The #1 fan always losing ticketing war #11

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The lilies he gave

突破十章了，這代表angst要開始了，我磚頭會扔小力一點的🥺

We've officially made it to chapter 11, which means the angst is about to begin. I'll throw the bricks gently, I promise. 🥺

－－－

「Mr. Hollander，都處理好了。」年輕女子收起止音器，將鋼琴的調音器具都放回工具包。

她接著坐上琴凳，彈了幾段和弦，琴聲迴盪在偌大的木造屋子裡，音色清澈乾淨，沒有了兩小時前尚未調音的混濁雜音。

Shane從沙發上起身，走向鋼琴，「請叫我Shane就行，Miss Landry.」

他走過一整片橫過客廳的落地窗，冬天日落得早，黃昏已經開始透進屋內，微光灑在木地板上。Shane童年用過的直立鋼琴靠在牆邊，擺在他自己蓋的、位於渥太華的小屋裡。

「那麼也請叫我Rose吧。」她離開鋼琴前，微笑著看向他，「彈彈看嗎？」

Shane尷尬地回絕，「呃，我—我十五年沒彈了，現在還在重學。」

Rose咯咯笑起，「我也不是鋼琴老師，不會批評你的，試試看吧，Shane。」

Shane猶豫地避開目光，視線落在她身後的牆面，牆上掛著一張裱框的擦手紙。他想起洗手間芳香劑混雜著鬚後水的氣味，湛藍雙眼在昏黃的室內燈下的色澤。Shane倒抽一口氣，感覺到指尖的顫抖，於是走向鋼琴，坐上琴凳。他的指腹滑過冰涼的琴鍵，內心忐忑，然後他輕放手指，直到琴鍵開始染上他的體溫，一段熟悉的旋律掠過他的腦海，他按下琴鍵。

音符生澀得彷彿初登冰湖的男孩，腳下的冰刀把光滑的冰面鑿出醜陋的疤痕，還不夠平穩的雙腳無法保持平衡，男孩卻抬起頭依然望向前方，交換雙腳的步伐把自己往前推送，冰刀摩擦冰面的哨音從腳下流暢地響起，冰塊上不平整的刀痕逐漸邁向遼闊的前景──儘管他喘得呼吸紊亂，那些音符卻仍是他賴以維生的旋律。

「Schumann的Dreaming嗎？」

Rose的聲音打斷了他的思緒，音樂在一個突兀的錯音中戛然而止，「Uh... 是啊... 我練習一段時間了。」

「你真的很久沒彈了嗎？你的舒曼聽起來很有感情。」Rose溫柔地笑起。

「哦！謝謝，」Shane感覺臉頰發熱，「也多虧你的調音，現在彈起來的聲音比之前更好了。」

Rose擺擺手，「這是我的工作，Shane，反而是我該謝謝你。」

Shane疑惑地看向她，Rose才為難地用玩笑解釋，「雖然我在史坦威工作，但可不是每天都有機會造訪MLH球星的豪宅，還能親耳聽到他彈的舒曼。」

「噢，天啊，我原本還在慶幸沒有被認出。」Shane把臉埋進雙手裡大笑。

「Shane，你是不知道自己在蒙特婁有多出名嗎？你可是Montreal Metros的隊長呢。」Rose笑出聲。

"Mr. Hollander, everything is all taken care of." The young woman packed away her mutes, placing the piano tuning tools back into her kit.

She then slid onto the piano bench and struck a few chords. The music echoed through the spacious wooden house, the tone crisp and clear, completely free of the muddy dissonance from two hours prior.

Shane stood up from the sofa and walked toward the piano. "Please, just call me Shane, Miss Landry."

He walked past the large floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the living room. Winter sunsets came early, twilight was already creeping into the house, casting a faint glow across the wooden floors. The upright piano from Shane's childhood stood against the wall, tucked away in this cottage he had built himself in Ottawa.

"Then please call me Rose as well," she said, looking up at him with a smile before stepping away from the piano. "Would you like to give it a try?"

Shane declined awkwardly. "Uh, I-I haven't played in fifteen years. I'm basically relearning right now."

Rose giggled. "I'm not a piano teacher, so I won't judge. Give it a go, Shane."

Shane hesitantly averted his gaze, his eyes landing on the wall behind her where a framed paper towel hung. The memory hit him—the scent of restroom air freshener mixed with aftershave, and the precise shade of deep blue eyes under the warm, dim indoor lighting.

Shane caught his breath, feeling his fingertips tremble slightly. He walked over and sat on the bench. His fingertips slid over the cool keys, his heart racing with nervous anticipation. He rested his hands lightly, waiting until the ivory began to warm beneath his touch. A familiar melody drifted through his mind, and he pressed down on the keys.

The notes were stiff and clumsy, like a young boy stepping onto a frozen lake for the very first time. The skate blades gouged ugly scars into the smooth ice, and his unsteady legs struggled to maintain balance. The boy kept his eyes forward. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he pushed himself onward. Soon, the smooth, rhythmic hiss of steel scraping against ice began to ring out from beneath him, and the jagged tracks gave way to a vast, open horizon. Even though his breathing was shallow and erratic, those notes were still the very melody he lived by.

"Is that Schumann's Dreaming?"

Rose's voice broke his train of thought, and the music cut off abruptly on a glaring wrong note. "Uh... yeah... I've been practicing it for a while."

"Have you really not played in that long? Your Schumann sounds incredibly expressive." Rose offered a gentle smile.

"Oh! Thanks," Shane said, feeling his cheeks grow warm. "It's also thanks to your tuning. It sounds so much better now than it did before."

Rose waved it off. "It's just my job, Shane. If anything, I should be the one thanking you."

Shane looked at her, confused, prompting Rose to explain with an awkward, playful grin. "I mean, I work at Steinway, but it's not every day I get to visit the mansion of an MLH superstar, let alone hear him play Schumann in person."

"Oh, God. And here I thought I'd gotten away with not being recognized." Shane buried his face in his hands, laughing out loud.

"Shane, do you seriously not know how famous you are in Montreal? You're the captain of the Montreal Metros." Rose let out a laugh.

Shane護送Rose走回她的車旁，Rose將工具箱放進車裡，「Shane，謝謝你給我機會照顧那架史坦威古董。」

她轉過身與Shane握手道別，「雖然你說有十五年沒彈這架鋼琴了，但你們保養得很好，我為它感到高興，也能理解為什麼老師要說服我接下Mrs. Hollander的委託。」

當Shane決定將長年放在父母家的直立鋼琴搬進他剛蓋好的小屋，母親聯繫了以前的鄰居，但這位史坦威鋼琴的首席鋼琴技師已經退休了，於是推薦了她的年輕學徒，Rose Landry。

「謝謝你能來，Rose，替我問候Ms. Hashimoto。」Shane微笑道別，Rose卻靠在車門旁，看著他似乎在猶豫提問。

「我能問個問題嗎？不願意回答也沒關係。」

「當然。」Shane緊張地將雙手插進口袋。

「嗯...是什麼原因讓你想再度彈琴的？」她歪著頭說，「以一個正值運動生涯巔峰的運動員來說，你彈出的舒曼...不只為了好玩而彈，似乎下了苦功，所以我相當好奇，難道你打算...」

Shane疑惑一會才意會到Rose的暗示，他連忙否定，「不是！天啊，我沒有要退役！」他摀著臉，隨後思考了Rose的提問，卻壓下真正的答案，然後聳聳肩，「你也看到我的收藏了，只不過是近幾年後突然又對鋼琴感興趣而已。」

Rose挑眉，「是受到仰慕的鋼琴家的影響嗎？」

仰慕。如果那是仰慕。

Shane低下頭，哼聲點著頭應答。「抱歉，我是不是問太多了。」Rose悄聲致歉。

「不會，一點也不。我很高興有人問了，這反而讓我...」他抿了唇，「重

新思考一下。」

Rose打開車門，坐進駕駛座，「Anyway, 多年後再碰琴真的很不容易，你會是很厲害的鋼琴冰球員，祝福你接下來順利，Take care, Shane.」

Shane笑了出來，「謝謝，你也是，Rose.」他看著汽車駛離小屋前的車道，直到引擎聲消失在遠處，他才走回屋裡。

他確認手機裡未讀的訊息，奧運國家隊的聊天群組都在討論兩天後出發俄羅斯的行程，他無法克制自己六個月前的習慣，點開了總是頻繁查看的聊天對話，而裡頭仍然沒有半點新訊息。

Shane escorted Rose back to her car. As she placed her toolbox into the trunk, she turned to him. "Shane, thank you for giving me the opportunity to look after that antique Steinway."

She extended her hand to say goodbye. "Even though you said you haven't touched the piano in fifteen years, it has been beautifully maintained. I'm so glad for it. Now I completely understand why my mentor convinced me to take on Mrs. Hollander's commission."

When Shane had initially decided to move the upright piano, which had sat in his parents' house for years, into his newly built Ottawa cottage, his mother had tried to contact their former neighbor. But the retired Chief Steinway Piano Technician recommended her young apprentice, Rose Landry, instead.

"Thank you for coming, Rose. Give my best to Ms. Hashimoto," Shane said with a parting smile. 

Rose, however, lingered by the car door, looking at him as if hesitating to speak. "Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to."

"Sure." Shane nervously slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Well... what made you want to pick up the piano again?" She tilted her head. "For an athlete at the peak of his career, the Schumann you played... it sounds like you've put a lot of hard work into it, not just for fun. So I'm naturally curious. Are you planning to..."

Shane was confused for a moment before realizing what Rose was implying. He quickly shook his head in denial. "No! Oh my god, I'm not retiring!" He buried his face in his hands, laughing, then pondered her question. Suppressing the real answer, he simply shrugged. "You've seen those collection in my house. I just suddenly regained an interest in the piano over the last couple of years."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Inspired by a pianist you admire?"

Admire. If only it were just admiration. Shane looked down, offering a quiet hum and a nod.

"Sorry, did I overstep?" Rose apologized softly.

"Not at all. Not even a little. I'm actually glad you asked," he pressed his lips together, "it kind of forces me to... rethink some things."

Rose opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat. "Anyway, picking up the keys again after all these years is no easy feat. You're going to make one hell of a piano-playing hockey player. Best of luck with everything coming up. Take care, Shane."

Shane let out a chuckle. "Thanks, Rose. You too." He watched her car pull out of the driveway, waiting until the sound of the engine faded into the distance before heading back inside.

He checked the unread notifications on his phone. The Olympic national team group chat was buzzing with talk about their departure for Russia in two days. Unable to break a habit formed over the last six months, he tapped open the chat he always checked compulsively.

There was still not a single new message.

＊

<dl class="imessage border">

  <h1 class="contact">ghosting asshole🎹</h1>

<h4 class="time">Jun 26</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Hey. Summer has officially started. Do you have any plans?</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Jun 30</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Guess you're busy with everything. Let me know when you have some free time.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Jul 9</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>The national team's dry-land training is absolutely brutal. I can barely feel my legs today.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Jul 18</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Oh, by the way, I made the Olympic roster for next year. Nothing's set in stone until the official announcement next year, though. But it still feels pretty surreal.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Aug 2</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Still surviving camp. Barely.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Aug 15</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>I heard from Svetlana that you guys went back to Russia. Is everything okay over there?</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Sep 6</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Finally getting back on the ice for the pre-season. It feels good to be back in the rink.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Sep 24</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>We play Boston next week. I can't wait to crush them.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Oct 12</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>I know I'm probably just talking to myself at this point, but I tried some weird combination of fermented soy and steamed kelp. It tastes like wet cardboard.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Oct 28</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Just checking in. I hope you're doing alright.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Nov 26</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Happy Thanksgiving. I really hope you had a good one, wherever you are.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Dec 25</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Merry Christmas. I know Russian Orthodox Christmas isn't until January, but I still wanted to wish you a good one.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Jan 1</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Happy New Year.</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Jan 7</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Are you okay?</dd></div>

<h4 class="time">Today, 5:42 AM</h4>
<div class="out"><dt>Shane</dt>
<dd>Heading to Sochi in two days.</dd></div>

</dl>

＊

這六個月來，Shane的指尖總會莫名地顫抖。

他原以為是心因性壓力，可能是因為選入加拿大國家隊導致的。直到前陣子，他回到父母家看到童年的直立鋼琴，他一碰觸到琴鍵，指尖的顫動也停了下來。每當他再次查看那個音訊全無的聊天視窗，顫抖又回來了。

Shane放下手機，走向琴凳，架上琴譜。即使他只能彈出彆腳的音符，他仍將這種無法言喻的鬱悶宣洩在琴鍵上；因為除此之外，他也無處傳遞這份心情。

上個季後賽，直到蒙特婁被淘汰出局前，Rozanov看遍了每一場Metros的球賽，但是一進入夏天，Rozanov就消失了。Shane發了十幾封訊息，寄了簽過名的Metros cap到Rozanov的地址，甚至問了Lily，卻只得到Rozanov返回俄羅斯的回答。Shane的夏季隨後也被國家隊的陸上訓練塞滿，沒有閒暇心思繼續留意。

但即使新的賽季開始了，也沒有Rozanov的新消息。六個月後的現在，再兩天，Shane就會飛往俄羅斯；他彈下舒曼的Dreaming的最後一個小節，把無處安放的想法全都留在琴鍵上。

For the past six months, an inexplicable tremble had taken hold of Shane's fingertips.

He had initially chalked it up to psychogenic stress, perhaps a physical reaction to the immense pressure of making the Canadian Olympic roster. But a while ago, during a visit back to his parents' house, his eyes had fallen on his childhood upright piano. The moment his fingers brushed against the keys, the trembling finally ceased. 

But the second he looked back at that dead, silent chat window, the shaking would return.

Shane set his phone down, walked over to the bench, and propped up his sheet music. Clumsy and stiff as his notes were, he poured all of his unspeakable frustration into the keys. After all, he had nowhere else to send these feelings.

During the last playoffs, right up until Montreal was eliminated, Rozanov had caught every single Metros game. But the moment summer arrived, he had vanished. Shane had sent dozens of texts. He'd even mailed a signed Metros cap to Rozanov's address and questioned Lily, only to receive a curt response that Rozanov had returned to Russia. Soon after, Shane's own summer was swallowed whole by the brutal dryland training with the national team, leaving him with no time or energy to dwell on it.

Yet, even when the new season kicked off, there was still a resounding silence from Rozanov. Now, six months later, Shane was just two days away from flying to Russia. 

As he struck the final bars of Schumann's Dreaming, he left every restless thought that had nowhere else to go lingering on the keys.

<hr/>

加拿大國家隊的兩百多名運動員一結束開幕式繞場，被工作人員引導走向下層的看台，Shane擠在人群之中，周遭的笑聲、音樂與閃光燈鋪天蓋地而來，將他的焦慮無限放大。笑容死死地僵硬在他的臉上，不熟識的奧運選手將他推來拉去地合照，Shane甚至認不得其中的幾個人，只知道他們也都穿著紅色楓葉標誌的防寒衣。

身旁的人在歡呼、拍照，交換奧運徽章，Shane倒數著還需要多久才能返回選手村。然後，四萬人的體育場驟然陷入一片漆黑，喧鬧的看台隨之靜默。

不消幾秒，法國號的齊鳴從一片死寂裡傳來—那是柴可夫斯基的第一號鋼琴協奏曲，澎湃、極具辨識度的序曲。

燈光隨著小提琴與管弦樂的轟鳴，逐一亮起，光束逐漸集中在交響樂團前方的巨型史坦威鋼琴上，琴聲砸落，金棕色的髮梢也在光芒下閃耀。伴隨弦樂海浪般的推進，鋼琴的和弦愈發激昂，彷彿整座黑暗的體育場裡只有鋼琴手一人在高聲呼喊，然後音符開始碎化，如冰晶般落下，輕觸著觀眾的肌膚，拂過眾人戰慄的毛孔。

隨著琴音如雪融般溜走，小提琴再次排山倒海的齊奏，絲絨般的花朵輕盈地湧入體育館中央。芭蕾舞群踩著小提琴的滑音凌空躍起，潔白的裙擺與優美的音樂重合。聲音都成了背景，觀眾的目光追隨花朵綻放。

然而，Shane依然直盯鋼琴前的演奏者，黑色的燕尾服在激動的彈奏下起皺，汗水打濕耀眼的側臉，捲髮在白光下飛舞成白金色。俄羅斯精神把年輕的軀體當作載體，在他的手指下咆哮，波濤的情緒在風雪裡狂奔，直到音符消止，燈光再次黯淡，鋼琴手都沒有抬頭過。

Shane揪緊著胸口的防寒衣，因為他手指上的顫抖無處安放。

Shane不記得自己是怎麼回到選手村的。

時間已過午夜，他窩在房裡，反覆重看著網路上能搜集到的開幕式側拍影片。奧運官方的電視轉播鏡頭在後半段全切給壯觀的芭蕾舞群，只有現場觀眾用手機錄下的模糊片段，才勉強錄下鋼琴前的演奏者。

側錄影片的畫面搖晃、背景嘈雜，混著觀眾的驚呼與交談，距離遙遠得連輪廓都失焦。但不管是身在現場還是隔著螢幕，Shane都能一眼認出那個身影——認出那頭隨著音符甩動的金棕色捲髮、激昂時會猛然拱起的寬闊後背，當節奏轉為輕柔時，整個人蜷縮在琴凳上，彷彿輕撫琴鍵的溫柔姿態。

那種沉浸在演奏中，隨之載浮載沉、將靈魂奉獻給鋼琴的狂熱，只有那個人身上才能看見。

直到室友推門回房，Shane才猛地關上筆電，爬回床鋪。

一闔上雙眼，六個月未見的背影扎扎實實地刻在眼皮上。在體育館刺目的聚光燈下，他依舊坐在那架黑色三角鋼琴前，可是，Ilya Rozanov的五官卻在記憶裡模糊，依然遙不可及。

As soon as the two hundred-plus athletes of the Canadian national team finished the Opening Ceremony parade, stadium staff guided them toward the lower stands. Shane was squeezed into the center of the crowd, where the overwhelming barrage of laughter, music, and flashing cameras magnified his anxiety exponentially. A rigid smile was plastered onto his face as unfamiliar Olympians jostled him back and forth for photos. Shane didn't even recognize most of them, all he knew was that they were all wearing the same heavy parkas adorned with the red maple leaf.

All around him, people were cheering, taking pictures, and trading Olympic pins. Shane was counting down the minutes until he could finally escape back to the athletes' village. Then, the forty-thousand-seat stadium suddenly plunged into pitch darkness, and the clamorous stands instantly fell silent.

Within seconds, a unison blast of French horns shattered the dead quiet—it was Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1, its powerful, unmistakably recognizable overture.

As the violins and orchestra roared to life, the spotlights flickered on one by one, their beams slowly converging on a massive Steinway piano at the front of the symphony. The piano notes slammed down, and a shock of golden-brown curls caught the glare of the lights. Accompanied by the surging, wave-like swell of the strings, the piano chords grew increasingly impassioned, as if the pianist were the only soul crying out in the entire darkened stadium. Then, the notes fractured, falling like ice crystals that brushed against the audience's skin and sent shivers through their pores.

As the piano notes melted away like spring snow, the violins surged forward again in a sweeping crescendo. Velvety flowers poured effortlessly into the center of the stadium. A troupe of ballet dancers leapt gracefully into the air, perfectly synchronized with the glissando of the violins, their pristine white skirts blurring with the beautiful music. The sound faded into a mere backdrop as the audience's eyes followed the blossoming flowers.

Shane's gaze remained locked onto the performer at the piano. The black tailcoat creased under the sheer intensity of the playing, sweat slicked his striking profile, and his curls danced under the white lights, shifting into a brilliant platinum blonde. It was as if the Russian soul had possessed this young body, roaring beneath his fingertips as a tempest of emotion sprinted through a blizzard. Until the notes finally faded and the lights dimmed once more, the pianist never looked up.

Shane gripped the parka over his chest tightly, for the trembling in his fingers had nowhere else to go.

Shane had no recollection of how he made it back to the athletes' village.

Past midnight, he hunkered down in his room, compulsively rewatching whatever fan-cam footage of the opening ceremony he could dig up online. The official Olympic television broadcast had cut entirely to the spectacular ballet troupe during the latter half. Only the blurry, shaky clips captured on spectators' cell phones barely managed to keep the pianist in frame.

The amateur videos were unstable and loud, drowned out by the gasps and chatter of the crowd, the distance so great that even his silhouette was out of focus. Even so, whether in person or through a screen, Shane could recognize that figure in a heartbeat. He knew the way his broad back would suddenly arch during the intense crescendos, and how, when the tempo turned gentle, he would curl over the bench as if tenderly caressing the keys. That utter immersion in the performance, rising and falling with the tide of the music, that fanaticism of surrendering one's soul to the piano—it belonged to him and him alone.

It wasn't until his roommate pushed the door open to return that Shane snapped his laptop shut and climbed back into bed.

The moment he closed his eyes, the back of the man he hadn't seen in six months was burned indelibly onto his eyelids. Under the blinding spotlights of the arena, he was still sitting before that black grand piano. But Ilya Rozanov's face remained a blur in his memory, still agonizingly out of reach.

<hr/>

這是Shane的第一個奧運，作為國家隊的新人，他從加拿大老將手中接過「A」字的布章，已經遠遠超乎他的預期。如今加拿大隊的狀態絕佳，小組賽接連力抗強敵，突破芬蘭，以小組第一的姿態晉級。Shane的冰球生涯中的第一面金牌，似乎已指日可待。

然後，直到八強賽，Shane的目光才第一次望向看台。

第三局裁判吹響哨音，雙方球員滑回長椅補水，球場中央的巨型大螢幕卻突然捕捉到一陣觀眾席上的騷動。一名戴著黑色棒球帽、露出金棕色髮絲的男子坐在看台上，神色嚴肅。當轉播鏡頭開始拉近特寫，那人便警覺地壓低帽沿、戴上墨鏡，側過頭去向身旁一名棕色捲髮的女子低語。導播似乎察覺到了這位大人物的不悅，畫面隨即尷尬地切回冰面。

暫停結束，球員重新上冰。在等待裁判落餅爭球的空檔，Shane只能強迫自己在己方半場心不在焉地滑行，極力克制著指尖的顫抖。然而，直到全場比賽結束的哨聲響起，無論他利用多少次死球的空檔掃視觀眾席，都沒能找出Rozanov坐在看台的哪個位置。

那天，加拿大擊退拉脫維亞，順利晉級四強。

可是，當Shane離開沙伊巴競技場時才得知，同一時間，地主國俄羅斯在波爾肖冰宮慘敗給芬蘭，無緣任何獎牌。全俄羅斯上下陷入一片死寂，而他們最驕傲的俄裔鋼琴家，在開幕式上為國奏樂的演奏者，當時卻坐在沙伊巴競技場的看台上。

＊

四強賽開打前，Shane仔細地滑行繞場、掃視著看台，每當隊友問起，他就藉口是在檢查冰面狀況。這對第一次面臨奧運高壓的年輕選手來說，「緊張得吹毛求疵」總是個完美的擋箭牌。只是沒人知道，Shane其實是深怕錯過Rozanov的任何一面。

加拿大最終以一分之差險勝，奪下金牌賽的門票。看台上全是瘋狂揮舞國旗歡呼的加拿大球迷，Shane卻只在乎那個俄羅斯人是不是也身在人群之中。以至於賽後與美國隊握手致意時，Shane只能揉著泛紅的雙眼，被隊友調侃喜極而泣。

This was Shane's first Olympics. As a rookie on the national team, inheriting the Alternate Captain's "A" patch from the Canadian veterans had already far exceeded his expectations. Team Canada was currently in peak form, battling through fierce opponents in the preliminary round and edging out Finland to advance as the top seed of their group. Shane's first-ever hockey gold medal seemed well within reach.

Then came the quarterfinals, and for the very first time, Shane's eyes wandered up to the stands.

When the referee blew the whistle in the third period, sending players skating back to the bench to hydrate, the Jumbotron suddenly captured a brief commotion in the crowd. A man sitting in the stands wore a black baseball cap that couldn't completely hide his golden-brown curls. His expression was grim. As the broadcast camera zoomed in for a close-up, the man alertly pulled his brim down, slipped on sunglasses, and turned his head to whisper to the curly, brown-haired woman beside him. Realizing the man's displeasure, the director awkwardly cut the feed back to the ice.

The timeout ended, and the players re-entered the ice. In the lull before the referee dropped the puck for the face-off, Shane forced himself to skate mindlessly around his own zone, trying desperately to suppress the trembling in his fingertips. But from that moment until the final buzzer rang, no matter how many stoppages in play he used to scan the crowd, he couldn't find where Rozanov was sitting.

That day, Canada defeated Latvia to advance smoothly to the semifinals.

It wasn't until Shane left Shayba Arena that he learned the host nation, Russia, had suffered a devastating defeat against Finland over at the Bolshoy Ice Dome at the exact same time, completely knocked out of medal contention. A deathly silence fell over all of Russia. However, the Russian pianist who had performed for the nation at the opening ceremony, had been sitting in the stands of Shayba Arena instead.

＊

TM2@TM2

🚨EXCLUSIVE: Sochi Opening Ceremony star Ilya Rozanov caught skipping Team Russia's devastating hockey loss to Finland! Why was the Russian piano prodigy spotted at Shayba Arena watching Team Canada instead?

tm2.me/tj06uO6

<div class="twt"><div class="twt-header"><div class="twt-icon-container"><img class="twt-icon" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2yK6r03gShU5zQzfBLHCWrcNvSEwhpoJWWdqc16F1mmjq0ij_HSwvIMRoSLtPRezGnLntiHkBviGSyHwqOOMtU-nxe2x_VxFsBK_N2aloYm6V5rGBdJNKLui-4RE6qbgDIoEA_t34IFYLOvQYky-dSexIauRRgpMIYWBGoBhCOmzaIOJZvgmVfw2d4-up"></div><div class="twt-id"><span class="twt-name">TM2 </span><img src="https://i.imgur.com/wStuVM9.png" class="twt-socialimg"><br><span class="twt-handle">@TM2</span></div></div><div class="twt-content"><app-content><span>🚨EXCLUSIVE: Sochi Opening Ceremony star Ilya Rozanov caught skipping Team Russia's devastating hockey loss to Finland! Why was the Russian piano prodigy spotted at Shayba Arena watching Team Canada instead?<span style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline;">tm2.me/tj06uO6</span></span></app-content></div><app-image><img class="twt-image" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi68VIdVfLOW4sI_JNVe93fbkBmGNfkqPjNCbhe_JORHj8nMVouebYEXez1wlo28xc5pnk-q_cq_jJ8tx4VZ1Q6JL9iREyMisqgSejeNBC7jNYTCGdkj-zH1RV2cO6lerYjgiSnhJBZEr1sTrCLgFoot0x9ikzkybsya6oZ1ii3Qj4ZGkrcYDevRwYdYCFF=s400"></app-image><div class="twt-timestamp">12:00 PM · Feb 22, 2014</div><hr class="twt-sep"><div class="twt-stat1"><strong>76</strong> Retweets &nbsp;&nbsp; <strong>53</strong> Quote Tweets &nbsp;&nbsp; <strong>846</strong> Likes </div></div>

＊

Before the semifinals kicked off, Shane meticulously skated around the rink, scanning the tiers. Whenever his teammates asked, he used "checking the ice" conditions as an excuse. For a young athlete facing Olympic-level pressure for the first time, being obsessively nitpicky out of nerves served as a flawless cover. Nobody knew that Shane was simply terrified of missing even a glimpse of Rozanov.

Canada ultimately secured a narrow one-goal victory, punching their ticket to the gold medal game. The stands were a sea of Canadian fans frantically waving flags and cheering, but Shane only cared whether that one Russian was among the crowd. 

Consequently, during the post-game handshake with the American team, Shane could only rub his reddened eyes, thoroughly teased by his teammates for allegedly "crying tears of joy."

＊

<div class="dm-phone">

<p class="dm-messagebody"><span class="dm-header">Lily</span><br />

<br />

<span class="time">Feb 19</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply1">Hey, Lily.</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply2">I think I caught a glimpse of you guys in the stands during the Canada-Latvia game today.</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply3">Wasn't Russia playing over at the other arena at the exact same time?</span><br />

<span class="dm-text1">Yes.</span><br />

<span class="dm-text3">Doesn't matter. We go to every single Canada game.</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply">Why?</span><br />

<span class="time">Feb 21</span><br />

<span class="dm-text">Nice play, Shane.</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply">You watched today's game too?</span><br />

<span class="dm-text">Always.</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply">The gold medal game too?</span><br />

<span class="time">Today 15:57</span><br />

<span class="dm-text">Good luck.</span><br />

</p></div>

＊

兩天後的金牌戰，當比賽結束的蜂鳴聲響起的那一刻，加拿大以三比零完封瑞典。

國家隊的頭盔拋向空中，隊友瘋狂地扔下手套與球桿奔向彼此，教練與替補球員翻過圍欄衝上冰面。大大小小的紅色楓葉旗幟在全場飄盪，幾名老將滑過來狠狠搓揉著Shane汗濕的短髮，在鋪天蓋地的歡呼聲中將他推來拉去。

Shane趁著沒人注意，從慶祝人群中掙脫，失神地沿著護欄邊滑行徘徊。他的腎上腺素還在瘋狂飆升、胸口劇烈起伏，視線卻在這一刻逐漸模糊。他用顫抖不已的指尖，抹去了眼角滾落的淚痕。

只消一瞥也好，Shane想知道，他有沒有目睹他贏了金牌。

"Shane."

Shane猛然回頭，他的指尖還停留在顴骨上，視線所及彷彿按下慢速鍵。他看見漫天飛舞的彩帶後方，在整片紅色楓葉旗海之中，顯得無比突兀的一大束純白百合。接著，他的視線才沿著花束往上移。

Ilya Rozanov就站在防護玻璃板的另一側。

他戴著黑色棒球帽，墨鏡掛在領口。他緊皺眉頭，嘴角下垂，那副神情看起來難受得快哭了。他雙手死死抱著那束巨大的百合花，直到對上Shane的視線，那雙顫抖的嘴角才終於緩緩揚起。

Shane還來不及滑向玻璃，就再次被扯回了瘋狂慶祝的隊友圈裡。Shane放任自己大聲地哭了出來，以至於隊友們一路上都在驕傲地抱著他，笑他的「喜極而泣」一直持續到與瑞典隊握手致意為止。

然而，當頒獎典禮開始時，那束百合花已經不見了。

Shane只能死死盯著防護玻璃後方、那個空蕩蕩的位置。當奧委會官員將金牌掛上他的脖子，Shane低頭啜泣著，任由隊友摟住他的肩膀。

直到整場頒獎流程結束，所有人推擠著喧鬧回到更衣室。

Shane望向自己的更衣置物櫃——那一刻，在冰面上稍縱即逝的幸福感復燃，因為Ilya Rozanov的那束百合花，此時此刻，正好端端地躺在置物櫃前方的長凳上。

Two days later, during the gold medal game, the moment the final buzzer sounded, Canada secured a 3-0 shutout victory against Sweden.

National team helmets flew into the air as teammates frantically threw down their gloves and sticks to rush toward each other. Coaches and players poured over the boards, spilling onto the ice. Red maple leaf flags of all sizes waved throughout the arena. A few veterans skated over, aggressively ruffling Shane's sweat-soaked hair, shoving and pulling him around amidst the deafening roars of the crowd.

Slipping away unnoticed from the celebration, Shane glided aimlessly along the boards. His adrenaline was still skyrocketing, his chest heaving violently, and his vision began to blur. With trembling fingertips, he wiped away a stray tear rolling down his cheek.

Just a glimpse, that was all he wanted—Shane needed to know if he had witnessed him winning the gold.

"Shane."

Shane whipped his head around, his fingertips still resting against his cheekbone as the world around him seemed to drop into slow motion. Behind the swirling confetti and amidst the endless sea of red maple leaves, he saw a massive bouquet of white lilies, striking and completely out of place. Slowly, his eyes traced up past the flowers.

Ilya Rozanov was standing on the other side of the plexiglass.

He wore a black baseball cap, his sunglasses hooked into his collar. His brow was furrowed, the corners of his mouth turned down, looking so anguished he seemed on the verge of tears. He held the massive bouquet of lilies in a death grip. It wasn't until his eyes met Shane's that those trembling lips finally, slowly, curled upward.

Before Shane could even skate toward the glass, he was dragged right back into the frenzy of his celebrating teammates. Shane let himself sob aloud, so much so that his teammates held him proudly all the way through, teasing him that his "tears of joy" wouldn't stop until the post-game handshake with Sweden.

By the time the medal ceremony began, however, the lilies were gone.

Shane could only stare fixedly at that empty spot behind the glass. As the Olympic official hung the gold medal around his neck, Shane kept his head low, sobbing quietly as a teammate slung an arm over his shoulder.

It wasn't until the entire ceremony concluded and everyone jostled their way back into the rowdy locker room that Shane looked toward his locker stall. In that exact moment, the fleeting happiness from the ice flared back to life. Because there, sitting perfectly on the bench right in front of his locker, was Ilya Rozanov's bouquet of lilies.

＊

<div class="dm-phone">

<p class="dm-messagebody"><span class="dm-header">Lily</span><br />

<br />

<span class="time">TODAY 15:57</span><br />

<span class="dm-text">Good luck.</span><br />

<span class="time">18:42</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply1">Svetlana</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply2">He gave me lilies.</span><br />

<span class="dm-reply3">He gave me a bouquet of lilies after the gold medal game.</span><br />

</p></div>

＊

他想念他。不是想念他的音樂，也不是想念那個知名的鋼琴家。Shane只是想念那個人。

他想念那個不問就直接寄信的男人，那個會卑微地向他尋求幫助的男人，那個會在球賽現身的男人，那個...一直都在訊息裡跟他調情的男人。

Shane一直都知道，清楚明瞭。他只是裝作一個知名鋼琴家不可能會在乎他，他無視所有跡象，甚至是他奪下奧運金牌後送來的那束百合花束。

這是Shane在每次演奏會後，都會送給Rozanov的同一種花。

Shane幾乎在更衣室裡崩潰。一股強烈的情緒湧上心頭，迫使他承認，自己對這個男人一直懷著一種隱約、脆弱又美好的期望。

Rozanov對他來說不只是偶像。

Shane對Ilya Rozanov始終懷有一種揮之不去的感情。

He missed him. 

Not his music, and not the celebrated pianist. Shane simply missed the man.

He missed the man who sent things without a word, the man who humbly asked him for help, the man who showed up at his games, the man who... had been flirting with him over text all along.

Shane had always known. He knew it all too well. He had spent so long pretending there was no reason a man like Rozanov would ever look his way. He'd ignored every single sign, including the very bouquet of lilies sent to celebrate his Olympic gold—the exact same flowers Shane used to leave for Rozanov after every concert.

Shane nearly crumbled right there in the locker room. A wave of emotion crested in his chest, forcing him to finally admit the truth: he had always held onto a quiet, faint, and fragile hope for this man. 

He was not just a pianist to him.

Shane had carried a lingering affection for Ilya Rozanov.

＊

<div class="dm-phone">

<p class="dm-messagebody"><span class="dm-header">Lily</span><br />

<br />

<span class="dm-reply">I miss him so much.</span><br />

</p></div>

＊

－－－

我知道GC宇宙裡2014索契的冰球金牌是美國隊，但我要在這篇fic裡從Scott手中偷走金牌😠🫳🥇 我想吐槽我自己，柴可夫斯基第一號配芭蕾，真的是有夠老套的俄羅斯開幕式。

I know that in the GC universe, Team USA won the hockey gold in Sochi 2014, but I'm stealing that gold medal right out of Scott's hands in this fic😠🫳🥇

Did those bricks hit a bit too hard? Head over to ch12, let me patch you up❤️‍🩹

♪Listening: Tchaikovsky - Concerto №1 - plays Daniil Trifonov

https://youtu.be/g80VU33jr8Q?si=Xk354DbEiuA4wFfh

Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto #1 (Tchaikovsky / Clifford)

https://youtu.be/o-LXXfcKxTs?si=8GIgt7xjMWIxg88q