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Shane Hollander is a man of crisp routine and clear structure. Should something change, he pivots to a back-up plan, because of course he does. Every meal planned, every minute of every day meticulously catered to meet his needs as a hockey player, a son, a friend, and most recently, a husband. So of course, a man with such high maintenance is predictable in every shape possible. Ilya Rozanov knows his husband's routines like the back of his hand.
Wake up. Run. Shower. Breakfast. Reply to emails. Gym. Practice. Meetings. Home. Dinner. Read. Shower. Bed.
Of course it varies day by day, but Ilya has learned that that's the gist of each day he gets to spend with his beloved husband, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
So when something is postponed, delayed, out of order, or dismissed entirely, Ilya grows suspicious and assumes something must be wrong. Any time Shane's routine isn't followed to his liking, he typically ends the day with tension in his shoulders (in which Ilya finds ways to release said tension).
Lately for the last week, this routine has been... disrupted, to say the least. Shane wakes up, he's on his phone. He eats his breakfast while on his phone. Every other email he picks up his phone for longer than necessary. At the gym, he's on his phone between sets. While he's cooking dinner and eating, his phone is in his hand. Worst of all, in Ilya's opinion, is Shane is spending his reading time on his phone, often causing him to rush his nighttime shower routine and in bed a little later than he likes.
So yeah, Ilya is suspicious. What the hell could be on Shane's phone that would require that much attention and disrupt his perfect husband's perfect routine without said husband complaining about it by the end of the day? And worst of all? Sex is pushed aside because of this phone. Any time Ilya would drag his hand up Shane's thigh under the blanket or hug him from behind while he's brushing his teeth, Shane would quickly lock his phone, hold Ilya's hand, and give Ilya a kiss to the cheek with a "Not right now, baby." Ilya folds (as he always does when Shane calls him 'baby') and lets it go, opting to masturbate in the shower instead. But it's been a week. A fucking week! Ilya can't imagine how the hell he survived without Shane for months because he's frothing at the mouth yearning for something with his own husband after just seven long days.
Frustrated and pent up, Ilya texts Svetlana.
Ilya: Sveta, I need help
Sveta: Hi Sveta, how are you Sveta? It's been a long time Sveta, should we get coffee Sveta?
Ilya: Sveta please I'm not joking
Ilya: How are you
Sveta: Great, thanks for asking! :D Just closed this big brand deal I've been bargaining for for months.
Ilya: Great, I am very happy for you.
Ilya: Something is wrong with Shane
Sveta: How am I supposed to help? He's YOUR husband.
Ilya: He won't fuck me
Sveta: He won't fuck you?
Ilya: Yes, he won't touch me. He pushes me away. He doesn't seem angry or upset. Everything else is
normal. We still kiss and cuddle but he won't let me touch him. He won't touch me.
Ilya: Did I do something?
Sveta: How should I know? Did you ask him?
Ilya: Sort of
Ilya: He just says "not now" or "I'm busy" or "After this" whatever THIS is
Ilya: His phone is the problem. It's glued to his face. It's like I'm not even there
Sveta: Shane?
Sveta: Shane Hollander?
Sveta: Glued to his phone? Ilya are you sure we're talking about your husband
Ilya: YES Sveta please, something is wrong with him. It's not just sex, he's not reading his boring hockey books anymore.
Sveta: Ah, yes then something must be wrong
Ilya: I'm serious
Sveta: Have you seen what he's doing on his phone?
Ilya: No! He doesn't let me. I try to but he hides it or turns it off.
Ilya: Sveta, I don't want to go through his phone but I'm worried it's something bad
Sveta: You don't think he's cheating on you, do you?
Ilya: ....
Sveta: He waited for you for MONTHS just for an hour with your horny ass for years. I think cheating is out of the question, Ilya.
Ilya: What else could it be?
Sveta: Maybe he's addicted to some game?
Ilya: No, it's not that. There's no audio and this is Shane. Come on.
Sveta: You really think he's cheating? It's Shane Hollander. Just ask him what he's doing.
Sveta: And for the love of god Ilya, do not go through that man's phone. Just sit him down and ask what's going on
Ilya: I'll try.
Ilya: I don't feel good about this.
Sveta: 🙄 Go talk to your husband
Ilya does. Or he tries to, anyway. Any chance he could get Shane alone and focused only on him, something ruins it. A phone call, a teammate, Anya. Ilya never thought he could ever be annoyed with his dog-daughter but here he is, driving a mud-covered Anya to the groomers. It's just a quick wash job, so Ilya decides to hang around instead. He goes on his phone and tries to find answers online.
"Husband doesn't want sex anymore unusual"
"Why won't my husband have sex with me?"
"Signs your husband isn't into you anymore"
"Husband on his phone all the time"
"Phone addiction signs"
"How to help partner's phone addiction"
In no time, Ilya has found himself in a rabbit hole of answers he can't accept the truth to. Golden boy Shane Hollander... with a phone addiction? The man that complains to Harris about having to post Centaurs content on his own social media accounts? No, that is absolutely not the case. But what else could it be?
With a tight jaw, Ilya tries a new question.
"Signs my husband is cheating"
He hits the first Reddit post and reads. As he does, he feels his heart pound in his chest.
"Some signs I recognized from my ex-husband was he'd communicate less. He grew more distant."
"He would hide his phone from me all the time."
"Behavioral changes. His schedule and routines weren't consistent anymore."
"Spending more time in the bathroom."
"He started wearing different stuff, even a new cologne I just could NOT stand. He kept wearing it anyway."
Well that last one didn't apply to Shane, but everything else is spot on. The worst response, however, runs a chill down Ilya's spine.
"Honey, the first sign he's cheating on you is you feeling the need to ask what the signs are."
Ilya's heart stops. All the blow-dryers and howling dogs fade out and his vision grows fuzzy around the edges. Is Shane.. really cheating on him? After all the years of chasing each other? The cottage? The charity? Their wedding? Ilya's stomach drops. He feels like he's going to throw up.
"Mr. Rozanov, Anya's ready for you!" calls the chipper groomer behind the counter. Ilya blinks back into the present and looks from her down to his beautiful baby. His hands shake as he stuffs his phone in his pocket and gets his wallet out. If the groomer notices, she doesn't say anything. he hands her more bills than what the cost probably is. He doesn't care. He needs to get out of here. He takes Anya's leash and utters a polite "Thank you" before walking Anya out and back into the car.
At first he drives towards home. Of course he'd go back home, what else did he need to do? But home meant Shane. It meant talking to Shane and hearing that beautiful voice from beautiful lips tell him "There's someone else." Ilya doesn't know when he had started crying, it's only when the traffic light becomes too blurry that he wipes at his eyes. He can't drive like this. He needs to calm down, he needs to think rationally. Just past the intersection is a McDonald's. Shane would hate it if he went there for dinner instead of eating with Shane, but Ilya can't find it in himself to care. Plus a little ice cream for his perfect Anya won't hurt her. When the light turns green, he pulls into the parking lot and waits in the drive-thru.
After all the googling and forum-searching, Ilya can't take it anymore. He opens one of the several short-video apps and scrolls as he eats, happy to have innocent pranks and dressed-up puppies as a distraction. Every once in a while, a video of Shane will show up and that dreadful ache drops in his stomach again. He scrolls on, but not before liking it first. Whatever it is, he always likes videos of his Shane.
His Shane.
His.
Is he?
Ilya's head thumps against the steering wheel as he leans forward and the gates can't hold back- he cries. He cries for the inevitable loss of every moment he cherishes with his husband. Waking up to that beautiful face with pretty freckles, play-fights in the car on their way to and from practice. The hugs from behind with wandering fingers that make Shane laugh. How warm and safe he feels in his arms. Going to bed snuggled up with Anya worming her way between their legs.
He should be used to this, shouldn't he? It shouldn't be a surprise that Shane would cheat on him. Everyone he's ever known in his life, aside from Sveta, left him. He just wasn't enough for them to stick around any longer. His father, his brother, they let him leave, they wanted him gone. His mama... He wasn't enough for her to live just one more day. So of course Shane would leave, too, it's practically fated in Ilya's blood. When Shane files for divorce and kicks Ilya out of Ottawa, he even wonders if Anya would stay with Shane instead.
He hates he had even thought that because not a moment after, he feels the slobbery wet tongue drag across his cheeks to clear the streaks of tears. She paws at his lap, practically demanding his attention. When he turns his head and gives it to her, all he sees is love in her eyes. Sure, she's just a dog, but he knows they're capable of loving people and not just because they take care of them. When the last of his tears fall, her big brown eyes flood his vision.
"You would not leave me, would you?" he asks her in Russian. She doesn't respond, her eyes are focused on the crumpled wrappers between his legs. Ah, of course that's what she wanted. He takes them and shoves them in the paper bag. Just as he's about to get out to toss it in the trash, his phone chimes with a text.
Shanya<3: Where are you? Dinner should be done soon. Did everything go okay with Anya? She's not due for a full groom until the end of the month, right?
Ilya reads and rereads the text. Probably one of the lasts texts he'll ever get from Shane that aren't filled with resentment or remorse. His stomach churns knowing Shane is there waiting for him at home with dinner hot on the stove and Ilya can't even eat it if he wanted to. Not only is he full from his meal, but now it feels like he might throw it up, too. No... he's actually going to throw up. He hurries out of the car and to the rocks by the edge of the property and heaves out everything in his system. He wishes his heart could come up too, but unfortunately that's not possible. With one final spit, he goes back to his car and rinses his mouth with water, spitting that out before taking slow sips to ease his throat. He has to go back home eventually, he can't keep Anya out all night. She sits in the passenger seat, watching him as if she knows what's happening. Like she can see his heart split in two and spill all over the car floor. He gives a gentle rub over her head and another text comes in.
Shanya<3: Ilya?
Right, he should probably reply. But what should he say? What can he say? With shaky hands, he types three letters before chugging down the rest of his water.
Ilya: omw
He starts the car and drives towards their home. Taking the long route clearly didn't make a difference because in no time, he's in their driveway. He can see the living room lights on through the sheer curtains and feels the promise of tears press on the back of his eyes again. No. He can't cry. Not yet. He needs to act normal, like everything is okay. Like he's the put-together number two hockey player in the league married to the gorgeous number one Shane Hollander with their perfect house and perfect team. Everything. Is. Fine. No matter how many times he repeats it in his head, his body isn't getting the memo.
He gets out on numb legs and manages to carry himself out of the car with Anya's leash in hand. She jumps out right after him and practically drags him up to the front door. He stands there, staring down at the doorknob. How many other men have touched this doorknob on their way to see his husband? Grief settles low in his stomach and he turns it, walking inside. The smell of hot curry welcomes him. Right, that's what Shane had planned for tonight. Ilya loves his curry. Sure, Shane's vegetable-to-protein ratio might be a little skewed to Ilya's liking, but when Shane's not on his diet, he truly makes some of the best dishes Ilya has ever tasted. Soon, he might not taste them anymore. Just like his mama's cooking, it'll all be a thing of the past, never to be recreated because they can't ever be replicated. His stomach is still sour from expelling his first dinner, but he doesn't care. He's going to eat it and savor each and every bite.
Anya's collar jingles as Ilya unclips it and hangs it by the door. He kicks off his shoes and drops his keys in the tray before he makes his way further into his home.
"Ilya?" Shane calls from the kitchen. Ilya walks further in and sees Shane sitting at the counter... phone in his hand. Ilya can't help it. He wants to throw it, destroy it to pieces. But he can't, he's not that kind of person- he won't be.
"Ilya, what's wrong?" Shane sets his phone face down on the counter and gets up to stand in front of Ilya. Did he clean his face enough? Are his eyes still red? "Why do you smell like... Did you go out to eat?" Shane asks incredulously. "What the fuck, Ilya?" Ilya could ask the same. his eyes stay cast downward, unable to meet Shane's. If he does, what would he see? Malice? Disgust?
Ilya doesn't say anything and it clearly gets on Shane's nerves. He walks closer and presses his hands to his shoulders. "Ilya, what happened? Why'd you go get food when you knew I'd be cooking tonight? And what-" Shane backs up and bends down to greet a tail-wagging Anya. Anya with ice cream all over her snout and whiskers. "You know she can't have sugar," Shane scolds and stands back up to face his husband. "Well?"
Ilya opens his mouth and a pathetic sound comes out. Oh no. The tears are coming back. he can't- not in front of Shane. He can't let him see how broken he is- how broken he'll be without him. He tries shrugging away but Shane just gets in his way again. His voice is softer this time.
"Hey... Come, sit with me," Shane says as he tugs on Ilya's arms. He just follows. What else can he possibly do? So he follows Shane's direction and sits on the couch with him. Shane's hands trail down and rest over Ilya's hands, holding them firmly like he's not letting him leave. I wouldn't, I would never leave, Ilya thinks. But you-
"Whatever it is, you can tell me. Was it the groomers? Did they say something or do something to Anya?" Shane's head turns to towards the kitchen where Anya is sniffing all over the floor for scraps. "She looks perfectly clean- well, not the ice cream, but... Hey hey hey." Shane pulls Ilya in for a hug as another tear trails down his cheek. All Ilya can do is lean into it. He makes the bold choice and hugs him tight, much tighter than he intended to. He hears a pained groan from Shane but he can't bring himself to let go. He presses his face deep in the crook of his shoulder and focuses on Shane's breathing. He tries to copy it and it helps enough to get his bearings together. Gentle fingers stroke through his hair and he's reminded of nights with Mama after he'd have a nightmare and would run to her room for comfort. She would walk him back to bed and hold him in her lap, fingers combing through his hair until he'd fall back asleep. That's all he wants to do right now is go back to sleep. Back to before this day started when he was blissfully ignorant to the destruction waiting for him hours later.
"I'm sorry," Ilya manages to choke out.
"Hey, no," Shane says and holds Ilya's head tighter to him. "You're okay, I'm not mad. Well, maybe a little but it's okay. Really." Oh. Shane must think he's upset about the food. He should be upset. Ilya disrespected him with such an impulsive thought.
"No, is not about McDonald's," Ilya manages to say. "Sorry for that, too." He hates how high his emotions are; it fucks with his English. Shane deserves someone that doesn't struggle with basic communication.
"Okay... Then what is it?" Shane releases his hold and Ilya musters the strength to pull back and look at Shane's face- but not his eyes. Everywhere but. His chin, his jaw, his lips, his nose, his freckles. That's where his eyes choose to rest, as if searing the pattern into his memory because he'll never be close enough to count them again.
"What is wrong with me?" Ilya blurts out and he winces. That's not what he wanted to say, but he can't take it back. "What do I not do for you?"
Shane's brows furrow and his head tilts. "Ilya, what are you talking about?" he cups Ilya's jaw, trying to get eye contact but Ilya refuses.
"Something must be wrong if you are talking to other people," Ilya says, almost bitterly.
"I'm still not understanding where this is going. Talking to who?"
"Your phone!" Ilya gestures his arm over where Shane's phone is on the counter. "You do not put it down, ever. You are not reading to bed anymore. You don't touch me-" Ilya swallows, grounding himself. "You do not want to fuck me, I don't understand what I did wrong for you to... to..." He can't say it. If he does, then it's real. He squeezes his eyes shut and with one last desperate attempt to understand, he finally looks at Shane's eyes. Wide brown eyes, practically golden in the light. All of Ilya's problems wash away whenever he lets himself swim in those warm, gentle eyes. He still feels that way, even now. He just wishes his vision wasn't so blurry.
Shane doesn't say anything for a long moment. His thumb strokes over his cheek gently. "Ilya... Do you... think I'm talking to other people? That I'm cheating on you?" he says slowly. Ilya's throat closes up and he can only nod. "Oh, baby, no," Shane says and pulls Ilya in for another tight embrace. "Oh god, no. Ilya, I'd never ever even think about doing that to you- to us," Shane says. He releases him and holds his face to force his eye again. Ilya doesn't fight it. "I will never leave you. You hear me, Ilya Rozanov? No one else will ever take your place." Ilya's heart swells at his words and everything almost feels like it's put back into place.
"But-" he chokes out and clears his throat. "You are always on your phone. It's been so long since we've had sex and you just... sit on phone all night instead. What else could I think?"
Shane's eyes widen a little, as if he's surprised to learn this, too. "I..."
Ilya can't take it. He needs to know. "What is so important that you ignore me so much for?"
Shane doesn't open his mouth. Instead he gets up and leaves the couch towards the counter. He grabs his phone and Ilya's muscles tense, like he's expecting Shane to walk off and do what he's done all week. but that doesn't happen. Shane comes back to the couch, phone in hand and screen off.
"Ilya, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I.. I didn't realize how many days it's been," he says. If Ilya didn't know any better, he'd say that Shane sounds shy.
"It has been a week of you loving your phone more than me," Ilya says bitterly.
"I love nothing more than you, Ilya," Shane says and takes Ilya's hand tight in his own. "I... I'm ashamed, and a little embarrassed." On cue, a soft rosy tint blooms from behind his freckles and on the tips of his ears.
"Embarrassed?" Ilya shakes his head. Okay, now he's more confused than ever. "Embarrassed of what?"
He hears Shane swallow and adjusts himself closer to Ilya so he can hold his phone out for both of them to see. He turns on the screen and it opens to his home screen with a background picture of him, Ilya, and Anya all smiling at the camera. They had taken that picture at the dog park. It was their first time the three of them were out all as a family in public. It was one of Ilya's happiest days of his life. That day feels like a long lost dream from now.
Shane taps on his web browser and what pops up confuses Ilya. So. Many. Tabs. Grouped tabs, because of course Shane would group them. Not only that, but each group is named, too.
Fluff
Alt-Universe
Smut
H/C
Ilya doesn't know what any of those words mean. Clearly the confusion is plastered all over his face because Shane starts to explain.
"I'm reading. These are uh... categories of the stories of the stories... about us."
...What?
"What?" Ilya says dumbly. Shane taps on the group titled Fluff and several tabs appear, all to the same website. he taps on the first one. At the top of the site in large red letters reads Archive of Out Own. Everything under that is a bunch of meaningless words put together. Shane scrolls down the page a little. In large black font reads Pour Decisions and under that are a combination of letters he doesn't understand.
Shane clears his throat. "It's uhm... fanfiction about us. People write stuff about whatever and post it here. Because we're famous-ish, they write this thing called "real-person fiction."
None of this is making sense. "Shane, you are not making any sense. What does this have to do with anything?"
Shane huffs and scrolls down more. "Look- This one is about me working as a bartender and I uhm..." that blush intensifies. Ilya has a hard time focusing. "I'm obsessed with you or something and my coworkers think it's unhealthy."
"But you are not a bartender... and you are obsessed with me?" Ilya says, the last part sounding like a question.
"No, that's the point. It's fiction- fan-fiction. People write about us, they can write whatever they want. There's thousands of them." Shane backs out of that work and opens a new tab, typing in ao3.org. He's maneuvering around the site like he's done this all his life. In no time, he finds the page he's looking for and shows Ilya.
"See? Thousands of stories written about us. They're not true, obviously. All fiction. But-"
"You are reading these?"
Shane goes quiet and Ilya just stares at him. The pieces slowly start coming together.
"All week? This is what you have been doing is... is reading about us?" Ilya asks slowly. "I understand... but I don't." Shane nods.
"I... Yeah," he says bashfully. "I'm sorry- I didn't realize how engrossed I've been with all of this." Ilya frowns and Shane explains. "Engrossed, like focused, or obsessed with."
"Ah..." is all Ilya can say as he looks back at the screen. He hesitates before reaching out and Shane gives him his phone effortlessly. He starts to scroll through all of these 'stories,' but the words of all different sizes don't make sense to him. The tags, especially. So he reads them out loud.
"Shane, what is 'POV Ilya Rozanov?'"
"That just means the story is told in your point of view."
"Even if it is not true?" Ilya taps on the title of that fic and reads the summary. It's about him and Shane paying money into a jar for every time they display PDA in front of the team. "Oh..." His lips quirk. "This is a cute idea. Do not show Troy this, he will make it happen and we will be broke." Shane tilts his head to see which one Ilya is talking about and he smiles too.
"Not gonna happen, that's for sure." Shane moves to stand. "I'm going to get dinner. Are you still...?" His question trails off and Ilya looks up at him, his chest sinking. Ah, his emotional-support McDonald's that his stomach didn't approve of. His stomach is still uncomfortable but he'd rather risk vomiting again than say no to Shane's cooking.
"Yes, I will have some please. A small bowl, I threw up the burger I had." Why does he feel ashamed admitting that?
Shane frowns. "You threw up?"
"I'm fine, not sick. Was just... heartache I guess," Ilya says. "I'm fine, I promise. I don't want to talk about it right now." With the look he's getting though, he knows he'll have to spill his guts out later... so to speak. Shane just gives a gentle squeeze to his shoulder before he goes into the kitchen. Ilya leans back on the couch and reads over this fanfiction.
At first, he's admittedly creeped out, but not for the reasons one would think. The first line of this work is just fact, plain and simple. How would this person know how deeply obsessed him and Shane are for each other? They're not that obvious on the ice, are they? No, they're absolutely not. Ilya knows that with confidence because at every game, all he can think about is kissing his husband on the ice. unfortunately for him, Weibe, Harris, and Shane have all set a stupid limit of how many times he's allowed to do so during the game. It's nowhere near a number he'd actually prefer, but he doesn't want to suffer the consequences of surpassing it, so he follows the rules.
He continues on with the fic, both scared and impressed that this writer has captured his thoughts so accurately. How the hell did they know all he could think about were freckles when he and Shane first met? Whatever. The story is entertaining, to say the least. Every time he or Shane expressed affection near their teammates, they'd have to pay up money into a jar. While equally stupid to the rule that's actually set by the team, the story is actually cute. It has captured their team dynamic in a way that Ilya questions one- someone on the team must've written this and two- if he didn't know any better, he'd think this was true.
He had just gotten to the part where fiction-Wyatt is discussing the total in the jar when Ilya feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looks up and sees a mix of concern and amusement on Shane's face.
"What?" he asks.
"Are you going to come eat?"
"Yes, yes." He sets the phone down and gets off the couch and goes to sit at the counter with Shane. Upon his first bite, he frowns. "Shane? This is cold."
Shane presses his lips together and smiles, his own plate harboring just a few bites left. "It wasn't when I made the bowl for you."
"Was only two minutes?" Ilya argues and gets up to heat his food.
"Ilya, it's been about fifteen." Ilya's eyes widen. No. He looks at the clock, but it doesn't help as he wasn't watching the time to begin with anyway. He stares at his rotating bowl in the microwave.
"Ah." He can't think of anything else to say.
"What did you think of the story?" Shane asks cautiously as Ilya comes back around to sit beside him. He stirs up the rice with the sauce.
"So far I like it. Is very cute, something I could see the team actually doing," he smiles sweetly at his husband before taking a bite. He hums and his eyes close. I can't believe I thought this would've been gone forever... "So this is why you have been ignoring me?" He doesn't mean for his question to come out so harsh, but knowing Shane, he has to be blunt. Shane winces and his fork scrapes across his plate.
"Not on purpose," he mutters. "It's just... there's so many and they're written so well-" Shane's face grows a bright red and he shoves the last forkful of food into his mouth.
"What else?" Ilya prods. "It must be so good that you would rather read about us than enjoy time with your husband- Ilya Rozanov." Ilya grins upon seeing Shane get all flustered. He's so in love with him.
"Nothing else... I'll show you later. At first it was just one or two. But some are so long, longer than some of the novels I actually own. And the worlds they put is in- it's hard to put them down." Ilya thinks he'll understand that soon enough. He's itching to read the ending to that story. "It's also a little... endearing to read about us falling in love again. Sue me," he finishes with a shrug. Ilya says nothing and just eats his curry. Ilya can't tell what makes his chest ache- the spices or the severe whiplash of emotions he's experienced within the last hour- but what he does know is this sort of ache feels nice. Warm, welcoming. Love.
"Я тебя люблю," he says in Russian. Because in what possible universe would Shane Hollander- the man that dropped his drafted team, moved cities, and stood up to the commissioner for their relationship- actually cheat on him? Through all of the hurried hours of intimacy for eight years, it has always been Ilya. He's always reminded of that in the weird ways Shane displays his affection, such as this. Reading fanfiction of him and his own damn husband rather than being with said husband.
"Ya teeba loobloo," Shane says back in his terrible accent. Ilya doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, really. He feels so stupid for taking all of this out of proportion just hours ago, but he can't help it. His brain does and says stupid things in shitty ways that he can't not believe.
Maybe Ilya should get in the habit of reading some of these stories himself.