Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike

Additional Tags:

Miscommunication, Jealousy, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Possessive Ilya Rozanov, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Crying, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Not Cheating, Marriage Proposal, Engagement, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Anxious Shane Hollander, Eventual Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ilya Rozanov is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Shane Hollander, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Post-Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike Friendship, They're Bad at Communicating, but they're trying, no beta we die like ilyas dad, Clubbing, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Timeline What Timeline, POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, POV Alternating

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Shane & Ilya: Slightly Better Communicators (Maybe)

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-04 Words: 8,981 Chapters: 1/1

How to Lose Your Boyfriend in One Sentence (The Worst Idea Ilya’s Ever Had)

Summary

Ilya suggests Shane can sleep with other people because he’s trying to be selfless. Shane storms out because he thinks Ilya is trying to get rid of him. They both spend the next several hours spiraling in different cities: Shane in a Montreal bar, Ilya in his own head.

Shane tries to prove a point and almost throws up instead.
Ilya drives to Montreal like he’s about to commit a felony.
And Hayden Pike has to witness all of it.

Or, two idiots in love speedrun an almost breakup and accidentally end up engaged.

Notes

me: i love hollanov
also me: make hollanov fight and go through emotional turmoil for fun :P

anw hi again 4th work (and longest so far) !! crazy ik thanks for all the love with my prev series, this one's a bit different as i have always wanted to write angst w hollanov so here we go. i thought of this idea when i was rereading tlg and thought that what if shane decided to be petty and went with ilyas idiotic suggestion so here's my take on it but obv i would never make my good friend shane hollander cheat bc i am strict like them #monogamy4hollanov

also ik in the book it was mentioned that this whole convo happened years ago (it was mentioned during a therapy scene 2020) so i just made up the two years bc why not

lastly, english is not my first language (thankfully) so if theres any mistakes trust that i do not care

“Did you really not sleep with other people when we were just casual?”

Ilya asked it from the living room like he was asking about the weather. 

Shane was in Ottawa for the weekend. They had just finished a game against each other the night before. 

Shane didn’t know what to say; Ilya already knew the answer. 

Sure, Shane had slept with a few people. So few that you could count them on one hand. So few it barely felt like it mattered. But the point wasn’t the number. The point was the question, the way it sat in the air like a trap. Like he was waiting for Shane to slip up.

From the kitchen, Shane emerged carrying their movie snacks, trying to pretend his hands weren’t tense around the bowl. They did coupley shit when they could. Like it was something they had to hoard. Like if they didn’t do it now, they’d never get to again.

“You know the answer,” Shane said, setting the bowls down a little too hard. “Why are you asking again?”

“Just,” Ilya paused. Shane could hear the smile in it. “I realised that you maybe did not get to explore much, you know, because when you finally admitted that you were gay, you were already head over heels for me.”

Shane could see Ilya’s smug smile from his peripheral vision.

It should’ve been funny. It should’ve been nothing.

Instead, Shane felt something cold creep into his ribs.

“And?” Shane asked, too sharply. “What difference does it make when I admitted I was gay? I had sex with other guys too, even before I knew that about myself.”

“It is different,” Ilya said.

Shane looked at him.

Ilya was looking anywhere but at him.

That was the first real warning sign. Ilya Rozanov didn’t avoid eye contact unless he was either lying or terrified.

“What’s going on, Ilya?” Shane asked, slower now. “What brought this on?”

He couldn’t understand why Ilya was bringing it up. They both knew how vastly different their past dating lives were, if you could even call Shane’s a dating life. Not really. Not in the way Ilya’s had been.

Ilya swallowed.

Then, like he’d rehearsed it and hated it and was doing it anyway, he said carefully, “I wanted you to know that if you wanted to…” Ilya hesitated, like he was picking the least explosive words out of a minefield. “You know. Explore. I allow you.”

Shane stared at him.

For a second, the room didn’t make sense. The words didn’t make sense. The couch, the snacks, the soft lighting, the movie queued up on the TV, none of it matched the sentence that had just been dropped into the middle of it like a bomb.

He heard his own breath.

He heard the blood in his ears.

He heard Ilya shifting slightly, like he was bracing for impact.

Shane let out a loud puff of air.

“You allow me?” Shane said, voice going dangerously quiet. “I am not your property, Ilya. You don’t give me permission to do anything.”

The anger hit fast, hot, bright, and immediate. Shane could feel it in his throat, his eyes, the way the air suddenly felt too thick to breathe.

Ilya opened his mouth.

Shane didn’t let him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Shane demanded. His voice cracked. “Do you want to break up? Is that it? You fucking coward. Just do it. Don’t make me do it for you.”

And then he was crying. Full-on sobbing. It was humiliating. It was involuntary. It was the kind of crying that didn’t feel like emotion; it felt like his body had decided it needed to survive something.

Shane stood up so abruptly that the couch shifted. He started pacing, back and forth across Ilya’s living room like he was trapped in it. The air felt thick. He couldn’t get enough of it into his lungs.

Ilya stood up too.

He reached for Shane automatically, like he always did, like touch was how he fixed things.

Shane swatted his hands away.

The distance between them widened.

“No,” Ilya said, voice tight. “No, Shane. Please. That’s not it. I just wanted you to know that I am okay with it. If you want—”

He tried to sound steady, but his voice betrayed him. It wavered.

Shane stared at him through tears.

“You’re okay with it?” Shane snapped, loud enough that it hurt his throat. “Do you hear yourself? You want me to sleep with other guys? Is it because you want to as well? Huh? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Ilya flinched.

Shane saw it.

And it made him angrier.

“Fuck you,” Shane said, and he shoved Ilya down onto the couch when Ilya tried to come closer again.

Ilya didn’t fight him. He just stumbled back and sat hard, stunned.

Shane’s whole body was vibrating.

They had both been adamant about being exclusive. About being monogamous. About being theirs.

Or Shane had been.

Now he wasn’t sure if they’d ever been on the same page at all.

He didn’t let Ilya answer.

He couldn’t.

If Ilya spoke, Shane might break in half.

Shane grabbed his keys, his wallet, and his phone.

“I can’t do this right now,” Shane said, voice shaking. “Do not follow me and do not call me.”

He left before he could change his mind.

Before he could look at Ilya’s face again and cave.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Shane didn’t remember deciding to leave.

He remembered the sound of his own voice breaking. He remembered his hands shaking as he grabbed his keys. He remembered the way Ilya looked when Shane shoved him back onto the couch, like someone had just hit him in the chest and he didn’t know whether to fight or collapse.

He remembered saying: Do not follow me and do not call me.

And he remembered the way Ilya went still.

Not angry. Not defensive. 

Just… stunned.

Like Shane had pulled the floor out from under him. 

Shane hated that part the most.

He hated that the air outside was cold enough to sting, and it still didn’t feel like punishment.

He hated that the moment he got into his car, he started crying so hard he had to put his forehead on the steering wheel.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

They weren’t supposed to fight like this.

They’d fought before. Little things. Normal things. Ilya leaving his socks on the floor. Shane nagging him about vitamins. Ilya making fun of Shane’s strict diet. Shane refusing to eat something Ilya cooked because it had “too much butter.”

They bickered like they breathed.

But this, this was different. This felt like someone had reached into Shane’s chest, grabbed the softest part of him, and squeezed until Shane was afraid it would kill him.

Shane didn’t remember the drive back to Montreal.

Not really.

He remembered the first ten minutes: the way his hands locked around the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the planet. He remembered his breathing, too fast, too shallow, the kind you did when your body thought you were dying and didn’t care if you were being dramatic about it.

He remembered the rage. That hot, molten kind that made his eyes sting, and his throat feel like it was swelling shut.

He remembered the couch. The snacks. The movie they never got to put on.

He remembered Ilya sitting there, looking at him like he was holding something fragile and didn’t know what to do with it.

And then Shane remembered the words.

I allow you.

Like Shane was a fucking dog.

Like Shane was something Ilya owned.

Like Shane was something Ilya could loosen his grip on whenever it became inconvenient.

The rest of the drive was static. White lines blurring into one long ribbon. City lights in the distance like an accusation.

By the time Shane got home, he’d stopped crying.

That was the scariest part.

Because Shane knew himself. His emotions were sharp, immediate, honest. He cried when he was hurt. He got quiet when he was thinking.

But this wasn’t quiet. This was empty.

He walked into his condo; the silence hit him like a wall. It was too clean. Too sterile. Too much like a place someone slept in and then left again.

The air felt cold, even though the thermostat was set the same as always.

He dropped his keys on the counter. They clattered, loud in the stillness.

Then he grabbed his phone.

He didn’t know why.

His thumb hovered over Ilya’s name.

He stared at it so long his screen dimmed. He didn’t call. He didn’t text. He didn’t do anything.

Because he’d told Ilya not to follow him. Shane had told him not to call.

And now Shane was sitting in the wreckage of his own words, trying to decide which ones mattered more. He wanted to hate Ilya for it. For starting it. For bringing it up. For saying it like it was some benevolent fucking gift.

But the thing was, Shane had seen Ilya’s face, even through his own rage. Ilya hadn’t said it because he wanted to get rid of him. He’d said it because he thought he was doing the right thing. 

And that made it worse.

Because Shane didn’t know how to fight someone who thought they were being kind while they were breaking your heart.

He sat down on the edge of his couch.

His couch.

Not theirs.

The one he’d bought before Ilya started spending half his life here.

There was a hoodie on the armrest, one of Ilya’s. Black, sleeves pushed up like he’d been warm when he took it off. Shane stared at it for a long time.

He didn’t touch it.

If he touched it, he’d lose it again.

And he couldn’t lose it again.

He already had.

His phone buzzed.

Shane flinched so hard his heart actually stuttered.

The screen lit up with Hayden’s name.

Shane stared at it like it was a lifeline and an insult at the same time.

Hayden didn’t know.

Hayden didn’t know that Shane’s world had just cracked open.

Hayden didn’t know that Shane was sitting in his living room, trying to figure out if he was still a person without Ilya.

Shane answered anyway.

“Hey,” he said, and his voice came out too steady. Like he was lying.

“Hey, man,” Hayden said. He sounded cheerful. Casual. Like Shane wasn’t about to implode. “I saw your location. Are you back in Montreal? I thought you’d be in Ottawa still.”

Shane swallowed. “You checked my location? But, yeah, I’m here”

Hayden snorted. “Fuck off, I was checking Jackie’s, she took the kids to her parents’ house.”

“Right,” Shane said. He paused for a second. He didn’t know what possessed him to say it, but he did anyway. “Wanna go out?”

Hayden almost laughed.

“Go out?” Hayden repeated. “You want to go out?”

Shane could hear the doubt through the phone.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “You don’t want to?”

There was a pause.

Hayden’s voice softened. “You okay?”

Shane closed his eyes.

He pictured Ilya’s face again. The way he’d looked away. The way he’d tried to touch Shane like he could fix it.

Shane’s throat tightened.

“Yeah,” he lied.

Hayden didn’t press. He never did, not directly, anyway.

“Okay,” Hayden said, still not believing him. “Sure. Pick you up or you pick me up?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Shane said. “Twenty.”

“Yeah,” Hayden said. “See you.”

When Shane hung up, the silence returned.

Shane stood up like he was on autopilot. He went to his bedroom. Opened his closet. Stared at the rows of clothes like they belonged to someone else.

His hands shook as he pulled on a shirt. He didn’t care which one. He only cared about the fact that if he stayed here, he was going to do something stupid.

So he showered and changed. He tried to make himself look like he was going out for fun. He tried to convince himself that he was doing this because he wanted to.

Not because Ilya said something that sliced him open.

Not because Shane wanted to prove a point.

Not because Shane wanted to punish him.

Not because Shane wanted to punish himself.

Shane left his condo with his jaw clenched so hard it ached. The drive to Hayden’s place was short. Too short. The city was alive, and Shane hated it for being alive when he felt like he was dying. Hayden came out of his house with a careful smile, wearing a jacket and a beanie, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Dude,” Hayden said, climbing into the passenger seat. “You look—”

“Don’t,” Shane said immediately.

Hayden blinked.

Then he nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Shane started driving.

He didn’t tell Hayden where they were going. He didn’t even ask.

He just drove until the neon lights got brighter and the streets got louder and the air felt like it was vibrating with other people’s happiness. They ended up at a bar Shane had been to once with Rose. Loud music, dim lights, the kind of place where you could disappear into the crowd even if you were someone people recognised.

Hayden ordered a beer, while Shane ordered a shot of vodka. Hayden looked at him, worry written all over his face. Shane stared back like a dare. Hayden didn’t say anything.

Shane drank the first one too fast.

It burns. Good. It’s exactly what he needs. 

Then he ordered another.

Then another.

Then a fifth one.

By the time the alcohol started warming his chest, his anger had dulled into something else, something rawer, more dangerous.

Because the thing about Shane was that when he got hurt, he didn’t just feel it.

He became it.

And the alcohol didn’t seem erase it. It just made it easier to do something reckless with it.

Hayden tries to slow him down after his fifth order. “Okay,” Hayden says, holding Shane’s wrist. “Maybe you should—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“This is about Rozanov.” Hayden’s eyes narrowed.

Shane’s chest tightened. “Stop. Not here, Hayden.”

“Did he do something?”

Shane laughed, sharp and ugly. “Yeah, he did something.”

Shane walked away. He trained his eyes to the dance floor, to the sea of men laughing with their friends, leaning close to each other, hands on waists, mouths near ears.

Hayden followed him, tugging at his wrist. “Shane, what are you doing?”

“I am doing what he wants me to do,” Shane said.

Hayden goes still. “And what exactly is that?”

Shane swallowed. “He said he’d be okay if I wanted to explore.”

Hayden stared at him.

Then he blinks.

Then he says, very carefully, “He said what?”

Shane laughed again. “Yeah.”

Hayden’s expression twisted like he was trying to understand a language he didn’t speak.

“Why would he say that?” Hayden asked.

Shane shrugged too hard. “Because he’s a fucking asshole.”

Hayden opened his mouth, then closed it.

Shane took it as a sign to walk away again. As he made his way to the dancefloor, he felt something twist in his stomach.

Two years.

Two years with Ilya.

Two years of being official, of learning what it meant to be someone’s boyfriend. Someone’s person.

Two years of letting Ilya into the softest parts of him. 

Two years of Ilya learning Shane’s moods like weather patterns.

And now Ilya was telling him: Go. Explore. I allow you.

Like Shane was missing something. Like Shane should want something else. Was Shane missing something? He didn’t know. He’d never really had the chance to find out. 

Because it was true: Shane had realised he was gay and then almost immediately, he’d realised that he was in love with Ilya.

His Ilya, loud and sharp and so so beautiful, the kind of person who filled up a room without trying. The kind of person who made Shane feel like he was being seen for the first time in his life. Shane hadn’t been able to breathe around him. And when Shane finally admitted it, admitted he was gay, admitted he only liked men, admitted he wanted Ilya, Ilya had been there, too. Smiling like he’d won something, like Shane was his. And Shane had liked that. God, he’d liked that.

So what was this?

What was Ilya doing now?

Shane drank again.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head: Ilya saying it like it was casual, like it was nothing, like he was handing Shane permission to breathe. But Shane didn’t want permission. Fuck that. He wanted Ilya to want him the way Shane wanted Ilya. All the time. Without question and without any hesitation.

“Hey,” Hayden said as he stopped at Shane’s side.

Shane blinked. Hayden watched him, his brow furrowed.

“Do you want to talk?” Hayden asked again, quieter.

Shane swallowed.

He should say yes. He should tell Hayden everything. But Shane didn’t know how to say it out loud. If he said it out loud, it would become real. Shane wasn’t sure he could handle it being real. 

“No, I’m fine,” Shane said.

Hayden stared at him for a second. Then he nodded. “Okay,” Hayden said, not believing his friend.

Shane started to walk again, rather abruptly. Hayden startled. “Where are you going?”

Shane’s head spun a little. “Bar, getting another drink,” he said.

Hayden hesitated. “You want me to—”

“No,” Shane said, the word came out sharper than he meant it to.

Hayden flinched. Shane regretted it instantly as he rubbed a hand over his face.

“Sorry,” Shane muttered. “I just— I need a minute.”

Hayden nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Shane walked away before he could change his mind. At the bar, he ordered another shot. Then he noticed the guy smiling at him. He noticed because he’s trained to notice. He’d been noticed his whole life. Not like Ilya, who got noticed like a spectacle, like a headline. But Shane gets attention in a quieter way. The guy was tall, with dark hair, and looking at Shane like he wanted him. Shane should’ve felt flattered, really. Instead, he felt blank, nothing. Like his body is waiting for someone else to react for him. The guy stepped closer.

“Hey,” he said.

Shane forced a smile. “Hey.”

The guy leaned in. “You look familiar.”

Shane’s stomach drops. He hated that. He hated that he couldn’t even be anonymous when he was trying to self-destruct.

“Probably not,” Shane said, voice tight.

The guy grinned. “No, I think so. Are you—”

“No,” Shane cut him off.

The guy blinked. “Okay. Sorry. Didn’t mean—”

Shane turned and walked away. He didn’t even take the drink. He went back to the dance floor and let the music swallow him.

Bodies pressed close. Lights blurred. Sound rattled his ribs.

For a few minutes, it almost worked.

He tried to dance. Tried to let the alcohol loosen the knots in his chest.

Tried not to think about Ilya.

But Ilya was everywhere.

In the way Shane hated being touched by strangers. In the way his skin felt wrong without Ilya’s hands. In the way he kept scanning the room like he expected to see him.

He wouldn’t.

Ilya was in Ottawa.

Ilya was probably sitting on his couch right now, staring at the place Shane had been sitting, wondering how he’d fucked up so badly.

Shane’s throat closed.

He wanted to go back. He wanted to drive back right now, crawl into Ilya’s lap, and bite him until he apologised.

Someone touched Shane’s waist.

Shane flinched.

The person laughed. “Relax.”

Shane turned.

It’s a guy.

Blond. Pretty. Smiling like Shane was a fun challenge.

Shane’s stomach turned.

The guy leaned in, hands still on Shane’s waist, mouth near his ear. “You here alone?”

Shane’s heart was pounding like crazy. 

But he could do this. He could. He should say yes. That was the point, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t that what he’d stormed out for?

Wasn’t that what Ilya had allowed?

Shane’s chest tightened.

He looked at the guy’s mouth, but all he could think about was Ilya.

Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya’s hands.

Ilya’s voice in his ear, warm and rough, saying Shane’s name like it meant something sacred.

“No,” Shane said.

The guy blinked. “What?”

Shane shook his head, backing up.

“No,” he repeated, louder. “No, sorry.”

The guy’s face hardened. “Okay, dude. Chill.”

Shane backed away into the crowd.

His heart hammered. He pushed through bodies, ignoring the annoyed looks, ignoring the way people bumped into him. He couldn’t breathe. He stumbled out of the dance floor and into the hallway leading to the bathrooms, where the music was muffled, and the lights were too bright. He leaned against the wall, hands shaking. 

What the fuck was he doing?

What the fuck was he trying to prove?

That he could?

That he didn’t need Ilya?

That he wasn’t trapped?

Shane swallowed hard.

He wasn’t trapped. He’d never felt trapped with Ilya. He’d felt chosen. He’d felt wanted.

He’d felt like someone had looked at him and decided he was worth keeping.

And now Ilya was telling him: Go. I’m okay with it.

Like Shane wasn’t worth keeping. 

Shane slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. His head dropped into his hands. He feels sick and disgusting. Not because the guy had touched him, it hadn’t even been anything, but because Shane had come here with the intention of doing it. Because Shane had actually, genuinely, for even a second, considered putting his mouth on someone who wasn’t Ilya. The thought made bile rise in his throat. Shane pressed his palms against his eyes. He could still see Ilya’s face.

The smug smile earlier.

The way he’d looked away when Shane demanded answers.

The way his voice had broken when he said it wasn’t about breaking up.

Shane’s chest cracked open.

He couldn’t live like this.

He couldn’t live with the idea that Ilya wanted him less than he wanted Ilya.

He couldn’t live with the idea that Ilya could imagine Shane with someone else and not feel like he was being torn apart.

Because Shane did.

Just the thought of Ilya with someone else made Shane want to throw up.

He’d always known Ilya had a past. He’d always known Ilya had slept with other people.

Hell, Shane had even teased him about it sometimes, because it was easier to joke than admit how much it bothered him.

But that was the past.

This was now.

Now was theirs.

Now was Shane waking up to Ilya’s arms around him. Now was Ilya texting him stupid shit. Now was the way Ilya kissed him like he was starving.

“Shane?”

Hayden’s voice cut through the fog.

Shane looked up.

Hayden stood a few feet away, concern written all over his face.

“Oh my god,” Hayden said. “Dude.”

Shane tried to stand, but his legs wobbled, so he grabbed the wall. Hayden rushed forward and caught him by the elbow.

“Okay, buddy,” Hayden said quickly. “Okay. You’re drunk.”

Shane laughed once, bitterly. “No shit.”

Hayden’s eyes flicked over him. “You look like you’re gonna puke,” 

Shane swallowed.

He might.

Hayden’s grip tightened. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Shane shook his head.

“No,” Shane said hoarsely. “I— I need—”

“What?” Hayden asked, softer. “What do you need?”

Shane’s throat tightened.

He wanted to say Ilya.

He wanted to say I need my boyfriend, I need him, I need him, I need him.

But he couldn’t.

Because he’d told Ilya not to call him.

Because he’d told Ilya not to follow him.

Shane’s eyes burned.

“Fuck, Hayd,” Shane whispered. “It’s all fucked. I’m fucked.”

Hayden stared at him.

Then, carefully, like he was approaching something fragile, Hayden asked, “Do you want to go outside? Get some air.”

Shane could only nod. He let himself be guided toward the exit because he didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

Outside, the cold air hit Shane like a slap. It cleared his head just enough for him to feel the full weight of what he’d done.

He’d left.

He’d tried to do it.

He gagged suddenly. Hayden swore and pulled him toward the side of the building. Shane bent over and dry-heaved, shaking as Hayden rubbed his back awkwardly.

“Okay,” Hayden murmured. “You’re okay. You’re fine.”

Shane wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were wet.

“I can’t,” Shane whispered.

Hayden’s voice softened. “You can’t what?”

Shane looked at him, vision blurred.

“I can’t do it,” Shane said, the words tearing out of him like something alive. “I can’t. I can’t be with anyone else.”

Hayden stared. Then exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” Hayden said. “Okay. I’m taking you home.”

Shane shook his head.

“No,” Shane whispered. “Ilya—”

Hayden’s jaw tightened. “You guys fought?” Hayden asked.

Shane laughed, broken. “Yeah.”

Hayden nodded at once, then he pulled out his phone.

Shane blinked. “What are you doing?”

Hayden looked at him, expression hard in a way Shane rarely saw.

“I’m calling him,” Hayden said.

Shane’s heart slammed into his ribs. “No,” Shane said immediately. “No. Hayden. Don’t.”

Hayden’s eyes narrowed. “Shane.”

Shane grabbed his wrist weakly.

“Don’t,” Shane pleaded. “I told him— I told him not to call me.”

Hayden stared at him. Then, quietly, he said, “And you look like you’re about to fall apart in an alley behind a bar.”

Shane’s breath hitched. 

Hayden’s voice softened, but his eyes stayed sharp. “I’m calling him.”

Shane’s grip loosened.

Because he couldn’t argue.

Because Hayden was right.

Because Shane didn’t trust himself to make it through the night without doing something irreversible.

Hayden stepped a few feet away and dialled. Shane stood there, shaking, watching his breath fog in the air. He could hear Hayden’s voice, low and tense. He couldn’t hear the response, but he didn’t need to. Hayden’s posture told him enough; the way his shoulders rose, the way his hand ran through his hair, the way urgency sat in him like a loaded gun. Then Hayden looked back at Shane. And Shane knew. Hayden ended the call and walked back.

“He’s coming,” Hayden said.

Shane’s knees almost gave out. Hayden caught him again.

“Come on,” Hayden said. “Let’s get you home.”

Shane nodded; he didn’t trust his voice.

Hayden drove them back to Shane’s condo. Shane sat in the passenger seat, head against the window, eyes half-closed.

He didn’t sleep; he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ilya’s face.

Not the angry one.

Not the smug one.

The soft one.

The one Shane got in the quiet moments, when Ilya thought Shane wasn’t looking.

The one that looked like love.

When they got inside, Hayden guided him to the couch. Shane sank into it like he weighed a hundred pounds more than he did. Hayden grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and shoved it into Shane’s hands.

“Drink,” Hayden ordered.

Shane did. The water tasted like metal.

Hayden sat on the armchair across from him. He looked exhausted.

Shane stared at him. “Sorry,” Shane rasped.

Hayden’s eyes softened. “Yeah. Me too.”

Shane blinked. “What? Why?”

Hayden exhaled. “I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Hayden said sadly.

Shane’s throat tightened.

He looked away.

Because if he looked at Hayden too long, he’d cry again.

And he was tired of crying.

Hayden checked his phone.

“He’ll be here soon,” Hayden said.

Shane’s heart twisted.

He nodded.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t do anything except sit there and wait for the sound of a knock that would either save him or ruin him.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Ilya sat in his house in Ottawa and stared at the wall like it was going to give him answers.

It had been hours since Shane left. Since Shane had looked at him like Ilya was a stranger. Like Ilya had said something unforgivable. And maybe he had.

Ilya pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. He didn’t understand how it had escalated so fast. He didn’t understand why Shane had reacted like that.

No. That was a lie. He did understand. He just didn’t want to. Because understanding meant admitting he’d been stupid. And Ilya hated being stupid.

He’d meant it as reassurance.

He’d meant it as love, in his own fucked-up way.

He’d meant it as: I know you. I see you. I don’t want you to feel trapped.

But Shane didn’t hear that.

Shane heard: You’re not enough.

Shane heard: I don’t care if you leave.

Shane heard: I can imagine you with someone else and not feel anything.

Ilya swallowed.

The thought made his stomach churn.

Could he imagine Shane with someone else?

No. 

No, he couldn’t.

The image wouldn’t even form properly in his head because the second he tried, something violent rose up in him. Something possessive. Something ugly. Something that felt like claws in his chest. Ilya had always known he was jealous. He’d always known he had that in him. He’d always been the kind of person who wanted what he wanted completely.

But Shane, his Shane was different. Shane wasn’t just something Ilya wanted. Shane was something Ilya needed.

Ilya’s phone buzzed.

He looked down.

Pike.

Ilya’s heart stopped.

He answered immediately.

“Hayden?” Ilya said, too fast. “What’s wrong?”

Hayden’s voice was tight. “Ilya.”

Ilya sat up straighter.

“What happened?” Ilya demanded.

Hayden hesitated.

Ilya’s blood turned cold.

“Ilya, fuck,” Hayden said. “Shane’s not okay.”

Ilya’s entire body went rigid.

“What do you mean he’s not okay?” Ilya snapped.

Hayden exhaled sharply.

“We’re at a club,” Hayden said. 

Ilya’s mind blanked.

“Why are you there?” Ilya asked, voice hollow.

Hayden’s silence was answer enough.

Ilya’s stomach dropped.

No.

No, no, no.

Shane wouldn’t. 

Fuck.

“Ilya,” Hayden said, and his voice sounded strained now, like he was trying not to say something that would make Ilya lose his mind. “He’s drunk. He’s freaking out. He said— he said he wanted to do what you said,”

Ilya gripped the phone so hard his fingers hurt.

“What I said?” Ilya asked.

Hayden hesitated again. Then, like ripping off a bandage, he said it. “He wanted to go out because you told him he could hook up with other guys.”

Ilya stopped breathing. The room tilted. He stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor.

“Fuck. Fuck. No. No. No.” Ilya whispered like he was saying a prayer.

Hayden’s voice was sharp. “I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me you fought. He just said he wanted to go out. And then he started drinking. And then he—”

Ilya’s head started spinning.

Shane.

Shane with someone else.

Shane kissing someone else.

Shane letting someone else hold him.

Ilya’s vision went black around the edges.

He couldn’t…

He wouldn’t… 

“I’m coming.” It was all he could manage before he dropped the call.

Ilya stood there, phone still pressed to his ear.

His house felt too small, and the air felt thin. His hands were shaking. He stared at the wall again, but this time it wasn’t blank.

It was full of images he didn’t want.

Shane with another man.

Shane letting someone else see him the way Ilya had.

Shane laughing with someone else.

Ilya swallowed hard. His eyes burned. He couldn’t even blame Shane. Fuck. That was the worst part.

Ilya couldn’t blame him because he had suggested it. Ilya had put the idea in Shane’s head like it was nothing. Like it was a casual conversation. Like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could destroy them.

Ilya grabbed his keys. He didn’t remember walking out of his house. Didn’t remember getting into his car. He only remembered the moment he started driving and realised his hands were shaking so badly he could barely keep the wheel steady. He drove anyway. The highway stretched out in front of him like punishment. Ilya’s thoughts spiralled.

He tried to tell himself Shane didn’t do it. He tried not to think about it, but Ilya’s mind was cruel.

It kept whispering: 

What if he did do it?

What if Shane had already crossed the line?

What if Shane had already kissed someone?

What if Shane had already let someone else touch him like Ilya did?

Would Ilya still take him back?

Ilya’s chest tightened.

Yes.

Yes, he would.

Because Shane was Shane.

Because Shane was his.

Because Ilya loved him so much it made him sick.

Ilya’s hands tightened on the wheel. His jaw clenched. He felt rage rise up, hot and sudden.

Not at Shane.

At himself.

Because he had done this. He had taken something sacred between them and held it out like it was optional. Like it was negotiable. Like Shane’s love was something Ilya could just distribute, up for grabs if you will.

Ilya’s throat tightened. He blinked hard as tears blurred the road.

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered, voice breaking.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

He couldn’t cry right now. He couldn’t crash, so he drove faster. The whole drive, he imagined Shane’s face. 

Shane crying.

Shane yelling.

Shane saying: Do you want to break up? Is that it?

Ilya had said no. But maybe Shane didn’t believe him. Maybe Shane thought Ilya was already halfway out the door.

Ilya swallowed hard.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not if Shane still wanted him, but if Shane didn’t…

He couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t survive that.

He drove until the city lights of Montreal appeared in the distance. He drove until his hands stopped shaking, not because he calmed down, but because his fear solidified into something sharper.

Resolve.

He was going to fix this. Even if Shane did go through with it. Even if Shane screamed at him again, tells him he hates him and tells him to get out. Ilya would take it. Because Shane was worth it, he is everything to Ilya; Shane was his person.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Shane heard the knock and his entire body jolted like he’d been electrocuted. Hayden stood up immediately. But Shane didn’t move; he couldn’t. His hands were clenched in his lap so tightly his nails dug into his skin. He heard the door being opened. Shane didn’t look. Then footsteps, fast and heavy, like someone who didn’t know how to walk calmly when their world was on fire.

Then Ilya’s voice, rough and broken. “Shane.”

Shane looked up. Ilya stood in the doorway like he’d been dragged through hell. 

Hair a mess.

Eyes red.

Face pale.

Jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. He looked furious and terrified. Shane’s throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe.

Hayden stepped back, giving them space.

“I’ll— uh,” Hayden said awkwardly. “I’ll head out. Shane, call me if you need anything.”

Ilya didn’t even look at him. Shane only nodded. Hayden left quietly, closing the door behind him. And suddenly it was just them.

Shane and Ilya.

Two years of love.

Two years of building something.

And one stupid sentence that almost burned it all down.

Shane stood slowly, going to where Ilya was; he could see Ilya move, instinctively, like he couldn’t help it. Shane held up a hand immediately when Ilya got too close. 

“Don’t,” Shane said, voice hoarse.

Ilya froze, but took a few steps back. His eyes flicked over Shane’s face like he was trying to memorise him.

“Are you okay?” Ilya asked, voice tight.

Shane laughed, bitter. “No,” Shane said. “I’m not.”

Ilya flinched like Shane had hit him. Shane swallowed hard. The alcohol was still in his system, heavy and warm, but the panic had sobered him fast.

“I went out,” Shane said.

Ilya’s jaw tightened.

“I know,” Ilya paused, contemplating whether he should ask or not. “Did he hurt you?”

Shane’s eyes drilled at him.

“What?” Shane whispered. “You thought I did it?”

Ilya’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?”

Shane’s throat tightened.

“I tried,” Shane said honestly, and his voice cracked. “Because you told me you were okay with it.”

Ilya’s face went white. He looked like he was going to be sick. Shane watched him and something in Shane snapped. Because Ilya looked devastated. And Shane hated that. He hated that Ilya was devastated now, after Shane had been the one shattered first.

Shane took a step closer. His voice rose.

“Why did you say it?” Shane demanded. “Why did you say you were okay with it?”

Ilya swallowed, hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.

“I thought—” Ilya started.

“No,” Shane cut him off. “No. Don’t. Don’t tell me you thought it would be nice. Don’t tell me you were being generous. Don’t tell me you were being fucking considerate.”

Ilya’s eyes flashed.

Shane could see anger in him now, too, anger at himself, anger at the situation, anger at Shane for being right.

“I wasn’t trying to be generous or considerate,” Ilya snapped.

“Then what?” Shane shot back. “What were you trying to do?”

Ilya stared at him, breathing heavy. His eyes shone like he was holding something back. Then he said, voice low and shaking, “I was trying not to be selfish.”

Shane blinked. “What?” Shane whispered.

Ilya stepped forward, slowly. Shane didn’t stop him this time.

“I was trying,” Ilya said, voice breaking, “to be the kind of person you deserve.”

Shane’s chest tightened painfully. Ilya’s eyes locked on his.

“I know you,” Ilya said. “I know how you love. You love like you are all in. Like you don’t leave space for anything else.”

Shane swallowed hard. Ilya’s voice got quieter.

“And I know you didn’t get to have the stupid part,” Ilya admitted, lips twisting like he hated himself for saying it. “The part where you go out and kiss boys and figure out what you like and make mistakes and—”

Ilya’s eyes flicked down to Shane’s mouth, then back up.

“You figured out you were gay,” Ilya whispered.

Shane’s breath hitched. Ilya’s voice turned raw.

“And you chose me.”

Shane stared at him. His chest ached. Ilya’s hands curled into fists.

“I just didn’t want you to wake up one day and hate me,” Ilya said. “I didn’t want you to feel like you missed out on something because you were with me.”

Shane’s eyes burned. He shook his head, small.

“I didn’t,” Shane whispered.

Ilya blinked. Shane stepped closer.

“I didn’t miss out on anything,” Shane said, voice shaking. “I don’t miss anything.”

Ilya stared at him like he didn’t believe it. Shane’s chest heaved.

“I went out tonight,” Shane said. “And I tried. I tried to prove something. I tried to hurt you back.” Tears filled his eyes. “But I couldn’t,” Shane whispered. “Because the second someone touched me, all I could think about was you.”

Ilya’s face crumpled. Shane’s voice rose, desperate now.

“I felt disgusting,” Shane admitted. “I felt like I was betraying you just for being there.”

Ilya took another step closer, wanting to touch but still hesitating.

“Ilya,” Shane said, voice breaking completely, “you are the only person I want.”

Shane wiped at his face angrily. “I don’t want to explore. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want to know what it’s like with anyone else. I don’t care.”

Shane’s throat tightened as he saw Ilya’s tear slowly falling down.

“I want you,” Shane whispered. “I want you the way you are. The way you’ve always been. The way you take up all the space in my life like you belong there.”

Ilya let out a shaky breath. His voice was rough.

“Shane,” he whispered.

They were inches apart now. Shane could feel the heat of Ilya’s body. He could smell him, his soap, cold air, something familiar that made Shane’s stomach twist.

Shane’s voice turned sharp again.

“But I need to know something,” Shane said.

Ilya blinked. Shane’s eyes narrowed. “Did you say it,” Shane demanded, “because you want to sleep with other people?”

Ilya froze.

For a second, Shane saw something flicker across his face.

Fear.

Then Ilya’s expression hardened.

“No,” Ilya said immediately.

Shane stared at him, and Ilya saw his small smile. God, Ilya wants to kiss him.

“I don’t want anyone else,” Ilya said, voice low and furious. “I don’t even look at anyone else. I said it because I was scared,” Ilya admitted, and his voice cracked like it hurt to say it. “I was scared that you would leave me one day because you realised you never got to be… young.”

Ilya swallowed, then kept going like he had to.

“And the truth is,” Ilya said, voice shaking with anger now, “when Hayden called me, I thought you were with someone else. That you did the stupid thing I told you to do.”

Ilya’s eyes darkened. “And I wanted to kill him,” Ilya said, voice low. “I wanted to kill whoever touched you.”

Ilya’s breathing was heavy, and his hands shook.

“I couldn’t breathe,” Ilya whispered. “I couldn’t—” His voice betrayed him once again.

Shane’s heart clenched.

“I drove here thinking you might have done it,” Ilya said. “And I told myself I couldn’t blame you. Because I told you that you could. That I was okay with it, that I didn’t mind.”

They’re both breathing heavily, tears falling. Wanting to touch each other but afraid to disrupt the moment. Ilya stared at Shane like he was the only thing in the world.

“But, I mind, Shane.”

Shane’s breath caught. Ilya stepped even closer until their foreheads touched.

“I mind,” Ilya whispered. “I mind so much, I mind because you are mine,” Ilya said.

Shane flinched away slightly, like the words hit something deep. Ilya’s eyes flashed.

“Not like property,” Ilya said immediately, as if he could read Shane’s thoughts. “Not like I own you.”

Shane blinked.

“But like you chose me,” Ilya whispered. “And I chose you. And that means something.”

Shane nodded, shaking.

“It does,” 

Ilya’s lips trembled.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said. “I’m so sorry,” Ilya repeated, and he looked like he hated himself. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to make you think—”

“But you did.” Shane cut in, voice hoarse. “You made me think you wouldn’t care if I did what you said.”

“I care,” Ilya said fiercely. “I care so much, too much.”

Ilya’s hands lifted slowly, hesitant. Shane didn’t stop him. Ilya finally touched him. He cupped Shane’s face gently, like he was holding something precious. Shane leaned into it before he could stop himself. His eyes closed. For the first time in hours, he could breathe.

“I cannot lose you, moya lyubov.” Ilya whispered.

Shane’s throat tightened.

“You almost did,” Shane whispered back, his eyes open now. “But I can’t live without you,” Shane admitted.

“Me too,” Ilya whispered. “So much it makes me stupid.”

Shane let out a broken laugh through his tears.

“That’s true,” 

Ilya’s lips twitched, then his expression turned serious again. He took a shaky breath.

“Shane,” Ilya’s eyes were steady now, like he’d made a decision. “I don’t want to be the kind of person who offers you away. I don’t want to be the kind of person who thinks love is something you have to share to prove you’re not selfish.”

“I am selfish,” Ilya admitted. “With you, I am selfish.”

Ilya’s thumb brushed Shane’s cheek, wiping away a tear.

“And I don’t want to pretend I’m not,” Ilya whispered. “Because I don’t want you with anyone else. Ever.”

Shane’s voice was barely audible. “Me neither,” 

Ilya stared at him like he couldn’t breathe. Then suddenly, Ilya let go. Shane’s heart dropped. But Ilya wasn’t pulling away. Instead, he was reaching into his pocket.

Shane froze. 

“Ilya,” Shane whispered.

Ilya’s hands shook as he pulled something out. Then he lowered himself to his knees.

A small box.

Shane stared at it, his mind went blank.

“What—” Shane whispered.

“I bought it months ago,” Ilya said quickly, like he was afraid Shane would run. “I was waiting for, I don’t know. Right time. I thought it would be years before I got to use it.”

Shane stared at him. Chest tightening so hard he thought it might actually break.

“But I don’t want to wait anymore,” Ilya whispered. “Because I almost lost you tonight because I was stupid.” He swallowed. “And I know it will be difficult. I am not saying we will do it now. I know we cannot, not yet anyway.”

He opened the box. Inside were two rings. 

Simple. Clean. Something Shane could imagine on his hand without it feeling like a costume.

Shane’s breath hitched once again as Ilya’s eyes locked onto his.

“I love you,” Ilya said, voice shaking. “And I want you. And I want you only. And I want you for the rest of my life.” His voice broke. “We have wasted so many years hiding from each other and the world. But now I cannot think of any reason why I care anymore. Because almost losing you, Shane, it made me realise that none of it matters. Only you, only us.”

Shane’s knees went weak.

“Will you marry me, solnyshko?” Ilya whispered.

Shane stared at him.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t move.

He felt like the world had narrowed down to this one moment, this one breath.

His mind flashed back to the club.

To the stranger’s hand on his waist.

To the disgust.

To the panic.

To the realisation that there was no version of Shane Hollander who could ever want anyone else when Ilya Rozanov existed.

Shane laughed, broken and wet.

“You’re insane,” Shane whispered.

Ilya’s eyes widened; he looked like he was about to cry. Shane stepped forward, took the ring box gently from Ilya’s shaking hands, and set it on the table beside them. Ilya blinked at him, confused. Shane dropped to his knees too and grabbed Ilya’s face with both hands.

And kissed him.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like he’d been starving.

Ilya made a broken sound and kissed him back immediately, hands gripping Shane’s waist like he was afraid Shane would disappear. Shane pulled back just enough to breathe. Forehead pressed to Ilya’s. 

“Yes,” Shane whispered.

Ilya, still dazed from their kiss, stared at Shane with wide eyes.

“Yes,” Shane repeated, louder this time, like he needed Ilya to understand it was real. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Ilya made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh and wasn’t quite a sob. He dropped his head forward, pressing his forehead into Shane’s shoulder. Shane held him. Shane held him like he was holding his whole world.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispered into Shane’s shoulder.

Shane’s throat tightened.

“Don’t,” Shane whispered back. “Just, don’t do that again.”

Ilya nodded quickly.

“Never,” Ilya said, voice rough. “Never again.”

Shane’s hands trembled as he pulled back. He reached for the ring box. Opened it. His fingers shook as he slid the rings out. He looked at Ilya. Ilya looked back, eyes wet and wide. He took Ilya’s hand, giving him a ring. Then held his hand there for a second, like he needed to anchor himself. 

Then Ilya took Shane’s hand. His thumb brushed Shane’s knuckles. 

Slow. Careful. Like Shane was something sacred.

“You are mine,” Ilya said quietly as he slid the ring onto Shane’s finger. “And I am yours.”

“Good,” Shane whispered as he slid the other ring onto Ilya’s finger.

Ilya looked down at the ring on his own hand like he didn’t trust reality. Then he looked up.

“You’re mine and I am yours, forever,” Ilya whispered.

Shane nodded, tears falling freely now.

“Yeah,” Shane whispered. “Forever”

Ilya kissed him again. This one was softer. Slower.

Like a promise. Like a vow.

They clung to each other like they were afraid of drowning. 

Clinging like they’d almost lost each other.

Because they had.

And because it wasn’t going to happen again.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Shane woke up with a headache that felt like divine punishment. The light coming through his blinds was too bright. The air in his bedroom was too warm. His mouth tasted like vodka and regret. He blinked, slow. Then he realized he wasn’t alone. Ilya was in his bed. Curled around him like a question mark. One arm slung across Shane’s waist. One leg hooked over his. Like he’d decided sometime in the night that if Shane moved, Ilya was going with him. 

Shane lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling.

He felt…  heavy.

Not in a bad way.

In a grounded way.

Like last night had wrung him out and left him with only the truth.

He turned his head slightly. Ilya’s face was turned toward him. Hair a mess. Eyelashes against his cheek. Lips parted like he’d been kissing Shane in his sleep.

Shane’s chest tightened. His ring glinted faintly when he moved his hand. It was real. Shane swallowed.

Ilya stirred. His eyes opened slowly.

The second he focused on Shane, his whole face changed, like something in him unclenched.

“Hi,” Ilya rasped.

Shane’s voice came out rough. “Hi.”

Ilya stared at him for a second too long.

Then he shifted closer, pressing his forehead to Shane’s shoulder.

“You’re still here,” Ilya mumbled.

Shane huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

Ilya lifted his head.

His eyes were red-rimmed in the morning light.

“You’re mad at me,” Ilya said.

Shane stared at him.

He wanted to say no.

He wanted to say it was fine.

But last night had proven what happened when they didn’t say things.

Shane took a breath. “Yes,” Shane said. “I’m mad at you.”

Ilya’s jaw tightened.

Shane kept going.

“But I’m not leaving,” Shane said. “I am never going to leave.”

Ilya looked like he didn’t believe him. Shane shifted, careful with his headache.

“I need you to understand something,” Shane said quietly.

Ilya’s eyes stayed locked on his.

“I didn’t need to explore,” Shane said. “I don’t feel like I missed anything. I don’t feel like I got cheated out of anything.”

Ilya hummed.

“I got you,” Shane said. “That’s not… that’s not something I’m going to regret.”

Ilya’s eyes filled immediately.

Shane frowned. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Ilya lied, blinking hard.

Shane sighed.

He reached up and touched Ilya’s cheek.

“Ilya,” Shane said. “When you said that, it sounded like you were already halfway gone.”

Ilya went still. Shane’s chest hurt.

“It sounded like you were trying to make it easier,” Shane whispered. “Like you were giving me an exit.”

Ilya’s throat bobbed.

“No,” Ilya said immediately. “No. I was trying to… I don’t know. Prove I’m not—”

“Selfish?” Shane finished. “I don’t need you to be selfless,” Shane said. “I need you to be honest.”

Ilya stared at him, like honesty was a language he’d been learning but still couldn’t speak fluently.

Shane exhaled.

“I don’t want anyone else,” Shane said again. “Not now. Not ever.”

Ilya’s voice came out hoarse. “Me neither.”

Shane’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Then why did you say it?” Shane asked.

Ilya looked away.

Shane waited.

Finally, Ilya said, voice quiet, “Because I am scared of being reason you feel trapped.”

Shane’s throat tightened.

“Ilya,” Shane said, softer now. “I’m not trapped.”

Ilya swallowed.

“I’m—” Ilya’s voice broke. “I’m scared you will wake up one day and realise you deserved more.”

Shane stared at him.

Then, because Shane couldn’t help himself, he said, “You are so fucking stupid.”

Ilya blinked.

Shane continued, voice rough with emotion.

“You think you’re not enough,” Shane said. “You think I’m going to regret you.”

Ilya’s lips trembled.

Shane pressed his forehead to Ilya’s.

“I don’t regret you, you are the best thing that’s ever happened in my life, Ilya. I need you to know this.” Shane whispered. “I regret last night. I regret leaving. I regret trying to hurt you.”

Ilya’s breath hitched. Shane’s voice sharpened again, because some parts of him were still angry.

“But you don’t get to offer me away,” Shane said. “You don’t get to do that and call it love.”

Ilya nodded quickly.

“I know,” Ilya whispered. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Shane sighed.

He shifted his hand between them and lifted it. Their rings caught the light. Shane stared at it. Then he looked back at Ilya.

“Are we actually engaged?” Shane asked.

Ilya blinked like he hadn’t thought about that part.

Then his mouth twitched.

“Yes,” Ilya said.

Shane snorted. “Okay.”

Ilya’s expression softened. “Okay?”

Shane nodded.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Okay.”

Ilya’s eyes filled again.

Shane groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

Ilya laughed, wet and quiet.

Then he leaned in and kissed Shane gently.

No desperation this time.

No panic.

Just… them.

When they pulled apart, Ilya stayed close.

“I will never say that again,” Ilya promised. “I will never offer you away. You are too good for everyone but me.”

Shane stared at him. “Good, you’re right. Only you.” 

“And Shane?” Ilya asked.

Shane raised an eyebrow.

Ilya’s voice went quieter. “If you ever feel like you want something else,” Ilya said, “you tell me. You don’t run. You don’t shut me down.”

Shane’s throat tightened. He nodded once.

“Okay,” Shane said. “But I’m telling you right now, I don’t. I won’t, ever.”

Ilya closed his eyes for a second, like relief was physically painful. When he opened them, he looked steadier. Then he said, like he’d been holding it in for hours.

“I mind,” Ilya whispered. “I mind the idea of you with anyone else. I mind so much it makes me feel sick.”

Shane’s chest warmed. “Good,” Shane said again, softer this time. “Because I mind too.” Ilya’s mouth twitched. Shane stared at him. Then, because he couldn’t help it, he added. “You’re still stupid.”

Ilya huffed a laugh.

“Yeah,” Ilya said. “But you love me.”

Shane rolled his eyes. Then kissed him again.

“Yeah,” Shane whispered. “Unfortunately.”