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Eleven years had passed since Hollander had first lectured Ilya about smoking. Perhaps one day he would actually listen to that.
Ilya thought a lot about their first meeting, he could still remember every word he had said to him that cold day in Saskatchewan.
It wasn't hard, really; the baseline of their relationship had been written that day. For every book Shane spoke, Ilya would give him a sentence. It had gotten better, nowadays Ilya could give Shane a page, sometimes even a chapter.
But his brain still stalled, his hand constantly reaching out as if he could physically grab the word he needed. It didn’t bother him most days; the way Shane would simplify his language, define a word, or repeat one slowly.
Shane didn’t think he was stupid. Ilya was sure of that. Ilya could talk circles around Shane in Russian. Just the way Shane did in English – and French.
The fact that Shane had even started learning Russian to understand Ilya better still made his heart ache. Yet the separation was still clear between them.
Simple words for simple feelings.
Simple, simple, simple.
***
The worst part of Ilya’s dreams was that he always knew he was inside them. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he was never allowed to stay.
“Ilya? Wake up, my love,” Shane whispered in Russian.
As Ilya opened his eyes, Shane was already watching him. He felt Shane’s soft fingers against his damp cheeks. He allowed himself one moment to focus on the feeling. Then he sniffled once before responding in English.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. Did not mean to wake you.”
He averted Shane’s gaze when he saw his brows furrow slightly. Shane’s hand remained steady on his cheek, wiping away the tears Ilya hadn’t noticed were falling.
“No, no apologizing,” Shane trailed off, searching for the right Russian words, “I’m happy I woke up.” Shane said it like a question. Ilya couldn’t help but smile at him, at his Shane, who had practically learned an entire language just for him. It didn’t matter that he stressed the wrong syllables or lengthened vowels while trying to make them sound right.
“Hollander, is okay. I'm okay.” His English at night was never good, never right.
If he thought about how it had been eleven years of living in North America and he still couldn’t speak coherent English, he would probably never stop talking about it. Especially not if he also started thinking about how Shane had only been studying Russian seriously for two years, yet he still sounded like an angel.
“You don’t have to be okay.” Shane looked at him so softly. Said it so gently, as if he actually meant it.
Ilya had nothing to say, it was no use arguing against him. He knew Shane knew he was right. While Ilya knew his father would be ashamed he had not moved past his mother’s accident yet. So what was there to say, really?
Shane moved his hand from his cheek and to his chin. Ilya lost himself to the feeling, trusting Shane to carry the weight of his head.
“And you know you can talk to me, right?”
Ilya hated the uncertainty he saw in Shane’s eyes. As if he wasn’t actually sure he had always been Ilya’s salvation.
He shook his head against Shane’s gentle fingers, shifting back to Russian to save himself the embarrassment.
“It is nothing you have not heard before.”
“So tell me anyway,” Shane whispered while smiling softly.
Not even with almost two full vocabularies Ilya still didn’t know any words to deny Shane anything.
“I miss her so much it feels like my heart is rotting inside of me. I don’t know where to put this feeling. There is no room in this world. There are no words in any language I know. Where do I put it?
“Every night she leaves me, every morning I wake up and want to call her. Every game I play I wonder if she is proud, if she can see me play. I don’t know where to put these feelings, but I don’t know how to keep them.
“I feel like I am losing my mind, Shane. Like I have been reduced to nothing except this unknowing, rotting man. No matter how hard I try I can’t move away from this. I don’t want to, I don’t want her to go anywhere further than she already is. Please help me, help me keep her without dying myself.”
The words fell out of him like a dam had been broken. The Russian falling out of him as easily as air filling his lungs. His shoulders were already lighter now that he had finally gotten it out, finally given a piece of it for someone else to carry too.
But when he looked at Shane, he saw the deep focus, the stare into his eyes, and the way his lips had started tilting downwards.
All the weight returned at once, the realization settling comfortably in his gut. No matter how hard Ilya tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment, or the even deeper feeling of loneliness.
Shane opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by Ilya. His mouth a tight line as he whispered in Shane’s language.
“I miss my mother.”
Shane looked like he wanted to say something more. Like he was desperately going through every word Ilya had uttered in the hopes that he could piece it all together. Ilya shook his head and smiled unconvincingly at him.
“Do not worry sweetheart, it’s okay. I miss my mother. There is nothing else to say.”
***
“There is nothing else to say.”
Ilya’s words cut straight to Shane’s soul. No matter how many hours he spent studying Russian, he was terrified he would never understand the man lying next to him enough. No matter how many times Ilya had reassured him, or how much better they had gotten at communicating, there was an ocean of untranslated words between them.
“Okay, my love,” he whispered, lowering his gaze so Ilya wouldn’t see the shame in them.
“You should sleep, only two hours before we have to wake up,” Ilya whispered back. Leaving Shane no room to argue. Ilya wrapped his strong arms around him and Shane could do nothing except melt into them as Ilya’s breath tickled his scalp.
He knew Ilya rarely fell back asleep after a nightmare, especially not one that left his skin cold and sticky. He also knew Ilya would still pretend to sleep, and that there was nothing he could say to make him breathe any easier.
Shane was wide awake too, still going through every word Ilya had said while trying to separate the sentences and syllables until something would make sense. It wasn’t uncommon for Ilya to ramble in Russian with no expectation that Shane would understand it. Ilya just needed to get it out sometimes. But this time, Shane couldn’t help but feel like he had let Ilya down by failing to understand. Like there had been something in his words he needed Shane to hear, to know.
For two hours they lay silently. Shane deep in thought, while Ilya held him stiffly to his chest. Like he was scared to breathe deeply, lest something other than air would come out on his exhale.
When his alarm rang, both men gave their best performance of waking up. Shane’s stomach filled with guilt and dread. For two hours the man he loved had laid behind him awake and alone. For two hours he had said nothing and done nothing to help. He had a plan though, or something that would hopefully develop into one.
Shane tilted his head up and smiled sleepily, “Good morning,” he whispered before capturing Ilya’s lips with his own.
It barely took a second before Ilya responded. He kissed Shane like it had been weeks since the last time, like he had been starving for ages.
He felt Ilya smiling behind the kiss, and let out a small sigh of relief.
“Let me make you breakfast today,” Shane said between kisses.
Ilya made a show of pausing the kisses, giving him a deeply worried look.
“Why? Are you going to force me to eat eggwhites and eat smoothie with a spoon?”
Shane laughed and kissed Ilya again, both men smiling wide enough to make their teeth do most of the kissing.
“Asshole, no. I’ll make you whatever you want.”
***
After downing almost a dozen chocolate chip cookies Ilya seemed lighter. Shane wondered if he should just let it go, take Ilya back to bed and make him forget all about his dream. It wouldn’t be the first time they left words unsaid in the sheets of their bed and let their bodies talk for them.
The thought fell away when he walked back to the dining table. Ilya was staring out through the window, as if searching the clouds for answers.
“Ilya, are you alright?” he whispered after getting no acknowledgment that Ilya had noticed him sitting down next to him.
“Hmm? Yes, yes. All good. Just thinking,” Ilya said dismissingly.
Shane didn’t take the bait, placing his hand on Ilya’s tapping leg. He chewed on his words for a moment, trying to find the ones least likely to bring Ilya’s thorns out instantly.
“Yeah? What’re you thinking about?”
Ilya pushed himself back in his chair and out of Shane’s reach.
“Leave it, Hollander,” Ilya muttered. The next moment he stood and moved back to the kitchen. Shane cursed himself before scrambling to follow him.
“I don’t want to push, you know. We don’t have to talk about it if you don't want to. I was just… we can talk about it, if you wa-”
“We can, yes?” Ilya snapped. “You talk, I talk. All the time we talk! But either I cannot say enough or you don’t understand what I am saying, Shane.” By the time Ilya had finished speaking all the anger had left his voice. Now, he just looked defeated. And Shane’s stomach was at his feet.
He stepped closer to Ilya, gently leading him by the waist until his back was against the counter.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough yet. I’m so, so sorry my love,” Shane said carefully. Ilya took Shane’s hands from his waist and squeezed them while smiling sadly. It didn’t make Shane feel any less terrible.
“It is enough, Shane.” Ilya hung his head, focusing on their hands intertwined seamlessly. “Most of the time it’s more than enough. I just don’t know how to tell you all of-” He let go of Shane’s hands to gesture around him before settling on “this. English is a horrible language.”
Ilya’s hands found their way back to Shane’s hands like a magnet. Shane hummed in agreement, not able to argue it. He hated English for not helping Ilya. He knew how self-conscious Ilya was over his near-perfect English. Shane leaned forward to kiss the edge of Ilya’s mouth. He felt it tilt upwards just a little, just enough. He stepped back a little bit, staring at their hands as he squeezed his a little tighter.
“It isn’t enough. Not right now, Ilya. It isn’t enough for me to listen right now. You need me to hear you, don’t you?” Shane bit his lip before looking back up at him. He worried he had perhaps pushed the conversation three steps too far. But Ilya didn’t snap this time. Ilya didn’t do anything other than clench his jaw while trying to force his tears to stay in his eyes.
Shane reluctantly let go of one of his hands and brought it up to cup his tight jaw, gently dragging his thumb across the sharp cheekbone. Ilya immediately crumbled underneath his touch, his chest heaving to hold back the sobs.
Shane stretched his body to gain an inch of height before wrapping his arms around him. When the sobs came, Shane held him there.
As Ilya’s sobs subsided, Shane guided him back up to meet his eyes. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks tear-stained and red.
“You are so beautiful,” Shane said as he brought their foreheads together.
He heard Ilya’s breath hitch before it started to slow again. The sound of his hiccups filling the space between them as they grounded each other.
“Look, you can laugh at me, or this idea all you want but I had this idea…” Shane hesitated for a moment, his ears getting hotter and hotter. He pulled back enough to look at Ilya again, who looked like he was hanging onto every word, like he was ready to do anything Shane asked of him.
“Maybe we could…Uhm…We could write letters, to your mom, about your mom, whatever is on your mind.”
Ilya blinked a few times, seemingly a bit confused by the proposal. He wasn’t laughing, at least.
“I am just lonely, Shane. I want to tell you. If you cannot understand what I say, how will you know what I write? You still cannot read Cyrillic, no?” Ilya’s lip curled into a smirk.
Shane punched his arm lightly and shook his head.
“No, thanks for the reminder, though. You let me worry about that part, okay? Just, maybe try to write like your teacher is writing over your shoulder.”
Ilya eyed him suspiciously, “what are you planning, Hollander?”
Shane smiled back at him, dragging Ilya back to the table. He pressed a kiss to his temple before leaving him there to get everything they would need.
By the time he came back Ilya was nervously tapping his leg again, adjusting and then re-adjusting the crucifix hanging between his clavicles.
Shane placed two sheets of paper perfectly stacked on each other and a pen in front of him, and kissed him one more time, for good measure.
“Don’t overthink it, Rozanov.”
“That is my line, Hollander.”
“Yeah, funny. Just take a breath, I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
Shane saw enough nerves leave Ilya’s body to make him comfortable enough with leaving him alone. Ilya gave him a short nod before turning his full attention to the papers.
***
Shane really should take his own advice. But there were simply too many things he wanted to say to Ilya’s mother all at once. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for the way her husband had treated her. How he doesn’t blame her for what happened, and how he knows her son doesn’t either. He wanted to tell her how he could never understand the pain that she had gone through, but how desperately he wishes he could have done something about it. How he would do everything in his power to make sure Ilya would never feel that pain, and how scared he was that he still would.
He took a deep breath, and wrote about how amazing of a man her son had grown into. How gentle and kind his soul was. Once he started writing, the words spilled onto the papers effortlessly. He wrote line after line about every little thing he loved about her son. All the things he was proud of, knowing she would be just as proud.
A few tears spilled onto the page as he wrote about how much he regretted not seeing Ilya’s pain before they were outed. How sorry he was, how he hoped she could forgive him.
By the time he felt Ilya’s hand on his shoulder he had written three pages, front and back. Ilya’s eyes had gotten puffier since he had left him in the kitchen, but he looked a little lighter too.
“Shane? What is… What is this?”
Shane looked back down on his own pages, his ears once again burning as Ilya’s breath shifted towards him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just-just thought I should write her something too. I mean it only seemed-”
“You wrote all this? For her?” Ilya’s voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes pooling with water again. Shane shot up from the couch in an instant. Unable to decide whether to cup Ilya’s face or wrap his arms around his waist.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I just had some things to tell her too.” Shane’s stomach was quickly filling with dread.
Before he had the opportunity to stumble over another apology, Ilya sandwiched his face between his hands and kissed him with so much force that Shane had to take a step to catch himself.
The kiss quickly turned wet and salty with what he figured was both of the men’s tears.
“She would have loved you. She would have loved you so much.” Ilya whispered as he pulled away from him.
Shane smiled sadly at him and nodded.
“I love her. Not only because she gave me you, but I love her so much for that.”
Ilya sniffled once before setting his jaw straight again. Not for the first time this morning, Shane wondered if he had done too much, and made it all worse for Ilya.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked quietly.
“Yes. Very sad. But it felt… good.” Ilya kissed him again, slowly but surely easing the anxiety still swirling around in Shane’s gut.
“Yeah? Good, good… I’m glad.” Not for the first time today, Shane was at a loss for words.
“Can I read it? Only if you want me to. I mean, if you think it would help? Or not, that’s fine. Maybe you want to burn it? Yeah, we could burn it. I heard things like that are supposed to be cathartic.
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t fully think this through. I just kind of threw this whole thing on you without planning it all out and I’m sorry.” Shane had to catch his breath after the words stumbled out of him.
His eyes found the floor in front of him as the heat spread down his neck. His spiral was quickly interrupted by Ilya’s hand wrapping around Shane’s while chuckling.
“Hollander, you are rambling. Calm down. Is okay. Everything is okay, yes?” Ilya said simply, causing Shane to finally exhale fully again.
Ilya moved back to give Shane the neatly folded papers.
“I believe this is for you,” Ilya mumbled a little more sheepishly.
Shane took the papers like Ilya had given him a piece of his heart, and maybe he had. Shane stared down at the pages, trying to find words adequate enough to portray what he was thinking.
He managed to compose himself enough to lean up and kiss Ilya’s cheek. The skin was still salty on his lips. Shane leaned his head on Ilya’s shoulder and was about to ask if he was okay once more before Ilya beat him to it.
“Is it okay if I go take a nap? All the crying made me tired and I do not think I can be here when you read this.” Ilya whispered so softly Shane could barely hear it.
Shane leaned up once more and kissed him, savoring the feeling in case it would take him a while to translate it all.
“Yes, of course. I will come join you when I’m finished.” Shane kissed him once more and put his own letter in Ilya’s back pocket before he watched Ilya leave, then he planted himself on the couch.
He had seen Ilya write in Cyrillic a few times. But it was always something quickly written when Shane had asked him to show him how to write something. This was nothing like those hasty letters. This was like a work of art. Every word was so neat and clean, and well, completely illegible. It wouldn’t be for long though, if Shane had anything to say about it. He had Google Translate and a dream.
***
No matter how carefully Ilya had written it, it would probably take Shane hours to translate it all. Shane thought he had some idea of what Ilya would write. But this was so much better and so much worse than anything he could have pictured. He barely made it the first few sentences before his eyes started to water.
Hi mama. I’m sorry I have not come to visit you again. I was planning to come and say goodbye. But I didn’t have time, and now I can never come back. I like to imagine you are watching over me, that you are sitting on a pretty cloud and that you are at peace. I think it might be wishful thinking. Hoping that you are somewhere, hoping that you just are. You’re not though, are you? You’re not really anything anymore.
I’m so sorry I could not save you in time. I hope you know I would have. I got really good at hockey, I have been playing in America and Canada for many years now, and I would have taken you with me. We could have gone in the middle of the night and father would never have been able to touch you again. You could have come with me mama, but you didn’t. I think you would have liked the stars here. They shine a lot brighter at our cottage than they did in Russia. I wish I could have shown you.
I’m not angry at you, I just miss you. I don’t really remember your voice anymore, but I still try to imagine you telling me you are proud of me. But I will never hear it. And I will never know if you truly are. I don’t blame you if you aren’t. I was angry for so many years. Angry at the world, angry at father and, well. I was really angry at myself. I am very angry at myself.
And I am very scared. I’m still scared I will end up like you. I have gone to therapy for years and I still can not get out of bed sometimes, and I think about the pills in my drawer sometimes. I think about meeting you again. I don’t think we would end up in the same place, anyway.
I met someone though. His name is Shane and he is the best thing that has ever happened to me. You would have loved him. He makes everything easier for me. Even when I can’t tell him what is wrong or why I’m so sad all the time.
I’m sorry I still miss you so much. I know it’s not what you would have wanted for me. I know you wanted a strong boy who could take care of himself. I really tried, mama. I tried for so long, and then there was no one around in my hotel rooms except me and my longing for you.
But Shane was always there with his stupid beautiful freckles, no matter how many times I tried to pretend I did not want him to care, he was still there to pick me up. But I’m sorry I still need to be picked up all the time. I should not need him as much as I do. I’m sorry I still need you so much.
I like writing to you though, I have really missed speaking to you. Maybe next time I will tell you happier things. But right now I have nothing to say except that I miss you so much I think my heart will simply turn to dust in my chest. I do not want this sadness to ever touch Shane, but I don’t know how to carry this alone anymore. I do not know how to do anything alone anymore.
Please tell me what to do, mama.
Your son, Ilya
***
By the time Shane had finished translating and reading Ilya’s letter he had no sense of time anymore. The only indication that time had moved at all was the sun starting to hang lower and shone straight through their window. His bones felt strangely heavy in his body, a mix of relief, worry, and grief, grief for a woman he would never get to meet. At least now he knew some of it. He knew nothing about grief really, never experienced a loss greater than one of his grandfathers when he was four.
He thought knowing how Ilya felt would help Shane figure out how to best help him. Now Shane was even more aware of the fact that there was nothing he could do for the man he so desperately wanted to help.
He sat on the couch a lot longer than he would care to admit. He could always blame it on the letter taking longer to translate, he could blame it on anything. Because what was he supposed to do? He had made Ilya open his heart up for him and now all he could think about was that he would never be able to show his mother the stars.
Shane stopped by the bathroom downstairs to wash his face before making his way up to their bedroom, tapping lightly on the door before letting himself in. He found Ilya wrapped in a blanket on the side of the bed, staring out the window at the low hanging sun.
“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispered under his breath.
Their room was cold enough that Shane could blame the shivering of his spine on it as he crossed it. He knelt before Ilya, wrapping his arms around him as he laid his head on his lap.
“Don’t, please. You have nothing to apologize for. Why are you apologizing?” Shane’s arms kept wandering, unable to find a position that felt like it could offer Ilya enough comfort.
Ilya cleared his throat before speaking again, although it did nothing to stop his voice from cracking again.
“I read your letter. I didn’t know you thought so many things about me-” Ilya’s statement caused Shane’s head to snap up, confusion spreading clear on his face.
“-You are proud of me?” Ilya whispered as a fresh tear fell down his cheek.
Shane caught it halfway down his face, gently wiping it away with his thumb.
“I am so proud of you, and she would be too,” Shane whispered. On those words Ilya’s face crumbled. His tears started to fall faster than Shane could wipe them away.
In one smooth movement he settled next to Ilya, carefully guiding him until he was sitting in his lap. He pressed a firm kiss to his temple and wrapped his arms tightly around Ilya’s waist.
“I got you, my love,” Shane whispered into his skin as the sobs exited Ilya’s body.
“You never have to be alone, I’m right here.”
They would have time to talk about the things in Ilya’s letter that made Shane’s skin crawl with worry later. For now, all he wanted to do was hold his husband.
Shane kept a firm hold around him, whispering softly against his skin. He couldn’t tell him things would be okay. Because he had no idea how anyone could be okay with carrying this much grief inside of them. But Shane would make sure Ilya would never have to carry any of it alone if he could help it.
As the sun started to set, Ilya's crying turned into soft hiccups. So he gently repositioned them down to bed. He wrapped his strong arms around Ilya, pressing a kiss into the nape of his neck.
“I love you so much.”
He heard Ilya murmur something close to thank you in return, but before he knew it his breathing had evened out against him.