by CorvidCordelia

“It’s Rozanov, they’re bringing on Rozanov,” he said in a rush. For a long moment, Shane couldn’t hear or process anything. The world had narrowed then expanded too fast, like he was falling. At some point Hayden started talking again, but he couldn’t understand him. There was only the darkness overhead and the ringing in his ears. “Shane? Shane, you still there?” The words filtered through slow and muddy, echoing. Shane’s mouth was dry, his tongue thick, but he managed, “Yeah. I’m here.” “Okay. You’re not gonna have a panic attack, right? Cause that would be bad probably, for your head I mean, and I just think—” Shane stopped listening again. Rozanov was coming to Montreal. He’d be in the same locker room, skating on the same ice, living in the same fucking city.