#lovelyrozanova

it was all over the news: national television. web articles. and ilya had no idea.

the game started out as usual. the raiders versus the metros. the stadium was packed, it was one of the final games before the playoffs. rozanov and hollander were going at it, goals being scored left and right. it was going to go down as one of the highest-scoring games in history if they kept it up.

it's the third period when it happens. ilya had slowed down, just a bit. he stood to the side for a moment to catch his breath after a goal, bent over, hands on knees. cameras zoomed in on him instantly. "very atypical behavior from rozanov." he assured the ref he was fine and was back out on the ice moments later. a minute passes, maybe two. he's out before he hits the ice. "and rozanov is DOWN—"

utter chaos. the crowd erupts in shock before going silent as they assess him. the reporters go back and forth, narrating what they're seeing. there's a collective gasp as one of the trainers waves an arm for back-up while another starts chest compressions. the rink is silent, as if everyone is holding their breath. they get him back after a few rounds, and then they move. he still doesn't wake. the rest of the game is cancelled. no one is declared a winner. they will have to re-play. without rozanov, no doubt.

ilya comes back in pieces. the first time during an MRI. he's able to open his eyes, and that's about it. the second time is worse. panic sets in. he pulls the oxygen mask from his face, goes straight for the IV in his arm, clutches at his chest in pain from broken ribs. they calm him down, not explaining what happened to him just yet. they're still trying to figure it out, to an extent.

the next two days are a blur. teammates come in and out, most people talk around the elephant in the room and wish him well. shane is the first to tell him the truth about what happened. the sudden collapse. the CPR. the way the news is milking the story like a prized heifer.

it's bright when he opens his eyes. early morning, probably. he feels a soft, small hand wrapped around one of his fingers. the oxygen mask has been replaced with a smaller cannula. he's still hooked up to quite a bit of machinery, but not nearly as much as he was initially.

he'd never admit it out loud, but he's got butterflies in his stomach. katya had been there for games in russia, but this was her first time at a major league game. she hadn't seen him play in person in YEARS. he needed this win tonight, especially since it was against fucking chicago.

❝ where the fuck is alvarez? ❞ the team had been warming up for a while ago, and their best defensive player was nowhere to be found. it wasn't like him. ilya starts looking everywhere. first around the arena, then anywhere he can think. closets. bathrooms. he opens a door to a stairwell and... there they are.

she hadn't been feeling well the past few days. that much was obvious. her first trip to boston, and she was ill. she tried to spare ilya by keeping her distance. ilya couldn't care less. yes, the visit was supposed to be different, fun, but taking care of her came first.

he's barely woken up when he hears it. a glass shattering in the kitchen, followed almost immediately by a thud. a crash. ilya is out of bed in an instant. doesn't bother putting on a shirt or pants over his boxers. he already knows what happened.

❝ chert voz'mi, katyusha! chto sluchilos'? prosnis'! ❞ he races to her, swearing under his breath as a shard of glass pokes into the bottom of his foot. ❝ hey, hey, hey. you're alright. ❞ he touches the back of her head carefully.

great , another rozanov who thinks he's boring & this is the nice one . he narrows his eyes , not quite meeting her gaze , but he's still smiles over at katya , arms crossed his chest as they wait in line for their street tacos . it's not that he doesn't like tacos , of course , & it is the off season to be completely fair to katya . there's just the hang up , that's always there , in the back of his head as he calculates every calorie & carb . what he'll have to do to work it off or make up for it . he wishes it wasn't the first place his mind went , he's tried to stop it from being the first place his mind goes . there's an unsettling feeling in his stomach , though , even as he tries pushing it away . two tacos are not going to ruin his body , the meat is not going to trigger whatever that feeling he gets is when he bites into a consistency he doesn't like because it's steak , the tortillas are corn , he is fine . he focuses on the sign pointing to the salsas on the table , his nose scrunching up as he decides whether he wants to them when they've been sitting out all day . ❛ he's at home . ❜

[ txt; katya ] NO. [ txt; katya ] I DONT KNOW WHO THIS WAS FOR BUT I WILL KILL HIM

he's laughing as carter drags kip off to to the locker room with the others - and he soon follows. JUST FOR A MOMENT HE'S NOT THINKING ABOUT ALL THE THINGS THAT CAN GO WRONG. they've just won the cup - he's come out , kip by his side. no longer hiding. it feels like nothing can touch him. he changes faster than he ever has before in his life , quick to grab his phone & respond when he sees a notification for a text message from katya.

he hates when she speaks like this. the words coming from her mouth make it sound like he could survive life without her. with a brother like alexi and a father like gregori he knows he'd be completely on his own without her. he doesn't want that. " katya. " he reaches a hand out, placing it gently over his sister's. they are too the same, both hiding their feelings in plain sight like they were taught to. growing up in their home was terrible, terrifying sometimes even. and then she. . . no. they were better. both of them. their pasts did not define them.

" just because i'm finally happy doesn't mean i don't need you pushing my buttons. " the words come out with a gentle laugh, squeezing the hand he held over her lap. shane had disappeared into the kitchen to make some sort of something. " i need you always. "