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It was a simple summer day in Ottawa. The weather outside was pleasant— warm, but worthy of basking in. Shane was planning to grill steak for dinner, after he finished chopping up vegetables for a side dish.
Shane prides himself in being overly cautious. He likes to be prepared. He likes plans. He likes perfection.
So he doesn’t know how he let it happen, but his hand slipped while slicing some cucumbers. Now there’s blood dripping down his finger, and shit! There’s even some on the cutting board.
Body now on autopilot, Shane swiped his phone off the counter, with his non-injured hand, and called Ilya, who went upstairs to shower off the sunscreen, sweat, and lake water from his afternoon swim.
“What’s wrong?” Ilya asked sharply. Shane ringing him when they were in the same house had him on high alert.
“Islicedmyfinger. Help me,” Shane gritted out, not capable of elaborating.
The blood started wooshing in his ears, the edges of his vision were darkening, and his heart was beating slower and slower…
Ilya came rushing down the steps with beads of water still dripping down his skin— clad only in his boxers, bath towel draped around his shoulders. The way Shane sounded on the phone, Ilya was expecting a gory scene: Shane’s severed finger in a puddle of blood, just lying there on the kitchen counter.
He was met with the sight of his boyfriend bent over at the waist, cradling his arm to his chest.
“Malysh, what is going on?” Ilya said, taking big strides to reach his baby quickly, and assess the damage.
He rest his hands on Shane’s back, attempting to coax him upright. “M’gonna faint,” is all Shane said before he was crumpling in Ilya’s arms.
It sent them both to the ground abruptly, Ilya’s hands full of hockey-player.
Shane’s just unmoving. Limp. Lifeless.
Like the collision with Marleau on the ice.
Like his mama.
“Shane! Shane!” Ilya poked and prodded him. “Blyat!” He spat.
With Shane dead on top of him, Ilya scooched around on the tile floor until his hand could reach the counter. He managed to swipe Shane’s cell and call Yuna.
“Hey, honey! What’s—”
“Yuna, it’s Ilya. Shane fainted. He cut his finger and then just fell on floor. What do I do? Call 911? I am so scared. He’s not moving,” he let out in one big breath.
“Don’t call 911. Is the cut bad? Is there a lot of blood?”
Ilya paused to look at Shane’s injury for the first time. His left index finger had a superficial slice in between his knuckle and his fingernail. It looked scary, but it wasn’t actually deep. Ilya pulled the towel off his shoulders and wrapped it around Shane’s arm, squeezing his hand to put light pressure on his finger.
“Uhhh… is bleeding, but looks like small slice,” Ilya informed Yuna.
“Okay. Take a deep breath for me, sweets. It doesn’t sound like he needs stitches,” Yuna said, way too calm for Ilya’s liking.
“But he’s not moving! And he’s so pale. And sweaty!”
“He’s okay, hon, I promise. He’s never done well with blood. Poor baby. David and I call him our ‘Squeamish Shane.’”
Ilya was dumbfounded that he didn’t know this information about his own boyfriend. He was also dumbfounded that people actually fainted from the sight of blood… he thought that just happened on TV.
“Grab an ice pack and lay it on his forehead. He might fight it, but make him drink a pop to get some sugar in him. Just stay close, because he’ll be a little nauseous and dizzy when he comes to.”
Ilya thinks she’s out of her mind for suggesting he would let Shane out of his sight, but he bites his tongue.
“Thank you, Yuna. Can I call you back?”
“Of course. Go help him,” She said, blowing a kiss and ending the call.
Ilya worked fast, gently sliding Shane’s body off of his and onto the hard kitchen floor. He moved like a hummingbird, zipping to and fro. He grabbed a throw pillow from the couch, their softest gel pack from the freezer, and a ginger ale from the refrigerator door.
He lifted Shane’s head delicately and slid the pillow underneath. As he pressed the ice pack into Shane’s skin, he finally started to stir.
“Mmmm,” he groaned. He wasn’t in pain, just uncomfortable and disoriented.
“Shane, can you hear me? You are really scaring me, solnyshko.”
“Jus’ give me a minute,” Shane slurred in response.
Even though he wasn’t calm in the slightest, Ilya stroked Shane’s sweaty hair, and tried to match his own breathing with the slow rise and fall of Shane’s chest.
“I hate this. Hate when you hurt.” Ilya said, thinking out loud.
Ilya sat with Shane until he could keep his eyes open normally.
“I’m okay, baby. M’sorry I scared you,” Shane apologized.
“Don’t do it again, Hollander,” Ilya bit back. “I called your mom. She told me you are ‘Squeamish Shane.’ What is this about? Hmm?”
“Why’d you call her?” his eyebrows furrowed.
“Shane. You fucking fainted. I almost called hospital. What did you want me to do? Nothing?“
Shane could feel his impending post-faint headache, and Ilya raising his voice wasn’t helping. Shane knew he wasn’t actually upset with him, he was just scared.
Shane used his free hand to reach for Ilya’s free hand, all twenty of their fingers now intertwined.
“I can’t handle the sight of blood, especially my own. I get dizzy from a goddamn paper cut,” Shane admitted sheepishly.
Ilya huffs out a short laugh of disbelief. “But you have been hurt so many times. You are hockey player,” he says matter-of-factly.
That’s true. Shane had been severely injured, and he’d witnessed severe injuries— a countless amount of times. However, that didn’t stop the instantaneous wooziness when he saw red. The pressure to be ‘on’ always gets him through when he’s out on the ice. He’s the fucking captain! What kind of example does he set if he’s constantly keeling over?
Even with his own hockey-related injuries, he was too adrenaline-filled to be affected. By the time he came down, he was stitched, bandaged, and drugged.
His response to blood was a secret he kept to himself. He was not going to be known as ‘Squeamish Shane’ anywhere outside of these four walls in Ottawa.
“The adrenaline keeps me going on the rink, but it’s a whole different scenario anywhere else. I can’t help it, but it’s just— It’s so embarrassing. S’not really something I'm dying to share,” Shane admitted.
“But we are boyfriends and I do not know this about you,” Ilya said seriously.
“If it makes you feel better, no one knows except Mom and Dad. Could you imagine the teasing I'd get in the locker room? I know the guys would intentionally try to make me drop,” Shane said.
“I’m sorry I never said anything, baby,” he continued. “I figured we’d cross that bridge when we got there, and… here we are. I really didn’t mean to scare you,” Shane mumbled.
“I know. Is okay. So when we get bloodwork for team, you do this?” Ilya pried.
“Yes. I always beg for the last slot so I can pass out in peace.”
Ilya is silent, lost in thought about how many times his Shane has probably dropped unconscious and he didn’t even get to know about it.
“Things’ve actually gotten a lot better,” Shane said, reading Ilya’s mind. “The first time I got my blood drawn, I vomited all over myself. Mom felt so bad that she bought lunch for the phlebotomist that dealt with me.”
“That is classic Yuna,” Ilya says, leaning down to kiss Shane’s forehead.
“I promise I’m okay now. I just can’t even look at my finger, or we might have a repeat performance. Will you bandage it for me?” Shane questioned.
Of course Ilya would. He would do absolutely anything Shane asked, but especially if his big brown eyes were watering like they are now.
Ilya helped maneuver Shane to a seated position, leaning him against the island. Then he cracked open the ginger ale, and held it to Shane’s mouth for him, since his own hands were too unsteady.
They sat there in silence until Ilya was completely satisfied with the return of color to Shane’s cheeks.
“Do not move. Da?” Ilya sternly warned Shane before kissing some sticky sweet ginger ale off his lips, and jogging to the guest bathroom to grab the first aid kit from under the sink.
“We must wash your hands before bandage,” Ilya told Shane upon his return. “I will do it for you. You can close your eyes.”
That’s how they found themselves with Shane sandwiched between the front of Ilya’s body and the kitchen counter, so he physically couldn’t go anywhere.
Shane twisted his head into Ilya’s shoulder, trying to get as far away from the sink as possible. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire face scrunching up with them. Ilya was washing both of their hands together, being so gentle with Shane’s finger, trying to clean under the slice without causing any pain.
Shane was breathing like he was in active labor.
“I know, Shanya. Hurts. You are very brave,” Ilya told him.
Shane continued to lean all his weight into Ilya. He was trying to disassociate from his current reality, but then Ilya said, “Cleaned, ointment, and bandaged. All done.” He was being so tender, Shane didn’t even notice he was done getting patched up.
“Look at me?” Ilya peered down at Shane so they could meet eyes.
“My Shane. Hockey star. Taken out by blood. So cute,” he said, peppering kisses all over Shane’s face. “So cute,” kiss. “So cute,” kiss. “Soooo cute!” kiss.
“Ilya! Stop!” Shane was giggling now, his first smile since before this whole incident.
“You will lay on couch all night. No moving a finger, especially injured one.”
“Baby, I’m fine! It’s a momentary malfunction that happens to many, many people. I’m not special.”
“You are special to me. My heart cannot handle seeing you like that.”
Shane didn’t need Ilya’s confession to know that what just happened was triggering for his partner. He knew Ilya better than he knew his own self. If he had to snuggle his boyfriend all night to ensure him that he was healthy and safe, so be it!
Shane kissed him. “I guess we will just put the veggies in the fridge and save them for tomorrow. Should I order dinner?”
“I will order us something,” said Ilya, scooping up Shane and carrying him over to the couch. “I said no lifting a finger. I meant it.”
He laid Shane down, fluffed the cushion behind him, and draped his favorite blanket over his body.
“I love you so much, Shane, but do you know what this does to me? I am going to worry about you even more, kotik,” Ilya practically whined. “Nosebleeds, paper cuts, knee scrapes… I’ll have to bubble wrap you.”
Shane started giggling. “Think about how long we’ve known each other. This is the first time this has happened with you!”
“But it will not be last! I am going to call your mother back now, and tell her about how I saved your life!” Ilya called while walking back towards the kitchen.
Shane smiled to himself, burrowing deep into the cushions. Everyone knew his boyfriend as this mouthy, sassy, fiery hockey captain, but the man that Shane knows is kind, selfless, and willing to dote on him hand and finger.