Work Text:
Oh, dear, you look so lost
Your eyes are red when tears are shed
This world, you must have crossed, you said
"You don't know me, and you don't even care"
...
She said, "I think I'll go to Boston
I think I'll start a new life
I think I'll start over where no one knows my name
- Boston by Augustana
Moscow, January 2010
It was a cold night in Moscow. The sky was dark, and the moon was bright. Ilya found himself sitting on a swing set like he was a child. He had walked to the park from his house after another fight with his father. His father was still so upset with him for choosing the MLH over the KHL. He didn’t understand why his son would rather play in America than in Russia. Ilya didn’t tell him that his only reason for playing hockey all these years had been to get out of Russia. There was no way Ilya was going to subject himself to living the rest of his life in this country. There was no one here who loved him (except Sveta), and if he really thought about it, there was no one here who even liked him. He was simply tolerated because he was good at hockey. If he hadn’t been his family’s meal ticket, he was sure his father or brother would have kicked him out years ago.
He misses his mother every day. It has been 7 years, but he still sees her everywhere. He sees her in the sunrise, when the birds sing, when there’s a fresh snowfall, and lastly, he sees her in himself. They have the same blonde curls. It’s the only physical feature he got from his mother, but he thinks he got his ability to love too much from her as well. His mother always knew he was the softer of the two boys. She treated Ilya with such gentleness and kindness, like she did everything else in her life. She spoke to the animals on the street like they were her friends. She would whisper words of encouragement to the flowers on the windowsill, as if it would help them grow faster. She would read him bedtime stories (all the funny voices included), and when she was finished, she would kiss his forehead before leaving him to sleep. She was his sunshine, and he had been living in endless darkness since he found her on the bathroom floor. The way his mother treated him feels so foreign now. He hasn’t truly felt love since 2003. He knows that she would hate him for thinking and feeling this way, but he can’t help it. He wishes he could feel different. He wishes he could be different.
Part of him also wishes that his father or his brother could really know him. Since he had found his mother, it had become evident that both of the other men hated him. Ilya always thought it was because he was too much like her. He was a constant reminder of what they had lost, but he didn’t think that was it anymore. He doesn’t think they ever truly cared for Irina Rozanov, at least not like he did. As he has grown older, he has realized he doesn’t know why they hate him. It probably has less to do with him as a person and more to do with them. That doesn’t make it hurt any less. He’s still just a kid.
He let his head fall to rest against the metal chain of the swing. The metal was icy against his face, and it gave a little shock to his system. For the first time since he arrived at the park, he realized he had forgotten a jacket. He had walked out of the house in such a hurry that the only thing he thought to grab was his phone. He wrapped his arms around himself to try to retain some sort of body heat. He feels more tears slide down and join the frozen ones on his cheeks. He realizes how pathetic he must look. Anyone could walk by and see ‘The Great Ilya Rozanov’ crying in a Moscow park, freezing to death. He knew he needed to leave this park, or he would get hypothermia, but he couldn’t make himself move. Moving meant going back into that house, and he couldn’t do that. Not right now at least. He needed more time to just breathe.
He got up and started to walk away from the park. If he didn’t want to go home, he had to at least start moving to retain what little body heat he had left. He found a pebble and started to kick it down the sidewalk. He reached into his pocket for his phone and headphones, which had conveniently been in his pocket when he stormed out of the house. If he was going to be sad, he would at least listen to some music. He opened Яндекс Музыка (Yandex Music) on his phone and clicked on a random playlist. He continued to walk down the street further and further from his father’s mansion.
As he walked, he began to think about his upcoming move to Boston. He would be leaving Moscow for Boston in June. It was still 6 months away. Ilya wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make it that long. Since the draft in June of last year, he has been more antsy about getting out of Russia. His impatience wasn’t helped by the rising tension in his house either. He has never been to Boston, but he thinks nothing can be worse than here. He is hoping he can be more himself. Maybe he can start over to an extent. Ilya had known he was bisexual since he was a preteen, but it wasn’t something he acted on (except for Sasha, but he blames that on teenage hormones). He wasn’t planning on coming out anytime soon, but America was different from Russia. He might let himself explore his sexuality a bit more. When he let himself think of the possibilities, his mind went right to brown eyes and freckles. Ilya shook his head, as if it would remove the thought, because that could never happen.
Trying to distract his mind, he looks down at the song playing on his phone. He notices the title of the song and his steps falter. What are the chances that a song titled Boston is playing right now? He quickly loads the lyrics into a translator, his English still not being good enough to understand the words to their full extent. He begins reading through the lyrics and abruptly stops walking. He feels his eyes well up with tears (again) as he reads through the entire song. He throws the hand holding his phone down to his side and looks up at the sky, trying to hold back his tears. When that proves unsuccessful, he puts his head down and sinks into a squatting position. He lets the tears flow freely down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure he had ever related to a song to this extent. He wasn’t sure why this specific song had come up on his shuffle, but he thinks it might’ve been a message of some sort. That Boston could truly be his new start. It could be a chance to find out who he is without all the added pressure he feels in Russia. Of course, he won’t be able to escape his family or Russia completely, but he thinks putting some distance between them will be helpful. He won’t have to see them or hear how they speak of him when they think he isn’t listening.
He thinks of meeting his new team, getting to see the States for the first time, going back to Canada, and experiencing so many new things. Svetlana would also be going between Boston and Moscow, so he will be able to see her more often. His mind drifts back to Canada, which brings back certain memories of an alleyway, a cigarette, and a pretty boy.
Ilya suddenly remembered he had a photoshoot with CCM coming up. He wondered if he could convince them to book his new ‘rival’ for the commercial as well. It would be good for ratings, and they didn’t need to know Ilya’s ulterior motives. He couldn’t have Shane Hollander in all the ways he wanted, but he still wanted to spend time with him. He just wanted to be in his presence, and if this was the only way, then so be it.
He finally stood up from the position he had taken earlier and began to make his way home. He was sure his lips were turning blue, and he would definitely be sick tomorrow. When he returns to the house, he quietly slips in the front door. After he removes his shoes at the front door, he makes his way to the bathroom next to his room. He takes the hottest shower known to man before changing into his pajamas and crawling into bed. He falls asleep more excited for his future than he has been in a long time.