Chapter Text
The Centaurs were staying in an upscale Hilton in Kansas for an away game during a roadie. it was probably one of the nicest hotels they’ve gone to during the entire trip.
It had a little kiosk with snacks and food and beverages. Which is perfect for a bunch of bottomless pit hockey players.
What everyone was really excited about was the pool. It was huge, probably Olympic. Surrounding it was a bunch of tables and lounge chairs. It was indoors and free to access if you were staying in the hotel.
The first day they arrived it was all they could talk about. After a lot of coaxing, Shane eventually agreed to go.
Ilya wanted to stay in the room and take a much-needed nap. The whole group chirped him for being boring and Shane couldn’t help but giving him a smug smile before he headed downstairs.
at first, Shane tried to ease himself into the water. Just putting his legs in and kicking back-and-forth.
Then Bood pushed him.
And suddenly he was in a pile up with a bunch of other hockey players scrambling on top of each other.
The second Bood jumped in after him, Shane was on top of him, pushing him under the water.
“Jesus Hollz, let me go.” Bood said with a smirk as he yanked the Shane and tossed him over his shoulder.
Shane was pushed into the water KO style.
“You asshole!” Shane said diving at the assistant captain.
“Gotta catch me!” Bood called while swimming away.
Shane did in fact catch him and they wrestled under the water for a good four minutes before Zane tapped out.
They spent the next hour playing chicken, doing handstands, having breath holding competitions (Shane won)
While playing chicken, Shane and Troy had lost all three rounds. Troy insisted on being the one on Shane’s shoulders because he swore up and down he had played the game like that so much that he was a pro. Shane didn’t mind it, but the competitive side of him was very upset.
Then again his husband would probably drowned Troy if he found out the Shane’s thighs were wrapped around his head.
Long story short, Shane had to pay for everybody’s post swim snacks before they went up to their rooms.
Shane got a diet ginger ale for himself. And a Coke for Ilya Nothing in that store was good.
Nothing went with how he ate. He couldn’t have any of it.
His teammates on the other hand, wanted all of it.
Shane swears they cleared out half the store.
Troy got three different types of sour patch kids while Zane was getting some type of cake thing a bag of M and M's, and bag of hot Cheetos.
The caloric content of just those two orders sent shivers down chain spine.
A weird part of him wanted to yell at them tell him to put it back and get something healthy. Wanted to control their consumption the same way he controlled his own.
But he simply swallowed and waited for the rest of the guys to be done.
Dykstra got four bags of barbecue chips and a diet Dr Pepper. Holmberg got himself two monsters and a carton of extreme cheddar goldfish. Haas got blue Doritos and some type of energy drink Shane had never heard of.
Wyatt was the only one who didn’t go completely overboard and only got some sparkling water. Shane couldn’t help the sigh of relief that came out of him when Wyatt pulled up to the kiosk with his one thing.
All the men poured their stuff onto the registered desk, and the woman began to monotonously scan. Shane hoped this would be a quick process because his skin starting to get itchy and tight from the chlorine. It didn’t help that his tank top was pressing right on the worst patch of eczema on his collarbone.
He just had to repeat his husband‘s voice in his ear, telling him that itching it would only make it worse.
As a woman finally began to bag everything he was chewing on his lip and looking at all of the food.
He can’t believe there was ever a time that he thought his behavior about food was normal. Looking back on it, it never was.
Which is why he didn’t beat himself up too much for not wanting to even touch the other guys’ food. For his stomach, twisting at the thought of it brushing against his drink.
She picked up all of the bags and was holding them while simultaneously trying to pay.
The plan was he’d hold them and then distribute them evenly once he had paid.
The guys were standing behind him and growing restless. Dykstra open the bag on Shane‘s arm, looking for his food. It all went wrong after that.
Suddenly, everybody was in the bags. They hadn’t asked the lady to separate everything by who bought what so everyone was trying to take out their stuff and put it in another bag, causing Shane to shift and tilt as people went dig digging through the mountain of snacks that were in each bag.
And everyone was talking. To their credit they were just trying to find out what belong to who but still that many conversations was a little too much.
A lot too much. The stupid bright fluorescent light where making Shane's dry eyes squint and brace.
Then Bood started trying to talk to Shane directly.
“Bro this is your Coke in my bag.” Bood had his hand stretched out with the Coke bottle in it, so Shane could take it.
“Give me a second I’m paying…” Shane grid it out as he was yanked again.
He gives a woman his card and turns to help settle some of the chaos as people are going through the multiple bags in his hands.
“It didn’t go through.”
Fuck Shane‘s life.
“Try again please.” He asked her through gritted teeth. His patient was wearing thin.
“Shane take the bottle bro come on. I’m not holding it. It’s cold.” Bood said with a dramatically frustrated sigh.
Shane paid him no mind.
The woman scanned his card again. “Ok…it went through, but it says we need pin access.”
Shane reached up to put in the pin while Young was desperately looking for his bag of skittles.
“I swear, if one of you chuds took my stuff I’m wiping with your pillowcases.”
Shane arrived at the volume and also the disgusting threat. Everyone was still talking and pushing and pulling and searching, and Bood was still trying to hand him that stupid Coke.
Finally, the beautiful savior of a green checkmark popped up on the card reader and Shane stormed out without even waiting for the receipt.
He was so done and he was so overwhelmed and so so angry.
The second he left the kiosk area. He dropped every bag.
Then he looked at the team “Here! Here! Fucking here! Take all your disgusting shit- fucking take it! Take empty calories you’ve been bitching about this whole fucking time! Acting like a bunch of fucking kids! I don’t give a half shit about the fucking about Coke, Bood. Fuck!” He pointed wildly to the heap of plastic bags at his feet. The second he finished the guilt set in, as well as the panic.
He felt like an arsonist standing in the woods they just burned down watching the fire spread, knowing it was their fault for spreading it and being helpless to stop it now that the impulse is fulfilled.
“Fuck me for trying to fucking help!” Bood yelled back at him.
“Zane…” Wyatt spoke up.
The rest of the guys were kind of stunned. Shane had never yelled at them like this, never gotten mad like this. They all seem to be looking at him with a mixture of shock, pity, and anger.
Shane crouched down and grabbed his two sodas out of the bags, then stood up abruptly, keeping his eyes down at the massive bags on the floor.
“Cmon you’re not even going to help us pick it up?” Evan said as he bent down.
“Fuck this bro, God forbid we all fucking eat and don’t live off fish and dick like you.” Troy said, yanking his bag from the pile. “Fucking prick.”
“What gives you the right to yell at us like you’re our mother? Just throwing food around. Like that’s so weird.” Young said with a huff.
“Control freak ass…” Choinard mumbled as he ruffled through his bag.
Shane stood there with his eyes, still fixed on the ground.
They all hate him because you’re not being a control freak for five seconds. Could he not be weird and neurotic for five seconds.
He felt a heat pooling behind his eyes.
He was not about to cry in a hotel lobby not when half the lobby was already looking at the group of guys because of Shane’s previous outburst.
He shook his head after squeezing his eyes, shot a couple of times and walked to the elevator without them.
“Yeah fuck you too asshole!” Someone called out from behind him.
When he finally made it in front of the elevator, he thought he might break it from how hard he was pressing the up button.
By the mercy of God, it finally opened, but he couldn’t let go yet. He just needed to go to his room. That’s it.
then he could empty the well that was currently overflowing. Get all the energy out. Then he could beg the team for forgiveness and beg Ilya not to divorce him for being a neurotic asshole who’s too much for anybody to deal with.
After an eternity Shane finally arrived on his floor. He flew out of the elevator and booked it down the narrow hallway.
After about seven attempts to open the door with shaking hands and blurring eyes the door flew open. Ilya was standing to the side of the door in nothing but his boxers, his hair sleep tussled and cute. Shane would have jumped him right there but in his anxiety ridden all he did was speed into the room.
He walked over to their bed. Clearly Ilya had been in it because the pillows where askew and the covers where-
"Shane.." Ilya said calmly. Shane didn't realize he was just standing at the foot of the bed.
He nodded, mostly to himself, and walked over to their nightstands and placed the respective sodas before moving to fix up the bed.\
If he did this then it might soften the blow of telling Ilya what happened. Maybe he would forgive Shane. Please please please let Ilya forgive him please please.
"Please what sweetheart?" Shane didn't even register saying it out loud. He didn't look up as Ilya moved closer to where he was folding up the comforter with obsessive precision. Something for his brain to focus on. To put the anxious energy into.
When his husband placed a hand on his bare should Shane winced away. Ilya was probably hurt by Shane doing this, it was probably all over his face. Shane couldn't bare to look. To look at all the hurt he causes.
Ilya was standing in front of him, leaning down slightly to try and look him in the eyes to ground him(Something that might have worked any other day) while Shane kept moving his head around.
Can't look, don't look at what you did to him.
"Stop." trying to help. I don't deserve it you're making it harder. I "Can't" do this, I can't let you all down. You're all I have now that the team hates me. I am a terrible fucking failure. "Fuck." I hate this. So many thoughts at once and none of them were complete.
Shane pressed his hands against his eyes. He pushed past his concerned husband into the bathroom, turning on the small yellow mirror light and locked the door behind him.
Ilya immediately began to knock on the door as Shane leaned over to grip the sink. He began to hyperventilate and pace around the cramped bathroom.
"Shane open." Ilya said firmly from outside the door. Maybe he said more but Shane couldn't hear him from where he was, sinking deeper into his spiral.
Shane shook his head to himself. He needed to get himself together before opened that door. Needed to be somewhat put together when he tells Ilya what happened. Can't embarrass himself further.
He needed a shower. This chlorine was driving him insane now that he thought about it. He needed to me clean, if he was clean he would be calm.
Shane moved silently to turn the water on. He closed his eyes as the water ran over his hand.
He peeled off the clothing he was wearing and folded them. Corned tight, just as they should be. Shane paused a moment while folding and winced as he remembers being called a control freak. He presses his face to the stack of clothes and lets out a shuttering breath. He is a fucking control freak.
He sets the clothes on the closed toilet lid and walks into the shower.
He finally just pushes it all out. Letting out a silent sob as he stands under the shower. Eventually it get too much and he puts a small towel on the little ledge seat and sits down. He laughs between his sobs at the fact he wasn't too overwhelmed to ignore his own preferences. All about him. He wasn't too overwhelmed to grab his sodas. Fucking ridiculous. He is a horrible person isn't he. Deep down. That had to be it.
The nice boy thing was all a fucking act and really he was an asshole. Vice versa to his husband who was the closest Shane could get to a savior. Shane didn't deserve Ilya, he was just selfish enough to take him from everyone else. Now Ilya was gonna see how horrible his 'perfect' Shane really was then he was gonna fucking leave him. Shane felt like he was gonna die. His life was ruined.
The team hated him, Ilya was gonna hate him, then the press would find out after he was kicked out of the NHL because no one else will have him. His parents would probably side with Ilya in the divorce because the realize Shane isn't the kind kid they raised. His life would be over.
Fucking over. Shane dissolved into deep sobs he prayed the shower covered up.
------
Ilya stood outside the bathroom for a good ten minutes as his pleads to be let in wither into desperate begging usually reserved for sex.
"Shane open the door."
"Shane let me in."
"Shane baby, please."
"Hollander, open the fucking door."
"Shane open, now."
"Shane please...please let me in."
Ilya was internally curing the sturdy lock on the bathroom door when a knock came from the room door.
Ilya grudgingly walked over after whispering into the bathroom door "Я сейчас вернусь, дорогая, клянусь чёртом." and placing a small peck on it. Somehow, he hoped it would get to Shane through the walls of his self-made prison.
Ilya walks over to the door and find Wyatt and Troy standing looking a bit sheepish. Neither would meet his eyes.
"What the fuck did you do." He said in his lowest most threatening tone.
Neither said anything so Ilya tried again.
"Are you deaf? What did you do to my husband!"
Troy finally met his eyes "WE didn't do anything. Shane started fucking yelling at us for no reason." Wyatt elbowed Troy for his bluntness.
Ilya looked at the men with prying eyes. "Shane would not do that. Yelling at the team. Shane does not do this. Are you lying to me Barrett?"
His Shane was not stranger to angry outburst, but in public? With a team he wanted so badly to get along with.
A team he was still getting used too? No never.
Wyatt shook his head "Its true...he did."
Ilya's face dropped. He got none of this from the two words Shane said to him before he enclosed himself in the bathroom. Stop, Can't.
"Why?"
Troy shrugged, "D'know why. All I know is it was fucking embarrassing-"
"Troy!" Wyatt turned to look at the man
"What? He yelled at us the lobby in front of everyone like we were a bunch of badass kids."
Ilya crossed his arms. "Where you being bad?"
Wyatt nodded. Troy looked away again.
"We may have said some things back." Troy murmurs.
"Like. What." Ilya takes a step forward.
"I-uh. May have said he eats nothing but fish and dick." Troy says quickly.
Now Ilya would have found this funny if he didn't hear his husband actively breaking down in the bathroom.
All three men turned as a sob wrang out from the bathroom over the sound of pounding water from the shower and was quickly muffled.
Ilya whipped his head back around and was debating punching Troy. Shane yelled? Ok. Shane was heaven. Shane was his life. The man could commit murder and Ilya would be in the backyard with a shovel before rigor mortis set in.
Wyatt must have sensed Ilya's growing aggression and stepped between the two men.
"Look we all wanted Shane to come down and talk with us since we have a game tomorrow but s-"
Ilya scoffed "But because he is having a meltdown in bathroom you let him be? Hm?"
He ran a hand through his curls. "He would not even look at me. Not a touch. You know how bad this is for him to do that. Do you know what you have done? He might not even be able to fucking play tomorrow because of this. My husband is-is fuck." Ilya wipes his eyes with frustration.
A hand slinks down and presses his cross into his chest.
"We di-"
Ilya raised a hand. "You say nothing." he took a deep breath "You will not talk to him tonight." He said matter-of-factly.
The two men gave each other a look.
Ilya sighed. "I am sorry on his behalf that he yelled. Must have hurt da? He should not have done. I agree. But you can not talk to him tonight, he does not-can not talk too much when he gets like this. We will have team talk at breakfast tomorrow. Ok?"
Both men nod and Wyatt pats Ilyas shoulder as they walk back to their rooms.
Ilya quickly closes the door and pushes back up against the bathroom door.
He can hear muffled sobs. The kind that wracks your whole body. His face twists with an ache of sadness.
He knew calling out now is useless but he just had to say it. "Я здесь, мой Шейн, я прямо здесь. Я держу тебя."
And he prayed that he could help whatever was going on in Shane's head.