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Ilya sat a little bored on his couch, his legs draped over each other, leaned back relaxed against the cushions, one hand lazily in the pocket of his joggers while his other hand inelegantly scratched his chest while he watched the game. The Boston Raiders were out of the playoffs, and he watched one of the later games of the Metros against the Admirals.
And then it happened. Hollander pulling a ‘the Rozanov’ - Ilya’s move. Ilya couldn’t believe his eyes as his boyfriend pulled off the move so smoothly, as if he had invented it, and the commentators couldn’t shut up about it. Also, his phone next to him on the couch didn’t shut up with notifications. Probably the group chat…
He took a look.
Satisfied to have them shut up so quickly, he focused on the game, watching how the camera zoomed in on Hollander.
How could they not shut up, when Shane did what he had clearly learned from him? His boyfriend wasn’t even that subtle about it as he… fucking winked into the camera after he scored with ‘the Rozanov,’ and Ilya’s heart was about to explode. It was as if Hollander knew exactly that Ilya was watching, and it was so out of character for the polite Canadian that even the commentators fired up about it. But something else lodged inside his chest as he felt his heart pump even harder… His hand rested against his chest, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart, the phone forgotten, as he slowly realized his thoughts and swallowed hard. Hollander, his boyfriend?
Nah.
But he wished at that moment it was the truth.
The next time it happened, it was also on the couch. He was alone in his Boston home, tired from a practice game, launching on his couch, letting the day frizzle out in some lazy time. He was lazy right, his father told him as much, every time they talked… so why not meet expectations.
He watched as the final horn blared, as the Montreal Metros won their first cup in years - his boyfriend following his footsteps, securing a winning streak after winning streak. It was so heartwarming to watch him on screen, so happy, sweaty and absolutely beautiful as his freckles scrunched up in a wide smile, as he lifted up the cup to celebrate with his teammates. And kissed it. And Ilya wished he would be the one getting kissed by his boyfriend. He needed it. But it wouldn’t happen, right?
Right?
He felt the need nevertheless.
He recognized a pattern at this point. It always happened on the couch, in his Boston home, when he was alone.. Thinking about Hollander, seeing him on a fucking screen, instead of in person. But this time he was not alone…. Svetlana was at his, and they spent some time together, preparing to go out to get a little fired up, celebrate, get drunk, maybe even fuck.
He needed a distraction, for sure, as he slowly took in the scenery in front of him, playing out on his big-ass expensive TV. Switching from a nice peaceful landscape to a Shane Hollander sitting on a ridiculous chair, legs spread, tiny shorts, way too tiny. Not hiding much... And then it showed him how his boyfriend, sexy as fuck, pushed his athletic body through some yoga positions. His little… shorts riding up, his muscles rippling beneath the flawless skin.
Fucking hell. HIS boyfriend was fucking hot.
And so fucking boring. He wanted to fuck the boring right out of him. As Svetlana caught him staring, he caught himself thinking about Hollander as his boyfriend again.
Fuck.
He needed that distraction.
No distraction helped. Not really, as he searched online for recipes. Easy recipes. Easy-to-prepare food he would not fuck up, he could try out again and again, until he looked like it was something he did every day. Casual. What would Shane want to eat, if he finally pulled off his plan of inviting his boyfriend to his home, to stay the night? To stay. He really wanted Shane to stay.
At his place, eating together in his kitchen, sleeping together in his bed. The entire night. Waking up next to Shane, with their probably awful morning breath.
He would still kiss his boyfriend. Nothing was off-putting regarding Shane Hollander.
Not even his boredom. His anchoring, disgusting, foreseeable boredom.
It was endearing, really. So nothing exotic to eat. Everyone liked tuna, right? At least he liked tuna and Shane never had said anything against it - even though they never really had talked about food.
Ginger Ale.
He needed to stock up on it, for his boyfriend.
Maybe there was something off-putting about Shane Hollander. As he saw him with his new… girlfriend in real life as he let his gaze drift through the moving bodies, while loud music played in the background.
The off putting thing was Rose Landry. He hadn’t liked her, as he saw her cozying up with Shane. She seemed too polite, too nice, too beautiful and way too charming. Naturally she pulled Shane Hollander, the polite, nice, beautiful and way too charming man he was (in secret). Boring, too. Way too boring. And still he was here in a club, where Ilya never really expected him.
He felt jealousy rising up hot and disgusting inside him, as he pulled a random woman, who looked hot in the flickering lights. Ilya breathed in her sweet perfume and wanted nothing more than to smell Shane’s fresh minty scent. Even his sweat. A tinge of alcohol would be nice, as long as it was his boyfriend writhing his body against Ilya’s. It wasn’t though as their eyes met across the dancefloor. Ilya's heart sank heavily. Stilled for a moment inside him, only to thump harder than before, painfully hard. He felt it in his entire body.
Shane had maybe a girlfriend. It didn’t change, that Ilya still thought about him as his. His boyfriend. He felt the woman leaning against him, as his gaze was painfully locked with Shane’s. And they both wished for something else. They both wanted it, and Ilya saw it in Shane’s eyes.
More.
This was not enough.
Ilya didn’t know where to look. He didn’t know what to do, as he was trapped inside a flood of journalists. Surrounded by flashes of cameras, trained on him. His face was probably shown to tens of thousands of people, as he tried not to crumble into a mess.
His hands were shaky and sweaty. Cold sweaty, nervous and angst-sweaty. He had not even changed out of his gear. Ilya was still in his skates, his legs trembling upon the blades, as he stood off the ice, microphones thrown at him, gazes flicked his way. He felt a bead of sweat caught in his eye. The salt burning as he blinked it away. His heart hammered in his chest, in his throat in such a discomforting way that he felt like vomiting. Vomiting out his hurting heart, because he wanted so badly to hold Hollander's hand as he was strapped to a stretcher. Holding his hand as he was driven to the hospital. Holding his hand as he sat beside his bed, knowing everything would be alright. It had to be alright… Right? Ilya plunged his imaginary fingers into the hope as hard as he could. Believing everything would be alright, otherwise he was a lost cause. He never thought something could hurt so much.
Instead he stood here, in the scrutiny of everyone else. In the scrutiny of people who didn’t matter as much. And he tried to hold on to… what? To what exactly?
His brain shut down for a moment, the faces surrounding him fuzzy, blurry, the sound and the lights dimmed. The voices a silent buzz in the background as his racing thoughts stumbled to a halt.
“My boyfriend is in the hospital. I need to get to him.”
Was all his lips let out, as he shouldered his way out of the cluster of people whose voices turned into a cacophony of noise. Questions thrown at him.
Ilya didn’t care. He only wanted to see Shane. An especially obnoxious man threw his camera right in Ilya’s face and something snapped.
“LET ME THROUGH, I NEED TO SEE SHANE. MY BOYFRIEND!” he practically screamed and shoved his way through to the locker room, to get his car keys, to hold Shane's hand.
He only felt the rushing need to get to Shane, as he shoved his way through everyone who got in his way once he had reached the hospital. Only to halt in front of Shane’s parents, who were in front of his hospital room.
They looked him up and down skeptically, probably very aware of the news that spread like wildfire.
“He is… conscious, but he got a lot of pain meds and his brain is concussed,” Yuna provided.
“We weren’t sure what he was mumbling as we got to him. But after we saw the newest… report on the news and got some suspicious questions thrown at us…” Yuna stopped and grabbed David's hand, who nodded towards her encouragingly.
“We are sure he mumbled your name. Asking for you,” she concluded.
“He doesn't know… it though…” David informed Ilya, who stood there dumbfounded at the fast rate everything developed, and how the feelings inside him pressed down on him.
“Thank you. I will talk later,” Ilya smiled at them genuinely, but now he needed something more important.
The door closed with a soft click behind him. He was alone with Shane. He caught onto Shane’s hand. Warm. Solid. Alive. As he sat down on the chair next to his bed, Shane’s eyes opened slowly, his freckles prominent despite the bruising. His beautiful brown eyes were hazy. It took a moment until Shane finally realized who was there, sitting and holding his hand, and the cutest smile broke out on his face.
“Ilya,” he slurred and smiled, pressing the other hockey player's hand.
“I’m here, and I am not going anywhere,” he swallowed and caught Shane’s gaze.
“I will never leave your side again.”
Shane squeezed his hand a bit more.
“I don’t want you to,” Shane slurred after he pressed his eyes shut for a moment.
“Stay.” Ilya felt thrown off by the word Shane directed at him, in a good way; his heart felt alive again.
Ilya slowly nodded.
Shane looked at him, smiled, and asked:
“Okay?”
“Okay,” Ilya's voice trembled and was barely audible as he answered, feeling Shane’s warmth spread from his hand through his entire body. They would defeat everything that stood in their way.
Finally.
This was enough.