Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

~*~*~

They leave for the cottage the next afternoon.

Ilya is not allowed to do anything but watch as Shane and Yuna organise everything as if the two-hour drive to Shane's place is a three-day camping trip. They are giving each other the silent treatment because Yuna is not happy that Ilya knows about his father's death, so it's a bit awkward. Ilya is just amazed that they had a whole fight without anyone raising their voice.

The nurse comes and goes, happy with Ilya's progress in recovery. Yuna confirms with the hospital that Ilya is allowed to go, and Shane checks four times that all of Ilya's medicine and wound dressings are packed.

David tells Ilya that their snacks, the protein bars and cut-up fruits that Shane asked for, are in the backpack. He whispers conspiratorially that crisps, chocolate, and cookies are there as well. Yuna hugs him twice and reminds him to rest and follow the doctor's guidelines. They both promise to visit Shane's cottage soon.

By the time they actually leave, Ilya feels like a puppy let out of a crate, restless and excited. He practically skips his way down to the apartment building's underground car park. He lets Shane fuss over his seatbelt, make sure it's not digging into the bruises, and move the passenger's seat back so Ilya has more room to straighten his legs. It makes Shane less anxious, and Ilya finds it cute that the (second) best MLH player is worried about Ilya's knees being comfortable.

Shane's car is a big Land Rover with soft tan leather seats and nice air conditioning that keeps it cool despite the warm afternoon sun. It reminds Ilya of the cars his father and his friends like, big and often armoured, they burn gasoline at an alarming rate to show off wealth. Except Shane's car seems a lot less flashy, down-to-earth, very modest of him.

"It's good in the snow," Shane explains, as if he can tell Ilya is judging him. Ilya is judging him. The car is boring, and Ilya knows Shane can afford a better one. Svetlana had mentioned Ilya's Ferrari. He guesses Shane has never played Need for Speed: Underground 2 and has never spent hours in Bayview's garages tuning performance and picking the best neon colour.

"Are you okay with being in a car?" Shane asks when they are on the road. He is drumming his fingers on the steering wheel nervously.

"Are we walking if I am not okay?"

Shane snorts.

"I don't remember the crash," Ilya reminds. He doesn't even know what happened or how, and for once, he doesn't want to find out.

"Right," Shane drawls.

They drive in silence, except for a radio station quietly playing rock music as Shane navigates the busy city streets until they get on a highway. Ilya listens to the singer describe his lover with blue eyes and a crooked grin, face like an angel and a mouth like sin, and looks at Shane's face. Now that Ilya knows that Shane gets ridiculously heated about Monopoly rules and smells like summer when hugging Ilya, he seems less intimidating. He is still too pretty to be a real person.

"Is there something on my face?" Shane asks, turning his head to briefly look at Ilya. "You're staring."

"You have freckles," Ilya answers. They're charming, tiny little dots scattered across Shane's cheeks and nose. They give his whole, untouchably gorgeous, famous-athlete persona a soft side. Ilya likes it.

Shane smiles to himself and doesn't say anything.

Ilya takes out his mobile phone.

Yuna had turned it off and put it in the nightstand after Ilya's call with Svetlana, and he had not looked at it again. He remembers Shane using his phone to call Sveta, so Shane must know how it works. He is pretty sure it's still the "no screens" stage, but he so badly wants to see what's in it.

"How do I turn my phone on?" Ilya asks.

Shane turns his head to look and almost swerves out of their lane. He swears, a proper "fucking hell", and straightens the car as someone behind them beeps.

"Whoa," Ilya says after a moment of tense silence, "maybe I should be scared to drive with you."

"You can't use your phone, Ilya."

"Okay," Ilya replies, and keeps pressing the few buttons the phone has while the screen stays dead. Finally, holding one of them does the trick, and the phone buzzes and lights up.

"Ilya," Shane starts, but Ilya doesn't let him finish.

"Eyes on the road, Shane Hollander."

"Asshole," Shane scoffs. "Turn it off."

The phone asks for a passcode, but then the screen blinks, and it unlocks as if it somehow sensed Ilya is the true owner or something. The touchscreen looks weird. It's big and crisp, the colours are saturated, and it just feels like someone handed Ilya a miniature TV. Ilya doesn't understand what all the apps and icons are for, but he recognises the messaging one. The little red note claims Ilya has 238 unread messages.

"Ничего себе," he murmurs, in Russian.

In his reality, text messages are expensive and only sent when absolutely necessary. And not something he can just ignore either. Having so many unread ones seems crazy, even for his future hockey-star self.

"You are not supposed to use the phone," Shane repeats, glancing over every few seconds while Ilya figures out the basics. "What are you even doing?"

Ilya looks at the names of the people he's recently received messages from, all strangers except Svetlana, her father and Hayes, whom Ilya remembers as his Ottawa Centaurs teammate.

The only unread message from Wyatt Hayes references the hospital visit.

Hayes
duuude hollander's parents are your emergency contact?????

Ilya scrolls back up and clicks on the latest message instead.

"Who is Marly?" he asks. There is a string of unanswered messages from Marly dated after Ilya's accident. "He seems nice."

Marly
Just saw the news, let me know if you're ok

Marly
Heard it's a concussion, call me when you get better

Marly
Or if you need anything, and I mean it
Love you, bro

"Cliff Marlow," Shane replies with a sigh. "He plays for Boston. You're friends."

Carmichael ("Ryan Carmichael, also plays for Boston, also a friend"), Boodram ("That's Zane, your teammate, he's cool"), Harris ("social media manager, you like him, ignore his pleas for a photo, I already talked to him"), Dykstra ("your teammate, he probably sent you pics of his baby, she was born a few weeks ago") and a bunch of other hockey players wish Ilya a speedy recovery. The messages range from very polite to inside jokes, and it warms Ilya's heart to see how many people care about him. He has a lot of friends. And Shane knows all of them.

"Who is Jane?" Ilya asks, moving on to the next message thread.

"I don't know," Shane lies. Ilya can tell because his cheeks turn pink and his voice rises. That alone makes Ilya click on the messages.

"Whoa," Ilya pauses because Jane is not a teammate. Unless Ilya has a hot teammate that he sends hearts to.

You
Just saw your interview, you're so hot!!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Jane
You are ridiculous.

Jane
I miss you.
Boston is not the same without you.

You
I see how it is
Only you can miss me

Jane
🙄 I take it back.

You
I miss you too

Jane
I will call you when I get back to the hotel.
Don't forget to call the cleaning company back, please!

You
Ok 🫡

"Do I have a girlfriend?" Ilya asks, staring at the three red hearts. The last message is dated the day of the car crash. Does Jane even know what happened? Maybe she doesn't follow hockey news like Marly does? Maybe she is still in Boston, blissfully unaware that her boyfriend does not remember her, or even worse, has tried to find him at the hospital or his house with no success.

"No," Shane replies, still all flushed. "Please put down the phone, screens are bad for you."

Ilya scrolls up.

You
I miss you already, come back 😭

Jane
I left two minutes ago.

You
You didn't kiss me goodbye

Jane
Liar.

You
Worth a try 😉
Love you
Safe flying

Jane
I love you, too. 💙

"You're lying," Ilya states, because that's some girlfriend stuff. As someone who refuses to have a girlfriend, Ilya would know. He cannot imagine texting any girl like this, the flirting and teasing, sure, but not the I love you.

He stares at it in awe. This whole time, he had been worried about hockey and his father, unaware that there was a Jane. There was someone he exchanged "I love you" with. Someone he missed when they were gone.

His future self really had Ilya's dream life.

"You do not have a girlfriend," Shane repeats, voice sharper, annoyed.

Ilya looks at Shane's white knuckles gripping the steering wheel and decides to let go of interrogating him about Ilya's relationship status until they are no longer driving. He really doesn't need a double concussion.

He clicks on Jane's name, but her profile is empty. There is no photo or other information that can be filled out, no surname, email or address, nothing that would tell Ilya who she is or how she looks. It's so secretive that Ilya wonders if she is a secret.

Maybe Shane actually doesn't know about her. That makes Ilya wonder if Jane, unlike Svetlana, does not have Shane's phone number and has not been able to call Ilya the whole time. Wouldn't she text something? Or maybe she didn't try since Ilya's phone was turned off. He doesn't know what modern technology exists; maybe Jane can tell his phone is off without even calling. She has not heard from Ilya for days. That's horrible.

"How do I call her?" Ilya asks.

"Do not call Jane."

Shane actually reaches over to grab the phone. Ilya swats his arm away easily, moving the phone out of Shane's reach. They both glance at the road, and Shane moves his arm back on the steering wheel, swearing again. Ilya looks back at his phone, determined to talk with Jane, with or without Shane's help.

"Ilya," Shane says, voice suddenly quiet and defeated. There's a call button right under Jane's blank profile picture, and Ilya wants to press it. "Please do not call her."

Ilya looks at him. Shane is making a sad kitten face. He actually looks like he might cry again. Shane and his invisible sadness buttons pull at Ilya's heartstrings like nothing else from the present. He feels bad, and once again, he doesn't know why or what is happening.

"Please."

Ilya thinks of their conversation about his father's death and how upset Shane was that he had to find out that way. Something about Jane is also upsetting. Maybe not a conversation to have in a driving car, Ilya guesses. He can wait for the important things.

"Okay. Sorry." Then, because he really wants to know, he asks quietly, as if they are sharing a secret, "Do you not like her?"

Shane sighs. "It's not like that."

"She sounds sweet," Ilya says, feeling defensive about his future girlfriend.

"Jesus," Shane murmurs.

Ilya considers his options. He feels like he should call Jane, he desperately wants to know more about her and let her know what happened. But if talking to or about Jane makes Shane so upset, Ilya can wait until they arrive at Shane's cottage, and Ilya can find some privacy.

He lets out a whiny groan. He really hates waiting. He pointedly puts the phone away and opens the backpack to find the packet of tomato crisps David packed.

"You can't eat chips in a car," Shane protests, but then sighs and lets it go. "Nevermind."

Ilya figures Shane knows how to pick his battles and opens the crisp bag.

"Tell me about how I won a Stanley Cup?" he asks, picking a safer subject.

"Sure," Shane replies, turning to look at Ilya again, this time with a small smile on his lips.

They talk about hockey for the rest of the drive.

~*~*~

Shane's cottage looks a lot more like a luxury lakehouse than what Ilya would consider a cottage. Unlike the boring car, this property looks expensive and polished. It also feels warm and welcoming, the complete opposite of the Ottawa apartment, and it suits Shane a lot more.

Ilya has rarely been outside of Moscow besides hockey games; both sets of his grandparents had also lived there, and no other close relatives resided nearby. His father didn't hunt or fish like some other players' dads, so there were no regular camping trips or tent stays, except for the two times his hockey team did so for team-building. It had involved too many mosquito bites and tree branches poking through his sleeping bag. Ilya would never choose to stay somewhere remote over a city with all its fun opportunities.

Somehow, it's nice. The air is fresh and clean, smelling of trees, moss, and soil. It's also not as warm as it was in the city. There's a breeze coming from the lake that feels cool on Ilya's skin.

He sits on the big stone near the lake, enjoying the serenity, and turns on his phone. Shane is figuring out their dinner, so Ilya thinks it's a perfect time to call Jane.

He follows the same steps as before and finds Jane's contact profile. This time, he presses on the small phone icon.

The phone doesn't ring and goes straight to voicemail.

Ilya tries again and again, but the same thing happens each time: a robotic voice informs him that his call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system.

Frustrated, Ilya goes back to their messages. He thinks about what to say, if he should explain his memory loss, but it seems too complicated to text in a language he knows, but doesn't really know, so he settles on a simple message.

You
Please call me

The message gets sent, but unlike the others, the text bubble stays green instead of blue, and Ilya waits and waits, but nothing happens. He doesn't know what it means that he cannot reach Jane, but he has a bad feeling that it has something to do with Shane being upset.

His mind considers many options, and the most likely one seems that he broke up with Jane during that hotel phone call. Maybe that's why Ilya crashed his car the same day, and that's why Shane is angry about not-a-girlfriend-anymore Jane. It doesn't add up with the messages, though, and Ilya keeps worrying that his future girlfriend is somewhere out there, worried sick about him while he plays board games and visits gorgeous lake properties.

He doesn't know what to do. Not for the first time, he wishes he could talk to his future self. He really doesn't want to mess up the dream life they both have.

~*~*~

They eat dinner on the terrace in silence. Ilya is too worried about contacting Jane, and Shane seems too deep in whatever thoughts are troubling him.

Ilya regrets not checking his phone sooner, wondering whether he could have gotten some information from Shane's parents. He had scrolled up his messages with Svetlana a little bit, and there had been no mention of Jane, just Sveta's commentary on Ilya's teammates and opponents, their games and advice to pass on, and Ilya sending her many funny dog pictures.

Ilya's head had started to hurt, and he had been forced to put the phone away. He really wants to ask Shane about it again, but he is also worried it might ruin the evening.

He so badly wishes he could go to an ice rink or for a run. Exhausting his body has always helped settle his mind, and not being allowed to exercise feels like torture. There's not even anything Ilya can distract himself with, aside from talking with Shane. And Shane looks like he needs some peace and quiet instead.

Ilya decides to go see if he can find something to do inside the house, even a boring hockey book would do. He gets up and gathers their empty dishes, thinking he could wash them since Shane cooked.

"Thank you for dinner," he says quietly, turning to leave.

"Не за что," Shane replies almost inaudibly.

Ilya almost drops the dishes.

"I mean, you're welcome," Shane corrects himself louder. Then, as he had just realised that Ilya picked up the dishes from the table, he adds, "Put them on the counter, I'll run the dishwasher."

Ilya doesn't understand why he feels so excited that Shane knows Russian, so he flees the terrace before he says something embarrassing.

~*~*~

Ilya wakes up to his room being dark, except for a tiny nightlight that glows golden in a small circle. The last thing he remembers is lying down on his bed in one of the guest bedrooms after taking his meds and staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do next. Someone, obviously Shane, has put a blanket over him.

Ilya gets up to use the bathroom. He washes his hands and looks at his strange reflection, which he's been semi-avoiding the whole time. Shane has changed the bandage on the side of his face, too, and somehow Ilya slept through it all.

"I wish you could help me," Ilya whispers to his unhelpful reflection, and goes back to the bedroom. He changes into the sweatpants that Shane had left on his bed and leaves the t-shirt untouched. It's too warm as is.

He tosses and turns for a while, listens to the nature sounds outside, and tries to count the nails on the ceiling, but fails to fall asleep. Finally, accepting that his late evening nap has fucked up his sleep schedule, he gets up. Might as well go outside, sit in the fresh air, and enjoy the lake.

He walks carefully through the living room. It's dark, so he is extra mindful of the wooden steps that lead down to the living room from the bedrooms, and of the sliding glass doors to the terrace. He reaches the doorway to the outside when he realises he is not alone in his sleeplessness.

Shane is sitting on a two-seater wooden sofa near a lit firepit. He looks small and lonely, wrapped up in a blanket, curled up like an animal trying to protect its weak spots. He looks like someone who needs a friend. Ilya walks towards him.

Shane startles a bit from the sound of Ilya's footsteps, but doesn't move or say anything.

"What's wrong?" Ilya asks when he reaches the sofa.

Shane doesn't reply or look at Ilya, just keeps his head down, the rest of him hidden under a blanket. Ilya doesn't know what time it is, but it must be very late; the stars are out, shining bright without the city lights. They're beautiful and cold, so far away from Earth's worldly problems.

"I know I am not him," Ilya says gently, as if he's apologising for it. He sits down next to Shane, his leg brushing against the fleecy blanket, "but you can still tell me. Maybe talking helps."

Shane finally looks up. He is not crying, but somehow it's worse because his eyes just look so sad, two dark lakes full of sorrow.

"I," Shane starts, shakes his head and doesn't finish. His eyes travel down for a brief second to where the worst of Ilya's bruises are on his shirtless chest and stomach, now blue and yellow instead of black and red. "You should be sleeping. You need rest."

Ilya shakes his head. "Fuck that, my friend is sad."

Shane doesn't say anything, just goes back to staring at the fire as if it has answers. Ilya waits for a little bit, but Shane stays quiet.

"So what's wrong?" Ilya asks again, refusing to let it go.

"I miss you," Shane says, voice small and broken, sounding guilty like he is confessing a sin. "I am sorry, it's not your fault, I know."

Ilya understands. He thinks about how he would feel if Svetlana or Sasha suddenly forgot him, even about how he feels now that they are not his school friends anymore, but strangers with their own lives. He knows how he feels about the fact that his father has Polina and doesn't remember his mom. Being forgotten feels like being erased. It hurts.

"And I am scared," Shane whispers.

Ilya nods because he understands that, too. In his attempts to figure out what he doesn't remember, Ilya had never considered whether he would remember things at all. The doctors had said "most likely", and Ilya had taken it as "it will happen". But now that he knows about all the amazing things he has, he is scared to lose them. What if he never remembers and is no longer a good hockey player? What if he never remembers how much Hollanders mean to him, his new friends, his hockey team?

It must be scary for Shane, too, forever losing the version of Ilya that was important to him.

"I know it is scary," Ilya starts.

"But I am brave, yeah," Shane finishes flatly, like reciting a quote. He smiles sadly. "You've said that before."

Ilya has never said that out loud, not to anyone, not even himself. His mother's words had felt too sacred to share. He stares at Shane's profile, stunned.

"When?"

"When I came out to my pare-" Shane stops, eyes wide.

Ilya swallows. "Oh. You're-"

"Gay, yes," Shane confirms.

Ilya shrugs. "I am not judging. I like both."

"I know."

Figures, having been friends for over ten years. Ilya remembers the hospital and what Yuna had said. Now the way she said it makes a lot more sense.

"Your parents were nice about it?"

"Yeah."

"Was I nice about it?"

"Um," Shane visibly travels back to whatever memory he has of telling Ilya and is locked away for Ilya himself. He blinks and then says, "Yeah. You knew already."

There is a sudden loud and eerie wail that startles them both. It reminds Ilya of a wolf's howl and sends shivers down his spine. The birds out here are ridiculous.

"I hate loons," he says, turning back towards Shane, when the bird shuts up. "Stupid Canadian wolf birds."

Shane looks at him, eyes wide. Tiny flames reflect in them now when Ilya looks closer. They still look sad, but there is something else. Ilya cannot put a finger on it.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," Shane smiles, tilting his head. "I think you are right."

Ilya raises his eyebrow and doesn't say something teasing like "I am always right" or "Of course, I am the smart one," even though he wants to.

"I am less scared," Shane explains, still smiling. "Thank you."

"Не за что," Ilya replies cheekily, and Shane rolls his eyes, but it's too fond to be properly snarky.

Ilya shivers. The warmth from the fire isn't enough to make up for how chilly summer nights can get. Shane notices it too. He unwraps the blanket he is cocooned in and carefully puts it over Ilya's shoulders. It's warm from Shane's body heat and smells like the familiar summer-spicy scent Ilya finds comforting.

"Ten more minutes," Shane says, yawning. "And then we go to sleep."

"Okay," Ilya whispers.

~*~*~

Shane wakes Ilya up at 9 AM the next morning to take the medication. Ilya is sleepy and groggy, too warm and comfortable under the fleece blanket that smells like firewood and Shane. He doesn't want to open his eyes and tries to swat away Shane's hands.

Of course, Shane is evil, he says, "Please, Ilya", in the sweetest voice that Ilya is sure could disarm an army, so Ilya forces himself to sit up.

He spends a moment leaning his forehead against Shane's shoulder, trying to unstick his eyelids, and then takes the pills and drinks the water that Shane is holding.

"Thank you," Shane says, taking back the glass of water, still in that sweet, quiet voice. He gifts Ilya a fond smile that reaches his eyes, and that's enough for Ilya to fall back down against the pillows, pull covers over his face and pretend to fall asleep until he actually does. It's too early for whatever is happening.

Next time he wakes up, it is to warm sunlight on his face. Ilya knows it must be close to lunchtime in a way one knows when they have slept in for too long on a weekend. He feels well-rested physically and much stronger than he did the day before. He is recovering fast, and it's no surprise, as his athletic body must be used to the cycle of rest and pure exhaustion that can come with the intensity of a hockey schedule.

Ilya's mind, though, feels less stable, a mix of too many thoughts in too many directions. It makes his head hurt in a way it did in the hospital, like it's being crushed from the inside.

He sighs and tries to pull himself together.

Shane has put down a pile of neatly folded fresh clothes on the bed, so Ilya grabs them and heads to the bathroom. The shower does very little to settle his mind; if anything, the more awake he is, the more he feels like everything is too much. Of course, the stupid doctors had been right, and the more Ilya knows, the more he is, well, overwhelmed.

After getting dressed, he slowly makes his way to the kitchen part of the open floor to deal with his hunger. He stops at the top of the stairs when he realises Shane is in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone.

"I know that," Shane is arguing a point, he sounds drained, "but you don't understand, mom. I can't lie to him. It feels wrong, and I am tired of it."

Ilya feels like he is back at the hospital, and Yuna is talking to Shane on her big phone, while he doesn't understand what's happening.

"I think I know what Ilya needs better than anyone," Shane says through his teeth, to whatever Yuna had replied. He sounds so sure of it. "And I think leaving out the truth is still lying. Anyway, I have to go. I will call you later."

Ilya waits, frozen, but Shane doesn't come around the corner, so after what feels like eternity, but probably is just two minutes, Ilya walks down to the bar counter where Shane is still drinking his coffee and texting someone.

"Hi," Ilya tries to sound normal.

"Hi," Shane replies with a smile, putting the phone away. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine?" Ilya asks, voice rising as if he is not sure. He is not sure. Something about the way Shane had talked is bouncing and echoing in Ilya's mind. His thoughts are whirling. It's like the laundry watching Ilya used to do as a kid. His thoughts spin, and here and there one of them shows up, visible to Ilya, only to disappear again. Ilya feels like something important is slipping away from him, and he doesn't know what.

"Do you want to sit down on the terrace?" Shane asks. "I made lunch."

"Sure, yeah," Ilya agrees, grabbing whatever it is Shane is handing to him to help bring out the food. He moves automatically, follows Shane, sets stuff down on the small wooden table, and sits, unable to focus on anything. Everything around him feels blurry and distorted as his mind tries to grasp at something.

Ilya can feel Shane's eyes on him, like two little scanners hoping to find something amiss, but he ignores that, too.

Shane sits down next to him, and their feet touch under the table. Ilya feels like a current runs through his core, and he almost drops the glass of water Shane passes him at the same time.

This has happened before.

Ilya inhales sharply. There is a memory dancing somewhere around his consciousness, just a little bit out of his grasp, but it's there, he knows. Something about this moment feels so familiar.

"Ilya?"

Ilya blinks. The memory disappears. He wants to scream. Shane looks worried.

"Sorry," Ilya shakes himself out of it. He feels like he is being yanked back into his body after a near-death experience or something. "I just..."

He doesn't have an excuse. He doesn't want to lie. Shane was right, lying feels wrong.

Ilya wants to move his foot and touch Shane's again, in hopes it would spark the memory, but it's a silly idea. His thoughts are buzzing in a Bermuda Triangle of Jane, a possible real memory from the future and Shane. It feels like his brain is gonna explode.

"Sorry, I need a bathroom," he says and runs before Shane can get up and do anything.

~*~*~

Ilya's hands shake as he tries to turn on the stupid phone. It takes forever for it to go through the startup sequence and recognise Ilya. He leans against the bathroom counter and stares at the screen, silently begging for it to be faster.

When it's finally on, Ilya goes to the messaging app and scrolls. He goes as far down as to see messages from three months ago when he gives up.

He returns to the main screen and taps the call icon. It has a helpful "Contacts" section with a Search bar on top. Ilya types Shane and looks at the "No Contacts. Contacts you've added will appear here." reply. He tries Hollander and gets two results: Yuna Hollander and David Hollander.

He blinks.

Carefully, as if the phone could suddenly break apart in his hands, Ilya goes back to the messaging app. He opens the messages with Jane and scrolls up, scanning them carefully, until he finds what he was looking for.

You
Hollander
Are you trying to kill me???

Jane
😇
Delete the photo later, please

The phone hits the tiled floor with a loud bang that startles Ilya out of being frozen. He looks down at the brightly lit screen, where the messages are still on display, and laughs, feeling delirious, shaking his head, because it is ridiculous and unbelievable.

"Okay," he says to nobody, but mainly to himself, when he finally calms down enough to take a breath. "Wow, okay."

Shane Hollander from Canada, a hockey prodigy, fast and deadly, the best hockey player in the league, the most beautiful man that Ilya has ever seen, is Ilya's boyfriend.

Shane knocks on the bathroom door as the phone's screen dims from being left idle.

"Ilya? Is everything okay?"

Ilya grins. Everything is okay.

~*~*~

"You're being weird," Shane says an hour later, when they are walking down a small trail, next to the lake. Ilya has finally reached Stage 2 of his recovery and is allowed short walks, so Shane has recommended they do just that after lunch. It's a lovely sunny day, perfect for being outside.

"Weird?" Ilya asks, failing to hide a smile. He cannot stop staring at Shane either. He has finally found something more embarrassing than losing the Kharlamov Cup. And it's how much he wants to never look at anything else but Shane. His boyfriend.

Have they been together since the rookie season? Is that why Yuna and David love him so much? Do they make each other happy? Is Ilya actually, actually happy? Three red hearts and everything?

Shane frowns and stops when they reach the shade of bigger trees.

"Is this about Jane?" he asks, looking ready for the serious conversation they have been putting off.

"No," Ilya shakes his head, looking at Shane's cute freckles and beautiful eyes. He can feel his face getting warm, and it's not from the sun. He so badly wants to reach out and hold Shane's hand. His brain is actively melting the more he thinks about it. "Jane is fine."

"Is she?" Shane asks, looking even more confused.

"I think so," Ilya says, fake-serious, and sure that Shane can tell he is trying to hide a laugh.

Shane looks at him silently, then shakes his head and shrugs, and turns around to walk in the direction they came from, oblivious to everything. Ilya grins to himself and follows Shane back to the cottage.

Shane, he thinks, is overwhelming in a very different way.

~*~*~

Ilya doesn't plan to keep it a secret, he doesn't want to. He has too many questions for Shane. He just needs a moment to process it all, so he retreats to his bedroom after their walk and lies down. All the puzzle pieces are finally slotting into the right places, and everything makes sense.

He is overwhelmingly happy because all his dreams and more have come true, but there is a bittersweetness to it all. Ilya knows he is not actually sixteen years old and that, when he was sixteen, he didn't get to glimpse his future. He had to go through life not knowing how good it would turn out. And he feels heartbroken, thinking about how he felt before he woke up in the hospital, bereaved and scared, worried about what his future would be. He spent years after his mom died feeling unloved and unlovable, broken and wrong.

He wishes he could actually go back in time and tell his sixteen-year-old self that everything will be okay, that the light he is looking for won't be found by sight, and there will be plenty of love in his future instead. But he can't. He cannot change the past, and in a way, he doesn't want to, because it has worked out for the best. And so, all he has is his future.

He promises himself that when he remembers, he will do anything and everything to be happy.

~*~*~

Ilya wakes up from his nap, sits up and doesn't understand why he is sleeping in the guest bedroom instead of Shane's. For a few seconds, his brain is in that weird state where he doesn't know what day it is, why he was sleeping, or whether this is a dream or reality. And then it all comes back to him.

All of it, like a veil lifted.

Ilya remembers.

He scrambles out of the bed, almost falling over his own feet, trying to find Shane. He hits his shoulder against the doorframe and ignores the pain, rushing down the stairs where he can hear Shane humming something.

Shane is making a smoothie in the kitchen, cutting up a banana and strawberries. There are measuring spoons and scales next to the ingredients laid out on the counter because the smoothie has to be exactly as Shane wants it, a very Shane thing to do.

God, Ilya loves him so much.

He saunters up to Shane from behind and wraps one hand around Shane's waist, gently clutches Shane's palm and takes the knife away from him with the other.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says, putting the knife down on the counter and wrapping his other hand around Shane's waist to hold him closer. He kisses Shane's neck in his favourite spot, where a bundle of freckles looks like a little star.

Shane leans into it and relaxes against Ilya, despite claiming to hate it when Ilya bothers him in the kitchen. Ilya inhales slowly, enjoying the familiar scent of Shane's cologne, and waits.

Shane freezes. Then spins around in Ilya's arms, eyes wide. God, Ilya could sink in those brown eyes like sand in the sea and never come up again.

"Ilya?"

"I am sorry I forgot you," Ilya says, almost choking on it.

Shane stares, unblinking, and then makes a wounded noise, launching himself forward. He kisses Ilya, hot and desperate, hand moving into Ilya's curls, pulling him closer, so there's no space between them. Ilya could kiss him forever, and it would not be enough, he thinks as Shane deepens the kiss.

It's messy and wet, and Ilya loves every second of it, tries to savour it, thinks he can never forget this again. He lets Shane press him against the fridge when they almost lose balance and moans shamelessly when Shane tugs his hair.

They're both breathless when Shane abruptly pulls away and draws Ilya into a tight hug. Ilya can't believe he survived without this. Thinks he almost didn't.

"I missed this," Shane whispers into Ilya's neck, his voice wobbling. "I missed you, fuck. I love you, I love you so much."

"Я тоже тебя люблю," Ilya replies in Russian, knowing Shane wants to hear it. And then the same in English, "I love you, too."

He leaves gentle little kisses on Shane's cheekbones where freckles mix with tears, then slowly moves down Shane's jawline and neck, letting the kisses turn wet and open-mouthed. Shane's arms roam over Ilya's shoulders and chest, until they slide down to Ilya's waistline and sneak under his t-shirt, warm and gentle against his bruised skin.

"Don't cry," Ilya pleads, when Shane chokes on a sob.

"They are happy tears," Shane breathes, eyes glassy and cheeks splotchy. He half laughs, half cries as more tears stream down his face. "You make me so happy, Ilya."

"Stop, Hollander," Ilya pleads, eyes turning blurry. "I want to fuck you, and you're making me cry."

Shane laughs, openly, eyes squeezing shut, and Ilya can feel him shake in his arms. Ilya feels high. Like he could float away if Shane let go of him.

Shane wiggles in his arms until Ilya lets him free enough that Shane can grab a hold of Ilya's hand and pull him away from the kitchen counters and smoothie ingredients.

"Bedroom," Shane says, eyes shining.

Ilya follows.

~*~*~

It's later, when they are breathless and tired, lying in Shane's bed, slotted together under a thin cotton sheet, that Ilya remembers.

"I figured it out," Ilya says, chuckling.

"What?" Shane asks, confused. He is already half asleep, pliant in Ilya's arms.

"I figured out you are Jane," Ilya explains, "because I don't have your number saved. I almost had a panic attack about having the most beautiful boyfriend. I wanted to hold your hand so badly, Hollander, you were too hot for sixteen-year-old me. It was horrible."

"Shut up," Shane says, but he is also smiling. "You were such a sweet kid."

Ilya smiles. He is old enough and confident enough to admit it: he was a sweet kid, and he is still sweet in some ways, all mushy inside under the tough exterior. Ilya knows it, and Shane knows it. Ilya also knows that his sixteen-year-old version got some things wrong, and he is not always happy despite how amazing his life can be. He has been struggling lately, and he is sometimes like his mother, sad and in despair. He pledges to do something about it, to honour the promise he made to himself earlier.

For now, he pulls Shane closer, halfway on top of himself, hugging him tightly, as Shane's face presses into his neck. Ilya can feel Shane smiling as he leaves a small kiss under Ilya's jaw.

"I love you," Shane whispers, sleepily.

"I love you, too."