Chapter Text
Ilya knows he shouldn’t just stand on the sidewalk in front of the hospital. Anyone could take a picture of it and post it online, but he just can’t bring himself to move just yet. He’s tired, he didn’t sleep for a single minute during the night, sitting with his phone in his hand just in case Shane called him.
What if Shane isn’t alright? What if he can’t play hockey ever again because Ilya had been a distraction on the ice? What if Shane is angry at him?
Maybe that would be for the better considering Ilya knows they have to end this, that it’s gone too far and they can’t sustain this without both getting even more hurt. If Shane is angry at him, then it would make the transition - not the break up, Ilya can’t think of this as a break up - easier for both of them.
Ilya wants a cigarette so bad, but smoking before walking into a hospital just feels wrong, not to mention that Shane hates when he smells like nicotine. Ilya pats the pack of cigarette in his pocket, telling himself that he’ll smoke after he’s made sure Shane is alright.
With that, he walks into the hospital and makes his way to the front desk. The woman behind the counter recognizes him immediately and for a moment, Ilya is worried he’s going to get kicked out of the hospital, but the woman still greets him.
“Bonjour, hi,” she says in a monotone tone.
“Da, bonjour,” Ilya replies, the French word feeling strange on his tongue. “I am here to see Shane Hollander.”
“Are you friend or family?” The woman answers even though she clearly knows the answer.
“I am… friend? Coming in to check up on him after injury last night,” Ilya explains. “Is okay if I cannot, I needed to try,” he adds, not wanting anyone to think he feels entitled to seeing Shane.
“You can head on through those doors Rozanov, take the elevator to the third floor. He’s in room 305,” the woman replies, confirming that she knows exactly who is.
“Thank you very much, have good day,” Ilya answers politely and follows the directions that were given to him.
Ilya nervously rubs his index finger and thumb together as he walks down the hall towards Shane’s room. He keeps his head down and prays that there isn’t anyone already in Shane’s room. It’s the beginning of visiting hours, Ilya made sure of it so the chances of running into too many people isn’t too high.
Ilya reaches room 305 and takes a quick look through the window glad to see that Shane is in fact alone inside. With one last deep breath and a look over his shoulder, Ilya ducks inside the room.
“Ilyaaaa,” Shane exclaims happily as soon as Ilya is inside the room. “You’re here!”
“I am,” Ilya replies awkwardly, staying right by the door as he takes a good look at Shane.
His arm is in a sling and he has bruises on his face, marring his beautiful freckles, but overall he looks relatively fine. Yet, Ilya still needs the reassurance. “I just needed - are you okay?”
Shane smiles happily at the question and Ilya can tell he’s happy that he’s come to check up on him. “I’m okay, just a concussion and a fractured collarbone. No more playoffs for me, but…”
“It could have been worse,” Ilya confirms, relieved, but also terrified of what could have happened.
“Marlow feels bad,” Ilya blurts out quickly. “He did not mean to hurt you at all. He is angry at himself and I am angry at him.”
Shane laughs, the medication he’s on clearly making him a bit more woozy and loose compared to usual. “It’s okay, I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s part of the job.”
Ilya wishes it wasn’t part of the job suddenly. Which is stupid, because Ilya loves every single part of hockey, loves that there’s a certain risk from the moment he steps on the ice and that there are genuine stakes when he plays. But he hates that Shane has the same risks as he does, it scares the living shit out of him so much that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He’s already lost so much, he doesn’t have anything left in this world that he truly cares about except from Shane and the idea of not having him makes him feel so sick.
“Heeeyyy, heeeeeyyy,” Shane says loudly and reaches out for Ilya with his good hand, clearly noticing Ilya’s inner turmoil even though he’s high on pain medication.
Ilya hurries to side of the bed, soflty shushing Shane considering he’s being pretty loud and he doesn’t want them to attract anyones attention. The moment Ilya takes Shane’s hand in his, he knows he’s made a grave mistake.
There’s no way he’s letting go now, not when Shane closes his eyes and leans back on his pillows.
“Yesss… better,” Shane announces in a pleased tone, a happy smile gracing his face.
“You scared me,” Ilya admits, squeezing Shane’s hand.
Shane’s eyes crack open and he suddenly frowns, worrying Ilya immediately.
“Are you okay?” Ilya says immediately, his eyes already scanning the room to see where the help button is. “I will get help.”
“No! I’m okay, but you look tired Ilya,” Shane reassures him, tugging on their joined hands so Ilya gets closer. “Did you get hurt too?”
Ilya doesn’t know how to answer that question.
Physically, he walked off the ice in the similar state that he usually does - sore muscles and a few bruises - so he should just answer that he’s fine.
But, Ilya still feels like he got his heart ripped out of his chest and it was taken off the ice on a gurney at the same time as Shane did. He doesn’t know how to tell that to Shane without scaring himself or Shane, nor does he think he has the proper vocabulary in English to explain himself.
“I am okay… tired but okay,” Ilya settles on instead.
It’s not a lie, just a half-truth and it’s the best he can manage for now.
“I’m still angry at Marlow for ruining our night though, I was really excited about it. I had a big plan to ask you something,” Shane babbles adorably. “It’s really important.”
“Then maybe you should wait until you feel better Hollander,” Ily cuts him off, feeling a wave of panic crash into him.
“Please come to my cottage this summer,” Shane asks in a giddy voice. “Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house. We’ll have a week or two together. It will be fun.”
Ilya’s heart breaks into a million pieces because he knows he needs to say no, that he’s already in too deep now that he can’t even pull his hand out Shane’s one. Going to the cottage would mean too much for both of them. And it’s risky, what if someone spots them and tells the press. Shane wouldn’t want that, so Ilya has to say no for both of them.
He can be strong, just like he was for his mother and for his father. Shane needs him to make that decision and he’ll do it.
“We can’t do that, you know we can’t,” Ilya tells him, his voice rougher than he thought it would be.
“Yes we can, it’s private. No one would know,” Shane insists and frowns.
Ilya reaches out on instinct, smoothing out the lines between Shane’s eyebrows with his thumb. He loves Shane’s eyes, the way the skin around them is so soft and peppered by the beautiful freckles Ilya’s been obsessed with since being them for the first time in Saskatchewan all those years ago.
In that exact moment, Ilya knows he’s going to say yes to going to the cottage. He just can’t stand the idea of Shane being sad because of him, not when Shane is the last person in this world he truly cares about.
“You’re too tired to make a decision right now,” Shane says decidedly, weirdly lucid for a person who is dealing with a bad concussion and high on pain medication. “Sit down for a bit and think about it.”
Ilya used to be so good at saying no to people, but then again, Shane isn’t just someone, he’s Ilya’s person now. So Ilya uses his left leg to pull the chair next to the wall closer to the bed so he doesn’t have to let go of Shane hand and sits down.
“Thank you,” Shane says, sounding far too pleased with himself. “I think you’re going to love my jet skis.”
“You have jet ski?” Ilya asks immediately, unable to imagine his boring Canadian jumping waves on a lake.
“Of course,” Shane insists. “I have a boat too, but my parents use it more than me.”
“It sounds nice,” Ilya replies softly instead. “You will be better at your cottage.”
“And you are tired too, so you should also come with me. That way we will both be better,” Shane repeats his offer.
Ilya shakes his head fondly at Shane’s stubbornness, which should probably annoy him, but is somehow making him feel even more endeared to him.
“Once I win Stanley cup again, I will maybe come to your cottage Hollander.”
Shane hums happily and closes his eyes again as he settles into his pillow. Ilya allows himself to take a good look at Shane, hating the way his nose and cheeks are covered in bruises, obscuring his lovely freckles a bit.
Obviously, he should use the opportunity to leave the hospital so Shane can not only properly rest, but also to escape before someone spots him. It’s the logical thing to do, the less risky option that would keep both of them safe from prying eyes.
But Ilya is so, so, so tired.
He hasn’t slept in more than 24 hours—stress and anxiety gnawing at the edges of his mind too much for him to close his eyes—but now, sitting beside Shane, it’s as if the weight of everything begins to melt away. With each breath Shane takes, the tension unravels and for the first time since Shane hit the ice, Ilya feels like he can truly breathe again.
***
Shane is so pleased with himself it’s not even funny. Well everything feels a bit funny right now, his own body feels a bit woozy and floaty, as if he’s not actually in control of it which should probably concern him a little. The nurse explained to him it was just the medication to manage his pain from his fractured collarbone which is nice. Not the fractured collarbone, that is pretty much the opposite of nice since it really hurts and just ended his hockey season, but the fact that he is Ilya next to him even though their whole plan for last night was blown up.
Ilya is asleep right now, his head on the mattress next to Shane’s hip. He looked so tired and worried when he walked into the room, so Shane is so happy to see that Ilya is getting some sleep. It doesn’t look like the most comfortable position to sleep in, but Ilya is still holding onto his hand which feels pretty nice. If his other arm wasn’t stuck in a sling, Shane would be running his fingers through Ilya’s golden curls like he hadn’t really been allowed to do before the All-Star game.
Shane is pleasantly relaxing, when there’s a knock at the door of his room. He frowns instantly and looks down at Ilya, his head spinning a bit as he moves too quickly.
***
“Hey there,” Yuna Hollander says softly as she walks into her son’s hospital room, hoping to see Shane being a bit more lucid than last time.
“Shhhh, you’ll wake him up,” Shane says quickly, a frown on his face.
“Shane, what is going on?” His mother asks cautiously, her eyes landing on the man currently sleeping with his head on her son’s hospital bed.
“He’s sleeping,” Shane answers simply, smiling at his mother. “He was really tired.”
“I can see that honey,” Yuna continues, taking a step towards the bed, clearly wondering who the hell is sleeping in her son’s hospital room.
“I don’t think he slept last night, he worries a lot about me, even if he can’t say it out loud,” Shane tells her as if it explains what’s going on.
Yuna walks around the bed and finally figures out who is their unexpected guest.
Ilya Rozanov is sleeping in her son’s hospital room.
Ilya chooses that moment to startle awake, quickly pushing off the bed to look up at Shane. “Are you okay, do you need nurse Hollander?”
“Rozanov?” Yuna says in bewilderment. “What are you doing here?” She asks him directly, knowing for sure that she won’t get a real answer from Shane.
Ilya stands up quickly, clearly trying to put some distance between them, but Shane keeps a tight grip on his hand.
“Hello,” Ilya says nervously, still trying to tug his hand out of Shane’s one without jostling him too much. “I - I came to look at Shane. Make sure is alright after getting hurt at game.”
Ilya has been face to face with Yuna Hollander one more time before this moment, in an elevator the summer before their rookie year and she had been as scary then as she is now.
“That doesn’t explain why you are sleeping in my son’s hospital room mister Rozanov,” Yuna says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Ilya likes sleeping with me,” Shane says, clearly proud of himself.
Ilya whips around and looks at him with wide eyes, silently pleading for Shane to stop talking before he says things he will regret.
“Excuse me?” Yuna asks, looking at her son this time .
“Why are you both looking at me like that?” Shane asks, looking far too adorable for someone revealing their deepest secret. “You like falling asleep next to me, I can tell.”
“Now is not the moment to talk about this,” Ilya says softly and Yuna realizes that there’s actually something going on between Ilya Rozanov and her son.
“But you do like it, right?” Shane asks, seemingly forgetting that his mother is also in the room.
“You know I do Shane,” Ilya answers, bearing a part of his soul unexpectedly.
“I like it too,” Shane says.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Yuna cuts in, exasperation flooding her voice.
“Is complicated story,” Ilya answers before Shane can say something else. “I am not sure Shane is okay to talk about it. Not like this. Not on drugs.”
Ilya has rarely felt shy or nervous to talk to someone before, but there’s always been something about the concept of Yuna Hollander that scared him. This is the first time he’s officially met her, but of course he’s heard about her before from Shane, but also just generally in the hockey world.
There had been that one time he ran into her in the elevator all those years ago, specifically the day Shane and him had sex for the first time, but Ilya doesn’t want to think about the implications of that for too long right now.
“I don’t do drugs, this is just pain medication. You can ask the nurses,” Shane insists, clearly wanting it to be clear that he’s not doing anything illegal. “I’m not high mom, I promise.”
“I know Shane,” Yuna cuts in, reassuring her son with a smile. “Maybe we should take about this later then.”
“I should go,” Ilya offers after an awkward silence. “Leave you with your mother.” He isn’t sure what Yuna thinks of him right now, not with the way she’s staring him down.
“But… your flight isn’t until tonight,” Shane complains, holding onto Ilya’s hand just a little bit tighter.
“You are sure you have concussion Hollander? You remember very specific things,” Ilya nervously laughs.
“Please stay,” Shane insists and he suddenly looks so sad that Ilya can’t even try to deny him so he sits back down. “Thank you,” Shane breathes out and closes his eyes again.
Ilya then comes to the realization that Shane has just fallen asleep, leaving him alone with his mother. He would be mad at Shane if this was any other context, but Ilya guesses he can let it go this time.
Ilya clears his throat, intending to say something to fill the awkward silence, but Yuna beats him to it.
“He likes you,” Yuna says carefully, sounding very surprised. “A lot.”
Ilya can’t blame her for it, not when she found out in the last minutes that not only her son is gay, but is also in some kind of relationship with his long-term rival.
“I like him too,” Ilya replies softly, unsure of what words could convey the depth of his feelings for the man holding his hand. “Is complicated, but it is us.”
“I don’t understand…Shane’s never… I know my son,” Yuna says.
“He loves you very much. Talks about you and your husband a lot,” Ilya is quick to reassure her, to let her know that Shane never wanted this to be something they fought about. “He will be angry at himself when he wakes up. He is always so careful.”
The man in front of Yuna might look like Ilya Rozanov, but he certainly doesn’t sound like the violent hockey player that chirps more than he talks that Yuna has known on the ice for years. She doesn’t know what to say to him, they’ve never really interacted before, not that Yuna can remember at least.
“How long have you been here?” Yuna asks instead.
“Probably an hour or more,” Ilya replies as he reaches for his phone in his pocket. “I will go now.”
Yuna watches Ilya as he carefully extracts his hand from Shane’s grip. Then he attentively places Shane’s hand back on his belly and adjusts the blanket properly.
“Is nice meeting you, I am sorry for disturbing you,” Ilya says quickly as he pushes away from the bed.
Yuna barely has the time to process what is going on before Ilya has left the room, allowing himself one last look over his shoulder at Shane.
Yuna wonders if she should stop him, make him stay for a while so she can get an answer to all the questions she suddenly has, but Ilya clearly walks as quickly as he skates because when she ducks out the room, he’s nowhere to be seen in the hall.
For now, Yuna is going to focus on what she can, on making sure her son heals properly and is healthy enough to play next season.