Work Text:
Ilya squeezed the sides of the bathroom counter and then his phone as he checked the time, only two minutes had passed since he had last looked. His fingers fastened the top button of his shirt on the third try and he only thought the tie felt like a noose once. It was definitely how a normal, well-adjusted person got dressed for a formal event. Underneath the collar of his freshly ironed white shirt Ilya’s throat felt grazed and raw. He mimed loosening his tie for relief but left the knot firmly in place, waiting instead for his father to reprimand him for never leaving anything alone.
Papa is not coming tonight, Ilyusha.
The voice sounded like an amalgamation of his own, now, then, and from some indistinct point in the future. Ilya wondered if he would continue to live each day with both a dead and alive father making his presence known through all his waking hours and even whilst asleep? He didn’t want to consider that more than necessary, so checked his phone again. Unsurprisingly, only another two minutes had passed. Ilya exhaled through his nose with a one-sided smirk as he appreciated the regularity with which he was panicking. He felt that was a detail Shane might find interesting. That would make one of them.
Shane. The reason Ilya was panicking. Well, not exactly, though he was the head of the chain of custody that resulted in Ilya attending the fundraising event as David’s plus one that evening. Ever the poster boy, Shane and Yuna had been wrangling a new sponsorship deal in Montreal that day. Between the meetings and Yuna’s frankly impressively frightening ability to create new opportunities everywhere she went, their stay had to be extended an extra night. At the time, Ilya was in the middle of finishing off a puzzle with David, so he had felt a sense of security. Stupid and temporary security.
“Is no problem, Shane. I will go with your father who you have both abandoned for money,” Ilya winked at David as he leaned over the phone sitting next to them on the table. David’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he went to reply but Ilya motioned his hand as if to say, ‘I can get away with this, watch.’
Sure enough, after a moment of silence, Shane and Yuna laughed in unison and Ilya heard the familiar and affectionate ‘Shut up…’ coming from his husband.
“Thank you, Ilya, you are so very selfless!” Yuna called out from the background.
“He is the backbone of this family, Yuna.” David said as he clapped Ilya on the shoulder and went back to the puzzle.
“Yes, I am. You should be taking me to big companies and brands. Say this is Ilya and he is funny and good at puzzles and jokes and is backbone of our household.”
“Ilya, we offered for you to come with us, and you said no.”
“Shane, I am not interested in facts right now. I am interested in being hero.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You are my hero. Thank you for accompanying my dad to an event with free food, wine and people who will be excited to meet you. Will you be okay?”
Ilya had laughed and assured him that he would be fine, but that was yesterday. That was when it felt true. Standing in the bathroom, Ilya couldn’t bring himself to open the door. Now it had felt like a lie.
* * *
It was Ilya’s internal reservoir of shame that prevented him from pressing send on the text to David. Onto the fourth draft, he could still not get the message to sound anything other than snivelling.
‘David, is Ilya. Have suddenly got upset stomach. Sorry.’
Too cliche.
‘David, have broken both legs. Do not send ambulance. Will walk it off. Regards, Ilya.’
Too nonsensical.
‘David, do not want to go. This is Ilya.’
Too cruel.
‘David, I cannot embarrass you. You mean too much to me. Love, Ilya.’
Too true.
Fifth time’s a charm and Ilya sent ‘On my way!’ instead. David’s reply was immediate, ‘We’re gonna make a night of it, bud!’
* * *
The temptation to have the Uber circle the block another time was palpable. Ilya weighed up whether he wanted the event to be large so he could blend in amongst the other suits, or small so that there were less people to look at him with pity in their eyes. ‘Pros and cons of either one,’ Ilya thought to himself as he strummed his fingers across the kneecap of his bouncing leg, ‘so in a way it is kind of a win/win...’
Boy, are you stupid? You will embarrass me either way, big or small. It is lose/lose. Why would I expect something different from you? You are incapable of doing anything more, yet you always surprise me by somehow managing to do even less. Get out of my sight.
Ilya was abruptly brought back to the present by the aching grip of his fingers on either side of his thigh. From the rear-view mirror, the driver smiled politely and seemed content waiting for his customer to exit the car. Ilya hoped it wasn’t because he could see how Ilya was white knuckling his own body and pinning himself to the seat. He broke the grasp on his leg and transferred his trembling hand to the door handle as he summoned the correct expression for the situation from a filing cabinet in his mind.
“Merci, thank you, uh, you were good driver. Very smooth ride.”
“Have a wonderful night, my friend. By the way, big fan.”
“Ah! You are a man of good taste, then. Or do you have business smarts and know every player’s team so you can get a bigger tip?” Ilya punctuated his practiced line with a wink and emphatic grin.
“No! I am being genuine, I swear. You and your husband are rockstars. Make me proud to live here.”
“I am joking. Thank you, though, that means a lot to me. I am being genuine now, too.”
The driver smiled with his mouth and his eyes before rolling up the window and pulling away. Ilya’s hand gently stilled in his pocket. With the Fairmont Château Laurier stately and picturesque behind him, Ilya stood on the boundary line and wished that a plus one was allowed their own plus one. As he watched the car slip into the flow of the early evening downtown traffic, Ilya decided to count his blessings. That one man, that one comment and that one word, husband, could be enough to get him through the rest of the night. They would have to, he had nothing else prepared.
* * *
The irony was not lost on Ilya that David’s event was being held at the hotel that would win the ‘Most Likely to Feel Like You Are in Russia’ award. Starting with the golden revolving doors and red carpet, the lobby was a mix of shiny marble and polished wooden panelling built up towards the ornate ceilings that were decorated with a mix of flowers and heraldic crests. Arriving at these events was the worst part and it made Ilya feel like a child requiring supervision instead of an adult who was meant to be present.
Ilya had entered with a group of people who gave off the vibe that it would be impossible for them to ever be in the wrong place or lost. He followed them and hoped he was not about to crash a wedding. Then he hoped that if he did have to crash a wedding, that the bride and/or groom were fans of hockey. Planning for the worst was not pessimistic, it was comforting. Ilya needed a way to escape any room before he walked into it.
His impromptu squad began walking down a hallway that Ilya gathered connected to the main function areas. The walls were built from the same marble that filled the lobby but the trim running across the top was golden. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and, while opulent, Ilya felt it was all a bit over the top. He was struck by the feeling that he could be anywhere, Ottawa, Moscow, ancient Rome…
“Ilya! Oi. Get over here.” David had spotted him almost immediately from another hallway that connected to the left side of the one Ilya was walking down. That was good because Ilya would have kept walking and probably ended up in the pool or back the way he came and then run home.
“Hello, David. This place is, wow. I always forget how beautiful it is inside.”
“Ah yeah,” David leaned in and his voice took on a conspiratorial tone, “is it just me or is it all a bit much?”
Ilya managed a small smile and nodded, ready to agree with whatever David said this evening, whether he personally agreed or not. He was there to be present, not heard or perceived. Ilya knew his role and if he was good then maybe his father’s voice would let him have some peace and quiet for an hour or two.
You are here to work, so work.
“Ha, definitely. Now, where are we going? Can I get you a drink?”
* * *
David led them both down the new corridor towards what Ilya had assumed was the room where the function was being held. He peered in through the open doors and was surprised at his shock. Inside, the grandiosity made the hallway look like a rundown apartment by comparison. The walls were a soft pastel blue with white trim around columns that rose from between the windows and equally spaced all the way around the room. Ilya could not help but wonder how many spots at their hockey camps could have been covered if the money went to them instead of the, he counted, three intricate crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
“Is that a grand piano?” Ilya wondered aloud as David turned back to sneak a peek alongside him.
“You know a place is ritzy when the grand piano is in the corner like a set decoration. How many do you think there are in this whole place? Anyway, this ain’t our stop so let’s keep going. I hear there’s an open bar where we’re headed.”
Though Ilya had been to more events than he could remember, there was something about being a guest at one that made him feel dizzily out of his element. Ilya Rozanov, the Stanley Cup winner, the captain of two different NHL teams, the co-founder of The Irina Foundation? His name had not been written on any invite. Ilya as ‘and guest’ would not be able to rely on his achievements preceding him. Tonight required accepting whatever reception came with accompanying his father-in-law and socialising with people that knew David first and what David told them about Ilya next and finally Ilya, last.
Courteously weaving between islands of polite chit-chat, David stopped in his tracks and gently punched Ilya on the arm.
“Are you keeping score, or should I?”
Ah, already losing, Ilya?
“We’re at two grand pianos now but it’s 1-all because you spotted the first one.”
Ilya grinned back at David as his mouth started to ache at the sides.
* * *
Ilya was no stranger to the Hollander household and their endless hospitality, joining them for family dinners long before he and Shane were married and they legally had to let him inside. They prepared his favourite foods, assumed regular spots on the couch to watch movies or Shane’s games (Ilya in the middle) and would somehow find ways to refill his glass before he ever had a chance to fix it for himself. It had taken months for some of his hypervigilance to ease but it spiked when he heard David’s request at the bar.
“What can I get you, kiddo?”
While Ilya had been mentally checking that he was presentable and appropriately out of the way, he had missed his window to organise a drink for his host. He mentally subtracted a point from his own score.
After a beat David added, “Why am I even asking? I bet this place has the good stuff!” and he promptly ordered two vodkas, neat.
Before Ilya could offer to find him an apology in the form of a tiny canapé, the pair were joined by a couple who were all smiles. Ilya subtly scanned their outfits, the man was in a dark navy suit, all clean lines, and the woman to his right was dressed in a sleek emerald jumpsuit and blue floral statement earrings that stopped just above her collarbones. They were an attractive couple, but their outfits and body language gave Ilya nothing to work with. He felt cast adrift and hoped that staying quiet and nodding politely would do most of the heavy lifting. That hope fizzled out the moment he sipped his vodka and the woman spoke.
“No way, David, can it be? Is this the famous Ilya? See, Mark, I told you he was real.”
Ilya mentally attached the label, Mark, to the man in front of him.
“I obviously knew Ilya Rozanov existed as a person, I wasn’t born yesterday… I was just checking that he knew about David based on all the stories David had been telling you during your coffee runs.”
“Ignore him. I work with David, wait, I’m sorry, it must be so awkward to meet people who just talk as if they know you already! We should probably start from the beginning. It’s so lovely to meet you, I’m Ashleigh and this is my husband, Mark.”
They should not waste their time. The real thing is much more disappointing.
Ilya added another mental label, Ashleigh, works with David, to the image of the woman in front of him.
“Ashleigh, Mark, the pleasure is mine. And I’m not sure, if you’ve heard bad things then it’s all tabloid stuff, but if you’ve heard good things, those are definitely true.”
His audience of three laughed more than was polite but less than would be considered cloying, so Ilya let his shoulders ease a fraction away from his ears as a reward.
“Yep, Ilya here boldly stood up to join me tonight seeing as Shane and Yuna are in Montreal for business.”
Ashleigh swiftly responded, “Oh, I thought you said they were due back today?”
Ilya wondered why she would know Shane and Yuna’s travel schedules, but it seemed too relaxed to be a guess.
“Ah, yeah, they had hoped to, but you know Yuna,” David grinned into his vodka as Ashleigh and Mark both gave unexpected little laughs of their own.
“If there’s an opportunity, Yuna will find it! I’m surprised it only had to be extended by one day and not a week,” Ashleigh threw her hand back when she said this, her glittering smile making Ilya desperately want to stand by her side all night. She felt real. And safe.
David drew in a long breath for emphasis, “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if she rustles something else up tomorrow and that indeed ends up happening. But we’re so proud, they’re getting so many signed up for the foundation.” David lightly elbowed Ilya as he spoke but kept his eyes on the couple.
Ilya smiled into his glass as he felt warm from the vodka and the mention of their hockey camps. He and Shane had created something so beautiful that was already helping thousands of people. What a gift. He only had a moment of basking in that feeling of purpose before he felt Mark’s eyes on the side of his jaw.
“Ilya, if I had a dollar for every time this guy,” he pointed a finger gun towards David, “bragged about your foundation, I’d be able to retire early! It’s truly impressive work.”
Do not accept this compliment, it is only because his successful son is the other half of it.
“Thank you, it’s a real privilege to be doing so much good with what we have been given in life. And how could I say no to working with Shane and Yuna?”
* * *
Once they had found their places in the ballroom, both David and Ilya attempted to scan the room for any grand pianos. When their eyes completed their respective circuits, they were essentially staring at one another and David let out a loud bark of a laugh.
"Damn it, I thought you might have forgotten.”
“No chance, Hollander. I will remember until day I die.”
“You’re on, Rozanov.”
Their second glasses of vodka clinked together as they toasted to their shared commitment. While Ilya was savouring his sip, David’s face turned to him with a more earnest expression across it.
“I’m really glad you came along tonight. I was looking forward to spending this time with you.”
You were the third choice out of three.
He continued, “And I don’t want you to think oh it’s only because Yuna and Shane couldn’t go. That’s not it. I’ve wanted to ask you for a while now, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous. A stuffy fundraiser doesn’t really hold a candle to some of the events you and Shane have been able to bring us along to, I know.”
Before Ilya could answer David and say that he would be spending the rest of his life trying to repay the kindness he and Yuna had showed towards him, another member of their table interjected. Assuming it was going to be directed at David, Ilya sat up straighter and tried to look professional.
“Ilya?” David was looking at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I did not hear you,” Ilya winced and felt another wheel falling off his plan.
“It’s okay,” David repeated what the man across from them had said, “This is Peter, who also works with me and Ashleigh, he was just talking about your adventures in cooking with Shane.”
Ilya had to take a moment to register what David, and Peter, had said.
You do not know how to cook. Your mother cooked. You watched. Like I always said, lazy.
It was true that since getting married, Shane and Ilya had been doing more new things together. Shane had read in some article that trying out different activities or hobbies helped keep your brain more rubbery or something that was apparently good for when you get old. Ilya wanted to try every single thing with Shane, so he did not need to know about which scientists agreed before he said yes. One of the first things they did was cook together and it had become somewhat of a regular occurrence since then.
Ilya remembered one of the first attempts when Shane finally waltzed over to their dining table wearing his slightly too-small apron and dustings of flour on his forehead and cheekbone. He also wore a brand-new expression across his face, one that was all at once smug and embarrassed by how smug it was. Ilya was beside himself with how smitten he felt. Shane had made two textbook chocolate souffles and Ilya told him he deserved to be proud.
Then he recalled the moment that followed when Shane put the souffles down and they immediately collapsed in on themselves. If it weren’t for Shane’s visible heartbreak, Ilya would have laughed harder and for a lot longer. He held it in as Shane meekly asked, ‘Where did they go?’ to nobody in particular. Later that night, Shane had come into the bedroom holding an iPad and stated, ‘According to this, in my excitement I put them down on the table too hard and destroyed the air bubbles.’ Ilya had laughed for so long Shane had to start rubbing his back to help him breathe properly again.
“David was telling me all about your cooking and then shared how thoughtful you were to make extra of those pelmeni dumplings when he was working late nights back in May. He just kept going on and on about how delicious they were and how lucky he and Yuna were to have a chef in the family—”
In the family?
“—finally, I said, David either you bring in some of these pelmeni or you shut up about it! We couldn’t keep listening to how good he has it, it was torture!” Peter shot David a look and David threw both hands up in the air like he’d been caught out.
“Wait, you tried my pelmeni?” Ilya was still in disbelief that this entire conversation had transpired. This wasn’t something that could be mistaken for something else. This was unmistakably Ilya.
“I had to hide them from everyone else and pretend he hadn’t brought any. They were so good, kept up morale while we tried to meet some pretty, excuse my French, shitty deadlines. Is it a secret recipe or do you think you could send it along?”
“Hey, Peter, watch it. I’m first in line to learn, though then I won’t have an excuse for Ilya to make them for me so maybe you can skip ahead.”
A genuine grin involuntarily spread across Ilya’s face as he thought of David being comforted by the food he had prepared for him. Ilya had always felt pelmeni was a comfort food and the knowledge that he had made David's life easier in the same way felt almost too much to consider for much longer.
“Not a problem, Peter. Oh, did David tell you about Shane’s souffle attempts?”
* * *
The rest of the evening had unfolded as predicted and the third vodka had started to help Ilya loosen up a little. He noticed that David had moved on to an Old Fashioned and thought maybe he and Shane could try cocktail mixing as their next activity. An Old Fashioned can’t collapse, sure it could melt, but not collapse.
With the loosening of his body came the loosening of Ilya’s mental restraint and he felt himself getting overwhelmed by his experiences and exhaustion so far that night. He looked over at David and saw him having an animated chat with a group of people and made the universal sign for ‘I’m going for some air.’ Once he got a nod back, Ilya headed out in the direction of the lobby before making a beeline for the bathrooms first.
Once inside, Ilya decided to sit in the last stall, relishing the temporary privacy afforded to him by the four enclosed walls.
Hiding, that is a new low even for you.
Ilya closed his eyes and tried to think of how sincerely people had spoken of his friendship with David. He felt his father’s voice emerging again to counter every attempt at self-soothing. A buzz from his pocket turned out to be a message from Shane, ‘Surviving my dad?’ Ilya was not sure whether the truth would be best right now.
‘I am trying to survive my own.’
* * *
Instead, Shane received a message that simply said: 'You are lucky to have such a great father.'
Ilya was mindlessly scrolling when he got Shane's reply, 'He's yours now too.'
'Wouldn't that be nice,' was all Ilya could think to himself as he decided to stay put for a few more minutes.
* * *
Just as Ilya's legs were falling asleep and his ass was starting to cramp from sitting on a closed toilet lid for too long, the door opened and Ilya heard David's voice.
“What else can I say? I think he just hit the jackpot.”
Ilya rolled his eyes. Who was David having to explain this to? Anyone with half a brain could tell that he had won the lottery when he met Shane, let alone married him. His beautiful husband with his beautiful family and his beautiful love and his terrible souffles. Ilya cursed the three vodkas making him sappy whilst contemplating a fourth. His eyes already felt wet, what use was it to worry about it now?
The other man with David responded, “It certainly sounds it. I mean, he’s thoughtful, whip smart and so damn likeable.”
Ilya’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered this to be an odd statement to make to someone’s own father. Of all people besides Ilya, surely David knew this already.
“You don’t even know the half of it, I’m serious. He is so perceptive and insanely curious. And his sense of humour is out of this world. I’m usually crying with laughter after he and Shane come over!”
Wait.
Wait.
“I’m serious! He has such great comedic timing. He even holds his own against Yuna. Let me put it this way, Paul, the fact he’s the literal Captain of the Cens is the least interesting thing about him. How crazy is that?”
“I’m really happy for you, David. It’s been a tough road, all you Hollanders deserve it.”
“I’ll say. Honestly, Shane locking Ilya down and bringing him into our lives is just… I mean, it’s truly beyond my wildest dreams.”
* * *
Ilya kept his hand clamped over his mouth as sweat leaked from his hairline and his chest began to constrict. Thankfully, David and the other man soon left the bathroom, and he was left alone again.
How many drinks did you have? Thought so. He will not be so glowing tomorrow when he is of sound mind.
Ilya needed to get out of there and into the expanse of night air and quickly. He pocketed his phone, wiped at his brow with a wad of toilet paper and tried to look as put together as possible before washing his hands and bolting out of the door.
It wasn’t like he was going to get lost. He just needed some air. He just needed to breathe. He just needed to be alone. He just needed his hands to stop shaking. He just needed to feel like a grown man. He just needed an exit.
Ilya’s body was suddenly an oversized costume smothering the tiny, scared child that hid within it. Most of the time he could ignore the confusion and dread at being trapped inside, never quite being able to reach the edges of his limbs, never quite being able to see out of his eyes, never quite in control of his thoughts. But then there were times like this one, where the child would start to panic and claw at its fleshy prison. Ilya would try his best to calm him, but the child would flail and kick and punch their heart.
The child began to shriek, Why are they lying! They are liars! It's all lies. Why would they lie to us?
I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
* * *
Ilya began to feel faint and realised he was breathing much too fast. He leaned against the wall and promptly slid down to the ground, placing his head in his hands and bracing his forearms over his knees.
After a few deep breaths, Ilya heard the external exit open again and one set of footsteps walk towards him.
“Hey, there you are, you disappeared on me. Wait, Ilya, is everything alright? Vodka do you in?”
“I’m sorry, David,” Ilya continued to stare at his shoes, hands trembling. “I didn’t mean to worry or embarrass you. I’ll be okay in a minute. You should go back inside.”
“Embarrass me? Ilya, what happened?”
“I heard you. In the bathroom. Talking about me.” Ilya’s breath caught on the last few words and when he attempted to brush it off with a laugh, a sob shuddered out instead. David sat down next to him and leaned up against his shoulder, the gentle pressure evident but not overbearing.
“You said that me coming into your life was... was beyond your wildest dreams. Why would you say this?” Ilya lifted his head and his eyes were red from where he had been pressing them with the heels of his hands.
“All night I have heard people talk to me like they know the actual me. Because of you. I just kept waiting for the catch. When is this beautiful thing going to fall apart? I kept waiting for the criticism. To find out the joke that had been played on me."
David said nothing.
"My father… he would always find something I had done wrong. I was always disappointing him... I was always wrong. When I laughed, I was told it was immature. When I talked, I was told to be quiet. So, I learned very young that I should be serious and silent. And it still was not enough. He was never proud of me. I was never enough."
Ilya could feel his ribs spasming out of rhythm with his lungs and diaphragm. The child was throwing himself against the cage.
"I hear you say these things and I… I don’t know how to… I don’t know what I am supposed to do with these things.”
“Oh, Ilya. Come here.” David wrapped his arms around him and Ilya let himself be held.
“It must have been so hard. So hard. I am so sorry you had to deal with that alone. You were just a boy. You should never have had to earn your father’s impossible approval. It should have been given to you freely every day.” David leaned back, “Ilya, please look at me for a minute.”
Ilya sniffed hard and lifted his head, but his eyes stayed down.
“Your father was wrong, Ilya. You are not some problem to be handled or someone to be tolerated. I want you to hear me when I say this. You are my son, too, and I am always going to be proud to say you belong to me. Always.”
David put his hands on Ilya’s shoulders and squeezed them tight as he waited for Ilya’s eyes to look into his own before continuing.
“And kiddo? Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
* * *
The next evening, Shane and Yuna returned from Montreal. When they opened the door to the Hollander family home, the air smelled of melted butter, sour cream and chopped dill.
"What? No way, did you guys make more pelmeni?" Shane dropped his bags and wrapped his arms around Ilya's waist as he stood at the counter cracking pepper over a bowl, "I missed you."
"Not as much as I missed you. And god no. We are too hungover. David let us have some of his secret stash from freezer."
"Only because Ilya promised he'd show me how to make more. Then we'll have an endless supply!" The idea seemed to boost David's energy as he took Yuna's bag and gave her a kiss.
"Mmm, that smells absolutely delicious. Ah, my boys," Yuna cupped Shane and Ilya's faces with one hand each and pinched their cheeks, "coming home to you all is just..."
Ilya turned to her, "Beyond your wildest dreams?"
"Yes! Exactly the right phrase," she replied as she sat down with David.
Shane reluctantly let go for long enough to help Ilya bring the food to the table before they both sat down together and joined them.
Ilya looked at his family as he said, "I know the feeling."