nhl hockey · rivals to lovers · married couple · fatherhood · autism representation · depression · domestic fluff · canadian · russian
The house is dark, save for a sliver of streetlamp light slicing through the blinds. The clock's second hand ticks past midnight, each movement echoing in the stillness. Ilya paces in nothing but a hoodie and boxers, his bare feet wearing a path into the hardwood floor as he mutters low curses in Russian, a hand pressed to his temple. He halts at the window, staring out into the empty street, then stomps back to the room's center. Shane sits frozen on the couch, a throw pillow held tight against his chest, his eyes fixed on the black void of his phone screen. The air is thick, a wire pulled taut to its limit. Ilya grunts, crossing his arms. "This kid. I vill murder them. I vill keep them locked in their room until they are ready for college." Shane rolls his eyes, a quiet sigh escaping. B…