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"Fuck."
Ilya watches Shane exhale the word before a terrible expression takes over his face. It wipes whatever expression Ilya helped put there before; when he was walking Shane backwards into the cottage, pressing kisses to his cheek and lips, anywhere he could reach. He doesn’t like what Shane's face is doing now.
It takes Ilya a moment to realize that Shane is looking at him and not at—
Shane’s dad. Who Ilya had spotted behind Shane just four or five seconds ago in the kitchen, who had come to a sudden halt, just like Ilya, which had alerted Shane, who had turned around and had become so small so quickly. Shane's eyes had flinched away and had turned back on Ilya the very same second, and they had stayed there.
So now, five seconds later, Shane isn’t watching as his dad slowly backs away towards the main entrance, because his eyes are locked on Ilya.
Ilya is watching, though. And it’s Shane's softly exhaled fuck that makes him tear his gaze away from the back of Shane’s dad and look at Shane instead.
"Fuck." Shane says again, but quieter, like a whisper. His eyes are distant, even as they focus on Ilya's face.
Ilya grabs his shoulders. He feels his gut clenching and something akin to panic runs down his spine. Shane doesn’t make a lot of eye-contact on the best of days, but he's been different about it with Ilya these last months. It’s like he doesn’t think about it anymore, lets it happen naturally instead of forcing it.
But now Shane's eyes are boring into his, unblinking and distant, but with a very clear message of something is wrong.
It's unsettling how fast Ilya's heart drops at the sight.
"Солнышко.” he says, slowly, carefully, as he, for just a second, glances inside to see Shane's dad putting on his shoes by the door. Why is he leaving?
"I..." Shane says and he's still not blinking and Ilya concludes very quickly that he would take Shane pacing, screaming, yelling, hands gripping his hair any day over whatever he's doing right now.
He gets about four seconds before Shane's knees buckle.
"Shane, hey, woah—" Ilya already has his hands on him so he catches on immediately, lowering him steadily to the ground until he's resting his back against the glass window behind him.
"He," Shane says but it's all air, "he saw—"
"I know," Ilya says, hands gripping Shane's shoulder hard as he hears the front door slam shut, a sound that makes it feel like he’s lying when he says; "It's fine, yes? He's not an asshole. It will be fine."
Ilya doesn't get a response, and Shane is still not blinking. He isn't even hyperventilating. In fact, he’s barely breathing at all, and Ilya doesn't know what to do, he's never seen Shane like this, and he doesn't know what to do—
"Shane," he tries, shakes his shoulders, quickly, not too rough.
Shane's eyes drop unseeing to his chin. "He... fuck—"
"Shane."
He’s considering running after some water and dumping it all over him just to shake him out of whatever the fuck is happening when he hears the engine of a car turn on, and his head goes quiet.
Ilya’s body reacts before the rest of him does.
“Okay, I will fix this.” He lets go of Shane’s shoulders and gently cups his face. Shane is looking somewhere around his left cheek and Ilya lets him. “I’m not leaving, okay? I’ll fix it.” And then he presses his lips to the crown of Shane’s head and runs.
He doesn't think, he just goes. He leaves Shane sitting up against the window and sprints around the house, dropping the towel that’s around his shoulders as he turns a corner and takes the stone steps up to the front of the house three at a time. He can see the silver car slowly start to back out of the spot next to Shane’s dumb practical British jeep and he runs, barefoot on the gravel, he doesn't think, he has no idea what he’s going to do, what his plan is, he just knows he needs to stop Shane's dad from leaving.
He clearly doesn't see him, but Ilya can hear the parking sensor go off inside the car as he throws himself around the side of it and up to the driver's side window, hands pressing on the glass and the door.
Shane's dad startles—flinches, really—but the car stops just as he’s about to shift out of reverse; Ilya can see his hand resting on the gearstick, ready to move.
For a moment it's just Ilya's heavy breathing and a man behind a window looking at him like he's something to be scared of.
Fathers never liked him much, Ilya knows this, tries not to let it eat away at his stomach and lungs and heart and his everything, because he knows his track record, but he needs this one to stay. He knows this in his soul; he’s never been surer about anything. He’s desperate and Shane doesn’t seem to have a shitty, dead dad like he does, and he’s desperate so he’s going to make him stay.
The window rolls down.
David Hollander looks a lot like his son.
His chin, his nose. His eyebrows are furrowed the same way Shane's had been when he left Ilya's house after Ilya tried and failed to make Shane feel at home, and so he fucked off to date Rose Landry instead. It’s the same panic and it’s aimed at him again.
"Please." Ilya finds himself saying, and he can tell it isn't what David was expecting to hear. "Don't leave."
David's eyes drop down to where Ilya's hands are gripping the window, like he would physically try to stop him from driving away. Ilya would. He'd let himself be dragged until he couldn't hold on anymore. And then he'd run after him, still.
Ilya squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to breathe.
"Mr. Hollander," he says, hoping his tone conveys just how badly he needs David to just get the fuck out of the car. "Please come talk to him. Don't leave."
David looks at him and then at the driveway ahead of him that slither through the trees, up to the main road, away from the cottage. Everything in Ilya is screaming at him to prepare for something. It’s a recognizable feeling and it makes his jaw tighten because it doesn’t belong here; he buried it in Russia along with his father, in cold soil covered in frost. But his mother used to say that when the soul recognizes something it rings a bell that wakes the dead. It’s why the smell of chamomile makes him think of her voice saying his name.
And it’s why seeing David say nothing as he loudly considers leaving makes Ilya remember Moscow winters and his father’s blue eyes.
"Please." he says for a third time and his voice gives away how desperate he is. He wonders if getting on his knees would help. "We will explain, but he is scared."
He says it measuredly and steadily, and he means it. They’ll explain all of it. Or Ilya will, if Shane can’t. Maybe Ilya can tell the truth. Or maybe he’ll tell David that he convinced Shane to bring him here, that Shane was never really sure about it but agreed to, what? Meet up with him? Go on a date with him? Whatever scenario that makes Ilya seem like the biggest fuckboy who lured their innocent son into homosexuality. He’ll spin whatever tale Shane needs him to.
Ilya can’t figure out if it’s the mention of Shane or the fact that it’s paired with the word “scared”, but it seems to shift something in David's face, enough to shake him out of whatever frozen state he’s in. It seems impossibly slow as Ilya watches him finally reach over and turns off the car. Ilya feels lightheaded as he pushes himself back from the car to make space.
When David’s shoes touch the gravel Ilya’s back straightens.
Ilya is taller because Ilya is taller than most people, but David Hollander isn’t a small man. It’s clear that Shane got his build from him. Before he can think twice about it, Ilya stretches his hand out for David to take.
“Ilya Rozanov.” he says, and he regrets it as soon as he does because David obviously knows who he is. But this is important and it’s already a shitshow so Ilya is going to grasp at all the straws he can reach. He desperately needs this man to not hate him.
It’s an impossible task from the beginning.
Nonetheless, after staring at his hand for a beat, David reaches out and shakes Ilya’s hand.
“David Hollander.” And this sounds ridiculous too because obviously Ilya knows who he is, but at least they’re both stating the obvious then.
Ilya feels like he’s buzzing out of his skin; that restlessness that comes to him when he’s itching to fix something. Svetlana once compared him to a stressed tiger pacing its too-small enclosure, and it feels true in this moment. Only he’s not a tiger. He’s not anything with claws, only an animal with an instinct to run.
“Come?” he says, carefully, and starts walking before he can see if David nods.
He glances back over his shoulder to make sure David is following him, that he didn’t get into the car and drive away in the two seconds Ilya’s eyes left him. But David is walking a few paces behind him, looking anywhere but Ilya, and while it’s helping with not feeling cornered it makes Ilya feel like he’s making everything worse.
Maybe this wasn’t the right call. Maybe he should’ve let David drive away, give him and Shane time to regroup, make a plan. Ilya doesn’t know anything about David that feels useful right now, he has no way of predicting how he’s going to react when they’re back with Shane.
They round the corner where Ilya dropped a towel, and as he contemplates whether or not he should bend down and pick it up he notices that his heel on his left foot is bleeding. Not a lot, but enough for Ilya to conclude that he definitely stepped on a sharp rock when he ran for the car. He doesn’t feel it.
They finally reach the main deck.
Every plan Ilya had for lying about why he was at the cottage in the first place goes out the window the second Shane is within his line of vision again.
He hasn’t moved at all; his knees are still pulled up to his chest as he hugs them. Ilya can see his eyes are wet and unfocused, not looking at them yet, and Ilya’s heart is beating out of his chest as he moves towards him.
“Солнышко.” he says hurriedly as he stumbles down in front of Shane and takes his head in his hands. He lifts it, gently, unhurried, until Shane’s eyes meet his and they both release a breath.
“Ilya.” Shane says, voice wet and quiet, but the way he says his name is loud in Ilya’s ears. David shuffles behind him.
“I’m back now.” he says, matches Shane’s volume carefully as he runs his thumb along his cheekbone.
Shane sniffles and while Shane crying is probably Ilya’s least favorite thing—at least when it’s not because he’s being rimmed to tears with his head buried in a pillow—he can’t help but feel relieved that Shane isn’t unresponsive anymore. He’s moving, he’s blinking, alas crying but his eyes are clear.
“Did he—” Shane begins but Ilya is already shaking his head.
“No, no, see?” Ilya shuffles to the side and guides Shane’s head in the direction of David who carefully inches forward with his hands in his pocket.
Shane’s eyes zone in on him immediately. Wanting to get out of the way, Ilya starts to pull his hands away from Shane’s face, but two hands grip both his wrists before he can move them. Shane’s thumbs rest over his pulse point. And so, he stays where he is.
“Dad.” Shane says, and Ilya feels like he’s barely treading water. He doesn’t know what to do with himself and David doesn’t look like he knows it either, and it’s setting him on edge. He said he would fix it, before he sprinted out after David. He told Shane he would fix it, but he doesn’t know how and he’s scared he just made everything worse.
Ilya makes sure to keep David within his peripheral vision as he swallows the spit collecting under his tongue.
“I’m sorry, Shane, I—” David starts, walking closer so Shane has to look up. The light catches the wetness in his waterline and Ilya is once again floored by Shane Hollander’s ability to look beautiful all the time. “I forgot my charger.” He holds up his phone quickly, but his face is genuine.
Shane looks between them, sniffles again before he lets Ilya’s wrists go to run both hands through his hair and over his face. “Okay, uhm.” he says, voice clearer. Ilya moves back as Shane goes to stand up. Ilya follows him to keep close. “Can we just— go inside? Please?”
He’s looking at his dad again, but he hasn’t moved away from Ilya, even keeps still as Ilya takes a gamble and puts a hand on the small of his back. Ilya makes sure not to look at David while he does, and when Shane leans into the touch after a moment Ilya’s shoulders drop a centimeter or two.
David stares and Ilya feels it so he looks, and for a second David’s face turns tight before he shakes himself out of it with a nod. “Sure, yeah. Let’s go inside.” His voice is trying to be light as he throws a glance at the view before settling on Shane again.
And then Shane reaches around Ilya and opens the door leading into the kitchen. Ilya makes sure to only walk on the front of his foot as he steps inside to not get blood on the floor.
In the kitchen, Shane seems to pause again. He stands still, and Ilya and David mirror him behind him, before he turns suddenly with furrowed brows, like he’s thinking about the best play to get past a particularly good defense. He looks at the counter as he hangs onto the towel still around his shoulders with both hands
“Coffee? Maybe?” Shane says and looks up, finally, and Ilya nods because he’ll agree to just about anything if it’s what Shane needs right now. “Can you—”
“I’ll get it started,” David says, and Ilya is about to frown at him for interrupting when he sees the gentle expression on his face. “Why don’t you two...” he clears his throat awkwardly, but the gentleness doesn’t disappear. “Go get dressed, yeah? I’ll— I’ll get it started.”
Shane looks at his dad and nods slowly, a movement that turns firmer as he stands up straighter.
“Yeah, okay,” he breathes, and Ilya sees his gameface carefully take over as he moves for the stairs. His hand reaches out to grab at Ilya before he stops himself and cocks his head at him instead. Ilya doesn’t take it personally as he moves to follow. “Thanks dad, we’ll be, uh... We’ll be right down.”
And then Ilya walks after Shane into the bedroom with the soundtrack of David Hollander taking down Shane’s ceramic cups from the shelves in the background.
As soon as the door is closed Shane collapses against him. Ilya’s arms move around him on instinct, and he makes sure to squeeze tight until he feels Shane sigh against his neck. Shane’s hands are limp by his side as they stand there for a moment.
“Fuck.” Shane says against his skin, and Ilya moves from squeezing to rubbing his hands all over his back with firm pressure.
“Yes,” he says and Shane’s hair tickles his nose. “Fuck is appropriate.”
Shane suddenly moves back and Ilya can see the emotions clear on his face now, and while they’re all complicated they’re still something he knows. This Shane he can read.
“Clothes,” Shane says, eyes closing briefly as he thinks. “Right.” And Ilya knows it’s his sign to move.
They get dressed quickly and without hassle, though Shane frowns at Ilya’s Boston t-shirt. Ilya tries for a quick smirk and a lifted eyebrow, and it works because Shane rolls his eyes with a twitch of a smile. Ilya’s heel has stopped bleeding.
They pause in front of the closed bedroom door.
“Okay,” Shane exhales, like he’s gearing up for something, going out on the ice maybe. Ilya watches him carefully. “Just. Don’t talk. Wait, no. That’s not—” his mouth and eyes slam shut at the same time and Ilya waits for him to get his thoughts in order. “Fuck, I don’t know what to say to him.” he ends up saying.
Ilya crosses his arms and leans back against the wall behind him as he shrugs. Shane’s eyes are still closed. “We can say I convinced you to go on a date. Made you bring me here because of the documentary.” He can personally find a lot of flaws with this explanation but he’s throwing anything and everything at the wall in hopes that something sticks.
Shane opens his eyes and in any other instance Ilya would be delighted to see the annoyance spread over his face. But right now, he’s trying to do damage control, and he doesn’t know what Shane needs from him so he’s going to try and do his best at guessing it.
“I can be evil bisexual rival who hassles Shane Hollander into a trip to beautiful cottage with ulterior motives,” he says with another shrug. “I can keep the truth a secret. We are good at that, Russians. From the communism.”
Shane’s annoyed expression shifts to confusion. “What?”
Ilya waves a hand like he’s telling Shane to ignore the last bit even though he had hoped for a chuckle. A smile, at least.
But instead, Shane grabs his hand and now he’s looking determined again.
“Ilya,” Shane says, like he’s trying to get his attention even though there has never been a moment where Ilya was in the same room as Shane Hollander and he didn’t have his attention.
“What?”
“I’m not lying to him,” Shane then says. “About you.”
And now it’s Ilya who can’t maintain the intense eye-contact, so he looks over Shane’s shoulder at the view. The lake is quiet, undisturbed, like they had never broken the surface of it earlier with their bodies.
“Ilya, I’m serious,” Shane says, and his hand reaches up and cups his cheek, and Ilya doesn’t have a choice anymore. His eyes find Shane’s the second his fingers touch his face. “We’re telling him the truth, okay? That we…” Shane’s throat bops as he swallows around the words. “That we love each other. Right?”
It crashes over him, the unmistakability of Shane as he says those words out loud, nervous but sure. Ilya’s eyes burn with it.
He sniffles and nods his head to cover it up. “Okay.”
≡
David Hollander is sitting on the terrace, three coffee cups on the table in front of him, looking at the view. He glances up behind him when he hears them approach and offers them a tight smile.
It’s painfully quiet as they sit down, awkward maybe, but Ilya doesn’t think that fits. Quiet with Shane is never awkward. It’s a lot of other things; tense, charged, and a new one he had, up until a few months ago, only ever gotten a taste of in his bed in Boston during the only nap he had ever taken with Shane—content. Quiet with Shane is never awkward, but Ilya doesn’t know David and so he doesn’t know David’s kind of quiet either.
Ilya discovered Shane’s kind of quiet by being quiet with him. He wanted to see what Shane would do with it, how he’d fill it, exist in it. From hotel rooms and a singular locker-room shower, Ilya had learned that Shane hates quiet. He knows why because he has long since seen it for what it is; something Shane endures because he’s trying to match Ilya, trying to guess what Ilya wants, hoping he’ll fill the space with something Shane can understand. It was endearing most of the time and terrifying some of the time. Because it meant Shane trusted Ilya to fill the silence with something meaningful, and all things meaningful to Ilya were incidentally also things that hurt him. So, when Ilya was feeling his worst and Shane had been there to witness it, he’d let Shane simmer in his confusion and his quiet alone until the things that hurt Ilya made him hurt Shane too.
But over the past few months, and ever since he arrived at the cottage, Ilya has discovered Shane’s other type of quiet; one he thrives in. It’s essentially the polar opposite of the other one, because this one is crucially dependent on Shane not realizing it’s there. It happens on facetime calls when Shane is reading a book before bed when Ilya calls and he accidentally starts reading again because his eyes keep resting on the open page in front of him, until he hasn’t said anything for twenty minutes with Ilya spending most of that time just looking at him in his glasses. And it happens at the cottage, when they’re on the couch, both on their phone, and if he’s lucky, Shane will start humming under his breath or slide his toes under Ilya’s thigh and wiggle them repeatedly. Like watching a flower bloom. It’s the type of quiet that doesn’t hurt either of them.
But Ilya doesn’t know what David’s quiet is, and Shane is too deep in his head right now to guide him, nudge him in the right direction, so Ilya is stuck trying to figure out if his voice would be unwanted or if his silence would be rude.
Shane is cradling his cup of coffee and Ilya can tell he’s trying to gather the courage to say something. He wants to reach over and grab his hand, kiss it, squeeze it between his own, but he doesn't know if he’s allowed to.
“I didn’t know how you take it, so I just kept it black.”
It takes Ilya a beat to realize that David is talking to him, because he’s still looking out over the lake as he says it. Ilya stares at the cup in front of him, grabs it but doesn’t take a sip.
“Thank you,” he says, and he can feel Shane looking back and forth between them.
“There’s sugar in yours.” David nods to Shane, and there’s a glint in his eyes when he says it.
Sure enough, Shane just barely rolls his eyes before taking a sip. “Thanks, dad.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
Ilya had no idea Shane took his coffee with sugar. He hasn’t had the time to learn that yet.
“So…” David says, and Ilya corrects his posture and tries to breathe. "What’s going on, Shane?" It’s patient, the way he says it, but David hasn’t looked at Ilya once since they sat down, so whatever gentleness David’s voice is laced with it isn’t meant for him. He tries not to feel jealous at the fact that Shane has a dad capable of that emotion, then feels guilty when he fails.
Shane puts his cup back on the table and puts his hands in his lap. It takes a beat before he looks up at David.
"This is, uh. Ilya," he says, carefully. He tilts his head in Ilya's direction like he's making it clear who he's talking about. It almost makes Ilya smile. "He's my..." and then Shane looks at him, ducks his head the tiniest bit and Ilya can see the uncertainty in his shoulders, on his face. "Boyfriend?"
And that's all it takes. It dislodges whatever something in Ilya's chest that had been unable to figure out what Shane needed. Before he can even think about it, his arm is moving over to Shane's lap and he grabs his hand, intertwines their fingers. The looming presence of all-the-things-that-can-go-wrong disappears for a moment as Ilya lets pure, fragile happiness wash over him. It's laced with something else, something murky, but it doesn’t matter. It's comforting, in a way, that he knows he’s capable of feeling both things at once.
"Yes," Ilya says, looking at Shane, sees the smile slowly appear on his face and Ilya suddenly wants to take his hand and kiss the back of it. "Boyfriend." He almost does when Shane’s shoulders visibly untense.
David's eyes dart to their hands on Shane's thigh. His eyebrows do something funny and Ilya tightens his grip on Shane's hand. It's overwhelming, the need he has for escaping this corner he feels trapped in, but he doesn't think there's anything that could pull him away from Shane right now. Not even David Hollander's potential disapproval. Shane had said his parents would be fine with him being gay, and Ilya wants to believe him, does believe him. But Ilya had to beg for David to get out of his car.
"I'm gay," Shane says before David could get a word in, if he had any to say at all. "And I wanted to tell you and mom sooner, I had a plan to, but..." He shrugs, and through the blankness of Shane's face Ilya sees the guilt.
Across the table David nods. "And, uhm," he starts, gestures with his cup in the direction of their hands. "Rozanov's scoring percentage was just that irresistible?"
It’s not what Ilya expected him to say, not by a long shot, but beside him Shane blushes and huffs, so Ilya takes it for what it is; a joke, an attempt to lighten the very weird and sudden situation they’ve all been put in.
And Ilya can’t help himself.
“My Hart Memorial trophy, too. And being first draft pick, also—"
“Oh my god, shut up,” Shane groans, but he’s still blushing and he’s smiling now, so Ilya smiles back.
When he dares to look back at David he’s smiling, too. It feels surreal. Like playing an entire game feeling like you’re losing until you blink and suddenly it’s overtime and the horn sounds because you’ve scored.
Shane squeezes his hand.
“It’s true, though, yes?” Ilya says, because he still can’t help himself.
Shane downright scoffs. “It could’ve gone to either one of us.”
“What, trophy or draft pick?”
“Both.”
“Mmh yes, but they both went to me.”
“I won Rookie of the Year, I have two cups back-to-back, I beat your All-Star record—”
“By one second, I would win right now if we did a rematch.”
“No, you absolutely wouldn’t.”
“Christ—”
It’s David who says it, and it breaks them out of their little private bubble of memories. He’s looking at them like Ilya would expect someone to look at a puzzle. Or the difficult sudokus Shane does before bed. But there’s an understanding to it as well. Like you know there’s a solution, you know it’s going to solve itself, come together in the end, you just don’t know how to get there yet.
“What?” Shane asks, and Ilya can tell he’s embarrassed. But what a nice thing to be embarrassed by and not scared of, Ilya wants to tell him.
David shakes his head in disbelief, takes his time by drinking a sip of coffee first.
“Nothing, just… well, no, everything, I guess,” he says, and Shane stares at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“Dad.”
“No, no, It’s just—" David sighs. ”I can’t even begin and try to wrap my head around how this even happened, but…” He shakes his head again, like it’s funny. “Of course you’d only date a hockey player.”
It’s so silly and so true that Ilya can’t help but laugh, a real one that starts from his stomach and comes out soft but sure. It makes David chuckle too, incredibly, and Shane, looking warm and slightly annoyed, releases a sharp puff of air that is basically just as good as a laugh, too.
And just like that, a calm falls over the garden. It’s like the sirens fall quiet; the emergency is over, no one got hurt, no one died. It’s only a son coming out to his dad. Introducing the boyfriend might still prove to be tricky, but it’s nothing that will kill them, Ilya’s certain of it now. He can see Shane is certain of it too.
The quiet is broken by mechanical beeping. David grabs for his pocket and fumbles for a bit before pulling out the cause.
“It’s your mom,” David says, looking up from the phone at Shane who in turn is looking at the lit-up screen. It’s quick, the way his gameface falls into place. “Do you want me to—”
“Actually, can I talk to her?” Shane says, and Ilya and David actually glance at each other as he says it.
“Sure, of course,” David says, and then he holds out the phone. Ilya can see the contact photo of a beautiful middle-aged woman filling the screen.
Shane stills himself for a second, rolls his shoulders, and takes it. “I think I just—" He stands, and Ilya selfishly wants him to stay, so he can be close, so Ilya can help him if he needs it, so he doesn’t have to let go of his hand. “She deserves to hear it from me, I think. I don’t know.”
“It’s okay. Go,” Ilya says because he knows he needs him to.
Shane looks down at him, and something crosses his face for just a second before he falls back into his blank determined game-ready default mode. A hand brushes Ilya’s shoulder as Shane sweeps past him and into the cottage. He looks after him until Shane fully closes the terrace door.
He’s painfully aware of the quiet that’s left behind.
David seems to notice it too, if the way he clears his throat tells Ilya anything.
There’s a solid minute of silence before David breaks it.
“How are your ribs?”
It takes Ilya so off guard that his head actually snaps in David’s direction. He only just barely manages to hold back the instinct to widen his eyes, too.
“Could be better, but…” he says, shrugs because it’s simple. “I’ll be ready for next season.”
David nods, long and deep, like he approves. “You did well this year.”
Something makes him hesitate. He swallows it down. “Thank you.”
Ilya doesn’t know what to say to this man. Before David walked in on them Ilya never paid Shane’s parents any mind. Not in the sense that he never thought about them, because he did. He thought about what kind of family Shane grew up in, what rules and morals the walls of his childhood home held, what kind of love he was shown. Everything Ilya knew—which really wasn’t a lot—seemed to point towards that Shane had parents who cared and a childhood that made him bitch about them in a loving tone, rather than downright distaste. It seemed easy. Ideal. David and Yuna Hollander came to watch Shane play often enough that Ilya knew what they looked like and that they were the type of parents to do that. To show up, not because they wanted a piece of the spotlight that came with Shane, but because they wanted to support and celebrate Shane being in it at all.
Ilya still feels guilty about the jealousy he held for Shane because of that. Their rivalry was never rooted in jealousy, despite what the media would have everyone believe, and Ilya didn’t usually long for things he knew he couldn’t have, but seeing Shane’s parents in the stands—In Montreal, game after game, cheering him on with big proud smiles—was something that never quite stopped stinging. For a while Ilya paid no mind to it, just let it exist in its own space somewhere inside him, but at some point it dawned on him that he didn’t feel the same type of sting about any of his teammates. So many of the guys had proud parents who showed up all the time, for games and awards, for practices sometimes, too, just for fun, and while it made Ilya feel maybe just a little bit lonelier, just a little bit more homesick, it never stung quite like David and Yuna Hollander wearing number 24 in the family box.
And it wasn’t until this very moment that Ilya figured out why.
Because Ilya has never paid Shane’s parents any mind, truly, in the sense that there wasn’t a timeline that existed where Ilya would ever have gotten to meet them. And that, to Ilya, had never really been a loss or a sadness. It just was. Snow was cold, Dallas Kent was an asshole, Shane and Ilya hooked up whenever they played each other and tried—and failed—not to leave their hearts behind, still beating, bleeding, on each other’s bedsheets, and David and Yuna Hollander were never going to be in Ilya’s life enough for it to matter.
And that’s why it stung so badly. Because they were Shane’s parents; they raised the person Ilya was in love with. That instantly made them more important than most people in Ilya’s life. And they were never going to know who he was and what Shane meant to him.
And now David Hollander is sitting across from him, drinking a cup of coffee in the afternoon sun, telling him he did well this season.
His jaw clenches as he looks out over the lake, the trees, the two loons swimming around near the shore.
“Thank you for staying.”
He doesn’t know why he says it. He means it, but Ilya isn’t sure if it means anything to David. Not when it’s coming from him.
David looks over his shoulder for a moment, at the closed terrace door where Shane disappeared, before regarding Ilya.
“Thank you for making me,” he says, like he means it too, and Ilya’s gut untightens just a fraction.
He takes a breath, tries to make the air flood all the way down to his stomach. He desperately wishes for a cigarette. “We’re sorry you found out this way. Shane wanted to tell you soon, I think. He was just scared,” he says. He doesn’t think Shane would ever say he was scared to his parents, but it feels important. It feels like something they would want to know. If they cared about Shane being scared in the spotlight of the entire hockey league then they probably cared about Shane being scared in their spotlight, too.
David sighs, takes a beat. “I’m sorry I found out this way, too,” he says and is quick to clarify: “Not that it was a bad thing to find out, Shane being gay is just fine, but— I’m definitely gonna need some time to get used to… well, you. But I’m sorry you didn’t get to tell us yourself. I think that’s what I’m trying to say.” David doesn’t look like he’s done; Shane makes the same face when he’s thinking about what words to pick that will make Ilya understand what he wants. “I’m mostly sorry we made Shane feel scared to tell us.”
“Mmh,” Ilya hums, because he’s sorry Shane felt scared too. But Shane feels scared about a lot of things, and people knowing about his sexuality, about Ilya, was probably at the top of that list, no matter what. “I made it hard to tell,” he says. “He was scared of what you would think of him for being with me.” If you would be disappointed, he doesn’t say.
To Ilya’s surprise, David laughs. It bursts out of him, so dad-like that it almost makes Ilya smile if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a little terrified of what came after.
“I mean, we never would’ve guessed in a million years that it would be you he was dating,” he huffs, and Ilya braces himself. “And it definitely would have taken us some time— will take us some time to wrap our heads around, but—” he cuts himself off and looks at Ilya, really looks at him. There’s a soft smile resting on his face. Ilya still tenses. “That’s not because you’re a bad choice. You’re just an unlikely one.”
It was never going to be anybody else. We were made for each other.
“Which perhaps makes you much more special, because, well…” David’s eyes turn a little distant, but his smile turns a little teasing, a little fond. “Did you know Shane used to miss passes on purpose?” Ilya takes a second to get with the sudden change of subject before turning the words over in his head. It’s a hard picture to paint, Shane willingly making himself worse at hockey in any capacity. It must show on his face because David nods a little knowingly before he continues: “Once he got good, really good, you know? It’s hard to make friends when you’re skating circles around everyone, and children can be so… mean. So, he used to mess up, on purpose, just to try and seem like your average ten-year-old who loved to play puck after school and who wasn’t on his way to become a hockey prodigy.”
Ilya thinks about ten-year-old Shane; brown eyes nervous and determined behind the metal grid of his helmet, body too small for his heart and his dreams.
“It was only when he finally came to terms with the fact that what he wanted and what was normal couldn’t really coexist that he let it go and finally went for it.” David sighs, like he’s thinking of a memory, and Ilya wants so badly to see it. “Shane has always wanted to do things the normal way, but there never was normal with him. He was always an unlikely child who wanted unlikely things. And that’s not a bad thing, but we’ve spent a long time trying to make him realize that with mixed success. So, the fact that he’s picked you, all on his own, well…” and then he trails off with a smile again, but this time it’s aimed at Ilya. The weight of it makes him still. “You being unlikely is probably the best sign I could ask for.”
Ilya’s eyes are burning, and he can’t protest his urge to sniff any longer. He subtly wipes a thumb under his eye as he pointedly looks at the view. He can see David perceiving him out of the corner of his eye and it makes him squirm. He’s not used to people seeing him cry. He hasn’t cried since the last All-Star game, where Shane had climbed into his lap and let him dampen the collar of his shirt as he rocked them back and forth. And he can’t even remember the time before that.
But David isn’t saying anything, and it’s then that Ilya realizes that maybe this is David’s type of quiet. A quiet he knows someone needs to exist and that he’s happy to provide. Ilya doesn’t know what to do with the feeling that it wakes in him.
“I love him. A lot.” he says instead and forces himself to look back at him.
Shane might have his mother’s eyes, but the crinkles by his nose when he smiles is all David.
“I’m glad.” he says, easily. “I think that’s all a father wants to hear from his son’s partner.”
And it’s true, for families like Shane’s probably. Ilya wants to believe it’s like that for many families, but it isn’t for his, so he just hums and nods as his eyes find some dirt under his nail to stare at.
It’s then that the terrace door shoots back open, making them both turn around to see Shane walk outside again, phone in his hand by his side. He looks calm, Ilya notes, but his eyes are a little red. He wants to reach a hand toward him, pull him into his lap, kiss his cheek, but he doesn’t.
Shane sits back down and slides the phone over the table, back to David who takes it and pockets it.
“How did it go?” Ilya asks, and for a second he desperately wants David to leave. He wants Shane unfiltered and he’s not sure David being here will get him that.
Shane’s face is blank save for the barely-there smile resting tiredly on his lips. “Okay.” he says. “She’s driving up here now, so we can all… talk, I guess.”
Ilya nods because he doesn't know if that’s a good thing, but Shane seems to think that it is, so he chooses to trust that. He still can’t stop searching Shane’s face for anything indicating that he needs Ilya to step in and make all this disappear.
“But she’s…” Ilya can’t help but ask.
Something fond takes over Shane’s voice as he says: “Yeah, she’s… just surprised. Confused. But it’s not that you’re a man that’s causing that, I think.”
Ilya nods again. “Okay. We can deal with that.” And then Shane is nodding back at him, and David is still here but the look they’re sharing is just for them.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be fine,” Shane adds, and while it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, it mostly sounds like he’s trying to reassure Ilya.
“Shane.” David clears his throat. “We’ve suspected that you might be gay, but it never mattered to us. We just want you to be happy.” Shane’s eyes tear up again, just at the corners, and Ilya wants to reach out and wipe them away.
“Ilya makes me happy,” Shane says firmly, looking David in the eye. “We’ve made a plan. For the future.” And then he’s looking at Ilya. “We can explain it all when mom comes over.”
“Of course,” David says. Ilya can see he’s looking back and forth between them again.
“It’s just— we’ve been keeping it quiet for a lot of reasons, not just because of…” Shane trails off and gestures between them. “The obvious stuff. There’s...” and then he looks at Ilya again, and there’s a request hanging in the air.
Ilya braces, releases a breath. “Yes. My situation is complicated.”
A look of confusion, then understanding takes over David’s face. He straightens his back and leans over the table, fingers laced around his cup. “Oh. Right. I didn’t even think about that.”
“We’ve just been trying to keep everyone safe,” Shane says, like everyone isn’t just Ilya.
David’s face has turned somber, and there’s quiet at the table for a moment, until he turns to Ilya again.
“And your family?” he asks with a careful tone. “I know your dad just passed, but your mom—”
Ilya cuts him off before he can stop himself. “I don’t speak to my family. My brother, any of them. My mother is dead. I do not plan on going back to Russia ever again.” He says it clinically because it’s easier that way, to pretend he’s made peace with it.
Shane reaches over and grabs his hand, and Ilya softens instantly. He laces their fingers and squeezes. There’s a pause. A breeze comes in. The moment gives way to the sound of the windchime hanging from one of the pillars under the roof.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” David says quietly, and Ilya believes him because David is a good person, but he still has to stop himself from physically recoiling at the gentleness.
Luckily, Shane takes over so he doesn’t have to answer.
“We want him to get a Canadian passport,” he says. “And we’re gonna explain everything when mom gets here, but—”
“We can help with that,” David declares. “Anything you need.”
Shane sighs, like he hoped for this reaction but wasn’t sure. “Thanks, dad.” He squeezes Ilya’s hand, and it’s enough to pull Ilya from whatever freefall he’s been stuck in.
It doesn’t make any sense: This immediate loyalty. It’s too easy, something family hasn’t ever been in Ilya’s experience. It’s too easy, but he looks at Shane who is finally starting to relax for the first time since David walked in unannounced. He sees it written on his face; the trust Shane has in his parents that he isn’t even aware he puts into their hands, because it’s always been there, kept safe and secure. Ilya is happy that Shane has been kept safe. That it’s not in his instinct to brace for the fact that parents can hurt you. He’s sad for himself that it’s in his. And he’s guilty for David because he’s a good man that Ilya’s body just can’t seem to see as such.
But more than anything, his body trusts Shane.
And so, Ilya lets his shoulders fall back. He unclenches his jaw. Shane’s palm continues to rest against his. The earth is quiet, except for a bird singing somewhere in the trees around them, and Ilya breathes.
“Thank you.”
He meets David’s eyes as he says it, carefully but secure. Ilya wants him to see; his earnestness, his insecurities, his I’m sorry I’m the person your son had no choice but to love, but I promise I’ll make up for all the hardships that comes with loving me by loving him twice as hard.
He doesn’t know if he succeeds but David gives him a warm smile and he looks so much like Shane it hurts. His voice is soft like cotton as he says; “You’re welcome, Ilya.”