Chapter Text
Ilya hadn’t meant to fall down that rabbit hole. Not on purpose, anyway.
It was just that they had played against Vancouver the other day, and Ilya, always kind, always respectful, had wanted to welcome their new rookie after the game. On the ice, there might be competition, but off the ice, Ilya wanted to make sure that, especially the rookies, had a soft landing.
He had caught Remy on the way out, hockey gear slung over one shoulder, smiling when Ilya Rozanov, known menace with a big heart, had approached.
“You’re a good player,” Ilya had smiled, and Remy had lit up, happy about the compliment.
“Thanks, you too. Obviously,” Remy had laughed, and that’s when Ilya’s eyes had landed on a pin on the gear bag. No, not one, but two pins, actually. One was a flag, yellow, white, purple and black. The other was what appeared to be a name tag, reading “he/they” in cursive letters.
Ilya looked back up to Remy then, with a raised eyebrow.
If anyone else might have noticed from an opposing team, except for maybe Shane Hollander, Remy might have faltered. But this was Ilya Rozanov, famously out and proud bisexual and supporter of all things queer.
“It’s the non-binary flag. And my pronouns,” Remy explained without being prompted.
“Non-binary,” Ilya repeated, like this was new to him.
“Yeah, I’m, well, somewhere in the middle of this whole gender thing. Don’t mind if I’m addressed as a man, but some days I’m neither,” Remy softly laughed, and Ilya smiled, accepting the explanation with ease, but looking contemplative all the same.
Ilya thought that might have been it – they said their goodbyes, he invited Remy to go out with them next time, and then he was happy to go home with Shane.
Only, that hadn’t been it. At all.
It started the way a lot of things did for him - half boredom, half curiosity, a quick Google search leading to social media posts, leading to links being opened while he was sprawled on the couch with his legs lazily thrown over Shane’s lap. Shane had been watching some game recap with the volume low, one hand resting against Ilya’s ankle, thumb tracing slow, familiar patterns against his skin.
Ilya didn’t think much of it at first. They were relaxing, and he was decidedly not interested in the footage Shane was watching, so he might as well educate himself a little, if only to be a better ally in future.
Then he scrolled. And scrolled. And then one article led to another, led to a personal essay. To people talking about being non-binary. About not feeling entirely like a man, or a woman, or feeling like both, or neither, or something in between. He read about labels, identity, expression, about the quiet, persistent sense that something didn’t quite fit, but also wasn’t entirely wrong.
Ilya stilled.
Shane glanced at him when he had been quiet a little too long.
“What are you reading?” He asked, not really prying, just curious.
“Hmm?” Ilya hummed, absentmindedly, “Nothing.”
Shane snorted softly, “You’ve been reading ‘nothing’ for twenty minutes.”
Ilya smiled a little at that but didn’t elaborate. Not yet. He just kept reading, quietly trying to figure something out he didn’t know how to name yet.
It became a habit after that first deep dive.
On the plane. In the hotel. Late at night, when Shane was already asleep, breathing slow and even beside him. Ilya read accounts from people all over the spectrum - people who changed their pronouns, people who didn’t. People who kept their names, people who chose new ones. People who felt dysphoria, people who didn’t. People who, just like him, knew something about themselves didn’t quite fit into the box society had put them in.
He didn’t panic.
That was the thing.
Ilya had never felt insecure about himself. Not really. Not after everything - after their coming out, after building a life with Shane where they didn’t have to hide, after learning how to exist in a world that still rejected them for who they were at times. He didn’t care about any of it, at least on his own behalf, because he knew how to stand his ground.
This didn’t feel like fear.
It felt like a question.
A quiet, persistent one, that kept popping up during quiet moments, when every other noise around him had died down.
He knew what it was like to be seen as a man. Knew what it meant to move through the world as one, and how people reacted when they saw him. He knew the expectations, the rules attached to this identity. It had never felt outright wrong. He had never looked in the mirror and felt like he was looking at a stranger.
But.
There was a but now.
It was small. Hard to define. Not discomfort, not exactly. Just, maybe, the feeling that the word man didn’t quite hold all of him. Like it fit, but not entirely. Like there was some space inside it where something unnamed lived, something he couldn't quite place yet.
He didn’t know what to do with that.
So, he didn’t say anything.
Not at first.
Shane noticed anyway.
Of course he did.
It wasn’t one thing he noticed; it was several small ones. Ilya going quiet mid-conversation. Getting lost in his phone more often, but not the way he usually did, watching stupid videos, reading posts in subreddits that Shane found weird and Ilya entertaining. The way he lingered in front of mirrors sometimes, not checking himself out, but rather thinking about something that ran deeper, something that lived beneath the skin he was staring at.
Shane didn’t push.
But one night, when they were both in bed, and the lights were off, and the room felt safe, he noted quietly, “You’ve been thinking about something lately.”
Ilya shifted beside him, not defensive but alert, tilting his head to look at Shane, “Have I?”
“Yeah,” Shane turned onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. Even in the dark, his gaze felt steady, “Not in a bad way. Just, more than usual.”
Ilya exhaled, a small, almost amused breath, “You sound like my therapist.”
“Occupational hazard of being your husband,” Shane murmured, corners of his lips faintly twitching.
Then, more gently, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
There was no pressure, no accusation.
Just a quiet invitation, Shane making space for Ilya’s thoughts and feelings.
Ilya stared at the ceiling for a long moment, sniffing thoughtfully, before finally filling the comfortable silence between them.
“I’ve been reading things.”
Shane waited, patient as ever.
“About…gender identities,” Ilya added, the words careful, like he was testing what they felt like, to say them out loud. There was a brief pause, with Ilya contemplating his next words, and Shane offering him the space to do so.
“Okay,” Shane said, easily, calmly. They were in no rush.
“I talked to Remy. Rookie from Vancouver,” Ilya elaborated, just in case Shane had forgotten. He hadn’t, but appreciated the information anyway.
“He,” and that’s where Ilya paused. Reconsidered.
“They? Had pins on their gear bag. Non-binary flag. And a name tag. I hadn’t heard about that before, but Remy explained it to me, and then I read about it,” Ilya continued, still finding all of this confusing and hard, but trying to push through it regardless.
“And I thought- of course, yes. I support this. I can understand this. And then I read more,” his voice turned quieter, then he paused, unsure of how to convey his feelings.
“And?” Shane asked, still calm, breathing even.
Ilya huffed a soft breath, “And now…I am thinking too much.”
Shane smiled faintly at that, even if Ilya couldn’t see it in the dark, “Sounds like something you would do.”
Ilya nudged him with his shoulder, then went still again.
“I don’t-” he paused, then more slowly, “I don’t feel like I’m not a man. It has never felt wrong."
“Okay,” Shane said again, steady as ever.
“But it also doesn’t feel…” Ilya hesitated now, “Complete, maybe. Like it describes me, but not all of me. Like there is more? Something I don’t have a name for?”
The words hung between them.
Shane didn’t answer right away. Ilya could practically hear him thinking, trying to understand something he had never had to question in himself. He didn’t worry, knowing Shane usually needed more time to process any piece of new information. It didn’t mean rejection, only that he was doing the work to try to actually understand him.
“Do you feel like…a woman?” Shane asked carefully. Like the weight of this question wasn’t scaring him in ways he did not dare to admit. Not because he could not accept the possibility of a ‘Yes’, but because he didn’t know how they would handle it, if that were the case.
“No,” Ilya said immediately, “Not that. I know that much.”
“Okay,” Shane, very slow, very carefully exhaled. There was another pause, while Shane was clearly thinking about it all.
“I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about my gender,” Shane admitted after a moment, “Like, at all. I’m a man. That’s just…what I am. It fits. I never questioned it.”
“I know,” Ilya said softly. Because Ilya, after all these years, knew Shane. Would have noticed if he ever had.
“And I don’t completely understand what you’re describing,” Shane added, honest, a little apologetic.
Ilya turned his head toward him in the dark, “That’s okay.”
“But,” Shane continued, reaching out until his fingers found Ilya’s wrist, a grounding, soothing motion, “I understand that it matters to you. And that you’re trying to figure something out about yourself.”
Something in Ilya’s chest loosened at that. He hadn’t exactly felt fear, but a small part of him had still wondered if this would change something between them, if he dared to question his own identity out loud.
“I didn’t even know there was something to figure out,” he admitted, “Maybe I just read too many things, and now I am inventing a problem.”
Shane huffed, almost fondly, “You don’t invent an identity crisis for fun, Ilya.”
Ilya smiled faintly, “You would be surprised.”
Shane nudged him back, then turned more serious again, “Does it feel important?”
Ilya considered that.
“Yes,” he nodded, voice quiet, “But not like…I have to change something right now. Just- important to understand, maybe.”
“You don’t need to have all the answers right now. You have all the time in the world to figure it out. Talk to Galina about it, if it helps,” Shane softly suggested, not expecting him to fully open up to him when he didn’t feel ready.
Ilya slowly exhaled at that, letting the words settle over him, like a comforting blanket.
“And whatever it is,” Shane added, his voice still gentle, but more certain, “It doesn’t change anything about us. Not for me.”
Ilya’s throat tightened, just a little, “You say that very confidently.”
“I am. Confident,” Shane replied. “You are still you. And I love you. Questions and all.”
There was no hesitation in his response. No conditions. Just truth, calm and steady.
Ilya turned fully onto his side then, facing him, “Even if I…was something else?”
Shane shrugged a little, then moved his fingers lower to take Ilya’s hand in his.
“Then we learn what that means for you. For us. I will probably fuck it up sometimes,” he added the last part with a soft half chuckle.
“But we can figure it out. Together. And you are still you. I don’t think it would be such a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal when you started painting your nails. Or when you forced me to learn how to apply eyeliner,” Shane fondly smiled at the memory, feeling Ilya’s hand relax in his.
“You still suck at it. I can do it way better,” Ilya finally, finally smiled too, just a little. Shane didn’t take the bait, simply kept holding onto him, kept offering him a safe space for his feelings.
Ilya watched him in the dark, something warm and aching settling under his ribs.
“You don’t have to understand it all right now,” Ilya said quietly.
“Good,” Shane murmured, “Because I definitely don’t. Because it’s late and I am not going to start googling now.”
That earned him a soft laugh. Ilya loved that about Shane. How he always, always listened. Always learned. For him. For them.
Tomorrow, he would, most definitely, google.
They fell into a comfortable silence after that, but it felt different now. Lighter. Like something in the air between them had shifted. Not resolved, but one step closer towards certainty.
After a while, Shane’s thumb started tracing those same slow patterns against Ilya’s skin again.
Grounding. Familiar. Ilya finally let his eyes close again, let his heart rest, knowing what was in it was safe with Shane.
The questions were still there. Unanswered, but they didn’t feel as heavy anymore.
Because he had Shane, who helped him carry some of the weight, and who, after everything, still loved him just the same.