Chapter Text
Darling speak to me but don't you say a word, Light a cigarette, I'll watch it as it burns
Saskatchewan, Canada December 2008
Ilya knew he should stop. Everyone around him detested the fact that he smoked. But to him, smoking was nothing but a relaxant from all the chaos in his life. To him, smoking reinforced the idea that if he ran far enough from his feelings, they wouldn't catch up.
He was stubborn, yes, but more than that he was guarded. Beyond his cold exterior and absurd ego was just a boy, who wanted so much to silence the voices in his head. So smoking it was. And fast cars. And Russian vodka. And everything and anything that could quell the constant noise in his head.
He valued his moments of peace. Everywhere he went it was so unbearably loud: the rink, conferences, crowds, and endless bars. He lived for those experiences, but more than that, he lived for moments like these. Where he's in front of a no smoking sign, trying to smoke a cigarette as a highly anticipated prospect. Like an idiot.
When Shane Hollander approached him, he expected a rude remark. Some chirp about how he couldn't live up to Hollander's ability on the ice.
"Ilya Rozanov?I--I wanted to introduce myself." He outstretched his hand towards Ilya.
Ilya simply shook his hand and nodded, but was pleased when his cigarette was finally lit.
"Oh, I'm--I'm not sure you're supposed to smoke here." Shane made a gesture symbolizing that of Ilya's exact actions.
A faint blush covered Shane's freckled cheeks. If Ilya weren't so reserved, he would've counted each and every one, double checking to make sure he didn't miscalculate. Ilya noticed it all. Shane's nervousness, the small smile he offered, the warmth of his touch. It was unusual, sure, but not unwelcome.
"Okay."
"You're an awesome player to watch." Ilya was beyond accustomed to the praise. Save for his father, he was admired across continents for his skill.
"Yes."
"Anyways, I-I should go. They're waiting for me. But, um, good luck in the tournament."
Stay is all Ilya can think about.
"You will not be so nice when we beat you." Classic Rozanov, smug as ever.
"That's not happening." Shane offered him a real smile this time, unlike his obligatory polite one from moments prior.
Ilya can only watch as he walks away, back to wherever he's needed. They were bound to meet eventually, but he didn't picture Shane to be as pretty as he was. Those freckles, the pitch of his laugh, his slight awkwardness, it all began to haunt Ilya. For the first time in months, Ilya smiled as his head hit the pillow and he began to find peace dreaming about a certain Canadian boy.