Chapter Text
Shane knows about Ilya for months before he meets him for the first time.
He’s thirteen years old and has just started grade seven. The school isn’t that big. When new students start, everyone knows about it. There are only two new students that start at the beginning of the year. One is a girl from Ontario that immediately makes friends with a popular group of girls that Shane usually tries to avoid. The other is a quiet boy that is rumored to be from Russia. He doesn’t make any friends.
Shane is in a few classes with him. One of the teachers makes him come to the front of the class to introduce himself on the first day. He stands awkwardly with his hands clasped in front of his body. Shane feels nervous just looking at him. Students are whispering before he even speaks. Shane leans forward in the hopes of hearing him better.
“My name is Ilya,” he says quietly. He has a heavy accent. Someone a few rows behind Shane laughs.
The teacher smiles brightly and pats his shoulder. Ilya makes a face, his shoulders raising slightly at the touch. “Let’s all try to welcome Ilya.” She turns to him. “Am I saying it right? Ilya?”
“Ilya,” he repeats. The beginning of his name sounds faintly different when he says it.
She repeats it a few more times, mostly to herself, and then says, “He is all the way from Russia. I expect everyone to show him that the cliches about Canadians being nice are true.”
Unfortunately, Ilya becomes the subject of intense gossip. Despite no one actually attempting to talk to him, everyone starts spreading rumors about him and his family. One day, Shane hears that his family had to escape Russia because the KGB is after them. The next day, he hears that Ilya’s father is an important Russian political figure that moved to Canada to spy on the government. The day after that, he hears that Ilya's older brother killed someone back in Russia so the family had to flee. The rumors are endless, and with each passing day, they grow stranger and stranger.
Shane doesn’t participate. He only smiles faintly when someone at his lunch table yells what the new theory is. Across the room, he can see Ilya sitting by himself picking at the lunch in front of him. Shane wonders briefly if the food here is quite different from the food back home in Russia. He thinks of his mother telling him about being made fun of for bringing Japanese food for lunch when she was a kid, and eventually refusing to bring in anything that set her apart from her classmates. Shane wonders if there is something that Ilya would rather be eating.
“Dude is weird,” one of Shane’s friends tells the table. “You can’t even understand what he’s saying half of the time.”
Everyone laughs. Shane tries not to look over at him again. He knows that his mother would want him to go over and get to know Ilya so he isn’t alone. She wouldn’t want him to engage in the gossip, and would probably make him shut it down. She doesn’t need to know that Shane stays quiet and refuses to even go near Ilya. Shane knows what it’s like to be different. Kids knew Shane was different right away, but he eventually made friends. It doesn’t stop Shane from feeling like they will turn on him if he does something wrong. All he has to do is act like everyone else. He doesn’t want for anyone to associate him with Ilya’s differentness.
Shane still feels bad for Ilya, but he doesn’t do anything about it.
*
Hockey starts back up. Shane is happy for the distraction. He is buzzing on the way to the first practice. He’s good at hockey, people like him because of hockey, and he wishes he could always be playing hockey. He spends the car ride to the rink rushing through math homework while his mother keeps bothering him to ask if he remembered all his equipment.
“Mom. Yes. I packed it, like, two weeks ago,” he tells her, frowning at the last question in his textbook.
She laughs at him. “I ran into your coach the other day at the store. He mentioned there’s a new player this year. Just moved here from Russia. Have you met him?”
Shane whips his head up and gawks at his mother. “What?”
“I don’t remember his name. Coach said he was good.”
“He said he’s from Russia?”
His mother looks away from the road for a moment to look over at Shane. He hopes she can’t tell how nervous he feels even at the mention of the new boy. “Yes. So, you know him?”
“Not really.”
She doesn’t say anything more, but Shane suddenly feels like he can’t concentrate on his homework. He stares at the numbers and tries not to think about the blond boy eating alone at lunch.
Sure enough, he sees Ilya in the corner of the locker room when Shane arrives. He’s digging through a duffel bag, ignoring the yelling and excitement of the first practice of the season. Shane rushes past him and greets his friends. Almost immediately, they start talking about the new player loud enough that he can surely hear them.
The coach introduces Ilya at the beginning of the practice. He pronounces Ilya’s name the same way that the teacher had before Ilya corrected her. This time, Ilya says nothing. He gives the rest of the players a weak smile and skates back to the group before the coach kicks into his usual first practice speech.
When practice starts, it becomes clear right away that Ilya is good at hockey. He breezes through drills and skates faster than anyone on the team, even Shane. When the two of them get paired up for something, he’s surprised to find that Ilya makes things hard for him. Shane wouldn’t admit it to his teammates, but he’s always felt like he was barely trying when practicing with them. He knew he was good and that the skills came naturally, but he never wanted to brag. If it was a game, he played as hard as he could. During practice, though, it felt a little cruel to make the guys feel bad.
Ilya, though, he makes Shane sweat. It’s the first time Shane has played on the same team with someone at his level. It stresses him out, but it also makes him giddy with excitement. He has someone who can keep up with him. He knows Ilya can feel it too, even if they don’t share a single word the entire practice.
When everyone is hanging out outside waiting for their parents to pick them up, Ilya instantly becomes popular. Everyone wants to talk to him and ask him about hockey back home. The anxiety he has about Ilya having no friends seems to ease. Shane only made friends because he was good at hockey. He figures it will be the same for Ilya.
When Shane’s mother comes over to help him bring his stuff to the car, she instantly picks out Ilya. He’s walking towards the parking lot with who must be his father. Shane’s mother is quick to rush after them to introduce herself. She is close to all the parents. It shouldn’t surprise Shane, but he feels his face flush with embarrassment before she’s even said anything.
When Shane catches up to her, his mother is shaking the man’s hand and smiling down at Ilya.
“I’m Shane’s mom, Yuna,” she says, gesturing to Shane. “I heard you just moved here from Russia?”
The man nods. “Yes.”
Shane allows himself a look at Ilya. His hair is still damp and his cheeks are tinted red. He barely even notices Shane staring because he’s looking between his father and Shane’s mother.
“Please let me know if you need anything or have any questions or – well, anything, really. I’m happy to help. Shane, too.” She looks at Ilya now. “If you need anything, Ilya, please let Shane know. He’s very helpful.”
Ilya looks at Shane now. Despite his usual cold exterior, he seems amused by this. There is the faintest hint of a smile before it disappears and he nods and thanks Shane’s mother.
Since neither Ilya nor his father are very talkative, Shane and his mother retreat to the car. On the way home, his mother asks if Ilya is any good at hockey.
Shane thinks about it for a moment. He remembers feeling out of breath keeping up with Ilya. He tries not to smile at the memory. “He’s good. Really good.”
“Not as good as you,” his mother reminds him.
It should probably scare Shane, but it doesn’t.
Instead, he says, “You’re pronouncing his name wrong, by the way. It’s Ilya.” He says his name the way that Ilya had carefully said on the first day of classes, the memory seared into Shane’s mind.
“Oh,” she says, smiling. “Good to know.”
Shane leans his head against the window and tries not to think about Ilya absently chewing on his mouthpiece during practice.
*
Over the next couple weeks, Ilya easily joins Shane’s friend group that mostly consists of hockey players. He starts sitting with them at lunch. He talks more, his English disjointed and bulky. He’s surprisingly witty, though, and can make the entire table burst into laughter with only a few words. Shane only talks to him sparingly. He’s still strangely nervous around him.
The only reason they start talking more is because his literature teacher pairs them up for a project partway through the year. It’s awkward at first, especially since neither of them liked the book that they are doing the project on, but the ice melts between them quickly. They stay after school one day to work on a poster for their presentation, and Shane helps Ilya when he can’t think of a particular word in English.
“You can tell me to stop,” Shane says abruptly, worried that he’s offending Ilya by assuming he can’t figure out the words on his own. “I’m just trying to help.”
Ilya finishes writing a sentence on the poster and shrugs. “No. Is nice. Don’t stop.”
Shane fights a smile, suddenly warm. “When did you start learning English?”
“Very young. My mother spoke it well.”
Shane tries not to linger on the past tense, but he can’t help but to wonder if it was only a mistake or if his mother is gone. “Was it hard to learn the English alphabet? I tried learning Japanese for a couple months but it was too hard with all the different symbols and alphabets. I gave up pretty fast.”
“English is hard,” Ilya says. When Shane looks over at him, he’s frowning. “It is hard to think of right words always. People do not understand me.”
“Oh, right. I can see that being difficult. Was it hard to read this book?”
Ilya shakes his head. “No, I am good reader. Talking, not so good.”
“Are you nervous about the presentation?”
“Little.”
“If you need, like, help or anything, I don’t mind,” he says, trying to make it sound casual. “We can practice a lot, too. It’ll be good.”
Ilya smiles at him. “That is kind.”
Shane feels light-headed suddenly. He smiles back. “It’s nothing, really.”
Later that night, Shane tells his parents he wants to take Russian lessons.
“Russian? Because of Ilya?”
Shane nods. “I feel bad. He obviously speaks English, and it’s not bad or anything but…maybe it would be easier if he had someone that knew a little Russian?”
“That’s very sweet, Shane,” his mother says. “But I don’t know when you would even have time to take lessons.”
Shane pokes at the food on his plate.
“We could go to the bookstore this weekend,” his father offers. “We can get you some books. Maybe they have some CDs, too. Ilya could probably help you if you asked.”
*
At night, Shane finishes his homework and then he struggles to stay awake as he teaches himself the Cyrillic alphabet. On drives to practices and games, Shane pops in his Russian language learning CDs and he practices basic greetings and phrases in Russian with his parents. He listens carefully and repeats them over and over until they sound right. The words feel strange and bulky in his mouth. He thinks back to when he started learning French as a kid, but he doesn’t remember it ever feeling this tough.
He spends a couple months learning from his books and CDs, but he doesn’t say a word in Russian to Ilya the entire time. He doesn’t even tell him he’s learning. His parents ask him what Ilya thinks of his Russian, and he lies to them and says Ilya is really impressed.
The lie only becomes a problem when Shane’s mother picks him up from practice one day. Shane is talking to Ilya about how the practice went, when his mother interrupts them. Shane quickly starts to collect his things. He already knows his mother has a habit of embarrassing him, but he doesn’t expect for her to actually ask Ilya what he thinks of Shane’s Russian.
“His…Russian?” Ilya asks, suspiciously looking between Shane and his mother.
“He’s practicing constantly. We’ve listened to him ask about the weather about a million times now. Do you think he’s getting better?”
“Mom.” Shane wishes he could disappear.
Ilya looks amused now. He quirks an eyebrow at Shane, but Shane can’t even choke out some sort of an explanation. “Oh, yes. He’s very good. Almost fluent.”
His mother barks out a laugh when she hears this. “That’s our Shane. He labelled all the things in his room with sticky notes so that he can practice the Russian –”
“Mom! He gets it,” Shane interrupts. He thinks he might actually start crying from embarrassment if she keeps talking. “We have to go. Bye, Ilya.”
“Shane,” his mother admonishes. “At least say it in Russian.”
Swallowing thickly, Shane takes a deep breath and releases it. He turns to Ilya to find him still amused. He doesn’t even seem angry at Shane for keeping this from him. Through gritted teeth, he carefully says, “До свидания.”
The amusement on Ilya’s face drops instantly when he hears it. His eyes go wide and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. Shane knows he probably sounds like an idiot. His pronunciation isn’t good. This is why he wanted to wait a little longer before telling him. Ilya is probably thinking of a way to let him down easy. He smiles, then, though. There’s no malice in it. “Bye, Shane,” he says in English.
Shane spends the rest of the evening in a bad mood. His parents blame it on staying up late studying. He only eats half of his dinner because his stomach is lurching uncomfortably. He just wants to talk to Ilya. If he explains it all, he’ll feel less stupid about the whole thing.
On his way to his room, he snags the home phone in the kitchen and yells, “I’m using the phone!”
Digging through his notebook, he finds the page where Ilya had scribbled down his phone number in case Shane had questions before their presentation. He had never needed to call, but Shane still kept the page earmarked. Slowly, he types in the number and hesitates before clicking the call button.
His father answers in Russian, and Shane hesitates, almost answering back in Russian. He’s already embarrassed himself enough today, so he decides against it. “Hi, I was wondering if I could talk to Ilya? I’m Shane Hollander. I go to school with Ilya.”
“You play hockey too, yes?” he asks after a beat.
“Yes.” He’s only met Ilya’s father once so he’s surprised that he recognizes his name. Shane’s mother mentioned that she only sees him at the away games.
“Okay. One moment.”
There is a bit of shuffling, and then some rapid Russian that Shane can’t understand, not even a word. Finally, Ilya answers the phone. “Shane?” he asks quietly.
“Ilya. Hi. Sorry for calling.” Shane wipes his sweaty hand on his jeans and walks to the corner of his room, the farthest space from the kitchen. He doesn’t want for his parents to hear, and he’s praying that neither of them has picked up the other phone in the living room to listen in. “I just – I wanted to explain about earlier. The whole Russian thing.”
“Yes,” Ilya says in Russian, and obviously Shane knows that word.
He tries to chuckle in the hopes that he doesn’t sound like a nervous wreck like he’s worried he does. “Right, yeah, that. I just started learning because you said it was hard to always talk in English or, like, finding the right words. I thought if maybe I learned some Russian, it could, uh, help you? I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to be weird, I swear. And I didn’t tell you because I wanted to get a little better before I tried talking to you. I probably should’ve just told you, but I didn’t want for you to laugh at me or something.” Shane breathes out slowly. He probably spoke too fast for Ilya to even understand him. “Anyways, I hope you don’t think I’m creepy or anything. I just wanted to help.”
There is a long pause. Shane knows that he’s probably freaked Ilya out. He probably hung up. Eventually, though, Ilya says, “Say something.”
“What?”
“Say something in Russian.”
Shane feels his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t understand why this feels so scary to him. “Oh, okay. Um.” He clears his throat. In Russian, he asks, “How is the weather?”
Ilya lets out a breathy laugh into the receiver when he hears it. “The weather?”
“Yes.” Shane wants to hang up, but he refuses to.
“It’s cold.”
“Cold! I know that word!” Shane exclaims. He didn’t think he’d actually understand Ilya.
“You really label your room with Russian words?” Ilya asks after they are both done laughing.
“Yeah. It’s just something I did when I started learning French.”
“You speak French?”
“Of course. I mean, kind of. I’m not that good. Everyone has to learn it in Canada. It’s our second language.”
“Bonjour,” Ilya says slowly.
Shane can’t stop smiling. “Bonsoir,” he corrects. “It’s the evening.”
“Shane Hollander. So smart. Speaks three languages.”
“Ugh, stop.” He feels hot. “I should go. I just wanted to explain. In case you thought it was weird.”
“Not weird,” Ilya tells him. “Thank you. Goodnight.”
Shane says goodnight back in Russian and hangs up the phone. It takes at least an hour after the call for him to calm down.
*
They win most of the games that season.
Shane and Ilya work well on the ice together. They always seem to be on the same page, even without using words. Although Shane sometimes gets worried about how good Ilya is, how matched their skills are, that Ilya could probably steal a recruiter’s attention away from Shane, he doesn’t care. He’s happy to play with Ilya.
He’s even happier with how close they grow over their first season together. Shane keeps learning Russian when he finds time. When they’re alone, Ilya helps him. Shane doesn’t want for anyone else to hear him speak in another language, and he hopes that Ilya understands why even if Shane never tries to explain it.
When the season ends, though, Shane realizes he’ll be seeing much less of Ilya. Instead of hanging out on the weekend before and after games and sneaking around hotels with other teammates, they only see each other at school.
A week before school ends, Shane and Ilya are taking advantage of the relaxed last few classes of the year. They sit in the back of their literature class and pretend to work on the silly worksheet that the teacher had given them as busywork. Shane asks Ilya what he’s doing this summer.
Ilya frowns. “I am going back to Russia.”
“Oh,” Shane says, disappointed. He had hoped to see Ilya this summer. “Are you excited to go back?”
“No.”
Ilya rarely talks about Russia. When Shane tries to ask about what it’s like back home or if Ilya misses anything, he usually only gives Shane one-word answers. Shane had also tried asking why his family had moved to Canada, but Ilya made a face and then said it was too difficult to explain in English. Shane knew his Russian wasn’t good enough to meet him halfway, either.
“Are you gone all summer?” Shane asks.
“Maybe. I do not know yet.”
Shane folds the edge of his worksheet a few times. “Okay. Well, can I give you the number at our cottage? In case you come home early. We spend a couple weeks there in the summer.”
“Cottage?”
“Yeah. It’s by the water a couple hours away. It’s really nice and relaxing. You’d like it.” He doesn’t actually know if Ilya would like it, but Shane knows that he’d like it if Ilya was there with him.
“Sounds nice. Please give me the number. In case.”
Shane rips off part of his worksheet and scribbles the number he knows by heart.
*
Shane doesn’t hear from Ilya all summer.
Shane spends his time going to private hockey lessons a couple times a week, studying Russian, and reading books he finds at the library about hockey. He hangs out with some of his friends from the team a few times, but it’s not as fun as when he’s with Ilya. Everyone asks about Ilya to Shane, as if he’s the one keeps track of the boy. Everyone knows they are closest, though, so maybe it’s fair.
When the phone rings at the cottage, Shane snaps his neck to look over at it, hoping that it’s Ilya calling. He doesn’t ever call.
For a couple years, this becomes their schedule. They spend the school year attached at the hip, and then they don’t see each other all summer. Shane hates it, and although Ilya never says anything, he knows he hates it too. Shane learns to relish the hockey season not only because of his love for the sport, but also because of all the time it grants him with Ilya.
They show up early for practice and they have quiet, stilted conversations in Russian. Ilya corrects his mistakes, and Shane writes notes in a special notebook he only uses for Russian. Ilya teaches him how to write in Russian cursive, a dreadful process that Shane almost gives up on. Eventually, they are able to pass notes to each other mostly in Russian between classes. If Ilya thinks Shane won’t know a word, he’ll leave an asterisk by it and write the English word at the bottom.
At away games, Ilya and Shane will hang out in the exercise room for an excuse to not be surrounded by all their teammates. They walk on the treadmills or ride slowly on the bikes as they bicker about the game, the opposing players, or what NHL team they hope they get drafted to one day.
Over time, he learns that Ilya’s father is strict. He refuses to let anyone come over to his house, and he rarely lets Ilya come over to Shane’s house. Shane grows uneasy around the man when he encounters him at games or after practices or school. Ilya shrinks under his gaze in a way that Shane only sees when his father is around. At school, he has completely changed from the quiet, timid student that Shane had first witnessed at the beginning of last year. Now, he’s cocky and popular. Girls are constantly trying to talk to him.
Shane hates talking to Ilya about girls the most. It’s bad enough that his mother is constantly asking after any girl that he even mentions the name of. Having to listen to Ilya describe in full detail the most recent hookup he’s had makes Shane feel sick. He knows he’s supposed to dig for details and act jealous, like the way that he watches the other guys on the team act, but he can’t fake it. He wants to stop Ilya, but he doesn’t want for him to think he’s weird.
*
In the beginning of grade ten, Ilya’s father has to return to Russia for a month and asks Shane’s parents if Ilya can stay with their family while he’s gone. Ilya's older brother, Alexei, is away at college so the house will be empty without Ilya's father there. Ilya has spent the night a handful of times at their house, and Shane’s mother has even started driving him to and from practices when she finds out that his house on the way. Shane’s parents instantly agree. They like Ilya. He always helps with the dishes when he stays over and compliments his mother’s cooking. They’re happy Shane has a close friend, his mother even admitting one night that she was worried that Shane had never been very close with anyone before Ilya.
A month together feels like a lifetime for Shane, especially after a long summer of not seeing Ilya.
Shane’s father drags up an old twin mattress from the basement and places it on the other side of Shane’s bedroom. When Shane helps his mother make the bed and promises to let Ilya use his bed for his stay, his mother pauses awkwardly and gives Shane a tight smile.
“Shane, you know we love you no matter what, right?”
He tucks the corner of the fitted sheet in and looks at her strangely. “Yes?”
“I know your father already gave you the, you know, the talk, but I know he didn’t think to…expand on other opportunities.”
Shane is baffled. He has no idea what she is trying to say. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
“With Ilya staying here for a month, and the two of you sharing a bedroom, I just wanted to make sure that you both are practicing safe sex. I know –”
“Stop! No. Please stop.” He can’t even look at his mother. “Do you think Ilya is, like, my boyfriend or something?”
The thought makes Shane want to throw up.
“Oh,” his mother says. When Shane takes a peek at her face, she is blushing too. Shane thinks it’s only fair. “I’m sorry if I assumed. I just thought –“
“I’m not –“ Shane stops himself, swallowing and nearly choking before he can even finish the sentence. The last word isn’t needed for her to understand.
Shane’s mother carefully puts the last pillowcase cover on. “We can pretend this never happened,” she says.
“Please.”
*
Shane doesn’t bring up the conversation he had with his mother, but he suddenly feels guilty about everything he does around Ilya. Even when his mother isn’t there, he feels like he’s constantly doing something that is crossing the line in their friendship. He wonders if Ilya has wondered similar thought as his mother.
The question is mostly answered halfway through Ilya’s month long stay when he’s trying to convince Shane to sneak out to go to a party that someone in their grade is throwing while their parents are out of town.
“We are not doing that. I’m serious,” he tells Ilya, arms crossed over his chest.
Ilya is digging through his suitcase for a shirt to wear. “Please, Hollander, do not be boring. I need this. Alexa will be at party.”
Alexa is Ilya’s current girl that is a friend, but not a girlfriend, but definitely someone that he sleeps with. Shane has already had to uncomfortably sit through three blowjob stories.
“Do you understand how much trouble I would get it in if my parents find out? And they will, I know it.”
“Oh my god,” Ilya groans. “Stop worrying. They are already asleep. We go out this window and come back in a few hours. They will not know.”
“I don’t want to get into trouble.”
Although he is worried about getting in trouble, Shane mostly just doesn’t want to go. Ilya is more introverted than him. He has more friends. He plays drinking games. He dances and pulls girls in so they can lewdly grind on him. He was more fun than Shane. The last party Shane had gone to with Ilya, he had spent the entire night miserable.
When Ilya finds the shirt he must’ve been looking for, he slips off the one he has on. Shane immediately looks away, as if he hasn’t seen Ilya’s bare torso a million times already. He thinks about what his mother had assumed about the two of them. Had she seen Shane staring at Ilya too long? What did she see that made her think the two of them were not only dating, but also having sex?
“Okay, so what? You get in trouble. Big deal. You never do.”
“Because I never do bad things!”
Ilya gives him a hard look. He says something in Russian but Shane only understands the first part of it.
“What does that mean?” Shane asks, restless. He really doesn’t want a Russian lesson right now, and he knows that Ilya only ever switches to Russian randomly like that when he’s annoyed at Shane.
“This is why you are virgin.”
“Fuck you!” Shane says. He’s annoyed now, too.
Ilya is relentless when it comes to teasing Shane about his lack of expeience. He’s made it clear that he thinks it’s pathetic that Shane is sixteen years old and still hasn’t even kissed a girl yet. Shane has debated just making up a fake story to get him off his case, but he knows he’s not a good liar, especially when it comes to Ilya.
Ilya walks over to where Shane is standing and puts his face only a few inches from Shane’s. He smells like the cheap cologne he bathed himself in a couple minutes ago.
“Do you even like them?”
“Who?”
Ilya smirks. “Girls. Do you like girls?”
His mother’s words coupled with Ilya’s gaze makes Shane squirm uncomfortably. “Yes,” he chokes out. “Obviously.”
Ilya shrugs and then finally backs off a few steps. “Okay. Then, let’s go. I will find you a good girl for you to sleep with.”
“Are you fucking serious right now? No. I don’t need your help finding a girl to sleep with,” he hisses at Ilya.
“I’m trying to help you,” Ilya hums. “Some guys on team laugh at you, you know.”
Shane is suddenly furious. He wishes he could yell at Ilya, but his parents are right down the hall. “You told them?”
“They guessed!”
“And you confirmed?”
Ilya shakes his head. “No. But it’s obvious. I told them that you’re just shy. It’s better they think you’re shy than something else.”
Shane feels his body go cold with fear. “Like what?”
He already knows the answer. It’s not the first time that he’s heard one of the guys joking about it. He’s denied it a handful of times, but the accusations only felt like jokes until right now. It feels like Ilya is testing him. Shane refuses to stand down.
“Maybe you do not like girls.”
“Fuck you,” Shane spits at him. His eyes are watery. He doesn’t know why this is bothering him so much. “Go to your fucking party and leave me alone. I don’t want to go, and I don’t want to have sex with some random girl just because I can. I’m sorry my confidence doesn’t depend on the number of girls willing to sleep with me.”
Ilya looks at him for a long minute. Shane realizes he’s holding his breath. His eyes are still wet but he refuses to cry in front of Ilya, especially about something as meaningless as this. He only lets go of his breath when Ilya finally wordlessly turns and starts to unlock the window.
*
The truth is simple: Shane has thought about it before.
Similar to the way that he initially avoided Ilya when he first moved to Canada, Shane has avoided the topic because it would just be another thing that makes him different. He’s pushed down the train of thought that would eventually lead him to the conclusion that he could be gay.
His mother noticed it. Ilya noticed it. Shane is terrified that it’s written all over his face for everyone to see, and he’s been the only one who hasn’t noticed it yet.
If he’s being honest with himself, which is rare, Shane has always been indifferent about girls. When someone on the team passed around an old copy of Playboy, Shane had left it untouched at the bottom of the backpack for a week and then handed it off to someone else. When half of his team spent the night at one of his friend’s house after a game and used the computer in the den to pull up porn, Shane had watched the reactions of everyone else and tried to act the same way. He didn’t understand why none of it interested him. He chalked it up to his intense interest in hockey. He didn’t have time to care about girls.
Shane knows there is more to it than that, though. He remembers the time a couple months ago that he blushed and stuttered his words when he talked to a stranger at the gym about his routine because the man was beautiful. He remembers his strange obsession with Ottawa’s goalie for years, and the time he woke up from a bizarre dream of the two of them. Worse than everything, he knows that he has looked at Ilya before and thought maybe.
He feels horrible about it. Ilya is his best friend. Shane knows he’s not allowed to get distracted by Ilya’s hands or the way he walks around the locker room in only his briefs. He tells himself that he’s just jealous of Ilya’s confidence, his easygoingness that Shane could never replicate.
Shane can’t sleep the night that Ilya sneaks out to the party. Ilya finally returns a little after two in the morning. He smells like cigarettes and alcohol, but Shane can tell he’s trying to be quiet.
Shane tells himself that he’ll get a girlfriend soon.
*
It’s surprisingly easy to get a girlfriend, Shane finds.
He waits until after the hockey season is over. The last thing he wants is to deal with everything while he’s busy. He spends the season thinking about who he should ask. Mostly, he thinks about who would be the easiest, most convenient person to ask. He leans towards a girl in his math class that he talks to at the end of class. Usually, they check their answers, and when Shane misses classes for a game, she happily offers him his notes.
Shane also makes sure to ask her out before Ilya goes back to Russia for the summer.
After a couple dates to different chain restaurants in town, he asks her to be his girlfriend exactly the way that Ilya had told him to. She giggles and squeals and nods her head at least a hundred times. Shane smiles brightly only because he’s impressed at how easy it all is after years of building it up.
He buys her little presents. He writes down the things she’s interested in and then takes her out to do things like painting a mug or to a movie with an actor she likes in it or a hike an hour away. He introduces her to his parents, and he brings over flowers to her mother when he meets her parents. It’s easy. Almost laughably easy.
The last time Shane sees Ilya before his flight to Russia, Ilya endlessly needles him for information on how far he’s gone with her.
“I’m not telling you,” Shane tells him in Russian because his parents are in the other room making dinner. “Don’t be gross.”
He hasn’t had as much time to study Russian since he started dating, but he doesn’t need to work as hard to understand anymore after years of talking to Ilya and exchanging letters.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Ilya says. He’s smiling deviously. “Just nod if you’ve done it.”
To Shane’s horror, Ilya holds up one finger and gives him a long look. When Shane doesn’t react, he holds up two fingers. Again, Shane refuses to play his dumb game. Ilya then puts up a third finger and his eyes go wide.
“I’m not playing,” Shane finally tells him. “You are a child.”
“Please tell me you have kissed her at least.”
Shane groans and feels his face go hot. It’s enough of a yes for Ilya, and he is instantly grinning and jostling into Shane playfully. Although he has technically kissed her, it had felt like it happened to someone else, like he was watching it in a movie. He had hoped that maybe if he kissed her, he would feel something more for her, but nothing came. He’s still hopelessly waiting.
“I knew it! What are you waiting for? Do more.”
Shane answers truthfully. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t get her pregnant. That’s all that matters.”
“Alright, we are done talking about that,” Shane says, flipping Ilya off.
Shane’s mother walks into the room and looks between the two of them suspiciously. “Talking about what?”
“Shane’s weak backhand. He is embarrassed,” Ilya answers easily.
Shane rolls his eyes and then listens to Ilya and his mother talk about hockey for at least a half hour.
*
That summer, Shane doesn’t lose his virginity.
Instead, He spends another summer swallowing down how much he misses Ilya. He starts reading more in Russian because he wants to strengthen his vocabulary. He goes on runs for hours, thoughts sifting endlessly despite how loud he turns up his music. He goes on dates with his girlfriend. She asks Shane to park all the way in the back of the parking lot for the tennis courts and doesn’t say why until she undoes Shane’s pants and sucks his dick. A week later, he jerks off in the shower thinking about going down on a man instead of his girlfriend.
He feels so bad about it that he avoids all of her calls and eventually only goes out to dinner with her again so that he can break up with her. He says he needs to concentrate on hockey. She cries the entire drive home and Shane gives her an awkward pat on the shoulder before she jerks away and slams the door shut to his car and runs to her front door.
*
Ilya comes back from Russia in a bad mood like he does every year.
The two of them are out on a run the night before their first day of grade eleven. Shane had spent the past few weeks anticipating Ilya’s prodding questions about his girlfriend, but they never come. Instead, Ilya is intensely quiet. They usually chat while they run, but today, they listen to music and don’t say anything.
When they are taking a break and stretching, Shane finally asks, “Did something happen in Russia?”
He tries to avoid asking about his summers in Russia. He can’t stand this silence, though. He’s spent the past couple months waiting to see his best friend again, but he feels like they are in the middle of a fight now.
“No.”
“Okay,” Shane huffs. “What do you even do when you’re back there?”
Shane has asked the question before, but Ilya usually finds a way to avoid answering it. Today, he looks at Shane blankly and says, “I visit my mother’s grave. I get yelled at by my whole family. I feel so sad that I start to understand why my mother killed herself.”
Shane feels like Ilya has just punched him in the face. He wonders for a few seconds if he’s translating everything correctly. He knows what Ilya said, though. He knows because Ilya’s eyes are wet and he’s staring into the distance darkly. Ilya never told Shane his mother killed herself. He’s never even mentioned being that sad.
“Fuck.” Shane runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what to say. “Ilya, I’m so sorry. I –“
“Please don’t. I want to run, so let’s run.”
Shane does what he wants, but he feels a horrible ache in his chest for the rest of the week. Ilya seems completely back to normal the next day at school, but Shane can’t help the way he keeps staring at him. He debates asking his parents what to do. He’s terrified that Ilya might do something bad.
He can’t lose his best friend.
In the end, Shane writes a letter to Ilya in homeroom where he tells him about his girlfriend, the night at the tennis courts, and when he broke up with her, and then at the end he casually writes, Can you please tell me when you feel sad? I want to help. I can’t lose you, Ilya. Please please please let me try to help.
A few days later, Ilya passes him a letter that Shane unfolds hastily in the bathroom between classes. At the end of the letter, he wrote, I will not go back to Russia next year. I will not kill myself. Please don’t worry.
*
Shane worries.
The year goes by quickly, though. Shane checks out a book at the public library about depression and thinks he can fix Ilya by himself. Junior hockey starts. Scouts are already interested in Shane and Ilya. They play harder than they’ve ever played. If they aren’t at the rink, they’re working out or studying. Ilya stops pestering Shane to lose his virginity. The future suddenly feels real, and it terrifies Shane. The draft rumors keep him up at night. The pressure of everything is overwhelming, but it’s eased knowing that Ilya is going through the same thing. They can rely on each other.
Shane knows it’s not exactly the same, though. When they are in Saskatchewan for a big game, they lose. It was a close game, but the entire team is quiet and sullen after. Shane’s parents hug him and his mother immediately starts in on how dirty the other team played. Shane only half-listens because Ilya is talking with his father a few feet away.
Ilya’s father is talking to him in stern Russian. He thinks that nobody can understand him. Ilya has never mentioned that Shane spent years studying Russian so that he could speak to his son in his native language. He doesn’t know that Shane is listening, his hands curling into fists at his sides as his father berates him for everything Ilya did on the ice.
Shane’s mother stops talking when she realizes that Shane is distracted. She knows that Ilya doesn’t have a good relationship with his father. She’s had to drive Ilya around for years because his father didn’t care enough to show up for him. Ilya has stayed over at the Hollander house night after night to avoid being alone in his house. Shane knows he’ll probably spend the entire evening later ranting about Ilya’s father’s unfair critiques of Ilya. Instead of badgering Shane about it being rude to eavesdrop, Shane’s mother shares a look with Shane’s father and says nothing.
Although he doesn’t catch every word perfectly, Ilya’s father says the last sentence slow and cruel and Shane can understand every word easily.
“You are just like your mother: a disappointment.”
When Shane looks over, Ilya is storming away. Shane looks at his mother to find her nodding in Ilya’s direction. “Go,” she says.
Dropping his gear, he rushes after Ilya. He hopes that Ilya father doesn’t notice him following after his son. If Shane’s parents had wondered about Ilya and Shane together, he wonders if the thought ever crossed Ilya’s father’s mind. Shane knows that the reaction wouldn’t be the same as his parents.
He finds Ilya in an empty bathroom. He’s gripping the edge of the sink and breathing heavily. He doesn’t look up when Shane walks in and keeps a safe distance from him.
“Are you okay?” Shane asks, unsure where to start. He’s not even sure if it’s better to talk in Russian or English.
Ilya lets out a sarcastic, breathy laugh. He still won’t look at Shane. “I’m great. Thanks.”
“Ilya, none of what he said is true. You’re a great player. You’re not a disappointment. At all.”
When Ilya looks up at him, there is a tear rolling down his cheek. He looks so small. Shane doesn’t know how to help, not really, but he hopes that he’s doing the right thing when he steps over and pulls Ilya into a tight hug. It’s what his parents would do for him.
Usually, this kind of embrace is reserved for post-goal victories on the ice, Ilya’s body smashing against his as they erupt in giddy laughter. This is completely different. Shane can feel Ilya fist the back of his shirt, his hot breath on Shane’s shoulder.
“She was not a disappointment,” Ilya says, voice choked. “She was beautiful and smart and kind.”
Shane wants to instantly tell him that he that he is all those things too. He wants to tell him that although Shane never met Ilya’s mother, he knows he got all his best features from her. He wants to hold him tighter, fearful that he might disappear, and beg him not to follow her.
Instead, he says, “A little bit longer. A year and a half. Then, we’ll play in the NHL, and you won’t ever have to see him again.”
This does seem to calm Ilya down. He sags a little in Shane’s grip and lets out a long breath. They stand like that for a few minutes longer. The only reason that Shane finally breaks away is because he hears footsteps outside the bathroom door. He doesn’t need for someone to walk in one them like this. They already get enough jokes about how close they are.
“If you don’t have to get back to the hotel right away, we’re going out to eat at a restaurant that Dad heard was good.”
Ilya shrugs, his hands now tucked away in his pockets. Shane knows that Ilya spent years feeling guilty about always crashing their family dinners because Ilya had nowhere else to go. Shane wants to shake his shoulders and yell at him that he can’t crash their dinners because he is part of their family. They all want him there.
“Come on,” Shane says, trying to sound upbeat. “You can order chicken strips, and then you and Mom can bitch about every player on the other team.”
“Are you sure it is okay if I come?” Ilya finally asks, a small on his face.
Shane nods. He doesn’t even have to ask.
*
It’s Shane’s eighteenth birthday before he knows it. Shane’s mother invites some friends and family members to the house and throws a modest surprise birthday party for him. Shane’s grateful, but he spends the night nervously filtering through everyone who showed up to the party. Ilya refuses to leave Shane’s side the entire night. His presence makes him feel like he can breathe properly and gives him the energy to get through all the small talk. He feels his mother’s eyes on him, though. He knows what she is most likely thinking about the two of them spending the entire night together.
When everyone finally leaves, Ilya is still there. It’s not even a question that Ilya is staying the night. Shane flops onto his bed and almost falls asleep while Ilya changes out of his jeans. He’s exhausted. All the talking and smiling has put him on edge. When he cracks open his eyes, Ilya is unscrewing a bottle of vodka.
“Where did you get that from?” Shane mumbles, sitting up. He knows that Ilya had a thing with a teammate’s older sister a couple months ago and she has been buying him alcohol ever since.
Ilya waves his hand like it isn’t important and then sits on the bed next to Shane. He forces the bottle into Shane’s hand by using his own hand to wrap Shane’s around it. His touch lingers for a moment too long. “Happy birthday, Shanya.”
Shane knows the nickname is mostly a joke, but he loves when Ilya uses it. He’s so exhausted from the day that he doesn’t even fight Ilya on the alcohol in his parents’ house. He brings it to his lips, winces on the swallow, and listens to the quiet laugh from Ilya as he watches. When he hands back the bottle, their fingers touch again.
He never used to think so much about every single touch. Before he was forced to examine their relationship, he would have never thought twice about their fingers touching. Now, Shane feels warm at the barest hint of contact between the two of them. He finds himself casually leaning in for more. It’s greedy, Shane knows. He doesn’t want to think about what it means.
“You had a good birthday party, yes?” Ilya asks after he takes a sip. He swallows it like he’s drinking water.
Shane nods. “Just…a lot.”
“It’s over now,” Ilya says. “Just you and me.”
They spend the next hour passing the bottle between the two of them and talking about the upcoming year. The draft is soon. It feels like if they talk about it out loud, they’ll jinx it. Shane knows they’ll be drafted, though. They’ll both be training for the NHL in a year’s time. If it wasn’t for the burn of the alcohol, the thought would make him feel sick. Instead, they go back and forth about what team they want to be drafted to and what cities would be the best to live in.
“It’s finally happening,” Shane says, nearly breathless. He allows himself to lean against Ilya and drop his head on his shoulder. “It’s finally paying off.”
“I told you it would,” Ilya says in Russian. They do this when they get tired. Ilya will speak in Russian, and Shane will speak in English.
“Things will be so different.” Shane feels like he needs to cherish the next few months. He’s not even sure he’ll be drafted to the same team as Ilya. The thought of playing hockey without him terrifies Shane. As excited as he is for the next part of his life, he wants to hold onto this year a little longer.
“Yeah, we’ll be fucking rich,” Ilya says. He’s already gone over the cars he plans on buying during his first year in the league. “And famous. And girls will throw themselves at us.”
Shane wants to point out that Ilya has always had girls throwing themselves at him. He doesn’t want to talk about girls with Ilya right now. He wants to keep talking about hockey.
Ilya ruins it when he quietly adds, “Maybe men, too.”
“Ilya, seriously, fuck off,” Shane warns. Shane can’t tell if Ilya says it because he thinks he’s being inclusive for Shane’s sake or if he’s trying to rile Shane up. He says the next part in Russian because he hates the thought of his parents somehow overhearing it. “I already told you. I’m not gay.”
“Okay.” Ilya takes a sip of the bottle before saying, “Maybe I wouldn’t mind men throwing themselves at me.”
Shane immediately thinks that he didn’t hear him correctly. “What?”
“This summer, back in Russia, I hooked up with a guy a couple times,” he admits. He won’t look at Shane, eyes focused on something across the room.
“Oh.” There are a million thoughts running through Shane’s mind when he hears this. He wishes he was sober for the conversation. He can’t concentrate properly. All he can think about is how he knows how dangerous it is to be gay in Russia. He wants to berate Ilya for doing something so risky. He can’t get anything else out of his mouth, though.
“Is that okay?” Ilya asks.
Shane doesn’t know exactly what he means by the question. Is it okay that Ilya is possibly into men? Is it okay that he slept with a man in Russia? Is it okay that he told Shane about all of this while he was drunk and warm and happy on his birthday and now he feels restless and that his heart is beating too hard?
“Sure. Of course.”
When Shane finally meets his gaze, Ilya is biting his bottom lip with a searching look on his face. Shane feels like this entire conversation has gotten away from him. He needs to fix it.
“I hope I stay in Canada,” he says to change the subject.
Ilya nods once, clearly disappointed, but he doesn’t bring up the topic again.
*
On the day of the draft, Shane is a mess.
Once he is dressed, he paces around the hotel room in his crisp suit while his parents try to calm him down. It’s impossible. Ilya is texting his phone, but Shane can’t be bothered to look at the messages. He feels more nervous for today than an actual game. The decisions have already been made. Shane should be able to stop worrying, but he feels sick with anxiety.
When they arrive at the event early, Shane slips away from his parents and gestures vaguely in the opposite direction. He doesn’t need to say what he’s doing. It should be obvious by now. Ilya is where he said he would be, across the street and around the corner. He’s leaning against the building and smoking a cigarette. When he spots Shane, he grins and takes one last drag before dropping the cigarette to the sidewalk and toeing it out.
“I’m gonna throw up,” Shane tells him.
“Don’t be a baby,” Ilya ribs. “Today is good day.”
“I’m serious. I might actually throw up.”
“Oh my god, Shanya. If you must, please do before we go in.”
Shane throws him an annoyed look. He fidgets with the sleeves of his suit. It’s too warm outside for it. Ilya reaches out and straightens his tie. When he’s done, he lays his palm flat against it for a few seconds before pulling away.
“You look good. Very professional.” Then, he adds, “Perfect number two choice material.”
“Fuck you,” Shane says, no venom to the words. Instead, he smiles at Ilya. He wants to get emotional, tell him that he doesn’t know how he would be able to do any of this without Ilya at his side. He doesn’t say it, and hopes that his smile is enough to get the message across.
The day goes by in a blur after that.
He is happy with how it all plays out, despite the crushing knowledge that he did technically come in second place. The only relief is knowing that his best friend in the entire world is number one. Shane knows that Ilya deserves it. He tells himself it could’ve gone either way with how closely matched they are. He tries not to linger on it, and instead sits through endless hours of talking with important people in the league with a cheesy smile pasted on his lips. He’s grateful his mother can do most of the talking.
When he spots Ilya across the room doing the same thing, he smiles at him. Ilya smirks back and rolls his eyes. He tries not to think about the fact that Montreal and Boston are rivals and soon Ilya and Shane will have to compete against each other instead of with each other.
Eventually, Shane’s family finds Ilya and his father. They make small talk while Shane and Ilya sip champagne. After years of knowing each other, Shane’s parents aren’t offended by Ilya’s father’s clipped responses.
When there is a lull in the conversation, Ilya’s father turns to Ilya and says, “I’ll be right back. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Shane looks down, trying to not make it obvious he understands his words. He can’t help but to be angry that even today, when Ilya’s on top of the world, he can still talk down to him.
“A few more months,” Shane reminds him quietly, Shane’s parents not asking what they are saying.
“Not soon enough.”
They mingle for another hour, the evening winding down. Shane is ready to leave. He feels more tired than he has ever felt after such an overwhelming day. All he wants to do is go back to the hotel and stare at wall to give his brain a break.
“This is so boring,” Shane says to Ilya after someone finally leaves them alone. Shane can’t even remember her name. He thinks she was important, though. Everyone is important. “I can’t meet another person.”
Shane usually enjoys being able to speak freely in public with Ilya, but he suddenly regrets ever saying anything in Russian when he realizes Ilya’s father has walked up behind them.
“It is an important night for both of you,” he says. Shane forces himself not to look over to Ilya. His father looks at Shane curiously. “I didn’t know you spoke Russian.”
He doesn’t know what to say, mouth suddenly dry.
“He learned it in school,” Ilya supplies for him. “We practice sometimes.”
It’s better than Shane’s honest response: he learned it because he was obsessed with the new kid from Russia and wanted to talk to him as much he could.
He looks between the two of them, eyes suddenly hard. “I’m going back to the hotel. Be responsible.” He directs his attention to Shane when he says, “Congratulations again on Montreal.”
Shane quietly thanks him in Russian, grateful that he doesn’t forget the words because he’s so nervous under his gaze. When he’s far enough away, Shane slumps into Ilya and moans, “Your dad scares me.”
Ilya laughs, but it doesn’t sound genuine.
Ilya rides back to the hotel with Shane’s family. The four of them squeeze into a cab, Shane and Ilya’s shoulders and thighs pressed together. Shane loosens his tie and leans his head on the back of the seat. He feels like he can finally breathe again.
After a round of hugs from his parents, Ilya and Shane retreat into Shane’s hotel room across from his parents’ room. The second the door closes behind them, they look at each other for a serious moment and then break into laughter. Shane feels light-headed and shaky. Ilya puts his arm around Shane’s shoulders and pulls him closer.
“We fucking did it!” he shouts at him.
Shane could cry. He’s still laughing, though. “I can’t believe it.”
“Fucking NHL.”
“Fuck.”
After they’ve calmed down, they slip out of their suits and lie on Shane’s bed in their undershirts and briefs. Ilya finds a movie for them to watch on the TV, but Shane falls asleep in the first twenty minutes. The last thing he remembers is Ilya laughing at something softly from beside him, close enough that Shane can feel his body heat. When he wakes up again, Ilya is bent forward collecting his suit that he’s carelessly left on the ground.
“Just stay here tonight,” Shane tells him, voice heavy with sleep. He doesn’t want for Ilya to go. He double downs in Russian. “Stay.”
Ilya pauses, his suit coat crumpled in his grip. He carefully puts it down on the back of the armchair next to Shane’s, clicks off the light, and gets back into bed. This time, he gets under the covers. The TV is still playing. Shane knows that Ilya likes to sleep with it on.
Before Shane falls back asleep, he whispers, “I can’t wait to beat Boston’s ass next season.”
“In your dreams,” Ilya bites back.