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Practice had started the same as any other since Shane had joined the Centaurs. They warmed up, ran drills, it was standard for any rink Shane had been on since he was a child. The transition from the Voyageurs to the Centaurs had gone smoother than he had expected. He was worried as he had only played for one team his entire professional career, and he’d been captain for more than half a decade, but the guys were very accommodating, and he’d gelled with their style of play pretty fast. A major bonus of this trade had been finally getting to play with his husband. Shane could admit he was a great captain, hard working, motivational, and he genuinely cared about the welfare of his team, cultivating an atmosphere that was supportive and familial. That didn't mean he was immune to acting like a cocky dickhead, though, he was still Ilya Rozanov after all. One such moment seemed to be occurring across the ice where he could see him in a heated debate with Troy Barrett by the goals, rolling his eyes, he skated over, starting to hear some of the conversation.
“I think I know what im doing, Rozanov”, Troy told him, frowning.
“No, you do what I tell you to, Barrett. I tell you play, you do it, we score goals, is not hard. You listen to me, I have five Stanley cups” Ilya insisted.
Shane stopped in front of them “What are you talking about? You don’t have five cups, you have two,” he frowned.
“No, is not true, I have five,” Ilya insisted.
“Did you suddenly win three cups I don’t know about?” Shane asked, raising his eyebrow.
“No, you did,” he grinned. “We are married, Hollander. What is yours is mine, it's in vows, you didn’t pay attention to our wedding?”
“Of course I did, asshole”, Shane frowned, “so wait, does that mean I have five as well? If we’re following your logic?”
“No, it only counts for me. That is the rule. Old Russian tradition, you want to disrespect my heritage?” Ilya asked, smirking.
“Nope, got it, all clear”, Shane replied, skating off as Ilya turned back to Troy.
“Now, you do it like I tell you, Barrett! Listen to best captain ever”
Ilya was feeling good as they made their way home after practice. He had helped the rookies work through some of their issues with their backhand, and Harris had promised to bring Chiron to the rink at some point this week, so all in all, it was a successful day. Shane was fairly quiet in the passenger seat as they drove home, but that wasn’t unusual. The Centaurs were a pretty loud and tactile bunch, and it sometimes overwhelmed Shane, who wasn’t entirely used to the dynamic. Ilya let him decompress over the course of the evening as they made dinner, fed Anya, and Shane read his boring hockey book before bed. He fell asleep cuddling his husband, feeling all was right with the world. That feeling did not remain when he woke up the next morning.
Shane was already up and out of bed when his alarm woke him the next morning, which wasn't unusual, as he was an early riser, either doing some yoga or getting a short run in before they were due to head to the rink. Ilya stretched, sitting up, as his hand brushed something attached to the blanket. He blinked, looking down, seeing a bright green Post-it note labelled “Shane’s”. He frowned, peeling it off the blanket, as he did, he spotted another one, this time yellow, labelled “Ilya”, attached to his pillow. As he looked around the room, he found almost everything in it had been divided up by this system.
He got up, going downstairs, “Shane?” he called out, “I think we are going to be murdered by a very weird serial killer with a post-it note fetish”. He found his husband calmly making his protein smoothie in the kitchen, their kitchen, which was also suffering from a similarly colour-coded post-it fate. “What is happening?” Ilya asked, confused.
“Oh, I did this,” Shane told him, starting the blender, which had the green “Shane” note attached to it.
“Ok, why?” Ilya asked, still not understanding what was happening.
“Well, you seemed pretty adamant yesterday about how anything that was mine was yours, but I’m not entitled to your things, so I figured I would clear up any confusion moving forward. From now on, I’ll only use my own things, since that's how it works, you know, in Russia,” he said calmly, sipping his smoothie.
“You did all this last night? Shane, this is crazy, it was joke,” He said, wrapping his arms around Shane's waist, trying to kiss his neck.
“No, you’re right, I don’t want to be disrespectful, so this is a good system,” Shane replied, moving out of his hold, “I’m going to shower and then drive to the rink.”
“But, moy lyubimyy, we drive together”, Ilya pouted, “is best start to day.”
“Well, see, we used to, but it's your car, and I wouldn’t want to put you out, so I’ll just drive myself,” Shane replied, leaving his husband to pout. Ilya huffed, getting himself ready for the day, peeling many post-it notes off his things as he did. Clearly, his joke about the cups had put Shane out, but he wasn’t worried, this was an elaborate way of proving a point, but it was also incredibly inconvenient. He would give up on this in a day or two. Ilya would get his carpool buddy back in no time.
Ilya realised a week into this ordeal, he had forgotten a very crucial aspect about his partner, that Shane Hollander was one of the most determined, stubborn and dedicated people who had ever walked the face of the earth. Not only had Shane not given up on this “fair” division of their things and lives, but he had also gotten the team involved as he made sure any play he made in training was “definitely not Ilyas”, as he wouldn’t want to overstep and disrespect their dear captain.
“Oh man”, Wyatt chuckled as they were taking a break, “You fucked up, dude. Hollzy isn’t gonna give up, he might be the only person more stubborn than you.”
“It’s ridiculous, he won't eat the dinner I make him cause he says he won't “take my food”, I sleep alone cause he “won't take my blanket”, we don't cuddle because he “wont sit on my couch”, I make one joke! Just one!” Ilya huffed.
“Sucks to be you, dude,” Troy shrugged, “Just remind me never to piss off Hollander” he skated off, leaving Ilya to stew on how to fix this before their next game, where it might actually become a major issue rather than an elaborate marital spat.
The next day, while Shane had gone to lunch with his parents, sitting alone in his house, where the colourful post-it note nightmare had only increased over the course of the week, Ilya did the unthinkable in the name of finding a peaceful solution. He called Hayden Pike.
“What the fuck do you want Rozanov?” Hayden asked, annoyed as he picked up.
“I need your help with Shane, is big problem, obviously or else I wouldn’t call”
“Damn, must be bad if you’re coming to me willingly, what’s up?” Hayden asked. Ilya proceeded to explain his entire miserable week to him, to which Hayden laughed in his face.
“Oh man, shit Rozanov, you fucked up, you’re in a cold war with the most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever met”, he laughed “Seriously, that intensity Shane brings to hockey, when activated, he can bring that to anything.”
“So there is no chance he will get annoyed and give this up?” Ilya asked, “Cause it is very annoying, the house is unlivable.”
“Yeah, zero chance dude, he’s in it for the long haul,” Hayden replied.
“Ok, so how do I fix it, Pike?” he grumbled.
“Look, as a guy who has been married a while now, have you tried the most basic trick in the book? Fucking apologise, man. I know that’s probably tough for you since you have such a high opinion of yourself, but if you want this to end, talk to your husband.” Hayden suggested.
“I said sorry!” Ilya huffed.
“Did you?” Hayden countered
“Well, yes, probably”
“Probably doesn’t cut it, do it again. Or die buried under post-its, your choice. Doesn’t bother me either way, maybe with you gone, I can finally find Shane a nice man to be with.”
“Go fuck yourself Pike, I'll never talk to you again.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell Jackie and the kids that Uncle Ilya says hi,” Hayden replied, hanging up.
When Shane came home, Ilya was waiting for him by the door. “Shane, moy lyubimyy, can we talk? Please?”
“Ok, what do you want to say?” he asked.
“This system, it is ridiculous. I don’t want this. I will burn the house down if I see another Post-it note. I’m sorry, talking about the cup was joke, I didn’t mean to make you upset, annoy you, yes, but not for any of this,” he gestured to the state of the house, pulling Shane closer.
“What is yours is mine, yes, but what is mine is also yours. You’re the best hockey player in the league, you have Olympic medal, three Stanley cups, together we are best couple this sport has ever seen. We share those successes.”
“I know”, Shane sighed, resting his forehead against Ilya’s “And thank you, I appreciate the apology. I’m sorry too…I might have gotten carried away with this whole thing,” he smiled.
“Yes, but it is impressive, now that is over I admit, it's very funny, lots of work involved. Never let it be said that Shane Hollander does things by halves,” Ilya chuckled.
“Shut up”, Shane smiled as Ilya leaned in to kiss him.
“I love you Shane, and I promise, the next cup we win there will be no confusion, because when we lift the cup, it will be together.”
“Together,” Shane smiled, “I like the sound of that.”