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Ilya was tired. Physically. But on the inside too. The season has been grueling, it’s taken a toll on his body. His mind too. He was exhausted. Drained. He just wanted to rest. To close his eyes. To breathe. To just be. Or not. He was really fucking tired.
It was one of those days. He couldn’t sleep. He was out on the deck, trying so hard not to smoke. He’d quit a while back. Much to Shane’s pleasure. But god, he wished he had a cigarette right now. He inhaled the chilly midnight air. One. Two. Three. Exhale. At least that’s what his therapist had told him to do. It wasn’t working. Not tonight. The voices were far louder than a few breaths to drown them out.
A rare 2-week break in between games mid season found them here, at the cottage. They could’ve just stayed home in Ottawa. But Ilya suggested they come here. He threw it carelessly, a mere suggestion, a hopeful nudge to Shane that he didn’t know if he’d get it. Shane did. He always did. He knew Ilya needed to be here. Near the water. In their safe space. Their first real home. It grounded him. Shane knew that. He saw right through Ilya sometimes that it scared him. Yet, it made him feel so loved. He’d heard Yuna say once that to be loved is to be seen. He didn’t get it. The words did not make enough sense in English to him at the time. They did now. And they continue to make sense every time Shane so much as looked at Ilya.
“Baby?” As if summoned, Shane called from the door. He had a blanket draped over his shoulder, a glass of water in one hand, and a book in the other, his glasses perched adorably on the top of his head. Ilya wanted to hug him. His body wouldn’t let him. He wanted to say something. His body, once again, wouldn’t let him. Fucking traitor.
Shane must’ve noticed. Of course he did, he always did. “You don’t have to talk, okay? Just nod if you want company or flip me off and I’m gone,” He gave Ilya a small smile. Ilya wanted to laugh. He loved playful Shane. He loved the side of his husband no one else got to see. He wanted to flip him off just to fuck with him. He nodded instead.
Shane set the water and his book next to Ilya. He hovered the blanket above Ilya’s shoulder and waited. He didn’t make any moves. Didn’t attempt to touch him. Didn’t say anything. Just waited. Ilya nodded and Shane draped the blanket around his shoulders, still not touching him. He then took a seat next to the water, leaving a small distance between them. Ilya was going to burst from love. Shane opened his book, put on his glasses, and looked at Ilya again. Ilya nodded. Shane started reading.
Shane’s usual reading material consisted of hockey books and self-help books. Until Ilya mentioned off-handedly once that he’d liked fantasy books as a kid. He didn’t find enough ones in Russian since he moved, and he didn’t really have the time to look. Shane hunted down every Russian translation of all the fantasy books he could find for Ilya. Ilya would read them and Shane would listen, practicing his Russian in the process. He also introduced him to audiobooks. He said it would help him with his English, while also being fun. Ilya tried to listen to them at the gym and during workouts, but he always found himself returning to his carefully curated playlists. So Shane started buying his own fantasy books, in English, and reading them to Ilya whenever they both had the time. Late in bed. On lazy days on their couch with Anya snuggled between them. Out on the lake, with Ilya in the water and Shane on a nearby rock, dangling his feet. It was a routine that they’d fell into, like many others they’d found themselves adopting over the years of their relationship. Ilya loved it.
He listened as Shane read. Not fully present to follow the plot or what was happening in the book. But alert enough to hear Shane’s voice. To let it ground him a little. He tried to hear only Shane’s voice, but his mind was still loud enough to not so easily be drowned out. He was still trying, regardless.
He didn’t know how much time had passed. He didn’t even know when he made out here. He just knew it was past midnight when he got of bed. Maybe 2 am? 3 am? He wasn’t quite sure. He heard a loon in the distance. The sound no longer scary, but a grounding reminder of where he was and who he was with, safe, with Shane, in their cottage. tried to listen to Shane’s voice again. He never stopped reading. One of his hands laid palm up next to the glass of water. There, if Ilya needed to reach out, but never moving of its own accord. Ilya was grateful.
In therapy, he talked about Russia. About his mother. About his lonely days in Boston. And even lonelier ones in Ottawa before Shane got here. He talked about everything he has now. A loving husband, who Ilya no longer had to hide. A home, or two, or three, their house in Ottawa, the cottage, Yuna and David’s house. If he was being honest, home was wherever he and Shane were, together. A team that was more like family. And an actual family, Shane, Anya, Yuna, David, Svetlana, hell, even the Pikes. He talked about those things and felt like an ungrateful asshole. Because how can one be so lucky in life and still be unbearably sad? Especially now, with husband right next to him, reading to him in the middle of the night.
His therapist would always tell him that depression doesn’t equal ungratefulness. That he can have a full, happy life and still feel an ache in his bones from the sadness his body carries around. They weren’t mutually exclusive. And on some plane, Ilya knew she was right. He knew that, logically, he was just sick. And he shouldn’t beat himself up, he wasn’t really taking things for granted. However, much like his sadness, he couldn’t help the accompanying guilt. It hurt more than the actual sadness. He’d rather feel empty than carry around this much guilt.
He tried every exercise his therapist gave him to get rid of the guilt. He tried making lists and imagining worst case scenarios and even fucking meditated with Shane at some point. He just couldn’t help it. Every time he looked at his life and felt even a hint of looming sadness, the guilt came rushing in and he’d be stuck in an endless cycle of feelings he didn’t know what to do with, except lug them around until his body gave out under the weight. Like tonight. He’d been feeling it creeping in for a while now, that’s why they were at the cottage. He thought this might help. It might stop them from engulfing his entire being. He was wrong. Or maybe this was inevitable, he just needed to ride it out.
He steadied himself and reached for the water, bringing the glass to his lips in slow, practiced movements. Like he was learning how to drink for the first time, how to carefully hold a glass without spilling its contents. It was pathetic. He did it anyways. He was trying. He could see Shane eyeing him, trying to he subtle. Ilya gave him a small nod.
The water made him realize how dehydrated he was. It helped sober him up a bit. He could hear Shane clearer now. He sounded nice. He always did. Ilya could listen to him talk for hours. He couldn’t believe he ever thought this man was boring. To be fair, it was probably a stupid defense mechanism (therapy lingo he’d come to learn over the years) to help him delay the inevitability of falling for the so-called boring Shane Hollander, but still, Ilya can’t believe he ever looked at Shane and thought he was anything other than perfect. Shane’s voice was smooth, steady, he said every word with precision, making sure to read slowly for Ilya, to articulate long or hard words, to pause for dramatic effect. He sometimes did voices for each of the characters if he was in the mood for it, Ilya usually found it hilarious. Shane Hollander trying to do different accents? Sign him the fuck up. Right now, though, he wasn’t doing that. His voice was soft, quiet enough for Ilya to drown it out if he didn’t want to listen. Even his voice asked consent to exist near Ilya when he was in this state, and Ilya? He didn’t know what to do with all that love.
Ilya set the glass on the other side and reached for Shane’s outstretched hand. Shane looked up from his book and gave Ilya a smile. He squeezed his hand. Shane squeezed back. He continued reading. At some point, Ilya shifted closer to Shane. His body moving of its own accord and deciding that this was enough distance for tonight. Eventually, Ilya had his head on Shane’s lap. Their hands still clasped together. Neither of them daring to let go. Shane continued reading. Ilya’s fingers traced idle shapes on the back of Shane’s hand. Tracing the bruises the season had left there. Shane continued reading. He balanced the book carefully on his knee and used his other hand to card through Ilya’s hair. Ilya let out a sigh. He realized that’s the first sound he’s made the entire time he’d been out here. Shane continued reading.
Eventually, Ilya was starting to get sleepy. His body finally shutting down and deciding it’s time to rest. He gently nudged Shane, still not finding the words to talk. Shane understood immediately. He closed his book, set it aside, and helped Ilya up. Ilya never let go of his hand. They walked together to their bedroom. Shane helped him into bed, tucking him, and then looked at Ilya with a question in his eyes, Ilya nodded, and Shane got into bed with him. He knew Shane would’ve slept in another room if Ilya asked him to and he loved him for it, he also maybe hated himself for it, too.
Shane kept his distance, stuck to his side of the bed. Always respectful of Ilya’s boundaries, always waiting for him to reach out if he needed to, or not reach out at all, Shane was staying either way. Ilya wanted to cry. He didn’t. Instead, he moved closer to Shane, rested his head on his husband’s chest, and waited until Shane wrapped his arm around him, and pulled him closer. That’s when Ilya cried. Shane didn’t say anything, didn’t comment, didn’t ask him to stop, he just let him be. And he stayed. One hand in Ilya’s hair, the other tracing the tattoo on Ilya’s back, the pisces constellation, he got it for his mother, Shane loved it.
They stayed like that for a while. Ilya’s tears falling silently on Shane’s chest, the sound of Shane’s breathing, and the soft touches on Ilya’s skin. Ilya tried to stop, but he knew there was no point, he had to ride this one out, and maybe, in the morning, he could hope for a better outcome, for a day where he could at least talk, thank his husband, tell him he loves him, apologizes, tells him it’s okay to leave if he wanted to, anything, everything. He knew this wasn’t happening tonight, though.
———
Ilya woke up to a cold bed. He didn’t know when he’d gone to sleep. He wasn’t sure when his body had decided that enough was enough and just pulled the plug, he was grateful it happened anyways. He glanced at the clock Shane kept on his bedside table, it was noon, which explains why Shane isn’t in bed. He probably tried to stay with Ilya until he woke up. But Ilya knew his husband got antsy and needed to get up at a proper hour to feel useful, he understood. He probably got up and went for a walk with Anya, maybe got a workout in, probably made breakfast. By the smell of it, Ilya could tell he at least made coffee, to which he was grateful.
Ilya found it easier to get out of bed this morning. Not 100%, but still, progress. He went to the bathroom, tried his best to freshen up, and made his way to the kitchen, where Shane was pouring himself a cup of coffee, his back to Ilya. Anya came up to him, nuzzling his legs, he bent down and gave her a few scratches and a couple kisses. Shane must’ve heard him.
“Hey, you’re awake,” He said with a smile. “Coffee? I could also start on breakfast if you’re hungry? I’ll even make you bacon, real one, not the vegan one you hate, does that sound okay?”
“I love you,” Ilya said. It was the first thing he’d said in over 12 hours.
“I love you,” Shane said back, easily. “So, bacon?”
“I’m sorry,” Ilya continued. “For yesterday, for being such a-“
“Hey, hey,” Shane cut him off. “None of that. I don’t want to hear it. We don’t apologize for our feelings in this house, remember? We never apologize for what we can’t control. We’re here for each other, yeah? You’re here for me, I’m here for you, this is how it works. I don’t ever want you to be sorry for that, Ilya. You are allowed to be. And I’ll be with you for it, if you’d let me,” He made his way over to Ilya, who was still standing behind the counter. He lifted his hand up and looked at Ilya, waiting. Ilya nodded. Shane’s hand cupped his cheek, Ilya leaned into it. “I love you. I married you. We had vows; in sickness and in health. This is it. I signed up for this. I want this. I want you. In sickness and in health and in all the in between. Don’t you ever doubt that, okay?”
Ilya couldn’t find the words. He was overwhelmed with emotion. And for the first time in the past week or so, it wasn’t the bad kind. He didn’t know what to say so he just leaned in and kissed Shane. He hoped it would translate. He hoped it could say everything that his words couldn’t form right now. I love you. Thank you. I’m so grateful you’re in my life. You are my best friend and my person and the love of my life. I can’t imagine doing this without you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
When they pulled back, Shane smiled, resting their foreheads together, noses touching, and whispered. “I know, baby, I know,” Ilya kissed him again.
He might not be feeling 100% like himself, but he was trying. He was present. He was having breakfast with his husband, his wonderful, considerate, caring husband, who was sacrificing his diet to eat greasy bacon with Ilya. His husband who’s been the most supportive partner Ilya could ever ask for, who understood him without words, who gave comfort in ways Ilya didn’t even know existed, who was simply there. Ilya was so in love. In this moment, he was so in love that it was the only feeling he could hold to the front right now, pushing the others to the back, for at least this moment, maybe even this day. Ilya sat with this realization and found himself smiling a little. Shane caught it and smiled back, hooking their ankles together under the table.
Shane’s book was open on the table as they ate. Ilya nudged him with his foot. Shane continued reading.