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“The next morning, when the sun had just begun to rise, Ilya watched Shane drive away. He stood on his front step for several minutes after, staring in the direction the car had gone, and shivering in his gym shorts and T-shirt. Then, he went inside, closed the door, and burst into tears. When he’d finished crying, some uncertain amount of time later, he felt more exhausted than he had after any hockey game. He was crumpled on the floor, slumped against his front door, and standing up seemed like an insurmountable feat.
He decided that, yes. He should probably get some professional help.”
- Chapter 13, The Long Game - Rachel Reid
Shane was actually almost content driving away from Ilya’s place in the early morning. Almost completely content, if only he didn’t have to leave at all and could have spent a slow, lazy morning with him instead. But well. Count your blessings, as they say.
What Shane didn’t notice at first was that he’d apparently been thoroughly fucked into forgetting his usual habit of checking whether he’d grabbed everything from the bedside table while packing his bag.
So at the first traffic light, he finally had the chance to look properly and realized he’d left his phone charger at Ilya’s place.
Not really a problem. He had an entire drawer full of identical cables at home. But sue him, if he had a choice between continuing on or having an excuse to go back and see Ilya for even five more minutes, he would always choose the latter.
So less than five minutes later, Shane was already pulling back up outside his boyfriend’s building.
Normally, he rarely even used his set of keys. Ilya was almost always waiting outside, immediately launching himself at Shane with kisses. But this time the house was dark, and Shane remembered his boyfriend had gone straight to sleep after the long night.
Not wanting to disturb him, Shane let himself in quietly.
But something was… off.
The door didn’t open smoothly, like something was pressed against it from the other side. It gave way on the second try, and Shane stepped into a dark hallway.
And there on the floor, against the opposite wall-
Wait.
Was that Ilya?
Was his body what had been blocking the door?
That thought was so absurd it barely registered properly. Why would he…?
Shane flicked on the light and immediately saw him.
Ilya was curled up on the floor in a tight, broken little shape, completely wrecked. Eyes red, face streaked with dried and fresh tears, shirt damp, still quietly sobbing. His chest rose and fell too quickly, unevenly, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.
“God, my love, what is it? What happened?”
“Oh shit, shit- I didn’t- sorry, I thought- I saw you leave, I thought you were already on your way.” Ilya pushed himself up from the floor, rubbing at his eyes with his hands and trying to steady his breathing.
“Yeah, I-” Shane suddenly froze in the doorway, stumbling over his words. “I just realized I forgot my charger and- you know what, it doesn’t even matter. I’m sorry. God, what happened while I was gone?”
Ilya looked at him with red, slightly swollen eyes, but didn’t answer. He almost seemed as shocked to be seen like this as Shane was to see him.
Did he often cry like this when no one was around? When Shane wasn’t there? And couldn’t help him?
Fuck. Fuck.
Shane needed to move. Why was he just standing there like an idiot?
In two long strides he closed the distance between them and pulled Ilya into him, pressing his face firmly into his neck, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other locked around his waist.
Almost automatically, Ilya gave in immediately. His arms wrapped tight around Shane’s back, fingers clutching at his shirt in tight fists. Another broken sob slipped out of his throat, then another, and Shane could feel his own neck growing damp quickly. He could already feel tears gathering at his own waterline.
Ilya was saying something but Shane could barely understand it. Partly because it was in russian, partly because half the words were swallowed against his skin.
And Shane still felt like he was failing him.
“Shh, shh. It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise. We’ll fix it.”
“Прости, прости, прости меня, прости, пожалуйста, блять, я не- я не хотел, чтобы ты так об этом узнал, прости, солнышко.”
“I don’t fully understand, baby, but if you’re apologizing, there’s nothing to apologize for. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, alright? You just need to breathe. Come on, can you do that with me? Yeah? Breathe in. Out. That’s it, sweetheart. Good. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“I shouldn’t have- блять, прости, я тебя люблю, ты самый лучший, я так сильно тебя люблю-”
“I love you too,” Shane said immediately, voice steady even as his throat tightened. “So much. So much, my love. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
They stood like that long enough for Shane to feel his boyfriend’s body fully relax against him. The sobbing had quieted down a little, though occasional hiccups still broke through here and there.
Fuck. They probably should sit somewhere. Preferably not on the floor where Ilya had already looked like he was about to collapse when Shane walked in.
“Hey, baby, let’s just sit down, yeah? Let’s go to the couch. Can you walk right now? Or if you want I can carry you?”
Ilya pulled back just enough to speak.
“No, is fine. I can. Yes, I can walk.”
“Good.”
As soon as they settled on the couch, Shane leaned back against it while Ilya was on his chest, slumped into him like a weighted blanket, face buried in the hollow of his collarbone.
Shane kept tracing patterns on Ilya’s back. He waited a little while for Ilya’s breathing to seem like it was calming down before speaking in a soft, patient voice.
“So… can you tell me what happened, baby?”
“Mm… nothing. Just a normal Wednesday for me.”
“Ilya.”
“Fine.” A shaky breath. “I just… I don’t know how to say it without sounding pathetic or like some idiot who doesn’t appreciate what he has.”
“You’re not an idiot, you’re the most mindful person I know, and you know you can tell me anything, okay? We don’t have to talk about it now, we can do it later, but I feel like I should know what happened because honestly you kind of scared me, my love, and I want to know how to help you, and I probably can’t do that if I don’t know what made you so upset.”
“Is nothing really. I just think you were right, I guess.”
Shane stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt Ilya as he finally seemed to get to the point.
“So you’re not even going to “I told you so” me?” Ilya muttered with a weak smile.
“I don’t even know what I was right about. I mean, I’m usually right about everything, there are so many cases it’s hard to understand what you’re even ta-”
“Asshole,” Ilya said, lightly biting his neck.
“No, I actually mean it. When you suggested that I needed… what was it… psychological help. Maybe you were right and I’m just a stubborn idiot and I should’ve listened to you earlier, then maybe you wouldn’t have had to see me like this mess. Not very “hot Russian boyfriend” of me, huh?”
“Still a very “hot Russian boyfriend” and “adorable and lovable and precious Russian boyfriend” of you, so you’re good.”
“Shane…” Ilya said in a trembling voice.
Shane let out a small laugh. “So? You were crying because you think you need to find a therapist, or?”
“Because I miss you.”
“Oh, baby, I literally just drove away from your place?”
“Yeah, but I think you know what I mean.”
“Of course.”
Of course Shane understood. Fuck. He missed Ilya almost all the time. It felt strange. They used to see each other maybe eight times a year, and he didn’t think he felt this constant ache in his daily life back then.
That last year in Boston had been especially hard. Coming back after the cottage, where he had unlimited access to the love of his life, where he could fall asleep listening to his breathing and count his moles one by one the moment he woke up, and pretend he didn’t want to kiss him first thing in the morning because “ugh, Ilya, morning breath,” but then still spend most of the day glued to each other.
Of course giving that up had been hard, and even nightly calls and frequent FaceTimes didn’t always help with that heartbreaking feeling, like there was now always a hole in Shane’s chest shaped like Ilya Rozanov and nothing could ever quite fill it.
And don’t ask how many shirts and hoodies had disappeared from Ilya’s wardrobe and relocated into Shane’s bed.
Also don’t ask how many times Shane had deleted from his Google search history things like “Ilya Rozanov shirtless,” “Ilya Rozanov smiling,” “Ilya Rozanov speaking Russian.”
Shane was only human, okay? A human who couldn’t even keep photos of his own boyfriend on his phone out of caution.
Fuck it. It wasn’t fair.
Of course it wasn’t, and Shane knew that since Ilya loved him just as much, he was probably feeling all of this too, just… well.
He had underestimated that Ilya Rozanov never did anything halfway, and if he was going to suffer from being away from his boyfriend, then of course it had to be at maximum intensity.
Still, the thought that Ilya hadn’t told him how bad it was kind of hurt Shane. It felt like he was falling apart and not doing anything to help himself.
“I know it is selfish of me. I already have more than I could dreamed of even a few years ago. I have you, and I still have hockey, and an amazing team. They really are good to me, even though I’m not there for them as often as I probably should be. Maybe I’m not really that great of a person. Not the best captain, or friend, or boyfr-”
“Stop. Stop that right now.” Shane’s voice turned firm immediately. “I forbid you from talking about my boyfriend like that, okay? And you’re not selfish. So what if you want the same normal things most people get to have? To have a job, a relationship, a family without having to sacrifice one for the other.”
“Yes, but that is the problem. You can’t have everything you want at the same time, Hollander.”
“Maybe some people can’t.” Shane brushed his thumb carefully beneath Ilya’s eye. “You can. And best believe I’m gonna make sure of it.”
That… was actually a surprisingly difficult thing for Ilya to hear.
Most of his life, nearly everyone around him - his father, his brother, coaches, older teammates back when he first joined Boston - had repeated the same thing over and over: if you wanted to be the best, you had to sacrifice something. That he was stupid, naive even, for believing he could succeed at everything all at once. And sure, logically, it made sense.
Most of the time, Ilya told himself he didn’t listen to them. That there was still this strangely soft part inside him that insisted they were all wrong, that maybe it was simply their problem that they hadn’t managed to have more and now took it out on youth instead.
But apparently years of hearing the same message in the background of his life had done something to him after all, if it was this hard to believe Shane. His beautiful, sweet Shane, who wouldn’t lie to him just for the sake of it. Not about things like this. Shane had never really lied to him at all.
Maybe if there was anyone capable of taking the mess that was currently Ilya Rozanov’s life and turning it into something manageable, something good, it really was Shane Hollander, king of planning and fixing things. Maybe he already had a plan forming somewhere inside that brilliant head of his. Ilya trusted that. Trusted it the same way he would trust Shane with his life.
“Thank you.” And before Shane could predictably interrupt him to say that he never had to thank him for things like this, Ilya rushed on. “Seriously, thank you for staying. I think I’m okay now, and I’m sorry for making such a mess. Everything is fine, really. You can go before you get stuck on the highway–”
Shane cut him off, finally lifting his face from Ilya’s curls for a moment. “Are you insane? I’m not going anywhere right now.”
I never, ever want to leave you at all. I want to spend my whole life holding you like this and breathing you in. And for your curls to keep tickling my nose, and maybe if I died right here like this, I’d actually die happy.
“You are not allowed to die before me, what the hell, Hollander? You and your obsession with always being first.”
Oh, shit. So Shane had said that last part out loud. Before he could even begin to defend himself, Ilya continued.
“You have practice back home tomorrow morning, yes? Or did you forget?”
Not home. Montreal hadn’t really been home in Shane’s mind for a long time now.
“Yeah, well. One of the privileges of being captain is getting to skip practice every now and then.”
“Damn. Shane Hollander skipping practice for me. Maybe I should have nervous breakdowns more often.”
“Too soon, asshole.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“Family matters.”
“Something happened to your parents?” Ilya let out a small laugh, though it came out too wet, maybe because his voice was still trembling from crying for so long.
“Something happened to my family member, and I need to be there for him right now, like fully. Maybe I am a career-obsessed idiot, but there are things that will always come first.”
“Like what?”
“Taking care of my baby, of course. What else could possibly be more important?”
Oh. Ilya really hadn’t meant to start crying again, but who the hell just said things like that?
“Hey, heеееy- sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to upset you again.”
“Is okay. Is just…” Ilya wiped quickly at his face. “The good kind of tears, what do you call them? Happy tears. I just love you so much.”
“Я люблю тебя больше всего на свете,” Shane said slowly. It didn’t sound perfect. His voice shook, the accent was still there under the words, but somehow this particular sentence came easier than any other russian phrase he’d spent hours trying to learn in his spare time. As if loving Ilya was the most natural thing Shane could possibly say, in any language. “I’m sorry I don’t always show it properly. And it was stupid to think that having my parents here with you, in the same city, would somehow help or fix any of this.”
“No, is wonderful. Your parents are wonderful. You know I love them, and I can feel they love me too.” Probably more than I deserve, he thought, but didn’t say aloud. “I couldn’t ask for anything more. It is honestly incredible having them around when you’re… you know, not exactly close by.”
“Maybe we could find a way to be a little closer. I mean, before we’re twice Scott Hunter’s age, huh?”
“Could we?”
“I mean, sure, everyone in Ottawa loves you now – as they absolutely should, Shane thought – but I’m still their golden boy. They’d take me with open arms any day. They’d probably make the date of my trade a national Shane Hollander holiday.”
Ilya laughed.
“What? You don’t think I deserve that? You were the one suggesting last year that my birthday should become a federal holiday.”
“That’s different. And I was a little drunk.”
“Sure. Drunk in love with me, as usual.”
“Always.”
Shane went quiet for a second.
“But I’m serious, though.”
“About National Shane Hollander Day? Oh, I’m sure Yuna just needs to make a few calls and–”
“Shut up, asshole. I mean the trade.”
“To Ottawa? To the Ottawa Centaurs? The team that last made the playoffs when we had just met?” Ilya snorted. “Which, let me remind you, was almost nine years ago.”
“Yeah, I know, shocking. But I heard they recently picked up the second-best player in the league, so maybe they’re actually worth it now.”
Everything was always worth it when Ilya was involved. Anything.
Ilya let out a quiet laugh. “Then you’d have to give up the captaincy too. Maybe we could negotiate an Alternate Captain position instead. Bood probably wouldn’t be thrilled about it, but then again, that’s the price of having Shane fucking Hollander on our team. Like, who would ever say no to an immediate Stanley Cup opportunity?”
“I don’t think that would work for me,” Shane replied. “I mean, I don’t need some patch on my chest to want to be on this— on your team. Besides…” His grin turned teasing. “That would be ridiculously hot, Captain.”
The joke seemed to have the intended effect. Ilya smiled faintly, though his eyes were still glassy.
What Shane didn’t say was that an alternate captain was supposed to take charge if something happened to the captain, and Shane didn’t think he could bear that responsibility. He didn’t think he’d be capable of functioning if anything ever happened to the man he loved. Look at him now, his heart was already tearing apart, and nothing had even happened to Ilya physically.
Still, Ilya had only just calmed down, and Shane didn’t want to say too much and risk triggering another wave of tears. There had already been enough crying for one morning now, considering it was nearly 6 a.m. They could talk seriously about all of this later. About this and everything else. When they were both a little more rested. Maybe after a couple of really good orgasms, too, now that they finally had a bit more time.
“We could stay here for a bit, right? I kind of didn’t really get proper sleep because some hot guy showed up at my place at the end of the night and made me make love to him until almost dawn.”
“You’re funny. But lucky for you you’re also adorable, so of course we can do whatever you want. Get some sleep,” Shane said, gently ruffling Ilya’s curls.
“Mm… will you be here when I wake up?” Ilya asked, already yawning.
“Always.”
And Shane of course knew that taking four days off from team obligations in Montreal wasn’t nearly enough. In fact, it felt like even an eternity with Ilya wouldn’t be enough. And of course he also knew that things like this couldn’t just be fixed with a kiss and some eternal declarations of love or whatever else people pretended to solve everything. They still had a lot to talk about. A lot to figure out. And Shane could help Ilya find the right therapist, maybe even a russian-speaking one, so it would be easier for him to open up about certain things. Maybe Shane could skip more of the non-essential practices and events and spend a little more time with the person who actually mattered.
After all, Shane was deadly serious about moving to Ottawa. That would take time too, but by the end of the season he’d be a free agent, and he could figure out any logistics involved if it meant being closer to his partner.
They didn’t even have to come out yet, or tell the world, or even Ilya’s teammates, though they seemed like good guys, and most importantly, Ilya trusted them.
They had time for all of that. They had all the time. And most importantly, they had each other.
So as Shane had said, he was always right, even when he said they would figure it out, whatever it was.