holy shit — i love you too .
21 + 🏒 mdni
Joined June 2022
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²⁴ ˚ 𖨂 𝐒HANE retweeted
𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 ̵𝐏̵𝐋̵𝐀̵𝐂̵𝐄̵ ̵
𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 ( ̵𝙰̵͟𝙻̵͟𝙾̵͟𝙽̵͟𝙴̵ )*;
𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 ̵𝐏̵𝐋̵𝐀̵𝐂̵𝐄̵
𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝖺𝗍 ( ̵𝐇̵͟𝐎̵͟𝐌̵͟𝐄̵ ) *•.
/ sorry for being MIA for a few days !! was really sick with covid in the big 26 💔 i’ll get to replies in ~3 hours
Just before the Boston/Montreal game, a snowstorm strands both teams at O'Hare. He’s settled in a corner with headphones and pop music. He was stuck here for 6 more hours. Wow. And then—@EsteemedPlayer dropped into the seat across from him. Of course. “…Roz. What do you want?”
His fingers stilled on the tape, and he studied Atlas through the low light. “Team medics,” he repeated, the words soft. “They’re good. But they’re also paid to get you back on the ice.” He scoffed, a derisive sound. “They didn’t do shit. Look at you.”
He stood, moving to his +
His body reacted before he fully registered the impact. He caught himself with one hand against the wall, the other instinctively rising to steady the person he’d hit. “Oh no—I’m fine,” he said, the words spilling out in a panicked heap. “You? Are you okay? It was my fault, I—” +
Bullshit.
The lie was obvious. Shane’s fingers balled into fists at his sides. He could feel his pulse in his throat, in places he absolutely should not be feeling blood rush right now. He was sure the tent in his pants was obscene by now.
"Just—I—fuck…" He started, stopped. +
/ guys i am SO sorry for the late starters and stuff im gonna be honest ive just been playing fortnite all day
The locker room had been emptied hours ago. Shane sat on a stool, taping his stick after the game.
The door creaked.
When he lifted his gaze, @gcldnbcy stood frozen in the doorway, visor cracked, elbow guarded.
“Hurt?” He gave a soft smile. “What happened? I have first aid.”
The Montreal Voyageurs PR team arranged a mandatory photoshoot. Bright lights buzzed in the backroom, overwhelming Shane as he stood sore from a 3–2 loss to Boston. “Mr. Hollander, this is @JUSTYOURBRAT, your stylist,” He nodded, and extended his hand, palms clammy. “Uh, hi…”
Tonight’s loss to Ottawa had been a one-goal nightmare. His jaw ticked as he climbed the stairs to the press box. When he rounded the corner, he collided with someone backing out of the media lounge.
“Shit, sorry! Are you—” He stalled, registering the lanyard’s name: @Savant_SMM
The amber light turned Ilya's hair the color of gold, and Shane hated that he noticed. Hated the way his eyes seemed to glow in the low light with an intensity that made his throat close up.
It was making his tailored trousers feel uncomfortably tight.
His heart raced, a +
His fingers found the emergency panel before Ilya finished speaking. He pressed the call button, and waited. Sweat traced down his temple, and he didn’t know if it was the climbing temperature or the fact he was trapped in here alone with Ilya Rozanov.
Finally, a staticky +