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Shane had been running on the treadmill in the gym when it happened. His headphones were on and he'd been listening to his favorite hockey podcast. The topic of the episode was something about the promising rookies in the upcoming draft, and Shane's ears were filled with unfamiliar names and impressive stats. Hayden was running next to him, watching the TV in the corner because his earbuds had broken and he needed something to keep him entertained while he worked out.
"Holy shit. . ." Hayden pressed the bright red 'stop' button on his treadmill, gripping onto the handles for support as the machine quickly stilled.
Shane, still running, looked over to him, confused as to why he'd stopped so suddenly. They'd only been running for ten minutes; usually they both did around thirty minutes at a steady jog.
Hayden lifted a hand to point at the TV, and Shane's eyes followed it.
There was a woman wearing a trenchcoat talking into a microphone. Behind her was a chaotic-looking car crash on the side of a highway. A tractor-trailer had flipped onto its side, and there were many ruined cars as well. Flames licked the sides of the vehicle as emergency personnel ran around, trying to prevent damage and save people.
"Three deaths have been confirmed so far, and paramedics are still rescuing bodies from the vehicles." The subtitles read as the lady spoke, her mouth moving silently.
Shane stopped his treadmill, too.
The red banner at the bottom of the screen said "42-CAR PILEUP OUTSIDE BOSTON, MA." The screen switched from the reporter to another view of the accident, where a demolished, bright orange sports car was clearly visible among the wreckage.
Shane's heart dropped. It was statistically unlikely that it was Rozanov's car. Boston was a huge city, so surely lots of people had bright orange sports cars, right? But there was still a chance it was him. Shane pulled out his phone and tried to call the contact labeled "Lily."
"Shane, are you okay?" Hayden asked.
"Yeah, I, uh. . ." Shane was breathing heavier than he had been on the treadmill. "I, uh. . ."
Hayden looked at the phone in Shane's trembling hands and gasped. "You don't think Boston Lily. . ."
Shane nodded, and tears clouded his vision.
"Holy shit. Okay, let's get you into the locker room." He wrapped an arm around Shane's shoulders to steady him and led him towards the locker room. "Fuck, dude, you're shaking."
Shane kept the phone to his ear, tears welling in his eyes when Rozanov's voicemail message played.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. Maybe she just missed your call. Try again, she's gonna pick up." Hayden helped Shane sit down on a bench and ran to a bathroom stall to get him some toilet paper to blow his nose.
Shane's calls went to his voicemail five times before he gave up,fully sobbing into Hayden's shoulder.
"Shh. . ." Hayden awkwardly rubbed Shane's back, slightly calloused fingers getting caught on the athletic fabric of his shirt while trying to comfort him. "It's gonna be okay. She's just busy right now, but she's gonna call you back."
Shane's phone rang in his hand, and he answered the unknown number quickly. He listened to the voice on the other end.
"Uh, no," Shane replied shakily to the caller, "But I can give her a message." He paused, listening to the phone next to his ear.
Shane started crying again and covered his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle the sound.
"He's—He's okay?" Shane's voice shook. "Okay, okay. Thank you."
The phone call ended, and Shane went back to crying into Hayden's shirt.
"What did they say?"
"He's at Massachusetts General." Shane wiped his nose on his hand, suddenly standing up. "I have to go see him."
"Shane, buddy, you're not driving in this condition. Especially not from here to Boston. It'll be, like, six hours."
"No, no, I have to. He needs me."
Hayden sighed. "What if I drive you? Then I'll finally be able to meet Boston Lily, whoever she. . . Whoever they are."
Shane nodded his head rapidly. "Okay, but we need to go now. It's a long drive, and what if there's traffic—"
__________
The car ride was long and awkward; Hayden drove as fast as possible while Shane pressed his forehead against the passenger side window. Shane sensed that Hayden had wanted to ask more about Boston Lily, especially after using masculine pronouns, but he couldn't figure out a way to tell him. Plus, Hayden would find out soon enough once they got to the hospital.
After their seven-hour-long drive—including rush hour traffic—they parked at the hospital and walked to the front desk.
"He's here to visit someone. . ." Hayden said. He looked at Shane, who was standing with his hoodie pulled over his head.
"Okay," The woman smiled politely. Her hair was short and curly, and she had lots of pins decorating her lanyard. "What's your name?"
"Shane Hollander." Hayden supplied.
"Hollander? Like the Metros—Never mind, sorry. That doesn't matter." She clicked a few keys on her computer. "Hm. I'm sorry, but I don't seem to see anyone with that name cleared as a visitor."
"Try Jane." Shane spoke up quietly.
She clicked a few more keys. "Okay, I am seeing someone now." She looked at them again, something flashing across her face. "Holy shit," She cursed under her breath, smiling slightly. She looked up at Shane again, regaining her professional composure. "Look, he's in room 5E7. Just go visit him, and I promise I won't tell anyone."
"Thank you so much." Hayden said, leading Shane in the direction of the East wing.
They stood in the elevator. "So, am I going to get to meet Boston Lily?" Hayden joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"I guess." Shane shrugged. "But please don't be mad at me, I—"
"Shane, why would I be mad at you? It's not like you're dating Rozanov!"
Shane stood silently, suddenly becoming very interested in his shoes.
"Oh my God." Hayden's jaw literally dropped. He'd thought that 'jaw dropping' was hyperbole and something that didn't actually happen, but here he was. "Shane, are you dating Rozanov?"
The elevator door opened with a cheerful ring, and they both stepped out.
"No." Shane whispered. "No, no. We just. . . Meet up? I don't know, it's complicated."
"But you like him?"
Shane nodded, blinking back tears. "But he doesn't like me back."
They reached room 5E7.
"Shane." Hayden gripped his shoulders, looking him in his eyes. "He put you down as an emergency contact. I think that means he likes you. Or, at least, you're something to him. I'll wait out here for you, okay? The door and walls are soundproof, so you'll have privacy. Take as long as you need." He smiled and awkwardly rested a hand on Shane's shoulder.
"Thanks." Shane took a deep breath and opened the door.
The room was small and painted with a pastel mint green. Centered on the opposite wall was Rozanov, asleep in the bed.
"Rozanov?" The name felt wrong in Shane's mouth. Only 'Ilya' fit right, but he didn't know how Rozanov would respond to being called by his first name after Shane freaked out when they used each other's first name two months ago.
Rozanov's eyes slowly opened, and he took in his surroundings, finally noticing Shane. "Shane!" He looked happy, an unfiltered grin creasing the corners of his eyes for several seconds before quickly disappearing. "Shane." He tried to cross his arms; unfortunately, one of them was in a cast, so he couldn't fully complete the movement.
"Rozanov, I—"
"Where the fuck is Rose?" he demanded.
"What?"
"Rose fucking Landry, Hollander! You know who I'm fucking talking about!"
"I—We—"
"Why the fuck did you come to see me?" Rozanov seemed close to tears, and Shane realized he was likely on some pretty strong painkillers. "You don't even fucking like me!"
"Rozanov—"
He continued on, not caring that Shane had something he wanted to say. "And you are always fucking with her! You have gone on, like, twenty hundred dates with her and it has not even been month! Is not fucking fair!" Ilya was crying now, and Shane didn't know how to respond. He clearly didn't want to be around Shane, and it was breaking his heart.
"I'll just go." Shane said quietly, turning around to leave the room before Ilya could see the tears in his eyes as well.
The door closed with a quiet click. "Dude, what happened?" Hayden looked up from his phone, staring worriedly at Shane.
He shrugged. "He doesn't want to see me." He mumbled.
"What?"
"He doesn't want to see me." Shane spit out the words. "Can we just go now? He's fine."
Hayden sighed and shook his head. "Nope. I did not drive you seven fucking hours to meet your not-boyfriend only to have you leave after not even five minutes with him."
"Hayden, please, I don't want to talk to him." Shane begged.
"Oh my God, Shane. I'll go in there myself if I need to."
"Fine, then fucking do it!"
Hayden balked. He hadn't expected Shane to respond like that, but he supposed he had to. Boston Lily—well, Rozanov—was clearly important to Shane, and he wasn't about to let his best friend walk away from him.
Hayden took a deep breath, grabbed Shane's hand, and dragged him into the room.
Ilya looked up at them again, cheeks stained with tears.
"What the fuck, Shane! Now you bring friend to laugh at me with?"
"Look. Shane, Rozanov," Hayden looked between them both. "I don't know much about your relationship. I don't want to know much about your relationship. But I do know that Shane has been talking to a Boston Lily for years, and that he loves that person very much." He looked pointedly at Ilya. "So you better sort it out with him."
Neither Rozanov or Shane spoke, both looking off in different directions and refusing to make eye contact. Shane stared at his feet, and Rozanov looked at the picture of a beach on the wall.
"Oh my God, you're both like fucking four-year-olds." Hayden sighed frustratedly and rubbed his face. "Okay, Shane, you go first."
"What?" Shane looked over at Hayden.
"Tell him," Hayden nodded towards Rozanov, who was still looking at the picture, "why you're upset." He crossed his arms, preparing to defend his direction.
Shane sighed. He'd forgotten that Hayden was the father of young twin girls, and he knew there was no getting out of this.
"I'm mad at you for putting me as an emergency contact." Shane said. The reason sounded stupid when he said it out loud, and he wished he had a better argument.
"Fucking mad at me for that? What the fuck?"
"Do you have any idea what you've fucking done? The woman at the front desk fucking knows about us now! It was a stupid fucking decision! You could've at least asked me before you practically said we're together!"
"I am fucking sorry, Hollander! I meant to remove you after Rose—" Rozanov's voice cracked as he sobbed.
"What the fuck does Rose have to do with this?" Shane shouted.
"Fucking everything! You are fucking dating her! I saw you leave club together!"
Shane's mouth fell open. "What?"
"You. Rose. Couple."
"What? We're not a couple! We broke up!"
Rozanov froze. "What?"
"We're not a couple! We dated for a bit, but it didn't work out!" Shane started to cry, too.
"You are wrong. You walk out when I call you Shane, date her, and never tell me anything. I have seen the pictures of you. Is she really all you want? What about me, Hollander?"
"Ilya." Shane whispered. Rozanov froze, shocked at hearing his first name. "Ilya, I love you."
"Oh my God." Hayden said quietly behind them as Shane walked closer to the bed.
"I dated Rose because I thought I could forget you. I thought I could leave you behind and move on with my life, but I couldn't. Every time we were together, I thought about you instead of her. I. . . Fuck, Ilya, I need you."
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't! I couldn't do that after running away when you said my first name. It would've been too serious, and I didn't want to do that."
Rozanov tried to move his hand to reach out to Shane, but he stopped suddenly, wincing in pain.
"What's wrong?" Shane asked worriedly.
"Nothing. Is okay, now that I have you again." His face crinkled up again, and fresh tears fell from his eyes. "Promise you will stay?"
"Yeah." Shane nodded, tears welling in his eyes, too. "Yeah, I promise." He reached out to hold Ilya's hand tenderly, avoiding touching a nasty bruise on it. "I promise." He whispered, gently stroking his other fingers through Rozanov's hair as he drifted back into sleep, tired from the emotions he'd experienced. "I promise."