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It wasn't his fault.
Really, it wasn't.
Or, at least, he'd had good intentions.
How was he to know that a simple tweet would be this misconstrued? That it would be blown out of proportion? That it would cause a PR-disaster so bad that Shane now found himself sitting firmly on a plastic chair, Ilya at his side and several cameras and microphones in his face.
He clears his throat before he goes to speak.
God, he hates this.
He's done it a million times, after every hockey game he's won or lost, but the nerves of talking to the press still get to him sometimes. And this time he wasn't talking about hockey. He was talking about his personal life.
"Good afternoon," he starts off. "I've called you to this press conference today to clear up some nasty, persistent rumours that have been circulating in the media after a tweet I made a few days ago."
He takes a pause, not sure how to continue.
This was so stupid. He cannot believe he had to actually do this.
Ilya presses his leg against his though and that helps. Eases the tension in his shoulders a bit. Forces him to continue to speak. Reminds him of why he’s doing this.
"See, the thing is," he continues. "As most of you have seen by now, a fan had noticed I had some... colourful marks on my collarbone in a picture taken of me at a pool party last week and they'd asked me how I got it, considering it's the off-season. I'm not playing so I shouldn't have any bruises. I stupidly responded with one word. A name. Ilya Rozanov’s name."
The reporters in front of him are getting impatient, he can tell. They want a juicy story. Something about the feud between the two hockey players. Something about how they've always hated each other, how the rivalry that the media's been reporting on for the past few years has been getting worse, how Ilya had snapped. How their love story had been some kind of sick joke or prank. That this story of domestic abuse was the actual truth. He knew that. But that was not the story they were about to get.
Under the table Ilya links their pinkies together, a small show of solidarity.
"I did not realise the tweet would be taken out of context. I did not realise people would think that it was, in fact, a bruise. And I do apologise for that misunderstanding. Ilya Rozanov has never been abusive towards me or anyone else. He's never been violent... well, outside of the rink anyway."
This gets a snort out of Ilya and a chorus of laughter from the crowd of reporters.
"In fact, what you saw was not a bruise at all. It was a lovebite. The part about it being Ilya was true. But the rest.. the rest is not. We would very much like it if this rumour could be laid to rest. The media has continued to fuel rumours about a rivalry between us and this could not be further from the truth. We have been together for a long time and sure, we're competitive. We both want to win. And maybe our way of flirting is.. a bit unconventional. But that's all it is. Flirting. Not abuse. Not violence. Just love. So we would like for you to please respect our privacy from now on."
The crowd of reporters immediately goes wild at this, calling for both of them, begging for comments. Shane just turns to Ilya, gives him a smile. Entangles their fingers before kissing Ilya's hand.
In a way, he feels relieved. This stupid mistake meant he could be more open about his feelings now. About his love for the beautiful man sitting next to him.
It still felt strange, being able to be in public together, nevermind being affectionate. Acting like a couple.
Ilya seems to share that sentiment, a small smile tugging at his lips as the two hockey players completely ignore the media. As always, they only have eyes for each other.
Shane leans towards the microphones, his eyes never leaving Ilya's, as he says:
"No further comment."