Chapter Text
March 2018, Boston.
Ilya was tempted to keep ignoring the damned doorbell, cocooned under a massive blanket on the couch. But whoever was outside was apparently not taking a hint, and it was getting annoying, so he stood up, blanket around his shoulder, and opened the door, ready to hit them with a string of profanity.
And then….
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He uttered, looking at no one other than Scott Hunter. Scott Hunter, who lived in New York, and definitely didn’t have any reason to be there.
Well, if Shane were there, he would tell that he and Scott were friends, and it’s not unusual for friends to come by your house. But Shane was not there, and that was the biggest part of the problem.
“Hi to you too, Ilya.” Scott pushed him back and came inside, as if he owned the whole place. His eyes scanned the take-out containers scattered around the living room, the almost empty bottle of vodka and the TV with the volume turned low, and then turned back to Ilya. “Really nice interior decor you have.”
“Why do you care?” Ilya threw the blanket on an armchair, combing through his hair with his fingers. “Go away, Hunter.”
Hunter, unfortunately, was probably getting hearing issues with his old age, seeing how he leaned his back against the wall, almost relaxed. “I was talking with Shane last night. Yuna gave him some interesting strategic ideas about our movement, and he wanted to pass them over… but I could tell he had something on his mind, you know? Apparently, his husband was barely answering his text, and he was thinking of missing a game and taking a plane to Boston.”
Blyad. Ilya was convinced he had been good at hiding how low he was feeling, was sure of it… he only needed to hold on a bit longer, just until his first appointment with the therapist on Friday.
“I told him that there was an art exhibition in Boston that Kip really wanted to see, and that, considering I was in town, I would come check on a very annoying hockey player.”
“You checked. I’m alive. Now shoot, da?”
Ilya opened the fridge, rummaging inside for something edible. There was a two-day-old piece of chicken… good enough. He took it out of the container and started eating with his hands, not caring that Hunter was watching - maybe it would make him go away.
“Mh, unfortunately, Shane gave me a plan. And you know how he is with plans, right?”
Ilya nodded, taking a Gatorade from the fridge and gulping half of it, to combat the dehydration he had been ignoring for a few hours.
“You are going to take a shower while I clean around. Then I will tell Kip to come by with some food - Italian, I know you like it - and we will watch your husband beating Vancouver… how does it sound?”
It sounded like a fucking order from Shane, that’s how it sounded.
“Da, da,” he shook his hand, walking back to his room. “Careful of your old bones, dinosaur.”
Ilya showered quickly, put on one of Shane’s hoodies and sweatpants, and then came back to the living room, to find it way less messy than before, and with Kip on his couch. “Hi, Ilya. I brought food.”
“I already like you more than Hunter. You could do so much better, you know?” Ilya sat down on the opposite side of the couch and took a container of pasta from the coffee table and a plastic fork.
“Unfortunately, I’m in it for the long run.”
A few moments later, the game started, and Ilya could just focus on Shane’s gliding through the ice and ignoring the two people in his house. Watching Shane was not the same as having him physically near, but it was good enough for now.
And he had to admit that a shower, food and some company (even if an annoying one), was nice. He sent a quick ‘thank you ❤’ to Shane, and then stole a meatball from Hunter’s container, just to annoy him.
During intermission, Scott cleaned the empty containers, and Kip put a hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “We booked a hotel room nearby for the night. What do you think about offering us a tour of Boston in the morning? I’m sure you know all the best places.”
Ilya could say no, spend the whole Thursday on the couch, and survive alone until Friday morning. But Kip was nice (too nice for boring Scott Hunter), and Ilya had a too-big heart for his own good. And it would also make Shane less stressed, to know he was around people.
“Okay. I will bring you and boring Scott Hunter around, but he pays for everything.”
“Wasn’t that obvious?” Scott said, passing him a can of Coke straight from the fridge. “Now scoot a bit further away, you are hoarding my boyfriend’s personal space.”
“Is it hoarding if he wants me here?” Ilya smirked, wrapping an arm around Kip’s shoulder - who couldn’t help but laugh, seeing Scott’s expression.
“I fucking hate you, Rozanov.”
The next morning, as soon as he opened his eyes, Ilya called Shane. He knew Hunter and Kip would come bother him soon, and he needed to have this call in private. It took only a ring for him to answer.
“Good morning, solnyshko.”
“How are you, Ilya?” Shane’s voice was tense, and Ilya hated to make him worry - not that he said it, or Shane would chastise him for even having the thought. “I’m sorry I threw Scott and Kip on you so suddenly, but-”
“No, no, no sorry… I needed it,” Ilya admitted the second part after a moment of hesitation, passing a hand through his hair. “I have appointment with therapist on Friday. She is Russian.”
Ilya heard low and clear the sigh of relief Shane emitted. “That’s nice, Ilya. I’m very proud of you.”
“Thanks,” Ilya whispered, clutching the phone like a lifeline. Oh, how much he wished Shane were here, not kilometres away. “I’m giving Boston tour to Kip and Hunter today.”
“Oh, oh, and what if someone sees you three? What if people start to think you are f-“ The smile in his voice was crystal clear, and Ilya couldn’t help but scoff.
“Don’t even say that, Hollander!”
Shane's laugh resounded in the whole apartment, making Ilya’s chest feel suddenly lighter.
“You played well, last night. I watched.”
“Thanks, I would have liked a win, but I’m happy” Shane sounded… distracted, and it made Ilya curious. “The team is shaping so well, Ilya. I can’t wait for you to be part of it.”
“Me too.” Ilya stood up from the bed, walking to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. “You went out to celebrate, mh?”
“We did for a bit. Tremblay owed a beer to Troy - for punching Matthews, do you remember? - and he convinced me to come, and then Luca was still in the locker room, so we brought him too.”
“Dad can’t go anywhere without his son, uhm?” Ilya took from the cupboard a mug with the Centaurs logo Shane had brought him when he came to visit in November. It was his favourite, now.
“He is six years older than me, Ilya.”
“And? The issue?” Ilya couldn’t see Shane, but he knew he was shaking his head. “How did your rook handle the alcohol? As badly as you? Is he still hungover?”
“He actually came back to the hotel earlier than Troy and me. Saying he had a headache.”
“Mh, I remember you had lot of that when we played in the same city” Ilya murmured with a fond smile.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” Shane said it almost like he was trying to convince himself, so Ilya stayed silent, waiting for him to rearrange his thoughts. “Well, maybe… I don’t know, it could be nothing.”
“Tell me, kotenok.”
“Around five minutes earlier than Luca, Trembley had left too, saying he had training in the morning. And then, well, Troy was outside when Luca exited the bar, taking a call, and… he saw Luca get into a taxi. But our hotel was around the corner.”
Ilya couldn’t help it - he started laughing, heartily. “Oh, oh, your son likes them older. Good for him, good for him.”
“You don’t think…” Shane was definitely astonished, maybe a bit distraught - as if his brain was having a hard time actually believing the information it had been given. “With Trembley?!”
“Well, good looking and morally decent - so why not?” Ilya sipped the coffee from his mug, the call with Shane now on speaker to make it easier.
“Should I talk with Luca?”
“No,” Ilya said without hesitation, thinking back to when the thing with Shane started… he would have freaked out so badly, if someone even gave him a hint of knowing about it. “It’s just sex. He is not baby, he does know how sex works.”
“Okay, okay. But I will keep an eye on him, just in case,” Shane sighed, clearly itching to do more, but trusting Ilya more than himself with this kind of thing. “I have to go down for breakfast, Wiebe wants to watch some game tapes with me. Enjoy your Boston tour.”
Ilya groaned, already dreading the day ahead. “I will try not to kill Hunter.”
“Love you, Ilyusha.”