Chapter 1

Shane Hollander did not have a food thing.

Sure, he had to follow a performance diet. Nearly all high level athletes did. And maybe he got really weird about certain food textures or flavor combinations or how much butter was used to fry something because the calories-

It was fine. It had never been a real issue. His parents just chalked it up to one of his weird, neurotic quirks. If anything Yuna was thrilled because it made it much easier to keep him on track during the season.

(He was entirely unaware of the late night conversations Yuna and David had, hushed worried tones about the fact that they could hear him throwing up–maybe it was just a stomach bug, his dietician would tell them if something was really wrong, right?)

Shane always, always itched for a sense of control. Being in public meant eyes from all directions, everyone expecting him to act a certain way, speak a certain way, move a certain way.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved being an athlete. He loved hockey with his entire being, loved bending his knees and sitting into the ice, the rush of cold air burning against his face. And the publicity that came with was….expected, almost flattering even.

It just meant he had less things to himself. And that was okay–Shane didn’t really have anything to hide.

Until Ilya.

That stupid, beautiful, handsome Russian man with a voice like sin and the body to match. Ilya Rozanov, who started reading the New Yorker, who teased Shane for being a boring Canadian even though his eyes always softened when he looked at Shane.

Shane loved Ilya, in a scary way. He didn’t believe in the concept of soulmates, but Ilya was…perfect. He just wished he could be out with Ilya, brag about the fact that of all people Rozanov chose him.

But that wasn’t the reality they lived in. And for now, it was enough for his parents to know about them together. It was enough for Hayden to know-it had to be enough. They were always careful, always meticulous with who saw them together.

And really, it was no surprise that with all of the changes happening in Shane’s life, his food thing (which he didn’t have, thank you very much) got worse.

Which brought him to now. Standing in the hotel bathroom while Ilya was fast asleep, shirt pulled up as he turned sideways and squeezed at his stomach. He had gained weight. Relationship weight, was what people called it online. When you were with the person you loved, relaxed, sharing meals, you’d gain some happy weight. Ilya certainly had no comment on it, constantly trying out new recipes and insisting Shane take a small bite of them.

Ilya had even learned the ins and outs of his on season diet plan, somehow managing to fit new flavors and combinations into his macros and daily calorie count. It wasn’t an Ilya issue, it was a Shane issue.

He knew if his weight gain was really that severe his coach would’ve said something at their last weigh in. Yes, he was a few pounds up, but his muscle mass was also higher from the heavier weights he’d been repping, so in his coach’s eyes it was fine.

But it didn’t feel fine. Shane worried his lower lip as he stared longer into the mirror. He normally had a good handle on what he looked like, how other people saw him.

This felt bad. He hadn’t really been tracking as much, hell, just last night him and Ilya had gotten takeout from a fried chicken place nearby.

Swallowing, his hands started to tremble.

He could nearly taste the butter, the bread crumb coating the chicken, the oil it was fried in. And once he started thinking about it, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

How many calories had that been? A lot, right? Especially since it was restaurant made, he had no idea how much of each ingredient they had used. Bile rose up in his throat.

Shutting his eyes, he deeply inhaled, then exhaled.

This was fine. He could fix this. If he dropped his calorie deficit from 1400 calories a day to 800 calories a day, and kept up his daily weightlifting and cardio, he could easily shed off the weight. And if he got too tempted and gorged himself on food, he could always just go to the bathroom and stick his fingers down his throat and-

(No. No, he shouldn’t think like that. That's what people with eating disorders do, which Shane did not have. Athletes commonly tracked calories and macros and exercised nearly everyday, Shane just wanted to excel at his sport. He didn’t want to let his team down. That’s all it was.)

Arms wrapped around his shoulders from the back, and Shane couldn’t help his instinctual flinch.

“Why are you up so early, Hollander? Admiring your pretty face in the mirror?” Ilya asked. Shane allowed himself to sink into his partner's hold, shiver crawling up his spine as Ilya started to nose at his neck. “I can think of something much more fun to do in bathroom, da?” The suggestive nature of the words along with Ilya’s gravelly morning voice was doing something to Shane that he resolutely ignored.

Rolling his eyes, he shoved Ilya’s face away gently.

“Always sex with you, Rozanov. I’m still sore from last night, anyways. I was thinking of doing some morning stretching at the hotel gym.” Shane murmured.

He glanced over at Ilya, who was giving Shane the cutest pout of his entire life. He willed himself to stay strong.

“We have the day off until I go back. I could give you a nice massage, we could spend all day in bed…take a, how do you say, lazy day? Yes?”

It physically pained Shane to deny Ilya. He wanted nothing more than to spend all day in bed, being held and lavished with praises and marks and bruises so everyone knew who he belonged to.

But the thought of Ilya seeing Shane naked caused a near visceral feeling of nausea. He didn’t deserve to let go of himself, didn’t deserve the pleasure that came with laying with Ilya. He needed to get himself under control, needed to look a certain way so he could feel worthy.

Shane gave Ilya the most apologetic eyes he could muster.

Sensing he wasn’t going to win Shane over, Ilya sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Fine, go to gym when you have a hot man in your hotel room. Whatever.”

Shane couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face. He adjusted himself so he was facing Ilya, and leaned forward to give him a chaste kiss. He pulled away before Ilya had the chance to deepen it.

“You are so dramatic. I’ll make it up to you later, yeah?” His kiss combined with his promise seemed to satisfy Ilya.

“You better. Do you know how hot you look in my shirt right now? It is biggest tease ever. Do you want me to make you breakfast before the gym?”

Shane steeled himself, offering up his best imitation of a convincing smile.

“I think I’m going to get a smoothie from the shop in the lobby.” The lie tasted sour in his mouth. He hated lying, especially to Ilya.

Ilya stared at him for a long moment. The air felt a little tense, as though Ilya could see right through Shane and into his soul. He held his breath.

Eventually, after a few seconds, Ilya nodded.

“Okay. I will make you lunch then.” Shane opened his mouth to protest, but Ilya interrupted before he could say anything. “And I will make sure it is boring bland food that fits stupid diet plan.”

Shane brightened up.

“Thank you, you know you really don’t have to-”

Ilya brought a finger up to Shane’s mouth, physically quieting him.

“Shush. Now go to gym before I change my mind and pin you into the bed.”

A delicious blush started making its way over Shane’s face, travelling up to his ears. He started making his way out of the bathroom towards the suitcase on the floor, resolutely ignoring the way Ilya’s eyes tracked his ass as he walked.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.”

Shane got ready in relative silence, Ilya having gone back to laying in bed, now scrolling through his phone. Shane couldn’t help but feel grateful at the fact that Ilya wasn’t looking at him.

(At how disgusting he was, how he couldn’t even control himself enough to watch what he ate, he was a professional athlete for fucks sake-)

Exhaling, he grabbed his phone and water bottle.

“See you later. Love you.”

Ilya glanced up from his phone.

“Love you too. One more kiss before you go?”

Shane wrinkled his nose.

“You haven’t even brushed your teeth yet.”

Ilya heaved a sigh.

“Fine, fine. You are so harsh this morning.” It was easy to fall into banter with Ilya. It never felt forced, never felt bad or mean. Shane rolled his eyes at Ilya.

“Yeah yeah. I’m leaving now, before you can keep me here with your stupid pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty?” Ilya responded, teasing smirk making its way onto his face.

“Bye!” Shane exclaimed, leaving the hotel and shutting the door behind him before he could hear Ilya’s inevitably sarcastic quip back.

Ilya frowned at the door after Shane left.

Something felt wrong. He knew Shane tended to get into his head regarding…well, most things. And as someone who observed Shane Hollander like it was his job, he knew Shane got weird about food.

Ilya was familiar with the pressure athletes faced. He himself kept up a relatively healthy, high protein diet. But he had never, ever tracked his food intake to the extent that Shane did.

Sometimes he felt like he was the only one who really noticed Shane’s food habits. Yuna Hollander, bless her, while one of the best mothers in the world, was still Shane’s manager at the end of the day. And generally Ilya was willing to put up with Shane’s stupid diet plan, his odd quirks of spending hours at the gym.

But he wasn’t going to sit quiet when it got bad. Because there was a difference between when Shane was just dieting for the season versus when he got in his head about it. And Ilya had never seen him this in his head about it before.

He just hoped he was wrong, or that Shane would come to him before anything got bad.

(Ilya knew he would not. Shane, beautiful, idiot Shane Hollander refused to do anything he thought would remotely burden anyone else. He just kept things inside until they built and built and built.)

It would be okay, Ilya thought to himself. He would be here to catch Shane when the man inevitably collapsed on the weight of his own self-flagellation.

No one got to be mean to Shane Hollander under Ilya’s watch, not even Shane himself.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

i got super high and had perhaps the worst mental breakdown of my life over what i ate and then immediately locked in project onto shane hollander :D DISCLAIMER: all the stuff in here regarding eating disorders is pulling on my experience and my experience only! i do not represent everyones experiences with eating disorders, its truly different for everyone. im always here if anyone wants to talk, its one of the most isolating things to suffer through alone <3 pls stay safe !!!! **hi guys tysm for the support on this work! its now part of a series and i will be posting another work after im done w finals <3 :D It had been a month. A month since Boston played against Montreal, but more importantly, a month since Ilya had seen Shane.

They had gone longer without seeing each other, but that never made it any easier. The more time they spent together, the more small moments spent in each other's orbit, the harder it got to pull away.

Something about tonight's game gave Ilya a sinking pit in his stomach. He wasn’t nervous about playing–he thrived under the fast paced pressure that came with stepping on the ice, the yells and jeers and shoves only serving to bolster his confidence.

He knew he was cocky, knew he easily pissed off other players, especially the ones on Shane’s team. He loved it, though. Hollander most certainly loved it too, confessing to Ilya late at night that he found Ilya’s shit-talking hot, mumbling the words into a pillow as Ilya bit his neck and pressed deeper into him.

(He loved when he got Shane to tell him these things. Yes, he had managed to create a solid picture of what Hollander got off to just through observing, but there was something special about Shane saying it out loud.

Ilya was the only one to hear those words. He was the one who got Shane to stutter out what made him hard, what gave him butterflies. He got to make Shane unravel, untense his shoulders and get him out of his head.

It was a badge of honor to him, the privilege of seeing Shane Hollander without all of his walls up.)

So yes, while he was anticipating stepping on the ice, adrenaline starting to course through his veins, he couldn’t help the feeling that something was off.

It was like a pit in his stomach. He somehow knew something was going to go wrong-he just didn’t know what. It was the same feeling he got when his brother called on the phone, same feeling he had gotten when he was younger listening to his father stomp into the house in a bad mood.

He tried to shake it off. He had no real reason to feel like this-he was finally seeing Shane for the first time in a month, and he knew the game was just foreplay for when they would inevitably end up tangled with each other in a random hotel bed.

The locker room was loud as everyone exited and made their way out to the rink. Ilya got a few pats on the back, a nod from his coach as they all stepped on the ice.

It would be fine.

(Right?)

—

Shane fucked up. He fucked up and he was panicking and he didn’t have time to panic because there was a game against Boston and Ilya was here and-

Let's rewind.

It had been a month since Shane’s spiral. A month since one stray thought took over his life. It wasn’t as though this hadn’t happened before-he’d had a coach when he was thirteen who commented about his stomach at every weigh in, and he’d spiraled then, too.

(Just not quite this bad. Not this extreme. And what sort of scared him was that he didn’t know how to stop, almost didn’t want to. He knew, rationally, what he was doing was unhealthy. But the sick, diseased part of his brain couldn’t bring himself to care.

What did it matter, if it was unhealthy? The euphoria that came with seeing the number on the scale lower, with carefully weighing each gram of food, the dizziness and black spots that came with standing too fast. It felt like success, to the dark parasite in his head.

The knowledge that if he wanted to look a certain way he could, that he was able to successfully ignore the pangs of hunger and the way his mouth salivated at food videos on Instagram. It was living, breathing proof that he could control himself.

Because that's always what it came back to, at the end of the day.)

He had stuck to his own edited meal plan, upping the fiber and protein while reducing his daily calorie allowance. He had upped his time at the gym, too.

The weight had dropped, and then some. It was maybe the lowest he had ever been since middle school. The combination of the deficit, overexercising, and intermittent fasting had done wonders.

People had noticed, of course. But in his profession it wasn’t really such a bad thing-almost too easy for him to get away with restricting this heavily. He just said he was on a cut, made sure to eat his pre-prepared meals in front of his family and teammates so they wouldn’t get suspicious.

The only one who suspected something was off was Hayden. He sent Shane some side glances at team practices when he noticed Shane getting a little too dizzy or sitting on the bench a little too long.

He had never outright spoken to Shane about it, something Shane was eternally grateful for. If someone confronted him outright he knew he would either tear up immediately or get defensive, and he hated being snappy towards his friends.

Everything had been going to plan. Shane pretended to be okay, pretended he wasn’t making himself throw up after his parents took him out for dinner, pretended he didn’t cry at the way his stomach looked for hours in the bathroom to the point where his head ached and his eyes got puffy.

But as he sat in the locker room, head between his knees, all he felt was dread. He knew, logically, that playing Boston tonight meant seeing Ilya. And for as much yearning as he felt, there was equal parts fear.

Because Ilya knew him better than anyone else-hell, knew Shane better than he knew himself. He had never spoken outright to Shane about his eating, but Shane knew that Ilya knew, especially with the way he made Shane three meals and added snacks in between whenever they stayed together.

Beyond that, though, for the first time in quite a while, Shane was scared to step on the ice. Boston was an intense team, something Shane normally loved. He loved the challenge, loved the push to do better.

But his whole body felt cold, and his head hurt, and he hadn’t eaten in sixteen hours.

He had been stupid. So, so fucking stupid. He knew he had a game tonight, knew he should've eaten. The last thing he had that could even remotely resemble sustenance was a 100 calorie smoothie this morning.

It was 7pm now. Fuck. Fuck.

He had no one to blame but himself. And it was too late to eat now-not when he was about to step on the ice. Even just the thought of eating food, of his own chewing noises, the texture on his tongue, sticking to his mouth, sinking heavy down his throat into his gut–

Shane nearly gagged just thinking about it. He was certain he would vomit out on the ice. Shit. Fuck.

JJ nudged at him, one of the last people exiting the locker room.

“Cmon, let's head on the ice.” His teammate said casually, entirely unaware of the mega panic attack happening in Shane’s head.

Steeling himself, Shane nodded and stood up, squaring his shoulders back. He offered up the best smile he possibly could. His head spun with the sudden movement, all the blood rushing to his feet. It took everything in him to keep his smile and not sink right back down onto the bench.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

It would be fine. It had to be fine.

—

As soon as the game started, Ilya knew something was not right with Shane. Not his normal neuroticism that came with being wound up before a game. Not his normal anxiety to perform well, both things Ilya could spot a mile away on Shane.

No, something was deeply, deeply wrong with Shane Hollander and Ilya felt a little insane at the fact that he was the only one who noticed.

It wasn’t just that Shane’s jersey was hanging off looser than it usually was. Ilya, who was intimately familiar with every slope, curve, and freckle on Shane’s body could tell from a mile away that he had lost weight. He had never seen Shane’s collarbones this defined before, never seen his face so devoid of the cute baby fat Ilya loved to pinch.

And the way he moved on the ice. He was playing sloppier than normal, and every time Ilya got a glance of his face it was stark white, as though he was putting all of his focus into staying upright.

Дерьмо.

He had not realized it had gotten this bad. Ilya watched Shane sway on the ice, and felt the same deep, cold fear settle into his heart the same way it had when he was younger and his mother laid in bed for days, refusing to eat or drink or speak or move.

Shane, Ilya thought disparagingly.

He wished he would have been there. With his whole heart and soul.

God, what were the Voyagers thinking?

Not for the first time, Ilya found himself mentally cursing out Shane’s team as he halfheartedly chased after the puck. Why would they let their teammate on the ice like that? When it was so glaringly obvious something was wrong?

Out of the corner of his eye, Ilya watched as one of his own teammates checked Shane into the boards. It wasn’t even very hard-he knew for a fact him and Shane had experienced worse injuries. In the hockey world it would be considered a lovetap-it seemed as though his teammates could also tell Shane was off tonight.

Time slowed. Shane stumbled against the board, and Ilya was skating over to him before he even knew what he was doing, body moving on instinct as Shane’s face when white and he dropped- In the blink of an eye Ilya caught his head before it hit the ice. Everyone else disappeared entirely from his field of view, unable to process any noise at all. All that he felt was stone cold fear.

He couldn’t think of the fact that they were in public, that they were in the middle of a game getting televised in front of thousands of people, in front of their teammates who didn’t know what they meant to each other, didn’t know that Shane Hollander was Ilya’s life and soul and reason to wake up every morning.

Dropping to his knees, Ilya gently cupped Shane’s cheek against his hand. The other man's eyes were closed, and Ilya knew with one hundred percent certainty that Shane had fainted on the ice. The way he had dropped like a sack of potatoes, the way Ilya had seen all of the blood rush out of his face, eyes rolling back-

(He never, ever, ever wanted to see it again. It would haunt his nightmares for years to come. He was never letting his stupid Canadian out of his sight ever again.)

“Hollander. Hollander. Shane. Shane. Любовь. Детка. Please, open your eyes, da?” Ilya leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Shane’s. He noticed with despair that the skin was colder than he had ever felt it.

(Distantly, Ilya managed to process the sound of people talking. Of a medic coming onto the ice, of the fact that both teams had formed a protective circle around him and Shane, blocking anyone in the audience from seeing anything at all. He would deal with all of that later, would deal with his stupid fucking brother later, really, Ilya could care less, his family was with Shane and Yuna and David and Anya and the thought of losing that sent him panicking more than he would ever care to admit.)

Shane’s eyes fluttered open, just barely. Ilya could’ve cried with relief. The medic allowed him to continue holding onto Shane as they checked his pulse.

“Ilya? What’re you…we were playing a game, weren’t we? Did I win?” Shane slurred, blinking rapidly as he tried to process what was going on.

Ilya barked out a cold, harsh laugh, shutting his eyes and kissing Shane’s forehead.

“Of course you ask that. Idiot. Game is paused because you decided to give me heart attack, Hollander. You cannot do this to me. Never again.”

Before Shane had the response, the medic turned to Ilya and Shane and started talking.

“We’re going to get you off the ice and to the hospital. You’re pulse is a little too slow for my liking, and you’re most certainly dehydrated.”

Ilya turned to face the two teams that were surrounding them, searching the faces before locking eyes with Hayden Pike.

(As much as Ilya pretended to dislike Hayden, he considered him a good friend of Shane’s, and most importantly he trusted him to take care of things. He was one of the first people outside of Yuna and David who knew about Ilya and Shane.)

Hayden’s face was pinched with a mix of worry and understanding.

“I am going with him. Game is done.” Ilya said. He helped the medic get Shane up, who looked dazed and out of it and seconds away from passing out again.

Hayden nodded. Before he skated off the ice, he heard Hayden call out to him.

“Take care of him, please?”

Stoic expression on his face, Ilya nodded.

“Da. I always do.”

—

Shane awoke to loud beeping.

Consciousness came slowly, and with a groginess that only really happened after deep naps or a concussion. Eyes fluttering, Shane forced himself to open them, almost immediately shutting them once again after bright light invaded his senses.

The light was dimmed. Shane forced himself to tune in to the fact that someone was here, next to him, and where even was here-?

Reality slammed into him, and Shane bolted to sit upright, eyes flying open.

The game. Passing out. Ilya. Everyone surrounding them while Ilya stared at Shane with worry and fear in his eyes and cupped his cheek like he was something precious, everyone seeing. It didn’t make Shane panic nearly as much as it should have. What made him panic more was the idea of Ilya knowing about how fucked up he was, leaving him for someone easier and prettier and better.

Said man was next to him, eyeing him worriedly with a cup of water in one hand, ready to offer it to Shane. He was in a hospital room, he realized. He glanced around. He had an IV in his arm, the feeling uncomfortable but not unfamiliar.

Exhaling, he leaned his back against the pillow.

“Here. Drink.”

The commanding, gentle tone Ilya took on was the kind that made Shane instantly do anything he said. Avoiding Ilya’s gaze, he drank. The water felt cold and refreshing on his throat.

“What-” Shane coughed once. “What happened?” He asked meekly. Guiltily. Because a deep part of him already knew what happened before Ilya even had to say anything. It was humiliating.

Ilya let out a little hum, gently taking the cup back from Shane. He continued to stare at him with a nauseating mixture of care and concern, it made Shane want to choke because he didn’t deserve it-

“You passed out on ice after getting checked into the boards. You did not look good all game.”

Shane raised an eyebrow at Ilya.

“Are you saying you think I’m ugly?”

The joke didn’t land. Ilya leaned forwards, frowning, cupping Shane’s face in his hands. They were warm. Like this, Shane could faintly smell the scent of nicotine and fresh pine. Ilya always smoked when he was nervous, Shane absently remembered.

“Hollander. You have lost weight. Doctor said you are dehydrated and lacking nutrients, that you have low blood sugar. Please, Shane. You cannot do that to me ever again. Please, talk to me. What is going on?”

The sheer desperation and worry in Ilya’s tone caused tears to start to gather in Shane’s eyes. He forced himself to look away, humiliation coloring his cheeks as he tried to blink away tears.

“I-”

His voice broke, and the tears started to fall. Instead of trying to continue to speak, he buried his head in Ilya’s shoulder.

Immediately, a hand came up to softly pet at his hair while the other gently held his back. The touch was so tender Shane nearly couldn’t handle it.

“You know how I get about…um, food, I guess? Ever since I was younger I’ve been really aware of how I look and, I guess, um, what I put in my body. And I noticed at the last weigh in I gained weight, its the most I’ve ever weighed in my life.”

It was like a dam had broken. Once Shane started, he couldn’t stop. The word vomit would be sure to haunt his memories later on, how awkward he sounded talking while crying, how the room was so quiet except for the beeping of a heart monitor and Ilya’s quiet breathing.

“And I started thinking about the food I’ve been eating. And how I sort of stopped keeping track of how much exercise I was doing and what I was eating, and from there I sort of spiralled because I hate not being in control, you know how much I hate not being in control-”

Shane’s breathing started to pick up, short breaths that made his chest ache. He could hear the beeping on the heart monitor get faster.

“Shane. Breathe for me, yes? You are doing so good. So good for me, like always.” Ilya’s voice cut through the panic. Shane focused on the hand pressing a little harder on his back, on the fingers curling through his hair.

He breathed.

“I’m okay. I’m-I’m okay.”

And he felt like he was half speaking the truth for once, because Ilya was here and holding him and Shane always felt a little bit more safe and okay and normal in Ilya’s arms.

“Hollander. Shane. You know I love you no matter how you look, ok? Nothing you do could ever make me stop loving you. Is not possible.”

The words were like gauze on a wound Shane didn’t even know he had. It had been peeled back, deep and festering and infected for so long Shane had nearly forgotten it was even there.

“I-I know. It’s just hard, sometimes. It’s not you, it’s me thats the problem. With my stupid brain, I just get these thoughts, and it doesn’t stop. I get the urge to eat and eat and eat and then after I cry and hate myself and throw up and eat nothing for days. I love it, sometimes, because it means I’m in control, and I want to look good for you.”

There was silence in the room for a moment as Ilya processed Shane’s words.

“Shane. I think you maybe have-what is it called in English? расстройство пищевого поведения?” Ilya forced himself to think deeply for a moment, trying to remember the words the article he’d read used way back when he’d noticed Shane’s food issues. It came to him suddenly and he clicked his tongue.

“Eating disorder. I think…I think you need help.”

Shane stayed quiet for a moment, sniffling into Ilya’s shirt. There it was. The elephant in the room. The words Shane refused to admit to himself, even as he set timers for twenty four hour fasts and as he weighed each slice of bread on a food scale to ensure he was eating the lightest one.

There was no denying it. He couldn’t.

“I think you’re right.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth, like admitting defeat. Like maybe he didn’t even deserve to say them, because people with real eating disorders were underweight, you could see their bones sticking out, they didn’t constantly crave food like Shane did.

Ilya pulled Shane back. He kissed Shane’s forehead gently.

“I will be here, with you. Every step. Like you were with me.”

Shane exhaled.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll-I can ask for a month or two off and we can figure out what to tell everyone, and I’ll ask the doctor for who I should go to for…help.”

The fear and disgust that came with asking for help was nearly fully eclipsed by the sheer relief that painted Ilya’s face. Shane knew that he had been scared for Ilya when he found out the other man was depressed, when Ilya had first broken down in front of Shane.

He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Ilya to see him drop on the ice like that for the second time in their relationship. The thought of hurting Ilya hurt Shane more than the pain that came with admitting defeat.

Ilya surged forwards, kissing Shane. It was deep and sensual and Shane could feel the sheer relief and love in the gesture. He allowed himself to sink into the kiss.

After a few seconds they pulled away. Ilya pinched Shane’s arm.

“Ow! What’s that for, Rozanov?” Shane yelped, glaring at the other man. His voice was weak and still trembling from the drying tears on his face.

“You gave me a fucking heart attack, Hollander. I will get grey hair at this rate. Is not flattering.”

Shane batted his eyes at Ilya. It had been a full month since they’d been with each other, and despite the seriousness of the situation, the kiss they’d shared had Shane feeling a little hot and bothered.

“I’ll make it up to you, promise. Tomorrow you can cook for me and we can spend the whole day in bed, and I can even wear the lingerie I bought with Rose-”

Ilya choked on his own spit, swallowing back a groan.

“You will be the death of me. What color?”

A deep blush spread over Shane’s cheeks as he glanced away, fingers playing with the thin hospital bedsheets.

“Yellow and black.”

Ilya’s teams colors. Ilya muttered a curse in Russian under his breath.

“Fuck. Fuck. You are mine. I do not know how you could ever not know, Shane, how beautiful I find you. I think everything you do is attractive. You are my whole heart. Whole universe, even. Ok? I love you, stupid boring Canadian who gives me biggest scare of my fucking life. You are worth everything”

A soft smile started to rise onto Shane’s face. The pure emotion in Ilya’s voice washed over Shane, pushing away every bad thought that even threatened to enter his mind in that moment.

“I think I’m starting to get that.”

(It would be a long and hard road. Dealing with his team, dealing with Ilya’s team, dealing with his parents and the media and the public at large. But it felt…doable, easy, even, if Ilya was by his side the whole time.

He felt like maybe, for once in his life, things would be okay if let someone else take control for a little bit.)

End Notes

erm i have a twt now if anyone wants to interact w me on there ! :D its just @hadley567 Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!