Tagging @aphantasias because I jumped on this and forgot to tag you earlier, sorry!
Oh, ouch that hurts. And Iâm going to add something else, though itâs definitely not going to be worded as well, though Iâve been chewing over it for the last two weeks. (I may also be projecting a bit, because I know that I do this and itâs fucking exhausting.)
I think one of Ilyaâs love languages is acts of service. Yes, he comes across as brash and arrogant, but heâs generous to a fault. Heâs basically financing his brotherâs family and heâs doing what he can for his sick father, despite their messy relationship. Heâs Shaneâs service top (I had to look up what that meant, and well, yeah, that fits). Basically, the man would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. With a sarcastic quip, maybe, but heâs gotta keep up the facade. And everyone loves a villain.
But I think thereâs another, sadder, side to it all. I think that this generosity is also a bid for connection. Not just with Shane, but with everyone. With his family. With his teammates. The hope that, if he does enough, if he gives enough, maybe someone might give a hint of a damn about him. Not love him. Not even really care about him. Just something.
But itâs not enough. Itâs never enough. No matter what he does, however much he keeps giving, how hard he tries, it wonât ever be enough. All he hears are demands, orders, judgements, expectations. Nothing to tell him that someone might actually care. Not since his mama, and if she couldnât love him enough to stay, then how can anyone else?
But he still does it. Because itâs all he has. Itâs all he can do. And because he still, somehow, clings onto that tiny bit of hope that, if he does enough, if he gives enough, if he does well enough, maybe someone will say heâs worth it. Maybe he might just be good enough for someone. Maybe.
You can see the toll itâs taking by the time the Olympics come around - on top of Everything Fucking Else. (Personally, I think thereâs an argument to be made that Ilya didnât want to compete, all things considered, but thatâs another can of worms) Basically, by now, heâs running on fumes. Heâs barely got anything left and he knows it, even if he canât let himself admit it. Heâs getting it from all angles; from Shane trying to talk to him (in a very dangerous environment, holy shit!) to his father lambasting him for his teamâs performance to, well, basically everyone having an opinion and expectation of him. Even Svetlana, when she talks about Boston winning the Cup that year, adds another obligation to his list, another expectation, another thing he has to give. Granted, sheâs not intending it that way, but itâs yet more pressure on not very stable shoulders.
But then he does win. And he gets that beautiful moment where heâs glowing with joy. Where he did it. He made it. Heâs so happy. But even that canât last. How long before something gets in the way? How long before even more is put on him, before his father starts saying he can still do better, that itâs not enough? Before everyone demands he give more. After all, he did it once, heâs practically expected to do it again. To keep giving them more. That shit will start up pretty damn quick, before heâs even had chance to enjoy his success. But even if he does get time, even if he does get the credit he deserves, itâs not going to undo years of damage thatâs already been done. It just Never. Fucking. Stops.
All of this to sayâŚby the time Vegas rolls around, Ilya has had years of this and itâs reached the point where he has nothing left to give. Heâs empty, he canât muster up anything - effectively, heâs burned out.
But then, thereâs Shane. And, God help him, Ilya canât let there be nothing else. Not now, not after so long. He has to have something, one last effort. Just one last thing. He has to have one more thing to give. For Shane. Please.
And somehow, there is something. One tiny, dark piece of something, deep down. Itâs all he has, but itâs there. Itâs sharp. Itâs cold. Itâs detached and harsh. But itâs there. And he grabs onto it. Because he fucking has to.
But, again itâs not enough. He knows itâs not enough. Itâs never enough. But itâs all he has left to give. Itâs the only part of him that Shane wants, the only part he wonât reject, the only side of Ilya that he has any interest in. But itâs so cold, so harsh and full of sharp edges that it almost feels wrong. There has to be something else, but there isnât. This is all he has left, and itâs nowhere near enough. Itâs never going to be enough - Ilya is never going to be enough for Shane. Heâs never going to be good enough. It breaks both of them a little.
And then the âtuna melt dateâ happens and he realises thereâs an opportunity. He wants to do it right, to give Shane more, like he deserves. But heâs still so conscious of who he has to be, that he canât let any weakness show. He knows Shane doesnât like that, knows he doesnât want that. And he tries, he really tries, and it seems to be sort of working, until that phone call where his walls crack a little against his will, and heâs horrified, terrified, that Shane is going to hate what he sees - but then the First Names happen and, just for an instant, he lets himself wonder, lets himself hope that maybeâŚ
But itâs only for that one second before Shane pulls away, before he runs away, just confirming to Ilya that Shane doesnât want his vulnerable side, his weak and undesirable side - that Shane doesnât want him.
(Jesus, someone get that boy a life raft, heâs fucking drowning.)
And then thereâs the clusterfuck that is Rose and The Club and everything (reinforcing to Ilya that Shane doesnât want him, that heâs not enough, that he canât give him what he wants), but then theyâre in a hotel room in Florida and Shane is coming out to him, and fuck, Ilya is not equipped for this. No one ever gave him the âwhat to do when someone comes out to youâ speech. All he has is sarcasm and being an asshole. But even then, he finds himself admitting that the last time, before it all went to shit, was nice, that it felt different, it felt better, while heâs tearing himself apart, knowing he canât have what he wants so badly, knowing heâs not worth it. But he canât help but open up a little, even though itâs letting Ilya out, exposing that part of him that Shane rejected, that he has no interest in, that he promised he would never let Shane be exposed to. Because that softness? Vulnerability? Thatâs undesirable. He canât let himself be that. Shane doesnât want that. Ilya knows he doesnât want that, so he has to keep it locked away, even if it kills him. He has to give Shane what he really wants. Maybe he canât do much, but he can at least give him that.
ButâŚhe canât. And he can fucking feel himself starting to break apart and itâs so stupid and all he can say is âsorryâ. Sorry, because this isnât what Shane needs. Sorry, because he canât keep it inside. Sorry, because heâs so worthless and pathetic he canât give Shane what he wants - he canât be who Shane wants.
Except that, suddenly, Shane is kissing him and pulling him close, holding him like he hasnât been held in years. It feels safe and comforting and Ilya can feel himself breaking, piece by piece, and he knows he shouldnât, knows he canât take this when he has nothing to give in return, but he canât stop himself. So he tells himself, okay, but just this once. Never again. He canât do this again, he canât be selfish like this, he canât take from Shane like this, he doesnât deserve it, he hasnât earned it.
But Shane doesnât let go. He doesnât run. He keeps holding him, and then theyâre together again and then Shane calls him Ilya again, only this time, itâs real. This time, he means it. And, somehow, in spite of everything, that tiny hint of hope he felt in Boston doesnât seem as foolish now. Sure, their situation hasnât changed, but maybe there is a chance. Maybe he doesnât have to hide himself away now. Maybe Shane actually does like him. Maybe they donât have to hate each other. Maybe they couldâŚ
(Okay, Iâm done. Woah, that got away from me and I think I gave myself a concussion and lost some brain cells hitting my head against my desk trying to word this right, though it still feels like complete word salad! Oh well. TLDR: Ow.)
