Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Ottawa apartment was too quiet. There was no television murmuring in the background. No music from the kitchen. No clatter of skates being dropped by the door.

Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of traffic from the street below.

It was suffocating, swallowing him whole. The stillness was louder than any noise ever could be. 

He wanted to scream, to cry, to break something; anything to feel something other than this numb ache. But all he did was lie there, clutching the pillow like a lifeline, wishing for a way out of the storm inside.

Every breath felt borrowed.

Ilya curled tighter into the blankets, dragging a pillow against his chest and wrapping both arms around it.

It wasn’t Shane.

It wasn’t even close.

But it was something to hold onto.

He buried his face in the fabric anyway, breathing slow and shallow, like something small trying to hide where no one could reach him.

One of Shane’s hoodies rested on the chair in front of him. If he just had the energy, he would get up and put it on and wear Shane’s scent like armor against the emptiness. 

Or even better, and unfortunately less likely, Shane would walk through the door right now, and Ilya could crawl into his lap. Then, Shane would kiss him and make everything feel better.

What he wouldn’t give to be that close, if not closer. To reside in the same space as Shane’s heart and lungs instead of out in the open where these hollow feelings could easily find him.

He would trade everything away if he could have that, even for just a moment.

If only teleportation existed.

Ilya frowned.

He didn’t feel like this earlier. 

His morning was normal and manageable. Practice had gone fine. Nothing really remarkable or terrible occurred.

But on the way out of the rink, one of the assistants had made a passing comment about a missed play from the last game. Nothing harsh. Just a quick correction before tomorrow’s skate.

Ilya had nodded. Said he’d fix it.

Somehow, that one moment had followed him home, trailing after him as if a cat was dragging it along.

Now it replayed in his head on a loop, growing sharper every time. 

He should have covered the passing lane better. He screwed up. He’ll probably keep screwing up, and then eventually, they’ll regret acquiring him. They’ll realize he’s not worth it. Not now, when he’s like this. 

When they got like this, there was only one thing that ever helped. One thing, one person, that kept him afloat.

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture Shane. His chest ached. 

He thought about the little things first.

Shane’s crooked smile. The way his voice dropped when he was tired. The quiet laugh he tried to hide when something amused him more than he wanted to admit.

And his freckles.

God, those freckles.

He remembered one night in Montreal when things had gotten bad like this.

Shane hadn’t tried to fix anything.

He’d just sat beside him on the floor, shoulder pressed against Ilya’s, talking about absolutely nothing until the tightness in his chest loosened.

In these moments, Shane was like a lozenge, something sweet and herbal dissolving slowly on his tongue.

So, yes, thinking about him helped. Yet, somehow, it also made everything worse.

It only made him wish more and more that Shane was here. The memories he had of him could only do so much to tide him over.

His phone rested heavily in his hand. So heavy, in fact, Ilya half-imagined it boring a hole. It would make a dent and then eventually fall straight through his hand.

He had enough energy to grab it from the table. It was much closer to him than Shane’s hoodie, after all. Yet, there was still one problem: did he have enough to do what he really wanted to? Enough willpower?

Shane’s cover name sat at the top of the screen in his messaging app. 

Ilya typed.

‘Hey.’

He erased it and tried again.

‘Are you busy?’

Delete.

All he had to do was pick something and send it. And then, wait.

However, the thought of reaching out made his throat close up. It was like stepping off a cliff into the unknown.

Even though Shane had explicitly told him one day that Ilya wouldn’t be bothering him. He wondered. Ilya had this nagging thought that Shane was lying to be kind. That throwing all his problems onto him skewed Shane’s whole day in a way that would eventually make the Canadian resent him.

What if Shane was tired of hearing these same struggles? What if this time, the words didn’t come back with comfort, but with silence?

Besides, Shane was most definitely busy right now. He was on the move, traveling to Colorado for a game. According to his texts, his flight had taken off two hours ago. Or was it three? Either way, Shane had at least one hour to go before he and his team landed. Then, he’d have to deal with immigration, crowds and traffic. After that, the next few days would be all about the game.

The fear of being a burden twisted in his gut, tightening like a noose. He told himself to be strong, to hold on, but the strength felt brittle, cracking under the weight of loneliness. So instead, Ilya stayed frozen, caught between the desperate need for connection and the paralyzing fear of rejection.

He stared at the empty text box.

Then, the man turned his phone off and curled further into the couch. The screen was now face down, against the boucle cushions. Despite that, he still held onto it like a lifeline.

The room felt colder now, the shadows stretching long and deep as the day faded. He closed his eyes, trying to summon a calm that wouldn’t come.

The apartment was still too quiet. 

He told himself it wasn’t that bad.

That he was exaggerating.

That he could handle it.

None of that felt quite true.

But the other thought - the one whispering that everything was pointless - wasn’t quite true either.

Both possibilities pressed in on him from opposite sides, like cold waves crashing relentlessly against a fragile shore. 

He lay there stuck somewhere between the two.

There was a message Shane had sent him hours earlier that day: ‘Text me if it gets bad, okay? Don’t just sit there with it, please.’

The message was simple. Shane had probably typed it quickly between meetings or flights, barely thinking about it. But now that Ilya was staring at it, the words felt impossibly heavy.

Ilya didn’t respond then, he didn’t respond a few minutes ago, and he still might not now.

He should. He knew that.

But he was reminded of everything he feared.

And it all just… really sucked.

For months, Ilya had really been trying to manage the depression responsibly. He went to therapy. He kept the sleep schedule they had suggested. He forced himself to leave the apartment even on the bad days.

Most of the time, it worked.

Today it hadn’t.

Still, their lives had to go on.

The season had started weeks ago. 

Hockey consumed everything during the season. It was like that for both of them. They were absorbed in it. Practices or team skates in the morning, video review in the afternoon, endless travel between cities that blurred together until the airports all looked the same. Early buses. Late nights. The dull ache of bruises that never quite had time to heal before the next game.

It was the rhythm of their lives.

Ilya couldn’t drag him out of that.

He absentmindedly blew air out of his mouth, making his lips trill.

Asking for help should have been easy by now.

Shane had told him enough times.

But the words never came easily. They were caught on something rough inside his chest. It was like the door had been shut too long, the edges worn rough from disuse.

Even now, staring at Shane’s name on his phone, the hesitation sat heavy in his throat.

Because Shane couldn’t actually be here.

He couldn’t walk through the door, drop his bags, and fold Ilya into one of those quiet, grounding hugs that made the world settle again.

Shane cannot physically be his safe space right now.

Still, Shane felt like home. 

And home was a thousand miles away. 

Time slipped past without him noticing. The light outside the window shifted slowly toward evening, shadows stretching across the floor. The hum of the refrigerator came and went, and somewhere outside, a car door slammed.

Ilya stayed there, curled in the same spot on the couch. 

Finally, he sucked in a breath.

Okay, he told himself. Just do it. Get it done.

He had promised himself he would handle things better this time. That meant doing the hard parts too.

Slowly, Ilya unlocked his phone again. Ilya stared at the message box once more. His thumbs hovered over the screen. Finally, he bit the bullet and sent a message.

Lily:
Is bad today. Can you talk for a bit?

His reply was instant. 

Jane:
Yeah. I’m here. Flight landed not too long ago. We’re at baggage claim.

Lily:
Sorry. I know you’re busy.
You have a game in two days.

Jane:
You’re not bothering me. Talk to me.

Lily:
I don’t even know why it’s bad.
Nothing actually happened.

Jane:
Where are you right now?

Lily:
Couch.

Jane:
Blanket?

Lily:
Yeah.

Jane:
Okay.
Sit tight.
I’m here.
Want to call?

Lily:
You do not have to

Jane:
I want to.

Lily:
Then, this would be nice, yes.

Jane:
Okay.

Lily:
I wish you were here.

Jane:
Me too.

The phone rang only once before Ilya picked it up, like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for it. He put it on speaker mode.

Shane was the first to speak. “Hey, Ilyushka.”

Hearing his voice was like stepping into warm air.

“Hi,” he answered, hating how small his voice sounded.

“What’s going on?” Shane asked gently.

“I lied,” he said, tearing up. 

“About?”

“It started going bad at practice,” he explained, sniffling. “It was one little, insignificant comment. I-“

“But it doesn’t feel that way?” His partner guessed. 

“Exactly.”

The word came out sharper than he intended.

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face harder into the pillow. 

“Is stupid,” he muttered. “I know is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It is. Is one comment. Everyone gets corrections.”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed calmly. “But your brain grabbed it and decided it meant something bigger.”

Ilya let out a shaky breath and dragged a hand across his face. “Yes.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. He could hear people talking around Shane as they went about their days through the phone.

Then, Shane asked, “Have you eaten since practice?” 

Ilya knew his partner wouldn’t like the real answer. “…Maybe.”

“That sounds like a no.”

“I had, er, lemonade or something.”

“Lemonade is not food.”

“I know.” He frowned.

Shane sighed softly, but there was no irritation in it.

“Okay. We’ll worry about food in a bit.”

Ilya shifted under the blanket. “You are busy,” he said quietly.

“Ilya-“

“You just landed,” he continued. “You have game soon.”

“And right now I’m standing in the baggage claim area talking to you,” Shane said. “So clearly I had time.”

“I do not want to ruin rest of your day.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” his boyfriend countered.

“You say that.”

“I mean it.”

Ilya rubbed his face against the pillow he was clutching before murmuring, “You’ll get tired of this eventually.”

“Of what?”

“This.”

Shane was quiet for a second.

Then he said gently, “You calling me when you need help?”

“Yes.”

“Never, Ilya. Never.” His voice dropped slightly, more serious now. “That’s literally the opposite of the problem.”

Ilya frowned faintly. “What do you mean?”

“The problem is when you don’t call,” Shane said. “When you sit there alone and let your brain beat you up for three hours.”

Ilya’s lips pursed. “…It has not been three hours. That is... what is word? Prepos- pre-”

”Preposterous?”

”Yes.” Surely he hasn’t been on this couch for that long? 

Shane chuckled lightly. “How long, then?”

Ilya hesitated. “…Maybe two.”

“See?”

A reluctant huff escaped him. “Okay, fair.”

Shane’s tone softened again. “Talk to me about the comment.”

“I already did.”

“Tell me again. Walk me through what you were feeling.”

Ilya groaned quietly but obeyed. He explained what the assistant had said, the small correction about the passing lane. Then he tried to explain what it had turned into in his head.

It took a while. 

Ilya shifted upright against the couch arm without really thinking about it, the blanket slipping down around his waist.

The sentences came out clumsy and unfinished. He kept stopping halfway through thoughts, struggling to find words that didn’t sound ridiculous once they were spoken aloud. Shane stayed quiet on the other end of the line, letting him take his time.

Eventually, piece by piece, Ilya admitted the rest of it: the spiral, the certainty that one mistake meant more were coming, that eventually the team would realize they’d made a mistake bringing him here.

Saying it out loud made the thoughts sound smaller than they had in his head. But it also made him feel strangely exposed.

He hated that it had been so hard to say. Especially not with Shane. Not with the love of his life, who at the moment was also playing better hockey than he was.

And then, Shane didn’t criticize. Instead, he made a request.

“Can you do something for me?” Shane asked.

“What?” Ilya replied.

“Drink some water? It’ll help ease your nerves.”

He hoped his boyfriend would be able to tell that he was rolling his eyes when he responded, “…Maybe.”

“Ilya,” Shane said pointedly.

He huffed. “Fine.”

There was a rustle as Ilya reluctantly reached for the glass on the coffee table. He took a large sip. When he set it down again, it clacked against the table’s surface.

“Happy?” Ilya questioned, somewhat tersely.

“Extremely.” He wasn’t quite sure how, but he could tell that Shane was smiling.

“You’re insufferable.” Despite the content, the words held no insulting weight.

“And yet you called me.”

“Tragic mistake.”

Shane chuckled.

A comfortable silence followed.

For another minute, they just stayed on the line together.

Ilya could hear rolling suitcase wheels somewhere nearby and an announcement echoing through the space. 

His chest didn’t quite feel as tight anymore. 

Then Ilya said, a little hesitantly, “I think maybe I should get dog.” He adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, staring vaguely at the opposite wall.

Shane took a second to process the info. “That came out of nowhere.”

“No it did not.”

“It absolutely did.”

“Dogs help people with depression,” Ilya said defensively.

“They do.”

“And they force you to go outside.”

“Also true.”

“And they sit with you when things are bad.”

Shane hummed thoughtfully and said, “You’ve thought about this before?”

“A bit. Yes.”

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“I think it would help.”

“It probably would,” Shane said, exhaling. “You’d get something stubborn, I bet. Like you.”

Ilya scoffed. “Shane Hollander, very rude.”

“Accurate.”

“I would get a very dignified dog.”

“You would get a menace,” Shane corrected. “And then it would destroy your shoes.”

“I do not own that many shoes.”

“You own enough.”

Ilya huffed softly. The heaviness in his chest had eased just enough that the silence didn’t feel quite as crushing anymore.

After the call continued for a while longer, their conversation slowed. Neither of them seemed in a hurry to hang up.

Ilya pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders and listened to Shane breathe on the other end of the line. Sounds from the airport came through.

It wasn’t the same as having him here, but it was enough for the tight knot in Ilya’s chest to loosen.

And then, it was only when Shane absolutely had to get on his team’s transportation that they ended the call.

His phone dinged. There was another message.

Jane: Remember to eat, okay?

Ilya huffed out a small laugh. He replied with a quick ‘okay’ and a thumbs-up emoji.

His lips pursed. 

The apartment was quiet again. But it didn’t feel quite as empty. It wasn’t good. But it also wasn’t as bad as it had been an hour ago.

Ilya set the phone against his chest and pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

Shane was nearly halfway across the continent, and still took the time to call, to stay on the line as long as he could. 

And for tonight, that was enough.