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"What, you are homeless?"
The words ring in Shane's ears as he tries his best not to have a complete mental breakdown. He isn't homeless, but he wouldn't say his living situation is exactly... conducive to hookups with your industry-assigned rival (how no one expects that dynamic to become homoerotic is beyond him, but that's beside the point).
"Of course not"
"Then we will go to your house." Ilya says decisively, as if the matter was simple. It was well known on the Metros that Shane Hollander does not host. Shane Hollander barely even comes to things other people host. No one cares if he's a little strange when he's so damn good at hockey. It never came up outside of the team because he was only ever with the team or with his parents.
"Um... I should tell you that ilivewithmyparents" Shane blurts out
"Slow down, Hollander"
"I live with my parents." Shane's face is on fire. Under the best of circumstances he couldn't get a read on what people are thinking, and under the worst of them he was basically useless. Had Ilya's expression changed in some way? He couldn't remember. The world is rapidly becoming very loud and very bright and he is very unequipped to be having this conversation, so his body decides that he is not participating in it anymore. His mouth snaps shut and he walks very briskly out to the busy street. Tears brim in his eyes as he starts to pull at the collar of his white t-shirt, rubbing the rough cotton between his fingers as his feet move underneath him.
no no no no no no no no no no no no no
Shane didn't stop walking until he reached an empty park, sitting down on the grass and trying to resist the insatiable urge to slam the heel of his hand against his temple. Now that he had a moment to realize the situation he was in, he realized he had well and truly ruined whatever reputation he had in the league. Everyone would now know Shane as the weird recluse who lives with his parents voluntarily. The public wouldn't care that he had moved into his own apartment when he was first drafted and wasn't heard from for three days and was found laying in bed, reeking like he hadn't showered in days (he hadn't) and watching and rewatching past gameplay clips of himself. He hadn't known how long it had been since he had eaten a real meal, he hadn't known what day it was, he was so deep in his own universe that he had to be forcibly dragged back to earth by his parents. When Shane lived alone, he lost track of all non-hockey related aspects of life, it was just him and his passion.
Shane's ability to know what his body needs just wasn't where it needed to be for him to naturally keep track of these things, and he frankly had been trying to learn for years. He was now at a point where he could travel or have weekends alone, but more than a week and he'd get "stuck in the weeds" as they called it. He'd only be fixated on hockey, going deeper and deeper in his quest for new information or statistics or interviews. If someone could be sustained by obsession, Shane Hollander would never die.
A large body sat down quietly next to him silently. Shane didn't look up, but he could make a guess as to who the new visitor is. He tried to speak but no words would come out, just a hum.
"Is okay, you know." Ilya states, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. He put a hand on Shane's back, rubbing small circles with his thumb. Shane flinched away at first, afraid of being seen in public with his rival rubbing his back, before his nervous system got the better of him and needed to be closer to Ilya.
Ilya seemed to get the memo, at least, that Shane needed to be held right now or this mildly public meltdown would become an incredibly public meltdown. Ilya pulled Shane in closer, wrapping him up in his arms. "We go now, yes?" he asks before guiding Shane back to the hotel, hoping that no one sees them but ready to lie about the circumstances on Shane's behalf.
Shane felt like his head was being held underwater, but he followed and tried not to drown and gasp for the air that seemed to be going to his stomach instead of his lungs. Ilya Rozanov was just above the surface, reaching a hand in for Shane to grab onto. He was vaguely aware of the elevator, the beep of the key card in the door, the sound of the tap running in the bathroom. The lights were off, besides the bathroom one, and he felt himself surface. "Hmmm thanks" he said dazedly, accepting a glass water that Ilya held out to him.
"You are welcome" Ilya replies easily.
God, Shane thinks, I wish I could do that.
"Do what?" Ilya questions, informing Shane that he had gone from trapped in his head to voicing everything.
"Be easy going. Take random things life throws at me in stride. Instead I stop talking and run off into the night like someone afraid of their secret identity being exposed when it's actually just that I cannot live alone and the guys on the team who aren't shit roommates are married or already live with each other. I'm a 22-year-old man who still lives with his parents because he needs them to take care of him and he will need that for the rest of his life, probably-" Shane is cut off
"Hollander, calm down. You have roommates, big whoop. We will get hotel room for the night and say you are with team. I will give you night you never forget, you will give me the satisfaction of knowing that star hockey player Shane Hollander likes to be taken care of"