Archive of Our Own

Shane had left. Ilya had told him to go, and Shane had listened. He walked out that door, after driving all this way, all because Ilya told him to.

God, why did he tell him to leave?

Ilya's soul begged for Shane to be close, skin touching, body heat spreading, and breathing in each other's oxygen. He wanted it more than he wanted anything. More than the Stanley cup, more than an Olympic gold medal, more than life itself.

He needed Shane the same way his lungs needed air. It was uncontrollable, raw, and primal.

But Shane had left.

They hadn’t seen each other in what felt like an eternity, and he left. Shane came all this way, but Ilya sent him back out into the dark of night, to drive home, and waste his efforts.

All over some stupid party.

The minute Ilya asked, he regretted it. He knew Shane would say no, and that he would be uncomfortable, but Ilya let one moment of his own weakness – his own intemperance, dictate the rest of their night.

He just wanted to be allowed to love Shane, even if not openly. He wanted to go to a party, to be in the same room, to just coexist in public, even if they don’t confirm anything about the nature of their relationship. Just being in Shane’s presence was enough to leave him filled, and loved, and feeling warm. At least, so far, it has been enough. It should’ve been enough, but Ilya had found himself craving more, wanting with greed that wasn’t fair to Shane.

He was selfish, heedless, and didn’t even stop to think about how Shane would feel, and how he could ruin a night they both were looking forward to with one measly idea.

Ilya hated himself. He hated his lack of self control, his craving to fill his own needs. He hated who he was, and what he had done to the people around him, specifically Shane.

Shane deserved better. He really did. Ilya had thought he was changing, improving, thanks to Shane, who was damn near the best person he had ever met, but he’s been reduced back to the selfish kid he always was with one simple question.

One simple question that just changed everything.

Ilya slides his back down the door of his bedroom, until he’s collapsed to the floor, defeated. He pulls his knees tight to his chest, burrowing his face into his hands.

It starts slow.

First it’s the burn in his eyes, the hiccuping slowly but surely flooding his chest. Next come the tears, spilling fast and relentless, searing into his cheeks as they pour. A broken sound echoes in the deafening silence, and Ilya barely recognizes it as his own, heartbroken sob. His entire body begins shaking, and he cannot stop.

He did not cry, especially alone. Not since his mothers funeral. He would not allow himself to break so openly. He would bite his lip, and blink away any tears that threatened to fall, because that is what was expected of him. It is what his father scared him into.

An unrealistic, ideal version of perfection Ilya worked so hard to fit. He only ever wanted to make others proud, to bring something more than annoyance and anger to the life of those around him. Maybe that's why he sent Alexei so much money, and maybe why he continued to take care of his father despite the torment he was raised with. Ilya just wanted to be good. He wanted to be what others needed, to fill in the gaps that no one else could, because that made him permanent.

Someone you could never leave.

Nausea plows through him but he swallows it down, silencing and suffocating it. He’s drowning in his own pain, body flooded with misery that leaves him cold, hollow, and empty.

Ilya is alone. He’d always been. Once his mother died, he was left to himself. His house was not empty, but his family was soulless. They did not speak to him unless to berate him, or leech away his money. He was offered no comfort, no love, or any humanity to fill the coldness that had taken the place of his heart.

But slowly, he felt himself thawing. He was loosening, breaking free of the pain instilled from his life and broken childhood, simply by getting to know Shane Hollander. Shane, who loved unapologetically, who wore his heart on his sleeves, and let others see the tears that fester in his eyes. Shane who to him, meant everything.

He was so different from Ilya. He was honest, openly empathetic, and strong.

Ilya was weak, a shell of a person. He survived on alcohol, poorly hidden sarcasm, and meaningless sex, because it was the only thing that could fill the empty cavity carved in his chest that had been present since he was only twelve years old.

But he had been changing, finally growing up. He started talking about what he felt, and he pulled away from the negative coping mechanisms he used to base his entire life around. Ilya had been becoming the man he would’ve wanted his mom to see. Someone she could be proud of, too.

But this, the mess he is right now, he hopes she can’t see. He hopes she died having faith in him, and selfishly, part of him is grateful she wasn’t around to see as he comes undone, baring his true colors to those around him.

She would have hated to see how her son reflected his father, the man who ultimately ended her life. She would have hated to see his cruelty, his greed, and carelessness seep past Ilya's defensive walls, reflecting the kind of monster he really was.

If she was still alive, she would’ve smacked him upside the head, and told him to fix this if Shane was truly the one. Ilya knew he was; he knew there would never be anyone else for him. She wouldn't want him to run away from what his heart desired, like she did. She desired to be free, and Ilya desires to be loved, and in the end, only one of them is getting what they wanted.

He wasn’t even sure if he could fix this. He’s used to tearing down the people around him, pushing them to their final straw. It’s just what he did. He didn’t let anyone get close enough because he didn’t want them to see the true him — this fragile, weepy mess that’s crumpled on his bedroom floor, drowning in his own guilt.

Though, he knows now there is no hidden piece of himself, nothing to reveal. He is truly just that callous man that drove people mad, and it shows. That was who he was. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. He’d toyed with many hearts in the past, but he promised himself he would never do that to Shane, at least not again.

They were in love, open and honest, and finally together. It was something Ilya had wanted for many, many years. More than he wanted anything else in this life, and he had ruined it. He saw Shane’s expression as the man left. He looked devastated, broken, and Ilya was the one that had hollowed him out.

Ilya Rosanov lived his life in pain. He was surrounded by sorrow since childhood, but he tried to keep it locked away, eating away at himself instead to prevent others from being burned in the shockwaves.

But he hadn’t protected Shane. He’d broken apart, let his poisonous aspects seep out, and ruin the man he loved more than anything in this life.

How was Ilya supposed to live with that?

His chest felt crushed, his bones breaking, and piercing his flesh beneath the guilt that poured over him like wet cement, leaving him bleeding out, dying.

It left him breathless, and all he can do is gasp in the silence of his own room, which has never felt so cold.

Ilyas hand scrubs at his face harshly, his skin feeling rubbed raw. He felt vulnerable, exposed, and his will to continue was cracking.

He wishes he had run after Shane. He wishes he dropped to his knees and pleaded for forgiveness — that he displayed even just an inch of how desperate he was to have Shane by his side. But he didn’t. Ilya just let him leave, silently waiting for the sobs he was choking on to finally erupt, when he was once again, truly alone.

His ability to fight – to push through this pain was dissipating, and Ilya didn’t know how he was supposed to fake it anymore. He was so tired - more than words can express - of holding himself together. He couldn’t continue doing this day-to-day. If his life continued with this pain, Ilya knew he couldn’t embrace it, and he didn’t want to. He was tired of walking through life, fighting to take every goddamn step.

He couldn’t handle it much longer. He was falling apart, and hurting those around him.

Ilya didn’t want to continue like this. He couldn’t. This wasn’t life, this was suffering, and Ilya wanted out.

He knew his mom felt the same, but at least it wasn't her fault. She was trapped in a loveless marriage with a much older man, left with no escape. As a kid he resented her for swallowing those pills, but now as he got older, he deeply understood. He just hoped she didn’t suffer. She withstood so much in her life, that he hoped she at least felt some relief in her final, dying moments. It was the only idea that brought comfort to his miserable life.

But he knows that he doesn’t deserve that same mercy. He deserves to go out slowly, painfully, left with only the mistakes he made during his time on earth, haunting him and bleeding him dry.

Ilya forces himself to his feet, dazed, but oddly determined. He is too sober for this, so he walks on wobbly legs towards his kitchen. There, he pours a very full glass of straight vodka. Usually, he’d sip it slowly, enjoying the taste and slight burn, but now, he forces himself to swallow the liquid as quickly as possible, as tears still leak from his eyes. He knows it’s stupid, and dangerous to drink in this state, but he needs that courage.

Suddenly, he’s determined to end the suffering of those around.

It's the only thing he has the drive left to do.

He knows he has to break the shackles, to free the people of his arrogance, and uncaring. He needs to release Shane, where the man can continue to flourish without Ilya weighing him down, ruining his chances to become an even bigger household name.

He only knows one way to do that.

He has to remove the common denominator.

Everyone will be free once he’s gone, gone for good.

It’s the only way to protect the people he loves. This is the only solution Ilya has, because he cannot change. He cannot grow. He cannot improve. He will always be this insufferable man, a stain on others slates that cannot be scrubbed out.

Ilya pours himself another glass. He already feels unsteady, dizzy, the alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach, leeching into his bloodstream.

But it drives him forward, toward his bathroom cabinet. His hands are shaking as he pulls out one of the razor blades he keeps for shaving, before he stumbles to his bedroom. Ilya doesn’t sit on the bed. He falls to the floor, a mess of long limbs and tears, as he chugs more of his drink to give himself that one final push.

This was the only way. This was the only way to make it right to Shane. His final apology must be stained with his own blood, because Ilya didn’t know how else to express himself.

He owed the other man that much.

***

Shane paced in his childhood bedroom. He felt trapped, suffocated. He could feel the strain this secret was taking on both of them, and their relationship, but he wasn’t brave enough to change it. There were so many factors at play here, and too many variables. Shane had spent half his life ruminating over them, letting his anxiety consume him.

But he also knew it wasn’t fair to Ilya. Ilya had given up so much to fit perfectly into Shane’s life, and he asked for one thing. He just wanted to go to a fucking party.

Shane couldn’t care less about the party, but he knew Ilya did, and that should’ve been enough. In a relationship, both needs should be met, but Shane knows he’s failing Ilya.

But he just wants the man to understand the implications of them being together. How it can ruin everything in one single second. He knew Ilya acknowledged the risk, but Shane can’t help but feel like he’s the only one truly grasping the harm this could cause both of them.

So he left. Ilya no longer wanted him there, and frankly, Shane needed to escape. Ilya looked devastated, broken, and Shane hated knowing that he was the cause.

More than anything, he had wanted to smooth the frown out with his thumb, and wipe away the tears he saw threatening to fall from Ilya's eyes.

But he left.

He walked out that door, and left Ilya behind to pick up the pieces of his broken heart.

He could only pray it wasn’t forever.

He wanted to rush back and apologize, and give the Russian man everything he ever desired. Ilya Rosanov deserved good things, even if he couldn’t understand that. Shane did, and his understanding had to be enough for the both of them.

But he lays down in his bed, sniffling. He knows Ilya needs space, and time to think. As much as it hurt Shane, he understood why, because he needed to think too. To rationalize how sustainable this secret truly was. It was weighing on the both of them, tearing them apart, and Shane knew this could not continue forever.

They could not wait until they retired. Something was going to truly break before that, and then, there would be no fixing it.

He scrubs at his eyes for the millionth time, skin red and raw. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it. He just told his mom he was going to bed without much of an explanation. He saw the concern on her face, but he just walked past it. He couldn’t explain how selfish he was being, especially towards the man he loved. He couldn’t handle both her and Ilya's disappointment. It was too much, suffocating. And he was left winded.

Shane shakes his head. He needs to go to bed. He needs to sleep, get out of his own spiraling thoughts, and hopefully wake up with a much clearer head.

Then, he would apologize to Ilya. He would be honest, and they can work out a solution together, as Shane did not have all the answers yet. Their problem felt insurmountable, but he knew if they buckled down, they could solve any difficulties together.

Despite their competitive rivalry, he knew they worked well together, and over the past years, they hadn’t encountered a problem they couldn’t solve together. Sure, it took them a while to get where they are today, but the important thing is they got there.

Still together. Still loving each other.

And Shane wanted to preserve that. It was written so deeply into his chest and soul that it was completely embedded in his heart, the wedge that held him together.

Ilya was a piece of him, a major part he could not live without.

So Shane was going to get some much needed sleep, and call the man he loved in the morning, to find peace between them once again.

***

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep. Despite his exhaustion, Shane couldn’t turn his brain off. He was surrounded, entombed with worries that made his half lidded eyes open wide, as he stressed over everything that had led to that moment.

The moment where he left.

But he must’ve nodded off eventually.

Because now he was being shaken awake, and the exhaustion was still riddled deep into his bones.

He wants to shrug whoever it is off, and ask for five more minutes, but he can’t. The person is persistent, and his eyes creak open, blurry and crusty. He wipes at them, wincing when his skin protests, and he’s quickly reminded of rubbing away many, many tears the night before.

“What? ‘S going on?” He asks sleepily, sitting up with an ache in his body he cannot place. He leans against his head board, and truly looks in front of him.

He sees his mom staring back at him, and is quickly reminded of where he slept, alone, the night before.

“Shane,” she says, and it pokes through his sleep haze, rattling something deep, unnerving.

His back straightens, and he truly looks at Yuna Hollander.

It’s only then that he notices she’s crying.

“What?” He asks, voice suddenly taut, and throat painfully dry.

Her face is flushed, and her eyes are red rimmed, and he can practically see the fear etched into her face. It makes his stomach turn; it’s an unfamiliar expression coating his mothers features and suddenly, he would do anything to make it go away.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” He repeats, and Shane painfully realises it’s the first time he’s ever seen such a look on his mothers face. It can only be described as sorrow.

“Shane, it-,” she hesitates, choking on her words, and nothing around him is right. This couldn’t be real. Something tragic had to have happened to reduce Yuna Hollander speechless.

And he was right, something tragic did happen.

“It’s Ilya.”

His breath catches in his throat, and his lungs pinch tight. Ilya needed time to think, to come to terms with how he wanted to express his feelings. Shane could never have imagined that it was enough time for something horrific to happen.

He certainly hadn’t expected his life to change in one single minute.

One single headline.

“What happened?”

Yuna struggles over the words, and it all feels unnatural to Shane. He’s breathless, waiting for her to say something. She can’t, as if she cannot physically force the words out. Her distress is palpable, and infectious.

He sees the way her shaking hand is clenched around her phone, the screen still glowing, and after sparing another glance at her pained expression, he all but rips it from her hand. She lets him, and his eyes take only a second to adjust to the news page opened on it.

It’s not the only page. He scrolls through dozens of sources, all with a glaring headline, stating the same fact that burrows deep in his chest, threatening to rip through his ribcage and skin.

‘Ottawa Centaurs, Ilya Rosanov, hospitalized after apparent suicide attempt.’

Shane can’t believe it’s real. There’s no way. Ilya was fine, or as close to fine as he could be. Sure, they had argued, but that’s what couples do, right? They argue and they make up.

They don’t do this. Ilya couldn’t have done this. Shane can’t rationalize it in his head, that this was his Ilya.

His Ilya who apparently tried to take his own life while Shane just slept.

He left him. He walked away, leaving Ilya to do this. The man must’ve felt like there was no other choice, and Shane was the only one to blame.

The media was already pouncing in it, speculating, and creating theories as to why. Shane wants to scream, to fight, to tell them to leave the poor man alone. Ilya was at his lowest, and they were feeding off it like leeches. Shane wouldn’t be surprised if the hospital was crawling with press, salivating at the idea of one of their celebrities doing something so drastic; something so frowned upon.

Shawn just wants to hold him, to kiss away the tears. He wants to know why, but more importantly, he needs to see Ilya alive, as okay as he can be. He needs to be with him, blocking everything else out because the man he loved was hurt, and distressed, and Shane could’ve lost him entirely last night.

And Shane just wanted to be there for him.

“What? When-? He-,” Shane tries to speak, but it falls short. He can’t settle on one single sentence. Words of panic pour into his head like a downfall, and he can’t settle on just one. How can one statement describe the wildfire of pain and sorrow he feels?

There are no words in the English language, or rather any dialect, to truly encompass what rapidly passes through him, leaving him sick. Nausea swirls with cruelty, and Shane can't stop himself from gagging. His mom moves quickly, grabbing the nearby trash can and shoving it into his lap as he dry heaves, nothing but stomach acid escaping.

Her hand is on his back, rubbing soft circles, and it's too much, yet not enough all at the same time. He wants to lean more into her comfort, and pull far away, and let himself wilt into nothing, alone.

“Shane, take a breath. Please-.”

“I need to see him.” His voice only carries finality, a definitive decision backed by determination. “I-, he-.”

“I know,” Yuna soothes, as his heaves finally dwindle, leaving his entire body just shaking, like it could physically throw this anguish right off of him. “Its going to be okay. He’s alive.”

“It's not okay!” Shane snaps, and maybe he would feel guilty about it later, but right now he's consumed, cut open and gutted, left on display as he feels himself withering. Tears freely flow down his face, unrelenting. “I left him!”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Shane argues, words interrupted by gasps that make his head spin. He doesn’t wait for his mom to respond. He stands up on shaking legs, and stumbles towards his bedroom door.

“Shane, wait-.”

“I need to see him. I need to- I can’t let him be alone,” Shane fumbles the words out, and he doesn’t see it, but his mom nods. “I almost lost him.”

The tears still flow freely. He cannot stop them, and his skin feels like it’s blistering beneath them.

“I’ll drive you,” she says solemnly, following him and grabbing her keys.

Shane doesn’t remember making it to the car. He doesn’t remember the drive to the hospital, he isn’t even sure how his mother found out which one.

He is lost, broken, and drowning in guilt and sorrow. If he had just stayed, this wouldn’t have happened. If he had just gone to that damn party, Ilya would be smiling right now.

Shane left Ilya to fall apart, and expected him to be okay. He didn’t think there was anything Ilya Rosanov could not handle.

Now, though, he knows he was wrong to treat Ilya superhuman. He wasn’t an enigma, or some superhero.

He was just the man he fell in love with, and Shane knows he’s forgotten to treat him as such.

***

Shane can barely walk, and his mom has to flank his side as they burst into the emergency room.

He feels wild, frantic, and his mind cannot focus. Shane swallows down the bile threatening to rise in his throat again when he thinks about why he’s here — which is constant.

Did Ilya really want to die?

Was he in pain?

Was he scared?

Was he lonely?

Shane’s sure the answer is yes. He had abandoned him in his darkest hour, and he felt he had to do this.

Shane wasn’t ready to lose him. He wasn’t going to let Ilya's life end here. He would do whatever it took to help him heal; to recover. He would never abandon him again.

That, he was determined.

His mother tries to pull him to the front desk, but Shane’s legs come to a stop. Despite his panic, his eyes still landed on one particular person.

Zane Boodram.

The usually big, strong, intimidating man looks broken, fragile. Shane’s stomach rolls at the sight of his lost eyes, staring at nothing as his leg bounces so violently the chair shakes.

Shane disconnects from his mom, moving sluggishly. His feet carry him towards the other hockey player without being fully aware of the movement himself. He feels like a stranger in his own body, and he’s floating through this reality that he cannot rationalize is real.

“Boodram?” He asks, his voice rough. Zane’s head snaps up, like he’s seeing something for the first time in hours, and slowly, he focuses on Shane in front of him.

“Hollander?”

Shane can only nod, a hundred questions dance on his tongue, yet he can only force out one. “Are you the one that found him?”

Boodram looks like he has many questions himself, likely all revolving around why Shane was here, but it’s not that absurd. They cofounded the Irina foundation together, there was some proof of friendship that had become tangible, and Shane could drive an hour to visit a friend who just underwent something so raw, so vulnerable, and that cannot be that weird.

Right?

Shane didn’t care how it looked. He didn’t care if the world knew, because that’s not what matters right now. All that matters to him is Ilya Rozanov.

“He, um, he called me last night. He didn’t sound too good, but I thought-. I thought he just had too much to drink. I went to check on him, put him on his side and crap, but he was-, god. It was like a crime scene.” The words sound fake, like some make believe story. But Shane knows it to be true, Bood's delivery is not the problem here. It’s Shane, he just can’t grasp that this is his life. He can’t understand why Ilya would do this.

And he didn’t understand why Ilya couldn’t just come to him?

Shane doesn’t know a lot about suicide. He never grew up around it like Ilya did, and he never felt that urge. He knew he was lucky, and that many others weren’t, but it was the truth. But Shane at least knew it wasn’t a decision that happened without build up. Maybe the moment itself was spontaneous, but there is unrelenting pain behind it. Shane knew Ilya had a hard time sometimes, but he didn’t know it went this far. He didn’t know this was something Ilya was capable of.

Shane felt blind. He felt ignorant. There had to have been signs — he just missed them. He wasn’t paying close enough attention, leaving Ilya to fight for himself, alone. The man had been drowning, and Shane hadn’t bothered to throw him a life preserver. He just left, letting everything consume Ilya while he continued to live like nothing was wrong.

He could never forgive himself.

“Is he-,” Shane’s voice cracks, and he has to clear his throat to continue. “Is he stable?”

“Yeah, they told me like an hour ago he was well enough that I could go see him,” Bood says, suddenly looking awkward, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

“But?” Shane cannot breath, the air choking him.

“But he’s denying any visitors. I don’t know if they’ll let you in, man, I’m sorry.”

Shane nods, face pulled tight. “Thank you, y'know, for saving him.”

Bood gives him a questioning look, but he doesn’t push. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there sooner.”

“But you were there. That’s enough.”

Bood nods numbly, like he doesn’t believe that, and Shane can’t blame him. Boodram may not realise it, but the only person to blame here is Shane himself.

Shane doesn’t know what else to say, and Bood looks so catatonic that he isn’t sure he could pull any more information out of him.

And Shane can’t stop thinking about how grateful he was that Bood had answered his phone. If he hadn’t — Shane can’t think about it too hard. He can’t crumble right now. He had to hold himself together, for Ilya's sake. He owed him that much.

Shane makes his way back to his mother, who looked as frantic as he felt.

“I’m begging you, I need to talk to Ilya Rosanovs doctor. I need-.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that. Unless you are an immediate family-.”

“I am,” Shane cuts in, and he watches the receptionist's eyes focus on him. He sees recognition cross her face, and the skepticism sets firmer in her expression. “I am Ilya Rosanov's partner. I need to speak with his doctor, as soon as possible, please.”

He can still see the doubt etched into her features, but either she believes him, or she isn’t willing to argue with Shane Hollander himself, so she nods. “Right away, sir.”

And maybe if Shane wasn’t so filled with pain and anguish, he would realize what he just did. Admitted to a complete stranger, who obviously knew who he was, that Ilya Rosanov was his. Not just his rival, but his partner — the person he loves the most. But something so trivial doesn’t even feel important anymore. Shane didn’t care anymore about who knew. He didn’t care what happened to his career, or reputation. He just wanted Ilya — to be okay, and to be happy.

Nothing else seemed important anymore.

Yuna’s hand has returned to its rightful place on his back, a steadying comfort. But it is not enough. Shane fights not to shove her away, overwhelmed, but he doesn’t, knowing its absence will feel even worse.

Nothing will make him feel better right now. There is no magic cure, or bandaid to slap on this. He is exposed, ruined, and demolished. Shane feels like a shell of himself, like he will never overcome this.

But he knows this is not his burden to bear. The person struggling most was Ilya, and Shane was not about to take that away.

He chews at his thumb until he tastes iron, waiting for the doctor to come back out. Him and his mother are sitting next to Bood, and there is only silence around them. There are no words fitting for this situation, nothing left to be said.

There are eyes on them, constant glances, and it makes Shane want to peel his skin away. He wishes he were anyone else, because then this misery would not be gossip for others. Ilya's mental health would not be a spectacle, and he could be left alone. But Shane knows what is to come, the unauthorized pictures, the intrusive questions, and the demand for more information about something so private. It was debilitating even during daily life, but to deal with it now, everyone is left wounded.

“Ilya Rosanov family?” A woman in a white coat calls out, and Shane immediately stands up. Bood and Yuna follow, but he is faster.

“Hi, yes, that’s us,” he says breathless, voice raw. He looks at her with frantic eyes, and she smiles professionally. “Is he okay?”

“He is stable, we’re monitoring him now. He-.”

“Can I see him?” Shane knows he shouldn’t interrupt, but Ilya is alive, breathing somewhere in this hospital. Shane couldn’t wait another second, he needed to really see him, and not just learn from headlines.

Her smile falters, taking in sad undertones that make his head spin. “He’s refusing all visitors, he’s only asking for someone named Shane-.”

“That’s me,” he immediately cuts in. “I’m Shane, his partner.”

A piece of him is grateful she doesn’t know who he is, but part of him also wishes she did, because that would get him into that room faster.

“Okay, I can take you to him now.”

“Yes, thank you, thank you,” he nods reverently, only glancing back once. He sees his mom has put a comforting hand on Boods shoulder who just nods, encouraging him to go. Boods eyes are wide, staring at Shane like he has two heads at the declaration, but Shane can explain later. He was done hiding, but it still wasn’t a priority. He would apologize to Ilya later for accidentally telling his teammate, but he does not regret it.

He spares them both one last grateful glance, before following the doctor down the hall.

“I’m doctor Alvarez, a psychiatrist, I’m working with my colleagues in treating Ilya Rosanov.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. Thank you. I appreciate anything you’ve been doing,” Shane says, realizing with guilt that he never gave her space for an introduction, but his heart is elsewhere. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Medically speaking, he is stable. We had to give him a blood transfusion, and stitches, but his stats are good. But we are obligated to keep him under surveillance for the next few days, and from there, we will decide what further steps to take.”

“Further steps? What do you mean?” Shane asks, feeling like he’s struggling to keep up with her stride, and this conversation.

“Depending on Mr. Rosanov's mental state-.”

“Ilya, please.”

Shane knows he doesn’t like being called Mr. Rosanov — it reminded him of his father. And that’s the last thing Ilya needs right now.

She just smiles kindly, and although Shane knows it’s her job to be impassive, he can’t help but feel unnerved by it, when he was falling apart so quickly. “-depending on Ilya's mental state, we can either release him into the care of someone, I assume that would be you, with a strict medication regimen and outpatient counseling. If he is deemed unable to go home, we will look into further treatment, such as patient care facilities for long term-.”

“Long term? Like a psychiatric hospital?” Shane really needed to stop interrupting this poor woman and let her finish at least one statement, but she let him, patience evident on her face, and he could not be more grateful.

“Of sorts. We focus on rehabilitation without exposure to the stress-inducing aspects of life to prepare for return to society with increased tools to cope with distress and suicidal ideation,” she explains, and he nods dumbly, feeling like a child in this conversation.

It’s silent for a moment, and she finally stops walking in front of a room. Shane wants to barge in, and see Ilya for himself, but she stands in front of the door, looking at him with that same kind smile.

“Shane, as you likely know, Mr. Rosanovs injuries are self inflicted with clear suicidal intent. This is an extremely vulnerable time for him, and he is under constant evaluation. It is important that this situation is handled with the utmost sensitivity, and understanding, as to not worsen his mental well being. I understand this is challenging for you as well, but my concern lies with my patient. I need to know that you understand that Ilya may not be like himself, and may be in emotional distress, before we enter his room.”

Her words swirl in Shane’s head like a tornado, tearing down its infrastructure. His head spins, and all he can do is nod. “Of course. I understand, I just need to see him.”

She nods once, before turning her back to him. She opens the door, and Shane holds his breath.

“Ilya, you have a visitor," she says sweetly, and Shane doesn’t know what to do with himself. He follows her in, and everything around him stops.

Dr. Alvarez steps out of the way, and Shane hears the door shut behind her, leaving them alone.

The tears that had previously stopped come flooding back, and Shane bites down a whimper at the sight.

Ilya is pale, and looks astonishingly small in the hospital bed. His forearms are wrapped in thick bandages, and an IV sticks out of his hand. His face is soulless, eyes red rimmed, and he’s never looked so defeated.

But what’s most jarring is the cuffs around his bandaged wrists, keeping each arm cinched to the bed rail, like he was some sort of prisoner.

Nothing could’ve prepared Shane for that.

There’s a choking silence surrounding them, only broken by the sound of the beeping monitor attached to the Russian man.

Shane’s the first to break. He cannot hold back any longer. He stumbles over to the bed like a baby deer that just learned to walk. Ilya tracks him with dazed eyes, looking nothing like himself.

Shane has to lean on the bed rail to hold himself up, and he finally has the man within his reach. He wasn’t going to waste it. His hand lands heavily in the blond curls he loves so much, and he finally finds his voice. “Ilya.”

One word. It’s one simple word, but it causes Ilya to crack. Shane doesn’t know what to do when tears suddenly well in his partner’s eyes, and spill over. This was not the Ilya the world saw, this was something much more vulnerable. Something Shane’s only seen a few times, and it crushes him, leaving him breathless and weak.

“I’m sorry.” Ilya's voice is barely above a whisper, but Shane still hears it. That’s all it takes for him to lean as close as he can, and pull Ilya into his arms as the sobs start. It’s an uncomfortable position, but Shane doesn’t care. He would stay there forever, as long as Ilya needed him to.

And Shane wasn’t exactly ready to let go either.

Shane shushes him gently, as Ilya's entire body shakes against him as he all but wails, finally losing the last shred of control he held onto.

“I’m so sorry,” Ilya repeats, the words slanted and slurred with his accent, and the exhaustion consuming him. “I’m sorry about party. I’m sorry, Shane. I’m so sorry.”

“The party? I don’t care about the party,” Shane sighs, his heart shattering into a million pieces as his silent tears drop into Ilya's hair. He kisses the top of his head gently, pulling him even closer. Ilya sinks into him, burying his face into Shane’s shirt. “I’m so sorry, baby. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“Was stupid,” Ilya mutters, too tired to even attempt to formulate proper English sentences. He was just so exhausted, in every which way.

“No, it wasn’t. But it doesn’t matter now. None of that matters. I’m just so glad you’re alive,” Shane admits, and Ilya's entire body is shaking against him. He hears the restraints pull tight, and he knows the man is trying to hug him back, but can’t, and it breaks his heart in a whole other way. “I can’t lose you. I need you.”

“You are angry at me?”

Ilya's voice is small, almost adolescent in the question, and Shane has to bite his lip to stop his own sobs from escaping. After all of this, Ilyas worried he’s mad at him? How could Shane be angry at him when he came so fucking close to losing Ilya. Nothing mattered anymore. At least, not as much as getting Ilya the help Shane didn’t even realize he needed.

“Of course not. Never. I just-, I’m terrified,” Shane admits, and he hears Ilya's breath stutter. “I didn’t know you were doing so bad.”

“I did not want to tell you. You would be guilty.”

“You know me well,” Shane huffs. “But I want you to talk to me. I want to be there, for everything. The happiness, and the pain. Tell me if you feel like this. I need you to tell me when something is wrong.”

Ilya is quiet for a moment. “This was not your fault.”

“Ilya, I shouldn’t have-.”

“No,” Ilya says, voice cracking. He swallows around the lump in his throat, and blinks away more tears. “This was not you. This was not fight. I just-, I have been broken for long time.”

“You are not broken, Ilya,” Shane says firmly, though his voice is trembling.

“I am. My mind-, it is not right. I am just like my mother. I should not have done it, Shane,” Ilya explains in rapid, shattered whispers, and Shane knows he’s not talking about the fight anymore.

“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” Shane reassures, but his own voice is breaking as he speaks. He pulls away from holding him to instead gently cradle Ilya's face, carefully smudging the tears as they fall. “We’ll work through this. I’ll- I will get you whatever help you need. I-.”

“This is not on you to fix,” Ilya tries to interrupt, and Shane shakes his head.

“I want to help. I want you to be okay. I don’t want you to suffer. I’ll do whatever it takes, you do not have to end up like your mother,” Shane says carefully, scared it’s going too far.

But he also knows Ilya. And he knows ending up like his mom is one of his greatest fears.

Just behind ending up like his father.

Ilya nods slowly, biting his lip. He tries to turn his head away, to hide his anguish, but Shane gently coaxes him back to look at him.

He softly presses his lips to Ilyas, a mix of their salty tears flooding their tongues. There is no urgency behind it, just pure adoration shown when words are not enough.

When Shane pulls back, he musters a small smile. “I love you Ilya. I’m so glad you survived.”

Ilya nods slowly. “I did not want to, at first.”

Shane doesn’t know what to say. Frankly the words knock all air out of his chest and leave his lungs feeling decimated. But he knows it’s important for Ilya to get this out, so he doesn’t dare interrupt. He just pulls the closest chair up, returning to holding Ilya's face as he continues. He’s unable to meet Shane’s gaze, keeping his eyes pointed downwards.

“I was ready to reunite with my mama. I thought I had peace with it. But after I-,” Ilya's voice cracks and he has to pause to clear his throat. “After I did it, I was panicking. I wasn’t ready. But I didn’t know what to do. I was drunk, and stupid. I made mistake.”

“Stop beating yourself up for it. It’s-,” Shane doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to say it was a mistake, because he knows Ilya truly felt like it was the only option, but he’s worried not saying anything will give off the wrong message — like he’s encouraging it. Shane feels stuck, and he swallows thickly, feeling like he doesn’t know how to navigate this situation. But he’s sure no one does. “You did the right thing, calling Bood. I’m glad he found you.”

“I do not remember him arriving. I think I was-, fuck, I cannot think right. The word-?”

“Unconscious?”

“Da. Unconscious. I woke up in ambulance.”

Shane can’t stop himself from asking. “Were you scared?”

Ilya seems to hesitate, like he’s mulling over answering truthfully. But everything he has — every piece of him, has been exposed, laid bare for many to see. He has no more dignity to hold onto. He was weak, cracked and bleeding, and he didn’t know how to come back from that.

“I was,” he whispers, half hoping Shane won’t hear. “I wanted to be home. I wanted to talk to you, but you had not answered and I knew you were asleep, and I was-, I was scared.”

Shane’s heart skips a beat, and his shoulders tense. “What do you mean I didn’t answer?”

Ilya looks at him with furrowed brows, looking confused, worn out, and genuinely exhausted. “Your phone?”

He says it like a question, like he couldn’t even remember what was real, and what wasn’t.

A deep, unfolding coldness washes through Shane’s body, and he feels like his blood congeals completely in his veins. “You called me?” He realizes then that he hadn’t checked his phone since the night before, and now it burns heavily in his back pocket, taunting him.

Ilya looks as lost as Shane feels. “I think so, yes. Before Bood.”

“I-.” Shane has no words. He cannot justify it. He was asleep, and Ilya was dying, bleeding, trying to reach him. And Shane just slept, peacefully while the other completely fell apart.

He walked out of that house, leaving a shattered man behind, and Shane couldn’t even pick up the phone. Ilya had to rely on someone else to save him in his darkest hour, because Shane wasn’t there.

Shane had left him. He abandoned him. And then he ignored him as inched closer to death.

Ilya must see Shane’s internal spiral peaking towards a complete breakdown, so he quickly tries to intervene. “I may have dialed wrong number. Do not worry. I am okay now.”

Shane feels sick. Ilyas lying in a hospital bed with his forearms stitched shut, yet he’s trying to comfort Shane. Shane continues to fail him when he needs him most. Shane couldn’t do this. He didn’t know how to handle this, or how to help Ilya. Everything feels so far out of his control and it makes Shane’s skin crawl. He wants to tear himself to pieces, to rip out the components that helped cause this.

“I think I was asleep,” he whispers, words dripping with shame like acid.

He expects Ilya to be angry, or at the very least upset with him. He expects him to feel the betrayal Shane knows he committed. He couldn’t fix this.

He wasn’t there.

Ilya could have died, and he didn’t pick up the phone.

Instead, Ilya nods.

“Good, you need rest.”

It’s all he says, and Shane feels like he stops breathing. He can’t keep the frown off his face and Ilya sees it, before clicking his tongue.

“Why are you making that face?”

Shane wants to laugh. The question feels ridiculous, especially considering the situation, but he knows it’s genuine. He knows Ilya can’t hear what he is thinking; cannot hear how viscerally Shane hates himself right now.

“‘I needed the rest?’ Ilya, you were-, you were dying! And all I did was sleep, after I left! How are you not angry at me?”

“I told you to go. I made you leave. You did not leave me behind,” Ilya says simply, watching Shane carefully, like he’s scared Shane was moments away from breaking into pieces.

Which he was.

Shane wants to scream. He wants to fall apart because he has been terrified, filled with grief, and feeling so trapped since he saw that headline. He wants to hold Ilya close, and make sure he is never harmed again. He wants to shield him from the press he knows are begging to pry in.

And Shane wants to hate himself, for everything he’s done. For how he unknowingly enabled this, and for how Ilya doesn’t seem to care. He wants Ilya to blame him, to get mad at him, to give him what he deserves.

“I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have left you. I can’t believe I-. I could’ve protected you,” Shane protests, but Ilya shakes his head slowly, a sad, thinned smile on his face.

“You cannot protect me from my own head,” Ilya says carefully, and something in Shane shatters. He barely feels the tears on his face. Ilya's eyebrows raise an inch, and he looks slightly panicked, and Shane wishes he could keep it in. He wishes he could be the support Ilya needed. But he can’t keep himself in one piece. He’s held poorly together with scotch tape, and the seams are ripping. He feels the exhaustion and sorrow fill him, and he wants to slump over in his chair, and let the anguish swallow him whole.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Is not your fault, Shane. Look at me,” Ilya says, trying to angle his head to meet Shane’s gaze that is pointed at the floor. “Is genetic, remember? It is not something you gave me. Please look at me.”

Shane raises his head, and he sees Ilya's wet eyes. The man looks heartbroken, and Shane knows it's not about his suicide attempt. It’s about Shane, and his reaction. Ilya does not care that he could’ve died last night. Shane can see that the guilt his partner feels isn’t because of his choice, it’s the consequences it has on the people around him.

Shane cannot decide if his husband is really regretful for the choice he made, or if he is just upset that Shane is hurting.

And he hates it.

He hates it so much.

He wants Ilya to see that his life has value. He wants Ilya to understand that there are things to live for. He wants Ilya to make that choice for himself, not for Shane’s sake.

It’s physically painful to know Ilya holds no care for his own life.

Shane wonders if he would do it again, if given the chance.

Shane wipes gruffly at his skin, sure it’s going to be red and irritated, but he doesn’t care. He takes Ilya's cuffed hand into his own, squeezing tightly. “The hospital might keep you, for a while. They might put you in an inpatient facility, for more treatment.”

“Inpatient?” Ilya repeats, and Shane knows the term is unfamiliar to him.

He swallows down a whimper, forcing himself to explain. “You would live there, for a little bit. It’s to keep you from-,” Shane’s voice hesitates, choking on the next few words, “-To keep you from hurting yourself again.”

“Like for old people?”

Shane mulls over it for a second, not even sure how to explain it. “Kind of. Very different goals though. It’s to help you learn to cope before going back to living your life.”

Ilya shakes his head rapidly. “I do not need that. I want to go home.”

Shane squeezes his hand again. “I know. I know you do. But will you be safe at home?”

“It was a mistake,” Ilya says slowly, like he was testing out the words.

“Would you do it again?”

“No,” Ilya says quickly, and the answer is too fast, too practiced for Shane.

“Do you want to do it again?” He rephrases, desperate to know the answer. He wants to scream and beg, and demand to know what is going through Ilya's mind. But he knows that isn’t how this works. There was no simple sentence to explain this situation, and Shane is sure Ilya's feelings are complex and suffocating, just as his are.

“No,” Ilya says carefully, but shane can hear the uncertainty laced into his words. “I do not know. I don’t want to die.”

“But you feel like you do?” Shane offers, trying to help Ilya fill in the gaps lost through exhaustion, and mistranslation.

Shane wants to understand. He wants to know what is going through Ilya's head – what he was thinking when he pressed the blade down into his own skin. Shane can't wrap his head around it. That Ilya did this purposefully, with intent to die. Shane knows it is true. The understanding sits deep, crushing in his chest, but he still cannot comprehend it.

What if Bood didn't pick up the phone? What if he was too late?

What if Ilya was successful?

He could've truly died last night, and Shane doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't know what to say, or to even think.

Shane's brain is muddled, condemned to one thought. He can't move beyond the fact that he could've lost Ilya entirely.

“Da. I cannot explain it. My mind is not okay, Shane, and I do not know what to do,” Ilya admits quietly, voice so small it barely reaches Shane's ears. “I think about it a lot. I think my mother was the same. She would be disappointed in me.”

“No,” Shane says quickly, a sternness in his voice that catches Ilya's attention, leaving him breathless. “She wouldn't be. She would never want this for you, Ilya, but she understands this pain you’re feeling. She loved you so much, I know from the stories you’ve told me, and if she was here, she’d hold you close, and tell you that you would work on this together. She would want you to have good things, and she wouldn't be angry about this. I am certain of that.”

Shane's voice cracks as he says it, the words spilling out quickly before he can run them through his head. Ilya's bottom lip wobbles precariously, and Shane gently runs his thumb over it, smoothing the tremors.

“I miss her,” Ilya admits quietly. “I want her to tell me I am okay, and sing to me in russian again, like she did when I was young and would scrape my knee. I wish she survived too. It doesn't feel right that I did, and she is gone.”

And the soft, quiet, shattered declaration finally breaks Shane. He wipes at his eyes as the tears spill over again. He squeezes Ilya's hand tight as he speaks, “I know. I wish she could be here for you, and I know she wants to be. But you deserve to live too. You deserve happiness as much as she did. I’m sorry she's gone, but I'm glad you aren't, too.”

“Do you hate me? For doing this,” Ilya asks quietly, and Shane knows he is still worried about how he is feeling. He knows Ilya is scared this is their ending point – that Shane will abandon, and forget about him, leaving Ilya behind to be nothing more than a smear in his memory.

But what Ilya doesn't understand is how viscerally Shane needs him. He doesn't understand that this may be Shane's breaking point too. No one could ever understand how much love and care Shane holds for the man in the bed in front of him. It runs deep, stitched into his DNA, and will never be removed. Shane doesn't know how to explain this to him, or anyone for that matter.

“Never. No, Ilya, you-, I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything. I’m devastated, sure, but not angry at you. I will do whatever you need to get better. I’ll make sure you get help, I promise.”

“What if I cannot be fixed?” Ilya asks low, quiet, like the words could shatter what’s around them.

“One day,” Shane says softly, gently. His words cradle Ilya, rocking him protectively, and he feels wrapped in the warmth of the tone. “One day, you’re not going to think about it. Maybe when we’re old, and I’ve finally turned you boring-.”

“No one can ever be as boring as you.”

“When we’re both boring, and happy, eventually married, you will have peace. I will make sure of it. I’m gonna be here every step of the way, okay? For every stumble too,” Shane promises sincerely. He means every word. The truth cuts him open, bleeding him dry in front of Ilya, but he doesn’t care. “I’m not going to ever leave you again.”

He’ll let himself bleed into Ilya's heart until the Russian man finally understands.

“You want to marry me? Even after this?” Ilya asks, but he’s weakly smiling, like he already knows the answer.

“Of course. I’d marry you right now, this very second, if I could. But I need a chance to buy a ring first, okay?”

“I will be giving ring to you,” Ilya counters, and Shane shakes his head.

“No. I’ll beat you to it, I promise. It’s time you let me loudly love you, okay? And take care of you.”

“I’m sorry for what I did. For what I put you through,” Ilya says softly, but his eyes aren’t so sad this time. There’s something more in them. Maybe a small glimmer of hope that is so beautiful, it blinds Shane.

“No more apologies.”

“Just let me finish,” Ilya says slowly, like he was mulling over the words. So Shane nods, remaining silent, waiting.

“If you want to marry me, ring and all, Shane Hollander, you have to know that there are some days I am not okay. Some days I will not want to talk to you. Sometimes I feel like I’m never good enough for anyone, and maybe I would be better off dead. That might not go away, and it is a lot. I am a lot. It will be exhausting to be with me forever. You have to know before you make up your mind.”

Shane nods carefully, genuinely listening and digesting the words. He doesn’t want Ilya to feel like he’s just speaking in the heat of the moment. He wants Ilya to know this was real — feelings he had long before he almost lost him entirely.

“Forever started for us that first day you came to my hotel room,” Shane says, voice so soaked in love, it makes his eyes water again, and he sees the same reflected in Ilyas. “I can’t imagine a life where I don’t end every day by talking to you, and I don’t want it any other way. That’s what I want forever. I’m in it for the long run, Rosanov. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I would never dream of it,” Ilya says, choking back cries that threaten to escape again, and Shane smiles at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Shane says firmly, and Ilya nods. Shane uses the back of his hand to continue wiping at Ilya's cheeks, relishing in the feeling of his warm skin.

“No more tears, from either of us. Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You will be here forever?”

“Forever,” Shane reassures, a certainty in his voice that is often absent.

But as he watches Ilya's tired eyes finally close, and he settles into the mattress, Shane knows definitively that he means it. He strokes his cheek gently until his breathing evens out, and Ilya looks relaxed for once in his life.

Shane can’t help but smile softly at the sight.

He knows one day, they will be old, boring, and everything will turn out just as he hoped.

So while Ilya sleeps, Shane doesn’t waste anymore time.

He knows he doesn’t need to rush, because he would make sure Ilya doesn’t ever feel like this was his only option again, but he can’t stop himself.

Shane quietly scrolls through jewelry store websites, determined to find the perfect one.

The perfect ring to begin their perfect life