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Shane was not having a panic attack.
He was not having a panic attack, that was the thing.
He was not sitting in the bed of a man who had a name so dull he'd already forgotten it, staring at the ceiling, having a fucking panic attack...because that would mean that there was something important enough to panic about.
No, he was just...thinking. Thinking quickly. In a very frenzied fashion.
See, after the incident with Rose, he'd decided that the best thing to do was to be sure. Labelling himself as gay was a Really Big Fucking Deal. It could easily kill his career, distance him from so many of his fans, his friends, his family. It was life-changing.
Plus, there was the Rozanov of it all...
And Shane was nothing if not a very thorough planner. So, he needed to know For Sure.
And what better way to know than to hook up with a different man?
Perhaps this whole thing with Ilya had been a fluke, he'd reasoned with himself. The hockey of it all, the competition and forbidden darkness and post-win adrenaline of it had left him feeling horny for the situation, not the...gender. Maybe he wasn't gay, just...something else.
So he'd decided to test his theory.
It'd been...so excruciatingly outside of his comfort zone.
Going to a gay bar, making eye contact with a stranger that was, to Shane, objectively good-looking. Blonde hair and a pouty expression, light eyes and a smirk. Agreeing to go home with him had been…fine. As long as they were discreet.
And then, of course, there was the…resulting action. The actual…sex.
And yes, it'd all been consensual. Tim or Tom or Justin or Julian or whoever had been kind enough, prepping him and making sure he was ready, checking in even as he fucked him. He'd made sure Shane was enjoying himself, that the arousal was mutual, and hadn't slumped over onto the mattress until they'd both gotten off. And–thank god–he hadn't been into anything weird. It'd just been...sex. Simple and almost perfunctory. Enjoyable, Shane supposed, but not...earthshattering.
Which was exactly why he was laying here. Panicking.
Because, up until this point, sex had either been one of two things: with a girl, or absolutely mindblowing.
Before, he’d forced himself not to look into that fact too much. Before Ilya, the time he’d been with a girl had been awkward and fumbling, and he’d brushed off the fact that he’d been less-than-impressed, figuring that nobody’s first few times were magic. He’d focused on the girls, instead, at least making sure they’d had a decent experience.
But then…with Ilya.
Well, he’d been able to explain that away, too. Ilya had experience. They were both passionate people. It made sense, that it was so…intense.
Of course, it also made sense that he was gay.
Actually, it made a lot more sense.
Sex with girls? Awful.
Sex with boys? Fucking revolutionary.
Until–
"Want anything, before you go?" Timjohntomjustinjulianwhoever asked him with a sideways glance, already on his phone, having disposed of the condom and stretched out a bit.
God. Was Shane like…not even gay?
"Um...no. I think I'll just..." Shane murmured awkwardly, standing and feeling a pang in his chest, even as his hands shook. Lately–well, before things had gone to tuna-melted shit–Ilya had always made sure to press a kiss to his brow after they were done. Clean him up with at least a wet towel or offer him a shower. This was...empty. Cold.
He found his clothes and dressed.
"Want to exchange numbers? I'd be down to do this again, next time you're in town," Timjohntomjustinjulian asked lazily as Shane walked to the bedroom door, noting that the other man had not even risen to walk him out.
"Uh, I'm not usually around here much, so..." Shane muttered, already walking out. A boldfaced lie, as he'd gone to Ottawa for the occasion and often visited to see his parents.
As soon as he returned to his hotel room, he dialed the number without thinking. He couldn't think properly, his thoughts zooming around in head quicker than he could grab ahold of them. He needed someone who could keep him calm. Someone who knew the situation. Someone rational.
Well. He only really had one option.
"Shane?" Rose answered on the second ring, sounding both delighted and concerned.
"I don't think I'm gay," he said quickly, body sagging with relief as soon as the words flew out. It was stupid, but having someone to talk to about this stuff made him feel a whole lot less crazy.
There was a snort. "Shane. Love. You told me that you like to take dick up your ass. Not to judge at all but that's pretty gay, babe."
He sighed, wincing at her boldness. "No, I know..." he acknowledged, nearly whining. "But like..." God, it was so hard to say out loud. Why was it so hard to say?
"What, did you change your mind or something?" Rose seemed to be half-joking but also a little worried. "Shane Hollander, are you asking me out again? Because I have to say, as flattering as that is–"
"No, no! I just...I hooked up with someone, okay? A....man." He whispered the last part, as if someone would hear him and tell the world.
The actress let out a delighted whistle. "Shane, you slut! Good for you! But was it not good? You seem-"
"No! I mean," he sighed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to find the words. "It was fine, I guess. Like. Good. Not bad. Um. Average? I-"
"Did you come?" Rose asked bluntly, as if she was asking about the weather.
"Rose!"
"What? You didn't with me! It's a fair question!"
Pressing his lips together as he felt himself blush bright-red, he sighed again. "Yes."
"Okay. So then....what makes you think you're not gay?" Her question was curious and light, not judgemental or accusatory. But still, Shane felt self-conscious. "I don't know. It was different. Like...boring?"
Rose laughed. "Maybe he just sucked in bed."
He felt panicked again, all of a sudden. "Fuck. Maybe I do."
"No…you're not awful. Trust me, I've had much worse, and those dudes were straight."
"Gee, thanks."
"Point is, I don't think that's the reason." She sounded thoughtful now. "I mean...what, you think you're asexual then?"
He furrowed his brows, shaking his head like a fly had landed on his hair. "What...Rose, what the fuck is that?"
She chuckled. "Shane, you need to go on the internet for like, five minutes. Asexual is when you aren't really attracted to anyone. Like you don’t really feel attraction. There's also demisexual, graysexual..."
But as she jumped into a tangent, Shane allowed himself to think for a moment. No, that wasn't it. He'd been attracted to Timjohntomjustinjulian. He'd been attracted to other people, too. And he was definitely attracted to Ilya Rozanov.
So what was different?
"Can you be, like, specifically sexual for one person? More than the others? Like…person-sexual?" he blurted, immediately regretting the ridiculous question.
"What, like how I feel about Taylor Swift?" Rose laughed, and Shane was relieved that she wasn't judging too harshly.
"No…like someone you actually have a chance of hooking up with."
"Ouch.” She laughed. “I mean yeah, like attraction varies, right? Like, look at the Jonas Brothers. I think Joe is more attractive than Nick, but I'd sleep with either, and Kevin-"
But Shane was too focused on the task at hand to care. "But like...what about more than just that? Like...emotionally attracted, almost?" Yes, that felt right. Like not only was his dick involved, but his stupid, traitorous heart was, too.
Rose's voice sounded strange, almost stifled, when she replied. "Emotionally attracted?"
"Yeah, yeah," Shane nodded dazedly, feeling they were finally getting to the issue, now. "Like what if I think dudes can be hot but only one dude is like...hot in his brain? In his…heart?"
There was a cut-off laugh. "Shane–"
"I'm serious!" He was thoroughly regretting this, now.
"I know, that's why it's funny! But can you...explain a little?" she asked, clearly trying to be patient.
"Like..." he sighed, trying to think back to past times, that last time. "You know when you’re attracted to someone?”
“Vaguely,” Rose laughed, sounding like she was rolling her eyes. “Explain.”
“Like. Oh my god.” He rubbed at his face, mortified. Like…you want your…your bodies to touch and stuff? Like it feels like a magnet, or like a fire, or like…like..”
Now it sounded like Rose was choking. “Yes, I have wanted to touch bodies with someone before,” she replied, tone lilting.
“Right,” he said wryly, trying to not think of the times they’d tried nd failed to do such things. “Right. But like…what about…when you feel like…like you need your hearts to touch? Like you’ll die if they don’t? Like, somehow, if you can’t get closer, you’ll fucking–fucking–” he made a strangled noise, unable to find a word for how it felt when he needed Ilya closer, needed to be inside his skin, needed their hearts and minds to become one, needed to surround him and be surrounded.
But Rose seemed to understand, because he heard a soft sigh. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, feeling self-conscious. “It’s weird. I like to...I don't know, talk with him, and stuff. I don't like to talk with many people."
"Yeah, Shane,” Rose chuckled. “I know."
"He..." Shane swallowed, struggling for the words, though he felt like he was on a tangent, now. "You know how sometimes, your head can just be so fucking loud?"
‘Loud’ was such an understatement. Sometimes, the world was loud. Sometimes, it crushed him with noise and touch and expectation. Sometimes, he felt like he would drown in it.
“Yeah?”
"Normally, people…make it worse. They make it louder. Sometimes, depending on who it is, they make it…fucking awful. And when other people leave, things get quieter. But when he’s here, it's quiet." He inhaled shakily, feeling flayed open. It was a lot, to admit all that to another human, even if Rose didn't know who he was talking about.
That he was talking about Ilya.
"When we...you know..."
"Fuck," Rose murmured helpfully, a smile in her voice.
"Yeah," he agreed, smiling wryly. "Yeah, when we fuck, it's so different, because of that, I think. Like...it's...more. More intense, more overwhelming, feels like more. I thought, y'know, comparing it to being with you, it was because I'm gay. But then I slept with this other guy and it was kind of...boring. So now I don't understand...I thought…wht if I’m not even gay? What if I’m…something even more fucked up?"
“Shane, no matter what you are, you’re not fucked up,” Rose replied right away, her voice firm. “But…”
The hesitation in her tone made Shane’s heart sink. Fuck. What was wrong with him? “What?”
"Shane," she said softly, gently, like she was delivering bad news. "Could you maybe be in love?"
His entire world crashed down at once.
"N–no. No."
"Babe, you basically just composed a sonnet about a man without even having to think about it. I hate to break it to you, but–"
"I can't," he whispered, frozen, heart hammering. "Rose, I can't be in love. Not with him. I-"
There was a dull laugh. "Shane, I don't think it's much of a choice."
He swallowed thickly, fear coursing through him. "What do I do?" He felt so small. Helpless. How long had his heart been in Ilya Rozanov's hands, without him even knowing?
"You have to tell him. Listen, I've starred in enough stupid made-for-TV romcoms to know: don't spend your life wondering. You have to tell him. And if he's an asshole and doesn't feel the same way? I'll spend as much money as I need to on your stupid dairy-free, sugar-free, fat-free, joy-free ice cream, and we can get through it together. Alright?"
He sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe."
"Shane?"
"Hm?"
"You deserve it. To be with someone who makes things...quiet."
"Thanks, Rose."
"Anytime, babe."
He was slightly less panicked by the time he hung up.