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Yes, I'm young and livin' dreams
In love with being noticed and afraid of bein' seen
“What’s wrong?” hummed Shane softly as he tightened his grip on Ilya. They lay facing each other, tracing soft shapes on each others skin as they relaxed in bed on top of the clean sheets Shane had insisted on putting on.
Ilya froze at the question. How Shane could tell something was wrong without Ilya so much as saying anything was one of his many special talents. Maybe Shane’s years of overthinking and overanalyzing Ilya’s every move were good for something.
Ilya frowned. Something was wrong, just off, but he didn't know what. Not with him and Shane, but with himself. Emotions swirled in his chest, threatening to spill over but Ilya remained cautiously stoic.
“Hmm nothing,” replied Ilya carefully, weighing his words as if that would reveal the truth to himself and Shane, “don’t I have everything I could want right here?” Ilya asked, snuggling deeper into Shane as if to avoid this conversation, this feeling, altogether. Shane frowned. Ilya watched this movement, which only deepened the unease he was feeling, knowing he was the reason for that downward turn of his lips.
“Ilya,” Shane pressed, his voice coming out as a whine.
Ilya bit back a laugh, “Shaaaaane,” he replied, dragging the other man's name out. Silence stretched between them for a moment, Shane staring intently at Ilya, and Ilya looking anywhere but Shane.
Shane moved his hand softly up and down Ilya’s cheek. A gentle, grounding touch. A reminder of where Ilya was and who cared about him. Worry flared in Shane, but he pushed it down, knowing how Ilya hid his darker feelings out of concern for making Shane’s anxiety worse.
“We are young,” Ilya said after a moment, looking up at Shane through thick lashes, “living dream, no?” He phrased it like a question, and one he wasn't sure of the answer to. This was the dream, right? What Ilya always wanted? Or at least what Shane always wanted. Shane’s lips quirked into something of a frown at this response before smoothing out.
Fighting down the emotion, Shane responded, “A dream, sure,” he said carefully. He held Ilya’s cheek, forcing the other man to look at him, “but is it yours? Is it ours?”
Ilya’s breath caught. It was Shane’s dream. He knew that. Everything that man did was for hockey. His performance diet, his carefully scheduled pre-game routine, every pre-planned workout, all the early mornings. Ilya’s eyes gazed into Shane’s, trying to read the hidden meaning in his confusing words.
“My dream,” Ilya said after a moment, “was to escape.” The words hung heavy between them. Shane gave him a small nod, as if giving him permission to continue, “to be noticed in a way that didn’t hurt.”
Shane couldn’t hide his frown that time. He pushed Ilya’s curls away from his face, but let the silence stretch, waiting for Ilya to fill it. Just when he thought Ilya would leave it there, he continued, “I was noticed all the time growing up. But for wrong reasons. My dad said I was lazy, brother made fun of me. Until I had money. Then they noticed me even more. Because they needed me. They needed money. But still said all of those things.” Shane wiped a tear Ilya didn't realize had fallen off his cheek, “that I was lazy, stupid, a disgrace to the family,” Ilya paused, “I just wanted to be noticed.” He mumbled, the pain evident in the way he stressed the last word.
Silence stretched between them again. Ilya averted his eyes from Shane’s intense gaze, his brown eyes threatening to be his undoing.
“But then I was noticed,” Ilya admitted finally, filling the silence, “by you. By women, by men, by the world,” he paused, meeting Shane’s gaze, “and I…I realized how afraid of being understood I was.” Shane hummed in response. In quiet agreement? In disgust? Ilya wished he could take the words back.
Neither of them said anything for a moment. Ilya’s hand found Shane’s waist, the smooth skin tethering him to this moment, forcing him to stay there. On his bed in Ottawa. With Shane. His boyfriend. He traced lazy circles on Shane’s tan skin. Ilya let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
“Do you think you’ve ever let yourself be…” Shane trailed off, as if searching for the right word. The pause made Ilya’s heart rate speed up, “seen?” Shane asked finally, his words achingly gentle. Ilya’s absent-minded movement stopped.
“I don’t know what that means,” Ilya said reflexively as the unfamiliar phrase was hurled at him.
“Understood,” Shane corrected quickly, “just really truly understood.”
“Seen?” Ilya frowned, still stuck on the word.
Shane tilted his head, searching for the words in English, in a language he was supposed to understand, to speak fluently. “You’re so kind,” Shane said finally, “and gentle.” Shane felt Ilya freeze underneath him, Shane’s words piercing a shield Ilya didn't know he had put up. “But you act like an asshole,” Ilya huffed a laugh at this, and Shane glared at him, “You let everyone believe that’s who you are, but it’s not. Who besides me gets to see that about you?”
Words once again failed Ilya. So he kissed Shane achingly softly, letting a tear slide down his cheek. When they pulled apart, Ilya saw the sadness he felt reflected in Shane’s face, but something else too. Understanding, maybe. Ilya was quick to want to call it pity, but he knew that was not what it was.
“I’m afraid,” Ilya said finally. Of what, he wasn’t sure. Being seen, as Shane had said? Being loved?
“I see you,” Shane murmured, pulling Ilya into his chest.
Ilya forced a laugh, “I hope so,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by Shane’s skin, “Or do you need your glasses?”
Shane shoved him playfully, “You asshole. You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Hmm,” Ilya pulled Shane back into an embrace, “what do you mean then?”
“I mean, I love you, Ilya,” Shane said achingly genuinely, kissing Ilya’s temple, “I love everything about you. I love how you take your coffee with cream and sugar. I love how you calm me down when I get overwhelmed. I love how touching you feels like home. I love how every moment with you feels like a love I didn't know existed. I love how you are with kids. At the camps, with Hayden’s kids. I love your sense of humor, even if I know it’s usually deflection. I love how you care for others, for Svetlana, for my parents, for me, even if it makes you scared. I love everything about you,” Shane took a shaky breath, and pulled back to look into Ilya’s eyes. He sees Ilya’s watery eyes mirroring his own, “I’ve seen all of you, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and I still love you. That will never change.”
A sob escaped Ilya’s throat, taking both men by surprise.
“Come here,” murmured Shane, pulling Ilya securely into his arms, “I see you. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Ilya breathes, feeling like maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.