Chapter Text
The Centaurs are in high spirits at the Kingfisher tonight. They just beat the Admirals in their hometown, but Scott Hunter still graciously invited the team to come celebrate in his bar after the game. This definitely has nothing to do with the fact that he owns the bar, and also that Ilya Rozanov is a notoriously big spender after a winning game. After round after round of “Shots on me!” said in an increasingly slurred Russian accent, Ilya is in the mood for dancing, and there’s only one man in this place that he wants his arms around. He turns to get his hands on his husband, and realizes that he is no longer beside him. Scanning the crowd, he cannot find his beautiful freckled face anywhere. Which is really worrying, because Ilya basically has Shane-vision. He could probably pick that man out of a room with his eyes closed. He frowns at the realization that he has lost his husband.
“WHERE DID MY SHANE GO?!” he yells into the crowd. They are all just as wasted as he is, which is a result of his own generous actions. He is answered by a bunch of drunk mumblings of “I don’t know man.” and “I thought he was with you.” He suddenly feels like a kid who lost his mom at the grocery store. All he wants at this moment is his Shane, and he is nowhere to be seen. He chokes down his worry and instead he sets out on his mission: Operation Find Shane. In his drunken state, this feels the bravest and most important journey he will ever go on.
Ilya’s first stop is the bar, and he pushes through to the counter, hoping to lock eyes with somebody. He is immediately greeted by Kyle, the cutest bartender at the Kingfisher, who says, “Listen Rozanov, I know it’s your big night and all, but I morally and legally cannot serve you any more beverages this evening.”
“Nooo, nooo.” He slurs. “I know, I am wasted. This is how I lost my Shane.” He says, tears pooling in his eyes.
“He left you?” Kyle asks, looking at him like a sick puppy.
“Da, and I cannot find him anywhere.”
“Where did you look?”
“Um… here” He waves a hand around.
Kyle laughs. “How long has he been gone?”
Ilya pauses for a moment, then sighs and throws his hands up in the air. “I don’t know! I am drunk. Enough with these questions. Just tell me where my Shane is.”
“Alright man, maybe check the bathroom?”
Ilya visibly looks like a light bulb just went off in his head. “Yes, maybe! I will go now. Thank you, my friend.” He slaps a 20 on the bar, seemingly forgetting that he never received a drink, and runs away.
As Ilya charges towards the bathroom, he notices Scott Hunter standing alone in the hallway leading to the door, nursing what looks to be a rum and coke.
“Hello Hunter, have you seen my Shane anywhere?”
“Yeah, he’s um, he’s kind of stolen my Kip.”
Ilya’s eyes grow wide, “HE’S WITH HIM? WHERE IS HE?” He’s basically yelling in Scott’s face at this point. Scott just points to the door behind him. Ilya doesn’t miss a beat, immediately charging through the door, yelling “SHANE?” He hears a muffled groan from the handicap stall in reply.
“We’re in here.” Kip says, unlocking the stall door so Ilya can enter.
He’s met with the sight of his husband sitting in the corner of the stall, head in his hands, softly rocking. He doesn’t look very good at all. “I followed him in here around 10 minutes ago. He was stumbling and he wasn’t looking too hot, so I wanted to make sure he was okay.” Ilya mentally kicked himself. As much as he can remember of this night, which is a blur in this current moment, he recalls Shane matching every one of his shots. Shane doesn’t usually drink, and he definitely doesn’t usually drink as much as Ilya. Most people don’t drink as much as Ilya if they want to live to see another day. His first instinct, though, was to scoff and reply, “My husband is always looking hot.”
Ilya walked over and knelt down at Shane’s level, trying to get him to pick his head up. “Shane, moya lyubov, can you look at me?” Shane slowly lifted his head up, his eyelids heavy, he looked tired and overwhelmed.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Ilya tried softly.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” Shane slurred slowly. “I just wanted to have fun with you… but then the room was spinning a little… and the music just felt so loud… and it was so warm…I just had to get out of there.” He looked up at Ilya with his glossy brown eyes. “I’m sorry…I didn’t wanna ruin your night. I’m always sober and boring…and I thought maybe tonight could be different…but now I’m just ruining your night in a different way.” Shane choked on a light sob.
Ilya held his chin between his fingers. “You could never ruin my night moya lyubov. Do you know why? Because being with you is what makes the night so perfect. I’ve been running around searching for you, just because I couldn’t enjoy this night without my Shane in my arms.” He reaches his free hand around his husband’s back to give some soothing rubs. “I’m so sorry you are not feeling well, sweetheart. Why don’t we head home?”
“Noooo” Shane whines. “I don’t want to make you leave. You were having so much fun.”
“Were.” Ilya replies, “Not since my Shane left my side. Now all I want to do is pick him up and carry him home with me.”
Shane looked up at him and gave him a soft smile.
“C’mon, moya lyubov, let’s get out of here.” Ilya stood up and reached out his arms to help Shane up. The two of them stumbled slightly into each other until they were both standing.
Shane linked his arm into his husbands, and Ilya guided him out the door, weaving through people as seamlessly as possible.
Just when they thought they had made a break for it, Troy and Harris stopped them on their way out. “Roz! Hollander! You guys are outta here already?” Troy said, looking the two of them up and down, realizing what a state they were in. “Get home safe guys”, Harris said, “Text me when you’ve made it back in one piece.”
Ilya called a car, which thankfully arrived in record time. Shane laid in his lap on the way to the hotel, his face pressed into his legs. Ilya lightly stroked his hair to comfort him. When the car rolled into the driveway, Ilya helped his sleepy and burnt out husband out of the car. He picked him up and carried him to the door, with Shane barely protesting back. He gave in pretty quickly, tucking his head into his shoulder like he lived there.
Ilya carried him up the stairs and placed him on the bed. Even in Shane’s state, he slowly pushed himself off of the bed, mumbling something about outside clothes not belonging on the bed. He took each piece of his clothing off carefully, and folded them before placing them in the laundry hamper on top of Ilya’s crumpled pile. Instead of crawling straight into bed, which Ilya thought for sure he would, Shane made his way to the bathroom and into the shower. He turned the water on to warm, almost steaming, and Ilya decided to walk in behind him. He grabbed some shampoo and delicately massaged his fingers into his husband's hair as he watched his tense shoulders slowly sink. He continued the process, gently washing his entire body. Once he was done, he grabbed the fluffiest towel he could find and wrapped Shane’s body tightly with it, wrapping his own arms around him as well, until he fully relaxed from the pressure being applied and sighed happily.
He guided him to bed, and they both crawled in quickly, excited to finally sleep. The day had both of them feeling incredibly spent. As Shane snuggled close into Ilya’s arms, Ilya felt so grateful to have him in his life. No bar, no music, no dance floor could make Ilya feel as wonderful as he feels in this moment, happy to have his dear husband by his side again.