Chapter Text
Shane doesn’t quite remember stepping out of the car. He doesn't remember having do drag himself off of the expensive fabric seats, that his heavy soaked clothes probably ruined, he's struggling to remember much else going on besides his muggy fuzz of thoughts dragging through his brain. Everything felt as if it was going 100 miles per minute, and yet he wasn't moving not quick enough for everything around him, Shane would do anything right now to just sit and ball up tight alone in his car for a few minutes to just regulate himself, but he also knew that it would be so much worse mentally if Ilya were to leave.
Until those thoughts or lack there of, break through. One second there is a deep humming groan of the garage closing behind them the car pulling into the garage, trapping them in, the ticking metal of the engine cooling beneath them before abruptly stopping into udder silence, besides the faint echo of rain beyond the closed door. The next second, the world shifts, tilts, and he is somewhere else entirely. Everything is so confusing and heavy, Shane is having a hard time processing everything and by the time he does, he is somewhere else and time has passed.
He only knows that he’s moving because something warm is guiding him. A hand at his back, and his feet moving subconsciously like muscle memory one foot in-front of another. Despite feeling overwhelmed and wobbly the guiding hand didn't falter it just felt firm, steady, not pushing, not pulling just there.
-
Ilya pulls into the garage stealing quick glances at Shanes shaking figure. It was terrifying almost to see this, Shane Hollander, rookie of the year, two time Stanley cup champion, captain of the Montreal Metros. In his car reduced to a distant shell of himself, this wasn't like the chirpy man Ilya had come to learn to love, whether he had known it or not. He was just picking at his hands, and scratching them raw Ilya needed to get through to him, but how was he to do so if Shane himself wasn't even there.
Ilya knew something was wrong the moment Shane stood up, abruptly stopping their time together, a harsh cold air sweeping through Ilya knowing Shane had left, and here he was back with him in the car, and yet he wasn't even close, physically yes, but Shane was not there not in the way Ilya knew him to be.
He opens the door coaxing him out, but the way Shane moved wasn't confident stumbling although drunk, wobbling as if hurt, and head just lolling as he walked, and that was super fucking scary. Ilya notices it immediately how Shane drifts further the moment they step fully inside. Just turning off his brain but not in a "I'm safe" way, more in a way seeming as though he was scared. Like now he fully can't escape, and he's right back to where he started.
This state of Shane was so different to before, not the sharp, panicked kind from before, or the frantic pulling at himself and the desperate, gasping breaths but something quiet, and empty. Whatever had surged through him out there in the rain had burned itself out, leaving only a hollow, unsteady shell behind.
Ilya watched as Shane moved every reaction had a delay like he’s translating everything through a layer of fog. His shoulders are slumped, his gaze unfocused, and when Ilya’s hand presses gently between his shoulder blades, there’s no immediate response no lean into it, no flinch away. Just nothing.
Shane just left.
Ilya steps his feet out of his shoes, and then bends down, "Shanya, moy solnyshko (my sunshine) lets get our feet out of these soggy shoes da?"
Shane looks down big soft puppy eyes, and chin quivering, just lifts a foot, and stumbles lightly. Which is the moment Ilya then fully knew something was really off, Shane practiced balance as much as Ilya trained his upper body, he could balance on a yoga ball, or a single blade doing laps on a rink, yet now he couldn't stand on one foot, he caught himself though, leaning on a wall, a hand out gripping on to it as Ilya slid each shoe off.
Ilya needed contact, he wanted his precious love, just curled back into his arms, like he had been when they woke up that morning, groggy but in a peaceful rested way, seeking comfort because he was a morning cuddle bug, and not because he was internally aching. He liked Shane post sex, in a sleepy worn out state, just curling up to any surroundings too physically tired to worry about diets, and being dirty, or bedsheets rumpled. And now Ilya was cursing himself out for every single time he left Shane, knowing all that sweet boy wanted was a comfort, proof he was more then a warm body that was useless beyond fulfilling it's purpose.
But Ilya would let Shane know now, he would provide anything now, safe known foods, comfy fluffy warm bed, cuddles, but first Ilya thought a shower was in order to warm up and create a blank slate for all the feelings he knew was swirling in Shane's mind right now.
-
Shane feels it immediately, like stepping into a different world as he entered the doorway, but it doesn’t settle him the way it should. Instead, it makes everything sharper the damp fabric stuck to his back and felt heavier as if when you come out of the water clothed, the tight waistband digging into his stomach, the itch in his socks now muddy and wrong and unbearable.
His breath stutters again.
Too much.
But Ilya knew, how could he know that Shane's wet itchy feet were curling in on themselves and wanted respite from the confines of his shoes. But Ilya knew and just slid them off like it was the easiest thing in the world, but to Shane taking off shoes, would be an impossible task right now, taking energy he simply didn't have, but Ilya had it, and thankfully lended some to Shane.
Ilya stood up in-front of him, and it almost felt overcrowding, “you are very good Shanya we keep going, okay? Just a little more.”
Shane feels that time jump again that sudden moment of overwhelming numbness that created times that he has no idea what happens but he is somewhere else. When he drifts back into himself he notices his clothes drip on tile, and a bathroom filling slowly with steam as the water runs, curling into the air and starts softening the sharp edges of everything. He watches Ilya adjusts the temperature carefully, testing it with his hand longer than necessary, making sure it’s warm without being overwhelming.
Behind him, Shane stands where he left him.
Still.
-
As Ilya glances back, something tight pulling in his chest at the sight. Shane’s arms hang loosely at his sides, fingers slightly curled, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor but not really looking at anything.
“Shane,” Ilya calls again, softer this time.
He steps closer, slower now, careful not to startle him. His hand lifts, hesitates for just a second, and then settles gently on Shane’s upper arm.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
There’s a flicker of acknowledgement small, but there. Shane’s eyes shift from eye to the other jumping around, not fully focusing, but enough to knowing something changed.
“That’s it,” Ilya encourages quietly, coaxing “Stay with me.”
He doesn’t ask if Shane can undress this time. He can see it in the stiffness of his hands, in the way his fingers barely move that asking would only overwhelm him again.
So he helps. Carefully, Ilya slides off Shane's pants like he had done so many times before, but never like this, never so soft yet delicately, a softer domestic passion instead of a intense forbidden one.
Each movement deliberate, giving Shane time to follow along rather than dragging him through it. The wet fabric peels away again, easier now without the panic fighting every motion, but Shane doesn’t react much. No sharp breaths, no visible relief just quiet compliance. Ilya would way rather of taken a brash angry or panicked Shane again, at least then he was showing life, and Shane was there. Now it was like he was just gone, slipping to a dimension Ilya hadn't gone to yet, couldn't quite reach.
When the last of the damp clothes are gone, Ilya doesn’t step back immediately, he keeps one hand resting lightly at Shane’s side, anchoring him, while guiding him forward into the shower.
For a moment, nothing changes.
And then slowly Shane’s shoulders drop, just a fraction, a blink and you miss it, but a drop in this persona which is all Ilya will ask for. Ilya exhales quietly, tension easing from his own chest as he watches the warmth begin to seep back into him. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s good, da? Warm.”
Shane’s eyes close briefly, his head tilting forward under the spray slightly as if leaning onto Ilya, his body language begging Ilya to hold him up. “Yeah,” he says again, a little clearer this time.
Ilya stays with him, trying not to overcrowd Shane but just be present. When Shane’s hands don’t move, Ilya's guides them, pressing soap into his palm, nudging his wrist gently until he starts to move on his own.
“Like this,” he says quietly. “You remember.”
Shane nods faintly, and Ilya lets out a huff with a smile, "you are incredible Shanya, doing so good," Ilya feels his heart clench painfully almost but in surges of overwhelming protective feeling as he watches Shane just live around him, in his own world.
Ilya likes being rich, a lot. It means he can have a big house, fancy cars, extravagant outings, spoil himself and friends, but he also like having the little things, like buying those bigger fluffy towels that wrap around your whole body, not like the small white ones at hotels, which is another reason he had them, being home was at home it was his time. When he was away he was away. Having things like nice towels and vanilla smelling soap or fluffy duvet blankets, were just little reminders of home, that helped him to not let work bleed into his life.
Right now he was glad he had those towels so he could wrap Shane up containing him, in a tight burrito of a towel, big fluffy and warm, to let him reside a little longer in that stretch of comfort, He looked a little better, blush forming back on his cheeks, and no more shivering, his hair stuck to him but not in a way, that made it look like he wanted to die, and he was bouncing a little in his step no more dragging his feet.
“Come,” Ilya says gently as if not trying to spook an animal. “We finish getting you dry, then clothes. Soft ones.” Ilya remembers brand deals and sponsorships, Gatorade, and Adidas sending him boxes of clothes, anything women's clothes, shoes not his size, and tracksuits of every colour, which he will fish out for Shane, he goes to his room, Shane trailing close behind, and as they go in, it's almost a painful memory of what happened mere hours before.
Ilya finds a dark muted green cozy large hoodie, with matching sweatpants with those fuzzy inside, this was perfect for his Malysh (love), he finds a matching brown one for himself, and takes them plopping them on the bed. Shane pulls it on without comment, sinking into it in a way that feels instinctive, like his body recognizes comfort even if his mind is lagging behind. The sleeves fall perfectly past his palms, it was clear this tracksuit was meant for a larger man, Ilya's too, but Ilya can't deny it's better that way.
He leads Shane downstairs taking him downstairs, the smell of tuna-melts fully gone now, "hmm.. Medvezhonok (teddy bear) should we eat first, or we can watch movie, or have little nap, or you want something else, actually I change my mind we eat first, and after we can do something else".
Shane looks down, as if embarrassed and exposed, "m not hungry", he shifts his weight from foot to foot, swaying but this time not in emptiness but instead tiredness, Ilya checks his oven clock and sees it's half past 5, and all Shane and him had eaten, was an apple and tuna melts; for high intense athletes that wouldn't suffice. "I know Shanya, but mm- your very tired and it's been weird day, your body is on survival, but is okay you just sit, I will make something simple, maybe pasta or maybe just chicken, or if your not feeling like those, we could eat fruit, hmm Malaysh (baby) whatever you want".
Ilya watches as Shane ducks his head a bit, and Ilya can't help but want to be instantly close, as he watches Shane take the heavy decision and rub his chin against the soft hood, while rubbing each of his fingers together just the pads of his index and thumb in soft circles before mumbling " can we have pasta" to which Ilya responds with a soft nod. Before placing a hand back on Shane's back and guiding him to the kitchen to sit up at the bar.
Ilya boils water, and cooks the pasta in almost silence beside the water bubbling, and the soft sounds of his feet padding across the kitchen and the soft sounds his precious love was making behind him.
Ilya thought his ribcage was going to explode, his heart wanted to jump out of his chest and drag itself so it could nestle itself right next to Shanes, but it instead restlessly waited, hopeful and excited for some cuddles later.
Ilya looks back at Shane once he finished putting the simple buttered pasta into bowls, only to see him staring intently at the granite counter tops, dark green hoodie sleeve in his mouth pulling at it gnawing on the fabric, while his other hand spent time flicking each finger, the thumb with the pointer finger, then the middle one got flicked, then the ring finger next and then lastly the pinky finger, before going back in the same order quick again and again.
Ilya huffed a giggle at the sight, "dinner is ready Kozonok (baby goat), hope your hungry now". Shane looking up stoped his movements, while still chewing lightly on the sleeve, his eyes bouncing around, thinking maybe in recognition, before mumbling out "is- is that baby goat?"
Ilya let out a surprised laugh, and that eye to eye smile, (ya'll know the one, like the one after Shane said he hired the stylist) "Kozonok have you been learning Russian, how on world do you know that" and Ilya can't fight the grin from growing when he see's Shanes reaction.
Shane preened at being right, before blushing and looking down suppressing a smile. "Um, n-no i'm not learning Russian, I just hav-had this book when I was a kid, and it had a bunch of animals and the sounds they made, but it was in like 5 languages, and and it had Russian, I don't know why I um remember that one." He could't contain the tight lip smile that he let out before rubbing his ear.
Ilya placed the steaming bowl in front of him, before leaning down and inhaling Shane's now drying hair, pressing a cheek up against his head, to which Shane ducked at, before leaning up into that contact he so craved. After sitting down beside him breaking the contact, he saw a slump in Shane's posture, knowing they were both mourning that loss of touch, but decided to leave it till after dinner, when they could fully come together and sit nice and close, holding the other, while a movie played in the background, at least if everything went according to plan for Ilya.
They ate in silence, not quite comfortable, but it's not weird either. Ilya finished pretty quick, looking at Shane's plate which was only half empty, "Shane looked down talking his hands of the fork, to play with his drawstrings while looking down, "m not hungry". Ilya so wished he would eat a little more, but he knew how Shane was about food, and if it wasn't for the tough day they both had mentally, he would have made him finish, but today he will give him a break. "ok'e Shanya, thats okey you did very good, food is hard sometimes but thank you for eating that much."
Ilya took his plate away, before grabbing Shane's. "I'll wash up, you want to go settle on the couch, maybe you pick movie, get water whatever you need." Ilya says to Shane, watching his internal debate happen moments in his head before wrapping his hands up in the hoodie, nodding his head before padding off to the living room.
-
Shane had gotten to the living room, having debated whether to help Ilya with the dishes or follow his instructions, before deciding to just listen to Ilya not wanting to make his day any worse by being clingy, and now frustrating. Until he got to the spot where he saw where he had left Ilya mere hours prior, taunting him, showing him what he had walked out on, and Ilya was being so nice providing comfy safe sleep, yummy healthy food, and cuddles Shane had rarely felt in years and probably ever just like that.
He chose to sit on the furthest edge of the couch, to not go near that spot again. All day Shane had started to feel terrible, he had the most wonderful morning All day Shane had started to feel terrible, he had the most wonderful morning Waking up right next to Ilya's side, basking in the sunlight like one of those cats from the cafe he loved back at home, until it dawned on him he had mere hours left before he would have to leave again and go back to lonely city in his big lonely apartment and live out his lonely life.
Alone.
And then when Ilya had said his name after having that fun quiet moment which was the two of them it reminded him of everything he couldn’t have which sent him over the edge, causing the panic and him leaving and making him feel fuzzy and cold and stupid.
But Ilya had been so nice, coming to retrieve Shane giving him a warm shower, and saying nice things, giving a safe food, not making him feel bad for not knowing things, or making him make hard decisions, he wasn’t the captain of a multimillion dollar hockey team here, no pressure like that he was just Shane.
But of course Shane had to ruin that, He had to muck it all up, again and again. So Shane understood why Ilya needed some time alone, Shane was so bad Ilya needed his own space in his own house just for a few minutes. And now it taunts him, that stupid couch spot. And how his slightly damp hair had stuck to his head punishing him for being so rude and annoying.
He didn’t even notice when he was scratching his head, rubbing hard at the same spot, not realizing or feeling the pain that bloomed after, it was just a relentless pulling at his hair, and whines that left his mouth involuntarily, he was so busy punishing himself he didn’t feel the tears roll down his cheeks. He didn’t even realize that a hand was taking his own hand away, then stroking his hair back, into place, while whispering shushes softly before scooping Shane up so he could settle on the couch half under him.
-
Ilya notices the distance before he even fully steps back into the room.
Shane is on the far edge of the couch.
Not just sitting placed there frigid and careful. As far away from the other side as he can manage without falling off entirely. His shoulders are drawn in, posture tight despite the oversized hoodie swallowing him whole, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead and temples.
His gaze drops briefly, taking in the details.
The way Shane’s feet curl slightly inward even in the soft sweats, like he’s still aware of discomfort that hasn’t fully left his body. The faint, restless shifting of his shoulders under the hoodie. The way his hands don’t stay still for long.
And then the scratching, just like earlier
It starts small. Subtle. Fingers lifting to his scalp, rubbing, harder than necessary, not like itching a scratch. The motion grows more insistent, more repetitive, like he’s trying to erase something under his skin. like a need to fix something that doesn’t have a clear place to be fixed. Because it doesn't Shane has hard times sometimes, and see's things differently, experiencing things different, but it's what makes Ilya love him so deep and pure, Shane is so himself, and it hurt to see him think he is anything but perfect, because nothing needed to be fixed.
The way Shane’s head tilts down further, shoulders curling in more, the faint sound barely there of a strained breath slipping out between his teeth, before letting out a quiet whine, followed by silent cries.
That’s what does it. Ilya moves.Not fast enough to startle him, but enough he could reach him, before he goes to far.
“Hey,” he murmurs softly as he crosses the room, voice low and steady. Shane doesn’t react. His hand keeps moving, fingers pressing harder now, nails dragging slightly against his scalp in a way that makes something sharp twist in Ilya’s chest.
“Shanya.” Still nothing. So Ilya reaches out carefully. He doesn’t grab just places his hand over Shane’s wrist, warm and firm, stopping the motion without force. His thumb presses lightly against the inside of Shane’s wrist, grounding, steady.
“There you are, Shh, is okay shhh” he murmurs, softer now.
When Ilya looks back at Shane and watches his lip quiver, "m' sorry, I-I left, i didn-" he whispers, and Ilya immediately has to stop this "no, no Shanya its okay, it was a pretty scary moment lots of things going on, da? I felt pretty bad to and weird after, is okay to feel like this, let's just feel together hmm?"
Ilya exhales slowly, shaking his head as his other hand lifts to brush gently through Shane’s damp hair, smoothing it back where it had been tugged and twisted. His fingers move slowly, deliberately, combing through the strands, untangling the small knots left behind from the nervous pulling. It’s not rushed. Not corrective. Just… soothing.
Shane’s head dips slightly into the touch. And something in him softens immediately.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Ilya adds, voice lower now, closer. Shane lets out a shaky breath, shoulders tightening again despite the contact. “I did,” he murmurs. “I always—”
“No.” Ilya’s hand stills for a moment in Shane’s hair before resuming the slow motion, grounding him back into it.
“You had a hard moment,” he says. “That’s all. Not ruin. Not problem. Just… hard.”
But his hand now free doesn’t go back to his hair.
Instead, it curls loosely into the sleeve of his hoodie, fingers disappearing into the fabric as he needs something to hold onto. Only to rach out and hold onto the fabric of the dark brown tracksuit Ilya has on.
Ilya shifts closer, closing the distance Shane had carefully created. He doesn’t ask this time. Doesn’t give space for overthinking.
One arm slides around Shane’s shoulders, the other moving under his knees in a practiced, gentle motion.
And then he lifts him just enough to move him from that rigid, far edge of the couch into something softer, something closer into Ilya’s space, into his warmth.
Shane doesn't even try to stop, he's so tired he folds in instantly, instinctively, his weight settling against Ilya as he’s guided down onto the couch again, this time half-leaning, half-curled into him instead of holding himself apart.
“There,” Ilya murmurs, adjusting him so he’s comfortable, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head briefly before resting at his neck.
Shane’s face presses into the front of his hoodie, breath warm and uneven against the fabric.
And Ilya feels it his own heart finally calming after this long day, his own heart comfortable now that it is next to Shane. And it makes something in Ilya’s chest ache. But not in pain anymore.
“I thought I lost you for a minute, you disappeared into that sweet, boring head of yours, but I found you" Ilya softly whispers into the side of Shane's head, never stopping the head stroking motion, nuzzling his nose all over Shane making him squirm.
His hand moves again, brushing gently through Shane’s hair, slower now, more rhythmic.“And now I am keeping you, I think we get one more night together now eh?” he adds, just as quietly. Shane just nods into his neck back, his hair tickling and Ilya leans into it.
“Warm enough?” he asks after a moment. Shane nods faintly. “Yeah.” Ilya slides those big fluffy blankets he's got, over the two of them, and although he can't physically be any close to Shane he so wishes he could. He feels a soft vibration on his chest before he hears a soft mumbling yawn, which makes his heart burst because he knows Shane's no longer in survival mode, he's safe enough now, to know its okay to sleep here, to rest quietly.
He feels Shane shift again but this time not to his sleeve, not to his hair but to Ilya. Fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his hoodie, holding on in comfort self soothing way, and Ilya can't help the way he holds on a little tighter squeezes just a little more, knowing this time for sure he won't let Shane get so far.