Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ilya's POV - April 4, 2018

For as long as he could remember, Ilya had hated Wednesday's.

For most people, Wednesday was a hopeful day, the midway point in a five-day work week, a sign that the weekend was just around the corner.

For Ilya, Wednesdays were a reminder of everything that he had lost, for it had been a quiet Wednesday in June when he had found his mother dead in her own bed 15 years ago, his mother choosing the eternal peace of death over living with the cursed hand she had been dealt, a decision Ilya sometimes wish he could make for himself.

But he couldn't, because he had Shane now. Had a family who, while not directly his own, still made room for him around their tables and in their homes, who called him not just for special occasions, but just because they were thinking of him. Who made him feel like maybe he did deserve a happy ending, something he had long believed to be out of reach.

With a quiet curse under his breath, Ilya ignored the ache in his chest as he took in the date at the top of his screen and put his phone back on the nightstand, turning over and shifting towards the middle of the bed so he could bury his face into the chest of the man he loved more than life itself, sighing in relief when two strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer.

"Morning," Ilya muttered, angling his head to breathe Shane in, inhaling the musky vanilla scent that was so boring it hurt, and so safe it had become his favourite scent in the world.

"Mmmm," Shane hummed, stretching out his thick legs under the warm sheets before tangling them with his own, one hand slipping into Ilya's short curls and the other tracing lazy circles down the arm closest. "How did you sleep?"

In reality, Ilya had barely slept at all, an ominous feeling pressing down onto his chest so tightly across the night that he was certain if he opened his eyes, he'd find himself six feet underground. Fighting the feeling, he had chosen to lie awake memorizing the curves of his partner's cheeks and counting the freckles there instead, though it had done little to quiet his thoughts.

Sensing his hesitation, Shane opened his eyes more fully, pushing up onto one elbow so he could study Ilya's face more closely, noting the dark circles under his partner's eyes, the red-rimmed lids, and the tension thrumming through the tight muscles in his body.

"Hey," Shane started, cupping Ilya's face and running his thumb across his cheek bone as Ilya felt a pang of fear run through his chest, certain that Shane could see right through him. "Are you worried about the game later?"

Relief coursed through Ilya's veins, the tension visibly easing from his tight shoulders as he adopted a cocky smile, grateful for the turn in conversation. In fact, he had forgotten they had a game against each other that night, just happy to be able to go to sleep and wake up in Shane's arms now that they were officially together.

"Yes," he replied dishonestly, nodding his head as convincingly as he could. "I just hope you still suck my dick after we beat you tonight. I'll be very sad if you don't."

"Oh, fuck off!" Shane groaned, pushing against Ilya's chest, though the large smile that had spread across his cheeks betrayed his true emotions. "You are such an asshole."

"Is your type, no?" Ilya countered, smiling genuinely at the light flush that painted Shane's cheeks in response, caving into his desires and leaning forward to slot their lips together, using his tongue to deepen the kiss until both he and little Ilya had gotten with the program.

"Is this the part where you tell me what reward I get if I win tonight?" Shane asked breathlessly as Ilya rolled on top of him, both moaning as their dicks rubbed against each other, Shane canting his hips to get some friction, a jolt of pleasure running up Ilya's spine as he began to circle his own hips, all previous thoughts fleeing his mind as he focused on the beautiful specimen that was his boyfriend beneath him.

"No," Ilya smirked, spreading his knees so he could better straddle Shane's waist, grinding down and eliciting a sharp gasp from Shane. "Is where I tell you what reward I get when I win tonight, Hollander."

"Ew, don't use my last name in bed anymore you freak, we're boyfriends now, not rivals!"

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed," Ilya laughed, pulling his hips back to the dismay of said boyfriend as he began to kiss down Shane's chest, stopping long enough to pull each nipple beneath his teeth, massaging the muscular pecs there with his other hand before he continued south, breathing in his second favourite scent in the world in Shane's arousal as he licked a stripe along the length of his cock, groaning in appreciation as another pang of desire coursed through him, pushing Shane's legs apart and settling in to take his boyfriend apart with reckless abandon, a gesture Shane was all too grateful to receive.

"Oh fuck," he heard from above as two strong hands slipped into his curls, guiding his ministrations as he took Shane as deep as he could, smiling around the cock in his mouth as Shane arched his back and pushed against the back of his throat, Ilya barely even choking as he pulled back, sensing the two were hurtling towards a release that he wasn't ready for.

"Noooooo," Shane keened to Ilya's amusement as Ilya fully pulled off, his hand reaching down to finish the job before Ilya slapped it away, flipping Shane over with ease and pushing his right leg forward so he was better positioned, easily grabbing the lube off the nightstand beside them and warming the gel between his fingers as Shane desperately humped the bed for any sort of release.

"So impatient," Ilya growled, steadying Shane's hips as he placed a far too delicate kiss between his boyfriend's shoulder blades, lingering for a beat to rile Shane up before unceremoniously sinking two fingers into Shane's hole, confident he would still be stretched out from their (several) trysts a few hours earlier.

"Fuuuuuuck," was all he got in return, his fingers making quick work to leave Shane panting beneath him, a stream of obscenities spilling from Shane's lips as Ilya prepared him to take his generously sized cock.

Pulling Shane's hips back so he was lying on his side, Ilya slipped one hand under his top leg, pulling it up and back so he could centre himself at his target before pushing himself in, an embarrassing noise spilling from both their lips as their bodies came together. Ilya paused just long enough to confirm that Shane was comfortable before slamming his hips forward, Shane's own hips meeting his halfway as the two moved against each other. Ilya's hand squeezed at Shane's pecs to ground himself as he raced towards his own release, the desperate pleas from his boyfriend beneath him and the tight enclosure around his aching cock sending him directly to a very satisfying orgasm, Shane joining him a few seconds later, the two collapsing into a heap of limbs as they tried to catch their breath in the morning light.

"So sexy," Ilya muttered into Shane's neck as he panted against his ear, his cock softening inside Shane, but feeling no desire to pull himself out. "Have sex many times, but always so irresistible. My sexy Shane Hollander."

"Hmm," Shane hummed with a smile, turning his head over his shoulder so the two could kiss languidly, both their chests still heaving. "Does that make you my sexy Ilya Rozanov?"

"Yes," Ilya answered simply, placing a lingering kiss onto the bridge of Shane's nose. "Always yours. Only yours."

"I like the sounds of that."

"I thought you would."

"Are you planning on leaving anytime soon, or are you staying awhile?" Shane asked cheekily, gesturing at their connected bodies and the fact Ilya was still very much pressed inside him.

"No, I like it here," Ilya smiled, kissing him once, twice, three times, before wrapping his arms more fully around Shane's chest and settling against the pillows. "Is warm."

"So happy I could be of service," Shane retorted with a roll of his eyes, smiling to himself as he settled back into the safety of Ilya's arms, interlocking their fingers against his heart before closing his eyes and drifting contentedly back into dreamland, Ilya following shortly behind him, his brows no longer furrowed.

*****

"FUCK!"

Startling awake, Ilya forced his eyes open, catching sight of Shane flailing around the room as he jumped from the bed and snagged his folded pants from the nearby chair, tossing Ilya's at his face as he blinked himself awake, pushing himself up from the bed as he tried to gather his bearings, his body already moving to mimic his boyfriends.

"What is wrong?" He asked as he pulled on the sweats, groaning as the sharp artificial light hit his eyes as Shane flicked the switch, the man already moving to get them their shirts as Ilya rose from the bed like a lost puppy.

"Ilya, it's fucking 4:30! The game is at 6:00!"

"Oh fuck," Ilya conceded, glancing at the clock on the nightstand to confirm the time and noting the position of the sun over Shane's building. "Thank fuck you live close to arena, is not far, right?"

"It's not, but how are you going to explain the fact that you didn't go back to the hotel last night and didn't travel with the team to the arena since you don't actually live here?!"

Sensing his boyfriend starting to spiral, Ilya stepped forward and placed a calming hand on Shane's chest, pushing him back against the dresser behind him so he could box the older man in and placing a chaste kiss onto Shane's lips, grateful when he felt the press of Shane's lips in return.

"Shane. Is not problem. Not for you anyways."

"But what if you get in trouble?" Shane asked earnestly, his ever-emotive eyes displaying the full weight of his fear.

"Then I get in trouble," Ilya answered easily, running a calming touch along his boyfriend's arms. "Is my fault, Shane. I did not set alarm. If I get in trouble, I get in trouble. Is not burden you need to carry."

"But you are the captain, the team looks to you to be an example and I made you late because I was being selfish!"

Looking down to hide his soft smile, Ilya collected his thoughts before meeting Shane's eyes again, certain that his undying adoration for his partner would be visible there.

"Is not selfish to love, Shane. Is most unselfish thing in the world. I had nice night. I was happy. That is worth it to me. If I get in trouble for being late, that is on me. I will apologize to team and then win game for them, yes?"

Scoffing, Shane looked down, taking a deep breath to centre himself as Ilya watched on carefully.

"I just don't ever want to be a problem for you, Ilya."

Cupping Shane's cheeks with both his hands, Ilya leaned forward, this time kissing Shane with as much passion as he could, though none of his movements were hurried.

"As I tell you at cottage last year, Shane," Ilya said softly, placing their foreheads against each other. "Boring Canadian is one problem I don't ever want to ever go away. It's okay, my love."

"I'm still sorry," Shane whispered into the space between them, his eyes betraying his true emotions, the guilt raging just beneath the surface. Shane was always the one to set the alarms.

"Don't be, baby," Ilya soothed, kissing him because he could. "I love you, Shane. It's okay, I promise. Let us get ready and go, hm? We can see each other after game."

"I love you too," Shane parroted back, reaching up to hold both of Ilya's hands against his cheeks as he closed his eyes and took another centering breath, knowing that Ilya was right, but struggling to tamp down the worry he had that his boyfriend would be in trouble just because he had come to see him. "What will you tell them?"

"I will not say anything," Ilya replied simply, shrugging his shoulders and stepping back to pull his shirt over his head, Shane following the movements as the pair exited the room a moment later, walking towards the kitchen where Ilya knew Shane would have both their favourite protein smoothies readily stocked in the fridge. "If they ask, I tell them I forget how clock works. I am good goal scorer, but not smartest man. They will believe me."

Stopping to look at Ilya incredulously, Shane shook his head after a moment before reaching for the fridge door and grabbing out their drinks, walking towards the front door with Ilya right behind him before another conundrum presented itself that had his feet stopping where they were.

"Okay, so now what do we do?" Shane asked, turning to face Ilya as they each bent to pull their shoes on. "We can't exactly be seen walking in together."

"Oh my god, Hollander," Ilya groaned in frustration, dropping his head against his chest. "No one will think we are fucking just because we walk in together. Is only you who thinks that!"

"Well how do we explain why we are both late but also somehow conveniently together?!"

"Is easy. We say we had meeting about joint brand deal and lost track of time. Yuna has many planned, we can show proof!"

"I don't know," Shane sighed, his face pinching with worry. "I know I'm a liar considering I've been lying about us for the last 10 years, but it doesn't feel right to use my Mom to lie to my teammates."

Puffing out a breath of air to bite down the cruel retort at the tip of his tongue, Ilya conceded that his very boring, very punctual, very rule following boyfriend was both uncomfortable at breaking his routine and also trying to protect Ilya simultaneously. Despite his frustration, if there was any moment to be patient, it was this one.

"Okay Hollander," Ilya said after a moment, trying to come up with a resolution. "If you don't want to use brand deal, you could say you got flat tire, and I stopped to help on way into arena. Or you say you knocked your charger out of wall and slept through nap alarm and I can be asshole Russian who doesn't care. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

Laughing despite himself, Shane looked down into the space between them, gently reaching for Ilya's hand and rubbing his thumb across the knuckles there, using the action to ground himself in the safety that was his partner.

"I think I knocked the charger out of the wall and slept in and walked into you coming in at the same time is probably the most believable," Shane said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, a feeling Ilya knew all too well at the deception they both had to endure on a daily basis. "Are you okay if I go with that one?"

"Yes, honey, of course," Ilya replied gently, interlocking their hands for one brief moment before reaching around Shane to pull open the door and gesturing for him to take the lead. "You go ahead, I'll lock up and be right behind you."

"Ilya?"

"Hm?"

"I love you," Shane said quietly, though with Shane owning the penthouse, they were the only two on the floor. "I'd be lost without you."

"No," Ilya said sadly, a pang striking through his chest. "You are Shane Hollander, best hockey player in the world. You would be okay without me."

"No, I wouldn't," Shane replied seriously, his brows coming together to echo his seriousness, pushing the door out of Ilya's grasp and letting it close softly behind them as he gripped his arms. "My life is better with you in it, Ilya. I didn't like the Shane before I met you. Now? Here? Being your boyfriend? This is my favourite version of me. I might be a good hockey player, but I am a better person because I have you. Please don't ever doubt that."

A thick pressure filled Ilya's chest and throat as Shane's words landed, and despite himself he felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. At a loss for words, Ilya simply stepped into Shane's waiting arms, burying his face into the crook of Shane's neck and taking deep breaths to steady himself, grateful for the other man's arms around his waist, the only thing currently keeping him standing.

"Ya tebya lyublyu, Shane Hollander. More than anything in this world."

"I love you too, Ilya Rozanov," Shane whispered into Ilya's curls, placing a soft kiss on the crown of his head. "More than you will ever know."

*****

"Well look who it is!"

With a sigh, Ilya stepped into the room to the hoots and hollers of his teammates, holding his arms up and beckoning their barbs as he exuded a confidence he didn't actually feel.

At the request of his boyfriend, who it turned out hadn't fully been on board with them being seen together, Ilya had waited exactly five minutes after Shane had left before locking up and leaving Shane's apartment building, going down an emergency exit and winding up in an alley between buildings before sauntering around to the main road and lightly jogging the five minutes to the arena, confident Shane had reached the players parking lot by now.

"Oh Captain, our captain!"

"Nice of you to join us, cap!"

"Look who the cat dragged in!"

"How was Jane, cap? Sex must have been good for you to be late."

Sighing deeply, Ilya ignored his team’s comments, walking to his stall and quickly pulling his shirt over his head, momentarily forgetting the smattering of hickeys Shane had left there the night previous until Marlow whistled obnoxiously loud to his right.

"Damn, cap. She try eating you or something?" The older man said with a smirk, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes when Ilya turned to make eye contact. It wasn't like Ilya to be late.

Deciding to own the moment, Ilya turned to the room and clapped his hands together thrice, rolling his eyes visibly when the second barrage of comments registered at the hickeys that spread across his chest and lower neck.

"Ooooh, caps too busy getting laid to remember the rest of us, hey!"

"Man, that Montreal bird's really into you, hey cap?"

"Hope the sex was good, cap. Coach is going to kill you!"

"Yes, yes, yes," Ilya retorted, shushing Marlow and slapping his hand away as he poked the hickey closest, noting out of the corner of his eye as the coaching staff walked in, their head coach leaning against the door frame with a frown. "Listen, boys. Your captain is asshole who apparently forgets how alarm work. In almost 8 years, only what? Second time I'm late? I am sorry for bad behaviour, but every person who scores goal tonight will get $1,000 from very sorry captain, okay? Now shut up and let's send Montreal home crying!"

A loud cheer erupted around the room, though the teasing remarks failed to cease as Ilya stripped quickly and swapped into his base gear, dropping to the ground to start his stretches as their coach came fully into the room and started reading out the starting line-up, not so subtly reminding the team of their expected arrival time at the arena on game days much to Ilya's annoyance.

Once the coaching team had left, Ilya centered himself with some focused breathing as he sunk into a forward lunge, closing his eyes as he imagined the freckles that smattered across Shane's cheeks, his face soft as he slept, a smile tugging at the corner of Ilya's lips despite himself.

"You know," Cliff started quietly to his now left, forcing Ilya to open his eyes and turn to face him. "You've started to act a lot differently when we're in Montreal these days, Rozy. When are you going to lock this bird down, man?"

"Is not so simple," Ilya replied with a scoff and a bitter twist of his lips, facing forward as he switched sides and settled into a deep forward press.

"Why? She married or something?"

Throwing a glare Marlow's way at the insinuation, Ilya adjusted his position so he was seated fully on the floor, placing the balls of his feet against each other as he leaned down onto his knees, deepening his stretch as he tried to come up with an acceptable answer to what would be a very normal question if it were for literally anybody else.

"Boston and Montreal are not that close," Ilya suggested, though even as the words rolled off his tongue, he knew the other man wouldn't buy them. They weren't that far either.

"You are obviously into her man," Cliff noted, though this time when Ilya made eye contact, he could see the obvious worry behind the older man's gaze. "I know you've had a rough few years with your family, man, but you deserve to be happy too."

Dropping his head into his chest to avoid Marlow seeing the expression that had crossed his face, Ilya took a few steadying breaths, aware that "happy" wasn't something people like him were allowed to have. Happy in private, maybe. But happy to the team? To the world? It was out of the question.

"I do not know if I am ready for real relationship," Ilya said eventually, ignoring the pain in his chest at the gentle hand that was placed on his shoulder as he did. "Has been hard two years. Maybe I just need focus on myself first."

"Life's a lot easier with someone to come home too," Cliff countered, though not unkindly.

"Yes," Ilya conceded, once again envisioning Shane and the smile that had spread across his lips when Ilya had gotten to the penthouse the morning previous, the resulting kiss sending butterflies dancing through Ilya's chest and stomach. "Maybe one day."

"Just...don't give up on Ilya," Cliff said after a moment's pause, hand still placed consolingly upon Ilya's shoulder. "I love you man. I want to see you happy one day too."

"I love you too, big sap," Ilya replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But for now? Let's focus on making Metros extra mad in their own arena, yes?"

And while Ilya knew that Marlow didn't quite believe he was okay based on the concerned expression still stretched across his features, his friend eventually relented, sending a half-hearted "Fuck yeah, Rozy, let's go" before the two turned back to their stalls to dress and prepare for the game.

*****

"Ugh," Ilya sighed as Montreal potted another goal 90 minutes later, the game now tied 2-2.

"At least it wasn't Hollander again?" Marlow suggested to the disapproval of Ilya, barely audible over the cheers from the home crowd, both Ilya and Shane having scored the opening goals for their teams, with that stupid Hayden Pike having just tied the game.

"Would rather Hollander than Pike," Ilya grumbled, chancing a glance down the bench at Shane who was standing with his team and holding his fist out to congratulate the boys on the ice, Ilya's own teammates skating back towards the bench with their heads down, prompting some encouraging words from their captain. "Is okay boys, still 24 minutes of game time, yes? Lots of time to make Metros cry in own arena!"

Puffing out his cheeks, Ilya dropped his head between his legs as he shifted down to make room for the returning players, reaching out to grab a bottle of Gatorade from the slots in front of the players as he did so, shoving a few bottles back in until he found his grape flavour. Taking two large swigs and finishing the bottle, Ilya signaled to the coaching staff behind him that they were out as he patiently handed the now empty bottle over his shoulder and switched it with the full one he was handed back, sighing once more as he did.

The game hadn't been bad up to this point per se. Both teams had two goals, both teams had taken two penalties, both goalies were playing admirably considering the number of shots they had faced.

But despite himself, despite having scored the first goal of the game, Ilya couldn't tamp down the worry that continued to blossom in his chest, rubbing absentmindedly at the C on his jersey as he chanced another look at the Metros bench, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watched Shane jump over the boards and skate to centre ice, preparing to take the face off with a fierce look of determination that Ilya knew all too well.

As the play started and Shane easily won the face off, Ilya tried to maintain a neutral expression as his heart soared with pride, watching intently as Shane pulled the puck between his legs to dodge around Boston's left winger, side stepping their centermen before being pushed wide by Boston's defence, skating towards the boards with speed, stick reaching for the puck when—

Ringing.

That's all Ilya could hear.

A loud, incessant ringing.

A ringing so loud he couldn't have told you a damn thing that was happening around him as he watched the play unfold in slow motion before his eyes, his heart shattering in his chest as his own teammate reached forward to defend against the star captain, attempting to poke check the puck and instead catching his stick under Shane's skate blade, sending Ilya's partner head first into the boards with a sickening crunch.

Silence.

Silence so loud that Ilya wasn't even sure if he was still breathing.

Silence so loud that even with 20,000 people around them, not a single person made a sound, the only noise coming from the wheels of the stretcher and the feet of the medical staff who were scurrying to the far end of the ice, the 11 men on the ice gathered in a protective circle around Shane's prone body, with two of Montreal's players bent on one knee calling to Shane with no response.

Ringing.

That's all Ilya could hear.

A loud, incessant ringing in his ears, drowning out everyone and everything around him.

Ilya was sure someone was speaking to him, sure that someone was shaking his arm, sure that cameras were honed in on his horrified expression, but none of that mattered when the man he loved more than life itself was unresponsive on the ice, the players stepping back to let the medical team through, Ilya catching a glimpse of Shane's slack expression and feeling his heart constrict in his chest, feeling rather than seeing as a strong arm wrapped around his waist, the only thing keeping him from collapsing on the bench or throwing himself over the boards to reach his partner.

But Shane would never forgive him if he outed them in this way. If he made Shane seem like a damsel in distress instead of the strong, competent captain of the Montreal Metros that he was. Would never forgive him if he took their opportunity to play together away from them.

So, Ilya stayed firmly in place, Cliff's arm holding him steady. He still couldn't hear his teammates, though he wasn't even sure they were saying anything, the ringing in his ears and the silence in the arena deafening in equal measure. Distantly he could feel his team looking at him, trying to gauge the depths of his reaction, but out of concern or respect, everyone left him alone, eyes fixated on the body on the ice.

After what felt like an eternity, the players in the corner stepped back and the stretcher raised to full height, Ilya catching his first full look at Shane and the oxygen mask over his face, feeling only a brief sense of relief at the puff of air that he saw register in the mask there, though it did little to bring him lasting comfort.

As the stretcher rolled across the ice towards the Zamboni entrance, not a single sound could be heard in the arena. No claps for an injured player skating off the ice, no recognition of a scary play, because as the stretcher passed before them and Ilya took in Shane's face, he too could tell without a doubt that his partner was fully unconscious.

And as the stretcher moved away from his bench, that sickening feeling that had been welling up in his chest all day threatened to spill over as Ilya forced air into his lungs, suddenly aware he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a breath.

And as the two teams coaches decided to end the period early and tack the three-and-a-half remaining minutes to the end of the third period, Ilya followed robotically as Marlow guided him down the hall and into the adjoining bathroom where Ilya slumped to the floor and the silence took over, the ringing in his ears drowning out anything and everything that was happening around him.

*****

The TV in the locker room was the first thing Ilya registered as he came back to his senses, the broadcasters in the process of drawing attention to the fact that Boston’s captain hadn't returned to the ice after the break.

He had seen the concerned, albeit confused, looks from his teammates as they had left the locker room and returned to the ice, not even sure how he had gotten from the floor of the bathroom back to his stall, but despite the repeated attempts from the people around him to figure out what was going on, Ilya couldn't bring himself to speak, worried what he would say if he did.

Slowly raising his gaze to the empty room around him, Ilya took a shuddering breath, reaching above his head to grab his phone and hoping beyond hope that there would be a message from Shane on the screen asking why he hadn't come back on the ice.

But instead of a message from Jane ❤️❤️❤️, there were no messages from his boyfriend to be found, just three messages with equal levels of concern. The first from Svetlana asking if he was hurt, Ilya’s best friend never one to miss a game. The other two from Yuna, the latter of which instantly brought tears to his eyes.

Yuna (7:48 PM): Ilya, if you see this, we are on route to the hospital. We'll give you an update as soon as we have one.

And a second message just a few minutes prior.

Yuna (8:11 PM): Sweetheart, I just heard you didn't go back for the third period. We don't know how you want to handle this with your team, but David and I support you with whatever you decide. We just got to the hospital; we'll send you an update as soon as we've spoken to the doctors.

"David and I support you with whatever you decide."

9 words. 9 simple words that held so much meaning behind them.

Despite himself, a sob escaped Ilya's lips, the pain in his chest punctuated by the ringing in his ears as he bit down onto his jersey to muffle his cries, terrified that someone would hear him if he was too loud and knowing he'd have no way to explain himself without revealing the truth if they did.

Shane.

His Shane.

His sweet Shane.

His sweet, loving Shane, who made sure his house was always stocked with Ilya's favourite foods when the Raiders were in town, who shamelessly took Ilya's clothes and didn't give them back for months until they saw each other next, who went from shoving Ilya through the door to his stairwell so no one would see them to flying to Boston during a few days off just so they could hold hands and cuddle in bed.

His sweet, loving, perfect Shane, who had suffered a different concussion and a fractured collarbone in an incident last year, who had whined for weeks on end as he recovered, driving Ilya to drink with how much he had complained about not being able to play.

And now, that man, the man that held Ilya's heart, was lying unconscious in a hospital bed several miles away while Ilya broke into a million pieces alone in his dressing room. Always alone.

"You're such a dick," Shane laughed over FaceTime, his wide grin taking up most of the screen.

"Perhaps," Ilya replied with a matching grin, his gaze softening at the genuine joy he could see reflected on his partner's face. "And yet, you are one who chose me."

"I didn't choose you," Shane rebuffed, though the pink that coloured his cheeks betrayed him.

"Oh? No? So how did I end up as Shane Hollander's boyfriend, hmm? I just force my way in?"

"Yes! Exactly!" Shane declared, throwing his hands up dramatically and revealing more of his naked chest. "Just forced your way into my life, like a mean old Russian!"

Laughing fully, Ilya shook his head fondly at the screen, a warmth spreading through his chest at the look he saw reflected there, Shane leaning back in so closely that Ilya was sure he could count each and every freckle on his cheeks.

"I must be better then, no?" Ilya asked teasingly, delighting in the confused look on Shane's face. "Just go back to Russia, all alone, all by myself, no boyfriend, no sex. Just Ilya, sad, sad Ilya."

"Don't forget sad, sad Shane!" His boyfriend added, his brows furrowed with concern at the thought of Ilya in Russia by himself. "I never said it was a bad thing!"

"Ah!" Ilya laughed, smirking once more. "So is not bad thing that mean old Russian force his way into boring Canadian's life?"

"No, no! Boring Canadian is very happy the mean old Russian forced his way into his life."

"Well good," Ilya said softly. "Because you are stuck with me forever, Mr. Shane Hollander."

"I wouldn't want to be stuck with anyone else, Mr. Ilya Rozanov."

Returning to the present, Ilya shook his head to shake the memory, wiping at his eyes and leaning his head back against the back of the stall, brain now trying to decide how to explain his actions to his team in a way that wouldn't make him sound insane.

A buzz in his hands pulled Ilya from his quickly spiraling thoughts, directing his attention back to the present to find a message on his screen.

David (8:17 PM): How are you holding up, kiddo?

David. A man who bought Russian vodka because he had good taste, who took a step back to let his wife be the momager their son needed, who welcomed Ilya in with open arms with a speed of acceptance that Ilya could only have dreamed of. The father he didn't know he needed so badly. The man he could always be honest with.

Ilya (8:18 PM): I am scared. So scared.

Barely a minute passed before Ilya's phone buzzed again, the message he saw sitting there comforting in a way Ilya didn't know how to describe.

David (8:19 PM): Talk to me, kiddo. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours.

Ilya (8:21 PM): I hate seeing Shane hurt. I hate knowing he won't be able to play hockey. I hate that I cannot get my emotions together. I hate that I cannot pretend I am okay.

David (8:22 PM): Do you need to?

Ilya leaned back once more as he considered David's question. On the one hand he wished he and Shane could be out, wished that he could be honest with his teammates about his raging emotions and why he was sitting alone in their away dressing room bordering on a panic attack instead of out on the ice helping them win the game.

But life wasn't that simple, not for people like them. Off the top of his head, Ilya could name at least 8 players on his team who had made homophobic comments in the past, knew that being out meant he could never go home to his mother's grave. Scott Hunter might have come out the year before, but Ilya wasn't sure he was brave enough to join him. That, and Ilya wasn't willing to make that decision for both of them. Either he and Shane made it together, or not at all.

Ilya (8:26 PM): For now, yes. I think so anyways. Is big decision. I will not make decision for Shane without him.

Ilya (8:27 PM): But I don't know how to explain why I am alone in dressing room instead of on the ice.

Ilya (8:27 PM): Any ideas?

After a minute passed with no response, Ilya turned his attention to the TV in the corner of the room, noting the score still read 2-2 and the shot clock hadn't changed since the start of the period, though the teams were only six minutes in. From the looks of it, both teams were reeling from the accident. They may be competitors, but no one wanted to see another player hurt, not like that anyways.

A buzz in his hands brought Ilya's attention back to the conversation at hand. If Ilya was lucky, he had at least half an hour to come up with a reason before his team started to filter back into the room, so he was hopeful he and David could figure something out.

David (8:30 PM): Does the team know you and Shane are friends now?

Ilya (8:30 PM): Not exactly. They know we talk sometimes, but no, I would not say they call us friends.

David (8:31 PM): That might be a good place to start. They know you visited him in the hospital after his accident last year. Tell them you two became friends after he called you after your Dad passed and it scared you to see him get hurt because a concussion is your worst nightmare. I think that's fairly reasonable.

Ilya (8:32 PM): Reasonable, yes. But why am I not on the ice right now? How do I explain that?

David (8:33 PM): Look, Ilya. I see two options here. Either we come up with a lie you think you can convincingly tell your teammates to distract them from the truth, or you go back to the bench and try to finish the game to take the heat off you and Shane.

David (8:35 PM): No matter what you decide, Yuna and I have your back.

Pausing to let those words digest, Ilya glanced up at the TV, noting that there appeared to have been an extended stoppage of play as the period was still only 9 minutes in. Thinking to what David proposed, Ilya acknowledged begrudgingly that the lesser of the two evils was likely to go back to the game, even if it was the last thing on earth he wanted to do.

Ilya (8:36 PM): Shane said to me he doesn't want to use others to lie about us. So maybe I tell as close to truth as possible?

Ilya (8:37 PM): It DID freak me out. Is not lie, I do not want to see other player get hurt. Maybe I go back out, tell them he is my friend now and that I am having hard time lately. Maybe that my reaction surprised me too and I am not sure why it happened. Does that make sense?

David (8:39 PM): I think that's a great call, Ilya. Shane is still being looked at by the doctors, but it doesn't look like there's any brain bleeding which was our primary worry. We'll know more when he wakes up, so get back out there for now and I'll see you when you get here.

Feeling an immense wave of relief at the news, Ilya closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath to collect himself.

Ilya (8:39 PM): David.

David (8:40 PM): Yes, kiddo?

Pausing his fingers on the screen, Ilya swallowed heavily at the message, forcing down the emotions that were threatening to push back up, looking back up to see the play now at 12 minutes. Still half a period to go with the added few minutes at the end.

Ilya (8:40 PM): Thank you for being here with me. I am less scared now.

David (8:41 PM): Always.

David (8:41 PM): Give 'em hell.

*****

"Oh shit, hey Rozy, you okay?"

Nodding at the coaching staff who gave him a concerned look as he sat down, Ilya slid onto the end of the bench between Marlow and their backup goalie, Stevens, keeping his head down to avoid the questioning looks from the rest of the team.

"I don't know," Ilya answered honestly, just loud enough that those close by could hear. "I don't know what happened."

"You were totally out of it man, you were like a zombie!" Stevens piped up unhelpfully to Ilya's left, though when Ilya turned to look at him, it wasn't judgement, but concern he saw looking back. "I didn't even think you liked Hollander man."

At this, Ilya felt the gaze of both benches turn towards him, the latter having just realized he was there, Stevens being neither quiet nor considerate for others' privacy when he spoke.

"Yes. I do." Ilya replied louder this time, straightening up as the play stopped and staff rushed the ice with shovels to clear the play surface, both teams’ skaters moving closer, the eyes of Pike boring into Ilya intently as he neared the bench. "Shane and I..."

Stopping to collect his thoughts, Ilya frantically racked his brain for the English word he was looking for, for when two planets moved around each other. When his brain came up empty for the translation, he scowled and forged on, ignoring the impending embarrassment that was likely to come.

"Shane?" He heard a voice ask just before he could start speaking again, looking up to see Pike staring at him intently.

Shit. Hollander. He never used Shane's first name in public. Stupid, stupid Ilya.

"Hollander, whatever," Ilya countered, his scowl genuine. God, he hated that man.

"Hollander he ... he texted me after my Dad died," Ilya admitted eventually, seeing a look of confusion cross Pike's face as well as the men around him, giving Ilya the courage to continue on. "My Mom is Dead. My Dad is dead. My brother is not in my life. I don't have many people and Hollander and I are always circling each other, like planets."

"Always in each other's orbit," Pike supplied with a look that Ilya couldn't read, though he didn't say it meanly.

"Yes. Orbit, that is English word I meant. Hollander called me when I was home in Russia, when I needed someone. We are friends now."

"You never told me that, man," Cliff said to Ilya's right, drawing his attention over. "I always thought you two hated each other."

"I don't think I ever hated Hollander," Ilya said gently after a moment. "Is one person who maybe understand me best. Understand this fame. This ... pressure. Two young captains. Same age. Sometimes maybe wish we talk sooner."

"He'll be okay though cap!" Stevens said cheerfully, drawing the ire of both Ilya and Pike who glared at him ferociously. "Best place for him to be right now is with medical staff looking out for him. And I bet his Mom and Dad are there too already, everyone knows he's got a serious momager over there! Maybe you can go visit him tomorrow before we leave?"

Before we leave. FUCK. Ignoring the comment about Yuna, Ilya felt his heart sink even further. It hadn't even occurred to him that the team was heading to Toronto the next day. That meant he had less than 24 hours for Shane to wake up and get cleared by the medical staff before Boston would be moving on, less than 24 hours for Ilya to be with his partner before he'd have to hand his care over to Shane's parents.

Just as Ilya started to panic, a tap on his shoulder brought him out of his spiral, turning to make eye contact with his head coach who had an expression on his face that told him he had heard everything Ilya had just shared.

"Rozanov, you okay to go back out there?"

Not really, Ilya wanted to say, but he was the captain, and it was his responsibility to rally his team. Always his responsibility to make sure things would be okay.

"Yes, coach," he said instead, taking the head nod towards the ice in response as indication he should jump over the boards, skating to centre as he and the other players did their line switch, hoping that he could calm himself enough to win this face-off.

Ilya was grateful seconds later when he did just that, his body moving on instinct rather than by any guidance from his brain, skating around the opposing centre, a young kid Shane had mentioned whose name was escaping him, skating with speed towards the net and dodging the left defencemen, turning to shoot the puck ... directly into the chest of Montreal's goalie. Shit.

"Well. That was useless." Ilya muttered under his breath, frowning as he was forced to take a second face-off in the end zone circle to the right of the goalie, winning again just barely and passing the puck to Marlow who skated behind him and ripped a shot on net, Montreal's goalie only just managing to get a piece of the puck with his glove before sending the puck sailing into the netting above the glass. "Good try, Marlow."

"Shots on net, baby!" the other man laughed, patting Ilya on the shoulder as he skated behind him back to the bench for their line switch, Ilya trailing behind him. "We'll get them!"

20 minutes later after three very stupid and very long penalties, two of which had been from Boston players getting frustrated, Ilya groaned as the buzzer sounded to signal the end of the period. Time for 3-on-3 overtime.

On any other night, Ilya would have been grateful for the extra point, Boston and New York competing nightly for the last wild card spot for playoffs with only three more games to go. But tonight, when all Ilya wanted to do was shower and get to the hospital, overtime felt like a divine punishment meant specifically for him.

"Rozanov, Marlow, Jackson," Ilya heard called out from behind him as the ice crew cleared the Zamboni entrance, forcing his legs over the boards to see Pike, JJ whatever the fuck his name was, and Miller doing the same on the other bench. "Keep your formation tight and let's end this so we can all get home."

"Yes coach," the three players parroted, Ilya cracking his neck as he skated to centre ice, surprised to see Hayden lining up across from him.

"Since when do you play centre, Pike?" Ilya asked, though there was little malice in his tone.

"Since your stupid fucking defencemen sent my best friend to the hospital," Hayden responded, emphasis on "best friend," Hayden's tone laced with anger and an emotion Ilya couldn't quite place.

A cruel retort was on the tip of Ilya's tongue before he paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to avoid letting Hayden get under his skin. As much as he wanted to bury the guy, would be happy to introduce his fist to the other's face, Ilya knew that Hayden was right. He was Shane's best friend and Ilya wasn't going to earn himself any favours by breaking said best friend's nose, even if there was nothing more that he wanted.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Ilya bent down and dropped his stick into position, catching the surprised look on Hayden's face as he refused to engage. As the whistle blew and the puck dropped between them, Ilya's stick flew forward, flicking the puck back to Jackson and pushing past Hayden who turned and barreled towards him as he and Marlow took off, the latter taking the puck onto his stick as he entered Montreal's zone through the blue line.

Dumping the puck in deep, Marlow pulled JJ to the outside who shadowed him closely, Ilya throwing his shoulder against Miller as he slammed them into the glass to receive the puck on the other side of the net, getting the upper hand after a quick squabble and shooting back to the blue line where Jackson lay waiting as he dodged Hayden, circling the puck back to Marlow as the three Montreal players formed a tight triangle in front of the net, their sticks swaying back and forth between them, ready to knock the puck out of play and into their possession.

But there was no need because seconds later the puck was on Ilya's stick and rifled into the back of Montreal's net, the goal light flashing above them as the Montreal players dropped their heads in defeat.

Most nights, Ilya would have thrown himself at Marlow and Jackson following a goal, taunting the enemy players as he skated back to his bench, whooping and hollering with his team as they did.

But tonight, Ilya ignored everyone and simply skated back to the now open gate by the bench and walked down the hall to the locker room, ignoring the cheers from his teammates and stripping himself at his stall, the first player to enter the shower a moment later and the first to leave the locker room a few minutes after that, a half-hearted "good job team, you pay me when I see you next" thrown over his shoulder as the door swung shut behind him.

"That was weird, right?" Stevens said aloud to no one in particular a moment later, the remaining 22 players sharing confused looks at their captain's quick departure.

"Rozy is always weird," Marlow retorted with a laugh, breaking the tension and shouting at everyone to get changed so they could get on the bus, pulling his shoulder pads over his head as he did so and tossing it into the cart in the middle of the room.

But as he turned back to face his stall, Cliff couldn't help but feel like he was missing something.

*****

Ilya (9:47 PM): Here.

Standing awkwardly outside the front entrance of Montreal General, Ilya rocked back and forward on the balls of his feet as he waited for a response, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as the cold April air bit at his skin.

In all honesty, Ilya wasn't sure how he had managed to get to the hospital so fast, barely remembering anything after the puck had hit the back of the net.

He knew he wasn't being reasonable, knew he was giving his team more questions than answers, knew that his current behaviour was far outside the norm for him.

But Ilya could live without hockey. He couldn't live without Shane. As much as he knew he'd regret his actions later, for now he just needed to get to Shane's side to see him for himself.

David (9:49 PM): 2418. See you in a sec, kiddo.

Almost perfect, Ilya thought to himself at the room number, entering the building and trying to navigate his way to Shane's room. David had sent him a message during overtime to share that Shane had been given a room already, something Ilya imagined was largely in part due to Shane's celebrity status or more likely, thanks to some financial encouragement from Shane’s parents to ensure their son got the best care possible.

Turning the corner at the end of the hall, Ilya came across a bank of elevators, looking around anxiously as he hit the button, praying that no one would recognize him even if he could very well pretend he was here out of the goodness of his heart as a fellow competitor.

"Oh, so now you okay to be seen with me?" Ilya teased, smirking at the eye roll Shane directed his way as the two waited for the elevator in Shane's lobby.

"We're competitors, competitors can be friends," Shane countered, though he at least had the decency to look embarrassed as he said it considering their history.

"Says man who shoved me through murder doorway several times in past."

"Well, I, look, Ilya..."

"Mmm?" Ilya taunted, raising a brow in question. "I am waiting, Hollander. Well, what?"

"You're such an asshole," Shane muttered as the doors opened and he stepped in, reaching back and dragging Ilya unceremoniously into the space with him.

"Maybe," Ilya conceded. "But I was just teasing. Is nice to be seen with you sometimes."

The ding of the elevator arriving pulled Ilya's attention back to the present, stepping into the space blissfully alone and pushing the button for the second floor, a nervous energy taking over his muscles as he once more rocked back and forward.

As the doors opened once he arrived at his destination, Ilya felt that swelling emotion inside him rise back up as he came face-to-face with Yuna Hollander waiting for him, forgoing any sense of privacy or protection as Ilya did the one thing he needed most, stepping forward into Yuna's outstretched arms and burying his face into her dark locks, taking several steadying breaths as the doors closed behind him.

"Hi sweetheart," Yuna said delicately as she pulled back, placing a hand on each of Ilya's upper arms. "How are you holding up?"

"Is question I should be asking you," Ilya replied with a furrow of his brow, realizing belatedly that he had let David comfort him earlier without returning the favour. "Are you okay?"

Releasing him with a sigh, Yuna turned to their left and started walking slowly down the hall, Ilya falling into step beside her as he noted the number on the door closest. 2216. Shane must be towards the end.

"It's always scary seeing your child get hurt," Yuna started, throwing a half-hearted smile at Ilya who understood the expression. "But when your son is an elite player like Shane…you have to expect that there will be at least some injuries across their career."

"Yes, I guess this makes sense."

"Are David and I worried that this is Shane's second concussion in two years?" Yuna continued, looking at Ilya with concern in her eyes, a sentiment Ilya echoed. "Absolutely. The studies show that CTE is a really serious problem in hockey players, so two major concussions so close together...I don't like the implications of it, that's for sure."

"How bad is his concussion?" Ilya asked as the pair passed the 2300 rooms, neither walking hurriedly.

"Well, there's no brain bleeding, so that's a big win," Yuna said matter-of-factly, as if she was reporting on a game and not talking about her son's health. "He gained consciousness for a bit, but the lights and the beeping from the machines were making his head throb, so they gave him some medicine to put him back under. It's looking like he may have a Grade 2 or Grade 3 concussion, which isn't ideal, but we need him to be awake longer to truly establish the severity. David and I talked to him for a bit earlier though. He knew who we were, so that was something at least."

"Is good," Ilya admitted, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep inhale, slowing to match Yuna's gait as she reached for a doorknob to their right.

Following into the room behind her, Ilya gasped at the sight of Shane prone on the bed, a bandage wrapped around his thick hair and an obvious bruise forming on the right side of his forehead, a deep purple forming across the skin where he had crashed into the boards.

Sensing movement to his right, Ilya dragged his eyes away from Shane's frozen expression to meet David's gaze, softening slightly and stepping into the older man's open arms as he rose and met Ilya halfway, the elder not letting go until Ilya released him himself.

"Hey kiddo," David started, placing a gentle hand on the back of Ilya's head, a gesture he couldn't once remember his father ever doing to him. "You made good time, you fly here?"

Looking away as a light pink coloured Ilya's cheeks, he dropped his head slightly before admitting to the two of them that he perhaps paid the driver to break as many laws as needed.

"Oh, you rascal," David laughed, though Ilya knew him well enough by now that he could still see the pinched worry in the corners of his eyes.

"I am sorry I did not ask how you were doing earlier," Ilya said quietly, stepping forward with David as he reached for Shane's hand, hating that Shane's fingers didn't grip his hand in return. "But thank you for talking sense into me. Are you okay?"

"Better now that Shane's been seen by the doctors," David admitted, smiling softly as he watched Ilya stroke Shane's hair, leaning down and placing a lingering kiss on Shane's forehead. "Just anxious for him to wake up now so we can figure out what we need to do to take care of him."

"Will he wake soon?" Ilya asked over his shoulder, though he never took his gaze from Shane's face, memorizing every detail as he so often did when he needed to centre himself.

"They don't know," Yuna answered for the two of them, stepping alongside Ilya and placing a comforting hand onto his shoulder. "But we've already got you cleared to stay the night and have asked the nurses and doctors to not say anything about you being here. Without an NDA I can't promise that they will, but I am hopeful they'll respect Shane and your privacy. I'm sorry that it's the best I can do."

"Is enough," Ilya replied earnestly, leaning his head to the right so he could place his on top of hers. "Thank you for always looking out for us."

"It's what Mom's do!" Yuna said lovingly, leaning into Ilya's touch and missing the expression of pain that washed over his face, his own mother long gone, though he was grateful Yuna had welcomed him into their family to the point where he felt comfortable being vulnerable with her just 9 months after he and Shane had started calling each other boyfriends.

"The nurses said they will be by every two hours to wake Shane up and check his vitals, so for now let's get you some food, you need to fuel up after that game," David said from Ilya's left after a few minutes had passed with the three standing there, the younger man turning to cast a grateful look at the other. "Yuna and I will go to the cafeteria if you want to stay here with Shane."

"Yes. I can do that." Smiling softly at the pair, Ilya turned back to Shane and pulled the closest chair alongside the bed as the door closed quietly behind them, Ilya once again taking Shane's hand and rubbing his fingers gently across his knuckles.

"Come back to me sweetheart."

An hour later and with a belly full of chicken and salad, Ilya lay his head down beside Shane's arm, closing his eyes and centering himself in the presence of his partner, Yuna and David sitting on two chairs that had been brought in on the other side of the room, Ilya having confirmed that the Hollanders had paid for a private room away from prying eyes that gave them some added space to be together.

From behind where he sat, Ilya heard as the door opened, lifting his head in time to see a grey-haired male enter the room, the name embroidered on his jacket reading Dr. Myers.

"Ah, you must be Shane's best friend," the older man said warmly, holding out a hand for Ilya to take as he rose from the chair and moved towards the foot of the bed to give the doctor space to work. So that's what Yuna had told them. "How is Mr. Hollander here doing, has he woken up at all?"

"Um...no?" Ilya replied shakily, realizing belatedly that Yuna and David were allowing him to take the lead. "He has not been awake since I got here."

"Okay, well let's wake him up then so we can check his vitals. Shane, can you hear me?"

Reaching out, the doctor placed a gentle hand onto Shane's arm, adjusting something on the IV drip before grabbing the nearby clipboard and jotting down some notes, shaking Shane once, twice, three times before the man in the bed began to shift, his eyelids fluttering as he fought the rise to consciousness.

"Wake up baby," Ilya heard Yuna say from Shane's other side, though he refused to take his gaze from his partner's face to watch. "Wake up, Shane."

Time slowed as Shane forced his eyelids open, blinking slowly as he forced himself into consciousness, brows furrowing to ward off the bright lights in the room, though all of them had been dulled to a warm yellow instead of the usual blinding white that made up most of the rooms in the hospital.

"Mmmm," Shane groaned, eyes fluttering shut before a gentle nudge from the doctor pulled them back open, Shane swallowing heavily. "W-w-water?"

"Yes of course, sweetheart, here you go," Yuna replied gently, placing a straw into Shane's water glass and bringing it to his lips, the onlookers watching carefully as he took a few shallow swigs before dropping his head back onto the pillows.

But as Shane turned his head to the other side of the bed and registered the doctor and Ilya standing there, it wasn't a look of love that he sent Ilya's way, but a deep, angry glare that had all colour draining from Ilya's face.

"Ilya Rozanov?" Shane scoffed, wincing at the volume of his own words. "What the fuck are YOU doing here?"