Chapter Text
Sometimes, Shane didn’t like to be touched.
It wasn’t the biggest thing in the world, and it was a quirk that was generally unproblematic enough for it to be conflated into anything bigger than just a personality trait. In fact, it made sense for Shane, given his slightly aloof and shy nature. He wasn’t the best at communication, so it wasn’t the craziest thing in the world that he was like this. He knew his team noticed and he knew his friends noticed, but it didn’t really mean anything. Shane just didn’t like to be touched and he didn’t like it when people came near him. It was as simple as that.
Despite the fact that it was a relatively inconspicuous deficiency, a younger Shane would worry about how it may materialise in any future relationships. Of course, when he was fourteen he was never particularly interested in dating anyone, so it wasn’t actually an issue. Only, two years passed and his friends were having random teenage relationships that were never very serious, but Shane found himself falling quite quickly behind. It was not that he did not have crushes. Attraction definitely wasn’t the problem. There were plenty of girls he was into. He found some guys strikingly beautiful too, but he didn’t want to dwell on that too much. No, Shane was too convincing himself that he didn’t have a problem with people touching him, because he definitely didn’t have a problem with people touching him.
Sixteen years old and he hadn’t had his first kiss. Everyone around him had. Scott had been trying to set him up with one of the girls on the women’s version of their hockey team. She was only an inch shorter than Shane and she had pretty dark hair with ringlets and freckles dusted on her cheeks. She was nice to him, and she was a nice person in general. Scott had told him that she was into Shane, and that he should try asking her out at their annual hockey Christmas party.
Shane had been sitting on one of the benches outside, trying to quell the anxiety that was rising in his chest at the thought of being here in this party, the stress of having to act like a normal, functional, not-weird person heavy on his shoulders. She had appeared from nowhere and sat on the bench next to him. He didn’t mind at first. She was easy to talk to. Only, she began to slide closer and closer to him until their legs were touching. It was a normal thing to happen, even between people who were just friends, but Shane leapt up and said they should go and get drinks.
Really, he meant a drink for himself. He ended up chugging a bear, feeling the slightly-sour, malty liquid gurgle in his stomach. One of the girl’s friends was crying about something to do with a boy, so the girl apologised and said she would join him again later but first she had to make sure her friend was okay. Shane didn’t mind really, he was just enjoying the weightlessness of the alcohol, and how his skin didn’t feel like it was infected or could be infected. Someone leaned over him to grab a drink, an absent-minded gesture that surprisingly didn’t make Shane feel as though he were about to explode. He looked at the beer bottle in his hand. It was medicinal. As he drank more, he found that he could tolerate touch.
He didn’t ever hug anyone. Not willingly, anyway. He would get pulled into side hugs occasionally when his team were celebrating a good match or if a friend had seen him for the first time in a long time and was casually greeting him. He didn’t hug his parents. They were warm and he was very close to them, but they weren’t the physically affectionate family. Perhaps that was his own fault, or perhaps that was part of the reason why. Shane wasn’t sure.
Shane felt as though he were waking up, as though something had clicked inside of his body and his brain and he was suddenly correct. He didn’t want this feeling to end. He found Scott and he hugged him and it felt good and warm and comforting. It was a hug and Shane was capable of it. Shane liked it, even. He could tell Scott was surprised, but he smiled as Scott wrapped his arms around him back.
When the girl came back, they ended up making out at the back of the building by the bins. Their hands roamed across each other’s bodies, and it felt natural to Shane, and it felt good because of that feeling. They didn’t speak again, but Shane was happy with what happened. He felt as though he had unlocked a new ability that he had previously coveted from the people around him. The ability of proximity.
After that, Shane found himself hugging people when drunk, because it made him feel functional and like he could exist as a normal and not-weird person. He also realised that he did have the desire for casual touch within him, it just seemed to be blocked somehow unless he was drunk and then that wall could be broken down. When he hugged his friends, it made him happy because it felt like he could finally express the love inside of him that he could not even do with words. It was a magical, addictive feeling, but a new problem was created from that. He had now had the delicious taste of friendly hugs and being able to sit or stand in close proximity to people, but he could not do it sober, and therefore how could he ever possibly date anyone?
He would watch the casual touch of couples and think that he could never do that. He would make out with people in parties or in random bars he had snuck into with his friends with fake IDs, but he would never speak to them again. If they texted him the next morning, Shane would ignore it. He wasn’t capable.
When he was seventeen, Ilya appeared, and Ilya was perfect because there was enough distance that Ilya would not be able to realise how strange Shane’s behaviour was. Weirdly, Shane was fine with their contact. He thought it was because he was able to mentally prepare for it in his head, so nothing took him by surprise. If he met up with Ilya in one of their rooms, Shane already knew what would happen, so he could be fine with it. It was easy, so deliciously easy, and Ilya made Shane feel like a normal person because Shane didn’t need to worry about being weird about physical touch because the arrangement meant he already knew at least a few weeks in advance.
It was only the first time that they had met that Shane had felt the anxiety over physical touch. Well, of course, the showers was not the first time they met, but it was the first time the boundary between them had become sexual.
Shane had looked at Ilya’s body, admiring the curves of the muscle, the curves of his erect dick. Shane had watched Ilya pump it while their eyes were locked, felt his mouth water as he longed so desperately to get on his knees and just please him. But then Shane was brought back into reality with the icy feeling of loss of control. He didn’t want to touch or be touched. He felt anxious. He told Ilya not here and then he left the showers, breathing heavily and clenching his fists tightly to distract himself from the misery of his failure.
Shane had waited in the locker room afterwards, quietly hoping. He fantasised that maybe something would happen between them, that Ilya would press him up against the wall and make him cry, but he also felt terrified of it because he felt that he could not be touched. It would be overwhelming and his brain wouldn’t be able to handle it. He longed for Ilya to appear while also longing for him to disappear.
Perhaps Ilya had sensed something when he finally emerged in the locker room, because he did not make any attempt to touch him. When they met later that night, Shane touched him with ease because he was not caught by surprise and he had control over what was happening. It was good, it was so good. And every time after that, it was good too.
It was when they got closer that it got harder to hide his strangeness. He had never been in a situation like this before. They had to have a conversation about it, because Ilya was noticing it more and more. How Shane would sometimes tense up when Ilya touched him outside of sex. It was never a problem during sex. Only outside of it.
It was one night at the cottage, before Shane’s parents had found out about them. They had been sitting one one of the rocks overlooking the lake, when Ilya had brought it up.
“Hollander?” Ilya had asked, his voice quiet.
Shane turned to him. “What is it?”
“You don’t like touch, no?” He asked, his voice curious.
“Erm.” Shane had said dumbly, not sure how to respond. Anxiety curled in his gut and he suddenly felt exposed. He thought he had been hiding it well, but clearly his efforts were in vain if they were now having to discuss this.
“I notice. You don’t like touch.”
Shane laughed quietly. “I do like touch. We touch all the time.”
Ilya nodded. “Yes. We touch. When we have sex.”
Shane furrowed his eyebrows. “So?”
“You don’t like touch when there is no sex.”
“That’s not true.” Shane said quickly.
Ilya pushed on, his voice filled with determination. “You don’t like to be hugged by your team or your friends. You don’t sit close with them either.” Ilya spoke as if he were reciting a checklist. “Only sometimes. I see you hug Scott Hunter sometimes when you look…relaxed. But you are usually tense. Always so tense, Hollander. So no touch.”
Shane scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not weird-”
“Ah! Shane, I am not saying you are weird! I am just…curious. You don’t like touch?”
Shane took a sip of his beer. “I do like touch.” He said honestly. He loved it. He loved being close to people because it made him feel safe and happy and comforted and he didn’t have to rely on words.
“Then why?”
“Ilya, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ilya let out a laugh. “We both know you know. You don’t want to talk?”
“I…” Shane felt insecure. “It’s silly.”
Ilya shook his head quickly. “Not silly at all. Just wanted to make sure Hollander is okay.”
“I am okay. I just find it difficult sometimes.” Shane felt so vulnerable. He curled into himself slightly. “I am okay with you touching me, usually.”
“Not always?”
“Not always, no.” Shane’s eyes burned. “Shit, I’m sorry, Ilya. I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just…I just get scared. Not of you. I don’t think you will ever hurt me. Just, sometimes, when I don’t expect the touch or when- when I’m in a certain mood, it doesn’t feel okay.”
Ilya seemed to think about his words for a few moments. “This always happens? I mean, with everyone?”
“Yes. Everyone. Always. I find it…difficult. With you, though, it is a lot better. I am usually fine with you.”
“Hollander, you don’t need to defend yourself, I understan-”
“No! I mean it.” Shane said quickly, face flushing. “It really is a lot better with you, for some reason. And it’s not as bad as it used to be. I’m able to stand closer to people that I know well than I could do before without being drunk.”
“Drunk helps?”
“Yes. I know that sounds bad, but it relaxes me. I don’t feel worried about touch or being close to people when I’m drunk for some reason. I guess the alcohol gets rid of the anxiety or something.”
“Ah.” Ilya said. “You would tell me if there was problem with touch?”
“Erm…”
“You would tell me, yes?” Ilya repeated, his voice firm.
“Yes. I will, sorry.”
“No apologies, Hollander.” Ilya looked down at where their legs were touching. “You know why you feel like this? Something happen?” His voice had a slightly sharp edge, and Shane tensed slightly.
“No, no. There’s no reason for it.” Shane said quickly, not liking the look on Ilya’s face. “It’s just how I am.”
Later that night, Shane had a nightmare of a faceless figure standing over him. He couldn’t remember the dream, but he could remember the fear he felt for it remained within him even as he woke up choking and gasping, desperately trying to fill his air with lungs.
“Hollander? Hollander!” Ilya had called from next to him.
“Nightmare.” He gasped out.
Ilya rubbed comforting circles on his back and Shane’s breathing gradually slowed to a normal pace.
“What happened?” Ilya asked, once Shane was settled up against him and safe in his arms.
“I don’t remember the dream.” Shane said. “I just feel…I just feel really scared still.”
Ilya gave him a kiss on his forehead. “This happen before?”
Shane swallowed. “Yep. When I’m stressed I get nightmares. It’s not a big thing. I’m just worried about the new coach.”
“Ah, yes. Makes sense. Seems like a nice man though, from what I have heard. No need to worry.”
“Yes, I know. It’s just stupid. I’m just being stupid.”
“Stop, Hollander. Don’t call yourself stupid.”
A few weeks later, the new coach arrived. His name was Sam Robson, and Shane recognised that face as soon as he lay eyes on him. His green eyes that were slightly too close together, his thin lips that were always curled up one one side, the mole on his cheekbone. It was Mr Sammy, his coach from when he was ten until he was fifteen.
After introductions were over, Shane promptly left the ice rink to have a quick pre-practice panic attack. Ilya was hot on his heels. Shane slumped onto one of the benches in the changing rooms, covering his face with his hands. Ilya crouched in front of him.
“Hollander. You are having panic attack.” Ilya said.
Shane huffed out a laugh, still hyperventilating.
“New coach is that bad? Seemed nice, huh. How you breathe normally with your hands over your mouth?”
Shane felt Ilya’s hands gently wrap around his wrists and bring his arms down to reveal his face.
“Ilya.” Shane gasped.
“It’s okay, Hollander. Breathe with me, yes?”
Shane nodded, cheeks wet with tears. He copied Ilya’s breathing until the panic attack finally ended. Then Ilya sat on the bench next to him and Shane fell into his chest, relieved when strong arms held him tightly.
“I really like you, Ilya.” Shane rushed out. “You make me feel really safe.” A sob erupted from his chest. “I feel like I’m a bad person by not letting other people touch me. I want to be able to hug my friends and not worry. It’s just my stupid, stupid body. I just get so scared.”
“Hollander, you are not bad person. Definitely not.” Ilya said emphatically. “Is this why you have panic attack?”
Shane didn’t want to tell him the truth- he was too ashamed for that- so he just nodded.
“You want to skip practice?” Ilya asked, rubbing circles into Shane’s palm.
Shane shook his head. “No. We shouldn’t. I’m fine now. Sorry.”
Ilya huffed. “Why do you always apologise? Annoying, Hollander.” He pulled his hand up to his lips and kissed Shane’s knuckles. “We will go back when you are feeling better, yes?”
“Okay.”
Shane closed his eyes, memories flashing through his mind. He wanted to pretend that his problem with touch were a quirk and borne of randomness, but it seemed his past was catching up on him. Mr Sammy’s face. Those green eyes narrowed in anger, teeth gritted as Shane fucked up again and again. Things being smashed all around him as he was forced to act like he was unaffected. Hot breath on his face as angry words were screamed at him
You are nothing. You are worthless. You are lazy. You are selfish. You will never amount to anything.
The first time he had been slapped. Ten years old, trembling as he pressed a hand to his hot cheek, tears spilling out of his eyes as he was screamed at to stop crying and just fucking man up. The resignation as it happened again and again. No bruises so it wasn’t real. The self-hatred as the hitting stopped completely and was replaced only with things broken around him. He was not being hurt, so why was he so hurt? His arm being stroked as Mr Sammy remarked on the softness of his skin. That had been a good day. Mr Sammy was being nice to him then. Mr Sammy throwing his lunch at Shane’s head, Shane narrowly dodging it as it crashed against the wall behind him instead, a mess of lettuce and grains and chicken breast and sesame seeds. Mr Sammy laughing suddenly. Mr Sammy always laughing suddenly afterwards, as though it was funny and was nothing.
Being collected by his parents and knowing not to say anything. Not because he had been told not to tell. He just knew not to tell because he knew something wrong was happening and he didn’t want to bother his parents. Sitting in the car and thinking about everything he had done wrong.
Mr Sammy in a good mood buying all of Shane’s favourite snacks for his birthday. Mr Sammy in a bad mood calling him to his office, striding right into his personal space until they were inches apart, kicking him in the shins, sitting back at his desk as if nothing had happened. Flinching at loud sounds because they brought him back to being in that office. Wanting Mr Sammy to hit him because then at least his pain would be real. Wanting Mr Sammy to like him because when Mr Sammy liked him everything was good. Not telling anyone. Never telling anyone.
“I’m fine now, Ilya. Let’s go back to practice.” Shane said, standing up. He suddenly felt weirdly dissociated.
Ilya moved forward as though attempting to give him a quick hug, but Shane flinched back. Ilya’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Shane looked away. Shane just didn’t like to be touched sometimes. It wasn’t the biggest thing in the world, and it was a quirk that was generally unproblematic enough for it to be conflated into anything bigger than just a personality trait. In fact, it made sense for Shane, given his slightly aloof and shy nature.