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Ilya was glad to be alive. It was a weird sensation, he thought. He’d spent a long time thinking that it wouldn’t really feel that bad if he wasn’t alive anymore.
In Ottawa, with his super sweet, super terrible hockey team and his boyfriends parents and the poutine and the puppies he got to say hello to every day, it was easy to slip into a trance-like state where he became indifferent to being alive. Depressed, Dr Galina had told him. Like his mother. He still hadn’t told Shane. Sometimes he thought the only times he felt alive was when he was with his boyfriend, staring at his beautiful freckles and drawing laughs and moans and scoldings out of him.
But here, in the aftermath of an actual, real-life near-death experience, he was glad to be alive. He was glad he got to go and see Shane again. He was glad they would get the chance to talk after their stupid, awful fight. He was glad he got to hold puppies and eat McGriddles and do puzzles with David and play hockey again.
An emergency landing. It sounded too easy, too simple for the terror Ilya had felt in those moments.
And now, white knuckled on their return flight to Ottawa, Ilya was glad for his terrible-at-hockey teammates. Who, Ilya was starting to think, might not be terrible at all. He was glad for Harris, who was making them all laugh with a terrible story about a skunk. He was glad for Troy, who was looking at Harris like he was the best thing in the world. And for Bood, and Hayes and all the stupidly young rookies.
They were due to touch down in ten minutes, and Ilya was glad to be alive. But, he was sad. He’d been sad for a while. He needed to tell Shane. He’d tried to tell him, but he’d gotten it so, so wrong, and then they were both saying awful things to each other. He knew, when he got off this plane, he needed to tell him. He was going to drive straight over to Montreal, sweep his beautiful boyfriend up in his arms, and tell him he loved him. Then tell him the rest of it.
They were landing in a private airfield, and Coach Wiebe had told them that families were allowed onto the tarmac, knowing reunions this time would be far, far more precious than usual. Ilya had swallowed at that, feeling his heart sink whilst all his teammates looked thrilled around him. Some had no family in the area, but were making plans for their off days, excitedly chattering and telling anyone who would listen that they were going to travel to see them. Through that, Ilya had kept silent, sad again.
Ilya held his breath, pressing his golden cross to his mouth as the plane smoothly dropped down, landing. He didn’t let himself breathe again until they’d come to a complete stop. He stood, shouldering his bag and sharing relieved smiles with his teammates. Hayes patted him on the back, “Home at last.”
Ilya gave him a tight smile, “Da, home.”
He didn’t say that he wasn’t sure if he even had a home anymore. Boston had felt like home, when Moscow hadn’t. The cottage still felt like home, but Ilya was certain that it was just Shane. Shane was home, and Shane wasn’t here. He wasn’t here because no one knew. They’d exchanged brief, frantic apologies and exchanging breathy ‘I love yous’ on facetime just after the emergency landing, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
As he exited the plane, he tried his best to keep his captain’s hat on, smiling as his teammates reunited with their families. Cassie Boodroom was wrapped in her husband's arms as Selena and Nick Chouinard were in a lip lock beside them. Hayes was in a deep embrace with Dr Lisa, having clearly managed to get a shift off work at the hospital. He turned, saw Boyle attempting to hug his three kids at once, Harris (having not let go of Troy’s hand) and Holmberg hugging their respective parents, LaPointe and Haasy calling their families with relieved smiles. Caitlin and Evan Dykstra were locked in a highly inappropriate embrace considering there were children running around everywhere, Young was giving them a disgusted look that he couldn’t quite keep up as he planted kiss after kiss on his girlfriend's face. Wiebe was introducing his wife and children to the few other staff members that travelled with them. Ilya’s relationship was as pure and as special as this, he thought. And no one had any idea. He knew they’d be good with it, if he came out. But Shane wasn’t ready. And Ilya would never do anything to jeopardise Shane. Still, Ilya stood there, surrounded by so much love, and felt sad.
People were starting to come out of their embraces and talk to each other, the WAGs giving each other cheek kisses and hugs as the group started to move away from the plane and towards the nearby parking lot.
Ilya accepted a hug from Cassie, who was looking at him pityingly. He couldn’t stand it. He wondered what she thought of him. He rarely accepted invitations to go out, to go to Bood’s BBQs or Hayes’ game nights. He spent all his time travelling to see Shane, or sitting around his empty house, thinking about Shane. He had good rapport with the team in the locker room, he knew, but the WAGs rarely saw him. As she released him, her hand patting his cheek, a hush seemed to fall over the group as Ilya heard the tell-tale hum of another car pull into the parking lot. He didn’t turn, still murmuring to Cassie that he was fine, that he’d eaten, when he heard the whole group take a rapid inhale.
“Is that- Shane Hollander?” He heard Luca say faintly.
Ilya’s head snapped around, and he stepped out of Cassie’s embrace as his whole vision narrowed. Almost falling out the car in a hurry, slamming the door shut, and walking- starting to jog- across the tarmac towards him was his perfect boyfriend, wearing a faded Boston Raiders hoodie, his perfect hair a mess, and tear tracks starting to make their way down his perfect freckled cheeks.
—
Cassie Boodram couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She clung to her husband’s stupidly massive arm, who was gripping her like he’d never let her go. She’d never known fear like it when she’d heard the news of the near-crash. She’d known, logically, that he was safe, but she hadn’t been able to settle since she’d heard the news. It was only now, with his warm skin under her hands, that something deep inside her was able to relax.
She’d been thrilled that the families had been notified of the time and place of the team’s return flight, and were invited to come and meet it. The WAGs chat had been a non-stop channel of support the last few days, and she was grateful for every one of them.
Now, standing on the airfield, she couldn’t wait to consult the chat later. She didn’t know Ilya Rozanov very well, had known him as a notorious asshole until her husband had come home after practice a few years ago, bewildered, and described him as patient, kind, and funny. He never came to team gatherings, but had always been polite when he met her at games, and endlessly entertaining to the children. Standing there, on the tarmac, he’d looked so small, so lonely, so she’d pulled him into a long hug. She was about to invite him to have dinner, or drinks, or anything, when he’d turned sharply at a comment Haas, the rookie, had made.
She watched as Rozanov let out a shaky, trembling breath, and tears welled up in his eyes as he started to push through the throng of people towards the parking area. She followed his gaze, and saw- she inhaled sharply- Shane Hollander jogging towards them. Her brows creased and she threw a questioning glance at Zane, whose gaze was locked on Rozanov.
Her confusion only increased as Rozanov started crossing the tarmac, separating him from the group, who had all turned to watch. Cassie knew they were friends, and kept up to date with all their work for the Irina Foundation. She always thought the charity seemed amazing, but often questioned whether the two were actually friends- they just seemed like polar opposites. As she watched, Hollander practically sprinted the last few meters, and practically threw himself at Rozanov, who caught him with ease. Their heads buried down into each other's necks, and their hands were everywhere as they locked into a very intimate, very comfortable embrace.
Her jaw dropped. She heard murmurings and a few swear words from around her. The men both seemed to be crying- their broad shoulders shaking as they lifted their heads. They seemed to exchange a few brief words, both starting to smile. Then their heads tilted. Then they locked their lips together. And didn’t stop.
The group exploded.
—
Shane was never letting his boyfriend go ever again. He couldn’t stop touching Ilya’s skin, shoving his hands to Ilya’s cheeks, his hair, over his hoodie-covered arms and back, down to his chest and back up to his neck. He was sure he’d never felt this much relief ever in his life. Tears were still streaming down his face as he murmured apologies and declarations of love into Ilya’s neck and shoulder and chest. He had a tight knot of fear in his chest, overly aware they had an audience. But the second he’d heard Ilya tell him about the friend and family plan, he knew he couldn’t wait to see his boyfriend.
He’d called in sick to practice, and driven straight to Ottawa as fast as he safely could. He’d been in Ilya’s house all day, moping around in his hoodies and sheets that smelled like him. He’d almost chickened out of coming, waiting until the very last second to leave. But Shane couldn’t wait. He needed to take back the awful things he’d said when they last saw each other. Ilya had given up everything to be with him. Shane could do this one thing. Ilya said his team was safe, Shane had to trust that. The second he’d laid eyes on his boyfriend, he knew it was the right decision. It had been like slow motion, the walk over into his arms.
Ilya was murmuring slews of Russian into his hair as they both started to relax into each other. Shane thought of the small jewellery box he’d left on the table at home, and the hundred electric candles that were being turned on right now, and pulled back to look at his boyfriend’s tear-covered face.
“I’m sorry,” Shane said seriously. “For our fight before you left. I’m so sorry. I love you. I’ll come out whenever you want, if that’s what you need. I’ll do anything.”
Ilya gave him a watery smile and cupped Shane’s cheek, “Ya tebya lyublyu. I’m sorry as well. We can talk later, but now I have to kiss you.”
Shane grinned.
Ilya’s eyes dropped to Shane’s lips, “are you sure about this? Moy lyubov, they are watching.”
Shane could feel his chest squeeze at that, knowing there was no going back from this point. It was time to be brace. He nodded, and closed the gap, pressing his lips to Ilya’s and gasping.
“What the fuck!?”
He heard shouts from behind Ilya, and squeezed him tighter, pouring all his anxious energy into the kiss he’d been thinking of ever since he heard the news. He’d felt like he was dying when he’d first found out. He’d been drowning, and this kiss was saving him, giving him air for the first time since he’d found out.
—
Ilya was so happy to be alive he could cry. Actually, he thought he was crying, tears starting to dry on his face and mix into his and Shane’s kiss. He pulled back, cupping his beautiful boyfriend’s cheeks as he laughed, giddy.
He dropped another kiss to Shane’s forehead, swiping a finger over his freckles and then leaning his forehead against Shane’s, before asking again,
“You’re sure?”
“Bit too late now, even if I wasn’t,” was his boyfriend’s dry response, slightly breathless from what Ilya hoped was that mind-numbing kiss, rather than anxiety.
Ilya let out a loud laugh, sniffing and wiping away his tears as he turned to face his team, throwing an arm over Shane’s shoulders and tucking him in close. He was never letting him go again.
His team were all staring at him in various states of shock. Poor Luca looked like he might collapse. Troy was smiling at him broadly, but Ilya’s eyes sought out his coach. As much as he hated to admit it, he looked up to Coach Wiebe, thought he was a good person and an even better coach. He was certainly the most understanding, most optimistic coach he’d ever had, pushing the team with hope for their potential rather than hurling insults. Ilya thought he was probably one of the few male authority figures he’d ever liked. Him and David Hollander had certainly done wonders for Ilya’s perception of how men could express love.
Coach Wiebe was smiling at him, possibly a little sadly, with his eyebrows raised so high they almost reached his hairline. Some of the WAGs looked highly alarmed, and a few of the hockey-mad children were staring at Shane with open mouths, their faces bright red.
“Everyone,” Ilya started. “This is Shane. He is super gay. I am bisexual. I am his boyfriend. We have been together for long time.”
Ilya felt a dig in his ribs from Shane and ‘super gay?’ mumble, but Ilya’s focus was locked on his team's reaction.
There was silence for a beat, then Harris and Troy both whooped and started to clap. The whole group started clamouring at once, and Bood and Hayes rushed over, clapping him on the back and shaking Shane’s hand, introducing themselves excitedly.
“How the hell did you pull Shane motherfucking Hollander?” He heard from Hayes, which earned him a snort from Shane and a playful punch from Ilya.
“When did this start?” Was the cry from most of the WAGs, who were smart enough to ask the real questions.
The questions and comments started to overlap as everyone started speculating with each other at once. Ilya felt Shane tense up beside him, and decided to take pity on his poor boyfriend, who had definitely had enough for today.
“Okay, okay,” Ilya laughed, “I will answer all your questions at next team gathering, yes? Tonight, we go celebrate being young and in love.”
More cheers and whoops from the group, before Dykstra declared, “Everyone to our house, we will crack open the good drinks. Lord knows we need it.”
“Actually, no,” Ilya heard his boyfriend interrupt, and he turned to look at him, “Ilya and I have plans.”
Ilya and I, he saw Bood mouth.
“We do?” Ilya asked, surprised. He’d figured Shane would want to have fantastic reunion sex, but he’d figured his team was owed some answers after the display they’d just put on.
“We do,” Shane confirmed, a small smile worming its way onto his face, “there’s about two hundred electric candles in your living room that won’t turn themselves off.”
Ilya’s heart stopped. That reference was years old, harking back to their first trip to the cottage. Surely, Shane couldn’t mean….
Except he could. Shane was sending a wink at him, his smile turning into a big grin. Ilya’s eyes widened, and he felt sick with happiness.
—-
Later, when the question had been asked, the ring strung around Ilya’s necklace, and lazy, loving reunion sex had been had, Ilya sent a photo of them both to the Centaurs group chat, ring held up between them.
He turned off his phone before the barrage of notifications inevitably hit, asking him what and how and when and how long, and turned to his fiance. Yes, Ilya was very happy to be alive. He had a wedding to plan, after all.