Summary:

Shane is used to feeling fuzzy with Rozanov. Like he’s floating higher, higher, higher. But this - this isn’t that. Shane isn’t floating, he’s falling. Sinking down, down, down below, into darkness. It feels like there are waves crashing over his head, cold and sharp like needles against his skin, and when he does manage to breach the surface for a moment, he’s met with thick fog and a starless sky. It feels sort of like a concussion, but not. There’s no pain, just…haziness. Just a gaping, empty feeling, right in the centre of his chest. (Or, Vegas rewritten.)