Missing Hours

@waitinghere How to lose your job in one day: lockdown happens. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Anybody know about any government support programs? I’m desperate.

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“How rich am I?” Ilya asks, staring at Shane. The other man is still in a mask, but he’s sitting close on the sofa — close enough for it to feel intimate — and he’s not panicking about his mother. Ilya wants him to open his mouth, start speaking and never stop. He wants him to put his head in his lap again. It’s good that Shane’s not holed up in his room — he’s sitting here as if he wants to be here. Ilya is not hiding either; this man makes him curious in more ways than one, and the living room is the only place where he can learn more. “You’re comfortable,” says Shane. A fuck-ass word for “very rich”, but okay. Shane’s looking at him, and Ilya really wants to study the face behind the mask. He stares back, openly. “Were you living with your parents when Sveta and I were occupying your apartment?” “Uh, no, that’s a rental. I was at home.” “O-oh, Mr Landlord,” Ilya drawls. “You asked!” Shane indignance sounds fake. A slow guy like this investing in real estate? Maybe he isn’t slow at all — maybe he’s calculating. Ilya wants to know how they met, but he’s already asked and got no answer. He stays curious. “How many properties do you have?” “Uh, four rentals, including this one. Then there’s my apartment and the cottage.” Shit. A real estate mogul who dresses like a gym bro. If Ilya owned that much property, he’d dress like a pimp: dripping in gold, diamonds, and fur — all of it at once. “So you’re rich,” Ilya says, shifting toward him — just a little. “I’m comfortable.” “Are you more comfortable than I am?” “That’s not a competition.” “It’s absolutely a competition. Do you also invest money?” “Of course I do.” Of course. If Shane is in business like Yuna is at the hospital, no wonder he’s rich. Ilya’s always had a knack for finding himself wealthy friends — he remembers a few of them. None of those friends were in the ICU, but Yuna was there. If she’s really family, Shane is, too — and Ilya is missing something. What is it? “What’s with all the questions? Ilya… just tell me what you want.” His voice, so gentle — Shane would moan so prettily. “I want to go outside.” “I’m sorry, but…” Ilya wants to fuck someone and google himself. He wouldn’t mind hearing his own biography narrated while he fucks. Running a few blocks would also help. Or the gym. But mostly fucking and googling. Anxiety crawls under his skin. He starts doing push-ups, then sit-ups. He’s going crazy, and he can feel Shane tensing — his answers growing shorter, almost monosyllabic. Shane probably isn’t down to fuck, if Ilya’s reading his marriage situation right. Shane also feels… different from Sveta — maybe he’s just not the friends-with-benefits type. He’s married to a man, for god’s sake. But Ilya wants — really, really wants — to fuck. It’s the only thing that makes his idiot brain shut the fuck up — he knows it, he remembers it: he needs to fuck, and that will do the trick. He runs restless circles around the living room while Shane just sighs from the couch, dark eyes tracking his every move. He calls Sveta. She says her father is stable — good. He calls Yuna, but she doesn’t pick up. “She’s been taken to hospital,” Shane says, his eyes wet — he never said a thing. Fucking asshole in a fucking mask. “It’s been long enough. Take this shit off. You’re not sick.” Shane nods and reluctantly pulls the mask down — standing close, Ilya is struck by the freckles scattered across his face. They are cute. “You’re pretty,” Ilya says quietly. Shane snorts — a bitter sound. “You’ve said that before.” “What else have I said?” Shane looks at him, and his face… Ilya is sure he’d finally be able to pick it out in a crowd. Shane is soft-featured and unmistakably Asian — how could Ilya have missed that Yuna isn’t a typical Canadian name? He’s lovely. There’s something a bit awkward in his expression, almost virginal, even though Ilya knows he isn’t. He’s married. Still. Ilya shouldn’t be propositioning his married friends. No — he’s Yuna’s son, and if he makes a move and it blows up, he’ll lose the whole family. He’s pretty sure they are not blood relatives though — in-laws, maybe? He doesn’t understand the connection, only one clear fact: he really, really shouldn’t. He’s so horny it hurts, and he can’t sleep — he lies there staring at the ceiling, willing himself not to cry. Why does everything feel so awful when he’s alone? If Yuna doesn’t make it… He shakes as he sobs.

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@ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer Thanks to everyone for the kind messages and support. Ilya is recovering at home, resting and focusing on his health. We look forward to seeing you all when it’s safe #StayHome, #StaySafe @CentaursOttawa Our next game has officially been postponed — the safety of our players and fans comes first. In the meantime, take a look at what our team’s been up to during the break! [vid 1] [vid 2] #stayhome #staysafe

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Ilya can’t get an MRI scan — too many people with pneumonia need it more. Dr Teller speaks to him on the phone; they decide he’s stable enough and light exercise wouldn’t hurt. Shane disappears for several hours and returns with a big set of dumbbells — he asks Ilya not to push himself, and he has to agree, otherwise Shane threatens to take everything right back into the car. Shane’s on the phone a lot — Yuna’s stable, but the news that his father has been hospitalized is a hard blow. Apparently, David didn’t want to worry him, and Shane is absolutely blindsided. Ilya sits with him through several panic attacks — he feels so lost he doesn’t react when Shane’s head drops into his lap. Then Shane says he has to go. Ilya begs him not to drive in such a state, but Shane says he has pills for emergencies. When he returns, it’s already dark outside, and Ilya stares at a fluffy dog who starts squealing and jumping at the sight of him. Oh, so that’s the reason to be urgent. “Oh my god!” Ilya can’t believe his eyes. “A dog! You’ve been hiding a dog from me!” He crouches down, but the dog meets him halfway, launching into his arms. Clutching the excited creature — it’s the best thing to happen all month. “Such a precious baby! Is it a girl?” “Yeah.” “What is her name?” “Anya.” “Oh! Is she my dog?” “Eh… Yeah.” “Where has she been all this time?” “With me, my parents… there’s also a dog hotel… She was alone all day, and I had to get her.” “Anya. Oh, you are such a beauty!” Shane sounds bone-tired, and Ilya has to stop himself from offering to suck his cock. It’s not the right time. He has a dog. She’s amazing, overjoyed to see him. He doesn’t remember her at all, but he loves her with his whole heart. “What else have you been hiding from me?” Ilya has to ask. “Your whole life in Canada,” Shane answers, his tone flat. “And in the States.” Ilya knows he shouldn’t find it hot — how direct Shane is — but he does. He knows, somehow, that he’s felt this way before. “Huh! So I played in the States. Did I get traded?” “No. You chose to move to Ottawa.” “Why on earth would I ever move to Ottawa?” “…I can’t say.” “Come on. Come on, it’s killing me — I need to know.” Shane stays stubbornly silent, so Ilya changes his approach. “Tell me something about us, then. About me and you.” Shane sinks into the sofa. Ilya half expects him to say he’s exhausted, that it’s been a nightmare of a day. Instead, Shane indulges him. Does he not want to be alone, either? Does he find Ilya’s company just as comforting? “You… ah, I don’t know what’s safe to say. Okay. You and I have a charity together.” “Huh? What charity?” “The Irina Foundation. We raise money and donate it to suicide prevention organisations.” “We have a charity named after my mum.” “Yeah.” “Whose idea was it?” “Uh. Technically, mine, but we run it together — and my mum helps.” What kind of a friendship is this? That’s soulmate-level shit. Ilya is pretty sure Shane is his soulmate, and what is he supposed to do now? Oh god. “Fuck. Okay. What else?” “The tattoo on your arm — it’s a loon.” “The Canadian wolf-bird,” the words spring out of his mouth — fuck, he knows that. Somehow, he knows. “You remember?” “Not everything, but… it’s coming back, Shane. Slowly. Help me. Tell me more.” Ilya’s heart hammers against his ribs, loud in his ears. “You got really scared the first time you heard one — that was at my cottage. There are a lot of loons there.” “When was it?” “A few years ago.” Nothing. No more memories surface. Disappointing. Then — Shane’s phone rings. “Sorry, it’s Rose. She needs updates about my parents — I have to take it.” Who’s Rose and why is she calling this late? Ilya listens as Shane talks — he already knows Yuna is stable and David’s left lung isn’t doing well. He’s so familiar with her, so gentle — Ilya hates her instantly. He’s just realized how important Shane is to him, and then she is there — a young or an older female voice? It’s hard to tell. “So, Rose. Who’s that?” he asks as soon as Shane lowers the phone. Let her be a relative. “She’s my ex, but we’re good friends now.” “Better friends than us?” “Uh.” “Is your marriage falling apart because of her?” “My marriage is fine!” Sensitive. Okay. Ilya’s sad, horny, jealous, and a dickhead, so he presses on, “Will your husband get half of your property if you divorce?” “Fuck off!” Shane leaves, and that tells Ilya more than anything: he probably loves his nameless man deeply. He doesn’t mention him at all, but he loves him — what’s happening? Ilya can’t calm down. Shane doesn’t show his face, locked away in his room. He shouldn’t have pushed, but Ilya is climbing the walls. He needs… something. Ilya can now find his bedroom, Shane’s bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen — he peels the arrows off the walls, though paper signs stay stuck to the doors. He can’t sleep, tossing and turning until Anya starts grumbling in protest, so he slips out of the room to find Shane in sportswear lifting dumbbells, and the guy’s ripped under all the hoodies. Ilya thought he couldn’t get any hotter — it’s fucking sad. Ilya has a sad crush on a rich Canadian guy with whom he runs a charity. Sad and horny at the same time — is there a word in English for that? “When did you get all those muscles?” he asks. It is either this or dropping to his knees panting like a dog. Shane’s innocent expression only makes it worse. Oh no, fuck, come on. “I’m a hockey player,” Shane replies. “No way,” Ilya breathes out. “And real estate is what — a hobby?” “I won’t be playing forever,” Shane shrugs, his shoulders strong and slick with sweat. The tank top doesn’t hide the outline of his chest. He’s flushed and so pretty, so fucking pretty, goddamn it, Ilya wants him desperately. “No way you’re a hockey player. I don’t believe that. Stand up.” Shane rises, dutiful and serious, still flushed from the workout. Would he get on his knees and suck Ilya’s dick if he asked? Damn. “Turn around.” Shane turns, an amused little smile on his lips, and Ilya sees it now — the hockey butt. Shane really does play. “Ah, I believe it now. You can’t fake an ass like that.” Shane snickers — Ilya hears soft huff of his breath, and fu-u-u-ck, he wants that man. There has to be a way around his marriage. Whoever the husband is, the guy doesn’t deserve Shane anyway. Ilya could probably take him in a fistfight. Wait. “You’re out?” Shane blinks and simply says, “Yes.” “And you’re still in hockey? Professional hockey, yes? For real?” “There are a lot of players out now,” Shane shrugs. “It was hard at first, but things are getting better.” “Who? Who’s out?” “Uh, Scott Hunter was the first one.” Fuck, he remembers Scott Hunter. The New York Admiral’s captain. “He won the Stanley Cup and kissed his boyfriend on live TV. They are married now, by the way.” “Scott Hunter and the boyfriend?” “Yeah. There’s a video from… Oh, right. You’re not supposed to have screen time. Sorry.” “No, no! If it’s short, it will be fine! You know I’m getting better — show me. Shane, please.” Shane sighs, pulls out his phone — it’s huge, why are they all so big? — and goes quiet, typing something. “Uh, here it is.” The video has 20 million views — impressive. He watches the man, Scott Hunter, skate to the boards and wave to someone, then there’s a guy stepping onto the ice. Ilya’s heart is thumping as they exchange words, then there’s a kiss, a hug. It’s… lovely. “Wow.” “Right? And there’s… Uh, there’s Troy. He’s on our team, and he’s dating Harris, our social media guy.” “You and I are on the same team?” “Yes, The Ottawa Centaurs.” “And our team is gay as hell.” “I’d say we are inclusive.” “What are you trying to tell me here?” Is it Shane’s way of saying that he, Ilya, is out, too? No way. There’s no way — he’d never be able to go back to Russia. It would be a fucking nightmare, he’d lose everything — literally everything! There is absolutely no… “Things are different now from what you remember. Really.” Ilya’s not the one working out, but his breath is laboured. “You guys are really brave,” he says finally. “You’re brave too.” Is Ilya out? Is Shane saying that he’s out? Damn. Oh god. “What do you mean?” “Just… in general. You’re a brave guy.” And then Shane says nothing else. What a secretive asshole — it’s the longest emotional edging session Ilya can recall. “You know I’m bi.” Shane’s not surprised — the realisation that he can read emotions on Shane’s face is not as heady as the lack of surprise. Shane knows, and still puts his head in Ilya’s lap when he’s panicking. They are comfortable together — intimately so. “Have we ever slept together? You and I.” Shane looks away, too quickly. “Sorry, I’m… I’m tired, and I have to…” Did they use to sleep together before Shane married some asshole? Is that why the tension between them feels sharp enough to cut? How close were they that Yuna was in his ward every day? David called him “son” — was that just a turn of phrase, or something more? Because if Ilya messed this up, if Shane married someone else out of hurt or spite, Ilya knows exactly how to fix it. The real question is, does Shane actually love his husband, or is he just hiding his unhappiness from Ilya?