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Ilya is drunk. Not dead drunk, not pleasantly buzzed, but that marvelous space in the middle that only recently has started giving him the lightest of hangovers. Getting old, he guesses. He's feeling good right now, though, and tomorrow is still far away from him.
On his back, three Centaurs win streak, finally including one against the Metros. It's the third time that a Shane-including Centaurs team plays against them; losing the first two (one in regulation and one in OT, in a power play due to an ill-timed penalty) had been pretty hard. Shane had been fucking devastated after the second loss; he has a unique way of using his terrifyingly high hockey IQ to find a way to blame himself.
Shane is relaxed now. From the inside of the house and with everyone outside talking at the same time, Ilya doesn't know what he is explaining to Cassie and Harris, but he has them mesmerized. They are starting to get, bit by bit, the Shane Ilya has known for years. Passionate and extremely funny and a little bit mean. Devastating chirps that are always second-guessed for a moment until he realizes his team is receptive to them. The moment gets shorter every time.
Cassie is nodding and starts talking, and, automatically, Shane looks around for Ilya until he sees him already focusing on him from the other side of the glass. He smiles and winks at him, getting back to the conversation like the attentive listener he is. Ilya's heart thump-thumps hard inside his chest.
It was Shane's idea to make the barbecue at their home. Ilya has the suspicion that Shane was waiting for them to win against his old team, as if Shane had to win his space on the team, as if he were not worthy of celebration before that. Ilya tried talking about it with Shane but he found a wall, and Ilya is pretty good at knowing when he should push against those and when it is better to give Shane time.
"Heart eyes, captain," Wyatt's voice says at his back, startling Ilya. He tears away his eyes from Shane.
"Heart eyes are legal outside the locker room," Ilya fires back.
"They are but only up to a minute, and you've been there for five like a fucking statue, looking at him."
Ilya laughs. "Statues can't make heart eyes."
"Statue Ilya can, apparently. Where is the wine? Are you bringing those out?"
Ilya looks down. He had come to the kitchen for more food and to cut some more cold vegetables for the guacamole. Originally he had prepared enough so that Shane would have some snacks to enjoy too, but apparently half his team has fallen under Shane's spell because they have loved it almost more than the nachos. Ilya had also seen the wives eating more comfortably when they are not the only ones eating something that could be considered healthy.
In general, using the time to make homemade stuff had done miracles into finding a middle point for Shane to enjoy eating while respecting his macros and for not having to cook everything separately.
And if Ilya is being honest, his body is feeling better now, and he has no problem admitting that Shane's guacamole was better than store-bought.
"Healthy snacks for the rabbits!" he says, because he loves how Shane rolls his eyes at him. He leaves the plate on the table and presses a soft kiss on top of Shane's head. Shane says, "Thanks, baby," under his breath, only for them, but Ilya is pretty sure that it's the first time he has said something like that when everyone is around. It might not be possible to be happier than in this moment. He might start floating any minute now.
Cassie is saying, "—so it took a while for Bood to actually get the hint."
"What are you talking about?"
Cassie points to Bood with her thumb. "About how long it took Zane to make a move because we were friends. To be fair, it was all a little bit confusing. I almost thought that he would never go past the friendship. Which, you know, it still would have been okay, because I loved him very much, but—"
Ilya checks on Shane, but he seems relaxed. They are both starting to navigate how it is being out, really out, and people asking about your relationship and how things that have been theirs for years now they get to see the light. It's not like they tell the details, but an unexpected side of being a married couple that are treated the same way is that they will ask questions, and Shane and Ilya have never had the issue of thinking about how much they want them to know.
Harris says, "Well, I can understand Zane, it is scary to take that step. Although it didn't take Troy and me that long," and he's blushing. His forehead is a little bit shiny and Ilya recognizes the sunscreen Shane loves, because it is in his own forehead too.
Ilya wants to talk, but Shane surprises him. "Yeah, that step was never a problem for us," he says.
Cassie nods, taking another sip of her wine. "Well, the situation is barely comparable. Were you together the whole time? A moment passes, and then she realizes what she asked about. "Sorry, I'm not trying to pry; I get so nosy when I'm drunk. You don't have to answer."
Shane checks out Ilya for a moment, who smiles and shrugs. It's not like Shane is going to say that Ilya jerked at him in the showers.
"No, it's okay, it's not that big of a secret or anything now, I guess. The worst part was pretending I did not like him, like, even as a friend. And it took so much to accept that, god."
"Ilya partied a lot those years, if we listen to the rumors."
Ilya raises his hands. "Hey, I was young and stupid."
Shane looks at both of them confused for a moment. "Ah, no, no, I was the difficult one." Three heads point at him violently. Shane furrows his brow, confused. "What?"
Ilya says, "You were not—I was—what are you talking about?"
Shane shakes his head. "No, you had a lot going on, and I never even bothered to check. And then I left!"
Harris' mouth is still open in surprise. "You left?"
"I will not be giving details on that. But yes. And I made some ill-advised decisions after. But yeah, I was the difficult one." He shrugs. "I still am; he just makes everything seem easy."
A thousand thoughts fly over Ilya's head, his stomach churning. Ilya, who stopped answering Shane for months. Ilya, who almost broke everything off when Shane was laying in a fucking hospital bed. Ilya, who is depressed and a mess and too possessive for his own good and for Shane's good, even. Is that Ilya the easy fucking part? Ilya knows his mouth is agape but he can't say all that before their team, because he's drunk and he will regret it and Shane will probably hate him afterwards.
"That is simply not true." It's what he settles for, in the end, trying to keep the tone light and not very sure that he makes it. "Are you drunk? Who has drugged my husband? Everyone out of my house!"
"Shut up, captain," and someone (Bood, probably) throws a napkin at him from the other side of the garden straight to Ilya's head.
Shane laughs. He seems unaffected by the confused, almost pained storm in Ilya's heart. "Can you imagine him having that aim on the ice?"
"Hey, Holly, that's just fucking mean," Bood cries out, but he and Shane are smiling at each other. "Darts to prove yourself?"
"Sure. Can't wait to beat you at that too."
Shane stands up, his hand squeezing Ilya's shoulder on his way to Bood.
When everyone leaves and the garden is more or less decent, and every plate has been added to the dishwasher, and they are finally alone, Shane sighs.
"That was a lot," he says.
Ilya turns around to see his husband leaning on the kitchen aisle, arms on top of the counter and his head on them, his voice muffled. Ilya walks over to him and presses his chest to his back, covering him; Shane melts automatically.
"Did you have fun?"
Shane nods. "I knew they were nice. I know they are nice, but I am always wary of—I don't know. I thought they would treat us differently here."
"No, Cassie is equal gossip opportunity woman. She is very nosy and not only when she's drunk; his questions were the most difficult to avoid when—last year."
Shane stands up, bringing Ilya with him, and turns around until he can put his nose under Ilya's neck and breath him in. "She's nice, though. Zane and her definitely belong together, I think."
Ilya takes a moment. "You don't have to, uh..." he starts. Shane does a little interrogative hmm sound against his chest. "Why did you say that with Cassie?"
Shane brings his head up, eyes full of confusion. "I should not have said anything, should I? Sorry, I just—sometimes I don't really know if I can say something or not and—"
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. It's not about that. You can talk about whatever you want about our past, solnyshko, it's not—. I love listening to you talking about it. It makes me happy." Ilya puts his hands on Shane's cheeks and kisses him. "I did not mean that; I meant, like. The you being difficult part. You don't have to like—lie. For my sake."
Shane's brows are furrowed. "Where is the lie?"
Ilya scoffs. "Where you say that you are difficult? You are not. Easiest man on Earth, I know your every small thing."
There is something heartbreaking in the way Shane is smiling. "But that's the point. You are perceptive, and you have had to get used to so many things since the beginning, and it's even more now that we live together. Of course you have your things, but I know you had to accommodate yourself to me, and I love it, and I appreciate it so much. But I know I have a thousand ways of being unreasonable and—I don't think—I just—. I know it's a lot."
I know I'm a lot. Ilya hugs him. "Sweetheart. Two months ago I spent two days in bed without being able to even brush my teeth, and you were there with me the whole time that you were not taking care of Anya, the house, or anything related to hockey."
"That's not the same; you were sick," Shane protests, shaking his head.
"You took care of the mess my finances were; you organize everything so I always have whatever I love at home."
Shane shakes his head. "That's different."
"It's not."
"It fucking is!"
"Why?"
"Because."
At that, Shane separates himself from Ilya, voice petulant like every time he thinks he's correct but doesn't have the arguments to prove it.
Ilya says, "It's not a competition this time around, you know. You do that because you like to do it?"
Shane nods. "I like to take care of things."
"Then why don't you believe me when I say I like to take care of you?"
Shane shakes his head. "It's just different."
"It's not, Shane!" Ilya's frustrated suddenly, and he doesn't know why.
"Why are we fighting?"
"We're not!" Ilya says, but his voice is raised and he does not know how to stop. There is a crease between Shane's eyebrows, and he's looking at Ilya like a problem he doesn't know how to solve. "Is just, I love doing things for you, and they love having you in their team, you always feel like you have to earn everything?"
"Because it's been like that my whole life! I have had to earn my place every time, Ilya, during juniors with parents that hated that I was better than their kids, on the draft, and every year in the Metros' locker. I have to earn it because if not, it doesn't come to me. Or—" He swallows. "Or fucking worse, if I don't earn it enough and then I lose it. Again!"
Fucking Montreal and fucking Metros and fucking Ilya Rozanov and his stupid mouth.
"Shane—"
"I don't know what I'd do if I failed you too."
You, Ilya, or you, Centaurs? English is the shittiest fucking language. In any case, the answer is the same.
"That's impossible. Literally." Shane's worrying his lip, eyes wet. Ilya wishes he had shut the fuck up. He opens his arms and says, "Come here, please?"
Shane hesitates for a second and then slides back into a hug. "I know you're not the Metros. But I didn't think that would happen to me there, either."
That's the thing, though; it's not only the Metros, although that was the ultimate betrayal. It's a whole life to unravel. "Sweetheart. Is it the reason you did not want to do one of these?"
Shane's face is hidden on Ilya's shoulder, but he nods. "I had fun. I thought I just wanted to do it for you, but I really had fun with everyone here."
"They like you so much. Impossible not to, solnyshko. If it weren't like that, they would not be my friends."
"You can have friends who don't like me."
Ilya brings his head back to look Shane in the eye. "Why would do that?" He lets that sink in for a moment. "I love you, and I would love you if we didn't leave the house, if we never played hockey again, if we never talked to anyone ever again. Okey?"
Ilya really needs Shane to believe in his words. Shane stays unconvinced for a second, then something inside him balances out and smiles. "Okay. But I want us to play hockey."
"That's the part you got from all that?"
"And win another cup," he says, laughing a bit. Ilya kisses his temple and his cheek and his neck.
"That's my Shane."
Shane nods in his arms and sighs. "That I am."