Chapter Text
Read the room William.
Will hated that phrase.It made something in his stomach sink every time he heard it, like he'd done something wrong without realizing it. Sometimes he just got excited. Ideas didn't arrive one at a time in his head; they all seemed to rush in together, bumping into one another until they practically spilled out of his mouth. If he didn't say them right away, they disappeared just as quickly as they'd come, and then he spent the rest of the day trying to remember what had been so important.He wasn't trying to interrupt. He wasn't trying to be annoying.
It hurt when people didn't want to hear them.Especially Mom.He lowered his eyes to the floor, pressing the toe of his sneaker against the hardwood and tracing invisible circles. He only wanted to tell everyone that Ilya had finally taken the Pokémon quiz. As the undisputed Hollander family expert on all things Pokémon, Will was absolutely convinced the Raiders captain had cheated. There was simply no universe where Ilya Rozanov was a Tornadus. It was statistically impossible.He tried to pretend he wasn't upset.He'd never been very good at pretending.
Mom noticed almost immediately.The tightness in her face eased, some of the stress melting away as guilt flickered across her expression. She reached over and gently squeezed his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said, her voice much softer now. "What was his result?"
Will looked up cautiously, searching her face to make sure she really wanted to know this time.
"...Tornadus," he said, sounding personally offended.
Yuna blinked,"...Really?"
"I KNOW!" Will cried, immediately perking up. "He's lying, right? Ilya Rozanov is absolutely not a Tornadus!”
Will thought back to Shane insisting that Ilya was a Hufflepuff. Hufflepuffs simply couldn’t be the muscular flying Pokemon. He wanted to say more but mom was staring at Dad again, doing that thing with her eyebrows trying to communicate something nonverbally. Whatever she was trying to say,and as often as those eyebrows were pointed at him, Will was horrible at reading them, and apparently Dad was too. Dad instead was focused on arranging the table.
“Do you think I’ve made enough pasta?” Dad asked to really no one in particular, “Shane is so particular but we know hockey players eat a lot,”
“David,” Mom sighed out but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.
If Will could get up he would've sprung to his feet, both to say hi to his brother and then to accuse Ilya of lying about his Pokemon result.
“Hi it's me Shane,” Shane almost waddled into the room, hands stuck very far into the pockets of his shorts. He’d worn a nice button down shirt, and Ilya, had worn a Boston Raiders’ Shirt? Did he not realize he was walking into the Hollander house?
Willie could not help the squawk of indignation that escaped at the sight of the forbidden item. Shane had been a Metros player since he was a toddler. He'd been raised to hate the Raiders' black and yellow on sight. It was almost like the involuntary reflexes they'd learned about in science class.
“What?” Ilya’s face broke into a genuine smile, he gripped the hem of his shirt, “you do not like?”
“No!” he turned his gaze to his brother, “how could you let him wear that to our house?”
Shane looked extremely uncomfortable at the question, “l-let him? Why would I get to decide what he wears?”
Will frowned.That... wasn't really an answer.
"You'll have to excuse him," Dad said, giving Will's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "He's been raised as a Metros fan. Raiders colors tend to produce dramatic reactions."
"I am not dramatic," Will protested.
Four pairs of eyes turned toward him,"...Okay, maybe a little."
That earned a quiet laugh from Dad and, to Will's surprise, one from Ilya too.Dad stepped forward then, closing the distance between himself and the towering Russian.
"It's nice to see you again, Rozanov."He offered his hand.The room seemed to hold its breath.Will watched Ilya hesitate for the briefest moment before taking it.That was odd.On television, Ilya Rozanov never hesitated.He chirped referees.He laughed at reporters.He skated directly into six-foot-four defensemen without blinking.Now he looked......nervous.Actually nervous. Could he really be nervous about David Hollander, the kindest dad in Canada? Ilya’s grip was firm, but not crushing like Will had expected.
"Ilya," he corrected quietly.
Dad didn't let go immediately.Instead he gave his hand another shake and nodded once, almost thoughtfully,"Ilya."The single name sounded deliberate, as though he were trying it on"Welcome."
For reasons Will couldn't explain, Shane looked even more uncomfortable than before.His brother shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands still buried deep inside his pockets. He looked like someone waiting for a fire alarm that hadn't gone off yet.
Ilya glanced toward Shane for half a second before looking back at Dad,"Thank you, sir."
"Oh, enough with the 'sir,'" Dad said with an easy smile. "David is fine. I know you’ve met but this is my wife Yuna,”
The handshake with Mom was even weirder. Will rose from the sofa, and began to hop towards the dining room table. He was hungry, and the food for his birthday dinner was already there, so he sat.
***
Shane had spent a pathetic amount of time imagining what it would be like for Ilya to meet his parents. In his imagination, it would be some brief interaction at some awards dinner. They’d shake hands, and that would be sufficient enough to know at least they had exchanged some kind of greeting once. He had never been happier to have such a chatty younger brother. Willie got anxious when everything was silent, thus, he was continuing going on and on. Shane was also thankful that at least Dad was playing along, and Ilya was offering his commentary as well.
He could not help feeling as if he was under a microscope. Will, who sat at the end of the table, insisted the hockey players sit next to him which meant he and Ilya could not sit together. Shane at first found this terrified him but at least it created a barrier where maybe their body language would not scream that we are in love with each other. It did not help that his mom had barely uttered a few words since they sat down.
“I…,” his mom began when there was a lull in the conversation. Both Willie and Ilya were too busy stuffing an absurd amount of pasta into their mouths, they seemed to silently be competing on who could eat more of it to talk.
“Yuna..,” Dad cautioned.
Yuna squared to face them, “you are friends,”
Shane rose his glass to his lips, taking a very long sip mulling over this. They had already explained their “friendship”.
““Yes,” Ilya said simply, swallowing another bite of pasta before wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I…,” Mom swallowed, eyes flicking briefly to David before continuing, “friends don’t bite each other,”
Shane stared at his mother.The words were English. He knew every single one of them. Somehow, when they were arranged in that particular order, his brain simply refused to process them.Friends don't bite each other.What?Somewhere down the table, a fork slipped from someone's hand and clattered against the hardwood. Shane couldn't even bring himself to look. He desperately wanted to turn toward Ilya, hoping,praying, the Russian had some explanation, some miraculous comeback that would make this entire conversation disappear.
Instead, all he managed was,“...What?”
“Yuna,” Dad warned again.
“I’m sorry. I just….,” she re-arranged herself into a forced smile, “Ilya has a hickey,”
“What’s a hickey?” Willie asked loudly.
“Not now William,” Yuna told him.
“I’ll just google it later,”
Please don't.Shane finally looked toward Ilya.Fuck.There it was.A dark bruise bloomed just above the collar of his T-shirt, perfectly visible now that he'd tilted his head. They'd grown careless. They were supposed to have two weeks of no interruptions. Shane suddenly became acutely aware of the matching mark hidden safely beneath the collar of his own button-down.Across the table, Ilya seemed to arrive at the same realization. He slowly raised a hand and clamped it over the side of his neck as though that might somehow undo the previous twenty minutes.
“A hickey is a more passionate kiss,” Dad informed.
Shane wanted to die. He lowered his head into his hands. Maybe if he squeezed his eyes shut hard enough this would all just go away, but instead the conversation continued.
“DAVID!” Mom hissed.
“Do you prefer I tell him or the internet?”
“Does it involve biting?” Will asked.
“Er sometimes,”
“EW GROSS!” Will cried out, and turned and turned to Shane’s direction, “why would you bite Ilya?”
The question and comment seemed to echo in his ears. Well Willie when you really like-no love-no at least physically attracted one gets……Shane did not let himself continue that thought. To his immense relief, the conversation seemed to stall. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The silence should have been comforting.Instead, it was unbearable.His heart was pounding so hard he was certain everyone at the table could hear it. Each beat thudded against his ribs with painful force. His ears rang. The edges of the dining room blurred ever so slightly, the chatter around him fading into a muffled haze.Breathe.He'd talked himself through playoff overtimes with less difficulty than this.
“Shane?” It was Ilya’s voice, “Shane?”
A large, warm, and familiar hand landed gently on his neck. It squeezed with gentleness. Shane could hear his name be called again but it sounded as if Ilya was beneath water. The touch was familiar except..Not here, Ilya.Not in front of his parents.Shane's eyes snapped open.Ilya seemed to realize it at the exact same moment.His hand disappeared from Shane's neck so quickly it was as if he'd been burned.
Shane swallowed hard, "I'm fine," he lied, his voice thinner than he intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I... I just need a minute."
“We can leave you two,” Dad was saying and he must have been pushing back his chair because it made a noise against the floor, “perhaps give Will his birthday present,”
“But….,” Will began, “the cake?”
“After I promise,” Dad vowed, “Yuna?”
Mom’s voice sounded thin, “I’m sorry I-
Shane dragged his face upward. What was he supposed to say? It seemed she and Dad had at least figured out he and Ilya were more than friends. Neither of them seemed disgusted by it. Dad had spent the last twenty minutes making sure Ilya's plate never stayed empty for long, absentmindedly spooning more pasta onto it whenever it started to look bare. Mom had quietly refilled his wineglass before she'd refilled her own. She'd asked him about the Raiders, about travel, about charity, about Russia, about mostly hockey. She had treated him less like the captain of the Boston Raiders and more like... a guest she genuinely wanted to know.If anything, they had gone out of their way to make him feel welcome.
That should have been comforting.Instead, Shane felt sick.Because this wasn't how it was supposed to happen.He had imagined this conversation a hundred different ways over the years.He imagined sitting across from his parents, just the three of them, telling them that he was gay. Giving them time to absorb it. To ask questions. To process the fact that the son they'd raised wasn't quite who they'd always assumed he was.
Then he would introduce them to the idea of Ilya. He loved Ilya and Ilya loved him back. He’d need them to see him as more than Rozanov. His gaze drifted across the table to Ilya, who despite the blush in his cheeks seemed to be more composed than Shane but he was always more composed. On the ice. Off the ice. In the bedroom.
Shane wanted to laugh.Or throw up.Possibly both.Then there was Willie.Shane's stomach twisted.Eleven years old still in primary school and incapable of keeping a thought inside his head for more than five seconds.His little brother was still staring between the two of them, looking thoroughly bewildered, as though he genuinely expected someone to explain why biting had suddenly become tonight's dinner topic.
Shane had spent years worrying about telling his parents.Somehow, somewhere along the way, he'd realized the conversation that terrified him most wasn't just this one.It was the one he'd eventually have to have with Willie. He imagined telling his parents first and maybe when Willie was a bit older they’d all clue him in. But did he know too much between the hickies and the cottage? Shane suspected it would have been blurted out if Willie had.
"Here," Ilya said quietly, already pushing his chair back. "Let me, Mr.—" He caught himself with the faintest hint of a smile. "David."
David stepped aside without argument.Ilya's attention shifted to Willie, who was still looking stubbornly between the adults. The birthday boy clearly had no intention of leaving until someone answered the biting question to his satisfaction.
"Belka," Ilya said, tilting his head toward the staircase, "do you have more Pokémon things upstairs?"
Willie blinked,"...Yeah."
"Show me."
"Really?"
"Da. You still have to convince me I am not Tornadus."
Willie's eyes lit up,"I knew you cheated!"
Just like that, the hickeys, the awkward silence, and the increasingly uncomfortable adults ceased to exist.
"Come on!" Willie said excitedly.He instinctively tried to spring to his feet before remembering his injured foot,"Ow."
He frowned at his bandage as though personally betrayed by it.Without a word, Ilya crouched in front of him.
"Taxi?"
A grin spread across Willie's face,"Best birthday ever."
He carefully climbed onto Ilya's back, looping his arms around the Russian's shoulders,"Don't drop me."
"I carried you with more blood than this."
"Good point."
David chuckled quietly.Yuna couldn't help smiling even if her eyes were teary.Even through the knot of anxiety twisting in his chest, Shane felt one corner of his mouth lift.He caught Ilya's eye.They didn't need words.Ilya knew exactly what he was doing.Giving Shane a chance to breathe.Giving his parents a chance to talk.Giving Willie a chance to remain blissfully focused on Pokémon instead of hickeys.
"I'll be right back," Ilya said softly.
Shane gave the smallest nod,"Okay."
Willie pointed enthusiastically toward the stairs,"First we're proving you're not a Tornadus."
"You are very determined."
"Because I'm right."
"We shall see."
Their voices faded up the staircase together, leaving the dining room quieter than it had been all evening.
“"I think..." Dad cleared his throat, offering a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I think we might need something stronger than wine."
The attempt at humor landed gently, more an excuse to move than a joke. He pushed back his chair and disappeared into the kitchen, the soft clink of cabinet doors breaking the silence that had settled over the dining room.
Yuna turned toward her eldest son,"Shane—"
"I..." His fingers tightened around the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. He hadn't realized how hard he was gripping it. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry,"I think..." He exhaled shakily. "I'd like to wait for Ilya to come back."
The words hung in the air.Yuna studied him for a long moment.It wasn't simply that he wanted to wait.It was that he couldn't imagine having this conversation without him. Not now especially. It also was not his story or coming out to go through alone.
"Of course," she said quietly.
"Is... is that okay?"
"Shane." Her voice softened. "If this is a conversation that belongs to both of you..." She offered him a small, reassuring smile. "Then it should happen with both of you here."
Something in Shane's chest loosened.He hadn't realized he'd been afraid she'd say no.The dining room fell quiet once more. Dad returned with vodka, something Shane usually never indulged in but perhaps it could make him feel less as though he was on the edge of a fucking cliff. Ilya returned a few moments later, sans Willie.
“He is playing a new Pokemon game,” Ilya announced.
Dad looked at Mom, silently asking.
“I brought it for him,” Ilya answered the question they did not ask, and he was scratching nervously at his neck, “is alright, yes?”
“For you to buy our son a birthday gift?” Dad asked, his voice light, “more than acceptable,”
“Just no sports cars Rozan-I mean Ilya,” Mom said.
Ilya gave a shy smile before he accepted his own cup of vodka, before commenting on it. He sat beside Shane this time, and Shane could feel Ilya’s shoe brushing up against his own. He licked his lips.
“So I’m gay,” he announced to his parent, “this was not how I imagined telling you and this is Ilya and we’re-...,” what were they exactly? They had both confessed they loved each other, but they hadn’t had that conversation yet.
“Lovers,” Ilya supplied, not helpfully.
“No Ilya that’s gross,” Shane scolded, to him, lovers brought images of affairs and sex. And fine they had, had a lot of sex but he didn’t need his parents to know that.