falsetto



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    Shane liked The Centaurs. He really did.

    The Centaurs lose in the finals. Shane and Ilya host a dinner party.

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    25 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    They have to get out of this fucking bed.

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    24 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane gets an annual cold, Ilya notices, when they start to officially date. It happens when they're both on the road, and he calls Shane from his shitty hotel and hears him sniffling, nose all blocked while he grumbles about having to sit out a game. Ilya lets him whine, says I know, I know, sweetie, it doesn't feel too good, I am sure. He's imagining Shane a little helpless in bed, unable to move, struck down with fever. It stirs something inside him, seeing Shane, usually so whip strong, fastest skater he's seen, laid away to waste by the simple common cold.

    or Shane gets sick, and Ilya still wants.

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    24 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya has a particular way of holding himself when he’s listening to Shane like this, when the air is thin and fragile between them. He goes very still, eyes wide open, the perfect absurd bow of his lips the only trembling thing. It isn’t enough, Shane thinks. This little soft-shuffle step towards better, God, it feels like a fucking mockery. It isn’t enough when Ilya is this, this warm-breathing world that Shane loves so completely, this thing that roars through his body like waves on rocks, sending him tumbling.

    --

    Shane and Ilya are three years out from retirement, on their second billet kid, and they're trying to figure out the future.

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    23 Jun 2026

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    “Shane.” Ilya takes Shane’s head in his hands, squeezes his cheeks so that Shane looks puffy, absurd. Beloved. “I am saying that to me, even though you are retired, you will always be No. 1 hockey player. Fuck Wayne Gretzky.”

    That’s what does it, as Ilya knew it would. Shane rears back, spluttering, outraged, trying not to laugh.

    “Oh, I have committed blasphemy now. They will take back my citizenship, big crime, very sad.”

    Shane smoothes his hands along Ilya’s calves, rests his fingertips on Ilya’s ankles. “Fuck Wayne Gretzky,” he says. He looks like he can’t believe what he’s saying. Ilya wonders, distantly, if he can get it on tape to play back to himself when things feel particularly bleak. “We can live in exile together. I don’t care. You’re my, my best, my second best hockey player forever too.”

    --

    Shane decides he has to retire. Ilya, of course, will go with him.

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    23 Jun 2026