Chapter Text
The house was warm.
Not just warm because of the heating fighting against the brutal Montreal winter outside, but warm in the way Shane had slowly learned to build over the years. Quiet. Soft lighting. Dark wooden floors that creaked in familiar places. The smell of garlic and butter filling the kitchen while low Russian music played from the speaker near the island counter.
Shane stood at the stove stirring sauce that absolutely did not need stirring anymore. His eyes flicked toward the clock above the refrigerator for what had to be the twentieth time in the last ten minutes.
7:42 PM.
His stomach tightened. Ilya's flight had landed almost an hour ago.
He exhaled slowly through his nose and forced himself to look back down at the pan. The sauce shimmered under the kitchen light. Perfectly fine. Completely done. He stirred it anyway.
The kitchen island behind him was set with everything for a lovely dinner. Two wine glasses. A half-cut loaf of bread. Fresh basil. Ilya's favorite vodka already sitting on the counter even though Shane knew he would not drink much before a game.
He had spent the entire afternoon pretending he was not losing his mind over seeing him again.
The bedsheets had been changed twice. Not because they needed it. Because Shane had hated the first set he picked.
Then he hated the second one too. Now the bed upstairs had dark gray sheets that smelled faintly like fabric softener.
While waiting for Ilya to arrive, Shane was thinking about how their lives had changed so much.
Three years together. Six months engaged. Six months since Ilya said yes. Three months away from finally telling everyone.
His thumb brushed unconsciously against the ring on his finger. Even now, it still startled him sometimes. Not the existence of it. The reality of it.
Ilya wanted to marry him.
The thought still hit Shane with the same quiet force every single time.
He looked down at the simmering sauce again, jaw tightening slightly.
God, he missed him.
The distance had never gotten easier.
So many years of flights and hotel rooms and secret entrances and carefully planned schedules. So many years of pretending they were only rivals in front of cameras while Shane learned every version of Ilya that existed behind closed doors.
The loud one. The exhausted one. The clingy one. The one who spoke softly in Russian when he was half asleep. The one who curled against Shane at night like he needed physical proof that Shane was still there.
Shane swallowed hard.
The worst part was that now that they finally had a future close enough to touch, the separation felt unbearable.
Because this was supposed to be the end of it. After this season, Ilya would leave Boston.
He would change teams to Ottawa. He would be closer.
No more stolen weekends. No more stolen time.
Shane stared blankly at the stove for another second before muttering quietly to himself in Russian. Sometimes he liked to do it simply to continue practicing the language.
"You're acting insane."
His own voice sounded strange in the empty kitchen. A soft vibration suddenly buzzed against the marble counter behind him. Shane turned so quickly he almost knocked the wooden spoon onto the floor. His phone lit up beside the can of ginger ale.
Lily:
Outside.
Shane's entire body reacted instantly.His heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
Weeks. It had been weeks.
He grabbed the phone so fast his fingers nearly slipped against the screen and responded to the message.
"Coming."
He barely remembered turning off the stove. Barely remembered crossing the kitchen.
His pulse thundered louder with every step toward the front door.
The snow outside had gotten heavier sometime during the evening, soft white flakes drifting under the yellow porch light beyond the frosted glass panels.
Shane unlocked the door quickly, breath catching before he even opened it fully.
And there he was.
Ilya stood at the bottom step, snow covering his golden curls and broad shoulders, one hand still holding his phone while cold winter air curled around him. Cheeks pink from the cold. His eyes were a deep blue.
For one suspended second neither of them moved.
Then Ilya smiled.
Small at first. Soft.
And something inside Shane immediately gave out.
God.
There he is.
The distance between them suddenly felt unbearable.
Ilya barely had time to laugh before Shane was already grabbing the front of his coat and pulling him upward toward the porch.
"You look crazy," Ilya said breathlessly, grinning as he stumbled into him.
Shane's hands slid instinctively to his waist beneath the heavy coat, grounding himself against solid warmth and familiar strength.
"You are late."
"I was followed by approximately seventeen old women through the airport."
"You still could've—"
Ilya kissed him before he could finish the sentence.
Warm. Perfect.
And Shane felt the last several weeks collapse instantly into nothing. His fingers tightened hard against Ilya's coat.
God, he missed this.
The cold air burned in his lungs while Ilya smiled against his mouth, one gloved hand cupping the side of Shane's jaw.
"You missed me," Ilya murmured softly.
Shane stared at him for half a second, trying and failing to maintain any dignity whatsoever.
Then he answered honestly.
"So fucking much."
Something vulnerable flickered across Ilya's face so quickly Shane almost missed it. It was love. Raw and immediate and terrifying in its intensity.
Ilya leaned closer again, forehead brushing Shane's briefly.
"I missed you more."
"Impossible."
Ilya laughed quietly under his breath. The sound wrapped itself around Shane's chest.
"You forgot your gloves here last time," he said quietly.
"I know."
"So you bought another pair?"
"I had to."
Shane snorted softly despite himself.
"You've lost six pairs now."
"Maybe that's why my hands are always cold."
"That's exactly why. And you still refuse to wear hats."
"Hats ruin my hair."
"You are twenty-nine years old."
"And beautiful."
Shane rolled his eyes, but he could already feel himself smiling helplessly.
Ilya stepped closer again until there was barely any space left between them. Shane could see the exhaustion around his eyes from travel. The slight stubble along his jaw. The tiny scar near his chin Shane had kissed a hundred times.
His chest ached with affection so intense it almost hurt. Weeks apart and somehow it was still like this. Still overwhelming.
Still terrifyingly easy to love him.
Ilya's gaze drifted slowly over Shane's face.
"You cut your hair."
Shane instinctively touched the shorter strands near the back of his neck.
"Two days ago."
"I like it."
"You always say that."
"Because you always look good."
Shane shook his head quietly, but warmth spread through him anyway.
Snow continued falling around them in soft silence. Neither of them moved inside the house.
Ilya's thumb brushed lightly against the engagement ring on Shane's hand where it still rested near his chest.
The touch was small. But Shane felt it everywhere.
Ilya looked down at the ring for a moment before meeting Shane's eyes again. The expression on his face softened into something almost unbearably tender.
"Hi, fiancé."
Shane laughed quietly before he could stop himself. The word still felt surreal.
"Hi."
Shane buried his face briefly against the side of Ilya's neck, breathing him in.
Snow. Cologne. Cold air. Ilya.
"I missed this too," Ilya whispered against his hair.
Shane closed his eyes.
After a few seconds, Shane lifted his head from Ilya's shoulder.
Their eyes met. Ilya's hand slid upward, cupping the side of Shane's face. His glove was cold against warm skin.
Shane leaned into it automatically.
The gesture made something soften in Ilya's expression.
There it was, that look. The one Shane only ever saw when they were completely alone.
"I missed your face," Ilya admitted quietly.
A laugh escaped Shane.
"That's a ridiculous thing to say."
"It's true."
"You saw my face yesterday."
"On a screen."
"You saw my face."
"Not the same."
Shane rolled his eyes.
Ilya smiled immediately.
Victory.
Shane caught him staring. His smile softened.
"What?"
Ilya shook his head.
"Nothing." It was a lie.
Shane recognized the emotion behind it.
Love. Simple as that.
"You are literally the worst liar I've ever met."
"I am charming."
His chest filled painfully with affection.
"You know," Ilya said quietly, "in a few months we won't have to sneak around anymore."
Shane looked at him. Really looked at him, at the hope in his eyes. At the excitement he was trying and failing to contain.
"I know."
Shane was overcome with an irresistible urge to kiss him, so he did. The kiss was intense, filled with all the love they both felt for each other.
Neither of them noticed the parked vehicle farther down the street.
Neither of them noticed the camera lens aimed carefully toward the house.
Neither of them noticed the reporter watching from a distance.
Because all Shane could see was Ilya.
And all Ilya could see was Shane.
Everything else had stopped existing.
For one perfect moment, they were completely unaware that this would be the last private reunion of their lives before the whole world knew the truth about their relationship.