@rozanovmenace / vaguely plotted starter / I warned you it got long
Shane never expected to feel soā¦raw. It had taken a lot of convincing: Ilya, subtly suggesting it, his parents being less subtle. He offered to try, and finding someone was difficult. Eventually, he'd asked Ilya to ask his own therapist for a recommendation. Seeing the same person Ilya did would be weird, he thought, for both of them, especially when he was already so reticent to this idea. He'd learned more about mental health in starting the Irina Foundation with Ilya than he'd ever considered in the years prior, but none of that made him think he needed therapy. He wasn't depressed. He got uptight when it came to hockey, and particularly tense when they were approaching games with Montreal, but none of that needed therapy.
Apparently, he was wrong. He felt raw, like his body had been cut open and exposed, and he still also felt like he'd barely touched on anything. The therapist asked why Shane was there, had decided to come, and Shane had been honest: his family was concerned, particularly when it came near approaching games against his former team. What had happened with them? And that had taken some thought: Shane had focused so much on just playing hockey that he had missed a lot, consciously, or let words pass by without taking much note of them, because he wanted to play hockey with Montreal, not be any kind of symbol for anyone. It was why he'd only come out to his teammates, but that had spread quietly enough, that other teams had heard it, and he'd gotten hits and chirps on the ice. Not much more than before he'd come out, but enough that it was noticeable.
And he'd never mentioned it to Ilya or his parents. How different the team had treated him after coming out, other than JJ and Hayden really. Some had been mostly indifferent, but several had seen it as a weakness, or something different, or just were waiting for a reason to point it out as a weakness. Which came to fruition when he'd tripped, after they'd been outed. But before that? The icing, the comments, the practice scrums that ended in more bruises than before, the lack of defense of their Captain in those years? It was never commented on, publicly, really, but it should have been. Shane was still leading the league in scoring, in points, and he'd won them a third fucking cup even when most of his team was against him.
It had felt silly to be so upset about - it was a job, really - but it was also his life. He had been obsessed with hockey for as long as he could remember, and he'd been lucky that he was naturally gifted, but he still needed to work at it, and he had, more than any current player. Ilya was just as gifted, and that had been part of the draw to him initially - someone to understand the same pressure, but Ilya had been a dick in the beginning. Not that his being an asshole has changed, much. Shane just knew that it was mostly an on-ice act, and he was teasing the rest of the time. Shane had taken hockey so seriously his entire life that it had consumed his life almost the entire time.
But it wasn't everything. Not now. But it didn't mean that hockey wasn't still consuming a lot of his thoughts, even when they were home, and not even discussing it. If he was going to be gay, he needed to prove he was still the best hockey player. It was part of why he'd started the strict diet. And now? He knew he went back to it in the week leading up to games against Montreal, without a word of it, just familiarity. He wanted to win, and they had not lost a game against his former team yet. But he was tired after each game, not even wanting to celebrate, just wanted to go home and sleep, drained in a way no other game had ever made him.
This felt almost the same, which is what had kept him in his car, for nearly an hour after the appointment, ignoring his phone (it was fine - he and Ilya had each other's locations shared, and if his husband was too worried, he would show up), before driving home. He needed to stop, to decompress, to lessen the tension in his shoulders. He didn't want to worry his husband more than he, clearly, already was. He wanted to breathe before he got home and had to talk about it all again. Would Ilya ask? Shane never did, when Ilya returned home, just sat there, ready to be whatever he needed - work out with him in their gym, lay with him on the couch quietly, listen to him talk - it always varied from session to session. Shane? He didn't want to talk anymore.
When he finally got home, he still sat in the car for a few minutes, before taking a deep breath and walking inside. This was a place he should feel safe, and he does, but he still feels so exposed, though he knows that's internal. He had said too much, and none of it had felt good, getting it out. It was better, Shane though, to not acknowledge Montreal, because he didn't live there anymore, only had to be in that city a couple of times a year, so it seemed better to bury what he'd already been ignoring even deeper, rather than pull it out.
"Hey." It's what he says on the rare occasions he comes home without Ilya (usually working on a brand deal) now that they are married, but even he can feel the heavier weight of the word. Perhaps he should have sat in the car longer. Ilya seems to be watching a movie, though he can probably hardly hear it, which just adds a weight, because Ilya is waiting for him to come home, ignoring the tv, waiting for him. Fuck. Anya, at least, seems to have not seen anything amiss, perking up on the couch once he approaches, letting him pet her quickly. "What are we watching?" He hasn't looking at the TV, has no idea what is playing. He isn't sitting on their couch, quite yet, just the arm of it, petting Anya's head, because he isn't sure if he wants to just lay in Ilya's lap or change and go work out alone, get out of his head. Both sound good, safe, better. "Sorry I took so long to get home."
