Chapter Text
“Have you seen the Charlie Brown Christmas special?”
Shane wasn’t sure why those were the first words out of his mouth after he and Ilya parted. Ilya’s lips had been on his the second he’d crossed the threshold of Ilya’s penthouse, and, when he’d grown so overwhelmed by the ache of longing and want that he had to take a step back to breathe, the question had tumbled out. He hadn’t rehearsed what he’d wanted to say when he arrived, but he knew it was supposed to be something like, I missed the feeling of your heart against mine. Or, I wish these three days could last a lifetime. Or, more realistically, Please take me to bed and don’t let me leave until December 26th. Instead, he stood awkwardly against the door and, upon noticing the somewhat pitiful excuse for a Christmas tree behind Ilya, lost every coherent thought he’d ever had. The tree’s branches were askew, and the twinkling yellow lights were haphazardly strewn in a looping pattern–though, Shane would use the loosest definition of the word to describe it. Atop the tree sat a cardboard star that seemed to be cut out of a cereal box.
Ilya, thankfully, looked amused as he leaned against the granite countertop with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hello to you too, moy lyubov. No, I have not seen Charlie Brown movie. Why?”
Shane pointed toward the tree, and Ilya winced slightly, clearly unimpressed by his own decorating skills. “Your Christmas tree looks like the tree in the movie. But it’s good! The tree is little and ugly, but they learn the meaning of Christmas from it and learn to appreciate what they have!” Ilya slumped further. Shane could kick himself. Calling Ilya’s tree little and ugly? Not a great way to start the holiday season.
Shane’s lips started to form an apology, but Ilya was faster. “Sorry. In Russia, Christmas is not important. New Year in Russia is like American Christmas. With gifts and everything. But…” He gestured vaguely around him. “Is big, yes? First Christmas together?” I wanted to get it right. Ilya left the words unspoken, but Shane could read them in the purse of his lips, the uncertain shifting from side to side, the wrinkle in his brow. Ilya looked away quickly, right hand swiping under his eyes.
Shane crossed to him, cupping his cheek. In response, Ilya rested his hands on Shane’s hips, pulling him closer. Their foreheads touched. “It’s perfect,” Shane whispered.
Ilya sniffled a bit. “Is okay if it isn’t. I tried, but…” He thought for a moment, heart clearly caught in his throat, and started again. “Has been long time since I have decorated a yolka. Not since…” His voice trailed off, and Shane finished the sentence for him.
“Not since your mother?”
Ilya nodded slightly. Shane pressed a kiss to the corner of his eyes, tasting the salt of his tears before the could trail down his face, and wrapped his arms around him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”
Ilya nodded again, head nestled into Shane’s chest, and murmured, “I have something for you.” He gave Shane’s back a squeeze before grabbing his hand and guiding him to the tree. “Can I give it to you now? I know is not Christmas technically, but…”
They sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. In the fire’s warm glow, shadows danced on Ilya’s face; he reached beneath the tree and pulled out a small box, wrapped in shiny red paper. Shane wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ilya so nervous. His hands shook as he handed Shane the gift, and the second Shane had it, he sat on his hands and rocked slightly. Shane examined the wrapping carefully. There were some places where a bit more tape was used than was probably strictly necessary, but the gift was beautiful.
“You did a great job with the wrapping.”
Ilya preened for a moment. If his face weren’t an ashen shade of green, he may have looked proud of himself. “Thank you. I watched YouTube tutorial.” He nudged Shane playfully with his shoulder as he added, “From New Yorker. Was boring, but I suffered through it for you.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “You’re such an asshole.” He began to peel back the layers of wrapping paper, careful not to tear any of the corners or crisp folds. It was a habit he had picked up from his mother, who would religiously save any gift wrap to reuse on the next holiday or, if the moment struck her, fold the squares into little origami creatures for Shane to collect. He smiled to himself as he felt Ilya fidgeting beside him, clearly trying to hold in his impatience. “You’d think you were opening a gift with how much you’re moving.”
Ilya wriggled more. “I am excited. I have not opened presents for New Year since…” His face contorted briefly. If Shane didn’t know him so well, he may have thought he imagined it. “I think you will like it.”
Shane smiled at Ilya’s excitement. He finished unwrapping the gift and examined the small cardboard box in his hands. It had a rainbow stripe along the top, and, for a moment, Shane felt an embarrassing heat in his stomach at what it might be. “What is this?”
Ilya’s eyes darted to the side. “Is Polaroid camera. Prints pictures and you hold onto them. Teenagers put them in phone cases. Because,” Ilya faltered, looking unsure. Shane wanted to wipe the worry lines off of his face, to welcome him home. “Because we cannot save pictures on our phones. Is too risky. But I want pictures of you for just me. Or for you to have picture of me. If you want.”
Shane felt his mouth moving, but an answer didn’t come out. Instead, pinpricks of tears threatened to spill. In seconds, Ilya was pulling the box out of his hands. “Was stupid. I am sorry. I will get you–”
“No.” It came out harsher than Shane wanted, but he needed Ilya to know. With all the money and fame that hockey had brought him, there were few things he wanted because he could always provide them for himself–not that he spent money on material things often. But this? A way to steal little memories and file them away somewhere other than the cupboard of his mind that he had set aside for Ilya and Ilya alone? “I don’t want anything else.”
Ilya beamed through watery eyes. “You like it?”
Shane nodded vigorously, pulling the camera out of the box. “Can I take a picture of you and the tree?”
Ilya folded himself in front of the tree, the soft smile that he reserved for just Shane stretching across his face. The camera flashed brightly, and Ilya blinked up at Shane, looking dazed and happy. Shane pulled the film out of the camera, put the picture in a dark spot on the kitchen counter–per the instructions that he’d, of course, endured Ilya's teasing to carefully read–, and returned to the living room to practically pounce on Ilya. Fifteen minutes later, after both men were already spent and lounging across each other on the couch, the timer that Shane had set on his phone went off. He extracted himself from Ilya’s chest and back into the kitchen.
The photo was like lightning; it was a joy like he’d never felt before.
Ilya came up behind Shane and rested his chin on Shane’s shoulder. Shane leaned his head to the side. “Can I keep it?” Shane whispered. “You look so happy.”
“I am happy,” Ilya murmured, peppering kisses along Shane’s jawline. As he did, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the Polaroid. Shane watched as he opened the Instagram app, uploaded the photo, and typed out a short caption. “Is this okay?” Ilya whispered in Shane’s ear. “Is okay if it isn’t. I don’t need to.”
The world wouldn’t know that the picture came from Shane’s Polaroid. Shane’s heart squeezed, thinking about how earnestly Ilya had waited for him to open his gift–how earnestly he had wanted Shane to claim him, even if it was in a photo that only Shane would ever see. He nodded quickly, before he could panic and change his mind.
Ilya’s finger hovered over the button for barely a millisecond before he hit Post.
***
Ilya Rozanov ✅ | @ ilyarozanov81
Merry Christmas 🎄
Image Description: a close up of a Polaroid photo. In it, Ilya sits cross-legged in front of a sparse Christmas tree. His face is difficult to see, backlit by the yellow glow of the tree and fireplace, but he is clearly beaming up at the photographer. Scrawled along the bottom of the picture in messy Sharpie script is “♡ 12/24/2017.”