Chapter Text
Shane was right to call Harris. Harris acted normally the whole drive to the hospital. He showed obvious concern for his friend’s injury, but didn’t push the subject at all. Shane was extremely grateful for him in this moment. Harris waited in the car while Ilya and Shane went into the emergency room. Because they were well known, they were immediately taken back to a private room.
Ilya didn’t speak much, and Shane didn’t try to converse. The doctors took their explanation of what happened at face value. His arm was stitched up within the hour. They were out the door a few hours later with a diagnosis of a bone contusion in his hand and eight stitches. Shane could tell Ilya was mentally distancing himself from the whole situation, and for tonight, he allowed it. Ilya just went to bed when they got home. Shane joined him after cleaning up the blood from what had happened.
Shane turned off both of their alarms for the next morning, already deciding they would be skipping the optional skate. He stayed in bed with his arms around Ilya for hours longer than he usually would, until Ilya woke up naturally around eleven.
Ilya groaned at the light streaming into their bedroom. He could tell he was lying on something other than the bed. Bleeringly, he tilted his head up to see Shane smiling softly at him.
“Good morning,” Shane said softly
Ilya rested his head back on Shane’s chest comfortably. It was odd for him; they usually were the other way round, “Time?” he asked groggily.
“Oh, um,” Shane grabbed his phone from where he had placed it nearby, “11:24.”
“We had skate,” Ilya mumbled, pain briefly flared through his arm now that he was conscious enough to be reminded of his injury,
Shane ran his hand through Ilya’s hair carefully, “It was optional, and I told Troy last night we wouldn’t be there in case anyone asked questions,” he assumed people would ask. Shane never missed an optional skate, and Ilya rarely missed.
Ilya felt the urge to apologize, but didn’t. He knew Shane would just correct his guilt. He pulled the comforter over himself more. Their bed was comfortable, safe, and he knew if he exited it that the day had begun. If the day started, then they would inevitably talk about yesterday, and he reasoned that if they talked about yesterday, they would fight.
“When you’re ready, we should really get up. Anya is probably starving.” Shane heard Ilya sigh, “We can just go downstairs. You can rest on the couch, and I will make some breakfast and take care of Anya.” he tiptoped cautiously, unaware of how easily Ilya would be set off in any way.
“Is fine. I can do it,” Ilya said, his voice still gruff. He sat up. To him, it was painfully obvious Shane was treating him like a live wire, but he didn’t have the energy to get upset. Maybe he was a live wire.
Shane rolled out of bed and stood. He hesitated, watching how slowly Ilya got up and stretched. He was trying to balance being overbearing and being reasonable when it came to behaving around Ilya. He told himself again and again that he still trusted Ilya. His husband hadn’t done anything really yet to betray that trust. So he needed to fall back on that. He left Ilya to move at his own pace and started taking care of the morning household tasks.
Half an hour later, Ilya sat at the kitchen island staring into his cup of coffee. Shane slid a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of fruit in front of him. He stayed on the opposite side of the island, standing; he had way too much nervous energy to sit. He looked at how his own breakfast was a much blander version of Ilya’s. He tried, really tried, to leave room for Ilya to start the conversation, but after five minutes of tense silence, he broke.
“This is hard. I imagine you don’t have a lot of energy right now, but we need to talk about this.” Shane glanced up at Ilya, whose blank expression didn’t change, “I need to understand so I can help. Then we can make a safety plan, and then we can just relax for the rest of the day, but we can’t put off the conversation.”
Ilya nodded, “Okey”
Shane stimmed with his fingers silently, “I am sorry I upset you last night. I obviously didn’t approach the conversation in the right way. I wasn’t trying to-” he took a breath, “I.. I don’t know. I was just trying to help.”
“I know,” Ilya stirred his spoon around his oatmeal, “You did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have gotten angry. It was…” he racked his mind for the right word, “uh. Just not good. You were trying to help, and I was like a child.”
Shane shook his head, “It’s a scary conversation. You’re allowed to feel.”
Ilya scoffed, “Yes, but not allowed to punch a hole in the wall right next to you.” he dropped his spoon and pushed the bowl away from himself. He couldn’t bear thinking about eating with how upset with himself he was.
Shane took a second to formulate a response before he spoke, “No. That wasn’t the best way to handle things, but we are okay. Your hand will heal, and we will fix the wall.” he frowned.
“Yes,” Ilya agreed simply but said nothing else. His mind only circled around what if Shane had been closer to him? Would he have hit him instead of the wall? Was he really just like his father?
Okay, Shane mentally said to himself. Okay, okay, okay, okay, he repeated and repeated, “Could… could you try to explain it to me?”
“There isn’t much to explain.”
“Try?” Shane pleaded, “Anything at all.”
Ilya took a breath. He refused to meet Shane’s watching eyes. He took a sip of his coffee before speaking, “Ah… It's sort of like. When things are a lot here,” he motioned haphazardly to his head, “it hurts. My chest too… like pressure maybe. And I can’t make it stop.” he cleared his throat unnecessarily, “But if I make something else hurt more the pressure stops.”
Shane nodded. He didn’t understand, not even for a second, but he accepted what his husband said, “Okay. So it helps… Do you ever do it to like punish yourself?” he made a conscious effort not to say the phrase ‘self-harm’ until Ilya said it himself.
Ilya shrugged then shook his head, “No.”
Shane paused, trying to decide if he actually believed that or not. “I’ll be right back,” he said, leaving Ilya quickly to grab his laptop and return. He took the same spot he had left and opened a blank document. “So safety plans cover a lot of stuff. You should probably make one with your therapist cause she will know more than I do, but I thought we could do the basic stuff? I can order some lock boxes.”
“Lock boxes?” Ilya questioned, confused.
Shane paused and looked up at him from the computer, “Yeah… For like our meds, knives, and stuff.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, frustration built in his chest, “We do not need to lock things up. I will not do anything. I am in control, yes?” he looked at Shane like that was obvious, but was made uncomfortable by his concerned gaze, “What?”
Shane cleared his throat and looked down at the keyboard, “Okay. We don’t have to lock anything up if you promise you’ll follow the safety plan… I am trusting you, Ilya, and I really need you to take that seriously.” When Ilya said nothing, he resumed typing, “We are supposed to identify concerning behaviors and possible triggers first.”
“What does that mean?” Ilya asked curtly. He could feel himself getting more frustrated, so he took a deep breath. This was stupid. Okay, maybe he was hurting himself on purpose, but all of this wasn’t necessary. He would simply stop hurting himself.
` “Uh,” Shane noticed his husband’s tension immediately, “Like. You have the urge to do- things- when your emotions are high, right? So we just figure out how you know your emotions are high and write those things down.”
Ilya glared at his coffee cup, “I know because it is my own head, yes?”
Shane shifted anxiously. Silence fell over the two for a minute before Shane moved. He brought his laptop over and sat on the barstool next to Ilya. Ilya spoke again, “I am sorry.”
Shane shook his head. He held Ilya’s hand in his own, “Let’s just try to figure it out together. I know you’re probably over this already, but I need this, okay? So I am going to start writing some stuff, and you can tell me things to change or add.” he was trying to make this as easy as possible.
The two fell into silence as Shane typed. He started with distraction techniques, safe people, and safe areas, before moving on to emergency planning. He laid out very specifically who to contact when, based on how Ilya was feeling, and other options if, for some reason, Ilya didn’t want to contact a specific person. It was a very calculated- feel this? Do this. Document. He added a portion on what Ilya should do if he has already self-harmed. Ilya had only chimed in a few times with comments or concerns. He was nervous about all the people who needed to be involved in this process. Shane patiently explained why each person had to know about Ilya needing support and tried to reassure his husband of his fears.
An hour later, they came to a tentative agreement. Shane couldn’t help but feel like he had strong-armed the whole process. Ilya promised to follow the plan and Shane chose to trust him until he proved himself untrustworthy.
That agreement lasted. A week later, it was like nothing had happened. Shane watched carefully for every warning sign he learned about. Ilya never asked for support, but he also had not done any of his harmful habits again. The term “self-harm” had yet to be uttered in the house since the first night, which Shane wasn’t the most comfortable with, but he was picking his battles carefully. A week after that, Ilya brought up the subject on his own by showing the plan he had made with Galina. It was extremely similar to the plan he had made with Shane. Shane was incredibly proud that Ilya had brought up the topic himself. They ended up printing a copy of Galina’s plan in both English and Cyrillic. The papers were kept in a drawer in the kitchen.
The first week, Ilya had felt great. Well, great is a strong word; he was in a light depressive episode, but he had no urges to hurt himself. He found joy in the triumph that he held control so easily. In the second week, he found himself in the kitchen at midnight, staring at the safety plan like it was the reason he was feeling bad. He didn’t actually need to read it, of course. He was in control. He was just… looking at it.
He picked one of the distraction techniques they had planned, video games, and tried not to think about how he felt better an hour later. He let himself accept that maybe the plan wasn’t so stupid…
A month after Ilya made that difficult conclusion, the Centaurs had a tense game. Ilya had been feeling bad before he stepped on the ice, and the pressure of the neck and neck game didn’t help that. Half his chirps left his mouth without a second thought, and he forgot what he said moments later.
It was right after the Centaurs' power play that one of these chirps happened against the opposing team's defenseman. Ilya grinned at the other player, “Huh. This must be embarrassing for your team. I thought you were supposed to be number three in the league.” The Centaurs were winning, but the other team was putting up a fight.
“Shut your filthy mouth, Rozanov. You won’t be in the lead for long.” The opposition said.
Ilya should have left it at that, and normally he would, “Aw, don’t worry, at least you get a nice view of my ass from behind.” he winked just to piss the man off. He knew now that he was out of the immediate way to make any player angry was to imply something gay.
“You wanna fucking go with my Rozanov? Let’s go,” the other shook off his gloves and put his hands up.
Ilya laughed and dropped his gloves. Before the two had even taken a step closer to each other. Shane slid to a stop between them. He looked his husband dead in the eyes with a serious expression.
“Fucking move, Hollander.” The other man shoved Shane from behind, but Shane didn’t move; he stayed staring at Ilya.
Ilya’s expression dropped. He stood up straight out of his fighting position and let his hands fall to his sides. He looked away from Shane, embarrassed. Luca and Troy joined the situation after the opposing player touched Shane. Ilya felt his skin buzzing with adrenaline. The shame he now felt didn’t help the pressure in his chest that had made its home there that morning.
Shane let Troy and Luca deal with the opposition that was now angry he didn’t get the fight he was promised. He looked at Ilya, he was disappointed but mostly sad, “If you wanna fight someone, you’ll have to fight me.” Ilya didn’t say anything before skating back to the bench.
Shane kept an eye on Ilya for the rest of the game. Ilya stayed silent, not a single chirp or dig felt his mouth. The feelings only got stronger as the game went on. The Centaurs ended up winning. He celebrated some with the team, but mostly focused on getting changed. He felt his eye linger for a second too long on his own skates and cursed. He had expected Shane to bother him about the fight, but he didn’t. They got home, and an extremely uncomfortable silence fell over their household. Shane and Ilya did their normal post-game routine.
Ilya sat on the couch two hours after they got home, and Shane was getting ready for bed. He tried to just sit on the couch and take deep breaths. He tried to remind himself that he was in control. It didn’t feel like he was in control right now. He felt like he could feel where his skin attached to his bones. It pissed him off. He knew he wouldn’t be feeling so miserable if he had fought that guy during the game, but it was too late now. Ilya was exhausted and just wanted to relax enough to go to sleep. He raked his nails halfway down his forearm before he stopped himself.
Thinking back to the safety plan, this is when he was supposed to ask for him. This was probably way past where he was supposed to ask for help. But maybe it wasn’t? Maybe he was just being dramatic. Ilya’s mind went back to how upset Shane was, and how he was trusting him. Slowly, he stood from the couch and made his way to their bedroom. Every step made him feel weak; he could hear his father's voice ridiculing him.
He walked into their room and found Shane in their en-suite bathroom brushing his teeth. Ilya hesitated in the doorway, knowing this was his last chance to back out. He entered the bathroom just barely and leaned against the wall.
“Hey,” Shane said with his mouth full. He quickly finished brushing his teeth and turned to Ilya.
Ilya crossed his arms and stared at the floor in front of him. He stayed silent for a few moments, and Shane didn’t move. He glanced at his husband anxiously, “I uh… I need help.”
“Okay,” Shane said immediately, “Okay. Thank you for telling me.” he tried not to panic as he figured out what to do. He approached and kissed Ilya on the forehead, “Do you want to go watch a movie?”
“You were going to go to bed,” Ilya said, looking at Shane now.
Shane shook his head, “This is more important. Let’s go.” He took Ilya's hand carefully and led them back to the living room. He pulled a throw blanket off the corner of the couch and turned on the TV. He sat himself in the corner of their couch and motioned for Ilya to lie in front of him. How his husband hesitated for a moment broke his heart. Ilya lay in front of him and rested his head against Shane’s chest. Shane immediately draped the blanket over them and kissed his head.
“I am so proud of you. I know that wasn’t easy, but I am so, so proud of you, baby.” Shane said softly, “I am right here. Do you want to talk about how you’re feeling?”
Ilya shook his head as tears filled his eyes. He gripped Shane’s hand for comfort. Shane didn’t have to see him to know what was going on. “I am sorry,” Ilya croaked out.
“Don’t apologize. Thank you so much for telling me. You’re so brave,” Shane said softly. Ilya shook his head, “Yes, you are. I wish you didn't have to be brave; it's not fair. You are so loved, your brain is just mean.”
Ilya didn't trust his own voice, so he brought Shane’s hand to his mouth and gave it a kiss. It was the only affection he could muster, the only way to tell Shane how much he appreciated him.
Shane inturn ran his fingers through his hair gently, “You don’t have to say or do anything. Just let me hold you. You don’t have to be strong for me.” The two lay together for two hours, until Ilya felt like he was safe from his own brain, and until Shane trusted that.
After that, Shane was determined to find some way for Ilya to redirect his feelings. Talk therapy only did so much. He knew it was hard to go from a violent, high-adrenaline game to home, where the quiet was like whiplash. He thought of what he already knew: how Ilya had harmed himself in the past, what Ilya liked to do. He researched best practices, of course. He tried to ignore the weight of responsibility he felt on his shoulders for Ilya; he knew that wasn’t healthy.
The idea came to him while scrolling. Ilya fights to regulate. What if he could fight without getting punched himself? They didn’t have any kind of punching bag since that wasn’t a normal component of hockey training. Shane was sure he could get some nice equipment and have someone hang a heavy bag in their gym. Punching a bag for a while may help with the compulsions.
A few days later, Shane had a small crew mount the bag to the ceiling while Ilya was out on his daily run with Anya. He watched the crew work from the gym room door. Ilya came home out of breath, covered in sweat, and confused.
“Uh” Ilya said after following the noise of drilling to the gym. He looked between Shane and the two men who were cleaning up their tools, “New equipment?”
Shane nodded and smiled at him, “Yeah. How was your run?”
Ilya looked between him and the bag suspiciously, “A punch bag? Why do you want one of those? You're going to start fighting on the ice.” he stepped out of the way of the crew as they past, saying their goodbyes.
Shane ignored his husband, “Thank you,” he said to the crew, then entered the room. He pulled out the protective gloves he'd bought for the bag from a small cabinet in the gym. “Uh, it’s actually for you.” he stood by the bag and offered the gloves to Ilya.
Ilya entered the room and took the gloves from him. He examined them carefully, “for me?” he questioned curiously.
“Yes,” Shane ignored the nervousness he now felt. Maybe this was a stupid idea, “I thought that… well, on days it’s hard, this would be a good redirection for your feelings… so you can have a way to get things out without hurting yourself.”
Ilya stared at his husband, his breathing still labored from the run. He had gotten better about being comfortable with the two of them talking about is self harm, but it still made him nervous. His eyes fell to the gloves in his hand. He had to admit- it was a good idea.
Shane’s nervousness grew with his silence, “It’s dumb. You don’t have to use it. I just thought that it might be helpful-”
“No, no,” Ilya cut off, “It is a good idea. Thank you.” he smiled at Shane and gave him a kiss.
Shane thought that was that. He figured Ilya thought it was a stupid idea, so he moved on to trying to find something new. Until the next day, when he woke at three am to an empty bed. In a blind panic, he ran down the stairs, spotting the light coming from their home gym immediately. He entered the room and spotted Ilya immediately. He had his back to Shane, with his headphones in, punching the bag. Shane was relieved to see he had his protective gloves on. Shane sighed in relief and went back to bed.