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The moment Shane went down on the ice, Ilya genuinely felt like his world had been shattered. As much as he refused to admit it, Shane Hollander meant something, practically everything, to him. Shane was like a beacon of light in the ever darkening closet of Ilya’s life and that was about to be taken from him. Just like that. Gone.
He knew this had become a problem. Shane was never supposed to be anything to him. They hooked up and had fun, that was it. This wasn’t supposed to come with feelings, but it did, and Ilya fell so hard. He couldn’t have this, there was just no possible way with their careers and Russia and everything—he had to end it, and so he made a plan. That day, Ilya walked into the rink knowing that after he played against Shane, he was going to break off this fling of theirs and end things for good before they got worse and someone got hurt.
It was clearly too late for that.
Ilya was wracked with guilt as he watched Shane get hauled off on a stretcher. This was his fault. He had distracted Shane, looked at him when he shouldn’t have and now Shane was horrifically injured. The universe had clearly thrown a sign his way to end things with Shane. “Look at what happens when you love someone!” is what it would scream if it could talk.
He approached Shane’s hospital room after everyone else had cleared away, looking left and right down the hall to make sure that no one saw him. Ilya grimaced at the sight of Shane in his hospital bed. He looked so peaceful, something that Ilya had rarely seen on Shane’s face. He wished he could see that peaceful expression under better circumstances- No, he thought, You came here to end this, so end things.
“Ilyaaaaaa!!”
Shit.
This was going to break his heart more than it already was.
Ilya shushed him lightly and shut the door, looking again for good measure. He bit the inside of his cheeks as his eyes watered. He hadn’t even gotten any words out yet he was already so close to crying at just the sight of Shane in that hospital bed, “I um, I just wanted to,” he struggled to find the words, “Are you ok?”
“Concussion and a fractured collarbone, out for the playoffs, but…”
“Could have been worse,” And thank God it wasn’t.
“Could have been worse!” Shane smiled at Ilya fondly in a way that Ilya had never seen before. He would never get to see that smile directed at him again after this, so he soaked up the time that he was able to get.
“Marleau feels terrible.” I feel terrible. “He did not mean to hurt you.” I did not mean to hurt you.
“I know, it’s part of the game. We all get our bell run eventually.”
“Right,” Ilya’s throat grew dry and his heart beat faster. He should say it. He should say what he came to say now-
“Heyyyy!” Shane said, with a smile on his face, “Heyyyyyyy!!!!” He reached out and his volume grew. Ilya quickly shushed him and moved to his bedside, holding his hand, “Yesss,” Shane smiled again, bigger this time, and leaned back into the pillows with his eyes closed, “Bet-ter.”
“You scared me.” Well shit, where the fuck did that come from? It was true, he did scare Ilya, but he didn’t mean to let that out. He was here to break things off, not continue things more.
“I’m sorry I didn’t text you last night.”
“No, is ok,” Ilya’s hand reached out to touch Shane’s face before he could stop himself. He loved those freckles.
“I was excited about last night though. I’m mainly mad at Marlow for fucking that up.”
“He feels really bad.”
“You know I had a whole plan to ask you something,” Shane said loopily.
“Maybe it’s better if you just rest,” Ilya’s breath quickened. Ok, no more chickening out. He had to end this right this second.
“I was gonna ask you-”
“Hollander. Stop.” Shane stopped talking, looking at Ilya with what was practically heart eyes, “Hollander…Shane.”
“Ooooh you’re calling me Shane.”
“Shane. I’m sorry,” Ilya’s eyes began to water, “I-”
“Is this over the game?” Shane squeezed Ilya’s hand and smiled at him more if that was even possible, “I’m ok. Just a little banged up, didn’t know you cared so much.”
“That is problem Hollander. I care so much.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“I mean that this cannot happen. There can be no more this, no more whatever this is. No more us. This ends now and I’m sorry, but it has to.”
The room became so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Shane’s smile disappeared immediately and he let Ilya’s hand go, watching as it was pulled to his side. Ilya didn’t know what he was expecting—maybe anger, or silence, or disgust—but what he wasn’t expecting was for him to absolutely burst into tears.
“Hollander, you have to quiet down-”
“You don’t want me anymore?” Shane was sobbing, his good hand coming up to rub his eye, “I’m not good enough, am I? What did I do, Ilya? What did I do to make you hate me?”
“Hollander, you didn’t do anything.”
“Bullshit!” Shane spat, “What’s wrong with me?! Was I not sexy enough for you? I can be better, I can be better at whatever, just tell me. It was my behavior wasn’t it, I’m sorry. I was too much and that’s why you don’t want me anymore and I get it and-”
Ilya couldn’t take this anymore. He was crying too at this point, hearing Shane talk so terribly about himself.
He kissed him.
One of his hands grasped Shane’s while the other came up to touch the side of his face. He kissed him, long and slow, enough to where Shane’s breathing slowed and his cries subsided. He pulled apart from him, kissing his nose and forehead, and he knew that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t end things with Shane, if that was how he really felt wanting Ilya that bad too, he couldn’t do it.
“Ilya,” Shane croaked, “Jus’ be honest. Why don’t you want me anymore?”
“I-” Fuck it. Ilya couldn’t do this, “No. No, is wrong, I want you very badly, Hollander. So much my heart hurts, so I try to end things before you get hurt.”
“You self-sacrificing motherfucker,” Shane squeezed his hand, “Nuh-uh. You don’t get to do that. If you want out, you want out because you want out. Yeah?”
“Ok,” Ilya didn’t have the strength to argue. A part of him hoped that Shane wouldn’t remember much of this and maybe he could try again, but another part wanted more.
“Good, now as I was saying,” Shane turned to look at him, “Will you come to my cottage this summer? 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 two? We’d be completely alone, together.”
Ilya hesitated, but eventually he spoke, “Maybe.” He couldn’t say yes, but after what he just witnessed there was no way he was going to say no. Watching Shane cry like that physically pained him and there was no way he was going to cause that again.
Shane smiled at him loopily, the events of the previous moment clearly in the past of his brain—although he would probably remember them later, much to his embarrassment—and laid back again. He hoped that Shane could make do with that maybe as an answer.
Three months later, he found himself walking to Shane’s car from the airport. He was ready to act on that “maybe”.