Chapter Text
Shane books his hanahaki surgery the day after he coughs up his first petal in a Las Vegas hotel elevator.
He goes in for the surgery a month later. His doctors tell him he made a great choice: they’re catching his disease so early that the procedure will be simple and very low-risk. Just a little camera and a tool sliding down his trachea to snip out the seed where it’s taken root. This will barely be a blip in his medical history.
The way Shane sees it, there is no choice at all. Even slightly decreased lung capacity could seriously affect his performance on the ice, so he has to act fast. And there’s no reason to wait, since his hanahaki will never be cured the other way. Rozanov made it perfectly clear in that penthouse hotel suite that what they were doing was fucking only. He wouldn’t kiss Shane, wouldn’t even fucking look at him afterward.
Still, Shane loves him. That’s the stupidest thing Shane has ever done.
Shane discloses his condition to the Metros’ medical team, of course he does—his contract requires it, and there’s no way for them to know he got hanahaki because of a man rather than a woman. And they keep it confidential, as the law dictates, so the only other person who knows is Hayden, who’s driving Shane to his surgery. Shane tells his parents that he’s doing a silent retreat for two days to rest and re-set for the next year.
“Are you sure?” Hayden asks Shane while they’re parked outside the hospital.
There’s only one answer Shane can give. Sure, sometimes it feels good to be in love, to see Rozanov on the ice or giving a post-game interview, or to touch him during sex. It’s like a rush of gold dust in his veins, a sparkling feeling. But plenty of stuff that’s bad for you feels good. These hookups with Rozanov could destroy Shane. They’ve always been a mistake, and Shane’s misery since Rozanov stopped replying to his messages is proof of that. Time to end it.
“Yeah,” Shane says.
Hayden sighs and shakes his head. “She’s crazy, then. You’re a nice guy, #1 draft pick, solid bank account I’m guessing, in case you have a drug habit I don’t know about, and—I don’t mean this in a gay way, but you’re good-looking, right? What else does she want?” He frowns. “Unless she’s married?”
“She’s not married,” Shane says. He’s so tired. “Let’s go in.”
So they leave the comfortable air conditioning of the car for a brief walk through the blazing heat and surreal sunlight of the parking lot. Shane has his pre-surgery papers folded up in his sweating hand. For the first time in possibly years, he didn’t eat breakfast.
He changes into a hospital gown, which is weird too. Hayden is focused on texting Jackie, which is a relief since he’s not looking at Shane’s face. While he’s waiting to be taken into surgery, Shane scrolls through his messages with “Lily” one last time. One for every inch of the dick you want, what an asshole! It’s a good thing that, by tonight, Shane won’t be charmed by this stupid sexting any more. It’s good that he won’t still want to kiss Rozanov’s full lips that smirk and grin and pout and hold a cigarette so prettily.
Right before they wheel him into surgery, the doctor checks with him one last time. Is he sure?
“Yes,” Shane replies, wishing that people would stop asking.
In the recovery room, Shane wakes up a little cold and groggy, but without pain. The slight pinching in Shane’s left bronchus, near his heart, is gone.
“Everything went perfectly. Textbook,” his doctor says, smiling. “How do you feel?”
“Good,” Shane says. He takes a deep breath and exhales. “It’s easy to breathe.”
“Great,” says his doctor. “Your teammate has your post-surgery notes, but it’s mostly just resting for a couple days. Call me if you experience any bleeding or pain.”
“Okay.” Shane swallows. Of course the doctor knows who he is and who Hayden is. This is Montreal, and he’s Shane Hollander.
He could never have brought a boyfriend to do this for him. So it was for the best.
During the drive home, Shane rests his head against the car window and closes his eyes. Hayden offers to stay the night, and he probably should, but Shane wants to be alone. He’s starving, and he needs to at least try to hit his macros for the day. And he’s frustrated that he didn’t work out today, didn’t even get to jog. Everything is off.
Once Hayden’s gone, Shane sits on a stool at his breakfast bar to eat dinner and scrolls through his phone.
Lily.
It worked. Shane’s heart doesn’t ache when he looks at these messages. It’s strange when he thinks back and remembers how it used to; the Shane who had those feelings is a stranger, was a stranger inhabiting Shane’s body. It’s kind of fucked up, remembering clearly how much he used to care and not really understanding why.
Shane ought to stop thinking about it—the surgery is over, that chapter of his life is closed—but he can’t help poking at the absence within him. He doesn’t feel nothing for Rozanov. Rozanov is a great player to watch, a great challenge to meet on the ice. That hasn’t changed. He’s physically beautiful, that’s just a fact. He is, honestly, kind of funny. The difference is that the alchemy transforming all these pieces into love is missing.
Yes, it was for the best.
That summer, Shane flies to a brand event in LA and tries Grindr for the first time. He’s pent up, he has needs and he’s not going to Rozanov to meet them. He has to get his head right so he can focus in the coming season.
What follows is not objectively bad. Shane becomes a faceless torso and matches with another faceless torso.
Do you like sports? Shane asks him.
Love watching built guys get sweaty, but otherwise no, Mike replies.
Great, Shane says.
And Mike, as far as Shane can tell, doesn’t recognize Shane at all amid the constellations of celebrities in LA. Mike is a band’s lead singer, closeted, with religious parents; he doesn’t wear a cross around his neck. They fuck, and Mike makes sure Shane comes before he does. They don’t kiss. The last thing Shane wants is to get hanahaki again.
So it’s fine, really. But afterwards, Shane isn’t floating in bliss the way he was with Rozanov in that stairwell. Shane didn’t have a basis of comparison before. Now he does, and unfortunately Rozanov is looking even better in contrast.
Fuck.
Plus, the benefit of being with Rozanov was that if Rozanov outed him, it would be mutually assured destruction. Mike has religious parents, sure, but he could change his mind. There’s no possible way Rozanov would ever ruin his own career just to ruin Shane’s. That Shane is absolutely certain of.
That one fuck with Mike leaves Shane with anxiety all through the summer. And it wasn’t even that mindblowing.
Shane deletes Grindr before the preseason. Mike might not have recognized Shane, but some anonymous guy will eventually. It wasn’t worth it.
In autumn, a week before the Metros’ first game in Boston, Ilya texts Shane: Want to be bad on Tuesday night?
Shane hesitates. Turns off his phone screen, puts it aside so he can keep jogging on the treadmill.
Opens up his messages with “Lily” again.
Seemingly by themselves, his fingers type yes.