Work Text:
I. But my head is full of poison
Ottawa, May 2020
The posts appeared one after the other on Ilya's Instagram feed, in a rare succession of images that actually caught his attention.
First came a news story about Montreal's latest win against Boston, a professional shot of Shane's smiling face at the end of the game as he hugged his teammates, a long caption highlighting the captain’s stellar performance as they advanced through the playoffs and were favored to go all the way.
Then came a photo of Moscow at sunset, orange light bathing the skyline from a window he recognized as Svetlana's flat.
His next scroll showed him two men leaning against the counter of a bar surrounded by rainbow flags. Scott Hunter and Eric Bennnet were smiling in an image carefully produced by a New York magazine announcing the Admirals captain and the team’s now retired goalie were the new owners of Greenwich Village's traditional gay sports bar The Kingfisher.
Ilya was sitting alone on his sofa in Ottawa after getting home from watching Shane’s afternoon game at David and Yuna’s house, with several containers of leftovers from lunch in his fridge. He had facetimed his boyfriend briefly and Shane had spoken excitedly from inside a hotel bathroom, his hair damp and the adrenaline still in his body, until Hayden Pike knocked on the door and joked that they could sext after the team went out to celebrate.
Now the silence in Ilya’s living room was growing louder than the sports channel he kept at a low volume, still showing highlights from the game, and he could sense himself sink as he felt his body be overtaken by an emptiness that would soon be filled by a familiar weight that made him not trust his own mind.
The only movement he bared to do was scroll on the phone glowing in front of him. He knew it would only make him feel worse, but he still welcomed the feeling as he stared at the screen, trying to process the three posts before he moved on to the next ones.
He thought of Shane and how proud he was of him for that beautiful goal at the very end of the last period, and how much he missed seeing him after a game.
He thought of his visit to the Kingfisher months earlier and he felt a sting of envy at the notion that Hunter and Bennett had bought the whole place and would make it theirs for everyone to see.
He thought of Svetlana, visiting Russia and walking around the busy streets visible in her photo. He missed her too, the friend he had pushed away because he wasn't sure how to be around her and not betray the secret he was keeping for Shane.
He knew he was being ridiculous. He didn't actually want to buy a bar. He didn't want to be in Russia. Sure, it would have been nice to be in the playoffs, but it was so out of the realm of possibilities for the Ottawa Centaurs that it didn't particularly feel like something he could want.
But that was the problem, the one he had been avoiding to face head on. There were many things Ilya hadn’t allowed himself to want, but he now found himself craving nonetheless.
The phone buzzed in his hand and he welcomed the interruption to his spiraling thoughts. It was a text from the tattoo artist he had spoken to a couple of weeks earlier, which already felt like a lifetime ago. The woman had been recommended by Zane Boodram, had done several of his most recent ink with a beautifully distinctive style that was nothing like the rough grizzly bear tattoo Ilya carried on his chest. He had sent her several photos and references and asked for a design for his arm.
Penny Ink Studio: Hi Ilya, I finally finished some design options. I took the liberty of adding one that is a little outside of your references. I get a lot of bird requests but gotta say it was my first loon. It was fun! We can rework them any way you want. Let me know what you think.
He immediately opened the files, and saw three different designs in black and white. The first one was a loon sitting on water, eyes ahead and a sense of tranquility to it, as if it was calmly gliding on a lake. He liked it, but it seemed a bit muted. The second design was a loon with open wings, its face and beak pointed forward, as if flying to a specific destination with resolve. He liked the movement, but he wondered if it might be too much.
The third tattoo design stopped Ilya dead in his tracks. It was more stylized, more art than bird, the loon drawn from above with its wings open and beak pointing up, the delicate traces making it feel both peaceful and determined at the same time, like it was simultaneously moving forward and keeping still at the place where it belonged.
Ilya could not explain how he got all of that from one drawing, but perhaps that was what made it art. He wondered if permanently attaching it to his skin would help him find that same feeling.
Ilya: Hi Penny. Thank you for the design. I love the third one. When can I get it? Would like it as soon as possible. I can pay extra fee if needed
Penny Ink Studio: Got an opening Monday morning. 11am works?
He was about to reply yes, when she wrote again.
Penny Ink Studio: Not sure what you mean by ASAP, but my last client of the day just cancelled, if you can get here in an hour, I can fit you. The size you requested should take a couple hours, if necessary we can start today and finish on Monday.
Ilya opened the design again. He had been meaning to get a new tattoo for years but could never decide on what, and felt like he had outgrown choosing one impulsively like he had done with the bear at 18 years old.
He had gotten the idea for a loon during Christmas, when he and Shane were at the cottage for a couple of days. Ilya had walked out of the house in the morning as he realized it was snowing, a coat over his thin pajamas and no socks because he only meant to look outside briefly, but the sunshine's reflection on the lake was so beautiful, and the snow was only starting to fall, and he lost track of time. At one point a perfect snowflake fell on a lock of hair that covered his eyes, and he could see what it looked like from up close for the first time in his life. It was tiny and delicate and beautiful like a cartoon. He wondered if that was what a miracle looked like.
Then he felt Shane hug him from behind and put a scarf around his neck and say something about how he was going to freeze to death, but he didn't make Ilya move, just held him for a while, brushing his palms over his arms to warm him up, and the snowflake remained whole and still in front of Ilya’s eyes, and that made it feel even more miraculous.
Ilya didn't consider himself a religious person, but he thought it was irresponsible to walk around the world like you had all of its mysteries figured out. Moments like that made him believe there was a higher power looking over, sharing wonders with them every once in a while. He had always hoped his mother was part of it.
As that thought crossed his mind, he heard the sound of a loon in the distance. There were so many near the cottage that he had gotten used to their calls, and they no longer scared him. But he always noticed them.
Shane seemed to have noticed too, because he held him tighter and kissed the back of his neck. Then he moved his feet closer to Ilya's and seemed to notice he only had flip flops on. “Jesus, Ilya, you want to lose a toe?” he pushed him to the house, and Ilya laughed as he let himself be guided inside.
Ilya: Yes, today is perfect. See you soon.
***
Driving to the tattoo studio felt good, because moving felt good. It made his mind move with him. Ilya entered the studio thanking Penny for squeezing him in, and she insisted it was no trouble and that she was actually excited about getting the tattoo done.
“It might be my favorite design in years,” she said, as Ilya sat on the chair and she got her supplies ready on a small table next to him. “I can't wait to see it on your arm.”
“I bet you say that to all the arms,” Ilya said, and she laughed.
“I do not, and if you tell anyone I said that to you I will deny it,” she was large and strong and her arms were filled with beautiful, colorful tattoos, some in designs that seemed hers and others in different styles. “Designs are like children, people can’t know I play favorites.”
He took off the plaid shirt he was wearing, which once upon a time had belonged to Shane but was now mostly worn by Ilya, especially in the cottage. It had seemed appropriate for the occasion. He laid back in a tank top, offering her his left arm.
“Is here ok?” she placed the paper with the drawing on his upper arm near his shoulder, and he nodded.
The studio was small and they were the only ones there, but the street around them was busy with bars that were starting to get crowded. Ilya wasn't sure if he should make conversation or if she preferred to focus on the work. Considering it was his skin getting permanently inked, he left it up to her.
“Some people love answering this and others refuse to, so feel free to tell me to fuck off. But I always like to ask,” Penny said, her eyes focused on tracing the lines in his skin. “What's the story?”
“The story?” he said, buying time.
“Behind the loon.”
He thought about it. Loons were stupid Canadian wolf birds that made a sound that once scared him, but now felt like home? His boyfriend, who he could not name nor call a boyfriend, had an annoying habit of calling back to the loons whenever he heard one outside, and Ilya loved seeing the excitement in his eyes as he made that ridiculous sound? They were animals Ilya didn't even know existed before his first summer at the cottage, and that fact always reminded him of all of the things he had denied himself before saying those three words to Shane and seeing a different life open up to him?
“I just like them,” he settled on saying, and he felt stupid. He just couldn't find the words in English for all of that at the moment, and he wondered if he ever would. “Their call is funny.”
“Fair enough,” she said casually, obviously aware that Ilya had chosen not to share, but not holding it against him. “Shall we start?”
“Please,” he said, and tried to lay back against the chair as he heard the buzzing sound of the needle.
“Let me know if you need me to stop,” she said.
It had been a long time since his first tattoo, and he was drunk for that, so he didn't know exactly what to expect. But as soon as the needle touched his skin, the pain was immediately recognizable. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sensation. It hurt, but he almost welcomed it. It distracted from the rest of his feelings, like it was trying to stitch up the hole he felt growing inside of him.
When he got the bear on his chest, he had been out with his junior teammates, doing shots and smoking like they were normal kids and not athletes doing their time in Russia before being sent to new and hopefully better places.
They had seen a tattoo studio open late and a boy named Ivan made a dare that whoever had the balls to get a tattoo on their chest would get to sleep with Zoya, a friend of his they had spent the entire night discussing in terms Ilya now felt ashamed of. He didn't particularly care about Zoya, who Ilya knew didn't need Ivan's permission to sleep with anyone and who he had already noticed checking him out at the rink. He wouldn't have considered taking on the challenge if that same week Ivan hadn't walked in on Ilya and Sasha in the locker room.
Ilya had tried to disguise what they were doing by pushing Sasha away from him and pretending they were in the middle of a fist fight. Whether it was because he was shocked or because he didn't have it in him, Sasha didn't fight back, and ended up just taking a hit to the stomach and a punch to the face that Ilya hoped didn't pack much strength. Ilya later apologized, acting like it wasn't a big deal, and Sasha called him an asshole and also pretended it wasn't a big deal, and they never spoke of it again. But he felt sick for days. He remembered trying to replace that feeling with anything else as he went out for drinks with the other players.
He hoped that pretending he gave a shit about fucking Zoya and feeling a needle tear through his chest would solve at least two of his problems. The grizzly bear had been an afterthought. Just something he picked from a wall of generic designs.
“How are you feeling?” Penny asked, and he opened his eyes.
“Fine. You can keep going,” he said.
“First tattoo?” she asked.
“No, I have a very ugly one on my chest,” he answered, and she laughed again.
“Well, now I gotta see it,” she stopped the needle as Ilya raised his tank top to show the grizzly bear covering his left pec. She didn't seem too offended by it. “I've seen worse,” she said, turning the needle on again. “I think you will like mine better, though.”
“I have no doubt. But is not much competition.”
“What's the story behind that one?”
“No story. I was young and stupid and the studio was open very late. I was in Russia, so they had lots of bear options.”
“I always say tattoo studios that take walk-ins are just a front for selling tattoo removal.”
Ilya chuckled. “You might be right. But I got used to it. I played for the Bears after, so everyone thought I got it because I was drafted.”
“That's Boston, right? I don't really follow hockey. Though I should probably start, Zane keeps sending so much work my way,” she said. Ilya knew one of the rookies had recently gotten a tattoo with her as well. “Did they make the playoffs this year?”
“Yes. They are playing Montreal,” Ilya said, Shane's elegant goal against his former goaltender flashing in his memory.
“How is that going?”
“Better for Montreal,” Ilya was sure the next game would be the last, the way Montreal was playing.
He had considered flying to Boston to watch the game that afternoon — it would have been easy to get a seat at one of the private boxes — but he knew Shane preferred to be alone during playoffs, which Ilya understood, and he wasn’t sure he would have managed to be in the same city as Shane and not touch him. Besides, if Boston fans saw Ilya there, they might try to burn him alive in place of the effigies they destroyed after he announced he was leaving them for the Centaurs.
“What made you move to Ottawa?” Penny asked.
It wasn't a loaded question, like he usually got from other players or hockey fans who wondered why Ilya Rozanov left a Stanley Cup champion for a team that hadn’t made the playoffs in a decade.
“I needed a change. And I wanted to move to Canada,” he said.
“Came for the cold and the loons?”
“Something like that. And easier path to citizenship.”
He had said that often when asked about his move, a nice trick that avoided further questioning, as most people didn't know much about citizenship paths or being Russian. Penny just nodded and murmured in agreement.
“I know hockey fans really like having you in the Centaurs. My wife is a big fan, though she prefers the female league.”
“They have been putting us to shame lately,” Ilya said, thinking of Ottawa’s female team's most recent playoff win against Toronto. He was hoping to go watch their next home game, and he made a mental note to get Penny and her wife tickets as a thank you for the tattoo.
They stayed silent, the room filled by the buzzing sound of the needle, and Ilya focused on the sensation in his skin, his arm being sliced open slightly, but permanently. He looked at his shoulder and saw half the design traced, Penny pressing a small napkin to clean the blood, and he felt a weird kind of comfort, like he belonged there.
He suddenly thought of sharing that to Shane and him being horrified. Of course you don’t deserve pain, he would have said. Or maybe he would have understood. Ilya noticed how Shane would punish his own body at the gym or by monitoring every single thing he ate. Ilya had tried to stop him many times, but he never succeeded, and he couldn't bring himself to explain that he could see those were self-destructive impulses because he recognized his own. Maybe they weren't so good at taking care of each other when it meant having to care for themselves first.
“You need a minute?”
Penny must have felt the tension in him, or maybe he had screwed his eyes too tightly. Ilya opened them, and was glad to realize he wasn't tearing up. He wasn't sure if he would make it back home though. He might end up crying in the car again.
“No, I am fine. Go ahead.”
“Okay,” she said, but she got up and took two bottles of water from the fridge, and handed one to him. “Here, let's take a minute.”
“Thank you,” he took a long sip and felt the cold wash over him. It did help, but he could tell his hand was shaking a little as he placed the bottle on a table nearby.
Penny returned to his arm. Ilya was more alert now, and the pain was more intense. He thought of Shane again, but this time he tried to imagine his reaction when he showed him the tattoo. He wondered if he would ask him the reason behind the loon, or if he would just know that it was an attempt to keep him, or them, close to Ilya at all times. He already had a stupid bear on his heart, so with the loon he would make sure it was more visible. So everyone could see it, even if they wouldn't know who it was for.
“It's for someone I love,” Ilya said, a little surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.
Penny didn't show a strong reaction. She was probably used to it. “Are loons their favorite animal?”
“There is a cottage we go to that is very special to us,” Ilya thought back to the many times he had heard the bird call while he was there. “Is like loon country over there.”
She laughed. “That sounds nice. Do they know you're getting the tattoo?”
“No, I want it to be a surprise.”
“I'm sure they will love it,” she said, with a soft smile, and then added a wink. “Killer design.”
“It is,” Ilya smiled, and rested his head on the chair again.
II. And my heart is full of doubt
Montreal, June 2020
Ilya was watching the fifth Montreal game against Washington in a box with some of his Ottawa teammates, free beer and food going around courtesy of some brand deal, players and their partners and other people who had also been invited chatting and paying little attention to the game, the comfort of not having much at stake.
He wanted to be sitting in the same box as Yuna and David, with other of Montreal's friends and families, and he had suggested he did, because he and Shane ran a foundation together, but Shane had called it an unnecessary risk, especially when the Ottawa guys were going to be there anyway.
It was probably a good call from Shane, safe and cautious as ever, because Montreal had won the last two games and it looked like this would be their final match, and Ilya would have a harder time pretending not to care if he was close to Shane's parents.
“You remember what it's like?” Wyatt Hayes was sitting next to Ilya, a plate of wings on his lap. “It's been a while.”
“Not that long,” said Ilya next to him, scoffing a little.
“Winning the cup? Quite some time, Roz,” he said, teasingly. Montreal was winning 3-1 at home and it was already the last period.
“Like your playoff memories are so new,” Ilya replied.
Wyatt laughed. “Hey, my memories of sitting on that Toronto bench are still very fresh on my butt.”
Since moving to Ottawa, Ilya had settled into a nice rhythm with his team, a group of men he genuinely liked and who seemed to genuinely like him back. It had taken a little time for him to win them over and show them he was not an asshole but someone who would chirp and push them and care for them with the same intensity and sometimes in the same breath. He felt incredibly lucky that they seemed to respect him since he was named captain at the beginning of the season. But that also meant that every time they lost a game and he didn't care as much as he did when he played for Boston, he felt guilty.
The clock was ticking and the arena was already buzzing with the energy of a home team anticipating a win, the combination of adrenaline from the game mixing with the enthusiasm of the stands waking up muscle memory in Ilya.
Despite what he said to Wyatt, it felt very distant from him. Ilya just didn't feel as connected to the sport as before, and he knew part of that was just growing up, realizing life was more than hockey and the partying that followed and the intoxicating taste of winning. Part of it was knowing he now had more things to cherish — Shane, and Shane's family, and a foundation doing good, and a future ahead of him, which still felt new to Ilya. But at the same time, he could never tell how much of that was a natural progression of life and how much was a part of himself being slowly extinguished when he wasn't paying attention.
It was odd because for the first time he felt like he was truly moving forward toward something, and not just going through the motions or running away. And yet, it was like the finishing line kept changing, kept growing further apart. He felt selfish asking for more when he wasn't even sure he deserved what he already had.
And yet.
When the game ended, he wanted to go down to the ice with the families and kiss Shane Hollander on the mouth. He wanted so many things he knew were out of his reach, and that made him hurt in a way he didn't know how to shake. All he could do was tear his skin open and hide the pain with a beautiful drawing of a loon.
“Must be nice,” Wyatt said, after a sigh and a sip of his beer.
In the final minutes, the crowd started singing Montreal chants, and Washington's players were missing passes and starting fights, clearly disturbed by their impending defeat.
“We will get one, Hazy,” Ilya said, even though he didn't really believe it.
“Sure, cap,” Wyatt replied, his usual optimism coming out a little cracked. “Maybe if we can get Hollander. Gotta be boring to win so many times with the same team, maybe he could get his hometown a cup for a change.”
“Hollander likes boring,” Ilya said, his voice flat, and added honestly. “I think he likes where he is now.”
“We could try to get the kids from the Ottawa camp to ask him this summer,” Wyatt said. “Teach them how to perform some light emotional blackmail.”
“Worth a shot,” Ilya laughed.
The entire arena was counting down in the final seconds, and Ilya remembered his own night winning Boston the cup so many years ago, how he had held the cup and thought of his mother, hoping she could see he had done it all for her. How he celebrated with his teammates on the ice and Svetlana beamed at him from her box and later met him at the team party, and he kissed her and women whose names he never learned, and how his actual family was nowhere to be seen.
He had been fantasizing about Ottawa making the playoffs just because it would be so out of the ordinary that maybe it would be a cover for Shane to watch one of his matches, maybe accompanied by Yuna and David. Then perhaps Ilya would finally know what it felt like to have family see him play and be proud of his game, instead of seeing him skate with the weight of his country on his shoulders and lose to fucking Latvia.
Ilya squeezed his arm where his fresh tattoo was, relieved as a wave of pain resonated through the rest of his body. He felt himself soothe around it, like the tension was concentrated in the black ink on his arm and not in his heart.
The ref called the end of the game and Ilya's thoughts were interrupted by the deafening sound of the cheer from the stands. Shane was engulfed by a sea of teammates and tears and smiles and hugs. Ilya had to fight back tears in his own eyes.
“I think we're hitting the road, Lisa has to work tomorrow,” Wyatt said standing up. “You wanna join us?”
“No, thanks, I will stay a little longer,” Ilya said, standing up and half-hugging Wyatt, hoping he didn't look into his eyes. “Have a nice summer.”
“You too, cap. Maybe next year,” he said before he left.
“Maybe,” Ilya repeated, mostly to himself.
He watched as the crowd of players spread around the ice, each looking over the stands and greeting fans, taking in the applause and the joy. He watched as wives and families joined the players on the ice and organizers set a little table with the cup and a group of people in suits surrounded it. He watched David and Yuna make their way through the ice and hug Shane, and he watched as Shane looked up and found Ilya in the box. Shane smiled up at him, his wet eyes getting softer, and he placed his hand on his chest and clutched his jersey where his heart was, and Ilya realized it was useless to fight back the tears.
He smiled back and hoped no one else was watching him, because he wasn’t able to hide his love and pride anymore, and allowing himself to let go felt so good and easy that it scared the shit out of him.
Then someone called Shane to hoist the cup, and he winked at Ilya before turning away, and Ilya heard Bood call his name in the box. He tried to straighten his face before the alternate captain sat next to him.
“Good game, huh?” Bood said.
“Washington could have put on more of a fight,” Ilya replied, his eyes still on the ice.
“You coming back tonight? Cassie and I are driving back soon, if you wanna ride together,” he said.
“No, thank you, I'm staying in Montreal tonight.”
“Cool,” Bood said as he finished a can of Coke. “Hey, I forgot to ask, did you ever talk to Penny about the tattoo?”
Ilya was wearing a long sleeve shirt that covered his fresh tattoo and the plastic wrap protecting it. “Yeah, she’s great. I got one done a couple of weeks ago.”
“Already? Wow, I didn't know you wanted it for now, now,” Bood turned to him excitedly. “So what is it?”
Ilya hesitated a little. He hadn't shown anyone the tattoo yet and he wanted Shane to be the first one to see it, but he owed Bood for the great studio recommendation, so he opened his shirt and lowered one side of it to show the loon near his shoulder.
“That’s sick,” Bood said, admiring it. “Her design?”
“Yeah, I sent her some references but this was nothing like it. It was perfect.”
“Yeah, she’s a beast. What bird is it?”
“A loon.”
Bood chuckled. “What, you want to show that to the government as proof of citizenship?”
Ilya laughed, and closed his shirt again. “I like the sound they make,” he said, testing the answer.
“They scared the shit out of me when I was little. I always thought it was a wolf.”
“I can imagine that,” Ilya said.
On the ice, the commissioner was speaking to a microphone and presenting Montreal as the year’s champion, handing Shane the large cup that he was now holding for the third time, his face beaming as he looked around and screamed with his teammates.
“Kind of unfair, isn’t it?” Bood said. “Do they need another one?”
“I would say no,” Ilya replied. It was his second season out of Boston, but the first one the Bears had made it to the playoffs and put on a good fight, which had prompted commentators to speculate if the team would have gotten all the way if they were still being captained by Ilya Rozanov. An image of himself holding the cup in his Boston jersey flashed in his mind, Ilya looking up to the boxes and finding Shane smiling at him.
It didn't feel right. The ghost of that alternate timeline had haunted him through most of the season, but he realized there was no point in wallowing in what could have been.
“I’m off then,” Bood said, holding Ilya’s other shoulder and shaking his hand. “Next season let’s make sure we’re on the ice for this. God knows Montreal doesn’t need another one. Hollander would be insufferable.”
“He already is,” Ilya said, and he wondered if Bood could catch the softness in his voice. “Have a nice summer.”
“You too, Roz.”
Ilya nodded goodbye to other players as they left the box, and watched Shane skate out of the ice after shooting Ilya a last glance that said they would meet later, though probably not for hours. Shane had to shower and talk to his teammates and to reporters and stop by the team celebration at whoever’s place before ever getting home. Ilya turned around to leave the arena and drive to Shane’s house, bracing for the silence he would try to fill with sports channels and scrolling on his phone. Then his phone buzzed.
Jane: I’m so happy you’re here
Jane: I need to do a thousand things before getting home, but mom and dad want to have dinner with you at my place while you wait
Jane: They promised they won't stay long after I get there. I need you inside me like asap
Jane: I didn’t tell them that of course
Ilya smiled as he felt another buzz while following the small crowd out of the arena.
Yuna: Hi sweetie, we're getting takeout so we can have dinner at Shane’s while he does the whole press and celebration tour. Is pizza ok?
Ilya smiled and wrote back to Yuna “Sounds great. I’ll meet you there”, before opening Shane’s messages again.
Ilya: I am so proud of you
Ilya: I will fuck you any way you want tonight, my champion
Ilya: You may feel like the world is yours now but once I am done with you you will know what that really feels like
Jane: I love you so fucking much
Ilya: I love you too moy pomidor
Ilya walked out into the parking lot and entered his SUV, and turned off the radio as it started to shout commentary from the game. He breathed in twice and pressed his arm where his new tattoo was. He was about to squeeze it tightly, but stopped himself, then caressed it with his fingers, feeling the plastic against his skin.
He turned the car on and drove to his boyfriend’s house, thinking of how much he needed to touch him and how much he was looking forward to dinner with Yuna and David, and how both thoughts made him feel at home.
He thought of the summer ahead of him, how they would go to the cottage in a week or two, after Shane did his obligatory press tour, how he would probably chastise Ilya for getting a tattoo so close to the summer, would plaster his arm with sunscreen to protect it, and how maybe Ilya could use the time they had for themselves to tell him about some of the things he felt were missing inside him.
The idea scared him, as he feared it could threaten the delicate balance they had found against all odds. But he thought of doing it by the lake, as the sun reflected on the water in the familiar way that comforted him, maybe as they grilled burgers or lounged on the deck or swam, fitting nicely into the place where they first started being honest with each other. Maybe a loon would fly by and call on them, and remind Ilya of what could await him on the other side.