Chapter Text
The locker room was buzzing in a way Shane could feel right below the surface of his skin. Not quite progressed to a humming in his bones, but getting there. His body felt like a switchboard, with every nerve lit up. He could feel the weight of each strand of hair against his scalp. The pool of sweat starting to dry against his lower back in the way that always made him want to scrub his skin raw.
This wasn’t new to Shane, especially after a game where everything was bright and loud and inescapable. Some of it was comforting to him, the sound of skates and sticks against the ice. The cold air that brushed his face as he skated. The rest was less comforting, although expected, which lessened the blow. The lights that caused him to squint just slightly, something you would only notice if you were in his body. The hum of the electricity that sat right behind his eyes, in between his eyebrows.
He had grown accustomed to these feelings over the years. They were familiar to his body in the same way the ache in his muscles after he played were. Most days he could stomach the extra weight of it all until he was home and showered, letting the hot water wash away any sensations that didn’t belong. If that wasn’t enough, he knew the humming would leave once he was in bed with Ilya. Shane would give up control to him, and let everything else melt away.
This is how he survived most days. But some days, days where he didn’t get enough sleep or enough to eat or simply woke up feeling wrong, his tolerance was not quite enough to keep up the facade he worked so hard to maintain over the years. Some days it hit him earlier than he planned, in the locker room. He dealt with it the best way he could, the way he always had since he was young, by leaving his body. He let himself drift, just slightly, to a place behind the noise. He knew how it looked, the way he grew quiet and sat at his bench, unfocused eyes locked into a spot on the floor. Still, shutting down was safer than falling apart. For him and his teammates, whose presence he was always distantly aware of when he left himself.
Ilya always noticed first. He stayed close without hovering. He made himself known without intruding. He moved swiftly but intentionally, careful to not draw any attention to the two of them. He talked and joked with their teammates like usual, like it was as natural for him as breathing. He was calm and confident in every movement of his body and every word he spoke. He drew any focus there was on Shane to himself, so effortlessly that no one would ever know his motives. When they were ready to leave, he gently guided Shane out of the locker room, saying their goodbyes to their team for the both of them.
Once they were alone in the privacy of the hallway, Ilya would wrap his arms tightly around Shane. He would squeeze gently, not enough to hurt Shane but just enough to ground him. Shane would breathe him in, letting the weight of Ilya’s body and the smell of his skin fill his senses. Once Ilya felt some tension leave Shane’s body, just slightly, he would release him and guide them out of the stadium and to the car, keeping a hand steadily placed on Shane’s lower back the whole time.
Ilya would drive them home in silence, keeping a hand on Shane’s thigh, occasionally glancing over from the road to look at his husband. Sometimes Shane would take Ilya’s hand in his, giving it a weak squeeze. On harder days, he would just stare out the window, aware of Ilya beside him but feeling too far away from his body to acknowledge him.
Once they were home and shielded from the rest of the world, Ilya would snap into action. This was a routine they both knew well, and Ilya wasted no time. He would guide Shane up the stairs to their room, efficiently but unhurried. He always let Shane set the pace at which they would move. Once upstairs, Ilya would get Shane into the bathroom. He would undress him carefully, gently instructing him to lift an arm or a leg as he did. When Shane was fully undressed, Ilya would sit him on the edge of the bathtub and turn on the shower to let it warm up.
If Shane was able, he would always mumble his thanks to Ilya during this part of their routine. Ilya would just shake his head and kiss Shane’s forehead. He knew Shane felt guilty on harder days. Ashamed and frustrated by the way his mind and body betrayed him, even more so that Ilya was witness to it. He felt he needed too much from his husband, and that guilt often prolonged the duration of these episodes.
The truth was; taking care of Shane was the easiest part of their relationship for Ilya. It came naturally to him and he loved how Shane trusted him to do it. He felt honoured to be allowed to see this version of Shane, even though it broke his heart a little to see his husband struggle. This Shane, the version he tried so hard to hide, only existed behind closed doors. The public did not get to see Shane like this and his teammates only got a glimpse. Even Shane’s parents, while supportive and well-intentioned, could never fully grasp what was happening inside their son when he got quiet. They comforted him, but they could never fully dull the noise for him like Ilya could. Ilya was the only person who understood the full extent of Shane. He was the only one who knew how to bring Shane back to himself.
They never even talked about it. Ilya just listened, observed, and adapted. Over time he learned Shane’s tells. The difference between a Shane that was just tired or overwhelmed and one who was in danger of drifting away. Ilya studied the way Shane would hold his body, like it suddenly got much heavier than he was used to. He noticed the way Shane’s eyes got glassy, how he could be looking without really seeing. His voice got quieter, sometimes it wouldn’t come out at all.
Sometimes Ilya could catch it before it started, before Shane himself had even recognized what he was feeling. He would notice when Shane was starting to run his hand through his hair too often, too quickly to be casual. He would catch when Shane started pulling on his eyelashes, or when his eyes would dart around the room like he was looking for an exit, before he even knew what feeling he wanted to escape. If Ilya was there to catch the signs, he’d maneuver Shane away from wherever they were before his discomfort became too intolerable to exist with.
They were usually able to catch Shane before he fell too deeply into himself, with Ilya always noticing and Shane more comfortable telling Ilya what he needed. Sometimes they did it without words. Their eyes would meet across the room and Ilya would raise an eyebrow at him, silently checking in. Shane’s eyes would convey everything he couldn’t say out loud and Ilya would just nod, excusing himself from whoever he was with. He’d follow Shane to the exit and they’d figure out their next move. Sometimes Shane just needed a few minutes, a hug, some water. Other times he needed to leave, and Ilya would take him home.
Ilya learned through all these instances what Shane needed when he couldn't tell him. He could tell when Shane just needed some quiet and when it was deeper than that. He could read when Shane wanted to be touched, needed to feel the weight of Ilya’s body against his, and when he needed to be left alone. He would always check in of course, ask Shane if what he was doing was okay, was he hungry, cold, thirsty. Sometimes Shane would nod but most of the time he couldn’t and Ilya would decide for him. He had done it enough times to know what Shane needed, even when Shane himself didn’t know.
Post games were often one of those times when Shane drifted a little too far, especially if they had lost or Shane hadn’t played how he wanted to. His adrenaline would wear off too quickly, and was replaced by disappointment and shame. This only fueled his descent into himself. He would crash. But Ilya was always there, and his first step was always to get Shane into the shower.
Ilya would undress himself while the water got warm, never taking his eyes off of Shane. Then he’d throw their dirty clothes into the hamper Shane insisted they keep in the bathroom after Ilya left a towel on the floor too many times. He secretly loved when Shane nagged him, especially before they had sex, when Ilya would take off Shane’s clothes and throw them on the ground absentmindedly. Shane would whine about the hamper and Ilya would groan and pretend to be annoyed as he did what he was told. But when Shane was too far away or too exhausted to nag, Ilya would be the one to enforce the rules. He’d use the hamper, change the sheets. He wanted Shane to be able to exist in their space as easily as he could.
Once they got in the shower together, Ilya would wrap his arms around Shane and let the hot water envelop them. Shane would rest his head on Ilya’s chest and let the water melt away the tension from his body. He imagined it rolling down his skin like water droplets and disappearing down the drain. Sometimes they would stand like that for a few minutes, sometimes ten if Shane needed it.
When Ilya felt that Shane had relaxed a little, he’d gently wash his body and then his hair. When he got to the shampoo, sometimes Shane would open his eyes and give Ilya a soft smile. Ilya would kiss him softly and gently massage the shampoo into his scalp, careful to shield Shane’s eyes while he rinsed his hair. Sometimes Shane would keep his eyes closed, trusting Ilya to take care of him.
Once Shane was clean, Ilya would quickly wash his own body and then dry them off. He’d get Shane dressed in clean boxers and a soft t-shirt and guide him to bed. This was often the time Shane started coming back to himself. He’d start apologizing and thanking Ilya and would be shushed immediately. Sometimes they would talk. Ilya would ask how he was feeling and if he needed anything. Shane would answer as honestly as he could. Other times Shane wouldn’t feel like talking, and they’d communicate with touch alone.
Sometimes they’d have sex, if Shane was no longer disassociated and could tell Ilya what he wanted. He liked to be brought back to his body that way, reminded of the ways it could also feel good. He liked the way it brought him out of his head, allowing him to stop thinking. He liked how Ilya could make him fully let go, and he trusted Ilya to get him there and bring him back safely. Sometimes that was exactly what he needed, and Ilya let him have it.
If Shane was still far away after the shower, Ilya would just get him into bed and hold him. He’d wrap his limbs around him, letting the weight of his body be Shane’s anchor. Sometimes Ilya would tell him stories in Russian, knowing how Shane loved to fall asleep listening to him speak. Eventually he’d feel Shane relax in his arms, and Ilya would let himself drift to sleep too.
This game, opening night, had the potential to be one of those games that caused Shane to drift. It was louder, busier. The pressure to start the season right weighed on his mind. He wasn’t overly superstitious but he cared about the first game of the season in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t necessarily about winning, but it feeling right.
But they had won. They won and they had played beautifully. It was one of those games where he felt he could read his teammates' minds. Not just Ilya’s, which he felt every time he got to play with his husband, but all of them. They were in sync, a perfect machine. Every play was executed exactly how he’d wanted, better even. And he felt it like an electric current running just under his skin.
The team was ecstatic. They were shouting and laughing and hugging each other. Their energy bounced off each wall of the locker room and Shane sat on his bench, absorbing it all. He loved to watch his team, these men who had become a sort of family to him. It had taken a while for him to feel comfortable for them, to love them the way Ilya did. But once he let them in, they embraced him. He felt more at home with them now than he ever had with Montreal.
He was smiling to himself while he watched them celebrate, not noticing Ilya approach him until he felt a hand smooth down his hair and settle at the back of his neck. He leaned into the touch, looking up to meet his husband's gaze.
Ilya looked beautiful after their games. His skin glistening with sweat and damp curls framing his face in a way that looked almost elegant. He smiled softly at Shane.
“They are crazy.” He smiled, gesturing towards their rowdy teammates.
They could be a lot, it was true. Their presence, and the volume of their celebration, would usually be too much for Shane to tolerate after such an important game. But they had played perfectly, and the adrenaline in his body was more powerful than any other sensation he could feel. His skin was buzzing, but his mind felt clear in a way that only happened when things felt right. And tonight felt right.
“They’re happy.” he said, smiling at Ilya in the way that always made his heart clench a little.
“And you too?” Ilya asked.
Shane just nodded and smiled bigger. Ilya felt relief wash over him, and took in the look on Shane’s face. He was beaming. Ilya bent down and kissed him softly because he couldn’t help it.
Ilya liked hockey and he liked winning. But more than anything, he loved seeing Shane win.