Chapter Text
The second the wheels of the plane touched down in Ottawa, Ilya could feel the entire team collectively relax. They had all been anxious wrecks the whole flight after what had happened in Tampa.
Hayes’ shoulders stopped tensing so much.
Bood’s head tilted back and he let out a sigh.
Haas stopped digging his nails into his armrests.
Barrett finally looked away from Harris. He had barely left Harris’ side the whole trip, Ilya felt he was being a little obvious in his affections. But Ilya figured that he and Shane would be much the same if he were here. They more or less had been, just via texting and calling.
To prove his point to himself, he immediately opened his phone—already on his messages to Shane—and texted him.
Me
Hi moy lyubimyy plane landed safely
13:20
All is good
13:20
I can’t wait to see you
13:21
He knew Shane would probably be staring at his phone, waiting for a text, maybe even looking at a flight tracker, just as worried as Ilya and the team had been. He quickly saw the ticks at the bottom of his last message turn blue and he smiled. Shane had already read them. He stood up and everyone started grabbing what they’d brought into the cabin of the plane with them. They then headed off the plane, Ilya stayed back a little, letting the rest of the team off first.
Zane Boodram—Bood—stayed back with him.
“Cass wants everyone over for dinner tonight if you want to come along. I get if you wanna head to Montreal to see Jane instead.” He gave Ilya a warm smile. “She wants proof everyone’s okay.” Bood said with a slight chuckle, though Ilya could see the worry in his own face.
“I’m going to see my Jane. She will be at my place soon.” He told Bood. Bood nodded.
“As long as you’re not going to spend it alone, Roz.” He clapped a hand on Ilya’s back. Ilya smiled at him.
“Promise.” He and Bood stepped off the plane together. Once the two were back on the asphalt, he felt Bood put an arm around him, giving him a squeeze.
Despite being younger than Ilya, Bood always seemed to have this paternal feel to his actions. He acted how Ilya wished his father would have treated him. He smiled.
“You know, if Jane was up for it, she could join the WAG group chat. Cass has been begging me to get Jane’s number off of you so she can add her.” Bood nudged him a little. Ilya sighed dramatically.
“I suppose I can ask Jane. Since it is a high order from Lady Boodram after all.” He said in mock defeat.
𓅰𓅰𓅰
A little after two, Ilya made it home. He had expected to see an empty driveway, but had been pleasantly surprised to see Shane’s car—A Jeep Cherokee—in front of the house. He smiled brightly and parked his SUV as quickly and safely as he could before getting out and practically running into the house, leaving his bags in the car—he could deal with that later. The door opened as he got to it and he swept Shane into a hug instantly and kissed him before realising he’d been trying to say something about the Montreal team’s plane getting in early. He didn’t care how or why Shane was here over an hour early, he was just so happy so see him. Happy he had the chance to see him again at all.
Once Ilya pulled back, he just looked at Shane’s face, memorising his face from his dark eyes, adorable nose he liked to gently place kisses to, the freckles he could lose himself in over and over again, and his lips that Ilya loved to kiss, to feel on his skin and to just look at.
He then noticed the way his lips twitched, the same way he sometimes did when the press were asking a little too many questions.
“What’s wrong? You seem stressed. Like press is interrogating you.” Shane chuckled a little, but it seemed tight.
“I’m fine, just, follow me?” Shane asked, taking Ilya’s hand. Ilya nodded and could feel the slight tremble of his fingers.
Shane took him into his living room where Ilya stopped and looked around. There were maybe a hundred candles scattered across the room. He furrowed his brows and looked at Shane.
Only, he wasn’t around eye-level like he usually was. He was down, on the hardwood floor. On one knee.
“Shane—” He remembered Shane saying on there first summer together at the cottage that he’d propose to him on the dock, candles everywhere. And here he was, surrounded by candles—electric ones, thank god—in Ilya’s living room, on his knee.
“Ilya, I’ve been thinking a lot,” Ilya swallowed hard, just staring at his boyfriend. “And I don’t really have much of a plan anymore, but there’s one thing I know for sure, and it’s that I need you in my life.” Ilya felt his eyes fill with tears as Shane continued. “I know we said we’d wait, but I don’t care anymore.” Shane reached into his pocket—the same one that his let was raised, so he had to tilt his body to reach—and pulled out a small circular object.
A ring.
“Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov,” Shane said, his voice cracking a little as he spoke. “Will you marry me?” He asked. Ilya just stared for a few moments before a small laugh bubbled up in his throat and he quickly spoke.
“You know my middle name.” He saw as a blush bread over Shane’s nose and cheeks, bringing out his freckles more.
“Yeah, I had to use google to find out how to say it though. And I couldn’t spell it when I was trying to, so I used Wikipedia to find out to get the spelling then fell into the rabbit hole of Russian name traditions—” Shane was rambling and while Ilya loved it when Shane would ramble about his latest google deep dive or the last book he read, Ilya had an important question to answer.
“Yes.” He interrupted Shane’s rambling. Shane looked at him, doe-eyed like he couldn’t believe Ilya’s answer.
“Yes?” He repeated. Ilya nodded, a huge grin across his face.
“Da. Yes. Oui.” He confirmed in all three ways he knew. He knelt down to Shane and kissed him hard, knocking them both to the floor, his hand carefully holding the back of Shane’s head to protect it from hitting the floor. He could feel the tension leaving Shane’s whole body as he kissed back, their bodies moving together. Ilya didn’t even care that they were on the floor, he’s happily have Shane right there and then. He was sure he’d have him right now even if they had been outside in the grass.
Maybe not quite, Shane wouldn’t be as comfortable and would feel too dirty to really enjoy it.
But they weren’t outside. They were in Ilya’s living room, kissing like they’d been apart for decades, Shane holding an engagement ring in his hand still. One meant for Ilya. Ilya could feel his tears falling down his face, and he could also feel Shane’s tears on their lips too.
He held Shane tight as they kissed, his hand sliding up his boyfriend’s shirt carefully.
No.
His fiance’s shirt.
God, he was going to use that word every chance he could get.
𓅬𓅬𓅬
Ilya wasn’t entirely sure when or how he and Shane made it into the bedroom, but they apparently did. They had woken up, tangled in the sheets and each other’s limbs. Once they’d woken up a little, Ilya could tell Shane was uncomfortable—they had tired themselves out and fallen asleep before getting to shower—so Ilya suggested they showered together.
Ilya had stood behind Shane, gently massaging shampoo into his head. His hands then wandered down to Shane’s shoulders and he gently massaged them too. Shane let out a sigh and Ilya smiled. It was domestic moments like that which always made Ilya smile and occasionally wonder if he really deserved this life.
Although, Shane always seemed to know when he was thinking like that and would say something to reassure him. Sometimes it was a simple muttered I love you either in English or Russian, and other times it was whole monologues, telling Ilya how much he loved him and how proud he was of him and to be his partner in life, even if it was only behind closed doors for now.
Now, Ilya found himself making food for him and his fiance. He had been managing to help Shane be a little more lenient in his diet and had gotten him to agree to pork and egg fried rice with garden peas. While not being overly unhealthy, it didn’t quite fit into his usual routine. Ilya just stood and fried the rice, adding a little more soy to it till it seemed right.
Shane had taken it upon himself to change the bedsheets while Ilya cooked. He then heard Shane call from upstairs.
“Someone just pulled up outside!” Ilya looked towards where his front door is. He moved the rice off the heat and frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone, was he? The team were all at Bood’s place, likely stuffing their faces with whatever Cassie and Bood had managed to cook up in the few hours they had. Hayden—for all Ilya teased him and calls him names—would hardly be stupid enough to come round now for a few reasons. Marlow isn’t meant to be visiting until next month when they play together along with St-Simon and Carmichael. Sveta doesn’t make surprise visits anymore. Yuna and David always call ahead of time and Shane would recognise their car anyway. He would have called down that it was them. He didn’t have any more time to wonder as the doorbell rung out once, twice, then a third time, all one after the other.
He walked to the door—not before checking again that the stove was off which it was—and looked out the window to see the car. It was a white Ford Fiesta with a sport trim. Ilya didn’t know anyone who owned a Fiesta other than Marlow, but that was a black one. He frowned and unlocked the door before opening it. He opened his mouth to greet whoever it was, but the words fell silent on his tongue.
Standing before him was an older woman, shorter than him at around 5’4 or 5’5. She wore a pair of black jeans, straight cut, not skinny, and a white T-shirt with a green over shirt tied in the front.
But it was her face that made his chest tighten.
His mouth was dry as he looked at her and he felt tears prickling at his eyes.
“Mama..?” Ilya asked, his voice cracking. He’d recognise those soft, hazel eyes anywhere, they looked just like the ones that looked back at him every morning in the mirror, even with the extra wrinkles around them, and the curls framing her face, even despite them holding more grey than they did seventeen years ago.
“Ilyusha.” The woman spoke with a light Russian accent. Like she’d lived outside of Russia for years. But that couldn’t be right. His mother was dead.
Ilya took a step back.
“No, you can’t be.” He muttered. He heard his phone go in the kitchen. Likely Shane asking if he could come down, or asking what was happening. Not that Ilya could explain anyway. He was stood in his front entryway in front of his mother. His mother who died seventeen years ago. “You’re dead.” He spoke quietly in Russian. The woman shook her head.
“I’m not.” She replied in Russian. “I’m sorry, Ilyusha.” Her words his him like a knife to his chest. His mother was standing in front of him alive. Meaning she hadn’t died. She had left him. With his father. She had walked away. Years of blaming himself for not being able to save her, and she had just walked away and—judging by the gold band and diamond ring combination on her left ring finger—started a new life.
“You left me.”