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Shane had come back to the cottage from practice early: three hours and twenty-nine minutes early to be exact. There was no reason for him to be on the ice when by tomorrow there would be no ice to skate on - real or fake - and no ice to even think about if they could even think at all. And a part of him did want to stay until he’d gotten his day's work in, he knew there wasn’t much of a point in doing so.
As soon as he turned the key to unlock the front door, Ilya was there, in his arms. It was a feeling the two knew of them knew well, of course, but one they silently knew they had to take in now. They’d lived so much of their lives dancing around it, but now, what else was there but each other? What more did they have? Who knew what there was to offer after all of this? Neither of them could bear taking the risk of leaving each other behind without remembering this embrace, and what it felt like to just hold and be held.
Ilya had chosen to take the day off from practicing, or at least largely so. He and Shane had spent a little time running around on the fake ice, shooting at empty nets that would never be anything but empty, laughing when they missed, laughing when they scored.
Shane just stayed behind a little longer. Him and his routines, Ilya couldn’t really blame him for wanting to keep them up until the end.
“How was it?” Ilya asked him, not letting go of their hug just yet. He wanted all of Shane, like he always did, but even more so now.
“Good, I guess. I think it would’ve been better with you there,” Shane replied, letting up slightly so he could kiss the top of Ilya’s shoulder. There were a lot of things he’d miss about living, but Ilya was always going to be at the top of the list. Sure, Shane loved hockey and things like that, but he always loved Ilya more.
Always.
Hopefully, if heaven was real (and he wasn’t too sure it was), the two of them could meet up again there and resume from where things left off. Maybe things would be better there, no more hiding.
Would they feel unfulfilled? Would they regret not being out?
They didn’t have the time to think about that kind of thing.
“Always better with me, hmm?” Ilya lightly teased when they finally let go of the hug. He had the remnants of a glass of vodka sitting on the kitchen counter. He wouldn’t dare admit it, but he’d poured it to get his mind off things. He hated feeling anxious like this, and the vodka wasn’t exactly helping but at least it felt good. “You didn’t have to stay, you know.”
“I wanted to,” Shane insisted, lightly enough for it to sound gentle because it was. “It’s the last bit of normal I think we’ll have.” His honesty might’ve been a little too harsh, but what really was harsh anymore? Ilya didn’t have much to say to that anyway, so he chose to nod.
“What time are we dying again tonight?” Shane continued on, not that it mattered all that much. He just wanted to be ready, if he’d ever be ready to die. He just wanted to take every moment he had before the asteroid would hit to take in every single thing he could about the love of his life.
“Does it matter?” Ilya asked him back, but from the somber sort of look plastered on Shane’s face, he knew his answer. “9:17, that is what the newspaper said.”
The two of them laid down on the couch, Ilya behind Shane, his hand casually draped over his waist. They watched the TV sputter in and out as they looked through the channels until they found an old broadcast of one of the Montreal games. It wasn’t Montreal and Boston, but it was better than automated doomsday news updates.
“Do you think we’ll go to heaven after this?”
“What is this philosophy all of a sudden?” Ilya lightly teased, but again, Shane was serious. He let a moment of silence pass before he spoke again. “I’d like to see my mother.”
Shane felt that feeling in his throat again, the one he always got when Ilya spoke about his mother. He didn’t really know how to describe it, something close to crying but not there just yet.
He tried his best to keep it together for Ilya’s sake.
“What do you think will happen to us?” Shane asked. Ilya could tell it was getting to him, and he truthfully didn’t really know how to calm him down. There wasn’t anything he could manage to say that would manage to soothe such a complicated confrontation with mortality.
“I don’t know. I think I’d like it to be a surprise.”
“A surprise? But what if there is nothing?”
“Then there is nothing.” Ilya shrugged his shoulders a little, interrupting his sentence with a small kiss atop Shane’s head. “Boring, though.” His words were filled with a sort of chuckle, albeit awkward and a little forced. But he tried.
Shane laughed a bit with him, a tale almost as old as time at this point.
“Even if heaven is real, I am probably not going,” Ilya then admitted, followed by a long and heavy sigh.
“Hey, don’t say that! You n’ I get to go together because we’re in love, right?” Shane retaliated, and Ilya found another small chuckle somewhere inside him.
“Don’t think it works that way, Sweetheart.” And what was Shane to say to that?
Ilya finally forced himself to get up from behind where Shane was laying, and Shane sat up to let him stand up.
“I started dinner,” he told him, starting toward the pot set on the stove. The lid atop it had started slightly rattling, but Shane didn’t process that that was what it was.
“What are we having?” Ilya adored how Shane’s face seemed to light back up at something as little as a good dinner. Shane had never been the best chef in the world, but he’d grown better at cooking over the years. Ilya had always been better, though. The nights Ilya got to cook for him were some of the best ones.
“Spaghetti. Like your moms. I know it's your favourite.” Ilya tried to smile a little, in hopes it might cheer Shane up as well, even just a bit. Even if this wasn’t how they wanted things to be going, that didn’t mean they couldn’t at least try. He took the spoon from where it rested by the stove, stirred the sauce, and put it back down, exchanging it for his glass of vodka. "Do you want some as well?" Ilya held out the bottle of vodka so Shane could see what he was speaking about. Shane sniffled a little, the remnants of… all of his feelings, really, still fresh in his mind as he nodded his head. He didn’t exactly love the taste of it, but tiny sips were alright and the act of sharing something like that with Ilya made him feel warm inside.
“Oh, Ilya… you didn’t have to…”
“Wanted to. Anything is good with you," Ilya tried assure him. He placed his glass of vodka back down on the countertop and walked back over to take one of Shane’s hands in both of his own.
"And if we make it somewhere after this…” Ilya told him, pausing to take a breath, maybe prevent himself from crying. “I want you to remember your last night on Earth. If things go wrong and…” I never see you again.
Ilya couldn’t say the words. Not without breaking.
“Hey, hey. We’re gonna be okay, Baby. You n’ me, okay? We’ll be okay after all of this,” Shane practically cooed, except he knew he wasn’t gonna be able to keep himself together for much longer either. He pulled Ilya into a hug, and he didn’t see it for certain, but he could feel from the way the air changed that Ilya was crying.
Ilya took a couple of sharp breaths in before he pulled away, wiping his nose on his sleeve and forcing himself back together. He never used to cry like this, he had to wonder what had gotten into him. Actually, he knew the answer: Shane had gotten into him.
Shane dished out enough food for each of them while Ilya grabbed a second glass. Ilya knew they wouldn’t finish it, but he wanted to have it when he had this moment so they could celebrate their love privately, like they always had.
Together they ate in relative silence, just to enjoy the meal. They didn’t bother doing the dishes, because it was a waste of time that they really didn’t have much left of.
They had an hour and twenty-two minutes left of their lives.
What a little amount of time it was, but what a large amount of time to fill. It felt rude to ask what to do when there was such little time left for them to do anything at all, but the minutes felt like there were days left of time when there was nothing to do but sit and wait for them to pass.
Ilya sat back on the couch, his arms resting behind his head.
“I’m… sorry we didn’t have the time to get married,” he managed to get out, but Shane just shook his head. He looked down at where the living room hardwood became kitchen tile, maybe keeping something out with the intensity of it. “But I have something to show you.”
“I don’t need to look good for this, right?” Shane questioned, laughing a little to himself. It got a laugh out of Ilya too.
“You always look good, shut up.” Ilya took Shane by the hand, abandoning the leftovers on the stove to go outside, down to the dock. The sun was setting, not entirely down, but Ilya had to make sacrifices.
And even though Shane had largely kept it together this entire time, now he just couldn’t anymore.
It was just what Ilya had promised, all of those years ago. The candles, the dock, the closest they’d get to a full moon. Sure it was a little sooner than Shane had expected, but what different did that make? Ilya had promised, and he wasn’t going to go out without keeping it.
“There’s a lot I wanted to do sooner. I’ve had so many dreams of marrying you,” Ilya began. “Not just for citizenship. Because I love you. And it makes me so angry, you know. That I couldn’t have done any of this sooner. It’s not what I wanted it to be. Candles aren’t even real.” He had practiced this - at least most of it - over and over so he could get the English right.
“But having you here… is far more than I could ever ask to die with.” Those weren’t words he’d practiced, ones he barely even knew how to say outside of Russian. The last time he’d had to say the word die…
He didn’t wanna think about it.
“Don’t word it like that, Ilya…” Shane interjected a little, closing his eyes for several moments longer than a blink should have lasted.
“Is true though, there is no one else I’d rather die beside. You have your mom and dad, you could’ve been with them. But me, all I have is you, Shane. You are my family.” Ilya insisted, before he took a piece of paper out from his pocket to continue. “I wrote this - well, Svetlana helped a little - I’ve been practicing in the mirror when I can. Didn’t want to fuck it up.”
“What is it?” Shane asked, leaning forward a little to see if he could see the words on the crumpled-up paper himself. He couldn't, but Ilya started reading so he didn't need to.
“Shane Hollander, with all of the love I have, I want you to be my husband. I swear on the… I have no fucking idea how much time is left that is the rest of my life to love you through all of it, to love you through every single moment of joy and pain and every single Stanley Cup win of mine, and of yours because I'll let you win at least one because I'm a nice guy, and I swear to one day kiss you on the ice like I hate Scott Hunter for having the courage to do.” Ilya had to pause to wipe his nose again, his words having kind of trickled all into one sentence. He knew he’d be emotional about it all, but he never thought it’d be this bad. “And from now forward, there will be no rain, no loneliness, and even though there’s so little left, for as long as I’m alive to do it, I promise to cherish and honour you with every bit of me I know how to.”
Shane had long given up on not crying. He just stared at Ilya, or as much of his vision that could be staring given how cloudy it was. He was so handsome, so breathtaking. He was always so handsome, Shane always found a way to get himself to give in.
“So… I think… I think I’d like the last name Hollander. Your parents are nice. I think I’d like to be Ilya Hollander, if you’d marry me.” Ilya was on one knee. Shane felt like the world was fine.
Shane didn’t need to say anything, he just pulled Ilya up and into his arms all over again, both of them finally giving up and letting themselves cry. They’d worry about the ring later.
“Yes. A million times yes. Always yes,” Shane managed to get out, incredibly jumbled between his and Ilya’s sobs, but it needed to be said. The words needed to be out there, even if they wouldn’t be there for long. Shane didn’t like holding his words from Ilya anymore, not after he’d done so for so long before.
Neither of them knew what time it was. Neither of them cared.
The two of them stayed that way for a while, holding each other, crying, watching glimpses of the sun setting, before they pulled away and headed back inside. Shane could’ve stayed out there all night if it meant he wouldn’t get eaten by bugs. He contemplated doing it anyway.
“Do you wanna go play some hockey? Just for fun? Is that a bad way to spend the time?”
“Only if I get to kiss you on the ice,” Ilya teased a little.
They really didn’t play too much hockey at all, just passed the puck back and forth, and Ilya took every moment he could to put his stick down and press Shane against the walls, just to kiss him, kiss his neck, anywhere he could really, feel his skin against him, nothing more. Just to take him in, breathe in his cologne and the smell of laundry soap so he could remember it for as long as he could remember anything. To whisper that he loved him as many times as his mouth could do so. To hear Shane say it back as many times as his ears could do so.
“How much time is left?” Ilya asked into the material of Shane’s sweatshirt. Ilya didn’t want to look, and he hated that he was making Shane look, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Seventeen minutes, if the clock is right.” Silence filled the room, sickeningly thick and heavy on both of their shoulders, before Shane found it in him to laugh. “Race you back out to the dock?”
It was on.
Ilya won, because he was faster, after all.
The two of them sat on the edge of the dock, bare feet dangling down into the water a little, trying to catch their breaths again.
“I love you, Ilya Hollander,” Shane said, partially to test how it sounded coming off of his own lips, and he didn’t expect to like it as much as he did. He’d expected for a while that he’d be taking Ilya’s last name, or maybe his mothers last name. Something like that. But Ilya and Shane Hollander… that sounded nice.
“I love you, Shane Hollander,” Ilya responded, mostly repeated, really, but it was good. Shane could very, very much get used to hearing this.
They probably only had a couple of minutes left with each other, they didn’t really have any way of knowing, and neither really wanted to know. What use was watching the minutes tick by and sitting in despair, when really, there wasn’t anything better than these moments right now?
Just Ilya and Shane, the latter of the two a little slouched to have his head on Ilya’s shoulder.
“You know, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better night,” Shane started, trying to sound confident and triumphant or something like that. It probably wasn’t working. “Thank you.”
And, as if they had been planning this for ages, the two of them stood up, leaving damp footprints on the wood, to hug each other as tightly as they could, knowing this would be the last time they’d ever be able to do so.
“Goodbye, My Love.”
Neither of them even knew who said it first.