Chapter Text
Ilya wakes up with a blinding headache and feeling nauseous. He rolls out of bed and trudges to the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He looks terrible. He drank way too much last night. He internally groans. He takes pain killers and throws himself into the shower to try to wake himself up. Once he’s dressed, he heads to the kitchen and is making toast to calm his stomach when his phone rings. It’s Wyatt Hayes calling, who was with him last night. Ilya picks up the call and lifts his phone to his ear. Without any preamble, Wyatt is already laughing.
“How ya doing Rozy?” he asks, and then without waiting for an answer continues, “I know, terrible. You were a mess last night. Jesus. You were drinking like a fish. Sorry, that’s a weird idiom when English is your second language. But dude, you were all over the place. Girls were flocking to you and you were letting them. I saw you make out with three different girls throughout the night. One girl was staring daggers into your head the whole time we were at the club. Did you hook up with her or something? Anyways, Lisa is so mad at me for how late I got home…”
Ilya rolls his eyes asWyatt continues to drone on without stopping. He has to put a stop to this. He tries to spit out a “Hayes!” to get his attention. But when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. He clears his throat and tries again. Nothing. Is he still asleep? Still dreaming of this annoying phone call? He sets his phone down, Wyatt still yammering away, and pinches himself. It hurts.
He picks the phone back up and attempts to talk again, but still nothing. He hangs up, mid-sentence from Wyatt. He sends him a text
Ilya
Come over. Something is wrong.
Hazy
Why didn’t you say something on the phone? Why did you hang up?
Ilya
You will see. Just come over.
Hazy
On my way.
Ilya sets his phone down and goes back to the bathroom. He again sees his reflection. He still doesn’t look great, but he looks better than he did when he had first gotten up this morning. He tries to talk to himself in the mirror, but nothing comes out. He opens his mouth wide and looks into his throat. It looks fine. It doesn’t feel scratchy. Nothing appears to be physically wrong with him, but he can’t say one single word.
Soon enough, he hears Wyatt’s car pull up outside of his house. He meets him at the front door and lets him in.
“Roz?” Wyatt starts as soon as he’s in the door, “What’s going on? What couldn’t you talk about over the phone?”
Ilya tries to answer. He hopes that with someone else in the room with him, suddenly his voice will turn back on. Nothing, he tries to say. Hopes that it’s true he opens his mouth and the word is stuck. He doesn’t say anything. Wyatt continues to stare at him expectantly.
“Roz? What is it? Are you okay?
Ilya starts to feel frustrated and irritated. No! He attempts, but nothing. He growls, the sound managing to come out of his gnarled teeth. He spins around and goes to the kitchen and grabs a pen and pad from the table.
I cannot talk
he writes. He hands the pad over to Wyatt, who looks at the message quizzically. He looks back to Ilya.
“What do you mean? You lost your voice? Do you have a cold?”
Ilya snarls and snatches the pad from Wyatt.
No, not sick.
Throat is fine.
No sound comes out.
Wyatt takes the pad back and reads the new message. He continues to look at it, then looks at Ilya then back at the message.
“Nothing comes out? You can’t say anything at all?”
Ilya nods his head vigorously.
“Since when?”
Ilya reaches over, and with Wyatt still holding the pad.
This morning.
Wyatt makes a face, pondering this. He sits in silence for a moment before a light flickers in his face and his eyes widen. His head whips back to look at Ilya.
“That girl. The one who was staring daggers at you. Do you know her?”
Ilya looks questioningly at Wyatt. His look must convey his confusion because Wyatt whips out his phone and thumbs to his photos. He swipes through pictures he had taken throughout their time at the club last night. There are pictures of Wyatt smushing his face against various members of the Centaurs. There is one of Zane Boodram chugging a beer. One of Ilya flipping off the camera. One of Luca Haas smiling shyly. Another of Ilya dancing with a girl. A selfie of Wyatt with a drink pressed to his lips. There’s Ilya making out with a girl. Ilya glares at Wyatt when he sees this and Wyatt shrugs and continues swiping. More quickly now, until he finds the picture he’s looking for. It’s of Ilya, lips pressed to the neck of a different girl than in the first picture.
Wyatt gasps and shoves the photo closer to Ilya to see. Ilya looks blankly at the photo then turns his gaze to Wyatt, a blank look still in his eye. He shrugs, questioning its significance. Wyatt huffs.
“Look closer!”
He zooms in on the photo, past Ilya to the crowd in the background. There, he can see the girl Wyatt was referring to. The one who was staring daggers at him all night. Ilya doesn’t remember seeing her. But he doesn’t really remember a lot of the night.
“Do you know her?” Wyatt asks.
Ilya scours his memory. He meets a lot of women. He sleeps with a lot of women, and men too. He looks at the photo, zooms in more, and stares intently at the woman staring at Ilya as though he has offended her personally. Her face seems familiar. Then he remembers. He lunges for the pad sitting on the table in front of him and starts writing furiously.
I know her, barely.
We fucked few weeks ago.
She gave me her number and told me to call.
He shoves the pad back at Wyatt, who reads.
“And? Did you call?”
Ilya grimaces, which answers the question. Wyatt hums, looking thoughtful.
“You don’t think she could have… could have been… a witch do you?” he asks, looking sheepishly at Ilya.
Ilya’s eyes widen and he flinches. He again starts scribbling.
NO
I do not fuck witches.
“Dude, how would you know she’s a witch if she doesn’t tell you? There’s no physical differences.”
Ilya just glares at Wyatt.
“Okay, let’s say she was a witch. You fucked her and she told you to call her. You don’t call. She sees you making out with multiple women. Roz. I think you might be cursed.
Ilya’s eyes bug out.
NO
NO
NO
NOT POSSIBLE
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you are. We need to figure this out before practice tomorrow, dude. Let me text Lisa, she’ll know what to do.”
NO
We cannot tell anyone
“Not tell anyone? Why? It’s not that serious of a curse, man. You’ll be fine!”
Ilya hesitates before writing again.
Is embarrassing
“Roz, it’s fine. Happens to the best of us,”Wyatt responds, clapping Ilya on the shoulder, “Okay, listen. I’ll only tell Lisa. We need her help. We can’t figure this out on our own, don’t you agree?”
Ilya thinks on it for a minute, then nods. Wyatt silently texts on his phone for a minute.
“Okay, Lisa reminded me of someone we know that can definitely help.”
Who is it?
“You’ll see, come on.”
***
Wyatt and Ilya drive out of Ottawa and into the countryside of Ontario. They arrive at a quaint town an hour outside of the city and Wyatt leads them a small house on the edge of town. Ilya gets out of Wyatt’s boring SUV and examines the house. It’s a small brick cottage with greenery growing up around the entrance. There are bushes filling the front yard, that in the fall no longer have much foliage. The door is a sage green. Wyatt has already started walking up the short path to the door and Ilya hurries after him.
Wyatt knocks gently and soon the door silently swings open. Standing in the entry way is the most beautiful person Ilya has ever seen in his life. Even if he could talk, he would be speechless. He is about the same height as Ilya, clearly built athletically, and at least partially Asian. His hair is as dark as night, silky black. His brown eyes are endlessly deep. Most strikingly, there is a splatter of freckles across his smooth cheeks. He glances at Ilya and then looks over at Wyatt, a small spreading across his face. It’s stunning, his white teeth perfectly straight. Ilya wants to always see him smiling.
“Wyatt, hey. Come in.”
The two follow the man into the cottage. It’s decorated in a warm, cozy way, with plush couches, rugs, and pillows. There are gems and trinkets set out on shelves and windowsills. It seems to be the opposite of Ilya’s cold, modern home. Shane walks them into the sitting area and gingerly sits on one couch, motioning for Ilya and Shane to sit on another.
“Shane, this is my teammate, Ilya Rozanov. Roz, this is Lisa and my friend, Shane Hollander. Shane went to college with Lisa. Both majored in biology before Lisa went on to med school.”
Shane nods at Ilya. Ilya gives a small smile and Wyatt looks at him quizzically.
“What seems to be the problem, Hayes? Lisa texted me that you needed my help.”
“Ilya here fucked with the wrong witch. Literally. He fucked her and then didn’t call her, so she cursed him.”
Rage bursts in Ilya. Why the fuck would Wyatt tell this beautiful man that Ilya had fucked a woman and not called her back? And fucked a witch at that? Jesus, he was going to kill him. He glares at Wyatt, unable to butt in and say anything, but the two men ignore him.
“Okay, how do you know he’s cursed? What’s been going on?” Shane asks, eyes quickly flicking to Ilya but then returning to Wyatt.
“He can’t talk.”
“Can’t talk?”
“Show him, Roz.”
They look at Ilya, who gives Wyatt an exasperated look. How the fuck was he supposed to demonstrate NOT being able to talk.
“Okay, point taken,” Shane says after a moment of silence, “come with me.”
Shane stands and Ilya and Wyatt follow him, Ilya’s gaze dropping appraisingly to Shane’s round, plump ass, as they walk through the small house into a hallway. The hallway leads past a kitchen and various closed doors before entering an airy sunroom, windows on all sides. The sunroom has a large table in the middle, wicker chairs and couches against a wall and is full of various plants and herbs in all sizes of pots. Ilya blinks in surprise and takes in his surroundings. The table is neatly organized with bowls of various sizes, measuring cups with liquids of varying colors, and containers of what looked like spices. Ilya elbows Wyatt and looks at him, questioning. Wyatt just nods reassuringly back.
“Sit,” Shane commands, and they do. Shane starts combining items into a liquid that he has on his table, “So Ilya, you do this often?”
Ilya looks at him, the question clear in his face.
“Sleep with witches?” Shane clarifies.
Ilya shakes his head vigorously, then takes out the pad and pen that he brought with him.
No
I do not fuck witches
When this message results in Shane raising one eyebrow, he continues.
I try not to
“Ah. But not calling women back after sleeping with them?”
Shane’s eyes flick to Ilya’s as he continues working. Ilya writes.
Depends on the person.
If right woman, or man, will call.
Shane reads this and hums, turning his attention back to his work. Ilya sits and watches for a bit before writing a message to Wyatt.
What is happening?
What is he doing?
“I don’t know,” Wyatt whispers back, trying not to disturb Shane’s work, “But I know he can fix this.”
How?
“Fuck if I know. I’m not a fucking witch. But Lisa said he was the smartest person in their class. Went into biological witchcraft after graduating. He’s the best witch in Ontario.”
Ilya stares at Wyatt, dumbfounded.
WITCH?
SHANE IS WITCH?
“Duh,” Wyatt says, rolling his eyes, “Why else would we be here? Only a witch can undo a witch’s curse, Roz. Don’t you know anything?”
Ilya’s head whips back to take Shane in. He now internally berates himself for his message about not fucking witches. Idiot.
Shane is now gently stirring the combination he had made. He wanders over to gaze at the herbs he has in a windowsill before pulling scissors out before snipping a few sprigs off of one of them. His hands move in a skilled, graceful way. He returns to the table and mixes in the new ingredients. He brings the mixture up to his nose and breathes in deeply, smelling what he’s made.
He turns and looks at Ilya, studying him. Ilya feels a spark go through him at the eye contact and appraisal. Shane walks over and stands directly in front of Ilya, who is still sitting. Ilya has to look up to maintain eye contact with Shane who now looms over him. Shane reaches out and for a second, Ilya think he is going to caress his cheek, and Ilya closes his eyes in anticipation. Instead, Ilya feels a hair yanked out of his head with a tug. His mouth opens to yelp, but of course, nothing happens. He opens his eyes, and sees Shane walking away, his ass now fully in Ilya’s line of sight. In his hand, is one of Ilya’s strands of hair. Ilya reaches up and rubs at where the hair was pulled out of his scalp and glares at Wyatt when he hears him muffling a laugh.
Shane adds the hair to the mixture and stirs it a moment longer.
“There, I think this should do the trick.”
He motion Wyatt and Ilya over to the table. Sitting there is an orange concoction in a vessel that looks like a handmade mug. Ilya stares at it, then look up at Shane, who is gazing at him expectantly. No one moves or says anything.
“Drink it,” Shane finally commands.
Ilya rears back, shaking his head. Shane rolls his eyes and looks over at Wyatt.
“Listen to him, Roz. He knows his shit.”
Ilya looks from Wyatt back to Shane who is now staring at him flatly, his patience obviously wearing thin. Ilya reaches out and grabs the mug. He brings it to his nose and is about to smell it when Shane’s hand reaches out and grabs his arm. Ilya starts at the warmth spreading from the contact on his bicep.
“Best not to smell it,” he says, “just throw it back.”
Ilya grimaces, giving Shane a long look. He does as he’s told though and throws the mixture back like a shot of cheap Canadian vodka. He shivers at the terrible taste but swallows it down. He lets it settle and then looks at Shane again.
“That should be it. Go on, try to talk,” Shane prompts.
Ilya hesitates. What will they do if this doesn’t work? He continues to stare at Shane who just stares at him.
“Okay,” Ilya says, his voice ringing through, crystal clear.
“Oh my god! Shane! You did it!” Wyatt yells out, reaching over and jostling Shane’s shoulder. Wyatt has a grin on his face, and Shane is smiling sheepishly back. Wyatt starts back to the front of the house, leaving Ilya alone with Shane.
“Wow, you saved me, Shane Hollander. You are amazing,” Ilya says, a smirk playing on his lips.
Shane rolls his eyes and turns back to clean up his supplies on the table.
“It wasn’t that difficult. It wasn’t a serious curse, just a petty one. Pretty easy to get rid of.”
“I doubt that, you are very skilled witch, Mr. Hollander,” Ilya purrs, now inching closer to Shane.
“Hmm, thanks,” Shane responds, “Stay away from witches from here on out.”
“Ah, but what if I do not want to?” Ilya asks, his body now close enough to Shane’s back as he works for his breath to dust against Shane’s neck, “What if I want to be very close to a witch? Maybe even on top of a witch?”
Shane whips around, surprising Ilya into taking a step back.
“You don’t fuck witches. You said so yourself,” Shane says, and he follows where Wyatt had just walked through into the house.
Ilya groans. Even when he can’t fucking talk his big mouth gets him in trouble. Fuck.
He walks towards the front door and finds Ilya and Wyatt discussing how Lisa is doing. They turn when they hear Ilya come into the room.
“How much do I owe talented witch?” Ilya asks.
“Nothing. I owe Lisa 100 favors. She got me through school,” Shane says, smiling at Wyatt.
“Yeah right,” he responds, laughing, “Lisa always talked about how you would tutor her. But I know she will appreciate you saying that. Come over soon, man, we’ll make you dinner.”
Shane agrees and Wyatt throws his arm around his shoulder and jostles him in goodbye.
“Goodbye, Shane Hollander,” Ilya says, “I hope I will see you again.”
“I doubt that, unless you somehow get yourself cursed again”
A wicked grin spreads across Ilya’s face.
“No. No, Ilya, don’t even think about it,” Wyatt interjects.
“I will get your number from Shane so we can cut out middle man,” Ilya coos, and then emphasizes, “Next time I am cursed.”