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The moment Shane collapses to the ground is the moment Ilya stops breathing.
Nobody’s doing anything. Do they not care? He can feel the panic rising in his throat before he can even try to choke it down. He’s there in an instant without even realising it. Hovering uselessly around him, waiting for someone else to do something.
Because that’s how he’s always been.
He’s useless. Hell, Shane wouldn’t even be in this position if Ilya hadn’t insisted on seeing him all the time. So often that faint strings of affection began to weave together, forming something tangible and there but not yet strong enough for either of them to mention it.
He regrets it now.
Maybe Shane wouldn’t have looked back at him. Maybe he would’ve noticed Marleau speeding towards him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be swarmed by medics.
“Is he okay?” He calls, praying for good news. Praying for Shane himself to look up at smile at him. Or just look at him. Anything that isn’t staying still.
“Is he okay? Fucking tell me.” He says, he knows his voice is bordering on desperate but he doesn’t care.
He is desperate. He has to know. He can’t stomach Shane not being okay, and he can’t stomach not knowing.
“Get to your bench, Rozanoz. I’m not going to tell you again.” The ref says, annoyed. And he’s getting in between them now, cutting Ilya off from Shane. Shane who’s not okay, who’s being carted away on a stretcher, who’s alone and injured.
He can’t feel his body as he gets dragged away by his teammate, or maybe the ref, he’s not paying attention.
He can’t fathom having to keep playing. Being able to move onto the next period knowing Shane might not be okay.
He can’t do it but he has to.
He’s a rival. He’s nothing else. He has no reason to be so up in arms about this.
Fuck.
Despite his best efforts, the worry persisted throughout the entire game and then through the night.
Visiting hours weren’t open after the game, even if the thought of ignoring that and rushing through the doors happened more than what would be considered healthy.
But that’s fine. That’s so fine.
He’s here now anyway, standing outside the hospital door.
Shane’s inside and he’s okay, so now it doesn’t matter that he spent the entire night looking for any updates online, because the nurse just casually dropped the information he’d been losing his mind over on the walk to the room.
Even still, he can’t feel satiated until he can see Shane in front of him, alive and well.
He takes a breath, steeling himself. He can’t be out here in the open for much longer anyway. Legally, the staff can’t say a word, but there’s nothing stopping any passersby.
The moment he opens the door, his eyes are searching, locking onto Shane’s.
“Ilyaaaa,” He practically sings, wide, dopey smile on his face.
Instinctively Ilya goes to move forward but no. He’s a captain. He’s a captain visiting a player after his teammate injured him. He’s not doing this for personal reasons.
He’s more than aware of how this already looks. Especially after he made a spectacle of himself on the ice.
He closes the door behind him, taking a glance at the empty hallway.
“I, uh, I just wanted to…” He loses his words, he can’t take his eyes off of Shane. His beautiful, bruised face. “Are you okay?”
“Concussion and a fractured collarbone.” He says, each word slurring off at the end just a little,” Out for the playoffs, but…”
“Could have been worse.” Ilya finishes, even if it doesn’t soothe him. This is the worst. He refuses to acknowledge a world in which Shane is any worse than this.
Shane’s grin covers half his face, he’s looking at him like he’s the most important thing in the room and Ilya isn’t strong enough for this.
Any of this.
“Marleau feels terrible. He did not mean to hurt you.” He says, just to say something. Just to ignore his rushing thoughts.
“I know, part of the game. We all get our bell rung eventually, right?”
“Right.”
“Hey,” Shane says, happy and joyful, “Heyyy.” He reaches a hand out expectantly. Ilya is helpless to his call.
“Okay, okay, sh,” He murmurs. He’s not strong enough to stay away, but he can at least try to keep their lives private.
“Yes, better,” He whispers, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly to himself.
He looks gorgeous.
He looks so happy, and Ilya knows it’s the meds, but Shane is never prettier than when he’s smiling.
Especially when he’s the one making him smile. A more possessive voice whispers. A part of him he’s not allowed to have. Not with Shane.
The bruises make his freckles all the more prominent, he reaches a soft hand up to brush them gently, Shane leans into it.
“You scared me.”
The words feel heavy as they come out, he can’t even look at him as he says them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t text you last night.”
Ilya is shaking his head before he can even finish saying he’s sorry. Shane has nothing to apologise for. Nothing.
“No. It’s okay.” He’s worried if he has to talk for much longer his eyes will betray him, and the faint burning sensation behind his eyelids will come to fruition.
He can’t control his hands as they move towards Shane. Brushing his hair back, stroking his cheek, holding his hand. Anything to give him physical evidence of Shane’s existence. Anything to prove he’s real and he’s okay and he’s there, with Ilya.
“You know… I had a whole plan to ask you something.”
“Maybe it’s better if you just rest now.” He can’t handle the thought of Shane straining himself. He can’t handle the thought of being asked for something that he can’t do.
He wants to give Shane everything. It destroys him every time he needs to deny him something, but denying him when he’s like this?
“I was gonna ask you…”
“Hollander.”
“Will you come to my cottage this summer?”
He’s got such a proud, precious smile on his face and Ilya feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He doesn’t deserve Shane. He doesn’t deserve this.
And Shane deserves so much more than him. He deserves someone who will drop everything for him.
Ilya wishes, he wishes so badly that he could do that but he can’t. He is not that person.
“Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun, it’s so private. No one will know.”
“Hollander, you know I can’t do that.”
“We could have a week or even two,” He continues, like he hasn’t even heard Ilya, “Be completely alone… together.”
Ilya’s eyes search over every inch of him, trying to take him all in. His precious boy.
Not his.
He gives a tight smile, “Maybe. Maybe.” The words are loose promises. Fake. But he can’t deny Shane, even when this eventually backfires and he needs to upset him all over again.
He hears the door creak, before he can even fathom what he’s doing he’s shooting back, away from Shane, away from the only thing that feels real.
The nurse doesn’t even glance at him, a vague nod in his direction before she’s messing around with all of Shane’s machines.
He should go. He needs to go.
People are here now. They can be seen together. It’s an issue.
He keeps making shushing motions at Shane every time the nurse’s back is turned. He can’t trust what he has to say right now. He can’t trust himself to respond with anything other than affection.
The nurse leaves once more, Hollander looks back at him with wide eyes, clenching and unclenching his hand.
He wishes it could be like this all the time. Without the injury, without the pain. Just the two of them in eachother’s company.
The nurse has seen him. Them. He’s been here too long.
“Hollander.”
Shane looks up at him like he personally hung the moon in the sky and painted the stars.
“I need to go.”
All at once it’s like the string snaps. Shane’s dopey, smily face cracks and splinters. He looks distraught, betrayed.
“You- you can’t. You can’t go.” His voice breaks, tears pooling in his eyes. Ilya’s heart lurches, his hands come up to cup his jaw, trying to fix what he’s broken.
“No no, do not cry, please.” He whispers, kissing his forehead, the corner of his eyes, his lips.
“You have to stay, please,” Shane begs and what’s left of Ilya’s heart, the side he hasn’t given up to Shane, shatters.
“Please, I missed you, I missed you. It hurt and I just wanted you and you weren’t there, but now you are and you can’t go, you can’t leave me here. Not again.”
Tears are running now, his voice is desperate but he doesn’t stop. He keeps hammering down Ilya’s composure and he really can’t take much more.
“You always leave. I need you and you go and I miss you and I love you,” Ilya stops breathing, “And I can’t do anything about it!” There’s more shuddered sobbing, and Ilya dares to think the onslaught is over, “I tried to learn Russian,” Shane confesses, “I tried but it was just so hard and I was so bad, so I gave up, you need to teach me, you need to teach me because I need to know what you’re saying. Please.”
Shane looks so small. Fragile.
The thought has plagued him the entire night. What if this happened again. What if it is worse and he never gets to hold him again?
Ilya has never been strong, not like his father wanted him to be.
“Okay. Okay I will stay with you, Shane. I will stay. Please stop crying.”
He doesn’t know about the logistics, how he’s going to look after Shane whilst keeping everything secret, all he knows is that Shane, his Shane is crying and clinging onto his arm like he’s scared he’ll never see him again and Ilya will do anything to keep him happy.
He draws Shane into a hug, mindful of the wires and using all of his resolve to not hug him until they combine into one. Shane clings on, fingers gripping into the fabric of his shirt and things feel okay.
“I didn’t mind it.” Shane mumbled.
“Hm?”
“I didn’t mind falling. I was looking at you, so it was okay.”
Ilya feels tears build up on his waterline. He knows Shane was high on god knows what and babbling about whatever came to his mind. He doesn’t know if Shane meant it or not when he told him he loved him but fuck.
Ilya has never been loved like this before.
He’s never had someone put their faith in him so wholly. He struggles to see how declarations like that could be born from anything other than love.
He brushes a thumb over Shane’s knuckles, “You can always look at me. Maybe next time you do not get hit to look at me.”
Shane hums in response, leaning more of his weight onto Ilya.
Shane’s fingers begin to loosen; he’s close to sleep now. His outburst probably tiring him out.
“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He slurs, voice hushed.
Ilya kisses the top of his head, “Always. Sleep now.”
Shane’s response is so minimal it can hardly be counted. He’s well on his way to being dead asleep.
“I love you,” Ilya whispers. Shane may not have meant it in his rambling, but Ilya means it. He will always mean it.
Once he’s completely sure Shane is asleep, he dares to move him back, away from his chest and onto the pillows. Shane grumbles in his sleep, Ilya’s heart clenches.
He misses the warmth, but he knows it’s for the better.
He has things he needs to do if he’s going to make this work.
He gets the nurses to give him everything Shane came into the hospital with. He assumes his coach must’ve given them Shane’s phone as they were leaving, but either way, he’s glad.
There’s hundred of unanswered messages.
He opens his own chat with Jane on his phone, studies the way he types. He responds to all the important ones.
Pike thinks Shane’s parents are here, making sure he’s taken care of, so there’s really no need to visit, he’ll call later.
His parents think Pike and his trainers are there with him, and he really doesn’t want to stress out his parents and make them travel all this way, it’s totally fine. He’ll call them later.
He doesn’t feel great about lying on Shane’s behalf. Shane never lies, except fir when Ilya’s involved, but he really tries to forget that fact.
The only other thing with him is the kit he was wearing, haphazardly thrown into a plastic bag.
It’s so un-Shanelike he can’t stand it.
He doesn’t even think about it before he empties it all out and starts slowly, methodically folding the clothes and putting them all neatly back into the bag, just like Shane would.
It’s soothing.
It’s dark by the time Shane is allowed to be discharged.
The nurse gives Ilya a long list of instructions for his care, he asks if she can write them down so he can hand them to Shane’s parents when he finally delivers Shane to them.
Because that makes logical sense, right? He was there, at the game. He’s the captain, it was his player who hurt Shane. It makes sense that he would take responsibility, and it’s easier than making his parents drive here and back.
Just a basic transaction to avoid any bridges getting burnt.
The nurse does, Ilya needs to force his eyes away from reading them 5 times over. He can do it in the car.
Shane’s awake, but clearly tired, watching the interaction but nothing more. They sign the papers and the nurse leaves.
Ilya rips off his hoodie, putting it over Shane to prepare him for the harsh winds when they step outside. He needs it far more than Ilya anyway.
It makes him feel useful, too. He didn’t do anything on the ice, but he can do something now.
He rushes them both to the car, Shane’s hood pulled low, his own hat matching.
He sits Shane in the back, even if it hurts to be away from him. It’s less obvious.
He stops at his own hotel room first, grabbing the bag the packed in his panic yesterday. Selfishly, he gets Shane dressed in his clothes, even if his own room is a few floors away. He does it under the guise of wanting Shane out of hospital clothes sooner rather than later.
He leaves Shane there, lying on his bed, whilst Ilya goes to the other man’s room to pack his stuff away. He’s quick, Shane has already folded everything so neatly Ilya really doesn’t have much to do.
He checks twice to make sure he hasn’t left anything before collecting Shane and shuffling them both back to the car.
He settles in for the drive, content in the knowledge that Shane is sleeping soundly behind him.
Shane wakes up slowly.
His head hurts and everywhere feels stiff and sore. The only saving grace is that he’s warm, and there’s a gentle, heavenly pressure raking over his scalp.
He sighs, relaxing into it. It really would be so lovely if he didn’t have the horrible achiness everywhere else.
The pressure stops suddenly, drawing him out of his relaxation.
He blinks his eyes open to see that he’s in bed. On someone’s chest.
“Shane?” A Russian voice whispers. That makes more sense.
“Hm?” He hums in response, not quite ready to wake up.
There’s a deep sigh of relief, he can feel it vibrate through him.
“Thank god. Are you okay?” Ilya asks, beginning to brush through Shane’s hair again.
“Mm, fine.” He sighs, shuffling further into Ilya’s chest. He has really good pecs.
“Concussion is okay?”
Concussion. Shit, he forgot about that.
He got hit. He was looking at Ilya, he got knocked to the ground, he goes to hospital, he wakes, Ilya’s there, then Ilya-
Oh.
“You stayed?” he asks, voice smaller than intended.
“You wanted me to. Of course I did.”
He says it simply, like it isn’t wrecking Shane’s worldview.
They don’t do this. The fuck, then they leave. They never stay.
“You need to call your parents later, though, and Pike. They’re asking about you, texts won’t suffice for much longer.”
Shane wonders if maybe he should leave. Call his parents, or at least just get off his chest.
He basically cried his way into getting Ilya to stay, he tried to leave. Instead he had to drag Shane all the way back to his own house and look after him when he should be training or just doing anything that isn’t looking after Shane.
“What are you thinking about, hm?” He rubs a hand over Shane’s arm.
“Do you want me to go?”
Ilya’s movements stop abruptly, he lifts himself up a little bit so he can look over and make eyecontact at Shane.
“Of course not,” He says, like it’s common knowledge, “No, never. Why would you think that?” He sounds confused and maybe almost… hurt?
“I just… You wanted to leave, but then I didn’t let you, so now you kind of have to be here with me.”
“No. You are wrong.” Ilya says firmly, his accent slipping through more than usual, “I did not want to leave. I thought I had to.” His eyes bore into Shanes, trying to make Shane understand.
“I want to be with you, always. I am glad you are here, with me. Please do not leave, Shane.”
Shane. Not Hollander.
Fuck.
He won’t survive this, he really won’t.
“I don’t want to. I won’t.”
Ilya wraps an arm around him, keeping just that bit closer, sharing warmth.
“Good.”
“What does this mean for us?” Shane dares to ask. Probably the painkillers that haven’t fully worn off.
Their norm has been broken, surely something changes.
Ilya pauses, he can feel it.
“Whatever you want it to mean for us.” He kisses Shane’s head, and this si exactly where he wants to be always.
“And you’d be okay with that?”
“I’d be okay with anything if it means I get to be with you.”
The confession is so raw, earnest. It’s not hidden away behind the walls Ilya has built up high around his heart.
Earnest enough that Shane wants to be earnest too.
“I love you, Ilya.”
He can feel Ilya’s smile against his head.
“I love you too, Shane.”