Chapter Text
Lesley from head office was a cheap fucking bitch.
Ilya wouldn’t have known it first hand, or even know who Lesley was out of the many sharply dressed pencil pushers that worked in the head management office for Boston Raiders. But Coach Desjourneys never had the restraints to hide the trials and tribulations of dealing with upper management and as Captain, he had given Ilya the privilege to listen to every single dirty details. He loved that for him. Spit your shit, he would always encourage, spill the deets, Des.
It was from one of these rants that he knew that Lesley, who was very much obsessed with sales projection and the burgeoning overhead costs on stadium maintenance, had been responsible for the cut backs on essential manpowers. And one of these lucky departments had been security.
He didn’t think much about it then, just a juicy gossip from an office drama he’s several degrees removed from.
But at that moment, staring down at the shiny barrel of a gun in the middle of a ‘staff only’ parking lot without anyone around to witness it, Ilya wished he could send a complain about Lesley. Preferably with some strong choice of words in both English and Russian.
The man holding the gun still had a jersey on; green and white, with the ugly, outdated logo of Chicago Brigadiers emblazoned over the chest. The away game team tonight, that Ilya and the Raiders had curb stomped in an embarrassing 8-2 win.
“I lost thousands because of you,” the man snarled, showing a row of teeth that desperately required some treatment, “You- you fucking rusky degenerate,”
Ilya stared at the man, the gun, and the snot nastily hanging out of the man’s nostril. He’s pretty sure he should be scared right now, possibly begging for his life, like how it should be when a mentally unstable person was clearly intent on taking your life.
But the thing is-
The last Montreal-Boston game had been a month ago, and he had not seen Shane for just as long. The last time they met was during his away game, where he had to regretfully leave his beautifully naked and pliant Kotik and the hotel bed they had made a whole mess of to make his flight.
They weren’t supposed to play each other for another 2 weeks. Yet, his wonderful tigryonok was in Providence for some charity event he’s invited to, and instead of returning to Montreal, he took an extra day so he could drive up to Boston and spend more time with Ilya.
And Ilya had thought of it, right? The last time Shane was in his house, things had not ended very well; They broke up, Shane dated someone else, and now that he had his lovely Shane back, Ilya knew he need to prevent whatever mistake that made him run away from happening again.
It could be anything, really. Maybe it was because the tuna melt doesn’t smell very fresh, maybe it was because papa called, maybe it was because they watched terrible Buffalo game and he jinxed himself.
So he had gone all out for tonight; researched online on romantic dinner date, kept pinterest moodboards as inspirations, ordered nice wine from France and got the nice non-alcoholic variety in case Shane was on his diet again. Bought novelty condoms in addition to nice normal, boring ones. Practiced making this good, supposedly pre-sex safe meal, laid out the nice mattress protector just in case Shane decided they should go without condoms.
And all of that was supposed to happen today.
So no, Ilya’s not really scared, he decided, running a hand down his face. He’s just really, immensely, unbearably pissed.
“Does this,” he gritted his teeth, glaring at the man over the gun in his grip, “really have to happen today?”
For a second, the man seemed to falter, “Wha-“
”I have plans,” Ilya ignored him, gesturing angrily to the direction of the outside world, beyond this dark parking lot with no security, where an amazing night should’ve waited for him in the shape of 1 (one) Shane Hollander, “Great plans for me. I have nice wine from France, I have dinner to prepare, I have the prettiest person in the world with most beautiful body that I am planning to worship every inch of waiting. Of all night you want to kill me, it has to be this night?!”
The man balked at him, “Are you.. are you angry I’m stopping you from getting your dick wet?”
Ilya rolled his eyes and audibly groaned out his frustration. What kind of murder attempt is this? Every 3 years olds in Russia know you do not make small talk with your victim. So not only is he late, he was being subjected to the worst pridurok to ever hold a gun.
“Hey!” The man shouted snippily, waving his gun as if that was supposed to scare him or something. Alexei had used gun to threaten him ever since he got his police issued one at 20. Ilya was used to seeing the barrel of a gun so close he could see the trigger mechanism, “I’m talking to you, Rozanov!”
“Yes, yes, I am bored, not deaf,” he drawled, “And yet here I am standing, still not shot. Either shoot or stand aside so I can go to my date,” he lifted a hand, noticing the way the man flinched and rolled his eyes again. Hopeless, he felt insulted, honestly, “I will count to 3. You either shoot me during, or I will walk and go home. Then, we forget all of this ever happen. 1, 2, 3-“
Nothing.
The man shook from where he stood. He seemed flabbergasted. Yes, Ilya learned this word recently, from the ‘Word-a-day’ calendar Shane had gifted him. His clever and caring Shane.
Who will still be wined and dined tonight, because Ilya was still not shot. He gave a nod at the man, and headed towards his car-
bang
He looked back up.
There’s smoke coming out of the gun’s barrel. Behind it, the man’s face had turned into one of startled horror; lips trembling and eyes wide open, hands shaking even further around their grip on the gun.
He ran.
Reflexively, Ilya took a step to chase him - that wasn’t the deal! He said on the count of 3 only! - when he felt something odd on his side. A little damp. A little painful.
Taking an unsteady breath, Ilya pressed his palm against the odd spot, cringing at the unexpected wet spot that touched his skin. He lifted it up to eye level.
Blood. That’s blood staining his hands.
911, his brain reminded him distantly. 911 is the emergency services code. He should call, he should—
No, he instantly stilled, phone held in his other dry hand. There’s a text message notification on the very top of his screen, all from Jane, sent 15 minutes ago.
Jane: Let myself in. Don’t take too long
Jane: And drive safe
Jane: I brought that strawberry lube you like! 🍓🍓
Jane: Just in case I got lucky tonight 🥵
Right, there’s something more important now.
Somewhere in his house now, Shane would have settled himself in. Probably stole the hoodie he wore this morning to warm himself up, all soft and sweet in Ilya’s clothes that’s too big for him. He would look radiant. He would be the most wonderful thing for Ilya to see today.
So he really, really didn’t have time to bleed out in an empty parking lot and wait for ambulance to come.
He tapped out of the call tab and went to his messaging app.
You: You will
You: 🍑🍑🍑👅👅👅🥰🥰🥰😈😈😈
You: Going home now.
Streets of Boston was never quiet regardless of the time of day, yet somehow, it was that night. All the lights had been green, most of the lanes were quick to clear. He weaved through the night traffic like a skilled F1 driver.
This is reward for me for being good person, Ilya thought a little cheerily, with a twinge of hysteria. Also maybe because the world knew I don’t have long.
One side of his shirt had turned crusty not even 5 minutes in, and Google Maps said he still has 15 more minutes of driving. The pain had been searing when he sat down, probably from folding his stomach muscle right on top of the bullet wound. After a while, and if he adjusted his seat position right, the pain was somewhat manageable.
The coppery smell of blood had started to fill the car. He wished he could smoke to erase it but he was trying to quit, so Ilya settled with opening the windows of his Porsche by a fraction.
From the audio system, old 2010 EDMs blasted loudly, keeping him awake with every blaring bass drops. He found that his eyesight had began to blur after the second green light, when he almost crashed against the back of a Camry that didn’t signal as they merge.
Ilya swiped a hand over his face, cringing at the amount of gathered sweat and belatedly realised that was the hand with most of his blood. Great, now his face felt all sticky and wet.
He glanced over to the rearview mirror, both so he could merge and to see what has become of his face. Ah yes, blood everywhere, even on his hair now. He looked like a bad halloween costume.
There’s drops of cold sweat running down the side of his face and down to his jaw. Maybe, he thought to himself again, as his sight began to blur, maybe he won’t make it home.
His seat began to feel a little wet. His hands, he could see on the steering wheels, had gone clammy.
With more force than necessary, he pressed on the handsfree call button and waited for the awaiting ‘ding’, “Call Jane,” he commanded to his car system. Shit, even his voice sounded faint.
The dial tone didn’t last long. Shane’s voice, like an oasis in the middle of the desert, came through from his speakers, “Hey, where are you?”
Despite how shit he felt, Ilya found himself grinning, “Google say 10 minutes,” Google actually say 13 but what do they know, “Don’t start without me,”
The tinny voice of Shane scoffed, “That’s mean. You’re late and still had the gall to order me around?”
”Yes, I will apologise properly when I get there,” Ilya told him, once again using his hand to rub away the sweat that made its way down his nose, “How was party? I assume you are prettiest wallflower there, yes?”
His beloved made a little indignant noise, but it didn’t cover his laugh, “I regret giving you that word calendar. You were a menace even when English was hard for you,”
”This is one of my special skill,” Ilya told him, a little distracted while he made sure that this particular road doesn’t have camera on it and stepped on the gas. He’s going 20 over, not bad.
”Yeah?” Shane sighed, sounding like he just lied down somewhere. Maybe his sofa, maybe his bed. Ilya hoped it was the later, “And what are your other special skills?”
He went through a traffic light just as the lights turned yellow. Nice. He sat on his side wrong and felt the blazing heat of pain tear through his body. Not nice.
Ilya bit down on the steering wheel to conceal the pain.
“Ilya? What’s that sound? Are you okay?”
“Is leg cramp,” he quickly lied, hoping that the way he shuddered did not get picked up by the phone, “Anyway, my special skills include being best hockey player and making Shane Hollander come handsfree,”
”Fuck you,” came the expected response, said with so much fondness he felt he could cry.
Ilya took a quiet breath and glanced towards his display screen. Saw the remaining driving time and-
He turned to the passenger seat.
Irina Rozanov stared back at him. Blank eyes, pale unsmiling lips, all hidden under long blonde curly tresses that framed her delicate visage. She looked just like the last time Ilya remembered her in that too big bed, lying so peacefully it’s like she was asleep amongst her scattered pills.
Ilya took a sharp breath. Oh.
Well, guess he’s really not making it back.
”Ilya?”
Shane’s voice jolted him back to reality, “Shane,” he called out, and marvelled at how even his voice was despite everything, “Talk me through your day,”
He could feel the palpable confusion at the request, “What?”
”Just tell me. This trip is boring, I want to listen to you,” he explained, pointedly not looking at the passenger seat. Mostly because the road was getting more crowded, and there’s no point to all of this if he just ended up crashing. But also…
“Give me some time, mama,” he told her in their shared language, one Shane would not understand. He’s glad he hadn’t started teaching him yet, but felt a little sad that maybe he never could, “Just until I can see him again,”
From the audio, he could feel the hesitation, though to his relief, Shane began recounting his experience, “Well, it’s not much. My flight actually got delayed by an hour so I went to kill time in this coffee shop-“
Shane continued to drone on about his adventure in the airport, Ilya’s favorite little audiobook. The streets had turned into a familiar residential area, and Ilya wondered if his heart was thumping from anticipation or as a warning that it will quickly have not enough blood to work with.
From the passenger side, Irina continued to look straight ahead. This is where I live for now, mama, Ilya quietly muttered, is not Russia but I am happy. Maybe one day there will be a place where I will be even happier.
”Sorry, what?”
“I am close to home now,” he told Shane, just as the sight of his home came into view, “I meet you inside. Bye bye,”
”Bye,” Shane laughed, sounding giddy and god, Ilya loves him so much. He will tell him one day, will tell him in English, will tell him in more beautiful place than a sad Russian tunnel and Shane maybe will accept and Ilya will be in heaven-
If he’s not there first by tonight.
He park the car rather haphazardly on the residential road parking across the house. Standing out of his inclined seat was hard, and the moment he felt his feet met ground, everything started to blur together. His head very too light to be healthy.
And yeah, his pants and shirt were completely soaked in blood now.
With staggering steps, he headed over to his front door. There’s barely any strength left in them but he kept pushing, the warm lights in his house like the end of the painful tunnel of his journey.
Irina followed him, step by step. Prim and proper, like Grigory always demanded, but with elegance and grace that she could only be born with.
He stopped when they reached the door. A simple wooden door, that separated Ilya from his destination. His destiny. The other piece of his soul.
“Wait, mama,” Ilya asked her, placing his drenched and bloodied hand on the door knob. He raised the other one in front of her calm face, “I’ll show you my darling first, so you can see him. Then, I’ll go with you,”
She didn’t reply. Irina stared at her son with the same blank look she had the last time Ilya saw her on that bed, with the same stillness.
He took that as an agreement.
Entering his passcode was difficult the first 2 times, on account of his slippery hand. The mechanical lock buzzed in protest on both times and he’s afraid that the noise would disturb Shane. Ilya managed to enter his code the third time.
“Ilya?” An angel’s voice chimed from inside the house, and the sound of it alone made him smile. Well, more like a twitch of his lips, because everything had become too cold, and all of his muscles refused to work all at once.
Ilya was only vaguely aware that he was on the floor. That everything felt wet and sticky and cold.
“Hey, where are- Oh my god! Ilya!”
The shriek of horror jolted him back up to consciousness. Ilya looked up, the sight of Shane - his beautiful Shane, his light, his love - running towards him with tears streaming down his perfect face welcomed him home.
He smiled as warm hands grabbed him. Cradle him and place him on his back. It’s Shane. He made it home. To Shane.
”Ilya! What happened- Oh my god, you’re bleeding badly! Your phone, where’s your phone, I need to call 911-“
Blearily, seeming like he must’ve used most of his strength left, Ilya opened his eyes. Standing over his beautiful, sadly crying Shane, his mother looked down at him with blank eyes.
Ilya grinned, “Here he is, mama,” he declared proudly, like he was 5 again and he’s giving her the most beautiful flower he saw on their gardens, “Isn’t he wonderful?”
Then, everything just went black.