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He had a headache. That was the first thing he noticed. It felt like there were two hands that were cupping his face, placed on either side of his head, but instead of caressing him, they were pushing, trying to press the bones of his head together. It also kind of felt like the world was twisting and turning. It felt like he was falling. Or floating. Or maybe even both.
Eugh. That was a very not nice feeling.
Also, whatever he was lying on was also not nice feeling. Thin and scratchy and just plain uncomfortable.
His hands, which were placed at his sides, clenched and then relaxed a few times. His fingers opening and closing repeatedly. Feeling the fabric he was lying on.
Huh, so he was not floating or falling. Good to know. Still, his head and stomach were turning in circles. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to vomit. He absolutely did not want to do that. It smelled disgusting, it burned when coming up and it always made him feel sick. Like, disgusted of himself. He really didn’t want to vomit.
Also, there was something in his hand. In his left hand. His thumb moved over the rough surface a few times. It was small and in form of a square. And it felt fucking gross.
He let whatever it was fall to the bed (assuming he was lying on a bed and not on a couch, or a blanket on the ground, or something else - why he would be lying on the ground he could not imagine but his head was kind of scrambled right now so everything was possible) and wiped his hand on the fabric beneath him. It didn’t make the feeling on his hand go away though. Like there was something sticking to his skin. He didn’t like it.
He wiped his hand on the bed again.
Suddenly, there was a chuckle on his left side.
“You don’t like the cracker?”
Then there was a hand lowered carefully over his. A thumb was softly grazing the back of his hand. Back and forth, back and forth.
Wow. That was a nice hand. Big and warm. With strong fingers. Cupping his own hand completely - and he didn't have a small hand, so that was kind of impressive. It was also a really nice voice. Deep and manly and kind of rumbly. It also had an accent. Hard consonants and rolled r’s. Probably Russian, or close to that. It sounded really, really nice.
Then the hand was gone again, before it turned over his left hand and placed something inside of it. The square thing that made his hand feel icky.
He furrowed his brow. He didn’t want it.
“No, thank you.”
And let it fall back down again.
His voice had sounded kind of loopy. A little bit mumbled. Maybe he had said it too quietly? He didn’t quite know how loud he was being right now.
The nice voice chuckled again. So his voice was understandable, good. But wow, that sounded really, really nice. He liked that sound. No, he loved that sound. He wanted to hear it again. Whatever he had said, he needed to do it again.
The thing was placed once more in his hand.
Or maybe he didn’t.
His browns furrowed – again.
Before he could let the thing fall back down again, the nice hand was back, closing his fingers around the square thingy, and cupping his hand. It patted his hand slightly.
“I know, I know, solnyshko (sunshine), but the doctors said you need to eat the cracker. It will make you feel better, apparently.”
His hand was raised to his mouth, but he didn’t open it. The thing (which he now guessed was a cracker, dry and crumbly and just, eww) was close to his lips, and he could practically feel how bad it would taste. If it was already feeling like that in his hand, he really didn’t want to find out how it felt like in his mouth. He was not even hungry and the thought of eating this thing sounded not at all appealing. The fear of having to vomit came back.
“Please, Shane.”
Well. That was just mean.
The voice was just so nice and the hand so warm and something inside of Shane really didn’t want the voice to be sad.
He sighed.
And opened his mouth to take a bite. Immediately his mouth felt icky as well, as if he was swallowing sand instead of a cracker. It was crumbly and kind of stale tasting and dry. Some bits of it had fallen down his chin and landed on his chest. It felt like they were burning on his skin.
Man, he was not having a great time.
He grumbled.
“I know, moya lyubov (my love). But is small cracker, you’ll be finished in no time.”
A hand brushed away the crumbs on his chest and laid down over his heart.
And wow, the hand was so very big. Shane was no small man. Hockey made him fill out, getting muscles in “all the right places” as some girls liked to say. Whatever that meant. But the hand so easily covered his whole left pec. Even more so. The tips of its fingers were grazing his right pec. It could probably hold him down – quite easily at that, even if he put up a fight.
He felt his heartbeat begin to pick up.
Huh.
“Can I sit up at all?”, he asked. The fabric he was lying on was still feeling kind of weird and maybe the cracker wouldn’t leave crumbs on his chest if he was sitting up.
“Not sure if that is good idea. When the doctor comes in again, I will ask her though, okay?”
Shane hums to show that he understood, but doesn’t say anything else. His head is still kind of loopy, so maybe it’s actually a good idea to wait with sitting up. The voice was so smart.
Then he smiled. Just a little. The accent made it sound like the voice had said “okei”, which sounded really, really adorable. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted to hear the voice speak again. It sounded really nice. He didn’t even care what it said, just hearing it would be soothing enough.
And huh, the side of his face was kind of stinging. Which was weird, because he had not noticed that before. Maybe that was why his head was throbbing and hurting? Also, now that he was paying attention to it, his whole body felt kind of sore. Not I-had-sex kind of sore, or even I-had-a-really-good-exercise kind of sore. But more so like he was pushed to the ground and landed with his whole body. Hard. Did he fall after all?
Probably during training. Did he have training? He couldn't remember. But there was only one thing he would be doing where he could get hurt and that was hockey. But man does it hurt his ego a little to be hurt during training. He was better than that.
He tried to feel his body, tried to feel any kind of pressing injuries, and was relieved to find none. Good. So he could still play. Perfect. He always feels even worse when he was unable to play. Sitting on the sidelines and watching his teammates play was worse than the injury why he couldn't play itself.
“But until then just eat the cracker, solnyshko (sunshine)," the voice continues. Solnyshko. Shane didn’t know what it meant, but the voice was so soft when it said the word. An insult? But that wouldn’t really fit in the context. The voice was too soft, too fond. A pet name, maybe? But what did it mean? Also why did his heart feel so warm when hearing it?
He wanted to hear more, though. More "solnyshko". More of that other name he was called. More pet names, even if they were teasing or ridiculous. He didn’t even know he liked pet names. He had always felt ridiculous when his previous girlfriends had called him “babe”, had felt uncomfortable when called "baby". But he knew that the voice should not stop using them. Should not stop talking at all. He wanted to fall asleep to it and wake up to it. Forever.
“Is nice,” he mumbled, humming slightly, as if agreeing with himself.
“What is? The cracker?”
What cracker?
Shane licked his lips and was slightly startled when his tongue touched something close to his face. He ignored the snorting coming from his left.
Ah, right. The icky, square thing he is supposed to eat so the nice voice is not sad. He still didn’t want to.
He took another bite anyway, trying to ignore how it felt like it got more and more in his mouth.
But the nice voice had said that it’s only a small cracker and he already had three bites, so maybe he is nearly finished?
He tries to open his eyes, so he can see his progress with the cracker. Immediately he squeezes his eyes shut again. The room was very white and so very bright. It felt like his eyes burned.
Not cool.
The voice lets out an understanding hum. “Is bright, I know.” Then he hears movement and the world behind his closed eyelids gets a little bit darker.
He tries to open his eyes again and manages to keep them open this time. The room is still very bright, but there is a shadow in front of his face that makes the brightness bearable.
He turns to look at the direction the voice had come from and sees a silhouette sitting by his side.
He is not really in control of himself, as his eyes widen and his jaw falls open.
There on his left next to the bed sits a man. He is seated in a plastic chair, which looks way too small and uncomfortable, because the man looks tall. Like, really fucking tall. Also he is really fucking beautiful.
Behind the man are a few windows, from where the sun is shining into the room. And the man had apparently moved in front of the sun, probably so Shane could open his eyes, and by doing so, it now looks like the sun was shining straight at the man. The golden light curled around him, highlighting sharp cheekbones, making his stunning blue eyes sparkle. He had a beautiful array of blond curls. The sun made them seen like a halo around the man’s pretty face.
But by God was the man stunning. Absolutely gorgeous. Breathtaking. (Is he still breathing? He had no idea, but he didn’t really care at this point. Dying with this beauty being the last thing he saw of this earth sounded like a good way to go to him.)
The man was wearing a black shirt – a tight, black shirt, which absolutely did not hide anything. Shane could make out strong biceps and broad shoulders and probably also defined abs and he had to swallow, his mouth suddenly not at all dry anymore.
There was a glint of a golden necklace around the man’s pretty neck and Shane felt the need to trace the chain with his tongue and lick and kiss and leave hickeys behind. Which was kind of weird, because he never felt the need to mark his partners before, but damn, would his neck look even prettier sprinkled with moles and bruises forming on his skin.
And there were moles. Lots of brown spots, sprinkled all over his skin. A big one on his cheek. A few smaller ones placed randomly along his neck. Shane kind of wants to reach out and count them. Trace them. Kiss them. Lick them. Play connect-the-dots with his fingertips and his lips. He wanted to find out if there were more sprinkled all over his body. He wants to reach out and find out and just touch.
And suddenly Shane is reminded of the hand placed gently on his chest. He follows the big bicep down to a strong forearm, traces the veins and tendons all the way down to strong fingers spread wide over his chest. Still placed right over his heart. It kind of feels like the man is holding his heart. The hand is big and strong, but so very gentle. Not pushing down, not forcing Shane to stay lying down.
Or maybe the pretty man is protecting his heart? Holding it, keeping it inside of his chest because Shane is sure his heart wants to jump out of his ribcage with how fast it’s beating. But he can totally agree with his heart, because when he looks back up to his face, the man is smiling and oh. Somehow he got even more beautiful.
For a moment, just a short silly moment, Shane is reminded of doing crossword puzzles with his father. Of trying to find synonyms for words. There are a few different words that come to his mind, when looking at the other man. Lovely. Pretty. Stunning. Handsome. Gorgeous. Hot. Attractive. Angelic. Irresistible. Breathtaking. Magnificent. Every word just another definition of “beautiful” and everything fits perfectly.
This man is way too pretty, way too attractive, to be sitting at Shane’s bedside and looking at him like … like that. So soft and fond and almost knowing and Shane doesn’t even know what the stranger could possibly know but he cannot handle it.
"Did the doctor send you?", he finally manages to get out of his mouth and he kind of wants to slap himself. That sounded really ridiculous and now the pretty man will laugh at him and pull his hand away and leave Shane forever with the cracker of doom and his own despair.
But the man doesn’t laugh at him or leave, but chuckles again. And oh, it sounded lovely, alright. But seeing how his striking blue eyes crinkled and how his pretty, white teeth sparkled just set his heart racing again.
And apparently his thoughts and his mouth weren’t his own anymore because he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out his thoughts: “Damn, you’re really fucking pretty.”
There is some kind of noise further back in the room, on the right side of Shane where he had not looked at yet, but currently he couldn’t care less. He can feel his cheeks and his ears turning red, embarrassed by his own truth, but he couldn’t stop staring. All of his attention was on the man sitting in front of him.
But man, he had really, really pretty hair. It wasn’t completely blond, but was a mixture of blond and brown. But it was curling so prettily. It was a little long, a few of the curls hanging down his forehead. Shane wanted to reach out and play with it, twist those curls around his fingers. The sun was making them shine so beautifully. As if he had a golden halo surrounding him, a golden crown placed on his head. Shadows appeared all over his skin, making the sharp cheekbones and those equally sharp jaw pop even more. And those lips. So pink and pretty. A perfect cupid’s bow lips. Shane kind of wanted to press his finger in between the space between the man’s nose and his lips, wanted to feel his tongue on his fingers as the man licked his lips.
God, he was so unbelievably beautiful Shane kind of wanted to cry. He should have statues of him. Pictures and portraits. Sonnets and novels. Shane never really had a talent for arts. Hockey was his life through and through, but for this man he was willing to try. He was a work of art and Shane wanted to keep this beauty forever remembered.
The man doesn't answer to his question, but his smile turns into a bright grin, which makes him ten times more attractive which Shane did not think was possible but apparently it was.
Just. Wow.
It makes the room brighter, somehow. His delight lightening up the room. It somehow looks right on his face and at the same time it doesn’t. Like he is not used to grinning so brightly, to show his happiness this freely. He should, though. He should smile and grin and laugh all the time. The world would be a better place if he did. He probably had a beautiful laugh. Just as stunning as him. There was no way he didn’t.
“I’m very fucking pretty?”, the man repeated, his chuckle still present in his voice, and Shane was only able to nod. He really fucking was.
"Blyat(Fuck), moya lyubov (my love), I did not expect you to swear. Maybe I am bad influence, huh.” he winked. Shane died a little inside.
“So doctor is not disappointed, how about you keep eating your cracker.”
But Shane absolutely does not want to keep eating the cracker. Like, even less than before. He actually has kind of forgotten that he even has one in his hand, if he was honest.
“Don’ wanna,” he mumbles, but takes a bite anyway. The man said he should take a bite and so he does.
And he is glad that he did, because the man smiled again. The world was a little brighter.
“Is dry, I know. Also tastes like nothing. Is stupid, but we don’t want to anger the people caring for you, right, solnyshko (sunshine)? You’re nearly finished anyway.”
It doesn’t feel like he is nearly finished with the cracker. It feels dry and sticky and crumbly and he really doesn’t want to finish it. But this man understands that, understands him, without Shane even having to tell him, and so, he will finish the cracker. For him.
“You’re not a nurse,” it's slightly mumbled, even to Shane, but he doesn’t really care. It’s not said to the man, but more a thought he said out loud. And so, he doesn’t really react as the man shakes his head, his amusement clear, “No, I am not.”
The man said he wasn’t sent by the doctor. He also wasn’t dressed as a nurse. But he also wasn’t dressed as one of his teammates. Never mind the fact that Shane would know his teammates. So maybe a fan? But no, he was too calm for that. Too pretty. He also wasn’t an actor. If he was, Rose would have already told him. He was sure of it. They would sit together, both in their pajamas, Rose drinking champagne and eating all different kinds of unhealthy snacks while he would drink a cold ginger ale, and together they would stare and thirst every time this man appeared on screen. Preferably naked. And Rose would tease him because Shane would not be able to stop staring.
So, that left only one answer that made sense in Shane’s (currently still pretty loopy) mind.
“You’re a model.” It’s said with certainty, ended with a small nod to himself. That sounded right.
And the stranger laughed again. Pretty. Stunning. Breathtaking.
"No, I am also not a model, but you know what I am, solnyshko (sunshine)?”
Shane shakes his head.
He doesn’t quite believe that the man isn’t a model. He definitely should be. He had the height, the build, the beauty, even the confidence for it. He would be really, really popular if he decided to be a model. Maybe he should ask his mother if she would be able to take the man under her wing. His mother was such a good manager and she had her contacts everywhere. Shane is sure, if he asked nicely, she would be willing to help this man. Surely, she would be able to tell how much it would be in their favor, if they decided to help this man out. He would be so popular and eventually he would tell the world that Yuna Hollander helped him out and bam, his mother would be a hero.
Even more so than she already was, that is.
Yes, he decides, the next time he sees his mother, he will bring this fantastic idea to her.
And then his mind goes blank, because the man leans forward. All on his mind is yesyesyes.
“I’m Ilya,” he says, bright and soft, the hand on his chest slightly petting it. Petting his heart. And oh. IlyaIlyaIlya. Shane mouths the name to himself, wants to feel it on his tongue and is slightly surprised at how familiar it feels. How right.
"And you know what I am also?”, he doesn’t wait for Shane to answer. “I'm your husband."
The cracker fell from his hand and landed on his chest. Or at least, he thinks it did. Or maybe it didn’t - he didn't feel it leaving his hand, he didn’t feel it hitting his chest - it wasn't important. Nothing was important right now. There was only his husband. Husbandhusbandhusband.
"You're my husband?!", he repeats and oh, that also feels familiar on his tongue. Ilya is Shane's husband. His husband. And that means Shane is Ilya's husband. They are each other's husbands. And wow, that thought feels so strange but so right and Shane is sure there are angels currently singing high in the sky.
He never thought that he would be a husband, never thought that he would have a husband, but damn if that doesn’t sound right. It was like something that was hidden deep inside of himself has finally found it other half and was now finally complete.
The man chuckled while the sound from before sounded again - once more it is ignored because apparently he had a husband! There was nothing more important than that.
"Fuck! How long?"
The man (Ilya. Ilya, who is Shane’s fucking husband!) didn't answer, just reached with his other hand that was not placed on his chest forward to pick up the cracker again and give it back to Shane. He took it without thinking about it. He would take anything.
"Do we have children?"
And holy shit until his mouth asked the question his mind hadn't even thought about it. Children - now that was a thought.
Shane liked children. He loved to visit the Pikes. He loved to play with Jade, Ruby and Amber and little Arthur. He loved to have them in his arms, feel their little hands on his cheeks, hear their shrieking laughs. But he also loved to have his quiet time at home. When the day was stressful and his head was burning with thoughts and sensations and expectations, he couldn’t imagine having to take care of a little human being. A being that was so dependent on your love and care. It was another kind of pressure, pressure Shane was not sure he would be able to handle.
But did he want children? Yeah, he wanted to. Not right now. Hockey was still his number one priority. But, was it still? He had a husband now. Someone he loved. Someone he was loved by in return. Someone he could share the responsibility with.
"No, we don't have children." Thankfully. (Sadly? While he was mostly grateful, the thought of moles and golden curls and shrieking laughs and little fingers on his cheeks did sound good. Very good. Maybe. In the future. If Ilya wanted.)
"We've got a dog though."
Oh! He didn’t know what to think about that. While he didn’t hate dogs, he had always assumed he was more of a cat person. Their neighbors had a dog when he was a child, and even than he had been kind of scared of the fluffy mess of hair and saliva. He had been a nice dog though. Shane had sobbed his eyes raw the day he died.
His face scrunched up as he thought. "What's its name?"
"Her name is Anya."
And suddenly Shane remembers.
Remembers a small dog, not too small but not too big either. Remembers this little whirlwind, this little fluff of energy. Remembers the bed they have placed next to their couch, with two fluffy blankets and way too many toys even though she doesn’t really play with all of them because Anya deserved only the best, solnyshko (sunshine), and she shouldn’t have to decide like a peasant. He remembers how she goes with him on his morning runs, how she always runs by his side even though she isn’t on a leash. And how she lies curled up together with Ilya when he is napping on the couch, while Shane has given up in trying to read his book and is instead staring at that beautiful sight. He remembers how well behaved she is, how proud Ilya always is every time he says a command and she follows without hesitation. How he always gives her three treats instead of one, because he simply can't say no to such a cute face, no matter how many times Shane scolds him. Such a well behaved dog, their Anya. Their perfect, little girl.
He pouts: "I want to see her."
Ilya chuckles again and lifts his other hand to push Shane’s hand holding the cracker to his mouth again. He can't believe that it's still there. He had completely forgotten about it.
"Finish the cracker and you will see her in no time. The doctor should be here soon and then we will know when you can get home, okay?"
Once more Shane has to smile at the “okei” leaving his husbands mouth, and quickly takes one bite, then two, to hide it.
There was a short silence between them, with Shane taking a bite from his cracker (he is nearly finished now, thank God), while Ilya watched him, smiling softly. For a moment they are just staring at each other. And normally Shane is not the best at holding eye contact, but there is no way in hell that he would look away from Ilya.
And, as if Ilya could hear his thoughts (and maybe he can, they are husbands after all), his face softens. His other hand, the one not still placed over Shane’s heart, moves up and cups Shane’s face. He’s so careful while doing it, and briefly Shane is reminded again that his face (and his body in general) is kind of hurting, but then Ilya is moving his thumb across his cheek and suddenly Shane forgets that he ever was in any kind of pain. He would take any bruised ribs or broken bones if it meant he was right here – together with Ilya, his husband.
Humming, he closed his eyes. Feeling blessed while his husband continued to caress his cheek. "Kakiye milyye vesnushki (Such pretty freckles)“, Ilya murmurs, softly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Shane opens his eyes again and gazes fondly at his husband. It feels like his heart is ready to burst with all the love he is currently feeling.
And Ilya looks like he feels the same.
Shane licks his lips and Ilya’s eyes flicker down briefly, his thumb moving down to press against his lips. In return Shane presses a soft kiss against his finger and watches as Ilya swallows, his pupils suddenly appearing a little bit bigger.
And then he leans back a little and his hand drops, reaching for Shane’s right hand instead, and intervening their fingers. He pulls it up to his mouth and gives the back of Shane’s hand a soft kiss, before laying it down on Shane’s stomach.
Shane wants to kiss him so badly. He really wants to kiss every single one of his moles. And hey, maybe he can. Ilya is his husband. Surely, he would let Shane kiss his moles. Would let Shane kiss him in general.
And he really fucking does. He wants to kiss all over his face, in fact, kiss the tip of his nose, his lips, oh his lips. He just really wants to kiss him.
"Have we kissed yet?"
"Yes, we have. Quite a lot actually. And more, of course," he wiggles his eyebrows and winks again and Shane slightly shakes his head, even as he feels his lips split into a grin.
“Idiot.”
“I know, I know. But your ridiculous idiot. You married me, yes? What is saying? No take backs.”
Now it’s Shane’s turn to chuckle, feeling so ridiculously light and happy with his idiot husband by his side.
Ilya squeezes his hand. "Come on, solnyshko (sunshine), you're nearly finished with your cracker."
"But is hard, Ilya. It’s very hard, sweetheart."
He takes another bite anyway - anything to make Ilya happy.
While eating he gets another thought.
"Do we call each other sweetheart?" He knows that Ilya apparently used pet names, but up until now Shane had no idea he even liked pet names. He had always felt ridiculous when his previous girlfriends used pet names for him and back then he had never felt the need to use pet names. It actually led to a relatively big fight between one of his previous girlfriend and him. She was mad that he never called her cute names, not like the boyfriends from her friends. But he couldn't quite explain that the words “darling” or “baby” couldn’t leave his mouth without them leaving ash behind in his mouth and ants crawling all over his skin.
But maybe he wasn’t the problem – maybe he just needed to find the right person to say those names too, because that “sweetheart” had left his lips without thought. No ash in his mouths and no ants crawling over him.
“Well, you do sometimes, yes. Though I use pet names more.”
Shane hummed to show he understood. Then he repeated, “Solnyshko?”
He watched as Ilya briefly squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and opened them again.
“Yes,” he had to clear his throat before he continued. “Solnyshko (Sunshine) is one of them.”
“And the others?”
And once more Ilya leaned closer, purposefully pursing his lips and looking up as he pretended to think. “Well, there is also moya lyubov (my love) and malysh (baby) and lyubimyy (beloved) and dorogoy (darling). Just to name a few."
Ilya looked back down to Shane and grinned as he noticed Shane’s blush – he could feel his cheeks and the tips of his ears heating up.
He leaned down even further to Shane. “And you love it.”
“I love you.”
Briefly Ilya looks stunned, which is stupid, because he is Shane’s husband, of course he loves him. And then he gets this soft look on his face, his eyes just slightly shining when they catch the light just right and Shane really does want to pull him down and lay Ilya’s head down on his chest, right over his heart, so he could hear how Shane’s heart beat for him. And he wanted to curl his arms around Ilya, pull him close and play with his curls and never let him go.
It sounded like a good idea.
“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu (I love you too),” Ilya murmurs, squeezing Shane’s hand, and he doesn’t need a translator for that.
And so, he grins back at Ilya. Big and bright and unguarded, because he loveslovesloves this man.
He is not aware if he has that machine attached which tells you how fast your heart is beating, but he is sure if he is attached to one, it would go into overdrive. It would burn. Blow up. Broken by his love for his man.
His. Man.
And suddenly he has to know.
"How long have we been married?"
"Nearly two years, though we have been together for a lot longer than that."
Shane groans, briefly squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall back onto the pillow. He quickly opens them again to look at his husband again though. He doesn't want to miss a single thing. "I hit the jackpot!"
“Bozhe moy (My god), just how strong were the painkillers they gave you?", Ilya asks, leaning back again, shaking his head in amusement.
"Don't know, don't care. You're perfect. Absolutely pretty and beautiful. I love you."
Again there is the sound coming from his right.
“Well, I don’t know if I would call Rozanov pretty.”
“Poshol ty nakhuy (Fuck you), Bood!”
Curiousity gets the better of him and he turns his head to the right to follow Ilya’s playful glare. His eyes light up.
"Coach! Bood!"
There on the other side of the room, standing close to the door, are their coach and their assistant captain.
Coach Wiebe is managing to look between highly amused and slightly touched, while Boodram is smirking broadly. And he is holding up a phone.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Well, we wanted to show our support to our captain and his injured husband, but apparently we are pretty unwanted here.”
Wiebe slightly slaps Bood on the back of his head, to which Ilya lets out a snort. Wiebe points a finger at him.
“Careful Rozanov, we now have enough blackmail material of you to last until next season.”
“No blackmail,” Ilya answers, squeezing Shane’s hand again. Then he grins, a mischievous smile on his face. “I just love my husband veeeery much.” And then he squeezes Shane’s chest. Hard enough that the movement could easily be seen from across the room.
Shane squeaks in shock.
“Well, that is more than enough for me.” Bood puts away his phone and walks backwards, purposefully holding a hand over his eyes. “Good to see you’re feeling okay, Shane!”
And with that, there is only their coach in the room, who levels Ilya with a very deadpanned look. Ilya removes his hands from Shane, and looks innocently at the older man.
Wiebe walks closer and lays a hand on Shane’s shoulder, waiting until he is looking at him. “We’re really happy that you’re well. Don’t overdo it, ya hear? Let Rozanov take care of you.”
Shane sees Ilya nod his hand in agreement from the corner of his eye and smiles at their coach, who returns the smile. Then he squeezes Shane’s shoulder again, briefly squeezes Ilya’s shoulder as well, looking him deeply in the eye and nodding when he finds what he was looking for.
Then he walks to the door and grabs the handle, "Don't worry, we're gonna send you the video." And with that, he closes the door.
Happy that their teammates were here to ask how Shane was and slightly grateful that their alone again, he looks back to Ilya, who is already looking at him.
“Hi,” he grins at Ilya, whose grin turns into a fond smile. “Hey.”
Shane still kind of really wants to kiss him. And feel his sharp jaw. And trace his many moles.
And now that they’re really alone, maybe he finally could.
As he raises his hand to do so, he notices that his hand is free. No cracker.
Eyebrows raising to his forehead, he looks down to the bed and searches for it, but can't find it anywhere.
Did he eat it?
Did it fall to the floor?
Did coach or Bood take it with them?
It doesn't matter. He never had to eat a cracker ever again. He was finished with it. He had done like Ilya asked.
He has to tell him.
"I finished the cracker!", he says proudly and waves his, now thankfully empty, hand around, which Ilya catches with one of his. The other he lays back down on Ilya's chest.
He looks down (they are now holding hands – but like, with all two? four? of their hands - and Ilya has begun to unconsciously rub his thumb gently along the back of Shane’s hands. It's so gentle and perfect Shane kind of wants to cry) and notices something.
"We’re not wearing rings," he grumbles, sounding slightly devastated by the fact. But why is there no ring?
Ilya raises one of his hands from Shane’s to his neck. With an easy motion, the golden necklace around his neck is brought to light. And there, right next to his mother’s cross is a silver ring, resting right over his heart. The silver is kind of not really fitting for the golden chain, but it's one of the best sights Shane has seen in his life anyway.
"So it doesn't get lost during games. Yours too."
He reaches for Shane and pulls his own necklace – which he hadn’t even noticed he had until now – out from beneath the hospital gown. And there, glinting on his chest, is a simple silver necklace. A ring is sitting in the middle.
Satisfied Shane nods in understanding, his heart feeling lighter, and inspects the ring. Then he looks back to Ilya.
"It’s beautiful. I must really love you."
Ilya chuckles.
"You do. And I love you, so please try not to get hurt again."
"I’ll try," Shane promises and squeezes Ilya’s hand.
A few days later, when they are lying in their bed, cuddled together with Ilya’s head on Shane’s chest, being comforted by the slow breathing of his husband and his heavy wight on top of him and Anya sleeping like a warm heating pad at his back (no, normally she is not allowed on the bed but he is back from the hospital, so it is a special occasion, please Shane), he remembers his promise in the hospital and swears to himself to do anything in his power to never leave this vulnerable man alone ever again.
He nuzzles deeper into Ilya’s hair, his hands slowly moving up and down Ilya’s back, soothing him further and further into sleep, and he closes his eyes in pure bliss at the feeling of being home.
“I love you", he murmurs and somehow that is enough to pull his husband out of his sleep to murmur back, "Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu (I love you too)", his voice all rumbly and his face still hidden away over Shane’s heart.
And Shane has to squeeze his eyes shut, careful to keep his hands moving, overwhelmed by the amount of lovelovelove he is feeling for the man lying asleep in his arms. His man.
He presses one, two, three quick kisses on Ilya’s head and feels his heart bursting when Ilya squeezes him back, so aware of Shane even when he is asleep, feeling so safe and loved with Ilya’s arms around him.
There truly was no better place on earth - no other place he'd rather be.
And so, Shane Hollander-Rozanov falls asleep. With his dear husband in his arms, their dog kicking at his back and his head filled with thoughts of love and home and the pretty face of his husband.