Chapter Text
Shane Hollander saw a side of Ilya Rozanov that no one else got to see, the soft, loving, caring side, which Ilya reserved for when they were alone. He put on an aggressive front when he was in public. He figured that Shane knew what was beneath the surface and that’s all that mattered to Ilya, that the person he loved knew the real him. But, sometimes he got tired of keeping up the facade. He knew words were a powerful weapon. After all, his father and brother used their share of harsh vocabulary to emotionally abuse him for most of his life. Ilya just thought that he had built up a tolerance, that he was somehow immune to harsh comments.
He believed this until a reporter claimed that he had “gone soft” asking him, “what happened to the Rozanov they all knew and loved, the one that used to beat other players to a pulp on the ice and yell at his team to stop playing like girls” but you do not know me Ilya thought, I am not monster.
Ilya tried to remind himself, Shane made him better. Shane saw Ilya for who he was and still accepted him. But why won’t the hockey world do the same? He asked himself, making him ponder whether or not he was really always that harsh towards his team. Is that what people really think I am like? He wondered. He began questioning if he was really that angry and unhinged all the time. He even wondered whether he was even a decent hockey player or just a source of entertainment on the ice.
“Do you think this has anything to do with your relationship with Shane Hollander?”
“Have you ever let Hollander win a game?”
“Rozanov, you said that you would score 50 goals this season, you’ve only scored 20, care to comment on that?”
“You’ve talked about wanting to take your team to the playoffs this year, do you think that will still happen?”
Reporters kept jamming their microphones in his face, snapping photos and demanding that he answer their questions. It was all too much for Ilya, he couldn't hear himself think. “Interview is over,” Ilya announced, pushing his way through the crowd of angry reporters. All the journalists shouted at him to come back but he ignored them, slamming the door to the locker room in their faces as they crowded outside.
“Ilya!” Shane shouted up the stairs, hoping that his husband would come pick up all his gear that he left at the door when he came home after his game. He sighed, making the trek upstairs to their bedroom, his heart melting as he took in the sight in front of him. Ilya was curled up in bed, fast asleep, clinging to one of the many pillows on their bed. He cooed, brushing away a stray blonde curl that was in his eye, making him stir in his sleep. “Shane,” he mumbled, “go away, I am in shitty mood,” Shane flopped down onto the bed next to him, “what’s wrong moya lyubov?”
“Nothing’ Ilya swallowed his tears, letting out a shaky breath. “Wait, are you crying?” Ilya shook his head, “no, Russians do not do this” he sniffled. “You know you can talk to me?” Ilya rolled over, hiding his face in his pillow, “I do not want to talk about it” Shane frowned, “did something happen at the game? Did you get into a fight?” Ilya shook his head, “no, nothing like that.”
His husband sighed, “idiot reporter told me I had gone soft” Ilya mumbled, “well fuck him!” Ilya lifted his head from his pillow, looking up at his husband, “but he is right” Shane scrunched his eyebrows, “no he’s not, because he doesn’t know you, but I do” he said softly, wiping away some of his stray tears. Shane grabbed Ilya’s free hand, giving it a squeeze, “they ask about our relationship, they think because you are my husband I don’t play good anymore” he mumbled. “They want me to fight, they want me yell at team, they do not think I am anything if I don’t do this”
“Ilya, you are so much more than your reputation, who cares what a bunch of reporters think, their opinions don’t matter”
“Shane! I am not in the mood for pep talk” Ilya shouted, his breathing coming rapid and uneven, “oh Ilya, it’s all right, I’m here” Shane rubbed his hand up and down his husband's back, hoping to soothe him. “Deep breaths all right, breathe in for four, hold for seven, breathe out for eight” Shane repeated the mantra until Ilya’s breathing evened out. “Can you look at me please? I want to see your lovely face” Shane smiled, softly lifting Ilya’s chin up so he could look him in the eyes. “There you are,” he smiled, “fuck off, I look like shit” Ilya complained, wiping tears off of his cheeks. “Hey, stop being so mean to my husband” Shane frowned, “and by the way, you never look like shit, I always think you look beautiful" he added, giving Ilya a peck on the cheek.
Shane pulled Ilya into his arms, wrapping his arms around him, letting him nuzzle into the crook of his neck. “It’s ok to not be ok, I always want you to lean on me, you don't have to be strong all the time,” Shane said, wiping some tears from his boyfriend’s cheek with his thumb. “I am Russian, we do not share feelings” Shane frowned, “I promise, I want you to share your feelings with me, I’m not going to judge you”
“I know, I’m sorry, I did not want to worry you” Ilya over to his side of the bed, shoving his face into his pillow, letting out a sigh, opening his arms, “cuddle me” Shane’s eyes softened, “of course, sweetheart” he said softly. He felt Ilya relax the second he settled into his chest, feeling him slide his hands underneath his sweatshirt and settle around his waist. Shane smiled, “I love you” he said, cradling Ilya’s cheek in his hand, “I love you too” Ilya smiled, leaning in to press their lips together in a kiss.