Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ottawa, Canada

December 9th, 2023

"Chto?"

"Da, Ilya. Mne tozhe priyatno poluchit' ot vas soobshcheniye." His brother flatly opened with.

It was, in fact, not nice to hear from Alexei, and he knew it. 

"Well, you only call when you want something, so what is it?" Ilya questioned in Russian, pinching the bridge of his nose and wanting to get this over with. He prepared his statements in his head: Is my niece sick? Does she need things for school? Are you about to lose the condo? No? Then fuck off.

"You're married now." Alexei stated plainly. Not a question, and certainly not a congratulations. Even though Alexei's tone was sour, Ilya's heart fluttered a bit. 

Fuck yeah, I'm married.

"Oh, so this is a call to congratulate me? Very sweet." Ilya grumbled without a hint of sincerity.

"They are tearing down 997."

Ilya stopped, mid-pace. He swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly tight. He knew "997" referred to their childhood home- the house that held the last memories of his mother... including the very last memory of his mother. Ilya had always avoided it as much as he possibly could.

"What? Who?" 

"The city. It's not safe anymore, and they want to buy the plot." 

Ilya tried not to let himself feel anything.

"You can sell the plot." The last thing Ilya needed was unfinished business in Russia- especially not with that house.

"Whatever! Thought I'd give you a heads up before everything's destroyed."

Destroyed.

"Oh, how fucking thoughtful of you, Alexei. Your Nobel Peace Prize is in the mail." 

To be honest, Ilya was kind of glad Alexei called to let him know. A little shocked, even.

"Then don't come! We don't want you and your faggot husband anywhere near Moscow anyway." 

That was more like Alexei.

Ilya saw red. His whole body seized up, and his fists clenched.

Shane froze, eyes blown a little wider than normal. What was that? It sounded like something fell hard. 

"... Dorogoy?" He called out hesitantly, glancing up from where he was answering emails on his laptop in the kitchen. He didn't get any response in return, and Ilya wasn't speaking in an angry slew of Russian anymore. Even if using Russian wasn't clue enough, then Ilya's demeanor told Shane everything he needed to know once he answered his phone: Alexei was on the other end of the line. He hadn't spoken to his brother in nearly two years. Shane would never forget how that last phone call had ended. 

"Ostav' menya v pokoye, Alexei." Ilya had said, and even though Shane hadn't been fast enough to translate that part, the next sentence he had understood. "Ya zanyat i vlyublyon."

I'm busy and in love. 

Then, Ilya had hung up on the sound of Alexei trying to argue on the other end of the line and attacked Shane with kisses all over his neck.

It didn't seem like Ilya would be left in such a good mood this time.

Shane felt a pang of worry shoot through his chest as he got up and slowly made his way down to the gym where Ilya had retreated. After the last call from Alexei, Shane tried to assure Ilya that he didn't have to hide at the other end of the house every time they talked, but Ilya had admitted that he didn't like Shane seeing him like that. By the end of their phone calls, Ilya was usually too loud to hide from Shane anyway. He didn't have siblings himself, but he felt the pain in Ilya's voice every single phone call. 

Now, Shane was trying to prepare himself for whatever state Ilya was in this time. 

It wasn't great. 

The first thing Shane noticed was the hole in the wall. Immediately after, he found Ilya crumpled below it, his eyes set forward, and eyebrows pinched together angrily. His shoulders were rising and falling dramatically with his breaths. 

"Ilya..." 

The sound of Shane's voice alerted him, and Ilya's eyes locked with his husband's.

"Um..." He seemed to almost come out of a trance, glancing down at the drywall on the floor and the hole above his head. "...sorry."

Shane could see the guilt in his face, even though Ilya's whole body was wound tight, his knee bouncing anxiously with his jaw set. 

Shane crossed the room towards Ilya, whose arms were crossed protectively around his middle, knees bent, back against the wall. Shane sat similarly next to him, reaching over to try to take Ilya's hand in his own. The stubborn prick kept his arm tightly wound around himself and away from Shane, though, making Hollander frown. He nudged at Ilya's arm again, pulling at it until Ilya's hand was revealed from where he had tucked it away from view. 

Jesus. 

Every knuckle was bleeding, and Shane was positive there'd be bruising setting in soon. It wasn't horrible, but he still hated it.

"Ilya..." Because he still didn't know what else to say at the moment. Shane took his injured hand in his lap and ghosted gentle fingertips along the back.

"Sorry," Ilya repeated, barely audible. 

"Sh." Shane murmured, gentle but final. He leaned over with a firm yet gentle hand on the opposite side of Ilya's face and pressed a long kiss on Ilya's temple before standing up and reaching for his good hand. Ilya accepted and allowed Shane to lead him upstairs.

A moment later, they were on the couch, and Shane was carefully bandaging Ilya's wounds. He hadn't said anything yet, but Shane could feel the remaining shake in his hand and see the fire in his eyes.

"All done." Shane sighed, setting the bloody paper towels and bandaging aside. When he turned back to start asking Ilya questions, he was already lowering his head into Shane's lap. Shane immediately moved one hand to play with Ilya's hair and the other to rub his shoulder without even thinking- like he had an automatic setting built into him. He felt the anger slowly melt from Ilya's body underneath his touch.

Shane wished he could somehow soak up his pain- take some of it for himself if not just to give Ilya a fucking break for once.

Finally, Rozanov let out a big sigh. 

"I have to go to Russia very quick." 

Shane's mind short-circuited while he processed what Ilya had just said, but he willed his hand to continue its gentle stroking of Ilya's curls. It was quiet for a long while, Shane's brain churning with all the horrible possibilities until he simply said, 

"No." 

He could feel Ilya's eyebrow twitch into a frown underneath where the palm of his hand rested. He scoffed. 

"No? I'm not?" 

"No."

It was all Shane could think to say at the moment- his mind was racing too fast to catch up with. He felt Ilya freeze in his lap and was sure he was a little shocked; Shane was hardly ever this assertive with him. He never really told Ilya what to do; in fact, he liked it the other way around a little more than he'd like to admit. Outside of the bedroom, though, Shane wouldn't hold back. Not about something like this.

Ilya rose from Shane's lap to look him square in the eye, but Shane didn't dare alter his stony expression- he couldn't if he tried. He and Ilya bickered about silly things often, but Shane was dead serious about this. So serious, in fact, he began to feel his eyes sting.

"Hey," Ilya immediately swooned, studying Shane's face that undoubtedly came off as pouty, but he didn't care. "Zloy kotik," Ilya murmured, running his undamaged knuckles gently along Shane's cheekbone. He decided to ignore the annoying pet name that Ilya knew just irked him further.

"No." Shane repeated again, remaining strong in his resolve.

"Shane..."  

"No, it's too dangerous." 

“I will be fine, moy vozlyublenniy. Just a few things from the house before it's gone. Easy."

"Yeah, as the most notable Russian to ever come out, like... fucking... ever."

"Pfft..."

"The death threats and- and- accusations of treason, and-" 

"Yes, please. Remind me more how my country hates me." 

"Is that not the point?"

Ilya sighed and flickered his eyes back and forth, seemingly searching for words. Eventually,

"If I don't go and collect stuff now, it'll be gone forever."

Shane's shoulders slumped a bit at this. He didn't know what Ilya was referring to specifically, but he imagined there must be plenty of stuff from his childhood that he might want. Pictures, keepsakes, documents... maybe even drawings that little Ilya did? Maybe a tattered old stuffed animal that little Ilya couldn't go to sleep without every night? 

Jesus. Stay strong, Hollander.

"Can't Alexei, like..." Shane stopped short of saying 'send you stuff' even though that was the way more practical answer if Alexei wasn't such a tool. Ilya gave Shane a look, and he immediately dropped it. Stupid. There's no way Alexei would do shit, and Ilya wouldn't trust him to even if he did. "Okay, yeah... I know."

"Listen. Shane. It won't-" 

"I- No. Still no." Shane sputtered out, the awful hypotheticals still violently tumbling around his mind.

Ilya seemed to give up on words at that point and elected to just stare at Shane instead... which he hated. Whenever Shane was far past entertaining Ilya's side of an argument, he'd just look at him. His eyes would rake over Shane's face before settling on his eyes. Ilya's blue orbs would desperately search Shane's, flickering back and forth before softening... begging, Shane to understand. 

Goddamnit, Rozanov. 

Shane groaned and let his head fall back, his arms covering his eyes. Of course, he understood- or at least as much as he could with his admittedly perfect life. Ilya had little to no remnants of his childhood or Russia. His whole life, while Shane knew he loved it, was completely transformed when he officially moved to Canada. He desperately wanted Ilya to still have things that connected him to everything that made him the man he loved. 

But did it have to involve Ilya putting himself in danger?

“Fine… then I’ll just come with you.” Shane decided. Ilya snorted in response, which just annoyed him. 

“Yes, this will make it better. I will flaunt my new husband all over Moscow.”

He knew they were arguing, but the sound of Ilya calling him his husband always gave Shane wonderful pause. 

“We can be… inconspicuous.”

Ilya shot him a look that said, 'different English, please'.

“Nonchalant, like... quiet, secretive. In case you’ve forgotten, we did get pretty good at that.”

“And how is that going?”

Ilya knew how it was going. The whole world found out by accident. 

“You are not coming.” Ilya reaffirmed, pushing himself off of the couch to his feet. 

“Why not?” Shane stood and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Because.” 

“Yeah, because it’s dangerous. Like I said.”

Ilya threw up his hands in frustration.

“Shane! Obviously, it’s more dangerous than here. Yes. I get in, I get out. Never return again.” Ilya tapered off it as if he were trying to comfort himself more than Shane. Shane sighed and tried to redirect his approach. It wasn't like he thought coming to Russia with Ilya would protect him from everything, per se, but it was more than that. Shane knew Ilya was horrified by the idea of going back to Russia even before they were outed to the world. He could already see the ways that the mere idea of it all was affecting him, and he didn't want Ilya to have to face it alone.

“It’s not just that.” Shane cornered Ilya and forced him to look him in the eyes as they spoke. “I know you hate the idea of going back- of being back. I know you hate that house. I know it’s going suck, so just… I want to be there for you." Jesus, Shane didn't know how it still made him feel slightly nervous to say these things after all these years. Maybe because he was genuinely afraid Ilya was going to deny him the chance to be there for him.

Here it goes anyway. "Please?”

Ilya felt his face soften.

Goddamnit, Shane Hollander. He thought. The minute Shane got all shy and vulnerable with him, it tore Ilya right open. He cocked his head to the side and stepped into the final bit of space separating he and Shane. He raised the back of his fingers to a freckled cheek. 

“You would take that beautiful gay ass all the way to Russia just to be there for me?”

Shane huffed a laugh.

“I would take this gay ass anywhere for you.”

Ilya buried his face in the crook of Shane’s neck. He couldn't help himself as he pressed slow kisses along Shane's throat.

“Mm… beautiful gay ass.”

“Sure.”

“Say it.”

“Beautiful gay ass.” Shane scoffed and whispered the distinction with a small smile and eye roll.

“Mmm… maybe I will let you come.”

Ilya sank down to his knees, immediately moving to undo Shane's belt buckle. This was instantly met with a small noise of surprise from Shane, and Ilya mustered up his best mock-concerned expression before turning his eyes up to Shane's.

“Oh, you thought I meant to Russia?”

The realization spread across Shane's face before he tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling in frustration. Ilya couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. He loved toying with him. 

Shane turned his gaze back down and gripped a comfortable handful of Ilya’s locks. He playfully tugged his head back, shaking his own head at Ilya's mischievous smile. He knew he looked much too happy with himself, and he didn't care.

Shane’s grin fell, though, and the hand gripping Ilya’s hair released him to gently run through his curls instead. Shane's thumb gently grazed the top of Ilya's forehead. 

"Ilya," He breathed, the fight gone out of him and replaced with a quiet, sad beg.

And for once, it isn't for my dick.

Ilya scolded himself.

He let out a deep breath and gently gripped Shane's hips in his hands. Ilya fought the urge to let his eyes drift close to the feeling of Shane's hand in his hair, and he looked him softly in the eye from his knees instead. 

"Okay." 

Shane's eyebrows rose cautiously. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yes." Ilya plainly confirmed, turning his gaze down and pulling himself into Shane to kiss the skin just above the waistband of his jeans underneath the hem of his shirt. When he turned to look back at Shane, he noted the slight fluster in his face. Ilya loved that he could still have the effect he had on him. "You can come to Russia," He leaned in and gave Shane's stomach a final kiss before raising to his feet and holding his husband's face in his hands, making sure his eyes were locked with Ilya's. "If you go straight to the bedroom and promise to be good for me." 

As always, Shane didn't hesitate. 

Chapter Text

Ilya's hands gripped Shane's wrists and pinned them to either side of his head on the mattress. His damaged hand was a little sore from punching through the drywall downstairs, but he ignored it. He took no time to attack Shane's neck, nipping and kissing along the column of his throat, but being sure not to leave marks- they had practice later, and they were still getting shit for the state of Shane's neck following their honeymoon. But he wanted to leave marks- he wanted it to be clear that Shane was his in every way he could. 

"Stay." Ilya instructed, giving Shane's wrists a double squeeze before releasing them. Shane did as he was told and kept his hands held in place. Rozanov lowered himself to hover over Shane's spread body.  "Mm...Ty takoy poslushnyy dlya menya..." He murmured against Shane's collarbone. So good for me. Shane groaned and arched his back with a contented shudder. Ilya knew he understood that one. Ilya regretfully let a more serious tone seep into his sexy drawl for a moment. "Shane..."

"Mm?" Shane mumbled, eyes heavy and entranced as he peered up at Ilya, who hovered over his chest. "If we run into any trouble... anything even a little weird, I need you to trust me and do what I say."

Shane hummed and slightly nodded before attempting to roll his hips up into Ilya's for more friction. Rozanov refused to give him the satisfaction, pressing the palms of his hands into Shane's hipbones and pinning him to the mattress. His husband gave a whine of disapproval. 

Ilya wasn't trying to be enticing this time, though. The thoughts of all that could happen in Russia were swirling through his head. He'd do anything to keep Shane safe. 

"I'm serious, moy konvert." 

Shane stilled briefly and blinked as he thought. 

"Envelope?"

"Da." 

Shane snorted at yet another odd choice, but sucked in a sharp breath when Ilya rewarded him by thrusting against him. The heat was building deep in his own stomach, too, and he could feel himself getting hard against Shane, but he tried to keep his composure. Ilya was feeling a lot of things about Shane coming to Russia with him- his husband coming to Russia with him. He planned on showing Shane just how much it all meant to him right here in their bed for as long as Shane could take it. He wanted him to remember this one forever. 

"But, yeah. I know." Shane let out a shaky breath. "I'll follow your lead." Ilya watched Shane's eyes flutter closed and his hands bunched in the sheets, trying to continue to obey Ilya's orders and stay still. 

Fuck, it was hot. Shane looked so good spread out beneath him, squirming and needy but wanting to please Ilya. It struck him again, because he could hardly believe it- Shane was coming to Moscow. The most beautiful man on earth, his favorite person in the universe, the love of his life in Moscow. How odd. He didn't know how he felt; scared mostly... but also a bit tickled?

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Ilya muttered against Shane's chest as he pressed kisses down his body. His hands went to Hollander's belt a little faster than he meant to, but Ilya was growing hungry too. 

"Hey, I was the one who begrudgingly allowed this trip." 

"Sure, Hollander." 

After getting Shane fully naked, Ilya began a mix of brutally teasing and wantonly worshipping him. He kissed and licked and nipped down his body, always just barely avoiding Shane's already-hard cock that was not-so-patiently waiting to be touched.

"Ilya..." Came the first breathy beg as Ilya laid kisses to the inside of Shane's thighs. He smiled against Shane's hip and rested his chin there, his eyes peering up at that angry little freckled frown he loved.

"Yes? Do you need something?"

Shane let out a frustrated huff, but his eyes softened as he gazed down at Ilya's face, so close to where he needed it. 

"Please touch my cock." 

Before he even finished the sentence, Ilya put his mouth to work. He swallowed as much as he could and enjoyed the loud moans it pulled from Shane. When his husband's breathing picked up and his legs started to tremble, though, Ilya pulled off and returned to gentle kisses along Shane's stomach. The next groan from him was one of displeasure, but he didn't say anything. He must've caught on to the game Ilya wanted to play with him. 

For the next few minutes, Ilya continued to torture Shane, bringing him to the edge multiple times. 

"Please let me come." Shane arched his back off the bed and tried to push his hips up to find Ilya's warm mouth again, but he was already leaning back and enjoying the sight of the whimpering mess in front of him. 

"No." 

He wanted to see how much he could take, even if it was truthfully killing Ilya as well. His own dick was begging to be touched, but he focused on Shane by running the tip of his tongue up the length of his shaft. He ever-so-gently licked the slit before slowly sucking him. Shane tried to raise his hips for more and Ilya held him down, his thumbs pressing firmly into the soft places just inside Shane's hip bones. 

"Hey. No moving. Do what you're told." 

"Screw you, Rozanov." 

"Only if you are a good boy." Ilya winked at him before returning his mouth to his dick.

He brought Shane to the point that Ilya lovingly referred to as “bessmyslennoye otchayaniye” which indirectly translated to Shane being so gone that all he could do was make these desperate mewling noises that sent shockwaves straight to Ilya’s dick.

God, he was going to fuck him so good. But first...

"Don't you dare come." Ilya could feel the blood rushing through Shane's cock as he stroked him agonizingly slow with his good hand. He watched Shane shake with the effort to keep himself together, his abdomen tight and his hands still bunched in the sheets beside his head. Dangerously dark brown orbs peered at him through eyes scrunched in pain. 

"Ilya," he whispered, pleading. He was suffering deliciously. Instead of responding, Rozanov wrapped his mouth around Shane again, bobbing up and down on his cock a few times and gently massaging the area right under Shane's balls. He felt Shane tense and glanced up to see him throw his head back and groan. If possible, Ilya felt Shane's cock grow even just a bit more in his mouth, and he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. Besides, Shane's frantic panting was making him feel a little bad for him. 

When Ilya was sure Shane couldn't take the sensation of his dick reaching Ilya's throat one more time, he slowly pulled himself off Shane's cock. He made sure to give the tip a little lick for good measure, then looked up at Shane to assess the damage. 

He was wrecked. His forehead was covered with a sheen of sweat, his entire body was vibrating, his eyes were screwed shut, and his dick was granite hard, wet from Ilya's efforts. He took his finger and pulled Shane's dick back towards himself before letting it go and enjoying the wet slap as it hit Shane's stomach. 

"GOD. FUCK." Shane gasped, legs bending at the knee a bit as it was the only movement Ilya was allowing. He repeated the motion two more times while continuing to massage over Shane's perineum. Watching the love of his life completely unravel in their bed was starting to get to Ilya. 

Alright, enough. 

He suddenly swallowed Shane's dick a couple more times before it seemed he, too, would lose his mind if they kept at it like this. 

“I can’t, I can’t- please,” There was a break in Shane's voice that almost devastated Ilya into actually feeling guilty. He tried not to show it. Instead, Ilya gave the tip of Shane's penis a little kiss before once again hooking his index finger around it and pulling it back away from where Shane's chest was heaving. Ilya held his dick hostage there while he spoke. 

“Mmm, as long as I can still have my way with you after. I’m hardly finished with you, Hollander.”

“Fine. Ye- yes. I’ll do whatever you want."

Ilya brushed the pad of his thumb across Shane's slit. He gasped, and his body shook.

“Mmm... Still not convinced.” Ilya dipped his head down next to Shane's cock that was begging for release and simply breathed hot air against him. 

“Ilya... Ilya, Il- Oh FUCK. Ilya. Ilya please. I’m yours to do whatever you want with, just please, Ilya. Let me come.”

The amount of "Ilya's" thrown in there was extremely endearing and incredibly hot. He moved himself up Hollander's body so that he could lean down next to Shane's ear while still holding his cock pulled back at an angle. Ilya's nose nudged Shane's ear, and he took a moment to nibble at his earlobe. Hooking a leg around Shane's, Ilya's body now hovered over him, and could feel his husband's desperate tremble. With the hand that wasn't holding Shane's dick back, he grabbed a firm yet gentle handful of his hair and tugged, earning another gasp. 

Ilya's cock was pressed up against Shane's hip with only his boxer briefs in between them. Plus, Shane was practically quivering, so needless to say, all that stimulation went straight to Ilya's dick. He moaned and ground himself into Shane as he listened one last time to the pleading whimpers and choked gasps that came from his Shane.

And then, finally, Ilya whispered against Shane's ear: “You may come for me.”

Ilya released the hold he had on Shane's cock, even giving it a little flick so it thudded harder against Shane's abdomen one last time. Ilya wasn't confident that it would be enough, but it was. The moment Shane's cock came into contact with his stomach, Shane arched and cried out, his entire body tensing into stillness. Ilya kept gently grinding into Shane's hip as he reached down and fondled Shane's balls while he came all over his stomach. Shane's head was thrown back, which allowed Ilya to gently suck right over the pulse of his throat that was beating so fast it was almost alarming. Shane made the most adorable, sexiest fucking choked whimpers Ilya had ever heard from him.

Not to mention, all of his work seemingly paid off, because Shane came for a while. Ilya was pleasantly surprised by how long it took until his cock ceased pulsing and his body gave its final shudders. He could feel Shane's muscles unwinding, leaving him limp and sunken deep into the bed, stomach painted in cum. 

“Moy krasivyy shlyushka." Ilya cooed, nuzzling Shane's cheek. Hollander took a long, shaky breath that ended in an embarrassed chuckle. 

“Jesus, I am a slut for you.”

"Are you just realizing this?" Ilya smirked and bent down to press a light kiss to the tip of Shane's nose. He then hurried to the bathroom to wet down some paper towels because he knew how much Shane hated to be dirty, even if it was after one of the best orgasms of his life. 

When he returned, Ilya was delighted to see that Shane hadn't moved an inch. He stayed in perfect position, hands still raised, pressed to the bed.

Ilya took his time cleaning him up, laying little kisses across his body and ending with a long one on Shane's forehead. 

“Can I move now?”

“Mm-mm. What did I tell you, moy lyubimyy?” He held his face firmly in one hand and commanded Shane’s gaze.

“….thaaaat you’re not done with me?”

"Not even a little." 

Ilya jumped on the bed in between Shane's legs, grabbing him behind the knees and suddenly bending him in half.

It didn't take long for Shane to get hard the way Ilya was tonguing him... everywhere. His body was an absolute puddle in Ilya's hands, and he was acutely aware that he had zero control right now. He needed Ilya so fucking bad, he'd do anything. Not to mention, his husband had been worshipping him a little extra right now, and it was sending Shane into the best spiral.

Ilya had moved to sucking Shane's dick again when he eventually pressed the first finger into him, eliciting a sharp inhale from Shane. Ilya took his time with him, massaging Shane's entrance before adding a second finger and starting to loosen him up. In the next twenty seconds, Shane couldn't help his grunts and moans as he shamelessly humped Ilya's hand while he stroked his prostate. It was excruciating for his hands to be stuck up where Ilya left them in their invisible binds, but admittedly even more sexy. 

“Fuck,” Shane complained when Ilya removed himself and got off the bed. He felt empty and shaky and wanting... wanting Ilya's cock inside him specifically, but he was really making Shane work for it today. Something had definitely come over him, and Shane knew it must've been the thought of returning to Russia, but he figured he'd address that later. Besides, he was hardly complaining. 

Distracted by his thoughts, Shane suddenly felt something blunt and slicked with cold lube at his entrance, and his eyes snapped open. Ilya had the slightest mischievous grin as he hovered over Shane. Hollander frantically ran through a mental list of their growing supply of sex toys, but before he could figure it out, the vibrating started against him.

Oh, it was that one. 

“Ilya…” he said in a warning tone. He didn’t even know what he was warning against; it was just his go-to.

“Shaaaaane” Ilya grinned cheekily back, gripping Shane’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Shane watched as Ilya’s eyes flitted back and forth, searching his face for confirmation. Shane nodded his head and admired the way Ilya bit his lip and gave that coveted lopsided grin.

“Relax,” Ilya cooed, expertly easing the vibrating plug in. Shane inhaled sharply before settling into a stuttering sigh. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the feeling of something literally vibrating from inside of him- not to mention the way Ilya was slowly fucking him with the toy all the while- not only pumping it in and out, but rotating and hitting every single nerve ending possible. Eventually, Ilya lowered Shane’s legs back down but kept a finger on the end of the plug, pulsing it inside Shane. Hollander’s eyes widened when he glanced down through heavy eyelids to see Ilya engulfing his cock in his mouth.

“Fuck.”

It took Shane an embarrassingly short amount of time to reach the same state as he was before- a trembling mess without a thought in his head except,

Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.

And admittedly, possibly…

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

And because he literally couldn’t take it anymore, Shane voiced as much.

“Ilya I- you have to fuck me. I can’t last like this.” He barely managed to get the plea out. 

“Ay. What did you tell me, ah? I’ll do whatever you want, Ilya. I’m all yours, Ilya. Anything to come, Ilya.”

“FUCK you.”

“You wish.”

Shane rolled his eyes but wasn't convinced that it came off as a gesture of annoyance rather than one resulting from the tightening bundle of pleasure in his gut. Ilya resumed playing with his cock and the plug in his ass until he was heaving. To both Shane's delight and dismay, though, Ilya had gotten to know his body so well over the years that he always clocked when Shane was about to fall over the edge and could always keep him on the brink. Today, he was being extra mean, though, and Shane made a mental note not to let him forget it later.

Typically, he didn’t hold it out this long, but he was enjoying watching his freckled mess below him. But Ilya's cock was desperate to feel Shane around him, and said Shane didn't look like he could hold on much longer. 

Ilya looks at him for a while. He can't help it. Again, his hands were white-knuckled, twisting the sheets. His cock was ready, and his body was heaving. 

His cock twitched in his boxers. 

Fuck.

Feeling bad for both of them now, Ilya slowly eased the plug out, but with the vibration still on- he didn't feel that bad. Shane clearly tried his best to stay still, his arms straining still held in place, and his heels digging into the mattress. 

“So pretty. So fucking beautiful.” After the plug was tossed aside, he kissed up Shane's body to his face, scrunched in painful concentration. 

"Need you. Need you, please." Shane begged. Ilya couldn't wait to see what would happen next... he ran his hands along Shane's forearms until he reached his wrists, still "locked" in place by his own order.

Ilya leaned down next to Shane's ear. “Okay," he murmured in a low tone. He gently tapped both of Shane's wrists. "You are released.”

It was a flash... Faster than a flash by the time Shane had leaped up and shoved Ilya to his back, propped up against their pillows. He was on top of him instantly, so quick that Ilya was genuinely impressed. He didn't have long to think about it, though, because Shane instantly was furiously humping him through his underwear. Ilya didn't even have time to be, once again after all these years, shocked by the force of Shane's need- he was in his own pleasurable hell, clothed cock rubbing against Shane's. Ilya groaned and let his forehead fall against Shane's shoulder.

“Mmm. Sweetheart...” Ilya tries to manage, pressing needy kisses to Shane's collarbone. He was going to tell Shane that he better let him fuck him before they both finish too soon, but it seemed Shane understood without the words. 

Shane moved to tear Ilya's boxers off, but he wasn't expecting him to literally tear them off. The sound of fabric ripping as Shane pulled it out of the way had Ilya scoffing. 

"Shane Hollander!" He jokingly berated, and he thought for sure he'd get a mumbled apology back, but instead,

"Shut up." Shane practically commanded, and Ilya was reeling. 

I've created a monster. He thought, both amused and insanely turned on. 

And then, without a second to spare, Shane sank down onto Ilya way sooner and swifter and deeper than he was prepared for. He was going to suggest more lube, but it seemed like Shane didn't care.

“FUCK.” Ilya couldn't help the shocked groan that escaped him as he felt every single nerve ending on fire. How was it that after all this time, being inside Shane always felt like home and brand new at the same time? Ilya reveled in the way that not only did his dick feel incredibly good sheathed inside Shane, but his heart felt safe too. They stayed like that for only a second, but it felt like a lifetime as they breathed heavy against one another, as close as they could possibly be. 

But Ilya knew he had teased Shane to the point that he was operating on a hair-trigger; he needed more, and he needed it now. Ilya gasped as his husband rode him hard, gripping Ilya's shoulder and arm almost painfully as the headboard rammed the wall repeatedly. 

"Holy shit, Hollander." Ilya breathed, reaching up a hand to grip the back of Shane's neck so he could thrust up and pull him down simultaneously. He must've hit the right spot like that, because Shane cried out in his shoulder, the choked sound of pleasure making Ilya's cock twitch inside of him. 

God, I love him. Ilya managed to have one single thought, as he was currently losing his mind. Still keeping their punishing pace, Ilya grabbed Shane's face in one hand and crashed their lips together, the kiss sloppy and hungry. Shane moaned in Ilya's mouth.

I'll do anything for you.

And in that moment, Ilya knew especially how true that was. He wanted to give Shane everything he wanted and more. He wanted to take care of him forever.

I will always take care of you. Always.

With that, Ilya grunted as he whipped them over and shoved Shane down so his chest was pressed into the mattress. He gripped his hips and slid his cock back into Shane, reaching forward to grab one of his shoulders for leverage as he started pounding him so hard that he almost surprised himself. He was about to ask Shane if he was doing okay, but-

"FUCK. Yes, yes... please..." Shane mumbled, barely intelligible. Ilya had noticed he had tried to give more affirmation during sex over the years, especially when Ilya would get rough. It was cute. Plus, they both knew he'd be getting a few "Is okay's?" if he didn't. It was important to Ilya because he genuinely did lose himself when he fucked Shane. He wanted him so fucking bad. He wanted more. Harder. Deeper. Anything to be closer to Shane.

Ilya leaned over Shane's body, putting more of his weight on his back and driving into him at a new angle. Shane gasped and gripped the sheets while Ilya glanced up at the precariously placed bedroom mirror and watched them. 

Damn, we're hot.

Ilya marveled at the way Shane shook and panted with each thrust, his mouth hung open, needy moans escaping. Ilya moved his hand from Shane's shoulder to run through his hair and push his face further into the mattress. They both were covered with a sheen of sweat, and Ilya could tell that they both weren't lasting much longer. Wanting it to be a mad sprint to the finish line, Ilya took a deep breath and doubled his efforts, holding Shane tight. He was struck by how this whole need for Shane started today- Russia. His husband was coming to Russia, and somehow that was hot and terrifying. Right then, Ilya realized that he felt like Shane was his to keep safe. The fact that his home country would do anything to break that up made him even more protective of Shane. He was his, and he'd burn down the world if it meant showing that to everyone.

"Ty moi. Mine." He growled against Shane's skin, lovingly kissing and sucking at the already-fading bite mark. 

 "Y- Yours." Shane gasped in a breathy agreement, the choked word punctuated by Ilya's thrusts. 

The sound of the headboard banging (they were planning on securing it to the wall), the slap of skin, and their frantic pants and moans were going to be the death of Ilya. Luckily, he felt Shane tense underneath him, his body straining more than usual. 

"Ilya-" He tried to warn him, barely able to get the word out.

“Konchi dlya menya.”

Ilya wasn't even sure if he had taught Shane that one yet, but he seemed to understand, or at least not be able to help himself, because Shane stilled with a scream muffled by the bedding. Ilya felt him tighten around his cock, and that was more than enough to do him in. Ilya was shocked by his own involuntary cry out as he bit Shane's shoulder again, snapping his hips into him a couple more times before stilling and kissing his shoulders and back over and over again. 

"Ya tebya lyublyu... Ya tebya lyublyu... Ya tebya lyublyu..." He whispered again and again, hardly even realizing it. 

He slipped out of Shane and collapsed beside him, his arm falling over Shane's heaving back. They both took a moment to gain their composure and enjoy the remaining post-orgasmic buzz throughout their bodies. When their breathing finally returned to normal, Ilya noticed that Shane was still trembling. 

"Are you okay?"

“Yes." Shane breathed out quickly in a dazed and dreamy tone. He hadn't even moved from where he had finished all over the bedsheets, which was more alarming than anything. Ilya gently rolled Shane over onto his back as he limply let Ilya do what he wanted. Sleepy brown eyes peered up at him adoringly, but there was still a hitch to his breathing.

"Shane... are you sure?" He sat above Shane's head, his knees on either side of his head so he could peer down at him. He gently massaged Shane's shoulders, trying to ease the tremor from them.

"Yes, fuck. Yes. I’m- wow. Fucking hell, Ilya.” His voice shook like his limbs, but a big, cheesy smile broke out on his face that dashed away Ilya's worries.

“Yeah,” Ilya humbly shrugged a shoulder. He didn't know where that had come from either. "I don't know." 

Shane let Ilya wipe him down, still feeling like his limbs were noodles.

"Thanks," he whispered lazily. His whole body still tingled, and he couldn't get his legs and arms to stop trembling, no matter how hard he tried. Shane didn't mind, though. He didn't mind one bit. He couldn't remember a time when he'd come so hard. 

"Mine." Ilya had said as he had railed him into their mattress. Shane stuttered a happy sigh at the memory, as if it weren't two minutes ago. 

Yours. 

Shane was too soupy and lost in his thoughts to notice Ilya wrapping him in a throw blanket until Ilya lifted him off the damn bed. 

"Hey!" Shane protested with a small laugh, forced to wrap his arms around Ilya's neck. Ilya knew Shane didn't like it when he did that, but to be honest, Shane didn't have any confidence in his legs to take him anywhere right now. 

Ilya took him to the living room, set him on the couch, and ensured the blanket was fully wrapped around him. Shane watched him in wonderment as he turned on ESPN, flew to the kitchen, and returned with a ginger ale. He opened it, put it on the coffee table in front of Shane, and leaned in to press a long kiss to the top of his head. 

"Stay." He said, but instead of the domineering way he had demanded it an hour ago, this one was soft and sickly sweet. Ilya gave Shane one more forehead kiss before he went back to their bedroom, no doubt to strip the bed. 

Shane was left with the biggest, stupid smile on his face. He thought back to the first time he and Ilya had hooked up- how it was always awkward after, and they both felt the need to revert back to pretending like they didn't care- like it was no big deal. 

Now, look at them... disgusting. So wonderfully disgusting. 

God, Shane was so in love. 

Ilya returned after he had thrown their bedding in the wash, sighing and sinking down into the couch next to Shane. Hollander threw some of his blanket over him, and they cuddled closer. 

"Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu." Shane said after a few minutes of them mindlessly staring at the TV, minds elsewhere. He saw Ilya smile out of the corner of his eye as his husband leaned in and kissed his shoulder lovingly. 

"Stopped shaking like chihuahua?"

"Shut up." 

"No, is cute." 

"Well, you fucking tortured me for, like, over an hour. You asshole." 

"You loved it." 

Shane didn't respond, and he didn't have to. Instead, he shot Ilya a side glance, his own grin spreading. 

For the next ten minutes, they cuddled in silence, both on their phones. Shane's brain was only just starting to work at full capacity again when he noticed the time. 

“Ilya, we have practice in two hours. Fuck.”

"Mm... yes. I will have the image of you squirming and begging all practice."

Shane rolled his eyes. 

“Did you see this?” Shane reached over to show Ilya a particularly wild play by the Admirals posted on Instagram. Ilya glanced over and nodded simply before his eyes returned to his own phone. Shane chuckled. He always saw reels before Shane. “You need to get offline.” 

“But they love me on the line.”

“Online.”

“I know,” Shane swore, Ilya messed up English on purpose just because he liked it when Shane got all matter-of-fact.

It was quiet for a little while longer before Shane swallowed and put his phone down. He guessed now was as good a time as any. 

“Are you nervous?”

“For what?”

“Being back? Russia?”

Shane glanced over at Ilya nervously, trying to read his face. His jaw set, and his eyes stared forward. For a terrifying moment, Shane thought he was going to go rigid and shut him out. But Ilya's eyes flitted over to meet his, and his whole body softened. Almost as if Ilya had realized where he was in that moment, he melted into Shane's lap instead. Shane's hand went to his hair.

“Yes, mostly just… to see old things. Old things I haven’t seen in a long time.”

Shane nodded, twisting one of Ilya's curls in his fingers. He was considering asking for more clarification, but Ilya broke the tension. 

“Such as Alexei’s old, fat fuck of a face.”

Shane snorted and kissed Ilya's shoulder. He already knew that might be the toughest part, even if they really were only meeting to swap keys briefly. 

“Maybe you should see if Svetlana wants to come too… to Moscow, I mean.”

Ilya cocked an eyebrow. Shane had admittedly always been a little weird about Svetlana, but he loved that Ilya had her as a friend. He just wished he didn't have to think of them fucking every time he saw them together.

"This is a good idea. She may already be there for Christmas and such." 

"Oh, yeah..." 

Shane had almost forgotten about that part. They hardly had any time off, and most certainly couldn't both miss any practice or meetings on the same team. They had four days off for Christmas, and it was the only way they'd make it to Russia and back. He still hadn't told his mother, but he knew she wouldn't be thrilled. 

"Want to shower?" Ilya peered over at Shane, who glared back at him. He threw his hands up in defense. "No funny business! I'll leave your dick alone." 

Shane chuckled and finished his ginger ale before standing, letting the blanket slip from around him. 

"Uh-oh..." Ilya muttered from the couch. Shane glanced over his shoulder. 

"What?"

Ilya's eyes were wide, but a smile was spreading across his face as he looked at something on Shane's back. He tried to crane his neck to see what he was looking at, but couldn't reach. 

"What? Ilya! What?"

Ilya rose from the couch to give the back of Shane's shoulder a gentle kiss. 

"Nothing."

Chapter Text

Ottawa, Canada

December 24th, 2023

🎶 Дорогой Человек 🎶  (Right-click/Hold down to open in new tab)

When they boarded the plane, Shane was struck by the fact that this was only the second time he and his husband had flown together, as opposed to their many flights with the Centaurs. The first time had been their honeymoon in Spain.

But Ilya and Shane had also been married for two years. They had been together for six, and… whatever the fuck that was for more than ten. Was that… weird?

Of course. Our whole situation was weird.

Either way, Shane made a mental note to go a lot more places with Ilya once hockey was over. Or maybe even this summer if they could swing it, but he didn’t want to voice as much because he knew Ilya would get all excited and he hated to see him disappointed.

They splurged on a private flight to Moscow, because there was no world in which it’d be a good idea for the public to know Ilya Rozanov was returning to Russia with his very gay husband. Every precaution had to be taken, especially because Ilya still didn’t have his Canadian citizenship. They were so close in the multi-year process, and Shane hated that they couldn’t wait, but if they wanted any last remnants of Irina, it was now or never.

The FBO was perfectly private save for one employee on the tarmac who tried (and endearingly failed) to hide his excitement. But it wasn’t until they were fully in the air with their small cabin crew that Shane felt he could breathe again… until they were dropped off in Moscow, of course. The plane ride was also the last time they could show physical affection publicly again- it wasn’t something that was voiced, but rather understood between the two of them. And even though Shane knew that they were safe here 15,000 meters in the air (depending on who you asked- Ilya didn’t like flying much ever since the whole Centaur’s plane debacle), he still found them both a little tense… a little distant. If he was thinking of all his fears regarding Russia, then he knew Ilya was doing the same tenfold. It was strange that he wasn’t reaching for Shane’s hand as they settled down into their seats, his face hard and eyes locked out the window as they took off.

So, Shane did it. He held Ilya’s hand and drew circles over the back of his hand with his thumb. He rarely instigated physical touch with Ilya in public, but not because he didn’t want to. Granted, it took Shane a lot longer to avoid flinching once they were officially outted- hiding something for so long will do that to you- but he was much better at relaxing about it now.

Though it wasn't always easy when you had a whole team of hockey players constantly heckling you. 

For instance, a couple of weeks ago, following that fated call from Alexei; after Ilya had practically fucked Shane into oblivion and proceeded to leave out the fact that Shane had mouth-shaped bruises across the back of his right shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Shane had shot at Wyatt in annoyance, feeling his teammate’s hand at Shane’s bare back and noting the wide, dopey grin on his face.

“I’m measuring.” Wyatt had said, pulling back his hand to reveal his fingers, indicating a small distance of space. Shane scowled at him and glanced around the room to realize it wasn’t just Wyatt; most of the team was either holding back unbecoming giggles or waggling their eyebrows at Shane over teasing smiles. Ilya stepped into the locker room, clearly not privy to whatever shenanigans the team was brewing. Wyatt flew across the room and held his “measuring” indication up to his face.

“Roz, open your mouth for a second.”

“Fuck, off.” Ilya habitually slapped his hand away from his face, but the room had already broken out into,

“Oooooooooh’s” and nondescript teasing.

“Fuck you, guys.” Shane tried to crane his neck around to see his back again, but he realized he had already tried that earlier when Ilya was doing his own teasing… and hadn’t given him a single warning. God… were back hickeys even more embarrassing somehow? “I hit it at the game the other day."

“I hit it at the game! I hit it at the game!” The room burst out into mocking laughs as everyone finished gearing up and heading to the ice. Shane made sure to grab Ilya from the scruff of his shirt and yank him back to stay in the locker room a moment longer. Ilya yelped and looked back, a cocky smile spreading over his previously confused frown.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shane demanded in a hushed tone. Ilya’s eyes sparkled with his half-shrug, having the audacity to wink at Shane before following the rest of the team onto the ice. The asshole loved it- loved that people could see that Shane was his. And even though he wouldn’t be caught dead voicing it, Shane did too. Hollander was glad no one else was in the locker room to see the ghost of a grin on his face before he joined his team for practice.

So no, the reason Shane rarely instigated public intimacy wasn’t about being uncomfortable. The real reason was that Ilya would beat him to it every time, all the time. It was deeply rooted in his husband’s love language (most likely after years of deprivation, Shane always guessed), so it was nearly impossible for Shane to ever be left wanting. Now, Hollander knew he had to step up. This whole trip, he was going to have to step up; be there for Ilya in every way he could. It terrified Shane that maybe he wouldn’t do enough or be enough in a situation like this, but he focused his anxieties into the patterns he was drawing across Ilya’s skin.

The flight was over 9 hours, which was still a massive improvement from flying commercial. Once Ilya loosened up a little, he pulled out his tablet and pulled up the show he and Shane had started last week in preparation for Russia.

“What’s the name of the show again?” Ilya knew the name, he was just testing Shane.

“Melochi Zhizni.”

“And that means?”

“Um… Worries, or like… Trifles of Life?”

“Good job.”

Shane tries to keep his pride from showing.

They watch the show, and Ilya quizzes him. He’s happy to do it because it seems like a good distraction for Ilya, and Shane is admittedly terrified of sounding like a complete idiot in front of Ilya’s friends and family. He realized he had never truly given Ilya enough credit for all the work he’d done to learn English.

“What did she say?” Ilya tested him again.

“Um… I’m tired of your attitude?”

“Wow, Hollander. Good, you’ll need that with Alexei.”

Shane snorted and rolled his eyes, but he knew he wasn’t 100% joking.

“Now, in Russian.”

“Mne nadoyelo tvoye otnosheniye.”

Ilya smiles at him particularly sweetly this time and lingers. Shane snorts uncomfortably.

“What?”

“Your accent is very cute.”

“Stop! Oh my god, Ilya. Why would you say that? We’re like two hours out- don’t tell me I have an accent!”

“It is barely there. Calm down, moy vesnushka.”

“Freckle?” Shane guesses flatly, still not happy about the comment despite the way his stomach flipped at Ilya’s adoring gaze and cute nickname.

“Mm. Yes. See? You will be great.”

They continued watching, and Shane noticed that Ilya was the one to reach over for his hand this time. He tried not to act as excited as he felt as he ran his fingertips over Shane’s knuckles.

“Wait, what was that? She’s had a what?” Shane asked, frowning at the screen as if the deeper the line in his brow, the deeper understanding he’d have of Russian.

“Miscarriage. Vykidysh.”

“Oh, yikes… wait, was it Sergei’s or Igor’s?” Shane questioned about the characters in the show.

“What do you think?” Ilya asked him in Russian.

“Igor’s, probably.”

“Yes, probably… if you consider the timeline.”

“You know a lot about this show.”

It was a fact that Shane was surprised by from the first moment they began Melochi Zhizni. It was so… not Ilya. No action or explosions, and all soap opera drama.

Ilya gave the smallest of shrugs and kept his eyes glued to the screen even though Shane knew he could feel his own gaze. He gave him time, though, not pressing further and hoping his husband would remember just that- that he was his husband. Shane wasn’t going anywhere, and Ilya could tell him anything.

“My mother loved it.” There it was. “We’d watch reruns when I was little.”

“Oh.”

Nice, Hollander. What’s the point of wanting Ilya to open up if you have nothing good to say?

“Is it okay? Us watching it?”

Ilya nodded and finally dared to meet Shane’s gaze.

“I was a little worried. But it is nice.”

Shane smiled and gave Ilya’s hand a squeeze. Their sweet moments in their bubble of safe privacy didn’t last forever, though. After an unintentional nap on each other’s shoulders, the flight staff informed them that they were landing in twenty minutes.

Ilya was back to being uncharacteristically quiet after that, and Shane wasn’t sure what to say, so he just found little ways to tell him he was there. A kiss on his temple, a squeeze of his hand, laying his head on Ilya’s shoulder, and getting a top-of-the-head kiss in return. Still, Shane’s heart hurt watching Ilya’s jaw like steel with a nervous bounce in his leg and fear in his eyes that scanned the inky blackness of the skies.

It would be no time before Ilya Rozanov was on Russian soil for the first time since publicly coming out and marrying a man. It would hardly be an hour before they’d be face-to-face with Alexei.

The feeling of the plane’s tires hitting the tarmac felt more violent than normal.

Almost like a warning. Shane thought as he tried to subdue his anxiety. Ilya needed him.

It. Was. Cold.

So was Ottawa, but something about this cold was different. It penetrated Shane’s bones and made them ache, even with the parka he wore. It was dark out, and snow billowed around them in sharp slices through the air. The wind howled past their ears and turned them to a numbingly bright red.

Thankfully, a large black SUV was waiting for them.

Svetlana.

She was indeed already in Moscow for the holidays and insisted on picking them up in her family car.

“The driver has been with us for fifteen years. You can trust him.” Shane had overheard her say on the phone with Ilya earlier that December.

Now,  “Ah! My favorites!” She squealed, popping out of the car with grace, her curls billowing in the wind around her. She threw her arms around Ilya, and, admittedly, to Shane’s relief, shortly pulled back.

Shockingly to Shane, she also threw her arms around his neck. This time, she didn’t let go so quickly, and Ilya cleared his throat.

“Okay, okay. Have some self-respect, Jesus.”

“He’s not very good at sharing, is he?” Svetlana winked at Shane, who, despite the fact that he was a married gay man, went extra pink in his cheeks. He braved looking at Ilya, who clearly was actually jealous. Shane knew Svetlana liked him as a hockey player, and yes, Ilya had begrudgingly told him that Svetlana had also found him hot, but he didn’t think Ilya cared. He thought it was a bit. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

It was fucking hilarious. After all, Shane was gay, and Ilya was the one who had fucked Svetlana many a time.

Once secure in the warm, plush interior of the car, Shane instantly zeroed in on the incessant shaking of Ilya’s leg. The single-minute walk from the plane to the SUV hadn’t just been excruciating because of the cold, but also because it was the first time since coming out that Ilya and Shane had to hide their relationship again… it seemed silly since they were very famously married, but it still felt… necessary. It was sad, and Shane had never wanted to touch Ilya more than that short walk.

Now, safe in the car, Shane didn’t hesitate to put his hand over Ilya’s shaking knee. It stopped immediately, and Ilya’s gaze whipped around almost defensively- as if someone had shocked him. The moment sent a pang of hurt to Shane’s chest until Ilya’s face spread into a small, kind of sad smile. Shane let out a relieved sigh when Ilya covered his hand with his own.

He peripherally watched Svetlana’s eyes flicker down their joined hands on Ilya’s knee. She seemed genuinely happy- like, as in, for them.

Maybe Shane really liked her.

“Okay, so. I know most of tomorrow will be spent at the old house, and I can help with that too, but-“

“You don’t have to do that,” Ilya said in Russian. Svetlana looked a little hurt for a second before Ilya rushed to explain. “English. You don’t have to do English. He can manage.”

Ilya looked over at Shane and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Svetlana threw up her hands in mock defense.

“Wowwwwww. Ya i ne znala, chto tvoy muzh takoy vpechatlyayushchiy!”

Didn’t know your husband was so impressive!

Svetlana continued the rest of her conversation in Russian, which was admittedly harder for Shane to grab all the details from, but he thought he got the gist. He created bullet points in his head:

• Svetlana wants to go to a party on Christmas, which Ilya reminded her was tomorrow, and also a bad idea
• She says he has turned boring

This one actually stuck with Shane and not in a good way, because maybe Ilya thought it was true, too.

• Ilya responds by correcting her; not boring, just publicly queer
• She says there’s a club meant for them to be safe

And because it was awkwardly quiet for a beat after that, Shane cleared his throat.

“Mozhet byt'. My pogovorim ob etom. Bylo by priyatno uvidet', khot' raz, podderzhivayushchuyu storonu Rossii.” 

Maybe. We will talk about this. It could be nice to see the supportive side of Russia for once.

He knew he probably was mispronouncing something, but maybe not with the way Ilya was looking at him. Eyebrows raised, he was clearly a little shocked. He constantly told Shane that he was impressed with his Russian, but now he could really see it on his face. The expression settled into his infamous gaze of affection, and suddenly, Svetlana was giggling.

“Ty ot nego bez uma.” She jeered at Ilya, who, despite the dim light of the car, was turning visibly flush. Shane didn’t quite catch the specifics, but he knew she was making fun of Ilya for how in love he was.

Wow. Shane forced the corners of his mouth down before he looked just as lovesick, though he knew he was failing.

“Zamolchi. God forbid I like my husband a little.”

“Husbaaaand,” Svetlana squealed happily in English, reaching forward to grab both of their hands. She joined them together once again between her own and gave them a little squeeze.

Shane couldn’t fight his cheesy smile anymore. He felt the same way whenever someone called them "husbands". 

To say the mood shifted when they turned onto more suburban streets was an understatement. Shane knew nothing of where they were or how long it’d take to get to Alexei’s, but the sudden tightness in the air between them was enough to guess they were approaching. The fact that not only Ilya, but Svetlana too, was stunting her personality so quickly didn't help Shane's nerves.

By the time the car turned into an uneven gravel driveway, Ilya was wound tighter than Shane had ever seen him… and he’s known him for over fifteen years.

Shit.

“I’d come, but I’m just a whore, so I’ll wait in here.” She said in Russian, and Shane cringed. “If you need me, come get me.” Svetlana finished, not only giving Ilya a small smile of reassurance, but Shane too.

Ilya looks at her apologetically before he exits the car. Shane’s hand was on the handle of the inside of his own door, but before he could even push it, the door was swinging open on its own.

Well, not on its own. Ilya had sprinted around the car to pull the responsibility from Shane. Something about his husband opening his door for him in front of his brother-in-law’s house felt incredibly domestic in a way they’d never quite experienced before. It was always Shane- Shane’s family, Shane’s properties, Shane’s hometown, Shane’s country….

Somewhere in the anxious pit of Shane’s stomach, he felt warmth. He was going to learn so much about Ilya, and as scared as they both were, he couldn’t fucking wait.

Dying to take Ilya’s hand but knowing it could be potential suicide, Shane instead swallowed the lump in his throat before looking over and catching Ilya’s eyes intentionally.

“Okay?”

Ilya took a stuttering breath that condensed into a cloud in the air. He looked… beautiful. Like, really beautiful. Shane always thought that, but there was something different about seeing Ilya on the frozen tundra backdrop of a Moscow neighborhood. His lips were bright red, recently wetted by his tongue. His cheeks were rosy, and his skin was pale but pristine against the falling snow.

“Okay.” Ilya gave him a smile that was way more peaceful and confident than Shane would’ve expected. It gave him comfort in his own rapidly beating heart.

His little Russian doll.

Oh, Ilya’d HATE that. Shane mused to himself, making a note to use the pet name later… and in Russian, for good measure.

Before they could take their second step down a snowy pathway to an old oak door, it flew open and a dainty shadow flew out almost too fast to see.

“Dyadya, Ilya!”

It isn’t until the dark mass was thrown into Ilya’s embrace that Shane could make out what was happening- a girl, undoubtedly Ilya’s niece… well… their niece, Sophia. Not only that, but she was sporting an #81 Ilya Rozanov Centaur’s jersey. They were starting off the quick visit with some pretty big shocks, Shane thought. Not only did they have no clue that Sophia even knew who Ilya was, but they certainly didn’t think she’d be a fan of his hockey.

For a moment, Shane thought maybe Ilya had left out some details, but he could see the shock in Ilya’s face as well. It quickly melted into that soft Ilya smile reserved for only children. He opened his mouth to respond, but a large shadow and voice emanated from the open doorway.

“Privet, Ilya.”

Shane turned his gaze from Ilya and Sophia, his grin (that he hadn’t even realized he was sporting) fading. It was difficult from the way the inside glow created a distinct silhouette, but it was definitely him. The man who still had a chokehold on Ilya similar to his father, the man who harbored violent jealousy his whole life, the man who still had the power to make a man as great as Ilya Rozanov feel small. Shane was staring at Alexei Rozanov for the very first time.

Ilya was statue still.

“Privet, Alexei.”

Chapter Text

Moscow, Russia

December 24th, 2023

“Privet, Alexei.”

The only sound was the sad howl of wind. Even Sophia looked uncomfortable glancing between her uncle and father. He heard Shane awkwardly shuffling his feet from just behind him, followed by him clearing his throat.

“Uh… Ya Shane,”

Oops. Bad husband, Ilya.

“Da. Izvini. Eto Shane.” Ilya said. Yes. Sorry. This is Shane. “Moy muzh.” He is sure to emphasize husband and relishes the fact that even though he can’t see it in his silhouette, Alexei’s eyes were probably ablaze. His brother's stare was directed at Shane instead, and Ilya wanted to jump in front of him. Alexei didn’t deserve to even lay his eyes on the best part of his life; the only thing untouched by this hellish place.

Shit, was this all a mistake?

Sophia broke the tension and threw arms around Shane, startling all of them.

“Dyadya Shane!”

Uncle Shane. Oh, his heart. His fucking heart. Maybe this moment was worth it in itself. “Number 24, second-line center.” She said in English with a matter-of-fact tone, making Shane laugh.

Fuck. Ilya hoped he wasn’t outwardly swooning.  He had no idea his niece knew so much about him and Shane, let alone anything at all. The last time he saw her was during his father’s funeral, and she was, like, eight and just past his elbow. Now she was just under his chin. He felt a swirling guilt in his stomach for not even saying goodbye to her that day.

To be fair, he had just socked her father in the face.

“Eto verno! Ochen’ vpechatlyayet.” This time, his Russian was effortless. He wondered if Alexei was surprised by this.

That’s right! Very impressive.

“Hi, boys. Come inside while Alexei gets the keys.” A new voice said from inside the house in Russian.

“Absolutely not,” Alexei responded with admittedly impressive reflex.

“It’s freezing out!”

“It’s dangerous.”

“More dangerous than them standing in our front yard? Christ, Alexei!” The voice, Katya, ended the intermarital spat. Alexei grumbled something as he receded into the house.

“Come inside, Sophia. Out of the cold.” He called over his shoulder. Ilya guessed that was his way of passively giving in, but he didn't budge. He told his feet to move, and they just didn't. Shane spoke up behind him, and he could feel his anxious fidgeting from a foot away.

“Should we-“

“Ilya,” Katya appeared now, waving them inside frantically. “Don’t you be stubborn, too.” Then kindly, and switching to English, “Hi, Shane. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” He replied in exhaustively practiced Russian.

His sister-in-law was pretty cool, and he never understood what she ever could have seen in Alexei to begin with. Ilya forced himself to move by glancing at Shane and nodding his head towards the front door. On the way in, Shane lowered his voice.

“What’d she call you?”

“Stubborn. Upryamyy.”

“Oh, yeah. How could I ever forget that one?”

Ilya rolled his eyes but forced a small smile for Shane. If it wasn’t trying to convince Shane, then it was trying to convince himself.

It’s fine. This is fine. I can take my fucking husband into my asshole, bigot brother's house; it’s fine. 

The smile must not have been as much of a shield as Ilya had hoped, because Shane glanced around the dark and empty neighborhood before putting his hand on Ilya’s arm and giving it a squeeze. It helped, and Ilya was grateful.

While the refuge from the cold was at least welcome, nothing else about Alexei's house was. Ilya was overwhelmed by how the senses around him made him feel as if he were being transported back, and not in a good way. Alexei had always tried to be just like their father, and everything he did parroted that, including his taste in decor, alcohol, brands, clothes, morals... lack of morals. All the things that reminded Ilya of what his Father never failed to remind him: He was nothing. Useless. Worse than useless, but a shame to Russia. A shame to the family. A shame to him. 

Papa, if you could see me now. Ilya thought bitterly about the hypothetical of his father being alive and well when everything about him and Shane had come out. 

“Zaika, you are basically an adult rabbit now, yes?” Ilya pressed out the sentence through a tight throat, hoping it wasn't noticeable. He needed to distract himself, and his niece made it easy. She obviously adored Ilya (and the feeling was mutual), which probably drove Alexei crazy on a daily basis. How did his brother even allow such a thing to happen?

“I just turned 14.”

“Yes, I think there are a few things about that in this bag,”

“A few?” She asked, she asked politely as she could, the excitement seeping through. They had gotten her a few things that Svetlana had helped them pick out, as Ilya and Shane were, to say it lightly, hopelessly lost when it came to teenage girls.

“Yes, but these are just for your birthday.”

“Christmas presents are tomorrow.” Shane jumped in, seemingly too excited to let Ilya finish. It warmed his heart.

He knew it probably annoyed Alexei that they were showing up with so many gifts. They were mostly to make Sophia happy, a little due to the guilt of being absent from her life, and maybe… just, maybe, Ilya worried that a part was just to rub it in Alexei’s face.

Ilya hated what this place did to him.

And if it was partially because Ilya was that much of an asshole, it was working. Alexei was glaring, jaw set and ready to say something, but his eyes flitted to where Sophia was excitedly tearing open wrapping paper and seemed to decide against it.

Now he really felt like an asshole.

“Ilya,” Alexei called tersely, in a low voice. He felt his stomach twist as he walked over to his brother’s side. He felt stupid for the way his body tensed increasingly in tandem with how close he got to his own brother.

"We didn't know she likes hockey so much." Shane carefully told Katya in Russian, wanting to say "We had no idea she was such a big fan", but not being able to conjure it nearly as fast. Poor Ilya. His chest clenched every time he realized truly what a nightmare it could be to not be able to say what you mean to anyone around you.

"Ah, yes. The more you two were on the news, the more she asked about him. You guys are kind of famous, you know." 

Shane cringed. Infamous may be the better word from the Russian standpoint. 

"Yes. I guess that is true."

Katya didn't seem to say it with the same hatred that Alexei held, though. Shane was surprised that she was entirely her own woman and found himself feeling guilty for ever assuming otherwise. He liked her. Ilya had told him that he had liked his sister-in-law fine enough as well, but the only semblance of a relationship they had ever gotten close to was always dashed by the black hole between Ilya and Alexei.

"She's been obsessed ever since," Katya concluded, setting down some tea in front of Shane before sitting in the chair next to him at the kitchen table. He thanked her. And because Shane felt comfortable with her and was a little desperate for a lifeline, he muttered, 

"Bednyy Alexei." Poor Alexei.

Katya burst out laughing and instantly covered her mouth; the two brothers glancing over from where they were, both squared off, tensely at each other; it was like they were about to box rather than just exchange some keys. Katya waved at them, dismissing their attention before turning back to Shane, who was now smirking as well. 

“Yes, he doesn’t love it. But he will do anything to make her happy... as long as no Centaurs merchandise leaves this house.” Katya smiled as she watched her daughter excitedly open a variety of skincare and hair products from Canada and America. Shane hummed and nodded because he didn't know what else to do with this information. It didn't fit with everything else he'd ever known about Alexei, and Shane began to realize that things between him and Ilya might be a lot more complicated than he'd thought. 

He glanced back to where Alexei was explaining the use of each key while completely avoiding eye contact with Ilya. Ilya gave a curt nod between each explanation. Both looked ready to jump out of their skin. 

"They are very..." Shane looked for the word "intense" in Russian, but was coming up short. "Much?" 

"Intensivnyy?"

"Yes! Ugh," Shane rolled his eyes at himself at the ease of that one. "Kak ya mog zabyt'?" How could I forget? 

"Hey, your Russian is very impressive!" Katya assured him, and he even earned a little nod from Sophia, who had moved on to the larger wrapped gift. "And yes. They are. It's nice to now have a soyuznik." 

Shane blinked, searching his brain. Finally, he had to ask, "Sorry?"

"Soyuznik. Tipa... drug." Like friend. Shane suddenly realized she was trying to say they were allies and started laughing, mostly out of pure relief.

"Of course," he affirmed back in her language, and for a moment, Shane let a forbidden thought enter his head. 

Would it really be so bad if they sucked it up and buried the hatchet?

He knew the response it would elicit from Ilya, and he knew it wasn't really his place, but Shane found himself wanting more. He loved that Ilya loved Shane's family back in Canada. He loved that his family loved Ilya. But Shane wanted that on the other side too. He knew it'd never be the same for a million reasons, but he wanted as much of Ilya as he could get. That included his fucked up family.

"Spasibo." Shane heard Ilya deliver the tightest, most unfriendly thanks he's ever heard in his life before his husband was already gathering him from the table, a ring of keys in hand. "Gotov, Shane?"

"Thank you for the birthday gifts," Sophia stood and gave Ilya and Shane another hug each. Shane smiled at the way Ilya's statue-stance from interacting with his brother melted when he gave his niece a tight squeeze.

"Anytime, Zaika. We'll be back with Christmas presents from Santa tomorrow." 

"You know I'm too old for that." Sophia shook her head at Ilya, who wadded up the discarded wrapping paper and playfully tossed it at her head. 

"Fine, from your rich Uncles then." He mused like the prick he was, and Shane wished he'd at least leave him out of this. He avoided even glancing at Alexei, even though the man had avoided him completely. 

"Why aren't they just staying with us?" Sophia asked.

"They're going to the apartment, sweetie." Katya glanced awkwardly between Alexei and Ilya.

"You still have that?" Sophia gawked, spinning around with wide eyes at her father, who tiredly shrugged at her. Shane cringed. He really hoped it wasn't being used for what Ilya had previously thought- a drugged-up whore house. But when Ilya had called Alexei a few weeks ago to inform him that they were indeed coming to Russia, his brother revealed that the apartment was available and virtually untouched since Ilya had left it. Shane could see that Ilya had been a little taken aback by this.

"...But they can come to dinner tomorrow." Katya sent the room into a spiral, and Shane caught himself getting a little excited. 

"Katya..." Alexei's voice instantly cut in from where he was discarding wrapping paper in their trash can. 

"Uh..." Ilya stumbled, seemingly too shocked for words yet.

"It's Christmas!" Katya focused on her appalled husband.

"No! It's not!" Alexei argued, and that was actually true. Russia didn't celebrate Christmas for another week.

"It's their Christmas." Shane was flattered by Katya's statement for a number of reasons, but it seemed to make Alexei even more furious.

"No. Thank you, but no." Ilya piled on. At least they are agreeing with each other. Shane thought to himself flatly. 

Alexei and Katya continued arguing back and forth, much of which Shane couldn't catch due to the speed. 

"Katya. It really isn't a good idea." Ilya spoke up again. Shane was planning on staying silent and supporting his husband, but Katya's eye caught him from across the room. Her look was desperate, her eyes were questioning, and she raised an eyebrow at him in expectation. He glanced over at Sophia, who was giving him the same look. 

I have a niece... a sister-in-law. I have family in Russia now- Ilya's family. That's so fucking cool. Not to mention, this was their last chance. Ilya and Shane would likely never return to Russia if things didn't change there. This was the last chance for Ilya to get any time with the last of his family, and he certainly would never take that leap for himself.

Fuck.

"My budem tam." We'll be there. Shane shocked even himself. And if Alexei had succeeded at avoiding Shane's eye all night, he certainly was failing now. He was staring at Shane, and Hollander was a little ashamed to admit that it knocked the breath flat out of him. Not only was Alexei a much taller man, but his stare was the scariest. There was something dark there that made Shane's veins feel icy. Out of the periphery of his vision, he felt Ilya staring at him too.  Both Rozanovs. Shane wanted to sink into his shoes.

Ah, fuck. No one's going to know where they hid my body.

He refused to meet the dark eyes of his brother-in-law or the possibly scarier piercing eyes of his husband, and instead focused on the very loud celebration of his niece. 

"Really?" Sophia asked, her voice rising in pitch with each passing second. "Really? Oh my god, yes! Best fucking Christmas ever!" 

Shane wasn't totally sure he had heard the swear word right until Ilya couldn't hold back an amused snort, and Alexei exclaimed in shock. When his brother-in-law's gaze broke from Shane's, he felt relief flood his body.

"Ah! Language! Go finish your homework." Alexei scolded Sophia.

"Papaaaaaaa," 

"Go." Alexei kissed her on the top of her head, and she rolled her eyes, but told him she loved him before waving goodbye to her uncles.

Weird. Alexei Rozanov, normal-ish Dad. 

Ilya and Shane said their own awkward goodbyes with Alexei, once again avoiding all eye contact. Shane was fine with that. Katya made them promise one last time that they'd stay for Christmas dinner tomorrow, and once again, Shane responded for the both of them despite his natural survival instincts telling him not to.

It was like a huge weight had been lifted when they finally found themselves back in the car with Svetlana. Shane thought he might get a moment of peace, but Ilya was quick to the punch. 

"You just had to say yes." 

"Ilya... Look how excited she was." And it was true. They had obviously made Sophia's Christmas, and it'd be cruel to take it away. 

"Shaaaaaaaaane," Ilya didn't even try to hide his ornery whine. Shane smirked and held Ilya's hand. 

"Sorry, I'm in an ally." He tried a little too confidently in Russian.

Ilya just stared at him, jaw open. 

"A what?"

"Soyuznik," Shane repeated, trying not to grin. And then in English, having the audacity to pretend he was teaching Ilya Russian. "An alliance."

"Okay. One, "alliance" is soyuze. If you were in an ally, we'd have a different problem." 

Shane couldn't help the breathy laugh that escaped. 

"And two, we are marrieeeeeed. We are in the alliance, Shane." Ilya huffed and fell back into his seat, the corner of his mouth threatening to rise as Shane and Svetlana both failed to hold back giggles under their breath. "Is that what you were doing over there with Katya then?" 

"I couldn't say no, right?"

"Well, I for one am more worried for you and Katya." Svetlana's comment made his stomach twist. "Good luck, Shane." 

Shane's smile faltered. Maybe he really didn't think this one through.

By the time they had reached the apartment, they had resigned to silence, mostly out of exhaustion. They all were jet-lagged.

"Are you coming up?" Ilya asked her. She regretfully said she was retiring early, but flashed a mischievous smile as she switched to English.

"Only so I can be ready for the very fun, very gay party we are all going to tomorrow."

"Svetlana..."

"What? You said you'd talk about it!"

After mumbled promises to think about it, they hurried inside, sporting caps and sunglasses in the dead of night. Shane suddenly worried if this was more obvious.

The hallways of the building were completely empty, thank God. Shane was transported back to the early days of sneaking around hotel hallways. This time, the consequences of getting caught could be quite a bit higher, he realized with a chill.

They could relax inside Ilya's apartment. It was large yet cozy, bathed in warm light that contrasted the inky blues outside. It wasn't modern-minimalist as all of Ilya's homes had been in the US and Canada. This one was so... European with its wooden moulding and tall, decorative window panes. Shane couldn't help his smile as he fixated on all the little choices Ilya had made to furnish and decorate the place years ago. This was his home before there was Shane- this was Ilya before there was Shane. Baby-faced Ilya with his alleyway cigarettes and broken English phrases. Shane had never seen someone smoking look so beautiful before that day in Saskatchewan.

Making his way into the kitchen and admiring the large display case of records, a thought came to Shane's mind. He wondered how much Ilya would think about him while he lived here. The thought of Ilya had certainly haunted the walls of Shane's Montreal apartment long before they were official. 

You're married now, dummy. Shane realized. So, 

"Ty dumal obo mne?" Did you think of me?

Ilya raised his eyebrows from across the kitchen island. He must've caught Shane's suddenly shy tone, because the corner of his lips began to tug upwards. 

“In this kitchen?” Shane specified, nodding to their surroundings. Ilya's smile spread full, but a tinge of sadness was evident in his eyes. 

“Postoyanno.”

And suddenly Shane was sad too. He didn’t know why- they were right there, together, rings around their fingers with loyalties to the same team. Same house, same schedule, same life. And yet it still killed Shane to remember what it felt like to be so close yet wrenched apart by this invisible wall of fear, and confusion, and shame, and-

Ilya's lips were on his, incredibly gentle and politely exploratory, like they were doing it for the first time. Shane sighed into him, letting Ilya kiss away all the tightness in his chest until his eyelids felt heavy like lead. He wondered if he was actually going to fall asleep in the middle of the kitchen, standing up, wrapped in Ilya. Shane knew it was possible with the way this man was holding him and caressing his tongue with his own.

“Moya lyubov,” Ilya murmured against his lips. “I want sooooo badly to fuck you in this apartment. But-“

“I’m literally falling asleep standing up,” Shane murmured in English with a smile of agreement, shamelessly not bothering to open his eyes. Ilya chuckled and took Shane's bag, setting it aside and leading him to the bedroom.

When Shane blinked awake the next morning, he realized he had been so tired that he didn't remember changing into different clothes. Luckily, they did, because the fact that they didn't shower after a 10-hour flight already had Shane reeling.

The next thing he noticed was the heavy arm secured around his ribs and the warm breath on the back of his neck. He also couldn't ignore the persistently hard cock pressed up against his ass. Shane, too, was achingly hard and couldn't help but shift back, rubbing against Ilya's boner a bit. He palmed his own cock through his boxers.

Ilya stirred and before even realizing where he was, his hips thrust forward, and his arms weaved around Shane's hips, tugging him closer. 

"Mmmm... Morning." He mumbled against Shane's shoulder, lazily rutting against him. 

"Dobroye utro,"

Ilya froze for a moment, and Shane glanced over his shoulder to grin at Ilya's adorable, sleepy confusion. With one eye still squeezed shut and brows pulled together with concern, Rozanov groaned. 

"Eto byl nie koshmar?" That wasn't a nightmare?

Shane laughed.

"We're in Russia," He confirmed. He tapped Ilya's arms, and he unwound himself from around Shane. He moved to the bathroom, too tired for more Russian at the moment. "And I need to shower. You can sleep for a while longer if you'd like." 

"Are you fucking kidding me? My dick is about to fall off. Wait for me." 

It wasn't long before they were forehead to forehead with each other's dicks in hand, water pounding down keeping their safe little bubble nice and hot. Shane had the foresight to make them brush their teeth beforehand and was rewarded for it now. He attacked Ilya with needy kisses, their tongues fighting for dominance as the water drizzled down between their faces. 

"Fuck... Fuck, Ilya-"

"Yeah, me too." He breathed hot into Shane's mouth. "Davay, milyy."

Shane cried out as the intense build of pleasure erupted inside of him, and he was sure, very much outside of him as well. His staggered breaths came out in small gasps, but he kept his hand moving. He felt Ilya's cock thicken before he was pulsing in Shane's hand. He let out a surprised grunt into the crook of Shane's neck, murmuring Russian sweet-nothings that Shane just closed his eyes and enjoyed instead of trying to translate. They slumped against one another, the shower covering them in a comfortable warmth and washing away evidence of their morning activities.

“Merry Christmas,” Ilya murmured into Shane's wet skin, pressing a kiss to his neck before he stood up fully to finish getting washed up. 

Shane laughed in disbelief. 

“Oh. Merry Christmas.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, lathering his own chest with soap, which was already getting Shane's dick interested again. 

"Schastlivogo rozhdestva." Shane focused, offended that he even asked this one. "It's not really Christmas anyway."

"It's our Christmas," Ilya repeated what Katya had said the other night, making Shane smile. He had picked up on that, too. 

Ilya had breakfast ready before Shane even made it into the kitchen, freshly washed and in new clothes. He wasn't sure what the dress code was for visiting his husband's childhood home for the first/last time, so he eventually settled on a simple beige sweater and dark jeans. Ilya was in black jeans, no shirt, and was buzzing around the kitchen as steam hazed the room. His crucifix occasionally glinted when he hit the light just right. 

Rozanov seemed to be in an alright mood considering what they were doing today, and Shane felt like he could breathe a little better because of that. They found themselves sitting on cushioned stools at the counter, devouring eggs, toast, and sausage. Shane hadn't realized how hungry he was until he noted that they hadn't said anything in five minutes. After downing half a glass of orange juice (that he didn't even bother to ensure was 100% juice, no sugar added), a question popped into Shane's mind.

"Hey... How did you get the food when- ow! What the fuck?" Ilya had fucking flicked his head.

"Skazhi eto po-russki." Say it in Russian.

"Nakhuy." Fuck off.

Ilya went for his head again, but Shane was irritated and ready. He caught Ilya's wrist in his grip and quickly flicked Ilya's bare ribs with his other hand. 

"Ah!" He tugged himself away from Shane in giggles, giving him a shove for good measure. Shane couldn't help his own chuckles escaping as he tried to remain on his stool by gripping the counter. 

"I had Svetlana hire someone to fill the fridge," Ilya answered Shane's previously unfinished question.

"Wowwwwww," Shane got the reaction he wanted, managing to get Ilya Rozanov to blush. After all these years, he still prided himself on being able to do that.

"Shut up."  Shane couldn't help but be tickled at all the preparation Ilya had done for him, though. He was typically a last-minute, figure-it-out-as-he-goes type of guy, but he never failed to go the extra mile for Shane; something he always noticed with butterflies in his stomach. “Sorry that it is not…” Shane raised an eyebrow as Ilya gestured around the room, his eyes avoiding Shane. “…prazdnichnyy.”

Shane narrowed his eyes as he tried to think, but he ended up conceding and shaking his head at Ilya in confusion.

"Prazdnichnyy. Festive." Ilya clarified.

Shane's heart swelled even further. He smiled softly at Ilya, the playfulness in his eyes making way for the adoration spilling over. Shane reached forward and ran his thumb along Ilya's cheekbone, forcing him to look Shane in the eye. Ilya relaxed as soon as he did, his face pushing gently into Shane's palm. 

"Ya..." Shane looked away just for a moment, searching for the right words in Russian, but he couldn't. He needed to say this just like he wanted to. Sheepishly looking back at Ilya, he nearly whispered, "I'm right where I want to be." 

Ilya smiled; not his cocky "gotchya" smile, or his excitable boyish smile, but his self-proclaimed "I'm so in love and am all soft and gooey inside" smile. Shane loved them all, but that one was his favorite by far. 

Shane smiled sweetly back, and then a little evilly.

“I’m sure your brothers’ house will be very festive tonight.” He said in Russian, admittedly quite bitchily.

“Why do you ruin a good morning?” Ilya reprimanded in English, turning back to his breakfast with a pout.

“I’m just reminding you,” Shane didn't want him avoiding it until Ilya came up with some half-ass reason to let the idea fade out completely. 

“Reminded,” Rozanov grumbled over his eggs.

Shane stood and kissed Ilya all over his neck, face, and shoulders until his grumpiness unwound. It never took long.

Ilya had suggested they pull up a Christmas movie on one of their laptops, but Shane insisted on keeping to the Russian TV channels to practice. Ilya was proud of him, even though Shane's unwavering persistence tended to irk him a little. He wanted to watch the movie with the little reindeer and all of the weird little toys on the island of weird little toys. He missed their Christmases with Shane's family. A pang of guilt twisted in Ilya's stomach, and as if one cue, Shane spoke up from where he was cuddled beside him.

“Gotta call my mom later.”

“Mm," Ilya feigned casualness. "Is she still mad at us, you think?”

Yuna had been furious, only trying to hide it when Shane informed her why they were coming to Russia for Christmas. Then, upon remembering the dangers of them being in Russia in the first place, was furious all over again. Ilya hated making her upset. He hated it.

“Nah,” Shane seemed to think for a moment. "Well, there was this comment that may have been considered a little passive-aggressive, but... Hm… Maybe a couple…"

“Shaaaaane,” Ilya didn't even try to hide the whine in his voice. Of course, they were passive-aggressive. Shane couldn't pick up on certain social cues if they were a bowling ball being thrown in his face.

“She'll get over it. I promise. She's mostly just worried, and we're doing Christmas when we get back.”

Ilya decided it was as good a time as any to pull out the little wrapped box in his suitcase. He tossed it to Shane, who caught it just in time. 

"Oh," 

"Oh." Ilya ruffled Shane's hair like a child, earning an eye roll and smirk. Shane was just as giddy as he would've hoped when he opened up what looked like a stupid, old hockey puck (because it was a stupid, old hockey puck that just happened to be signed by Daniel Alfredsson in 1999). Not to mention, the highly coveted signed picture of the 1980 Miracle on Ice team. Admittedly, Ilya was impressed with himself. The lengths he had to go to for these stupid pieces of junk had him excited about the additions to their trophy room as well.

"Wh- Ilya... I waited four days on auction, not to mention-" 

"Oh, trust me. I know." Rozanov didn't need reminding of those four days that Shane was infuriatingly buried in his phone instead of letting Ilya be buried inside of him. 

"How'd you do this?" 

"I'm Ilya fucking Rozanov." 

Shane huffed a sarcastic laugh, but Ilya could see the flicker of admiration in his husband's eyes. It made Ilya's heart soar. 

“Ilya,”

“Yes, yes. I am best husband.” Ilya waved him off, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed by the obvious lengths he was willing to go to in order to make Shane smile. After years and years together, Ilya wondered if there would ever be a point when Shane Hollander stopped making him bashful like a schoolgirl. He hoped not, and highly doubted it. 

“Maybe... until you hear what I did.”

That piqued Ilya's interest. He sat up a little straighter from his place on the sofa. 

“What?" He couldn't help the grin growing across his face. "What did you do?”

Shane looked like he was regretting even mentioning anything. Just to further confirm it,

“I’m so regretting this, Ilya.” He said, not able to meet his eye. Oh, this had to be good. Ilya was now smiling so much it hurt.

“Tell me! Tell me!” He bounced on the couch, gripping Shane's forearm and giving it a nagging shake. 

Shane shot Ilya a look that said, 'Think," and Ilya did have an idea of what it was, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. 

“No...”

“We’re scheduled in June.”

No fucking way. 

“Shane Hollander. Are you going to jump out of a motherfucking plane for me?”

Shane smiled and shook his head, looking away from Ilya who was absolutely buzzing. 

“I’ve got 6 months to think about it.”

Ilya tackled him. He couldn't help it. He'd been begging Shane for over a year now. It had started off as a silly pipe dream to annoy him with, but the more Ilya talked about it, the more he wanted to do it. He knew it wasn't Shane's thing in the slightest, but he couldn't help fantasizing. Ilya loved adrenaline, and skydiving was something he was ashamed that he hadn't knocked off his list yet. Now that he had a husband he was sickeningly obsessed with, he wanted to cross things off that list together.

“That’s so romantic, moy lyubimyy.”

“It’s so stupid.” Shane corrected despite his clear love for Ilya's enthusiastic kisses all over his face and neck. 

"We'll be so high on adrenaline," Ilya breathed into Shane's ear, a handful of his hair gripped tight in Ilya's hand, keeping his head still. Ilya's other hand gripped Shane's hip as he ground down into him, their bulges rubbing hard against one another. "And then I'll fuck you until you come so hard it'll feel as if you jumped out of a plane all over again,"

Shane moaned, followed by a nervous laugh. "Your English is getting too good."

"Verno podmecheno," Good point. Ilya switched to Russian, raising himself up so he could haul Shane's sweater over his head and toss it on the chair across the room. He did the same with the t-shirt underneath.

Ilya murmurs, “I'd sit here. Sometimes text you. Sometimes, just think about you. Think bout taking you here in this room. Against the wall. Over the counter.”

"Then do it. Take me.”

And that’s all Ilya needed before he stood up, dragging Shane with him before shoving him against the wall. He kissed him with ferocity before gripping Shane's jaw in his hand and pulling back. 

“On your knees.”

Shane sank down and immediately went for Ilya's belt, his hands fumbling from his eager motions. Ilya enjoyed watching him as he went, taking fistfuls of Shane's hair and tugging his head back just a bit every so often, just because he could. He ran his thumb along Shane's hairline and pushed his fingers through his hair just as Shane took Ilya's cock into his mouth. 

"Fuck, yes..."

Ilya never used the hand on Shane's head to push him; he just enjoyed feeling Shane's hair and the bob of his head over his dick. Shane was past eager this time, though, because he reached back and made Ilya's hand grip him harder, guiding Ilya's hand to push at his head and insisting on him being rougher. Ilya did for a moment before moving back to caressing more than pushing, and he smirked as Shane rolled his eyes from beneath him. 

Ilya suddenly felt a sharp pinch at the back of his thigh. He yelped, and his hand tightened in Shane's hair out of reflex, his hips jerking away from the pinch and into Shane's mouth further. Shane gagged a bit but then moaned in satisfaction around Ilya's cock. 

"Ty malen'kaya suchka," You little bitch. Ilya moaned under his breath in frustration despite the surprise smirk that was threatening to take over. Hollander really did still surprise him sometimes. He gave Shane what he wanted, holding him a little tighter, pushing himself a little deeper. Shane took him into his throat in earnest, his fingers gripping Ilya's thighs and no doubt leaving faint marks. Ilya didn't mind one bit. 

Where Ilya always drew the line was when Shane's eyes would get all watery and brim with tears. Even if the tears were caused by the gagging of Shane's throat rather than the breaking of Shane's heart, he still couldn't take it when yego lyubimyy looked like that. Not to mention, Ilya was getting close anyway. 

“Stop." He said more forcefully than he meant to before Shane sucked him one stroke too far. "Stop. Idite syuda." Ilya took Shane's arm and hoisted him up to his feet, already pushing him back towards the kitchen, kissing all the way. Once he had Shane backed up against the counter, he whipped his husband around with a firm hand on his hip. Ilya's other hand pushed on Shane's back, bending him over. 

"Fuck," 

"Podozhdi."

Ilya grabbed a blanket from the couch and rolled it up, stuffing it between Shane and the counter so his hips had something softer to rest on. He would need it. Ilya grabbed their lube from his bag too, and from there it wasn't long until Ilya had Shane trembling around three fingers. 

"Ilya," Shane's beg finally came, making Ilya's cock twitch. His less-busy hand was holding Shane down at the small of his back, frequently stroking soothing patterns along his skin. Ilya took that hand and managed to get some lube without stopping his fingering ministrations. Shane gasped when he felt the cold lube being coated over his cock. Ilya gave him a few slow pumps before he leaned over Shane further, feeling the heat radiating off of him. He removed his fingers and used one hand to grip the base of Shane's dick, the other hand moving up so Ilya could run his thumb along the head and tease Shane's slit. 

Hollander shuddered and whined, and Ilya couldn't hold back a groan. He loved breaking him down like this. 

Lubed, thoroughly fingered, and shaking, Shane was past the point of needy now, right where Ilya liked him.

“Please fuck me, Ilya.”

Ilya growled and leaned further so his chest rested against Shane's back, his fist tightening around Shane's cock. His lips rested against Shane's ear.

"Ya ne ponimayu,"

I don't understand.

Shane groaned loudly in frustration. 

"Pozhaluysta, trakhni menya." 

It struck Ilya that he had always wanted this. He couldn't count the number of times he had sat alone in this apartment, wishing Shane were there so he could fuck him where he ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Ilya snapped his hips and buried his cock to the hilt, Shane's body jolting against the countertop. Rozanov took a half second to make sure that the blanket was still providing cushioning for Shane before he was pounding into him.

“Shhhhhhh,” Ilya purred- Shane was definitely being loud enough to be heard from neighboring apartments. After pulling back slowly and driving his cock back forward, Shane cried out even louder. Rozanov, who himself was having trouble keeping quiet, leaned forward and covered Shane's mouth with his hand, gripping but trying not to hold him too roughly. 

Shane sighed happily against his hand, his dreamy moans continuing. Eventually, Ilya tapped Shane's hip and told him to roll onto his back; he wanted to see him, this beautiful man who came all the way to scary Russia for him. 

Once he had Shane's hips pulled to the edge of the counter, fingers digging into Hollander's thighs, Ilya took a moment to grind against Shane, their cocks trapped between their bodies, and rubbing up against each other. With a strong hand holding the back of Shane's neck, Ilya dipped down and kissed him hard, swallowing Shane's moan. 

When Rozanov couldn't take it any longer, he regretfully pulled back from Shane's lips to line himself up at his entrance again. Ilya reached forward and gripped the opposite edge of the counter, sinking deep into Shane at a heavenly angle. 

"Fuck!" Shane grunted much too loudly. 

"Hollander, that beautiful mouth is going to get us in trouble," Ilya murmured in Russian against Shane's collarbone while pinning him to the counter, switching away from sharp thrusts in favor of deep rutting. 

"Oh my god, you- You feel so good," Shane murmured, obviously trying his best to keep the volume down. Ilya gripped the counter tighter, using it to drive himself possibly deeper than he had ever been inside Shane. 

"God," Ilya breathed into Shane's neck, his cock pulsing dangerously between his hips that were pressed flush against Shane's. "This counter was made for us, moya lyubov." He was pressed so hard against Shane that he was barely standing on solid ground anymore. “I’m the luckiest fucking guy in Russia,” Ilya murmured in Russian before he could help it, getting a little whimper of adoration from Shane as a reward. 

It wasn't long after that when Ilya felt Shane's cock twitch between their bodies, warm cum covering both of their chests. Shane arched off the counter and clenched around him as he came with choked gasps. It was more than enough to send Ilya over the edge as well. He kissed Shane to at least bury the sound of his unintentional cry of pleasure, his orgasm rushing through his body so hard that Ilya was forced to collapse all of his weight onto Shane, the two of them heaving against one another on the countertop.

"Fuck," Shane breathed with a little chuckle. Ilya felt a hand come up to play with his hair. He sighed happily against Shane's chest. "Ya tebya lyublyu," 

"Ya tebya lyublyu." Ilya repeated it back with his whole heart. "Sooooooo much." 

A sudden knock at the door jolted the boys from their cozy cocoon. Ilya swore his heart fucking stopped.

“Join me outside if you are finally done.”

Svetlana. Outside the door and on-time, because he and Shane had definitely lost track of it. Not to mention, she had definitely heard them.

Ilya couldn't help but enjoy the way Shane's eyes were wide with horror. Desperate, dark orbs searched Ilya's eyes for anything that might make the situation better, but he had nothing. So instead, he gave Shane a peck on the nose before pulling out and calling past the door,

"...okay." 

They both scurried to get dressed again, thoughts elsewhere despite the mind-blowing sex. Shane was clearly reeling over the fact that they were practically caught with their pants down. And now, without the distraction of Shane's beautiful little gasps and mewls, Ilya was reeling for a whole different reason: Soon he'd be at Sadovaya 997 for the first time in a decade. A certain image of his mother's cold hand flitted across his mind, but Ilya pushed it down. 

This would be fine. Easy peasy. 

Chapter Text

Domodedovo, Moscow Oblast, Russia

December 25th, 2023

“Good morning?” Svetlana asked them, though she full well knew the answer already. Shane squirmed uneasily in his excessively padded seat, but Ilya wasn’t playing this game.

“Um... yeah. You?” Shane just had to fill the silence.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Quiet.

“I can’t imagine it was as good as yours-“

“Ugh. 6:30 tonight.” Ilya jumped in, deciding to save Shane from Svetlana’s games by changing topics to Alexei’s stoic text. Usually it’d be fun to watch, but today he wasn’t in the mood. "Shane, this was stupid."

“Did you want me to refuse my niece from the “best fucking Christmas ever”? If you want to break her heart-"

“Okay, Dyadya Shane," Ilya shot sarcastically. "You’ve got a total of 8 minutes under your belt. Don’t get cocky now.”

“So I’m going to the club alone, I'm assuming?” Svetlana pouted.

Shane and Ilya looked at one another. They had talked about it a little that morning, but the answer seemed obvious.

“It’s just too dangerous. I’m sorry, Sveta.” Ilya said.

She changed from pouty to apologetic.

“No. I’m sorry," She said in solemn English, "that things are not different.”

It was quiet the rest of the ride to 997 Sadovaya. The house was South of downtown Moscow in a much more rural area. As city streets began giving way to forests and glimpses of the river, Ilya’s stomach twisted in knots.

997 Sadovaya: The Abandoned Rozonav Family Home

Ilya did everything he could to attempt mentally preparing himself for seeing this house, but none of it seemed to matter. Gut-wrenching nostalgia and anxiety gripped him wholly upon climbing the driveway, Rozanov actively trying to ensure it didn't show on his face. He remembered the last time he left, right before his father died. He had watched the place that raised him fading into his rearview mirror. Now that he was back, it looked mostly the same from afar, but that changed the closer he got.

Upon slipping the key into the lock with shaking hands, Ilya took stock of everything that was different, and the list was long. Not one surface was safe from the fresh layer of dust and dirt; their surroundings were spattered with speckled patterns. The wood siding itself seemed to have shrunk, leaving deep gaps in the walls' structure. The windows that weren't smashed out were tattered and foggy with age. Ilya remembered a time when his father shouted at him for leaving fingerprints. 

What do you have to say about them now, Papa?

Not to mention, the giant spray-painted word crudely splayed across the kitchen cabinets; that sure was new. It was the first thing anyone could notice upon entering the house.

"педик"... faggot.

"Nice," Svetlana commented bitterly, putting a hand on Ilya's arm before checking to see if it could easily be removed. It couldn't.

The home invasion and slurs directed straight at him weren't what was bothering Ilya the most, though; it was the sweet, happy memories that made his stomach hurt. Ilya tried to dispel the thoughts from his mind, but they invaded his brain like a strobe light:

His mother making breakfast at that dark green stove that had faded gray.

His mother trimming flowers at the empty kitchen table in the center of the room.

His mother packing his and Alexei’s school bags next to the splintering front door.

His mother singing and rocking him to sleep on that now dust-covered couch.

His mother... dead.

Stop.

"Remember when you scaled that pear tree out back? Only for stupid, horribly mediocre fruit?" Ilya was grateful to Svetlana for the distraction, despite the memory not being his best moment. "He fell on his arm, and you could see it poking through his skin." Svetlana grimaced while telling Shane the gory details. Shane shot him a worried look as if he could do something about 10-year-old Ilya getting hurt.

“Yes, I was screaming very loud. Spooked the neighbors.”

His father had been angry about that, too; his mother had been beside herself. She had held Ilya in the back of the car, stroking his hair while he cried all the way to the hospital. Rozanov was glad Svetlana was here to distract Shane, or else his husband would've noticed the shake in Ilya's hand and his stupid, mopey eyes.

"This was his best hiding spot." Svetlana was showing Shane the crawlspace behind a faulty wall panel. "Took me thirty minutes to find him. He was so quiet." 

"Just determined to win, which I always did." Ilya liked to reminisce about playing Pryatki with Svetlana at 7-years-old. Not all the memories had to hurt. 

"Mm.. You always let me win at S'edobnoye-Nes'edobnoye, though. He knew I'd get upset if not. Since you married him, I guess you figured out his big secret?" Svetlana asks Shane. They both frowned at Svetlana. "That he is just a big, scary sweetheart." 

Oh, whatever.

Svetlana flashed him a teasing smile, and Ilya rolled his eyes. She patted him on the cheek before brushing past him into the living room to start snooping and sorting. Ilya was left standing in the kitchen with Shane who was peering at him with love-filled orbs of dark brown.

"You doing okay?" Hollander's eyes flickered with worry; Ilya preferred the way they looked before. Rozanov took a deep breath and gazed around at the room that seemed so small compared to when he was young. Most of the decorations his mother had chosen were gone by now, anyway, the carpets so caked with dirt and dust that the once-familiar patterns from his distant memory were indistinguishable.

His heart was a little heavy, yes. His pulse was a little accelerated, yes. But Ilya also realized that, yes... he was okay. Shane was right in front of him, staring back with all the love in the world. Svetlana was in the next room. Ilya felt... grateful. Lucky, even. 

"Yes," His arms snaked around Shane's waist, pulling a smile to his lips. "I'm doing very okay." Ilya kissed him slow and sweet right in the middle of the kitchen he grew up in. Shane's fingers came up to run through Ilya's curls, pulling him closer. Ilya felt his dick jump a little at the sigh Shane released into his mouth. 

"Are you two sucking face in there?"

Shane pulled back from Ilya like he zapped him, face flush and eyes wide. Ilya grinned. His husband was such a geek.

"Yes!" Rozanov called back despite Shane's horror. 

"Ilya!"

"Chill out, Hollander." He pecked him again before moving towards the living room. On the way, Ilya stiffly walked by the closed door at the end of a shrouded, narrow hallway. He’d save that for last, if at all. Unable to bring himself to come anywhere near the room since he was 12, it was Ilya’s most daunting task of the day. He caught Shane’s eyes but looked away.

You just said you were okay, idiot. He scolded himself.

"Ohhhhh my god." Shane swooned at the family picture hanging over chipped living room wallpaper. It was an old one where Ilya couldn't have been more than seven. He willed himself not to go pink in the face. Having Hollander digging in his childhood was new to him. Usually, Ilya was the one lucky enough to tease Shane about all the adorable photos around his parents' house. 

"Cute, huh?" Svetlana was no help.

"Fucking adorable." Shane smiled back. Ilya didn’t find the same joy in looking at the picture, knowing that half of the family pictured was dead and gone.

There wasn't much left in the house. Anything of value or use was moved to either his or Alexei's place after their father was too sick to live alone and Polina stopped coming around. They sorted through what was left, though- shelves and drawers of game boards, books, and junk mail. Ilya's stomach lurched when he found an old shopping list written in his mother's handwriting. He had almost forgotten what it had looked like, and that fucking killed him. Ilya stuffed the paper in his jacket pocket, noting the side eye from Shane. He'd tell him about it later. Now just felt like too much. 

"Uh-oh, Ilya..." Their attention turned to Svetlana, who was dusting off an old projector stashed in the closet. 

"There is no way that works." Ilya wasn't sure he could take it if it did, but if there was a chance of getting footage of his mother, he needed to know.

"We'll see." Svetlana brought out a box of film reels and began messing with the projector. Ilya raised his eyebrows at her, trying not to be a dick and mock her confidence in the old piece of junk he had no prior knowledge of. "Just fucking give me a moment." She sensed his impatience.

Rozanov pretended not to care and slipped his hand into Shane's because he suddenly felt like he needed it. Ilya played it off as cool, or at least he tried to.

"Wanna come up to my bedroom?" He waggled his eyebrows at Shane, earning a nervous chuckle. 

"Keep the door open, you two."

"So you can listen, pervert?"

Svetlana flipped him off as Ilya dragged Shane up the creaking staircase. 

The whole experience was pretty surreal for him, so he couldn't imagine what Ilya was feeling. It looked like the house had already been mostly vacated, giving it a "half-lived-in many years ago" kind of look. That, mixed with the low howl of wind through a few broken panes and the knowledge of what had happened there made it feel... haunted. Not by ghosts per se, but by memories. Even though they weren't Shane's, he could sense them in everything- the half-filled calendar from 2009 on the wall, the framed photos, medals, and documents covered in dust, the old trunk full of worn blankets that had been heavily used by a family that hardly existed anymore.

Ilya's room was similar: a mattress without bedding, a desk without a chair, mostly empty shelves. There were some remnants of a teenage Ilya, though, such as Shane's favorite: A hot woman in a bikini sexily posing over his husband's bed. There was no keeping his snort of amusement from escaping.

"Stuff it, Hollander."

"Who's that?"

"My relationship with international modeling superstar Eugenia Volodina is none of your business."

Shane's snarky retort was interrupted by an abrupt scurrying from inside the closet. Before he could figure out what was happening, Ilya was grabbing him and screaming, jumping behind Shane and using him as a shield... from a chipmunk that ran out of the room.

"Jesus, okay. Okay," Shane grimaced as he loosened Ilya's death grip from around his arm. "Did you throw me at a chipmunk?"

"Yes. Protect me, Hollander. Is your job." 

“You are such a baby sometimes.”

Ilya gave him an annoying peck on the cheek and cautiously made his way back past Shane, eyes wide and flashing back and forth in high alert for more rodents.

“This is the window I snuck out of in high school,” Ilya tapped a window with a pane missing, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Let me guess- you've never done that?"

Shane's smile dropped, and he glared at Ilya, who stole his smirk. How dare he try to act all cool when he was just practically jumping into Shane's arms.

"Yeah, yeah. Boring." Shane huffed. He felt Ilya behind him and his husband's hand on his hips. Warm breath grazed the back of his neck, making Shane shiver. Ilya pressed a kiss right behind his ear.

"Adorable." Ilya corrected before regretfully slipping away from Shane and stooping down for a box under his bed. He started to sift through what looked like mostly CD's. Shane moved to his desk, where a drawer was half open. He felt excited to see a notebook inside, taking it out and praying for-

Yes. 

The pages were mostly full of Russian scribblings and, to Shane's delight, drawings in margins and corners. The only thing he understood was Ilya's name written in Cyrillic at the top of most pages, but it didn't matter. The smile on his face almost hurt.

Shane flipped through, his fingertips running along the pages and imagining a distracted young Ilya doodling in the back of class. He closed the notebook and tucked it under his arm. He was suddenly aware that Ilya had been watching him with a weird look.

“What? I can’t have my own collection?”

Ilya rolled his eyes.

"Ilya, look. Look at the little hockey-dog. It's good." Shane flashed the drawing at him, earning a shake of Ilya's head.

“Shut your pretty face.” The red tinging Ilya's skin was Shane's favorite trophy.

Speaking of trophies, Shane looked up at the shelves on the wall, grinning at the little hockey awards and miniature sports cars covered in dust. He almost missed the lonely, one-armed, heavily-used action figure posed in one of the vehicles.

"I'm really glad I came." Shane couldn't help but voice it. When he braved looking back at Ilya, his bright blue orbs were transfixed on his. The little smile on his face made Shane feel warm and tingly all over. It was one of those moments where time slowed, and his senses faded to leave room for Ilya and only Ilya. Shane tried not to let his knees go wobbly while captivated in the all-encompassing gaze.

"Me too," Ilya said, and the way he was looking at Shane had him wondering if he was really going to fuck him right here in his childhood bedroom with Svetlana right downstairs. But then,

"Bud' ostorozhen, milyy. Ostorozhno. On zhe sovsem malysh," A voice cut through the house, loud and crackly from broken audio but not from her voice- the woman's voice was soft and sweet and-

Holy shit.

If context clues weren't enough, then the sudden change in Ilya's face was. His eyes lost their sparkle in an instant, his soft smile fading. The color drained from Ilya's face before Shane's eyes. He looked terrified. It had to be Irina. Svetlana got the projector working. 

"Uh, do you wanna go and-" 

"Yes." Ilya was suddenly very drawn back, his eyes avoiding Shane's at all costs. Their sweet little moment was burst, but Shane couldn't blame him.

They wordlessly joined Svetlana in the living room. She had projected shaky video upon the clearest wall, fuzzy images fighting to keep in focus. Shane's face was sore from all the smiling today, but he couldn't help it as they watched a tiny, curly-haired toddler stumbling around a summery yard of grass and flowers. Another older boy ran into frame, tackling baby-Ilya and hugging him in a way that looked more like mauling.

"Bud' ostorozhen, Alexei. Pomni, on vsego lish'l malysh." The woman's voice said from behind the camera, her sing-song voice sandwiched by her light laugh. 5-year-old Alexei loosened his grip on his baby brother, gently embracing him instead until Ilya grew bored and fought his way back to his abandoned toy across the yard.

Shane's heart hurt in all sorts of conflicting ways. He wanted to watch the video and just gush over baby Ilya all day, but he was more worried about adult-Ilya who stood stock still beside him. His eyes were fixed on the screen, unmoving. His hands were clenched at his side, and Shane could see the rise and fall of his chest more than usual.

The scene switched to inside the house, and Shane instantly recognized a livelier version of the kitchen table behind them. Little Alexei was opening presents, but baby Ilya was most interested in the camera, reaching straight for the lens with those familiar, piercing blue eyes. Irina laughed from behind the camera, a hand reaching forward to run through Ilya's bleach-blond hair. That's when Shane caught sight of the silent tear down Ilya's face, and he couldn't hold himself back if he tried- Shane let himself fall forward until his chest was firm against Ilya's back. His arms wrapped around Ilya's chest and tugged him gently back into him. He held him firm to his own body, resting his chin on Ilya's shoulder. Ilya's chest shuddered underneath him, but he managed to keep his breathing predominantly even. It was a relief when Shane felt Ilya's hand come up to cover his own, resting right above his thumping heart.

"Ilya..." Svetlana seemed to have caught on to the emotional tangle in the middle of the room, and Shane didn't hesitate to reach out his free arm towards her. She gladly accepted, her body crashing into them until Ilya was wrapped in both of them. He tried his best to look irritated about it, but he wasn't fooling Shane and was doubtfully fooling Svetlana. They stayed like that for a bit until Ilya let his head fall against Shane's while simultaneously giving Svetlana a little squeeze.

"Okay." He sniffled, taking a deep breath to ground himself. "Now get off me." 

Only two tapes were unharmed; the rest of them were lost to corrosion. Shane saw deep-seated guilt settle in Ilya's eyes as he gazed down at the dirty box. He quietly put a hand on Ilya's back, but wasn't sure what to say past that. It was a loss, and it sucked, but at least they had a little of Irina's voice to take back with them. 

They found old photo albums in the office, giving Shane what he could only dream about in the past- evidence of every-aged Ilya he could imagine. And fuck, he was just as cute as Shane had always thought he'd be. He was never bothered by the fact that he and Ilya wouldn't have their own biological children... until right now. He'd love any child with Ilya, but what he wouldn't give to pass those adorable golden ringlets and bright, curious eyes. Shane tried to keep his composure as Ilya peered over his shoulder down at the photos:

1-year-old Ilya looking into his mother's eyes, 3-year-old Ilya covered in cake, 6-year-old Ilya holding a fishing pole that was much too big for him, 8-year-old Ilya in his little hockey uniform, 10-year-old Ilya with one arm in a cast, the other around 14-year-old Alexei in front of a large, beautiful summery lake...

"So you haven't always hated each other." Shane felt brave enough to notice out loud. It was a mistake.              

"He still did then." 

"Doesn't look like it." 

It was quiet for a beat, which was much worse than a quick, witty retort from Ilya.

"And you’re the expert now, yes?" Shane cringed. Okay, maybe he wasn't saying this in the right way...

"I'm just saying... maybe one day you could be near him and, like... pout less."

“Pout!?” Oh shit. "Ser'yezno, Hollander?"

"Ilya-" 

"No, tell me your professional opinion on my brother. Please. Tell me how my brother is just a big fucking teddy bear when one week after that photo he was taken, he beat the shit out of me for no fucking reason. Or how two days after my mother died, he told me to stop being a baby over a mistake she could be so stupid to make. Or how he-"

"Alright, okay... I'm not saying-" 

"No, because you don't have siblings. You can't say shit." 

"Oh, fuck you. I can tell when you're being a fucking child." 

"Not everything can be in your perfect fucking little Canadian bubble of sunshine and rainbows, Hollander!" Ilya erupted, seemingly too heated for English.

"I'm... going to go get us some lunch." Svetlana cut through Ilya's overflow, awkwardly reminding them that she was there at all. Shane himself was stunned by how things had exploded. He considered begging her not to leave him with Ilya, but watched Svetlana leave.

Ilya must've seen something in Shane's expression that broke him down, because his harsh blue eyes softened into something more familiar.

“I’m sorry. I- He just..." Ilya's shoulders slumped, defeated. "I know how I am around him. Obviously, you are right." Shane shook his head, trying to dismiss the concept of “right”, and pulled Ilya into his arms instead.  

“I’m not saying Alexei isn’t an asshole,” Shane said in a low voice, kissing Ilya's temple through a sigh, and then breathing a short laugh. “Hell, he didn’t even acknowledge my existence.”

“Probably for the best.” Ilya chuckled too.

"Probably." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Me too."

They held each other for a moment, letting any remaining anger seep out of their bodies. Ilya was the first to speak up, his question shy.

“Join me for a skate?”

Shane had heard a few stories about the giant lake a quarter of a mile behind Ilya's home. It was where he'd learned to skate and where he practiced every winter. Seeing it was something else, though- stunning was an understatement. The mountainous forests of looming evergreens spread so far back that they faded into shades of atmospheric blues. The lake itself was a deep, dark turquoise yet glassy and clear. The surface glittered when the sun peeked through the clouds for fleeting moments. Snow blanketed the land around the lake, untouched and pure.

Shane imagined 3-year-old Ilya waddling around on skates, barely able to hold a stick.

“Did your mom or dad teach you, or did you just kind of... figure it out?” Shane asked when they made it to the little shed beside the lake. Ilya had explained that it's where he kept all his old hockey equipment and where they let their neighbors store their ice-fishing supplies. Since it was still occasionally used, it was in much better shape than the house. Ilya had even brought a small space heater to keep them comfortable while they sat on the bench and tied on their skates.

“Alexei did, actually.” Great. Shane didn't dare say anything about that. Things were still tense. He wasn't sure if it was from the unexpected films they watched or the tiff they just had, but Ilya was on edge, and Shane tread lightly.

Skates fastened, they glided easily across the ice. Shane thought for sure it'd be rougher after what he'd gotten used to in the rink, but it wasn't. When he got over marveling at the way his tracks left such neat slices in the dark plateau, he turned his attention to Ilya, whom he rarely saw skate without hockey gear. Hell, he himself never skated without hockey gear. It was nice to be freer on his blades for a change.

And for the millionth time in the last 24 hours, Shane was struck by how especially gorgeous his husband looked. The cold tinged his nose, cheeks and lips red, his skin pristine and more of an olive when parallel to the bright white snow. Little flakes landed on Ilya's open parka and the dark knit sweater underneath. His longer curls moved in the wind as he easily slid across the icy surface. 

Shane felt embarrassingly flushed, stomach flutters reminding him of stealing glances at Ilya during games back in the day.

I have a massive crush on my husband. Shane realized with an inner grin. Being introduced to all these new parts of Ilya was like falling in love all over again. 

“If you go down that way, you can make it pretty far… go very fast." Ilya interrupted Shane's quiet pining with an unsuspecting glance to the side. Shane looked beyond the stretching lake that curved into narrower passageways ahead.

Is he implying what I think he is?

Shane caught a little mischievous twitch on Ilya's lips and knew it was game on. Before he could let Ilya jump into a head start, Shane pushed off and skated fast over the ice. He could hear Ilya behind him, then closing the gap, then in front of him. Shane wished he could say he let it happen, but Rozanov (who Shane knew damn well was the fastest player in the league) was especially quick today. He had gained on him enough to allow Ilya to turn and scrape to a stop some ways ahead of Shane. Hollander slowed himself, heart pounding and breaths dramatic. He had dwindled his pace enough to slide right into Ilya gently, their bodies colliding but remaining stable save for a wobble.

"Jesus," It was as much of a compliment as Shane was willing to give.

"Still got it." Ilya was breathing hard too, a smile on his face. Shane smiled back and kissed him, holding him a little tighter than usual. Their tongues danced, and their hot breath mixed in a light cloud between them. 

“Did you ever think of doing speed skating instead of hockey?” Shane asked when he pulled back. Ilya loved anything fast. Rozanov shrugged sheepishly and casually skated backwards. 

“Yes, very much... But it was too gay, according to my father.” They both laughed at that, neither needing to point out the irony in the statement. “Plus, I’d miss all shoving and punching."

They continued skating, now nearly a mile away from the lake shed. Shane let himself zone out while watching the trees swirl by in his peripheral vision. “Yeah. Probably not a lot of that in skating.” 

“There are pipes to knees." Ilya raised his eyebrows cheekily. "Maybe I should have tried that instead of fucking you all the time.”

Shane smiled and shook his head, about to say something about how it would've been less shocking than their actual relationship, but Ilya's voice suddenly sent a cold chill down his spine. 

"Shane, stop." He was terrified, all the playfulness gone from his voice. Shane stopped pushing off his blades and let himself slide to a stop, turning a frown to Ilya, whose eyes were wide, his face pale. He was staring at the ground below Shane.

That's not a good sign. 

With his heart nearly pounding out of his chest, Shane glanced down slowly as if a look too quick would mean the end of everything. There was a crack that was quietly traveling its way across the ice underneath him, but it wasn't as bad as Shane would've thought from Ilya's reaction. 

"Moy lyubov... Just... Carefully, this way," Ilya was reaching for him while trying not to add his own weight in the wrong place. Shane knew he was most likely fine, but his chest clenched at the way Ilya was clearly panicking. If their situations were reversed, he'd be the same. Shane shuffled enough to grab Ilya's hand. He immediately pulled him to safer ice and tugged him into his waiting arms. Ilya cradled Shane for a moment, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"I think that is enough skating, yes? Let's go back."

They held hands the whole way back, which did slow them down considerably. Shane tried to pull away just to skate easier, but Ilya gripped his hand harder. 

"No, I don't think so." 

Shane chuckled and shook his head. If it made Ilya feel better, then fine. He hoped it did, because the longer skate back was quiet, and despite Ilya's newfound worry for Shane's safety, he felt far away. He didn't even notice the way Shane let Ilya kind of just drag him for a while, allowing Hollander to study his face better. Rozanov's features were hard, his eyes like the ice below his skates, and his thoughts loud yet so-far nondescript.

Shane recognized this type of moment. Ilya had them from time to time when everything he had been pushing away came crashing back at him. Shane worried that they may be on the brink of a breakdown and mentally prepared himself. Today would be the day if any. Sifting through the emotional ruins of your old life was bound to do that to a person. 

Back at the shed, Shane went inside to start taking his skates off immediately. He and Ilya were just one size off, but it still wasn't ideal, and his feet were starting to kill him. Ilya didn't follow him, and Shane felt fear course through him upon realizing this. He started stuffing his boots on much faster, bounding out the door into the cold again. 

Ilya was just standing there, back to Shane and eyes scanning the lake before him. He was lost in thought, and Shane decided that maybe he should let him be. When Ilya's eyes landed on his house in the distance, Shane watched his hand clench momentarily. 

There was only one room left that they hadn't gone through yet. It was the master bedroom- the room where Irina took her own life. The room where Ilya's life crumbled around him. 

Shane went back into the shed and noted the snow pants, jackets, and waders hanging on the wall hooks. 

Maybe we don't have to go back to the house quite yet. 

By the time he emerged back outside, Ilya hadn't moved an inch. Shane approached him from behind, making sure to go slowly and not disturb his thoughts too harshly. Ilya didn't flinch when Shane snaked his arms around his waist, his cheek resting against the back of Ilya's coat. 

"I'm okay," Ilya said immediately without prompting; it did him no favors in trying to convince Shane. Hollander's next statement was hesitantly crafted. 

"Can I take care of you?" Shane tilted his head back so he could press light kisses to the back of Ilya's neck. 

"Da... Please." 

After he admittedly got over the relief of not being rejected, Shane took him into the little nest he created inside the shed. He had pulled all the winter outerwear hanging on the wall, and latticed them together into a neat cushion on the floor. He was slow and gentle with him as he guided Ilya down onto his makeshift bed. His husband was still a little dazed as Shane slowly stripped him of his clothes, but his cock was hard and threatening to tear through Ilya's boxers already. Shane removed that last bit of clothing and ran his hands over Ilya's arms, making sure he was warm enough. 

"Mmm... Moy vozlyublenyy." Ilya whispered when Shane began sucking and kissing across his collarbone. He moved downwards, relishing in the way he could feel Ilya's muscles flex and tremble underneath his lips and tongue. His hand moved to Ilya's waiting cock...

“My jacket pocket,” Ilya says. Shane smirked. There was no way...

Except there it was: Lube packets in Ilya's pocket. The horny fiend was always ready, and Shane didn't know why he still managed to be surprised. 

Once Shane's hand was properly lubed and stroking around Ilya's cock slowly, he leaned down and flicked his tongue over Ilya's nipples and kissed down his sternum, using his teeth every so often like he knew Ilya liked.

"Chert voz'mi, da," Ilya breathed. It was tantalizing how Ilya's body responded under his touch, muscles tensing against Shane's lips. He licked the "V" of Ilya's pelvis, and Shane relished in feeling his husband's whole body shudder. He'd do this forever if he could. 

Ilya was absolutely tickled by the work Shane had done to make the little shed cozy for them.

"Ty takoy krasivyy," Shane breathed against Ilya's hip, eyes and lips smiling shyly up at him. Ilya felt heat rise to his face at being called beautiful so earnestly and unexpectedly. He certainly didn't feel beautiful right now. "Like extra beautiful. S momenta nashego priyezda v Rossiyu." Ever since we got here. Shane reiterated. 

Ilya’s eyes got foggy against his will, and Shane kissed right between them, then the bridge of his nose, then his lips, chin, sternum... Ilya closed his eyes and focused on the happy hum and little shivers throughout his body caused by Shane's mouth, not to mention the slow but steady hand around his dick. When he got back to Ilya's hips, the scrape of Shane's teeth so close to his cock was driving him insane. As the lube around his cock was running out, Ilya was going to tell Shane that he didn't have to-

Shit. 

Shane didn't always love going down on Ilya after he had just used lube, but he was already in Shane's slick mouth. Ilya couldn't help but push upward instinctively, and Hollander took him willingly. He watched the most gorgeous man in the world move up and down his length with ease, and Rozanov suddenly remembered their very first time. Shane was so comfortable with Ilya now. He knew everything he liked and eagerly gave it to him every time.

"Ideal'nyy," Rozanov brushed his fingers through Shane's hair. Ilya was already losing his mind a little when Shane retracted from his dick- Ilya wasn't proud of his needy groan that followed, but he was soon rewarded for his patience when he felt Shane's hand around his cock again and heard the sound of another lube packet being opened. Ilya cracked his eyelid and was met with his favorite show; Shane with one hand on Ilya's cock, the other slowly easing his fingers into himself. 

Ilya groaned and humped himself into Shane's hand, eyes flitting between Shane's face and where he was stretching himself.

When he eventually lined himself up over Ilya's cock and sank down, Rozanov swore he saw stars in his vision. His breath caught in his throat from overwhelming pleasure shooting up his spine, trying to keep himself from gripping Shane's hips too hard. When Shane was fully seated on him, Ilya reached up and slid his hand around the back of his neck. 

"Pomedlenneye, moya lyubov. Be slow with me, you feel too good." 

Shane grinned proud, yet shy as he slowly began grinding himself into Ilya. He fucked him like that for a while, neither of them wanting to rush this time. He was so, so, so pretty with his knees straddling Ilya, his abs slick and clenching as he humped their bodies together. Shane's freckles speckled over the remaining red blush from the cold, his eyelids heavy and mouth open to let out his adorable little pants. He leaned down further, capturing Ilya's mouth with his own and kissing him so affectionately that Ilya's head was buzzing.

When Shane pulled back, the windows behind revealed that it had started to snow gently outside, and Ilya was reminded of where he was: Russia. Not just Russia, but his childhood home... and he didn't feel terrible about it which truly was a testament to the absolute angel riding his cock right now.

For the first time since his mother died, Ilya was at peace here, and that was because of Shane. 

He couldn't take it anymore- the love was becoming too unbearably big in his chest, not to mention he was getting much too close to finishing watching Shane like this. He didn't want it to end. So, Ilya pushed himself off the ground and covered Shane’s body in his, swiftly but delicately guiding him down onto his back. He cradled Shane while he lined up the head of his cock.

"Ty slishkom dobr ko mne," Ilya whispered as he began to press himself inside of Shane. They both groaned as he slowly bottomed out, Shane's arms wrapping around him and running over his back. "Just... need a second." Ilya managed to grunt, feeling Shane pull him tighter so that they were lying still with chests flush against each other. Rozanov hid his face in the crook of Shane's neck, pressing slow kisses there before nibbling Shane's earlobe. 

"Mm..." Shane's fingertips ran along the length of Ilya's spine, sending chills through his body. He snuggled closer to Shane, cock still deep inside his homey warmth. "You know, last time we were in Russia together, I couldn't touch you. Couldn't hold you. Couldn't tell you I loved you."

Ilya propped himself up on his elbows so he could gaze down at Shane's love-drunk eyes that were tinged with sadness. 

"Not to mention, you were kind of a dick." Ilya laughed against Shane's chest because, from what he could remember, he couldn't argue that. Shane's thumb came up to run along Ilya's cheekbone, then his eyebrow. "You weren't mine, and it fucking sucked. Ya tak rad, chto ty moy. I'm so happy you're mine." Shane finished, which also nearly finished Ilya in turn. Instead, he shuddered and kissed his wonderful husband, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue before he slipped it into Shane's mouth. Ilya started to move with deep and long thrusts that had them both moaning and panting against one another.  

When Ilya's movements became more frantic, and Shane's breathing quickened, they rested their foreheads against one another, grasping and embracing to grow closer and closer. Rozanov reached a hand between them to stroke Shane's cock because there was no fucking way Ilya would last much longer. It was all too much; the love of his life underneath him, around him… here, in Moscow where Ilya was first made who he was. Ilya worked Shane's cock faster between their heaving bodies as he began to unravel.

“I can’t- Shane-“

“Come for me, dorogoy.” Shane thankfully cut over him, because no tangible words came to Ilya’s mind. Their eyes met just as Ilya felt all of his nerve endings explode. With a grunt and shudder, he came hard inside Shane, their heat radiating against one another, and their eyes staying locked. It wasn't easy to time it often, and usually it'd happen mostly by accident, but Shane came at the same time, and the sensation of him milking Ilya's cock had him near-blackout. Their mouths clashed together in sloppy but firm kisses before Shane peppered the rest of them across the side of Ilya's face.

Rozanov eventually collapsed on Shane, loving the way his whole body rose and fell with the breaths of his tan freckled chest.

"Fuck," Ilya relished in another unexpected shiver throughout his body, pulling out and snuggling back into Shane's hot skin. Shane's heavy breathing was answer enough as he raised a hand up to play with Ilya's curls. He was obsessed with his curls. Ilya didn't mind it one bit.

He stayed as dead-weight on Shane for quite a while after they murmured "I love yous", their cadence of breaths having slowed long ago. Ilya never wanted to leave this snapshot in time. 

And I never want to go in that room. He imagined the stretching dark hallway ending with the door he still saw in occasional nightmares. Would it be like he was walking it to find his mother all over again?

Ilya shooed the thought away and cuddled closer to the one who was now his true home. 

Chapter Text

Dust hung thick in the air, creating a haunted, milky haze. Light rays seeped through the window slats, slicing through the room.

Ilya’s feet cemented themselves to where they stood in the threshold of the master bedroom. He could feel Shane's gaze on him, but didn't dare to meet it; those giant, rich puppy-dog eyes weren't going to help Ilya keep his composure. He felt Shane's hand slip into his own, though, and that did help reboot Ilya. He took in a breath that he didn't realize he was holding, and entered the room. 

It's just a room. 

But that room had a bed, and that bed was where he last saw his mother's corpse. Ilya felt sick, but pushed through. He avoided looking at the massive memorial of the worst day of his life and instead moved to the dresser.

There was jewelry that still haunted Ilya's memories: His mother's dainty gold chain bracelet when she felt his feverish forehead. Those floral, amber earrings that always caught the sun just right. The necklace of tiny pearls that she wore only for special occasions...

"This was your grandmother's grandmother's necklace. See?" Mama would let a small Ilya curiously handle her precious heirlooms. "It's important to hold onto loved ones, even in little ways."

Then there were the century-old woven tapestries from the grandmother he never knew. They always stored them away, but they had meant everything to Irina. There was a pocket watch from his great-grandfather on his mother's side, a box of ancient photographs... There were lots of things Ilya still hadn't found, and he was starting to worry that he was too late. He didn't care enough to come collect the last remnants of his mother, and now they may be gone. 

“Hey,” Shane touched his arm, and Ilya jumped embarrassingly. 

"Sorry. I'm okay." 

"No sorrys." Shane must've noticed the pain in his eyes, but instead of letting him address it, Ilya moved to rifle through the closet.

Rozanov was forced to remember something against his will: The time he had gotten into his parents' closet at 8-years-old. Svetlana was with him, the two of them giggling and trying on garments much too big. He recalled feeling so proud and adult as he slipped on his father's favorite silk tie. It was back when he was naïve enough to believe he wanted to be anything like his father.

When Grigoryevich walked in on them later, he hadn't hesitated to strike Ilya across the face so hard that he collapsed on the floor. His father didn't hit them often, but when he did, it was over the most unexpected things and hard.

The bad memory paled in comparison to the real reason he couldn't actually stand being here.

"Is stupid." 

"Huh?"

Ilya didn't turn away from the closet.

"I have the best life ever," Ilya said, unable to hide the guilt in his voice. "I shouldn't be upset by any of this. Not anymore."

With no answer from Shane, Ilya was forced to turn around when his curiosity won out. Hollander looked slightly horrified. His gaze raked over Ilya's features as if he were searching for signs of it being a joke. 

It wasn't.

“Hey…" Ilya was surprised when Shane finally moved to take his face in both of his hands. He gently shook him until Ilya allowed their gazes to meet. "You found your mother dead, Ilya. That’s horrible.” 

It was also horrible to chortle at the statement, but Ilya did anyway. 

“Well... when you say it out loud, yes. Is not very good, is it?”

They found comfort in the levity. Shane leaned in and kissed him gently. Ilya forced a smile for him before moving to a large chest up against the windows. He crouched down and began searching through it.

"I just think of this room all the time. Strange that now it won't exist." Ilya admitted hesitantly but was soon reminded of why he allowed himself vulnerability: Shane. Shane, who crouched next to him with a hand that massaged Ilya's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. It- Is it like... a grief feeling?" Shane stumbled over his words cutely. Ilya sighed and sank sideways until his husband wrapped his arm fully around him. He was tired of looking through things. 

“I guess. But also... maybe a little relief? And that makes me feel guilty." Galina would be so proud, he thought bitterly.

"You have nothing to be guilty about."

Ilya was going to leave it there; let the thoughts stir in his head rather than in the air. Once the first word came out, though, he couldn't stop.

"Maybe I should've kept up with the house. The memories of her are here. Maybe I was selfish for leaving it like this." Ilya switched to Russian as his mouth outran his brain. Plus, he was embarrassed by these admissions and secretly hoped to lose Shane in translation.

He didn't. Of course, he didn't.

"Ilya, Eto nespravedlivo." That's not fair. "Hey," Shane took Ilya's hands in his and turned them to face one another again. He took what looked to be intended as a grounding breath, but it ended in a quiet shudder and that heartbreaking glaze over his eyes. Then, in a near whisper that made it sound like it was painful, "She's not here anymore." 

It wasn't meant to be cruel, and Ilya knew what he meant; keeping the house wouldn't have meant anything. It was just another way to keep grasping at something that would never be there. Ilya nodded and swallowed. His throat was tighter than before, but the guilt diminished. 

"You're right, and-" He took a deep breath, looking away from Shane for a moment. "I don't know. I guess maybe I am being hard on myself." 

"You think?"

He did think, and that was a relief.

Shane stood and pulled Ilya with him, taking him into his arms. Rozanov gladly buried his face in Shane's shoulder and squeezed him extra tight. God, Hollander was so good for him, and Ilya loved him so much. It should've been a horrible day. A horrible moment. Somehow, Shane had turned it into a memory he wanted to save forever.

Hollander's hand canvased the expanse of Ilya's back. Shane laid tiny kisses to his temple that made Ilya's heart hurt in a good way.

Svetlana cleared her throat from behind them. They untangled to look back at her. Ilya refused to be bothered by the hint of a smile on her face. 

"It's getting dark. Are we almost ready?"

They never did find the tapestries, the jewelry, or the family heirlooms. Ilya supposed he'd ask Alexei, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know his answer.

Once outside, Ilya tossed his backpack into the car and went to follow. Shane interjected first.

"Do you-" 

"No." Ilya was certain Shane was going to try to coax him into some big, emotional farewell to his house. Fuck that. He just wanted to leave. 

When it became clear that Ilya also wasn't talking on the car ride back, Svetlana and Shane got started up about hockey. Ilya zoned out, but kept his hand loosely clasped with Shane's.

He did, however, snap out of it when the car randomly slowed on the side of the road. But when Ilya looked up, it wasn't random after all. 

“No. Keep going.”

"Ilya…” Svetlana tilted her head at him.

“I did not ask you to do this.” 

“You didn’t have to.” There was a stand-off of sorts between Svetlana and Ilya, but deep down, he knew she was right. Ilya's vision was already getting foggy. “It may be the last time.”

Ilya sat there for a while, trying to will his limbs to move. Shane and Svetlana seemed to both understand and just let him exist there quietly. Finally, he twisted in his seat to look at Shane, who was clearly confused but biting his tongue. Ilya tightened his grip and ran his thumb along the back of Shane's hand. 

“I’m going to go see my mother for a bit, okay?” The sentence was foreign in his mouth. Shane blinked like he had short-circuited for a second before he nodded.

"Yeah, yeah…” Then, trying in Russian. “Whatever you need, I’m here. Okay?”

Ilya kissed the back of Shane's hand and gave Svetlana an appreciative nod before stepping out into the cold.

The plot was small and close to where her parents were buried. She was right up against the forest line, which Ilya knew she would've liked. His father was on a whole separate plot with his own parents. Ilya was glad he wasn't near her. His father couldn't bother her post-death. 

Ilya felt pathetic being this affected. He knew she wasn't here; not the part of her that mattered. But the thought of her body's remains- the same body that held Ilya like he was the most precious thing on Earth- being underneath the ground he stood on was dizzying in the worst way.

There was her name: Irina Rozanova etched into the stone. It wasn’t as clear as Ilya recalled- the weathering had nearly erased her. He wanted to blame Alexei (and did), but he hadn’t been here in ten years. He wondered if strangers saw the headstone and assumed no one cared to remember her. Guilt consumed him.

I'm a horrible son.

Then out loud,

"I'm so sorry, Mama."

His voice broke at the end, his throat too painful to help it any longer. He took in a stuttering breath, his eyes swimming with tears. He looked down at where his feet imprinted the snow and tried to compose himself. He had so much to tell her.

"Moya zhizn' teper' tak sil'no izmenilas'." My life has changed so much now.

"Ya sobirayus' stat' kanadtsem." He said with an amused snort. I'm going to be a Canadian.

"U menya yest' druz'ya," I have friends. Then Ilya paused, the corner of his lip twitching upwards. "I sem'ya." And family. He felt the tears come back, spilling hot over his cold face.

"I ya tak vlyublennyy." And I'm so in love. He thought of that dopey little smile Shane gave him upon waking up every morning; the way he'd later cradle his mug with both hands while peering at his laptop through his adorable glasses.

Or, God... The way Shane would hold his head in his lap and play with Ilya's curls until he dozed off, warm and safe. 

"Ya znayu, chto ty, navernoye, ozhidal uvidet' khoroshuyu pravoslavnuyu devushku, no ya znayu, on by tebe ponravilsya." I know you were probably expecting a nice Orthodox girl, but I know you would love him.

He told her about Shane- about how he was kind, caring, and charmingly naive at times. How he was irritatingly ambitious and has never half-assed anything in his life. He was crazy particular about little things. He was sensitive, careful, thoughtful, and the most talented hockey player in the world (but don't tell him that). He allowed Ilya to be himself completely. Other than being a perfect husband, he was a good friend, a good son... In every sense of the word, he was good, and he would've been so proud to share those parts of him with her.

"No chto by ya ni delal," But no matter what I do,

"Kak sil'no ya lyublyu," How hard I love,

"Naskol'ko ya schastliv," How happy I am,

He choked a sob back in his throat. The wind picked up with a particularly strong gust that howled low and sad. Part of Ilya hoped it was somehow his mother trying to reach out and comfort him.

"Ya vsegda skuchayu po tebe, Mama." I miss you always, Mama. 

It was quiet while Shane thought about the weight of the day. This was Ilya’s life. After one day of being around it all, Shane himself was exhausted.

"This was really thoughtful of you. I was getting scared to ask him." Shane tried to distract himself from how badly he wanted to hold Ilya in that moment.

"He is a little on edge, yeah?" Svetlana observed.

"I think this dinner with Alexei may have been a mistake." 

"Like I said, this may be the last time... for a lot of things." Svetlana shrugged.

"Have any advice heading into the front lines?"

"The less they speak, the better. They suck at talking to each other."

Shane swallowed and nodded. 

"Is Alexei really just that big of a dick? Is it jealousy, or... The money? I don't understand how it all got so volatile."

"Mm, yes. It's that and many other things. Ilya doesn't always help either. Mainly, they are just stubborn and Russian. And have terrible communication skills. Must be Ilya's hetero side."

Shane chuckled as his phone buzzed, and he saw Ilya's name appear on his screen. After all those years, he still loved to see it proudly displayed on his phone: Ilya. 

The text said: Join me?

Shane didn't know why he felt nervous.

The snow was floating slowly enough to look suspended in time. Ilya stood at the far end of the cemetery with his back turned to Shane, his black jacket stark against the snowy forest. The last bits of golden light were fading to a purple dusk. He approached Ilya cautiously, Shane's feet crunching against the blanket of white. Immediately, Hollander noticed the redness in his husband's eyes. 

He felt his chest cave in. 

Shane went to slip his hand into Ilya's, but immediately flinched. Rozanov's hands were freezing.

"Ilya..." He didn't know why he whispered. Shane took Ilya's hands and held them between his own, trying to transfer all the warmth he had left. Ilya hummed in ways of "thank you" and sighed before,

“Mama, eto Shane.”

The shy introduction gutted Shane. He could tell Ilya was trying his best to keep his voice level, and if Shane wasn't such a Rozanov expert at this point, it may have worked on him. Ilya was peering at Shane in a way that melted him amidst the unforgiving Moscow winter.

He reluctantly broke his view from Ilya to look at the headstone. It wasn't fair. He so badly wanted to change things for him.

“Ya khorosho o nyom pozabochus'. Obeshchayu.” I’ll take good care of him. I promise. Shane watched Ilya's eyes light up with tears as his own emotions swam in his vision.

"Ugh," Ilya looked up at the sky, blinking his way back to his composure. "I am tired of today already... And yet," Ilya groaned and threw his head back in frustration. "Mama, he's making me have dinner with Alexei. I don't want to." 

Shane chuckled at the thought of Ilya tattling on him to his Mom.

"You'll survive." 

"I guess she would've been happy about it. The dinner." Ilya admitted, surprising Shane.

"Definitely." He was relieved by Ilya's saying that; it felt like a good omen for the rest of the night. 

Unfortunately, that's not how things played out. 

___________________

The whole day had been a swarm of biting nostalgia and resurfaced grief. However, nothing hit him as hard as the meal Katya had cooked for them. When she had first put down the bowl in front of Ilya, he thought he had done an okay job at hiding his shock. 

Pelmeni. His mother used to make it all the time. Now that he was staring at the little steaming dumplings in front of him, Ilya realized he hadn't had it since she died. He felt like his world had shaken him where he sat, but he refused to let it show with Alexei across the table. 

Luckily, the conversation between Sophia, Shane, and Katya was flowing as it had been all night.

If he thought he could hold it together through taking his first bite, though, Ilya was sorely mistaken. He had never experienced such a sudden and unexpected rush of emotions from the simple taste of anything before, and it frankly terrified him.

You're fine. This is normal. Normal experience. Normal feelings. 

No. No, I'm spiraling. 

Nope, stop. You're being dramatic. 

Fuck. Am I panicking? 

Not here, you're not. Pull it the fuck together.

"Ilya?" He raised his gaze from where it had remained locked on the bowl before him. He realized he had frozen long enough to be obvious. Katya was looking at him with soft, questioning eyes, and now that she had said something, everyone else turned to look at him, too. 

Great. 

"What do you think?" She asked him, gesturing towards the food.

He couldn't help his eyes flickering to Alexei. He was surprised to find him watching for Ilya's reaction as well. He cleared his throat. 

"Um... Eto-" He felt stupid for not being able to find words in any language.

"Eto Mama's. Her recipe." It was one of the only things Alexei had said all night. It was as if he was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Ilya avoided his gaze this time.

"I haven't made it in a while." Katya humbly offered, and Ilya shook his head. 

"It's good, Katya. Perfect." It was true. It tasted just like Ilya hadn't remembered, but now he did, melancholy pooled in his stomach. Katya smiled sweetly at him, which helped untwist the knot of resurfaced grief. That, and Shane's hand that found his underneath the table. 

Once he was sure he was safe from tearing up, Ilya braved a glance at those sable irises next to him. He gave Shane's hand a little squeeze and got a reverent smile in return.

Once the shock wore off and Ilya ate more, a warmth returned to him twice as strong. It started to feel good to re-experience something that brought back so much of his mother.

Ilya glanced around the table. It was so strange to see Shane there among his family- family he thought he'd never see again after threatening as much to Alexei.

Speaking of which, their eyes accidentally met over the table again, and Ilya saw him quickly glance away before he did the same.

No matter what changes, this will always be the same. He thought miserably of his brother. He willed himself to focus on the positives of the night, tuning back into the chatting at the end of the table. 

"Yes, I used to play first line." Shane was telling Sophia, who had devolved back to hockey talk. Alexei seemed even less enthused than usual by this, but kept his mouth shut.

“But Uncle Shane is trying to steal it back from me.” Ilya joined in.

“I am not. Second makes more sense for me.”

“And my C.”

“F- Screw you." Shane snorted. "I like my A.”

Sophia looked like she was going to burst, her face alight as she gazed between her Uncles.

“So, Ilya. Is it good to be back? At all?” Katya asked. He wished they were still talking about hockey.

“Yes, some.” It was as honest as he could be while remaining polite.

“Not as new and shiny as the West,” Alexei muttered, and Ilya fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes. Old buildings. Old ideas.”

He felt Shane kick him under the table. Why did he have to be the one to behave?

"Did you see the cabinets?"

Of course, he had to bring up the giant slur painted across our childhood home at the fucking dinner table.

"Yes, Alexei. I saw the cabinets. What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. I was just asking." 

A moment passed, and Ilya briefly reconsidered what he was about to say. 

"Have you seen Mama's jewelry and the tapestries?"

It was quiet, and Ilya probably should've stopped there. 

"Our grandfather's pocket watch? His old knife?"

The only sound was the scrape of forks. Alexei's eyes were trained down to where he pushed around a lone dumpling in his bowl. 

“They're gone.”

“Gone?” No reaction from his brother. “What do you mean, gone?”

Alexei took a second before he turned his gaze slowly to meet Ilya's. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched. Ilya felt his own teeth grit together, his mouth tightening into a scowl. Both of their eyes bore forward, the both of them refusing to back down.

“Sophia, go play your new record player,” Katya said.

“But-“

“Sophia." Alexei said, remaining stock still. Ilya heard his niece sigh and retreat from the table. If he didn't feel such fire rising in his chest, he would've felt worse about it.

Gone. 

Like it was no big deal. 

“You fucking sold them, didn’t you?” Ilya tried to keep his voice low even when Sophia exited the room.

Alexei broke their stares, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“Fuck, Alexei. At least answer me.”

“You were gone for ten years, Ilya. Ten years. A lot happens in a decade when you discard your whole life like trash.”

Ilya stood so fast his chair almost tipped.

Shane put his hand on Ilya's arm, but he shrugged him off and walked into the parlor room out of sight. Alexei sighed from across the table, tossing down his napkin and rising from his chair. 

"Such a drama queen." He followed Ilya.

Shane turned to Katya with wide eyes, but her eyes were closed. She sat there, head slightly tipped back and breathing slowly. It was like she was preparing for a storm.

And there was one. The arguing in the other room started low but intense, like it took everything in their power to keep the volume down. That idea soon flew out the window.

The night had been going so well up until then. Well, that may have been a bit of an exaggeration for Ilya and Alexei. Ilya was noticeably tense all night, and Alexei hadn't said more than two words. The silence between the two of them was what Svetlana had suggested, though, and Shane really thought they'd make it through the evening. 

No such luck.

Shane was able to catch a few phrases being hurled around. Something about not caring, something about abandonment, something about cocaine...

"Do you want help with cleaning?" Shane suddenly felt uncomfortable sitting there and listening. Katya smiled sadly at Shane, and he did the same back. 

"Da." 

"You needed coke that bad?"

"Shut your fucking mouth." Alexei poked at his shoulder, and Ilya let him. Yelling that in Alexei's house with his daughter down the hall was a dick move even for Ilya. "You don't even know what the fuck you're talking about. You haven't been here. You left."

“The amount at which you don’t give two fucks never ceases to amaze me,” Ilya scoffed.

“If you gave a fuck yourself, you would’ve been here! You could’ve come and gotten all the crap you wanted, whenever you wanted to!”

“Crap? Alexei those had been in Mama's family for like, a century. It's all we had of them. And mom’s jewelry? Really? The bracelet she wore every fucking day, are you serious?” Ilya was furiously pacing. If he didn’t, he’d punch a wall or Alexei's face.

“Why would we need jewelry? We're not women.” It was an obvious jab at his sexuality.

“BECAUSE IT'S ALL WE HAVE LEFT. SHE FUCKING KILLED HERSELF, SO IT'S ALL WE HAVE LEFT, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.”

“ENOUGH.” He shoved at Ilya, whose back hit the wall. He instinctively shoved Alexei back, feeling his face burn hot. “ENOUGH WITH THE BULLSHIT, ILYA." Then, quieter with a glance towards the hallway. "She didn't kill herself. Don't you dare bring that shit into my house!”

“Oh my god! Congrats, Alexei. You got what you wanted! You are fucking just like Papa."

"Didn't matter," Alexei mumbled, and if Ilya wasn't so deep into his angry monologue, maybe he would've noticed. 

"Just like him, she was just a fucking maid to you."

"Are you fucking kidding me!?"

"Or is everything you do just to fucking spite me?"

"Fuck you, Ilya. You find a way to make everything about you! Every time! I couldn't even grieve Mama properly because you sucked up all the space!"

"No one said you couldn't grieve because of me, Alexei!"

"Papa did!" Ilya was shocked, but Alexei didn't give it time to marinate. "You were such a brat, and still everything was about you. Everything was Ilya, Ilya, Ilya, and you took it all and threw it away to prance around disgracing Russia, sticking your dick in faggots, and-"

But the minute Alexei implied bringing Shane into this, everything was over.

Shane and Katya were huddled over the sink, washing dishes and trying to ignore the shouting.

"I'm sorry. Dinner was amazing." Hollander meant it wholeheartedly. Getting to eat a dish from Ilya's childhood, surrounded by his blood relatives in fucking Moscow, was one of Shane's new favorite memories... like, ever.

"Don't be. And, I'm the one sorry for Alexei. He doesn't know when to shut his mouth. I swear he tries to rile Ilya up." Shane didn't catch all of what Katya said, but got the gist. He nodded as she handed him another dish to put in the drying rack. 

"It's not your fault that he hates him."

Katya stopped what she was doing and looked over at Shane, surprise flickering over her face. 

"Alexei doesn't hate him. Does Ilya think that?"

And as if on an ironic cue, Ilya was shouting obscenities, and there was a loud bang and clatter from the parlor. 

"Fuck." Shane didn't hesitate to rush himself towards the commotion. He was met with a blur of movement, the two brothers shoving at one another and nearly knocking over a shelf full of items in the process.

Shane didn't think; he just saw them on top of one another and jumped into action. Ilya swung, but Shane grabbed his bicep just in time, immediately pulling them apart. He threw his own body in between them, catching a few shoves back and forth in the process. 

"ENOUGH." Shane shoved a hand against each of their chests with all his strength, widening the space between them. 

"Now, who's like Papa?" Alexei spat, his chest pushing against Shane's still-outstretched hand.

That set Ilya off again, and he lunged, attempting to elbow past Shane. He was ready for it, though, gripping Ilya's shirt in his fists and pushing him back until he was pressed against the wall behind him. 

"Hey. Calm. Down. Go outside." 

He felt Ilya's chest rising and falling dramatically beneath his hands. He didn't meet Shane's eyes, glaring past him at Alexei, who thankfully stood down when facing two hockey players.

Ilya was clearly not listening to him, though. Shane could see the vein in his temple and the twitch in his jaw. He gently shoved Ilya against the wall again. 

"Ilya Rozanov. I'm fucking serious. Go." Ilya finally glanced at Shane, and he felt some of the tension melt from Ilya's chest. He huffed and softly shoved Shane off of him, begrudgingly doing what he was told. 

Alexei tried to call something after Ilya, but Shane cut him off, not even bothering to translate to Russian.

“Fuck off, Alexei.” 

And then, quieter as if to himself, Alexei said with deflation, "I didn't know he'd want them," before he stalked out of the room and retreated into his bedroom. Shane was left standing alone with Katya. Their apologetic looks mirrored each other. 

"Do you guys want to say goodbye to Sophia?" She asked.

Shane glanced out the window and saw Ilya pacing back and forth angrily while, strangely, on a phone call. 

"I'll say goodbye."

Sophia's shift from earlier in the night made Shane's chest tighten. She had been so alive and bubbly the entire evening, but now she timidly opened her bedroom door. 

"Privet," Shane said, also shy. "Well... Na samom dele ya zdes', chtoby poproshchat'sya." Actually, I'm here to say goodbye. This seemed to upset her further, but she let him follow her into her room. 

"Thanks again for all the gifts. My friends will be jealous."

Shane smiled and nodded. "Of course."

A beat went by, and Shane shuffled awkwardly, about to make his final goodbye when,

"Why do they fight so much?"

Shane froze, words caught in his throat. He wished he had a satisfactory answer for her. 

"I think... I think they have been through a lot, and it's hard to talk about." 

"Like grandma?"

"Yeah, like your grandma."

Sophia nodded as she considered this, sighing and offering up a sad smile.

"Hey, you have our numbers. You can text and call anytime. We'll get you a bunch of Centaurs stuff, okay?"

Sophia smiled bigger, then, with a very familiar Rozanov-glint in her eye, she said,

"Your accent is funny." 

Shane scoffed in shock, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at her. 

"Alright." He responded flatly. He wasn't safe from anyone in this family. His niece giggled as he went for a final hug, a sudden rush of sadness flooding his chest. He'd miss her. 

Outside, the younger Rozanov had finally ceased pacing. His leg bounced as he shifted his weight back and forth, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

“Svetlana's picking us up,” was all Ilya said when Shane stepped up beside him. 

“Oh. Okay…”

An 'I'm sorry' would be nice. Shane tried but failed not to think. He nudged Ilya's arm and showed him that he had his jacket. Shane helped him into his coat as his brow furrowed. Svetlana wasn't in the original plan.

“I think we will go to the club after all.”

...The fuck?

Shane froze for a second, but finished tugging Ilya's jacket over his shoulder. Ilya zipped it up himself, avoiding Shane's gaze. He knew this was fucked up.

“Um… do I get a say in this, or-“

“I’m sorry," He instantly broke, twisting to catch Shane's gaze. Ilya's eyes were still fiery, his face flushed. His features softened as he kept talking. "I know. I’m sorry, I just... wanted a distraction and Svetlana said we could get a private section, and it's already really underground and secretly really gay, and-"

"I- Fine. Yeah. I guess. Are you sure you feel up for that right now?"

"Trust me, Hollander. I could use a drink."

Shane wasn't enthused, but Ilya did seem to be calming down. Shane wanted nothing more than to talk about what just happened, but he knew Ilya often needed time to process.

For example, he finally sighed guiltily beside Shane. 

"Sorry that you had to do that." Ilya was looking down at his feet, dragging one through the snow and making patterns. Shane took a deep breath that ended in a chuckle of disbelief. 

"I definitely learned my lesson."

Which is that you both can't handle one simple fucking dinner.

Shane didn't want to fan Ilya's flames again, so he kept it to himself. Instead, they were silent while Shane waited to take an emotionally raw, especially erratic Ilya to a public Russian night club. 

What could go wrong?

Chapter Text

Club Aurora: Moscow, Russia

December 25th, 2023

🎶 Maps - STRFKR 🎶   (Right-Click/Hold Down to open in new tab)

The bass pounded so loud that the couch rumbled beneath him. It wasn't consuming enough to quiet Ilya's thoughts, though, and that was a shame. He was constantly replaying his fight with Alexei in his head.

The worst part was the accusation that Ilya couldn't deny: He could've come to Russia at any point in the last decade if he really wanted his mother's old things. He hated himself for failing her, and Alexei pressed on that bruise. He'd much rather redirect his anger at his incessant, jealous piece-of-shit brother anyway. 

Svetlana had delivered on her promises. They had a private section near the back of the club, bathed in deep indigo. It was the three of them, plus two of Svetlana's girlfriends. The backdrop of the rest of the club was packed with sweaty, dancing bodies. A wide array of hats, sunglasses, and masks was being worn. It didn't surprise Ilya to see people disguising themselves at a "queer-based" club. 

It made it less weird for Ilya to be wearing a backwards ball cap and his Ray-Bans. Shane was just wearing his sunglasses. It was inconvenient to wear sunglasses in such a dark room, and if Shane weren't here, Ilya would've said fuck it to the accessories. If it were just up to him, he wouldn't care anymore. 

"Yeshche raund?" Svetlana's friend Anna asked where she was seated between Ilya and Shane. She had been leaning over and flirting with Shane since they had arrived almost an hour ago. Ilya wished he wasn't still so angry and could fully enjoy how adorably uncomfortable Shane was when getting female attention. 

"Da. Spasibo." Ilya accepted her offer for more drinks. They had already had two rounds of shots and a drink each, but Ilya had to finish Shane's second shot for him, so they both were pretty buzzed. Ilya was just waiting for the point where he was too drunk to care about his fucked up family. 

"Are you okay?" Shane slid over on the couch and spoke loudly over the thumping music. Ilya didn't look at him but nodded. He knew it wasn't fooling Shane. And then, remembering Shane's frequent distaste for loud clubs, he turned. 

"Are you?"

Shane grinned in what looked like relief when they finally looked at each other. He nodded.

"I kind of like the sunglasses. The lights are less overwhelming." 

Ilya couldn't help his lips mirroring Shane's at that. He did look hot with his dark tousled hair, white T-shirt, and ominous shades. There was just enough light for Ilya to make out his spatter of freckles. 

"You should wear them every time we go out then." 

Shane scoffed. 

"Yeah, and look like a total asshole?"

"No. Look like the superstar you are." Ilya corrected, earning an embarrassed shake of Shane's head. He wanted to kiss him so bad.

A vodka soda was suddenly in front of Ilya's face, so he took it from Svetlana's outstretched hand. He smirked at Shane being handed a second beer, only having finished half of his first. 

"Hey, um... I ran into someone at the bar, and they kind of- Well..." Svetlana was uncharacteristically stumbling over her words and avoiding Ilya's eyes. Interest piqued, he frowned and shook his head in confusion. 

"Chto, Sveta?"

"Izvinite, Ilya... He wanted to say hi." 

And before Ilya could ask who she was apologizing for, he got his answer with a jumpscare from his past. 

Sasha.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

"Privet, Ilya." 

He had swaggered his way into their section with a black silk shirt that cut so low you could almost see his belly button. Rozanov tried to maintain his nonchalance. He wasn't in the mood for Sasha's childish games. More importantly, the concept of Sasha meeting Shane was not something Ilya particularly enjoyed.

"Privet, Sasha. Kakoy syurpriz." 

"Me a surprise? This is practically my club, what the hell are you doing here?"

Skipping past the question, he nudged Shane. He could feel his husband's gaze drilling holes in his head, even through his sunglasses.

"Eto Shane, moy muzh. Shane, eto Sasha." 

"Priyatno poznakomit'sya." Shane politely removed his glasses and extended his hand. Ilya wanted to sink beneath the floor. He had never told Shane Sasha's name, and his husband had no clue who he was offering his hand to. 

Sasha's face warped into that mischievous grin that always meant trouble.

"Shane Hollander." He looked amused by Shane's kindness, taking his hand but leaning down to press a kiss to each of Shane's cheeks instead. Ilya watched Shane's body go rigid with surprise. If it were anyone but Sasha, Rozanov would've been amused. Instead, his face started to prickle with heat. And then, before pulling back, Sasha said as low as he could above the music, "Even cuter in person."

Sasha glanced over at Ilya and gave him a wink before standing straight again. He shamelessly admired the blush he had caused on Shane's face, making Ilya's muscles tense. Still, he kept his face as straight as possible.

"Don't worry, Ilya." Sasha laughed at him, and he realized that maybe he wasn't hiding his emotions as much as he had thought. "I got us a round of shots, and then I'll be on my way. I know you're being... inconspicuous tonight."

Thank God. Maybe they could get through this interaction without Shane asking-

"So... how do you know Ilya?"

FUCK. 

Sasha grinned wider, raising an eyebrow at Ilya before pulling up an ottoman to sit perpendicular to them. 

"Wow. He speaks Russian and everything. Impressive." 

Shane shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Rozanov didn't like how Sasha was treating Shane like Ilya's pet. He was his fucking husband, for God's sake. If anything, Sasha was the pet.

"Ilya and I go way back. My father was his coach." 

Fuck. There it was.

Out of his periphery, Ilya saw Shane's polite smile disappear. His body went rigid. Sasha raised his eyebrows, seemingly confused by Shane's response. 

He misread it as the language barrier.

"Oh, sorry. English? My father was his coach." 

JESUS. Say it again in French, while you're at it!

Ilya silently commiserated. 

A server with a tray of shots arrived, and Ilya didn't wait to take one and throw it back. He heard Sasha chuckle and ignored him, going to take Shane's, but getting his hand slapped out of the way. 

"Yeah, I think I'll take this one." He said, shooting Ilya a glare. Ilya gave him an apologetic grimace, and Shane took the shot faster and more eagerly than Ilya had ever seen him do. 

After Sasha said his final farewells, he stooped low and nestled himself right up against Ilya's ear. He cupped his hand like a child telling a secret. Ilya watched Shane's face go stone hard, his features sharp and hostile. He even saw his jaw quiver with tension.

Angry kitten.

"Napishi mne, yesli vy oba zakhotite priyti pozzhe," Sasha whispered, before giving Ilya a boop on the nose that he recoiled from. Then, turning to Shane with an amused smirk,

"Nice to meet you, Shane Hollander." Sasha winked at Shane and then disappeared into the crowd, hopefully for the last time. 

Ilya procrastinated making eye contact, but eventually forced himself to slowly turn to Shane. He already had his sunglasses back on and had an eyebrow cocked towards Ilya.

"What'd he say?" It was clear that Hollander was feigning casualness. Ilya fought the urge to smile evilly and shrugged at Shane without emotion.

"Doesn't matter."

"Ilya!" All nonchalant pretense was thrown out the window when Shane practically whined at him. It was getting harder for Rozanov to remain straight-faced. 

"What? You jealous?" 

"No... But why won't you tell me?"

Rozanov was warm all over, and the pains from today were starting to fade. He was getting drunk.

Good.

But it meant he was too drunk to control his face, and the smile came through. Shane's own face broke open, and he laughed upon realizing Ilya was fucking with him.

"You asshole. C'mon. Tell me."

"He invited us back to his place."

"Oh. Like... for drinks?"

Ilya was now beaming. 

"Oh my god. You are so cute, Hollander."

"Oh."

"Yes." Ilya rolled his eyes and took a sip of his vodka soda. "He wishes." 

Shane was looking at Ilya with a big, dopey grin that gave away his own inebriation.

"What?" Ilya was afraid of the answer.

"Is there anyone in this club you haven't slept with?" Shane looked much too proud of himself for the jab. Adorable.

"Fuck off."

Ilya was telling Svetlana's friends some grandiose story from his and Svetlana's party days, and she'd occasionally laugh and add in details. Shane was trying to listen, but keeping up with Ilya's speedily delivered Russian was hard enough without the pounding music in the background. 

Instead, Shane thought about how badly he wanted to hold Ilya- just crawl into bed and be with each other. It had been killing him ever since they visited Irina's grave. He'd never understand how Ilya could prefer to be here at this nightclub with all these strangers after the day he'd had. Hollander tried not to let it offend him. 

Having to hold back their relationship in public again resurfaced old wounds, too. After all these years, it still hurt when he couldn't reach out to Ilya when he wanted to. Even though the club was deemed secretly "safe" for queer people, there was no such thing as truly safe.

And did it have to be a fucking club? Between the fear of being recognized, his worry for Ilya, his own exhaustion... the last thing Shane wanted was overstimulation and hordes of drunks. It was too loud to even talk to each other without yelling, and Shane wondered if that was Ilya's intention. 

"Do you want to go back to the condo soon?" Shane still tried to give it a go. He saw something like fear cross Ilya's face, before it was painted over with a grin. Ilya shook his head, shooting Svetlana a mischievous glance as she handed him a new drink. 

"I want to see you dance with Svetlana." 

Shane was going to say no, but Svetlana got so excited that he couldn't deny her. Hollander shot Ilya a glare as Svetlana took his hand. Rozanov was all grins. At least he wasn't brooding. 

Shane let Svetlana pull him through the tightly packed crowd until they were amidst the dancing bodies. Shane glanced towards their seats and saw Ilya sitting back, legs spread, drink in hand.

Svetlana was not shy, and that translated to the dance floor. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled them in close together, noses nearly touching. Even with the limited mobility of being wrapped around Shane, she still danced in a way that was languid and just objectively sexy. 

"English?"

Shane smiled with guilty appreciation.

"Yes, please. I'm exhausted."

"So... How are you liking Moscow?" She shouted over the music. 

"It's really cool to see where Ilya came from."

"I can tell you love him a lot." 

The unexpected statement struck Shane. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or today's mental load, but Hollander felt pressure behind his eyes. He willed himself not to get emotional.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." 

"He loves you, too. You should've seen him over the last ten years. He was obsessed." 

"Yeah?" Shane laughed. "Do tell."

Svetlana went on to explain how irritated she'd get with Rozanov later on, the way his face was always buried in his phone with his beloved "Jane". She told Shane how his features would soften, and his eyes would light up with every text. That's when she knew there was someone special; someone he loved.

Shane's eyes were fully swarming now, the mass of bodies around them a teary blur. He swallowed thickly and nodded.

"In hindsight, I should've figured it was you. He watched every interview you did like an absolute psycho."

Shane laughed before his smile grew emotional again. Svetlana smiled back, reaching up to brush a few of Shane's bangs from his forehead. Her hand settled on the back of his head and Shane found himself embarrassingly flush as a fully gay man. Hollander realized that not only was Svetlana fierce, but also surprisingly maternal. Even though he had his moments of jealousy before, Shane couldn't be happier that Ilya had Sveta in his life. 

"He's lucky to have you." He said.

"You're both lucky to have me." 

Shane smiled wider and was about to glance over at Ilya again, but Svetlana started unwinding her arms and stepping away. Strong hands gripped Shane's hips from behind, pulling him back into a solid chest. 

Ilya watched Svetlana and Shane move against one another. They looked good together, and it was exciting for Ilya to see his two separate worlds collide. He also got off on watching Shane do things outside of his comfort zone, and Svetlana made everything sexy- even Shane's renowned stiffness on dance floors.

He wondered if there'd ever be a day in Russia where that could be him out there with Shane. With how things were going, probably not. 

And you wonder why I left. Ilya thought bitterly at an imaginary Alexei. 

His country hated him and wanted him to be miserable. It wanted to force him back to the agonizing days when he hid his overflowing love for Shane. Just then, he got flashes of Shane with Rose at the club. How jealous he had been. How painful it had been to be so close and yet so far.

How fucking dare Russia do it to him all over again. 

Fuck this. 

Ilya finished his drink, set down the empty glass, and swiftly made his way to the dance floor. Svetlana saw him coming and gave him a teasing roll of her eyes. She stepped back and left Shane open for him, though, and he was grateful. He needed him, and so he took him. Ilya reached around and gripped his hips, pulling him back into his chest, being sure to be gentle as not to scare him. It didn't work. 

"What the- Hey!" Shane jumped, but perked up when he glanced back and recognized Ilya. He shook his head with mock disapproval. Ilya relished the fond twitch of his husband's lips when he peered back at him. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing with my husband," And then he took Shane's earlobe between his teeth before gently sucking it. He felt Shane tense before he melted into him. 

"Fuck," He could barely hear Shane over the relentless bass, "You got jealous, didn't you? It was your idea, you know." He added about dancing with Svetlana. Ilya ignored him and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Shane's neck. He swore he could feel his pulse quicken beneath his lips. He felt Shane look around the room nervously.

"Ilya, this..." Ilya nipped at his neck, and Shane's voice tapered out, his body going slack underneath his touch. "This is not a good idea." His body didn't seem to agree with the way it was submitting so eagerly. Ilya hummed and decided he'd at least refrain from kissing him, focusing on moving their bodies lazily to the music. 

It doesn't appear as if anyone's focused on them. Shane notices a lot more gay couples near the center of the dance floor, so they don't stick out in that way. Around them, the crowd is a blur of flashing lights and sweaty bodies, but inside the small pocket Ilya creates, everything feels narrower. Focused. 

They had gotten each other off three times that day, but they both were getting hard and couldn't possibly keep this up without it getting dire. After two beers, he needed to hit the restroom anyway.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom." Shane turned and said into Ilya's ear. His husband pulled their hips together, Ilya's eyebrows raising at the feeling of Shane's growing hard on against his. 

"Mm... Should I come with?" 

"We're already pushing it, and you know it." 

Ilya pouts, but agrees and breaks apart to look for Svetlana.

As Shane pushed back through the crowd toward their section, he rehearsed another request for them to leave. In the bathroom, he realized that nothing good would come of staying when Ilya was throwing them back like he was. 

Shane stopped short.

There’s a small crowd swarming Ilya, disguises abandoned. Phones were flashing, and Ilya had a Sharpie in hand. He was sporting his signature "celebrity" smile as he made large marker strokes against a girl's collarbone. She giggled and showed off the obnoxious signature to her friends. Three more people noticed the commotion and rushed to meet Ilya. People from across the club were peering over, curious.

Shane closes his eyes for a second.

"Inconspicuous" had officially left the building.

As Shane anxiously approached their seats, he heard a cacophony of his name. Napkins, papers, and pens were shoved in his face. Overwhelmed and just trying to get to Ilya, he absently signed a few. Someone asked for a photo, but Shane stumbled through rough Russian, 

"No. I'm sorry. I'm not taking photos tonight."

That's when he catches Ilya’s eye over someone’s shoulder. Ilya winks at him.

Winks.

Shane squeezes through the rest of the cluster and grabs Ilya lightly by the wrist, pulling him aside. The simple interaction had everyone going wild with excitement. Shane ignored it.

"Cat's out of the bag. Oops." Ilya didn't seem particularly sorry about it. 

“You’re drunk,” Shane says, removing his now unnecessary sunglasses. 

"So are you," Ilya shrugged. 

"Not as drunk." 

"I didn't realize it was a competition." 

"You're being reckless."

"Is not dangerous here. Everyone loves us. See?" Ilya raised his drink at the buzzing group of fans. "Za zdorov'ye!"

A bunch of people toasted back, some cheering, some yelling professions of love for Ilya.

“Oh my god,” Shane muttered. He was not going to try to wrangle Ilya when he was this hammered. He instead rolled his eyes as Ilya was approached by a gorgeous woman. She asked for a photo with them both, but Shane pretended not to hear and retreated towards Svetlana in the corner. Her expression was tight and unamused.

Shane dropped unceremoniously into the seat beside her.

“He is three vodka sodas past charming.” She muttered.

“I noticed.”

Ilya was dragged back onto the dance floor. He was magnetic, the way people orbited him. He's laughing, autographing, clapping strangers on the back... To his credit, Rozanov looked like he belonged there; spotlit, adored, untouchable. If Shane hadn't known the emotional wreck Ilya had been all day, then he'd be happier for him. This wasn't just some innocent fun on a night out, though- Ilya was more fragile than he looked, and it just took the wrong person to recognize them. Shane's thoughts flickered to the frightening number of death threats Ilya would get from Russians online.

Ilya suddenly reappears in front of him, and Shane tries to make it look like he's not sulking. His husband is slightly breathless, eyes bright yet hazy.

“They want both of us, Hollander.” He's holding his hand out for him. Shane doesn’t move. 

“They want you.”

“No.” Ilya grabs his hand and tugs. “Both of us. Power couple. Very sexy. Come.”

Shane digs his heels in for half a second, then sighs. He stands.

"Only if we leave after this song."

Ilya grins. “Deal.”

It seems like the entire dance floor is watching them this time. Ilya pulls Shane close, arms resting around hips with instinctive familiarity.  Shane wraps his arms around Ilya's waist as well, their foreheads falling against each other. They fall into a comfortable rhythm as people dance and cheer around them. There are tons of pictures being taken, and Shane tries not to care. As much as Ilya was freaking him out, he did look hot as hell in front of him right now. 

"You know people are going to post these photos."

"We are out of Russia by 9 am tomorrow anyway. Chill out, Hollander."

"Even more of a reason to get to bed soon."

Ilya rolled his eyes and tilted his head back in theatrical frustration. That's when the chanting started.

"Potseluy! Potseluy! Potseluy!"

Ilya's face lit up, at the demands for them to kiss. He shook Shane enthusiastically in his arms, but Shane just limply rolled his eyes.

"Pleeeeeeease," Ilya begged. He brazenly pouted. Even when he was being a drunken dickhead, Shane couldn't bring himself to deny Ilya- especially not when he was looking at him like that. Besides, he was pretty sure everything they'd worked to hide all night was totally thrown out the window. 

“Fine,” he muttered, pulling at the back of Ilya's neck until their lips met. The crowd erupted with their approval, and Shane couldn't deny that it felt amazing. Ilya looks happy when he pulls back, and Shane feels his own remaining anger melt. Yes, Ilya had basically blown up their night and was acting dangerously, but at least he was smiling. They'd go home, Ilya would sleep it off, and then they could deal with all of the difficult crap on the plane ride home tomorrow.

But the minute they returned to their section, Ilya had ordered another round of shots when Shane wasn't paying attention. He felt angry heat shoot up his spine, rising to his face.

"Are you serious?"

"What?"

"One more song. That was the deal." 

"I'm having fun, Hollander." 

"You're pushing it. Did you forget we're in fucking Russia?"

"Thank you for reminding me." Ilya spat bitterly, his smile disappearing scary fast. "If you want to go back, then go back. I'll see you later."

Shane blinked. Even the tipsy fans that were loitering around Ilya seemed to get the hint and gave them space.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I am not 'fucking' kidding you. I need a cigarette." Ilya said as if he couldn't be bothered by Shane's distress. He fished a pack of cigarettes from his discarded jacket pocket. Then, Rozanov had the audacity to kiss Shane's cheek before moving past him towards the patio exit. 

Shane shot Svetlana a look. She shook her head before they wordlessly followed Ilya outside. 

"What are you doing, Ilya?" Shane pressed after they had broken into the frigid twilight. Without the relentless music and lights, Shane felt like he could fully breathe again. The relief was short-lived.

Ilya groaned and threw his head back. 

"Oh, I don't know Hollander. Maybe having one good memory before I leave Russia forever? Can't I have one good thing?"

Shane tried not to let it sting. What about the memories they had just made together? But Ilya was drunk, and Shane wasn't about to bring his own emotions into this- not when it made him feel so pathetic.

"Look, I know today was rough. I know you're avoiding-" 

"No, you don't know. You don't know with your perfect little life and perfect little family and- and- perfect country..."  

Ilya always reached for that blade when he was cornered, and Shane was tired of it. He was tired of feeling bad for not having a fucked-up enough life for Ilya. It was bullshit anyway, considering it was Ilya's "perfect" life too, now. 

“I’m just trying to be here for you without you throwing it back in my face.”

Ilya huffed before lighting up his cigarette.

“Well, if you remember correctly, Hollander, I didn’t ask you to be here.”

The second it leaves his mouth, something in Ilya’s expression flickers- regret, maybe. His pride slams the door on it, and he looks away, taking a drag.

Shane just... stands there.

He wishes he were stronger in this moment. Wishes he could let it roll off and recognize the vodka talking. He knows Ilya is drunk. He knows this isn’t really about him. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.

Not when Ilya is perpetually so sweet now. So careful. So openly, fiercely in love. Sometimes Shane forgets what he was like when they were younger. When he was pushing emotions down so deeply, and his walls were more like fortresses. When he could be an absolute asshole. 

Being reminded of that dichotomy killed him. 

And he technically hadn't asked Shane to come to Russia, but Shane insisted on coming anyway. And the whole time, he had been so nervous to try and support Ilya through this trip; nervous that he'd be out of his element and completely inadequate.

Consider Shane feeling pretty fucking inadequate.

Shane nodded, small and with eyes cast down. He turned and walked away without a word.

The music inside felt muffled now, like it belonged to a distant world.

Shane barely made it to a vacant table at the back of the club before his vision blurred. He couldn't even return to their section- not with the fans milling around. Svetlana finds him anyway, sliding into the seat next to him.

Shane blinks quickly, furious at himself. 

"Are you okay? I'm sorry he's being a dick." Shane felt her hand on his shoulder. He attempted a grounding breath.

“I just- I didn’t know it could still feel like this.”

“Like what?” she asks gently. That’s the thing about Svetlana. She will dig past generalities.

Shane remembered the old days with a clarity that made him nauseous. The way loving Ilya had once felt like standing on the edge of something enormous and unstable. Rozanov would be so sweet before abruptly lashing out, or worse, going cold. Then Shane would be left with that sinking feeling. That humiliating doubt.

I didn't know it could still feel like I'm an idiot for loving him. An idiot for loving my fucking husband. Shane finished bitterly in his head, because it's too embarrassing to admit out loud. So he pivots.

“He’s been doing so well." Therapy. The communication. "Not… this.” He gestures vaguely toward the door. “Maybe coming here was a mistake.”

They both knew it may have been. They were just unaware of the gravity of that statement quite yet.

Svetlana's hand fell from his shoulder, and they sat quietly for a moment. 

“We should go get him.” Shane finally said, rolling his eyes and picturing having to fight Ilya into the back of the car if he had to. 

Svetlana offered a sad smile, and the two of them headed back outside. 

Ilya felt horrible for what he had said to Shane, but the cigarette in tandem with the vodka created the perfect out-of-body haze that he wanted to stay in for a bit. He'd finish smoking, agree to go home, and do all the further grovelling he needed to.

The streetlights smear halos into the night. His head spins, and not just from vodka.

The thought of some stranger wearing his mother's favorite earrings invaded his mind. 

He needed to walk.

The cold air bites at his flushed skin, sobering him just enough to make him aware of how unsteady he actually is. He felt untethered from his body, the ground always half a beat behind his foot. The streets aren't empty, but they're not friendly either. The occasional shout or laugh was too sharp, club music thudding faintly through the walls. Bar hoppers were too busy rushing to the next heated building to pay Ilya notice. 

He found refuge from the wind between two buildings to light a second cigarette. Rozanov promised himself this last one before going back to face the mess he'd made. 

That's when Ilya had a bad feeling.

Soon after, a lighter flicks deeper in the alleyway and sees the spark out of the corner of his eye. Another man is ten feet away, smoking his own cigarette. Another man appears on the street on the other side of Ilya. He doesn't have a cigarette and has no reason to be stopping like he was. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Moscow, Russia

December 27th, 2023 | 2:03 AM

🎶 Drink Before The War - Sinéad O'Connor 🎶   (Right-click/Hold down to open in new tab)

Alexei's house was too quiet. Shane lay on the pull-out bed in the parlor room that Katya had made up for him. All Shane's brain seemed capable of was replaying the events of yesterday:

The slam of Ilya's already-damaged chest against the car. Ilya yelling... begging him to stand down. The door of the cruiser closing.

He hardly even remembered calling Svetlana:

"Hollander... what's wrong?"

"I- Oh my god... He- They arrested him." 

"What!?"

"They arrested Ilya."  Saying it out loud made the dread all the more real. 

"What do you mean? For what?" 

"I don't know! I couldn't- They were talking so fast. Oh my god..."

"Okay. Hey. Shane..."

"FUCK, oh my God. What do we do?" 

"Hollander-"

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." 

"Stay there. I'm coming to get you."

While Shane waited and panicked alone on the runway, he noticed the outline of Ilya's phone in his abandoned bag pocket. He had used trembling hands to unlock it and search for Alexei's contact. After 8 unanswered calls, Svetlana just took them both to Alexei's house:

The door swung open, revealing an already grumpy Alexei. His mood didn't seem to improve when he saw Shane and Svetlana on his doorstep, but his expression shifted after his eyes searched the porch.

"Where is Ilya? I thought you were leaving the keys in the apartment."

Shane was already losing it over the 'Where is Ilya?' and couldn't answer. He felt his jaw tighten as his eyes prickled hot. Shane looked away, and Svetlana jumped in. 

"Ilya was arrested." 

God, he hated hearing it out loud.

"What the fuck? How? Why?"

"It is very cold out here." 

Once they were invited inside, Alexei said more words than Shane had ever heard him speak combined. However, Hollander's brain wasn't accepting Russian well through his inner panic. Even English words from Svetlana slid past him without sticking. 

"Kakovy obvineniya? Ty slyshal, kak oni chto-to skazali?" Shane suddenly realized Alexei had been angrily throwing questions at him for a while now. Svetlana was looking at Shane with concern, but he was frozen.

"Shane? Did you hear them say anything?" Svetlana translated. He blinked, searching his brain and reliving the awful scene over and over again. He finally shook his head, and Alexei threw his hands in the air. 

"Bespolezny." Alexei muttered under his breath in frustration: Useless. Shane could actually translate that one.

Fucking asshole. He wanted to be angrier at Alexei for it, but he was right- Shane was useless. His husband was fucking arrested and dragged away, and he couldn't do fuck all about it.

At least now, 17 hours later, Alexei had allowed him to stay the night. It was more by Katya's insistence, but Shane appreciated it all the same. Besides, if anyone was going to get a call about Ilya's whereabouts, it was Alexei after he had spent all day reaching out to his police and jail contacts.

17 hours... and still nothing. 

Chapter Text

Moscow, Russia

December 27th, 2023

Champagne Coast - (Hold down or Right-click to open in new tab)

Waking up the first morning was like realizing Ilya's world was ending all over again. He wasn't even sure if he had fully fallen asleep. Every time he'd gotten close, loud banging on the frame of his bunk bed would spike his adrenaline all over again. More than four times, Ilya jerked awake to a dark figure snickering from his bedside. They'd pull off their shoes and slam them against his bed just to watch him flinch awake. 

They were circling jackals- not quite ready to pounce, but stalking him- breaking him down mentally. With a pang in his chest, Ilya was viscerally reminded of a time he was watching yet another boring documentary with Shane; his husband loved them... obviously. 

"I'm shocked." Shane had said from the other end of the couch. They both were splayed out lazily on their phones. Shane's socked feet were in his lap, Ilya's phone rested on Hollander's jeaned ankles.

"Shocked, why?" Ilya continued watching a reel that the Centaurs account posted of Chiron, not looking up. 

"You haven't complained at all about the 'boring animal show.'"

Ilya couldn't help but look up at Shane's attempt to imitate his accent, a smile growing on his face. Ilya's stomach butterflies never failed when he did that.

"Mm... Big cats are fine." Ilya said, looking at the TV where a jaguar was stalking its prey. "Big cats are cool. Fish are boring." 

"Hey. They, like... regulate the food webs. Cycle nutrients. Graze algae." 

"Oh, do they graze algae?" It made Shane giggle, which in turn had Ilya inwardly swoon. He tried to hide it behind his favorite cocky facade, replying flatly, "Riveting." 

"Where'd you learn that word?"

How did Shane always know when he was testing out new English words? He was always conflicted by it; both embarrassed and head-over-heels.

"A review for new Top Gun movie. You know- something actually interesting." 

"Hmph." 

Ilya watched Shane roll his eyes, the side of his lip twitching up just a bit. He didn't feel like it was necessary, but Ilya turned off his phone screen and gave Shane's ankle a couple of squeezes. He felt particularly mushy all of a sudden. It was a frequent phenomenon that Ilya "suffered" ever since meeting Hollander. 

"Did you know I like your boringness?" He asked before he could help himself.

Shane's eyes immediately turned up from his phone, his expression a cross between softness and surprise. He clicked his own phone off. 

"Is that so?" Hollander was doing a horrible job at hiding his abashment, and it was adorable.

"Mm. Yes. I like that you keep all your receipts." Ilya reveled in the way that Shane's blush deepened.  "I like that you always know exactly where we parked. I like that your calendar is organized, and that you watch David Attenborough talk about fish." 

"Hmm," Shane's amused smile softened into something much deeper. His eyes shone in that way that Ilya always tried to sear in his mind forever. His husband huffed and shook his head, almost as if he, too, couldn't believe that this was their perfect little life. Shane's face then went deadly serious. "Did you know that I love you?" 

Fuck.

"I had some idea of this, yes." Ilya sappily smiled back. "I love you, too, Hollander." 

Rozanov had slid over on the couch after that, the two of them wrapped up while watching pumas stalk and circle unlucky victims for the next half hour.

So, as Ilya was stalked by similar predators throughout the night, he kept repeating a sickening thought: Would he never watch boring documentaries with Shane ever again? 

If he thought the morning was rough, the day only progressively deteriorated from there. It started small with a shove in the corridor during headcount.

“Watch it, hotshot.” An inmate grunted at Ilya. Another voice, quieter but sharper: “Bet he cries pretty.”

Ice flooded his veins.

Constantly, guards looked at him too long. Inmates looked at him longer. Someone knocked his tray during lunch, semi-warm soup sloshing onto his sleeve (soup was generous; it was more like bitter vegetable broth). Another inmate crowded his space on the way to the bathrooms, pressing his massive body against Ilya and menacingly breathing vile threats into his ear.

For most of the day, Ilya thought of all the things he may never do again. The list was agonizingly long, but he had nothing else to distract himself with. Between two cell-checks (they had all the inmates line up while they tossed their bunks), three nonsubstantial "meals", and a couple of fight outbreaks that resulted in everyone being forced to the ground... There wasn't much to do. 

They couldn't sit. There weren't any seats anyway, and the cells were only for sleeping. Mostly, people gathered in their pockets of allies, chattering and jeering together.

Ilya, on the other hand, stayed as far away from everyone as physically possible. Since the place was so overstuffed, movement was often. It got to the point where he just slowly walked the perimeter of the expansive room, trying his best not to make any sudden movements. Besides, his ribs ached with each breath, and his eyebrow thumped in rhythm with his pulse.

After a couple of hours of letting his mind torture itself with "what if's," Rozanov started counting steps. 

Ilya was up to step 12,132 when a shoulder slammed into him from behind. Hard. He stumbled forward, but stayed upright.

“Balance off ice isn’t so good, huh?” the man snarled, stepping into his space. Up close, he smelled like sweat and something sour. Ilya forced himself to meet his hard gaze. 

“Move,” Ilya said as evenly as possible. Fear coursed through his body, but his better instincts knew he couldn't show it. The man smiled, slow and ugly.

“Make me.”

"Hey! Fedorov. What the fuck did I say about your fucking grins?" A guard hollered.

That's one thing Ilya hadn't previously known about Russian jails- smiling and laughing was strictly prohibited. It wasn't like that was going to be a problem for Ilya anyway. 

There was a beat, and the yard went quieter. They were testing him- all of them. A small gaggle of inmates gathered behind the man: Fedorov, Ilya guessed from another inmate's comment. 

"Going to give him a warm welcome, Fedorov?"

Ilya weighed his options. If he swung, he'd be overpowered. If he backed down, he'd be marked as prey. Luckily, Rozanov had hours to think about this very situation. Ilya held onto his last ounces of bravery before enacting his plan: he stepped closer. Just enough so that their chests nearly brushed. Ilya clenched his hands at his side, trying to keep them from trembling. 

“I am not in the mood,” Rozanov muttered, quiet but sharp. “Find someone else.”

I'm bigger. I'm stronger. I have my reputation for being aggressive on the ice. These were affirmations Ilya kept telling himself to fuel his fake confidence. Fedorov searched his face for fear, but Rozanov refused to let it show... for now. The inmate spat near Ilya’s shoe instead.

“Thought you fuckers liked attention.”

The men behind him chuckled. Fedorov grinned like... Well, Ilya couldn't think of his name, but that horrid cat from Alice in Wonderland. 

"Hey! What the fuck did I just say, Fedorov?"

And sooner than he could react, the guards were slamming elbows and knees into this "Fedorov", almost as if they'd just been waiting for the green light to do so. Ilya froze in shock and diverted his eyes, but he couldn't block out the sounds of foot and fist connecting with the man's body over and over again. He couldn't ignore the blood splatter on his sleeve either. Ilya just stiffened further, holding his resolve until it was all over.

When the beating had finally ceased and it seemed the room could move again, Ilya heard Fedorov sputter. 

"You're fucking dead, Rozanov," As if he had a single thing to do with it. "Fucking dead."

An enemy- a group of enemies.

And it hasn't even been 24 hours. Great.

Yesterday was bad, but today was longer. In fact, it was the longest day of his life. 

And I have to do it again tomorrow. 

And the next day. And the next.

And maybe forever?

It was sheer torture not knowing what was going on. He had no clue why he was here, where he was, or if he'd ever see Shane again. Gritting his teeth against the thought, he turned over stiffly in his cot, facing the cinderblock wall just in time for hot tears to streak down his face. Ilya held his breath to keep from sobbing, only letting up when he desperately needed air. He tried to control the shaking of his shoulders the best he could as he silently cried himself to sleep for the second night in a row. 

"Muzhik, sprosi yeyo, yest' li u nikh kakiye-libo svyazi s okhrannikami." Alexei directed at Shane. 

"Do the lawyers know any of the guards at the jail?" Shane translated for his mom, who patiently waited seated next to him at Alexei's kitchen table.

Alexei had gotten a call right before his mother had arrived- a guard he knew said Ilya was in his jail. A "remand center" right outside Moscow, Svetlana had helped explain to Shane. The way that Sveta and Alexei exchanged glances when they'd found out didn't help Shane's nerves. After some research with a shaking finger on his phone, Shane discovered it was a giant, overpopulated jail with a wide variety of criminals and little to no order amid the chaos. The conditions were terrible, the guards non-caring, and riots frequent. It was fucking anarchy. 

Anything could happen. Shane tried not to let his mind run away with the possibilities.

"They said they know how to get a hold of a few that would accept bribes, but the warden is the main problem. They don't know him." Yuna said. Her tone was organized. Ambitious. It was as if she were talking about a new brand deal, which somehow comforted Shane. 

Fuck. Bribes in Russian. What the fuck was "bribes" in Russian? 

"Uh, Yest' neskol'ko izvestnykh korrumpirovannykh okhrannikov, kotorye budut prinimat' den'gi. Nachal'nik tyur'my - glavnaya zabota. Oni yego ne znayut." He replaced "bribes" with "money", and Alexei got the idea. 

Svetlana had left Alexei's house shortly after his mother arrived. There was some sort of underground gathering of supporters who wanted to fight back for Ilya. It warmed Shane's heart, but he was terrified for Sveta. He was terrified for all of them. The moment they were figured out, they'd all be charged with the same thing Ilya was. He didn't even know what they could do.

Regardless, Svetlana's absence meant that the only person who could translate between his mother and Alexei was Shane. It was getting harder the more exhausted he got, the clock ticking well past ten. Not to mention, Alexei and his mom had a meeting with the lawyers and Ilya early tomorrow morning.

"I know two guys there who may be able to help out. Remember... it'd be for a price." Alexei revisited, and once again, he responded in the same way. 

"I don't give a fuck about price." 

They had already spent an extravagant amount of money to get themselves and Yuna here. Private flights were far from cheap, and while they were substantially wealthy, it's not like Shane and Ilya had a bunch of money just lying around. They were tied up in investments, assets, etc... It seemed smart at the time, but now, as the payments racked up, it was just annoying to be moving things around. 

The flights, the top-notch lawyers (both Russian and Canadian, on retention), and the upcoming bribes... But Shane couldn't care less.

"It's unlikely we'll get your mother in there. It's already a stretch that they'll let me through." Alexei took a sip of his vodka.

In Shane's mind, that wasn't an option. He needed her to see Ilya, since he couldn't. No one would let Shane forget just how dangerous it was for him to so much as show his face in public, let alone waltz into a Russian prison to visit his husband.

So Shane needed his mother in there. He needed Ilya to see her face- have someone in there that really loved him. He needed Ilya to know they would never give up on him- that they were doing everything they possibly could. 

"Trust me. She'll find a way." 

Yuna was turning her gaze from Alexei to Shane as they conversed, clearly growing a little impatient. 

"Shane?" She cut in, finally. Her voice was strained, like it always got when she was holding back her frustration. 

"He's, uh- He's doubtful you can get in to see him." 

Yuna turned to Alexei, her hands folded neatly on the table's surface. 

"Oh, I think we'll make it work." She directed at Ilya's brother. He didn't need a translation. He held out his hands in surrender and shrugged, conceding. 

Alexei was very different around Shane's mother. Hollander noticed this immediately; he was polite... gentle. Maybe it was the way she gave everyone a hug upon arriving, including Alexei. He had gone so rigid that Shane was sure he was a statue for a moment. And maybe... probably... something about Yuna's maternal inclinations brought something new out in Alexei, just as it did with Ilya. 

"Oh. Here." Shane reached down in his backpack to pull out Ilya's antidepressants. He gave the little orange bottle to his Mom, who looked less confident than Shane would've liked. She didn't say anything, though, slipping the medication into her purse. 

"What's that?" Alexei frowned at the bottle.

"Ilya's medication. Make sure they know he needs them every day. Every morning." 

"Meds for what?" 

Shane was not having this conversation with Alexei. 

"It doesn't matter," He dismissed instead.

"It will to them." 

Shane scoffed and looked away. He hated that he had to reveal this vulnerable sliver of Ilya's life to Alexei. He knew Ilya would hate it too. 

"For depression. If he stops taking them abruptly, it won't be good." 

"Depression?" Alexei had the audacity to look as though he wanted to argue it.

"Jesus Christ, Alexei. Just do it, okay?" And then realizing he had just snapped aggressively at Ilya's slightly terrifying older brother, "Please?"

Alexei's eyes processed, flitting over Shane's face before softening. 

"Hollander, I really don't think that they-" 

"Just try. You have to try. Pay someone, I don't know. He needs them. Especially now." Because if Shane was already worried about Ilya's mental state outside of Russian jail, then he had no words for his level of panic now. 

"I guess we'll see tomorrow, right?" Alexei muttered tiredly, and to Shane's irritation, mildly sarcastically. Still, he was grateful for the transition. After speaking with the lawyers over the phone, they continued discussing strategies for nearly two hours. But the truth was, all they could do was wait to see what would happen. The lawyers were good... the best they could get who would dare represent Ilya. There was somewhat of a plan. It allowed Shane a few inklings of hope here and there, but mostly, he was just feeling numb at the moment.

Alexei drove them to Ilya's apartment after that. There wasn't much room for both he and his Mom at Alexei's place, and they were trying to keep Sophia out of things as much as possible. It seemed like a fruitless effort considering it was all over the news and social media- not to mention, she shared a last name with Ilya. Sophia told Shane herself that everyone at school was talking about it. 

"I'd like to see more of that, Sophia. I've never had a grand-niece before." Yuna said from Alexei's passenger seat. For the first time since he'd seen Ilya get slammed over the hood of a police car, Shane smiled... just a bit. 

"Yeah, she's the best." 

"What about Sophia?" Alexei seemed unable to help himself. The turn signal clacked obnoxiously loud in the silence. 

"My Mom would love to see her more."

"Oh. Yes, well... I think she liked her."  Alexei awkwardly muttered. 

The concept of his Mom meeting Sophia would've been so beautiful and sweet if the circumstances weren't so vapid. For the infinite time that day, Shane wished Ilya were there to witness it.

Night two of being worlds apart from his husband: Shane was exhausted in every way- emotionally, mentally, physically... and yet, sleep felt so far away. Shane hadn't realized how dependent he had gotten on Ilya's large presence next to him. He missed the way he always breathed heavily, his mouth slightly parted. Sometimes, even in deep sleep, he'd roll over and sling a warm, heavy arm around Shane. 

God, I miss him. I fucking miss him so much. 

Shane tried to distract himself from the growing lump in his throat. He opened his phone but immediately ended up agonizing over article after article: Why did Rozanov risk it? One headline said before Shane closed his browser. Guilt gripped his insides. He opened Instagram instead. 

Shane remembered that FaceTime call with Svetlana so well. It felt so far and foreign to him, even though it was less than a year ago. 

He flipped through his story, all of it in the Cyrillic alphabet: Shane was utterly and completely lost if the romanized alphabet wasn't used, so he screenshotted the slide he was most curious about and ran it through Google Lens. It wasn't long before he wished that he hadn't, because Svetlana's words gutted him:

I couldn't help but take a screenshot. 

I'd never seen him so happy than when he was showing off his new family. 

Shane wiped the tears from his face more aggressively than he needed to.

Fuck. He had never even seen the photo that Luca posted. It was like a knife through his heart.

It was so strange seeing everyone post about Ilya when he couldn't respond. Ilya was on Instagram way more than Shane was, and was a constant voice on all their friends' posts. Now, his absence was loud even on this stupid fucking app. 

Shane went to Ilya's Instagram instead, hoping it might make him feel a little less far away.

The tears had already started falling, but Shane couldn't stop once he started scrolling. 

A thought suddenly crossed Shane's mind: a horrible, terrible thought. What if this was it? All these memories. All these snapshots in time he shared with Ilya... maybe that was all he was ever going to get. All he was meant to get. Unbeknownst to either of them, his last Instagram post was just that- his last Instagram post. Was he just scrolling through a fucking memorial? Would Shane scroll through his page like this again and again for the rest of his life, trying anything to hold onto him long after he was gone?

Holy fucking shit.

Shane shot out of bed, his body having a mind of its own. He paced wildly. The room was smaller and shrinking still, his chest heaving for breath that wouldn't come. He could feel his wet face pale rapidly.

This is it. His brain told him. This is it. This is it.

He paced around the room, somehow finding himself in the dark kitchen, then the living room. He didn't know how much time had passed before Shane found himself outside of the guest room where his mother slept. He felt sheepish approaching her door at 3 am. Shane hadn't done this since he was little and had a nightmare. Before he could even knock, the door swung open. She looked like she had been ready for him, and Shane realized that maybe he was hyperventilating a lot louder than he'd thought. 

"Come here, honey." She pulled him into her arms instantly, and Shane felt the last remaining dam break. He sobbed into her shoulder as his mom rubbed a hand over his heaving back. 

"What- What if this is it? What if that's all I get with him?" He was saying it before his brain was even registering the thoughts, but there they were, thrust into the world: Ugly and much too possible. 

"Oh, Shane. No. It's not, okay? It's not."

He wanted to tell her that she couldn't possibly know that, but the sobs wouldn't let him. They were soon on Yuna's bed, which looked hardly slept in. Shane curled into her side. In any other situation, he'd feel pathetic being held by his mother like a child, but he'd never needed it so bad. She held him as Shane attempted to control his breathing. He swore he could hear her sniffle a few times, but it was hard to hear over his own panic.

Moscow, Russia

December 28th, 2023

Shane didn't mean to fall asleep like that, but the next thing he knew, he was squinting against new morning light. 

Hollander blinked and cringed away. His head throbbed, undoubtedly from all the panicked sobbing the night before. Speaking of which, where was his mom? She wouldn't have left to see Ilya without telling him, right? 

"Mom?" He sounded more frantic than he meant to. 

"I'm still here." She called from the kitchen. Shane felt a little anxiety unwind from his chest and pushed his palms to his eyes. They were swollen from crying and pure exhaustion.

Another day of this shit. 

His mother was already ready and waiting with coffee made in Ilya's kitchen. She smiled sadly, delivering him a steaming cup as he sat at the counter. 

"I leave in ten." 

Shane nodded. "Don't forget his meds." 

"They're in my purse." 

"He needs them every day. Make sure Alexei or the lawyers tell them." 

"I will," 

"Like, if he misses days, then he'll be all fucked up. He takes them in the mornings and-"

"Shane," his mother's tone dipped into her commanding mom tone. He pulled back on his rambling. 

"Okay, yeah. Sorry." 

Yuna gave him sympathetic eyes before leaning over her coffee. 

"Is there anything you want me to tell him?" 

Oh. 

"Um..." Shane felt horrible for not having a manifesto ready. Of course, he wanted to say about a billion things to Ilya. He didn't think any one of those billion things would help, though. "I mean, tell him that I love him," 

God, Shane thought he had been all cried out, but his voice broke a bit. "So much, and... and to not blame himself. Because I know he is."

She nodded, reaching a hand forward to hold Shane's. He forced what he thought was an unenthused smile, but he's not sure if it even made it that far. 

"Thank you," he whispered through a clenched throat. "For everything, Mom." 

"Rozanov!" 

He jumped, then cursed himself for it. Everything made him flinch. He was exhausted from constantly fighting the urge. 

The source of the voice was a guard who approached him briskly, handcuffs ready. Ilya frowned, confused. He held his wrists out instinctually, and they were encased in cold, heavy metal once again. 

"Your lawyers are here." 

Oh, thank FUCK. 

With a little shove, they were walking back into the hallway he'd come in from.

And I get a break from being shark bait? Ilya took the moment to take the first real breath since he had arrived. He knew it was a temporary respite, but he would take what he could get. 

"Five minutes." The guard said before a door clicked open. 

Five minutes? That's nothing.

But Ilya's inner complaints fell away completely when he saw her. He thought he was so sleep deprived that he was hallucinating. He blinked a couple times, but it was really her: Yuna fucking Hollander, all the way from safe and comfy Canada in this godforsaken fucking Russian prison.

For him.

"Oh my god, what are you doing here?" 

He knew it was a stupid question, but he couldn't help himself. Yuna was sporting her own shock when she laid eyes on him, making Ilya want to cringe away. He knew he felt banged up, but he forgot that he must look it, too. There were no mirrors in hell.

"Oh... sweetheart..." 

She sat on the opposite side of a metal table, centered in the room. Ilya moved to sit in the seat across from her. They were only a couple of feet away, but the distance felt infinite. His cuffs clanked crudely against the table. 

"I-" Ilya was truly at a loss for words, looking at his mother-in-law. She was so obviously out of place here; her usual warmth nearly glowed in the abysmal, slate-gray room. Her eyebrows were pulled tight, her eyes sad. "I didn't think-"

"That I'd fly across the globe for you? Ilya, I'm offended." 

He smiled for the first time in days, before taking a terrified, shaky breath. 

"Is Shane?" He didn't need to finish the question.

"He's okay. He's safe. Just worried sick." 

Ilya swallowed thickly and nodded. Okay. Safe. 

"I told him to go home." 

"You know that wasn't going to happen." 

"Nam stoit perestat' govorit' o Shane i nachat' obsuzhdat' strategiyu." An annoyingly familiar voice cut in. Ilya's eyes flickered back to where Alexei stood in full police uniform near the opposite wall- Ilya hadn't even noticed him once he'd seen Yuna. 

We should stop talking about Shane and start talking about strategy.

"What are you doing here?" Ilya's voice held more venom than he had intended, and Alexei immediately reacted defensively. At least some things weren't any different. 

"A club, Ilya? Really? What the fuck were you thinking going out in public like that?"

"FUCK you, Alexei. What do you want me to do about it now?" 

"Okay! Okay, we don't have time for this. Please ask Alexei to go see his guard... friends." 

Ilya was thrown off by the concept of his mother-in-law interacting with Alexei at all. The two worlds in front of him shouldn't mix, and yet, here they were. Ilya felt the heat in his chest dim. 

"Yuna says to go talk to your friends." 

Alexei grumbled something under his breath before rapping on the further door, and was instantly let out into the hallway. Ilya didn't know what this was about Alexei's "friends", but he didn't care. He only had a couple of minutes left with Yuna, and he intended to hang onto every single one. 

Unfortunately, the man beside her started talking instead. His lawyer- one of his lawyers. The man went through a laundry list of items that Ilya had a hard time concentrating on when the only thing he wanted to do was ask about Shane. 

His interest was piqued when he heard a word he wasn't expecting: Extremism. 

"What the fuck is that?" 

"It's... new." 

The lawyer launched into a bunch of jargon with "lawmakers" and "frameworks" and a bunch of other shit that didn't mean anything to Ilya. Then he asked him questions, to which Ilya tiredly responded:

• No, I didn't attack anyone. 
• Yes, I was attacked. 
• Three men. 
• One knocked unconscious, and the other two fled. 
• No, I don't know what "LGBT literature" they're talking about. 
• Yes, it's possible I had something from that night in my wallet. 
• No, I've never been associated with any Russian LGBT groups.

After the questions, details started to fill in the blanks of a darker narrative: they would've pinned anything on Ilya to get him in here. This was punishment. For making a mockery out of Russia with his marriage to Shane. And what better way than with a shiny, new law to show people what could happen if they were as careless as he had been?

"So, they're making an example." Rozanov didn't need to phrase it as a question when he already knew the answer. 

"It would appear so, yes." 

Ilya stared at his cuffed hands that rested on the table. He couldn't believe that just a few days ago, he was cuddled up with Shane in bed without a care in the world. They had Christmas plans... New Year's plans... aspirations for the end of the Centaurs' season. They had talked about going to L.A. that summer to see Rose. They had Amber's birthday party at the Pikes' in just two weeks. 

How the hell did it get to this? 

"What do we do?"

The lawyer surprised him by glancing at Yuna before switching to English. 

"Well, we lean in on the media attention- the public outcry for your safety. Your importance to Ottawa, your near-citizenship. We're speaking with Canadian officials to see what they can do, if anything."

"I'm not yet a citizen."

He and Shane had gotten so busy that they had procrastinated the final hoops Ilya needed to jump through. They thought it was no big deal- that they'd have all the time in the world.

Stupid.

Fucking stupid.

"No, but you're married to one, and you're important to Ottawa. More than important. We've got our work cut out for us over here- you just need to focus on staying alive and keeping your head down." 

Ilya noted Yuna's flinch when the lawyer instructed him to stay alive. It was a momentary break in her character- a stutter he'd never seen before. But as soon as he noticed it, it was gone, and her quiet strength was restored. Yuna turned determined eyes to him, reaching for one of his cuffed hands.

For a split second, Ilya freezes. It took everything not to break down at her familiar warmth.

"Honey-" 

"No touching." The guard supervising from the wall behind Ilya barked. 

Ilya tried to jerk his hands back- the last thing he wanted was to put Yuna in any danger on top of it all, but she just gripped his hand tighter.

"We are not going to leave you here. You're coming home with us. It's just a matter of when. Do you understand me?" 

"NO. TOUCHING." 

Ilya blinked the hot tears from his eyes and nodded briskly before Yuna retracted back to her side of the table. 

"I'll make sure to come visit as much as I possibly can. Just stay strong, okay?"

Ilya sniffed and gritted his teeth together painfully. If he let the dam break now, there was no going back. 

"This isn't exactly how I wanted my mother-in-law to see me," He tried to break his own tension with a bitter chuckle. Yuna tilted her head, shaking it in disagreement. Ilya bounced his knee anxiously, pushing his emotions down as far as they could go before painful words squeezed through his tight throat.

"I'm so sorry, Yuna." His voice broke.

"Hey. No-" 

"I-" He sucked in a sharp breath. "This was so stupid. I took your son, here. I acted like an idiot. I put him in danger. This is all my fault." 

"Ilya. Ilya, look at me." 

He looked at the ceiling first, willing the tears to seep back into their place rather than escaping down his cheeks. When he finally turned his gaze to her, Yuna's expression was something of a beg. 

"Did you attack that man the other night?" 

"I- No..." 

"And is it a crime for you to love my son?"

"Of course not." He brokenly whispered. 

"It is not your fault, the cards you were dealt. Okay? This extremism stuff is a doozy, but we'll figure out a way." The way she said it was so firm, so maternal, and so... Yuna. Fuck, he was so relieved that she was here.

Still, Ilya shook his head, looking away again. He should've known better. Why hadn't he known better?

There was a heavy knock at the further door, and Alexei reappeared with two other guards. 

"Time's up." One of them said. Dread pumped back thick through Ilya's veins. There hadn't been enough time. There'd never be enough time. 

God, don't make me go back. Please, don't make me go back. 

"Besides, Shane asked me to tell you two things," Yuna said as she rose from her chair, the guards surrounding the table and ushering them out of the room. Ilya watched her intently, pulling away from the guard's grip and trying to stay as long as he could. 

Shane. It was all his mind repeated over and over like a mantra. Shane. Shane. Shane.

"First, that he loves you. So much." 

Ilya knew it was coming, but it didn't soften the blow. Hold it together, Rozanov. 

"And second, to not blame yourself." 

Jesus Christ, he knew him so well. Even if Ilya didn't fully believe it, it was the most comforting thing Shane could've said.

"Tell him I love him. And that I'm okay," As the guards dragged him back into the hallway, Ilya stole a final glance at Yuna. "And that he needs to eat! And sleep!" He called one last time before there was nothing but gray again.

I love you. Don't blame yourself. Shane had told him. Ilya held onto the words like a lifeline.

His head throbbed, and the angry chaos around Shane wasn't helping. Everyone seemed to have something to say, all at the same time. It was either Katya yelling at Sophia to get back in her room, or Alexei accusing the lawyers of not doing enough, or Shane's mother begging him and Svetlana for constant translations.

At least the lawyers were clearly well-versed and genuinely for Ilya- a testament to how much research happened between his mother and Svetlana. Still, the room was overflowing with conflicting opinions

At one point, Shane had to disassociate for his own sanity. He only zeroed in on the things that mattered- the problem was, those things were starting to sound like his worst nightmares. 

"Not a single guard in there will take any amount of money to protect him. Do you understand that? It's that fucking bad, okay?" Alexei was more animated than Shane had ever seen him.

"Mr. Rozanov, we understand-" 

"No, you obviously fucking don't! He's such a heavy target that- FUCK. Do you know how much I offered? How much they turned down?"

Simultaneously, his mother was delivering a slew of questions that were previously presented by their Canadian representation. 

"Mom... Mom. Slow down. Svetlana needs to, like, breathe."

"Sorry," Yuna immediately put a hand on Svetlana's shoulder, who politely shooed off the apology. 

"What did they say about Ilya's meds?" Shane looked expectantly at his mother. 

Suddenly, he regretted asking. 

"Shane. They just.. They don't... do that, sweetheart."

Alexei continued to argue in the background, but the room suddenly tightened on Shane. Sounds sounded... different. Further away.

"If he stays there, he'll die. Do you fucking understand that? It's only a matter of time before they fucking kill him." Alexei was arguing about the facility where Ilya was being held.

And if they didn't kill him, then Ilya-

Shane shook his head as if to dismiss his own thought. It didn't work. Breathing got difficult fast. Shane's logical brain didn't understand; he should be getting air. There was nothing wrong physically; there couldn't be. Yet, here he was, gasping.

Horrified by his sudden lack of control, Shane shot up from his seat at the crammed kitchen table. The awful scrape of the chair quieted everyone instantly, but he couldn't even process their attention. Shane's legs took him to the darkest corner of the house in the parlor room before he knew what was happening. His stance gave out, and Hollander sank to the floor.

Any semblance of hope that Shane previously had was nonexistent.

He's dying.

There were so many ways in which this ended in losing Ilya- too many ways.

I'm dying.

He was tired of pretending like this was anything less than an absolute nightmare. 

He'll die. Then, I'll die. We're dying. 

Was all Shane could think as his world shrank faster than a black hole.

Chapter Text

Moscow, Russia

December 28th, 2023 - Evening

“Shane,” He was vaguely aware of his mother in front of him, but his eyes were squeezed shut, and the violent thumps of his heart were drowning everything out. It was like it was trying to bust out of his chest.  “Hey,” she coaxed softly. “Look at me.”

I can't. I can't do anything. I can't protect him. I can't save him. 

Oh my god...

"I- I promised her," His voice didn't sound like it belonged to him.  "I fucking promised her."

Shane only then realized that the overpowering loudness of the room around him was his own panicked heaving. The more he tried to regulate it, the harder it got. He was hot and cold and numb, somehow simultaneously. 

"Who?" 

"Irina."

He heard his mom click her tongue, but she still felt so far away.

"Shane." His mother's voice was firm now. "For me. Please. Look at me, sweetheart." 

He felt her hand squeeze his. When did she take hold of his hand?

Shane focused on relaxing his face enough to blink an unfocused room into his vision. For a second or two, he didn't even remember that he was in Alexei's house. His mother was there, her eyes soft but brow pinched with worry. 

"You're panicking. I need you to stay with me, okay?"

His gaze is unfocused, darting. 

“They’ll kill him,” he gasps. “They’re going to- and- and if they don't... then... Oh my god,"

The room started to spin again. For a brief moment, he wondered if this was something else. A heart attack, an embolism... Something.

“Shane.”

She cupped his face, and his gaze finally locked with hers. He's known those eyes since day one. Despite it all, it helped. 

“Right now, you are okay. He is okay. But he needs you. He needs you to keep it together, okay?"

“I can’t. I- I can't even breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” she replied without hesitation. Yuna guided him through taking some breaths. She kept one hand steady against his cheek, the other on his chest. He focused on that and her counting. 

“Again,” she said. She breathed in deliberately, and this time it came a little easier for him. The corners of his vision were untightening, and sounds became even again. 

One. Two. Three. Four.

When the static of pure dread finally died down in his mind, Shane was left almost wishing it hadn't. It allowed him to notice that he and his mother were not alone; the entire house had gone quiet to make room for his little meltdown.

Svetlana stood in the crossway between the kitchen and parlor room, braced as if she was ready to help Yuna if needed. Alexei was watching him with a pale expression from far off in the kitchen. He immediately looked away. Anton, Ilya's top lawyer, cleared his throat and tapped his pen on his notebook. 

"I think we can call it a night for now, yes?" 

“Hey. Focus on me." Yuna brought his attention back. She asked him to name things he saw. Then she asked him to name things he felt. He hadn't done that since he was 12 and had a particularly bad panic attack. Usually they wouldn't get this out of hand, but if there was ever a time...

"Better?" 

Shane’s hands were still shaking, but the dizziness had receded. He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, still managing to be humiliated through his exhaustion. “I’m sorry.”

"Shane. Stop." 

He rolled his eyes at himself, sick of feeling this helpless. He let out a stuttering sigh and shook his head. 

“I can’t lose him,” he whispered, the panic starting to resurface before his mom brushed a feather-light touch against his cheek.

"I know. Not an option."

Shane had never had so little to do. If things had gone to plan and they had flown home, they would've had two practices, a team dinner, and Christmas with his parents by now. Not to mention, Irina's annual birthday drive was coming up, which was always nice, but a lot of work. And in between it all, he would've been finding time to work out, take care of Anya, and fuck/cuddle Ilya in every moment in between. 

But now, there was nothing... nothing but waiting and hoping and waiting some more. 

He could answer some of the 200 messages that sat idle on his phone. Or he could call back the dozens of friends and family who had been trying to reach out for the past couple of days. But Shane wasn't ready to welcome other people into the situation. It made it all seem much too real for him to handle.

So, to keep himself busy, Shane cracked open Ilya's old notebook that he had snagged from the Sadovaya 997 house. He armed himself with his phone and the Cyrillic keyboard before attempting to translate every letter that Ilya had penned himself nearly two decades ago. 

A soft knock at his door made him jump. Shane cleared his throat. 

"Yeah. Come in." 

He was expecting his mother to come to say goodnight after her phone call with their Canadian consultant lawyers, but was surprised to see Svetlana instead.

"Oh. Hi." 

"Hi. How are you doing?" 

Shane set the notebook down on the bed and averted his eyes.

"Um..." 

"Stupid question. I know." 

"No, I- better than... before. Thanks." He tried to keep the embarrassment out of his voice. Svetlana crossed the room and sat at the edge of the bed. 

"I thought maybe you could use some company." 

Shane felt warmth in his chest, which was a relief, but also made him feel guilty. He doubted Ilya was experiencing any warmth where he was.

"That'd be nice. Thanks." He scooted over on top of the comforter, and Svetlana joined him in sitting propped up against the headboard. She reached for the notebook and plopped it into her lap, flipping through a few pages. 

"Can you read it?" 

Shane shook his head. 

"I know some of the letters, but I haven't gotten around to it yet." 

"Want me to read some to you?" 

Shane, again, felt guilty for his small smile. 

"Yeah, would you?"

Sveta smiled warmly at him, giving his shoulder a squeeze before finding a good page. 

"Hmm... Raskolnikov's guilt isolates him from others, which suggests that people cannot escape the consequences of their actions. In Dostoevsky's..." 

She trailed off before skipping the page. 

"Maybe Ilya's paper on Crime and Punishment isn't the move right now." 

Shane huffed a shocked breath of air. He hadn't read it before, but he got the gist: More Russian suffering of mind and law. No thanks. That was already their reality.

"Oh. Here." She cleared her throat theatrically, glancing at Shane with a glint of mischief before starting. They both knew Ilya wouldn't approve of them fawning over his high school assignments. What Shane wouldn't give to have Ilya here, berating them right now.

"The Overcoat demonstrates the lengths society can go to ignore and mistreat ordinary people. Gogol uses Akaky’s story to show the importance of respect..." 

As she went on, Shane found himself unable to shake the small curve of his lip. It was like hearing from Ilya, even though he hadn't known him at that age, and everything was cadenced like a forced school paper. Still, it came from Ilya's brain, so Shane was grateful. Not only that, but he rarely got to hear full transcripts of Ilya's Russian. Sure, Rozanov was technically fluent in English. Plus, Shane was less fluent, but managed in Russian. 

There were still certain things that didn't translate across the languages, though. Ilya's "voice" was different when he wasn't marred down by the more complicated English vocabulary he hadn't learned yet. Ilya was annoyingly sharp and witty even in English, and he never let Shane forget it with the constant jabs and quips. But this was different, hearing him fully translated in his native tongue. Even as a high schooler, he could be shockingly eloquent.

He'd be mortified if I told him that. Fuck. I miss him. 

"I thought this was a history notebook," Shane said after Sveta finished the page, trying not to fall into a new hole of grief.

"Pfft. It's Ilya. I think this is whatver-the-fuck-he-needs-it-to-be-at-the-time notebook. See? 8th grade and freshman year." 

Shane smiled and watched as Svetlana flipped through the chaotic mess. 

"I had a different notebook and binder for everything," Shane puffed out an air of embarrassment, shaking his head at himself. He could hear Ilya making fun of him in his head. "Labeled..." he further admitted.

"Of course, you did." 

"We would've hated each other in high school." 

Svetlana chuckled.

"Yeah. We went to different schools, but I just know he was the type of student to ask to borrow a pencil every single day without ever giving them back." 

They shared a smile that turned sad too soon. Svetlana sighed and took Shane's hand. 

"Another one?" She gestured towards Ilya's notebook.

"Yeah. Please." 

Butyrka Prison

December 29th, 2023

🎶 Good For You 🎶 - Porridge Radio, Lala Lala Right-Click/Hold Down to open in new tab

When Ilya woke up on the third day of his incarceration, the first thing he thought was,

Wow. Shocking.

He used to be winning fucking Stanley Cups. Now, every day he woke up alive was a win. It was another night with hardly a wink of sleep. The inmates weren't slamming things into his bed frame anymore, but that didn't assuage his fear of them. The glares and jeers had only intensified in the last day. 

He had come back from his meeting with Yuna so much lighter- so much more full of hope. It just took one comment about "pretty, cock-sucking lips" to have all that come crashing down. 

And to make matters worse, his cell was slated for showers today. He wasn't dumb. He knew the stereotypical reputation for prison showers.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Shy?” Someone baited him nearby. Ilya didn't dare look up. He had hesitated just a moment before pulling his stiff prison uniform over his head, and of course, they noticed. Not wanting further analysis, he wiggled out of his shirt the best he could with his injured arm.

Being a professional athlete, Ilya was used to being watched. He’d step onto the ice and feel it immediately- the weight of thousands of eyes tracking him. It never bothered Rozanov. If anything, it had sharpened him.

In here, it was not the same. They didn't look at him as stats or a larger-than-life parasocial interest; they looked at him like he was a piece of meat.

For a split second, he considered walking out and taking whatever punishment came with it. It'd be better than-

No.

He'd be fast. Get in. Get out. 

Ilya exhaled slowly through his nose before removing the rest of his clothes. 

There were instant whistles. Lewd comments. Hard gazes from what felt like every single person in the showers. He tried to ignore the coil in his stomach. 

He’s dealt with worse- at least, that's what he tells himself. It didn't feel quite true.

Forcing himself to move, Ilya turned the squeaky shower head, cold water stinging his shoulders. He didn't dare flinch or jump out from the water's spray, though- he stuck his ground and kept his posture straight, shoulders squared, back turned... like he’s not aware of every pair of eyes on him. Or that he's calculating every single second. Or that he's not constantly wondering: If something happens, how fast can I get out?

Ilya stared straight ahead at the stained tile wall.

By some miracle, he made it through his first shower without incident. 

First shower.

First of many. Don't get so cocky.

How many?

After horrible, partially dried porridge, guards barked his name again. They cuffed him unceremoniously. 

Please be Yuna. Please be Yuna. Please be Yuna. 

Yes.

"Hi, Yuna." 

"Hi, sweetheart." 

They smiled at one another despite everything. 

He rushed through the boring parts with his lawyer, explaining how far he was into the Canadian citizen process and recounting more details of that horrible night at the club. He told them about his family. About his past. Rozanov didn't know what it would do to help, but the man was thorough. 

And then, as the time ticked by, he hurriedly asked about Shane. 

"He's... hanging in there."

Ilya didn't like Yuna's tone.

"What? What happened?"

"Nothing," 

"Yuna..." 

"He's just... worrying. You know him. He'll be okay." 

"Panicking?"

"Ilya..."

"He is having panic attacks?"

Yuna looked caught. 

"Ilya, how is this helpful for-"

"They are bad?"

His mother-in-law sighed before tapping her fingers on the bolted table in resignation.

"He had a particularly bad panic attack last night, yes. He's doing better now. He'll be even better when I go tell him about our visit. Okay?"

"Time's up."

Fuck.

"The only thing that is going to help Shane is you taking care of yourself the best you can." Yuna continued as they both were led out of the room. "I love you, Ilya." 

At least he now knew his heart still beat.

"I love you." 

"I'll come back as soon-"

The door slammed on Yuna's last words.

At dinner, his tray was snatched before he could even place it down. Ilya was met with the snarling face of a man with a patchy beard and yellowing teeth. The inmate grinned maniacally.

"You don't need this, Rozanov! Your fancy lawyers can fetch you some caviar." 

"Yeah, whose cock do you have to suck to be treated like a king?" Another hit the back of Ilya's head with his open palm. It didn't hurt much, but it made him jump. 

Rozanov ground his teeth, but kept hard eye contact with the inmate who took his tray. Backing down was a mistake, but so was making a move.

Finally, the man grew bored and slunk back into the crowd with two trays of food. It wasn't him or any of the other loud-mouth bullies that Ilya was worried about- it was the group of men on the opposite wall just staring at him without a word- like they were viewing the phenomenon of a man in his last moments. 

Goosebumps cascaded across his arms. For once, it wasn't due to the prison's perpetual cold. 

Turns out, he was right to be afraid- it happened during evening movement.

The corridors were louder at that hour. Men shifted between cells and washroom lines, and guards were distracted. The noise was just chaotic enough to swallow something ugly. 

Even though it was just his third night, Ilya knew the rhythm. He had to be aware for moments like these.

As if it'd help.

He stood near his bunk- the guards would've yelled at him if he had dared to try to sit down before curfew. There weren't any guards around right now anyway. 

A shift in the air left Ilya terrified. The block's volume lowered- like when Shane entered a room and always shifted the knob down on Ilya's music. He caught sight of a large figure entering the cell out of the corner of his eye. 

What worried him more was the quiet shuffling of about six other men leaving the cell... like dutiful drones; like they knew something was about to happen. 

Another man entered, and Ilya dared to look fully. They exchanged glances with each other. They looked... excited.

Ilya's stomach dropped. 

Oh. 

All he could do was breathe. In. Out.

His phone screen created the only small haze of light in the dark kitchen. Shane was sitting at the counter doing his usual 3 AM scrolling as he agonized to himself quietly. He kept checking the post he had finally made about Ilya- the lawyers and his mom had been on him to do so for a while, but Shane didn't want to. It had made everything feel so much more... permanent. 

His mother assured him that it didn't have to be anything grand or even emotional. 

It was to keep people talking- to keep people angry, and wanting to do something. 

Shane stared at the picture of him and Ilya, feeling his eyes get hot all over again. Then, the last thing he wants to see pops up on his screen: A call from Alexei.

It's 3:12AM. He should not be calling at 3:12AM.

Shane feels his heart fucking stop.

Why is he calling?

He knew why. There was only one reason: something bad had happened. Maybe something horrible. Maybe something that would collapse Shane's world around him where he stood. He couldn't even bring himself to think of the obvious answer in his mind.

"No."

Instead, he tried to push it all away. 

"No, no, no..." He paced into the kitchen, staring at the phone and wishing it were a nightmare. It kept ringing. Alexei's name remained. 

"They just called. It's over."

"They killed him." 

"I'm sorry, Hollander. He's gone." 

Shane's mind started going through all the possibilities on the other end of that phone line.

"Mom?" He called out into the dark, empty kitchen. He already heard her rustling around in her room once his phone went off. 

"I'm here. I'm here," She rushed out of the room, tugging her robe tighter around her. 

"Alexei's calling me. Why is he calling me? It's fucking 3 AM. Why is he calling me?"

The look on Yuna's face and her lack of an answer was horrifying. Instead, she moved around the counter and wrapped an arm around his back, holding his free hand with the other. She was bracing him- telling him he was there, for whatever was about to happen. 

She was scared, too. 

"Maybe we should sit down." 

"I can't."

The phone stopped ringing, and Shane just stared at it. He knew he had to call back, but-

Ring. Ring. 

Alexei called again. 

"Fuck," 

"Shane..." 

"I can't," He repeated.

"Do you... do you want me to try and-" 

"No," He knew it had to be him. His mom didn't know Russian. "Oh my god," He whispered before his shaking hand answered the call, holding the phone to his ear. The other end of the line was silent, and Shane swallowed dryly. 

"Alexei?"

"Hollander. I just got a call from the jail." 

Oh my god. This was it. 

"Ilya was attacked." 

Shane didn't recognize the pained noise he made. His mom squeezed his hand tighter- almost painfully. He needed it to ground him, anyway. 

And then Alexei just... didn't follow up. Shane's entire being stuttered. 

"AND?" He couldn't help but nearly yell in English. Then, in haphazard Russian, "Is he fucking okay?"

"They say he will be." 

Jesus, Alexei was the worst person to deliver this news. 

"How bad? Is he awake? Are they-" 

"All I know is that it was bad enough that he's being sent to Moscow Central."

"To what?"

"It's a hospital. It's in my jurisdiction, and I'm on duty tomorrow, so they should let me through to see him." 

After clearing up some confusion with the Russian word for what Shane now guessed was 'jurisdiction', his Mom began to grow impatient. 

"Shane? Is he-" 

"Alive. He's alive." Because it was currently the only comfort he had to offer either of them. 

Moscow Central Hospital

December 30th, 2023

Even though the hospital bed was leagues above the prison cots, the pain kept Ilya from sleeping that night. It wasn't super comfortable having his right wrist cuffed to the bed either.

Arriving at the hospital had been an awful blur. They didn't give Ilya much for the pain, and they certainly didn't put him under for when they stitched him up. By the time they had, as the doctor so crudely put it, "sewn him back together", Ilya was left with trembling hands, shallow, panicked breaths, and a deep, stinging ache in his gut. 

They even put a couple of stitches above his eyebrow, but it was nothing compared to where his assailants had sliced into him. 

It took Ilya hours to gain the courage, but eventually, he used his trembling fingers to peel back the thin hospital sheets. He dared to pick at the edge of the bandaging over his stomach, carefully peeling up a corner to reveal ugly, jagged rips sewn into each other across his skin. Ilya felt his face lose blood and almost covered it back up instantly, but he noticed something even amidst the discoloration- these weren't just random markings. 

Ilya peeled the bandage back further. Something in his head told him to stop- he didn't want to see, but his curiosity made his body move against his will. He winced as he craned his neck to see it- not careless impressions at all. A word. A branding.

педик

Faggot. 

Branded into his skin like it belonged there.

Like he belonged to it.

Ilya took a stuttered breath, laying the bandage back down and letting his head fall back against his pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to gather himself. They had posted a guard in the corner of the room to watch him all night, and even though he was happily snoozing without a care in the world, Ilya didn't think he'd appreciate being woken by Ilya's sobs.

Instead, he grit his teeth and used all of his remaining strength to breathe as evenly as he could throughout another sleepless night. 

When the door opened hours later, he wasn’t expecting his brother. But there he was, in full uniform and exhaustion clear on his face.

Ilya had never been so happy to see him. 

Alexei paused, and Ilya saw fear cross his eyes. If he had Alexei looking like that, he must look rough.

“Ilya…”

Ilya felt his lip wobble.

Stop.

Ilya desperately wanted to ask Alexei if he was here to take him home, but he knew it’d make him sound pathetic, and if he didn’t get the answer he wanted, he wouldn't be able to take it.

Alexei seemed to remember where he was, blinking before turning to the guard who was lazily waking from his slumber. Ilya watched in anticipation as his brother spoke to the guard in hushed tones, handing him something before the guard grumbled and left the room. 

It was just the two of them, then. Alexei stood awkwardly, a few steps from his bedside.

“I, um… The hospital is in our jurisdiction, so they let me through." He explained. So Ilya was not going home. This throat hurt from the pain of it closing tightly. He watched pointedly as Alexei pulled the corner chair to his bedside and sat down. His eyes flitted over the bruising that painted Ilya's arms.

“Are… you okay?”

And that was it. Just one question and a small noise that escaped from the back of Ilya's throat before the dam broke: He was full-on sobbing. 

“Ilya…”

He was too fucking scared, tired, and in pain to care that he was losing his shit in front of the last person on earth he wanted to see him like this. 

To Ilya’s shock, he felt a hand at the back of his neck, holding him firm.

Ilya didn't think. He just let his head fall forward until it thunked against Alexei's chest. He cried while Alexei awkwardly held him the best he could from his bedside. 

Any bit of comfort that Ilya may have gotten was twisted into more pain when he realized that his brother would not be doing this if things weren't this incredibly bad. Before all of this, Ilya would've said that only the end of the world would be enough for them to get to this stage. 

Welcome to the end of the world. 

The sobs that tore from Ilya's body pained his ribs and abdomen further, but he couldn't stop. His chest heaved like his lungs would never find enough air. 

Alexei didn't try to shush him, and Ilya was grateful for that. He had spent the last three to four days doing everything in his power to keep everything inside- pushed deep down and out of sight from a whole world of predators watching for the moment he faltered.

After an indescribable amount of time, when Ilya's hyperventilating had died down to shaking sniffles, Alexei shifted. 

“Ey. Ilya." His hand slipped from around the back of Ilya's neck and braced on the side of his face instead. Ilya hesitantly turned undoubtedly red eyes to meet his brother's. Alexei was staring at him in a way he didn't recognize. It warmed and terrified him at the same time. "We managed to get you transferred. Okay? Once you’re cleared here. You don't have to go back. Not to there, at least.”

Ilya swallowed thickly. 

"Where?"

"Black Whale."

“Jesus. With the... the cannibals and serial killers?”

Alexei shot him a look that felt more like "them". 

“With less people. Maximum security- more supervision. Ilya, you aren’t going to survive going back to Butyrka.”

Ilya huffed out a bitter laugh. 

"No shit."  He accepted the box of tissues Alexei brought over from the counter. 

"It wasn't easy to swing it. The attack helped convince the courts. They want you alive to for your trial. They want the spectacle." Ilya felt more silent tears run down his face, quickly catching them with tissues. He didn't say anything. He didn't know what he could say anymore. "Plus, you and Hollander made a very sizable donation to the court system. Very generous of you." 

Ilya was surprised that he found himself chuckling. 

"Is he freaking out?"  He questioned, regarding Shane. He knew the answer.

"Probably. He does that." 

Ilya felt his chin quiver again, looking up at the ceiling and trying to regain himself. He heard Alexei pull a tissue from the box. 

"Ey," Ilya felt the cloth being pressed to the side of his face where fresh tears gathered. He sniffled, avoiding Alexei's eyes. He didn't think he could take the uncharacteristic presence of fear and sympathy they held. “Get yourself together, okay? You have to show your strength. Don’t let them see you break.”

Ilya nodded because, in this case, Alexei telling him to bury his emotions was for his own good.

"I'm scared," He felt like he had to admit it out loud at least once. Alexei's brows pinched further together. He could see him swallow thickly. 

"I know."

It was quiet for a moment. 

“What do you want me to tell Shane when I see him?”

Ilya's answer was immediate.

“Lie.”

He didn't want Shane knowing how bad things had gotten.

Alexei nodded. The door opened, and another man in an identical police uniform poked his head in.

"We've got a call a couple blocks over, Rozanov." The officer directed at Alexei. His brother looked like he regretted the fact. He dismissed what must have been his partner before turning back to Ilya.

“Are you hungry?" 

"God, yes." 

"I'll make sure the nurses get you food."

Ilya nodded, barely able to manage a whisper, "Spasibo." 

Alexei just nodded, looking at him for a moment before,

"We’ll get you out, Ilya.”

Ilya just nodded because if he said anything else, he’d start crying again. Alexei put a hand on his shoulder, and Ilya couldn't stop another tear spilling over. He had been so deprived of any kind of comforting touch that he didn't care who it came from. 

"Stay strong." 

And then, Alexei left him alone again. 

He so desperately wanted him to come back.

Chapter Text

Moscow, Russia

December 30th, 2023 

When Alexei came back on his lunch hour, Shane jumped to his feet. He didn't know why, he just did.

Ilya's brother looked disturbed. Ashen. He was trying to hide it in a way that so resembled Ilya, but Shane knew the Rozanov tells already. 

“Is he-“

“He’s fine.” He shot Shane down, averting his eyes. Alexei disappeared into his room and closed the door. The room was frozen in time for a moment. 

Then, a crash from the bedroom as if a large collection of items was smashed against the wall in one swoop. 

Whatever he had seen made him that upset.

Oh, god. 

Shane clenched his fists and closed his eyes, pushing a single hot tear down his face. He heard his mother sigh his name, more like a beg. He knew it was killing her that she couldn't do more.

Join the club. 

"It's going to be okay," She tried. Shane just shook his head while Yuna rubbed his shoulder with an arm slung around his back. “As soon as he gets transferred, I’ll get in to see him.”

Alexei didn't come out of his room for his entire lunch hour, cutting it short and briskly walking out. Shane had tried to jump in with his stabbing inquiries, but he didn't even get a word out before, 

"Not now, Hollander." 

And then he was gone again. Shane huffed and fell back into his seat dramatically, not even trying to relax the anger from his features. 

"I'm sorry. I'll talk to him this evening." Katya promised from where she was folding laundry on the couch. She insisted that Shane and his mother stay through lunch and dinner so that she could cook for them. They could all wait for updates on Ilya together.

Throughout the day, Shane would translate between Katya and his mother, but didn't add much to the conversation to himself. He was just happy for something to distract himself with.

Later, Shane had a call with their Canadian and Russian lawyers about what he would say at the press conference. 

When Sophia got home from school, she had a fresh batch of drama to fill everyone in on. Shane allowed himself to just barely enjoy the amusement and domesticity of sitting in the living room and gossiping with his mom and niece. At one point, he pulled out his phone and took a picture of Sophia showing Yuna photos on her phone. 

For Ilya, later. He thought to himself. Shane tried not to let his darker thoughts overpower the small moment of hope. 

He and his mother bickered a bit about what advice to give Sophia. It was nice to not be treated like glass for the first time in almost a week. Yuna ribbing him felt comfortably familiar.  

"He wouldn't know. He's a nerd." 

"I'm not saying that to her!" Shane scoffed at his mother, who cheekily grinned back at him. 

"What? What did she say?" Sophia beamed with curious eyes flitting between him and Yuna. 

"Play fair, Uncle Shane." His mom nudged him, and Shane let out an exasperated laugh. 

"She said I'm a nerd." 

"Oh. Well, duh." 

"Duh!?" Sophia giggled at Shane's appalled expression. "Great." He said in English, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. 

"Is that one of the reasons Uncle Ilya fell for you?"

Shane was met with an instant stab to the chest as he swallowed painfully, but he smiled despite it. He didn't mind Sophia asking questions like that- liked it, even, despite the pain. 

Boring. Ilya would say to him. Often, it was to tease him, but sometimes Ilya would use the word as if it were the highest compliment in the whole world. 

"That's what he says." 

When Alexei got home from work, he looked less shaken and more weary. Shane let him settle in for a little while before he pardoned himself from Sophia and his mother. He followed Alexei into the doorway of the study. 

"Alexei..." Shane braved because he had to. He had to know. "How bad was it?"

Alexei sighed. 

"Drink?"

Shane shrugged and nodded. He guessed it was kind of like their thing now. 

They both sat down at the table, and Yuna took Sophia to her room to look at her new records while they talked. 

There was a horrible, anticipatory silence before Alexei finally cleared his throat. Shane was shocked at the cautiously delivered English.

“I should not have told him to come.”

There was no apology- not with exact words, but Shane guessed it was the closest he'd get. After all, Alexei had clearly practiced the phrase just for him.

Shane wanted to revel in it for Ilya's sake, but he couldn't. It was too crushing. Things were bad enough for Alexei to express actual guilt, in English, to his “faggot brother’s husband"... or "brother's faggot husband", whatever he used to say.

"He was grateful that you did," Shane said in English first before translating it back into Russian.

Alexei still looked like he was in pain, and Shane realized he was blaming himself. They all were in their own way. Svetlana had profusely apologized for having the idea to go to the club. His mother had expressed how much she wished she'd fought back harder when they took this trip. And there wasn't a single second in the day when Shane wasn't thinking about all the things he could've done differently. 

But it didn't help Ilya, and it didn't help them. 

“It’s not your fault.”

More silence. 

"So... how bad?"

"Jesus, Hollander."

"That bad?"

"No. He's banged up, but he will be fine."

"Did he tell you to say that?"

"I'm going to go talk to your mother about her visit tomorrow," Alexei said dismissively before standing and leaving Shane to speculate on horrible possibilities. 

Chapter Text

🎶 Punish - Ethel Cain 🎶 Right-click/Hold-down to open in new tab

Black Whale Prison

Januray 1st, 2024

The minute the guards brought Shane into it, things were on a fast track downwards. 

"Saw your boyfriend online the other day." One of them jeered at him. 

Husband. Ilya corrected bitterly in his head. That was the extent of the neutral comments, because the rest were a cross between vulgar and violent, designed to make his blood boil. And because Ilya couldn't hide how it affected him when it came to Shane, they used that. Constantly. 

And when they weren't telling Ilya the horrid things they thought should happen to Shane, he was left with the realization that they weren't the only ones. Russia was undoubtedly full of people who would revel in causing harm to Shane. After the press conference, everyone knew where he was- here, amidst the sharks. 

What if someone got to him? Hurt him?

Killed him?

Later that day, there was an uproar during "communal" time. Someone had spat at a guard, which incited a beating, which got more inmates involved...

Ilya had wrongly assumed that the only way this affected him was in the pain of being shoved to the ground on his stomach, as everyone else was.

Or just in the way that their time outside their cells was cut short (which didn't bother Ilya).

But the "riot" had affected him in a much bigger way. When Ilya heard curfew being called, he realized he had gone through the entire day without seeing Yuna. He knew she would've visited him if she could. They mustn't have let her today. 

Ilya was furious at the inmate who had started the whole ruckus in the first place, but his anger dissipated quickly when the screaming started at night. It was distant in the echoing hallways, but certainly heard from every cell. Ilya had a feeling that it was on purpose. Whatever they were doing to punish the guy, they wanted them all to hear it. 

The inmate's cries were incessant through the night. 

He wondered if that'd ever be him. 

Moscow, Russia

?????

Alexei stood rigid, face carved from stone. Shane had seen many sides of him since coming to Moscow, but this was the most devastating. He was hardly recognizable. 

Yuna’s hand was on Shane’s back, but even she felt distant. Hollander felt like he was underwater. Drowing.

“This way,” someone says.

The doors give a soft, hydraulic sigh. Shane is completely detached from his body as he makes his way through the sterile hallway. It's almost as if a hidden part of his brain knows what's happening, but his conscious mind has yet to catch up. 

All he feels is that he shouldn’t be here. None of this should be happening.

Somehow, he finds himself in another room. For some reason, Shane's eyes are trained down at the floor. He can't move them. He tries, but he can't. No one coaxes him to do anything- everything is unnaturally still, like time has frozen around him. 

Look up. 

Don't look up. 

Look. The fuck up. 

His voices fight within his head before his eyes magically release their lock.

Shane looks up. 

A metal table. There’s a form beneath a sheet. Too still. Too small.

His stomach sinks, and he feels an unnatural heat/chill overcome his body.

Maybe if he doesn’t move, it won’t happen. If he doesn’t look, it isn’t true.

Shane's hand reaches forward anyway. It’s shaking so hard, he has a hard time getting an initial grip on the sheet. He pulled it back-

Just enough to see gold curls.

A cry rips from his throat. 

Moscow, Russia

January 2nd, 2024

Shane woke up gasping for air, his whole body trembling. His T-shirt was soaked through with sweat. Yuna was holding him and nearly yelling his name in a way that told him she'd been trying for a while. 

"He's gone," Shane heard someone whimper before realizing it was him. The image was still burned behind his eyes. The sheet. The cold skin. The stillness.

"He's gone. He's gone." 

"Honey, it was just a nightmare." 

"He's gone," He whispered again as his mother held his head to her shoulder, brushing his bangs from his face. 

"No. He's not." 

How could she know? There had been some kind of altercation at the prison, and they weren't letting anyone through for visits. It didn't matter how much money they tried to throw at them. 

So how could they know? How could they know that someone hadn't beaten him too hard? That another inmate didn't stab him to death for simply existing? That Ilya hadn't done something to himself?

It took a lot of convincing for Shane to calm down, and sleep never found him again that night.

The thoughts had been darker today. Quieter. More persuasive. He tells himself he’s thinking strategically. Assessing risk and planning; that’s how it starts.

It would be easier, a voice whispers sometimes, when the corridor is empty, and the lights buzz overhead. It would be safer. For Shane.

Without Ilya here, there was no reason for Shane to be in Russia. Shane would go home. Shane would be safe. 

Was every day that Ilya remained alive just more danger to Shane?

Ilya stilled. The idea doesn’t shock him as much as it should. The calmness with which it arrives scares him. He swallowed painfully and closed his eyes.

He tried to picture Shane’s face instead.

The way his brow furrows when he’s stressed. The way his eyes darken and get all shiny when he wants Ilya. The way pink flushes his freckled cheeks when Ilya surprises him with sudden proclamations of love. 

But those memories felt impossibly far away, and so did Shane.

Different images flooded his mind: Shane attacked. Shane arrested. Shane...

Ilya gripped the metal until the edge bit into his hand. It stung, but he only squeezed it tighter. He felt blood seeping into the lines of his palm. 

Was ending it all the only way to keep Shane safe?

A civil war raged in Ilya's head for hours.

One side of him must've won out, because soon, he felt himself moving. It felt like he was in a dream- like he wasn't attached to his body as he slowly and quietly made his way to his sleeping cell-mate's bedside.

The guy had three books and a couple of pencils. Ilya wasn't allowed the same comforts- he wasn't sure if it was because he was an "unofficial" inmate, or just because they hated him.

He didn't even fully comprehend his intentions until he slowly ripped out a back page of a book. He winced at the sound before reaching for a pencil.

Through the all-encompassing numbness, Ilya felt his heart clench. His vision swims with tears. His hands shake in a way he'd never seen before. 

His bottom lip begins to tremble. Ilya expelled tears down his face, but his eyes instantly blurred again. 

It made it difficult to write out: Shane, 

Then, he stops. He stares at Shane's name scrawled sloppily on the page. 

What? What are you going to say, you fucking asshole? I'm sorry? Sorry that I'm completely aware of how much my mother's death fucked me up forever, and now I'm going to put you through the same thing?

FUCK. 

Ilya didn't mean to drop the sharp metal to the ground with a loud clang, but his cellmate didn't even stir. Ilya was frozen in place, his eyes wide.

What the fuck was he doing?

He didn't know if had been ready to decide anything in finality tonight, but there was only one reason to write a note to Shane- if Ilya planned on never seeing him again. 

For Shane? Ilya scoffed at his previous thoughts. Did he really just have the audacity to consider watching his blood pool on the floor while claiming it was for his husband?  Are you fucking kidding me? He harshly berated himself. Galina would not have approved.

It had only been a week, and Ilya was already trying to tap out. He only hated himself more for it, but while he may have had a moment of clarity tonight, he wasn't sure it'd always be that way. 

After tucking away his shiv and the unfinished note to Shane, Ilya curled up on his flimsy mattress. As always, he didn't sleep. This time, not from the guards' interference, but from pure fear: Because for all the things he had to be terrified of, he could add another to the list: Himself. 

January 4th, 2024

Yuna had learned the choreography of prison visits. Metal detector. Passport scanned. Phone surrendered.

Black Whale is quieter and cleaner than the last place. That doesn’t mean it's kinder.

She and Anton had been sitting in the small room separated by glass for a while now. Yuna couldn't help her knee from bouncing anxiously- this visit had to happen. It had been three days since she'd seen Ilya, and she couldn't imagine how alone he must've felt. She hoped to God that he didn't think they'd abandoned him. 

When he walked in, the first thing she did was what she always did- examine him for new injuries. She didn't notice anything right off the bat, but she did note the way he tried to casually hide his right forearm behind his back upon making his way to the chair. Ilya's movements were more stiff and economical, as if he were conserving something finite.

The next thing she realized was that new physical wounds weren't the problem. Ilya's eyes were what terrified her the most. Every other time he'd lay eyes on her, there would be a spark- a return of what made Ilya their Ilya. 

That spark was gone- completely snuffed out. His eyes were cold and distant, like he was a million worlds away from her. 

"Hi, sweetheart." She couldn't hide the pain in her voice. 

When he was fully in front of her, she noticed the smaller things. His cheekbones were sharper, collarbones more pronounced beneath the standard-issue gray fabric. She noticed a burn in the collar of his uniform and cringed.

He doesn't say anything. 

"Ilya, I'm so sorry. They wouldn't let me-" 

"I know," Ilya cut in. His voice was void of vitality. "Is okay." 

She knew it wasn't. Anton started talking about legal shit a little too early for Yuna's liking, but Ilya cut him off anyway. 

“Yuna, I need you to do something for me,” he says. He still hadn't met her eyes. 

"Anything," 

"You need to make Shane go home."

Yuna felt ice slide down her spine.

Well... maybe not anything. 

"Ilya... You know that I can't." 

"He shouldn't be here." 

"Honey, it's not like I haven't suggested it. He won't leave you." 

"He is in danger. Every single fucking day he spends here-" Ilya's voice caught, and he looked away, tightening his jaw. The simple movement seemed like it pained him. "I can handle this." Nothing was convincing about the statement. "He shouldn't have to." 

There’s a faint tremor in his hand where it rests on the table. Ilya curled his fingers into a fist to hide it. Yuna noticed anyway.

“You sound like you are preparing him.”

“For what?” he asked, seemingly uninterested in the answer.

She takes a deep breath. Her next words taste bitter in her mouth. 

“For you not coming home.”

A fragile silence follows. Ilya doesn’t move. He doesn't look shocked. He doesn’t even look offended. He just looks… tired. He blinked slowly. 

"Please," He finally turned his darkened eyes to meet hers. They're begging her. "I need to know he's safe, and he'll never be safe here." 

Yuna felt her throat close up. It wasn't like she didn't know that- it terrified her beyond belief to think of what could happen to Shane. He was an adult, though- and a stubborn one, at that. 

But she couldn't tell Ilya no. Not when he was looking at her like that- like his entire being depended on the answer she would give him. 

"I'll try." 

He nodded and looked down at his hands. 

"Thank you." 

He didn't look at her for the rest of the short meeting. Even when they got up and started making their way to their opposite sides of the room, she begged. 

"Ilya. Ilya, honey. Look at me." 

He didn't. 

"Ilya, it's going to be okay."

He didn't say anything. He just let the guards handle him out of the room, shoulders hunched and the fight drained from his body. 

The visit had left Yuna shaking. When she broke out into the frigid, blinding light of the snowy parking lot, everything kind of just... hit. 

"I- I need a minute. Sorry." She whispered to Alexei, who stood by the car waiting for her. She made a sudden left and hurried between rows of cars as her mind and heart raced faster than she was able to catch up with. 

Yuna had done an okay job at keeping it together in front of Shane, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could pretend like they had everything under control. They didn't. She had no idea what she was doing or how this was going to end. 

She hadn't even entertained the idea that maybe this was her losing her second son. And if that was the case, she'd lose Shane, too. Maybe not in the physical sense, but he'd never be the same. He'd never recover- she knew it. 

Yuna found herself between two large vans, hidden from view, before a sob broke through her throat. 

Ilya had been nearly unrecognizable. He was deteriorating. He wouldn't survive much longer.

Yuna took a few violently stuttering breaths, trying her best not to fully relinquish to sobbing. She could wait for Shane to go to bed for that. 

A hand on her back makes her jump. She hurriedly uses cold palms to wipe the hot tears streaking her face.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," was her immediate response before she even knew who it was. 

"Yuna?" Alexei had followed her. 

"Sorry, I just- One moment..." 

He didn't remove his hand from her back, instead moving it to her shoulder and squeezing it as she tried to get herself under control. Alexei eventually cleared his throat and shuffled behind her awkwardly. 

"Is cold." The unexpected English shocked her system back into order a bit. "Pozvol' mne provodit' tebya... um... to the home, yes?"

He wasn't wrong. It was the coldest day she had experienced since being here- the kind of freeze that cut straight through your bones the minute you stepped outside. 

Yuna took another shaky breath, deeper and more controlled this time. She finally turned and offered Alexei a small smile of reassurance- she doubted the "reassurance" really came through, though. 

"Yes, okay." 

He kept a hand on her back on the way back to the car and opened her door for her. 

Shane couldn't believe what he was hearing. He doesn't mean for it to translate into anger at his mother, but it did. How could she be saying this? 

"Are you fucking serious? Mom, there's no way I'm going back to Canada." 

"Shane. It's dangerous for you here. We don't know how long we'll be-" 

"I don't care. I don't give a fuck about any of that. I'm not leaving." 

"Shane," 

"No. Out of the question." 

"Honey, Ilya would feel so much better if he knew you were safe." 

"What did he say to you? Huh? What is this?"

"Shane..."

"Is he giving up?" 

She didn't answer fast enough, which was answer enough for Shane. 

"Oh my god. He's giving up." His voice started rising higher in pitch as the panic returned, tenfold. Yuna reached out for him, but Shane yanked his arm back. 

"I- No. Don't." 

She held her hands up in defense and let Shane burst through Alexei's front door into a fading winter day. Shane paced for a long time, his hands shaking and running through his hair so much that he wasn't surprised when he started pulling out little strands. 

FUCK you. He couldn't help but think towards Ilya. You think you can just decide when it's over? When it's time to give up? FUCK. YOU. 

Along with the anger, there was a sickening feeling of dread and heartbreak. He knew that Ilya would be in a rough place after not seeing his mom for 3 days. He knew that he was missing his antidepressants. He just hoped that they wouldn't get here yet- at a place where Shane had to truly accept the possibility of Ilya being the one to decide the ending of things. 

When his body couldn't handle the cold anymore, Shane slipped back inside the house. His mother, Katya, and Svetlana were talking in the kitchen, too busy to notice. 

Perfect. 

Shane made his way to Alexei's study and was relieved to see him sitting at his desk, hunched over a bunch of paperwork in Russian.

He glanced up as soon as Shane was in the doorway. He looked a little shaken upon looking at Shane. Hollander knew he must have looked like he was absolutely losing it- probably because he was.  

But at least he had a plan. 

"I have to ask you a favor." 

January 5th, 2024: 1:51 AM

🎶 Royan - Frànçois & The Atlas Mountains 🎶

Shane sat quietly in the back of Alexei's car. He checked the time on his phone for the thousandth time, hoping not to find frantic texts or calls from his mother. 

He had snuck out of Ilya's apartment easily enough, but he knew if his mother had caught him, it'd all be over. What he was doing was beyond stupid and reckless, and she would've done anything in her power to stop him. 

Shane didn't care about the risks. They were way past that. To him, this was necessary. 

Mirroring his thoughts and stating the obvious, Alexei spoke up from the front seat. 

"This is really stupid, Hollander." 

"I know." He didn't need to say in Russian. 

"He's going to kill me for this," Alexei muttered, shaking his head. 

"Since when do you care if Ilya's mad at you?" 

"Fair enough." 

Pulling into the large facility's gated lot had Shane's hands starting to shake. He felt a bit nauseous and very anxious. His eyes scanned the looming walls of the prison. 

Ilya was in there- in this horrible, cold, godforsaken place. He was so close. 

They waited in the cold outside a door shrouded in an alley. They weren't going through official visit channels to keep Shane safe- instead, Alexei had found a way to bribe a few of the night guards to organize a covert visit. 

It wasn't cheap. It was worth it. 

Shane knew he probably should be scared as two guards led him and Alexei down the sterile back hallways. Everyone knew who he was now- everyone had opinions about him being here in Moscow. He was sure some wanted to tear his head off the moment they saw Shane. Hell, he was sure these two would happily do it themselves if he wasn't paying them exorbitant amounts of money.

But he wasn't focused on that at all. Shane was only trying to prepare himself for what Ilya might look like. The last time he'd seen him was after that initial scuffle after the club, and those injuries hadn't even fully bloomed yet. Since then, he'd been beaten, sent to the hospital, beaten again, no doubt starved and sleep deprived... 

Shane waits, seated in a small room. He's in front of a thick window of glass, waiting for Ilya to walk through on the other side. Alexei stands behind him at the door, eyes trained through the door's window to watch for any unexpected movement. 

There's a metallic click Shane hears from behind the glass. His heart stops. The door swings open. 

Holy shit. 

When they bring Ilya in, he freezes. It’s not dramatic. There’s no sharp inhale or any sudden movement. But what started as a man completely devoid of emotion or energy quickly evolved before Shane's eyes: He looked horrified. Like, actually, truly, and fully horrified to see Shane. 

Shane is too. The person in front of him couldn't be Ilya Rozanov. He couldn't be the lovably cocky captain of the Ottawa Centaurs. He couldn't be the man who had easily outrun Shane on the snowy Ottawa trails a month prior. He couldn't be the same person that Shane was oh-so proud to call his husband. 

But it was. A depleted version of him, but it was Ilya. And while his heart swelled at just the idea of being near him again, Shane also felt it break in real time. 

"No." Ilya face went hard in an instant. 

"Ilya..." Even though the single word brought tears to his eyes, it felt so good to say his name to him.

Ilya didn't seem to find the same relief.

"No. You cannot be here. Go."

Shane had been expecting this. 

"Ilya-" 

"What the fuck were you thinking, Alexei?" His eyes were at least showing signs of life now, even if it was pure anger.

"I don't need to tell you how these Hollanders are!" Alexei defensively shot back. Ilya huffed and drilled a hardened gaze straight through Shane. 

"Shane. Go." It was clear that it took Ilya an immense amount of effort to keep his resolve firm. Shane still noticed the small tremor in his voice, though. 

"Ilya," He'd say his name over and over again if he had the time. They didn't. "We have five minutes."

"We have no minutes. Get the fuck out of here."

"Ilya-"

"This is so fucking stupid and dangerous, Shane! Leave!" His voice broke on Shane's name, but he sucked in a sharp breath and held it together. 

Shane, however, did not.

"Jesus! Shut the fuck up for one second!" Shane was yelling now, too, tears hot in his eyes. "Do you really want to spend the little time we have bitching at me? Fuck."

Ilya blinked, still standing halfway in the room. Eventually, he sighed through his nose and made his way towards the single metal chair, collapsing into it. Shane could see him better now that he was right in front of him- see the evidence of all his pain etched across his skin. 

And Shane feels it then, fully, all at once: The reality of it.

Ilya is in prison. He is scared. He is alone. He is in pain. And Shane cannot reach him- he can't even touch him. 

Ilya shook his head as his expression softened.

“What are you doing here?” 

Shane took a shaky breath. 

“Hi to you too.” He manages to squeeze through the tightness in his throat. 

Shane presses his palm flat against the glass as if it'd bridge the distance.

“Ilya...”

Ilya’s gaze dropped to Shane’s hand. Then, slowly, he lifts his own and places it against the other side.

Ilya's face warped, and suddenly, both of them were crying. They pushed their hands as hard as they could against the glass. Shane knew he couldn't actually feel Ilya's warmth, but for a second, he imagined it. 

Ilya's eyes flitted all across Shane's face, like he was remembering him all over again. 

“Ilya, you don’t get to give up on me,” Shane breathed, softer now, but fierce. 

“I'm not," he answered, too fast and too unconvincing. 

“Yes," Shane felt his control slipping. "You are." This was already not going how he wanted it to. He didn't even know what he wanted. "Just- I can’t- I can’t...“ but Shane's breathing quickened. The room started to spin. Shit, this was not helping. 

But then, he heard him: 

“Hey… hey! Shane…”

Ilya's voice transformed, and Shane was overcome with the comfort of the familiarity of it- his Ilya materialized in front of him again. His Ilya that would do anything to make Shane feel better.

“Shane… sweetheart...“ he gently coaxed further. It was enough to ground Shane again. 

“Please,” was all he could say at first, scrambling to take advantage of Ilya's slip in his hard resolve. “Please. Please. Don't push me away."

Ilya closed his eyes briefly. Shane took the time to study his face- the discoloration, the swelling, the cuts... He was thinner, and it had only been a week and a half. Shane so desperately wanted to gently kiss across every single assault to his body. 

“You being here helps no one.” Ilya finally whispers. It stings, and maybe it's meant to. Shane doesn't back down regardless.

“It helps me.”

Ilya opens his eyes and devolves back into a cold expression. 

"No. It puts you in danger."

They stare at each other through the glass barrier- it was the only thing currently keeping Shane from just taking Ilya and fucking running. 

“You don’t believe you’re getting out,” Shane stated quietly. There wasn't a need to phrase it as a question. Ilya didn’t answer- he didn't have to.  “You think you’re protecting me,” Shane continued, a fresh set of tears spilling. “But you’re leaving me alone. You're giving up on us."

Ilya’s composure wavers, and his breath stutters. When it's clear he isn't going to say anything, Shane rushed through a summary of all the support he was getting- not just from fans. Not just from home. Across the fucking world. If Shane had been able to take his phone in, he would've shown him how loved he was.

"No one's forgetting you. No one's leaving you. Especially not me. So don't fucking ask." 

Ilya looked down and was still for a bit. Shane wanted to let him process on his own time, but the seconds were ticking by. Finally,

"International, huh?" Ilya shyly glanced back up at Shane. There was the smallest glint in his eye. Shane held onto it harder than he's held onto anything before. 

"Yeah," Shane choked out amidst a cautious half-grin. "You're kind of a big deal." 

To his relief, Ilya offered a small smile back. Shane tried to memorize everything about it. 

“I have always been a huge deal.”

There's my fucking husband. 

Ilya's expression fell again, though, the warmth draining from his face as he let his head fall forward. He pressed his forehead to the glass. Shane did the same, their hands and foreheads separated by only a few millimeters.

“I am so tired,” Ilya breathed in a way that crushed Shane's heart. He tried not to let it show. 

“I know, sweetheart.” The loudest he could manage was a strained whisper.

A tear slipped down Ilya’s cheek.

"One minute, okay?" Alexei said from behind Shane. He had completely forgotten he was there. 

Fuck. One minute wasn't enough. Nothing would've been. 

“I need you to promise me something,” Shane said quickly. Ilya looked at him like he was afraid of what he'd ask. Shane held his blue eyes firmly with his own. “Promise me you won’t decide the ending without me.”

The words hung there heavily, and Shane could tell by the look on Ilya's face that he knew exactly what he was asking of him. 

“Okay,” he says, voice barely audible.

“Say it.”

Ilya sighed, his form somehow shrinking even smaller into the metal chair. 

“I will keep fighting,” Ilya whispers, his breath fogging the glass between them. “For us. I promise.”

“Shit. Okay, they're coming." Alexei announced.

Shane’s chest caved in.

“No-”

"Hollander, wrap it up." Alexei's voice warns from behind him. 

Ilya straightens automatically, the mask sliding back into place. His eyes were still red, but at least he had some life back in them. 

“Do not come here again. Understand?"

Shane let out a wet laugh. “Bossy.”

“I am dead fucking serious, Shane Hollander.”

“I know.”

Shane moved his hand to the cutouts on the window, pressing his fingertips along the little slots. Ilya's eyes flitted to them as he did the same; they could just barely feel the tiniest bit of each other's fingertips through the spaces there... 

It fucking destroyed Shane. It was almost worse than not touching him at all. He was so fucking close. 

A sob ripped from his throat, and he guiltily watched as Ilya's own eyes refilled with tears. 

“I love you,” Shane managed to proclaim as his weeping intensified past what he could control. 

How could he leave him again? How could he let him go back in there alone?

Ilya’s composure shattered completely as he answered with a broken,

“I love you,”

The doors on either side of their rooms open, and guards filed in. Their small allowance of contact breaks, and it feels like something tearing. He's horrified by the way they practically yank Ilya out of his chair, dragging him backwards as he stumbles to keep up. Still, Ilya doesn’t look away as they lead him out. He keeps his eyes locked with Shane until the door closes.

Shane and Alexei are hurriedly rushed back into the cold night air as Shane heaves through cries he can't stop. He knew the visit would be hard, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing the man he loved more than life itself like that. The image would be burned in his mind forever, he knew it. 

Shane just hoped that their talk would be enough for Ilya to hold on a while longer.

January 5th, 2024: 8:46 AM

What Svetlana now affectionately referred to as "Team Ilya" gathered at Alexei's the next morning to discuss the upcoming trial further. All of the arguments started to sound the same. Different wording, same hysteria.

Shane sat on the couch in the adjoining room. He had excused himself a little while ago, trying to block out the unhelpful but understandable statements, like: 

"If he gets through trial and is convicted, things will only get worse. He'll belong to them. Understand? They'll do what they want with him, and it won't be pretty." 

"Do we need a refresher on Chechnya, here? 2017 was only seven years ago." 

"We'll just be adding Ilya's name to the list. Yevgeny Makarov? Roman Sarychev? Sergei Magnitsky? Do I need to go on?"

The lawyers always met Alexei and Svetlana's impassioned panic with more jurisdiction, leverage, consular access, and negotiations. Sometimes it'd help, sometimes it would anger them more. It's not that they didn't think the lawyers weren't doing everything they could- it was just impossible for anyone to hide the high emotions that came with not being able to do more. 

Shane felt nearly empty after releasing most of his emotions following his visit with Ilya last night. He had been too busy quietly crying the entire ride back home to notice that his mother had been blowing up his phone. She was in the living room waiting when he walked back in, her expression furious. 

The minute she saw Shane, though, her resolve crumpled. Yuna had welcomed him into her arms, and Shane didn't have to hold back anymore. They didn't need to speak (even if Shane could've)- she knew where he had been and what he had seen. She let Shane cry, as was practically becoming their ritual. 

Now, his hands were clasped so tightly in his lap his knuckles ached. He focused on that- something physical and concrete.

Inhale for four. Hold. Exhale slowly. 

Shane lets the voices blur into a background hum while he sifts through memories instead: 

Ilya in the kitchen of their home, sleeves pushed up, arguing about the “correct” way to cut onions.
Ilya asleep on the plane after a hard-fought game with his mouth slightly open.
Ilya getting the giggles when Shane horribly imitated his accent. 

He holds onto them like anchors, because the alternative is imagining the way he looked in that horrible place.

Ilya’s hand against the glass.

"For us. I promise." He had said. 

Shane's phone buzzed in his palm. He instinctively glances:

Unknown number with a Canadian area code.

He let it ring and receded into his memories again. 

Immediately, the same number called again. Shane huffed, going to silence his notifications, but not before a third call comes in. He clenched his jaw, answering swiftly more out of spite.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Shane Hollander?"

"Yeah, I'm not making any statements to the press right now, so-"

"Oh, no. This is Diane with the prime minister's office. Can I patch you through?" 

Shane blinked. He didn't move. He didn't know if he could. The arguing continued in the background, everyone unaware of Shane practically leaving his body momentarily.

"Sorry, the Canadian prime minister's office." She specified, as if that was what was tripping Shane up. In a sudden break, Shane regained control of his body. He stood and exited the room so that he could hear better. A couple of sets of eyes followed him out. "So can I patch you through?"

"Um... yes?" Shane slowly paced in the hallway. 

There were a few monotone rings, then a click, and then, 

"Shane Hollander!" A cheery man's voice came across the speaker. Shane recognized it. Every Canadian would've. "James Turcotte, I don't think we've ever had the pleasure of meeting." 

"I-"

Shane’s brain short-circuited.

What!? No, he's never met the prime minister. He would've fucking remembered that. 

"I don't think so, no. Nice to... talk to you, sir." 

"James will do. So, listen. I know you've been going through the wringer over there. We haven't forgotten about you guys. Just lots of red tape and Russia's always... a joy to conduct diplomacy with-" 

Shane was having a hard time figuring out what the hell was going on. He leaned against the wall, shaking his head in confusion.

"Sorry, I insisted on being the one to call, and now I'm rambling. Let me wrap this up-

-how would you like to take Ilya home today?"

The words don’t land, but hover just out of reach. Did he fucking hear that right? His face is hot, and he can't feel his arms or his hands or the phone in his hand. Shane nearly drops it, but fumbles to keep it up to his ear.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you think you and your mother could be at Sheremetyevo International in about... say, an hour and a half?"

An hour and a fucking half?

"I... uh... yes. Yes, we can." Shane rushes out, like if he doesn't answer fast enough, he'll rescind the offer.

How the fuck was this happening? 

Shane didn't even dare ask.

"Great. We've got a plane waiting for you, and Ilya will meet you there."

The prime minister was talking like he was organizing a friendly meetup for pizza and drinks. 

Was this just another dream? It felt like a dream.

"Are-" 

Please don't be a dream. 

"Are you sure?" 

Dumb question. He didn't care. 

"Positive."

...It's over?

It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over?

"Oh my god." Shane's back slid down the wall until he sank into the floor. "Oh my god, thank you." 

Shane realized the arguing had quieted in the other room. The shuffling of footsteps was followed by Yuna and Sveta hesitantly stepping into the hallway. Their expressions looked horrified, and Shane realized that it probably didn't look promising that he was collapsed and on the phone in the dark hallway. 

“Shane?” His mother asked like she was scared to do so. 

His phone was still to his ear.

“It's our pleasure," Turcotte was saying. "We couldn't leave Canada's golden boys over there. And hey, we're having our offices expedite Ilya's citizenship papers, too, so you won't have to worry about this happening again." 

Shane couldn't believe they were talking like this- talking as if the ordeal was behind them. 

But it was. He wouldn't fully believe it until Ilya was in his arms, but the prime motherfucking minister of Canada was telling him it was. 

Speaking of, "James" cleared his throat on the other end of the line, and Shane realized he had gone completely catatonic. 

"You there?" 

"Yes." 

"Great! Well, I'll have my assistant email you the details of the tarmac where the plane is waiting. Shanehollander91@gmail work?"

"Um... yeah."

"Well, I'll let you get moving. Tell Rozanov I say hello, and we'll see you back here in Canada."

"I- Yeah.... yeah." 

The line clicked dead. Shane slowly brought the phone away and stared at the blank screen.

For three seconds, no one moves. Yuna was the first, dropping to a knee beside Shane. She seemed hesitant to reach out and kept her safe distance.

"Shane?" she tried again. 

Shane looked at his mother's terrified expression. He glanced back at Svetlana, who looked the same, noticing the others gathering further back in the kitchen threshold. 

Shane finally let out what was some cross between a laugh and a sob. He shook his head. 

It's okay. Just fucking say it.

“He’s out." Shane choked, finally allowing an explosion of warmth within his chest. He laughed again through his tears, and he was sure it seemed maniacal, but so was the situation. Hollander couldn't believe the feeling of the words he made with his lips: "He's coming home."

Chapter Text

The earsplitting shriek of the cell door tore Ilya from his memories of Shane. It wasn't anything in particular- just him. His eyes. His jaw. His nose scrunching up all cute-like. His smile. 

Would Ilya start to forget them over time?

"Rozanov. Hands." 

He extended his wrists. The cuffs bit into thin skin, too tight, per usual.

Yuna. 

Ilya felt both relief and dread in his stomach. He loved seeing her, don't get him wrong. It was just getting harder to hide his emotional failings as time dragged on.

Shane helped. 

He really helped. 

At first, Ilya felt like his world was ending all over again when he saw him here in this context- Shane amongst the cold, punishing walls of a Russian prison. It was a sight Ilya thought he'd only see in his worst nightmares. 

And yet, by the end of their visit, Shane managed to do what he unfailingly does best- completely tear Ilya's walls down. 

They moved quickly down the corridor. When they pushed him past the room where he typically met Yuna, Ilya's stomach dropped.

Where were they taking him? His pulse thudded against his ribs. 

Outside air stung his face. He hasn’t felt the open sky since he had cigarettes pressed into his skin.

A black transport van idled near the gate. No markings.

Shit. 

Either another transfer...

or worse.

They shoved him inside before the doors slammed shut, bathing him in darkness. The only light is the sliver that cuts in from between the doors. The engine revved, and they lurched forward. Ilya's mind ran every catastrophic scenario at once, most of them ending in the horrid realization: 

This is how it happens.

Not formal. Not announced. Not televised, but quiet and efficient.

Ilya braced his cuffed hands against his knees to keep them from shaking.

Execution, his mind supplied much too calmly; the plausible-deniability kind. It could just be a stop on an empty road. The report would read something like "attempted escape". 

His jaw tightened. Hell, Ilya's whole body was rigid and immovable. He forced himself to breathe evenly through his nose. 

He could see Shane at the kitchen counter, scowling at a recipe until Ilya slid his glasses onto his face. He sees him at the rink, grinning over his shoulder. He sees him behind the glass two nights ago, saying Promise me you won’t decide the ending without me.

I am sorry. I'm so, so sorry. 

He had meant to keep fighting. He had meant to survive. He had promised. For us.

The van turns sharply and stops. Ilya winced from the harsh jostle to his body. They began moving again.

Time stretched indescribably after that. It could've been 30 minutes, it could've been 3 hours. 

Ilya kept his eyes closed. 

I am sorry, he thinks, over and over again.

Shane.

Svetlana.

Yuna.

David.

His team. 

The version of himself that believed this would end differently.

There are billions of memories with Shane to sift through. He couldn't keep them out if he tried. They flitted across his mind like a never-ending film reel he couldn't stop. He didn't want it to anyway. 

Suddenly, Ilya felt an overwhelming sense of peace- acceptance. He was young, yes. It was tragic, yes. But he supposed he lived a life better than most would ever get, already. He had something he knew made him the luckiest person to ever exist: he had Shane. Years with Shane. 

His pulse slowed.

He thought of how pretty he looked in the warm glow of the sun at the cottage and held onto it, escaping into it. 

All those years, thought nearly never enough, would now have to be. 

Thank you. He thought to Shane, a tear betraying him all the way down his cheek. You've given me everything. Thank you.

The van slowed. Ilya's heartbeat roared in his ears. He straightened his back despite the pain.

Ilya Rozanov would not go down weak or begging. 

The doors flung open, and sunlight flooded in, blinding him. Hands grabbed his arms, and Ilya stumbled down onto the concrete.

I love you, Shane. He thinks for the last time, hoping it'll somehow find him. 

🎶 "Two Souls" 🎶 - Peter Peter

Alexei drove. He was gripping the steering wheel hard enough for it to be obvious.

Yuna was in the passenger seat, Shane and Sveta in the back.

Shane couldn't stop his knee from shaking. 

"How are you feeling?" He felt his mother's hand reach back and rest on his knee. He took a deep, stuttering breath, wringing his hands in his lap instead. 

"I don't want to feel anything until he's with us on that plane." 

She nodded, eyes cast forward but not transfixed. They all were having a hard time grasping that this was reality yet. 

Shane's stomach was twisting into knots as they pulled straight into the private tarmac. There was a large private plane waiting there as promised, but with a sickening flip of his gut, Shane didn't notice any other vehicles. His fear must've shown, because Svetlana reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 

He'll be here. Her expression tried to assuage him. Shane swallowed and nodded at her. He had been so lucky to be surrounded by support every second of every day- Ilya had none of that.

Now he would. Shane was trying to convince himself. 

When they stepped onto the concrete, Shane noticed the soldiers near the open stairs of the plane. It helped ease some of his fears: The Royal Canadian Air Force. 

This might actually be happening. 

And then, a van and a dark car in the distance. He felt Yuna glance at him, trying to read his expression. Shane couldn't look at her, though- he kept his eyes strictly trained on that van. 

Ilya? 

He hardly felt his Mom's hand on his shoulder. 

They pulled up to their tarmac and stopped. Shane's heart beat in his throat. His hands were shaking, and he doubted it was from the cold. 

Guards stepped out, not even glancing at the group of people holding their breaths fifty feet away. They stepped around to the back and flung the doors open. 

Shane's heart raced faster. He felt dizzy.

They reached into the darkness, and then there he was- stepping out into the harsh sunlight that made him look even paler, but there. 

Ilya. 

Shane's vision instantly blurred, and a small gasp choked in the back of his throat. His mother's hand squeezed his shoulder.

My husband. Shane thought, both relieved and horrified that this was where they were finding themselves. Fucking give me back my husband. 

Ilya didn't look up- in fact, his eyes never left his shoes, even when they uncuffed him. 

Shane knew he shouldn't have. He knew it in the way his Mother yelled after him in fear, but it was too late. Shane was already moving- no running- to close the gap between them. The guards had hardly receded from his side, but he didn't care. They glanced at Shane briefly before turning their backs and returning to the van. 

And then the gap was closed. He was partly worried that he'd just run right through Ilya- like he may just dematerialize right in his arms. But he was really there, and Shane crashed into him, arms instantly wrapping around in case he flew into him a little too hard. 

Ilya can't bring himself to look up. He was afraid of what he'd find- of what was next for him. His hands trembled as they uncuffed him, and Ilya felt his cold dread peppered with confusion. 

And just as the curiosity won out and Ilya began to look up, he noticed movement. A blur, before someone collided with him hard enough to nearly knock him over, but arms wrapped around him and kept him steady against a firm chest. 

He knew the feeling of being held against this chest. He knew the feeling of the strong arms bracing his back. He knew the smell of his husband's favorite soap, and he knew the sound of his voice, even if it was strained and broken. 

"Ilya," whispered warm against his ear. He holds him in an unyielding way while still trying to be cautious of his injuries. It isn't exactly working, but Ilya didn't mind this pain. "Ilya..." 

Shane. 

He froze. Rozanov's brain refused it.

But the body in his arms is so real- warm and solid like he remembered.

Slowly, like he’s touching something sacred, he lifts his arms as far as they will go before his ribs protest, and grips Shane back, pulling him closer. His ribs could deal. 

And God, Ilya could even feel his heartbeat- it was fast. Really fast, but so clearly there. Shane buried his face against Ilya’s neck and made a sound that was half sob, half laugh.

“Ilya, oh my God.”

Say something. He's right there. This is everything you've ever wanted. Fucking say something. 

Shane pulled back just enough to look at him, hands cupping his face like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

“Ilya?" His eyes search his face worriedly. "Say something?"

Ilya blinked at him before slowly shaking his head.

"Sorry," He felt the confusion pinched in his own brow, feeling guilty for not having something more eloquent to say.

Shane's smile broke across his face. He chuckled and used a hurried palm to wipe away new tears. 

"Literally anything but that."

Ilya's lips twitched. They stared at each other and seemed to say a billion words through that gaze alone. 

“I don’t-” His voice cracked. He gripped the back of Shane's coat as if it were the only thing keeping him there. “What is happening?”

“We're going home,” Shane said, reaching up to brush his fingers incredibly delicately through Ilya's curls. His other arm still steadied him, solid behind his back and holding him close.

Home.

"Me too?" Before Ilya could feel pathetic for asking. Shane's expression was pained. 

"Of course, you too, idiot." He whispered tightly, a fresh set of tears streaking his beautiful face. Ilya smiled at the familiar ribbing. It felt weird on his lips, so he slumped forward and hid it in Shane's shoulder. He pressed his face into the fabric of Shane's collar and breathed in deep- detergent and Shane.

If this was a dream, he'd stay in it as long as he could. 

He lets some of his weight lie into him, and Shane easily holds him up.

"I've got you," He whispered into Ilya's temple, pressing slow kisses there.

I know you do. Ilya clutched at Shane like he was the only thing keeping him from tumbling into an abyss.

“I thought-” Ilya started, then stopped. He couldn't finish it. He didn't even mean to start it. 

I thought this was it. He finished in his head instead. I thought I was dying today. That I'd never see you again. 

Shane pulled back again, searching Ilya's face. 

“It’s over,” he whispered, seeming to have read the truth through Ilya's eyes instead. "I promise." 

Believe him. Ilya tried to force his mind to accept this new reality because if there was anyone he trusted in this world, it was Shane Hollander. If he was telling him it was over, it had to be over. 

Ilya felt his chin wobble before he caught movement over Shane's shoulder.

He hadn't even paid attention to the gathering of other people in the background. Not just any people- his people. Yuna, Svetlana... even Alexei was watching them from the tarmac. 

Shane glanced back too, slipping his hand into Ilya's and holding it like they were welded together. He offered Ilya a soft gaze, starting to guide him towards the others before abruptly stopping. 

"Can you walk okay?" 

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." Ilya gave his hand a few squeezes. He didn't know how true that statement was, but he did know he could walk. 

Yuna was crying too. He had hardly seen it before, but when she did, her eyes always reminded him of Shane, and that just gutted him further. 

"Hi, sweetheart." 

"Hi," He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her. She hugged him more softly than Shane, clearly afraid to break him. Once he had pulled away and allowed Yuna to put a hand on the side of his face to study him for a moment longer, Ilya felt a warm heaviness on his back. 

"Oh," 

Shane had pulled his coat from their bags and slung it across his shoulders. 

"Thanks," 

"Want to put it on for real?" 

"No, this is fine." 

It felt so strange to be worrying about something as arbitrary as a coat. Ilya had just been worried about being executed a few minutes ago. Now, Shane was trying to make him comfortable.

Ilya realized that he had kind of just been staring at Shane in amazement. He gladly gazed back, the shiny brim of tears never quite fully fading from his eyes. 

Ilya snapped back into himself when a cold gust of wind blew past. He wanted to turn back to Yuna and give her a million thank yous for everything she had done, but his mind was still catching up, and she had already started rolling their bags towards the plane. He guessed he'd have a long time to thank her.

"Fucking hell, Ilya." Svetlana may have actually crushed him the hardest.

"Ah- ah, yeah... I know." 

"Sorry, sorry... Just. Jesus."

"Are you coming back to North America?"

"Eh. My flight was for after the 7th anyway. My parents would be beside themselves if I didn't stay the whole time." 

Ilya didn't love that. He knew Svetlana had been vocal in her support of him, and that painted a target on her back. She seemed to have gauged his expression, because she held both of his hands in hers. 

"I will be fine. Just get better. I'll come visit as soon as I can." 

"Thank you, Sveta." 

She hugged him again, this time less painfully. 

"I love you. Stay out of trouble." 

"Easy." 

"Mm-hm." 

Ilya offered her a final, rather sad smile before mouthing "love you" and sighing. 

Alexei was left. He didn't understand what the fuck their relationship was anymore, and he wasn't prepared for any of this. Certainly not what was most likely a final goodbye to his brother. 

The first thing Alexei did was hand Shane a box that Ilya recognized. 

Oh right. The whole reason they had come to Russia in the first place- his stuff from the house. 

"I'm going to load this on the jet. I'll be right back, okay?" Ilya had a feeling it was just Shane's excuse to leave him alone with Alexei for a moment. 

Damn you, Hollander. God, it felt so good to affectionately curse at him again, even if just in his head. 

“Katya put some bread and… I don't know... some other shit in there.” Oh, right. Alexei. 

“Zdorovo. Spasibo.”

There was the inevitable awkward pause.

“He isn’t so bad, by the way.” Alexei said. Ilya waited. “Your husband. Very emotional. Stubborn. Kind of annoying.”

Ilya snorted, then pressed his lips into a thin line. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff, and the smallest thing would tip him over the edge. At the same time, he wanted to fall. He wanted this all to set in- to feel real. Because right now, it wasn't, so the tears never came, even as he said, “I don’t deserve him.”

Alexei huffed a small laugh as well, looking down at the ground. Ilya did the same before clearing his throat. 

"Well-" 

Ilya wasn't expecting the hand on his shoulder and jumped. His body tensed like he was ready to fight even though logically, he knew they were pretty far from where they had been two weeks ago. In fact, Alexei's other hand braced behind Ilya's neck so he was forced to look at him.  Alexei just held his gaze, and suddenly, it was like he was truly looking at his brother for the very first time in 32 years.

“Ilya. Don’t ever come back here.”

It’s not spiteful. It’s not a threat. It was a fearful plea, and Alexei didn’t even try to hide it in his eyes.

Ilya swallowed thickly at hearing what he knew to be true out loud- he really could never come back. This was it, his final breakup with Russia. He’d never visit his mother’s grave, never walk the streets he grew up in, never see the final spots he had memories of his mother.

He nodded.

“Spasibo, Alexei.” He braced the hand of his good arm on Alexei’s shoulder. “Tell Sophia I am okay. And I love her.”

Of course, now that he didn’t totally hate his brother's guts, he’d likely never see him again.

That’s not true. No one will stop me from flying my Niece out to me. And he guessed Alexei could come if he wanted to. He probably wouldn't. 

It seemed Alexei may have been realizing the same, because after he nodded, they stayed like that for, like, one and a half seconds; that was a lot for them.

Alexei gave him one final pat on the arm before Ilya actually found it a little hard to turn away. When he did, Alexei immediately called back out,

“I don’t hate you, Ilya."

Ilya's shoulders slumped a bit. He hadn't even realized he had held extra tension when approaching Alexei. It drained from him when he reluctantly, but probably truthfully, answered,

“I don’t hate you either.”

The most Rozanov “I love you” he’s ever heard. He glanced back long enough to see Alexei give a militaristic nod. 

When he fully turned back towards the plane, Shane was already standing a few feet away, waiting. His husband was sporting the most annoyingly corny grin as he held out his hand for Ilya to take. 

“Do not do that with your face.” Ilya shook his head at him. They both gave Sveta and Alexei one last wave each before Ilya glanced around at the mountains in the distance for the last time. 

"Bye and fuck you," he muttered under his breath, apparently not quiet enough to keep Shane from hearing. He gave Ilya a sad half-grin. 

"Bye and fuck you," He repeated in his adorably accented Russian. Ilya kissed the back of his hand, because he could.

The cabin door sealed with a heavy, final sound- pressure locking into place. It relieves a bit of the fear left inside Ilya. Not all of it. The concept of safe still felt fragile.

"Um... Oh, do you- Here..." Shane stumbled with their bags. Ilya watched him, a small smile daring to grace his face. He was nervous. It was cute, like, showing-Ilya-around-the-cottage cute. He felt a surge of love in his chest- it felt so much better than the gripping dread that typically lived there as of late. 

Shane unzipped Ilya's bag to reveal that he had repacked everything to his own liking. Everything perfectly Hollander-ified: Folded and slotted together neatly in their place. It was surely something he had done more than once while left to wait around and worrying for nearly two weeks. 

His clothes. Ilya had almost forgotten how nice it felt to own things. 

"You can use the galley," an attendant said, smiling at them in a way that told them she knew exactly what a big deal this was. 

And soon, Shane and Ilya were alone... well, alone behind a curtain. Still, it held weight. 

Ilya wanted to get out of the uniform as fast as possible, though his fingers fumbled with the buttons immediately. 

"Here..." Shane gently knocked Ilya's hands away and started doing it for him. Ilya lets his hands drop to his sides, enjoying having Shane so close in front of him. His eyes were cast down, focused on Ilya's shirt. It gave Rozanov time to study the freckles he loved so much, making sure to notice every single one. 

He could hear him breathing. Ilya could listen to the sound forever. 

"You know, I think I could've managed," He tries to distract himself from the bittersweet pain flooding his chest.

To be honest, Ilya was grateful. He still had cuts on his fingertips from ripping the metal from his bedframe. He felt his stomach drop at the mere memory of a few days ago. Rozanov suddenly got the overwhelming sense that maybe this wasn't real. Maybe he was dreaming.

Shane snapped him out of it with a simple glance up to meet Ilya's eyes.

"Let me do something. Please." 

Ilya let Shane get to the last button before he used a surprisingly steady hand to nudge the underside of Shane's chin, tilting his face up towards him. When their eyes met, Shane's instantly glossed over, and Ilya felt his throat start to close up. 

Shane. He thought with an overwhelming, blossoming warmth inside. 

"Hi," He whispered, allowing his eyes to explore everything about the face that kept his mind sane for the last week and a half. 

"Hi," 

Ilya brushed his thumb along Shane's jaw and leaned in, admittedly a little relieved that Shane did too. He didn't know the etiquette of the first ten minutes of reuniting with your husband after hardly surviving a Russian prison. 

His lips were warm and soft, just how Ilya remembered. They didn't rush and were incredibly gentle with it; a simple, single kiss to say hello, but it made Ilya's mind buzz. 

While the main reason he wanted to kiss Shane was to kiss Shane, admittedly, Ilya was trying to distract him before they opened his shirt. He had looked down at his chest and abdomen in the showers earlier and wished he hadn't- the discoloration and ugly bruises were at their darkest, like a spattering of numerous ink blot tests all across his torso. 

When they pulled back, Ilya immediately brushed away the tear that had sneakily slid down Shane's cheek. 

And then Shane's eyes fell downwards. At least it stopped the tears, but Ilya cringed at the way his eyes widened. 

"Oh... Ilya..." 

"Looks worse than it is."

Thank fuck for the bandage still hiding the deep gashes in his side. 

"I-" Shane shook his head, sliding the uniform over Ilya's shoulders until it dropped to the floor. His eyes raked over him, and Ilya resisted the urge to shrink away. When Shane's eyes stuck for a moment on the cigarette burn on his collarbone, Ilya had to move it along. 

"Shane-" 

"Sorry. Sorry. Here."

Ilya couldn't raise his arms very far, so Shane helped him into one of his plain black t-shirts. It was impossibly soft next to the itch and stiffness of his prison uniform. 

When Shane merely brushed the edge of his bandage, not even close to the wound, Ilya jumped embarrassingly. 

"Shit, sorry. Did I hurt you?" 

"No, no... You didn't hurt me. Just... jumpy."

He appreciated that Shane didn't look at him with further pity and instead pressed a kiss to his good cheek. 

Once they had managed to get Ilya into joggers and a hoodie with some struggle, they kissed one more time before sliding open the curtain into the main cabin. All eyes- the cabin crew, the waiting medics, Yuna- instinctively glanced at them all at once before gazes were diverted in attempts at politeness. 

A medic steps forward almost immediately. She has kind eyes.

“Hi, Ilya. I’m just going to take a look at you, okay?”

He nodded. His hand was locked in Shane's as he eased himself into one of the plush, white seats that lined the walls of the plane. They were more like sofas than plane seats, gratefully facing outward side-by-side so that Shane could sit next to him while the medic inspected him. 

This wasn't like the private plane they came in. It was bigger- somehow even more luxurious. The staff was bigger. There was a Canadian soldier... no, two seated in the back. 

Weird.

The medic got to work and mercifully moved fast- blood pressure cuff, penlight, gentle fingers checking along his ribs. Ilya's grateful that when she peeled back the bandaging over his abdomen, she did so on the side that shrouds it from Shane. 

"39.6" The medic read Ilya's temperature. He hadn't even considered that he may have been sick this whole time. He assumed all the chills were from the cold prison, not a fever. "Have you been taking any antibiotics for your injuries?"

"No," 

"Well, we're going to get you some to stop infection from spreading." 

Ilya wondered how bad it would've gotten if he had stayed incarcerated.

“Any dizziness?” the medic asks.

Ilya hesitates. “Only when I stand.”

“Headaches?”

“Yes, but it's hard to tell if it's just,” Ilya gestured to the cut and bruising over his left eyebrow.

"Go ahead and take a deep breath for me." 

He flinched from the cold stethoscope before trying his best to breathe in, but he could hardly get halfway there without his ribs screaming.

"Sorry... Ribs..." 

"No, no. That's perfect. One more, please." 

He heard Shane sniffle beside him. 

Shit. 

“Sleeping?” The medic continued, but Ilya wasn't listening anymore. He realized Shane's grip on his hand had progressively tightened. His eyes flitted to the side just enough to see Shane hurriedly turn his gaze away, his face wet again. 

"I'm sorry, one second," Ilya said to the medic before he twisted the best he could in his seat, putting gentle hands on either side of his husband's face. He turned Shane back to him even as he tried to resist. "Shane..."

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

"No, no... Is okay. Hey." He brushed away tears with his thumbs, kissing both of his cheekbones and then his nose. "I'm okay. We're okay. Yes?"

"Yes."

Ilya caught another tear with his thumb, not daring to turn away until he knew Shane was okay... that he knew Ilya was okay. Hollander took in a stuttering breath, but it seemed to steady him.

"Okay. Let her finish. Please." Shane begged, offering an embarrassed smile. 

His thumb gently ran across the back of Shane's hand, hoping it'd help convince him of what he'd assured him. 

"Sorry," Shane murmured to the medic, who frowned and shook her head.

"No, not at all. So, sleeping?"

“Not much,” Ilya answered quietly.... Then, "At all, really." 

The medic nodded like that was expected.

“We’ll get fluids in you. And something mild to help you rest. Sometimes people find it hard with the adrenaline. Nothing heavy unless you want it.”

Ilya shook his head slightly. He didn't think he would need anything too strong, the way his eyes burned with fatigue.

The engines roar louder. The plane begins to taxi. The medic leaves them momentarily to return to her cart and gather medication and an IV. Shane unraveled his death grip on Ilya's hand, and he missed the contact immediately. He flipped up the armrest between them. 

Oh, even better.  

Shane's eyes cautiously studied Ilya for his reaction when he nudged his arm behind Ilya's back. He leaned forward so Shane could secure it around his waist. He leaned even further in, resting the side of his head on his husband's shoulder.

My husband.

Ilya couldn't help but keep repeating it in his head. 

I'm with my husband. 

Shane kissed the top of his head, pressing his lips into his hair and staying there. Ilya relished the feeling of his warm breath tickling a few of his curls. 

This was... insane.

Just (a couple? a few?) hours ago, Ilya had been preparing for another timeless day locked in threatening solitude. Then, he was positive he was going to bite the dust. Now, he was cuddled into Shane's side on the cushiest plane he's ever seen in his life, about to take off from Russia forever.

Yuna slipped into a seat across from them, but not before stooping down to give them each a kiss on the forehead. Ilya blinked happily at her. 

This couldn't be real. 

"I'm going to use the restroom before we take off,"  He was hoping a moment alone might ground him- might let all of this settle in for real. Ilya noted the worry in Shane's eyes. "I can handle it. I promise."

Shane's expression remained the same. 

"What, you want to hold it?" 

"Jesus, Ilya!" Rozanov was relieved that Shane laughed- he swore for a second that the sound of it had healed all the pain in his body. Hollander's face tinged pink in a way that always made Ilya proud of causing. He glanced over at his Mom, who was trying to act like she hadn't heard anything, but the twitch of her lips said otherwise. 

"I know, you can handle it... Just... Come back."

Oh. Ilya felt his heart crush into itself beneath his sternum. 

"Always." He pressed an innumerable number of kisses to the back of Shane's hand before easing himself out of his seat and closing himself in the small plane bathroom. 

He wasn't lying. The drive to the airport had been long, and while he could use the restroom, that wasn't his first intention.

Ilya gripped the sides of the plastic sink before turning his eyes upwards to meet his own gaze in the mirror- the first mirror he's had access to since shit hit the fan. 

And, wow. 

Ilya knew he'd look different, but he physically recoiled from himself. While he had felt the swelling go down in the past few days, there was a whole rainbow of colors that expanded from his cheek up and around his left eyebrow. The dark circles under his eyes were unlike anything he'd seen before- on himself, or on anyone. 

His eyes were distant and exhausted. His cheekbones were sharper. So was his collarbone. He was pale. Stubble shadowed his face. 

No wonder Shane was freaking out. 

In a way, it did help. Ilya bit the inside of his cheek as his skin prickled and his eyes started swimming. 

This was real. 

He had been arrested ten-ish days ago. He'd suffered through Russian prison- two Russian prisons. He'd been targeted, abused, brought to the brink of his emotional capacity...

And now, he was out. He was going home. His family was right outside the folding bathroom door. 

Ilya suddenly wanted nothing more than to get back out of the bathroom and back to them. 

🎶 "Tree Strings" 🎶 - Johnny Greenwood

Shane's eyes never left the door that Ilya had disappeared behind. The cold dread that gripped his stomach 

What if Ilya never came out? What if he pried the doors open to find a vacant bathroom? Like Ilya had never been back in his arms in the first place?

Shane knew it was ridiculous... but was it?

"Shane." His mother's voice almost made him jump. He dared to shift his gaze momentarily. "Take a deep breath."

He wanted to be annoyed by the request, but she was right. His hand was balled up so tight that his fingernails were making indents in his palm.

"I just... I feel like something's going to happen. That they'll take him away."

Yuna frowned at him, but in a way that made him feel validated.

"I know. It's okay. You both have time. Lots of time."

Shane rubbed his hand over his knee, trying to resist the urge to let it bounce nervously. 

"Do you- Do you think he's okay?" Shane asked in a low voice so Ilya couldn't overhear. Yuna shot Shane a look that was a cross between sympathy and "really?".

"It has hardly been half an hour. Calm down. Just take it minute by minute. You can't force him to process everything right away." 

"I know. I know." 

The bathroom door popped open, and Shane felt a wave of relief wash over him. Ilya looked like he was trying to plaster his face with something reassuring for Shane. It wasn't quite working. 

Time. We have lots of time. 

Shane stretched his arm out, and Ilya smiled a little more genuinely. He dropped into the seat with a soft grunt that clenched Shane's chest. He leaned back into Shane's shoulder. Shane kissed his forehead. He had a feeling he'd be doing that a lot. 

"Okay?" 

"Mhm." 

Before Shane could prod further, a stewardess came by and ran through options for meals. After they had all chosen, she asked if they needed anything else. 

"Mm.. can I have a blanket, please?" Ilya was so quiet. Shane wasn't used to it. 

"Of course," 

She returned with a blanket, and Ilya's face warped with guilt. 

"Actually... can I have another one too, please?"

"My pleasure, Mr. Rozanov."

He smiled and thanked the woman before pulling the fabric over his shoulder and resettling into the crook of Shane's neck. 

"Cold?" Shane asked, brushing a hand over Ilya's forehead and feeling the heat from his fever. 

"Mm. Not really." 

Shane's heart hurt a bit. If it wasn't for warmth, then it was just for comfort. Security. 

He looked up at the ceiling. Shane was sick of crying. He waited until the heat faded and he could tilt his head down without spilling down his cheeks. He pressed another kiss to Ilya's forehead- this one longer and more deliberate. 

You're safe. I'll make sure of it.

He held Ilya a little tighter, hoping it wouldn't hurt him. Ilya hummed happily. The knot in Shane's chest began to unwind. 

The stewardess returned with two more blankets, followed by the medic, who delivered a few pills in a tiny plastic cup, along with a bottle of water.

"Wait for your food to take these."

She hooked Ilya up to an I.V., hanging the bag near the opposite end of the couch, out of their way.

"We'll get you rested and rehydrated, and the hospital can do a more thorough examination."

Both thanked her.

Ilya exhaled slowly. The tension drained from them both incrementally as the plane began to take off. Ilya hadn't much appreciated takeoffs, landings, or turbulence since the whole emergency landing debacle. Most of the Centaurs didn't, so needless to say, no one was ever having much fun on their team flights. Shane never actually heard anyone mention it, but the air would always get tense, and so would Ilya. 

But now, the roar and the steady rumble all around them seemed to relax Ilya further into Shane. Shane himself had been half-expecting someone to burst into the jet and tear Ilya from his arms at any moment. But now, Moscow was falling away beneath them, and clouds swallowed the ground until there was nothing left. 

Shane glanced down to watch Ilya's eyes scan the empty skies. His breathing was still uneven, like his body didn't quite remember how to relax.

Their food arrived faster than expected, but Shane was too excited and pumped with adrenaline to touch his chicken. Ilya looked happy with his pasta, though, his smile both delighting and devastating Shane. He couldn't imagine what they'd fed him in prison, but by the looks of it, practically nothing. 

He had so many questions. 

He wondered if Ilya would ever answer them, because Shane certainly wouldn't ask. At least not for a while. 

When he took his first bite, Ilya closed his eyes, and his head fell back dramatically. A smile spreads across Shane's face. 

"Good?"

Ilya groaned, cracking an eye open to glance at Shane. He swallowed and nodded, sitting back up before taking a forkful and holding it out for Shane. He raised his eyebrows at Ilya in disbelief. 

"You just got out of fucking prison, and you're trying to feed me your pasta?"

Ilya smiled and shrugged, waving it in the air relentlessly until Shane took a bite, which was difficult when he was smiling so hard. He loved him so much- this sweet, sweet sap of a man who was all his again. 

"Okay, now eat," Shane said, shaking his head at Ilya. He doesn't eat much. It twisted the knife just that much deeper, knowing how much food Ilya used to be able to eat in a single sitting. Now, his stomach had shrunk so that he could barely finish a quarter of a pasta serving before admitting he was full. Shane can see in his eyes that it alarmed Ilya, too. 

"Do you- We can set this up like a bed for you. And I can go-" 

Ilya stopped the beginnings of Shane's rambling by gently guiding him down so he was lying a little further down towards the end of the couch. It gave him more room to follow him, snuggling into his chest as Shane instinctively wrapped both arms around him. 

“This okay?”

As if he had to ask. Shane swallowed painfully, reaching one of his hands up to push through Ilya's hair. 

Real. Tangible. Here. 

He wondered if Ilya had fully grasped the concept of their world's changing yet. It felt too early to talk about it yet- to talk about anything really. He just wanted to hold his husband for a long, loooooooong time. 

"Very okay." 

Ilya’s hand curled into the fabric of Shane’s shirt. His eyes blinked a few times slowly before sliding closed.

"I love you." Shane whispered into his hair, too quiet for even his mother to hear over the plane engines. 

"Mm love you." Ilya mumbled into his chest. 

Shane watched Ilya. He watched his eyelashes flutter even when closed. He watched the corner of his lip twitch every once in a while. He watched the rise and fall of his back. He could tell Ilya wasn't sleeping yet, but just to have him able to rest against Shane was enough for now. 

A while later, Shane hears a camera shutter. 

He looked up at his mom, who looked caught with her phone up.

“Mom!" He whisper-yelled. "He just got out of a fucking Russian prison,”

“Well, I just thought this may be a memory you both want to-“

“I- no. No, that’s so weird.”

“Whatever, it’s a cute one.” She shrugged, and Shane could feel Ilya shaking. He was worried for a minute that everything had finally hit him, and he was sobbing, but he craned his neck to see a smile on his face. He was laughing at Yuna, and probably Shane too.

Shane felt warmth all over.

“If you say so,” Shane said through his own smile, throwing his mom a bone. He shook his head and kissed Ilya's forehead again. 

Ilya doesn't fully fall asleep for a little while. Every time Shane thought he was close, his eyes would snap open like he needed verification. Shane smoothed his hand gently through Ilya’s hair when he jerked back awake a fifth time. 

“Dorogoy, I’m not going anywhere.”

Ilya turned sleepy eyes up at him, a slow blink. The way he stared at Shane with such adoration made him look so much more like himself again. 

"Okay. Then I am sorry, but I have to go to sleep for forty hours now, okay?" 

"If you don't, I'll knock you out myself." 

"So aggressive, Hollander." He mumbled. Then quieter, and hardly there, "And sexy..." 

Shane smiled. Ilya hadn't made it past a full hour of being a free man before he was coming onto Shane.

But Shane's assurance seemed to be what finally did it. The fight drained out of him all at once as Ilya's weight settled fully. His breathing slowed and deepened. It smoothed into something comfortably even. Shane allowed fifteen minutes to pass before he could confidently feel relief- Ilya was finally, truly asleep. 

Shane's heart leapt at the trust he had in him.

Hollander didn't dare move- not when they hit turbulence, not when his mother walked by and squeezed his shoulder, and not when Ilya's breath caught momentarily before steadying itself.

He just focused on holding him with one hand splayed protectively over Ilya's back, the other buried in his hair, holding him to his chest. 

As Ilya slept through the clouds, the world felt so distant below. Shane liked it like that- he wasn't ready to share Ilya with anyone else yet. And up here, no one could reach them.

Shane couldn't tear his eyes away. His own eyelids would droop, but he wasn't done soaking in the sight of his husband, battered but safe.

"Shane, honey." Yuna's soft voice barely made it over the background hum of the plane. Shane blinked slowly and turned away from Ilya for the first time in over an hour. "He's not going anywhere either." 

Shane nodded. He knew she was right. 

He didn't even remember falling asleep after that, but he woke up with his cheek resting against Ilya's curls, still wrapped in him. He was sure he would've woken panicked if it weren't for the instant feeling of Ilya's comfortable weight on top of him.

Everything flooded back, and Shane felt his throat swell.

Ilya- safe, and here. Fast asleep. Shane pressed a quiet kiss to his hair before turning to see his mother look up from her tablet. She gave him a tired but warm smile. 

"Hi," She spoke softly. 

"Hi," Shane whispered. He cleared his throat and glanced at Ilya before daring to speak a little louder. "Has he woken up at all?" 

She shook her head. 

"You both have been out cold for 7 hours." 

7 hours. No wonder his body was starting to ache. He didn't care enough to move, though- he'd stay like that forever if it meant Ilya could continue sleeping. 

"Well, did you get any good photos out of it?"

Yuna shot him a disapproving glare, and Shane smiled. God, it felt so good to actually smile for real again. 

For the next two hours, Shane resumed watching Ilya. Sometimes the feeling in his chest would swell so big that he had to lean over and press the bajillionth kiss to the top of his head. He did it for the old-Shane; the Shane that was pressing himself so hard against that stupid fucking glass as if he could fuse right through it and get to Ilya. 

He kissed his forehead again. 

Shane was sure that the plane's landing would wake Ilya up, but he even slept through that. Now, Shane was actually getting worried.

"Ilya?" He gently prodded, running his hands through his hair. He kissed his forehead twice and gently shook him. Ilya shifted, pulling in a sharp breath and blinking awake with sleepy eyes. "We're home." 

It was like Ilya didn't process anything at first. He squeezed his eyes shut against the overhead lights that had come back on once they'd stopped. Shane patiently waited for him to squint back at him. When he did, the sweetest, shyest smile Shane had ever seen spread across his face. 

"Shane," He said, almost matter-of-fact. It made Shane's grin even wider. 

"Ilya." It felt like a drug to say his name. They grinned at each other for a moment before Shane leaned in and pecked him on the lips. He had one objective on his mind as soon as they had landed (well, two because he really had to piss after being locked beneath Ilya for so long). "Okay. Hospital." 

"Noooooooooo,"

"Yesssssssss," 

Chapter Text

Ottawa, Ontario

January 5th, 2024

Ilya seemed more with it after getting some sleep, but his movements were stiffer. He winced more. Shane's mind rattled off the side effects of adrenaline dips. 

Shane was afraid of what the hospital would find. What if there was something much more wrong than met the eye? Internal bleeding? A bad concussion? A seizure waiting to happen? 

"I'll come with you guys and just have Dad pick me up from the hospital," 

"What? No, Mom. They have a car for you, too. Go home. Go see Dad." 

As worried as Shane was about the hospital, he felt like he could handle it. He had spent so much time feeling utterly helpless, so Shane was dying for some semblance of control. Plus, it was clear that while she had convinced Shane to sleep on the plane, she hadn't followed her own advice. And he knew she missed his Dad. 

"Are you sure?" 

"You've done plenty." Ilya agreed, his arm unwound from around Shane's waist to give Yuna a last hug before they stepped down from the plane. Shane heard Ilya's quiet, "Thank you," as he gathered their bags.

"I'm keeping my phone on, okay? Let me know if anything is amiss."

Shane got a kiss on the cheek from his mom before they were shuttled off in separate black SUVs. 

Before he could buckle his seatbelt, Ilya reached out for him from the opposite side, his eyes questioning hesitantly.

Shane was relieved. He didn't want to smother him, but he, too, hated any space between them. He slid into the middle seat so that they could intertwine their hands, resting on Shane's thigh. 

"I'm almost scared to ask how this happened," Ilya said after a few minutes of silence. He turned to look at Shane with big blue eyes that had already started to soften over the past 11 hours. Shane raised his eyebrows.

"...are you asking?" 

Ilya rolled his eyes, a small grin. "Yes, I guess so." 

"Oh," His face was actually hurting from frequently using the smiling muscles he hadn't exercised in over a week. "Well... I don't really know," He felt stupid admitting, the growth of Ilya's grin not helping. 

"Oh. Okay." 

"Something with the Canadian government, though. The prime minister called me." 

Ilya let out a surprised breath.

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." Shane shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. "Oh, he says hi by the way." 

"Oh," Ilya was near-beaming, "Well, tell your good friend the prime minister I say hello." 

"It's James, actually." 

Ilya snorted. "James. My bad."

They searched each other's eyes over their grins, continuing the conversation without words until they pulled up to the hospital. 

They thankfully brought them in through the back, discreetly. Shane's Mom had told him on the plane that the news had broken that Ilya was coming home. 

"Moya lyubov. Can you get me something to eat from the cafeteria?" 

Shane blinked. 

"Yeah, of course. But you know I can get you anything you want after we get out of here." Shane admittedly just hated the idea of being away from Ilya.   

"Is late. I just want to go home to bed." 

"We can have someone on our staff get something for you," The nurse offered. Ilya froze, his eyes diverting from Shane. He swore he could even feel his pulse spike through his hand. 

Ilya wanted it to be Shane. He wanted Shane out of the room. 

Hollander wanted nothing more than to make Ilya comfortable, even if that meant excluding him. Still, it didn't assuage the sharp pain stabbing at his throat.

"Uh, no... It's okay. I'll get it." He wondered if his panic was obvious. What didn't Ilya want him to see? "I'll be right back."

Ilya felt bad for sending Shane away, especially with how his expression faltered, and suspicion crossed his eyes. At least it wasn't the utter horror that would undoubtedly be present there if Shane were around for them to fully peel his bandages off. 

It took a little bit for the nurses to clean and reinspect the wound, which had Ilya glancing towards the door obsessively. He couldn't stop imagining Shane stopping short in the doorway, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. 

He knew he couldn't hide it from Shane forever, but was just tonight too much to ask? 

Even the nurses noted his frantic impatience. 

"Almost done here." One assured him, and he nodded, a little embarrassed to be caught hiding from his husband. Whatever. He had a feeling no one was judging him for anything after what had just happened. 

They did get Ilya all rebandaged before Shane came back with an armful of pre-packaged food from the cafeteria.

They took CXR's for his ribs next. Despite Ilya's impatience, they had him get into a hospital gown, which Shane helped him with. He guessed he shouldn't complain. While Shane was gone, Ilya had managed to wiggle his way out of the CT scan they had suggested, opting for the less time-consuming concussion assessments. 

Anyway, they deemed him fine in that respect. 

When they announced the end of their tests (for now), Ilya took a relieved breath. His legs swung over the edge of the hospital bed as they removed his second I.V. of the day. Once they got Ilya into a sling for his shoulder, he really started to feel exhaustion take over again. 

Luckily, by some miracle, 

"You're cleared to go home, but we're going to have you return to be monitored for the next couple of weeks. I'll go print you off the recommended schedule for check-ups and get your prescriptions."

When she left Shane and Ilya alone, they went through the awkward, painful process of redressing him again. God, he couldn't wait to simply move his body normally again.

"How are you feeling?" Shane asked once he was back in his t-shirt and joggers. 

"Better. More pain meds. I just want to keep sleeping forever." 

"We'll get you home, ASAP." Home. "Um... Hey, kinda bad news-" Shane spoke like he was harboring a bomb.

"Compared to what?" Because Ilya couldn't imagine anything that would feel too terrible, parallel to the last couple of weeks. Shane chuckled, but nervously.

"Obviously, we didn't know we'd be home yet, and I guess Hayden offered to take Anya from my Dad. She's up with him and the kids at their cabin for the weekend, but he'll bring her back the day after tomorrow." 

Oh. Ilya had indeed envisioned falling asleep wrapped up in Shane with the comfortable, furry mass of Anya's steady breaths beside him (because obviously Shane would let her sleep in the bed with them that night- how could he not?)

"Is okay," Ilya said genuinely, nonetheless. "I would feel bad that I have no energy for her anyway." 

Shane nodded, brushing a thumb underneath Ilya's good eye. Rozanov once again resisted the urge to flinch away from the way his husband's eyes flitted over his face. It wasn't like he didn't do the same thing often before. Ilya just knew that this time, his gaze would catch on things like his bruises and cuts, and then Ilya would have to suffer the change in Shane's eyes: the look of adoration shifting into pure dread. 

...but he didn't. When Shane studied his face, there was no horror there- no pity. Sure, his gaze may have stuttered at the cut over Ilya's eyebrow or the split in his lip, but it didn't stop Shane from gazing at him in the same way he always did.

Ilya pressed his nails into his palm to keep from tearing up at the pure ferocity of love he had for this man.

"And look on the bright side," Shane offered, though Ilya could tell it was leading to satire.

"Mm?" 

"You can see Hayden." 

Ilya snorted and rolled his eyes. 

"Oh. You have jokes, do you?" 

A doctor came and ran through the list of everything they found "wrong" with Ilya. Two fractured ribs, a fractured pinky (Ilya didn't even remember how it happened, but assumed either the attack at the club or the remand center), a healing shoulder, severe bruising, a 2nd degree burn, three 3rd degree burns, cuts on his face, cuts on his abdomen (an understatement), extreme malnutrition, sleep deprivation...

"Is that it?" Ilya asked after the doctor had finally stopped rattling off his afflictions. The doctor smiled a bit before she addressed both Ilya and Shane. 

"You can expect a full recovery, save for some scarring." 

Some scarring.

Shane let out a relieved sigh from beside him, but Ilya couldn't quite share in the moment when the physical healing wasn't what he was worried about. Still, he gave Shane's hand a squeeze to try to fake his approval. 

Ilya drifted off a bit on the drive home. Shane held his hand and let him use his shoulder. Ilya's heart fluttered with every kiss to his forehead and temple- and there were a lot of those. 

After their driver had helped them take their bags to the front door, Shane and Ilya were left truly alone right outside the home they shared. It felt surreal for Ilya to be there, and somehow that made him feel guilty. His home shouldn't feel this... weird. This unfamiliar. He guessed it was because so much had changed since the last time he was here. 

Amusingly, Shane was the one who ultimately broke Ilya's daze and made everything feel familiar again. He was huffing and frantically checking all of the zippers on their luggage, clearly in a tizzy about misplacing the keys. 

"Shane. Calm down." 

"I just- I know I put them in here. Fuck." 

Ilya smiled out of Shane's eyesight, reaching a hand to push through his husband's hair as Shane stooped over a suitcase. 

"Then you will find them," 

He did, of course, after ruining all of his perfect packing and muttering innumerable curse words.

"Imagine after all of that, we get locked out of our house," Ilya mused.

"Not funny," But per usual, Shane's face said otherwise.

The house felt so massive to Ilya- stretching and dark, abandoned. Going from a tiny cell to this made all the space seem a little absurd. All of this, just for him and Shane. He always made sure to pick Anya up from her doggie hotel before they returned home from trips, because without her little pitter-patters, everything felt emptier.

Ilya hated letting Shane carry all of their bags upstairs, but he didn't have much of a choice. He knew it probably made Shane happy anyway. 

Their bedroom was unsurprisingly exactly how they left it up to the lube on the bedside table from their quickie before the airport. It felt so incredibly long ago. That stretch of 11 days made time work differently, which had been its own form of torture. 

It was like a snapshot in time from their old life- who Ilya and Shane were before all of this. Because even if the room itself hadn't changed, everything else had. 

Well, not everything. Not the way that Shane immediately scoffed at the way there were, like... four tissues and a condom in the trash can. 

"I can't believe I didn't take this out before we left..." 

Ilya was about to tell him to calm down again, but he knew it wouldn't be of much use. He was in full frenzied caretaker mode, fueled by tasks. It was very Shane, and Ilya found immense comfort in it. 

He helped Shane take the toiletries and organize them back into the bathroom, a wonderfully mundane task. They both brushed their teeth, Ilya with mild trouble. He was typically left-handed, so the sling was going to be very annoying over the next week or two. "Fortunately", his father had always tried to force the left-handedness out of Ilya, so he was decent enough with his right. 

Eager to get away from the giant mirror that was nothing but a constant reminder of what he'd been through, Ilya moved to an open suitcase to help unpack. Before he could even pick up a stack of shirts, he felt Shane step behind him. Warm arms wrapped tentatively around Ilya's waist, guiding him back into a solid chest. 

The smile that overtook him was bigger than expected- the surge in his chest bringing life back into Ilya. Shane held him from behind, just barely resting a chin on his shoulder. For a while, they just breathed together.

"Welcome home," Shane whispered against the shell of Ilya's ear. He shivered. 

"You too, Hollander." 

Ilya closed his eyes as Shane pressed the gentlest kisses to the back of his neck. He avoided where they had bandaged up one of Ilya's burns- one of the bad ones. Ilya wondered if Shane had already noticed those before they were bandaged: The size of them. The shape of them. 

"Lyag," Shane said, kissing Ilya's cheek as he unwound from around him. Lie down. "I can unpack tomorrow. Or- if you wanted to shower, I could-" 

"I think the hospital medicine is working a little too well," Ilya sauntered over to the bed and sank deep into the duvet. He immediately felt the truth in the statement. He could hardly lift his eyelids. 

"Then sleep," 

"Mm..." Ilya groaned into the ridiculously soft pillows he'd never appreciated until now. His eyes slid closed, but he listened to the sound of his favorite busybody flying around the room unpacking at near-midnight. Soon, when Ilya didn't think he could take another minute, "Where are you?" 

This is just a dream. The relentless thought tore through his brain, spiking ice through his veins. 

Ilya told his mind to shut the fuck up as he heard a drawer close across the room. Sounds of clothes shuffling off and on. Not five seconds after he asked, the bed dipped, and he felt Shane's warmth at his side. 

"Right here," He said softly, a hand running through Ilya's hair and pulling a happy hum from his throat. Ilya typically slept on the other side of the bed, but this way, his good arm and the good side of his face were nearest to Shane. His eyes were still too heavy to open, so he reached out and felt around in Shane's direction. He "accidentally" gently slapped at Shane's face a few times in the process, loving the amused snort he won because of it. He found his destination (Shane's hairline) and pushed his fingers through, resting his hand there. Shane curled into Ilya, his head on his shoulder, and an arm nervously settling across his hips.

"This okay? Am I hurting you?" 

"Mm-mm," Ilya assured him. He was about to add that he knew Shane was dying to shower. He knew Shane could hardly stand the thought of going from an airplane to their bed. He knew the only reason he was putting up with it right now was because of Ilya. 

But Ilya had almost forgotten what it felt like to fall asleep in a place where he was safe. A place where he didn't have to jump awake at every sound in the night. A place where he was held by the person he loved more than life itself.

So, wrapped in this perfect little Canadian bubble he and Shane had built for themselves, Ilya let himself fade. It was the sound of Shane's even breathing with a final whispered "I love you," that ultimately pulled him straight under. 

January 6th, 2024

Shane woke first. Ilya was fast asleep, snoring softly with an arm slung over Shane's chest... and not the arm that was supposed to be doing that. At some point in the night, whether consciously or not, Ilya had tossed aside his sling. Shane scoffed and shook his head. He knew convincing Ilya to follow doctors' orders was going to be an uphill battle.

He could go to battle later, though. For now, Ilya's breath was heavy against Shane's forehead, and he just lay there and enjoyed it.

Shane watched him for a while before realizing that when he woke up, he was going to be in pain. Slowly sliding out from underneath Ilya's arm, Shane bustled around the house. He checked the fridge and the freezer, taking stock of what was still edible. He noticed that a lot of the food they had expected to come back to (and would undoubtedly have spoiled by now) was gone. No sour milk or rotting vegetables in sight.

Thanks, Dad. Shane couldn't wait to see him tonight.

Before Shane started laundry, he bounded back upstairs on light, socked feet to peek through their bedroom door. Ilya was softly snoring and hadn't moved an inch. Good. Shane didn't want him to wake up alone. 

After laundry, Shane gathered Ilya's pills: Antidepressants, antibiotics, pain meds, vitamins for the malnutritients. He grabbed a water and a protein bar before ascending the stairs. Halfway up, he had another thought: Ilya hadn't touched his phone in nearly two weeks. It'd probably feel good for him to feel connected to their friends and family again. Shane found it in their bags and made his way back into their bedroom. 

Ilya hadn't stirred, not even when Shane got back into bed and snuggled up to him, looping an arm around his hips. He spent half an hour watching Ilya before his own eyelids began to droop again. 

Ilya woke slowly. He was incredibly groggy, all of his senses taking longer than usual to reactivate. His thoughts were so muddled that he had no idea where he was. Ilya blinked through blurriness a few times before terror gripped his heart enough for his whole body to seize up:

Russia. Prison. 

But there was no way this was his prison bed. It was much too comfy. And then everything fully returned to Ilya's brain: Home. Ottawa. Shane, with an arm somehow both resting while also precariously perched on Ilya's hipbone. His breath was slow and steady against Ilya's shoulder. Happy shivers ran through his body. 

It was over. Was it really over?

Well, over except for all the pain he was in. There were pills on the nightstand, which meant that Shane had already been up. Of course, he had. And he had everything ready to go for Ilya. Because, of course, he did.

Ilya strained to take the pills and a few swigs of water without waking Shane. It took everything not to let out a groan when he moved. It was then that he noticed his phone.

It felt foreign in his hands- something that'd practically been another limb to Ilya, now so unfamiliar to him. He clicked on the screen.

He had messages... so many messages. Calls from people he knew. Calls from unknown numbers. He didn't even want to look at the team group chat yet. He didn't want to look at any of the messages. He didn't know what to say. 

Hey. I'm good. 👍

It felt ridiculous.

Shane blinked back awake just as he remembered falling back asleep- snuggled flush against Ilya with an arm around his waist. 

Ilya certainly had moved even from underneath Shane's arm, though. He was turned on his side away from Shane, head propped up on two pillows. Shane could see him scrolling on his phone from over a familiar, broad shoulder. He hadn't moved yet, even though Hollander's body told him to stretch instinctively. Fighting the urge, Shane watched Ilya flip through Instagram after Instagram post, all about him.

"Looking at how obsessed everyone is with you?" Shane felt bad for waiting because Ilya jumped. "Sorry, sorry..." He pressed a long kiss to his back. Ilya chuckled.

"Is okay. And yes... but I'm used to that." 

Shane felt a rush of relief every time Ilya joked like his old self, but it also made him wonder how much he was deflecting. Nevertheless, he pressed more kisses along the back of his shoulder. 

"I don't know..." Ilya sighed, glancing back at Shane with a glint in his eye that made his heart soar. "Like... Should I just... respond with... thanks?" Ilya hardly used an American accent, and this time, he dared even to throw in a little valley girl. That, mixed with the ridiculousness of responding to Instagram comments after what they'd been through...

Shane lost it. They both succumbed to a fit of giggles until Shane unwound himself from Ilya so that his husband could gingerly turn onto his back. Ilya's face contorted in pain as he settled back into the mattress.

"Sore?"

"Very. I only just took the painkillers, though." And then, glancing over at Shane with a shy smile. "Thank you, by the way." 

"Mm." Shane smiled back, dreamily, before shifting himself into a similar position next to Ilya, his head tilting over to rest on Ilya's shoulder.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"    

"No. It's the other shoulder." 

"I know. So why the fuck isn't it in the sling?" 

"Ugh. Whatever, Nurse Hollander." To his credit, Ilya didn't argue before letting Shane help him put it back on. 

Shane returned to his place, resting against Ilya's good shoulder. His husband's head rested against Shane's as they both watched Ilya scroll through news articles, friends' posts, and messages of support from fans.

"Wow. Boston didn't play a game after I got arrested?"

"A lot of teams didn't." 

"What?" 

Shane grinned up at him. He guessed he had left that part out.

"Yeah. Obviously, Ottawa, but then Boston was right after. Then Toronto. Then a whole slew of them. I'm not sure anyone played a game that first week." 

"Holy shit," 

"I told you. You're a big deal." 

"Probably not fucking Montreal." 

Shane snorted. 

"Actually, they were one of the first to protest." 

"No fucking way," 

"Yeah," 

Ilya eventually clicked his phone off without warning, setting it face down on the bed. He looked forward, unfocused. Shane raised his head to look at him better, fear settling in his chest. There was still so much they hadn't talked about. There were still things Shane was avoiding discussing. Were they about to dive into the deep end?

"Do you think Putin thinks about me?"

Shane's head fell so that his forehead thunked against Ilya's shoulder. They both found that way too funny, too. And even when Shane tried to get serious and tell him that, yes, he actually did think that he'd crossed his mind,

"Cool," 

"Not cool, Ilya. Very not cool."

Ilya's giggles came at a price, though- he winced amidst his amusement, and no matter how hard he tried to cover it up, Shane wasn't fooled.

"Okay, okay..." He pushed himself up to press a long kiss to Ilya's forehead. "Your stitches,"

But Shane knew exactly how to calm him down. He pressed a gentle finger to Ilya jaw, turning his head towards him so that Shane could dive deep into his eyes. He let himself study his bright orbs for a moment, trying to read everything he could before,

"I love you, Ilya." 

Ilya's whole body softened into stillness, just like Shane knew it would. His smile fell, his pupils dilated. 

"I love you, Shane." He surprised him by whispering it. Hollander's plan to distract him backfired because now Shane's own guts were being ripped through his chest. "And I missed you... so much." 

Shane didn't even try to stop the tear from sliding down his cheek. He watched as Ilya's eyes swam as well, the redness making his soft irises a blazing blue. 

Shane was so ready for a breakdown. Ilya hadn't truly cried at all since they'd gotten him back, and Shane knew it was a matter of time before everything caught up to him. Instead, Ilya took a stuttering breath and diverted his eyes.

"I'm hungry." 

"Yeah?"

Ilya nodded, turning back to Shane with a humble smile, tears gone.

Maybe later. 

"Shower first, or breakfast?"

Ilya's smile faltered, and Shane felt himself panic a bit. 

"Mm... I can hop in the shower if you can figure out breakfast?" 

Shane's panic deepened. Ilya never turned down a shower with Shane, and now that it was actually necessary, there had to be a reason. What the fuck happened?

Shane felt sick.

"Ilya... you can't even raise your arms above your head." Ilya swallowed, avoiding Shane's gaze again. Shane felt his throat start to close up even though he tried to fight it. "If... if you don't... want my help, then we can get, like, a nurse or-

Hollander knew that his insecurity was showing, but he couldn't help it. 

"No. No, no, no. Shane," 

But he felt the panic swirling in his stomach, spreading up through his chest and gripping his heart. 

"Hey," Ilya coaxed again, holding his chin and tilting his gaze back up to him. Ilya's eyes searched Shane's, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. Shane didn't want to make him worry about anything more than he already did, but his expression wouldn't school itself into neutrality. "I- Ugh... This is stupid. You're going to be seeing it for the rest of your life, probably." Ilya said, pressing a quick kiss to Shane's forehead. 

See what?

Ilya eased himself out of bed, and Shane scrambled to his feet, unsure of what to do. Reluctantly, Ilya nodded towards the bathroom, and Shane followed.

Ilya tried pulling his shirt up, but as Shane had pointed out, he couldn't raise his arms without being in intense pain. Still feeling weird about Ilya's secrecy, Shane stood back even though he was dying to help. Rozanov's face finally fell flat, and he looked at Shane with big eyes.

"Help?"

Thank God.

"'Course." He said as casually as he could. 

Once they had awkwardly found a way to remove Ilya's shirt without hurting him too much, Ilya looked at Shane and sighed. He glanced down at the bandaging over his abdomen, his fingers slightly shaking as he started to peel it back. 

Shane had expected that something hard to see was under there, but he had assumed some instances of broken skin from being hit or kicked... He was not expecting this. 

It was worse than Shane imagined. Much worse. It wasn't even just that the lacerations were bad, and they were... It was the word deliberately sliced into him. It was how much hate and violence it took for someone, most likely multiple someones, to do this to him. 

He suddenly understood Ilya's hesitation to let Shane see, because Ilya knew him. He knew he'd freak out. 

So Shane tried his best not to. He tried not to let the panic overtake him.

"It says-" 

"I know what it says." Shane didn't mean to interrupt him so fast; it just slipped out. 

педик

Faggot. Carved deep into Ilya's stomach, like a branding. Shane blinked back hot tears, just staring. He thought about what it must've felt like. Did they have to hold him down? Did Ilya scream? 

Ilya felt afraid to move, allowing Shane to process the new, horrifying fact that his husband had practically been mutilated- the evidence from it stamped into his skin forever.

But then he did something Ilya wasn't expecting- His face slowly warped into anger... no, fury. His jaw set, his eyes black and sharp. He looked like he was ready to fly back to Russia and fucking kill everyone who had ever laid a finger on Ilya. 

It was...

Hot?

Bad, Ilya. Bad, bad, bad, Ilya.

As much as Ilya did typically love that look, it was because it was mostly directed at Ilya. Because when Shane was all pissy at him, Ilya knew he could kiss it away and fix it (most of the time). He didn't know how to fix this. 

And then, Shane's jaw unclenched, and he pulled in a stuttering breath. He took a step back and looked up at the ceiling, clearly trying not to react. 

“Hey,”

“Sorry, I know. I know.” Shane laughed a humorless, broken laugh, shaking his head, seemingly at himself. Now, Ilya just felt horrible for making him feel like he had to hide his emotions. 

“No, is okay. It is... bad. I know." Shane looked back at him and nodded miserably, far past words. "But I am okay. Going to have a really tough scar. You know... that says faggot.”

He knew he probably shouldn't be making so many jokes, but it was his factory setting, and Shane seemed to appreciate it. 

"I-" Shane gave up on speaking, shaking his head. Ilya took his hands in his. 

"What?"

"You just are, so... Ilya about it all sometimes." 

Ilya raised his eyebrows, his smile widening. 

"Ilya about it all?" 

"You know what I mean... nonchalant." 

Rozanov relaxed his face, his eyes growing sadder before reaching forward and grazing the back of his fingers along the side of Shane's face. 

"I think I'm still in shock. Mm?" 

Shane looked relieved.

"Yeah, me too." 

"There's no one I'd rather be in shock with." Shane's lower lip wobbled and long-waiting tears finally spilled down his cheeks. Ilya kissed them away. 

When he pulled back, though, Shane's eyes instantly fell back to his gruesome abdomen. 

"Shane..."

Instead of answering, Hollander sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around Ilya's legs. He pressed his face into his healthier hip. Ilya could feel the wetness from his tears against his skin. He helplessly pushed his hand through Shane's hair, wishing he could will it all to reverse itself just so that he didn't have to see Shane cry. 

"How do you know?" Ilya asked after a little while. 

"Hmm?" Shane mumbled against Ilya's skin, pressing a kiss there. His shoulders had at least stopped shuddering, and his breathing evened. 

"You said you know what it says." 

"Oh," He glanced up sheepishly, eyes still red but dry. "I learned the Cyrillic alphabet." 

Ilya rolled his eyes, smiling down with so much adoration that Shane felt like he'd melt into a puddle on the floor. 

"Of course, you did." 

"Svetlana and I had a lot of time on our hands, alright?" Shane dismissed the pride in Ilya's voice, reaching over for the shower faucet. 

It’s a good thing Shane was there to help, because Ilya really couldn’t handle showering alone. He couldn't even reach his hair without doubling over in pain. He loved it when Shane washed his hair anyway. He could just tip his head back, zone out, and enjoy the rhythmic push of Shane's fingers through his wet curls. 

When Shane moved on to washing his body, though, Ilya found himself struggling. Not with pain. 

"Mm... lower," Ilya murmured against Shane's temple as he carefully soaped around his stitches. Shane chuckled, obviously knowing what he meant, as it was hard to hide a growing boner. 

“Doctor said-“

“No sex! We can do no sex! Doctor didn't say anything about that pretty mouth of yours-" 

“Ilya…"

"Okay, or my mouth on your dick," Ilya smirked at the very noticeable twitch of Shane's cock.

"You aren’t getting your stitches removed for at least two more days. And even then, your ribs-”

“Two days!? Hollander, I will not make it.”

Probably just to shut him up, Shane took a soapy hand and stroked his cock a few times. 

"Oh fuck."

Ilya's head fell back and, while loving it, did indeed feel a deep burning in his stomach and flare in his ribs. He hissed in pain and pleasure and disappointment when Shane gave him one last stroke. 

“You’re gonna have to make it, just like me. We can do it together.” Ilya groaned, but knew he was fighting a losing battle. He just liked to argue with Shane over wishful thinking. "You can manage," 

"Tell him that," He gestured to his growing dick. It was more a relief than anything, to be honest. Ilya was wondering if maybe prison had fucked up his libido. He should've known that not even over a week of abuse could stop him from needing Shane like he needed air. 

At least he knew it'd be worth the wait. 

Shane dried him off with so much tenderness that it made Ilya feel dizzy... or maybe that was just the malnourishment. Regardless, he loved nurse Shane. 

He did want to do some things by himself, though, such as shaving. 

Shane offered to help, but Ilya managed to shave with his right hand just fine. He felt better when he was rid of another remnant of Russia. Shane did make sure to be right next to him as they walked downstairs. At first, Ilya felt like it was a little unreasonable, but on the last stair, Ilya shot a hand forward and gripped Shane's bicep. 

"Ilya?" 

"'M fine. Just..." He closed his eyes and breathed. "Just dizzy for a second." 

"Should've done food first. Here," Shane let him hold onto his shoulder, guiding him to the couch. "It should be here soon." 

"You ordered us breakfast already?" 

"Yep," 

"What'd you get?" 

"What do you think?"

Ilya grinned so big it hurt the left side of his face. 

Ten minutes later, they were lounging on the couch, eating takeout from their favorite breakfast place down the street. Shane ordered four separate meals, which was clearly excessive with how much Ilya was eating these days, but the gesture was sweet. 

"You know I can't eat as much as I used to," 

"I know, it's okay. Just wanted you to have options." Ilya froze with his forkful of potatoes, smiling softly at Shane. He gave a shy smile back. "I would've ordered the whole menu, but..." And then he took a bite of his eggs, eyes flitting back to the TV that was passively playing a news story about the Papanack Zoo.

"...but what?" 

Shane raised his eyebrows at Ilya as if he had forgotten he had said anything in the first place. Then, a fearful realization washed over him. He tried to hide it. It didn't work. 

"Oh, um..." Shane looked down at his food, pushing it around with his fork. Ilya watched curiously as his lips twitched upwards. "We're kind of broke." 

Ilya snorted. He was not expecting that. 

"Yeah?" The concept seemed amusingly trivial, considering. 

"Yeah, for a little while probably." 

"Anton was that fancy, huh?" 

"The lawyers, yeah. I flew my Mom out private. And... Well... technically, you weren't supposed to have, like, any of those meetings with her." 

"Oh," He hadn't thought of that. He knew he was getting special treatment, but it never crossed his mind that it was because Shane was bribing Russian prison guards. 

And thank fuck, he did. Ilya thought of how much he hung onto those five minutes per day with Yuna. 

"Don't even ask how much my visit was." 

"I won't," Ilya nudged Shane's thigh with his foot so that he'd look up and meet Ilya's unbothered grin. "Hey. Thank you... And sorry?" 

Shane's expression hardened. "Don't even start. I'd sell my fucking organs if I had to,"

Ilya felt his eyes burn. He bit the inside of his cheek and did what he did best- cover his emotions with jokes. 

"Mm, yes. I bet Shane Hollander's kidney goes for a pretty penny." 

When they were finishing up their late breakfast, and Shane was packing the many leftovers away, the news moved onto it's next story: Him. 

"In other news, it's been confirmed that Ottawa Centaurs Captain Ilya Rozanov was released from prison in Moscow early yesterday-" 

"Oh my god," 

"Told you, it's everywhere," Shane called from the kitchen. 

"No, it's not that."

"What?" Shane called out, but Ilya was just going to let him see for himself. "Ilya, what?" 

Ilya smirked at the way Shane half-ran back into the room to see the TV screen. The news segment wasn't even really about Ilya's return- he had guessed countless stations had already covered that. This was about what they were calling his "first online appearance": The stupid little, lone comment he had left on Marleau's post. 

Shane took a second to figure out what he was looking at before he just laughed. 

"You roasting Marleau is a fucking news story?" 

"I said one thing to one person. Stupid." Ilya shook his head, chuckling with Shane. 

Shane stood beside the couch arm that Ilya was lying against, both of them enjoying the ridiculous news stories, grappling for any bit of information on Ilya. He knew it was going to be a fucking circus once Ilya started making his way back into public, but they were far from that. Shane was enjoying the little bubble they were currently living in, just the two of them at home... safe.

The mood was light as it suspiciously had been all day, which is why Shane felt like Ilya had basically slapped him when out of nowhere,

"So... They never gave any of my stuff back, did they?" 

Shane took a half-second to have the courage to look at Ilya, but he wasn't looking back. His eyes still directed towards the TV, but Shane could tell he wasn't watching. He was hanging onto whatever Shane was about to say, seemingly knowing that the answer wasn't going to be good. 

So instead of saying anything just yet, Shane leaned down and looped his arms around Ilya's neck. He pressed three kisses to the top of his head, holding him. 

"I'm guessing that's a no," he said in a way that couldn't hide the pain in his voice. 

"I'm so sorry, Ilya." 

He sighed and looked up at Shane with shiny eyes. It was breaking Hollander's fucking heart. They could get him a new wallet and replace everything in it, no biggie. They could get him another wedding ring. 

They could not get him another crucifix that had belonged to his mother. 

"Is okay." 

"No. It's not." Shane kissed the tip of his nose, unwinding an arm from his neck to brush a few curls from his forehead. 

"I came home with you. That's all I need." But Ilya's voice was tighter, his face more sullen. 

"It still sucks." 

"Yes," Ilya sighed, turning his eyes back to the TV, but once again, not watching. He went somewhere far off before he blinked back up towards Shane. "Can we watch a movie?" 

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want." 

He still wouldn't deny him a thing, even if it was clearly a deflection. 

They watched Tokyo Drift, which Shane typically argued against due to the sheer number of times Ilya put it on. When Ilya typed it out with the remote, Shane could tell he caught his amused half-smile out of the corner of Ilya's eye. 

"Yes. I am cashing in my trauma points as much as I can. Thank you." He said, making Shane laugh. They had been laughing a lot today. It was nice, but not at all what he'd expected.

There's no one else I'd rather be in shock with. 

There were certainly worse ways of coping. 

They ordered in a late lunch and watched two more movies. Ilya was fast asleep by the start of the second. Shane was underneath him, spread out on the couch with Ilya curled up on his chest at an angle that avoided irritating his wounds.

It was nearing 6 PM, which was when his Mom and Dad said they'd be stopping by to make them dinner and drop off groceries. Shane got a text from his mother, announcing their ETA.

Ilya's sleeping on me, just let yourself in. He texted back. 

Moments later, he heard the front door quietly slide open. He heard the low murmurs of his parents alone with the rustle of grocery bags. They bustled around the kitchen for a while before Yuna poked her head into the living room. 

"Hi," she whispered, putting a hand over her heart and swooning at the sight of Ilya and Shane wrapped up on the couch together. Shane smiled and fought the urge to roll his eyes. She tiptoed over to kiss Shane on the forehead. 

"Dinner will be ready in thirty." She whispered. 

"Okay," Shane said, glancing down to make sure Ilya was out. He slept peacefully, his face relaxed and heavy breaths warming the collar of Shane's t-shirt. 

Twenty minutes later, there was a crashing bang from the kitchen that made both Shane and Ilya jump. Shane instinctively held Ilya closer, a hand coming up to the back of his head. He had propped himself up a bit on Shane, blinking and squinting in alarm. 

"Sorry! Sorry..." Yuna appeared in the living room, cringing at the sight of them both awake and alert as ever. Shane felt his heart hammering against Ilya's own hummingbird pace in his chest. 

"Geez," Shane muttered, settling back into the couch and relaxing his grip on Ilya. 

"Is okay," Ilya mumbled after relaxing back into Shane. 

"Hi, honey." 

"Hi, Yuna." He said sleepily- sweetly. Shane's mom crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Ilya's temple. 

"You're already looking so much more like you." 

"That a good thing?"

Yuna shot him a look that said, Of course, and you know it. 

"I know that David- Oh! There he is." 

Shane's heart swelled at the way Ilya practically jumped off the couch, still not discounting the wince when he did. 

"Oh, you don't have to get up for me." 

"Of course, I do." 

Shane and Yuna exchanged cheesy grins while they watched his father carefully wrap Ilya in a hug, which Ilya instantly tightened with his one good arm. 

“So that was pretty bad, huh?”

Shane huffed in embarrassment at the statement made by his father. Yuna's hand covered her face, peaking out the side at Shane. 

“Was not good, no,” Ilya was beaming. Shane knew that practically everything David said delighted Ilya. He adored him. Shane had a feeling he liked a lot of the same things that Shane himself had gotten from his Dad. His "boringness". His slight awkwardness. His niceness. 

"I'm going to finish dinner." Yuna stroked Shane's hair before she retreated to the kitchen.

 "Thank you for everything you did," Ilya said into David's shoulder.

“You’re my son,” David said as if he were saying the sky was blue. Shane caught the tremble in Ilya's chin when they pulled away from one another. "Now, where's my other son?" 

"Other son," Shane scoffed, pushing off the couch and hugging his Dad. After everything they'd been through, he didn't think he'd had a better hug with his Dad. It felt like Shane's shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks. 

"Alright." David pat Shane on the back much harder than he would've dared to Ilya right now. "Well, dinner's almost done. We can just leave it for you guys and get out of your hair, though." 

"What? Don't be ridiculous." Ilya shot down. 

Ilya insisted they all eat at the table "like normal" despite Shane's initial protests. It was quiet for a while, everyone focusing on their chicken parmesan. Shane realized that none of them really knew how to act in this situation, and who would? There wasn't exactly a manual for the first family dinner after your husband gets released from Russian prison in the nick of time. 

Do they talk about it? Do they act like it never happened? 

"So..." Ilya said after a sip of his Coke. He had wanted vodka, but Shane drew the line at giving him what he wanted when it involved mixing alcohol with painkillers. Ilya hadn't fought back on that one. "How much of a bitch was Alexei?" 

Yuna laughed, and Shane felt like he breathed a sigh of relief, most of the tension broken. 

"I don't know what you guys are talking about. He was nice to me," his mother practically bragged.

"He better have been," Ilya took another bite. Shane's heart fluttered at how fast he was eating tonight. 

"He was actually surprisingly okay." Shane agreed.

"Okay is huge for him." 

They mostly talked about Shane and Yuna's time with Katya, Sophia, and Svetlana. Ilya asked a million questions about Anya, and David happily recounted everything. Shane couldn't help but feel the weight of what wasn't being talked about, though- what had Ilya been going through while they were all safe in cushy beds by the end of the night? 

"Shane?"

He blinked at Ilya, realizing his mind had started to drift. 

"Hmm?"

"Your mom says you have pictures of Sophia and her." 

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Ilya's worried brow softened a bit. 

"You two go relax. We've got dishes." 

"Mom. Leave it, I-" 

"Don't argue with me." 

Shane threw his hands up in defeat. 

Ilya loved the photos like Shane knew he would. They put on Jeopardy, which they liked to watch with Shane's parents after dinners at home. Ilya didn't make it past two questions before he was out, though, slumped again over Shane's chest. 

"Hey," Shane ran his hand through Ilya's hair, tugging gently. He took a sharp breath inwards, glancing up with sleepy eyes. "Why don't you go lie down in bed? I'm going to see my parents off and I'll be right behind you." 

"Mm..." Ilya stretched the best he could. "Yes. Okay." 

Ilya gave his last hugs to Yuna and David before thanking them for dinner and ascending the stairs faster than Shane would've liked, but he wasn't going to be that helicopter. 

He walked back to the kitchen, where his parents had already wrapped on clean up, going for their jackets. 

"How are you doing, bud?" David gripped Shane's shoulders, studying his face. Shane looked away, searching for an adequate answer, but there wasn't one. 

"I don't know. Taking it moment by moment, I guess. Both of us." 

"That's all you can do." 

Shane walked them towards the front door, thanking them for... well... everything. 

"I think you two will be just fine, sweetheart. Give it time. Don't rush it." 

"Yeah... I just... He hasn't even really, actually broken down about it yet, and it's worrying me. Like, he- I don't know." 

"Shane, what did I just say?" His mother flatly asked. Shane huffed and smiled, rolling his eyes at himself. 

"Yeah. Okay." 

After final hugs, he practically ran up to their bedroom, feeling Ilya's absence for even those mere couple of minutes they were apart. 

He knew his mother was probably right. They had only just begun what was undoubtedly set to be a long process of healing. Emotions would change, probably frequently. They would start to process what had happened more over time. Memories would resurface at unexpected times. Shane tried to mentally prepare himself for the unpreppable. 

Almost like cosmic proof, that was the night the nightmares started.