Summary:

“You’re sick,” says Shane, albeit shakily because he isn’t sure about this. He isn’t sure about them, or what they are. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to care or worry because he doesn’t know what to call them. There is no routine or rules. All he knows is he probably shouldn’t be calling the captain of another team, especially not in the locker room. He shuts his locker and grabs his bag. “You are obvious. Did you call me to say obvious things, like sky is blue? Or Montreal sucks. Or that you cry when you come?” It sounds like he’s smiling. Shane’s stomach swoops, tripping over itself in a swell of affection. He rubs his hand over his face, feeling disoriented by the flood of conflicting emotions. “Fuck you,” Shane snaps, habitually. or: ilya always texts shane before they play against each other, but today he doesn’t. shane, and all spectating eyes, can tell someone is off with boston’s captain.