Chapter Text
Summer 2002
“What do you want to do when you grow up?”
Ilya turned his head towards Shane from where he'd been watching the clouds, grass tickling his cheek. Shane was still focused on the sky, but he was chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. He had that look on his face. The look that meant he was trying to come up with a plan.
Ilya made a non-committal sound, and looked back up at the startlingly blue summer sky. It was a rare day that neither boy had anything to do, an afternoon with no obligations beyond spending time together. There were no hockey camps or summer reading; no chores or plans beyond wasting the day away alongside a best friend.
Ilya found himself wishing he could bottle up this moment forever—it was so peaceful, as it often was when he was with Shane. A light breeze, carrying the scent of rich soil, cooled his sun-warmed skin. The grass he laid on with Shane was thick and comfortable, to the point he thought he could easily take a nap.
The sky above was bright with fluffy white clouds that looked so perfect, they didn't seem real. It was serene, like something out of a dream, and Ilya felt for a moment that he might fall right up into the sky. Shane's hand squeezed in his was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
“Maybe hockey. Mama says I’m good enough to be professional, if I am dedicated,” he said. He could feel Shane shifting beside him, finally looking back at him. Ilya glanced over and found deep, honeyed pools of brown staring at him. Shane's eyes were bright and hopeful. His mouth lifted into a satisfied smile.
“My mom says the same thing. We should play in the NHL together. Maybe we can even be on the same team.” He said it like it was a suggestion, but Ilya could tell Shane’s brain had already latched onto the idea. It didn’t sound too bad. He liked hockey, and he was really good at it. So was Shane. And he really liked Shane.
"Okay," he agreed simply. It was always easy to agree to any suggestion Shane made. He was boring, dependable, and thought through everything before acting on an idea. Which meant Ilya didn't need to worry too hard about it, Shane usually had things figured out.
If his humoring of Shane's ideas also rewarded Ilya with a rare, beaming smile from Shane, then that wasn't anyone's business but his.
Shane nodded, satisfied. "Cool. We'll be the best. Obviously," he said, turning his head to look back up at the sky.
"Obviously," Ilya confirmed, still watching Shane's profile. His eyelashes were so long. Ilya knew Shane disliked how much the other boys at school called him pretty, but he really was.
"No matter what, we'll be best friends, right?" Shane asked suddenly. His voice was smaller, less confident. Ilya's heart squeezed in his chest.
"Of course. Always," he said. And he believed it, as much as a pessimistic voice—one that sounded suspiciously like his father's—told him that Shane would one day get tired of him. That Shane would realize how selfish and lazy Ilya could be, that Ilya was far more trouble than it was worth to keep around. Ilya vowed to spend every day of the rest of his life proving to Shane that he was the only best friend he needed.
Just in case, Ilya took the comfortable silence between them to carve every detail of the moment into his memory. The bright cerulean sky dotted with fluffy clouds straight out of a picture book, the thick blades of grass tickling his ears, the sound of the wind carding through trees. The only sound more important was Shane's voice, quietly seeking reassurance that they'd be friends forever. In his sweaty palm, Ilya's hand was clutched tight. Neither of them let go, and thank god for that, because Shane had no idea how much of Ilya's heart was held between their fingers.
"Are you two just going to lay out there all day? Come inside, Dad just cut up some watermelon," Yuna Hollander yelled from the patio door. Ilya lifted his head, and saw Yuna and his own mother sharing a wry look.
"Ilya, did you put on sunscreen like I asked?" Irina asked in Russian.
"Yes," Ilya lied. The look she gave him made it clear she didn't believe him, but she was nice enough not to get on his case about it.
He waited for Shane to get up first, not wanting the moment to end just yet. As much as he hated the bubble of their peaceful afternoon popping, Shane seemed just as bereft, because as soon as he was standing he reached for Ilya to help him up. His fingers tangled with Ilya's again, grip firm and reassuring. When they started walking back towards the Hollander's home, their hands never came apart.
Fall 2002
Middle school was not at all what it was cracked up to be, in Shane's humble opinion. Sure, going from class to class and having lockers was kind of fun. He liked his teachers and he was learning a lot. He was allowed more freedoms and responsibilities from his parents, like getting to walk to school and practices. But somehow, navigating his peers became a million times harder.
It was like a switch had flipped for everyone else but Shane, and he'd already felt disconnected from the other kids as it was. Now, he practically felt like an alien. His classmates started to talk about things like crushes, and worried about what was cool and what wasn't.
Kids split off into cliques, for some reason refusing to interact with anyone from a group they considered rivals. What constituted their rivalries? Usually, petty drama or conflicting interests. Everyone thought everyone else was lame, and they were the actual cool kids. Shane couldn't make heads or tails of any of it, much less keep up.
His parents reassured him that it was just a part of growing up. Puberty was starting to hit, and it was making emotions run high. In Yuna's words, "It means some kids act like dicks. Try not to let it bother you." Shane didn't get the whole fuss, but he figured he'd take his parents' word for it and just ignore all the dramatics. It's not like most of these kids bothered him, anyway. Plus, he had Ilya, and that's all that really mattered to him.
"Rose Landry asked me about you in math today," Ilya said in way of greeting, plopping down next to Shane at their usual lunch table, sequestered away in a back corner of the bustling cafeteria. He didn't even bother to open his own lunch to see what he had before he was reaching over to try and steal the food from Shane's hands.
"What? The girl from my theater class? Why?" He asked, taking too large a bite of his sandwich while he batted Ilya's hand away. Ilya always tried to steal a bite of his food, even though he had his own.
Ilya gave him an impish smile. "She has crush on you."
Shane nearly choked on his sandwich. He swallowed way too soon, and he feared it'd get stuck in his throat. He hastily reached for his water bottle and took several gulps, already hating where this conversation was going.
He glared at Ilya when he was done, not bothering to respond until he felt like he could talk without his voice doing something funny. "Shut up. No she doesn't."
"She does! She told me. Said, oh Shane is so cool and mysterious! I love the strong and silent type!" Ilya's voice went high in a poor impression of Rose, giving an exaggerated batting of his eyelashes towards Shane. "She asked me if I would talk to you for her."
Shane's face was already on fire, but now it was like someone had stuck his head into a furnace. Strong and silent?
"I don't think I'm very mysterious…"
Ilya laughed. "That's what I said. Told her you are just un-social."
Shane gave him an annoyed look and playfully shoved at his arm. "It's anti-social, asshole." One of the few perks Shane could admit he enjoyed about middle school was that everyone was a lot more comfortable cursing, and he was taking full advantage.
Ilya waved him away. "Well?" He asked.
"Well, what?"
"Do you like her back?"
The overlapping voices, clattering of chairs, and ambient chaos of the cafeteria rushed louder in Shane's ears. He'd been dreading a question like this. He had hoped he could fly under the radar, but apparently he had no such luck. He didn't get everyone's seemingly single-minded focus on crushes and dating. Any time he overheard whispered gossip about who's dating who, he wanted to shove his hands over his ears. Much like he wanted to right now, in the face of Ilya's question.
Instead, he shrugged, suddenly very interested in the bag of carrots sitting in front of him. "No. She's nice, but I'm just not interested in that kinda stuff right now. I want to focus on school."
Ilya threw himself back in his chair with a dramatic groan. "So boring, Shane." He was smiling, though, and Shane was used to his gentle ribbing, so he just rolled his eyes and ignored him, opting to make his way through his carrots. His mom would be disappointing if he didn't finish them.
Ilya frowned suddenly, thinking. "It wouldn't be a bad idea," he said.
Shane stopped his chewing and swallowed, too loud. "What wouldn't be a bad idea?" He asked dubiously.
"Dating Rose Landry. She's very popular. And pretty," Ilya explained. Shane sighed. He'd rather talk about literally anything else. Dating was the last thing on his mind. Girls and how pretty they may or may not be were especially so. He guessed he understood, in an objective way, how a girl might be pretty. But he really didn't understand why that was suddenly so important to everybody.
"I already told you, I'm not interested. Besides, dating someone because they're popular sounds really shallow."
"And pretty. She's pretty, too," Ilya added. Shane gave him an exasperated look. "What? You think she's pretty, right?" Ilya asked. Shane wanted to throttle him sometimes. He was like a dog with a bone.
"Sure, yeah. Whatever. That's not the point. How can you even date someone in 6th grade anyways? Don't you need, like, a car and your own money to go on dates?" He hoped his amazing observation would end the conversation there. He only saw adults going on dates. His parents would go on a date every month, and the couples in his dad's favorite rom-coms went on dates. The common denominator? They usually involved a car and money to buy dinner, things a 6th grader wouldn't have access to.
The thought of him driving Rose Landry to a nice Italian restaurant painted a frankly ridiculous picture. "We'll take your finest Pinot Grigio, please," he imagined saying to the waiter. That was a fancy thing people got on dates, right? What would they even talk about? In the movies, adults always talked about work or, like, the economy.
Maybe they'd talk about school. But they saw each other at school every day, so that'd probably get boring. The economy, then?
"The stocks are down," He'd say.
And Rose would nod with a thoughtful look on her face and say, "Yep. Tomorrow, they'll be up."
"Does that mean you're supposed to invest tomorrow?" He'd ask.
Then, she'd shrug and say, "I don't know. This is boring. Check please!" because this was a stupid thing to think about and Shane had no idea what a stock was and he was in 6th grade and didn't care about dating even though it was all anyone could ever talk about and now he was worried if he was supposed to be investing while the market looked good and he didn't even know what he was supposed to be investing in—
"Derek West's mom took him and his girlfriend to the movies last week," Ilya provided, thankfully interrupting Shane's panic spiral.
Shane sighed. "Yeah, well, Derek West's mom also has a DUI, so I don't think that's the best example." That had been quite the scandal last year, once everyone figured out what a DUI was. Ilya's responding laugh was delighted, but he didn't back down.
"You don't just go on dates. You can hold hands. Or kiss…" Ilya waggled his eyebrows at Shane, who felt ready to melt into the floor beneath him just to escape the conversation. He wasn't even going to think about kissing. It was too mortifying.
"We hold hands all the time," he shot back petulantly.
Ilya shrugged. "Sure, but that's different."
Shane did his best to ignore the way that kind of hurt. He especially did his best to ignore how the thought of their hand-holding not being different made his heart race and his fingers tingle. Ilya was his best friend. Holding his hand in any way other than friendly just wasn't a thing. Not a thing Shane could think about, anyway.
But then, because of course his brain hated him, he thought of taking Ilya to a fancy Italian restaurant. It already sounded a million times better. They always had things to talk about, even though they saw each other every day at school. They'd make fun of the fancy wine that probably tasted terrible, but adults loved for some reason. They'd laugh about how seriously people took the economy when, really, they were just arguing about imaginary numbers. That was because they were best friends, though, and best friends didn't go on dates.
Shane knew that some boys went on dates with other boys, that girls would date other girls. His mom had explained it to him. But that wasn't something Shane could do. Not with Ilya, especially. It wasn't something Shane would do, wasn't something he wanted to do. Surely not.
No, he definitely didn't. He just liked hanging out with his best friend. He was only eleven. His parents said he didn't need to worry about things like dating until he was much, much older. It was everyone else that was rushing into the whole girlfriends and boyfriends stuff.
"It doesn't matter. Why don't you go date Rose, since you're so obsessed with the idea," Shane snarked. He hated the suggestion as soon as he said it. Finally, Ilya relented, bringing up his hands in surrender.
"She's not my type. It's okay, Shane. You will understand when you become a man," Ilya said graciously. Shane raised a brow, and ostensibly avoided thinking about who Ilya's type would be.
"Oh, and you're a man all of a sudden?" He asked.
Ilya's lips stretched into a proud smile. He nodded, then pulled the collar of his shirt down and leaned in to show Shane his chest.
"Yes! I have hair now. Chest hair makes you a man."
Shane gave him a doubtful look but leaned in and squinted at where Ilya was pointing anyway. Sure enough, two little hairs had sprouted in the middle of Ilya's chest. Shane leaned back with a laugh.
"Ew. I don't think that counts," he said. His face hurt from how fast and big he smiled.
"It's not ew! It's natural. You are just jealous," Ilya replied haughtily. Shane just grinned and knocked their shoulders together.
"You're so stupid," he said. His voice was fond.
Ilya grinned back. He shrugged, then said, "Eh. You love me," and proceeded to shove a handful of chips into his mouth.
He was right. Shane had told him as much plenty of times. Loving Ilya was easy, and saying so had been just as easy as the quick love you's he'd give to his parents on the way out the door. This time, for some reason, his throat closed up. His mind went back to Ilya's words. That's different. Because their love for each other was different. And, oddly, Shane didn't like the sound of that.
He took too long having his internal panic, and the bell rung to signal the end of lunch. Ilya was distracted enough not to notice Shane's temporary unraveling, so Shane took the opportunity to shove everything down until it was something manageable and ignorable. When Ilya finally looked back at him to check if he was ready to head to class, Shane met him with a smile and a desperate hope that Ilya didn't notice his racing mind.
Hockey was as good as therapy. Shane had never been to therapy before, but he assumed it couldn't be any more therapeutic than hockey. Every time he stepped on the ice, his mind would finally go quiet, and nothing else existed except for himself, the puck, and the stick in his hands. And Ilya. Ilya was always there, just like with everything else important in life.
The chirps he faced from his fellow players were getting more frequent—some were getting nastier, too—but on the ice, it was easier to let them slide off his back like they meant nothing. When it was Shane and Ilya cutting clean figures around everyone else, how could he possibly care what anyone else had to say?
They were the best out of anyone they played with or against, and he felt happiest and most at home at the rink, on the ice with his best friend. All of his worries from earlier in the day were gone, replaced with the calm focus that only seemed to find him when he had skates on his feet.
'That slapshot was perfect." Ilya skated up to him and bonked their helmets together.
Shane preened. "Thanks."
"Ugh. Get a room homos," Derek West sneered with a roll of his eyes as he swept past them.
"Fuck off, Derek. Don't you have to go wait for your mom to get out of AA?" Ilya was quick to reply. Shane refrained from saying anything. Largely because he didn't understand what getting a room meant, but he had a suspicion it wasn't anything appropriate, considering the added word homos.
Derek just spat a red-faced, "fuck you!" and skated off. Once again, Ilya knew exactly where to hit where it hurt to run off the wayward bully.
Something twisted in his gut with a feeling Shane wanted to run away from. The other guys on the team had really started to lean into the gay jokes when chirping. His mom had hammered into him that those kind of jokes weren't okay. She'd called them homophobic. They were offensive, in a similar way jokes about Shane's race were. He'd promised her that he wouldn't make them, no matter how much his peers acted like it was normal.
Maybe that was why it made him so viscerally uncomfortable. He knew it was wrong, and yet the slurs and jabs were thrown around so easily, carelessly. At least Ilya had no problem standing up for the both of them when those kind of jokes were lobbed their way. And they were. In increasing frequency.
Shane wondered if Ilya ever got tired of it. He didn't get as many chirps like that on his own. For some reason, Shane was considered an easy target. Always getting called prissy or pretty-boy. Something about their friendship seemed to make perfect fodder for the other player's new favorite form of teasing.
He supposed he didn't see a lot of the other boys holding each other's hands anymore. Shane learned very quickly not to mention how he and Ilya stilled shared a bed during sleep overs. In fact, the only form affection he saw other boys share with each other came in the form of celebratory slaps on the shoulder or a side hug, on very rare occasions.
"I can see you thinking too hard." Ilya's voice interrupted his admittedly overactive brain. He bumped his shoulder against Shane's and nodded towards the benches.
"Come on, practice is over and Mama will be waiting." He took Shane's gloved hand in his and started leading him to the locker rooms. He glanced over his shoulder at Shane, his eyes way too sharp for an 11 year old. He could always tell what Shane was thinking.
"Don't let that asshole get to you. He's just jealous we're so much better than him. And he's mad everyone makes fun of his mom."
That was enough to get a reluctant laugh out of Shane.
When they got to the pick-up line outside the rink, it was Andrei waiting for them instead of Irina.
'What are you doing here?" Ilya asked sourly when he opened the passenger door. Andrei barely looked up from his flip phone when he replied.
"Just got my license, dipshit. Mama said she'd unground me faster if I pick you up from practice. And she's busy with some doctor thing." He waved his hand dismissively.
"Hi, Andrei. Thanks for the ride," Shane said when he scooted into the backseat. Andrei was a Grade A Asshole, but Shane was raised with manners, so he was polite anyway.
"Hello, little Shane." Andrei's smile was more antagonistic than kind when they made eye contact in the rear-view mirror. Ilya strapped himself into the passenger seat with a huff.
"What doctor thing? She didn't say anything to me this morning." Ilya asked, an uncharacteristic thread of worry laced in his voice.
Andrei scoffed and began pulling out of the parking lot. He went over the speed bumps way too fast, and Shane had to keep staring out the window to avoid getting car sick.
"What are you, her keeper? Calm down. She didn't tell me what for," Andrei snapped.
When Shane chanced a glance towards the front seat, Ilya's profile was set in a harsh glare directed towards his older brother. Andrei didn't seem phased in the slightest.
"Canada has made you too soft, Ilyushka," he teased. Shane pretended not to notice how Andrei's eyes flicked towards him and turned back to the window to watch the world flying by.
"Shut up," was Ilya's only response. Fairly weak, considering how easily he'd dress down Shane's bullies or unsuspecting opponents on the ice. Andrei only laughed, but it didn't sound very humorous or light-hearted to Shane.
They didn't speak for the rest of the ride, the only thing filling their silence was Andrei's booming Russian rap that shook the frame of the car. Andrei sped through the neighborhood streets, breezing past a stop sign that he barely pressed the brakes for. Shane's grip on the door's handle tightened every time they flew over a pothole or took an especially sharp turn. His fingers ached by the time they pulled in front of his house.
Shane got out and thanked Andrei for the ride again while silently hoping he'd never need to get in another vehicle with him behind the wheel. Andrei gave him a lazy wave. When he turned to say goodbye to Ilya, he was surprised to see him stepping out of the passenger seat, dragging his backpack and gear bag behind him.
Before Shane could say anything, Ilya shot him one of his looks. It was a form of the silent language that belonged only to them. It was pointed, and told Shane to shut up for a second and just go along with whatever Ilya was about to pull.
"Where are you going?" Andrei asked.
Ilya turned back to his brother with a scowl. "I'm spending the night. What, Mama didn't tell you?" He slammed the door shut, as if to punctuate his getting the final word, but the window was rolled down so it didn't have quite the same affect. It was still a deliberately petty jab, and Shane looked away to hide his smile.
Andrei only rolled his eyes, and without another word, he sped off, tires screeching obnoxiously when he took a too-sharp turn down the street. They watched him go, only turning back when they could no longer see him. They could still here the occasional revving engine and overworked tires, though.
Shane's eyes met Ilya's, and he couldn't help the unimpressed expression that crossed his features. Ilya looked equally as unimpressed, and a little sheepish. Frankly, Shane didn't even know people could drive that horrendously and keep their license. Surely, if Derek West's mom got hers suspended, Andrei should be banned from even stepping inside a MVD for life.
"He's such an asshole. Is okay if I spend the night? I just don't want to deal with his bullshit," Ilya asked, a little embarrassed.
Shane had planned to get his homework done, watch the Centaurs game with his mom, and play on his Game Cube for his reasonable allotted thirty minutes before bed. He didn't like having his routines disrupted, especially last-minute, but he'd always make an exception for Ilya.
"Of course, but my mom is gonna end up calling yours," Shane warned.
Ilya shrugged, nonchalant, and smiled. "Mama won't mind, even if she finds out I lied to Andrei. She's too mad at him right now."
Shane looked back in the direction Andrei had sped off in. "What did he do?" Andrei habitually got into trouble, and if there's one thing Shane had learned about Irina Rozanov, it's that she had a high threshold for dealing with his bullshit. For him to end up grounded meant he must have really done it this time.
Ilya's expression shuttered before saying, in a more serious tone than Shane was used to hearing, "He found my father's number."
Shane froze. Ilya didn't like talking about his dad, but when he did, he had nothing nice to say about the man.
"Did he call him?" He asked.
"Yes."
Shane couldn't imagine how expensive an international call like that would be, but he had a feeling that the price wasn't the problem.
"And that's bad?"
"Yes."
Ilya's answer was flat. Shane knew by now when to stop digging, even if his insatiable curiosity was eating him alive. There were some things even he couldn't push with Ilya. Shane would have to wait until he was ready to open up about it himself.
"Okay," he said. Then he grabbed Ilya's gear bag where it had slouched onto the ground, slung it over his shoulder next to his own, grabbed Ilya's hand in his with a squeeze, and headed inside. He knew without having to look that Ilya would be right on his heels.
Shane had never quite grasped how to properly comfort someone. He always felt awkward, and any words he tried to say sounded too rehearsed. So he usually opted to say nothing. He could offer physical comfort, but that only felt natural with Ilya.
The great thing about Ilya? He liked that about Shane. Ilya didn't expect him to know all the right words to say. Most of the time, he didn't want him to say anything at all. Their hands clasped together or their knees and shoulders pressed against each other when they sat close seemed to be all he needed, and Shane was more than happy to provide for his best friend.