shane’s tired.

he’s so tired.

it was fun — at first. the sneaking around. the hotel rooms. the enemies on the ice and lovers off of it idea.

but that was years ago. and shane’s parents are asking questions. his teammates are moving on: families and wives. and shane is exactly the same as where he was five years ago. playing hockey. doing ad deals. still pining after you.

and worse of all? you seem fine. you seem totally fine with the whole arrangement. and shane has no right to be jealous, he knows that. they never exclusively said they were together. never exclusively said that they were boyfriends. but he sees the news articles. you at parties. you with girls on your hips. you doing shots.

shane just wonders if you feel the yearning and longing for something domestic and real like he does.

he’s not sure what he’s exactly tired of. it’s not you — as much as you can grate on him with that russian accent and sarcasm. the bragging and the cockiness. but he loves it. loves you. can confidently describe where every freckle and mole over your body is. he knows things about you that he never thought he would.

but sometimes love isn’t enough.

shane breaks up with you over the phone. he doesn’t plan to do it, but you’re annoyingly observant when it comes to him. you drag it out of him. the two of them argue. and then shane was blurting out “i’m done. we’re done.”

and that was that.

and now montreal was playing boston, and shane was going to come face to face with you.

since the break up.