Chapter Text
Light filters in through the windows, diffused and warm. A beam lands directly across Ilya’s closed eyes making them flutter and then open. The world is quiet and honey-colored in the early morning, like nothing exists beyond the doorway to Shane’s bedroom.
Before he is anywhere close to fully awake, Ilya tucks his chin to his chest so he can look at Shane more fully. Still asleep and using the shirtless captain of the Boston Bears as a pillow, Hollander looks at peace. He looks young and safe. Ilya soaks in the image before letting his eyes dart to the bandage around that vulnerable throat.
Ilya feels like he should be more surprised at the lack of nightmares so far. For both of them really. But they have both been so exhausted that sleep for the past few nights has been entirely dreamless. He’s sure the nightmares will come eventually. That his dreams will be filled with blood on ice and under fingernails. He’s anticipating a lot of red, deep and pulsing. It’s easy to imagine. Maybe this is why he hasn’t had any nightmares yet. His mind can torment him when he’s awake just as well.
Shane begins to stir, taking a deep breath that expands his ribs like a balloon. His whole face scrunches and his toes curl against Ilya’s calves.
“Good morning”
Ilya barely even whispers the words. His lips make the shapes for them but hardly any sound comes out. He doesn’t want to puncture the gentle quiet this day has offered so far.
Shane has no such reservations it seems.
“Good morning” is returned through a yawn and then followed by a hum that seems to move through both of their bodies. Shane stretches all of his limbs as far as he can without sacrificing his position half on top of Ilya. He holds the stretch for a handful of seconds before dropping his arms and relaxing his legs all at once. He is like a puppet with cut strings, draped over his human pillow once again.
Ilya smiles, a small, besotted thing.
“Good sleep?”
Shane’s eyes still haven’t opened.
“Good sleep.”
He does this sometimes, especially when tired. Shane will just repeat words and phrases back to Ilya instead of coming up with his own answer to a question. Still, other times he does this even if there is no question posed. He’ll just move Ilya’s words around in his mouth. Trying to taste how they sound.
Ilya starts to move a hand up and down Shane’s spine, letting his fingers catch along the bump of each vertebra. He imagines music notes ringing out along with the movement, as though this man has hidden a xylophone in his skeleton. It’s a completely ridiculous idea but it makes him grin.
“What are you smiling at?” only it sounds more like, “wha’cha smil’n ad” because of how Shane has shoved his face into Ilya’s pecs.
“How do you know I’m smiling?” He is certain that Shane can’t see his face right now, not with how his nose is mashing into Ilya’s sternum.
A grumbling noise that might be French or just complete nonsense, Ilya isn’t sure, comes out of Shane’s mouth. It buzzes along his skin from how wholly this man has flattened that beautiful face to his body. It all just makes Ilya’s grin broader.
Shane drags his head up and finally squints his eyes open. Ilya is met with a glare that he supposes is meant to be intimidating, but when combined with the wild bedhead and the crumbs of sleep in Shane’s eyes, it just makes him think of a grumpy little kitten. Brand new and already unimpressed with the world.
“I know you, asshole.”
The grin pulls even further along his face. Shane squints harder.
“Just you.”
“What?”
The smile is fully realized now, bright and joyful.
“I was just looking at you” Ilya is still murmuring softly instead of speaking at a regular volume.
The glare melts right off Shane’s face and is replaced with a smile of his own. It’s not as full as Ilya’s but Shane’s smiles are always gentler than most others’. It’s small but no less happy for its breadth.
“oh”
It’s a tiny sound, breathed into the air between them. Shane doesn’t move other than to shift his face to look at Ilya more head on. He cranes his neck up, silently asking for a kiss. Ilya grants him one without hesitation, easy as anything.
Their lips meet for a second, maybe less, before Shane pulls back.
“Ew, morning breath”
Ilya huffs out an incredulous laugh. It’s the loudest he’s been this morning.
“We should brush our teeth then, yes?”
Before the sentence was even all the way out, Shane’s face returned to Ilya’s chest. He gives himself nearly no room to breathe, as if he believes respiration is a need secondary to skin on skin contact.
Ilya just brushes his hand over the soft black strands of hair on top of the head resting under his jaw. He has no complaints about returning to the bubble of quiet he had first woken up to.
It does not last long.
The vaguely French grumbling starts up again. To Ilya’s ears there really is no way to tell if this is a genuine language being spoken into his skin through buzzing lips, or just complete gibberish.
“What is it kotyonek?”
Shane’s head pops up, the point of his chin digging into the muscle padding Ilya’s chest, letting the hand that had been petting his hair slide down to cup the back of his neck.
“Time is it?” the grumbling continues, but now Ilya knows what is being said.
“Sun is coming up. You can go back to sleep”
He assumes Shane will take advantage of the opportunity for more rest. After coming back to his apartment from the hospital he has been drowsy, in part because his body is demanding sleep in order to heal properly but also as a side effect of all the pain medication he’s on.
“Noooooooo…..”
Ilya is smiling so wide now that his eyes are almost squeezed shut.
“Why no?”
The only response he gets is a little wordless whine.
As the days spent in recovery go by, Shane has gradually begun to drop the tough guy act. He is far more willing to voice his discomfort now than he was even 48 hours ago. Slowly but surely he is allowing Ilya to take care of him without first blustering and insisting he can take care of himself.
Ilya drags both of his palms over Shane’s shoulders, passing over the ridge of scar tissue on one side and traveling lower to the dip of his midback. Here his arms cross and pull their bodies impossibly closer. Ilya tries to imagine them both as clay men, wet and moldable, fusing into each other to create one being.
Ilya decides this line of thinking is a bit much, even for him.
“You are hurting?” He leans forward to brush his nose along the curve of an ear. He tries to leave the question free of any accusation or expectation in his tone. Tries to express complete neutrality.
He must have succeeded because a nod is being pressed into his collarbone.
“Okay. You want morning dose?”
Another nod.
“Want me to get?”
Maybe Shane is hiding telepathic abilities and caught some of Ilya’s thoughts from earlier, because his impression of a clay man pursuing fusion in the seconds after Ilya’s last question is honestly quite impressive.
“We go together?”
This suggestion is met with a sigh of relief from the cutest barnacle in the world. Ilya might be biased.
They make it to the kitchen still practically glued together. Most of Shane’s pills need to be taken with food and so the little orange bottles have been living on the granite slab of the kitchen island instead of on a bedside table or in a bathroom cabinet.
Shane is deposited onto a barstool in front of his prescriptions and begins rationing out tablets and capsules. Ilya continues his journey to the sink. He procures a glass, fills it with water, and turns around fully to watch as Shane sorts his meds.
It takes only a few steps to place the glass next to Shane’s spot at the island. Mission accomplished, Ilya hooks his chin over one strong shoulder to watch this new morning ritual more closely. Observing as colorful ovals and white discs are placed into a neat line along the cool stone.
“Smoothie?”
Shane bobs his head to agree. This is not a surprise. What he says next is.
“And toast?” His eyes flick away from his distribution so he can look at the side of Ilya’s face. He immediately returns his attention to the pills.
Ilya resists the urge to pump his fist in triumph or really to react at all. Shane has been struggling with his appetite since his stay at the hospital and has a fraught history with food to begin with. Getting him to eat three times a day with snacks in between has been a battle Ilya was not expecting. Smoothies have become a go to simply because they result in the least resistance. Shane actually requesting food? It feels like a Christmas miracle.
“Hmmm, you want spreads?” Ilya has a moment to worry he pushed too far when Shane goes completely still. His fingers stop sliding pills into size order on the countertop and he stares into the middle distance in silence.
A beat passes. Then two.
“There should be almond butter in the pantry.” Entirely unaware of distress he just caused, Shane returns to his sorting.
Ilya blows out a breath and presses a kiss to the side of Shane’s head, then his cheek, then his sleepshirt covered shoulder. He pulls away in search of nut spread.
When Yuna Hollander arrives at the apartment later that same morning, there is a nature documentary playing at a low volume on the TV. Something about cliff dwelling oceanic birds. Shane is awake but laying across the couch with his head in Ilya’s lap. He’s turned to bury his face into Ilya’s stomach, not even wanting to be tempted to look at the headache inducing screen. Ilya, who has managed to find a shirt to wear before his boyfriend’s mother showed up, turns to greet said boyfriend’s mother.
Before he can even open his mouth to try and say any sort of pleasantry, he is steamrolled.
“Have you two eaten yet?” She is setting her purse on the dining table and pulling out a laptop. Mrs. Hollander continues to pull things out of her bag, mostly sheaves of paper in nicely patterned folders and what Ilya is fairly certain is a stapler. As this continues Ilya’s eyebrows creep steadily up his forehead, increasingly awed by just how much this tiny woman has managed to compress into her handbag.
Shane must have been listening to the noise his mother was making as she claimed the real estate that was his tabletop.
“Is she doing the Mary Poppins thing with her purse?”
“Uh-huh” Ilya nods even though the reference goes over his head. He doesn’t know who the hell this Mary character is but Yuna Hollander is most definitely doing something notable with her purse.
Her magic trick now complete Mrs. Hollander takes her bag and hangs it by it’s straps over the back of one of the dining chairs. At least a fourth of the tabletop is covered with what was just moments ago the contents of the purse. It seems impossible that all of it had fit into that comparatively small handbag.
“Well, your Dad is coming up behind me with some groceries anyway.” She abandons her station at what Ilya now suspects is a makeshift war table and heads towards the couch.
Yuna reaches for Shane first, leaning over the back of the sofa. She ends up with one hand rubbing Ilya’s shoulder and the other in her son’s hair.
“You feeling ok this morning sweetie?”
A single eye cracks open.
“Yeah, just tired”
The eye slides back shut.
Mrs. Hollander doesn’t stop her hands from rubbing slow circles over the both of them, but she does make eye contact with Ilya, raising a brow in question. She is silent but the unspoken “Is that the truth or is he bullshitting me?” is somehow still incredibly easy to hear.
“Is the truth. We ate earlier. He took pain pills and antibiotics. New bandage too.” Ilya knows he’s just relaying this information to a concerned mother but he can’t help but feel like he is reporting to a superior officer. The war table looms heavy out of the corner of his eye.
David Hollander enters the apartment with much less frantic energy than his wife. He appears more mule than man at the moment, laden with grocery bags as he is.
“Good Morning boys.” He is understated where Yuna is an entire presence unto herself. Ilya can’t help but notice how well they complement each other.
Mr. Hollander continues into the kitchen, social obligations met, and begins unpacking his haul.
Mrs. Hollander’s hands are still moving in those soothing circles.
“Do you feel up to helping me with some scheduling? I’m going to work on your calendar anyway but I’d like your input for anything major.”
Ilya has witnessed Yuna Hollander in manager mode several times now. Mostly how she weaponizes her assertiveness and single minded focus with deadly precision. He knows, logically, that she is Shane’s manager but there is still a kind of cognitive dissonance at being reminded of this while she is being so gentle. He is mystified by Yuna the mother and Yuna the manager. It is odd reconcile them as the same person.
Shane is clearly, or at least to Ilya it’s clear, thinking about if he wants to move from the comfortable spot he’s made for himself. Thankfully, his mom also notices this indecision.
“We can work from the couch if you want. Or we can put it off until this afternoon. All I need is for you to tell me yes or no to some sponsor proposals.”
Shane somehow sinks more heavily into Ilya and the cushions under them.
“Couch please. Let’s go ahead and get this done now.”
Shane manages to open both eyes and turn his gaze up to his mother as he says this. She smiles down at him before her hands retreat. She swaps the circle pattern for a quick little rub. Up, down,1,2,3. Like she doesn’t want to break contact too abruptly.
As Yuna glides back to the war table, David emerges from the kitchen. He takes up nearly the same position his wife had just vacated only his hands are still. Not gripping, a grounding weight.
“You can say no if you need to bud.”
It’s said quietly, presumably to spare his wife’s feelings. The effort falls a little short in an open floorplan apartment though. Yuna pauses in her retrieval of her laptop, waiting for her son to respond.
“As long as I don’t look at the screen I’ll be fine Dad.”
Stubborn.
“So long as you’re sure.”
Mrs. Hollander makes her way back to the couch so she can sit on the end by her son’s socked feet.
“We can take as many breaks as you want Shane.”
Ilya begins to search for the TV remote so he can mute the documentary while mother and son work. On the screen fledgling birds are diving from craggy outcroppings in the sheer cliff-face. They plummet towards turbulent and dark water before grasping the concept of flight at the last possible second. Not all of them make it.
Once he locates the remote Ilya turns the Tv off entirely.
He realizes that he hasn’t said anything to either of his boyfriend’s parents since they arrived.
“You have both eaten yes? Had breakfast?”
David Hollander makes himself comfortable in the armchair cattycorner to the sofa.
“Yeah bud don’t worry we did.”
Ilya wonders when he moved from Rozanov to Ilya to Bud. Mr. Hollander calls Shane Bud too.
“Ilya, honey, has anyone from the Bears talked to you about making a statement for the press? People are starting to get concerned online.”
Yuna has opened up her laptop and is typing in a password but she doesn’t even pretend to look at the keyboard. She’s starring intently at Ilya, giving him her full attention.
Shane still hasn’t moved.
“Oh,no. Well, you read that e-mail when we were at the hospital. That was last thing anyone sent me from our front office.” He pauses to think for a moment.
“They said something about a press release then, yes?” Ilya remembers something about the communications team offering to help him draft a statement but no one had been in contact. He’d honestly forgotten about the whole thing.
Mrs. Hollander is making a face. It’s a very particular face. It’s one that Ilya recognizes very well actually, except he has never seen it on anyone but Shane. It’s the face he makes when he wants to call Ilya stupid but is too polite to do so. Ilya likes to see this face whenever possible because if it appears multiple times in the same hour he can make Shane snap and forget all about his Canadian manners.
Seeing this face on Shane’s mother however, is really quite frightening.
“Does anyone but us know where you are?”
An excellent question!
He has no idea.
“Um…”
Shane decides now is the time to show Ilya that he is also making the face. Two Hollanders are turned towards him with identical looks of bafflement. Like they can’t imagine someone this incompetent has managed to survive for so long and are uncertain about his chances of making it any further than this.
The third Hollander in the room has brought out a book from somewhere on his person and started to read it in the time since he sat down. Ilya can’t see the title from where he’s sat on the couch but all prior information he has gathered on one David Hollander leads him to believe that the book is likely very boring. Whatever the topic, it’s interesting enough that Shane’s father has managed to feign obliviousness to the growing indignance emanating from his wife and son.
Mrs. Hollander tries to fold The Face into something gentler for Ilya’s benefit. She is only mildly successful.
“You should probably make some calls today honey.”
Yuna has only known Ilya for a few days. Shane has been putting up with his bullshit for much longer.
“Call your manager and get a hold of your teammates. Now.”
“Ah, yes. I will do this. Texting group chat first is good idea. Let boys know I am ok and I stay as pillow for little longer.”
Shane relaxes the crease in his brow just a smidge. Or maybe Ilya imagines that. Either way Shane has rolled onto his back, head still resting on Ilya’s thighs, as Ilya somewhat franticly searches for his phone.
He finds it in his sweatpants pocket because, despite his avoidance of digital communication these last few days, he wants access to Shane’s oxygen levels at all times. Without his phone he can’t stalk the app measuring all the important little data points telling him Shane Hollander is alive.
Yuna has pulled up a calendar on her computer and has begun reading out dates and times to her son. Ilya tunes out Shane’s responses as he navigates to his messages.
Ilya has had the team group chat muted pretty much from its inception and throughout all of its iterations. This means that up until now he has remained blissfully unaware of the utter chaos his days-long radio silence has caused. It also means he is extremely confused when he opens the chat to find his team seemingly discussing his funeral arrangements.
Marley: does anyone know if rozy was actually religious?
Marley: I know he wore that cross all the time but I cant see him in a church ya know?
Hammersmith: without bursting into flames you mean
Marley: Exactly!
Conners: I still cant believe hes gone
IM NOT DEAD YOU STUPID FUCKS :Roz
Hammersmith: HE LIVES!!!!
Conners: ROZYYYYY!!!!!!!
St Simon: Captain!
Marley: Man where the fuck have you been!?!
Marley: noones been telling us shit!
Ilya suddenly remembers why he didn’t talk to his team earlier.
He doesn’t have a single good explanation for his absence that isn’t the truth. They all watched as he was carted off the ice with Hollander’s throat in his hand. The last anyone heard from him he was in the back of an ambulance trying to save the life of his archrival.
“Lyubimiy, what should I tell them?”
“Hmm?”
While Ilya has his phone in one hand, the other has migrated to Shane’s hair without any conscious input. Eyes shut again, listening to his mom, basking in this tender affection, Shane has no idea what Ilya is on about.
“My team. What should I tell them?”
His eyelids open a sliver to look up at Ilya. The hand hasn’t stopped running through his hair.
“Do they know about you?”
“Know what about me?”
Shane doesn’t say anything more, just keeps looking at him.
It still takes a long moment for Ilya to get it.
“Oh! No miliy they do not know about this.”
Shane rolls his eyes a bit.
“Well not the me of it all obviously, but you? They don’t know you’re Bi?”
“No no they do not need to know this.”
Shane purses his lips. Yuna has stopped typing.
“Would you like them to know? Do you think they would be ok with it?”
Ilya’s first instinct is to shut down this entire line of conversation immediately but he instead takes a moment to consider the question.
Would they be ok with it? Do I want anyone else to know?
“Only Sveta and Sasha know. My brother suspects but he does not matter.”
Shane is wearing The Face again.
“Ilya I’m trying to ask if you want to come out to your team.”
Ilya freezes in place, his hand caught in Shane’s hair.
They talked about this the first night home from the hospital. Not in detail. But Shane floated the idea of coming out to their respective teams and then the world. Ilya just hadn’t expected him to have meant for it to happen so soon.
Shane reaches up for the phone and steals it so he can hold Ilya’s hand. The screen ends up face down on Shane’s chest, vibrating every few seconds as the chat devolves into further pandemonium.
Ilya doesn’t think the team would be outright bigoted if they knew his sexuality. He has implemented a strict no slurs policy in the locker room and on the ice since he took on the role of captain. He knows some of the guys have queer people in their lives that they care about. Siblings, cousins, friends and the like. But he remains unsure as to how they would react to him.
His hand starts to pet through Shane’s hair again. Ilya’s limpet has both hands cradling his own, thumbs rubbing up and down the tendons on the back.
“They would not be cruel, I do not think. Uncomfortable maybe, some of them. Why are you asking now?”
He doesn’t mean to sound accusatory but he’s confused. Why is Shane asking about this now?
Shane doesn’t make eye contact as a rule, but he does generally at least try to look at someone’s face when he talks to them. Tries to fake looking people in the eye so as to not seem rude. Ilya has never cared about this habit but the sudden interest Shane has in their tangled fingers is a bit obvious.
“I want to tell Hayden. And Jackie. About me. A big part of the reason I didn’t tell anyone before now is because if I say I’m gay then they’ll ask if I’m seeing anyone. I would have to say no and then I’d be lying again.” He takes in a big breath and holds it to a count of four.
“I don’t want to lie anymore. Not to the people who are important to me.” Shane, finished speaking, deflates a bit into Ilya’s lap.
Ilya is consumed by the sudden urge to fold this man up as small as he can manage and put him in his pocket. He can feel himself tearing up but just keeps stroking through silky strands of inky black hair, searching for the right words in English. He’s not even sure he could articulate exactly what he’s feeling in Russian either.
Thankfully, before he could put his foot in his mouth, Yuna beats him to the punch.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
The laptop and its many spreadsheets, calendars, and documents has been abandoned. Mrs. Hollander has pulled one of her son’s feet into her lap so she can cradle his ankle. She must have a thing for circles because she rubbing more of them into Shane’s skin. The jut of bone above his sock is being traced by the pad of her thumb.
David’s book has gone the same way as the laptop, in that he has completely lost interest in favor of looking at his son.
“You know we love you kiddo.”
Ilya is really fighting those tears now.
Yuna continues after her husband.
“Shane I need you to know your Dad and I don’t consider you not coming out to us as lying to us. You don’t owe anyone that, not even us.”
Ilya is in the fucking trenches with his tear ducts.
“There is not a single thing you could do that would make us love you less. I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me.”
Ilya feels like his tears can be forgiven, no one else here is dry eyed.
Scheduling continues until Shane needs to get up to pee. Suddenly Ilya is free and has no idea what to do with himself. He had recaptured his purloined phone and proceeded to ignore the team chat once more. He read through e-mails instead, finding that the communications department for the Bears actually had tried to reach him. Somewhat desperately. Oops.
With some input from the Hollanders, Ilya managed to send off a responding message. He gave the department permission to, basically, make some shit up. He let them know that he was taking advantage of the extended bereavement time that management had granted him but otherwise no one got to know jack shit.
Yuna also convinced him to write a draft for a coming out post.
Ilya was resistant incipiently but ended up deferring to her expertise. Her argument being that even if they don’t want to come out to the public right now it would be prudent to have a statement prepared in case they were outed by someone else.
Yuna Hollander is a very smart woman. Ilya knows that, despite knowing her for less than a week, he is positive he is a better person now that she is in his life.
Staring at his open notes app, Ilya tries to assemble his thoughts into some kind of order. This whole morning has been a roller coaster of emotions. Scratch that. This whole month has been a roller coaster of emotions. Ilya is feeling a bit delicate.
Yuna is still clicking away rhythmically on her keyboard and David has returned to his boring reading. With Shane off his lap for the first time in hours Ilya takes to chance to stretch his legs. Standing gives him pins and needles, like he has TV static for legs.
“I’m going to go call Sveta.”
Ilya ends up in the stairwell at the back of the building. It’s nearly identical to the back entrance at Shane’s sex condo and that makes him a touch nostalgic.
His notifications are an absolute circus. Not just the Bear’s chat but his social media too. He continues to ignore them all in favor of opening his text thread with Svetlana.
Svet: Call me when you get this
Svet: Illyusha its been days
Svet: I am so close to hiring a PI don’t test me
The last messages’ time stamp lets Ilya know his oldest friend has had around two hours to find a private investigator to track him down. He is also comepletly certain that she is not bluffing.
The call connects before the second ring.
“ILYA GRIGORYEVICH ROZANOV WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!”
Ah. Full name. This does not inspire confidence.
Best get on with it then.
“Hello Svet.”
“DON’T SVET ME RIGHT NOW! WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU SAFE?”
“Sorry, yes I am safe.”
There is the sound of a deep breath being taken on the other line.
“Ilya.”
Oh dear.
“Svetlana”
An additional deep breath is being taken.
“Ilya tell me where you are and if I need to come collect you.”
Now Ilya will admit he might panic a bit here.
He had a plan. Really he did! Not a very fully thought out one, more of an outline, but a plan nonetheless.
He would apologize to Sveta for his silence before explaining that Jane had been in an accident. He would then let her know that he had remained in Montreal after the game because of this. Ilya knew that she already suspects that Jane is a man. Sveta said as much at his father’s funeral and he hadn’t denied it then. He hadn’t confirmed it either but that hardly mattered.
So yes, he had a plan when he came out to the stairwell.
“I am at my boyfriend’s apartment.”
Shit.
A sigh on the other line.
“Oh my God it’s Shane Hollander isn’t it?”
“How the fuck?”
“No, no this makes so much sense actually.”
Sveta is the smartest person Ilya has ever known. She honestly scares him sometimes.
Well, the cat’s out of the bag. No use in denying it.
“Um no it makes no sense at all. That’s a huge part of why no one else has figured us out.”
For the first time since she answered the phone Svetlana doesn’t sound like she wants to strangle him.
“Ilyusha I’ve known you your whole life. It makes perfect sense to me. I just didn’t know what to look for.”
They both sit quietly with that for a few long moments.
“I still want to know if you’re ok. Is he ok?”
“I’m fine. Stressed maybe. Jane,” he emphasizes the pseudonym pointedly, “Is recovering. Out for the playoffs, but nothing is permanent.”
There is a lull. It feels pointed somehow.
“It's ok to be scared Ilyusha.”
Ilya doesn’t know how to even try to respond to that. He knows Sveta wouldn’t expect him to either.
“Does anyone else know?”
“His parents.”
“How did that happen?"
“Kind of hard to pretend I wasn’t in love with their son when I was covered in his blood in the hospital waiting room.”
“Oh Ilyusha”
“They are very nice people”
“Truly?”
“Mmhm, his mother guilt-tripped coach into giving me time off.”
“Oh my God.”
“His father called me bud this morning.”
“So they’ve adopted you.”
Ilya feels a helpless smile stretch his lips.
“Seems that way.”
"I'm so happy for you Ilyusha."
Even though he can't see her, Ilya knows his best friend is smiling too.