Chapter Text
Bored doesn't begin to describe it. Nauseatingly restless, maybe. Ilya has never felt more useless. He's considered going back to Russia for the last ten days of his purgatory, because at least there he'd be put to work.
There's not nothing he can do in Boston without playing. He's pushing himself hard in training, but there's only so much skating a man can do in a day before a man's coach tells a man to go home for the day.
It's mainly the endless boredom at home alone that makes him text Shane constantly, even when Shane can't text back right away. He watches the terrible 'Shane Hollander's Cottage Retreat' documentary six or seven more times, wishing they'd shown his bedroom or bathroom for Ilya's greedy gaze, but at the same time glad that no one else got to see that intimate space either.
He's also been watching every game, either the Bears or the Voyageurs. Mostly the Voyageurs. For research, so he can soundly defeat Shane the next time they play. Boston is aiming to have Ilya back on the ice in time to play the Admirals just a week before playing Montreal.
Lily: Hollander make this game more interesting
Lily: Please I am dying
Lily: Score one fucking goal
Of course, Shane didn't text back until well after the game had ended.
Jane: Fuck you
Jane: You were watching?
Jane: I mean, not Boston?
Lily: Why would I watch Boston? Most interesting and sexy player is not playing
Jane: Ha ha.
Jane: Or Admirals, you're playing them soon
Lily: Went to archeology museum yesterday
Lily: Saw enough fossils already
Jane: You went to a museum?
Lily: I am so bored Shane
Jane: I'm omw to Hayden's house for a bit
Jane: They're really sad about my breakup with Rose
Jane: Probably because Jackie never got to meet her
Lily: Jackie is Hayden's wife?
Jane: Yes
Lily: I feel bad for her
Jane: Fuck off
Jane: Why
Lily: Hayden has so much trouble finding net
Lily: Must have trouble finding other things too
Jane: Bye.
Ilya laughs, sends a kissy emoji, and tosses his phone aside to watch Shane Hollander highlights on YouTube. For research.
Jane: How are you feeling?
Lily: Still bored.
Jane: I mean physically
Lily: Physically bored
Lily: Come to Boston to kiss it better
Jane: You wish
Lily: Yes
Shane flinches at the noise of his blender starting, as he always does. Maybe there's a quieter blender on the market, or one that starts slower so it's less jarring. When his smoothie is done, he takes it out to his balcony to drink.
Jane: When do you get back?
Lily: Saturday
Lily: We are playing Admirals
Jane: You need to find different chirps for Hunter
Lily: But he gets so mad at old man jokes
Jane: He's literally three years older than us
Lily: Does not matter
Jane: You're an asshole
Lily: ;)
Lily: We should have phone sex
Shane blinks at the message for a minute, wondering how phone sex works, and how much he'd have to say. Usually Ilya does most of the talking, and Shane doesn't need to say much when they're together.
Jane: Maybe
Lily: You are scared
Jane: I'm not scared
Lily: Maybe I talk and you let me hear you moaning when you finger your ass
Shane takes a long drink of smoothie.
Jane: I have to go to practice now
He chews his lip for a minute, wondering if Ilya will push again. Wanting, a little bit, for Ilya to push again.
Lily: When will you be home?
Jane: After dinner. Like 8
Lily: Okay
Lily: Think of me;)
Rolling his eyes, Shane pockets his phone. He will, whether he likes it or not. He lets out a shaky exhale. He wouldn't mind letting off some steam after a long day of training.
It's an off-night, Scott tells himself.
He'd spent five minutes stewing in the penalty box watching Rozanov play like he hadn't been knocked out cold a few weeks ago. Maybe he didn't remember it.
Scott usually knew how to not let Rozanov get under his skin, but he must be out of practice.
Back on the ice, Scott refocuses on the game, and scoring, and not Ilya Rozanov winking at him, cheek still red from Scott's fist, like he knows all of Scott's secrets.
He probably does. Rozanov always seems to know everything about people. He'd probably forgotten everything when he got knocked out, only to figure it all out again at the beginning of the game. Fucker. Scott loses the face-off. Rozanov is in a monstrously good mood.
"Did you enjoy my vacation?" Rozanov calls out as their teams leave the ice. "Sorry I had to come back and steal cup from you again."
"Fuck off, Roz." Scott said. If Rozanov was slightly less of a dick, Scott might have said something along the lines of 'Glad you didn't die, man.' But Rozanov is a dick, so Scott doesn't say it. Rozanov looks like he'd read Scott's mind anyway. He blows a kiss before stepping off the ice.
Scott rolls his eyes, ready to go home to his… well, Valentine's date. His lips lift a little at the thought.
"Hollander!" J.J. shouts as soon as Shane reaches the dressing room after talking to the press.
"Jesus, what?" Shane says, but J.J. doesn't need to say anything, the answer is sitting very boldly in his stall. "Uh–"
"So who's Lily?" J.J. asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Shane scowls at him as he plucks the note from his hands. What the fuck is Ilya thinking with this?
Because boys deserve flowers too
xoxo Lily ;)
Fucking Rozanov. Shane picks up the massive bouquet — sixty roses? Really?
"No one." Shane says quickly, trying to figure out what to do with the flowers. Ilya is a nightmare. Shane can't wait to crash into him on the ice. J.J. doesn't let up until they're geared up and headed off to play.
When Shane bends over the face-off circle, Ilya is already grinning.
"You're an asshole." Shane says, and Ilya laughs.
"Is nice, yes? You like this color?"
"Fuck off." Shane mutters. He does like the color – orange, but not too gaudy. He wonders if Ilya went to a florist himself to buy them, or if he'd ordered them online. He likes the first idea better. At least they weren't red.
The puck drops, and Shane takes off with it.
Each time he slams Ilya into the boards is a little electrifying, especially with how delighted Ilya is when they collide.
"Still bored?" Shane asks as he swipes the puck.
"Yes, this is all you got?"
Shane snorts, taking off across the ice, Ilya hot on his trail.
After the game, when Shane has lugged his massive pile of roses back to his SUV, he gets the expected text from Lily.
Lily: Be there soon;)
Shane smiles at the screen even as he dumps the roses into his trunk. He wonders if he'd like Ilya more or less if he wasn't such a dick.
His phone dings again after he's started the engine, and he glances down—
Rose Landry: 😉😏🍆🍑
Shane: Shut up!
Rose Landry: Have fun 😘
Grinning, Shane pulls out of his parking space and heads toward his second apartment.
He has just enough time to get inside and change clothes before Ilya texts for Shane to let him in.
Ilya has one foot through the door when he notices what Shane's wearing. He only freezes for half a second before he has Shane pinned to the wall, fingers twisted in Shane's hair and teeth on his throat.
"Christ, Hollander." He growls against Shane's skin. "You are trying to kill me."
Shane laughs as Ilya's hands find Shane's skin under the sweatpants and T-shirt Shane had stolen from him in November.
"Sorry, did you want these back?" Shane teases, and Ilya growls again, crushing Shane against him.
"No."
"Bedroom." Shane says, and Ilya lets Shane go up a whole two steps before burying his face in the small of his back, arms tight around Shane's hips.
"You look so good." Ilya says – whines, really – nosing his way past the shirt to kiss Shane's skin. "Fuck. Okay, is enough."
"You sure?" Shane asks, turning in Ilya's arms and pulling on his hair to tip his face up. Ilya's eyes are dark, his chin pressed against Shane's stomach.
"Run fast or I will eat you out on stairs."
"You're a monster." Shane says, and Ilya snaps his teeth at him. Shane shoves him hard, and takes off as Ilya's back hits the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Ilya laughs, footsteps just behind Shane's as they race to Shane's apartment.
Ilya seems to know his way around Shane's apartment, though, he supposes, it's not a very difficult layout to navigate. He half-tackles Shane to the bed, immediately getting back to biting and sucking on Shane's neck.
"You're gonna mark me up." Shane says a little breathlessly. Ilya hums in agreement, but pulls back with a final kiss.
"Will be gone by morning." He says. "Turn around."
He lifts off Shane enough for him to roll onto his back, and Ilya shoves his hand into Shane's sweatpants, lowering his head for a kiss.
"You kept my clothes when you were dating Rose Landry?" He asks in a low voice. Shane swallows. Shrugs, gasps, his hips lifting as Ilya teases the tip of his cock with his thumb.
"I kind of didn't know what to do with them. It wasn't like I thought I'd be seeing you much."
"Did you ever wear them?"
"Yes." Shane admits as Ilya strokes him. "Like… a couple times."
"Really?" Ilya asks, his voice coarse. Shane had a feeling he'd like seeing Shane in his clothes.
"They're comfortable sweatpants."
"Mm…" Ilya sucks on Shane's earlobe lightly. "I think so too. Come here."
Ilya has Shane turn onto his stomach again as he slides down toward the end of the bed, pressing kisses down Shane's spine.
"You looked so good on ice… Especially when I beat you."
"Fuck you."
"Mm, please."
Ilya strokes two fingers over Shane's hole, then his tongue. Shane's head drops to the bed as he grips the sheets so hard they creak against his nails. Ilya is so good with his tongue. Shane struggles not to thrust against the bed as Ilya eats him out.
It's an incredible buzzkill when Ilya's phone starts buzzing.
Shane tilts his head enough to see Ilya decline the call without looking at the screen. The name that had flashed across the screen is in Cyrillic, and Shane doesn't know if it's because Ilya's phone is still set to Russian, or if the person's name was saved in Cyrillic to begin with. Either way, he can't dwell on it long, because Ilya presses a finger inside him. Or, he starts to, and his phone is ringing again, vibrating against the floor.
"Do you need to get that?" Shane asks. Ilya makes a noise.
"If it rings again, probably." He says, declining the call a second time. He looks up at Shane, and they both know it'll ring again. Ilya kisses the back of Shane's thigh and stands just as it starts.
"It's okay, go ahead." Shane tells him. "I won't know what you're saying anyway."
Ilya mutters a curse under his breath, but turns away to answer. Shane hears a name – Andrei – but can't make out anything else. He hasn't told Ilya that he's trying to learn some Russian. Just a few phrases, and just to surprise him. Something fun.
After pulling his pants back up, Shane lays back against the bed, collecting his own phone for something to do, wondering how long a call with someone in Russia will take. Ilya's voice is tense, and Shane hasn't heard enough Russian in his life to know much beyond that.
Ilya paces from the foot of the bed all the way to the still-unfinished kitchen, around the living room, stops in the hallway, getting more animated, then continues back toward Shane at the bed. He slowly turns, and takes the same route again. His eyes are on the floor, his free hand either gesturing or dragging through his hair. The next time he's in the bedroom, his shoulders are tense, and he pauses to drop his forehead against the door frame.
Shane hears him say, loudly, "Nyet, Andrei," but it's all he can pick up on.
It seems like things might be calming down, and Ilya moves to the side of the bed to sit by Shane, one hand on his calf, still staring at the floor as he listens to the voice on the other end of the call. He's barely sat down before he lurches upright again, this time walking toward the bathroom, flicking the light on, but standing just inside the door. This is where he finally ends the call – finally, though it's only been about six minutes – and falls back against the wall, head tipped back to stare at the ceiling.
Shane goes to him there, standing just out of reach as Ilya restlessly taps the edge of his phone against his leg.
"I knew I should have gone to Russia." He says tightly.
"When? After you got injured?"
Ilya tilts his head to see Shane.
"After All-Star Weekend, before I was playing. I was doing nothing here."
"Well." Shane says with a frown. "You were recovering."
Ilya rolls his eyes, lifting off the wall.
"This is not what I want to spend my time with you doing."
"Ilya–"
"You got dressed up for me, too." Ilya says, falling dramatically across the bed and gesturing Shane closer. Shane crawls over him before straddling his chest, heads planted beside Ilya's head. Ilya holds on to Shane's thighs. "You should sit on my face."
"Do you want to talk about… any of that?"
"No." Ilya says immediately, turning his face to kiss Shane's wrist. "Is just family business."
"Your brother?" Shane asks, because Ilya said a name, and it seems un-Russian to call a parent by their first name. It's not San Francisco.
Ilya sighs, running his hands up to Shane's hips, tugging on the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Yes. Andrei. He is taking care of my father."
"He's sick?"
"My stepmother is looking for money. Andrei is looking for money. My Father doesn't remember who he is. Is very…" Ilya looks off to the side for a moment, looking for the right word. "Tense."
"Sounded tense." Shane says. Ilya nods, taking Shane's hand from the bed to kiss the palm. "Your dad has dementia?"
"Al'tsgejmera." Ilya says. He blinks as he tries to come up with the English translation.
"Alzheimer's." Shane suggests.
"I think so. Mind disease, he forgets sometimes, sometimes he is okay. But is getting worse. Of course."
"That's awful."
"And so, with my family falling apart… I was here, doing nothing."
"Recovering." Shane says again. "You would've been there for, what, six days?"
"I could have gone for ten. By the time I thought of it." Ilya says. He runs both hands over his face.
"What about your mom?" Shane asks, and Ilya stops moving for a second. He folds his hands behind his head, looking up at Shane before speaking.
"She is dead."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"Long time ago."
Shane cups Ilya's face with one hand, brushing back his hair with the other.
"You are too sweet to me." Ilya says. Shane's mouth twists.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
Shane wonders for how long Ilya's known of his father's illness. How often his brother calls, or his stepmother. Ilya's never mentioned any of them, and has always brushed Shane off when he asks about Ilya's family. He had no idea Ilya's mother had died.
"You are thinking too much." Ilya says, pushing himself out from under Shane like Shane isn't a two hundred pound man sitting on his chest. "Come on–"
"Do you remember them?" Shane asks. "I mean, obviously–"
"Yes." Ilya says, frowning. "Not everything. But enough."
"Do you remember more than you did before?"
Ilya shrugs non-committally.
"I remember how to tell you to suck my dick. In English."
Shane rolls his eyes, but moves down Ilya's body anyway. He's learned more about Ilya tonight than he had in almost a decade. Or rather, he's learned more about Ilya's life than the past decade.
He settles in comfortably between Ilya's legs, pulling out his cock to give him a long, thorough blow job. Ilya's fingers thread through his hair, his other hand clasping Shane's shoulder like a lifeline.
When he's finished, he starts to get up to return the favor, but Shane climbs onto him again, dick in hand to come on Ilya's chest. Ilya's hands slide up Shane's back, drawing him close for a very tender kiss. Shane pulls back just slightly, and Ilya has that look in his eyes that had sent Shane running four months ago. He leans in for another kiss.
"Stay here." Shane says, and Ilya tips his head back into the pillows and nods slightly. Shane climbs off the bed to get a washcloth to clean up. Ilya has his eyes closed, arm across his forehead when Shane gets back. "You okay?"
"Mm…" Ilya says, and doesn't elaborate. "I need to go."
Shane looks at the time, and Ilya's right, he does need to go, but… He'll be alone, won't he?
"Can you be a little late for curfew?"
Ilya looks lazily up at Shane. For a minute, Shane thinks he'll agree to it. But then he shakes his head.
"I am already letting down team. I have to get back."
"Ilya, you're supposed to take time off when you get a fucking brain injury that was so bad you lost your memory and the secondary language you've been speaking for over ten years."
"Haven't you heard, Hollander?" Ilya says teasingly. "I am special."
"Right." Shane says dryly.
"Was my fault anyway. I did to myself."
Shane hadn't spent much time thinking about it. That Ilya had been in such a state he actually sought out… pain? Hockey players inherently seek pain to an extent, but Ilya had gotten himself really hurt, and Shane hadn't really thought of it that way.
"Do you remember why you–"
"No." Ilya says, and Shane knows he's lying, and Ilya knows Shane knows. They both pretend to believe it. Ilya rolls off the bed, picking up his shirt and jacket from the floor, dressing quickly.
"How did you know so much about me?" Shane asks when Ilya opens the front door to leave. He's not sure what answer he's looking for. "You just… you seem to remember everything about me."
Ilya half-turns, looking at Shane over his shoulder.
"I read in news articles." He says calmly. Shane gives him a look. A very gentle smile starts to form. "I found you in my home. Pieces of you."
As far as Shane knew, the only thing he'd ever left at Ilya's house was his underwear. Everything else was Ilya. Shane smiles back.
"Text me when you get to your hotel."
"Yes, Mom." Ilya tosses over his shoulder as he lets himself out. Once the front door shuts, Shane wishes he could've driven him to his hotel. Or that Ilya could've stayed the night, as impossible as it would be.
The following morning, as Shane is brushing his teeth, he stops dead, dread in his chest.
How the fuck had Rose known Shane would be seeing… anyone? He'd never told her he was getting back together with 'Lily,' he'd certainly never said anything about Ilya.
Shane: How did you know?
He waits with his toothbrush in his mouth and keeps tapping his phone screen to keep it awake until the dots appear.
Rose Landry: It was pretty obvious to me
Shane: Obvious how?
Rose Landry: I don't think it would be obvious to someone who hasn't had sex with you
Rose Landry: No offense 💕
Shane: Offense taken
Shane: It is fair tho
Rose Landry: You looked happy on the ice last night
Shane: You watched?
Rose Landry: I had a hunch I wanted to confirm
Rose Landry: Obviously my lips are sealed
Shane: Thank you
Shane: Are you interested in about a thousand orange roses
Shane: I can't be seen with them. Too embarrassing
Rose Landry: ???
Jane: [Image]
Jane: I had to rehome some of them but this is the reasonable amount of roses for one person
Attached is a photo of a crystal vase of orange roses on what Ilya assumes is Shane's countertop. He has to assume because Shane has never let him see his real home. Just the building he bought to hook up in, which almost doesn't have a kitchen.
Lily: Is pretty
Lily: Where are the rest?
Jane: I gave a lot of them to my mom and some to Jackie
Jane: Rose is on location so she didn't want any
Jane: The florist shorted you one rose btw. There were 59
The florist didn't short Ilya, he'd kept one for himself in a glass of water to make the number in Shane's bouquet odd.
Ilya knows Rose and Shane are still friends, and he knows how hypocritical it is for him to be jealous of Shane's rare and unfulfilling other hookups. But he's glad that Rose hadn't taken any of Ilya's flowers from Shane. He doesn't mind them going to Yuna Hollander, and he doesn't mind Hayden Pike's wife getting a gift from the despicable Rozanov, even if none of them know it.
Lily: Tell Jackie she can do better
Jane: Asshole
Ilya presses his thumbs against his eye sockets. The airport rattles around him, endless noise, endless people… He can go home, it will be fine, just a short trip. Or he could just… go… home. He isn't supposed to travel with so little time between games. It'll eat up multiple days of training, even if he manages to get on ice in Moscow between everything that needs to be done at home.
He'll be hearing about it when he gets back. Maybe he'll have a death certificate as an excuse. He'd only texted his coach that there was a family emergency. It wasn't really an emergency. An emergency meant something was happening fast. Nothing about this has been fast.
Jane: My mom wants to meet my mysterious girlfriend
Jane: This is your fault
Ilya smiles halfheartedly. He's certain Shane would've liked to keep things with 'Lily' quieter longer, but if Ilya can't be Shane's obnoxious, adoring boyfriend, at least he can play Shane's obnoxious, adoring girlfriend. From afar. Very far, this week.
Lily: Tell her I am very hot and very private
Jane: Yes that will get my mom to back off
Jane: How are you?
Lily: Boring question
Jane: Don't care. Answer it anyway
Lily: Tired
Lily: Wish I could travel without planes
Jane: You have a travel day today?
Jane: I thought you were at home this week
Lily: The team is, yes
Jane: Where are you?
Lily: Airport
Lily: Have to go home for a little bit
There, now someone else knew. The dots under Jane bubbled up, then away.
Jane: Did something happen?
Lily: Yes. Family
Jane: I mean
Jane: Is your dad okay?
Lily: Of course not
Lily: They need my help
Lily: And I don't know what's happening from here
Jane: When will you get back?
Lily: Probably Friday
Jane: We're playing Boston Friday night. You won't get home until that morning?
Lily: Is fine. Flight lands at 4. No time for jet lag
Jane: Ilya.
Ilya silences his notifications and doesn't respond. He doesn't check his phone until he lands in Moscow.
Jane: Call me if you want
He doesn't respond to that one either.
Even though he'd offered, Shane hadn't really expected Ilya to call from Moscow.
"A call from Lily, hm?" Mom says teasingly as Shane jumps up to take it outside.
"Hello?" Shane says as soon as the door is shut. There's a beat of quiet on the other end.
"Hi." Ilya.
"How is it there?"
"Not good. But he will not die while I am here."
Shane's not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing.
"Are you doing okay?"
Ilya huffs, and Shane can hear him sip something. Vodka, probably.
"Can you come back any earlier than Friday?"
"No. There is too much to do here. I just… I had five minutes."
Shane slumps onto the porch step, wanting Ilya at his parents' house, sitting on the step with him so he could wrap him up tight and kiss him until…
"I'm glad you called." Shane says. Ilya exhales.
"Is bad idea. But…" He half-laughs. "I love bad ideas, hm?"
"Yeah." Shane says, trying to make it sound light – they are the biggest, baddest idea, after all – but he knows Ilya can see through it. "What's going on there?"
He mostly doesn't think Ilya will answer.
"Is too much… lot of fighting, lot of… I don't know, confusion. My father. I just… I am tired. I wish…"
Ilya trails off, and drinks more. Shane wishes he wasn't alone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm just at home. At my parents' house, I mean. Playing games, my dad made pizza from scratch."
"Ah. Very Canadian."
It's not, but Shane lets it go.
"I have to go." Ilya says, and Shane looks at his phone to see how long they've been talking. One minute and twenty-one seconds. He has the feeling it's all the time Ilya has to himself.
"Take care of yourself." Shane says. Ilya hums.
"Of course." He says. "Okay. Bye."
"Bye, Ilya."
The line goes quiet. Shane doesn't take the phone from his ear. He thinks his parents can see him through the window, so he stands to walk around the garden a couple times until it feels like a reasonable amount of time has passed.
"How is she?" Mom asks when Shane sits down.
"Um." Shane says. He's never been good at lying to his parents. Well, except for… "Stressed from work, so."
Mom smiles, squeezing Shane's arm.
"I'm glad she has you."
"Thanks, Mom." Shane says, wishing he could tell her the truth.
Lily: Are you home?
Jane: Yeah
Jane: Are you okay?
Ilya doesn't text back, but a moment later, a FaceTime request appears. Shane accepts it immediately. Ilya looks exhausted.
"Hey." Shane says. Ilya smiles, which lasts for a second before he takes a drag off a cigarette.
"Show me your room." Ilya says instead of a greeting. His words are slurred, but Shane can't tell if it's because of alcohol or if he's just that tired.
"My room?"
"Yes. I want to see."
An odd request, but Shane leaves his living room to show Ilya his bedroom, holding the phone a little away from himself so Ilya can see the space behind him. Ilya hums.
"I knew it." He says, mostly to himself. He says something in Russian that Shane doesn't understand. He tilts his head, looking for a response, and the light shifts so Shane can see how red his eyes are. "Ah, sorry. You don't understand any of it."
"You look tired." Shane says. Ilya brings the cigarette to his lips again.
"Do I?" He says softly.
"I wish I was there."
"Mm… You do not."
"I do." Shane insists. "Even if… I don't know, just so someone was there for you."
The corner of Ilya's mouth lifts, then falls. He looks down at the cigarette in his hand. It's almost burned out. With one last drag, he leans over to put it out. Shane watches him light a new one.
"What else do you have to do before you leave?" Shane asks. Because Ilya needs to leave as soon as he can. Ilya waves the cigarette.
"Ah, no. I do not want to think." He says, tipping his head back. "Tell me your day."
Shane's day has just started, but he tells Ilya about yesterday. Shane talks for a long time, watching Ilya's eyelids grow heavy.
"Ilya." Shane says, a little louder than he'd been speaking. Ilya sits up a little. "Put out your cigarette. You'll burn yourself."
"Mm." Ilya says, and does as he's told.
"Do you want me to let you go?"
"No." Ilya says, though he shifts slightly to be more reclined. "I like to hear you talk."
Shane tells Ilya about Hayden's kids – though he calls them Jackie's kids, because Ilya likes Jackie, who he's never met, more than Hayden, who he's met several times and finds uninteresting. Shane, Hayden and Jackie had all gone to a children's concert held in a park.
"You are good with them." Ilya says sleepily. Shane pauses. "Don't stop."
"They're good kids." Shane says. He tells Ilya about each one of them, what they like doing when Shane is at the Pike's house, and the activities he likes doing with them. He thinks Ilya is asleep, but he says something else in Russian, almost inaudibly. Shane is just as quiet when he asks, "What did you say?"
"Я снова влюбился в тебя." Ilya murmurs.
"Oh." Shane says. He's not sure if Ilya expects him to know what it means. After the concussion, Ilya sometimes assumes people know what he's saying in Russian, but only one word, and very rarely. He gets embarrassed about it, and usually says it's an obvious word that everyone knows, clearly you're the one missing something. A very Ilya response.
Shane looks at the notes he made in his phone.
"Ilya? Сладких снов."
Ilya's eyes had been closed for a while already, but he looks up at Shane for a split second before the screen goes dark. All Shane can hear are his shaky breaths.
"Ilya?" Fuck. Fuck. Ilya lets out a muffled sob. "Hey, Ilya?"
Ilya doesn't speak for over a minute, audibly forcing himself to stop crying. Shane wishes he was there for the hundredth time.
"Sorry." He says. His voice breaks. He sniffs.
"Are you okay?"
"I…" Ilya picks up his phone so the screen is no longer black, but he doesn't point the camera at his face until he's turned off the lamp, and Shane can barely see him in the darkness. "Can you say it again?"
Shane doesn't want to stop looking at him, but he switches back to his notes app to read it carefully one more time. He looks at Ilya again.
"I wish I was there." Ilya says in a hoarse whisper. "Сладких снов."
The call ends, and Shane looks blankly at his phone until the screen turns off.
"Yes, I have it. Here." Ilya passes his father a newspaper and his glasses, which his father refuses, because he's not old enough to need glasses, why would he need glasses, Ilya?
Ilya returns to the kitchen, where Lena is making dinner.
"Table, please." She says, nodding at the utensils sitting on the table to be put out. She's a woman of few words, which is maybe what Andrei sees in her. He's a man of too many words.
Katyusha sits at the table, reading. She's a bright girl, she'll be okay. She doesn't seem to absorb the tension around her, somehow, but Ilya still waits for her to reach a breaking point the same way every other family member has.
"Ilya!"
Ilya goes to check on his father, who doesn't look up from the paper.
"When will you be back to training?"
"I was there this morning." Ilya tells him. "We went to see my coach."
Father looks up at him, head tilted.
"And what did he say?"
"He told me to spend more time on the ice." Ilya says. They had gone to see Ilya's old coach. Father had been lucid the whole time, so Ilya didn't explain anything to the coach. Father insists Ilya train while he's in Moscow, even if he continually forgets that Ilya doesn't live here anymore.
"Yes. You should." Father says, satisfied, returning to his paper. "Where are my glasses?"
Ilya passes them over, and Father puts them on, making a noise of approval as he continues reading. Ilya returns to the kitchen, helping Lena finish dinner. Andrei is – for once – working, so it's only the four of them. Father doesn't want to eat yet, it's barely night, Ilya, so they wait until Katyusha is too hungry, and Lena serves her a plate.
"Ah, not waiting for me, Katyusha?" Father says when he joins them. Katyusha apologizes briefly, and they eat a mostly silent dinner together. Father has some suggestions for Ilya's career prospects, and Katyusha's schooling.
"It… it is more…" Ilya's English is failing him more often these days after speaking nothing but Russian for a week, and so tired he's a little jittery. "More difficult, now. With my father after my head injury."
"Because you can empathize with him more?" Shane asks. Ilya looks up the word in his phone.
"Yes. When I woke up, I was very confused too. But it went away."
"Yeah." Shane says softly. Ilya had avoided him for a day after his humiliating breakdown on Tuesday. Shane hasn't mentioned it, but he kept texting every few hours just to say he was thinking about Ilya, and he hoped he was okay, and he wants to see him after the game on Friday.
Yesterday, in the evening, Father had turned on a hockey game, flipping to another channel that showed an older game Ilya had played against Buffalo. When Andrei got home, Father forgot him again, asking who the stranger in his house was. And he saw Katyusha heading to bed and introduced himself to her, asking if she had lost her mother. She reacted as if it's happened many times before. Ilya felt Andrei's glare long after he'd gone to bed, and shifted constantly like if the blankets hugged his body tight enough, it might stop the prickling feeling at his spine.
Polina has made two appearances – first, driving Ilya to Father's house, where she dropped him off at the door, and second, she needed Father to sign some paperwork that might matter very soon. Ilya had read through all of it with Father, and with Andrei sitting silently nearby. Father had forgotten him again. Ilya had started introducing himself and Andrei when they were together, and Father would snap at Ilya, of course he knew who he was, Ilya was his son. Obviously. And of course he knows Andrei.
"There is no good way." Ilya tells Shane. "Everything is wrong. I don't know how to do it right."
Shane is laying on his side in bed, arm folded under his pillow. He looks so beautiful, his dark hair soft and slightly damp from the shower. Ilya can imagine Shane here, tucked in the same bed as him, the lamp a warmer, softer color, but still bright enough to make his beautiful eyes shine. If everything was different, he could have Shane here as his partner. And Father would get to meet Shane each time he forgot, and this Father would be gentler, less harsh, and Shane would be so Shane that Father would have to approve of him. He would love Shane, if he was the kind of man who loved people.
Of course, it's nothing but a pretty dream. Ilya can't have Shane with him here, cooking dinner for the family, helping Katyusha with her work, taking her outside for once, because the girl is always at the kitchen table. But if he could… They could take her ice skating holding one hand each until she learned to balance. And when she got tired, Shane and Ilya could skate together, play fighting or skating like a dance, maybe. Shane is a terrible dancer, but only because he doesn't know how. He would be good if he knew what to do with his body. Ilya could teach him. A hands-on lesson, maybe.
And Shane could learn Russian. He already speaks two languages, he could learn a third, even if it's Russian. He did a good job when he spoke on Tuesday. Ilya focuses back on his phone, where Shane is just laying in bed on the other side of the world, but with Ilya.
"Hi." Shane says. Ilya wonders what he looked like while he was thinking. Katyusha sometimes tells him he 'goes somewhere else,' and it's disturbing. She's very much like her mother. "What are you thinking about?"
"Going home." Ilya says softly. Shane smiles sadly.
"Tomorrow, right? And I'll be in Boston."
"Tomorrow. Yes."
It feels like a thousand years between now and then.
Cliff picks Ilya up from the airport. He's quiet, and Ilya is quiet. Cliff is frustrated that Ilya had been gone for so long just before a Boston/Montreal game. Montreal is doing very well, and Boston has to win. Ilya has very little left inside him.
"You okay, Roz?" Cliff says, the first time he's spoken since he'd greeted Ilya when he got in the car.
"Fine." Ilya says. He has his head tipped back against the headrest, dark sunglasses on.
They get to the rink, and Ilya runs some drills with his coach to make sure he's still functional as a player. He was right, there's no time for jet lag.
A headache is blooming in the back of Ilya's head. He hits the ice with the rest of the team, stealing glances at Shane across the line. Shane smiles at him fleetingly, quick enough to not be noticed. Ilya will take anything he can have.
Each face-off is silent. Ilya is too tired to chirp in English, and whatever mood he's wearing on his face is enough to prevent the players that aren't Shane from chirping. Shane does a few friendly barbs that make Ilya smile before stealing the puck. He could be playing worse. Of course, Shane is relentless, and plays as hard as he always does. Ilya would punch him if he held anything back.
Unsurprisingly, Boston loses. Not terribly, but enough.
"Rozanov, connect with me first thing." Coach says, and Ilya nods. He sheds his gear quickly, barely rinsing his body before taking an Uber home. Shane arrives ten minutes after. He's barely through the door before he's crushing Ilya, pressing his back against the door, his arms tight around Ilya's shoulders. Ilya brushes his fingers through Shane's hair, holding him as close as possible.
"Hi." Shane says softly against Ilya's cheek. "Missed you."
Ilya doesn't speak, just clinging to Shane for as long as Shane will let him.
Eventually, they separate. Shane opens the front door again to grab a paper bag.
"Dinner." He says, holding it up. "Or, midnight snack."
"Hah." Ilya says, which is a noise neither he nor Shane expected. Shane laughs softly, just a little, and Ilya tries not to be embarrassed. Shane has been very sweet with him all week, after all the little humiliations, especially after the big ones.
Shane pulls Ilya by hand to the kitchen and pulls two foot-long subs from the bag, plus a bag of chips for each of them.
"Doesn't need to be kept hot." Shane explains Ilya's unasked question of 'Subs?'
"Okay." Ilya says.
Shane takes a ginger ale from Ilya's refrigerator, and that turns him on a little bit. He hasn't gotten a kiss. He crowds Shane against the counter and nudges him to hop up. He does, and wraps his legs tightly around Ilya's waist. He holds Ilya's face gently as he kisses him. And again, and again. Ilya ducks away when the tears fall down his cheeks.
"Ah, sorry." He says, swiping his palms over his face.
Shane tips his chin up and kisses the tear tracks. Ilya rolls his eyes.
"Ilya."
"I'm fine." He says, unconvincingly. Shane purses his lips, unimpressed. "You started saying my name right."
Shane smiles, draping his arms over Ilya's shoulders.
"Yeah, I knew you said it differently, but I finally looked up how it's supposed to be said. I'm better with seeing things than hearing them. Ilya."
Ilya lets out a long exhale. Shane leans back from him, but doesn't unwrap his legs.
"Eat. You need sleep."
With Shane supervising, Ilya eats most of his sandwich and drinks a few glasses of water. He hadn't really registered how hungry he was.
"I need to leave at six." Shane says. Ilya nods. "Do you want me to wake you up to say bye?"
"Yes."
"Okay." Shane says, brushing his fingers through Ilya's hair. "Come with me."
Shane hops down and takes Ilya's hand again, dragging him to the shower, shedding clothes across the bedroom floor. Ilya has maybe never felt less sexy, but Shane keeps kissing him in the shower as he washes Ilya's body and shampoos his hair. And Ilya isn't crying, and no one can prove he is – or isn't – because the water washes all the evidence away. Shane still swipes both thumbs across his cheeks as if wiping away tears (which aren't there, because Ilya isn't crying and is fine).
After drying off, they fall into Ilya's bed together, naked. Ilya wishes he had the energy to do something fun. He hadn't done anything for Shane last time, either. But as he reaches for Shane's ass, Shane shifts more on top of Ilya, mostly pinning him down to the bed. Ilya is at least as strong as Shane, probably stronger, but he doesn't feel like pushing past him tonight. Shane's weight on his body is good.
Shane kisses his cheek.
"Сладких снов."
"God." Ilya exhales, squeezing his eyes shut so he won't start crying again.
Ilya had checked his phone before taking off his gear at the rink. Missed call from Andrei. He'd ignored it.