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The idea of Ilya Rozanov hating Shane Hollander is not unknown to the wild fans of Montreal and Boston. The idea of Rozanov hating Hollander is not unknown to their eighteen year old selves. But to Ilya? The idea of Ilya Rozanov-Hollander hating Shane Rozanov-Hollander is impossible. He thinks.
Staring at Yuna Hollander fussing over Shane's appearance before dinner is like staring at the sun. Ilya stares, unwavering. When he looks away, it is impossible to blink away the view of pure, bright love. He cannot stare for too long, dragging his eyes off of them to stare at the metal of a decorative… something on the wall that Shane picked out ages ago claiming it added value to the home. The slight reflection is all he has to fix his own tie before they leave. He never quite learned how to fold it properly around his neck, too many flashbacks to his mother's sad eyes and his father's confused glares.
Ilya is used to being sad, he thinks. This, happiness and a love that is impossible to shake, is too much for him. It makes him jumpy, unpredictable, and constantly fighting off tears. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, deep breath out, before turning back to his husband. Shane is not looking back at him, he never does.
Shane stands, practically glowing with a smile on his face as his mother continues to appraise his appearance for perfection. David laughs at his wife, and they all consume each other in a glaring, overwhelming brightness. Ilya wonders if they are aware that they are the sun. They are necessary for him to live, but sometimes he wonders if he'll burn when he gets too close. Ilya cannot live without the sun.
Shane can. Ilya knows he can. He wonders if Shane considers him the sun. Someone as sad as himself could never imagine someone needing him to survive. Ilya wonders if Shane could live without him, but that thought is too much for him to hold for longer than ten seconds. Therapy does not need to know about this. He imagines that Dr. Galina would be disappointed in him for this setback. He is aware he is jealous of Shane. But sometimes that makes him sound evil. He feels like he does not acknowledge that Shane has had his own difficulties and problems that make the world feel bigger than it truly is. But Shane has never contemplated what it would mean to disappear, so Ilya thinks he has a right to continue his jealousy.
Besides, it is not Yuna's nor David's fault that he cannot grasp the idea of parents being loving and caring. But sometimes, he wishes that they were a little more aware of how perfect they are. Rather than apologizing for dinner being a bit disorganized because they ran out of time, or apologizing for the house being a bit cluttered, he selfishly wishes they apologized for fighting, or apologized for being terrible parents. But he is aware of how selfish that is. He thinks.
Ilya Rozanov-Hollander is not ashamed of his depression. In the public eye, he talks about it in press-conferences to be a light to the fourteen year old who is struggling with their own existence. He wonders if they can tell how fake it all feels, talking about how he has healed and feels so much better. Can they tell that the four different medications and therapy biweekly isn't quite doing shit?
But he knows that is too overwhelming for the regular person to take in. That the idea of killing himself is not quite at the forefront of his mind, it is not exactly tangible, but it is not exactly, intangible either. He knows this is ridiculous to think about. Sure his parents are dead, his father both hated and praised his mere existence, and he is now estranged from his brother and niece, but he is fixed now.
"Ilya, are you able to be ready in ten?"
Ilya stares. His eyes are almost too empty. Almost.
"I am ready. Let's go."
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Dinner with the Centaurs is the same, easy, delicate dinner it always is. The new rookies are young, but talented, and they stare in awe at Shane and Ilya just like Luca Haas had done years ago. The team is older, a few more grey hairs around the table now, but the love for each other is still just as strong. Ilya smiles at the right times, adds in terrible innuendos that make Shane smile and embarrassed at the same time, and asks the right questions. It is rehearsed, and he wonders if it sounds too rehearsed to the others. But deep down, he knows they do not notice. He is fixed now.
He wonders if any of the boys in front of him would notice if he disappeared. Usually, when his mind goes in this direction, he jots it down in his notes app for therapy that week and shakes his head like Anya does after getting muddy during their walks. But today, he lets the thoughts simmer. He does not want to kill himself. He doesn't really. But the idea of passing peacefully in his sleep does come to mind quite often.
He would never tell Shane any of this of course. That would mean getting a lesson on how therapy is meant to help not fix, and that the medication can be increased, and that he can talk to him whenever he needs to. Because that is Shane. That is who he loves. Shane is methodical, and thinks about everything in lists and steps to resolve. He does not understand that sometimes, Ilya does not want a lesson or steps on how to get rid of the thoughts, he just wants to say 'I want to disappear completely, how would that affect you?'
The goodbyes are just as easy as the hellos were, the laughter fading into the closed door as Shane and Ilya head to their car. Ilya goes to the driver's side, and grabs the door handle. He stands there, quite still (like he is afraid he will break if he moves too fast), not noticing that Shane has moved from the passenger door over to him. His hand on his scares him. Did he mention that the happiness makes him jumpy?
"Ilya? I can drive if you need me to?" Stop asking questions please.
"I know your meds" Please stop bringing up my meds and let me act normal for once. "can make you sleepy around this time,"
"Shane, just take the keys."
It comes out harsher than he intends, but he feels no remorse like normal. He feels drained, or no, he feels empty. He feels Shane's voice in his mind saying 'We should ask Dr. Galina if the meds are too high,' but that pisses him off, and he slams the passenger door shut as Shane slowly eases himself into the driver seat. He adjusts it too many times,
"Shane just drive, holy shit, you don't need to adjust seat this many fucking times."
He shoves his hands into his hair, screws his eyes shut, and just breathes for a minute. Shane finally puts the car into reverse to get out of the large driveway, and starts the thirty minute drive home. Thirty minutes of dead silence as Shane tries not to look over at Ilya, because the first time he did, Ilya glared daggers back at him.
He knows he is being dramatic. Overly so. To a point that even he would tell himself to shut up and be normal. Instead, he continues taking deep breaths and staring out the window, refusing to look at his husband. The sun is too bright when all he wants is to curl up in a ball. And god is that embarrassing for a grown adult.
The anger that is coursing through his blood starkly reminds him of his father. His father right when his memory started slipping. His father before the diagnosis. But that thought process sends him into further turmoil, so Ilya decides to push it deep, deep down to the core of his being. He looks over at Shane.
He really, really looks at Shane. He has done it before. When his father passed, he would stare at Shane as long as he possibly could. He wanted to memorize the freckles on his cheeks like they were the stars in the sky. He knows one day he will could forget them. He chooses to forget that.
Staring at Shane, he wonders what the original point of this night was. The tie around his neck is itchy, and he is desperate to get out of the collared shirt and jeans as soon as they get home. He chooses to forget that he is not sure where they are, and does not think he could get himself home without the GPS on.
"What did we eat for dinner?" The question is out of his mouth before he can think about it, before he can realize that someone who just ate twenty minutes ago should not be asking that.
"Oh uh, chicken Parmesan?" Shane quickly glances back and forth between Ilya and the road, confused at the sudden question and lack of aggression.
"You seemed to like it, I can ask Bood for the recipe if you want. I'm sure I can alter it some to match my diet more, but I'll make it the same way as him first to make sure you like it."
Ilya hums, a thankful one, before looking back out the window. He knows Shane is seeing the signs. They've been building up for the past few years, whether it's forgetting the name of their favorite brand of cleaner, or forgetting which brand of dog food they get for Anya. He hopes Shane chooses to ignore it.
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He doesn't ignore it.
The door slams as Ilya swings it open, kicking his shoes off to storm through the house. (He is mad, but not mad enough to wear shoes in the house and deal with the wrath of Shane Rozanov-Hollander.)
"Ilya! I am trying to talk to you, please."
"And what if I don't want to talk Hollander. Did you ever think to ask yourself that?"
"Of course I did. Especially because you have already pulled this once with me and hid how much your depression was affecting you! We agreed to no more hiding."
"Well I do not want to discuss this with you right now."
"Then when, Ilya?"
At that, Ilya paused. He realizes that the Shane he loves will never let this go, and will keep pushing the conversation. That is fine. This is fine.
"Fine. Now. Let's do it now. What is it, Shane." He purposely frames it as a sentence. He already knows what this will be about. He desperately prays to God, if he still even believes in Him, if He even still believes in him, that Shane won't make him do this. Not here, not now.
"Your memory has been getting worse, Ilya. I love you. And I love that you remember the little things and that I like black coffee in the morning. You haven't remembered to make coffee, for either of us, in two weeks."
That, Ilya did not know.
"And I don't even really care about the coffee, I just thought you maybe wanted to cut back on the caffeine. Sure, that's good for you! But then you started smoking again."
Had he?
"Hiding out on the balcony doesn't do much for the smell of smoke on your clothes. And I thought we had agreed that you wouldn't smoke anymore, that you understood what it did to you, and that I don't want to lose you to something like lung cancer. And then you started snapping at the littlest things. At first, I didn't even care or really even notice cause we have both been stressed with the possibility of retiring soon and Anya does get on my nerves too when she is barking for no reason for hours, but then it went from snapping to genuine anger."
Had it?
"Ilya, you called me Hollander when we walked in the house."
And the pin dropped.
Ilya couldn't look at Shane in the eyes anymore. Had he really called the man he loves, Hollander? Like they were twenty again and hiding who they were from the world? Surely he had not. He would remember that, wouldn't he?
"I would remember that."
"The cigarettes are in your left pocket of your coat jacket. I can tell you're stuck on that too."
The jacket is in his hand before he even realizes what is he doing. He has to prove Shane wrong. He would never go back to smoking, he wouldn't—
"Oh." His hand fumbles around in the pocket of the jacket, trying to make the cardboard box disappear.
"Yeah. 'Oh.'"
Ilya did not know what to say to that. Some cruel part of his brain faintly says 'I could use a smoke.' The thought is discarded along with the jacket.
"Ya tebya lyublyu." That is all I can say right now.
"Ya tebya lyublyu, Ilya. I truly do love you. But right now, I need you to admit you need help. Just admit that something is wrong. Fixing it is another conversation for another day, I just want to hear you say that you know something is wrong."
Looking over at Shane is too difficult; he is radiating with a brightness that Ilya needs sunglasses to look at. More than just sunglasses, he probably will go blind if he stares for too long.
"Shane. I, I just can't."
Deep breath in
"I don't want to lose you, moya lyubov."
Deep breath out
"Hollander—"
"Shane."
Ilya looks up sharply, "What?"
"It's Shane, love. You called me Hollander again."
Staring directly at the sun damages the cornea and can heavily affect the view in thousands of ways. The sun gives life to Earth, but also damages the life with its heat.
Noticing the lack of response, Shane tries again:
"Okay, let's try something different. Can you at least tell me why you were mad at me in the car?"
"I wasn't mad. Not really. I don't know. Pressure. People. I needed a break."
"Okay. I'll try to help with that next time. That's a tangible concept for me to help with. What would help the most?"
Something snaps.
"You know what would help, Shane? You not doing, this!" Gesturing wildly at the man in front of him, he continues. "Stop trying to plan everything. Not everything can have steps, sometimes I am just broken and there is nothing you can do to magically fix what sets me off and make it not happen again. Stop trying to ease me into the idea of upping my meds or downing my meds or starting new meds or talking to someone because it won't work, Shane! It won't!"
And once he gets that out, he may as well keep going. "You always have to fix things, always have to break it up into steps that you can follow and treat me like a child that is not aware of what is happening. I am adult, Shane. I know something is fucked up in me, I understand that. Dr. Galina knows that. The whole world knows it."
"I am like my mother sometimes. And now I am like my father. He was sad too."
"Dementia is genetic, you know."
"Shane please."
"I get it, stop trying to fix it, okay. I can do that. I just, don't like seeing you like this."
"I hate being like this."
Truly, what does someone say to a sentence like that when all they have ever known is sunlight? They don't.
Instead, they hope their warmth is enough.
Shane knows Ilya deserves sunshine. For Shane, Ilya is sunshine.
"Come here, my love."
And so, in the doorway of their home, Shane and Ilya stand in an almost uncomfortable hug, but the hug is theirs, so it is perfect. Ilya cries into Shane's shoulder, ashamed of himself.
"I need help."
"Thank you."
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Over the next few weeks, Shane does not ask how he can turn this situation into a step-by-step plan to fix the unexpected in the only way how. He opts for quiet passes of "I'm here," when Ilya looks confused, more detailed shopping lists with exact brands and pictures without having to ask, and not bringing up any of his medications unless Ilya asks first.
The change is subtle, and Ilya almost doesn't notice until he is sitting in therapy with a grocery list in one hand, and his notes app open in the other. Dr. Galina does not ask.
"You have been absent for a couple weeks, everything okay?"
"No."
"Hm, wasn't expecting you to admit that."
"I know. Shane has changed me. I don't lie anymore. I can't believe this." He laughs at the absurdity of it all. Being with Shane has truly made him a better man.
Dr. Galina laughs as well, seeing that Ilya needs the light atmosphere. Today though, she almost wants to squint as if that will help her read deeply into his mind and grab at whatever is threatening to spill from his lips.
"You have forgotten your Russian again."
"Hm. So I have." Switching to Russian is almost seamless, but Dr. Galina notices the hesitation and lapse of accents in the correct locations. Out of kindness, she lets him continue and does not mention his confusion and lack of memory.
"I am like my father, I think." Deep breath in
"Dementia is genetic, and I think it is getting me." Deep breath out
"I am not, gentle. I am angry, and I am smoking again, apparently, even though I don't remember it, but the cigarettes are in my stupid coat, and. And I forgot what brand of dog food to get Anya and Shane has started making these stupid grocery lists. They aren't stupid, I don't mean that."
Images of Anya's dog food brand and detailed notes on different brands stare back at Ilya. He is scared of what this means for him, for his marriage, for hockey even. Dr. Galina does not give him pity and false hope, she tells him the truth.
"Ilya, dementia is not just genetic. Stress and other factors can also cause it to be faster acting and cause the symptoms to appear much earlier than normal. I think it would be worth looking into a discussion with your primary provider on how to prolong it. Whether you choose to do medication or not is on you, but it may help. I actually recommend getting on this now, to try and avoid the agitation and angry form of dementia."
"You are probably right."
"And you should probably apologize to your husband."
"You are probably right."
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Coming home that night is dreadful, like the weight of the world is being held up Ilya's shoulders even though his problems aren't that bad. Admitting that he needed help was difficult, and apologizing might take the cake for being even worse.
But when you have hurt someone that you deeply love, you must suck up your pride and admit your wrongdoings like a confession before God. The Catholic cross around his neck screams at him to confess. He wonders if his punishment will be three Hail Marys or the Lord's Prayer. Now that he thinks about it, he does not remember the Lord's Prayer. The last time he heard that was a few days before he found his mother. He wonders if she confessed to the preacher what she would do, and her punishment was to pray to her punisher.
Apologizing to Shane is easier than he could have ever imagined. There is no wall between them, no punishment to speak aloud, just a tender hold and a promise that he knows it is not his fault. For love transcends all, and can push through the difficult. They promised to love each other in sickness and in health, and that will always stand true.