Chapter Text
The camp is pretty much what Shane expected. They’re playing a few too many games for his taste, some exercises are a little too basic, and not everyone seems to be taking it as seriously as he is. Which is to be expected from a bunch of thirteen-year-olds, quite a few of whom are just here because their parents have the money and not because they have a real chance at a future career in hockey. But overall, it’s okay. He gets to play hockey all day for four weeks, no school or homework to squeeze in, and that’s what counts.
Most of the other kids are Canadian as well, some of whom Shane knows from training, with a few Americans and even fewer Europeans sprinkled in. Shane hasn’t really made an effort to get to know everyone. That’s not why he’s here. He knows the names of the few other boys who he considers serious competition because there might be a chance he’ll meet them again down the line.
Ilya from Russia is one of them. Ilya doesn’t talk. Ilya glares. Ilya mutters things under his breath. Ilya grins smugly when he’s won another speed skating race against Shane or outperformed everyone else in a skills competition. He’s so fucking good, it’s infuriating. Shane hates it as much as he loves it. He’s never had to make much of an effort to be the best. Now, for the first time, there’s someone who challenges him. And Shane has made it his goal to leave this camp knowing he’s better than Ilya.
The Russian boy keeps to himself. He always stands a little off to the side from everyone else, he sits alone during lunch. And he seems… sad. It could just be a cultural thing and the fact that he almost never smiles. Historically, Shane isn’t the best at reading other people’s emotions, so he doesn’t really trust himself on this too much.
But every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of Ilya when Ilya thinks nobody is watching, or he gets unintentionally close to Ilya when they’re receiving instructions, or sitting outside in the grass, taking a break, and it feels like something is wafting off the other boy. Something cold and heavy that creeps across Shane’s skin and lays itself around his throat, settles deep in his lungs, driving out the air.
Since it’s not like Shane would just go and ask Ilya about it, he tries to ignore it. Even if he knew how to talk to people, Shane is pretty sure that Ilya barely understands any English. Ilya always waits to see what the other kids do after they get new instructions and on quite a few occasions he gets told off for not listening to the coaches. The only English word Shane has heard repeatedly come out of Ilya’s mouth is ‘fuck’ and even that is heavily accented.
A few days in, Shane is standing in the cafeteria, clutching his tray, glancing around for a free spot. He did a few extra laps after everyone else had already left the ice, so he’s the last person in here. Meaning he has very few seating choices left. There’s the table with the loud guys where two are already throwing stuff at each other. The girls are already gathered around ‘their’ table and Shane is pretty sure he wouldn’t be welcome there. There’s another table where everyone is hanging on the lips of one of the American guys whose dad used to play in the MLH and who thinks that makes him a) a good player and b) interesting, neither of which Shane agrees with.
So, really, it isn’t much of a difficult decision when he steers towards the small corner table with its one other occupant. Ilya looks up from his food and narrows his eyes at Shane. Shane smiles politely and chooses a chair next to the one directly across from Ilya, signaling that he isn’t here to bother him, he just wants to eat his food in peace.
Pretending he doesn’t feel Ilya staring at him, Shane spears a noodle onto his fork and dips it into the sauce he asked for on the side, then puts it in his mouth. He hates being watched while he eats, it’s like he suddenly forgets about the logistics of eating and doesn’t remember how to chew and swallow. He’s more than a little relieved when Ilya returns to his own food and ignores Shane for the rest of the meal. Which actually ends up being the most relaxed meal Shane has had since starting the camp. So naturally, he keeps sitting with Ilya after that.
A few days later, Shane catches Ilya eyeing his plate. Or rather the fries that Shane didn’t eat because they were too thick and mushy on the inside. He only likes them thin and crispy. When their eyes meet, Ilya points at Shane’s plate and says something that’s either Russian or English with an accent too heavy for Shane to understand.
“You want my fries?” Shane asks and nudges his plate across the table a bit.
“I eat?” Ilya replies, gesturing from his own chest to the fries.
“Yes.” Shane nods and for some reason feels himself blushing when Ilya smiles, briefly, then pulls the plate over. Shane watches him drown the fries in ketchup before shoving them into his mouth, too many at once.
“Thank you,” Ilya says when he’s done. He grins, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Very hungry,” he adds and pats his stomach.
“I’m sure you can get more if you ask,” Shane says.
Ilya frowns.
“More. Over there,” Shane tries again and points to the counter. “They might give you more if you ask.”
It doesn’t look like Ilya understands him. If Shane was sure that Ilya wants more, he’d go up and get it for him. But before he can do that, Ilya has already gotten to his feet and grabbed his tray. He puts it into the return station, then leaves the room.
Which is what prompts Shane to tell Yuna to swing by the bookstore on the way home, where he acquires a Russian-English dictionary that also has a short section of useful everyday phrases. He feels a bit weird getting it from his locker before lunch the next day and even weirder placing it on his tray and then sitting down across from Ilya like that.
Halfway through his meal he looks up to find Ilya looking at the dictionary. His cheeks turn a little warm, but he doesn’t want to be embarrassed for bringing it. “I, uhm, thought… in case we want to talk or something,” he says.
Ilya draws up his eyebrows. Then he reaches over and takes the dictionary off Shane’s tray. He leafs through it for a bit, sticks his finger between a few pages, then puts the book onto the table, writing turned towards Shane. He points at Shane, then at a word, ‘want’, flips a page and places his finger underneath ‘talk’.
“If I want to talk?” Shane asks. He shakes his head. “No, I mean, I thought only if I need to explain something to you again or something.”
Ilya looks confused again. He slowly shakes his head. “You,” he says, then turns to the dictionary, “not… like… talk?” His eyes are green, Shane notices, as they search his face.
“Uhm,” he says, “No? I mean… Sometimes I like to talk. But… It can be hard for me. So… I also like… not talking. I’m not saying we have to talk during lunch, but if you want to, we can of course.” He has no idea how much of that Ilya understood. Ilya seems… amused maybe?
“Okay,” Ilya says, except he pronounces it ‘oké’ and maybe it’s because it sounds kind of funny or because Shane is weirdly proud that they managed to have, if not a conversation, at least a short exchange, but Shane finds himself grinning widely at Ilya. The smile he gets in return feels hard earned and immensely satisfying because of it.
Shane discovers that it’s actually kind of neat, thinking about potential topics of conversation beforehand. Every night at home, he thinks about things he could ask Ilya, looks up the words and puts little neon-colored markers next to them. Color-coded for each topic of course. That way they learn quite a few things about each other over the next couple of weeks. Shane learns that Ilya’s favorite animal is a bear, that he likes sports cars, his favorite subject at school is math and that he has a brother. He also learns that Ilya for some reason doesn’t like talking about his parents and one time he abruptly leaves the table when Shane asks him his favorite food.
It’s not that Ilya suddenly becomes friendly, just because they exchange a few words over lunch. Most of the time, Shane still can’t tell what he’s thinking and whether the few times he snorts or laughs it’s because he thinks what Shane said was funny or if he’s making fun of Shane. But he does come to stand next to Shane more often and picks him first to be on his team on several occasions.
In week three, a Russian MLH player joins the coaching staff and it’s fascinating to watch Ilya interact with him. To hear him actually talk. More than once Shane catches himself just standing there, staring, listening. It’s like Ilya is another person suddenly. Or, well, maybe not quite. He still seems pissed off a lot and to Shane it sounds mostly like talking back and challenging their coach. But somehow, Shane still finds himself wishing that the two of them could talk like that, even if it would mostly mean getting insulted. Shane has no doubt that there’s not a single nice thing Ilya hisses his way or mutters under his breath when they battle on the ice. Because Shane is very much on track to keeping the promise he made to himself of getting better than Ilya, which Ilya does not seem to particularly enjoy.
“Why are you so obsessed with that Russian, dude? It’s kind of weird,” Chris, who Shane has known for a few years and whose mom used to invite Shane over, probably until she realized that they didn’t really get along, says to him after lunch one day.
“I’m not,” Shane contradicts him. “Obsessed with him, I mean.” Perhaps Chris is right, though. He kind of is. But it’s probably just because he’s finally found someone he wants to be friends with. “He doesn’t have anyone else, so I’m just trying to be nice,” he says, unconvincingly apparently, considering Chris scoffs and leaves him standing.
His slight obsession doesn’t go unnoticed by his mother either. Of course not. The second time she catches him bent over the dictionary, she pries out of him that there’s a kid called Ilya who doesn’t speak English and Shane is trying to befriend him.
At the end of week three, on Friday night, Yuna is waiting for Shane outside the building and not in the car as per usual. “Hi, honey,” she says with a smile and runs her hand over his shower-damp hair.
“What’s going on?” he asks, smoothing it back down so it won’t stick up in every direction once it dries.
“I thought I would take you and your friend to dinner and a movie tonight.” Yuna smiles, then glances over his head towards the door.
“My friend?”
“Your camp friend. Ilya.”
“He’s not—”
“There he is!” She waves her hand in the air.
Fighting the slight bout of panic bubbling up in his stomach, Shane watches Ilya walk towards them. He’s wearing a ball cap over his blond hair, backwards, wet strands sticking to his forehead, curls pulled straight by the water. Shane can’t read his expression, can’t tell if Ilya is as mortified and blindsided by all of this as Shane is. He has to be, right?
“I talked to the supervisors and asked if you could take Ilya out tonight,” Yuna explains. “They immediately said yes and so did he apparently when they asked him.”
“When did you ask them?” Shane asks, lowering his voice since Ilya is getting close now.
“Yesterday,” she says. “And they called me back last night when they’d asked Ilya.”
Shane is mortified. So Ilya has known about this the entire day? While they were training? While they were having lunch across from each other? And he hasn’t fucking said anything? And he’s under the impression that all of this was Shane’s idea?
“Hi,” Ilya says and hoists his bag further up his shoulder.
“Hello, Ilya,” Yuna says brightly. “You ready to have some fun, boys?”
Shane suppresses a groan. He can’t imagine how this evening can turn into anything but an awkward disaster.
The way dinner starts out seems to confirm his worries. His mom talks too much and too fast, and asks Ilya way too many questions that he doesn’t understand while they wait forever for their food. Things start to feel a little more familiar once Shane gets out the dictionary and Yuna starts using it as well. But it’s only when the food arrives and Ilya’s entire face lights up in genuine excitement when his plate, containing a giant burger and a mountain of fries, is set down in front of him, that Shane fully relaxes. Or relaxes as far as he can while at a noisy diner with his mom and a boy his mom very likely coerced into being here.
Shane is more than a little relieved when Yuna tells them she’s not coming to the movies with them. He is, however, slightly mortified and vaguely confused when she somehow manages to leave them with money for snacks and two tickets for ‘Shrek 2’. Which is, like, the most uncool of all the movies playing tonight. But Ilya doesn’t seem to mind too much. Or if he does, he hides it pretty well. By the looks of it, he cares more about the snacks anyway. Shane is quite impressed that Ilya orders Coke, popcorn and nachos after already finishing his entire dinner while Shane only gets a small bag of popcorn and a Ginger Ale.
About ten minutes into the movie, Shane is ready to revise this opinion. Maybe this was the perfect movie for tonight after all, because for the first time, Ilya is actually laughing. He snorts, he giggles, he sprays popcorn everywhere, and Shane can’t help but laugh along. Less so because of the movie and more because Ilya laughing might be his new favorite thing in the world, which is very confusing and vaguely concerning, and laughing about it helps with the weird, fluttery feeling in his chest.
“Thank you very much,” Ilya says politely when they drop him off at the housing where some of the visiting kids are staying during the camp. “Was very fun.”
“I’m glad,” Yuna says, reaches out and for a short moment places her hand on Ilya’s shoulder.
At first it almost looks like Ilya flinches, but it’s hard to tell in the twilight, and then he smiles at Yuna and says, “Good night.”
“Night, Ilya,” Shane says.
Ilya shoots him a little grin and says something that Shane believes is ‘good night’ in Russian.
“Maybe you want to invite Ilya over sometime next week? Before the camp is over?” Yuna says.
Shane wants to sink into the ground. “Mom!” he hisses. He needs her to stop managing his social life. Tonight was fine, fun even, better than expected, sure. But it could have gone terribly and then he would have had to deal with the fallout instead of focusing on hockey. Luckily, it looks like Ilya didn’t understand what Shane’s mom said anyway.
“See you tomorrow,” Ilya says, gives a small nod, then turns, walks down the path and disappears into the house.
Shane does not invite Ilya again. He’s too focused on making sure he gets the most out of this last week. Also, he doesn’t really know how to ask or what to suggest anyway. The camp ends with a game and unsurprisingly Shane leads one team while Ilya is captain of the other one. They are objectively the two best players here. Ilya beats Shane 7:3 and Shane knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but take it personally. Which is why it takes him quite a while to at least start enjoying the farewell barbecue and bonfire. And it keeps him from seeking out Ilya’s company until he finally starts looking for him when everyone has gathered around the fire. He wants to say a proper goodbye at least.
He finds Ilya standing alone off to the side, leaning against a tree, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring into space.
“Hey,” Shane says as he steps up next to him.
Ilya startles, his head snapping towards Shane. He barely meets Shane’s eyes before he drops his gaze to the ground.
“So, are you… looking forward to going home?” Shane asks. “You must miss it.”
At first he thinks that maybe Ilya didn’t understand him. Then he sees the way he’s biting down on the inside of his bottom lip and his eyes are blinking rapidly. Something must be wrong with him. Shane wishes he’d brought his dictionary. He could probably get it from his bag that must be around here somewhere.
Without warning, Ilya pushes off the tree and stalks off into the darkness.
“Wait, Ilya, where are you—”
He only walks faster and Shane has to fall into a jog to keep up. Finally, Ilya rounds the corner of the building where they’re out of sight from anyone. He leans his back against the wall, tips back his head, squeezes his eyes shut and breathes deeply.
Shane’s chest clenches. Without thinking, he reaches out and touches his hand to Ilya’s upper arm. Ilya’s eyes fly open, down to Shane’s hand. They are big and shiny in the dark when he looks at Shane.
“Are you… are you okay?” Shane asks.
Ilya shakes his head.
“Do you… not want to go home?”
There’s a long pause. Ilya’s breath is shaky and his eyes flicker down to Shane’s hand again. “My mom… “ He presses his lips together. A tear tumbles from his lashes down his cheek.
“Is she sick?” Shane guesses.
“My mom is dead.”
It takes a moment before the words truly register with Shane and the shock hits him. “Oh no, Ilya, I’m—” The words get stuck somewhere in his too tight throat. So he does the only thing he can think of and throws his arms around Ilya, pulling him into the tightest hug he can manage with his sore arms. Ilya makes a little sound that could be a noise of surprise or a sob and for a terrifying second, he just stands there, before Shane feels his arms loop around his own shoulders. He’s quite a bit taller than Shane, but right now he seems small, swallowed up by Shane’s hug.
Ilya starts shaking against Shane’s chest and the sob that escapes his mouth close to Shane’s ear cuts through him like a knife. Shane feels so helpless and his heart physically aches in his chest. Shane has only lost his grandma last fall and that was bad enough. Losing your mom must be the most terrible, painful experience imaginable. Poor Ilya. Shane feels tears burning in his own eyes as he rubs soothing circles into Ilya’s upper back. He pictures Ilya’s dad and brother picking him up from the airport without his mom. Ilya coming home and his mom isn’t there. Ilya being sad and alone and his mom isn’t there. She’ll never be there again. She’s just gone. Forever.
Shane doesn’t know when he starts full-on crying too. But when they finally pull apart, there’s definitely a dark splotch on Ilya’s white t-shirt and his cheeks are wet.
Ilya studies Shane silently for a beat. He seems almost a little confused as to why Shane is crying. Then he takes a step back, turns his head to the side and dries his face on his sleeve. “Sorry,” he says, voice thick.
“No!” Shane protests. “Don’t be.” He roughly scrubs his palms down his face, takes a shuddering breath. “When… when did it happen? Was it while you were here? This summer?”
Ilya considers the words for a bit, then shakes his head. “In winter,” he says and swallows.
“I’m so sorry,” Shane says, again. The lump in his throat still feels impossibly big. “Was she… was she sick?”
Ilya looks down at his feet and nods.
Shane has to fight back fresh tears. God, he is terrible at consoling people.
Ilya pulls up his nose and spits on the ground. “I have present for you,” he says, almost gruffly, and jerks his head towards the fireplace. “Come.”
“You… what?” Shane has trouble adjusting to the abrupt mood change.
Ilya doesn’t elaborate any further and starts walking back the way they came, Shane stumbling behind him. Once they reach the heap of hockey bags, Ilya crouches down, rummages through his, then stands back up and holds something out to Shane.
Shane stares at the Donkey keychain for a moment before he takes it out of Ilya’s palm. “Thank you,” he says, weirdly touched. He has thought about their movie visit quite a bit.
Ilya gives him a weak, crooked grin. “Is because you talk a lot. Donkey. You.”
Shane stares at him in astonishment before he lets out a laugh. “Me? I talk a lot?” He chuckles because, well, that’s new. Nobody had ever said that he, Shane Hollander, talks a lot.
“Yes.” Ilya grins.
Shane laughs. “Thank you.” Technically, Ilya is definitely the person he talked most to during his time at the camp. He wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘a lot’. But… Donkey is cute. And funny. And now Shane has something to remind him of Ilya.
He has an idea then and starts looking for his own bag. Once he’s found it, he gets out the dictionary. Ilya is looking at him with a curious expression when Shane hands it to him. “I know it has food stains everywhere and it’s not really a good gift, but… I thought maybe you want it. So you can keep studying.”
Ilya leafs through the pages, then takes the book between both of his hands. “Thank you,” he says and Shane gets the feeling that he isn’t just talking about the dictionary.
After they store their presents in their bags, they rejoin the others at the fire. They find a log and sit down next to each other. Ilya doesn’t talk anymore. He still seems so desperately sad that Shane is tempted to hug him again. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t think Ilya wants anyone else to know about his mom. He’s also tempted to fill the silence with words, but he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing feels appropriate. So they sit side by side, sharing a silent blanket of grief, until Yuna comes to pick Shane up.
Shane is standing in front of Ilya, his mom hovering behind his back, and he’s not quite sure how to handle the situation.
“Goodbye, Shane,” Ilya says finally.
“Bye, Ilya,” Shane replies. “See you in the MLH in a few years?”
“Yes,” Ilya replies seriously.
Shane smiles at him again, then turns around and follows Yuna to the car. When he replays the evening lying in bed later, he wishes he had given Ilya one more hug.