Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shane Hollander was not weird.

Shane Hollander was not weird, no matter how much Tommy mocked him during the second recess.

Shane knew that. He really did. But today, his differences seemed more evident than ever. The bento box with miso soup and onigiri hidden under his desk, his slanted eyes, and his straight, coal-black hair stood out like a sore thumb with uncomfortable clarity. It wasn't his fault that the school's food had such a... strange texture, or that his mom had to pack his lunch on Mondays, like today.

It was during geography class that things started to go wrong. Ms. Sam had dedicated the lesson to Asian countries, represented in the textbook as amusing men with slanted eyes, long robes, and pointy hats, bowing to one another in exaggerated reverences. There were even a few photographs of real people, smiling or talking, with a curious resemblance to him. Maybe there was something about the shape of their eyes? It was hard to describe.

At first, he had been curious. His mom had explained that her parents, his grandparents, came from a completely different country. Japan, she had said. A country surrounded by the sea on all sides (did they eat a lot of fish then?), where they spoke another language (Shane knew how to say hello and goodbye in Japanese, but not much else), and they had lots of trains. The fastest train in the world! He had been amazed when he found out they didn't have poutine there. He didn't even like it, but Shane felt like you could find it just about anywhere here.

Shane remained silent throughout the class, even though he usually liked to participate. Every correct answer in Ms. Sam’s classroom meant receiving a cool sticker of a smiling hockey puck that said “Good job!”, and Shane, who loved hockey more than anyone else in his class, worked hard to get as many as he could, later sticking them neatly on the cover of his notebook, where he kept a collection of stickers he was proud of.

He felt his classmates' gazes pinned on him, growing heavier as the lesson went on, mixed with barely disguised whispers among them. It was hard to ignore that the people in the photographs looked a lot like his mom, and everyone in the class knew her. She usually volunteered for school activities. Shane tried not to blush with embarrassment, and the murmur of their voices only faded when the bell rang.

Once he was out on the playground, Shane couldn't help being in a bad mood and, perhaps, a little sad. He kicked a stone with the tip of his shoe, not really caring where it landed, while the playground buzzed with activity creating background noise for the thoughts of seven-year-old Shane Hollander.

Of course, Tommy’s little group was not playing. Shane was usually the target of their jokes and teasing during recess, for everything and for nothing. Sometimes he was too Canadian, other times too Asian, sometimes the freckles on his face looked like dirt, other times his black hair was too… black. It seemed like everything Shane did was wrong, even who he was, and that confused him deeply. Why did his hair, his face, his eyes matter so much?

On the rink, none of that really mattered. All that mattered was how many goals he scored, and Shane was the best in the under-8 group, even though there were taller and bigger kids on his team. His coach told him that all the time, and adults don't lie.

He looked up at the sky sadly, thinking about how long it would be until his mom picked him up and took him to that afternoon’s practice. He wanted to put on practice clothes, his skates, feel the cold of the rink, take his stick and a puck and simply play hockey, not waste his time at this school, where he had to listen to kids talking about him. It was really annoying. At least on the rink, he could skate far enough away that the voices of the rest of the team became just background noise.

“Look, there he goes." Tommy said, not bothering to lower his voice.

Shane stopped watching the sky just long enough to realize that, in the middle of his daydreaming, Tommy was standing there surrounded by the same three boys as always, forming a small semicircle that seemed to be closing in around him. Shane curled his fingers inside the pockets of his coat, but didn’t respond, pretending he hadn’t heard them.

“What did you bring for lunch today?” another boy asked, stepping forward as if Shane’s silence gave him courage to keep attacking. “Dog? Isn’t that what they eat in your country?”

Laughter burst out immediately. Shane felt something twisted rise up his throat, hot and unpleasant, but he didn’t respond. The truth was, he didn’t know what to say. He bent down to pick up the stone he’d kicked earlier and held it tightly.

“Or maybe he speaks another language,” Tommy said, moving closer. By then, the four boys had completely surrounded him, and even though they had never laid a hand on him before, Shane wasn’t so sure he’d get away this time. They were saying really cruel things, and he didn't like it.

"Can you understand me?" he said with exaggerated slowness, as though Shane were stupid and couldn't speak English.

Then a tingling sensation crawled up his body. At first he blamed it on the anger he felt, but in the blink of an eye he found himself sitting on a bed, next to a woman who was stroking his hair. She had long, curly light-brown hair, and Shane didn’t know her.

He let out a startled squeak and moved away from her. She looked at him curiously.

“Илюша, ты в порядке?” she said. Shane didn’t understand the words coming out of her mouth and felt paralyzed with panic. Who was this woman? What was she doing here? He wanted his mom.

This wasn’t right. The floor felt farther away than it should have been. He was in a narrow room with only one bed with a stranger, and outside the window he could see the moon, not the sun. Was he dreaming? He pinched his arm, hoping to wake up, but nothing happened.

“Что ты делаешь? Ты же знаешь, что тебе пора спать.” the woman tried again, baffled by the panic Shane was showing.

“I…” he tried to say, but he didn't even know what to ask. He felt a bit like crying. Has Tommy somehow done this? He didn't understand anything.

The woman looked more and more confused at Shane’s poor attempts to speak English, repeating words in a foreign language Shane had no idea how to understand.

Shane opened his mouth one last time, but nothing came out. Suddenly the tingling returned, stronger and more intense, as if someone had shaken him from the inside, and in another blink, he left that strange room and returned to the playground.

The cold air hit his face and Shane staggered backward, as if he’d fallen from very high up. He was standing exactly where he had been before all of this: in his school's playground, with the stone still in his hand.

His hand, which seemed to have blood on it. He dropped the stone immediately, letting it fall as if it burned.

Tommy’s group was still there… but something was wrong.

They weren’t laughing anymore.

Tommy was sitting on the ground. His clothes were dirty and there was blood on his lip. One of his friends was bent over him, holding his arm, trying to help him up. The tallest one had a red, swollen nose and was looking around with watery eyes, as though he didn't know where he was. The other boy was standing there, looking as though he was about to run away at any moment.

Shane looked at them, confused. His heart was beating so hard he could hear it in his ears. His hand hurt terribly, and he had no idea what had happened.

“What…?” he murmured, though he didn’t know who he was speaking to.

Tommy looked up. When their eyes met, Tommy’s eyes filled with tears. He shoved the boy who was trying to help him up, quickly got to his feet despite his wrinkled clothes and his injuries, and ran toward the classroom, probably looking for a teacher.

The other three boys stayed behind, looking awkwardly at Shane, who had no idea what was going on.

“Let’s go,” one of the boys finally said, his voice trembling. “Before he comes back.”

“Who?” Shane asked, but neither of them answered.

His hand was red and hurt a little, as though he had thrown a few punches. He really didn't understand what had happened. It looked like he had hit Tommy and his friends, but he didn't remember doing it. Maybe he was still dreaming? A pinch on his arm confirmed that all of this was real. 

He didn't have to wait long before a teacher arrived, followed by Tommy, and firmly led him to the principal's office when Shane couldn't explain what had happened.

His mom was confused when she arrived to pick him up about half an hour later. She tried several times to ask him what had happened, assuring him that he wasn't in trouble, that she just wanted to understand what had happened, but Shane felt mute from the shock of everything he had experienced.

That night, after his mother put cream on the bruise that was starting to form across his knuckles, and his father came home from work, and the three of them sat together on the couch, Shane knew it hadn't been a dream.

It had been a change with his soulmate.

When he finally felt like he could talk about what had happened, his parents listened in silence as he told them a very confused story about an unfamiliar room, with a curly haired woman who spoke words he didn’t know. When he finished, they exchanged a look over his head, silently communicating before explaining what had happened.

Everyone had a soulmate, the other half their soul had been connected to even before birth. Something about destiny and other things Shane definitely didn't understand. What he did understand was that their souls would randomly switch into the other’s body for an undetermined amount of time, helping them find each other someday.

After they touched for the first time in person, the changes would stop forever.

Shane frowned. It all sounded huge, strange, and far too complicated. His hand still hurt, he felt tired, and he just wanted to go to bed. It must have shown on his face, because his parents laughed softly.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” his father said, ruffling his hair. “For now, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“But you do need to tell us when it happens.” his mother added sternly.

Shane nodded, though he wasn’t completely convinced.

That night, before going to sleep, he thought about his soulmate. He didn’t know their name yet, or where they lived, but he assumed they were very far away. He wondered if they had also been scared upon waking up in a body that wasn’t theirs.

“Probably not." he thought. After all, they hadn’t hesitated to hit Tommy and his friends.

He hugged his pillow tightly and closed his eyes.

Shane didn't know when it would happen again.

He only knew that, somewhere in the world, there was someone connected to him.

Wasn't that amazing?

Ilya blinked, dazed, looking around his room.

He quickly looked around. There was his mother, his bed, and the wardrobe door slightly open, just as it had been before he suddenly found himself in a playground with boys surrounding him.

His mother looked at him, confused.

“Ilyusha?” she asked hesitantly.

“Mom,” Ilya said very seriously. “I think I fell asleep and dreamed that I was fighting with some kids I couldn’t understand.”

She didn’t respond right away. She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, there was no anger, only affection and sadness. His mother was incapable of being angry with Ilya, not like his father, and that was why Ilya loved her so much.

“Come here.” she said, opening her arms.

Ilya stepped forward and she hugged him tightly, rocking him as if he were a baby. For his mom, Ilya would tolerate it. At seven years old, Ilya was many things, but he wasn’t a baby anymore, no matter what Andrei said.

He let himself be absorbed by the smell of soap and jam from his mother, waiting patiently for her to speak.

“I love you so much,” she murmured. “More than I can explain.”

Ilya stayed, listening to the beat of her heart.

“What happened to you wasn’t a dream,” she continued. “You’ll understand when you’re older, but we’re all born with a special bond to another person. Sometimes they’re close, sometimes very far away, and that bond allows you to switch bodies.”

Ilya swallowed. He pulled away from his mother's embrace and looked at her doubtfully.

So it hadn’t been a dream. Did that mean he had really hit those kids?

When he asked his mom, she nodded.

“You probably got them into some trouble, dear.” she said gently.

“But they were picking on him! I didn’t understand what they were saying, but… it was probably something bad!” Ilya defended himself. "I didn't do anything wrong!" He had learned a long time ago that a good punch could shut anyone up. And Ilya threw the hardest punches in his whole class. Nobody messed with him.

His mother hushed him softly.

“It’s alright, my sun. You just wanted to defend him. But you need to know that whatever you do in his body, he will be responsible for. That’s how it works. That’s why you must be on your best behavior when the change happens, dear.”

She hesitated for a moment.

“Are you sure it was a boy?” she asked carefully.

Ilya nodded. It was definitely a boy, judging by his clothes and what he had felt.

His mother pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes.

“I need you to promise me something.”

Ilya nodded immediately. He would do anything for his mom.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she said. “No one except me. Not your friends, not your teachers, not your brother, and…” she hesitated. “Not your father.”

Ilya felt a small knot form in his stomach.

“Why not father?”

His mother rocked him gently again, as if choosing each word carefully.

“Because there are things some people can’t understand without getting scared,” she said. “And when your father gets scared, he gets angry. I don’t want him to think there’s something wrong with you.”

Ilya shook his head hard.

“There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“I know,” she said immediately, holding him a little tighter. “I know better than anyone.”

They stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Will it happen again?” Ilya asked at last.

His mother stood up from the bed and gently laid Ilya back between the sheets, tucking the blanket up to his chin.

“Yes, dear,” she said softly. “Now sleep. Everything will be alright.”

Ilya closed his eyes obediently. 

As sleep overtook him, he thought of the other boy, so far away that they didn’t even share the same language. He wondered if he was awake too, if he was afraid as well. There was nothing to worry about. If he needed to, Ilya could teach him how to throw a punch.

He wished that the next time the change happened, he could do better. 

The next time they switched, Shane felt the same strange tingling before finding himself in an unfamiliar place. Two years had passed since the first exchange, so it caught him by surprise while his mother was making him a late night snack in the kitchen.

During that time, he had researched everything he could about soulmates. He read some books that gave him a headache (the hockey ones were much more fun) and his parents told him stories about their own exchanges (they were soulmates too!) and asked him questions about his first one: was it a boy or a girl? what did the woman’s language sound like? did she look kind?, questions Shane didn’t have answers to.

He learned that exchanges were different for each pair and that scientists had developed ways to block them, especially for important or high-risk professions. Hockey players, apparently, used temporary blockers during games. When he asked his mom about it, she assured him that very few people chose to block their soulmate permanently, and that in Canada the use of long-term blockers was highly regulated.

Shane decided not to share his soulmate situation with anyone. After being suspended for a few days and rumors spreading that Shane had gone crazy and punched a few kids, Tommy and his friends stopped teasing him. Now they walked past him in the hallway without even looking at him, as though he didn't exist. Some kids looked at him strangely for a while, as if expecting him to suddenly snap, but when that never happened, everything eventually went back to normal.

That was for the best. As long as he had hockey, Shane didn’t care if some unpleasant kids didn’t want to be his friends. Besides, kids in general confused him a lot. Emily, the girl who sat next to him in class, turned red every time she made eye contact with Shane. Once, he asked to borrow her eraser, and she got so nervous that she dropped it.

He looked around. He was sitting at a very long table, with about ten people dressed very elegantly. Shane carefully set down the spoon he was holding over a half-eaten bowl of soup and looked down at his soulmate’s body, noticing he was wearing a boy’s suit, not a dress. A boy, probably.

Then he cautiously paid attention to his surroundings. The atmosphere was very serious and formal, with hushed conversations in the same language he had heard last time, but harsher, as if they were throwing insults across the table with straight faces. No one had noticed Shane’s intrusive presence at the table, which helped his anxiety.

He quickly thought about what to do. Shane was dying to ask someone around him his soulmate’s name, how old he was, if he played hockey, what language they were speaking, anything, but everything felt cold and serious, and honestly, he didn’t want to get his soulmate into trouble.

So he listened. He tried to memorize the sound of the voices, hoping that when he got home, he could recognize the language and maybe figure out where his soulmate was. It wasn’t English, French, or Japanese, he would have known immediately, since his Mito-obasan insisted on speaking only Japanese to him the few times they saw each other, even though Shane couldn't understand at all. By now, he could also say "My name is Shane" but he had never had the chance to practice it with anyone.

He looked at the half eaten soup, realizing everyone at the table would finish soon. Something about the atmosphere made the back of his neck tingle in a bad way, so he hurried to finish his meal, pretending to be his soulmate.

If there were a competition between him and his soulmate about who behaved better in the other’s body, he would definitely win. After all, his soulmate had punched four kids and gotten him suspended during their first body exchange, causing him a lot of trouble, while Shane sat here obediently eating his soup. He felt proud of himself.

“Well, it's okay,” Shane thought distractedly. He hated the idea of talking to strangers anyway.

He felt a light touch on his foot, and snapped his gaze up to the person sitting across from him, who was already looking back at him with curiosity.

It was the same woman as last time.

Shane wanted to jump up and say “Hi!” along with a million questions, but he hesitated. Something in the room told him he wouldn’t be welcome. 

His expression must have given him away, because the beautiful woman’s face went from curiosity to panic and finally settled into indifference. She looked Shane straight in the eyes and subtly shook her head side to side as if saying “no” then returned to her soup as if nothing had happened.

This was so strange. Shane didn’t understand much about people, but all this formality made his palms itch, and he wished he were back home, in his soft pajamas, eating something that wasn’t this onion soup.

The last few minutes of the exchange were more of the same. He tried with all his strength to fake normalcy while the beautiful woman across from him gave him sidelong glances from time to time, not daring to say a word or move from her seat.

When he felt the familiar tingling of the body exchange, he was relieved that the experience was over. He didn’t know what was wrong with his soulmate’s family, but if he constantly had to sit in a suit and eat boring food with boring people, Shane felt very sorry for him.

When he returned, he found himself sitting on a chair in the kitchen, with his mother looking at him curiously.

“Shane?” she asked cautiously.

Shane nodded, jumping up excitedly and telling his mom everything about the exchange he had just experienced, because even if it had been boring, it was his soulmate!

His mom listened patiently, and although her face made a strange expression, she didn’t interrupt Shane’s rambling. Finally, when he calmed down and sat back down, he asked his mom what his soulmate had done while in his body.

“His name is Ilya, sweetheart,” his mom said after explaining that she had been very confused when Shane’s body started speaking in an unfamiliar language and that she’d almost died of fright. “He didn’t understand me at all, but I figured it out right away. I pointed to myself and said ‘Yuna’ and when I pointed to him, he answered with his name. Such a smart boy.”

“I think he tried to ask me things about you, but I don’t speak Russian, honey.”

“Russian?” Shane asked. He’d heard of Russia, after all, they had some of the best hockey players in the world, aside from Canada, of course. Maybe his soulmate liked hockey, or better yet, knew how to play!

“So…” his mom continued, moving to pick up a sheet of paper on the table. “He wrote this."

"I didn't know how to tell him he could write something for you and that we'd figure out how to translate it later, but as soon as I brought him a pencil and some paper, he took it and wrote this for you."

Shane reverently took the paper his mom handed him. This was the first proof, beyond the body exchanges, that his soulmate truly existed and that it wasn’t all a hallucination on Shane’s part.

He looked at the writing, realizing he couldn’t understand a single word. He looked at his mom in dismay. It would take him forever to decipher his soulmate’s message, and he wanted to know right now!

His mom laughed at his expression.

“There must be someone in Ottawa who speaks Russian and can help us translate this, Shane. Don’t worry.”

With a pat on his back, she urged him to get up from the table and guided him toward the stairs leading to his bedroom.

“But… my snack!” he exclaimed sadly.

His mother chuckled.

“Ilya already ate it, sweetheart. In your body. So it’s time for bed.”

Shane felt like he’d drawn the short straw in this whole soulmate experience. How unfair!

His mom got him a nice frame for Ilya’s letter, which now hangs on the wall next to his trophy shelf in his bedroom. Days after the exchange, his dad contacted a friend of a coworker who spoke Russian and had kindly offered to translate the letter for Shane.

Shane kept the translation written on a note in his “drawer of important things”.

Shane had probably read it a million times.

His soulmate played hockey! His parents laughed, saying it was obvious his soulmate was just like him in that regard, otherwise they couldn’t be soulmates. Something about compatibility and other things Shane only half listened to.

He didn’t care! His soulmate liked skating and wanted to do it with Shane!

“Probably not soon.” Shane thought sadly. Even though he now knew Ilya lived in Russia, the truth was that the country was huge, and he’d never be able to find him with the information he had. So they would have to wait a while before meeting.

But that was okay. Soulmates were supposed to be destined to meet, and whether Shane was in Russia or Ilya in Canada or both somewhere else, someday they would meet, because that was their destiny.

In the meantime, Shane gave it his all in training with his team. He refused to let Ilya ever beat him in a speed race. After all, Shane was by far the best in his group.

His coach talked to his parents and told them that if Shane kept improving, it was possible he could be recruited for Canada’s junior hockey team once he was older. That filled Shane with excitement. Even though he was young, he knew he wanted to play for the rest of his life. Maybe become a professional someday and play in the NHL.

One night, he dreamed that he was skating very fast on an outdoor ice rink, with another figure close behind him, though he couldn’t see his face. The sound of sticks hitting pucks and blades cutting the ice mixed with laughter, which was good, since neither of them spoke. When he woke the next morning, he didn’t remember anything except a warmth spreading through his chest that stayed with him all day.

Besides training, Shane threw himself fully into learning Russian. He wanted to be able to communicate with his soulmate when the time came. His dad bought him an English-Russian dictionary and a recorded beginner’s guide that connected to a radio in his room, which he listened to in his free time, even though learning it was very difficult. It was very different from English and French, both in writing and speech, so progress was slow.

His first big success was being able to read Ilya’s letter, even though he was far from fully understanding what he was reading. Still, he had read the translated version so many times that he could probably recite it in both languages.

When Shane was eleven, the third exchange happened.

To be honest, he was impatient for the next one, so when he felt the familiar tingling spread through his body, he got excited while also feeling terror, and quickly prayed that his soulmate would behave during the brief time he’d have in Shane’s classroom.

The first thing he noticed was the cold.

The second thing he noticed was that the sun was setting on the horizon, and Shane was on an outdoor rink wearing skates and he was surrounded by a handful of kids passing a dirty puck across the ice.

Shane felt his heart race. He knew a couple of phrases in Russian, but not enough to understand the words flying rapidly back and forth. He remembered his soulmate’s warning that no one could find out about the exchanges and did his best to pass the puck to his teammates, keeping a serious face.

He felt like time was running out. Some soulmates could exchange for hours and hours, but in his limited experience, his and Ilya’s exchanges only lasted about half an hour at most. He felt impatient to get answers to his questions.

Then he noticed the woman at the edge of the rink, the same one from previous exchanges, watching the game with a contemplative expression. When Shane looked at her, she motioned for him to come over. Shane made a decision and shouted something he hoped meant “time!” to the group of boys before hurrying over to the woman ignoring his teammates' protesting shouts. None of that mattered right now.

“Are you okay?” she asked in Russian as soon as he was close enough to hear her. “Обычно мне приходится буквально силой утаскивать тебя со льда.”

Shane didn’t understand the last part, but it didn’t matter. He swallowed, held the woman’s gaze, and pointing to his chest he said slowly:

“Hello, my name is Shane. I don’t speak Russian.”

He hadn't had the chance to speak Russian with anyone yet, so he hoped it didn't sound too bad. He was sure he had nailed the intonation the voice on the recording used.

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. She quickly looked around and seemed to relax when she confirmed they were alone. She looked back at Shane and gave him a gentle smile.

“Hello, Shane,” she said in English. Her accent was very strong, but her voice was still gentle. “Are you the soulmate of my son?”

Shane nodded enthusiastically, happy that Ilya’s mom spoke English, even if it was basic. Finally, he could talk to someone during a body exchange!

“Yes, soulmate.” he confirmed.

She took his hand, even with the gloves on, and shook it in a very american way, seriously.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Behind Shane (or rather, Ilya), the game resumed without him, the boys too caught up in the competition to care about a conversation between Ilya and his mother.

“You are not from Russia, yes?” Ilya’s mom said, releasing his hand but staying close.

“No,” Shane said, happy to be able to share little pieces of his life with Ilya, even if not directly. “I live in Canada, with my parents.”

“Okay.” she said simply.

Since she didn't seem like she was going to say anything else, Shane continued.

“I’m eleven and I play hockey at home too. I’m very good.” he added, so Ilya’s mom could tell him.

“Ilya is good too. And have your age.” she said.

“I want…” Shane struggled to find simple English words to convey his message, since getting paper and pencil at a rink in the middle of Russia seemed difficult. “I want to meet Ilya. He promised me a race and I want to win.” he said seriously. He even acted out the idea of a race by making exaggerated skating motions, hoping she would understand what he meant.

She laughed, finding Shane absolutely adorable.

“You and Ilya will meet one day. Don’t worry. When you do… can you take care of Ilya for me, yes?”

Shane nodded solemnly. He took his role as a soulmate very seriously.

“I promise.” And to prove it, he took off a glove and extended his pinky finger to Ilya’s mom. For a brief moment, he wondered if Russia had pinky promises, but she quickly linked her slender finger with Shane’s and pressed them together.

“Thank you, Shane.” she said, taking his hand and pulling him into a hug, pressing a kiss into his hair.

For a second, he wondered if Ilya would be upset with him for letting his mom hug him in front of his friends, but he was soon pulled into the familiar tingling sensation, and in the blink of an eye found himself sitting back at his desk in the middle of a math class he would later have to borrow notes for.

He looked at his desk and smiled widely when he noticed that Ilya probably hadn’t disrupted the class, since everything looked normal around him, but that hadn’t stopped him from getting bored listening to math in a language he didn’t know. All over the page of his notebook were doodles of dogs, skates, and hockey sticks with a short note in English saying: “Hi, Shane Hollander. Your name is in the notebook. This is boring.”

Of course, Shane tore out the page and kept it in his drawer of important things.

Based on quick calculations and his previous experiences, the next body exchange should have happened in two more years, so Shane was surprised to be pulled into another just one year later, when he was twelve.

During that time, Shane worked hard at both hockey and his Russian. He had gone through a lot of learning CDs. Also, during one of their trips to Montreal, his dad had found a Russian store that rented VHS tapes of Russian movies and TV shows. Even though the drive was a little long, it was worth it. By then, Shane had already watched Nu, Pogodi! (something like Tom & Jerry but creepier), The Mystery of the Third Planet (he only made it about twenty minutes before it became too scary to keep watching), and his favorite: Cheburashka. It was very calm, and the characters spoke slowly enough that he could understand most of what was happening. Learning Russian was great, even though he still didn't have anyone to practice it with.

Maybe one day with Ilya!

His parents joked that Shane only cared about two things: hockey and his soulmate, but Shane didn’t bother correcting them because it wasn’t a lie. His classmates got bored easily when Shane went off on tangents about rules, training, and playoffs, so he struggled to socialize off the rink, and training and Russian lessons consumed his free time.

When he switched, he was grateful to be in his room just hanging out, excited to exchange with his soulmate, but the excitement didn’t last long when he realized where Ilya was.

At a funeral.

At Ilya’s mother’s funeral, as the framed photograph of the woman Shane had spoken to a year earlier made painfully clear. The portrait was surrounded by black ribbons and floral arrangements.

Oh, no. 

Shane felt like he was going to throw up, while at the same time his eyes filled with tears.

Poor Ilya.

Shane forced himself to remain still in his seat while the ceremony continued, blinking rapidly to chase away the moisture in his eyes. This was all wrong. It couldn’t be. Ilya’s mom…

He desperately wondered what he could do, if there was anything he could do, for Ilya, for his mother. He felt so much sadness for his soulmate that he had to suppress a sob.

There were only a handful of people at the funeral, all with solemn or bored expressions, as if this were nothing more than an obligation. Shane remained still, standing beside two men he assumed were his father and maybe a brother or cousin.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but the ceremony seemed to be ending soon, because after a few final words from a priest, who spoke in very harsh Russian, people began to disperse, murmuring briefly about a meal at the Rozanovs’ house.

He assumed that was Ilya’s last name. Ilya Rozanov. His soulmate. Who now had no mother.

A hand landed on his shoulder, stiff and brief. He looked up and saw the man beside him staring at him harshly. Probably Ilya’s father.

“Ilya. We’ll have guests at home today for the memorial meal, and I want you on your best behavior. Your mother is dead, and that’s all. My coworkers will be there, and you know what that means. Spare me the tears and attend to them properly, do you hear?”

Although Shane didn't understand every word, he understood the general message. Shane nodded, trying to keep his face stoic, while wondering where this vile being had come from and how it was possible he was related to his sweet soulmate, the one who had protected him from bullies as a child and left him notes every time they exchanged.

The drive to Ilya’s house was marked by cold silence and indifference. Ilya’s brother or cousin seemed bored at best, and his father wouldn’t stop muttering about the cost of everything and how his mother couldn’t have been more inconvenient.

Shane felt like he was in a universe he desperately wanted to escape. He wondered if the exchange had happened so Shane could endure this situation for Ilya, and felt his heart crack a little.

That was fine. He would endure it all so that Ilya could rest for a moment from this terrible situation.

They arrived at an old, gloomy house, but when he glanced at the neighboring houses, he realized they all looked just as old and neglected. Maybe that was the Russian style. Inside, the house looked old and very lavish.

Once inside, Ilya’s father briefly said that guests would arrive in an hour and they’d better be ready. Shane wasn’t sure what to do. He had learned a lot of Russian so he could pretend to be his soulmate during exchanges and communicate with Ilya when the time came, but right now he felt incapable of speaking a single word in Russian or English, or even French.

He ran into a problem. The house was large, with many rooms and floors, and to his horror he realized he had no idea which one was Ilya’s bedroom. He couldn’t ask his father or brother (definitely brother, since Ilya’s father had referred to both of them as “sons”), and the only person who knew Ilya’s secret was no longer there.

While his father barked instructions into what seemed to be the kitchen and his brother disappeared upstairs, Shane chose the garden visible through a window, hoping it wouldn’t seem strange that Ilya chose that option.

As he passed by, he saw a small notebook and a pencil on a table and quickly grabbed them, stuffing them into his pocket before heading outside.

The patio looked well cared for. There were many roses and flowers, and the ground was covered in what seemed like fresh leaves. Shane sat down on an old chair that looked expensive, like everything in that house, and took a deep breath.

Were all Russians this insensitive, or was it just Ilya’s family that had no feelings? This was horrible. Shane couldn’t imagine losing his mother and then pretending he felt nothing. He felt numb. He felt so much pity for his soulmate that just thinking about Ilya made his heart break, and fresh tears welled in his eyes.

He took out the notebook and pencil and thought about what kind of note he could leave Ilya in a situation like this. He wondered whether his words would make his soulmate feel better or wouldn’t help at all. He thought for a moment and decided he couldn’t just stay silent, so he wrote in Russian, with his limited vocabulary.

Tears fell onto the paper, leaving uneven stains. His chest hurt. Suddenly, he wished the exchange would never end, and that Ilya wouldn’t have to come back to this body and this house, surrounded by loneliness.

He left the notebook in his hand and remained seated, waiting for the exchange. If it didn’t happen before the guests arrived, he would tear out the page and keep it in his jacket, but right now he wanted Ilya to see the note first thing when he returned.

The tingling came shortly after, returning Shane to the solitude of his bedroom.

He hoped Ilya would read the note.

And when a year passed and another exchange didn’t happen, Shane didn’t worry. It could happen.

And another year passed.

And then another.

And when Shane was fifteen, he realized with sadness that his soulmate was blocking him.