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Ilya Rozanov is not someone who can be openly affectionate with someone.
Is really a past thing, he thinks. But he does not care. He never felt the need to declare his undying love for anyone or whatever. Neither has anyone done the same for him. Nothing had been that worth it.
Except Shane Hollander.
That man was…..complicated.
Gorgeous too. But the gorgeous part is objectively very obvious. He had freckles, for fuck’s sake. Freckles. That made Ilya just stay the night and kiss every single one of them with precise care. Those doe eyes that Ilya never wanted to see down. The lips that felt so good while kissing but also the same ones Ilya never wanted to see turned down. He would go to insane lengths to keep them smiling in that adorable way that makes Ilya go crazy.
He has never felt the need to do that to anyone before.
But as he says, Hollander was complicated. Complicated in a way that made the Russian look forward to his texts. That made him disgusted at the idea of sleeping with anyone who isn't a short freckled hockey player from Montreal.
He can almost hear Hollander’s I'm not short, asshole. in his ears, making him smile. He would absolutely deny the fact that even just thoughts of that Canadian makes him smile.
Ilya would not admit a lot of things when it comes to Hollander.
One of them is happening presently, he supposes. He's in Canada, even if he has no big game for the next week here. But Hollander does.
Is a big game. He could sense the nervousness of the man through the texts they shared but it was Shane Hollander, the star player and the spotlight stealer, Ilya knew he would do everything perfectly.
Even if he did not, Ilya does not care. Hollander has the perfect streak of winning this season, one loss would not matter. But he knows him well enough to know it would matter to Shane. A little too much, he thinks.
Shane Hollander really—what do these americans say?—cut himself no slack. At all. He is always too hard on himself, nothing except total perfection satisfies him. Really, the guy could use a break or two. He remembers seeing the packed schdeule Shane has on daily basis.
He could not be more different than Ilya.
Ilya likes to spend his free days, just roaming around or in bed, preferably with Hollander. Or sometimes like now, he likes to visit Canada. Of course for photo shoots and all that. At least that's what he tells the management.
The TV screen in front of his king sized bed lits up with some reporters showing the line up for the game starting in exact two minutes.
Ilya sits on the bed, slouched slighly. The stadium where this game was happening is hardly 15 minutes away but he did not want to attract attention. So he will just watch the game from his hotel then text Hollander to come straight here so they can celebrate his victory—or make better of his loss, whatever.
The reporter on the screen is going off about some logistics he doesn't care about. He almost misses Russia. The interviewers there were less hostile. Straight to the point. A little mean but that's just tough love in his mind.
“Why are they being so mean to the player?” Hollander asked, his face was buried in Ilya’s chest and his hands were holding Ilya’s waist. All cuddled up like he belonged there.
“They are not mean, it is just important questions. Tough love, even.” The blonde replied. He could stay like this forever. He never wanted to leave Hollander's embrace. He felt too cozy.
Too cared for.
“Tough love, my ass. They are straight up rude. If anyone asked me ‘oh, why were you lazy in the last game?’ I’d kill myself.” Hollander gestured dramatically at that and Ilya laughed.
“You would not survive people calling you lazy, Hollander.” Ilya says and Hollander just nods against his collarbones, moving impossibly closer as he asked. “Would you?”
“I have, yes.”
Ilya sobered up for a second, was that too much to share? They did not do this and he did not want to share more now. That would ruin the mood of both of them. Even if it is hard for Ilya to be in a bad mood around Hollander right now.
But Hollander did not ask more, he just hummed as if that made sense. “You aren't lazy though. We just proved that theory wrong. Plus, your success rate in games is always so high, I suppose I wouldn't care for a few negative bitter reviews.”
And just like that, Ilya fell silent. He was not used to hearing about his achievements in a positive way. But Hollander did not even realise what he said had hit Ilya deep, he just closed his eyes with a content sigh.
Ilya blinked again rapidly. Yeah, he could stay like this forever.
“And that's another goal scored by Shane Hollander!”
The screen pulls him out of his thoughts. And there on his big screen was Hollander, too focused on the game to even look at the camera that was capturing him.
The first half of the game goes smoothly and it's already certain Shane's team will win. It's obvious really, the score board reads 3-0 and Ilya knows it's done.
The second half is just easy and boring. Ilya gets out of his bed, focusing on the room service button opposite to the screen as he turns. The game's almost over now, and it'll just be another 30 minutes before he'll be with Hollander, he orders room service, the usual food he eats along with some fries he knows Hollander will like.
He does not care that much, it is just that it is rude to not order for your guests.
“—that’s a dangerous turn and Hollander goes down hard among the boards—”
Hollander what?
What the fuck.
Ilya turns around to look at the scene, only to see a side view of Shane on the ice, fucking bleeding, as the players surround him and Ilya inhales sharply.
Contrast to his silent heavy breathing, the speaker doesn't let up. Showing a rewind of his fall, “You can see the awkward angle right here, it's clear that Shane Hollander has taken quite the hit while scoring this last goal and leading his team directly to the finals.”
блядь…
He needs to go to Shane. Fuck, he needs to see Shane. Ilya throws on a shirt—wrinkled, not caring—searching for his wallet as he curses under his breath.
“The medics are now dragging him away from the rink to the van, there's currently lots of blood and we can see him shaking his head in frustration. We'll let you know more as soon as—”
The words float around but all Ilya can focus on is the way Shane on the screen is shaking his head lightly, like he always does whenever he feels overwhelmed or guilty. Fuck.
There is blood on the ice, Shane Hollander's blood, and so much of it. Ilya’s throat closes up, it's too familiar. Too negative. No, this would not happen again. Shane was okay. He repeats it in his head, trying to push the image of a lifeless Shane being carried away by medics, Shane was okay. He was fine. It is just a bruise. He is good.
Despite his better logic, he still knows the picture of Shane lying on the rink, shaking his head in frustration or hurt, won't ever leave him alone. It will surely haunt his nightmares from now.
Fuck, Shane, please be okay.
Ilya turns off the screen, hurriedly putting on his overcoat and stepping out, There was only one hospital around this area and he hoped that Shane would be taken there, if he wasn't he would call Hunter to ask about his whereabouts.
He takes a cab, guiding him to the hospital, gratefully the cab driver is blissfully aware of the panic rising in his backseat.
His jaw clenches, remembering the way the ice rink was stained with blood.
He rememberes the last time he had Hollander in his arms, the way they had watched a movie together whose details they both could not tell even if held on a gun point. He remembers the last text on his phone, the last conversation he had with Hollander. He takes out his phone to open their thread.
Lily: I will be in 1241 come here after your game.
Lily; We will celebrate your win.
Jane: I don't know if I'm gonna win yet, Rozanov.
Lily: Are you saying no to hot hot sex?
Jane: I'll see you after the game.
Lily; ;)
Ilya exhales hardly breathing. Hollander was supposed to be here with him. They would be in bed by now. Ilya would be kissing him—
When was the last time I kissed him?
His mind goes blank, the only image that appears is Shane laying down on the ice rink, all bloodied and surrounded.
He should've met Hollander before. Should've kissed him more, held him more. Memorized his laughs more—
“We're here, sir.”
He nods monotonously and gets out of the car, making his way straight to the counter of the hospital. The reception was empty, probably because it was past midnight now.
His eyes scanned the cold tiles of hospital, too silent environment and no friendly faces. Hollander would hate this.
He is just opening his mouth to ask the lady at the reception about where Shane Hollander is, when he's pulled back with a strong hand on his shoulder, “What the fuck—” He curses turning around. He did not have time to waste, he had to get to Shane.
“Rozanov.”
Hunter backs off but his eyes narrows. “Why are you here?”
“Where is Hollander?” The question is clear and he can almost see the gears turning in Hunter’s head as he blinks. “Are you deaf, Hunter? ‘Am asking where is he?” He lets out a frustrated groan at the man in front of him. Suddenly feeling the urge to throw punches.
“Jesus, calm down. He's in room 565, second floor. Fuck, you're insane.”
Ilya ignores the last part, already halfway to the elevator but stopping in his steps. “He is okay?”
“He turned too fast and bumped into the iron railing, hard, he has a bruise on his stomach, all stiched up now. And, uh, be careful with him, he's a little loopy right now.” Scott Hunter concludes and Ilya nods along taking in every word.
A feeling of dread washes over him, bumped into the iron railing, hard. Bruise on his stomach that had to be stitched.
He can only imagine Hollander flinching with the needles surrounding him.
Ilya steps into the elevator, pressing the second floor.
Still the only thing in his mind constant is one Canadian man he has grown to be used to.
“Your time table sucks, Hollander.”
“It's not a time table, it's a schedule.” Hollander rolled his eyes, and Ilya shook his head.
“It still sucks. You have no break.” Ilya sighed.
“Why would I need a break? I like….doing things.” Hollander grumbled and Ilya had the sudden urge to just keep him here forever.
It was not his fault that Hollander looked like this after being wrecked in bed by Ilya. He was just so cute. Ilya smiled to himself, kissing his hair and closing his eyes.
“Why are you being so clingy today?”
“Do you want me to get away?”
“No.”
Ilya walks through the elevator doors as soon as they open, making his way to room 565, it isn't far from the elevator. Or maybe it's the fact he's jogging right now. He ends up in front of the door, all covered up. He is about to step inside when a nurse stops him.
“Sir, what are you—”
He does not have time for this.
“Here to see Shane Hollander.” He says, looking past her shoulder inside the room. Nothing is visible from outside.
“Oh, and you are his…..?”
“Friend.”
The word comes out like venom from his tongue but he does not care. The only thing he cares about right now is the man inside the room.
“Oh right, just keep in mind he is high on medicines and he is advised to be on bed rest for two weeks or more, and he should not attempt to sit up right now.” She lists them as instructions and Ilya soaks in every word.
Two weeks of bed rest.
God, Hollander will hate that.
Ilya steps in, the room is sterile, bright white lights dangling over the ceiling and everything too clean and organised.
And there in the middle of the room, is Hollander. Eyes slightly open, going wide at seeing Ilya. He is slouching on the bed, slouching, and a slow smile appears on his face. Ilya takes in the sight in front of him. Shane is in a hospital gown, the bandages peeking through from his stomach, but his face—it still looks lively as ever.
“Rozyy. You're here.”
Ilya blinks at the nickname and the way Shane's words were slurred. Yeah, he is high.
The Russian just closes the distance, sitting at the stool beside the bed. “Hollander. You are okay?” A sigh of relief leaves him after a long time.
“Yess. ‘m good.” Hollander smiles at him, loop sided and wild and at the same time, he tries to sit up, only to wince and fall on his back.
“No, don't sit. Just talk.” Ilya instructs and Shane nods. The smile isn't leaving his lips anytime soon. Probably the side effect of drugs, or maybe Ilya being there. He doesn't know.
“‘missed you.” The Canadian says, momentarily closing his eyes as if opening them was too much effort.
“You miss me?” Ilya holds his hand in his palms. The warmth spreads through his hands.
“Mhm.” Shane hums and Ilya smiles at him. A little strained but there. Hollander is okay. He is fine. The blood stopped spilling out, he is smiling. “We won the—the match? Game. We won the game!” Shane announces it proudly, almost making Ilya laugh.
He looks too unguarded, just Shane, announcing his win bashfully.
For a moment, all Ilya can do is stare at him. He never wants to feel that fear again. Never wants to wonder about all the what ifs roaming in his mind. Never wants to see Shane bleeding again. Or in a hospital.
“You scare me, Hollander.” The words leave his mouth raw and just enough broken to expose his feelings but Shane frowns, looking at Ilya like he was confused.
“Huh?”
“You should be careful on the ice, da? That was not good.” Ilya leans in, squeezing his hand, his eyes are glossy, he thinks. His shirt is too wrinkled and his socks mismatched. All courtesy to this man laying and looking at him like he hung the stars. Frowning like he's something strange.
If he ever dies, he's pretty sure Hollander would be the reason.
“‘m sorry. I wanted to be good.”
God, he's never letting his stupid Canadian out of his sight ever again.
“You were.” The phrase from his mouth seems to lighten up Shane's mood and he grins.
Ilya can see his freckles so clearly from here, can see the little smile lines he has on his face, the way his lashes flutter unfocused but happily. Blissfully, unaware of the storm he causes in Ilya’s chest.
Hollander closes his eyes and his breath evens out as he falls asleep, probably because of the heavy drugs. Ilya does not let go of his hand. Too scared he will disappear if he did.
Shane Hollander is everything he wants and more. And he'd be damned if he pulls back now.
He runs a hand through Shane's messy hair, soft and ruffled up, Shane is always supposed to be smiling. The sad frown looks bad on him, too out of place. The blonde sighs, still staring at his boy. It is unusual for him to care this much.
Then again, Hollander makes it too easy to care. Too easy with his freely offered affection and his stupidly beautiful face.
“You know he's okay right?”
Ilya doesn't let go of the hand, only turns around a bit to see Scott Hunter at the door, leaning to the door and staring at Ilya instead of Shane.
“Hunter.”
“Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. You look like shit by the way.” Hunter speaks. Ilya is grateful Hunter would never say a word of this, he knows Hunter cares for Shane too much for that.
“Thank you.” He replies, tearing his gaze away from the standing man and looking at the peacefully asleep Shane.
“I never took you to care about this openly.”
Ilya does not reply.
Is true that Ilya has never been this affected, let alone publicly but he is too scared, too drowned in flashbacks of that image shown on the screen of the Shane, of all the what ifs and all the possible scenarios to care about appearances.
“Well, I'm going home. Are you going to stay here? He will spend the night in the hospital tonight, you know. You can leave, I'll call Hayden to stay—”
“No. Am staying. With him. Will leave with him.”
He does not want to leave Shane here. Sleep would not come to him anyway, he will stay. Stay and watch this man who is too out of his mind.
Scott nods, inclining his head respectfully before leaving.
“Rozy.”
Shane shifts in his sleep, facing Ilya and murmuring something. Ilya leans to hear it, too close to his sleepy face.
“‘you stayin’?”
Shane's words are slurred, stretched out and low. Ilya presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “Yes, staying.”
And just like that, as Ilya leans back to the stool, Shane smiles at his words.
He will stay, stay with this crazy man who has taken over his heart with one grin and freckles.
Because, yeah, Shane Hollander was complicated.
Complicated, too careful, too perfect, too busy, too everything.
But he was Ilya’s.
Ilya’s everything.
And Ilya Rozanov would not mind declaring it one day.
For now, he stays by his side. Tomorrow when Shane wakes up, Ilya will just go home with him, clinging but denying it. By the way Shane's smiling, he does not think he would mind.
He kisses Hollander's cheek before dropping his head on the bed, hands still tangled, his attire still messy, but he is with Shane, so it is alright.
He falls asleep after a while, beside Shane on that uncomfortable stool he does not care about. The worried look on his face now looks a lot more like a soft turn up of his lips.
Hollander would tease him for it tomorrow but it is worth it.
So worth it.