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He had left; Ilya tried to ignore the way his hands had gone cold as Shane said, ‘I can’t do this.’ He dared not move a muscle as he heard the door to the front door open and slam shut in a decidedly hurried manner.
Like a baby deer caught in headlights for a few moments more, Ilya couldn’t move.
For a moment Ilya sat stock still before his breath came out in a shudder. Tears pricked at his eyes before he could stop them, he scrunched up his nose, trying to stave off the inevitable, before leaning back on the couch throwing his arm over his eyes and letting hot tears seep into his hair as they ran from his eyes.
Ilya allowed himself five minutes to cry uninhibited before he peeled himself out of the couch. As the water left a scaling trail down Ilya’s back, the blonde acknowledged to himself, with a small sniffle, that this was the end. He’d been left behind, again. The shower ran out of hot water before Ilya could convince himself to exit, and as he lay in the bed they’d shared earlier, he thinks of burning the place down with himself in it.
The game was probably the worst he had ever been involved in, not that he could remember much of it. Staring at walls and pretending his heart wasn’t breaking repeatedly as he saw Shane – Hollander – from the side of his eye.
There were never any messages, despite the stubborn hope that clung to his heart out of spite of anything that resembled sense, no contact from the runner. If Hollander gave up hockey, he could be a track star.
Time had marched forward, dragging Ilya with it like an executioner to the gallows. Then he saw the tabloid headlines. The hell in store for Ilya looked like Hollander and Rose Landry. Hollander’s bright smiles, his hand holding hers on the top of every headline. Rose Landry in Hollander’s jersey at his games. Rose Landry was everywhere. Ilya couldn’t escape the happy couple; they followed him into his nightmares. A beautiful woman in a wedding dress waiting on the other side of the door Hollander kept disappearing out of, leaving Ilya alone on the couch.
Ilya wanted to die. Agony wrapped around him like a cocoon. Static rang in his head, only the fear of anyone else seeing him break down stopped him from losing it. He had already lost Hollander; he could not lose hockey too. His family needed his money, his dad needed care. Alexi would not help for free. Ilya had too many responsibilities. He could not weep like a child over a shattered heart, could not allow himself to stop like he’d like to.
It was unimportant.
Instead, he found a pattern he could repeat:
Be miserable at practice, work himself and everyone around him harder in hopes it would drown out the absence. (It did not.)
Lose miserably or win miserably, either way it didn’t really matter. (Nothing mattered.)
Go drinking until he can forget. (He could never forget.)
Find someone to fuck if he could stomach it that night. (He found he could not do it most nights.)
Rinse and repeat.
In the middle of trying to drink until he could forget, the bar he’d left after meeting Hollander’s eyes while making out with some woman he’d already forgotten, Ilya lay in his bed with his recently bought new sheets he stared at Jane’s contact in his phone. There was an empty bottle of the good Russian vodka sitting on his bedside table, empty like his future. His body against his headboard, willing a text message to appear from a line that might as well be dead, drafting a million messages in his own head that he couldn’t bring himself to type in case Hollander was also staring at his contact.
Not that Hollander ever cared about him to start with, Ilya reasoned with himself, but he couldn’t risk Hollander seeing the bubbles and knowing that Ilya missed him, still wanted him, hadn’t stopped thinking about him since he left.
He slammed his phone down on the bed beside him, pushing one hand into his hair and grabbing the cross hanging around his neck with the other. He closed his eyes, the hopeless pathetic feeling swallowing him whole for a moment, drawing his legs up to lean his head into his knees.
He wanted his mother. He was a grown man. But still he missed her. She would have held him, even now. He believed this. She would have let him place his head in her lap as he cried, brushing tangles out of his hair with her hand that had always smelled faintly of vanilla.
He wanted to not always be alone. He wondered self-pity flashing through him, why he was never enough to deserve kindness. Why wouldn’t anyone stay?
Slowly, it settled in him that he couldn’t keep doing this.
Hollander had moved on.
Quite quickly too.
Hollander had done the smart thing.
He gotten off and gotten out.
Leaving Ilya.
Ah, but of course he left Ilya!
What did Ilya have to offer anyway?
Sad tuna melts and a life of secrets and lies.
There was no bright future here.
Not like the one Rose Landry could offer.
No, Hollander had been smart.
Ilya could also be smart for once.
He could learn the lesson that life had been working so hard to teach him, finally.
He had tried to ignore it when his father and brother were teaching it, hoping it was something wrong with them - not him. He had almost learned it when his mother had her *accident* but hope was a troublesome thing to kill when it is all you have.
But now he finally got it.
Hollander was kind, so if Hollander could see it too then the problem was not with everyone else.
The problem was Ilya. Of course it was. It was simple really.
Some people were born deserving of love, and some people were not.
Ilya was not.
Easy.
With a trembling hand, Ilya picked his phone up from the bed, clutching his cross tighter in his other hand he clicked on Hollander’s contact information. He stared at it for a moment, wanting Hollander to call, before scoffing and hitting the red block button.
He’d hoped for relief but instead he thought he felt his heart stutter. More tears filled his eyes as he scrolled through to the secret photo album he had under password protection. Deleting the pictures took nearly an hour as he sat and examined each one before removing it.
Gone.
Like it never happened.
He was free.
Freedom felt empty and cold, vast with nothingness and silence.
Freedom felt like everything was already lost.
And also, it only lasted until the All-Stars game.
Ilya was on Hollander’s team, a couple of months ago this would have filled him with joy. Now there is a ball of dread growing like a weed in his stomach, making it hard for him to sleep, breathe and eat. Weighing him down with hopelessness and a deep sadness that was older than this mistake with Hollander.
Unfortunately for Ilya’s stupid heart, Hollander hadn’t suddenly lost all his freckles or suddenly turned into a frog so Ilya could pretend he was no longer beautiful. No, Hollander was still beautiful and perfect - if the websites that Ilya continued to pull up despite telling himself he wouldn’t check them – and very much so still in love with Rose Landry.
For the first time in his life, Ilya contemplates skipping something with hockey and Hollander. But he finds himself there, in Florida, like someone who loves to be subjected to torture, a beer warming in his hand as he picks at the label. He knows he can’t even allow himself to get drunk here, one of his top distractions. If he gets drunk, he might forget that he shouldn’t beg Hollander to take him back. He’d forget not to mention all the promises he’d half drafted in his mind; that he’d never push for more again, that Ilya would only ever call him Hollander and never ask him to stay again, that stolen kisses in bathrooms would be enough. That Ilya was good at surviving on love that was never returned….
No.
It was over. They were done. He kept repeating this in his head as Hollander rounded the corner of the bar, looking fucking beautiful in a blazer and shirt. Ilya felt his stomach flip uncomfortably as a small smile graces Hollander’ s lips when he spots Ilya and he made a beeline to sit next to him. Ilya quickly polishes off his beer and adds breath to his mantra as a low panic settles in next to Hollander on the stool.
“Hey,” Hollander says, still smiling as they ask for more drinks from the waiter.
“Hello.” Ilya answers, forcing his voice to sound bored, clenching his jaw after a small, forced smile.
The new drink cold in his hands, he tried to use it to ground himself as Hollander made small talk about the weather. Ilya tried to make the earth swallow him where he sat. He refused to look over and meet Hollander’s eyes; he doesn’t know what else Hollander could want if he’s not here to rub his new relationship in Ilya’s face and Ilya doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to pretend to be happy for him as they sit here.
He cups his hand around his mouth to forcefully stop himself from asking if Hollander brought Rose Landry. He bites the inside of his cheek to not ask for his room number, to not ask if Hollander has missed him. He feels like he is buzzing with the things he’s not allowed to say. When another player interrupts them, throwing his arms around Ilya and Hollander’s shoulders and drawing them close enough for Ilya to count Hollander’s freckles again after so long…. Ilya uses it as a chance to escape.
He excuses himself with his heart thudding dully in his chest, clenching his jaw as he tells himself it’s over with; he’d gotten through the hard part. They’ve had their obligatory small chat as teammates; there should be no reason to have more conversations for the rest of All-Stars. Ilya forces a smile, briefly looks over Hollander’s face as reality crashes into him that he was wrong. He is not free. This was not freedom, just avoidance. Ilya was still just as pathetically entangled, still… captured by those soft brown eyes, those beautiful freckles, shackled to a man who was with someone else, who now knew better than to want him.
Ilya’s next best answer was to vow to not to be alone again with Hollander for the rest of All Stars Week.
He was unsure he would survive this week otherwise.
Consequently, Ilya felt a little like he was being hunted over the next couple of days. The bar, the hotel and arena were all crowded and yet somehow every time he turned around there was Hollander. Staring at him with increasing levels of frustration. It seemed coincidental at first, team get togethers and run ins at the bar – which were only a surprise to Ilya because Hollander didn’t like to drink. He liked ginger ale. He did not like large crowds. So why was he here?
Hollander would crowd into Ilya’s space with a beer in hand for Ilya as well as something non-alcoholic for himself. Ilya made sure to keep a buffer, engaging anyone who was near in conversation to ensure that he would not be alone with Hollander. Yet Hollander never seemed to get the hint. He stood as close as he could to Ilya as they talked to whatever person was close by, he kept meeting Ilya’s eyes as other people talked around them when he couldn’t stand beside him. Staring at him as though willing Ilya to read his mind. Once or twice Ilya was almost sure Hollander had touched the small of his back at the bar, trying to grab his attention to get him to follow.
Hollander stared at him, blatantly checking him out at the pool while he swam with children, Ilya playing up how okay he was despite feeling like his skin fit wrong.
Hollander never stopped watching.
Ilya tried to ignore all of this.
The worst was on the ice, because no matter what else happened when they were together on the ice they seemed to move together. They were in sync; it felt like magic when they played together. They were always aware of where the other one was, passed and scored. The high Ilya experienced, scoring with Hollander, the pure uninhibited joy on both their faces, the way the whole team crashed into each other to pat them on the back, forcing Ilya closer to Hollander than he had been in months.
It only made the crash on the rocks much harder when Ilya was inevitably forced to remember the sad truth.
That this all meant nothing.
That Ilya was nothing to Hollander and would always be nothing.
Towards the end of the week, Ilya’s nerves are frazzled. The constant onslaught of Hollander in his space has destroyed his nerves and wherewithal. Ilya felt like he was barely holding onto his sanity, a thing he was unsure of his grip on prior to this week, and having the thing he most desired so close but unable to touch…
Shaking his head Ilya walks by a small open space, a group of people congregating as Hollander stood at the center with a microphone in his face. He looked pretty, Ilya reflected sadly, he looked so pretty all week. Rose Landry was probably picking out his clothing. They were probably so close to getting married. They might be living together.
In his doom spiral it takes Ilya a minute to realize that Hollander is giving an interview to a small time youtuber, which makes Ilya do a double take, his head tilting to the side. Hollander doesn’t do press; he usually only does it when necessary and with major outlets that he or his mother had checked beforehand.
This young guy is neither of those things. He has a rather obnoxious-looking hat that Ilya thinks he’s seen in an interview with Rose Landry when he definitely wasn’t looking for hours at press she had given. With a scoff Ilya continues to walk, his feet slow down despite him not having any intention of hanging around where Hollander can see him. In fact, it would be easiest to avoid him when he knows Shane’s too tied up with someone else to be bothered with Ilya. Then he hears the question out of the guy’s mouth.
“Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me, Shane Hollander. You’re quite the star, but lately you’ve been in the headlines because of your relationship to another star, a friend of the channel, Ms. Rose Landry,” He starts, shiny white teeth in a smile that, with surprising hostility, Ilya wishes he could punch out of the stranger’s mouth, “Are things going well with the lady?”
Ilya feels himself go stop, his pulse ratcheting up so he can feel it in his throat, his breath coming in sharply and rapidly for a second before he turns his head to look at Hollander as he answers the question. His breath catches when he realizes that Hollander is already looking at him, watching him, catching his eyes, and holding his gaze. For his reaction? To laugh at him later?
Ilya shakes his head; Hollander is not cruel. He would not do this. Still, he cannot force himself to move, he feels his eyebrows draw together as he watches Hollander. Hollander moves his eyes from Ilya to the guy asking questions, he nods to the youtuber, a small smile on his face, the answer to his question coming out evenly.
“Oh, Rose is wonderful. She quickly became one of my best friends and I hope we continue to hang out well into the future, I can see her being someone I always want to have around.”
Ilys rears back as though struck, bumping into the person standing behind him, he tries to keep his face impassive, to will his legs to move with what feels like a gunshot wound in his chest, but he knows he must have failed when Hollander starts speaking again. There’s a new urgency in his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago as his eyes lock onto Ilya’s again. Pleading with him to understand what he cannot say in front of strangers. What Ilya has purposefully not given him a chance to say by not allowing them a moment alone together this whole time.
He speaks clearly, but with more force and slightly hurried, eyes not wavering from Ilya’s now, “I mean, Rose and I aren’t compatible as more than friends, just really good friends. She’s wonderful but it turns out maybe I’m more of a Lily man.”
Ilya feels himself exhale a sharp “Ha!” Ilya feels a surge of rage that recedes as quickly as it appeared and suddenly his legs feel like jelly. Ilya knows he needs to flee, otherwise the headline from this week will be ‘Russian menace Ilya Rozanov crying in the hallway.’ His father would kill him if he could remember seeing it. With that thought, he finally manages to push himself forward, legs unsteady as he took off for the elevator. Everything is muffled and once again, Hollander has Ilya feeling like he is shaking apart.
Behind him he hears Hollander say, “Thank you for time, I need to catch up with my teammate over there.”
The cocoon of silence feels much more comforting as Ilya enters the blessedly empty elevator, but it is interrupted by Hollander’s hand as he blocks the door and enters before Ilya can make a clean escape. They stand in complete stillness and silence as the door shuts, their reflections in the door staring at each other as the elevator starts its slow climb up.
“Was that a joke, Hollander?” Ilya’s voice was a growl as Hollander stands up straighter at being addressed. Hollander turned to face Ilya; Ilya kept staring ahead at their reflections on the door. “I don’t hear from you for months, then everywhere I go this week there you are! Following me around like I have a target on my back, and now you are lying to youtubers!” Ilya gestured with his hands as he talked.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two weeks; I’ve sent you multiple message! You fucking blocked me, asshole!” Hollander snapped, his voice low and gruff. He sounded very hurt; Ilya felt his heart twinge despite himself. “I haven’t had any other chance this week to talk to you, and time is running out and I just needed to…”
The elevator dings which cause they both to pause look to where the doors open to an empty hallway then a few seconds later shut. Ilya clenches his jaw shut, scowling against the mirrored reflection again before picking up where Hollander left off.
“Oh, so when you decide that you are done,” Ilya snarks, leaning back against the wall crossing his arms. Space. He needed more space. Like cities of distance to have this conversation. Would be best to never have it. But no, he had to be stuck in the elevator with the object of all his rejected affections. Of course. “You can just go get a girlfriend after leaving me covered in cum with no need to text me about anything at all. But I… I finally decided that I might also be done, did I have run that by you first? Message was received loud and clear when you left my house Hollander, and I never heard from you again.”
Ilya’s eyes move from Shane’s face to look at the spot over his ear, as the elevator dings again. They’ve reached the top floor now, and soon they will start going back down. Ilya realizes with an overwhelming amount of embarrassment that he never hit the button for his floor. He cringes when Shane seems to realize it at the same time. He looks at the door once, then grabs Ilya’s hand and pulls him off the elevator with him. Ilya turns as the doors close, but Shane has not released him instead he starts walking. Hand still in Ilya’s.
“The fuck are you doing Hollander?” Ilya asks as Shane pulls him along the hallway behind him.
“I wasn’t getting off the elevator without you,” Shane says, “I don’t imagine you feel like inviting me back to your room, and I think we’d get more questions if we just continue riding up and down all night. Which is something I am not above doing right now. My room is on this floor, so I thought…”
Then Shane is silent until they are inside his room. The room is clean, a suitcase on the couch with fancier clothes than Ilya is used to seeing Shane wear. The door shuts with a resounding click behind him, neither of them moves, they just stare at each other for a moment before Shane finally speaks.
“So, you really did block me? That’s it, you’re done?” Hollander ran his hands over his face, Ilya leaned back against the door, using it to hold himself up, buries his head in his hands for a moment. Hollander didn’t move and wasn’t deterred by Ilya’s impression of a wall.
“Da, I fucking blocked you. I did more than that,” Ilya snapped back, his voice sharp but low and measured. He would not allow himself to yell here, going instead for dismissive, or as dismissive as he could be with his eyes hidden behind his palms. “I deleted everything, your texts," Ilya refused to tell him about the pictures, "There is nothing left. I blocked you. I thought about changing my number. A point of no return. Believe it or not, Hollander, when someone shows me that they want nothing to do with me, I leave them alone!”
Dropping his hands from his face Ilya watches as Shane’s face loses color, he takes a small step back before he grabs Ilya’s hand and he turns pulling them both towards the couch, Shane sits on the back of the low couch facing Ilya, his body curled over, still holding his hand.
“Is that what you thought? That I wanted nothing to do with you?” Hollander stops, his face screws up and he turns his head for a moment before trying to meet Ilya’s eyes again. “And is that you want? For me to leave you alone?”
Hollander asks, all his defensiveness gone as he deflates, anguish in his tone and the shine of the tears in his eyes he won’t let fall blur his beautiful brown eyes. Ilya pulls his hand up to his nose to wipe off the bottom of his face as waits him out, Ilya still blatantly ignoring Shane’s eyes.
Again, neither of them moves but Ilya imagines his silence gives away more than he thought when a few of Shane’s tears escape and Shane’s hands come up slowly, as though Ilya is a small animal that he could scare off. Maybe he is.
Shane’s hands start on Ilya’s face, Ilya leans into his touch without thought. Unable to stop, like the planets are unable to stop their orbit around the sun. Hands continue down his neck and shoulders and work their way to travel the length of Ilya’s arms before they grab his wrists, holding him gently and pulling both of Ilya’s hands down to hold in his own. When Ilya lets Shane hold his hands between them, Ilya’s gaze holding their clasped hands warring feelings pulling him in so many different directions.
Shane continues, clearly choked up. “For the record, I am so sorry for how I left you. It was not because I wanted nothing to do with you. If anything, it’s because I want it too much.”
Shane pauses for a breath, his voice breaking, “I didn’t lie to that youtuber. I am much more of a Lily guy, so much more. Rose is beautiful but Lily is all I want.” Shane shrugs and for a moment tilts forward like he wants to rest his head on Ilya’s shoulder before he straightens himself back up. “And I knew that was a possibility that you were done but I still had to try. I was just hoping for the off chance that you’d hear it before we left here. And if this really is over, if I really did fuck things up too much, then I need you to at least know that I like you… Maybe too much. I really like you, Ilya.”
Ilya finally meets Shane’s eyes, his breath stolen by the earnestness in Shane’s eyes. Ilya does not want to believe him. Ilya does not know if he can afford to trust the honesty he knows in Shane’s face.
One minute Ilya is finally looking Shane in the eye and the next Ilya’s legs give out from under him and his butt hits the floor as his face crumbles. Ilya’s hands are still being held up by Shane’s, neither of them can bring themselves to let go, but the rest of his body curls into itself while Ilya starts to sob.
Tears flow down his cheek as Ilya mutters into his shoulder, “You… you LEFT me, you’re the asshole. You’re dating Rose. You cannot sit there and say these things that you do not mean. I am not…”
Shane slipped off the back of the couch, placing Ilya’s hands gently on his lap before cupping his face again. “Ilya, I am gay. Rose called in a favor for me to get that guy to ask that very specific question, just so maybe this could happen for me. I mean all my words, very much.”
Ilya felt his brow scrunch as he sat on the floor, leaning his head into Shane’s hand again as Shane’s thumb caressed his cheek, “You told your girlfriend Rose,” his eyes holding Shane’s “about me?” For a moment, Ilya felt almost giddy.
Shane hummed, an actual smile graced his face for a moment, and he said, “Not you in particular, I’d never want to risk outing you. I just told her that someone special I needed to talk to was here but was doing their very best to never be alone with me. Rose said that youtuber owed her for a few interviews she gave a while back when his channel was still small. Also, Ilya I’m still very gay. Like I said, Rose is a really good friend, but it wasn’t going to be more than that.”
“Someone special? Are you sure you mean all your words?” Ilya’s voice is tear stained, and he tries to sort through his thoughts. They’re both on the floor, Shane’s hands working their way from his face into his hair. Shane pulling Ilya’s face closer, eyes bouncing back and forth from his lips to his eyes.
Asking permission.
His father and brother were right; Ilya is a weak man. He is weak and he cannot learn. He leans forward, lips devouring Shane’s as his body exhales for the first time in months at their reunion. A man in the desert would accept water, even more so when it was his favorite brand. As it was, Shane was a feast of all of Ilya’s favorite things. The touches ranged from gentle too harsh. The moans, the way his cheeks deepened in color and his freckles popped as they continued on and on into the night.
After they’re both sated, Shane is curled into Ilya, head heavy on Ilya’s shoulder. His one hand is in Ilya’s hair, the other playing with the golden cross on Ilya’s chain. Taking Shane apart, with his hand and mouth and finally his dick, felt so much like putting himself back together again. Ilya ignores the fear that curls in his guts at this realization.
Later, as the elevator takes him back down to his room, he reflects, Shane will probably change his mind again someday. Ilya can’t help but wonder if Shane would have even missed him, choose him, if he knew anyone else. After all, he didn’t declare his love and Ilya at least had enough sense left not to do so himself, but Ilya would accept the affection Shane was willing to give now regardless of the future.
These are questions without answers though, and no matter what the answer might be Ilya knows that it wouldn’t make that much difference. Pulling out his phone, Ilya scrolled to his settings and unblocked Shane’s number.