Chapter Text
Ilya missed Shane after their fight, but he also thought time away from each other was good. They would talk things through when they saw each other again, but Ilya knew he had to think carefully about what he actually wanted to tell Shane.
Of course, he loved him. But he wanted to make sure Shane never doubted it, never had a reason to question Ilya's choices again. He knew that the conversation they needed to have was not going to be easy, but the main thing Ilya was worried about was making sure that Shane knew he loved him. That he was still willing to do whatever it took to be together, no matter the cost.
But he also needed to show and tell Shane the worst parts of himself, the darkest things he kept hidden from the rest of the world. Shane needed to understand why Ilya had chosen to go to therapy, and why it was so important to him that he didn't follow the same path as his mother.
A bang louder than any of the typical sounds Ilya had ever heard during a flights shook the plane, bringing Ilya (unfortunately) out of his thoughts. Everything was thrown about violently for a moment, and Ilya's can of coke fell to the floor. He didn't even have time to worry about it spilling everywhere before the plane just dropped.
Ilya was screaming. He knew he was- he should probably stop, but everyone around him was screaming as well. He clutched the arms of his seat and closed his eyes, as if either of those things would help.
We're going to crash.
I'm going to die.
I'll never see Shane again.
We were going to have dogs and kids.
The plane levelled out with another horrible shake. The cabin of the plane was eerily silent, as if everyone was too scared to so much as breathe. The pilot made an announcement. Ilya's brain was too panicked to translate all of the words, but he heard 'engine' and 'emergency landing'. He focused on the word landing. Pilots were trained to deal with this, right? He'd know if Shane hadn’t been such a pill about Ilya wanting to get his pilot's license.
Shane.
What if I die? What would Shane do? How would he mourn?
A few rows behind him, Ilya heard Nick Chouinard yelling something about a fire. He didn't want to look.
Fuck. This was really happening. They were going to die, and Ilya would never get to have the big conversation with Shane. Would never get to tell him everything that Ilya had been hiding in his heart for so long. Would never get to fix what was broken in their fight.
If only Shane wasn't playing a game right now, Ilya could talk to him somehow. He wished he could text, but all he had access to was Wi-Fi.
Fuck it. Ilya opened Instagram and started typing a new private message to shanehollanderhockeyplayer.
Shane he wrote, then stopped. He had no idea what to say. There was suddenly no conceivable way to put everything he needed to tell Shane into words.
But the plane was on fire, and Ila didn't have time to think. He wrote what was in his petrified, thundering heart.
You are the best thing in my life.
His eyes were blurry, making it hard to type. He quickly wiped at them and kept writing.
I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you.
He let his mind take him away from the nightmare happening around him and back to a rink parking lot in Saskatchewan. Ilya couldn't remember what Shane had said, exactly, that first time they'd met. He only remembered a galaxy of freckles decorating rosy red cheeks. He remembered Shane's hand being unfairly warm when he shook it. He remembered being carefully studied by dark, earnest eyes.
It was entirely possible that Ilya had lost his heart that moment. It took his brain a long time to catch up, but his heart had known right away. He wished Shane could respond. He hated thinking about Shane seeing these messages... after.
He'd keep them forever. Ilya knew he would. Fuck. He had to say something really good.
I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those.
Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
He did. Ilya only had vague ideas of the afterlife and any gods who may be waiting there, but he believed his soul would stay with Shane's, however long it could. He believed the people you loved stayed with you until it was your own time to go. He often felt his mother was with him, and he knew he'd do the same for Shane.
And maybe he'd see his mother again soon. That was a nice thought. Ilya pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the crucifix pendant through the fabric of his shirt. He prayed, quietly and with no real structure. He murmured requests for whoever was listening to keep Shane safe, to let him live a long, happy life. To please not let this plane crash, because Ilya had wasted so much fucking time hiding how much he loved Shane- from the world, from Shane, from himself. He needed more time. He needed to love Shane properly.
Please. Please just let me tell him I love him.
Let me show him I love him.
…
Montreal lost their game in Washington, which was annoying. Shane saw that Ilya's team had won big against California that afternoon, and he fully expected Ilya to give him shit about it.
He didn't check his phone until he was on the bus, heading back to the team's hotel. A message from his Mum, an apology over the game, and a missed call from her. He shrugged it off, responded with a quick it's fine, no doubt Ilya will let me know how bad it was later, then locked his phone again.
'Whoa,' J.J said, 'the Centaur's plane crashed.' Shane whipped around to face J.J, feeling his face drain colour slightly.
'What? How bad is it? Is everyone okay?'
J.J thumbed his phone screen while Shane's heart pounded- Ilya's plane had crashed.
'Oh my god.'
Shane snatched J.J's phone out of his hand, reading the article he still had open. He scanned it, looking for news on survivors.
...we have yet to know the full extent of the impact on its passengers, but five survivors have so far been accounted for.
'Five survivors.' Shane read aloud, mostly to himself. 'Even if they were all Centaurs... holy shit, most of the Centaurs are...'
The area around him fell silent. Shane's hands shook as J.J took his phone back. He opened his own phone again, trying to calm his breathing as he checked his texts. None from Ilya. Shane didn't let that take over him- Ilya never texted when he was on a plane, there was no signal. He always... used Instagram.
Shane could've screamed at his phone as it struggled to load Instagram on the weak signal he had. He opened his messages and, sure enough, he had some from Ilya.
The messages were... intense. Romantic, certainly, and scary. Ilya had meant those as his last words to Shane.
Shane read the messages over and over again, completely oblivious to the conversations going on around him. His mind started racing, what if Ilya was just... gone? Just like that, just fucking gone? Who was Ilya's next of kin, his brother he never spoke to? Would Shane be allowed to scatter his ashes somewhere he would've liked- maybe the cottage, or perhaps he'd be preferred to be buried in Moscow with his parents. They'd never spoken about it.
Anger suddenly flared through Shane's chest. They had so many reasons to keep their relationship hidden from the world, but every single one seemed so unimportant right now. What if Ilya was dead? What if he wasn't one of the five survivors?
He clutched his phone to his chest and turned his gaze out of the window so that his teammates couldn't see his lip was trembling.
...
Once he was back at the hotel, safely tucked away in his room, he checked the news once more. A list of the survivors had been released. Shane almost let relief flood through him when he saw the number had been raised to ten.
He opened the article, scrolling through it until he reached the list.
Wyatt Hayes
Zane Boodram
Sophie Chappell
Luca Haas
Katie Niessen
Brandon Wiebe
Troy Barrett
Christopher Valhilmer
Emily Knowles
Harris Drover
Shane read the list again, and again even slower. He scanned each letter of each name, making sure he'd read them all properly. He refreshed the page, like that would do anything, and read it again. He opened a separate article, posted only two minutes ago. Same list. Same names. Same absence of Ilya.
He opened Instagram again in a hurry. His chest heaved and his heart pounded as he searched for the NHL's page, but they hadn't posted anything. He checked the Centaurs- nothing. He paced around the room, trying to steady his shaking hands.
He called Ilya- once, twice, three times, four- to no answer. He called his Mum next, who answered right away.
'Shane, honey, thank god oh my god.'
'Mom! Mom, I found a list of the survivor's names- but Ilya isn't on any of them.'
He put his Mum on speaker, still searching every article he could, refreshing every Instagram page.
'Shane...'
'No, he's fine, mom, I just... I would feel it if he wasn't.'
'Shane, please...'
'NO, MOM! I have to... I have to just find a more recent one, they'll keep updating them.'
'Shane, listen to me...'
'I have to go, mom, I'm gonna try calling Ilya agin.'
He hung up before she could respond, and opened Ilya's contact. Once again, the call went to voicemail.
'Come on, Ilya, pick up.'
He tried again. And again. And again.
There was a knock at his door. He ignored it.
'Come on, Ilya!'
Another knock. He told whoever it was to fuck off.
He found a new article- thirty seconds ago. He opened it, same results.
'Fuck! Ilya, pick up!' He yelled as his seventeenth call to Ilya went to voicemail. He opened texts and wrote several in a row to Ilya.
Ilya, you bette pick up or i sear to go
Ilya this isn't funny
Answer the fucking hpone
Please don't be dead.
Another knock. This time, Shane opened it and Hayden came bursting in.
'Dude, oh my god. Are you- what're you doing?' Shane had resumed his pacing, avidly refreshing every page he could.
'Ilya's alive, I just... none of the articles are confirming it, he's not answering his phone, I can't find anything!'
Hayden sighed, or maybe took a deep breath. Shane didn't care, he kept refreshing all the articles and Instagrams, trying to find something that told him what he wanted- what he needed- to hear.
'Shane, buddy... Rozanov didn't make it.'
'He did, Hayd, I'd feel it if he didn't! He's just injured or something... maybe that's it. That's why he's not answering! He's in the hospital.'
'Shane... the survivors on the list are the injured. Did you read the full article?'
Shane paused, reading the article he had just refreshed properly.
...the crash contained twenty-four passengers and eight crew members. Of the total thirty-two people on board, only ten survived and are in varying states of injury in hospital. Recovery of the people who did not survive the crash is currently being attempted as their families are contacted...
Shane felt like he'd been pulled from the earth at lightning speed. Hayden was still speaking somewhere miles away from him, but Shane couldn't hear him over his heart pounding in his chest. The world around him seemed to disappear, only the article in front of him and a throbbing in his head making it into his conscious.
'When they tell you you do commercial with me, and not just alone?'
'Two days ago. Why, when did they tell you?'
'No, they tell me nothing. Was my idea.'
'She would have loved you... like I love you.'
'Say it to me again in Russian, please?'
'Ya tebya lyulbyu.'
'Shane, do you promise to love Ilya and be his husband forever?'
'I do.'
'Ilya, do you promise to love Shane and be his husband forever?'
'I do. Forever.'
'Shane? Buddy?'
Shane blinked. Hayden was stood in front of him, his hands on Shane's shoulders.
His cheeks were wet, his chest felt like someone was sat on it, his heart was pounding in his chest.
His phone was ringing. It was an unknown number. He answered it slowly.
'H-hello?'
'Mr Shane Hollander?'
'Yeah, that's me.'
'Hi, my name is Johnathan, I work for California State Hospital. You are the next of kin of Mr Ilya Rozanov, is this correct?'
Shane blinked. He was Ilya's next of kin? When had Ilya done that? Sure, Shane had made Ilya his next of kin, but he didn’t know Ilya had done the same. He looked up at Hayden, whose eyes were wide. His voice shook wildly, fresh tears burning his eyes.
'Y-yeah, I'm Ilya's next of kin. Is he... erm, is he okay?'
'I don’t know if you are aware, but there was a plane crash that our team…'
'Yeah, I know, I know. Just tell me if he’s okay. Please tell me he made it.'
'Shane... I am sorry to tell you this, truly, but Ilya did not make it out of the crash alive.'
His phone fell to the floor, call still active.
His limbs went numb, his chest tightened even further.
And Ilya was dead.
Ilya is dead.
Hayden held his arms out to Shane carefully, almost questioningly. His expression was unreadable, but Shane didn't care.
'Hayd-' was all he managed before he collapsed.
He crashed to the floor, and barely felt Hayden's arms wrap around him as his body was wracked with sobs that made his chest ache even more.
'Ilya...' he gasped out. He grabbed fistfuls of Hayden's shirt, clutching onto whatever comfort he could find.
The man on the phone lying beside him was talking. Hayden definitely wasn't sat in a comfortable position in his attempt to comfort Shane through what Shane was certain was the worst pain of his life. He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach with an iron fist, then smashed his chest into a thousand pieces while he attempted to breathe through it all. He briefly wondered if he was even alive anymore.
How can I be alive, while you are not?
How did your death not take me in turn?
How can my piece of our soul stand to be without yours?
His mind raced with Ilya's messages- he'd known. He'd known he was going to die... had he been scared? Had he managed to find some semblance of peace in his last moments before the plane hit the ground? Had he thought of his mother? Maybe the thought of seeing her again would have provided him with a small comfort.
Did you feel her arms welcoming you into the next life?
Did you feel her presence, were you saved?
Please tell me you were saved.
Please tell me they are wrong about you.