On purpose. I love him on purpose.

in another life maybe I was you by PennedByLynn chapter 3

“Hey, look at me.” Ilya cups his hand around Shane’s jaw. Brushes a thumb over his cheekbone, causing Shane’s eyes to flutter open, focusing on the wall behind Ilya. “Shane, look at me.” His gaze snaps instantly to Ilya’s. It knocks the breath from Ilya’s lungs, floored even now by the effect his words can have on Shane. What a holy, precious thing to be trusted like that. “I would not do that to you. I would not leave you in the hall to be discovered and humiliated.” Ilya speaks slowly, making sure Shane not only hears each word but understands the weight behind him.  And then, when he doesn’t get a response: “Do you really think I would?” The fight leaves Shane, his shoulders sagging and hands dropping. Ilya misses his touch already, which is stupid and pathetic and not at all new. Shane’s always made him a little desperate.

will you up and leave (or will you be there in the morning) a fic by PennedByLynn

Shane’s jealous, sometimes, of all that autonomy. Rozanov leaves and Shane stays. The leaving is so much easier because you’re in motion, off to new destinations and intentionally disrupted routines. The staying is so much harder because everything’s just slightly different, in the aftermath. A hotel room is just a hotel room until Shane has to sleep in it alone, knowing what it was like to have Rozanov’s curls pressed against the spare pillow. He gets left but he’s not alone, hoodies and tanktops and the occasional sock - seriously, what kind of psychopath only puts one sock back on when he leaves? - washing up on Shane’s shore like seaglass or broken shells. He carved out space to make someone else fit and now he’s just supposed to… what, exactly? Pretend the silence isn’t louder and the scent of the room hasn’t changed and there aren’t strands of gold on that fucking pillowcase? It’s so much easier when Shane is the one to leave. Rozanov can exist within the confines of his own hotel room and Shane can return to one that only he has ever occupied. Or, more realistically, he can slip back through the door before Hayden’s return with the happy knowledge that Ilya Rozanov has never breathed this air. They are contained, returning to their separate orbits, and Shane always takes all of his belongings - including both socks - because that’s the considerate thing to do. When you already have the easier job, it makes sense to shoulder the responsibility of containment. -- Or, Shane weighs the merits of leaving and getting left over the course of his and Ilya's relationship

in another life maybe I was you by PennedByLynn chapter 2

Shane’s final remaining brain cells give up, officially overstimulated. He has exactly zero helpful context that might help him crack Ilya’s vague code. He doesn’t know what the rules are here. Why does Ilya think Shane’s in this abandoned alley to meet up, and not to have two seconds of alone time? Who are they to each other? What are they to each other, if anything at all? Did Shane do something to fuck it up? And all the whys and the hows and the what ifs are drowned out by his singular, oppressive need to touch Ilya. He’s used to seeing Ilya in public and not being able to hold him. Usually, Shane’s patient. Disciplined. He can suffer the torture of pretending to barely know Ilya in public if he gets to tear the man apart in private, but this, this is something different. He just misses him. For once, he gives up on trying to act however he’s supposed to. They promised to spend the next two weeks being honest, saying whatever they felt. Shane doesn’t know how to turn that back off. So, despite the distinct possibility that Ilya will think he’s crazy by the time he spouts off everything he learned from his recent quantum mechanics research rabbit hole, he asks, “What happened last time?”

in another life maybe I was you by PennedByLynn

As the huddle around Ilya breaks, he spots Shane across the rink, already glaring at him. Pissing Shane off is one of Ilya’s favorite pastimes, seeing that scrunched nose and puffed chest crack through his reserved exterior. Typically, Shane’s anger has the same ferocity as a frustrated kitten who riles up just as quickly as he calms down, but the gaze currently directed Ilya’s way is more like a panther: lethal and stalking, following Ilya’s every movement as he skates back to the bench.  “You just have everyone fuckin’ fooled, don’t you?” Ilya’s skate catches as he leaves the ice, unsteady on more than just the rubber floor. “What are you talking about?” “Everyone just thinks you’re so… perfect.” There’s an unfamiliar snarl on the lips Ilya knows so well, a hardness to the eyes he memorized years ago. “When exactly did the Golden Boy learn to fight dirty?” – Or, the role reversal fic nobody asked for.