Work Text:
Ilya tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.
He was parked out by the beach, facing the sunset, pink and lilac streaks from the setting sun illuminating the inside of his Mercedes. It was the middle of January, and aside from him and a few lonely seagulls, the beach was vacant.
It was oddly peaceful.
Next to him on the passenger's seat were six half-empty bottles of prescription painkillers from various past injuries. Given his history, he should've been tossing the extras, but he made the little decision every time he opened his medicine cabinet to keep them there.
An unopened bottle of Russian vodka sat in the cupholder.
He'd parked a little over ten minutes ago, and had yet to take his hands off the wheel.
The knowledge of what he was planning to do made him feel sick. He was stuck in a stand-still, the sun continuing to set even as Ilya sat frozen in his car. Whatever he chose to do next would be the most important decision of his life.
He could take his hands off the steering wheel and down the pills with the vodka, a pathetic end to his pathetic existence. Alternatively, he could put the car in reverse, head back to his apartment, and show up for practice the following morning with no one the wiser.
The third option was to stall deciding altogether.
He carefully took his hands off the wheel, averting his eyes from the pills and vodka, and pulled out his phone. His fingers shook as he entered his passcode.
If he was going to kill himself, he needed to not be selfish about it. That meant deleting any texts that could implicate people - or depending on the laws of their country, incriminate them.
Sasha was the first person whose texts Ilya deleted. It was not a difficult decision, because he'd stopped replying to Sasha's texts years ago, and Sasha had long since given up attempting to contact him.
On the other hand, deleting Svetlana's texts was very painful. Years of memories gone in an instant. His finger hovered over the delete button for a long time, heart racing, every small decision making his ultimate one feel a lot more daunting.
He hit delete.
Her contact was still in his phone, but this way, no texts would ever be uncovered of Svetlana and Ilya bonding over their love for both men and women. Yes, Svetlana was the minister's daughter, but that didn't make her immune to the political consequences of 'promoting' queerness.
Ilya pointedly ignored the next obvious choice in favor of scrolling through the rest of his conversations. The ones with his teammates could stay, as well as the ones with his father and brother. There were two old recurring hookups he had to delete on the off chance that the messages could be used to out them: one man, one transgender woman. Both equally disgraceful in the eyes of Russia and society at large.
After that, he couldn't avoid it any longer.
He clicked on his texts with Jane.
Instead of deleting them right away, he scrolls up, and up, and up, reading through the endless messages they'd exchanged over the years. Most were either flirtatious or hockey related, but an increasing number of them over the past couple months had been about boring everyday things.
Ilya's heart clenched as he went through them.
The sun was almost entirely beneath the horizon by that point, dousing the car in darkness except for the glowing light of Ilya's phone screen.
He wondered if he should text Hollander before he did it.
He'd called Svetlana the night before, careful not to say anything incriminating. He was a good liar. Despite having known Ilya since he was a child, she had not picked up on him acting weird- in fact, she had actually made a comment about how he seemed happier than normal.
Hollander was different.
Ilya couldn't call Hollander out of nowhere. He definitely couldn't casually thank Hollander for being in his life, or end the call with an 'I love you'. At least, not without Hollander freaking the fuck out and then blaming himself afterwards for not realizing what Ilya was planning.
But… that didn't mean Ilya couldn't text him at all.
He just had to keep it normal.
Lily:
Sunset is very pretty in Boston
Is sunset pretty in Montreal?
Jane:
?
Lily:
Is not as pretty as you of course
Especially not when I am fucking you into mattress ;)
Jane:
Fuck off, asshole
The sunsets here are okay I guess
Lily:
Beach sex is overrated
Jane:
Beach sex sounds digusting
Lily:
It is. A lot of sand in places sand should not be :(
Jane:
Gross
I hate sand. It feels awful
Lily:
You do not like beaches then?
Jane:
No
Pools are nice
Lakes are the best though
Lily:
We should swim together sometime. Would be fun.
Ilya blinked down at his screen, a small frown forming at the edges of his lips, unsure as to what had motivated him to type that, let alone hit send. Maybe he was just being masochistic, letting himself imagine scenarios he would not be around to experience.
Jane:
Are you a good swimmer?
Lily:
The best swimmer. I should quit hockey and swim instead.
Jane:
Hockey without you sounds boring
Lily:
Aw, would you miss me?
There's a pause. Hollander types for a long time, but when the message finally sends, it's only one word.
Jane:
Yes.
Ilya swallowed heavily. He had been joking, but of course Hollander hadn't picked up on that. Or maybe he had. Usually, Hollander would've just told him to fuck off.
Lily:
Was joke, my sweet Jane. I know you would not
Ilya wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Hollander or himself.
Jane:
Fuck off?
What is that supposed to mean?
Lily:
You would not miss me
Without me, you might actually be able to win Stanley Cup
Jane:
I can win the Stanley Cup without you quitting hockey
*Montreal can
Hockey is a team sport, obviously
Also please don't quit hockey
Lily:
You are begging now?
Jane:
No, fuck you, I don't beg
Lily:
Liar
Ilya set the phone down on the dash.
He stared at the pills, squeezed his eyes shut, and felt the tears leak down his face. He let out a sob and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.
He couldn't bring himself to delete Shane's texts.
He didn't know what to do.
It was too much.
If he died, his father would receive all his money, which would cover all the treatments and bills. But Alexei might just leech off the money and not leave enough left if Ilya wasn't there to keep him in check. Worse, Alexei might just take the money and let Papa die, either to skirt the responsibility of being a caretaker or because he was too high to do any caretaking.
And Ilya still had some good hockey left in him.
Even if everything hurt so, so bad.
But there was a middle ground, da? He didn't have to choose between waiting ending it today and waiting for natural death.
He could hold on until Papa died and do it afterwards.
That would be the smart thing to do.
He could squeeze a little bit of joy out of the rest of his life. A few more nights with Hollander, another season or two of hockey. Maybe he'd win another Stanley Cup. And then, when he had all his loose ends tied up, then he could
Before he could change his mind, he threw open the car door, scooped up the pill bottles in his arms, ran to the shoreline and fell to his knees. The wet sand was gross beneath his trousers, and the water lapping at his skin was freezing cold.
He ignored it.
With shaking hands, he opened pill bottle after pill bottle and emptied each one into the ocean.
Gone.
In any other context, he would feel immeasurably guilty about polluting the ocean and possibly hurting the sea life, but if he threw them in the trashcan there was nothing stopping him from taking them back out and going back to his car to finish things.
Hopefully the water would dilute the pills enough that the damage would be negligible.
After the bottles were all empty, he stayed there kneeling at the shoreline for who knows how long, cold and crying. He couldn't seem to stop shaking.
Oddly enough, once his tears dried out, he felt better than he had in weeks.
Lighter.
He got up, threw the empty pill bottles in the trashcan, and headed back to his car.
Ilya did not kill himself after his father died.
Months later, Hunter kissed his boyfriend at center ice, and Ilya and Shane went swimming in the lake behind Shane's cottage.
The water was nicer in the lake than it was next to the ocean.
When Ilya told Shane about that night, Shane cried and confessed that he'd felt like something was off, but hadn't wanted to break their fragile dynamic by pushing too hard. He held Ilya for hours, combing his fingers through Ilya's hair and telling Ilya how glad he was that Ilya had chosen to be brave.
That night by the ocean would haunt Ilya for the rest of his life.
But he would choose to be brave, over and over again.