Work Text:
Ilya Rozanov was tired. The bone-deep, crushing tiredness that lives in your bones. The one that is forgotten about until he comes back from practice with the Centaurs, and suddenly feels all at once. The exclamation that seems unshakable, taking the motivation away from the most basic and common things. The tiredness that creeps in, that changes who you think you are. It's not the first time he's felt like this, but it's been years. Years.
He can still think of all the times when the world felt like too much. Where giving up is safer, easier than facing what lies ahead.
Ottawa was quiet. The only noise in his house should have just been Shane's light snoring. (That he denied he did) Ilya should have been beside his boyfriend, his boyfriend —in private— he thought, sound asleep.
But he was here instead. Staring outside the window of his house, watching the few cars that were outside at this ungodly hour make their way through the snow-covered roads.
He wasn't unhappy; it was the tiredness, the exhaustion that felt inescapable.
There's no reason for me to be like this.
Ilya knows he has it good, better than his younger self would have ever expected. He has Yuna and David, who know about him and Shane. He's won cups—as was expected—he has a great team—not good enough to win any games—and he has Shane.
His Shane.
Shane, who loves him dearly.
All of this didn't change the fact that Ilya was standing at the window, his forehead resting on the glass. Lost in thought.
---------
He remembers another time he felt like this, on a rooftop in Vegas, after Shane had stormed off.
He remembers looking down, hooking one leg over the side of the railing, and wondering if being too drunk and tripping was a believable way to go out when Scott Hunter, that dinosaur, came out of the doors Shane left through.
"Rozanov, do me a favour and won't you get off that roof?"
“You’re being dramatic,” a voice in his head whispered. "Now Scott Hunter knows you're weak."
Ilya closed his eyes; the voice in his head sounded too much like his father.
Pathetic.
Weak.
Lazy.
He was ready to leave that night.
"Rozanov, come down now."
He did in the end and threatened the old fossil to keep his mouth shut. After all he is Russian.
-----------
Ilya opened his eyes and shook himself from the memory. Hunter wasn't here now to stop him.
The latch to the sliding door clicked softly as he slid it open, and he felt the cold air hit his skin.
Ilya stepped onto the narrow balcony.
The metal railing bit into his palms as he leaned forward slightly.
The balcony wasn't high up, but he wondered if it would do the trick.
He turned back around. Somewhere behind him, Shane slept in the bedroom down the hall. Or maybe he wasn’t sleeping. Shane never really slept when they were hiding like this.
Ilya looked back down.
The snow looked soft and fluffy from here.
He wondered if it was.
--------
You think they'd forgive you?
Ilya laughed at that thought.
They would be angry, of course, they would, but it would be better in the long run. He hardly sees Svetlana anymore, the one piece of home he has left. She would be sad, but understanding, and would move on. After all, she has a life for herself, and Ilya doesn't fit into it. She knows about Irina, her struggles, and her accident. Ilya's death would just be another one.
Alexei would probably throw a celebration in Russia. He's Ilya's next of kin, so he would inherit the money.
He'd snort and drink it all away
Maybe he should make sure to tell someone that the money is to go to his niece. He would pay to see Alexei's face when he realizes he can't blow the money.
Ilya hadn't been strong enough for this family; he wasn't there. His mother’s face flashed through his mind, tired eyes, warm hands, the way she’d always worried about him. He was at practice when his mother finally made her choice. He should have worried more.
Done more.
If he'd been there...
When his father needed him, where had he been?
Across the ocean, playing hockey. He was never good enough for his family. They didn't need his forgiveness; he needed theirs.
The Centaurs would be wrecked. Ilya is proud to say he made some friends on that team, even Troy. Who would have thought they would bond as much as they had? Troy was his Hayden, someone to trust, to confide in. Troy knew about his depression, his sickness. He hoped that Barrett wouldn't be too pissed when he found out. They would rebuild, after all, that's what Ilya was doing there anyway.
Yuna and David would be heartbroken, mourning the loss of somebody who would have joined their family one day. Someone whom Shane had loved wholeheartedly. They'd mourn, but would move on to help Shane move on, too.
And Shane?
Would Shane forgive him?
He could imagine Shane's voice beside him, "You’re scaring us and all of us, some of us love you."
Shane would be heartbroken, grief-stricken, and completely closed off. Wouldn't talk about it with anyone, since how could he? Only his parents know about him. Ilya knows Shane would channel all the emotions into hockey and training. It would be better for him. No more hiding, he wouldn't have to come out, he'd be safe. Shane would mourn and cry, but wouldn't break. He wonders if he would tell anyone? Would anyone know their story?
-------
Ilya knew he was loved.
It's not much, but it's proof
Knowing that didn't matter right now.
All that mattered right now was his grip on the railing, getting tighter.
The thoughts running through his head that wouldn't stop.
---------
Redemption lies plainly in truth
He was sick of the hiding, of the secrecy. He loved Hollander with all of himself, but it was killing him. All Ilya wants to do is go out for dinner with his boyfriend, sit across the table, and talk like normal couples.
Is there redemption for you? The voice inside questioned. You left everyone.
Your mother, father, and brother.
Boston, Marly, Svetlana.
He chose hockey and survival every time. Should there even be redemption for him? Maybe people are right to hate him.
-----
Just humor us, Rozy, Rozy, come down
Ilya was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the balcony door slide open softly.
"Ilya?"
He froze.
That was Shane. His Shane.
Seeing him like this.
Shane's voice was rough and low; he probably rolled out of bed and noticed something was wrong. He always did when it came to Ilya.
“Ilya,” Shane said again, more sharply now.
Ilya didn’t turn around.
“Go back inside.”
Shane paused at the obvious dismissal. But this was Ilya, the one who calmed him down from panic attacks and meltdowns. He wasn't backing down.
"No."
He slowly approached Ilya.
-----
"You should go, it's cold outside."
Shane ignored that and the irony behind it.
"Ilya, you're freezing."
"I'm Russian. We do not get cold."
Shane rolled his eyes.
"I'm cold, can we go inside?"
"Yes, Hollander, you're cold because you're only wearing boxers and socks, go inside."
"Ilya."
"Shane, please, go inside. I'm broken, I'm weighing you down, stopping you from winning more cups, from being happy, go inside, you shouldn't have to see this."
Shane moved in closer after hearing that. "Ilya, no one is weightless, nor whole and unbroken. Get off the railing, and we can talk. Please."
"I'm not on the railing, I'm just— admiring the view."
“You’re thinking about it.”
Shane took another step so he's safely next to Ilya on the railing. Ilya continued to stare down at the snow, not making eye contact during the whole exchange.
----
It was silent for a bit after that. Shane was trying to let Ilya make the first move.
He didn't; he was waiting for him outside.
Shane spoke first.
"Remember when we were about 20, and we made our little deal?"
"Da Hollander, it was that we'd follow eachother, no matter where."
Remember the pact of our youth
"Exactly, where you go, I'm going, so jump, and I'm jumping."
Ilya turned around sharply at that, finally looking Shane in the eyes.
"What?"
"Where you go, I go." Shane paused. "Just not to the Raiders."
"You are a stupid Canadian."
--------
"Ilya, listen to me." Shane's tone took a serious edge. "Our whole careers, even longer, it's been Hollander and Rozanov. Most of our lives, it's been you and me. You're my other half, Rozy, and there's no me without you."
Shane sniffled; his emotions were getting the better of him. Not now. He thinks. He really hopes Ilya is listening.
The voice in Ilya's head grew louder. Look at him, so kind and pure, untainted by your sins.
All you want is sympathy.
You want applause.
Ilya squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears from coming out. He tilted his head to the sky.
Shane watched him. "Ilya. Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone," He pleaded, "Talk to me."
"No."
------
Rozanov, Rozanov, Rozanov, jump now
The voice in his head grew louder.
See, you're hurting him.
Ilya shifted.
Jump.
Don't ruin him.
His heart was pounding.
Jump
He gripped the railing harder, to stop him or help him, he didn't know.
You're useless anyway.
"Shut up," Ilya whispered.
“What?” Shane's eyebrow raised.
“Not you.”
Shane’s hand slowly closed around Ilya’s wrist. He couldn't stand here anymore watching the love of his life fight himself on whether he should live or die. He would pull him back if he had to.
-----
Ilya, just put down the bottle. Don't listen to what you've consumed
“You’re listening to the wrong voice,” Shane said.
Ilya’s breath shook. How did he know?
“What voice?”
“The one telling you you’re worthless. The one who is saying I'm better off without you. That anyone is better off without you.”
“That voice is correct.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No."
Shane gripped Ilya's wrist, tightened. He gently pulled his wrist towards himself.
-----
"I know that you may feel no purposefor existing. And there may not be meaning, so find one and seize it." Shane brought Ilya closer and continued, "I know hockey was an escape for you, and you think it and your life are meaningless."
Damn him for knowing me so well, Ilya thought
"But you are so much to me, Ilya. You bring out the best in me, you make me push myself to be my best, you give me something to look forward to, on and off the ice, without you, I don't know who I'd be."
Ilya was crying now; he wasn't ashamed to admit it. He loved this man so much.
"You somehow are loved by half of the league for being an annoying russian pain in the ass. Hayden would kill me if I told you this, but he finds you funny. So don't you dare think you are worthless or meaningless, Ilya. I can't lose you. My parents can't lose you. My mom loves having you around and watching your games, and my dad needs someone to do puzzles with. Most importantly, I love you, and that will never change. And we are going to retire together and get married. I want to figure out life after that with one person only, with you."
-----
How the most dangerous thing is to love
"Ya tebya lyublyu, Shane, I love you so much."
Love.
Love means loss and risks.
It means vulnerability and strength
It means not letting go and clinging to the last ray of hope.
You have to hold on when it's dark and be the guiding light for each other.
To be deeply loved means a willingness to cut yourself wide open, exposing your hopes, hurts, fears, and flaws. There is nothing more terrifying or fulfilling than complete love.