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Shane has always been, what his mom says, delicate. He takes things to heart easily.
Being unbothered (or nonchalant, as they say now) is not his strong suit, and he knows that. It’s no secret.
But it annoys the shit out of him. He hates this. It may be one of the parts about himself he hates the most. Like, he’s 27. Not 2.
In short, he gets anxious over everything. Is someone mad at him? Did he do something wrong? Did he make an honest mistake?
No context needed, he just spirals at everything.
That’s what brings him here. Post game loss, in his bed, sulking. His coach gave him a correction, and now he’s convinced he’s mad at him, he hates him, he ruined the whole game.
He’s been trying to stay clean. His self-harm relapse was in October, and it’s been pretty consistent since.
Ilya recently found out about his…habit. (No, he’s not calling it an addiction. He’s not a drug addict. It’s not that serious.) They’ve made an agreement that if he isn’t home, Shane will call him if he has urges.
Of course, not being in the heat of it, he said okay. Because it sounds so easy, until you’re in it. And also, what else do you say? No? And the part of him that wanted to get better, that wanted recovery, agreed to this plan without having time for the other part of him to find reasons to say no.
Relapsing has made Shane realize nothing will ever come close to what cutting does for him. Especially now that he’s made his brain correlate cutting = calm. Damn Pavlov.
It’s gotten to the point that at the smallest, most minor inconvenience, he has urges to cut.
And since Ilya found out and Shane has explained more, Ilya knows that the smallest thing can set off Shane.
Which is why after the game, Ilya checked on Shane, but Shane pretended he was okay so Ilya could go out and celebrate.
Nothing ever gets past Ilya, but Shane insisted. He’s regretting it now.
The half of him that gives in? Elated. So grateful he has a second alone so he can do whatever he wants and in peace. Finally.
His feelings are conflicting with each other. Again.
So that’s why he’s in bed, heart racing, trying to focus on anything but the blood that comes from the fresh cuts. But he can’t shake the thought.
He knows he should call Ilya. But he’s also worried about bothering him. Is he too much? Ilya needs a break from him. He’s definitely tired of him. He’s only staying with him to be nice, he doesn’t really love him. He’s sick of him.
He also knows Ilya will be disappointed if he doesn’t call him. He hates when he disappoints people. Especially his loved ones.
Every now and then he glances to his nightstand, where his razor blade is. He told Ilya where they all are, and he threw them out, but he needed to keep one for peace of mind. It helps. At least he thinks it helps.
His heart is racing, his hands are tingling, he needs the pain. He’s aching for it.
Out of spontaneity, he sits up and opens his drawer. As usual, his fucked up side, the side that wants to relapse, that wants to stay in this hole because it’s familiar, comfortable, is winning. It will always win, he thinks.
He shuffles around in his drawer and fishes out the razor blade. It’s shiny, cold. Just how he likes it. The sight of the thing brings him comfort, his heart rate already lowering.
He shrugs his pants off, aiming at his inner thigh.
You’re cutting over what? Losing a game? You are way too old for this shit. Grow up.
These thoughts make him pause. He tries to think of the outcomes after both possible instances.
If he cuts, he’ll feel guilty, Ilya will probably find out (or his dying need to be honest will win and he will confess), it’ll hurt for a few days.
But if he doesn’t cut? He’ll feel proud, knowing he has fought off an urge. Hopeful for the future, then he can tell his fiance and Ilya will praise him. He loves when Ilya is proud of him.
He wants both outcomes. But he knows that’s not possible. The idea of giving in one more time is ringing in his head.
He puts the razor blade down and puts his head in his hands, pulling at his hair.
Spontaneity comes back, because after a few beats, he puts the blade back and shuts the drawer. He grabs his phone and goes into Ilya’s contact.
He doesn’t even like you. You’re bothering him.
He pulls at his hair with his left hand. He decides that this is probably safer than what he’s been doing. So he continues.
He takes a second, but clicks the call button. The ringing just gives him time to find reasons to back out. But those thoughts don’t linger too long, because he suddenly hears his fiance’s voice on the other end.
“Shane! Feeling better?”
Oh. He forgot he told Ilya his head was hurting.
“Yeah.” He pauses. What does he even say?
A few seconds goes by and Ilya’s voice softens. “Sweetheart? Is everything okay?”
Shane took a breath before he responded. “Um…I just don’t feel good. I don’t wanna be alone. Can you come home?” He closes his eyes awaiting the response that Ilya doesn’t care about him, so he’s gonna stay with his teammates.
But it’s an unspoken rule that “I don’t wanna be alone” is code word for: I feel unsafe. This applied to both of them. So Ilya agreed immediately.
“Yes. Yes, of course. Let me call an Uber. Do you want to stay on the phone?”
Shane nods even though there’s no one there to see it. “Yes. Please.”
Shane sits on the floor against his bed as Ilya narrates everything he’s doing. Shane doesn’t remember what he said, but his voice in it of itself kept him calm and distracted.
It wasn’t long before Ilya got home. “Ребенок. I’m home. I’m coming up.”
Shane hums. He then hears the door and quiet footsteps. Ilya walks over to him fast but gentle. He kneels down and puts his hand on Shane’s shoulder.
“Hey.” He looks Shane up and down, trying to assess what could’ve happened without having to ask. Given recent events, he can guess. He sits next to Shane.
“What do you need?” He learned that from Galinda.
Shane turns to Ilya, eyes glassy. “You.”
Ilya puts his arm around Shane and pulls him in. Once he gets comfortable, Shane exhales as if he had just run a mile. Ilya just kisses the top of his head, keeping his lips there and breathing in his scent. He decides they will talk more later. But for now, they’ll just be.