we all begin somewhere

"Is Shane okay?" Was Yuna's first question.

"Yes," David was quick to reassure her. "He's fine. He's great."

"David," Yuna said worriedly, hand on his bicep. "Is Shane okay?"

"He really is. I promise, sweetheart. I would tell you if he wasn't," David promised her because he would. "But I - he was - he's probably going to be headed over here soon."

"Why?" Yuna started to get more worried, despite her husband's reassurances. "David, what happened? Did you two fight?"

David did interrupt his silent retreat but Yuna couldn't imagine Shane getting into a fight with his father over that.

"No," David caught her eyes. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then please don't ask. I saw something I shouldn't have and I - I want it to be Shane's choice if he tells us. I promise you he's safe. We didn't fight. He's - he might be upset with me, but he's okay."

Yuna searched his face for another moment before she slowly nodded.

She had an idea of what David might have seen.

She had considered that Shane's 'silent retreat' might not be the complete truth. She also recognized how upset her husband was at unintentionally learning something about their boy that he wasn't ready to share.

"Okay," Yuna pulled him in for a hug. "I'll make some tea."

"I feel so horrible."

"Shane loves you, he'll understand," Yuna said.

"I hope so," David pulled back. "I can make the tea. Shane will probably want some if he comes over."

He used to make Shane hot chocolate after nightmares, or doctor visits, or difficult practices. When he was a teenager, he started asking for tea instead.

Yuna, sensing David needed something to do, said, "use the new one my aunt sent us. It takes a little longer but I think Shane will like it."

~*~*~

"So, what did you see," Yuna asked her husband as they watched their son and his boyfriend, Ilya Rozanov, drive away.

"I wondered how long it would take for you to ask," David smiled.

"Hush you," Yuna glared. "Like you wouldn't be curious. Unless, god, did you walk in on-"

"No," David stopped her. "They were just walking up from the dock. I would have left but when I noticed it was Rozanov - or Ilya, I mean - I was just frozen there."

"Then how did you know they were, you know, together?"

"Well they kissed on the porch," David winced. "And Ilya..."

"Ilya what?"

"He, uh, had his hand on Shane's…bottom."

Yuna and David stared at each other for a few seconds before Yuna couldn't take it anymore, smile spreading across her face and burst out laughing, hand gripping her husband’s shirt to hold herself up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Yuna laughed out.

"Yuna!" David admonished but he was laughing too. He reached out to steady her. "It's not funny!"

"When you put it that - that way!" Yuna tried to gather herself. "Ilya Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov. I can't believe it."

"He's a sweet kid," David was still smiling, thinking about Ilya standing awkwardly by his son, happily eating pasta, saying he'd leave the team that drafted him for their Shane.

Yuna softened. "He really is. He looks so much younger in person."

So when they’re lying in bed one day after a long evening practice, scrolling on their phones, Shane turns towards Ilya and asks, “what’s a ‘slavic stare’?”

“What?”

Shane turned his phone screen towards his husband. It’s a list of ‘Top 10 Athletes with Best Slavic Stare’.

“I am only number four?” Ilya frowned.

“What is it?” Shane pressed.

“Is this,” Ilya tossed his phone aside and rolled over on top of his husband. He had himself propped up on his hands, strong arms bracketing Shane’s head.

Shane looked confused at first. Ilya closed his eyes and set his features. When he opened his eyes, they were gazing up at Shane, chin tilted down. His jaw was set tight with a hard line at his brow. All playfulness had fled his features.

It was the same expression Shane had seen during important games. Games where Ilya wasn’t just trying to win, he was trying to destroy the other team.

“Ilya?” Shane breathed.

But Ilya just stared. It was intense, focused, like his world narrowed down to a single task.

It felt like… how Shane imagined a rabbit would feel caught in the eyes of a wolf.

“Ilya, stop it,” Shane wiggled, hands on Ilya’s chest to push him off. The fact he used about 10% of his strength to do this meant nothing.

Ilya grabbed both of his hands in one of his and pinned them above his head.

He said something in Russian that Shane only caught fragments of. His voice was deeper like it got when he spoke his native language. Shane got “you” “wanted” “good boy” and “me” but it was enough for him to vaguely catch onto the meaning.

“Ilya, I’m…,” Shane whined and unsuccessfully tried to yank his hands back. “I’m tired. I just wanted an…explanation.”

“But you are hands-on learner,” Ilya said in English but with a thick accent, not dropping the stare.

Shane squeezed his eyes close as Ilya dipped to capture his prey.

I am so far away from home. I am so afraid but I cannot show it. I’m going to be all on my own out there and people are not kind to me. I’ve always been alone, but never this kind of alone before. I don’t really know you, but you seemed kind. And earnest. You would not lie to me. Is it safe? Will I be happy there and safe? Boston is nice too?

Shane is like no! It’s embarrassing! And this is public! And you wouldn’t make me actually do that to Rose would you? You know the answer, I’m gay!

Only Rose thinks the whole thing is hilarious and gives Shane the go ahead so there’s no real reason to resist Ilya’s begging anymore, still he holds out to the day before the interview.

“Fine! Fine! You can ask about Rose, but I get to ask about anything I want too!” And Ilya’s like yes yes of course my love. His boring Shane would hardly ask anything damning.

Fast forward to the day of the interview Shane is fondly exasperated with Ilya’s Rose questions, and Ilya is being a cocky bastard so happy with how it played out.

Until they switch sides and Shane breaks out his first question:

“Is it or is it not true that despite famously calling Scott Hunter ‘a nearly extinct fossil’ you think he’s hot?” The blood drains from Ilya’s face pretty quickly after that.

“Do you think Hayden Pike is a good hockey player?”

“Do you consider Hayden Pike a close friend?”

“Who do you love more: me or Anya?”

“Besides me who is your favorite teammate?”

Now picture this, occasionally they whisper into each other's ears, sometimes its just sweet nothigns and sometimes it's some devastating chirps about tennis, and each time a precious smile breaks through, only for each other, but it drives the photographers wild.