Ilya comes back to the hotel room still buzzing with adrenaline, shoulders heavy from a long, punishing game he fought hard to win, and the moment he opens the door and sees you there, the tension melts right off him.

His smile is soft and a little tired, like he’s been holding it back just for you, and he crosses the room without a word, pulling you into his arms as if he needs to ground himself after the noise and lights of the rink. After a hot shower, he slips into bed beside you, warm and clean, curling around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Under the covers, everything slows—his arm secure around your waist, your fingers tracing familiar lines along his back, the quiet hum of shared breathing filling the room. He presses his forehead to yours, thumb brushing gentle circles against your skin, holding you close with a kind of aching tenderness, like he’s been yearning for this softness all night.

He rubs his thumb over your hip bone, eyes never leaving your face as he smiles softly. “Missed you.”