#shilya

And it was Ilya. Fuck it was most definitely Ilya and not Rozanov anymore. Ever since it had slipped out in Boston his mind had obsessed over it. He’d even tried to go on a date with Rose fucking Landry and it…they’d both agreed that being friends was best. She was the first person, other than Ilya, that could see right through him. It was the kindest someone had ever been to him, the gentle ‘there’s someone else you’re trying to forget’ that still sat firmly in his soul. Because he had been trying, hoping, to forget Ilya. Now, the man was sleeping on his couch, curled into a blanket that Shane knew must smell like him. How the fuck did they get here? 

He made himself a bowl of greek yogurt, berries, and granola- not his preferred breakfast- but the idea of waking Ilya with the blender was unacceptable. And anything else he could cook might accidentally wake Ilya with the smells. If Ilya was anything like him- he’d wake with a searing headache from the crying and he wasn’t going to make that worse. He still wasn’t sure that Ilya knew what he said last night- that he knew how clearly he had shown Shane that he mattered. ‘I don’t have to lose my favorite person again.’ His heart damn near ripped out of his chest when the words tumbled out of Ilya’s mouth. Again. Who had Ilya lost before? There was so much he didn’t know and so much he was going to learn. There was no in the world like Ilya to him and last night had forced him to sit with it and accept it. 

So he let him sleep and Shane promised himself that he would hold space for whatever version of Ilya woke up. Whether it was the one that was still terrified that he might be dead, the one that believed Shane still wanted a wall between them, or some other version that he couldn’t imagine. No one else in his life- aside from parents- had ever acted like this. Had ever just dropped everything for him. And they weren’t even talking. Shane hadn’t been able to will himself to text him and apologize. To text him and explain that the rumors about Rose Landry were just rumors. Just a guise for the both of them to get people off their backs about where their lives were going. 

The muffled sound of a blanket being shoved to the floor, feet padding towards the bathroom let him know that Ilya was finally awake. Noon. It was nearly noon. He checked Boston’s schedule a few hours ago- they had a game tomorrow in Seattle. A game that Ilya was going to miss- for him. For this. He knew how rarely Ilya missed games- they both had played sick more times than he could count. He was sure Ilya would brush it off. He wasn’t sure that he would let him. He would have to make the first steps though- because he’d fucked them up. And Ilya’s terror would only do so much to fix this- to fix them. 

Shane let out a sigh and then forced himself to stand- he grabbed a bottle of water, Advil, and a couple of protein bars. Enough to hopefully take care of Ilya’s immediate needs. He moved back into the living room and took the other couch. He could not let Ilya turn this around in his mind. He could not let him build the walls back up and he knew he was the reason for it. He knew he’d slammed the walls back into place, but you didn’t drive 5 hours in a blind panic for a situationship. They both knew that. It was just if Ilya was able to admit it. 

Shuffling steps sounded behind him and then stopped- he glanced over his shoulder. Ilya’s eyes were red rimmed- like he had had another cry just now. He watched him try to pull the walls back up and he jumped over the couch- pulled Ilya into a fierce hug before he could fully pull away. It was enough. Ilya crumbled against him and he held him there as his body shook. Five hours. Ilya had thought he was dead for five hours and it was still too much now. Even with sleeping here, even with seeing him- his mind still struggled with this being real. 

“Ilya…I’m okay.” 

“Good. Good Hollander. I will drive back to Boston. Just needed to know- I know you want space.” 

He pulled back enough to try to meet Ilya’s eyes. He refused. He refused to look at him- so he took in everything else he could gather. How Ilya leaned into him, how he still held him tight- fingers curled through his hair. For a man that said he would leave- he did not seem ready, or willing, to make the drive back. So he gathered his own courage and said the words that he knew would remind Ilya of that day, but also might break through this bull shit that he needed to leave.

“Ilya- stay. Rest.”

“Rozanov- it’s Rozanov- Hollander.”  

“Fuck that. I…I know I fucked up. I got scared when you called me Shane and I ran away. But you don’t do what you did last night and it not mean something. Ilya- stay, please.” 

Ilya shook his head as he tried to pull away- but Shane held him firm- arms locked around him in a vice like grip. He should let him go- he should give him space, but he knew that this was more than thinking Shane had died. He knew there was a history to this- a history that he felt explained Ilya’s walls. That explained Ilya’s nonchalant act- and it had been a fucking act. He just didn’t know that Ilya realized it and he had bought it for so long that the realization shook him. He didn’t know that Ilya even remembered what he told him, but he remembered. And he would not let Ilya walk through this alone- if Ilya would let him be here. He…he wanted to fucking be here.  

“Hollander- I over react. Is nothing. Drive back to Boston- we pretend never happened.”

“Ilya- do you remember what you said…about losing your favorite person?”

He froze. Ilya stopped struggling against him and froze. His shoulder slumped and Shane found himself attempting to tuck Ilya’s curls away behind his ears. Gentle touches- but touches he’d never allowed himself to give Ilya before. Touches that he had always known would tell Ilya too much about how he felt- about the feelings that he refused to acknowledge. Because acknowledging them meant that they were vulnerable- it meant that the other man could hurt them. It was something neither of them had been willing to face- until Ilya offered a part of himself and he hadn’t known what to do other than run. 

“Was lack of sleep.” 

“Ilya–” 

“Stop calling me Ilya. I Rozanov- you Hollander. You made that clear.” 

“And I fucked up. I got scared and I ran away. Ilya, you got scared and you…you came here…you ran to me. You risked…I know you risked so much to come here and you didn’t know what you’d find and I…I can’t know that terror- but I do know what it is like to be scared and run away. I know the fucking regret of doing that. Ilya- please- stay. I want you to stay.”  

Shane took a deep breath and slowly moved to step away. He’d pleaded his case- he couldn’t make Ilya stay. And he would give him the same thing Ilya had given him all those months ago- the freedom to leave. Even though every bit of his body struggled against this, it had to be Ilya’s choice. He reached over the couch- passed Ilya the water, Advil, and protein bars and waited. Ilya popped the meds and then chugged half the bottle of water- he inhaled half a protein bar a heartbeat later. Then he side-stepped Shane and headed for the front door. Shane hung his head and nodded to himself. He deserved this, he really fucking deserved this after Boston. The door shut behind Ilya and he waited- waited for the engine to turn on- waited for him to squeal out of his driveway. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to almost an hour. He moved the curtain and saw him- sitting in his car- his head against the steering wheel. So he did the only thing that felt right- he followed. 

He stood next to the car- watching as Ilya’s entire body shook, as he could hear the gut wrenching sobs that overtook him. He knocked on the glass and Ilya’s head snapped towards him. He knew that Ilya was lost and in pain and he’d caused it. He had caused all of this- his unwillingness to even contemplate that he might be gay, his inability to see Ilya opening up to him, and him being so scared that he’d run at the first sign that Ilya might be serious. That Ilya might actually care about him. No one knew about Ilya because of him and even with the promise from Hayden- he knew they’d be back here if he didn’t do something. Ilya broken hearted because of him and he couldn’t stand the thought. 

“C’mon Rozanov, open the door. I won’t make you stay- but Ilya- you can’t drive like this. Let me help you.”

The door swung open and he crouched down- the low sports car putting him at just the right height to pull Ilya into him. He reached for him and Ilya Rozanov tumbled out of the car and into his lap. Gentle strokes up and down his back, his fingers trailed into Ilya’s curls every now and then. The sobs wouldn’t stop. The dam was broken and Ilya Rozanov could not pull himself back together on his own. So he sat there and held him- his legs going numb as Ilya clung to him. 

A shiver up Ilya’s spine caught him off guard and then he took him in- t-shirt, pajama pants, the hoodie he’d shown up in nowhere to be seen. And November in Montreal meant cool and cool days- they were lucky they hadn’t had the first snow of the season. He yanked off his own hoodie and forced Ilya into it, moving him so that he could be warm. He was okay- Ilya was not. 

“So scared.” 

“I know, me too. Will you let me take you back inside? Get you warm at least- you’ve been sitting in the cold for a while.” 

“Warm sounds nice.” 

It took more effort than he liked to admit to place Ilya on the ground and then get his legs working enough that he could stand up. Once he was sure they were awake- he scooped Ilya up, his head jerking to him and then settling on his shoulder. Spent, Ilya Rozanov burrowed in closer to him- his hands like icicles against his neck. He saw the front door still open and realized that he had been so sure that Ilya would run that he had left himself a way to quickly run back in and grab his own keys. He shook his head- he’d unpack that later. 

He placed Ilya back on the couch- blankets wrapped around him tightly before Shane disappeared into his room. Sweatpants, a long sleeve t-shirt, a Montreal Metros hoodie that was soft and warm and one of his favorites. When he returned- Ilya hadn’t moved- his eyes had just closed as he settled into the cocoon. He placed the clothes next to him and gave him a gentle nudge. 

“Hot chocolate or coffee or tea?” 

“Chai.” 

“I’ll be right back- I think those should fit and I know they’re warmer than what you’re in.” 

A nod from Ilya. That was something. A flicker that he was starting to come out of…well everything. He scrounged through his cabinets- a couple bags of black tea and he put the kettle on. He made a mental note to find out what tea Ilya actually liked best. He heard him moving in the other room and gripped the counter as he waited for the water to boil. What else could he say? How else could he explain? Fucking hell. 

The kettle screamed and he set about making tea. His mind raced. He wished he could get inside Ilya’s mind for a few moments. To see what he was thinking, to feel what he was feeling, to understand what he needed from him. Everything felt like a failure and Shane didn’t know how to fail gracefully. But as he picked up the cup of tea he caught the reflection of himself in the microwave. He may not have spent hours crying- but the dark circles and the worry etched on his face settled him. He also looked like he’d been through the wringer in the last day. 

Ilya was burrowed back under the blanket- his hoodie the only outward sign that he had changed. He passed him the cup of tea and then settled next to him. He didn’t push. Didn’t press. Just sat close enough to him that their bodies touched, his hand gently resting on Ilya’s thigh. After several moments, Ilya’s hand settled on top of his and squeezed. 

“I couldn’t reach you.” 

“I know.” 

“No one could tell me if…” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t think to call and that no one else knew to even try. I’m sorry that I’ve hidden that I care about you…so much…I care so much and you had no way to get to someone else to even ask about me. I’m sorry that you spent hours believing I was dead and hoping it was wrong. I’m sorry that you had to relive…whatever it was you had to relive. I am, so sorry, Ilya. I’m sorry.” 

Another silence. Ilya quietly sipped the tea, his hand playing with Shane’s- a distraction. Something to keep Ilya here and not wherever there was in his mind. He…he should know more about him. He should know more about this man that he’d been with off and on for nearly seven years. And if he got a chance to right this- he would. He would learn every fucking thing about Ilya Rozanov. Likes, dislikes- all of it. He wanted to know all of it.  

“Moya Mama- she…overdose…when I was 12.” 

“Ilya–” 

“I…Hol…Sh…Shane. Shane.”