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Ilya Rozanov sits on his own couch, watching Shane play in the playoffs that Ottawa had been quickly eliminated from in the early rounds.
Yuna is tucked under one of his favorite blankets, a dark grey one with lots of fuzziness that he would have never allowed himself to have before. She’s holding a bowl of cookies and cream ice cream, matching Ilya’s own, yelling loudly at the tv that shows the man they both love, playing his heart out on the ice.
There’s a ding from his phone which startles him, drawing his attention away from Shane because he thought it was on silent as per usual.
He tries to resist the urge to pick it up, turning his focus back to the TV and the hand on his arm while Shane fights Boston to score. It’s hard to watch Boston and Montreal face off, only made a little easier by the fact that he can see how much they’re still struggling without him.
They’ve made it to the initial rounds of the playoffs, but it's clear they haven’t settled with the new center, and without a real captain to push them. Yuna still gives him a look sometimes when they watch the Raiders play, but she knows better than complaining about where his loyalties lie.
A second trill from his phone finally pulls his attention away for real, He glances down, the instagram notification lighting up his screen.
Ilya feels his breath catch at the picture of Scott Hunter kissing his boyfriend on center ice, a post from Kip himself being the cause of the notification. It’s a bragging sort of post, something that takes his breath away before he can even think about it enough to understand. His hand moves on autopilot, ignoring his stunning boyfriend on TV and the confused noise coming from Yuna Hollander.
Rose Landry has called it a ‘photo dump’. A collection of silly pictures of Scott and Kip over what looks to be the last few years.
It starts with the Stanley Cup photo, the famous one of Scott publicly coming out. The next few are equally as loud. A picture of Scott during the NHL speech only a month after that insane day. A few of them in what must be Scott’s apartment, Kip reading, Scott covered in what looks to be blueberry mush, looking the most dejected that Ilya has ever seen him.
The ones that make Ilya ache are the simpler ones. Scott drinking with Kip’s circle of friends. A picture of Scott and Elena arguing wildly over what looks to be a game of pool. Scott perched in Kip’s lap with a neon “Kingfisher” sign casting a neon glow over them as they kiss each other with smiles wide enough that it looks like there's nothing that could separate them.
He knows it isn't a fair emotion but he feels a sorrow wash over his body in an uncontrollable wave.
Ilya longs for that.
He wants to be able to kiss his boyfriend in public. He wants the world to see who he is and how lucky he feels to be loved by someone who had every other option in the world and still chose him anyways.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Yuna’s thumb swipes a tear from his cheek.
Her voice filters through the haze of emotions currently clouding his judgement, and his eyesight. He notices that she’s paused the game, knows instinctively that it’s something that drives her crazy because she needs to know. He reaches for the remote, trying to ignore the burning in his chest and praying to anything that she ignores the weakness currently showing from him.
Yuna never would though. He knows this and it's part of why he loves her so much but for once he wishes she was as stoic as his Russian relatives.
“Sweetheart, what’s going on?”
Her voice filters through the haze of his agony. It makes it worse somehow, causing the tears he was trying desperately to hold back to spill over his cheeks.
Ilya is mortified, his whole body curling in on itself as tears streak down his face at an alarming rate.
Shane is the only person beside Svetlana who has seen him cry since he was twelve and grieving his mothers death. The shame isn’t enough to keep the tears from falling though, and the feeling of Yuna’s hand on his arm only makes the tears fall faster, despite his attempts to curb them.
Yuna pulls him into her arms, a hand smoothing over his curls as he sobs into her shoulder without his permission. He tries to stop, to force out words to reassure her that he’s fine and that she doesn’t need to worry but the hitch in his breath isn’t convincing, nor are the incoherent half-Russian words he’s pushing out of himself.
It feels like his mother is still with him for a moment. The perfume that Yuna wears is floral, a light breeze that Irina would have loved to wear. He knows she would have worn it every day,
There are gentle hands carding through his hair, a low soothing voice he can feel the rumble of in her chest.
The next words out of her mouth make him cry harder, fully against his will.
“You can just say it in Russian, mon petit. I know it’s hard to talk in a second language sometimes.”
The suggestion sends him back to the week his dad died, to the night that Shane gave him that same option after he’d escaped the funeral just to talk to him. The kindness in that choice hits the same, even if the context is very different.
“I just want everyone to see this sometimes. I want them to know the person I love, the person who loves me. They can’t even imagine a world where we love each other but I live it every single day. I’m jealous. I will be eternally jealous of them, because I want to scream it from the rooftops every single day.
But I am not allowed. I am not allowed to tell people I love this beautiful boy and that he loves me too. I cannot kiss him, or hold his hand anywhere that is outside of the walls of our homes. I have a family again and no one is allowed to know. I wish they could know.”
It helps the same way that it did all those years ago, on the streets of his hometown. It’s off his chest now, and the tears start to subside.
Ilya is embarrassed immediately, trying to pull away from Yuna and wipe his eyes subtly. He sees the dark stain of his tears across the blue of the jersey she wears every time they watch Shane play together.
Yuna refuses to let him go far, wiping at his eyes with her thumbs.
David is typically the softer of the pair, but he knows that Yuna loves him. She puts in the effort to make him feel loved in her own way constantly. A Centaurs pin on her purse, a little 81 magnet on the fridge, even a framed photo of Shane and Ilya from that first commercial they ever did together lives on her walls. She never says it out loud, not the kind of person to love out loud like that, but she says it in everything she does.
“It’s silly, mama.” His breath hitches, the word spilling out of him before he can reign himself in. Ilya sees the moment that it catches Yuna off guard. The tears that threaten to spill in an exact replica of her son trying to hold back his own emotions.
“I want people to know so badly some days. I want to be able to show pictures to um, brag.” His voice catches on the word that cannot tell if he is using correctly. “I know why we cannot tell, but I want to. I want to be allowed to kiss him on ice.”
Yuna only makes a quiet noise, forcefully rearranging his limbs so that he’s laid out with his head in her lap. It’s so similar to how Shane holds him that he feels the tears threatening to reappear, but luckily keeps them at bay. There’s fingers in his hair, her other hand resting on his side, a thumb sliding up and down his ribs in a soothing motion.
This must be how she held Shane as a child, the similarities to how Shane soothes him are glaringly obvious.
The game is over now, the commentators discussing how incredibly the Metro’s had played, but Ilya can’t focus like he usually does. His phone buzzes, the specific pattern of vibration letting him know that it’s Shane celebrating his win.
Ilya can’t muster the energy to pick up his phone. It feels like even picking up his limbs is an impossible task. He knows he should be able to, that this shouldn't feel like the end of the world, but he’s just sobbed on his future mother-in-law's shoulder and he’s not in the mood to even try.
There’s not a noticeable slip, just a gradual closing of his eyes until he feels arms slide under him after his brain slowed enough to let him sleep.
He knows it’s Shane by the smell of the soap, and that Yuna probably wouldn’t be able to pick him up.
He thinks.
She probably could if he’s being totally honest, she’s kinda scary buff underneath those loose layers she’s always in.
Ilya lets his head roll into Shane’s shoulder, too exhausted to say anything when he feels the barest press of a kiss across his hairline. He can hear the murmuring in French between Shane and Yuna, but he can’t understand any of it when he’s this exhausted.
Yuna presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles before he hears the front door close behind her.
“I know you’re awake, mon chéri.”
Ilya tenses a little in his arms, but Shane makes little soothing noises as he pulls him even closer and starts toward the stairs.
“Mama said you had a rough night, texted me so I wouldn’t be worried about you not responding.” Shane’s breathing gets a little heavier as he reaches the top of the stairs, but he doesn’t stop. “We can talk about this tomorrow. Tonight we just get some sleep.”
Shane lowers him gently into the bed, the one they never remembered to make after they’d woke up later than expected this morning. The heavy blanket is pulled over him, a gentle set of kisses pressed to his cheek and forehead before the heat of his boyfriend is gone.
Ilya cannot muster the energy to whine the way he wants to initially, but he’s quickly soothed by Shane sliding into bed next to him after only a minute or so.
The gesture makes the tears threaten to return, because Shane never goes to sleep after a game without showering at home. Claims that locker room showers are inherently nasty and can’t get him clean enough.
Strong arms tuck him in against a warm chest, heartbeat directly under his ears the way he needs when he’s feeling emotional.
“Je t'aime de tout mon cœur,” is whispered into his hair.
Ilya knows that one like the back of his hand.
‘I love you with all of my heart’
He made Shane teach him that one early on, trying to see how many languages they could say they loved each other in.
Sleep consumes him again, faster than he expected. The night was hard, and he’s dreading having to explain this to Shane tomorrow, but for now he’s held by the love of his life.
That has to be enough.