Missing Hours

Ilya dreams of his father: trying to offer him pills, only to have his hand — the one holding the glass — angrily pushed away. His dad was paranoid, difficult to manage, and Ilya understands that now. In hospital, he felt the same paranoia and helplessness. He still feels helpless, but he can’t let it out — he refuses to become a greater burden to Shane; his frustration is not Shane’s to manage. Ilya always believed he took after his mother. Yet half of him will always be his father’s, and sometimes it feels like it’s the only part that’s left. His father was also confused and scared, he didn’t understand what was going on, and Ilya still raised his voice. Who knows what Andrei did, that absolute asshole. Ilya should have been there.

* * *

NHL 2019-2020 SEASON PAUSED ADMIRALS PLAYER TESTED POSITIVE FOR CORONAVIRUS MUSEUMS SHIFT TO VIRTUAL TOURS DURING PANDEMIC BAKING, GARDENING, KNITTING: HOBBIES BOOMING IN LOCKDOWN

* * *

@day2nite okay but it’s cruel and unusual punishment that Roz doesn’t post thirst traps anymore. give the man his phone back for enrichment purposes! we are deprived! @CentaursOttawa We asked. You begged. They delivered. Your fave Centaurs share how they stay in shape. Is it getting warm in here? 🔥 [vid 1], [vid 2], [vid 3] @day2nite TROY BARRETT. TROY. BARRETT. I need him to crush me with his thighs, is that too much to ask? #forevergrateful

* * *

Shane suggests the fans would love a picture, so Ilya poses with Anya on the sofa. He looks better in the photo than he feels, managing an almost sincere smile. After Shane posts it, Ilya talks him into reading the comments aloud — a moment that becomes the highlight of his day. He’s still without the internet. He doesn’t know how to enable the browser, and the phone demands an Apple ID — what the hell is this?

* * *

@hollyandrozy NOT THE CURLS!!!!!!! @freaktuesday Rozanov gets hurt and now nobody is playing hockey. I’m not saying these facts are connected, but… @day2nite Mr. Rozanov, sir? If you could just post a thirst trap, please. Sorry — a thirst trap. I meant a thirst trap. Sorry, I mean-

* * *

“… No, honey, I’m fine, truly. A bit bored, but the food’s okay and I’ve got my book. … No, Shane. Shane. If you need space, take Anya to the park or go home. Please don’t think you have to come here — they wouldn’t let you in anyway. I know. I already asked. … No, I asked because I needed proof to give you, so you wouldn’t try. … Yeah, we’re checking in every few hours. He’s doing better now. … He apologized. He knows he was wrong. He won’t hide anything like that again. How’s Eeliya? … Oh? Please send it!”

* * *

Both David and Yuna are stable — Shane isn’t allowed into the hospital, and he’s not taking it well. “Fuck, I should be there,” Shane murmurs. Ilya knows he’s spiraling, his thoughts about to corner him until he starts rocking back and forth, trying to calm himself. Ilya doesn’t know how to help, so he begins to interject, turning the despair into a dialogue. “You should go there and get sick too — three Hollanders at the same time. It’s a hat-trick.” “Fuck off.” Shane keeps saying that, then melts under his touch as Ilya’s hands smooth over his shoulders and down his back. “We just spoke to Yuna. She’ll be out soon. David is okay, but it’s better for him to be under observation, yes? That’s best possible outcome. The best.” “Uh-huh,” Shane manages, trying to breathe deeper — his knuckles are white where he grips the back of the kitchen chair. “We are lucky. You are lucky. The best outcome.” “Uh-huh.” “Look at Anya — she wants you to pet her. Give her a hug. Give her a kiss.” Shane looks down at the concerned dog, who is busy rubbing her nose against his legs. He dutifully pets her head. “Now me.” Shane hugs him too — no kisses, though, a point of disappointment for both Anya and Ilya. Maybe another time. Ilya doesn’t sleep much. Emotionally, he feels like shit. Not physically — not anymore — but he’s restless and achingly low. Not low enough to cry, just low enough to lie for hours staring at the ceiling, absently petting Anya. His girl stays close, leaving only when Shane takes her for walks. Ilya tries not to let his moods show. But lately, he’s been cycling through anxiety, sadness and horniness, none of which he can risk bringing to a… flatmate? who’s already panicking. “Do I have American or Canadian citizenship?” Ilya asks. He still doesn’t know if he’s officially out — and without confirmation, he can only guess and stress. Shane has refused to budge, refusing to tell him anything even when, one night, Ilya confessed his fear for the future. The asshole just said, “You’re safe, there will be no problems,” and left it at that, which was spectacularly unhelpful. “No, you don’t,” says Shane. So much for ‘there will be no problems.’ “But it’s in process. You will have Canadian citizenship, I’m just not sure how the timeline looks with the lockdown.” “Okay,” Ilya nods. “Alright.” Ilya is restless, achingly so. He notices Shane isn’t eating enough. He notices Shane isn’t sleeping. And, over and over, he returns to the thought that Shane is just as horny as he is — that in their quiet moments together in the living room Shane looks at him with those deep, soulful eyes, and Ilya wonders if either of them will ever act on it. He steps out of his room wearing nothing but a towel. “Have I lost a lot of muscle?” Shane is looking. He flushes easily — just the tips of his ears, which is somehow perfect. He parts those soft, full lips and says nothing. “But still handsome, right?” Ilya takes a step closer. “Still made you look.” Shane bolts to his bedroom. Why not? It’s a genuine question. Why does Shane keep refusing? Did Ilya misread his interest? Shane still wears his ring, but not once has Ilya heard him speak to his husband. He talks to his parents, to a few aunts, to Hayden Pike and JJ Dagenais — old teammates, to motherfucking Rose. He takes team calls in his room, but through the door Ilya can make out the murmur of many male voices. The mixed signals leave Ilya unmoored: the intimate, almost erotic closeness when Shane is distressed, the immediate distance when Ilya makes it sexual, the constant scorching stares. He knows he shouldn’t press if Shane isn’t interested, but… damn. What if he is, and he’s just waiting? He can’t be a creeper about it. He won’t push. When Yuna is finally released, she sounds ecstatic over the phone. Shane is out the door immediately, but he returns that evening — Ilya was sure he would stay with his mother. That night, Shane is in his arms again. “She’s got older,” Shane chokes out. “She looks so old now, Ilya. I was so scared.” What the fuck is Ilya supposed to do? He feels useless. He would usually make a joke, but he can’t joke about Yuna. Not about her. Shane’s mother is home from the hospital, yet Shane still stays with him. “Don’t worry about me, Ilya. I’m fine. Shane visits for hours every day. Honestly, I get more help than I need.” Ilya knows he’s missing something. The math doesn’t add up. The wildest guess — the one he refuses to even consider — is impossible because Ilya will always go back to Russia. Always. His mother is buried in Moscow. He just can’t be openly bisexual because if he were, he could never return to her grave — he can’t be the one married into the Hollander family, so it has to be something else. Yet Shane is most likely in love with him, and his parents know. Ilya has lost count of how many times he’s got off to the thought of being loved by Shane Hollander. Shane returns from his parents’ house carrying a massive exercise bike — fuck, yes — and then goes back for yoga blocks and a mat. “I want a treadmill.” “I’m not buying another treadmill. One is enough, and it’s at home.” Whose home? “And where is that?” Ilya asks instead. Shane ignores him, so Ilya sighs and returns to his puzzles. Shane changes and begins to warm up, the exercise bike quickly plugged into the nearest outlet. Then he’s on it, panting with a soft, rhythmic sweetness, as if he were jerking off. He looks younger like this — almost innocent — head bowed, eyes closed, his breathing obscenely loud and intimate. Ilya gets on the nearest bike and starts pedalling, acutely aware of every soft sound escaping Shane’s lips. Oh. It’s the first time he’s remembered Shane. “You sound like you’re wanking,” he comments, not expecting a reply. “Fuck off.” A jolt of desire shoots through Ilya — Shane knows Russian. Not the basics — those words in particular. A jolt of dread follows, just as powerful. Shane learned Russian for him. He can’t be out. No. He couldn’t have left his mother alone. But… Yuna was allowed into the ICU. David called him ‘son’. It was Shane’s idea to start a charity named after his mother. Shane’s phone lights up on the table — Ilya sees Rose’s name and the background image: a picture of him asleep in an armchair, Anya snuggled close. No. No, he can’t deal with this. Ilya retreats to his room and tries to calm down, but the attempt only tightens the panic in his chest. He falls asleep too early, before Shane and Anya return from their walk, and wakes hours later in the dark, his face wet. His phone is in his hand — he’s calling Sveta. His ragged voice frightens her. No, nothing is wrong, but he has to ask, “When was the last time I went to Russia?” “Huh… I think it was the year after your father died.” There’s no other explanation. Fuck. No, no — why did he do it? Why did he out himself? Did he have to cut out a piece of his life just to be with Shane? “Oh, Ilya. Don’t cry, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.” “How… how do I take care of Mum and Dad’s graves?” “You hire someone online — they do the work and send you photos. And whenever I go to Moscow, I visit them for you. I give them your love. Her grave always has the most beautiful flowers. Ilyusha… she would understand.” He would have returned if he could — which means he can’t. He must have chosen Shane, and now Shane is stuck with him, someone who can’t remember the most important parts of his life, someone who gets lost just stepping out of the ward. Is that why Shane keeps pulling away? Being with a sick person isn’t hot. Ilya thought he didn’t look too bad, though. His dick works fine, so does his mouth. Has he lost Shane, too?