Chapter Text
I already chose you, Hollander.
The words replayed in Shane’s mind even several days later. Even after their conversation over the phone and Ilya’s near-death experience, he still couldn’t shake the unease he felt thinking about what Ilya had said.
Because it was true, wasn’t it? Ilya had given up so much for him and Shane hadn’t even realised the full extent until it blew up in his face. The worst part of it all was that there was nothing to do about it. Shane still couldn’t go to Zane Boodram’s party with Ilya, they still couldn’t eat at a restaurant together or stand too close at a public event. It was all too risky. He was a public figure, someone who meant something to people. His image was important. For all he represented, he couldn’t just go out and—
Shane sighed.
It was useless to have these kinds of thoughts. He and Ilya could never come out, he knew this. But for Ilya’s sake and his own, he wished things were different.
Maybe in another universe they would be able to show their love without being punished for it.
The first time it happens, Shane initially doesn’t notice anything amiss.
His morning is fairly uneventful. He wakes up, brushes his teeth, replies to Ilya’s texts, has a smoothie and heads to practice.
After practice, the locker room is the normal amount of loud. Someone is playing music on their speaker, insults are being thrown across the room and a couple of guys are laughing at something on their phones.
“Hey.” Hayden grins, turning to him while slipping his t-shirt on. “You doing anything tonight?”
“Uh.” Shane racks his brain. “I don’t think so.”
“Really?” J.J. looks at him quizzically. “You are not going out with Rozanov?”
Shane frowns and considers his question. It can’t be genuine, surely. Is J.J fucking with him, then? Usually, when a voyageur mentions Ilya in front of him, it means that they are expecting Shane to bad mouth him or tell them to fuck off. He chooses his next words very carefully.
Shane scoffs. “Why would I do that?”
But then it seems like the completely wrong thing to say, because the other two just stare at him blankly. J.J looks just about as awkward as Shane feels.
“Um.” Hayden asks, “Did you two have a fight or something?”
Shane laughs nervously. What the hell is Hayden talking about?
“We’re always fighting.” He can feel his cheeks heat up from his weak reply but nothing else to say is coming to mind. He wants to ask what kind of answer they want from him, or why they’re even asking him about Ilya, but that could unintentionally expose their relationship if he’s not careful. He reminds himself of their public image; they’re supposed to be long time rivals who have unexpectedly become good friends.
“Uh.” The other two glance at each other and back at Shane.
“No, you’re not,” Hayden declares, before explaining, “always fighting, I mean. Look, I get it.”
“What are you talking about?” he says weakly.
“It’s normal. Shit happens with me and Jackie, too. Sometimes it can feel like you’ve been arguing for years after one fight but, uh, you’ll be fine. I’m not Rozanov’s biggest fan but I know you two love each other and stuff.”
Beside him, J.J nods and Shane can’t stop his eyes from bulging out of his head. Hayden is talking as if what he’s saying is completely normal and J.J. is barely even reacting. What the fuck.
Shane wills himself to act as normal as possible. “What do you—”
“Okay, man, I can’t believe I’m saying this but, Shane, please tell me your relationship drama.”
Shane’s breath hitches. There’s no fucking way Hayden just said that. He knows that Shane and Ilya are a secret, he knows the lengths they’re going for each other to hide their relationship. Shane can’t believe his ears.
Distantly, he processes a few other players turning their way and coming closer, probably eager to hear about ‘Lily’ or whoever they think he’s seeing but his brain is stuck on the word Hayden used.
‘Relationship’. There’s very little room for interpretation in that.
The other voyageurs might have heard what he just said and come to the conclusion on their own. Is his secret really out, because of Hayden?
“Trouble in paradise?” Comeau chirps, oblivious to Shane’s internal meltdown. “Roz is giving you a tough time, eh?”
This is his worst fucking nightmare. Forget his dad catching him and Ilya at the cottage, this is ten thousand times worse.
“There’s no—” he chokes out, struggling to hear his own voice over his beating heart.
“Nan! Really ?” Another play interrupts him. He nudges Shane’s elbow playfully and asks with a teasing smile, “You want me to hit him for you?”
“No… we’re not…” Shane tries to deny it but the words seem to stuck in his throat.
A couple of guys laugh and Shane can feel himself getting lightheaded.
“We’re not…”
The more he shuts them down, the more he can feel himself slipping.
Hayden inches closer to him with a worried look on his face and asks, “You good, man?”
That is the last thing Shane hears before he blacks out.
—
—
—
Shane?
For a couple of seconds, all he feels is motion and air resistance.
Shane? Hello?
After a few attempts at protest, Shane relaxes his body and the wind wraps itself around his limbs. He lets himself fall freely.
Shane!
Shane wakes with a gasp.
His eyelids creep open, then squeeze shut with a snap. The light is too bright and Shane’s head is throbbing too much.
He turns over to his back and instantly regrets it when his neck clicks at a wrong angle. The pain stings in his clavicle, then spreads all the way down to his wrists. He feels dizzy.
“Arghgh,” he says less than eloquently. “Wha.. is…”
What’s wrong with him?
I don’t know, he just fell—
Shit.
When he wearily opens his eyes again, he is met with several blurry faces. Very little registers to him: a female voice is calling for his attention worriedly; a deep, male voice accompanies it; and there’s a faint smell of coffee.
Then, the mist clears and, unexpectedly, Rose is in front of him, crouching down on her tippy toes. She’s wearing a navy apron with her name on it and her hair is tied up in a neat ponytail.
“Finally. Oh, my God, Shane, you’re awake. Are you okay?”
He blinks.
She exhales sharply. “What even happened? Are you… Do you even—”
“Hold on…don’t overwhelm him. Come on, Shane. Here.”
A large hand enters Shane’s tunnel of vision, obstructing his view of Rose’s anxious face. He gasps at the silver ring and sleek watch wrapped around the wrist. Is that—?
“Ilya?” Shane glances up, immediately regretting it once the bright light enters his eyes and a sharp pain spreads through his head. Ouch. “Ow, fuck—”
“What?” Ilya’s voice sounds panicked. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Shit. Does your head hurt?”
Shane squeezes his eyes shut and takes Ilya’s hand into his, letting the other man pull him off the floor into a sitting position. His head is still throbbing but at least his vision is now clear; he can actually see.
“Calm down. I don’t even… What the hell?” He looks around, finally registering what has been around all along. Along with Ilya and Rose, Troy, Evan and Wyatt are there too. But…the location is harder to process.
He appears to be behind a till in a small-ish cafe, with deep black walls and pale yellow accents decorating the space. Countless customers are sitting at tables, talking, eating, or working at their laptops. Some people are waiting by the right side of the till, presumably waiting to collect their drinks. Thankfully, all seemingly ignoring whatever is going on with Shane.
“What the fuck?” he voices aloud. Five pairs of eyes whip around to face him, all equally wide and worried.
“What is it?” Ilya asks, inching closer. He conjoins their hands and strokes Shane’s wrists. Shane kinda hates how it’s still comforting to him, even now, when nothing is making sense.
He has too many questions. “Where am I? Why are we in a coffee shop? And, Rose, why are you wearing a uniform? Are you acting as a barista? Am I in one of your movies or something? Wait. Is this a weird TV sponsor thing I forgot about? Did my mom book me to appear on some random reality show about coffee shops?” Did he somehow black it all out until this very moment?
Rose’s eyes widen. She gasps, her hands flying to her mouth in an attempt to conceal her shock. “Oh, God.”
Right. So not that, then.
Troy shakes his head. “Fucking hell.”
Ilya swears in rapid Russian.
Wyatt blows out a breath and chuckles awkwardly. “Okay, guys let’s not panic here… Shane, what’s the last thing you remember?”
He tilts his head. It’s kinda hard to recall. Fuck. “Uh… I think… I was in the locker room with J.J. and Hayden and then…” He exhales shakily, starting to feel a little panicked too. “I don’t know.”
“Locker room…with J.J. and Hayden…” Wyatt repeats, nodding his head. He sighs. “Okay. This could be worse, right?”
Ilya glares at Wyatt. “‘Could be worse?’ Could be fucking better! Shane does not remember where he is or why he is in stupid fucking coffee shop—”
“Hey!” Rose exclaims in offense.
“—and can only remember playing hockey with fucking Pike! This is the fucking worse!”
“Well, shit,” Troy says. “What else can you remember?”
“Shane,” Evan says, earnest. He shuffles forward, his eyebrows scrunched in genuine concern. “Don’t worry. I’ll fill you in. It’s the year twenty-twenty-two. You are a full-time college student who also works as a barista. You’re, like…twenty or twenty-one? I dunno. Umm… Your name is Shane Hollander—”
Troy cackles and smacks his fist down on top of Evan’s head. “Dude, I think he knows his own fucking name.”
“You never know!” Evan exclaims. “Crazy shit happens when you have amnesia.”
“Right…”
“Trust me, bro.”
“You don’t even remember your own subway order. Why the fuck would I trust you on that?”
“Dykstra’s right,” Wyatt chimes in. “When Dick Grayson got shot in the head and got amnesia, he actually changed his name to Ric Grayson and became bald—”
“That’s fictional, though. Shane’s not gonna become bald.”
“Fiction is based on reality!” Wyatt exclaims. “Plus, DC is generally pretty accurate. Batman also got amnesia once because the Joker almost fucking killed him—”
Evan shakes his head. “Yeah, but he’s a superhero. It’s not like Shane has amnesia because he was fighting the fucking Joker.”
“Batman is still human, though. He’s Bruce Wayne, so—”
“Okay,” Rose interrupts, a small smile gracing her lips. “Wyatt, I love you and your nerdy comics but can we focus on Shane right now?”
They turn around sheepishly, their cheeks tinted pink. Shane exhales shakily, partly grateful for the attention and partly embarrassed.
He still hasn’t figured out what the hell is going on. For some reason, they’re all acting like this is all so fucking normal, as if Shane doesn’t feel like he’s been dropped into some weird alternate-universe timeline where Rose and Ilya are in the same room and they work in a fucking cafe.
As much as he would not like to admit it, Evan’s little run-down actually helped a little. Shane knows that it’s twenty-twenty-two. But he isn’t twenty years old, he’s twenty-nine. He’s not a college student, he’s a hockey player. And he hasn’t seen Ilya for weeks, especially not since…the plane crash. Fuck. He has never been so fucking confused in his life.
This is somehow weirder than his dream about Comeau teasing him about Ilya and that itself was pretty hard to believe. Maybe he’s dreaming. That’s a plausible explanation. To check, he pinches his forearm hard and immediately regrets it when he feels the pain surge from his skin. Not dreaming, then. Great.
“Plus we don’t even know if Shane has amnesia,” she says, the voice of reason.
“Did I hit my head?” he asks.
Ilya nods solemnly. “Yes. You suddenly fell. Hit your head. You wouldn’t wake up for a couple of minutes.”
Shane’s heart twinges. That must have been scary for Ilya. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Ilya smiles softly. “But we should get you up, yes?”
Shane nods. The other guys bring up a chair and they all guide him up, placing him down softly. The slowness of it all would be sweet if he wasn’t buzzing in his skin, aching to get up and walk around and make sense of all of this.
“Okay.” Rose sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Do we need to get medical attention to you? You hit your head… That could be a concussion or maybe something even more serious…”
“Hopefully not serious.” The worried expression on Ilya’s face makes Shane’s own heart droop a little. “We should call a doctor.”
Wyatt perks up. “Oh, I know who we can call!”
“Who?”
“Lisa!”
“Lisa?” Evan’s face scrunches up. “If this is another Batman thing—”
“It’s not! Oh, my God, I’m talking about my girlfriend. She’s a med student.”
“Ah. Nice.”
Wyatt looks up at the ceiling coyly. “Or, should I say, fiancé.”
Evan and Troy gasp.
“No fucking way!” Evan hits his arm playfully. “You proposed? Nice one, buddy!”
Shane smiles, despite himself. “That’s great, man.”
Wyatt beams. “Thanks, guys.”
“Alright, as much as I love this sweet moment,” Rose interrupts, giving the men a shoo-ing gesture, “I can stay with Shane here so you guys can go back to the other side of the counter now. Go on, this side is for baristas only.”
They leave to go on the other side and Ilya chooses a seat directly across from Shane, his eyes swimming with concern.
“Ilya, it’s okay,” Shane lies. “I’m fine now.”
Ilya’s eyes narrow. “You’re sure?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course.”
“You could not even remember where you were five minutes ago.”
“I was just confused! I’m okay now, I promise.”
“Hm. Okay.” Ilya looks unconvinced.
Shane racks his brain for a way to act normal. Something normal to ask. He notices the books and papers in front of the other players and a thought occurs to him. “Okay… Um. Why don’t you tell me what you guys are working on?
“Don’t get me started,” Evan says, shaking his head.
“Hm?” Wyatt looks between them. “What’s his issue?”
Ilya rolls his eyes and shrugs. “He is pissed because I did not help enough on the last assignment, apparently.”
“What do you mean ‘apparently’? You wrote, like, two words!”
“Pshhh.” Ilya flaps his hand back and forth in a nonchalant gesture. “Two words is more than nothing.”
“Whatever, man. As long as you do something for this one.”
“Of course I will. When have I not?” Ilya jokes. Wyatt gives him a knowing look. “And it was not my fault, blame Shane! I could not write anything down because my hands were busy doing something else.” He tilts his head in thought, frowning. “Or maybe is better to say ‘doing someone’.”
It takes Shane about three seconds to register what Ilya just said before he’s blushing like a tomato.
“Ilya!”
Troy cringes outwardly, his face scrunching up in distaste. “Ugh.”
“Dude!” Wyatt bursts out laughing. “TMI!”
Somehow, Ilya does not look ashamed at all. “Oh, please. I have heard you talk about dates with Lisa all the time.”
Wyatt cackles. “Yeah, our dates where we go to comic stores! Like, as a hobby.”
“Boring.”
Shane decides to change the subject of conversation. He’s embarrassed enough. “What is this assignment for?”
Ilya rolls his eyes. “Stupid presentation thing.”
“Sure, but, like, what is it about?”
“Uh… It’s about…” Ilya glances up at the ceiling. Then, he looks at his classmates sheepishly. “What is it about again?”
They gape at him.
“I actually can’t fucking believe you, man,” Evan says, shaking his head.
Shane can’t really believe it either. He would have thought that Dykstra would be the bad student, not Ilya.
Wyatt smiles grimly at Shane. “Can you tell who has actually contributed to it?”
“I can tell who hasn’t.”
“Shane, don’t let him fool you,” Ilya pleads. He makes his eyes look huge and teary. “I have been doing the work. It’s just so confusing and boring and I would much rather spend time with you.”
“That’s sweet,” Shane says, “but…”
“Sweet and true! We never get to spend time together. You are always making coffee. So busy. We never go on dates.”
What a mindfuck. In reality, Shane and Ilya are always busy because they’re professional hockey players with barely any free time. He’s used to rushed phone calls and stolen moments behind closed doors, not…whatever this is.
“Actually,” Rose says, walking up to their table with a cloth in her hand, “you can go on a date now, if you want, because Shane’s shift is over.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Luca is, like, two minutes away.”
Wyatt perks up. “Luca? I fucking love that guy.”
***
Back at his apartment, Shane doesn’t feel any more at ease or less confused.
In actuality, the apartment might be worse than the cafe because it’s so unfamiliar to him, but also extremely Shane. He notices all the furniture, in colours that he likes. He remarks the paintings of his favorite spots in Ottawa. Above the coat rack, there’s a calendar with all of Shane’s activities, along with Ilya’s, penciled in with fine black ink and some handwriting that is undeniably his mother’s.
He watches Ilya shrug his coat off, then place it on the rack with clear practised ease. It doesn’t look like he’s even thinking about what he’s doing. This must be an everyday thing. Shane wonders how often Ilya comes over.
“I am going out tonight.” Ilya’s voice cuts through Shane’s thoughts.
He pauses his scan of the apartment and whips his head around to face Ilya. “What?”
“I am going out tonight,” Ilya repeats. He steps forward and brushes a hand over Shane’s jaw. “Are you okay now?”
Shane blinks.
A part of Shane wants to hold his breath and hope to see his familiar life the next time he blinks and opens his eyes. But… Ilya is his boyfriend. And if he can’t trust him with all of this, who can he trust?
“Actually… Um. I do have to say something.”
Ilya stills. “Yes..?”
“This is gonna sound weird.”
“You always sound weird to me.” An unusual twinge of fear is mixed into Ilya’s usual bravado. Shane feels uneasy.
“Shut up.” He takes a long, hard breath. “I lied earlier. I am so fucking confused.”
Ilya frowns. “I—Still? Shane, what—”
“I am not a barista. I don’t know why I’m here in this apartment with you. I feel like I’m dreaming this entire thing. None of it makes sense. I don’t even think I’ve ever had a single conversation with Dykstra, and I know that you’re friends with Troy but—”
“Shane,” Ilya says. “Slow down… what are you saying? This is because of—?”
“No, no, you don’t get it. This is not because I fucking fell and have a concussion.” He stares, long and hard at Ilya. “I should not be here. I’m a—”
He is interrupted by what feels like a dagger slicing his throat. He reaches up to touch his neck. A strangled choke escapes him.
Ilya’s eyes widen. He looks alarmed. “Shane! Are you okay?”
“I’m not… What the fuck,” Shane says, his mouth full of fire. “I’m a hockey player.”
Ilya nods. “Yes. You are.”
“No! I’m a professional hockey player. You are, too. You play for Ottawa and—Oh, my—Fuck—”
A wave of fatigue ripples through Shane’s head all the way down to his feet. He crumbles into the floor.
“Fuck! Shane, what are you—”
“I’m a… I’m a…”
I’m a hockey player, not a barista. I’m twenty-nine. I live in Montreal. I’m not meant to be here.
Before he can get all of his words out, his vision cuts out, just like before. The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is Ilya’s petrified face above him and their lousy apartment ceiling.
—
—
—
Ten minutes later, Shane wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom, surrounded by servants and royal attendants, disappointed and very, very confused.