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Shane likes Troy. He is genuinely happy that Ilya has found someone he felt comfortable with enough to share such an important part of himself. That however, doesn’t mean that Shane is going to ask for his help. He doesn’t even know why, but he feels like the man will probably judge him, so he’ll look somewhere else.
Deep down he knows that poor Troy Barrett won’t give a flying fuck about how poorly (in Shane’s opinion) Shane handles his relationship with Ilya, but his inner thoughts have almost always won, all his life. This won’t be an exception.
So, Zane Boodram it is. Good, nice Bood, who is always kind and patient at the summer camps.
This is what has got Shane to pace a hole in his kitchen floor, in his Montreal apartment at six in the morning: he has to call Bood. The man will probably make fun of him for the time but Shane knows the Centaurs are on the road and he knows that these men are weirdly, almost pathologically, bad at hiding things from each other when they are in the same room (or bus, or plane). So now, at the crack of dawn, Bood should be alone and Shane’s plan should be safe from prying — read: Ilya’s— eyes.
“Hollander? What–” Bood sputters through the phone, surprising Shane who only wanted to leave a message.
“Oh,” is indeed Shane’s first word. “Fuck,” the second. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I thought you were sleeping!”
Shane has stopped his pacing, suddenly frozen in place, completely out of breath. What is he supposed to do now?
“I was!” Bood is definitely not helping, but Shane can’t blame him.
“I know, fuck–”
Something in Shane’s voice must give away his nerves, because the other man’s tone shifts significantly. “Hey, you okay, man?” He asks Shane, sincerely. “Need something from Rozanov?”
Right. Rozanov. Their captain. Shane’s Foundation cofounder. His everything. The love of his fucking life. That Rozanov.
“Uh, no. No, I… listen, I just wanted to leave a message, didn’t want to wake you. I need a favor.”
Shane audibly gulps, briefly wonders if the other man can hear that. Also hates his life. But that’s not the point now. Now the point is that he wants to be good and give his boyfriend all the love he deserves. So he soldiers on. Even if he has never been more terrified.
“Yeah?”
God bless Zane Boodram because Shane himself is confused and he is the one who knows what this all is about. He’s so thankful for the man…
“I need to, uh, Skype with you all, but– but, without Ilya. Rozanov I mean–”
“You wanna talk to us all without Cap?” Bood quickly lowers his phone to check that Hollander has really called him before it should be humanly acceptable to ask about a secret Skype hangout with his team. Because this feels a lot like a fever dream, or some weird post-concussion hallucination.
Meanwhile… Hollander hums. And keeps going.
“Yeah, I kind of need your help guys.”
Shane, now perched on the edge of his couch, has started to regret all the life choices that have brought him here, to this point. (Except the choice to go shake Ilya Rozanov’s hand twice in less than five minutes, in Saskatchewan, all these years ago.)
Then he thinks and thinks and thinks and there’s a spark in his fried brain. “Look,” he passionately tries to explain. “It’s a surprise. You know, his birthday is coming up, right? And– can you help me? Please.”
He is basically panting by the time the last word is out of his mouth but he thinks he’s justified. He’s about to come out to a whole hockey team. A team that is not even his. As much as he trusts Ilya and Ilya trusts them, this is still nightmare material for Shane.
“Oh, yeah. ‘Course, yeah, absolutely!” Bood enthusiastically replies. He sounds completely awake now and Shane still feels guilty, but there’s not much he can do about the other man’s interrupted sleep so he tries to explain some more and plan. He is still his mother’s son, after all. A good plan is a good idea.
“Okay, so I will, uh, I will send the details for the Skype meeting and you can…” A weird, but good idea comes to Shane. “Is there a chance you could create a group chat without Ilya? I mean… then you could add me too.”
Bood briefly wonders why he has been chosen by Shane Hollander for this. Yeah, he’s been coaching at the Foundation summer camp in Ottawa, but… there’s that. They’ve never really interacted, and if he’s honest, Hollander intimidates him a little. Maybe it’s that three-time Stanley Cup champion aura that he carries around, maybe the fact that he looks like he’s perpetually nervous whenever he is within a five-foot radius of Ilya. Bood really doesn’t know. But that doesn’t matter, he agrees to the group chat thing and goes right back to sleep as soon as menacing Hollander ends the call.
“So, let me get this straight, Shane Hollander, the Shane Hollander, called you at six in the morning, to– conspire against our captain?”
“Are you stupid, Evan?” Bood huffs.
“No, Zane. You are not explaining yours–”
“It’s for Rozy’s birthday! Shane wants to–”
Dykstra’s eyebrow does a weird thing. “Shane? Are you two, what, now, friends?”
“Oh, fuck you, and do the chat thing.”
Dykstra looks at his teammate wondering how he ended up in this situation, after practice, all sweaty and tired, enduring Zane Boodram’s torment.
The chat thing, which consists of Evan creating the group chat, is done in less than ten minutes, and he even manages to explain what they know of the plan to everyone else, so this brings half of the Centaurs team, two days later, to sit on Hayes’ couch, waiting for Shane Hollander to appear via Skype.
“Hey guys, hello, and sorry for the inconvenience.”
That’s the most Canadian thing they’ve ever heard and unsurprisingly also the first thing out of Hollander’s mouth.
The whole room echoes with a synchronized hello, Hollander, which honestly makes Shane chuckle, dissipating some of his tension, but then he is left in charge of the meeting, quite fairly.
Shane clears his throat and is partially glad this is happening through a screen so he can hide his fidgeting from the men in front of him.
“Okay, so, I have to tell you something and I need you to stay quiet until I’m done, okay?” He says in one breath, praying for some kind of lightning to strike him right that second.
“Then, I promise I’ll try my best to answer your questions,” he adds, sincerely.
God, this is the greatest act of love he’s ever done. Ilya better appreciate it. (Shane knows he will. He’s also not regretting it. He’s just downright terrified right now.)
Several Centaurs speak simultaneously, offering a mixture of “yeah,” and “of course,” and “go ahead,” and — honestly Shane’s favorite— “yes, mister Hollander”, coming from Luca Haas.
“Thanks,” Shane mumbles. Then, in a quite ridiculous high-pitched tone: “I’m gay. And Ilya is my boyfriend.”
Well. That’s one way to rip the Band-Aid off. Except he didn’t just rip it off, he shredded it into pieces. Not even the memory of Shane’s dear Band-Aid survived the announcement.
Fuck. Shane is so fucked, so completely, desperately, utterly fucked.
He’s so busy panicking that he doesn’t realize he’s gone quiet for too long, too busy in his own head to realize that he’s only receiving approval and support.
“Mister Hollander?” Ironically, it’s Luca Haas’ voice that brings him out of his catastrophic spiral. Maybe it’s the ridiculous mister Hollander, which makes Shane feel awkwardly like he is his dad and simultaneously laugh.
“Please, just Shane is fine,” is not the first thing Shane thought he’d say after coming out to a bunch of strangers but it actually is.
That’s when he becomes aware of how close he is to crying, of the thick amount of tears that are coating his eyes. When they crinkle, because of Haas’ funny way of addressing him, he feels one tear slip away.
“Shane,” Bood speaks now, maybe because he understands now. The secrecy, the weird morning call, and the strange silences during said call. “It’s okay, alright? Did you hear us?”
Shane can definitely hear the pity. Maybe if he weren’t freaking out, about to fall off his own chair, he’d be pissed off. But he is kind of grateful, if he’s honest.
Is it okay? For real? Has he just come out and the world is still spinning and the house hasn’t crumbled on top of him and the commissioner hasn’t sent him (and Ilya) away from the NHL? Ilya hasn’t been deported and killed in a cold Russian prison (don’t be too hard on Shane, it may not be so likely but it’s still a recurring nightmare of his scared mind).
“Is it?” He can’t help but voice his concern.
“Yeah, ‘course man,” someone tells him, even too excitedly if one were to ask Shane. And he chuckles slightly, drying the few tears that managed to escape him.
Then, to his complete surprise and disbelief, someone literally shrieks.
“I fucking love you, Hollander!”
It’s Hayes. God, goalies are really weird. Shane has never paid much attention to the saying but they really are one of a kind.
“What?” He laughs lightly, among the commotion that is coming from the other side of his laptop.
Someone has just elbowed Hayes in the ribs, judging by his pained squeal. “Fuck, hey!”
“You’re weird man.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Roz is gonna kill you?”
“You trying to steal Cap’s boyfriend?”
“Ehm… guys?” Shane shyly reminds them that he’s actually there with them, clearing his throat. Amusement is slowly replacing anxiety and he thinks he can finally see why Ilya loves these guys.
“Sorry, Hazy is weird,” Troy mutters.
“Hey! I’m not!” Hayes tries to defend himself, eliciting one honest and deep laugh from Shane.
“I’m just saying,” he further explains, “that he is the reason we have Rozy, guys!”
He’s looking around, trying to get his teammates to understand how awesome this is, how fucking fantastic this revelation is. And Shane understands, so he laughs, until someone else— he genuinely can’t figure out who— asks: “Really?”
He slowly nods. Smiling softly because he can’t stop thinking about how much Ilya has given up for him. “I never asked him to, but yeah, and I’ve been…” Shane explains.
“He moved to Ottawa so we could be closer, and I have– I haven’t been a good boyfriend. He wanted to come out to you, he even offered to introduce me as just his friend and I’ve–” Shane feels his eyes get glassy again but he manages to hold back the tears. “I’ve been too scared, and we had this huge fight, and…”
He loses himself in the painful memory of the day he really feared for the future of his and Ilya’s relationship, but then decides that they don’t care about their relationship drama; they can ask Ilya anyway, if they want.
“Anyway, I asked to talk to you because I want to throw him a surprise birthday party and I was wondering if you would want to help? To come? Maybe we can answer your questions then, together.”
Shane briefly remembers the day he asked Ilya to come to his cottage from a hospital bed and suddenly wishes he were high. On any kind of drug, honestly. Just— someone please maybe get him drunk. Or knock him out with a good hit on the head. He’ll feel better.
He’s surprised when he’s met with a cacophony of excited screaming that basically conveys the same thing: they are on board. They will help Shane and Shane will probably manage to do something nice for his boyfriend who has done so much for him.
So he can happily hang up after going through a detailed list of things to do. The last thing they said was something along the lines of “you are not getting out of answering aaaaall the questions, though!” And he can’t stop the goofy grin that pops up on his face when he opens the chat.
He ends up calling Ilya just because he wants to tell him that he loves him so much, and because he misses his voice and because he wishes he could be in Ottawa now, and hug him and kiss him and show him exactly how loved he is. And he even has to feign surprise when his boyfriend tells him that he is outraged, because apparently Bood organized a team hangout at Hayes’ and forgot to mention that to his captain.
“To his own Captain, Shane? Do you understand?” He says, dramatic and so completely serious. “My own flesh and blood… betrayed me.”
He huffs and Shane finally erupts in a loud and happy laugh. “You have to stop using this phrase, it’s weird,” he reminds Ilya.
“Your father taught me that, Shane.”
“Yeah, but your teammates aren’t your children,” Shane retorts.
“No, and that’s why they will do bag skates tomorrow. All practice!”
Shane can picture the look on his boyfriend’s face so perfectly that he almost misses him less now, he can’t stop laughing. Love overflows his body.
Eventually, he sends a text to the secret group chat.
Sorry guys
And then another.
For the bag skates…
Shane looks at his phone, half regretting the moment he had this idea, half relieved, because the only headache he is getting is coming from the complete inability that these men present when it’s time to organize something, not from their homophobia.
He sighs and opens the chat.
Today they’ll sort everything out. He’s made up his mind. He’ll talk, they’ll listen (and agree).
Centaurs (Mister Hollander’s)
Young
I hate to be that guy but
Hayes
You ARE that guy
Young
Fuck you
Hollander, where are we celebrating?
Haas
Cap is gonna find out
Just saying
I’m telling you
No he won’t
You shut up
Bood
Shane
Luca is looking terrified
I see him
Good
Bood
Oooooh Haasy
Mister Hollander is coming for you
Stop this mister thing.
It’s weird.
Young
There’s punctuation guys
He’s pissed
Also, what’s the location?
Dykstra
Can I bring the music Hollzy?
LaPointe
Can we call him Hollzy?
Can we call you Hollzy? @Shane
Party at Ilya’s
Unless you all want to travel to Montreal
But I think it would be… complicated
So Ilya’s house
LaPointe
Can we?
Bood
Guys you’re so embarrassing
All of you
Dykstra
Fuck you
LaPointe
Fuck you Boo
Bood
Bood*
LaPointe
No, Boo. Cause you’re a party pooper. I’m booing.
Focus
Please
I’ll keep Ilya outside all day
Unless you wanna keep him busy
So I could decorate the house
Yeah, let’s do this. I wanna decorate
It has to be me
You’ll keep him busy
Bood
Okay, but how? It’s his birthday
He already said he won’t be AVAILABLE
Dykstra
I asked who taught him that word
He told me he’s playing scrabble twice a week lol
I don’t believe him
Yeah with my dad
Not the point
Dykstra
Oh no
Cap is playing scrabble with old Hollander (no offense)
I need pictures
If you behave, I’ll send one
Young
See? That’s how Montreal won 3 cups
Bood
Yeah he’s scary
FOCUS
Sorry…
Keep him out of the house
We need something he can’t say no to
Bood
That would be you, I think
I’m not available
Dykstra
God they’re like
Really married
Look
Not available
Shane completely ignores the last messages but secretly smiles. He appreciates that his relationship with Ilya is apparently something that makes sense to people. He kind of loves having people to talk to about Ilya.
Centaurs (Hollzy’s)
DOGS!
@Barrett
Where is Barrett?
Young
Last seen with Harris
So…
Oh so no hope
Haas
You’re funny, Shane
Hayes
Ohhhh SHANE
not mister anymore, Hollzy
LaPointe
Still don’t know if we can call him Hollzy
Yes, Hollzy is fine
You’ll tell Ilya that Harris wants to throw him a party with all the dogs and Ilya will come
Barrett
What dogs? Harris?
Haas
Ohhh he rises
Barrett
Shut up Haasy
@Shane what do we do?
Oh, Shane can finally relax then.
He’s talked to Ilya’s teammates, he’ll explain what they need to do to keep Ilya busy on his birthday, and they’ll agree. He just needs to pretend he has some meeting to attend in the morning so that his boyfriend won’t feel bad for leaving him alone and then he needs to call Svetlana, even if he’s almost sure she won’t be able to make it.
And maybe Hayden. And then he’ll tell his parents. And then he’ll find approximately a thousand different birthday decorations. (And that still won’t be enough.)
He can do it. He’s one of the best hockey players in history. He’s a captain. Grown men listen to him for a living. He can do anything, especially if it’s for Ilya.
Shane is now talking to himself. Specifically, he’s repeatedly saying that he can, under no circumstances, do anything. Truth be told, he’s pretty sure he can’t do anything. Captaincy and Stanley Cup aura (thanks for the mention, Haas) be damned.
And he couldn’t even get his parents or Hayden to help, so here he is, talking to himself alone in Ilya’s house, while he waits for a guy to deliver four helium tanks.
Maybe he went a little overboard.
Scratch that.
He went more than a little overboard. So overboard that he’ll probably fly away if he grabs on to all the balloons he’s about to blow up for the party.
But he doesn’t care. Ilya deserves to be happy. Ilya deserves to be so happy that Shane is sure he could spend his whole life figuring out ways to make him happy and still feel like it isn’t enough. If Shane could find a way to pack the whole world, put it in a nice box, and hand it to his boyfriend, he would.
But as he can’t, he focuses on all the things he can actually accomplish. Like the greatest birthday party of Ilya’s life.
Shane will never forget the look on Ilya’s face while telling him “the last person who celebrated my birthday was my mama, so it’s okay Shane, I am used to it…” last year when they were separated on Ilya’s birthday and Shane was distraught that he couldn’t celebrate with Ilya, properly, on the exact day he was born. With him. Not through the phone or some social media post.
Nothing about that was okay, in Shane’s personal and completely biased opinion. How did people have Ilya in their lives and not celebrate him? Fuck them. Shane will spend the rest of his life worshipping the ground his boyfriend walks on. How could he be okay with not throwing him a birthday party now that they openly love each other?
Anyway, by the time Helium Guy (weird way to save someone’s number in your phone, but it stays between Shane and his contacts list) comes back to retrieve the empty tanks, Shane has filled the whole ground floor ceiling with colorful balloons. There’s not a single speck of white paint that can be visible from the floor, and he even took the time to tie a matching string to each balloon, so when people walk around, their heads will be tickled by a series of colored threads.
He’s observing his handiwork when his phone rings, making him panic instantly.
Luckily, it’s just his mom who has gone to retrieve the cake, and is about to get home.
“Shane, honey, you’re going to have a heart attack if you don’t take a deep, deep breath,” she carefully reminds her son.
“I know.” Shane sighs. “That doesn’t help, anyway.”
She knows that adding anything would be useless so eventually she hangs up and heads to the house.
“Mom! Come in!” Shane shoos her inside, irrationally scared to see Ilya turn up out of the blue, spoiling his surprise.
“I am trying, Shane. Maybe if you could help me with these ten thousand pounds of cake, we’d move fast,” she reminds him.
This cake is huge. It’s honestly ridiculous. But Shane doesn’t think it’s enough. Ilya is worth so much more than a big cake.
(It’s not a big cake. It’s huge. But Shane won’t acknowledge it.)
“Tell me I’m not seeing a list, Shane.” Yuna is pleading, at this point. Because on the table in the living room, there’s a goddamn list, with bullet points and all. The details increase with each point too. It’s honestly concerning. She fears she’s created a monster— affectionately, of course.
“What?” Shane feigns nonchalance. Or, worse, he really doesn’t think this is too much. “You make lists all the time!”
Yuna is baffled. “Yeah, to manage your hockey career,” she deadpans.
“So? I’m managing my boyfriend’s birthday,” Shane retorts firmly, before going back to the decorations and checking things off the list.
Yuna is left to supervise the food order delivery and the different appetizers that Shane has bought diligently avoiding the diet ghost voice lingering around the back of his mind. She can only roll her eyes. But deep down, she understands. And she loves both boys.
“This was such a bad idea, he’s gonna hate me, and leave, and– or, he’ll kick us out. Fuck. What have we done?”
Shane is panicking when it’s time for Ilya to come back from his day out with the team; the same team that is coming up with the weirdest excuses ever to get to the house before Ilya himself. He’s lucky that Hayden is already with him, waiting patiently for the others to arrive and uselessly trying to calm him down.
“Shane,” he sighs, trying briefly to recall a moment when Shane has ever been this nervous before playoff games. He doesn’t seem to remember. “He’s gonna love it.”
“How do you know? What if– what if he didn’t want them to know?”
“Shane, it was him who wanted them to know. He’s probably been moping all day because you weren’t with him, come on.”
Hayden pins him with a glare, but Shane is unrelenting.
“What if the cake sucks?”
Hayden laughs. “He’d eat cow shit if you gave it to him, Shane.”
“Disgusting.”
Hayden wonders how long they’ll have to play this game where Shane lists all the irrational things that could go wrong and he tries to reassure him. But he doesn’t have to wait for long because soon the house fills with Ottawa Centaurs players.
Anya, bless her, is so excited to greet all these people, that Shane is relieved. Because they are all busy smothering her with affection and kisses so he can avoid having big conversations with them.
It probably helps that Anya is wearing a pink shirt that says happy birthday, and a sparkly cone-shaped party hat.
Ilya loses his shit the moment he walks inside and nobody notices him. He manages to put the code in and open the door without anyone noticing because there’s so much noise. Everyone is busy talking to Shane, to Hayden or Yuna, or— fuck, David is there as well— or too busy petting Anya and playing with her, that for a few seconds no one sees him hovering awkwardly in the doorway.
Shit. This— the whole— the whole house is covered in balloons and there are garlands and colorful, glittery bunting that Ilya is sure Shane must have gotten in some kids store. He doesn’t know any words to describe the feeling. And he can’t blame it on the language barrier. In fact, he’s probably forgotten Russian completely.
What’s happening? Why— oh. All of his teammates are here, in his house, mingling and talking to Shane and— oh. Oh fuck.
His eyes water before he can beg them not to. Tears start cascading down his cheeks before he can even think about controlling them. Shane’s eyes find his as soon as he takes his shoes off. And in a second flat, his boyfriend is in his arms, hugging him tightly but gently at the same time. As if Ilya could ever want to go away.
Shane hasn’t spoken yet, but Ilya can hear his heartbeat thumping loudly over the silence that has descended upon the room.
Everyone must have seen him, by now.
“Shane,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and broken.
He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what his guys know about him and Shane. What has Shane done? What can he do?
Shane decides for both of them, kissing his head again and again, and then his temple, holding his face carefully, and then kissing all over his face making him giggle like a little kid.
“Happy birthday, Ilya.”
It comes out like a question, because Shane is still a little bit unsure and he’s still drying the tears from Ilya’s face but then the room erupts in a cacophony of applause, hollering and various forms of “Happy birthday”, and Ilya’s grin has never been so bright, and there’s snot over his upper lip when Shane shifts to his right so that he can take the room in, and it’s… the most beautiful sight Shane has ever been blessed with. And Shane is only human, so he has to lean forward and kiss him. Even if it’s just a short and sweet kiss.
Suddenly, Ilya finds himself only able to mutter the word fuck. Between laughter and happy sobs.
“Shane.”
And Shane. Yeah.
Shane is always at the forefront of his mind, but right now, Ilya would fuse them together if he could. Never, ever risking letting go.
“Yeah?” Shane smiles, sheepishly. His cheeks are so red that his freckles are barely noticeable and Ilya loves him so much that his whole chest aches.
“Shane.” He’s pleading. His voice is imploring his boyfriend to understand that this is so much, this is too much, this is all the things he’s never had before.
“Is this okay?” Shane asks, though, shy, unsure.
“Okay?” Ilya’s voice trembles. So do his hands. “Shane, fuck you.”
He starts sobbing, hiding his face in Shane’s neck. Wrapping himself around Shane like vine clings to the wall of an old, abandoned house. Shane chuckles and pets his curls as if he were a sad, inconsolable child.
Luca Haas breaks the silence. “Well, that’s not very kind, Cap,” he halfheartedly mutters, making everyone laugh.
“Haasy, shut up.”
Hayes decides they can break the ice this way: bantering. “Haasy has been calling Shane Mister Hollander for days, Roz,” he says, barely holding back laughter.
“Mister Hollander?”
Ilya resurrects from his personal alcove in Shane’s chest just to obnoxiously laugh in his rookie’s face. Shane almost feels bad for him.
And he can’t stop. Ilya can’t stop laughing and while it should be concerning, Shane knows that he’s simply feeling too much, without knowing what to do with these feelings.
When most of the commotion has died down, they decide to move the party to the living room, instead of lingering in the doorway like idiots (Ilya’s words).
Ilya hugs Yuna and David, surprisingly hugs Hayden, and Jackie, then hugs the kids. He loves Hayden’s kids. Maybe if they get him drunk enough (which is impossible, if you ask him— Russians do not get drunk!)— he’d even say he loves Hayden too. Then he moves through the room, greeting each and every single teammate of his, clapping shoulders, hugging, shaking hands, everything while his eyes are shining with grateful tears.
And then— then, when he has decided he won’t cry anymore, because he’s Russian and it’s just a birthday party etcetera etcetera, his eyes find the huge paper banner that Shane has draped over the couch, on the wall behind it.
It reads HAPPY BIRTHDAY ILYA in huge letters and under it, in smaller characters: you are loved. It’s Shane’s handwriting. Shane spent his time writing and coloring these huge, ridiculous letters for him.
Ilya nearly collapses on the spot. Opening and closing his mouth like a baby fish, trying to grasp the air that seems so determined to escape him, he slowly turns around to find Shane. He needs Shane to keep him upright.
“Hey.” One of Shane’s hands is instantly on Ilya’s back. And suddenly breathing is easier again, with Shane’s warmth and presence beside him.
“Shane,” Ilya wetly chuckles. “Fuck. I love you so much, I love you so much, Shane,” he nearly cries again, mouthing the words against Shane’s cheek, most likely grossing out the man in the process.
Shane holds him steadily, hugs him a bit tighter, his chest glued to Ilya’s side. “Yeah? I love you, too, yes?” cheekily he says, smiling big and happy.
“Shane.”
“Ilya,” Shane obliges gently.
“You did this for me.”
Shane smiles, distantly aware that his boyfriend has never shown such a visceral reaction before.
“I did,” he nods, cupping one of Ilya’s cheeks in one hand while the other pats Ilya’s ribcage over his shirt.
Ilya shakes his head and hides again in the crook of Shane’s neck. Things have changed but Ilya’s tendency to hide his vulnerability is still there. Maybe Shane will never get Ilya to completely believe that showing his feelings isn’t weakness, but it’s okay, he’ll remind him every time.
Both of Ilya’s arms are squeezing Shane’s middle, and Shane is pretty sure that his boyfriend is currently smelling him, sniffing his neck like a puppy would do with his mother, and the thought makes him chuckle, but Ilya doesn’t seem interested in moving away any time soon.
It’s Bood, quite unsurprisingly, that interrupts the moment.
“Hey you guys,” he calmly says, approaching them with a glass full of some pinkish liquid that Yuna brought over together with the cake and Shane doesn’t seem to recognize. It’s bubbly, maybe alcoholic— whatever, Shane doesn’t need to know.
“Bood,” Ilya nods, finally pulling away from Shane’s embrace. “Thank you for coming,” he honestly murmurs. It’s the first time his team sees him so emotional, but he’s found out that he doesn’t care so much. As long as no one brings it up for the foreseeable future. He’ll make sure to threaten them all.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Roz,” Bood honestly retorts. Then, with a head nod that indicates Shane, he adds, “So brave, this boy of yours.”
It’s so honest, so kind, that Shane’s eyes fill with tears. He coughs a little, but says nothing. How could he?
Ilya, on the other hand, beams and seems to know exactly what to say. He grips Shane’s bicep while talking.
“Yes, my Shane is very brave. Even if he’s scared,” he proudly declares, and then, as he is the biggest softie in the history of mankind, turns slightly to caress Shane’s head, stroking his dark hair while Shane feels like collapsing under the attention.
“I’m not,” he stubbornly mumbles, and Bood wants to scream because he swears he’s just witnessed the great Shane Hollander pout.
“You two are so cute,” instead he says, with a childlike glee in his voice.
“I am Russian. I cannot be cute, Bood,” Ilya immediately retorts, though. But then he grins and places his hand back in Shane’s hair. “Shane is really cute, though. My Shane is the cutest!”
Shane wishes he were stronger. If he were, he would slap his boyfriend’s hand away, telling him to stop petting him and referring to him like he would address Anya, but he is a weak, weak man when it comes to Ilya Rozanov, so he can’t help but snort and chuckle, eventually leaning more and more of his weight on the other man.
Dykstra seems to have listened to part of the conversation, because exactly when Bood wants to say something, he intervenes.
“I didn’t know Cap was such a sap, oh my God! Guys, come see!” He gleefully encourages their teammates to come up to them and witness Rozanov’s sweet side.
“What is sap, Hollander?” Ilya scrunches up his nose and asks Shane, who would just eat him whole (he is so cute, Russian and all).
“Like, disgustingly romantic? Maybe a fool?”
Ilya frowns. “Did Dykstra call me stupid?”
Shane laughs. “No, Ilya. It’s like– when someone is so in love that they act a bit foolish with their… lover,” he explains, putting a special emphasis on the word lover, enjoying the way his boyfriend’s eyes crinkle with joy.
He kisses his forehead for a split second, just because he can.
“Ah,” Ilya finally understands, cheeks flaming red despite Russians not blushing. “I, how you say, contain multiples. Shane tells me always.”
Everyone laughs, not in a mean or unkind way, and Shane is sure that he’s about to burst at the seams with all the love that is flowing through his veins.
“It’s multitudes, Ilya. I contain multitudes,” he gently corrects.
Then, because he can’t help himself, he leans towards Ilya’s face and smiles. And “Ya tebya lyublyu,” says, against his cheek.
“Ah!” Ilya points a finger at him, simultaneously trying to get everyone’s attention and faking his most outraged look ever.
“Listen to this! This… horror, this terrible, obnoxious accent!”
“He doesn’t know sap but he knows obnoxious?” Luca Haas asks, in the middle of the laughter that bubbles up around the house, eliciting more laughter and another fake groan from his captain.
“This is huge! Shane, what did you do?”
Ilya’s voice exudes horror, which is his obvious attempt at pissing his boyfriend off, but his eyes betray him. They are shining, and suspiciously glassy. And they stay like that, for as long as the cake stays in front of him.
His jaw literally dropped as soon as Shane walked into the room carrying this enormous, three-tier cake. He almost couldn’t see Shane, behind it. And his heart started doing somersaults, and hasn’t stopped its strange little gymnastics since.
“I did nothing. Your favorite pastry shop made this cake, though,” Shane tells Ilya, deeply satisfied with himself, feigning innocence.
“Hollander you are–” Ilya pauses because he has to keep the tears in check. He can’t cry again. This is ridiculous.
“Fuck you,” he petulantly says, from his spot behind the cake, ready to get ten dozen photos taken.
Everybody laughs, Shane smiles softly, and shakes his head fondly.
“Stop complaining, Rozanov, eat the cake.”
“I cannot eat the cake, Shane. Photos!” Ilya gestures for him to take the photos and for everyone else to join him in the frame; meanwhile, a bright, almost manic grin spreads across his face.
Yuna kisses his head, and Shane captures the moment with a lump in his throat which somehow resembles the size of the cake. But Ilya doesn’t seem to notice, at least until later that evening.
“Shane.”
It’s way past midnight when Shane is trying to tidy up the room as much as possible before going to sleep, and Ilya is lounging on the couch, despite his many complaints (because my birthday was yesterday, Shane! Is midnight, but in Russia it’s still yesterday so shut up, Ilya), when the Russian boy speaks, catching Shane’s attention.
“What?” Shane freezes midway to the kitchen, with a stack of dishes in his hands. Ilya’s tone is different, he sounds emotional, and that is not something Shane wouldn’t expect, but he also sounds sad.
“Can you,” Ilya gestures widely in his direction, “drop the dishes and come here?”
Shane chuckles, “I don’t really wanna drop them, but yeah,” teases. It’s only when he finally plops down on the couch next to his boyfriend that Shane realizes how glassy Ilya’s eyes are.
“Hey, it’s okay.” What? Shane wonders but doesn’t say. What needs to be okay? I’ll make sure it is. For you, I will.
“Look,” Ilya tells him, in a broken, shaky voice. And then puts his phone in Shane’s hands, where the photo with Yuna takes up all the screen.
“Oh.” Shane honestly doesn’t know what to say. Is Ilya disappointed? Sad? Does he think Yuna overstepped by kissing his head? Shane loves planting soft kisses between Ilya’s curls, loves to hide there, until his nose is scratching the scalp slightly, ever so gently, almost reverently.
He stiffens a little, hoping that Ilya can’t notice. Then, because his entire life seems to revolve around this simple act, he touches Ilya’s face, cupping his cheek in one of his hands. Guiding Ilya’s eyes to meet his.
“Hey, talk to me. Please… are you okay?”
Ilya’s chin wobbles and Shane hates, absolutely hates that he has to see the man that he loves cry so much. He would take all the pain in the world if it meant that Ilya didn’t have to shed a single tear anymore.
“Are you… sad?” Then he asks, prodding him.
Ilya, bless him, sniffs and then throws himself into Shane’s embrace, hiding in Shane’s lap, while Shane holds him.
“I miss my mama.”
Shane is sure that if one could die from a broken heart, he would be six feet under at this point.
What does he say now? What could anyone possibly say to soothe the deepest of wounds? Once a soul starts bleeding, it never stops, no matter how much we want to pick up the pieces. Ilya’s heart is in pieces and Shane feels like throwing up whenever he remembers that there’s nothing for him to do, to make the pain more bearable. He can’t carry Ilya’s grief. He’ll try to hold him when he’s tired.
He could say that he is sorry. He could say that he wishes Ilya still had a family, one that shared blood with him, one that watched him learn how to walk and then grow and become the amazing man that he is now. He could say that he hates Ilya’s father, and brother too. What he does, instead, is tighten his hold and ask a question that he’s never given himself permission to ask.
“Will you tell me about her?”
Ilya’s sharp and sudden breath is a clear indication that he wasn’t expecting this at all, and Shane hopes that he hasn’t upset him, after such a nice day.
“She was… she was funny.”
Yeah, Shane remembers that. Ilya has told him more than once already. He wonders how funny she really was and how much of this is just a little boy’s projection. He desperately wishes he could have an answer, could laugh with her and her son.
“I mean…”
Shane speaks before his brain can catch up. “Tell me something funny she used to do? With you maybe?” He asks.
And Ilya, at that, turns around, so that now he’s lying in Shane’s lap but is facing him. He’s never been held like this. It’s nice. He wiggles to situate himself better on the couch cushion so that Shane doesn’t have to carry all his weight and starts talking.
“You wanna hear about my mama?”
“Always. Whenever you want to talk about her, I always wanna hear, okay? You can even call me. I’m serious.”
“Shane, I think I will cry again.” Ilya is so serious when he announces that, that Shane chuckles a little. Maybe he can see what Ilya means when he describes his mom. Maybe she would be exactly like him, if she were here. Maybe he is exactly like her.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” he seriously reassures him, while a thumb is already brushing his cheek, waiting for the moisture Shane is sure he’s about to find.
“She played with me. Nobody else played with me.”
Shane closes his eyes, trying to picture the precious moment his boyfriend is sharing with him.
“We played hide and seek. All the time. She always said ne podglyadyvay, Ilyusha. Schitay do sta!”
Ilya’s Russian washes over Shane like the softest balm, coating every single crack of his soul. He wishes he could understand Ilya. He is trying to learn, but it’s so, so difficult and Shane feels so stupid every time. However, Ilya chuckles wetly and translates for him.
“That means do not peak Ilyusha, count to one hundred!” He singsongs, and the look in his eyes is far away and nostalgic, trying to grasp a particular flavor of fun that is now unattainable, but despite all that, Shane latches onto a particular piece.
“Ilyusha?” Shane whispers, cradling his boyfriend’s head in one hand, drawing nonsensical patterns behind his ear.
Ilya’s heart literally stops beating for a second. Despite having been the one to repeat the name twice, hearing Shane call him Ilyusha is probably the most emotional moment of Ilya’s life. Ever since his mother passed away anyway.
“Hm…” he gulps twice, luckily managing to keep the tears at bay. “Mama called me Ilyusha. Always…”
Shane tilts his head, distinctly noting that Ilya is becoming blurry. They are a fucking mess. God. He’s exhausted.
“Can,” Shane clears his throat, “can I do that? Sometimes? Call you Ilyusha?”
“Shane…”
Suddenly, Ilya sounds so serious. Shane is sure he’s overstepped, sure that he’s hurt his boyfriend.
“Yeah?”
“I want to marry you,” Ilya says seriously. He’s never sounded more serious and Shane is pretty sure he’s about to have a cardiac arrest.
“Right now?” His eyes are as big as the whole province of Ontario.
Ilya laughs, caressing Shane’s face in turn. “Not right now, Shane,” he rolls his eyes, playfully. “I will ask very politely, and you will say yes because you are polite Canadian with freckles and love me.”
Hell yeah, Shane thinks, while his heart races and his hands slightly shake.
“Oh, really?” He challenges jokingly. Also wondering how his freckles affect his politeness.
“Hmm, you want to call me Ilyusha. You love me.” Ilya looks smug. Saying that Shane loves him so matter-of-factly that Shane can breathe a little bit easier. Maybe he did something good if the other man believes he is loved.
“I do,” Shane smiles. Solemnly nodding.
But Ilya waves him off with the flick of his wrist. “Not now, Hollander, that is for wedding day, I told you,” he very seriously tells Shane.
Shane smacks him on the head, mischievously matching his boyfriend’s antics.
“Shut up, Ilyusha.”
That puts an end to Ilya’s false irritation and annoyance. His eyes are shining bright, once again, but this time, Shane can only see happiness and peace in them. And then, while they play fight to the point that they end up on the floor, tickling each other without any mercy, Shane thinks that, yes, he understands. He understands exactly how funny Irina Rozanova must have been. He’s sure he can hear her laughter, see her eyes shine, and dance with mischief. He’ll make sure he loves her son on her behalf, too.