Chapter Text
When David was the one who opened the door to the Hollander home, the tight smile he gave the man was hopefully disarming enough to be let in. Before Ilya could say a greeting, David was opening the door wider and waving him in.
“I was hoping you’d show up,” is what David said the moment he closed the door. Ilya tilted his head, not unlike a puppy, trying to ensure he had translated the words correctly. At the boy’s silent confusion, David sighed, “Shane’s been moping around the house since he asked Yuna to pick him up.” He gestured with his head, “Let’s go sit in the living room. Shane’s just now showering.”
As he followed David to the couch, Ilya’s thoughts swam. He had messed up Shane’s routine. Shane thrived on his routine, especially after games, when he needed to shower and scrub off the sticky sweat as soon as he hit his—or Ilya’s—dorm. It then always gave him enough time to do his skin care, and brush his teeth, and read a chapter or two of whatever book he was digesting before Ilya could distract him somehow. And Ilya messed that up by being an idiot. And now Shane’s dad was across from him knowing all of this, and Ilya had disappointed two more Hollanders.
“I am sorry, Mr. Hollander.” Because Ilya didn’t deserve to call him David. If Ilya wasn’t avoiding eye contact with David, he would’ve seen the furrow between his brow. “I did not mean to cause so much stress to Shane, or to you and Mrs. Hollander.”
“Kiddo, hey. Listen to me.” David placed a hand on Ilya’s knee, and Ilya only flinch a little. “Sorry. But you’re okay. No stress. Shane is okay, too. He was a little upset when he got here, but we talked to him. He’s okay.”
“I did not mean to mess up, Mr. Hollander.”
“It’s David, Ilya. Please. And from what Yuna and I heard, you weren’t the one who messed up. Or, at least not the only one who messed up. Shane had plenty of fault in this, too.” When Ilya finally looked up in surprise, David’s eyes softened at whatever he found in Ilya’s expression. “Kiddo, just because Shane’s my boy doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his faults. He’s got plenty. Like picking a fight with his boyfriend because of his pride, and I wouldn’t be a good father if I didn’t call him out when he’s wrong.”
Ilya shook his head as he started, “I pushed too hard.”
“You did what a good captain should have done and you defended you teammate. I would expect you to do that for any of your players, especially if it was against their old team.” David exhaled deeply, leaning back into the cushion. “You know, I always knew Shane was going to be special in just about every way he could be. I mean, he was a miracle just by being born, so it only makes sense.” David reached behind him, pulling a picture from the console table. Ilya watched as he ran a finger over the glass, smiling gently, before passing it over to Ilya. His heart instantly softened at the picture of a baby Shane Hollander, so tiny—tinier than Ilya things newborn babies typically are.
As Ilya admired the photo, stroking his own thumb over the picture, David continued, “Yuna and I struggled to have kids, and after the first couple times, we just stopped trying. The more the chances of biologically have a child slimmed, the less pressure we put on ourselves.” He shrugged casually, but Ilya could see the emotions shining through his eyes. “They all say that when you stop trying is when it’ll happen, and it did. We had our little Shane, even if he popped out a few weeks earlier than we expected, but it just meant he needed to spend a little extra time in the hospital before we could bring him home, and he was a fighter. That’s when I knew he would always be my special little boy.”
Ilya passed the photo back over to David, who looked at it once more before placing it back where he had grabbed it. “He was always so good at hockey, and always made the other parents mad when he skated circles around their kids.” That got a chuckle out of Ilya. “So, he was special again. And then, he struggled with making friends, and was the only Asian-Canadian kid on most of his teams, and he just kept being special. And, as a father, it just makes you worried all the time that he won’t be accepted or treated well.” There was a lull in conversation, but Ilya knew where the story was going.
“So, when everything happened at McGill,” started David, but he bit his bottom lip, shifting his gaze. “When he was outed, and Hayden told us everything the team had been saying and doing, God, I felt like a failure as a father. You start to blame yourself for everything, like if I hadn’t gone to McGill, maybe Shane wouldn’t have, or if I would’ve figured it out sooner, maybe I could’ve stopped it, but the reality of it is that I wasn’t there, and I couldn’t have known. And as Shane gets older, I know he’ll need to stick up for himself, but also that responsibility to protect him, when he doesn’t know how to do it for himself, that’ll shift to his partner and his friends.”
David finally met Ilya’s eyes again. “All this to say, Ilya, that I am happy that my son has not only a captain that will protect his teammates, but also a partner that will take care of him like I always dreamed he would be.”
Ilya nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Ilya. We’re so happy to have you in our lives.” This time when David patted his knee, Ilya didn’t flinch at all. David turned his head, glancing up the staircase, before turning back to Ilya, smiling again. “Sounds like he’s done, if you wanna head up. I presume you remember the way?”
Ilya nodded tensely, taking a deep breath before standing. His steps were timid as he made his way up the stairs and down the hallway, ignoring the collage of photographs of Shane that lined the walls. The door to Shane’s room was closed when he approached it, so with another deep breath, he knocked just heavy enough to be heard.
Ilya heard some rummaging from behind the door and a muffled, “Dad, I already said I’m not hungry.”
Ilya quirked a smile, leaning up against the door, and replied, “Ah, you should eat, Hollander. You need strength after hard games.”
There was a bang, some stumbling, and, finally, the door latching open to reveal a post-shower Shane, hair still wet and shaggy and shirt still off. At least Shane had the decency to throw on some shorts, much to Ilya’s dismay.
Shane’s eyes were wide, freckles striking against his flushed cheeks, and shock was clear across his face. He stuttered, “You—you’re at my parents’ house.”
Ilya nodded, “Ah, yes. Well, you said to call when I grow up, but I am probably forever man-child, is what Hazy says, so. We are here instead.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think any of our teammates have any room to speak about being a man-child forever,” snorted Shane, but there was humor in his eyes. “Come in, man-child.” Ilya followed behind Shane, closing the door with a soft click. When Ilya turned to face Shane, the other man was sitting on the edge of his bed, picking at the skin on his thumb.
Ilya quickly took a seat next to him and reached out to grasp Shane’s hand, saying, “Солнышко, do not pick. It will bleed.” Shane removed one of his hands, turning his other to envelop Ilya’s. He blinked up at Ilya through his lashes, a line of wetness building up and breaking Ilya’s heart in the process.
“Ilya, baby. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, котёнок. Please, do not say sorry,” pleaded Ilya, reaching up to stroke his thumb across his boyfriend’s freckles. “You do not need to say sorry.”
“I do, though. I wasn’t fair to you,” admitted Shane. “I was stubborn and embarrassed, and hurt, and I took it out on you. All you were doing was trying to protect me.”
Ilya sighed again, squeezing Shane’s hand. “I was also asshole to your best friend the night before because I was feeling insecure, so we were both bad, yes?” Shane wetly chuckled, but nodded. “I am sorry for pushing buttons, and for acting like child when you yelled at me. Sometimes I do not know when to stop. It is, like, automatic. I want to stop, but it is like my mouth stops listening to my brain.”
“Guess that’s what happens when you have to fend for yourself almost your entire life,” reasoned Shane, sighing heavily as he fiddled with Ilya’s fingers. “For the record, I like when you’re an asshole.”
“That is good. Then, to be clear, I am not sorry for yelling at #47. He deserved it.” Shane chuckled breathily, and Ilya gave him a cheesy grin. They allowed the silence to settle over them until finally, Ilya said, “You have never told me how bad it was at McGill, but that guy said some really bad things to you tonight. It was always like that?”
Shane nodded, swallowing roughly and looking past Ilya. “It really was just locker room talk at first. I don’t know–I had grown up hearing guys say that type of stuff on the ice and in the locker room. Then it turned into them saying it to me instead, and I just didn’t know how to stop it. So I didn’t.”
“It was all of them?”
To this, Shane shook his head. “Mainly just Comeau, sometimes Drapeau. Sometimes a couple others would too. It was more common that no one said anything at all. And they stopped listening to my direction, they stopped passing to me, and I kinda just disappeared. It was like I was a ghost haunting my own cubby.” He finally allowed his eyes to meet Ilya’s again. “The first time I showered after I was outed in the locker room, everyone just left. When it happened the second time, I realized it was my fault, so I just stopped. That’s why I wait to shower now until I’m back in my dorm, even here.”
Ilya furrowed his brows, questioning, “I thought it was a foot fungus thing.”
“Uh, no. I just didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, so it was something small I could do to avoid it.”
“You should not have had to do anything. Is not like you wanted to suck their dicks,” responded Ilya in disbelief. “Shane, you know that was not fair to you, yes?” He watched as Shane just shrugged. “No, no, I need you to understand me when I say that you should not have had to change anything for them just because you like men. Your team should have stood behind you when you were outed and stood up for you when people were homophobic. You deserved better. And none of them deserved a talent like you on their team if that is how they reacted. And I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
The other man nodded, tears building along his water line once again, but he brought his finger up to swipe away the wetness before it could fall. Shane sniffled, “I was so alone for the last couple months. No one but Hayden even talked to me when I had my breakdown. No one texted me or asked if I was okay. I don’t even think they knew I was gone–or if they did, they didn’t care.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, murmuring, “I looked up stats for those two games you missed after you told me this story, and I definitely noticed you were gone.” That cracked a smile out of Shane, who playfully smacked his chest. The Russian guffawed, “No! No defending them! They are bad people who do not deserve you.”
Shane chuckled, “You have to say that. You’re my captain. And my boyfriend.”
“Mm, no,” disagreed Ilya, shaking his head to emphasize. “Plenty times I have been asshole to teammates and my beautiful boyfriend. I am saying this because Gilbert Cumstain deserves death.” This time, Shane laughed, a blush rising to his cheeks and making his freckles stand out the way Ilya likes.
Shane inhaled heavily, distractedly biting his lip, before saying, “God, I love you.”
The air around them slowed ever so slightly as Shane seemed to register his own words just as Ilya processed them. Ilya watched as Shane’s eyes widened, stricken, and darted to meet Ilya’s own gaze.
“Holy shit,” mumbled Shane, voice shaky. “I mean–”
“Я тебя люблю.” Ilya slowly reached up to cup Shane’s cheek, once again stroking his thumb delicately over his freckles as his eyes wandered over Shane’s face. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle peck to his boyfriend’s lips, before pulling away and resting his forehead against Shane’s. Ilya whispered against his lips, “I love you.”
Shane’s voice was breathy as he replied, “You love me.”
Ilya nodded, “I love you. And you love me. No take-backsies.”
“I need to stop letting Holmberg teach you things,” giggled Shane, before he leaned back in to capture Ilya’s mouth in another kiss. Ilya deepened it, letting his free hand wrap around Shane’s waist to pull him closer.
Almost like on instinct, Shane adjusted, using the leverage of Ilya’s arm to straddle his lap, rolling his hips to create some friction between them. Ilya moaned into his mouth, falling back onto the bed and bringing Shane with him. His hands settled onto Shane’s hips, basking in the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips on his. Shane took a moment to break the kiss, quickly grasping for the bottom of Ilya’s hoodie to strip it away. He obliged, lifting up enough to pull the offending item from his body, tossing it haphazardly across the room.
Before he could pull Shane back into his embrace, there was a clatter near the window, and the boys could do nothing but stare as Ilya’s sweatshirt pulled down a trophy to the floor from the dresser he had blindly tossed it at. The trophy landed heavily on the floor with a thud, and they held their breaths as it settled.
“Boys? Everything okay,” yelled David, presumably from the bottom of the stairs.
Shane yelled back, “Yeah! Just dropped something!” David responded affirmatively, and they listened as his footsteps retreated deeper into the first level of the house. Their eyes met, unable to stop the laughter that blossomed between them at the ridiculousness of it all. Once they had a moment to catch their breath, Shane leaned back in to press a longing kiss once more into Ilya.
When he pulled away, this time cupping Ilya’s face, he said, “Maybe we should go back to your dorm.”
“Mm, that is great idea. Best idea you ever had.”
They made quick work of getting dressed and rushing down the stairs to say goodbye to the Hollanders, who both looked on with knowing smiles. It was increasingly harder for Ilya to keep his hands off Shane as they navigated the late-night train, but they managed to get back to his dorm with their clothes still on.
Later, as they snuggled against one another in Ilya’s twin bed, naked skin still warm and flushed, Ilya traced a pattern on Shane’s shoulder as his head lay against Ilya’s chest. The silence was easy between them, three little words no longer hanging over their heads.
“Ilya?” He hummed in response. “Can you say it again in Russian, please?”
He slowly drawled out, “Я тебя люблю,” emphasizing each syllable.
“You’ve said that before,” whispered Shane. “The night we became boyfriends, you said that and I asked you what it meant.”
“Ah. I did.” He blinked his eyes slowly, watching Shane’s reaction carefully.
His boyfriend’s brow scrunched before smoothing out once again. “You knew it then?” The Russian just nodded. “Why did you tell me it meant that you liked me, and not love?”
This type, Ilya shrugged, explaining, “It slipped out. Thought it was too much too fast, but I still did mean it.”
“Even then?”
“Even then.”