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    Summary

    He sighed. He distinctly remembered sighing, because despite the heavy feeling of exhaustion, that was their thing, and Shane wasn’t going to mess with it. That was what they did. They ran themselves to the point of collapse on the ice, they shook each other’s hands at the end, and a meeting place was exchanged. It had been months since he’d last seen Rozanov, and he had known a good fucking would quiet the incessant buzzing under his skin, but his ribs had hurt and he was so, so desperately tired. The kind of tired that didn’t necessarily come from a lack of sleep, or a tough game, but from confusing signals and unlockable feelings.

    --

    OR, Shane reflects on the first time he and Ilya fell asleep together.

    Language:
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