Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Wyatt Hayes, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Zane Boodram, Evan Dykstra, Brandon Wiebe, Anya | Ilya Rozanov's Dog

Additional Tags:

Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Ottawa Centaurs (Game Changers), Marijuana | Weed Edibles, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Team Bonding, Anxiety, Crack, Light Angst, Fluff, Shane accidentally takes an edible, Hilarity Ensues, The Centaurs are supportive but also they make fun of him, Because it's funny, High thoughts, frog fear, tree song, upsetting thoughts about breakfast burritos, uranus facts, Shane thinks Ilya should wear panties, honestly so do I

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of After All These Years

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-21 Words: 5,033 Chapters: 1/2

Trip and Fall (Don't worry - I'll catch you)

Summary

Shane is already nervous about hosting his new team right before the regular season starts for the Ottawa Centaurs. A lapse in the rigid rules he's set for himself leads to a few...consequences he definitely didn't foresee when he woke up that morning expecting the worst of their gathering to involve awkward small talk and making sure no one got so drunk they wouldn't make practice tomorrow.

~*~
“Oh my god,” said Shane, his breaths coming in shorter pants.

“You said you would not panic,” Ilya reminded him. 

“That was before I did drugs!” Shane cries, way too loudly for the quiet of the room. 

Notes

I started this a while ago. It's a little bit of introspection, but mostly crack.

This is part of the series because it immediately follows ITAEL - but you do not have to have read it for this to make sense. Spoilers for TLG. This story has alternating POV's.

I'm a little late but happy 420. 🍃🍃

TW: accidental drug use (weed); mentions of anti-depressants

Chapter 1: The Trip

End of September, 2021

Shane Hollander checked his watch for the sixth time that morning. When he realized it was only about ten minutes since the last time he looked, the newest Ottawa Centaur pulled out his phone and scrolled through the checklist in his notes app. Everything was done - or at least everything on his own task list. He chewed his lip and tried to resist the urge to offer to take over Ilya’s duties.

They’d spent the last week deciding who would tackle which chore when it came to their upcoming team party. Or, Shane spent the last week badgering Ilya who repeatedly tried to convince Shane he was unnecessarily stressing about something as simple as a team gathering. He wasn’t wrong. And it was additionally pointless since it wasn’t the first time they’ve had the team at their home - or one of their homes. Sure, two new rookies hadn’t been present for their wedding or joint birthday party they’d hosted in the last several months. And not every teammate had made both occasions. But if Shane had to really dig deep - he was anxious about the upcoming season starting in just over a week.

Which he felt - was completely reasonable. Ilya thought so too - everyone thought so. Shane just didn’t know what to do with that kind of worry. Pre-season games had been one thing, but it hadn’t felt real. Not really. Soon, he would be back on the ice and all eyes would be on him. The rest of the Centaurs too, of course. They’d already surprised everyone the last couple years under Ilya’s captaincy and their new roster. But adding Shane Hollander to the line had been the talk of the hockey world for months. Or really, Shane’s ‘shocking’ exit from Montreal had been the topic most articles and sportscasts centered. On top of the rumors and speculation about his personal life and future in his career, the general upheaval of leaving the place he’d been settled in since he was a teenager was jarring. He’d played with the Metros his entire career and now he was starting over with a new team, in a new city, with a whole new life. He felt like a rookie all over again. 

He checked the time again - it was only four o’clock. The party didn’t technically start until five, though he assumed a few might show up early. Most would arrive late. It was meant to be low-key - just grilling food, hanging out around the firepit and drinking beer until the early evening when most of them would leave early enough to avoid being groggy for their mid-morning practice the next day. 

Ilya wasn’t back yet from running his own errands. He’d dropped Anya at the groomers earlier and would be picking up the last few things they needed from the grocery store, as well as a few trays of food they’d decided to have catered. While he’s waiting, Shane fretted around the house. He’d changed clothes twice. Cleaned everything at least three times. Finally prepped the grill, which he should have done sooner but had to wait due to...circumstance. On his last sweep, he straightened the stupid looking fabric runner his mother insisted was ‘tasteful’ looking on their dining table. He then removed the gift basket left there by Svetlana. She'd brought it with her when she visited the week before. Shane stuck it in the pantry. It was full of Russian snacks and some sort of face masks he was pretty sure were more meant for him rather than Ilya, since he rarely ate snacks during the season. He’ll have to actually go through it at some point, the week having gotten away from him. 

Just before he shut the door to the pantry, Shane plucked a small, fudgy looking square from the middle of the basket. He held it between two fingers and inspected the confection through the clear plastic it was wrapped in. Shane’s stomach growled a little obscenely. He hadn’t eaten much that day due to his anxiety and while a single brownie wouldn’t do much for his appetite, maybe it would satisfy some of the nerves. At least hold him over until the food was ready. 

Shutting the door and trying not to think about it too much, Shane unwrapped the chocolate and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. It tasted a little weird. Not bad…just. Strange. But considering he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a brownie, maybe that was just what sugar tasted like. He discarded the wrapper and was washing his hands when the front door opened. 

Anya bounded over to him, smelling like dog and shampoo, her fur shiny and smooth. He indulged her for a few minutes, crouching down to let her stick her nose in his neck and rubbed behind her ears. 

“Need help?” he asked, standing and brushing hair from his pants, the effort futile. 

“Nope,” called Ilya, popping the ‘p.’ 

The Russian's biceps flexed through his thin, black henley as he set down several trays of food on the countertop. 

“Do you think you can take Anya for a walk?” Ilya asked, looking up from assessing the dessert tray. “I want to burn off some of her energy before the guys get here.”

“I can do that,” Shane offers, smiling. He stepped around the counter and pressed a kiss to Ilya’s cheek before grabbing the leash where it was hanging from the back of Ilya’s jeans pocket. “Grill is almost ready. I forgot to start it so it might take a few minutes.”

“You forgot?” Ilya asked, an eyebrow lifting. 

Shane shrugged and reached down to try and get the leash clipped on Anya’s collar but she wouldn’t stay still and he kept missing the little metal ring. 

“What…your little note did not remind you?” Ilya teased, though there was something curious in his tone.

Tensing, Shane kneeled down again and doubled his efforts with the leash. Sometimes he hated that Ilya could always tell when he was lying about something. Even if it was incredibly stupid. He could feel his ears heating. 

“....There was a toad under the cover. I had to wait until it moved,” Shane explained. 

Ilya bit his lip in an effort not to laugh but the bright grin betrayed him. Shane sighed. 

“What?” he asked, finally getting the leash clipped as Anya wove around his legs. He had to spin to keep himself from being tripped. 

“моя любовь…you know you can move the frog, I have told you. They do not bite,” Ilya mused.

“It was a toad,” defended Shane. 

“You are afraid of those too.”

“I’m not afraid…they’re just…wet looking and…hoppy.”

Laughing, Ilya backed him against the counter, kissing him briefly on the lips. 

“You are ridiculous man,” said Ilya, slapping Shane on the ass hard enough that he yelped a little as he headed towards the door. 

“Asshole,” he muttered. 

“At least I was not defeated by a frog!” Ilya called. 

“It was a toad!” Shane yelled back, stepping outside. “Fuck you!”

Shane was smiling as he closed the door behind him. He logically knew Anya would be fine. She was still pretty hyper but usually mellowed out quickly. So Ilya’s request was likely more for Shane’s benefit. His husband always seemed to know when Shane needed a minute to get out of his head. So, he walked briskly down the long driveway towards the street, trailing behind Anya as she led the way. 

When he returned about ten minutes later, a small sedan was parked alongside Ilya’s ridiculously orange sportscar - the only one he still had. Shane recognized it as belonging to Harris. So far it was the only additional car in the driveway, but as he reached the door he heard another pull in behind him. 

Well, here we go, he thought. 

~*~

Ilya watched Shane from the corner of his eye as he loaded up the grill with the pre-made skewers he'd picked up from the catering company. His husband was hovering a few feet away, holding a glass of water in his hand and nodding along to something Harris was saying. He looked more relaxed now, at least. It was a nice change from when he’d been vibrating out of his skin earlier in the day. 

“I’m starving Cap. When is the food going to be ready?” Troy complained, watching over Ilya’s shoulder. 

“There is food right there,” Ilya chided, pointing his tongs towards a full table set up nearby with sides and desserts. “Also you are early, you can wait.”

“It’s four fifty-nine,” Troy countered. “We are punctual.”

“Yes well, blame Shane,” said Ilya, turning back towards the grill. “He did not start the grill on time because of his frog fear.”

“His what?” Troy deadpanned. 

“Ilya…” Shane said in warning, eyes slowly landing on his husband. It took a second before he could focus them. 

It didn’t deter him from telling Harris and Troy all about Shane’s ongoing fear of frogs. And toads. And his aversion to all small green amphibians in general. 

“Okay…you don’t get to make fun of me,” Shane drawled. “You once sold one of your cars because there was a spider in it.”

Harris cackled and Troy looked far too delighted by that little reveal. Ilya glared at Shane, shrugging in an attempt to downplay that particularly embarrassing story he’d told Shane in confidence.

“I was selling that car anyways,” Ilya reasoned. 

“Uh huh,” replied Shane, his smile softening. Which made Ilya soften, immune to the endless mockery he was now enduring from his teammates. 

When the door opened and several people poured into the backyard he muttered, thank fuck, and pointed them in the direction of the beer cooler.  

~*~

So far, the party had gone off without a hitch. Once Bood arrived, Ilya let him take over the grill so he could go in search of his husband. Shane had eaten one of the lamb and vegetable skewers about ten minutes earlier and wandered off towards the house to get some water. Ilya found him on the couch, sitting back with his eyes heavy lidded and fixed on the television. Only the TV wasn’t on. Ilya looked back between the screen and Shane, who hadn’t seemed to notice he was there. 

“Shane…?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Shane replied, slowly turning his head. “Oh hey.”

“Are you good?” he asked again. 

“Good,” said Shane, his gaze dragging up and down Ilya thoroughly. 

But his stare wasn’t heated as it often was when he looked at Ilya like that. More…contemplative.

“Hey you know…you know those breakfast rolls you eat? The uh…burritos? Isn’t it weird to have like…chicken and eggs in it? Like…you’re eating the mom and the baby at the same time,” Shane continued, his speech slow. “Who decided that was normal, or whatever. It’s fucked up…right?”

“.....what?” asked Ilya, hands dropping to his sides as he carefully watched Shane’s pinched expression slacken. 

“You look nice,” said Shane, staring at the dark blue sweater Ilya had changed into. 

He had the sleeves rolled up his forearms and glanced down at himself before his eyes snapped back towards Shane. 

“Um…so do you?” said Ilya. It wasn’t a question, not really. Shane did look nice. Ilya just felt he was having a hard time keeping up with…wherever this conversation was going. 

Turning towards the TV, Shane leaned back on the couch and lifted the remote. He clicked it several times but the television was still off. Ilya observed the blank screen for a moment; watched Shane’s thumb press the ‘up’ button to change the non-existent channel. 

Dropping onto the cushion next to his husband, Ilya carefully reached up and put his hand on Shane’s forehead. He leaned into it. 

“What is going on, Shane?” asked Ilya, a little concerned now. He didn't seem to have a fever.

“Mmm…warm,” is all Shane offered. Abruptly, he straightened and turned his full attention on Ilya. “Can I have another…food stick?”

“Food stick.”

“The…the…meat thing. The meat kebab.”

“Uh…okay,” Ilya agreed, reaching out to brush his knuckles along Shane’s freckles. “How much have you had to drink?”

He hadn't seen Shane drink anything, but that didn't mean he hadn't.

“Yea…I should probably drink more. Athletes need a lot of water you know? A lot of litres. Did they make you use the imperial system for that in America? S’so stupid. The fuck even is a cup of water.” Shane replied, tangentially. He reached for his, mostly empty, cup from the coffee table and held it up a little in demonstration. “Got a cup right here. There are bigger ones in the cabinet.”

“Shane…do you hear what you are saying right now?” asked Ilya, his brows furrowed and a frown settling across his lips. Something was definitely wrong. 

“Um. Words?” asked Shane, looking confused. 

Internally, Ilya started to panic just as Wyatt walked into the room. For a moment the space filled with sound - laughter and talking, shoes scraping across the concrete patio as their teammates socialized outside. As the door closed, silence fell on them again. 

“What's up fellas?” asked Wyatt. “How's it going in here?”

“Ilya said I can have another food stick,” Shane blurted. 

He then dropped the remote and stood suddenly, wobbling so much the remaining water from his cup nearly sloshed over and spilled. Ilya stood alongside him, steadying Shane with a hand to his waist. 

“Uh…is he okay?” Wyatt asked, watching carefully from a few feet away. 

“I don’t know,” Ilya muttered, hating how worried he sounded. Hating how worried he was. Grabbing Shane by the biceps, he gently held him in place and dipped his head down to meet Shane’s eyes. He looked a little sleepy but otherwise okay. “Shane, you are acting really weird right now. Are you sure you didn’t drink? Or take any medication?”

He was briefly, terrifying worried, that Shane had somehow mistaken Ilya's meds for Tylenol or something and drank with it. He knew a single dose wouldn't be catastrophic, but even he avoided drinking now that he took anti-depressants. 

“You’re weird,” Shane countered. 

“Shane.” 

“What?” 

“Did you take something?”

“No…you know I don’t take medication.”

“What have you eaten today?”

“Is he dehydrated?” Wyatt questioned. 

Shane held up the nearly empty glass of water in his hand and shook it a little, as if to prove he's not. 

“Mm fine. Just want another…kebab meat,” Shane said. 

“What else have you had?” Ilya prodded. 

“Just that,” Shane offered, holding up his fingers, adding. “Smoothie this morning. That egg salad for lunch. Oh...and a brownie. It was chocolate. Funny chocolate. I think. I don’t know. I miss chocolate.” 

“A brownie?” Ilya asked, perplexed. Where the fuck did he get a brownie? They hadn’t ordered any with their desserts. 

“I want a brownie,” Wyatt said off handedly, getting a little distracted watching Dykstra chase Anya across the yard through the wall of glass windows.

Seemingly done with his questioning, Shane shrugged of Ilya’s grasp and walked towards the kitchen. He held the cup under the dispenser on the fridge but didn't push back so nothing trickled out. 

“Where did you get a brownie?” Ilya asked. He also knew Shane had already started whatever performance diet he was trying that season and Ilya was pretty sure brownies were not part of it.

“S’not a big deal. It was just one,” Shane mumbled, still standing against the refrigerator. “Not gonna fuck up my diet to have one.” 

So far, that had been the most concerning thing his husband had said or done in the last few minutes and now red flags are popping up across Ilya’s thoughts like banners draped across an arena ceiling. 

“I don’t care about your stupid diet,” Ilya presses, his frustration growing alongside his concern. Where did you find a brownie?”

“I think this is broken,” mumbled Shane, still waiting for the water to fill his glass. 

"Did he get a concussion we didn't know about?" Wyatt wondered. 

Which....that's a thought, Ilya guessed. Was this some delayed reaction to an injury they didn't clock as bad enough to have checked? He tried to think of the last time Shane had been hit on the ice and came up blank for the current season. 

“Shane," Ilya groaned. 

“The basket thing,” Shane said, finally, hand waving Ilya off like he was swatting a fly. “The one Svetlana left.” 

Ilya went rigid, his spine snapping straight.

“...Fuck,” he cursed, aloud. 

“How long will it take the ice to turn into water?”  asked Shane, managing to push the glass against the sensor but missed and hit the ice instead. He over-filled the cup and Ilya watched several pieces scatter across the floor. 

“What’s going on?” asked Wyatt, chasing after the wayward cubes before standing again. He dropped the pieces in the sink and wiped his hands on his jeans. 

“Where is the gift basket,” Shane?” Ilya asked, ignoring Wyatt.

“Dunno.”

“It’s not on the table,” tried Ilya. 

“You told me to clean the table.”

“And you did. So where is it?”

“Umm…”

“Hollander!”

“Okay, Jesus. Don’t get your…whatever in a bunch. What do you say if it’s not panties? Maybe you should just wear panties,” muttered Shane, turning to face them. “You’d be hot in them.”

Wyatt let out a bark of laughter, covering his mouth a little too late, and Shane just smiled at him. Not fully comprehending what he’d said in front of his teammate.

Ilya moved back in front of him quickly, hands on Shane's shoulders, tipping his chin up. Shane started to lean in but Ilya held his jaw in place with one hand. 

“Shane. I need you to focus. Where is the basket?”

With great effort, Shane screwed up his face in concentration. 

“Mmm…the food…closet,” he admitted. “Can you bring me a granola bar?”

Letting go of his husband, Ilya swiftly moved towards the pantry. It didn’t take long to find the basket, sitting innocuously on the middle shelf. A cursory search yielded two brownies. He grabbed one and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“Is this what you ate?” Ilya asked, holding it up to Shane.

“Yea…can I have that?”

“No,” Ilya sighed heavily, dropping his head back to his shoulders. “Shane. How much of it did you eat?”

“What do you mean?” 

“The brownie? Did you just take a bite?”

“Who just takes a bite…” Shane scoffed, momentarily getting distracted by the ice shifting in his cup. “Even on a diet that's stupid. It’s like. Tiny. Like. Small human size. Or Anya sized. Do you think Anya likes brownies?”

“No!” He put the edible on the counter and maneuvered Shane to sit down at one of the high chairs at the bar. Once he was settled, Ilya took the cup from him, sitting it on the granite surface.

“Uh…guys…what’s going on?” Wyatt asked, still watching them, nearly forgotten.

Ilya ignored him again and rubs his palms over Shane’s arms in a soothing gesture. 

“Shane. I need to tell you something,” he breathes. “And I need you to not freak out.”

“I don’t…freak out,” Shane tries, his nose scrunching. 

“Yes, you do,” replied Ilya, not unkindly. “Which is why I need you to be calm. You can do that, yes?”

“Mmm calm, babe. Super calm,” mumbled Shane, unconvincingly. Even though he definitely seemed calm at the moment.

Shane reached up and planted a hand on Ilya's shoulder, letting it slide down and rest on his peck. Ilya stepped closer so he was almost between Shane's knees. 

“That was not normal brownie,” Ilya said, slowly, and as calmly as he could manage. “You ate a weed brownie.”

“Why would someone make brownies out of…” Shane started, looking confused. 

“A pot brownie. Marijuana. Weed,” Ilya clarified. 

Behind them, Wyatt did manage to slap a hand over his mouth this time, attempting to keep his laughter at bay.

“Oh,” Shane said, blankly.  “It didn’t taste like a weed.”

Jesus Christ. How is this happening right now, Ilya thought, his patience ebbing. 

“Good news is, you will be fine,” sighed Ilya. “Bad news…you probably had too much and no tolerance. It might not be pleasant.”

“Weed brownies are drugs,” Shane determined, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. 

“Yes.”

“I did drugs.”

“On accident.”

It took a second but the panic seemed to be setting in for Shane while Ilya allowed himself to relax a little. This might be…difficult, for Shane. But at least Ilya knew he would be okay. It cured any fears Ilya had about an actual health concern. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Shane mumbled, keeling over a little. Ilya kept his hands on his husband, keeping him upright.

“You are going to be fine.”

“Oh my god,” said Shane, his breaths coming in shorter pants.

“You said you would not panic,” Ilya reminded him. 

“That was before I did drugs!” Shane cried, way too loudly for the quiet of the room. 

“Hey man…it’s just pot. It’s legal,” tried Wyatt. “We haven’t even started the season yet. Technically. It’s no big deal…” 

“They’re gonna kick me out of the league,” Shane rattled off.

“No they are not," said Ilya.

“My mom is gonna be so mad.”

“We do not have to tell your mom.”

“I can’t lie!”

“Shane...”

“Why didn't you tell me!” Shane whined, looking distressed. His hands tightening around Ilya’s shoulders. “…why did you let me do that…oh fuck…fuck fuck…”

“I’m sorry!” Ilya said, earnestly. Even if he was maybe a tiny bit amused. “I didn’t think to tell you because you never eat brownies! And how did you not know? Is on the wrapper!”

Ilya grabbed the package and flipped over the brownie. It was wrapped in clear cling wrap and had a sticker on the bottom with the name of the bakery. Which had a pot leaf in the logo.

“Fuck…fuck…” 

“Is okay…” Ilya assured him. “We’ll just get you some food and you can go lay down until it wears off.”

“That’s probably gonna be a while if he ate the whole thing…” Wyatt added, unhelpfully. 

“Shut up, Hazy,” said Ilya, glaring a little at his goalie. Wyatt threw his hands up in mock defense, still smiling. 

Troy and Harris picked that particular moment to wander into the kitchen with a plate of ready-made burgers off the grill.

“Anybody want a burger?” Troy asked around a mouthful of the one he was chewing, his hands clamped around a thick bun. 

Setting down the tray, Harris turned to survey the tense stand-off that seemed to be happening at the counter. 

Shane turned into Ilya like he could hide there, huddled against his chest. Ilya brought his arms around his husband instinctively. 

“Uh…is everything okay?” asked Harris, his movement stilling as he turned to catalogue the weird tableau. 

“Hollander ate a weed brownie and now he thinks the world is ending,” Wyatt supplied, picking up one of the burgers.

“....Someone brought edibles?” Harris asked, hopefully. 

“Don’t tell people!” Shane hissed into Ilya's shirt. He then looked up at Ilya, panicked. Shane was gripping Ilya’s shirt now - his hands closing around the fabric, clenching and unclenching. He finally laid them flat and stared at his own knuckles. “Fuck. Coach is coming isn’t he? I’ve only met him…how many times have I met him? Maybe he won’t remember me. Can he…will he see how big my hands are? They’re too big Ilya…I can’t play hockey with giant hands…”

Reaching up, biting his lip to keep from smiling too hard, Ilya covered Shane’s hands with his own. 

“Your hands are fine, Shane. They are normal hands. See?” said Ilya, taking one and kissing Shane's knuckles. 

Shane shook his head.

“I can’t…What if he…you have to get me away,” Shane pleaded, his expression foggy but serious.

“Away?”

“Yes…I have to…I can take…”

“Shane. You are fine. Let’s go sit in the bedroom for a while,” Ilya soothed. “I will tell coach you are not feeling well. And no one else will say anything about this.” 

When he turned to glare at the others, each of them were looking far too entertained. 

Wyatt held up his hands and made a gesture like he was zipping his lips. “Not a word.”

Pulling Shane towards the bedroom, Shane trailed behind him slowly. Ilya closed the door once they were inside and guided Shane to the bed; he went easily. Ilya took off his shoes and pressed Shane back until he was lying against the mountain of pillows. Joining him, Ilya climbed in and sat next to Shane. When he looked down, he could see Shane playing with the wedding band on his finger. 

“This is horrible,” Shane grumbled. 

“I am sorry,” Ilya said, apologetically. “I should not have let her bring those. I was not thinking.”

“S’okay. She’s…Svetlana’s nice.” 

“Yes. She is nice. How do you feel?” asked Ilya, pressing their shoulders together but hesitant to keep touching Shane since he can tell he’s getting overwhelmed. 

“....Okay. Like. Really. Fuzzy. Like I’m being…compressed,” Shane decided. 

“Do you want to lay down?” asked Ilya. 

“No. Maybe…yes.”

Kicking off his own shoes, Ilya pulled Shane down farther, tossing a few of the pillows to the floor. Shane automatically leaned into him, an arm draping over Ilya’s chest and face pressed into the pillow next to Ilya’s. 

“You smell good,” whispered Shane. 

“You smell like kebab," Ilya countered.

Shane snorted a laugh, his hand drawing circles over Ilya’s chest in a nonsensical pattern.

“What if I get in trouble?” asked Shane, frowning. 

“You won’t,” Ilya assured him. “If someone finds out I will tell them is my fault.”

“I don’t want you in trouble either.”

“No one is getting in trouble. Just try to relax. Will be okay.”

They lay there for about a minute and a half before Shane started babbling about what kind of job he would have to take if his hands are too big for hockey. He settled on farming and then spent ten minutes explaining soil pH to Ilya. 

Eventually, Shane rolled over onto his back and threw his forearm over his head, eyes closing. 

“I feel like I’m being pushed through the fifth dimension,” he lamented. Ilya once again, tries not to laugh. 

“Sounds fun.”

“It’s not.”

“What do you need?” asked Ilya. 

“My skin is too tight,” Shane replied. 

“It seems normal to me.”

“Its not. I don’t…” Shane sat up and yanked his button up shirt over his head. It got stuck briefly when his head barely fit through the collar before he could toss it off the bed. He flopped back down without folding it. 

“Better?” Ilya asked, eyes sweeping over his husband. 

“I dunno,” Shane sighed. “What if I fall?”

“Fall how?”

“Like…out of the dimension.”

“Then I would catch you,” reasoned Ilya, even if it made no sense.

Shane hummed and let Ilya hold him again, putting his arm across Shane’s waist.

“Did you know there is a cliff on one of the Uranus moons that if you jumped off you would fall for twelve minutes…”

“I did not know that,” Ilya replied, amused. 

“Yea because like…gravity. That’s so long. Gravity is long.”

Another several minutes passed. Shane continued to say bizarre shit that Ilya would commit to memory so he could tease Shane about it once the initial trauma of the ordeal passed. They were probably in there for about half an hour before a knock rapped on the door. 

“Everything okay in there?” asked Harris, his voice muffled through the wood. 

“Shh…” Shane whispered, or at least thought he was whispering. He was not. “If we don’t move he can’t see us. He can’t see me right now. I don’t have my skin on.”

Ilya couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped his throat. 

“We are okay, Harris,” he called. “Go back to the party.”

“Are you guys gonna be back out or…do you want to try to reschedule?”

Shane threw his hand over Ilya's mouth but Ilya grabbed it and pulled it down, not letting go. 

“I might be back later. But everyone can stay,” Ilya allows. “Just make sure Anya does not run off, please.”

“Alright, can do. Let me know if you need anything.”

After a few more minutes of rambling, Shane shoves his pants off a little more aggressively than necessary, kicking them to the floor as well. Ilya tried to keep him calm by running fingers up and down his arm, watching him carefully. 

“I’m hungry,” Shane stated. 

“Do you want me to bring you something?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want?” Ilya questioned. 

“Ice cream.”

“I don’t think we have ice cream.”

“Whyyyy,” Shane whined, a little dramatically. 

“Because you will never let me buy it,” Ilya smirked. 

“Oh.”

“Yea. Oh,” mocked Ilya. 

“Yogurt? And chips?”

“Okay. Anything else.”

“A burger.”

“That sounds terrible all together,” said Ilya, wrinkling his nose. 

“I wasn’t going to like, put it in a bowl like the ice cream,” Shane explains, acting as though Ilya is the stoned one here. 

“I know,” Ilya said. “I am teasing you, солнышко.”

“Oh.”

Sighing, Ilya pushed himself to a sitting position, looking down at his very zooted out husband. He ran the pads of his fingers along the bridge of Shane’s nose before bending down to kiss it. 

“Will you be okay for a few minutes while I get food?” asked Ilya. 

“Yes. Probably,” Shane replied, looking at Ilya expectantly. It was way more adorable than it should have been. “How many minutes?”

“Not many. I will be back soon. Do not move,” Ilya commanded. 

“Okay.”

Before leaving, Ilya kissed him on the lips and hustled back towards the party. He briefly updated Harris but then went to work gathering food. Ilya is sure he’d only been gone about six minutes, but when he returns - Shane is gone. 

“блять.”