Chapter Text
The music was too loud, and there was too many people. Shane was out celebrating with his team after winning a home game. He didn’t feel like coming out with the team today, but Hayden dragged him out. He reluctantly agreed because it gave him something to do, other than texting a forbidden number he promised himself he will never text again. He finally, successfully, ended things. Ended this sick pattern of sneaking around with his arch fucking rival. He needed fresh air. He headed outside, grabbing his jacket on the way out. It’s November in Montreal, so it’s really cold, so he finds it weird, if not worrisome, that across the street is a guy stumbling down the street in a short sleeved shirt. Shane may not be wearing his glasses but he could tell that the guy is clearly drunk. He heard the guy muttering in another language- russian. Shane noticed it almost immediately. The guy is tall, around Ilyas hight, Shane notes. He’s wearing a cap, so he cant really make out his face, but this could be Ilya. Maybe.
It takes only a few moments of watching the guy for Shane to realize that it’s definitely Rozanov.
You’ve got to be joking.
Shane has so many questions. Why is he here alone? Why is he drunk? Should he go help him?
Ilya, in short sleeves in freezing weather, drunk and stumbling down the streets of Montreal.
Shane decides to not help him. He doesn’t want to deal with him tonight. Tonight’s his night. He won the game. If Ilyas so pissed that he has to be so reckless all because Shane won, then fuck him. He didn’t text him, and he is not going to help him. Those are the thought running through Shane’s mind as he stands up and starts walking over to Ilya. He’s waiting at the crosswalk for it to turn green as he keeps an eye out for his rival. He watches as Ilya finds a bench, and collapses on it. Immediately slumping over. What the fuck? Why is he acting like a fucking homeless man? Shane’s worry’s grow as the crosswalk turns green. He crosses the street in a little run, and briskly walks over to the bench Ilya was laying on. When he reaches him, his heart sinks. The smell of vodka is strong, but that’s not what caught Shane’s attention. Ilya has marks all over his face. Bruises. A cut on the bridge of his nose. His lip is split. Shane feels ill.
“Rozanov?”
Ilya doesn’t even flinch. Shane crouches next to the bench to get a better look. Ilya looks awful. Shane reached and rests his hand on Ilyas arm. He shakes him. “Ilya.” he tries again. Ilya opens his eyes. He’s shocked to find Shane here. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust his eyes. “Rozanov, what happened?” Shane asked him.
Ilya could barely form coherent sentences. He mumbles a few words, his accent thick. Shane can’t understand him.
“What did you drink? Did you take something?” Shane asks, because this might not just be alcohol, he hopes he’s wrong.
Rozanov can’t reply properly, causing Shane’s worry’s to grow.
“Okay. Come on.”
Shane grabs Ilya and hauls him upright, so that he’s sitting on the bench. His skin is cold. Freezing. Shane quickly removes his jacket and puts it on Ilya. He notices bruises on his arm that he was laying on. It looked like a hand mark. Like someone had grabbed him. “Holy fuck Rozanov what-“
He cuts him self off.
“Fuck, where are you staying tonight? The hotel? Do you need me to take you there?”
“No.” Ilya answered quick. Eyes widened.
Okay. Fuck.
“What happened to your face?” Shane tried asking. Ilya just groaned and mumbled some things in russian.
He’s wasted. He’s absolutely wasted. Possibly drugged?
“Okay, i’m taking you to my place. Okay?”
Ilya almost cracked a smile. He nodded, “Yes.”
Okay, now Shane just had to figure out how to get him there. He didn’t drive tonight, because he had planned to drink more than just the one beer he had, so he doesn’t have his car. The only way Hayden managed to convince him to come was if he was the designated driver. Fortunately, he found Ilya before he got drunk himself.
“Okay, can you walk?”
Ilya mumbles, and then stands to his feet, tripping, and grabbing on to Shane, who caught him. He stood up, grabbing Shane’s arms. Shane doesn’t really have a plan, they’re too far from his house to walk, but he just needs to leave this area incase anyone of his teammates from inside the bar walk out and see him helping Ilya fucking Rozanov, there will be questions.
Shane feels Ilya shaking as he holds him. He’s probably freezing. “Listen, we just need to walk a couple blocks to get away from this area. Are you hurt anywhere on your legs?”
Ilya shook his head, “Immfine Hollander.” He slurred. Shane rolled his eyes at how stubborn he could be. They began walking. Shane had his hood on, to cover his face as much as he could. Ilya wore his cap low. There weren’t many people out so he wasn’t too worried. Shane held Ilya up by interlinking his arm with Ilyas, holding him firmly upright. Ilya was tripping over himself, he could barely walk. Shane starts wondering what the hell happened. Was he jumped? Drugged? Did he just go out and get drunk, because he was sad he lost the game? Say something stupid to someone like Ilya usually does, and get beat up for it? The thought of that being the case pisses Shane off. This was meant to be a great night where he could go out celebrating with his teammates after winning. But he’s taking care of Ilya fucking Rozanov.
Shane’s broken out of his train of thought when Ilya mumbles something, barely above a whisper. Shane didn’t catch what he said. “Hm?”
“I’m sorry.”
All of a sudden Shane can’t remember why he was mad. He squeezed Ilyas arm tighter.
They walked two blocks before Ilya started slowing down. “Do you need a second?”
Ilya nodded and they headed to the nearby bench. Ilya sat down, Shane next to him.
Ilyas head fell back. “Rozanov, sit up. You can’t fall asleep here.”
Shane wonders how much he drank. It must’ve been a ridiculous amount for him to be this fucked up. He figures that maybe it’ll help if Ilya throws up.
“Come here,” He said lifting Ilyas head, He let Ilya slump forward and over Shane’s lap. “Open your mouth.”
Ilya didn’t even hesitate, he opened his mouth and Shane barely shoved his fingers down his throat before Ilya was throwing up all the liquid in his stomach. Fuck it was a lot. Shane rubbed his back. After a few minutes, Ilya sat up. He seemed more..conscious.
“Do you feel any better?“
Ilya closed his eyes and rubbed at his face, wincing as he grazed his wounds. “Hey, careful.” Shane grabbed his wrists.
“I’m going to call a cab.” Shane tells him.
“Thank you. I’m sorry.” Ilya managed to get out. Shane gave him a weak smile then pulled his phone out of his pocket and called a cab.
After a few minutes of him talking on the phone he hung up, then texted Hayden to let him know he went home, that he realized he was tired and couldn’t be bothered to socialize. He shoved his phone back in his pocket, then turned to Ilya.
“How are you feeling?”
Ilya nodded. “Fine.” He obviously lied
“What happened to you? Where did you go after the game?”
Ilya frowned, ever so slightly.
“To the hotel.”
“Is that where you got drunk?”
“Yes. Vodka.”
So this really was just a pity party?
“Who did this to your face?”
Shane could swear he saw Ilyas lip tremble.
Ilya just shook his head. He didn’t reply. Shane understood enough that he didn’t want to talk about it. Fine.
When the taxi pulled up, Shane stood, leaving Ilya on the bench, he told the guy where he needs to go and warned him that his friend was a little drunk. He then turned back to Ilya who was still sat on the bench, and helped him up and to the car. He sat him in the backseat and helped him with his seatbelt, then he went around to the other side and slid in to the middle seat, next to Ilya.
The driver drove off, Ilyas eyes had closed but his head was bobbling up and down, he looked uncomfortable. Shane nudged him, causing him to open his eyes. Quietly, he asked if he wanted to lay on his shoulder. Ilya smiled at him and closed his eyes again, resting his head on Shane’s shoulder. Shane’s heart swelled. Fuck.
His hand rested in the space between him and Ilya. Ilya reached for it, eyes still closed. Shane took his hand and linked their fingers together. Shane made sure their hands were outside of the drivers view. Ilya resting his head on Shane could easily pass as just a drunk friend, holding hands, they had to hide.
Even though the circumstances were.. awful, Shane enjoyed this more than he should. He’s never out in public with Ilya, and right now he’s holding hands in public with Ilya. Well, public enough.
He still didn’t know how the fuck Ilya ended up here, or ended up all beaten up, and that worried him, a lot. He squeezed Ilyas hand tighter, and couldn’t help it, he kissed the top of his head, well, his hat. Not before making sure the driver wasn’t looking.
Shane rested his head on Ilyas, and closed his eyes as well.
Shane felt Ilyas breathing slow. He figures he’s fallen asleep. He opens his eyes and pulls his phone out of his pocket to reveal a bunch of texts of disapproval from Hayden. He replied with an apology and a goodnight, then he scrolled through twitter for a bit, rewatching his winning goal, before he got bored and shut his phone off. He just admired the man laying on his shoulder.
Eventually the driver pulled up to the front of Shane’s house. Shane asked if he could pull round to the back, which he did.
Shane nudged Ilya.
“Hey, we’re here.”
He stirred awake, yawning as he lifted his head off of Shane’s shoulder. Shane payed for the cab, then helped Ilya unbuckle his seatbelt. He got out the car and went around to the other side, opening the door for Ilya. He helped him out and thanked the driver, he took Ilyas arm and wrapped it around his and they headed to walk inside. Ilya rested his head on Shane’s shoulder and closed his eyes, just trusting Shane with where he’s walking. When they reached the back door, Shane reached in his jacket pocket, that was on Ilya, to grab his keys.
He unlocked the door and helped Ilya inside before locking it and helping him up the stairs. Shane unlocked a second door, walked the two of them inside, and locked the door behind them.
“Come, let’s get you to the couch. I’ll have a look at your face.” Shane walked him over and sat him down. Ilya sighing loud as he slumped on Shane’s massive couch.
“Stay here, i’ll be right back.”
Ilya just murmured in response.
Shane grabbed the first aid kit, a large glass of water, and some painkillers.
He brought it all back to the couch, setting it down on the coffee table. He handed Ilya the glass of water and forced him to drink it. He drank half before pushing it away.
“Finish it Rozanov.”
Ilya flinched, which confused Shane. But he grabbed the cup and finished it.
He watched as Shane headed back to the kitchen and refilled the glass. Ilya groaned.
“Again.” Shane said once he’d returned.
Ilya chugged it this time, just to get it over with. Shane handed him the painkillers to take before he finished the glass.
“Okay, good.” Shane said once Ilya had drunken the two glasses of water.
Shane took a good look at Ilyas face. He looked horrible. His nose is bruised, spreading to his eyes. His upper lip has a gash on it. Nothing actively bleeding though. There’s dry blood that had dripped down his face from the cut on his nose. Not a lot, but enough. He grabbed a damp cloth and cleaned up the dried blood. He kept apologizing as Ilya kept wincing at the pain. This whole scene made Shane want to cry. Ilya looked so small in this moment. So fragile. Nothing like the cocky, loud, big, Ilya that Shane knew. He hated it.
Once he cleaned off the blood, he grabbed a butterfly bandage and applied it to the bridge of his nose. He didn’t really know how to treat the cut on his lip, so he just left it as is. Even after being slightly cleaned up, he still looked like shit.
Shane remembered the bruising on his arm from earlier. He hates to ask, but he has to.
“Um.. is there any uh, anywhere esle? Other than your face..?”
To Shane’s horror, Ilya nodded.
“Where?”
“Stomach.”
“Okay, can i see?”
Ilya nodded, he took off Shane’s jacket, despite being cold. Then he let Shane help him with his shirt, he couldn’t really lift his arms much. When Shane saw his stomach, his heart dropped.
“Oh my fucking god.”
“Is okay. Looks worse than it is.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Shane replied.
There were many bruises, a few faint ones, that were clearly from hockey, but what caught Shane’s eye was the giant deep purple gash on the side of his ribs. Smaller bruises surrounding it. It must’ve killed him to walk with that.
Shane couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Ilya got sick of it so he pulled his shirt back down.
“Fuck. What the fuck happened? Who fucking did this?”
“Is nothing. No one.”
“Bullshit rozanov!”
Shane studied Ilya face. He looked like he was about to cry. So he stopped asking.
“I’m sorry. Let me get you an ice pack.” He said already standing up, trying to sound calm.
He returned with an ice pack wrapped in a small towel, he lifted Ilyas shirt and pressed it directly on the bruise. Ilya fell forward in pain. He yelped out.
“Shit, fuck. I’m sorry. Fuck.”
Ilya shook his head. “No, is okay, agh. Thank you Hollander.” He said through gritted teeth. He leaned back and replaced Shane’s hand, holding the ice pack in place. He rested his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. Shane watched a tear fucking fall.
Shane stood up and cleaned up the mess he’d made. He refilled the glass of water and brought it to his bedside table, in his bedroom. He set up the pillows and moved the blanket out of the way so it’ll be easier for Ilya to get in to bed. He headed back in to the living room, Ilya hasn’t moved. He walked straight in to the kitchen and grabbed a cleaning bucket from under the sink. He brought that back to his bedroom and put it on the floor next to the bed, incase Ilya needs to throw up.
He headed back to the living room to bring Ilya.
“Hey, you awake?” He whispered. Ilya opened his eyes. He looked so drained.
He lifted his head to meet Shane’s eyes.
“Come. Bedtime, yeah?”
Ilya nodded and grabbed Shane’s hand.
They walked over to the bedroom,
“Do you want to change in to cleaner clothes?”
Ilya nodded.
“Okay, uh.. here. Sit down.”
Shane grabbed a random t shirt from his closet, and a pair of sweatpants.
He helps Ilya lift his shirt over his head, and change in to the clean one. Then he helped him unbuckle his pants, a task he’s done many times before, but never like this. Ilya grabbed Shane’s shoulders to stabilize himself as he stepped in to Shane’s sweatpants.
“Thank you.” Hey murmured.
Shane offered him a smile.
“Okay, ready?”
“Bathroom.”
“Oh uh, yeah, right in here.”
Shane helped him to the bathroom, and left him in there to give him privacy.
Fuck. He grabbed Ilyas clothes and put a load of laundry on so that they’ll be clean by the time he wakes up. He found his phone in his jeans pocket and set it on the dresser. When he returned to the room, Ilya was out of the bathroom. Shane directed him in to bed, pulling the covers on him and handing him the ice pack. He went to his dresser and grabbed himself a clean t shirt and sweatpants, he changed, not really caring if Ilya is watching. Nothing he hasn’t seen before. Once dressed, Shane turned around to find Ilya, as he guessed, staring. That made him chuckle as he walked over to him. He grabbed his hand.
“If you need anything, i’ll be in the living room, okay?”
Ilya frowned, but nodded. “Thank you.”
Shane headed out, he turned off the light and was about to close the door before he heard Ilya again. “Stay?”
Shane didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
He closed the door behind him, and walked back towards the bed. He crawled in on the other side, he layed with his hands above his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He heard Ilya moving around so he opened his eyes. Ilya was staring up at him, as if he was waiting for an invitation to cuddle in to him.
“Come here.”
Ilya moved closer and rested his head on Shane’s chest. Shane turned to his side and held Ilya in his arms. He rubbed circles in his back for a few moments, and then he felt him shudder.
Concerned, he tried pulling back to see what happened, but Ilya gripped tighter. Shane understood. He held him back. He heard Ilya sniffing, and at one point, he was sobbing. Shane didn’t know what to do. He just held him and rubbed his back. He kissed his head and murmured a bunch of nonsense.
“Shhh, It’s okay.”
Eventually, Ilyas crying slowed. He was taking deep breaths trying to calm himself down. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
Shane planted a long kiss on his head.
“Stop that. It’s okay. Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”
Ilya mumbled something in russian Shane couldn’t understand. He squeezed him closer. Ilyas breathing slowly evened out. Shane finally rested his eyes. He rubbed Ilyas back until he fell asleep.