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On a relatively quiet street in Boston stood a small, unassuming florist. Ilya walked by it often on his way to his favorite Thai restaurant but had never gone inside. He didn’t know if he’d ever even thought about florist shops in any situation that didn’t include funerals. This trend would have continued if not for a conversation he'd had three days ago with Hollander.
It started over text, as most of their conversations did. Ilya made some stupid comment about seeing Hollander in March when he responded with something that initially confused Ilya.
Ilya: too bad you won't get to see Boston until next month
Jane: yeah, my heart is breaking
There was a momentary pause, although Ilya could see the three little dots popping up and disappearing, the sign as always that Shane was trying to come up with the right way to say something.
Jane: Did you have big valentine's plans?
Ilya: why would I? Is silly holiday for silly people
Jane: right, yeah
Of course haha
The conversation ended fairly abruptly after that. He'd stared at the screen in confusion. Even after years in North America, he sometimes forgot about February 14th. The holiday wasn't as commercialized in Russia, and as he didn't see the point in pretending he was dating any of the people he fucked for a single holiday, it tended to pass by him unrecognized.
It's not like Hollander ever brought it up in all the years they'd been…doing whatever it is they did either. But some things had changed in the weeks since the all-star game. Things Ilya couldn't be upset about, no matter how much he tried to convince himself they were impossible. Things like the way his heart picked up speed at the idea that Hollander wanted to know what his plans were for a specifically romantic holiday.
And so here he was, standing outside the door of this florist, considering doing something extremely stupid.
A little bell above the door rang as he stepped inside. He did his best to look unassuming, something very difficult for a broad, 6’3” man to do at the best of times, let alone when he was hoping that no one inside this place was a hockey fan. Fortunately, the only person inside was the sales clerk, who looked up from a book he was reading to greet him.
“Hello, welcome in!” The unassuming man said, smiling at him with no recognition. ‘Good’ he thought, wandering inside and trying not to make eye contact with any of the heart balloons scattered throughout the store.
He cleared his throat, wandering up to the register. He tried to keep up a confident appearance, acting as if he knew what he was doing. He definitely did. He wasn’t terrified. He wasn’t about to do something that could blow up in his face spectacularly.
‘Blyat’ he thought to himself.
“Hello,” he said, finally looking at the sales clerk, who was still doing his best to look friendly and not confused at the silent man who had just wandered into his shop.
“Hi,” he said again, before the two men stared silently at each other.
Finally, Ilya cleared his throat, looking around the room and trying to find anything to focus his gaze on.
“I’m looking…I want…” He shook his head, turning back to face forward. ‘Get it together, Ilyusha, this isn’t that difficult.’
“Can I send flowers to someone in another city?”
The sales clerk brightened, beginning to understand what Ilya was here for. “Yes!” He said, smiling. “We just figure out what you want to send, and where it’s going, and then we’ll take care of delivery. Payment is just due before it can be sent.”
“And…” Ilya paused, trying desperately to figure out how to say this without giving too much away. He was enjoying this person not knowing who he was and would like to keep up the illusion of anonymity as long as he could. “It can be done somewhat privately, yes?”
There was a pause, as the sales clerk considered the question. “How so?” He asked, tilting his head at Ilya.
“He is…that is…” Ilya cleared his throat again. This shouldn’t be stressing him so much. “He is public figure. I do not wish to embarrass him, but also I want him to receive them at his work.”
More like, Ilya had to send them to his work, to the arena. He didn’t have another address to send them to, something he wished he’d realized before beginning this terribly awkward conversation. But unless he wanted to send them to the weird sex apartment and hope Shane stopped by to find them in time, he had no other choices. He refused to leave this shop without succeeding.
Hollander had seemed so sad when he told him he didn’t think about the holiday.
“Absolutely,” the sales clerk said, his smile gentling as he seemed to realize how nervous Ilya was. “In a situation like that, we'll notify the front office of a delivery and then have them request that the intended recipient comes out to collect. Does that sound suitable?”
‘No,’ Ilya wanted to say. ‘No, no matter how we do this it won’t be enough. But he deserves this, he will like it.’
He nodded, not knowing how else to respond that wouldn't make this more awkward than it already was.
“Excellent! Now, do you have a certain flower in mind, or do you want to look around a bit?”
Ilya cleared his throat. Of course he had a flower in mind. He even knew a color, because last night as he was panic scrolling on Google for flowers, he'd come across a description of different flower meanings. Normally he would have found it stupid, but when he saw the meaning of this particular type, he knew it was the one. He even knew what flowers he wanted surrounding it.
“Yes,” he said, finally coming fully up to the counter. “I know exactly what I want.”
Ilya just hoped that he wasn’t making a mistake, that he wasn’t being too much. He hoped that Shane meant what he said in a hotel room in Tampa.
*
Shane isn’t sure what to expect when he gets a message from the front of the arena about a delivery for him. He knows he hasn't ordered anything and even if he had he wouldn't have it delivered here. None of the sponsors would send him anything here either.
He walks up to the front desk and sees the nice woman who greets him every morning when he comes in. Her face is always open and friendly, and although she works in a hockey arena she never seems intimidated by all the men around her. She smiles in recognition as she sees his approach, and points to a man standing off to the side. Shane’s confusion isn’t lessened when the man speaks.
“Shane Hollander?”
“Um…I mean, yeah?”
The man nods his head, pulling out a clipboard and asking him to sign on a form, acknowledging himself as the recipient of the package.
“There’s a note attached, but otherwise we were told to ensure this was given straight to you and no one else.”
Shane thinks he nods, thinks he says some sort of ‘thank you” but his eyes have been drawn finally to what it is sitting on the edge of the desk in front of him. He’s still confused, but his heart does a little skip and he can’t help the thought that passes through his mind.
‘Are those from…?’
It's a large bouquet, mostly dominated by bright red flowers, although there are sprinklings of two different, smaller white flowers throughout. Shane approaches it slowly, unsure how to react as his hand reaches out for the card.
“What in the…”
The driver clears his throat. Shane wasn’t aware he was still nearby.
“Right, sorry I almost forgot. There were a couple less common flowers requested in there so I was told to let you know what they are. The little three-petaled ones are trillium and the others are chamomile.”
He hears the woman beside him make a comment about what a strange choice that is for a bouquet. But he’s barely listening, all his focus on the centerpiece of the arrangement.
The driver continues. “And of course the red ones are–”
“Lillies,” Shane whispers, as his sneaking suspicion blooms with a warmth that takes over his entire body. “They're lillies.”
He reaches out to take the note. It's clearly written by the company that delivered them, but he can hear the true writer in his head, voice heavy with accent and the softest thing Shane has ever heard.
‘It is silly holiday. Also boring. But I like boring, probably more than is smart.
I'm ready for next month to come.'
Shane fights to keep his lip from trembling, even as a smile takes over his face. He knows that he nods at the two people standing in front of him. He thinks he says goodbye as he reaches out to take the arrangement, holding it close as he moves to the front door to go to his car.
Nothing feels real except the flowers in front of him. The flowers and the person who sent them.
When he finally opens the passenger door of his car, he stares at the flowers for some time before he decides what he needs to do.
He places the vase gently on the seat and balances it as perfectly as he can, before he pulls his phone out of his sweatpants. Looking at his screen, he gets as close to the bouquet as he can before taking a picture. After taking more shots than was maybe (definitely) necessary, he decides it’s still missing something. He spends far too long editing so the lighting looks just right, so the white of the flowers perfectly contrasts the bright red of the lilies, before he goes to his messages.
Opening up the only conversation he ever really checks, he attaches the photo. He considers adding a message, but he knows only one response will really do.
After he sends it, he stands in front of his car staring at the bouquet for a long time. His heart is beating a rhythm he’s intimately familiar with. It’s been beating that same rhythm for seven years, whether he likes to admit it or not. As he looks at the flowers in front of him, he doesn’t worry about people asking questions. Wondering who sent them.
No, all he can think of is the man he’s left in Boston, who’s waiting to see him again. He knows that the first thing he’ll do when they’re reunited is try to push everything he is feeling right now (everything he isn’t ready to say out loud) into a bruising kiss.
Rozanov better be ready.
He goes back to the photo, and even though a voice in his head tries to talk him out of it, he's smiling as he makes it his lock screen.
*
Later, Ilya will check his phone after practice, seeing first the receipt with confirmation of delivery of his flowers.
Then he'll check his text with Shane. He'll open it up, seeing a photo of the finalized bouquet seeming to shine in some unseen light.
Just underneath the photo, Hollander's message puts a smile on his face and causes a twist in his chest that will follow him for the rest of the day.
Jane: 💜