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Svetlana Vetrova knew Ilya Rozanov better than anyone else in the world. Even Shane Hollander, through no fault of his own. Svetlana had merely known Ilya longer, had seen him warp and morph himself from boy to man. She had witnessed his earliest self-discoveries, his worst tragedies, his hardwon victories. It was through longevity, not Ilya's willingness, that she knew him.
Svetlana had seen a light die in her best friend's eyes after he found Irina. She learned to know the difference between his hockey injuries and the ones doled out from his father and brother. She could spot from a distance when he checked out, when he was spiraling, when he was drowning in misery. She had also learned how to curb those feelings, redirect them, give him an outlet. Perhaps it was not the healthiest of methods, but it was the comfort she could give him.
It's how she knew about Jane for much longer than Ilya would admit to. It's how she pieced together that Jane was Shane Hollander and that Ilya was deeply, irrevocably in love. It's how she learned to accept that another person had usurped her spot.
Truthfully, she'd never been happier to cede a title.
To the rest of the world, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander made no sense. They seemed to be in complete opposition, too different, too uneven. Those people did not know her best friend. They did not know the little boy who had a smile like sunshine and gentle hands. They did not know the young man who refused to allow anyone to see him cry or miss a step or back down. They did not see the poor thing that tried and tried and tried to get others to love him, no matter how much it tore him to pieces.
They did not know that Shane Hollander had been collecting those pieces where they fell and had slowly, dilligently, stitched them back together.
It started long before Shane and Svetlana had even met, her noticing. Long before Ilya would even admit Jane existed, let alone mattered.
He stopped smoking.
Svetlana was hardly opposed to a vice. She smoked occasionally herself. But Ilya had taken it up like armor and rebellion, claiming it gave him an excuse to approach someone he was interested in fucking. So it had surprised her when there was no pack on his bedside table one weekend. When a beautiful woman at some club offered him a cigarette and he declined. When they hit up a convenience store for snacks and condoms and he didn't buy a pack.
"Since when do you not smoke?" she asked him incredulously as they left. He only shrugged.
"Team doctor said to quit."
"You hate the team doctor."
"It's his job."
They had gone back to his place, had sex, watched bad movies and ate junk. He'd plopped his head in her lap so she could play with his curls.
"Who do you play next?" she asked absently. "It's away, yes?"
"Montreal."
She hummed. "I wish it was a home game. I love watching you play with Hollander."
"Against."
"Eh. When you play Montreal it's like you two are the only ones there."
"I guess."
But she watched him swipe at his nose. One of the many tells that he was lying or hiding something. That didn't happen often, that kind of slip, he was just too comfortable with her.
"Will you see Jane? In Montreal?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
Svetlana paused, thinking.
"Does Jane smoke?"
She could feel Ilya stiffen, knew exactly which furrowed frown would be gracing his features. Secret, denial, scared. The tension wafted off of him.
"No."
The second time Svetlana understood how much Shane Hollander took care of her friend came much later after they had met. After she had discovered that Shane was one jealous, possessive, obsessive motherfucker and she loved that for Ilya. His family had treated him like some ugly extra appendage that could never incorporate to the whole. His hookups knew nothing beyond what you could learn in a few drunken hours. Shane had made sure, in no uncertain, awkward, blunt terms, that Ilya was his and he didn't share. Again, she loved that. She also loved that it didn't actually include Svetlana showing Ilya physical affection. It seemed contradictory, but at the same time very assured. She was free to hang all over him as usual, to hang all over Shane even, but that man was Shane's baby.
Svetlana was so accustomed to watching Ilya twist himself into knots doing things for others. Usually to no avail, no reciprocity. Her response was to take as much burden off of him as he would allow, provide a safe place for comfort and recuperation.
So watching Shane Hollander spoil Ilya in his own home was a gift.
It was just after Christmas. Shane had come out just to his team and had not been invited to All-Stars as a result. Ilya was homebound while he recuperated from a minor PCL injury. Svetlana had a day before she returned to be with her family on New Year's, so she stopped in to visit and check on Ilya.
Ilya was a bad patient. Always had been. He insisted on doing things himself, never followed guidelines, pushed himself too hard. So Svetlana was surprised to find him set up on the couch when she let herself in.
"Sveta!"
"Don't you dare move!" Shane snapped from the kitchen. "She has two working knees, she can come to you!"
"Oh my god, save me from this demon warden!" Ilya whined, a hand reaching out for her. Just to prevent further chaos, Svetlana went to him first, bending down to kiss his cheek.
"I see the inmate is giving you trouble, Hollander," she teased, turning on her heel to go embrace Shane.
"He is torturing me!"
Svetlana took a moment to absorb the scene. Ilya was set up on the couch with chenile blankets, pillows behind his back and under his knee. He had a bottle of water, a coke, an ipad and phone on a charging stands, a little tv tray with a magazine, a plate of pelmeni and chips, headphones, and the tv remote. There was another tray on the table with icy hot, ice packs, pain medication, and a knee brace. His crutches were leaned against the couch within reach. He had on thick bright red Christmas socks and a hoodie.
"Yes," she agreed, "you are the very picture of misery."
Ilya groaned about collusion while she shared a smile with Shane. Shane, who was cooking.
"Smells good in here," she mused, looking into the pot on the stove. "Is that—?"
"Shchi, yeah. I got the recipe online, but the chef at that bakery you guys like gave me some tips."
Svetlana was reaching for a spoon to taste test before he even finished his sentence and melting. It tasted just like her babushka's.
"Shane," she moaned, "marry me."
"Hey!" Ilya snapped. "I will kick your skinny ass, broken knee or not!"
"Your knee is not broken," Shane sighed at the same time Svetlana said, "Иди к черту, неудачник!" (Go to hell, loser!)
"Don't flirt with my boyfriend!"
"Ice your knee, old man."
"Well, this is pleasant," Shane intoned. He rubbed Svetlana's shoulder. "How did the conference go? Did you get that contract?"
"What contract?" Ilya demanded, voice raised. They ignored him.
"The conference went really well. I managed to find three whole men who didn't proposition me immediately. Networked with several promising clients and I nailed the presentation for that contract. You are looking at the new luxury vehicle liason for Exxon."
Shane bumped shoulders with her. "Atta girl. I knew you'd close it."
"Why do I not know about your big presentation?" Ilya pouted from the couch.
"Dorogoy," Svetlana sighed, "you have been fretting non-stop about the Hollander Christmas party for a month and you have been dealing with those idiot rookies getting arrested. You did not need to worry about me." He looked patently offended by that statement. "Shane. Tell him!"
"No way am I choosing sides. I will lose," Shane chuckled, lowering the heat on his soup and tidying up. He moved out of the kitchen. "Sit up, you need to do PT."
"I did PT this morning!"
"You need to do it twice a day for two more days and then you can increase to walking and the bike—you took the brace off, really?"
"It was itchy!"
Svetlana helped herself to the bar, poured a drink, and sprawled in a cozy overstuffed chair to watch. Shane bullied Ilya back into his brace and helped him settle on the floor. They went through the exercises, Shane giving gentle instructions even as Ilya complained that he didn't need help. He did. His lip was curling like it always did when he was in pain. Shane didn't snap or sneer at him, though, just patiently moved his leg and foot through the exercises. Ilya was sweating by the end of it. He tried to struggle to his feet to get back onto the couch.
Shane was right there, catching him and sweeping her hulking behemoth of a best friend off his feet and onto the couch. Without a word, he bulstered Ilya's knee into an elevated position with pillows, grabbed an ice pack to settle where it was needed, and offered him pain meds. Ilya endured it all without a single complaint.
Svetlana smirked and told Ilya in Russian. "He has you well trained, I see."
Ilya glared and answered, "He worries too much. If I argue, he will cry."
"We both know who the real baby is," she snarked back.
"Knee injuries are serious Ilya, I'm not worrying, I'm taking it seriously."
"He knows Russian now?"
"He is learning Russian. We will not be safe for long. I give him 2 weeks before it's a full invasion."
"I am learning Russian so you don't have to work so hard," Shane argued.
"You understand us?" she asked, genuinely curious about his progress. Ilya always claimed he was genius.
"I can pick up some words and I'm using context." He dropped a hand on top of Ilya's, which Ilya grabbed and hugged to himself. "He keeps joking that I'm invading Russia."
"He is. Now I will have nothing to myself. No peace. He will nag me in 3 languages."
"You love it," Svetlana teased back. "Because babies love being fussed over."
"Rude witch!"
"Obsessed lover boy!"
"I love it so much when you guys do this," Shane mused. "It's really fun for me."
"She is mocking me," Ilya complained.
"I am not! He's just being a baby."
"Well that I believe."
"Shane!"
"Ilya."
"I am injured and you gang up on me."
Shane leaned over Ilya and kissed him soundly. Svetlana snorted when Ilya grabbed for Shane's neck to keep him there. Not that Shane was in any rush to pull away. He sat there and murmured something probably inanely sweet because Ilya's expression melted. Heart eyes, indeed.
She remembered the last time Ilya had injured his knee. He had played through the rest of the game, hiding it from his coach and the team doctor. By the time he'd gotten home, he couldn't walk, and his father… Well, Ilya never told her what happened exactly. But he'd spent his month of recovery alone and when she saw him next he didn't look particularly rested or healthy. Grigory could be creative with his punishments, and Ilya being unable to play was a cardinal sin.
This was…well, for Ilya it was heaven. Being cared for by a very particular sort of man who loved him to insanity. Ilya probably hadn't moved beyond the floor and back for PT in the three days he'd been home. Svetlana was willing to bet Shane had carried him to that ridiculously large bathtub and bathed him too. Ilya's curls looked full and defined which meant Shane likely washed his hair and went through the routine she'd told him about. He clearly wanted for nothing. Shane was making shchi like a Russian babushka probably just because Ilya had mentioned it once. Right then, Shane was setting a timer for the ice pack and Ilya was fondly rolling his eyes.
It made her smile. It made her feel incredibly fond. It eased some of the aching worry she'd been carrying in her chest since they were 12 years old and Ilya squeezed her hand painfully tight at his mother's funeral.
She got up and went to sit at Ilya's feet, setting aside her drink so she could rub them.
"Okay, now tell me all about Shane's family party." Shane groaned at Ilya's wicked smile. "It can't have been that bad."
"It was incredible," Ilya assured her.
"My great aunt is…interesting."
"I haven't been called a dirty commie in five years!"
"The dementia medications are not working."
"She thought Shane was her son."
"She has thought worse."
"Yuna almost lost it."
"My mom is overprotective, and Ilya was supposed to be there as a friend, so—"
"I now know where Shane gets his blushing from. Yuna got so mad her whole face and neck went red."
"She'd been drinking…Asian flush, it's…it was fine."
"Shane almost outed us twice."
"Okay," Shane sighed, getting to his feet. "I have a call to make, so I'll let you two catch up." He went to kiss Svetlana's cheek and looked at her very seriously. "If he tries to get up, toss his crutches."
"Absolutely."
Svetlana laughed at Ilya's complaints and waited until Shane had gone through to the guest bedroom. She settled more fully into the couch, hand squeezing his foot.
"He is so good to you."
"The best."
"It makes me very happy to see you so happy, Ilyusha."
He just smiled at her, cheeks flushing in a way they almost never did. A beautiful thing to see.