joke - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 577 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
It didn't hit Ilya until the next day. Until he awoke in Shane's arms, their limbs tangled together, the orangey-yellow light of the sunrise peeking in through the windows of their (their!) bedroom in the cottage.
But when he realized, he felt like a freight train had collided with his chest.
Two hundred pounds of pressure on his sternum, something immovable and vast lodged in his throat, tears scraping at his eyes, he rose slowly, restlessly, moving to sit outside, trying to get some of the energy out of his system.
It was almost poetic, how quickly it took Shane to find him. How did Shane always find him?
"You're awake," Shane pointed out needlessly, joining Ilya on the rock which he was perched atop of.
And then, god fucking help him, he placed a blanket on Ilya's shoulders.
And those stupid, traitorous tears began to fall.
"Yes," he whispered, avoiding eye contact, afraid that saying more would cause his voice to break.
Shane leaned his head against Ilya's shoulder, and the warmth was like an anchor. "You want to tell me what it is?"
No. He wanted to hold all of these feelings in his palm, to shove them behind his molars and swallow them down forever, to make them disappear and focus on the bliss of being with Shane in this space, of having Shane here, like this, while he could.
But he was too weak for that.
"Is nothing. Just…,” he swallowed thickly, “I have not really said those words with someone for...over ten years," he confessed, tears dripping off of his jaw now, making soft wet spots in the blanket. "Stupid."
Shane looked over to him, obviously confused. "What-?"
Memories crashed together in his mind, a storm in a churning sea. Memories of his mother, holding him close, whispering 'ya tebya lyublyu' in his ear. Memories of yelling those words to her as he ran off to school or to practice.
Memories of murmuring the same thing as he said goodbye at her grave.
He felt Shane's eyes on him. "You...you say it. To your teammates. I hear you, it's--" But something was changing on Shane's face. His usual flat affect that he adopted when he processed, morphing into realization and twisted pain. "Wait. Do they say it back?"
Ilya considered this, still feeling shaky and raw. "...Uh. Yes? Sometimes, I think."
But Shane seemed to be in absolutely urgent need of an answer, now. "Who else?"
Now Ilya was confused. “Who else, what?” he asked.
“Who else tells you they love you?”
It was a kick to the chest, considering that. “Fans,” he answered, shrugging. “Svetlana, sometimes. Girls, when I fuck them well enough.” The joke didn’t land, though, because when he risked a look towards Shane, he saw that a tear was making a trail through his freckles. “Hollander.”
“Every day,” Shane whispered, furiously, hands clenched like he was making a pact.
He furrowed his eyebrows, unsure. “What?”
“Every day, I’ll tell you. S’stupid, that…that you don’t hear it. I’ll tell you every day,” Shane murmured, jaw set, head shaking a little, like a great injustice had occurred.
Ilya’s hands were shaking.
He bit down on his trembling lower lip as he pondered that, refusing to fall apart completely. “That…sounds nice, I think. Would be a good change.”
“Alright. Good. I love you, Ilya,” Shane mumbled, taking both of his hands.
