[ The car ride is mostly silent, but it's pretty much what he'd expected. There's a quiet sort of solace to things as the scenery floats by. Moments in the ride where he'd simply reached out to touch Shane in an attempt to serve as a solid, real reminder that he's here. He's not going anywhere. Shane seems to sit in the acceptance in a way that Ilya can't quite fathom, but in a strange way that's nice, too. He doesn't have to think about it. He just has to be there for Shane.
The worry, the nerves, the reality--that will come. That will wash over them like the waves on the cottage lake where they're returning to, and they will deal with it. They, a singular entity despite being two people. Shane and Ilya. Ilya and Shane.
Ilya reaches over a second time, this time to place a strong hand on the small of Shane's neck, index and middle finger applying a gentle pressure to half-massage the base of his skull while the car turns from paved highway to a gravel lined road. There's a metaphor there maybe, something he doesn't care to dwell on. Poetry and metaphor and all of that junk have never been his strong suit, only hockey. ]
You will be okay.
[ He breaks the silence with a sincere comment that sounds more like an order solely because of his tone and accent: when they get back, Shane needs to relax. Simple. Straightforward. ]
We will drink more. You can tell me more about the charity. We can watch the sunset, and make a fire. It will be okay.
I'M SORRY I TOOK SO LONGGG sentenced to cuck chair jail
[ How does he always seem to know what Shane is thinking these days? It startles him out of his thoughts, out of the abyss in his head where he's wondering how in the hell today even happened, how all his secrets had come out at once and the world hadn't ended, but... here they are. Nearly back home again and with Ilya fishing him out of his potential spiral with just one touch on the back of his neck.
The smile Shane shoots him is helpless, all too honest. He feels impossibly raw and relaxed, two things that don't seem to go together but the pressure of Ilya's hand is grounding. At this point it's nearly all that's keeping the car on the road. ]
You trying to get me drunk?
[ Even to Shane, the thought doesn't sound bad. He doesn't know if he'll ever sleep otherwise, if he's being honest with himself. Maybe tonight's the night he drinks like the playboy Ilya Rozanov and they'll see what happens. ]
I know. I know, I do. It went... god, I don't know, as best as it could have, I guess? Fucking... considering.
[ Even now the memory of seeing Ilya look past him, over his shoulder, only for his face to change at the sight of David Hollander, sends ice water through Shane's veins. Considering that, yeah. Yeah, everything had gone alright. Panic attacks notwithstanding. ]
I am pulling up their email right now. Shane Hollander hates immigrants who speak bad English.( like his English isn't bad because he thinks it's a stupid language and particles are a waste of effort. )
[ But he's smiling like an idiot. He can't help it. ]
I mean your English is bad but that's not why I hate you.
[ The photo Ilya gets a minute later is of Shane, swallowed up in the sheets and blankets of his bed, wearing the sweater with bare thighs showing at the bottom of the frame. His face is mostly cropped out at this angle. He's clearly only wearing his briefs underneath, if anything, but there's something distinctly non-sexual about the way it's been taken.
Shane just did as he was told and took at picture of the sweater. He just also happened to still be in bed. ]
I know it is because I will always be better player than you statistically.
( because he was ahead in goals scored last season and is sure he would have been if Shane hadn't been plowed into by Marleau.
then he gets the photo and he forgets about anything else. there's Shane, wearing his hoodie, and Ilya misses him. he reaches out, runs his fingers over the phone screen as if he can caress Shane's jaw through it. it's been a week since he's returned to Boston and for the first time since he moved, the city that has become his city doesn't feel complete.
Ilya swallows the tightness in his throat away. )I have second request.
[ But there's a pause after he sends the photo and Shane waits through it impatiently, on the edge of fidgeting, acutely aware of how much the space around him is lacking Ilya as the chat bubble hovers. ]
( even though theyβd made plans for Christmas, New Year, and Russian New Yearβ¦ this feels like a big milestone for them as a couple: )The week of 2/12, neither of us have games until Friday
[ Even more now. He starts to type I wish we could go out somewhere but he deletes it just as fast. He doesn't want to do that to either of them right now.
Not when he's practically high off of the implication of Ilya's first year promise. ]
[ Breaking his diet is always a little uncomfortable for him but he feels almost giddy every time Ilya offers to cook. It reminds him of when he'd felt it the first time; Ilya trying to make a space for him in his life. As terrifying as it had been then, it's exciting now. It makes Shane feel like he's falling in the best way. ]
I like being outside when I am warm like Miami. But for you, I will do anything and venture outside in parka temperatures like uncivilized American person
Oh, they're awesome. I had them a few times as a kid. They're basically a heart attack on a plate, fried dough and powdered sugar. There's always a truck near ice rinks and ski hills.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
screw icons we die like men aka post reveal cottage shennanigans
The worry, the nerves, the reality--that will come. That will wash over them like the waves on the cottage lake where they're returning to, and they will deal with it. They, a singular entity despite being two people. Shane and Ilya. Ilya and Shane.
Ilya reaches over a second time, this time to place a strong hand on the small of Shane's neck, index and middle finger applying a gentle pressure to half-massage the base of his skull while the car turns from paved highway to a gravel lined road. There's a metaphor there maybe, something he doesn't care to dwell on. Poetry and metaphor and all of that junk have never been his strong suit, only hockey. ]
You will be okay.
[ He breaks the silence with a sincere comment that sounds more like an order solely because of his tone and accent: when they get back, Shane needs to relax. Simple. Straightforward. ]
We will drink more. You can tell me more about the charity. We can watch the sunset, and make a fire. It will be okay.
I'M SORRY I TOOK SO LONGGG sentenced to cuck chair jail
The smile Shane shoots him is helpless, all too honest. He feels impossibly raw and relaxed, two things that don't seem to go together but the pressure of Ilya's hand is grounding. At this point it's nearly all that's keeping the car on the road. ]
You trying to get me drunk?
[ Even to Shane, the thought doesn't sound bad. He doesn't know if he'll ever sleep otherwise, if he's being honest with himself. Maybe tonight's the night he drinks like the playboy Ilya Rozanov and they'll see what happens. ]
I know. I know, I do. It went... god, I don't know, as best as it could have, I guess? Fucking... considering.
[ Even now the memory of seeing Ilya look past him, over his shoulder, only for his face to change at the sight of David Hollander, sends ice water through Shane's veins. Considering that, yeah. Yeah, everything had gone alright. Panic attacks notwithstanding. ]
text | post-cottage
The Raiders one from two years ago?
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I thought you left it for me?
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Right now.
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It still smells like you.
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You can keep it for a picture.
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...What kind of picture?
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Shane Hollander hates immigrants who speak bad English. ( like his English isn't bad because he thinks it's a stupid language and particles are a waste of effort. )
Just you wearing it.
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[ But he's smiling like an idiot. He can't help it. ]
I mean your English is bad but that's not why I hate you.
[ The photo Ilya gets a minute later is of Shane, swallowed up in the sheets and blankets of his bed, wearing the sweater with bare thighs showing at the bottom of the frame. His face is mostly cropped out at this angle. He's clearly only wearing his briefs underneath, if anything, but there's something distinctly non-sexual about the way it's been taken.
Shane just did as he was told and took at picture of the sweater. He just also happened to still be in bed. ]
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( because he was ahead in goals scored last season and is sure he would have been if Shane hadn't been plowed into by Marleau.
then he gets the photo and he forgets about anything else. there's Shane, wearing his hoodie, and Ilya misses him. he reaches out, runs his fingers over the phone screen as if he can caress Shane's jaw through it. it's been a week since he's returned to Boston and for the first time since he moved, the city that has become his city doesn't feel complete.
Ilya swallows the tightness in his throat away. ) I have second request.
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Count the cups.
[ But there's a pause after he sends the photo and Shane waits through it impatiently, on the edge of fidgeting, acutely aware of how much the space around him is lacking Ilya as the chat bubble hovers. ]
Yeah? What is it?
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I want to see hoodie and freckles.
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This is not asking nicely!
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Please? π₯Ί
π
β text
I could come to Montreal
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[ Forgive the absolutely idiotic response, his heart just skipped several beats and is now sprinting to catch up. ]
I mean, yeah. I'll be here.
Is there something you want to do?
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You are not going on wild Valentineβs Day vacation with someone else?
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Not this year.
[ It's funny because it's him, right? Shane has never celebrated a Valentine's properly in his life. ]
You really want to come? For that?
We don't have to do anything.
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I want to see you.
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[ Even more now. He starts to type I wish we could go out somewhere but he deletes it just as fast. He doesn't want to do that to either of them right now.
Not when he's practically high off of the implication of Ilya's first year promise. ]
How small?
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Like a date out but date in?
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[ A challenge, one he wants Ilya to rise to. But once he's said that he needs to come up with a better idea. ]
Bring the parka you never remember to pack.
I know it takes up a lot of room.
You'll need it.
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( heβll bring the parka but this is very suspicious!!! )
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[ Maybe it's the way Ilya used the term love making and somehow didn't gross Shane out that made him able to actually send that text. ]
You can't actually freeze them off anyway, it doesn't work that way.
1/2
2/2
I will go on parka wearing cold activity if you leave dinner to me and break diet for one night.
( this is actually very negotiable. )
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[ Breaking his diet is always a little uncomfortable for him but he feels almost giddy every time Ilya offers to cook. It reminds him of when he'd felt it the first time; Ilya trying to make a space for him in his life. As terrifying as it had been then, it's exciting now. It makes Shane feel like he's falling in the best way. ]
Not vodka, though. It gives me a headache.
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Do you want to see the menu when I decide?
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No, I trust you. Since you're trusting me.
After all I know you don't like being outside. π
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I like being outside when I am warm like Miami. But for you, I will do anything and venture outside in parka temperatures like uncivilized American person
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Canadian, Ilya.
You're going to be Canadian one day. Better remember it.
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Is Canada not part of North America, Shane?
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Already failed your first citizenship test, Rozanov.
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Maybe its time to question education system, no?
Oh? Sorry!
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I need you here so you better shape up.
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Maybe I need a teacher.
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You know I'll teach you. Anything you want to know.
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Explain to me beaver tails.
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Oh, they're awesome. I had them a few times as a kid. They're basically a heart attack on a plate, fried dough and powdered sugar. There's always a truck near ice rinks and ski hills.
I think I'd throw up if I had one now.
[ Definitely not part of a macrobiotic diet. ]