Chapter Text
Sundays were for Shane. Every other day of the week was dedicated to his many responsibilities, big or small. Between mandatory team practices and never ending brand work and game days and press obligations and, more recently, calls and stolen moments with Ilya, Shane never finds himself alone with time to just…be. So, he decided, Sundays were Shane days - the one day of the week where he could turn off his phone and turn off the world.
Very recently, they’ve all started the same. He would wake up, warm and content without the insistence of an alarm or a social obligation. On Sundays, Shane didn’t even have to speak if he didn’t want to. He could just be quiet and safe and small. In the sanctuary of his blanket cocoon, Shane would lie there, content to suck on the fingers that made their way to his mouth sometime between falling asleep and waking up. Sundays were the best, because he didn’t have to tear his thumb from between his teeth in an embarrassed panic because there was no roommate to catch him before he woke. No, Sundays were for soft pjs and socks that looked like little monsters ate his feet, and for watching cartoons over breakfast in the living room instead of at the breakfast nook. And sometimes Sundays were for missing Ilya, for wishing he could wake up cuddled in his arms instead of his nest of blankets.
The loud monster living in his belly made his hunger be known by making his insides rumbly, shaking him from his thoughts. So Shane slipped from the softness of his sheets with his favorite blanket draped across his shoulders, trailing behind him like a cape. His first stop was the bathroom, because avoiding leaving the safety of his bed to venture into the shadowy dark his house became at nighttime always left his bladder painfully full in the mornings. After taking care of that, he reluctantly removed his fingers from their perch in his mouth long enough to brush his teeth and wash the evidence of sleep from his face.
The next stop led him into the kitchen. Shane loves Sundays, because his strict diet was able to be less restrictive, and still fall in line with his “safe foods.” He had been very red when he brought it up with his nutritionist, avoiding eye contact completely when he mentioned that he was willing, for maybe one day a week, to allow himself a bit of reprieve from his macrobiotic prison. He didn’t elaborate or explain why he was suddenly interested in loosening the reins on his diet after years of his nutritionist trying and failing to persuade him to allow himself a break. Together, they worked to build a special Sunday diet that was still healthy and also felt safe. For breakfast, Shane skipped his, admittedly, yucky green smoothie and instead had overnight oats with dark chocolate and honey he had prepped the night before, along with a plate of crunchy green grapes and blueberries. Instead of milk, he had a strawberry protein shake he picked up in the store because he was probably way too small to work the expensive blender without making a mess. But that was ok, because the store brand was still yummy and it wasn’t chunky or chalky, which was always a win in his opinion. He gathered his breakfast on a lap tray and shuffled his way into the living room, where he would spend the better part of his morning and afternoon watching quiet, colorful cartoons because Sundays were Shane days and no one could bother him anyway. Except… maybe Ilya. But he didn’t want Ilya to see him and decide Shane was too much, too weird. He didn’t want Ilya to run or push him away again. So Sundays were for Shane, all by himself and that was (mostly) ok with him.
~▪~
Ilya has, very recently, found that every spare moment of his days was spent with Shane on his mind. After spending his last few summers at the cottage seeing Shane smile so much, basking in his overwhelming contentment, Ilya was finding it harder and harder to stop his mind from wandering back into the safety the cottage offered. The safety he only felt around Shane Hollander. He was not obsessed, he told himself, as he packed up his car early Sunday morning to surprise his boy in Montreal. Ilya may have been struggling to adjust to a team like Ottawa, which was only just now starting to click. But he would struggle with his team every day for the rest of his career if it meant being able to decide on a dime to visit his favorite person in the world.
Ilya knew Shane wasn’t very big on surprises, so he attempted to reach him in the morning, after deciding to make the two hour drive to spend his Sunday cuddling and teasing and fucking his boyfriend into the mattress. He wasn’t very surprised when his texts went unanswered. Sundays were usually for Shane to decompress, to hide away from responsibilities and stimulation and boring conversation. He had explained to Ilya one time over stutters and shaking words that he liked to exist, alone and unmasked, for just one day a week. Ilya’s eyes had softened, a chirp dying right behind his teeth as he took in the embarrassed flush on his face when Hollander told him he started taking his own mini silent retreats. How could Ilya make fun of his darling blushing boy when he looked so earnest, as if Shane was trying to convince Ilya and himself that it was no big deal that he was finally making time for himself. Ilya just drew him into his arms with a kiss on his forehead and reassurance that he thought it was a great idea to let himself unmask for a day.
He found himself smiling fondly at the memory as he pulled into the garage of Shane's Montreal home. That had been over a year ago, and Ilya has made sure to always alert Shane when he plans on visiting him on Sundays since then. Shane had subsequently moved from his large Montreal apartment into a quieter, more private home on the outskirts of the city. One where Ilya didn’t have to hide his face when entering, shrouded in big trees and privacy and safety, tucked at the end of a long winding driveway. He pulled his phone out again as he let himself into the apartment to see that Shane still hadn’t read his text. Toeing off his shoes at the front bench that Shane insisted all shoes had to stay, Ilya called into the house to alert his very jumpy boy of his presence.
Receiving no answer was only a mystery for as long as it took to make his way into the living room. There he was met with the (adorable) sight of his boyfriend curled up on the couch, tucked under a bundle of blankets, fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth. On the tv, a colorful show with Australian dogs plays quietly, and his coffee table holds the remnants of whatever Shane must have had for breakfast.
Shane had never looked more precious to Ilya. Content to sit here with his sleepy boy while he naps, he scootches himself in the space behind Shane, gathering him tightly into the circle of his arms. Tucking his face into the space where Shane’s neck meets his shoulder, Ilya took a deep breath and allowed himself to fall asleep on the soft smell of his favorite person.