Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shane Hollander breathed in the familiar scent of ice and teenage sweat covered by far too much cologne. The twelve-year-olds who had the ice before them were shooting their last pucks at empty nets, clearly practicing their backhands. They weren’t very good. 

“What do they talk about, you think?” 

Shane looked up from where he was pulling on his left skate, his eyes landing on the familiar face of his best friend, Ilya Rozanov. 

Ilya was also lacing up his skates, whilst casting glances up into the stands. Shane followed his gaze, and saw his own mother and Ilya’s in a deeply animated conversation that included a lot of hand gestures from the latter. Irina always used her hands a lot when talking. Ilya was just the same.

Shane smiled a little, and looked back at his skates. Hockey superstitions had begun setting in, after the last game, when he had laced his right skate before the left, and faceplanted heavily. He wasn’t risking that again. Always left first from now on.

“Probably trying to figure out if there are any ways they can splice our DNA together and make themself the perfect little hockey-god-grandson or something,” Shane responded to Ilya, suddenly remembering he’s been asked a question.

Ilya let out a snort, his nose scrunching up, and Shane ignored how the sound made him tingle inside. Ilya stood up, leaning on his hockey stick as he waited for Shane to finish getting ready.

“Ah, if only I could get you pregnant, Hollander,” he said. 

For a brief second, Shane’s brain freeze framed, before he was shot back into reality. He could feel heat rising up his neck, and knew that within a second, his face would be as red as a beet. 

“Fuck off, Ilya.” 

He managed to get the words out between his teeth, also getting to his feet. Ilya had just had a growth spurt, and was now at least half a head taller than Shane. It was very annoying, always having to look up at him.

“It is our mothers dreams,” Ilya laughed, the sound loud and unapologetic. Just like Ilya. Shane adored that about him, despite the fact that he himself was often on the receiving end of whatever prank or joke had made Ilya laugh. 

“It is not medically possible,” Shane mumbled, just to say something in response to Ilya’s stupid comments. 

“Oh?” Ilya’s eyes lit up in mischief. “That is your problem with it? Good to know.”

Ilya jumped onto the ice, winking at Shane in his stupid usual fashion, and skated away. Shane closed his eyes, and counted slowly to three, all whilst ignoring that the butterflies in his stomach were doing cartwheels. Just like it always did when Ilya winked at him. Stupid, idiotic stomach. Why wouldn’t it just be calm?

Two seconds later, Shane stepped onto the ice, and tried to push the thought of Ilya’s stupid wink out of his mind. This wasn’t productive. 

—---

Most days, Shane had no problem being around Ilya. They had been best friends for ten years, and really stood through everything together. From Irina’s depression, to Shane getting bullied, to Mrs. Smith’s English class. No matter was too small or big for their friendship to handle. 

Which was why this recent development in Shane’s thoughts was starting to become a problem. He was certain that barely a month ago, looking at Ilya hadn’t been this hard. But here he was, sitting next to him on the bench behind the Tim Horton’s Ilya worked at, while Ilya enjoyed his twenty minute break. And Shane was struggling to look at his best friend.

“How’s Gary?” Shane asked, just to fill the silence with something, as he took a microscopic bite of the muffin Ilya had brought for him. Shane frowned at the food, silently thinking about how it would affect his very new performance diet.

Ilya groaned, and hit his head against the wall, before turning fully towards Shane. It made him tingle whenever he had Ilya’s full attention like this, and he looked back at him, unable to stop himself. 

The sun was catching in Ilya’s hair, making it look more golden than dark blonde. The curls looked wilder as well. Shane suddenly felt an insane need to reach out and touch them. 

“Oh, my god, Shane. He is so boring!”

“You call me boring all the time!” Shane responded with a frown. Ilya shrugged.

“Yes, is true. You will like Gary. He suggested museum for Sunday activity.”

“But Irina is happy?”

Ilya’s lips pulled up into a soft smile, and he nodded. 

“Yes. She is happy. She deserves boring.”

That made Shane happy too. Gary was perhaps the most normal man Shane had ever heard of. Forty years old, an accountant who enjoyed golf and a cold beer. Which was exactly what Irina needed. Normal, stable and, like Ilya said, boring. 

Next to him, Ilya had turned back around to look out at the backlot. Not a very impressive view, in Shane’s honest opinion. Broken concrete and some dumpster to their left. A few sad looking weeds trying to break through the cracks. 

Shane watched from the corner of his eye as Ilya shoved a whole donut into his mouth, and chewed loudly. He made a face before he could stop himself.

“Ah, Hollander!” Ilya said, mouth still filled with donuts. He only called him Hollander when he was teasing. “Do not be disappointed. Not all of us have fancy nutritionists. Some of us must eat garbage”

Shane blushed, which he seemed to spend a lot of time doing lately. It was getting annoying. He needed to figure out why it kept happening. Was it a puberty thing? 

“I’m sure Lorelai would meet with you too, if you-” 

Ilya held out a hand to stop Shane mid sentence, then gestured towards himself with an eye roll. Shane just blinked. He wasn’t following whatever Ilya was trying to tell him. 

Ilya sighed, and Shane realized he had missed some kind of social clue he should have known. At least he could always trust Ilya to explain. It was one of the reasons they were best friends. Ilya never made him feel dumb or small when he missed something. He just took the time needed to explain. 

“It is nice offer, Hollander. Really. But trust me, if I could afford nutritionist, I would not work at Tim Horton’s, okay?”

Shane’s ears burned. Right. Of course. That made perfect sense. Shane was stupid. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane said, not looking at Ilya. 

“Is okay.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both chewing slowly on their food, deep in thought. Shane’s head was on fire, and his leg was bouncing. 

“Are you going to Morton’s party next week?” Ilya asked after a while. Shane stilled. 

“Eh-” was his best response. They had only been to a few parties in their life so far, but Shane was pretty sure he wasn’t a fan. Too many people, too much noise, and dumb decisions. And Morton had two older brothers, so there would definitely be alcohol there.

Ilya leaned forward, and pulled a small, red flower out of the ground in front of them. He turned to Shane, and with his lower lips jutting out like a child, he widened his eyes. Slowly, he slid from the bench, and onto one knee on the ground.

“Shane Hollander, would you please do me the honor of going to Jack Morton’s party with me next week?”

Shane rolled his eyes, because it was all he could get his body to do. He wasn’t even sure if the movement was something conscious, or a years long reaction to Ilya’s teasing. But Ilya was on his knees, batting his long eyelashes as he brandished the red flower in front of him. It had already started drooping. 

“Not nice to leave a man waiting, you know,” Ilya said after a few seconds, where Shane had quietly been weighing the pros and cons of the party. 

“Fine. Yes, I’ll come to Morton’s party.”

Ilya jumped to his feet, a wide grin across his face, crinkling his bright eyes. 

“Wonderful!” He shouted, and leaned forward. Shane leaned back on instinct, as Ilya’s warm hand brushed the side of Shane’s cheek. It lingered for barely a second, before it was gone. Shane felt as if he’d been burned.

“Break over. I need money. See you tomorrow, Shane!” Ilya sing-songed, and then he was gone, already inside the building to serve coffee. 

Shane sat frozen on the bench. Ilya’s touch against his cheek had been so brief, so barely there, that Shane almost doubted it had happened. 

With trembling fingers (why were they trembling?) Shane reached up to where Ilya had touched him. His fingers brushed against something soft, and with a start, he realized that Ilya had placed the little red flower behind Shane’s ear. 

It took another ten minutes before Shane was able to leave the bench, too frozen in his own mind to even remember to move.

----

Shane regretted coming to this stupid party. It didn’t matter that Ilya said they went to parties together. He always disappeared, and Shane got stuck all by himself. Like now. He sighed, and pressed himself up against the wall. 

He’d been nursing the same cup of ginger ale (alcohol free), since they arrived over an hour ago. It had long since reached room temperature, and Shane didn’t really want to drink more of it. He could probably get a new one in the kitchen, but in all honesty, the only thing he wanted was to go home.

He needed to find Ilya. Andrei had dropped them off, and Shane was kind of hoping he would pick them up again too. But he wouldn’t do that unless Ilya was there as well. 

Shane supposed Ilya was what people would call a party animal. He loved music, and alcohol, and being the centre of attention. He’d even lost his virginity at a party like this last year. To Sophia Lockert, of all people (Shane hated her now, he couldn’t help it). 

With a sigh, Shane followed the wall into the kitchen, and poured out his drink into the sink. If Morton’s mom’s carpet got ruined, it would not be because of Shane. He gave a few short greetings to some people he recognized from his classes, then followed the wall back out into the living room.

The floor was sticky, and the air was putrid with the smell of alcohol. 

He knew Ilya wasn’t in the living room, and he wasn’t in the kitchen. A quick glance through the door told him Ilya wasn’t in the garden either. Which only really left the bedrooms upstairs. Shane sighed. He really didn’t want to go up there and check. But he had started to feel a little sick, and definitely overwhelmed. 

Shane pushed open the first bedroom door he found with more force than he intended. Sometimes he forgot he’d started gaining grown-up strength. 

On the bed, Jack Morton had his hands all up underneath Hillary Sik’s shirt, and their lips were locked together.

«Holy shit!» Shane yelped, and turned around, as the two on the bed sprang apart.

«Hollander, what the fuck?» Morton shouted, as Hillary screamed, and threw a pillow at his head. It missed, and flopped to the floor next to him.

«Sorry, sorry!” Shane squealed. “I was looking for Ilya.»

«Next room, asshole!»

Shane shut the door behind him. Quickly he stepped towards the next door, before freezing. His hand was only a few inches from the handle, but he couldn’t seem to move. What if Ilya was in there with his hands up some girl’s shirt? Or worse, what if they were naked? Shane could cry.

The world was pressing into him from all sides. The music felt too loud, even here on the second floor. His shirt was itching, and the waist band on his boxers was suddenly pressing too hard into his stomach. Even his socks felt weird and unfamiliar in his shoes. How was he this warm suddenly?

Shane swallowed. He wanted to go home. Leave, and never go to another party. But, fuck, he needed Ilya for that. Bracing himself, he lifted his hand in a quick knock, then opened the door.

“Ilya?” Shane said, as he carefully looked into the room, eyes adjusting to the dim light. 

Ilya was there, sitting at the edge of the bed. His back was towards the door, but he’d turned his head to look at Shane. Even from the door, Shane could see how wide Ilya’s eyes had gone. The panic shining from them like headlights on a car.

Ilya’s hands were buried in thick brown hair. A hand was braced on Ilya’s thigh, the other somewhere inside Ilya’s pants. Shane followed the hands up, past skinny elbows and tan biceps. Sitting next to Ilya, eyes equally wide, was Marcus Maclin. 

Marcus was a classmate. Marcus was head of the yearbook committee. And Marcus was a boy. Holy shit, Ilya was making out with a guy!

“Sorry!” Shane piped up, and smacked the door closed so hard it rattled the bookcase next to it. 

Shit, shit, shit, fuck.

Shane’s brain was going too fast for any thoughts to stick. To slow for anything to join them. Like a river of sludge. Around him, sounds rose and fell in crescendo, as Shane pushed his way past people, trying to get out. Air, he needed air. Fuck this.

Every person who came even close to touching him felt as if they were throwing acid at him, their breaths and words too warm and unfamiliar. Shane spoke three and a half languages, but at the moment he understood none.

He stumbled out onto the street, and began walking as fast as he could without running. The cold air felt like a slap in the face. It worked a little to calm him down, and he felt like he could breath for the first time in several minutes.

“Fuck! Shane, wait!” Ilya caught up to him two houses down the road. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his belt was still undone around his waist. His hair was a mess. He looked- well, he looked how Shane imagined people looked after having sex. 

Shane stopped, and looked at him. Ilya was panting, like he’d run. He probably had. 

“Shit, Shane-” Ilya kept talking, running his hands through his hair. “You- that wasn’t…”

«I- uh. I didn’t know you were gay.»

The words forced their way out of Shane’s throat, rasping up as if he was swallowing a grater. Gay. Gay. This word that they’d had thrown after them their whole hockey life. The most popular insult in any hockey changing room. The very thing Shane had pushed down so hard he’d almost choked on it. 

Ilya stared at him, before carefully shrugging, and taking a second to redo his belt. Shane followed the movement of his hands. Couldn’t look away, no matter how much he wished. 

«I’m not, I think. Gay. Just- eh, curious?»

Shane blinked, as Ilya’s hands stilled at his sides. Shane’s own were twitching uncontrollably.

«Curious?» he whispered.

«Um, yeah. I don’t know.» 

Shane felt tears press behind his eyes. Fuck, was he going to cry? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Shane inhaled sharply through his nose, and turned his back to Ilya. He just couldn’t look at him right now. It felt like getting punched.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispered behind his back. Shane froze.

“What?”

“I know what people think. Hockey players are not gay. They are not curious. Not with men. I’m sorry I made you mad.” 

Ilya’s voice was so thin Shane barely heard it through the constant river of noise in his ears. The rush of blood through his head threatened to tear the words away, but instead, Shane let them wash over him. Slowly, he turned back around, keeping his gaze firmly somewhere about Ilya’s shoulder. It was hard when he was so much taller.

“I’m not mad that you kissed Marcus!” Shane began. “I’m a little upset you left me alone, again, but I’m not mad. I just- I’ve never even been kissed, Ilya. I don’t know how to do all these things you do.”

“What things?”

“You know, talk to girls. Sleep with them. Even kiss them. I can’t make anyone interested, and you get both genders to do it? Fuck you.” There was no heat behind the curse. Shane knew he sounded jealous. But he couldn’t help it

It was easier to think that his jealousy came from Ilya’s ability to flirt, and not Shane’s deeply buried desire for Ilya to flirt with him, and no one else. He wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

“You are very pretty, Hollander. I don’t think you would have to work hard to get someone to kiss you.” Ilya said with a sigh. He sounded tired.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want just anyone to kiss me.”

“Who do you want then?”

You. 

He didn’t say it. 

“I- I don’t know.”

Ilya looked at him for a second, his head tilted slightly to the side. And then, as if reading his mind:

“I could kiss you.”

Shane stopped breathing, his lips parting slightly. “What?”

“Yes. It would be good. Get first kiss out of the way. Then next one will not be so scary. Make you calm down.” Ilya seemed to get more excited the longer he talked. His hands were moving as he talked, and he was smiling now.

“You’d do that?” Shane could hear the resistance in his own voice. There was a part of him that was ready to beg for this. Who would do anything if it meant getting Ilya closer. But that part was buried far beneath the logical, clinical part that knew this was a bad idea.

“Of course, I am very good best friend.” Ilya said it so easily. 

Shane looked up at him, as Ilya took a step closer. Shane stepped back involuntarily. He saw Ilya’s cheeks pull into a small smile, as he reached out, and put his hands carefully on Shane’s hips. His skin was burning.

“Just a peck,” Shane managed to whisper, before Ilya leaned down, and let his lips captured Shane’s softly.

It was as if the world had gone completely silent. The rush of blood. The background sounds of cars and music were gone. No thoughts entered Shane’s mind, for those few blissful seconds Ilya kept his lips pressed against his. 

When he pulled away, Shane kept his eyes closed, as if willing the world to stay away for just a little longer. 

“Fuck,” Ilya muttered, and Shane forced his eyes open. The whole world came rushing back in. Ilya’s blue eyes, a few inches from his own, pupils blown so wide they seemed almost black. The sounds of cars down the street, birds somewhere far away. The smell of Ilya’s perfume. Warm and familiar.

It felt surprisingly similar to the time a wave had gotten hold of Shane on the beach, and tumbled him around until he lost sense of what was up and down, and he thought he was going to die. It felt like drowning. 

Ilya’s breath fanned across Shane’s cheeks, and he realised he was barely breathing.

“Fuck,” Shane muttered back, and watched in real time as Ilya made a decision neither would ever be able to come back from. His hands were on Shane’s face within a second, pulling him close, and crashing their lips together in a way Shane knew he would never forget. 

It felt unlike anything he had ever experienced. Like drowning and flying and burning all at once. The best and worst he had ever felt. It was like quiet after the storm. Shane had never in his life felt safer.

It felt- Shane’s brain turned back on like a light. 

Holy shit, what were they doing? 

He pushed off Ilya as if burned. The taller boy stumbled back a few steps, not prepared for the push. His lips were swollen. Shane forced himself to look away from them.

“I need to go,” he managed to say, before taking off down the street, sprinting as if death was at his heels. Maybe it was. He’d just made the dumbest decision of his life.

----

Two weeks later, Shane walked into school, holding hands with Jessica Baek, as if nothing had ever even happened. He hadn’t spoken to Ilya for those two weeks, but that was fine. It was fine. Really. He had a girlfriend now. Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.

It didn’t matter that every time he caught a glimpse of Ilya, at school, at the rink, in the gym, it felt as if his insides were being torn out through his throat and wrapped around him like a chain. It didn’t matter. He was fine. Truly. 

He had to be.

Chapter Text

It had, Ilya was quite sure, been the worst fall of his entire life. At least since he moved to Canada. He and Shane barely spoke anymore. Shane barely even looked at him, both at school and practice. 

Their moms noticed something was off almost immediately.

“What is wrong with you and Shane?” Irina asked, the second they were in the car after the first training, post-kiss.

I feel like I’m missing a limb, Ilya thought. Like a part of myself has shut down and I have no way to access it. My feelings are too big and my chest is too small and half the time I can’t breathe. But he didn’t say that. Not to his mom, not to anyone.

“Ugh, is nothing,” Ilya replied, rolling his eyes and playing it off like an annoyed teenager. His mother had not been convinced, and Ilya had heard her on the phone with Yuna, later that same night, discussing interventions. It hadn’t been great.

School sucked, a lot, but the beginning of the season was so much worse. Neither of them played how they normally did. Missing passes, checking too hard, tripping. Like they had forgotten how to play over summer. Coach wasn’t impressed. 

There were moments too, where it seemed like muscle memory kicked in before they remembered they were not supposed to talk. Where they made a good pass, and Shane came towards Ilya with his hand raised for a hug before stopping abruptly and turning around clumsily. 

His body remembered he was supposed to celebrate this with Ilya, how it had been for nine years. Then Shane turned his brain on, and Ilya hated it.

Shane was helping clear the ice for cones used for skate practice, but they tumbled out of his arms the second he stepped off the ice. Ilya didn’t even think, just bent down to help pick them up. Their helmets hit each other, and for a second, Ilya was pretty sure the world stood still.

They just breathed, warm air mixing between them in the ice cold rink. 

Then Shane broke away like something had stung him and went off in the direction of the locker room so fast Ilya wondered if something was on fire. He had put the cones in the storage room himself. 

Another moment happened just a few days later. Everyone, the whole team, was in the locker room, and Ilya said something stupid, like he always did. It made most of the guys laugh, and from the corner of his eye, Ilya spotted the way Shane’s freckled cheeks scrunched up in a smile, before suddenly falling back down, as if remembering he wasn’t allowed to laugh. Ilya didn’t try to be funny after that.

It didn’t take long for other people (besides their moms) to notice things were off. Ilya could feel the way their teammates kept glancing between them, like they were waiting for something to explode. The whispering was almost the worst, second only to Ilya’s idiotic older brother.

Andrei picked Ilya up after practice one day, waiting in the car as Ilya loaded his bag into the back, and slumped into the passenger seat. The car didn’t move. 

“What, you forget how to drive, or?” Ilya grumbled, more annoyed than he needed to be. But practice just made him pissed lately. Not being able to talk to Shane felt like rot in his lungs, making it hard to breathe. So he took it out on others.

“No Shane?” Andrei had asked back, and Ilya had just rolled his eyes and looked out the window. Andrei rolled his eyes as well, but started the car. “Damn, what happened? You guys break up, or what?”

He had probably meant for it to be funny, but Ilya did not find it so. 

“Fuck you, you fucker,” Ilya spat, so fast and with so much venom that Andrei actually looked shocked for a second. He remembered he was older a moment later, and shoved Ilya’s face into the window as he left the parking lot.

“Don’t be a child,” Andrei said, and Ilya felt ice cold.

—-

They were playing more aggressively than what was probably needed. Two months since they stopped talking, and they were taking it all out on the ice.

“Rozanov! Hollander! You are on the same fucking team, fucking calm down!” Coach roared from the side of the rink, face red,and Ilya could almost imagine steam from his ears.

The smell of sweat was heavy in the cold air, as Shane rolled his eyes and skated away from Ilya with a huff. Ilya clenched his jaw, and tried to breathe through his nose. In. Out. 

Fucking Jessica was in the stands, watching their practice with a few of the other girlfriends. Ilya hated that fucking tradition. Didn’t these girls have anywhere else to be?

The blow came just half an hour later, towards the very end of practice. Ilya had managed to stay away from Shane, focusing on passing with the other guys instead. It was petty and childish, but damn it, he was feeling petty and childish.

Some of the girls had migrated down to the edge of the rink, leaning on the glass. Shane skated up to where Jessica was standing, and Ilya got to watch in real time as she tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, breathed on the glass and drew a fucking heart in the fog. 

Ilya would have smashed his damn stick over his knee, if Morton hadn’t showed up and gently shoved at him. It was a warning. And one Ilya didn’t heed.

The second they began playing again, Ilya was on it, chasing the puck like possessed. Perhaps that was why he didn’t see him. The two, who previous coaches had said almost had a psychic connection on the ice, suddenly blind to the others presence right in front of him.

The crash wasn’t harder than anything Ilya had experienced before. But it knocked him off balance, and suddenly he found himself on the ice, knees framing Shane’s legs and an arm on each side of his head.

Shane’s brown eyes blinked up at him, and the world stopped working for a second. All Ilya could see was the way Shane’s freckles stood out against his blushing face. But he held eye contact, something so unusual for Shane that Ilya felt his stomach vibrating. 

The world was quiet, and smelled slightly like sweat and Shane’s cologne and Yuna’s laundry detergent. Ilya swore he could drown in this smell and die happy.

Instead he got a hard shove to the chest.

“Get off, asshole.”

Ilya tumbled onto the ice, and stayed down as Shane got back up. All he could do was blink up at the other boy, whilst the sounds on the rink came rushing back like a tidal wave. It hurt his ears.

“Watch where you’re going,” Shane muttered.

No one else was speaking or moving around Ilya. They all just stared, like scared animals unsure of how to approach a wounded member of the herd. Ilya wasn’t entirely sure he would try to bite anyone who approached him.

“Fucking watch yourself.” Ilya heard himself say it, even if his brain hadn’t realized it did it. He pushed himself to his feet, pulling to his full height. He still had half a head on Shane, and he was using it to his advantage now. 

Coach was screaming at them so hard he was beginning to look purple, but Ilya’s brain filed it away like background noise. 

Shane turned back to look at Ilya over his shoulder. The red line marking of each half of the ice ran between them, like a physical reminder of the divide they had created between themselves.

“This wasn’t because of me,” Shane said calmly, and Ilya rolled his eyes.

“Of course not. Shane Hollander is perfect and never does anything wrong. Nothing is ever your fault, is it? Fuck that, you know what you did!” Ilya didn’t mean to scream, but here he was. Around them, you could have heard a pin drop. Even the normally loud HVAC system seemed to hold its breath. 

Shane pursed his lips, and Ilya decided to keep going. He was on a path of destruction. 

“You are not so perfect! You stopped talking to me! You went and got a fucking girlfriend! You decided our friendship wasn’t worth it!”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t the one who offered to-” Shane cut himself off at just the right point. 

They were still on the ice. 

Everyone was watching, the team, the coach, the girlfriends behind the glass. But oh, how Ilya wished he would continue. He was the one who offered what? Just say it, his brain begged. His throat felt tight, and he watched as Shane’s Adams apple bobbed. He was feeling the same. Ilya could tell. Could always tell with Shane.

If Shane could just say they kissed. Tell the whole team and his fucking girlfriend that they had kissed and it had been good and perfect and still ruined everything. That it had tilted their worlds on their axis, and ruined anyone else for Ilya, possibly forever.

 But that would never happen. Instead, Ilya watched how Shane gave him a last glance, eyes shining with unspilt tears, before turning and skating towards the locker room. He walked into the dark tunnel, and a second later he was gone.

Ilya stood alone at center ice, and he wanted to die.

—-

They played a game a week later, against some team from Montreal that Ilya barely remembered the name of. He had never felt worse than he did the moment he stepped onto the ice. 

Coach had put them on different lines. Shane was first line centre, and Ilya had been pushed down to second line winger. It was unfair and annoying and Ilya hated it. 

He was gnawing on the end of his stick, not caring how stupid he looked. Shane called him a rabbit when he did it, but Ilya couldn’t seem to stop. The plasticy taste was surprisingly comforting. 

He was following Shane with his eyes, not even trying to pretend he wasn’t. He wanted the other boy to feel his eyes on him. Wanted him to squirm. Shane wasn’t allowed to forget him, just because they weren’t on the same line. 

The intense watching was how Ilya realized, a second before impact, that Shane was about to get hit. Hard. Ilya opened his mouth, not sure if he was going to shout a warning, when the other team’s defender, some guy named Garreth, checked Shane so hard into the boards that Ilya felt his own teeth rattling.

Shane went down, and stayed for a few seconds, before pulling himself up by the wall. Ilya’s ears were ringing and he was seeing red. A few moments later, when Coach called for a line change, Ilya was over the board so fast you would believe death was at his heels.

He didn’t even try to play. Instead, he set his sights on the Montreal defender, who was still arguing with the ref about his check. If he had been thinking straight, Ilya would have realized this was a very bad idea. But he wasn’t. All he could hear was ringing, and his tunnel vision only had eyes for the way too big boy from the other team.

“He didn’t even have the puck, you idiot!” Ilya roared, and somehow managed to squeeze between the ref and Garreth. His gloves were left on the ice somewhere behind him, and two seconds later, Ilya was on the ice as well, fists pounding into the other boy’s face. 

He only got in two good punches, before the ref seemed to remember his job, and pulled Ilya off and away. Ilya thrashed in the man’s arms, shouting words that he couldn’t even tell if they were English or Russian. Probably both. 

The ref was screaming at him, as Garreth got up and spit some blood on the ice. He was missing a tooth. Good.

“You are suspended!” 

The words finally hit Ilya, and he stopped trashing. Fuck. He should have realised this would be the outcome, but damn it. A little unsure, as if he still thought Ilya would set after the defender, the ref let him go. Ilya turned halfway, lips locked tight, and gave the ref a little nod. 

Adrenaline was wearing off, and the world came rushing back to him. His eyes found his mother in the stands first. She had a hand over her mouth, and the hurt in her eyes broke Ilya’s heart a little. He had never fought anyone in front of her before. Gary was rubbing her back slowly, mouth hanging open as well.

Then Ilya turned back towards the bench, where Coach was shouting so much Ilya wondered if his eyes would pop out of his head. Shane was sitting there, gaping at Ilya as if he had never seen him before. Ilya couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. There was something new there, something Ilya had never seen before. He really hoped it wasn’t fear.

For a brief second, as Ilya skated past the bench, their eyes met, and Ilya wondered if Shane was going to say something. His mouth moved, but no words came out, and then he clamped it shut and turned his face away in a hard motion. 

Ilya set his jaw, refusing the tears threatening to fall, and got off the ice. He marched into the tunnel, ignoring everything and everyone. Fuck this shit.

—-

It was almost midnight when Ilya’s cellphone buzzed on his nightstand. The boy himself was in bed, and had been for the past five hours, after his mom had sent him there for his sour mood during dinner. And perhaps also because he was grounded for punching someone without reason and yelling at Gary when he asked about it. 

Yeah, Ilya probably deserved to be grounded. Didn’t mean he had to like it. With a groan, Ilya put down his chemistry book (no time like the present to study for his test, right?), and flipped open his phone. 

It took a second for the screen to light up, but when it did, Ilya froze. 

Shane: Are you okay?

Just a simple question. So simple and yet so incredibly monumental that Ilya almost felt he should be praying. Perhaps he had prayed for this. He wasn’t sure. Certainly dreamed of it. The bed suddenly felt too soft. Too warm and kind. Ilya sprang up.

With shaking hands, he manoeuvred over the keyboard, hands moving in the familiar motions of forming words on such small keys. He swallowed once, reread the three words from Shane for the millionth time in two minutes, then swallowed again, before finally pressing send. 

Ilya: No.

And then, before he could stop himself, he sent another.

Ilya: Are you?

The reply took less than fifteen seconds.

Shane: No.

Well, fuck. Ilya sat heavily down on the edge of his bed, a little unsure of how to proceed from here. What was the protocol when your friend who hadn’t spoken a kind word to you in months suddenly texted and told you he was not okay? Ilya sure had no idea. 

Did he write something more? Ask him to meet up? I was all Ilya wanted. To sit next to Shane, and breathe in the minty smell of his shampoo.

Words rolled around in Ilya’s head. Everything he wanted to say and everything he wanted to do. So much. Way too much for him to ever be able to spell out with the stupid small keys on his dumb little phone. 

Ilya had no idea how long he sat there, staring into the distance trying to form a single sentence that would make sense, when his phone buzzed again in his hand. Another message from Shane.

Shane: Good night.

And Ilya had missed his chance. The period at the end felt final. Like Shane just wanted the conversation to end. Once again, Ilya could never do the right thing at the right moment. Once again, he was too slow. He hated himself just a bit for that. Shane probably hated him too. 

—-

The bell over the door rang out across the coffee shop, loud and slightly off, just like it had been for the past few months after some idiot kids had slammed the door closed with too much force. Ilya hated that stupid bell.

“Welcome, I’ll be with you in a second,” he said to the new customer without looking up, the words so automatic after working at Tim Hortons for two years that he could probably recite them backwards if he wanted. 

Ilya handed the coffee he had just poured to the first customer, then looked up to the next one. He was tired, he was pissed, and if he didn’t desperately need the money for new skates, he would have called in sick and stayed in bed all day. 

“What can I-” The words left his mouth before his brain caught up, and stopped him mid sentence. 

Shane was standing there, a few feet away from the counter, with his hands deep in is pockets. Ilya could see the fabric gathering, and knew from years of friendship that Shane was clutching the lining of his pockets hard. He did it to ground himself. 

For a few seconds, they just stared at each other. Ilya opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. He was vaguely aware he probably looked like a fish. 

“Hi,” Shane said finally, after what felt like forever, and Ilya closed his mouth. He took a deep breath through his nose. Shane shifted his weight, and looked at the floor. “Can we talk?”

After informing his could-not-care-less co-worker that he would be taking his break early, and pouring two cups of coffee, Ilya gestured for Shane to follow him out back. They walked in silence, and found their usual spots on the bench beside the garbage containers. 

The air out here, despite being ice cold from the late October weather, was filled with the warming smell of coffee and cinnamon. The cracks in the asphalt were the same as they had been in summer, but there were no flowers there now. Only browning grass. Perhaps that was a sign of something Ilya wasn’t ready to interpret. 

He thought briefly back to summer. The last time they had sat here, when he had picked that stupid flower and put it behind Shane’s ear, just to see him blush. It felt like years ago.

For a minute, they only sat there, looking out on the empty backlot, and sipping their still too hot coffee. Ilya could feel the uneasiness rolling of Shane like waves off a beach. He couldn’t really sit still, and the hand not holding his coffee was still clutched in his pocket. 

Ilya wasn’t much better, his leg bouncing nervously. He was beginning to wonder if this was all they were going to do. Were they those kind of guys? The ones that shared a drink and didn’t talk about their problems and suddenly all was right in the world? Ilya didn’t like that. 

He had just decided that if Shane wasn’t talking, he would have to do it himself, when Shane spoke up.

“I broke up with Jessica.”

Ilya’s brain ground to a stop like an old machine.

“Ah,” was the only sound he managed to make in response, as his brain began winding back up in record time. By Shane’s next sentence, it was running like a washing machine on a spinning cycle.

“We- uh. It wasn’t quite right.”

“Ah.”

“Just not compatible, I guess,” Shane said, and dared a slow glance over at Ilya. For a second, their eyes met, and Ilya realized this was probably the hardest thing Shane had ever done. It didn’t make him any more eloquent though.

“Ah,” he said for a third time.

“Jesus Christ, can you say anything else?” Shane huffed out a breath. Ilya almost smirked. He loved this Shane. The one he could work up so easily, and who still trusted him.

“Okay.”

“Ilya…”

“Shane.”

“Fuck you.” But there was no venom there any more, and Ilya felt himself smile, as he picked at the lid of his coffee cup. It was probably good to drink now without burning off his taste buds. Ilya didn’t though.

“Yes. Fuck me.” he recited quietly.

“You’re an asshole, you know.” Shane had taken his hand out of his pocket, and was leaning on his knees, both hands cradling his coffee cup. The smell of coffee was curling up between them.

Ilya smiled. “I know.”

Shane took a deep breath, and stared out onto the lot. Ilya stared at Shane. Committing this version of him to memory. Filing him away with every other version of Shane he had ever had the privilege of meeting. Even the angry one.

“Ilya- I’m really sorry. For running away. For being an idiot.” Shane began, and Ilya felt warmth fluttering in his chest. “For throwing away our friendship over- well- nothing really.”

Cold took hold of Ilya again like he had fallen through the ice of a lake, like he did once when he was five. The sudden coldness was so all-consuming and total that it almost paralyzed him. 

“It was nothing to you?” He managed to say, begging his voice to sound neutral and composed. Regular Ilya, not the one who was falling apart at the seams.

“I mean, wasn’t it for you too? It was just a stupid kiss.” 

If Ilya had ever before doubted whether he had feelings stronger than just friendship for Shane Hollander, he no longer had to doubt it. This thing, the wonderful, shaky, scary, beautiful kiss they had shared. The most warm and right kiss Ilya had ever given or received, written off as a stupid mistake.

Ilya cleared his throat. He wasn’t stupid, he knew his options. Play along, pretend it had meant nothing or risk truly losing Shane forever. He had tried that for two months, and knew nothing was worse than not having Shane in his life.

“Sure, yes. Stupid kiss.” He hoped it came off normal. Like the cocky Ilya that Shane was used too. Ilya forced a smirk onto his face, and leaned back. “Two kisses though, Shane.”

“Fuck off.” Shane said, but Ilya could hear he was smiling.

“No. I don’t think you want me too.” Ilya knew he certainly didn’t want to go anywhere.

Shane smiled a little wider, his eyes crinkling at the edges the way Ilya adored, and his heart clenched in his chest. It would hurt. He knew as much. But at least having Shane like this, as his best friend, was an outcome a thousand times better than not having him at all.

Shane leaned back so their shoulders touched, and his dark eyes found Ilya’s lighter ones.

“No,” Shane whispered, with a slight shake of his head. “I don’t ever want you to ever go away.”

Ilya couldn’t help but smile back. He would find a way to live with this. It would be okay. 

“Good.”