a ficlet of whatever happened between david and ilya while shane and yuna were outside in ep. 6. i was going to post this on ao3 but it’s so short so here 🤲
As the front door closed behind Shane with a gentle click, David turned back to the man sitting across from him at the dining table.
His son’s long-time rival.
“I have only been in love with one person.”
“I think I’m supposed to give you the shovel talk now,” David said, trying for a smile.
Rozanov frowned. “What is– what is shovel talk?”
“Ah. Right. Sorry. It’s, uh, the talk that dads give when their children start… seeing someone. The whole… don’t hurt my son.” David tried for a more joking tone, shaking his fist in mock-aggression, but Rozanov’s face was drawn, lips pressed tightly together.
“I will not hurt Shane,” he ground out with a quick shake of his head, voice rough.
“You’ll try not to,” David corrected, because it was impossible to say for certain that they would never fight – their whole public relationship proved it – but Ilya firmly shook his head again.
“No. Not try. I do.” Rozanov looked like he had made his mind up, his expression one of single-minded focus that David mostly glimpsed during Boston v. Montreal games. That, David supposed, was rather comforting. He hummed in agreement, and both men took a sip of their drinks.
Rozanov asked after a moment, “Where… where does shovel come in?”
“What…? Oh! I think I’m supposed to threaten you with a shovel…? I don’t actually know,” David admitted with a shrug, wishing he could help more to breach the language barrier.
“You have permission,” Rozanov said, “If I hurt Shane, you can hit me with a shovel.”
David couldn’t help the way he tensed at Rozanov’s flat, serious tone. “It’s a joke, Ro… Ilya. I would never.”
Rozanov– Ilya looked down at his glass, then away to the window. He reached up and tugged on one of his earlobes. His Adam's apple bobbed once, then he sniffed sharply. “Okay.”
The silence that settled over them was thicker, a little more stifling.
There was something about the way he said it, okay, that David instantly recognised. He scoured his memory trying to think– oh. Shane.
David remembered Shane, high as a kite in a hospital bed, saying okay to everything with a silly little grin playing on his bruised and battered face.
Because he was copying Ilya, David realised.
He almost smiled. He’d have to show Ilya the photos and videos he’d snuck of Shane in that giggly state. Maybe he’d even caught an o-ke in there.
But that was something he could probably do later, when the air wasn’t muggy with tension. A tension that David felt guilty about putting there.
He wanted to break the ice (ha), but… what was he supposed to talk about? Hockey, of course, was the obvious, if not shallow choice. To talk about Shane was a little more of a touchy subject, considering that he hadn’t yet come back from his talk with Yuna. David was sure it was going fine – he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Yuna loved their son unconditionally – he just hoped that they were talking about it in a way that wouldn’t hurt each other. He hoped it wasn’t a ‘breaking a bone so it set correctly’ situation.
“Well, I guess you’ll be staying for lunch,” David settled on. “What do you want?”
“For lunch?” David prompted. “What do you want to eat for lunch?”
“I eat anything,” Ilya said, then added with a shake of his head, “I am not on a stupid bird food diet.” He smirked, but it was soft and undeniably fond.
Something in David’s chest shifted and settled, turning over like a log, left too long in the fireplace, revealing its warm underbelly. He smiled at the kid. “Well, then. Do you like pasta?”
