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The house was spotless like always. Shane was never one to plan or host parties, and he was looking forward to a peaceful and productive evening studying for an anatomy exam. His pencil slid across paper, and his hand bumped into training tape on the corner of his desk, knocking it to the floor. He set his pencil in the middle of his notes page, centering it before leaning to grab the tapes as he slid a drawer open to put them away.
Shane was halfway through reorganizing the drawer he wanted to put the tape in when his phone started buzzing, creating an uncomfortable ringing in his ears as it rattled against the top of his desk. He shut the drawer and flipped his phone over to see who was calling.
“Hey, what’s up?” Shane wiped his hands on his pajama pants as he answered on speaker phone.
“Dude, Campus Security shut us down.” Hayden's voice filled the quiet room.
“Shut what down?” Shane blinked, hands still rubbing his thighs.
“The party! The frat was going to put one on tonight, but someone snitched, and they said if we don't cancel they’ll write us up. Like, officially. This is so fucked!” Hayden huffed, and Shane could hear a bit of commotion from around him. The rest of the frat that lived on campus, Shane assumed. It was supposed to be a big deal, bonding, hazing, fun. Shane was technically invited as a member of the frat, but he felt like it was only because he was Hayden's friend, not because anyone actually cared if he was there or not.
“So… what are you going to do?”
“That’s the problem,” Hayden groaned. “We don’t have anywhere else to go, and if we cancel we’re gonna let down a whole lot of people. Ilya’s already pissed about it, but he’s usually an asshole so I guess nothing we haven’t seen before.” Shane’s stomach tightened at the mention of Ilya; it was stupid, weird, and something Shane had been putting off thinking about since the very moment he met him.
“Ilya being upset is… normal.” He didn't know how else to respond.
“Yeah, I mean, he was actually excited about this, you know he loves hazing the newbies. The whole thing is a mess right now. Sorry for calling to vent, I just have no clue what to do, or have anyone else to tell.”
Shane swallowed.
I really shouldn't.
But words fell out of Shane’s mouth before he could even think about stopping them, something reckless and hopeful forcing them out.
“My parents are out of town… we could, I mean?” Shane posed it as a question; his desire to fit in was stronger than anything, overpowering his rational brain.
“Wait, bro, are you saying we could have the party at your place?”
Shane’s heart was pounding. He felt sick — with excitement or dread, he didn’t know. “If you want… its bigger than the frat house and… um.. No one will bother us.”
“Dude… DUDE!!! You are a lifesaver!” Hayden's smile could be heard in his voice.
“It’s not a big deal.” Shane felt heat creep up his neck. It was a big deal; he'd never done anything like this in his life.
“I’ll tell the guys. They’re gonna be so pumped! And you never know: maybe this will get Ilya to smile for once…” Hayden chuckled, and Shane’s mind flew through images of Ilya with a soft smile on his face, laughing, and Shane’s pulse jumped as the heat in his neck reached his cheeks.
“Ok, cool.”
“I owe you one, man, seriously, thank you so much.” Hayden hung up before Shane could get in another word.
What did I just do?
He had offered his house. For a party. For the frat he was in.
For Ilya…
He ran his hands through his hair, exhaling shakily. This was the most insane, impulsive, and stupid thing he had ever done. He was never the guy who threw parties; he didn't fit into the frats social world. He was the guy who taped ankles for hockey players, gave massages, and told players to drink water. The guy who ran the numbers behind the scenes and took notes at meetings.
Maybe tonight he could be something else? Something… exciting?
He had no clue what he wanted to happen tonight, he just knew Ilya was going to be there.
~~~~~~
There were sweaty bodies everywhere; music shook the floorboards; and his house had never been so humid. His minimalist living room had barely enough room to move through; the ceiling lights were off, and Hayden had brought some colored strobe lights, cups, and booze.
Shane tried to blend into the background. It was always so easy before, with him usually floating between the kitchen and the living room, but tonight, it was overwhelming and nearly impossible. He delegated himself to picking up empty cups, making sure no one was hurt, and doing the only thing he knew how to do: take care of people. He had received some gratitude in the form of highfives and pats on the back, but he was mostly going unnoticed, like normal.
As the party heated up, Shane dumped a handful of red cups into a trash bag. His breath was heavy as his mind raced. He had to put his hands on the counter just to ground himself.
Shane had felt him before he saw him. He had seen Ilya walk in, had watched him look around, but hadn't seen him since. A strange wave of electricity always coursed through him when Ilya was in his general vicinity, and he both hated and loved the feeling. It made him nervous, made him unsure.It also made him want to run a mile, to reach out to touch Ilya’s curls. He’d had a crush on Ilya since the first moment he saw him when Ilya and him joined the frat in their first year. Ignoring his fluttering heart had become normal for Shane, part of his daily routine. It was something he carried quietly. He already didn't talk much, so he would never talk about this.
He told himself it’s ok to have a one-sided crush on the captain of the hockey team. He was charismatic, loud, and wayyyy out of Shane's league. It was harmless to look, to want. But it was dangerous to actually reach out.
Shane heaved another sigh before pushing off of the kitchen counter to brave the living room again.
He was just the guy with a first aid kit.
As he entered into the thick air of the living room, he spotted Hayden dancing with a girl… Jackie? He’d met her once before and liked the way she and Hayden interacted. he slightly smiled at the two. Then behind them, he saw Ilya, his shirt's first three buttons undone, his face slightly flushed, hair curled and damp, with his sleeves rolled up to his mid bicep. Fuck, he looks good. Shane felt his cheeks burn. He hadn’t had a sip of alcohol yet, but he felt tipsy, hair messy with sweat, eyes bright, and his stomach tied up in a twist.
Shane turned back to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of a random liquid that Wyatt, one of the hockey players, was pouring out. He couldn’t tell you what it was; all alcohol looked the same to him. But it gave him an excuse to stop and stare.
Ilya wasn’t doing anything, just existing, but that was enough to knock Shane off balance. Shane didn’t stare at him for long, but he could recall every detail about him. His logical brain told him he couldn’t have Ilya, ever, couldn’t even be his friend because he would always be wanting more. He could never cross the line.
Because if he did… he would never be able to go back.
Shane slipped into the stairwell to breathe. It was quiet there, the music more muffled. He leaned against the wall and tried to ground himself. This was a lot for him. A lot of a lot, and he’s never liked much to begin with. He just needed a minute, then he would be fine.
The silence, unfortunately, was interrupted when he heard a small cough. Shane turned, heart fluttering soon returning. Ilya was on the second section of the stairs that turned to the second story, so close, yet so far. Shane was already unraveling, mind racing. Of course the universe would hand him this perfect man, alone, and beautiful, and so painfully out of reach. Beyond a line he can’t cross.
Shane shut his eyes tight, shook his head, then studied Ilya.
Ilya was looking over the photos on the wall. Photos of Shane in hockey gear, Shane in his graduation gown, Shane smiling in the training room. Something in Shane’s heart softened.. He was seeing Shane, like really seeing him, for who he was, not just some random sports med student that hounded him about what he drinks and eats.
“You alright?” Shane asked, trying to sound casual and nonchalant, like his pulse wasn't sprinting.
Ilya turned, crooked smile plastered on his face. “So you are the favorite child?”
Shane thanked the alcohol that was now in his system as it made this much easier. He could feel his heart racing, his body yearning to be closer to Ilya’s, but his mind was somehow calm.
“I’m the only child,” Shane smiled shyly with a small, embarrassingly fond laugh escaping.
Ilya pointed to a photo of Shane in hockey gear, grinning from ear to ear with a missing tooth. “You played?”
“Yeah… for a long time.” He swallowed his smile away.
“Why not now?” Ilya wasn’t teasing, or prying, just curious. Interested for some reason Shane couldn't fathom.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Tore my ACL sophomore year of highschool. It was really bad; I needed surgery, rehab—the whole nine yards.”
“That is bad.” Ilya’s brows knitted and lips sank into a frown.
“Yeah.” Shane’s voice was shaky “And I, uh.. Had six concussions. Not all at once, of course, they were spread out over middle and high school.”
“Six?” Ilya’s eyes widened.
Shane nodded, feeling himself grow bolder. “After the last one, my doctor told me I was risking permanent damage if I kept playing, so I stopped.” There were a few seconds of silence. Ilya stepped closer.
“That must have been hard…”
Shane shrugged, not dismissive, but to protect himself and shake off the emotions it brought. “It was… hockey was everything to me. My whole Identity, my whole routine, my whole friend group. That’s how I met Hayden. And when I couldn't play anymore, suddenly it was like they all didn't know me… except for Hayden.”
Ilya locked eyes with him. “So you went into sports med?” Shane blinked, not wanting to be the first to look away, but having to resist the urge to squirm.
“Yeah. I figured, if I can’t play anymore, maybe I can help other people going through similar things, or prevent people from going through that altogether."
“That’s really good of you,” Ilya whispered. He was so close now.
Shane laughed under his breath. “It was either that or become a bitter person who hates the game and talks about how terrible it is, and I could never do that.”
Ilya smiled softly, almost tender. “You are not bitter.”
“Hah! I mean, sometimes,” Shane muttered
“I do not think so,” Ilya said, stepping even closer. Again. “You take care of everyone, even when they don’t notice.”
Shane's breath caught in his throat.
He wasn’t used to being seen, not like this, not as a trainer, a responsible person, a hockey lover, not as anything, a person. As someone who’s lost everything and had to build himself back up.
Ilyas's eyes flicked to his lips, then quickly to the photo of Shane in the training room, smile widening. “You look happy in that one.”
Shane followed his gaze. “I was—I am. I like helping the team.”
“I know,” Ilya said. “Because I see it every day.”
Shane's heart stuttered. Does Ilya know CPR?
He didn't know what to do, with this conversation, his emotions, Ilya understanding him, him paying attention, remembering details, asking questions, and standing close enough for Shane to feel warmth radiating off of him.
Shane cleared his throat and leaned away. “What about you? Why hockey?”
Ilya shrugged, his smile faltering. “It's complicated.”
Shane didn’t push. “Gotcha. No worries, you don’t have to tell me.” Ilya stared at Shane and something in his expression cracked
“Maybe I want to?” Ilya’s cocky smile returned.
Shane’s eyebrows knit together as the signals in his brain started mixing. The air between them shifted, thickened—warmed. Ilya’s gaze dropped again to Shane’s lips for another second, barely noticeable, except Shane couldn’t help but notice everything about him.
Shane’s ears grew heated. He knew this moment—he’d imagined it, feared it, wanted it, shooed it away, because if he crossed this line, he wouldn’t be able to go back to pretending they were acquaintances. He wouldn’t be able to hide how he felt. He wouldn’t survive the immediate rejection Ilya would provide.
Ilya once again stepped closer, bridging the gap Shane had created. Close enough for Shane to smell the faint scent of beer, cigarette, and some sort of teakwood. The edges of the line became so blurred.
“Shane,” Ilya whispered, and Shane broke. He didn’t think, didn’t plan, didn’t protect himself—he just leaned in.
And Ilya met him halfway.
The kiss was soft at first—hesitant, questioning. Then Ilya’s hands slid to the back of Shane’s neck and around his hip. Shane’s fingers curled into the front of Ilya’s shirt.Everything he was feeling, everything he had been hiding, surged forward all at once.
It was too much.
Shane pulled back abruptly, breath shaking, hand flying up to cover his swollen lips.
“I… I can’t...” he stammered, panic rising up in him, flooding every sense.
Ilya leaned forward instinctively, chasing him, and that sent Shane's mind into Emergency Mode.
Shane's heart twisted and deflated; he was embarrassed; he wouldn't be able to pretend this didn't happen. He hated that he wanted more. He hated himself for crossing the line, and so—
He ran.
Down the stairs through the noise, away from the man he'd been wanting for years. The moment he reached the bottom, he knew he shouldn't have crossed that line. But he had.
~~~~~~~~~~
Shane's hand met the cold handle of the cupboard in the training room, hours after the rest of the team and staff had left. He’d finished up and volunteered to clean up and close. He wiped down the tables twice, reorganized the ice packs, even though they were already in perfect rows. He couldn’t make himself head home.
Not when Ilya had been in the building earlier—not when he heard his voice in the hallway and ducked into a supply closet like a coward. It had been hours since then, but he was still shaken.
He was untying the same roll of pre-wrap when the door swung open.
“Dude?” Hayden questioned stepping into the room. “Why are you still here? It’s like, what— seven?”
Shane stiffened. “Just… cleaning up.”
Hayden snorted. “You’re alphabetizing the tape braids. That’s not cleaning, that's a cry for help.”
Shane swallowed. “I’m fine, just organized.”
“Uh huh…” Hayden hopped onto one of the tables. I’ll have to wipe that down again. Shane put the tape down. “So are you going to tell me why you’ve been acting so weird all week? Or should I start guessing?” Shane froze.
Hayden's eyes narrowed. “It’s about the party, isn’t it?”
Shane’s stomach dropped. Was he that obvious?
“You ran out of the house like it was on fire,” Hayden noted. “Then you ghosted the whole frat and team for two days, and now you’re avoiding talking about it like it’s contagious.” Shane’s throat tightened as he stared down at the floor like it was suddenly the most interesting thing on the planet.
“Shane, what happened?” Hayden's voice softened and he patted the table next to him in invitation for Shane to come sit beside him.
Shane slowly made his way to the seat next to Hayden, leaning forward, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles went white. He took a shaky breath before whispering:
“I kissed him.”
Hayden blinked. “Who?”
Shane shot him a look.
“Oh,” Hayden said “Oh… Oh shit.”
Shane nodded, miserable, covering his face with his hands.
“Then… I ran away.” His voice cracked. “I just panicked, I didn't think, I just freaked out.”
Hayden let out a long breath. “Damn.” Shane rubbed his face with both hands
“Now I am too embarrassed to even look at him. Everytime he signs up for a session, I switch with another student, or I pretend I’m busy.I hide in the closet, I pretend I don’t exist, I just can’t… I can’t face him.”
Hayden stared at him for a long moment “Shane… he’s been asking me if you’re ok.”
His heart lurched. “No, I-”
“I’m serious.” Hayden placed a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “He’s been showing up early to practice, looking around a lot, no one knows why… damn, I should've put it together when he asked me if you were mad at him.”
Shane let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’m not mad at him… I’m mad at mysel.f”
“Why?”
“Because I ruined everything!” Shane was defeated, drained. Tired—of running, of pretending. Of yearning. “I crossed a line I shouldn’t have. Then I made it worse by running, and now he thinks I hate him, and probably that I regret it, or that I’m disgusting-”
“Shane,” Hayden cut in, “he doesn’t think that.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.” Hayden squeezed Shane's shoulder, “because he's been off—quiet, distracted, and that guy literally doesn’t even know what quiet means. Something’s eating at him, and I'm pretty sure it’s you.”
Shane's heart felt a lot of things, but the sense of deflation was new. Regret, not about the kiss, but about his own behavior, set in fast after he ran, and embarrassment kept gnawing at him. Soon, it’ll have eaten him whole.
“I can’t… I can’t be around him,” his voice came out so small. “Not after what I did. I’m so ashamed, I can’t look him in the eyes.”
Hayden hopped off the table, placing his other hand on Shane’s other shoulder and looking him directly in the eyes to say, “You didn't ruin anything, you were scared.”
“Terrified,” Shane blurted out.
“Then talk to him.” Hayden gently shook him. “If you’ve already done something that terrified you, how bad can a conversation with him be? You deserve to get past this.”
Shane shook his head. He felt like laughing, but there wasn’t anything funny about this. “I don’t know if I can.”
“It doesn't have to be today, but you can’t hide forever—not from him, and certainly not yourself. Not with the way it’s got you feeling now.”
Shane swallowed, eyes burning as they became shiny. He knew Hayden was right, but the thought of facing Ilya, of seeing the hurt, sadness, and concern in his eyes, would crush him.
Still, for the first time in days, the weight of the situation lifted. Only slightly, but enough that Shane felt like he could breathe again. Admitting it to Hayden hadn't broken him; maybe telling Ilya wouldn't break him either…