Work Text:
January 2021
Ilya doesn't remember getting to the rink after arriving in Ottawa's airport. He doesn't remember getting into his car or getting onto the freeway or the trees passing by him covered in layers of snow.
Instead, he sees the plane, the seats in front of him, the orange glow of the fire outside his window as they lost an engine.
He can hear people scream as they drop.
He's spent the last two days as the captain, the team leader. Two days of faking smiles and winning games and encouraging his team. The Centaurs needed him. They needed him to be their rock after their plane almost crashed, but that left no one to be Ilya's rock.
He doesn't remember exiting the freeway.
After two days, he finally has a moment alone. Even at night, he shared a hotel room with Haas. He did the Russian thing, the thing he knows well: buried his fear and anxiety and shame and tears deep deep inside him. He put on his usual arrogant facade, a familiar mask.
But he can't keep the mask on forever. He has to face it at some point.
Ilya doesn't realize where he's gone until he's in the driveway, the car idling in front of Shane's childhood home.
Fuck.
Ilya's eyes burn as he moves the gear stick to P.
Fuck.
He shouldn't bother Yuna and David with this. He should put the car back into gear and turn around. He shouldn't bother Shane's parents with this. He knows this, but he's selfish enough to open his car door and walk up to the house.
Yuna and David must have heard his car because the door is open and Yuna is already standing on the front porch with a cardigan hurriedly thrown on and house slippers on her feet.
"Oh, honey," Yuna says softly as he walks up to the front door.
"Sorry. I did not mean…" he mutters numbly.
Yuna shakes her head and wraps her arms around Ilya wide frame. "Shush. Ilya, we were so worried about you," she whispers in his ear. Her hand rubs his back motherly.
It's been so long since Ilya's own mother held him. He's lived more years without her touch than he had with it.
A wet sob escapes his throat.
He doesn't know how long they stand like that, Yuna's arms around him as he dampens her shoulder with his tears. It could have been one minute or one hour. He doesn't feel the cold and Yuna doesn't complain about it.
It's David who gets them both inside with gentle words and even gentler hands. He guides the two of them onto the couch, the fire already roaring beneath the muted TV. A blanket gets wrapped around his shoulders, but he doesn't really notice.
He's still crying. After two days of holding everything back, he can't stop it from spilling out of him. He might just cry until he's an empty shell of a man, until he's a husk of his former self. They'll have a gravestone that says "Here Lies What Used To Be A Russian Man."
Gravestone.
"I thought I was going to die," Ilya chokes out. Pathetic. What would his father say? He's crying into the arms of his boyfriend's mother. Жалкий. Ленивый. Педик. Pathetic. Lazy. Faggot.
"Ilya, honey, I need you to breathe." Yuna's voice sounds far away. And sad.
Why is Yuna sad? That seems wrong.
"David, can you grab another blanket? He's freezing."
Is he? He can't quite tell. The only things he knows is that his cheeks are wet and his chest hurts and it feels like someone is squeezing his lungs.
"Ilya? Did you have the heat on in your car?"
Did he? He doesn't even remember driving here.
"I do not know." He wipes his cheeks and, shit, his fingers are cold on his skin. "Maybe not. Yuna?"
"Yes?"
Ilya felt like a small child. Vulnerable in an unpleasant way he doesn't like. "Can you hug me again? That was nice."
Arms immediately envelope him again and he allows himself to lean into the embrace. Yuna is so warm and not just in temperature. She's a kind soul, so compassionate.
Ilya closes his eyes as he allows himself to be held, careful not to squeeze back too hard. He doesn't want to get up, doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to go back to his empty house where he kicked Shane out the last time he saw him. He wants to stay in Yuna's warm arms.
I didn't want to die, he thinks.
It's an indeterminate amount of time before Ilya comes back to himself again.
Maybe he fell asleep, because the house is flooded with the orange glow of sunset when he opens his eyes. He turns his head to see Yuna; his head is on her shoulder and her hand is soothingly running through his hair.
"Hey," she whispers to him.
He blinks his eyes until everything comes into focus. "Hey," he manages to croak out. God, is throat is dry.
"Let me get you something to drink, okay? Will you be okay for a minute?"
Ilya gives her a slow nod and adjusts so he's not on her shoulder. Yuna leaves to the kitchen. Soon enough, she's back with a steaming cup of tea. Mint because Yuna knows he hates Earl Grey.
"That was two minutes," he teases quietly as he takes a sip from the hot mug. The honey she added soothes his throat as he swallow.
"I'm taking the fact that you're joking as a good sign." Yuna sits beside him again and wraps a blanket around her legs. "David is making solyanka for dinner."
Ilya's eyes start tearing up again. Solyanka. That's what his mother made him when he was sick or sad. Ilya mentioned the meal in passing to Yuna months ago. This wonderful woman remembered and found a recipe and the ingredients to make it for him.
Or, maybe David did.
Either way, Ilya doesn't know how to react about it.
Instead, he changes the subject. "How long was I asleep?"
"Little over an hour." Yuna accepts the change easily. "You needed it, honey. After everything, then playing a game afterwards."
Ilya nods. He doesn't know how he managed two days. "I thought… It was-" His throat constricts and suddenly he feels like he's been checked into the boards chest first.
Yuna's there instantly with a warm hand on his back. "Hey, breathe. It's okay, Ilya. You're here now. You're safe."
"I didn't want to die," he chokes out.
Ilya remembers Christmas, not even a full week ago.
Ilya felt so alone, in a city with only Shane's parent to talk to. His whole life was built on Shane: Shane's town, Shane's parents, Shane's secrets, and the time Shane's deigns to spend time with him.
Ilya doesn't have anything of his own. He can't tell anyone on the team the truth — his truth — because Shane's too scared to face reality. Too scared of being seen by strangers that he won't let his friends see him.
Except Pike and Rose fucking Landry.
It all came to a head, all the emotions and Shane putting hockey first before him. "You wouldn't even choose me, would you? If it's between me and hockey."
Shane's response is quick, too quick and too shaky."Of course I would."
ilya frowns and stares at him. "Would you?"
"Would you choose me?" Shane says it like he's caught Ilya in a trap. Like he knows the answer will be no.
The idea of that, that Ilya wouldn't fucking choose Shane every goddamn time, broke something inside him. His hands shook- no, his whole body shook with anger.
He keeps his voice low and calm when he says,"You should go."
"What? No way. Fuck that. Answer the question."
"No." He can't do this right now. Not when he's scared of how his own body is reacting to this fight. "Go home, Shane. We can talk… later." Shane doesn't move, doesn't even make an attempt at looking like he would obey. "I don't want to look at you right now. I don't want to talk to you. Go home."
Shane swallowed hard and his eyes searched his boyfriend's face. "Would you choose me?" Shane asks again, softer this time.
"I already chose you, Hollander." Last name. Safer. He wants to fucking punch something. Ilya turned away and started up the stairs. "Go home. Please."
Ilya looks at Yuna and swallows thickly. "Shane and I had a fight. Stupid fight."
"I know. He called me."
Ilya shakes his head. "I thought those would be the last words I said to him," he whispers.
"Oh, come here." Yuna brings him against her side and continues her earlier task of brushing his curls with her fingers. "Couples fight. You and Shane are both in a high stress situation. That's going to bring higher emotions."
"I kicked him out. I just… I couldn't handle it and I pushed him away."
Yuna hums softly. "You did. But maybe he needed it? Maybe you needed it? Sometimes, space can be a good thing."
Ilya sips on his tea as he lets Yuna's words settle in the room.
It's been a week since he's last talked with Shane. They haven't gone that long since Shane dated Rose Landry.
He's done with space.
"I think… I thought of Shane on the plane. I did not want him to hate me."
"Ilya, Shane would never hate you." Yuna presses a finger under his chin and makes him look at her directly. "You need to know this. No matter what, Shane would never, ever, hate you. He can be stubborn, but loves you."
Ilya can feel his lip quivering. "I love him," is all he can respond with.
Yuna's next words are interrupted by the front door opening. Snow is being stomped off boots, the door closes, and then Shane is entering the living room.
"Hey, mom-"
Shane and Ilya look at each other across the room. The last things they said to each other hang in the air, but now with the addition of the words Ilya messaged on Instagram and the brief phone call afterwards.
You are the best thing in my life.
I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you.
I am thinking only of you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those.
Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
"Ilya," Shane whispers with suspiciously wet eyes.
Ilya's eyes instant start burning and he lets out a silent sob, his shoulders shaking. It's not a little, dainty shake of his body; it's a harsh and violent jerk as his breath hiccups out of him.
Shane rushes forward and crushes into his boyfriend, standing while Ilya sits on the couch. Shane holds him against his chest as he whispers into his ear. "You're okay, sweetheart. It's okay."
"I am so sorry."
"Shush, you have nothing to apologize for. I was the one being an asshole." Shane kisses Ilya's forehead. "Ilyusha, you do so much for me; you've given up so much. I've been so stupid and naive."
Ilya sniffles and shakes his head. "I forgive you, Shane. I love you. I should not have kicked you out."
"I forgive you too." Shane sits gingerly and adjusts Ilya in his arms. "The plane…"
"It was scary, yes. Then… I had to be captain."
"Ilya?" Shane frowns and wipes a tear off Ilya's cheek. "Hey, you don't have to be anything here except yourself. Okay?"
Ilya tries to remember how to breath properly. In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. Again. Repeat.
Shane idly strokes Ilya's cheek as his breathing calms down. "I thought I lost you," Shane mumbles. "I thought I would… I wouldn't be able to mourn you properly. It killed me."
"I thought I would die with you hating me," Ilya admits quietly. "I regretted Christmas. I had such a good day with you and your family, then at the end… Was stupid fight."
Shane kisses Ilya lips, quick and sad. "I will never hate you, Ilya. I couldn't. It was a necessary fight; I was being a self-absorbed ass."
"Maybe a little." Ilya gives his boyfriend a small smile. "Second best hockey player problems, yes?"
"Fuck off." But Shane is smiling, even if his eyes are red rimmed. Ilya's sure his eyes are worse.
There's a soft knock and the two of them turn towards the kitchen. David has his hand against the wall. "Dinner is ready whenever you two are hungry."
Ilya takes one last deep breath and stands on shaky legs. When's the last time he ate? Breakfast with the team before leaving the hotel, but did he actually eat? He can't remember.
As he passed, David claps a hand on Ilya's shoulder. "Glad you're safe, son. Don't scare us like that again, Yuna might riot."
Ilya gives a soft chuckle. "I will try, David."
The solyanka, rich and sour soup, warms Ilya from the inside. The olives and dill meshes so well together, Ilya closes his eyes and can picture his childhood home in Russia. This solyanka is different from his mother's — she never added sour cream and there was always extra mushrooms because it was his favorite part — but it still causes his eyes to sting. It tastes perfect.
After all these years, Ilya has found a place where he fits. He didn't fit in Russia, not since Irina died. Andrei and his father never showed warmth. He didn't quite fit in Boston, always pushing himself to be the mask of Ilya Rozanov, playboy and asshole.
But in Ottawa? In Shane's family home? It's like there was a place for him all alone. All he had to do was accept it.
Lily: i love you
Shane: I'm on the couch three feet away???
Lily: too far i was in plane crash
Shane: Way too soon.