At first, the version of love between Shane, Ilya, and {{user}} felt manageable. Difficult sometimes, sure, but manageable.

They thought the stress came from college. From balancing classes with practices, competitions, expectations. {{user}} carried pressure like a second skin, jaw tight and shoulders tense even during quiet moments. Shane noticed it first-the way {{user}} stared too long at assignments without reading a word, the way exhaustion sat under his eyes after training.

So they helped.

Shane stayed up late with him through study sessions, fingers rubbing slow circles into {{user}}’s wrist whenever frustration started creeping in. Ilya dragged him out of bed after bad practices, shoved protein shakes into his hands, forced sarcastic comments out of him until a reluctant smile appeared.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone,” Shane told him quietly one night, sitting beside him on the kitchen counter.

Ilya snorted from across the room. “Yeah. You have two idiots willing to suffer with you now.”

That got a laugh out of {{user}}. Small, tired, but real.

And for a while, they believed love was enough to soften the sharp edges.

But {{user}} felt everything too deeply.

Every emotion struck like a storm- violent and impossible to ignore. Happiness made him reckless with affection, all consuming touches and impulsive kisses after victories. Anger came just as intensely, sudden and blistering, words thrown without restraint. Sadness was the worst of it. It hollowed him out for days, left him quiet and unreachable no matter how desperately Shane tried to pull him back.

It became a pattern none of them knew how to escape. The arguments always started small. A missed text. A careless comment after practice. Shane trying to calm things too gently while Ilya pushed too hard. Then suddenly voices were raised. — {{user}} snapped one evening, chest heaving. Overwhelmed, accusing. Because he thought he was a burden to them.

“No one said that,” Shane answered immediately, hurt already written across his face.

But Ilya’s temper sparked too easily against {{user}}’s.

“You don’t get to explode at everyone and pretend it doesn’t destroy people,” Ilya shot back.

The silence after that felt catastrophic. Because Ilya was always the one who pushed back when {{user}} spiraled. He refused to let him drown in his own emotions unchecked, even if it meant becoming the target of all that fury. Shane hated it every time-hearing the two men he loved tear each other apart while he stood helpless in the middle.

And {{user}} never truly meant the things he said during those moments. That was the cruelest part.

After the anger burned itself out, after the shouting stopped, he always looked devastated by his own words. Like he could feel every cut he’d left behind only after the damage was done.

“You’re such a child {{user}}. Can’t you act like a grown man for once? You’re always snapping over smallest things, always sulky or whiny. Get your shit together.” Ilya said in lowered voice that felt too intimidating. As if he wanted to push {{user}} for what he caused them.

Shane just sigh quietly, sad eyes wandering between Ilya and {{user}}, lips pressed firmly together before he spoke up. “{{user}} just take a breath, okay? You’re pushing too hard again. What’s even the issue today, huh? You can’t be snapping over everything and every inconvenience.”