Chapter Text
Regina, SK
? days until vanish
Shane's eyes are closed.
He takes a deep breath, exhales it out.
Okay.
He steps forward, nodding to himself, and then finally, he opens his eyes.
“Ilya Rozanov? Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself.”
Cigarette around his lips, the man in front of Shane stops attempting to flick his lighter to life, the item struggling to ignite a flame.
At that, Shane raises his hand to shake. Rozanov takes it easily with a nod, and there’s a sudden feeling inside Shane that can only be described as a strong whoosh, causing him to back up ever so slightly, hand still clasped around his acquaintance’s.
Shane looks up at the man, wondering if he felt that, too, but he’s taken aback by his eyes, rich blue eyes that look like everything he’s ever known. There’s a feeling of warmth that floods in his veins, and somehow, he sees a past in his eyes, as sky so blue like the irises that stare deep into his soul, curls that sway in the air as a familiar head of hair is thrown back in laughter, gold bands, sunsets… A whole life lived that he doesn't know, flashing before his eyes.
It’s gone within a second, and Shane thinks Rozanov saw it too, because their hands hold on for just a beat too long, lingering. Shane doesn't know why it feels so hard to let go.
When they do, palms retreating from the sudden rush of emotions, Rozanov finally flicks the lighter to life, burning the end of his cigarette.
“Oh, I’m— I’m not sure you’re supposed to—“
“We have met before?” Rozanov interrupts, blowing out a cloud of smoke beforehand in the other direction. Shane opens his mouth a bit to reply, then closes it, because there's something about the man that feels like a new start. A reset.
A second chance.
Settles on, “No, I don’t think so, but… you’re an awesome player to watch.”
“...Yes,” Rozanov replies, eyes darting on and away from Shane, like he can’t bear to look at him, almost confused in his expression. Shane, on the other hand, is so caught off guard by the reply that he laughs in response, and Rozanov’s eyes sort of widen at the reaction, his next puff of smoke coming out as a slow rush of aerosol.
“Cute freckles.”
Shane blinks. His looks have been commented on one too many times, and he is not having it, not this time.
He looks at the other’s outfit and then quips back, “Boring clothes,” which surprises even himself, but it comes out playful rather than as an insult. It feels right, almost familiar.
And Rozanov actually smiles, a toothy grin as he nods, like he approves of the reply. “I like you, Shane Hollander.”
Shane can’t help but chuckle at that, amused with the weird banter they now have going on, until there’s suddenly a sharp tingle in his arm, this pinching feeling on his wrist that he can’t ignore. When he raises his arm to look, Shane stares at the symbol, intrigued.
It’s not a countdown, like people have told him. It isn’t numbers, either, like it is on his parents’ wrists.
∞
An infinity sign.
There’s an immediate panic that rises inside Shane, the fear that he’s always had at the thought of vanishing. His body grows cold, like his worst nightmares have come to life, the uncertainty of the symbol striking fear in his mind.
But when he sees Rozanov stop smoking, looking down at his wrist too, just as surprised as he is, there’s a silence in the air between them, the pair both speechless for a moment as they take in the glow of the mark.
The glow follows its shape, slow in its almost infinite-like movement, and then it vanishes, leaving behind the newly manifested symbol.
The fear slowly disappears, too, because the warmth he felt earlier returns, settling inside him like it belongs there, like it’s meant to comfort him.
Like everything will be alright.
Shane's phone buzzes in his pocket. Right. Back to practice.
“I— I should go. They're waiting for me.” He gestures vaguely to the stadium behind them, dazed. “I'll see you around?” he adds, because somehow he knows he will, if whatever happened was any indication. A lifetime worth of time ahead of them, maybe. A multitude of lives, even. And Shane should be afraid, should be terrified of what's to come, but for some reason, he isn’t. Instead, he’s curious.
“Or you could stay,” Rozanov says, breathless. Like he can’t believe it either.
Shane lets out a long exhale. Could he?
He looks at his watch, then shakes his head.
“Good luck in the tournament.”
At Shane's words, Rozanov straightens his back, a smug smile now spreading across his face as he positions the stick between his lips again. A challenge.
His lips curl into this gorgeous smile, and Shane can't help but think that this might be the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.
Rozanov shakes his hand once more—briefly this time, like letting go is harder than it should be—then pulls the cigarette off just to say to Shane’s departing figure, “You will not be so nice when we beat you.”
Shane stops in his tracks, mouth ajar as he turns to look back at him. The audacity of this guy, and he had just met him.
He sort of wants to kiss that smug smile off his face.
"That's not happening.”
And Rozanov fucking smirks.
Shane turns to go, but he shakes his head and smiles to himself as he runs a thumb over his wrist, over the symbol.
Nothing was counting down. Their time together didn’t need counting.
He looks back, only to find Rozanov looking at him, too.
"Actually, maybe I'll stay for a bit."
Shane chooses to linger a bit longer, cheeks tinting pink when Ilya's eyes never leave his, taking all his time looking at Shane like he's sunshine personified. And Shane lets him look, heart beating fast against his chest simply because they had all the time they needed.
They had all the time in the world.