Chapter Text
Shane’s stomach dropped when the text came in from “Lily”. More accurately it dropped when he read it. When he saw the notification he was ecstatic. Then that was dashed in favor of pure dread.
Lily: [we cannot meet up again]
[What?]: Jane
Lily: [meetups in hotel or anywhere. Done.]
Of course. He was a fucking idiot to think it would last. Any part of it. Ilya Rozanov is an experienced, confident sex god and Shane knew he was too fucking weird.
He knew that eventually Ilya would notice that he was bad at sex, and weird, and not like everyone else. Not unique. Not quirky. Weird.
It was only a matter of time before perfect fucking Ilya paid enough attention to notice. And why Shane really felt like an idiot was that he had wanted Ilya to pay close attention to him. He had craved it. He was hoping that Ilya would be the first person to stay, to want him, to keep wanting him. He had shown his soul to Ilya. Blushed and squirmed through the embarrassment of the practical application of sex. Ilya had seen him. Shane had let Ilya see him and like an idiot had hoped that when Ilya truly saw him he would like want he saw. Which was stupid because no one ever would. No one had in the past so why would anyone ever.
Ilya had seen him and rejected him. It was over. The most hopeful thing that Shane had let build a nest in his stupid mind was ruined and over because he was too fucking weird.
He couldn't beg for Ilya to reconsider. That was too fucking pathetic. Ilya had already seen the truth and said no, he couldn't possibly embarrass himself further. The only solace Shane felt was that he didn't think Ilya would tell anyone about them because it would implicate himself too. Though maybe he could say that he had caught Shane with some random man. No Shane still had compromising information on Ilya. He wouldn't.
But Shane dreaded the next time he played Boston and had to see Ilya's face. How could he bear to look the other man in the eye? When he was being told he was undesirable, pathetic, weird. He wouldn't be able to handle the look of pity that would be on the Russian man's face the next time he saw it. No, he'd have to just not look. Or maybe try to get in a fight the game before so he wouldn't be cleared to play against Boston.
The tears that had welled up in Shane’s eyes started to spill over uncontrollably. He stared at the text message as he cried alone i his room. How he knew he’d always end up. He didn’t know how to respond to that. Ilya wanted it to be over so what was the point of even responding?
If he was braver maybe he’d have something to say. He typed out a message that he then deleted [Could you just tell me what exactly you don’t like about me. The feedback would be really helpful.]
No. Rozanov wasn’t his fuck-coach. He didn’t owe him a play-by-play on every stupid fucking mistake that Shane was sure he must have made over the course of their…what? Not relationship. Their hookup schedule? It had felt like more than that to Shane because of all the texting. Usually people lose interest in him after a few weeks when they realize he’s not very good at it. At least that’s what he’d been able to surmise based on the stats he had collected on friendships since he got his first cell phone. Connections never lasted for Shane. And he had gotten ridiculously hopeful when Ilya continued to text him months after their first rendezvous that the man actually might like him.
Shane tried out another text. [I understand. Thank you for putting up with me for as long as you did.] He erased that quickly. It was honest but far too pathetic. He didn’t need to give Rozanov any more reason to think he’s a loser.
Because that was the worst part of it. He didn’t want to embarrass himself over text with Rozanov because what if he changed his mind? Shane didn’t believe in his own communication abilities enough to actually think there was anything he could text Ilya that would change the result of what had happened. He hoped and wished it secretly in his heart like a fragile secret that wouldn’t be able to withstand even the stress of full recognition by Shane; much less the stress of sharing that thought with anyone. So Shane kept that wish buried and accepted that this was the end of the closest thing he’d ever had to a fulfilling relationship.
He started scrolling through their past texts and running through their encounters in his mind. He was trying to think of all of the things he could have possibly done wrong. Any misstep he could have taken without noticing. Anything he may have said that offended Ilya. He obviously was able to come up with a few things. Like times he didn’t understand Ilya’s jokes or flirting right away. Or when he answered a question literally when it was rhetorical. But no glaring mistake came to mind that would make Ilya end things. Which was worse.
If there was some big fight or mistake he had made or some boundary he had crossed or thing he had done to upset Ilya at least he would have an explanation, something to point to. Without that, Shane felt like it had to just be him. That someone could only be around Shane Hollander for so long before they had had enough and realized they could do much better.
And Shane knew there was nothing he could do to change that. If there was a mistake he had made he could vow to never do that again in any future relationship. But he had been trying to change who he was since elementary school when he realized he wasn’t as well-liked as the other kids in his class and it had never worked.
There were a lot of reasons he was grateful for hockey when he was young. Not just because it was the sport he loved. But it gave him a team of boys who were close enough to him to consider friends. They had to spend time with him at least at practices, games, tournaments, and travelling for those things. There was a familiarity there. He knew how to act around them. They were always seeing each other with an activity, hockey, so Shane didn’t have to awkwardly be the focus of a social interaction. And most of all, it made him too busy for his parents to notice he didn’t have friends. Every weekend was spent on the ice so his parents never noticed that he never got any invitations to birthday parties from kids in his class. He never got asked on playdates. His own birthday was always during hockey season so he’d often just celebrate with his team, his mom bringing some kind of treat for after practice. Which saved him the awkwardness of having to assemble a guest list of kids in his class that he knew wouldn’t really want to attend a party or worse just wouldn’t even tell their parents about the invitation and never go.
There was one time that his mom asked about friends from school. Even thinking about it now still made him feel as anxious as the day she had asked. A sweat would form on his palms any time he recalled it.
“Shane honey,” his mom had started. “You know you’re allowed to go over to other kids’ houses to play or invite them here? I could get their parent’s contact info from the school if there’s anyone you’d want to invite over”
He hoped his answer didn’t betray the panic he was feeling to his mom, “Um maybe. We get a lot of time to play at recess. And my friends at school know I’m really busy with hockey so I usually just tell them when I have a game or practice when they invite me over.” Shane had hoped she bought that lie. That she believed there were kids that liked her son enough to invite him over. He didn’t want his mom to be sad about how pathetic he was.
He felt that same feeling now. That he was unwanted and the only thing worse than feeling that would be knowing that other people were aware of just how unwanted he was. So he buried it down and wrote a short response to Ilya.
[I understand.] :Jane
He stared at his phone waiting for a reply that never came.