Work Text:
Is Rose Landry Dating NHL Superstar Shane Hollander?
"No," was Ilya's immediate reaction. He hoped it sounded more dismissive to his teammates than shocked. The ache low in Ilya's chest that had started at some point shortly after Hollander had fucking launched himself out of Ilya's apartment like his ass was on fire flared up, making Ilya's hand snap to his sternum.
He rubbed the achy spot while his teammates laughed about Hollander's odds with a gorgeous movie star.
"There are pictures," Victor said. "Look."
Ilya grabbed the phone. He scrolled through four paparazzi photos of Shane having dinner with the stunning, dark-haired celebrity. In one of them, Shane was laughing.
Ilya shoved the phone back in Victor's hands, his throat suddenly tight. "Probably nothing," he managed to scratch out, then he turned and fled, all the way back to his hotel room. His breath caught in his chest, a tight band stopping his lungs from expanding all the way and he bent over, hands braced on his mattress, trying to breathe.
Something horrible was happening to him. It wasn't a panic attack - he hadn't had many, but he knew what they felt like. He didn't have asthma - he was a fucking professional athlete. But something wasn't right, and it had absolutely nothing to do with whoever Shane Hollander was sticking his dick in.
"Fuck," Ilya gasped. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on cold, hoping to shock his body back into normalcy. He stripped off his clothes and shoved his head under the water. It helped that the water sluicing over his face would have made him gasp anyway. Slowly, the anxiety subsided but it didn't take the tight band around his chest with it. He couldn't breathe properly. Maybe all those years of smoking had finally caught up to him.
The band tightened and Ilya coughed hard, rewarded with an immediate flood of relief. He opened his eyes, leaning back, sucking in his first smooth breath, only to have the anxiety wash over him again, like a wave dragging him underwater.
At the bottom of the white porcelain tub sat a small clump of blood-red flower petals.
**
Ilya did not tell the team doctor. He didn't tell anyone. Hanahaki - some googling told him that's what they called it here - they'd had a different name for it in Russia - was nobody's business but his own.
It also wasn't fucking hanahaki anyway, because he wasn't in love with Shane fucking Hollander.
Except that it was, and he was, and he'd known it from the second his first name had fallen from Shane's lips on his own damn couch. But Shane had bolted and now he was dating a beautiful, female movie star so it wasn't like it fucking mattered.
Ilya just had to fall back out of love with him and everything would return to normal. Hollander could marry Rose and they could have seven hundred dark-haired, freckled, unfairly beautiful babies, and Ilya would never think about him again.
**
Four weeks later, Ilya had no choice but to think about Shane fucking Hollander again, because they were on the ice, face-to-face, barely inches apart, and that made it kind of hard to ignore him.
Ilya's throat burned so badly he kept his mouth shut, worried that his normal quips would come out raspy and broken. Or worse: with floral punctuation. He kept his eyes on the puck and won the face off. Hollander, for his part, seemed to want to ignore Ilya just as much. His gaze flickered over him like he wasn't even there.
Thankfully, Hollander's girlfriend wasn't in the friends and family box, but that didn't stop Ilya from thinking obsessively about her the whole game. Was Hollander wearing something she'd given him to bring him luck for the game? Was he going to see her after? That time used to be Ilya's. Games against Montreal used to be his favourite - getting to beat Shane's ass then fuck it til he nearly cried made for some of the best days of his life.
But he'd never get a day like that again, not just because Shane was taken, but because there probably weren't going to be many more days left in his life at all, especially if things continued as they had been. He'd managed to keep it a secret so far, but it was getting almost impossible to do so, especially from his roadie roommates. Every time he got home and unpacked he had to throw out a hidden bag of coughed up flower petals and then spend several hours violently coughing up more - all the ones he'd been holding in on the plane or bus.
He coughed again now, and hid his face behind his glove, making it look like he was wiping his sweaty brow. But there were no petals, so he swallowed down the urge to cough again and focused on the game.
It was a rough one. Still 0-0 when they started off the third and both sides were getting desperate, and more than a little sloppy. Ilya kept pushing aggressively into enemy territory, but the rest of his line was never where he needed them to be, and his frustration was mounting.
Then finally, a shot opened up, and Ilya spun towards the boards, trying to shake off Montreal defense while he lined up to take the corner. But Comeau slipped up behind him and slammed Ilya into the boards, knocking his breath loose.
Ilya braced a hand against the boards, the world spinning for a moment as he struggled for oxygen. He looked up, play continuing without him, and met Hollander's eyes. The pinched concern he found there whipped the last of Ilya's breath from his lungs and his body took over, forcing out the all wretched coughs he'd been fighting to hold in for the last month.
Dark red flower petals sprayed out of his mouth, stark against the sharp white ice, and the arena went dead silent.
At first, Shane thought it was blood and he nearly screamed. Then he realized it was flower petals and his heart nearly stopped instead. Ilya doubled over, hands braced against the boards, Wyatt Hayes all but holding him up, and coughed until tears streamed down his face, little dots of red covering the ice like autumn leaves hitting the early snow.
Ilya was in love, and it was killing him. And there was nothing Shane could do.
They hustled Ilya off and there was a long stoppage while they cleaned the ice. But Shane couldn't get his head back in the game. He wanted to go after him, even though it wasn't his right. He wanted to stay by his side, so he had someone there who knew him while he was suffering.
But he also wanted to grab him by the front of his jersey, shake him and ask him who is it? Who had managed to steal Ilya Rozanov's heart so badly it was tearing his body apart? And whoever it was - why hadn't Ilya told them? Because surely if he had…
Well, they'd have to know now. Ilya had just coughed up petals on live television. This would be big news, and whoever he'd been with since he and Shane had…whatever they had. You can't break up if you aren't properly together to begin with. But they'd…ended things. And two months later, Ilya was in love.
The rest of the game was a blur. As soon as he was back in the locker room, Shane whipped out his phone and searched for news on Ilya. There were a lot of hits, and a lot of speculation, and no actual updates.
He called Rose from his car on the way home. They really had kept up with their promise to be close friends, and she was possibly the only person he could talk to about something like this.
"Hey, hun," she answered.
"Hey. I don't know if you saw what happened at the game?" Shane could hear his voice shaking.
"Oh, no, sorry. I just got home from a press thing. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay, but…" Shane squeezed the steering wheel, forcing himself to focus on the cars around him. "Ilya Rozanov isn't."
"Oh no! Did he take a bad hit? Is he in the hospital? He's Boston's captain, right?"
"No, not a hit. He, uh. He has hanahaki. He coughed up petals all over the ice."
Rose sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh shit. That's really rare. Do you know him well? Is he a friend?"
Shane cleared his throat roughly. "Yeah…I know him." It didn't sound right coming out.
"Shane…" she said softly.
"Sorry, I'm -" Shane choked on his next breath.
"Sweetie, I know you wouldn't want to tell anyone else's secrets, but…is he..?" She cleared her throat. "You know, the peg guy?"
Shane snorted out a shaky laugh. "That's still a really bad analogy."
"I know."
There was a long silence.
"You're right that I can't tell anyone else's secrets," Shane said carefully. "But if there were a guy I'd…spent some time with. Him playing for a rival team would be a good reason why it wasn't going to work out."
"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. Do you know who..?" Rose let the question hang in the air.
"No. We haven't spoken in two months, so maybe he met someone. Or - there was a woman he was close with. Maybe it finally…" Shane had never met Svetlana, but Ilya had mentioned her a few times. She'd be a good fit for him. Hopefully, she'd seen the game and she was on her way to him right now. Whoever it was had to be on their way right now.
"If you guys were…spending time together, though. Couldn't it -"
"No chance. We haven't spoken in a while." Shane thought back to tuna melts. Maybe…if he'd stayed, things would be different right now…But they weren't. If there was any chance of any sort of flame being lit, Shane had snuffed it out that night, and Ilya wasn't the kind of person to wait around moping. He'd clearly found someone new. "And it wasn't like that between us."
"Okay. Do you want to watch a stupid movie together?" Rose asked.
Shane glanced at the clock. It was way too late, but it wasn't like he was going to sleep anyway. "Sure. Give me a chance to change and get settled and I'll call you back. Pick something really stupid."
Every time Ilya closed his eyes, he saw Shane's horrified expression as flower petals sprayed all over the ice. Ilya had to admit, he'd had more than one fantasy, during the first month of petals, before the Montreal game, that he'd find Shane, tell him, and Shane would admit to loving him back.
Sometimes he even thought about if the last time they'd seen each other had gone differently. If he'd found the right words to say - or not fucking say - if Shane would have stayed. It was stupid to think that waking up in the same bed together would make Shane love him when he clearly didn't. But sometimes, Ilya indulged in the fantasy. Even if it made the coughing worse.
But now when he tried, all he saw was Shane's face at the game. It was clear he'd figured it out immediately. His expression of panic wasn't entirely unlike the one he'd been wearing when Ilya had let his first name slip out and he'd evaporated out of Ilya's apartment - and life. Shane knew, and just like that night, his reaction had been to stay as far away from Ilya as possible. He hadn't even texted.
Plus he had a fucking girlfriend.
Ilya tortured himself further, wondering if Shane had told Rose Landry, wondering if they laughed about him or worse, pitied him.
On a particularly self-indulgent night, Ilya sat fully clothed in his shower enclosure, with the water off, scrolling through Shane's social media, a halo of red petals staining the tile around him. It was getting really fucking hard to breathe.
Shane's stomach was a mess and his heart was doing double time as he walked into the hotel bar. He hadn't seen Ilya since the game. He'd blocked all mentions of him on his notifications, not sure he'd be able to handle seeing pictures of him with his new partner. But this would be the first time they'd seen each other since Ilya's hanahaki had gone public.
Shane couldn't help scanning the room for Ilya's familiar curls, but he wasn't there. Shane didn't know if he felt relieved or disappointed. None of the other Voyageurs were at the All Stars, so Shane hovered around for a bit, saying hi to the players he knew. His rounds eventually led him to the bar where Mike Brophy was sitting.
"Hi, Hollander. How's it going?" Brophy offered a fist bump.
"Not too bad. You?"
Brophy shrugged.
Shane pretended to glance around the room, like he was adding everyone up. "Where's Rozanov?" he asked, hoping he sounded indifferent.
Brophy frowned. " I thought you would have heard. He's on IR," he said tightly. "It's…he's not doing very well."
"What?" Apparently Shane blocking Ilya related content on his phone had filtered out some pretty critical information. "What do you mean? Didn't he tell the person?"
Brophy shook his head. "I talked to Cliff the other day and apparently he won't tell anyone. But it's getting worse. They got him some meds and he came back and played for a bit, but…"
"What the fuck? I -" Shane realized his reaction was getting too strong for someone who barely knew Ilya. He forced himself to calm down. "Shit That's awful. I was looking forward to playing with him."
"Everyone's still hoping it'll…"
"Yeah." Shane swallowed hard and walked away, unable to keep his composure any longer. He ducked into a quiet part of the locker room and dropped his face in his hands, breathing slowly so he wouldn't throw up. All this time, he'd assumed Ilya was happily in love with whoever it was. But instead he was wasting away, coughing up flower petals?
And Shane had known and hadn't even bothered to text him to ask if he was alright. Fuck.
Well, fuck that.
Shane played the game like the more goals he scored, the faster he'd be able to leave. As soon as it was over and he was finished with his All Star obligations, he took a car to the airport and did the math on flights. The only direct that day was fully booked, so his best bet was to stick with the flight to Montreal he already had, then drive. He dumped his bag at home, changed into a clean shirt, then grabbed his car keys.
The drive to Boston was too long and gave him too much time to think, too much time to worry. What the fuck was Rozanov playing at? He pulled up outside Ilya's condo building and couldn't help but remember the last time he'd been there. Despite spending the last two months trying to forget it, it was seared into his brain. The way Ilya had touched him, kissed him, said his name…Something in Shane had twisted out of place that day and he didn't want to think about why. Especially now that Ilya was quite obviously in love with someone else.
But this wasn't about Shane's feelings, it was about making sure Ilya didn't suffocate on flower petals all because he was too stubborn to admit he was in love.
Shane marched up to Ilya's door and banged on it repeatedly. When it didn't immediately open, he banged on it again. He looked down at his phone, wondering if he should call - wondering if maybe instead of driving down here like a lunatic he should have just called in the first place, and then realized it was two in the morning.
"Shit."
The door sprung open and Ilya was standing there. He looked awful. His chest heaved with every breath like he was pulling it through a straw. He had dark bags under his eyes and he'd lost muscle mass, making him look gaunt and shaky. He blinked at Shane like he was an apparition manifesting at his front door.
Ilya stood there, leaning half his weight on the doorframe and stared. Hollander was standing, pink-cheeked and tousled, in his hall, in the middle of the night. "What?" Ilya said, and words started spilling out of Shane like an avalanche.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" was about all Ilya was able to catch before it became too fast-paced and too high-pitched to translate anymore.
When the room started to spin a bit, Ilya turned, leaving the door open, and walked back into his apartment, wondering if Hollander would possibly just fuck right off and let him go back to struggling to sleep for more than an hour at a time, but instead Shane followed after him, still yelling. He swung the door behind him as Ilya leaned a hand against the wall to steady himself.
When Shane paused for breath, Ilya blinked up at him. "What - the fuck - are you doing - here?" he managed between gasps for air.
"Holy shit, Ilya," was all Shane said and then his eyes welled up with tears.
Ilya coughed and petals fluttered down and landed on the ground between them.
Shane stared at them hopelessly, like there was something he should do about it. He probably wanted to sweep them up like a good, polite, Canadian boy. "What are you doing? Didn't you tell them? You can't just let yourself waste away!"
"What do - you mean?"
"Tell the person you're in love with!"
"What makes - you think I haven't?" Ilya couldn't quite manage to summon his usual smirk.
"Because nobody in their right mind wouldn't love you back," Shane blurted out, then he turned hot pink from his chin to the tips of his ears.
Fuck, he was beautiful. Ilya coughed again, spraying more petals everywhere. His apartment smelled like a Lush boutique had sex with The Body Shop but he couldn't be fucked to clean them up anymore. "I know he doesn't. There is no point. He is - with someone else."
Shane's whole face scrunched up. "You can't fucking die, Ilya. You can't."
"You came all the way - here. To tell me that?" Ilya sat down hard on the arm of his couch, everything going dizzy for a moment. "Why not? Because then you - will have to be first - in the league - and that is - too gross?"
Shane's brow crumpled in and for a moment, something like fury flashing across his face, and Ilya actually thought Shane might punch him, but instead he shouted, "Because I fucking love you!"
Ilya's next breath in was completely clear.
He stood up and took in another breath, deeper this time. His muscles ached from lack of use, but there was no catch. The tight band had snapped into nothing. He stared at Shane..
Shane's eyes flicked down to Ilya's expanding chest and slowly widened as he realized what had just happened. "You - You've gotta be fucking kidding me -"
Ilya reached out and grabbed the front of Shane's jacket in one hand and pulled hard. Shane stumbled forward into his arms and their lips met in a frantic, desperate kiss.
Ilya tipped backwards and Shane landed on top of him. They both squirmed backwards until they were flat on the couch, Shane's weight pressing Ilya into the cushions. Ilya took another deep breath in, his lungs expanding to their full capacity. The extra oxygen was making him dizzy, but he was wasting it all kissing Shane, so it didn't matter. Ilya's hands skated up under Shane's shirt, trying to push it up over his head, but Shane didn't seem to want to break their kiss, his tongue darting between Ilya's lips. Ilya tugged, and Shane twisted and they tumbled off the couch onto the floor.
"Oof," Shane hit the ground, stared at Ilya for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"Bed?" Ilya asked.
"Yeah, I don't think we fit on your couch."
"I will order a bigger couch later. Come." Ilya pulled Shane to his feet and dragged him down the hall to his bedroom. He turned, pulling Shane against his chest, then tipped him down on the bed, Ilya falling on top.
He took a moment to just admire the view, because now he could, because now it didn't matter if his feelings were obvious in his expression. Shane loved him back. "I love your fucking freckles," Ilya admitted.
Shane opened his mouth to say something, but Ilya never found out what it was, because he swallowed his words in another searing kiss.
But as quickly as the heat flared up between them, it softened, and Ilya found himself just breathing, holding Shane, their foreheads pressed together. He knew they needed to talk - for one thing, Shane had a fucking girlfriend - but the chemical rush of relief pounding through him was almost too much to handle.
Even if this was all he got, just knowing Shane loved him back would be enough.
Shane's head was spinning. When he'd charged up to Ilya's house tonight, he'd been expecting to yell at him until he agreed to tell whoever he loved instead of being a stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot. He hadn't even known he'd loved him back until the words were flying out of his mouth.
Everything bubbled up like a pot boiling over and Shane shoved his face in Ilya's pillow and pulled air through the down until his breathing slowed to normal. When he no longer felt like he was on the brink of an emotional meltdown, he sat up and glared at Ilya. "You are such a goddamn idiot."
'Me? Why am I the idiot?"
"You knew it was me and you didn't even call me to check and see if maybe you didn't need to fucking die."
"You have a girlfriend, Hollander. I just thought -"
"I don't have a girlfriend."
"What?"
"Rose and I dated for like three weeks and it didn't work out. I wouldn't be here making out with you if I had a girlfriend."
Ilya took a moment to visibly process that. "Why didn't it work out?"
Shane spluttered and then punched Ilya hard on his shoulder. "Because I'm fucking in love with you!" There was a pause. "And I'm pretty gay." He stared off into the middle distance, trying to figure out how his life had led to this moment. "What the fuck is happening right now?" He turned to Ilya. "You really had hanahaki…for me?"
"Yes. Who else would it be? Fucking Scott Hunter?"
"I don't know, maybe someone you actually like?"
Ilya just stared at Shane, and there was something in his eyes, like he was trying to put something into words that wouldn't be pushed into an articulate shape, and Shane couldn't stand him looking that sad, so he leaned over and kissed him. It was a soft, careful kiss, like the one they'd shared after tuna melts. A kiss with no heat. A kiss just for the sake of kissing someone, and Ilya leaned into it so eagerly that Shane's heart skipped a beat. "I do like you," Ilya said, like it was a bigger confession than love.
"This is insane," Shane whispered.
"Yes. Was always insane. But nearly dying has maybe given me a new view on things."
Shane let out a tight, shaky breath, wondering if now his lungs were the ones that weren't working right. "Don't ever do that again."
"Fall in love with you?" Ilya asked, eyes twinkling.
"Almost die," Shane choked out.
"I will probably die some day."
"A long, long, long time from now and preferably from old age instead of fucking stubborness."
They stared at each for a long time.
"When was it for you?" Ilya finally asked, almost shyly.
"When was what?"
Ilya half-shrugged. "When you fell in love with me."
"Oh." Shane brushed his hand back through his hair and stared at the ceiling like it held the answers. "I don't know. I think I spent a long time trying to convince myself I wasn't. I think Rose was one of the ways I tried." He let out a long slow breath, and Ilya's hand traced the movement of his ribs contracting. "I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"If I'd said something earlier, you wouldn't have had to suffer for so long."
"I am sorry too. You were right. I should have called you and told you. Even if your answer was no, is still better than dying without trying."
Shane smiled and rolled over so he was on Ilya's chest. "Actually could you repeat the part where you say I'm right? I wasn't recording." He pretended to reach for his phone and Ilya smacked his hand away then wound their fingers together.
"Good. Will be the only time you hear that."
Shane pressed a kiss to Ilya's neck. "So how is this going to work? Do you - I mean I guess I assumed you being in love with me means you want to be together, like in a relationship, but maybe that's stupid of me."
"Is not stupid." Ilya's fingers ran up and down Shane's spine. "I want everything when it comes to you, Hollander."
"Okay. I want that too." A tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding onto slipped away out of Shane's frame. "Okay. Well. I guess we'll figure it out as we go along."
Ilya used a hand on either side of Shane's face to draw him up for a kiss. "I guess we will."
"One rule," Shane breathed.
"Yes?"
"The only flowers you're allowed to give me from now on better come in a damn vase."
Ilya burst out laughing. "As long as you love me," he murmured against Shane's temple, and Shane could feel Ilya's smile against his skin.