Chapter Text
Shane fucking Hollander was standing at his front door in the middle of the night.
Ilya had had dreams that started a lot like this- his mind dangling a carrot in front of him and then yanking up the string before he could sink his teeth in. The nature of his and Hollander’s relationship meant that the two of them always needed to call ahead, take heed and be informative with their impending hookups.
It meant there was, unfortunately, no room for surprise visits like this. Impromptu rendezvous, as hot as they were, were too risky for them. Too dangerous for them.
Hollander knew this. Hollander was the biggest enforcer of this, actually... In fact, he was so goddamn anal about it that Ilya, on many an occasion, had sent minute by minute updates any time he was heading to meet him just to be annoying... But tonight, Ilya’s notifications bank had been as dry as the Sahara.
And yet Shane Hollander was still in front of him all the same.
“Your phone is broken?”
Hollander refused to explain himself, his mouth thinned into a smooth, quiet line. He pushed past him through to the foyer, the orange glow of the lamps hitting his face. Ilya noticed almost instantly that there was a redness around his eyes and nose.
He’d been crying.
…Why had he been crying?
“What is wrong?”
Hollander still didn’t respond. There was a weird sort of defeated look on his face that Ilya didn’t like at all. Montreal had been experiencing win after win lately- the most recent of which being against his very own team. What was there to be defeated about? What was there to cry about?
Concerned now, Ilya moved to put a hand on his shoulder and Hollander just flinched away from it like it was something dirty.
Naturally, this shocked him. Hollander had never been one to shy away from his touch. In fact, most of the time it seemed like he fed off of it- curling into his hand like some love-starved dog with dark, sad eyes. Was he here to call things off between them then? The thought was one Ilya had humoured quite often himself, but it never actually eventuated into anything tangible and real. They were magnets drawn to one another, impossible to separate without a force neither of them seemed capable of applying.
“If you are not here for me to touch you, I am not sure what you want from me, Hollander.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Hollander replied finally, his voice was watery. Weak. He pushed past him and into the open-plan kitchen before them both, his footsteps slow, deliberate and angry. Without any sense of ceremony, Hollander emptied out the bag he’d been carrying onto the counter and about half a dozen little boxes fell onto the marble in light thuds one after the other like cardboard raindrops.
“What is this?” Ilya cocked his head, following after Hollander with a cautious sense of curiosity. “You are, what, grocery delivery driver now?”
Hollander just looked at him impassively.
Silent treatment it was then. Ilya clicked his tongue and picked up the first box to see for himself instead.
A pregnancy test.
Oh. Oh fuck.
They were all pregnancy tests actually. All different brands. All different colours and qualities and mechanics. Very thorough. Very Hollander.
“I’ve felt like shit since the gala in Vancouver.” Hollander elaborated finally. “It didn’t really occur to me that it might be something other than a stomach bug until...” He trailed off, fiddling with his hands. “I don’t know for sure, I just didn't want to be alone when I found out.”
Ilya nodded. For once, he had been completely stunned into silence. He couldn’t think of a single retort in his mind, really. It was all just… white noise.
“We weren’t exactly careful last time… Or the time before.” Hollander hadn’t met Ilya’s stare once since he’d started speaking. “It’s probably nothing but I just want to be sure before my next game... I want to be responsible about it," He looked up at the ceiling, trying to well away the tears brimming in his eyes. "...Can you say something?”
Ilya wasn’t sure if he could, exactly. Every time he tried to open his mouth it was as if there was a gravitational pull keeping it shut. Hollander being out of commission for an entire season, maybe even more, at the height of his career would be torture for him. His entire perfect life’s work put on indefinite hold- perhaps never to return. The concept alone was terrifying but the reality...
Well, no wonder he was crying.
“You can’t have a kid, Hollander.” Ilya said, his voice quiet.
“Yeah.” Hollander sniffed. “I know.”
Seeing him like this was a strange kind of agony to Ilya. It shone a brutal light on the fact that this had stopped being a casual hookup for the both of them a very long time ago. Shane Hollander was now an integral part of his life and he struggled to picture the world without him in it. If this really was still just sex, then Ilya would be able to keep his distance… He would be able to fucking think.
Instead, it felt like his mind was a sea of white noise, lazer-focused on the series of boxes on his countertops.
Swearing, Ilya ripped the box off the nearest tester and held it out for Hollander to take. “Go piss on this.”
Hollander grabbed the plastic stick, half a wet laugh on his lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”
They both pointedly ignored the fact that both their hands were shaking.
Two negatives make a positive.
Ilya wasn’t sure what six positives made… Other than Shane Hollander throw up in his specially imported Japanese toilet.
In all honesty, Ilya was tempted to join him right now. All those plus signs and double lines were about as damning as anything really could be, but even still he couldn’t fully let himself believe the reality of the situation just yet. This was not the kind of fuck-up someone like him ought to make. Ilya was promiscuous but he certainly wasn’t a fucking idiot. He knew better than this, he was better than this. At least, with other people he was- and the only difference between other people and Hollander was that he was Shane fucking Hollander and Shane Hollander was...
Shane Hollander was perfect. A perfect player, a perfect person, a perfect example of someone that should not be dealing with this right now.
Ilya winced, leant against his marble sink as Shane wretched into the porcelain bowl in front of him. It truly was an awful sound, no matter how expensive the toilet was. He grabbed a glass from beside the basin and filled it with water. When Hollander had finally finished throwing up his lungs, he held it out to him.
“Thanks.” Hollander said with a pant. There was sweat clinging to his brow, dripping onto his tanned cheeks like teardrops. Even like this, he was elegantly handsome and Ilya hated it.
“You look like shit.”
“Fuck you.” Hollander let out a sigh, leaning his head against his arms. His eyes wandered over to the half-dozen positive tests still atop Ilya’s marble counter and cursed under his breath. “I was really hoping it was food poisoning.”
“You eat maybe three things.” Ilya replied. “There is no food to poison.”
“Whatever, asshole,” Hollander snapped. “It was better to hope for that than the alternative.”
Ilya hummed. That much was true. Hollander wasn’t much of an optimist- but anyone would try to be in this situation.
“You are going to get rid of it, yes?”
“...Is that what you want?”
“Does not matter what I want,” Ilya replied truthfully. All he really 'wanted' right now was a cigarette. Or a drink. Something. Anything.
“It’s the most sensible option,” Hollander returned. He was still sitting on Ilya’s bathroom floor, knees tucked into his chest like a child.
“It is the only sensible option, Hollander.”
“The season’s basically over though. Maybe...”
“Hollander-”
“I’m, what? One month along? If we start back up in October…”
“Hollander.” Ilya snapped. “Are you seriously considering this?”
“Of course I am.” Hollander replied, haughty now. “I’m not saying you’d have to do anything, Rozanov.” He dusted himself off, rising to his feet. He was still a bit wobbly, still a bit teary-eyed, even as their confrontation escalated- but he never lost his determination. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, really.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“I don’t know anymore.” Hollander looked away, his words seeping in an unhappy bitterness. “I just always seem to end up here.”
That much Ilya could relate to. The pull the two of them felt toward one another- It was almost unconscious, unwitting... This was just another etching of proof that the two of them were too far gone. Too entangled and intertwined with one another to ever be free.
It was frightening... And when Ilya was frightened, he got mean.
“Are you sure it is even mine?”
Hollander seemed genuinely hurt by the suggestion, his big dark eyes fixed on the tiled flooring at Ilya’s feet. For a moment, he looked like he was about to cry again. “It doesn’t matter if it’s yours... Which it is, by the way. You fucking asshole.” He twitched. “But it’s not like we’re together. Whatever choice I make, I wouldn’t ask anything of you.”
Ilya pushed down the immediate regret that was already building in his chest as he looked at him. There was nothing familiar about this. Nothing safe. They were crossing lines that hadn't even been drawn yet.
Hollander nudged his way out of the bathroom, his shoulders hunched and crumpled. He looked so small like that. Frightened too. Just like Ilya.
“Good.” Ilya said coldly, following him out. He kind of felt like he was going to cry too now. He wasn’t quite sure why. “I’m glad you know this.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”