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Ilya just wanted one night. One night where he could drink and dance and forget about sad, brown eyes, beautiful freckles, and a man who may or may not be better at hockey than him. Was that too much to ask for? Apparently, it was. Ilya saw Rose Landry’s friend at the bar. The man even offered him a little wave. Ilya turned, scanning the club, finding Shane in the crowd. He was dancing awkwardly, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
Why was he here? Shane hated dancing. He hated clubs and drinking. He hated crowds and anything sticky. Why. Was. He. Here!
Ilya found the first beautiful woman he could and started dancing with her. She looked nothing like Shane. No freckles, blue eyes, blonde hair. He was turned so he could see Shane, wanted Shane to see him. Rose Landry’s friend joined them, passing Shane a beer that he took a single sip of before ignoring it in favor of bopping along… well, mostly along to the song. Rose Landry was in front of Shane, touching his stomach as they moved. Her friend was behind him, lips touching his throat. Shane made a sour face when it happened that made Ilya see red.
Next things Ilya knew, Cliff was in front of him, hands on his shoulders and telling him to take a breath. Ilya was breathing heavily, Cliff pushing him away from the crowd. No one had noticed the moment when Ilya’s resolve had snapped, when he’d almost gone to get the man away from Shane as he obviously made Shane uncomfortable. No one… except for Cliff.
Cliff didn’t know that Ilya had been heading towards Hollander to protect him. He assumed Roz had been about to start a fight with Hollander just for the hell of it. Neither of them had played the best that night and Roz had been trying to kill them all during practices. Bag skates where the rookies, and even some vets, threw up. Practicing edges so close that someone was likely to cut a teammates ankle if they weren’t careful enough. Cliff didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he’d seen enough. He was getting some damn answers.
“What’s going on, Roz?” Cliff demanded, the two in a corner where no one could see them and where the music wasn’t quite so loud.
“Jane… she is here. She is dancing with- with-”
“Did you guys break up?” Cliff asked.
Roz simply nodded. That explained everything to Cliff. The shit mood, the practices, not going out anymore. Cliff cursed as he looked Roz over, glancing at the crowd to see if he could find this woman he’d never met. All he saw was Hollander, staring at the two of them in confusion, alone now, no movie star girlfriend in sight. Cliff ignored him and turned back to Roz.
“Shit, buddy. Let’s get you out of here.”
Shane didn’t know what the hell to think. Had Rozanov moved on to his assistant captain? Was he too late? No. No, he’d seen Ilya glaring at Miles like he was going to kill him. He’d seen Marlow stop Ilya from doing just that. They’d both been dancing with girls right before that. Shane had seen Rozanov’s teammates first before he’d taken a single look around and found Ilya already heading towards him.
He’d followed them at a distance, watching as Marlow tried talking to Rozanov, Rozanov staring at Shane as he answered Marlow, only giving one sentence in answer. Marlow looked around, but Shane wasn’t watching him. His eyes were locked on Rozanov and Rozanov’s were locked on his. Marlow pulled Rozanov away and Shane let out an involuntary whine at the loss of eye contact. He hated eye contact. Why did he miss it so much suddenly?
Because it was Rozanov. It was always Rozanov. It would never be anyone except for Rozanov.
Shane had missed him so damn much. Rose knew. She’d figured it out rather quickly. She’d told Shane he was gay and in love and Shane had known she was right. He’d been trying to figure out how to talk to Rozanov ever since. He couldn’t put it in a text. He needed to tell him in person. He’d chickened out of seeing him after the game, knowing a couple of hours before Rozanov had to leave before curfew would not be enough time for him.
Besides, Rozanov hated him. Shane had left him there, on the couch and covered in the two of them. Hell, he’d left his clothes there, appearing at the hotel in sweatpants and a t-shirt that didn’t belong to him. He slept in those items now, terrified that it was the most he’d ever get from Rozanov. Rozanov would probably never speak to him again once Shane told him the truth, told him he was in love with him and probably had been the whole time. There was no chance Rozanov felt the same for him.
Except… Shane was pretty damn sure that he did. Roza- Ilya had called him Shane. Ilya had asked him to stay. Ilya had made him lunch and kept ginger ale in his fridge and had napped with him. Ilya had insisted on all of that. Ilya had tried getting his attention all night during the game just for Shane to ignore him, too stuck in his own head and terrified that Ilya wouldn’t truly want him.
Shane couldn’t stop himself from following them outside, though. Like a moth to a flame or a dog on a leash. He didn’t care how desperate it seemed. He needed Ilya like he needed air. He’d been drowning since he’d left Ilya’s place to stumble to his and Hayden’s hotel room.
Ilya was throwing up in an alley when Shane found them, Marlow rubbing his back. Shane didn’t think, just acted. Every instinct in his body told him to take care of Ilya, to make sure he was okay and safe. Had he drank too much? Had someone given him something? Shane needed to know. Before he reached them, Marlow noticed him coming. The concern that had been on his face turned hard, anger on his face.
“Not tonight, Hollander. I don’t give a shit about your rivalry bullshit. Leave us alone,” Marlow instructed.
Ilya spat on the ground and tried to stand straight. Marlow had talked to Shane? Shane was there? He turned his head, tears still in his eyes as he found Shane so close yet too far away to reach.
“Is he okay?” Shane demanded from Marlow.
“He’s fine. Drunk. Now fuck off.”
“I need to see him-”
“God, you’re an asshole,” Marlow scoffed. “Everyone says you’re such a golden boy. Fuck. Off. Hollander.”
“Shane?” Ilya said, voice weak.
“Ilya.”
Shane was there now. Ilya grabbed his arm, holding onto him tightly, terrified that he would disappear again. Shane wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him away from the sick. Ilya groaned and leaned into him, head on Shane’s shoulder now.
“I’ve got you,” Shane told him. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
“What?” Cliff asked, confused.
“I’m taking him home. Can you make an excuse to your coach?” Shane asked.
“What the fuck?” Cliff demanded. “Roz?”
“Is okay,” Ilya told him, stumbling a bit.
“Easy,” Shane said, leaning Ilya’s back against the wall of the club. “Marlow. Here’s my ticket. Get my car.”
“I’m not leaving him with you,” Marlow glared.
“I’m not leaving him. Period. Get the car.”
Marlow and Shane glared at one another. Marlow searched Shane’s face before deflating a bit and nodding once. He ran from the alley, hurrying towards the valet. Shane turned his full attention to Ilya then.
He was crying. His eyes were stuck on Shane and he was crying. Shane knew it was his fault, that he had caused this. He’d have to explain. It could wait until morning. For now, Shane just needed to make sure Ilya didn’t get sick or hurt in his state. Shane checked that no one was coming before placing his hands on Ilya’s face, wiping the tears carefully.
Ilya was beautiful. All those times he’d called Shane pretty, but Shane thought Ilya was art. Everything from his curls to his slightly crooked nose to the scar on his cheek and the mole on his other cheek to his pouty lips. Shane knew how those lips felt against his own, against his skin. It was heaven and Ilya was his angel.
Shane was so lost in Ilya’s ice-blue eyes that he almost missed Marlow pulling up to the alley. Almost. Shane went to help Ilya walk to the car, but Ilya stumbled and Shane decided he wasn’t going to allow that. Marlow had just gotten out of the car, ready to help Shane when Shane picked Ilya up bridal style, carrying his towards the car. Marlow’s eyes widened in shock.
“Get the door,” Shane told him, captain voice coming out.
Marlow wasn’t on his team, but he understood that listening to Shane was his best option. He opened the door, holding it open wide. Shane carefully set Ilya in the passenger seat before buckling him in. Ilya grabbed Shane’s hand when he went to step away.
“Don’t go. Not again. Please,” Ilya begged.
“I’m taking you to my place,” Shane assured him. “I have to let go so I can dive. Let me get to my seat and you can hold my hand while I drive, okay?”
Ilya let out a pained sob that brought tears to Shane’s own eyes. He glanced back at Marlow before deciding he didn’t care. He leaned in, giving Ilya a quick kiss before pulling away completely, shutting the door before Ilya could argue. Marlow looked ready to murder him.
“I’m Jane,” Shane told him quickly.
Marlow’s eyes widened suddenly and he stepped back.
“I’m taking him home. I’m going to give him water and something to eat since he can’t have Tylenol. Then I’m going to let him sleep. In the morning, I’ll drive him to the hotel. Okay?”
“He can’t have Tylenol?” Marlow asked.
“That’s what you care about right now?”
“You being Jane makes a lot of sense.”
“How?”
“Tell you tomorrow. Pretty sure Rozy’s going to break the window if you don’t get in there,” Marlow shrugged, glancing into the car.
Shane didn’t bother looking. He went to the driver’s seat and climbed in. He gave Ilya his hand, as promised, before nodding to Marlow and pulling away from the curb. Ilya whined and tried scooting closer to Shane, but his seatbelt prevented that from happening. Another tear slipped down his cheek.
“I’m right here,” Shane told him, voice gentle. “It’s alright. I’m here.”
“Where is- is girlfriend?” Ilya asked, sounding broken.
“Girlfriend? I don’t have- Oh! Rose?”
“Da. Rose Landry. Girlfriend,” Ilya nodded.
“God, Ilya. Rose and I aren’t together. We’re friends. Some paparazzi saw us hanging out a few times and decided we were dating,” Shane told him. “We’ve both just been ignoring it, but I guess I should have put a statement out. I didn’t know you believed that. I’m sorry.”
“You are not dating movie star?” Ilya asked, seeming a bit more alert now.
“No. Never was. We aren’t compatible.”
“Compatible? Hollander, what is this word?”
“Shane.”
“What?”
“Call me Shane… please?”
“Shane. What is compatible?”
“Compatible is, like, when you want the same things. Rose and I don’t,” Shane assured him.
“What do you both not want? Perfect life? Perfect little babies with strawberry blond hair and freckles?” Ilya asked, tracing little patterns on Shane’s hand with his fingers, refusing to look at Shane’s face.
“Well, she wants to date someone who isn’t gay and I want you,” Shane answered with a little shrug.
“You… want me?” Ilya asks and Shane can feel Ilya staring at him, the heat of his gaze burning against his cheeks, causing him to turn red down to his chest.
“I didn’t wanna have this conversation until morning,” Shane sighs.
“Tell me now and in morning,” Ilya demands, voice rough.
They pull up to a red light and Shane turns his head, meeting Ilya’s gaze. Shane swallows hard, mouth feeling dry suddenly. He wants to grab Ilya and kiss him. He wants to touch every inch of him, be consumed by him, crawl under Ilya’s skin and live inside of him.
“I ran away because I was scared and I knew this was becoming too complicated. You were asking me about girls and telling me about yours and there aren’t any girls for me. Theres no girls, no men. It’s you. It’s always been you. I ran away because I’m an idiot who fell in love with someone who could never actually want him,” Shane stopped Ilya when he goes to speak. “No, don’t. just… don’t say anything, okay? I get it. It’s fine. I just… needed to say it. Just once. Just… let me take care of you, okay? You got sick outside and I just want to take care of you. We can talk in the morning.”
Ilya takes a deep breath and nods just in time for the light to turn green. Shane faces forward, ignoring the pain in his heart. If Ilya didn’t love him back, Shane wasn’t sure how he’d take it. He’d probably beg Ilya to pretend he hadn’t said anything, to let them go back to how they were. He could ignore his feelings if he tried hard enough… maybe. It would hurt, but Shane would take whatever Ilya was willing to give him.
Shane didn’t notice the plain car following them until he pulled into his apartment complex’s parking garage. The car followed too closely getting inside, not putting in their own code. Shane glared, thinking it was just a shitty driver before he realized the driver looked familiar. He let out a curse, causing Ilya to turn to him, confused.
“We were followed by a paparazzi,” Shane told him.
Ilya tried to sit up a bit more, but he didn’t seem to have any strength.
“Don’t,” Shane said, holding his hand a bit tighter. “Just ignore him. He won’t follow us inside. It’ll be alright and we can post something tomorrow about me helping you when you were drunk. It’ll be fine. Stay there. I’ll come help you.”
“Okey,” Ilya answered, sounding tired, accent a bit thicker than it had been earlier.
Shane parked his car and got out, ignoring the man who parked behind him rather than in a spot.
“Shane, can you tell me why Ilya Rozanov is in your car?” the man asked.
“Because he’s drunk and needed help,” Shane answered, hoping the man got the hint. “Excuse me.”
Shane opened the passenger side door and leaned in. He unbuckled Ilya and helped him out of the car. Ilya stumbled immediately and Shane lifted him into his arms again.
“Rozanov, can you tell me how you’re feeling?”
“Ignore him,” Shane whispered to Ilya, carrying Ilya to the private elevator.
He punched in the code; 1221. Ilya snorted a laugh when he saw it, a small smile on his face. Shane almost smirked back, but the reporter wouldn’t give them any space.
“Why are you the one taking care of Romanov, Shane? Rozanov, where are your teammates?”
The elevator doors opened and Shane let out a breath of relief, stepping inside. He had the whole floor to himself, which helped in the moment. It meant he didn’t have to deal with any locks or doors. The elevator door was closing and Shane set Ilya on his feet in the corner, careful to make sure Ilya didn’t fall over. He thought that was the end of it, but he heard someone climb on behind him and turned his head slowly, staring at the paparazzi that didn’t know when to quit.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Shane demanded.
“I want answers to my questions,” the man shrugged, a smug smirk on his face.
“When we get off this elevator, if you follow us, I’m calling the police to have you arrested,’ Shane told him.
“Relax, Shane,” the guy laughed, slapping a hand on Shane’s shoulder as the doors opened.
Shane didn’t think. That was his thing now apparently. Shane reacted, punching the guy in the face. Blood spurted from his nose, blood pouring out. Shane picked Ilya up again, carrying him into his apartment. The paparazzi followed, shouting at Shane as they went. Shane set Ilya on the couch and pulled out his phone, calling the police immediately.
It only took five minutes for cops to arrive and another fifteen before they left, paparazzi in the back of a cop car. He had a list of charges that were going to be pressed against him; harassment, trespassing, intrusion upon seclusion, assault, and breaking and entering. Shane would have to go to the station in the morning, but that was in the morning. Right now, Shane’s attention was back to Ilya.
Ilya was staring at Shane, eyes wide in shock. He’d been staring like that since Shane had broken the guy’s nose. Shane sighed and went to the kitchen, getting Ilya water and toasting some bread. He returned to the living room a few minutes later, setting the bread and water on the table as he sat on the edge of the couch near Ilya’s feet, close enough that he could feel the heat from Ilya’s skin but far enough that they weren’t touching.
Ilya hated the distance. He wanted Shane close, so he grabbed him, pulling him close. Shane flailed for a moment before melting into Ilya. Ilya draped himself over Shane’s body like a weighted blanket. Shane took a deep breath, able to breathe for the first time since leaving Ilya back in Boston. He felt like he could fall asleep, but then Ilya bolted up, rushing to the kitchen sink and getting sick. Shane cursed and rubbed him back, brushing hair out of his face.
Once Ilya was done, Shane led him to his bedroom. He changed Ilya into a pair of sweatpants. He was about to put a shirt on Ilya, but Ilya shook his head, pushing the shirt away. Shane nodded and set the shirt aside before rushing back to the living room to grab the dry toast and the cold water.
“I don’t want,” Ilya pouted when Shane tried to give him a piece of toast.
Shane sighed and moved closer, ripping the toast into tiny pieces. He picked a piece up and lifted it towards Ilya’s lips, pressing it against his mouth gently. Ilya rolled his eyes, but ate the small piece without any further complaints. He’d eaten a full slice of bread before Shane set the plate aside and grabbed the water. He’d put a straw in the cup, something that helped him when he wasn’t feeling well. Ilya drank the water greedily, Shane having to tell him to slow down a few times.
Once half the water was gone, Shane set that aside, too. He made Ilya lay down and wrapped him in his softest blanket.
“Going to tuck me in, Shane?” Ilya asked.
“If you want me to,” Shane answered. “Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” Ilya said, voice soft.
Shane tucked the blanket in gently, smiling as he did so. Ilya seemed to melt under his attentions, Shane taking care of him having softened his hard edges. Shane leaned in, kissing Ilya’s curls before standing and going to his dresser.
Shane wondered if he should wear something else. Should he be embarrassed? Probably. He pulled on Ilya’s sweats and shirt anyways. He went to the ensuite and brushed his teeth. He did his skin care routing and combed out his hair before turning his lights down, happy he’d thought to add the adaptable lights to every room. Now he could leave the softer light on so Ilya could find the bathroom later if he needed it.
He wet a hand towel with cold water and rung it out before heading back to the bedroom. Ilya was awake, seeming confused about Shane’s absence. She sat beside Ilya, gentle as to not cause too much motion. He pressed the towel against Ilya’s forehead, wiping away any sweat on his face before placing the towel on the back of his neck, leaving it there.
“Bathroom is right there,” Shane told him. “If you need to get sick again or if you need to use it. Water and toast are right here. You don’t have to eat the rest of the toast if you don’t want to, but it’ll help your stomach if you do. Don’t drink the water too fast or you’ll get sick again.”
“Are you not staying?” Ilya asked, sounding like he may cry again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Shane promised him. “I just wanted you to know where everything is.”
“Oh.”
“Do you wanna try and get some sleep?”
“Tell me again?” Ilya asked.
“Okay. The bathroom-”
“No. Not that.”
“Toast and water?”
“Tell me you love me…”
Shane took a surprised inhale through his nose. Was Ilya being cruel? Did he just want to hear something nice because he was upset? Was it something more? Shane couldn’t tell him no, though.
“I love you. I’m in love with you, Ilya,” Shane whispered.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya told him.
“What’s that mean?” Shane asked, brows furrowed, remembering something then. “You’ve said that before, I think?”
“Da.”
“What does it mean?”
“I love you.”
Shane couldn’t stop the tears if he tried. Ilya had told him he loved him. Ilya had been telling Shane that he loved him for… years, Shane was pretty sure. The first time he’d heard Ilya say it had been at the condo, their first time. He’d been saying a lot of things in Russian and Shane had assumed it was all dirty talk. Hearing Ilya speak in Russian always did something to him, made him cum harder when Ilya was inside of him. Knowing now that part of it had been Ilya confessing…
Ilya was crying, too. Shane leaned in, kissing the tears on his cheeks. He kissed Ilya’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin. He gave Ilya a quick kiss on his lips before pulling away.
“Does it feel like agony for you, too?” he asked.
“Not anymore,” Ilya assured him, leaning his forehead against Shane’s. “Will you lay with me?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
“Yes.”
“How about forever?”
“Ask me in the morning.”
Ilya didn’t get sick again. He slept through the night. Shane knew because he held him through the night, waking with every small movement that Ilya made. He’d barely slept, but he felt better than he had in so long once he got to his feet. He had a list of things he’d need to do, so he decided to take a shower and go do those things. He showered in the guest shower, not wanting to wake Ilya accidentally. He dressed quietly and left a note on the bedside table so Ilya knew where he’d gone. He kissed Ilya’s head once, twice, three times before he left.
Ilya woke to sun peaking through the curtain. He was confused for a moment, not recognizing where he was before remembering. Shane. Shane had brought him to his apartment. Not the sex-loft. His apartment, his home. He’d taken care of Ilya, held him through the night. He told Ilya he loved him.
Ilya reached back, searching for Shane. The bed was cold, Shane having left long ago. He saw a note on the table and picked it up, scoffing at Shane’s terrible handwriting and trying to read it like he was deciphering a secret code.
‘Had to run a few errands. I’ll be back with breakfast. Make yourself at home. Love you. XO Shane’
Ilya figured it out and folded the note, deciding he would keep it in his wallet forever. Even if Shane, now that Ilya was better, decided he didn’t truly love him, he’d be able to carry the reminder of the night with him. He stood slowly, making sure no nausea hit him as he did so. A shower. That would help.
Ilya took a long shower, using Shane’s products even though his were present as well. He wondered when Shane had time to go get his things before realizing Shane hadn’t gone to get his things. These were full size bottles. They would never be allowed on a plane. They’d been used a few times as well. Did Shane have someone else in his shower or had he bought Ilya’s products after seeing what Ilya liked? Did he use Ilya’s things so he could smell him when he wasn’t around?
Ilya stepped out of the shower, smelling like Shane and having a crisis in his head. He found cinnamon toothpaste on the counter and an unopened spare toothbrush. Shane used a Korean toothpaste that tasted like peaches. This wasn’t Shane’s. It was Ilya’s, because he didn’t like mint.
Ilya brushed his teeth using the peach toothpaste so he could taste Shane. He took a picture of all of Shane’s products with his fully charged phone, because of course Shane had charged it for him. He even took photos of Shane’s face cleaners. If Shane truly did want him and only him, he was going to make Shane as comfortable in his home as Shane was making him in his. Besides, he wouldn’t mind smelling like Shane when he missed him, even if Shane broke his heart when he got home.
He looked around the room, seeing Ilya’s missing sweats and shirt in Shane’s laundry basket. Ilya let out a small whine when he saw it, sitting on the bed and trying not to cry. Gods, he loved this man. He loved this particular, kind-hearted, ridiculously naïve man. Ilya went through Shane’s drawers, pulling on sweatpants and a shirt, the other pants he’d been wearing tossed into the basket now, covering Ilya’s old clothes.
These clothes smelt like Shane’s detergent and Ilya decided he needed a photo of that as well. He looked through Shane’s apartment until he found the washer and dryer. He even found a spreadsheet showing when Shane washed things when he was home from roadies. Ilya took a picture of that as well before going to the kitchen. He threw away the bit of toast and washed and dryer his plate and cup from the night before, looking through the cabinets and putting the dishes away.
Ilya opened all of the cabinets, taking pictures there, too. He’s remodel his entire house to look like Shane’s to make him feel more comfortable while visiting if he needed to. He grabbed a Coke from the fridge, finding meal prep there with ingredients and instructions written out. Guess what Ilya did? He took photos. He wanted to catalog everything about Shane; what he ate, how he cleaned his sheets, every freckle on his face. He was obsessed.
Ilya laid in Shane’s bed, laying under the covers, head on the pillow Shane had used the night before. He curled around the pillow a bit, pretending he was holding Shane instead of a pillow. It was probably pathetic, but Ilya didn’t care. He missed his Shane.
Shane returned home to a quiet house. He hadn’t expected Ilya to throw a party or anything, but some sort of noise would assure him that Ilya hadn’t left. He set the bag of food on the kitchen counter before going to his room, finding Ilya there. He was asleep but Shane could tell he’d been up at some point. There was a new towel hanging from the bar in the bathroom, Ilya was wearing a shirt, and there was a Coke on the bedside table, no dishes having been in the sink when he’d passed it moments ago.
Shane smiled as he climbed into bed behind Ilya, waking him.
“Good morning,” Shane whispered, arms wrapping around Ilya’s waist as he snuggled into the bigger mans back.
“Morning,” Ilya responded, grabbing Shane’s hand and kissing it gently.
“Do you wanna talk about last night?” Shane asked, nervous now.
“Did you mean it?” Ilya asked.
“I did. Did you?”
“Da. Yes.”
“Thank fuck.”
Ilya chuckled as Shane turned his over. Shane captured Ilya’s lips with his own, kissing him hard. Ilya let out a satisfied sound as he rolled them over, placing himself between Shane’s legs. It didn’t take long for them to strip down, find the lube in Shane’s bedside table, and finish while saying one another’s names like a prayer. The shower afterwards was longer than the actual sex had been, both having gone without for two months. They didn’t mind, though, Ilya washing Shane off, bubbles swirling down the drain as he did so. Shane went to grab Ilya’s body wash and Ilya shook his head, grabbing Shane’s instead.
“Want to smell like you,” Ilya told him.
“I like smelling like you,” Shane smiled softly.
“Is why you have my things?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah,” Shane blushed.
“Is cute,” Ilya told him, kissing his nose. “I like it.”
“Yeah?”
“Da.”
The shower also took longer because, after that, Shane had gone to his knees. Afterwards, when they were dry and sitting on the couch together, Ilya laying on top of Shane once more, they decided to talk.
“How could we let this happen?” Ilya asked, his voice shakier than he would have liked.
“I don’t know. We are very stupid and irresponsible.”
“Very dumb, yes. Shane,” Ilya kissed him then.
How could he not? He wrapped his fingers around Shane’s wrists and held them to the couch on either side of his head.
“This is real, yes?” Ilya asked, just to be sure.
“It’s real,” Shane said, his voice low and scratchy.
“I feel like… I am dreaming?”
“You’re not. I love you.”
Ilya wasn’t sure his heart could take any more of this. It felt like it was pushing up against his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Hard to thing. Hard to do anything except hold Shane down and kiss him over and over again. Shane came up with an idea. A change of narrative. A charity and hockey camps. Ilya told Shane about his mother and Shane said they could donate the money for the charity to mental health. He asked Ilya for his mother’s name.
“Irina.” Ilya hadn’t said her name in so long, it felt strange in his mouth. “Why?”
“I was just thinking, for the charity. I think we should give the money to mental health organizations. Maybe… suicide prevention?”
Shane was looking away, as if he were embarrassed, but Ilya held his chin and guided his face toward him.
“It was just an idea,” Shane said quietly.
And Ilya was not going to cry right now. He’d done that enough last night.
“Shane. I love that idea.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. It’s very…” Fuck. What was the right word? Was there a right word for everything Ilya was feeling in the moment? He couldn’t think of one, so instead he said, “She would have loved you… like I do.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
“Yes. Me, too.”
“We’ll still only see each other a few times during the season,” Shane complained.
“Maybe I find Canadian team?” Ilya offered.
“Ottawa has the cap space and it’s only two hours from here,” Shane said, eyes lighting up with excitement.
“We would still be rivals,” Ilya pointed out.
“Not as much, though. Especially not once we announce the charity. We wouldn’t have to pretend to be enemies off the ice anymore,” Shane told him.
Shane looked ready to keep going when Ilya interrupted him with a kiss.
“Okey,” he agreed.
“Really?” Shane asked.
“Really.”
Shane kissed Ilya back, desperate now. He needed Ilya close. As close as possible. Ilya needed him just as much. Ilya’s phone ringing stopped them before they could get started, though, Marlow’s name on the screen.
“What?” Ilya demanded.
“Plane leaves in a few hours,” Marly reminded him. “Are you meeting us at the airport or are you coming back here? I need to know if I should grab your stuff.”
Ilya groaned unhappily, head tipping back and everything.
“Fine. I will be there soon,” Ilya told him.
“Alright, man. Tell Jane I said you better be in one piece or I’m throwing him into the boards next time we play,” Marly said before hanging up.
Ilya’s eyes widened, phone still pressed to his ear. He slowly lowered it before turning his head to Shane.
“Yeah, he knows,” Shane admitted, nervous again.
“How?” Ilya asked, confused now.
He’d thought Shane was going to panic. Shane already knew that Marly knew.
“He wasn’t going to let you leave with me unless he knew you trusted me to take you. I told him I was Jane,” Shane shrugged.
“You told him?”
“Is that… okay?”
“Da.”
Ilya was kissing Shane again. Shane giggled, actually GIGGLED, as Ilya kissed every bit of his face.
“We should get you back,” Shane sighed.
“I hate hockey,” Ilya decided. “Will retire. Become WAG.”
“Haha,” Shane rolled his eyes. “Get off me.”
“Not what you usually say, milaya,” Ilya wagged his brows, causing Shane to laugh again before pushing on his shoulder so he’d move.
“Milaya?” Shane asked. “What’s that? You called me it on the ice once.”
“Sweetheart,” Ilya answered.
“Oh,” Shane blushed. “What else have you called me? There was a mo- moyo so-”
“Moyo solnyshko. My sunshine.”
“And one that started with ka-to?”
“Kotyonok. Kitten.”
“Seriously?” Shane glared at him, a light blush still making his freckles more pronounced.
“Yes. Because when you are angry you look like little angry kitten. Is very cute,” Ilya smiled, booping Shane’s nose at the end of his explanation.
Shane slapped at his hand when he did it, causing Ilya to laugh. Shane just rolled his eyes and handed Ilya his clothes from the night before. Ilya refused to change back into his outfit, though, deciding to stay in Shane’s clothes instead. He felt comfortable and he still smelt like Shane. He refused to lose that so immediately.
Shane drove him to the hotel, parking by a side door where Marly was waiting for him to sneak him back in. Ilya turned to Shane when he parked the car, sadness in both of their eyes.
“All Stars,” Shane reminded him.
“All Stars,” Ilya nodded before looking around, making sure the coast was clear.
He leaned in, giving Shane a quick kiss before hurrying out of the car. Shane smiled as he watched him go, feeling like he was about to melt into his seat. He waited until Ilya was inside with Marlow before driving away, mind stuck on Ilya telling him he loved him. He stopped smiling as he remembered he had to return to an empty apartment.
He walked inside, setting his shoes on the rack where they belonged. He put his keys in the bowl by the door and hung his jacket in the closet. He tidied the kitchen and living room up before moving to the bedroom. He sighed and fell onto his bed, pulling Ilya’s pillow close and smelling it. Should he feel weird about that? No, he shouldn’t. Ilya had been doing the same thing when he’d gotten home.
Shane stretched before looking over towards the bedside table, seeing Ilya’s Coke still there. He sighed and sat up, ready to dump what was left in the can in the kitchen when he saw it. A note with neat handwriting left just for him. Ilya must have left it there while Shane was in the bathroom before they left.
‘I love you moyo solnyshko. See you in two weeks. Kisses. Ilya
PS your handwriting is almost as terrible as backhand’
Shane had never been so happy to be chirped before in his life.