Well, after having read "The Long Game" I had a thought about fic that had been gnawing at me, I couldn't let it go. It's kinda trivia, honestly, cheesy and cliché (gonna ramble a bit, sorry, I have to let it out), with Shane, getting into a car accident after Boxing Day, nothing too serious, but he gets amnesia and forgets everything after Las Vegas. And he's terribly conflicted cuz the only thing he remembers is him and Ilya being nothing more than fuck buddies, and now the reality is different, they're boyfriends, Ilya gave up so much for him, parents are rooting for them and it's literal HELL for Shane. He can't get the idea how this all happened, this perfectionist Shane, who can't stand the mess in the room, let alone in his HEAD. It's all fucked up and all, he tries his best to recall everything, to make his peace with the situation but who are we kidding, it's Shane, it's impossible, so the tension just rises through time until Shane decides to rationalize it all and find in Ilya smth worth loving for. And ofc Ilya calls him out on his bullshit, seeing that Shane is just scared to admit that he felt smth for Ilya even before they became official boyfriends, and it's all exhausting, angst happens, Ilya leaves and then the plane accident happens. And the difference with the book is that Ilya doesn't text anything, Shane just sees the news, gets worried, tries to call Ilya but his phone is dead and headlines say that everyone's OK but some people from Centaurs are injured, no names, and Shane is like a wounded animal, running in a cage, knowing nothing about Ilya, whether he's okay or not, and he doesn't even know whom to call, like is he friends with someone from Centaurs? And he spends several atrocious hours suffering, thinking about Ilya and finally finding the courage to admit that even at that time, before Las-Vegas, it wasn't just "enemies with benefits" thing, it was kinda love at first sight, interest, challenge, and care for llya, tenderness towards him, his flamboyant nature and his fondness for Shane (no one will argue that Ilya was the greenest flag ever in their first time in 1x02, right? and it was personal from Ilya, not just being a good lover, not only). And I have 1000 more details in my head, but the point of my rambling is that I will never write a proper fic with such a plot, it'll take too much time I don't possess, BUT
I was obsessed with an idea to get it out of my system somehow, so I wrote the scene when Shane comes to Ilya, after the accident (he decided to call Harris, somehow he know him), comes to the hotel. So considering it will never be a proper fic, I decided to post just this. Need to let it out.
(you can read it as almost canon, like Shane does come to Ilya after the plane accident as he wanted to. The point of this scene for me was to fix the thing I didn't like in the book - Shane realizes he doesn't have to wait till summer, he wants to start living NOW. I totally understand Shane's reasons in the book, though, but I wanted to change it in the fic. So, practically, it ls a teeny tiny glimpse of Shane's meltdown)
The city blurred past the taxi windows, indistinct and meaningless. Shane sat rigid in the back seat, hands clasped so tightly that his fingers ached, knuckles pale. He had been staring at the city he didn’t know how long. Time had stopped behaving properly somewhere between the airport and here. The taxi shifted lanes, the hum of the engine, the faint scent of exhaust—but none of it reached him. The world passed around him, distant and hollow.
Shane didn’t notice when the taxi arrived at the hotel. His gaze stayed unfocused, until the tentative cough from the driver pulled him back. He muttered a quiet excuse and climbed out, blinking into the sharp cold..
The hotel loomed ahead, all glass and muted gold light. Too calm. Too normal. It felt wrong that life hadn’t paused, that the world outside continued as if nothing had happened.
Inside, everything was hushed. The carpet muffled his steps as he moved toward the front desk—and then he stopped. A hollow realization spread through him.
He didn’t know Ilya's room number. Didn't get to ask Harris, and frankly, that would be totally weird. As if his call itself wasn't weird enough.
For a second, he just stood there, breathing shakingly, pulse hammering in his ears. Asking at the reception meant looks, recognition, questions, whispers—someone connecting dots they shouldn’t. Headlines forming before he even reached the elevator.
Normally, that would have stopped him. The Shane who existed most days would already be rehearsing excuses, backing away, searching for a quieter, safer alternative. This time he found that he couldn’t care less. Everything that mattered narrowed to a single point, and it was somewhere upstairs.
He walked to the desk, steps careful but resolute. He said Ilya’s name. The receptionist hesitated, then typed something into the system. Shane barely registered the number, repeating it quietly under his breath like a lifeline before turning away.
The elevator ride was short, mercifully. The reflection in the mirrored wall looked unfamiliar—pale, eyes too bright, jaw clenched, shoulders tense.
The hallway was too quiet. Footsteps sounded loud. Too quiet.
He found the door, paused, with a hand hovering. Then he knocked.
Silence. His hand stayed raised, heart hammering. Maybe the room was wrong. Maybe Ilya was asleep. Maybe he had gone out—hospital, anywhere but here.
Then, faint through the door, a voice. Muffled. Uncertain. Alive. There.
Something in Shane’s chest jolted sharply, as though his heart skipped a beat entirely. Footsteps approached. He held still, barely breathing.
Ilya stood there, phone still in hand.
For a moment, he just looked at Shane. His eyes stayed wide, unfocused, trying to process it all at once. He exhaled, shoulders tense, body frozen mid-thought. Fingers tightened around the phone. A faint crease appeared between his brows. Confusion slowly gave way to recognition — not fear, just quiet shock.
He swallowed. Then, on an unsteady breath, as if catching up to himself, he whispered, “Shane.”
Shane didn’t move. Untethered, as if his body belonged to someone else, every thought dragging through a dense, slow haze. And there, in front of him, Ilya was painfully vivid—the line of the jaw, the slope of the shoulders, the faint tremor of fingers around the phone.
A lump formed in Shane's throat. Moisture pricked the corners of his eyes, quiet and unignorable. Ilya murmured into the phone, “Sorry… I’ll call you back.” He studied Shane’s face, searching for a clue what had brought him here.
Then, a flash of thought passed across Ilya’s eyes, quick and sudden. Expression shifted, subtle but sharp. “Yuna and David?” he asked quietly, voice tight, a flicker of worry.
Shane shook his head, slowly, almost automatically. “No.”
He didn’t speak again. The gaze stayed locked, drinking in every detail. Slowly, Ilya’s eyes narrowed slightly, then softened with realization.
“Shane,” Ilya whispered again, voice gentle, trembling.
The word struck Shane in a way he hadn’t expected. Not comfort. Not relief. Yet the quiet warmth finally reached him, loosening the tension coiled so tightly in his chest.
Slowly. One tentative step. Then another. Arms found Ilya, wrapping him with the force of everything held back. Ilya shifted closer, a soft exhale escaping, fingers trembling as he anchored himself to Shane.
Shane held on, letting himself be pulled close. The sudden tactility—all the weight of the world condensed into this single, breathing moment—made everything familiar.
The curve of Ilya’s shoulders against his chest. The faint comforting scent that had never left him. Warmth radiating through him. For the first time in months, the swarm of thoughts that had gnawed at him—the panic, the endless what-ifs—began to settle, like dust falling from a restless sky. Everything driving him to the edge for two months slipped away, and the only thing left was the quiet certainty of holding onto what mattered.
Golden curls brushed his cheek, warm breath tracing the curve of his neck, gentle and grounding. A hesitant kiss landed in his hair—so small, so tentative, yet it calmed him more than anything else could.
Shane let out a long, trembling breath. For the first time since it all began, he let himself truly feel it, allowed the weight in his chest to ease and the quiet certainty to settle in.
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