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At first, they’re both quiet. Shane picks up on the humming of oncoming traffic, notices how it subsides the further away they get from the busy area of the airport. Now, their surroundings are made up of endless rows of trees, a shade of green they only wear in July, and the road ahead of them basking in sunlight. It’s such a familiar view – he knows these roads, has been down them endless times – and yet, it’s completely different.
This time, instead of driving alone, or joining his parents, he has Ilya.
His blond hair is a bit longer in the back since the last time Shane saw him, it’s noticeable when Ilya briefly turns his head to watch the scenery outside the window on the passenger side. He keeps looking straight ahead, looking tense, like he’s unsure of how to proceed.
And Shane feels unsure, too; usually, Ilya would have teased him by now or made a comment that made Shane feel the mixture of frustration and shameless want that only Ilya knew how to conjure up in him. But usually never involves them in a car together, in daylight, on their way to spend more than the one or two hours they can get away with. It’s new, and a bit uncomfortable, but Shane doesn’t want this silence to linger any longer, so he carefully says the first thing his brain comes up with,
“Are you hungry?”
Before Ilya has any time to reply, Shane’s nerves get the best of him, and he prattles on, “It’s about a two-hour drive, but we can stop for something if you want.”
Ilya shrugs. “No, I’m okey.”
His voice sounds polite, as if they’re merely acquaintances, as if they haven’t spent the last nine years constantly circling each other, constantly reappearing in the same way.
Shane forces himself to continue.
“I think you’re gonna like the cottage. It’s, uh, relaxing.”
Finally, he can see Ilya smiling.
“Ah, is that what we are going to do? Relax?”
Ilya’s eyes are still on him, like he’s decided it’s finally safe to keep them there, and Shane forces himself to keep his eyes on the road.
It would be easy to let Ilya’s insinuation hang between them, play into the flirtatiousness of it, but Shane has already decided that this trip needs to be more than that, be something different, new.
“I hope so”, he admits, and just catches how Ilya’s smile fades a bit.
“I would like to relax with you. For once.”
“I bought, uh, groceries”, he continues, when Ilya doesn’t answer, “so we don’t need to leave. Or, or not leave much.” God, he’s rambling. “If we don’t want to-”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
Obviously, Shane is aware that this was all his idea. He still remembers the night when the Admirals won the cup in such detail that he could probably go over it minutely if needed. The improbable, but oh so real, kiss that made his – their – entire universe shift. Of course Ilya had called him, then, what else were they supposed to do? Not acknowledge the enormity of this, of what it could mean for them?
“I’m coming to the cottage.”
Shane remembers the words, the urgency in Ilya’s voice, the decision being made. He also remembers how unsure he himself had suddenly felt. Because while Shane wanted Ilya to come with him to the cottage, show him his own private sanctuary, he couldn’t recall actually inviting him.
He remembers thinking about it, months ago. Before being out of the playoffs with his arm in a sling and a constant, dull ache in his body. Sometime after the All-stars in Tampa, around the time of the passing of Ilya’s father, the thought had tugged on his brain and showed up increasingly frequently even when they were apart.
Shane had had a plan. They were supposed to meet up after the first game they played against each other since Ilya had gotten back from Moscow, and Shane would kiss him, slowly, cup his face in his hands, and ask him. He could be brave enough to do that.
The plan was at the forefront of his mind when they had finally met for the face-off, Ilya’s smile making its way through every layer over Shane’s body and tugging at his heart. He’d felt giddy, and playful, and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him. Which was why, inevitably, he’d been hit with full force by Marlow just seconds later.
So, no meeting up with Ilya afterwards.
After the hit, most things had passed him by in a dream-like blur, where he couldn’t completely discern which conversations had been real, and which ones were conjured up by the pain medication he was (thankfully) on. He knew, after the fact, that Ilya had been there, mostly because the gentle touch of his hand across his freckled skin had felt too real not to be. And, because his mom had kept commenting on it afterwards.
So, yeah, he remembered Ilya coming to visit him in the hospital, remembered vaguely how indescribably happy he’d been to see Ilya’s face in the doorframe of his room, and wanting Ilya to be happy too. He did not, however, remember anything they’d talked about, and since they’d been alone, there wasn’t really anyone who could remind him. Shane had had no desire to relive that day, or anything about the injury, and he certainly didn’t want Ilya to relive any parts of it either. They just didn’t mention it, except for Ilya texting him asking how his headaches were.
He’d been out for the playoffs, doing physiotherapy and letting his parents fuss over him while trying to dodge their questions about having Rose over for a visit that summer. Then, the Admirals had won, and Scott had come out, all in one, inconceivable swoop.
“I’m coming to the cottage.”
Shane’s first thought had been that this was something Ilya had just decided to do, inviting himself purely as a reaction to what they’d both just witnessed, and, yeah, fair. Shane’s own thoughts had been racing, and then it had dawned on him, like remembering a dream hours after waking up – Shane had actually invited him.
Ilya had looked so, so sad that day in the hospital. Not in the way he’d looked when they’d facetimed for the first – but thankfully not last – time, but a sadness drenched in worry. Shane wanted to bring him close, preferably onto the hospital bed with him, cuddling and smiling and running his hands through Ilya’s curls until Ilya would smile at him properly again. He remembers dragging him closer, remembers Ilya’s gentle fingers ghosting over his cheek, the softness of the touch.
And then, a confession:
“You know, I had a whole plan to ask you something.”
He smiles at it now, suddenly filled with gratitude to his former, drugged up self, speaking his mind with no hesitation, without fear of being denied what he wanted the most.
And now, they were here, sharing the mundane task of driving through the Canadian countryside, and Shane lets out a small, happy sigh at the thought.
“I’m glad you’re here”, Shane replies, and finally lets himself look over at Ilya again, catching a glimpse of his private smile before refocusing on the sunlit road stretched out ahead of them.