the quiet ritual with fondness and a silent hope that the heaviness he saw on Shane’s face might ease.
He saw patience, care, and a willingness to cross boundaries. He was thankful all over again that Shane chose to live with him. That Shane, his sunshine, was in his life.
“You make breakfast?” He asked softly, not wanting to break the fragile magic of the moment.
Shane glanced over, cheeks coloring. “I thought I’d surprise you.” He wiped his hands on the apron he wore, the one that spelt KISS THE COOK across the chest. “You said you missed draniki… so I wanted to try making them.”
Ilya’s chest tightened. This was for him? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had tried to cook something from his childhood for him. Yet, there was something more, something Shane had yet to say.
Hollander’s voice became tentative, like admitting a secret. “And I wanted to thank you.”
Ilya stepped further into the kitchen. “For what?”
“For…” He inhaled slowly and exhaled quickly. “Not making me do any of this alone. For being such an amazing, supportive person, even when it’s complicated.”
Shane didn’t say anything about the rest stop or the rookie, but Ilya had a feeling this had something to do with that anyway. Regardless, gratitude was not a currency Shane spent lightly. And, Ilya was sure his boyfriend was exaggerating about him being amazing.
Still, Ilya’s heart was caught between tightening and melting. Still, he reached out. Shane met him halfway. Their hands met and their fingers entwined. Rozanov pulled him closer for a quick kiss.
When they broke apart, Rozanov still held Shane’s as he asked, “Will you be eating this as well?”
“I will.”
In a low, affectionate voice, Ilya followed up with, “Shane Hollander breaking his macrobiotic diet, for me? I must be luckiest man in world.”
His boyfriend smiled - a soft, genuine smile - and Ilya wished he could find a way to convince him it was allowed to stay.
“Don’t get used to it.” Shane said as he let go and returned to the stove. His words came out in a somewhat serious tone, but the amusement in his eyes gave away that he was joking. “Besides, I put in too much work not to try it.”
Ilya watched him for a moment, his gaze lingering on the way Shane was so intently focused on his task.
It was more than just cooking. It was a quiet act of love and trust.
Rozanov moved towards the plate of already-cooked draniki. Then, he picked one up and took a bite. The crispy edges and soft center were imperfect but delicious.
“Is good,” he complimented. “Very good. You try hard. That is what matters. I can tell is made with love.” Continuing to snack on the potato pancake, he wandered towards the fridge and took out the sour cream.
Ilya chuckled, putting the draniki in his mouth before grabbing both items, savoring the taste as well as the moment. He leaned against the fridge’s door to close it before setting the jar on the counter. After another bite, he brought out two plates, feeling the quiet joy of these simple routines.
When he turned towards his boyfriend, Shane was setting the last remaining draniki aside from the pan. Ilya brushed a stray potato flake from Shane’s sleeve.
He wished protecting him were as simple as brushing something away. And, unfortunately, the weight Shane carried wasn’t something a potato pancake could fix. But the team had started chipping away at it little by little, whether they knew that or not.
“Next time, I show you secret,” Ilya promised quietly, feeling the weight of tradition and love in his words.
Shane laughed, the sound light and easy. “Deal.”
Sitting down together, the world narrowed to this kitchen. To this table. To the quiet between them.
Ilya let himself believe it might stay that way.