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Ilya was worried. Ilya was normally worried about something, but he was worried about something special today. It was the night before their third game with Montreal, the previous two they had lost. It was a home game. Ilya was admittedly a bit worried about that, he would like to beat Montreal's ass. But he was more worried about Shane, who had been in his trophy room for the past 3 hours, missing a text from Hayden saying “Want to get high?” Ilya never took Hayden for a weed person, but you never know.
Shane had gone into the trophy room 3 hours ago, saying something under his breath. Ilya didn’t need to understand it to understand what Shane was saying. “Don’t follow me.” And Ilya didn’t. But that was 3 hours ago. And Ilya missed his husband. And he also wanted to know what was wrong. So he went.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Shanei, Hayden texted.” Ilya said softly, walking in. Ilya purposely kept his volume down, knowing Shane got startled at loud noises. Shane flinched anyway, but didn’t turn to answer. Shane was staring at his third Stanley Cup ring, and his fingers were doing that weird rubbing movement against themselves. Ilya tried to think of the word for it. Yuna had told him it once… Started with an S.
Ilya went behind Shane and slowly wrapped his arms around his waist. He could feel his husband tensing, but saw the look on his face. The “I’m stressed out but I’m going to try and hide it” look. Seconds later, he felt Shane take a deep breath, then exhaled and forcefully relaxed his body.
“Hi…” Shane said quietly.
“Hello.” Ilya responded, nuzzling into Shane’s neck. “You've been in here for long.”
“It’s… It’s ‘You’ve been in here for a long time.’” Shane corrected. Ilya poked Shane’s side. Poked instead of pinched.
“My smart husband.” Ilya replied. Shane tensed about that. Ilya rubbed his shoulder with one hand. “Tell me what wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” Shane said fastly before realizing his tone. “Sorry.. It’s just.. It’s nothing for you to worry about, yeah? I’ll be fine. We’ll crush Montreal tomorrow.”
“Mmm, mmm. Cannot crush Montreal with star player being off. And I am your husband. You have to tell me. Required.”
“No. Not required.”
“Da. Required.”
“Fine. Je veux avoir une relation polyamoureuse avec Jackie et Hayden.”
“What? What about Jackie and her evil husband? Shaneeeeee, tell me.” Ilya whined.
“I was joking.” Shane responded.
“Okay… Well you been in here for two long. Tell me what wrong. Are you nervous about playing Montreal? We’ll beat them, next two games. Home turf. For Chirion.”
“Ilya, it's stupid.” Shane groaned.
“If it has you like this, it isn’t. And nothing you say is stupid. Except for ‘I can’t eat that, my diet.’” Ilya replied quietly, kissing Shane’s shoulders. It was quiet for a moment.
“I was… I was right.” Shane mumbled, his head facing downward.
“About what?” Ilya said, his tone getting softer.
“That night… Boxing day. You said I didn’t consider anything about you. I was… self-centered.” Shane stopped for a moment, taking a breath. And for a second, Ilya thought Shane was about to cry. Ilya only nodded softly against Shane’s shoulder. He thought about that night too. But mostly the anger that surrounded it. Not Shane’s side. “But I was right… Ilya I was right. I didn’t want to come out because I knew what would happen, and you… You made me feel… horrible. Like a dickhead.” Shane took another breath. “I was right!” He said louder.
Ilya looked at Shane’s face at the yell. It was angry, but also sad. The same way it was at the Las Vegas awards. But this wasn’t the awards. And Ilya couldn’t get his way this time.
“I was right, and I knew it would happen. Everyone always thinks about you, but what about me? I had dreams, I wanted to be remembered as the best hockey player ever. Not the half-Asian and most of the time the only Asian in the league! But-but now I’m remembered as the fag who fell in love with his fucking rival! I was right and you made me feel like trash and-” Shane cut off with a sob, pushing Ilya away weakly before hugging him. Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, rocking him slightly and making soft “shhh” sounds.
“Shhh, shhh, Shane you are panicking. Too much breath.”
“I was right! I was fucking right! Everyone treats me like I’m dumb but I’m not. I’m always the one asked if I let you win, not you! Why can’t we-” Shane cut off with another staggering gasp, and for the first time his eyes flashed with the panic his breath was queuing. Ilya watched in horror and Shane started gagging and failing to catch his breath, looking increasingly distressed to Ilya.
“Shane, Shane you have to breathe. Okay? Pretend you are about to take the game winning goal. In, and out. Good. In, and out.” Ilya said, rubbing his hand over Shane’s chest in slow circles. He hoped it helped. It was, seeing the way Shane’s breathing slowed. Shane slumped against Ilya, slowly sinking to the floor. Ilya sinked with him, still holding Shane.
They sat in silence for a bit before Ilya spoke again. “All okay now? No panic.” He asked softly. He didn’t bother to go over what Shane had said. He was of course thinking it over in his brain, but he wouldn’t go over it aloud with Shane right now.
“No panic.” Shane replied softly. “But not all okay. I still… I still feel like I need to get it out. But I also need you… I need you to respond. Is that okay? Does that work?” Shane asked quietly.
“Da, it works.” Ilya said, kissing Shane’s collarbone.
“I’m so… I’m so tired of being known as the gay dude who married his rival.” Shane started. Ilya nodded. “Because before that, I was known as the half-Asian dude with good speed.” Shane paused, looking up at Ilya before shaking his head to himself. Ilya wouldn’t understand.
“Hm, what's the shake?”
“I just… This is getting off track.”
“Don’t care, tell me.”
“You wouldn’t understand… Racism.”
“Shane, that is stupid I am immigrant!”
“You’re white.”
“So are you! Just… half.”
“Do I look white?” Shane asked quietly to Ilya. Ilya looked at Shane's face. Those eyes. Ilya didn’t know that those eyes were the same eyes that Shane had tried to stretch to look what he thought was normal. Ilya swallowed before shaking his head. “Exactly.”
“Tell me... About what you face. Please?” Ilya asked quietly.
“Later, we’re getting off tracked.” Shane responded. Ilya pouted but Shane continued on. “That night I spent it crying home and wishing… Wishing I wasn’t me. Shane Hollander. The weird guy with the crazy diet and the person… Nobody likes.”
“That is stupid, I like you.” Ilya responded.
“Yes, I am aware. But many people don’t. And when you yelled at me and shoved me, I was reminded of that.” Shane said quietly, almost ashamed. Ilya hugged Shane tighter at the mention of the shove.
“Shane-”
“I don’t want to hear it right now Ilya. I just… I was right. About my worries. Which you ridiculed me for. And… I don’t know. I wanted an apology, I guess? I know it’s stupid but-” Shane was cut off with Ilya kissing him. Deeply. Not the kisses they had hooking up. The kisses that reminded Shane that Ilya loved him back.
“I’m so sorry Shanei. I should’ve- God I knew it was stupid me the second you left. I didn’t know… I didn’t know you felt this way. Please, please don’t hold it in anymore, it isn’t safe.” Ilya whispered. His hand traveled up to Shane’s arm, where previous scars laid. Scars from Shane's youth when he was hurting. Ilya hated those scars. Shane nodded against Ilya's shoulder. Ilya picked Shane up with ease… Too light he thought. But that was a later issue. Ilya brought Shane to their bedroom before massaging Shane’s shoulders. “We beat Montreal tomorrow. Then next week. Da?” Shane nodded. “Good.”
“Love you.” Shane said drowsily.
“Love you too. Hey Shanei?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s that thing you do where you fidget with your fingers?”
“Stimming?”
“Okay, thank you. I forgot word.”
The Centaurs won the first game (technically 3rd) 3-1.
The Centaurs won the second game (technically 4th) 6-4.
The Centaurs won the third game (technically 5th) 2-1.
The Centaurs won the fourth game (technically 6th) 3-0. Shane scored a hat trick.