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Shane knew something was wrong from the second he woke up. He felt like his skin was draped over his bones in a way that was completely, inhumanly, wrong. His head was buzzing with unspent energy, but it simultaneously felt wrapped in cotton wool, making Shane feel like a spectator in his own body. It was as though his guts had been rearranged overnight, and not in the good way that Ilya did it.
The lights were too bright, the sheets were wrapped around him in a way that was cutting off his airflow, and every noise was like an explosion in his ears.
As he slowly rose to a sitting position, Shane could feel every point of contact his skin had and it was all burning him to the core.
He wanted to shut everything off and disappear into a void where he couldn’t see, hear, smell, feel, or taste anything at all ever again.
“Good morning, moy lyubov,” Ilya yawned beside him and automatically reached for Shane’s hand to plant a kiss on each of his knuckles, as he had every day they’d ever woken up together.
Shane almost punched him. He pulled his hand away like his husband’s touch had scalded him, and barely even registered the shocked hurt in his eyes at the rejection.
They went about their morning routines as usual, Ilya talking Shane’s ear off about something or other, chirping him for his choice in ‘food’, and brushing their teeth side by side in the sink.
But every time Shane had to provide Ilya with an answer, the words felt like sandpaper in his throat. His mouth felt dry, and his tongue stuck uncomfortably to the roof of it. Every word he spoke took an immense amount of effort to produce, but he continued forcing himself to squeeze them out.
Shane didn’t miss the way his husband looked at him, concern filling his eyes and crowding every inch of his face. But he couldn’t explain to him what was going on, when he barely understood it himself. All he knew is that everything felt completely, intrusively, utterly wrong.
They made their way to the rink in silence, and Ilya didn’t try to reach for his hand once. He’d always insisted on touching Shane in some way or another constantly, his love for him cascading out of him in waves now that he finally got to show it. But today, he kept his hands entirely to himself.
When they entered the arena, there was no hand on Shane’s back, Ilya didn’t pull him close, and he didn’t wrap his arm around his waist. Shane had never been so thankful for Ilya’s innate ability to perceive anything and everything as he had in this moment.
It was clear Ilya had no idea what was going on, but despite Shane’s inability to form coherent words, he knew exactly what he was supposed to be doing.
In the locker room, the overhead lights felt like a personal assault, and his undershirt that he owned about a million of and wore every day suddenly felt way too tight on his body.
Shane tried his best to ignore it all and continue to gear up for practice as usual, not letting on to his teammates just how out of sorts he felt. He didn’t think they’d picked up on anything, but then again, he’d never been the most perceptive.
Practice was awful. He moved slower than he’d ever moved on the ice before, feeling like a baby deer taking its first tentative steps. None of his passes were connecting, his shots were missing by a landslide, and he could feel his teammates shooting concerned and confused glances at him the entire time. If they hadn’t noticed anything before, they definitely had now.
Thankfully, they didn’t ask about it. They went back to the locker room and pretended like everything was entirely normal. No one tried to talk to him, no one tried to chirp him for the shitty practice, and no one tried to wrangle an explanation out of him.
Shane felt a massive wave of gratitude roll over him then, and it became even more abundantly clear than it previously had been, just how different the Ottawa Centaurs were to the Voyageurs.
Had he been back with his old team, Comeau would be slapping him on the back right about now, feigning camaraderie with a passive aggressive “get fucked too hard by your boyfriend last night, Cap?” While the rest of the team jeered in what Shane had previously assumed was friendly ribbing.
He now realised that had absolutely not been the case, and he felt stupid for genuinely believing these men were his friends, his brothers. They’d never had any respect for him.
The showers felt boiling hot, despite being a completely normal temperature, and towelling himself off afterwards was like rubbing burning hot coals all over his body. He put on his clothes that were all backwards and twisted, every seam digging into his body painfully. Why wasn’t it socially acceptable to just walk around naked?
When he got out of the locker room, Ilya was waiting for him. He took a couple of careful steps towards him, and Shane could see he was itching to pull him into a bone-crushing hug. Instead, he looked apologetic as he said,
“We have media thing.”
What? Shane had absolutely zero recollection of hearing about this, but he supposed his brain wasn’t the most reliable source of information at the moment. It was too busy picking up on and magnifying every tiny thing that was going on around them, from the way the electricity elicited a small buzz in the socket next to him, to the way one of the lights flickered, just the tiniest bit, in a spot over Ilya’s left shoulder.
“I asked Harris whether we could skip it, but he said absolutely not because the whole team has to be there and he’s on a tight schedule. I’m so sorry, moy solnyshko.”
Ilya begun reaching his hand out, but thought better of it and put it right back by his side. Shane just nodded in a trance and followed him through the achingly familiar, yet completely foreign, corridors to the media room, where their entire team was already waiting.
Harris looked slightly annoyed at their untimely arrival, but didn’t say anything, which may have been partly due to Shane’s dazed expression and his husband’s murderous gaze.
”Okay! Listen up everyone! So this shouldn’t take too long, maybe an hour tops, but we essentially just want to record you guys as a team and have you ask each other questions.”
Shane completely zoned out for the rest of the explanation, only registering the odd word here and there. After what felt like forever, Harris gave a thumbs up and stepped behind the camera.
Immediately, the entire room lit up with noise, and Shane felt his eardrums implode in real time. Everyone was talking over each other, saying nonsensical things, and it took him a very long time to realise that everyone was staring at him. How long had he been zoned out for?
”Dykstra asked you what your favorite meal was that isn’t on your nutrition plan.” Ilya helpfully supplied and, Oh God, it's such a simple question.
Chocolate, specifically snickers bars, but one of my other favorites is this one chocolate bar from Lindt that’s 65% cocoa and has hazelnuts dotted across it.
But he didn’t say it out loud. He just continued staring at his entire team, who were staring back at him, awaiting an answer. He tried to formulate the words, he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but they refused to leave his mouth.
I felt like the connection between his brain and his vocal cords had been entirely severed, and when he opened his mouth, not a single sound came out, despite his best efforts.
“Is chocolate, no? Specifically Snickers bars. Or that raspberry one from Germany that Haasy always brings us when he goes to visit Switzerland.”
Ilya knows him so well, Shane sometimes wondered if he knows him better than he knows himself. He nodded appreciatively, trying his best to put on a smile, but knowing he’s not fooling anyone.
No one asked him a direct question for the next 10 minutes or so, until the entire team devolved into a would you rather battle.
“Would you rather cry streams of honey, or fart liquid nitrogen?” Hazy asked, and he pointed an imaginary microphone at each member of the team that had somehow managed to form a perfect circle, with Wyatt in the middle.
“Cry streams of honey. Farting liquid nitrogen sounds painful.” Luca said with an adorably furrowed brow when his turn came, and Bergy and Young next to him agreed enthusiastically.
“Yeah, it would probably be pretty painful, but at least it doesn’t smell. I think the entire team would benefit from that guys, think of the greater good. Especially you Bood, your farts are nasty.” Pointy supplied from next to them.
”Oi! Watch your mouth rookie. We don’t usually do hazing on this team, but I could make an exception” Bood looked genuinely offended, and LaPointe apologised begrudgingly, though not without a wink in the general direction of the rest of the team.
The fake microphone made its way through the circle, until it reached the person to his right.
”I never cry.” Ilya deadpanned.
That is such a lie, you cried like two days ago for 20 minutes at a random video you saw of someone recording their dog’s last day on earth!
Shane wanted to say, because he knew that information would be an incredibly beneficial soundbite and the fans would go feral. Also, the team would never let him hear the end of it. Priorities. But once again, not a single word left his lips.
And then it was his turn. Wyatt looked at him expectingly, and Shane unsteadily raised his index and middle fingers, flashing a number 2 at the camera.
He wanted to explain that the sticky residue the honey would leave on his skin would drive him absolutely insane, and that enduring a couple of seconds of pain would be the lesser evil, but he remained silent, his mouth refusing to form around the words.
Ilya next to him made an outraged noise.
“Ah, no, that would not do for me, Hollander. Liquid nitrogen is very bad for your asshole, and I need that intact for other purposes.”
The entire room erupted in laughter, and his husband winked at him. And for probably the first time in his life, Shane was thankful for one of Ilya's crude jokes, even if they do divulge more of his sex life than he’d ever want on the internet. But it meant no one noticed he didn’t answer the question properly, and the microphone moved to Barrett on his left.
The next would you rather question had Ilya standing in the centre of the room, asking with a completely straight face,
”Would you rather randomly have an orgasm once a day, or moan quietly every time someone says the word ‘goal’?”
The entire room was bathed in shocked silence as Ilya held up his fist in a microphone gesture to Dillon’s mouth, who just stared at him.
“Ummm, I guess have an orgasm randomly once a day? People say ‘goal’ around us pretty much constantly so that would get very embarrassing very fast.”
Ilya went round the room collecting people’s slightly stunned answers, and when he got to Shane, he gave him a tiny warm smile, meant only for the two of them, then loudly announced,
“I already know my husband’s answer. He gets enough orgasms every day, and he’s very good at being quiet, we’ve had years of practice, you see?”
Shane just nodded, flushing bright red, but thankful he didn’t have to try and wordlessly formulate an answer without making it seem weird.
“Would you rather hear everyone else’s thoughts, or have everyone hear your own thoughts?” Was the last would you rather question of the day, coming from Luca in the middle of the circle.
Wyatt was the first to answer, with a deadly serious expression on his face, ”I already pretty much say everything I think, so that wouldn’t change much, but also it would probably be interesting to know what other people are thinking. Although, Jean Grey from X-men can actually read minds, and it's not great most of the time, except when it is of course. But like, that doesn’t happen often. So, mostly it just annoys her to no end and also it isolates her from society because-“
A chorus of “shut up, Hazy!” And “No one cares about your comic books!” Came from throughout the room, and Wyatt laughed, having expected that exact response.
“-so, in conclusion, I’d pick the first one.”
When the microphone found itself under Shane’s nose, he genuinely didn't have an answer for Wyatt.
While he would rather die than have all his thoughts broadcasted to everyone around him, he probably wouldn’t last 5 seconds with the overload of hearing everyone else’s thoughts, either.
Unexpectedly, Troy’s voice from his left came to his rescue,
”I think you’re secretly a complete freak, Shane Hollander, and the entire world would collapse if they could see your thoughts.”
That drew a genuine laugh out of Shane, and he just shrugged, even managing to give the camera a suggestive look before it panned to the next player.
Another silent car ride later, Shane collapsed into his bed the second he got home. Ilya brought him hot tea and gingerly dipped the mattress next to him, careful not to disrupt his personal bubble.
They sat like that for ages, Ilya quietly nursing his own tea next to him, and Shane just curled tightly into the covers, seeking some sort of reprieve they couldn’t offer.
When Shane woke up, the blackout curtains were drawn and the only source of light in the room was Ilya's phone screen from where he was still sat next to him, scrolling through god knows what. Probably instagram.
When he noticed Shane was awake, Ilya smiled at him.
“Have a restful nap, Sweetheart?” His voice was soft, quieter than usual and he was looking at him with impossible tenderness.
Shane realised a couple seconds later that his skin had stopped burning. It felt like something deep within him had shifted back to where it was supposed to be, and his senses were no longer in a constant state of overdrive.
He suddenly craved physical touch more than ever before. Before Ilya, he’d pretty much always hated physical touch unless it came in the form of pressure, but even now it was still rare for him to actively seek it out.
He nodded at his husband, then silently crawled across the bed, and right into his lap. Ilya let out a surprised laugh, clearly not expecting him, but wrapped his arms around him immediately, softly burying his nose in Shane’s hair.
Tighter. Shane wanted to say. Please don’t be gentle. I need you to squeeze me so much tighter.
But apparently his voice hadn’t been restored yet, so he resorted to trying to physically bury himself inside Ilya’s skin.
They stayed like that for a long time, enjoying each other’s physical presence, until Ilya's stomach audibly grumbled for the fifth time and it became impossible to ignore.
Shane begrudgingly got off him, and took his hand as they made their way into the kitchen.
Ilya cooked as he filled the air with idle chatter, and the pan with salmon. He seemed perfectly content to talk at Shane, and didn’t seem to mind when the other man didn’t answer him.
Shane felt infinitely better, and the sandpaper feeling in his throat was gone, but for some reason he still couldn’t get his mouth to form words.
He reacted to Ilya’s stories enthusiastically with gestures and little noises which he always seemed to understand, and for some reason also found incredibly entertaining.
“Would you like rice or salad with the salmon, kotik?”
Ilya asked him, and Shane automatically felt inclined to say salad, but ultimately decided he was craving rice. He held up his index finger and Ilya nodded, getting the rice out of the cabinet and washing it under the tap.
The rice was almost done, and Shane was about to start setting the table when he realised Ilya hadn’t prepared any vegetables to go with their meal.
He tried to think of a way to communicate this to him that was currently accessible, and eventually ended up tapping Ilya on the shoulder, who looked up at him questioningly.
His first attempt was to mime a chopping board with his hand, hoping that’d get the message across, but Ilya immediately came to the wrong conclusion.
”You want the salmon chopped smaller?”
He shook his head and tried something else, pointing to the empty pan and then, fuck what was green around them? There was a houseplant on the other side of the room, which he pointed at.
”Ah, you want me to add the leaf thing? What’s it called umm”
Yessss!
”Seasoning!”
Nooooo! Fuck. This was so much harder than Shane could’ve ever imagined. Ilya was trying his best, but non-verbal communication was incredibly hard.
He shook his head again, and they just stared at each other for a bit, each trying to decipher what the other was saying. Or, not saying, in Shane’s case.
This continued until Shane finally had an idea, and why the hell was this not the first thing he did? He grabbed Ilya by the hand and lead him to the fridge, opening it and pointing to the vegetable drawer.
”Ohhh, we need vegetables! You are right, Sweetheart, sorry, I completely forgot.”
Shane planted a kiss on his husbands cheek as a sign of forgiveness, and watched him as he chopped up some carrots, broccoli, and spinach.
Almost immediately after they’d sat down to eat, Ilya gasped and jumped up, tripping over Anya in his haste to get to their bedroom.
Shane immediately begun panicking. Had they forgotten something important? Someone’s birthday? Or an anniversary? Maybe some kind of meeting.
He waited anxiously for Ilya’s return, his leg bouncing up and down with tension. Ilya finally returned with a small notepad and a pen, placing it in front of Shane.
Oh. Oh my god. Written communication. Why on earth had this only occurred to them now? Shane wrote that down, and Ilya laughed.
“It’s always taken us a stupidly long time to realise things. Neither of us realised how in love with the other we were for like, ten years.”
“That’s true. We’re dumb” Shane wrote, and it felt so good to finally be able to communicate again. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but much better than the wild nonsensical gestures they’d been working with earlier.
They cleaned the kitchen together, occasionally bumping hips as they manoeuvred around each other in a practiced domestic dance. Ilya washed the pans because Shane hated the feeling of it, and Shane loaded the dishwasher because Ilya hated having to remember what went where. He was very pedantic about it.
When they were done, Ilya put on a load of washing, and returned with clean laundry to be folded, and they put on a movie in the background as they worked together.
“Who do you think the killer is?” Ilya asked about halfway through the movie, looking at Shane questioningly. He automatically reached for his notepad, until he registered the lack of blockage in his throat that had been hindering his words from coming out.
“Definitely the brunette woman.” He tried, and to his shock, the words actually left his mouth. Granted, they were slightly scratchy from over 15 hours without use, but they came easily. Encouraged by this, he continued,
“You can tell she’s whip-smart and she seems really nice, which makes her an unlikely suspect.”
The words felt foreign in his mouth, but the fact that they were there at all was more than enough.
Ilya looked surprised for a second, then a wide smile lit up his face as he answered,
”Yes, was what I was gonna say too. You’re talking again?”
For the second time today, Shane had the incessant urge to bury himself in this man’s skin, and he tried to do just that, knocking over the pile of laundry he’d spent the past half hour meticulously folding.
For once in his life, he didn’t have it in him to give a singular shit, as he wrapped his arms around the love of his life.
“Thank you.” He whispered in his ear, hoping he could convey just how much he appreciated the man in his arms, but knowing it was absolutely impossible because nothing else could compare to this feeling.
“I love you so much. Ya tebya lyublu.” He stumbled over the Russian words that had slowly become familiar to him, as tears gathered in his eyes.
Shane rarely cried, but in moments like these when the sheer amount of love he held for his husband completely overwhelmed him, he let the tears fall.
Ilya held him, placing gentle kisses on his hair as he waited for Shane to let go first. He always waited for Shane to let go first.
When he did, Ilya took in his tear-streaked face and tenderly grasped it in his hands, kissing the wetness away.
Every one of his freckles received a featherlight kiss, and the last one was planted on his forehead with an obnoxious noise.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ilya asked tentatively, and Shane was surprised to find that he actually did.
“Yeah, I think I do, but I just don't really know how to describe it.”
“That’s okay, I will listen to all your garbled messes, whatever comes out of that beautiful mouth of yours.”
Shane smiled, and used that beautiful mouth to place a kiss on Ilya's equally beautiful one, before he began speaking.
“Thank you, I love you. Okay, so, I woke up this morning and everything just felt wrong, I don't really know how to explain it but I just felt foreign in my body. I’ve never actually been high, but I imagine that’s kinda what it feels like, because I was just so incredibly far removed from reality, and it was as if I was trying to wade through peanut butter. That’s a weird analogy.
Anyways, everything was just too much, all my senses were picking up on every tiny detail around me and it was all rushing in at the same time and every time I heard a noise my eardrums felt like they were going to explode, and every time anything touched me it genuinely resembled a piping hot poker branding my skin, it was so weird Ilya.”
He took a deep breath, realising that had all, indeed come out a completely garbled mess and he was speaking so fast he barely had time to breathe, let alone articulate. He continued, a little slower this time,
“And my vocal cords refused to cooperate with me, all day I’ve known exactly what I wanted to say, and I said it all in my head, but it just wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I don't even know what triggered it, I just woke up and was immediately assaulted by all the environmental input around me.
It was so awful Ilya, it was as though I was trapped in my own body all day, being forced to endure everything rushing in on me all at once and not being able to do anything about it.”
Ilya listened to his word vomit intently, trying his best to contain the crestfallen expression threatening to take over his whole face.
“Oh baby, Im so sorry that sounds like absolute torture.”
Tears came much more freely to Ilya, though he would never admit it, and they gathered in his eyes now.
“I wish I could’ve helped you.” His devastated expression was enough to send Shane into yet another word vomit, trying to tell him just how much he had helped.
“You did. Ilya you were so good. This hasn’t happened to me in a long time, but it used to happen a bunch when I was younger and people would constantly try to get me to talk.
They’d keep touching me, shaking me, or snapping their fingers in front of my face because they thought I was ignoring them or some shit.
You were so patient with me. You immediately realised I didn't want to be touched, and when you talked to me you automatically lowered your voice and changed your cadence into something less painful.
When I got into a situation where it was expected of me to say something, you took that pressure away by redirecting attention or speaking in my place. I love you so much, you made the entire thing so much more bearable.”
”Who are these people and can I please kill them? That is bare minimum Shane!”
Shane couldn’t help but laugh. What Ilya had done for him was anything but bare minimum. But then again, Shane had always received princess treatment from Ilya, who loved with his whole heart and then some.
“Please don't kill them. And you'd be surprised at how that absolutely is not the bare minimum. Even after my childhood doctor gave my parents a detailed rundown of what to do in this situation, they still didn't handle it as instinctively as you did.
Of course, they tried their best, but it's just not the same. You have an insane affinity for knowing exactly what I need in any given moment and I am eternally grateful to you for it. I love you so much.”
Shane’s mouth felt dry after saying so many words at once, but as always, Ilya immediately knew he was done talking and wrapped his arms around him. Tightly. So tightly it almost hurt, but it was exactly the right amount of pressure and dislodged the last piece of unease stuck deep somewhere in his body.
“Do you know why this happens to you?” Ilya asked into his hair, and Shane shook his head. He’d always just thought it was part of who he was, maybe related to his generally anxious disposition, or burnout from his intense need to be perfect all the time.
His parents had always assured him there was absolutely nothing ‘wrong’ with him because of these episodes, and he’d never wasted much thought on it.
“I did some research while you were asleep” Ilya said gently as he released the glorious pressure he’d wrapped Shane’s body in. Shane looked up at him questioningly, his heart suddenly beating out of his chest again.
“I may have found some stuff that could be a possibility,” he was being uncharacteristically elusive, which did not help at all.
“Okay… what did you find?” Ilya sat back onto the sofa, and gestured for Shane to do the same.
Panic crept up his spine. This did not look good at all. Was there something incredibly wrong with him? Was this a symptom of some sort of clinical insanity?
“Shane, I can practically hear the cogs in your brain spinning into overdrive, sit down.” He did so without a second thought, so automatically obeying Ilya's commands it was a little embarrassing.
”Okay, well can you spit it out please, because it's freaking me out.”
“Have you ever considered you might be autistic? ” He did in fact spit it out, and it had been the last thing Shane was expecting. What?
“What? Isn't that where you like, flap your arms when you get excited and like, bite and get all aggressive?” His brows furrowed, that was the only thing he could seem to remember about the word.
“No, kotik, those are just stereotypes and are either very exaggerated or just wrong.”
“And this… thing that happens to me is related to autism?” The word felt heavy and alien in his mouth, as if it had to practice forming around it.
“From what I’ve read after searching up your symptoms, it looked exactly like an autistic shutdown or sensory overload. And after hearing you describe it, it sounds exactly the same as well. I also did some research into autism in general and it makes sense. I’m not diagnosing you, but have you considered it?”
“What do you mean it makes sense?” Shane’s panic was beginning to rise again, having no idea what this all meant
Ilya pulled out his phone and when he found the page he was looking for, he started reading,
“Signs of autism in adults*:
Finding it hard to understand what others are thinking or feeling
Getting very anxious about social situations
Finding it hard to make friends or preferring to be on your own
Seeming blunt, rude or not interested in others without meaning to
Taking things very literally
Having the same routine every day and getting very anxious if it changes
Having a very keen interest in certain subjects or activities
Liking to plan things before actually doing them”
That… sounds a lot like him actually
“Like, one or two of those check, at most.” He said instead, not really wanting to believe the evidence that was being laid out in front of him.
“It took you like ten years to realise I might actually be in love with you
Like a week ago I watched you freak out over a completely normal team meet up because ‘you have to talk to a bunch of people’
Hayden had to literally force you to befriend him, although that may just be because Pike is entirely unlikeable,”
”Ilya”
”Sorry.
Media describes you as ‘not the most sociable’ because you don't seem interested in the people you're talking to and don't see the point in their silly questions
You take everything very literally, I don’t have example right now but I’ll point it out next time it happens
You have a very strict morning routine that absolutely cannot change ever
Hockey is your entire life
You make plans for plans for plans.
I'm not saying this is a definite thing, but you do all of these things regularly, they’re part of who you are and part of why I love you, but it would explain a lot of things.”
“Yeah, I think you might be right. Fuck”
“Is okay, Shane, even if you are autistic that doesn’t change anything between us, I don't love you despite all of that, I love you because of it. I love all your weird little habits, like when you fold your clothes after taking them off and make me wait an extra minute for sex, anticipation is very hot. Or when you won’t let me kiss you in the morning before we’ve brushed our teeth, I even love that you will kill me if my socks go anywhere but the hamper. The angry look is also very sexy.”
”I don't deserve you,” Shane sighed, suddenly feeling like the world’s weight was on his shoulders.
“You deserve everything.” Was Ilya's simple response, and they left it at that for now.
The next day, they were at Shane’s parents for dinner, and Yuna opened with a question that shouldn’t carry as much weight as it did.
“So, how was your week?”
Ilya looked at Shane, silently communicating to him that he’d let him take the lead on this and decide what he wants to tell them.
He briefly considered defaulting to his response of ‘yeah, it was good. How was your week?’ But decided he should probably talk about it, as uncomfortable as it made him.
“Most of it was okay, but, um something happened on Tuesday. Yesterday.” God, it felt like so long ago.
He looked up, trying to wage their responses, but other than a quick glance between them, their faces remained neutral and inviting.
“Do you guys remember when I was a kid and I'd sometimes stop talking for hours on end? You took me to doctors for it and everything and it kind of went away as I got older, but it happened again for the first time in like 5 years.”
“Oh Shane, honey. I’m so sorry. Of course we remember that, I still remember the first time it happened, it was so scary for all of us. I don't think I slept for days after that.” His mum said, and his dad nodded in agreement.
Oh fuck. Shane hadn’t realised how much it had affected his parents, but looking back, it does seem kinda scary when your young child who only just learned to talk randomly completely stops their incessant babbling and doesn’t say a single word.
“Me neither. Did Ilya know about it beforehand?”
Shane shook his head, slightly embarrassed. He’d thought it wouldn’t be something he’d have to worry about and he’d told himself he didn’t need to tell him.
“Is okay, it was shocking at first, but we came up with a system pretty quickly” Ilya cast a look at Shane and rubbed circles on his back carefully. Shane was grateful for the physical support.
”Ilya has a knack for always knowing exactly what I need without me saying a single word, so it wasn’t too bad. I just felt so trapped in my body the entire day and I hated every second of it.”
“That sounds so awful, I hate that that happened to you again.” Both his parents looked completely devastated at his admission, but quickly followed their words up with,
“And Ilya you are an absolute blessing in Shane’s life, he’s so lucky to have you.”
Ilya honest to god blushed bright red at Yuna’s compliment, and Shane’s heart warmed at the sight. It’d been years since he’d introduced the man he loved to his parents, but it still delighted him to see how well they got along, and how much Ilya was loved by his parents.
Emboldened by this, Shane decided he might as well be fully transparent with them about this. He took a deep breath for courage and started,
“I actually wanted to ask you guys, did the doctors ever tell you the cause of those episodes?”
He tried to make his voice sound as light and casual as possible, but it came out all pitchy and wrong.
Yuna and David exchanged weighted glances, silently communicating between them, just how Ilya and Shane were beginning to do as well. Clearly, they’d reached a decision between them, because they both turned back to face him and Ilya at the same time. His dad began speaking,
“Well, the doctor suggested there could be many causes for it. He said they could be due to severe stress, or emotional overload, or burnout. But you were only about five at the time so he said that wasn’t the main direction he was looking in.”
David paused and took a deep breath, then looked Shane straight in the eyes and said,
“He also said it could be due to autism.”
Shane nodded. So Ilya had most probably been right.
“Did I get a diagnosis? Why didn't you tell me?”
He had a hundred other questions, but these two were the most important ones that had been swirling incessantly in his mind for the past couple of days since he realised the doctor had probably come to the same conclusion as his husband.
His parents exchanged another look, and then his mom addressed him,
“We decided not to get you a diagnosis. We thought about it for a very long time, and spent hours debating the pros and cons but we ultimately decided not to. There were many reasons, but our main one was that we didn’t want to put you in a box.”
What? the confusion must’ve been written all over his face because she immediately clarified,
“There are so many harmful stereotypes around autism, and unfortunately, as much as both the hockey community and the world in general claims to be supportive, there is so much casual ableism going on.
We were scared that if we got you diagnosed, your teachers in school or your coaches in hockey wouldn’t push you because ‘oh he’s autistic so I’m not going to bother trying to explain it’ and would chalk everything up to that singular diagnosis.
People are incredibly narrow-minded and we were scared they’d only see you as this one thing rather than the amazing and completely capable person you are.”
All of that had been said in a single breath, and she showed no signs of stopping as she continued,
“We said we wouldn’t get you a diagnosis unless your symptoms started making your life more challenging, and it would be easier for you if people did treat you slightly differently. But you never wanted to stand out, or be treated as different, and we didn’t want to be the cause of that starting.”
“Why didn't you tell me?” Shane repeated his second question, and his mom sighed.
“We were planning on it. We were going to tell you when we thought you were mature enough to handle it, but by the time you got there, hockey had already become your whole entire life.
You worked so incredibly hard day in and day out and you wanted this more than you’d ever wanted anything before, and we feared that telling you would result in your own internalised prejudices working against you.
Also, by that point, the shutdowns had stopped and most of your symptoms were relatively subdued, so we decided not to.”
Shane nodded. Their reasoning made sense, but he wished they would’ve told him. He probably could’ve saved himself a whole bunch of internal crises if he’d known.
It would’ve helped with his constant feeling like he was left out of an inside joke everyone around him seemed to get.
“Do you want to get a diagnosis now?” Ilya chimed in from beside him, the first thing he’d said in a long time while he’d let Shane and his parents talk.
He thought about it. He decided he’d have to think a lot more about it.
“Maybe, I don't know.”
“Whatever you decide to do, I’m here for you, moy lyubov”
“Thank you. I love you.”
The rest of the dinner went well, with much lighter topics of conversation, and all of Ilya's usual jokes and easy camaraderie with his family.
When he walked into practice the next day, he was terrified to feel all eyes on him. He clutched Ilya's hand with an iron clad grip as they walked into the locker room, but no one even gave him a second glance.
He was once again reminded of how wildly different the Centaurs were to his old team, because the voyageurs would’ve been chirping the shit out of him right about now.
But all he got from his current team was a couple,
“You alright, Hollzy?” And when he nodded, they nodded back and continued on with their day.
By the time he got onto the ice, he was fully relaxed, and God, did it feel good. He positively flew across the ice, his linemates struggling to keep up with him even more than usual.
They had a game that night, and Buffalo didn't stand a chance.
His passes were connecting beautifully, his shot accuracy was quite frankly impressive, and his speed made his ‘fastest skater’ award proud. But none of that compared to what magic happened when they got on a power play.
He and Ilya had always been able to read each others minds on the ice, but today they no longer felt like two separate organisms, rather two branches of the same tree.
He was about 20 seconds away from a third goal to complete his hat trick, flying up the ice through the offensive zone with the puck on his stick and no defenders on his heels, when the airhorn sounded, signifying the end of the game.
Oh well, he’d still scored 2 beautiful goals, and had given Ilya an assist on the power play which, combined with Luca’s shoo-in near the beginning of first period and a gorgeous goal from Bood straight after, had resulted in a 5-2 win for the centaurs.
Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all.
They all went out to celebrate, and Shane didnt think he’d ever had so much fun in his life. Ilya had convinced him to let loose a little with the drinks under the guise of
“But Shaneeee alcohol messes with my meds so you have to drink for both of us.”
And about 3 beers and a slightly coerced shot later, he was a little tipsier than he’d like to be.
“Listen up everyone! I need to tell you guys something.”
He waited until all side conversations had ceased, and they were all looking at him expectantly. Ilya had a slightly concerned look on his face, but Shane waved his hand in his face a bit to signal it was okay. For some reason, that didnt seem to appease him at all.
“I just wanted to say that, I really love and appreciate you guys. I’ve only been playing with you for a couple of months, but you feel more like family to me already than the voyageurs did in the ten years I played with them.”
Ilya’s hold on his waist relaxed, and Shane allowed himself a quick peck on his lips before continuing with his grand speech,
“After I told them I was gay, some of them never looked at me the same again, and after they found out about Ilya, even those who were okay with it before were not okay with it anymore. Except Hayden. I love Hayden. I need to call Hayden, I miss him.
Anyways, so I was kinda scared coming here, despite Ilya assuring me that you were all lovely, because that was the only hockey culture I’d ever known. I’ve never been happier to be wrong. You guys are the bestest. Bestest? Best. You guys are the best people ever and I love all of you.”
Echoes of “we love you, Hollzy!” And "you're the best, Shane!” Could be heard from around the room, and Shane thought for probably the hundredth time tonight, how insanely happy he was to have such amazing people in his life.
Shane stumbled home with Ilya holding most of his weight, the team having strongly coerced him into a couple more drinks, but he was smiling the whole way.
When they got inside, he immediately began discarding all his clothes at the door, and he was so far gone that he didn’t even have the energy to fold them.
But it was okay, because Ilya trailed behind him and picked them all up, folding them in a neat pile on a chair in their room, before he climbed in beside him and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.