Chapter Text
For the fourth Tuesday in a row, Ilya is packing his bag and getting ready to head out to his stretching class.
At this point, his knee feels almost normal again. It’s not perfectly healed, but he has a team doctors and physiotherapists closely monitoring his progress. At every follow-up appointment, they remind him about the importance of being patient and not rushing the recovery timeline. As if he would ignore medical advice and do something stupid just because he feels better. Shane laughs at him the one time he voices his thought out loud.
The good news is, he’s skating again. Only a few hours a week, but enough to make him feel more like himself. He can attend practice again, even though it’s only from the bench, and his daily routine is back to being more than just PT sessions, resting on the couch while waiting for Shane to come home, and going to class with his new friends twice a week.
Today though, he’s about to attend his final class, and he’s not sure how he feels about it. A few weeks ago, he would have celebrated, but now, it feels strangely bittersweet to know that after one more doctor’s appointment and hopefully a final approval, he’ll be back to playing hockey full-time.
He heads out to Shane’s car, slightly grumbling about having to be the “princess passenger”. Shane, who was ready and waiting for him, greets him with a soft smile as Ilya sits down.
The Centaurs played a home game the night before, hopefully the last one Ilya had to watch from the sidelines, and Shane looks way too awake for someone who fought hard for a win and got home late after having to do interviews for what felt like forever to Ilya, who had gone home directly after the game. Shane had suggested that they drive to the arena separately since Ilya wasn’t playing, and he hadn’t argued because he didn’t want to linger these days, after watching his team give their best while he was just sitting there made him feel useless and hollow.
Shane had looked exhausted when he had finally gotten home, and yet, here he was, driving to a fitness class with his husband in the morning after a game. Most reasonable people would have preferred to spend their day resting, but Shane Hollander was not most people, and he was definitely not reasonable according to his husband, because he considered a stretching class to be pretty much the same as resting, which was frankly disturbing.
“You don’t have to do this,” Ilya says, for what must be the third time that morning.
“I’m aware,” Shane replies, not looking away from the road.
“You could be in bed, resting,” Ilya insists.
“I don’t want to stay in bed all morning,” Shane shrugs, before adding: “You know I like to be up early.”
“Yes, but you played a game yesterday. You got home late,” Ilya frowns.
“I know, I was there,” Shane huffs, but then catches the flicker of concern on his husband’s face, so he removes one of his hands from the steering wheel and reaches over to lace their fingers together, giving Ilya’s hand a reassuring squeeze before putting it back on the wheel. Ilya sighs, understanding that there is no point in trying to argue with his husband, and rests his left hand on Shane’s thigh. His thumb strokes absentminded circles as he leans back against the headrest, turning his head just enough to be able to stare at his husband without shame, drinking in every freckle scattered around his beautiful face.
Shane pointedly keeps his eyes on the road, but he can probably feel Ilya’s stare as a faint blush blooms across his cheeks.
“I still can’t believe you are attending stretching class with twelve grandmothers on purpose,” Ilya says a moment later.
“Mm-hmm,” Shane smiles.
“You do more complicated stretches every day when you do yoga; what is the point?” Ilya asks, still baffled by how determined Shane is to go to this class.
“I want to meet everyone. And I want to see YOU stretching,” Shane admits.
“Ah,” Ilya finally seems to understand what is going on. “Hollander, you want to watch me. You should have said that.”
Shane glances over before answering. “Maybe.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Or maybe I want to meet your new friends and the cute instructor.”
Ilya groans. He knows Shane is serious about this, and he wonders if maybe it’s all about to be a complete disaster.
Shane pulls over in the parking lot a few minutes later, and they walk to the studio together, bags on their shoulders, walking without touching but close enough for Ilya to know that no one will doubt who he is walking in with.
When they enter the studio, most of the ladies are gathered in a corner, happily chatting. Ilya spots muffins and other pastries on the small table against the wall behind them, and his heart clenches. A few of his new friends had mentioned that they’d bring some baked goods for Ilya’s last class, but he wasn’t sure if they’d remember the date, as he had just mentioned it once in passing a couple of weeks ago.
Bernice is the first one to turn around and spot them and gasps as she realizes that Ilya didn’t show up alone, making the rest of the group notice their presence and go silent. The silence does'nt last long, though, as they all seem to come to their senses and immediately huddle closer to them.
Shane seems to immediately regret his decision to come as he never liked being the center of attention, but slightly relaxes when Ilya puts a reassuring hand on the small of his back. They get closer to the group, and both laugh as they hear the very loud and not-so-subtle whispers.
“You said he’d never come, that he was too famous,” one of the ladies mutters to Sharon, her neighbour, while elbowing her.
“Ilya is famous too, and he still comes.” Bernice chimes in.
“Because he had nothing else to do while he was recovering,” Sharon tries to defend herself.
“Hi ladies,” Ilya interrupts them loudly, with a wide grin. “This is my husband, Shane Hollander.”
Shane huffs and rolls his eyes at the formal introduction, realizing that he’s about to be interrogated by a bunch of grandmas. Surely enough, Margaret, the one Ilya has been talking about the most, and apparently an older and more feminine version of his husband, walks up to him and grabs his arm gently before he can try to escape.
"How long have you been putting up with him?" She asks, nodding at Ilya.
"Over a decade," Shane replies.
Margaret nods solemnly. "You're stronger than I thought."
"Margaret! How dare you?" Ilya asks, slightly offended.
"You are very dramatic, honey. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live with you every day,” she states, and Shane can’t help but laugh at Ilya’s betrayed face.
"And he complains constantly," adds another woman.
Shane's grin widens. "I feel very validated right now," he tells his husband, who crosses his arms and starts pouting.
"This was mistake," he grumbles.
"Oh, don't be jealous," Margaret says, letting go of Shane’s arms to walk over to Ilya and pat his shoulder.
"I am not jealous," Ilya says, convincing absolutely no one.
"You've got the same face my husband used to make whenever the dog liked me more," one of the other ladies, Linda, declares.
The betrayal of being psychoanalyzed by these ladies who claimed to be his friends was too much, and imagining that dogs wouldn’t like Ilya more made it even worse. Shane wasn't helping, as he was just watching the conversation unfold with a shit-eating grin.
"She's right," he says.
"You are all terrible,” Ilya announces as he turns around and tries to grab a muffin from the table to distract himself. Unfortunately for him, Margaret follows him and slaps his hand before he can grab anything.
"Those are for after the class.” She says, somehow managing to stare him down while being a foot shorter than him. “And stop pouting, you big baby. You know we love you."
Ilya sighs dramatically and walks back to Shane, who is still surrounded and being interrogated. Before he can say anything, they are interrupted by another person entering the studio.
Ethan didn’t really think about how his day was going to go when he woke up this morning. He knows it’s one of those days where he’ll be doing a stretching class with a group of ladies and one very hot but very unavailable hockey player, but he’s definitely not prepared for the fact that there are now TWO very hot and very unavailable hockey players in front of him as soon as he enters the studio.
"Good morning," Ilya says with a smile.
"Hi," he replies, still sunned. His gaze slides to the other man. Shane Hollander. Of course he knows all about these guys now, even though he’s never watched a hockey game in his life. Call it healthy curiosity. He found out the hot guy he very awkwardly tried to flirt with is not only famous, but married with another equally hot and famous guy, of course, he had to look them up. And now they were both in front of him.
"Hi Ethan," Shane says, pleasantly, with a malicious glint in his eyes. Ilya knows that look; it was the same look Shane got whenever a rookie accidentally chirped him and didn't realize what they'd done it was too late.
Ethan blinks. "You know my name?"
"Of course. I've heard all about you,” Shane replies, and Ilya immediately closes his eyes. First, his new friends were obsessed with Shane, which made his heart melt, even though he was a little jealous. And now, Shane was about to publicly claim his stake over Ilya, which was extremely hot. Ilya was never going to survive this class.
The rest of the group also perks up, seemingly interested to see how the situation is going to unfold.
"Oh, this is going to be fun,” Linda whispers.
Shane steps forward and offers his hand to Ethan. "Nice to finally meet you," he greets him politely. His smile is almost friendly and completely harmless, but somehow, Ethan looks even more nervous.
He shakes Shane's hand. "Nice to meet you too," he replies shyly.
"Thank you for helping my husband," Shane adds, still shaking his hand, his grip a little firmer as the emphasis on my husband isn’t subtle at all. Ilya feels his face heating as his watches his husband marking his territory. Margaret makes a choking noise next to him as she also watches them.
"It was no problem," Ethan says with a pinched smile, finally ending their handshake. “He’s not the easiest student, but he has made a lot of progress.”
“Hey,” Ilya protests.
"He's right," Margaret chimes in. “You’re always slouching.”
"I do not slouch,” Ilya replies.
"Your shoulders are always up around your ears," Sharon adds.
The betrayal is unbelievable, making Ilya groan, and by some miracle, making Shane and Ethan laugh together.
"Well," Ethan says after a beat. "I'm glad he's almost fully recovered."
"Me too," Shane replies, then casually slips an arm around Ilya's waist, maintaining eye contact.
Ethan nods once, then immediately turns toward the rest of the class. "Okay! Let's get started."
Margaret waits until he is halfway across the room, then leans toward Shane.
"That was terrifying," she whispers.
Shane looks genuinely confused. "I was being nice," he says.
"You were very nice," Ilya agrees. “Very… what is the thing you taught me about when you fake being nice?”
"Passive-aggressive?” Margaret suggests.
"Yes! Very passive-aggressive. Especially with your scary smile,” Ilya states.
"My smile isn’t scary," Shane replies, looking offended.
“That is the smile you have on ice before you are about to destroy the other team. Trust me, it is scary. But I also think it is very hot.” Ilya replies, making Margaret and some of the other ladies snort.
They all get settled, rolling out their yoga mats, then the class starts shortly after with balance exercises, Ethan demonstrating the first movement. Everyone copies him, including Shane, who performs it perfectly.
"Show-off," Ilya mutters as he watches his husband.
"I’m not even trying," Shane replies with a proud smile.
"Of course not, you are naturally perfect." Ilya rolls his eyes as Ethan approaches them, walking around and offering corrections. When he reaches Shane, he stops.
"Your form is excellent,” he declares. “Ilya wasn’t lying when he was saying that you were very flexible."
"Thanks," Shane chokes while Ilya snorts. That wasn’t exactly what he had meant by that, but sure, Shane was great at stretching too. And glaring at him apparently.
Ethan turns to Ilya. “Shoulders,” he warns him.
"What? I am relaxed," Ilya claims, and the entire class bursts out laughing.
When the class ends, it’s bittersweet. Ilya’s entire body aches in a good way, as usual. There’s a thin layer of sweat on Shane’s skin, where he’s sitting right next to him as they do their last breathing exercise, and Ilya has to remind himself that they’re in public and he can’t just reach over and lick him. Even though he had to watch his husband bend in different positions over the last hour, making him think about many things that weren’t appropriate for this class.
But then, everyone stands, and Margaret approaches him with seriousness, bringing him back to reality.
"You'll be back on the ice soon?" She asks.
Ilya nods. "After tomorrow, if all goes well," he replies.
"Good," she says, but her smile looks sad. She reaches up and squeezes his arm. "You looked happier every week," she adds.
Ilya clears his throat to try and prevent an unwanted sob from coming out.
Five weeks ago, he hadn't wanted to be there. He had walked in restless and frustrated at his knee. The class had felt ridiculous, stretching with a group of retirees while the rest of his team practiced. But that had quickly changed. Suddenly it hadn't felt like rehab anymore; it was something he looked forward to. Being in a room full of people who were happy to see him, twice a week. People who didn't care how many goals he scored and who just wanted to know if his knee was feeling better.
"I was going little crazy at home," he admits.
"Oh, I think everyone knows that," Margaret laughs.
"Was that obvious?" he asks.
"Very," she confirms.
"I will miss you," he says quietly.
Margaret sniffles. "Oh, honey," she says, reaching up to pat his cheek. And then, because she was Margaret, basically an older version of Ilya, she immediately ruins the moment. "Take care of that handsome husband of yours."
"I am already doing that," Ilya claims.
"Well, he’s even more handsome in person. Someone will try to steal him from you,” she warns him.
Shane, who had gotten closer once he was done rolling up his yoga mat, barks out a laugh.
"I think I’ll let him keep me for a while,” he says, nudging his shoulder against his husband’s.
The next twenty minutes are full of hugs, Ilya trying to fill his pockets with baked goods until he’s handed a container to fill, and not goodbyes but see-you-later as Shane and Ilya both get invited to enough dinners, tea parties, and Sunday walks to fill their schedules until next summer.
“You were right," Shane says when they finally walk out of the studio.
"About?" Ilya asks, distracted as he’s trying not to cry about the fact that he may never walk back into this yoga studio.
"You did make friends," Shane says with a proud smile.
"I think they adopted me," Ilya replies, softly.
"They definitely adopted you," Shane laughs.
They reach their car, and Shane stops before getting in. His expression softens as he watches his husband struggling to fight his emotions, then leans in to give him a quick kiss. Then another one, softer, lingering a bit this time, just because he can. He smiles when he feels Ilya melt against him.
"You ready to go home?" he asks as their lips part, tenderly caressing Ilya’s face.
Ilya glances back toward the studio. Through the window, he can still see a few ladies watching them and waving. He waves back and turns toward his husband.
"Yeah," he sighs, getting into the car.
Ilya was excited to be back with his team; they were like family, and although they had made an effort to hang out with him as often as possible during his recovery, it wasn’t the same, and he couldn’t wait to play with them again. But a part of him knew he’d miss his new friends.
From that point, though, at every single home game, the Hollander-Rozanov friends and family seats at the arena are filled with a group of older women who don’t seem to know much about the game, but proudly wear their two favorite players’ jerseys.