Chapter Text
To get rid of loneliness, you had to sacrifice your freedom.
These words were burned into Ilya's brain. Words his mother liked to repeat when they looked out at the sea together. A place she couldn't return to, no matter how much she wanted to.
When Ilya remembered these words, remembered his mother's voice, saw her face in his mind's eye, the sea was not a pleasant place. A storm raged above the water, causing him to lose his orientation.
When he thought of his childhood, the feeling was often associated with cold. The strong wind at the sea, the cold water, and the salt on their skin. Even though Ilya remembered it as cold, it had never been bad. Being a little cold wasn't bad. But when it got icy, it could be dangerous.
And it only got icy after his mother's death.
Every memory of that time felt like he was bathing in ice. As if all the warmth was being drained from his body and his limbs were slowly losing their movement. Back then, he had felt lonely and trapped, so he had left.
But he couldn't stay too long, he had to set off again. He was free in the sea, but what good did that do him?
Freedom meant danger. Freedom meant no rescue from storms, from the churning sea floor, sediment beating against his body. Every time he came up for air, he had no idea where he was and only a brief moment to catch his breath before the strong waves crashed over his body again.
The others had warned him, of course. The selkies had been his home for a long time, giving him a place he could always return to. But it hadn't felt like home; he had never felt like he completely belonged with them.
Sand, sediment, and shells hit his face. By now, he no longer knew which direction to swim, which way was up or down. With the thought of reaching land before the storm began, he had set off swimming and once again overestimated himself.
After so many years, he still hadn't been able to overcome his desire for risk.
Gasping for breath, he broke through the waves, gasping for air as rain thundered down and salt water splashed in the air. The sky was nowhere to be seen, everything was foggy and black. The thought of dying here frightened him.
His body felt heavy, cold and burning hot at the same time. He would have looked for a nicer place to die if he had known he wouldn't survive this storm. A deserted beach with no people.
Ilya closed his eyes as a wave hit him and he swallowed water.
Even though he liked the cold, he would probably have chosen a warm place for his last moment. Somewhere in South America on a beach that no human had ever set foot on, where he could spread out on the white sand, no plastic anywhere near him.
Above him would be the clear night sky with stars flooding his field of vision. The moon full and shining, a few shooting stars above him as the rhythmic sound of the sea lulled him to sleep.
A pile of seaweed wrapped itself around his tired hind legs. It was hard to keep swimming, and he found it increasingly difficult to motivate himself to continue. How could he, when he didn't know where to go?
As his mind pulled him into infinity, he heard a soft whisper in his ears. Almost as if his mother had wished him good night.
~~
"Don't you think Coach looks a little lonely?"
The words stopped Shane in his tracks. After retiring two years ago, he had started coaching. The small coastal town he had moved to didn't have a university, so he had looked a few towns away. Luckily, he had found one there, and one that wanted him as coach for the men's ice hockey team.
It had been a normal training day, his team had been in good spirits and focused. They had stuck to the training plan and responded to instructions. The next game was in a week and Shane knew they were ready.
He would actually say that he was a cool coach, not the kind who would eavesdrop on his team. At least not until they started talking about him in the locker room. Especially about his private life. Without realizing it, he held his breath, feeling a little dizzy.
"Yeah, how come he hasn't found a wife yet?"
Mixed laughter and various interjections mingled into a wave of panic in his chest. He leaned his back against the wall next to the door to the locker room, focusing on the rapid pounding of his heart.
"Wasn't there a rumor that the coach is gay?" The voice came from one of the back corners; he couldn't really place which of his players it was.
His heart sank. He felt his stomach lurch in fear, nausea rising within him. How he hated these rumors, whether they were true or not.
"He does look a little bit gay—"
That was enough. Shane had officially heard enough.
Shane tore himself away from his spot and marched off. He left the voices of his laughing team behind him, tingling strongly on his back. As soon as he was out of earshot, back in his office, he let his panic run wild.
It climbed over his back, spreading jerkily throughout his entire body. The word gay stuck to his whole body, no matter how often he ran his hands through his face, through his hair, and over his arms, he couldn't shake it off.
Within minutes, this locker room conversation had sent him back to his youth. He felt like a teenager who was ashamed to look in the mirror. Now he was older, no longer had to be ashamed of it, and yet he still was.
"Fuck," he squeezed out.
A small word full of frustration that filled the room. With hatred, with disgust and anger for the world, for himself. The word filled the room until its mere presence there was too much for him. With trembling hands, he grabbed his gym bag and reached for the door.
~~
Now, let's hear from Ron about the weather.
Yes, thank you Milo. You're listening to Tofino City Radio and we have a weather update for you.
You might have seen a severe thunderstorm warning on your phone today for this area. A powerful storm is moving towards the city with strong winds around 70 to 90 km/h and heavy rain. Please avoid the coast as we're expecting high waves and strong onshore winds.
If you hear thunder, move indoors or into a vehicle. Avoid using corded phones, plumbing, and staying near windows.
Stay safe and indoors if possible.
The wind shook his car, and the sky towards the sea was dangerously dark. Storms were normal, and many tourists came to watch them. But Shane preferred to stay at home, on his warm sofa, reading.
He would have liked to turn directly onto the next street, which would have taken him straight home. However, Shanee had forgotten to go shopping the day before and urgently needed something to eat for the next few days.
With an annoyed snort, he rolled down the window. The cold winter air hit his nose, but it eased his rising headache somewhat. This was something that had become more and more frequent. He had headaches almost every day, but thankfully migraines were a little less common.
The trees passed by him on either side, swaying dangerously in the wind. The birds had fallen silent, as if they had never been there. They were probably already hiding. Above the trees on the horizon, the mountains rose into the sky.
Nature was one of the reasons Shane had moved here. The sight of the trees, the lonely wilderness, had something calming about it. He had often imagined running into the woods, disappearing into the mountains and sitting there with the birds and trees.
The feeling of uncertain and pure nature. Trees stretching endlessly, no trace of humans or civilization. It was unsettling, making his skin itch with fear and excitement.
Of course, these were just mind games. Shane wouldn't survive out there for long, not without his cell phone or a proper bed, let alone contact with other people. Nevertheless, he felt more comfortable here, surrounded by nature, as if he could expand his mind and breathe properly in the sea air.
Here, he didn't feel as confined as he did in the city. He felt less observed, less suffocated. The minutes to the supermarket flew by as he lost himself completely in his own mind, which was more disordered and stormy than usual today.
As soon as he entered the supermarket, it started to rain. Not a light rain, but as if buckets of water were being thrown onto the earth. He could hear the rhythmic thunder of the rain on the building, as if urging him to get home as quickly as possible.
"You're late," he heard as soon as he turned the corner to the checkout.
Margaret, the owner of the store and one of the first people Shane had met in this place, was standing at the checkout. Her husband George was just bringing the last advertising signs in from outside to keep them dry. It seemed as if he was her last customer for the day.
"I know, I'm sorry. I just really need a few more things." Shane put the items on the conveyor belt and rummaged through his pockets.
The Gradys had played a big part in making Shane feel at home here. They had been like parents or grandparents to him, offering nothing but warm words and kind gestures. Even though he was a famous hockey player who had moved here just to enjoy his retirement.
"Just be careful when you drive again, son," George said, patting him on the shoulder as he passed by.
"Of course," Shane replied, paying Margaret the 20 bucks.
He had bought a little more than he needed. Snickers bars he couldn't resist, ginger ale, toilet paper, his regular food and bottled water in case the power went out during the storm. Just in case. Margaret had raised an eyebrow at the Snickers bars. It was quite unusual for Shane to buy unhealthy things. Although he was no longer on his weird diets after retiring from his career, he still hated unhealthy food.
But his students' conversation still bothered him, gnawing at him.
"Take care of yourself," Margaret said as she watched him pack his things, "and come back here when you have time off. All you do is work, you need to have some fun too."
"I have plenty of fun," Shane replied, and the older lady gave him a funny look.
"I'm just saying. A lot of new people moved here last fall, maybe there's a nice girl for you among them."
Shane paused. This day really couldn't get any worse. He knew they meant well, but at that moment he felt like the storm was reflecting his inner turmoil. The thunder outside echoed in his mind.
A nice girl for you—the words felt like stabs in his brain.
"Maybe I'll come down to the bar sometime, okay?" Shane had to control his voice so as not to sound annoyed.
He said goodbye to the old couple with a nod and took his full bag with him. Their farewell calls were just another background noise mixed with the loud thunder of the rain.
Once in his car, he pressed down on the gas pedal.
Shane had never come out in his entire career. He had had girlfriends, one or two, and each one had ended in disaster. By the time Shane realized he was gay, or rather accepted it, he was already 25 years old and one of the best hockey players in the NHL.
To say that hockey had been more important to him would have sounded wrong. Every time he thought about what was more important, hockey or his sexuality, he chose hockey. It felt terrible, as if he were a coward betraying his community.
But he had never found anything more important than hockey.
Boyfriends had been temporary, a little less of a disaster than with girls, but the guys also got bored and annoyed quickly. Shane was good at hockey, and that was it. He ate terrible food, liked to watch hockey documentaries, and enjoyed reading hockey books. His whole life revolved around this one thing, so it was only a matter of time before his partners would turned away from him.
Hockey had never turned away from him. That's why he had kept it, put it above everything else.
The years had been lonely and painful, but also the best of his life.
Shane felt the car shake in the storm as he drove along the beach. It was pretty deserted there, with a clear view of the dunes racing alongside him. The wind whipped up sandy masses that slammed against his windshield.
Perhaps, in another world, in another situation, Shane would have found someone more important. Or just as important as hockey. And for him, he would have changed the game or lost his career.
It didn't really matter anymore, because Shane's career was over. His knee reminded him of that every morning when it woke him up with pain, and his head reminded him of it every time the weather changed. Theoretically, there was no reason to stay in the closet, to hide, and yet he felt so safe, so comfortable.
He didn't know if he wanted to leave his comfort zone or if he could even do it.
Basically, he had never been made for interpersonal relationships. The universe had created him to be good at this one sport, so that he could chase success. That was the only reason he was on this earth, and some days that was enough.
On other days, when he drove past a deserted beach in a storm and felt his heart contract with longing, he wished he was wrong.
~~
He slammed on the brakes when he saw a body.
Shane wished he had just imagined it, that he was just hallucinating. It had just been a shadow on the beach, a lump in the distance that was about the size and color of a human body.
But the closer he got, the more he realized that there really was a motionless person lying on the beach.
"Fuck, fuck. Oh my God." Shane felt his heart start to race, as if it wanted to jump out of his chest, drive the car away on its own and escape.
Shane didn't think, couldn't think much with all the adrenaline. As fast as he could, he left the car he had left on the side of the road. With every meter he approached the beach, the wind grew stronger, making his steps heavier and throwing sand and water in his face.
The sand filled his shoes and stuck to his clothes like mud. He was relieved to see that the man in the sand was moving, desperately trying to get to his feet. Half draped over him was a large fur coat, reminiscent of the old sealskin coats that old women sometimes wore.
Shane tried to help the man to his feet.
"Hello? Can you hear me? Are you okay?" Shane shouted the words against the storm.
The person coughed and wheezed in his grip. Shane scanned his body for wounds, almost distracted by the good build of the body if it hadn't been for the huge wound on the upper arm.
Jesus Christ, it looks like he's been bitten by an orca, Shane thought.
"Fine," the man finally replied, trying to lean on Shane to get to his feet.
His legs were very weak and trembling. It was only a matter of time before he collapsed again. Shane sought eye contact and found green eyes glowing with pain staring back at him.
"I'll call an ambulance..."
"No!" The immediate and strong reaction made Shane recoil. "No ambulance! Please..."
Shane caught the man as he struggled to stay conscious, his eyelids fluttering. He was barely clothed, a naked body under a strange white fur coat. The man was probably severely hypothermic, but Shane couldn't smell alcohol on him.
From the man's strong accent, Shane could guess that he wasn't from around here.
Maybe he doesn't have health insurance? Shane wondered.
The waves and the storm were getting stronger. The wind tugged at his clothes and hair. The stranger seemed to be fighting desperately against unconsciousness, muttering curses in a language Shane didn't understand.
His whole mind was screaming at him that he had to make a decision, that he should call an ambulance and leave. Taking a strange and injured man into his house was a crazy idea, especially when he was almost naked.
"Fuck. Fuck, this is crazy," Shane muttered to himself as he supported the stranger with his shoulder and fought his way across the dunes toward the car.
His whole body was covered in sand, his hair stuck to his forehead as rain poured down his body. He quickly hoisted the stranger into the passenger seat of his car and covered his naked, wet body with the fur coat, which was covered in bloodstains.
Relieved, he threw himself into the driver's seat and slammed the door behind him.
"I'm crazy, I'm fucking crazy." He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and allowed himself a minute to breathe and collect himself.
The rain pelted down relentlessly on the car and he felt the wind rocking it slightly. Heavy breathing next to him brought him back to reality. The man next to him seemed hypothermic and his wound needed attention, but he would survive; there was no need to take him to the hospital.
Shane wouldn't go to prison for this. The stranger wouldn't die. No, everything would be fine again. With his thoughts gathered, Shane pressed down on the gas pedal. This time, he was really going home.
~~
God, he felt so cold.
Was he dead?
Ilya felt his brain wake up first, the rest of his body still slow to respond to his signals. The first thing he felt was the inner cold and the pain. The surroundings were quiet, yet he could have sworn he had been caught in a storm, and then there was that stupid bite from that shark.
It no longer smelled like the sea. Not the salty smell in the air, or old seaweed. His mouth was terribly dry and his skin felt strange.
In a panic, he realized he wasn't in the water, not even on the beach anymore. The blood began to rush in his ears as soon as he tried to move, but his whole body refused to obey him, his upper arm punishing him with pain.
When he managed to open his eyes, his head punished him with a sharp stabbing pain. It was as if someone were ramming small knives into his brain, just behind his eyes.
"He—"
The ringing in his ears grew quieter, but another sound took its place.
Ilya heard someone talking next to him. A pair of brown eyes looked down at him with concern, framed by a beautiful face covered in freckles. This wasn't heaven, but the person who had saved him could have been an angel, judging by their appearance.
"Hello? Are you okay?" he heard the other person reply in English.
Had he landed in America? Hopefully not.
Ilya wanted to answer the other person, but the words he tried to form on his tongue were difficult. His throat burned and his tongue felt fuzzy, all the muscles in his body were heavy.
"Whe..." he croaked, but gave up.
"It's okay. Rest, you're safe here," said his rescuer.
He watched him take the hot water bottle, following him with his gaze until he disappeared from view. Shortly afterwards, he heard the sound of running water and a click. He was probably in the kitchen.
Ilya didn't know whether to believe his words. He felt that his whole body was wrapped in blankets. There was no trace of his pelt; he couldn't see it or feel it on his body.
Maybe the pelt was still on the beach, or maybe this "rescuer" was just someone who would exploit him later. Fear remained stuck in his body as his eyes closed again. Exhaustion pulled him back into darkness, demanding his consciousness.
~~
At around 11 p.m., Shane was awakened by the cheerful melody of his washing machine in the house. It was the only sound he could hear in the house, even though he was fully aware that there was another stranger there.
The man had been fast asleep for several hours. During the brief moment when he had been conscious, he had seemed confused, but not hostile. Perhaps a little panicked, which Shane could understand very well.
As he ran down the stairs to the laundry room and shook the sleep from his limbs, Shane realized that this problem would not be solved today. He had gotten himself into a real long-term problem.
"I'm such an idiot," he muttered quietly to himself as he took out his laundry.
Among them were old and oversized clothes that he had set aside for the man and washed again. As he moved the clothes into the dryer, his gaze fell again on the coat hanging on the hanger by the door.
Shane still couldn't explain why the man had been completely naked on the beach except for this coat. He had heard once that people who were about to freeze to death took their clothes off, but he had just been hypothermic.
He actually wanted to leave the coat alone and give it back to the other man as soon as he was responsive. But in the end, he couldn't overcome his curiosity, wiped his clammy hands on his pants before walking over to the coat.
The fur couldn't be fake; it felt too real, incredibly soft. Bloodstains and mud stains marred the beautiful fabric, making it felted. Shane briefly toyed with the idea of simply throwing the coat in the wash, but then he held back.
Real fur probably shouldn't be thrown in the washing machine.
With a sigh, he scratched the back of his head, considering the idea of washing the garment by hand. It would take forever, and it was already late. But the garment smelled terrible, and it would certainly do it good to be washed.
It wasn't as if Shane was going to be able to sleep tonight anyway, because just the thought of lying in bed filled his head with a thousand worries that would keep him awake. Maybe that's what he needed, a few hours spent scrubbing a piece of fur and processing his thoughts.
Before he finally turned his attention to the fur, having already compiled a Google page about washing real fur coats and all the materials, he checked on the injured mystery man in his living room once more.
His soaking wet hair had slowly dried, revealing blonde curls that framed a striking face with mole-speckled cheeks. His body was wrapped in all the blankets Shane could find, and every few hours he replenished the hot water bottle he had placed on his upper body.
His wound was bandaged and treated, but Shane was worried it might get infected.
It was perhaps a little creepy to watch him sleep. Especially because Shane couldn't lie when it came to the fact that he was quite beautiful. Rose would go crazy if she knew he had a beautiful naked man lying on his sofa.
Unfortunately, it wasn't under normal circumstances; he had simply been washed ashore.