Chapter Text
It started, as most things with Ilya did, as a joke. An offhanded, "ah, I have the most boring husband in the world," as he walked by Shane sitting at the dining room table, balancing his checkbook like it was 1998. Normally, Shane would understand this chirp was one said with affection and love, but he was on edge today. He woke up after a dream about winning the cup with the Metros; everything in the dream felt right, like something he'd worked hard to earn had finally paid off.
Then, Shane woke to a reality where he wasn't a Montreal Metro, he wasn't captain of his team, and he played second fiddle to Ilya for the Centaurs. Shane knew he felt this way only because it hadn't even been a year since they'd gotten married and Shane joined the team. Most days, he was so blissfully happy and so openly accepted and loved by the team that losing the captaincy and the Metros didn't even faze him. Today, however, the loss was poking at his chest like a fine-tipped needle.
Shane tried to keep himself busy by doing menial tasks around the house all morning. Just as it was starting to work at shutting his mind off, Ilya walked by, having not gotten out of bed until after 9 AM, and called him the most boring husband in the world.
Shane's shoulders tensed, and he braced his hands against the table to center himself. It's just Ilya. You love Ilya, and he loves you.
"When you are done being boring, maybe we can take Anya on a walk?"
Ilya continued as he poured himself a cup of coffee with way too much sugar.
"I'm not really up for it, you guys go ahead," Shane muttered and picked up his pen again. Ilya groaned and rolled his head back toward the ceiling.
"Come on, moya lyubov. We only have a few days off before next mandatory practice, let's spend it doing something fun."
"I'm having fun." Shane sounded more defensive than he intended as he lied. Ilya gave him an unamused look.
"You have fun? Playing with checkbook? See, this is why I'm your captain now, I can be the one to decide what is fun." Again, this was a chirp Ilya often made, and typically it never bothered Shane. Although Shane wasn't a captain anymore and he did miss the responsibility, there was no denying that Ilya deserved his position. When Shane was being honest with himself, he acknowledged that Ilya was a much better captain than he ever was.
So Shane knew, logically, that Ilya didn't mean anything by his comment besides fond banter, but in this moment, he felt the loss of all he'd worked for so acutely that he could hardly stand it.
"Fuck off," Shane muttered, clenching the pen in his right fist.
"What is this? Backtalk to your captain?" Ilya turned his body to Shane and spoke over the rim of his coffee mug, "I'm sure I can find a special way to punish you for this."
Ilya was smirking, his eyebrows raised suggestively, and Shane had to remind himself he's flirting, he's joking, he's your husband who loves you.
"Fuck. Off." The words erupted from him without his consent, and Ilya's smile finally dropped.
"Moya lyubov?" Shane shook his head and stood from the table fast enough to send his chair squeaking backwards.
"I need some air." Shane knew with perfect clarity that he was taking something out on Ilya that had nothing to do with him, and it wasn't fair for Shane to continue. He just needed to get some space and clear his head.
"Shane! Wait." Ilya hastily put down his mug, sloshing liquid over the top, as he tried to follow.
"Stop, Ilya! I just need some space." The words stopped Ilya in his tracks, and Shane slipped out the door before his mind could come back online.
Shane had just walked out.
There was a moment of pure stillness before the panic set in.
