Chapter Text
Whoever approved the idea for the brochure needs to be let go.
Because how does a tiny piece of thin folded paper, what’s sole purpose seems to be sitting untouched in clear plastic shelves until they either disintegrate or became so uselessly out of date that another, equally useless, tiny folded piece of paper takes its spot, seem like a good idea?
Travel brochures at least maybe made sense at one point in time. Before the internet, when you needed a glossy paper promise of Bali sunsets or London landmarks to convince you to go. But the mental health ones? They made absolutely no sense at all.
Ilya didn’t know a single person whose life was being quietly ruined by any of the things printed in light blue lettering beside a cartoon figure curled into a ball, little black smoke rising from their head, who would look at one of these pamphlets and think, Wow. Depression pamphlet. I need that. Maybe there’d be a cause list. A fresh checklist of symptoms to tick off. A explainion of What is Depression?
Honestly. Who was causing the demand for these?
A concerned parent killing time in a waiting room, maybe. Perhaps a nervous teenager pretending not to be nervous, looking for something to do with their hands. Mayb—
“Ilya?”
He snapped his head toward the call of his name to find Dr. Galina smiling at him from the doorway.
“Oh…sorry,” Ilya said, sliding the brochure back into its plastic holder, immediately getting ready to stand.
“You can take that if you want,” she offered.
He briefly glanced down at paper and snorted softly, and shook his head. “No. I am okay. Can we?”
Dr. Galina stepped aside, nodding, as Ilya moved past her into the clean, comfortable office he’d come to feel strangely warm toward. The couch was exactly where it always was. Everything was exactly where it should be.
He settled into his usual spot as she took the chair across from him, crossing one leg over the other.
“So,” she said gently. “How have things been?”
Ilya exhaled through his nose lightly. “Boring.”
“Is that a good thing?” Galina smiled.
He didn’t give the half-question much thought, he just lifted one shoulder and then the other in a noncommittal shrug and leaned back, trying to settle himself in for the next half hour. The cushions felt too worn today. Or maybe too soft. He adjusted anyway.
“You know,” Galina said, watching, “boredom isn’t always bad. People who are used to chaos sometimes mistake peace for boredom.”
Ilya stopped his shuffling and raised his eyes towards the doctor. Deadpan. The therapy speak has started already.
“Then peace is boring.”
Galina laughed quietly, like she’d expected that answer, and sat up a little straighter herself. “All right,” she said. “So what’s happened this week? What do we have to report?”
Ilya just let out a long, slow breath. Feeling that familiar, unwelcome sensation creep in at how strange this still felt. Talking and sitting. Explaining himself to someone who wasn’t himself.
He shook his head. “Not much. Very much the same. The team. The charity stuff. Shane.” He paused, then added, “All very… regular.”
Galina nodded along with his words, her brows drawing together slightly as she watched him. “You don’t sound very happy about that.”
“I am,” Ilya said immediately, the steadiness in his voice deliberate and eyes lowered.
“Mm,” Galina hummed. Then, almost at once, “But…”
She didn’t need to elaborate. They’d been doing this long enough.
Ilya breathed in through his nose and leaned back further against the couch as his gaze drifted up to the ceiling. Hoping the popcorn roof might offer him some guidance, or at least somewhere off putting to look while he sorted through his crowded his head.
“There was just… something this week,” he said finally. “I guess.” A pause. “That threw me off.” Another, smaller pause. “But it’s not anything.”
Galina tilted her head, interest awaking. “It doesn’t sound like nothing if it’s thrown you off.”
“It was small,” Ilya said, dismissively. “Just a little thing. I didn’t even mention it to Shane because I didn’t want to…” He stopped, jaw tightening. “I didn’t want to make him think the way he does sometimes.”
Galina’s voice stayed calm and steady, as she leaned in minutely. Knowing this was going somewhere to pay attention too. “This is your time, Ilya. We can talk about anything you’d like.” A small smile. “This is a safe place. For things big or small.”
Ilya let out a quiet huff of a laugh. Safe. Right.
He stared at his hands for a moment.
“Okay,” he said. “So...”
–
It was a day like any other at the Ottawa rink.
Ilya had just finished running his team into the ground, squeezing out every last drop of training and whatever other fairy-godmother tricks he could think of in all the spare time he now had to improve the men, even marginally. It didn’t really work. But at least they were slightly more pulled together today, almost like a team. Not like a group of men who looked as though they’d met for the first time that morning.
He was packing up the cones and drill equipment, stacking them with tired semi organizational care, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was of course Shane.
When are you coming home?
Followed by more messages. Messages Ilya definitely didn’t need to read in the middle of the rink, unless he wanted to finish practice with a very public problem in his pants. And messages he probably shouldn't repeat now.
Whatever they were, it put enough of a fire under him that he abandoned the team’s bag of wet pucks without guilt and headed straight for the locker room, already half…way home and thinking about another activity that rhymed with puck.
Ilya was still staring at his phone, mid-typing a text full of dirty promises, when he stepped into the locker room, fully expecting it to be empty. It usually was cleared out by now, almost immediately actually after one of his more ragged practices, and this one had ended nearly ten minutes ago.
But today it wasn't.
He caught the unpredicted presence just as he crossed the entryway, a man sitting on one of the benches with his gear still half-off, and movements unhurried. His face was obscured at first as he leaned over one skate, fingers absently worrying at the laces, like he had all the time in the world. Like there was nowhere else he needed to be beyond the simple work of untightening and taking the boot off.
Ilya recognised him a second later.
The newest addition to the roster. Fresh in from Toronto. Troy Barrett.
“Barrett,” Ilya said cheerfully, catching the man’s attention and drawing it squarely to himself as he now fully entered the room. “You did okay today. Better than last week. Much improvement.”
He wasn’t lying. Troy had been a mess when he first arrived a few months ago, raw and uneven in his swings, trying too hard with his speed, but he’d tightened things up since then. Smoothed out the worst of it under Ilya’s perfect guiding hand. He wasn't amazing, but now more serviceable. Promising, even.
The man startled at the sound of his name, fingers slipping on the lace in his hands.
“Oh. Uh. Thanks.” he mumbled, eye’s flicking up.
The words were quiet and nearly swallowed, but Ilya caught them anyway. He’d had plenty of practice deciphering Shane’s mumbles when he was overwhelmed. At this point, it was practically a third language.
Ilya moved to his own locker and quickly set his things down, turning back toward Troy fully.
“You’re settling in,” he continued easily, smiling. “New city. New team. This takes time. But you’re doing fine, yes?”
The man didn’t answer right away, he just looked Ilya over once instead. His expression giving nothing back and the glance long enough that the question began to feel like it had landed somewhere it wasn’t wanted.
“Yeah,” he said finally. The word stripped of anything that might have resembled enthusiasm.
It was the strange deliverance of the syllable made Ilya tilt his head, as a streak of confusion painted his face at the mismatch in energy. He let his gaze drift over Troy now, really looking.
Half-dressed. Lingering on a Saturday night. Still here when everyone else had cleared out minutes ago.
Ilya had done what he could to help Troy integrate with the transfer over, as much as a captain reasonably could, but there was always something about him that stayed just a little withdrawn no matter what Ilya did. And it seems this day would be a repeat.
“So,” Ilya said, drawing the word out slightly and trying to catch Troy’s eyes and read whatever expression lived there, if there was one to read at all. “Have you met anyone yet? Anyone you want to date. Or—” he paused, tilting his head as if the rest of the sentence were an afterthought, “fuck. Maybe.”
He didn’t even finish the question before colour rushed up Troy’s neck and into his face. Ilya watched the man as the bag in front of him suddenly become the most important thing in the room. As stuffing socks with unnecessary speed became an Olympic activity. “No,” he said, too quickly. “Nope.”
Oh, Ilya thought, with mild confusion. Was that not the right thing to say?
Troy had told him he was gay and that was, as far as Ilya could remember, the only real personal conversation they had ever had and information shared. But now Troy appeared to want to be anywhere but with Ilya, so maybe it wasn't the right thing at this moment to bring up.
That's okay Ilya can pivot.
He cleared his throat and let out a small laugh in attempt to smooth over whatever he had apparently misstepped into. “Any gay bars again?” he asked. Now thinking of the only night the whole team had ventured together weeks before, the way Troy had laughed more comfortable then Ilya had ever seen him before.
But all that came back in response was a quick, clipped, “No. Definitely not.” As the quiet stretched out yet again between them, this time stranding Ilya without any clear sense of where to go next.
Maybe the team shouldn't just do to gay things. Because it seems once that topic was off the table, there was much else to reach for.
Ilya nodded once, more to himself than to Troy, and allowed the conversation to end where it stood. “Do not worry,” he said, lightheartedly “You are attractive hockey player. And yes,” he paused, a playful grin tugging at his mouth, “...paid less than me. But still good. You’ll find someone.”
Maybe Ilya would regroup and ask around, maybe try again later with more information and a better plan to unfold this man. He was a good captain.
He then turned back toward his locker and began repacking his things, giving himself something tactile to focus on rather then whatever that attempt at bonding had been. Just as he got to slipping on his shoes Ilya’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
Do you use all the double sided tape?
Ilya smiled faintly as he opened the screen, warmth settling somewhere familiar as he started to type.
What do you need tape for? I thought you were getting ready for me on the—
“Ilya?” A voice suddenly came from behind, tentative.
Ilya, only half listening and phone still in his hand, and turned back towards the man. “Yes?” he answered.
Troy shifted on the bench, colour still lingering faintly in his cheeks. “I was actually,” he said, hesitating, “going to ask you about…someone.”
Ilya looked up now and couldn't help the smile that grew on his face, something light and a little relieved. Maybe his conversation skills hadn’t been as terrible as he’d thought. Maybe he hadn’t completely misstepped after all.
“Oh yes?” he said, grinning to welcome more words. “Who? I have many options for you. Like Harris, remember?”
Harris would be good for Troy. Ilya could see it easily enough, Harris with his easy laugh and open face. He didn’t have a logical reason for the thought, only the quiet confidence in his never before used matchmaking skills.
But Troy only shook his head, as a small and almost embarrassed laugh slipped out.“No. Not Harris.”
He hesitated to continue for a moment with knuckles whitening just slightly around the strap of his bag. “I mentioned him the other day,” Troy slightly smiled. “When I told you I was… gay. Um. Not Harris, but—”
He stopped again, breath hitching. “I know you’re close,” he went on carefully, “And I don’t even know if he is gay, but—” His mouth twisted. “He’s hot. I thought maybe…Shane Hollander?”
Ilya felt the punch of the name before the words were fully out of Troy’s mouth, the sudden turn in the air catching him more off guard than if a tiger had appeared in the middle of a Whole Foods aisle. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing after the sentence came to a close.
“Oh,” he said, every function suddenly offline. Cheerful energy drained.
His gaze moved quickly over Troy in automatic assessment, as if some deeper part of him needed to fully register the man who had just spoken Shane’s name aloud and placed desire on it.
Ilya also just as quickly looked away and shoved his phone, suddenly heavy in his hand, deep into his training bag. Covering it beneath towels and spare gear, like even the faint presence of Shane, his name or his messages, had become too precious to risk having it exist in this room.
He knew the way he’d turned must have read as dismissive, or cold, or something worse, as he was dimly aware of the muffled sounds behind him. Troy’s voice dropping with words Ilya couldn't process.
But he didn’t turn back. He couldn’t.
Heat was rising too fast in his chest and curled too cleaning beneath his tongue. It was stupid. He knew that. Troy didn’t know anything about their relationship to know better. Hadn’t done anything wrong. From everything Ilya had observed, the man was careless, awkward and a little thoughtless in the way some people were without social cares.
But still.
That possessive thing under Ilya’s skin flared, demanding attention. He wanted, no needed, those last ten seconds undone. Needed Troy to take the words back, to rewind the moment where he’d stumbled into something he had no business touching. Where he’d said Shane’s name out loud like it belonged anywhere but it’s one safe place between Ilya’s ribs.
“Troy.” Ilya said the name once, realising it took more effort to be calm and measured, then any other moment in his life. But this release of the single word was enough to freeze the Toronto man.
“Did he mention something to you?” Ilya asked, not entirely sure where the question had come from, only that something in him had tugged hard enough to let it escape.
Troy stopped, confusion written plainly across his face. “What?”
The ask landed too playfully stupid as irritation flickered through Ilya, his mind busy suppling every moment Troy had existed close to Shane. Too many, he was now realising. How had he allowed that?
“When he was here yesterday,” Ilya continued carefully. “To pick up his bag. Did he talk to you about this?” He knows Shane wouldn't have. But…he just had to ask.
Troy shook his head immediately, and Ilya breathed a little eaiser. “No, I didn’t…I didn’t even see him. I didn’t know he was here.”
“And you didn’t talk to him,” Ilya said evenly. “Right?”
“No,” Troy said quickly, now looking befuddled and almost irritated. “Definitely not.”
“Good,” Ilya simply stated. “You go for Harris, yes? Like a good boy.” He tilted his head, studying him. “He is the word you used before… hot? He is hot too, right?”
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
Troy nodded anyway, in a slight scoff. “Yeah…Harris is probably better than Shane. You’re right.”
Something dark rolled through Ilya’s chest. “No,” he said flatly. “I did not say that.”
Troy nodded, finally having the nerve to look sheepish. “Oh. Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He gestured. “I didn’t mean to offend your best friend.”
The words struck through the noise in Ilya’s head and dropped him somewhere colder.
Best friend. Right. That was the reason behind this. That was the version of Ilya’s life Troy could see. That was why he’d asked. Ilya didn't really try to question the why before jumping down his scaly pathetic stupid throat, but that refocuses some things.
He was Troy’s friendly captain with proximity to Shane Hollender. And he had just asked who Troy was interested in. He just did not expect that in a million years. The gull. How did he think Shane was an option? How was he even on the level to ask?
Ilya inhaled slowly, letting the thought settle, letting the heat recede just enough to stay contained. He needed to leave, right now. He’s reacted too strongly, he’s made this strange.
Ilya pulled a smile back onto his face, it didn’t fit but honestly he didn’t care, he wanted out of this conversation. Immediately.
He clapped his hands together once, the sound cutting cleanly through the quiet he just reaslised he unconsciously made since the best friend comment. “So,” he said cheerful, “Any big plans tonight?”
Troy opened his mouth and hesitated, clearly recalibrating to follow the again sudden the tone flip. “No,” he said finally. “Not really. Probably just go home. Watch another movie.”
Ilya nodded with his smile still fixed in place, though his attention had already started drifting away, his body halfway out the door even as he stood there.
He saw Troy open his mouth again and caught the question as it flickered through his eyes, half-formed but clear. Don’t say the name again, Ilya thought. Don’t ask. Because he knew, with a sudden, unnerving clarity, that he would not be so kind a second time.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Ilya just kept looking at Troy and smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, letting the silence stretch between them. It must of been something in this that finally tipped the balance.
Troy shifted, uncomfortable now and glanced toward the door, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“I should… go.”
Ilya nearly praised the sky.
“Yes,” he said. “Sorry. I held you too long.” He waved a hand, dismissive now. “You did good in practice. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”
“Yeah,” Troy said, nodding, lingering a second longer than necessary.
You should be, Ilya thought, heat flaring sharp and unhelpful in his chest. Outwardly, he only smiled.
“See you tomorrow.”
Troy headed for the door, his movements brisk now, as glanced back once. The look he gave was faintly annoyed, as though the entire exchange had somehow been Ilya’s fault, like the question shouldn’t have been asked if there wasn’t going to be a willing answer.
Then he turned away and pushed through the door without another pause.
Only then did Ilya let his smile fall.
He stood there in the quiet of the locker room for a moment, breathing it in, before turning back to his bag and—
–
“—what did you do after he left?” Galina asked, thoughtful, her head tilting slightly as she looked Ilya over.
The question pulled him back into the room abruptly, back on the couch with Galina across from him, back into the soft air conditioner office where his thoughts had wandered from in his retelling.
“Oh,” he said, blinking once, then again. He shook his head, a little embarrassed. “I left too. Right after.” A faint laugh slipping out of him. “I called Shane on the way back.”
Galina only smiled. “What did you talk about?”
Ilya dragged a hand down his face, thinking. “Nothing important,” he said finally. “Just… things. Practice. What he was doing. What I was doing. Normal stuff. The need for double sided tape.”
“But you were going home to him,” Galina said gently. “Couldn’t you have talked then?”
He nodded, looking over the room. “Yeah. I could have.” Ilya hesitated as the words bunched up somewhere behind his teeth. “I just wanted to…”
“To feel him closer?” Galina offered, her tone light and almost curious.
Ilya nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah,” he said quietly. Saying it out loud made it sound simpler than it had felt in his chest.
Galina straightened slightly in her chair. “You said earlier you didn’t mention any of this to him.”
“I didn’t,” Ilya said at once, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t tell him about Troy. Or what he asked.” He paused, then added, almost reluctantly, “But…I might have asked if he’d ever spoken to Troy Barrett before.”
That faint smile returned to Galina’s face, the one that suggested she’d been waiting patiently for him to arrive at this part. “Mm,” she said. “And why do you think you did that?”
“I don’t know,” Ilya said automatically, though even as he said it, he felt something tighten low in his chest. He shifted slightly on the couch. “I realised later, I think I was…”
Galina waited.
“...No one’s ever asked me about Shane like that before,” Ilya continued, slower now, the words feeling new as he said them. “Not like that. Not ever.”
Galina considered him for a moment, turning her head slightly in the pounder. “He’s your best friend, image wise.” she said. “He’s successful, well-known, wealthy, attractive. I find it hard to believe no one’s else has ever shown interest before in front of you.”
Heat flared in Ilya’s chest again, just like knot tightening the day in the locker room. He lifted his eyes to her, certain. “No,” he said. “I would remember.”
She held his gaze for a beat, then nodded, letting it stand. “Did it threaten something about the boring you’ve—oh goodness,” Galina said, her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and widened slightly. “We were supposed to finish five minutes ago. I got a bit lost in your story.”
Ilya let out a quiet breath, some of the tension easing as the moment loosened around him. He was just about to not like where this was going. He had just enough time to nod and begin the slow process of standing before Galina spoke again.
“Can I ask one last thing, Ilya?”
He paused, halfway upright, and looked back at her.
“What made you want to bring this up today?” Galina asked. “You said earlier it was small. Just a fleeting comment.”
Ilya stared at the doctor as the answer stubbornly refusing to arrive. He realised, a little distantly, that he didn’t actually have one.
There were plenty of other things he’d come in carrying with him that afternoon. The dream he’d had about his mother and Shane tangled together. The missed call from his brother he hadn’t returned. The cigarettes he’d started sneaking again this week, standing out on the balcony late at night and telling himself it didn’t count if no one saw.
There were many things he could have talked about. Instead, he looked back at Galina and shrugged, helpless and honest all at once. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Like I said… this week was very boring.”
Galina only laughed softly, the sound warm and approving. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said.
Something in Ilya’s chest gave a small, unexpected jump at her response. He nodded once, already reaching for his jacket. “Yes,” he said quietly.
For a moment, the words almost slipped out, the ones that had been following him all week. Don’t think I’m crazy, but that conversation felt like something. That's why i mentioned it. But he didn’t let them free.
Because Galina had said it herself, it was a fleeting comment. Something small. Something to let go of and move past. Ilya had mentioned it only to see if she might find it odd as well, and it seemed that, in that unknowing test, she hadn’t.
She’d said earlier that people who were used to chaos often mistook peace for boredom, and maybe that was all this was. Maybe he was just restless and looking for meaning where there was nothing waiting to be found.
He had peace now.
Peace, and boredom. And Shane.
Ilya murmured a quiet goodbye as he stepped out of the office and headed toward his car, telling himself that this was what it felt like when nothing was wrong, when a moment didn’t mean anything at all.
Peace didn’t need defending if it wasn’t under attack; he only hoped Troy Barrett had the sense to leave it that way. Because if Ilya learned anything this week, it was how carefully peace needed to be watched to make sure it stayed his.
And if Troy Barrett wanted peace as well, he would have to find his own.