Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Hayden Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Feral Behavior, Scenting, No biting technically but definitely some gnawing, Shane scares the shit out of Ilya, posession? If you count loosing yourself to an animalistic version of yourself posession, Ilya gets manhandled, no AI, Fuck AI, Nesting, Feral Shane Hollander, Hurt/Comfort, Sad Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-13 Updated: 2026-10-12 Words: 33,366 Chapters: 11/?

Call and Response

Summary

Ilya knows with a certainty this is not a hit a player gets up from.

So why, then? Do his eyes watch as Shane’s limbs twitch to life, a wretched gasp wracking through his chest is visible even from under the padded jersey. A conflicting mix of relief and dread bubble up in Ilya as an elbow braces on the ice and Shane’s neck shifts to lift his head. The arm he’s not favouring is held at an angle that suggests he’s hurt. He is facing away, Ilya desperately wishes he could see his face.
-

Shane gets hit badly on the ice and Ilya gets caught between his teeth in the aftermath. A feral hostage negotiation ensues (the league throws Ilya to the Shane wolf and he has to figure it out).

This has continued into a chaptered fic! Follow along for cottage shenanigans as Ilya has to navigate his relationship with a feral Hollander. Also Yuna and David are there. He misses Shane a lot and is just trying not to fuck it up in the meantime. Worst of all, his time with the Hollander family seems to be unravelling his own understanding of wolves and how packs can function.

• Inspired by Make a Man (Lose His Head) by CrazyDaysLikeThese

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Ilya learned quickly in his career. Which kind of hits a player will get up from, and which they won’t. He can calculate this long before they’ve even made contact with the ice.

The collision in front of him as Marleau barrels into Shane with the force of an oncoming train undoubtedly falls into the latter category.

His brain is already filling in the gaps of the trajectory. Shane is a puck hurtling towards the net and Ilya knows with sickening clarity where it’s going to land seconds before it happens. Before Marleau even connects the hit, hurtling much too fast at a devastating angle. Ilya also knows, with a dreadful certainty, he does not have enough seconds to do anything about it.

The crack of Shane’s helmet bouncing off the ice ricochets around Ilya’s head like a gunshot.

It is startling, how quickly the roar of an excited crowd can cut to silence. The air is sucked out of the room, like it leaves with Shane’s consciousness. The rink is a fishtank lit like a stage, and he is drowning in it. Ilya distantly realises he is holding his breath. He slows to a stop, all his senses turned towards the body crumpled on the ice. He hears distantly a whistle, people are yelling.

Ilya knows with a certainty this is not a hit a player gets up from.

So why, then? Do his eyes watch as Shane’s limbs twitch to life, a wretched gasp wracking through his chest is visible even from under the padded jersey. A conflicting mix of relief and dread bubble up in Ilya as an elbow braces on the ice and Shane’s neck shifts to lift his head. The arm he’s not favouring is held at an angle that suggests he’s hurt. He is facing away, Ilya desperately wishes he could see his face.

“Hey Bud, you with us?,” Hayden’s concerned crooning grates against the edges of Ilya’s awareness, he feels stuffed with cotton.

“Holy shit…Hayden, back up.”

Two of Hollander’s teammates had moved in front of Shane. Ilya watches with distant confusion as they scramble away from their fallen teammate. They back away from the scene with the speed of someone who has encountered a live grenade and is desperately hoping their movement out of range won’t set it off. A hand scruffs the jersey of Marleau standing nearby and urgently pulls him towards the safety of the barriers as medics and security swarm the ice.

This should have been Ilya’s first clue. In his defence, he was not exactly capable of thinking. He catches a tendril of Shane’s scent then. It is wrong. Thick and cloying in his nose. Pained, angry and confused.

Shane is not his omega. They’ve always been clear about the casual nature of their relationship. The pretence of casual, at least. He needs to be careful.

Concern balloons in Ilya’s chest regardless until it is all encompassing. It drifts him helplessly towards what could become their biggest secret laid bare on live television, and he can’t bring himself to care. His hockey stick almost close enough to touch, Shane twitches as it breaks into his line of sight before Ilya.

“Roz-hey Rozanov! Stay ba-“

Ilya Rozanov promptly wanders directly into the jaws of the animal Shane’s teammates had just so delicately removed themselves from.

A snarl tears through the packed cotton between Ilya’s ears, and suddenly the world is ripped from beneath him. Someone yanks the stick from his hands and he hears it clatter distantly out of reach a few seconds before he hits the ground.

The balloon in his chest pops as the ice greets him harshly. The cold shocks him back into the moment as a wall of sound crashes in to fill the empty spaces. A heavy weight is on his back. His helmet is gone. The snarling now practically vibrates through him. Something stirs awake inside him, a call and response. He desperately shoves it down and hopes it stays there. He can’t let anything out now, he can’t do anything that risks revealing their relationship with a public audience.

A clamour of stilted panic comes to life around them.

“Oh fuck oh fuck”

“Rozanov, don’t fucking move!”.

“Shane, can you hear us? Wake up, man!”

The yelling still doesn’t compute. Shane was clearly conscious and moving. He was currently manoeuvring half his weight onto Ilya’s spine for gods sake. One arm still hangs uselessly.
Ilya still hasn’t seen his face, and that won’t fucking do.

“Hollander,” he contorts himself back in an attempt to catch a glimpse. He hears multiple voices pick up volume in panic, but their words are so fast and blend together that english begins to lose its meaning.

“Hollander what is wrong-“

A flicker, and time stops. The eyes that greet him are not Shane. Ilya has the heart-stopping realisation that he is face-to-face with Shane’s wolf for the first time in his life. He had honestly resigned to never meeting it. They are usually intimate interactions, letting a wolf fully surface without inhibitions. Moments saved for family members and pack mates. Ilya is neither. Shane was not shy about his routine suppressant use either. Aimed at dulling the presence of the wild creature that he felt rarely appropriate to let influence his behaviours.

A little known side-effect of constant suppressant use clangs around the back of Ilya’s brain. One that shapes itself around a distant memory of pain he tries not to get lost in. A traumatic event can trigger a sudden rearranging. The wolf is pulled to the surface, and the person is buried beneath. A defence mechanism unable to reverse as it naturally would due to the suppressants fighting to lock everything back down in the system. Heedless to the human getting stuck on the wrong side of consciousness. Heedless to the animal now thrust confused into waking danger.

“Hollander?” Ilya attempts cautiously.

Amber eyes glare down at him, with a countenance entirely not Shane. This creature clearly does not share qualms about holding eye contact. Ilya tries not to shiver, and slowly draws his limbs in towards his body protectively, shoulders bunching up to his ears. Little use it would do in their current position.

“Shane?” This time it sounds more like a plaintive plea. Searching for recognition. He feels vaguely like a child that has lost their parents in a grocery store. He doesn’t care who hears the begging intonation of his voice.

Shane smiles gently at him. For one hopeful second he thinks Shane is still in there. Then, his lips are splitting into a toothy grin, fangs elongating. A subtle threat display. It’s fucking terrifying. It’s toying with him.

Ilya is uncomfortably aware of the fact he is a stranger to the animal currently straddling his back. Shane is meticulous about keeping himself fully in control, which means it would have never had a chance to experience his presence. Not even distantly soaking memories in from the back of Shanes mind. Most people don’t suppress themselves year-round. An unfamiliar alpha trapped beneath an injured and threatened omega? People have been fatally maimed for less.

That was why they pulled Marleau off the ice. Fuck, and Ilya waltzed right in to take his place. He smells faintly of Marleau, he knows. Scents shared from their proximity as friends. Enough to implicate him in the eyes of this animal as the culprit. He watches as Shane’s nostrils flare. It probably thought he was the one that attacked.

Ilya realises too late he’s been staring for too long. A warning growl is all he gets before an explosion of movement rocks him back into the unforgiving ice. His chin meets the frozen ground.

There are teeth in Ilya’s neck. They sink into his nape and hold him prone.

They haven’t broken the skin, but the threat is unquestionably clear. One wrong movement and Ilya would be bleeding out on the ice.

It’s snarling again, the noise reverberates into Shane’s teeth and shivers like a shock directly into Ilya’s spine. He makes an embarrassing noise he would deny later and jerks in the grip. Shane must interpret this as an attempt to dislodge him and readjusts, teeth clamping down harder in a more sensitive spot. It is ruthlessly efficient at subduing the large alpha. Reprimanded like an unruly pup, it would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so terrified.

“Woah, woah! Rozanov! You gotta stay still man,” Pike states the sky is blue.

Ilya jerks again and stills himself with great effort. Every muscle in his body strains tight. He is distantly glad to be stomach-down on the ice. After a long moment that proves he is no longer resisting the threatening snarl finally eases. However those fangs stay treacherously lodged against his neck.

The result, is that Ilya is forced to watch the reactions of both their teams and half the staff currently gathered around them on the ice. He is panting now, trying to keep the panic at bay.

Pike’s eyes are practically bulging out of his big head. He’s perched on his skates a few meters away. Nobody dares to move in fear of detonating the loaded charge in front of them. Ilya spots multiple teammates watching on in horror. His coach is holding his head in his hands. Multiple officials having heated discussions over the phone. Marleau, he spots behind the barriers, he’s being prevented from re-entering the ice. No doubt some stupid martyr move planned. He looks white as a sheet, and when he realises Ilya is making eye-contact he shakes his head in disbelief, mouthing a silent apology.

Ilya sags his cheek into the ice and sighs in resignation. He notes with some relief at least staff have evacuated the stands, and the broadcast has gone dark.

No doubt, they don’t want the liability of having an audience witness their ice rink transform into a gladiator ring.

Then, Ilya notices with slight trepidation the ice is clearing of people too. Players are being herded out the doors despite their protests. Marleau is the first to be pushed out.

“Y-you are leaving?” Is all he manages to get out before the pressure of Shane’s teeth clamp down harshly in warning again.

“Don’t panic Mr Rozanov sir,” an official maintaining a safe distance of half an ice rink assures him.

“It’s procedure to clear the building of all unnecessary personnel until the threat is resolved,” the man says.

Well, the threat currently has its teeth wrapped around his neck.

“I’m afraid security is unequipped to deal with this safely, we have professionals on their way. Until they arrive, you just need to remain calm and not provoke him further.”

Provoking Shane was Ilya’s natural state. He was a dead man. They would return to find him a mangled chew toy. He thinks faintly that Shane will drown in guilt if he learns he’d hurt anyone. His eyes dart around the rink, his cheek still pressed into the ice as he watches the world slowly empty around him.

Pike of all people manages to stay with the few brave medics, but he doesn’t count. He’s clearly only here for Shane. Not Ilya. No one was staying for Ilya. He doesn’t notice his breathing has begun to pick up again. Shane does, he starts a low warning growl. Ilya’s body responds by fully launching itself over a cliff into a panic attack.

“Roz..Roz buddy, you good?”

Every one is leaving, they’re abandoning him to the wrath of this Shane-shaped creature that thinks he’s a violent alpha brute, and Shane isn’t here. He want’s Shane.

Ilya hysterically feels that thing stirring in his chest again, thick and stinging as it wrestles up and gets stuck in his throat. It pushes against his vocal chords, and this time he let’s it. Because fuck it, he’s already falling apart in front of fucking Pike anyways. Shanes teeth warningly scraping against the back of his throat as he growls becomes the final straw.

Ilya chirps. Not a hockey chirp. It was a noise of distress. One that Ilya hasn’t made since before his mother was still alive. A short vocalisation that sounded like a soft trilling yelp. It echoes loudly in the empty space.

The teeth on the back of his neck freeze. Pike’s eyebrows climb to his hairline. Tears prick Ilya’s eyes as his face flushes against the ice.

He chirps again. Louder this time. He clings desperately to the hope it’s making a difference. Shane carefully unlatches from his throat and leans back, head tilting. The animal in him frowns, studying the alpha below intensely.

“Holy shit Roz it’s working, keep making the sad lost baby noises”, Hayden whispers enthusiastically.

“Shut up, Pike,” Ilya snarls, wishing the ice would swallow him whole.

Shane reacts instantly, Ilya can see him baring his teeth in his periphery. He swallows his remaining pride, goes limp, and chirps for a third time. Slumping into the ice.

He shouldn’t even be able to make this noise, he thinks miserably. Most alpha’s stop reaching for this call by the time they grow into adulthood. It was a noise reserved for communicating distress and helplessness. An evolutionary holdover from when young alphas could survive in harsh pack hierarchies by communicating to older, stronger wolves they weren’t a threat worth the energy of removing.

Ilya doesn’t want to think about what it means that he can still do this. He’d stopped using the call younger than most children to begin with, he thought. Learning from a very young age that no amount of chirping would result in any comfort or grace in his household. Hell, if Grigori Rozanov was around, they were more likely to be punished.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Shane was to put him out of his misery right now, he thought, feeling thoroughly humiliated. Refusing to make eye contact with anyone remaining on the ice.

He feels Shane lean down again, and braces for the feeling of fangs. Instead, his eyes shoot open as the omega starts snuffling his neck. He’s shoved his nose into the juncture of Ilya’s shoulder, slowly moving upwards, seemingly searching for something in his scent.

“..Pike?”, Ilya ventures, Shane has trailed all the way up his jaw into his hair. Nosing gently at the curls at the base of his neck.

“Yeah, Roz?” Pike is watching their behaviour unfold in front of him with the fascination of someone watching a particularly engaging animal documentary.

“What is he looking for?” Ilya questions, he’s mildly concerned but at this point anything is better than the teeth at his throat.

Pike shrugs, “He’s trying to locate a pack scent on you”. He makes a vague hand gesture.

“Ya know, like. A parent, or a sibling. A close friend. Someone he can find and return you to.”

Ilya feels another pang of genuine distress.

“Pike what if I have none of those? They are in different country, I do not have pack.”

“..none?” Pike says, sounding morbidly concerned.

“I have team.” Ilya hisses “Marleau, but his scent is what got me here in first place”.
He carries their scents, but not strongly enough for it to be mistaken for any sort of pack bond. Even Svetlana, he thinks. He sees her too infrequently for the scent to stick. Ilya gets by fine without a pack. If he got sick being scentless he would go clubbing, get drunkenly claimed for a night.

On especially bad nights, he would pull out the quiet collection of Shane’s clothing he had pilfered over the years. Sleep in a misshapen little nest and wake the next morning to the faint traces of Hollander. A dirty secret that would be washed off his skin and packed away by the time he left the house like it had never happened.

At least, he thought so. Shane was clearly getting frustrated. A nose skims along his cheek and pauses, and now Ilya’s heart was hammering into the ice. Shane’s nose wasn’t that sensitive was it? He doesn’t want to know what will happen if this animal recognises it’s own stolen scent on his skin. It huffs a breath against his neck and Ilya does his best impression of a fallen log. Immovable, unaffected, certainly not shivering. He absolutely does not yelp at the first swipe of Shanes tongue against his neck.

Pike hums, “Well, there’s your answer.”

“What?” Rozanov says, eyes half-lidded. He’s hoping it’s not too obvious that he’s now baring his neck to Shane’s ministrations. Leaning into the attention. Shane, who promptly locates his scent glands and targets them with the precision of bloodhound. He laves over them, releasing a comforting scent as he does. Ilya thinks he might die. Again. He’s never been scented by Shane like this. At least this time he’ll die happy. Something in him swells at being claimed by Shane’s omega, even if it’s just happening out of feral pity.

The remaining medics decide now is a good time to approach, assessing Shane’s injuries from a distance.

“He thinks you’ve been abandoned, since you started crying like a distressed pup. You must have overridden the concerns of violence once he stopped seeing you as a threat.” Pike provides sagely.
“Good work on triggering those protective instincts, at least he’s stopped trying to kill you”.

Ilya is actually going to kill Pike himself, as soon as Shane lets him up.

Chapter End Notes

Helloo if you read all of this you are amazing and I would love to hear what you thought.

I wrote this in one night in a sleep fatigued haze so please forgive any mistakes. I really enjoyed writing creepy feral Shane and I think I kind of lost him towards the end but it’s very much a concept I’d like to return to.

If it’s not clear, Ilya tricks feral Shane into thinking he’s harmless by chirping. He doesn’t actually think Ilya is a baby, just that he’s low key a lil pathetic adult that needs comfort (not wrong).

Most alphas grow out of the ability to chirp, but childhood trauma and abuse can mess with that. Not rlly explained hence it’s in notes.
It’s inspired by the behaviour of foals and how they make that noise to communicate to scary adult horses ‘I am not a threat I am baby please don’t hurt me.’

Ilya definitely discovered a few things about himself that day.

I’m posting it in this state because I know otherwise I won’t at all, I might come back later and edit to clean it up and change things.
This was my first attempt at an abo adjacent fic so apologies if anything is confusing.

Inspired by that one fic where Shane goes feral on the ice. (GOOD SHIT) I’m not sure of the fic etiquette on this site so I hope I’ve tagged it correctly.

Chapter 2: The Hospital

Chapter Summary

“A week?” Ilya blinks disbelievingly.

“Maybe two.” The doctor says, she pauses to scribble something on Shane’s chart. “We can’t be certain how long it will take for the suppressants to clear his system, but his circumstances lead me to believe it could take longer than most.”

Chapter Notes

“A week?” Ilya blinks disbelievingly.

“Maybe two.” The doctor says, she pauses to scribble something on Shane’s chart. “We can’t be certain how long it will take for the suppressants to clear his system, but his circumstances lead me to believe it could take longer than most.”

‘Circumstances’ being the polite way for the doctor to say Shane had flooded his system with suppressants for so long that it’s unclear how much time it will take to clear and let his consciousness come back through. The doctor had earlier explained there were no research studies on Shane’s kind of dosage because it was considered too risky to sustain. There were cases of long-term damage, a permanent crippling of the endocrine system. Even if Shane healed physically, he might not be out of the woods. It was a thought he didn’t want to entertain too deeply.

Ilya sits at Shane’s bedside, doing his absolute best not to react to the pair of amber eyes currently pinning him in his chair. He’s been drugged with a sedative, content to lay there and unnerve Rozanov in silence. The problem with refusing to look at Shane, is that it means he has to contend with the other gaze currently boring a hole into his psyche.

Yuna Hollander sits opposite him, looking every bit the poised alpha of her household. She has Shane’s hand clutched to her chest, a remnant of her earlier fussing before the doctor had walked in to debrief. The animal in Shane must recognise her, happy to take comfort in her touch. It makes sense. Shane would not have been numbed to the gills with suppressants his entire life, just his career. Just for as long as Ilya had known him.

“So we’ll need to house him for two weeks?”. She does not look impressed, her eyes don’t leave Ilya’s face despite responding to the other woman in the room.

“I am not homeless.” Ilya can’t help but say. Yuna doesn’t even deign that with a response. The joke falls flat and expires on the linoleum hospital floor. Ilya thinks maybe the rest of his spirits go with it. Any response from Shane is notably absent, the wolf only stares. Artfully arranging a vase of flowers and get-well-soon cards in the corner, he hears David exhale through his nose in the way someone does when they find something mildly amusing. Ilya clutches that small validation like a lifeline, buoying his head above the suffocating tension in the room.

“If at all possible, yes. It will cause your son the least amount of distress during recovery,” the doctor is making a herculean effort to ignore that their patient’s mother is currently attempting to strike a man down with only her thoughts.
“His wolf has clearly claimed Mr Rozanov with a pack bond. Separating them without being able to explain to him why - it could have several negative consequences I would rather avoid.”

She turns to Ilya now and addresses him as if to apologise, “When Mr Hollander regains his facilities it shouldn’t take long to fade.”
Ilya does his best to keep his expression impassive.

Yuna Hollander closes her eyes and inhales deeply through her nose. Like she’s attempting to summon strength from the non - existent reserves of her patience.
When they open again, she turns to the doctor, finally allowing Ilya some reprieve.

“Yes, I’m sure we can manage.”
Manage is the right word, she’s wearing her best PR smile. Clearly it’s easier to approach this from the angle of a media trained professional.

“There’s always the cottage, honey,” David supplies helpfully, he’s started organising the cards by sender.
“It has enough beds, it’s private, a nice spot for Shane to recover in peace.”

At the mention of peace Yuna’s eyes slide none too subtly back to the Ilya shaped pot-hole in their lives. He tries his best not to shrink.

“You’re willing to commit to this?”
It appears the negotiations have begun.

“Yes, Mrs Hollander.”

She regards him quietly.
“Even if it means you’ll be unable to continue the play-offs with your team?”

Ilya has the distinct feeling there is no correct answer to this question. He glances at Shane. The man is bandaged, arm in a sling, eyes trained unblinking on Rozanov. It’s unclear how much he understands of what is being discussed.
“…Yes, Mrs Hollander.”

She scoffs, “You have no loyalty to Boston?”.

He does not know how to answer this truthfully without outing Shane. He can’t reveal any of their relationship to explain his reasoning. He casts about inside his head for something, anything he can say that won’t raise more questions.

“Hollander and I are rivals. That does not mean I would leave him to struggle.”

He pauses, considering he may have already said too much.

“I want him back on the ice, he’s the only good competition. Metros are in sad state without Hollander.”

It seems to be the first correct response he’s given today. Yuna’s exterior melts the tiniest amount, before she inhales again. Back to business.

“I don’t want you doing this if you intend to pursue for legal damages in the future. Your losses only increase if you retreat with us for a couple weeks.”

Ah, there it is. He can see her gaze is guarded again. She’s not silly to assume Ilya should want some form of compensation for damages to his career. He’ll be out of play-offs, probably for the remainder of the season. He very easily could have died. Shane had actually bruised a couple of his ribs in the action of shoving him to the ice, they found in his own medical exam. It was Marleau’s check that triggered this, but it could only have happened because of Shane’s prolonged abuse of high-dose suppressants. It was teetering on negligence. Shane’s only saving grace regarding the league being that the team doctor had signed off on all his medications and dosage plans. They would not be able to blame him for anything without looking incredibly guilty themselves. The league as usual was eager to trade a players safety and wellbeing for it’s own profit and convenience. Ilya was the only one with any true grounds.

“No, I do not wish to do this. It was a tragic event and Marleau is also very sorry. I do not want money from this.”

He watches Yuna assess him, and whatever she see’s must be satisfactory, because she nods and begins to pull out paperwork. He has no idea when she had the time to prepare it. A tentative truce sits in the air.

They start by discussing contracts, NDA forms, release statements. What he can post to social media, what he can’t. Anything and everything to do with Shane’s recovery and how it is going to function. Then, how he can help with Shane and what is to be expected in the coming weeks. She’s printed leaflets on her son’s side-effect symptoms, and Ilya accepts them all dutifully. Proximity will help mostly, the doctor says. Removing his own scent patches so he can scent mark Shane. They ask if Ilya is comfortable being scented by Shane in return and he has to stumble through a response that doesn’t look too enthused about the prospect. They explain that while they can do everything to prepare there will always be an element of risk involving Shane and his behaviours while only his wolf is at the wheel. Ilya can still feel the imprint of teeth on his neck, he knows this. They won’t sedate Shane once he leaves the hospital as it could prolong the period of time it takes for him to heal. Ilya nods and agrees to everything without protest. He signs every paper put in front of him, barely bothering to read. His eyes tire quickly with translating english, but he gets the gist. Yuna regards him strangely as he hands them over.

At some point during the conversation, Shane had reached out and silently demanded Rozanov give his wrist. He starts making noise when Ilya refuses to immediately give up the hand that is signing signatures. He surrenders it eventually, and then Shane sits back, holding the wrists of both pack members in either hand. The wolf looks incredibly smug with itself. David snaps a photo from the corner while no one is looking. Ilya has realised in the short time of his presence that the beta takes blending into the background to another level when he wants to disappear. The sound of David’s phone shutter finally draws everyone’s attention. He shrugs sheepishly.
“I thought it would be nice for Shane to have something to fill in the blanks when he comes back.”
Ilya tries to swallow around the lump forming in his throat again. Yuna looks at her husband in what could only be described as amused adoration. Shane is staring at Ilya curiously again.

It was only two weeks with the Hollanders. In a cottage. He could survive this. At least, he was confident he could until Shane’s sedatives wore off.

Chapter End Notes

Helloo me again.

This concept has me in a chokehold so here please have a second chapter. It’s mostly set up so I can get to the cottage but also the idea of Ilya having to navigate a relationship with Yuna and David while Shane is not present (he’s here physically but mentally on another plane) is very funny to me.

There are no plans here beyond I’ll keep writing for as long as inspiration takes me. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! They have been feeding me. If you want to share scenarios you think would be fun to see feel free (no promises I will write anything but I enjoy reading them!).

Also I’m sorry I love Yuna but also she’s super suspicious of letting this man that her son supposedly hates into their lives. He’ll melt her reservations eventually.

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary

“Fucking jesus christ! Hollander!”

Two reflective pupils are trained on Ilya from the doorway, the moonlight trails through the window to light up his eery gaze. Hollander looks downright haunting. Ilya faintly hopes he hasn’t woken Shane’s parents down the hall with his scream.

Chapter Notes

Ilya had been stuck in close quarters with the Hollander family unit since the incident, occasionally getting ferried away for his own medical checks if a nurse noticed him trying to look inconspicuous in the corner. The hours pass quickly as he finds himself spending every free moment not under Yuna’s watchful gaze dealing with his coach and the current media nightmare reigning down on his life. Ilya has reached into his pockets to mute his incessant ringtone an embarrassing number of times. Suffice to say his team wasn’t happy with his decision to stay behind with Shane Hollander. A small part of himself is endlessly thankful his father is not able to reach his phone from whatever plane of existence he has transitioned to after death. There would surely be a reckoning awaiting his return to Boston. Ilya feels a weight pushing on his shoulders, he hadn’t slept in a proper bed in days. He finds his patience is probably only a few ringtones away from throwing the hunk of plastic out the hospital window entirely. He decides the fallout with his team was going to be a problem for future Ilya, turning off the phone entirely and tucking it in the pocket of his bag. Lately it seemed he rarely spares much kindness to future Ilya. He knows he’ll be cursing himself in a week.

While sedated, Shane stays mostly bundled up in the hospital bed. Yuna was a permanent fixture by his side. There had only been a few incidents where Ilya had tried to leave the room, spurring her son into a restless disturbance. They’ve since tried to limit his departures unless Shane was sleeping, the staff no longer try to pull Ilya from the room unless absolutely necessary.

When lucid, the wolf never lets Ilya leave his sight without complaining, but they hadn’t seen any outright aggression like there had been on the ice either. In comparison this version of Shane has been positively harmless. The worst Ilya has had to deal with is surrendering his wrists to the occasional scenting, the wolf thankfully did not try for his scruff again. He shivers at the thought, can still feel the imprints of his teeth and tongue.

Despite that, and the fact Ilya has been at Shane’s side for over two days now, he sorely feels the absence of Shane’s presence. They haven’t had the privacy to truly interact since before that disastrous game period, and this is without considering the issue of the wolf currently hogging the driving seat of Shane’s brain.

Hollander. He mentally corrects himself.

It was a nickname Ilya had dredged back up over the last 48 hours. Pulled from the murky depths of their relationship. It used to function as a safety net. Verbally drawing a boundary in their relationship and reaffirming that a line hadn’t been crossed. Now, it was a further mental separation. Ilya finds he needs a way to distance the concept of Shane and the wolf in his head. Looking into this creatures eyes and seeing no familiarity, a part of Ilya had to admit it hurt to think this version of Shane didn’t recognise him. He had been claimed, but it wasn’t a bond, it didn’t mean he was trusted.

So, Hollander it was. His naming had the added benefit of keeping any potential questions at bay of them being on a first-name basis.

“Are you packed? Ready to go?” Yuna is gathering Hollander’s belongings from around the hospital room. She performs a thorough check. Ilya is certain that no one had used the bedside drawers or wardrobe a single time and yet she opens and checks each and every one.

“Yes,” he replies. “I had teammate bring me my things.”

Marleau. Currently the only teammate still talking to him. There’s a stone of guilt wearing away between Ilya’s ribs. He knows he has sunken any dreams of their playoffs this year. It was a betrayal whose reasoning he couldn’t possibly articulate to his team, so he simply hadn’t said anything. His team will undoubtedly hate him for choosing this instead of getting on the plane and returning to Boston with the rest of them. Why fight it?
But then, this decision never really felt like a choice. As he looks over at the form of Shane curled up in the hospital bed Ilya can’t bring himself to regret his resolution to stay.

With a nod Yuna passes Ilya, her arms are stacked with a few days worth of their belongings.
“I’m getting the car and pulling it around to the back entrance. David will be with Shane, you follow them.”
She lays out the plan meticulously as Ilya has learned to expect of her over the last two days. She lists directions and turns to take to avoid walking through public areas even as she rounds the corner out of sight. At that moment David walks back into the room pushing a hospital wheelchair and carrying a plastic bag. Ilya can spy a bundle of vending machine drinks and food packaging rustling in the plastic. David has clearly prepared for the long car trip ahead. Ilya doubts very much Shane will be putting any of those things in his body by choice.

“Understood?” Ilya’s eyes flit up to Yuna, she’s poked her head back around the doorframe to wait for his response.

“Yes. You get car, we bring Hollander, don’t get seen. We drive and don’t stop until the cottage.” Yuna makes a noise of affirmation and exits the room. The game plan is on. They had probably the rest of the day until the sedatives wore off, but it wasn’t something anyone wanted to risk while they were still on the road.

“Come on Shane, time to get up buddy.” David is doing his best to arrange the pile of limbs on the bed into a pose that precedes standing. Hollander teeters dangerously to one side and Ilya wonders if maybe they should have had a nurse help. David is valiantly attempting to prevent his son nose-diving to the floor.

“Oh, thanks. Grab his arm there.” Ilya can’t take watching the man trying to wrangle a 6ft athlete into a collapsible wheelchair on his own any longer. Together, they sandwich Hollander between them and manage to manoeuvre him into the chair. He makes a grumble of complaint at all the movement, but keeps his eyes mostly closed the entire time and otherwise settles quickly. One would think he was sleeping if Ilya hadn’t caught those amber eyes blinking blearily up at his chin from the chair, probably still making sure Ilya does not wander far. Ilya begins to push Hollander down the corridor as David navigates them to the correct car park. Yuna’s directions are succinct, it doesn’t take them long to spot her with the engine running.

Ilya mentally prepares himself for the trip ahead and sends a small prayer of thanks that he remembered to pack wired earphones. Maybe they’ll grant him the kindness of not getting dragged through hours of stilted conversation with Hollander’s parents. A small part of him fears he’s still one wrong response from Yuna changing her mind and ditching him on the side of a freeway. Safest not to poke the bear, he thinks. If they notice that he has plugged them into his ears without turning his phone back on, no one points it out.

A couple hours into the drive Hollander is sitting so close he’s practically pressed against Ilya’s side, his legs stretched out to take up space in a manner very unlike Shane. He’d been placed into a side seat and immediately undid the seatbelt to move into the middle when he realised Ilya was also sitting in the back with him. He’s currently dozing, head swaying gently with the movements of the car, one arm still bandaged and tucked against his side. Ilya glances up to the rearview, Yuna’s eyes are on the road. Not taking his gaze off the mirror, his hand reaches to find Hollander’s chin and gently manoeuvres him to rest on his own shoulder. Hollander sighs, and settles, head tucking into the juncture of Ilya’s neck. By the time Yuna glances back Ilya’s hand has moved away and her son has fully made himself at home with the freedoms given. He doesn’t stir for the rest of the trip. If Yuna had any thoughts she chooses not to voice them, but her eyes glance back twice as often from then on.

———

The cottage is nothing like he expected, even with how many times he had watched Hollander’s stupid yoga documentary.

Yuna had walked him down the hallway, pointing out bedrooms and bathrooms. They put him in a guest bedroom down the hall, and Ilya tries not to pout at how far he’s been put from Shane. It makes sense, he thinks, to assume he’d want privacy. However, Hollander hasn’t allowed Ilya out of his sight for the last 48 hours, he truly wonders how they expect he will respond to Ilya trying to sleep in a separate room. He shrugs for now, it wasn’t his place to question the alpha of the househould. Instead he sets to unpacking his things and getting comfortable.

The drive was blessedly uneventful. Hollander had slept almost the entire way, and once in cottage he seemed to set about his own bedroom on a mission.

‘Nesting’ Yuna had commented with a smile. A good sign then. Ilya, curious, edged himself as close as he dared into the doorway. He’d never seen the behaviour in person. He saw what looked like a round futon on the floor, piles of fabrics and pillows in various states of arrangement. Shane had certainly never done this with him around, and his experience with omegas personally was embarrassingly limited. His mother had passed so long ago most of her behaviours were memories blurred with equal parts pain and nostalgia. It was a great effort not to linger in the room, cautious in case he was perceived as a threat again. A nest was sacred, only the closest bonds were allowed to intrude uninvited. A long look from Yuna was enough warning to send him on his way.

Dinner was a simple affair that night. Take-out picked up on the drive over and re-heated on their arrival to the cottage. Shane would have a lot to say as to how badly they were messing with his diet, he thought mildly. The wolf didn’t seem to care. Still groggy from sedatives, he scarfed down his plate and promptly left for his nest again.
The doctors had been right, being in a house surrounded by pack scents seemed to have alleviated a bit of the separation anxiety, he already seemed much less concerned with proximity to Ilya as long as he stayed in the house. Trying to sneak out the door for a cigarette earlier had not gone well.

The problem was, now that Shane wasn’t glueing Ilya to his side, he was left alone to deal with the senior Hollanders.

David clears his throat after a bout of prolonged silence. Ilya thinks he thanks them for the meal before excusing himself to bed, but he can’t really remember between his sudden desperation to leave the room. There was still a distance with Yuna that was hard to bridge. Being the only other alpha in the house created a friction that was hard to navigate. Ilya was still an outsider over-stepping many conventional bounds, even if it was in the name of helping Shane. Yuna was protective of her son even when he wasn’t injured and vulnerable.
It seems David was either entirely oblivious or deriving some secret amusement out of watching Ilya flounder under the forming hierarchy in the meantime.

Flopping onto his mattress, Ilya sighs. He just had to do this until Shane came back. He can hear a murmur pick up from the dining room as Yuna and David start talking among themselves. Ilya’s presence was apparently supposed to be helping, but honestly he’d felt useless. He was doing nothing that Shane’s parents couldn’t also manage. Maybe he’d made a mistake being here at all, forcing himself into what should have been a family retreat. It was at best naive and at worst intrusive and crossing so many lines that he know’s Shane will be mad about later. It was too late now, he thought. Resigning himself to throw another problem to future Ilya’s growing plate, he spent the rest of the evening scrolling on his phone until his eyes began to feel heavy. He doesn’t notice the feeling of them closing.

Something pulls his consciousness back into the room what must be hours later. The sun is gone, having long crossed over the horizon. Ilya rubs a hand over his eyelids and levers himself upright on the bed.

“Fucking jesus christ! Hollander!”

Two reflective pupils are trained on Ilya from the doorway, the moonlight trails through the window to light up his eery gaze. Hollander looks downright haunting. Ilya faintly hopes he hasn’t woken Shane’s parents down the hall with his scream.
Actually, maybe he does hope they wake up. Maybe he would prefer some witnesses. From the sharpness of the gaze piercing through him, it appears the sedatives have finally made their way out of Hollander’s system. Ilya becomes faintly aware they haven’t truly been alone since the rink until this moment.

“Hollander,” Ilya whispers harshly into the space between them, stuffing as much bravado as he could into a single word.
“What the fuck are you doing?”

The amber of Hollander’s eyes is not as visible in the moonlight, but his pupils reflect back brightly in the same way a nocturnal animal’s does as they catch the light. Ilya knows Hollander tilts his head only by the slow movement of those glowing slits regarding him from the doorway. He feels dissected. What felt like a somewhat safe distance at first is rapidly suffocating.
Hollander steps into the room, and Ilya fights the urge to do something stupid like bolt off the bed and jump out the window. Hysterically he feels a chirp bubbling in his throat again, he shoves it back down. Absolutely not.

“Hollander, I swear to god. Don’t come any closer.” He holds up a hand like that’s going to stop him.

Oh fuck, the teeth are back again. He can see the tips of a set of fangs glinting in the low light.

“Shane,” he tries again. Like a stilted imitation of their first interaction on the ice. No amount of pamphlets have prepared him for interacting with the wolf, he realises.

At the last moment, Hollander veers to the left. Away from the bed and towards Ilya’s luggage strewn on the floor.

“Hey! No! Bad Hollander, leave it!” He whisper yells as loud as he dares, it’s not like Hollander is listening.
“Those are my things, asshole”.
The wolf glances up at him from the floor, he’s started rifling through Ilya’s clothes, strewing them about. It looks haphazard, but there is a logic to the growing piles Ilya can’t parse. Hollander stops eventually, stalled as he separates a relatively unassuming shirt from the bag.

Oh. Oh no.

“That-that is not mine. I do not know how it got there.” Hollander looks confused for a moment, and then positively smug, his grin is all teeth, pinning him from the floor.

Frankly, Ilya would have preferred it had been a dildo pulled out of his bag in this moment.

It was one of Shanes old shirts, stashed from an old encounter. Shane had walked out in Ilya’s clothing and by some miracle forgotten to ask about it. Lately Ilya hadn’t been able to bear travelling without it, found he wouldn’t sleep without it near, even if it’s scent stayed buried at the bottom of his bag. Something-something severed familial pack bonds he hears distantly the voice of his own team doctor in his head. Whatever the reason, it had soothed the growing ache in his chest since Russia.

Shane stands abruptly with the shirt in his hands, and Ilya thinks for one horrible moment he’s going to take it back. Then, he’s raising it in his hands, gently running the fabric along the glands in his neck. Scenting, Ilya realises belatedly. It blooms into the room around him - vanilla and jasmine. Familiar and comforting, but he’d never experienced it this strongly before. The suppressants had undoubtedly been dulling its presence. He gets lost for a moment, can’t help but soak it in, lulled into a sleepy trance.

Then it’s hitting him in the face, physically. Knocking a short disgruntled whine from his chest. By the time Ilya can bring up a hand to pull the shirt from his face, Shane is gone. Half his wardrobe is taken too, by the looks of it. Ilya doesn’t know whether to sigh in disappointment or relief.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you again to anyone reading! Ya’ll comments feeding me. Hope you like this chapter, I’m excited for some fun scenarios in our future :)

I hope the naming thing isn’t too confusing, especially because Ilya slips up in his own head now and then thinking of Shane.

Chapter 4

Chapter Summary

Ilya feels a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. Unsure if he should move out of the way or not move at all. He never gets to see Shane like this. They don’t get to have mornings. It feels briefly like he’s caught a glimpse of a unicorn and he can’t bear to tear his eyes away. It takes a few seconds for Shane to register him, face expressionless, and then his head raises. The uncanny stare is back.

Chapter Notes

Ilya is sitting on a stool in the kitchen when he hears the first signs of life in the cottage rise that morning. He’s hunched over the counter, clutching a can of coke in his hands and staring into it like it might hold an answer to the questions that had been buzzing around his brain all night.

How did this happen? Why me? Why did it have to be Hollander of all people?

The universe hates him, his mama would be looking down upon him with shame to be taking advantage of this situation.

He hadn’t slept since Hollander’s impromptu visit, had spent the last few hours lying awake wondering if he would return. Heart thudding too fast when he considered the shirt now shoved into a back drawer of the guest bedrooms closet. Even so, the memory of vanilla and jasmine had been wrapped around him all night. It was usually a comfort, but the events had sent his mind spiralling.

The sound of footsteps padding into the room is enough to drag him out of his contemplation, he looks up in time to see David meander in. The man is wearing a matching pyjama set covered by an open sleep gown. The shirt is buttoned up to his neck, and a pair of house slippers pad softly on the floor. His steps falter for just a moment as he spots Ilya in the kitchen, and a sheepish smile graces his face as he looks to a machine behind the counter.

“Just gonna...” He clears his throat and gestures behind Ilya - clearly not firing on all cylinders yet. Ilya nods, because neither is he, and David scoots by, taking two mugs out of the cupboard above the machine. He pauses to look back at Ilya, his hand already moving for a third.
“You want one, son? I make a mean cup of Joe.”

“No. Thank you.” Ilya is tired, and doesn’t have the energy to dress up his english for guests. He doesn’t have the energy to parse who Joe might be either. Or why David has just referred to him as a son. He raises the can of coke and wiggles it in the air for a moment so David can see.
“I have this.”

The machine whirs to life as David puts back the third mug and closes the cupboard.
“You like coke? That one was from the hospital vending machine.”
Ilya knows, he had spent twenty minutes scouring the kitchen for a sugar fix this morning. He hums.

“I can get some more next time I’m at the shops?”

“Sure.” Ilya shrugs noncommittally, taking a sip from the can as he stares out into the empty space of the living area. He doesn’t really like the feeling of David standing behind him while he sits, but doesn’t want to go to the trouble of moving either. There’s the tinker of ceramic and the sound of more cupboards opening and closing as the beta goes about making the drinks. He’ll feel bad about how blunt he’s being to David later. For now, they feel like the only responses he can reach for.

Eventually, the hum of the machine stops and David walks back into Ilya’s vision cradling two steaming mugs of coffee.

Ah, so that’s Joe. They do look like nice cups of coffee. Ilya files the phrase away.

It takes him a moment to realise David has paused in front of him. He looks up, and David’s next words a spoken in a way that suggest he’s gently repeating himself.

“You okay, kiddo? You don’t look well.”.

“Yes.” Ilya says, because none of the things he’s struggling with are things he can share, and then considers maybe David deserves more than a single word. “I am just tired. Did not sleep well.”

David hums, “Take it easy today then. We can handle Shane.”

The idea of being useless does not make him feel better, but he nods anyways and David takes that as his cue to leave the room. He can hear the pad of footsteps back down the hall and the gentle closing of a bedroom door.

Ilya sits with the quiet for a moment, but it feels heavier than it did before. He wonders when Shane will be up, his usual routine would have already had him completing a work out and having breakfast by now. He supposed wolves wouldn’t prioritise exercise programming. Not for the first time he wonders how much brain it shares with Shane.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear Yuna walking into the room. She’s holding one of the mugs David had taken from the room earlier. He glances up to see her eyes already searching for him. There’s a gentle smile on her face, but a determination in her gaze as she zeroes in that makes him vaguely concerned.

“Ilya, good morning.” He should have retreated while he had the chance.

“Morning.” He says instead.

He hopes perhaps she will go sit on the couch, or maybe she intends to enjoy her coffee on the patio deck with the morning sun. Instead, he watches her trajectory with growing apprehension as it carries her all the way over to the stool next to him. They sit side by side, neither looking at the other. Staring ahead is the safest option. She settles comfortably into the quiet that blankets them, while it itches under Ilya’s skin, he wants to shrug it off.

“David makes a mean Joe.” Is his attempt at breaking the silence.

Yuna snorts into her mug.
“The best, you should try it next time.”

He hums, “Maybe, yes.”
He can feel her head turn to look at him in his periphery.

“Are you settling in okay? How did you sleep?” The same questions, did David already share his answers?

“I am ok. Tired.” He says in response.

She takes a sip, seems to settle herself for the next words out of her mouth.

“I checked in on Shane this morning. He was still nesting last night, don’t be surprised if he sleeps most of the day.”

Ilya nods, that would explain why he hadn’t seen him at all since last night.

She’s considering him, it doesn’t appear she’s gotten the response she’s looking for.

Opting to abandon subtlety entirely, she asks, “Were you in Shane’s nest?”. Ilya is glad he hadn’t just taken a sip of his drink, he would have choked on it.

“No?” He says, head swivelling to regard her in horror. Then it clicks. If Shane had mixed his scent throughout the nest she wouldn’t have been able to tell if it had just been the clothes inside or him as well.
“No! I would never!” He gestures to himself, “He came and he stole clothes in the night, I swear.”

After a moment regarding him, she snorts.
“Yes Ilya, I noticed. I saw his nest. Do you have any clothes left?”

She does sound genuinely concerned, but he can’t tell if she’s joking.

“A few.”

She nods, then sobers again slightly.

“You’re both adults.”

Oh god.

“And what you’ve been allowing so far is clearly helping, but Shane is in a vulnerable state of mind right now.”
She pauses, “and..you have a certain…reputation.”

Ilya tries not to cringe. She’s clearly referring to the countless tabloids detailing his nightlife. Exiting clubs with a string of flings hanging off his arms. Ilya is a sexual being. He not ashamed of it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to discuss it with Shane’s parents. To know that they know. Yuna is clearly enjoying this topic no more than Ilya is, and yet she soldiers forward.

“I just want to make it clear to you, that a wolf’s instincts are not consent for anything else.” She takes a breath, on a roll now that she’s started. “Scenting and nesting are important forms of intimacy. I don’t want to deny them if Shane is asking for them, I just need to know I can trust you to be responsible about this.”

Ilya nods so fast he’s practically a bobblehead.

“Gentleman hands only, I swear.”

Yuna hums, “It applies in reverse too.”

This stalls him.

“What?”

“Shane is…” she stops to look for the right word in her coffee.
“His wolf can be quite forward when it wants something.”

That’s a nice way of putting it, Ilya thinks.

“If he oversteps, or makes you feel genuinely unsafe, I want you to come to us about it. We can mediate, that’s why we’re here.” Her tone is gentle, but serious.

Aren’t they here for Shane? Ilya is here for Shane, not Ilya.

“Your part in this only extends as far as you’re comfortable.”

She stops talking then, refusing to move forward until Ilya acknowledges what she’s left on his doorstep. He doesn’t want to. It feels like a trojan horse.

“Okay.” He hopes it’s enough to appease her.

He’s thinks it’s not, for a moment. Then she nods, she lets him go, and the tension breaks.

Yuna sighs and gets up from the stool, her empty mug clinks into the sink as she puts it down. It’s like a weight has lifted from her shoulders as they’re finally allowed to release the conversation. She excuses herself to the bedroom, planning to fetch David and finish getting ready for the day.

Ilya is not sure what makes the words leave his mouth as he stares at her retreating back.

“The suppressants,” he says, “did you know he was taking so many?” He wants to take the words back as soon as they’re out. Instead they linger in the room, having snuck past both their defences. Maybe he had been the gift horse, always something waiting to spoil just below the surface.

He see’s her still and steel herself. However she glances back and must see something on his face that lowers her guard again. Her defensive posture deflates.

“No-he.” She sighs, weighing something in her head.
“It was one of the few things he refused to discuss with me, after he became an adult.”
Not long after he was drafted, then. Ilya thinks.

Her gaze hardens, “I assumed with everything having to be cleared through a team doctor I had no reason to worry.”
Something wavers at the corners of her expression then, regret maybe. Ilya can recognise when someone is channelling a deep sadness into constructive anger. The league had better batten down for the storm that is Yuna Hollander, she will surely be wreaking vengeance. He can’t find an ounce sympathy for their future.

With that he nods, and she turns to leave again. Ilya is left with his thoughts and an empty cola can. He heaves himself up and chucks it in a bin on the way back to his bedroom. It’s only as he’s passing Hollander’s door that he thinks to listen for movement. It’s too late, he’s in front of the door when it opens and he’s greeted to the sight of a sleep rumpled Shane. He’s rubbing one eye while the other hand still grips the door handle.

Ilya feels a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. Unsure if he should move out of the way or not move at all. He never gets to see Shane like this. They don’t get to have mornings. It feels briefly like he’s caught a glimpse of a unicorn and he can’t bear to tear his eyes away. It takes a few seconds for Shane to register him, face expressionless, and then his head raises. The uncanny stare is back.

They both just stand there, Shane is considering him. He can feel those eyes roving over his face. They’re not as intense as they were last night, soft around the edges.

Then he steps back and slams the door in Ilya’s face.

Rude? Ilya tries his best not to take offence to that reaction.

David pops his head out from the next door like a meerkat, a toothbrush hangs from his mouth and his hair is wet - freshly showered.
“Everything okay?” He asks, he doesn’t look too concerned. Ilya can still hear a shower running, Yuna’s absence suggests that’s the only reason she hasn’t also come running.

“Peachy.” Ilya responds, he’s still staring at the door where Shane had just been.

David hums and disappears again, presumably to resume his morning rituals.

He’s about to turn to leave when the door swings open again. Shane is there, still softened from sleep, a pillow tucked under his arm.

Ilya stumbles back slightly as Shane pushes his way past the large alpha and beelines down the hall towards his bedroom.

This, again?

“Shane.” He says plaintively “if you take any more clothing I will have nothing left.”

He can hear David laugh distantly through the wall. Traitor. No help at all. He will not be laughing when Ilya is stuck rotating through only two sets of clothes.

He trails after Hollander like a hapless hound. When he rounds the doorway into his bedroom he finds he’s not rummaging through the sad remains of his luggage like he expected. He’s on the bed.

Ilya walks into the room with confusion, “Hollander, what are you doing?”

Hollander is fluffing the new pillow on his bed and rearranging the ones that were previously there. He huffs, considering the blankets, and then gets up to slide past Ilya out of the room.

Ilya is stunned, staring at the bed and then looking out the door. He is stuck between, unsure if he is allowed to disturb whatever is in the making.

He doesn’t have to wait long. A few moments later, Hollander trods back into the room with an armful of a blanket. He lays it on the bed, and then starts tucking it in places. After a moment the omega stands there considering. Still not satisfied? He grunts in annoyance.

He turns to Ilya and he abruptly feels like that deer again. He can see those blinding amber headlights careening towards him and he is helpless to do anything but brace for the contact and hope it doesn’t hurt.

The touch is gentle when it collides with him.

Shane guides him to the bed, nudging him to the side with the pillow taken from his nest and arranging limbs how he wants. Ilya ends up curled on his side, facing towards the middle of the bed. The pillow envelopes him immediately when he lays in it, and he’s taken a lungful of scent without realising. He breathes like it might disappear.
When he pushes Ilya to lay down, Shane goes with him. They aren’t touching anymore, Shane has curled his arms in towards his chest, his head rests on the other pillow. But they’re close. ‘Intimate’ the word echoes in Ilya’s head.

This isn’t a nest, not even close, but Shane was definitely nesting with him.

Ilya wasn’t planning on trying to sleep again, but now Shane has put him here. It’s so comfortable, and Shane has already closed his eyes, and who would Ilya be to disturb him by trying to get off the bed? So he simply accepts his fate, closes his eyes, and lets himself drift away to the sound of soft inhales on the other side of the mattress.

Chapter End Notes

Shane takes one look at Ilya: Damn you’re clearly not sleeping right, let me fix that.

Still tossing up whether I should go back and fix the moments Ilya starts slipping his nickname back to Shane, but I notice it happens mostly in moments of connection. Where Ilya is in a moment with Shane and not thinking about him in his head or separating him mentally as a feral wolf. So shrugs, they can stay that way for now.

Sorry ya’ll don’t get a lot of Shane in this chapter. I thought it was really important to get some proper Yuna and David in here and also establish some important conversations (bc this is a difficult situation and Ilya IS practically a stranger to Shane’s parents). They’re building trust.

This situation is interesting to me to write because it’s characters attempting to balance the percieved wants/needs/consent of Shane and also the autonomy of this wolf part of him. In this universe scenting/nesting etc can be an entirely non-sexual intimacy so it’s not something that’s crazy concerning. Yuna was mostly worried about Ilya mistaking it as an okay to take it further. Gotta have those difficult conversations.

Also Ilya is an unreliable narrator in regards to their behaviour, so hopefully this chapter sheds some light on the fact they were immediately caring for Both Ilya and Shane (at least, after it’s established Ilya genuinely wants to help Shane) even if Ilya has assumed he’s not included in the equation. He forgets he’s also a victim of this situation. Don’t think Shane’s parents didn’t notice Ilya didn’t have a single visitor aside a teammate dropping off his stuff.

It’s also getting a bit heavier in terms of Ilya’s declining mental state, I apologise. It gets worse before it gets better. But it Will get better. Lots of fluff in the future. I can’t imagine this situation not being a trigger to someone already prone to depressive thoughts, ya know? Suppose I need to add that hurt/comfort tag lmao

Thank you again for reading!! If you’ve been sticking around for this I love you so much. Your comments mean so much to me also! I come back and read them when I’m stuck haha, please let me know what you think 🙏

Chapter 5

Chapter Summary

He can’t know that Ilya has been harbouring this smoke in his lungs since he was a child. It filled his home, from basement to attic. Choking and relentlessly dominating. His father’s presence left room for nothing and no one else. It chases away the scent of his mama, of his brother, even the space to recognise himself. No matter how many times the air was cleared, it would never leave. It clung to his clothes and followed him to school, to his practice at the rink. It was in every room of their house, steeped into the very walls. Inhaled with every breath, Ilya thinks it poisoned him before he had the chance to be anything at all.

Chapter Notes

Heads up at the beginning bc I said Ilya’s headspace would get worse. Nothing bad, just sad thoughts and low self esteem. I am also not in a very great headspace at the moment and I think it shows hahaha, sorry.

I got a bunch of fluffy chapters half-typed and lined up for the future when this is sorted so please don’t worry 🙏 I won’t leave ya’ll here I just like to sit in this for a bit. I wanted to put the warning in case you prefer to wait until there’s plenty of comfort to balance it out.

Thank you again for your comments! ❤️ I really appreciate your interest in my story.

It had been a few days since the first nap with Hollander. It quickly becomes a routine. Ilya was still not allowed into the proper nest, but Shane had practically built a second in his bedroom at this point. He habitually swapped clothes back and forth as scents dulled and faded. In the last day or so, however, Ilya had noticed a change. Hollander had been bringing things into Ilya’s bedroom, but not swapping anything back into his own nest.

There was a restlessness under Ilya’s skin, and Hollander was clearly picking up on it. They were practically joined at the hip, the wolf was refusing to leave his side unless absolutely necessary.

When Ilya next wakes from their latest nap, he takes a while to properly open his eyes. He thinks he smells something faintly burning. The sunlight hitting the back of his eyelids tells him he at least hadn’t slept the entire day away. He’s on his stomach, his face had been squashed into the pillow cradled under his chest. He can hear the curtains fluttering faintly in the breeze of a half open window. The scent of Hollander permeates the room, mixing with his own. He wants to take a second to luxuriate in his presence, but scrunches his nose as he realises the burning smell was the presence of his own alpha notes. Not for the first time he finds himself wishing it wasn’t so overpowering.

His scent is thicker than usual, clogging his throat. A few days ago, he had reluctantly stopped wearing scent patches as per the doctor’s instructions for Shane. It seems his scent had finally returned. He’s taken aback by the strength of dread that surfaces with the realisation.

Ilya can practically see Shane in his mind’s eye - he’s scrunching his nose, commenting on bad smoking habits. He throw’s out a statistic Ilya doesn’t care to remember about health issues and the affect’s it could have on an athlete’s peak potential.

He can’t know that Ilya has been harbouring this smoke in his lungs since he was a child. It filled his home, from basement to attic. Choking and relentlessly dominating. His father’s presence left room for nothing and no one else. It chases away the scent of his mama, of his brother, even the space to recognise himself. No matter how many times the air was cleared, it would never leave. It clung to his clothes and followed him to school, to his practice at the rink. It was in every room of their house, steeped into the very walls. Inhaled with every breath, Ilya thinks it poisoned him before he had the chance to be anything at all.

The smell of Hollander surface’s again, and he’s wrapped in another nest. He is still young. His face is crammed into the wrinkles of a sleeping gown, arms cradling him close to the warmth of a soft torso. A lullaby plays against his ear in the rhythm of a heartbeat. He remembers taking great gasps against her body, like he could finally breathe. He tries to fill his lungs to the brim and hold them full. Exhales only when he feels like they might burst. Again and again. The oppressive scent of his father is finally cast away, but it lingers. He knows it lurks in the corners of the room. It will be there waiting when he surfaces for air.

When he finally does, it rips him away. Another memory rolling over him. He thinks of the despair that consumed him at barely 17. Most would feel euphoric to present as an alpha. Ilya was helpless to feel anything but hatred for the smokey scent that had choked his upbringing. Any hopes of his presentation letting him cling to the last remnants of his childhood scent were dashed. The last traces of his mama’s omega fragrance went with it, eclipsed completely by the alpha he was becoming. It was no longer his choice. The hands of fate were punishing. He would not escape his father even with the distance of an ocean. His own body had betrayed him.

That year he discovered even with scent patches, it wouldn’t fully leave. Ilya was hopeful at first, that maybe it was simply a ghost that haunted only him. Immaterial in a way that no one but he would pick up the traces that lingered on his body because he knew where to look. He had been stewing on the thought one afternoon, in a foreign country, tired of speaking a foreign language.
Then, a polite Canadian boy had approached him outside of the rink and immediately put his theory to rest.

“I uh..I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke out here”.

The boy gestured sheepishly to a sign Ilya hadn’t bothered to read. It was a cruel irony, Ilya hadn’t even picked up the habit yet. He assumes Shane had seen him leaning against the wall, scent patches on his neck, picked up the traces of smoke clinging to him and made his own conclusion. It was not unreasonable, Ilya’s was not a common alpha scent. Tree’s, herbs and more gentle smells reminiscent of nature mixed together were more common. Ilya felt his own was too aggressive, it heralded images of a natural disaster.

“…Okay.” Ilya said, both hands still stuffed in his pockets. He looked guilty, he knew. Defensively side-eyeing the approaching player like he was hiding evidence. He was, but not for the reasons Shane had been implying. He didn’t want the boy to notice he was lacking possession of a lighter or cigarette for his explanation. He reluctantly pulled one hand free of his pockets to accept an offered greeting. Nothing was said to correct the assumption as the other boy awkwardly stumbled through an introduction and fled. The second handshake almost charmed Ilya out of his own spiralling thoughts, he hoped they crossed paths again. He hoped these damn patches would do their fucking job. The truth required too many words for a stranger in that moment.

He knew Shane would be mortified about making those comments if he’d realised.

To be fair, Ilya had picked up a smoking habit later that year. Inhaling a cigarette became a comfort in its familiarity. He had spent almost 18 years learning how to breathe through it like it wasn’t there, and now that he wasn’t choking on it - he was surprised to find he missed the heavy weight in his lungs at times. He didn’t miss the smoke. Never. Sometimes it was just, clear air was too much. Like his body didn’t know what to do with it. Dizzying, and overwhelming in it’s clarity. Smoking became a security - doubling as a cloak for any questions about the scent he’d been unable to scrub from his skin.

He finds himself reaching for the bedside table, sure he had stashed some away there after the first disastrous night in this house.

There’s a fog forming over the corner of Ilya’s thoughts, the kind that hasn’t faded with wakefulness as it usually would. A buzzing nervous energy under his skin feels completely at odds with the sluggish pace of his thoughts. If he concentrates, he can practically see the dark clouds hovering just out of reach. If he forecasts a week ahead, past experience tells him he has maybe a few days before it really sets in. If it does, it’s impossible to say how long until it will pass. He grimaces at the thought. Another thing to deal with later.

He should have noticed the signs earlier. Maybe he’d have had a better chance of shaking it loose. It’ll be fine, he thinks. He’s dealt with this before.

He takes a moment to relax into the sheets, eyes closed with one arm now rustling lazily through the contents of the bedside drawer until he feels a familiar gaze trained on his face. Really, he should be getting used to this by now. He peels one eye open. A glance at the window behind them tells him it must be a little past mid-afternoon, the sun is shining through the curtains.

“You watch me sleep now, Hollander?”

Hollander doesn’t respond, Ilya doesn’t really know what he expected. The longer he feels the stare, it’s like an electricity begins to hum in the air, Ilya feels the hairs raise on the back of his neck.

He has moments with Hollander, where he can sort of forgot this is a wolf that has no recollection of their former relationship. Moments like this however, it is very hard to pretend. He feels that gloomy blanket of thought threatening to tug him back under, and he does his best to shrug it off.

“Yes, well, this has been nice, thank you for the nap,” his hand snags on his prize from the drawer. He can practically taste the satisfaction of a cigarette on the patio.
Ilya raises onto his elbows as he prepares to manoeuvre himself off the bed, his legs reach the floor as he begins to back away.
“Very refreshing, I am just going to-“

A snarl rips through the air,

“Okay,” Ilya promptly reverses back into the bed and resumes his previous position.

The snarling stops, but Shane keeps his lips lifted to expose his fangs, like he’s prepared to start again immediately.

Ilya takes a gamble with the moment of pause to turn onto his back. Facing towards Hollander’s gaze right now is too unnerving, and he doesn’t want to be stuck in the same position he was on the ice either. He clears his throat, arms crossed politely over his stomach on the blankets. The carton is still clutched in his hands. He risks a side glance at the wolf still staring him down.

“This is what you want, yes?”

Shane actually sneezes at him. It’s cute. Ilya’s not sure what to do with that. He files the thought away for a later crisis, because Shane is still staring at him like he’s waiting for something.

Ilya raises his arms in something appropriating a shrug, still lying horizontally on the bed.

“What? I do not know what this is, what are you asking for?”

His arm with the cigarettes must wave a little too freely in the air because in the next second he feels teeth clamp down on the wrist closest to Hollander.

“Hollander,” he hisses in panic. He’s imagining the future complications of playing hockey minus one hand. He’s honestly too tired for this bullshit.

It doesn’t hurt, but the growled threat from Hollander is enough for Ilya to obey the silent command and open his hand. The carton falls innocently onto the sheets.

“Are you serious? Wolf Hollander is also the cigarette police?”

Hollander’s eye’s darken dangerously.

His teeth let go of Ilya wrist, only for his body to lunge forward. Ilya has seconds to bring his arms up to protect his face before Hollander is on top of him. He grunts as a weight lands on his stomach, and he braces. He’s can’t help the small chirp that breaks loose. This time, it does nothing to halt Hollander’s movements.

It takes a moment to realise Hollander has straddled him and lunged toward the window instead of aiming for his face. He stretches to further open the pane of glass behind them that backs onto the nearby woodland. A gentle breeze ruffles Hollander’s hair and floods the room with the smell of the forest and faint petrichor.

It’s another moment too late when Ilya realises Hollander has snatched up the carton of cigarettes. His unbandaged arm is wound back in preparation to pelt them into another plane of existence. Ilya reaches for them.

“Nyet! Don’t you da-,” and they’re gone. From Ilya’s position with his head on the pillow, he can faintly hear they collide with the ground and scatter. The lid had definitely been open. They were lost, distributed among the trees and bushes.

“You are such an asshole.”

Hollander stares down at him imperiously. Not a single trace of regret. He lounges back as if sitting on a throne, bearing weight onto the backs of Ilya’s raised thighs.

“Can’t have shit in this fucking cottage.” He breaks eye contact to grouse to an unsympathetic ceiling. Language peeling off into a string of cursing in Russian, because who cares if Shane can’t hear him anyways. The wolf tilts at the switch in language, but its expressions give nothing away.

Hollander sneezes again, shaking his head. Then, with a serious expression, he leans forward and begins aggressively scenting Ilya with his cheek, it cuts off his tirade. Hollander is tracing a path back and forth across his chest and up towards his chin. After a few minutes, clearly unsatisfied and grumbling, he starts licking at the glands on one side of Ilya’s neck.

“Ah,” it comes together with mortifying clarity.

“The smoke? Yes, that is me. Sorry.”

Ilya finds himself suddenly unable to look anywhere but at that small spot on the ceiling. It must have been tolerable until the scent patches wore off. He knows it gets worse when his moods are like this too.

Over the years of wearing the patches it had changed a little, at least. The parts that broke through were still thick and cloying, though they were often more like a smoky incense - an underlying fragrance seemed to make it more bearable. When it was really bad he’d find the nearest club and let it get lost among the sea of other scents. He had none of those protections now.

A small part of him had hoped, as the doctors and boringly informative pamphlets had insisted, that this could still help Shane. He makes a noise as Hollander continues his efforts to cover the scent coming from his glands. Clearly not.

“…Okay, okay.” Ilya says gently, placating. Hollander only grows more distressed. He leans up with Hollander still pressed against his chest. The man has switched to determinedly running his wrists across every inch of skin he can reach.

“I can fix, okay? How about we just?” Ilya’s hand is rummaging through the drawer again, Shane pauses to watch what he’s doing. Probably making sure he hasn’t stashed another box of cigarettes.

Ilya’s hand retreats with a handful of scent patches, and he attempts to pull himself further up the bed to lean upright against the pillows. Hollander doesn’t chase his movements this time, sitting back on his knees as Ilya unseats him. His eyes are glancing uncertainly between his face and the packaging in his hands.

Slowly, Ilya goes about unpeeling a patch and smooths it over the skin of a neck gland. It fits familiarly back into place, and almost immediately the scent Ilya has been pumping out begins to lessen. Beginning to return to the inoffensive musk Shane knows him for, it must inhabit half of Hollander’s own nest down the hall at this point.

“See?” Ilya says gently, “Better?” he tries. He has begun to stick the second on the other side of his neck.

Hollander huffs, shuffling up Ilya’s legs to get back to his torso and leans forward again to inspect. He noses around the patches, grimacing. The man leans back to watch as Ilya begins unpeeling a third, still needing to cover the glands on his wrists and thighs.

At least he tries, Hollander blocks his movements. He leans forward and begins removing a patch with his teeth.

“Fuck!” Ilya yelps as the wolf struggles to get a grip under the glue. It results in him gnawing at Ilya’s neck until a corner peels up to catch with his teeth.

“Those are fresh you asshole.”

Hollander yanks heedless to his complaints, and only pulls away when the patch has come completely loose. He leans back with it dangling innocently between his teeth.

Ilya closes his eyes and throws his head back, defeated. One hand reaches up to yank the remaining patch off his neck and he throws it to the floor in frustration. Hollander watches him do this and spits the patch out of his mouth onto the floor in the same general direction. Shane would never.

“I don’t know what you want Hollander. I’m sorry.”

Hollander sighs. Grumbling, he climbs up the bed once more to lay beside Ilya. Ilya is tired of trying, so he turns on his side facing away and tries to go back to sleep. The rustle of leaves lulls him as a breeze continues to flutter into the room.

This is how Yuna finds them an hour later. Ilya hears a hesitant knock on the door and grants her entry.

“Come in.” He says.

A shoulder nudges the door open, Yuna enters the room cradling a plate of cut fruit and two water bottles. She places them carefully on the bedside table before turning to survey them with hands on her hips. Something squeezes in Ilya’s chest.

“I thought I might find you here,” she directs fondly at Shane. She’s grown more comfortable with them being close over the last few days. Shane is watching her comfortably with his chin positioned in the crook of Ilya’s neck. At some point he’d begun spooning him from behind. His cheek is smushed against the gland there, but he’d stopped trying to scent against them some time ago.

“He’s not been bothering you?” She directs her next words at Ilya.

“No.” He sniffs. Doing his best to maintain a thread of indifference. It’s hard with Shane currently plastered to his body.

I think maybe I have been bothering him, instead. He does not say.

Yuna regards him curiously. Since opening the window Ilya’s scent is not nearly as oppressive, but it still fills the room. He can see when she takes it in, eyebrows raising slightly as she glances to the patches on the floor.

“He did not approve.” Ilya provides as explanation, and Yuna hums.

“Are you feeling okay?” Yuna asks him, concerned. He thinks if they were closer, she would currently be pressing a palm to his forehead to check for fever.

“I’m fine, just tired.” He says, because it’s an easier explanation than trying to put words to feeling that has creeped into his bones.

“You said that a few days ago.” Her head tilts, and Ilya see’s the same gears turning in her head that he watches when Shane is working through a play on the ice. It’s uncanny.

“I am more tired.”

He watches her make a decision, turning to sit slowly on the bed by Ilya’s knees. Shane is watching the interaction from his place curled around Ilya. She takes out her phone, and Ilya stares at it in confusion.

“I want you to give me a phone number.”

“Ah.” He says, thinking of his own phone still switched off in the drawer.
“I can give it to you but I don’t check it very often at the moment-“

“No, Ilya. I mean I’d like you to give me the number of a packmate so I can invite them to the cottage.”

Ilya’s jaw snaps shut.

“Why?”

“Because your pheromones are telling me you need your pack.”

She shrugs, eyeing him innocently while issuing her challenge.

“Is there a problem?”

He glares at her.
“No. It’s not a problem.”

“Good. I only need one.” She holds her phone towards him and waits for an answer.

“They are in Russia.”

“I’ll buy them a plane ticket.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“There has to be someone?”

One. One person. Ilya casts his mind about. Sveta is the closest. There’s no way he can mention Shane. She’s busy, though, and has built her own life at this point in their careers. He remembers the last time she visited, a motley of scents blended with her own that told him of a colourful collection of long-term bonds. His own had almost faded completely in the mix, it had been so long since they’d last caught each-other. He’d stopped calling her so often after that without really meaning to. He didn’t like how the moment had made him feel. Small and distant in his own home. The spaces where he used to be were filled by strangers he’d never met. There was smoke climbing his walls again.

He’s been quiet for too long.
“My teammate? Marleau.” He offers.

“If you’re pack-bonded?” She asks, considering him. It wouldn’t be unheard of, if a bit unwise. Proper pack bonds make trading players a messy business. It was usually avoided.

His silence is answer enough. She sighs, shutting off her phone and putting it beside her.

He can’t see pity on her face, and he’s grateful for that at least. She’s frustrated. Her eyes are watching Shane carefully, working over another problem in her head. He’s stayed wrapped around Ilya for this entire exchange, still grumbling, and shows no intention of moving.

“Right,” she says, “Sit up, then.”

“What?” He says, bewildered by the change of direction.

“I’m fixing your pheromones. You’re stinking up my house and it’s upsetting my son.” Ah, Ilya does not point out that this cottage is clearly Shane’s and not hers. She’s the alpha of this pack.

“It’s my scent. It’s just like that.” Mildly offended as he confesses to her, the blanket in front of him is suddenly very interesting.

“Honey..”, she seems to be searching for words, “No.”

No?

“What do you mean, no?” He’s trying not to get agitated. Shane is still leaning over his shoulder. “It’s my scent. Is alpha scent. Has always been like that.”

“That’s not…you smell like smoke.” Her words are imploring.

“Really? I didn’t notice.” No shit.

Yuna sighs and gets up, carrying her phone to the door. He can hear her mumbling, but can’t quite parse the english from this distance.

“You” she points at Ilya, “Eat something.”

“You,” she points at Shane, “Keep an eye on him until I get back.”

Shane huffs in affirmation.

What the fuck?

“What the fuck.” Ilya says to the empty space she’s left behind.

Chapter 6

Chapter Summary

“I used to do this with Shane all the time.” She’s fiddling with a bottle of something, twisting the lid back and forth.
“His scent glands were often irritated from the medication and it took a while to figure out what helped.”
She looks a little wistful, something rueful creeping around the edges of her expression.
“He prefers his own routines these days.”

And well, Ilya’s a little afraid she’s going to keep wandering down memory lane, and he is keenly aware Shane had gone to great lengths to keep him out of this house entirely. So, he moves into the chair and asks a question he hopes will lead Yuna safely away from the door of Shane’s home life and back onto the street.

Chapter Notes

Trigger warnings in the end of chapter notes if you don’t want to be suprised.

It takes about 20 minutes for Yuna to return to the door with David in tow.

In that time Hollander had managed to make him eat the entirety of a chopped apple and several handfuls of assorted berries. He took the task very seriously, and Ilya feels a dangerous emotion bubbling up in his chest as he watches the omega sorting the fruit on his plate. It’s another system of categorisation that Ilya can’t parse, it all looks like perfectly fine food to him. Whatever Hollander is thinking, there was a clear pile approved for Ilya. He had been diligently eating every piece that was handed to him, encouraging Hollander to stop and eat periodically as well.

Hollander was currently sorting blueberries into their own separate piles of ‘acceptable for Ilya’ and ‘abominations’. The fruit as a whole must have been deemed particularly troublesome.

“Hollander, I would eat every berry on that entire plate no problem.”

Ilya get’s no response aside from Hollanders eyes flicking up to side-eye him judgmentally. His lip curls slightly in disgust. He goes back to sorting the blueberries.

Okay then.

Ilya sighs, letting Hollander return to his task. He rests his head in one hand propped up on a knee while he watches. They’re both sitting on the bed, surrounded by a scattering of clothes, pillows and blankets. For the first time in a little while it really feels like this would be something he was doing with Shane.

It was nice.

“Okay kids,” The spell is broken as David walks into the room, he claps his hands gently. Yuna follows him in, she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, she’s holding what looks to be a make-up bag.

“Who wants to help me with a puzzle?” David’s question is clearly directed at only one of the three other people in the room. Unfortunately, that person is currently absorbed in a task of great importance. The question is ignored. Ilya looks to David with mild sympathy, he was kind of looking forward to seeing someone else wrestling with wolf Hollander for once.

Deciding to move them along, Yuna addresses Ilya on the bed,
“Ilya? I think we’re due to spend some time together. Alphas only.”

And well, if that doesn’t sound ominous. Every second he stalls he’s only going to imagine a worse scenario of what this involves.

“Okay.” He says, moving to raise himself from the bed.

Like earlier that afternoon, Hollander snarls as Ilya tries to leave.

It’s not that he didn’t expect one of Shane’s parents to interject, but, well, he is surprised that it’s David who cuts sharply into the moment.

“Shane Hollander, put those fangs back in your mouth.” Hollander’s jaw clicks shut as his eyes snap to his father. He looks mildly like a child caught with their hand in a candy jar.

“Now, I know I didn’t just watch you growl at our houseguest.”

Shane at least has the decency to look contrite as Ilya’s eyes dart back and forth between the two, he’s still frozen halfway off the bed. Yuna is standing near the doorway, comfortable to watch the scene unfolding between her husband and her son. David walks up to Shane, taking the plate of fruit from his hands. His son gives up the plate reluctantly, eyes fixed nervously on the berries to prevent any errant mixing.

“You can continue this in the living room with me.” He turns to leave and Shane is immediately on his feet, not wanting to lose sight of his work. For a moment he’s clearly torn between Ilya and David, but eventually he huffs and leaves the room to follow his father. Ilya can hear the start of a plaintive howl down the hallway.

“Now don’t you start, son. I’m not going to mess with your system.”

David has his own claws, apparently. He feels a bit bad for assuming Yuna was the sole dominant force in this pack. A grudging respect and a newfound annoyance at the fact David had been watching him flounder with Shane for the past week is forms inside him.

He’s drawn back into the room as Yuna clears her throat, and he sheepishly finishes removing himself from the bed as she tries to smile.

“Follow me, please.” Is all she says as she turns to leave and lead him down the hallway.

She leads him into her bedroom, across the space and into the small ensuite tucked away at the back of the room. She comes to stand next to the mirror, gesturing to a chair that looks suspiciously like a kitchen stool placed in front of the sink.

“You can say no, but I was serious, about the pheromones.”

“You can…fix it?” He steps closer but doesn’t quite cross the threshold, one arm reaching up to rub against the back of his neck.

She shrugs, but Ilya gets the impression she’s feigning nonchalance.

“‘Fix’ was poor wording on my part, but yes.” He can see her unzip the make-up bag and begin lining up a few products on the sink.

“Think of it like, a spa day”.

“A…spa day?” Ilya repeats incredulously.

“Yes!” He can see her eyes light up, and this time the expression is genuine.

“I used to do this with Shane all the time.” She’s fiddling with a bottle of something, twisting the lid back and forth.
“His scent glands were often irritated from the medication and it took a while to figure out what helped.”
She looks a little wistful, something rueful creeping around the edges of her expression.
“He prefers his own routines these days.”

And well, Ilya’s a little afraid she’s going to keep wandering down memory lane, and he is keenly aware Shane had gone to great lengths to keep him out of this house entirely. So, he moves into the chair and asks a question he hopes will lead Yuna safely away from the door of Shane’s home life and back onto the street.

“What does this spa day involve for me?”

And why would a routine to counter the side-effects of Shane’s omega suppressant usage be helpful for him?

Ilya is grateful to see her immediately lost in the explanation of her process. She’s stacking a few wash clothes on the counter as she points to various products.

“Okay, these first. I’m going to start with your neck glands, soak the cloth in warm water and just let them sit on top for a moment.”

She follows the process as she talks, stopping to ask if he’d like to keep his tank top on because it may get stained. He does, because he honestly cares much less about a stained shirt than he does the concept of sitting half-naked in a bathroom with Hollander’s mother.

“Usually I’d want you to shower first, to properly open your pores. You can try that when we don’t have my whiny son to contend with.”

As if on cue a howl breaks through from the living room, followed by a muffled response from David. Yuna continues as if she doesn’t hear it, and at this point Ilya can understand the unwavering confidence she has in her husband handling their feral son.

She points and talks him through the rest of the products. Neutral oils, she says. For drawing out impurities. A number of creams and balms, all fragrance free, she stresses. Ilya admittedly gets lost in the explanation somewhere around the place she starts talking about their ingredients and individual uses. Some of them look home-made, or like a bottle one might find in those fancy stores that only keep their products displayed in giant glass jars.

It sounds like a general skincare routine, and while Ilya doesn’t follow a rigorous 10-step process like someone he knows, he does at least moisturise. He’s doubtful this is going to change anything about the smoke that exudes him, but he’s confident at least she’s not going to poison him.

“Okay.” He says, when she looks at him for confirmation, and a relieved smile breaks onto her face.

“Okay!” She says. Clapping her hands together.

She then reaches into her makeup bag and pulls out a pair of rubber gloves.

“Why those?” He eyes them dubiously as she begins to snap them onto her hands.

“To prevent my scent glands mixing into the product while we’re trying to cleanse yours.” And yeah, he thinks that makes sense.

She picks up one of the oils, “I’m going to rub this into the skin around your glands and then massage it in.”

She holds the bottle up to him to smell, he doesn’t know why. It’s scentless.

“Okay.” He says.

“I’ll do your neck glands, but you should do this for the others too. Same process, so watch what I’m doing.”

He nods, watching her movements carefully through the mirror.

He’s nervous. For her to find something unexpected, or for this to go wrong in a way he can’t understand, maybe. The worst scenario is that this doesn’t change anything at all. He feels a bit like they’re dancing back and forth, avoiding the gaping hole in the floor that asks ‘Why does Ilya smell of smoke in the first place?’.

He won’t say why. She knows something about this scent that he doesn’t, and it makes him uncomfortable. He’s too afraid to ask. Afraid it will force him to show his own hand before he’s ready. She’s lets him skirt the edges of the subject without acknowledging it. Like he’s a bird prepped to take flight from her windowsill.

“Tell me if anything hurts.” She says, her hands finally making contact with the glands on either side of his neck.

The first touch is cold, but the oil quickly warms beneath her fingertips. She’s massaging it in diligently. Despite his reservations, it’s very difficult for Ilya not to immediately melt into the soothing touch. It stays like that for a time, almost floating. He can’t say how long she spends working the oil into his neck and shoulders.

Smoke.

Thick like a miasma, heavier than ever. It’s as if it’s leaking from his glands. For a moment it’s so strong Ilya thinks his dead father could be standing in the room right next to him. Resurrected and material in front of them as if pulled straight from the back of his eyelids. He immediately tenses, but Yuna shows no reaction other than to reach over and swing the bathroom door closed. Presumably to prevent it spreading throughout the cottage. It has to stink horrendously to be so close. A horrible feeling curdles in his stomach, hands twisting in his lap. He’s rooted to the chair, eyes stare unseeing into the mirror as he fights the clawing creature in his throat and pretends to watch Yuna’s movements.

She doesn’t pause, continuing to ease her knuckles along his neck and shoulders. She moves between rubbing the oil into his skin and pressing on his glands to encourage them to release its own. He faintly recalls the next step, he thinks. Cotton pads. She swipes them up and begins wiping along his neck, soaking up anything that was sitting on the surface. She uses one for each side.

“Here,” she says, holding one of the soaked pads near his face. “Can you smell?”

It’s a ridiculous question to ask, the room is practically choked with his scent at this point. She’d opened the windows in foresight but it could only help so much. He nods, still not confident in his ability to speak.

Her foot reaches for a small trashcan pedal and it’s dumped inside. Good riddance.

But the smoke is still there, leaking from his body. Stronger than ever. Stronger than before. He can’t quite make out the shape of his father in the mirror anymore. Images are blurring, where did he go?

An unexpected touch to the back of his neck has him flinching so hard he almost slips from the stool. The chirp he’d been smothering sees its opportunity and has escaped before he’s even formed the thought to try and shove it back into the cage of his throat. It echoes sharp and hollow around the small bathroom as if reveling its freedom. Ilya would rather like to take its old place right now, to lock the door of his cage and throw away the key.

“Shit.” He never thought there’d be a universe in which he’d hear Yuna Hollander swear. Her eyes are horrified, approaching the size of saucers. She takes a moment to speak, trying to process the moment.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her hands have moved away. He can see she’s holding another cotton pad in her hands.

“I should have warned you.”

There’s a sudden commotion outside. The clatter of furniture hitting a wall. It’s just Hollander freaking out, the last clinging vestige of his rational mind provides fruitlessly. It’s useless, because the rest of him can only hear the loud banging against a door. The vicious snarl of an animal trying to break through. The smoke that fills his head and makes him wish he could disappear. He can’t breathe.

“Fuck,” Yuna jumps to the door, leaning all her weight to the shaking wood and locking it from the inside.

“David!?” She calls urgently.

“Yup!” What would be a comically unbothered affirmation in any other situation can only just be heard over the chorus of howling.
“Working on it!”

“Work faster,” she hisses against the door. Her eyes are darting between her current task and Ilya, as if afraid he might slip through her fingers and fall through the floor.

“Ilya, honey. Can you hear me?”

He accomplishes the herculean task of raising his eyes and meeting her gaze in the mirror.

“That’s good! Yes! Thank you. You’re doing great.”
The litany of praise floats by his head without notice, it takes every ounce of energy to keep himself in the room with her.

“I know you’re very scared right now.”

Is he? He looks at himself in the mirror. Something unrecognisable stares back at him. It’s Ilya, but it’s not. His eyes are wide and glassy. He looks smaller, somehow. He doesn’t feel very much of anything right now.

“So is Shane. Shane is scared, too.” An animalistic sound cuts her off.
“He’s calling for you.” Another bang shakes the door against her shoulder.
“Can you hear him, Ilya?”

If looking at Yuna was a difficult task, purposely tuning in to the sounds happening outside the door was a challenge on an entirely different level.

“Do you think you could call back to him, Ilya?”

The sounds outside his door, they’re growing just slightly more distant. Like David has succeeded in separating his son from the threshold. God knows how he’s moved 6ft of thrashing muscle.

The more he listens, to the murmur of Yuna and David, the tone of Shane’s noises, the more his memories begin to release their hold on him. He can feel the ceramic of the sink beneath his hands, the cold tiles grounding his feet. Slowly, they let him return to the reality he’s sitting in. They peel back like a film of foggy plastic over his vision. Shane. He’s howling. Not angry. He sounds sad. Yuna is right. He sounds scared, too.

There’s no possibility of Ilya managing to make his vocal cords work well enough to form words, let alone english in this moment. So, he responds the only way he thinks he can.

A short rumble is all he gets out before it sticks in his throat. Ragged and unused. It cuts out before it can finish. It’s still enough to stop Shane’s latest noise short, a stretch of silence afterwards like he’s straining to hear for more.

When there’s nothing, Shane tries again. He’s not howling and snarling anymore. It’s a whine, soft, low and mournful. He’s calling for Ilya.

‘Are you okay?’ It says. ‘Are you hurt?’

It sits in the air and waits for a response.

Ilya is not okay, but he doesn’t want Shane to be in this room. Not equipped to deal with a feral creature in this moment when he feels so much like one himself.

He chuffs back.
‘I’m okay.’ Another. ‘I’m safe.’
He glances to Yuna’s body still blocking the door. Once more. ‘Don’t worry’

“See Shane?” She says, “We’re okay, honey.”

The noise has quieted on the other side.

“David?” She tilts her head back against the door frame, her eyes have closed as she listens for her husband.

“Yup.” Their own call and response communicated in a language Ilya can’t begin to translate. He watches Yuna release a tension in her body that almost has her slumping to the floor in relief.

“We’re going back to my puzzle now”. Followed by the sound of reluctant Shane noises and the murmur of gentle coaxing from David.

Yuna glances at Ilya’s face in the reflection, “That sounds best.”

She levers herself up from the doorway, her attention finally able to return fully to the other person in the room. She approaches him from the side, trying to make eye contact with his face.

“I think, maybe we should stop for now,” she begins to say.

“No!” The words come back in a flurry, “I want to finish this, please.”
His skin is still crawling with the smoking scent. He thinks faintly, it can’t get worse than this, surely? He’s already been horribly emotionally vulnerable to Yuna Hollander. When he leaves this cottage he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to face her again.
But what if, right now, he could pull himself together and she might be able to make it better?

She considers him carefully, can see him straightening up, hardening again. He’s determinedly putting the charred pieces of his own brick walls back into place. Trying to prove he can hold this house together long enough to get the job done. That he won’t come crumbling down to the broken foundations again at the faintest breeze.

“We’re taking a break, then.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. He looks at her warily.

“Half an hour.” She says, “Enough time for you to have a cup of tea on the patio, and for me to air out this bathroom.”

Now that she points it out, she’s right. It’s not just smoke anymore, this room stinks of terror. His own, and hers.

“Right.” He says, and begins to unstick himself carefully from the stool he’d been gripping to like a lifeline.
“Yes, okay.”

The few footsteps from the sink into the bedroom stretch forever. He feels like a newborn deer, achey and unsure on his feet.

“Hey,” she says, flipping on the fan as they trudge out of the room together.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”

Good.

“That wasn’t your fault,” she hedges.
This is much too close to talking about it, he fears.
She continues, having expected his silence, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise how bad it was. I’ll be more careful.”

Ilya shrugs, not wanting to delve too deeply into what ‘it’ was.

“It was a mistake,” he says, “I’ll forgive and we try again.”

He see’s relief touch her face.

“Yes,” She says, and then looks at him imploringly. “After you take a break.”

“After I take a break.” He nods and repeats back obediently.

Chapter End Notes

Trigger warnings: Ilya chirps and experiences a ptsd flashback due to the intensity of his own scent. There are allusions to past domestic violence. Shane freaks out and makes Ilya’s response worse until Yuna and David are able to intervene. Also just a general warning for sad Ilya and low self-esteem.

Thought I’d start including these for those who want them :)

Another chapter so soon?? Yeah this fic is consuming me (in a good way.)
It’s really nice to feel a spark of creativity again, and I LOVE LOVE playing with characters and their dynamics and making up fun little worlds with my own lore. ABO is my sandbox and I enjoy making sandcastles.

I continue to say this is hurt/comfort and then shove ya’ll full of hurt I’m sorry. I swear there are sweet fluffy times ahead. I’m a big fan of bittersweet moments and it shows.

Thank you to everyone reading! I’ve been really enjoying your theories about what might be happening with Ilya’s scent 👀

There IS low key a hint in another chapter of this fic.
I was planning to go into the explanation this chapter, but it felt like a natural stopping point here. Most likely the next is where ya’ll find out why. I’m excited to see if you can guess it from the new information in this chapter!
Some close theories so far about the general reasons but I don’t think anyone has gotten 100% about whats going on hehehe.

Chapter 7

Chapter Summary

“Okay.” He says, as much as he wanted to have this conversation, the words are leaving him quickly as soon as he nears the spotlight.

“Why is my scent like this?”

It’s out in the open. He’s quietly acknowledging that he knows his scent is wrong but he doesn’t know why.

Chapter Notes

Trigger warnings in end of chapter notes.

Hollander hadn’t left Ilya’s side since the incident, as soon as he’d laid eyes on Ilya walking back into the living room. He was met with an armful of a tearful, cranky wolf. Yuna had peeled off to the kitchen after checking that Shane’s presence wasn’t unwanted.

“He was worried about you,” David translates, his eyes are fixed on a pile of puzzle pieces at the living room table. There’s a berry halfway to his mouth as he adjusts a pair of reading glasses on his face.
“He finished sorting that fruit for you ages ago.”

“Oh.” Ilya says for lack of anything better to say, “Sorry, Hollander.”

David waves around a little saucer of his own, “I get the rejects,” he says triumphantly before he munches on another and rests the plate back on the table. He doesn’t look at all like a man who just had to wrestle a feral wolf away from a bathroom door. He makes no mention of hearing Ilya’s chirp either, for which he’s grateful.

Ilya’s eyes scan suspiciously from Davids colourful socks all the way up to the top of his head. What is the deal with this man? Was it a beta thing? Could he communicate with feral wolves telepathically?

Shane nudges him towards the table and sure enough, his own bowl of berries sits there. He didn’t feel much like eating, but then he looked up and finally caught sight of Hollanders face properly. His eyes were hopeful and stained red with drying tear tracks.

So yeah, Ilya was going to eat the fucking blueberries. He’d have eaten them if they’d been mouldy shrivelled husks at this point and still said thank you if Hollander was looking at him like that.

So he eats them and Hollander looks so pleased Ilya wonders if the wolf might actually start purring. He was leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table, chin resting in the crook of them to watch Ilya eating. What a rollercoaster of emotions he was on right now.

When he looks up again David chuckles from his spot surveying the puzzle pieces, the man puts a phone down on the table after checking the screen and moves onto a new section.

“Told ya, kiddo.”

It takes a second to realise David was addressing Hollander and not Ilya, because he doesn’t elaborate on the statement any further.

“Is he as good at sorting puzzles as he is fruit?” Ilya offers, voice croaking a little.

“Unfortunately there was no interest, as they cannot be fed to an Ilya.” David supplies sagely. He finds a corner piece, and nudges it into place.

“Hmm.” Ilya says, “That is his mistake, puzzle pieces are my favourite. Full of fibre.”

David laughs as Hollander’s head whips around to eye him dubiously, like he’s now doubting Ilya’s ability to keep himself alive.

It makes for a moment of consideration.

“How much can he understand of what we speak?”

David shrugs, “The whole suppressant business makes it a bit complicated, they said it could change day by day.”

He looks to his son, “I like to speak to him like he understands, no reason to do otherwise if there’s a chance he does.”

Ilya hums. There were times where it felt like Shane could almost be present with them again mentally, and others where he could recognise nothing but a wild animal beneath his eyes. They were still a bright amber. It was hard to say what was Shane and what was just shared personality traits. The hospital did say it could take weeks for any change. He really hopes it doesn’t take weeks to speak with Shane again.

“Do you think you could spare a puzzle, David?”

Shane’s scandalised hiss is almost enough to make him feel bad when he laughs, especially as he looks down at those teary eyes again.

“Okay,” he placates, patting Hollander gently on the head like an errant alarm clock until the hissing stops.

“For you, I will remove them from my diet. No more. Only for treat, maybe.”

Hollander grumbles and removes the hand from his hair. God, he’s missed rage-baiting this man. It feels like he can finally get away with it having the presence of David as a teeth-deterrent. He almost feels human again. Hollander eyes him with barely contained outrage, the wolf clearly does not appreciate the flipping dynamics.

Yes, today Hollander definitely understands what he’s saying.

Yuna chooses this moment to enter their orbit with a steaming mug of tea, she wanders up to Ilya and begins ushering him out onto the patio. David waves goodbye, and it seems his efforts to annoy Hollander were enough to net Ilya a time-out from the man’s presence. Unfortunate, because he was hoping he’d have a clingy Hollander to keep him company on his Yuna enforced ‘break’. Alas, Hollander only glares at their retreating backs. Yuna guides Ilya out the door and Shane stays put in his seat next to David.

Oops. Ilya tiredly resigns himself to suffering the consequences of his own actions.

“Over here,” she says, and sits him on an outdoor couch. A warm mug is pressed into his hands, it smells of tea and honey. He takes a careful sip as he watches Yuna take a couple steps to the side and pause next to him.

“I’ll be inside with David and Shane, let me know if you need anything.”
She leaves with a pat to his shoulder, and he’s reminded again of the scent still clinging to him. It’s much less oppressive outside, able to waft away with the breeze.

A sigh escapes his lips, and he settles into the cushion. This is the first time he’s really been alone with his own thoughts for a while. That his mind hasn’t been completely consumed by Shane.

He’d made a promise to give himself at least half an hour, but honestly, he can’t be sure how much time passes on the patio. Long enough for the last few sips of tea to have gone cold, and for a crisp chill to have crept into the evening air. For a time he was able to just sit and think of nothing but the water rippling in the lake as the sun began to set behind the trees.

Inevitably, his thoughts lead themselves back to his reaction earlier that afternoon and he winces. It felt so hard to control himself in that moment, like someone else had walked in and taken control of his body. The chirp. How he’d reacted to Shane. He was no longer buzzing, at least, but it was unnerving to think about what might have happened if Yuna and David hadn’t been there.

She’d known what to do, he thinks.

Her terror in the moment betrayed maybe her knowledge hadn’t come from experience, but she’d at least recognised something in Ilya. She knew what his scent meant, and she’d been willing to continue pretending that she didn’t. She’d offered to keep treating it for him no questions asked.

It was a gesture he’d have kept and been incredibly grateful for if he’d at least been in on the secret. The simple fact was, he had no idea what she knew, and not knowing was making it worse.

Ilya sighed, gathering his mug and preparing himself to head inside and do what needed to be done.

The glass door of the patio slides open easily under his fingertips. True to her word, Yuna is still sitting at the dining table with David. It looked like she’d been drinking tea of her own while helping her husband with the puzzle. At least, she performs the pretence of helping. The puzzle looks half-completed, a sizeable amount of progress since he’d last seen it. He only see’s David moving pieces, while Yuna comments to him about placements over the rim of her mug while she watches.

Shane is nowhere to be found in the room. Probably in his nest if Yuna and David are still out here.

Her eyes slip up to Ilya as he enters and she smiles at him. He can read the question on her face. She’s asking if he’s still wants to continue. She looks prepared for him to say he wants to call it off altogether.

“I want to ask you a question.” He says instead.

“Shoot.” Comes her response, David hasn’t even looked up from his puzzle. Ilya considers if he wants to do this with him in the room, and thinks yes. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to wait and lose his nerve.

“Okay.” He says, as much as he wanted to have this conversation, the words are leaving him quickly as soon as he nears the spotlight.

“Why is my scent like this?”

It’s out in the open. He’s quietly acknowledging that he knows his scent is wrongbut he doesn’t know why.

David looks like he’s trying to be unobtrusive, his hands start nudging pieces around haphazardly. It’s quickly obvious he’s paying far more attention to the puzzle they’re discussing than the one on the table in front of him, but he’s at least polite enough not to insert himself.

“What do you know about suppressants, Ilya?”

And well, that’s not at all the direction he was expecting this conversation to go.

“Uh..they stop heats and ruts,” he says, unsticks himself from the door as he slides it closed and walks further into the room.

“Suppress wolf, quiet scent, make it easier to ignore instincts.”
He lists what he can remember from the top of his head. He’s still standing, clutching an empty mug in his hands while he looks down at Yuna sitting in her chair.

He pauses before tacking on, “If you take too many for too long you can get sick.”

Or worse.

“Yes,” she says.
“And do you know how they work?”

This question is harder, he finds himself wracking his brain.
“Uh…hormones? I think? Probably yes?”.

Yuna half nods, suggesting Ilya was most of the way there.

“That’s part of it, yes.”

She reaches out for his empty mug, and he finds himself reluctant to let it go. His hands want something to do. After giving it up his fingers quickly find themselves twisting in the chain around his neck.

Yuna gets up from the table, walking with their mugs the small distance to the sink in the kitchen. She gestures for him and he follows obediently into the new space, it gives them a little more distance to pretend they have privacy. By the time he’s walked to her side again, she’s filled the sink with warm water and begun washing up their mugs with a soapy cloth.

“Did you know, the mechanisms of the first omega suppressants were based on replicating an alpha stress response in the body?”

And, okay. That’s suddenly a lot more than Yuna usually throws at him.

“Omega suppressants copy alpha…stress responses?”

She hums an affirmative,
“I mean, alpha suppressants too. All suppressant medications, they’re all forcing the same mechanism.”

She takes a moment to scrub a particularly difficult stain at the bottom of her mug. The kind that forms after years of drinking daily from the same cup.

“When it triggers naturally in an alpha, it’s called the repressant response, do you know what that is?”

No. He’s never heard of it, and it’s not like he’s completely uneducated surrounding their biology.

He knows most adults can pick if a child might be an alpha, omega or beta from their scent at around five years of age. Still, it’s never set in stone, and a lot of research goes into being able to predict or influence the outcomes. He knows most people start properly presenting in their designations around twelve years of age and up. He knows stress can delay or even influence presentation unexpectedly, not uncommon among athletes, maybe this was what she was alluding to?

Or the chirping. He had stopped doing this younger than most, but now it was back, and his body wouldn’t stop reaching for it. Like he’d rediscovered a lost limb and couldn’t stop testing its weight.

It was hard to say, what parts of his issues could relate to this response without knowing. How it had eluded him for so long.

“Maybe? But maybe not the english word?”

Yuna nods, seems to reach for something in her mind. She’s holding a pristine mug in her hands and pauses to sit it carefully on the drying rack before rattling off an explanation.

“It’s a defence mechanism, from the central nervous system. A primitive response that we’ve kept from times when pack hierarchies were larger and much harsher. Especially for young alphas, when we faced a higher risk of being ejected from packs before adulthood.”

He is faintly reminded of those journalists that would try to embarrass him using purposely long and complicated questions. By the end of translating them in his head, he’d have forgotten what they were asking in the first place. It takes a second to correct the thought. No, Yuna is just trying to give him all the information.

Ilya nods, he is aware of their distant history and the marks it left in their biology. It was where chirping originated, after all. A way for young alphas to communicate they were both harmless and spoken for. Not worth the energy of intimidating and removing from a pack. Not worth triggering the ire of any protective guardian that came running at the sound.

“Back then, power struggles and changes in leadership were commonplace because packs were tied to territories and their immediate resources. If a new wolf pairing came into position, any young children from the previous pair would be at risk of rejection. Especially alphas.”

Yuna waves a still wet hand in the air, gesturing vaguely as she continues,

“Because when alphas came of age, they tended to disperse to make packs of their own. That meant raising one was raising future competition.”

The way she’s speaking sounds as if she’d been practicing in front of a mirror. Her tone is rehearsed enough to raise the thought in Ilya’s head, had she been preparing?

Then he thinks, if this involves suppressants, this is probably a conversation she’s had to have before.

“Nowadays, suppressants allow omega’s to function unaffected by other wolf dynamics, especially in environments with higher concentrations of alphas.”

At this point, Yuna is clearly quoting something she’d read from an article for Shane.

“It’s why dependance is especially common among omegas in leadership positions and high-stress careers.”

So, Shane was the textbook candidate, Ilya thinks miserably. She’s beginning to lose him in how this information relates to his own questions. He was already tired when he’d woken this morning, fog creeping around the edges of his thoughts. Her train of thought was becoming too long for him to follow.

“Yuna, I’m sorry,” he says, “This is too much. In less words, please? Repressant response?”

“Yes-I’m sorry! Of course,” She stutters as her explanation derails. Slightly disorientated now that she needs to consider her words very carefully. She balances her hands on the edge of the sink as she thinks.

“Sometimes,” she says stiltedly, “Especially when an alpha is small, and they don’t feel…safe.”
She pauses to rephrase herself,
“When their pack is making them feel unsafe.”

Ilya’s eyes flit to the dining table when she says these words. A puzzle sits alone and mostly completed. He’s quietly relieved to see David had made himself scarce at some point during their conversation.

She keeps stopping and starting, taking great effort to arrange her words in a way that best expresses the point she’s trying to make for Ilya without exposing him.

“Their body will respond to protect them from danger.”

“By making big scary scent?”

She shakes her head, and looks at him sadly.

“By trying to turn invisible.”

Ilya crosses his arms and looks at her strangely from his spot leaning his hip against the counter, because his scent is the opposite of invisible. It’s loud, it’s angry. It announces his presence, it fills the room with no regard for anything else.

Hell, even a few particularly invasive magazines had commented on it over the years. The kind that traded in gossip and half-baked rumours. They appeared after a few unfortunate incidents involving inadequate patches during games and nightclub outings during his early career. Sveta had once seen one sitting on his kitchen counter, she’d torn it up and thrown it in the trash with disgust by the time he’d come back into the room.

“The repressant response,” Yuna says, “Is when an alpha’s body smothers it’s own scent, and begins mimicking those in the pack as camouflage.”

Ilya listens to her raptly, frozen as the world unspools beneath him. How did he not know of this? How had no one noticed over the years in his career that he was walking around with a fake scent?

In his time growing up in Russia, it was complimented if anything. A perfect mini Grigori, sure to follow in the man’s footsteps to become just like the respected and powerful alpha that lead the Rozanov pack to such success.

Her words have him pulling threads, revisiting memories, turning them at different angles in a new light.

Ilya’s eyes flicker up to meet hers.

“But why?” He asks. He still can’t understand how this was possibly supposed to help him.

“Your body thought it was giving you the best chance of surviving to adulthood.” She says, “By becoming indistinguishable to the threat it was living with.”

And that is the final ugly piece that has to fall into place for Ilya to understand.

That his body created this scent to protect him from one person, and one person only. That it felt like such a burden because it was never intended to save him from anything else. It felt like he was being delivered one last cosmic slap from the grave. Ilya had been living separately and estranged from his father’s pack for almost a decade. For fucks sake, the old man was buried in the ground. Still, despite everything, Ilya’s body continues pumping out that same camouflage like it expected the old man to walk round a corner at any moment.

He shrugs, “I have not lived there for a long time. That person is no longer a problem.”

Maybe she’s wrong, he thinks. This could all be some horribly unfortunate coincidence.

“Sometimes,” She says slowly, as if aware she’s unravelling Ilya with every sentence, “If this response is triggered a lot, over a long period of time, the body can have trouble switching it back off.”

Ilya does not like how much information his answers have unwittingly given Yuna about his childhood. He feels like a frog being dissected under a microscope. Every effort to hide something ultimately uncovers something else.

He sniffs, hand raising to wipe quickly against his nose before falling again.

“And you can fix this?”

“I can try. It might take some time.”

“Can we still start again, tonight?”

She hums, “Whenever you’re ready.”

That is how Ilya finds himself in Yuna’s bathroom once more, later that night. He did end up trying to take some time to think. To process the overload of information that he was currently trying to whittle down in his head. He found, he really couldn’t get anywhere with the scent of smoke still stinging his nostrils so strongly. It was like their first session had opened a wound in him that wouldn’t close.

It was either put the scent patches back on, or get back to cleansing, and Hollander had made his opinion clear on the scent patches.

“Now, it’s not going to go away in one night.” Yuna prompts from behind the chair, she’s holding some of the cotton pads in her gloved hands again.

“I know…but still a bit better, right?” He can’t help but ask. He would do anything for a reprieve right now.

“It should be more bearable, yes.” She says, and after telegraphing her movements in the mirror begins wiping across his glands again.

It takes a while for them to both relax into the monotony of the procedure. Yuna especially, in feeling like she won’t spook Ilya off the chair. She asks him before every touch, and while embarrassed he does appreciate the thought.

“How did you know?” He asks after a period of comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” Yuna says

“How did you know that this scent wasn’t just me?” He’s genuinely curious. Yuna has known him personally for less than a week. He would be kind of scared of her insight if he wasn’t so grateful.

“Well, I didn’t, at first.” She shifts, a bit awkwardly bending to dump a pad soaked with his scent in the bin and picking up an oil dispenser, starting the whole process again.

“Your scent patches covered it mostly.”

She’s massaging the oil into his skin again, now.

“But with Shane in my bedroom, without the patches, you knew.”

Yuna hums, and looks like she’s trying to find a way to phrase something without offending him.

“I know I stink,” he says deadpanning “You will not offend me.”

He’s rewarded with her laughter.

“No, no, it’s just.” She’s searching for words, “it wouldn’t be that bad without the pheromones.”

She’s been rubbing the oil in long enough that she reaches for a new pair of cotton pads. She begins swiping them along his neck again, encouraging the glands to release his scent so it can soak into the cotton. He might be imagining things, but it feels like the intensity is actually starting to fade with each repetition of her process. It’s too early to feel hopeful about it.

“The more time I spent with you, the more I noticed I was only ever picking up the same emotions from your scent, they’d never change, and they weren’t lining up with your actions.”

Ilya looked at her in the mirror. Others had often told him his scent was throwing off a ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. He had assumed it was just another lovely perk of his genetic make-up. Or his personality. Or maybe an unfortunate mistranslation of scent and it’s meaning across cultures.

“You don’t strike me as the type of asshole to be walking around a hospital permanently signalling aggression.”

Yes, but Ilya had been mimicking that kind of asshole. Had been doing those things anyways, apparently.

And wasn’t that the same thing?

It does explain why Yuna had been so weary of his intentions at first.

He had been accused in the past of using his scent to throw other players off, to incite fights on the ice among himself and other alphas. To intimidate and domineer his peers. Aside from his own distaste for his scent, it was partially why he had become so diligent about wearing scent patches in the first place.

“And then I remembered,” Yuna has continued not realising Ilya was lost in his own train of thought.
“With Shane, that was a side-effect we were told to be aware of.”

“Easy fix.” She says, gesturing to the cotton pads in her hands.

And then, he thinks, she remembered reading that suppressants were not the only reason that this response might happen in the body. Not long after, when he had fallen apart in this chair.

“So I did not just copy the scent, I have copied his pheromones too?” He says, struggling to cover the fatigue in his voice.

“Your scent glands have captured a moment in time,” she says, “That includes whatever pheromones that person might have been throwing, but it’s a mimicry, so it doesn’t change or reflect your own feelings as a scent normally would.”

“Hmm.” Ilya says. That settles any final doubts he had, then. He thinks he’s beyond words for a little while. Having to rewrite so many instances in his head, so many memories take on a different shape now. It makes him dizzy.

Yuna, for her part, is happy to sit in silence as she works away. Content to let the man in front of her slowly trying to piece himself back together in a new light.

The cotton pads build up in the trash can, and at some point he realises she’s switched to an entirely new product. It’s some sort of cream, soothing on his glands as she rubs it into his skin. They had become progressively more inflamed throughout the session. To combat irritation, she says. Then, she covers the top layer of his skin with a balm she explains is supposed to act as a barrier. A way to dampen the intensity of his scent a bit and preserve their progress between sessions.

It does work surprisingly well, he thinks. While he can still scent himself, it’s not nearly as bad as it was earlier this afternoon. It was almost back to the intensity it was before they started this process.

She explains, looking somewhat guilty, that because Ilya’s scent was from a natural response and not a suppressant side-effect, it will take much longer to clear from of his system. They’d have to cleanse them completely, and then continue to do so until his body caught the hint it wasn’t needed anymore.

“We’re not going to finish this tonight.” She says softly, and when she can see Ilya preparing to protest she cuts in before he can start.

“I can do my best, but if you’ve been this way for a long time, it’s not going to go away with a single session. You’ll still have the other glands to work through too.”

Ilya’s mouth clicks shut, and he tries not to look too disappointed.

Yuna smiles ruefully and pats his shoulder. She begins removing the gloves from her hands shortly after and throws them in the trash.

“We’ll keep trying,” she says, “As long as you’re here, I can help.”

Ilya turns the offering over in his head, looking for the cracks that warn him where it will fall apart. There were so many. Too many conditions hinging on ‘if’s and uncertainties. Too many conditions hinging on Shane and his presence in Ilya’s life.

“This is a lot of time to take away from Shane while he’s healing,” He says.

Yuna scoffs, “Kid’s tough. He can learn to share for a while.”

“His wolf might not recognise me, if the smoke is gone.” He thinks quietly, that even though Shane never liked it, it was the only way he’d known him.

“Hmm,” she says, “I doubt that.”

Her hands rest on his shoulders again, rubbing up and down in what she probably hopes is a soothing gesture. It is, kind of. Ilya is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Your body has been producing this scent for so long, it’s going to take time for it to remember how to be itself.”

Something about this wording strikes a ripple of unease into Ilya, and he stares into the sink as he builds the courage that allows the next words to escape him.

“What if there is nothing to remember?”

His voice is small, unsure, and he doesn’t know when he’d started clutching at the cross hanging from his neck again. It feels silly, to voice a fear about something neither of them have any control over.

“If it never got to be something? Before the hiding.”

What if my body only knows how to exist in the shadow of someone else?

He can hear Yuna inhale shortly before her next words, her eyes are brimming with too many emotions he doesn’t know how to name.

Her own scent, that had been entirely dominated by Ilya’s all this time, was finally allowed to flourish in the space with them. It was serene, he thought. Jasmine, like Shane’s, and something else he couldn’t place yet that made her distinctly alpha. Similar, but different.

“I think it could learn.” He hears her say.

“If it were allowed to feel safe,” She clears her throat, taking another breath.
“I think maybe you could start trying.”

It feels like he’s stolen from Shane, to witness Yuna like this. To have her look at him this way. Her eyes look so much like his. At this point it’s hard to tell if the hands on his shoulders are for his comfort or her own, a nervous tick.

“I think...” Ilya says, his throat clicks, he’s still clutching the cross, weighing his next words very carefully. They are tentative, he’s losing his own battle with a weight behind his eyelashes. He is at his heart a selfish creature, and can’t deny the offering that has been placed in front of him. Consequences be damned. He wants this. He wants it so bad.

“Maybe, I would like that.”

Chapter End Notes

Trigger warnings: Emotional HURTS. Explanation of what tf is going on with Ilya’s body that could relate to childhood trauma and abuse. Sad Ilya.

Hi..yes. I teared up multiple times writing this LMAO. The good, cathartic kind at least.

I was struggling with this chapter being like 80% back and forth talking and not just becoming an infodump of my convoluted ideas about ABO lore but also, I’d rather have all the main bits laid out here so I can build from it and reference back in future chapters. I’ve pulled ALL of this out of my ass, vaguely inspired from random animal behaviours. I know we refer to ABO as wolves but be so fr, nothing about this behaviour is wolf-like. Hope ya’ll vibe with the concepts established here.

How close were you to guessing?? 👀 Some of you were very close! Pretty much hit the nail on the head with it being about trauma. The main hint for this direction was in the very first chapter where I made an off-hand comment about historically harsh pack environments, and young alphas needing to appear non-threatening to survive in them. After that, I’ve been trying to hint a little about the connections between Shane’s issues and Ilya’s issues, but I wasn’t expecting anyone to fully put it together bc, again, I’m pulling this out of my ass. Also there’s a good chance I contradict myself in places bc I’m writing this chapter by chapter with nothing but a vague plan and a dream I’m so sorry - it’s the only way this is fun for me. If you do spot something I’d appreciate it being pointed out so I can go back and correct haha.

I can safely say this is the worst of the hurt for now 😌 we on the up and out from here (mostly). I cannot promise because I am still a glutton for hurt. One of those fluffy chapters I’ve been promising will be up next. Thank you for coming on this journey with me ❤️

Shane will be back with a vengeance next chapter, don’t you worry.

Chapter 8

Chapter Summary

This is approximately when Ilya realises he has made three terribly damning assumptions about the wolf.

Firstly, assuming that Hollander would maintain a concept of human humour and morality without Shane being present.

Secondly, that because Hollander hadn’t immediately corrected him, he was off the hook from earlier today.

Thirdly, that Hollander wouldn’t have the presence of mind to learn from his own mistakes.

Chapter Notes

Bangin on a pot, come get it ya’ll

Trigger warnings at end of chapter (not many, in this one.)

The first night that they attempt to cleanse his scent glands is rough. Ilya is exhausted, physically and emotionally, and he doesn’t realise how much he had begun to expect Shane’s presence until he returns to his room and remembers he was technically still in exile.

He stares forlornly at the empty bed, and wonders how so much could have changed in less than a week. If he’s really going to be upset over this.

No, he decides. He’s a grown wolf who can spend one night without sleeping next to Hollander. He collapses into the sheets and wiggles around among their clothes until he thinks he finds a comfortable position. It’s difficult, his neck is sore and sensitive. Hollander has brought a frankly ridiculous number of pillows into his bed. Every brush of fabric against them feels like sandpaper.

He ends up on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself into unconsciousness. Time begins to lose meaning. He thinks sullenly this may be a night he doesn’t sleep at all. When he looks over at the clock he can’t help the snarl of annoyance when he realises it’s only 11pm.

There’s a clatter of noise and the sound of soft laughter down the hall, Ilya’s ears perk up at the noise.

He finds he can’t help himself. Knowing he won’t be getting to sleep anytime soon despite the bone-deep exhaustion seeping into him, he’s desperate for a distraction. He finds himself pulled out of his room and to the source.

It’s David, sitting on the couch eating popcorn, he’s half watching a movie, there are lights dimmed and the television plays at a low volume. He’s throwing popcorn at Hollander every now and then, aiming hopelessly to get it in his mouth. Hollander sits nearby, every now and then making a noise that indicates he wants to continue the game. His teeth are bared playfully, and he laughs whenever a kernel hits his nose or chin, which is most of the time with David throwing. The rest of the time they fly off into the void of darkness that surrounds them. The two haven’t seen him yet, and it’s such a domestic image that it feels slightly surreal to witness.

Ilya aches at the sight and wonders if Hollander will let him near right now. He was kidding himself if he thought he could stomach being alone after everything that has happened today. Every memory that begs him to sit down and process. His prayers are answered when David notices him standing in the doorway.

“Want to watch? We already started, but it’s not a hard movie to follow.”

Ilya manages to drop himself down into the seat across from Hollander. David sits in-between them, bowl of popcorn in his hands. He offers some to Ilya every now and then.

Hollander allows his presence. There is one moment where Ilya thinks he might actually leap across the space between them, his eyes gleaming. He doesn’t though, glancing instead to David and the bowl of popcorn in his hands. He settles back into the couch and continues playing their game.

The movie isn’t actually that bad. Ilya doesn’t know what it is, exactly. There are puppets on the screen, it looks like some sort of dark fantasy. He thinks he might have seen it once as a child, and finds himself surprisingly wrapped up in the story. The next hour passes quickly, and sleep begins to pull at the edges of his vision as the credits finally roll.

David stretches his arms above his head with a yawn and politely dismisses himself to bed. Hollander has been lazing on the lounge across from them, he appeared to be dozing. One eye opens to watch David pull himself up from the couch with a remote in hand and switch off screen.

“You boys can turn the lights out,” he says as a dismissal, and waves goodnight. Ilya makes a grunt of agreeance.

Hollander, dutifully, gets up and begins switching off the lights around the cottage without complaint as David turns the corner to his bedroom. Ilya hears his door shut from down the hallway.

This is approximately when Ilya realises he has made three terribly damning assumptions about the wolf.

Firstly, assuming that Hollander would maintain a concept of human humour and morals without Shane being present.

Secondly, that because Hollander hadn’t immediately corrected him, he was off the hook from earlier today.

Thirdly, that Hollander wouldn’t have the presence of mind to learn from his own mistakes.

That he would wait for David to leave the room.

Ilya bolts upright, eye’s searching his surroundings for Hollander. There is only one set of lights left that prevent the room from being plunged into pitch darkness. Hollander is standing in front of them, his hand poised to flip the switch, like he’s been waiting for Ilya to notice. Ilya suddenly becomes very aware of his exits, of the sliding door that backs into the small field behind them.

Hollander bares his teeth in a toothy grin.

“Shane.” Ilya warns. This can’t be fucking happening right now. He thinks if Hollander went for his neck in this state he would simply pass away.

Hollander flips the switch.

The change is immediate and disorienting. Ilya loses his bearings of the room as soon as his sight of the furniture disappears. He rears backwards over the end of the couch to try and put another physical barrier between them. Bracing against it, he can only just see Hollander, two bright pupils reflecting moonlight back towards him.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Ilya has a feeling that if he gets caught this time Hollander won’t let him off the hook so easily.

“You have the presence of mind enough to hold a grudge and plan revenge, yes? Let’s talk about this. I’m sure you are a reasonable wolf. I will apologise”

At his words, the eyes move forward, and Ilya moves backwards, stumbling against furniture as he struggles to maintain the distance between them. Two glowing eye’s weave smoothly between the obstacles he can’t see. Ilya’s back meets the glass of the sliding door. Cornered.

“Shane, seriously?” He says, his hands are raised in the dark. Unsure if Hollander could see him well, but most likely yes, if the size of his pupils were any indication. They currently swallow almost the entirety of his iris, reflecting back to Ilya like two large full moons.

This isn’t like the night Shane swerved away at the last moment, his attention is undivided on Ilya.

He remembers faintly being told never to turn your back and run from a predator, but that advice is hard to have faith in when it’s staring you down from less than 2 meters away.

So Ilya takes a chance. He flings his hands to the door behind him, clambering clumsily with the lock.

“Fuck, come on.” He says, he can feel the presence of Hollander rapidly closing in now that his back is turned. Can practically feel him breathing down the nape of his neck.

Success! It slides open and he vaults outside. He has the faint presence of mind to try to close it behind him, swivelling around to slam it shut with a resounding thud. Not for the first time he wonders what level of noise qualifies a welfare check from Yuna and David.

It’s quiet outside. The cool air is soothing on his clammy skin. He can only hear his own breathing, and his heart hammering so loudly it echoes in his head. All of Ilya’s attention centres on the two pupils shining through the door in front of him.

Or…

Ilya freezes again, the eyes in front of him grow larger. Heat ghosts against the back of his neck.

He was looking at a reflection.

Hollander, the fucking demon, had slipped out with Ilya before he had time to close the door.

He turns around just in time for Hollander to slam him back against the glass. He remembers this happening once before with Shane, in a stairwell. He was much hornier about it then, still is, but the fear for his neck is currently taking centre stage.

He wriggles in Hollander’s grasp like a fish, somehow manages to avoid his teeth and slip past him. He takes the steps from the patio to the grass in one big leap and starts running.

Mistake.

In terms of stats, Shane had always been the fastest. It takes no more than five seconds for a weight to slam into Ilya’s back and tackle him to the ground in the middle of a field.

The wolf is furious above him, Hollander is backlit by the moon in the sky. It casts him in a gentle blue light, a contrast to the expression plastered to his face. His teeth are bared. He looks like a vengeful angel, Ilya thinks faintly.

After a moment of silence, neither moving, Hollander begins to tilt forward. His eyes watch Ilya, he’s waiting for something, Ilya doesn’t know what. His teeth are inching uncomfortably close to his scent glands.

“No, no, no,” Ilya says, “I’m very sore there, we can discuss this first?”

He understands, right? If he understood the joke enough to be offended, he should understand Ilya bargaining for his life.

A tentative lick across said sore skin is met with a full body jolt and a wince. It feels like electricity lancing across his skin.

“Yes, ow. Very sensitive. Not there please.”

Hollander harrumphs against him, he doesn’t try to lick again but he stays pressed against Ilya’s neck, like he’s threatening.

“What do you want from me, ah?”
He pants and tries to think back, what Shane would be demanding from him in this situation. When he thinks Ilya has wronged him.
“You want an apology?”

Hollander leans back, still straddling Ilya’s stomach. The stern expectant expression is answer enough.

Ilya sinks back into the grass, Hollander’s behaviour finally clicking into place. He loses it for a moment, flailing his limbs under Hollander’s weight trying unsuccessfully to unseat him.
“You’re serious? All of this for a fucking apology? I thought you were going to kill me, Hollander.”

Hollander pins his arms and starts to lean back in.

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!”

Hollanders movements halt, but he doesn’t lean back either. He’s waiting for more.

“I said sorry!” He tries to shake Hollander off one more time before he collapses back to the earth with a heave.

He thinks Hollander actually raises his eyebrows in the dark, but it’s hard to tell. The wolf growls softly, impatiently, as if to tell Ilya to get on with it. The grass is cold, it’s making their clothes wet.

“I am…sorry…for..,” Ilya wracks his brain, trying to think of exactly what transgression might have offended the wolf so strongly from earlier today. It’s not human, it doesn’t care for human sensibilities. What had he done right before Hollander’s silent treatment?

“For making a bad joke.”

No reaction. Not even close.

“…For disrespecting you, in front of your pack.”

A soft grumble. Go on.

Ilya tries to remember exactly what he’d said. Something about eating puzzles? Ah.

“For saying that you made a mistake. That you feed me the wrong things. It was a lie. I am a liar.”

It didn’t matter how ridiculous it sounded, Shane’s wolf had only heard Ilya telling David he’d made a mistake. Right after accepting food from him.

Hollander, blessedly, licks the space under his chin once instead of his neck and then leans back fully to regard him. Ilya can finally breathe again.

“Thank you,” Ilya says, throat swallowing around a bigger emotion. The air is still leaving him in small pants.
“For taking care of me. I’m sorry. I turned it into a joke.”

Hollander trills quietly from his seat upon Ilya’s waist. Apology accepted? It seemed so.

“Can you forgive?” Ilya asks. Partially, he’s curious how Hollander would respond. The other half of him genuinely wants to be reassured.

Hollander begins to tilt forward again, his hands bracing on either side of Ilya’s head. For a second, Ilya fears he’s aiming for his scent glands again, but after a few seconds it becomes clear they are no longer the target. He doesn’t look like he’s going to bite either, he pauses to look down at Ilya with a gentle expression.

He’s beautiful, Ilya thinks. Outdoors, in moonlight like this, his freckles contrast on his skin like an inverted map of stars. Hollander’s pupils are huge, he can no longer make out the colour of the iris. They pull him in, and Ilya is helpless.

So lost in this thought, he hasn’t seen Hollander inching closer. It is only when the wolf slips its eyes closed, rests their foreheads together, that he realises they are so close to be sharing breath. Ilya’s still panting, not fully recovered from the fright. A nose nudges gently against his own, it waits for him to nudge back. It waits for him to calm slightly, for their breathes to begin matching pace. Ilya feels something inside him finally snap into place. He falls backwards slowly, relaxes fully into the grass, and Hollander follows. The first touch to his lips is equally gentle, Ilya’s own eyes have slipped closed without him noticing.

It’s a single kiss, but the moment stretches between them. The soft and tentative kind of kiss that causes a flutter to ripple through his stomach. It escapes him in a small noise as they come back for air. Shane’s scent surrounds him, like it’s blooming in the field.

Hollander’s hands curl up to cradle against his head, fingers weaving through his hair. He leaves their lips despite Ilya’s mournful complaint at him separating.

Instead, Hollander ignores him and trails a number of slow, sweet kisses up the side of his face and into his hair. It’s so soft, and so intimate, and Ilya doesn’t know what to do with it. What to do with himself. His hands hang rather uselessly, gripping at Hollander’s sides for purchase.

When he’s satisfied with smothering Ilya, Hollander leans back to inspect him in the grass. Whatever he sees must be amusing, because his nose scrunches up adorably as he smiles. This smile is big, and slightly lopsided. It’s still toothy, but carries none of the threat from earlier.

Ilya can’t help but laugh at the sight and lever himself upright. He’s in Hollander’s space again, chasing his lips.

“Hi.” Ilya says.

Hollander leans back into his orbit, equally helpless to the pull. Their foreheads meet again.

“I missed you.”

Two wide eyes regard him softly. There is no response, but Ilya doesn’t expect one to come so soon. Hollander chuffs against him.

“Yes, okay” Ilya says, his words come stilted as Hollander returns to the side of his face. This time he licks gently at a spot close to his ear.

“You can take your time.”

All at once he is tired, and sore, and wishes he could curl up in a bed that smells of vanilla and jasmine. He wonders if he could convince the wolf in front of him to stay again tonight.

Chapter End Notes

Trigger warnings: Feral Shane scares the shit out of Ilya, this fic is temporarily a horror flick again, the usual whiplash that comes with that and then Shane doing something sweet.
Also a reminder that in this universe feral wolf packs historically meant Feral. Which means wolf behaviours and corrections can seem quite harsh without a human sharing the wheel. A lot of it is about re-establishing dominance. Hence: the repeated horror of Shane Hollander
(In my universe, designation has only so much influence on pack pecking order, bc I say so.)

 

Yuna startling awake: What was that bang?
David, already rolling over to go back to sleep: Possom must have fallen off the roof again.

Hi ya’ll.

I do enjoy temporarily putting them into a horror film.

This fic is a lot of firsts for me. First chaptered story, definitely first kiss I’ve ever written lmao. Technically second attempt at writing a fanfic Ever. I’m sorry if it’s cringey. Figure I gotta get over myself at some point and just start writing the scenes I want to see in the world. I’m too old to be scared of writing a sweet little story.
I’m going to go back into my cave now.

Hope you like it! Got another fluffy chapter lined up for you soon.

Chapter 9

Chapter Summary

“You,” Ilya is pointing and curling over the contents of a hot pan protectively. “You are a menace.” Yuna has paused in the entryway and can’t help but lean against the doorframe to observe. Both boys are too engrossed in each other to notice her entrance.

Chapter Notes

No trigger warnings this time :)

Yuna Hollander wakes to the distant clatter of dishes in the cottage kitchen. A glance at the clock on her bedside tells her it’s 6am. The sunrise just beginning to peek through her curtain agrees. It’s not the kind of hour for David to be up and puttering about. Rolling to her side, she confirms her husband is still snoring softly in the bed beside her.

That leaves two suspects, then.

They’d finished quite late last night, with the scent cleansing. Ilya had looked exhausted, the process was draining and uncomfortable to sit for so long. She can’t imagine he would willingly be awake and cooking in a kitchen at 6am.

She sighs, a simmering curiosity is outweighing the desire to turn over and go back to sleep. What if it’s Shane? Miraculously back to himself and cooking in his kitchen at the crack of dawn like clockwork. The world is cold outside her blankets, she’s wrapping a sleeping gown around herself as she pads down the hall.

Despite her list of suspects, she does not expect both Shane and Ilya Rozanov to be her kitchen culprits. Ilya is covered in a fine layer of flour, a streak on his cheek from where he has clearly brushed a hand over himself without thinking. He brandishes a spatula like a weapon, gesticulating towards an equally floured and unrepentant Shane.

“You,” Ilya is pointing and curling over the contents of a hot pan protectively. “You are a menace.” Yuna has paused in the entryway and can’t help but lean against the doorframe to observe. Both boys are too engrossed in each other to notice her entrance.

Shane has positioned himself sitting on the counter, perched next to the stovetop to survey Rozanov and his activities. He’s clutching what looks like a small half-eaten pancake in his fingers. His other hand is already reaching for another - the one currently still occupying Ilya’s pan.

“No, nyet! Hot! Too hot!” Ilya lifts the sizzling pan off the stove and away from Shane’s searching hands. She can spot his neck glands still look a little red and sore despite the balms, they peak out the top of a well-worn sweatshirt. He swears and then speaks with the cadence of someone who has already given this warning a number of times.

“Do I need to say it in third language, Hollander? Eat the one in your hands first,” He somehow gestures with both hands full of kitchenware to the food in Shane’s grasp.

Shane makes a grumble of annoyance, but he stops reaching for the pan. He takes another bite out of the one he’s holding.

“At least you like them, yes?” Ilya mumbles as he nudges the firming batter with a spatula, he’s intensely focused on his task.

“They are called blini. Like pancakes, but much better, of course”.

Glancing up at Shane he adds,
“If you were not boring you would eat them with jam, or honey. Or nice savoury things.” Shane stares at the side of Ilya’s face at he chews contently.

Ilya seems to deem the one in his pan cooked, he’d been holding it away from the heat for a minute to cool while talking. He turns and slides it furtively onto a plate that holds his growing pile of goods, eyes tracking Shane’s movements.

Yuna can see from her vantage that they all have what looks like a single bite taken from them. Shane confirms her suspicions when he reaches for the untouched blini immediately, the half-eaten one still in his other hand. He takes a single bite, and then politely places it back down with the others. Ilya watches this happen with the resignation of a man who has already fought a battle and lost. He tracks the path of the blini from Shane’s mouth and back to the plate tiredly.

Sighing, he returns the pan to the stove and adds more batter.

“The Hollander tax will eat me out of house and home. These were meant to share, you know?” Shane makes a noise in response, he’s still chewing happily on his prize. Yuna walks further into the room, nearing the countertop from the other side. Shane spots her and she walks forward, but says nothing beyond a hum, acknowledging her with his eyes for a few seconds. His attention quickly turns back to Ilya.

Ilya turns off the stove when he runs out of batter soon after. He surveys the scene in front of him, not a single blini has escaped the carnage. He only hesitates for a second before he begins reaching carefully for one on the plate. Determining Shane was probably not going to bite his hand off. Hopefully.

He growls in warning. Ilya pulls his hands back and sighs in frustration.

“What? I make them, but I cannot eat them? This is cruel, Hollander.”

Shane pulls the plate closer to himself, and holds out to Ilya the blini he’d been eating only moments earlier.

“Oh, this one? You give me your sad chewed up remains? Thank you. So kind.” He promptly takes it from Shane’s fingers in one bite.

Yuna notes he doesn’t seem all that bothered about it, or about eating out of Shane’s hands. The Ilya she’s watching is alien, and it’s fascinating. It’s the most relaxed he’s looked in the entire time she’d known him. There’s a confidence about his movements, in dealing with Shane, and a softness that makes it look like he’s interacting with an old friend. He continues their one-sided conversation as she tries to decide how to avoid breaking the spell in front of her. She considers just going back to bed. Clearing her throat gets no response, it goes unheard.

“Can I have another or will you try to murder me for the third time in 24 hours?” Ilya has sauntered up to stand in-between Shane’s thighs, tilting his head up to look at him sweetly. The omega is still perched next to the plate, legs swinging contently over the edge. Shane considers him, before selecting a blini from the plate and holding it out to Ilya between them.

“Oh, Hollander is so generous.” Ilya says, leaning forwards to take a bite straight out of Shane’s hand, and then leans back to squirt a shot of honey from a nearby squeeze bottle directly into his mouth. It seems he could not abide by Shane’s own habits of eating them plain.

The organic honey was certainly the sweetest thing he’d find in the cupboards for the moment. Yuna wonders mildly how he even managed the ingredients to make what he has.

“You should be nicer to me,” he says, as he finishes chewing and considers the food in Shane’s hand. He looks like he’s contemplating another bite.

“They are even made of buckwheat, I used your weird microbial ingredients”.

“Macrobiotic,” Yuna corrects from her position behind the counter. She can’t stay quiet any longer. The response so automatic it’s spoken before she really thinks about it. It’s in a manner so uncannily similar to Shane, that Ilya still doesn’t notice another person is in the room. He stares incredulously at the omega who is now chewing on the other half of the blini. Did he really just regain the power of speech for the sole purpose of correcting his english?

“It’s nice to see you two getting along.” Ilya’s head whips around to Yuna behind them.
As if to prove her point Shane chooses that particular moment to lean up and lick the line of flour off his cheek.

“Uh.” Ilya freezes, his eyes are wide as he takes in her stance at the counter. He reaches up to swipe at his cheek and remaining flour with an arm. “Yes-I mean.”

Ilya looks a little like he’s been caught committing a crime.

“Shane was hungry, and I was awake, so I made something.” He explains, his eyes darting from her to Shane.

He tries to create a more respectable distance, but is caught by Shane’s grasp on the back of his shirt. The omega reels him back in so that the back of his shoulders are now pressed to Shane’s chest instead. Shane’s chin comes to rest over the juncture of his neck to watch Yuna. Yuna can see Ilya wince, it’s a little too close to his still sensitive skin.

Is Rozanov blushing?

“He’s spoken to you before about his diet?”, she can’t help but ask, genuinely curious.

Yuna knows David and herself certainly haven’t mentioned it around Ilya, and it’s not something Shane exactly advertised the specifics of to the general public. Shane had the sense to realise at least, it was not a great look to promote a highly restrictive diet as a person of influence. What worked for a highly trained athlete was not necessarily healthy for the masses. Yuna sometimes doubted it was really healthy for Shane, either.

“Uh, no, from research.” Rozanov says, like that isn’t an even stranger answer to give.
“For hockey.”

Yuna can’t help the confused grin that breaks across her face at the scene unfolding in front of her, Shane takes that moment to try and hand-feed Ilya another bite.

“Uh huh,” she says. She watches Ilya fruitlessly trying to maintain composure.

“Your son is a menace.” He deadpans, refusing to bite the food being poked at his lips. Shane doesn’t seem to understand why he suddenly refuses.

“I heard,” She says, and now Rozanov is definitely blushing. She can see him doing the mental math on how long she must have been present to hear him the first time.

“Alright, alright!” Ilya responds to Shane as he makes a noise of frustration after several failed attempts at feeding him.
Ilya takes a bite from the blini in Shane’s hand, and then takes another shot of honey directly from the bottle. His actions make it look like he’s taken a shot of alcohol to steel his nerves. He closes his eyes to recenter himself and face Yuna again.

When he opens them Yuna knows he is going to refuse to acknowledge any of what she’s just witnessed this morning. She’ll give him that, at least.

“Do you want some? I made enough for everyone.” Ilya says, expression carefully neutral.
“Shane is very protective of food. They all have bites,” he says, “Sorry.”

Yuna smiles, can’t help but lean into what she knows is about to happen.

“I’d love some, thank you Ilya. I’ll take them back to bed for David.”

With that, she walks around the counter to pick up a small plate, and wanders over to Shane’s hoard as Ilya begins to protest.

Ilya is clearly prepared for her to receive the same resistance. However she simply reaches over and starts piling a few onto her plate. Ilya watches in disbelief, eyes sliding to Shane’s face in vague betrayal.

“I’m mother.” She provides, like that’s the answer to all his unspoken questions. She walks to the fridge, grabs a couple toppings she thinks might work with their meal, and begins her trek back to the hallway.

“Thank you, Ilya!”
She’s content to leave the scene now that she’s confirmed nothing amiss. She feels a bit bad for disturbing them in the first place.

“Sure.” She hears Ilya respond. Can only imagine what he’s feeling right now. Thinks she see’s him turn, cheeks still rosy, and hiss something to Shane under his breath as she leaves. The omega still holds him captive.

There’s a lightness in Yuna’s chest as she walks down the hallway, but she’s surprised by the lead weight that brings her back to earth shortly after. She enters the bedroom, David is now awake, he stares at her and what she’s holding curiously from under the covers.

“Ilya.” She says in explanation to the food in her hands.

Davids eye’s bounce down to the plate and back up to her a second time.

“Shane.” She says in explanation to the bite marks.

“Of course.” David nods, and then removes his hands from under the blankets to gesture for the plate. Yuna hands it over so that she can climb into her own side of the bed. It feels a little blasphemous, they’ll get crumbs in the sheets, but she’ll just make sure to wash them later. She thinks whatever she witnessed this morning is too fragile to exist in their presence.

When she settles and looks down at the plate in David’s hands, she feels an unexpected emotion well up inside of her at the sight. ‘Blini’ Ilya had called them, each one marred with a perfect little bite mark. The marks were all the same size, small and along the edges, intended simply to mark a claim.

This is only temporary, she thinks.

Whatever bond Ilya has made with Shane’s wolf is not intended to last.
As soon as Shane comes back to himself, no amount of bonding is going to reverse the feelings he already had for the man. Shane hates Ilya. They were practically life-long rivals until this point. She would know. She’s been there since the start.

She hopes at least, that the fact Ilya had decided to stay and help Shane heal will be enough for something in their relationship to change. Even if it doesn’t remain as close as it does now. She’s not sure at this point she could follow through if Shane asked them to go back to pretending Ilya was simply a distant rival after this.

Yuna Hollander is fiercely loyal to those she loves, and yet somehow over the course of less than two weeks, Ilya had managed to have her doubting her convictions.

Perhaps, even, he’d managed to worm himself into the small number of people that held the privilege of her loyalty. Maybe that was why she felt so conflicted. He still didn’t hold a candle to Shane or David, obviously.

But, enough.

She thinks about watching him interact with her son so gently, and with so much patience. Basking even in Shane’s more inconvenient feral behaviours as if they were a blessing to experience.

It was enough. Enough to know that when their time at the cottage together inevitably ended she was going to be faced with some very difficult choices.

She hopes her son is smart enough to recognise what Ilya has been giving him. She hopes her son is kind enough to be gentle if he does.

Chapter End Notes

Ilya has absolutely just not slept btw. Gave up at 5am and decided to try and cook in Hollanders kitchen. Hollander woke up and followed him, bc of course he did.

I apologise if I have committed sacrilege with the blini. I looked up pancake equivalents and saw they could be made with buckwheat, which fits pretty neatly into Hollanders macrobiotic diet (I think). Even tho it seems they are more often eaten with savoury toppings, Hollander is a weirdo who eats them plain anyways.

Two chapters in one day?? Yea! I was going to space them further out but then, this one is much smaller than usual. Also it’s a lil Yuna POV, so I cant just slap it in with the other chapters. Hope you like it!

Chapter 10

Chapter Summary

“You didn’t have a nest? Before. At home.”

Her curiosity burns a little too brightly. Singes him at the edges, and if her reaction is anything to go by his flinch does not go unnoticed.

Before. In Russia, she doesn’t say. In childhood. A loaded question. It is Ilya’s turn to shrug. A loose thread in the blanket is suddenly very interesting.

“No. In Russia we don’t do this. Nesting is for pups and mates only.”

Chapter Notes

Chapter warnings in notes at end of fic

It had been three more days since Ilya had been woken by his own scent. Three days since Yuna first sat him down and took him through the process of cleansing his own glands.

Like that first morning, he comes into consciousness slowly. Rolling over, he presses his face into a nearby pillow to try and chase away his smokey scent with the remnants of Shane’s instead. Ilya’s thoughts were weighing heavier than usual. No doubt everything that had been dragged out of his body over the last few days had stirred them up like a thick layer of silt at the bottom of a lake. Every part of him felt raw and freshly exposed.

Yuna had warned to only attempt the glands one at a time. To space them out over a period of 24 hours and give his body time to rest and reset in-between. She’d said this looking into his eyes knowing he was probably going to do what he wanted anyways.

Ilya had assumed this was a warning he could circumvent through sheer force of will. The thought of finally escaping this scent, of possibly discovering his own? It was an irresistible temptation that lead to him sitting in his own bathroom the night before, scrubbing dutifully at his glands in the way Yuna had shown him. He’d done the first set and then looked at the others, thinking it hadn’t taken him long, he’d gotten the hang of it. It hadn’t hurt. Why not do them all? He’d been proud when he finished, felt lighter than he’d felt in weeks. Tucking himself back into the bed with Shane curling into to his side last night he’d felt both deliciously numbed and free of the smoke that plagued him.

Now, laid out on the mattress the next morning with all of his glands pulsing their own aching points of dull agony, he thinks maybe she’d had a point. He might have overdone it. As if screaming out in retaliation, his body seems to be pumping out the old scent with a vengeance. Sensing its camouflage had been ripped away and doubling down in a panic.

Ilya checks his wrist for damage. The skin looked red and raw, but not bruised like it felt. The sigh pulled from his chest is part relief and part resignation. He knows what the days ahead are going to look like, and this is just the cherry on top. Hollander stirs nearby as he settles into the consequence of yesterday’s actions.

This is the kind of day he’ll struggle to leave the bed, Ilya already knows without trying. Wrapped up in blankets and surrounded by Shane’s presence as he is, it seems like even more of an impossibility.

As if Hollander can sense his name in Ilya’s thoughts, he can feel him nosing curiously at the curls on his head. Hollander is achingly gentle to avoid the sore expanse of his neck. The wolf had learned quickly which areas were to be avoided, even if he was a little grumpy about it. He makes a small noise, trying to check if Ilya is awake, but Ilya finds that words are too far away to reach for right now.

Ilya doesn’t respond, doesn’t really think beyond wanting to pull away from the scrutiny of someone seeing him like this. What if Shane is in there right now, watching him wallow in his own mistakes and judging with words that can’t reach his mouth?

Ilya rolls so far to the side he’s teetering on the edge of the bed, back facing towards a disgruntled Hollander. After a moment Ilya reaches for the side table, fingers rooting around until they close on a familiar object. A dull reflection greets him in the screen of his phone.

‘I look like I haven’t slept in weeks’, he thinks.

Hollander makes a noise behind him, clearly not happy with being ignored. Ilya has the presence of mind to quickly shove the phone under the pillow that cradles his head because he is not about to go for an impromptu scavenger hunt through the brush. He can practically see the image of Hollander hurtling it out the window.

“No.” He manages.

Hollander’s teeth close over his shoulder in a playful warning and Ilya manages to shrug him off.

“Really, Hollander I’m not in the mood. Okay?”

Another disgruntled whine, but it seems he understands that something is different off. That Ilya isn’t challenging when he turns the wolf away and stops responding. Ilya feels a weight shifting on the bed and settling. He has to fight the urge to roll over and check what Hollander is doing.

Instead, Ilya does something he’s been putting off since their arrival to the cottage. Dreading the inevitable flood of messages he’s been ignoring. It surely only grows larger with every day. The click of the power button and logo that temporarily lights up his screen are a familiar sight. Ilya finds his body releasing a sigh, he can’t put this off forever. Ironic, it’s when he’s feeling so low that he finally stops overthinking enough to just do it.

What follows is a serenade of notifications and pop-ups. The culmination of his little holiday with the Hollanders. It’s immediately overwhelming, and Ilya finds himself holding the phone up to his face and squinting to sort through the garbage.

He swipes through various notifications and offers from food delivery apps and other nonsense. His social media is a pandoras box he’s not going to bother opening. Tapping into messages, there’s a mess of missed calls and texts.

Best place to start, probably.

There’s the group text with his teammates, with a frankly ridiculous number of missed messages. It seems to have quieted recently, they were out of the play-offs quickly as Ilya had predicted. The occasional update from a player sending photos of their pack and whatever they were up to during their small break. He tries not to feel too bad about being the reason they’d likely lost their chances at the cup.

A few teammates had tried to contact him. Missed calls. Others had left texts asking where he was and why he hadn’t followed them back to Boston. He doesn’t respond, unsure what the coach had shared about his circumstances.

There’s a few messages from Marleau too. Asking how he’s doing, if he needs anything. Asking if Hollander and his family were as intense as they’d looked at the hospital, how his ribs were healing. Again, he swipes away. Marleau has waited this long for an answer, a few more days won’t destroy their friendship.

Sveta. That one suprises him a little. She’d seen in the news he was out of play for reasons undisclosed. A neck injury, apparently. At least he knows the story they were pushing now. She sounds worried. He shoots off a response reasoning he should at least let her know he’s alive.

‘🙂👍🤷🏼’

The resulting slew of cuss words that immediately start to light up his phone are quickly swiped away as he moves onto the next name that sticks out to him.

Pike?

‘How does he have my number?’ Ilya thinks.

The last interaction he’d had with this man had been on the ice with Shane. He’d tried coaching Ilya through a humiliating attempt to prevent Hollander from chewing his head from his shoulders. Not that the coaching had been helpful or appreciated.

Pike had witnessed him chirping, though. Ilya clicks on the name, dubious about what might be waiting to be read. Some form of blackmail, probably. His throat clicks as his eyes scan the frankly ridiculously long message now in front of his eyes. Multiple messages. He’d sent multiple. Fucking hell, Pike.

They’re…disgustingly kind words. Pike had sought out Ilya’s contact just to reassure that whatever had happened on the ice that day would stay between them. He had to be referring to the chirping, even if it wasn’t mentioned a single time. Ilya can maybe understand why Shane likes this guy. Maybe.

The message after that was simply a thank you for staying to take care of “my buddy”.

Ew.

Rounded off with a final text, threatening him and his family if he dared cross the Hollanders during his visit.

There was the blackmail, at least. Ineffective as it might be.

Ilya snorts, responds to the messages with a single thumbs up emoji just to piss Pike off and moves on.

The screen lights up with Sveta’s name.

Ignore.

8 missed calls from Alexei. No texts. Hadn’t that asshole gotten the message? His number should have been blocked at the funeral. He does so now.

Coach had also been texting and calling all week. Ilya can’t help but cringe at the sight, one of the texts is from management begging him to check his emails. He swipes over to the app.

Before he can click anything, Sveta’s name lights up the screen again.

Ignore. He really doesn’t want to have that conversation right now.

His email is yet another tangled mess of news, reports, contracts, deals and desperate messages from his team awaiting responses. He scrolls past them all. Trying to sort priority from those most to least likely he’ll be able to respond to in this moment and their importance. In the end, he closes out of the app entirely after trying to draft a message to his management and coming up entirely blank.

Ilya sighs.

Another text from Sveta, this one has words in it.

‘Pick up, asshole 🖕’

She calls again. He declines it.

‘No. 🖕’ he texts back.

After a moment of watching her bubble type on the screen, he feels a pang of guilt.

‘Later.’ He texts.

She leaves him with a threat to call as soon as he’s able to, and with that he powers the phone back off. Thoroughly exhausted by the brief jaunt back into reality.

As his phone powers back down into a useless brick of plastic, Ilya is left looking at his own reflection again. Exhausted would an understatement. Ilya looks about ready to crawl into his own grave. It sounds awfully comforting right now, he thinks. Dark, quiet and secluded from the rest of the world. People aren’t buried with their phones.

He lets it tumble out of his fingers onto the floor with a muted thump as he reaches to pull a blanket over his head. The gentle scent of vanilla offsets the smoke that was settling a steady nausea in his belly. He feels a resistance in the form of Hollander, leaning forward to inspect him as he tucks the blankets up to his chin, careful to avoid the sensitive skin.

“I want to sleep, Hollander.” He says.

Hollander makes a noise but doesn’t protest again, Ilya thinks he hears him say something, but the edges of his thoughts are already blurring. Hearing sounds and unable place if they’re really happening or the beginnings of a dream. He finds himself pulled away into a fitful sleep before he can truly concentrate on the words.

———-

Ilya is not sure if it’s a single day or a week before Yuna Hollander finally invades the dull cocoon Ilya has tried to wrap himself up in. Time has lost meaning at this point, but it must have been a few days at least if the state of himself and the room is anything to go by.

It’s a mess. His clothes are strewn about the floor, he knows he doesn’t look or smell any better himself. The glands in his skin continue to weep that dreadful smokey scent. Worse, now that the cleansing routine had fallen by the wayside after that dreadful mistake of attacking all his glands at once. He thinks he only vaguely remembers forcing food and water down as it appeared either on his bedside or in Hollander’s hands.

Hollander. A constant presence if the warmth at his back is anything to go by, but a quiet one. Unnervingly so.
The wolf has been anxious. Alternating between pacing the room and gluing itself to his side. Ilya’s mental state had created a chasm Hollander had been unable to bridge, and the stress this distance was causing showed in the strain of every movement.

A knock on the doorframe announces Yuna. She makes her way cautiously into the room, as if wary she’s immediately overstepped a boundary she can’t see.

“Ilya?” She says, her words hold a false bravado. This is uncharted territory for them both, and Ilya was not fond of visitors in this state.

“I was wondering if you wanted some help with your neck glands today?”

“Mmm, no. Thank you.” Ilya says. He’s still mostly tucked under the blankets, head peeking out the top. His glands still ache dully, constant points of pressure that remind him of their presence.

“Hmm.” Yuna says, she walks closer instead of leaving the room as he expected. “Are they hurting?”

He manages a nod, just barely manages not to snip at her. Knows if he opens his mouth he will strike at her with the barbed sarcasm sitting on his tongue. He didn’t want to tell her the reason they hurt so much was because he had ignored her advice.

She pulls a tube of something from her pocket. Hands it to him over the covers and explains it should help. He returns another nod. This one substituting for a thank you, and withdraws the hand holding her gift back under the blankets.

Yuna stays standing near the bed, stalling. She’s watching Hollander as much as she is Ilya. He thinks she looks as if she might try to sit down. He really doesn’t have the energy.

“Maybe Shane should go back to his nest for a while, I am not so good company right now.” He’s not so subtly trying to send her the same message, asking her to leave with him.

That wolf is currently rearranging pillows nearby, nervous energy radiating outward like a beacon to Ilya’s own instincts.

“You want Shane to go back to his nest?”

“Yes, I think that would be best.” He says. He doesn’t really want Shane to leave, but Ilya is clearly not in a state to be around him right now.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Yuna regards him with a tone that immediately makes Ilya’s hackles rise. He feels like he’s being spoken to like a child.

“What?” he still won’t look up at her.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be the one to move, you’re lying in it.”

That rewards her with eye-contact, finally. Incredulous, as if she’s just suggested pigs could fly.

“I’m not.” He says, petulantly if he was to take a moment to examine his own tone.

“Shane’s nest is down the hall. I saw him make it. So did you.”

Yuna visibly tries to hold patience for him.

“Have you seen that nest, lately?”

He had not. Why would he bother, if he was not allowed in it?

Ilya leans up on an elbow to inspect the bedding around them. Eyes scanning the room and everything Hollander has brought into it. He supposes what they have could be called a nest. There were pillows and blankets, piles of their shared clothes. Even some of Yuna and David’s were tucked along the edges. Ilya hadn’t thought much of it. He figured Shane was just trying to find comfort in his surroundings, that it was natural to bring a few of these things from the nest if he was sleeping in the bed with Ilya. Ilya had not noticed that over the course of almost two weeks Hollander had continued to bring more than just a few items into Ilya surroundings.

Embarrassingly, they had been lost to his senses among the mess of his own making. His own items strewn about the room haphazardly. Shane didn’t touch those, but he did glare at them in disdain when they got in the way. Despite his refusal to move them from where Ilya had thrown them.

He slumps back on his elbows slightly, “You must think I am uneducated on these things.” He doesn’t even have it in him to feel ashamed.
The joy he expected at the realisation Shane had been making a nest this whole time doesn’t bubble up either. A nest with him in it. He thinks he’d had dreams about this, before everything.

Yuna snorts, “I don’t know, maybe you’ve never seen this kind of nest.”

“Yes, uneducated.”

“Inexperienced.” She corrects.

“Same thing.”

She lets it go, shrugs slightly.

“You didn’t have a nest? Before. At home.”

Her curiosity burns a little to brightly. Singes him at the edges, and if her reaction is anything to go by his flinch does not go unnoticed.

Before. In Russia, she doesn’t say. In childhood. A loaded question. It is Ilya’s turn to shrug. A loose thread in the blanket is suddenly very interesting.

“No. In Russia we don’t do this. Nesting is for pups and mates only.”

It’s a half truth. Not even one limited to his own family. Rather, when training for certain careers like hockey and figure skating, it was not uncommon to separate children from the nest when they were young and showing potential.

“That sounds…harsh.” Yuna says, trying to phrase her words delicately. Not wanting to offend him. Ilya shrugs, unable to deny it. He didn’t think of it as a bad practice necessarily, it just was.

There was a particular train of thought among some coaches that a mother’s attachment spoils the competitive spirit of their young, makes them too soft. That it risked ruining their potential and held them back from forming a strong bond of trust with their coaches.

It got in the way of training when a child looked back for comfort, to be coddled, instead of progressing forward. Ilya had recently heard an old coach explain this rhetoric in an interview online and had found himself unable to disagree with the results.

That children without a mother present in their training were much more likely to take the risks required of them to succeed. For most promising children this just meant living separately to their mother while training. This had never been a problem for Ilya.

It had made him stronger, more responsive to training. It had hardened him, made him more independent. Less willing to form attachments. More willing, in the end, to take a leap of faith overseas and cut every single one of those coaches out of his life.

Ilya says as much, the old rhetoric dredged from the silt of his mind greets them from the end of a hook like an old friend.

“They are places of coddling.” He says, “and distraction.”

The hook is still sharp, when it sinks into him. Can feel that judgemental gaze centering on him from a memory of another time and place.

“Well,” Yuna says, her eyes are assessing but not unkind, “You look like you need a distraction.”

His eyes slide up to her suspiciously from the bed.

“Get up.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. The last time she did this he’d ended up on the floor of her bathroom. He’s immediately wary.

“No.”

“This will take 30 seconds and then you can lie down and go back to sleep, I promise.”

Ilya squints at her. Deciding in this case that simply complying will get this over with quicker if he sits up. Hollander moves with him instantly, activated by movement. Anxious energy radiates off of him. Ilya feels a little guilty he hadn’t noticed how much his state was affecting the wolf.

“Follow me if you really want to leave Shane to his nest,” Yuna turns and exits the room before he can protest.

Ilya sighs deeply. Commits to hauling himself off the bed even through the ache of his unused muscles. Hollander jerks and yips as he does, not expecting the movement. Ilya keeps the blanket curled over his shoulders, unwilling to shed the last comforting barrier he holds to the rest of the world. The wolf will hopefully forgive him pilfering the nest.

He looks back to Hollander, now that he’s risen. The wolf is regarding him curiously, leaned forward on the bed as if half expecting to catch a falling man. He watches from his perch as Ilya backs away cautiously and turns to leave the wolf in its nest.

When Ilya rounds the corner, he sees Yuna standing in front of the door to Hollander’s old nest. The few meters it takes to cross the distance feel like forever, and when he stands in front of her she takes that moment to reveal the interior.

She was right. Whatever nest he had seen Hollander making when they first moved here was gone. The large circular nesting mattress had been stripped down to its sheets. Discarded nesting materials were folding neatly in baskets near the walls. Nothing in here was being used, not recently.

“Oh.” Ilya says. He can feel Hollander behind them now, having followed him out of the bedroom.

“You can stay in here,” she says, “if you want to leave Shane with his nest.”

That sounds doable, even in this state. Ilya nods.

“I just lie down?” He clarifies.

“Go to sleep if you want,” She makes a gesture to the mattress, “Fresh base sheets are already there.”

And well, yeah. He’s not going to turn down the offer to take a nap. Ilya’s too tired to think of an excuse to refuse, and this was technically what he asked of her. It doesn’t take much to pad into the room and crawl inside, blanket trailing from over his shoulders. He settles down cross legged at first in the middle of the mattress, unsure of what reaction this was going to garner from the wolf.

The response from Hollander is almost instant. A whine of disbelief escapes as his jaw slackens. A dizzying mix of worry, relief and excitement is visible on Hollander’s face. Yuna smiles and crosses her arms as she watches her son dart out of the room.

“And he’s off.” She says, her eyes slide back to Ilya’s as she moves to leave as well.

“Good work, I’ll check in later with dinner.”

Ilya only manages a nod, still wrapped in a blanket and groggy with interrupted sleep. The dreams return to him before he can notice Hollander toeing back into the room.

That’s how he wakes, absolutely drenched in Hollanders scent and surrounded by blankets, pillows and fabric. It’s dark, but the scent-marking is undeniably potent. The wolf had clearly taken the opportunity to scent everything around them with enthusiasm.

Ilya is about to call out for Hollander, wondering where he is, when he realises he can’t get the words out. A weight on top of his chest. Rifling clumsily through the layers that have appeared on top of him since falling asleep, he flings the last one back to reveal the napping face of Hollander.

He’s curled on top of Ilya. Undisturbed by the sudden movement as he exhales gently into their shared space. With this realisation, Ilya grabs the corners of the bedding he’d disturbed and slowly arranges them back over Hollander. He leaves a larger gap for air, frankly afraid the wolf was going to suffocate itself otherwise. He’d managed to somehow avoid a position that irritates any of Ilya’s glands. Had managed not to wake him throughout the entire process.

Captive audience to the room, Ilya takes in what Hollander had been up to while he was sleeping. He has to fight the urge to scoff.

There was no room to misunderstand this time around, he was firmly planted in the middle of an omega’s nest.

It was different to the arrangement Yuna had referred to in Ilya’s room. He honestly still wouldn’t call that mess a nest if this is also what qualifies. They weren’t even close to belonging within the same category.

Hollander had piled walls of pillows and fabric high around them. The futon intended for nesting helped stabilise the structure much more than anything he’d been able to accomplish on the bed. It was lower to the ground, and had supports that allowed the walls Shane had made to remain stable. He’d even managed a small canopy, somehow. A sheet blocks the waning light from the windows and keeps them in darkness.

Most importantly, Ilya’s scent was almost entirely drowned out by Shane’s. He could breath in without his own scent weighing heavy in his lungs. Looking to the side, he could see a plate of food resting just outside of reach. Ilya wouldn’t eat in here of course, god forbid he got crumbs in Hollander’s new nest. It felt akin to pissing inside a church. The thought was nice however, that Yuna or David had thought to leave it there.

It was another platter of fruit and biscuits, meticulously organised. Probably another attempt from Hollander’s parents to relieve the wolf of its nervous energy.

The pull of sleep is threatening to take Ilya again. The fog still hadn’t lifted, probably wouldn’t any time soon. He’s a little disappointed that such a momentous thing has happened while he can’t fully be present with it. He sends off a small apology to past and future Ilya. He knows both would be kicking him for being unable to appreciate it. Hopefully it will still be here when he can.

Hollander stirs suddenly, nuzzling into the chest that cushions him. Ilya sheepishly realises he had been running fingers through his hair while lost in thought. The pile of blankets sways as the weight lifts from Ilya’s chest and Hollander’s head pops up through the fabrics.

“You’ve been busy.” Ilya says, eyebrows raising as they make eye-contact. It’s the longest sentence he’s addressed towards Hollander in days, probably.

Hollander chuffs, chest puffing up proudly as his work is acknowledged. Ilya’s hand falls from his head as he does and immediately mourns the loss of contact.

He hums, can’t help but feel a tug at the corners of his lips at the vision in front of him. It feels bittersweet.

“You are good, Mr Nest Architect.” He says, “Do you take commission?”

Hollander tilts his head at the words, Ilya guesses the joke must fly over his head in this moment.

He hums again, “Good nest,” he pats the mattress below them.

“Fits us both perfectly.”

Ilya wiggles his shoulders as he settles deeper into the frankly ridiculous number of pillows.

“Perfect for napping, it calls to me.”

Hollander whines, plaintive as Ilya’s movements knock him from his seat astride the man. Ilya manoeuvres himself onto his side, the wolf once again returns to blanket his back.

“Sorry Hollander”, Ilya says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

“This is your fault for building your nest around me, I have squatters rights, you will not move me now.”

The humour sounds rehearsed. It feels that way too, but by the end Ilya almost fools himself into thinking they’re both back to normal.

His glands don’t hurt anymore, a small mercy as he feels Hollander’s face nudging right into the crook of his neck. Ilya’s breathe leaves him in a weary whoosh.

“You are lucky,” he says, “That I am too tired to care about your manners.”

This is bullshit. Ilya could never truly deny Hollander access to a part of himself like this, not when he’s being so gentle. No matter how intimate this touch may be. Ilya is too tired to pretend today that he doesn’t wish for these things. He lays there, content to stare into space as Hollander uses him as a living body pillow. It’s to the thought of Hollander rubbing his cheek into his glands that Ilya drifts off into the beckoning of sleep again.

Chapter End Notes

Warnings: Ilya has properly fallen into a depressive episode, one allusion to passive suicidal ideation, some disassociating and losing time. He is being cared for tho, don’t worry :)

Long notes this time might delete some later lol.

Shane thinking ‘man this wolf can’t fucking nest for shit’ but it’s actually just Ilya leaving his dirty laundry on the floor. Shane won’t move it though, it’s the equivalent of watching a child scribble all over your shared colouring sheet. He’s proud he’s trying but cringing at the execution. He jumps at the chance for a fresh start while Ilya is sleeping lmao.

I’m sorry ya’ll I really suck at keeping fluffy at the moment.

Apologies for the quiet ( I also suffer from losing time lol )
The AO3 curse is apparently alive and well because I had to have surgery. I’ve spent the last little while getting over it and the night fixing up this chapter as I can’t sleep from nausea 🥲 I’m sick of post-op recovery, this fic is my comfort.

I’ve been poking away at this one over a few weeks because I really didn’t want to rush the depiction of Ilya in a low. I don’t know what this looks like in the books for him, so it’s mostly referenced from my own experiences. Toeing that line of offering comfort and knowing nothing is going to magically pull him out of these feelings.

Thank you for the lovely comments you’ve been leaving in the meantime, I came back to read them when I posted and they made me tear up. It means a lot to see so many people enjoying something I’ve made.

Chapter 11

Chapter Summary

Bundled up in their nest, it appears there was one thing Hollander was unwilling to compromise on too, and it was using Ilya as a body pillow. He at least had the sense to avoid his tender side. Growling softly as Ilya half-heartedly attempts to push him off and locate a quiet place where he could piece himself back together. His request was refused, Hollander clamps down like a limpet to a ship hull. Resigned to his fate, Ilya settles for trying to wipe at the dampness threatening to break free of his eyelids instead.

Chapter Notes

Bittersweet chapter I guess? :) but nothing too upsetting just Ilya in his feels.

Thank you for all the kind words and well wishes in my previous chapter, I haven’t had the energy to reply much lately but I do love reading them. ❤️ It means a lot.

The time spent in Hollander’s nest felt like something of a dream to Ilya. At least, since they had moved into the new and improved version of the nest in Hollander’s room. It was amazing how a change of perspective could shift one’s view of things. The wolf had been much more meticulous about this iteration, what he allowed inside and what was deemed appropriate nesting material. Everything else was banished to their old room.

Ilya’s phone, in particular, was not allowed to cross the sacred boundary of Shane’s threshold. So, he’d kept it in the bedside drawer of the old room. It was beginning to serve as something of an office. Ilya would go in there some days to sit on the bed and sift through his life. It continued to be overwhelming, but he’d gotten to the most important people one day at a time. His coach was placated, management held off for now. He’d even checked the news a couple times to see what kind of stories were being spun.

Not his finest choice in his current state, those tabs were quickly closed. He found comfort at least that everything was only speculation. No one knew he’d been staying with the Hollander’s, not officially.

He still hadn’t called Svetlana. She’d continued to text after checking in. He was unsure why it was so difficult, but what was he going to say? He knew he couldn’t lie to her over a phone-call. He had no words to explain the current situation he was in, and didn’t want to expose Hollander or his privacy.

At the end of that daily hour, or however long he could bear to attempt admin, he would wander back into the new nest. Its construction was something of a marvel to him. Entirely unused to the process, Ilya had simply let the wolf take the reins. It was fascinating, really, watching Hollander in his element.

It was still hard to comprehend that Hollander wasn’t just arranging things in the room, he was nesting for Ilya. When he was fussing with the bedding, he had been trying to make it more comfortable for the both of them. He had been feeding Ilya, trying to make him feel cared for. Most importantly of all, it followed Ilya, pieces of it orbited him and whichever room he settled in during his latest depressive episode. It was a lot to process. It was harder to explain to Shane’s parents. At this point he had stopped trying.

Despite his own reservations, Ilya’s mind did eventually allow him to appreciate the nest he found himself in. The feeling hits especially strongly one night, chin tucked into Hollander’s hair, whose face had been trying to burrow a hole into his chest for the better part of an hour. Everything was fuzzy, they were wrapped in blankets and the dim warm lights of the room were shining softly through the fabric shelter that hid them from the rest of the world. He couldn’t smell smoke. Soon enough he was able to realise it wasn’t just a physical feeling. From the inside out, Ilya felt soft, and gooey and warm.

It was hard to comprehend an emotion so unfamiliar. The desire to bottle it up was tempered only by the fear it would skitter away at the attempt to be caught and never return. He knew one thing for certain, Shane was going to be the beginning, middle, and end of it. It had been brewing since the day they met.

Ilya had been lying in the bedding unable to sleep, and was hit by the full weight of something that cracked him open so swiftly he found himself unable to brace for it. That he really really wanted this with Shane.

Just like that, he was unmoored, and in fear of drifting away completely, he must have tightened his hold on Hollander without thinking.

Unhappy about being disturbed, he can feel the omega grumble and attempt to push his face impossibly further into Ilya’s chest, his cheek squishing against skin as he settles again. Any closer and they would begin to physically meld into one.

Ilya can’t help a stuttered chuckle, staring at the blanketed ceiling, struggling to take the deeper breath needed to speak his thoughts into existence. Between his own emotional revelation and the omega pressing down on his chest, he was between a rock and a hard place.

“Sorry,” he says, in response to the omega’s disgruntled noise.
“I cannot sleep, and you are crushing me.”
A hopelessly inadequate attempt at explaining his current turmoil, but he had a feeling Hollander wasn’t processing much language in this moment to begin with.

That was the other thing weighing heavily. Shane was still stuck as his wolf with no hint of the suppressant effects reversing. Almost double the amount of time had passed from the tentative timeline they were given from the hospital.

Three nights ago, he had heard Yuna on the phone, discussing something worriedly with the person on the other side. She had looked ragged, and it was the first time Ilya had seen her bearing the full weight of her own concern for Shane. When she’d spotted Ilya after hanging up, she’d smiled sadly and invited him into the kitchen for a cup of tea. She’d paid for one of the medical team to come out and assess them both at the cottage, apparently.

Sure enough, a doctor had come out the very next day. He gave them both a follow-up on their checks from the hospital, and gave Shane the clear bill of physical health. Shane’s arm was un-bandaged, and Ilya’s ribs were well on their way to healing. Apparently wolves healed a little faster in this state, the only advantage that could be thought of for such an extended stint in his wolf right now.

Still, the doctor had little to offer in answers for Shanes mind.

“With the dosage he was taking, it can be hard to predict,” the doctor says, “We don’t have much available data on its long term effects, we can only predict that recovery won’t be linear.”

It was like being back at the hospital that first day, the answer hadn’t changed. It was one that was significantly harder to swallow now that they would be closing in on almost a month of recovery time. Still no signs of Shane.

“How can we tell?” Yuna asks, pushing for more specifics, “Will there be any signs before it happens.”

Yes and no, were the answers. It was explained again that Shane’s psyche would hopefully attempt to rebalance itself, but what that would look like was highly dependent on the two personalities and how much damage they were dealing with.

For some it was a full recovery, fully synchronising back into healthier thought patterns, for others it was stuck like a flicking light switch, from human to wolf with no room for the shades in-between.

The hardest part of the session that day, had actually been letting the doctor get anywhere near Ilya to inspect him. It was fine, until the man had tried to palpitate his ribs and Ilya had grunted in discomfort. Shane had snarled, and continued to growl until David and Yuna had stepped in to correct him. He’d stopped attempting to snap at the doctor, but his eyes continued to glare murderously. He’d refused any attempts to redirect or leave the room. The man had wisely wrapped things up and left soon after. Ilya was left with instructions to take it easy for another week or so.

Ever since then, the wolf had been especially clingy to Ilya. It might have been too soon to bring a stranger into the cottage, but Yuna wasn’t willing to compromise on her son’s health. They’d been hoping for some better answers, but ‘watch and wait’ would have to do for now.

Bundled up in their nest, it appears there was one thing Hollander was unwilling to compromise on too, and it was using Ilya as a body pillow. He at least had the sense to avoid his tender side. Growling softly as Ilya half-heartedly attempts to push him off and locate a quiet place where he could piece himself back together. His request was refused, Hollander clamps down like a limpet to a ship hull. Resigned to his fate, Ilya settles for trying to wipe at the dampness threatening to break free of his eyelids instead.

He hated this part. The part when his feelings decided to return with all of their colours. The good and the bad, but it was always the bitter things he noticed first. Those pathways in his brain so often flipped from a starving riverbed to a roaring current. It was nothing and then too much all at once, and while it was rarely an instant change, he never seemed to catch on to the shifting tides until they pulled him under.

Which was how he got stuck like this. Feeling so many nice things at once they somehow circle back into being too much and feeling worse again.

The movement must jostle Hollander again, because he rises onto his elbows with a tired expression. He grunts, and it looked remarkably like he was about to speak. As if it was Shane was about to open his mouth and grumble into Ilya’s chest about sleep schedules and practice times. Ilya finds himself pausing and holding his breath, but the moment never comes. Hollander just stares at him, a chorus of quiet crickets chirping outside the only noise to greet them.

His eyes reflect strangely in the moonlight like they always have since the change, the wolf seems content to regard him quietly. He’d been doing it a lot since building the new nest, it had been almost a week since. In the time after Hollander’s anxiety around Ilya’s behaviour seemed to have mostly calmed, replaced with an intensity that was hard to ignore. He would simply watch Ilya. Like he watching a storm in the distance, waiting for the skies to change.

Ilya weaves his other hand through Hollander’s hair and pets through it gently as he talks.

“I’m okay,” Ilya says, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Hollander gazes at him sleepily, before pulling forward to bury himself in the crook of Ilya’s neck. He’s nuzzling at the scent gland there gently.

He’s smart, Ilya thinks. He’d started rotating with the glands as Yuna and Ilya cleansed them. Seemed to put together very quickly which ones would be the least sensitive according to their schedule. The cleansing was working remarkably well now that they’d gotten into a consistent routine. Yuna had taken it upon herself to help every evening when Ilya started struggling.

Much like Shane’s wolf, Ilya’s scent appeared to be a waiting game. With their current routine, he was almost scentless straight after the cleansing. Which was honestly fine with him. It was preferred to what he’d been dealing with before. The smokey scent would still return, but with every time they washed it away it was taking a little longer to come back. He smelled like Hollander’s nest most of the time now, the wolf was diligent about marking Ilya as his own.

There was a niggling worry buried in the back of his mind though. What if his body had never bothered to develop a scent of his own? Yuna was adamant it would come through eventually, but he wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t help but feel they would be peeling back layers to find an empty shell.

Ilya is jolted from his thoughts when Shane nuzzles particularly hard at his neck. A transparent attempt at mixing their scents. It was a fruitless effort in Ilya’s current state, but he’d been relentless about it ever since the doctor’s visit.

“Go back to sleep Hollander,” Ilya says into the space between them, it feels wrong to break the silence with more than a whisper. He rubs an eye tiredly, the wetness that dots his eye-lids finally drying as the exhaustion hits. Now he’s struggling to fight sleep. He curls an arm around Hollander’s torso, as if he’d have to worry about the man rolling away in the night. Realistically there is a higher chance of the wolf trying to crawl inside his ribcage.
“I will still be here when you wake up.”

It felt like some of the anxiety had returned in the last couple of days. Like the wolf was afraid Ilya was going to up and disappear in the night.

The wolf makes a noise, a deep sigh that rattles through his bones and into Ilya as he settles again. This time, he slumps into the crook of Ilya’s neck, nose pressed into his skin. They were more entangled than when they started. Ilya can feel Hollander’s eyes are still open, his eyelashes are brushing gently against his jaw with every slow blink. The position must have Hollander staring up at Ilya’s face from a strange angle. It’s enough to break his train of thought every-time it tries to start again. He readjusts slightly, so that their heads slot against one another properly.

Ilya can’t be sure how long Hollander’s vigil lasts, he’s fallen asleep between one weighted breath and the next.

Chapter End Notes

This feels like a bit of a filler chapter but I hope ya’ll enjoyed it regardless.

Sorry if the timeline doesn’t make sense but from my own calculations I think they’re about ~3 weeks at the cottage in this moment.
For certain, they’re uncomfortably beyond the 2 week timeline they were given at the hospital lol.

Poor Ilya :’) I say as I chuckle and write more.