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The doorbell cameras had been Shane’s idea.
“We’d have access to each other's cameras - only if you want to,” he says quickly.
“Of course,” Ilya shrugs. “Someone needs to keep an eye on wild party boy Shane Hollander.”
“Right,” Shane scoffs with an eye roll and a fond nudge of his elbow into Ilya’s side.
“Who knows what crazy hour you come home. Eight? Nine?” Ilya shakes his head. “Ten? Hollander, you’re insane.”
“Shut up,” Shane laughs, shoving Ilya into the arm of the couch before climbing into his lap. “I just thought it would be nice if we could know when we’re both home safe.”
“You know how else we could do that?”
“Ilya -”
“This brand new invention -”
“I swear to god -”
“Phones, Shane. You can talk to people on them with your voice and with written words,” Ilya smirks, sliding his arms around Shane’s waist to stop him climbing off.
“I hate you,” Shane mutters with absolutely no heat behind it. “You know you can speak through the cameras.”
“We could greet each other at the door?” Ilya asks, eyes brightening. Shane nods and Ilya closes the distance between them, tugging Shane in for a kiss by grabbing a handful of his shirt.
“I know it’s not the same as actually living together, but I just… I love the idea of saying hi to you as you walk in the door.”
“Me too,” Ilya hums. “Ok. We install the cameras.”
🚪 📷
“моя вишня you are looking very red,” Ilya greets Shane three weeks later through the doorbell camera. “Did you go on run or swim in volcano?”
“My cherry?” Shane asks, loitering at the door as he often finds himself doing now. The audio quality isn’t great and they both know they could just video call, but there’s something about talking to Ilya at the door that settles an ache deep in Shane’s chest he’s trying to ignore.
“да,” Ilya answers. “Dark red like the ones we got last summer.”
“I ran a bit further than usual, why the fuck would I swim in a volcano?” Shane shrugs. “Am I really that red?”
“Call me before your shower,” is all Ilya says before the audio cuts out.
🚪 📷
“Night roadworks on Iris Street again?” Shane asks one night when Ilya gets home later than expected.
“Whole section closed off,” Ilya grumbles, frowning into the camera. “Could not get to Lakoma before they closed and now I have no potato salad.”
“Yes but you do have those leftover noodles,” Shane reminds him. Ilya makes no move to head inside and sighs as he leans against the wall opposite the camera. He looks tired. “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine, Shane,” Ilya sighs. “Just…miss you.”
“I miss you too,” Shane murmurs. “Two more days, yeah? We can go get potato salad together.”
“You will eat some?”
“I will provide moral support while you eat it. Maybe I’ll make one without the mayonnaise.”
“Ok,” Ilya smiles, blowing Shane a kiss. “I’ll call you when I’m inside.”
🚪 📷
“Hi Shane,” Ilya greets smoothly. Shane can hear the grin that’s likely plastered across his face.
“Hi Shane? You score a goal like that and all you’ve got for me is ‘Hi Shane’?” Shane hisses, dropping his bag by the door. It had been a fucking insane goal - Ilya had straight up jumped over a New Jersey player who had tripped over in front of him before stealing the puck off their left-winger and slamming it into the net over the goalies shoulder.
“Ah, you liked my goal? Was for you,’ Ilya purrs and if Shane doesn’t get his hand on his dick with Ilya’s voice in his ear in the next thirty seconds he might actually die.
“Take your clothes off, I’m calling you right now.”
“Love you!”
“Love you too. Get naked.”
🚪 📷
“Please tell me that bruise is not as bad as it looks,” Shane groans as Ilya approaches the camera. There’s distinct and painfully extensive bruising spreading up the side of Ilya’s face caused by Dallas fucking Kent ramming his stick into Ilya’s cheek after a nasty check into the boards.
“Mm, I would but I made a promise to myself to be more honest with you so…”
“I’ll fucking kill Kent, that was a dirty hit,” Shane grumbles. “What did he say to you? You looked like you wanted to kill him.”
“Nothing I am going to repeat,” Ilya mutters. “You do not need to hear what he said, I am pissed off enough for both of us ok? Don’t worry.”
“I’m always going to worry. We play Toronto in two weeks, I’ll give him a matching bruise.”
“You don’t fight,” Ilya reminds him with a sigh. “Tell Boiziau to do it for you.”
“Can’t do that without explaining why.”
“I know, Shane. I am fine.” Ilya’s attempt at being reassuring falls flat when he smiles and winces. Shane wishes, not for the first time, that he was greeting Ilya at the door in person and not just on camera.
🚪 📷
They’re not always able to greet each other - the reality of their jobs is there are times where Shane comes home to silence and leaves with no goodbye. He shamelessly looks at the recorded footage of Ilya coming and going when he hasn’t been able to remind him through the camera how much he loves him. This is how Shane misses seeing Ilya coming home looking completely defeated and despondent one night after an overtime loss to Buffalo in a home game. Shane had a home game as well but had been held up with press commitments and then drinks that JJ dragged him along too, and so doesn’t have a chance to watch the footage until he’s in his car close to midnight.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, replaying the video. There are dark circles under Ilya’s eyes, he’s dragging his feet, and he avoids looking at the camera. Ilya usually speaks into the camera even if Shane isn’t on the other end, but tonight he was silent. Just a text saying that he was going to bed early and that he loves Shane so much.
“Just call him,” his mother would say if he called her for advice. “You’ve got practice in the morning and a game against New York tomorrow night.”
“Optional skate,” Shane mumbles to no one. He should go home and just call Ilya. That’s what Shane Hollander Montreal Metros Captain would do. But maybe that’s not who he needs to be tonight.
🚪 📷
Ilya’s house is dark and silent by the time Shane pulls into the driveway a little after two in the morning. Ilya hasn’t messaged again and Shane hadn’t wanted to call and wake him up, so he’s surprised when Ilya speaks to him through the camera.
“Am I dead?”
“I - what? I fucking hope not,” Shane snorts, leaning back against the same section of wall Ilya always props himself against when they chat through this very camera.
“Ok. I was not sure because I got notification for my camera and it looks like you are at my front door,” Ilya says, voice gravelly from sleep. “But you are in Montreal.”
“Nope,” Shane replies. “I’m here.”
“And here is…”
“Ottawa, asshole,” Shane laughs. “Can I come in?”
“Why are you in Ottawa?” Ilya’s voice has dropped to a whisper, barely audible through the tinny camera speaker.
“You looked like you could use some company tonight,” Shane shrugs. “Optional skate tomorrow morning, so…”
“You are skipping optional skate? You, Shane Hollander, are skipping optional skate?” Ilya asks incredulously. “Why?”
“I want to see you,” Shane answers. Simple and honest. “Ilya, it’s two in the morning and it’s fucking freezing, I’m coming in.”
“No, wait, I - fuck, Hollander. You drove to Ottawa in the middle of the night just because you thought I need company?”
“Would have driven to Boston if you were still living there. I watched -” Shane is cut off by the door wrenching open and Ilya yanking him inside, pulling him in for a crushing hug. Shane sinks into the touch, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s waist and tilting his head to the side so Ilya can bury his face in Shane’s neck.
“Hi,” Ilya mumbles.
“Hi.” Shane kisses the top of Ilya’s head, breathing in his lavender hair products and the distinct smell of sleep clinging to him.
“How did you know?”
“I watched the video of you walking in the door when I got in my car,” Shane says into Ilya’s hair.
“Pervert,” Ilya mutters, grinning against Shane’s neck. Shane digs his fingers into Ilya’s side lightly, holding him tight enough that he can’t squirm away.
“It got me here, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” Ilya replies simply. “Thank you.”
“I want to be here,” Shane hums. “I always want to be here. With you.”
“I always want you here with me too.” llya’s arms tighten around Shane’s waist like if he lets go Shane will change his mind and drive back to Montreal.
“Come on, we both need sleep. Then you can fuck me in the morning and make me breakfast, ok?”
“Ok,” Ilya yawns. “You always make the best plans.”
“For the things that matter, yes.”
“And I am one of those things?” Ilya starts dragging Shane towards the bedroom, tension already gone from his face.
“You’re the thing that matters the most.”