Ilya Rozanov

"Never in life have I blushed. Russians do not do this".

~ Ilya Rozanov ~

Mixed canon tv show & books, with personal headcanons sprinkled throughout Sideblog ~ Follows back from @rinksaint ~ Penned by Nessa, 33, she/her

Team Captain (Heavily affiliated with): @rinkholy

The night had started out normally. Drinks with Cliff. Then onto the club. Dancing up against some girl, buying her drinks, laying the groundwork to bring her home.

All of it in an attempt to forget.

Then he'd spotted someone who reminded him of Shane, and all the sadness came flooding back. All the fucking pictures of them. Everywhere he looks online, people are talking about Shane Hollander and Rose Landry. It's suffocating. Now he can't even go out to lose himself in the darkness of the club without thinking about the lights and how they're like stars, which brings him back to thinking about the freckles on the Montreal Captain's cheeks. It's pathetic. He hates himself for it.

Before he knows it, he's pushing his way outside, dialling Shane's number. He shouldn't. It's 2am. No good conversation happens at 2am. He probably won't even answer. Then there's the click of the call being accepted and a moment of silence.

--

Ilya can be stubborn when it comes to illness. It isn't his fault. After his mother had died, his father had operated under the belief that you shouldn't let sickness get to you. He hadn't sympathised or coddled - He'd told his sons that they had to get on with it and stop complaining. A headache or sore throat wasn't a good enough reason to miss practice.

As a result, when he does get sick, he tends to try and skate it off. For the most part, this has worked. He has a strong immune system, he's always managed to shake off any illness.

This time, however, is different.

He can't remember ever feeling this sick. His head is spinning, dizzy as he tries to stand. His whole body is burning up. And there's a feeling of nausea that's causing hot flushes to roll through him.

"I am fine." He mutters, swatting Sasha's hand away. However, a moment later, he's reaching to grab onto his arm so that he doesn't fall, dizziness taking over. "I just need to sit down for a minute."

Ilya ordinarily tries to push through illness. It's all he's ever known. After his mother had died, he'd had to learn to fend for himself. His father had been stern, unsympathetic in the face of sickness. He'd refused to coddle, operating with the mindset of pushing through it.

So, Ilya had fallen in line and shut up, refusing to even sniffle.

He can't remember the last time he'd ever felt this sick, though. He'd collapsed in the locker room before the game and had been sent home to rest. Vomiting and a fever have led to dehydration, and he feels like death warmed up.

---

--

"'S okay." As if Ilya would complain. Truthfully, he'd been trying hard not to breathe too deeply or move too much, fearful that Shane would wake and leave. Which is fucking terrifying. He never thought he'd be the kind of person who'd sit there watching someone sleep. Who'd stroke fingers through his hair and wonder about his dreams.

Shane has settled in his soul and Ilya doesn't know what to do about it.

Ilya's trying very hard to forget Shane Hollander. He needs a distraction, something to drag his mind away from those big eyes and the freckles that are scattered across his cheeks like stars.

He chews on the chain around his neck, scrolling through Grindr. It's hard not to compare everyone to Shane. His mind automatically just drifts back to him.

Letting out a little growl of frustration, Ilya clicks into the first profile he sees, sending a message.