Chapter Text
1
The Centars are all in the locker room after a long practice. Ilya was mindlessly scrolling on Twitter, looking at edits of his husband. The husband has been in a conversation with the trainer, talking about meal plans for the past 15 minutes. Ilya was getting bored and just wanted to go home and see Shane kneeling in front of him.
“Shane, Moya lyubov, can we please go home,” Ilya begged.
Shane glanced his way, and Ilya being met with an annoyed face. “Ilya, can you just entertain yourself for a second, this is important,” Shane responded, looking away from the man. Ilya groaned, looking around before turning back to Shane.
“Can I at least see your phone then?”
Shane grumbled before reaching into his pocket and handing the phone to the begging man. Bood, one of the only people paying any attention to them. Gave Shane a weird look. Shane thought nothing of it and went back to talking to the trainer. Bood went and sat across from Ilya.
“What was that about, man?” Bood questioned.
“Was what about? Nothing has happened?” Ilya said, not looking up from the phone. Shane suddenly walked in front of Bood, facing towards Ilya. He grabbed his phone out of Ilyas's hands, forcing him to look up.
“Hey! I was using that.” Ilya complained.
Shane started walking out of the locker room, grabbing his stuff on the way. “Yeah, I don’t care. Let's go.”
Ilya mumbled under his breath, mocking Shane. “Da, mne vso ravno, poshli.”
Shane doesn’t miss a beat and responds, “Ilya, seychas.” (Ilya, now)
Ilya grabs his stuff and follows Shane out, but not without complaining the whole way.