Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ilya knew he shouldn’t have gone out tonight. He’s been irritable all day, frustrated at the world and everything around him. He yelled at Marlow once for no good reason, and Victor got the brunt of it after practice when everyone was passing his phone around to share Hollander and Rose Landry’s newest photos together: he was kissing her cheek as she laughed at something that couldn’t have been that funny.

Hollander, his Hollander, is now with a woman. 

And not just any woman: gorgeous movie star Rose Landry who just happened to be at the right place at the right time. 

It’s clear whatever was going on with him and Hollander before this meant nothing to the Canadian. He left his home, the safe space Ilya was desperately trying to create for him, and ran off into the arms of a woman instead. Ilya shouldn’t feel so bitter. He’s left Hollander and talked to other people, slept with them many times over the years. But this was different.

He cleaned his entire house, wiped down his counters twice, and made three separate trips to grocery stores to try to plan the right foods for when Hollander came over. He thought he was doing it all right – he was kind, he was asking questions and suggesting he stay, they even slept in the same bed!

Everything felt like it was falling into place. The next thing Ilya wanted to do was broach the topic of them going monogamous – a gross, terribly uncharacteristically Rozanov decision. But something about Hollander just makes him want to be brave. 

Before the nervewracking topic got to leave his mouth and enter Hollander’s ears, he slipped up and called him by his first name. The name echoes in his head, the way it fell out without his own permission. He didn’t mean it, at least that’s what he will tell himself from now until forever.

But Hollander said his name back! He called him Ilya, so soft the Russian tried to convince himself he was wrong about it, but he remembers how his heart raced and how he felt like they were both tumbling into the right direction. Until Shane- Hollander stood up, stuttering out some half-apology to explain why he has to leave now rather than stay the night like he said he would. 

And maybe that’s what the worst part of it was; Ilya knew his schedule, he knew they were both free to have a whole day to themselves for the first time in their relationship – or whatever they were considered at that time. So he knew Hollander was lying. He knew it the moment the words were said, the way the Canadian barely looked at his face as he spoke.

Ilya has learned all his tells quietly over the years: how Hollander pulls at his eyelashes when he’s nervous, or how he tries to look in Ilya’s eyes when he’s serious, or how he likes gentle touches across his arms and back when they lie together for a few quiet moments after they fuck. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Ilya notices everything about him. So he knows the look that crosses Hollander’s face when he really does forget something, and he knows the look that happens when he’s lying.

Hollander did not forget a meeting in the morning – he just didn’t want to be with Ilya anymore. 

Rose and Hollander have been together a few months now, not that Ilya has been keeping track. It’s not his fault his phone keeps showing him every new photo of them that comes out and every interview in which Rose mentions her ‘wonderful boyfriend, Shane.’ Ilya scoffed at that. And in an incredibly weak moment, a thought tumbled in before he could stop it: that was supposed to be his title for Shane. 

So now, he’s out at a bar. A crowded one in Montreal, a very popular one. He should’ve stayed home, he feels it from the moment he walks in. Marlow and Victor kindly agree to go with him, but maybe that’s just because they want to try to set him up with someone so perhaps their captain can stop making them do line drills every day. They run off and find women quickly, kissing over their necks and faces like ravenous wolves. 

The women are beautiful, gorgeous even. They are fun and pretty and walk up to Ilya on more than one occasion to ask if he would dance. But every single time he tries to get himself into it, his heart stutters uncomfortably with the reminder of what happened with him and Hollander all those months ago. He’s come out here to forget about it, but for some reason, he can’t even do that.

So instead, he has gone back to the bar to get another drink. This might be his third, he isn’t sure. He just knows he needs something – ‘liquid confidence’ as he has heard Marlow tell him many times over the years. 

Ilya stands alone, asking politely for a drink of something strong, something he can’t remember now with the pounding music and busy thoughts, when he notices a man standing beside him. A man far too familiar for comfort. A man that, without a doubt, is Rose Landry’s best friend that he's seen with her at numerous games. And if he’s here, then…

Ilya looks around the bar, eyes scanning everyone so quickly he’s afraid he might miss Hollander. He spots Victor chatting with two girls in a booth, and Marlow in the middle of the dance floor, looking absolutely ridiculous. 

And then, like a lighthouse luring Ilya back to shore, he spots Shane. With Rose. With her hands up his shirt, dancing nearly chest to chest with him. Ilya feels sick with the hot, rolling envy creeping in his stomach: a jealousy so deep he could shake with it. He stands, simply watching them for a time certainly not acceptable for someone who is supposed to only be his rival. He’s aware the bartender slides the drink across the bar, pushing it towards him. He feels the cold cup press against his heated arm, but not even that makes him tear his eyes from Hollander. 

It’s torturous, but it’s also impossible to pull himself away. He blindly grabs his cup and chugs it quickly, feeling the burning alcohol slip down his throat and land heavily in his chest. Ilya sits his cup back on the counter and stalks towards the dance floor. 

He watches the two dance for a moment more – or more so, Rose dancing while Shane looks around the room. He knows Hollander hates parties, hates clubs. He’s always staying in, doing anything besides that. Sometimes just reading his boring hockey books that he’s claimed are more important than going out. But here he is, out at a club with his girlfriend. Maybe that’s just the new him now. Maybe the new Shane Hollander goes partying with his movie star girlfriend and throws away 7 year long situationships like it’s nothing. 

Ilya knows he’s being unnecessarily bitter, but he’s been bitter for months and it’s certainly not stopping tonight. 

He finds a girl, of course he does. She’s beautiful, tall, and eager. Maybe she knows he’s the famous captain of the Raiders, or maybe she’s just excited to get his attention, but either way she’s happy to allow him to kiss along her throat. 

It doesn’t feel right. 

She smells sweet like flowers and the bitterness of lemon. Her neck tastes like perfume and sweat. She has so much hair that brushes against his face every time he trails his lips down further. And deep down, Ilya knows why he can’t get into it. 

She isn’t strong and broad and matches his every move. She doesn’t smell of soft laundry detergent and something so acutely Canadian that it makes him keen. Her hair doesn’t fall sweetly, messily over her forehead and land perfectly right below her ears. 

Maybe this should be a good thing. If Hollander happens to see them, then he will see that Ilya has moved on too – obviously. He’s with someone so unlike Shane. 

The moment it happens, it doesn’t feel like the flourish Ilya thought it would.

It sits uneasily in his stomach. Hollander spots him, watches wordlessly from afar, successfully abandoning his girlfriend so he can watch Ilya mack on this woman's neck – he didn’t even get her name. 

If they were closer, Ilya would be able to see Hollander’s wet eyes and wobbly lips. But he can’t, so he continues. His hands sit over the woman’s stomach and side, holding her firmly to his chest while he stares across the club at the Canadian. His aching chest doesn’t still, rather it leaps harsher as Shane eventually just… turns away. Not a single word, not another glance. He just leaves, like watching to begin with was a waste of time. 

Ilya grips the woman again, leaving another kiss to her skin as she makes small pretty sounds over him. These sounds should erupt something with him, and usually they would. But instead, it just makes him feel a little sicker. He needs to move on, he needs to find someone he can fuck senseless tonight. Or he needs to keep kissing until it feels right. He must not be drunk enough yet. 

He gently lets her go, saying something about how he needs to ‘get another drink’ that he’s sure he really doesn’t need. But he needs to focus on something else – busy his hands with something else. Clearly she isn’t working. 

–

Shane shouldn’t be drinking as much as he is. 

He’s here to have a great time with his great girlfriend and her great friend. He’s here to show support because he never goes out with them and he doesn’t want to be the reason Rose stops going out. So he’s here, dancing and smiling when he knows he should be, and definitely not thinking about anything beyond the person he’s with or the location he’s at. 

His mind doesn’t drift to Rozanov at the game tonight where he didn’t dare look at Shane for the entirety of it, and his mind definitely doesn’t drift to how much nicer it would be to be in a quieter location. Maybe one where the architecture is nice with someone who will make him a sandwich and give him his favorite drink. He doesn’t think of that stuff at all. No, he smiles down at his girlfriend and leans in to kiss her when he feels like she’s wanting him to.

The night is flowing like it should be, albeit slowly. Far slower than Shane would prefer. But it’s still moving towards the time when he would like to leave, thankfully. This is all going well. He can fake his feelings enough to get by, of course he can. He’s done it for years, so what’s one, simple night?

Well, it quickly goes off the rails when his eyes spot Marlow and Victor with lovely women, laughing and grinning like they’ve struck gold. Immediately, his heart stops, because if they're here, then that means...

He looks around the crowd urgently, hoping to find his secretly favorite golden locks and piercing blue eyes. 

Luckily for him, or maybe incredibly unluckily, he spots Rozanov. With a woman. Kissing all down her neck like there’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

Shane feels himself moving away from Rose, uttering some excuse so he can leave. He faintly hears her grab Miles to dance with instead, not wasting a second of their time out to stand alone, unlike Shane. He feels like he’s walking through honey, his body taut and jaw clenched so tightly it hurts. 

Once he crosses the threshold to properly see Rozanovs intense gaze and intense grip on the woman, Shane can't help from feeling like he very well might pass out. He's jealous, and unfairly angry. His hands clench at his sides, shaking slightly as Rozanov moves his hand up to cup her chest while his lips move around her neck. 

Tears prick quicker than expected and before Shane knows it, he’s turning hurriedly towards the bar.

He can’t do this. 

He asks for a gin and tonic, and downs it the second the cup reaches his hand. Then, he asks for another. 

His heart is racing, his eyes are wet. He’s aware as he grabs his second drink that his hand is shaking. He feels so frustrated. And so broken, which is really unfair considering this is his fault. He left Rozanov, he needs to move on. It’s clear Ilya has. Shane needs to do it too - he has a wonderful girlfriend. He needs to be thinking about her, focusing on her, instead of drinking shamelessly, cup after cup to try to dull the aching in his chest. 

His grips his drink harshly, chugging that one too. He’s being wreckless, he knows he is. He knows this isn’t fair to Rose to leave her to dance with her friend while he gets drunk off the thought of Rozanov. But fuck. It’s different being harshly checked in a game or watching as Rozanov actively avoids his eye contact than to watch him so closely make out with a girl. 

Shane’s throat feels tight, his lips wobbling again as he fights down the last sip of his drink. Some of it dribbles down his chin, which he roughly wipes away with the back of his hand. 

Rozanov looked really good.

Shane shakes his head, wiping at his eyes harshly too and asking for another. Maybe this one will have his brain quieted since it seems like nothing else will. The bartender gives him a look, but obliges anyway. Shane can’t even care about the glance, he needs this. No, he needs to get back to Rose and be a good boyfriend, make out with her or do something that women seem to like. Maybe she’s wanting to have sex tonight. 

Shane nearly gags on his drink, his stomach clenching sickly at the thought. He can’t do that. He doesn’t want to do that with anyone but –

Now he nearly throws up for real as that thought enters his mind. He needs to get a grip on himself. He broke things off, he left Rozanov’s house. He is dating Rose, for fucks sake. He can’t have these thoughts of being with another person. That’s unfair to her. That’s not right. 

He finishes his third drink too fast, he knows it the second he places the cup back down. His stomach feels like it’s sloshing with the liquid, his face hot in the way he hates. His hands shake harsher and he nearly loses his footing as he lets go of the bar. He just needs to get back to Rose and leave. He needs to go home. 

Yet as he thinks about home, the place he thinks of isn’t his penthouse nor his girlfriend. It takes the form of a person with blonde curls and striking blue eyes and a gorgeous mole on his cheek that Shane misses kissing. 

He’s going to be sick. 

Shane stumbles hurriedly away from the bar, his pace more sluggish than he needs it to be right now. He walks straight towards the side exit that leads him directly into the alley. It’s surprisingly empty, everyone either inside or at the end far away from him, smoking oddly familiar cigarettes that only add to his growing nausea. 

He doubles over, hands on his knees as he shakily coughs. His entire body vibrates, locking up at times and letting go just to begin shaking again. He closes his eyes, trying to take stabilizing breaths to calm his erratically beating heart. In the darkness, he sees Rozanov, standing across the bar and staring directly at Shane. His hands were holding her waist, his lips kissing all down her throat. He looked like he was doing it to prove something to Shane – to show just what he's missing out on. 

Shane coughs again and this time, he does throw up. 

His eyes are wet, full tears running down his face and nose immediately snotty and dripping embarrassingly. He’s still hunched over, trembling as more coughs wrack his body. Shane grips his knees so tightly his knuckles are white. The pain is the only thing keeping him upright currently instead of tumbling directly into his vomit. 

He’s never been this bad before; He’s never freaked out so badly over something as silly as seeing Rozanov in public. He’s seen him in plenty of bars and clubs over the years doing this exact thing, but not since he broke things off. 

He hears a light gasp from behind him and feels a small, warm hand on his back a second later. “Oh, Shane,” Rose says sadly, rubbing his back gently. This makes him gag again, more tears rolling unfairly down his cheeks. He sniffles loudly, feeling a sob hidden right behind his ribs. 

“Sweetheart, what happened?” She asks gently, continuing to touch his back sweetly. Her touch feels like poison, shocking him out of his bowed position enough to stand, allowing her hand to fall off. It doesn’t feel right having her be here, comforting him so sweetly when the last thing on his mind is his girlfriend. Her face is so open, so caring and worried for him that it's enough to make him feel another round of nausea.

He immediately hunches forward again, coughing through a sob as he begins to openly cry against his wishes. His throat feels raw, his stomach hurts, his head is pounding, and his heart feels heavy. Everything feels like it's on a million – every emotion, every sound, every touch. It’s all too much. He can’t handle her kindness right now. He can’t handle any of it. 

“Oh honey,” She starts again, another gentle petname falling out of her mouth with the ease he’s never been able to have. He’s called her ‘babe’ once or twice, but it never feels right. It feels like he’s putting on a suit of someone else when he says it. The names aren't his, but he knows that’s what boyfriends call their girlfriends.

Rose never has trouble showing her affection and calling him loving things. 

He is definitely going to be sick again. 

“Okay, Miles, go get him water please. I’m going to stay here with him,” She says to her friend – Miles had to see all of this too? – and a second later, Shane hears his retreating footsteps back into the loud club. He feels a wave of embarrassment hit him so hard he wishes he would’ve just let himself fall into the vomit littered pavement and get knocked out on impact rather than knowing Rose and Miles saw him like this. 

It’s quiet for a second, save for the sound of his heavy breathing and the club music seeping into the silent night. Rose still stands beside him as another round of shaking falls upon his limbs. He wants to curl up and die. He wants to hide. He wants to be away from everything. He wants… He wants Ilya. 

Shane stumbles to a stand, walking over to the opposite side of the alley and sitting harshly on the pavement. He pulls his knees up and puts his head in his hands, trying to breathe. His chest feels tight, like someone tied a rope around his heart and is trying to pull it out of his body. His hands tingle, prickling painfully. His vision feels like it's swinging, yet also slowing down at once. 

Rose squats in front of him and rests her hands on his folded arms. The touch immediately makes him pull back and let out a low whine-cry mix, sniffling pathetically like she's burned him. She pulls away immediately, and he’s sure her face is something of disgust or disappointment. Whose wouldn’t be? He’s doing too much, being too much.

He feels like he’s splintering in half and can’t stop it from continuing. He’s barely holding the two halves together. 

Another set of feet join a second later, a muffled conversation after that. Shane can vaguely hear Rose speaking quietly to Miles, saying ‘thank you’ and also ‘something’s wrong’. Shane’s cheeks flame hot, his ears red under the moonlight. He feels humiliated, utterly and terribly humiliated. 

“Shane, I’m sitting your water beside you. Please drink it,” Rose’s soft voice comes through a bit more clearly, yet still sounding like she’s talking underwater. Shane makes another pathetic whine, shaking his head slowly as fresh tears fall. He pulls his body in closer to himself, tightening his grip. He can’t come out and show himself. He can’t let them see the failure he is. He feels his heart racing harder, his breath coming less evenly. 

Then, she gently pushes something small into his fisted hand, careful not to touch him in the process. He barely peeks his eyes out enough to see through his tears it’s a piece of gum. “Might help as a distraction, and with feeling a little cleaner,” She explains gently, almost nervously like she thinks it could be coined stupid. But of the things she has done so far, that is one he will take her up on. He shakily opens the wrapper, dropping it to the ground quickly as he forces the gum in his mouth. It helps take the bitter taste out, but he already feels too far gone for it to help beyond that.

His head begins to pound harder as the warning signs of a meltdown make themselves known. He’s breathing is harsh, his chest rising and falling quicker than it ever should. His tears fall easily, his hands grip onto his arms roughly, leaving little crescents underneath them. 

“What can I do, sweetheart? You’re freaking out,” She says more urgently, but somewhere in Shane’s frantic mind, he hears the lovely Russian drawl saying ‘you’re having panic attack.’ He shakes his head again, letting out a sorrowful cry as he brings his hands up to his hair to grip onto. It’s slightly more stabilizing, but still not enough. He needs…

“Shane, you need to calm down. What can I do?” Her voice is still so sweet and so worried, and all Shane can think of is Rozanov. Of his comforting presence and his big arms that encompass his body completely.

And of him kissing that girl across the bar. 

He grips tighter, beginning to rock back and forth. He hears Rose stand from her squatted position, seeming to pace slightly in the small alleyway with Miles, who sounds like he’s trying to calm her down too. Great, now he’s freaking her out.

Another cry comes out before he can stop it, a cry for something: A plea. 

“Please, pl- I need-” Shane tries to speak but his voice is quiet and shaking so harshly that every word sounds like he’s riding a train. Still, it’s enough to make Rose get back into a squat, far too close for comfort right now. 

“Anything, what do you need?” She asks quickly, her hand hovering over his. Her presence is too warm and too much. It’s all too much. 

He tightens his grip in his hair, trying to shrink as small as a bulky hockey player can. 

“Him, please I nee-” He cuts himself off again with a shallow breath, his vision swimming. He chews his gum a little more forcefully. When Rose speaks again, confusion seems to litter every word.

“Him? Miles, you want Miles?” She asks kindly, seeming to gesture for him to come closer as his footsteps come to a stop in front of him. Now, it’s officially too much. Too many bodies around him giving him no space. He can’t breathe.

Shane gasps harshly, shaking roughly as he brings his red rimmed, wet eyes up to stare helplessly at Rose. Why can’t she understand? Why doesn’t she know what he needs? Her face falls, nervous energy exuding off of her as the seconds progress further. 

Shane shakes his head, gripping even tighter. She seems understanding, she just wants to help. She will understand. He needs her to. 

“No, no please please,” He begs pathetically, crying more openly than he ever has in his life. He tries again. 

“Roz- please, I need Rozanov,” He finally gets out in a fearful voice, like the confession alone is breaking him open. He sees as cogs seem to turn rapidly in her brain, as her eyes gain an almost understanding beneath them. He drops his head quickly back to his knees, unable to watch any longer to see what she uncovered. 

“Okay, okay of course,” She says softly, understanding. She doesn’t even sound upset, just grateful to finally know the answer. He feels cool air around him and the sound of feet hurrying away. And finally, finally, he is alone.

–

Ilya is bored. He got bored the moment Shane left and Marlow grabbed him another drink from the bar. Now, the two are sitting in a secluded booth away from all the pretty girls, beer bottles littering the table like drunks. Victor secured two girls for the night and is taking turns twirling them both on the dance floor. Marlow had a girl but said he didn’t feel up to her after all. So now, the two sit sharing ‘woe is me’ stories and nursing their drinks. His friend has clearly had more, as shown by his consistent swaying just from sitting up. 

Ilya laughs as Marlow eventually just falls backwards on the booth, his head hitting the soft seats with his bottle still clutched in hand. The Russian shakes his head, taking another drink of Vodka and Sprite. His eyes casually scan the club, seeing if maybe he can spot Hollander again. He can’t tell if he’s grateful or envious when he can’t. That means he and Rose left together, probably to go home and have sex and spend a wonderfully in love night together that he would never give Ilya. He bitterly takes another sip of his drink, leaning against the table as he scans the club again.

Just in case. 

This time, he spots Rose. But she’s with Miles, and looking… Afraid? Nervous? Ilya instinctively sits up straighter, eyes following them as they hurry around the club. Are they looking for Shane? He’s obviously not with them. Did something happen? Ilya shakes his head and forces himself to look away. It’s not his business. Whatever is happening doesn’t contain him. Hollander doesn’t contain him anymore. 

He downs his drink, rubbing his temples in an annoyed manner. Drinking more hasn’t helped his confidence increase, nor his brain to stop reminding him of Hollander. What’s even the fun of drinking then if it isn’t doing shit for him?

Before he can go down yet another downward spiral, a shadow appears in front of him. He pulls his eyes up, hardly masking the surprise when he realizes he is now face to face with Rose Landry and Miles. Were they… were they looking for him? He tries to push down the immediate worry that swims to the top of his chest, nearly escaping out of his throat in a question of ‘what happened?’.

Instead, he braves himself by trying to appear nonchalant and asking, “Need something?”

Rose huffs in an annoyed manner, eyebrows furrowed down as she says in an almost exasperated voice, “I need you to come with me.” Ilya’s eyebrows drop, frowning immediately. What would Rose Landry want with him? He swallows, licking his lips nervously. Is something wrong?

He covers up his rising fears by saying dryly, “Sorry, not interested. You have a boyfriend, no?” 

Rose’s eyes tighten, scanning his face entirely before fearlessly reaching out and grabbing his arm to pull him up. She keeps her eyes trained on him for a moment. She searches, not stopping until her own seem to soften by a fraction, satisfied in whatever she’s found. She then starts to pull him away from the table. Ilya scoffs, sputtering in shock at her confidence. “What are you–?” 

“He needs you, Ilya. Come on,” She says impatiently, not letting go of his bicep for a second as she begins to drag him through the crowd. Ilya’s heart fully stutters in his chest, his blood freezing over in an instant. Shane needs him? And Rose knows that she doesn’t have to explain which him she’s talking about for Ilya to follow? What did she see to allow him to join her? Questions are whirling so quickly in Ilya’s head he’s surprised it isn’t spinning off. 

Rose walks with a purpose, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his arm as she rushes them through the club. Miles trails behind Ilya, like a bodyguard escorting him outside. Hollander’s girlfriend and best friend is taking him around like they’ve known him forever, not afraid to disrupt his peace to do whatever it is they feel they need Ilya for. He can’t understand what it is they could want, but Rose’s grip tells him there’s no way he’s getting out of this regardless.

They get to the exit and before Ilya can ask again what’s happening, Rose is pushing him through the door. For the third time that night, Ilya feels his heart do something complicated. Outside in the alleyway is Shane, curled up in himself as his body shakes repeatedly. His breathing is shaky, harsh. He doesn’t even look up as Rose begins to speak. 

“Hey sweetheart, I got Rozanov like you wanted,” She speaks quietly, eyeing Ilya worriedly before directing that worry to her partner. Ilya’s mouth goes dry. Shane was asking for him, wanting him while having a freak out. If he wasn’t so afraid of Shane’s state right now, he’s sure he would be grinning from ear to ear. He feels like he's sobered instantly.

Rose gently pushes Ilya forward, her eyes urgent and hopeful as she stares at him. Miles stands back, simply watching with a curious expression that seems to almost hold that same understanding Rose directed at Ilya. He has to look away to try not to think too hard on what it means.

Ilya slowly crosses the small space and squats down, leaving a little gap between them as he places his hands on his own legs. Up close, he can see how off Hollander really is. His hands are shaky, gripping roughly into his hair as his forehead sits against his knees. 

Ilya lets out a small breath, yet the sound is enough for Shane to take a deep inhale, swallowing harshly. Ilya takes that as his sign to continue. “Hollander, hi,” He says quietly, yet his voice still seems too loud in the quiet alley. He can hear Rose and Miles shuffling nervously behind him, watching his every move. 

He takes in the surroundings slowly, noticing every detail of Shane: his white knuckles, his tense posture, his trembling frame, his water sitting untouched beside him. Ilya takes another breath, and slowly lets it out. It’s quiet, just for Shane to listen to. He seems to hear it, his shaky breaths trying to follow it somewhat, but failing miserably after a moment. At his inability to properly follow the simple activity, Hollander lets out a strained sound, throwing his head back harshly. 

Ilya immediately moves forward, stumbling slightly at the speed in which he puts his hand behind Shane’s head to catch the hit. Rose gasps quietly, and Ilya hears Miles mutter ‘oh my god’. Ilya tunes them out, focusing solely on Hollander, who slowly opens his eyes when he realizes his head didn’t connect with the hard brick and instead a soft hand. His eyes widen slightly, wet and terribly sad as he scans over Ilya’s face, almost disbelieving that he’s really here. 

Then, the tears begin, loud and unrestrained. His mouth forms into a sad frown as he chokes out a cry, hands tangled so tightly in his hair that Ilya’s sure he’s going to pull clumps out. Ilya carefully adjusts his position, leaving his hand right where it is behind Hollander’s head and dropping his other hand onto his own leg. 

“Hey,” He whispers as though Hollander is a scared animal. That only seems to make him cry harder, throwing his head back again in a repetition like he’s trying to find some way to make contact. Ilya hears Rose say in a wet, worried voice ‘oh my god’, and then Miles murmurs something about how they should ‘give them space’ before he’s pulling her back inside. 

Ilya feels himself let out a little sigh as they leave. Now, he feels like he can do more for Hollander without extra prying eyes watching their every move. 

Hollander keeps trying to hurt himself, throwing his head back with a sob. Ilya sits there quietly with him, catching every hit like it’s nothing. He knows he needs to do something more, something to shut this action down before Shane really does hurt himself.

In the back of his mind, he’s reminded of his freak out last time they were together. 

So, taking a breath, Ilya says in a careful voice, “Shane.” 

All of the Canadian’s movement seems to stop immediately, his eyes wide and searching like he forgot where he was until Ilya brought him back. 

Ilya gives him a soft smile and carefully brings his hand from the wall to touch the back of Shane’s head, rubbing his fingers through the tussled hair until he gets to his scalp. This motion keeps Hollander frozen, in shock at the treatment he is receiving, but not attempting to try to throw himself back again. He does, however, seem to lean into the touch cautiously, as if testing if he’s allowed – if they’re both okay with crossing whatever invisible line between them there has been since last time.

Ilya lets out a breath, shuffling closer to the man. “You’re okay,” He whispers, continuing to gently rub against Shane’s sore scalp, eyes taking in his wounded sight. Shane’s eyes are continually dripping tears, his cheeks are pink and irritated – clearly from some intense rubbing – and his nose is pink and a little snotty. He looks nothing like the presentable captain he always tries to be. 

Shane takes in a shaky breath, which forms into another sob as he utters mournfully, “I’m s-sorry!” 

Ilya frowns, immediately shaking his head and moving himself closer. Their knees are touching now. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ilya answers, softly touching Shane’s head as he cries harder. Ilya sighs, bringing his free hand up and motioning for Hollander to come closer. 

Ilya tries to hold back his shock as Hollander easily, quickly falls into him, head tucked under his chin as he wails desperately into his chest. Something must truly be wrong if he’s allowing himself to act this way so openly, especially with Ilya, someone he’s never let in like this before. 

Ilya wraps his arm around Shane’s shaking body while his other hand cradles the back of Shane’s head, still gently rubbing it. He slowly begins to rock them, making soft shushing sounds while Shane cries, sniffling harshly. He's remembered of a time when his mama would hold him like this through his own anxiety attacks and prays to whatever is out there that this is comforting for Shane too, that he’s hopefully doing the right things.

“It’s okay, lyubimyy. Just breathe,” Ilya whispers into his hair, holding Shane firmly to his chest. The Canadian attempts to follow orders, trying to take a deep breath that turns into another cry. And then his breath picks up speed, high and harsh as he closes his eyes tightly. His hands tighten in his hair, pulling roughly as his breathing continues to rapidly increase.

Then, everything goes quiet. In a sudden moment of clarity, Shane anxiously utters out, “Oh my god, I’m gonna throw up again.”

Ilya brings his hand to Shane’s back, rubbing gently up and down while Shane attempts to gather his breathing in Ilya’s chest, not moving away for a second. “You’re working yourself up. Try to breathe with me,” Ilya restates, once again breathing in deeply, slowly, and then letting it out just as slowly and steady. He is already accepting his fate if Shane does, in fact, throw up all over him. 

Instead of vomiting, Shane hesitantly follows Ilya’s orders more carefully this time. It’s still shaky and rough, but it’s calmed down from the intensity it was before. He’s still heaving breaths, hiccuping and sniffling, and he will not admit this later, but even wiping his nose pitifully against Ilya’s fancy shirt. But he's not throwing up and he's not nearly sounding as ragged as he did a moment ago. 

Ilya keeps murmuring sweet nothings in his hair: “You’re doing great, lyubimyy.” “Keep going, like this.” “So proud of you.” He knows it isn’t his place to speak to him this way, to call him his own personal names. He knows he has no right, but when will he have this chance again? He’ll hold these secret names close to his chest and hope Shane won’t remember them later when he’s back in his girlfriend's arms. 

Speaking of which, Ilya glances away from the Canadian, gazing towards the door to see Rose and Miles standing just a bit further inside, looking towards them. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but he can see that they’re talking in hushed tones. Rose has a complicated look on her face, something maybe sad, or worried, yet that mix of understanding from before still lingers in the background. Miles has crinkled brows and a similar look, but a small smirk on his face. Then, Rose’s sad expression breaks into a little, wet laugh at whatever he says. 

Ilya has to look away. He’s sure they’re being too obvious, he’s sure Shane is going to freak out about this once he remembers what happened. He left Ilya’s house to begin with because it was getting too intense between them, and now they’re together outside of a club while he sniffles pitifully into the same man's chest. There’s no way this can end happily. 

But for now, Ilya pushes those worries into the deepest parts of his heart for the time being. He can worry about it later when they separate again and he’s laying alone in bed. 

Ilya’s attention gets quickly redirected as Shane makes a small whine beneath his chin, curling further into Ilya's chest as though trying to get as close as possible. The Russian looks down, gently continuing to rub up and down his back. He must’ve stopped when he noticed Rose. 

Shane shivers, hiccuping again and wiping his nose more obviously against Ilya. He tries to speak, a gravelly, quiet sentence of, “I’m sorry,” before getting cut off again by his own coughing. He turns closer into Ilya, hiding his face and coughing there with eyes clenched so tight he is certain to have a headache by tonight. 

“Is okay. You’re okay,” Ilya whispers, holding the man closely to his chest, still cradling the back of his head while his coughing fit transforms into another choked sob. 

–

Shane feels like the furthest thing from okay.

This is not how his night was supposed to go. He was supposed to be with his beautiful, movie star girlfriend, kissing her like he should be, and then they would go to his penthouse together where he wouldn’t think about his rival at all. 

He was not supposed to be held by that same man while he sobs embarrassingly into his chest and ruins his expensive silk shirt. 

It seems like the shirt is the furthest thing from Ilya’s mind, and that too feels almost humiliating because that means he’s focusing on Shane, and he isn’t sure what he would rather have. To have him worry about his shirt would mean that Shane being this way isn’t important to him and then Shane would be able to go home tonight not thinking about him and continue to believe that he is the dick that he’s shown to be. To have him worry about Shane means that Ilya cares about him like he was trying to show all the months ago and that there’s no way either one of them can go back from this. 

And somewhere in the night, Ilya was no longer thought of as Rozanov, and Shane can’t think about that too long either or he’s sure he will have another meltdown over whatever that means. 

Ilya is rubbing his back and Shane almost has enough sense to not say embarrassing words, but not enough sense to stop them from flowing out. So, as his next sob falls into more ragged sniffling and pitiful cries, then does Shane speak up. 

“Do you- do you think I’m a bad boyfriend?” He asks quietly, voice breaking at every third word, sounding even more frail than how he’s feeling. He really shouldn't be asking Ilya - he shouldn't care what his answer is. But for some reason, he really cares to know what he thinks and if that answer is 'yes'.

Ilya hums in thought, the sound reverberating comfortingly against Shane’s head. He’s warm and safe here. He hopes the Russian doesn’t force him out of his hiding spot yet. 

“What do you mean?” Ilya ends up asking after a moment of silence, his voice soft and gentle in a way Shane has only heard a handful of times over the years, and only with him. He swallows, slowly removing one of his hands at his scalp to wipe his nose with the back of it. Ilya’s hand immediately takes place of where the grip was and begins to slowly, carefully rub at his scalp, almost mindless in his easy affection. Shane just barely keeps himself from sobbing again. 

“I- I am out here, being a fucking mess-” His voice rises in a wobbly, angry tone, but before it can go any further, Ilya cuts in. 

“You aren’t a mess. You’re sick and upset. Is nothing to feel bad about,” He replies easily, continuing to slowly soothe the ache in Shane’s head. His hand brushes further over, reaching Shane’s other hand that has yet to let go. He almost forgot it was up there. Ilya nudges it with his fingers, gently prying Shane’s fingers away from its previous relentless grip so he can soothe that part of his head too. He goes much easier than he planned, feeling weightless within Ilya’s grasp. 

Shane sits quietly with that answer, allowing Ilya to do as he pleases to his pained head. He doesn’t think he’s a freak for this reaction. He doesn’t think it’s bad, he’s just… accepting it, and not making fun of Shane for any of it. He’s being really good, and comforting. Shane swallows nervously.

He knows he has to stop this or else he will fall further into the desperate aching for Rozanov – not Ilya – that he’s been trying to silence forever. 

He sniffles once, then twice, before begrudgingly pushing himself out of his hiding spot. It's what he should do, even if his heart is telling him otherwise.

He keeps his dizzy gaze toward the pavement while Rozanov keeps brushing his fingers through Shane’s hair. It reminds Shane of the last time, right before he left, before it all went to shit; Rozanov had his fingers tangled in Shane’s hair, petting him sweetly as they mindlessly watched tv. 

Shane licks his lips, wiping his eyes harshly with a balled up fist. He can’t dare see the expression he’s sure Rozanov has. He’s probably staring at him like everyone who's seen him have a meltdown: like he’s something to now care for, like someone who can’t take care of himself, like he’s not the renowned Metros captain. He’s just what his meltdowns make him out to be, and this was a pretty bad one. 

His cheeks grow hot with shame, eyes staring off uncomfortably at the ground. He stares mindlessly at the slightly raised chunks of sidewalk, at how some parts are darker than others, more rocky than smooth. He can feel Rozanov staring at him, continuing to touch his head like there’s nowhere else he wants to be. Shane needs to shut this down. He’s done enough damage for the night.

But the thought of speaking up, of talking to Rozanov now with his puffy, red face exposed to him from the shitty glow of the streetlight makes Shane want to curl into a ball and hide. He can’t open his mouth, his limbs heavy at his side, his jaw tightly shut. He clenches his eyes. Maybe if he closes them hard enough, Rozanov will disappear and this whole night will have been a nightmare he’s bound to wake up from. 

“Shane,” Rozanov coaxes, carefully dropping his hand down to the back of Shane’s neck and giving him a little squeeze. And Shane, like the trained dog he is, can’t help from opening his wet eyes and looking up at the man. 

His breath catches at the sight. Il-Rozanov is staring so openly with a face of care and, if he didn’t know any better, he might even say worry. His perfect eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes darting all over Shane’s face like he’s trying to catalog every expression. It’s too much. Shane starts to look away and Rozanov immediately gives his neck another little squeeze. He turns back to look in the man's general direction, but he can’t meet his worried gaze again. Rozanov doesn’t seem to mind if his gentle rubbing at Shane’s nape is anything to go by.

“Take drink of water, okay? Will help,” He suggests, reaching around himself to grab the bottle Shane completely forgot about. Rozanov hands the bottle over, pretty pleading eyes that make Shane’s stomach flip again. He shakily grabs the bottle, cracking it open and dropping the cap on his lap clumsily. He takes a few sips, and then those few sips transformed into half the bottle. His stomach feels a little more settled, but still tossing uncomfortably with anxious nausea that he really prays won’t come back up. Ilya watches him silently, continuing his light touches against the back of Shane’s neck like praise for drinking the water. Shane ignores the satisfaction that rests solidly below his ribs and caps the bottle.

It’s silent between them for a moment, save for the sound of the all too close club music and shouting. Shane really wishes they weren’t still here, that they could’ve left the minute he got bad rather than their reality of sitting on the gross concrete not too far from his vomit. This is certainly a new low for him. And Ilya had to see it, up close and personal. Shane shouldn’t have asked for him. Now he knows he’s a freak and he’s not strong like he tries to be and–

Ilya clears his throat quietly, bringing Shane out of his slowly reeling thoughts.

“You want me to get Rose? I’m sure she would be happy to take you home,” He says gently, continuing to gaze with so much unrestrained care that Shane feels a little nauseous again. That nausea only doubles when the words process that Ilya is suggesting leaving so that Shane can go home with who is supposed to be his everything. And then he feels even sicker that he’s not excited to go home with his girlfriend and would much rather it to with Ilya, and – fuck, when did it become Ilya again? 

Before he has a chance to answer, another voice speaks up for him instead. 

“Miles can drive us all back,” Rose’s light voice fills the air, soft and sweet from where she’s reappeared at the door. Shane immediately looks towards her, a terrible sinking, guilty feeling deep within his chest as he stares at her face. Rozanov slowly drops his hand from Shane’s neck, gently trailing it down his spine before leaving it on his own lap. Shane hates to admit the immediate loss he feels and how badly he wishes Rozanov would read his mind to know that he wants his touch. But at the same time, he shouldn’t want this, and Rose absolutely shouldn’t see them like this. 

Shane practically throws himself away from Rozanov, moving out of his grasp and into the cooling night air by himself. Rozanov watches the movement, his eyebrows furrowing down and a tight look entering his face. God, Shane is seriously fucking this up with everyone. 

He hears a little sigh and then Rose is infiltrating his personal bubble that didn’t feel quite so personal when it was just him and Ilya. 

Rozanov stands silently, moving backward with his gaze still laser locked on Shane as Rose squats in front of him, gently touching his face like she’s checking he’s still in one piece. He forces himself not to cringe from her touch and start freaking out again, but she must see something travel across his face because she slowly lowers her hands and gently drops them on his shoulders. He can’t bring himself to look at her. She’s been so good to him and here he is, holding back a scowl as she worries over him. 

–

“We’re gonna go, okay? Miles is grabbing my car for us. Ilya, do you mind helping me get him up?” Rose looks to Ilya now, whose eyes widen at the question directed at him. He hesitates a second before nodding and hurrying back over to Shane, who has begun to stare off anxiously. 

Rose adjusts herself to his right side while Ilya takes position to his left, securing his arm around Shane’s waist. She helps pull him up, keeping one hand on his back while her other one rests on his chest, rubbing gently over his slightly sweaty shirt.

Shane doesn’t glance at either one of them, continuing to look down at the ground, a distant look in his eyes. Ilya swallows nervously, gently rubbing his back as they walk him towards Rose’s car that appears at the end of the alleyway. Shane holds his weight, but he still seems to rely on them to get him further.

Rose keeps whispering things to him, telling him that it’s okay, that they’ll figure it out, that he isn’t alone. Ilya sniffs, keeping his eyes forward and trying to ignore her intimate murmurs. He has no reason to be here any longer. He’s helped Shane get to a less terrible spot, just as Rose wanted, and just as Shane asked for. His work is done here.

Ilya opens the door to the backseat while Rose gently begins to take him from Ilya and push Shane into the car. He goes easily, as though not quite in his body. His gaze is still down at the floor, now at his scuffed shoes. Ilya wonders if he’s aware of anything going on. Rose carefully straps him in and kisses the crown of his head like a mother would, then backs up and shuts the door. 

She crosses her arms, her face carrying worry as she stares up at Ilya. It’s quiet between them, both taking the other in for a moment. Rose is beautiful, especially this close up. She’s lovely and has been nothing but sweet all night, but Ilya still can’t help from wanting to find reasons to hate her. Being Shane’s girlfriend is nearly enough, but after watching how she cares for him, it doesn’t feel good enough anymore. 

She’s good to him, a surprisingly good match. It makes him seethe with jealousy. 

Ilya takes in a deep breath, looking away from her. He goes to speak, but Rose starts instead. “Thank you, for everything you’ve done tonight,” She says, voice so gentle, nearly a coo to him. She uncrosses her arms and brings her hands to gently grab his wrists, “It means so much to me to know that he has you.” 

Ilya feels a little lightheaded at this, anxiety instantly shooting up his spine. He goes to pull away, but Rose tightens her grip, her gaze firmly on his face.

“Ilya,” She soothes, rubbing over his wrists with the ease of someone who’s used to being a calming presence. It makes him feel another complicated flip in his stomach. She knows how to calm someone, she’s very good at it. But Shane didn’t want her. He wanted him. He wanted Ilya, the person he ran from. And now she’s looking at him like she wants something too. 

“Come back with us,” She says, a suggestion that doesn’t quite feel like it has options. Ilya shakes his head quickly, fully pulling his hands out of her grasp this time as he takes a breath. 

“Hollander would not want that,” He answers reflexively, still shaking his head, still looking anywhere but her. He hears her sigh, and can feel her eyes boring into the side of his head. 

“He wanted you once already,” She replies softly, almost so quiet it gets sucked into the sounds of the club. But Ilya did hear it, and can’t help from snapping his gaze to meet her at once. 

Her face is just as kind and open as it was last time he looked. She’s looking all over his face, taking in how he reacts with the type of interest that doesn’t feel like good news. He ducks his face to the ground, trying to hide how much this means to him. 

“Please. You did something I never would’ve been able to,” Rose lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, but it doesn’t feel mean. It feels more like the shock that she showed earlier when Ilya caught Shane’s hit.

“I want you there in case something happens again. I’ve… I’ve never seen him like this before,” She confides, twisting her hands nervously in front of her. 

Ilya stays quiet, trying to get it in his head that Rose Landry, Shane Hollander’s girlfriend, is asking for him to go back with them to Shane’s house. That Ilya helped him in a way she wouldn’t have been able to. How is this real life? Did he drink himself into an alternate universe? Is he going to wake up beside Marlow in his booth and tell him about a dream he had about his Montreal Jane?

Rose must take his silence as him saying no because she quickly continues. “You mean a lot to him. And I would really like the person he’s most comfortable with to be there while he comes down from his… I don’t know, freak out?” She utters in a quicker, more unsure tone. 

Ilya lets out a shaky sigh, thinking about what he can do. He’s sure Shane won’t want him there. And he’s sure he’s just going to end up even more heartbroken as he subjects himself to Shane and Rose’s relationship behind closed doors. But then again, if he doesn’t go, a terrified, sick Shane would be without someone he allowed comfort from. Someone he’s most comfortable with. Someone that means a lot to him. 

Ilya slowly nods his head, bringing his eyes back up hers. Rose instantly smiles, letting out a sigh of relief. She grabs his arm and pulls him around the side of the car. He gets in the front while she joins Shane in the back. 

Miles gives Ilya a once over as he buckles in, which Ilya tries to ignore. He has no interest in talking with anyone while knowing that right behind him, Shane is actively disassociating. Miles seems to get the hint and begins driving towards Shane’s apartment.

Ilya keeps his eyes forward, looking at the passing night sky as he tries to tune out the sound of Rose whispering to Shane. She’s being the good girlfriend she is: she’s checking in on him, asking questions, probably holding his hand or running her fingers through his hair. He doesn’t hear Shane replying beyond the occasional ‘mmhm’ or ‘mm-m’ in a faux casual voice. Even from where he's sitting, without getting a good glance at him, Ilya can tell Shane isn’t being honest, particularly at the question of are you feeling okay?

He scoots further down in the seat, aware of the way Miles follows his moving body, and closes his eyes, hoping they get to Shane's house soon.