Work Text:
Shane stares at the contact name. Again.
He tilts his head as he buries himself in the couch and the cursor seems to be mocking him by now. Maybe yelling text something or turn it off. His thumbs hover on the keyboard, but his eyes catch the date again. Harsh and unblinking, 11 February.
The last text exchange between them was a week before, predictably sexting, of course. It's been a month since he has seen Rozanov.
He pulls the blanket closer, reminding himself there have been times where he has gone more than six months straight without seeing Ilya. When schedules are hectic, one month is basically nothing in front of that.
But this time, it's different.
Well, kind of, he supposes. They're dating now. Exclusive. Boyfriends, he smiles remembering Ilya's words.
Still, it shouldn't be that different, if it isn't for the dates that now personally offended him or maybe it is the loneliness he's feeling.
Shane sighs, quite audibly and it echoes in the empty house. He has nothing and everything to say to this chat that is still open in front of him, the name Lily taking over the screen.
His phone buzzes but unfortunately it isn't Lily, but he closes the chat regardless. Opening the incoming message from Rose instead.
Rose:
how tf do you manage long distance so easily
Shane:
Hi to you too.
Rose:
i miss sveta :( it's valentine's!!!!!
Shane:
You can just go visit her.
Rose:
I WANT TO. but there will be paps on the airport. i need, like, a mysterious flight. And my manager isn't willing to book it.
fortunately for me, my bestfriend is someone who might know a thing or two about mysterious flights or jets ;)
Shane:
?
Rose:
SHANE.
Shane:
fine.
I’ll book a flight for you. And send you timings. Go discreetly. And do not get into a fight in the airport.
Rose:
THAT WAS ONE TIME?
Shane:
yeah.
Rose:
do you want to come with me?
Shane:
I have a match in four days.
Rose:
on 15?
Shane:
yeah.
Rose:
ouch.
what about valentine's?
dont you miss ilya?
Shane:
It's fine.
I've been away for more.
Rose:
thats not helping.
and it's valentine's :(
you'll be alone for valentine's
do you want me to stay with you?
Shane:
nope.
sending you flight details now.
Rose:
i love you.
i wish you could come with me.
double date and all.
Shane:
Have fun, Rose!
love you too.
Shane is aware he might be pouting a little. But if no one sees it, that just means it didn't happen. Probably. Hopefully.
Rose proceeds to ask him which flower—out of at least six bouquets—should she take to Russia. It's romantic, expectedly, Rose is always the one with sunshine and romance in her pockets. Ready to act on it or ask for it if needed.
It's cute. That lately, Rose has been happier than ever with Svetlana on face time almost always unless they're in the same city.
It's cute and no, Shane is not missing out.
He is not.
Really.
It's not like they do this kind of thing. Valentine's or whatever. They never do, especially before this boyfriend tag. Shane can survive without anything.
He will survive without anything. Have fun too, alone in his room, the ideal kind of fun.
His phone buzzes in his palm while he's fidgeting with the TV remote. It's not Lily.
It's not that he expects anything. It's that he wants to expect something—
—No. He is not going down that rabbit hole today.
It's Rose again, this time with several chocolates and bouquets in her hand. He sighs, opening his private socials instead of replying.
Practice is tomorrow, for now, he scrolls mindlessly over the sad and pathetic but really funny posts for almost midnight.
Definitely not thinking of Ilya Rozanov while he falls asleep mid scroll on the couch with the phone screen lit up with the picture of a sad cat that he liked a few minutes ago.
He'll be fine.
—
Ilya lays in the bed, his eyes focused on the boring hockey documentary that he would not admit he likes watching to anyone.
Then, Shane Hollander graces the screen, with his stupidly perfect freckles and stupidly perfect face. He is talking about some goals he missed instead of the ones he scored with an adorable pout of those soft lips that Ilya can never get bored of.
He wonders what Hollander's doing right now, aware that the timezones are not similar enough to pinpoint. Even if his Canadian schedule is perfectly curated with space for everything.
Space that Ilya wants to take up without regrets.
The thought is disturbed when Svetlana barges in, without knocking mind you, looking far too happy for eight in the morning.
“Ilya.” She grins. “Rose is on a flight to Moscow right now!” She exclaims, the Russian sounding too soft and excited in her voice.
Ilya frowns, “Why?”
She looks too lost in thoughts, perhaps of Rose Landry, to look offended but she scoffs nonetheless. “Because Valentine's? In two days?”
Ilya lets out a low oh as he shifts his attention to Shane speaking on the screen. Now, with a smile on his lips that makes Ilya unconsciously warm.
“Ah. I need to prepare, I’m going to decorate this house. Where is the number of the party organiser you used after your father's funeral?” She frowns, thinking hard and he raises his eyebrows at the casual mention of his dead father.
He rolls his eyes at her antics, “You're throwing a party in my house for Rose Landry?”
“No. I'm going to decorate your house for Rose Landry. Only me and her.” She winks, perfect Russian flowing out of her mouth as she plops down in the bed beside him.
“You won't be here on Valentine's.”
Ilya drops his fond smile, “It's my house.”
“Which you will leave in two days, for at least a day or two.” Svetlana sighs. “Don't you have plans for the 14th too?”
Ilya shakes his head, “We don't do that.”
Svetlana blinks, “You don't?”
“No.”
“But what about dates? Chocolates? Sex?”
“I am leaving.”
Ilya gets up, turning off the television and hyper aware of the fact he is running out of his own bedroom that is now occupied by Svetlana who calls her girlfriend again.
He takes his phone out as he sits on the kitchen counter with a fresh beer can untouched and freezing in his hand. He opens his chat with Jane.
No new messages, he knows why too. Shane has a match against some rookie team on the 15th, happening in Toronto. Obviously, he is busy.
Ilya is too.
Just not in the way Svetlana is.
He hears her yelling to some organizers in the background. Putting on his airpods, he tunes out the noise. Opening his socials to distract himself.
It turns out, he really can't escape his thoughts about a certain freckled Canadian even when he tries to. The first reel he comes across is unmistakenly marked ‘Liked by NotShaneHollanderTheHockeyPlayer’
Ilya blinks, staring at the username of Shane's private account moving at the side of the video, the account that only a handful of people know about. Rose, Hayden, J.J., Svetlana and Ilya. Maybe his parents, that too, maybe.
If Ilya had any restraint or common sense or self control, he would have scrolled past this. But he is a weak, weak man when it comes to Hollander, so there is no other option than to turn his attention to the text highlighted on the video.
*Valentine's is just another weekend with a good PR.*
Ilya agrees too. He is happy Shane thinks so too, except—
—except, the text above is a picture of a sad cat with a wine glass near him.
Ilya blinks at his screen, wondering if he stares hard enough he will figure out the meaning of this. It does not work and he finds himself opening the private account and scrolling down on its likes.
Shane never likes any nonsensical or random memes, even the ones Ilya sends him on the sole purpose to tease him. But his eyes widen at the four newly liked videos lining up on Shane's private account.
He opens them and it is embarrassing, the speed he clicks on the little squared posts that are adorned by the tag Liked by Hollander.
*Buying myself flowers and chocolate. #independent (or whatever.*
Ilya rolls his eyes, more fond than exasperated.
But he knows they don't do Valentine's or anything like that. Or else, Shane would have texted him. Surely. They are boyfriends now, of course, Shane would have texted him. So, is fine.
He scrolls down, ignoring the curiosity rising like a firework in his chest.
The next post has a silly sad background music oozing off, as if the five pictures of cats screaming was not enough to pass the vibes. Ilya stares, and stares, at the text that greets him.
Turning the fireworks into glittery ashes everywhere.
*Who needs a forehead kiss instead of hot sex this valentine's? (I need both, lol, but I'm getting none.)*
Ilya frowns, a small downturn of his lips as he stares at the small floating profile picture of Shane alongside the text.
He closes the app and opens their chat instead.
Still nothing.
He remembers the last time they saw each other, 26 days ago, no he is not counting, and he also remembers their last chat that has no mention of this.
Is Shane expecting anything?
But why would he not text about it then?
Ilya closes the screen off, running a hand through his blond curls as he sets his beer down. The digital clock taunting him now, with the date 12 February unblinking and confusing.
This is not what they do. Ilya knows that much.
But, does Shane want to?
Ilya hops down the counter, debating whether to text the man or not, afraid he will cross some invisible line or make Shane feel bad.
Even though the posts are not helping this feeling. Not helping the fact that now all Ilya can think of is Shane sitting in his home alone on Valentine's. Not expecting anything, or worse, expecting something.
His mind strays to the post he has liked, possibly absentmindedly. But he did like it.
Forehead kisses and hot sex.
If Ilya was there in Toronto, he surely would have complied or chased that feeling. They would have joked about all the cheesy things while doing a part of it anyway.
But Ilya is not there. And Shane has not asked him.
Shane had done something much more effective and deeper. That is, putting this image of a sad cat that resembles him way too much who will sit alone in his room while everyone around seems to rave about Valentine's day.
Which is truly nothing but a weekend with good PR.
But he stands up, crossing the distance to his bedroom in four eager strides. Greeted by Svetlana drinking the chilled water—his chilled water—as a Canadian movie plays in the background.
“I'm leaving.” Ilya covers the movie with his frames, to which the girl grins happily.
“See, thank you. I promise not to destroy your house while you go and stay at a hotel around here for two days.” Svetlana does a mock gesture of bowing as she gets up, already calculating how long it will be before Rose arrives here.
“I'm leaving. For Toronto.”
Svetlana blinks. “Like Toronto, Canada?”
“Da.”
“What the fuck? Why?”
“I have….work there.” Ilya swallows, wincing dramatically as he throws his hands in the air when Svetlana bursts into a laugh.
“You're going for Jane. Did he call you?”
“No.”
“Aw, you miss him.” She smiles at him and it is the most I knew it thing he has ever seen in his life.
“No. I don't. He just—he liked some sad things.”
Svetlana looks at him like a deer caught in headlights, “You're going to Canada because Shane liked a few sad things casually on the internet.”
Now that she says it like that, he groans.
“No. I'm going because he is sad?”
—
Ilya sits in the flight a few hours later. A few very long hours spent with Svetlana who was half lecturing him simultaneously while arranging flowers everywhere in his house as well as promising he won't find them there when he comes back.
He leans against the leather seat and silence that fills the air, is unlike the silence he sometimes shares with Hollander, that one feels warm not cold. Comfortable and predicting and boring, and he loves boring when it comes to Shane.
But one thing—out of many—buzzes in his mind.
The same one that took over his google searches pathetically.
“Valentine activities”
“Why are gifts and flowers everywhere in these posts?”
“Ways to not die inside while deciding on gifts guide 101.”
All came with very bad results, Ilya left a negative review on all of those with his private account. They deserve it for suggesting he get balloons and all that.
Shane would laugh at this. Maybe. Probably.
Is it too late to back out?
His answer is declared by the pilot announcing they are halfway through.
Ilya sighs, a few heads turning his way in business class since the premium lounge was already booked and busy with people half as rich as him. But he has his mask and cap and sunglasses on. So it's fine. With a formal suit on, no one will recognise him anyway.
Ilya notices the few but firm red roses in almost everyone's hand, a few bouquets adorns with daisies while others are clear red roses and chocolate boxes.
He always used to think this was all for the show, and right now, him hiding his face while observing what kind of common flowers are suitable for Valentine's says the opposite.
No, but, everyone's travelling for their love lives, he is not. He is merely making sure his Hollander is not sulking while expecting anything.
And out of all the other impossible expectations on his shoulder, this one makes him roll his eyes and scoff with a spark in his chest rather than making him melancholic.
Is the only one he wants to fulfill.
If Shane wants that. He swears, if Shane laughs at him for crossing oceans he will never survive that.
His phone buzzes with a photo of Svetlana grinning while she stands besides her preparations for tonight, his couch table turned into a gorgeous red silk rose bed with candles everywhere. He smiles, Svetlana looks genuinely happy.
Even though he does not like Rose Landry much.
Soon enough, the pilot announces their arrival and he can only count how many bouquets he sees at the Canadian airport.
Spoiler, is too many.
—
He finds himself at the flower shop just beside the airport while his taxi waits for him outside. Ilya roams around the million bouquets and people are too interested in their flowers to even see him.
Red roses are too obvious. Too romantic. Too everything.
He shakes his head, moving on to the colourful flowers, he remembers Shane's favourite colour, only because Shane has it everywhere in his house. Blue.
So, something blue, that is not looking sad or effortless. Or too much effort. Ilya groans in his head.
What am I doing? This is stupid. This is not what they do—
He is almost out the door, just as the florist calls after him. “Are you looking for something specific, sir?”
He turns around, a little hesitantly but thrown off by the florist’s kind smile, an old lady who looks like she is aware of his inner turmoil and he worries if anything is visible on his face. Realising a minute later, he is wearing a fucking mask.
“Not really, but what you would suggest?”
The old lady hums and he is instantly reminded of Shane humming when they are snuggled closer after a rough night. “What does she like?”
“He likes blue.” The words slip out on a reflex and he almost winces even if the lady does not look disgusted.
She smiles warmly gesturing at the blue corner of the shop, “We have blue roses. Lilies and tulips too. Something for everyone, you know.”
Ilya nods behind his attire, his eyes tracing the flowers until they stop at a small but neat bouquet of white and blue flowers tied together with a navy blue ribbon and decorated with small bows. “What are those?” He gestures to the bouquet and the lady immediately goes to fetch it.
She hands him the flowers and he holds them carefully, an inch away from his chest, worried the flowers will suddenly die in his arms like in movies.
“Blue and white daisies. Perfect for showing love casually.”
He freezes at her words. His mind is travelling back to the moment he first said I love you to Shane in his cottage. They have not repeated it many times since, not getting the chance to, really. But is in the open.
“How much?”
After a moment, he sits in the taxi with a small bouquet in his lap he has no idea what to do about.
He glances at the phone screen, eight in the night, almost twelve, almost the time he will show up stupidly with nothing but hope and sarcasm from his side. Alongside the love.
He orders the driver to show him around various restaurants, luxurious and private, knowing a thing or two about Canadian food places Shane pretends he does not like.
—
Ilya stops in front of Shane's door. His phone out in his hand with those damn flowers that he has debated to throw more than twice now. Only stopping as he pictured his person with these in his hands.
He opens his phone, 11:59:20. 40 seconds to midnight. Now or never. He hypes himself up enough to open the Jane chat which sits comfortably in his phone.
Lily:
Come outside.
Okay, no going back now.
The reply comes in six seconds, no he is not counting, and he looks at the question mark staring back at him and he sighs.
He knocks on the door instead.
There are some shifting sounds on the other side and he knows Shane is getting out of his comfort zone—which is basically a cozy weighted blanket with ginger ale—to open the door.
The clock hits 12 and some seconds pass by torturously.
And then, a soft click.
The door opens and Ilya blinks uselessly at the frame of Shane visible in front of him.
Shane, in his cozy grey sweatpants and a hoodie which is ironically navy blue, contrast to Ilya wearing a fucking formal suit, and a somewhat sleepy expression on his face which is becoming more and more shocked by the second.
And he looks beautiful while doing that too. Is unfair and Ilya would like to talk to the universe which thought it was fair for him to look like this at midnight while wearing pajamas.
Shane blinks at him, his eyes widening as his brain catches up to the sight. “You are in Russia.”
"Was.” Ilya corrects the English, unusual and true.
“Were." Shane shakes his head. Then his eyes catch on the flowers in Ilya's hands.
Ilya swallows, shoving it in Shane's chest in a sort of polite way and he watches as Shane's hands hold the bouquet as Ilya lets go.
“What is this?” Shane frowns. It is genuine, and if Ilya was not rethinking his life choices he would be smiling at his confusion.
“Flowers.” Ilya shrugs. It comes off more careless than he is but then—
—Shane steps forward slowly, as if Ilya will disappear if he goes too fast. He keeps the flowers in one hand and touches Ilya's shirt with the other, stepping forward to kiss Ilya.
Ilya sighs in relief, his hands’ looping around the waist he had secretly wanted to hold for days. Kissing Shane back is easy, always easy and always perfect. It is familiar too. Familiar. Good. Everything.
“Come in.” Shane pulls back with a small smile on his face. Even if it is a little confusing, he looks happy.
Already.
“No.” Ilya shakes his head. “We need to, uh, there is car outside waiting for us.”
Shane raises his eyebrows, unconvinced but Ilya holds his wrist and shuts the door behind them as he drags Shane outside to the car. Ignoring—or trying his best to ignore—Shane’s questions’.
“Where are we going?” Shane hisses, the happiness kind of vanishing, or covered with a thin veil of worry and out of loop.
Ilya stops in front of the car, he had gone to this fancy showroom of cars to pick this one up. Shane looks at him instead of the car as Ilya gestures to him to get in. The flowers are still in his hand.
“Trust me, da?” Ilya opens the door.
Shane stares at him blankly, barely nodding as he gets in. Ilya does too. Hoping this goes well enough that he does not have to go back to Russia in an hour or so.
The car is warm from inside, even for the Canadian winter outside, it smells like leather which has been discarded in Ilya's mind ever since his mind registered Shane's soft shampoo fragrance to fill the small space.
He glances at Shane who is caressing the daisies in his lap softly. Ilya lets the smile take over his face, inevitable and sure now. He cannot help it as Shane is smiling too, looking at the flowers and Ilya thanks himself for not doing anything stupid like throwing them somewhere in a trashcan.
“You're here.” Shane's voice is low, still kind of sleepy and he looks too comfortable like this. Too pretty. Too his.
“I was free.” Ilya stares ahead, the lie sits heavy in the air. They both know is a lie. But Shane does not call him out, he just nods. Like it makes sense.
“Where are we going?”
Ilya looks sideways, the car slow enough in the clear road with no traffic or noise, “Dinner. If you want.”
Shane tilts his head, scrunching his nose, “I don't think any place will be free.” He looks down at his lap then, “It's Valentine's.”
Ilya has to tear his eyes away, hoping the car light is not enough to give away his red cheeks. “I know.”
Even with his eyes aside, he can hear Shane's smile in his words, “Oh. You know?”
“You are not obvious with your….” Ilya gestures to literal nothing as he stops the car in front of the place he chose an hour ago. “....likes.”
“Likes?”
“Social likes.”
Ilya can see the gears turning in Shane's head before a small gasp is torn through his lips, “You came because you saw my likes on funny posts?”
“They were not funny, Hollander. They were sad.” Ilya parks the car, turning the engine off to look at Shane who is giving him a look of disbelief.
“Sad?”
“Yes, so sad, and I am not a bad boyfriend.”
Shane's freckles are highlighted as he slowly turns red, adorably trying to control the blood rushing to his cheek as he clears his throat for no reason, breaking eye contact and getting out.
“You are impossible.” Shane mumbles, but it is a win since Ilya gets to see this sight in front of him.
“Your impossible.”
“That doesn't make sense. Literary wise.”
“Who cares about boring english?”
“You should.”
“I do not.”
Shane chuckles, getting the flowers out of the car to which Ilya questions that decision with his eyes.
“What? I'm not leaving them in the car.” Shane huffs, and it is cute. And Ilya thinks he might die of this feeling.
They walk in the restaurant together, the interior custom decorated with red everything and every corner lit up with pink bulbs. The single staff waiter recognising Ilya immediately as he gestures them to the private table Ilya had chosen.
The air smells like warm pasta and bread as they take their seats. The soft night air peeking through the netted windows. The night light colliding with the yellow ones around them reflects on Shane's face gorgeously as Shane keeps the flowers beside him.
He touches the ribbon absentmindedly, as if to prove it is real again.
“I didn't—” Shane starts, his voice unsure now, “I didn't get you anything. I, uh—” Shane looks at Ilya then, “—I thought we weren't doing anything.”
“I did not come for a gift.” Ilya shakes his head softly. The fact that Hollander is in front of him is enough. More than enough, he wishes this moment could last forever actually.
“I know, but, still—”
“Shane.” Ilya cuts him off, not unkindly, “I came for you.”
Shane inhales sharply. Looking Ilya in his hazel eyes as a small shy blush takes over again but this time it is not stopped and Shane just smiles. “Oh.”
“Hm.” Ilya smiles from across. The waiter comes to take their order patiently and they order a small plate of pasta for each with wine on the side.
When the waiter leaves them in silence, Ilya is the one to break it. “You are lightweight, Hollander. You will get drunk with wine.”
“No, I'm not. That was one time.” Shane grumbles and Ilya's sure he would be hit with an elbow if he was anywhere near Shane.
“Two times, no? We had sex the other time. Good sex.” Ilya smirks and Shane glares at him, exasperated.
“Are you not thinking about sex?”
“Yes. Many times.”
“Yeah? What are the other topics in your mind?”
“That is easy, Shane. You.”
Shane looks away, still not used to Ilya casually saying things, “You are acting very romantic tonight.”
“Not acting.” Ilya grins.
Soon enough, their table is filled with delicious pasta plates and matching forks and a single wine bottle around. Shane takes the first bite of his pasta before closing his eyes in delight. He hums happily and Ilya's chest does insane things at the sound he missed.
“This is so nice. You have to try it, Roz.”
Ilya nods, just as he is getting his fork in his hand, he looks up to see Shane holding out the pasta in his own fork directed towards Ilya's mouth.
Shane is not unsure at all now, he just waits for Ilya to open his mouth. Not realising how close this is. Ilya tries not to let the shock or happiness show on his face, (he fails in doing both), and opens his mouth as Shane feeds him.
The pasta is tasty, more than his own now that Shane had fed him so casually.
The silence is comforting while they eat and all Ilya can focus on amidst the soft chatters in a completely different area and the cars still moving around down the road is Shane in front of him. Eating his portion slowly and carefully, but with an upturn of his lips.
Just as Shane is pouring down the wine, his first glass and Ilya's second—and their lasts, collectively—Ilya opens his mouth. “I love you.”
Ilya's face goes red and if Svetlana was here, she would have called him out on his Russians do not blush thing, but Shane matches his actions as he puts the glasses down normally.
Shane looks at Ilya, his hand on the table with palm open and offering, “I love you too.”
Ilya holds his hand with both of his hands as he smiles. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Shane nods, the hint of a little shyness and plethora of confidence greeting his face.
The dessert is a common large slice of chocolate cake as Ilya covers the bill. The cake sits in the centre of the table as they both eat it. Their hands occasionally touching every now and then, a reminder for Ilya that he is here and vice versa.
When they walk out of the restaurant, hand in hand, Shane stops mid track. “Wait, I came here in my pajamas.”
Ilya nods, shrugging, “Da?”
“And you're wearing a fucking suit.” Shane groans. “Oh my god, you didn't remind me to change, Ilya.”
“I forgot.” Ilya makes a defensive gesture.
“I went to a nice place in my pajamas.”
“It matched the boring vibe, Hollander.” Ilya laughs which quickly dissolves into a string of soft “Ow!”s as Shane hits him with the bouquet in his hand.
“Asshole.” Shane shakes his head, but he is smiling when they get into the car.
Only then Ilya mutters in Russian, “You look nice too.”
“What?” Shane turns to him. “Please tell me you didn't insult me in Russian.” He makes a look to which Ilya winks.
“You never know.”
“You know what, that's it, I'm learning Russian.” Shane folds his hands, looking out of the window with a furrow of his brows.
“Will teach you soon.”
Shane sighs, looking back at Ilya who starts the car, “You are staying, right?” Shane asks, his voice small but the smiles shared still heard and seen through hazel eyes.
“Da. Is Valentine's.”
Shane huffs, pulling the GPS up with one destination in his mind and on the screen that makes Ilya smile. Because he knows the path already.
To Shane's house.
Ilya knows every direction that leads to that home now, he has not visited much in the past days but he will make sure to make up with Shane tonight for all those days.
Make sure Shane knows he can text Ilya too, sometimes, instead of liking sad cats. To which he is sure Shane will reply with an embarrassed slap. Is worth it though.
Every decision is worth it with Shane with him.
And it is enough for Ilya to remember Valentine's for years to come ahead with Shane.
Shane, who is still holding the flowers, a little dazed by the wine—"Ha! Lightweight?"—and looking at Ilya instead of ahead with a soft expression on his face that Ilya cannot get enough of.
Valentine's still just a weekend with good PR.
Unless it comes with Shane Hollander on his left. Then it is a completely different story.
Even if it is just another day to love Shane furiously.