Chapter Text
The countdown started somewhere near the television.
“Ten!”
Shane stood near the kitchen island with a sparkling cider in hand, hip against the counter while his relatives crowded into the living room. His younger cousins were screaming over each other, someone was already filming on their phone, and fireworks cracked faintly in the distance outside.
“Nine!”
David appeared beside him long enough to steal one of the shrimp on Shane’s plate. “Dad,” he chastised. “What?” David asked innocently while chewing on the shrimp. “New year, same crimes.”
“Five!”
Yuna laughed from across the room, already reaching for her wine glass.
“Three!”
The lights from outside flickered through the windows in flashes of gold and blue.
“Two!”
Shane found himself smiling despite himself.
“One!”
“Happy New Year!”
The house exploded into noise. People cheered. Glasses clinked. Someone shouted loud enough to hurt Shane’s ears, David immediately wrapped an arm around Yuna while she laughed into his shoulder, and then both of them turned toward Shane at the exact same time. “Oh no,” Shane muttered. Too late. Yuna pulled him into a tight hug while David ruffled his hair hard enough to ruin it completely.
“Happy New Year, sweetheart.” Yuna said warmly as she pressed a kiss against Shane’s temple. “Happy New Year, kid,” David added. “Can’t wait to spend another year disappointed in the Leafs.”
Shane chuckled, “Dad.”
David grinned. “Starting the year with realism.”
A few minutes later, Shane found himself being dragged around the room for hugs from relatives he only saw during holidays. His aunt kissed his cheek twice. One cousin nearly spilled champagne on him. Another immediately started asking invasive questions about whether Shane was dating anyone yet. “No,” Shane answered flatly for the third time that night. “Still?” his cousin asked dramatically. “You’re telling me there isn’t a single man throwing himself at you?”
“Please stop talking.”
David, overhearing from nearby, nearly spit out his drink laughing. “Leave him alone,” Yuna said, swatting lightly at her niece before glancing toward Shane. “He’ll date when he wants to.” Shane mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ at her.
Truthfully, he’d never hidden being gay from his parents. There’d been no dramatic coming out story. No tears. No fighting. At sixteen, he’d awkwardly admitted during dinner that he thought boys were hot. David had blinked once and said, “Okay. Pass the potatoes.” Yuna had asked if there was a specific boy. That had somehow been more terrifying than the actual coming out because even if there wasn’t a ‘specific boy’ he was attracted to, the idea alone of his parents asking him about boys was mortifying enough. Since then, his parents had treated it like the most normal thing in the world—which Shane appreciated more than he actually knew how to say out loud.
Eventually, the crowd thinned enough for Shane to escape back toward the dining table where Yuna and David had settled with fresh drinks. Yuna crossed one leg over the other and looked at him expectantly. “So,” she asked, “what’s your New Year’s resolution?”
Shane shrugged lightly as he settled on one of the empty chairs. “Improve my skating speed.” Yuna stared at him. David immediately raised his wine glass to his lips because he already knew what was coming.
“Shane.”
“What?”
“Sweetheart.” Yuna sighed deeply. “You’re twenty-one years old.”
Shane frowned, “... and?”
“And your resolution cannot always be hockey related.”
“It’s important.”
“I know it’s important,” she said patiently. “But hockey is already your whole life.”
“It’s not my whole life—”
Yuna gave him a look.
Shane hesitated. Okay, fine. Maybe it was.
School. Practice. Gym. Repeat.
Every day planned down to the hour. But he liked it that way. That’s basically his entire upbringing.
Yuna softened a little when he didn’t argue again immediately. “You’ve spent years following the same strict routine,” she continued gently. “And there’s nothing wrong with being disciplined. Your father and I are proud of you. But I don’t want you looking back one day realizing you never let yourself actually experience life outside of responsibilities.”
David nodded once in agreement. “Your mom’s right.”
“Traitor,” Shane muttered. David ignored him. “You don’t go out. You barely socialize unless it’s with teammates. You’ve never even brought a guy home before.”
“Jesus Christ…” Shane sighed, deflating back into his chair.
“What?” David asked, raising his hands innocently. “I’m just saying.”
Yuna laughed softly into her drink before looking back at Shane. “Try new things this year,” she said. “Meet people. Go somewhere spontaneous. Fall in love. Make mistakes,” Her lips twitched into a teasing smile. “Kiss a handsome stranger at midnight next year instead of standing in my kitchen pretending conditioning drills are a personality trait.”
“Mom.”
“Oh, don’t act shy now,” she teased. “You’re a grown man.”
Shane dragged a hand down his face while David laughed beside Yuna like this was the funniest thing he’d heard all night. But underneath the embarrassment, something uncomfortable settled quietly in Shane's chest. Because the thing was… he didn’t actually know how to do any of that. Trying new things sounded nice in theory. So did meeting someone. So did falling in love someday. But Shane had spent so much of his life inside routines, expectations, schedules, and self-discipline that the idea of stepping outside of it felt strangely terrifying.
Still— under the warmth of the house and the sound of fireworks outside, he sighed. “I’ll try,” Shane said finally. Yuna smiled immediately, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “That’s all I want.”
A few days later…
“Just one drink.”
“Hayden, we have classes tomorrow—”
“And it starts after lunch,” Hayden shot back immediately. “You’ll survive, I promise. Come on, Hollander.”
There was no bite in it—just a familiar, easy push Hayden always had. Like he was nudging instead of shoving. JJ snorted from the doorway, already halfway inside Shane’s dorm room.
“Yeah, we’re not asking you to run a marathon,” JJ added. “Just… stand somewhere with a drink. Maybe sway a little. Very low expectations.”
“I’d rather run a marathon,” Shane muttered, not looking at them as he stood by his closet, one hand on a hanger that he was about to pick up to hang a shirt on until they’d started talking—distracting him. “Guys, I don’t really do clubs,” he said, quieter than either of them.
“We know,” Hayden said as he stepped a little closer and leaned against the closet, glancing at the hanging shirts that were arranged in a color-coded manner. Hayden made a face but didn’t say anything. Shane hung the shirt and closed the closet, glaring at Hayden who shrugged at him. “So, what? You’re trying to fix me?”
JJ gasped, one hand exaggeratedly pressed against his chest. “Fix is a strong word. We’re trying to…” he waved his hand as he tried to think of the word he needed, “...expand your character development.”
Hayden nodded solemnly. “It’s for the plot.”
Shane stared at them for a second then rolled his eyes but there was a hint of smile there now, small and reluctant. “What does that even mean?”
“You already have the whole ‘mysterious, emotionally unavailable hockey guy’ thing going for you. We’re just, you know, sticking to your life’s script.”
Shane frowned, “I am not—”
“You kind of are,” Hayden cut in, but he was smiling. “Which is fine. Chicks dig that. We just also think you deserve one night where you’re not thinking about practice schedules or assignments.”
Shane bristled a little. Chicks dig that.
His friends still assumed he was straight. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe they just didn’t know what he was at all. Shane had never actually told them. Whenever conversations drifted toward dating or hookups, he usually found a way to dodge them before anyone could ask too many questions. A joke. A shrug. A complaint about practice. Anything to redirect attention somewhere else. It had always been easier that way.
His family knowing was different. But teammates—even teammates he liked—felt more complicated somehow. So instead, Shane stayed quiet.
Try new things this year. His mom’s voice slipped into his mind, uninvited but persistent. He exhaled slowly, shoulder dropping just a fraction. “It’s loud,” he said, like that alone might be reason enough. “It is,” Hayden admitted easily. “But we’ll stick together. And if it gets too much, we step outside. No big deal.”
“You don’t even have to stay long,” JJ added. “We go in, we get you a drink, and if you decide that you hate it, we leave and get fries somewhere. That’s still a win.”
Shane glanced between them.
There was no pressure in their expressions. No expectation that he’d suddenly transform into someone else. Just… an invitation to go out. Simple as that.
He glanced around his room without really meaning to, as if he would find the answer somewhere in the perfectly organized space. Routine would be easier. Saying ‘no’ would be easier. But— God, he was a little tired of easy.
Shane let out a breath, long and steady, like he was bracing for impact. “Fine,” he muttered. There was a beat of silence. Then Hayden blinked. “Wait—seriously?”
Shane nodded once, already setting the hanger down before he could change his mind. “Yeah. But just one drink.”
“Oh my God,” Hayden said, breaking into a grin. “It’s happening.”
“Mark the date!” JJ added, pushing off the doorframe. “We witnessed personal growth!”
Shane rolled his eyes, “Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late,” Hayden said cheerfully. “It’s already a little weird.”
Shane shook his head, but this time the smile came a little easier. “Just—give me a minute,” he said, turning back to his closet. His hand hovered over his clothes again, but now it felt different. Not like he was reaching for the same thing he always did. Something lighter had settled in his chest—still unfamiliar, still edged with nerves—but not entirely unpleasant. And for once, he didn’t push it away.
The club was nothing like anything Shane had ever stepped into before.
It hit him the second they crossed the threshold—not just sound, but pressure. Like the air itself had weight to it. The bass wasn’t just something he heard, it moved through him, low and relentless, climbing up from the soles of his shoes and settling deep in his chest until it felt like his heartbeat had been hijacked.
Lights fractured across the room in sharp, shifting colors—blue bleeding into purple, purple snapping into red—never staying still long enough for his eyes to adjust. Everything flickered. Faces, hands, bodies—here one second, gone the next.
People were everywhere. Too many of them. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, moving like a single organism that breathed and pulsed and swayed in time with the music. It felt chaotic. But there was something intentional in it, too. Like everyone knew exactly where they fit in the noise.
Shane didn’t.
“Drink,” Hayden said, pressing something cold into his hand. Shane looked down—a bottle of… Shane squinted at the label, vodka mule. The condensation was slick against his fingers. The pale liquid sloshed inside, catching the stray flashes of light. “Just try it,” JJ added, leaning closer so he could be heard over the music. “You’ll be fine.”
Shane nodded, even though he wasn’t entirely sure about that. He took a small sip. It tasted like lemon and something else and it burned—sharp and unfamiliar—but not unbearable. He swallowed, grimacing slightly. Hayden grinned like that was exactly the reaction he’d expected.
“See? You’re getting used to it.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Shane muttered, but he took another sip anyway.
They didn’t stay in one place for long. Hayden kept moving, weaving through the crowd with easy confidence. JJ following like it was second nature. Shane stayed close—close enough that he wouldn’t lose them, close enough that he didn’t feel completely untethered.
At first, everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too close. Every brush of someone’s arm, every accidental bump, every laugh that came too sharp, too sudden—it all scraped against his nerves like static.
He focused on small things. The weight of the bottle in his hand. The rhythm of his breathing. The fact that Hayden’s shoulder was just to his left, solid and familiar. And slowly—slowly—the edges softened. The music stopped feeling like noise. It found a pattern, a beat he could follow even if he didn’t fully understand it. His body started to adjust without asking permission—foot tapping, shoulders loosening just a fraction. The lights were still bright, but less blinding. The crowd was still close, but less suffocating. There was a moment—small, almost easy to miss—when something in him shifted. He took another sip of his drink, less cautious this time. Hayden said something—he didn’t even catch all of it—but the delivery was so Hayden that Shane laughed—actually laughed. It slipped out before he could stop it, light and unguarded, and it startled him enough that he blinked, like he needed to double-check it had really happened.
JJ caught it immediately. “Oh, he’s having fun,” he said, nudging Hayden.
“Don’t jinx it,” Shane shot back, but there was no real resistance behind it. His shoulders felt lighter. His chest, too. For a second he wasn’t thinking about how out of place he had felt. Wasn’t tracking every moment, every sound, every possible exit. He was just… there. And it wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t even bad.
But then the lights flared brighter. The bass dropped harder, deeper, rattling through him with sudden force. Someone stumbled into him from the side, knocking into his shoulder hard enough to jolt him. His drink sloshed over his hand, cold and sticky, the liquid clinging to his skin.
“Sorry!” the guy shouted, already gone before Shane could respond. And just like that—
It snapped.
The rhythm broke. The warmth turned suffocating. The sound sharpened into something jagged and invasive. Too loud. Too close. Too much.
Shane’s chest tightened, breath catching halfway in like something had closed around his ribs. The air felt thinner now, heavier, harder to pull down into his lungs. The lights weren’t just bright anymore—they were blinding. Disorienting. Every flash left an afterimage that lingered just a second too long every time he blinked.
“I’m—” he started, turning toward Hayden, but his voice got swallowed instantly, lost in the noise. Hayden didn’t hear him. Shane swallowed, forcing himself to focus. He reached out instead, fingers brushing Hayden’s shoulder—missing once when someone bumped between them—before finally managing to tap him properly.
Hayden turned immediately, like he’d been half-expecting it. “You good?” he asked, leaning in, voice raised but not shouting. Shane nodded quickly, even if it wasn’t entirely true. “Just—air,” he managed, gesturing vaguely toward the exit. Hayden’s expression shifted, the easy grin softening into something more attentive. “Yeah? You want me to—”
“No,” Shane said, a little sharper than he meant to, then shook his head. “No, I’m good. I’ll be right back.”
JJ had caught on now too, glancing over with a small, knowing nod. “Don’t get kidnapped,” he added, half-teasing, half-serious. Shane huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh in another moment. But at the moment, it sounded more like an exhale than a laugh. “I won’t.”
Hayden held his gaze for a second longer, like he was double-checking, then nodded. “Text if you need us.”
Shane nodded back, grateful that he didn’t need to explain himself to his friends but he didn’t have the space to fully process it right now. Then he turned—all his focus on one thing. Out.
He pushed through the crowd, shoulders angling just enough to slip past bodies, creating space where there wasn’t any. Someone brushed his arm, another bumped into his back, the music still pounding relentlessly around him but now there was a direction. A goal. There— Door. He locked onto it like it was the only solid thing in the room. Step step step. Closer.
The bass roared in his ears, the lights flashing too fast, too bright. And then— the door opened. And everything—the chaos—broke. The air hit him cool and clean. Sharp in the best way. Shane stepped out fully, the door swinging shut behind him, sealing the noise back inside where it belonged. The sound dropped off, muffled instantly, like someone had slammed a lid over it. The bass was still there but distant now, contained behind brick and glass instead of reverberating through his bones.
For a second, he just stood there. Then he inhaled deeply. The air filled his lungs properly this time—no resistance, no pressure, no tightness. He exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping.
He did it again. In. Out. Slowly. The world steadied. The noise faded to something manageable, a dull thrum in the background instead of a constant assault. His heartbeat started to settle, syncing back into something that actually felt like his own. Shane tilted his head back slightly, eyes closing for just a moment, letting the quiet—relative quiet—wrap around him.
When he opened his eyes again, that’s when he noticed him.
A man was leaning against the wall just a few feet away, one foot propped against the wall behind him, like he’d claimed the space as his own. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between his fingers, catching the dim light of the streetlamp.
Black shirt. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Tight pants that made no effort to be subtle. Brown curly hair styled in a way that looked natural. And there was something effortless about him. Like he existed completely at ease in the world Shane had just barely survived five minutes in. Shane looked away quickly—then, almost against his will, like his body refused to listen to his brain, looked back.
The man was already watching him. The tip of his cigarette glowing as he took a drag from it.
Then their eyes met.
It wasn’t dramatic like in the movies. No music swelling, no sudden shift in the world. Just a look. And still—something in Shane’s chest shifted. A flicker. A pull. He nodded, brief and polite, an acknowledgement more than anything. The man didn’t nod back. Instead, he straightened, pushed off the wall, planting the foot that was propped on the wall down on the ground with a soft click of his heeled boot, and walked over.
Shane’s spine went rigid without permission.
Up close, the man looked… sharper. Shane noticed the sharp edge of his jaw, the bright color of his eyes—like sunlit seawater, vivid blue with green seagrass and golden sand caught beneath the surface, the line of his nose, the mole on his cheek, and the curve of his cupid’s bow.
His presence filled the space in a way that made Shane suddenly aware of everything—his breathing, his posture, the way his fingers curled slightly around nothing.
Shane realized he’d been cataloging the man’s features without realizing it. But before he could stop himself, the man spoke. “Rough in there?” he asked, voice low, edged with amusement.
There was something different about the way he spoke—subtle, almost easy to miss. The words were smooth, fluent, but the consonants sat just a little heavier, the rhythm of his sentences just slightly off-beat. Not wrong. Just… not from here.
He blinked, then huffed out a small breath. “A little.”
The corner of the man’s mouth lifted. He held out the cigarette pack. “Here.”
Shane glanced at it, then back at him. “I don’t smoke.”
“You look like you could use one,” the man said, the faintest trace of an accent curling around the words—soft, but unmistakable now that Shane was listening for it. Russian, maybe. Or something close. There was no pressure in his tone. Just a statement. Like he already knew how this would go. Shane hesitated. His instinct was to refuse. To step back into something familiar. Safe. But then—
Try new things.
It wasn’t like he’d suddenly become a smoker. One cigarette didn’t define anything. Right?
“...Okay,” he said, surprising himself.
The man’s smile deepened—small, but clear. He tapped one out and handed it over, their fingers brushing for just a second.
Shane felt his skin tingle where the man’s fingers touched. He ignored it.
The man leaned in, lighter flicking to life. The flame danced between them, briefly illuminating his face—sharp cheekbones, bright eyes, something knowing in the way he watched Shane. “Careful,” he murmured. Even that single word carried it—the slight drag on the ‘r’, the softened edge of the vowel. It was subtle and controlled. Just like everything else about him, it seemed.
He leaned forward, lips closing around the cigarette. He inhaled and immediately started coughing, the smoke burning its way down his throat like a bad decision. The man laughed. Not unkindly. Not cruel. Just… entertained. “Easy,” he said. Shane waved a hand, coughing again, face heating. “I’m fine.”
“Clearly,” he said flatly, but there was something softer in his expression. Shane tried again, more cautiously this time. The burn was still there, but less aggressive. More manageable. They stood there for a moment, side by side, the night stretching quietly around them. The muffled bass from inside the club pulsed faintly through the wall, distant now, almost easy to ignore.
“I’m Shane, by the way,” he said finally.
The man glanced at him. “Ilya,” he said.
Shane committed the name and the pronunciation to mind. Il-ya.
Russian. Definitely.
Ilya.
It suited him.
“Russian?” Shane asked, before he could stop himself.
Ilya’s mouth curved slightly. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Is it that obvious?”
“Not really,” Shane admitted. “Just… a little.”
“A little is enough,” Ilya replied, tone amused.
They talked. About nothing, really. Or maybe about everything that didn’t matter enough to be dangerous. Ilya teased him—about the cigarette, about the way he held himself like he was bracing for impact, about how carefully he seemed to choose his words. “You think too much,” Ilya said at one point, glancing at him sideways. Shane huffed, “I don’t.”
“You do,” Ilya said easily. “I can see it.”
“And that’s bad?”
Ilya shrugged, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. “Not bad. Just… interesting.”
There it was again—that word, shaped differently in his mouth, the ‘r’ softer this time, the cadence just slightly off in a way that made Shane pay attention. Shane found himself pushing back a little, testing the edges of this version of himself that existed here, outside routine. The alcohol helped. Or maybe it just lowered the walls enough for something to slip through. Because when Ilya stepped closer, standing in front of him, Shane didn’t move away. When Ilya’s hand brushed his wrist, Shane didn’t pull back. “You’re interesting,” Ilya said again, quieter now. More certain.
Shane let out a quiet laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that about me.”
“No?” Ilya tilted his head slightly. “That is hard to believe.”
There was something in the way he looked at him. Like he was seeing something that Shane couldn’t quite put his finger on. Shane swallowed. And then—because apparently tonight was about making questionable decisions—he said, “You say that because you don’t know me.”
Ilya’s gaze sharpened. “Maybe,” he said. Then the space between them shifted. Smaller. Tighter. And Shane found himself tilting his head back, as Ilya moved closer.
“Will you let me kiss you?”
Not Can I— but a Will you—
And Shane was grateful to be given the power to choose because he realized just how much he wanted it. Shane looked back into those bright eyes—those beautiful ocean blue eyes—and nodded. A movement so minute, one could’ve missed it if they weren’t observing as close as Ilya did.
And then Ilya kissed him. His hand came up to Shane’s jaw, steadying him, grounding him even as everything else tilted. Shane froze for half a second—then he leaned in. Because why not? Because this was new. Because this was exactly the kind of thing he’d promised himself he’d try. Because—
Ilya’s thumb brushed lightly against his cheek, and Shane’s thoughts scattered completely. The kiss deepened, hungry and certain, like Ilya knew exactly what he wanted and was going for it. And the thought of it caused heat to pool low in his abdomen. Shane’s hand came up without thinking, catching on the fabric of Ilya’s shirt, holding on—pulling him in, as he kissed back with equal fervor. When they pulled apart, Shane’s pulse was loud in his ears. “You want to come home with me?” Ilya asked.
The way he said it—simple and direct—should’ve made alarms start wailing inside Shane’s brain. But instead, it was quiet. His brain was too busy noticing the way Ilya said home, the vowel slightly rounded, the word lingering just a fraction longer. Shane hesitated but only for a second.
This.
This was past “one drink.”
Past “trying something small.”
This was a step. A bigger one. But the rush of doing something different, something new stirred something loose—something reckless—inside him. And Ilya was standing right in front of him, watching him, waiting for an answer that could potentially be the worst decision Shane would ever make in his entire life.
Shane exhaled. It’s just part of the resolution. Try something new.
Ilya’s lips twitched. As if he could see the gears in Shane’s brain working. And then Shane nodded.
“Yeah.”