Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

January 2009 - Pardubice, Czech Republic

Coming back always felt wrong. There was no waking up. No opening his eyes after a night's sleep. One moment there was nothing.

The next… He simply existed again. Ilya blinked.

His vision slowly came into focus. "...Ugh."

His head felt strangely heavy—not painful, exactly. More like his thoughts had to swim through thick water before they reached him.

He looked around. Hotel room. Team Canada. Right. The shower was running.

Steam drifted beneath the bathroom door. 

"...How long?" 

His eyes landed on Shane's planner sitting neatly on the desk. Of course Shane had brought his planner. Ilya wandered over and flipped it open. His stomach dropped.

January 5th.

"...No." 

He flipped backward through the pages. December 27. December 28. December 29. New Year's Day. January 2. January 3.

"...I lost ten days."

The last thing he remembered was throwing himself into that defenseman during Canada's opener.

December 26th.

Ten whole days...

Gone.

"What happened?"

Did Canada win?

Did Shane get hurt?

Did Russia—

The bathroom door opened.

Steam rolled into the room.

Shane stepped out with a towel wrapped securely around his waist, another draped over his shoulders as he rubbed at his damp hair.

Ilya barely glanced at him.

He'd seen Shane change dozens of times over the past several months. It wasn't awkward anymore.

His attention was still fixed on the planner.

"I missed New Year's," he muttered. "...Damn."

Shane looked up. His eyes met Ilya's. He froze. The towel slipped from his shoulder into his hand.

For a long, impossible second… Neither of them moved.

Shane's brow furrowed. "How the fuck did you get into my room?"

His voice cracked just slightly as he instinctively tightened his grip on the towel around his waist. Ilya stared.

His heart stopped.

Well...

If ghosts still had hearts.

"No..." He slowly pointed to himself. "You..." His words came out in rapid Russian before he could think. "Ty menya vidish'?"

Shane blinked. "...What?"

"Shit." Ilya slapped a hand over his face. He took a breath, concentrating harder than he ever had in his life. "You..." He spoke carefully. "...can see me?"

Shane took an instinctive step backward. "Who are you? How did you get in here? Did Josh send you? Or Bradley? This some kind of prank?"

Ilya wasn't listening. His eyes had gone impossibly wide. "You can actually see me."

He laughed.

Not because anything was funny. Because his brain had completely stopped working.

"You can see me." He pointed at Shane. "You!" Then himself. "Me! You can see me!"

Shane looked even more confused.

"...Yes?"

"You're standing in my hotel room. I'd be concerned if I couldn't see you."

Ilya shook his head frantically.

"No, no, no. You don't understand. Wait, you can also understand me?"

Shane's eyes narrowed.

He looked the blond teenager up and down.

The messy blond hair.

The sharp blue eyes.

The Russian features.

Then something clicked.

His expression shifted from confusion...

To disbelief.

"...No." He took another careful look. "...You're..." His voice caught. "...You're Ilya Rozanov."

Ilya froze.

Shane knew his face. "The Russian center."

"The one..." Shane swallowed. "...The one they honored before the bronze medal game."

His breathing quickened. "They held a moment of silence. They wore black armbands." His brow furrowed as he stared at the impossible figure standing in front of him. "...You died."

Silence.

"...You're dead."

He looked around the hotel room as if expecting hidden cameras to jump out at any second.

His pulse hammered in his ears.

"I am so tired." He rubbed both hands over his face. "I haven't slept."

He looked back up.

"...Did Josh put something in my drink?"

Another pause.

"...Am I high?"

Ilya blinked.

"I..." He pointed to himself. "Dead." He nodded once. "...Yes."

Shane stared.

"I..." Ilya stepped forward instinctively. "It's okay."

Without thinking, he reached for Shane's shoulder. His hand passed straight through him. The icy sensation rippled through both of them.

Shane inhaled sharply and stumbled backward. "What the…"

He grabbed at his own shoulder where Ilya's hand should have landed. It hadn't hurt. It hadn't even felt like being touched. It had felt...

Like walking through a cloud of freezing air.

Ilya slowly looked down at his own hand.

"...Right. I forgot." His smile disappeared. "I can't touch you."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Shane's logical brain desperately searched for an explanation.

Hallucination.

Sleep deprivation.

Jet lag.

Stress.

Anything.

Anything except the impossible.

"You..." Shane whispered. His eyes never left Ilya. "...You're supposed to be dead."

Ilya gave a small, sad smile. "I know."

A beat passed.

"I was there."

Shane blinked.

Despite the absurdity of the situation...

Despite the fact that a dead Russian hockey player was somehow standing in his hotel room...

That answer almost made him laugh.

Almost.

He rubbed at his temple.

"...How many pucks have I taken to the head?" He frowned, genuinely trying to remember. "I didn't get hit today..."

Another pause.

"...Did I get body checked too hard?" His eyes darted toward the ceiling. "...Am I dead?" He looked back at Ilya. "Am I still lying on the ice right now?"

Ilya immediately shook his head. "No. You alive." He pointed firmly at Shane. "I promise."

Shane stared at him for another long moment.

His breathing slowly steadied. "...Okay." He nodded once, more to himself than anyone else. "Okay. None of this is real."

"I'm either dreaming..." He held up one finger. "...hallucinating..." A second finger. "...or I've finally snapped." A third.

He let out a long breath.

"So..." He shrugged. "Might as well lean into it."

Ilya couldn't help smiling. "...You adapting surprisingly well."

"I don't think I have another option."

Shane leaned against the dresser, folding his arms across his chest.

"So. If you're a hallucination..." He gestured toward Ilya. "Why are you in my hotel room?"

A beat.

"...Did you die here?"

"No." Ilya answered almost immediately.

Then he hesitated.

How was he supposed to explain this?

'Hi, I'm the dead Russian hockey player who was supposed to become your soulmate, but instead I killed myself, Heaven was upset, and now I've been following you around for eight months while occasionally turning on your locker-room music.'

Absolutely not.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I..." He searched for the least insane way to say it. "...Am..."

Shane waited patiently.

"...Your..." Ilya winced. "...Guardian angel."

Silence. Complete silence. 

Shane blinked once. Then twice. "...You're a terrible guardian angel."

Ilya frowned. "What?"

Shane gestured toward him. "You're seventeen,"

"Sixteen," Ilya corrected automatically. "I died at sixteen."

Shane stared at him. "...That doesn't help."

"I fucking know."

Shane rubbed a hand over his face. "Can guardian angels curse?"

"I do not know." Ilya shrugged. "I was not given class."

"There wasn't some angel orientation?"

"I died. I woke up. There was court. They gave me rules. Then they sent me to Canada."

Shane blinked. "...Fair enough." He folded his arms. "So… Why me?"

Ilya's smile disappeared. He looked down at the carpet. "We..." He hesitated. "...Were supposed to be rivals."

Shane waited for him to continue.

"In NHL."

"So?"

Ilya looked up. "I was not supposed to die. My death..." He searched for the right English words. "...Changed everything."

Shane frowned. "I still don't understand. If you died… What does that have to do with me?"

Ilya sighed. "They told me… You needed me."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "...Needed you for what?"

"I do not know. They did not explain. They just said..." He remembered the figure's words. "He needed you. You needed him." Ilya swallowed. "...That my story was tied to yours. So they made me your guardian angel."

Shane was quiet for several seconds.

"...You've really been following me?"

"Since May."

Shane's eyes widened. "...Since before my birthday?"

Ilya nodded. "I watched you make junior team. I turned on your locker room music. I pushed you into card game at camp."

"You what?"

"You were sitting alone. So I..." Ilya mimed giving someone a shove. "...Nudged."

Shane stared.

"...You're telling me… I made friends because a ghost shoved me?"

"It worked."

"It did work."

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is..." He let out a slow breath. "...The weirdest conversation I've ever had."

"I know."

Another pause.

Shane looked back at him. "...One more question."

"What?"

"If you've been watching me since May..." His expression became suspicious. "...How much have you seen?"

Ilya blinked. "...Everything."

Shane closed his eyes. "...I am never sleeping again."

"You are boring," Ilya replied immediately.

Shane opened one eye. "What?"

"You are nerd. You make schedules for flights. You organize toothpaste. You do math on airplanes. You own an iPod and do not listen to music." He pointed accusingly. "I have evidence."

Shane couldn't argue with any of that. "...Fair. But." He pointed back. "You're dead. You cannot complain."

Ilya scoffed. "I can complain. I have nothing but time to complain."

That earned the smallest laugh from Shane. The sound caught both of them off guard. It faded just as quickly as it came.

An awkward silence settled over the room.

Shane looked down at the towel wrapped around his waist.

Then back at Ilya. "...Do you mind if I..." He gestured vaguely toward himself. "...Get dressed?"

"Oh." Ilya immediately looked toward the window. "Yes. I forget living people care about things like that." He paused. "I have seen you change before."

Shane's eyes widened. "...That is somehow the worst thing you've said tonight."

"I was guardian angeling!"

"You were watching."

"I was making sure you did not die."

"In the shower?"

"There are many slippery surfaces."

Shane stared at him. "...You're unbelievable."

"I know."

Shane sighed, picked up his clothes from the bed, and headed toward the bathroom.

His hand rested on the doorknob for a moment before he looked back.

"If I go in there..." He hesitated. "...Will you still be here when I come out?"

The question was quieter than everything else he'd asked.

More uncertain.

Ilya's expression softened.

"I will."

A beat.

"I just..." He glanced down at his own hands. "I do not know if you will still be able to see me."

Shane frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This has never happened before. I was not supposed to be seen. Maybe..." He shrugged helplessly. "...Whatever let you see me wears off."

Neither of them liked that possibility.

Shane nodded slowly. "...Okay."

He disappeared into the bathroom, quietly closing the door.

For the first time in eight months... Ilya found himself hoping. Not that Shane would believe him. Not that Shane would understand.

Just...

That when the bathroom door opened again... Shane would still be able to see him. The room suddenly felt much quieter.

Ilya shifted awkwardly.

Should he sit?

Ghosts didn't get tired. He didn't need to.

But standing in the middle of Shane's hotel room while waiting for him to get dressed somehow felt... strange. He settled onto the edge of the bed anyway. At least he'd finally figured out how to sit without falling through furniture.

A shrill ringtone suddenly broke the silence.

Ilya jumped.

Shane's laptop lit up on the desk. Jessica Calling...

"Oh." Ilya looked toward the bathroom. "Your girlfriend."

The bathroom door flew open.

Shane hurried out, now wearing sweatpants and a Team Canada hoodie, still toweling off his damp hair as he rushed to answer before it stopped ringing.

He flipped the laptop open. "Uh... hey, Jessica."

Jessica smiled brightly from the screen. "There you are! I was starting to think you forgot."

"I almost did," Shane admitted.

She laughed. "But this is the time you scheduled."

She held up a printed copy of the schedule he'd emailed her before leaving Canada. "I'm following your schedule."

Ilya leaned over Shane's shoulder out of pure habit. "...Of course she printed it."

Shane smiled sheepishly. "Right. Sorry."

Jessica tilted her head.

"So… What are you doing?"

Shane froze.

His eyes instinctively drifted over his shoulder.

Right to Ilya.

Their eyes met.

Ilya blinked. "...You can still see me."

Relief washed over him. Shane looked back at the screen.

"I'm just..." He scrambled for an excuse. "...Hanging out with some of the Russian players."

Ilya raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" Jessica smiled. "That's nice! You should tell them I said hi."

A beat.

"Where are they?"

Shane hesitated. His eyes flicked sideways toward Ilya again.

Ilya gave a tiny shrug. "She cannot see me."

Shane nodded absentmindedly. "...I guess not."

Jessica frowned. "What?"

Shane's eyes widened.

"...Nothing."

"I was..."

He looked helplessly at Ilya.

Ilya grinned.

"Vampire rules. Cameras cannot see me."

"What?" Shane repeated automatically. "...Vampires?"

Jessica looked even more confused. "...Who's talking about vampires?"

Shane rubbed a hand over his face. "I..." He let out a long sigh. "I don't actually know anymore."

Jessica laughed. "I think jet lag is finally getting to you."

"...Yeah." Shane glanced toward Ilya again. "...Maybe it is."

Ilya gave him a little wave.

Shane immediately looked back at the computer before Jessica could notice where he'd been looking. "I should go, get some sleep."

Jessica pouted dramatically. "You've only been gone a week and you're already replacing me with mysterious Russians."

"I am not replacing you."

"It sounds like you're replacing me."

"I promise I'm not."

She smiled. "Okay. I love you!"

Shane forced a small smile. "...Love you too."

The call ended. The room fell silent. 

Ilya folded his arms with a smug grin. "I like this."

Shane looked over. "What?"

"You accidentally answer me instead of people."

Shane groaned. "I am trying to have a conversation."

"I know." Ilya smiled innocently. "I am making it interesting."

"You are making me sound insane."

"I think you sound charming."

"I think my girlfriend thinks I'm hallucinating."

"...She does."

Shane sighed and leaned back against the desk. "This is going to take some getting used to."

"You get used to me."

"I don't know if that's reassuring."

"It should be."

"It isn't." Ilya laughed. "I have been talking to you for eight months. I finally get responses. I am making up for lost time."

Shane looked at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You've really been talking to me?"

"All the time."

"What kinds of things?"

Ilya didn't even hesitate. "I called you boring."

Shane nodded once. "I gathered that."

"I called you a nerd."

"I definitely gathered that."

"I made fun of your flight schedule."

"...Reasonable."

"I made fun of your color-coded homework."

Shane sighed. "...Also reasonable."

"I told you to break up with Jessica."

Shane blinked. "You what?"

"You looked unhappy."

"What? I am happy. I am still figuring things out."

"You looked unhappy."

Shane looked down at the floor.

For a moment, he didn't answer.

"...I was." The confession slipped out so quietly that it surprised them both.

Neither of them spoke.

Then Shane looked back up. "...You really have been here this whole time."

Ilya nodded. "Da. I never left."

Shane let out a slow breath. "...Hopefully she breaks up with me."

Ilya stared at him. "...Or." He held up a finger. "You could break up with her yourself."

Shane shook his head almost immediately. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I..." He looked away. "I don't want to hurt her."

"You already are."

Shane winced. "I know." The admission came out so quietly Ilya almost missed it. "I know."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees.

"She's a good person. She deserves someone who actually..." His voice trailed off.

Ilya watched him for a moment before speaking. "Teen relationships do not last."

Shane looked up. "So?"

"So..." Ilya shrugged. "Break up with her. It will hurt. But it will hurt less now than later."

Shane gave him a skeptical look. "You're awfully invested in my dating life."

"I have watched it for eight months. I have opinions."

That earned the smallest huff of laughter from Shane. "You've had eight months to judge me."

"Da."

"And the verdict?"

"You are terrible boyfriend."

Shane looked genuinely offended. "I am not."

"You schedule phone calls. You schedule dates. You schedule sleep. I am surprised you do not schedule kissing."

Shane groaned. "I do not schedule kissing."

"You probably thought about it."

"I did not."

"You definitely did."

"I definitely didn't."

Ilya grinned victoriously. "See? You are already arguing with me."

Shane shook his head, trying—and failing—not to smile. 

"...Maybe that's why I was sent here."

Shane frowned. "What? To get me to break up with my girlfriend?"

Ilya laughed. "Who knows?" He lifted both hands in surrender. "Next time I die, I am asking for a rule book. A very detailed one. With diagrams. And examples. And maybe a section called, 'What to do when your assigned human can suddenly see you.'"

Shane couldn't help laughing. "I don't think that's a very common problem."

"No?"

"No."

Ilya smiled. "...Good. Because I am making all of this up as I go."

Shane studied him for a long moment. "...Your English."

"What about it?"

"It sounds..." He tilted his head, trying to find the right words. "...Different. You were speaking in broken sentences a minute ago. Now you're speaking almost normally."

Ilya blinked. "I am?"

Shane nodded. "You still have an accent. But..." He shrugged. "You don't seem like you're translating every word anymore."

Ilya frowned. He hadn't even noticed. He tried thinking in English.

Nothing. His thoughts were still completely in Russian.

"...Huh." He looked down at his hands. "I guess..." He shrugged. "...It is part of the angel thing. In my head..." He tapped his temple. "...This entire conversation is Russian."

Shane's eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

"Da. I hear Russian. I think in Russian. But when I talk to you..." He spread his hands helplessly. "...It comes out English."

Shane considered that for a moment. "So your brain is translating automatically?"

"I think so. I do not even notice anymore." Ilya smiled sheepishly. "I would assume guardian angels are supposed to understand the people they are assigned to. I spoke some English back in Russia. Not much. Enough to understand hockey."

He shrugged.

"But this..." He gestured between the two of them. "...This is different. I do not have to search for words. They just... happen. Until I panic. Then Russian wins."

Shane nodded. "That explains the first thing you said to me."

"Da." Ilya laughed. "I was too shocked to remember English."

Shane leaned back against the desk. "...Weird." The word came out almost under his breath. "You're telling me there's an afterlife. And guardian angels."

Ilya hesitated. "I do not actually know how much of an afterlife there is."

Shane looked at him. 

"When I died… I woke up in a room. Or..." He frowned, trying to describe something that didn't really have walls. "...It felt like a room. It was endless. Empty. I stayed there for..."

He shrugged. "I do not know. There was no day. No night. No clock. I could have been there for five minutes. I could have been there for five years. They do not measure time."

Shane listened without interrupting.

"I thought my mama would be there." A sad smile crossed Ilya's face. "She was not. They said I had come too early."

The room fell quiet.

"...This is a lot," Shane admitted.

"Da. It was for me too."

Shane sat back, letting everything sink in. Then another question came to him. "So… What have you actually done?"

Ilya blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You said you've been my guardian angel since May."

Shane folded his arms. "Besides turning on the locker-room music… What have you helped with?"

Ilya scratched the back of his neck. "Well… The scouts wanted you to be more aggressive."

Shane nodded. "They did."

"So… I pushed you."

"...What?"

"Into that defenseman. So you would bodycheck him. It was legal."

Shane stared. "...That hit?"

"Da. You were already skating. I only..." He demonstrated with one finger. "...Little push."

Shane thought back to that game. "I wasn't planning to hit him."

"I know. You looked surprised."

"I was."

Ilya smiled proudly. "The scouts liked it."

Shane blinked several times. "...You're telling me I made Team Canada because a ghost checked someone into the boards?"

"No." Ilya pointed at him. "You made Team Canada because you are good. I just..." He smiled sheepishly. "...Helped you show them."

Shane didn't know whether to laugh or panic. "...Anything else?"

Ilya immediately looked guilty. "...Maybe. I made Czech defenseman lose edge before he hit you."

Shane's hands froze. "...What?"

"He was going to hit you very hard. So I made him trip. It made me disappear for ten days."

The realization slowly spread across Shane's face.

Neither of them spoke.

Finally, Shane looked up. "...You disappeared for ten days…to keep me from getting hit?"

Ilya shrugged as if it were obvious. "You are my job."

Shane looked at him for a long moment. "...Thank you."

The words caught Ilya completely off guard.

He blinked. "You... are welcome."

Silence settled between them before Shane spoke again. "Were we supposed to meet this weekend or something?"

Ilya frowned. "What?"

"I mean..." Shane gestured between them. "Why can I suddenly see you now? If you've been following me for eight months, why today?"

Ilya's expression grew thoughtful. "I think..." He looked down at his hands. "...We would have met."

Shane frowned. "How do you know?"

"I was shown. A memory. Or..." He shook his head. "I do not know what it was."

"I closed my eyes on the plane… And suddenly I was there."

"There?"

"Outside the arena."

Shane listened intently.

"You came outside. I was standing there..." He smiled faintly at the memory. "...Smoking. You walked over to me. You introduced yourself."

Shane's eyebrows lifted. "I did?"

"You were very awkward." A smile tugged at the corner of Ilya's mouth. "You stood there for almost ten seconds before saying anything. You said..." He slipped effortlessly into Shane's voice. "'Ilya Rozanov? Shane Hollander. I wanted to introduce myself.'"

Shane's eyes widened. "...That sounds like something I'd say."

"It does. Then you pointed at my cigarette." Ilya mimed Shane's awkward gesture, holding two fingers in the air. "You did not know how to tell me I wasn't supposed to smoke there. So you..." He copied Shane's hesitant tone. "'Uh... I don't think you're supposed to smoke here.'"

Shane groaned. "I really said that?"

"You mimed smoking. I knew what cigarette was."

Shane covered his face with one hand. "I don't know why I thought that would help."

"I don't either." Ilya laughed. "I was going to pretend I barely understood English. I was going to answer everything with one word. 'Okay.' 'Yes.' 'I know.'" He shrugged. "I wanted to annoy you."

"Did it work?"

"You looked very confused."

Shane smiled despite himself. "...Probably."

"You told me I was an awesome player. I answered..." He smirked. "'Yes.'"

Shane laughed. "You were kind of an asshole."

"I was. I was trying to look cool."

"Were you cool?"

"No."

They both laughed.

Then Ilya's smile slowly faded. "You left. You said..." He looked at Shane. "'Good luck in the tournament.' I told you… 'You will not be so nice when we beat you.' And you..." His voice softened. "...You smiled. You said… 'That won't happen.'"

Shane stared at him. It was far too detailed to be made up. "You remember all of that?"

Ilya nodded. "It felt like..." He searched for the words. "...A memory. Not a dream. Like it already happened. But..." He looked down. "It happened in a life I never got to live."

The room fell quiet.

Shane glanced toward the window, snow falling softly outside.

"So..." He said quietly. "We really were supposed to meet."

Ilya met his eyes. "Da. We just..." His voice caught. "...Missed each other."

Shane let that sink in. Then, naturally… "So... I make it to the NHL?"

Ilya stared at him. For a full five seconds. Then he threw both hands into the air. "You have guardian angel following you around. You can suddenly see dead Russian. I tell you we were supposed to meet in another life. And that is your question?"

Shane shrugged. "It seems relevant."

"You truly make hockey boring, Hollander."

"I do not make hockey boring."

"You absolutely do."

"You heard 'alternate timeline' and your first thought was career progression."

"It tells me the future."

"It tells you one thing."

"It tells me enough."

Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot believe this. I thought you would ask if Heaven was real. No. If ghosts exist. No. If your family is okay. No. You asked if you make NHL."

Shane looked genuinely confused. "...Shouldn't I?"

Ilya blinked. Then laughed. A real, uncontrollable laugh. "You are unbelievable."

"What?"

"You are impossible."

"I don't think that's an answer."

"It is answer enough."

Shane folded his arms.

"So..." He waited expectantly. "...Yes?"

Ilya let out an exaggerated sigh. "I was told..." He chose his words carefully. "...That we were rivals. That is all I know."

It wasn't all he knew. Not even close. But he couldn't bring himself to say the word soulmates. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Shane tilted his head. "Rivals in the NHL?"

"I would assume so. But..." Ilya shrugged. "I do not know. They did not exactly hand me a biography of your future. They just said..." He smiled faintly. "'You two would have been great rivals.'"

Shane nodded slowly, almost thinking out loud. "So… If we were rivals… That means we were both good enough to make it."

"Rozanov..." Shane looked up at him. "...You would've made the NHL too."

For just a moment, Ilya's sarcastic smile disappeared. He hadn't thought about it like that. Not since he died. Not since he'd watched his own name disappear from scouting reports.

He looked away. "...Maybe."

Shane shook his head. "No. Not maybe. I've watched you play. You were projected to center Russia's first line. I read every scouting report I could find. They all said the same thing. 'Future NHL player.'"

A quiet silence settled over the room.

Finally, Ilya smiled. "...You really did your homework."

Shane shrugged. "You were the player I wanted to play against the most."

Ilya's chest tightened. "...Yeah?"

Shane nodded. "You would've made me better."

For the second time that day… Ilya didn't know what to say. He looked down at the carpet.

"Hockey was..." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "...Fun."

"It made everything else disappear. When I was on the ice..." He shrugged. "...Nothing else mattered." "It brought me happiness."

The smile faded.

"But nobody misses me." He forced a shrug, pretending the words didn't hurt. "...So I am right where I need to be."

Shane frowned. "That's not true."

Ilya looked away. "It is."

Shane shook his head. "They honored you before the bronze medal game. They brought your jersey onto the ice. The whole arena stood. One of your teammates carried it." He paused, trying to remember. "Then they handed it to a girl. She had dark curly hair. She was crying."

Ilya's expression changed immediately. "...Svetlana."

Shane nodded. "You know who I'm talking about?"

"Da." His voice was barely above a whisper. "We grew up together. She was my best friend."

Shane tilted his head. "Your girlfriend?"

"Nyet." The answer came too quickly. "Never." He stared out the hotel window.

"People thought maybe someday." He gave a small shake of his head. "...Not us. She deserved better than that."

Shane didn't press.

Instead, he quietly said, "She looked heartbroken."

Ilya swallowed. "She always cried too much." His smile was fond despite himself. "I used to tell her she looked ridiculous. She would hit me."

Shane smiled. "Sounds like a good friend."

"She was." 

A silence settled between them. Then Shane spoke again. "You said nobody misses you." He looked directly at Ilya. "I don't think that's true."

Something in Ilya's expression hardened. He looked away. "I made my decision." His voice was suddenly flat. "I stopped the pain."

He folded his arms tightly across his chest. "I cannot change that."

Shane took a cautious step forward. "Rozanov—"

"No." Ilya cut him off. "My job now is simple." He pointed at Shane. "I help you. I keep you alive. And when it is over..."

His voice grew quieter. "...I move on. So that's all this is."

Shane frowned. "You don't get another chance?"

"There is no another chance. I already wasted mine."

The words came out sharper than he'd intended.

Shane was quiet for a moment. "...You were sixteen."

"I was old enough."

"Rozanov—"

"I was old enough." His voice echoed through the room. "I made my choice. And now I have to live with it." He laughed bitterly. "...Or whatever this is."

He threw his hands into the air.

"But why..." His frustration finally boiled over. "Why can you even see me now? This was not supposed to happen! I was supposed to do my job. Protect you. Help you. Then disappear."

He took another step backward.

"I was not supposed to..." His voice cracked. "...Meet you."

The air in the room suddenly shifted. The temperature dropped. The lights flickered.

Shane instinctively looked around.

"Rozanov..."

A pale blue light began to shimmer beneath Ilya's skin. At first it was faint. Barely noticeable. Then it spread through him like cracks of lightning beneath ice. His outline blurred.

The air around him vibrated.

The curtains rustled despite the windows being shut.

"Rozanov?" Shane reached toward him.

"I do not know what is happening." Ilya looked down at his own hands. They were glowing. "No..."

The light intensified.

It poured from him in ribbons of pale gold and icy blue, wrapping around his body as though the air itself had come alive.

His voice echoed strangely now.

"I need..." The room trembled. "...To do my job..." Another pulse of light. "...So I can move on!"

The glow became blinding.

Shane shielded his eyes. "Ilya!"

Then—

Silence. The light vanished. The room was still. The curtains stopped moving. The lamp no longer flickered.

Shane lowered his arm. "...Rozanov?"

Nothing.

The corner where he'd been standing was empty.

Shane looked around the room.

"...Ilya?"

No answer.

Only the quiet hum of the heater.

He swallowed. "...Can you still hear me?"

Nothing. For the first time since the impossible had walked into his hotel room… Shane was alone again.

And somehow… The silence felt much louder than it had before.