Chapter Text
“Ilyaaa!”
The second Ilya’s eyes scanned over the room, he felt his blood run cold. Shane’s parents were seated in chairs on his right, both of their expressions painted with incredulity. His eyes shifted to Shane, whose face was lit up with a fondness that made him want to squeeze his cheeks and kiss him all over. He felt a spike of anger toward Marleau at being the cause of the dark bruise spattering Shane’s cheeks and obscuring his freckles, but that was overcome with the dread of how Shane’s parents were gawking at him.
He cleared his throat, realizing the moment of silence had gone on for too long. “Hello, Hollander.” After a beat, he added, “Mr. and Mrs. Hollander.”
Shane’s bottom lip jutted out in the most adorable pout. “Oh, okay.”
“What?” asked Ilya, brows furrowing.
“Hello, Rozanov,” Shane pointedly said.
Next to Shane, he saw his mother mouth ‘Ilya?’ to his father. Ilya felt his stomach do a flip. Trying to pivot the conversation, he said, “I, um, just wanted to… Are you okay?”
“Concussion and a fractured collarbone,” Shane responded, a lopsided smile playing over his lips. “Out for the playoffs, but…”
“Could’ve been worse,” Ilya said with a nod.
“Could’ve been worse,” Shane echoed in agreement, cutely lolling his head in a slow nod.
Ilya kept his eyes trained on Shane, certain that if he glanced over at his parents, the English that was left in his brain would flutter away and he would be left a silent mess of Russian panic. “Marleau feels terrible. He did not mean to hurt you.”
Shane’s mother scoffed, but Shane nodded solemnly. “I know. Part of the game. We all get our bell rung eventually, right?”
“Right,” Ilya agreed.
God, Ilya wanted nothing more than to just curl his limbs around Shane and cuddle him until he felt better. However long that would be, however long Shane would need him, all Ilya wanted was to be here for him.
Unfortunately, Shane’s parents—particularly his mother—were staring at him like he was the enemy. Which he was. He had to remind himself that he was.
“Hey,” Shane said, breaking the silence with an affectionate lilt to his voice as he stretched out his left hand, the one on the opposite side of where his parents were sitting. “Heeey.”
“Hollander—”
“Ilya,” Shane pouted, beckoning him with his hand. Ilya hated how the content smile melted off of his face. “Ilyaaa. C’mere.”
“Hollander,” Ilya weakly attempted again, eyes now darting between Shane and his parents like a flighty bird. They were watching the scene with confusion, surveying the dynamic and Ilya’s response to their drug-loaded son’s ramblings. “I don’t—”
“Stop calling me that.” Shane’s voice suddenly came out quietly, and Ilya felt his heart drop into his stomach as he noted the glassiness in Shane’s eyes. His outstretched hand retracted slightly. “If you don’t like me anymore, just… just say so.”
Fuck it. Ilya couldn’t take the heartbreak in Shane’s voice. He couldn’t handle being the reason for it.
Ilya squeezed his eyes shut, scratching his nose once before striding over to Shane’s bedside and taking his hand. Immediately, Shane’s expression lit up. “Yesss,” Shane sighed, squeezing Ilya’s hand. Ilya couldn’t help but let out a fond chuckle as he squeezed back. “Bet-ter.”
After a prolonged moment of silence, Shane’s father cleared his throat, reminding them of their presence. Or, well, reminding Shane, because Ilya had been hyper-aware of them since the moment he stepped foot into this room. “Thanks for coming to visit, Rozanov,” he said evenly. Something about the way he said it felt like he was extending an olive branch of sorts. “That was good of you.”
“Of course,” Ilya responded, hoping his voice didn’t give away how on edge he felt. He was good at masking his true feelings at every given moment, but for something that pulled him apart inside like seeing his Shane get so hurt, he wasn’t sure how well he could hide. “Is what good captains do.” Fuck, Ilya could hear how clumsily the English tumbled out of his mouth, accent thickening with his nervousness.
Shane’s father grunted in acknowledgment, eyes falling back to where Shane and Ilya’s hands were joined and letting out a slight laugh. “Sorry about him.”
“Oh, it’s—it’s okay,” Ilya quickly said, politely laughing as well and glad his father seemed to blame the hand-holding on Shane’s current delirious state. “Pain medication. Makes you very loopy.”
“Nuh-uh,” Shane interjected, staring up at Ilya with such adoration in his eyes that they may as well have been heart-shaped. “I’m not loopy.”
“Yes you are, Hollander,” Ilya said, but at the withering look in Shane’s eyes, he quickly corrected himself. “Er, Shane.”
Shane let out a happy noise, tilting his head onto the shoulder closer to Ilya as he smiled up at him. “You should say my name more often. It sounds pretty when you say it.” In a terrible imitation of Ilya’s Russian accent, Shane gruffly said, “Shane.”
“Shane, I—”
“I’m sorry I didn’t text you last night,” Shane abruptly interrupted, and Ilya swore if he wasn’t Russian, his cheeks would be exploding with heat with how Shane’s parents were gawking.
In a tiny voice, since he was out of options or lies to control the conversation with and he couldn’t stand the thought of making Shane sad again, he whispered, “It’s okay.”
“I was excited about last night,” said Shane, eyes taking on a dreamy look as though he was imagining what the night could’ve held. Ilya resisted the urge to blush at the thought. “I’m mostly mad at Marleau for… fucking that up.”
“What was last night?” Shane’s mother cut in, making Ilya flinch. She had been quiet the whole conversation, but Ilya could tell from her stare that between the two parents, she was the one to be wary of. Her glare held a vitriol for him that Shane’ father’s eyes seemed too soft for. “What’s going on with you and my son, Rozanov?”
Ilya’s heart hammered in his chest, mouth opening and closing a few times, unsure of what to say. Shane’s hand firmly squeezed his again, though, and his head turned to face his parents. “Mom, stop. You’re scaring him.” His head turned back to Ilya, eyes squinted as he smiled once more. “She seems scary, but she’s just really protective of me.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she countered, voice full of disbelief, looking between the three others in the room like she was trying to decide if she was the crazy one. “You two—you two hate each other!”
“That’s not true,” Shane said tenderly, eyes pinning down Ilya on the spot. “Right, Ilya?”
“No,” Ilya returned, just as soft, “I don’t hate you.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Shane said, and with a tone that felt like being both kissed and stabbed in the gut, he said, “I actually love him.”
“What?” both of Shane’s parents exclaimed at the same time that Ilya’s heart skipped a beat.
Ilya didn’t know what to do. He was certain that, once sobered up, this would be Shane’s utter nightmare. It was already Ilya’s, in a way—having to come out without Shane really being there to support him. But he took a deep breath, concentrating on Shane’s hand in his, and grounded himself.
They would be okay. Shane loved him.
“This is true,” Ilya spoke softly, heart swelling at how Shane seemed to preen at that. “I… also love Shane.”
“Really?” Shane asked, voice cracking.
Ilya brushed against Shane’s cheek with the back of his hand, admiring how his smile scrunched up his freckles. “Really.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Shane’s mother interjected, frantically looking around like she was beginning to believe that she had genuinely lost her mind. “You—you love each other?”
“This is the best day of my life,” Shane dreamily sighed, staring up at Ilya like he hung the stars. “You love me back.”
“Of course I do,” Ilya returned, lightly pinching his cheek and enjoying the quiet giggle that elicited out of Shane.
“Okay,” Shane’s father’s voice came, firm but not cold. Ilya noted how his hand was intertwined with Shane’s mother, paralleling himself and Shane. “Okay, so this is… not what any of us were expecting to happen today, I think.” His eyes swiveled between Shane and Ilya, as though unsure of who to concentrate on. “How long has… this… been going on for?”
Shane’s smile faltered. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?” Shane’s mother echoed, eyes now accusingly going to Ilya for answers.
Ilya thickly swallowed. “Ah, well…” His eyes darted back to Shane, as though he was capable of supporting him throughout this conversation, but was shocked to find his eyes welling up with tears again.
“I’m sorry for lying, Mom,” Shane sniffled. “And Dad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was—I was just so scared.” He curled toward Ilya, and Ilya immediately began caressing his cheek, swiping away tears with his thumb as they flowed. “Since rookie season.”
“Rookie season?” both of them exclaimed, blown away yet again.
“No, it was the summer before,” Ilya corrected, though from the look on Shane’s parents' faces, that was the wrong thing to say.
Shane, however, nodded thoughtfully. “Riiight. The summer before.”
Suddenly, Shane’s expression lit up, and despite the tear tracks on his face, he turned from Ilya to face his parents. “Hey, you guys.”
“What is it, honey?” Shane’s mom asked, leaning forward so she could hold his face. It was terrifying how quickly her expression could shift from sharp to angel soft.
Shane’s eyes squinted in a giddy smile as he whispered, “Don’t tell Ilya, but I’m gonna invite him to the cottage this summer.”
Ilya, not for the first time throughout this conversation, felt his stomach drop. “I don’t want him to go to Russia,” Shane continued, expression falling downcast. “They’re not good to him there, I think. He deserves to have fun over the summer.” His mouth split into a bright smile yet again as he tacked on, “With me.”
“To the cottage?” she echoed, voice still dripping with disbelief.
“Mmhm,” Shane answered with certainty. “I really hope he says yes. He’s really nice once you get to know him, Mom. I swear.” His expression crumpled, nose wrinkling. “Well, not really. He’s still kinda mean.” His expression lifts again. “But as a joke! That’s just who he is. And I like him. A lot.”
She pursed her lips, studying Shane’s expression that was so clearly full of infatuation. Ilya could see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out how to possibly interpret this situation. He didn’t blame her; these were not his intentions for this meeting, either. Not his intentions at all.
“Does he really make you happy, honey?” she whispered, thumbs dragging atop Shane’s freckles.
And though he’s already said it several times, Ilya’s heart still clenches when Shane responds, “He really does, Mom. He makes me so happy, you have no idea.”
Shane’s mother pressed a soft kiss to Shane’s forehead before letting go of his face and returning to her chair. “Then I’m happy for you, Shane.”
“Mmmm…” Shane’s head lolled to the side, eyes closed. “Thanks… Mom…”
His breathing evened out, lips slightly parted. Ilya felt his hand loosen in his grip, and he smiled softly as he settled Shane’s arm on the bed next to him, careful not to jostle him too much. He needed much more rest if he wanted to make a full, swift recovery.
Once he had set down Shane’s arm, he looked up to Shane’s parents, knowing full well he couldn’t just leave the room and pretend this never happened. Shane’s father seemed to be studying him, like he was seeing him in a new light he had never seen him in before and making a new discovery. Shane’s mother’s stare held none of the warmth it did when she was talking to Shane, but it was no longer pure loathing—there was a note of something else. A willingness to hear Ilya out, maybe. To consider he might not be the devil she believed him to be all these years.
“We should talk,” he said, because he knew if he didn’t, one of them would.
Both of Shane’s parents nodded. “Yes,” his mother said, standing and brushing off the front of her jeans, “we should.”
His father touched her arm, and the two of them exchanged a look that Ilya couldn’t understand before his mother nodded toward the door, walking out. Ilya followed suit, heart hammering in his chest.
He could only hope that once Shane was lucid again, he wouldn’t hate him for how he was managing this.