Chapter 1: alterate my mind to be like you

Chapter Summary when shane met ilya September 2003 It’s been almost an hour of the same hard stare burning the back of Shane’s head. He has enough going on with all the other kids flinging mud at his new skates, kicking stones at the goody-two-shoes. He is not enabling another of his lanky-legged, snot-nosed classmates into, god forbid, flick his ear or something. Whatever. In just–he checks the garish clock beside the blackboard—yes! ten minutes, he will be out of the room. He can already picture the comforting bright lights at his favorite hockey rink, usually too overwhelming for his eyes anywhere else, but there’s just something so staggeringly calm about the way everything shuts out of his system once he’s got his gear on. The way his skates hugged his legs so tightly, it was a security more than a pain. Nothing touches him in the ice. The scary boys in the playground become more like blank effigies that he could easily topple over with just a little bend in his knee or a stronger spin in his small form. He wonders so often why the world isn’t as simple as it is in the rink. The constant pattern of pivoting his body this way and that way, hockey stick playing with the puck like he does sometimes with untouched food in his bowl, and a manouver that leads to his body drifting dangerously, almost falling over, but instead, the puck bounces off the boards and–in! In the classroom, however, it’s all look me in the eye when I talk to you, Shane! or no doodling during discussions, kiddo, but he swears his ears work the exact same regardless of where he looks. Really. He listens. Honestly, he listens way too much sometimes that he just can’t get that irritating scratchy noise behind him out of his head. The same one that was the start of his whole internal dilemma in the first place, and why is this kid even staring at him and isn’t being called out on his inability to listen to the discussion. Damn these double standards. Front seats have no perks; he should’ve told his mom about the headaches he suspects are slightly connected to his eyes, but ugh, glasses are so nerdy, and oh, if he isn’t doing so well in that department already– A little tap on his shoulder sobers him up, willing him to finally snap out of his trance. Shane startles lightly. The kid behind him says nothing, though, but instead, a folded yellow sticky note was tossed on his desk. He was really hoping he wasn’t going to open it to anything too bad. He hasn’t even spoken to the guy for God’s sake. He slowly unfolds the worn out paper, revealing messy handwriting amidst crossed out words as if it was thoroughly considered.

hi what page again? sorry did not hear

Shane is a little concerned. They’ve been on the same chapter for maybe half the class, and the kid only thought to ask now? He turns his head slightly so as to be unnoticed by the teacher. “Um. We’re on page 34?” his sentence coming out as a question. Bad habit. The kid startles slightly, wide-eyed for some reason, soft blonde curls jumping along with his head as he unplasters it from the notebook he was scrawling on. “Oh. Thank you,” he states slowly, consonants rough on his tongue but melodic in a way, a small smile highlighting his crooked teeth. Shane’s never heard this kid speak, and maybe he’d like to hear it more. He nods and faces back to the front of the room. Looks back at the ugly clock. Okay. Two minutes. He can hold out for that long, he thinks. Ugh. He should probably ask for the kid’s name. And also for the reason he’s been shooting lasers at Shane’s head for this long. It’s only polite. He turns to his side. “By the way, can I ask–” “I saw you–” They both stare at each other for a beat. The boy with the curls giggles a little, head bowed slightly in sheepishness. Shane swiftly darts his eyes to the front and shifts it back to the boy. “Sorry! What were you going to say?” “No, no. Is nothing, you go first,” he insists. “Oh. Um, okay, I was wondering about your name?” “Ilya Rozanov.” Ilya. Pretty. Woah. Okay. Ilya’s head tilts in confusion. “You okay?” He taps on Shane’s shoulder. Shane startles. He is an idiot. It’s either no eye contact or full-blown death glaring at the other person, and he’s working on it. It’s a process anyway. Or so his mother always tells him. Ilya doesn’t seem to mind, though, his eyes crinkling in amusement. Shane thinks it’d be a little taunting, but that’s not the vibe he’s getting at all. For once, Shane is actually part of the joke and not, well, the joke. Maybe he’s a little mean for not saying hi sooner. Besides, he hasn’t seen Ilya around the school; maybe he’s new? He would’ve noticed those curls anywhere. Maybe he should ask for his hair routine ... it must be really difficult maintaining the texture, and, oh boy is he glad to not have to deal with that with his own straight hair. Right. Ilya’s still staring at him. Oh god. “I’m Shane. Hollander. Sorry. Have I seen you anywhere? I think I would have remembered anyone with your name. I mean it doesn’t sound like ... um. Are you from here?” He splutters out. “Hi, Shane,” Ilya brightens, enunciating his name so it sounds a little exaggerated. “I’m from Russia! Ah, I just came last week?” “Wow. That’s so far!” Shane says. He notices Ilya isn’t wearing any sort of coat. “Is it cold there too?” “Yes. But not me. The cold is scared of me,” he declares. Shane highly doubts that. He suddenly remembers what Ilya was wanting to tell him at the start. “Hold on. What were you saying before? Sorry, I almost forgot!” It was the first indication of any discomfort appearing on Ilya’s face. “Um...” His words are interrupted by the bell ringing, finally, and Shane quickly fixes up his things, shoving his pens into his boxy pencil case and then shoving that into his bag. Shane stands with an urgency, body alight with excitement, and balks. “Ilya! Sorry, I have to go. I’ve got...” he hesitates with the admission. He knows it annoys the other boys when he talks about hockey because (and he admits) objectively, he’s just better than all of them. It’s not, in any way, boastful, just the plain truth. He doesn’t want to make a new friend annoyed so quickly. The said friend beats him to the punch. “Hockey?” the smile replasters itself on Ilya’s face. “I play too! In Russia. I’m the best in my team. Soo fast, I’m like rocket. Like whooosh!” he exclaims. Shane’s whole face lightens up. “Yes! I’m going to practice my handling so I can get even better. I’m the best, too! I mean...” He pauses. “Nuh-uh. Bet I’m faster,” Ilya taunts. And well. Shane’s competitive, okay? Manners be damned. “You’re bluffing! Prove it then,” Shane challenges. “Come with me to the rink.” “Okay,” Ilya grins. And Shane swears Ilya’s curls shine with the same intensity of his smile.

***

They were making their way to the rink through the snow, and Shane almost forgets again. “How’d you know I was coming here to practice?” Shane asks, breaking the silence. “Ah. I was going to say,” Ilya says slowly, scratching his head in embarrassment. “After school, I sometimes don’t feel like going. I walk here.” Shane stops at that. “You stalk me?” “No, Shane! I don’t!” Ilya struggles to get out. “Would not do that.” “Is that why you were staring at me earlier?” Shane teases. “Hm, no. I think you are very pretty,” Ilya states. Shane’s brain short circuits. Right. What? He’s a little upset now. They were having fun, and they didn’t even get to have the challenge yet! “Really? That’s just like you. Is it because I’m what? Smaller? Because I look different? I’ve had enough of that from everyone, Ilya,” Shane says flatly. He thinks he deserves to be at least a little defensive, thank you. Ilya’s face contorts in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. “Shane, what? Speak slow, please, what are you saying?” Unbelievable. Little off-putting Shane Hollander, a little weird, an oddball. The playground’s pretty boy! “Don’t call me that.” “But what? Shane, I don’t lie,” Ilya blurts out. “Is the truth! Look.” He slowly moves forward, his hand outstretched. Ilya’s fingertips are cold (Ha! That liar cannot handle it after all) when they poke at Shane’s nose. “Wha-” “Stars. All over your face! Here,” Ilya pats his cheekbones like he can’t get enough of them. “See!” “What? Ilya, stop, you’re cold!” Shane yelps, scrunching his nose. Ilya’s eyes widened at that. “Зайчик!” He gasps out. Shane is so confused. “Ilya! Are you okay?” “Shane, you do not see this? This! Is so, so pretty, Shane,” Ilya sighs, this time grabbing Shane’s gloved hand to point it at the dots splattered on his cheeks, now faint thanks to the lack of sunlight. Oh. Shane’s cheeks heat up under Ilya’s scrutinizing gaze. “Do you mean freckles?” Ilya pumps up his fist in gratification. “Ah! Freckles,” he whispers, not wanting to get it wrong. Ilya brings up his hands again to caress Shane’s cheeks as they scrunch up in the lack of warmth. “Like bunny, Shane.” Up close, Shane can see the beauty marks on Ilya’s face, his mole prominent on his cheek, and Shane blushes like a mad man. Oh my God. Ilya eyes Shane’s reddened cheeks and downright giggles at his suffering. Oh, how funny this must be for him, who is oh so confident (from what Shane can tell this far into their very short relationship) about everything, oh the fucking dream. Ilya’s blue-green eyes seem to shine even brighter with amusement the longer Shane keeps his own glaring onto his. Whatever. It’s really not his fault with the way Ilya just flaunts his stupid, stupid golden curls that just flow so perfectly underneath his beanie, which is also blue and matches his eyes–oh what the hell. Shane jumps and turns toward the rink, wrenching his warm face off Ilya’s cool fingers, snapping out of whatever that was. “Right. Um. Whatever, let’s just go,” he splutters out. “It’s cold and you’re cold too, you liar.” Ilya beams like he just succeeded in his super secret mission to fuck with Shane and his weak heart and follows him on the pathway. “You’re the liar, Shane,” Ilya teases, poking his side with his cold (cold!) finger. “Shut up.”

Chapter 2: i saw them all, just couldn't fall, 'til we met

Ilya throws his head back with a laugh, curls smacking against the bleachers. “Not bad, Hollander,” Ilya says, breathless, all faux confidence and composure as he very subtly pants like a dog. “Oh please. That was what, three seconds? You got lucky,” Shane objects, eyes rolling dramatically. He honestly feels a little off-balance with how much Ilya wasn’t actually lying. He could easily rival Shane with speed alone, and his stick maneuvering looks pretty solid from what Shane’s observed. And maybe ... if they actually went and played together. That would be something. Ilya shrugs and his face changes with a small smile. “Hm. Next time then. Again?” “Sure.” They rested in silence opposite the too-still vastness of the ice. Sometimes, Shane feels too small when he actually takes a second to look around, always too caught up in going faster, faster, faster, upping his game even further. It’s been his dream, reaching the top, since literally forever, and he doesn’t want to think about what he has left if ever stopped. Hockey’s all he’s ever known. It gives him everything and takes away nothing. It’s been a minute or maybe fifteen, as Shane sits up and gathers his bearings. “I think I might have to go soon. My parents are coming,” Shane says. He hopes they aren’t waiting too long in the parking lot. “Is anyone picking you up?” Ilya’s smile fades, expression small enough it passes as unnoticeable. “No, no one, I can take bus.” “Oh.” Shane frowns. “If it’s okay with you, I can maybe take you to your house? I mean, it can’t be that far.” “Your parents are okay?” Ilya asked, a little furrow in between his brows. “Sure! I mean I’ll just ask them, but I’m sure they’d be happy to.” Now, it’s Ilya’s nose that scrunches in hesitation, but he drops his head, eyeing the hard floor, and acquiesces. “Okay.” “Okay. Let’s go,” Shane says, mentally questioning the mood change but ultimately says nothing else. They gathered their things and changed back into the clothes they walked in wearing. The walk outside is much shorter than their walk to the rink, and Shane’s eyes immediately spot the familiar jeep in the parking lot. “C’mon,” Shane says, pulling on Ilya’s sleeve lightly. He’s excited to maybe introduce a new friend to his parents. Ilya stops suddenly in the middle of the road, yanking Shane back with him. He looks more worried by the second. Is this his first carpool or something? “Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you,” he says solemnly. Shane then tugs him even closer to their destination. “What? No! Not at all.” “Shane?” The two boys look towards the voice, finding its owner to be Yuna Hollander holding a bag filled with what seems to be some snacks and cans of Canada Dry ginger ale. “Who’s this?” Shane brightens. “Mom! This is Ilya. Can we please, please bring him home? We practiced lots of skating today at the rink. He’s my new friend!” Shane says. “Of course, honey, that’s no problem,” Yuna says and moves her steady gaze towards Ilya and smiles. She gestures towards the car and beckons them both to climb in. “Help yourself to some snacks, Ilya. You boys must be hungry after all that fun.” “Thanks, Mom! C’mon, Ilya.” “Thank you, Mrs. Hollander.” “Please, call me Yuna,” she insists. “Okay, Mrs. Hollander.” Yuna laughs and opens the door to the driver’s seat. “We’ll work on that.” After Ilya tells Yuna his address, the car falls into a comfortable silence. Shane helps him and Ilya to some chips in the bag his mom brought for them, rummaging through most of its contents until he settles with two cans of ginger ale and a family-sized pack of mixed flavoured pretzels. He hands one can over to Ilya, and they both sip in satisfaction. “I don’t think we’ve seen you around the school, Ilya, how did you two meet?” Yuna asks, breaking the silence. “Ilya’s in my class, Mom, we’ve only met today,” Shane says, mouth full of food. “I see. How’s school going for you?” She asks, curious. After all, the boy hasn’t spoken much aside from the usual polite platitudes. “Um. English is hard. Sometimes, teacher is too fast, but … I like Math. Is easy,” Ilya says, nodding. “That’s totally fine, honey. The words will come with practice. Anyway, Shane’s here to help you with anything you need. Isn’t that right, Shane?” Ilya waggles his eyebrows at that and glances at Shane who’s looking a little pink. “Yeah, for sure,” Shane says, eyes darting anywhere but Ilya’s face, and then pauses. “Would you wanna come to practice with me again, Ilya? If you don’t have anything else to do, that is.” Maybe Shane’s being a little clingy, but this was the most fun he’s had in a while, so sue him. “Would love to, Shane!” Ilya says happily. He points at his temple with his finger. “I have more tricks in here so you slow down.” Shane grins and his eyes crinkle with the same competitive glee that possessed him back in their challenge. “Oh, you’re on!”

***

If you’d ask anyone, they’d probably say Shane and Ilya are best friends. Doesn’t matter that it’s only been, well, give or take, two weeks, because there has never been such an inseparable pair until this one. Shane doesn’t give any proper notice to that admission. If he’s being honest, maybe it’s a little weird that he doesn’t feel any different since the day they first hung out. It just always felt like Ilya was meant to be by his side, and he curses the world for keeping the boy away from him for so long. But that’s just what everyone feels towards their friends. How’s he to know? He thinks Ilya may be his first real friend. Someone he doesn’t have to adjust to or think too much about what he’s saying and how he’s saying it to be considered in the universe’s intangible friend application form. If you’d ask Ilya, he’d probably look at you in an expression that doesn’t really say anything except well duh, have you been living under a rock? They’ve been having playdates over at Shane’s house whenever they were free or if they needed any grouped-up homework done, in which they were so conveniently paired up almost every time. Ilya thinks maybe he’d like to invite Shane to his place sometime, and he’d remember it wouldn’t be possible. Sometimes, it upsets him to have such a large space at his disposal, something every kid would dream of, yet it is hardly what he’d call a home. Where is Ilya’s home? For the longest time, it may have been his shared animal-themed bedroom back in Russia, personally decorated and planned out by his mama, until his brother Alexei moved out for whatever reason teenagers do so. Ilya thought it moody. Hadn’t they been best friends at some point? It’s like a switch had turned on, and his brother shunned him out of his life for good. It’s always been him and his brother and his mama, and yet. She’s been weird, too, lately. He doesn’t really understand why she’d get up in the middle of the night, knock on his door, and bring him to her chest for cuddles until they both fell asleep. He embraced it like a gift, though. It was the only time she’d respond to him in the past few weeks. They’d talk about stars, then, how these constellations have their own stories, their own characters, and he learns about a whole world up there, a large canvas of a different time. When he was first learning English, his mama would tell him stories of the great hunter Orion, of the Dipper family, or of the most beautiful Queen Cassiopeia, and he so wants to tell her that he’s already met the queen. He swears she lays his head on her chest every night, swears she looks exactly like his mama. Their talks have stopped as of late. Instead, as a sort of replacement just to feel a little more settled in his skin, Ilya would go out some nights with his blanket and lay it out on the grass, staring up at the too-big night sky. He feels both calm and overwhelmed, as if the blanket of stars were going to smother him and choke him under its intensity, but at the same time, the blanket feels like a familiar pair of arms, warm against his shivering body. Now, he seeks out stars like it’s just something he does. He sees stars in the streetlights when it’s late at night and he feels like going for a walk. He sees them in the pages of the books he reads (in Russian, for now, because he sees English everywhere), as little transition markers or as companions of every new chapter that comes up. He sees them in the eyes of his mama despite them being dimmed out because he knows that even during the day, stars never disappear. He’s just waiting for night to come. The night hadn't come yet, but then, there came a boy. Moving to a whole new country was one thing. Being unable to play hockey while doing so was another. He had gathered up all his courage just to ask his teacher if there was any way at all he’d be able to find a place to rent skates. Just to skate, even. He swears he won’t ask for sticks to practice his handling (they were his favourite to practice); he feels it’s too much to be deserved. The teacher points him to a secluded hockey rink that none of the other kids go to anyway, except of course– He trudges down towards the rink, hands in pockets, opens the large door and is greeted by the familiar smell of gear, sweat, and mild chemicals, and maybe it’d be disgusting to the average person, but he’s really missed this. He’s so caught up in his thoughts, in absorbing what he almost forgot that he didn’t even notice another figure speeding and twisting through cones in the ice. Now that. Ilya knows he’s stumbled upon something big. The figure is a little smaller than himself, but it slides so easily along the large space, so lithe, like friction doesn’t even exist. Ilya knows he came here to do some skating himself but it feels blasphemous even thinking of breaking the figure’s momentum. Maybe he’ll just come back another time. He walks back towards the doors and stops again. Maybe he could watch. Just to learn tricks, get better at his own technique, since he can’t skate. It’d be a learning experience.

***

Ilya comes back. Again. And again. And–you guessed it. It’s been a long week; Ilya hasn’t once stepped on the ice. He blames it a little on his English, sometimes still too awkward and stilted in his mouth despite having been training it on his own for a year. Approaching the other person seems too forward, and he’s still getting to know the town. Whatever, he’s a little shy, so what? He’ll do better tomorrow. It’s almost evening anyway. He’ll just go back, plan the conversation out and. The figure stops and takes off its headgear. Ilya’s thrown a little off-kilter here. The figure never once stopped his routine in the week Ilya’s been observing. What a weird day. It’s a boy with jet-black hair sticking to his forehead (it’s seemingly wavier than it usually is due to the boy’s sweat), that turns around and faces Ilya, so Ilya frantically ducks beneath the boards opposite the bleachers so as to not be seen by the other boy. Well. This is kind of a disaster then. He’ll leave when the boy does, if he doesn’t notice him that is. Ilya is lucky. The boy doesn’t notice him at all as he fixes up his things and gets ready to go home. Ilya is not lucky. He’s so very, very unlucky. At the very last second, the boy’s head faces the direction of the door and that’s when Ilya sees them. There’s so many of them. What the hell? All over the boy’s face, faint dots decorate around his pink cheekbones and his little nose. Ilya doesn’t even know what kind of supernatural force, whatever fate his mama mumbles about in the day that brings him to this moment. Just. The most beautiful constellation of stars he’s ever seen on what clearly is a fucking hockey God. How is this possible? And the boy is so. Ilya’s mama tells him of things he doesn’t understand, of spirits and things and people, some of which are not so good. But this boy is good. Ilya cannot tell you what compels him to make such an assumption about a complete stranger, but it doesn’t matter in the end. The stranger leaves as quickly as he came, and Ilya is never coming up with the confidence to even ask for his name.

Chapter 3: let me in if i break and be quiet if i shatter

Chapter Summary lots and lots of cuddling and hugs November 2003 The season changes as quick as light and before they all knew it, it was approaching Winter, the wind howling outside the window, sounding more like loud whispers against the soft murmur of the television speakers. Shane doesn’t know where he is, but he’s floating. His body feels full of cotton and rocks at the same time, a newly bought weighted blanket (courtesy of his dad) laying on his chest and the rest of his lower body. He stays there, unmoving, for what could be a few minutes or a few hours. Eventually, his legs cramp, and he starts to pull himself from underneath. “Mmph.” The weighted blanket makes a disgruntled noise and takes the shape of a lanky figure with messy curls and a pouty mouth. Oh. Shane fell asleep, apparently. He and Ilya were in the middle of watching a movie as one of their weekly Saturday movie nights. There’s leftover popcorn in a large bowl on the carpet beside the couch they were laying on and some cards they used to play with Shane’s parents earlier that night. Ilya insisted they watch Shrek (2001) even when Shane said he cannot stand the annoying donkey. Ilya was snoring softly against the collar of Shane’s favourite Snoopy sweater, his hands wrapped around Shane’s torso and squeezing him just the right amount to pass for an actual weighted blanket. Oops. Shane wiggles his socked feet so they don’t prickle up like needles and give him that awful sensory feeling, but Ilya tangles them with his own in his sleep and nuzzles his cold nose further into Sweater Snoopy’s eye. On the rightmost part of Shane’s sweater was a puddle of drool that he’d usually find incredibly gross, but Ilya looks so calm and peaceful under the soft orange light, occasionally flashing with lights that reveal Shrek’s crew running around the place, that Shane couldn’t bring himself to care. He thinks Ilya may have found the movie boring, too, and he is definitely rubbing that into his face once he wakes up. Eventually, they’re both going to have to get themselves into Shane’s bedroom so they could actually rest comfortably. Shane thinks this may turn into yet another one of their spontaneous sleepovers where he wakes up to the smell of his dad preparing Ilya’s favourite fluffy pancakes wafting through the hall. On rare occasions, Mrs. Irina would come and pick Ilya up after their hangouts but not before staying for a cup of coffee and a small chat with Yuna, of course. “Shaaane, don’t move,” Ilya whines into Shane’s chest, voice muffled. “You’re like furnace.” Shane brings his fingers up to a tuft of golden curls and tugs lightly. “It’s late. Aren’t your legs cramping up?” “Mmm, no, they feel like noodles.” Pfft, right. Shane strokes his fingers in a soothing up-and-down motion on the top of Ilya’s head, and the other boy acutally starts to settle back down. Sometimes, Shane feels like Ilya’s a little puppy that sits and lays at his feet until he’s given a sliver of attention. And if he’s honest, it’s a little endearing. “Don’t you wanna get home soon?” Shane asks, trying to gauge out what Ilya prefers. Ilya shakes his head, his chest rumbling. “Can we go to your bed?” “Let’s clean up first, okay?” They left quite a mess, and Shane will be damned if it isn’t gone in the morning. Finally, Ilya makes a move and sits up on the couch. He scratches his head, and Shane has the urge to giggle suddenly. Ilya’s head looks like he’s just ran front first into a tornado. “What?” “Nothing. Get moving, sleepyhead!” The two boys trudge on the carpet with a mission. All the candy wrappers and paper cups get transported into the trash. The bowl of popcorn is left to sit beside the sink, and Ilya turns the TV off. “Is so sad we couldn’t finish,” Ilya sighs disappointedly as he returns the remote on a table. “I really wanted to see happy ever after. Even if Donkey was a little loud.” Stupid donkey. Shane shrugs. “We can come back to it anytime.” “Wasn’t boring, by the way. You went to sleep first.” “And you did too eventually! Not an excuse.” They make their way to Shane’s room, a familiar route now after a few months of getting to know this routine. Ilya quickly grabs the spare toothbrush he leaves in the Hollanders’ house, and they brush their teeth together. Ilya makes a face at Shane through the mirror, and Shane sticks his tongue out in return. When they’re done, Ilya approaches the bed’s right side and Shane on the left, directly against the wall so he could press his sides against it in case he feels too warm in the night. They lay on the warm sheets side by side, the only sound in the room being their quiet breathing. Shane turns on his side to face Ilya. “Hey,” he says, kicking at Ilya’s feet with his own. “It’s almost break. Are you visiting Russia?” Ilya turns towards Shane, mirroring his position so their heads make a heart shape above their bodies. “Not sure. Might have to because my father is at home.” “Do you not miss it? I’d hate to be away from Canada for so long,” Shane whispers. Ilya looks like he’s thinking very hard. “I miss… Mama’s пельмени, Pelmeni. She still makes, but it tastes different in Russia. And there is a puppy outside my house. Comes by sometimes to ask for food, but… not supposed to do that, so I pet it instead,” he says finally. Shane has a small frown on his face. “That sucks,” he says, feet tangling with Ilya’s. “Maybe we can try making it? Mom can look up some recipes; maybe we can even ask the help of Mrs. Irina! And…I can take you to see dogs anywhere, Ilya…or a zoo?” “Mm, thank you, Shane,” Ilya says with a small smile on his face. “Some day. Also not sure if my mama wants to go out sometimes. So.” “That’s okay. We have all the time here. I’d want to hang out with you forever,” Shane says, finger poking Ilya’s arm. Ilya’s face turns pink. He presses his cheek against the pillow. “Yes. Me too,” he says quietly. Shane wonders then if maybe Ilya would feel better in the presence of his mom or of familiar rooms that Shane’s never visited himself. There’s so many parts of Ilya he hasn’t discovered yet. Shane feels a flutter of excitement and a little something else in his stomach but pushes it away. “What’s your home like here? In Russia?” Ilya picks at the blanket and fidgets with his fingers around the loose threads while he talks. “House looks like yours here. Nice and small, but doesn’t feel like home. Not really. Is just a house,” Ilya shrugs and looks like he wants to say something else like yours feels more like one if I’m being honest but stops himself. “It is very big and lonely in Russia. But my friend Svetlana, we play sometimes, so is much better.” He shares this with a newly formed smile that makes Shane’s stomach churn with something ugly. He immediately pushes the feeling down. This is about Ilya. Who cares if Shane isn’t his only friend? It’s not normal to stick around just one, after all, he reminds himself. “Oh. That’s cool.” “Mm. We always used to run in the fields when sky is bright, but then mama gets mad because we get dirty,” Ilya giggles out. Shane attempts to fix his face, and he succeeds (for the most part). “Really? Must be fun,” he grumbles, moving away from their shared space. Ilya is oblivious to it, only shuffling closer. “Shane? You okay?” “M’fine. Keep going.” What Shane doesn’t know, and Ilya is so familiar with, is that he cannot school his expression for the life of him. The harsh glare of his eyes and his downturned brows does nothing to stop the bubbling laugh that comes out of Ilya’s chest. “Ух ты, Shanya!” Ilya throws his head back and points at Shane’s face. “You are so like…” he mumbles frustratedly to himself. “котёнок! Little kitty frown on your face!” He laughs, eyes bright, his fingers brushing at the space between Shane’s brows. “What? I’m not a kitten! Stop, Ilya,” Shane says, pushing him away and rolling his eyes. “Whatever.” “Why are you mad, Shane?” Ilya draws out, sticking out his tongue. “Shaaane.” “Go talk to your other friend,” Shane mutters, his freckles all adorably bunched up together on top of his scrunched nose. “Wait what? You are jealous?” Ilya says in disbelief. “What! No. It’s whatever. Let’s just go to bed.” Ilya gasps. “Nooo, Shanya, you are! You are all red like cute little tomato.” Shane glares at him harder. “Okay, okay. Shane, I can have many friends, yes?” Ilya grins. “I guess. I don’t know. Do what you want.” “Hm…but,” Ilya says, his fingers moving to rub his chin. “Nevermind. Is a secret for me only.” Shane is so annoyed. Ilya is such an asshole. Is he being serious right now? Fine. He’s exposed to only having Ilya in his life, and it’s what? Pathetic? Okay, maybe a little. But they can move on. Shane will ignore it. Shane goes quiet for a long while, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the wall above Ilya’s frame and frowns. At that, Ilya pulls Shane’s hands into his and drags it to his chest. “You know what this is, Shane?” Ilya asks, pointing at Shane’s hand. Shane replies with a withering look. Ilya looks a little worried for his life now. Good. He goes on, though. “Is you, Shane. Here,” Ilya points at his heart. “You are my only favourite. You are my first place and number one every time. I have many, many friends because I am super amazing and everyone loves me...” He smiles softly and continues. “But they are not you. They do not hug me when I am sad and sit with me in bus stop until I go. They do not help me with English homework and play hockey with me until sun goes down. And I do not care about any of them. Because I have my person.” He points at Shane then, booping his nose. Shane is quiet and just stares at Ilya as Ilya continues his ministrations on Shane’s hands, which are starting to sweat a little from Ilya’s steady gaze. “Shane?” Then Shane covers his face with his hands and burrows his face in his pillow. He is so, so embarrassed. Should’ve kept his mouth shut. Now his face is all hot and pink and Ilya just– Ilya nudges Shane’s shoulder, forcing him to face him so they can be eye-to-eye. “Sorry. Was too much?” Ilya whispers. “What? No! No. It’s okay, I, um,” Shane stammers out. Ilya’s looking like a sad puppy now that Shane just can’t help himself. He pulls Ilya towards him again, Shane’s face against Ilya’s neck. He breathes in his familiar smell and wraps his arms around his body. “I’m tired, Ilya. Let’s sleep?” Shane mumbles. Ilya must sense his embarrassment and lets it go. “Okay.”

After a full minute, Shane breaks the silence again. “Ilya?” “Mm.” “You’re my person, too.” He feels Ilya’s pulse quicken and the hug tightens itself around Shane as they both drift off.

Chapter 4: sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy

and dull May 2004 Shane celebrates his birthday at home, and it’s a quiet affair, accompanied by his parents and Ilya, of course. Irina was invited as well but couldn’t make it since she wasn’t feeling well. The cake Yuna made was decorated all over with hockey sticks and pucks that tasted like Oreos and were honestly too sweet for Shane’s taste, but he hugged his mother and thanked her profusely regardless. At the end of the night, Ilya gives him a scrapbook of stickers and photos, surrounded by quotes from his favourite hockey players, along with new gloves. Shane beams at this and hugs Ilya tightly. Ilya’s not done, though. “Happy birthday, my Shane. Thank you,” Ilya says into Shane’s ear. “You make me so happy. Always. Thank you for being the reason I am not alone.” Shane pulls back a little and looks Ilya in the eye. “I love you forever, Ilya,” he smiles softly, dimpling his cheeks with the gesture. “Я тебя люблю, Shane.” I love you, Shane.

On Ilya’s birthday, after a simple breakfast, Irina takes him out for a walk around the park and gives him a necklace, a flat and round piece of silver covered in the Orion constellation, held together by a silver chain. Ilya caresses the smooth edges with his fingers in admiration. He’s not exactly sure what the gift is supposed to mean, but it’s immediately one of the prettiest objects he’s able to call his. Irina takes the necklace from his hands and clasps it around Ilya’s neck, pinching his cheeks softly in adoration. “Now you are the brightest star on earth, my Ilyusha. No one would be able to look at my baby and see straight. His smile is just too bright for anyone to handle. Happy birthday.” Ilya grins and tip-toes on his feet in glee. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mama! It’s so pretty, I will love it forever.” Irina tangles her hand with Ilya’s, slightly crouching down, and guides them back home where Ilya will eventually get ready to meet up with Shane because the other boy is so insistent in giving him his own gift. Shane gives him a brown stuffed bear holding a small red heart. In the middle of the heart is an ‘I’ to clearly indicate the owner. The bear also holds a folded paper to its fluffy chest, with ‘Ilya ♡ ’ on the front. Ilya hugs Shane tightly, before opening the letter with so much care, and starts reading slowly.

Ilya—

Today is my bestest friend in the whole world’s birthday, and I cannot believe it! I think we are both meant to be friends forever. Because we hang out all the time and every time we do, it makes me so happy I could jump up and down and never stop. (I am only a month older than you, Ilya, and that is also another sign, I think.) Thank you for always listening to me talk even if I am too much sometimes. And I will always listen to your talks no matter what!!! You never make me feel like I am too much. Sometimes, things get too big in my head, and then I see my best friend and everything goes calm like a storm just passed by. You will be my hockey buddy forever. We will reach all our dreams one day and I will beat you at every game! (but today, I will give you a pass because it’s your special day) I hope and hope every day that we stay like this forever. And maybe we can join the NHL if we get super, super good because we are both the best! I want to be the best with you forever, Ilya. Happy birthday, I love you!!!!!

Love, Shane

Ilya looks up, and Shane looks the most nervous he’s ever looked. “Oh no! Ilya, are you—“ Ilya slams against Shane and pulls him into a bear hug, squeezing him like it’s his last day on earth. “Thank you,” he sniffles. “Thank you, Shanya.” Shane’s shirt is wet with tears by now, but he himself has to pinch his own arm and squeeze his eyes shut so as to not start crying. “Happy birthday, Ilya.”

***

It’s the middle of the night when Ilya wakes in a cold sweat and tears running down his eyes. He shivers and scrambles up immediately to Irina’s room in a panic. He just needs to know she’s there. Everything felt so real. He could feel the doors slamming into him, blocking him from reaching, his arms aching, knees bent in exhaustion. Ilya goes over to Irina’s room and takes a peek, walks towards the blankets, tugs lightly, and climbs in under the covers. He’s still shaking as Irina stirs and tiredly opens her eyes to squint in the dark. “Ilya? What are you doing, baby?” She whispers. “You were gone, Mama,” Ilya says sharply, angry at her for some reason. “I chased you through the rooms, and they just got bigger and bigger, and you fell, and I couldn’t see you anymore.” His lips tremble with the words, but he keeps his chin turned towards his chest, stubborn. “Oh, baby. I’m right here. You see?” She tips his chin up with her fingers. “Don’t be upset, Ilyusha.” “But…” Ilya still seems unconvinced, frowning at the blankets he’s clutching in his fist. “Can you stay, Mama?” he whispers. “I don’t like when you’re sad and I can't find you anymore." Irina brings his little body closer to her and strokes her hand through his curls, hands rubbing his back. “I will always be with you, my Ilya, forever. Here,” she says, grabbing his hand and pressing it to her chest. “You are my heart.” Ilya looks up into her eyes and they are glazed over, like she isn’t really there. He’s just resigned at this point, clawing up in desperation for any semblance of comfort in his mother’s words. They’re there but they weren’t there. Did she even mean it? Any of it? “You promise me, Mama?” Irina only continues stroking his back and places a kiss on his forehead. “I love you, Ilya.” Ilya says nothing, then. I love you, too, Mama.

***

The other day, their class was making origami as one of their activities in Art Class, and Ilya was quiet. It’s not the first time, either. Usually, it’s Shane who shuts down sporadically with Ilya being the designated sunshine, all smiles and waves as a small comfort, and Shane is not sure what’s happening. He knows he didn’t do anything wrong. Knows there’s something Ilya’s not telling him in the past months the sparkle in his eyes have started to dim out. As much as Shane knows his best friend like the back of his hand, there’s just things he doesn’t. Sometimes it scares him how much of himself he gives to Ilya. His favourite things, his hobbies, all his special things, just because he trusts him that much, and he loves sharing his things with Ilya, but he’s not given the same privilege. Ilya tells him stories of little adventures when he was younger, a scene in a movie he watched the day before, a song hummed by an old lady on the walk home from school. He mentions nothing of his family and his life back in Russia. He’s so tight-lipped about it that Shane just feels like he has no right to ask at all. But now, he’s really worried. Maybe if he knew more, if he was more equipped as a best friend, maybe then, he’d figure out a way to approach this. Because something is happening, and Shane can’t really do anything but hold Ilya’s hand through it all. And then one day, Ilya doesn’t come to school at all. Shane comes home to his parents huddled on the kitchen table, his mom with red-rimmed eyes. “Mom? Dad? What’s wrong?” “Oh, honey,” Yuna gestures for Shane to come closer and hugs him when he does. “We just heard the news, baby, Ilya’s mom passed.” What? Shane feels like his world just tilted on its axis and crushed him into the ground. “No,” he says, indignant. “Mom, what?” Yuna rubbed a hand on his back. “Just earlier, they said they found her on the floor.” But what about– “What about Ilya? Is he–” Shane can’t even imagine how Ilya feels, can’t imagine the way he probably needs a hug from his mom right now. Shane needs to get to him, to give him the comfort he needs, the comfort he can’t get– “They said he found her, baby, he’s–” He what? “Mom, where is he? I need to see him, he’s probably freaking out,” Shane says, voice ragged. “Shane…” “Mom,” he pleads. “He’s going back home for the summer, honey. After they’re done with the investigations and procedures, he’s going back,” she says, all sad eyes and continues. “I can imagine how their family feels. We can only be here if ever Ilya needs us, okay?” But we’re his family, Mom, Shane wants to say. Can’t he speak to me? I just need to know he’s okay. That he has someone, at least. Someone to hold and to hold him. Yuna turns to David and whispers. “Oh, that poor boy. I can’t even imagine what he’s going through…”

September 2004 The summer passes in a blur of Shane’s usual routine of hockey, hockey, hockey and the occasional advanced classes to keep his brain sharp. He plays like he always did—like nothing can catch him. Not when he’s on the ice. Shane ignores the empty space beside him. The space that’s supposed to skate alongside him and goad him into going faster, drifting quicker. The space that takes the shape of missed calls and unsent e-mails to a number and address that he doesn’t even know exists. Some part of him is scared of never seeing him again. Never being able to be challenged the same way he made him feel. All the sleepovers, secrets, and hidden hideouts. Just gone, like it never even happened because, unfortunately, the world just goes on its way no matter what. The worst thing could happen to Shane—losing hockey, losing his life, losing his best friend, and nothing would change. So Shane one-ups the universe and goes on with his life. He ignores the way he instinctively moves towards the left side of the couch whenever he watches a game on TV, ignores the way he sleeps with two fluffy pillows, and the way the spare blue toothbrush just sits beside his own on the sink. It won’t hurt you if you don’t let it. He doesn’t think about the guilt he feels feeling hurt over being left behind. For all he knows, Ilya’s the one who lost his mom. Ilya’s the one dealing with his pain in a country he doesn’t even enjoy being in. Ilya’s the one without anyone on his side of the world. Shane silently hopes that his friend Svetlana’s there to help him get through it, despite the little twinge he feels in his chest at the thought. Shane hasn’t been through even half of what he assumes is Ilya’s horrible summer. So he pushes down all the ugly feelings and does what he’s good at. If he tries hard enough, maybe everything will be okay.

***

Ilya comes back the second week of the next school year. He sat at the back of the room, head down and inconspicuous. Shane was shuffling and restless in his seat ever since his eyes first spotted the boy entering the room. It was last period, and Shane was itchy in the way he always was a few hours before a practice session. But seeing Ilya immediately erased all of that anticipation and replaced it with a newer kind. Not a single notice of his arrival. Not one. But Shane struggles to stay mad when Ilya looks like a shell of himself, expression neutral and fingers unconsciously moving in repetitive scrawls across the paper. When the bell rang, Ilya didn’t even linger. He immediately stood up and left the room. Shane scrambled trying to fix his things and chase after him. He quickly shoved his things in his back and jogged after a shape with curly hair at the back of its head, thankfully only about to turn a corner. “Ilya! Wait,” Shane pants, hand hesitating on his shoulder. Ilya stops on his tracks and looks at him. “Um. Hi.” Ilya’s stare is blank, and he says nothing, eyes indifferent as he looks him up and down, like he’s almost bored. Shane knows there’s something else, though. “Can I?” Shane gestures at his hand, seeking a more familiar language between them. Ilya’s eyes are downcast as his head moves just slightly downwards, and Shane takes it as a yes as he intertwines his fingers with Ilya’s. Ilya’s demeanor changes at that, his shoulders slumping and body unclenching as if he’s been tied to a stick this whole time and only discovered a way to get out. Then Shane feels a sudden anger surge. It’s clear to him now that there was no one there for Ilya. Not in the last three months of unrelenting silence from his side. No one there to hold his hand, and hug him, and tell him it’s all going to be okay (meaningless platitudes that don’t hold any truth to them but work for a reason). They walk towards the end of the road and through a familiar path that eventually opens to the entrance of their frequented hockey rink, but Shane stops them before they could enter and walks them to a red bench right outside the building. They sit in silence for a long time, hands clasped on their laps. Shane moves to nudge Ilya’s head and pushes it against his shoulder, brushing their knees together. He figures they’ll talk later, after. After Ilya calms down and his cloudy awareness clears up. “Do you want to come over?” Shane says quietly. He taps sporadically at Ilya’s knuckles while he talks, a reflex now. “We don’t have to do anything. I can cook something up while we sit, and we can have Tangled playing in the background. I watched it again while you were gone and…it just made me miss you.” Ilya nuzzles his nose at Shane’s neck and opens Shane’s palm. He traces something on the flesh in response.

Ok.

Shane smiles at that. “Let’s go in a bit, okay?” Shane just talks in the silence, hoping it soothes Ilya in its familiarity. He honestly feels he hasn’t been saying much in the last few months since Ilya was gone. He says the usual words at certain points in the day at his parents, but they’re his parents. It doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t tell them about the new trick he mastered with his stick, the comics he’s been binge-reading lately (he’s halfway through the Red Robin run by now), or whatever would usually cross his mind, because he’d always convey it to Ilya’s ears anyway.

Is like a word-dump, Shanya. You give me words, and I’m the dump! Ew, Ilya, that sounds gross! Or maybe, you’re the dump. Is you who dumps out words so… I think we’re both word-dumps.

So Shane fills him in with all he’s missed the last time they talked, of the bird’s nest he found hidden in the large tree outside his house and how he can hear the little birds sometimes, when the world gets quiet, of the new socks that made his feet feel better in skates that he got himself with his own money. He almost tells him of the many times he wanted to call but couldn’t, but that felt like toeing into the deep ocean of trouble that got them here. They settle down eventually, both pairs of eyes drooping as the sky gets darker. Shane’s hands continue its ministrations on Ilya’s, and he nudges him out of his stupor. “Hey.” A quiet grumble. “Mom’s coming soon to pick us up.” Ilya’s hands just pinch him in response. “Okay, ow. Let’s get moving.” They wait for a few minutes for the familiar silhouette of the car to appear and get in. Shane’s dad turns on the stereo as they enter, the smooth voice of Springsteen’s I’m on Fire dancing away in the calm atmosphere of the car. If David’s surprised to see Ilya, he doesn’t show it. “Have fun today, boys?” he asks casually, driving steadily to their destination. “‘S okay, Dad,” Shane replies, voice worn. They arrive in the driveway, and Shane drags them into his room once they’re in the house. They hear muffled voices in the living room, which Shane suspects is his dad letting his mom know of Ilya’s presence, since they went up quickly enough to escape her notice. They make their way to the bed to lay down as if not a day’s passed since the last time they were here together. Shane makes good on his promise, and tells Ilya he’s coming back, before he goes down and grabs some leftover cookies he baked with his parents the day before. When he comes back up, Ilya has curled in on himself, his face hidden in Shane’s bolster pillow. “Hey,” Shane murmurs. “I got some cookies, your favourite.” Ilya sits up gingerly and grabs one from the plate, chews like he’s thinking hard. “Ilya,” Shane starts. “Have you been good?” Ilya frowns, then shrugs. Shane kicks his socks off from his feet and crosses his legs on the bed. “I just… you disappeared there. For a really long time. And I didn’t like it.” Silence. “I just want you to know that when I said I’m here for you, I meant it. I… it felt really bad, not hearing anything. I didn’t know if you were okay and–” he sighs. “Are you? Are you okay?” Ilya’s whole face crumples. He frowns at his lap like he’s willing his impending tears to disappear. His chest shakes like he’s trying so hard to expel something off of it, and his mouth moves in shapes without any sound coming out. “I–” Ilya’s voice cracks, and he glares at the room, clears his throat. “C-can’t. Sh– I.” his fists clench in frustration. “No, no, Ilya,” Shane pleads. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. Just know it. Please. Okay? I’m here, and that’s it.” Ilya acquiesces, nodding tearfully. He grabs at Shane’s hand and brings it to his chest, like he did all those months ago, like he used to on all the nights they’d hung out, except now, it’s his own little way of saying it. My person, my Shane. I’m sorry I left you, his eyes seem to say now. I’ll try. I promise. Shane just puts his arms around him and pulls him closer. He maneuvers them into a comfortable position and lays down with Ilya’s head on his chest, his front to Shane’s. Ilya’s hands are still clutching at the fabric at Shane’s back, like he’s still fighting something. Shane can only hold him and whisper soft words. Eventually, the shaking stops, and Ilya falls asleep. His mouth is open, as always, little breaths puffing out. After that, Ilya sleeps over. Every night. The Hollanders lay out a separate bed beside Shane’s for their comfort, but they both know they’d end up in the same one by the morning. They communicate through casual touches and glances that say everything without saying anything. I’m here. Got you something. Let’s head out? Mom’s calling you. I’m okay. They progress on to notes around the house for more complicated sentences. But for the most part, Shane and Ilya could live with their mouths zipped shut and have the world at their feet. Shane knows this is something much bigger than either of them, but he’s sure Ilya will come around and say something when he’s ready. For now, he’s happy to just exist around the other boy as they are. A few days turn into a few weeks and one day, Shane wakes up alone. He feels the empty space on his right, and it’s still warm. He goes down, following the smell of breakfast and sees Ilya already sat on the table. “Morning,” Shane eyes him. “You didn’t wait for me today.” He moves on to grab his glass and a plate to fill some eggs on it. Ilya hums, mouth full of bread. “M’ sorry.” Shane’s eyes widen, and he shakes the table with how fast his head turns to look at the other boy. “I–” Ilya just looks down and resumes his eating. “I missed you,” Shane whispers. Shane’s soul felt like it died a little when it felt a part of it shrivel up and hide in a dark cave. It knocks on the door a few times every day, just to feel its presence, and nothing else, but is ultimately satisfied with just that. He almost forgets, really. How easy it is to breathe when he feels it again. Ilya looks at him, a small smile forming, and Shane thinks of the sun. “Mm. Miss you.” Maybe Shane is crying a little, as he nudges his foot with his own. He pokes at an errant sausage on Ilya’s plate with his fork and shoves it in his mouth. Maybe for something big to change, it only takes several little moments. A lot of knocks against a door that stayed ajar, never fully shut, not really. A lot of waiting. His heart hurts from how he feels the exact same a few seconds ago, before Ilya said anything, before Shane started to remember the feeling of the sun burning against his skin, the sound of Ilya’s voice singing in his ear, just a lot lighter. Shane knew everything was going to be fine. The tide recedes from the shore eventually. A yelling storm stops when it’s tired. It just felt nice to know. “We’re going to the grocery store later. Wanna come?” Shane asks. “Yes,” Ilya says. “We need juice.” “M’kay. I’ll tell Mom,” Shane replies, twining their pinkies together under the table. Anyway, it doesn’t matter how much time would pass until the door opens. Shane would wait forever for Ilya.

Chapter 5: and, lover, be good to me

Chapter Summary difficult talks (ft. LOTS of comfort) & idiot lovestruck teenagers

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes December 2004 They don’t say much more than they have to at a time, and Shane doesn’t push him. It’s Ilya who initiates in the end. “Remember when they showed us a slideshow of plants in class?” “Yeah, vividly. Why?” “It’s funny, I don’t know,” Ilya pauses. “And I asked. If I, we, could grow some.” Shane didn’t ask who was included in that we. “I don’t have it. The, how do you say,” Ilya raises his thumb. “Green thumb?” “Mm. She used to say that,” Ilya says, blinking hard. “Anyway,” he continued quickly. “It went bad because I didn’t do it properly. I wasn’t good with all the watering, and I got home. And then." The sky was grey now, and ironically, they both feel calmer with it. “Was fine. Plants die. She’d say so. Wasn’t the first time a plant died on me. Wasn’t the last either. Because I went in, and it was quiet. Like bad, and…” Ilya’s socked feet were on Shane’s lap, shins being rubbed rhythmically by Shane who listens with rapt attention, letting him know there’s no rush, no rush at all. “It’s stupid, I don’t believe any of it, you know?” he mumbles. “I don’t know if she did, but just felt like she was, um, holding on. To all of it.” His voice cracked then. “But I saw her. A few mins after the plant, and is like…I couldn’t even see the difference.” Ilya slumps at the wall he was leaning on and just stares at the wide sky above them, and Shane tangles their fingers together, just out of reflex from all the other times. Shane thinks Ilya’s beautiful like this, eyes so sad, and body so tired. He looks like something out of a movie, something that just got out of a UFO, staggering through its first time on Earth. He thinks Ilya’s grown up over the last year. Gone is the boy that lit up the room like it was nothing, what lies in front of him is an older, more raw, version of Ilya Rozanov. Ilya looks down then, tears hovering in his eyelashes, willing them to stay put. “I know what month it is. And I’m scared, Shane,” he whispers, bottom lip trembling. Shane’s confused for a second and it hits him–Irina’s birthday. It’s always been a sacred day for Ilya, even back then. “I sometimes cannot even. I don’t know what time it is, and I just stay in bed. I feel so bad. So tired, all the time, and I can’t.” “Oh, Ilya,” Shane whispers, his own mouth downturned, as he lets go of his leg and sits with him against the wall. He turns to him and presses his head against his, foreheads touching, his black hair melting against Ilya’s gold. “Okay. It’s okay, Ilya. I’m here,” he says. “I think…” Ilya sniffles. “I think sometimes I’m like her. Not the good parts. And I don’t want to be, and sometimes I hate her so much for making me like this,” he chokes out. “but she was my favourite, my favourite star. I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, Shane, I–” “Shh,” Shane wipes the tears falling down Ilya’s cheeks, making his eyes shine. He swipes the errant curls on Ilya’s face, blowing and cooling it down, and presses Ilya’s head on his neck. Ilya sobs on Shane’s shirt, letting the burden of the last six months out, the little voices in his head that say the harsh words of his father in the tone of his mother. The weight he’s been carrying on his back finally releases as he tells Shane what happened that day. The day he felt the sky itself fall down as he opens the door to the bathroom and sees a wilted plant with the face of his mama. How he was in denial for a full thirty seconds until he dialed 9-1-1 and told the operator amidst stuttering cries what happened, what he saw, where he is, if there’s anyone else in the house (no, just him). How they had to rip his body from Irina’s, how Alexei held his hand for the last time until the familiarity between them disappeared forever. How after he wailed and grieved almost every day for endless weeks in Russia, nothing could come out. How his brother went out almost every day and his father only ever showed up a few times a week when he felt like it. Shane felt like throwing up with the knowledge. Because he was right, in the end. There wasn’t anyone Ilya could count on during what was quite literally the worst time of his life. By the end, they were both crying and holding on to each other, and Shane was whispering promises in Ilya’s ear, and meant it.

Eventually, they quiet down in a comfortable silence. Ilya breaks it from where he’s lying on Shane’s lap. “I don’t think I want to go back. “To Russia?” “Mm. Nothing for me there. Maybe I’ll get big from hockey, in Canada, and then get really famous, buy many cars, and girls fight over me.” “Hm. Sure,” Shane says, jokingly unconvinced, but he does believe it. Ilya’s good. He thinks maybe both of them would be right there, at the top, together. “‘til you explode from all the junk food you eat.” “Nuh-uh, Shane, I have you to feed me your rabbit food if I need,” Ilya sticks his tongue out. “Believe what you want to,” Shane rolls his eyes, but Ilya knows it’s true. God forbid Ilya dies from McDonald’s after all this. Shane is not letting that happen if he can stop it. He reaches down to squish Ilya’s cheeks together, suddenly caught with cuteness aggression from the smile that reaches his eyes and crinkles his features. Ilya’s lips are now pursed, like a duck’s beak, or as if he’s preparing to blow a kiss. Shane frowns, a man possessed, as he lowers his face to Ilya’s, just inspecting, he tells himself. Ilya frowns, grabbing the wrist that was pushing his cheeks together. “Ow, Sh’nya,” he mutters, voice muffled from his mouth being a weird shape. “What’re you doin–” Shane lets go and smoothes out the ridges in between Ilya’s brows. “You look different.” “What?” “Older…like,” Shane explores Ilya’s face with his fingers. “You don’t look like my little puppy anymore.” He frowns slightly at that. “Soo…what? Am a wolf now, then. Awoo!” Shane laughs, pressing his nose to Ilya’s cold one. “Sure.” “Yes.” Shane’s eyes glaze over, only now noticing their position and how it’d look from the outside. “Mm.” He noticed Ilya’s eyes are more green-grey, neglecting the blue, during the winter. They’d strike a metallic sort of blue when summer approaches. Now, they shine with more light than he’s used to. He doesn’t know if this is a recent development, or maybe he’s just always found Ilya sort of beautiful, from the moment he saw him nervous and hiding in his notebook. Ilya, on the other hand, is positively freaking out, and Shane doesn’t even seem to care about what he’s doing to Ilya’s system. Ilya kind of feels like he’s suffocating from all of it. His frontal view is just Shane’s little bangs falling from his forehead, Shane’s brows bunched up from the cute, kitten-like frown he’s making for some reason, like he’s thinking too hard, and most especially, the freckles that are spread out on his cheeks, a little on the back of his neck, his back (and Ilya only notices during hot days where Shane would let go of his usual style and wear looser, baggier shirts). This is stupidly the moment it really clicks for Ilya. He always had an inkling, but it was whatever. Always noticed the bright feminine laughs of the girls in class. He found them cute, would indulge sometimes and hold their hands after class because it felt nice, and it was just fun for him really. But also maybe stared a bit too long when ‘roughing it up’ with the boys in the playground. It wasn’t a revelation. Ilya liked both. Just something at the back of his head. Shane, though, was so different from anything Ilya’s ever known. He has a gentle personality that he can’t find in any other kid in the room, always unafraid to hold Ilya’s hand when something (or nothing, really) was wrong, so unafraid to shove him when he’s angry at Ilya, too. He’s both kind, sweet like a bunny and playfully turbulent during their hockey drills. He’s the rain that falls from the sky, but also the force that starts the storm in the first place. Shit. Oh my god. Fuck. Out. So, he panics. Just a little. He abruptly sits up, smashing his head against Shane’s, and stands like there’s ants in his pants. “Ow, what the fuck!” Shane’s rubbing his temple now, and Ilya momentarily feels bad for the bruise that’s about to form until he remembers and– “Um. Sorry, I– have to go. Do something. Bye,” Ilya rushes out and gets out of there, misses the flash of hurt in Shane’s expression. Ilya walks quickly across the street, walks to the bench nearby, and thinks. He’s not stupid, he’s heard all about who likes who or whoever’s sitting on a tree with him that day, in class and. Well. It’s different when it’s all a joke to him. He doesn’t really care about any of that, of whatever his classmates make up for their entertainment. It’s a whole other thing, though, when his best friend is who he wants with him all the time. In retrospect, it makes a whole lot of sense now. Sometimes, Ilya feels like he’s going to burst into flame with how much he just wants to eat Shane up. He’s just. He’s his little everything. Can’t even explain it to himself because he just sounds insane with this amount of want churning up in his stomach. He guesses that also explains all the stupid fucking butterflies in his stomach that he swears traveled up his brain in the process. He’ll deal with it. He just has to…compartmentalize. He can’t exactly tell Shane, either. That’s going to kill him next; he tells Shane everything. Like as of now, Ilya thinks there isn’t anything left to him for Shane to uncover. Except, well. This. Shane’s going to freak if he ever finds out. He never hears about Shane with girls, though, and that gives him a little bit of stupid hope that dies when he realizes Shane’s never with any boys, either. Right. Ilya just has to be calm about this. Just has to make it through all the time they spend together. Not that difficult. Once he gets to his house, he calls Svetlana. They promised to keep in touch after the rough summer, and Ilya’s forever grateful for her. He hasn’t exactly made it easier for her to be around after his mother. So, he made good on his promise. Once she picks up, Ilya starts and goes on and on and on, until it’s been a good hour of catching up and ranting about things as mundane as a crush. Ilya’s missed not worrying about anything too serious, if he’s being honest. It’s been such a long time, he almost forgot how to just be a kid. “Oh, Ilyusha, you’re such an idiot, how could you have just left him?!” “Svetaaa, please I know, I’m so stupid. He hates me, he totally hates me.” “You’re such an idiot, just talk to him!” “I can’t! I feel like dying when I’m with him,” he whines. When the call ends, they trade I love yous, and Ilya promises to call back soon (and to follow her advice). And, well. Ilya’s never had a good track record with that part.

Shane thinks he might’ve done something wrong. It’s been a few weeks of Ilya’s new kind of weirdness, and Shane’s just frustrated at this point. He finally found out what happened with Ilya, why he was so distant, and they were back to normal. They were good. For, like, a few whole seconds, until Ilya decided to jump like his ass was burnt and leave Shane on the ground. Not even a proper goodbye, Shane fumes. On Irina’s birthday, though, Ilya took on a solemn demeanor, and they both set down flowers in the garden behind Ilya’s house. They celebrated Christmas and New Year’s with the Hollanders. It was the usual affair of Shane’s dad cooking something up, Yuna planning the event out on paper, and Shane and Ilya helping with the little tasks while they played around most of the time. That was the thing. They were constantly with Shane’s parents, so Ilya acted like his usual goofy self. It’s like nothing happened. Until Ilya stops sharing the bed at night. He actually uses the bed beside Shane’s that Yuna and David had set up all those months ago. And that, to Shane, was akin to blasphemy. Two can play this game. Shane gives him the cold shoulder when he feels Ilya’s been avoiding his touch, his searching hands that used to hold Ilya’s until it seemed like he was way too good for it, being left ignored. Whatever. Ilya still smiles at Shane like he’s his whole world, but he looks away quickly now. He seems more nervous and tense around Shane more than anything. In school, they don’t spend all the time they had together like they used to. Which was fine. Ilya could make friends. Fuck him, he could make his own, too. So Shane did. Rose was the girl he sat with for most of the year but didn’t really pay attention to until he had nothing to do one period. She had glanced at him subtly and asked the golden question that just made him angry all over again. “Shane, right?” “Oh, hi! Yes, that’s me.” “Hmm. You seem to be missing someone today.” “What?” “Oh, you know,” she says jokingly. “Ilya. Rozanov? You guys are always together, and now I guess you aren’t?” Shane looks behind him at where Ilya’s been sneaking not so sneaky glances at Shane and immediately looks away when Shane’s head turns. Shane glares at his stupid curls and turns back to Rose. “Yeah, whatever, fuck him,” Shane rolls his eyes. “Oh, did something happen?” Rose asks curiously, waggling her brows. “Don’t tell me the besties actually fought.” Shane scratches the back of his head sheepishly at that. “Yeah…see, I don’t know what happened, either. He’s just been acting weird. It’s whatever.” Rose raises her eyebrows, unconvinced. “Right. It looks like both of you are just so happy now.” “Ha-ha, funny.” “He’ll come around, Shane! Don’t worry about it,” she says, smiling like she knows something he doesn’t, then reaches out her hand for a handshake. “Anyway, you have me now! Friends?” Shane smiles, then shakes her hand. “I guess so. Thanks, Rose.” Once the period ends, he walks out like he’s been doing lately, alone. He sighs, annoyed. Then a hand grabs his shoulder. He turns around to find Ilya looking a little upset. “Oh. What do you want?” Shane asks a bit meanly. Sue him. Not his fault Ilya hasn’t been saying anything at all about what’s going on. “What did she say?” Now, Shane’s confused. “What? Who?” Ilya huffs at that, looks down, glares at the ground. “Oh, you know. Rose Landry.” “What’s it to you? I can’t have any other friends now that one of them isn’t talking to me?” Ilya’s silent now, face filled with regret, hurt, and jealousy? Shane’s getting whiplash from all the confusion from this whole ordeal, and he snaps. “Why the hell have you been ignoring me, Ilya? Did I do something wrong? You won’t even look at me,” Shane exclaimed. Testing a theory, he tries reaching for Ilya’s hand only to be met with yet another rejection. “See! You won’t even touch me anymore. You just look uncomfortable all the time. If you don’t like me anymore, just fucking say so!” “Shane, no, I don’t–I like you, okay?” he mumbles. “I feel like I like you too much.” “What was that?” Ilya looks up at Shane’s eyes and stares him down. “You’ll hate me.” More than I do now? I doubt it, he muses internally. “Just say it. Rip the fucking band-aid off already,” he says, resigned. Ilya grumbles and drags them out of the hallway to a deserted area outside and sits them on a bench. He lets go of Shane’s hand and starts speaking. “You looked very happy back there. With Rose Landry,” he says, voice flat. “Are we back to this again, Ilya? We’re just friends! Why does it matter anyway,” Shane says angrily. “It’s not like you care anymore.” “I do,” Ilya replies quickly. “I care so much, Shane. I don’t like it when you look like that with other people.” Ilya sighs and turns to hold Shane’s face in his palms. “You are so pretty, Shanya, did you know that?” Shane’s face is heating up. Probably. He doesn’t know. All he feels is Ilya’s tender gaze on him, and he realizes then just how much he actually missed Ilya. He thinks it must suck only getting a part of him all of the time. Ilya Rozanov with his jokes and laughter, but without his kind eyes and silent thoughts. Ilya with his sweet words and lovely smile, but without the entangled fingers and forehead kisses that used to come as a package. Just for Shane, and only for Shane. He says nothing, in the end. Because what even is the right response for this situation? Ilya caresses Shane’s cheekbones with his thumbs, and Shane already knows he’s looking at his freckles. Shane thinks he might be a little in love with Ilya Rozanov. Just a tiny bit. It’s kind of impossible not to be. “You’ve been torturing me, Shane,” Ilya says softly. “You are so…” He’s looking at Shane so intensely, with a look that he can’t name. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, okay? Just too much sometimes. How much I…” Shane just tilts his head, signaling him to go on. “I want to do everything with you, Shane. I want to be stuck with you until we are so tired, and I want to play hockey with you until legs cramp, and Yuna gets mad because we get injured and can’t play. I want to look at you, and talk with you, and sit with you like this,” he grabs Shane’s hands. “Like this. I want to see the stars in your face, and see all the different Shanes. I want to see happy Shane, sad Shane, angry kitty Shane.” He boops Shane’s nose. “I want to be everything with you. Because I like you. Too much. You will get annoyed and hate me forever if you knew how much,” Ilya says, cupping Shane’s cheeks, glances at his lips. “I’m bad at it. Is why I ignore you. I can’t or I’ll explode from too much of this. Okay? I’m sorry, Shane. Don’t be upset with me. Be mad at yourself. Because this is your fault.” He ends it with a little joke, to somehow lessen the blow he's expecting. Shane’s soul probably shriveled up and died from the moment Ilya’s mouth uttered the words I like you, but he still can’t tear his eyes away. His mouth is agape in shock, so he closes it immediately. Then he remembers and opens it again. A cycle. Ilya watches the whole thing with amusement. “Are you okay, котик?” “Oh my god, Ilya, I’m going to fucking end you,” Shane says dramatically, but the smile on his face quickly wipes out the meaning of his sentence. He meant it to be threatening, he swears. Ilya squishes his cheeks and honest to god, giggles like he did a year ago when they first met. “I’m sorry, okay?” “Okay,” Shane says, still blushing. “Okay?” Ilya laughs. Shane grabs him by the collar, and Ilya goes all wide eyes and mouth shocked open. “Why don’t you just fucking tell me next time, Ilya?” Shane says exasperatedly. Then he shuts Ilya’s retort by gently melting his lips on the other boy’s. Oh my fucking God. The kiss is exactly like the movies say, Ilya thinks. He thinks he tastes cinnamon, and vanilla, and the unique taste of Shane on his tongue, and pleads with the universe that he stays here forever. After a few seconds, or a few minutes, who cares, Ilya pulls away and wraps his arms around Shane’s. He never thought he’d get this again. Okay, maybe he was stupid about this whole thing. He looks up, and Shane’s already looking at him, all pink cheeks and crooked smiles. “I like you, too, Ilya,” Shane whispers, stroking the back of Ilya’s head. “Я тебя люблю.” If Ilya’s eyes tear up, it’s no one’s business but his own (and Shane’s, he thinks giddily).

Chapter End Notes

i will be honest, i only started writing this because i saw leviticus in the cinema and i just HAD to rewatch but it's still not out digitally and the tickets are expensive as hell ..... therefore i throw my restless energy from the brain rot into this. makes no sense at all but that's #lore right there. Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!