Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Love/hate, the same thing, different four letters
I never thought I'd see this side of you
Nothing left to say but "goodbye"

Gone are the days now I'm coming back stronger
These kind of scars go deeper than skin
Don't make a sign if I stay any longer
Been through the dark
And I won't go back again

Ilya catches it the second before it happens, its the harsh burst of German that cuts through the usual locker room chirping that catches his attention - it’s not said in the usual light-hearted tone that Luca normally uses when telling his team mates to ‘fuck off’ in his mother tongue but a harsher tone, almost angry - and it makes Ilya falter as he’s halfway pulling his hoodie over his head as he sees the Luca press his phone to his ear.

“Was wännd Sie? What do you want? .”

Ilya watches as Luca’s expression changes, it pinches in irritation as he waits for the caller to reply and then falls into something else. It’s an expression Ilya has never seen on the rookie before, his skin pales and his lips part as his eyes haze over and suddenly he has Ilya's full attention.

“Was meined Sie?”What? What do you mean? he snaps and Ilya slowly finishes pulling his arms through his hoodie sleeves, not taking his eyes off the rookie. An uncomfortable feeling twists in Ilya’s gut and he gets a strange sense of deja vu from another phone call, in another locker room, several years ago. He watches as Luca swallows thickly, the hand holding the phone trembles faintly before he speaks again, his voice having lost all of the edge. “Okay. Ja.” Okay. Yeah.

Whoever is on the other end of the line must have hung up because Luca lowers his arm, his movements slow as his eyes remained fixed on something Ilya doesn’t think he’s seeing.

“Hassy?” Ilya calls out, keeping his voice gentle but Luca flinches like he’d been yelled at, his eyes snap to meet Ilya’s and Ilya watches as reality crashes back into him and Luca falters. The first tear hits his cheek.

“I-”

Ilya is already moving, he’s at Luca’s side in two strides, his hand comes to the back of his neck. “C’mon,” he murmurs, pulling Luca out of the middle of the still buzzing room and into a thankfully empty physio room, kicking the door shut behind them.

“Cap-” Luca tries again but his breath hitches into something sharp and panic seems to crash through the shock. “I can’t-”

Ilya pulls him in with a soothing sound, Luca’s head bows, pressing into Ilya’s shoulder and his hands come up automatically as they always do, clutching Ilya’s hoodie in tight fists.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “whatever it is, you’re going to be okay. Just breathe now. Focus on that.”

Luca’s breath hitches again in a wet sound and Ilya doesn’t know if its a sob or just his body trying desperately for air. Ilya’s fingers tighten on the back of his neck.

“Luca,” he tries again, his voice firmer, “breathe. Slowly. In… and out.” Ilya takes an exaggerated breathe for him to copy and then another, gradually Luca starts to copy him and Ilya keeps his voice low. “Good. Better. Keep going for me.”

Luca seems to come back to himself slowly as his breathing settles into heavy breaths but his body still trembles as he presses his forehead further into Ilya’s collarbone. “My dad,” he says, his voice strained and his accent seems to slip. “He’s dead.”

Ilya closes his eyes for a second and feels a heavy breath slip past his lips. The hand not holding Luca’s neck comes up to his hair, his fingers running through the boy’s blond curls, still wet from his shower. “I’m sorry, Luca.”

Luca makes a slightly pained sound and shakes his head slightly, his fingers pulling even tighter at Ilya’s clothes enough that he worries for the fabric. “I’m no-” The words seem to slip out without Luca meaning to and he catches himself but Ilya is pretty sure he can fill in the blank. “I mean- It’s not-” He takes a second. “He hated me.”

An old feeling twists inside of Ilya’s chest, a hurt that he thought he’d put behind him years ago and he tries to push it aside. He doesn’t offer platitudes, he doesn’t try and give him empty reassurances because Ilya realises suddenly that he actually knows nothing about Luca’s family. A couple of friends came to visit him during the summer last year but Luca never went back to Switzerland and Ilya isn’t certain he’s been back at all since moving to Canada eighteen months ago and in hindsight Ilya realises how odd that is.

He’s spent more time with Luca than any of the other younger players of the team, he’d taken the wide eyed teenager under his wing last year, knowing exactly what it’s like to leave your home and move halfway across the world to another country when you’re barely old enough to be called an adult. Luca had spent more than one night in Ilya’s spare room in is rookie season as he settled in. It was Ilya that Luca called when a pipe burst and flooded his kitchen and it was Ilya that Luca phoned sat on the curb at 3am drunk and sad when Ilya pretended not to know that the only club in the area was a gay bar. But in all that time, he’d heard Luca speak very little about his home life. He knew he didn’t have any siblings, that his hockey career came through scholarships and financial aid but nothing about the people that Luca grew up with.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya says again, his thumb brushing the side of Luca’s neck softly.

“I have to go home,” Luca says and Ilya is starting to get the impression the dread in his tone isn’t specific to these circumstances. “I need to book a flight and the funeral. Fuck. I don’t know how to plan a-”

Ilya pulls Luca back from him, his hand falling from his hair to his shoulder and he gives him a little shake as Luca’s eyes start to look a little frantic again. “Hassy, stop,” his voice is firmer again, slipping back into the kid’s captain. “We will look for flights. We will get you back to Switzerland if that is what you want but right now you just need to take a minute. Do you have your meds with you?”

Luca frowns, suddenly confused at Ilya's sharp topic change. He nods. “In my bag but I don’t take them now.”

Ilya’s lips twitch. “I know,” he says because he knows Luca’s prescription almost as well as he knows his own. “You and Young still driving together?”

Luca’s eyebrows scrunch closer together but nods. They only live a couple of streets apart and Young had all but declared they needed to share a ride to save the planet after he watched some documentary on climate change - Ilya never questioned the arrangement more than a vague concern over why Young suddenly cared so much about polar bears.

“Okay good,” he says, “you’re are coming home with Shane and I. No, is not a question. You are coming. Anya misses her little brother.”

Luca’s frown turns into the more petulant pout that the team mock him for. “She’s literally like fifteen years younger than me.”

Ilya’s waves this away. “It does not matter. Is a state of mind,” he says. His eyes scan over Luca, he’s only wearing his jeans and a t-shirt, the call coming in when he was halfway through dressing but his eyes look clearer, a little red but considerably less panicked. “Okay. You want me to get your shoes?”

Luca’s eyes dart to the door and his eyebrows twitch slightly at the thought of facing the rest of the team right now. He nods slightly. “Please.”

“Alright,” Ilya says, then hesitates for the slightest of seconds. “Do you want me to tell Young and the others?”

Luca’s eyes drift away from Ilya’s as he considers it and Ilya sees the insecurity there before he nods. “Yeah. I don’t- I don’t want to.”

Ilya squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

He slips out of the physio room into a thankfully slightly emptier locker room, less than half of the team are left and they all seem mostly dressed and ready to clear out. Ilya takes a second, scrubbing his hand across his face, forcing himself to focus on Luca and not that hollow emptiness that is always one wrong thought away.

“Ilya?” Shane is at his elbow suddenly with a concerned frown.

“Отец Луки умер,”Luca's father is dead. he tells him, his voice quiet even though nobody else in the room would be able to understand him.

Shane’s expression falls and he looks towards the closed door behind Ilya like he’d be able to see Luca through it. “Fuck,” he says and Ilya can’t help the small laugh that leaves him.

"да,"Yes. he says. “Fuck.”

“Is he…” Shane trails off.

Ilya just nods. “С ним всё в порядке. Думаю, их отношения были сложными.”He is okay. Their relationship was complicated, I think. he says. “Я сказал, что он поедет домой с нами. Не думаю, что ему стоит оставаться одному.”I said he is coming home with us. I do not think he should be alone.

Shane looks back to Ilya, already nodding. “Конечно,” Of course. he says, “Есть ли у него дома кто-нибудь? Чтобы всё организовать?”Does he have people back home? To make arrangements?

“Не думаю.”I don’t think so.

Ilya feels Shane’s gaze linger on him for a second and Ilya looks away towards the rest of the team still lingering behind. “Я сказал, что расскажу остальным,”I said I will tell the others. he says and he takes a step towards the group as he switches back to English. “Hey, listen up for a second.” He keeps his voice low so there’s no chance Luca will overhear but it carries a tone that get’s everyone’s attention quickly. His expression must give something away because Bood frowns.

“Roz? What is it?”

“Did you see where Hassy went?” LaPointe asks, “Dillon says he was with you.”

Ilya nods and then just decides to rip the band-aid off. “He was with me. He had a call, from Switzerland, his father has died.”

A ripple passes around the room as expressions fall and quiet curses are muttered. Bood rubs a hand across his face and Harris makes a soft “Oh.” from Troy’s side.

“Is he okay?” Young asks quietly and he takes half a step towards the physio room but Ilya catches him with a gentle hand to his chest.

“He is okay. As okay as he can be,” Ilya assures him, “he doesn’t want to see everybody right now but he is going to come home with Shane and I tonight. He will not be alone.”

Wyatt nods. “Good, that’s a good idea,” he says softly.

“You can message him but he will probably not reply straight away,” Ilya goes on, “I think he would like to be reminded that you care.” Holmberg is already pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Can you pass the message to the rest of the team? Not in groups where Luca can see. I will message Coach.”

“I’ll pass a message around,” Bood says.

“We’ll sort it,” Troy adds and gives a slight tilt of his head towards the little huddle of the other “rookies” and Ilya knows that they’ll make sure everyone has what they need. “You just take care of the kid.”

Ilya gives a smile that he imagines looks slightly strained but he’s grateful nevertheless. “Thank you.”

“C’mon,” Wyatt says, clapping his hand down on Holmberg’s shoulder and gives him a slight nudge. “Let’s all get out of here. Hassy won’t want us all hanging around. Let’s let him get home. Cap and Hollzy have got him.”

Ilya is grateful as always that this team has a good group of veterans to look out for the younger players and Wyatt smiles tiredly at his smile of thanks.

They all start to disperse, the laughter that rang between them before has faded into quiet murmurs and Ilya turns towards Luca’s stall. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at the crumpled pile of kit that Luca has shoved on the floor and turns to the equally crumpled hoodie and socks that are on the bench, his wet towel half on top of them.

Shane bumps his shoulder against Ilya’s gently. “Go and get him,” he says gently, “I’ll sort the rest of his stuff.”

“Спасибо.”Thanks.

Ilya shoves Luca’s socks in his sneakers and grabs up his hoodie and heads back to the physio room. Luca looks up from his place perched on the edge of the physio bed and manages the smallest of smiles as he sees his things.

“Thanks,” he says, voice soft as he reaches out to take them.

Ilya leans his hip against one of the cabinets as Luca starts to pull on his socks. “Your locker’s a mess, rook,” he teases gently and Luca snorts slightly.

“I’m sure you’re shocked,” he says back and any other day Ilya knows Luca would be rolling his eyes.

Ilya hums. “Shane is getting your things together. You will probably find your toiletries in a neat little row,” he says.

“Pointey will just steal my deodorant tomorrow and he’ll mess up the system,” Luca says.

Ilya rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why you all cannot have your own things. Why must you all share everything?”

“It’s economical,” Luca says as he finishes tying his laces.

Ilya raises his eyebrows. “You’re millionaires!”

Luca gives a slight laugh and Ilya counts the smile as a win. “What is the phrase Shane uses? Old habits.”

Ilya just sighs with a mock exasperation. “Rookies,” he mutters but his voice is fond. They’re a little ridiculous, but the four of them are good kids even if none of them are technically rookies any more.

Luca pulls his head through his hoodie, sticking his hair up in every direction and with his tired eyes and chewed red lip he looks a lot younger than nineteen.

“C’mon,” Ilya says, slinging his arm around Luca’s shoulders, “let’s get out of here, my baby is going to think we’ve abandoned her.”

“Your baby will be snoring on the sofa not giving a shit,” Luca says back.

“Lies, she misses me every second we are apart,” Ilya says, leading them back into the locker room that is now completely empty except Shane who is leaning his shoulder against the wall as he looks down at his phone, three bags on the bench next to him.

“Whatever you say, Cap,” Luca says but his voice has tightened again at the sight of Shane and Ilya feels him tense slightly as Shane pockets his phone and looks up at them.

“Hey, Hassy,” Shane says, his voice holding that gentle tone that Ilya rarely hears outside of their family. “I’m sorry to hear about your dad.”

Luca gives what Ilya thinks is supposed to be a smile but comes across more like a grimace. “Thanks.”

“I am thinking pizza tonight,” Ilya says, grabbing Luca’s bag off the bench and Shane pushes away from the wall to grab the other two before Luca can get there. “We could get it from that Italian place you like, then I can get that tiramisu they do.”

He looks to Luca for approval and gets a slight nod in return as he tugs the ends of his sleeves over his hands. “Thanks,” he says, his eyes drifting away from them again. “You don’t have to do this. I can go home. I’d be fine.”

“Then Ilya will sulk because he’s been talking about that tiramisu for days, he just wants an excuse to order it,” Shane says casually, pushing open the doors and they start down the corridor towards the exit, “besides, you’re always welcome, you know that.”

“If you want space you can eat pizza upstairs in bed and we will leave you and watch the game,” Ilya says, “but having people who care nearby is better than not right now.”

Ilya doesn’t remember much the night he got the call about his father, it had all turned into a bit of a blur after he got his hands on a bottle of vodka, but he remembers the warmth he felt when he came out of his room the next morning and found Marly passed out on his couch, laptop open on the table with a first class ticket on the next flight to Moscow booked.

The drive back to the house is quiet and Ilya is grateful that he agreed to take Shane’s much more boring car to the rink today so Luca isn’t crumpled in the back of his porcshe. Shane pulls up on the drive and they head up the steps, Ilya barely gets the door open before Anya is shoving her way out to them, her tail wagging excitedly as she weaves her way between the three of them.

“Okay, okay, girl, let us inside,” Shane says, scratching at her head as he toes off his shoes. Luca kicks his shoes off and drifts further down the hall and Anya darts after him. Ilya hears him talk to her softly and takes a second to put their bags away.

“I’ll go call the order through,” Shane says, pulling his gaze away from where Luca has disappeared around the corner, “I’ll get his usual?”

Ilya nods. “Don’t forget-”

“The tiramisu,” Shane finishes with a roll of his eyes and Ilya smacks a kiss to his cheek in thanks before following after their rookie. The light in the garden has been switched on and Ilya sees through the window that Luca has taken up a perch on the small wall at the edge of the patio as Anya scurries around the garden, her nose fixed on the grass.

Ilya flicks the switch for the patio heaters absently as he pulls open one of the drawers on the sideboard, pocketing the box hidden strategically at the back. He steps outside, closing the door softly behind him. Luca looks up as he comes closer, his hands buried deep in his pockets, Ilya holds up the box of cigarettes, shaking it slightly in offering.

“Does Shane know you have those?” Luca asks but extends his hand for one anyway.

“Is my emergency box,” Ilya says, pulling two and the lighter out, offering them to Luca first. He’s pretty sure Shane knows the box is in the drawer but there’s only two - now four - missing from the packet that’s been there for nearly six months, so he thinks Shane is giving him a pass.

Luca exhales a cloud of smoke and passes the lighter over for Ilya to light his own cigarette before shoving it back in his pocket with the box. Neither of them say anything for a minute, content in the relief of nicotine as they watch Anya flick her tennis ball two feet away so she can pounce on it and repeat the process.

“You don’t talk about your family,” Ilya breaks the silence gently.

“You don’t talk about yours,” Luca counters, but there’s no heat behind his words.

“What are they like?” Ilya asks anyway.

Luca takes a second and Ilya doesn’t rush him, letting him choose whichever answer he wants to give. “My mother left when I was five,” he starts, its not at all what Ilya is expecting to hear but he just stays quiet and listens. “Before that things were good. They were normal. At least I sort of... imagine they were, I don't really remember. I don't really remember her. She was pregnant and she had a miscarriage late. I don’t really know the details, nobody ever talked about it. I think I remember when she was pregnant, then went to the hospital and came home without a baby, she left two weeks later. I came home from school and she just was gone, wardrobes empty, passport missing. We never heard from her again.” Luca takes a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes still fixed on Anya but Ilya doesn’t think that she’s what he’s seeing. “My dad… he was never the same after that. He was distant, withdrawn. My grandparents helped out a lot then, there was always people around at first. But he cut my mother’s parents off, he thought they knew where she’d gone, that they were lying to us. I wasn’t allowed to see them any more. His parents were old, they tried to help but he was drinking more and I was… difficult.”

Ilya can’t help his frown, unable to imagine a world in which Luca, kind, bright, funny Luca was ever difficult.

“They both died before I was ten,” he goes on, “and after that… I sort of raised myself. I don’t know. He was there but he wasn’t and when he was, I wasn’t good. He played hockey when he was younger, made me go. I hated it at first, he said… he said it’d ‘make me into the right sort of man.’” Luca gives a slight laugh but there’s no humour in the sound. “I think he knew before I did. The ice ended up going from something I dreaded to something I ran to. For the first time I was really good at something and the rush I got before a game, it gave me focus, it made me forget about everything else. It didn’t make me what my dad wanted though and instead he caught me kissing my goalie when I was fifteen. If I wasn’t good enough before, I was hopeless by then. He stopped being disappointed in me and was then just angry that I wasn’t the son he wanted. He was angry at the world by then.”

Distantly Ilya hears the patio door open but Luca doesn’t notice.

“He hurt you?” he asks quietly.

Luca stares down at the glowing end of his cigarette and the beat of silence that hangs between them is answer enough. “It was no different than the injuries I got on the ice.”

A wave of anger crashes through Ilya so quickly that he has to turn away so Luca doesn’t see his expression. His eye catches on Shane, barely a step onto the patio, three steaming mugs in his hands and his face carefully blank in a look that Ilya can see through, he’d clearly been coming to join them and stopped short when he heard their conversation.

“It was different,” Ilya says firmly, looking back to Luca and there must be some emotion in his voice because Luca’s gaze snaps across to him for the first time. “Injuries on the ice are… part of the game, not… targeted. And we choose to go out there, we know the risk and we still play. You stay out of fights and those injuries are accidents mostly. You never chose what he did to you. That was-” Ilya falters for a second and then he can hear Shane’s voice in his head, as clear as if he were saying it now and he repeats those words now. “You were a child, Luca. There is no ‘normal amount of hurt’, nobody should ever hurt a child. No matter how difficult they are.”

Luca’s eyes fill with tears faster than they did in the locker room and he looks away quickly, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth as he scrubs at his cheeks with the end of his sleeve with the other hand.

Ilya gives him a minute, looking back to Shane, extending a hand towards him in invitation. Shane comes over to join them, his socked toes curling on the cold deck as he sits on Ilya’s other side. Ilya takes one of the cups of tea and sets it on the wall between him and Luca before taking another one for himself.

“Thank you, дорогой,”sweetheart he murmurs and Shane just squeezes his thigh in reply, not commenting for once on the cigarettes.

“Food will be thirty minutes,” Shane says quietly. “I got extra tiramisu.”

Ilya feels his expression brighten. “Mm good.”

Finally bored of tossing her own ball around, Anya comes bounding down the garden towards them, tennis ball in her mouth, she goes straight for Luca, like she always does when he’s here. She jumps up without hesitation, putting her front paws on his knees she drops the tennis ball in his lap so she can lick his cheek in greeting.

“Urgh, Anya!” Luca moans but there’s a slight laugh in his voice as he reaches out for her, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall next to him so he can scratch her sides with both hands, dipping his head so his forehead rests against hers, his eyes closed. For the first time this evening he looks content. “Hey, pretty girl."

“Betrayed by my own daughter,” Ilya sniffs, “she hasn’t even said hello to her Papa.”

“She likes me better,” Luca murmurs, a small smile on his lips.

Ilya just smiles, a fond shake of his head as he stubs his own cigarette out on the wall so he can take a sip of his tea.

“I googled quickly,” Shane says, his voice slightly uncertain, “the first flight to Zurich isn’t until two tomorrow afternoon from Ottawa. There’s another one in the evening.”

Luca just hums, not opening his eyes or pulling away from Anya. “It’s okay. There’s nobody there to miss me,” he says.

“No other family?” Shane asks gently.

“No,” Luca replies just as soft, “just me now. It was someone he worked with that called.”

“Well, then there is no rush,” Ilya says. “You go when you’re ready.”

“And if you don’t want to go at all,” Shane puts in, “that’s okay too. Arrangements can be made here, you don’t owe anybody your presence.”

Luca’s hands still on Anya’s side for a second like he hadn’t even considered that to be an option before he looks towards them, Anya licks at his cheek again in protest of him pulling away. “I should go,” he says and then the crease comes back between his brows, “if I don’t go now, I might never go back and I… I do miss home.”

Ilya nods. “I understand,” he says, because he does. There’s nothing for him in Russia now, nobody that loves him and a country that certainly doesn’t want him. But he still longs for it some days, for the language, for the little cafe by the old rink he used to train at, for the crowds in the center of Moscow that you could disappear into, for the lake that used to freeze in the coldest months that his Mama taught them to skate on.

“Will your friends be there?” Shane asks, “they came all the way here to see you.”

“Elias and Lina,” Luca says, “they are at university, they live in Germany now.”

“I’m sure they would still want to hear from you,” Ilya says, “they seemed like good people.”

Ilya hadn’t spent much time with Luca’s friends when they were visiting but he joined them at the bar the night before he drove out to meet Shane at the cottage, they fit in well with the team, telling stories of teenage adventures that made Luca groan and flush in embarrassment as they teased him about the posters on his bedroom wall.

“They are,” Luca says with a slight smile. “Some of the best.”

Anya, apparently bored of their conversation and the lack of attention, huffs and hops down off of Luca. She gives a small bark and spins in a circle, looking up at Ilya pointedly. When he just raises his eyebrows at her she barks again and spins the other way, looking back up at him.

“I think it’s past somebody’s dinner time,” Shane says with a small laugh.

Ilya checks the time on his phone and gives a slightly dramatic sigh. “A whole ten minutes past,” he says to her and Anya barks again before jumping up at Ilya as she had Luca and Ilya curses as his tea spills over his hand. Shane takes the cup from him with a snort so he can scoop Anya into his lap properly, making a fuss of her and cooing softly as she licks at his face.

“This is why she thinks she’s a lap dog,” Shane says a faux note of disapproval in his tone.

“She is, she is a baby,” Ilya says, holding her face between his hands as her tail thumps against his leg happily.

“She’s twenty-five kilos,” Shane says like that makes a difference.

“Don’t listen to him, медвежонок.Little Bear You are perfect.” Ilya wraps his arms around her more securely and pushes himself up to his feet making her tail wag faster against him. “Come now, let us get you dinner before you starve.”

Shane rolls his eyes but he and Luca move to follow him. Ilya carries Anya back inside, cooing softly to her as she licks at his chin excitedly. Luca follows him to the boot room, pulling a scoop of food out of the cupboard without being prompted. Ilya smacks one more kiss to Anya’s forehead before letting her down watching as she scurries straight to her bowl.

“How long until food, солнышко?”sunshine Ilya asks, cracking his neck before he drops down into his spot on the couch.

“Twenty past,” Shane calls back from the hallway.

Luca pulls out his phone before Ilya can reach for his. “Ten minutes,” he supplies.

Ilya groans a little dramatically. “So long.” He reaches for the TV remote, putting on the end of the Admirals game but as he leans back catches the way Luca’s face pinches into a frown as he reads something. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Luca says, “just the team have all messaged. What are you even supposed to reply to ‘I’m so sorry’.”

“You say thank you like a polite Canadian whilst preparing yourself not to cringe when every person you speak to for the next month says the same thing before even saying hello,” Ilya supplies, having steeled himself to the ridiculous phrase when he was twelve.

“Is ‘my condolences’ better?” Shane asks coming to join them on the couch, his eyes already fixed on the game as Vauhgn argues with a ref over a boarding penalty.

Ilya hums. “Makes more sense than an empty apology. It’s not like you killed the person,” he says, “and if you did murder them, I don’t suppose you’d apologise.”

Luca makes a small sound of amusement. “Not all the messages are like that, Hazy just sent a gif of a puppy hugging another puppy and an ‘I love you’ caption.”

Ilya pulls out his own phone to check the twenty messages in the group chat. “See, puppies are useful in this situation.”

“You think puppies are useful in every situation,” Shane comments, “is that ref blind? How is that a penalty?”

Ilya fixes Shane with a raised eyebrow, ignoring his hockey commentary. “Puppies are useful in every situation.”

Ilya looks back to his phone, most of the actual condolences must have been directly sent to Luca as the group chat is just generic sentiments of love.

“See.” Ilya shows his phone to Shane.

Shane looks up at him, mimicking Ilya’s raised eyebrows. “What?”

“Puppies.”

Shane rolls his eyes but there’s a smile on his lips.

-oOo-

Later, when the tiramisu has been eaten and Luca has disappeared into the guest room - which may as well be his own at this point - taking Anya with him, Ilya lays against Shane’s chest in bed, staring aimlessly as Shane scrolls through Rose’s latest carousel on Instagram.

“I think I want to go to Switzerland,” Ilya says, his voice soft.

Shane’s thumb pauses mid swipe. “With Luca?”

Ilya hums an assent, turning his head so his chin is resting on Shane’s pec, not really looking up at him but so Shane can see his face. “He reminded me of me today,” he confesses quietly.

Shane’s fingers find Ilya’s curls, his nails scratching at Ilya’s scalp soothingly. “Luca has always been like you. That’s why he spent most of last year following you around like a baby duck.”

Ilya’s lips twitch. “He still does that.”

“Not as much.”

Ilya hums again. “He’s very good at hockey, he had a shitty home, moved across the world, dead parent call in the middle of the locker room. I had Sveta though. She flew home, got me drunk, made me breakfast when I was hungover. Luca doesn’t have anybody back there.”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Ilya looks up at him in surprise, a small part of him half expected a lecture on missing the season.

“I would come with you but even this early in the season, they won’t give all three of us the leave, you're going to get fined anyway,” Shane says, his voice gentle. “But I think if anybody goes, it should be you.”

Ilya presses a soft kiss against Shane’s pec before he lays his cheek back down against his soft skin. “я тебя люблю.”I love you.

“я тебя люблю.”I love you.