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Shane knew something was up the moment that Ilya got home.
Shane knew how difficult moving away and never being able to go back to Russia affected Ilya, especially around the time of his mothers death anniversary.
Shane watched Ilya as he closed the door, quietly, almost as if he doesn't want to be heard, perceived, as if he could just walk in and no one would know he was there.
Shane watched as Ilya proceeded to take his shoes and jacket off, putting his bag away methodically, the routine built heavily into the man. Shane can tell by the tightness in Ilyas jaw, and the fact that there are no remarks being made to him about his shit practice that Ilya is far from okay.
Shane subconsciously gets up, walking over to Ilya, trying his best to carefully but openly let Ilya know he's here, he's safe with him. Ilya gives him a very small side glace and walks past him.
Shane doesn't need to see Ilya's face to know the tears are brimming, that he's close to a breakdown that as Ilya has said many times before isn't a thing.
"Russians cannot breakdown, that is rule."
The sentence rings through his head as he silently follows Ilya to the bedroom, Ilyas form becoming progressively defensive, his stance in a guard from Shane. Shane mentally prepares for the words that Ilya spills to protect himself, before letting Shane in, before he remembers he doesn't have to fight for Shane's love.
Shane sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for Ilya to step away from the window, his head hanging low as he watches the city below.
"Not tonight, Hollander." Ilya says after the silence stretches on.
"I haven't said anything." Shane responds.
Ilya looks back at Shane for a split second before turning back to the window.
Shane catches the glimpse of the tears down Ilyas face, he wishes he could just grab him and get Ilya to come sit down with him, but he knows he can't, not yet. Ilya doesn't work like that, he takes time to brood, to fear, to escape, and slowly comes back when he finally can remember Shane wouldn't judge the salty tears falling down his face.
Shane lowers his head, stretching his neck, the silence stretching on. Ilya eventually moves, walking towards the bathroom, turning on the shower and stripping. Shane watches since Ilya decides not to close the door, a habit that Shane has tried to fix several times.
As Ilya climbs in the walk-in shower, Shane begins to strip his own clothes, knowing that these are his least favorite showers. The feeling of distance even when a foot away from Ilya is the most daunting part of the grief weeks, knowing that no matter the words Shane uses, or what he does to try and get Ilya to open up, he has to wait for Ilya to open up that door first.
Shane climbs in the shower after Ilya, and watches Ilya's form tense, and Shane expects the outburst, the flash of anger.
"Shower is for one person." Ilya snaps.
"When have we ever listened to that?" Shane responds before grabbing the body wash from Ilyas hands.
Ilya finally turns around, his eyes a mix of emotions, and jaw still tight as he finally looks at Shane fully for the first time since he got home.
"Give that back."
"Take it from me."
Ilya goes to reach for the bottle of body wash, his anger slowly bubbling to the surface. Exactly what Shane needs to finally get Ilya to come back to him.
Shane moves the bottle out of Ilyas reach, their faces inches from each other, anger building in Ilya's eyes.
"Shane I am not in mood. Give."
"Let me help."
That sentence means more than one thing, sure Ilya can handle washing the sweat and grime from practice off, and sure he could handle the emotions swirlling in his head alone, but Shane wanted, needed for ilya to let him in.
Ilya sighs heavily before turning around, grabbing the shampoo and ignoring Shane's presence by running the liquid through his curls.
Shane pours some of the body wash on the loofa they have in the shower, and eventually starts scrubbing Ilyas back. Eventually he's able to feel Ilya slowly loosening under his touch.
Eventually Shane abandons the loofa, his hands roaming Ilyas back, putting pressure and massaging areas he knows get sore after bad practices.
Ilya rests his head against the wall Infront of him, water running down the back of his neck and over Shane's hands. The soap and water pooling at the boys' feet before draining down the drain.
They do this for a few minutes, Shane slowly massaging and rubbing Ilyas back and sides, his own fear of losing the love of his life to his own mind haunting him.
Eventually Ilya lifts his head off the wall and turns around, pushing Shane into the wall to the side of them, his lips immediately going for the base of Shane's neck. Shane leans his head to the side and brings his hands to Ilya's hair, praying the soap had washed off his hands enough that he wouldn't hear about it later.
Ilyas arm's wrap around Shane's torso, tightening the longer he holds Shane. Shane doesn't complain, just slowly plays with Ilyas hair, letting the man do what he wants with him.
Ilya goes from kissing and marking Shane's neck to shoving his face into it, the brooding Russian figure he was when he got home finally cracking. The more Shane plays with his hair, the more Shane feels Ilya falling back down to him, anchoring himself with Shane, even as the grief swallows him whole.
Before Shane can get Ilya to totally fall back to him and finally let Shane help him, Ilya pulls off him, and within a blink of an eye, he's drying himself off, and walking out to the bedroom.
Shane turns the water off, sighing silently to himself before grabbing a towel of his own and heading towards their closet. He slips on boxers and walks into the bedroom and sees Ilya in just his boxers as well, a cigarette lit between his fingers, the window that he was looking at earlier open.
The room smells like smoke and bodywash. Shane doesn't blink at the smell, climbing onto his side of the bed and watching as Ilya smokes. Even on the days where Ilya shuts him out, Shane can't help but feel so attracted to the man he was never supposed to love.
As the smoke in Ilyas hand slowly gets smaller, Shane gets progressively falls further into his own thoughts. Shane does his best to not run down the paths of worry about his other half, knowing that Ilya has been handling his own grief longer than Shane could ever been able to help with. But Ilya is his other half, and not just his partner for life, the only person Shane could ever be the way he is around, but the person who Shane could not physically live without in his life.
Ilya puts out his cigarette at last but doesn't move from the window, his eyes stare blankly into the night in front of him.
"Come here, please" Shane asks, barely above a whisper, praying that Ilya will let him in, let him carry some of the burden he has.
Ilya turns slightly towards Shane, his eyes cloudy and full of emotions Shane can't make out. Shane doesn't know how to help when Ilya feels the way he does, and he can't help but wish that he could take Ilyas grief from him, trade his life for Ilyas so he never has to see Ilya's face so drawn and hurt.
Shane's been around during the month or so as Ilya's mothers passing anniversary comes a few times now, but there's no explanation for how he feels when he finally watches Ilya give up the image of the strong hockey player, the strong brother, the strong son, the strong Ilya Rozanov he's supposed to be, and becomes Shanes' Ilya.
The Ilya that no one but his mother and Shane has seen, the little boy who didn't know how to handle the only light in his world being darkened at such a young age, the son who wasn't ready to let go of the only thing he could say was his.
Ilya's small steps over to Shane's side of the bed, his head dropping as he climbs on top of Shane, his entire body weight on Shane as his body slowly begins to shake. The feelings of grief and shame falling over Ilyas form like a blanket.
Shane wraps his arms around Ilya as tight as he can figure out how, mumbling 'I love you' and 'I'm here' several times, praying that Ilya believes him.
Ilya's tears flood more when Shane mumbles 'I love you' in Russian, one of the sayings that Shane has picked up after the years of hearing Ilya say it.
Ilya doesn't move off of Shane that night, he slowly cries himself to sleep, his face buried in Shane's neck, arms underneath Shane, securing Ilya to Shane's torso.
Shane doesn't sleep, he stares at the ceiling, worrying that if he sleeps, he will wake up to find Ilya no longer there. He lays awake listening to the small huffs of Ilya's breath, praying that these nights will help Ilya learn that in Shane's world, he is safe, and that Shane isn't going anywhere.
Shane's mind races as he stays awake, praying that the tighter he holds Ilya, the tighter of a grasp he has on the man on top of him growing old with him, and that he can be enough for Ilya to slowly continue to let in, so he can learn about the man he loves, and the woman who gave him the best thing he's ever laid hands on.
Shane knew that Ilya would never be truthfully put together inside, to be whole and okay, but he could always show Ilya that his arms were made for holding him together, on the nights the pieces became loose, and the familiar feeling of loss come in.
Shane knew something was off when Ilya got home.
Shane knew he couldn't fix it.
Ilya didn't want Shane to know the thoughts in his head, or the weight in his heart.
Ilya didn't like to show anyone the pain he carries.
Shane knew that to open that door he had to push. Pushing meant he had the chance to give Ilya a life that he never had back in Russia.
Shane knew that to be that home, he had to understand how Ilyas grief changed his idea of safety and home.
Ilya knew Shane was the only one who could ever feel as home as his mama did.