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Pain ripped through him as his nails dug into his flesh. He was tired of it, the way people stared, cringed, and glared at something that wasn't truly his choice.
Yes, he bragged, gloated, and ran his mouth. He couldn't let people know he was scared. He couldn't let people, people like his father, know that he had changed the first time he hit someone.
His insides curled into a ball when that young man screamed. His hands and arms fought him on that dark side. His core knew his heart wasn't truly in it.
Each time he was told to throw another punch, his punches would become weaker with each hit. His father would sneer, while his mother cried silent tears.
His father would laugh. It was like daggers to the eardrums. His heart, soul, and mind was never into the fight.
The day his father died was the day Ilya thought he would be finally free. How wrong he was.
He may have been free of him, his father. But never free from the people surrounding him. His Svetlana was the only one who looked at him and saw him. Ilya.
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Years have passed since the end of the fight. Ilya still lived in the past. How could he not when people whispered around him. Calling him a murderer, parasite, and disgusting.
He rarely goes out. Preferring to hide in silence rather than hear the whispers. He sits in his room, clawing at the mark on his left arm. The mark his father branded him with when he was 16.
Svetlana tries to get him to get up and out. When she does, he covers himself with a black coat, hood up, and head down. They know it's him because she is with him.
So instead, he stays home. Wallowing in pity, anger, and sadness. Darkness, his only friend. Pain, his only lover.
Svetlana knocks on his dark cherry door. She is letting him know someone is there to see him. He only stares at the door in silence.
She walks away, and he lets out the breath he was holding. He hears her mumble to someone. Only sounds, no words, penetrate to his ears.
He was curious for a moment. Then it went away, and his friend darkness was back. He didn't really care who it was.
He didn't know how many days or nights had passed. He didn't really care. Svetlana checked on him. Made sure he ate and drank. Silent tears running down her face.
Someone was at the front door. All he could see was dark hair. He turned from the window. He really didn't care who it was.
Svetlana knocked on the door.
"There is someone here for you, Ilya." She whispered.
"Send them away." Was all he could muster.
"They will keep coming back until you see them." He shook his head at Svetlana's words.
"They will just be wasting their time." His head rested on his pillow, unwilling to move.
"I will let them know." As she turned to leave.
For the first time, Ilya ran to his window. Telling himself that he just wanted to make sure they left. Not to see who was there.
He watched as the man walked to the gates. Again, all Ilya could see was dark brown hair. Until. Until the man turned to look at the Manor again.
It was Shane Hollander. As quickly as he came, he was gone. Ilya sat at his window. Clawing at his father's branding on his right arm.
Ilya couldn't understand why Shane would come to his house. It wasn't like they were friends. Quite the opposite, in fact. It couldn't be good, the reason he was here.
Every time Shane visited, Ilya would tell his friend they were wasting their time. He knew who it was now; why would he torture himself? He knew there was no good reason for him to be here.
Svetlana knew of Ilya's obsession with Shane. At first, it was because of his father. The way his father blamed Shane for Ilya's loss of talent. The way his father blamed Shane for losing his legacy in hockey. It was because Shane had shown him that it is not all about fighting. It was also about love and loyalty.
Then it was the way Shane had beaten Ilya for the first Stanley Cup. His father had come down on him like a hurricane. Yelling and throwing things. Repeating over and over how Ilya was a failure. How Ilya would amount to nothing. How Ilya let his heart drown out his head. He was weak.
Every time Ilya would see Svetlana, he would moan about how awful the brown-haired boy was. He didn't know when it became more, when it became admiration.
The next time someone knocked, he told Svetlana to go away.
"It's not Svetlana," A deep voice said on the other side.
"Hollander?" Said a shocked Ilya
"Can I come in, Rozanov?" The voice asked.
"You're just wasting your time. Anything you have to say has been said already." Ilya rolled over, his back towards the door.
He could hear the door open. The brush of wind as it closed again. He knew Shane was in his room. He didn't care. Clawing at the branding on his right arm.
He could sense Ilya walking around his bed. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the piercing brown eyes he knew would see into his dark and broken soul. Nobody needed to see that.
"Ilya!! What the hell have you done?" Shane yelled.
Ilya opened his eyes and looked around. What was Shane talking about? So used to the feel of blood running down his arm. The feeling of caked blood tightening on his skin.
"Why?" Shane cried.
He didn't understand. That was who he was. What he will always be. Maybe one day he will dig deep enough that the pain will no longer be there.
"Leave me alone, Hollander." Came a muffled voice.
"No." Shane groaned at the answer.
"Please?" Ikya cried into his pillow. Dried blood on the green silk pillowcase.
"No." Was the only answer he received.
Ilya didn't know how much time had passed until he felt the warmth of a wet cloth on his arm.
His bed dipped down as a warm body sat next to him. He lay, Shane sat. No words were spoken.
This happened multiple times. Ilya didn't count; he just knew that at some point Shane would come. Tend to his wounds. Sit next to him until he falls asleep. When he woke, Shane would be gone. But he knew that the man would be back.
One time, Shane came back. There were no wounds to heal. So, he sat, still silent until Ilya fell asleep.
The next time, again, no wounds. This time, though, Ilya sat with him in silence. Enjoying the peace and the warmth of the body sitting next to him.
"Same time tomorrow?" Shane asked.
"Perfect."