Chapter Text
Shane’s fingers shake from the cold. It’s his third winter with the same ratty, torn pair of gloves, and Ontario in November seems to get colder and colder each year. He brings his hands up to his mouth and blows a puff of hot air, stretching the kinks out of his neck, and pulls his spring jacket tighter over his body.
“Do you want my scarf?”
He flushes, though he assumes he can blame the chilly weather. Hayden is staring at him with an expectant and concerned expression- the kind he hates the most. He shakes his head and grabs his cup.
“I’m good,” he responds. His lukewarm coffee soothes his throat- he tried to cut caffeine, too expensive of a habit, but the withdrawal headaches make it worth having holes in his shoes. They’re inside, but most establishments don’t turn the heat on until after it hits -10. Somehow, it still is warmer than his apartment. “You were- uh, you were saying?”
Hayden’s mouth twists slightly, like each word out of Shane only worries him more. He leans in closer, as if someone is watching them, and stares tentatively into Shane’s eyes. “I don’t want you to respond until I’ve finished talking.”
Shane mimics zipping his mouth shut, leaning back in his chair, already dreading this conversation.
“I- uh, god, this is weird,” Hayden stutters, a sigh leaving his lips. “I just- I know it’s the holidays coming up, and uh, you know, with that day coming-“
“Hayden.”
“You said you wouldn’t talk.” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “Listen, Jackie and I were talking, and we want to give you some money.”
Shane’s ears burn in embarrassment. He sits up straightener, his head already shaking. “Absolutely not.”
“Buddy-“
“No,” Shane cuts him off, his tone sharper than he wanted. He takes a second and tries again. “Look, I- uh, I appreciate it, man, I really do, I just-“
“Shut up and let me talk.” Hayden reaches across the table, resting his palm over Shane’s cold hand, and looks at him with the exact same expression Shane’s grown to hate- pity. “You can pay us back when you’re- you know, back on your feet. Not much. Just enough to get you by.”
Shane opens his mouth to talk, but Hayden raises his other hand, cutting him off.
“You can’t freeze your way through winter, buddy. I know you have this… thing about accepting help or whatever, and- and that might work on everyone else, but not us. We’re worried.”
Shane drops his gaze, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and closes his eyes.
“Please, Shane.”
He looks up, spotting the hopeful glint in Hayden’s eyes, and shakes his head once more, immediately squashing it. “I can’t take money from you.”
“Yeah, well I can’t let my best friend die,” Hayden says, his voice more serious than Shane’s ever heard it. He pulls back, the tension thick, and exhales slowly through his nose. “Have you ever thought of… like… other options?”
“I work every day I can already, Hayden,” Shane sighs, bringing his hand up to rub his temples. “I don’t have time for other options.”
“What if-“
“Look, Hayden, I really appreciate it,” Shane says, his voice shaking. He needs to leave. He stands, his chair making a loud creaking noise against the tile, and tries to hide his trembling hands. “I just- I can’t. I’ll be fine. I always am.”
“You don’t have to be fine, Shane.”
“I am,” he says, though it falls unconvincing on his own ears. “I am. I’m okay.”
“What if I find something?” Hayden asks, standing as well. “A way for you to make some good money. I know a lot of people in different industries, maybe I could get you a good opportunity.”
Shane feels the familiar tightening in his chest that only means one thing. He sucks in a shaky breath and nods, desperate to end the conversation, and grabs his coffee cup. “Sure. I don’t know. I guess. Whatever.”
The grin that breaks out on Hayden’s face almost makes this conversation worth it. He pulls Shane into a hug, squeezing him tightly. “Come to dinner on Friday, please. Jackie’s dying to see you.”
Shane is about to throw up all over him. He nods into his shoulders, body tense. “Okay. Yeah.”
“Okay, buddy,” Hayden pulls back, grasping his shoulders. “Take care of yourself, alright?”
Shane nods, giving him what he hopes is a convincing smile. He waits for him to leave and ducks out the front door, hands grasping for his chest the moment he’s out of sight. He leans back against the alley behind the cafe, trying to suck in a breath, but it keeps getting caught in his ribs.
His hands scramble for his shitty phone, the screen cracked along the edges. He scrolls on autopilot, down dozens of text chains, until he finds the one he’s looking for, his breath coming out quick and uneven.
Mom:
13 months ago:
You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Deep breaths. I’d be there if I could.
He reads the message over and over, his knees going weak, and doubles over, tucking his head between his legs. He must look insane, but he can’t find it in him to care anymore. He’s down for several moments, trying to catch his breath, until a deep, rich voice interrupts him.
“You are dying?”
He looks up, head spinning at the sudden movement, and stumbles with a wave of dizziness. There’s a man standing a few feet away from him, his lips wrapped around a cigarette, and the gaze in his eyes turns from amused to concerned as Shane looks at him.
He’s dressed in a neat, pressed suit- the kind that are only owned and worn by rich assholes. On top is a luxurious winter jacket, fur lined and thick, and he’s wearing the right kind of shoes for the weather. The man quirks an eyebrow at him.
“Seriously, you are okay?”
His Russian accent throws Shane off kilter, and the man takes another step forward, pulling out a custom cigarette case. Definitely a rich asshole. He clicks it open and holds it out to Shane.
“I don’t- I don’t smoke,” Shane says dumbly, watching the man hum and put it back in his pocket. He moves even closer, and Shane catches a whiff of an expensive smelling cologne, the scent burning the inside of his nostrils.
“Is bad business to kill customers behind cafe.”
“Fuck off,” Shane snaps, glaring at him. The absolute nerve of this man to show up in his thousand dollar attire, wave his thousand dollar personalized cigarette case at him, and judge Shane for his behaviour.
The other man holds his hands up in defense, ashing his cigarette out on the ground. He pops it back into his mouth and studies Shane for a moment. Something about his gaze makes Shane feel naked- feel insecure. He shifts his weight and hums a little.
“I do not need to phone ambulance?”
“I said fuck off,” Shane repeats, though his voice doesn’t sound angry, just sounds weak. He tucks his shaking hands in his pockets and looks away, feeling trapped under the man’s stare. He stands up straighter, huffing out a hot breath and kicks himself off the alley wall, his feet slipping on a fresh patch of ice. He’s about to hit the ground when the man grabs him by the waist, holding his weight easily with one hand.
“Woah, woah, easy,” he says, his voice soothing as Shane’s heartbeat rings in his ears. Of course- he has to make himself look even more like a fool in front of the rich, sexy, strong asshole who approached him. “You are alright?”
Shane steadies himself, and with the proximity, spots the thick wallet hanging from the back of the man’s pants. It must have slipped when he caught him. Shane nods, heart pounding, and does something he’s never done before-
He grabs the wallet.
He quickly tucks it into his jacket, standing up straight and patting the buff man on the arms. He laughs nervously and steps aside.
“Yup. Good. Thank- thank you. Uh. I gotta- uh, I gotta go.” Shane begins walking out of the alley, and by the time he hears a loud hey!, he’s already running, feet slapping against the slushy pavement as he escapes the man he just stole from.
The guilt settles low in his gut as he arrives back at his apartment, checking behind his shoulder every few moments to make sure he’s not being tailed. He catches his breath, slapping the leather wallet down on the table full of overdue bills, and opens it, sorting through the cash, one overarching thought in his mind:
What kind of idiot carries this much cash on them?
-
“Why the hell did you bring wine?”
Jackie studies him, her gaze sharp as she looks him up and down, as if she can see the weight loss through the baggy clothes he threw on. She has flour covering her nose and Shane doesn’t have the decency to duck out of the kiss she presses to his cheek, taking the wine and scoffing.
“Hayden! Shane is here!”
Shane knows something is up the moment Hayden turns the corner, shit-eating smirk already resting on his face. He grabs Shane’s wrist and turns to Jackie.
“We’re just gonna go to the basement for a second, babe.”
“Why are we-”
Shane is tugged down the stairs, then forced onto the couch, Hayden standing excitedly in front of him. His grin only grows wider.
“I found it,” he says, eyes gleaming with joy. Shane doesn’t know the last time he’s ever seen his best friend so happy.
“You found… what exactly?”
“I found a way to help.”
Shane rolls his eyes, leaning back against the couch. “Hayden, seriously, I-“
“Shut up!” Hayden exclaims. He steps closer and holds his phone out, and Shane is horrified to find a pre-made page on a dating website made with all of his information. There’s a picture up, something he had sent Hayden a few months ago. He looks considerably healthier in it, even if you can’t see his face.
Shane- 26, gay, single, interested in puzzles, coffee, museums.
“What the fuck is this?” Shane asks, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Hayden sits next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulder.
“It’s a sugar baby website. Perverted old freaks will pay you just to message with you. You don’t have to do anything weird, don’t even have to have a picture of your face up here. You match with people based on their bios and go from there.”
Shane thinks he’s never blushed more in his life. He drops Hayden’s phone on the couch and leans forward on his knees, burying his face in his palms and groaning.
“I’m not having sex with old men for money!”
“I just said you don’t have to do anything weird! Just- like, I dunno. Talk to them. They’re all lonely rich guys.”
“Hayden, this is fucking ridiculous.”
“What other options do you have, Shane?” He levels with him, sounding serious. Shane opens and closes his mouth a few times, coming up with nothing, and Hayden only smiles harder. “See? Just- give it a try, man. If it’s weird and you hate it, you never have to do it again.”
“How’d you even hear about this?”
“One of Jackie’s friends met a guy on there. Said she went on two dates with him and he paid off her student debt.”
Shane grabs the phone again, sighing quietly as he looks through the likes he’s received already. It’s full of weird, bald old men, with gross sexual innuendos in their bios and who commented eggplant emojis on his page. He swipes left on all of them, until he lands on a certain profile.
His picture is a mirror selfie, in a low hanging pair of grey sweatpants and a black wifebeater. Shane can see his abs through the picture, and his muscles are absolutely jacked. His face is blurred, but there’s a cute mop of curly blonde hair atop his head, and Shane feels his mouth go dry. He scrolls down.
I.R.- 30, bisexual, single, D. Likes: coffee, cigarettes, hockey.
“He’s the only one that isn’t old,” Hayden provides, hooking his chin over Shane’s shoulder. “And he’s ripped. I’d do it.”
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Shane says, swatting him away. His finger hovers over the heart button. “What does ‘D’ mean?”
Hayden shrugs, reaching over and pressing the heart down. The screen erupts into fireworks, a big ‘you matched’ message appearing, and Shane feels his heart drop. He turns and shoves Hayden, who slaps at him back, and they quickly end up in an impromptu wrestling match before Jackie comes downstairs.
“Will you two ever learn to act your age?”
Shane looks up, face flushed and hair a mess, and can’t stop the chuckle building in his chest. Hayden bursts out in laughter, and the two of them lose their shit for a good twenty seconds before a little ding is heard from Hayden’s phone. Their eyes meet, wide, and Shane tackles him once more in order to grab his phone.
I.R.
Hi
Hayden honest to god squeals like a little girl, directly in Shane’s ear, and Jackie takes a long breath before heading back up the stairs.
“I don’t even want to know what you two are up to. Wash your gross hands before you come eat.”
“Say hi back,” Hayden suggests, breathing right into Shane’s neck. Shane shoves him away by the cheek and turns his body, thumbs fiddling over the keyboard.
Shane
hi
The next message is instant.
I.R.
Phone #?
“Oh my god, he wants your phone number already!”
“Can you chill the fuck out, you’re stressing me out!” Shane yells, hands shaking as he slowly types out his phone number. He checks it once, twice, three times before sending it off, shoving Hayden’s phone back in his hand.
They go back upstairs, hair still a mess and breath still a little uneven, and Shane makes a point to avoid looking at his phone for the whole dinner. He and Hayden split the bottle of wine while Jackie packs up half a dozen Tupperware containers of leftovers, bagging them up and pressing them into Shane’s hands on the way out.
“Please call me if you need anything,” Jackie says, hugging him tightly. Shane hugs her back and nods into her hair.
“You’ve done enough. Thank you. Both of you.”
“No problem buddy. Have fun.” Hayden waggles his eyebrows.
Shane closes the door behind him, beginning the walk back to his apartment, and dares to check his phone once he’s out in the cold.
Unknown Number:
Shane?
Shane hesitates for a long moment before sending back a quick ‘hiiii’. The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Unknown Number:
I thought I might have the wrong number.
Shane stops at a convenience store on the way home, using the rest of the cash he stole to purchase a bag of chips and a new container of dish soap. He types back while the guy rings him up.
nope, it’s me lol
Unknown Number:
That is good.
Shane slides the cash over, throwing his items in the bag Jackie packed for him, and exits the gas station, spotting his shitty apartment block a few yards away. His phone buzzes again with a new message, and though Shane has not frequently been on dating apps, he knows the drill. He’ll ask how he is, what he did today, what his favourite colour is, if he has any siblings. He unlocks his front door and flops on the couch, tugging his hoodie string into his mouth.
Unknown Number:
When can we meet?
Shane’s heart drops. He gets up, still chewing on his string, and walks over to the fridge for a water bottle. The empty shelves stare at him, and though Jackie’s food will take up a little space, it’s strikingly obvious that he’s dirt poor.
What does he have to lose?
He checks the calendar on his wall and types back.
im off work tmrw @ 8, is that too late?
Unknown Number:
That’s perfect.
Meet here:
He sends an address, a fancy looking restaurant that’s an hour long walk away from his workplace, and Shane sighs quietly. As he grabs his water bottle, his elbow knocks into the pile of Tupperware containers, sending all of Jackie’s delicious food flying on the ground.
And, well, that’s an omen if he’s ever seen one.
-
Eight p.m. could not come any slower. Shane wipes the bar table down once more, his fingers sticky and his forehead sweaty, and stares down the clock, willing the last five minutes to move faster. His replacement comes in, tying an apron around her waist and looking over at Shane, who’s already punching out.
“Big date tonight?”
“Something like that,” Shane says, grabbing his backpack from the staff room. He’d packed his nicest clothes for the occasion, even took his dads old button up shirt that hangs off of his frame, and he can’t help the tears that well in his eyes when he tugs it on. He quickly shakes the emotion away, pulling on his runners and ducking out the back entrance. At least the pick-pocketed money helped supply him a thicker winter jacket.
He makes the 60 minute walk in just under half an hour. Every time he stops to catch his breath, he’s reminded of why he’s running
It’s okay, his brain provides. Not like this is your last chance or anything. Not like you have a month to catch up on rent before you’re evicted. Being homeless in Canadian winter will be a blast!
He takes deep, heaving breaths as he approaches the restaurant, checking his phone again.
Unknown Number:
Say you are here to meet Ilya.
He recites the words to the hostess, ignoring her bitchy, judgemental stare as she looks him up and down. He’s clearly underdressed. She leads him to the back of the restaurant, and Shane feels nauseous, eyes darting all over to find that same curly hair from the profile.
He briefly entertains the idea that he’s been catfished. Why would an attractive, rich, thirty year old man need to pay for companionship? He’s about to turn around when he approaches the booth, a stocky figure looking up.
Oh shit.
“This is nice jacket,” a familiar Russian accent thickens his words. Shane feels his blood go cold. “You use my money to buy?”
Oh shit.