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Shane hated when they fought.
He had always hated it, obviously. But now, after the break up, after the hell they went through before finding each other again, he hated it even more.
It was stupid. So stupid.
He had almost already forgotten what they were mad about. It was some dumb thing they didn’t agree on. The problem wasn’t the topic, the problem was that they had both been tired and drained by the long day, so on the edge that even the smallest spark would’ve set them on fire.
So when Shane tried to start a conversation that was too deep for Ilya, he deflected, like usual. But this time, instead of understanding, instead of stroking his back, and grounding him before asking again, he had pushed for an answer.
And now here they were. Silent, not speaking, and huffing around the house to let the other one know how upset they were.
It was ridiculous. But neither of them was going to give out first.
Shane had slept on the couch, even if the other had insisted it wasn’t necessary. Ilya had tried to be the one sleeping on the couch, Shane didn’t let him. It was Ilya’s house after all. He didn’t say that, though, because he knew it wasn’t true, he knew Ilya would insist it was their house.
So now Shane was stress cleaning the living room.
Not that it was needed.
He just had to have something to do with his hands while Ilya made himself breakfast. Some way to keep his brain busy, to avoid overthinking every word that was said the night before and every small noise Ilya was making.
The truth was, he was scared. Scared to fall back into bad habits, scared to lose all the progress they had fought so hard to get. Scared to lose him again, the same way he had lost him a few months back.
They were both mostly past it, they were together, and that’s all they needed to feel safe and secure. But in moments like these, all the fractures came back to the surface, hiding right under their skin so that they could keep it from one another.
The kitchen had been quiet for a while, Shane guessed Ilya was eating now, it didn’t make it any better.
It was probably worse, in a way. Because now the house was unbearably still and eerily quiet.
Shane moved around the room, dusting every surface he could find. Until he found himself in front of a cabinet.
When Shane had moved in, he had moved all of his trophies in Ilya’s trophy room. They were all sitting in the same place, some on opposite sides of the room, some intertwined, as if they were meant to tell a silent story no one quite knew.
But with Shane’s trophies added to the room, they had to decide to take out some of the older ones, the pre-NHL ones mostly.
Shane had brought a lot of them to his parents, to put in his old room, or wherever they liked.He had convinced Ilya to give Yuna and David a couple of his too. “To make space,” had been the official excuse, but they both knew how important it would feel for Ilya. It had become clear when he insisted that “they wouldn’t want some random man’s trophies” that he was just worried about not being cared about in return. Shane had explained he was like a son to them, and that they would’ve loved to have a piece of him in their house at all times. Ilya had cried, but, the day after, he had put a box of old trophies in the trunk of the car with little post-its with translations for the ones he had won in Russia.
Most of his firsts were still in the house, though. Sitting in the cabinet that Shane was now opening.
He had only meant to dust the visible surface, only wiping at the base of some of them. But his mind was foggy, busied with the thoughts about the night before, his eyes were puffy and his hands had started to tremble again.
He spotted Ilya’s first ever trophy. It was a small and thin glass square held up straight by a small wooden base, the writing on it was in Russian, but from what Shane had learned, it was some MVP thing, something about being the top scorer and best skater. It was dated 2000, and based on what he was told, Ilya must have been playing for a little over a year. And he was already the best.
Shane’s heart swelled with pride as his eyes filled with tears at the idea of a 9 year old Ilya accepting the trophy.
When he glanced down he spotted a small golden plaque on the wooden part. It had Ilya’s full name on it but the wetness in his eyes prevented him from reading it properly. Shane had never even questioned if Ilya had a middle name, so he turned a little to the side to wipe his eyes with his sleeve to see better.
Then it happened.
The duster he was holding in his other hand hit the side of the trophy, sending it tumbling to the ground.
It shattered immediately with a loud crash.
“Shit. Shit!”
No point in drying his eyes anymore. Tears were streaming now and there was no stopping them.
He bent down immediately, trying his best to gather all the pieces. But it was pointless, before he could even pick up one piece Ilya was standing in front of him.
“Shane, are you ok–” He froze. He had walked in worried about Shane’s wellbeing, and he now looked like he was ready to muder him, or cry, or both.
“Ilya, I– I didn’t mean to. I swear– I just turned and it–” Shane waved his hands uselessly at the cabinet, trying to convey what had happened.
“Why the fuck were you even in that cabinet? I make you mad and you do that?” Ilya had meant to snap at him, but he sounded more like a wounded puppy.
“It was an accident, Ilya–”
“Oh, right. Because everything is always an accident with you!” And there it was, the edge in his voice, the cutting tone he used when he was protecting himself from something.
“Don’t do that. Please,” Shane’s voice was trembling, he wasn’t moving a muscle, all he could do was force himself to breathe.
“Do not do what, Shane?! Should I be happy you broke something that actually meant something to me?!”
Shane swallowed hard, trying to will himself into keeping it together, to not start sobbing.
“I said I’m sorry. I told you. I was cleaning and I just– I turned too fast.”
“Yes, well, turn slower next time.” He was being mean, and he knew it, “Sorry does not fix my trophy, Shane. It does not take away the fact you broke it into a million pieces because you did not care enough.”
Shane stood frozen, unsure on how to behave in front of a man that had never treated him like this. In front of the man he loved so deeply it hurt.
He was stuck in time, wishing he could go back and just kiss him good morning and give up this stupid pride fight they had been having.
Ilya kept going, “You never think about anyone but yourself. You never think about how what you say or do could make me feel. I do not even know why I bother.”
Ouch.
Shane seemed to find his legs again. He walked away. Without a word, without a fight, he just slid in their bedroom and locked the door.
He sat on the bed, resting his elbows on his legs and his head in his hands. He was hurt. More than he had ever been, really.
The tears came before he could force himself to stop them. He just let himself cry, only going silent when he heard Ilya’s footsteps stop dead outside the door.
For a second, there was only silence. Shane thought he must have imagined it. Then he heard a slow knock. He didn’t answer, he needed space, and if this wasn’t an apology, he didn’t want to hear it.
The second knock was louder. It wasn’t even a knock, to be honest. It was more the slam of a hand hitting the door.
“Oh! Yes, great. Just lock yourself in the bedroom!” Ilya’s voice was slightly muffled by the door separating them, but the anger in it was still clear.
There was a string of curses in Russian, then a moment of silence.
He sighed before speaking again, this time in a calmer voice, one that Shane recognised better, “You do not even know why I am upset.”
Shane didn’t really need to know why to know he had been too harsh. So he didn't say anything. After all, it hadn’t even been 24 hours since Ilya had refused to tell him what was on his mind, so why would he do that now.
“Shane…” His voice dropped again. It was still sharp, but something else was making its way through, “Do not just sit in there crying like I am bad guy.”
Shane almost scoffed, because who was the bad guy now if not him.
Ilya let out a frustrated groan from the lack of an answer, his shoulders slumped in defeat, his voice softened even more, “I can hear you. Just open this fucking door so we can talk.” He didn’t sound far from actually begging to get an answer.
In his defence, it wasn’t very mature of Shane to just sit in the dark with his arms folded, ignoring him. But he needed space, and he was going to get it.
“Just give me a damn minute”
He could hear Ilya exhale hard through his nose, holding back whatever he wanted to say.
“Fine.” He let his head fall against the door with a soft noise.
It had been so long, by the time Shane heard the faintest noise from the hallway, that he guessed Ilya had just walked away. It would’ve been valid. Shane didn’t ask him to stay, quite the opposite actually.
Instead, Ilya had turned around and let his back slide against the door, ending up sitting on the floor in front of it, staring at the ceiling.
The next noise was the sound of Ilya’s fingers tapping impatiently on the floor in front of the door. Then his leg bouncing up and down restlessly.
The silence was suffocating for both of them, except this time Shane had the upper hand. It was up to him when, and if, the silence would turn into a conversation.
Shane knew, realistically, that once they talked this through, they would be okay. But the fear of having to relive through a break up was making him dread the moment he would get up.
He was about to open the door when Ilya had enough of the silence, “I will not apologise for being pissed. If it is what you are waiting for. But I also do not want to sit here all day. You done crying?”
“Oh, fuck you.” Shane sat back down,
“Wow. Ok. Stay in there all day then.”
And with a last huff, Shane heard the love of his life walk away.
It hit him harder than he would like to admit. It made no sense. He was right. He knew he was. But he also knew Ilya. And he knew this meant something was wrong, that something was bothering him.
He stayed in the room for another ten minutes, forcing himself to breathe through all waves of panic that hit him one after the other. To somehow will his brain into not believing Ilya was going to break up with him over something so stupid.
I can’t do this again. I can’t lose him again.
He heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen, then nothing again for the longest time.
When he walked out of the room he caught a glance of Ilya sitting on the couch, looking ready to shout at him again. He didn’t like the expression on his face, he didn’t like how he recognised it from the only time he had seen his dad, a decade ago.
When he got closer he saw what had caused the earlier crash. A chair was laying on the floor like somebody had thrown it across the room.
Shane was glad they didn’t have neighbours.
He picked up the chair silently and put it back in place. He was going to figure out what was wrong. And he was going to be gentle and understanding, because that was who he was. And no matter what, this was his Ilya. It was his sweet, loving boyfriend that would never hurt him just for the sake of it. They had gone through this years before, while Ilya was still living between Boston and Moscow, they were going to get through it again. They were going to be just fine.
Ilya looked up from his lap as he heard the chair being lifted off the floor. The grip on his knee loosened slightly. He swallowed hard and kept his eyes on Shane.
He didn’t say anything. Even when Shane sat next to him on the couch, facing him completely, he stayed silent. Stoic.
“I’m sorry about that, Ilya” If Shane was going to do this, he was going to lead by example and apologise first.
Ilya still didn’t look at him, but the tension in his shoulder eased slightly,
“Yeah?” It was half sarcastic, followed by a small huff of laughter. He glanced at the shards of glass still sitting on the hardwood floor.
Shane nods, “I was dusting, I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sorry”
Ilya stood up again, resuming his endless pacing around the room, “You never do it on purpose.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You always say you are sorry. But you never stop doing it. I move to shitty team, I get upset at shitty team and you feel guilty, you say sorry but you don’t understand when I complain.” He was raising his voice again and his grasp on English was getting worse by the minute.
“That’s not fair.”
“You say you are sorry about my family but then you do not understand what I have to say when we talk about families! It’s always your mom is too pressing or too worried. Guess what Shane! I do not have a mom to press me!”
“Ilya–” Shane’s head was starting to spin, his stomach was turning and his vision was blurring at the edges. The guilt was eating him alive, and the panic was resurfacing.
“No. Do not Ilya me.”
Shane stopped hearing. Ilya was still shouting, complaining about everything wrong he has ever done, but no words were hitting Shane’s ears. He was replaying every fight, every day he had spent without him. Every memory that he had kept so close to his heart during their broken up time.
His insides felt fuzzy, he couldn’t feel his fingers even though he could see them shaking. His heart was shattering past repair and he had to stop this. He had to do something to make this stop.
He tried walking away. He really did. He willed his legs into moving, into leaving and going back into the bedroom.
It didn’t work.
His knees felt like jelly and he was seconds away from dropping to the floor and sobbing. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry, couldn't speak. There was nothing he could do to stop him, and Ilya wasn’t looking at him. He was still speaking, shouting, while glancing back and forth from the other side of the room and the broken glass on the floor.
The fight was uglier in Shane’s eyes than what it actually was. This just needed a conversation, he knew Ilya’s reaction was just a trauma response, he knew he just needed to let him speak and then unravel his thoughts. Rationally, he also knew what Ilya was saying, aside from the first few angry sentences, wasn’t that bad. But there was nothing rational left in Shane’s brain. He had to do something, so he did the only thing he knew would stop Ilya.
“...Red–” He gasped out with the last bit of air he had in his lungs before dropping to his knees.
In a second, Ilya was in front of him, crouched down and silent. Every last bit of rage had disappeared from his eyes.
“Shane…” His voice was gentle again, soft.
All Shane could do was shake his head. He was looking down at his knees pressing on the hardwood floor, his hands trembling on top of his thighs.
Ilya didn’t dare get closer. After all, safe wording meant stopping everything, he wasn’t going to initiate physical contact without explicit consent, “Shane, can you look at me, please?”
He did. It took him a few seconds, but he raised his head and looked at Ilya through wet lashes. He wasn’t crying yet, but his vision was blurry and he could feel the tears pressing behind his eyes.
“Can I touch you? Is that okay?”
Shane nodded, swallowing hard and trying to take deep breaths that felt more like big gasps.
Ilya moved his hand slowly as he placed it softly on top of Shane’s. Panic was surging through him as well now. He had been harsh, he knew it, and he was now realising it more and more as Shane struggled to catch his breath in front of him. He had reacted the same way his father would have, and he hated it. He was tired, hurt and already angry, he should've just walked away, but he didn’t, and now wasn’t the time to focus on it.
“Shane, I am sorry, I wasn’t– Just breathe, okay?” Ilya sat next to him, slowly moving a hand across his back, “You’re good, you’re okay.”
Eventually Shane calmed down, he could breathe well again, and his hands weren’t shaking as bad.
“I’m sorry,” Shane basically whispered, glancing up at Ilya who was now moving again to sit in front of him.
“No. No, is all good. I overreacted, I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have safe worded, that’s not what the word is for,” and, God damnit, he couldn’t stop tearing up.
“Shane. That is exactly what the system is for. Something is too much, and you want it to stop immediately without arguing. You safeword. Is what it is supposed to be.”
Shane looked at Ilya again, properly this time. He wasn’t angry anymore, he could tell, but he could also see the tension in his shoulders, the way his breaths were still slightly too shallow, the way his free hand was tightly holding onto his own leg.
“I really didn’t mean to break it.”
“I know. I am sorry for snapping. I was tired and already angry.”
Shane nodded along, he knew that already. “I’m sorry it broke. Maybe we can fix it?”
“No. Maybe– I don’t know. I do not want to think about it right now,” and for the first time since this whole thing started, Ilya didn’t look ready to snap, ready to blame Shane for something. He just looked tired.
“Ilya–”
Ilya exhaled, his shoulders slumping again, the tension fully draining out of him this time. “I know,” a beat passed, “Is just– that was an important trophy. Was the first… ever…”
Shane moved a hand on his chin, forcing Ilya to look at him. Blue eyes met his, and there he was, the Ilya he knew, his sweet boy. He wasn't angry anymore, he was just a boy grieving something Shane couldn’t quite grasp fully.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I want to go lay down.”
Shane looked at him for a moment longer. His eyes looked darker than usual, he could see the tiredness replace everything else on his face. And maybe Shane should’ve been angry, maybe he should’ve told him to go lay down so he could think about all the bullshit he just spewed on him because of an honest mistake. But all he could think about doing right now, was wrapping him in a blanket and holding him so tight everything else would fade.
“Let’s go lie down then…”
Ilya looked at him, his eyes filling with hope at Shane’s words, “You will come with me?”
“If you want me to.”
“Are you not mad at me? For shouting at you.”
“No. We’ll talk about it. And don’t think I’ll let you off the hook so easily, but not right now, okay?”
Ilya just nodded and stood up, following Shane to the bedroom.
Shane laid down first, pulling the sheets up. Ilya followed, moving slowly, dragging his feet along the rug and flopping down with a soft thud. Before he knew it, the thin blanket was being pulled on top of him.
Ilya turned around to face Shane, who was already tucking him in, making sure the blanket was covering his back as well.
When he was satisfied with the result, he laid his head on the pillow and met Ilya’s eyes again, “Are you ok?”
“Me? I am just great. Fantastic, why wouldn’t I be,” he said sarcastically, his hands clenching around the soft fabric of the sheets. He was avoiding Shane’s eyes again.
“Ilya…”
He finally looked at him, with something different in his eyes again, something more raw than he would usually let through, “No, I am not ok.” He sighed before continuing, “but that is not your problem right now.”
“It is. Ilya talk to me, please.”
This was all too familiar. And also the reason why they had been fighting in the first place. Ilya wanted Shane to understand him, and he was mad at him for not understanding some things. Shane praised himself for being able to read Ilya like an open book, but he also needed him to communicate, to explain to him the things that were too knotted in his past to be understandable with a glance.
“Ilya… I love you, you know that, right?”
Ilya froze. For a second he just stared, like those words they had told each other so many times had suddenly knocked the wind out of him.
“That is not fair.” He turned to lay on his back, staring at the small stain that sat on the ceiling, right next to the light, “you can’t just say that after everything I said, after how I hurt you.”
Shane’s hand moved to Ilya’s face for the second time tonight, making him look at him once more, “that doesn’t change though. I could be mad, I could be hurt and broken, but that wouldn’t change this. So if you’re not okay, that is my problem too. And if there’s anything I can do about it, I won’t deprive you of that because of a fight.”
Ilya closed his eyes, tears threatening to fall. Never in his life someone had loved him enough to do it through a fight. “Fuck.” He let his head fall forward, leaning against Shane’s shoulder. And before he knew it, he was being pulled closer and held properly. “Maybe I am just really bad at letting people love me.”
One of Shane’s hands was moving softly on his back, the other one was massaging through his curls. There weren’t any words left to say, so he didn’t add anything, he just stayed present, grounding him.
They had been silently holding each other for a while, and were now both able to breathe normally. Ilya was the first to speak.
“I just need– I will go get some water.”
“I can go for you, if you still feel–” He stopped himself when he saw Ilya’s eyes, he needed the space, so he gave it to him. “Okay, I’ll wait here for you.”
Ilya stood up and walked to the door.
“Ilya.”
“Yeah?”
“Promise me you’ll be back.”
Ilya smiled one of those smiles that warmed Shane up from the inside, “Always.”
Eventually, he went back with puffy eyes and shaky hands. He stood in the doorway, his gaze darting around the room before landing on Shane, still laying there, still waiting for him.
Ilya looked tired, his shoulders were slumped again, like everything had just been drained out of him at once. He almost flinched when Shane’s soft voice cut through the air.
“Baby…”
Ilya’s jaw clenched at the familiar term, it was clear Shane wasn’t holding anything against him, at least for now.
He finally looked down at him.
“Don’t– Please.” His voice broke on the last word.
Shane patted the bed next to him, where the mattress was still warm from earlier. “Come here.”
Ilya hesitated for a moment, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. He almost looked like he was bracing for another argument, like he was getting ready for the moment Shane was inevitably going to bring up the horrible words he had said.
But then his hands relaxed again, and he stepped into the room, dropping heavily next to him.
Prompted by Shane, he closed the distance again. His head was being loud, glimpses of the fight mixing with old memories of his father shouting at him. The guilt was taking over, and his already tired mind wasn’t going to hold up much longer. He heard himself mutter something in Russian under his breath.
“Mh?” Shane questioned, as he was already touching him, softly running a hand on the inside of his arm.
“I can’t– Shane, I can’t.”
Shane wasn’t sure of what exactly he couldn’t do, but he had the feeling it didn’t matter. He held him again, as tightly as he could, whispering in his ear everything he needed to hear.
Eventually, Shane leaned back, just enough to look at Ilya, to try to understand what he was thinking. Instead, he ended up just leaving a small kiss on his nose.
Ilya’s breath hitched at that, he just stared at him for a second, the barrier was crumbling and there was nothing he could do to avoid it. His eyes flickered between Shane’s, then his face crumpled. He threw himself against Shane’s chest again.
“Let go baby, let it out.”
Those words seemed to be the breaking point for Ilya. He let go with a shuddering exhale. His shoulders shook as he buried his face deeper into Shane’s neck. The first few tears opened up the dam, followed by an increasing amount of wetness Shane could feel seeping through his shirt.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s all good. You’re okay.” Shane said as he left a kiss on top of his blonde curls.
The gesture seemed to break whatever control Ilya had left. The crying turned into soft sobs that were wracking his body.
He trembled hard in his arms, face still buried deep into his neck, his breaths coming in hiccuping gasps. Each one ending with a ragged “sorry” or “please.”
With a few more reassurances and soft strokes from Shane, and after he had cried himself out, Ilya fell asleep, safely, in his boyfriend’s arms.
When Shane was sure Ilya was sleeping deeply enough to not wake up at the smallest movement, curiosity got the best of him. Ilya had left the room for almost fifteen minutes earlier, and he had come back more upset than when he left.
He slowly untangled himself from Ilya’s warm, heavy body, who made a soft noise in his sleep, rolling over a little, with a hand still stretched out unconsciously in Shane’s direction.
He crossed the room and walked to the kitchen as quietly as he could. When he entered the room, he immediately saw the reason why Ilya was so upset earlier. On the kitchen island, in a half open trash bag, laid all the small pieces of glass from the trophy, ready to be thrown away. The small metal plaque was sitting next to the bag, set carefully on its back.
Shane’s heart clenched. He was ready to throw something so important away, something that had hurt so bad losing, was already in a trash bag. He wondered how many times Ilya had already done this, how many times he had already had to lose something and just move on with it.
He carefully placed every piece of glass on the table, reordering them on the flat surface. He then went to their bottom kitchen drawer and picked out a small tube of clear glue. It wasn’t perfect, nor ideal, but he wasn’t going to let him lose it. He glued it back together. You could still see some cracks, and there were definitely some minuscule shards missing here and there, but it was in one piece.
He was gluing the plaque back on when he heard soft footsteps entering the room.
“Shane?” Ilya’s voice was hoarse and shocked as he took in the scene in front of him. For a second, he just stared, jaw almost slack. Then something fragile flashed across his face before hardening into stubborn guilt again. “Don’t bother with that.”
Shane simply picked up the patched up trophy and showed it to him. Ilya swallowed as his eyes dropped to the repaired trophy. He hesitated, his fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to reach forward and touch it.
“Why?”
“Well, I figured that if you were going to throw it away, I might as well try to fix it. I– Is that okay?” Suddenly, Shane wasn’t so sure he should’ve done that before asking.
Ilya’s jaw clenched, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be touched by the gesture or fall into old habits and be upset at it to hide his own vulnerability.
“You glued it back together.”
“I’m sorry…”
Ilya’s eyes snapped back to Shane’s, “no. Why are you apologising?”
“You look upset.”
“Is just– Is broken anyways, you can tell it is, so what is the point?”
“It’s in one piece, we can put it back on the shelf. And the memories are the point, not the trophy.”
“It looks like me now.”
Shane’s eyes softened, “What do you mean?”
“I am broken, like that. Pieced back together by you and your stupid glue you insisted we buy,” he let out a small chuckle that caught on the lump in his throat.
Shane put the trophy down, walking up to Ilya and reaching for his arms, “Then that means I’ll love it even more. Like I love you even more for all of your cracks and crevices. It’s what makes you, you, Ilya.”
Ilya hugged him tight, resting his head on his shoulder. “This is stupid.”
“It isn’t, you care about it. It’s okay.”
“I am a grown man. Crying over a stupid trophy, from years ago. It isn’t even big accomplishment, I should not be so upset over it.”
“Ilya.” Shane tried to lean back to look at Ilya better. Ilya didn’t let him.
“It was the only trophy my mama saw me win.” The tears were coming back, but this time he was too tired to hide them. He let Shane grab his face and peel it off his shoulder. He let himself be looked at, he let himself be loved.
“Did you not win another one before she–”
“I did. I won all the prizes, I won everything, every season. But she was never at my hockey things after that one.” He took a deep breath, staring at Shane for a second to ground himself, “Hockey was my dad’s thing, he wanted me to give him a reason to keep paying for it. So he was at every practice, every game, every awards ceremony. And my mom couldn’t spend a whole day with him. And she was already so sad… She couldn’t make it again. So that was the only one.”
Shane held him again, “she saw you win every single one after those hard days, I promise, I believe it.”
“I love you, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have shouted at you. I said some things I didn’t mean.”
“I know…”
“I do not want you to stop talking about your mom. I love your mom, and I love your relationship with her. I would never ask you to not complain about something just because I have it worse.”
“It’s ok if it hurts you.”
“Only sometimes.”
“Promise to tell me when it does.”
“I promise…” He sighed.
“Do you hate that we moved to Ottawa, that you had to give up Boston for me?”
“No. I am happy that we are here together, I shouldn’t have held it against you.”
“We’ll talk about this, though. Not today, no hard conversations today, but at some point we will have to. I don’t want you to feel like you gave up everything for me while I just watched”
Ilya looked at him again. He let his eyes roam through every little detail about his face. “I do not deserve you, but I hope you never find out.”
“You deserve the world Ilya, and I hope you find out soon.”