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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya clocks it very quickly when Shane comes home from an additional practice, carrying himself awkwardly and holding his weight off of his right ankle. He watches without a word as Shane attempts to walk properly, fighting the wince in his face. He wants to ask if Shane thinks he’s that good of an actor, or if Ilya is that stupid he can’t pick up on a hidden injury.

    Or, Shane hides an injury. Ilya isn’t impressed.

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    26 Jan 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    We could talk about what the fuck Shane sees in you.

    Ilya is still thinking about it hours later. In Shane’s dark bedroom, with the man in question snoring softly beside him, Ilya can’t let Hayden’s comment at dinner go.

    In the moment, he didn’t process the jab as anything more than an excuse to take a cheap shot right back at Hayden. But now that the dust has settled on his first official conversation with Shane’s best friend, Ilya can’t forget the snide remark.

    It’s not the first time someone questioned why someone like Ilya would be like someone with Shane. The first time anyone ever saw them as a couple, Shane’s dad made a comment about Shane being unable to find any ‘nice boys in Montreal’. Sure, they were still reeling from the shock of Ilya being more than a hockey player that runs his mouth more than not, but Ilya understands the implication. He is not a ‘nice boy’, not the kind of man that Shane deserves.

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    25 Jan 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane doesn't know how long they sit there in silence.

    He isn't counting seconds or minutes as the time passes by, quiet and heavy in the dim light of the hotel room. Instead, he counts Ilya's breaths—the ones that tremble and shake against the skin of Shane's neck, the ones that are buried in the fabric of Shane's shirt, the ones that become steadier the longer that Shane holds him as tight as he can.

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    24 Jan 2026

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    Last night, Ilya dreamed Shane served him divorce papers. They were making dinner when suddenly Shane pulled them out of the microwave and thrust them into Ilya’s hand. This isn’t working, he said. I’m divorcing you. No negotiations.

    And look: of course Ilya understands that it was just a dream. The official divorce petition was a stack of sticky notes. Shane had faintly green skin and, Ilya is pretty sure, a third eye next to his left nipple. It obviously wasn’t real.

    But.

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    24 Jan 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya hums, playing the card he's been considering for this entire conversation. “We could make more interesting, yes? A bet.”

    “A bet,” Shane repeats, eyes flashing. “Like what?”

    The reporter cuts in. “What about wearing the other player’s jersey?”

    They both turn to her, and Shane says, “Like, the loser wears the winner’s jersey?”

    “Maybe at the next game in a couple of months?”

    “Is a good idea,” Ilya muses, nudging Shane’s elbow. “You will look better in my jersey than in Montreal jersey.”

    Shane makes a low noise, his eyes holding a bit of a spark when he looks back to Ilya. It’s what Ilya was hoping for—the tiniest crack in the mask. He can see a hint of exasperated affection around the corners of Shane’s eyes, a little bit of fire burning just beneath the surface. It sends a thrill down Ilya’s spine, and he wonders if Shane will be snarky when Ilya gets him naked tonight.

    “That’s not happening,” Shane replies, shaking his head. “Because you’re not winning.”

    ---
    Ilya should have known better.

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    22 Jan 2026