Shane has this one once-soft blanket from when he was a kid/teenager that is a permanent fixture on various pieces of his furniture. It smells like fabric softener and there’s a specific side that he considers the inside (touching him) as it’s a little more worn and the fibres are a little more melted together. Sensory-wise, it’s the perfect blanket. It’s lightweight and it’s soft but not too soft and it isn’t scratchy. It works in the winter and the summer and for getting all cozy and reading. It’s a boring colour like blue or grey or white but he loves it. It’s the best part of coming home to his own bed after away games.
Ilya also falls in love with this blanket when he gets well-acquainted with it, but for different reasons. The polyester fibres are melted together from years of Shane’s body heat. It smells like Shane’s fabric softener and Shane’s detergent and Shane’s skin. It is so distinctly Shane in a sensible colour and a soft fabric, perhaps slightly different stitching where the original came out.
Perhaps it’s the only very clearly well-loved piece of his life that Shane has. He could so easily go out and buy a new one, maybe even the same blanket (someone’s probably reselling the old thing somewhere) because he’s a hockey-playing millionaire, but this is Shane’s blanket, and it is important, and it is his.














