Chapter Text
December 2014 - Montreal
Incoming Call: Алексей
Declined
Typical Alexei, Ilya sighs, as he declines the 3rd call from Alexei today alone. Alexei had started calling Ilya more often lately. It was always about their father or about needing more money.
Ilya hated it.
It made his blood boil that all he ever has been to his family is the person you turn to with money problems. He gives it, of course. He can’t refuse men like his father or brother—particularly his brother right now as he’s the primary person who is supposed to be watching over their father. Alexei had mentioned that their father had seemed much worse in the recent weeks, but that was probably him being dramatic to gain Ilya’s sympathy. Whatever—Ilya has a game to play.
Lily ☀️
Will you be headed right to my place after the game?
Or will you have to stop at the hotel first?
Lily: no right to u
Lily: i missed u
You’ll see me during the game.
Like during our faceoffs?
Lily: not like that jane
Lily: 🤤🍑💧
Oh, okay!
Lily: u r hard now yes?
Shut up.
No more of these texts.
I’m about to walk into the locker room.
Lily: ooo pike will be jealous
Geez, no.
See you on the ice.
Lily: and later in ur bed 😏
LILY!
Oh dear god.
“Let’s fucking destroy Boston tonight, boys! Yeah?!” J.J. hollers as the team puts on their gear and gets ready to play the Bears. Shane can feel the flush in his cheeks from texting with Ilya, but he tries to breathe a little deeper to disguise it. He really doesn’t need any of the questions tonight. J.J. had already told the whole team that he had been talking to Rose Landry during the summer and into the season but hadn’t made a move on her.
That inevitably led to chirps from everyone in the locker room, even from guys that Shane didn’t feel like they should have been chirping him. He is their captain. He’d ask if anyone in the room understood what respect was, but he’s fairly certain that he’d be disappointed in their responses so he never said anything. That’s just who he’d always been.
But soon enough, they’re lining up on the ice and stretching before the game.
“Holls,” Hayden says, nudging Shane as he skates towards the bench.
“Yeah?”
Hayden does a meaningful flick of his head towards the Boston team before asking, “Why is Rozanov watching your every move?”
Shane glances over and sure enough, Ilya is definitely staring at him. He looks like he’s trying to be subtle, but Shane knows Hayden, and Hayden is a bit too observant for that. But Shane can’t find anything else to say besides, “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter though. Let’s just score more goals than Boston.”
Hayden grins. “You got that right, Cap.”
Hayden is observant—Shane knows this. However, Shane also knows that Hayden would never actually connect any dots. That’s typically what Jackie does if it happens at all. And honestly, Hayden would forget about this by the time the game was done.
– – –
“Shane Hollander,” Ilya says with a smirk as Shane skates over to meet Ilya for the faceoff.
“Ilya Rozanov,” Shane responds as the ref starts to skate over with the puck. “I noticed your staring.”
Ilya can feel the corner of his mouth tilt up as the ref comes to stand between them. “Yes and?”
Then, as the puck drops, all Ilya hears is, “Well, I hope you like what you see.”
And Shane definitely won that faceoff.
Ilya groans about this as he takes off after Shane trying to catch up and prevent Shane from scoring. But there’s also a little flame of pride for Shane that sits in his chest for his chirps, for his flirting, for the fact that that’s Ilya’s person whether they can say it aloud or not. Ilya can feel in his bones that Shane is the only person Ilya will want ever again, whether or not Shane feels the same. It’s okay, Ilya’s willing to give it time. If he’s learned nothing else with Shane, it’s 1) that no one can rush Shane, he needs to have his own chance to consider the options and 2) that Shane isn’t gonna be someone that Ilya would ever be able to walk away from with his heart intact because Shane would always have a piece of it.
– – –
Boston ends up winning the game, much to the dismay of his teammates. Shane plays along and tries to pretend like this bums him out too. He gives the same media ready answers that he always has about the work that they’ll put in and the hope that they’ll win when they face Boston again.
He does a good job. It’s his serious face and serious attitude that makes the media completely convinced of whatever it is that he claims. But he can only feign interest for so long before his mind turns elsewhere: towards tonight, towards Ilya in his house.
After the media, he hurries through his locker room routine, knowing that Ilya will take longer in the locker room with his team. He wants to be back at his place before Ilya arrives.
He showers off again once at his house and throws on some pajama pants and a plain T-shirt when the bell rings signaling Ilya’s arrival. He walks quickly to the door, unlocking it with a slight tremor in his hands, and pulls it open for Ilya to slip inside. He kicks it shut and Ilya immediately is at Shane’s throat, pressing little kisses (that won’t leave a mark) to the column of Shane’s throat. Shane sighs into it, holding onto Ilya’s shoulders for stability.
Suddenly, a phone starts buzzing. Shane can feel his phone in his pocket, sitting silent, so it’s Ilya’s.
Ilya sighs and takes it out of his pocket and reads the caller ID, making a face as he does so.
“You can answer it if it’s important, Ilya,” Shane reassures him. “I’m not going anywhere and we have all night.”
– – –
Ilya knows that they have all night, and he’s not concerned that Shane would disappear. It is his house after all, but the fact that the person calling is his brother. And the fact that his brother has called 11 times today feels ominous—Ilya finished the game in high spirits, only to find that his brother had called seven more times while the game was happening.
“Sorry, is my brother. I’ll get rid of him,” Ilya mutters, going to answer the call.
Shane nods. “Okay, I’m gonna grab some water, you want a glass?”
Ilya nods and mouths: Please. He watches Shane walk toward the kitchen and finally hits accept on the phone.
He snaps, “Что, Алексей? Что такого важного, что ты звонил сегодня уже одиннадцать раз?What Alexei? What is so important that you've called eleven times today?”
“Отец умерFather is dead,” Alexei replies, his voice empty and cold.
– – –
When Shane rounds the corner back out of the kitchen with two glasses of water in hand, he stops dead in his tracks. Ilya is standing there on the phone, his face ashen and tears fill his eyes. He’s speaking in Russian rapid fire before a resigned look settles into his features. He clicks the end call button on his phone, and that’s when he finally notices Shane.
“Ilya? Ilya, what’s wrong?” Shane asks, as Ilya’s lip starts to quiver. Before he can think about it for too long, his feet move quickly towards Ilya, setting the glasses down on the hallway entry table. He reaches Ilya and wraps his arms around him just as Ilya suddenly collapses into Shane, his knees giving out beneath him.
“Ilya? Ilya, shhh shhh, you’re safe,” Shane murmurs, rubbing a hand at Ilya’s back as he starts to shake. Ilya is crying. “Okay, okay, let’s sit down here. The floor is heated, we’re fine.”
Shane guides a sobbing Ilya to the floor and immediately scoops the 6’3” hockey player into his arms and his lap the best he can. Then, he sits there holding Ilya as he cries and sniffles. Ilya only clutches tight to Shane’s shirt, Shane’s arms, Shane’s torso as if Shane is the only thing keeping him above water right now.
Shane tries slowing down his breathing, exaggerating the depth of every breath to soothe Ilya and to get Ilya’s breathing back to normal. “C’mon Ilya,” Shane coaxes softly, running his fingers into Ilya’s curls and down his back. “Breathe for me, baby.”
At some point, Ilya’s shining blue eyes look up to find Shane’s eyes and even if eye contact isn’t Shane’s favorite, he’ll give it to Ilya—he’ll give anything to Ilya right now. But his breathing stabilizes again and the sniffling greatly decreases.
Shane feels confident enough that Ilya can bear part of his own weight that Shane pulls him to standing and deposits him onto the couch. Then, Shane grabs the glasses of water from the entry table, setting his on the coffee table and handing the other to Ilya.
“Drink,” Shane instructs softly, standing in front of Ilya, watching as Ilya doesn’t argue, doesn’t fuss, and just does as he’s told. When Ilya finishes that glass, Shane places it onto the coffee table and sits next to Ilya, who immediately curls up into Shane, pushing his nose delicately into Shane’s neck.
“Ilya? What’s wrong? Can you talk to me, baby?”
“My father is dead,” Ilya mumbles, tucked into the crook of Shane’s neck, his Russian accent curling heavily around most of his words. “He died early this morning and my brother called me 11 times trying to tell me, and I didn’t pick up because of the game. Because my brother never calls for anything important. Except today. The day I chose to ignore every call. My father died, and I couldn’t be bothered to pick up the damn phone. And honestly, I don’t know what to feel right now.”
Ilya sniffles quietly as Shane wraps Ilya tightly in his arms and mutters, “Oh, Ilya. I know it wasn’t the best relationship but still, he was your father.”
Ilya nods, then whispers, “I have to fly to Moscow as soon as possible for the funeral and to deal with his estate. And I need to tell my team and—fuck. I can’t do this.”
Shane rubs Ilya’s back. “Hey, that’s not true, it’s okay. Do you need to go back to Boston before flying to Russia?”
Ilya nods against Shane’s neck and adds, “Yes, and Sveta will want to come with me.”
“Okay, good,” Shane affirms, exhaling slightly at the thought that Ilya would at least be able to have a friendly face amongst all of this, even if the media will assume their relationship to each other. But Shane knows that Svetlana is no threat to anything Shane and Ilya have, he genuinely wants her there so that Ilya can’t do anything stupid—somehow without having met her, he trusts that she will.
“Okay, so you need to call your GM and head coach and Svetlana,” Shane tells him, rattling off the names of those who he can think of.
Ilya shakes his head. “I can’t call all of them,” he admits quietly, his voice trembling as he speaks.
Shane nods, recalculating. Then, he has an idea. “I can’t call your GM or coach, but if you give me Svetlana’s number, I can text her as Jane and work on flights and such while you call your GM and coach? Does she know that you text someone named Jane?”
Ilya nods, relief floating his features. “Yes, yes, Sveta knows, okay. I’ll text Marly too, so the team can hear it from him.”
Shane nods, watching as Ilya fires off a quick text to Marlow before a contact card pops up. The name is in Cyrillic but Shane knows who it is: Svetlana Vetrova. Shane quickly retypes the name while Ilya finds the number for the GM. Then, as Ilya hits call, Shane opens a new text thread:
Svetlana Vetrova
Hi, this is Ilya’s friend, Jane.
He’s with me right now.
But I need to tell you something. He’s
barely able to call his GM and coach.
Svetlana: Ah! Montreal Jane.
Svetlana: You two have been talking since
forever (2008).
Svetlana: Wait why is he calling his GM
and coach?
…Ilya’s father passed away this morning.
He’s only just heard from his brother.
He says that he has to go to Russia.
He said you’d go with him.
Please.
I can’t bear the thought of him alone
there.
Svetlana: Fuck. We knew it was coming
but still…it feels very soon.
Svetlana: Okay, so is he coming back to
Boston before flying?
Yeah. I’m trying to find flights.
But there’s nothing to Boston until
tomorrow morning.
Svetlana: Is ok.
Svetlana: Get him on that flight.
Svetlana: I will get us tickets for plane to
Moscow that leave in the evening.
Svetlana: For tonight, just…
I’ll take care of him.
I promise.
Svetlana: I know, Jane.
Svetlana: You always have I think.
Yeah.
Okay.
Goodnight Svetlana.
Svetlana: Goodnight Jane.
Ilya shuffles quietly back into the room as Shane purchases the first class ticket from Montreal to Boston for tomorrow morning. He texts the digital version to Ilya as Ilya comes to stand very still in front of Shane. He looks embarrassed, almost ashamed.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Shane whispers, reaching out for Ilya’s hands. “There’s no flights out of here until tomorrow morning. I texted you the ticket for that and Svetlana has your tickets to Moscow. You’ll be on your way there by tomorrow night.”
“Okay,” Ilya mumbles, quietly sniffing. Shane stands and cups Ilya’s face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over Ilya’s cheeks, wiping away the quiet tears.
Shane asks softly, “Is everything good with your team?”
Ilya nods. “Marly said he and Connors would tell the team, GM cleared my absence, and coach offered his…sorries?”
“Condolences,” Shane offers gently.
“Condolences,” Ilya repeats then nods.
Shane wraps his arms around Ilya’s neck and he can feel as Ilya’s arms wrap around his torso. They stand there silently, letting Ilya feel whatever he needs to and Shane offering as much comfort as he knows how to give now.
Finally, he pulls back a little bit, lightly moves Ilya’s chin to look at his eyes, and asks, “What can I do to help?”
“You are helping,” Ilya mutters softly, nuzzling at Shane’s hand. Then he pauses and looks at Shane. “Can I ask for a shower together then…”
“...Then what, Ilya? It’s okay, I’ll do whatever you need even if it’s—”
“Will you just hold me in your arms for the night? I know I am normally your pillow or the…uhh…big spoon, but I just…I just want to be held again.”
“Ilya, of course,” Shane whispers quietly. He stares at Ilya, his face illuminated by the golden glow of his lamp. He’s beautiful, Shane can’t help but think. “C’mon.”
Shane leads Ilya to his bathroom and sits him on the lid of the toilet. He turns for a minute to turn on the water and make sure it’s a good temperature. Then, he grabs the identical bottles of Ilya’s shower products as the ones that had been at his home. If Ilya did it for him, it was nothing to do the same, and now Shane’s especially glad for this decision. Then, he returns to Ilya who hasn’t moved in the slightest .
“Baby, c’mon, can I take your clothes off so you can shower?” Shane asks quietly as steam slowly rises around them. Ilya nods, so Shane carefully goes to work, removing each article and dotting kisses to any skin that he can reach. Ilya’s hand settles in Shane’s hair as Shane removes Ilya’s pants and socks. It feels nice for Shane, but he can tell that it’s also for Ilya’s comfort. Physical touch and affection is one of the main ways that Ilya seems to communicate, especially since Vegas. Shane’s glad to know this, because he also seems to be his preferred form of comfort. “I just want to be held again.” That felt…odd to Shane. He knows that when he was in Boston, he hugged Ilya after the phone call with his father, but this feels like Ilya’s saying something else.
But he doesn’t ask now. Now, he focuses on pulling Ilya into the shower with him. Shane washes Ilya’s hair while he sits in the shower. He works up a lather of shampoo, caressing Ilya’s scalp. Then, he washes the shampoo out and switches to the conditioner. He uses his fingers to gently work the conditioner into Ilya’s curls before scrunching the curls and letting them sit in it. Shane soaps up Ilya’s entire body, making sure that any residual sweat is long gone. He taps Ilya’s temple, signaling him to close his eyes and somehow Ilya just knows, so Shane washes Ilya’s face and wipes it with a cold washcloth. Shane pulls him to standing and gives him a full body rinse as he makes quick work of his own shampoo and washing job. When he joins Ilya under the spray, Ilya pulls him in close and presses his lips to Shane’s, not in a frantic sexual way, just in the kind of way that Shane understands means that Ilya just wants him—maybe even needs him—close.
When they’re both rinsed off, then dried off, Shane hands Ilya his own pajamas before switching into a new pair himself because the others had been on the floor. Then, he pulls back the duvet and pats the space next to him. Ilya accepts without hesitation, practically burrowing into Shane’s arms since he’s offering it.
When they’re finally laying in bed, with no light except for the tiniest glow from Shane’s dimmable bedside lamp, Shane asks, “Hey, you said something earlier and it sounded…strange to me so I was wondering if I could ask about it?”
Ilya nods from against Shane’s chest. “Да, солнышкоYes, sunshine, ask anything you want.”
Shane quietly says, “You said that you just wanted to be held again and…I don’t know, it came off as sounding a little odd?”
Ilya’s voice is quiet, but he wraps his arm a little tighter around Shane, who rubs gentle circles across his back. He explains, “The last person who really hugged me—who hugged me as a way of comfort, before you did in Boston—was my mama. She died when I was 12.”
Shane feels something in his heart crack open for Ilya. 12 years old and his mother is gone.
“My father already didn’t like me by then. Said I was just like her like that was an insult—I guess to him it was, and my brother was 16. He barely spent time at home anymore anyway.”
“So you were mourning your mother all alone?” Shane asks, he knows he shouldn’t be pushing, but he wants to know.
Ilya nods though. “Mostly. Sveta tried to help where she could, but my father had largely made my mother distance herself from the outside world, so Sveta knew very little of her, and I–I wasn’t able to do much besides survive each day after that.”
“Oh, Ilya,” Shane whispers, kissing the top of Ilya’s head and pulling him in closer to his body.
Ilya sniffles, “Sorry, I don’t want to say more about that, but yes, at my house, in Boston, was the first time anyone had hugged me to comfort and soothe me in eleven years. So, yes, this now, is the second time in eleven years that someone has hugged me or soothed me. I am bad at letting people in, I think.”
Shane strokes the side of Ilya’s face, letting his fingers trail slowly after his palm. “It’s hard to let people in. But just remember, you have Svetlana and you have me, neither of us are going to leave you anytime soon.”
“Promise?” Ilya whispers, his voice sounding choked and hoarse.
“I promise.”
– – –
The next day…
Ilya had woken up with the alarm Shane had set to make sure that they’d be ready to get to the airport on time. Shane insisted on driving him there, despite the dangerous element of them being seen together. Shane told Ilya that he didn’t care, that he wanted to do this for Ilya in a time where there was so little else to be done for him.
“You’ll call me only if it’s safe and you have a chance with everything, right? But you’ll text me updates and such?”
“Yes, Shane, and you have the flight number so you can track us as we fly across the sky.”
Shane nods from the driver’s seat, his hand gripping Ilya’s tightly in Ilya’s lap. Ilya can tell Shane is nervous about this plan. Ilya’s nervous about going back to Russia, but he knows he has to. He’s been absent from so much of life over in his home country, it’d be heavily discussed if he were to skip his own father’s funeral.
And he’ll have Sveta which will make it all a bit easier.
Ilya adds, “And you have Sveta’s number so if I cannot pick up, she will and she’ll try to update you, then I’ll try to call later.”
“But only if it’s safe?”
“ДаYes, only if it’s safe,” Ilya affirms.
Finally, Shane pulls up to the curb outside of the airport. Ilya grabs his large duffel bag out of the backseat and places it on his lap. Shane reaches out for him, grasping Ilya in another tight hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek and neck, opposite of the windshield, fiercely but not so hard as to cause a bruise.
Ilya opens the car door and carefully pulls his hat down and pushes on his sunglasses. He blocks the opening, so that the very few passerbys can’t see Shane easily.
– – –
“Okay,” Shane nods. “Text me when you land.”
“I will,” Ilya nods back. “Bye Shane.” Хотел бы я, чтобы мне не пришлось уходить.I wish I didn't have to leave.
“Bye Ilya,” Shane smiles softly as the car door closes. J'aimerais que tu n'aies pas à partir.I wish you didn't have to leave.