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Ilya was not lying when he told Yuna he would give up everything for Shane. Sometimes the echoes of their conversation would whisper in the moments where silence meets them.
"Because of your family?" He remembers Shane asking, eyes glowing with empathy and care. Even through his own hurt, he still understood the rope pulling Ilya taut, keeping him away.
"Because of Russia!" He responded harsher than he meant to, but as he always finds, Shane Hollander had a way of loosening the knots when the ropes wrapped too tightly.
When he finally decided to be selfish for once and let himself be in love, have him beyond stolen glances and illicit desires, he found he would burn Russia—the whole world, even—to keep Shane in his arms.
There was nothing left for him in Russia. His father was gone, he had no desire to see his brother, and the only other person he cared about—Svetlana—was someone he could visit in America. The ties that once pulled him back home no longer held. Only one thing in Russia still lingered in his thoughts, if only for a moment.
His mother's grave.
He didn't like home for all its restrictions and demands, but what kept him from completely hating it was the memories tethered to it; Russia had Irina and all of Ilya's memories of her.
He loves his mother dearly. Love is a powerful thing, he finds, and to love Shane was to feel the love he remembers tenfold.
So he leaves and begins to come home to Shane.
The first time, Ilya could not visit his mother on this particular day; the room was swallowed by dullness, the sky swirling with shades of gray, and silence pressing against the walls. He reaches for Shane, only to find it cold and empty. He rises, sheets falling to his lap.
"Shane?" He calls out, his voice sounds louder in the silence. There was muffled thudding against the wooden floors before the door opened and Shane entered. "Did you go out?" Ilya asks with a frown, noticing Shane's fleece sweater and jeans.
"Yes." He answers, Ilya had no energy to press further. Shane then lies next to him, his back against the headboard, fingers threading through golden hair as Ilya instinctively rests his head on Shane's stomach, a position he has always been fond of. Shane lets the comfort of the quiet linger for a moment before speaking. "I know what today is."
Ilya closes his eyes and merely hums in acknowledgment.
"I'm sorry you can't see her." He says quietly, so earnest that it threatens to topple the little composure Ilya has.
"You don't have to apologize, Shane."
"I know, I know." Shane says, "I just wish some things were different."
"I don't," Ilya responds without thought. "I'm happy here, just sad today."
"What can I do to help?"
"Nothing, just be here." He says, then a beat. "Maybe cook pasta too."
That pulls a laugh from Shane, that alone was salve for Ilya's aching heart. "Done and done."
Ilya smiles.
A minute or two passes before Shane speaks again. "What do you usually do on this day?"
"Hm." Ilya mumbles. "We visit her grave, but when Папа started to get sick, I would go alone, place flowers, talk to her, then I would eat, then get drunk and cry until I fall asleep."
"What kind of flowers?"
That takes Ilya off guard. "What?"
"What kind of flowers?" Shane repeats.
He surprises himself at the fond little chuckle he made as a memory flashes into his mind. "When I was small, there was this neighbor who grew flowers. I would get some and run home to мамочка because the old man would get angry at me for taking his flowers. When I would give it to her, it would be all crumpled in my hand, but she did not care; she took them, kept them until they wilted, like they were the most beautiful flowers in all of Russia." He blinks as tears fall, still with a smile on his lips. "When she died, I would bring her those crumpled, small flowers, until, of course, our neighbor moved and the flowers were gone. I would sometimes bring her гвоздика—carnations, you call them, I think," He sniffles and shrugged. "or roses."
"Little Ilya picking wild flowers is a cute sight to imagine."
"Yes, I'm pretty cute."
Shane laughs, and Ilya does not need to look up to know that he is shaking his head fondly.
"Do you want to go outside?"
"Mm," Ilya muttered in protest, holding Shane tighter to further his point. "Rain." He says as an explanation.
"It won't for another hour," Shane says as he rests his palm on Ilya's cheek. "I have something to show you." That seemed to pique the Russian's interest as he looked up at Shane with curiosity,
"Does this something have to do with wherever you went this morning?"
"Perhaps.'
"Mysteriousness does not suit you, Shane Hollander."
"Shut up." He says with no bite, as always. "Come on." He taps Ilya's shoulder and starts to get up as Ilya sighs dramatically and sprawls on the bed.
Now wearing Shane's Canada Sheerpa Olympic jacket, he steps into the back of the house, the Canadian air—though far from Russia's freezing temperatures—makes him shiver. "It's fucking freezing. I hope we're not swimming, it's too cold for a swim." He says as he buries his hands in his pockets.
Shane chuckles. "We're not." They make their way to the lake. "Here." He says as they stop a few feet from the shore.
"Where?" Ilay asks slowly, sending a confused look at his boyfriend. "I can see the lake from our window, Shane. I see this every day."
"Okay, you can't see it from here," Shane says as he takes Ilya's hand and leads them to a cluster of big rocks, a little further from the usual spot they swim in, where, in the middle of the boulders, a rock was engraved, in shaky chiseled Russian writing that read:
In Loving Memory of Irina Rozanova
"I did my best," Shane says sheepishly, "I'm sorry if it's wrong. I used a combination of Reddit and Google. I researched, but you know, you can never be 100% sure. I know I should have asked you before doing this but-"
"Shut up, Hollander." Ilya interrupts Shane's nervous rambling, and he promptly shuts his mouth. "You, fuck," He turns to Shane, with tears falling down his beautiful face that made Shane's chest hurt. "You...are something else." He says as he cups Shane's cheeks into his hands. "Something else."
"It's just, you've given up so much, Ilya, sacrificed so much for me, I know you always say nothing is keeping you in Russia anymore, but I know you sacrificed visiting your mother's grave, and it hurts you—it still hurts you." Shane offers a sad smile. "I know this doesn't come close to the real thing back at home because she isn't really here, but I hope it helps."
"It helps, a lot. Yes, in Russia, I have many memories of her—good and bad. But here, I have you. And when you are near, I remember only the good ones, because you make me happy. Here, I see the future, I can make new memories, better ones, with you. So please, do not feel bad that I left Russia. It is no longer home to me; it has not been home for a while." He mutters something in Russian before letting out a wet laugh as his eyes shone with unshed tears. "Sometimes, I look at you, and I go, 'Oh, I cannot possibly love this man even more,' and then you do something like this." He sighed. "You make me fall in love again and again. I do not know how you do it." He leaned forward to press a soft yet deep kiss on Shane's lips. "And I think she is here, happy that her Сынок has found a family that cares for him as much as she cared for me, and found someone he loves, who loves him just as much."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"Would you like to talk to her?"
Ilya gives a small nod. He pulls away from Shane and takes a deep breath before speaking in his mother tongue as Shane stands beside him, listening quietly.
"Hello, mama." As soon as the words left his lips, sobs clawed at his throat. "It has been a while, I'm sorry. I miss you. I-uh, have Shane with me today. I told him you would love him, oh, mama, you would adore him, he would make you laugh until everything would hurt like he makes me laugh. I know..." He pauses. "You were afraid that I would be alone when you left, but Mama, I'm no longer alone, and I believe I will never be. I hope you now rest well, knowing your fears have disappeared. But then again, I know you had something to do with this. I like to believe that you pushed me into Shane's path. If Irina Rozanova has a will, then it shall be done." Ilya laughs, and Shane couldn't help but smile at the sound.
"When you left, I saw nothing in my future, probably just play hockey, maybe marry Svetlana, retire, drink, die, but now with Shane I am brave enough to dream of more, and I am fucking terrified because I dream of marriage, babies, a whole life that I had given up in imagining because it hurts too much to think about. But with him." He glances at Shane with a warm smile, as Shane meets his eyes and returns a lopsided grin of his own. "I'm starting to think it's not as scary. I hope you're proud of me; I want you to be. Everything I've done has been for you as much as it has been for me, and now I have someone I can share my dreams with. Now I try to make him proud of me as I try to make you proud. Strangely, grief does not feel as heavy when I'm with him. When I think of you, all I can think about is how much you would love him, Mama, how kind and endearing he is, how he makes me smile like you used to make me smile. I think if you were here, you would pat me in the back and say, 'Job well done, Ilya.'"
He chuckles and lets a few moments of silence pass, listening to the quiet ripple of the lake and the trees swaying as the wind brushes through, before he says quietly. " Mama, know that I am completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy." He smiles through his tears. "I love you."
Ilya sniffles as the tears slow down. "Here," Shane says quietly, offering an assortment of small wild flowers that grew on the greenery around the lake, on the palm of his hands. Ilya's breath stutters, chest aching with so much love. He accepts it without a word, fearing that if he opens his mouth, a sob or a proposal of marriage—maybe both—would come out of his mouth, so instead he crouches down to place the flowers gently on the ground. He stays there for a moment, letting his fingers feel the etches on the stone. He stands and wraps an arm around Shane's waist, as droplets of rain start to fall from the sky.
"Your forecast was wrong, Hollander."
"I swear the weather app said it would be in an hour."
Ilya burst out laughing, high and giddy, before calming with a slow sigh and leaning in to give Shane a peck on the lips. "Thank you for this, you do not know how much it means to me."
His boyfriend smiles softly. "I'm glad I could help you. I know today's a difficult day."
"Hm, I think it's a happy day, now. I mean, there is still grief of course, but it is like, I don't know how to describe it, happy grief-"
"Bittersweet?" Shane supplied.
"-Yes, because I get to remember her with you."
The rain comes down heavier, droplets drumming against the ground. Shane pressed a steady hand to Ilya’s waist, a gentle signal to move. “Come on,” he said softly, “let’s go back inside. You can tell me more about her over pasta.”
As Ilya said, Shane Hollander had a way of loosening the knots when the ropes threatened to wrap too tightly.