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With Shane, it is always, always the little things. He is bad at big, grand romance. That is for Ilya to do. Ilya loves staging a moment, coordinating the details, surprising Shane enough to laugh and blush and fuck him. Shane was different. Different from Ilya, but different from most people too.
He'd been that way since they day they met. Making small concessions and inclusions, changing up some particular habit to accommodate Ilya in his life. He bought a more expensive brand of lube because Ilya complained about it one time. He changed his soap because Ilya mentioned he liked citrus scents. He never went out the night before games, unless they were in the same city. He didn't drink, but kept Ilya's favorite brand of vodka at his condo.
These things increased, amplified, exploded really, once they were together officially. Shane always kept normal human food for him at his place, kept a running list of Ilya's favorite restaurants when he traveled. He would text Ilya reminders to work out on his off days. He adjusted his own work out schedule to make sure he had time for Ilya. He included him in plans with his parents, always asked if he wanted to come with to the Pike's house. Adjusted his life, his routines, his schedule to put Ilya right there at the top priority alongside hockey. He kept chenile blankets in the house because Ilya liked them.
Actually, Ilya didn't have to bring much at all to Montreal. Shane provided everything he needed from clothes to slippers to shampoo for curls and an extra charger for Ilya's phone and tablet. He even kept a picture of Ilya's mother and a pack of Ilya's preferred cigarettes in the bedside table (though he usually sweet talked Ilya away from the cigarettes). Ilya had never asked for any of those things, Shane just did them. Being at Shane's was almost better than being home. It was the most at home Ilya had ever been in his life.
Shane's love was overwhelming in its attentiveness, it's observation and careful consideration. Ilya didn't have the opportunity to doubt that he was loved because Shane had painstakingly carved out a place for him in his rigidly structured day to day existence. Something he didn't do for anyone else.
So when Ilya said the hand holding in public was monumental, he meant it with every fiber of his being.
Like everything else with Shane, it started off small and away from the rink. He reached for Ilya's hand when they got out of the car to run errands. When they walked through other people's homes, his parents', their teammates', Rose Landry's on occasion when they visited. It never failed to send sparks of joy all throughout Ilya's body, never failed to have him melting and squeezing Shane's hand, kissing his cheek or behind his ears.
It was stupid. He shouldn't have been so excited to hold his husband's hand in public. But it was Shane. Shane, who plotted out his every moved like a computer charting a program to run fluidly on command. It meant that Shane had thought about it, decided when and how he would do it, and then followed through even if his brain was buzzing with manic energy. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for him.
So when Harris Dover and his social media interns started asking the team silly questions before practice, Ilya may have been…brusque. Especially when, two weeks before Valentine's Day, they asked: What's the most romantic thing someone has done for you?
His response was basically fuck off, which in retrospect may not have been the way to go about it. Shane's polished, media trained "Well it's all over the internet, google it" was a much better method. But Ilya couldn't help it. He loved Shane so, so much, but he wouldn't explain Shane to other people. He didn't want to. Those pieces of Shane were for him and his parents and people who loved him, not…TikTok.
"So umm," Shane started as he chopped vegetables at the counter. He'd been quiet and twitchy since they left the rink. Ilya knew better than to rush him. "Harris is getting weird with those questions, right?"
Ilya kept his eyes on his phone, but was brutally aware of Shane's full attention on him.
"Weird?"
"Yeah. Like, personal, I guess?" The knife hit the cutting board a little too hard. Ilya suppressed the shudder, clicked off his phone, and went to take over the chopping.
"You cut it unevenly," Shane complained.
"You are not focused, you'll cut yourself." He batted Shane away and kept going. "Harris has stupid questions usually. Is the point of social media."
"But you didn't answer today."
He paused only momentarily to look at his husband, whose hand was up to his mouth while he leaned against the counter.
"Shane."
"And I know it's stupid," he pressed on. "We agreed to keep it professional, to keep things private from the public even if we're out, but—"
"But what?" Ilya scooped up the chopped vegetables to put them into the pan with simmering oil. It was a good distraction for Shane to process his thoughts. Or get the nerve to share them.
"But I have like, a million answers to that question. You moved countries for me, switched teams, you can't go back to Russia because of me. And I—"
"And you think you are not romantic," Ilya finished for him. Shane's eyes were glassy and wet, still pretending he wasn't upset if the tears didn't fall. He nodded and dropped a hand to cross his arms.
Ilya took a moment. He finished cooking the vegetables and moved them off the heat. Because if they were over or under cooked, Shane might not eat them. And they couldn't have this conversation with the stove on, Shane would get distracted. So he did that and wiped his hands and turned back to Shane, who looked absolutely miserable.
Ilya moved smoothly into his space, coaxing at his forearms and elbows until Shane raised his arms to put around him. Until he took the comfort he badly needed. He squeezed Ilya tight, sighed as Ilya's hands smoothed up and down his back.
"You are confused because I got annoyed with Harris because Harris is annoying." Shane huffed but didn't argue. "I will skip all of my sex examples because I know you don't think it counts, but I think it counts a lot."
"Okay."
"And I have to skip some because otherwise dinner will get cold and you don't like it reheated."
"Jesus christ, Ilya," he grumbled, burying his face into Ilya's shoulder and keeping his grip.
"We can start with the obvious. You share your family with me."
"They decided that, not me."
"You started a charity and named it after my mother."
"We did that together."
"It was your plan." He lightly pinched Shane's sides. "Are you going to argue for every one of these?"
Shane sniffled. "No."
"Good, then shut up. You learned Russian for me. You leave me notes reminding me about things. You always remember things I tell you. You drive us everywhere even though you hate my cars. You do my laundry because I like it better when you do. I love watching you fold our clothes."
"Yeah you need to explain that to me, actually—"
Oops, changing direction.
"You never go easy on me on the ice, especially when I'm having a bad day. That assist this morning? That was very romantic too. And you hold my hand when we go out now, even though you have a panic attack every time."
"Not every time."
"Almost every time. And I love that the most."
"Me holding your hand?"
"Yes, Hollander. You holding my fucking hand." He pulled back enough to look his husband in the eye. "Do you not remember buying a whole building so we could fuck without getting caught at your place?" Shane scoffed. "We were a secret for such a long time, and you making changes is…a big deal for me."
"But all of that is just…normal stuff. Normal, every day stuff."
Ilya laughed ruefully, nodding his head.
"Yes, normal, every day stuff. That I thought I would never get. That no one would want with me. And you do it without thinking. That is the most romantic thing in the world to me."
"I guess I didn't think of it like that." He worried at his lip and Ilya instinctively reached up to tease his lip out, let Shane kiss his fingers. It calmed him down sometimes, let him focus. He sighed and dropped his forehead against Ilya's with a thunk. A good sign he was giving up.
"I just…it's so easy for you. You're like really good at the big gestures. The gifts and anniversary stuff. Our nights out. Trips. You even said I love you first."
"Shane you proposed. It was a fucking good proposal."
"And I was scared as shit you were gonna leave me."
"We were both being stupid. You are the only one I've ever wanted."
"I feel the same. It's just…sometimes it feels super imbalanced. Like all the pressure is on you to keep the romance part going."
"Sure. Because you do everything else."
"That's not true."
"Feels that way. It's easy for me because you make it easy, Shane."
"But—"
"Malysh, if I didn't love the way you love me, we wouldn't have done any of this. I wouldn't be here." He ducked his head to catch his eyes again. Tears had slipped. Ilya wiped them away. He tilted Shane's face up to kiss him briefly, just a warm peck to pull his focus. It worked, like liquor worked on everyone else.
"When did you know?" Shane asked quietly, a little dazed. Ilya frowned. They'd already talked about this.
"When did I know I loved you? I told you—"
"No. When did you know that…that I loved you?"
"Dorogoy…"
"I know you knew. Or you…suspected it. Way before I did. Most of the time I think I know, but it's all so mixed up and spread out. But you know. So when?"
"It's not important."
"It is to me. Please just—"
"Vegas. 2014. When I won the Cup and MVP."
Shane's eyes flitted across his face, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. Ilya didn't try to keep their eyes together, he looked down at Shane's freckles instead, counting and waiting.
"Before or after?"
"Before. In the bathroom."
Shane nodded, his brain slotting pieces into place. There was still so much they hadn't talked about. Things that Ilya kept hidden or buried because he didn't want to tip the balance. He didn't want to throw Shane off his course, which was stupidly easy to do. Harris being an excellent example.
"Is that why—?"
"I didn't want to lose you. I wanted to keep going. But I couldn't if we…if you had said anything, I would have ended it. I almost ended it dozens of times. Sometimes it was too much, it was—"
"Agony. Me too. I almost ended it too. Like, almost every time. It didn't hit me…I didn't realize until—" He took a slow, unsteady breath. "Until you asked me to stay that first time."
"I know."
Shane tossed his head a little. "And I was just fucking clueless."
"You weren't. You just…you were following our rules and ignoring the extraneous data."
"Extraneous data?" Shane grinned. Ilya shrugged, pulling down the corners of his mouth.
"Your dad left out The New Yorker."
"I'm the boring one. Stop trying to steal my thing."
"I love you," Ilya insisted, cupping his face. "I love who you are. Who you are with me. Who we are together. I didn't answer Harris' stupid question because that's mine. It's for me. For us. The world sees you holding my hand, they don't need to know it's the best part of my day."
"The best?"
"One of. Kissing Anya is first."
"Hilarious."
"She is my favorite person."
Shane attempted to disentangle and Ilya laughingly resisted.
"I hate you."
"No, you love me."
"So much. So, so much."