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“You have a fever Ilya.” Shane frowned at the thermometer in his hand, the 38.7 reading making Ilya grumble in disagreement.
“I am okay Shane, I can still go to practi—-“
“No you aren’t.” Shane protested, “you’re staying home.”
Shane tried rummaging through the medicine cabinet for something to give Ilya, the countless ibuprofen and prescription bottles making his search in the unorganized cabinet even more difficult.
“Fuck.”
“I am not sick кролик.” Ilya huffed, immediately coughing to which Shane made a noise of I told you so.
“I think you have the flu.” He chimed, moving to the sink to fill a glass with water.
Shane presented Ilya with his medicine. Ilya’s face scrunching up in discomfort at the size of the pills.
“What is this Hollander? You’re trying to poison me with big mysterious orange pills?”
“It’s DayQuil Ilya.” Shane rolled his eyes, “It’ll help with your sore throat.”
“Day…Quil?” Ilya furrowed his brows.
“Just take it already.” Shane groaned, opening a much more organized cabinet, pulling tea packets from a well stocked tray.
“Tea? Before practice?”
“For you actually.” Shane smiled, showing Ilya the packet as he continued, “my mom would make me drink it when I was a little kid. I hated the taste but it always worked.”
“And this magic tea works for adults too, yes?”
“It will if you go lay down and rest.”
“I’m going to practice.”
“No you’re not!” Shane shook his head, gesturing for Ilya to go to the couch.
“Wow, stubborn кролик.”
“I’m not a bunny.”
“Fine, you win this time Hollander.” Ilya smirked, making his way to the couch where he plopped himself down, Anya quickly curling up at his feet.
***
Shane entered the locker room alone, the usual rowdy greeting him and Ilya got quickly fizzled out at his husband’s absence.
“Where’s Roz?” Boodram inquired.
“Something happen?” Wyatt chimed from his cubby.
“He has the flu.”
Shane ignored the various sentiments of disappointment and well wishes as he put on his gear. He considered skipping out on practice just to stay home with Ilya, ultimately deciding that Ilya would be okay for a few hours alone on the couch.
I should text him, just to see if he's okay.
Shane typed hurriedly, continuing to dress himself after he hit send, the soft chime of his phone barely audible over the chatter in the other players.
Shane:
Are you okay?
Ilya:
Yes Любимый.
Shane:
Did you like the tea I gave you?
Shane exhaled slowly, clicking the power button to his phone. He felt he made the right choice by going to practice, though his knees would probably have a different opinion afterwards.
Shane hadn't realized that the locker room had emptied out while he messaged Ilya, Luca's thick accented reminding him of where he was and what duty he had to fulfill for his team.
“C’mon Hollander!” Haas shouted from the locker room door, disappearing before Shane could respond.
***
Shane skated onto the ice to start his usual drills, not paying attention to the person next to Coach Wiebe. From across the rink they were just any other tall stocky man who was probably just another coach dropping by to observe the Centaurs warm up routine.
Except he looked familiar.
He looked like Ilya Rozanov.
Shane made his way around the rink, trying to steal a glance at the man that looked all too similar to his sick husband at home, his heart sinking the longer he looked at him.
He was Ilya Rozanov.
Why is he here? Shane skated up to his husband, furious at the nervous smile Ilya wore when he knew he was in trouble.
“Hi.” He laughed anxiously, “practice is okay?”
Shane frowned, attempting to be as stoic as possible to avoid being called bunny again, “Why are you not at home.”
“How are your knees?”
“Ilya.” Shane exhaled, biting the inside of his cheek, “you’re sick, you need to be at home resting.”
Ilya shrugged, pulling a tissue from his coat pocket. “I can’t come support my amazing husband before a big game?”
“It’s a regular home game.”
“Against Montreal, yes? You hate them.”
Shane rolled his eyes, realizing there was no getting through to Ilya, grumbling to himself as he began to skate away.
“кролик?” Ilya called out, pouting while gesturing for Shane to come back.
Shane scrunched his face as he returned to the boards, Ilya looking out of breath from how long he had been standing.
“I will go ‘rest’.” Ilya gave a weak smile, “but I need something first.”
“What?”
Ilya tapped his lips.
Shane’s face burned red at the suggestion, “in front of everyone?”
“Do you want me to get better, Mr. You-need-rest?”
“Do you promise you’ll sit out of the next game?”
“Just kiss me Hollander, I’ll do what you want.” Ilya puckered his lips, Shane giving him a fast peck that hopefully wouldn’t draw too much attention—-Dykstra making a retching noise behind them.
“I’ll kiss you too Dykstra!” Ilya shouted as he pulled away, the rink erupting in laughter followed by taunts about their relationship.
“Малыш?”
“Дорогой?” Ilya answered, coughing into his sleeve, the sound making Shane start to regret agreeing to kiss his sick husband.
Shane blinked hard, swallowing before he continued, the slight twinge in his chest making him shudder. “I’ll bring you food later, your choice.”
***
Shane slipped in the front door quietly, or as quietly as he was allowed given Ilya was already posted on the edge of the kitchen eyeing the bag in his hands.
Ilya had rested, evident in the tangles of his curls and haziness that lingered in his eyes from sleeping. The sight almost made Shane melt.
“You slept.” Shane smiled, handing the takeout off before shedding his shoes and hefty bag of gear.
Ilya tossed the paper bag in the direction of the trashcan, his sluggish movments handling the containers reminded Shane of the medicine he had given him earlier that morning.
“Have you taken more medicine?”
Ilya shook his head, keeping his eyes from his husband as he handed him a fork.
“Ilya…” Shane groaned, “why?”
Ilya shrugged.
“Here, take these.”
“Green? The others were orange.”
Shane huffed, tapping his foot, quickly stopping as he realized where his cute nickname came from.
Ilya took a moment to analyze what he was about to swallow, shrugging before he threw his head back, chugging the half full glass Shane had given him.
“How are you feeling?” Shane asked, gently taking his husband’s hand to lead him to the dining table, startling when Ilya yanked him into a tight embrace.
“Мишкa, what’s wrong?” He asked, ruffling Ilya’s hair, listening to his husband choke back a sob.
“Спасибо, любимый...”
Shane furrowed his brows, why is he thanking me? He thought, spinning himself around to face Ilya, who was now on the verge of crying.
“No one’s… cared for me like this in a long time…” Ilya whispered, his voice breaking while he squeezed his eyes shut, a stray tear made its way down his cheek as he continued, “—thank you.”
“Oh honey,” Shane squeezed Ilya tight, keeping his voice gentle while he rubbed at his husband’s back, “I love you so much, and I love getting to take care of you.
“You do, солнышко?”
Shane pulled away, taking the time to wipe his husband’s face before pecking him on the lips. “‘Course I do, I didn’t marry you for no reason.”
Ilya sighed, his grumbling stomach ending the tender moment to remind them of the food next to them that hadn’t been touched.
“Very hungry huh?”
“кролик.”
Shane rolled his eyes, following Ilya to the dining table, his efforts in hiding the pain in his knees proving successful.
***
“I am tired.” Ilya muttered, laying his head across Shane’s thighs, “you will read your boring hockey book and I will sleep, good deal.”
“It’s not boring.” Shane grumbled.
“Yes it is.” Ilya mumbled to himself, taking the blanket that hung from the back of the couch to cover up with.
Shane ran a hand through Ilya’s thick curls, only stopping the massage of his husband’s scalp to turn the page of his book about hockey, which to Shane was starting to seem boring the way he started nodding off the longer he read.
“Admirals…?” Ilya nuzzled himself into the crease of Shane’s thighs, “Hunter is old.”
Shane chuckled, his attention turning to the replay of the game winning goal Scott scored against Boston, effectively ruining Boston's chances of getting to the playoffs.
“Do you ever miss them?”
“Hm?”
“Being with the Bears.”
Shane waited for Ilya’s answer, the sound of low snores coming from him instead of his usual I probably wouldn’t have been married to the best hockey player in the entire MLH if I stayed speech.
Shane put the back of his palm to his husband’s forehead. Ilya’s fever had gone down enough that Shane was already preparing for the argument in the morning on whether or not he was well enough to play, which to him was still a hard no.
Shane had pushed through illness and injury before, every hockey player had, especially players of their calibre as captains, Shane however wouldn’t let himself see Ilya pretend like he wasn’t a zombie when they were alone together.
Not if he had any say in it.