Chapter Text
The air was cold. Unbearably so.
It might've been tolerable if it wasn't for the wind blowing so harshly it burned his eyes and tossed his hair out of place—20 minutes of styling and fussing be damned.
With one hand stuffed in a jacket pocket and the other clasped around a brown paper bag, Shane trudged down the sidewalk with as much care and determination as an overworked bank-teller. Which is to say, none at all.
It was another brutally frigid New York day, almost reminding him of home if it weren't for the heavy smell of smog and depression that settled over the entire city. But he wasn't here because it was like home, he was here because it wasn't. A place away from expecting parents (who he loved dearly, don't get him wrong), a place where he could build his own life and rediscover himself in areas he felt like he couldn't back in Ottawa.
Somewhere new. Somewhere exciting.
Or, not exactly new. He'd been here for almost three years now. Working odd jobs and skating on the side when he could find the time.
That was the whole reason he was here, after all—to skate—but life was… life-ing. Busy. Stressful. He had to focus on paying his half of the rent first if he wanted to skate, so that was what he was doing. Working.
Someday he'd go back to the Olympics like he'd promised his mom. Someday.
But for now, he was here.
He could see the vague yet familiar lettering of the cafe his roommate worked at. Even from a half block away you couldn't miss craftsmanship that shitty.
The guy walking in front of him talked (more like shouted) obnoxiously into his phone—knock-off dress shoes scuffing against the stained concrete and metal grates underfoot. His painfully fake Rolex glinted in the early morning light.
What little managed to peek through the skyscrapers, at least.
Shane jogged across the street and glanced at his own watch. Fifteen minutes until work, barely enough time to make it.
He stopped in front of the cafe's doors, admiring his own art on the poster taped to the glass. The mascot, a floppy eared dog-humanoid thing (furry. the word he was looking for was furry, but admitting to having given into making furry art would be admitting his financial situation) smiled back at him while pointing to whatever desperate discount the place had come up with to try and lure in new customers.
He sighs, refusing to subject his warm pocketed hand to the cold, and instead fumbles with the janky door handle—trying to hook a free finger on the bar.
But, before he can spend another embarrassing second losing a game of thumb wars against a door, it's pushed open from the inside, a guy with barely contained curls extending an arm to hold it open for him.
Shane huffs a tired laugh,"Thanks."
The stranger nods, "I did not know how much more of that I could watch," he shuffles kind of awkwardly back into the cafe to make room for Shane who laughs honestly this time.
"My savior."
The guy chuckles, stepping past him after he makes it inside, and winks, "Anytime," he says, and he's gone. Forever lost in the endless sea of people in this city.
Shame, he thinks, he was cute.
"Shane!" Someone calls from behind him, and he spins around to find Hayden behind the counter. He's half-haphazardly pumping syrup into someone's order, eyes tired but smile genuine as he speaks, "What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work already?"
Shane steps forward and holds up the bag in his right hand, stopping to lean on the counter and setting it down with a plop, "You forgot something in the fridge, came to deliver it."
"Oh my God—see, this is why you shouldn't prep lunch the day before. I fucking knew I'd forget it," he grabs it and points to Shane as he walks backwards towards the break room, "thank you, man! I owe you one."
Shane waves a hand and anxiously checks his watch, heading back to the door, "Eh, forget about it. See you later, Hayden!"
He hears him shout back a response as he steps outside once more, the cold waft of cigarette smoke-mixed air hitting him instantly.
How charming.
The train is late.
Shane is going to lose his mind. And his job.
By the time he shoves his way inside the museum he's 10 minutes past the start of his shift, and his coworker makes sure to comment on it as he lets him through security.
"You're late, Hollander," he chirps, "I covered for your ass—told Kate there was a glitch in the schedule that said you weren't working until 11, so, you're welcome."
Shane groans, speed walking past check-in and up the steps, "You're actually the best, dude."
"I know!" He hears as he turns the corner and beelines for the elevator.
The place is loud and strangely humid despite the cold, Shane thinks, narrowly missing bumping into a guest, and his hand freezes above the call button as he reads a paper taped to the console. The elevators broken. Cool.
Today's going to be a great day, he can already feel it.