Summary:

“You're being cruel, Ilya. Please just— stop.” Pain blooms across Ilya's expression, a brief lapse in form. He's quick to recover, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips, like Shane’s made more than a simple request, like he's got Rose Landry here in his lap, parading her around like Ilya has with all his women since rookie year. Like he has any right to that pain. “Oh, so this is what it takes to make you say my name without freaking out.” Or: Shane does not go home with Rose after the club.