Chapter Text
December 2017
“Rose?”
She didn’t reply, far too enthralled with whatever smutty romance novel she was reading. Shane tried again. “Rose?”
He poked her arm a few times before she looked up. She did not seem pleased. “Can I help you?”
“I need your advice,” he said, shying away from her glare.
“Right now?” It probably could wait, but right now it was all he could think about. They were two hours into their 13-hour flight to Tokyo, and he really wanted to avoid having another in-flight panic attack. When he didn’t reply right away, Rose’s face softened. “Okay. What’s up?”
Shane cleared his throat and looked around. His parents were a few rows ahead of them, well out of earshot. Everyone else was a stranger who probably wouldn’t care less. He hoped. “I kinda have this problem.”
“What kind of problem? A boy problem?” Shane blinked. Rose sat straight up in her seat, abandoning whatever page she’d been on. “Oh my god, is it a boy problem?”
“Keep your voice down,” Shane hissed, scanning the people around them. Not a single one was paying attention.
“Who is it? Do I know him?”
Shane took a deep breath, satisfied that no one was eavesdropping. “I don’t know if I should say.”
“Right, of course.” She waited a beat. “Is he a skater?” Damn Rose and her intuition. His face must have confirmed her suspicion because her mouth fell open. “No way. How did you keep this from me?”
“It hasn’t been that long.” She eagerly gestured for him to continue. “Since October.”
“October? Wait, Skate Canada?” Shane nodded, his whole face feeling like a furnace. Rose grabbed his arm. “Oh my god, Shane! How have you not told me this already?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Oh, god. Isn’t it always?” She sighed, resting her temple on the headrest. “What did he do?”
“Nothing. I mean, not nothing, but he didn’t do anything bad.” Shane huffed, digging his nails into his leg. “I think I fucked it up.”
Noticing what he was doing, Rose took his hand and pulled it towards her. “How so?”
“I worried it was a distraction. I liked talking to him, but we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere. There was no point pretending.”
“Why couldn’t it go anywhere?”
“Because it’s-“ Russia’s own Ilya Rozanov. “It’s too complicated.”
“Was it just casual?”
Shane shrugged, gently playing with Rose’s fingers. “It wasn’t anything, really. We just texted and…”
“And?” Rose asked, leaning forward.
Shane rolled his eyes. “There wasn’t time to actually do anything.”
“But you wanted to?” Hesitantly, Shane nodded. “Do you still want to?” Again, Shane nodded. “Then you should tell him.”
Shane groaned, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. “What’s the point?”
“The point is life’s too short. Not every experience lasts forever, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth having.” She rested her head on top of his. “You have to let life surprise you. Feel the rain on your skin and all that. Promise me you’ll talk to him, okay?” When he didn’t reply, she lightly tugged a strand of his hair. “Promise me, Shane.”
“Fine. Yes. I promise.” Satisfied, she let go. “Thank you, Rose.”
“No problem. One day I’ll come to you for relationship advice, and we’ll be even.”
Shane made a face into her shoulder. “That sounds like a horrible idea.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Shane: I’m sorry about the mixed signals. Can I buy you dinner instead?
Shane regretted the text the moment he hit send. He’d been killing himself for the better part of an hour figuring out what to say, typing and deleting messages until he couldn’t take it anymore. He knew it was shitty to apologize for mixed signals while actively mixing signals, but he needed to say it. Unless Ilya didn’t care. He hadn’t acknowledged Shane at all during practice today. It was entirely possible he’d waved Shane’s messages off because it was never all that serious for him. He’d probably see this new text and laugh at how pathetic it was. God, Shane was not strong enough for this.
He placed his phone on the desk and sat in a chair on the other side of the hotel room. This was so stupid. Shane didn’t know how to flirt. He didn’t know how to ask people out. The only thing he really knew how to do was skate, and lately he hadn’t even been good at that. He was trying to give work-life balance a shot, but it turned out his life was just as stressful. After 20 minutes of waiting, Shane was completely prepared to throw his phone out the window and try to forget this ever happened. Then, it dinged. He leaped from his seat, nearly tripping on the corner of the bed as he reached for it.
Ilya Rozanov: What room are you in?
Oh. Okay. That wasn’t what he expected. Shane didn’t even bother weighing his options.
Shane: 1410
Ten excruciating minutes later, there was a knock at his door. He opened it, pretending he hadn’t been standing there the whole time, and let Ilya move past him. He took a seat on the bed, looking up at Shane expectantly. He suddenly felt like there was a spotlight shining directly on him.
“Um. Hi.”
“Hi?” Ilya parroted. Shane swallowed nervously. “Oh my god, Hollander. You are so confusing,” he groaned, flopping back on the bed.
Shane cringed at himself. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a bit weird.”
“A bit?”
“Okay, a lot. I’m sorry for being confusing. I’ve been-”
“Distracted?” Ilya suggested, eyes on the ceiling.
“Overwhelmed.”
He huffed, pushing himself back up to sit. “Do you blame me for the Internationaux de France?”
“What? Of course not,” Shane said quickly, sitting down on the bed beside him. “Why would I?”
“What else should I think? You stop talking to me right after.” Ilya almost sounded hurt. It was hard to believe Shane could make him sound like that.
“It wasn’t you. I got too caught up in my head about everything. I was overthinking my skating, my future.” He weakly gestured between them. “This. It was self-sabotage.”
“Sab-o-tage?”
“Like, I was so worried about what could go wrong that I ruined everything.”
Ilya nodded, considering this. “You have not ruined everything. You made it to the Final.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about right now.”
Skeptically, Ilya studied his face. Though it scared him, Shane let him do it. “I told you I left skating because my father was sick, yes?” Shane nodded. “That was only part of it. I did not plan to come back.”
“Why not?”
Ilya picked at the duvet cover. “It was not fun anymore. There was so much pressure to be the best all the time. If I didn’t win, it disappointed him. If I did, he would forget soon after. Even if he hadn’t been sick, I think I would have left eventually.”
Shane fought the urge to reach for his hand. “So what changed?”
Ilya smiled to himself absentmindedly. “Nothing. Taking a break reminded me why I did it in the first place. Skating makes me feel close to my mother.” He sniffed, quickly looking towards the corner of the room. “I used to skate to impress my father or my coach, but when my mother was here, she never asked that of me. She always told me to skate for myself. I wanted to see what would happen if I did.”
Shane smiled softly. “And?”
“Is good. Is fun again. My coach hates my free program, but it is better than what he used to make me do. It makes cute boys blush.”
Shane, unsurprisingly, blushed. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Sure,” Ilya hummed, letting their knees knock together. “How is your head now?”
“It is what it is. I have to work on it.”
He hummed understandingly. “So is this skating crisis or gay crisis?”
Shane scoffed at the insinuation, but his face still flushed. “I knew I was gay, Ilya.”
“Okay. So, you and Rose Laundry…”
“Are friends.” Ilya seemed unconvinced. “Seriously, we’re just friends. We dated for a month as teenagers, but that was it.”
Ilya’s mouth twitched. “Okay.”
“Are you serious? Ilya, are you jealous of Rose?”
“So what if I am?” He tried to sound casual, but he wouldn’t meet Shane’s eyes. Shane wasn’t always great at reading emotions, but he could tell Ilya was nervous. Look at me, he thought, inching closer on the bed. Let me show you it’s okay. And by some miracle or undisclosed power of telepathy, Ilya listened. He looked at Shane, silently asking the question again. So what if I am? Shane didn’t make him wait for his answer.
Gently, he cupped Ilya’s face and kissed him. He tried his best to be softer than the last time when he’d nearly toppled them both over. It stayed soft even as Ilya reciprocated, bringing a hand up to brush calloused fingers along Shane’s jaw. The sensation of it made his whole body shiver. Ilya deepened the kiss, shifting his hand to rest on the back of Shane’s neck. Tonight, he tasted like toothpaste rather than cigarettes. Shane wondered if he’d brushed his teeth before coming to the room. The thought of it made him smile.
Ilya made a sound of pleasure, firmly wrapping his other hand around Shane’s waist. He took the hint, shifting until he was straddling Ilya’s lap without once breaking the kiss. He was not very graceful getting there, but Ilya seemed pleased with the result. He hummed happily as he pulled Shane closer by his waist, pressing their chests together. Shane, in turn, wrapped his arms around his neck and held on. Ilya’s lips began to travel from the corner of his mouth to his jawline, slowly kissing his way down Shane’s neck.
“God, I missed you,” Shane gasped, unable to think better of it with Ilya’s mouth on him. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Ilya moaned into his neck, and Shane thought he might die. The euphoria was only broken when he felt him start to worry a specific area of his neck. He forced himself to pull away, fixing Ilya with a half-hearted glare. “Stop it. We have the short programs tomorrow.”
“Come on, Hollander!” Ilya pouted. “Don’t you have makeup?”
“Yes, but-” Shane stopped short as Ilya let out a snicker. “Fuck you. We all do.”
The other man grinned and pressed his lips to a spot just below Shane’s right eye. “You don’t need it.”
Shane almost melted to the floor. He caught Ilya’s mouth again, bringing his hands up to run them through his hair. He tugged at it experimentally, causing Ilya to let out a low growl. It was phenomenal.
Just as he was starting to brainstorm other ways to hear that sound again, Ilya pulled away once more. He looked up at him with swollen lips and blown-out pupils. Shane wanted to frame that face. “Are you going to freak out?”
Unable to keep the distance, Shane rested their foreheads together. “No.”
“Even if…” he trailed off, sliding his hand from Shane’s waist to his crouch. His breath caught. “Will you be okay?”
There would never be enough words to express how okay Shane was with this. Instead, he pressed his lips firmly against Ilya’s and spoke into them. “More than okay.”