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The thing about Yuna and David is that they’re lovely.
Ilya didn’t expect it. He knows Shane says that he loves his parents, that they hold him in high regard, but Ilya still puts him back together while Shane has a panic attack over his father having caught him and Ilya. Ilya still talks him down after Shane’s father just leaves.
So, yes. Ilya does put on the Boston Raiders shirt, because he had to witness Shane lose his mind over their secret being found out, and he’s otherwise prim and proper and tries to be a good son-in-law (even though they’re not married and haven’t talked about the possibility yet).
And then the Hollanders turn out to be as amazing as Shane had claimed.
Once the initial shock wears off, Yuna bullies them into handing over Ilya’s phone number (not that much bullying is required, but still), creates a group chat with all four of them, and proceeds to invite Ilya over by himself the next time he’s playing in Ottawa.
Ilya doesn’t intend to take her up on it, but she does mean it, and the game ends up being neither so great nor so terrible that they go out afterwards, so there’s really nothing keeping Ilya from going.
And because he loves Shane and really wants his family to like him to – for Shane’s sake more than for his own – he ends up going.
It feels weird to have the chauffeur’s service drop him off in front of the Hollander house, like they’ll know what he’s doing here.
It feels weirder to realise that he’ll see Shane’s childhood home for the first time without the man himself being there. Oh, god.
They will hate me, I know, Ilya texts Shane in a moment of weakness, because there’s nothing Shane can do. The Metros are already in LA, preparing to play the Royals tomorrow.
They already love you. 😘, Shane texts back almost immediately.
Ilya exhales, straightens his coat, and then makes himself ring the bell.
Yuna Hollander answers an excruciating fifteen seconds later, immediately pulling Ilya inside and sweeping him up in a hug. He hugs her back, and they make chit chat about tonight’s game as Ilya follows her into the house towards the kitchen where David is cooking.
It’s… good. To good to be true, of course.
The other shoes drops once they’re all seated around the beautiful wooden dining table, Ilya next to Yuna, who is across from David. They made pasta with chicken in a delicious sauce that’s probably still meal-plan approved – magic, really – and Ilya is digging in and chatting and gesturing and smiling –
And catches the side of his glass of wine as he reaches for the salt. For a terrible, terrible second, Ilya watches it teeter, even tries to catch it, but just ends up spilling it over the beautiful, formerly white table cloth.
“Shit!” he curses, then realises he just swore in front of Shane’s parents, and tries to apologise over the sudden cacophony of noise as Yuna and David say something. “I am sorry, I did not pay attention, shi–shoot, I am so, so sorry –”
“These things happen,” Yuna says soothingly, and it would be fine, except that David pops up next to Ilya in that moment. And consciously, Ilya knows he’s gone to fetch a cloth to mop up the mess. Consciously, Ilya knows he’s in Ottawa, with Shane’s parents.
But for a brief, stomach-dropping moment his vision doubles, and it’s Grigori standing over him instead of David, belt already in hand because Ilya, even at barely seven years old, had managed to be terribly embarrassing at an important dinner where he was suppposed to be the silent, obedient child and had been anything but even though he’d tried, tried so hard.
Ilya flinches.
Everything seems to freeze. He blinks, and the spectre of Grigori disappears, leaving only David behind, with eyes as kind as Shane’s and concern etched all over his face. When Ilya reaches for the cloth David is holding, he realises his hands are shaking.
“Sorry,” Ilya says again, and then busies himself with mopping up the spilled wine, until Yuna tells him that it’s fine, that she’ll put it through the wash, to just make sure that it doesn’t drip further.
Ilya does, his cheeks burning, though the Hollanders are nice enough to resume conversation as normal and not mention his horrifying lapse in control – or his clumsiness.
Embarrassment still lingers like the taste of sour milk in the back of Ilya’s mouth, chased away only when Yuna invites him back for another meal. When she smiles and murmurs that next time, she’ll put on a red table cloth, Ilya even manages to smile back at her.
And then –
Ilya signs with Ottawa and gets a key to the Hollander’s house and the order to come to dinner at least once a week, schedule and road trips permitting. In the beginning, he rings the bell, until Yuna gives him an exasperated sigh and David winks at him, telling him, “Sometimes, it’s best to know when to give up.” And Ilya knows Shane, but unlike Shane, his mother actually manages to take her victory without smugness, which makes giving up so much easier.
All of which leads to Ilya letting himself into the house a couple of months into the season for their weekly dinner together. He’s early, to the point that David’s car is not yet in the drive-way and the kitchen subsequently silent, but his house had been almost oppressively lonely, and since he only had a few hours to kill, he’d decided to just head over already, maybe actually get to help with dinner for once.
“Hello!” Ilya calls out as he takes off his coat and shoes, but there is no reply. Which is to be expected, because Yuna is probably out, too, or busy in the study, or –
He sees it out of the corner of his eyes. Does a double take. Feels his heart stutter in his chest, because – there, from the couch, is an arm dangling. Limp, fingers dragging on the carpet.
Ilya doesn’t think.
He lurches forward, blood rushing in his ears, and he’s twelve and knows something is so terribly wrong and sixteen and waking from nightmares that still make him cry and twenty-seven and praying to any deity who will listen that this can’t be, that this isn’t what it looks like.
He falls to his knees next to Yuna – and her skin is dark where Irina’s had been pale, her face turned upwards where Irina had been face-down, but she is another mother who is just lying there, and Ilya can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he –
“Ilya?” Yuna mumbles, and then she’s jerking upwards, and it’s only when the noise cuts off that Ilya realises he was keening as he’s grasping her arms, and god. God. She’s alive. She’s breathing. She’s sitting up and gathering Ilya close and making soothing sounds as Ilya drags in the first breath since his world seemed to stop, and promptly starts shivering.
She is okay.
She is okay.
Ilya repeats it over and over again, tries to chase the images from his mind that are kept fresh from nightmares he hasn’t been able to shake since the day they happened, and just lets himself be held.
“Do we need to call Shane?” Yuna asks him once his breath comes easier.
Ilya shakes his head before he’s even consciously considered it. “I am fine.” The way he’s still clinging to Yuna like a child to his mother belies his words, but she doesn’t call him out on it.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Again, Ilya shakes his head. He has not doubt that he needs to, that he will – maybe even with Yuna, because can he sink further than falling apart at her side over a fucking nap? – but he cannot. Not right now. Not this close.
“Very well. But I think some tea would do us both good. Come on – I have been sleeping pretty poorly these past few days, and that’ll wake me up.”
Ilya doesn’t want to let go of her, so he obediently follows her into the kitchen. She doesn’t call him out on that.
It’s just – he’s done this once.
He cannot do this again.