I can’t find the original so please tag me if you do, but there’s that post like ‘Ilya was destined to burn bright then die young and Shane was destined to die inside then live a long life. But more than that they were destined to love each other’ and it’s like their connection over the years changed their stories.
Anyways this obviously inspired a depressing barely bittersweet au in my mind that I don’t have it in me to actually flesh out rn where they start, but something stops them from fully realizing their relationship and they fall victim to these other lesser destinies.
Maybe one day they could have reconnected but Ilya passes away by 35. Shane never really loves again and retreats into the appearance of ‘normalcy’. He marries a woman who he comes to consider a good friend, despite the fact that neither of them hold a spark of desire for each other, and they have several kids and a predictable life together. He plays hockey as long as possible and continues to win awards, trophies, a place in the hall of fame. All of it feels hollow without Ilya. Eventually he retires and keeps busy in the hockey world and everything just keeps going.
After a long life, Shane passes away quietly, preceded several years ago by his wife of decades, and is eulogized glowingly by people who loved him and never really knew him. They talk about how he was a private man who always seemed to have something on his mind but good and dependable. The time comes to sort out his earthly possessions and going through it his private effects falls to his favorite grandson.
The grandson is in his early twenties and one of those people born out of the closet. He’s been gay as long as anyone can remember and has always had something of a special connection with Grandpa Shane, who taught him to throw a punch when he got bullied in middle school and always told him he’s so brave and he should never be afraid to live. During the last few years of Shane’s life, the grandson spent a lot of time with him, hearing stories about his early years and telling Shane about his misadventures in love.
While sorting through Shane’s office, the grandson finds a box he’s seen Shane looking through at times. He opens it up to find an assortment of papers and momentos. There’s a small bundle of hotel keycards, labeled with locations and dates. There’s an old, old touchscreen phone that probably hasn’t turned on in years and pages of printed out texts with a “Lily” and a phone number jotted on the top of the first page-like the writer didn’t want to forget it once they phone died. There’s a collection of hockey player cards for one Ilya Rozanov, some-the grandson later learns-worth a lot of money after the man’s untimely death many years ago. There’s an Olympic medal that’s not Shane’s, a roll of fading hockey tape, an ancient Boston Raiders beanie, a program from Rosanov’s funeral, a tooth-of all things.
There’s an envelope that contains a stack carefully preserved Polaroids that make the grandson blush vividly. A few he has to place facedown because Grandpa Shane definitely didn’t want those seen (which begs the question of why he couldn’t bear to get rid of them himself when he knew he would pass soon). But the rest, the rest are what breaks the grandson’s heart. Undeniable evidence of what the rest of the box suggests. Two young men, the grandson’s own age, unquestionably in love. One image shows the two kissing, bare shoulders and mussed up hair caught at odd angles because the picture taker was too distracted to keep the camera straight. Another frames a pale back littered with moles, a hint of tanned knees on either side of the subjects waist, clearly straddling him from behind to capture the shot. More along the same vein. The pictures are so soft, so genuine, snapshots of moments so secret they could only be entrusted to old, instant-print film.
The final image is the one that makes the grandson go from quiet awe to tears running down his own freckled cheeks. It’s Shane, and maybe it should be weird to see a picture of his grandfather young and naked, but the image is so innocently captured it doesn’t feel dirty or awkward. Shane is sprawled comfortably on a bed, propped up on his elbows and looking at the camera, or more likely the cameraman. He’s smiling in a way that the grandson doesn’t remember ever seeing him smile and his familiar eyes are full of an unfamiliar glimmer. Joy, attraction, love. In that moment the grandson realizes Shane lived almost his entire life having lost that and never found it again. He puts the Polaroids where they’ll be safe and sobs.
When he can finally put words to it all, he calls his Aunt Ruby-who is not literally related to him but has always been in his life-because maybe she’ll understand what he needs to do. She’s a woman well into her 60s and is best described as “a spitfire” and was close to Shane her whole life. They talk for hours and reminisce and ask themselves how they could have missed it. In the end they decide he should curate and compile everything he’s learned, in case one day it feels right for it to be known, but until then they’ll honor Shane’s secret and his truth quietly.
With a touch of help from Aunt Ruby’s wife and siblings they secretly swap Shane’s ashes with wood ash and take his remains on a road trip to Boston. Scattering the ash feels too impermanent so Aunt Ruby keeps a close watch while the grandson digs as far as he’s willing to risk, especially considering celebrity graves probably have better security. When they’ve gone as far as they can they place Shane’s ashes together with his rookie of the year award and cover the spot the best they can. They leave a bouquet of lilies on Ilya Rosanov’s (and now Shane Hollander’s) grave. They go visit the harbor and leave the two to finally, finally be together forever.
germansingergirl
stormborns
kianamaiart
origamiaround
blakekathryn
