Chapter Text
Ilya closed his eyes and opened them to find the left flank on fire. He thinks of his childhood and how his entire life he’d thought the world was on fire because he was born in a burning house. He thinks of his Shane and how devastated he will be. How they’d been lovers for longer than he’d known his own mother. And how he’s going to die just like her.
Because the plane is on fire. And the plane is going down. And his teammates are screaming. He grabs his phone to try and text his love but his eyes are blurry and the fear is crawling between his fingers. And now he regrets not coming out because he’ll never get to love Shane publicly and for what? A career that will be the instrument of his death.
He types a few messages to Shane. They are rushed, panicked, and full of love. When the muffled cries of his teammates reach his ears, he braces for the impact, because the plane is going down at a blistering speed. The phone slips from his hands and he reaches for his chain. The same as his mother. He never believed in god but he mumbles prayers to the universe.
He passed out from the panic. He suffers a quick death. And his heart was swollen with love and hope. And not the rage he was known for on the ice.
***
Hollander is cranky, they just lost a game in Washington while Ilya had won a big one in Philadelphia. He was sure, he was getting tons of shit about it. He reaches for his phone on the bus back to the hotel. The bus is buzzing with disappointment and unspent adrenaline.
He has a few missed calls from his mom. And a text that reads “Don’t go to social media” from his dad. But there’s a few DMs from Ilya. They are romantic but weird. He feels a smile stretch on his lips and he sends him “I love you too❤️”
He slips in and out of sleep. Something in his guts tells him that something is wrong but Ilya is weird like that. He sends messages that have no sense and Shane loves it like that.
“Holy shit!” Comeau practically screams, making some of the guys groan. “Rozanov’s plane just crashed a few hours ago.”
The words take a few seconds to register in his mind. Ilya is in a plane.The plane has crashed. The messages were his last words. Maybe. And Shane wouldn’t know something happened because they were merely friends to the eyes of the public. Ilya, whom Shane hadn’t kissed goodbye. Ilya who was mad at Shane. The same Ilya, Shane had asked if he would pick him over hockey then panicked when the question was returned to him.
He feels Hayden’s hands grabbing his but he’s no longer in the bus. He’s in a plane 500 miles from there and it’s going down. And it’s Ilya’s fingers in between his.
“Shane, it’s fine, he’s fine” Hayden’s voice barely filters in between the rigging in his ears. Ilya has to be fine. He has to be for Shane’s wellbeing and his.
***
Shane peels Ilya’s clothes off his back. The shiver is unwelcomed but quickly forgotten under the shower. The water is burning hot like the depth of hell, he likes it like that. When he’s not inherently the one hurting himself.
The days had passed by in a blur. Hayden had tried to make him go out or at least talk to him but he was not in the mood. Same for Rose, which is strange because Shane had a way of letting her have what she wanted. He loved them a lot but he needed time. To process and everything. He truly didn’t understand how Ilya was in his arms two weeks ago and then suddenly he was gone. Just like that. No warning. Only proof that he was there is the grief that is slowly finding its way through the cracks of Shane’s heart.
He was not going to acknowledge it because that would mean Ilya was really gone. And he was going to have to smile and measure the amount of pain he could show in public. He was going to have to go to Ottawa to spend the summer with his parents and the way to Ilya’s house was burned in his brain. He was going to stay in his apartment for as long as he was not needed in the real world, which was just two days. Because they had a game and practice then.
He pulls a shirt over his head and passes his feet through some random pants he’d found. The bed was soft like a cocoon but it still lacked warmth and as he slid under the cover, he thought that for now, he just wanted to sleep. Because he was fucking exhausted, all day, even if he’d done absolutely jack shit.
He’s pulled from his sleep by a buzz on his door. He furrows his brow and decides not to open the door. He’s not waiting on anyone and his parents are not coming until the evening. But the incessant buzzing is only aggravating the mild migraine he already had. He pulls from under the cover with a deep groan. He didn’t like inconveniences and this person was truly one.
The man looks mildly annoyed as the door opens then his expression shifts to admiration.
“Hi, Mr Hollander,” the young man starts, giddy. “I have a delivery for you.”
He didn’t order anything in weeks but he merely nods and signs the offered paper. He takes the black box from him then closes the door. He’s not really interested in what is inside but still, his fingers work to undo the red bow that falls onto the floor. The box opens onto a watch, one he’d been eyeing for a while. A smile crack on his lips, he’s fully grinning now because Ilya is so perceptive. He didn’t even realize Ilya had noticed, he was planning on offering it to himself for his birthday. He pulls it out of the box and a note falls from it:
I love you and I'm sorry. In a perfect world you wouldn’t have to pick between your passion and the person you love.
I. R.
He pulls out his phone from his pocket and calls Ilya. The phone rings once then twice until he is sent to the voicemail: This is Ilya and I will never listen to your voicemail. His accent is thicker than now and his voice sounds younger– if that could be attributed to a voice. He calls a second time then a third until panic is second nature because he cannot reach Ilya.
Only on the fifth time does realization hit and he is reminded that Ilya is gone. And that he is left alone with a watch he will never wear. The despair does not knock over at once. The first time was when his parents stood in the hotel lobby to confirm his fear, he’d simply nodded and asked them to leave. Then it kept multiplying with Rose and Hayden checking in. He was playing so horribly coach had benched him and people were starting to stipulate whether losing his rival was gonna affect his game. Not him as a person. Because they were always entertainment and numbers and stats. And the media is hungry and greedy.
The first tear that made its way to his cheek is warm, almost like a rekindled flame. The ones that follow feel more like daggers getting pulled from his eyes. His throat is pulled tight and he can no longer make out the words he’s holding.
He thinks of Ilya’s last texts and how they were full of love he could never return and could never even amend for.
I love you. Always. Maybe from the first I saw you.
They were seventeen, maybe eighteen. Years too young for the luggage they were carrying. They were young and stupid and messy. And they did what all young people do: Fall in love. Never mind the fact that they took years to admit it to themselves and even more so to admit it to each other. They spent years sharing nights in hotel rooms, ones that reeked of bad ideas. They took from each other only what they were allowed to give even when they wanted more. More time together, more kisses and hugs that last forever and maybe a little bit more love.
Shane wished they hadn’t spent so much time afraid of their own feelings. That they’d admitted to loving one another years prior to Hunter’s coming out because the time they were given together was not nearly enough and it came to an end brusquely, with no anticipation because that’s how accidents work. That’s how death works. It takes and it takes and just never gives back.
I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those.
Shane looked over to the coffee table and noticed the unfinished puzzles Ilya was working on. When Shane had complained it was taking too much space, Ilya had simply shrugged and flipped him off. He’d later explained that they were far too many pieces and he was afraid he’d lose some if he were to move them. The puzzle had been on the table for 2 months now. Every now and then David would ask about the progression.
Shane thought of Ilya at the cottage and how carefree he saw him his first time there. He thought of the firebond and how Ilya was laying on his lap, as vulnerable as a child and just as young in mind. Ilya had told him about his mother that night. He remembered being afraid that Ilya would be just as sad one day and wouldn’t be able to push the thoughts away. They had spent hours sitting there, not even talking, just enjoying the calming presence of each other. Shane remembered how small he felt despite being six feet three.
Whatever happens, I am with you. safe in your heart. I believe it.
Shane had noticed Ilya wearing his mother’s cross for years but he had never talked about God or his faith at all. He truly had no idea if Ilya believed because he simply had shut down every single conversation about it.
Ilya had always been there at the right time, at the draft, Las Vegas (halfheartedly), even in that club with Rose, when he’d gotten his bells rung in 2017, when he needed to come out to his parents, at the dinner with the Pikes. Simply at every event Shane needed support and a regulated nervous system. He’d always been by Shane’s side and he truly couldn’t imagine a world where he wouldn’t be. Ilya was imprinted on Shane’s heart like a name on a gravestone. Ilya was his and he would forever be Ilya’s. Even if their names are placed next to each other as rivals. As long as they are Ilya and Shane. Rozanov and Hollander.
Shane had made it to the room before crumbling into a complete mess. He fumbled with the cover and then laid in fetal position. Ilya was dead and so was most of his team and he had a game in two days. The world did not end when his sun stopped shining. Ilya was dead and Shane was laying in the clinical silence of their bedroom. Ilya was dead and Shane didn’t know when the obituary was nor where his lover would be buried. Would Alexei be the one taking everything in charge, or would Svetlana? Would they hold the ceremony in a catholic or orthodox church? Would they even let him be there? Shane was here, his lover dead and the world kept spinning even if two hearts stopped beating in symphony.
Shane wanted to die also. He wanted to stop breathing too so he could lay in his boyfriend’s embrace, somewhere they were allowed to love each other. Somewhere where dignity and respect wasn’t measured with who slept next to you in bed. Shane was truly exhausted and every second he spent conscious was weighing like a dam on his shoulders. But he was going to live because Ilya would’ve wanted him to. Ilya who also wanted to die— who was dead.