Chapter Text
Ilya Rozanov was a coward.
It wasn’t an attractive thought, or a comforting thought, but it was in Ilya’s not-at-all humble estimations of himself, a true one.
There was really no other feasible way to explain the fact that he had agreed to be traded from Ottawa to Vancouver, in the process completely and purposefully blowing up the plan for their lives that he and Shane had come up with nearly five years ago, and yet still hadn’t told Shane that it was happening.
This was going to kill Shane. It was going to utterly destroy him. Ilya understood this completely. He could have told him, Ilya knew this. At literally any point in the last three weeks since their fight blew open Ilya’s chest and sent him spiralling into the abyss, he could have brought his boyfriend into the plan. Shane would have recalibrated, made practical and helpful suggestions, and tried to steer their relationship back on track. But Ilya didn’t want that, he wanted Shane in his entirety. He wanted to win another cup with a far better team and he wanted to kiss Shane on the ice like Old Man Hunter. He wanted to hold hands with Shane in public, to proudly show off to the whole entire world that this beautiful man was his. He wanted Shane to choose him unequivocally.
Ilya knew that Shane wasn’t willing to do that, too trapped in his own head, too scared of being perceived to allow himself to be truly happy, so Ilya had decided to skip the talking stage in fear of being convinced to stay miserably in the dark, and moved onto a plan to force Shane’s hand. Just like in the earlier days of their relationship, before it was really a relationship, Shane needed Ilya to goad him into action. He knew that the outcome of all this would probably be that they broke up for a while, but Ilya had faith that once Shane realised what Ilya needed, that he would come out and they could be together again. If Ilya needed to win him back, well he liked a challenge, and Shane Hollander had never been able to resist him for long anyway.
He had a moment of disquiet as his brain helpfully provided some carefully worded advice from his therapist, Galina. Comments about embracing non-destructive behaviours, a gentle rebuke about talking openly and honestly. She had nevertheless told him that doing something about the sadness and creating momentum had been positive. Ilya took that as a win.
He took another sip of the disgusting Canadian vodka he was drinking and grimaced: he was still a coward though. Ilya was about to enter into what he hoped would be at best month or so and at worse maybe six months of separation from the man he loved more than anything or anyone in the entire would, and instead of spending time with said man, he was getting drunk in a bar in Ottawa, drinking truly horrendous vodka.
Vodka was meant to be drunk freezing cold, neat, and in small glasses with an accompanying array of salty foods. Ilya knew this, knew it as surely as he was Russian, or that it was dark at night and light at day, or that he loved Shane Hollander. The vodka in Ilya’s hands was merely frigid, served over ice, and also tasted like lighter fluid.
Ilya was saved from any further ruminations on shitty vodka by a hand landing on his shoulder. He looked up, it was Bood, with Troy and Wyatt and Luca behind him. His teammates, his brothers, the men he had easily betrayed in his desperate gamble of living a life he wanted.
“Roz,” Bood said simply. “They’ve just announced it in the media.”
Ilya felt a pang at that, and refocused on the growing anxiety about how Shane was going to react. Shitty vodka at his local bar hadn’t really helped him calm those nerves as much as he’d hoped.
“Even though I knew it was coming it’s still…” Wyatt began, trailing off mid sentence. Ilya knew what he meant.
“I thought you were joking,” Luca said, giving a miserable little hiccough that pulled at Ilya’s heartstrings. “I was looking forward to doing so much more with you.”
Ilya’s eyes flicked back to Bood for a moment, who lifted his brows minutely. Ilya knew that Luca harboured a crush, He had even had to extricate himself from a number of artlessly contrived situations were Luca had managed to get the two of them alone in locker and hotel rooms and even once in the showers, where lingering glances, admiring words, and bitten lips had clearly indicated that the rookie was hoping to move the relationship from mentor and mentee to something far more sexually charged. A younger, stupider Ilya (and one who wasn’t hopelessly committed body and soul to Shane Hollander) probably would have allowed the situation to progress. Luckily, Ilya had instead taken his concerns to Bood and Wyatt, and they’d helped him ensure that nothing untoward had happened.
“Why are you drinking alone, anyway” Troy asked, politely choosing to ignore Luca’s misery with practiced Canadian ease. “I thought you’d be with your… girl.”
“Ah,” Ilya said, lifting the shitty vodka in mock salute. “No. I have not told my Shane, I mean Jane, Jane, about the trade.” Ilya winced at the misstep but continued. “He will-” fuck “She will not be happy but-”
Wyatt sighed, lifting one hand up. “Ilya we know, or at least Troy and I know you’re dating Shane Hollander.”
Ilya felt his stomach drop for a moment in shock. They knew? How could they know? “You knew,” he asked.
Bood nodded. “Cassie helped me connect the dots,” he admitted.
“Wait, what,” Luca asked incredulously. Ah, good at least not everyone had figured him out.
“Yes,” Ilya admitted. “He is my boyfriend, for over three years now, in love for much longer”
“You’re gay,” Luca demanded, pulling Ilya’s hand into a death grip.
“Luca,” Troy said, putting a warning hand on the rookie’s shoulder.
“I’m bisexual,” Ilya corrected, amused despite himself.
“I mean happy for you and Hollander, I used to write fanfiction about you two,” Luca plowed on like neither Ilya or Troy had spoken. “But you’re telling me I had a chance? I could have been fucking Ilya Rozanov: sex god?”
“Jesus Christ dude,” Wyatt said, pulling Luca’s hand off Ilya.
Ilya felt a hysterical giggle forming in his throat. Any other night he would have called Shane and told him about the interaction, secure in the knowledge that he would have gotten in his stupid boring car and driven to Ottawa and ridden Ilya to within an inch of his life in a fit of vindictive jealousy that would have left Ilya tingling for days. Unfortunately, Shane had probably just found out from the media that Ilya was being traded and was likely to be slightly mad.
“Haasy,” Ilya said, deciding to focus on his soon-to-be ex rookie instead of dealing with any of his main problems. “I am your captain and you are a rookie. There are all kinds of rules around consent that would make that a very bad idea.”
“Also,” Bood added with a twitch of his lips. “He’s dating someone.”
Ilya loved Bood and was going to miss him enormously. “Yes, that too. My Shane would not approve of me fucking around.”
Luca opened his mouth to object and Ilya closed his eyes. “Right, yes,” Luca said miserably. “I’m sorry, Cap.”
“Will one of you drive me home? I need to be there when Shane arrives.”
“Sure dude,” Troy said with a small smile. “Bood and Hazy can look after Haasy.”
Ilya allowed himself to be led away from the musky distressed Swiss noises happening at the bar and into Troy’s truck.
“So…” Troy said after several moments of miserable silence. “You didn’t tell him?”
Ilya sighed and looked out the window at the passing houses. “No. We fought, and I didn’t want to… I didn’t want him to convince me. I’m doing this for us.”
“O-kay,” Troy said slowly, extending both vowels long past their usual limits.
Fortunately, the rest of the journey was mercifully quick. Unfortunately, when they pulled up to Ilya’s house, Shane’s car was already there.
“You gonna be okay,” Troy asked, pointing his chin at Shane’s car.
Ilya shrugged, he hoped for the best, but expected the worst - very Russian of him.
“Thank you Troy, I’ll talk to you later,” Ilya said instead of giving a straight answer - very Ilya Rozanov of him - before fist bumping his friend and all but running into his house.
He found Shane sitting on the couch, patting Anya, tears clearly having dared to break containment and fall down his face. An inauspicious start. This was going to take some finesse.
Ilya walked up to the coach and stood over him, absently reaching down to pat Anya hello. “Solnyshko, you have been crying,” Ilya said, his heart breaking a little bit. “It will be ok-”
Shane jerked his head away from Ilya’s touch and surged upwards. Anya looked between them and elected to make herself scarce, and Ilya ardently wished he could join her. A very inauspicious start.
“What the fuck, Ilya. They’re trading you? That’s so fucking stupid. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to this team I can’t believe-”
“Shane,” Ilya said, reaching out for Shane again, who allowed himself to collapse into a hug. He felt guilt trickle through his gut. Shane couldn’t even conceive that this could have come from Ilya, was so set on the plan they had, so used to the entire world bending to his rule that it hadn’t even occurred to him.
“When did they tell you? This morning,” Shane asked doggedly from where his head was resting against Ilya’s shoulder. “You should have said something, Ilya!”
Ilya let out a gusty breath; it was time to be brave. “Ah, no. The trade uh…” he groped around for the least devastating way to say what was needed. “The trade was not Ottawa’s idea, Shanya. Not entirely.”
Shane jerked back out of Ilya’s arms like he’d been slapped. His ridiculously expressive brown eyes filled with shock and a horrified, dawning understanding. Ilya’s heart broke a bit at the sight of it. “What? Ilya, what? What do you mean?”
Ilya steeled himself against Shane’s pleading eyes and took another deep breath. He needed to do this. For himself, for Shane, for both of them… for their future happiness. “Before Christmas Vancouver approached Farah and the Cens with a trade deal for me. Very good one. Petrov, and Klein, and first round picks in ‘21 and ‘23 and ‘24.” Shane was frowning at him and Ilya could no longer bear to see the hurt forming in his eyes so he picked a spot over Shane’s shoulder and continued. “Management were happy to say no, and Farah told me more as a formality, yes? But after the Boxing Day fight, I realised that I needed to do it. Needed to make you see that we can be together openly. So I told them to go ahead with the trade three weeks ago. They have spent long time negotiating. It is a three way deal, so Klein goes to Chicago.”
Shane gasped and stumbled backwards. “Three weeks? You decided-” his hands flew to his mouth. “How could you do this without talking to me? This is what? To punish me because I won’t come out on your timeline?”
Ilya felt a stab of anger. “You won’t come out on any timeline!”
Shane blinked at him. “I literally drove here tonight because I wanted to know if you would accept six to twelve months!”
That revelation stilled Ilya, but he steeled himself again. “A timeline,” he barked. “This is our lives, Shane. I want to be with you fully now. I know you are scared, but you need to be brave, and I am so deeply fucking unhappy being your dirty little secret.”
“That’s not fair Ilya, it’s going to be complicated for me. I’m already the only Asian captain in the league! The media, sponsors, the Voyageurs? It’s going to need to be carefully managed-”
“Sponsors? Ilya spat, seeing red. “Reebok and Rolex are more important to you than me and my happiness?”
Shane’s eyes flashed. “Of course they’re fucking not, Ilya. How could you say that?”
“Well it sure sounds like they’re more important. They get twelve months but me? When I want, when I need it now? I get nothing?”
“So what, you just tore up the plan without talking to me about it?” Tears were streaming down Shane’s face again, whether from pain or anger Ilya didn’t know, or particularly care at that particular moment.
“Maybe I was tired of your stupid fucking plan!” Ilya shouted. “Maybe I decided that I should get input. That I should be allowed to be on a good, winning team with good cup prospects instead of just you!”
Shane gaped at him and it only made Ilya angrier. “I chose you over and over and over again, Shane. Even when it hurt me, even when it made me fucking miserable. But you” he shoved a finger at Shane’s chest. “You gave up nothing. You still play for the Voyageurs, you have won three cups, I ask you for one thing and you couldn’t even do that for me.”
Shane let out a ragged sob and closed his eyes, and Ilya felt some of his anger ebb away. “That’s what you really think of me,” Shane asked. Ilya felt another stab of disquiet.
“Well,” Shane said, collecting himself and slamming down a heartbreakingly neutral expression that was only slightly ruined by the tracks of tears on his face and his ragged breathing. “Here. Take this I guess.” Shane threw a box at him, and Ilya caught it out of reflex.
“What is this?” Ilya asked, looking down at the small square box in his hand.
“Really, Rozanov,” Shane replied, sounding more defeated than angry. Ilya blinked at him. Rozanov? They didn’t do that anymore, not unless it was teasing, and this was decidedly not teasing. “What do you think it is?”
Ilya opened it with shaking fingers and found a ring nestled inside. Ilya blinked at it, trying to get his still drunk brain to process what he was looking at. The last of his anger bled away as he took in the ring. It was a simple band of gold on the outside, warm and smooth, but the inside was black and matte. It was simple and elegant and breathtakingly perfect. For the first time in weeks, he felt a seed of doubt about his plan. “This… you were going to propose?”
He looked up at Shane who was staring at him with an agonising mixture of anger and heartbreak in his eyes, tears still clinging to his lashes. Ilya took an unconscious step towards the love of his life, but Shane angrily shook his head then took a step back. “It doesn’t matter,” Shane said flatly. “It’s yours anyway. I don’t fucking want it. I hope you find the happiness you want, Rozanov. Clearly I fucked it all up.”
“Shanya, I…” Ilya began, but Shane just shook his head.
Shane reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, tore off the ones to Ilya’s house, and slammed them onto the kitchen counter. He looked at Ilya one more time, took a shuddering breath, and left without a word.
Ilya sank to the kitchen floor as he heard the front door slam, and stared blankly down at the ring in his hands. He morosely removed it from the box and slid it over his ring finger. It fit perfectly, because of course it did. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, long enough that Anya eventually came out from the living room where she’d put herself once they started fighting and licked his face.
«I think I may have miscalculated, malysh» he said to Anya in Russian. «Your dad took this worse than I feared he would. Maybe a little more time away from him then we discussed, mmm?»
***
If Shane had been forced to pick a word to describe the night and day after Ilya’s trade announcement and their subsequent fight, he probably would have picked ‘completely fucking awful’ which, granted was three words, but Shane really thought he should be allowed to give himself a little bit of the break, even if only in his slightly deranged imaginings.
Ilya had called and left a message exactly once. Shane had not listened to it, too upset and angry and heartbroken to even contemplate it. He’d also studiously ignored a growing avalanche of messages from Hayden, Jackie, JJ, Rose, his parents, and weirdly several members of the Centaurs who had coached the Irina Foundation camps last year. He’d only known that his mom was throwing a little going away party because his dad had called him six times in a row.
Which is how he found himself seated at what was possibly the most excruciatingly awkward dinner of his life, which was saying something given Shane’s propensity to find social gatherings anywhere from stressful to horrifying to straight up torturous combined with his very powerful ability to be incredibly awkward at all times.
He zoned back into the conversation as his mother popped some champagne to fill their glasses. She was looking at him expectantly, as was his father and Ilya. Shane felt himself flush. “Sorry I missed that,” he admitted.
His mom shot Shane a disapproving look and then smiled at Ilya. “I was just saying: it’s a shock of course, and we’ll miss having Ilya close by, but if you’re both happy with it then this could be really exciting!”
Shane laughed hollowly, and studiously ignored Ilya trying to catch his eye. Unfortunately in doing so, he did catch his father’s eye, who was frowning at him with a mixture of concern and annoyance.
“Whats wrong, Shane?” His dad asked quietly. “Are you two still sore from the fight the other week?”
“Nothing,” Shane said sullenly. “We’re fine.” By some sort of unspoken agreement, Shane and Ilya had decided to pretend to Shane’s parents that they weren’t broken up. He wasn’t sure what Ilya’s rationale was (and felt a stab of pain at the fact that he couldn’t just ask anymore) but for Shane’s part, it was about delaying the humiliation he felt just a little longer. He knew he’d eventually have to tell them that the man he’d wanted to marry had decided to leave him without even bothering to share, but for now he could pretend. The pathetic part of Shane that was currently buried deep under the hurt and confusion and embarrassment of this entire situation, clung to the idea that maybe they would somehow eventually work it out.
He closed his eyes and counted to three in his head. “Sorry, no. It’s great that Ilya gets to go play for a…” Shane threw his mind back to Ilya’s words during the argument the night before. “Winning team with good cup prospects.”
Shane watched Ilya visibly flinch and quietly tallied it as a point to his side. His parents pretended not to notice, practiced in staying out of any arguments and letting Shane and Ilya sort them out unless actively asked to step in. In this current moment, he kind of hated that mature, reasoned approach. He wanted them to be angry along with him and for him, he wanted to feel like he actually mattered to someone he loved.
“Vancouver really has improved tremendously in the last few seasons,” his mom said after a moment. “How will you two see each other, though?”
“Oh… We will manage,” Ilya said after a moment.
Shane stared down at his Aubergine Parmesan like it had personally wronged him and he was considering demanding reparations for several generations. “Yep,” he added. Ilya had once commented in the throes of an argument that Shane never made anything easier than it needed to be, especially if he didn’t have to, and Shane had decided that being obstinate was exactly what this night called for.
“How did the team take it,” his dad asked, and Shane looked up, curious in spite of himself.
Ilya gave a shrug that managed to be both self deprecating and airy. Bastard. “Ah, they are sad but resigned I think? I told the room late last week.”
Shane felt his eyes widen and an inferno of rage ignited itself in his chest. Ilya seemed to realise what he had just admitted and shot Shane a vaguely apologetic look. “You told the room? Really?” He kept his voice carefully flat, masking his anger as best as he possibly could.
Ilya had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed which somehow only made Shane angrier. “Ah, yes. They…” he looked at Shane’s parents as if hoping they would help him and given that Ilya was probably their actual favourite, it was a pretty safe bet.
Just to stoke his rage a little bit more, his mom did in fact come to Ilya’s rescue. “I mean… it’s the right thing to do, honey,” she said, giving Shane another one of her patented and trademarked frowns.
“Very decent,” his dad agreed.
Shane decided to strike. If he was going to be angry and miserable and alone, he could at least rack some points up on the scoreboard that his insanely competitive brain provided for any and all social engagements. “Oh, I completely agree,” Shane said, curving his lips into what he hoped was at least a passing approximation of a smile. “It’s very important to tell your team and loved ones.”
Shane had the satisfaction of watching Ilya flush again: another point to him.
“Sometimes it is also important to keep momentum,” Ilya replied after a moment, giving Shane a hard look. “Sometimes you just have to accept surprises.”
The fact that Shane was still in love with this man currently made him feel sick. The absolute nerve! “I’d always prefer honesty over surprises,” Shane shot back.
“Yes, well,” Ilya retorted with a little huff. “I’d always prefer action over cowardice.” He picked up his flute of champagne and downed it in one.
His dad looked between them both. “This is clearly about something else,” he said after a moment.
Shane shut his eyes, and took a steadying breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s just enjoy the meal.”
He once again avoided Ilya’s eye as he also muttered his own apology, and felt his mind grow distant and separated from his body until everything was grey and flat and safe. He made it through the rest of the dinner just like that. His mother asked some questions about renting versus buying in Vancouver, and Shane heard himself respond dispassionately about house prices and homelessness rates. Ilya rambled through some story his parents found funny about Luca Haas, one of Ilya’s (soon to be former) rookies, and Shane focused on the fringe of the tablecloth. His dad raised a toast, and Shane repeated the words flatly. A hand pie was produced for dessert, and Shane ate it mechanically, absently quantifying probable sugar and fat content to be worked off the next day. He knew that Ilya and his parents were shooting him furtive glances but he didn’t know or care what they meant.
Finally, he kissed and hugged his parents goodbye at the door and eventually found himself re-entering his body as he pulled on his jacket while he and Ilya walked out the door. Ilya had stopped and was looking at Shane intently. “Ah, there you are,” he said, somewhat brusquely. “You left.”
Shane gave him a long look, hopefully conveying his thoughts on the sheer audacity of that statement. Left? Really? “Well,” he replied after a moment. “I hear leaving is all the rage at the moment.”
Ilya closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a moment, then gave Shane a wounded look. “You… I…” he took another breath. “It’s late, yes? Come back to mine. We can talk. Yesterday we left things… bad.”
Shane raised his eyebrows at Ilya. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Ilya took a step closer to him, and Shane looked at his feet for a moment before focusing back on his forehead. “Shanya, please. Our last night together before I leave. We should talk, the ring-”
“No,” Shane said, choosing once again to not make anything easier than it had to be. “I have early practice tomorrow and you have a flight to BC.”
“Shane, I know this is hard but I just-”
Shane shook his head and turned away and walked down his parents path towards his car, stopping halfway down to turn around and take in a devastated looking Ilya. “I do love you,” he said, despising the small wobble he was unable to keep from his voice. “I’m sorry if you didn’t think I did. I hope you find what you’re looking for in the west. Maybe we can-” he stopped himself and closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Shane,” Ilya said, something frantic crossing his face that Shane didn’t want to face.
“Bye,” Shane muttered, gathering the shattered remnants of his heart hurrying away with them before Ilya could say anything more, and getting into his car and starting the lonely journey home to Montreal.
He was very proud of the fact that he waited until he was more than half way home to pull over and let himself cry. For once he didn’t fight the long, shuddering sobs wracking his body. He just let himself cry: for himself, for Ilya, for the life he had thought they would have, for every single decision that had led to this moment, and for the fact that he still couldn’t bring himself to do the one thing that could fix it all.