Archive of Our Own

David Hollander likes to think of himself as a rational man. It’s something Yuna has said she likes about him— that he’s reasonable, that he’s thoughtful and considerate and thinks outside whatever box she seems to find herself stuck in. He thinks things through— even when there seems to be no rational explanation possible, there is one, and David will find it.

And yet.

He’s standing in the doorway of his home, staring at one Ilya Rozanov, and there doesn’t seem to be an explanation in sight.

It’s awkward. Rozanov looks almost shy, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, his eyes shining. He looks small, like he’s looking up at David even though they’re more or less the same height. David knows he’s twenty-six, same as Shane, but he looks so young, like he’s lost and just happened upon the Hollanders’ doorstep, like this is some bizarre coincidence.

“Hello,” David says finally, looking at him some more. Rozanov looks away, at the ground for a brief moment. “Uhm.”

“Sorry,” Rozanov says inexplicably, like he’s done something wrong. “I, uhm. Is Shane here?”

David blinks.

“No,” he says slowly. Rozanov nods a little. His throat bobs as he swallows, and he kind of looks like he’s going to cry. David’s never been more confused in his life, but he can’t help the strange instinct to take Rozanov into his arms and tell him he’ll be okay. “Uhm, would you like to…”

He steps aside, holding the door open, gesturing inside, and Rozanov hesitates for a moment before he nods and steps through the threshold. He toes his shoes off and nudges them aside, lining them up carefully to match the rest of the shoes by the door. David watches curiously.

He follows him inside. Watches as Rozanov stands uncomfortably in the genkan, shoulders almost at his ears, tense.

Yuna is in the kitchen, at the sink, pouring coffee into her favourite mug. She’s wearing her Stay At Home clothes— some stripey pajama pants and a t-shirt stolen from David’s side of the wardrobe. She doesn’t like being seen in these clothes, so much so that David always answers the door if there’s a delivery or an unexpected knock. Which is maybe why Yuna looks so startled when David and Rozanov step into the room— or maybe it’s just because it’s Rozanov.

“Oh,” Yuna says lightly, setting the coffee pot down and turning to look at them, wrapping her cardigan around herself more tightly. “Hello.”

“I am— I am sorry to… impose,” Rozanov says awkwardly, his voice choppy. “I am waiting for Shane.”

Yuna nods, staring at Rozanov like David had before her eyes glance at David, who mouths a silent but emphatic I don’t know over Rozanov’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Yuna says slowly, nodding again. “Uh, he should be home…”

She trails off. They don’t know when he should be home. He’s out with Hayden and the kids.

Yuna shakes her head a little.

“Would you like some coffee while we wait?” she asks instead of trying to fill the end of the sentence. “It’s a fresh pot.”

“Ah, I…” Rozanov eyes the pot like it’s a live explosive. “I should not have caffeine. But thank you.”

“What about some herbal tea?” Yuna asks, ever the hostess. “Shane keeps leaving them here, we have lots to choose from.”

Rozanov accepts somewhat tentatively, and David watches in awe as he and Yuna look through the tea cabinet together, talking quietly. As Rozanov scans the boxes, David catches the looks Yuna gives him, glancing over her shoulder at him curiously before she looks up at Rozanov. Her eyes soften on him, and her curiosity shifts to vague concern, like she can feel it too, the odd energy surrounding him.

It’s a childish energy, like he’s regressed somehow. Like he’s shy.

He picks vanilla peppermint tea. Yuna prepares it for him while he waits quietly, looking at the ground.

“We were just gonna watch reruns of the Admirals’ last game,” David says finally, watching Rozanov’s hands reach for the mug as he ducks his head. Rozanov looks up at him, eyes wide. “Wanna join us?”

Rozanov nods, holding the mug to his face, letting the steam waft over him.

“I will never pass opportunity to make fun of Scott Hunter,” he says almost solemnly, and it startles a laugh out of David as he leads him to the living room.

Yuna lingers in the kitchen, watching as her husband and Ilya Rozanov sit on the sofa in the living room. It’s a bizarre sight.

She watches for a moment longer, arms crossed over her chest, cardigan tucked tight. Rozanov sits against the armrest, feet flat on the floor, back straight, awkward and stiff. He looks small.

Yuna feels the odd urge to wrap a blanket around him and guide him to curl up comfortably instead of sitting like this, like he’ll get in trouble for relaxing.

She steps away and finds her phone to call Shane.

He answers fairly quickly, like he usually does.

“Hey, Mom.”

His voice is punctuated by the slightly muffled sound of one of the twins screaming joyfully. He sounds like he’s laughing. Yuna vaguely hears Hayden in the background, yelling something.

“Hi, honey, uhm…”

“What’s up?” Shane asks, his voice steadying a little like he can hear the unsteadiness in Yuna’s own. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, uhm. Ilya Rozanov is here?”

Silence.

Except for one of the girls squealing and Hayden singing something.

“...Shane?”

“He’s at your house?” he asks, his voice suddenly small, a little hushed.

“Yeah, he just— showed up,” Yuna says quietly, gesturing toward the genkan like Shane can see her. “He asked if you were home, but—”

“Has he said anything else?” Shane asks abruptly. “Hayden.”

“No, he—” Yuna’s stomach twists, and she tucks her arm around herself, glancing out the window. “Shane, what’s going on?”

“Hayd, I have to go, come on,” Shane says, his voice a little distant before it returns to the phone. “I— I’ll explain later, Mom, okay? Just— Just keep him company, don’t let him leave. I’ll be there— soon. I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up.

Yuna lowers her phone and looks at the screen. Twenty-seven seconds. Maybe the record for their shortest phone to date.

She exhales slowly, clicking her phone off and setting it on the counter before she shifts, peering into the living room. Rozanov is still sitting stiffly, holding the mug Yuna had given him with both hands like he’s scared of breaking it, and he’s watching the television raptly, eyes unblinking. He’s nodding, agreeing silently with whatever David is saying to him, but he doesn’t really look like he’s there at all. Like he’s absent.

Yuna’s stomach hurts.

She’d known that Shane and Rozanov had spoken, that they’d talked about Ottawa when Rozanov was traded, and she’d thought maybe they were friends, but Shane’s always been a private person, even as a child. He never said anything about seeing Rozanov over the off-season, or even about talking to him. Anything at all.

It’s weird, but she feels worried about it. About Rozanov.

She watches for another moment before she takes a deep breath and reaches for her coffee, eyes lingering on the coffee machine, thinking about how Rozanov had glanced at it almost longingly. She should look into where she can get good de-caffeinated coffee grounds.

There isn’t time to get the girls to Jackie’s parents’ house, so they come with.

Hayden is confused, perplexed, and wholeheartedly concerned. He’s never seen Shane like this, jittery and anxious— he’s nibbling at one of his nails, which Hayden hasn’t seen him do since they were rookies, and it’s almost painful for Hayden to see every time he glances over.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” Hayden asks finally as they pull to a stop at a red light, looking over at him. “Or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?”

Shane looks back at him for a brief moment, his eye contact fleeting before he turns and looks at the girls. They’re watching a movie, bright pink corded headphones decorating their birdnest hair. Ruby’s eyes are unwavering on the screen between them, her lips pursed in concentration, but Jade is drifting off, head falling back against her carseat.

“Shane,” Hayden says, softening his voice. “You’re freaking me out, man.”

Shane faces forward again, eyes fluttering.

“Someone’s at your parents’ house?” Hayden says. Shane nods after a moment. “Are your parents okay?”

“Yes,” Shane says firmly. flatly. “They’re fine.”

“Can I ask who’s at their house?”

Shane is quiet again. His knee bounces up and down quickly, anxiously, and his hand lifts to his mouth again, worrying a nail between his teeth.

The light changes. Hayden proceeds across the street. He can still see Shane’s leg moving in his periphery.

“Lily,” Shane says finally, his voice hushed.

Hayden blinks, hands shifting on the steering wheel.

“Lily,” he repeats. “Boston Lily?”

“Yeah.” Shane says tightly.

“Boston Lily is… in Ottawa,” Hayden says blankly. “Wha— Uhm. I thought you told your mom, ‘Keep him company,’ didn’t you?”

“Do I have to fucking spell this out for you?” Shane snaps.

It’s startling, and Hayden blinks, his head jerking back a little like Shane’s just slapped him.

“Sorry,” Shane says quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m just— Fuck.”

“Okay,” Hayden says resolutely. “Breathe. And spell it out for me. You know the kids get their brains from Jackie.”

“I, uhm.” Shane takes a slow, shaky breath before he speaks softly. “I’m gay. Lily is— a man. Who recently moved from Boston to Ottawa.”

“Okay,” Hayden says slowly.

“For me, but— but for work, also, kind of,” Shane continues choppily. “Everyone thinks it was for work.”

“Everyone thinks…”

Hayden trails off.

Dots connect.

A lightbulb goes off.

Ding ding ding.

He looks sharply at Shane, who’s already looking at him, and Hayden isn’t convinced Shane wasn’t just using actual telepathy to make him finally figure it out. His gaze is intent, pointed, and for a brief moment, they stare at one another and Hayden finally sees him.

He looks back at the road.

“Shane.”

“I need you to take this well,” Shane says, voice rushed. “I can’t handle a fight with you about this right now, and I need you to be okay with it, because I’m going to marry him someday, and I want you to be my best man, and if you can’t fucking deal with it, you won’t—”

“Breathe,” Hayden interrupts.

Shane’s voice cuts off with a sharp breath, and he looks out the window, covering his face with a hand that muffles his exhale.

Hayden glances at his phone that’s propped up next to the radio. There’s a right turn in two miles. He’s never been very good with directions, and a professional contact sport career surely hasn’t helped. He stops by to see David and Yuna every summer while he and Jackie are visiting Jackie’s parents, but he’s never been able to remember the way.

“Okay,” he says finally as he flicks on the turn signal, slowing to a stop at the red light. “What is he doing at your parent’s place? Do they know?”

“No, they don’t know,” Shane says quietly. Hayden glances in the rearview to check on the girls— Jade is fully asleep, mouth gaping, and Ruby is still watching the movie. Hayden doesn’t know if she’s blinked at all since he last looked. “He, uhm.”

He exhales shakily again, rubbing his face harshly. He sniffs, and Hayden’s stomach drops, because he does not want to see Shane cry. He wouldn’t know what to do.

“You are going to have an actual panic attack,” Hayden says firmly as the car turns onto the highway. “I need you to breathe, and I need you to talk to me.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Shane says firmly, pointing at him. “Not even Jackie, okay? I’ll talk to her myself, just…”

“My lips are sealed,” Hayden says, lifting a hand and miming a cross over his heart. “Talk to me, man.”

Shane runs a hand over his face roughly.

“Okay, uhm. Ilya…”

Ilya.

Hayden’s never heard him say it like that, solitary and somehow poignant in its ease. It sounds different from how he usually hears it from reporters or others at games. It’s only two syllables.

“He struggles a lot,” Shane says, his voice wavering a little. “With, uhm. Depression. And just… that kind of stuff.”

“Okay,” Hayden prompts when he stops talking.

“It’s gotten worse since he moved to— to Ottawa,” Shane says. “You know, he doesn’t have any friends here, and he’s no contact with his brother, and he—”

He stops again, taking a shaky breath, leaning forward like he’s nauseated. Hayden glances at him, checking the roads before turning into another lane.

“Uhm,” Shane says finally. “So we’re trying treatments over the off-season, and some medications have side effects, you know, like…”

His knee moves faster, and his hand runs over it like he’s trying to get it to stop himself. Hayden glances at his hand. It’s shaking.

“Uhm, nausea,” he says. “Trouble sleeping. Sexual dysfunction. Fatigue. Headaches. Increased suicidal thoughts and behaviour.”

It sounds rehearsed. Like he’s reciting something he’s memorised.

Shane often sounds like that— it’s just how he talks sometimes— but it’s different now.

His voice trembles at the end.

Hayden’s stomach drops, and he feels cold suddenly, even with the sun bright.

“Is he…”

“My parents are a last resort,” Shane says unevenly. “A failsafe. We have— We have things in place for him, like— like distractions and— techniques. Strategies. But I told him if he ever— if he ever gets scared, he can go to my parents’ and just… wait for me. He has trouble with— with asking for help, and— and saying he needs help, but if—”

He cuts off with a sudden sob, and Hayden reaches for him, setting a hand on his leg and squeezing firmly. Shane nods, rubbing his cheeks before he reaches for Hayden’s hand and holds it tightly.

“I told him he can tell my parents,” he says shakily. “If worse comes to worst, I said he can out me, he can tell my parents everything, just— whatever he needs.”

They come to a red light. Hayden stops and turns to him, reaching to hold his hand tightly with both of his own.

“Hey, look at me.”

Shane sniffles, nodding before he turns to meet Hayden’s eyes. His lip quivers.

“He’s at your parents’ place,” Hayden says firmly, evenly. “They’re probably talking about hockey and drinking tea.”

It makes Shane scoff, his expression lightening.

“And we’re on our way,” Hayden continues, glancing at his phone. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes. And everything’s gonna be fine.”

Shane sniffles again.

He nods.

The light changes, and Hayden drives.

Shane is quiet for the rest of the drive, alternating between looking at his phone texting his mom, or maybe Rozanov, and looking out the window with a bouncing knee. Hayden resists the urge to touch him again, to just hold him a little.

Shane is already unbuckling his seatbelt as they pull into his parents’ property. There’s a car out front that Hayden doesn’t recognize.

“Do you want me to co— No, I have children, never mind.”

Shane laughs, flinging the door open and hopping out, turning to tuck the seat belt out of the way.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, eyes wide and shining. “Love you, thank you.”

“Text me if you need anything,” Hayden calls, watching Shane wave, watching him bound up to the front door and disappear inside.

Ilya Rozanov.

Jesus.

He lingers there, staring at the front door curiously before Ruby’s voice startles him out of his stupor.

“Where did Uncle Shane go?”

“He had to go see someone,” he says as lightly as he can.

“Who?”

Hayden pauses, glancing at the door again before he does a U-turn to leave.

“Someone he cares about.”

The door opens noisily as Yuna is dropping the used teabag in the trash, and she’s only just turning to see Shane when he’s already kicking his shoes off and moving through the room.

“Shane—”

“Where is he?”

“The— The living room,” she says, reaching for him, to slow him down, but he moves past her smoothly, pushing her hand out of the way gently. “Shane, honey—”

“Ilya?”

Yuna sets the mug down and follows, watching as he goes into the living room.

Rozanov looks up at him. He’s sitting more comfortably on the sofa now than he was earlier, cross-legged and tucked into himself like he’s trying to shrink, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. He looks so small.

“Hey,” Shane says softly, his voice light like he’s talking to a child, moving to sit next to Rozanov, his arm resting on the back of the sofa. Rozanov turns toward him, quiet. “Are you okay?”

He looks almost frantic, eyes wide as they scan over Rozanov like he’s looking for injuries. Yuna’s stomach twists.

She catches David’s eye over the boys, and she lifts a hand to gesture to him, beckoning. He goes to her, standing slowly like he’s worried about startling them, but neither of them seems to even notice anyone else in the room.

Shane touches Rozanov’s face, and for a moment, Yuna thinks he’s checking his temperature, but that’s not it— He’s just touching him. Caressing him.

Her throat tightens as David joins her in the doorway, turning to watch with her.

“I was…” Rozanov starts quietly. “Having thoughts.”

Shane nods, eyes flickering across Rozanov’s face.

“Action thoughts?”

“No, just…” Rozanov touches Shane’s forearm like he’s comforting him. “Scary thoughts.”

Shane whispers something Yuna can’t hear, and then Rozanov says something in Russian, something choked and tight. He’s crying, and Yuna is suddenly grateful that he’s facing Shane, that she can’t see his face. She doesn’t know if she’d be able to stand it, seeing this big, brazen boy that’s always seemed so confident, so sure of himself, cocky and arrogant and above it all, crying.

“No,” Shane says, shaking his head, like he’s understood the Russian from Rozanov’s mouth. “No, no, hey—”

He slides off the sofa suddenly, falling to the ground in front of Rozanov, and he’s reaching up for him, holding his face between his hands and looking at him intently. He’s meeting Rozanov’s eyes, which is odd for him. He’s always avoided eye contact, always skirted around people’s gazes, but he seems to be seeking it out with Rozanov.

“Oh,” David breathes.

“Ilya,” Shane says softly, thumbs brushing over Rozanov’s cheeks. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, baby, you did everything right.”

Oh.

Yuna’s eyes sting.

Rozanov turns like he’s trying to hide again, like he’s trying to escape Shane’s hands, and he mutters something in Russian before, “Shane, your parents—”

“I don’t care,” Shane says firmly, shaking his head, pulling Rozanov closer, guiding him to meet his eyes. “I don’t fucking care, Ilya, all I care— Ilya.”

He meets Rozanov’s eyes, and he looks at him intently before they seem to soften. Shane’s hand brushes over the side of Rozanov’s face, tucking his hair back.

“All I care about,” he says softly, slowly, moving his hand to press to Rozanov’s chest, “is this right here.”

Rozanov sniffles. One of his hands touches Shane’s and holds it in place. Their fingers lace.

Yuna’s vision blurs, and her hand covers her mouth.

“What does this need?” Shane whispers. “Hm?”

Rozanov’s shoulders shake, and he falls forward a little, sobbing audibly.

He says something in Russian. Shane nods, gazing at him.

“I’m right here,” he says softly. “You got me, I’m here.”

Rozanov falls forward some more. Shane catches him in his arms, letting him in, and it’s a bizarre and beautiful sight, these two strong men wrapped around each other so tenderly, so sweetly.

“You did so well,” Shane is murmuring, his voice muffled in Rozanov’s shoulder. “Just like we talked about, Ilya, I’m so proud of you.”

Yuna’s entire body aches, and it would appear that her instincts were right— Rozanov is small, and he’s vulnerable, and he’s tired, and he needed somewhere safe to rest.

And Yuna can’t help the weird sense that she’s honoured— her home was somewhere for Rozanov to go, even if she and David knew nothing about any of it, even if they still don’t, Shane knew it would be safe for Rozanov here. Shane told him to come home.

Shane murmurs something Yuna can’t understand, something that sounds like Russian, and Rozanov sobs into Shane’s shoulder.

Yuna turns away, covering her mouth as her vision blurs completely. David touches her shoulder and guides her away, through the kitchen, and then outside into the sunlight, leaving the space to their boys.

“Okay?” Shane whispers when Ilya stops crying. His knees hurt from kneeling on the ground, but he doesn’t care, tuning it out so Ilya can hold him like this, his arms wrapped around Shane’s neck. “Baby?”

“Mm.”

“Lemme look at you.”

Ilya only fights it for a moment before he allows Shane to push him back, to look at his face. He looks tired.

Shane clicks his tongue, reaching to touch Ilya’s cheek gently. Ilya’s eyes close. His eyelashes are wet with tears, and his cheeks and nose are all rosy, a pretty shade of pinkishred.

“I love you so much,” he breathes. “Fuck.”

“I love you,” Ilya chokes, nodding, letting Shane hold his cheek. “Thank you.”

“We’ll call your doctor tomorrow,” Shane says, brushing his thumb over Ilya’s cheek. “Talk to her about this and see what our options are, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Ilya exhales slowly, his eyes opening and looking back and forth between Shane’s like he’s searching for something, or like he’s fighting the urge to complain, to tell Shane not to worry about it. Like he wants to ask Shane why he cares so much, or to tell him that he doesn’t have to.

He stopped doing that a few months ago after a fight that ended with Shane yelling that if Ilya died, Shane’s life would end.

I love you more than fucking anything, Ilya, you don’t get to tell me not to fucking care about you.

“Thank you,” Ilya says instead, his voice hushed. Shane gazes up at him.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” Shane whispers. “‘S not a favor.”

“For taking care of me,” Ilya adds. “You… You just outed yourself to your parents for me.”

Shane’s stomach flips over, but he ignores it.

“I’d run into a burning building for you,” he whispers. “I’d do anything for you, Ilya.”

Ilya’s mouth quirks into a small smile.

“You are dramatic.”

“Mm.”

They look at each other.

Shane loves looking into Ilya’s eyes. He’s always hated it with anybody else, even though he’ll tolerate it for some, but it’s never been weird with Ilya. Even when they were rookies, when they shook hands surrounded by a chill and cigarette smoke, his eyes were nice when they met Shane’s. It’s always felt like coming home.

“Come here,” Shane says softly, touching Ilya’s chin and leaning in to kiss him.

“Your parents…”

Shane stops. Looks around the room in an exaggerated manner that makes Ilya snort.

“Oh,” Shane says, sarcastically. “I don’t see them.”

“Asshole.”

“They already heard me call you baby,” Shane says, looking up at Ilya pitifully. Ilya’s cheeks flush a pretty pink. “Let me give you a kiss.”

Ilya stares back at him for another moment.

“Зайчонок,” he says softly, touching Shane’s face. Shane turns his head to lick Ilya’s palm, but Ilya pulls it away in time, laughing brightly.

“I’m not a rabbit,” Shane says, finally pushing himself up, using Ilya’s legs as leverage. Ilya watches.

“Is not rabbit,” Ilya says, moving his arms for Shane to deposit himself in Ilya’s lap, straddling his hips. “Is, uhm. Baby rabbit.”

Shane raises an eyebrow, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s neck. Ilya hugs his waist, looking up at him like he’s sleepy, like Shane’s weight on him was all he needed to drift off.

“Baby rabbit,” Shane repeats quietly. “A bunny.”

“Yes,” Ilya says with a resolute nod. “Bunny. Good word. Yes.”

“I’m not a bunny.”

“Yes, you are,” Ilya says dryly, sleepily. “You do that cute thing with your nose.”

Shane makes a face.

“Yes, exactly.”

Shane laughs, rolling his eyes, and Ilya smiles lazily, his head falling to the back of the sofa. Shane gazes, tracing a line over his cheek before he leans in to kiss him slowly. Ilya lets him this time, hands sliding over Shane’s waist, tightening in place, right where they fit so perfectly. Shane lingers, breathing against Ilya’s cheek, touching his face and cradling it.

When he pulls away, Ilya’s eyes don’t open. Shane smiles.

“You should go get some sleep,” he says softly. Ilya hums before his eyes open.

“I can go back,” he says. “To my place.”

“No.”

Ilya looks at him.

“Shane.”

“No,” Shane says sharply, pressing a hand to Ilya’s chest like he’s holding him in place. “You shouldn’t be driving when you’re like this, and I’m not letting you go be alone right now.”

He kisses Ilya once more and then gets up, pushing himself off his lap, grabbing Ilya’s hand and pulling at it.

“Come on,” he says. “You can see my childhood room.”

It makes him smile.

Ilya will look around later. He wants to appreciate it all, the framed photos in the hallways, the framed jersey that’s so small it must have been Shane’s first, the medals decorating the wall in Shane’s room.

It’s a cozy room. The curtains are drawn, and it’s warm from the heat of the sun shining through the dark curtains, and the bed, unsurprisingly, is made neatly. Ilya eyes it upon entry to the room, and Shane nudges him toward it.

Ilya collapses on the bed, exhaling heavily, reaching lazily for Shane, grabbing at him, and he smiles at the ceiling when Shane laughs. Shane joins him, tugging off his hoodie and tossing it aside before he climbs on top of Ilya’s body, the weight of him pressing Ilya into the mattress. Ilya groans, hugging Shane tightly, tilting his head for Shane to press his face into his neck. He can feel Shane breathing steadily, can feel him inhaling Ilya’s skin, smelling him. It tickles a little, but Ilya loves it.

The door to Shane’s room is cracked open.

Yuna peeks inside as she’s wandering the silent house, searching for proof that everything that occurred earlier was real, and she sees them in a position similar to how they’d been when she and David left them alone. Arms wrapped around one another, faces tucked into each other’s necks like they’re hiding, bundled together like they’re trying to stay warm.

Yuna gazes at them for a moment before she walks away, closing the door as quietly as she can.

When Shane finally tries to get up, Ilya clings to him, clutching at him, and Shane can’t fight it off, so he stays a little while longer, savoring it, listening to Ilya’s steady breathing.

The next time he tries to get up, Ilya lets him, though his mouth shifts into a cute little pout that Shane resists the urge to kiss. He pulls a pillow over and puts it where he’d been, and Ilya takes it, hugging it to himself with a deep inhale.

His parents are in the living room.

“Hey,” Shane says when he steps in, rubbing his face, realizing suddenly that his hair must be a disaster, and his clothes are wrinkled, and there’s a line on his cheek from a crease in Ilya’s shirt.

They don’t seem to notice.

Yuna stands, setting aside her IPad without even turning it off, and Shane catches a glimpse of the sudoku game she’s working on— she didn’t even pause it. That’ll fuck up her stats.

But it doesn’t seem to occur to her. She wraps him in a tight hug, running a hand over the back of his head as he crumbles into it, ducking down so she can hold him. His eyes burn, and he holds tears back as she rocks him back and forth.

“I’m fine,” he says when she releases him, closing his eyes as she reaches up to touch his face.

“God, Shane.”

“Sorry.”

“Shane—”

“You shouldn’t have found out like that,” he says, shaking his head as Yuna steps back. “It was…”

“Found what out?” David says from where he’s sitting on the edge of the sofa. Shane looks at him. “You can tell us, Shane.”

Shane exhales shakily.

He sits on the floor, looking up at them. They sit close to each other, their knees pressing together, their hands locked like they’re awaiting exciting news, like Shane is going to tell them they’re going to have their first grandchild. His chest aches, and his throat tightens, and he pushes through it.

“I’m gay,” he says quietly, running his hands over his legs. “And I’m in love with Ilya Rozanov.”

He looks up at them.

They’re both smiling a little, gazes soft, and he wonders if this is how they used to look at him when he was younger, when he was taking his first steps, looking up at them from the floor.

“We’ve been…” He hesitates, his face flushing with heat. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while, but it— it got serious about a year ago, and we…”

He stops, looking at the floor, at the bottom of the sofa, at their slippered feet. He feels like a child again, searching for his parents’ approval from the ice after making a goal, listening over the smooth hush of his skates on the ice for the sound of his mother’s voice yelling Ganbatte, Shane-san!

“He’s, uhm. His therapist says that he’s passively suicidal,” Shane says to the floor. “We’re trying medication, but the one he’s using right now just… makes everything worse.”

He takes a breath, and they wait for him.

“He’s not actively suicidal,” he says firmly. “He doesn’t have plans or intentions to kill himself, but he— His mother died by suicide, and he’s scared that he’s going to do the same without meaning to. He was little, and he was— he was told it was an accident, and it just…” He gestures vaguely toward his head. “His brain tells him that he could do the same. Accidentally take all his meds at once. Logic doesn’t— He knows it’s not rational, but he…”

“That makes sense,” David says quietly. Shane nods at the floor.

“...I told him to come here,” he says after a moment. “If he got scared, or if he had… action thoughts. I told him he could tell you guys anything, if you asked about us, I said he could say whatever he needed to—”

“He didn’t say anything,” Yuna interrupts. Shane looks up at her. Her eyes are glistening. “I don’t think he wanted to say anything without you here.”

Shane nods, blinking tears back.

“I love him,” he whispers brokenly. “More than anything.”

His parents smile like it’s the best news they’ve ever gotten. It makes his chest hurt, like his heart is straining against the cage of his ribs, like it’s trying to escape him. He groans a little, letting his head fall to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shane, I’m so proud of you,” David says softly, earnestly. Shane shakes his head absently. “Don’t argue with me.”

Shane scoffs wetly, wiping his face as he looks up at them. David’s eyes are shining with amusement, and Yuna is smiling, both her hands holding onto one of her husband’s, and Shane almost feels claustrophobic.

“I love how you love,” David whispers, meeting Shane’s eyes in a rare occurrence. “You’re a good man.”

Shane blinks the sting out of his eyes.

“You raised me,” he says like it’s something snarky, like it’s a comeback, and it makes them laugh.

“We must have done something right.”

Yuna hums, nodding, looking at Shane as she leans against David, bumping their shoulders.

“I think we did.”

Shane groans again, inexplicably, falling onto his back.

His bed is empty when he wakes up, which is so bizarre that it’s not even concerning. Shane is just confused, running a hand over where Ilya had spent the night by his side as he squints in the sunlight coming through the windows.

He looks at the ceiling, listening to the vague sounds of dishes clattering, if his father’s voice, low and baritone and carrying through the walls. It’s joined by another low voice that makes Shane’s nerves light up, that gives him butterflies, and suddenly he’s wide awake.

He’s quick in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and suppressing his smile as he washes his face, but he stops before entering the kitchen, taking it in.

His boyfriend is in the kitchen with his parents, sitting at the island as his father makes pancakes. Ilya is wearing Shane’s clothes, a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, and his curls are tangled and unkempt, and he’s smiling into the mug he’s holding— the mug that Shane usually uses, a pretty handmade thing with the family’s surname in kanji. It had been a gift for David from Yuna’s parents, and Shane loves it. It looks good in Ilya’s hands.

“You’re never awake before me,” he says when Ilya finally notices him, and Ilya’s face brightens into a gorgeous grin that he hides behind the mug.

“I wanted to be good guest,” he says, gesturing toward Yuna, who’s smiling. “She would not let me do the dishes.”

“I wanted to be a good host.”

“You are fantastic host,” Ilya says, like he’s repeating himself. “I should…” He gestures vaguely as he looks for his words. “Give back.”

Yuna leans over the counter so they’re closer, their eyes locked like they’re having a staring contest, before she says, “No.”

“You are just like your son.”

Yuna sticks her tongue out at him, and Ilya copies her.

Shane pretends he isn’t exploding, and he goes to sit at the island next to Ilya, who takes a sip from his mug. Shane glances.

“...Is that coffee?”

“Yes,” Ilya says with a nod, barely biting back his smile as Shane stares at him. He really tries to not be overbearing, to be controlling, but Ilya’s not supposed to have caffeine. He knows that. Shane knows he knows that, especially by the way Ilya is grinning, eyes looking back and forth between Shane’s.

“You…”

“It is, uhm,” Ilya starts before he looks at David and Yuna. David is flipping a pancake, smiling absently. “How do you say? Virgin coffee?”

“Decaf,” they say simultaneously, laughing lightly.

“Ah, yes. That.”

Shane blinks.

“I didn’t know we had decaf coffee,” he says.

“It was delivered an hour ago,” Yuna says lightly as Ilya takes a slow sip from the mug, humming quietly, contentedly.

“Your mother is an angel,” he says to Shane, leaning toward him and nudging their shoulders together, and Shane notices the distance between them. It can’t be more than a few inches, but it’s far too much, so he moves closer, standing to push his stool closer to Ilya’s. Their knees press when he sits again, and Ilya grins into his next sip of coffee.

“Pancake?” David asks, flipping one onto a plate, looking at Shane with raised eyebrows.

“Uhm.”

He hesitates. Looks at Ilya next to him, who’s side-eyeing him as he takes another sip of coffee. He doesn’t have to say it.

“Yeah,” Shane says lightly with a shrug that bumps against Ilya’s shoulder. “Why not?”

They fall into silence as Yuna gets another plate. Shane listens to Ilya’s breath echo in the mug.

“Good morning,” he says softly, nudging their shoulders together, glancing at him. He glances back, his eyes shining.

“Good morning, Зайчонок.”

Shane rolls his eyes so dramatically his parents seem to feel it from across the kitchen.

“What does that mean?” Yuna asks brightly. Shane shakes his head, his cheeks flushing with heat as Ilya laughs happily.

“Bunny,” he says lightly, like it isn’t the worst thing ever. “He is like bunny, no?”

“Is he?” David says, letting a pancake flop onto a plate that he holds out for Shane to take, and Shane is about to gesture to him and say something like Thank you but Ilya interrupts.

“Yes, he does the bunny thing with his nose.”

He leans close, pointing at Shane’s nose, staring intently. Shane blinks, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and he’s about to say something about how ridiculous he is, but Yuna and David are already looking, watching Shane just as intently as Ilya. Shane’s face turns hot, and he stares blankly at the ceiling.

“This is stupid.”

“Wait for it,” Ilya says.

Shane suppresses every instinct he has, biting the inside of his lip to suppress a smile, but it’s fruitless. He lets out a snort, a laugh, and his nose scrunches up against his will. There’s a cheer. Ilya giggles, leaning in the short distance between them to press a chaste kiss to Shane’s cheek.

Shane suppresses a smile, glancing at Ilya with as much malice as he can muster— which isn’t any at all— as he takes a fork from his mother.

Shane doesn’t see Yuna watching, and she takes advantage of it. He’s suppressing a smile, his nose scrunched up a little in a bunny-like manner. Ilya was right.

Yuna rests against the sink, watching the scene in front of her. David is making more pancakes— he always makes way too many, and they last all day, and sometimes even into the next if Yuna puts them in the fridge before David eats them all. Shane is gazing at Ilya, who’s gazing right back, like they’re having some silent, telepathic conversation. Somehow they look like they’re competing.

Ilya looks so different from how he looked yesterday, his eyes bright and amused instead of dull and vacant, and Yuna wants to keep him here forever. She kind of feels about Ilya the same way she feels about Shane sometimes, so fond that it takes over her whole body, like she kind of wants to bite them.

Shane seems to feel it too, his eyes flickering across Ilya’s face as his nose scrunches up some more, and he leans in to kiss Ilya’s mouth chastely. Ilya just smiles, his eyes closing for a brief moment. Shane exhales, his expression softening, and he kisses Ilya again, slower. It’s tender, and sweet, and it looks like a wedding kiss over morning coffee. It makes Yuna’s heart ache.

“I will call my doctor this afternoon,” Ilya says quietly when they part, nudging his nose against Shane’s. Shane nods, eyes flickering over Ilya’s face. Yuna sips her own coffee, watching them fondly.

“I told Hayden what’s going on,” he says. “I was with him and the twins when my mom called yesterday, I needed him to give me a ride home, and I was, like, visibly panicked—”

“It’s okay,” Ilya interrupts gently, nodding, bumping their noses together. “How did he take it?”

“Shockingly well, actually,” Shane says with a laugh, pulling away to cut one of the pancakes on his plate. David tried to sneak an extra in, but Shane nudges it aside. For now. “He’s been asking how you are.”

“Did you tell him I have never been better?”

“I told him that you slept last night.”

“That is something, I guess.”

“So can we ask about all this?” David asks, waving the spatula between them like a wand. Shane’s face flushes pink again. Yuna grins.

“Maybe you should not ask about all of it—” Ilya starts, but he cuts off with a giggle when Shane elbows him. Yuna laughs into her coffee, and she suppresses a harder laugh when Ilya shoots her an amused look, his eyes shining over his mug.

“When did this start?” David asks curiously. Yuna can hear the smile in his voice. “Hollander and Rozanov?”

The boys fall quiet, glancing at each other. Shane takes a bite of his pancake.

“Rookie year,” he mumbles around the food. Yuna blinks, mug freezing on its way to her mouth, eyes catching on the way Ilya’s eyebrows furrow.

“No, was summer before that,” he says.

Shane looks at him in matching confusion.

“It was rookie year when we…” He trails off, face turning a brilliant shade of red, and Yuna hides a grin behind her mug, eyebrows flying.

“Yes, I remember,” Ilya says pointedly. Yuna snorts. “But it was in the hotel gym, remember? We had…” He gestures vaguely in the space between them, pouting in the way Yuna’s noticed he does when he’s looking for words. “Sparks, no?”

Shane is quiet, his expression softening.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Okay. Summer before rookie year.”

“Wait, so you’ve been in love all this time?” Yuna asks, interrupting the moment that’s further interrupted by the boys’ almost instantaneous—

“Oh, no—”

“No, no, God, no—”

Shane quiets first, still shaking his head as he lifts his fork to his mouth.

“No,” Ilya repeats. “We were just…”

He trails off. Yuna raises her eyebrows.

“Just…” she says, poking and prodding.

“Just,” Ilya says with a light shrug, looking at his coffee like he’s suddenly shy. Yuna looks at Shane, who’s chewing slowly, absently, staring at the counter in front of himself with unblinking, horrified eyes. “You know.”

“Ilya,” Shane says evenly.

Ilya falls silent, and Yuna watches in awe. She remembers seeing Ilya— Rozanov at the time— on the television after a game, seeing a reporter say something rude to another reporter, something that she couldn’t actually hear, but something that was clearly pointed at the other’s being a woman, and she remembers hearing Rozanov snap at him, reaching to smack the microphone out of his hand. He’d been speaking Russian despite being the only Russian speaker present, like he couldn’t control himself to translate anything he was thinking, and he’d been dragged away by another teammate, throwing what were surely swears and curses at the reporter.

She remembers seeing the first and second and third times Rozanov threw his gloves aside on the ice, the times he’s thrown himself at other players— once or twice from his own team— and the times he’s grinned at whatever camera was closest to show the blood in his teeth.

She remembers hearing the way people talked about him in interviews and online, the things they would say about how scary he was, about how his teammates walked on eggshells around him, especially if he was in a bad mood. She remembers hearing about what a nightmare he was, how oppositional, how defiant, how he was independent to a fault.

And now, he’s Ilya.

He’s quiet and shy when Shane tells him wordlessly to shut up, and his cheeks are dusted pink, and Yuna is in awe.

“Oh,” she says, nodding. Ilya nods with her. Shane very pointedly does not look up. David is still confused.

“Just what?” he says. Yuna suppresses a laugh as Shane’s eyes widen like he’s infuriated, like he’s willing the ground to open up underneath him.

“Just,” she says lightly. “Uhm. Lovers.”

Ilya gestures at her with an Exactly, yes motion, and David makes a soft Ah sound, and Shane exhales slowly, like he’s seething.

“I suddenly hate this conversation.”

“Okay, we’ll move on,” David says. “What are the plans moving forward?”

The boys look at each other. It’s the silent communication thing again. It’s a little unsettling, really, but it makes Yuna wonder how they’ve gotten here, how they’ve come to this point in their relationship. She doesn’t— and won’t— ask.

They sigh at the same, looking away, and Shane reaches for Ilya’s thigh, rubbing it firmly. Yuna can’t tell whose comfort it’s for.

“Uh,” Shane says before he hums like he’s thinking about how to say whatever it is. Ilya takes his hand and sips his coffee. “So. Ilya moved to Ottawa.”

“I heard about that,” David says. It makes Shane roll his eyes and Ilya laugh.

“And, uhm. I’m going to move to Ottawa at some point too.”

Yuna blinks.

David is quiet too.

Ilya looks at them over his mug, and Shane sets his fork down. He’s only had about half the pancake.

“You…” Yuna starts, watching Shane look at her with wide eyes. “えっ、マジで?”

“Okay, hear me out,” Shane says instead of answering her. “It— It’s hard, right, we were doing long–er distance when he was in Boston, and it’s still hard with him in Ottawa, and he…” He stops, looking at Ilya, who’s looking back at him, mug hovering by his chest like he’s forgotten about it.

Shane squeezes Ilya’s hand. Ilya blinks, nodding, pausing.

“I… I am very lonely,” he says stupidly. “It is— I would not ask Shane to change his career like this just for me—”

“Mom, it was my idea,” Shane interrupts. He’s looking at Yuna intently, and Ilya remembers that Yuna is Shane’s mother, but she’s his manager as well. He grimaces.

“Shane, you know we—”

“Mama,” Shane interrupts emphatically, leaning over the counter. “聞いてくだ-.”

Ilya blinks. He looks at Shane for a moment, at his incessant expression, and then he looks at David, who looks less caught off guard than Ilya, but still looks a little surprised.

Ilya looks at Yuna. She’s staring at Shane with an expression almost identical to the face Shane makes when Ilya pisses him off. It’s kind of scary.

“ 聞いてほしいんだけど,” Shane adds, ducking his head.

Ilya stares at him, scanning the side of his face, the soft pink of his cheek, the way his freckles stand out even more, and he’s startled by the sound of David laughing. He looks away from where Shane is staring at his mother, to David.

“You’ve never heard him speak Japanese,” David says, amused in spite of the tension between Shane and Yuna.

“No,” Ilya says firmly, looking at Shane and elbowing him. “What the fuck?”

Shane elbows him back, ignoring him.

“Look,” he says firmly, his voice a little too loud as he seemingly tries to redirect his mother’s outrage. “We’re gonna open a charity.”

Ilya squeezes Shane’s hand, looking around.

Yuna blinks. She looks startled. David looks confused. He seems to look confused a lot, but Ilya supposes there’s a lot to be confused about right now.

“A charity,” Yuna repeats.

“Yeah,” Shane says. He looks at Ilya, squeezing his hand, reaching to touch his forearm, prompting him. Asking him.

“Yes,” Ilya says, nodding absently. “It will be… It will be named after my mother. We will, uhm, teach children how to play hockey, like a— a summer camp, yes?”

Shane nods encouragingly.

“And money will go to mental health,” Ilya says blankly. “Uhm. Suicide prevention.”

The words tumble out of him, but they find their way.

“Oh,” Yuna says softly. David is nodding.

“We thought, like…” Shane pauses, squeezing Ilya’s hand again before his foot finds Ilya’s under the counter. Their ankles lock. “We can run it in Ottawa over the summers, and we’ll both be there, and if we’re on the same team and we run a charity together, we can…”

He shrugs a little, looking at Ilya, whose chest aches. Shane winces a little like he feels it too. His nose scrunches a little.

“We can be seen in public together,” he finishes quietly, the end of the sentence tilting like it’s a question, like he’s checking with Ilya. “It won’t be completely insane if we, like, get coffee or something together. I mean, obviously the— the charity is a big deal, and we both care about it a lot, but being able to actually, like… go on a date together is a plus, I guess.”

Yuna is quiet, her eyes flickering back and forth between them before they lower to the ground. She looks thoughtful, like she’s running through the timeline of the next five years in her head, like she’s already strategizing, and Ilya can see where Shane gets it.

“Are you planning on coming out?” David asks gently.

Ilya’s stomach hurts.

He looks at Shane. There’s a crease between his eyebrows that Ilya wants to kiss away.

“Uhm,” Shane says, taking a breath.

“Not really,” Ilya says slowly. He sets the mug down.

“Ever?” Yuna says, eyes wide.

“I— Maybe when we retire,” Shane says, shrugging. “It’s… It’s complicated.”

Yuna steps closer to the island, exhaling slowly, leaning down so she’s resting on her elbows, looking at them like they’re some equation that needs solving. Which, Ilya thinks, maybe they kind of are.

“That’s sad,” she says finally. It’s so blunt, so obvious, that it’s kind of funny, but in her voice, in her lovely voice, it sounds devastatingly, painfully earnest.

Ilya looks at Shane, who shrugs.

“Yeah,” he says, looking at Ilya. “But it… that’s how it is for us, Mom. Ilya wouldn’t be able to go back to Russia if we come out.”

“I do not really want to,” Ilya feels the need to say. “My parents are dead and my brother is… the worst. But…”

“Anfisa,” Shane says softly, almost whispering. His pronunciation is beautiful. It makes Ilya smile.

“Yes,” he says, squeezing. “I have a niece. I do not think I will have to go back for her, but if something happens, I would like to be able to.”

“Of course,” Yuna says softly, nodding.

“And I…” Shane trails off. Ilya squeezes again, looking at him.

He’s looking at the counter, his lips parted like he’s about to speak again, hesitating, debating.

“I’m already a spectacle in hockey,” he says finally, his voice hushed. “I don’t…”

“Shane,” Yuna tries.

“I don’t need it,” Shane says, shaking his head, fingers tightening around Ilya’s hand like he doesn’t even notice it. “I don’t need to— to be even more of a pariah, okay, people already try to say I don’t belong in hockey.”

Ilya tamps down a heavy sigh.

“And it’s not— it’s not that we’re, like… never going to come out, ever,” Shane says. “We’re not planning on it, but maybe when, like…”

“We get our shit together,” Ilya suggests.

“Yeah, that.”

Ilya thinks about it all the time.

Being able to kiss Shane in front of people, to thank him at award shows and point him out in a crowd as his boyfriend, or his husband. He’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back from kissing Shane on the ice when they win their first Stanley Cup for the Centaurs. (Because that will happen someday.)

But first, he needs to not want to die. He needs to want to not die. It’s an odd line to walk, the path he’s been wandering practically his whole life.

But this feels like a good place to start:

The Hollanders’ kitchen on a Wednesday morning, drinking decaf coffee and holding his boyfriend’s hand.

“So when are you thinking about going to Ottawa?” Yuna asks, looking at Shane.

“Ah, that is a good question,” Ilya says, turning toward Shane, spinning his stool around in a way that makes David snort.

Shane glares at him, but he’s suppressing a smile.

“Do I have your blessing?” he asks his mother.

Ilya looks at Yuna. Shane’s hand tightens, and it kind of feels like they’re asking for her blessing for marriage instead of for a career shift.

Yuna’s expression softens, and she exhales, looking at Shane fondly, and a little sadly.

“This is bigger than just hockey,” she says softly, gesturing at them. “And your charity will be bigger than just hockey. And…”

She looks at them, her eyes shining. She looks maternal, of course she does, but right now— it makes Ilya’s fucking bones ache. His fingers tighten on Shane’s, and Shane seems to feel it, the odd wave that crashes over Ilya like he’s a child. His thumb brushes back and forth over the side of Ilya’s hand.

“You are both,” Yuna says slowly, like she’s thinking each word through, “more important than hockey. You deserve to… have your home, and your safety, and if that’s together, then so be it.”

She looks at Shane, and then she looks at Ilya. And she looks like she knows, and like it’s okay.

It’s okay that her son is Ilya’s home, and he’s Ilya’s safety, and it’s okay that they are both uprooting their lives and shifting the entire trajectories of their careers, their lives, for one another.

Ilya looks at the ceiling, blinking his eyes repeatedly. He can feel them all looking at him, and then he hears Yuna click her tongue and mutter a soft Oh, honey before she’s coming around the island and taking him into her arms.

Shane watches as his mother embraces his boyfriend. The air smells like coffee and pancakes, and it’s quiet, save for the soft sound of Ilya sniffling and Yuna murmuring, but Shane finds himself overwhelmed with it all.

He closes his eyes and lowers his head to the counter, taking a slow breath. He holds Ilya’s hand to himself.

“Shane?” David says softly.

“Yeah,” Shane says tightly against the counter. “I’m fine, just freaking out. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“Hey,” Ilya says softly. “Hey, hey.”

His voice is shaking, and his hand lands on Shane’s back, running up and down before it stops at the back of his neck.

“We’re all good here, right?” he says. Shane nods absently, inhaling slowly. “Your family is here, your boyfriend is here. We’re good here.”

Shane groans, pushing himself to sit up, and in an instant, Ilya is standing, moving to place himself behind Shane. He pauses, squeezing Shane’s neck gently. Shane nods, sitting up straight to let Ilya’s arms wrap around him firmly. He squeezes hard, and Shane exhales, nodding. He touches Ilya’s arms, sliding a hand down to his wrist to push under the sleeve of the sweatshirt he’s wearing.

“Okay?” Ilya whispers.

Shane nods again, pausing before he inhales again. Ilya loosens his arms to let him, perfectly timed, like he’s inside Shane’s fucking mind. Shane exhales. Ilya squeezes.

They do it all once more. Shane can feel his parents watching, but he doesn’t actually mind it.

He doesn’t mind them seeing this. He already knows they approve of him and Ilya— his mother gave him permission to play for the Centaurs— but he kind of wants them to see this too, to see that Ilya can take care of him, that he’s safe with Ilya. That Ilya knows him this well.

He hums softly, nodding as Ilya’s arms loosen again, leaning back so Ilya is just holding him. His head falls back to Ilya’s shoulder, eyes still closed.

It’s quiet. Shane listens to himself breathing, synchronizing with the rise and fall of Ilya’s chest, and he savours it for a few moments before the silence is broken by Yuna’s soft, teary voice.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

Shane knows even with his eyes closed, that she’s talking to both of them.

“Oh, we know,” Ilya says. It elicits laughs from both David and Yuna, and Shane shakes his head, clicking his tongue and clumsily elbowing Ilya.

“Oh, bunny!” Yuna exclaims. David laughs, and Ilya laughs, and Shane groans, covering his face— he can feel his wrinkled nose under his fingers.

But he allows it, even though his face is hot, and he knows he’ll never live this down— it could well turn into an actual nickname someday— and his parents know far too much about his and Ilya’s relationship even if it’s just the vague concept of them having a sex life.

He allows it.

He can feel Ilya’s chest moving as he laughs— actually laughs— and he can feel Ilya’s mouth smiling against his cheek as he gives him a soft, fond kiss, and he can hear his parents’ beautiful laughter.

He lets his head fall back against Ilya’s shoulder, and he smiles at the ceiling.