Archive of Our Own

“Hey bud,” Hayden’s voice rang out over Shane’s phone. “What’s up?”

“Hey Hayd,” Shane started. “I just wanted to touch base about the plan for later.”

Hayden hummed noncommittally before confirming, “Yes, yes, Jackie and I are still on to meet Rozanov.” 

The way his friend spit out the name made it sound like Hayden mistook “Rozanov” for a curse word. Shane knew he only meant it as a joke, but that didn’t stop it from causing a tiny pinch in his chest, the way it always did when anyone—even gossip reporters or nameless fans—said something unkind about Ilya. 

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way people spoke about his boyfriend as if he were someone he wasn’t, as if he were someone who should be detested, ridiculed, feared even. Shane was certain he didn’t want to get used to it.

Ilya only ever laughed it off, insisting he liked his bad boy reputation. He played into it more often than not, but that was in front of people who did not and would never have the privilege of knowing the real Ilya Rozanov. 

The Ilya Rozanov the world knew was as tough as nails, and never let anyone or anything get to him. Boston’s Rozanov checked players into the boards so hard their teeth rattled and they saw stars. He was arrogant to a fault, and chirped other players like it was his job to make their faces flame in rage. He had a woman—scratch that, several women—in every city he visited and he partied until the early hours of the morning. He reveled in the hatred he received and dished it right back to those who doubted and disliked him.

The Ilya Rozanov Shane knew was gentle, quiet, and more introspective than Shane himself (which was really saying something). Shane knew people assumed he was the polite one—Canada’s “Golden Boy”—but he also knew that if people saw the way Ilya, the real Ilya, interacted with him, they would understand that of the two of them, Ilya had the truly golden heart, not Shane.

Something Shane was trying to help Hayden and Jackie understand with his plan to introduce them not to Ilya Rozanov, Boston Bear and Russian hockey prodigy, but his Ilya.

His Ilya who was currently lost in a deep sleep on Shane’s lap, open-mouth snoring and leaving behind an increasingly large puddle of drool. 

“Yeah, about that—“ Shane started. 

Hayden immediately cut him off with a delighted, “Wait, wait, let me guess!” 

Then, after pretending to have given it some thought, “Rozanov doesn’t want to come anymore.” 

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on Shane,” Hayden admonished, his tone of voice sounding suspiciously like the one he used on Amber and Arthur when they misbehaved. “I know Rozanov hates me. He doesn’t want us to come over anymore, right?”

Before Shane could respond, he heard Hayden’s yell of “I told you, Jacks, you owe me $100!” followed by the resounding sound of Hayden’s fiercely competitive wife no doubt arguing with him.

“No, no, that’s not it,” Shane quickly assured. He needed to get this conversation back on track. “He’s excited to meet you guys, really. It’s just that he isn’t feeling the best today.”

Hayden scoffed. “Pretty convenient, don’t you think?”

“Convenient? Definitely not,” Shane replied, confused. “It’s one of our only days off together and we have plans—“

“Buddy. I’m being sarcastic,” Hayden informed him. 

Oh. Shane never was good at picking up on sarcasm—it was just another one of the reasons he struggled making and keeping friends. It was startling how fast he became the joke when he couldn’t pick up on the jokes.

“I’m just saying, don’t you think it’s a littttle strange that Rozanov has a tickle in his throat the day he’s supposed to meet your friends?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Hayden,” Shane answered, deadpan. A lie. This time, Shane did know what Hayden was implying. And he did not like it. 

His best friend let out a sigh on the other side of the phone. “Are you sure he’s not just playing up his symptoms so you’ll cancel our plans and give him attention instead? I mean, the dude’s played a full hockey game with a 103 degree fever before.”

It was true, Ilya had done that back when they were nothing more than bright-eyed teenagers desperate to prove themselves in a league that put the weight of the world on their young shoulders. And Shane had been terrified for him the entire time. He’d spent hours glued to his television with his stomach in knots, waiting for the moment when his—at the time, hookup—would take one check too hard and not stand back up. Or faint from exhaustion, or fever, or both. 

But Ilya hadn’t. He’d won Boston the game, even pale and visibly shaking, and with it, the respect and admiration of the media and the league. Even now, nearly ten years later, the press loved to reference the “grit,” “determination,” and “dedication to the sport” Rozanov exhibited in that game when commenting on other players out for illness. 

Not a single person questioned why he’d even been on the ice in the first place when there were more than enough players to fill his spot in the lineup. Why he’d been pressured to put his health at risk for a game.

Clearly, Ilya was more than capable of pushing his body to the limit, of putting his own wellbeing behind things he deemed more important. Shane, however, would never ask him to do something like that ever again. 

“Exactly, Hayd,” Shane started, beginning to get a bit exasperated. “If you know that then you know Ilya would never willingly admit he’s sick enough to cancel plans. He doesn’t even know I’m telling you this right now. In fact, he’ll probably be upset with me when he finds out. He wants to see you guys—I’m the one who’s worried about it, not him.” 

As if he knew Shane was talking about him, Ilya let out a sleepy grunt and tried to burrow impossibly closer to Shane. Shane ran a hand through his sweaty curls, a silent assurance he wasn’t going anywhere. Ilya stilled, content.

When Shane heard nothing but silence on the other side of the phone, he rambled on. “I just wanted to let you guys know, y’know, in case you were worried about getting sick and giving it to the kids.”

Hayden let out a genuine snort. “Shane, buddy, those kids are little germ incubators that bring home something different every week. I promise whatever bug Rozanov does or doesn’t have won’t take them down. We’re still okay with keeping the plans,” he stated pointedly.

Shane bit his lip, looking down at his sleeping boyfriend. Ilya had driven over from Ottawa that morning after a grueling game last night, showing up on Shane’s footstep looking completely exhausted. Dark circles stood out under his eyes coupled with an alarming lack of energy. At first, Shane had chalked it up to the tough loss combined with the long string of away games the Centaurs had played recently, but the longer the morning went on the clearer it became that his boyfriend was coming down with something. 

They hadn’t even had sex, despite it having been nearly a month since they’d last seen each other in person, and though Shane would never push Ilya into being intimate when he wasn’t feeling up to it, Ilya was almost never too tired for sex, especially after a long period apart. 

Then, of course, came the steadily reddening nose and the constant sniffling—Ilya was a terrible culprit of refusing to blow his nose unless it was absolutely necessary—and the worsening cough. By the time the afternoon had rolled around, Shane was already taking stock of all the cold medicines he had on hand in the off chance he could convince his boyfriend to admit he wasn’t feeling well and take something.

His suspicions had been confirmed when Ilya had promptly passed out on his lap almost immediately after insisting they watch the hockey game on television instead of napping because he was “fine” and “not even tired.”

 Even if he’d refuse to admit it, Ilya was in desperate need of rest, something he would certainly not get if Hayden and Jackie came over. 

But Shane was nothing if not polite, and cancelling on his friends last minute for anything short of an emergency was not something he could do in good conscience. If Hayden and Jackie wanted to keep their plans—which, Shane admitted to himself, he’d kind of been hoping they wouldn’t—then they would keep their plans. 

“Okay, great! We’re okay to keep them then, too. See you at our place at 6:00?”

“Don’t you mean your place?” Hayden corrected.

“Same thing. Yes. I’ll see you both then.”

As Shane hung up the phone, he allowed himself to sink just a little further into the couch. When he’d made the plans to introduce Ilya officially as his boyfriend to Hayden and Jackie over a month ago, he hadn’t taken into consideration just how little free time he and Ilya had to spend with each other during the season. Now he was stuck sacrificing a rare evening alone with Ilya where they could be relaxing together for a night sure to be filled with awkward silences, chirps, and judgement of his boyfriend. 

He knew Jackie would do her best to rein Hayden in and force him to be civil with Ilya, and Shane would do the same, but the thought of it exhausted him. He knew it would take more than one dinner for his best friend to accept his lifelong rival as his boyfriend, but Shane wished more than anything he didn’t have to convince the two people he loved more than anyone to get along with each other. 

Especially now that Ilya was getting sick, Shane guiltily admitted he would much rather bundle his boyfriend in bed and pamper him all night than subject him to an awkward dinner with people who were unlikely to accept him at first. Nonetheless, now that Hayden had confirmed they wanted to keep the plans, he knew Ilya would never allow him to cancel on his behalf out of sheer stubbornness.

Turning his attention to the sleeping Russian on his lap, Shane gently placed the back of his hand to Ilya’s forehead. He hadn’t had a fever earlier according to Shane’s abundance of not-so-subtle forehead kisses, but he wanted to make sure it stayed that way. Frowning, he couldn’t tell if Ilya felt warm to him because he was under a blanket in the warm house or because he’d spiked a fever since he’d fallen asleep. He reminded himself to check as soon as Ilya woke up. 

Glancing at the clock, Shane confirmed they still had a bit of time for Ilya to sleep before they needed to get up, make dinner, and get ready for Hayden and Jackie to come over. Good. He was just about to move to a more comfortable position on the couch when he felt Ilya shift a bit in his lap, turning to smash his nose more firmly against Shane’s thigh. 

The Russian let out a small yet decidedly wet “HehISHieww,” but appeared to still be fast asleep. If it were anyone else—hell, if it were himself—Shane would have been infinitely grossed out by the wet, sticky feeling the sneeze left on his grey sweatpants, but this was Ilya, and he was only concerned about his boyfriend feeling better, germs be damned. 

With much more care than was probably necessary, Shane grabbed a tissue from the side table and gently dabbed his ailing boyfriend’s nose, finishing his job off by pulling the blanket higher around Ilya’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He’d get Ilya to blow his nose later.

For now, he was going to take a nap with his boyfriend.

____

"hehhh-ESCHHHhh! AESHHhhoo! g'AHHSHHhhoo!”

Shane was jerked out of his light slumber by the thunderous sound of his boyfriend hunched over, hands on his knees, sneezing freely toward the ground. Ilya’s entire body was snapping forward with the powerful expulsions, and Shane scrambled to wake up enough to grab a handful of tissues and hand them to the Russian, who was gearing up for yet another round of painful-sounding sneezes. 

Ilya’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t seem to register Shane’s offering as his breath hitched wildly. Acting fast, Shane pressed the handful of tissues over Ilya’s nose and mouth just as he finally lost the battle with the itch in his nose. 

“H-HEH’JDSHhooh! Hhah’DZSHHoo!” Shane rubbed Ilya’s back with his free hand while the other began wiping up the mess left on Ilya’s upper lip, quickly tossing the tissues into the wastebasket he’d conveniently placed next to the couch for this very reason with a small grimace.

Finally, Ilya opened his bleary eyes, a flush of embarrassment beginning to paint his delicate cheeks. 

“Bless you, baby,” Shane offered quietly, understanding Ilya’s discomfort and not trying to draw attention to it. “Are you feeling any better?”

Ilya swallowed slowly. It looked painful. 

“Uhmb, I dod’t kndow,” he admitted, then seemed to change his mind when he saw the concerned look on Shane’s face. “Yes. Probably.”

Shane tutted, unconvinced, and held the back of his palm to Ilya’s forehead. “You feel a little warm. Let me get the thermometer.”

But when Shane tried to rise, a large hand with a vice-like grip shot out to grab a hold of his wrist. Shane looked down at it patiently, in a way he hoped didn’t look too concerned. Ilya was clingy, always, but never this clingy. 

Shane didn’t know what to make of that. 

“Wait—amb fine. Dodn’t go,” the blonde insisted, unable to make eye contact. Shane softened, running his thumb over the inside of Ilya’s wrist in a manner he hoped was soothing.

“Ilya, you’re so congested, baby. Let me at least go get the decongestant. I’ll be right back.”

Ilya didn’t let go, his baby blue eyes looking far too glassy for Shane’s liking, his lower lip actually quivering. He was almost certain his boyfriend had a fever now.

“I’ll get you some tea too, hmm? With raspberry jam? Would you like that, Ilyusha?” Shane offered, running a hand through Ilya’s sweaty hair. The promise of the comfort of a beverage from his home seemed to outweigh trapping Shane with him indefinitely, and Ilya finally allowed his boyfriend to pull back a fraction.

Ilya blinked slowly. “Ogkay,” he conceded, releasing Shane with obvious reluctance. “Hurry,” he added.

Shane nodded, already walking toward the kitchen. “Two minutes,” he promised. 

When Shane entered the kitchen, he noted it was already almost 4:00, and he’d have to start dinner soon if he wanted it to be ready for when the Pikes arrived. He and Ilya were planning on making chicken parmesan—sans the cheese and the bed of noodles for Shane, of course—but his boyfriend was currently in no state to either make nor eat such a hearty, laborious meal. 

Shane racked his brain for a simple meal he could make with ingredients he had in the house that would be both easy on Ilya’s stomach and tasty enough that Hayden and Jackie would like it, settling on a creamy chicken and dumpling soup his mom had made for him countless times when he was sick. 

His traitorous mind reminded him that chicken noodle, with its lack of dairy and abundance of vegetables, would probably fit better in his macrobiotic diet, but today wasn’t about him, and he was trying to be more flexible with his food choices. One day straying from his plan wouldn’t kill him, he reasoned with himself. He had the distinct thought that Ilya would be proud of him for acknowledging that. 

As he was having the thought, a strange lump appeared in his throat. It had taken a lot for Shane to admit to Ilya that he had a bit of a problem with controlling his eating habits, and his boyfriend had been nothing but supportive, ceasing all jabs and jokes about his diet and instead encouraging Shane to branch out and try new things when he felt safe and comfortable doing so. 

Ilya was branching out today by offering to meet Shane’s friends, and Shane could do the same to make his life a bit easier on a day he wasn’t feeling one hundred percent.

He quickly grabbed the decongestant, three ibuprofen, and the thermometer before turning on the kettle to boil and preparing Ilya’s tea the way he liked it—so sweet you could barely taste the tea. Though Shane pretended to hate it, he secretly loved Ilya’s sweet tooth—especially when he could steal a kiss afterward and still taste the sticky sweetness of sugar on his boyfriend’s tongue.

When the tea was finished, Shane hurried back to his clingy, ailing boyfriend who had a decidedly betrayed look on his face. 

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “Was longer thand two minutes,” he accused, unceremoniously pulling Shane down on the couch on top of him. Shane just barely managed to set the tea down before spilling it all over both of them. 

Shane giggled a bit at the Russian’s absurdity. “I was gone for maybe three minutes,” he defended himself as Ilya buried his—yes, Shane was sure of it now, hot—face into the crease of Shane’s neck. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “one minute too long” before Shane shushed him and extracted himself from Ilya’s bear hug. He reached for the thermometer. 

“Open,” Shane ordered, patting Ilya’s jaw when he didn’t immediately follow orders. “Now, so I can give you your medicine and start dinner,” Shane added. 

At the reminder of having to take medicine, Ilya sobered up immediately. “I dodn’t—” he started, but the second he opened his mouth Shane plopped the device between his pouty lips, gently holding his jaw to ensure he kept the thermometer in there. 

Ilya glared. Shane only smiled and pressed a kiss to his reddening nose. 

When it began to beep, Shane pulled it out, holding it out of Ilya’s reach before he could clear the number without showing Shane. 

“37.8,” he announced. “Not terrible but definitely a fever. Hopefully it’ll go down a little with medicine, but if not I’m cancelling on Hayden and Jackie. Here,” he added, “take these.” He pressed three ibuprofen into Ilya’s palm, not missing how his boyfriend went a shade paler when presented with the pills. 

He grabbed the tea as well, offering it to Ilya and placing his other hand firmly on the back of Ilya’s neck, hoping the touch would ground him. 

Ilya only stared at the three small tablets in his palm. The lack of his usual constant commentary was beginning to get a bit unnerving to Shane.

“I know you don’t like them,” Shane soothed. “But you need it so you can feel better and make fun of Hayden’s hockey skills later, hmm? It’ll be okay. Do you want me to crush them for you?”

Ilya’s eyes glistened and he bit his lip, stuck in his head. Fevers always made him a bit more emotional, a bit more introspective, so Shane waited patiently for him to respond. He didn’t take Ilya’s quietness personally, knowing the blonde would talk to him when he was ready and could piece together the English words for his feelings. After a moment, Ilya nodded once, bowing his head. 

“Of course, baby. You’re being so brave for me,” Shane praised, grabbing the pills from his boyfriend’s limp grasp and using the back of the spoon he grabbed for Ilya’s tea to crush them before dumping them into the hot beverage and stirring it all together. 

“Here,” Shane offered. “Drink all of it, then I want you to go upstairs and take a lukewarm shower, okay? Not hot, it’ll make your fever worse. Hopefully you’ll cool down before Hayden and Jackie get here. I’m going to start dinner, but call out for me if you need me—I’ll turn off the TV so I can hear you from here, okay?”

Ilya’s fever-addled mind was clearly taking a bit longer to process the rapid fire English Shane just threw at him, but after a moment he responded, “Budt I was goigg to help you magke dinner.”

Even so clearly unwell, Ilya remembered that Shane had been worried about making something Hayden, Jackie, and Ilya would enjoy and wanted to help.

“I’ve got it under control—don’t worry about it. I promise I won’t make anything too healthy,” Shane added with a small smile.

All it earned him was a reluctant nod as Ilya climbed the stairs, sniffling thickly the whole way. Ilya’s nose had been broken no less than three times, and set incorrectly each time due to the Russian’s stubborn refusal to go to the doctor, leaving him with a nose that was both endearingly crooked and extremely sensitive. He was prone to extreme congestion and sinus infections when he caught even the smallest cold—Shane hoped the steam from the shower would help nip that possibility in the bud and clear his boyfriend’s nose. 

While he waited for Ilya to reemerge, Shane quickly got to work chopping the vegetables for the soup, adding enough greens to make it a healthy yet enjoyable option for his sick boyfriend and their guests. Just as he was plopping the homemade dumplings in the pot—Yuna’s “secret” recipe he had begged her to share with him a few months back when Ilya had the flu—and covering it to let it simmer, Ilya appeared back at the bottom of the stairs clad in a cozy-looking matching navy sweatsuit that brought out the blue in his eyes. 

Shane knew it wasn’t Ilya’s favorite sick day attire—that was his years-old Raiders hoodie and worn-out grey sweatpants with a waistband so stretched out they hung off his hips dangerously—so he assumed his boyfriend was making an effort to look slightly more presentable for Hayden and Jackie even while fighting a cold. 

Shane’s heart squeezed. Even when he knew Ilya didn’t particularly want to forfeit a night alone with Shane, he was still on his best behavior, still trying because Shane wanted him to. 

Shane loved him. 

Ilya’s nose had turned an even darker shade of red, likely from his attempts to clear it after his shower, but his color had transformed from a sickly pale to the usual Eastern European pale Ilya always sported, save for the slight pink flush on his cheeks. Shane hoped that meant his fever had gone down and he was feeling a bit better. His eyes, too, had lost the alarmingly glassy sheen they’d had before his shower and had returned to their usual startlingly clear blue. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shane told his boyfriend simply, because it was true. With his still-wet, curly hair and his rosy cheeks and his comfy outfit, Shane just wanted to wrap Ilya in his arms and cuddle with him all night, Hayden and Jackie be damned. Alas, his attempts to cancel tonight’s plans had been thwarted, so the best he could do was open his arms right there in front of the stove.

Ilya, of course, fell into them immediately. Shane lightly scratched his fingers through the damp curls, eliciting a happy groan from his boyfriend. 

“Feeling better?” Shane murmured into his hair. Ilya nodded, certain this time.

“Da. Feel less… floaty. More awake.”

Shane hummed, placing his hand on Ilya’s much cooler forehead, satisfied. He gave the Russian one more squeeze before checking the time. Hayden and Jackie would be arriving shortly. 

“You’d tell me if you weren’t feeling up to this?”

“Da. Of course.” Shane wasn’t sure he believed him, but it was too late to back out of the plans now.

“Okay,” he said, more his own sake than Ilya’s. “Do you mind setting the table? I just need to change and I’ll be right back down.”

Ilya looked him up and down in a way that never failed to make Shane blush from head to toe. 

“Changing without me? So boring.”

Shane gave him a playful shove, lighter than usual in case Ilya was still feeling unsteady. “You’re insatiable. You really must be feeling better.”

Ilya only smirked and went to grab the place settings. 

Shane had planned on wearing his usual khakis and blue button down shirt, but as Ilya was dressed much more casually, Shane didn’t want to make his boyfriend seem underdressed. Instead, he opted, much like Ilya, for a pair of black sweatpants and a matching black compression shirt—it was quite warm in the house for someone who wasn’t currently sick, so he forewent the sweatshirt. 

Satisfied, he walked back down the stairs to find the kitchen and living room smelling deliciously of homemade soup and the table set, complete with burning candles and fresh flowers. It looked like a home. 

For so long, Shane’s apartment in Montreal hadn’t felt like his own. He’d moved out almost as soon as it was legal when he signed with the Voyageurs, but in the almost ten years he’d lived here, his apartment had always felt empty, heartless. He’d hired a stylist to decorate his home for him because he simply couldn’t be bothered, but though it was beautiful, it wasn’t his. 

Finally, with Ilya’s frequent presence, the rooms began bearing evidence of their relationship, of their shared personalities. Everything from Ilya’s toothbrush on his bathroom sink to the Coke in the fridge to the absurd amount of brightly-colored, mismatched fluffy blankets Ilya insisted they keep lying around reminded Shane that the apartment was slowly becoming their home. 

All because of Ilya. 

Emotion thick in his throat, Shane turned to Ilya, who was attempting to put the TV on the latest hockey game. He gently touched the sweatshirt-clad shoulder, encouraging Ilya to look at him.

When their eyes met, Shane reached up and cradled his boyfriend’s jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before Ilya could argue.

“I love you. If you start feeling worse, I want you to let me know, okay? It doesn’t matter when or what’s going on. You’re my top priority, always. I want you feeling better.”

Ilya sniffled, and Shane wasn’t entirely sure it was solely from the congestion. 

“Da. I am okay, though. Ya obeshchayu.”

“Good, I’m glad. Thank you for doing this for me. I know you and Hayden aren’t each other’s biggest fans, but it means a lot to me that the two people I love meet each other,” Shane added. 

“I would do anything for you, moya lyubov, you know this. I will be on best behavior,” Ilya added with a wink. 

Before Shane could answer, the doorbell rang. He turned to his boyfriend, lacing their fingers together and leading the way to the front door. He pressed a kiss to their conjoined fingers before swinging the door open. 

“Hayden, Jackie!” Shane smiled, ushering the couple in. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

Hayden immediately tugged Shane into a hug, forcing him to let go of Ilya’s hand as Jackie folded Ilya into a similar, albeit slightly looser, embrace. 

“Ilya!” She exclaimed. “It’s so nice to finally meet you off the ice. Hayden and I have heard so many amazing things from Shane.”

Hayden let out a barely audible snort of indignation, which did not escape Ilya’s notice. The Russian glanced sideways at Hayden for a moment before matching Jackie’s smile with one of his own.

“Is nice to meet you as well. I see Hayden has managed to get a wife way out of his league,” he quipped, making Jackie blush good naturedly and Hayden seethe. 

He looked to Shane as if he would reprimand his boyfriend, but Shane only giggled lightly, staring adoringly at Ilya. 

As Shane moved to greet Jackie as well, Hayden was forced to turn to the Russian, his distaste for his friend’s lifelong rival evident all over his face. Ilya’s remained decidedly neutral.

“Rozanov.”

“Pike. Is good to see you, too.”

“Liar,” Hayden accused. 

Ilya shrugged. “You look nice.” Hayden was wearing a pale green button down shirt tucked into a nice pair of jeans with a belt. Shane thought he did look nicer than usual, actually. 

“Yeah, well, you certainly don’t,” Hayden shot back. Shane grimaced.

“Hayden!” Jackie shrieked. “Manners.”

“What?! He couldn’t have put a little effort into how he looked to meet Shane’s friends for the first time?” Hayden asked, feigning innocence. “He looks like he’s about to go to the gym.”

Ilya opened his mouth to respond but Shane beat him to it.

“Hayd, I told you, Ilya isn’t feeling the best. Plus, I’m wearing practically the same thing. Do you think I look bad?” Shane asked.

This was off to a great start.

“You pull it off,” he glared at Ilya.

Jackie swatted his arm. “Come on now, we’re all adults here. No bickering before we even get our shoes off, right Shane?” 

Shane nodded, grabbing Ilya’s hand once again. The motion did not go unnoticed by Hayden, but Shane chose to ignore the way his friend’s gaze had zeroed in on the contact. 

As Shane made small talk with his friends and led the group to the living room to catch up before dinner, Ilya stayed relatively quiet, nodding and laughing along when it was appropriate but, for the most part, letting Shane drive the conversation. He stayed close to Shane’s side, at least one part of their bodies touching at all times—that was more than okay with Shane, who couldn’t quite get over the feeling that Ilya hadn’t miraculously begun feeling well enough to socialize for hours on end after a measly fifteen minute shower and some ibuprofen. It was better for him to stay close, where Shane could keep an eye on him. 

Shane couldn’t tell if his boyfriend’s relative silence was discomfort from not feeling well or discomfort being around Hayden and Jackie. It was, unfortunately, probably both. Once more, he wished they could have cancelled their plans for the evening. 

Shane deposited Ilya on the couch—much to the Russian’s dismay—before turning to the group, ever the attentive host. “Can I get you guys anything to drink? I think Ilya and I have a few bottles of wine lying around,” he added, looking at Jackie, who immediately perked up. 

“Ooh, red if you’ll have some of it with me, please,” Jackie nodded. Shane was about to reply when Hayden chimed in.

“Shane can’t drink wine, Jacks,” he reminded his wife. “He’s on that stupid diet.”

Shane’s smile fell slightly at the reminder of his diet. The diet he was certainly not following today. Should he be following his diet today? He was going to let himself indulge in a glass of wine with his friends, but maybe Hayden was right, maybe he shouldn’t—

“Shane can have whatever he wants,” Ilya interjected, the first words he’d uttered since greeting Hayden and Jackie. He shot Hayden a look that screamed drop it before turning his attention back to his boyfriend. “Grab the burgundy, malysh, is the one you liked the other night.”

Shane nodded, grateful to have been given directions. He could already feel himself spiraling out of control. Why was it so easy for him to panic over something as simple as drinking a glass of wine? 

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Ilya was right. He did like the burgundy, and he could have a glass if he wanted. Hayden hadn’t meant it like that.

“Yeah—yeah, you’re right, the burgundy sounds good,” Shane convinced himself. Remembering he was still hosting, he turned to Jackie. 

“You’ll like it, Jackie.” A smile. “Hayden, beer? Ilya has some in the fridge—what kind of beer do you have, baby?” he turned once more to Ilya for guidance, a lighthouse amongst the storm of his frazzled emotions.

“That’s okay,” Hayden interrupted before Ilya could answer. “I don’t want Rozanov’s beer.”

Shane frowned. “Ilya doesn’t mind. It’s my beer too, I guess, I just don’t really like it all that much—”

“I know. I know you, Shane, remember? You don’t like beer. I’m surprised you have any at all,” Hayden insisted. 

Didn’t he just tell Hayden he had the beer for Ilya?

“Uh, okay. I’ll just—grab the wine, then,” Shane stammered.

He grabbed the probably too expensive bottle of wine Ilya had gifted him after he expressed an interest in expanding his alcohol palette, along with a few elegant, long-stemmed glasses. On second thought, he grabbed a mug and turned on the kettle to make Ilya another cup of tea. Alcohol probably wouldn’t mix well with his cold medicine, and Ilya rarely drank anymore on his antidepressants, anyway. 

Once he had everything in order and Ilya’s tea sweetened to perfection, he made it back to the living room where Hayden appeared to be in a heated argument with Ilya about which team was going to win the game on the television—Colorado or Carolina. Given that neither team had a shot at the cup this year, Shane didn’t particularly care to join in the conversation. He knew Ilya probably couldn’t care less, either, and was only arguing for the sake of arguing, but an argument over hockey was much better than an actual argument, so Shane would take what he could get. 

Shane set down the three glasses, pouring Hayden, Jackie, and himself a generous glass of the burgundy before handing Ilya his steaming mug of tea. Ilya pouted at the absence of his own wine glass, but Shane’s foresight in bringing the tea instead was proven useful when he noticed Ilya grimacing slightly on each swallow. 

“I buy you this very expensive bottle of wine and yet you do not even give me a glass of it? My boyfriend is cruel,” Ilya lamented dramatically, but immediately brought the cup of tea to his lips, making a contented noise in the back of his throat as it soothed the ache. 

Shane kissed his cheek, his hand moving up to cup Ilya’s jaw and not-so-subtly feel his lymph nodes to check if they were swollen. Ilya’s slight jerk away as Shane’s fingers grazed his glands was answer enough, even if the answer made Shane frown slightly. 

“Your boyfriend wants you to stay hydrated. The tea will help your throat, too,” he added, giving Ilya a knowing look before taking a sip from his glass of wine. 

God, it was good. Why hadn’t he allowed himself to have this for so long? It was full-bodied and flavorful, and sent a pleasantly warm feeling into his stomach. 

Jackie made a sympathetic noise at the mention of Ilya’s sore throat. “I’m sorry you aren’t feeling the best, Ilya,” she acknowledged. “I hope we aren’t imposing. I told Hayden maybe we should let you two be alone for the night but he insisted we come.”

Ilya threw a suspicious glance at Hayden, who only shrugged and took a generous gulp of his expensive wine, probably not even tasting its robust flavor profile. 

“Wanted to see Shane,” he explained. Shane didn’t miss the omission of his boyfriend. “We haven’t had quality time in too long.” He coupled the statement with a pointed glare at the blonde. 

Choosing to ignore Hayden, Ilya turned to Jackie. “Ah, is nothing. My Shane is a worrier,” he added with a smirk. 

Hayden made a small gagging sound. “My Shane,” he muttered under his breath. Jackie shot him a withering look. 

Shane stiffened. He was still working on becoming comfortable with physical affection and terms of endearment in front of others, and Hayden’s reaction had essentially just confirmed his fears about others not being okay with their openly displayed love. 

He pulled away from his boyfriend, just a fraction.

Ilya no doubt noticed—the larger man had been all but glued to him all night—but had the grace to pretend he didn’t. Shane didn’t miss the way his jaw ticked, however, his teeth clenched tight. 

Great, now he’d made Hayden uncomfortable and upset Ilya when he already wasn’t feeling well. Nice going, Shane. 

“Well, we’re glad you’re feeling okay. We’re very happy to be here,” Jackie tried to break the tension with a self conscious laugh. 

When it seemed the conversation had reached a halt, Shane jumped in, trying to salvage the evening before it became (more) painfully awkward. 

“Ilya has been working so hard lately, trying to rebuild the Centaurs and make time to visit Montreal on his off days, it makes sense he’s feeling a little run down,” he reasoned.

Hayden, of course, couldn’t miss an opportunity to chirp, “Could’ve fooled me the way the Centaurs have been playing this season.”

Shane winced. “C’mon, Hayd—”

“No, no, is fine, Shane. Pike would not know good hockey if it bit him in the ass,” Ilya fired back.

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Rozanov!”

“I’d rather fuck my boyfriend,” Ilya flashed a wolfish grin.

It was Hayden’s turn to wince. “That’s disgusting—”

“Why?” Ilya shot back, not backing down. He grabbed Shane’s hand. “Because we are both men?”

“No! Because you’re you, and Shane isn’t like that!”

“I think I would know better than you what Shane is like,” Ilya deadpanned, eyebrow raised.

Shane put his head in his hands. God, what a mess. Even so, he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset with Ilya for defending him. 

“Okay!” Shane announced. “I think the soup should be about ready.” He abruptly stood up.  “If you guys want to head over to the table I’ll dish it up for us.”

Jackie immediately popped out of her seat, taking Shane’s invitation to deescalate the tension between their respective partners and ushering Hayden away. 

Ilya, instead of heading to the dining room with their guests, got up and followed Shane to the kitchen, plastering himself to his boyfriend’s back the second they were out of sight. He pressed his lips to the side of Shane’s neck gently, reverently, and tightened his hold around Shane’s torso as the shorter man stirred the soup.

“I am sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Will behave, I promise.”

Shane shook his head immediately, spinning around to face Ilya. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. He’s provoking you,” Shane admitted quietly, his signature pouty lip making a reappearance at the thought of his friend and his boyfriend not being able to get along.

Ilya didn’t disagree. “Mmm, but Pike is always like this, yes?”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Shane sighed. Then, shyly, “I hate it when people talk about you like that.”

“Like what, sweetheart?”

“Like you’re not the most important thing in the world to me. Like I’ll think it’s funny when they insult you. It’s not funny,” he stressed. Ilya shushed him before he got loud enough for the Pikes to hear.

“No, is not funny. But is normal, yes? Does not bother me anymore,” Ilya insisted.

“It bothers me.”

Ilya was silent for a minute as Shane dished out the soup he’d so carefully made for their guests—but really for Ilya. Everything he did was always, in some way, for Ilya.

“Pike will come around,” Ilya settled on with a slight sniffle, pulling back from Shane to scrub at his nose with the cuff of his hoodie sleeve. Shane handed him a tissue from his pocket, ever prepared. 

Ilya brought up the tissue to wipe gently at his chapped nose, then, after a moment of deliberation, gave it a soft blow. When it turned out to be more productive than Ilya anticipated, he grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and gave it another gushing blow, harder this time. 

Shane gave him a worried look. “Are you—”

“Am fine, Shane, don’t worry,” he reassured with a small smile, helping his boyfriend bring the food to the table. 

Shane placed one of the bowls in his hand in front of Jackie, the other in front of his own place setting as Ilya handed one bowl to Hayden and took the other for himself. Before Shane had even sat down, he was startled by Hayden’s sound of protest. 

“Nope, no way. I don’t want anything Rozanov touched. He probably sneezed in it on purpose.”

Shane saw Ilya flinch slightly, his shoulders drawing in on themselves in embarrassment as he gave a small sniffle.

“Hayden Pike!” Jackie exclaimed. “Stop being ridiculous. I swear—”

“What? I wouldn’t put it past him,” Hayden insisted, doubling down.

Shane finally pulled himself out of his shocked stupor, quickly grabbing Hayden’s bowl and replacing it with his own, mortified. 

“There,” he insisted, voice shaky. “You can have mine.”

Hayden was not satisfied. 

“No, Shane, then you’ll get sick and we’ll be fucked for the playoffs, and—”

“Ilya didn’t touch the food, God, Hayden! Stop being an asshole. He wouldn’t do that.”

“But—”

“I think if Ilya was going to get me sick, it wouldn’t be from the soup, Hayd,” Shane pointed out, blushing.

Hayden grumbled but ultimately dropped it. 

Shane finally sat down, trembling. Nothing about this night was going as planned. He hated when things didn’t go according to his plan. 

He didn’t want to play middle man in Hayden and Ilya’s arguments—he wanted to share a meal with the people he cared about. He wanted Hayden to stop taking shots at his boyfriend. He wanted Ilya to focus on feeling better, not defending himself against Hayden’s childish insults. He wanted Ilya. To be closer to him. To be alone with him.

He grabbed Ilya’s hand across the table, even though it was awkward and a bit uncomfortable for both of them. He needed the contact, and Ilya didn’t protest. 

“This is delicious Shane, did you make it yourself?” Jackie, to the rescue yet again. 

“Thank you, I—”

“Of course he didn’t, Jacks, Shane only cooks bird food, remember?”

Shane snapped his mouth shut. It was the second time that night Hayden had answered for him.

Shane knew his friend was only trying to be thoughtful, to show that he remembered and respected his dietary preferences, but lately, any mention of his restrictive eating habits made his mouth dry up and his palms sweat. Worse, it made him want to restrict again. He was trying so hard to be better about it, to allow himself the same dietary freedom Ilya and Hayden enjoyed, but the constant reminders of his macrobiotic diet made him feel guilty for even thinking of weaning himself off it. For thinking of eating the same hearty, delicious meal he had cooked for everyone else. 

Ilya knew this, knew not to tease Shane about it anymore, had apologized for ever doing so in the first place when it was so evidently something Shane struggled deeply with. Hayden didn’t know. Shane hadn’t told him—of course he didn’t know. He couldn’t fault his friend for bringing up something Shane hadn’t told him bothered him.

But he was already feeling anxious enough with the evening’s rocky start and Ilya being under the weather, and the remark certainly didn’t help.

He put down his spoon, appetite dissipating. Ilya’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

If looks could kill, Hayden Pike would be long dead. The daggers Ilya was sending him would make sure of it.

“I did make it, actually,” Shane corrected, voice small. “I, uh, thought soup would be good, y’know, for Ilya. It’s my mom’s recipe. I hope you guys don’t mind.”

Ilya touched his foot to Shane’s under the table, a silent thank you. 

“Of course not!” Jackie assured. “It’s so nice to see you branching out, trying new things. I see Ilya is a good influence on you.” Shane had a feeling she was no longer just talking about the soup. He sent her a grateful smile, taking a deep breath. 

Maybe he could try to eat the soup. He knew he liked it. It was his favorite growing up, and he’d followed his mom’s recipe to a T. He picked up his spoon again, met with an encouraging nod from Ilya and a squeeze to his hand. He brought the steaming spoonful up to his mouth—

“But he’s not trying new things. He hasn’t eaten any of it,” Hayden felt the need to point out. He made eye contact with Shane. Shane’s ears burned, mortified that his friend had noticed him struggling.

His spoon clattered back into the bowl.

“Buddy, you don’t have to eat it just because Rozanov wants you to change your meal plan. We can get you some grilled chicken, maybe some broccoli—Jacks and I don’t mind, you know that. You don’t have to ruin your diet just because he’s here.”

Fuck, was he going to ruin his diet? Would all the training and effort he’d put into getting to where he was be for nothing if he indulged in a moment of weakness before the playoffs?

“I, uh. . .”

“Enough, Pike. You know nothing, and you are stressing him out,” Ilya snapped. Then, to Shane, “Is okay, sweetheart. You are not ruining anything.”

But it was too late. Shane’s stomach was churning uncomfortably. He pushed his food away ever so slightly. Ilya’s face fell. Hayden took it as confirmation of his earlier point.

“See? He doesn’t want it. First you have him drinking, now straying from his macrobiotic diet. Are you trying to sabotage Shane to give your team a better shot at winning, Rozanov?”

Ilya might as well have had steam coming out of his ears. “If you think encouraging my boyfriend to have the occasional glass of wine and real food is sabotage, Pike, you are stupider than I thought,” he spat, the vitriol only slightly undermined by the way he was forced to scrub at his leaking nose.

Hayden floundered, looking ready to shoot back something no doubt insulting at his boyfriend before Jackie, blessedly, intervened with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Okay!” She redirected. “I think I’m about done, don’t you agree, babe?” She punctuated the question with a pointed glare.

Hayden only grumbled in response. Shane let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“We would love to do the dishes and help clean up since you were so generous in cooking for us. Wouldn’t we, Hayden?”

Hayden nodded quickly. 

“Oh, that’s alright, Jackie, I can do them later—” Shane tried, but Jackie quickly cut him off.

“Nonsense! We’ll see you two in the living room in just a bit.” She quickly stood up, yanking her husband along with her out of sight. 

Shane slowly turned to his boyfriend, who let out a large sigh, only to begin coughing quietly into the crook of his elbow. All the bravado he’d been exhibiting vanished the second their guests were no longer in eyesight, leaving behind nothing but the startlingly honest version of Ilya Rozanov Shane was so lucky to have the privilege of knowing. 

He stood up, rounding the table to pat Ilya’s back gently, coaxing the last of the coughs from his chest. 

When he appeared finished, Shane held out his hand. “C’mon, let’s go sit on the couch.”

Ilya must have been feeling just as drained from the evening as Shane was, because he stood up and allowed himself to be led to the living room without protest. 

When he was sure that Ilya was comfortable against the cushions, he pressed a kiss to the top of his unruly curls and started toward the closet. 

“Where are you goigg?” Ilya whined, the stuffiness that reappeared in his voice making Shane press his lips together. 

“Just to get a blanket for us, baby. You’re shivering,” he pointed out. Ilya looked down at himself as if he wasn’t quite aware he’d been cold until Shane had pointed it out. 

Shane tried to push down his concern. It hadn’t been that long since Ilya had taken his medicine. It shouldn’t have worn off this quickly. 

Now in even more of a hurry than before, Shane retrieved their biggest, fluffiest blanket and returned to the Russian currently curled in on himself in the corner of their spacious couch. 

“Shade, c-cold,” Ilya murmured. Shane shushed him softly.

“I know, here, here,” he soothed, draping the blanket over them both and smiling when Ilya curled up in it like a cat, luxuriating at the feeling of being warm and comforted. Shane pulled him closer, encouraging him to rest his head on his shoulder. He intertwined their hands, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles over Ilya’s palm.

“Better,” the blonde confirmed. Shane smiled halfheartedly.

“Do you want me to ask them to leave?”

Ilya sat up, startled. “What? Ndo,” he insisted. Shane coaxed him back to resting on his shoulder. 

“I know you’re not feeling well, baby. And honestly, I’m not super happy with Hayden right now,” Shane admitted. Ilya made a low, thoughtful noise. 

“I will be fidne for adother hour. You dodn’t want to leave thiggs on bad note with himb, I kndow you. Jackie will mbake him apologize, yes?”

Shane made a noncommittal noise, purposefully not answering. Ilya was right, he really did hate leaving things on a bad note with his friends, especially Hayden. He would always much rather address the issue right away and resolve it than let it sit and become awkward. 

The problem was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Hayden had to say right now—a thought that surprised even himself. 

Shane prided himself on being a kind, understanding, and most of all forgiving person. He wasn’t labeled Canada’s “Golden Boy” for no reason—his mom had raised him to be polite, and to always put others first. He was respectful, levelheaded, and reasonable, especially when it came to people he truly cared about, like Hayden. 

But, as Shane was quickly finding out about himself, his tolerance had a limit, and that limit was Ilya. 

He would not tolerate people disrespecting Ilya. No exceptions. 

“Shade?” Ilya’s stuffy voice prompted him, forcing Shane to realize he’d been quiet for a moment too long. Instead of responding, Shane grabbed the tissue box from the coffee table and offered it to Ilya. 

“Here, you sound so stuffy, Ilya.” Ilya swatted his hand away, his cheeks pinkening.

“Dodn’t need,” he grumbled.

It was becoming abundantly clear his boyfriend did need if the thin trail of moisture threatening to drip out of his nose was any indication, but Shane knew Ilya was likely hesitant to relieve some of his sinus pressure for fear of the noise it would make. His nose blows, like everything else about his personality, were notoriously loud. 

“I disagree,” Shane insisted, plucking a few sheets of paper and holding them to the Russian’s chapped, red nose. “Blow.”

Ilya’s cheeks turned impossibly redder.

“Shaneeee,” he whined, embarrassed. He tried to hide his head further in Shane’s shoulder as if he could disappear there. 

“Nobody is watching. It’s just you and me, yeah? You’ll feel so much better after,” Shane promised. Ilya, while still looking extremely hesitant, let out a soft blow into the awaiting tissues.

“Good job,” Shane praised. “Can you do a little more for me?”

Ilya geared up and blew again, this time letting out a series of loud, gurgling honks that immediately filled up the paper in Shane’s hand. That, Shane thought, was more like it.

Just as he was pulling the tissues away and making sure Ilya’s face was clean and dry, Hayden and Jackie reentered the room. Of course. 

“Oh, yuck, Shane, what the fuck?” Hayden groaned, causing Ilya to let out a small, mortified whimper and jump away from Shane. Whipping around, Shane saw Jackie give her husband a kick to the shin. 

Shane tried to keep his voice even when he reminded Hayden, “You have four children, Hayden, a dirty tissue can’t possibly be that gross for you.”

Hayden’s face curled in disgust. “Yeah, but they’re my kids!”

“So you wouldn’t touch my dirty tissues?” Jackie retorted, effectively silencing him.

If it were possible for Ilya to disappear into the couch cushions, Shane was sure he would have done so by now. Nonetheless, he tried to pull Ilya back in close to him.

“Thank you for helping clean up,” Shane went for another attempt at normalcy. Maybe he could salvage this evening, like Ilya said. “Would you like to sit? We can finish the game,” he suggested. 

Hayden eyed the two of them on the couch together warily before beginning, “Actually, buddy, there’s something we wanted to talk to you about.”

“Woah, nope! I will not be roped into this,” Jackie interjected. To Shane, she said, “I had nothing to do with this.”

Well, Shane certainly didn’t like wherever this was going.

“Okay…” he began warily.

“We—” Hayden started, then, at Jackie’s glare, corrected, “I am just worried about you, buddy. You’re not acting like yourself.”

Shane took a moment to collect himself, his hand on Ilya’s thigh probably squeezing much too tight. His boyfriend, for his part, was doing his best impression of a dead bug, hiding in Shane’s shoulder.

“And what do you mean by that?” Shane questioned, using the same monotone voice he used for reporters asking intrusive questions. He never thought he’d have to use that voice on Hayden of all people. 

“Just… you’re eating new things, and drinking alcohol—alcohol, Shane, you hate alcohol!—and, and you’re not hanging out with us hardly at all anymore, and you’re fucking cooking and wiping Rozanov’s goddamn nose for him like you’re his wife!”

Shane went very still, as did Ilya against him. He’d expected this conversation to leave him feeling embarrassed, maybe, or uncomfortable. He knew Hayden didn’t approve of Ilya, and he’d come to accept it. He’d expected his friend to lay out a list of reasons they were wrong for each other and to gently remind him that he loved Ilya—that Ilya was, actually, the perfect person for Shane. They were perfect for each other. 

What he didn’t expect was for it to leave him feeling an all-encompassing rage he hadn’t felt in, well, ever. 

He sucked in an unsteady breath, trying in vain to calm himself.

“First of all, I do like alcohol, Hayden. I’ve always liked it, but I’ve never allowed myself to have it. Ilya helped me realize I don’t need to be as strict with my macrobiotic diet, that I’m allowed to do and have things that make me happy instead of always worrying about how it could affect my hockey performance. That’s it.”

Before his so-called best friend could interrupt, Shane went on. 

“I have told you time and time again that I am sorry we haven’t seen each other as much, but you know that Ilya and I only get a limited time to be with each other when our days off line up. I love you, Hayd, but I will always choose to see him when I have the chance. I know you would do the same if you only got to see Jackie a few times a month, if that.”

He steeled himself. “As for the frankly insulting insinuation that I am acting like Ilya’s wife, I—I really don’t even want to dignify that with a response. I love him. We love each other. People who love each other want to do things for one another.”

He felt a suspicious wetness begin to permeate his shoulder, and ran a discreet thumb over Ilya’s cheeks, collecting the moisture that had accumulated there. 

“This is what I’m talking about, though, Shane,” Hayden insisted. “He’s trying to change you! I’ve always supported you just the way you are.”

“I appreciate that, I really do, but maybe the way I was wasn’t the best version of myself,” Shane admitted softly. “Ilya makes me want to be better.”

Hayden refused to back down. “Are you sure you should be taking advice from him? He’s too lazy to blow his own nose, for God’s sake! He’s skipped three games this season because he was too lazy to get out of bed,” he spat. 

Shane remembered the games Ilya was forced to miss all too well. Mostly, he remembered being terrified that Ilya, sad and alone while Shane was too far away to reach him, would do something much worse than miss a hockey game.

For Hayden to use that against his boyfriend, to make fun of him for something as serious as the clinical depression that tricked his mind into thinking everyone might be better off without him, was unforgivable. 

His entire body went cold. Ilya’s head removed itself from Shane’s shoulder as he brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head against them, the Russian’s body collapsing in on himself to make him as small as possible. Shane could see him closing himself off right in front of his eyes. 

It made him furious. 

“How dare you,” Shane whispered, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. Hayden looked shocked at Shane’s response. Jackie just looked mildly green. 

“Shane—”

“Get out.” 

“What? No, I didn’t mean—”

“You did. You did mean it. Now get out.”

Hayden swallowed, nervous. “Shane, c’mon buddy—”

“Get the fuck out!” Shane stood up, throwing the blanket off himself and pointing to the door.

Ilya, finally coming back to himself at the sound of his boyfriend’s distressed yells, stood up too. “Shane, malysh, is okay—”

“No, it’s not fucking okay, Ilya!” Shane whipped back around to a shell-shocked Hayden. “You don’t get to speak about him like that in our home. I’m not going to ask again.”

Jackie, positively horrified, began quickly gathering their things, muttering apologies the entire time she tried to corral her combative husband toward the door. Hayden, it seemed, had a death wish, because this time he rounded on Ilya.

“Tell him, Rozanov,” he pleaded. “Tell him it was just a joke.”

Ilya refused to meet his eyes. “Ah, but I thought you did not like when I tell Shane what to do,” he chirped, although it lacked all his usual mirth. Instead, he merely sounded defeated.

When Hayden still didn’t move, Ilya fixed him with the same Slavic glare that terrified his opponents on the ice. “I think my boyfriend asked you to leave.”

Finally, Hayden began to move toward the door, not without obvious reluctance. 

Shane held it open, an invitation to leave if there ever was one.

“Shane,” Hayden whispered, at a loss for words. 

The Canadian swallowed hard. “Please go, Hayden. I can’t be around you right now. I don’t want to say something I don’t mean.”

When the couple finally walked out the door, Shane turned to his boyfriend, standing by the couch looked worried for him despite the events of the last ten minutes and promptly burst into tears. 

He stumbled over to Ilya and into his arms, the two of them tumbling backwards onto the couch as Shane continued to sob. 

“I’m—s-sorry,” Shane hiccuped. “I sh-should be the one comforting y-you.”

Ilya shushed him, a role reversal from earlier in the evening, and rubbed firm circles on his back to help him calm down. 

“Try to take a deep breath, dorogoy,” Ilya instructed. “You are working yourself up too much.”

It was true. Shane was about ten seconds away from hyperventilating, or, God forbid, having an honest-to-God panic attack. 

He needed to calm down. If not for his sake, then for Ilya’s. He didn’t need to be dealing with this right now. 

After a few more shaky inhales and exhales, Shane collected himself enough to pull back from Ilya and wipe the tears off his cheeks. Ilya waited patiently while Shane took a moment to decide what he wanted to say. 

“I am so sorry, baby. I had no idea he would take it that f-far,” Shane broke the silence, another tear escaping.

Ilya only nodded, gathering Shane close again. They breathed together.

“It’s not true, y’know,” Shane insisted, needing to make sure Ilya knew. “You are the farthest thing from lazy. You’re the hardest working person I know.”

Shane felt Ilya’s breath go shaky, much like his own had been only a few moments ago, and feared he’d only upset his boyfriend more in his attempt to reassure him. 

“Ilya—?”

“AESHHhhoo!”

The sneeze, directed into Shane’s shoulder, caused him to jump back a bit in surprise, then, once he’d come back to his senses, scramble for the tissues that were surely lying around here somewhere, right?

Ilya, meanwhile, was gearing up for another, completely lost to the tickle in his sinuses. “Heeehhhh… ihhhh—”

“Just give me one second baby, and I’ll find—”

“HehISHieww! ihhhISHoo! ASHieww!”

“Okay, okay, let them out,” Shane cajoled, rubbing Ilya’s back gently as he sneezed toward the ground—uncovered, Shane noted with a slight grimace. 

Finally, Ilya emerged from his hunched over position, sniffling and pawing at his nose as if he still hadn’t quite expelled the itch. Shane, having found the tissues a second too late to catch the last sneezing fit, held a wad out to the Russian, who accepted them gratefully. 

When Ilya had cleaned himself up, his poor nose now doing its best impression of Rudolph, Shane had the insane urge to burst into laughter. 

“God, we’re a mess, aren’t we?” he giggled, prompting Ilya to join in. 

Maybe it was the stress of the absolute disaster of an evening they’d just had, or maybe they were both sleep deprived and slightly hysterical, but they laughed until they were red in the face and tears were running down their cheeks and Ilya had to cut himself off with a series of coughs. 

After they’d caught their breath, Shane looked at Ilya once more, needing to say something to make this right. To try to make up for subjecting his ill boyfriend to a dinner where he’d been poked and prodded and degraded by someone Shane thought he’d considered a friend. 

The look on his face must have said it all, because Ilya cut him off before he could say a word. 

“I know, sweetheart. Is not your fault.”

Ilya was far too kind, far too good for Shane. He didn’t deserve to be let off the hook like this.

“But—”

“No. You cannot take blame for Pike being an idiot,” Ilya insisted. 

“But I let him—”

“You did not. You stopped him when he went too far. You—what is it called—defended me,” Ilya’s voice got a bit choked up. Then, softly, “Nobody has ever done that for me before.”

Shane immediately leaned in, needing to kiss his boyfriend right now, thank you very much. He attached his lips to Ilya’s, who, ever-conscious of getting Shane sick, tried to pull away, but Shane held firm. He only released Ilya long enough for him to breathe before diving back in.

After a long moment, Shane finally came up for air, resting his forehead against Ilya’s. 

“I will always defend you, baby. I’m sorry if I haven’t before.”

Ilya only swallowed hard, nodding. 

“I’m going to talk to Hayden, I promise. I don’t know if he has a place in our lives if he continues acting like he did tonight,” Shane continued. Ilya squeezed his hand in solidarity. 

“Whatever you think is best, sweetheart.”

“And—”

“Shane,” Ilya interrupted. “I love you, but can we talk about this tomorrow? I am tired.” He punctuated his statement with a jaw-cracking yawn that made him look adorably like a sleepy kitten.

Shane cut himself off. He could figure out what to do about Hayden tomorrow. 

“Yeah, baby. Let’s go to bed.”

Because once they were in each others’ arms, the rest of the world could wait.