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Shane knew something was seriously wrong.
By day six, he had started googling phrases like how long can a human survive without pooping and can intestines explode.
By day seven, he was pretty sure death would be a mercy.
He sat at the kitchen island glaring at a bowl of oatmeal like it would somehow eat itself.
Across from him, Ilya sipped coffee and watched with increasing concern.
“You look upset.” Ilya said.
“I’m fine.”
“You said that yesterday while curled up my sick child.”
Shane scowled.
Unfortunately, Ilya wasn’t wrong.
Everything felt awful. His stomach was bloated and tight, his lower back hurt, and there was a constant uncomfortable pressure in his abdomen that made existing feel like hard work.
Worst of all, absolutely nothing was happening.
Not even close.
Shane stabbed aggressively at the oatmeal.
Fiber was supposed to help.
Apparently his body disagreed.
Ilya tilted his head.
“You are making angry face at breakfast again.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. If you are having trouble with breakfast today maybe we go through eating exercises then we call Leena..”
Shane took a bite purely out of spite.
The oatmeal tasted like warm sadness.
-----------
Practice that morning was a disaster.
Shane was normally sharp and controlled on the ice. Today he was distracted, irritable, and deeply aware of every movement his body made.
Which was unfortunate because hockey involved a lot of fucking movement.
“Jesus, Hollypocket.” Troy said after Shane snapped at him during a drill. “Who pissed in your cereal?”
“Nobody asshole.” Shane skated back down the ice.
“You’ve been weird all week.” Wyatt added as he stretched on the ice.
“I’m not weird.”
The entire line stared at him.
Shane immediately regretted how defensive that sounded.
A cramp twisted through his stomach.
He winced before he could stop himself.
Zane frowned. “You okay man?”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re trying not to give birth.”
Shane nearly skated directly into the boards.
“Oh my God..” Troy said slowly. “Are you constipated?”
Shane’s soul briefly left his body.
“What?” he squawked.
Troy burst out laughing immediately.
“Oh my God, you ARE.”
"Fuck you!”
“You got sooo defensive!”
“I just don’t like your face!” Shane turned to hide his growing blush under the guise of wiping his face.
Wyatt was now crying laughing.
“Dude, just take a laxative.”
“I don’t need a laxative.”
Another cramp hit.
Shane folded slightly at the waist before straightening with dignity that convinced absolutely nobody.
Zane made a sympathetic face.
“Brother,” he said gently. “When was the last time you pooped?”
“Leave me aloooone.”
“Oh my God,” Troy wheezed. “It’s been DAYS.”
Shane skated away before he committed homicide.
Thank god Ilya was in PT and got to skip practice.
--------
Unfortunately, his humiliation followed him.
At one point during practice, he bent awkwardly during a stretch and let out a tiny involuntary groan.
The entire team turned.
Shane wanted the ice to open beneath him.
Coach Wiebe blew the whistle.
“Hollander.”
Shane closed his eyes.
“Yes?”
“Do you need medical bud?”
“No!”
Way too loud.
Silence spread across the rink.
Then Wyatt muttered, “That man has not pooped since the All-Star break.”
The team dissolved into chaos.
Even Weibe has to turn around to compress a snicker.
---------
By the time he got home that evening, he was exhausted, bloated, and one minor inconvenience away from a complete emotional breakdown.
Anya greeted him happily at the door.
“At least someone loves me...” Shane muttered.
Ilya looked up from the couch immediately.
“There you are dorogoy.”
Shane dropped onto the opposite end of the couch carefully.
Very carefully.
Ilya narrowed his eyes.
“You are sitting like old man.”
“I played hockey today asshole.”
“You always play hockey.”
“Maybe hockey is bad for me.”
“You are being dramatic.”
“Maybe I’m dying. Maybe this is my cry for help. Maybe i'm just tired and pissed off, take your pick Rozanov.”
Now Ilya looked concerned instead of amused.
“Okay.” he said slowly. “What is actually going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Shane.”
That tone. Gentle but direct.
Shane looked away.
Because here was the thing.
Logically, he knew this was stupid.
Ilya had seen him vomit from food poisoning. He’d helped clean blood off Shane’s face after games. He had witnessed panic attacks, hangovers, emotional breakdowns, and one unfortunate incident involving expired sushi.
But somehow this felt different.
Humiliating in a deeply irrational way. Logically Ilya knew Shane pooped. It was a major step in the process of their sex life. But it was always under his control. He knew exactly what he had to do to get himself to shit. His body always ran on schedule even now that he is in treatment and eating more high carb food.
Now nothing was working. Not his usual Miralax or Xlax. He was backed all the way up.
And the longer it went on, the more impossible it became to talk about.
“I’m just tired..” Shane muttered.
Ilya studied him quietly.
Then he held out an arm.
“Come cuddle.”
Normally Shane would’ve gone immediately.
Instead he hesitated.
His stomach hurt. Pressure against his abdomen felt weird and uncomfortable and honestly the idea of being touched at all made him want to crawl out of his own skin.
“I’m gonna shower first.”
Ilya’s expression flickered.
Brief disappointment.
Guilt twisted in Shane’s chest.
Because this had become another problem too.
They hadn’t had sex all week.
And Shane had been making increasingly terrible excuses.
"Morning blowjob?" Headache.
"Give you something to remember when I miss practice tomorrow." Too sore.
"You look so tense how about I eat your ass?" Tired.
And he was never too tired to get his ass ate.
Ilya always just settles on giving him a kiss and giving him his space.
----------------
Shane showered.
Then he sat on the toilet for forty miserable minutes staring at the wall like a mad man.
Nothing happened.
Absolutely nothing.
He googled manual intestinal massage.
He regretted it immediately.
When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Ilya was already in bed watching episodes of 9-1-1.
“You okay?” Ilya asked softly, turning down the TV.
“Yeah-sure..”
Shane climbed carefully under the blankets.
Ilya immediately shifted closer.
Shane subtly moved away.
The movement was tiny.
Barely noticeable.
Unfortunately, Ilya noticed everything.
His expression fell.
The guilt nearly killed Shane on the spot.
“Shanya..” Ilya said quietly. “Talk to me.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have said that seventeen times today.”
“You counted?”
“I love you. Of course I counted. I miss you. I miss kisses and cuddles...I need them.”
That almost cracked him.
Almost.
Instead Shane rolled onto his side and stared at the wall.
Behind him, Ilya stayed quiet for a long moment.
Then finally:
“Okay.”
The sadness in his voice made Shane feel like the worst husband alive.
But his brain just could not handle the embarrassment yet.
--------
The breaking point came the next night.
Shane spent over an hour in the bathroom accomplishing absolutely nothing except developing a personal vendetta against his digestive system.
When he finally emerged, pale and sweaty and spiritually defeated, Ilya was waiting at the end of the bed.
Arms crossed.
Expression determined.
“Oh no..” Shane said immediately.
“Oh yes.” Ilya replied.
“I’m too tired for intervention Ilya...”
“You have spent seven days acting cranky.”
“I’m not fucking cranky.” Shane moved to stand closer to his husband not fully committing to not ditching this convo for the guest bedroom.
“You barely eat. You hiss at teammates. You refuse cuddles.”
Shane covered his face.
“One time!”
“Three times.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
Unfortunately true.
Ilya patted the mattress beside him.
“Sit.”
Shane huffed but obeyed.
The mattress dipped under his weight.
Immediately his stomach cramped again.
He made a tiny wounded noise.
Ilya’s expression softened instantly.
“Oh, baby.”
Shane stared at the floor arms crossed.
“I can’t tell you right now.”
“Yes you can.”
“It’s too gross..”
“I promise it’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
Ilya reached for his hand.
“Shanya..”
God.
That voice. Warm and steady and impossibly gentle.
Fuck he was weak for it.
“I love you,” Ilya said quietly. “Nothing you say is going to change that.”
Shane swallowed hard.
“Promise?”
Ilya blinked.
“Yes?”
“And you’ll still think I’m attractive?”
Now Ilya looked genuinely alarmed.
“Malysh, what do you think you are about to tell me?”
“I don’t know!” Shane blushed deeply as he began to fiddle with his wedding ring.
“You look like you are confessing war crime.”
“That’s not helping. Please, just say it so I can hear it.”
Ilya squeezed his hand.
“You are my husband. You could tell me literally anything.”
Shane took a shaky breath.
Then muttered, without making eye contact:
“I haven’t pooped in a week.”
Complete silence.
Shane wished violently for death. Great he thinks you're disgusting and he will probably leave you since you can't have sex if you are filled to the brim with shit.
Then Ilya blinked.
“Oh.”
“That’s your reaction?”
“I thought you had an infection!”
“What?”
“You were acting very suspicious!”
Shane stared at him in horror.
“Ilya!”
“What? This is much better than UTI!”
“I’m dying!”
“You are constipated.”
“SEVERELY constipated.”
Ilya bit his lip.
A dangerous smile appeared.
“Do not laugh at me.”
“I’m trying very hard.”
“I mean it. Rozanov I swear..”
Unfortunately that was the exact moment Shane’s stomach made an awful loud gurgling noise.
Ilya lost the battle instantly.
He doubled over laughing.
Shane looked deeply betrayed.
“You’re an asshole.”
“You asked if I would still find you attractive!” Ilya wheezed. “I thought maybe you murdered someone!”
“This is serious!”
“I know, Shane.”
Ilya immediately pulled him close.
And despite everything, despite the embarrassment and discomfort and catastrophic humiliation, Shane melted against him.
“You should have told me sooner.” Ilya murmured into his hair.
“I was embarrassed.”
“Everybody poops.”
“Apparently not me.”
That sent Ilya into another round of helpless laughter.
“Okay, okay..” he said finally, still grinning. “We fix this now.”
Which was how Shane ended up standing in a pharmacy at ten o’clock at night holding hospital-strength laxatives while trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
“We can’t buy these..” Shane whispered.
“Why not?”
“The cashier will know.”
Ilya stared at him.
“Know what?”
“That I’m constipated!” He whisper yelled then peerd over his should to the non-existent crowd.
“Hollander. This is pharmacy. People buy hemorrhoid cream here.”
Ilya picked up another box.
“This one says gentle overnight relief.”
“I don’t want gentle. I want immediate divine intervention.”
An elderly woman nearby snorted loudly.
Shane nearly evaporated from shame.
Eventually they left with:
Three different laxatives.
Fiber gummies.
Prune juice.
Probiotic yogurt.
Magnesium citrate.
And somehow a heated blanket.
“Why did we buy this?” Shane asked.
“You looked sad. And you like warm things..” Ilya crooned into his ear.
Which was annoyingly effective.
-------------
Back home, Ilya approached the situation with terrifying dedication.
“Internet says movement helps digestion.” he announced.
“I don’t care.” Shane said with his arms around his mid section.
“We are doing yoga.”
“Absolutely not. I do not do yoga to poop. Yoga is for focus and flexibility and-”
Ten minutes later Shane was on a yoga mat wearing sweatpants while a cheerful woman on YouTube instructed them through “gentle digestive flow.”
“This is stupid..” Shane muttered.
“Lift your hips, Hollander I know you can.” Ilya said seriously.
“I hate this.”
“Twist from core.”
“I hate you.”
“Shut up.”
The instructor demonstrated a pose called Wind-Relieving Pose.
Shane stared at the television.
“That feels targeted.”
Ilya collapsed laughing again.
“You are child.”
“I’m helping-swear!”
Still, they tried it.
Halfway through a twisting stretch, Shane froze.
Something inside him shifted ominously.
“Oh my God.”
Ilya sat upright instantly.
“What?”
“I felt movement.”
Ilya gasped dramatically. “She lives.”
“Stop calling it that!”
Anya barked excitedly like she wanted to participate.
“No.” Shane told her firmly. “This is between me and God now.”
After yoga came a walk around the neighborhood because apparently walking also helped digestion.
It was nearly eleven at night.
Shane trudged beside Ilya while Anya trotted happily ahead.
“This is rock bottom..” Shane announced.
“No. Rock bottom is emergency room.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
Ilya bumped their shoulders together gently.
“You know I don’t think you are gross, right?”
Shane sighed.
“I know.”
“No really.”
Ilya stopped walking.
Streetlights cast warm gold across his face.
“You could tell me anything.” he said softly. “Anything. I love all parts of you.”
Shane looked down at their joined hands.
“Even the shitty parts?”
Ilya grinned.
“Especially those.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“But romantic.”
Shane laughed helplessly.
God, he loved this man.
Back home, Shane drank prune juice while making sounds of deep personal suffering.
“Tastes way to sour.” he complained.
“Very brave.”
“If this kills me, I will haunt you forever.”
“Siri can you fuck ghosts?” Ilya said into his phone with a smirk.
“Ilya no. That's so gross.” Shane said swatting his husband's shoulder.
--------
Around three in the morning, Shane bolted upright.
His eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Ilya jerked awake immediately.
“What happened?”
Shane clutched his stomach.
“Fuck...”
Ilya stared at him for one second.
Then he started laughing before Shane had even moved.
“This is not fucking funny!”
“You sound like-”
Another cramp hit.
Shane launched himself out of bed and sprinted toward the bathroom.
The door slammed.
Silence followed.
Long silence.
Then:
“OH MY GOD.”
Ilya buried his face in a pillow laughing.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” he shouted.
“NO!”
Another pause.
Then:
“WAIT MAYBE YES.”
More horrifying noises echoed through the house.
Anya barked in concern.
“I SURVIVED!” Shane yelled several minutes later.
“I AM VERY PROUD OF YOU!”
Twenty minutes later Shane emerged looking pale but spiritually renewed.
“I saw God...” he announced solemnly.
Ilya immediately opened his arms.
Shane climbed into bed and collapsed against him dramatically.
“I’m never taking pooping for granted again.”
“Life-changing experience?”
“You don’t understand. I’m a new man.”
“You seem lighter.”
“I probably lost eight pounds.”
“That is medically impossible.”
“I transcended.”
Ilya kissed his forehead.
“Very brave of you.”
Shane buried his face against his neck.
After a moment he mumbled quietly:
“Sorry I got weird.”
Ilya rubbed circles against his back.
“You were embarrassed.”
“Still.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think my husband is adorable idiot.”
Shane snorted.
“Rude.”
“But very lovable.”
“Better.”
Ilya tilted Shane’s chin upward gently.
“You never have to hide things from me because you are scared I’ll be upset.”
Shane’s chest tightened painfully.
Even now, years into loving each other, Ilya could still say things that cracked him wide open.
“Okay..” Shane whispered.
“Okay.”
They kissed softly.
Warm and familiar and full of affection.
Then Shane suddenly froze.
Ilya narrowed his eyes immediately.
“What?”
“…I might need the bathroom again.”
Ilya burst into helpless laughter as Shane groaned and stumbled dramatically back down the hallway.
------
The next morning at practice, Shane felt incredible.
Empty in both body and soul.
“You’re weirdly cheerful today..” Wyatt observed.
“Just having a good morning.”
“You look like you got cracked last night.” Troy admitted.
Across the ice, Ilya wore the smug expression of a man who knew secrets.
Shane pointed at him threateningly.
“Don’t say a word.”
“I say nothing.”
“You’re thinking loudly.”
Zane looked between them suspiciously.
“What happened?”
Ilya grinned.
“My husband had spiritual awakening.”
“Oh my God,” Wyatt gasped. “Are you trying for a baby?”
Shane nearly fell over.
“What kind of sentence is that?”
“You said spiritual awakening!”
Troy was laughing so hard he had to lean on his stick.
Meanwhile Ilya looked moments away from tears.
Shane skated away before he murdered all of them.
Still, despite the humiliation, despite the teasing, despite the fact that Troy would absolutely make constipation jokes for the next six months…
Shane felt lighter in more ways than one.
Because apparently even at his most embarrassing, most uncomfortable, least dignified moment…
Ilya still looked at him like he hung the moon.
Even when he was constipated beyond reason.
Which was horrifying.
And also kind of perfect.