Work Text:
All I, all that I know
My mind can't take it no more
I'm goin' down in my bedroom exile
Haven't seen myself for a while
The game itself had been fine.
Great, even. Shane had played well, his performance as sharp and precise as ever, earning himself praise left and right afterwards. It was the kind that should have left him at ease and satisfied.
Instead, by the time they were back in the apartment, Shane’s skin started to feel too tight, too wrong.
Everything was, suddenly, too much. Only, it wasn’t all that sudden; it was just that Shane had gotten really good at ignoring the signs when they first started creeping up on him.
The hum of the fridge felt too loud. The fabric of his shirt scratched unbearably. His pulse hadn’t settled on the drive home. Instead, it was still thrumming hard and fast underneath his skin, like there was an active danger, like he needed to be ready to defend himself any second now. His thoughts kept racing, even when there was nothing left to think about.
He paced once from the kitchen to the living room, then back again, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Shane?”
Ilya’s voice was soft, but it still landed too sharp, and Shane flinched before he could stop himself.
Ilya immediately went very, very still.
That, more than anything, made something twist in Shane’s chest - because Ilya noticed. Because he always did. And this was one of those things Shane would rather keep to himself, because letting Ilya in, letting Ilya see, felt too vulnerable, too much at once.
“I’m fine,” Shane said quickly, but his voice came out all wrong. It was an old habit, but a part of him was still afraid that Ilya might decide that he was too strange, after all, and leave.
Ilya didn’t call him out on it, at least not immediately. Instead, he watched Shane pace some more, more slowly now, as if he was trying to stop himself, but failing to, when the restless energy in his body became too much to keep contained.
“Hey,” Ilya said, quieter now, more carefully, “What is it?”
Shane exhaled sharply through his nose. He hated this part - trying to explain something that felt obvious inside his own head but would probably sound outright weird to anyone else, if he put it into actual words.
“I just-” he stopped, then started again, “Sometimes after games, everything feels,” his hands gestured helplessly, as if that would explain everything he didn’t have the words for, “Too much. Too loud. Too everything.”
Ilya didn’t rush him, when Shane stopped and swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
“I usually just,” he huffed out a breath, almost a laugh but not quite, then shook his head, mostly to himself, “It’s stupid.”
“Shane.”
There was that tone again. Gentle, but inquiring. Reminding him that he would not ridicule him, no matter what came out of his mouth next.
He forced himself to keep going then, after letting out a long, shaky breath.
“Sometimes after games, I lie down. With something heavy,” he winced a little, bracing for Ilya’s reaction, “Like, blankets or whatever. It helps.”
A moment of silence passed between them. Not tense, just contemplative. Shane was staring at the floor when he heard Ilya quietly, calmly speak up again.
“Okay.”
Shane blinked, then looked up in disbelief. Ilya was still leaning against the counter and shrugged, like he had just confessed to something completely normal.
“So, lie down.”
“It’s not…I can’t just,” Shane gestured vaguely, suddenly feeling insecure all over again, “I don’t have- “, he trailed off.
“I am right here,” Ilya said, like that settled it. Which, apparently, it did, for him. Shane still could not believe this was happening. What was Ilya even trying to suggest here?
“You what?” He tried to make sense of this, but it was becoming increasingly harder, with the overwhelm pressing in more and more as seconds passed. He could feel words slipping away from him faster than he could try to get them out.
“Lie down,” Ilya repeated, already pushing off the counter. There was no hesitation. No indication in his expression that he found any of this weird. Just quiet certainty, calm acceptance.
Shane wanted that, god, needed that – the quiet, the calm, the pressure that always grounded him. Even if asking for it like this left him feeling exposed, left him feeling anxious on top of feeling overwhelmed. But he wasn’t asking – Ilya was offering, and that made all the difference.
He hesitated only a second longer before walking over to the couch and lowering himself onto it, watching, barely, as Ilya followed close behind.
“On top?” Ilya asked, and Shane nodded, just once.
Ilya climbed over him without hesitating, bracing his hands briefly on either side of Shane’s shoulders before settling down, careful but certain.
He took a moment to adjust, to make sure they were both comfortable, then let go, letting his full weight settle in – warm, solid, heavy.
Shane’s breath caught the moment he felt Ilya’s whole body weight on him, because this felt a lot different from just blankets or whatever else he found to try to squish his soul back into his body after a long and exhausting day at the rink.
But then, another breath, his muscles releasing some of their tension.
This was exactly right.
The pressure spread evenly across him, firm and steady, pinning him in place in a way that felt safe. Contained. The restless energy humming in his body had nowhere to go, and for the first time since the game had ended, everything started to slow down, and he could hear his own thoughts again.
“Oh,” Shane breathed.
“Good?” Ilya softly asked, ready to readjust in case of a negative reply.
Shane nodded, a little softer this time, “Yeah. Yeah, that,” he swallowed, “This is nice.”
“Okay.”
And that was it.
No jokes. No teasing. Ilya simply stayed.
He adjusted just once, subtly shifting to distribute his weight better, then went still again. His breathing was slow, even, something Shane could match if he needed to. The warmth of him seeped in and loosened his muscles, the steady pressure calming Shane’s head and heart at the same time.
Minutes passed. Maybe more, but Shane eventually, blissfully, lost track of the time.
The noise in his head finally turned into something quiet and distant. His body, which had felt like it was vibrating, like electric wires underneath his skin, settled little by little under Ilya’s weight.
Eventually, Shane let his eyes fall closed.
“Better?” Ilya murmured.
“Yeah,” Shane said quietly, letting out a soft breath, “A lot.”
There was a small pause.
“Good,” Ilya said, his own voice just as quiet.
It became a thing after that.
Not immediately. Not something they named right away.
But a few games later, Shane walked in with that same feeling vibrating under his skin - too much energy, too much noise, too many sensations - and before he could even start pacing, Ilya tilted his head, studying him.
“Too much?” He simply asked. Like it was no big deal. Like Shane wasn’t feeling like he was about to fall apart in front of him.
Shane nodded, and Ilya gestured toward the couch, then, “Lie down.”
It wasn’t even a question, and there were no awkward explanations that time. No searching for words that were hard enough to come by when his head was being entirely too loud and chaotic.
Shane simply settled down on the couch again, and Ilya followed, like they had been doing this a hundred times before.
Ilya followed, just as certain as before, settling over him with that same steady, grounding weight. Like it was obvious. Like it was nothing.
It was everything, to Shane.
A week later, they found themselves in the same position, this time with Ilya draped over Shane’s back, heavy and motionless, after a particularly intense game.
Only this time, after long minutes had passed and Shane’s breathing had finally begun evening out under the steady pressure of Ilya’s weight, he could actually feel Ilya softly grin against his shoulder.
“It’s like…panini time, yes?” He grinned, clearly proud of himself.
Shane huffed out a quiet laugh despite himself. He should have known it would come, eventually, because with Ilya it was inevitable, really. He could not withhold his funny bone forever.
“What?” Shane asked, thankfully far too relaxed to get too agitated. Ilya’s body still felt nice, felt soothing on top of him.
“Like the panini press,” Ilya elaborated, sounding very serious, “Human panini press.”
“Ilya no.”
Ilya just grinned wider, “You love it.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it, “It helps.”
“Mmh,” Ilya hummed, satisfied.
The codeword stuck, but Shane couldn’t even be upset, not really. Not when Ilya had, not once, made fun of him for needing this. Had, not once, hesitated to give him this.
Ilya would look at him, notice his restless energy, and simply ask, “Panini time?”
Sometimes a ghost of a smile would pass Shane’s lips, sometimes he would simply nod, when he was already feeling too close to the edge. Ilya never commented on it either way.
He simply settled down, quiet, steady. Safe.
Because he loved being around for the easy parts.
He loved being around for the harder parts, too.