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“You first,” Shane says.
They are stood on the makeshift dais in their back garden, rows of chairs and their many guests laid out in front of them. A lot of guests, more than Ilya had expected. All the most important people are here, of course. Shane’s parents, Svetlana, Marly serving as his best man, all sat in the front row. Hayden too, even if he is not important. More like, unavoidable. Rose Landry is in the front row as well. Which, okay, is maybe not great but he does like her now, he can admit that. Also, it means she will be watching as Shane gets married. To him. So maybe that’s not so bad after all.
In the second row behind Marly, there are a whole bunch of his old Boston teammates. Every single one of the centaurs is here, including coach Wiebe. Troy and Harris are sitting together holding hands. Harris is beaming at him and possibly already crying.
All here, sitting and waiting, under the slanting afternoon sun.
The officiant gives him an encouraging smile. Ilya’s swallows and nods, setting his shoulders. “Okay, I will go first, but...” He turns away from the guests to face Shane, eyes roving over his face for a moment, taking all of it in. “I will go first but... I have this problem.”
Shane frowns at him. Of course he frowns. Because he has planned everything so carefully. So many lists. So many meticulous and detailed and boring and perfect perfect Shane lists. So how can there be a problem? How can anything be wrong? He can see it all written in Shane’s face but Shane doesn’t speak so Ilya carries on. He tries to keep his own expression as serious as he can make it. He’s sure it is showing in his eyes though.
“Is a terrible problem.”
Shane just stares and then, right there, Ilya can see the moment it registers. The recognition.
“You see, there is this hockey player.”
And Shane knows now, he is sure of it. Has recognised this scene, these words, because they have been here before.
A grin spreads across Ilya’s face. It's supposed to be a smirk but it isn’t. It's both too happy and too soft.
“This slow fucking hockey player with beautiful freckles.” Shane is laughing now. Laughing and maybe starting to cry. Ilya lets it hang for a moment. “And a weak backhand.”
“A weak backhand?” Shane knew it was coming but still he is outraged. Perhaps he is thinking, on our wedding day, Rozanov. Ilya can’t be sure, but he thinks, probably, it is this. Shane smacks a hand against his shoulder.
“Yes, very weak.”
They’re both grinning now, a little manic maybe.
Ilya let’s go of Shane’s hands so he can flap one arm dramatically at his next statement, head thrown back in exaggerated annoyance. “And he’s so boring and he drives this terrible car.”
Shane says his line because of course he does.
“It’s a normal car.”
He says his line because he’s perfect. He gets it exactly right. Like Ilya knew he would. Because he remembers. Because they have done this scene before. But this time round they know how it ends too and it's not with anyone marrying Svetlana.
Ilya’s grin softens and he takes a breath, because now is the serious part. The important part. He wonders how long it will be until he starts to cry, because he is definitely going to cry.
“And I cannot stop thinking about him. This hockey player with the freckles. Since we were seventeen in Saskatchewan. In that car park. I cannot stop thinking about him. That car park and the gym that night after draft pick and all the hotel rooms and All Stars and all of my texts you never answered and all of the ones you did.” He takes a breath, confesses. “And when I drank a whole bottle of vodka after I won the Stanley Cup to stop myself from fucking texting you.”
Shane blinks at him, shocked. Tears are building in his eyes. He didn’t know that one.
“Was a terrible problem, then. When I was twenty. And twenty-two and twenty-four. Twenty-five. And I would think, this is going to kill me. I would think, then, that maybe I had spent more time wanting to see you when I could not than I had spent doing anything else. Even hockey.
“And nobody knew of course. Nobody could know but still...people noticed. Yes Marly?”
He turns to the crowd. To Marly, sat in the front row, who stares back at him startled.
“When I was texting Shane from the locker room and fucking Marly would be there, all ‘Man, this Montreal girl really works you up, brother. You’re straight up blushing Roz.’”
He does his best terrible American accent which still sounds mostly Russian and is very terrible. Marly laughs, delighted, understanding now why he has been called on.
“And I would say, ‘Shut your idiot face Marly. I am not blushing.’”
Ilya points to Marly. To the whole row of Boston players sat behind him. Carmichael and St Vicky and a bunch of the Boston boys. More than he had expected would come, more than he had thought would accept this. God he is glad they’re still here. But there will be time later for that thought, right now he needs to focus.
Ilya points at all his old Boston teammates and he thinks for a second maybe they will be confused at where he’s going with this but no. They are grinning. All grinning back at him as he starts to speak. They all parrot in unison along with him, in terrible Russian accents. “Never in life have I blushed. Russians do not do this.”
God he’s glad they’re all still here.
The crowd is really laughing now. Svetlana has both hands over her mouth as she holds herself back. Yuna has twisted in her seat to face the Boston set, clearly not expecting this.
He turns back to Shane, who’s looking from the Boston boys to Ilya and back, face open and shocked. He tugs on his hands and Shane turns back to face him. Ilya meets his eyes and says, more quietly. “But maybe the truth is...is I only blush for you, yes?”
Shane swallows and perhaps this is going okay because the first tear escapes Shane’s control to run soft down his cheek. He glances once back towards the Boston boys then back at Ilya, still looking like he can’t quite believe it.
“Wait, Shane is your Montreal girl?” Carmichael mutters, voice carrying right across the careful rows of chairs. “But - but you were like twenty...That – that’s since your rookie...” - Marly thwacks a hand to Carmichael shoulder to shut him up but it doesn't work – “God we are fucking idiots, we never...”
“Okay, okay, shut your stupid faces, all of you.” He waves a hand vaguely at them all. “Gossip later, am busy here.” That gets another laugh.
“Anyway,” Shane says drawing his attention back.
“Yes, anyway, I was saying that now, is not a problem. It has made a lot of people very angry, yes, but they do not matter. It is not a problem. It has not been a problem since that summer-”
“You mean since Scott Hunter-” And oh, he should have known Shane would do this.
“Ah, no, Hollander, I am not thanking fucking Scott Hunter in our wedding vows.”
“I think you just sort of did.” Shane is grinning at him, eyes bright through his tears. Ilya scowls back because, no, he's not going to even respond to that. Fucking Scott Hunter, in his vows. No, not happening. Even if it is true.
“Is not a problem,” he continues, shaking Shane’s hands a bit to make sure he is listening now. “It is not a problem. It is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” His voice cracks on the end of that sentence. But he carries on anyway. It was always going to happen.
“And you know this now. I have told you. I have told you this many times. Enough times that I think maybe maybe you are starting to believe me.”
Shane nods once, eyes cast down. Beaming and soft and oh so beautiful.
Ilya tries to take a breath to steady himself, but it doesn’t do much good. He raises a hand, using one knuckle to lift Shane’s chin until they are looking at each other again. “And you are perfect.” Ilya is crying now. Definitely. Warm tears tracking down his face. “I have also told you this, although I do not think you believe me.
“But maybe this is my fault because I used to only tell you in Russian. For a long time, only in Russian.”
“When-when was this...?”
He smiles and switches to Russian. “I will tell you later, if you want.”
Shane nods, replies in Russian too. “Of course I want.” His accent is so much better now. Ilya has to stop and swallow around the lump in his throat.
“Okay, okay,” He laughs a little, because this is a disaster. A disaster he knew would happen but still. “Okay, and next thing. You are brave, yes? And you cannot tell me this isn't true. You cannot tell me anymore that this isn't true, Shane Hollander, who sat in that meeting with the commissioner. When he told us we were not allowed to get married, hmm? The Shane Hollander who told the commissioner of the NHL, told Roger Crowell, ‘You cannot stop us, I choose him’ and dragged me out of that meeting while Crowell screamed at us.”
There is a lot of murmuring now from the guests but Ilya ignores it.
“Is the best thing I have ever seen.”
“Ilya,” Shane starts.
“No, no, it is.”
He puts a hand up to cup Shane’s face. Brushes one thumb gently across Shane’s cheek where his tears are catching the light.
“I will choose you, Shane, always. Over hockey. Over anything. I will go anywhere, yes? Give - give up anything. I -” Okay breathe, Ilya. “I- I meant what I wrote in that message from when the plane nearly...I meant all of it.
“Ya tebya lyublyu. Always”
“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane whispers it back. An echo and a confirmation.
“Ya tebya lyublyu Shane. So much.” Ilya stops. Takes a moment to just look at Shane. To try to breathe. To just stop and feel. Also, because he’s not sure he can speak right now.
Then he adds, because he was always going to. “And we are going to win the Stanley cup. Will be amazing. They cannot stop us.” Shane is laughing and shoving at him and saying to not fucking jinx it, Rozanov.
“No, no, we are too good. We’re going to win. I cannot fucking wait.”
A shout goes up from the centaurs all at once. All of them cheering and clapping and all stamping their feet where they’re sat together a few rows back. It’s loud enough to scare the birds out of the corpes of trees beside the house. Ilya is sure he can hear Troy and Harris and Bood, even Luca shouting along with the rest. It feels like his grin is going to split his face apart and he’s still crying and Shane is looking so fucking gorgeous.
“Okay, okay, this is too much. Too much everything and too much English. Way too much English for,” he waves his hand, “this. You are very pretty and many other words. I am done now. The end. Is your turn.”
The rest of their guests join the centaurs in their clapping. He’s not sure if this is how weddings are supposed to work but it’s nice. Marly is cheering now too, and a few of the other Boston players. He spots Yuna in the front row crying and, oh, Svetlana is crying too, one hand pressed to her mouth. Ilya meets her eyes for a moment and doesn’t know what to do with himself. How is it they’ve made it here? How is this his life? So far from Moscow with it’s grand imposing streets and it’s biting winters. The freezing cold of being a teenager when it was just him and Sveta and Sacha and as many sharp edges as he could run towards.
He turns back to Shane who is also looking a bit stunned and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He gives Ilya a shaky smile. Ilya reaches over to take his hands again, squeezes his fingers once.
“Okay.” Shane settles himself. “Yes, my turn.” Ilya smiles, squeezes his fingers again. “So, right. I was thinking about how to do this and what to say and, um, I had an idea.”
“Oh no.”
“Fuck off.”
“Is another ten year plan, yes? Will have spreadsheet and google Calendar and many lists, yes?"
“Shut up Rozanov.” Shane glares at him and then shakes his head. “What I meant is, I was thinking about everything with, y’know, us. All the things I’ve already told you and also, I was thinking about the thing I’ve never really told you at all.
“So, okay, everybody knows I’m good at hockey. Hockey has always just made sense, y’know? I can do hockey. It just works, ever since I was little. On the ice everything is easy but everywhere else. Everything with, like, people... Sometimes I feel like hockey is the only thing I can do, you know, because with people it's just so...
“And I used to think, because of all of that, if I was ever going to end up with a partner...there would be all these things, you know, these ways that I’m, um, awkward and particular and difficult maybe. All these things that someone would have to put up with. Would have to be OK being with me in spite of all the ways it was boring and complicated. Someone who was like OK, yes, you know, you're a bit strange and eccentric and complicated and you’re always on the outside of everything but, you know, I can put up with all of that.”
“Shane, no, it's not -”
“Shh, don't interrupt.”
“But then I met you. And, okay, it has been very fucking complicated in other ways, and we both wasted so much time and we were not always very good at communicating.”
Ilya lets out a laugh at this. “Yes, yes. Maybe not so good, yes.”
“But with you, I never felt like that. I never felt like too much or too complicated. I never felt on the outside. Ever. And yes, you tease but it never feels like something you are putting up with.
“When I made ten different lists and two spreadsheets and a calendar just to organise this wedding because, well, it did need organising and it's stressful. I still worried maybe that you would be annoyed ‘cause everybody is always annoyed but you just said, ‘No, show me your 10,000 lists. Yes, we will go through them all together.’ You got me to explain the colour coding system.”
“Yes, Shane, was so many colours you ran out. Seating chart and airport arrivals were both blue.”
“I did not run out of colours! They were different shades of blue. I know you fucking know that.”
Ilya just shakes his head, smiling. “Ran out of colours.”
Shane swats at him and carries on.
“And back when I was so scared about us getting caught that I wouldn’t even let you come to my house. When I bought an entire building in some outskirts of Montreal just so we could meet up without you having to come to my apartment. Which, like, I’m sorry now. For being so...y’know. But the first time we really talked about it, after we got together properly. The first time I said sorry, you just said ‘Yes, Shane, buying a whole building because you are nervous is very you, no?’”
Ilya mouths along with him as he says the words, still smiling.
“So, just- it's just, all of it. It’s not even that you don’t mind. You like it. All of it. Even the way I always have to stop to fold my clothes. Every single time, no matter what else is going on and you just... All the difficult things about me. You like it.”
“Yes. Most boring man in the world. All mine.”
Shane reaches up to place a hand against his cheek, light and careful. Then he gives Ilya’s face a very gentle push and mutters, quiet, “asshole.”
Ilya puts a hand up to cover Shane’s where it rests against his cheek. “Always so boring, Shane.”
Then, because he can’t help himself, he adds, “Also, I think you have given me laundry fetish. Is very embarrassing.”
“Oh my God, Ilya, shut up.”
Shane has gone bright red and is glaring at him. Ilya’s cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much in one day.
Shane huffs at him but carries on. “You have talked me down from more panic attacks than...well, just more than... and that week after we got outed, I don’t think I would have survived that week if you weren’t there. You were so amazing.”
Ilya just shrugged because like, yes, of course he was there. Where else would he be?
“No one has ever made me feel as calm as you do. I’ve never been able to just switch off with anyone else. Just be.
“You’re it for me Ilya. You’re everything.”
Shane catches his eye, lips quirking up in a little half smile.
“Also, you’re an awesome player to watch.”
Ah, okay, Ilya is going to start crying again. Oh well, he’s just going to have to let it happen.
“OK, so this next part I want to say in Russian. I’ve worked it out. Svetlana helped me and I think, yeah, I think it’s good but please don’t interrupt because it’s... but, yes, I think it’s good and I can do this.”
“You have vows to say to me in Russian?”
Shane just smiles at him and he isn't sure what his face is doing but he probably looks wrecked. He feels wrecked.
“Shane.”
“Okay, don't interrupt.”
Shane takes a breath, seeming to steady himself and then starts talking in Russian.
“So, I wrote all of this down and then Svetlana helped me make sure that I’d got it right and I think it’s good and I think the pronunciation is mostly okay so here goes.”
Ilya shoots a quick glance towards Svetlana, mouths ‘thank you’ in her direction. She just waves a hand in dismissal because of course she does. Her whole face saying clearly, of course I would help. But still, Shane and Svetlana. He had been so worried for so long that they would never be able to even be in the same room together and now they had sat down together and done this. For him.
“Okay, first, I love you. So much. Always.
“Second, I know it was hard. Russia and your family and you guard your heart so carefully and you feel so much. I want to give you all the things you never had. Safety and home and family in a place where you don't have to hide.”
Ilya brings a hand to his face to try to choke back a sob.
“Somewhere you can just be, as well. Like you do for me. I’m so glad that you love my parents and that they love you too.”
His shoulders are shaking now in silent sobs and he’s just standing there as tears run down his face.
“I wish your mom could have been here today.” Ah, okay, this really is going to kill him. Ilya doesn’t think he minds. Even if everyone here can see him crying. Shane is so good. So good. He’s still not sure how he deserves this.
“I wish I could have met her. I wish I could have told her that I will always be there for you. That you are so loved now. She would be so proud of you Ilya. All the time. For everything. And I know it’s hard for you to talk about her, and you never have to, but everything you have told me about her...everything is,” Shane stops to clear his throat, coughing. “Everything is precious. I remember all of it. I will always remember everything you tell me about her. When – when we have kids, if you want, we will tell them about her as well. We’ll tell them everything you want to tell them. Or I can do it for you, if you want? But if you want to, we will make sure that our kids know about her as well. We can make sure that they know how much she would have loved them, too.
“I love you so much. I will always love you."
Shane takes a shaky breath. In and then out. A little ragged.
“Okay. Okay, I’m done.
"Alright, I’m done,” Shane repeats in English. Then he looks at Ilya for a moment before he reaches over and pulls Ilya into a hug, pressing Ilya’s face into the crook of his neck.
Ilya isn’t sure how long he stays there. With his head pressed into Shane. Shane’s hands warm against his back. It’s a bit embarrassing, really. Or it would be, but he can’t really bring himself to care right now.
Once he feels a bit calmer and like he can breathe again, he stands back up, smoothing over the collar of Shane’s shirt.
The officiant, who Ilya had frankly forgotten about, gives them both a quick glance and then asks if they have the rings.
They nod and she guides them through the next steps of the process. Telling them what to do and when to exchange the rings. Ilya is still not taking much in. Just that it's all beautiful and Shane’s smiling. Also, he’s crying again too. Smiling and crying. And the rings fit. Which is good.
They go through the standard traditional vows as well because apparently, they’re not skipping any steps here. Which, of course not. Shane would want to be thorough. To do all of the things correctly. To make sure they are really properly married.
Ilya makes sure to meet Shane’s eyes when he says, ‘I do,’ even if his voice comes out broken and thready. God he really has cried a lot. Which, yes, he did see coming but he didn’t think Shane would say all of that. And maybe the therapy is working because it doesn’t feel like the end of the world, exactly. Or at least, only in a good way.
And now that's done, right? Ilya thinks that's all done. They are just stood here now, hands still clasped together, rings on their fingers, staring at each other. His thoughts still feel a little broken but if he's sure of anything, he sure this is the point that he gets to kiss Shane, right? Because he really really needs to kiss Shane. Soon.
“OK, good, great, is all done. Can I kiss you now?”
Shane laughs.
“Is not funny Hollander.” Ilya shoves him a bit, keeping a tight grip on his other hand so Shane can’t actually end up out of reach. “I am dying here. I need to kiss you, right now.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Shane, will be the title of my autobiography, I think. I need to kiss Shane Hollander right now. Also, there was some hockey.”
And the smile Shane gives him. Well, he might have forgotten how to think. Is that possible? Can that happen?
The officiant clears her throat. “Well then,” she says, amusement clearly laced through her tone, “you will be glad to know, I can hereby pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss.”
“Spasibo.” Thank you. Ilya drags Shane forward and kisses him. Hard.
Maybe this kiss should be tender and chaste. Carefully not over the line. But then, so much of their relationship has been this. Desperate kisses they both waited too long for. Hands fisted in hoodies, running shirts, suit jackets.
Why not do the same here, now, out in the light?
The officiant clears her throat again. Louder this time. Maybe she’s been doing it for a bit, grasping for some decorum. He draws back, just a breath. Forehead resting against Shane’s cheek. Shane’s huff of laughter ghosting across his skin.
Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s cheek, then his forehead, just because he can, before leaning back a bit further, but only because he wants so badly to see his face.
“Mmm, good, I thought so.”
“What?”
“You are very red.” He runs his thumb across Shane’s freckles. Across the deep blush colouring the skin beneath.
Shane scowls at him and Ilya grins. “So fucking beautiful, moy lyubimyy.”
The officiant steps forward, smiling politely. “Ah, so, almost done. There’s just the matter of signing the paperwork. Then it's all official. If you’ll just walk up to the house, you can get it done and then you can come back out to the celebrations.”
Ok, yes, paperwork, fine. Shane takes his hand and they begin to step down from the dais and walk back along the aisle.
They get about five steps before Shane is turning to him with a frown. “I cannot believe you made a joke about a laundry fetish in front of my parents, Ilya. You are a nightmare.”
“Ah, yes, well, I am not sure it was a joke but...”
“God, just, no, stop. We haven’t signed the paperwork yet, y’know? I could still back out.”
“See! This. Is you that is the asshole. Not me! I have waited years to tell people this. Shane Hollander is an asshole. I am innocent victim here.”
Shane just rolls his eyes at him.
“No, is true. Shane, really? You would do this?” Ilya presses a hand to his heart, flailing back dramatically. “You say all these nice words about making me feel safe and then you would not sign paperwork. I will cry again if you do this.”
Shane just looks at him. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” He shakes his head. “So, did you, like, also pick today to come out of the closet as a secret softie, or...?”
“Oh, and you? You have picked today to come out as secretly funny, no?”
“God, I keep telling everyone, that does not have to be a secret! It’s not a secret.”
“Is a secret Shane. Is definitely a secret. Is a secret if only people who know this are me and Rose fucking Landry.”
“Oh my God, you can’t seriously still be jealous of Rose. We just got married, Ilya!”
“Ah, no. We have not signed paperwork yet, yes? I could refuse.”
Shane glares at him, face all scrunched up, then grabs his hand and drags him toward the house. Ilya cackles and happily lets Shane pull him down the aisle toward the open back door.
Behind them Ilya hears Marly’s rolling laughter. Hears his question carry through the crowd, the smile clear in his voice. “Christ, what, so, are they always like that or...?”
“Yes,” says Svetlana. “Every day.”
“Yep.” Ah, and that’s Yuna, definitely. “Every single day. All the time.”
Ilya grins and catches up to Shane, wrapping both arms around him. They stumble forward, a little clumsy now. In their wake, there is the murmur of steady chatter as the guests begin to rise from their seats. The sun is still falling soft and gentle, slanting across the lawn. Shane is warm against him, and they are almost to the door. Inside is the house, their house, where they finally get to live together, all the time. The paperwork will be all laid out and ready to sign. Shane will have organised it earlier, he is sure. Ready and waiting on their kitchen table.
That’s all that’s left now. Sign the paperwork. Then they are married.
Ilya smiles into the side of Shane’s neck. The fucking boring, boring, perfect paperwork.