Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov turns 35, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Birthday, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV Alternating, Established Relationship, Ilya Rozanov Misses Irina Rozanova, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Not Beta Read

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-16 Words: 7,889 Chapters: 1/1

they're singing, "happy birthday" you just wanna lay down and cry

Summary

“You were right earlier,” Ilya whispers, his voice rough, like he’s forgotten how to speak in the last two hours since saying goodbye to everyone at the shelter. “Thirty-five is a special birthday, but not just for the reasons you said.”

Or:

With no Cup game to play, Shane decides to throw Ilya a surprise 35th birthday. Unfortunately, Ilya has complex feelings about turning 35.

Notes

There's still nine more minutes left of Ilya's birthday on the West Coast, so I'm counting this as a win! Happy Birthday to my second favorite fictional hockey player (sorry your husband gets the top spot).

I literally spent all day writing this instead of doing important work and am posting without proofreading so hopefully the errors aren't too bad.

This is a bit heavier than my other Hollanov fics, so please tread lightly! But as always, happy endings are guaranteed!

Okay, enjoy!

Water is wet, the sky is typically blue, and Ilya Rozanov will die loving and being loved by Shane Hollander. It’s an undeniable fact. 

But it’s not the only undeniable fact that Shane knows about Ilya. 

There’s also the truth that Ilya has never (and will never) met a dog he hasn’t been able to win over. Even the mangiest, wariest-looking strays — the ones Shane really thinks Ilya should leave the fuck alone so he doesn’t have to listen to him bitch and moan in a crowded ER waiting for a rabies vaccine later — always end up caving, letting Ilya’s gentle hand brush up against their matted, flea-ridden fur. 

And of course, there’s the fact that Ilya loves to party. It doesn’t matter if it’s a full-on rager after a hard-fought Cup Championship win or a kid’s birthday party at an overcrowded arcade with sticky floors, as long as there’s good music (“Let It Go” will suffice in special circumstances) and good food, Ilya is happy. 

None of these undeniable facts have ever been a problem, except for the third. See, Ilya’s birthday has always fallen smack in the middle of the Cup. He’s always claimed to never care; that winning the Cup is one of the best birthday presents, second only to whatever Shane gifts him. But Shane’s always felt jealous that Ilya’s gotten to plan perfect birthdays for him and he’s never gotten to return the favor. 

But that changes this year. Because this year is the first time in six long years that Ilya’s birthday won’t be interrupted by a cup game they or one of their friends is playing in, Shane knows he has to do something special for him. 

It comes together easily after the initial seed is planted in Shane’s head. 

Ilya’s birthday falls on a Monday, the day the local animal shelter is closed to the public. Shane doesn’t even get a chance to ask if they’d be interested in hosting a surprise birthday party for Ilya before Cheryl is sending a flurry of emails to other rescues in the neighborhood to make sure they have as many dogs as they can legally have on the property for the occasion. 

He creates a group chat with the team — appropriately named “do not tell Ilya or you’ll be doing bag skates for all of pre-season” — and receives a flurry of enthusiastic RSVPs and nonsensical emojis. He reaches out to Marlow and some of the other Boston guys Ilya’s kept in contact with, who all agree to make the trek up to Ottawa for the occasion. He texts Svetlana the invite and asks for a recipe for Medovik. She does one better, offering to make it herself with a recipe her mom recently sent her to save Shane the trouble of trying to find the time to make the cake and hide it from Ilya. 

When Hayden’s kids find out about the party, despite Shane telling him not to mention it in front of them because Ruby can’t keep a secret to save her life, they volunteer to make birthday hats for all the dogs. And then there’s Rose, who manages to talk the producer on her latest production into letting her come down with her four-legged shaggy co-star for a few hours. 

His mom decides that the entire event needs to be professionally photographed and calls in a favor with one of their sponsors, getting one of the best photographers in the country. And David heads up the decoration department with Harris, getting the entire shelter decked out in streamers and other dog-friendly decorations.

By the time June 15th rolls around, Shane has nothing to do but keep Ilya occupied until this afternoon. A plan he feels no anxiety about, even if he didn’t have a detailed plan that includes sneaking out to get Ilya McDonald’s for breakfast and dressing their three-month-old daughter up in her “today’s my favorite papa’s birthday” onesie he’s been hiding in his closet since before Anika was even born. 

The goal is to sneak out and back in before Ilya’s even awake — an easy feat given Ilya’s disdain for waking up early in the off-season. So, when Shane wakes to the rays of sunlight fighting their way through their blackout curtains, he’s surprised to see Ilya already awake. 

His gaze is fixed on a spot on their ceiling, mind clearly miles and miles away from the safety of their bedroom. His brows are pinched together, his breathing shallow, not quite panicked but surely on its way to getting there. 

It’s been a long time since Shane has found Ilya lying awake like this. Years at this point. Routine therapy sessions and trial and error of different medications have done wonders, but Shane’s not stupid. He knows they’re not a cure. He just didn’t think today, Ilya’s 35th birthday, would be the day to end Ilya’s streak of good days. 

Shane shakes the thought from his head. No. It’s not a bad day. It’s going to be a great day. One of their best, Shane thinks. Ilya’s probably just tired. It’s been a long few weeks between getting eliminated from the playoffs, nursing physical and emotional wounds from the season, dealing with Anya’s aging potty accidents, and sleepless nights tending Anika and her bout of colic; it’s really no surprise that Ilya’s exhausted.

Luckily, Shane knows one of the best cures to an exhausted Ilya is a lazy morning in bed, which they have plenty of time for. He rolls over onto his side and scoots closer until his head is nestled snug on Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya barely stirs, too lost in his own thoughts and familiar with the touch after years and years of waking up together. Still, Shane wants to bring him back down to Earth, bring him back to him, so he leans closer, peppering kisses to Ilya’s cheek and jaw and neck and every spot he can reach without having to untangle himself from him. 

“Happy Birthday, Ilyusha,” he whispers. 

It’s that simple phrase that coaxes goosebumps across Ilya’s skin and finally, finally pulls him back to Shane. At least, enough to tip his head against Shane’s, cheek burrowing into his unruly bedhead. 

“Ah yes. That is today.” 

“It is,” Shane says matter-of-factly. “Do you feel older? Wiser?” 

Ilya hums, vibrating Shane’s skull. “I feel like we are wearing too many clothes.” 

Shane glances down at his bare chest, then at Ilya. He shifts slightly in the bed, rubbing his own bare leg against Ilya’s equally naked one. He rolls his eyes at his findings and tilts his head up so he can meet Ilya’s eyes. 

“We’re both only wearing boxers.” 

“Exactly. Too many clothes.” 

Ilya’s hand finds its way under the thin sheet and a moment later on the waistband of Shane’s boxers. His fingers trail back and forth across the elastic, teasing. Shane shifts and shoves Ilya’s hand away. It earns him a devastating pout that he quickly kisses off Ilya’s face. 

“It’s your birthday; I should be the one undressing you.” 

“You’re too slow in your old age,” Ilya chirps. He attempts to move his hand back to Shane’s hips, but Shane’s faster, hand wrapping around his wrist to keep it at bay. 

“We’re the same age now, Ilya.” 

Ilya shakes his head. “You are always two months older than me.” 

“You’re an asshole.” 

Shane kisses him before Ilya can get out another chirp. Things escalate from there, quietly; neither wanting to wake Anika in her bassinet nearby or Anya sleeping soundly at the base of said bassinet like the guard dog she’s suddenly become. 

Hands lazily roam over bodies they’ve come to know better than their own at times, lips trailing behind. Boxers are ditched, carefully discarded to the foot of the bed for easy retrieval, and then Shane finds himself between Ilya’s legs, giving him his first blowjob at thirty-five. 

Shane lets Ilya return the favor, knowing if he doesn’t, Ilya will be insufferable all day long. It’s a rather quick affair, considering the lack of alone time they’ve had in recent weeks with Anika’s constant crying, but it’s mind-blowing the way it always is. 

“I had this scheduled for later,” Shane teases, lazily stroking a hand through Ilya’s mop of curls. 

Ilya eyes Shane suspiciously. “You have a schedule for my birthday?” 

“I do. Yeah.” 

Ilya groans, loud enough that both Anya and Anika stir from their spots. They both hold their breath, not exactly ready to pop the little bubble they’ve been existing in. Call it a birthday miracle, but both settle back into sleep, leaving Shane and Ilya another stolen moment or two to enjoy each other. 

“Does this plan involve more sex and cuddles?” 

“It does, but not until later.” 

“Later? How much later?” Shane shrugs.  “I don’t know about these plans, solnyshko.” 

Shane playfully shoves at Ilya’s chest before using it as leverage to hoist himself up. He reaches for his boxers, shimmying them up his legs before turning to face Ilya again. The pout is back. 

“You only turn 35 once.” 

“Yes. That is how birthdays work, Shane,” Ilya deadpans. 

“Well, yeah,” Shane says, feeling his face heat up under the weight of Ilya’s gaze. “But this is a special one.” 

“Is it?” Ilya whispers, quietly, almost too quiet for Shane to hear. His face shifts, and for a split second his pout gets deeper, less playful and more mournful. It’s a blink, and you’ll miss it gesture, but Shane catches it the way he catches all of Ilya’s subtle expressions. His lips might recover, but his gaze drifts again, the far-off look returning, this time focused on the turned giant, off television hanging from the wall in front of him. 

Something stirs in Shane’s own gut, a gnawing sense of worry he hasn’t felt in years. Shane’s an expert at deciphering Ilya’s moods. It’s one of his special skills at this point; if it wasn’t weird, he’d have it listed on the back of his hockey cards along with the rest of his stats. Number of goals, number of assists, number of times he’s been able to read Ilya before he’s even asked.

He doesn’t like not knowing what’s got Ilya floating away from him. Again. 

“I mean, yeah. It’s the first one with Anika.” 

Ilya softens just a fraction, his head turning to the right where Anika sleeps soundly in her bassinet by him. They had agreed early on that Ilya would handle most nights, favoring the night hours over Shane.

“Ah yes, that does make it special.” He shifts farther, practically falling out of the bed and into said bassinet. Shane follows, hooking his chin over Ilya’s shoulder and staring down at Anika. He wants to reach out and touch her, let her little hand wrap around his finger, but he dares not wake her. “Our Zvezdochka.” 

They stay like that for a moment, before moving back to a more comfortable spot on the bed. “It’s also the first birthday without us having to worry about winning the cup or cheering on our friends winning the cup.” 

Ilya grunts. “I don’t think I like that part.”

“Yeah, me either,” Shane laughs. “But it does mean we finally have time to actually celebrate your birthday outside of a locker room.” 

“I don’t need celebrating.” 

“Wow. Old age has made you humble.” 

Ilya gasps and lunges. He grapples with Shane for a second or two before he gets him pinned underneath him, knees on either side of Shane’s torso. 

“Take that back.” 

Shane arches upward, stealing a kiss before he throws his own weight around and flips them. He hovers over Ilya. “I promise it’s nothing too big or anything,” Shane says, returning to their actual conversation. “But for the record, you do need celebrating.” 

Ilya sighs, easily giving in. “Fine, fine.” This time it’s him who arches upward to steal a kiss. “Does this birthday celebration include breakfast? A McGriddle or two, maybe?” 

Shane laughs. “Yes, yes it does.” 

Ilya smiles, smacking both his hands against Shane’s cheeks and pulling him closer for a real kiss. His hand trails down Shane’s back after that, and just when Shane’s going to protest, he playfully slaps his ass twice. 

“You better hurry. McDonald’s breakfast does not last all day.” 

* 🎂 * 

When Shane pulled out a blindfold this afternoon, Ilya was expecting something along the lines of being led back to their bedroom and being forced to sprawl out completely naked in the middle of their bed. Instead, he’s sitting in the passenger seat of their car listening to Shane safely secure Anika and Anya in the backseat while trying to figure out where Shane is taking them. 

The addition of Anya narrows the list of viable places. A park maybe, but the one nearby doesn’t have the best shade coverage, and Anika is still too young to be out in direct sunlight for too long. They’ve talked about going to the drive-in theater as a family, but it’s still daylight out, so it can’t be that. He supposes they could be going to the Cottage a few weeks early, but he didn’t see any suitcases by the door, so that’s probably not it either. 

“Is this really necessary?” Ilya asks when Shane finally climbs into the driver’s seat and gets the car moving. 

“I want it to be a surprise.” 

“It is already going to be a surprise because you will not tell me where we are going.” 

“You’d figure it out without the blindfold,” Shane answers coolly. 

Ilya spends the rest of the short car ride pestering Shane for clues. Mostly to curb the anxiety of what today actually means to him — something he’s not ready to say out loud, much less in his own head. 

Fortunately, it’s a short trip, and before he has time to get parched from his endless questions, they’re pulling into a parking lot of some sort. Unfortunately, he’s forbidden from getting out of the car until Shane comes to fetch him myself. 

“You cannot leave me in a hot car alone. That is cruel,” he whines, listening once again to Shane get Anika and Anya out of the car. 

“I’m leaving the car on, and that’s only for children and pets.” 

The car door slams shut and then it’s just Ilya, alone in the car with the radio switched off and a blindfold over his eyes and too many thoughts running through his head. He doesn’t want to think about things, especially not the one particular thing he’s been trying not to think about since he woke up from a dream turned nightmare this morning. But it’s hard to chase off the thoughts when he’s alone in a quiet car with no idea where the fuck he is. 

Ilya can sense the panic ratcheting up inside. Feels his body temperature rising and his lungs struggling to get a good breath in. His vision, already darkened by the blindfold, goes fuzzy and his usually iron stomach starts to churn, bile creeping its way up his esophagus. 

He’s seconds away from ripping the blindfold off his body and rolling down the window to shout for Shane, when his door is yanked open. 

“I thought you forgot about me,” Ilya says, trying his best to sound normal, like he wasn’t just on the verge of a grade 3 panic attack. He can’t see Shane’s face to see if it works, but judging by the steadying hand that wraps around Ilya’s bicep urging him out of the car, it must have worked. Ironically, that makes Ilya feel even worse. 

Can Shane really not see that he’s struggling today? 

“I’ll never forget about you,” Shane whispers, ducking closer to leave a chaste kiss on his cheek before ushering him forward. “Come on, your birthday plans await.” 

The first thing Ilya takes note of when he’s gently pushed inside a building is the sweet relief of the central air conditioning. The air is cool, almost freezing, and Ilya can’t help but shiver under the sudden change. It’s a welcome change, though. One that helps ease some of his anxiety. 

The second thing Ilya notices is the smell. A strong mix of cleaning chemicals and vanilla air fresheners is working overtime trying to mask the pungent smell of urine and wet dog.

The third is the glorious sound of excited barking. 

Ilya gasps, knocking his shoulder against Shane’s. “I know where we’re at, solnyshko,” he singsong. “Can I take this off now?” 

“Not yet.” 

“But we are here, yes?” 

“Yes, we’re here. But I have one more surprise.” 

“Are we adopting a dog? Is that why we brought Anya? To see which one she likes best.” 

“Oh, um,” Shane pauses. “I mean, we can talk about it, but I wasn’t really planning on that. But if you find one today, we can. It’ll be a lot with Anya and Anika and next season but—“ 

“Shane,” Ilya says, reaching his hand up where Shane’s hand is already digging into his bicep. “It is okay if that is not the surprise. We do not need another dog… right now.” 

Shane breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, but if you do fall in love with one and Anya is okay with then maybe.” 

“Yes, then maybe we can think about it,” Ilya agrees. “Can we get to the actual surprise so I can take this thing off?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane says. “Let’s go.” 

Shane picks up the pace, leading Ilya further into the rescue. He doesn’t really need guiding, even with the blindfold on Ilya could find his way around. He’s spent enough days off and breaks here to have the layout memorized. 

He’s already stepping down into the backyard area before Shane has a chance to warn him of the step. A fact that has Shane chuckling at his side. 

“Alright, now you can take the blindfold off.” 

On any other day, Ilya might play up the moment. Tease and beg Shane to do it for him and turn the whole charade into something bigger, but he’s desperate to get the stupid silk binding off his face so he hastily yanks it free. 

“Surprise!” 

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they do, he’s met with the smiling faces of nearly everyone he loves and about a hundred dogs scampering around the yard. A few stop when the “surprise” chant rings out, looking around to see what the commotion is about. 

Ilya turns to his right, to Shane, but Shane’s not there. Instead, he’s sauntering across the backyard, scooping up Anika from David before walking back. Ilya can feel the tears building behind his eyes as he reads Anika’s shirt. 

“Shane…” 

“Happy Birthday, Ilyusha,” he whispers again, just like he did in their bedroom hours ago. He leans in for a kiss and then raises Anika, letting her slobber all over his cheek. 

“Shane, this is…” Ilya trails off, eyes darting around the crowded backyard area. A photographer snaps photos of him beside Shane; Yuna and David smile softly at them. Svetlana waves from her spot next to Marlow, legs perched over his strong thighs. The Centaurs are all over the place; Troy and Harris are already on the floor surrounded by a horde of dogs. He recognizes the dog beside Rose, her latest co-star, and Anya directly beside her. He wants to laugh at the image. Of course his girl befriends the movie star amongst the mutts of the shelter. 

But he can’t laugh or smile. He can’t even breathe. 

“Ilya?” Shane says his name. He knows he does, but it feels far off, like Shane’s miles away on shore and Ilya is struggling underwater, desperately kicking and trying to cling to the voice, but drifting further and further away. 

Ilya abruptly turns and races back into the shelter. He nearly takes out Cheryl in the process, b-lining it straight to the employee one-stall bathroom. He doesn’t stop to lock the door, heading straight for the sink instead. The water temperature has always been finicky, coming out too cold to even serve the dogs in their water bowls. Ilya doesn’t care. The icy burn against his hands is grounding. 

“Ilya?” 

Ilya doesn’t have time to answer before the unlocked door opens and Shane steps inside. He can’t bring himself to face Shane, so he keeps his head slung, hands shoved under the faucet with water that’s already warming up. 

“What the hell was that?” 

“I—“ I told you I didn’t want to celebrate today, he thinks. He doesn’t say it, though. Not in so many direct words, at least. “You said your plan was small! This is not small, Shane!” 

“It’s just our family and some dogs at our local shelter!” Shane defends with an edge in his voice Ilya hates the sound of. “It’s not like I booked an extravagant romantic vacation or bought a ridiculously expansive piece of gym equipment!” 

“You deserve those things.” 

It’s the truth. Ilya didn’t feel like he was being over-the-top when he gifted Shane a baby moon trip to the Maldives or when he surprised him on his birthday with a new state-of-the-art rowing machine the Olympic rowers train on. 

“Okay, and you deserve a simple birthday party with your friends and a hundred cute smelly dogs!” Shane shouts, voice reverberating off the thin walls of the bathroom. 

Anyone standing near the window in the backyard can definitely hear them arguing. The reality makes Ilya wilt even further, body going slack as he tips forward, resting his forearms on the small counter before letting his rest thud against them. 

He still can’t see Shane, can’t force himself to turn his head and look but his ears are still working, acutely tuned in to the timid shuffling Shane does as he takes a step closer to Ilya and then another and another until the edge of his shoe taps against the heel of Ilya’s. 

“Are you— are you mad?”  Shane’s voice is soft. Timid. Disappointed.

Ilya hates himself. He hates the way he’s made Shane second-guess himself. Hates that all of this is happening on today of all days. If he’d just have played it safe on the ice during the third round, maybe they wouldn’t have gotten eliminated and then they’d be in the Cup game tonight and he wouldn’t be at this party or thinking about — Or, maybe if Marlow had taken his advice and taken his recovery series during the season, they would have made it to the playoffs and made it all the way. Or—

“I thought you would love it.” 

Ilya sighs. He gives himself a second longer to stew in his own brain before he decides to man up. Not for himself, but for Shane. Because Shane deserves this. 

“I’m sorry, solnyshko.” Ilya pulls himself up from his hunched-over spot on the sink. He stares at Shane through the reflection of the grimy mirror, too afraid of folding in on himself if he turns and lets Shane study all of him the way only Shane can. “I do love it. It’s perfect. So many dogs. And everyone I—“ His voice catches, and he uses all his strength to clear it and press on. “Everyone I love. It’s perfect. Very thoughtful. Very Shane of you. Let’s go back outside. I want to play with the dogs and see everyone.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Ilya says, this time turning his head to gaze over his shoulder. Shane’s still hovering behind him, close enough to touch but not breaking that barrier. “Just give me a minute, okay? I will be right out. I promise.” 

Shane lingers for a moment. Ilya can feel him apprising him, but eventually he must see something settle in Ilya because he nods and quietly makes his way out of the bathroom. 

Ilya watches Shane leave through the mirror, holding his gaze on him until the door shuts, cutting him off from the connection. It’s only then that he lets his eyes focus on his own reflection, taking inventory. His eyes aren’t red or puffy, despite how heavy they feel in his skull, which is a good sign.

It’s interesting, he thinks, how anxiety makes him feel like he’s dying and yet there’s almost never a visual cue that his body is working against him. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but makes a mental note to mention it to Galina at their next session. 

Still holding his own gaze in the mirror, Ilya takes a slow inhale and an even slower exhale. He rolls his shoulders and shakes out the tension in his hands. 

“Okay. Let’s do this. You can do this.” 

* 🎂 * 

When Ilya finally emerges, he’s an entirely different person than the one Shane left in the bathroom moments ago. He floats through the yard, hugging and kissing everyone in attendance, and then he gets to the dogs. Ilya practically throws himself on the ground and star fishes in the middle of the patchy grass. 

Naturally, Anya is the first to run over and stakes her claim on his chest, excitedly licking his face as her tail wags behind her. He’s swarmed a second later. A chihuahua-looking thing takes up residence in the soft curls of Ilya’s hair, while two lab mixes wrestle for pets from his outstretched right arm. He takes a paw to the balls that’s met with a soft groan and then loud belly laughter as he scolds the tripod mutt for managing to injure him despite one less leg. 

Ironically, Pepper, Rose’s co-star, is the most timid of the bunch, only approaching Ilya when he’s coaxed her over by mumbling encouraging words and gentle patting his lap. Shane can’t help but blush at the sight, especially when Rose saddles up next to him and teases that Ilya is using his Shane-moves on a dog. 

Shane watches Ilya as the afternoon progresses, never once taking his eyes off of him for more than a few seconds. He helps the Pike kids put hats on all the dogs, and he dances with Svetlana when Cheryl finally remembers the password to the Bluetooth speaker, and they’re able to connect someone else’s phone, finally silencing the dog mood music that was previously playing. And horses around with Marlow and some of the other guys. 

He lets the photographer take a million and one photos of him holding Anika, showing off her onesie, and pulls Shane and Anya into the fold so they can get proper family photos. Shane keeps an eye on him in his peripheral then, studying the exact slope of his smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes the way it should, but Shane doesn’t mention it. He files it away instead. 

When it’s time for cake, Ilya pretends to be conducting a symphony as they all sing-shout the lyrics while the dogs howl and bark. It’s truly an awful sound, made ten times louder when Anika decides to show off her own lung strength, screeching along with the rest of them. 

Ilya floats around the backyard with a smile on his face and his signature loud laugh and boisterous personality, chirping at Marlow and Hayden and playing make-believe with the kids in attendance. He looks happy. Like he’s enjoying himself. 

But Shane sees through the perfect mask Ilya’s painted on his face. It’s subtle things; things Shane’s not even sure Ilya notices that he’s doing. A small pout of his lips in the minute second he moves from one person to the next. An extra second or two of laughter that takes things from hilarious to awkward if you listen close enough. The way his hands settle on various dogs’ backs but doesn’t move. It just hovers, fingers threaded through the fur but not petting, not shaking, just there. 

Ilya’s putting on a show, and he’s damn good at it, but Shane is his harshest critic. 

He just wishes he knew why. He tries to wrack his brain for answers. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the shock of Shane planning a surprise in the first place. It’s not like Shane’s never surprised Ilya with things, but in hindsight this was sort of a big thing for him to spring on him. He thinks if he was in Ilya’s shoes — on little to no sleep and a birthday without a chance at a Cup — he’d probably be a bit irritated too. 

But Ilya’s been on no sleep for weeks now, and his mood has never been as bad as it was in the bathroom earlier. And the Cup… well, they knew this season was a long shot with a roster full of injured veterans and rookies who didn’t have the experience to carry a team to the end. 

Maybe it’s the number that’s getting to him, Shane thinks. 

Thirty-five is relatively young to the average person, but to a professional athlete at their level, it’s senior citizen territory. Sure, Ilya’s still in good shape, but he plays a physical sport in an extremely physical way. The wear and tear on his body isn’t something new, but maybe the reality of what it means is setting in. 

He makes a mental note to get in touch with the teams physical therapist; maybe they can get in some private sessions this summer. They could look into a massage therapist. Sure, they have an expensive massage chair at home Ilya bought on a whim two seasons ago when he was nursing a tailbone injury after a rough fall, but a chair can only do so much. 

By the time Shane’s come to a semi-conclusion as to what’s got Ilya so upset, the party is winding down. He mentally kicks himself for getting lost in his own head. Today was supposed to be about Ilya, and instead of focusing on that, Shane’s been busy trying to solve a problem he doesn’t even have any information about. He really is his mother’s son. 

He makes his way over to Ilya, then intertwines their fingers as they jointly say goodbye to the guests. 

“I am going to help Cheryl with the dogs,” Ilya says when the only guests remaining are Shane’s parents. 

Shane nods. “I’ll help my parents settle Anika in the car. Meet me by ours when we’re done, and we can go home.” 

Ilya nods and leans forward for a quick kiss before disappearing inside to help situate the dogs in their proper kennels and see that the rescues brought in for the day, make it back to their respective organizations. 

“You did good today, Shane,” Yuna says, pulling him into a warm hug. “I think Ilya really loved it.” 

“Don’t tell your mom, but I think I might come back tomorrow and adopt one of those guys,” David whispers a moment later when Yuna is busy buckling Anika’s car seat into the backseat. 

“Dammit, dad, you just made me an accomplice.” Shane can’t say he’s surprised. In fact, he’s shocked his dad has made it six months into his retirement without adopting a pet. 

Shane lingers in the parking lot, watching as his parents’ car disappears into the sunset along the horizon. When he can no longer see it, he turns around just in time to catch Ilya trudging out of the shelter beside Cheryl.

“Ready to go home?” Shane asks, after they’ve made sure Cheryl has made it safely into her own car and is on the road to her own home. 

“Yes. I would like that very much.” 

The car ride home is quiet. Not the good kind of quiet, the one that often settles between them now that they’ve been together for almost two decades. No. This is an awkward kind of quiet. The quiet that settles heavy between them like a blanket of humidity on the hottest of summer days. 

Ilya’s hand finds Shane’s on the gear shift, their fingers interlocked, but it feels less like a casual touch and more like an anchor. Like if either one of them lets go, they’re going to float away or, worse, combust. 

Thankfully, they’ve missed the Monday night rush hour, and they make it home with little delays. Usually, when they’re driving together, they’re racing him to strip each other naked and finally get their hands on each other, but there’s none of that urgency today when Shane unlocks the door. 

“I think I’m going to shower.” His voice finally pierces through the silence, a bit too loud for the quiet of the house. “I smell like I spent the day with a hundred dogs.” 

Shane can’t help but feel a deep pain in his chest when Ilya nods his head and wades through the living room and out into their backyard. There’s no sarcastic retort that he smells like a 100 dogs because he did spend the day with 100 dogs; nor is there a cheeky request to join him to conserve water because “you never know when a drought is going to hit, Shane.” 

Fuck.

Standing under the shower, letting cool water wash away the day’s dirt and grime usually makes Shane feel rejuvenated, but tonight his head feels too heavy. He can’t help but worry about Ilya. Clearly, something is going on. Something big enough that he’s too afraid to let Shane in on. The last time that happened, it almost broke them. 

He can’t do that again. 

Shane rushes through his shower routine and quickly dries off before yanking a pair of clean sweats and one of Ilya’s shirts from their shared closet. He shoots off a quick check-in text to his mom, making sure they made it safely and that Anika went down for bed okay. She did, thank god. 

He half expects to find Ilya passed out in the bed when he emerges from the bathroom, but there’s no sign of him. He pads down the stairs, double-checks the lock on the front door and turns the porch light off. He glances at the shoe rack to his left, eyes zeroing in on the place where Ilya’s shoes should be but still aren’t. 

The kitchen is spotless when he enters. Ilya’s staple cup he only uses for fresh water from the tap, still drying on the rack where he left it this morning. As Shane wanders further into their house, he looks for stray socks or any other clue that Ilya has made it back inside, but he comes up empty-handed. Instead, he finds the sliding door ajar, letting in a cool breeze. 

Sighing, Shane slips into the pair of Slides he keeps by the back door for Anya’s regular potty breaks and finally musters up the courage to go find Ilya and figure out what the hell is going on. 

The dull light on their back porch does little to illuminate their backyard, and even though they spent a pretty penny installing landscaping lighting, the timer system has gone to shit in the last month or so, and neither one has made a call to get it fixed. 

Still, even in the pitch darkness, Shane’s able to spot Ilya in seconds like a moth to a flame. 

It also helps that Ilya’s pinching an actual small flame between his fingers.

Shane’s footsteps stutter at the sight. If he’s smoking again, it must be really bad.

He’s in the small garden they started a few years ago, hunched over on the bench they picked out together, and Shane had engraved with Irina’s name as a surprise. At least that one had gone over well, unlike today’s grand mistake. 

The garden’s mainly overgrown with weeds and wild flowers, having been neglected having been neglected during the season, but it’s nothing they can’t fix this summer with a little time and a trip or two to the nursery for seeds. But for now, Shane wades through the plants that have grown despite their lack of attention, trying his best to tread softly but not doing a very good job judging by the way Ilya’s head whips around at only his third step. 

“Can I sit?” 

Ilya tips his head to the bench, wordlessly giving Shane permission to take up space. It’s jarring, the lack of reaction, and it sends Shane whirling into their past. Into a time where Ilya was cold, and Shane was nervous, and both were too damn scared to do the grown-up thing and actually talk. It’s been years since he’s felt that coldness between them, but it’s unmistakable now. 

Despite their mature age, the years under their belt, a goddamn legally binding marriage certificate, and a daughter, Shane easily falls into old, childish habits. He takes the seat next to Ilya and fights his own body to keep his eyes locked on the darkness in front of him instead of risking a glance at Ilya. 

And because they’re the two most stubborn men they’ve ever known, they sit there in the pitch black listening to the sound of the wind rustling through the overgrown weeds not talking. Ilya keeps smoking, and Shane holds his breath, still hating the smell of fresh nicotine even after all these years. And they don’t talk. They don’t even look at each other. 

Shane feels small. Feels like he's back on the rooftop of a Vegas hotel, or in a small greenroom bathroom at the MLH awards. He hates it. And yet he doesn’t know what to say to bring them back to the present where they’re husbands and not scared, kid refusing to trust each other with their big feelings. 

In the end, Shane doesn’t have to do anything. 

It’s Ilya who caves first; stubbing out his cigarette on the ashtray he must have dug out from the back of one of the cupboards in their outdoor patio. He shifts on the bench, bringing one leg up and bending it so he can rest his head against it when he turns to face Shane. 

“You were right, earlier,” he whispers, voice rough, like he’s forgotten how to speak in the last two hours since saying goodbye to everyone at the shelter. “Thirty-five is a special birthday, but not just for the reasons you said.”

“Oh?” 

Shane wants to kick himself. Oh? That’s the best he can come up with? His husband, who has very clearly been struggling all damn day, is finally opening up to him, and all he can say is, “ Oh? " What the fuck. 

Ilya is too caught up in his own inner war to notice the one waging inside Shane’s brain, though. At least, that’s the conclusion Shane comes to when Ilya doesn’t tease or critique him on his reaction. 

“Thirty-five means,” he trails off. 

Shane fidgets on the bench, impatience settling in. Thirty-five means what, he wants to ask, maybe even scream. Means retirement? Means a relapse in his mental health? Means Shane doesn’t know him anymore? 

Before Shane sends himself into his own panic attack, Ilya tries again. “Thirty-five means, I am officially older than mama ever got to be.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Shane can’t help the hitch in his breath that stutters out from his lips. He feels like his chest is splitting open, one side torn apart out of pain for Ilya, the other out of deep regret that he didn’t connect the dots sooner. He was on the right track for a minute. It was about the number; he just had the wrong reason. So incredibly wrong. 

“Thirty-five is not old, Shane. I knew this then, I think, but now, turning thirty-five…” Ilya turns his head, kinking his neck so it’s tilted to the sky. As if Shane doesn’t know that’s Ilya’s tell-tale sign that he’s about to cry. 

Shane moves on instinct, scooting across the long wooden bench until he’s close enough to get both arms on Ilya. It takes a few harsh tugs before Ilya’s tense body goes slack in his arms. When it does, the floodgates that are Ilya’s eyes finally open and he buries his face into Shane’s chest. 

Shane holds him through, rubbing soothing circles against his back and gently rocking them back and forth. It’s muscle memory at this point, built out of years of being their for Ilya and more recently trying to soothe Anika. 

Seconds turn to minutes, and soon Ilya’s sobs start to settle into quiet, exhausted huffs. He pulls away just enough so that his words aren’t muffled by his shirt on Shane’s body when he speaks next. 

“She was so young. She had so much life to still live. She could have seen me get drafted. Met Anika and Anya. Maybe even moved here, with us. I could have gotten her away from my father. I would have. I just needed time.” Ilya balls his hand into a fist, knocking it against the wood of the bench with enough force that the wood panes rattle. “It’s not fair.” 

“It’s not,” Shane says. “It’s not fucking fair at all, Ilya.” 

The words coax another bout of sobs from Ilya, this time less intense and shorter but still just as heartbreaking. Shane continues to hold him through it, adjusting his grasp on him until he’s cradling his head in his hands and kissing each tear that spills from Ilya’s baby blues. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t think about how hard today would be” 

“It’s not your fault. It is not your pain to carry.” 

“What’s yours is mine, Ilyusha. I’m supposed to help you carry it so it’s not so heavy.” 

Ilya shakes his head. “I think this will always be my pain to carry by myself.” 

“Okay.” Shane concedes. “But at least let me help carry you when you’re feeling like this.” 

“Okay.” 

This time when silence falls between them, its the comfortable kind. The kind that makes Shane feel settled in his skin. He listens to the sound of crickets in the distance and the occasional hum of a car engine making its way through their neighborhood. But mostly his ears hone in on the steady rhythm of Ilya’s breathing as it shallows out. 

Shane doesn’t think it’s smart for them to fall asleep outside on a wooden bench, though, so he has no choice but to jostle Ilya from the slumber threatening to take him. A few months ago, Shane would have hoisted Ilya into his arms and carried him to bed with no preamble, but he’s still recovering from a shoulder sprain, and he can’t afford to aggravate it further. 

“Let’s go to bed.” 

Shane helps Ilya undress and ushers him into the shower for a quick rinse. He lingers in the bathroom until Ilya shuts off the faucet, then helps him dry off before ushering him to their bed. He settles Ilya in on his side and then crawls under the covers on his own side. Ilya doesn’t hesitate, curling into Shane’s body immediately. 

This was definitely not how Shane planned the evening would be, but he can’t find it in him to complain. At the end of the day, every night he gets to spend with Ilya beside him is a win in his book. 

Shane really doesn’t want to ruin the mood, but he can’t help the words that fall from his lips a few minutes later. 

“Your mom would have been so proud of you for making it this far.” 

“Sometimes I think you are right and sometimes I don’t know.” 

“She would have been. And I don’t think she’d appreciate hearing how mean you are to yourself. You were her baby. She’d want you to be easy on yourself.” 

“Maybe. I don’t know. I wish I could have done more for her. If she had just waited a few more years… I could have gotten us both out. Maybe, then she would have gotten more years.” 

“Ilya, you were a kid. That wasn’t your job. You did the best you could, okay. None of what happened is your fault.” 

“Thank you,” Ilya says after several beats of silence. He turns in Shane’s grasp, kissing the underside of his neck. “No one has said that before.” 

Shane is pretty sure he’s lost at least half of his heart today with all the aching he’s done over Ilya, but it’s worth every crack and splinter so long as he gets to stay here, tangled in bed with the man he so desperately loves. 

“I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” 

Shane is nearly asleep when Ilya shifts beside him. “I really did love my birthday party.” 

“Yeah?” 

Ilya nods. “It was perfect. The people and the dogs, mostly the dogs. And Anika’s outfit.” Ilya slaps Shane’s chest. “You did not tell me you were getting her that. Now I have to find one for her to wear on your special days.” 

Shane laughs, and for the first time in several long hours, it feels like all the tension has deflated. 

“Oh, and I think I found a dog.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yes. The one with three legs. Hobbes was his name, I think.” 

“The one who stepped on your balls?” Shane asks incredulously. 

“Yes, him. Cheryl said he’s been in foster care for a while, but he still needs a forever home. I think it should be us.” 

“What about Anya?” 

“She seemed to like him. I think she liked that he only has three legs. Makes her feel stronger.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like Anya.” Shane snorts, then shakes his head. “People are going to think we’re crazy. An elder dog, a three-month-old, two professional hockey careers, and now a three-legged dog.” 

“People already think this, no?” 

“Adopting a dog really wasn’t in the birthday plan.” 

“Ah, but tomorrow is not my birthday, so we will not be breaking your plan.” 

“You know if this hockey thing ever fails you, I think you’d have a great career as a lawyer,” Shane teases, if only to draw out the inevitable. 

Of course, he’s going to say yes to adopting Hobbes. He would have said yes to any of the dogs, hell, maybe even multiple. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing on this damn planet that Shane would bear Ilya from having. 

“Alright, we can adopt him.” 

Ilya beams up at him, eyes bright and full of wonder the way Shane loves so much. Ilya surges up, knocking their noses together as he hastily kisses Shane. It’s clumsy and messy and not at all like the usual calculated and emotional kisses they share, but its perfect in its own right and still leaves Shane a little lightheaded when Ilya does pull away to glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“You know, there are still fifteen minutes left of my birthday.” 

Shane hums, already shifting his body to move on top of Ilya’s. “And what do you think we should do with these fifteen minutes?” 

Ilya shrugs. “I do not know, you are the one with the plan, solnyshko.” 

Shane hums, moving so that he’s straddling Ilya now. “It was a very long, detailed plan.” 

“We better get started then.” 

Shane wraps his fingers around Ilya’s wrists, pinning his hands to the pillow before ducking his head and connecting their lips in a searing kiss this time. 

“Whatever the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.”