Work Text:
Ilya lets out a dramatic groan, pulling the blankets over his face to hide from the morning sun beaming in through the windows. In the mess of sheets, he reaches out to Shane, reaching further and further until he finds the edge of the bed and not his husband. He grunts in frustration and opens his eyes to confirm that Shane, as always, has left him in bed alone on a day off.
He’s very aware of Shane’s early rising habits, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. If it were up to him, he and Shane would wake up together every morning and lounge around in bed wrapped up in a mess of limbs and lingering kisses. Especially on days as rare as today, when neither of them has anything to do.
Though Shane always seems to have something to do.
And today it was not to stay in bed and let his husband wrap around him like a python.
Ilya stretches out, loosening up his tense muscles before tossing his legs over the side of the bed and sighing deeply before standing up. He pulls on some sweatpants and his favorite hoodie of Shane’s, blue, faded, and very Shane.
He’s been feeling better these days. The medication his therapist recommended and the team doctor prescribed made a big difference. Though it doesn’t always ward off the occasional bad day, and somewhere in Ilya’s mind, he could feel the dark clouds looming, just waiting to dump rain on him. He takes a deep breath before heading to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his face, and examining himself in the mirror.
His curls are a wild, sleep-tousled mess. Carefully, he rakes his fingers through them, trying to make them look a little less insane and trying not to focus on the dark shadows under his eyes. Same as any other morning, he brushes his teeth and steals some of Shane’s fancy mouthwash. He considers dipping into Shane’s skincare products, but in the end decides that it feels like too much work. He leans down to the sink, splashing some cold water on his face before looking up to the far side of the large mirror.
He smiles at the little notes taped up to the glass. Shane’s handwriting looks so neat and perfect next to his oddly shaped g’s and o’s. Just like he does each morning, he reads aloud his “daily words of affirmation”, as Galina, his therapist, calls them. The first few times he did it, he felt ridiculous. He’d hide away from Shane, reading them no louder than a whisper. Now, he’s certain they work. Most mornings, Shane will stand next to him and read along with him, or on particularly hard days, press kisses to Ilya’s shoulders and back while he recites the words.
He is brave.
He is strong.
He is loved, obviously.
He is happy.
And today is a good day.
Reaching into the cabinet, he grabs the orange pill bottle and carefully shakes one small pill into his hand. He pops it into his mouth, taking a sip of water from the faucet before swallowing it down. He reads the affirmations one more time before smiling at the little reminder he leaves for Shane when he looks in the mirror each day.
“Anya?” He calls out, turning off the bathroom light behind him.
He’d usually be able to hear her nails clicking and clacking along the hardwood floors or maybe even a bark if she was really excited. She’d come barreling around the corner of their upstairs hallway, her ears flopping with each bounce. Though this morning, as Ilya walks down the hall, he’s met with nothing but the hum of the furnace.
He pads down the stairs to the kitchen, his eyes drawn to a little note on the island tucked under a still-steaming cup of coffee. The French vanilla scent wrapped around him, knowing it must have killed Shane to pour that sugar-filled creamer into a perfectly fine cup of black coffee. He raised it to his lips, taking a sip.
“Poor Anya,” he thinks, “forced to run so early in the morning.”
In truth, Anya loves running with Shane. Ilya would rather not acknowledge it, but he’s fairly certain that Anya likes Shane more than she likes him. She’d often be trailing behind him as he walked around the house or curled up at his hip while he read on the couch. Ilya can hardly blame her, though, as close to Shane as possible is his favorite place to be, too.
His mind drifts back to last night, the two of them lying on the couch, Ilya’s head in Shane’s lap as he gently twirls Ilya’s curls. Listening carefully to Ilya’s soft-spoken words. Ilya’s gotten better at opening up to Shane, and when he’s had a particularly hard day, they’ll often find themselves in this position, talking long into the night about all the thoughts clouding Ilya’s mind. Which usually leads to another little reminder to take his pill.
Before things got better, Ilya would just get angry. He hated it when Shane brought it up and refused to talk about anything he was feeling, afraid Shane thought he was broken or a child. They’d fight back and forth, and eventually he discovered it was neither of those things, and just Shane’s way of being there for him.
Something that once irritated him was now something that made him feel overwhelmingly cared for. A feeling he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world, because as long as Shane Hollander loved and cared for him, everything would be okay.
Ilya takes the small note and walks up to the fridge, grabbing a silver magnet to stick it among the photos and other little notes that Ilya refuses to let Shane throw away. Some of them are cute little memories, and others are just outdated to-do lists that Ilya feels very attached to. He laughs when he spots last week's grocery list, the same one that Shane would not stop badgering him about. Though the more he badgered him, the more Ilya loved it.
Glancing over to the side table next to the couch, he smiles to himself when his eyes land on the half-eaten pack of Chips Ahoy sitting next to the TV remote. Shane would never admit to it, but Ilya has definitely noticed a few more cookies than he’s eaten missing and some lingering crumbs in the corner of Shane’s mouth.
He looks over the notes and photos, taking another sip of coffee.
His own handwriting sticks out to him, a long-winded and non-genuine apology from a few months ago when Ilya was caught on the balcony with a cigarette between his lips. Ilya would have been perfectly fine with this note being tossed in the trash, but Shane seemed to find it hilarious and a “good reminder” of the consequences of Ilya’s actions.
Ilya sat outside the bedroom door for almost an hour before slipping this little note underneath, hoping Shane would see it and let him in. He knew it was a risky move to smoke; it’s not something he does often anymore, but if you’d seen the goal he missed that night, you would want one too. Shane didn’t see it that way.
Thankfully, Shane wasn’t as mad as he seemed, and just moments after Ilya slipped his silly little note under the door, it flew open, and Shane practically dragged him to their bed, wrapping his limbs around him and burying them deep in their sheets. The cigarette scent still lingered on Ilya’s hoodie.
The note tucked underneath was from months ago, one Ilya had left for Shane before an early-morning flight to Boston for Svetlana’s birthday. Ilya refuses to get rid of this note, even despite his own spelling mistake, for the sole purpose that it’s proof of Shane’s adorable snoring habits. However, Shane doesn’t consider it proof because Ilya wrote the note. Ilya knows the truth, though, and he hears the proof each night when Shane is tucked in his neck, humming softly into his skin.
It’s still very cute.
Ilya laughs out loud, the coffee in his hand shaking, spilling a little down the side of the cup. He pushes the little Scrabble “I Love You” magnets aside and picks out another note. This was one of Ilya’s personal favorites.
It’s safe to say Shane has never asked Ilya to play Scrabble again, though he’s fairly certain that Shane enjoyed his reward for winning. Ilya’s had to pull this particular note out of the trash multiple times. Something about Shane being concerned that his parents might see it. Ilya doesn’t really care, though; it’s worth it to see Shane get all annoyed and adorable, specifically the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.
Ilya takes another sip of his coffee, spending a few extra seconds admiring their wedding photos, reading over more notes, smiling cheek-to-cheek. For every sweet note, there is one just as ridiculous. On one hand, Shane knows him so deeply that he will remember the way their couch hurts Ilya’s neck when he falls asleep watching his, as Shane says, “stupid action movies”. On the other hand, Ilya ragebaiting Shane at any available opportunity.
Then there are things like this that make Ilya’s eyes glaze over, and his heart squeeze. Something so simple as a recipe.
It was his Mother’s birthday, and Ilya could hardly bring himself to leave their bed. Shane stayed in bed with him all morning, pressing soft kisses to his forehead and holding him tightly to his chest through Ilya’s sobs. In the early hours of the afternoon, Shane would manage to get Ilya out of their warm tangle of sheets and into the shower, gently washing his hair and drawing little stick figures and hearts in the fog to make Ilya smile.
They’d spend the rest of the day making Borscht, a soup that Ilya’s mother would make for him when he was a child.
Shane had gone out and gotten all the ingredients, and they stood at the kitchen island, chopping vegetables, while Shane just listened as Ilya told him memory after memory of his mother. Soon enough, they were both smiling, laughing as Ilya explained the time his mother had accidentally turned all his father’s white work uniforms pink in the wash. He had been so mad, but Ilya and his mother had laughed for hours afterward as Ilya put on all the oversized, pink shirts and danced around the living room in them. His father’s anger was masked by the bright laughter of his mother, a sound he could still hear today.
Ilya took the recipe off the fridge and set it on the counter, thinking he and Shane could make it again soon.
The note underneath is now visible on the fridge, neat and crisp, Crillic script peeking out amongst the smooth lettering of the English alphabet. Ilya set the now-chilled coffee down on the counter and rearranged some magnets, moving a photo of Rose and Shane to the side to reveal two notes.
It felt like only yesterday that they gave each other these little notes, laughing about how they tore from the same notepad to write them. Sitting across from each other at the balcony table, steaming plates of chicken parmesan between them, Ilya helped Shane read the Russian lettering, the smile on Shane’s face growing brighter with each word discovered.
They could have gone out that night, proudly out to the world with rings on their left hands to prove it, but they’d both rather be here. Sat together watching the sun set over the Ottawa skyline, holding hands and passing love letters across the table.
They’d spend the rest of that night, long after the sun set, on the balcony. Reminiscing over the years they had been together and dreaming about the future they’d share. The cups they’d win, the places they’d travel, the children they’d eventually adopt. Even on his hardest days, Ilya still found himself excited for the future they would share. The darkest corners of Ilya’s mind were never dark for long; Shane’s daylight would always illuminate them.
Ilya wipes a tear from his cheek, just in time for a laugh to rack through his chest.
And they did exactly that.
They both packed a simple duffel with the essentials and took off to the cottage for a spontaneous weekend. They always spent summers at the cottage, but it was rare for them to visit in the winter thanks to their insane hockey schedule. With some string of luck, they found themselves with some downtime after Christmas and spent New Year's Eve curled up on the couch in the cottage living room, sipping hot chocolate and watching the snow fall through the big picture windows.
Then, they had sex.
An unreasonable amount of it.
On the couch, in the shower, in their bed, in the hot tub that Ilya coerced Shane into buying despite his insisting that they are disgusting. Ilya even managed to get Shane bent over the snow-covered railing of the deck, an unconventional location, but they both found it oddly festive, yet cold.
Thankfully, they were able to warm up in front of the fireplace, where they also had sex.
And though they fucked like rabbits, they still found themselves standing on the back deck, fingers intertwined, watching fireworks being shot over the frozen lake as their distant neighbors rang in the New Year. The two of them shared a sweet, slow kiss in the multi-colored glow.
And then yes, they went inside and warmed up their rosy cheeks on the kitchen island.
Ilya makes a mental note to try and find some time to go to the cottage soon lets his eyes drift over to the last, unread note.
He picks the note off the fridge and sets it on the counter, digging down into the cupboards to grab the blender, plugging it into the island outlet. Cycling through the kitchen, he grabs all the ingredients and adds them to the blender, carefully counting the chunks of frozen fruit to get the perfect flavor ratio Shane loves. Something that took Ilya a lot of trial and error to work out.
The blender whirrs, the ingredients mixing into what Ilya finds an unsettling green color, but that’s the tell-tale sign that he did it right.
In the noise, he didn’t hear the click of the front door or the quick footsteps of Anya crossing the room to find him. It’s only when two cold arms wrap around him that he realizes that Shane is back from his run. His freckled cheeks were rosy from the cold, along with the tip of his nose.
Ilya stops the blender and turns to face him, his heart so unbelievably full.
“I’m guessing that smoothie isn’t for you?” Shane smiles, working his cold hands up the hem of Ilya’s shirt to rest on his stomach.
Ilya shivers at the contact, but just pulls Shane in closer.
“I would never drink green sludge, you know this,” Ilya whispers, pressing a kiss to Shane’s lips.
“It’s good,” Shane laughs, “You’ve never even tried it!”
“Yes, because it looks like this.”
Ilya gestures to the blender and kisses the tip of Shane’s nose before stepping out of Shane’s arms and grabbing a glass from the cabinet. Shane circles the island and takes a seat on one of the benches, watching Ilya move around the kitchen. Anya is curling up at his feet. Ilya carefully pours the smoothie into the glass, sets it in front of Shane, then pulls out a pan and a carton of eggs from the fridge.
“Do you want eggs?” He asks, looking up at Shane, who’s sipping the smoothie with a big smile on his face.
“You always make it perfect,” He says, “How do you always make it perfect?”
“I know what my husband likes.” Ilya shrugs, putting some butter into the pan, watching it melt.
Shane sips his smoothie and watches as Ilya scrambles some eggs, dividing them into two bowls and setting one in front of Shane before circling the island to sit next to him. Their broad shoulders and knees were touching from the closeness of the chairs. They enjoy their breakfast in silence until Ilya sets his fork down on the island, his bowl still half-full.
“I love you.” He says, turning to look at Shane and sounding more like a confession than a casual reminder.
“I love you too.” Shane laughs before surveying Ilya’s face, “You okay?”
Ilya considers for a second, remembering the clouds that crowded his mind when he woke up this morning. Though as he looks at Shane and remembers each note and photo on the fridge, he can’t hide a smile. The clouds in his mind were now far off in the distance.
“Yes,” He says, final and certain, “I’m just feeling, what is the word, happy for my life.”
“Grateful?” Shane suggests.
“Yes, grateful.” Ilya confirms, “For you, for our life.” He gestures to the decorated fridge.
Shane smiles, “We’re pretty lucky, aren’t we?” he leans over, kissing Ilya’s cheek.
“The luckiest.” Ilya beams.
