heated rivalry hurt no comfort :3
ok trigger warnings for suicide like dead dove do not eat like don't read this because A MAIN CHARACTER WILL DIE SO IF YOU DON'T WANT THAT TO HAPPEN DON'T READ THIS okay now that that's settled ahem
Since switching to the Centaurs, Ilya had fallen into an endless cycle of misery. It wasn't only because the team sucked, though that certainly didn't help. No, the root of the issue was that he had given up everything, and yet it still wasn't enough.
He had left his home country, said goodbye to his mother's grave, for nothing more than the promise of seeing the man he loved no more than a few times a month. And Ilya was okay with that--at least, he thought he was. He told himself that he would take any amount of Shane he could have. But it was never enough, and in the absence of his boyfriend, when he had no one else in the world, Ilya felt devastatingly lonely.
One particularly hard night, after a brutal loss to the Bears, Ilya felt worthless. Playing against his old team had reinforced the turmoil of self-loathing that had been brewing for months. He had no friends, he played for a shitty hockey team, and worst of all, he hadn't seen Shane in over two weeks. He felt the familiarity of isolation claw at his throat, and wondered if this was all he would ever be. A washed up, formerly great hockey player pining for a man he could only ever love in secret. His father was right, he never would amount to anything.
Tears clouded his vision as he stared blankly at the man in the mirror. Was that face even his own? Fuck. He banged his fist against the marble counter.
The thought didn't come to him suddenly. No, it was gradual, stemming from the slightest motion of his fingers against his mother's cross. Death had never scared him, not since he found his mother all those years ago. Not since he buried his father. How could he be frightened of something so achingly intimate? If he died, would he see her again? Feel the warm embrace he had longed for for 13 long years?
Next he thought of the pills. He certainly had enough painkillers in his medicine cabinet. A collection of medication collected from various hockey injuries. Normally, he despised pills. Today, he couldn't bring himself to fear them.
Lastly, he thought of Shane. Well, not exactly. Shane had been ever present throughout the process, a gentle thrum underneath his fingers like a heartbeat. He knew that it would hurt Shane. Wouldn't it? How much could you miss someone you hardly ever saw? He pulled one of Shane's sweatshirts on over his head, wishing for nothing more but to be close to him, knowing that he never would be again.
Shane would be able to move on, wouldn't he? Ilya knew this wasn't true, knew that he had never been able to fully recover from Irina's death, but Ilya had always been selfish. He knew this was true, even as he reached for the nearest bottle of painkillers. Even as he swallowed each pill, the scrape against his throat hardly comparable to the suffocating despondency he felt almost daily. And his own selfishness disgusted him, even as he pulled out his phone, shakily opening Shane's contact.
"Shane, you are the best thing in my life," He typed, his fingers shaking as his tears began to flow. The bottle was empty, now. Strangely, this was the closest he had felt to his mother in quite some time.
"I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you," his fingers trembled violently, but he pressed onwards. This he could give to Shane. His parting words. Something to remember him by. Something to prove he cared.
"I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those," his breaths came quicker, shorter now. His skin felt tight and clammy, and he fought the urge to throw up.
"Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it," was the last thing Ilya Rozanov ever wrote, the last legacy he would ever leave.
