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It is the beginning of the fall season. Nights are about to get longer. Days are about to get shorter. The temperature is slowly dropping; it's getting chilly. Another form of change. Ilya deeply feels the need to adapt otherwise he feels left behind and possibly forgotten.
The day Ilya decided to agree and execute Shane's plan of moving to Ottawa—to start the Irina Foundation, to get traded to a new team and to, most importantly, be closer to the love of his life—is the starting point of his life finally changing for the better.
It's supposed to. Isn't it?
But why, at times, does he feel like nothing has gotten better? The Centaurs are full of good people but the plays aren't up to his standards. Shane lives in Montreal, it's less of a hurdle now that they're in the same country but it feels more isolating. He is close but also so far away.
Shane: I'm back from practice.
Shane: What's are you up to?
Ilya checks his phone. A text message.
Ilya: Just outside.
Shane: The deck?
Yes, tonight is one of those nights. Thoughts are swirling around his head and it's getting louder. He needs to tune it out.
Ilya: Yes, trying to look at the stars.
Ilya: It's relaxing.
Shane: Is it?
Ilya: You should try it sometimes.
Shane: Well, are you relaxed right now?
Ilya thought for a moment. Contemplating at the simple question. He typed yes. It's simple. It's easy. It doesn't need too much explanation. It ends there. But, he thinks it's a lie and he's not going to tell Shane about it.
⸭ ⸭ ⸭
The drive to Montreal has been uneventful, it's routine at this point. What else were they going to do during a day off? Drive, spend a day or two with each other and relish at the fact that maybe, for what it's worth, this won't go on forever.
Shane's Montreal apartment is pristine. Every time Ilya comes, it looks exactly the same. Nothing doesn't seem to move an inch and out of place. He treads directly to their bedroom—it feels like it's been a long day and his body is screaming for a nap.
His fingers glides smoothly combing through blonde curls. Soft and comforting. Shane tenderly smiles as he stares at Ilya's peaceful looking sleeping face with a slightly opened mouth. He playfully scoffs as he heard a soft snore. He planted a forehead kiss before he goes in for a shower.
He's probably going to wake up soon, he thought. It's still early in the morning.
“Hey,” Ilya greets him with a lazy smile as he steps out of the en-suite bathroom.
“Good morning,” Shane responds as he dries his damp hair. Slow steps towards the king sized bed and he meets Ilya's gaze. “Did you sleep well?”
Did he? Was it a 'tired' kind of nap? Or was it the kind of 'escape'?
When his lights are dimming and he doesn't want to drag anybody else, the easy way out is to say, “Yes. Was a good nap..” and a distraction “.. you smell so good.”
Shane laughs. It was a new shampoo and body wash combo, some seaweed kind of thing in it, he's not sure. “Well, thank you.”
Ilya taps the mattress on Shane's side of the bed. An invitation to be cozy and to snuggle up with him. After that long drive, they deserve to be comforted by the physical presence of each other. He sighs the moment they touch and tightly hug each other.
“I miss you..” Ilya whispers.
Shane can hear Ilya's heart beating steadily, “I miss you too.”
It's quiet—just them, their thoughts and stable breathing. They decided to stay laying comfortably like this for a few minutes. Shane needed it. He admits to that but, if it went on for far too long with just the still and quiet, he is going to lose his shit. He slowly extracted himself away from the warm hug.
Ilya looks at him, eyes searching, studying his expression. “Breakfast?”
Shane just nods. Breathes. Smiles.
“Okay,” Ilya senses vagueness in the gesture. “Stay here. I'll make breakfast.”
The sound of footsteps are slowly getting drowned out by the careful emergence of his thoughts. Has it been a particularly rough day? Or days? Shane stares at the ceiling. He breathes.
His strong sense of responsibility is either a blessing or a curse. It probably depends on who you ask. But if Shane looks at his image in a mirror, he'd tell you it's a curse. It's heavy. It drags him down. However, for the love of hockey he is willing to convince himself it's a blessing because without it, he wouldn't be worth being called Captain. Plus, he needs to live up to being the 'Best' hockey player in the league.
“Can you believe it?”
Shane is getting dressed and is listening to the chatters in the locker room. Currently minding his own business.
“What? Something happened?”
A laugh. “No. Just the gays..”
“The gays?” a snide question.
“Yeah,” a scoff. Vicious. “Ottawa's looking better. Actually winning games.”
“But still no cups.” bragging. The entitlement is unwarranted. “Fucking gays.”
Boisterous laugh. It's from the collective. It's spiteful.
It hits hard. The words bite. There's just so much poison in it and perhaps it's now seeping through his veins. Shane takes a breath. Fuck this place.
Would he leave? Can he step away from the dynasty he helped create? Is he willing to?
Why is there so much animosity?
Shane stirs awake. Even his reality is now bleeding into his dreams. He gets up, blinks the sleep away and puts on clothes. He can smell breakfast and he's hungry.
⸭ ⸭ ⸭
Away for a few minutes, in the kitchen. Why does it feel like relief? This shit is making Ilya feel like he's being put through a blender. Why? He's not sure. All he knows is it feels like shit and he shouldn't because Shane's right here but, alas, he truly feels like he's in deep shit.
“I've toasted wheat bread and..” he informs as he briefly looks away from the pan to give Shane a smile. “..eggs.”
“Thank you.” Shane drags his feet towards where Ilya is standing. He turns off the stove and silently slips into a tight hug. He breathes through his nose, deep, as he tries to focus.
“Bad dream?” Ilya asks. Rubbing Shane's back soothingly.
Shane feels so small and thus reflects his voice, “Yeah”
“Hmm,” Ilya thinks he feels a small portion of his shirt is wet. These might be tears. “Should I fight the monsters under our bed?”
Shane snorts. He shook his head. “You don't have to,”
“But I can,” there's resolute at the same time softness in his voice “you don't have to force yourself.”
There's a nagging feeling itching inside Shane's being. Ilya's always been here, a solid ground under his feet. Ilya puts his comfort over his. Ilya makes decisions so easily. Ilya willingly moved countries. Ilya agreed to trade team. Why can Ilya instantly put him above himself? And yet, here he is wallowing—thinking only of himself. His turmoil. Him.
“I'm sorry,” Shane whispers as he clings into Ilya tighter.
“I'm here,” Ilya comforts him “you're okay. You're home.”
Shane doesn't respond instead he retreats deep in his thoughts. I think I've caged him and now he's lost two. As much as he is home now, these were the places that helped shape him. A birth place with the fondest memories of his mother and the initial safety from the chaos of life—Russia and Boston.
Ilya shuts his eyes tightly. His thoughts are getting twisted in all sorts of way. He can feel his jaw clenching significantly. Not today. Maybe next time. You can unravel yourself, next time.
⸭ ⸭ ⸭
When you're closed off and it's dark, there are unknowns and some horrors that come with it. Are you afraid of the darkness around you? Or are we afraid of confronting the darkness surrounding us?
What scares you right now, Ilya Rozanov?
What is currently consuming you, Shane Hollander?
I will still be your lifeline. Just keep holding on because I will.