Archive of Our Own

The darkness swallows Shane whole, the walls of his room closing down until they feel like creeping into the crevices of his whole being. He can’t even remember how he drove from Ottawa to Montreal or how he kept himself alive. His hands have been shaking because he knows he fucked up so badly. He’s well aware of it. Fuck. 

It was a nasty fight.  A really fucking bad one that could possibly end this. The kind of fight wherein you aren’t just simply wounded but one where you are left bleeding out, unsure if you’ll ever survive. Sure, they have a fair share of fights. They would describe their relationship as a never-ending fight anyway. But it’s never like this. Never like it’s final and unmistakably doomed. 

Shane’s relationship with Ilya was something he had protected carefully, shielded from the scrutiny of the public, from the noise, the threats, the world pressing in on them from all sides. He wrapped their love in armor, convinced that it would keep them safe. He just didn’t realize that this armor would eventually weigh them down, wear them out, and become the very reason for their war. 

The realization crushes him. Shane couldn’t breathe. He doesn’t want to lose Ilya. Not this time. Not at all. Not ever. Panic filled him, his chest tightened into a knot as he tossed and turned restlessly. He held a pillow against his chest, desperately trying to ease the pain he now feels so sharply that it became physical. His tears came, and they couldn’t be stopped because he couldn’t forget Ilya’s face as he uttered, “You wouldn’t even choose me, would you?” 

And God, why did he stumble with his thoughts for a millisecond? He hates that he stuttered before saying that he would. Ilya didn’t even dare choose. 

It was always Shane for Ilya. 

How could Shane hesitate even just for a moment? It was always Ilya for Shane too. There’s no doubt in that but he was scared of losing everything. His team, the cups, the fame, and the glory of it all. But does everything matter now? 

If he is breaking like this right now, he couldn’t even imagine how it is for Ilya. He heard the hesitation, even if it’s just for a moment, it must’ve been so loud for Ilya, who has learned every bit of Shane, and has centered his life around him. He must be hurting so bad right now. After everything he did for Shane, Shane still hesitated. And Shane hates himself for that. 

He does not want another moment to pass without Ilya knowing that Shane would choose him. Over everything else. Over the world. Over the fucking Stanley Cups. He started steadying his breath, inhaling and exhaling, stopping his tears by pressing his fingers to his eyelids, applying a little pressure as he always does. 

When he finally calmed down, he grabbed his phone to text Ilya. He apologized and told Ilya he could call if he wanted to. Minutes and minutes turned into an hour. There’s no text coming in from Ilya. 

Shane felt fear once again, his chest hollow, his fingers trembling as the thought of breaking up loomed over him.  He couldn’t help but let the tears fall again until he was sobbing uncontrollably and clutching onto the pillow that Ilya uses when he comes over. It still smells like him. 

When it felt like he was standing on the edge of the cliff with no more tears left to cry, and the sorrow seemed so great that nothing right now could appease it. Because it’s Ilya he needs, and tomorrow or whenever Ilya’s ready, he’ll be right there with him. They’ll talk. Hopefully.  But for now, his grip on the pillow loosens, his cheeks pressed onto the fabric that still smells like the love of his life, and the weight in his chest dulls into something heavy and numb instead of sharp. Sleep finally took over him.

He saw Ilya on the bed, lying down, eyes closed, his eyebrows knitted together, his face filled with shadows. Shane looked around. This wasn’t his room, nor was it Ilya’s. This looked more extravagant with the stone walls higher than they needed to be. Oil lamps illuminated the room, their light glinting off the golden accents that worked into the pillars and edges of the bed. 

Shane went closer and lay down beside Ilya because, despite everything in the room feeling foreign, beside Ilya, it was familiar. It was safe. He reached to hold Ilya’s hand, it was cold and very still. Shane wanted to call him, but it felt so wrong to call him ‘Ilya’. 

“Achilles,” He called him softly. And it felt right. 

 

“I could not bear losing my strength. I could not bear being forgotten, Patroclus.” Ilya Achilles said, his voice low, as if saying it out right would make his fears true. Shane isn’t Shane in here, but he is Patroclus, and it felt fitting and right.

 

Then the memory takes over him as if it were a scene unfolding before him. It was him, but this isn’t his memory, nor is it a dream. Here, he is called Patroclus. And his Ilya is Achilles. 

 

“It does not matter. Whatever you become, forgotten or not, it would not matter as long as we'll be together.” Patroclus said. You must not go to Troy. Your death awaits there. Stay with me. Wherever. Forever. He rested his head closer to Achilles’ shoulder, holding back his tears. Coming to Troy meant Achilles’ death. A fate written in stone. 

 

“I know,” he said, but did not look at Patroclus. He enclosed Patroclus’ hand with his, and Patroclus finally felt Achilles’ warmth through his palms. An act of comfort for what was about to come, because Achilles knew, and yet being together is not enough. “But I am needed.”

 

After all, Achilles took pride in his skill, and Patroclus had seen the joy that comes with it. He is miraculous and radiant, and has always been destined for something greater than them. Achilles, Aristos Achaion. Best of Greeks. 

 

“I will go to Troy.” He said, creating a bit of space between them, but his hand remained holding Patroclus’, the other holding his chin to make him face Achilles. His green eyes bored into Patroclus’ brown orbs, where a tear had finally escaped. “Will you come with me?”

 

Patroclus wanted to scream at him, wake his senses up, to tell him he didn’t wanna be there for his death. That he could face this choice all alone. But Patroclus doesn’t know how to live without him. What he does know is that he cannot live a life without Achilles. And that he would gladly follow Achilles everywhere, even in death. 

 

“Yes,” he sighs, releasing the tension in his chest. “I will come with you.” Patroclus leaned on his elbows, eyes fixed on Achilles’ face as the latter remained lying down.

 

He brushed his thumb gently against his lover’s cheeks, then moved away the golden locks that had fallen against his eyelids. His eyes lingered on Achilles’ face, but never meeting his green eyes, he busied himself by memorizing each line, each feature of his lover’s face. 

 

Achilles touched his jaw with his palm, maneuvering Patroclus, making him meet his eyes. Soon, he felt Achilles’ thumb just under his eyes, wiping the tears that Patroclus didn’t know were finally streaming down. 

 

Achilles pulled him down and held him against his chest, close enough to hear his heart beating, every surface of their skin touching, so close that not even air could come between them. 

 

A sound cuts through the warmth. The memory stopped, and everything distorted. Shane could no longer feel Achilles. 

Shane gasps as if it was the first time air filled his lungs again. His fingers clutched tightly onto the pillow he was holding. It’s still dark outside. 

His phone violently vibrated on the bed. Shane could feel it. He fumbled for it,  hands shaking, taking more than just a few seconds before finally finding it. The vibration stopped under his hand. He immediately tapped it open, and the light blinded him for a moment before he saw his notifications.

Lily [18 missed calls] 

Lily [25 messages]

Shane did not even bother opening the messages. He felt a rush of everything, all at once. His mind couldn’t stop racing as he clicked the call button. Is Ilya alright? Is he okay to talk now? What if something happened? Oh God forbid. The call connected, started ringing, and not another second had passed before he heard Ilya’s voice. 

“Shane,” Ilya whispered, his voice hoarse as if he spent hours crying. He probably did, too, a lot. 

“Ilya.” Shane tried his best not to choke up and cry. He missed Ilya. It doesn’t matter if it was just 6 hours ago. It feels like it has been forever. Shane misses Ilya so badly. He needs to be with him. Now. After this call ends, he’ll probably drive back to Ottawa if he needs to. Shane needs Ilya. He’ll follow him everywhere, even in death. Shane shook his head as if trying to shake the thought off him physically. 

Ilya spoke again, “I’m outside your house.” 

Shane does not need anything more. He came running out of his room, down to his front door at a speed that not even the rink has ever seen. Opening it so fast that the cold air crashes into his face instantly. He finds Ilya sitting on the stairs, back leaning on the wall. He’s still wearing the same clothes he was wearing earlier that night when they were fighting. He looks small, exhausted, and fragile all at once. 

“моя любовь,” he said as if he were muttering a prayer. My love. 

Shane fell to his knees almost immediately when Ilya started crying. He does not mind his knees or the cold floor. Ilya is here. He has been chosen again. It makes his chest tighten once more. Ilya has chosen him. Again and again. Despite Shane hurting him. Despite being so selfish. 

“I’m sorry, Shane. Should have not let you go like that. Was stupid.” 

You’re not stupid. I choose you, Ilya. I will always do. He wants to say. He did not understand at first, but now he knows. Ilya has given up everything. His life in Boston. A cup-winning team. Russia. All for him and Shane was just stupid. 

Shane held his face, making him look at him. “No, no, don’t say sorry. I am sorry, I am the stupid one.” 

“I guess that’s why we’re together. Both stupid.” Ilya jokes through his tears as he nestles his head against Shane’s shoulder. 

“You’re right. Birds of the same feather, stick together.” 

“We’re the stupid Canadian wolf bird.” 

Shane smiles, pulling Ilya to face him and kiss him. “But you’re Russian, Ilya.”

“Not when I marry you for that Canadian citizenship, moy lyubovnik.” He joked, closing in on Shane’s lips one more time.

Ilya’s now settled on his sofa, his head against the armrest and feet up on the rest of the space. Shane’s heart swelled at the view. Ilya looked very small on Shane’s huge couch. He walked towards his boyfriend and carefully draped the blanket he fetched over Ilya’s lap as the latter watched him with a small smile. Shane settled at the other end of the sofa as he covered himself too. It was still a cold December night after all. Their feet touch, and Ilya wiggles his toes against Shane’s. 

“I wanna tell you something,” Ilya started, and Shane hummed in encouragement.

“You know about my mom,” He paused again, looking up at the ceiling as he took a deep breath. 

Shane moved and snuggled beside Ilya the moment he sensed that he was having difficulty with letting the words out. Half of his weight is on Ilya despite the couch being wide enough for both of them. The other naturally encircles his arm around Shane’s waist to keep him closer, if that’s even possible.  Shane’s hand rests above his chest, touching the cross pendant. Irina. 

“How she’s so sad. Depressed.” Ilya paused again, and his eyes shone with tears. “I’m like that too, Shane.” 

He held onto Ilya’s hand, “It’s okay. We can get help.”

“I have been seeing a therapist. Speaks Russian. Really helpful.” 

“That’s great. How long have you been going?”  Shane asked.

“A couple of months.”

Shane’s heart dropped. Ilya has been depressed for months, or even longer than that, and he did not know. He did not see, maybe he did notice once or twice, but he did not press on. 

“I’m glad you’re getting help and that you’ve found someone you can talk to.” He tried to mask the pain away. The feeling of guilt eating him up, he should’ve been there for Ilya. 

“Also, Shane, I need to tell you this, too.” Ilya suddenly sounded so nervous. “My therapist…she knows about us. I told her.”

“You did?” Words came faster than Shane could think. Ilya backed away from him a little.

“Yes, I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to be lying in that room, the same as everywhere else.” Ilya looked at him, his eyes flickering in confusion. As if asking Shane, ‘Even this time, you’re scared of people finding out?’

Shane reached for Ilya, wanting to reassure him that no, this wasn’t a problem, and that he was just shocked that someone else knew about them. That he understands. 

Suddenly, Ilya’s phone rang. He stood up carefully, passing over Shane and placing a kiss on his forehead as he did so. 

Shane closed his eyes, processing everything. Fuck. He did not know. He knew nothing at all. Ilya was suffering, and all Shane did was hide them away from the world. 

“Shane, I have to go. 7 AM flight to next game.” 

“Oh,” Shane stands up immediately, his arms stiff at his side. He does not know what to do, but there’s nothing that can be done right now. He too has a flight that morning.

Ilya walked to him, hugged him tightly, and Shane’s hands automatically came up around his boyfriend’s back. “I wish our schedules weren’t fucked. But a bit of distance is good, no? So that you miss me.” 

Shane pinched his sides softly, and Ilya broke the hug with a sad smile.  “We will talk again once we’re in the same room. After,” he stops as he thinks about their schedule.

“Three weeks.” Shane supplied the information. He frowned, uneasy at the thought that Ilya would be far from him again for so long. 

Ilya sighed as he smoothed Shane’s eyebrows with his thumbs.  “We’ll be okay. Or will you just come with me? We’ll talk. Have fun. Lots of sex. But I keep you in my luggage the whole flight.” He said, which made Shane smile, before he rested his head against Ilya’s shoulder.

“I know,” Shane punched his stomach playfully. “But Montreal needs me to win games.” He looks at Ilya, caressing his face, memorizing every line, every feature. 

“Of course, they do.” Ilya captured his hand that sat too long against his cheek and pressed a kiss on it. “Shane Hollander, greatest hockey player of all time, I love you.”

Shane had always been thinking about Ilya every day. But now, it has intensified. It became relentless.  Even in his sleep, he sees Ilya. Well, it happened before, too, but not this much.

At first, he thought that maybe he just missed him so much that the longing burned even in his dreams. But this is one of those nights again, where he woke up gasping for air as if he had been drowned. 

It wasn’t dreams that consumed his nights. The certainty settled heavily in his chest, tightening every time he realized. This is a memory. Lived by someone. Lived by him. Him. Patroclus.  Another life, yes. Another time. But still Shane.

Shane had not cared so much for stories or myths. If it wasn’t obvious enough, hockey’s all he cared about ever since. But he remembered this one, vaguely, in a literary class during high school. Achilles and Patroclus. A hero and his companion, and their tragic fate. Patroclus died in Achilles’ armor, and Achilles’ revenge for the death of his beloved friend.

But what Shane saw was a different narrative. 

Patroclus and Achilles weren’t just beloved friends. They were in love. Deeply, and devastatingly devoted. Yet they were doomed.

“If you do not come to Troy, your godhead will wither in you, unused. Your strength will diminish.” 

 

“If you go to Troy, you will never return. You will die a young man there.” 

 

Shane couldn’t remember who had spoken to them. The memory he had seen was so bright and dim all at once. The only clear thing is that Patroclus was there with Achilles. He remembers Achilles’ face paling. In disbelief. In fear. He remembers feeling that way too, and grateful that Achilles did not look his way, otherwise he would’ve broken down in that room. 

Fuck. He could not breathe once more, dizziness creeping in. His chest tightens once more. Would they live the same fate? 

After all, it was him and Ilya. They were Patroclus and Achilles. 

Flashes of Ilya running folded the world in on itself, dragging Shane somewhere else. Except no, it wasn’t Ilya.  It is Achilles running past the beach, then amongst the crowd of Trojan warriors. He was advancing fast, and he looked angry. No, more than angry. It is rage, spite, and fury all at once if Shane needs to describe it. 

 

Patroclus was not him this time. Nor was he with Achilles. Shane is just a mere spectator now. 

 

“Hector!” Achilles screamed as he saw Hector racing towards a river. When he reached the riverbank, a tall figure rose from the water, and filthy liquid slid off his muscular shoulders and black beard. It is the river god.

 

“You will not keep me from him!” Achilles screamed, his face splattered with the blood of men he killed on his way here.

 

The god lifts a shaft as large as a small tree trunk that could easily break bones and snap a neck in just a single hit.  

 

“Is it worth your life?” The god asked him in a cold voice that would make anyone shudder. But not Achilles. There’s nothing to be scared of anymore. He lost his beloved. 

 

“My life’s worth no more.” 

 

For the first time in this memory, Shane had felt like Patroclus again rather than a spectator. 

 

No. Please. Patroclus said. Or wants to say. No voice came out of him. 

 

He heard voices once again when Achilles had wounded the river god so badly. The gods’ voices that spoke of the downfall of Troy and that it is not meant to happen yet. But they were scared of Achilles, they were scared that Troy would fall now.

 

It won’t. Troy won’t be defeated. He only came for Hector. Patroclus thought.

 

Achilles raised his ashen spear. No. Patroclus begged, but Achilles could not hear him. The moment he killed Hector, his death would be assured. The spear would not just kill Hector, but it would also await his own death. 

 

The spear was shining and quick as it flew and caught Hector’s throat. No, no, no. Patroclus cried. 

 

Shane gasped for air as he was freed from the memory. Achilles would die. Ilya would. His thoughts scramble. It doesn’t make sense, but his head is buzzing. His vision blurs. Shane can’t lose Ilya. No matter what. He couldn’t live without Ilya. Whatever doomed fate Patroclus and Achilles had can’t happen to them too. 

Shane grabbed his phone and dialled Ilya immediately. He was having a full panic attack. He heard Ilya’s voice before he fully blacked out.

“Hey man, are you sure you’re okay?” Hayden asked as they were gearing up for a game against Pittsburgh. He paused, taping his stick, and looked at Shane with concern. After all, he was the one who checked on him.

“Yeah. All good. Thank you, by the way.” Shane said with a small smile. 

“No problem. It was Lily who called me. I almost wanted to throw the phone away when he called but I’m glad he did otherwise… I wouldn’t be able to check on you. Did you call him again already?” Hayden said in a low, casual voice, as if they were just talking about gameplay and strategies. 

Hayden used the nickname he had been using for years to hide Ilya. It made his chest ache a little, but it is for the better. After all, this is an industry that punishes differences rather than embracing them. Even with Scott Hunter, who came out as part of the queer community. The homophobic slurs and insults thrown on ice were not lessened. 

Montreal had won the game, 4-3, with Shane scoring the 2 of the goals and the overtime shot.  The roar of the crowd as he shot that last puck, and the celebratory chants in the locker room made him feel a whole lot better. 

He saw Ilya’s game results too, Ottawa has won again tonight. Of course. Ilya’s a great player, the only one who could match Shane on ice, and his team is finally picking up with Ilya’s game play. He can’t wait to congratulate Ilya and talk to him. 

He just misses him so bad that it borders on physical pain. He lay on his hotel bed, sprawled out until he scrambled to grab his ringing phone. Lily. It showed. 

“Ilya,” Shane lit up as soon as he saw Ilya on the screen. “Congrats on the win tonight!” 

“Thank you. You know, best hockey player,” Shane raised one of his brows playfully at Ilya’s remarks. “After you, of course,”  Ilya added. The grin that showed on Shane’s face almost immediately is one that only Ilya could pull.  

“Of course,” Shane said. Ilya did look lighter, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes shone.  Maybe winning helped him too. After all, he is just as competitive as Shane is. 

Or maybe it was just seeing Shane. God, Shane just wants to be close to him. His heart aches for Ilya. He needs him here with him. Maybe attached to his hip if possible. 

“Enough about hockey. How are you? I was so worried, moy lyubov. Heard your phone dropped after answering the call, and I’m not there to help you.”

Shane swallowed, his thumb picked on the edge of his phone. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m okay now. Thank you for calling Hayden,” he said.

“Ah, Hayden, Montreal’s 15th best player, but a good friend.” Ilya joked, but Shane knows he’s grateful. “Would’ve been better if I were there,” Ilya said. Shane agreed, everything is better with Ilya. 

“Would you like to tell me why?” He asked Shane gently, his joking tone now gone. 

The teasing was gone now, replaced by something steady and attentive. Shane hesitated, the words sitting heavy on his tongue.

“It’s just some memories. It’s not mine.”  His voice wavered, he was unsure if Ilya would get it. Or find every word that comes from him absurd. 

“Huh?” Ilya’s brows were now knitted together in confusion. 

“Look, it’s from the past. It’s mine, but it isn’t really mine. I am not Shane, but I am someone else in the memory. I see you too, but you’re not Ilya.” Shane explained, closing his eyes tightly a few times. Knuckles pressed against the side of his head, massaging his temple. 

“But I do love you there too, da?” Ilya tried to soften it as Shane’s obviously stressed, but his concern is still apparent. 

“Yes.”

“See, I love you in every lifetime. So lucky.” Ilya smiled, quick and familiar, the kind he used when he wanted Shane to breathe again.

“But that love brought you to your death.” The words slipped out before Shane could take them back. “I’m scared, Ilya. I can’t lose you. I would not live. I don’t know how without you.”

“Shane,” Ilya sighs, a soft smile on his lips. “Is a memory of someone else. That’s all in the past, probably a long, long time ago. I’m here now. We’re together. Whatever happened to them, it won’t happen to us.” He nodded his head once and watched Shane’s face before continuing. “We’re different, except well, we still love each other. I mean, you’re a fool if you don't love a good looking man like me.” 

“God, Ilya, I love you… So much.” Shane lets out a breath as if he'd been holding one.

“I know, moy lyubov. I love you so much too. Have to go now, though. We’ll leave the hotel soon, we’re gonna fly to—“

“Florida, I know. I have your schedule in my calendar, or maybe I have it memorized.” Shane smiled proudly. “Text me when you arrive? I’m probably in a game by then, but text me, okay?” 

Montreal just lost to Washington. Shane was annoyed, frustrated even with how he and his team played tonight. Every shot wouldn't go through the goal. It feels like everything is just wrong. Maybe Ilya would make it all better, even with his teasing. 

Shane checked his phone immediately as soon as he settled inside the bus, heading back to the team’s hotel. Instagram messages, a text, and a call. All from Ilya. 

“Woah,” J.J. said as he stood up from his seat which got the attention of everyone else on board. Including Shane’s. “The Centaurs’ plane had to make an emergency landing.”

“What?” Shane’s voice was louder than usual. Even when he was giving team speeches, it didn’t get that loud. “Is everyone okay?”

J.J. sat back down, “Sounds like it. Must’ve been scary, though.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shane remembered to check Ilya’s messages. Tears were already threatening to fall. His hands shook and felt clammy. He felt Hayden’s eyes on him, just watching, not daring to speak or offer comfort just yet. 

You are the best thing in my life.

 

I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you.

 

I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those.

 

Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.

These were meant to be his last words. God.  These were the last things Ilya almost ever said to him. Shane’s shoulders started to shake as his emotions broke through the barriers he had built. His hand tightened around his phone. In that moment, his world tilted, a version in which Ilya did not exist. It gutted him, it almost made him puke. 

Hayden now moved beside him, looked around, and checked if anyone was looking at them before blocking Shane from anyone’s view. Not that he needed to, because everyone went on with whatever they were doing and wasn't shaken up like Shane is. 

They just went on with their lives, not knowing I almost lost the love of my life. Shane thought, feeling sad and angry at the situation he had put them in. He caged them in with what he thought was armor, but now the metal cut into his own skin, reminding him that protection and imprisonment often looked the same.

What if Ilya died and Shane really lost him? Would he have been allowed to spread his ashes somewhere Ilya would’ve liked? Could he have mourned his rival, as the industry labelled them, out in the open?  Ilya could’ve died, and no one in the world would know how deeply Shane loved him and how deeply he had been loved back.

“Shane. Listen, they’ve landed already. J.J. said they’re okay. For now, let’s do your breathing exercise, okay. You are having a panic attack.” Hayden whispered as he soothed his best friend's back and started counting.

“Okay. For now, you will text Rozanov. Then, when we arrive at the hotel room, call him, okay?” Hayden created a plan for him to follow, he saw Ilya do this whenever Shane panics. 

However, Shane was a stubborn one when it came to Ilya.

Shane opened his phone again and did not think twice to dial Ilya’s phone. He no longer gives a fuck if he is surrounded by his teammates. He had many reasons for keeping their relationship a secret, but those reasons no longer matter. If anything, they should fuck themselves, really. 

“Ilya,” Shane breathed as soon as the call connected. Thank God. 

“Shane.” Ilya’s voice is soft, relief evident through the phone. 

“Are you okay? Jesus, did you get checked?”  He asked, trying to remain composed so as not to worry Ilya because Ilya’s constantly been worrying about everyone, even when he was the one who needed comforting most.

“Yes, yes, moy lyubov. I’m okay. In one piece. Still sexy.” Ilya even has the heart to joke, maybe trying to ease Shane’s worry.

“It must’ve been terrifying,” Shane said, holding back the sobs. He does not want to scare Ilya or make it about him. 

“It was, but we’re okay now. I’m okay now. Just a little shaken.”

“You can tell me if you’re not okay. I’ll come to you.” 

“No, no. You still have games. I know your schedule too.”

“I don’t care. Fuck it, I almost lost you, Ilya. Can I see you now at least through FaceTime?” 

Hayden’s eyes widened, and he started doing hand gestures, pointing around the bus. He looked stupid, but Shane could hardly care about Hayden’s concern right now because he didn’t care if the world found out about them right now.

The moment Shane saw Ilya’s face, even on screen. A sob tore through him, and he thanked every god out there for keeping his heart safe. 

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” 

“Are you guys okay?” One of their defensemen, who stayed a row behind them, stood up. Their captain’s sobs had grown loud enough to draw attention. Hayden stiffened almost immediately. 

“What the fuck? What the fuck, Hollander? Rozanov?”

“Shane? Is everything alright?” Ilya asked as soon as he heard the commotion. “Oh my, you’re still on the bus.” He added as soon as he realized the situation.

“Really? You’re dating Rozanov? What the fuck?”

Hayden stood up and pushed their teammate back. “Mind your own business, man.”

Now everyone’s attention is on them. Whispers were spreading around the bus. 

“Text me where you guys are staying. I’ll be there.” Shane said to Ilya and ended the call before facing his team.

“Yes, I’m dating Rozanov. If anyone’s got a problem with that, you can go fuck yourselves.” The bus turned quiet almost immediately. Shane does not speak like that at all, but he could not be bothered. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, emotions were high, and Ilya almost died.

“Fucking fag.” Someone whispered. J.J. was on his feet instantly, scanning the bus, ready to throw hands.

“Oh, fuck you. You don’t even do much,” Shane shot back before he could stop himself.

Hayden had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. That sharp tongue, that reckless boldness, Rozanov definitely rubbed off on him. Hayden thought.

Before anything escalated further, the bus pulled up to the hotel. Hayden quickly guided Shane out, J.J. following close behind.

“Man… everything you said, is it true?” J.J. asked, his eyes were filled with concern, probably for what would happen with Shane. 

“Yes,” Shane said quietly. “I’m sorry, J.J., but I really need to go.”

“It’s okay,” J.J. replied. “Go to Rozanov. He must’ve been shaken. We’ll handle the coach and the team.”

Shane muttered a quick thanks before calling his mom to check flights straight to Tampa and do whatever arrangements needed to be done as he hailed a cab. 

He just wants to be near Ilya, feel him, touch him, kiss him, and tell him that Shane chooses him. In this life. In every lifetime. 

Shane now stood in front of the hotel where the Centaurs were staying, with nothing but himself, his phone, passport, and wallet. This could have sent him spiralling, but he could not even think straight. 

“Shane Hollander?” A small voice called from behind. 

He turned and saw Ottawa’s rookie, Luca Haas, approaching. The boy whom Ilya loved to talk about. Ilya adored Luca like he would his own child, and Shane found himself feeling a similar warmth toward the boy despite not meeting him formally yet, well, until now.

“Luca,” Shane said, then corrected himself quickly. “I mean… Haas.” He didn’t want to seem too familiar. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m okay. Scared, but… fine now, really.” Luca rambled for a moment before stopping, the surrealness of it all catching up. “But why are you here? Didn’t you play in Washington?”

“I’m looking for Rozanov. My phone died already, so…” 

“Ah…” The boy stuttered. Shane could see the screws in his head turning. “But why?” Luca’s eyes finally met Shane’s, curious and searching.

Before Shane could answer, Ilya’s voice called out, sharp and familiar. He turned, and in the blink of an eye, Ilya was in front of him. Alive. Breathing. Smiling.

Shane froze, taking in the man he loved. Ilya hurled himself at him, knocking Shane back a little.

“Shane,” his voice cracked once Shane’s arms pulled him tight.

The world around them disappeared. Shane cradled him in his arms, brushing the ends of his hair, soothing him. Feeling him, breathing him in, he almost lost this. Fuck, I have him now.

And then, a warmth, a rush of sights and sounds, and Ilya’s hands seemed to disappear. Shane was somewhere else, he’s Patroclus now. He was pulled into a memory.

 

A grand feast. Drums and lyres filled the air. Women danced, graceful and joyous, but only one held Patroclus’ attention, the one dancing with the princess whose head was bowed the entire time. She curtsied as the performance ended, holding the princess’s hand, and looked up once. And the whole world stopped for them.

 

Achilles. His Achilles who disappeared into the night as his mother hid him from everyone. From his doomed fate. And from Patroclus himself.  

 

His Achilles leapt into him immediately, nearly knocking Patroclus backward. Relief and joy clung to them as they held each other tight. Never wanting to let go. Ever again.

“Shane… Shane,” Ilya’s voice called him back, tugging him to the present.

Shane blinked. He was back, Ilya’s hands cupping his face, tears threatening to spill.

“Ilya… oh my god,” he whispered, and finally let himself cry.

“I choose you.” Shane let the words he held onto for weeks out. It felt great saying it out loud, but even greater when he saw Ilya’s face light up with joy, and kissed him without a care for the world. 

Shane stood awkwardly in the hallway as Ilya escorted Luca back to his room. The rookie literally fell on his knees earlier when he tried escaping the chaos. Shane shook his head, suppressing a laugh. The kid looked stunned but gave them a breathless ‘wow’ and a thumbs-up when Ilya explained.

“Hey, don’t laugh at him. He saw his heroes almost suck face in front of him.”

“He was so cute. We should adopt him.” Shane teased as he slid an arm around Ilya as they walked down the corridor.

Ilya swiped the keycard, pulling Shane inside with a grin that made the latter giggle. Ilya pressed Shane gently against the wall, tilting his head to kiss him, then rested his forehead against Shane’s. 

“I was scared of not being able to see you… to be with you. It scared me more than death itself.” Ilya confessed, his voice trembling. Tears already streamed down, and his head dropped into Shane’s shoulders, nuzzling into his neck, inhaling him.

Shane’s fingers threaded through Ilya’s soft hair, he needed to feel him. He closed his eyes, grounding himself in the warmth and the rhythm of Ilya’s breathing. He’s here. He’s safe in my arms. 

“I thought about the dogs and the kids that we would be having, but above all, I thought about how I haven’t been able to love you properly,” Ilya murmured against his neck.

“Hey, hey, Ilya. Listen,” Shane adjusted Ilya, tilted his chin, and captured his gaze. His thumbs are busy brushing the tears on his lover’s face.  “You love me perfectly. And I can tell you that because I am the one receiving all your love and do know that I love you just as much.”

Ilya’s lips quirked in a tiny smile, but his chest rose and fell from sobbing. Shane leaned forward and kissed him once. Twice. Thrice. His hand brushed against Ilya’s temple, feeling the warmth of his skin and the beat under his fingers. Thank the gods that allowed his Ilya to come home to him. 

Shane led them to bed, not even bothered that they were still wearing outside clothes. It’s usually a no for Shane, but today, nothing else matters except the weight of Ilya against him, warm and solid and breathing.

Ilya lay with his head on Shane’s chest, fingers absently tracing the lines of Shane’s hand as if reassuring himself he was real. Shane could feel every exhale through his shirt, slow and uneven, and matched his own breathing to it without thinking.

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.” Shane whispered religiously, for himself, and for Ilya alike. 

Ilya looked up at him and cracked a smile, “Of course, I’m here. Now, you really need to make me a Canadian, moy lyubov.” 

Shane let out a giggle and let a finger wander over Ilya’s face, “Of course, how could I not make you Canadian?”

They stayed like that for a long time before deciding to get ready for bed. Ilya believed that he escaped death so he could see Shane in his clothes. It was a rare occurrence, an earned one, and he fully intends to consider it as his special treat. 

Ilya found himself sitting in a dark place with a man holding a lamp that lit the near surroundings. He does not remember this place at all, he saw Shane with him. But he looks like Shane, but he is not Shane. Patroclus. His subconscious supplies.  

“I envy your life, Achilles! The Greeks honored you like the gods, and even in your death, the people remember and glorify you.” Odysseus, the man with the lamp, said. 

 

“Odysseus, do not envy me. I should not have chased fame and glory.” Achilles said, then he looked at Patroclus sitting beside him, and reached for his hand. “I should’ve chosen a quiet life.”

 

Ilya jerked awake, gasping for air. He saw it too, the memories that Shane told him. He looked at the sleeping figure tangled with him and smiled as he placed a gentle kiss on top of the freckles, he so loved dearly. 

“Don’t worry, Achilles. I have chosen a quiet life. Not quiet, really,  but I am with him. This time. We made it right.” 

Tomorrow, they’ll deal with the world. But for now, no gods, no prophecy, no glory. Just Shane and Ilya, who chose each other and will continue to do so. And there was no better reason than love. Above all, love.