Work Text:
Shane has never liked Valentine’s Day. Hayden insists it’s because he was always single when the date rolled around, but Shane knows better than to fall for his friend’s provocation. He usually just ignores him.
Still, this year is different.
It’s the first Valentine’s Day he’s openly living as Ilya’s partner—no hiding, no careful distance, no pretending they’re “just friends.” So maybe it’s worth giving the day a real chance. Maybe there really is something magical about it, like everyone insists.
Shane wakes up early, as he always does, before the alarm even goes off. The room is still dim, pale winter light barely creeping past the curtains. Ilya is asleep beside him, sprawled across half the bed, one arm thrown lazily over Shane’s waist.
Carefully, Shane slips out from under it.
His mornings are sacred. Structured. Predictable.
He starts with stretching on the bedroom floor—slow neck rolls, shoulder mobility work, careful hamstring stretches. Years of professional hockey have taught him that skipping mobility is a mistake, and retirement hasn’t erased that discipline. He moves through each exercise deliberately, breathing evenly.
After that, he heads to the kitchen and drinks a full glass of water before grinding fresh coffee beans. The smell fills the apartment as he prepares a simple breakfast—eggs, toast, some fruit. Nothing extravagant. Fuel, not indulgence.
While the coffee brews, he checks his emails and the news briefly on his tablet, skimming headlines without letting himself get pulled in. He prefers the quiet before the world fully wakes up.
Then it’s a quick workout in the home gym—nothing too intense, just maintenance. Light weights, core work, a short session on the stationary bike. He times it. Always.
Shower next. Hot, steady water. Five minutes. No more.
Shane moves quietly through the kitchen, already fully dressed, hair still slightly damp from the shower. He checks the time—perfect.
If he’s going to do Valentine’s Day, he’s going to do it properly.
He starts with Ilya’s favorite: a tuna melt. He mixes the tuna carefully, adds just enough seasoning, spreads it generously over thick slices of bread, layers the cheese, and grills it until the top is perfectly golden and the edges crisp. He cuts it diagonally—because Ilya insists it tastes better that way.
He places it on a tray, adds a small bowl of fruit on the side, and, after a second of hesitation, places a few pieces of dark chocolate next to it.
Then he grabs the flowers he bought the day before. Nothing extravagant—just simple, fresh blooms. He trims the stems slightly and arranges them in a small vase so they look effortless but cozy. Domestic. Warm.
He adjusts the placement twice.
Satisfied, he places everything neatly on the tray.
At the very end, he pulls out a small folded card.
Handwritten.
In Russian.
His accent might be terrible, but his handwriting is careful and deliberate. The message is simple:
Я люблю тебя.
(I love you.)
He places the card on top of the tray where Ilya won’t miss it.
Taking a slow breath, Shane carries everything to the bedroom.
The room is still dim, Ilya sprawled across the bed exactly the way he left him. Shane sets the tray carefully on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the mattress.
“Ilya,” he says softly.
No response.
He leans closer, brushing a hand gently through his husband’s hair.
“Hey… wake up.”
Ilya stirs, frowning slightly before cracking one eye open.
“Shane?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Ilya blinks a few times, then finally notices the tray.
The sandwich. The flowers. The chocolate.
And the card.
He sits up slowly, confusion turning into something softer as he picks up the handwritten note.
His eyes scan the Russian words.
Then he looks at Shane.
“You wrote this?” he asks quietly as a proud smile blooms on his lips.
Shane shrugs, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “Don’t judge my spelling. I tried my best”.
Ilya doesn’t say anything at first. He just pulls Shane down into a kiss. Slow. Warm. Certain.
“Best Valentine’s Day already,” Ilya murmurs against his lips.
“It’s the first of many”, Shane promises.