Work Text:
November 2016
“I can’t.”
“Hollender.” Ilya held himself ridged, trying not to sound desperate.
His voice stuttered. “I just can’t.” Shane grabbed his things so haphazardly almost tripping on his way out the room.
Ilya’s body moved before he could help himself. “Hollender!” He angled around his door, dread burning a hole through his chest.
It took seconds for Ilya’s brain to catch up with what was happening in front of him. Shane he was curled in on himself, rocking hard, his back making an almost sickening cracking sounds against the wall.
“Hollender? Hollender?” There was no recognition but rhythmic movement. Without anything else to do Ilya dropped to his knees and grabbed Shane by the shoulders, pulling his body away from the wall towards Ilya’s chest.
“Hollender! Shane?” His whole body had stiffened he barely felt like a human body with how rigid he was. “Do you need ambulance?” That question at least got a shake of the head, violent but definitive. “Is this panic attack?”
Ilya knew a little bit about panic attacks, not enough but he wondered if he should let Shane go. Give him space. But the sound of Shane slamming his body against the wall made him keep tight hold of his shoulders.
An idea took hold in his mind; he began to rock in the rhythm Shane had before, like the swaying of a ship. Panic attacks were by definition panic. Ships were calm so rocking, as Shane had been doing, should help.
He felt, as the minutes wore on, Shane begin to lose some stiffness. Shane said nothing still, but his breath began, slowly to calm. His body rocking with the motion of his breath.
They stayed like this for some time. Until bit by bit Shane’s breathing began to even out and his posture shifted.
“I’m sorry.”
Ilya shook his head just glad to hear Shane’s voice. “You don’t need to say sorry. Is panic attack.” He shifted positions so he could gently rub Shane’s back as it curled over. “Is this why you run? You felt the panic attack.”
Shane shook his head, but it didn’t feel like a denial. “I hate-“
“Yes, must be- umm scary- for you.”
Shane shrugged then, pulling a little out of Ilya’s grip. “Sorry.”
“No, its okay. Do you need water? Finish ginger ale?”
Shane pulled away fully then covering his face. “This is so embarrassing.”
Ilya tried to stay steady, Shane’s breathing had sped up again and Ilya did not want Shane to panic again. “Its okay. You can’t help the panic. It is-“
“Not a panic attack.”
“Oh?”
“Fuck.” Shane sighed and then took a slow measured breath; his hands knotted in the hoodie he was holding. “I umm- look it’s not a big deal.“
“Oke.”
“Just, okay?”
“I don’t want to make you do things, or tell me things, you don’t want. Is not- I want you to want to be comfortable.”
“I’m autistic.”
Ilya didn’t want to admit he was only barely familiar with the word. He had almost no idea what it meant but Shane at that moment looked so vulnerable, and Ilya could not do anything to jeopardise this. “Alright, I- thank you. For trusting me.”
Shane sniffed wetly and rubbed his face making it redder than it already was. “I don’t talk about it. My mom took me to a doctor when I was little. But my grandparents called her- a bad mother. They- life was hard for them.”
“You have good parents.”
“Yeah, they’re great.”
“Can we talk more on the couch? My leg is falling off.”
“Yes, fuck sorry. You shouldn’t have had-”
Ilya rolled his eyes. “No more boring Canada apologies in my house Hollender.”
They both clumsily got up and made their way back into the main room. “I really am-“
“You were going to say sorry again weren’t you.”
“Yes… sorry.”
Ilya smiled at the slight twitch of Shane’s lips. “Brat.” He still looked red and drained but the almost smile was good. “I’ll get you cold ginger ale.”
Shane settled himself on the couch letting Ilya get him the drink. “Thank you.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“You don’t have to do all this for me. I’m fine now.”
“So? I want.”
The way Shane looked at him, like he was trying to piece together a broken vase without cutting himself. “It would be- easier- if the lights were lower, maybe TV quieter.”
Ilya reached forward to the remotes one cut the lights and the other the TV, leaving only the light from the kitchen dappling through the room.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Ilya lounged back letting his eyes close, he looked comfortable. Shane turned so he was looking at him, holding his cold can in both hands.
“It felt different this time.”
Ilya cracked his eyes open. “The not panic attack?”
“You.” Shane admitted.
“Me?”
Shane took a breath slow and steadying. Ilya didn’t rush him. “This everything. The food, the ginger ale. It felt different this time.”
“It was- I didn’t mean to make you have-“
“Its not that. I just got overwhelmed. I just-“ Shane waved his hand to illustrate. “I don’t know why.”
“Why what?”
“You asked me to stay, we cuddled. You made me food. But then you go and brag about the girls you’re fucking. Its confusing okay. Why is it different this time?”
“Shane.” Ilya tilted himself working out how to word every thought in his mind. He continued slowly carefully. “I wanted to have more of you. I ask about girls because maybe I want to know if you have a girl. Because I’m hoping you don’t. Because… maybe… I don’t want anyone else either.”
Shane shot up as if he’d been electrocuted, the can of ginger ale spilling over onto the couch. “You want to be an us?”
“I- well yes.” Ilya’s voice caught in the back of his throat. “Its dangerous. Russia. But possibly yes.”
Shane looked across with glassy eyes. “So, was all of this so you could ask me to be your boyfriend?”
Ilya nodded. “It would be bigger secret. From Russia, from the league. But maybe I tell my friend, and you maybe can tell good parents. ”
Shane’s eyes were glossy. “And you still want to after what happened earlier?”
“You’re still you. Yes.”
“Okay, yes Ilya.”
Hope and anxiety swirling inside his heart, he smiled. “Say again.”
“I will be your secret boyfriend.” Shane smiled as Ilya crawled across the couch to him. “No girls?”
“Girls. What are girls? I know only of slow hockey player freckles.” Ilya leaned over Shane’s body and kissed him. “I promise. No girls. No men. No Svetlana. Do you promise?”
“Only you.”
Hayden
It was two hours past curfew. Over three hours after Shane claimed he’d be back. Hayden had watched a movie with lots of cursing and no princesses. He ordered a peanut butter sundae with room service then watched a different kind of movie on incognito mode.
Shane had not returned.
There were two possible scenarios.
First and most likely: Shane had been seen by a Boston fan. Or a group of Boston fans. He’d been kidnapped, never to be seen again. Shane was so trusting, he’d never see it coming. Montréal’s hopes of the Stanley cup now lying in a sack at the bottom of the Boston harbour. Hayden was going to have to tell his kids that Uncle Shane was gone. And Mrs Hollender, what do you say in those circumstances. There’s probably nothing that you can say in those circumstances.
Or the more bone chilling scenario: He was spending the night with Lily.