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February 14th, 2024
It started earlier that morning. What would usually be domestic bliss, where the husbands have a soft and slow morning- turned into an anxiety-ridden Shane, and oblivious Ilya. Normally, they wake up wrapped around each other. Sometimes, on the off-chance that Ilya wakes up before him, Shane is awoken by the ticklish sensation of his husband kissing every inch of his face. The moment is quickly ruined when Shane grumbles about his morning breath.
This morning, Shane woke up alone.
Usually, they walk down stairs hand-in-hand, no matter how many times Shane talks about the potential dangers.
This morning, Shane walked downstairs by himself.
Usually, they make their drinks (coffee with an obscene amount of sugar for Ilya, black tea for Shane) standing side by side with at least three points of contact.
This morning, Ilya was standing with his arms bracing himself on the island, cup of coffee sitting cold in front of him. He was distracted on his phone; so distracted that he didn’t notice Shane until they were almost elbow to elbow, and he heard Shane’s muttered greeting of “Morning.”
It wasn’t a good morning because if it was a good morning, he would’ve woken up as the little spoon. And, yeah, he was grumpy about it, so he decided to be petty, so what.
Ilya quickly slammed his phone face-down on the counter, eyes widening. He spun around to meet Shane’s suspicious gaze, smiling nervously.
Shane rolled his eyes and continued on his path breezing past Ilya towards their electric kettle so he could brew his tea.
Usually, Ilya has his tea bag ready for him so he doesn’t have to stretch awkwardly up to reach the top shelf.
This morning, there was no tea bag.
And everything else could be explained away. Yeah maybe Ilya had trouble sleeping and didn’t want to wake Shane up, even though Shane wants to spend all of their waking minutes together. It stung, but in an illogical sort of way that he wouldn’t do anything about. And maybe he made his coffee early by himself for the same reason, even if it was part of their routine together.
But no tea bag? It’s like Ilya forgot their routine together, and that? That hurts more than anything.
The same man who bullied Shane into letting him get the tea for him so he wouldn’t strain his back, or side, or shoulder, or whichever muscle group it was that day. The man that cooed about him never lifting a finger for his “old man tea” as long as they were together. The man that uprooted his life and changed his routines to fit around Shane’s strict ones so Shane could take comfort in stability and schedules. The man who loved Shane and his routines like no one had before, had seemingly forgotten the most important one.
Shane froze. He felt that familiar sting in his eyes, sharp like the betrayal he was feeling. He could also feel Ilya’s intense gaze on the back of his neck, and knew he couldn’t deal with unpacking all his emotions at this very moment. He forced himself back into motion, hoping his scarily observant husband wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. And luck was on his side in that moment, as he heard the other man turn back towards the counter and pick his phone back up, resuming whatever was more important than the life they’d built together.
Now Shane knew he was catastrophizing, but just for once he wanted to not be responsible for his own emotions.
With a heaving sigh, he gets on his tiptoes to reach his stupid tea. At this point he doesn’t even want the tea, he just wants to go back upstairs and get under a thousand blankets and take a year long nap. But they have practice later and he’d feel too guilty.
And his luck was up. In a sick twist of fate, Shane does end up tweaking his side. It feels like a gut punch. It doesn’t hurt as much physically as it does emotionally. To know that Ilya was right about him tweaking a muscle and the one time he doesn’t care enough to do it for Shane is the time it happens.
He lays out his mug, tea bag, and teaspoon in a neat line before filling his electric kettle and setting it to boil. While the water heats up, he scrunches his face up in discomfort and stretches to try and dispel the weird feeling in his muscle. Ilya doesn’t even notice, too engrossed in whatever is on his phone. As his thumbs start to fly across the screen, thoughts fill Shane’s head. Who could he possibly be texting, who is he texting this early in the morning, what is he texting about, is he… talking to someone else?
As soon as the thought pops up, Shane scrunches his eyes up tightly and shakes his head, quick and sharp, as if to physically dispel the rancid thought invading his psyche.
He knows his husband, and he knows he would never do anything like that. Even if he decided right then that Shane’s routines and habits were just too much to deal with, he would never do something like that. He wasn’t that type of man, despite the general public's opinion.
He was snapped out of his panic spiral by the sound of the electric kettle politely letting him know it was done boiling. Regular kettles were so obnoxious.
As he makes his tea, he once again feels the prickle on the back of his neck telling him that Ilya was staring at him. His shoulders tensed up involuntarily, worried that somehow Ilya had heard his awful thoughts about him.
Shuffling his feet forward, Ilya sidles up behind Shane, wrapping his arms around his waist. He shoves his face in the crook of Shane’s neck, greedily inhaling his scent like it was the last time he would ever get it. Letting out a contented sigh and a sound akin to a purr, he turns his face to the side to press a chaste kiss to Shane’s neck.
“Доброе утро, любовь моя,” (Good morning, my love) Ilya mumbles, lips ticklish against Shane’s neck.
“Доброе утро,” (Good morning) He replies, pronunciation still a bit shaky and unsure, but endlessly endearing to Ilya.
“I can’t believe we have practice today,” Ilya groans. Shane rolls his eyes with a fond smile tugging at his lips, annoyance momentarily forgotten.
“We have practice every Friday, Ilya,”
“Well, yes. But just one Friday I would like a break, I don’t get paid enough for this,” He replies, his voice taking on a teasing lilt.
“You literally make millions of dollars, baby,” Shane says, which in turn makes the arms around his waist tighten their hold. He wasn’t big on pet names and had only recently introduced it into his vocabulary. But, judging by the reactions it got every time, it was safe to say his husband enjoyed it.
“Speaking of practice,” Ilya started. If Shane had to guess, he would say he almost sounded… nervous. But that was ridiculous, what could he possibly be nervous about. “Can we drive separately today?”
Shane froze, mug of steaming tea halfway to his mouth. It felt like every muscle in his body was tensed, and his heart rate rose, as if preparing to flee at any second. He felt dread sinking heavy in his stomach like a lead brick in the ocean. He almost felt nauseous. They spent every waking moment together- they even spent most of their sleeping moments together too. Shane would live in Ilya’s thoracic cavity if science allowed for that, and he was positive Ilya would do the same. Their first season at the Centaurs together, Shane suggested driving separate because he thought any reminders of their relationship would make the team uncomfortable. His husband quickly pinned him down and kissed him so filthily that he forgot the entire concept of carpooling for the next half hour. Needless to say, they’ve been driving together since.
If they weren’t codepended before, they definitely were now. Since Shane moved to Ottawa permanently, the only time they’ve driven separately was when one of them had a brand deal obligation or meeting before or after, and Shane knew for a fact neither of them had anything of the sort today. Well, Shane had a meeting with Harris about posting more on Instagram, but that should’ve only been a quick 20-30 minutes, and usually for short ones like that, they just wait for each other.
The only explanation is that he’s leaving me. Shane’s traiterous brain chimed in.
“Shane… моя любовь (my love)… sweetheart? Can you hear me?”
He blinked hard to force himself out of his mini panic spiral. He finished raising his mug to his mouth and took a sip to ground himself, and hopefully dispel a bit of the anxiety induced nausea clawing its way up his stomach. He put his mug back down on the counter and turned to face his husband. His arms came up to circle Ilya’s neck, and he pulled the other man towards him into a crushing hug. What could be our last embrace, if he’s planning on leaving me, the same evil part of his brain whispered.
After what was probably too long to be normal, Shane pulled back and smiled shakily at his husband, hoping he wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
“Yeah, for sure,” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as pained as it felt. “I’m going to get ready and leave a bit early since I don’t have to wait for you.” He tried to throw in a joke but it just fell flat.
Ilya’s eyes darted around his face as if looking for signs that something was wrong. Clearly whatever Shane’s face was doing was passable enough that he didn’t raise any concerns or ask any questions.
Ilya placed a chaste kiss on his lips, making an exaggerated mwah sound, like he loved to do. He patted Shane’s cheek and started to extract himself from their embrace to go do god knows what while Shane heads back upstairs to get ready.
After spending the entire car ride (by himself, his brain reminded him) stewing over why Ilya all of a sudden wanted distance from him, he arrived in the rink parking lot.
He was early even for him. Most likely the first one there. He just sat and stared vacantly at the dash of his trusty Jeep. Boring American box-car he thought in a voice suspiciously similar to his husband’s.
He kept replaying moments from the morning over and over in his head, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. When nothing stood out, he started rewinding farther. Last night. The day before. Wednesday. Tuesday. Last week.
Nothing. No indications that anything was wrong. Before he knew it, 30 minutes had passed and he saw Luca Haas’s Toyota Camry pull in. The guys made fun of him sometimes for not having a flashy expensive car, but Luca always defended himself with the safety and reliability statistics. Shane was not-so-secretly glad their young prodige wasn’t needlessly risking his life in an unsafe car.
Luca was usually one of, if not the first, person to get to the rink. Still young and energetic, and endlessly eager to prove himself and improve his skills. Shane saw a lot of himself in the rookie.
He decided now was as good a time as any, and started grabbing his gear out of the car and walking towards the entrance. He caught up to Luca in no time, smiling softly in greeting.
“Morning, Haasy,”
“Good morning, Shane,” The younger man replied, a timid smile on his face. He had mostly gotten over being starstruck by his two childhood heroes, but he still occasionally had his moments. Especially when he was alone with either of the husbands.
They continued their journey through the building towards the locker room in companionable silence.
When they reached their lockers and it was clear they were the only two players there, Luca turned to Shane with an adorably confused expression on his face.
“No Rozanov? I thought maybe you guys got here really early and you just forgot something in the car,”
“No, yeah, we drove separately today. I guess he didn’t want to be as early as me today,” Shane chuckled uncomfortably. He didn’t want to burden Luca with everything that had happened that morning, so it was better for both of them if he pretended everything was fine. “Let's get out on the ice and start warming up. The rest of the guys should be here soon.” As Shane walked out he thought he heard Luca mumble something about being a child of divorce. So clearly Shane hadn’t acted as unaffected as he thought he did.
As more and more of the team filtered in, Ilya was still nowhere to be found.
“No Rozy? Damn now we know why Shane drove himself today, he would’ve murdered Roz for being so late,” One of the guys, probably Bood, says. A chuckle ripples through the group of guys gathered around coach Wiebe.
“Alright guys,” Wiebe clapped his hands together to get everyone's attention. “We’ll start without our captain, even though he’ll have some explaining to do. Split into two groups…” As he kept explaining the drill they were running, Shane’s thoughts wandered. Regardless of Ilya’s strange behavior, it was so unlike him to be late to practice. Showing up at 9:59 and 59 seconds for a ten o’clock practice? Exactly like him. But he’s never actually late.
After running through the drill a couple times, Shane sees Ilya slip onto the ice. Him and coach Wiebe have a hushed conversation about, presumably, the reason he’s late. Shane expects a stern talking to, but ostensibly, all Coach does is nod, clap him on the shoulder, and tilt his head towards center rink in a “go on” gesture.
Practice continues like normal, and no one says anything about Ilya’s tardiness. Shane not so subtly gives him the cold shoulder whenever he tries to talk to him. They get to the last 45 minutes of practice, almost home free, before something inevitably goes wrong.
All of a sudden, he hears someone shout “Oh shit!”, the skidding of skates on ice creating snow, and the sound of a heavy body hitting solid ground. A loud groan, followed by the sound of someone spitting. Shane rips his gaze away from where it had been lingering to see one of the players they were borrowing from the AHL laying on the ice near the net. There was a small puddle of blood quickly turning to slush on the ice next to him, and standing out amidst the red, was the unmistakable stark white of an avulsed lateral incisor.
Shane grimaced. Losing teeth was never fun, but losing teeth when it’s not even a game has to hurt- more than just physically.
The guy who’s name Shane cannot remember and feels horrible about, groans again looking at the tooth.
“Man, fuck. My wife was so excited for tonight, she had a whole valentine’s thing planned and everything, and now I’m missing a tooth.”
“Dude, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you, here let me help you up,” The player that accidentally knocked him over said.
They quickly took the player and his tooth to the medical staff, but all Shane could focus on was what he said. Valentine’s day. Shane hadn’t even realized. He glanced down at his digital watch, and sure enough, in blocky text: FRI 14-2. Oh god, was he an awful husband? But Ilya had never indicated that was something he cared about. But what if he did care and thought Shane didn’t. Now he had something completely new to panic about. Maybe that was why Ilya was acting weird this morning, he was probably waiting for Shane to say something. And then it never came, oh god he probably thought he didn’t love him.
“Okay, listen up,” Coach Wiebe starts. “Obviously not an ideal end to practice, but with the injury Dookmarriot just sustained, I think it's best to just end it here before anyone else gets injured. So, go home to your wives, girlfriends-” he throws a slick look towards Shane and Ilya. “-Husbands. And remember, no practice tomorrow, but I will see you Sunday at 8am sharp.”
And with that, everyone starts to trickle towards the locker room. Ilya turned to face him from where he was standing while Coach was talking.
“Shane-“ He began. Shane held up a hand.
“Just go. I’ll meet you at home. And I have that meeting with Harris, remember?” He felt bad for being so short with him, but he needed time to sort out his emotions. They could talk when Shane got home.
Ilya opened his mouth like he wanted to say something before nodding and turning to take his gear off and go home.
Only once his back was turned, did Shane let his face drop into the grimace it's been trying to turn into all day. He put his head in his hands for a brief moment before sighing and following his husband.
They undressed side by side in tense silence. They were both clearly dragging it out and soon they were the last two people in the changing room. Ilya looked at him longingly before turning to leave.
“Wait,” Shane called. Ilya spun around quickly to face him. Shane pulled him in and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. He may be upset and confused, and probably three more emotions he couldn’t identify, but god forbid anything happened to his husband in the less than an hour they’d be separated. He would never forgive himself.
“Get home safe, baby,” He said. A lovesick grin overtook Ilya’s features.
“I will. See you at home, моя любовь (my love). Have a good meeting,” And with that, and one last peck, he made his way out to the car to finally go home.
Shane made sure he had all his stuff and made the trek to Harris's office. No point in bringing his things out to the car just to come back inside, might as well take it with him.
30 short minutes later, he was leaving Harris’s office. Half of the meeting ended up as a sort of therapy session where Shane vented about forgetting Valentine’s and feeling like the worst husband ever. Harris reassured him and together they came up with a plan. Shane was going to stop at a florist on the way home and pick up a bouquet for Ilya. And if that failed, there were always grocery store roses and shitty chocolates in a heart shaped box.
Feeling slightly better than when he got there, he took off. Luckily, the flower shop he stopped at had anticipated the rush of forgetful spouses, and was stocked up on red roses. They were definitely price gouging, but Shane figured that’s what he deserves.
Now almost an hour after practice had ended, he was pulling into their driveway, hands sweating where they were gripping the steering wheel tightly.
He wiped his hands on his pants and grabbed the, frankly, beautiful bouquet and his equipment, and headed inside. Each step felt like he was getting closer and closer to his demise, anxiety roiling in his gut like a meal he didn’t agree with. He went in through their mud room and put all his equipment in its place, tidying up his husband's haphazardly placed gear as he went. He opened the door to the living room and stopped dead in his tracks.
Red, everywhere. Red balloons, red streamers, other various red decorations, and some pink accents. There were hearts everywhere, on everything. Looking closer, they even had heart shaped throw pillows on the couch that Shane knew for a fact they didn’t have before today.
And amidst it all was his wonderful, loving husband, who hadn’t forgotten valentine’s day. He had on such a stupid outfit that Shane was at a loss for words.
There was a white toga… thing draped across his body and over one shoulder, one full pec out and proudly displaying his loon tattoo. There were white fluffy wings strapped to his back with elastic bands, and a headband holding a gold halo over his head. He even had a little plastic bow, complete with arrows with heart shaped arrow heads. The entire display was ridiculous, and, so was Ilya. Ilya, who was laying on the couch in a pose that looked like he should be painted like one of Shane’s french girls.
Embarrassingly, tears started welling up in Shane’s eyes. He couldn’t believe he thought his husband had forgotten, or, god forbid, was leaving him. He should’ve known his husband was planning something extravagant.
Seeing the wetness gathered on his lashes, Ilya sprang up out of his obviously rehearsed pose and came over to Shane with concern etched into every crease of his face. He laughed wetly, ever endeared by how expressive he was.
“Shane, sweetheart, what is wrong? Is it too much? I’m sorry, I promise I’ll clean it up, I just wanted to make today special,” Ilya rambled. Shane cut him off by slamming their lips together passionately. He was so filled with love and adoration, and every positive emotion. The flowers in his hand fell to the floor with a soft crinkle of the plastic wrapping and he brought his hands up to cup Ilya’s face. Eventually, Ilya separated them, hands on Shane’s waist keeping them a couple inches apart.
“I’m sorry,” Shane sniffed, a tear escaping the corner of his eye and tracking down his cheek. He quickly moved a hand from Ilya’s cheek to his own to wipe it off. His hand returned to rest on his husband's chest.
“I just- I can’t believe… oh my god I feel so stupid right now,” He giggled. “I thought you forgot. I forgot and I felt awful.”
“Oh, моя валентинка (my valentine), don’t feel stupid. We didn’t discuss it this year, and we’ve been so busy it’s no wonder you forgot. And to be honest, I almost forgot too.”
For a moment they just smiled at each other. Then Shane groaned. He let his head fall forward onto Ilya’s shoulder and his arms came to wrap around his waist. Ilya tightened his grip, and one hand came up to stroke the back of Shane’s head, running his fingers through his hair.
“You forgot our morning routine,” Shane mumbled into his husband’s neck. His face flushed in embarrassment.
“What was that?” He lifted his head up to go back to making eye contact.
“You forgot our morning routine, I had to grab my own tea bag,” He knew he was pouting now but he didn’t care. He’s been upset all day.
Ilya looked away, turning his head to the side. His lips were pursed in an expression Shane had come to be very familiar with. The asshole was trying not to smile.
“Ilya! It’s not funny!” He exclaimed. Ilya broke, a fit of giggles tumbled out of his mouth.
“It’s a little funny, sweetheart,” He said between chuckles. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple, and with lips moving against his face, said, “I’m sorry I forgot our morning routine, it’s my favorite one and I won’t let it happen again.”
Shane smiled contentedly, eyes closing as he leaned into the security of their embrace and the feeling of being known.
“Now, we have a reservation at 6:30 for that one fancy restaurant you like that fits your diet, so you can get your boring rabbit food and I can pretend I don’t see you eyeing up my steak,” Ilya told him.
Shane once again pulls back to make eye contact with his amazingly considerate husband.
“Fuck that, I’m getting my own steak tonight,” Shane declared. He knew he might regret it in the morning, but something about this display of affection was making him bold.
A beaming smile overtook Ilya’s face, making him look like sunshine personified. He’d seen a smile like this before on his husband’s face but this one was sweeter. There was pride in his eyes tonight.
Shane eyed the questionable outfit his husband was wearing.
“Lets get you out of that and into something more fitting for a public space,” He said. Ilya nodded in agreement before a smirk took over his face.
“And when we get home I can put it back on and you can lick whipped cream off my chest,” He waggled his eyebrows.
“You’re pushing it,” Shane replied.
As they went to walk upstairs, hand in hand, despite the many times Shane tells him it's dangerous, Shane spots the dropped bouquet. It’s only a little crumpled. He bends down to pick them up.
“I, uh… I got these on the way home today since I finally remembered what day it was. Sorry it's not as… extravagant as what you did,” He apologized.
Ilya smiled softly. “They’re beautiful. Let's put them in a vase.”
They went over to the kitchen and stood side by side at the counter. Ilya grabbed their rarely used vase from its place on the top shelf, telling Shane he would tweak his shoulder if he grabbed it. Shane shook his head with a smile on his face. A perfect parallel to their every day routine.
Perhaps this would become a yearly one.