Chapter Text
It was approaching midnight and Shane was sprawled on the sofa attempting to muster the energy to move up the stairs to bed. The game earlier in the evening had been brutal; the Metros had won, but it had been hard-fought, and Shane was definitely feeling the aftereffects now. A particularly hard check in the final period had left him with a soreness down his left side that was undoubtedly going to be a spectacular bruise come morning, despite the ice packs Shane had been applying all night. Still, he supposed he should be grateful that bruises were the worst of the consequences he would suffer from the game.
Gritting his teeth, Shane eased himself to his feet, checking his phone as he moved towards the stairs. Disappointment washed over him at the lack of messages - or rather, at the lack of messages from "Lily". He hadn't spoken to Ilya since their phone call the night after the funeral, and the text he had sent the following morning asking how Ilya was doing remained unanswered. Beneath the disappointment, Shane could feel concern swirling in his gut at the continued silence. Ilya had sounded so sad over the phone, sad and lost, and while Shane had hated that Ilya was hurting, he had been glad that Ilya had called him, had allowed him the chance to help. He couldn't help but worry that this silence now was Ilya pulling back again; retreating behind his walls and trying to pretend he was fine. Reluctantly, he thought back to Sochi. Ilya had ignored his text then too, had pushed Shane away rather than admit to not being okay.
But they were past that now, weren't they? Ilya had opened up to him in Tampa, and on the phone the other night. His words from back at the Olympics echoed through Shane's head - "we are not anything Hollander." That wasn't true anymore, surely. After everything they'd been through, they certainly weren't nothing. But then again, Ilya had been pretty adamant they couldn't be something, so where did that leave them?
A soft knock at the door interrupted Shane's spiralling thoughts.
Who the fuck is at my door at this time of night?
Shane twisted around halfway up the stairs, frozen in place staring at the door as though looking at it might answer his question. The knocking came again, slightly firmer this time, spurring Shane into action. He strode across the floor, unlocking the door and throwing it open to reveal -
"Ilya?"
Shane froze in shock in the doorway, mind racing as he tried to process what he was seeing.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were staying in Russia until the end of the week?"
"Can I come in?" Ilya kept his head down, staring at his feet as he spoke, voice uncharacteristically hesitant.
"Yeah, of course." Shane bit back any further questions, instead moving aside to allow Ilya in. Shutting and locking the door once again, he turned to properly examine the man in front of him.
Ilya had stopped a few steps into the apartment and was now stood still in the entranceway, suitcase on the floor beside him, making no move to remove his shoes or coat. He looked exhausted; face pale and drawn, eyes dull, the shadows under them so dark they could be bruises. The worst was the look on his face when he finally raised his head to look at Shane. There was none of the usual emotion in his expression, no teasing smirk, no hint of a smile, just a blank emptiness.
"Hey," Shane murmured, moving closer to cup Ilya's face with one hand, running a thumb gently along his cheekbone. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
Ilya leaned into Shane's touch, closing his eyes and releasing a shuddering exhale.
"I did not want to stay there anymore. Did not want to be in Boston alone either."
"So you came here?"
"You do not have to let me stay. I can leave if that is - if you want me to. It is - "
"No, I want you to stay."
Ilya finally opened his eyes, a flicker of hope shining through the emptiness in them.
"Really?"
"Yes, really," Shane said firmly. "I want you to stay. I'm glad you came to me. I told you I wanted to help didn't I?"
Ilya nodded slowly, glassy-eyed, before falling forwards into Shane, burying his face in his neck. Shane's arms came up to hold him like it was the most natural thing in the world. One arm tight around Ilya's waist, holding him close, the other higher on his back, hand reaching up into Ilya's curls, stroking gently, soothingly. Dampness seeped into the collar of his T-shirt as Ilya began to cry quietly, and all Shane could do was hold him tighter and murmur soft reassurances.
Eventually Ilya's muffled sobs died down, though his breathing remained unsteady, and he did not move from his position against Shane. If anything, he seemed to slump more heavily against him, knees buckling slightly, forcing Shane to take most of his weight.
Fuck, how tired was he?
"Ilya when did you last sleep?" Shane asked, keeping up the same gentle tone he'd been using since Ilya started crying. Ilya gave a half-hearted shrug.
"Night before funeral, maybe? But not much."
"That was…" Shane ran through the timeline in his head. "Ilya that was nearly three days ago!"
No wonder he looked fucking exhausted.
"Come on, let's go to bed so you can get some sleep."
But the mention of going to sleep had Ilya tensing in his hold, shaking his head against Shane's neck.
"No. I can't - can't sleep. I've tried, I can't. I - "
"What do you mean you can't sleep? Ilya you've been awake for days apparently, you must be tired."
"I'm so tired." Ilya's voice broke over the words, and Shane was pretty sure he could feel his heart breaking along with it. A faint tremor ran through Ilya's body as he continued to cling tightly to Shane, words spilling out of him like a dam had broken.
"I'm so tired, and I can't sleep, my head is … there are too many thoughts, and I can't make them stop and they won't let me sleep. I have tried, but they won't go away. And I - I can't think properly, I can't focus, my brain is … what is word … fuzzy. Like cotton wool. And I don't - I just - I'm so tired Shane."
With that final declaration Ilya seemed to break down entirely, legs giving out under him as fresh sobs wracked his body. Shane went down with him, holding him close to his chest as Ilya curled into him on the floor of his apartment entryway.
"Hey, it's okay, I've got you," Shane attempted to soothe the man in his arms. "I've got you Ilya. It's gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay. You just need sleep, alright? That's why your brain feels fuzzy, you're exhausted, you're basically running on empty."
"Yes, empty. I feel fucking empty." Ilya spoke as though the words were being wrenched out of him in between sobs. "I do not think I have anything left in me, but they all want more, always fucking more. Is all I ever hear. I give them everything. Is never enough. I have nothing for them. I have nothing left to give."
"Ilya." If Shane had thought his heart was breaking before, it was nothing compared to the way it was shattering in his chest now. He held Ilya tighter, rocking him slightly the way he had back in Tampa, hoping it would comfort Ilya now the way it had seemed to back then. Ilya clung to him desperately in response, fingers grasping the front of his T-shirt in what could only be considered a death grip.
"You don't have to give anything else, okay? I'll take care of things, I'll take care of you. You can just rest now. I've got you." Maybe that was too much, too revealing for their not-something-but-not-nothing-either relationship, but Shane couldn't bring himself to care about the implications of what he was saying right now. Not when he had Ilya breaking down like this, drained and hurting and hanging on to Shane like a life raft.
Shane lost track of time as they rocked together on the hardwood floor, oblivious to everything except Ilya. He repeated the same words over and over, reassuring Ilya that it was okay, that Shane had him, as though saying it enough times would make up for the nights when Shane hadn't been there to hold him. It was only when Ilya had cried himself out once again that Shane stopped talking, punctuating his last words with a lingering kiss to the top of Ilya's head.
Alright, time to try again at getting him into bed.
Shane said nothing about going to bed this time, not wanting to risk sending Ilya into another panicked spiral. Instead he simply reached across to tug one-handed at Ilya's laces, his other arm keeping Ilya firmly braced against him. With the laces untied, he gently pulled the shoes from Ilya's feet, tossing them vaguely in the direction of the shoe rack - he would put them away properly later, but right now his priority was Ilya. Ignoring the pins and needles in his legs, Shane clambered to his feet, pulling Ilya up with him before wrapping an arm firmly around his waist and steering him towards the stairs.
As they slowly made their way upstairs, Shane couldn't help but compare this journey to previous ones. The last time they had climbed these stairs together they had been eager; barely able to stop kissing long enough to get up the steps, grinning and pulling at each others' clothes. This time they moved much slower, Ilya clutching at Shane to support himself, rather than to pull him in for a kiss. If Shane was being honest with himself, the contrast was slightly unnerving, but he shoved the thought aside. Ilya needed him to be calm and steady right now, not freaking out over the vast change in his behaviour - however much he worried about the man currently slumped into his side.
They reached the top of the stairs without any fanfare. Shane guided Ilya into the bedroom, depositing him on the edge of the bed and turning to the dresser to pull out soft sweatpants and T-shirts for both of them to sleep in. He dumped the clothes on the bed and changed quickly, not wanting to send the wrong signal by remaining naked for any longer than necessary. Once changed, Shane reached out and began gently peeling Ilya's clothes off. He insisted faintly that he "could do it himself Hollander", but the protest seemed to be more on principle than anything else; at any rate he submitted to Shane's actions with concerning ease.
With both of them suitably dressed for bed, Shane carefully manoeuvred Ilya under the covers, tucking him in securely before climbing in his own side. He spared a brief thought for his usual bedtime routine - they hadn't even brushed their teeth! - but resolutely dismissed it. Ilya was barely keeping his eyes open and Shane had no desire to drag him out of bed, nor to leave him alone while Shane went through his routine. It would be fine for one night he decided as he turned out the light and settled down to go to sleep.
To Shane's surprise however, Ilya did not fall asleep quickly, despite his obvious exhaustion. Every time his breathing slowed enough for Shane to think he'd finally dropped off, it would suddenly pick up speed again - clearly Ilya hadn't been kidding about being literally unable to sleep. After listening to this pattern for the fifth time, Shane figured it was time to intervene. Turning to face Ilya, he reached out to the other man, gently running a hand over blond curls and down his arm, feeling tense muscles below his fingers.
"You know you'll find it much easier to fall asleep if you actually relax."
"Why did I not think to try that Hollander?"
The reply was probably intended to sound grumpy and sarcastic, but to Shane it just sounded painfully worn-out.
"You said earlier that you couldn't sleep because there were too may thoughts in your head, right?" Shane asked, receiving a faint "mhm" in response.
"Are they … bad thoughts?"
"… yes."
Fuck he'd never heard Ilya sound so … small.
"Come over here."
"What?"
"Come over here." Shane repeated, pulling Ilya over and rearranging them so that Ilya was tucked safely in his arms, head resting against Shane's chest.
"I'm going to talk to you," Shane declared. "And you're going to focus on listening to me, alright? You don't need to talk or anything, you're just gonna listen to me. And hopefully I can distract you from the bad thoughts long enough for you to fall asleep."
"You are going to talk me to sleep Hollander?"
"Well it should be easy, seeing as I'm so boring."
That earned him a faint huff of air that could possibly pass for laughter, and Ilya seemed to relax slightly into Shane's embrace.
"Alright Hollander, you can attempt to bore me to sleep."
"Fuck off." Shane replied, with far more fondness than the phrase warranted.
With that he launched into a story about how the team had managed to misplace the rookie on their last night out, and had eventually found him sat on a bench round the back of the hotel, munching on mozzarella sticks, blissfully oblivious to the fact he had been considered missing for several hours. He continued on with stories in that vein, recounting the various other misadventures the Metros had experienced, the latest escapades of Hayden's kids, random details from the books he'd read recently - anything he could think of that would be light-hearted enough to provide a pleasant distraction for Ilya. Through it all he kept his voice low and steady while his hand rubbed soothing circles onto Ilya's back.
Slowly but surely the tension seeped out of Ilya's body, his breathing turning slow and deep as he finally fell into an exhausted sleep. Shane kept up his gentle commentary until he was certain Ilya was deeply enough asleep to stay that way, before eventually relaxing and allowing himself to follow Ilya into sleep.