Chapter Text
Montreal, end of June 2015
Ilya’s shift was going about as expected on a Friday night in downtown Montreal. The bustling streets were packed with both tourists and local residents celebrating the start of the Jazz festival season, which of course meant The Penalty Box was busier than usual during the off season of the local professional hockey team, the Montreal Metros. Tonight, the bar was packed and Ilya was starting to go a little crazy, if we’re being honest. But busy meant tips, which he was very much a fan of. It wasn’t until he heard the familiar sound of the door opening that Ilya turned around. He spouted his usual “sit wherever you like,” and turned back to his task of making the dozen drink orders he’d received.
After a few minutes, a man walked up to the bar to place his drink order. The first thing Ilya noticed about the dark haired man was a constellation of freckles that adorned the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks. Gospodi, that is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hi, welcome in. What can I get for you?” Ilya asked the man. The man darted his eyes, avoiding Ilya’s sharp gaze, a light blush heating his cheeks and ears. Interesting.
“Do you have ginger ale?” the man asked him.
“We do.” Ilya turned to the mini fridge under the bar, grabbing a Canada Dry to give to the man. The man slid a $10 bill across the bartop, muttering a soft “keep the change, thanks” before walking off to a table where a group of men sat. Ilya looked at the dark haired man again. For some reason Ilya could not name, he was entranced by the man with the beautiful freckles. He watched the way his eyes crinkled at their sides when his mouth turned upward into a smile, presumably at something one of the other men said. The man turned his head toward the bar, catching Ilya’s eyes. The man swiftly turned his head back to the table and Ilya couldn’t help but notice the blush creeping up the back of the man’s neck and ears. Ilya, slightly embarrassed he was caught looking at him, quickly returned to his mountain of drink orders that needed to be done. Unfortunately, but also fortunately, for Ilya, the man did not return to the bar again the rest of the night. Instead, one of the men he came in with walked up to the bar to order a round of beers and a second ginger ale. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the man looking back at him, which caused a slight blush to color his cheeks, much to his dismay. Because according to Ilya, Russians do not blush.
It was nearing the end of the night when he spotted the man and his group of friends preparing to leave. Somewhere deep inside him, he hoped the man would return. The man pulled his jacket over his shoulders, helping his obviously very drunk friend stand and try to get him out of the bar. His friend stumbled a few times, laughing at his clumsiness.
“Do you need any help?” Ilya asked him. The man snapped his head toward Ilya, shaking his head and muttering a quick “no, thanks though” before dragging his friend out the door. Ilya took one last look out the door and noticed the man was looking back at him. Ilya gave him a slight nod and went back to his bartending duties. There was one thing Ilya knew for certain. He needed to find out more about the shy man with beautiful freckles, if it was the last thing he did.
Montreal, July 2015
It had been a few days since Shane was forcefully dragged to The Penalty Box by his teammates. It was something he was dreading for days, thinking of ways he could get out of it the moment the phone call with Hayden ended. They wanted to go back. The past three nights Shane could not stop thinking about the man behind the bar. The moment he approached the bar, he noticed the man’s blond curls and piercing blue eyes. It felt like he was staring into Shane’s soul and Shane, being the shy, socially awkward individual that he was, quickly averted his gaze from the man and his face reddened. He couldn’t go back to that bar and face the man again, of course. That was a crazy, horrifying notion that Shane just could not get behind. But because Shane wants to be a good friend, captain and teammate, begrudgingly, he went. I hope he’s not working tonight, I might genuinely die of embarrassment.
Shane and his friends arrived at the bar as the energy was winding down. Thank God, I cannot handle another night like the last time. Shane glanced toward the bar on his way to the table, hoping the man from last time wasn’t there. What shocked Shane was that at the same time, he secretly wished he was. The man from the bar was nowhere to be found and Shane was honestly slightly disappointed. He decided he would ask the tattooed girl at the bar if he was working tonight, which was very out of character for Shane. How is this man already affecting me this much? Once his group settled at the table, Shane asked them if they wanted anything to drink. After getting everyone’s orders, Shane walked up to the bar. He rattled off the drinks his friends wanted after the bartender asked what he wanted to order. This might be my last chance to ask about him.
“Hey, is that guy who was working a few nights ago here? I wanted to thank him for offering to help me with my friend,” Shane asked the bartender. The woman behind the bar looked up at him in confusion, like she needed more information. “Oh, sorry. He had blond curls, a Russian accent, about my height.” The woman’s eyes flickered with recognition.
“Oh! You mean Ilya,” the woman answered. “He doesn’t work on Mondays, but he’ll be back tomorrow.” The woman handed Shane a tray with 3 beers and a can of ginger ale. Shane went back to his table. In the time it took to get back to his table, Shane decided he would come back tomorrow. A seriously stupid idea, but Shane felt like he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t know why the man behind the bar intrigues him so much. When Shane returned to his apartment just outside downtown Montreal, he was buzzing with so much anticipation, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep. But the exhaustion of the day and the social interactions he had to endure was enough to lull him to sleep.
Shane returned to the bar the next evening with a plan. He would go inside, ask for a ginger ale, and sit at a table trying to muster up the courage to speak to the man behind the bar, who he now knew as Ilya. Shane walked into the bar and was immediately met with the sight of Ilya, who, by the way, looked amazing. His hair was tousled into a bed of curls, adding a sense of softness to his intense look. Of course that was the first thing he noticed. Ilya was wearing a black short sleeve silk button down with the first 2 buttons open, which perfectly showcased the gold necklace hanging from his neck. Shane was suddenly very nervous about his so-called plan, but pushed through this feeling and walked up to the bar. Ilya watched him as he approached, the corner of his mouth turning upward.
“So,” Ilya started, “I hear you’ve been asking about me.” Ilya smirked and Shane’s face immediately flooded with red. “Anything I can help you with?”
Words were suddenly a foreign concept to Shane. “Uh-” Shane opened and closed his mouth. He quickly mumbled out the words, “I just wanted to thank you for offering to help me with my friend the other night.” God, this is so embarrassing. What are you doing dude?
Ilya’s mouth turned upward into a smile. “Ginger ale, right?” He asked Shane. Shane nodded, still blushing after what was probably the 2nd most embarrassing experience of his life, the time that he accidentally told his 2nd grade teacher that he loved her being the first. Genuine honest mistake, okay? Ilya handed Shane the ginger ale, his fingertips briefly brushing against his own. That couldn’t have been on purpose, right? Shane’s fingers tingled with what felt like electricity. Shane reached into his back pocket to pull out a $10 bill and stuck out his hand. Ilya grabbed the money from Shane, letting his fingers brush against Shane’s for the second time. Okay, this has to be on purpose, right? Am I reading too much into this? Shane was deep in his head when Ilya cleared his throat. Shane’s eyes snapped up to meet his and Shane fought the urge to look away.
“I’m Ilya. What’s your name?” Ilya asked him. He had a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Shane,” he responded, still reeling from the brief touches that Ilya had given him.
“Well, Shane,” Ilya started, “You can’t be coming in just for overpriced ginger ale, right?”
Shane’s face briefly contorted to an expression that he could only define as the feeling of getting caught doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing. “It’s really good ginger ale!” Shane retorted. Something about the way he answered the question caused Ilya to smile again, this time the corners of his eyes creasing when his smile reached his eyes.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Ilya said teasingly. I need to get out of here right now. Shane quickly stood up and walked quickly to the door after thanking Ilya for the ginger ale. “Hope to see you again, Shane.” He called out while Shane hurried to the door. Shane ducked out of the door into the warm July air, hoping he could recover from the absolute trainwreck that he just experienced. Something in the back of his mind tried telling him that maybe it wasn’t that bad, which Shane did not believe for a second. His only hope to undo everything that just happened would be to stay as far away from the curly haired man for as long as he could. This should be easy, right?
Montreal, Halloween 2015
It had easily been 4 months since Ilya last saw Shane walk into the bar. Ilya was honestly starting to get a little worried that he may have been a bit too forward or that Shane was in fact not gay. The first 2 months of not seeing Shane in the bar bothered Ilya, but how could he be bothered when all they’ve had is 2 interactions that consisted solely of Ilya putting down hints and Shane running away each time? Get him out of your head. Ilya had been doing a decent job of pushing the thoughts of the man with beautiful freckles out of his mind. Well, that’s what he thought until the bell on the door rang and there he was. He was joined by his group of friends from before and they spilled into the bar looking for an open table. Of course, it was a hard feat, seeing as the bar was completely packed due to it being Halloween. Shane’s eyes caught Ilya’s and Shane immediately looked away and hurried to his table. This is not good. His friends were dressed as variations of superheroes, villains, and random things that Ilya never would have thought to dress up as. Shane was dressed in jeans and a Metros jersey with Hollander on the back of it.
To Ilya’s surprise, the group of men ordered only beers and shots of tequila, a ginger ale notably missing from the order. He watched as Shane tipped back 2 shots of tequila, grimacing as he did it. One of the men at the table slapped Shane’s back, laughing. Shane’s eyes darted around the room and met Ilya’s from behind the bar. Ilya gave him a small smile and Shane, with a newfound courage, presumably from the liquor, smiled back at him. Ilya watched as Shane tipped back 4 more shots, getting more noticeably drunk as the night went on. Shane was now starting to stumble a bit and laughing harder than he probably had in his entire life. Shane’s eyes kept meeting Ilya’s throughout the night, stirring something in Ilya that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to name yet.
Ilya was rinsing out a glass when he heard shuffling feet and a small hiccup approach the bar. He looked up and found a very drunk Shane at the bar top. Ilya smiled at the disheveled hair and rosy cheeks that stared back at him. As Ilya was about to say something, Shane broke the silence between them with another hiccup.
“Did you know I’m a hockey player?” Shane slurred, “I’m like really good.” A dopey smile resided on his face and his head tilted upward. Ilya tilted his head at Shane, a look of amusement flickered across his face. His lips turned into a slight smile while he nodded his head at Shane, humming a feigned agreement. “Are you really, now?” Ilya narrowed his eyes at him.
Shane nodded his head fervently, “My name is on the back, look!” Shane spun around to show him the letters that covered the back of the jersey, losing his balance in the process. A small noise of surprise left his lips as he braced himself on the barstool. Ilya rushed from behind the counter to steady him, gently guiding him into a seated position.
“Okay,” Ilya said to him, “I think that’s enough for you.” His accent thick with both amusement and slight concern. Shane looked up at him, giggling. “You are soooo boring, I’m not even that drunk,” Shane pointed at him and mimicked his Russian accent horribly before swaying in the seat. Ilya couldn’t stop the laugh that left his mouth and walked back behind the bar to get the very drunk Shane a water and ginger ale. He pushed the water bottle in front of Shane’s face, “Drink.” Shane looked up at him and pouted his lips, taking the bottle from his hands.
For the next hour, Shane sat quietly at the bar, aside from the occasional hiccup. Shane had not taken his eyes off Ilya for most of the night. The only time Shane would tear his gaze from Ilya is when one of his friends would come to check on him or he caught Ilya looking back at him. Of course, this would turn Shane into a blushing mess, covering his face with his hands. I wonder if he realizes how obvious he’s being. Ilya turned his back to the bar, grabbing a couple liquor bottles that he needed for a drink order. Somehow in the time it took him to turn back around, Shane had disappeared from the stool. Oh shit, this is not good. Ilya frantically searched the bar with his eyes, hoping to find Shane somewhere in the crowd of people. He didn’t. Ilya couldn’t leave from behind the bar since they were so busy, but his eyes never stopped scanning the room. He finally saw Shane near the bathrooms leaning against the wall and exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He turned to his coworker asking if she could take over the bar for a few minutes and walked over to Shane. Shane looked awful. His hair was a mess, his eyes were puffy as if he’d been crying, and he looked absolutely wasted. Ilya scanned around the building to see if he could find any of Shane’s friends, which to his disappointment, he couldn’t.
He reached out to touch Shane’s forearm, straightening him up. Shane immediately stumbled into Ilya’s grasp. Yeah, I can’t just leave him here like this. “Hey,” he used his free arm to gently turn Shane’s head to look at him, “Shane. I’m going to take you home.” Shane looked up at Ilya through wet lashes and gently smiled. “Okayyyy,” Shane sang, “let’s gooo.” Ilya gathered Shane’s belongings and his own car keys, telling his coworker he would be back in a little bit.
Getting Shane into the car was not an easy task. This man was about 200 pounds of pure muscle. Maybe he wasn’t joking about the hockey player part. And let’s just say, Shane wasn’t helping much either. In his drunkenness, he kept slipping out of Ilya’s grasp, laughing while he did it. I swear this man is going to be the death of both of us. After about 10 minutes of trying to maneuver Shane into the passenger seat of Ilya’s car, Ilya turned to look at him. “What’s your address? I need to get you home,” he asked him. Shane muttered a string of incoherent syllables, obviously not understanding what he’s asking. Ilya does the only thing he can think of. He reaches into Shane’s back pocket and pulls out his phone. He holds the side button down and tells the phone to Call Mom. After 3 rings, a feminine voice answers the phone, “Shane? Are you okay?”
“Hi, are you Shane’s mom?” Ilya asks the woman. “I’m one of the bartenders at The Penalty Box and I have him in my car very drunk. I’m trying to get him home but he’s not able to give me his address so I did the next best thing I could think of.”
The woman quickly offered to come pick him up from Ottawa, but Ilya denied the offer stating it was too late for her to come out this far to get him. She thanked him for helping her son and gave Ilya the address to Shane’s apartment. Ilya put Shane’s address into the car’s GPS and began to drive. Shane was asleep in the passenger seat, snoring. Gospodi, he’s adorable. Once they arrived at his apartment, Ilya quietly got out of the driver seat and walked around to Shane’s side. He gently shook Shane awake telling him he was home. Shane muttered a quiet protest before taking Ilya’s hand in his to walk up the stairs to his apartment. Shane was leaning on Ilya the entire trip up the stairs and Ilya was just grateful they didn’t fall. Ilya fished Shane’s keys out of his pocket, which elicited a small giggle from Shane.
“Heyyy, take me on a date first,” Shane muttered. His face was flushed red and his hair was slightly sticking to his forehead from sweat. Ilya looked over at him while unlocking the door. “You wish,” Ilya teased.
Once Ilya opened the door, Shane went barreling inside. His shoes were the first things to come off, his jersey coming off next. Under it was a white tank that generously showed off his big arms and shoulders. Stop looking at him like that. Get it together. Ilya walked in behind him, picking up the items that were dropped on Shane’s journey to his bed and placed them on the couch. Ilya followed him into Shane’s bedroom to find him sitting on the end of the bed with a look of defeat on his face.
“What’s wrong, Shane?” Ilya crouched down to get eye level with Shane. Shane looked up at him with a big pout on his face and pointed at his jeans. “I can’t get them unbuttoned. I want to sleep sooo bad.” Ilya looked at him with a look of hesitancy before motioning him to stand up, grabbing his arms to help him stand. “May I?” Ilya asked him, gesturing to the button on his jeans. Shane simply nodded his head tiredly and Ilya popped the button, very carefully to avoid brushing up against Shane’s lower half. Shane immediately let out a sigh of relief, pulled them off and flopped back down on the end of the bed. Ilya took a step back to create some space between them.
He looked up at Ilya with a hint of something he could not pinpoint. “You’re really nice. I like you. And you have really pretty curls.” He confessed drunkenly. “I just wanna play with them, is that weird?” Ilya let out a small rush of air and shook his head at Shane. “No, it’s not weird. Wanna know a secret?” Shane nodded his head and hummed in agreement. “You have very beautiful freckles.” Ilya whispered to Shane, who flushed brightly and darted his eyes away.
After a few seconds, Shane turned back to look at the man standing in front of him. “Can I tell you a secret, too?” Ilya nodded at him. “I really wanna kiss you, but that’s probably a horrible idea cause I’m suuuuper drunk and you’re you and hot and I’m me.” Ilya’s eyebrows shot up, quickly forcing them back down to hide whatever reaction he had. He didn’t want Shane to feel badly about what he just confessed, especially because this would not have happened under different circumstances. He guided Shane to lay down in his bed under the covers, tucking him in.
“Tell me again when you’re sober. You might just get what you ask for.” Ilya bidded him a soft goodnight before walking toward the door of the apartment. He silently slipped out of the apartment, hoping he wouldn’t wake Shane, who at this point was absolutely dead to the world. Ilya quickly descended to the bottom of the stairs and out the main door. It was only after he got back to the safety and familiarity of his car that Ilya let out a low chuckle. He likes me. He put the car in drive and made his way back to the bar.