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Troy never thought he'd get to be on a team that he loved again. Especially not a team that he loved and that won games. Not after everything with Toronto. He’d accepted his fate of being lonely and exiled, understood he had to repent for the part he played.
But then Ottawa happened. Harris happened.
And well, Troy can admit he’s not sure he truly knew what happiness was before. But he's happy now. He has people he loves and cares about. People who actually know him. People he has actually let know him, and in return learn about them.
It’s exciting, and sometimes scary, truly opening up to people. He’d always kept a part of himself hidden, even people he thought were his friends didn’t have the chance to be, because he never let them. Now, the Centaurs are a family. He trusts these people. He’s allowed to be exactly himself around them. He loves them.
Which is why he knows something is wrong with Ilya.
Ilya is a hard man to read on a good day. He’s often sarcastic and snappy. Chirping at anyone he has the chance to. More often than not, chirping even when no chance presents itself. But Troy knows Ilya is more than what he would like to portray to the world.
To those who don’t know him he comes across as uncaring and cocky. Skilled and blunt. People who know him, know better - but even then, few know the true Ilya. The one who would give the shirt off his own back to protect those he loves.
Meddling in everyone's lives with good intentions - ensuring everyone is happy and safe at the end of the day. Making sure they have a safe place to land. Ilya made the Centaurs a team. A family. He is unapologetically himself, and while Troy wouldn’t say he wears his heart on his sleeve necessarily. He looks out for people in a way Troy has never experienced before.
Which is why Troy knows there's something wrong with him now.
He’d been off as soon as he walked into the locker room. Troy was expecting it to a degree really. Shane was away for two days, doing press he couldn’t get out of for a brand he doesn’t even know. He expected Ilya to walk in mopey and animatedly sad. Talking about Shane like he’s gone away to war and abandoned him - not like he’s in New York for 2 days and due back tomorrow morning.
This is different though.
Ilya looks terrible.
Glassy eyes and red nose, coughing into his sleeve but trying to pretend he is not. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone when he walked in and when Dykstra played a country song he didn’t even blink.
Something is very wrong.
Now he’s just standing by his locker, looking pale and queasy. Like he’s unsure what he’s supposed to do next.
Troy sits at his own bench in the locker room on the other side, examining his captain as the man glares into his cubby like it has offended him. Troy can see the sheen on his forehead and mouth twisted in pain.
“Barret! You good?” Troy is snapped out of his thoughts when Bood shoves him in the shoulder. He turns to where Bood and Wyatt are both staring at him. Clearly they’d been trying to get his attention for some time.
“Yeah.” Troy thinks about it for only a moment before he turns to them fully. “Roz isn’t though.”
That gets their attention. Any kind of gossip about their captain often does, but it only takes a minute for them to go from surprised to concerned.
Wyatt and Bood are good guys, they get it. They know. Also Ilya looks like shit. He’s surprised more people haven’t picked up on Ilya's vibe already.
“Shit. Yeah he doesn’t look good.” Wyatt agrees after studying the man for barely a moment.
Ilya is just standing there now, glaring at his duffle bag. Staring at his wooden cubby like it has wronged him.
“You should say something.” Bood turns to Troy.
“What?” Troy demands. “Why me?”
“Because you're his best friend.” Bood states like it’s obvious. Wyatt also nods and Troy frowns. Him and Rozanov are not best friends. They’re friends. Sure, Ilya was his first like proper friend, probably. Kent doesn't count anymore. Ilya was the first person he came out to, obviously. That's probably something fairly big. And right, Ilya comes to dinner at Harrirs parents sometimes and they hang out, play video games. They take Anya and Harris’s dogs for a walk together sometimes. But, like.
Shit.
Okay. Maybe Ilya is his best friend.
Troy feels like a bit of an idiot for just figuring that out. Harris will absolutely laugh at him later.
“God damn it.” Troy mumbles standing up and shooting at glare at his team mates.
He has to say something.
Ilya is still glaring at his duffle bag when Troy approaches warily. He can be like this, sometimes. When Hollanders not around. Ever since he joined the team Ilya has been lighter - still annoying most of the time. More really.
But he's different. More carefree. Understood.
But when Shane's away, like now doing some weird press commitment in New York for a few days, Ilya is usually pretty volatile. Sad, but refuses to admit it, so he usually gets on everyone's nerves even more than usual.
He's never this quiet.
“Hey Roz.” Ilya jumps, not hearing him approach which is already such a red flag. “You okay?”
Ilya looks him up and down, clear confusion on his face. He must spot Troy's sympathetic look though, because it goes hard quickly. Defensive. “Fine.” He clips.
They stare at each other for a moment. It’s not like he thought Ilya would say anything else really, but Ilya isn’t one to fill the silence. So they just stare at each other, for a beat. Ilya daring Troy to say something else.
Troy, has a death wish apparently, because he continues.
“It’s just, you seem a bit, unwell?” He almost whispers the last part and grimaces as he says it.
Ilya looks at him like he’s grown another head. “I am not unwell. I am well. Fine.” He snaps. Much more aggressively than he needs to.
“Right.” Troy says slowly, in disbelief. “It’s just, you don't seem…”
Troy doesn’t get the rest of his sentence out because Ilya looks at him with total and complete irritation, a look Troy would have probably been afraid of two years ago.
“Barret. Leave.”
Right. Troy can take the hint.
He walks back to Wyatt, Bood and now Harris who has joined them, with his tail between his legs. To their credit they are looking very conspicuously as they inspect their skates, while Harris swipes far too animatedly on an Ipad to actually be doing anything other than trying to ease drop.
“That didn’t go well?” Wyatt asks, when he's sure Ilya is ignoring them.
Harris puts a hand on his shoulder as he thumps down on the chair defeated, he nuzzles his cheek into the warm hand. “Yeah went really well, he's going to go home to rest and everything.”
“Really?” Bood asks.
“No.” Troy deadpans. Fucking idiot.
“What's wrong with him do you reckon?” Wyatt asks. Eyeing the captain down.
“The flu is going around.” Harris says uneasily. He always keeps track of these things closely, it's not like his heart can't handle it. But it's best to be aware. Troy squirms either way.
“He can't play with the flu.” Bood says. “Despite what he thinks, he's not actually invincible.”
Troy doesn't think he's going to get as far as playing with the flu. He'll be lucky if he doesn't pass out on the ice from the way he’s swaying slightly.
“Alright. Plan B.” Wyatt declares as he pulls out his phone and starts typing away aggressively.
Troy peaks over and sees he has Shane's contact open. It takes barely 30 seconds before he gets a reply. Wyatt types again and then clicks his phone off before Troy has the chance to see what was written, staring at Ilya. The four of them watch closely as their Captain looks like he might genuinely collapse on the spot. It looks like staying upright is challenging and practice is going to be a nightmare.
They don't hear the phone buzz, but they see the way Ilya eyes his phone sitting on the bench in front of him. It lights up aggressively. The Russian frowns down for a moment, clearly trying to process what's going on, before snapping up at their group. Troy winces when he knows they've been caught staring.
Despite clearly being unwell, Ilya continues to glare at them.
“You tattle on me to Hollander?” Ilya demands and Troy puts up his hands in innocence. He wasn't the one that tattled.
A quick glance to his left tells him Wyatt is not looking as innocent, but he's going with a more of a try me I'll do it again type look. Ilya clearly isn't impressed, but stops glaring at them to answer the phone.
“What?” He snaps unkindly. They can't hear the other side of the phone, but Ilya is short and down right rude to Shane on the other end. Troy would never talk to Harris like that, even if he was sick and embarrassed. But Shane and Ilya have never been normal around each other. So Troy isn't exactly surprised.
The phone call ends quickly and with a quick glare at the group, Ilya shoves his training shirt over his head and mumbles angrily in Russian, before exiting the locker room towards the ice rink. Storming off.
“That went, not well, I’m guessing.” Harris cringes.
Wyatt pulls out his phone as it buzzes.
Shane: How sick is he really?
Wyatt: pretty sick tbh. I don't think he should be on the ice.
Shane: ok. I’m calling play B
Troy frowns at the phone, reading Wyatt's replies. Bood snorts. “What exactly was Plan A?”
Troy doesn't know. But he doesn't really want to know what plan B is either.
Practice isn't ideal.
Troy tried to keep an eye on Ilya as they skated around, watching the man clearly push himself in ways he shouldn't be. Slowing down on drills he'd usually be able to do with his eyes closed. Turning to cough violently into his arm. Nobody approaches him about it, because every time someone even looks at him with sympathy they're met with either a glare or sharp word. Ilya is usually chirpy, sometimes bordering on taking a joke too far, but today he's down right mean and grumpy.
He knows some of the rookies are a bit put off, not necessarily offended but close enough. Ilya can sometimes be a bit much, but he's usually the guy they can go to if they have a question or need help. They know they can turn to him when they need something.
Today they avoid him like the plague.
Everyone else just watches him warily, ready to catch him if he falls and probably wanting to knock some sense into him.
Shane would be able to pull him in, but Shane's not here. Really, if Shane was, Ilya wouldn't even be at practice. There's no way Shane would let Ilya out of his sight if he'd known he was this sick. Despite Ilya's aggression on the phone before, everyone knows how down bad Ilya is for his husband and everyone knows how insane Shane is about everything Ilya Rozanov. He would have easily caved when Shane insisted he rest.
Troy wonders if that's half the reason he's here, pushing himself so hard. Trying to ignore how actually sad he is about the whole thing. It would take their codependency to a new height, but Troy wouldn't be surprised.
So instead Ilya skates around and everyone watches him while trying to look like they're not watching him in case they get yelled at. But also ready to help if he collapses.
Overall, practice is not going well. Everyone is so out of sync and on edge, Troy's sure Wiebe is about to pop a vein.
“Fucking idiot.” Wiebe mutters as Troy takes a seat on the bench, he'd hurt his shoulder last game and is taking it easy this training in order for it to heal. From the sideline he has the privilege of watching their coach mutter about useless idiot men who think they can outrun the flu, and a full show of how wobbly Ilya truly is on skates. He also has Harris leaning against the board and breathing in his space. So at least that's something.
“Do you think he'll make it?” Harris asks, leaning over and resting his chin on Troy's shoulder. Troy leans back onto him grateful for the grounding contact. Troy's not sure if he means through practice or in general. He’s honestly not sure about either. He’s either going to get sick on the ice and embarrass himself, or someone's going to clock him by accident.
Or on purpose if he doesn’t improve his tone.
The Centaurs are nice, but even these boys have their limit on how much they can take.
Before he can comment on it. Two things happen. Ilya lets out a round of particularly nasty coughing that has Luca visibly recoiling from him, and a loud metal door slams shut straight after. Troy and Harris both turn towards the entrance as high heels click along the cement ground with purpose. They hear the noise before they see the accompanying woman, perfectly styled brunette hair coupled with a cardigan that looks expensive and an expression to match. Elegant, is what Troy's own mother would use to describe the woman. Classy, clearly and objectively beautiful, if Troy was into older women. Or women in general.
She looks familiar as she makes her way down to them, but Troy can't quite place her. Harris clearly can't from his expression either. Coach Wiebe however sighs dramatically as she approaches. A kind, yet tired smile on her face.
“Coach.” She greets pleasantly, she acknowledges Troy and Harris with a smile but her attention turns to the ice looking for someone.
“Mrs Hollander.” Coach grunts out. Arms crossed over his chest.
Shane's Mom.
That's why she seems familiar. She is. Troy's even met her in passing at a few events. Shane hasn't been on the Centaurs long though, and there's only been a few crossover events.
Realistically though, he probably recognises Yuna most from Ilya's instagram. He's often at their house for dinner, doing a puzzle with David or going for a walk with Yuna. Troy hasn't really thought about it before. Hasn’t put much thought into that relationship. He just knows it's where Roz spends all his time when he’s not with Shane or the Centaurs.
Which means he hasn't really thought about Ilya or his own parents. Troy swallows nervously as he watches Ilya fumble on the ice. Refusing help from one of the rookies and snapping.
“Yuna.” She corrects Coach.
Yuna is plan B, it dawns on Troy. When Shane realised he couldn't do anything, he called his Mom.
Weiber grunts. “You know your son is in New York doing some promo thing he couldn't get out of, apparently, instead of practice.” His tone indicates that he doesn't really care though.
“Of course. I organised it.” Yuna snorts. “But I'm here for my favourite son.”
The way she says favourite is full of teasing and love. Troy can hear it. The way she looks at him is soft.
“You mean the idiot that's about to collapse on my ice? Or throw up a lung? The one who won't listen to reason? That favourite son?” Unfortunately for Wiebe, concern leaks through his tone underneath the frustration.
They all spot Ilya on the other side of the ice, all wobbly and glassy eyed. You can see the sweat on his forehead from here. Troy would bet his new life he has a fever.
He watches Yuna's face soften even more. She bites her lip thoughtfully. “You know what he's like. It's hard for him.”
The words cut through Troy in a way he wasn't expecting. Because he's never really thought about what it must be like for Ilya. He's been so caught up in his own grief and trauma that when he pulls his head out of the sand for 5 seconds he can recognise pretty quickly it must be really hard for Ilya to accept help offered to him.
When has he ever asked for help? Who would he have even asked before the Centaurs?
Troy somehow knows a lot of things about Ilya and barely anything of substance.
Troy thinks about it quickly and he feels a churning in the pit of his stomach. His mom died when he was 12. Moved from Russia when he was 18 to a country with a language he barely spoke. A team that was fierce but cold. Troy doesn't know much about his father but he knows when someone's had a shit father. Ilya has alluded to enough. He doesn't speak to, or of, his brother. Troy only knows about him from passing passive aggressive comments.
He had Shane, sure but it was a secret for fucking years.
Who the hell has Ilya ever had before now?
Troy knows what it's like keeping such a big part of yourself hidden, it encompasses more than just your sexuality. It takes over your whole life and nobody truly knows you. You can't trust anyone.
Troy looks at Yuna looking on fondly, yet concerned.
Does Ilya now trust Yuna? Does he have people he can trust? Be vulnerable around?
Coach Wiebe does seem genuinely worried. Like he's already considered all that. Considered that underneath their Captain's cocky exterior, he’s probably a very misunderstood and lonely kid who isn’t about to admit he’s sick and needs help. Something he’s probably never done before.
“Well, are you going to be able to talk reason into him?”
Yuna tilts her head to the side as they watch Ilya snap at Young for getting in his way. To the rookie's credit he skates away quickly, despite the fact that Ilya collided with him.
“I'm going to try.” She shrugs and comes right up to the boards leaning against it, trying to catch Ilya's eye. It takes a few moments, he's muttering about something, no doubt in Russian, before he glances their way. He clearly does a double take, not expecting to see his mother in law waving sweetly at him.
Troy tries not to grimace as he shares a look with Harris.
This will be interesting. Ilya has snapped at every well meaning person he's come in contact with today.
Surely Yuna is about to get the same treatment.
They watch as Ilya takes in the scene. His brows narrow down, he skates their way slowly.
“Yuna, what are you doing here? Shane is in New York.” There's a clip to his tone, but it's not nearly as rude as Troy would expect the Ilya Rozanov to be. He stands straight though and skates slowly so as to not give away how truly awful he feels. Troy can see the guard he has had up all practice become more enforced, even if he loves Yuna he’s not willing to let this crumble easily. It's almost like he realises the need to strengthen it. That he will need to convince her he is fine. Everyone else he could probably just yell at, Yuna is not the same.
“I was just around the area, thought I'd pop in to see you!” Yuna shrugs, unconvincingly to everyone.
Troy's like 80% sure she doesn't live anywhere near here.
Ilyna frowns as he skates over to them, keeping about a foot between him and Yuan, rolling his eyes. “The rink is not just in your area.”
Yuna shrugs and ignores that. “How are you feeling?”
Ilya's eyebrows deepen, gripping his stick tightly. He chooses his words carefully. “Hollander should not have bothered you.” He snaps. Although Troy has heard Ilya snap many times at people, this one lacks heat. This one has a worried edge to it. Like he might not be able to shove Yuna off as easily as everyone else. She won’t be deterred easily.
She won’t give up.
Troy would bet a lot that Ilya was banking on the fact he could just ignore everyone and get on with his day. That nobody would try to push enough to truly get to the bottom of his illness. That even if they were concerned they would let him deal with it on his own if he was rude enough.
Troy turns to Harris who is watching the pair play out in front of him. He leans back and whispers. “How much do you wanna bet Ilya doesn't win this?”
Harris huffs a snort. “Against momanger Yuan Hollander who has taken on some of the richest sponsorship's in Hockey and won? Yeah, I'm not taking that bet.”
He reckons there's very little that will be able to stop Yuna Hollander, and Ilya's attitude is certainly not one of them. He's heard the stories when she became Ilya's manager. Ripping through some of the most powerful men in Hockey, people who took advantage of his English and had him sign shitty contracts when he was young and naive.
Ilya's guarded attitude will be of little challenge to her.
“He was just worried.” Yuna admits lightly. She leans forward, like she wants to check him closer. Like she can check if he has a fever with just her eyes. “Are you okay?”
Ilya clearly is fighting an internal battle, Troy can see it on his face. He wants to snap or yell or dismiss everyone's concern and go hide. But he won't be rude to Yuna. Shane's mom. His mother in law.
Troy wonders what that's like, for someone like Ilya. He knows Ilya has formed a relationship with Shane's parents. A bond. But how tricky is that relationship after what's happened to him.
Troy would do anything for his own mother, and often when it's tough he just wants her. No matter how old he gets, or irrational, the train of thought is.
How does Ilya do it?
Sympathy courses through Troy. He hadn't really thought about it before if he was being honest. But watching Ilya stand there, almost wary of Yuna's intentions, kills something in Troy. Ilya is a grown man, an adult. But he looks lost, standing there sick, willing everyone to just leave him alone when he clearly needs help.
Troy wonders if he has any idea how to ask for it.
“I'm fine. I've told everyone I'm fine. Why does not one believe this?” Ilya says clearly frustrated.
“Well,” Harris starts but Wiebe cuts in.
“Fine, don't cough and splutter all over my damn ice!”
Ilya at least has the decency to look kind of sheepish through his glare.
Yuna takes pity on him and leans forward a bit. “Can I just see if you have a temperature?”
Ilya eyes her hands warily and skates back a little to ensure he stays out of reach. “Absolutely not. I am fine.”
Yuna sighs, like she expected that. She leans backwards, and looks behind her to Troy and Harris. “Well, that's fine. You can finish practice.”
“The fuck he can.” Weiber mutters but Yuna ignores him.
“I'll just have a chat with Troy and…” Yuna doesn't know Harris's name. Troy didn't even know she knew his name. But he does remember Ilya saying offhandedly that Yuna is more obsessed with hockey than Shane. If she knows him from reputation alone that's not good.
“Harris.” Troy supplies. “My boyfriend.” He adds because he's insane. But he wants her to know he’s a good guy, with a boyfriend!
Yuna smiles warmly at them anyway. “Of course. Harris, the social media guy!” She turns back to Ilya, “You go back to practice and I will have a chat with Troy and Harris about hockey. Maybe what they got up to on the weekend? I can tell them all about how we watched The Notebook together.”
She says it innocently enough, but Ilya frowns at her. Like he knows what she's doing.
Oh wow. Fuck. Troy is in the presence of actual royalty. Yuna is not only a hockey genius, but she's an Ilya Rozonov whisperer. Nobody stands a chance against this woman because she knows exactly what buttons to press.
He watches as complicated emotions take over his face and his lip twitches. It's like Yuna is an off button or something.
“I am not embarrassed I cry at Notebook. It is emotional.” Ilya says, determined to not be embarrassed by the looks of it. Troy doubts the flush climbing his face is all fever though.
Troy can feel Harris tense behind him. He knows his boyfriend wants to gush about how cute that is.
“Of course not.” Yuna agrees. Because she's smart. “I’m just going to chat to the boys. You have nothing to worry about Ilya. You don't have any embarrassing secrets.” and she winks at him.
Troy is certain Ilya is about to explode.
She takes a seat next to Troy on the bench and Troy holds his breath in anticipation. Ilya looks conflicted. Which only makes Troy burn with curiosity.
“Or we could just go home? Skip practice and have some soup?” Yuna offers an ultimatum.
Troy watches Ilya and Yuna have a complicated stare off before Ilya throws his hands up in the air dramatically.
“You Hollanders and your emotional blackmail.” Ilya skates off muttering more things in Russian. He also collides with Hayes and then yells at him.
God today is something.
Troy looks to Yuna who is grinning, like she hasn't just pissed off the Ilya Rozanov.
“Oh I won't tell any embarrassing stories about him. You don't need me to tell you Ilyas a softie at heart.” Yuna assures Troy. Patting his knee. It feels very maternal. “I was hoping he wouldn't see through the bluff and he'd just come home though.” She sounds disappointed.
“I don't think he thought it was a bluff, I think he's just stubborn.” Harris admits, clearly impressed.
Yuna nods in agreement. “Probably. Poor boy. He looks run off his feet.”
They watch as he collides with a few more players, sputtering out angry Russian and refusing to give them eye contact. Like if he wills it hard enough Yuna will just go away.
Troy worries about Ilya, but Harrris takes the opportunity. “So Yuna, anything you'd like to say for Instagram?”
She barks out a laugh.
They only sit and chat for 15 minutes before Ilya's fate is sealed. Yuna is good on her word and refuses to embarrass Ilya while he can't defend himself, although her reservations aren't as strict about Shane. When she's in the middle of a story about when Shane was 7 and refused to take off his hockey uniform, that Harris is delighted to hear, they hear a commotion from the ice.
Wiebe is storming the ice with his whistle yelling while Ilya is trying to get himself up off the ground while coughing.
“Thats it Rozanov you're done. Off the ice and out of my sight. Bood, Hayes. Get him out of here.” Wiebe looks more mad than Troy's ever seen him before.
“Coach.” Ilya tries again through coughing.
“Boy, you are no good to us if you have a pneumonia. Go home.” He says it kindly, but sternly. No room for negotiation.
Ilya stares him down. Clearly trying to think of a rebuttal but gives the tiniest nod instead. He must be tired. Plus he's not stupid. He knows when he's done. His fight would be futile now. Not with Wiebe and Yuna on the sideline, ready to pounce. Troy's glad Ilya seems to have some self preservation skills.
He tries to skate away with some dignity but he loses footing quickly. Wyatt and Bood are instantly at his sides, helping him over to where Troy, Yuna and Harris are watching anxiously.
Bood and Wyatt heave the Russian on to the bench next to Troy and Yuna is quick into Mom Mode. Pushing back his curls and looking at his pupils. Troy watches as Ilya leans into the touch.
He clearly trusts Yuna, or he is just really sick.
“Hes burning up.” Wyatt tells her and she nods, clearly feeling it on his cheeks. Troy bends down and helps him out of his skates and uniform.
“Am fine, Yuna.” Ilya tries again, but this time it's weak and pitiful. Troy's not sure what's worse, an Ilya pretending his fine and wrecking himself, or a defeated sad Ilya.
Yuna hums noncommittedly. “Come on sweetie. Let's get you home.”
Watching Ilya Rozonov be called sweetie and lean against the petite woman is clearly the contrast to everything he knows about Ilya. But it’s also not, because Yuna is right. They don’t need her to tell them that Ilya is secretly a big softie at heart. They already know this.
Ilya tries to stand on his own but stumbles until Yuna sneaks under his arm and helps him stay upright. They walk to the locker room slowly.
“Get better Rozzy.” Bood calls out.
He gets the middle finger for his troubles. Ilya is still there somewhere.
“Everyone back to practice.” Wiebe blows the whistle in Wyatt's face, making him jump.
Everyone goes back on the ice, except where Troy and Harris sit back down watching Ilya and Yuna disappear behind the door.
“Do you think he'll be okay?” Harris asks.
“He's in good hands.”
Ilya Rozanov is not afraid of anyone. Let the record show that. He may have been afraid of one person, his father. But that man is dead. Good riddance. Ilya is fearless. Heights are scared of him. Spiders keep their distance.
Ilya is certainly not afraid of Yuna Hollander.
Not one bit.
For obvious reasons, he knows she would never harm him. She means him well. That he is certain of.
He may however, slightly, be wary of her good intentions.
Maybe.
The car ride home had been silent, Ilya wasn't embarrassed about how training went down. Because Russians do not get embarrassed. But, it wasn't his finest moment. He knows he reacted poorly to Troy's well meaning concern, and then snapped at everyone, especially the rookies.
But they wouldn't leave him alone. And Ilya is used to being left alone.
In the end, it was all for nothing. Because he literally got carted off the ice and sent home anyway. His dignity took a massive hit. He'll probably have to apologise at some point.
Not while his head is literally pounding though and his throat feels like sandpaper.
When they reach his house Yuna lets herself in and Ilya follows behind somberly.
He is about to open his mouth, thank her for getting him from practice and tell her she can go home, when she turns to him and looks sternly. “Do you want to set up on the couch or your bedroom?”
Ilya feels like the loading screen on a computer as the words don't process in his head.
“What?”
“Do you want to set up on the couch, in front of the TV or do you want to be in your bed? Shane always liked the lounge room because he got lonely when he was sick, although he'd never say it. But you might want to lay in your bed. Either way you need to be horizontal ASAP.” Her hands are on her hips but her words are soft.
Oh. Well. Ilya usually likes to rot on the couch, it feels slightly less depressive than his room. But now he doesn't want her to think he's lonely.
Ilya has never let the term take up space in his life. He's never allowed it to take traction.
Because of course he's lonely. He's been alone since he was 12.
He can't tell Yuna that though.
“Ilya.” She presses when he doesn't answer.
“Couch.” He mumbles. Yuna smiles like she's won something and Ilya tries not to feel good that he's made her happy with the right choice.
“Okay. Let's make a plan.” Yuna gets straight to business. “Go and get some comfy pj's to change into. Then we'll set you up on the couch. Blankets, thermometer, meds, food, hydration. Maybe a doctor if we need it.”
“No doctors,” he says.
“Let's see what your temperature is first.” Yuna negotiates. “Do you need help?” She gestures to the bedroom and Ilya would really like to make a sarcastic or potentially mean comment, but he refrains and simply shakes his head and walks to his room.
He doesn't love the small smirk she sends his way, like she can see straight through him.
Sick, Ilya already feels like an exposed nerve, vulnerable. He hates it.
Around Yuna. He loves her. He truly does. But he can not remember the last time someone looked after him when he was ill. Especially not a mother.
Ilya has lent into the Hollander family. Embracing their kindness and love. But he's always been very aware of what's going on. Not guarded, but able to navigate what he needs when things get tough or vulnerable. With his head fuzzy that feels difficult, a vulnerability he's not sure he can handle.
He thinks he has to tell her this. He knows she wouldn't take advantage of his state, but she'd want to know if he was uncomfortable. Shane would be upset if he didn’t say something, and he hated making Shane upset when he could fix it with something as easy as talking.
In theory, at least.
Ilya gets changed quickly into soft sweat pants and one of Shane's stupid expensive soft t-shirts. It smells like his husband and the first time since he left he allows himself to really miss Shane. Usually he misses him always, he is obvious in that sense. But because he wasn't feeling well, he didn't think he could handle it. So he tried his best not to think about it, one foot in front of the other and refused to think about how all he wanted was to curl up in his husbands arms.
Obviously, that hadn't worked well for him. Instead it made him even more moody and snappy, and Troy is probably mad at him and he scared the rookies. Ilya's head hurts and now he feels guilty.
He walks out with more confidence than he feels, ready to thank Yuna but be honest with her. Not sure he can handle this kind of attention while unwell. It's probably best if he's just left alone in this state. He doesn't want to drag anyone down with him.
The couch set up stops him. She's found his blankets and spare pillows, piled them on the couch to basically make a nest. His water bottle is on the table, along with a purple Gatorade, assortments of vitamins and medicines, snacks from sliced oranges to dry toast and a thermometer.
Many things that Ilya is certain he doesn't own.
“Where did you get all this?” He asks.
Yuna looks up from where she's fluffing the pillows and smiles. “Oh, on my way to the stadium. When Shane said you weren't feeling well I figured you wouldn't have this kind of stuff.”
She bought this before she even saw him. Based on what Shane text her. Did Shane even ask her to look after him? Or just that he was unwell, and he knew his mother would go above and beyond for him.
It's all too much and Ilya can't help how his eyes become blurry. His cheeks wet.
Instantly she's in his space, pulling him in for a hug. He latches on to her, allows himself to relish in her comfort. Something he doesn't usually allow himself but he holds on tightly. Just for a moment.
“Oh, Ilya. I'm sorry. It's okay. I'm sorry.” She's shushing him with gentle words and Ilya buries his face in her neck.
“No. It's okay. Thank you. For being so, thoughtful” He pulls away and she cups his face, looking far too deep into his soul. He feels stupid and exposed, and awful. He is so sick.
“I'm sorry. I know this is a lot. You must really be feeling sick, yeah?” She's letting him open up, giving him an option for honesty. He takes the cowards way and nods slightly.
“I feel bad.” He confesses. “I will not be good patient. You should not stay.”
She looks at him with far more love than he can handle. “Ilya you could be the worst patient in the world, and I wouldn’t care. I want to help you feel better. Is that okay?”
Ilya takes a moment to nod. It’s hardly the conversation they need to have, but it’s all he has the energy for. Besides, despite just wanting to be alone and wallow in his own self pity, deep down he really doesn’t want her to go.
She smiles and guides him to the couch, tucking him in like a little kid. He feels ridiculous but also so loved.
First she takes his temperature, which she tuts at and says is high, but probably not high enough for a doctor yet. She gives him many different tablets to swallow, which are awful on his throat but manages. Then she offers him toast, and he nibbles on a few pieces before handing it back.
She seems like she wants to press, but leaves it for now.
Instead she takes a seat next to him, her laptop settled on the other side. She seems to be here for the long haul.
“What do you like to watch when you're sick?” She grabs the remote.
He shrugs, burying himself deeper into his cocoon. “Reality TV mostly.” He confesses. He thought Yuna and David would be too smart for reality TV. Yuan and her elegance, David and his New Yorker. Too good for people yelling at each other on the TV. Thank god they are not. Ilya loves a stupid show.
“Have you ever seen the Australian Married at First sight?” Yuna turns to him, an excited gleam in her eyes.
He has not. “People get married?” he asks, confused.
Yuna's eyes light up. “To strangers. Apparently it's carnage.”
He smirks. “We must try this carnage.” She pats his knee over the blanket excitedly and he can feel her warmth as she clicks through the channels looking for the show.
They watch two episodes before Ilya's eyes get heavy and he falls asleep. But he does need to keep watching these bizarre people.
He wakes up much later disoriented, to voices in the kitchen.
Yuna's voice. Speaking behind him. She's on the phone. He blinks awake, untangling himself from blankets which have clearly been tucked around him. It feels like a warm straight jacket. He feels far too hot, but not as bad as when he was on the ice. His throat is scratchy and sore, as well as his head but the medicine has made a difference as well as some rest. Funny that. He’ll make sure not to admit that to Shane when he tells him I told you so.
“Yes, he's okay. He still has a fever but it's not getting worse.”
Silence, someone on the other end speaking.
Yuna scoffs. “I have one of those thermometers where you zap their forehead and it tells their temperature.”
Again, someone speaks.
“Well I bought one. In case I needed to check. It's for children. Babies I think.” Yuna admits, a bit sheepishly this time.
Ilya sits up and turns around. “Did you zap me while I slept?”
Yuna jumps, startled to find Ilya awake and staring at her over the couch, curls astray from sleep. She looks caught for a second before she rolls her eyes. Clocking that he's teasing her.
“He's awake now. And a comedian. Did you want to speak to him?” Yuna asks the phone.
Yuna hands the phone over and Ilya gives her a cheeky smile. She ruffles his hair affectionately before going back to the kitchen to give them privacy.
“Ilya?” Shane's voice on the other end sounds concerned.
“You tattled on me to your mother.” Ilya forgoes hello. He was annoyed at Shane when he called trying to tell him what to do from New York, and annoyed at Troy for telling him. But he's not stupid. He knows this comes from a place of love.
Annoying overbearing love that he's not used to maybe. But love he can recognise nonetheless.
And they were both right. Which is even more annoying.
Shane barks a laugh. “All I did was tell her you were sick and at training. When you shouldn't have been.” His tone is teasing but underlining chastise.
Ilya frowns, staring at the TV. “You knew she would come kidnap me.”
“She didn't kidnap you. She loves you. Everyone loves you. You shouldn't have snapped at everyone.” He reprimands lightly.
Ilya fiddles with the blanket. Of course they told Shane. “I know. I will apologise.” He feels bad about it. Even if he still feels sick and warranted.
“i know you will.” Shane says easily, like he knows Ilya feels bad and always had the intentions to make it right. “The team aren't mad anyway. Check the group chat.”
Ilya groans and finds his phone hidden in the couch cushions. He has many messages in the group chat. From when he left the rink, wishing him well and to get better. Then Shane sent a picture. Which is very unlike Shane really, he barely participates in group chats. However, It's a picture of him, sleeping on the couch, curled up in blankets. He looks ridiculous.
After that Ilya doesn't read the replies. He doesn't need to.
“Why?” Is all Ilya asks with a heavy sigh. But he knows why. Probably payback from the many photos Ilya posts of his husband sleeping on instagram. Yuna is the true culprit for taking the photo in the first place though. What a traitor.
“Mom sent it to me. Was too cute not to share.”
“Fuck you Hollander. Stay in New York forever.”
“I'm sorry I'm not there.” Shane says instead of retaliating. Because Shane knows him better than anyone.
“Better Hollander is here to look after me anyway.” Ilya says sulkily.
Fuck he misses Shane so much he might cry. Stupid flu.
Shane takes pity on him. “How is it? It's not too much?”
“Your mother could never be too much.”
“Thats not what I mean.”
Ilya knows what he means but he doesn't really want to talk about it. “It's fine. She's nice. Kind. Too kind. I am terrible patient.”
“She said you were sweet.” Shane says just to get a rise out of him.
“Russians are not sweet.”
“She said your curls were adorable. And you were muttering in your sleep.”
Ilya doesn't blush. But if he did.
“Hollander, I will never have sex with you again.”
“Can we not talk about sex and my mother in the same sentence please?”
“You started it.”
“Are you sure you're okay? I'll be home tomorrow morning.”
“I am fine. In good hands, as they say.”
There's silence for a beat. Ilya knows Shane is trying to think of the right words. “She loves you, you know. She wants to be there looking after you. She would have even if I didn't ask.”
Ilya doesn't say anything, he's not sure what to say. Not without cracking open, and he’s not ready for that. Not when his head still hurts.
“I miss you.” Shane says instead when it's clear Ilya isn't ready to respond.
“I miss you too.”
“Okay, put my Mom back on.”
“Why?”
“I've got to tell her to take more embarrassing photos, and tell her how to get you to go to sleep when you're being fussy.”
Ilya raises an eyebrow suggestively even though Shane can't see. “Hollander, I don't think your Mom should be doing that.”
“Ew no you pervert.” Shane is horrified and Ilya is delighted. “Don't be gross she's my Mom. She does Mom things.”
Mom things, Ilya thinks weakly.
“I love you.” Ilya replies instead through the lump in his throat.
“I love you too.” Shane replies.
Ilya calls for Yuna and hands her back the phone. She talks to Shane over him, while running her fingers through his curls. It's soothing the motion. He allows her voice to wash over him calmly as she speaks to Shane. No doubt Shane is giving his mother a list of things to do and not do. It's scary, having people know him so well.
He hasn't had to bring up the elephant in the room, they just seem to know how to navigate around it. It's terrifying. Ilya could get used to it.
“How are you feeling hunny?” Yuna leans over the couch, resting the back of her hand on his forehead to check his temperature. He tries not to lean into the touch, but he fails.
“Better.” He replies. It's true, he doesn't quite feel like he's dying. But sick all the same.
She hums thoughtfully as she smoothes his hair down once more and leaves. The missing warmth makes Ilya want to wine.
She comes back with more medicine she makes him take and soup. She helps him sit up and eat the soup, while she sits on the coffee table in front of him and waves around a little white device.
“What is this?” He asks, eyeing it warily. You never know with these Hollanders.
Yuna looks sheepish. “A thermometer. I can just tap your forehead and it gives me a read.” She holds it close to him. Asking for permission and he nods. She puts it to his forehead, presses a little button and then looks at it.
“Ah, the zap.” Ilya comments. Yuna smiles as she looks at the results.
“It's getting better, slowly.” She doesn't sound particularly happy but that means no doctor.
“Is that for babies?” He asks about the device. He's never seen a thermometer like it.
Yuna looks a bit embarrassed and shrugs. “It was at the chemist. It seemed efficient. It would have been nice when Shane was a baby.” She admits.
Ilya tries not to think too hard about her at the chemist, thinking of what would make his life easier. A better thermometer, medicine, the purple Gatorade he likes. All things for him.
“Thank you.” He says putting the half empty soup bowl on the table.
“Oh David made it. He dropped it by when you were sleeping. He's got a few things to do but he said he'll bring a puzzle around later.” Yuna says as she takes the bowl to the kitchen.
Ilya bites his lip. They are kind to him everyday, he shouldn't be this affected by it. “Thank you. You don't have to stay though. You can go home, to your husband.”
Yuna appears with a full water bottle and a heat pack in the form of a fluffy dog that he definitely does not own. It's warm and soft and he wants to keep it forever. She hands him both before adjusting the blankets around him easily, like its second nature.
“You know I want to be here Ilya.” Yuna looks straight at him, far too knowing.
Ilya just nods and turns to the TV. Not ready to have this conversation face to face. “Can we keep watching the odd people marry strangers they do not like?”
She takes pity on him, curling herself up on the couch beside him and pressing play.
The commentary is nice, Yuna enjoys laughing along with him. Ilya feels relaxed and can feel the medicine taking over, making him looser.
He edges down the couch a little, very close to Yuna, but not touching.
It only takes a few more more minutes before Yuna has put a pillow on her lap and is tugging at his shoulder. He pretends to be confused, red high on his cheeks giving him away before he relents and settles down in her lap. Tries not to sigh too contently as she strokes his curls. He feels her chuckle though, giving him away.
It's silent for a moment, Ilya unsure what to say. It should embarrassing, or uncomfortable. But Yuna is family. Yuna has made the effort to make him feel like family. Maybe they've never been this close before, but it isn't such a stretch in there relationship.
“Shane said you like this.” She whispers as she pulls a curl. Of course his husband telling all his secrets.
“Thank you, for letting me take care of you.” She adds after a moment.
A lump in his throat settles, it takes a moment for him to speak around it.
“It is hard. I'm sorry. It's not your fault. Just, my mama…” he can't finish the sentence without tears prickling his eyes.
Yuna shushes him easily. Patting his hair smoothly. “Of course. I understand. It must be hard. I would never want to replace her. But I think of you as my son as well Ilya. I have for a long time. It's a privilege, you allowing us into your lives like this.”
Ilya swallows loudly, trying hard to keep it together.
“She would have loved you. I think.” Ilya says instead.
He can feel her smile. “She'd be so proud of you.”
Ilya sniffs and scrubs a hand across his cheek. Yuna just continues to make him feel safe. Not asking anything of him. Just allowing him to be sick and grumpy, never wavering in her tenderness. It's far too much and perfect at the same time. Ilya lets the silence stretch out before breaking it.
“These people.” He indicates to the TV. “Are insane, yes?”
Yuna barks out a laugh. “Yes, I think they must be.”
Eventually Ilya feels his eyes get heavy, the motion of Yuna playing with his hand soothing him. “You can sleep sweetheart, I'll be here when you wake up. I promise.”
Ilya hums. “You will take embarrassing photos of me and send to Shane though.” Not nearly as embarrassed or upset as he should be.
Yuna just laughs and can feel her shrug. “I'm going to get it framed for my mantle at home. So I can look at it whenever."