Chapter Text
Shane wakes up on his second morning in Tampa with his arms full of Ilya.
It’s still early—checkout isn’t for a few more hours, a glance at the clock on the bedside table reveals. He glances down at Ilya’s sleeping face, just barely able to make out his features in the darkness of the room with the curtains drawn tight. He looks peaceful, despite the bandages on his nose and forehead, and Shane is hit with an overwhelming wave of gratitude to be here, with him, holding him like this.
He briefly considers going back to sleep. He still feels exhausted, despite how much he’d slept the day before, but not in a sleepy way. So he contents himself with continuing to hold Ilya, despite the fact that he kind of has to pee, because he’d rather die than disturb him right now.
It’s another hour or so before Ilya stirs against him. Shane watches his eyes slowly open, blinking up at him in momentary confusion before his face splits into a tired, goofy grin. “Hi,” he greets, voice scratchy from sleep.
“Hi,” Shane replies, unable to help the answering smile that pulls at his own lips. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Like a baby,” Ilya sighs, nuzzling into Shane before he remembers that he’s injured—he curses as he bumps his nose too hard against Shane’s chest.
“Careful,” Shane chides, running his fingers through his curls.
“Stupid nose,” he groans.
“Let me up?” Shane questions, kissing the crown of his head. “I gotta pee.”
Ilya grumbles but does as he’s asked, rolling off of Shane so he can get up and head to the bathroom. He’s quick, only taking a few extra seconds to splash some water on his face and quickly brush his teeth, wanting to hurry back to his boyfriend.
Ilya is sitting up when he emerges from the bathroom, stretching and groaning—he must still be pretty sore. “Can we set up my phone?” he asks, scooting to the edge of the bed and getting up, presumably to also pee.
“Sure,” Shane replies. “Where is it?”
“In the bag,” Ilya tells him before he disappears into the bathroom.
Shane heads over to dig through the aforementioned bag, finding the box containing Ilya’s new iPhone. He takes it out and turns the phone on, plugging it into his own charger, and waits for Ilya so he can get his iCloud email and password to start setting it up.
Ilya comes back with freshly brushed teeth, plopping himself down next to Shane. “Is it ready?” he asks, peeking over at the phone.
“Don’t look at it, no screens,” Shane chastises, angling the screen away. “I need your iCloud login to get it started.”
Ilya gives him the information readily, and Shane dutifully types it in and then sets the phone aside to let it set itself up.
“Now we wait,” Shane hums, leaning back against the headboard. Immediately, Ilya plasters himself against his side, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“I say we take a little nap,” Ilya suggests, grinning.
“We just woke up,” Shane points out, impossibly fond.
Ilya shrugs. “Is early, we have time to sleep more, so why not?”
Shane can’t fault that logic. He doesn’t know if he’ll fall asleep, but if Ilya wants to, he’s happy to let him cling to him. “Very persuasive,” Shane tells him, leaning in for a chaste kiss before sliding down the headboard, pulling Ilya with him until they’re horizontal again. He reaches down to pull the blanket back up over them, and Ilya makes a content sound as his eyes fall shut, head resting on Shane’s chest.
“Have a good nap,” Shane murmurs, unable to resist pressing another kiss to his curls.
***
Later that morning, as they’re getting ready to head downstairs to meet with Ilya’s team, Shane’s phone vibrates—it’s a text from Hayden.
Hayden: Soooo…remember when I said I thought some of the boys had put two and two together?
Shane: Yes…?
Hayden: So like, JJ DEFINITELY knows it’s Rozanov. But the other guys seem to think it’s just some rando who works for the Centaurs 😅
Hayden: JJ is gonna keep his mouth shut, he IS pissed and wants to talk to you ASAP though. As for the others…you could definitely get away with a white lie, dude.
Shane hates how tempting the thought is. It would be so easy, to just let them continue thinking whatever it is that they want to think, but…he already told Ilya he’s going to be truthful with his team, he’s not going to make a liar of himself, no matter how much easier it would be.
Shane: No, I need to be truthful, Hayd. I can’t lie about this anymore, like he’s some kind of dirty secret. I’m done making him feel like that.
Hayden: Well, I’ll always have your back, okay? But I’m not gonna lie and tell you it’s not gonna be a shit show, because it definitely is 💀
Shane: Maybe it won’t be, you never know…
Hayden: I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you, buddy.
“What are you frowning at?” Ilya asks, brows furrowed, as he comes out of the bathroom, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, to be packed away.
Shane could lie about this to Ilya, but if he wants Ilya to continue communicating with him honestly, he knows he needs to do the same. “Hayden texted me,” he answers, sighing.
“Ah, that would make me frown, too,” Ilya replies, cheeky as ever.
It makes Shane roll his eyes, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. “Funny. But…sit with me for a minute?” Ilya does as he’s asked, sitting beside Shane and immediately taking his hand to kiss his knuckles. He smiles more genuinely at that. “Hayd was just letting me know that everyone but J.J. apparently just thinks I’m dating some random person affiliated with your team, not you specifically. I guess when I was freaking out, I never actually said your name, and Hayden didn’t either. He was saying I could just let them believe it, since they’d probably take it better than the truth.”
“Ah, I see,” Ilya says quietly after a moment. He avoids Shane’s eyes, and it makes Shane’s heart ache.
“I said I wasn’t going to do that,” Shane tells him, reaching out to tilt his chin up so that their eyes meet. “I said I’m done making you feel like a dirty little secret, and I meant it.”
“Oh,” Ilya breathes out. Shane watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. “Shane…if you think it will be dangerous, you don’t have to—“
“I do have to,” Shane cuts in, quiet but forceful all the same. “Ilya, they’re not going to hurt me or anything, I’ve never been worried about that. I know they’re not going to like it, but I don’t think any of them would ever go that far, okay? Please, don’t worry about that. I just love you so fucking much, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t in front of them. Nothing they say or do could ever be as scary as almost losing you.”
“I just…I don’t want you to force yourself to do this,” Ilya says, frustration creeping into his tone. “Our fight is old news to me now, Shane, and I don’t want you to always feel like you have to make up for what happened that night—because you aren’t a mind reader, lyubimyy, and I shouldn’t have expected you to know something I refused to tell you, even though I should have. I let things build up until they exploded, and that wasn’t right; I am at fault, too. But you feeling comfortable with me telling my team is already more than enough, I promise you don’t have to put yourself in a bad position with your own team.”
“Ilya,” Shane murmurs, eyes soft. “It’s not like that, I promise. This isn’t just about making it up to you—this is about needing to be truthful with the people I am contractually obligated to spend most of my time with. When I thought I lost you, all I could think about was how no one in that room understood why I was so devastated, other than Hayden. I thought about how, if you’d died, I would’ve had to act like I hadn’t lost the fucking love of my life. I would’ve had to be normal. Grieve in silence. And I realized that I just can’t fucking do that.” A single tear slips down Ilya’s cheek, and Shane immediately catches it. “So from now on, I’m going to do things right, even if it’s hard. Because no one else on that team would ever have to worry about any of that, so why should I? My love for you is no different from their love for their wives and girlfriends, so why should I have to keep hiding it from them?”
Ilya sniffles, silently leaning in to kiss him in response. It’s one of the most tender kisses they’ve ever shared, Shane is sure of it. “If you’re sure you want this, for you, then I won’t stop you,” he sighs against Shane’s mouth. “Is okay as long as it’s not just for my benefit.”
“Optimistic of you to assume you will benefit from them knowing in any way,” Shane grimaces, pulling away. “They’re probably going to be awful to you, Ilya. I’m going to do my best to make them understand, to see you even remotely how I see you, but I’m not going to be delusional—they’re not going to be nice, and we need to brace ourselves for that.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” Ilya mutters. His blue eyes have turned to steel. “But if they treat you badly because of this, I will beat the shit out of every single one of them. Happily.”
“It’s not going to come to that,” Shane swears, running his fingers through Ilya’s curls, and hoping it’s the truth.
***
“You’re ready?” Ilya asks for what feels like the millionth time as they ride the elevator down to the lobby of the hotel. Shane had sent out a text to Ilya’s entire team from his newly set up phone for him, since he’s supposed to avoid screens as much as possible for the next couple of days, and asked everyone to meet in a conference room. Ilya had called down to the lobby earlier that morning to make sure it was available, figuring it was the most logical option when it comes to telling the team before they board a plane together.
“Yes, Ilya, I’m ready,” Shane insists, surprised by how honest he is when he says that. “Are you?”
“I have…what’s the word…” Ilya thinks for a moment before his brain latches onto the word he’d been searching for. “Jitters, that’s the word. But not in a bad way—I know they’ll be good about it. It’s just…big, yes?”
Shane hums affirmatively. The elevator dings, signaling that they’ve reached the lobby, and they step out. Ilya had requested everyone meet at ten sharp, and it’s now ten after—as much as Shane hates being late for anything, they’d agreed that they wanted to make sure everyone else got there first, knowing there would be too many of the same questions if people walked in one by one with Shane and Ilya already there. Better to rip the band-aid off all at once.
They stop in front of the door to the correct conference room. Shane can faintly hear voices from the other side of the door, and worries for a moment that perhaps they might be overheard if anyone gets loud. But that worry dissipates when Ilya cracks open the door to peek in and make sure everyone is there—the noise that floods out through even that small crack is overwhelming, so clearly the soundproofing in the room must be pretty good if it’s able to muffle that much.
“He lives!” comes a loud voice above the rest—Shane doesn’t recognize it. There’s an answering cheer from what has to be the rest of the room.
“Yes, yes, you cannot get rid of me that easily,” Ilya jokes. “Everyone is here, yes?” There’s a chorus of yeses. “Okay, perfect!” Ilya throws the door open wide, then looks to Shane, who’s standing out of view of the room, with a soft smile. “Coming?”
Taking a deep breath to calm the nerves he can’t help but feel, Shane nods. He wants to take his hand, but anyone could walk by and see them—best to wait until the door is closed behind them, unfortunately.
He follows Ilya in, and immediately is met with the confused stares of the Ottawa Centaurs, sans Wyatt and Troy, since they already know what’s about to happen.
“Everyone, this is Shane Hollander,” Ilya introduces him with a grin. He doesn’t elaborate, not yet.
“Hi,” Shane says, waving awkwardly. It’s nerve-wracking to have the eyes of so many relative strangers on him, but when he catches Wyatt’s eyes, the kind goalie gives him a thumbs up. Similarly, Troy offers him a smile and a subtle nod when their eyes meet. “You’re probably all wondering what I’m doing here…?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.
“Yeah, you could say that,” a man who Shane recognizes as Nick Chouinard replies. He has a nasty black eye, and Shane remembers him being one of the other two the hospital had kept overnight.
“I saw on the news that you didn’t travel back from Washington with your team because of a family emergency,” Luca Haas chimes in. There’s a low murmur of agreement from some of the others who’d clearly seen the same.
Shane looks at Ilya, silently telling him to take it from there—it’s Ilya’s news to tell, they’re his team after all.
He, of course, can never be serious about anything, so he waves and says, “Hello, it is me, I am Family Emergency!”
The room is silent for a moment, before Evan Dykstra speaks—Shane recognizes his voice as the one he’d heard from out in the hall, greeting Ilya. “Man, I knew you guys were friends, but didn’t know you two considered each other family?” he asks, head tilted in confusion. Shane knows he’d been kept overnight at the hospital as well, but he can’t see any visible injuries at the moment. “That’s cool, though, that you’re that close!” he adds, grinning.
“Oh, they’re close, alright,” Wyatt mutters.
“Hey, Hazy, don’t steal my thunder, I was getting there,” Ilya scolds him, but the grin on his face shows he’s not actually mad. “But, yes, we are very close.” As he says it, he holds a hand out for Shane to take—he does so with a shy smile, allowing himself to be pulled into Ilya’s side. That smile widens when Ilya kisses his forehead and continues, “Shane is the love of my life. When he heard about what happened, he drove all night from Washington to here, just to see me. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I did not want to hide him from you all anymore, because life is fucking short. Also, I am bisexual, in case that was not obvious after everything else I just said.”
“Holy shit.” It’s Zane Boodram that breaks the stunned silence that follows Ilya’s revelation, and then the room descends into absolute chaos.
Everyone obviously has questions, and they’re all asking them all at once—Shane’s eyes go wide at how overwhelming it is, and he automatically feels himself press closer to Ilya.
“Hey!” Wyatt’s loud, booming voice cuts through the rest of the noise, and everyone immediately turns their attention to him instead, falling silent. “How about instead of bombarding them with a million questions at once, you take turns like good little children?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Raise your hands,” he adds, in a mock-stern tone of voice.
Several hands immediately shoot up, and the sight of it makes Shane want to laugh—he hadn’t expected them to actually do it.
“Bood, you first,” Ilya decides, nodding toward his alternate captain.
“Okay, so, I have two questions,” Bood starts, and is immediately booed by a couple of the other guys. He ignores them and looks back at Wyatt. “First of all, why are you not surprised? Barrett, you don’t look shocked enough either.”
Wyatt grins. “Roz loves me more than the rest of you, that’s why,” he lies.
Troy rolls his eyes at Wyatt. “Actually,” he starts, “it’s because we ran into Hollander when we went up to the hospital yesterday morning. He wasn’t on the list, so he couldn’t get in, and…” He pauses, hesitating for only a second more, before he continues. “I already knew Rozanov was bi, and I guessed the rest from there. So I did my best to help him get in, but the head nurse was pissed because he’d apparently caused a bit of a scene before Hazy and I got there, so…Hollander was forced to out them to the nurse, and Hazy and Coach were there too, so they found out then as well.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry you had to do that,” Luca gasps, looking almost devastated on their behalf as he turns his attention back to Shane and Ilya. He’s so young and earnest, it awakens an almost protective urge in Shane, which is crazy because he doesn’t even know this kid.
Shane waves it off. “I would’ve done anything to see him, no matter what. I’m just grateful everyone was kind about it,” he replies.
“Alright, that brings me to my second question: how in the world did this happen?” Bood asks, eyes wide. “Like, how long has this been going on?”
“That’s three questions total now, Bood,” Wyatt points out. Bood playfully flips him the bird.
“We met when we were seventeen,” Shane says, as if that made it an inevitability.
Ilya hums, nodding along. “This sweet, awkward little Canadian boy with amazing freckles introduced himself to me in a parking lot at our first World Juniors and decided to change my entire life in the process,” he continues for Shane, a soft smile on his face.
“This has been going on since you guys were seventeen?!” Dykstra exclaims, eyes popping wide.
“No, no, that would be crazy,” Ilya snorts. “It was summer before rookie year, the first time anything actually happened between us, so we were, hmm…nineteen, I guess?”
The room explodes into noisy chaos again. Shane understands—it’s objectively a fucking crazy thing to find out.
“No fucking way,” Bood wheezes, not unkindly—there’s genuine happiness in his eyes, still mixed with a lot of shock, but it’s there.
“So you’ve been dating since you were both nineteen?” Luca asks. Shane can tell he’s nervous to press, but too curious to help himself.
Ilya snorts. “No, not quite.”
“But you just said—“ Luca cuts himself off, reddening as he realizes. “Oh.”
“I think you just broke Haasy’s brain,” Wyatt cackles.
Chouinard is the next to speak. “Okay, so when did you start dating, then?” he questions. “If you don’t mind answering, that is—you guys don’t actually owe us any of this information, I hope you know that.”
“We wouldn’t share anything if we were uncomfortable,” Shane assures him. “We’ve been officially together since 2017.”
“So you’re telling us you guys had a seven-year-long situationship before you figured shit out?” The question comes from Tanner Dillon, who’d been on the quieter side compared to most of the others, but there’s nothing mean in his tone—just genuine disbelief.
“Our situation was…complicated,” Ilya explains, shrugging. “We tried for a long time to pretend we didn’t feel anything for each other, because we both knew that would complicate things. I also had my family in Russia to think about—I would not have been able to go home in the summers if anyone knew I liked men, and my father was sick and needed me. But after he died, there was nothing left for me there, and…things between us had been getting more and more serious, and then dinosaur Scott Hunter made us realize that maybe there could actually be a future for us, someday, even if our situation is a lot more complicated than his.”
“We could never seem to let each other go, and it took a really long time to come to terms with why we couldn’t do it,” Shane adds, sighing. “And I think we both knew that once we opened that door, there was no closing it again.”
“I have never loved anyone as much as I love this dork beside me,” Ilya states, so calmly and confidently that it gives Shane butterflies—he hadn’t realized how good it would feel to hear him tell other people that. “I was scared of how much I loved him for longer than I should have been, but thankfully, I smartened up. Anyway, you all should thank him, because it was his idea for me to join this team—without his plan for us to be closer together, none of you would know what a delight I am,” he adds, cheeky as always.
“Gotta admit, I always wondered what the fuck made you leave Boston and come to Ottawa of all places,” Bood snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “Obviously, we were happy to take you, but it never made any sense to me. Now, it does.”
“Love makes you do crazy things,” Ilya grins, pressing a kiss to Shane’s temple before he straightens up, clearing his throat. “Okay, I am going to be sappy for a minute, and you are all going to shut your faces about it and never bring it up again: I am so grateful that love has brought me here, to you all. You are all like family to me now, and I’m sorry I’ve been a lousy captain—keeping a secret this big, it’s…hard, you know? It is such a big part of me, this love, and Shane and I get so little time together, so I am with him as much as I possibly can be. Because of that, I know I’ve missed out on a lot of gatherings that I should have been at, and I’ve been more closed off than I wanted to be. Please, forgive me.”
That sting of shame hits Shane again, but he pushes it down as much as he can—he can wallow later. Right now is about Ilya.
“Roz, are you seriously worried about all that? We don’t care,” Wyatt says, actually sounding serious. “Obviously, we’d love for you to come hang out, but you not doing that doesn’t make you a bad captain.”
“Yeah, dude, you’re kinda one of the best things to happen to this team,” Dykstra snorts. “Now, with you, Hazy and also Barrett, we actually win sometimes, which is like…huge, for us.” There’s a quiet murmur of agreement from the rest of the team at that, and it makes Shane’s heart burst with pride that his boyfriend is so loved here.
“Well, I still want to make more of an effort from now on,” Ilya insists, though he looks relieved by their words.
“Then I’d better see you at our next barbecue,” Bood grins. He turns to Shane and adds, “You too, Hollander, as long as you’re in town—you’re always welcome to come with Roz.”
“I’d love that,” Shane replies, and he truly means it—he wants to spend time with the people who are important to Ilya, as this team so clearly is. “And…I just wanted to apologize to you all, it was my own fear that stopped Ilya from being honest sooner. I can see now that I had nothing to worry about, so…thank you all so much for loving him and accepting us so easily. It means more than any of you know,” he tells them, his eyes pricking with tears that he hastily blinks away.
“You’re family now,” Wyatt says in answer, grin softening. “Even if you’re an enemy on the ice—seriously, dude, I fucking hate to see you coming.”
Shane laughs at that. “Hey, you don’t exactly make scoring easy for me, man.”
They all spend a few minutes chatting after that, Shane and Ilya taking a few more questions good-naturedly before Ilya finally claps his hands. “Okay, time to go get our bags, it’s almost checkout time,” he announces, looking around. “We will all meet again in the lobby in twenty minutes, yes?”
“Yes, Captain!” the entire team choruses. The cheekier ones salute him as well before they all start filing out of the room, save for Bood.
“I just want you guys to know that I have your backs, no matter what,” the alternate captain tells them, eyes soft, as he rests a hand on each of their shoulders and gives a gentle squeeze. “This shouldn’t have to be a hard thing, but I know it is, and I just wanted you to know you’ll always have all of us in your corner, okay?”
“You’re going to make me cry,” Ilya jokes, but when Shane looks over at him, his eyes are definitely a little wet. “Thanks, Bood, it seriously means a lot to us.”
Bood turns his eyes to Shane. “Hazy was right when he said that, off the ice, you’re family now—and that means something to this team,” he says, and Shane can tell he’s serious. It makes him feel impossibly warm inside.
“I really appreciate that,” Shane replies, offering a genuine smile.
Bood heads out then, closing the door behind him to give them a moment of privacy, and Ilya immediately blows out a breath, lays his head sideways on Shane’s shoulder to avoid bumping his nose or forehead, and wraps his arms around him.
“Feel better?” Shane asks, gently rubbing his back.
“Yes,” Ilya breathes, squeezing Shane tighter. “You?”
“I do,” Shane answers, and he means it. “You really do have an amazing team, in the ways that matter the most, Ilya.”
Ilya snorts. “Not the greatest at hockey, but they have the biggest hearts.”
“Stop, I’m serious,” Shane insists, but he can’t help but laugh a little. “Besides, you guys have been getting better lately!”
“We have,” Ilya accepts.
They stay like that for a moment longer before Ilya pulls away. Shane can feel his reluctance to do so, but they need to go back up to get Ilya’s bag from the room. Shane hadn’t brought any luggage of his own, but thankfully, Ilya had extra clothes in his suitcase since his team’s trip was cut short due to injuries—they’ve been given a few days off to rest.
They head back up to the room, and it’s so hard for Shane to stop himself from taking Ilya’s hand as they walk. It’s crazy, because he’d restrained himself with almost no problems for so long, but now it feels like pure torture to not be physically touching Ilya at all times. The fear of losing him has made him never want to let him go again.
He knows they’ll need to have a serious conversation about where to go from here, with regard to going public. Telling their teams is one thing, but telling the world is a whole other beast, and it’s not just up to Shane—this affects both of them. And as much as Shane wants to scream how much he loves Ilya from the rooftops right now, he knows they need to be smart about it.
There’s also something he desperately wants to do before then, anyway: he wants to make Ilya his husband. This whole situation has made him realize that simply loving him behind closed doors is nowhere near enough—he wants to be legally tied to him, wants to be his next of kin and have Ilya be his, wants to have the power to make decisions, God forbid anything happens again.
When he was driving, sick with his worry, all he could think about was how, if Ilya died, he wouldn’t have any say in how or where he would be laid to rest. His ashes would probably be shipped back to Russia, to a brother he hates and who hates him back. The thought had added a whole new layer of panic, because legally, Shane knew he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.
Beyond all the practical reasons, he also just really, really wants to marry this man. He wants to leave no doubt in Ilya’s mind that he is loved, wanted and cherished.
***
The plane ride back to Ottawa is, unsurprisingly, tense. Everyone is quiet, hands clutching the armrests of their seats. Every bit of turbulence has people squeezing their eyes shut.
Ilya tries to be nonchalant, but it’s hard—being on a plane again, so soon, is harder than he’d been expecting it to be. Thankfully, he’s able to hold Shane’s hand, at least, which does make him feel more at ease.
And then Harris starts telling stories, despite the fact that he’s probably also scared, and not for the first time, Ilya is grateful that they have him around. He’s also grateful for the fact that the flight is only a little over three hours long, so at least they don’t have to be in the air for an excessive amount of time.
“That was nice of him,” Shane murmurs after Harris has finished his stories—he’s succeeded in getting everyone talking amongst themselves, and is now relaxing across the row from Shane and Ilya, in his seat next to Troy.
“Harris is an angel,” Ilya tells him, completely serious.
“I’d believe it,” Shane chuckles, resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya hears him yawn.
“Tired?” he asks, pressing a kiss to Shane’s temple.
“I think my body is still trying to recover,” Shane admits.
“Take a nap,” Ilya suggests, voice soft. “There’s still a couple of hours left of the flight, there’s time.”
“No, I wanna stay up with you,” Shane protests.
“I will be okay,” Ilya insists, warmth bubbling up inside of him. “You are here, beside me; that is all I need to feel safe.”
Shane lifts his head for a moment to meet Ilya’s eyes, probably looking for signs of anxiety. “Are you sure? I really don’t mind staying up—I can nap when we get home.”
Home. Ilya can’t describe the feeling that rises within him when Shane refers to his house as home—he desperately wishes Shane could live with him there all the time. “I am sure,” he promises. “Sleep, moy zvezda.”
“Star?” Shane correctly guesses, referring to what Ilya had called him.
Ilya hums affirmatively, wrapping his arm around his neck to gently pull his head to rest back on his shoulder. “You’ve been studying,” he observed, proud.
“Of course—it’s important to me to learn your language,” Shane tells him, shifting to get more comfortable.
“I love you,” Ilya murmurs in reply, pressing another kiss to his forehead.
“I love you too,” Shane answers sweetly, snuggling into the crook of Ilya’s shoulder. “Wake me up if you need me, okay?”
“I will,” Ilya assures him, but he can’t see himself waking Shane barring some kind of emergency. It’s clear that his overnight road trip has taken a huge toll on him, and so Ilya wants nothing more than for him to rest, since it’s his fault Shane had to do it at all. Of course, he didn’t ask to be in a plane accident, but still. He can’t help but blame himself anyway, which he knows Shane would hate if he knew, and Galina would most definitely chastise him for that line of thinking, but he can’t stop the thoughts from coming anyway.
Within moments, Shane is softly snoring, his breaths slow and even. Ilya has always loved watching Shane sleep, loved seeing his normally tight expressions go soft and unguarded. Shane has always been careful with his expressions in public, wanting to give off a very specific image, but in sleep, all of that falls away.
“He’s still pretty exhausted, huh?” Troy asks softly, leaning out of his aisle seat toward Ilya to be heard without speaking too loudly.
“He is,” Ilya whispers, sighing. “I’m happy he’s here, but I wish he hadn’t done that to himself.”
“He loves you,” Troy says simply. “Wouldn’t you have done the same if your positions were reversed?”
“Yes,” Ilya answers immediately, no hesitation.
“You two are so sweet,” Harris murmurs, grinning over at him. “Now that I know, I can’t believe no one noticed sooner, honestly—you guys really love each other so much, it’s clear to see.”
“Hayden Pike says I give him ‘heart eyes,’” Ilya snorts softly. Shane stirs a bit at the sound, and Ilya holds his breath, only relaxing when another quiet snore leaves his boyfriend.
“You absolutely do,” Troy chuckles. “I mean, I never gave it much thought before, back when I thought you were aggressively straight, but as soon as you said you were bisexual, it clicked right away.”
“I knew you figured it out,” Ilya sighs. “Thank you for not pushing back then—Shane would have freaked out if he knew at the time.”
“He told us a bit about your situation when we were heading down to the car yesterday,” Harris says gently. His bright green eyes hold an edge of sadness now. “What a tough situation for both of you.”
“I should have communicated better, I know that now,” Ilya murmurs, running his fingers through Shane’s hair. “He thought I was still fine with no one knowing, because I never said anything to make him think I wasn’t, and…we see each other so little that I didn’t want to risk upsetting him and wasting our time together. But then I just kind of exploded, after asking him to come to Bood’s Boxing Day barbecue as my friend, and him saying no. I put him on the spot, asked him to do something I knew would be way out of his comfort zone, and then got mad when he reacted the way I knew he’d react. It was just…bad, in every way, and I regret that it happened.” He sighs, raking his free hand through his hair. “That was actually the last time we saw each other, before this. So I can’t help but worry that all of this is just him trying to make things up to me, and it’s not what he actually wants, because all of this would have been unimaginable even two days ago.”
“Roz…you didn’t see him in that hallway,” Troy tells him, sounding more subdued than Ilya had ever heard him. “He was fucking devastated—he looked lost, like his entire world had been turned upside down. I’ve never seen someone so scared in my entire life. He loves you, Roz, more than anything.”
“He told us he’s done being afraid,” Harris adds. “Sounded really serious when he said it. So…trust him, yeah? I’m sure he’s told you the same.”
“He has,” Ilya confirms, tears springing to his eyes. The thought of Shane, scared and alone in a hospital hallway, tears at his heart—he’s so glad Troy and Wyatt had found him when they did. “Thank you again for helping him, Troy, and thank you both for helping him get to the hotel room, too.”
“He ended up helping me, too,” Troy shrugs, cheeks going red as he glances back at Harris, who smiles bashfully at him in return.
“Which we will be talking about, yes?” Ilya asks, raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly between the two of them. “I want details.”
Troy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Rozanov.”
***
“Hey, guys, we’re about to land, you gotta wake up…”
Ilya feels awareness return to him at the quiet urging of Harris’s voice, and slowly blinks awake—he hadn’t even realized that he’d fallen asleep.
Beside him, he feels Shane stir, though he nuzzles close into Ilya’s neck, frowning even before he’s fully awake—it draws a sleepy chuckle from Ilya. “Come on, lyubimyy, wake up,” he whispers, running a hand gently through Shane’s hair, combing out a few tangles that had formed while he slept.
Shane groans. “Too tired,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“The plane is landing in a moment,” Ilya explains. Tired Shane has always been incredibly cute, but he knows he’ll be embarrassed about so many relative strangers seeing him like this. “Come on, sleepyhead, we’ll be home soon—you can rest more once we’re there.”
Shane slowly sits up, reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes—Ilya wants to kiss him so badly. “That did not feel like a two-hour nap,” he grumbles, letting out a huge yawn.
Ilya can’t help but laugh. “You’re so cute when you’re grumpy,” he coos, tucking Shane’s hair behind his ear. It earns him a sleepy glare.
“Fuck off,” Shane mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it—he lets his head fall back onto Ilya’s shoulder and sighs. “I hope you know my parents are probably already waiting outside your house, by the way.”
Warmth floods Ilya at that, knowing the Hollanders have been anxious to see him. “I know,” he hums, kissing the crown of Shane’s head. “They worry too much.”
“Hey, we all went over twelve hours not knowing if you were alive or not,” Shane mumbles, the sound muffled against Ilya’s shoulder. “They were just as scared as I was.”
“I know,” Ilya says again, softer this time. “I’ll have to apologize again for scaring them.”
The plane touches down without incident, thankfully—Ilya’s had enough rough landings for one lifetime, he thinks. They disembark, collect their luggage and board the shuttle provided by the team to take them back to the arena, where the players’ cars are waiting. They all avoid paparazzi as much as they can once they’re at the arena, hoods drawn and sunglasses on, and Ilya wants desperately to take Shane’s hand because he knows he’s probably so freaked out at the prospect of their relationship somehow getting leaked, but it’s precisely for that reason that he can’t. Thankfully, there’s security at the arena, since the organization had anticipated something like this, so they’re able to make it to Ilya’s SUV without getting cameras shoved in their faces. It also means there’s no real time to say goodbye to anyone.
Shane gets behind the wheel, the hood of Ilya’s Centaurs sweater still tight around his face, and tears out of the lot as soon as they both have their seatbelts on. “Do you see any following us?” he asks, glancing in the mirrors on the car.
“Not right now,” Ilya replies, craning his neck to look behind them, which he regrets immediately when pain shoots through his neck and shoulders—he probably has some mild whiplash, he thinks. He pulls down his hood, ruffling his hand through his curls, and relaxes into his seat.
“Good,” Shane exhales, flexing his fingers nervously on the wheel. He takes back roads to get to Ilya’s, just to be safe, and they thankfully make it without any incidents. When they pull up, Shane’s parents are in their car just outside the gate, and as soon as the gate opens, they all drive in.
“Ilya, oh my god,” Yuna exclaims as soon as they’re all out of their cars, jogging over and immediately enveloping him in a hug that knocks his breath from his lungs and sends pain radiating through his body. He doesn’t even mind it, though—he hugs her back just as tightly, relishing in the motherly care.
“Hi,” he says softly, and allows himself to be babied.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she tells him, the words coming out muffled from how tightly she’s hugging him, her face buried in his chest. Ilya hears her sniffle and gently rubs her back.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Ilya murmurs.
“I already told you not to apologize for that,” Yuna chastises him, letting go so she can reach up to hold his face in both hands. There are tears in her eyes. “Worrying is just what parents do, y’know?”
He did know, once upon a time, when his mother was still around. Less so since then, although Yuna and David have made up for his lack of parents as much as they can, in ways he appreciates more than they could possibly ever know. “I know,” he answers, leaning into the gentle touch. He resists the urge to cry as much as he can, but he can feel his lip starting to tremble.
“Come here,” she says softly, pulling him back in for another hug. She cups the back of his head and rubs his back, shushing him softly as his shoulders start to shake against his will.
David, who had been hugging Shane tightly, lets him go when he notices his wife gently shushing Ilya, soothing him as best he can. Silently, he and Shane both join the embrace, and then Ilya is completely enveloped in Hollanders.
“We’ve got you, son,” David rumbles softly against his back, reaching up and gently patting his hair. “You’re okay now.”
“I’m sorry,” he cries, his fingers desperately clutching the fabric of Yuna’s sweater. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“You went through something traumatic, Ilya,” Yuna consoles, rubbing his back. “Your body feels safe now, and it’s all coming out.”
“Just let it all out, yeah?” David soothes.
“All I thought about was how I just wanted more time,” Ilya heaves, sucking in a shaky breath. It’s embarrassing to cry like this, but also freeing, in a way.
“And you have it,” Shane sniffles, kissing his shoulder. “We have it.”
“I won’t take it for granted,” Ilya announces, turning his head to meet Shane’s watery brown eyes.
“Me either,” Shane promises.
***
Shane’s parents don’t linger too long, only coming in to warm up with tea and coffee and forcing a quick meal into Shane and Ilya before heading out, seeing how worn out he and Ilya are. Shane can tell they’re worried, that they want to take care of them, but he appreciates them knowing when to leave them alone. He does promise to call them if they need anything, but that’s more for his mother’s benefit than anything.
“Do you want to go lie in bed?” Shane asks softly. “We can head to the cottage tomorrow, if you still want to go.”
“Okay,” Ilya whispers, so quiet Shane can barely hear him. He seems totally wrung out, so different from the exuberant man he’d been that morning when he told his team about them.
“Okay,” Shane echoes, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs to the bedroom. Normally, Shane would insist that they shower after a flight, especially before getting in bed, but that feels unnecessary and irrelevant right now—he just wants to get Ilya wrapped up in bed and hold him.
Ilya undresses almost mechanically, kicking his dirty clothes into a corner, and crawls under the covers. Shane undresses more methodically, though he doesn’t bother taking the time to fold his borrowed clothes—it would take too long, and they’re just going to go in the laundry anyway. Once he’s also down to his boxers, he crawls in beside Ilya, who has the duvet drawn up over his head.
“C’mere,” Shane urges, trying to pull the blanket off his head, but it doesn’t budge—and then, he hears a soft sniffle, so quiet it nearly goes unnoticed. “Ilya?” he tries again, brows furrowing in concern.
“Am okay,” Ilya croaks from under the blanket, wholly unconvincing in his delivery. “Just tired.”
“Ilya, baby, come here,” Shane pleads, sliding in closer.
The endearment makes Ilya whimper, and then, suddenly, Ilya is crawling on top of him, duvet still drawn over his head, and Shane feels the wetness of tears on his bare skin.
“Sorry,” Ilya sobs softly, arms slithering around Shane’s waist and holding him so tightly it’s almost uncomfortable, though Shane wouldn’t even dream of complaining about something like that right now.
“Why are you apologizing?” Shane asks gently, sliding an arm under the blanket to tangle his fingers in the soft curls at the base of Ilya’s neck.
“For crying again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he blubbers, and his whole body is shaking with the force of his tears.
“I don’t want you to apologize for crying, Ilya,” Shane insists, heart cracking wide open. “You’re allowed to cry; it’s been a crazy forty-eight hours for you.”
“Crazy for you, too, but you’re not weeping like an idiot,” Ilya argues, sniffling loudly. “Fuck, my nose,” he adds miserably.
“I’m not the one who had a near-death experience,” Shane reminds him gently.
“Maybe not, but you– you exhausted yourself, all because I couldn’t call you, and I made you tell people about us, and—“
“Whoa, hey, Ilya, slow down,” Shane cuts in, eyes wide. “Please don’t worry about any of that, seriously, Ilya, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if I had to.”
“Why?” The single word is heartbreaking, especially with the way Ilya’s voice cracks on it.
“What do you mean, why?” The question is genuinely puzzling to Shane—surely Ilya knows he’d do anything for him at this point, right? “Look at me, please?” he begs, filled with a sudden, desperate need to look into his eyes.
“I’m a burden.” The words are so quiet, but they pierce directly through Shane’s heart.
“…Ilya Rozanov, I want you to look at me right now,” Shane says slowly, amazed at how steadily it comes out when his lip is trembling the way it’s started to.
Reluctantly, Ilya peels the blanket back enough to reveal red-rimmed, wet blue eyes.
“You are not a burden,” Shane declares, pushing unruly curls off Ilya’s forehead so that nothing can possibly block his eyes. “You have never been a burden, and you never will be a burden. I never want to hear you say that about yourself again, please.” Ilya stays silent, aside from his quiet sobs, and Shane takes his face in both hands. “I love you more than anything in this world, Ilya. You did not make me do any of the things I did in the last forty-eight hours. They are all things I chose to do, for myself, because my world was fucking crumbling when I thought you might be gone, because there is so much more I want to experience with you. With you, Ilya, no one else. You are the love of my fucking life and I cannot imagine my life without you. I don’t want to, not ever again, because I already had to, and I fucking hated it. I drove to you because there was quite literally no other option for me—it felt like I’d die if I didn’t get to you. I needed to see that you were okay with my own eyes, and if you were– if you were gone, then I needed to at least try to tell people what you’d want, even though I don’t even know what you’d want because we’ve never talked about it, which we probably should, but I just—I couldn’t stand the thought of you being shipped back to Russia, to your brother. At the very least, I knew you wouldn’t want that. And I don’t know if anyone would’ve even listened to me, but I knew I had to try anyway, because you fucking matter to me, Ilya, more than you seem to realize.” He’s breathless when he finally finishes ranting, chest heaving. He hadn’t meant to word vomit like that, but he’s glad he did—Ilya’s crying harder, now, but the tears feel different, less sad, so he thinks maybe he managed to say something right.
“The cottage,” Ilya chokes out, reaching up to roughly wipe some of the wetness from his cheeks.
“…What?” Shane asks, confused.
“If anything happens to me…I want my ashes to go to the cottage,” he finishes, those watery blue eyes piercing his soul.
“Fuck,” Shane whispers, and the tears he’s been holding back rise unbidden to his eyes. “Fuck, Ilya. I…I’ll keep that in mind, but don’t you fucking dare even think of leaving me anytime soon, do you hear me?”
“I’ll try not to,” Ilya promises, taking a shaky breath. “I never, ever want to leave you, I want– I want to be with you, always.”
“I love you,” Shane breathes, pulling Ilya up his body so he can kiss him, pouring every ounce of love he feels into it. He feels Ilya sag against him, surrendering. “I want to start doing life with you. For real. Not this bullshit sneaking around we’ve been doing up until now.” He strokes Ilya’s cheek with his thumb, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I was ever okay with waiting until after retirement—or maybe I wasn’t, but it felt like the only option because I thought choosing you openly meant losing hockey. But that’s just not the scariest thing to me anymore, and…besides, your team has proven that ‘hockey’ and ‘us’ can co-exist. So none of that shit scares me anymore, Ilya. I think we still have to be smart about when and how we tell the world, but…I don’t want to wait. Not beyond this season. As long as you’re okay with that.”
“…I am very okay with that,” Ilya croaks out, before he’s burying his face in Shane’s neck, squeezing him tightly. “I would have waited forever for you, you are worth it, but…I will be glad to lose this secret.”
“I’m sorry it took you almost dying for me to be ready,” Shane says softly, ashamed.
“Enough apologizing,” Ilya chides, pressing a soothing kiss to the side of Shane’s neck. “We have our entire lives ahead of us to make up for lost time, yes?”
“We do,” Shane agrees, squeezing him tighter