Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova, Hayden Pike, Rose Landry, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Wyatt Hayes, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Brandon Wiebe, Farah Jalali, Sasha | Ilya Rozanov's Coach's Son, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Troy Barrett

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Ilya Rozanov, Actor Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Hurt Ilya Rozanov, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Ilya Rozanov is Bad at Feelings, Ilya Rozanov is a Mess, Shane Hollander Is Bad at Feelings, Shane Hollander is Trying, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use, Homophobia, Ilya Rozanov Needs Therapy, But Instead He Gets a Boyfriend, Jealous Shane Hollander, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Accidental overdose, Prescription Drug Overdose, Medical Emergency, Depression, Angst with a Happy Ending

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-24 Completed: 2026-08-21 Words: 137,639 Chapters: 19/19

Fake It (Till You Make It)

Summary

“I’ve been thinking about doing something like this for a while,” Wiebe admitted. “Though originally I was going to reach out to an actress. Get a nice, pretty, girl next door type on his arm for a year or so. Straighten out his image just enough to get him back to ‘loveable bad boy’ instead of 'on the edge of being cancelled‘. But hey, now I can kill two birds with one stone!”

Shane Hollander is a working actor in need of some exposure to get his big break. Ilya Rozanov is an international rock star in need of a reputation boost after his latest scandal. The powers that be think a PR relationship between the two will get everyone what they want.

So begins a year long, very public romance as Hollywood's latest young 'it' couple. Can Shane survive the scrutiny that comes with fame in exchange for a shot at success? Can Ilya keep it together long enough to fulfill the contract? And will either of them make it to the end date without a broken heart?

Notes

Well, that didn't take very long.
New AU that I couldn't get out of my head, hooray! For anyone who read my last Heated Rivalry fic, this one will involve a lot less research and a lot more of my own hot takes regarding Los Angeles and Hollywood as someone who grew up there.
Please note, any song lyrics that appear in this fic are courtesy of my dear friend lavenderski3s, who also beta read this one for me. Please go read their fics, they are a brilliant writer.
I am planning to upate this once a week, but my outline just keeps getting longer so we'll see. Also tags, warnings and characters are subject to change as I go, I'll make sure to flag in the notes if anything major pops up.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Shane hung up the phone with a sigh and scrubbed at his eyes. It was too early in the morning for bad news, he thought. And now the negativity would linger for the rest of the day. Excellent.

Farah’s call had woken him up just as the sun began to sneak through the blinds of his West Hollywood apartment, the buzzing loud as the phone shook the bedside table hard enough for it to hit the wall. Shane, who’s night had been somewhat restless already, had snapped awake and answered before fully registering who it was. If he had seen, he might have ignored it. But probably not.

Fortunately the information Farah had to share was not something Shane needed to be terribly awake to process. The casting director had liked him, thought he turned in a good audition, but they were going in a different direction. He’d heard it time and time again, it was nothing new. Disappointing every time? Of course. But far from new.

He knew it wasn’t Farah’s fault and he never took it out on her. She was honestly a very good agent and got him more auditions than a lot of the people he knew in the business. And it wasn’t like he never booked anything, which he attributed directly to her tenacious, no-nonsense attitude. They just hadn’t managed to find the ‘big break’ yet.

Shane Hollander had been living in LA for three years, moving down from Canada right after high school. His whole life he had loved filmmaking, every part of it - the writing, the directing, and most of all, the acting. A naturally shy, emotionally reserved person, Shane never felt more free than when he was handed a script and told to be someone else. His therapist would probably have a field day with that, if he ever got one.

High school had been all but consumed with short films, so much so that in his senior year Shane’s parents had voiced that they were worried he’d missed out on the high school experience entirely. When he asked what they meant by that, the best they could offer was “have you ever gone out with a girl?” to which Shane immediately told them he was pretty sure he was gay. They had been supportive, but had not pushed any further on the ‘high school experience’ thing after that.

In the grand scheme of Hollywood, Shane was actually pretty lucky. Sure, the first year and a half had been a nightmare of waiting tables and scrambling to get auditions with everyone else trying to break into the industry. He didn’t make friends easily and was eternally grateful to have met Hayden Pike, a semi-established hand model, early on at an improv class. The guy was almost aggressively friendly, and had been instrumental in getting Shane his first couple of auditions for commercials. From there he had met Farah, who had agreed to take him on as a client despite his relatively short resume.

A few months into working with her, he had booked a small recurring role on an HBO show. It had perhaps not been HBO’s biggest hit, but he had been well received by the audience. Enough so that he ended up being cast as the loser ex-boyfriend character in a Netlflix movie just a month later. Again, not a smash hit, but he had started gaining a bit of a cult following online. He was attractive (a fact) and a good actor (an opinion that might as well be fact, according to Hayden and his parents). He became one of those actors most people couldn’t really name but vaguely recognized once you showed them a picture.

The problem was that after a year of booking straightforward roles playing an air head, a jock, the ex-boyfriend, and even once a romantic lead in a silly Hallmark-esque Christmas movie, Shane was starting to feel a little stuck. While it was nice to not have to wait tables anymore and be able to pay the bills on his little WeHo apartment without constant fear of starving, it wasn’t really what he’d come to Hollywood to do.

Farah knew this, and he knew she wanted this for him too. She’d been working tirelessly to get him auditions for more challenging, complex roles, but the feedback was always the same. He was young, he didn’t have enough experience, he didn’t have enough edge. Well, he was Canadian. How and when was he supposed to have acquired ‘edge’?

They never said it was because he was Asian, but there were certainly times when even Shane could pick up on that feeling in an audition room. He tried to tell himself it was a good thing, that he wouldn’t want to work with anyone concerned about that anyway. It rarely made the rejection feel any better.

At the end of her call, Farah had said something about Shane coming into her office for a meeting that afternoon but had immediately said she’d text him about it. Clearly he had sounded as half asleep on the phone as he really was.

Shane sat up in bed and leaned forward to stretch out his back. He might as well get up and get his day started, he’d never had much luck falling back to sleep. Besides, 8am was as good a time to go for a run as 9am. Better, even, in the LA heat.

Throwing on a pair of running shorts and an athletic shirt, Shane stumbled out of his bedroom and into his kitchen slash living room slash dining room slash mixed use space. He had made a large batch of protein smoothies at the beginning of the week like he always did, so he opened up the refrigerator and poured himself a glass. He drank it slowly at the kitchen counter as the sun continued to rise. He was finally starting to wake up a bit when the text from Farah came through telling him to be at her office at 3pm.

Plenty of time, Shane thought. He might be able to get some writing done, if he could focus. His apartment was already warming up like it always did in the middle of July. The window air conditioning unit would kick in soon, so by the time he got back the place should be held steady at a tolerable 78 degrees. He’d turn the temperature down, but electricity was really fucking expensive. If he turned the fan on in his room and kept the blinds closed, it would probably be cool enough to ignore.

After drinking some water and placing his glass in the sink to be cleaned immediately upon his return, Shane grabbed his keys and his phone, laced up his running shoes, and headed outside.

Running in WeHo was a bit of a chore, but it was the cheapest way to exercise consistently. The sidewalks were cracked and sometimes disappeared entirely, and it was easy to get stuck behind tourists moving at a snail’s pace if you weren’t careful. Fortunately, Shane had figured out a preferred route that usually kept him from running into many people. He wasn’t famous in the way where he may be mobbed on every street corner, but he had been stopped for autographs and photos enough before that he tried to avoid crowds unless he was fully prepared.

This was the one thing about his career path that made him nervous. His level of fame was just enough that he got attention from a select group of fans, but not every moment of his life was under a microscope. Not yet, at least. He knew that was a price he may have to pay if he wanted to continue as an actor, but he tried very hard not to dwell on it.

By the time he returned to his apartment, sweaty and breathing heavily, it was closing in on 90 degrees. In the years he had lived in LA, Shane had come to really love parts of it. One thing that he would likely never appreciate was the heat.

His apartment, in comparison to the outdoors, was a sanctuary of mildly cooler air. Shane took a shower, temperature turned down a touch colder than usual, and got dressed in shorts and a t-shirt before making himself a spinach and mushroom omelette, whole wheat toast, and cantaloupe. The best part about making a little more money was being able to buy quality groceries. The starving artist diet had been harder on him than the lack of air conditioning in his first apartment had ever been.

As he sat down with his breakfast at his little kitchen/dining room table, he opened up his phone to check his social media. Personally he couldn’t care less about the stuff, but Farah had been very clear after he was on that HBO show that he should at least have a nominal presence on Instagram for people to follow. He rarely posted anything besides official press releases of projects he was working on or the rare photo of him at a premiere or branded event, but Farah had been pleased. Hayden had been over the moon and constantly sent him memes and Instagram reels even though Shane rarely responded.

The first thing that popped up on his feed was a post by TMZ. ‘Ilya Rozanov Caught Blackout At a Gay Bar in LA?’ Underneath the headline was a photograph featuring a clearly drunk man barely on his feet, stumbling out of what looked to be The Abbey, a gay bar in Shane’s neck of the woods. It wasn’t a great photo, and the man’s head was down, but even Shane could tell that they had correctly identified the subject.

Shane winced and scrolled away quickly, but the rest of the posts were not enough to distract him. Ilya Rozanov, gay? No way, he was photographed with women constantly, in every city in the world. Shane didn’t follow the music industry very closely, but it was impossible to avoid Ilya Rozanov, international super star. They didn’t run in the same circles exactly, but there was occasionally overlap. More importantly, the man was in the tabloids almost weekly for one thing or another.

Rozanov was the lead singer for one of the most commercially successful rock bands in the game, or so people have told Shane whenever they’ve pointed the other man out to him at parties or events. Tall and handsome, with curly dark blonde hair and a wicked smile, he was clearly used to being in the spotlight. He was always standing next to the most famous people in the room, usually with some jaw-dropping bombshell on his arm. Shane had never been within thirty feet of the man, only seen him from across the room, but he didn’t feel like he needed to get much closer.

Ilya came off as cocky, brash, and so so loud. Shane had never sought out the music of his band, but what he had heard on the radio or around town always sounded very… angry. Very much not Shane’s cup of tea as someone who preferred podcasts. But the people, the masses, couldn't get enough of it. Ilya and his band, whose name Shane was absently trying to remember, had sold out a world tour just the year prior, and they were expected to release a new album within the year.

While Shane rarely felt jealous of other artists, especially those in a different field from his own, he had to admit Ilya’s success was a little hard to swallow sometimes. They were the same age, and he’d only started gaining traction a couple of months before Shane had arrived in Hollywood. Somehow Ilya had skyrocketed to fame and was revelling in it, clearly doing exactly what he wanted, while Shane was in a one bedroom apartment in WeHo with a window air conditioning unit.

Still, the jealousy was always fleeting and he really only thought about the man when he was right in front of him. And here he was, in front of him because he was caught stumbling out of a notorious gay bar in Shane’s neighborhood. The usual jealousy was entirely replaced with sympathy.

He didn’t have to like Rozanov, but being outed by TMZ was a shitty thing to happen to anyone. Not that going to a gay bar confirmed Ilya was gay. He probably wasn’t, probably was just there with other people in the music industry and this whole thing would blow over tomorrow when he was photographed with his tongue down another Victoria Secret model’s throat.

Shane washed the dishes from his breakfast and plugged in his phone, trying to put the article out of his mind, but Rozanov’s photo stuck with him. When Shane had first moved away from home he had considered keeping his sexuality a secret. Being openly gay in Hollywood was not exactly the riskiest place to do so, but it was still a risk in the industry in many ways. In the end he had decided not to hide it, but he’d never come out and told anyone one way or another besides his parents and Farah. He didn’t date, usually dragged Hayden or his mom to things if he had a plus one, and hadn’t gotten famous enough for people to be too terribly interested. He’d told Farah that they would cross that bridge when they got to it, if ever.

So sure, there was a possibility he could be outed by TMZ. He wasn’t particularly worried about it, as that would mean TMZ would have to care about what he was up to (they did not), but he was also mentally prepared for everyone to know he was gay at some point. If Ilya really was gay, and this is how the world found out…

Shane shook off the whole thing and headed back into his room. He had set an alarm on his phone before plugging it in in the kitchen to remind him to leave for Farah’s around 1:30pm, since everything took over an hour to get to in LA. In the meantime, he wanted to use the several hours of free time to read some scripts Farah had sent over and work a little on his own script, a perpetual work in progress.

By the time Shane heard his alarm go off he had gotten through two of Farah’s scripts and rewritten about a page of his own work, though he imagined he’d end up rewriting that too. Still, can’t edit until it’s on the page, so he felt alright about it. He flagged the email in his inbox with the script he liked more with the intention of talking to Farah about it.

He changed into dark jeans and a button down shirt. He attempted to style his hair quickly before grabbing a chicken wrap and a ginger ale from his fridge and heading out the door. Like many apartments in LA, this meant walking directly out onto an outdoor breezeway and he briefly lamented that he couldn’t wear shorts into an office on a Wednesday in July. He hustled down the steps to his car, a sensible and affordable hybrid SUV he had gotten used when he moved out to LA.

As usual, the drive from his apartment to Farah’s office in Century City somehow took longer than seemed possible, but after nearly two years of making the drive he had mastered the timing. He was just pulling into the parking lot with ten minutes to spare when his phone rang, Farah’s name popping up on the dashboard display.

Shane frowned and answered the phone. “Hey, I’m just pulling up now,” he said, confused as to why she would be calling.

“Oh good, I caught you,” she replied with a sigh of relief. Shane frowned further.

“Is something wrong?” he asked carefully.

“No, no. Not exactly. I just. I wanted to warn you before you get in here,” Farah answered. She sounded unusually flustered for someone Shane knew to be largely unflappable. Shane pulled into a parking spot and threw the car in park, but remained inside as his anxiety grew.

“Ookay. Warn me about what, exactly?”

“I got a call early this morning, absolutely frantic, asking to meet with you asap. It was a friend of mine basically begging to cash in a favor I owed them. I didn’t get a lot of information, just that it was urgent,” He heard her huff a pained laugh. “I should have asked some follow up questions.”

Shane groaned. “Please tell me I didn’t drive here for nothing, Farah, you know I hate traffic!”

“Oh no, it’s not nothing. It’s just… a much crazier request than I expected. Definitely not an even trade on favors, I’ll tell you that. All he did was look after my cat for two weeks, this goes way beyond that,” she muttered.

“So what is it?” Shane asked.

“... You didn’t happen to see TMZ’s headline story today, did you? I know you don’t exactly seek out the tabloids but -”

“Ilya Rozanov?” Shane cut in, his mind racing.

“Yes! Oh thank god I don’t have to start from scratch. Okay, so it turns out the manager of Iron and Ice has been Rozanov’s father since they made it big, but once he saw this photo he totally freaked out on them, quit on the spot at like 5am. They called Brandon Wiebe, the friend I mentioned, and he called me.”

Shane waited for her to go on, but she fell silent. “And why did he call you?” he eventually asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “He’s a PR guy, right? I mean, this whole situation sucks, but they called the right guy, didn’t they?”

“Absolutely, he’s the best in the business. He called me because I, or more like you, are his idea for a fix.”

“Me?” Shane replied incredulously. “What do I have to do with any of this?”

“Just… please hear us out. Wiebe got here a few hours ago and gave me the full pitch. I was resistant as hell at first, this is really not the type of thing I like to get my clients involved in. I’m just asking you to hear the whole situation and make a decision from there, ok?”

Shane still didn’t really understand where this was going or how he had anything to do with the Rozanov thing. He’d felt that same flood of sympathy at hearing how his father quit as the band’s manager (Iron and Ice, that’s what they were called), that he had felt when he saw the TMZ report, but he couldn’t imagine how or why Rozanov’s PR person would be reaching out to Shane for anything.

The clock on the dash of the car hit three. “I’m coming up, give me a second,” he grumbled. He trusted Farah, believed she had his best interests at heart. He would hear out whatever this was about.

He was going to fire Farah.

In fact, he might just call the whole acting thing quits and move back to Ottawa. He’d tried it, found minor success at it, but there was no shame in giving it up. Maybe he could go to college, become an accountant or something.

Anything would be better than sitting across a conference room table from Brandon Wiebe as he presented the most ludicrous PR stunt in the history of Hollywood, with Shane right in the center of it.

“We would have it all drawn up in a contract, of course,” Wiebe was saying. He’d been talking for over an hour, and Shane had yet to say a word beyond ‘excuse me?’ way back at the beginning. The man had been on a roll, barely stopping to breathe. He was a relatively young man for this line of work, clearly at the top of his game as a PR manager, but Shane could tell it had been a very, very long day for him.

Farah had been next to Shane the entire time, not saying a word either. He kept expecting for her to jump in and reveal he was being pranked. While he had no patience for pranks, especially not elaborate time wasters like this, it would be better than knowing she had heard this same pitch and somehow come out the other side thinking this was a good idea.

“So, what do you think?” Wiebe finished. He was leaning forward over the table, a real but tired smile on his face. Shane blinked, then blinked again. His mouth was dry from hanging open for at least the last half hour.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

“As the plague, Mr. Hollander. As the plague,” Wiebe replied gravely.

The pitch, boiled down to its basics, was this - Ilya’s father had dropped the band as soon as the implication that his son could be gay became public, apparently having already left the country to return to Russia. After that, Ilya had immediately refused to deny the accusations, instead wanting to publicly clarify that he was bisexual. Shane had been a little impressed upon hearing that, though he was simultaneously reeling from the fact that TMZ had actually been kind of on the money with their shitty exposé.

The problem was that Ilya already had a bit of an image problem, something Shane had largely missed due to his lack of interest in celebrity gossip. He was increasingly viewed as spinning out of control, falling off the rails. Being popular with women was one thing, but there had been more and more instances of him being photographed drunk or high in public, he was often late to shows, and, according to Wiebe, he’d had his social media taken over by the PR firm after some less than flattering altercations with people online. Apparently he was also falling further and further behind on writing new music for the band’s next album.

So far they had been able to clean up after him, but this was something new. Wiebe was worried about Ilya’s image taking any more hits now that he wanted to be publicly out, and instead wanted to spin the situation to their advantage.

“I’ve been thinking about doing something like this for a while,” Wiebe admitted. “Though originally I was going to reach out to an actress. Get a nice, pretty, girl next door type on his arm for a year or so. Straighten out his image just enough to get him back to ‘loveable bad boy’ instead of 'on the edge of being cancelled‘. But hey, now I can kill two birds with one stone!”

A PR relationship. That’s what Wiebe wanted from Shane. He was asking for Shane to ‘date’ Ilya, publicly, for a set amount of time to help improve Ilya’s image.

“You’re perfect, you really are. Not too big of a name so it doesn’t come off as fake. You don’t have a significant online presence we need to worry about. Everyone who’s worked with you likes you, not a negative word on the street. You’re a guy, so it doesn’t look like we’re trying to bury or brush aside that he’s bisexual. Instead it looks like ‘hey world, I didn’t get to come out on my terms but now that I’m out I’m going to live my truth.’ You know?”

“But,” Shane managed to say, “I’m not out. Like, publicly.”

Wiebe winced. “Yeah, Farah mentioned that. But she also mentioned you weren’t opposed to people knowing. You were just waiting for a reason. Meeting a handsome, famous man that wants to date you publicly could be your reason!”

Shane felt like he was going into shock. “But he doesn’t want to date me! We’ve never even spoken! You want me to come out publicly for a fake relationship?”

“Shane,” Farah cut in, “ I know how it sounds. It’s a big ask, enormous actually,” she said the last part with a glare towards Wiebe. “But think about it. Being seen with Ilya, photographed with him, attending events with him. The exposure you would get from that would be more than money can buy. More people would be talking about you, more directors would know your name, more doors would be open almost immediately.”

“They would be talking about me because I would be photographed hanging off of a spiralling rock star going through a PR crisis, not because of me!” he cried, hurt that Farah thought this was remotely necessary.

“Hey now, he’d be on his best behavior,” Wiebe cut in. “That’s the whole point. The second he does something crazy or publicly embarrassing for you, the deal is off, terminated on site. You walk away with no repercussions.”

“Besides being permanently branded Ilya Rozanov’s first gay ex,” he replied through gritted teeth. Wiebe shrugged.

“It’ll look much worse for him. It’s a massive gamble I’m taking, but one I’m willing to take.” He sighed and rubbed at his face before meeting Shane’s glare with pleading eyes.

“Ilya… he’s a good kid. A really, really good kid. Life hasn’t been easy on him, and confidentially, I am actually thrilled his father cut and ran. Getting that man out of the country and away from Ilya may be the best thing TMZ has ever done. This is the best opportunity I have seen to get him straightened out before things go too far. He loves the music, he loves performing. The rest of it has just… gotten in the way.”

Shane took in Wiebe’s expression and found nothing but sincerity. He wasn’t the best at reading people, but he could tell Wiebe believed what he was saying at least. And there was something in the way Wiebe talked about Ilya’s love for his art that struck a chord with Shane. He understood feeling like there was too much extra stuff in the way of doing what he really wanted. And that whole thing about his dad…

Was he actually considering this? It would mean being out publicly, no going back. The idea wasn’t abhorrent. He’d always intended to come out at some point. If he ever wanted to have a relationship that didn’t need to be in the shadows around the clock, it was an inevitability. But was this really the way he wanted to go about it?

And did he want to lie to the public about being in a relationship with a man just to get his name out there? He’d never exactly been after that kind of fame, or the privacy issues that came with it. Ideally he would be able to work on projects that really spoke to him and continue living mostly under the radar, though perhaps with slightly better air conditioning.

But Hollywood was Hollywood and that ideal situation was incredibly unlikely. The only people who got to do exactly what they wanted were the ones wealthy and famous enough to get blank checks. Shane was currently stuck taking what he could get to make sure the bills remained paid. It was far from the worst situation to be in, but it left him very little time or money to pursue his own creative vision. If he could just do a couple of bigger projects, get in the same rooms as people he wanted to work with, maybe he could go after what he really wanted. 

Shane rang his hands together nervously. Both Wiebe and Farah were looking at him, waiting for an answer. “But… is he even ok with this? Like I said, we’ve never even met. He probably doesn’t even know who I am.”

Wiebe waved off the concern. “At this point, I only give so much of a damn what he thinks about it. He is well aware he has forced my hand, I assure you,” he said with a wry smile.

Shane bit his lip. He looked at Farah, who shrugged sympathetically. “It wouldn’t even take up that much of your time,” she offered gently. “A few public dates a month, a red carpet or two. All outlined in the contract, of course. And there would be a hard deadline for your ‘amicable breakup’, unless something happens earlier that would break the terms of the contract. You wouldn’t sign a thing until our lawyers looked over every line,” she finished by once again glaring at Wiebe, who simply nodded.

“Look, I’m really not trying to get one over on you here, Shane. I recognize how big of an ask this is. But I swear to you, the benefits will far outweigh any concerns you may have. The tide of public opinion is starting to shift on Ilya and he knows it. He really, really needs this. I wouldn’t be asking if we weren’t desperate.”

Shane drummed his fingers on the dark wood of the conference room table. The air conditioning in the building hummed quietly, the room ice cold. A quick glance out the window showed that the sun was still high in the sky, though it felt like Shane had lived several years since pulling into the parking structure downstairs.

“I want to meet with him. Before I agree,” Shane finally said. Wiebe grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Yes! Yes, absolutely yes. Of course, that can absolutely be arranged. When’s a good time for you?”

Shane glanced over at Farah, who seemed borderline shocked Shane had even given in this much. She looked at Wiebe.

“Well, when is Ilya-”

“He can be free whenever I need him to be,” Wiebe cut in with a smile.

The two began going back and forth, discussing logistics, as Shane sat back in his chair and tuned them out. He was seriously considering it. A PR relationship with Ilya fucking Rozanov, international rock star. Apparently a rock star slipping into real trouble in the public eye, who had just been outed by TMZ and was refusing to be shoved back into the closet. He would help Ilya come across as likeable, grounded, maybe even romantic. And Ilya would help make his name relevant and interesting to Hollywood, open doors that so far had been firmly shut.

He’d meet with Ilya, he decided. Maybe the meeting would be a disaster. Or maybe tomorrow he would wake up and realize the idea was utter lunacy and call it off. He nodded to himself, a decision made for the time being.

He was sure that by the time the meeting happened, he’d have talked himself out of the whole thing. Surely.

Chapter End Notes

I'd say sorry to The Abbey for dragging it into this, but I'm not.

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

Let's make a deal.

Chapter Notes

PSA, please don't mix alcohol and prescription antidepressants. The things Ilya does should not be considered good advice. His coping mechanisms in this are not going to be ~healthy~.

By the time Shane was once again seated in Farah’s office, this time with a laptop in front of him and Farah next to him, he had still somehow not reached the conclusion that he should abandon ship.

It had been two days since he’d been ambushed with the PR stunt and nearly every waking moment had been consumed with attempting to talk himself out of it. It should have been an easy thing to do, considering every part of the plan was bad. Yet somehow, when the time came to have his requested meeting with Ilya Rozanov, Shane had showed up to Farah’s office with his hair styled and wearing a soft purple, paisley printed button down that his mom said looked nice on him. 

In the end it had been decided they wouldn’t be able to meet in person, for a number of reasons. There was nowhere they could meet without it being suspicious, and while Shane was largely safe from paparazzi Ilya certainly was not. If they were caught entering either Wiebe’s or Farah’s offices at the same time and then their ‘relationship’ became public, there was a real chance of the PR nature of it being sniffed out. The same went for Ilya going to Shane’s apartment (which Shane had vetoed immediately) and Shane going to Ilya’s mansion in the hills. While the whole area had good security, there was almost constantly paparazzi lurking, photographing all comings and goings. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Shane was secretly happy to not be going to Ilya’s house. For one, he wanted this conversation on at least semi-neutral territory. For another, he didn’t think seeing all of Ilya’s success and wealth on display before even really meeting the man would exactly endear him to Shane. 

So it had been determined they would have this conversation over video chat, with Wiebe and Farah on the line as well. Shane had been the one to decide to come into Farah’s office and have the two of them on together. The internet in the conference room was better than his home, and the setting was a bit more professional. This was, after all, a business deal. 

At exactly 2pm Farah opened the video call to find Brandon Wiebe already on. He was clearly in his own office, a gorgeous view of the Sierra Nevada mountains out his window and a mountain of paperwork at his elbow. As the call connected he looked up and smiled broadly into the camera. 

“Farah, Shane. So glad you could join, thank you again for this!” he said. Shane held back his desire to roll his eyes. He hadn’t yet decided what to think about Brandon Wiebe. Shane had never had to work closely with a PR manager for more than one off events, but Wiebe was a big name in the business. He seemed nice enough, but if this scheme was anything to go by he was clearly willing to push the envelope for his clients. 

“Hello Wiebe,” Farah replied. “Where’s your client?” Wiebe waved his hand. 

“He’ll be here, if he has any sense left at all. I told him to be on this call or I would have to put an end to our working relationship.” Shane’s eyebrows shot up in shock. That was a very serious threat. There were plenty of other PR firms in LA that Ilya could hire, but Wiebe was well known for being an easy guy to work with. If he was that close to the end of his rope, Ilya must be a real nightmare. Awesome. 

“Seems drastic,” Farah offered, sending Shane a nervous look. She clearly thought the same. Wiebe laughed. 

“Don’t tell him I don’t mean it, it’s the only leverage I have with the kid. I wouldn’t leave him now,” he said with a tired smile. 

Farah and Wiebe chatted for a while as the clock on the wall continued to tick. Shane tried his best to listen to the conversation but every time the minute hand made a complete turn he could feel himself getting more annoyed. Their meeting had been set for 2pm and it was creeping closer to 2:15. How late was this guy going to be?

Finally another little window on the laptop opened up, and Ilya Rozanov entered the chat. 

The first thought Shane had upon seeing Ilya this up close was that for a brief moment he looked… lost. It was clear he didn’t know that the camera was on yet, and his face was drawn in a little frown, his brow furrowed. He had on a dark pair of sunglasses and he was sitting outside under a sun umbrella, the sound of rushing water like from a fountain coming through the microphone. He was fidgeting with the angle of the camera before apparently noticing that he was a part of the call. 

His whole demeanor shifted immediately. His mouth stretched into the sharp grin Shane had seen at events in the past and he sat back in what appeared to be a poolside lounge chair with a sigh. 

“Hello, handsome,” he purred. He propped one leg up on the chair and rested an arm across it, which drew attention to the fact that he was wearing bright orange swim trunks and an unbuttoned white linen shirt which showed an impressively chiseled chest that Shane did his best to ignore.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Ilya,” Wiebe groaned. “You couldn’t put pants on for this?” 

Ilya shook his head, his smile never moving. “False advertising, Wiebe. Better to be honest about what he's getting into, no?” 

Shane couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or amused at the display in front of him. On the one hand, he had come into an office building on a Saturday in business casual to have this meeting, which was technically to help save Ilya’s career and image. And instead of even attempting professionalism, this man was lounging beside his Hollywood Hills pool barely dressed. 

On the other hand, he almost appreciated the audacity. 

“Shane, Farah, this is Ilya Rozanov, my cosmic punishment for the crimes of my past life,” Wiebe said with a sigh. Ilya waved once at the camera. 

“Sorry I am late, I was… never mind,” he cut himself off with a laugh and a glance off camera. Shane frowned, his feelings about the other man moving closer to annoyance. 

“Ilya, this is Shane Hollander and his agent, Farah Jalali. If all goes well, these are the people who are going to save your career,” Wiebe continued like he hadn't heard Ilya at all. 

“My career does not need saving,” Ilya laughed. He reached just out of frame and picked up a wine glass of what Shane could only guess was sangria or something similar. As he took a deep sip, Wiebe rubbed at his temple. 

“What happened to behaving?” he grumbled. Ilya set his drink back down off screen, then threw up his hands and sat back in his seat. 

“How is this not behaving? I am behaving so, so good,” he replied, the last part said in a sultry tone. 

“Ilya,” Wiebe warned, and Ilya sighed. 

“Yes, ok, fine. Hello, Shane Hollander,” he said, his grin now turned into a pout. Shane raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Hello, Ilya Rozanov,” he offered, knowing his tone wasn’t exactly warm. Ilya smirked in response. 

“So,” Farah cut in, “the goal for today is to decide if this is a good fit. Obviously Shane and I are aware of the general idea of the agreement, but there are a lot of open questions.” 

Ilya held open his hands and smiled. “Ask away, I’m an open book,” he replied lazily. Shane saw Wiebe roll his eyes. 

Farah glanced at Shane who straightened in his chair and cleared his throat.

“Well. I guess my first question is what exactly your expectations are from this whole… fake relationship.” 

Ilya grinned. “What are yours?” he threw back. Shane scowled. 

“This is your mess I might be helping to clean up here,” he replied stiffly, “and I don’t even know what that mess is, not really.” He paused, then offered sheepishly, “I am sorry about the TMZ thing. They’re real assholes for that.” 

Ilya waved off his comment, though his smile had slipped for a moment at the mention. “It is no big thing, matter of time really. It’s what I get for being hot, rich and famous.” Shane scoffed, the annoyance returning. This man could really bring out a range of emotions in him.

Ilya sat forward, suddenly serious. “But since you ask,” he went on, “our manager decided that photo was the final straw for him and he fucked off. Obviously everyone is speculating oh, Rozanov is gay, Rozanov fucks women because he is secretly gay and scared to say it. This is not true. I fuck women because I like it, and I fuck men because I like it.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Wiebe mumbled. 

Ilya went on. “So I tell Wiebe I want to clear up that I am bisexual, and he tells me that people will look at all this and say Rozanov is more out of control than ever. Which I am not, thank you very much. I have never been so in control in my life.” He punctuated this with another long drink from his glass, this time holding onto it instead of setting it back down. 

“But Wiebe says I pay him a lot of money to make me ‘marketable’ to the public, and I am not currently ‘cooperating’ like he wants me to,” he grumbled. “So you ask what I want from this? I want my PR manager not to quit.” 

Shane barked a laugh. “That’s it?” he asked incredulously. “You don’t want this to like, reform your image or anything?” Ilya groaned. 

“I do not care about my image. I want to make music. I want to perform. I want to drink, and party, and fuck like I have for years. But now I am told people are getting nervous, they think I am too crazy, the band’s value is down. Fucking whatever.” 

Shane looked over at Wiebe’s little square to see his head down on the desk. It felt like a genuine miracle he hadn’t quit if this is what he was working with on the regular. 

“But,” Ilya ground out, bringing Shane’s attention back to him, “I do not want the band to fall apart. All of these things shouldn’t matter, but I am told they do. So I listen to Wiebe and I date pretty young actor for a year and everyone thinks I am edgy but have a heart of gold. There are worse things,” he finished quietly.  

“Do you do drugs?” Shane suddenly asked. Ilya tilted his head, his mouth ticking back up into a smirk. 

“Are you a narc?” he asked in response. Shane scowled. 

“Look man, I don’t really care. Not my thing, but whatever. I just want to know so I have a complete picture.” 

Ilya shrugged. “Sometimes. At parties, after shows.” He seemed to notice Wiebe’s scalding look and he offered, “I could cut it back, though. For this.” 

Shane nodded slowly. From an outside perspective, this wasn’t going particularly well. Ilya was clearly a massive asshole who didn’t want to admit he had a bit of a PR problem on his hands, one that was largely self-inflicted if this conversation was anything to go by. Still, Shane hadn’t exited the video chat and walked away from the situation yet. There was something about the man that suggested there was more to him than this. And the way he mentioned his father abandoning the band but only referred to him as their manager? Besides, Wiebe had vouched for him, was still at his side despite his whole… everything. 

“The details of all that would be laid out in the contract, of course,” Wiebe cut in. “There would be a section of things that Ilya might do that would constitute a breach of the agreement. Like getting caught ‘cheating’ on you, or showing up high to a show. Anything like that and you’d be let off the hook, no questions asked.” 

Shane looked at Ilya and felt a pang of sympathy as he watched the other man listen to his own PR manager listing ways they were anticipating he might fuck this up. His smile had dimmed and he was running a finger absently around the rim of his wine glass. Even if he was aware of his own behavior, hearing it thrown out there like this felt harsh. 

“Yes, yes, I will be most well-behaved rock star on the planet. No fun at all,” Ilya sighed again, his demeanor shifting back to lazy and carefree as he tipped his glass all the way back and finished off his drink. 

“And you’re ok with it being me?” Shane asked carefully. “Wiebe told us why I make sense from a logistical standpoint, but to be perfectly honest I’m kind of… boring.” 

“Boring’s exactly what we need here, kid,” Wiebe mumbled wistfully. But Ilya cocked his head to the side and looked back at Shane through the camera silently for a moment before sitting up and taking off his sunglasses. Shane was struck by the bright hazel of his eyes, which he had never seen so close up before. He was also a little surprised to see a cut under his right eye, and the slowly fading colors of a bruise. Did he fall drunk into a table or something? 

Ilya seemed to take in every part of Shane he could see through the camera. Shane sat perfectly still, feeling very much like he was under a microscope. Bearing the full weight of Ilya’s attention like this was an intense experience even with a screen between them. 

“Yes, Shane Hollander. I am ok with it being you,” he finally said before sitting back and sliding his sunglasses back on. Shane let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, mentally scolding himself for letting Ilya affect him like that. If he was going to fake date this man, he was going to have to get used to his, and others’, scrutiny. 

And Shane realized that he was, in fact, going to fake date this man. It was still a really bad idea, terrible in fact. Shane would have to pretend for a year that this walking disaster of a human, however physically attractive he may be, was what he was looking for in a romantic partner. He would have to convince the public, and more importantly his friends and family, that after years of avoiding dating or casual hookups, this was the guy he had been waiting for. His parents were going to be confused and borderline horrified, and Hayden was going to want to check him into an asylum.

But it was a business transaction with an end date. He could do this for a year, help Ilya improve his public facing image enough to get him to his next album release and tour without being cancelled. And if Ilya really could keep it together, being seen with him would most definitely open doors for Shane that had so far been slammed in his face. Doors that would grant him the creative and financial freedom he so desperately wanted.

He had been looking for a more challenging role, after all.

“Well, Shane. Perhaps we can talk about it and get back to-” Farah started, but Shane cut her off. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it. We’ll do it, I guess,” he said. Ilya’s mouth fell open in shock, and Wiebe’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. 

“You’re joking. You’re not joking. Holy shit,” Wiebe laughed. “I’ll get our lawyers started on the contract right away. NDA included, of course, can’t let the word get out there that you two aren’t just young artists falling in love…” 

Shane tuned out Wiebe as he continued outlining next steps, instead focusing on the little window with Ilya in it. The other man was looking at him with his head cocked to the side, his expression closer now to the one Shane saw so briefly at the beginning of the call. He couldn’t see Ilya’s eyes but he could feel that scrutiny again, like Ilya was trying to figure out why the fuck Shane was agreeing to this after the phone call they just had. 

Good luck, Shane thought wryly. If you figure it out, please let me know too. 

Ilya shut his laptop with a thud and flopped backwards onto his lounge chair. His head was pounding, had been since he woke up that morning. Probably from the lack of caffeine. Or weed. But he’d promised Wiebe he’d show up to that call relatively sober. The glass of sangria had been a bit of a cheat, but compared to his usual 2pm cocktail of antidepressants and a vodka soda he felt like a saint. 

The Los Angeles air was hot and still. The one thing money couldn’t buy, not even in the wealthiest neighborhoods in the hills, was a natural breeze. Ilya’s infinity pool reflected the sun back at him, making him grateful for the sunglasses that remained glued to his face even in the shade. 

Shane fucking Hollander. He’d actually agreed to this PR nightmare. A whole year of being stuck next to Ilya at stupid parties and photo ops, suddenly under a constant microscope of people waiting and watching for Ilya to have a complete breakdown. The only reason Ilya had originally agreed to this farce was that he had been sure Hollander would laugh in Wiebe’s face and tell him to get lost. 

Turns out he had really underestimated Shane Hollander. 

Ilya didn’t watch much TV, and he only saw movies if he went to the premiere with one of the actresses. Even then, he usually spent a majority of the movie zoned out or trying to convince the girl to sneak out early and fuck in his car. It worked about eighty percent of the time. Up until four days earlier he had only the vaguest memory of ever seeing Shane Hollander, and he wouldn’t have been able to put a name to the face with his life on the line.

It had been Svetlana who had suggested Shane to Wiebe as a potential PR relationship candidate. Unbeknownst to Ilya, his bassist had been a follower of Shane’s since his very early work. Wiebe, whose business it was to know everyone in Hollywood, had known exactly who she was talking about when she brought him up at their 6am emergency PR disaster meeting the morning TMZ had leaked that photo.  

Ilya hated that photo. He hated that it had been released, he hated that he had even been at that stupid bar. He hated that his father had gotten wind of it and immediately showed up at his house before dawn, kicked open his bedroom door, dragged him out of bed by the hair and slammed him face first into his nightstand, all before Ilya was awake enough to defend himself. 

Grigori was gone before Wiebe and the rest of the band arrived, and Ilya had cleaned himself up and put on sunglasses before they could see the brand new black eye his father had bestowed as a parting gift. He’d told Wiebe the next day that it had happened at the bar. He’d tried telling Svetlana that as well, but he was pretty sure she hadn’t bought it.

Ilya had been almost impressed by how quickly Wiebe had put together a plan after hearing Ilya’s still semi-drunk ravings about not wanting to deny being queer. Perhaps on another day Ilya might have considered leaving it alone or kicking the can down the road as to his sexuality, but after taking a beating from his father and being called an abomination and a disgrace he had been adamant about sticking it to the old fucker. He was effectively disowned anyway, what did he have to lose? 

He wouldn’t be able to go back to Russia. His label sponsored his visa so at least he wasn’t in danger there. He’d lived in Boston for over a decade before the band blew up so it wasn’t like he was homesick for Moscow anymore. There was really only one thing there that he cared about, and his father had forbidden both him and his brother from visiting their mother’s grave for years anyway. 

It was abundantly clear, as Ilya had sat gripping the edge of his couch cushions trying not to vomit from the alcohol still coursing through his veins and the pain shooting through his head courtesy of his father, that Wiebe had been planning something like this for a while. Ilya wasn’t stupid, despite what a lot of tabloids seemed to think. He was well aware of the way people spoke about him, how he had gotten too famous too quickly and was going off the rails. 

There were days when this mattered to him. Sometimes he would wake up, shivering on a comedown from a night of vodka and cocaine, and feel consumed with shame. The one thing he had always been good at had been music, and the last couple months he had let it slip further and further away. He was letting his bandmates, his friends, down because he couldn’t get a grip. It wasn‘t just that people were talking shit. It was that they were closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. 

The problem was there were other days where he just didn‘t care. About anything, really. He’d skip his antidepressants and go out to try and feel like a part of the world around him, and the world around him was filled with beautiful people, free drinks, and a constant supply of drugs. The music was falling by the wayside because he couldn’t write anything while he was drunk or high, and not being drunk or high meant he was alone with his thoughts. 

And then he would wake up the next morning and the shame would be back. 

Ilya had barely been able to process what Wiebe had deemed necessary to fix his situation before Svetlana was dragging him back to his room to quote “get some more sleep, idiot”. She shoved a bottle of water at him but refused to get him painkillers, instead just pushing him gently back onto his bed and politely ignoring the overturned nightstand and shattered lamp. 

When he’d woken up again just past noon, she had still been in the house. He’d dragged himself into the kitchen where she had laid out a spread of greasy diner food Cliff, their drummer, had apparently gone out and gotten. The shame was back. He didn’t deserve any of them. 

“Eat,” she’d ordered, and he obeyed. His whole body hurt, though the pain centered around his cheek and eye. He’d slid his sunglasses back on before walking out of his room, since most of the house was glass fucking walls. The only room in the house besides the soundproof music room that wasn’t filled with LA sunshine from dawn to dusk was his own bedroom, which featured the heaviest blackout curtains money could buy. 

Ilya grabbed a fork and began eating scrambled eggs directly from the takeout box with a groan. Svetlana had given him a few moments of peace before launching in at him. 

“Grigori left for Russia on the 7am flight,” she said. Ilya grunted in response. He wasn’t surprised. He vaguely remembered the man yelling something about ‘taking the first flight out of this shithole country’ as he’d kicked Ilya repeatedly in the ribs. 

“We have no manager,” she continued, popping a strawberry into her mouth. Ilya was grateful that she was talking business instead of trying to ask about the emotions connected with his father abandoning them. 

“We will get another,” he replied. His voice was hoarse, likely from a combination of chain smoking the night before and screaming at Wiebe that morning. He barely remembered how that meeting had gone down, but he could feel that he’d gotten pretty loud. 

“You will have to double what we pay Wiebe for this, you know,” Svetlana continued with a grin. “Whatever we pay now, it is not enough.” 

Ilya huffed a laugh. “I will send him a fruit basket,” he said before shoveling another forkful of eggs into his mouth. Svetlana pushed a plastic cup of orange juice across the counter, which Ilya picked up and drank from greedily. 

“So do you think he will agree to it? The plan?” Svetlana asked. Ilya set down the nearly empty cup and looked at her from behind his sunglasses before nodding slowly. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You don’t remember the plan, do you?” He shook his head no. 

She reminded him of the plan. He doubled over immediately, laughing so hard he almost threw up his eggs and orange juice. 

“Who the fuck would agree to that?” he gasped as he slid onto a stool at the counter, eyes watering and stomach aching. 

“Well, he’s meeting with Hollander and his agent today at 3, so I guess we will find out,” she replied with a shrug. “I think it’s a great idea, if you can behave for a fucking year,” she muttered the last part under her breath, but Ilya heard. He winced slightly, the shame flaring up again. 

“Why this guy?” he asked, trying to focus. There was no way this was going to happen, but if Svetlana had been part of the plan then he owed it to her to listen. 

“He’s just the right kind of famous,” she said as she leaned back in her chair. “Not so famous where everyone will think it is for PR-” 

“Which it is,” Ilya pointed out wryly. She waved him off. 

“He is a nice boy, very well liked. No drama, no scandal. He is early in his career, but he’s been good in what he’s booked.” 

“You’re a fan?” Ilya teased. She shrugged and tossed her hair. 

“A little bit. I think he could be great in the right role, maybe even awards material.” 

“And you are the expert on good acting,” he drawled, then ducked just in time to miss the croissant she threw at his head. 

“Ilya, be serious. Wiebe wanted someone nice and scandal-free, and after you started yelling about not wanting to deny being queer and how your dad could go fuck himself, we had to start thinking of hot young men who fit that bill. There aren’t that many of them who are out, you know!” 

Ilya winced upon hearing that he’d yelled about Grigori to the whole band and Wiebe, but he pushed on. “And this Shane Hollander, he is out?” 

Svetlana pursed her lips. “Not exactly. His fans seemed to think he might be gay, but there are always fans that think their favorite actor is gay. Still, I don’t think Wiebe would have scheduled that meeting with Shane’s agent if he didn’t think so too. Wiebe knows everything, you know this.” 

Ilya tipped his head, conceding the point. “Still, he could be out and proud and still not want to touch a PR relationship with a ten foot pole,” he pointed out. Svetlana nodded. 

“True. It could be massive for him though, I hope Wiebe makes that clear. Shane’s got a little following, and he’s staying booked, but he’s far from mainstream. Hollywood is tough to break out in, especially for people of color. You take him to some events, he gets to talk to people that would usually ignore him or never hear his name. Though how you can ignore that face, I do not know,” she sighed. 

Ilya frowned. Svetlana was right, it was a pretty good plan from his side. Shane sounded like the nice boy next door, a handsome, inoffensive sweetheart. If Ilya could convince the public that he, out of control Ilya Rozanov, was able to romance and seriously date someone like that for a year, his whole reputation would take a one-eighty. Even after they broke up, as long as it wasn’t due to Ilya’s unhinged behavior, he’d come away looking capable and grounded. Marketable, as Wiebe would say. 

The question was, could he actually straighten himself out for an entire year? 

In the midday light of his multi-million dollar mansion, with Svetlana here and sharing lunch with him, it felt possible. Would it feel as possible in the dead of night when he couldn’t sleep without either sleeping pills or liquor? 

“Show me this Shane Hollander,” he grumbled. Svetlana grinned and pulled out her phone. 

When Wiebe had called to say Shane was willing to consider the idea, Ilya had been genuinely surprised. After scrolling through the other man’s (boring) Instagram, he had been convinced he’d never say yes. They hadn't been kidding when they said he was scandal-free. He was borderline personality-free based on his social media presence. 

Hot, though. Huge brown eyes, high cheekbones, and dark hair Ilya could easily imagine running his fingers through. He hadn’t had sex with nearly as many men in his life as he had women, mostly because it had always been easy to get women into bed with him whereas men were a little more of a gamble, but it didn’t take much of an imagination to picture how his fingers would look tangled in the other man’s hair as his head bobbed between his legs. 

Sue him, he liked pretty people. 

Ilya almost couldn’t believe Shane had agreed to talk to him, but Wiebe had continued talking like the whole thing was a done deal. 

“And you are going to be on time and sober to this call, or so help me Ilya Rozanov,” he’d warned. Ilya had agreed, half expecting the meeting to be cancelled whenever Shane Hollander’s senses returned to him. 

But it wasn’t cancelled. At 2pm on Saturday afternoon, llya had sat down on one of his poolside lounge chairs, umbrella up so he could see the screen, and stared at the video call link for several minutes trying to squash the anxiety creeping up his throat. 

He hadn’t done a damn thing since the moment he woke up, which had been just after eleven, but still. He had laid in bed, stared at the ceiling, and tried to ignore his pounding headache. He was as sober as he ever was, having taken his morning dose of antidepressants and not having had any alcohol since the night before. He’d given in and poured a glass of sangria before coming outside to have something to hold and to calm his nerves. 

All things considered, he felt like he’d listened pretty well to Wiebe. He wasn’t even fifteen minutes late by the time he joined the call. He threw out some lazy attempt at convincing the others he had been too occupied to join on time, instead of sitting alone for hours quietly panicking.

Shane Hollander had been both exactly what he’d expected from Svetlana’s explanation and nothing like it at all. His hair had been neatly styled and he’d been dressed like they were going to go over Ilya’s taxes. Ilya had held back his desire to laugh in his face when he asked if Ilya did drugs, but couldn’t help being a little charmed by his scowl upon being called a narc. He’d tried not to let it show how much the TMZ stunt bothered him when Shane brought it up, but he was a little touched by his sympathy. 

Ilya decided to be honest, probably more so than Wiebe would have preferred if his facial expressions during the call were anything to go by. Ilya knew this was Wiebe trying to help him, and he appreciated it. But Shane had his own life, his own career to think about. Chaining himself to Ilya for a year with nothing but the flimsy promise that Ilya would ‘behave’ was borderline sadomasochistic. 

Hearing Wiebe spell out some of the potential reasons Shane could get out of the contract if Ilya fucked up was not his favorite part of the call. 

“And you’re ok with it being me?” Shane had asked. Ilya had laid it all out there for the other man to judge. He had admitted, at least in a minor way, that he often struggled to care about his public image. That he was aware of how it was affecting his music and his relationships with the band and others, but sometimes that still wasn’t enough to get him to care. He’d mostly done it to satisfy Wiebe, to show he was actually trying to make this work. And here Shane Hollander was, seemingly unsure whether he was going to measure up in Ilya’s eyes when Ilya was the one in need of help. 

Even if he had been in a position to be picky, Ilya would have answered the exact same. He wasn’t sure he and Shane would get along. They probably wouldn’t. Ilya was a difficult person to like and he was well aware of that. But Shane seemed as good an option as any as a last ditch effort to rehab his image. 

He was still struck dumb when Shane said he’d do it. 

Now that the call was over, and he was once again alone, Ilya reached over and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the table next to his lounge chair and lit one with shaky fingers. He’d done good today, he deserved this, he thought. He’d just agreed to a year of semi-sobriety, the extent of which he would only know upon reading this fucking contract that Wiebe seemed so keen on. If he knew Wiebe he likely had the first draft drawn up the second he’d left that meeting with Hollander and his agent two days ago. There’d probably be a draft in his email within the hour. 

He should have said no. He should have laughed in Wiebe’s face and fired him, though in his defense he had been too drunk and in too much pain to really grasp the plan when originally presented. But he’d had several days to put a stop to this and he just… hadn’t. He’d really expected Shane Hollander, the nice, sensible young man, to pull the plug. 

And he hadn’t. Even after listening to Ilya bitch and moan about how much he didn’t care about his image, he still agreed to a PR relationship. 

“He must really want to be famous,” Ilya muttered to himself as he exhaled a plume of smoke. He let his head hit the back of the lounge chair and winced as he heard the little ding come from his laptop signalling an email entering his inbox.

This was going to be a very long year. 

Chapter End Notes

Oh Shane, you have no idea what you have gotten into.
Next week - the "meet cute".

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary

Fancy running into you here.

Chapter Notes

Being the first person to an event where you don't know anyone and are already anxious about attending? Hell on earth.

The end of this chapter gets a little spicy because Ilya is a freak.

Shane stood in front of the floor length mirror that hung from his bedroom door and checked over his outfit for the fourth time. He glanced at the selection of shirts laid out on his bed, glanced back at the mirror, and groaned. He’d been at this for half an hour, and he really needed to go. He had a staged meet-cute to attend. 

After a few days of back and forth negotiations, Farah had presented Shane with a contract she and her firm’s lawyers had been happy with. 

“Honestly, this thing is one of the more impressive contracts I’ve ever seen, and it is really generous to you,” she’d said on the phone after emailing an encrypted copy of the contract over to Shane. “Wiebe meant it when he said he wasn’t trying to screw you over. Almost all of the restrictions in here are on Ilya.” 

Shane had read every line, and quickly realized she wasn’t kidding. It was absolutely brutal from Ilya’s perspective. The section listing all of the potential things Ilya could do that would render the agreement void was almost its own page. Exposed ‘cheating’, public use of hard drugs, public indecency, overdose, arrest. Even getting a speeding ticket was apparently a good enough reason for Shane to call the whole thing off with no consequences. 

Even the section that affected Shane the most was still largely targeted at Ilya. It outlined the minimum required public appearances and events the two of them were expected to be seen at, the number of drinks they could consume at these events, how long they had to stay, how many pictures they needed to pose for. It was incredibly detailed and downright controlling. Shane wasn’t too bothered by it, having little interest in partying and drinking anyway, but this had to be unprecedented amounts of control for Ilya to concede to.

The agreement also detailed the way expenses for the whole endeavor would be covered, which Shane had not anticipated. Farah and the lawyers had argued that Shane’s living expenses should be covered for the duration of the agreement so that he would be able to work around Ilya’s schedule more freely without worrying about paying the bills. He was still free to go to auditions, encouraged even, but he didn’t have to worry about it for the time being if he didn’t want to. 

Shane had felt weird about that. He didn’t like the idea of being paid to date Ilya, that wasn’t the deal. He had brought it up to Farah, who had tried her best to make him feel better about it. 

“You’ll still need to have an income for other expenses, the agreement just covers your rent and utilities. I couldn’t even get them to agree to cover groceries,” she’d grumbled. 

Secretly Shane didn’t mind that. He definitely would feel weird about eating food paid for by his weird PR relationship. 

In the end he had agreed to the living expenses because the number of appearances he was going to be making would make it difficult to work steadily. He had to be a little realistic, at least. And if it meant he got to run his air conditioning a bit more, well that was between him and the thermostat. 

Not even a week after he’d gone into Farah’s office to meet with Wiebe for the first time, he signed the agreement. Ten minutes later he received a notification that Ilya had signed too. His phone buzzed with an email directly from Wiebe, also encrypted. 

“There’s a charity auction R attends every year happening this Friday night, we can get you a ticket. Medium sized crowd, you shouldn’t be too out of place. Perfect spot to run into him for the first time. 8pm, Gallery 825. Dress nice but not too nice.” 

Which is why Shane was now standing in front of the mirror holding up yet another shirt trying to decipher what the fuck Wiebe meant by that. 

He had never attended a charity art auction before. It was the type of thing people with money to burn did, and he didn’t have that kind of money. He was frankly a little surprised Ilya was going, let alone that it was something he attended annually as a twenty two year old rock star. He’d never heard of the other man being interested in art, and it certainly wasn’t forefront on his robust social media.

Shane glanced at the clock on his bedside table and groaned. 7:30. Fortunately the gallery Wiebe mentioned wasn’t far from his place, but he wasn’t sure about the parking situation which made him extra nervous. He needed to go. 

He decided what he had on would have to do. He’d landed on a black shirt with an off white blazer and matching pants, hoping it gave him an approachable vibe with a little bit of edge. 

He was aware he was overthinking. 

Decision made, he checked his hair in the mirror one last time before grabbing his wallet and keys and heading out the door. 

The drive to the gallery took only the 15 minutes his GPS had told him it would, meaning that by the time he got there he was 10 minutes early. Of all the times for LA traffic to not slow him down. He was horrified to drive up and discover the only option for parking was valet, meaning he would have to get out of his car and stand outside until they opened the doors. Finding this unacceptable, Shane decided to drive into the neighborhood behind the gallery and sit in his car until 8pm. 

The clock on the dash seemed to take an eternity to tick up each minute. Shane had turned off his hockey podcast about three minutes after parking, his mind racing too much to focus on the breakdown of the Ottawa Centaurs’ off-season moves. He considered just leaving his car and walking the handful of blocks to the gallery, but it was still close to 90 degrees even though the sun had gone down and he didn’t want to be visibly sweaty when he arrived. 

Finally the clock showed 8:05. Fashionably late, he told himself as he threw the car back into drive and made his way back to the valet. There were a few people milling about and the doors were now open, so at least he wasn’t the very first person to arrive. His car stuck out like a sore thumb among the Audis and BMWs, but there was nothing he could do about that. 

Shane thanked the valet and straightened his jacket nervously as he approached the door, mildly concerned they would turn him away even though he had a ticket. He was relieved when the well dressed man waiting there scanned the barcode and smiled. 

“Welcome, Mr. Hollander. Please enjoy our complimentary refreshments while you peruse the art. Bids can be made on the notepads on the tables in front of the pieces, please be sure to include your name, phone number and address,” he said. 

Shane nodded with what he hoped was a convincing smile, immediately disposing of the information. He was well aware he would not be bidding on any of the art tonight. If he wrote down an address with an apartment number in it, he’d probably be escorted from the building. 

The refreshments were a complete spread of charcuterie laid out along one wall. From a cursory glance, Shane wasn’t positive how much of it was edible and how much of it was decorative. Fortunately he had eaten at home before leaving and he was far too nervous to eat anything more at this point, so at least he wouldn’t accidentally look like an idiot for eating a plastic grape. 

He did however pick up a glass of champagne. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but the agreement said he could have up to three glasses of wine at any event and it was nice to have something to do with his hands. 

Shane began to slowly meander around the gallery, taking in the art. He would never claim to be much of a connoisseur and he certainly didn’t know any of the artists on display that evening, but he could see the appeal in some of the pieces. He’d done a little research on the event - apparently it was an annual auction where artists donated their work and the money from sales went to mental health non-profits. A worthy cause, even if it did feel like a roundabout way to get wealthy people to donate money in Shane’s opinion. 

A quick glance at his watch showed it was already getting close to 8:30, and Shane sighed. He didn’t know what time Ilya was supposed to be there, and even if he did he figured the man would be late. The agreement hadn’t stipulated that he always had to be perfectly punctual. Shane figured that was an actual impossibility and Wiebe had wanted to at least give Ilya an ounce of grace. 

Shane took a sip of his champagne and stood in front of a small sized canvas near the back corner of the gallery. It was one of the more straightforward pieces in the room that Shane had seen. It was a landscape, the main focus being a frozen lake surrounded by large evergreen trees covered in a dusting of snow. Off in the distance up against the lake was a cottage. Light was glowing out of the windows and smoke was rising up from the chimney into the cloudy sky. 

It felt a little strange to have a landscape of a winter lake included in this auction, especially in the dead of summer. Everything else had been modern sculptures or bold, eye-catching canvases. This seemed more like something Shane’s mom might have up on the wall in his childhood dining room in Ottawa. A quick glance down at the bidding paper showed no one had made an offer yet. He wasn’t surprised, but it made him a little sad. 

Shane was so lost in thought staring at the painting that he didn’t notice someone approaching him until they spoke. 

“Do you like this one?” a semi-familiar voice suddenly said. Shane jumped and almost spilled some of the champagne in his nearly full glass at the sound. He scowled and turned to scold the man for sneaking up on him but was immediately silenced at the sight before him. 

For the first time Ilya Rozanov was standing in front of him in person, and he cleaned up nice. He was dressed in a dark suit, though Shane couldn’t quite tell if it was black or a very dark navy in the dim gallery light. He had on a white shirt and a tie, but his shoes appeared to be worn leather boots instead of some kind of dress shoe. His hair was perfectly messy and had likely taken longer to style than Shane had spent picking out a shirt. Or maybe he just woke up like that. 

He still had on those massive blackout sunglasses, even though the sun had been down for over an hour and they were indoors. Shane decided to cling to how obnoxious that was to avoid thinking about how good the rest of him looked. 

Ilya’s mouth ticked up in a smirk and he tilted his head towards the painting. “This one. Do you like it?” he asked again, his voice sounding amused. Shane flushed as he realized he had just been staring at Ilya for several seconds. He cleared his throat and looked back at the painting. Time to perform. 

“I do. It’s very different from everything else in here, you know?” he said steadily. Ilya hummed and folded his arms. He had a glass of champagne as well, which Shane decided to consider his first of the night. He had no way of knowing if Ilya had thrown back three before approaching and he honestly didn’t want to. 

“Different does not always mean good,” Ilya responded eventually. Shane frowned. 

“Not necessarily, no. I just mean it stood out to me. It feels very… homey.” 

Ilya cracked a smile and looked at Shane. “I do not know if homey is a word many people in here would use, even on this piece,” he chuckled. Shane felt himself flush with embarrassment. 

“Alright, no need to be a snobby asshole about it,” he grumbled under his breath. They were supposed to really put on a performance of them meeting for the first time, enough that other people at the auction would remember it when they went official. However, Ilya’s apparent gift for annoying Shane was on display almost immediately, and Shane had never been as good at acting when he didn’t have a script. It was why he’d only attended that one improv class where he met Hayden before abandoning the concept entirely. 

Shane saw Ilya frown before straightening his back and looking at the painting again. “It is a good word, though,” he offered after a few moments of silence. “Better than I would have come up with.”

“Oh, and what would you have said?” Shane asked testily. Ilya tapped the rip of his champagne flute against his chin thoughtfully before grinning. 

“Cold,” he said. Shane barked a laugh, which he quickly covered with his free hand. 

“Yeah, I do think I win that one then,” he chuckled. Ilya really knew how to make him experience a range of emotions, didn’t he? 

Ilya held out his right hand. “Ilya Rozanov,” he almost purred, smile razor sharp and voice just loud enough that some of the people closer to them could hear. Shane hastily switched his glass to his left hand so he could shake Ilya’s. It felt a little ridiculous to be introducing themselves like this, but it wasn’t like he knew the other man all that well yet. Besides, to the rest of the world, this had to be the first time they ever spoke.

“Shane Hollander,” he replied. Ilya nodded as he let go of Shane’s hand with a squeeze. 

“Yes, I know. You are my bassist’s favorite upcoming actor,” he said. Shane huffed a laugh and shook his head. 

“Yeah right. The bassist of Iron and Ice is a big fan of Netflix rom coms, I’m sure,” he joked. 

“Ah, so you do know who I am,” Ilya cooed. Shane rolled his eyes. “And yes, she is. She made me watch Christmas in Saskatchewan three times last holiday season. You were very good as the handsome hometown love interest. Very macho in the flannel.” 

Shane’s mouth had fallen open and he could feel his cheeks heating up. “You’re joking,” he asked, unsure of how else to respond. 

“They kept saying Saskatchewan every other line though,” Ilya continued thoughtfully. “I feel like maybe they did not trust the audience to know so much about Saskatchewan.” 

“You’ve really seen that?” Shane laughed. Ilya nodded with a lazy smile. 

“Like I said. You were very good as a handsome wood-cutting man,” he teased. He nodded back at the painting. “Is that why you like this so much?” 

Shane rolled his eyes. “I think you’re overselling how much I like it,” he replied haughtily, but he was smiling. “Honestly, it kind of reminds me of this place my parents used to have back in Ontario. It was a cottage on a lake. I spent a lot of summers and some winter holidays up there when I was a kid. We stopped going when I was in high school.” 

“Why?” Ilya asked. Shane shrugged. 

“I think they sold the place. Not sure why. I was pretty busy with my film stuff by then, I hadn’t really thought much about it until now,” he admitted. 

Ilya kept his eyes on Shane for a moment before turning back to the painting. He tilted his head to the side and hummed. 

“Maybe I just don’t get it,” he eventually sighed. Shane nudged him with his elbow and pointed at his own eyes.

“Maybe you can’t really see it because you’re wearing sunglasses indoors,” he teased. 

“Oh, yes. How did I not think of that,” Ilya gasped dramatically. He reached up and took the sunglasses off, tucking them into his shirt pocket. Shane was standing to his left so he wasn’t able to see if that black eye he’d noticed over the video call had gone away.

Ilya squinted at the painting and nodded solemnly. “I see. Hollander, you are a genius. It is the best piece in the room, no doubt,” he declared. He looked down at the paper below the painting without a bid on it and seemed to fight a smile at the sight. 

Shane huffed. “You’re making fun of me,” he sighed. He actually wasn’t hurt by the teasing, grateful things at least weren’t stilted and awkward. 

“No. It’s like you said. It is very different, and it is what you like. To you it is the best piece in the room,” Ilya corrected. “Your opinion is the only one that matters.” 

Shane hummed. “Well, when you put it like that,” he replied airly. Ilya chuckled. 

“You should bid on it,” he said. Shane bit his lip. 

“Oh. No, I don’t think so. I don’t want to like, offend the artist or anything,” he chuckled awkwardly. Ilya raised an eyebrow. 

“How would you offering to buy art offend the artist?” he asked. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t be able to offer very much, you know?” Shane clarified, his voice low. “It would be a lot lower than anyone else in the room. Besides,” he continued slightly louder, “I’d have to make room for it on my wall of charity auction art. It’s getting out of control as is.” 

Ilya did not laugh at his joke, instead slowly taking another sip of his champagne. Shane began to feel the awkward silence he had been worried about creeping in, but just as he was about to force a conversation change, Ilya set his glass down on the table and picked up the pen. 

“What are you doing?” Shane asked suspiciously. Ilya scribbled down some information on the first line of the paper, pausing briefly at the offer amount before filling it in. He set the pen down and straightened back up with his drink. 

“Buying it for you,” he replied. Shane frowned and stepped forward to look at the paper and was immediately glad he had no champagne in his mouth or he would have spit it out all over the painting. 

“Ten thousand dollars?” he hissed. “Why the fuck would you offer that much?!” 

Ilya shrugged, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s for a good cause,” he mused. 

Shane wanted to hit him, but this was neither the time nor the place. “Cross it out!” he demanded, seething. Ilya shook his head slowly. 

“Better make room on your art wall,” he replied with a grin. Shane’s grip on his own glass tightened and he almost saw red. 

“You are out of your mind,” he hissed under his breath. Ilya shrugged. 

“That’s what people say,” he replied just a quietly. He held out his arm and wiggled his eyebrows. “Care to join me to see the rest of the gallery?” 

Shane stared at him, trying to rein in his temper. It was Ilya’s money, he could spend it however he damn well pleased. He shouldn’t be this angry about him buying this stupid painting. He probably wouldn't even give it to Shane, it would just end up in some storage room in his multi-million dollar mansion. Shane really shouldn’t let it irk him so much that in the face of admitting he couldn’t afford to even bid on the painting, Ilya just threw out what could be the highest bid of the night. 

Shane swallowed and slipped his arm through Ilya’s, forcing a smile. “It would be my pleasure,” he ground out. 

Ilya sat alone in his house just after midnight nursing a glass of vodka, neat. His tie was hanging over the back of his couch in his dark living room, his shoes kicked off in the hall. The only light turned on was the one right above him at his dining room table. 

Generally he thought the night had gone rather well. He’d shown up right on time, which meant thirty minutes after the event had started. Had it been anything else he might have pushed it and been his usual more than fashionably late self, but this particular event was one he made sure to attend both sober and on time every year. Wiebe had known that, the bastard. Having this be his first meeting with Hollander had been very clever. 

Now that the event was behind him and he was no longer in the presence of his soon to be boyfriend, he was enjoying the sweet release of alcohol. He’d taken his antidepressants that morning, eaten a real lunch with Cliff, Svetlana and Wyatt Hayes, their keyboardist, instead of a protein bar and a cigarette, and only had one glass of champagne at the auction instead of his allowed three. It had been a very good day all around.

He was ignoring the fact that the band’s guitarist, Sasha, hadn’t been in touch since that emergency meeting after the TMZ story broke. The rest of the band seemed to be ignoring it too, for the time being. 

Wiebe would want details on the meeting with Shane, partially so they could plan the next one and partially because he was nosey as hell. Overall Ilya felt like he would be happy. They’d met in person and hadn’t immediately killed each other. They’d flirted, bantered, people had overheard. Maybe not enough to really take note, though they all surely noticed that Ilya was there. The crowd wasn’t the usual type to fawn over him, but they’d remember. And hopefully once he and Shane went public with their ‘relationship’ they’d remember Shane too. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d bought that painting. He had won it in the end, which he had expected to. He probably could have offered half as much and still walked away with the thing. 

Shane had been so clearly taken by the little painting. In a room full of people trying to one up one another on the other pieces on display, Ilya had found him alone near the back with the only piece without a bid and a gentle smile on his face. It had been too tempting not to startle him, but the following conversation had been significantly less boring than Ilya had prepared himself for. 

Turns out Shane Hollander could give as well as he got. He was surprisingly funny, a little self deprecating, and far too sincere for an actor. Though maybe he really was just that good at acting. 

Ilya hadn’t exactly been lying when he’d mentioned watching Christmas in Saskatchewan with Svetlana, though he fudged the timeline a bit. After signing the agreement and realizing he’d really be dating the man for a year, he’d called Sveta and asked her if there was any of Shane’s filmography he should watch before he met the man. She had screamed and hung up the phone, appearing at his front door an hour later with a massive box of microwave popcorn and dressed in her pajamas. 

“Fuck me,” he’d breathed upon opening the door, but he let her in. He always let her in. 

It had felt a bit unusual to watch a movie together on his couch and not fuck, but she had been adamant from the moment the plan had been greenlit. 

“I will not help you cheat on your brand new boyfriend, Ilya Rozanov,” she had sniffed the night after Ilya had spoken with Shane for the first time. The band, sans Sasha, had come over for dinner and to debrief on the call. Ilya had thrown up his hands. 

“We are not really dating, it wouldn’t actually be cheating!” he’d cried. She shook her head solemnly. 

“The agreement says you can’t be caught cheating or the whole thing is off,” she recited. Ilya groaned.

“We have been fucking for years and no one has ever said anything,” he whined. Wyatt had barked a laugh. 

“Au contraire, mon frère,” he’d said. “There have been more dating rumors about the two of you online than you can imagine.” 

Ilya had wiggled his eyebrows and blown a kiss at the other man. “There have been plenty about you and me too, Hazy,” he cooed. Wyatt grinned and blew a kiss back to him.

“You wish, baby,” he’d replied with a laugh. Cliff had frowned. 

“Have there been any about me and you?” he asked Ilya. Ilya shrugged. 

“Not that I have seen,” he admitted. Cliff pouted in response. 

“Boo. People have no vision.” 

So instead of snuggling up together and immediately making out like they usually did while ‘watching’ a movie, Svetlana made herself comfortable on one end of the massive white leather couch and pointed sternly for Ilya to sit at the other. Ilya had sighed and sat down. 

“Don’t be grumpy,” she’d admonished as she opened Netflix and searched for the movie she had in mind.

“I will not have sex for a year and you tell me not to be grumpy,” he’d muttered darkly. 

“No one said you couldn’t have sex, just that you couldn’t be caught cheating on Shane,” she explained. Ilya pursed his lips. 

“And explain how it is possible to have sex and not risk getting caught cheating?” he drawled. 

Sveta had shrugged, looking innocent. “I guess we will see,” she said, and pressed play before Ilya could continue. 

Watching a Christmas movie in July was weird. It didn't help that the movie was pretty bad. It probably played super well with midwest moms baking sugar cookies for Santa, but the script was abysmal and the lead actress was playing to the back row when the camera was right in front of her. Ilya didn’t have much knowledge of movies, but even he could tell this was one of those churned out holiday movies that would be lost in the annual avalanche of similar films. 

Shane was good, though. He’d been a bright spot in an otherwise bad to mid movie, endearing and likeable as the leading man. The costuming department had certainly nailed his look, keeping the flannel shirt unbuttoned at the top in a way Ilya imagined Shane would never wear himself, and finding jeans that hugged his ass perfectly. Ilya had really perked up during the scene where Shane was swinging an axe and covered in sweat. He couldn’t say exactly what had happened during that scene but he had a very good visual image of it to recall whenever desired. 

He was glad he had seen the movie, if for no other reason than the surprise and delight on Shane’s face when he said so. Shane was too smart to think it had been some great masterpiece, but it was clear he was proud of it anyway. Ilya could understand that. His earliest songs had been… rough. Some may call them unlistenable. But even if they only lived as demo tracks on his hard drive from when he and the others had been in highschool, he was proud of them. 

Things had been going really well up until he made that comment about bidding on the painting. That had been his one massive misstep of the night. Ilya had briefly forgotten that Shane was a working actor and probably wasn’t making art auction money. Shane was twenty two, not an age where most young men were cutting checks for several thousand dollars for landscapes. Suggesting he bid on the painting had been a throw away thought, barely formed when it came out of his mouth. Shane’s sheepish reaction had quickly reminded Ilya of the other man’s reality. 

Ilya hadn’t expected Shane to react quite so angrily to him buying the painting. That had been a shock, though Ilya had tried to hide his surprise. The man had been nearly red as a tomato, spitting at him to scratch out his bid. He’d been tense and quiet for a few minutes afterwards while they walked around the gallery, but had eventually cooled down. So the boy next door had a bit of a temper. Noted.  

Once he stopped almost vibrating with anger, Shane ended up being a pretty good date. He was stiff and overly formal when they were around the other guests, obviously not comfortable in this environment. But whenever they were out of earshot of others he had a sharp sense of humor. Ilya had been braced for it to be a chore to walk around an art gallery with the other man, but it ended up being closer to fun.

Ilya had itched to get a second glass of champagne, but Shane had kept his arm locked with Ilya’s from the moment he offered it and never made any move to get another glass himself, so Ilya refrained. 

Take that, Wiebe. He wasn’t out of control. 

Shane had left the event before Ilya, the two of them loudly exchanging phone numbers near the refreshments. Afterwards, Ilya wandered around the gallery for a bit longer, stopping to say hello to some of the staff he had gotten to know. He’d bought at least one piece at every one of these auctions for the last three years, all of which were proudly on display in his home. He didn’t have much of an opinion on any of them, though he would say he liked them if asked. 

The landscape of the winter lake was the first one he had ever bought with the piece in mind, instead of just as an excuse to donate a large sum of money to mental health research. 

It was sitting propped up on the chair next to him, now nestled in an ornate golden frame. The gallery had offered to have it delivered as usual, but he’d taken it with him instead. He’d been unusually protective over it once the auction was over and he’d officially been declared its owner. He’d wanted to make sure it made it back with him, undamaged. 

“Needs a different frame,” he mumbled into his glass, squinting at the thing. It wasn’t a bad frame, certainly the type he would hang in his own house. Something about Shane suggested it wouldn’t really fit his aesthetic. Maybe a nice dark wood, like the wood of the evergreen trees in the painting.

Ilya tossed the rest of the glass of vodka down his throat and hung his head back over the chair. One event down. Not a total disaster, though the situation had been as controlled as they would come. Shane had a little more personality than originally reported, so that was nice. And he’d been as hot in that tight black shirt and off white jacket as he’d been in that sweat drenched gray t-shirt and flannel in Christmas in Saskatchewan. He hummed to himself. Maybe he should watch that again. For the plot, of course. 

Shane had looked stunning under the moody gallery lighting, his eyes bright and face expressive. His anger had only made him more alluring, almost so much so that Ilya considered finding ways to bring it back the rest of the night. 

Ilya let out a sigh and shifted in his seat, thinking about Shane. The way his plush lips looked when he scowled at Ilya. The way his tongue poked out just a little when he was focusing on one of the art pieces. The way his hair shone under the lighting, begging Ilya to run his hand through it and grip. 

Svetlana had been wrong, of course. It might not be a specific clause in the contract, but Ilya was going to have to be functionally celibate for the next year. Functionally celibate and semi-consistently cozied up to a beautiful man with fuck-me eyes and a sharp tongue that Ilya could already imagine feeling on his cock. 

It was so easy to picture him there right now, on his knees. There was a rug under the table, so he’d be fine. Maybe they’d just gotten back to Ilya’s after an event, both of them in suits. He’d have Shane strip naked in the doorway to the dining room while he watched before directing the other man between his own clothed legs. Shane would look up at Ilya as he nuzzled at his covered dick, mouth open and waiting. 

Ilya reached down and pressed a palm on his cock with a moan. He could imagine the look in Shane’s eyes as he mouthed at Ilya through the fabric. Ilya would only be able to take it for so long before pushing Shane back to unbutton his pants and get his cock out. Shane would sit back on his heels and stroke himself while he waited, eyes locked on Ilya. 

In his chair in his dining room Ilya pulled out his cock and sighed as he began to stroke it slowly. In his mind Shane crawled back between his legs and started lapping at him with that wicked tongue, then sucked the head into his warm mouth. He’d focus for a few moments before looking up to meet Ilya’s gaze, eyes filled with heat.

Ilya’s hand began to speed up as his image of Shane started taking more of him into his mouth. Maybe he’d only done this a handful of times, so he was a little sloppy with it. Too much spit, taking more than he was ready for too quickly. His eyes would start to tear up and every once and awhile he’d gag just a bit. His throat would tighten around Ilya’s cock but he would fight against the desire to pull back, determined to do a good job. 

“Fuck,” Ilya whispered into the deafening silence of the room. He was close, he could feel it. Shane was taking him almost all the way to the root now, bobbing his head faster and faster. Ilya had his hands twisted in his hair like he’d wanted to since he’d first seen the other man. He looked down and the sight of Shane jerking himself off as he greedily sucked Ilya’s dick was enough to push him over the edge. 

The cry he let out as he came echoed through the empty house. Ilya breathed heavily as he came down from the high of his orgasm. He frowned at the state of his pants, which he had barely gotten out of the way. As he came back down to earth his head started to pound. He groaned and slid further down into his chair.

Maybe he should feel bad about using his new fake boyfriend as mental porn, but if he was going to make it a whole damn year without fucking anyone he was going to have to make a couple of moral concessions. He’d never said he was a saint. 

And damn if Shane didn’t make a hell of a star in his fantasies. 

With significant effort Ilya pulled himself up out of his chair and wandered down the hall to his bedroom. He would deal with the painting in the morning, and the email to Wiebe. He was just tired and worn out enough that he could see himself falling asleep without any sleep aids, though he craved a cigarette. He’d give it a shot, see if he could. Worst case scenario he’d pop a couple of sleeping pills and wake up around noon tomorrow. 

A tune was running through his head as he dropped his suit on the floor to be dealt with in the morning. It wasn’t one he had heard before. It wouldn’t leave him alone as he brushed his teeth and crawled into bed. He haphazardly started adding words to it, not thinking very hard about them, just stringing them together. It would need some cleaning up, but there was something there. 

Hopefully he’d remember it in the morning. 

Chapter End Notes

Please note, I don't forget about this painting. It's gonna take a while but I swear it comes back.
Next week: The real first date

Chapter 4

Chapter Summary

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

Chapter Notes

I don't know anything about cars but neither does Shane so.

*I have changed a date mentioned in this chapter from November to January because my whole timeline has lowkey shifted. It’s a minor detail but I crave consistency.

Shane shifted in his seat and resisted the urge to check his watch. He’d known coming into this that Ilya was probably going to be late to just about everything, and yet Shane had still decided to show up to the restaurant at exactly 7pm for their reservation. 

After he’d gotten home from the gallery, Shane had been extremely conflicted. He was pleasantly surprised by Ilya overall, not really seeing much of the disaster he was reported to be. The whole bidding on the painting thing had gotten under Shane’s skin, but he’d been able to let it go as the night went on and Ilya didn’t do anything else like it. 

He wasn’t even sure why it had pissed him off so much. Maybe it had just felt too close to an actually romantic gesture. It had been a very charming move from an outside perspective, even if it was a little off putting to see someone throw that much money around on a whim. But Shane knew he’d done it to build up their story and he refused to let it charm him. 

Shane didn’t end up getting a text from Ilya that evening. He hadn’t really expected to. It wasn’t like they had anything in particular to text back and forth about. The exchange of phone numbers was so that they could coordinate dates without the use of encrypted email from Brandon Wiebe. Shane just wasn’t sure if he was the one that was supposed to take the initiative or if that was supposed to be Ilya. 

He did get a text from Ilya the following afternoon. It was surprisingly formal and Shane immediately guessed it had actually been drafted by Wiebe. 

From I. Rozanov: 

‘Hello Shane, this is Ilya. It was nice to meet you last night. I was wondering if you would like to get dinner with me some time this week?’ 

Shane rolled his eyes as he read it. He might not know Ilya very well, but there was no way in hell he thought of and sent that. 

To I. Rozanov

‘Who are you and what have you done with Ilya Rozanov?’ 

He was immediately rewarded with the little bubbles showing Ilya was typing. He barked out a laugh at the middle finger emoji that came through, quickly followed by- 

From I. Rozanov:

‘Never mind, I thought you were a nice boy. Mean boys do not get invited to dinner.’ 

Shane, who had been sitting on the floor of his living room reading through another script Farah had sent over, pushed his laptop further up his coffee table and stretched his legs out under it with a grin. He leaned his elbows against the glass and bit his lips as he typed out a reply. 

To I. Rozanov: 

‘There he is. Thought maybe you had passed my number to someone else.’ 

From I. Rozanov: 

‘And give up my chance to talk to you? Never.’ 

Shane felt himself blush and he tried to push the reaction down. Ilya was a flirty guy, he’d seen that on full display at the gallery. They were supposed to be flirty. He had to keep that in mind, make sure he didn’t overreact. This was the whole deal. 

To I. Rozanov: 

‘Dinner sounds good. When?’ 

From I. Rozanov:

‘Tomorrow night, 7? Do you like Italian?’ 

Shane snorted. 

To I. Rozanov:

‘Who doesn’t like Italian?’ 

Ilya had texted him the reservation information, a table for two at an Italian restaurant in West Hollywood. Shane was familiar with the place, having walked past it dozens of times, but had never gone in based on the prices. Fortunately it wasn’t so upscale as to require a tie, but he had once again agonized over what to wear. 

As he sat alone at their table Shane itched to text Hayden. He had signed the NDA stating they couldn’t tell anyone else about the PR nature of their relationship, but once they were public he was free to talk about it with his friends as if it were real. He wasn’t thrilled about lying to them, or to his parents, but he also desperately needed people to talk to. And Hayden might not be the most fashionable man on the planet but he had a gift for bringing Shane out of a spiral. He’d have said Shane looked awesome in the first thing he put on and that would have been that. 

He knew Hayden was going to freak out when he told him about Ilya. He’d already decided to text him immediately after dinner just in case someone snapped a picture of the two of them tonight. Even if it was only a first date, Shane wanted Hayden to hear it from him and not the gossip grapevine. 

Shane picked up his glass of water and took a deep sip in an effort to fill the time. He felt very nervous. Less so about dinner with Ilya, he thought he could manage that. The vibe of the restaurant was expensive but not super formal, and the closeness of the other tables meant Ilya would probably watch himself at least a little. He was nervous because their table was situated right up against the massive front windows with a perfect view of Santa Monica Boulevard. More importantly, Santa Monica Boulevard would have a perfect view of them.

These might be his last moments of general anonymity. He knew there was a give and take when it came to privacy for celebrities, and his intention was to cling to his privacy as much as possible. But being seen in public with Ilya was literally the baseline of the contract. Unavoidable and required. He’d been stopped for autographs and photos in the past here and there, but it didn’t even remotely compare to the kind of hounding Ilya got. And here he was, walking right into the middle of it. 

A year. Just a year, he thought to himself as his nerves made his hands a little shaky. Then I can disappear and be one of those indie filmmakers that only shows up to promote a film. Please, please, just let this work. 

“Sorry I’m late!” Shane gasped and raised his head from where he had been staring at the tablecloth to see Ilya standing behind the chair across from him with a massive grin and yet another pair of sunglasses. He was wearing a white t-shirt and a leather jacket with light blue jeans. He looked like he could have been the sexiest extra on the set of a remake of Grease. 

“You have to stop doing that,” Shane grumbled as Ilya shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. If anything, his smile grew. 

“Doing what?” he asked innocently. “It is not my fault you are always so lost in thought when I show up. What are you thinking so much about, Shane Hollander?” 

Shane glanced out the window nervously as Ilya collapsed into the seat across from him. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine. How are you?” he replied while straightening up. 

Ilya shrugged and crossed his arms. “Ok. Traffic was bad, I can never drive as fast as I want. And some of these streets are so narrow.” 

“You drove yourself?” Shane asked, somewhat surprised. Ilya seemed like the kind of guy to get into the back of a big black SUV and be spirited away into the hills. 

“I always do, when I can,” Ilya replied. He leaned across the table to get in close and whispered, “and I cannot have more than three drinks tonight, I will be plenty sober to drive home.” 

Shane winced, eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening. Fortunately it seemed no one had noticed Ilya’s presence yet and the room was loud. Ilya chuckled and sat back. He threw one arm over the back of his chair and let his legs spread out under the table until Shane could see his leather boots right next to his own feet. 

“Relax, Hollander. Maybe order yourself a drink. This could be the last first date you ever go on, better make it count!” Ilya laughed as he took off his sunglasses and threw them on the table. Shane pursed his lips and was about to reply when the waiter suddenly appeared at his elbow.

Well, the waiter certainly knew who Ilya was. After bringing Shane a water and being told he was waiting for someone, the man had left him pretty much alone. Now his entire body was turned towards Ilya and away from Shane as he began asking them what they wanted to drink. Shane could just make out the man’s expression from the less than half of his face he could see, and he was clearly starstruck. 

“Which cabernet would you suggest?” Ilya asked as he rested his chin on his open hand and fluttered his eyelashes. It was almost comical, the way the man stumbled through a suggestion. Shane bit his lip at the display as Ilya nodded sincerely. 

“Yes, yes, that sounds perfect. A glass of that then, since you’ve made it sound so wonderful. And for my date…?” Ilya turned his attention back to Shane, also clearly trying not to laugh. Shane glanced down at the menu, then up at the waiter. The man was looking at him like he’d forgotten there was another person at the table. 

“Do you have an IPA?” he asked. The waiter nodded and wrote down their orders before shooting Ilya another awed look and hurrying away. As soon as he was out of earshot Ilya started chuckling. 

“Not a wine guy?” he asked. Shane scoffed and tried to rearrange his feet without bumping into Ilya’s. 

“No, not really. I’ll drink it but I couldn’t tell you the difference between any of them,” he admitted. 

Ilya grinned and Shane felt a thrill of excitement at the mischievous look in his eyes, like Shane was in on a joke with him.

“Do you want to know a secret? Me neither. When I first moved here I memorized the names of two types of red wines and two types of white wines, and now I ask for the waiter’s recommendation on one of them. Worst case, I just order champagne.”

Shane rolled his eyes but couldn’t prevent a smile. “That’s one way to do it, I suppose.” Ilya nodded happily. 

“It’s LA, Shane Hollander. You fake it till you make it,” he declared. 

The waiter suddenly reappeared and set down their glasses. He glanced at their still closed menus and excused himself to give them more time, though not without another look at Ilya. Shane sighed and took a sip of his IPA. He nearly snorted it out his nose when Ilya held his own glass up to his nose and inhaled deeply. He then swirled the liquid around and took a very gentle sip, seeming to hold it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. 

“And what notes are you getting, Mr. Rozanov?” Shane asked teasingly. Ilya hummed as he stared up at the ceiling in thought. 

“I think there are notes of… wine. Yes, most definitely. The wine flavor is very… winey,” he replied. 

“What an insightful review,” Shane laughed. Ilya set the glass down and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. They fell into silence for a moment while they opened up their menus. Shane kept scanning around the room, trying to figure out if anyone else had noticed Ilya yet.

“My security brought us in through the back,” Ilya said suddenly. Shane looked up from his menu and raised an eyebrow. The other man was leaned back in his chair with the menu propped up on his lap. He was not looking at Shane as he spoke. “No one saw us. Ryan is very good at his job.” 

“I thought the whole point was people are supposed to see you,” Shane mumbled. Ilya nodded his head. 

“Yes, but not like that. I don’t make big entrances, unless it’s for a reason. This requires a more… subtle approach.” 

“You can do subtle?” Shane asked incredulously. Ilya looked up and grinned. 

“I can do anything,” he purred. Shane almost jumped at the feeling of Ilya’s calf suddenly pressing against his own under the table. He swatted at him with a frown, which just made the other man chuckle.

“I will get the ribeye,” Ilya declared, flipping his menu closed and tossing it on the table. Shane looked back at his own menu and was unsurprised to find the ribeye to be the most expensive thing on the menu. 

“You ask me if I like Italian and then you don’t get pasta? Monster,” Shane deadpanned. Ilya’s mouth fell open and he quickly opened the menu again. “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t-”

“No no, Shane Hollander has spoken. I must get a pasta. Who am I to deny this!” Ilya cut him off. Shane attempted to reach across the table and close Ilya’s menu, but his leg ended up bumping the leg of the table and shaking it. A bit of Ilya’s wine sloshed out of his glass. Shane froze with a wince at the sight of the stain on the tablecloth. 

“Tsk tsk,” Ilya admonished with a grin. “Don’t make a scene, Mr. Hollander.” Shane felt his face heating up and he went to snap back at Ilya but then the waiter was back. He looked down at the spilled wine, then over Shane with distaste. Shane sat back in his chair with a huff. 

“Ah yes, we are ready, thank you for your patience,” Ilya cooed at the waiter, but not before shooting Shane a devious smirk.

This fucking guy. 

Ilya did end up ordering pasta, the bolognese, while Shane got the pesto gnocchi. As the waiter hurried off Shane sipped sourly at his beer while Ilya looked at him, clearly amused. 

“What?” Shane snapped finally. Ilya shrugged.

“You are very handsome when you are angry. Did you know this?” he asked. Shane felt himself flush again for a whole different reason. 

“Fuck off,” he mumbled. Ilya laughed and leaned forward over the table. 

“Come on, I tease. I am sorry. This is a first date. Tell me first date things,” he asked. Shane frowned but sat up as well. 

“What kind of first date things?” he replied. Ilya tapped on his chin for a moment.

“Like… what is your favorite color?” 

Shane huffed a laugh at the ridiculous simplicity of the question, but he guessed they had to start somewhere. 

“Red. How about you?” Ilya's nose scrunched up at the answer. 

“Red? Whose favorite color is red?” he asked incredulously. 

“Mine! What’s wrong with red?” Shane asked, mildly offended. 

“It is like… the first color. Like you were going to draw a rainbow and you stopped after just one,” Ilya whined. Shane huffed. 

“Red is a very cool color. Plenty of cool things are red,” he defended. 

Ilya held open his hands. “Like?” 

“Like… sportscars are red, sometimes. And… fire trucks?” Shane offered weakly. Ilya’s head fell backwards as he laughed. 

“You are too cute, Hollander,” he eventually replied through his laughter. He wiped at his eyes and waved a hand at Shane. “Really though, why red?” 

Shane shrugged, feeling self conscious. He hadn’t really expected Ilya to ask follow up questions about his favorite color. 

“I guess… my favorite hockey team, from my hometown. Their colors are black and red. Maybe that’s why.” 

Ilya lit up at the answer. “You like hockey?” he asked with a grin. 

Shane rolled his eyes. “I’m Canadian, of course I like hockey.” 

“Ah, of course. So your team must be… oh. I’m sorry,” he winced. “Was it hard to grow up a Centaurs fan?” 

Shane stepped heavily on Ilya’s foot beneath the table, which caused the other man to yelp and draw his feet away. 

“Watch it, pal. I’ll walk right out of here and block your number,” he warned. He was only half joking. He didn’t play about his hockey team, terrible though they might be. 

Ilya sighed heavily. “It is not your fault they are so bad. Also not your fault you are from Ottawa. Bad luck, really.” 

“And your team is?” Shane growled, his grip tightening on his glass. Ilya’s smirk was back and better than ever. 

“Boston. Aren’t I a lucky duck?”

Shane groaned. “That’s it, I’m calling this off. I can’t possibly be with a Raiders fan!” 

Ilya’s mouth snapped shut, his expression shutting down. It took a moment for Shane to process what he had said, and he quickly leaned in to whisper, “Shit, um. Sorry, I didn’t mean that I actually want to call this off or anything. Just joking around.”

Ilya visibly relaxed and his demeanor shifted back to playful as quickly as it had disappeared. 

“Well, if you want to see some actually watchable hockey, maybe we see a Raiders game when they are in LA?”

Shane blinked in surprise. “Like… go to a game? Together?” Ilya shrugged. 

“They will be here in January. I try very hard not to miss a game when I get the chance.” 

January. Right, because they would still be doing this in January. This wasn’t like a real first date where they were trying to sus each other out, decide if a second date was in order. A second date was required. 

Shane forced a smile. “I mean sure, if you want. I’ve only been to a couple of games since moving down here. That would be awesome.” Ilya beamed, and once again Shane was struck by how quickly things moved with this man. One moment he seemed on the verge of shutting down, the next he was planning events months in advance. He was a little hard to keep up with. 

Just then their waiter arrived with their food. He placed the plates of pasta in front of them and turned to Ilya. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Ilya shook his head then looked directly at Shane. 

“How about you, handsome? Anything you need?” he said slyly. He then proceeded to ever so gently run his foot up Shane’s leg under the table.

This time Shane managed not to jump but it took all of his willpower. “Nope! I’m great. We’re great, thank you,” he grit out through a toothy grin. The waiter, looking mildly shocked by the whole display, just nodded and walked away. 

Shane shot Ilya a look he hoped could kill and was made even more annoyed by the smug look on the other man’s face as he dramatically unfolded his napkin. 

“You are a menace,” Shane scolded. Ilya shrugged happily and took a bite of his pasta. 

“So,” he said around the noodles in his mouth, much to Shane’s disgust. “I know you are an actor. But what does that mean you do all day?” 

Shane forced himself to look away from the disaster of manners across the table. Money sure couldn’t buy table etiquette, he thought to himself. 

“Well, mostly I read scripts, go to auditions. I also write, when I have the time,” he offered. 

“What do you write?” Ilya asked. Shane groaned internally. He hated talking about what he was working on, wished he hadn’t even brought it up. 

“Nothing as famous as what you write,” he demurred. Ilya gave him a strange look as he chewed and swallowed his food, so Shane rushed to continue. 

“What’s that like? Writing music for a living, I mean,” he asked. Ilya pressed his lips together, then took a deep drink from his wine glass. Shane was surprised to see it was almost empty, while his own glass was over halfway full still. He hastened to have some more as Ilya spoke. 

“Sometimes it is easy, sometimes hard. Harder now than it was in Boston. But,” his eyes lit up again and he gestured for Shane to lean in, “I started working on a new song for the next album the other night.”

“Oh?” Shane replied. That was good news! One of the things Shane’s ‘grounding presence’ was supposed to be helping with was getting Ilya back on track for the next album. “What’s it about?” he asked as he took a bite of his gnocchi. 

“You,” Ilya answered smugly.

Shane gasped, which led to him inhaling a piece of the gnocchi and immediately choking. He grabbed his throat and started coughing, his eyes tearing up. He could feel his face getting redder, and knew almost every eye in the room that hadn’t been on them before sure was now. 

He felt a hand on his back and suddenly Ilya was kneeling on the floor next to him. 

“Oh my God, breathe Hollander!” he said quietly. Shane shakily reached for his glass of water and tried to solve the problem that way. Eventually he managed to get his breathing under control, with just the occasional cough needed to clear his throat. 

“Fuck,” Ilya muttered as he sat back in his seat. Shane waved him away, face still burning. 

“I’m fine, it’s fine. Sorry,” he coughed out. He cleared his throat a few more times then looked around the room. A few people were still looking at them and some of them seemed to have noticed who half of their table consisted of, if the mix of awe and confusion was anything to go by. 

“You sure know how to make an impression,” Ilya laughed. Shane groaned. 

“Sorry. You just… really caught me off guard there,” he mumbled. Ilya cocked his head. 

“The song? Oh yes, I thought of it after the auction. I got home and I was thinking about you and it just came to me!” 

Shane stared at him, dumbfounded. He was serious. When he’d said it Shane had thought he was fucking with him. But he meant it. 

“... What do you mean?” he breathed. “What the fuck would that even sound like?” 

Ilya grinned wickedly. “You want me to sing it for you now?” He opened his mouth and Shane once again brought his foot down very hard on Ilya’s. Ilya hissed and pouted. 

“You are very dangerous with your feet,” he grumbled. 

“Do not sing an unreleased song to me in the middle of a public restaurant,” Shane hissed. Ilya sighed. 

“It’s not done yet anyway. The band is coming over tomorrow, we will work on the arrangement. I am very happy with it so far though.” 

And he looked it. As he went back to eating his pasta, Shane could tell he was pleased with this development. He mentioned in that first video call that he really did love the music, the performing. Things seemed to have been a little out of control for him lately, so getting back to what he loved about being a musician must feel great. 

That being said, Shane had no idea what a song about him written by this man might sound like. Ilya had known him for max a couple of hours by the time he claimed to have started writing. If they had actually fallen into a first meeting instead of the planned meet-cute outlined by an iron clad contract, it might seem romantic that Ilya wrote a song about him only hours later. As it was, Shane felt more nervous than flattered. 

As they continued to eat the conversation carried on in fits and starts. Eventually Shane learned that Ilya’s favorite color changed often, but right now it was ‘papaya orange’, which was apparently quite famously associated with McLaren sports cars. 

“It is iconic, Shane. How do you not know this?” 

He learned that Ilya himself had several cars (though not a McLaren yet, much to his chagrin). He did have a Lamborghini and an Escalade, though he preferred to drive the Lambo whenever possible. Shane had nodded absentmindedly as Ilya had talked about cars, thinking about his used Subaru back in the car port at his apartment. He wouldn’t have anywhere to put a second car if he had one. 

He also learned why Ilya, born in Russia, had become a Raiders fan. 

“I started spending most of the year with Svetlana’s family in Boston when I was ten. I went back to Moscow during the summers for a few years but,” he stopped and finished off his wine with a grimace, “then I didn’t. High school I barely went back at all. Me, Sveta, Cliff, Wyatt and Sasha started making music, it took up all our time. My fath- manager, he eventually stopped saying we would never get anywhere and jumped on board. Came to the US full time.” 

Shane tapped a finger on the rim of his glass. He wanted to ask questions, but he didn’t want to push. If Ilya wanted to pretend his manager and his father weren’t the same person, who was he to get involved? 

“And the hockey?” he asked, instead of what he really wanted to know. Ilya grinned, which made Shane feel better about his choice. 

“All Sveta. She is from Russia too, but her father moved them to Boston when she was very young. Boston is a hockey town, she didn’t have a choice. And when I showed up, I didn’t either.” 

Shane sighed dramatically as he scraped the last bits of pasta off of his plate. “It’s a damn shame. Of all the places you could have ended up.” 

Ilya poked his fork at him. “At least it was not Tampa.” Both men both shuddered at the thought. 

When the waiter had returned to ask about dessert Ilya asked for a menu before Shane could react. 

“Oh, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” he admitted. Ilya hummed as he looked over the offerings. 

“More for me then,” he replied. He looked up. “Is there any sweet you like?” 

“Um. Snickers?” 

Ilya’s mouth fell open. “Snickers? Of all the magnificent, sweet pastries, candies and desserts on earth, you say Snickers?” 

Shane rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you just like arguing with me,” he suggested. Ilya grinned wickedly. 

“Now you are getting it,” he said with a wink. 

Ilya ordered a slice of tiramisu, which he insisted Shane try. It wasn’t really Shane’s thing, but clearly Ilya was in heaven. He had ordered a second glass of wine at some point, of which there were only a few drops left. Shane had finished his beer but had stuck to water after that. 

Just as Ilya was licking the last remains of the tiramisu off his spoon, their waiter approached with the bill. 

“Apologies, gentlemen, but we are just about ready to close up,” he said softly, setting the bill in front of Ilya. Shane glanced at his watch and was shocked to see it was almost 10pm. 

“Ah, no worries at all, this is our bad,” Ilya laughed. He was pulling out his wallet and putting his card in with the check without even looking at it. “We will be out of your hair right away.” The waiter thanked him profusely and hurried off. Shane sent Ilya an unimpressed look. 

Ilya looked confused. “What? What have I done now?” 

“What if I wanted to pay?” Shane asked airly. Ilya shook his head, unusually serious. 

“No. I invited you to dinner. My idea, I pay. It is only fair,” he replied carefully. Shane hummed but chose not to argue. He didn’t disagree on principle, and he didn’t actually want to buy dinner. He’d just have to make sure to pick up the tab on a handful of dates so he didn’t feel like a sugar baby.

When the waiter returned, he thanked Ilya and sent a cursory nod Shane’s way. Ilya raised an eyebrow as the man walked away. 

“Poor idiot doesn’t know he was in the presence of future greatness,” he sighed as he slid his jacket on. Shane nudged him with his shoulder. 

“Oh, shut up. He was pretty distracted by you,” he laughed. Ilya grinned slyly and put his hand on Shane’s lower back as he steered him towards the door. 

“Do you think I’m distracting?” he purred into Shane’s ear. Shane shivered and held back the urge to elbow Ilya in the ribs. 

Once they were outside in the warm night air, Shane finally felt awkward again. No one was looking at them, although there were plenty of people milling about. It occurred to Shane they were pretty close to the gay bar where Ilya had been photographed, kicking this whole mess off. 

“You used valet too?” Ilya said as he dug through his pockets. 

“Ah, no actually. I walked, I live pretty close by,” Shane admitted. Ilya looked surprised, then gleeful. 

“Let me drive you home, then!” he offered. Shane let out a laugh. 

“That’s really okay, it’s like fifteen minutes away. Besides, don’t you need to take your security with you?” 

“No no no no, I insist! You said you have never been in a Lamborghini, I say it will change your life,” Ilya carried on as he handed his ticket to the valet. “And Ryan left right after we got inside, I did not make him stay to watch me eat dinner with a pretty boy. I am not so monstrous.” 

Shane looked around, considering his options and ignoring the pretty boy comment. He really could just walk home, but a part of him was a little curious about the car. 

“Alright. Yeah, sure. Thank you,” he said shyly. Ilya was almost bouncing.

“You will love it.”

Shane did not love it. 

The car when it had pulled up had been deafening and impossible to ignore, meaning every eye on the street turned to them. Anyone who didn’t know Ilya Rozanov had been there before certainly knew now. It was bright fucking yellow and so low to the ground Shane felt as though he could feel the road beneath his ass as he sat down. As Ilya climbed into the driver’s side and smiled at him like a madman, Shane reached down and gripped the edges of his seat. 

It would have taken Shane about five minutes to drive to his apartment. Ilya made it in two. He zipped through the streets of Shane’s West Hollywood neighborhood revving his engine and giggling like a child. Shane kept trying to give him directions while holding on for dear life. How this man could make a quick, easy drive into the fast and the furious, Shane could not comprehend. 

When Ilya put the car in park in front of Shane’s apartment complex, Shane finally released a breath he believed he’d been holding since they pulled away from the curb. 

“That was a fucking nightmare,” he whispered. Ilya hummed and leaned his head back against the headrest. 

“You will get used to it,” he said. Shane looked over at him and was horrified to see he seemed sincere. Ilya sat quietly for a minute before opening his eyes with a start. 

“Ah,” he said as he hustled out of the car and ran around the front to open Shane’s door. “Almost forgot my manners. First date, I should walk you to your door.” 

Shane took his hand to help him out of the car, but only because he needed the leverage. He shook his head quickly as soon as he was standing and dropped Ilya’s hand. 

“No, that’s alright. Really, I can make it from here,” he swallowed. He glanced up at his place and tried to picture Ilya inside his one bedroom. It was a comical image. 

“Thanks, I guess. For tonight. I had fun,” he offered Ilya a shaky smile, still a little nauseous from the car. 

“I will text you. About next date, yes?” Ilya asked as he leaned back casually against his car. Shane nodded slowly. Right. Next date. 

“Yeah, totally. Just… let me know,” Shane replied. He stood awkwardly for a moment before putting his hand out. “See ya later?” 

Ilya looked down at the hand, then back up at Shane. There was a soft smile on his lips, like he was trying not to laugh at Shane. Shane went to take his hand back, but Ilya grabbed it at the last moment. Instead of shaking it, he used it to pull Shane closer. 

Shane gasped as he was suddenly in Ilya’s personal space. He could smell his cologne, probably something fancy and expensive, as well as leather and cigarette smoke from his jacket. His eyes were harder to see under the dim street lights, but Shane had a front seat view of his pink lips. 

“I had a nice time tonight, Shane Hollander,” he whispered. Shane swallowed, eyes locked on his lips. When he spoke he could smell the red wine on his breath. He had the sudden urge to taste it. 

Before he could do something stupid like kiss his PR relationship before the planned time (date number three or four, up to their discretion, according to the agreement), Ilya gently moved him backwards onto the curb and sauntered over to the driver’s side of the car. He opened the door and leaned against it pointing at Shane’s apartment. 

“Go. I cannot leave until you are inside. Sveta would never forgive me if you are kidnapped between here and the door,” he joked. 

Shane scowled and turned around. “I’m not gonna be kidnapped,” he grumbled. But he obeyed and headed into the courtyard of his building, then up the stairs and across the breezeway to his door. When he looked back down at the street, Ilya was still there outside his car, looking up at him. He gave the man a little wave before unlocking his door and ducking inside. 

Once the door was locked behind him he let his head thump against it with a shaky sigh. Fuck. Had that gone well? He thought it had. For the second time, Shane was having a hard time squaring the Ilya he was seeing with the one Wiebe so desperately needed to corral. He was flirty to the extreme, maybe a little insensitive at times, but far from out of control. He’d had just two glasses of wine, paid for dinner, offered to drive Shane home. The ride had been hell on earth, but that was a separate issue. 

There had been a couple of topics Shane now knew to stay clear of in conversation as well. Ilya had avoided talking about why he’d been sent to Boston in the first place, and he never mentioned either of his parents. He also seemed cagey about his first couple of years in LA, barely going into any details when Shane had asked about it. 

Superficial questions about favorite colors? He got a painfully specific answer. Anything deeper and Ilya clammed up fast. Shane felt like he had talked the other man’s ear off in comparison. 

Fine. That was fine. He could navigate that, it wasn’t like he was going to be meeting the family any time soon. 

With a sigh he dragged himself deeper into his apartment. He couldn’t believe how late it had gotten. He’d just have to text Hayden in the morning, he was not up for the inquisition that would follow if he reached out now. His bed was calling his name, and he had an audition to attend the following morning. It would have to wait. 

No way Hayden found out about Ilya before then, right? 

Chapter End Notes

There's a big storm comin for you, Shane.
Next week - When it rains, it pours.

Chapter 5

Chapter Summary

Sometimes the hits just keep coming.

Chapter Notes

The first appearance of a song lyric! Don't get too excited, every time I finish a chapter it seems like two more spring up to take its place in my draft so it'll be awhile before there's much more on that front. But hey, progress is progress.

This is going to be, without a doubt, the longest fic I've ever written. Both an exciting concept and also a horrifying one. When will I be free from these two? It's starting to look like never...

“What the fuck do you mean, you’re quitting?” 

Sasha raised his chin up in defiance, but Ilya could see the fear in his eyes. He was right to be afraid. Ilya was about three seconds from socking him in the jaw. 

“I mean I am quitting, Ilya. What is so hard to understand about that?” he snapped. 

“Sasha-” Svetlana began from her place on the couch, but Sasha whipped his head to look at her and snarled.

“Fuck off, Sveta. You never take my fucking side when he’s involved!” 

“This isn’t about sides, idiot!” she replied, her volume rising. “This is about you coming in here and telling us you are quitting. At least say why!”

It was the morning after Ilya’s first public date with Shane, and Ilya had woken up in a weird mood. His skin was buzzing and his massive home felt too small. He’d had breakfast outside in an attempt to feel a little better but had ended up smoking some weed when it wasn’t enough. The band had come over to start working on the song he had written about Shane (though he wasn’t going to tell them that) about an hour later, and he had mostly gotten a grip on the strange feeling. 

Until Sasha had opened his mouth and told them he was quitting the band.

“This is really not a good time for this, Sasha,” Cliff said from his position on the floor. They were in Ilya’s home music studio, which was spacious and soundproof, but Ilya still felt like the walls were closing in on him as he stared down one of his oldest friends. 

“Shut up Cliff, you don’t understand!” Sasha whined. Wyatt threw his hands up. 

“You gotta give us something then, man, because honestly it’s coming off kind of homophobic,” he laughed awkwardly. Sasha’s mouth snapped shut and he looked away from them. “Holy shit,” Wyatt breathed. “You’re joking.” 

Ilya gaped at him. “You were in the fucking room when Wiebe planned this whole thing!” 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” Sasha growled. “Those fucking pictures from last night, you can’t deny it anymore! I can’t deny it anymore.”

The pictures Sasha was referencing were a series of sneakily taken photographs of Shane and Ilya at dinner. Even Ilya had been surprised by the number and variety of angles, some from the street outside, some from other tables in the restaurant. A few were even taken while they were getting into Ilya’s car afterwards. TMZ, the vultures they were, had seemingly bought as many as they could and put together a whole story by the time Ilya woke up. Fortunately they didn’t have much information on Shane besides what was publicly available on his Instagram and IMDb pages. They had, however, identified him as Ilya’s ‘new boy toy’, which was not quite the branding they were going for. 

“It’s not like we were caught fucking in the middle of the restaurant,” Ilya mocked. “Oh, so scandalous to have dinner!” 

“Fuck. You. Rozanov. You know I can’t be associated with that,” Sasha spat. “My father already called to ask me if it was true after you got caught shitfaced at that gay bar. He will disown me, I could never go home. Don’t you fucking get that?” 

Somewhere in the back of Ilya’s mind, he did. Sasha’s family went back and forth from Boston to Russia more than Ilya ever had, and while they weren’t nearly as intense as Ilya’s father they were still very traditional. 

It didn’t help that Sasha was gay. Ilya only knew because Sasha had gotten almost blackout drunk after a show when they were just getting started and kissed him. He had freaked out, but Ilya had yanked him back in. They didn’t fuck nearly as often as he and Sevtlana, but it had happened a couple of times since then. Usually when they were very, very high. 

If Ilya was in a better mood, a better headspace, he would probably feel sympathetic to Sasha’s situation. As it was, he could not muster the energy to give a shit. 

“You don’t need to go home, Sasha, we are rich and famous!” Ilya cried as he gestured around the room. 

“Just because you are ok with having no family doesn’t mean I am,” Sasha seethed. 

Ilya saw red. He lost the final bit of his waning control and launched himself at Sasha. He got one good punch in before Wyatt had his arms pinned and was pulling him back. 

“Ilya, fuck, stop it!” he was shouting. Ilya could just barely hear Svetlana screaming at Sasha in Russian as he struggled to get free of Wyatt, but the keyboardist was shockingly strong and had significantly better coordination than Ilya since he wasn’t slightly high and spitting with rage.  

“Fuck you, Rozanov, you are so fucking selfish! Everything is always about you, what we all need to do for you! You could have denied it but you couldn’t set aside your stupid beef with your dad!” Sasha was screaming. Cliff had gotten up and was pushing him towards the door of the studio, but Sasha just kept yelling over his shoulder. His nose was bleeding and he had a crazed look in his eyes.

“You are falling apart and you are dragging us down with you, and then what? You’ll run out of money and have nothing left, nowhere to go. Well, not me, fucker, you’re on your own!” 

Cliff managed to get Sasha out the door and slammed it behind them. The room fell into silence. If Sasha was still yelling, the soundproof nature of the room blocked it out. 

“Fuck,” Svetlana whispered as she sat heavily back down on the couch. Ilya felt all of the fight leave his body and he almost went limp in Wyatt’s arms. Wyatt released him slowly and Ilya sank to the floor. 

“So that went well,” Wyatt offered. Ilya groaned, his head in his hands. 

“I should have expected it,” he mumbled. Svetlana tsked.

“He should have handled it better,” she sighed. “He could have said something during our meeting with WIebe.” 

“Like I would have listened,” Ilya scoffed. Svetlana shrugged as she sent Ilya a sad smile. 

“Maybe not, but Wiebe might have. Sasha had a chance to say something. He took the coward’s way.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I thought those pictures were adorable,” Wyatt offered weakly. Ilya huffed a laugh. The pictures were adorable. Shane had been talking in most of them, face animated and excited. There were also a few of him choking on his pasta, which had been hilarious in hindsight. He was so easy to rile up. 

“Fuck,” Ilya sighed. “Now we are down a guitarist and a manager. We are barely a band at this point.” 

“I might have a lead on a manager, actually,” Sevtlana offered. Ilya frowned at her. 

“Really? Who?” 

“Um,” she looked away from him, refusing to meet his eyes. “Let me make a few more calls. Don’t want to get your hopes up.”  

Ilya pursed his lips and was about to respond when the door to the studio flew open and Cliff came back in. He closed it behind him and leaned back against it with a sigh. 

“So Sasha’s gone,” he explained. Wyatt barked a tired laugh. 

“Yeah, we kind of figured,” he said. Cliff stuck his tongue out at Wyatt.

“I mean I got him to his car and watched him leave. I changed the gate code too, just to be safe. Texted it to you guys.” 

Ilya sighed and nodded at Cliff. “Thank you,” he replied. Cliff shrugged. 

“Look, I get where he’s coming from. But that shit was out of line. We’ve got your back, Roz. If he feels he needs to walk away that’s his choice, but he didn’t need to bring all that energy in here.”

Wyatt clapped Ilya on the shoulder with a grin. “Amen to that. Now, I believe you have a new song for us. Think you can handle guitar for now?” 

Ilya breathed out and nodded. His high was starting to wear off and was leaving a headache behind, and his knuckles hurt from where they’d connected with Sasha’s nose. He could really use another joint. Or maybe some food. Had he taken his pills this morning? He couldn’t remember. 

He dragged himself up off of the floor and picked up one of his electric guitars. 

“Yeah. You’re right. Let’s get started.” 

A few hours later Ilya was feeling a little better. The session had been slow at the start as everyone adjusted to Sasha not being there, but they ended up making some good progress. They’d all loved the song and had immediately started brainstorming ideas for the direction of the rest of the album. Svetlana had sent him a knowing look when they got to the chorus but otherwise hadn’t said anything about the subject. 

“Do you want to try and find a new guitarist?” Svetlana asked. They were alone now, the other two having left only minutes before with the promise to keep tweaking their instrumentals. She was perched on the back of his couch as she slipped on her boots to leave as well. Ilya was leaning against the wall by the front door, staring out the glass and down the long driveway. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know. We need one,” Ilya admitted. He was good on guitar, but it was a big commitment to suddenly play on every song and sing lead vocals. Besides, it was nice to have two guitars when the music called for it. 

He didn’t want to replace Sasha. What he wanted was for Sasha to come back like nothing had happened. He’d been Ilya’s first real friend when they were kids in Moscow. Svetlana might be his best friend now, but he couldn’t remember living in a world where he didn’t have Sasha. He’d tried his best not to think about Sasha’s family when he signed that contract, and it seemed he had successfully put it out of his mind until Sasha had thrown it back in his face. 

“He shouldn’t have said that. About your family,” Sveta said quietly. Ilya glanced over at her. “You should have talked to him about all this, but he shouldn’t have said that.” 

Ilya shrugged and looked away. Hindsight was twenty twenty. He should have thought about Sasha before he went out and had a publicly gay affair with an actor. Sasha was right. He was a selfish asshole. 

“Hey,” Sveta’s soft voice appeared right by his ear. She had approached quietly and was now sidled up next to him along the wall. Her head dropped to his shoulder and he turned to hide his face in her curls. 

“It’s going to be ok. You shouldn’t have to hide who you are because his parents are homophobes. He shouldn’t have to either, but,” she sighed, “that cannot be on you. I’m sorry it went down like that.” 

“Not your fault,” he mumbled into her hair. 

“Not yours either,” she replied softly. She let out a little laugh. “Not entirely, at least.” 

Ilya sighed and drew back. Svetlana reached up and cupped his cheek gently before pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“I liked your song, Ilyusha. Very sexy. Sexy like a certain actor, perhaps?” she teased. Ilya smirked and pushed her towards the door.

“Goodbye, Svetlana,” he called as he walked back into his house. 

“‘Please baby, let me ruin you!’” she crooned the chorus to the song with a laugh as she closed the door behind her. 

Now blessedly alone, Ilya let out a shaky breath. “What a fucking day,” he groaned. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes to block out the sunlight as he made his way to his kitchen. 

Sasha had quit on them, so they didn’t have a guitarist. They still didn’t have a manager. Ilya needed to write an entire album in the next couple of months, and somehow play a convincing, romantic boyfriend. When laid out like that, the PR relationship suddenly seemed like the easiest thing on his to do list. At least Shane was turning out to be interesting. 

Ilya opened his freezer and pulled out a handle of vodka and an ice pack. His hand was still throbbing from punching Sasha even hours later. He didn’t think anything was broken and he was very uninterested in finding out, so hopefully ice and painkillers would help. 

He didn’t have another date with Shane planned yet, but he couldn’t bring himself to text him. He’d done enough for the day. He needed a drink. Maybe something stronger. He’d text him tomorrow. And he’d follow up with Svetlana on that new manager. And he’d tell Wiebe about Sasha quitting. 

For right now, he was going to sit in his room in the dark and have a drink and try to forget that he’d been abandoned once again.

“Our friendship is dead. You killed it. Chopped it into little pieces and buried it in the backyard. I’ve never been so betrayed.” 

Shane rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee. He was sitting across from Hayden at a local coffee shop, having his first in person conversation with his best friend since the pictures of his and Ilya’s date night had hit the press three days before. 

When Shane had woken up the following morning to three missed calls and ten texts from Hayden, as well as several texts from their other friend JJ that appeared to just be a series of !!!!!!!!!!!!! he had been concerned. Seeing a single text from his mom in their family group chat that read, ‘Rock star?’ had turned that concern up to panic. 

Opening his Instagram had been a mistake. His follower count had been hovering around ten thousand for several months, not that he cared. He didn’t have notifications turned on either, so he was unprepared to see that the number had jumped by almost 5k overnight. He also had several DMs from Hayden and JJ, as well as a handful of casual acquaintances all sending him the same thing. 

He ignored the messages but opened the post Hayden had sent, under which he had simply included a half dozen siren emojis. 

“Damn Ilya, TMZ really has your number,” he muttered to himself as he swiped through the photos. He hadn’t noticed anyone taking a single picture the night before. He knew people had noticed Ilya was there, but this was beyond the pale. He winced as he landed on a picture of himself clutching at his throat, Ilya crouched next to him looking baffled.  

“Great. So glad they got that one,” he sighed. He clicked on the link in the caption of the photo, which led to one of TMZ’s usual nothing stories. Obviously they hadn’t spoken to anyone, just taken the pictures and ran with it. They didn’t know anything about him besides his name and what was listed on his IMDb, so that was good. ‘Boy toy’ felt a little derogatory, but Ilya had a reputation. It would take more to convince people they were ‘serious’ than one public date. 

He opened his texts, starting with his parents. 

To Hollander Inc:

‘Just a first date! Didn’t expect all that. How did you even see it??’

Then to JJ. 

To JJD:

‘!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

Then finally to Hayden. 

To Hayden (BFF) Pike: 

‘Fuck. I was gonna text you. Call me?’

He threw the phone down on the bed and collapsed backwards. Well, they’d gotten what they wanted but frankly he was shocked by how well it had worked. He knew Ilya was famous, the kind of super famous that meant he never went anywhere without being recognized. Not being approached in that restaurant had lured Shane into a false sense of security. Just because everyone had been polite enough to leave them alone didn’t mean they hadn’t been snapping pictures under their tables all night. 

Shane would need to remember that. Whenever he was in public with Ilya, the public would always be watching. What a nightmare of a thought. 

His phone began buzzing on the bed next to him and he picked it up with a sigh. 

“And WHEN were you going to tell me you had a date with Ilya Rozanov? Do I mean nothing to you?” Hayden screeched in his ear immediately. Shane groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head. This was going to be a long conversation. 

So long, in fact, that it seemed they were picking it back up now. Shane had given Hayden a run down on their first meeting at the art auction (“Why the fuck did you go to an art auction?” “Farah gave me a ticket after another client couldn’t go, I was way out of my depth.” “Well you certainly made an impression, people are tweeting about seeing you two there!”) 

Shane had given him a brief overview of the date on the call, keeping the details light and leaving out any of the mildly sexually charged moments. Those were between him, Ilya and god. Still Hayden had pressed for more information (“Is he rude? Does he always wear sunglasses? What does he smell like?) until Shane had begged off to call his parents. 

“Oh shit, you didn’t tell them either? At least I’m not the only one,” Hayden had laughed.

“I don’t even know how they heard about it, they don’t read TMZ!” Shane had whined in response. He’d promised Hayden they could meet up for coffee soon and talk more, which was enough to get the other man to hang up the phone for the time being. 

It turns out that Shane’s parents did not read TMZ, but his dad did have a Google alert set up on his phone for his son’s name. 

“I didn’t know you knew what a Google alert was,” Shane had grumbled as he ate breakfast. He had skipped his run in order to make this call and not be late for his audition, so he was moodily eating yogurt and granola at his kitchen counter with his phone on speaker. 

“Hey, I’m hip. I have several Google alerts! I like to be in the know on things,” his dad had laughed on the other end of the call. Shane rolled his eyes. 

“What other Google alerts could you possibly have?” he asked. 

“Well, I get an alert any time there’s news about the Centaurs. Or the Ottawa Zoo, that’s a fun one!”

Shane bit back a smile and shook his head. He loved his dad. The man was such a dork. 

“Honey, are you safe? No one followed you home, right?” his mom suddenly said. Shane’s head fell back. 

“No, mom, no one followed me home. Ilya drove me back, I didn’t even walk,” he sighed in response. 

“Mmm yes, I saw that car. Bit of a death machine, can’t be good on those LA streets,” she muttered. 

“I liked it! Very bold. I’ve never been in a Lamborghini, how was that?” his dad chimed in. 

Shane winced. “Sorry dad, mom’s right on this one. Fuck that car.” 

His dad laughed and Shane smiled into his yogurt. He’d been worried they were going to pepper him with questions about how he’d met Ilya, how he’d gotten a famous rock star to take him out on a date. Instead they’d seemed to take it at face value that they’d just happened to meet and hit it off, instead focusing on the ridiculousness of the TMZ report. 

It did make him feel a little bit bad about lying to them. They really seemed to believe someone like Ilya would jump at the chance to go on a date with their son. It was sweet, if unrealistic. 

Hayden, on the other hand, remained suspicious. 

“So he just… asked to drive you home?” he repeated slowly for maybe the third time. He was staring at Shane, elbow braced on the table and chin resting on his palm. Shane nodded and sipped his overpriced latte. 

“I don’t know how many times or how many different ways you want me to say it,” Shane muttered. Hayden shook his head in disbelief. 

“Until it makes any fucking sense! Don’t get me wrong, you’re a catch! Didn’t exactly know you were a gay catch, but hey I can dig it!” 

Shance winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I should have told you before.” Hayden waved his apology off. 

“Dude, that’s your business. I would have stopped trying to set you up with women if I’d known, but no harm no foul. Besides, turns out you do not need me as a wingman if you can bag Ilya fucking Rozanov.” 

Shane laughed, a little uncomfortable. “Yeah, for sure.” 

Hayden leaned back in his chair with a shake of his head. “You know, I honestly couldn’t believe it when people started saying he was gay, but he does kinda give off that vibe now that I’m looking for it.” 

Shane frowned and squeezed his cup. “He isn’t gay. He’s bisexual,” he replied quietly. Hayden nodded quickly. 

“Right, yeah, of course. Totally makes sense. Very rock and roll of him.” 

Shane nodded slowly. Hayden kicked at his foot under the table. 

“So, you gonna see him again? Sounds like you had a good time, and dude’s got a sick car.” 

Shane glanced down at his phone on the table. He hadn’t heard from Ilya since he’d dropped him off at his apartment. He’d said he would text him with plans for their next date, but he had yet to do so. He also hadn’t texted anything about the TMZ pictures. 

There was no mandate in the contract about how often they needed to be seen together, just that they needed to have at least four dates per month. It wasn’t that weird for a couple of days to go by between dates. Still, Shane wasn’t sure how long he should wait before texting Ilya himself. 

“I’d like to,” he offered to Hayden, who smiled smugly. 

“I bet you would,” he purred. “No homo, but I bet he fucks.” 

Shane kicked him in the knee, briefly thinking about how Ilya had said he was dangerous with his feet. Well, people should stop saying stupid shit while their legs are under the same table as his. 

“Change the subject,” Shane ordered as Hayden rubbed at his knee. His friend stuck his tongue out at him but complied. 

“How did that audition go the other day?” he asked. 

Shane shrugged. “Fine, I think. Weird experience, though. The script was interesting, but there was a new writer in the audition who’s working on rewrites. He kept chiming in, giving me different lines. Felt kind of messy.” 

Hayden hummed thoughtfully. “I am so glad I never have to speak for work,” he sighed. Shane smirked. 

“So is the rest of the world,” he whispered. Hayden went to kick him, but Shane was ready and instead Hayden kicked the table leg. He laughed as Hayden swore. 

“You hear from JJ lately?” Shane asked. Hayden nodded.

“He brought his newest girlfriend on a double date with me and Jackie to see the rerelease of Top Gun last week. Which you were invited to, may I remind you,” he scolded. Shane winced. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Just didn’t want to fifth wheel you guys, I guess.” 

“I get it. But anyway, you missed out on meeting…” he trailed off. “Fuck I totally forgot her name. Ah well, I think she and JJ already broke up anyway.” 

“Was he serious about her?” Shane asked, confused. He wasn’t the best at keeping up with his friends, but he had no memory of JJ being in a relationship. 

“Fuck no dude. The day JJ gets serious about a girl is the day hell freezes over,” Hayden laughed. 

They chatted back and forth for a while. Shane let Hayden do most of the talking, since most of the big stuff happening in his life was either all over TMZ or covered by an NDA. Mostly Hayden talked about his girlfriend Jackie. Shane liked Jackie and secretly thought Hayden had massively lucked out with her. She was a nurse at the children’s hospital and worked a lot, so every moment she wasn’t working Hayden tried to hang out with her. It had meant Shane saw a little less of him than he used to, but he wasn’t beat up about it. 

Besides, now he had his own relationship to fill his time with. If Ilya ever texted him. How long until this counted as a breach of the contract? 

Later that evening Shane was seated at his little dining table eating homemade ramen. He’d never gotten a taste for the cheap instant stuff even when he was new to LA and dirt poor, but damn if he couldn’t make a good ramen from scratch. His eyes were trained on the laptop screen in front of him, the light of which was reflecting off of his glasses. He attempted to slurp up some noodles without looking away from the page he was working on when his phone lit up on the table next to him. 

From I. Rozanov: 

‘Drinks tomorrow night, 8pm.’ 

Shane raised an eyebrow at the text. It wasn’t phrased as a question, didn’t start with a hi, how are you. The first communication in days and this was all he got? 

Fine, two could play at that game. Shane opened the message to ensure it was marked read, then set his phone back down and decided to make the other man wait. Not too long, of course. He did need to fulfill the terms of the contract, and drinks with Ilya sounded fun. But it was the principle of the thing. 

Not even ten minutes later another text came through. 

From I. Rozanov: 

‘Hollander.’ 

Ooo punctuation, Shane thought to himself. He didn’t even open this one, turning back to his laptop. His phone pinged again. 

From I. Rozanov: 

‘Sixty Beverly Hills, rooftop bar.’

Shane frowned. This time he picked up his phone with one hand while the other held his chopsticks. 

To I. Rozanov: 

‘Not even going to ask if I’m ok with that?’

The little bubbles appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again. Shane set his chopsticks down carefully and folded his arms, his frown deepening. 

From I. Rozanov: 

‘You will like.’ 

That was it. All that typing just for that? Shane scoffed. He thumbs-upped the message, too annoyed to reply. After days of no contact, this is the best the guy could do? Man, he was hard to pin down. 

If Shane was honest with himself, he was a little hurt. He’d expected at least some kind of message once those photos of the two of them got out. Shit, even a joke about the photo of him choking on his pasta would have been something. Shane knew what he was getting into when he signed up to date Ilya publicly so he wasn’t looking for an apology. Just an acknowledgement that this was weird and new for Shane. 

Shane turned his phone on silent and placed it face down on the table. Drinks in Beverly Hills was fine. Ilya had made plans, that was what he’d been waiting for. So what if the exchange had been a little weird? 

Ilya had been surprisingly likeable in person, maybe he just struggled over text some times. He was a busy guy, Shane could get that. Maybe he was right in the middle of writing a song. That was probably it. 

Shane scrolled over to his calendar and added the date to tomorrow, which was a Friday night. His weekend was booked with a television shoot in which he would be a featured extra, but Friday was completely clear. Maybe he could do a hike if he got up early enough before it got too hot. Maybe he should go ahead and call this an early night. 

By the time Shane climbed into bed he hadn’t gotten any more texts from Ilya. He made the conscious decision to not let it bother him. He was sure everything was fine. It had to be. 

Chapter End Notes

Sorry Ilya, sucks to get kicked when you're already down. Sorry Shane, none of this is your fault and you are in over your head.
Next week: A low point

Chapter 6

Chapter Summary

The other shoe.

Chapter Notes

Ilya is going through it and he does NOT have a therapist. Shane did NOT sign up for this.

Even for Ilya, an hour late to their date felt like pushing it. 

Shane had been sitting at a high top table on the roof of the Sixty Beverly Hills since 8:05. He’d attempted to be a little late since he’d known Ilya would be, but he couldn’t bring himself to be any later than five minutes. He’d been led to a table and asked if he wanted to order a drink while he waited. He had declined. 

When the waiter came back ten minutes later, he declined again. When they came back again and the clock was closing in on 8:30 with no sign of Ilya, Shane went ahead and ordered. He was starting to feel a little crazy sitting there with nothing but a water. 

He’d sent Ilya several texts since arriving, all of which had gone unanswered. 

To I. Rozanov:

‘Just got here. See you soon.’

Ten minutes later. 

To I. Rozanov:

‘Seated, table near the edge of the roof. Great view.’

Just after ordering his drink. 

To I. Rozanov:

‘Running late?’

8:45 on the dot. 

To I. Rozanov:

‘Seriously, are you coming?’

8:57 

To I. Rozanov:

‘Did you fucking die???’

Shane slammed his phone face down on the table after that one and threw his drink back. He’d ordered an old fashioned out of panic and had immediately regretted the choice, finding it barely drinkable. However, his mood had been getting worse and worse with every passing moment with no sign of Ilya, so he started trying to make eye contact with a waiter to order another. 

He was about to pick up his phone again and send another angry text when Ilya finally appeared, sliding onto the stool across from him. 

He was once again wearing his leather jacket but this time he had on a black hoodie underneath it and black jeans like he was planning to attend a biker’s funeral. His hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it at best, and he made no move to take off his sunglasses. In short - 

“You look like shit,” Shane snapped. He was aware it came out a little harsh, but he was feeling punchy after being stood up for almost an hour. 

Ilya scowled. “Fuck you, Hollander,” he mumbled under his breath. Shane’s mouth fell open in shock. 

“Hey, you don’t get to be pissed at me. I’m not the one who showed up an hour late!” Shane hissed back. 

Ilya huffed and started picking at the cuff of his hoodie. “I was running behind,” he replied stiffly. Shane rolled his eyes. 

“And you couldn’t respond to any of my texts?” 

“No, I couldn't respond to any of your boring texts,” Ilya growled, his head snapping up to look at Shane. Shane straightened in his stool, taken aback by the animosity.

Before he could reply, the waiter came back over. This one at least seemed unphased by Ilya’s presence, instead seemingly happy that Shane wasn’t the only person ordering at the table anymore. Ilya asked for a glass of vodka, neat. Shane asked for another old fashioned, even though he hadn’t liked the first. It felt like the right drink for how this evening was going. 

“Ookay,” he breathed as the waiter left. “Let’s maybe just start this over.” 

Ilya didn’t respond, still focused on a loose string on his cuff. Shane sighed but forged ahead.

“How was your day?” he asked. 

Ilya sat across from him in silence. Shane tried to move his head to meet the other man’s eyes behind the sunglasses, but he was clearly working very hard to not look at Shane. 

“Fine. Mine was great. I went grocery shopping, made my protein smoothie for the week. Trader Joes has these great premade wraps, I got a few of those,” Shane attempted. No response. 

“I cleaned my apartment too, since I’ll be busy all weekend. Filming. For my job.” He waited. “This is the part where you ask about that, I think,” he deadpanned. 

Ilya finally looked up, his face a mask of indifference. 

“Filming what?” he sighed. Shane smiled through his increasing anger. 

“Procedural. I’ll be in a couple of episodes. Nothing major, but I’m excited. I’m playing the guy everyone thinks did it but then surprise, it was someone else all along. I get to do an interrogation scene. Should be fun.” 

Ilya’s mouth formed a ‘wow’ but he reacted no further. Shane felt like he was going insane. What the fuck was this energy? 

The waiter returned with their drinks and Ilya threw the entirety of his back at once. Shane’s eyebrows jumped up. It must have been the equivalent of three or four shots. 

“That’s disgusting,” he breathed. Ilya scowled and set his glass down on the table, hard. 

“You are right. Vodka here is disgusting,” he mumbled. Shane shook his head. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, feeling uneasy. This wasn’t just Ilya in a bad mood. Something was really off. 

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just been busy,” Ilya replied. Shane frowned. 

“Too busy to text me about those photos?” he said. He knew he was being tetchy, but that was still bothering him a little. 

“Yes, Hollander. Too busy to text you about photos. What did you want me to say? Congratulations?” Ilya snarked. 

“I guess I was expecting you to say, I don’t know, something? First time we’ve been photographed together. My parents called me, I told my best friend about us. Kind of a big deal, isn’t it?” Shane replied with a frown. 

Ilya scoffed and turned to flag down their waiter again. “It is what you wanted, yes? To get your name out there? Figured you would be happy.” 

Shane’s grip on his glass tightened. He’d been angry and annoyed before, but now he was hurt. The way Ilya phrased it made it sound like he was doing this to chase the spotlight. Sure, on paper that may seem like the case, but Ilya should know better. Shane had talked at dinner about his writing and how he wanted to produce his own projects once he was established enough. He’d thought Ilya had picked up on his nerves about the public scrutiny of it all. Why was he being so dismissive? 

“Hey!” Ilya yelled across the space. Shane flushed in embarrassment as Ilya waved over a waiter that wasn’t even theirs. “Vodka. And turn this fan up, it’s fucking hot up here.” 

The man hurried away and Shane stared at Ilya, gobsmacked. 

“What?” Ilya snapped. Shane shook his head slowly. 

“Please. You say please, and thank you, when you ask for something. What, did your mother not teach you manners?” 

Ilya’s jaw clenched and a chill ran down Shane’s spine. All of a sudden he understood that this person in front of him was not the Ilya he had met at the gallery, or at the restaurant, or even seen on the video call. This was the one Wiebe was trying to rangle, the one that ended up in the tabloids. 

“We should go,” Shane decided, his eyes darting around to the tables closest to them. He didn’t want anyone to notice how poorly this was going, or how on edge Ilya seemed to be. Fortunately it seemed like no one was paying them much attention. 

“Fuck no, I just ordered,” Ilya ground out. His hands were clenched into fists and his eyes were wandering. 

“Ilya, we really need to-” 

“Fuck you!” Ilya snapped. Shane reeled back in shock. Ilya was fuming, the last thing he needed was another drink, but Shane had no way of getting him out of here without making a scene. 

“Jesus,” Shane muttered under his breath. He watched the waiter approach their table with Ilya’s glass. He’d let the other man drink it, then try again. 

Ilya took the glass with a grunt and held it up to his forehead with a groan. He really looked awful, peaky and pale. Shane shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You getting another?” Ilya mumbled. Shane scoffed. 

“No, Ilya, I’m not getting another,” he replied steadily. He didn’t want to antagonize, but the situation was out of his control. He hated feeling out of control. “I just want to go home.” 

“Not having fun tonight? We could get a room in the hotel, have some real fun,” Ilya laughed, though the humor did not meet his eyes. Shane felt himself flush and he looked towards the exit, which would lead them back into the hotel. 

“Ah, relax Hollander. I am fucking with you,” Ilya sighed. He drank all of the vodka in one go yet again and waved the empty glass around. “Though I would fuck you, if you want. That is not a joke.” 

Shane saw the glass slipping from Ilya’s fingers before it actually fell, but there was nothing he could do about it. He watched it fall almost in slow motion. He still flinched when it hit the ground and shattered. 

Ilya stared down at the glass with a look of confusion, like he didn’t understand how it got there. Several other tables were now looking at them, some curious, some judgmental. Shane felt his face grow hot under the scrutiny and he pushed his stool backwards abruptly. Ilya startled at the noise, and was clearly caught off guard when Shane grabbed his arm and pulled him out of his chair and away from the table. 

The upside of the rooftop bar being located in a hotel was the wonderfully clean and spacious bathrooms located right by the entrance. Shane had clocked them as soon as he arrived, and he was hoping he was remembering them correctly as individual rooms instead of shared ones with stalls. He dragged Ilya through the crowd and into the hallway and was relieved to find his memory had been correct. 

The first bathroom was locked but the second opened as soon as he pulled on the handle. He threw Ilya in ahead of him, then locked the door behind them. His forehead fell against the door with a thump and he let out a shaky breath. Now that he was in here, he wasn’t sure what the plan was. He’d just known he needed to get Ilya away from that table and those people. 

Shane turned and leaned against the door, fuming. Ilya was leaning heavily on the opposite wall next to the sink. He was staring at the floor, looking dazed. 

“What the fuck, Hollander, you want to fuck in here?” he asked incredulously. Shane felt a rage he rarely experienced flare up in him and he crossed the bathroom in two long steps. He grabbed Ilya by the collar of his shirt, yanked him off the wall and pushed him back into it roughly. He heard Ilya gasp and his eyes finally locked on Shane’s.

“Fuck. You. Rozanov. Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?” Shane seethed. “You’re late, you’re drunk, you might be high. You’re making a fucking scene, you’re embarrassing me. Do I need to remind you I don’t have to be here? This feels like more than enough to get out of this contract!” 

Shane released Ilya with another push and he stalked back over to the door. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you tonight?” he asked. 

Ilya was silent, his eyes watching Shane in the large mirror next to the door. He was so pale, and his hair was curling at the base of his neck and his temple from sweat. His shirt was rumpled from where Shane had grabbed it. His head fell back against the wall and he let out a sigh as he slipped to the floor.

“Fuck,” he whispered as his hands came up to cup the back of his head. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” 

“Keep it down,” Shane muttered. He crossed his arms and just looked at Ilya, trying to figure out who this man was and how he was related to the one he’d met before. “Seriously, what the fuck is up? Did something happen?” 

Ilya didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes down and his hands gripping his hair. Finally he let out a shaky sigh and pulled his knees up. 

“Sasha. Our guitarist. He quit a few days ago.” Ilya mumbled. 

Shane frowned. “Sorry to hear that,” he offered. Ilya let out a miserable chuckle. 

“Yeah. Me too. He was my… my first friend. Since we were kids. My only friend, until I met Sveta. And he says he cannot play with us anymore because I am queer and out and his family will disown him like mine did and…” Ilya trailed off, then swallowed. “So we have no manager, no guitarist, and it is my fucking fault again.” 

Shane was speechless. When it rained for Ilya, it sure poured. 

“That’s… that sucks. Jesus, Ilya, that really fucking sucks. I’m so sorry.” 

Ilya giggled, looking slightly crazed. “It is not your fault. It is not your fault, and I have made it your problem. Fuck,” he laughed. He looked up at Shane, and Shane’s blood ran cold when he saw the tears in his eyes. “You were supposed to be the easy part. How hard is it to have drinks with a pretty boy? And I fucked this up too!” 

“Oh, no, um,” Shane stuttered as Ilya began to cry. His eyes darted around the room and he quickly grabbed some high end paper towels from where they were sitting on the sink and shoved him in Ilya’s direction. “Please don’t cry. It’s… it’s fine,” he finished lamely. 

Ilya shook his head as he wiped at his eyes. “No it isn’t. I have been an asshole to you all night.” 

“Well,” Shane said carefully. “Yeah. A little bit. But I get that you have a lot going on. It would have been nice if you’d just… told me.” He smiled wryly as Ilya sniffed and looked up at him. “We could have pushed this to another day, you know. If you’d needed a night to yourself.” 

Ilya shook his head quickly. “No, no. I wanted to get out, to see you. I did. I just…” he trailed off as he wiped at his eyes and hiccuped. 

“Are you… sorry just… are you high?” Shane asked quietly. He really wasn’t intending to judge, he just wanted to get a full picture of what was going on. Ilya shook his head, his eyes pleading. 

“No, no, I swear. Not today.” He winced and looked away from Shane. “Yesterday, a little bit. Yesterday was… kind of hard,” he muttered. 

Shane sighed. “Ok. Um. Did you drive here?”

Ilya nodded slowly, his eyes not focusing. Shane winced. 

“Maybe we can ask about you parking here overnight,” he muttered. “I don’t think you should be driving home. I’m not sure you should have driven here, to be honest.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispered, his head down. “Are you going to. You know. ‘Break up’ with me?” He said the last part with ridiculous air quotes, but his eyes were still watery. 

Shane considered the question seriously. This had been fucked up, to put it lightly. Wiebe had been clear. If Ilya made himself a problem for Shane, Shane could walk away at any moment. While he had managed to get Ilya away from the public before anything too insane happened, it had still been more than he’d signed up for. 

But after hearing what Ilya was going through, Shane understood a little better. Clearly Ilya didn’t have a great handle on his emotions, didn’t have the best ways of coping with stress and change, but at least it made sense. If Shane could convince him to be upfront and honest about these kinds of things before he started spiraling, maybe they could avoid moments like this in the future. 

Besides, Shane wasn’t a quitter. Abandoning this whole thing two dates in felt like giving up before he even gave it a chance. 

“No, Ilya. I’m not,” he answered quietly. Ilya’s head dropped down to his knees and he released a shaky sob. “What I’m going to do is I am going to go pay our tab and apologize for the broken glass. Then I am going to get you in an Uber downstairs and figure out your car with the front desk. You are going to sleep this off and then tomorrow you are going to call me and we are going to talk about some further ground rules not included in the contract.” 

Shane sounded a lot more confident than he was, but he figured this was a good place to start. Wiebe probably wasn’t privy to many of the ‘whys’ when it came to Ilya, just the outcomes. Shane didn’t need every single detail, but he needed to know what to expect. He’d always been a planner, he just needed the chance to plan. 

Ilya was nodding emphatically and was digging around in his back pocket. “Yes, yes. I would love to have a phone call with you,” he babbled. He held out his hand, which now clutched his wallet. “Please, take my card. I ruined tonight. You should not pay.” 

Shane thought about saying no, but the other man had a point. He took Ilya’s wallet and dug out a heavy black card. “Fine, but I’m getting the next one,” he offered gently. Ilya scoffed and let his head fall back against the wall. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.” 

Shane slipped out into the hallway and took a deep breath. It was starting to get busier as he threaded his way to the bar, and he saw that the table they had been at had been taken over by new people already. There was no sign of glass on the floor. 

When he got to the bar he waved down the first person he could and explained the situation. They were extremely understanding, saying accidents like that happen all the time, that they wouldn’t charge them for the broken glass. Shane was handed the bill for his drinks (the second of which he never even finished) and Ilya’s two vodkas, and he signed with a messy flourish after tipping twice the amount he usually would. He figured Ilya could live with it. Shane thanked them profusely and apologized again. 

When he got back to the bathroom it had been locked again. He knocked gently and Ilya emerged, his face wet like he’d thrown water on it while Shane had been gone. He offered Shane a tight smile, though he wouldn’t meet his eyes, and immediately began making his way back to the elevators to the lobby. 

The elevator ride was silent and a bit awkward. Shane was tapping Ilya’s card into his palm and watching each floor tick down as they got lower. They were alone, but the specter of the last hour lingered between them. Shane wasn’t angry, exactly. In truth he was a little relieved. Ilya had been so charming and easy so far. He’d unconsciously been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And now it had. Now he knew what he was dealing with. He could prepare. 

When they got to the lobby and Ilya looked a bit dazed and unsteady on his feet, Shane led him over to one of the plush couches in the lobby and guided him down gently before going to the front desk to ask about parking. Shane had parked in a surface lot a few of blocks away, unwilling to pay the valet fee at the hotel for a couple of hours, but he’d figured Ilya had. 

Once he got the parking squared away, promising the car would be picked up the next day, he pulled out his phone to call an Uber for Ilya before realizing he didn’t know the other man’s address. He went over to Ilya, whose head was back against the headrest with his eyes closed. 

“Falling asleep on me? I really must be boring,” he joked lightly. Ilya hummed and a tiny smile ticked up on his lips. 

“Not you,” he replied. “Just very tired.” 

“Well let’s get you home so you can sleep, huh? Address?” Shane asked. 

Ilya opened one eye and saw Shane standing with his phone in his hand. “You are not calling me an Uber,” he grumbled and he tried to fish his phone out of his pocket. 

“Hey, you know where I live. Only fair, right?” Shane teased. Ilya tsked. 

“That’s not why, I will tell you where I live. I only mean you are not paying for my drunk ass to get home.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. I was going to start a tab for you,” Shane said with a roll of his eyes. This finally got Ilya to bark out a laugh, but he’d successfully gotten his phone out by then and was typing his passcode in slowly. 

Shane watched as he got the app open and carelessly chose the fastest, nicest option. Probably for the best he got his own. “Will you text me? When you get home, I mean?” he asked suddenly. Ilya looked up at him, a strangely open look on his face. “Just to make sure you weren’t kidnapped,” Shane finished. 

Ilya smiled gently, then mocked “I am not going to be kidnapped.” Shane flushed at the memory of saying that outside his own home. At least Ilya was in a better mood now, good enough to joke a little. Shane sunk down on the couch across from Ilya to wait with him. 

Ilya tapped his phone against the armrest of the couch. He was looking over at Shane with a seriousness Shane hadn’t seen all night. “I am sorry. About tonight. This is not who I like to be.” 

Shane titled his head thoughtfully. “I believe you,” he replied softly. “We can talk about it tomorrow, ok?” 

Ilya nodded slowly and turned his attention back to his phone. A driver was on the way and the little car on the screen that Shane could just make out was creeping along the Beverly Hills streets. 

“You can go, if you need to,” Ilya said. Shane looked up at him, but he was still staring at his phone. “I will get in the Uber, don’t worry.” 

Shane snorted. “I have no other plans tonight. Sitting in a fancy hotel lobby isn’t the worst.” 

Ilya groaned. “So I really did ruin your night.” 

Shane shrugged. “Yeah, a little,” he answered honestly. Knowing that Ilya had been upset by yet another bump in the road made Shane sympathetic, for sure. But the night had still been a disaster and he wanted Ilya to get that. He handed Ilya back his credit card, which he'd used to settle the parking situation. “Let’s just get you home and we can deal with it later.” 

The two of them sat in silence while the car got closer, until Ilya’s phone pinged to say it was outside. Shane walked with him to the curb, making sure to smile wide in case there were cameras on the street. It was early for a date to end, but not so much so that people would talk. Or so he hoped. He also hoped he was quick and smooth enough getting Ilya away from prying eyes on the roof, but there was nothing to be done about that now. 

“Thank you, Shane,” Ilya sighed as he slowly made his way towards the black SUV. 

“Text me when you get home, please?” Shane asked again. Ilya gave him a tight nod before opening the car door and ducking inside. Shane watched the car pull away from the curb and into traffic and didn’t start walking away until it was out of sight. 

“Fuck me,” he whispered to himself as he began the trek back to his own car. It was barely past 10pm, meaning the night was just starting for many of the people on the streets of Beverly Hills, but Shane was thinking of nothing but climbing into bed. He had a very busy weekend, and he felt emotionally and mentally drained. 

He was mad at Ilya. He had to let himself admit that. He’d been looking forward to seeing the other man, to having a nice night before diving into work for several days. He probably wouldn’t be able to talk to Ilya much until Monday. Shit, he probably wouldn’t even have time to really talk about tonight with him like he wanted to. He’d have to text him, see if they could squeeze it in. 

He didn’t want to wait until Monday. He wanted to clear the air as soon as possible. It felt like Ilya may wake up tomorrow and start spiralling about tonight, if his immediate reaction was anything to go by. His anger had swung towards self loathing in record time, and Shane didn’t want to let that fester for two whole days. 

By the time Shane made it back to his car he was mentally writing a text to send in response once Ilya told him he got home ok. It would be a long text, but he wanted to make sure Ilya knew he wasn’t going to be unavailable because he was mad, but because he was working. Even though he was also mad. 

Shane let out a loud sigh as he sat down in his driver’s seat and rubbed at his eyes. No one had ever made Shane feel as many emotions, back to back to back, as Ilya Rozanov. One moment he was charmed by Ilya’s humor and flirtations. The next he was borderline frightened by his temper. How did Ilya go through life experiencing such a rollercoaster of emotions at any given time? 

Suddenly his phone pinged from where it was laying on the seat next to him. 

From I. Rozanov:

‘I am home. Thank you again. I am sorry.’

Shane picked it up and unlocked the phone, staring at the message. He knew Ilya was sorry, it was plain as day in every moment after he’d yelled at him in that bathroom. He wondered if he had anyone to talk to about things, like a therapist. Felt like a no. 

To I. Rozanov:

‘I’m glad. Let me get home, then I’ll text you.’

Ilya immediately thumbs-upped the message, which made Shane smile. He plugged his phone in and set it down. He’d keep drafting that text while he drove home. Then he would send it. Then they would call. And it would be ok. Hopefully. 

“I would actually rather drown than have him be our manager,” Ilya hissed. “What the fuck made you think that dinosaur would be a good idea?”

Svetlana rolled her eyes and took a sip of her mimosa. Ilya was out to brunch with her, Cliff and Wyatt on Sunday (late) morning at a cozy restaurant in Malibu. The weather was warm, per usual, but there was a beautiful ocean breeze coming through the dining room. It would have been a perfect start to his day, had Svetlana not dropped the bomb of who she had been talking with about managing the band. 

“Scott Hunter is a legend, Ilya. He knows a lot about the industry, he’s business smart, and he’s connected,” she sighed. “He took a few years off, but he isn’t that old. He had a lot of success with The Admirals, they are very popular.” 

“Yes, without him! See, he is not even that important!” Ilya whined. Wyatt barked a laugh. 

“What did Scott Hunter ever do to you?” he chuckled. 

Scott Hunter had, in fact, never done anything to Ilya. They had never even met, since Scott had stepped back from the music industry before Iron and Ice had even shown up in Hollywood. 

Ilya’s problem with Scott Hunter was impossible to pin down. He was a very successful musician and was the frontman of his band, The Admirals, until he up and quit out of nowhere. The band got a new lead singer and was still putting out hits to this day, though they’d definitely lost some of their appeal when he left. Nothing had happened publicly to explain why Hunter had just walked away when they were at their peak, and Ilya could not wrap his head around it. The man disappeared from the public eye for a while before popping up again a few months later in the trades with the news that he and a friend were opening a bar in New York City. Besides that, there had been very little information on him ever since.

And now he was coming out of hiding to manage Ilya’s band? Why the fuck would be do that? Ilya didn’t trust it. 

“I think he’d be great. Shit, anyone would be better than no one at this point,” Cliff mumbled sleepily into his waffles. 

“How did you even convince him to consider it? Dude’s been like, very unavailable. Also, he’s never managed a band before. Not sure being in one is quite the same,” Wyatt pointed out. Ilya had the same question, but had been holding back in case it came across like he was entertaining this. Which he was not. 

“I can be very persuasive,” Sveta said with a huff. 

“He is bored with life, I fucking knew it,” Ilya mumbled as he stabbed a piece of sausage a little harder than necessary. Sveta kicked him under the table. 

“Be serious, Ilya. He is willing to consider working with us. We need a manager, you know we do. Can you please try and be nice? We are meeting with him next Friday, he is flying in from New York.” 

Ilya groaned and let his head fall onto the table. He did not want to try and be nice. He did not want to talk to Scott Hunter, or be managed by him.

There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that sounded a little too much like Shane Hollander saying that this was a good opportunity, and that he shouldn’t be difficult just to be difficult. He was a member of a band, and he had to think about what was best for them sometimes. Even if he didn’t like it. 

Besides, he’d made a lot of trouble for them recently. The least he could do was try. 

“Fine,” he muttered. “But I do not have to like it. Or him.” 

Svetlana beamed. “Thank you, Ilyusha,” she sang. Wyatt whooped and Cliff held up his glass in a lazy toast. 

Ilya sat up and sipped his water. He had abstained from alcohol, much to his bandmates’ surprise. In fact, he hadn’t had anything to drink since that rooftop bar on Friday. 

The week leading up to that date had been a very, very bad one. Ilya had felt painfully listless, had made no real progress on his music, and partaken in more cocaine on Thursday than he had in a while. Usually he would do it with Sasha though, so he’d ended up just being high and sad, which is a terrible combination. He’d made plans to see Shane on a whim, hoping that would cheer him up a bit. 

He should have known he was in no place to see Shane. Shane, the nice boy he was supposed to be behaving around. He was far from behaving when he stumbled into that hotel. Fortunately his home hadn’t been that far from the bar, but in hindsight he shouldn’t have driven. He’d started drinking too early in the day in an effort to battle the terrible feeling of crashing from the previous night’s cocaine. 

He should have cancelled. He should have begged forgiveness over text and asked to reschedule for the following week. He should not have shown up drunk and upset and immediately taken it out on Shane, who had to have been so confused. He’d hurt the other man’s feelings like he so often hurt people around him. And Shane had never experienced it before, so it wasn’t like Sevta or Wiebe who knew what to expect. He’d sprung that shit on Shane out of nowhere. 

Truth be told he could not believe Shane didn’t just run for the hills. Left him at that table surrounded by broken glass. He wouldn’t have blamed Shane, not one bit. For that display it was the least he deserved. 

He barely remembered the near sprint to the bathroom, but he could very much still feel his back hitting the wall and Shane’s flushed cheeks and angry eyes as he yelled at him. Shame and attraction had warred inside of Ilya at that moment. Shane was so, so hot when he was angry. For the first time though, Ilya understood where his anger was coming from. Too quickly it crumbled into a disappointment that Ilya couldn’t bear. 

Telling Shane about Sasha had not been part of the plan. He’d intended to bring it up at some point, when he could look back on it and pretend to laugh it off. But looking at Shane, how confused and hurt he was by Ilya’s actions, he couldn’t refuse him a real explanation. 

He hadn’t deserved the care and consideration from Shane that followed, but he was grateful for it. More grateful than he thought Shane knew. Once he was in the Uber all he could think about was texting Shane when he got home. Because the other man had asked him to, to make sure he got home safe. Not even his bandmates asked for that, though he knew it wasn’t because they didn’t care. They were just used to him and the way he lived his life. They figured he’d get home eventually. 

Ilya had forced himself to shower and eat some leftovers while he waited for Shane’s follow up text. The other man clearly wanted to say something, but was driving himself home so Ilya had to be patient. He was nervous even though they had parted on better terms than he deserved. 

Eventually the text came through, and it left Ilya feeling… better. Shane had obviously thought long and hard about what to say and Ilya read every word like it was a lifeline in the ocean. 

From Pretty Boy:

‘Hey, I made it home. I wanted to text you and let you know that I won’t have much time to talk this weekend since I’ll be working. It is not because I’m upset with you, even though I kind of am. But that’s ok, it happens. I do want to talk about it more, if you are up for it. My call time tomorrow is nine, I know that’s early. Is there any way you can call me before that? I’ll be up really early, so any time before 8:30 is fine. I don’t want to wait until Monday if we can avoid it. But if that doesn’t work, no worries! We can talk on Monday. Just let me know.’

Ilya had fumbled, still slightly drunk, to respond with the affirmative, that he could make the following morning work. He swiped over to his alarm and set three in a row for 7, 7:05 and 7:10, just in case. He hated getting up early, but he felt like he owed it to Shane. 

Fortunately, though perhaps not for his health, Ilya barely slept at all that night. He kept replaying the evening in his head like he was a spectator, watching himself act like an asshole and embarrass Shane. He had to keep reminding himself that Shane was mad but not so mad that he wouldn’t talk to him anymore. By the time 7am came around Ilya could barely contain himself. He called Shane as soon as he turned off that first alarm. 

Shane answered immediately, and greeted Ilya softly like he was still waking up. Ilya momentarily forgot all about what was going on as he pictured a sleep rumpled Shane Hollander, sun in his hair, maybe a little pout on his lips about having to wake up. It was somehow both very cute and incredibly erotic. 

The conversation that followed hadn’t been easy for Ilya. Shane had told him, with no room for negotiation, that what had happened the previous night was not acceptable. Ilya had no desire to argue that and had taken the lecture in silence. There was shame, as there usually was, but Shane’s voice was soft and comforting at least. He’d gotten worse lectures from worse people in the past, he’d take this one any day.

After that Shane had wanted to talk about “next steps”, which Ilya had forced himself not to giggle at. So formal, he thought to himself. So mature for his age. 

“If something happens, or even if you’re just having an off day, please tell me that,” Shane had said. “I felt really caught off guard last night. You don’t have to give me the details to everything, but-” 

“No, I know,” Ilya had cut in. “I should have rescheduled.” 

“That’s an option,” Shane replied gently. “Or we can do something less… overstimulating. Or even just talk? If you need someone to talk to?” 

Ilya had felt the sudden and intense urge to cry. He already had enough people in his life he didn’t deserve. He wasn’t sure what to do with Shane Hollander. 

In the end, Ilya had agreed to be painfully honest with Shane when it came to his mood swings. He’d warned the other man he wasn’t always sure why they happened or how to regulate them, but Shane had just said he’d rather know than wonder. They’d ended the call so that Shane could get to his shoot. Ilya would have talked to him for hours. 

So he hadn’t had a drink in over 24 hours, and he was feeling very good about it. He had smoked several cigarettes to make up for it, but. Baby steps. Water at brunch felt desperately sad to his twenty-two year old brain, but even though Shane hadn’t said anything in particular Ilya felt like he needed to try and cut back generally. High, drunk and sad were not the best versions of himself, and while he had fun getting high and drunk he was rarely proud of the things he got up to when he looked back on them. 

High and drunk is what got him into trouble at The Abbey in the first place. At least he thought so. He barely remembered that night. Not great. 

“What about a new guitarist?” Wyatt asked around a mouthful of hashbrowns. Ilya flinched, the wound still fresh, but he forced a smile. 

“We need one,” he said honestly. “Anyone hear anything?”

Svetlana hummed and tapped her glass. “Have you asked Fabian? He might know.” 

Ilya tilted his head in thought. It wasn’t a bad idea. Fabian was one of the few people outside of the band that Ilya would consider an actual friend, not that they advertised it. He was a musician as well, an indie solo act with a genuine gift for the violin. The problem was that Ilya had never met someone so loudly and proudly gay in his entire life, and up until very recently he had been avoiding such associations publicly. 

Now he had nothing to lose. And Fabian was nothing if not a social butterfly with an ear for gossip. If anyone knew about a good, available guitarist, it would be him. 

“I will call him,” Ilya declared with a nod. Svetlana smiled again, pleased. 

“We should see if we can work in a violin part to one of the songs on the new album,” Cliff muttered absentmindedly. “See if he would want a feature.” 

Ilya stared across the table at Cliff, who barely seemed to register what he’d said. The moment it was out of his mouth though, Ilya knew it was genius. Fabian would play hard to get, but Ilya could convince him. It would be a very different sound, something new, to have Fabian featured on the album. New was exciting. 

“Cliff, all of your best ideas happen at brunch. We should brunch every day,” Ilya declared with a laugh. Cliff smiled lazily. 

“As long as they can start no earlier than 11, I’m in,” he replied. 

Ilya sat back in his seat and focused on his food again. His appetite was good today. He’d taken his meds, which he’d abandoned the whole week before. He wasn’t even sure they were helping but there was a sense of accomplishment when he took them on time, so that was something. The day was beautiful, he was with his friends. He would get to talk to Shane tomorrow, ask him about the TV shoot. They were going to try and get a new manager in Scott Hunter, for his sins.

So what if his father abandoned them and disowned him? So what if Sasha quit the band? So what if his relationship with Shane was a PR sham that the other man was only participating in due to a contract? 

Ilya started humming a melody to himself as he finished up the last bites on his plate, the sound of a violin playing softly in his head.

Chapter End Notes

Poor Shane, confused and hurt. Poor Ilya, sad and unequipped to deal with things. I swear it'll get better from here (for a bit). Life is full of ups and downs, ain't it.
A Scott Hunter AND a Fabian mention? That's how you know I'm cookin.

Next week: A step forward

Chapter 7

Chapter Summary

Third date's a charm.

Chapter Notes

The swan boats are a real thing at Echo Park in Los Angeles, and they are delightfully silly.

Even after a few years in the industry, it still surprised Shane how boring TV shoots could be. There was so much sitting around and waiting, with occasional bursts of activity and excitement before everything needed to be put on hold while they redid the lighting or waited for an extension cord. 

Shane was used to it at this point, but it didn’t mean he’d ascended beyond experiencing boredom. He had a bit more to do than the extras on set, so that was nice. He’d also been asked by more people than anticipated what Ilya Rozanov was like, how they had met, what they’d been up to together. He’d probably told the story about them meeting at the gallery ten times by Sunday night. 

The shoot went well though. The episodes he was in wouldn’t air for several months, but when he’d called his parents on the drive home from filming they told him they would catch up on some old episodes to quote ‘get into the show’. 

“It’s a procedural, you guys, you don’t have to do that,” Shane laughed. 

“But I want to know the characters, live with the characters, care about the characters!” his dad had replied dramatically. 

Shane didn’t call Ilya, but he did text him once he got home. 

To I. Rozanov: 

‘Just finished up, happy to be home! Plans this week?’

He didn’t have to wait long before he received a response, his shoes barely untied when the notification came through. 

From I. Rozanov: 

‘I hope you had fun. Yes please, to plans. Suggestions?’

Shane grinned. He was so glad they’d talked before he got busy with work. Not being awkward after a few days of no communication was worth the difficult conversation. 

He hadn’t wanted to preach or lecture, but Shane had always been a very upfront person. Sometimes so much so that it turned people off. Shane wasn’t good at lying in general, and he’d already maxed out on that front for the next year by having to keep the PR nature of his relationship a secret. He’d felt it was best to just lay out how he was feeling and see what happened. 

It had gone shockingly well from his perspective. Perhaps Ilya had just been feeling guilty and emotional, but the other man had listened and responded better than Shane assumed. Now it just remained to be seen if he could stick to what they’d agreed to. 

To I. Rozanov: 

‘What about Echo Park?’ 

 From I. Rozanov:

 ‘The swan boats? So romantic!’

Shane rolled his eyes and flopped down onto his couch. 

To I. Rozanov: 

‘Isn’t romantic what we’re going for?’ 

 From I. Rozanov: 

‘Yes, yes. Perfect. Wednesday? Late afternoon, when the sun starts to go down so it is not too hot?’

 To I. Rozanov: 

‘Ok, that’s great. I’ll see you there.’

 From I. Rozanov: 

‘Can I pick you up?’

Shane bit his lip. There wasn’t an inherent problem with that, and it would be nice not to drive himself there. Still…

To I. Rozanov: 

‘Can it not be in the death machine?’ 

 From I. Rozanov: 

‘Betrayal! You loved riding in that car!’ 

 To I. Rozanov: 

‘I really, really did not.’ 

 From I. Rozanov: 

‘Sigh. Fine, I can bring a different car.’

 To I. Rozanov: 

‘Thank you. Then yes, you can pick me up. I appreciate it.’ 

Ilya hearted the last message and Shane set his phone down. It was nearing midnight and he hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch earlier that day. He needed a shower to get off all the set makeup, and he’d missed two days of his morning run. All in all he felt like a mess, but he could afford to take the following day to himself. Maybe he could check in with JJ or Hayden, see if they wanted to just hang out. 

By the time Wednesday afternoon came around Shane was feeling like himself again. He’d had JJ and Hayden over on Monday and told them about the plan to go to the park. He mentioned the date on the rooftop, though only because a few pictures of the two of them had ended up online afterall. Fortunately the pictures were very innocuous and failed to show the turmoil happening at the table or outside the hotel. 

“I had a shoot this weekend, so we didn’t have a ton of time,” Shane had offered when pressed for details. 

“Ah, but he just had to see you,” JJ sighed with a flutter of his eyelashes. “Shane Hollander, turning a hoe into a housewife before our very eyes.” 

Shane had swatted at JJ for that one. “Don’t call him that,” he admonished. 

“Seriously though dude, this is like. Unprecedented for him. And you guys have another date planned? What’s next, a ring?” Hayden laughed. 

“Didn’t know you two were so plugged into the news on Ilya Rozanov,” Shane grumbled. 

Fortunately the rest of the afternoon had been taken over by other topics. Both Hayden and JJ had no problem filling a silence, so Ilya was mentioned no further. 

Shane ended up being glad they didn’t have their date planned until Wednesday, as Tuesday found his inbox flooded with emails. Some were from so-called journalists asking for comment on his new relationship. Some were from brands he had been tangentially associated with before wondering if he had time to chat. Several were from Farah, some with new scripts and some with requests from studios.

Shane called Farah immediately. 

“How many emails did you get?” she asked as soon as she picked up. 

“Fifteen, not including the handful from you,” he laughed. 

“Exposure, baby. There’s nothing like it,” Farah sighed. “You can ignore any requests for comment, they should be going through me for that but they can be sneaky. Brands?”

“A couple,” he said as he scrolled through his inbox. 

“Pick one at most, if any. Send me a list of who reached out if you don’t have a preference and I’ll take a look. Best to keep demand high by being picky.” 

Shane huffed an incredulous breath. “Demand? Presumptuous of you.” 

“Oh hush. You pay me for this, you know,” she replied. “Let me know on those scripts I sent over too. A couple of studios reached out, wondering if you were interested in a general. I can narrow down which ones you should consider based on what their current projects are, if that helps.” 

“And all this just because I had dinner and drinks with Ilya Rozanov?” Shane muttered. 

“Shane,” Farash said gently. “They may know about you because of it, but that isn’t why people are reaching out. Well, the brands, maybe a little. But being photographed next to a rock star doesn’t make a studio think you’ll be a good fit for something they’re working on. All it does is get your name in more people’s ears.”

Shane wasn’t so sure about that, but he could hardly complain now. A quick glance showed that a smaller, indie studio was amongst the ones that had reached out, one that Shane had a lot of respect for. It would be a dream come true to work on one of their films, and they had a good enough reputation that he didn’t think they wanted to talk to him just for stunt casting purposes. Besides, he and Ilya weren’t the king and queen of Hollywood or anything. 

“I’ll read through these and get back to you,” he told Farah. It would probably take him the whole day, but this was what he’d been waiting for. He would be nothing if not thorough. 

“Great. Oh, and did you get a chance to send your rent information over to Wiebe? They’re going to set up an automatic payment starting next month.”

Right, Shane thought to himself. He also wasn’t paying rent. He was being handed the chance of a lifetime and not having to worry about rent at the same time. And all he had to do was hang out with Ilya? Even at his worst (so far) Shane couldn’t imagine a reason to walk away. Though the rooftop debacle had been pushing it. Just like with Hayden and JJ, he did not bring up the details of that evening to Farah. That would stay between him and Ilya for now. 

He hung up with Farah and immediately sent an encrypted email to Wiebe with instructions on how to pay his rent. After a run and some breakfast he turned his air conditioning unit down two whole degrees cooler than usual and settled in for a long day of emails. 

By the time Ilya pulled up to his apartment complex in his beautiful but significantly safer looking Escalade the following afternoon, Shane was happy as a clam. He and Farah had discussed some options, and she had agreed on moving forward with the general at the indie studio. 

“Also, I told her we could discuss something with Canada Dry,” he finished with a grin. He was seated in the front seat next to Ilya, who had opened his door for him and greeted him with a smile. Shane had been unable to hold back from launching into his previous day. 

Ilya, who had been nodding along as he drove them to Echo Park, tilted his head at that. 

“Like… the ginger ale?” he questioned. 

“I like ginger ale,” Shane sniffed. Ilya giggled, which made a spark of joy run up Shane’s spine. 

“That makes sense, then. You will make a very good spokesman for Canada Dry,” Ilya replied with a wink. Shane rolled his eyes, but was secretly pleased. 

He was also pleased to hear that Ilya had made a lot of progress on the issues that had been plaguing him recently. 

“I talked to Fabian on Monday, he and I will have lunch tomorrow,” Ilya was saying as they got out of the car. It was still hot even though it was approaching 5pm, but that was unavoidable at the end of July. Ilya was dressed for the weather though, looking more like he was going to step onto a private yacht than clamber into a ridiculous public swan boat. The whole outfit was white linen and he even had on a little straw boating hat. 

Shane on the other hand was wearing his usual casual outfit of a button down shirt and comfortable shorts. He’d added a little cologne after putting on sunscreen in an effort to cover the beachy scent. 

“Do you think he’ll know someone?” Shane asked as they made their way to the boat rentals. Ilya shrugged. 

“He said on the phone he had someone in mind, but said I owed him lunch first before he would tell me. He’s not wrong. It’s been too long.” 

“How do you know him?” 

Ilya tiled his head back and hummed, looking thoughtful. “We met in Boston, actually. He did a show, the band and I went to see it. He is very, very talented and I wanted to talk to him after.” He winced. “Sasha did not, said Fabian was boring. I think he was just too scared to talk to someone so…” he trailed off, then cleared his throat. “So Sasha left but we all stayed. Fabian is very good about talking to people after shows. Probably why he knows so many people.” 

“That’s great then!” Shane offered with a smile. Ilya returned it as they got up to the stand to show their reservation for the boat. They checked in with a bored teenager that barely gave them a second glance and directed them to one of the boats with a lazy wave. 

“Any luck with a manager?” Shane asked carefully as they made their way down to the lake. 

Ilya’s face dropped into an adorable pout.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Sveta found someone.” 

“Ilya, that’s awesome! Who is it?” Shane exclaimed. 

“It is Scott Hunter, old dinosaur. He retired like a hundred years ago, but Svetlana can talk anyone into anything so-” 

“Holy shit, did you say Scott Hunter?!” Shane had stopped in his tracks at the sound of the name. Ilya turned around with a look of surprise. 

“Yes. Why do you know this name?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Are you kidding? The Admirals are like, my favorite band ever!” Shane almost shouted. Ilya groaned and dropped his face into his hands. 

“This? This is like when you found out I am a Boston fan. I cannot do this, Hollander, we are destined to be apart!” he moaned dramatically. He let his hands fall and he pouted again at Shane. “How can you like him, he is so bleh!” 

“Oh, shut up,” Shane laughed. He nudged Ilya to keep moving, his grin not fading for a moment. “How can you not like him? His lyrics are incredible. You know he wrote almost all of their best songs. They haven’t been the same without him,” he finished wistfully. 

Ilya grumbled as they approached their assigned boat. “Oh, maybe you want to be in a relationship with Scott Hunter, since he’s sooo talented,” he said snarkily. Shane let out a laugh. 

“Aww, don’t be jealous. You’re the only leading man of a rock band I want,” he joked, then immediately flushed as he heard the words play back in his mind. That sounded a lot more sincere than he’d intended. 

It worked out in the end though, because it earned him a shy little grin from Ilya. Wasn’t that something? 

Getting seated in the swan took longer than Shane had anticipated, and it didn’t help that Ilya kept complaining about Scott Hunter the entire time. 

“You haven’t even met him yet?” Shane laughed once they were finally pedaling off into the lake. “How do you have such a strong opinion on him already?” 

“I don’t get it!” Ilya cried. Shane had to hold back a real laugh at the sight of Ilya grumpily pedaling along. “I do what he did, and I cannot imagine walking away. And now he wants to come back and manage me? Why? I do not trust it!” 

Shane shrugged and squinted across the lake, looking for any obvious cameras. “Well, maybe he’s interested in a new career,” he offered. 

“He already has a new career!” Ilya whined. “Why does he need to get involved with mine?” 

Shane chuckled. “Oh stop, you big baby. It sounds like Svetlana worked a miracle for you.” 

Ilya sighed and gripped the handles of the boat. “I know,” he responded quietly. “She is a life saver. If tomorrow goes well we may have a guitarist soon. If meeting with Hunter goes well, we may have a manager. Everything will be back on track.” 

Shane frowned. “Hey,” he said gently, and Ilya turned to look at him. He couldn’t see the other man’s eyes behind his sunglasses, but he could read the complicated emotion on his face anyway. “You know you don’t have to just agree to this because Svetlana brought him to you. Just give him a chance, maybe behave a little bit,” he poked Ilya jokingly in the cheek, which earned him another little smile, “and if it works, great. If not, you keep looking. You guys are super talented, it shouldn’t be that hard to find someone to manage you.” 

Ilya’s face lit up with a mischievous grin. “Oh, we are super talented, hm?” he purred. Shane groaned. 

“Serves me right for trying to give you a compliment,” he grumbled. Ilya let out a loud laugh. 

They had the swan boat rented for an hour, but Shane had not been expecting them to use the whole time. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, then they’d head back to shore. Instead they were out on the lake up until the very last possible moment, talking. Ilya filled him in on the idea he had for a song with Fabian, and complained some more about the hypotheticals of Scott Hunter. Shane told him about his day with Hayden and JJ, and about his parents. Ilya was seemingly tickled by his dad’s use of Google alerts. 

At one point Ilya nudged him gently and tilted his head to the side a bit. “Camera,” he muttered with a small smile. Shane couldn’t help but whip his head towards where Ilya had gestured, which made Ilya laugh. “Well, now you have to smile for them!” 

Shane squinted and saw there was someone in another swan boat with a large camera and a black baseball cap on. “Did he rent a boat just to get pictures of us?” Shane asked incredulously. Ilya shrugged as he turned the boat a bit to the left. 

“People have done weirder things to take a picture of me,” he admitted. “One time someone climbed the outside of a building and up onto a balcony.” 

“Jesus!” Shane exclaimed. 

“It was only like, four stories,” Ilya replied with a wave of his hand. Shane shook his head and turned back to the cameraman. He offered a little wave and watched as the man seemed to take a thousand photos immediately. 

“You look scared. Or like I am holding you hostage,” Ilya giggled. Shane turned back to him and shoved his arm. 

“Oh shut up, I’m not used to this,” he grumbled. 

“Just relax, pretend he is not there,” Ilya advised sagely. 

“Easy for you to say,” Shane sighed. But he sat back in his seat and kept pedalling in an attempt to ignore the camera. Ilya watched him intently for a moment before taking the control stick of the boat and swinging them around so their backs were facing the man. 

“Best I can do,” he offered. Shane sent him a grateful smile. He’d given that guy something, that should be enough. 

By the time they got off the lake Shane’s legs were incredibly sore. He would be feeling that during his run the next morning. He was mildly annoyed to see Ilya almost bouncing as they made their way back to the car, seemingly unbothered by the workout. 

“Oh, tacos!” Ilya suddenly cried happily. Shane looked in the direction he was pointing and saw that there was a taco truck parked on the street. Ilya turned to look at him, eyes pleading. “Do you have time for tacos?” he asked. It came out almost shy. 

Shane scrunched his nose in thought. He had time, obviously, but taco truck tacos were not part of his usual diet. Looking at Ilya’s face though, he felt he could make an exception. 

“Sure,” he replied with a demure shrug, and Ilya lit up. He looks so good when he’s happy, Shane thought to himself as Ilya tugged him along by the wrist towards the truck. 

The tacos were delicious. Greasy and probably not good for the cholesterol, but delicious. Shane bought the tacos despite Ilya’s protest, insisting since he hadn’t paid for a date yet. They sat down at a picnic table in the park and ate their tacos as the sun began to set. 

“The water looks very nice,” Ilya sighed. There was orange grease on the corner of his mouth from the taco, and somehow a tiny piece of onion had found its way to his cheek. Shane was biting back a smile as he nodded in agreement. The water did look nice with the setting sun reflecting off of it. Ilya looked even nicer. Shane quickly tried to squash the thought, but he couldn’t help it. Even covered in food, the other man was striking. 

Tacos finished, they made their way back to Ilya’s car. Shane tried to walk slowly, to extend the amount of time they had together. If the last date had been a real low, this was a genuine high. He tried to hang on to the memory of Ilya drunk and angry, but it was so hard to square with the delightful, happy man in front of him. 

When they reached the Escalade, Ilya walked over to Shane’s side first. Shane assumed he was going to open the door for him, but instead he stood in front of it for a moment, looking a little nervous but also excited. 

“So. It is our third date,” he declared. Shane titled his head to the side in confusion. 

“Yes?” he questioned. 

“Well,” Ilya leaned in close enough to whisper. “What do you think about a first kiss?” 

Shane forced himself not to react despite how much he wanted to. Ilya was right. The agreement stated that date three or four could be their first kiss. Obviously they never had to kiss in public, plenty of people don’t do PDA like that. But Ilya had been photographed with his tongue down enough women’s throats that it would be far from off brand for him. 

And if Shane was honest with himself for a quick moment, he wanted it. The whole date had been close to perfect, better even than the restaurant. If it were a real date, Shane could see himself falling head over heels for the other man.

Of course, it wasn’t real. It was a part of the agreement, even if it was a particularly good part. And so were any potential kisses. 

“Well,” Shane replied quietly, attempting to be confident, “feels like there were some more romantic moments you could have offered instead of next to your car, don’t you think?” 

He meant it as a tease, but Ilya’s face fell immediately. “You’re right. The swans would have been perfect,” he mumbled. Shane huffed a laugh and stepped up into Ilya’s space. 

“That’s ok. This works too,” he said. Ilya quirked an eyebrow in question, and Shane gave him a small nod. And then Ilya’s lips were on his. 

Shane had not had many first kisses in his life. A girl in eighth grade had kissed him on their last day of school. He didn’t date in high school, though he did kiss one guy at a graduation party in Ottawa before he moved to LA. He couldn’t remember a thing about him, and the kiss had been sloppy and rushed, so he hadn’t really felt like he was missing out. He’d kissed a few women for roles since then, but he obviously didn’t count those. 

This was different. Ilya’s lips were gentle and sweet, unhurried. Shane could smell his expensive cologne, something rich and dark, as well as the hint of cigarette smoke that always seemed to cling to him. He felt Ilya’s hands wrap gently around his waist and pull him forward, felt the other man tilt his head to get a better angle. It occurred to Shane that if this is what kissing could be like, he had very much been missing out. 

He sighed into the kiss and raised a hand up to Ilya’s neck, holding him in place. He was thrilled at the tiny shiver he felt run through Ilya at the gesture. After a moment he pulled back to catch his breath and smiled as Ilya chased his lips with his own. 

“Not bad for a first kiss,” he mumbled between them. Ilya hummed and pressed their foreheads together with a grin, his eyes still closed. 

“Next one will be even better,” he breathed. Shane felt himself flush, and he stepped back to get some space between them. Ilya blinked, almost surprised, before straightening with a sheepish grin. 

“I should get you home. This is a late night, for you,” Ilya teased as he opened the car door. Shane rolled his eyes but couldn’t force down the smile on his face. 

“Ah yes, the dreadful hour of 8pm,” he mocked back as he climbed in. Ilya laughed and closed the door. Shane let out a shaky breath as Ilya walked around the car, his heart pounding. 

The drive back to his place was quiet, maybe a little awkward, but mostly content. Shane couldn’t figure out what to talk about after that kiss, his mind playing the moment on repeat. It had been so, so sweet. He had to imagine it was the kind of kiss you had with someone you were falling in love with. 

But Ilya was in the tabloids kissing people all the time. Photos upon photos of him with models and singers and actresses with his tongue down their throats or their arms around his neck. Shane didn’t have much to go off of, so he was trying not to read too much into how perfect that kiss had been. Maybe Ilya was just like, really good at kissing. 

Ilya once again ran around to open the car door for him once they pulled up to Shane’s curb. 

“You really don’t have to do that, no one can see us,” Shane laughed as he stepped out of the car. Ilya’s mouth dropped in mock shock. 

“You think I am only a gentleman when people are watching? You wound me, Hollander,” he gasped. 

“So dramatic,” Shane sighed with a roll of his eyes. He glanced up at his apartment. In another life, maybe he would invite Ilya upstairs. Maybe he would lean in for another kiss. Maybe he would do a lot of things. 

In this life, he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his head and shifted his feet. “Thanks, for today. It was really fun,” he offered. The whole day was catching up with him, and he was trying very very hard to keep in mind that this date was to fulfill the terms of a contract, and not just because he liked Ilya Rozanov. 

“Ah, it was your idea. Very good one. The pictures will be very cute,” Ilya said gently. Shane winced internally at the reminder of the photographer on the lake. He could safely assume that wasn’t the only one. 

“Right. Yeah. Well, text me how your meeting with Fabian goes? And Scott Hunter!” 

Ilya groaned and stepped off the curb to head back to the driver’s side of the car. “Why would you bring him up again and ruin this nice date? Now I will be thinking about him all night!” 

Shane let himself laugh at Ilya’s dramatics, and turned towards the stairs up to his apartment feeling a little lighter. “Goodnight, Ilya,” he called over his shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Shane,” he heard back. He bounded up the steps and waved again from his door. Ilya waved back, then got in his car. Shane slipped inside his apartment and locked the door with a sigh. 

He needed to get a grip. It was a good kiss. The best he’d ever had. Sure, the list was short. But he couldn't imagine it being any better. 

Ilya was beautiful, everyone knew that. When he was sober and present he was sweet, funny. Sarcastic with a biting sense of humor at times, but Shane found that he liked it. Shane remembered what Ilya had said when he’d been drunk outside of that hotel. “This is not who I like to be.” 

The way he’d smiled and laughed today made Shane fairly sure that the Ilya he spent the afternoon and evening with was the Ilya he wanted to be. And Shane really, really liked that Ilya. 

“So what I’m hearing is that homophobia blew up your band. Tragic, we hate to see evil win,” Fabian sighed. Ilya groaned and let his own head thump against the table.

He’d arrived to his lunch with Fabian in an excellent mood. When he’d gotten home from his date with Shane he’d been on cloud nine, their first kiss playing on repeat in his head. Shane Hollander could KISS. Ilya had let himself really enjoy it, since he wasn’t sure how often he would be getting them. Though now that he’d had one, he was counting the seconds to the next. 

It was rare for him to kiss someone and not immediately escalate to more. He’d been disappointed when Shane pulled back, but the flush on his cheeks and the look in his eyes had been a worthy trade. Kind of. He’d rather have gone in for another, maybe pried open the other man’s lips with his tongue and gotten a real taste. 

But Shane wasn’t actually dating him, they weren’t actually in a relationship. He needed to behave, now more than ever. Shane had been so gracious and forgiving of his shitty actions already when he could have walked away. So he’d driven Shane home like a gentleman and not given him a kiss outside of his apartment. Even though he had really wanted to.

He’d rewarded himself with a glass of wine upon getting home, which he drank out by his pool while he scribbled new lyrics out in one of his notebooks. He had kind of hoped it would help him sleep, since he was so wound up from the events of the day, but it hadn’t. In the end he’d taken a sleeping pill, but only one, and had drifted off with a brand new melody running through his head. 

This was good news, as he now felt like he had four solid songs coming together. He’d brought some lyrics and instrumental notations to show Fabian in his pitch to collaborate with the other man, and the band was coming over that afternoon to go over what he’d written so far. 

Svetlana was also insisting they record a demo of at least one song to show to Scott Hunter when they met with him the next day. Ilya was in a good enough mood to agree, though he had sent several crying face emojis in the band’s group chat just to remind everyone where he stood on the subject.

“Personally, I’m over the moon about the new queer you. He’s decided to go out to lunch with me. In public,” Fabian teased with an elegant lift of his eyebrow. Ilya winced as he straightened in his chair. 

“I deserved that,” he mumbled. Fabian laughed gently and waved him off. 

“It’s ok. Seeing how this all went down, you were probably right to play it safe,” he said. 

The thing was, Fabian was what some people may call ‘a lot’. He was unapologetic with his style and vibe. He had been out and proud for as long as Ilya had known him, which hadn’t mattered when the band had been small-timers in Boston. The second they skyrocketed to fame when Ilya was barely 19, that had all changed. For the same reasons Sasha couldn’t be around Ilya now, Ilya hadn’t been able to be publicly associated with Fabian. 

Which was one of the reasons Sasha leaving the band had been so painful. Ilya couldn't’ even entirely blame him. 

“I assume Sveta told you about Sasha?” he asked Fabian. Fabian nodded slowly. 

“I’m really sorry, Ilya. Have you heard from him at all since then?” 

Ilya shook his head, eyes focused on the wood grain of the table between them. He heard Fabian sigh. 

“Well, I can’t help you replace your friend. And that really sucks,” Fabian said bluntly. “But I can maybe help you with a guitarist.”

Ilya looked up with a smile. One of his favorite things about Fabian was that he didn’t dwell. He experienced his emotions, let himself feel them no matter how big or small, then moved on. It was a trait Ilya envied as someone who was at least self aware enough to admit he struggled with emotional regulation.  

“You have someone in mind?” Fabian nodded happily. 

“Yes. Fabulous guitarist, really talented. He played on my last album, so I’m not saying that for nothing.” 

Ilya was impressed. The guitar on Fabian’s last album had been very good, confident and technically sound. 

Fabian continued, looking a little sad. “He’s… had some things. Recently. He was in a band for a solo artist for a while, got real close with him. He ended up stepping away after some really shady shit came out about the other guy.” 

Ilya frowned. “Oh? You want to elaborate?” 

Fabian grimaced. “Have you heard of Dallas Kent?” 

“No shit,” Ilya breathed, his eyes widening in shock. Dallas Kent had been an up and coming singer, on a slower track to fame than Iron and Ice but climbing all the same. He was technically a solo artist, but there were obviously people who played on his tracks or when he toured.  

A few months ago Dallas Kent had been arrested for sexual assault. The accusations had started long before that, but a lot of people didn’t believe them. Apparently those people had been wrong, because one day there were pictures and stories in just about every publication of Kent being arrested at some swanky New York hotel and taken away. The trial hadn’t started yet, but the evidence so far did not look good for him.

“Right. So. That’s kind of been happening for a bit,” Fabian went on. “I actually think he might end up testifying, not sure they’ll use his name though. Remains to be seen.” 

Ilya whistled and sat back in his chair. “Brave or trying to cover his own ass?” he asked. Fabian shrugged. 

“I want to say brave based on the guy I know, but I wasn’t there. I do know they were best friends for a long time. The whole thing really fucked him up, he kind of dropped off the radar for a bit. But,” Fabian said, a bit louder now in an attempt to shake off the dreadful conversation topic, “I know he’s back in town and open to work again. If my recommendation means anything to you, I think he’d be great.” 

Ilya tapped his chin thoughtfully. The last thing his band needed was another PR nightmare on top of the one he brought to the table. Bringing on someone so close to the Dallas Kent case was a huge risk, no matter how good he was on guitar. There hadn’t been any public allegations against anyone in Kent’s camp, but close friends with a sexual assaulter was not a gold star on a resume. 

Still. People like Dallas Kent had a gift for fooling those around them. A vast majority of the public didn’t believe it at first, and things can be even harder to see when you’re up close to them. 

“I will talk to him,” Ilya decided with a nod. Fabian beamed, clearly pleased.

“Amazing. And obviously, any red flags and you drop him like a hot potato,” Fabian sang as he held up his glass of sangria for a toast. Ilya raised his own glass of Coke. 

“So what is his name?” Ilya asked as he started cutting into his lunch. He’d ordered a salad, something he genuinely never did, but Shane had talked about salads on their date the previous evening and had managed to make them sound enticing. Fabian, who was a health nut until his sweet tooth kicked in, had been thrilled when Ilya asked him for a recommendation on the salads, though Ilya had added steak to the one Fabian picked out. Sometimes you have to draw a line.

“Troy. Troy Barrett. He will maybe come across as shy, a little withdrawn. Like I said, recent months have not been good for him. But I think he’s on the upswing now!” 

“Was he like Dallas Kent when you met him? I’d heard Kent was kind of a pain in the ass,” Ilya asked with a frown. Fabian took a bite of his couscous and considered the question. 

“It was weird. I worked with all of the artists on the album one on one, then edited the music together myself. I remember being a little worried about it before we recorded together since it would just be the two of us. Kent isn’t exactly known for his love of the queer community,” Fabian said with an eye roll. “But Troy was great. Polite, collaborative, didn’t seem to have any issues with me. Told me on the way out the door he would love to work with me again.” Fabian shrugged. “Not sure how he was around Kent, but I never got a bad vibe from him.”

“And you are very good at reading bad vibes,” Ilya said solemnly. 

“I like to think so,” Fabian answered honestly. “Besides, if he decides to work with you post queer exposure drama and he’s homophobic? That’s just sadomasochism right there.” 

Fabian lit up as he finished speaking and leaned in over the table. “Speaking of your most recent drama,” he purred. Ilya braced himself. “Tell me all about the very pretty boy you were photographed kissing in the park. So romantic, who even are you?” 

Ilya looked down at his salad in an attempt to hide his smile, but Fabian reached across the table and pulled his chin back up. “Stop, are you blushing?” he gasped. “Ilya! Oh my god, tell me everything!” 

So Ilya did. He gave Fabian a run down on the whole thing, or at least the version they were contractually allowed to tell others. It was the first time he was telling anyone outside of the group under NDA about Shane, and he couldn’t help feeling guilty as he watched Fabian get more and more excited. 

“Oh honey, he sounds incredible!” Fabian gushed. There were almost tears in his eyes, and Ilya had to look away. 

“Yeah, he’s. He’s great,” he mumbled into his salad. 

“And a looker too, my goodness!” Fabian sighed as he fanned himself with his hand. “Those big brown eyes are to die for, actually. First gay relationship and you pull that? Have you considered teaching a seminar?” 

“You are ridiculous,” Ilya whined. Fabian blew him a kiss across the table, and Ilya’s heart soared as he reached out to catch it. He could just do that now, in public with his friend. His father was gone, and Sasha had walked away. He’d committed to being out (bisexual, thank you!), damn the consequences. TMZ could still go fuck themselves, but dammit if this didn’t feel good. 

“So,” Ilya cleared his throat to work past the emotion suddenly building in it, “I also have a little proposition for you.” 

Fabian placed his elbows on the table and cupped his chin. “Do tell,” he purred. 

By the time they finished lunch Ilya had gotten Fabian to agree to a feature on a song. “Not my usual type of music of course, but I like where you’re going with this one,” he’d said thoughtfully as he poured over the music sheets Ilya had brought. “I’ll need to make some tweaks, but I can see the vision.” 

Between the previous day and this one Ilya wasn’t sure of the last time he’d been so content. As he was driving back home and humming the melody to the song he’d handed off to Fabian, he felt like he could fly. Suddenly a text popped up on the dashboard of his car from Shane, and his heart sped up. 

From Pretty Boy: 

‘Hi Ilya, I hope you’re having a good day! Let me know how your lunch with Fabian went :)’

As if the day couldn’t get any better. He’d have to reply once he got home. They might not be dating, but Ilya certainly considered Shane a friend at this point. A friend he wanted to slowly undress and kneel between the thighs of? Sure. But definitely a friend! 

From Pretty Boy: 

‘And good luck with Scott Hunter tomorrow!’

Ah, fuck. 

Chapter End Notes

Ask me how many chapters there are going to be of this. Go on. Ask me.
Next week: Just when things were starting to fall into place.

Chapter 8

Chapter Summary

The many costs of fame.

Chapter Notes

Enter Scott Hunter! And a Shane Hollander trip to Whole Foods, kinda. The epic highs and lows of this story are just beginning, folks.

Scott Hunter and Ilya Rozanov were locked in a silent standoff. Well, they were sitting, but Ilya pictured them on their feet across the table from one another, guns drawn, eyes wide. The reality was less wild west, but Ilya was no less tense for it. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be convincing me to work with you?” Scott eventually said testily. Ilya’s eyes narrowed. 

“I think you should be convincing me to work with you,” he replied evenly. Scott rolled his eyes. The action momentarily reminded Ilya of Shane.

If he was honest, he was almost always thinking about Shane. Ever since that date in the park, that kiss by his car. His brain would not stop thinking about Shane, Shane, Shane. It would swing back and forth from innocent thoughts about how adorable he was talking about protein smoothies to distractingly errotic thoughts about how Shane’s skin would look against the black silk sheets of Ilya’s bed. 

He was really trying to focus on being friends with the other man, but it was simply not his fault that Shane Hollander was walking around looking like that. 

“Look,” Hunter said, snapping Ilya out of his wandering thoughts, “you are the one in a difficult situation. You and I both know I don’t need to be here.” 

“So why are you?” Ilya drawled. “Svetlana is convincing when she wants to be, but you did not come to LA just because she asked. You were an artist, not a manager. Why. Are. You. Here?” 

Hunter crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. He’d arrived at Ilya’s house about an hour earlier and met with the whole band. Svetlana had done most of the talking, explaining the broad strokes of what had happened and why they were in need of a new manager. Ilya was fairly sure she’d already done this when she first spoke with Hunter, but Hunter had nodded along through the pitch obligingly. 

When she was done, he’d asked to speak with Ilya. Alone. So now they were sitting across from one another in Ilya’s dining room while the band went to the recording room, granting them total privacy.

“Why did you decide not to cover it up? You being bisexual, I mean,” Hunter asked. Ilya swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. 

“Because it’s true,” he answered honestly. “I am a famous rock star. If I cannot do what I want when I want, then what’s the point?” 

Hunter barked a laugh. “You know that’s exactly why it’s so dangerous to do what you want when you want,” he replied. “The party line in this industry is often still deny deny deny. You had that option, even if it sounds like your… manager didn’t give you the chance.” 

Ilya scowled at the mention of his father. “Fuck him,” he grumbled. “I have enough problems. I don’t need repressed sexuality on top of the rest of them.” 

“Let’s talk about that, then,” Hunter said with a frown. “Your ‘problems’, I mean. You get that you’re a risk, right?” 

“No need to rub it in,” Ilya muttered under his breath.

“I’m serious, Rozanov. You’ve only been in the industry for a couple of years and you have managed to put together one hell of a reputation. Which leads me to-” he picked up his phone from the table, opened it, then slid it across the table for Ilya to see. “What’s this about?” 

Ilya looked down at the phone, though he had already guessed what it would be. This time it hadn’t just been TMZ posting stories and photos from his and Shane’s date. It seemed like every tabloid and even a few more legitimate publications had decided to go all in on the news that Ilya Rozanov was dating the young, up and coming actor Shane Hollander. Ilya was pretty sure he’d seen over a hundred different photos of them on the swan boat, eating tacos, outside of his car. Probably another hundred just of them kissing. 

The photo staring back at him was one of them at the picnic table eating their tacos. Shane was smiling while Ilya seemed to be going on about one thing or another. No photos of Ilya out with other people had ever been so candid and genuine, and the internet was running wild with theories about the two of them. It was a nice picture, even though Ilya kind of thought it made him look insane. 

“It was a date. Have you heard of these?” Ilya sniffed in response. Hunter rolled his eyes again and glared. 

“I’m not an idiot, Rozanov. Tell me the truth. No one has a bad word to say about Shane Hollander, he’s poised to be Hollywood’s latest sweetheart. What the fuck is he doing with you?” 

Ilya felt a pang of hurt at Hunter’s tone, but he squashed it down. “Did you come to my house just to insult me?” he growled. 

Hunter sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. That came off harsher than I intended,” he mumbled behind his hands. He took them away and looked at Ilya intensely. 

“I am considering this. Considering managing your band. That’s going to be a lot of work, especially if you guys are actually intending to put out an album in the next couple of months. I liked what you played for me-” 

“Oh, well thank god for that,” Ilya snarked. 

“AND,” Hunter cut back in with a scowl, “I have some ideas that I think would really work for you guys. I just need the whole picture before I get involved. So can you please, please tell me what’s going on here?” 

Ilya stared at Hunter, saying nothing. The other man sighed. “I signed the NDA, you know,” he offered. 

Ilya huffed a sigh, looked at the photo. He looked back at Hunter. 

“PR,” he mumbled. He was surprised when Hunter let out a sigh of what appeared to be relief. 

“Oh thank god,” he said with a smile. Ilya’s face scrunched up in confusion. 

“Excuse me?” he asked testily. Hunter smiled and shook his head. 

“That’s great news. I was worried you were like, actually trying to date him., I did not need that on my list of things to worry about. I assume there’s a contract?” 

Ilya nodded. “Signed a couple of weeks ago. Wiebe’s idea.” 

“It’s a good one. Shane’s very likeable, softens your edge,” Hunter nodded sagely. “This is great. I can work with that. How long’s the contract?” 

“A year,” Ilya replied. A part of him winced at the reminder, but he didn’t let it show. 

“Brilliant,” Hunter sighed, sinking into his chair. “I’m sure there’s going to be a lot to work out, but I can have my lawyers reach out and-” 

“Wait wait, hold on,” Ilya interrupted, leaning forward. “Don’t I get some honesty in return? You still haven’t told me why you’re doing this.” Hunter’s mouth snapped closed and he seemed to consider this. He offered a slow nod. “I guess that’s fair,” he said slowly. He looked uncomfortable all of the sudden. 

“You run away from the industry and now you come crawling back. Why?” Ilya snapped. 

Hunter rolled his eyes. “I didn’t run away. I took a step back,” he argued. 

“The Admirals replaced you, and are mostly still successful without you. You are not going back,” Ilya scoffed. Hunter hummed. His gaze was fixed on the table for a moment before flying up to meet Ilya’s eye. 

“That NDA was mutual, you know. This doesn’t leave this room,” he said softly. Ilya straightened in his seat, honestly surprised to be getting a real answer. 

“Fine,” he replied steadily. Hunter sighed. 

“I ah. Met someone. A few years ago. Very private person, did not want to be involved with the industry at all. Lived in New York at the time, so it was almost always long distance since we were based out of LA.” 

Ilya’s mouth fell open in shock. “You are saying you quit for a girl?” 

Hunter bit his lip. “Um. A boy. I quit for a boy.” 

Ilya’s mouth snapped shut and he could feel his eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Shut the fuck up,” he breathed. There had never been a single rumor or whisper that Scott Hunter was gay, and there were rumors that almost every celebrity was gay. 

Hunter chuckled. “Yeah. He was a barista at a smoothie shop when we met. I was in town for some event and stopped there the morning before. And then again the next day. And the next.” There was a stupid grin forming on Hunter’s face as he talked, and Ilya had to work not to gag. 

“Like I said, he’s a private person. Which I totally get. And I wasn’t ready to come out as gay. But we wanted to try and make it work, so we dated secretly for a while. It was hard, and then it got too hard. Eventually he told me he couldn't do it anymore and we broke up.” 

Ilya frowned, confused. “You broke up? Then what the fuck-?”

“I went to my manager,” Hunter interrupted. “Told him about Kip, told him I was gay. What I really wanted was to try again with Kip, so I told him I wanted to come out. It would be easier to get to New York and see him more often if I wasn’t also hiding my sexuality. It was still going to be tricky to balance his privacy, but other celebrities do it so. I wanted to try.” 

His face fell. “My manager told me it was a bad idea. That it would ruin my career to come out as gay, that it would drive away too much of our fanbase.” He rolled his eyes as he said that. “The rest of the band felt the same when I talked to them about it. So I had to make a choice. Keep playing and give up on Kip, or walk away. So I walked away.” 

Ilya stared at him in shock. Of all the things that could have been why Scott Hunter quit, this hadn’t even been on the radar. And yet-

“You’re dating someone named Kip?” he asked incredulously. Hunter scowled. 

“Fuck you, Rozanov. His name is Christopher. He goes by Kip.” 

“Couldn’t go by like, Chris?” 

“Anyway!” Hunter continued. “I ended up going back to New York. Did the whole romantic gesture, won him back. Stayed out of the public view for a while, let things die down. It was honestly kind of like a honeymoon period for us-” 

“Ew, Hunter, I do not need to know this,” Ilya groaned. 

“Then Kip’s friend was talking about opening a bar and I decided hey, I could get into that. So I did. And that’s what I’ve been doing,” Hunter finished. “Satisfied?” 

Ilya frowned. “Ok. So you walk away because they will not let you be gay and be a rockstar. Boo, that is lame. You have happily ever after with… Kip.” His head tilted in confusion. “Why are you coming back, then?” 

“Ah, yeah. Kip got into art history school, he’s moving to Boston for a few years. I really considered going with him, but I don’t know what I’d do in fucking Boston while he’s in school and working all the time. I could stay in New York, go back and forth, manage the bar. That was the plan. And then your bassist came calling,” he said with a smirk. 

“I guess it felt like the universe was telling me something. I’d listened to my gut the last time and walked away from what everyone told me was lightning in a bottle because it didn’t feel right. And at first I was so uninterested in your girl’s pitch. Managing? I’d managed a bar for like a year, but that wasn’t exactly a one to one. And having to deal with you?” he scoffed. “Nightmare scenario.” 

Ilya pouted and was about to say something snarky, but was once again cut off. “But, and I will only offer you this compliment one time so pay attention.” He took a breath and became very serious. “Coming out like that and not denying it when you very much could have, that took guts, and I was impressed. You might be a walking disaster, but you’re a talented musician who was backed into a corner and you didn’t flinch, didn’t give in to the pressure. If I didn’t have Kip and something like that had happened to me, I can’t be sure I wouldn’t have buried it to save my career. So,” he held up his hands, “I want to help. As long as you can be not a total dick about it.” 

Ilya sat in mildly stunned silence. What Scott Hunter was saying both made no sense at all and finally felt like an explanation. He’d been in Ilya’s shoes, or at least sort of. He’d chosen to walk away because there was no way for him to live honestly and keep his career. Ilya had chosen to plow ahead, damn the consequences. Sure, it had led to him being in a fake PR relationship while it sounded like Hunter had ended up with the love of his life but hey, nobody wins them all. 

“Impressive that you can wrap so many insults inside your compliments,” he eventually replied. Hunter smiled sweetly. 

“It’s a gift. So, should we summon the rest of your band and let them know they have a new manager?” 

Ilya sighed. “I guess it cannot hurt to try it,” he mumbled. “I reserve the right to fire you if you are annoying.” “You’re hiring me, I think technically you already have the right to fire me,” Hunter said with a raised eyebrow. 

“Glad we are on the same page, then!” Ilya beamed. He stood from his chair and headed down the hall to the music room. “I will go get them, please do not touch or look at any of my items!”

As Ilya turned the corner he felt his phone start to buzz in his pocket. He continued walking as he slipped it out and looked at the caller ID. His heart jumped against his will at the sight. Incoming Call: Pretty Boy. He’d changed Shane’s profile picture to the one where he was choking on pasta from their first official date, though now he had to consider if any of the ones from Echo Park were worthy of replacing it. That one Hunter had shown him was a very solid candidate. 

He grinned and swiped to pick up the call just as he was opening the music room door. 

“Shane! I was going to call you, I just finished meeting with Scott Hunter-” 

“Oh my god, Ilya!” Shane sobbed on the other end of the line. Ilya froze, his bandmates looking at him curiously as he stood in the doorway. “Someone broke into my apartment, they trashed the whole place! There’s photos everywhere, they scratched out my eyes, what the FUCK!” 

“Shane, hold on, breathe,” Ilya forced out. He could feel his grip tighten on his phone. Svetlana popped up off of the couch, eyes wide with concern. “Just take a breath and tell me what happened.” 

He heard Shane attempt a stuttered inhale, then an exhale that sounded more like a whine. “I don’t know. I went to the grocery store like an hour ago. When I got back, the front door to my place was kicked in.” He sniffed and let out another shaky breath. “There has to be a hundred copies of those pictures of us from the park thrown around, and my eyes are scratched out in all of them.”

“What the fuck?!” Ilya cried, then slammed a hand over his mouth. “Holy shit,” he muttered more quietly. He turned and left the music room, rushing down the hall and back to the dining room. Scott Hunter was sitting there, fully at attention as Ilya breezed through. 

“Was there anyone there when you went inside?” he asked Shane. 

“No, they were gone. They broke some lamps, turned the kitchen table over. They fucking knifed my mattress, Ilya. Who does that??” Shane was starting to sound hysterical so Ilya tried to ignore the horror that information brought up in him and focus on solutions. 

“Shane, take whatever you need to take and get out of there. Right now. Come here, I will send you the address. We will call the police. Yes?”

“Don’t people know where you live, too?” Shane whispered. Ilya nodded, then remembered Shane couldn’t see him. 

“Yes, but I have good security. Gate with a code, cameras. Also Ryan, I will tell Ryan to come by. We can call Wiebe and Farah once you are safe but you need to get out of there. Can you do that for me?”

Shane whimpered but Ilya could hear him moving on the other end of the line. “Yeah, yes, ok. I can do that. Fuck, they broke my laptop,” he muttered. 

“I will get you a new one,” Ilya soothed. The rest of the band had come into the dining room now and were looking at him with concern. He pulled the phone away from his ear. 

“Call the police, tell them someone broke into Shane’s place,” he ordered. He wasn’t sure who he was even talking to, but he was surprised to see Hunter reach for his phone immediately and dial 911. 

“Address?” he asked seriously. 

Ilya rattled it off. “I don’t know the apartment number, but they will be able to tell.” He turned his attention back to his phone. “Scott Hunter is calling the police now,” he told Shane. Shane let out a hysterical laugh. 

“Scott fucking Hunter is calling the police for me. Sure, why not!”

Ilya let out a weak laugh. “If you hurry, he will still be here when you arrive. You can have him sign something for you.” 

“Oh shut up,” Shane replied, and Ilya was glad to hear he sounded a bit steadier. “Ok, I grabbed some stuff. I had my wallet and keys, and they didn’t get into my safe so I have my passport and shit. Everything else is basically destroyed, I’m gonna leave it for the cops.” 

“Good, perfect. Yes, leave it. Get out of there,” Ilya breathed. He glanced over as Hunter got up and headed out to the pool deck as the call connected with the police. “I am going to put you on speaker for a second so I can text you the address, and the code to the gate.” 

He took the phone away and pressed the speaker button, then swiped over to his text messages. He sent the address and code to Shane, then scrolled down to his messages with Wiebe as well. 

To PR Dictator:

‘SOS. Break in at Shane’s. My place, ASAP.’ 

“I texted Wiebe, I don’t have Farah’s number. Do you want to call her once you get here?” 

“Yeah, ok. I don’t want to hang up right now,” Shane replied. It sounded like he was in his car, his voice coming through with a  little more echo than before. 

“That’s ok, I will not hang up,” Ilya promised. He muted his end of the conversation and looked over at his bandmates. “Someone tell me I have food in this house,” he begged.

Cliff snapped to attention. “I got you,” he said as he ran to the kitchen. 

“Is he staying the night? I could grab sheets,” Wyatt offered, his voice coming out high and panicked. 

“Yes, please. I don’t know if he will stay but let’s be prepared,” Ilya said. Wyatt nodded and hurried off. 

“I’ll call Ryan, see if he can work overnight,” Svetlana said gently as she approached and squeezed his arm. “I know you don’t like having security around constantly but it might make him feel better.” 

“Have I told you I love you?” Ilya replied with a shaky smile. She returned it and kissed his cheek. 

“We’ll handle this. Focus on him,” she said, then pulled her own phone out of her pocket and left the room. 

Ilya sank into one of the dining room chairs and unmuted his call. “You are on the way?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Did you know you only live like, fifteen minutes from me?” Shane asked. Ilya could still hear tears in his voice, but he was sounding better. Being away from the apartment was probably a big part of why. 

“Yes, Hollander, I know you only live like fifteen minutes from me,” Ilya chuckled. “I went home after I drove you home. Both times.” 

“Right. Yeah, makes sense.” Shane fell into silence, then said. “I’m sorry.”

Ilya frowned. “Why sorry?” 

“You had a really important thing today, and I called you in the middle of it, and I maybe should have just called the police myself and-”

“Shane,” Ilya cut him off. “I am glad you called me. We will figure this out, ok? And you will meet Scott Hunter,” he joked. 

Shane let out a little laugh, a sound that made Ilya smile despite the situation. 

“Yeah. Ok. Thank you, Ilya.”

“You’re welcome, Shane.” 

If Shane had not had the day he just did he would probably be a bit more uncomfortable in Ilya’s house than he was. As anticipated, it was massive. Huge glass walls surrounded by gorgeous, well manicured grounds and thick trees creating a barrier on both sides. The back looked out onto the valley, Ilya’s ridiculous infinity pool dropping off the edge of the hill. A large gate and a long driveway kept the house far back from the street, which was one of the private drives in the hills anway. 

Shane had only been in a couple of places like this in the past, usually for large parties. He rarely even knew who, if anyone, actually lived there. He had certainly never been cuddled up on the couch in the main living room, wrapped in a blanket as the air conditioning blasted at full strength, surrounded by some of the most famous rock stars in the world as they all tried to comfort him. 

Maybe it was a good thing that the day had been so utterly stressful and terrifying that he was unable to be in awe of either the location or the people. He didn’t mean that, of course. He would give anything to go back to that morning and start over. 

The previous day had been lovely. He’d woken up invigorated from the date with Ilya and even though his legs were tired from pedalling he went on his morning run. He noticed that he was low on produce and decided he would go to the grocery store the following day, since he wanted to stay home and more carefully read some of the scripts Farah had sent over. 

He had also checked his Instagram and tried not to freak out that his follower count had skyrocketed. Half of his feed was covered in pictures of him and Ilya, some clearly by professionals and some posted by other people in the park. All sorts of publications were running stories on them, even though they had no concrete facts. The good news was that they were starting to write about them like they were a couple, moving away from calling Shane Ilya’s ‘flavor of the week’. 

Shane had spent longer than he’d like to admit staring at the pictures of their kiss. There were a lot of them, some better than others. He especially liked the ones taken right after they parted, when Ilya looked like he was chasing after him for more. The sight made him feel inexplicably proud.

There was still something weird about being so photographed in public, but that was the whole point. And it seemed to be working. Farah had a general lined up with the studio Shane had flagged, and his lawyer was in conversation with Canada Dry. Farah also mentioned that some fashion houses had reached out to see if he was interested in any kind of partnerships. He had had no idea what to do with that offer and had gently handed it back to Farah, trusting her judgment. 

Today had started off normal as well. He’d gotten up, gone for his run, then taken a shower and had some breakfast. After putting on sunglasses and a baseball hat he had grabbed his reusable grocery bags and driven to the Whole Foods, spent about an hour picking out what would go in his smoothie for the next week. He had been stopped in the parking lot on the way out by a teenage girl and her mom, who asked for a selfie. Then he’d headed home. 

Walking up the stairs from the car port to his door, he had experienced a feeling he was unfamiliar with. Like he was being watched. Other people lived in his apartment complex, people had likely seen him climb those stairs almost every day. But this had felt different.

His intuition had ended up being dead on. Seeing the way his door was kicked in, the way his home had been ransacked and the photos covering the floor and furniture, had knocked the breath out of Shane. He probably shouldn’t have gone inside, probably should have run down the stairs and back to his car, locked the doors and called the police. But he hadn’t been thinking. 

He hadn’t really been thinking when he called Ilya either. He could have called Hayden or JJ or Farah. Instead, he’d clicked Ilya’s name with shaky fingers and started crying as soon as he heard the other man’s voice. 

Now he was in his house. By the time he made it to the gate and up the driveway he had managed to mostly calm down. He was away from the apartment, and hearing the gate close behind him had been very comforting. 

The calm had lasted about ten seconds as he got out of his car and grabbed the bag he had quickly shoved some essentials into. As soon as the door swung open to reveal Ilya, eyes wide as they scanned over Shane like he was taking inventory, Shane felt his lip start to tremble again. 

“Come here,” Ilya mumbled as he rushed down the steps and pulled Shane into his arms. Shane dropped the bag and wrapped himself around Ilya, pushing his face into his neck. He shuddered as lya’s hand came up to rub at his back and he could hear Ilya softly shushing him as he tried not to burst into tears again. 

“It’s ok, you’re safe,” Ilya said quietly. Shane lost his battle to hold back his tears and he sniffed into Ilya’s shoulder. 

“I’m going to get snot all over your shirt,” he mumbled into the fabric. He felt Ilya chuckle. 

“That’s ok. I have lots of shirts,” he replied. He pulled Shane back gently and his hands came up to wipe Shane’s cheeks. He offered Shane a tiny smile, which Shane tried to return. “Let’s get you inside. Cliff put together a very elaborate plate with cheese and crackers I did not know I had in the house.” 

Shane let out a wet laugh and nodded. “I like cheese,” he said. Ilya wrapped an arm around Shane’s shoulder and grabbed his duffle bag from off the ground before walking him up the stairs.

And now he was seated on the couch, Svetlana Vetrova and Wyatt Hayes in the chairs to his right, Scott fucking Hunter in the plush loveseat to his left. The police had showed up about ten minutes after Shane, though he couldn’t remember much of what happened in between. Scott had taken control of the situation as soon as they showed up, calmly explaining what had happened and why Shane was there. They sent a second car out to his apartment to check out the scene. 

Shane had also shakily handed over one of the photos from the apartment. “I shoved it in my bag on the way out the door,” he admitted. 

The photo was one of the ones taken the other day at the park, this one featuring the two of them on the swan boat. Ilya appeared to be laughing, while Shane was focusing closely on the pedals at his feet. It had been printed out in black and white on regular printer paper, just like the rest of them. 

And like the rest of them, Shane’s eyes had been scribbled out very aggressively with a black pen. 

“They were all like that. Not all the same picture, a bunch of different ones. But the eyes, they did that to all of them,” Shane muttered as he passed the photo over. Ilya and Scott were standing behind him and though they didn’t react visibly Shane could feel Ilya stiffen at the sight. It was rather macabre. 

The police were there for a little under a half hour, but Shane didn’t have much to offer them. He hadn’t seen anyone unusual, hadn’t noticed any strange cars. 

“Any idea how they knew where you lived?” one asked. 

“My fault,” Ilya had answered miserably. Shane had looked over at him in surprise. “I drove you home. Twice. One time in an obnoxious yellow car. Someone probably followed us, either from the restaurant or the park.” 

Shane swallowed and turned back to the photo. Ilya was probably right. Someone had followed him home because of his association with the rockstar. They had broken into his house and ransacked his place, threatened him.

“Oh,” he said quietly. He should have considered this. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to be worried about it, even when his mom had asked if he’d been followed home when they’d talked right after that night at the gallery. He’d really thought she had been overreacting. 

“You should assume that location isn’t safe, Mr. Hollander,” the officer had said. “You should consider finding other accommodations for the time being.” 

Hunter had taken the conversation back over at that point, while Shane sat and pondered what he’d just heard. 

“So I can’t go back home?” he asked Ilya quietly. Ilya winced and shook his head. 

“No, probably not. There’s no security there, and at least one crazy person knows where you live. I am really sorry, Shane. I should have thought about that,” he replied. 

“I should have too. It’s not your fault,” Shane sighed. He reached out cautiously and was pleased when Ilya took his hand immediately and squeezed it. 

“I put new sheets on the guest bed, if you want to stay here tonight. Ryan is coming, he will stay in the house overnight,” Ilya offered. Shane felt like he was going to cry again, so he just nodded instead of trying to respond. Ilya squeezed his hand again. 

When the police had gone with the promise to reach out with further questions and continue the investigation, everyone in the house had convened in the living room. Except for Cliff, who seemed to be baking all of the sudden. 

“It helps with stress for him,” Svetlana had whispered as they sat down. 

There had in fact been an elaborate cheese board on the coffee table when Shane arrived, and he nibbled at it now. Scott Hunter was talking on the phone, to whom Shane wasn’t sure, but he sounded very business-like. 

“Is he your manager now?” he asked Svetlana, who looked over at him with furrowed brows. 

“Um. I don’t actually know. He and Ilya were talking, and then…” she trailed off with a wince. 

“Yes, yes, he is, big whoop,” Ilya sighed dramatically. He was the only other person on the couch with Shane, legs stretched out to rest on the coffee table. Shane narrowed his eyes at the sight and smacked his knees. Ilya gaped at him. 

“Take your feet off the table, there’s food there,” Shane scolded. Ilya looked down to his feet.

“They are in socks!” he cried. 

“Ew,” Shane sniffed. Sevtlana giggled as Ilya took his feet off the table with a dramatic flourish. 

Before anyone could say anything further there was a knock at the front door. Ilya stood. “Wiebe,” he told them. Shane blanched. 

“Fuck, I need to call Farah,” he muttered. Wyatt hopped up. 

“Here, you can call from the backyard. Nice and private out there!” He led Shane through the dining room and out the sliding glass doors to the gorgeous yard and pool deck. It was only just after noon and the sun was high in the sky. It was a smoggy day so the view wasn’t its best, but the shade from the sun umbrellas made for a pleasant enough experience in which to make a phone call. 

“We’re all right there. If you need us. Obviously,” Wyatt said as he ducked back inside with a wave and a bright smile. Shane let out a shuddering breath and pressed Farah’s name on his phone. 

“Oh Shane, I am so so sorry,” Farah breathed after he’d filled her in. “Thank god you weren’t there!” 

Shane hummed and flexed the hand not gripping the phone nervously. “Yeah. I’m at Ilya’s now,” he replied. 

“Good. Do you want me to come by? I assume they called Wiebe.” 

“If you think you need to, then sure, but honestly I’m kind of worn out today. Can we talk tomorrow? I still need to call my parents,” Shane admitted. 

“Of course, I’ll just get in touch with Wiebe and see how we want to handle the press. Let’s see if we can’t keep this quiet until you’re ready to put out a statement. And we can start thinking about a new place for you later, since you have somewhere safe for now. Just take the rest of the day, relax, don’t worry about it,” Farah advised. 

“Ok. Thank you,” he sighed, then hung up the phone. He sat in silence, staring out at the valley from his spot by the pool and tried to get his emotions under control before standing up and heading inside. 

Sitting at the dining room table as he slipped back in through the door was Scott Hunter, who had a notebook out and his laptop open. He’d put on reading glasses and was squinting at the screen with a little frown, which almost made Shane smile. The other man looked up as he came in and offered him a tired smile of his own. 

“Hey,” he said gently, “how are you doing?” 

Shane shrugged and leaned against the glass. “I’ve been better,” he offered. Hunter grimaced. 

“Yeah, I get that.” He nodded towards a door on the other side of the room. “Brandon Wiebe is holding court in the kitchen with the band, if you want to join them.” 

Shane shook his head. “That’s ok. I kind of don’t want to think about anything anymore, I’m sure they’ve got it handled.” 

Hunter nodded. “Wiebe’s one of the best in the business. I excused myself pretty quickly when they started talking, but I got the impression he would have a thirty step plan set up for you by the end of the day, if not sooner,” he joked. Shane forced a smile, then nodded to the items in front of Hunter. 

“What are you working on?” 

Scott crossed his arms and leaned against the table. “Well, before you called I was wrapping up a job interview to become the new manager of Iron and Ice. Things got a little out of control but I’m 99% sure I got the job so I thought I’d get to work.” 

Shane grinned, not having to fake a little bit of joy at the news. “You’re really going to do it?” he asked. Hunter nodded. 

“Yeah. Your boy’s kind of a mess, but he’s a hell of a performer and this band has a lot of potential. Kind of feels like… fate.” 

Shane bit his lip. “And Ilya wasn’t a total asshole when you talked to him?” 

“Oh no, he was,” Hunter laughed. “I just think I can live with it.” 

“That’s… so great, Sco- er. Mr. Hunter, sir,” Shane stumbled through his words. Hunter was already shaking his head before he finished. 

“Please, call me Scott. I assume we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other, no need to stand on ceremony. Besides, my uh. My partner and I are actually fans of yours.” 

Shane felt his face heat up. “You’re joking,” he deadpanned. Scott shook his head with a sigh. 

“I wish I could tell you how many times we watched Christmas in Saskatchewan last year. If a movie could go triple platinum…” 

Shane pouted. “Why is that the one everyone has seen?” he grumbled. Scott laughed again. He pushed himself back from the table and stretched out his legs. 

“How about you and I go to the living room and watch something else of yours. I think Marleau brought out more food right as Wiebe got here, don’t think anyone’s touched it. They’ll bother us if they need us.”

Shane spent the next two hours devouring several plates of casserole, which had been sitting on the coffee table in the living room, while he and Scott watched another one of his direct to streaming films. The casserole would not be considered part of his diet usually, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was delicious, and watching a ridiculous film with one of his all time favorite performers was such a surreal experience anyway he decided to let it go. 

He also took some time to call his parents when Scott received a call of his own he had to take. He was glad he had waited, as he was able to downplay the whole thing fairly successfully. His mom still sounded like she wanted to get on a plane right that second and fly down, but he convinced her that he was safe and there was nothing they could do at that point.

“Fine, but the second you get a new place, we are coming down,” she had demanded, and he wasn’t foolish enough to argue. 

Eventually the band and Wiebe came into the living room. Scott had just turned on the HBO show Shane had been in, despite Shane’s protests. 

“Oh, I love this episode,” Svetlana cried when she saw the TV. She threw herself into one of the plush chairs, pulling Cliff along with her. Wyatt sat down on the floor at their feet, and Ilya slipped onto the couch next to Shane. 

“You are watching movies with Scott Hunter now? You are breaking my heart, Shane Hollander,” he mumbled softly with a smile. Shane was able to offer a real smile back. 

Wiebe walked behind the couch and squeezed Shane’s shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about a thing, Hollander. Me and Farah are on it,” he whispered. 

Shane felt immediately grateful to not hear any more ‘I’m sorries’, as well meaning as they were. He’d always been a planner, he liked that someone was looking for solutions on his behalf. “I’ll be ready to talk tomorrow,” he replied, voice low. 

Wiebe squeezed again. “Take your time, just have your phone on. We’ll only bug you with a real emergency.”

Wiebe left, but the rest of the band remained through several episodes of the show. The hours ticked away, the sun beginning to go down. The band spoke to their new manager about band business, seemingly unconcerned with Shane’s presence. Ilya was listening but stayed silent, his hand having found Shane’s at some point and not letting go. 

By the time it was 8pm Shane felt the full weight of the day’s exhaustion settling on him, and he could feel himself starting to drift. He didn’t see so much as feel the room empty out, and he only came back to himself fully when Ilya shook his shoulder. 

“Did everyone leave?” Shane mumbled. Ilya nodded and held out a hand. 

“They said goodnight, they will see you again soon. They did not want to wake you,” Ilya shrugged. Shane took his hand and stood on unsteady feet. 

“They seem nice,” he sighed. Ilya smiled. 

“They are the best. Except Scott Hunter.” Shane rolled his eyes and followed Ilya as he led him through the house. 

“Oh stop it, you like Scott Hunter,” he teased. “You hired him.” 

Ilya sighed dramatically and leaned against the door to another large sitting room. “For my sins,” he droned. Then he nodded into the room, where another man Shane didn’t know was sitting. “Shane, this is Ryan. Best security in the business. He will be here tonight.”

The man, tall, broad and ginger, would perhaps have been imposing if he didn’t have a sunny grin on his face as he waved shyly at Shane. Shane waved back in shock. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hollander. Sorry it’s under these circumstances!” Ryan said, his voice far quieter than Shane had expected. 

“Shane, please,” he mumbled in response. Ryan just nodded happily and turned back to the open laptop in front of him. Ilya grabbed Shane’s hand and led him towards the stairs. 

“It is early, but you are tired. You had a long day. Wyatt said he got one of the guest rooms ready for you, but I don’t know which one,” Ilya muttered as he walked down the upstairs hall and checked each room. He did not release Shane’s hand. “Ah, here we go.”

The room was massive, probably the square footage of Shane’s whole apartment. The whole back wall was glass and faced the pool and backyard, with massive, thick curtains framing either end. A king sized bed sat up against one wall, covered in pillows, and a door on the other end of the room seemed to lead to an ensuite bathroom. 

“Wow, your guests sure are spoiled,” Shane laughed incredulously as he walked into the room. His duffle bag was at the foot of the bed. He didn’t remember what he’d shoved in there, but he was grateful he’d have some stuff from home. 

“I think you may be the first person to use this room,” Ilya chuckled, rubbing at his neck shyly. Shane turned to look at him with surprise. “Only the band ever sleeps over, and half the time we do not leave the music room. Svetlana likes the room at the front of the house, and Wyatt and Cliff usually pass out on the sofas in the living room. Sasha, he,” Ilya cleared his throat uncomfortably. “He used to share with me. Maybe once or twice. So yes, I think you are the first.” 

Shane wasn’t sure what to say to that, but Ilya plowed ahead. “My room is next door, but you can call me if you need anything. My phone is on, I am a light sleeper. And Ryan, he is here all night. All the cameras are on, he checked them. Security system too.”

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Shane said quietly. “I should have gone to like, a hotel or-” 

“Shane,” Ilya cut him off gently. “I am happy to do this. My fault someone found you. I will fix it.” 

Shane shook his head and walked back over to Ilya. 

“Not your fault. Unlucky. I’ll figure out somewhere new to live. It’s not like that was my dream apartment,” he joked weakly. 

Ilya sighed and reached up to stroke Shane’s cheek. Shane fought the urge to melt into the touch, his exhausted brain begging him to do it. “No. But it was yours,” Ilya replied softly. He took his hand away, much to Shane’s disappointment. “Seriously, call if you need anything. Food, a charger, a fucking drink. I will bring.” 

Shane nodded and Ilya stepped out into the hallway. “Goodnight, Shane,” he said. 

“Goodnight, Ilya,” Shane replied softly. He listened as Ilya walked back down the hallway and headed down the stairs. Then he closed the door to the room gently and let his head fall against the wood. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. 

It had been one of the worst days of his life. His home had been invaded, his privacy completely obliterated. He was no longer safe in his own apartment, probably could never go back there. Nothing would ever make that ok. 

But if anything was going to come close, it was the look of care and comfort he’d just seen in Ilya’s eyes. 

Chapter End Notes

Ilya is being so nice to Shane here, but he has simply not worked through the reality of living with him for any length of time. What a silly goose.
Also, sorry Shane, there is literally no way they ever catch the person who broke into your apartment. That's just a thing that happened to you now. Speaking from experience.
Next week: And they were roomates.

Chapter 9

Chapter Summary

Nice place you've got here.

Chapter Notes

Enter a whole new cast of characters!

We're getting real close to why this fic is explicit, I swear. I had a lot of ground to lay before that (unlike in canon).

Also, tentatively, this will be clocking in at 18 chapters and a possible epilogue. Welcome to the halfway point, it only speeds up from here.

“Stop fidgeting,” Scott Hunter sighed. His eyes were still trained on the paper in front of him as he spoke, but Ilya could feel an implied disapproving gaze. 

“I’m not fidgeting,” Ilya replied as he straightened his tie again. He hated wearing ties, it always reminded him of when his father used to dress him and his brother up for stuffy events back in Russia. 

“Literally fidgeting as you say that,” Hunter replied. Ilya scowled and dropped his hands to his lap, where they immediately began bouncing on his thighs. Hunter finally looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “Why are you so nervous about this?” he asked. 

Because I think he is going to laugh in our faces because it is bad to be associated with me, and then we still won’t have a guitarist and it will be my fault again, Ilya thought to himself. His heart was pounding with anxiety, and the room felt far too small despite being almost cavernous by design. 

Even though they were all smack in the middle of dealing with the fallout from the break in, Ilya was currently seated at an upscale restaurant in West Hollywood, waiting to meet with the guitarist Fabian had recommended. Troy had responded to Hunter’s email, which Ilya had been BCC’d on, almost immediately. However, it had taken a few days to find the time to meet. Well, more like it had taken Ilya a few days to agree to a time. 

It had been just over two weeks since Shane had moved into what Ilya had quickly started thinking of as ‘his room’, and the whole world was now aware that his apartment had been broken into. Most of the response from the press and fans had been sympathetic, condemning the actions of the perpetrator and wishing Shane the best. A minority were more quick to point the finger at Ilya, blaming him for being a magnet for danger and chaos. 

Everyone told him to ignore those people. Easier said than done. 

If pressed, Ilya would probably say he had mixed feelings about living in the same house as Shane. On the one hand, it was nice. Really nice, actually. When the band had first moved to LA, they’d already been signed to a deal and were getting paid. The hard part had been done in Boston, where they’d all lived in a shitty apartment together. In LA they’d been put up in their own furnished apartments by the label, and Ilya had bought his mansion not long after once the real money started coming in. He’d been alone in the house ever since, which had its perks for his reckless lifestyle and desire for casual sex, but meant there were a lot of lonely moments.

Not so much anymore. Now there was Shane. Shane was up before him every day, making disgusting protein smoothies and lettuce wraps. He fit right into the massive kitchen, which often went unused except to house takeout boxes. He’d been nervous that first morning, shyly asking Ilya if he would mind if he ordered some groceries. Ilya had of course told him to go nuts, and by the next day every shelf in his fridge and pantry was stocked. 

“Wow,” Ilya had said when he’d seen the massive amount of fresh produce spread across the counters the next morning. Shane, adorably dishevelled from sleep, seemed to be cutting up every fruit and vegetable known to man and carefully sealing them in individual tupperware. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he’d laughed. “I’ve never had this much room to keep stuff before, your fridge is massive. And very empty.” 

“You should give the receipt to Wiebe,” Ilya said. Shane looked over at him in confusion. “No rent to pay right now, we can pay for groceries.” 

Shane shook his head and returned to the carrot on his cutting board. Ilya tried to remember if he’d ever used the cutting board before, but it didn’t ring a bell. Cliff cooked in there sometimes, so maybe he had.

“That’s ok, I just got paid recently. Good quality food is like, my one indulgence. Besides, I think technically someone still has to pay rent on that place even though it was broken into.” 

Ilya had hummed and continued watching for a while before wandering over to the fridge. It was no longer empty. Every shelf now had something, from yogurt to cans of ginger ale to jars with neat handwritten labels made from painter’s tape that Shane had clearly made himself. 

“If you need me to make room for other stuff, I can!” Shane said with a wince. “The pantry, too. I may have overdone it a little bit.” 

Ilya smiled and grabbed a yogurt from the top shelf. “No worries, as long as I get some,” he said while shaking the container. Shane lit up and nodded. 

“Oh yeah, of course! Do you want some granola on that? I got three different kinds.” 

Besides the kitchen, it seemed Shane spent most of his time in the rooms he had already been in - the dining room, the living room, and his own room. Ilya had told him he could go anywhere in the house, but Shane seemed content to stay where he was comfortable, sometimes venturing outside in the evenings with the new laptop Ilya had gotten delivered or a book. 

He was an easy roommate. Ilya was the more difficult of the two of them by a mile. Shane was clean, tidy, unobtrusive, and fun to be around. The two were not often home at the same time during the day as Shane continued to work (he was over the moon about the ginger ale thing, he really was a fan), though he had had Farah push back the general with the studio he’d been excited about until he was in a better headspace. Ilya started dragging the band to the label’s studio in LA to work on the album instead of in his home in order to give Shane space. 

At night they would go out on a date or stay in and watch a movie or play chess, which Shane was attempting to teach Ilya after he’d seen a beautiful chess board set up in the front living room and Ilya had admitted it had never been touched. 

So really the situation was a good one. The press release regarding the break in had not specified that Shane was staying with Ilya, but plenty of people had figured it out over the next couple of days. Security remained on the property around the clock, and so far there had been no further issues. Shane’s nerves from the first few days eased, and he seemed happy and like he was on his way back to normal. 

Ilya, however, was living in a personal hell he had never imagined. He was managing it, but just barely. And it was getting worse with every day. 

While it had been a bit lonely and certainly unhealthy, living alone had allowed Ilya space to be the worst version of himself without an audience. Sure, he drank and smoked and partied in public, but most of the time it was somewhat under control. At home? Less so. 

He’d been on his absolute best behavior from the moment Shane arrived, and it was eating him alive. He’d stopped doing cocaine entirely since he knew Shane would figure that one out immediately. He’d tried to cut out weed but had landed on just smoking late at night after Shane was asleep (he was an early to bed kind of guy). He still drank, though he was trying to eat more to balance it out. Shane wasn’t the best cook in the world, but he was consistent and made meals full of vitamins and protein, and he always made a plate for Ilya when he cooked. Crazy how much better drinking on a not-empty stomach was. 

The contract had not planned for them to live together. Wiebe hadn’t said much on the issue when Ilya had brought it up, just that Ilya should try and behave as best he could so Shane would feel comfortable until they could move him. Ilya had been trying to live by that direction, but he was dancing on a knife’s edge.

He hadn’t been this consistently sober in years. He was smoking more cigarettes in an attempt to keep his hands busy and get some kind of rush, but nicotine was weak in comparison to the stuff he usually dabbled in. His head hurt every morning, some days worse than others. He’d gotten a refill of his antidepressants and was attempting to take them more regularly, but the side effects were back in full force like they’d been when he’d first gotten the prescription. He was nauseous, on edge, and more insomniatic than ever before. He could no longer sleep a wink without sleeping pills. 

The one upside, or at least he tried to see it as such, was that the drugs dragged his libido to an all time low. Usually this would be soul crushing, one of the numerous reasons he so often ignored the pills, but living with Shane? It was a godsend. 

Shane was beautiful, morning noon and night. He would come back from jogging around the property covered in sweat that Ilya would usually want to lick off. He’d return from an audition with his hair styled and just a touch of makeup on his eyes with a huge smile and usually Ilya would want to ruin him. They’d have dinner or go out to a club with the band and he would look like sex on legs under the moody lighting and typically Ilya would want to drag him to some disgusting bathroom and fuck him over the sink. 

His brain still wanted all of these things. It wanted them bad. Fortunately his body was not reacting, otherwise he probably would have jerked his own dick off at this point. Small mercies. 

Ilya’s promise to Shane about honesty was a very difficult one to keep when he was around all the time, but Ilya was getting good at sharing only what he deemed absolutely necessary to fulfill the promise. He’d cancelled one of their nights out, saying he was feeling under the weather. Shane had been painfully understanding and made soup for dinner before shooing Ilya off to bed. In reality, Ilya had been so nauseous all day from his meds that he’d barely been able to drag himself around the house, let alone go bowling like they’d planned to. 

He’d gone to bed like he was told, but he didn’t sleep. He also didn’t eat a single spoonful of Shane’s soup, too afraid to throw it right back up. That had been a rough night.  

So the last two weeks had been a lot for Ilya to navigate, and while he knew they needed a new guitarist, it simply had not been at the top of his list. Eventually Hunter had forced his hand and told him he’d be picking him up from his house personally so Ilya couldn’t weasel his way out of coming. Now here he was.

“I’m not nervous,” he answered instead. Hunter’s other eyebrow joined the first and he looked like he was about to counter that statement, when suddenly a person was standing at the end of their table. 

“Hello,” the new arrival said, tone awkward. Ilya and Scott looked up to see who they could only assume was Troy Barrett. 

“Jesus,” Ilya breathed at the sight of him. Hunter kicked his ankle under the table as he offered the man a smile, and Ilya bit his lip to keep from yelping. 

“Mr. Barrett, thank you so much for joining us,” Hunter said as he stood gracefully from the table and held out his hand. Troy shook it gently then turned to look at Ilya. Ilya hurried to stand and shake the other man’s hand as well, attempting to push down his shock. 

Troy looked terrible. He was pale and his hair was shoved under a baseball cap. He seemed to be wearing a t-shirt, a flannel and a jacket, despite it being mid August and 97 degrees outside, and the bags under his eyes were big enough to rival Ilya’s.

Ilya thought back to his conversation with Fabian. If this is what Troy ‘on the upswing’ looked like, Ilya could not imagine his rock bottom. 

“Yeah, totally. Thanks for asking, I guess,” he mumbled as he basically collapsed into the seat across from them. Ilya sat back down and tried his best not to stare, but based on the hard nudge to his ribs by Scott Hunter he was not succeeding. 

“So,” Hunter started after a few moments of silence, “you come highly recommended.” 

Troy hummed and picked at the napkin on the table, still wrapped around the silverware. “Sure. Fabian’s a great guy, it’s really nice of him to mention me,” he replied. His voice was quiet, like he was forcing himself to say anything at all. 

“Are you on drugs?” Ilya asked. A part of his brain laughed at the memory of Shane asking him a similar question during their first interview. At the time he had been a little annoyed, but now being on the other side of things he found it a perfectly reasonable question to ask. 

“Oh my god,” Hunter muttered beside him, his head falling down to his chest. 

“Are you?” Troy bit back, his eyes narrowing. Ilya couldn’t help but let out a nearly crazed laugh. 

“Sadly, no,” he replied. Troy seemed mildly surprised by his response, but Ilya was pleased to see his mouth tick up just a bit into a very small, weak grin. 

“Yeah, same,” he mumbled. Ilya forced down another giggle, and Hunter took the opportunity to insert himself back into the conversation. 

“Look, we aren’t the morality police here,” he said gently. “Ilya is just being an asshole, which to be fair is kind of par for the course so. I guess it’s better you know that now.”

Ilya kicked Hunter in the shin in retaliation for that. 

“No, it’s fine. I get it, I look like I’m detoxing. It’s been a… weird couple of months,” Troy sighed. “I swear I’m doing better though. Haven’t had a drink in over a week."

Ilya whistled and sat back in his chair. “Go on a bit of a bender?” he asked casually. Scott sent him a scathing look, but he shrugged. “No judgement, I’ve had my fair share.” 

“Not sure I’d call it a bender exactly. My doctor called it ‘acute alcohol poisoning’,” Troy admitted with a grimace. Ilya’s mouth fell open in shock. 

“No shit! Not even I’ve ended up in the hospital on liquor alone! That stuff with Kent must have really fucked you up.” 

“Ilya, I swear to god,” Hunter groaned, but Troy cut him off. 

“It’s fine, seriously. My therapist says I need to talk about it more.” He turned back to Ilya and seemed to straighten up just a bit. “Yes, it did. I thought I knew him, thought he was my best friend. I was betrayed, and I feel like I’ve betrayed everyone around me because I defended him. I intend to testify in the trial, if you were wondering. I’ll probably explode from nerves before then, but that’s the plan. He deserves to go to jail and the victims deserve justice.” 

Troy swallowed as he finished his sentence. It was the most he had said so far, and by far the clearest he’d spoken. It sounded perhaps a little rehearsed, like he’d practiced it on the car ride over, but Ilya felt the sincerity. Not necessarily in the words, but in the haunted and sad look in his eyes as he said them. 

“Well,” Hunter said carefully, “that’s good to hear. And it’s good to hear you’re doing better.” 

Troy let out a breath and collapsed back into his seat. “I just… I want to get back to work. Back to making music. I don’t want to lose that because of him,” he said quietly. 

Hunter sent Ilya a knowing look, and Ilya rolled his eyes internally. Yes, yes, he wasn’t stupid, he could pick up on the similarities here. Though he viewed Troy’s situation as less self-inflicted than his own, they were both in predicaments due to their own actions. They both loved making music and wanted to get back to the root of what they loved. They were both handling certain things… poorly. 

“I totally get it, if all this is just too much. There’s gonna be some more press, with the trial and everything,” Troy said glumly. Ilya leaned forward with a smirk. 

“You think we can’t handle press? Please. If anything, you should think carefully about what you are signing up for by joining Iron and Ice.” His smile grew. “Or don’t you read the tabloids?” 

Troy shrugged, but Ilya was surprised to find he looked a little more at ease after his response. “I try not to. Besides, they always make things sound worse than they are. Let me know once your name starts popping up in the New York Times under the headline ‘investigation’. Then I might be a little worried.” 

Fair point. Ilya might be messy on an interpersonal level, but Troy had already dealt with far worse. 

“So you’re open to joining the band?” Hunter asked, perking up slightly. 

“Yeah, for sure. Like I said,” Troy offered a shaky smile, “I just want to make music again.” 

Ilya glanced at Hunter, who cocked his head in question. It was up to Ilya to decide. He gave the other man a quick nod and he could almost see the relief coming off his manager in waves. 

Hunter turned back to Troy with a smile. “Great. Then let’s get down to business.” 

Shane was sitting on the living room couch when the headlights of Scott Hunter’s rental SUV shone through the front windows. He’d been sitting there for about an hour, waiting for Ilya to get back. The meeting had gone later than Ilya had said, which was probably a good sign. No need for a meeting to run over if it wasn’t working out.

Living with Ilya had been an… experience. The first week had flown by as Shane tried to juggle the influx of requests for auditions and promotional activities coming from Farah, the police investigation (which had all but ground to a halt at this point), and adapting to life in Ilya’s mansion. He’d done his best to be unobtrusive and out of the way, but somehow continually ended up in Ilya’s orbit when he was around anyway. 

He knew he was cramping Ilya’s style, there was no way he wasn’t. He felt guilty about it despite Ilya’s insistence that he liked having Shane in his space and was enjoying the company. The contract had no section covering the two of them living together so there was no specific guidance for them to follow when they weren’t in public. Shane wasn’t blind, he could tell Ilya was living differently now that Shane was constantly around. Any time he tried to bring it up, Ilya just waved it off. 

So Shane had decided to let it go, but kept an eye on the other man when he could. It wasn’t like he could tell Ilya in good conscience that he should snort some cocaine to feel better, but drugs were addicting and had a very real physiological effect on the body. He didn’t want Ilya to go cold turkey and end up violently sick. But the other man was so damn illusive about how he was feeling. Shane couldn’t be sure he was fully aware of Ilya’s physical or mental state at any given time.  

He had to keep reminding himself that Ilya wasn’t his responsibility when they were behind closed doors. The rockstar had been incredibly generous to open up his house to him after the break in, and Shane viewed him as a friend at the very least. But that was the extent of their relationship. Ilya had real friends who cared about him in the form of his bandmates, and they had yet to seem particularly worried about Ilya, so Shane forced himself to leave it alone. 

Still, giving Ilya his space back was one of several reasons Shane had been working hard for the last week to find a new apartment. Wiebe had gotten him in touch with a realtor who specialized in private, secure apartments in the Los Angeles area for celebrities, and she had been both efficient and swift in providing a range of options. Shane had put a pause to his other activities and spent the last several days looking at apartments with her. 

And he’d finally found the one. It wasn’t perfect, nothing was. But it was as close to perfect as he could imagine, and he really wanted to tell Ilya about it. 

When Ilya walked in, Shane’s first thought was that he looked better than he had when he’d left. One thing he had learned in the past two weeks was that while Ilya’s emotional state was not entirely contingent on what was happening around him (there were still moments where Shane couldn’t identify a cause behind a certain reaction or mood) there did seem to be a correlation. When things were going well, Ilya was noticeably brighter. When he received bad news, it was almost always like the end of the world. 

“Hey,” Shane said softly. He rested his chin on the back of the couch and smiled as Ilya caught his eye and grinned in return. “How did it go?” 

Ilya shrugged but Shane could read him enough to see he was pleased. “We have a new guitarist,” he replied breezily. He held up a hand to cut off Shane’s response. “If he does well at the audition, of course. So no guarantees yet.” 

Shane’s smile grew. “Awww, you liked him didn’t you?” he teased. Ilya rolled his eyes and circled around to join Shane on the couch. He sat down with a sigh and loosened his tie. Shane did his best to keep his eyes on Ilya’s face as he did so, but couldn’t help getting a little distracted by the sight of his exposed neck. 

“Like is maybe not the right word,” Ilya replied thoughtfully. Shane forced himself to lock in, as it sounded like the other man was actually going to talk about this. “I think he will work hard. I think he wants to do this, if only to get back to making music again. No way to know now if he will be a perfect fit with the band or anything, but from a technical standpoint he should be good.” 

Shane hummed and nodded. Ilya had filled him in about Troy’s unfortunate association with Dallas Kent. Even he had heard that story, as unplugged from the music industry as he was. Obviously it wasn’t a good look, and if Troy had been involved in any way Shane hoped he was punished for it. But Troy’s name had never come up in the news stories, and if Ilya was considering bringing him into Iron and Ice, he must not have picked up on anything. 

“He looked like a zombie, though,” Ilya continued. Shane scrunched his nose in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” 

Ilya winced. “Apparently he went through a bit of a low point, after Kent was arrested. Ended up in the hospital for alcohol poisoning.” 

Shane gasped. “Oh my god, is he okay?” he asked. 

Ilya shrugged. “Better now, so he says. Went to rehab for a bit, sober for a little while. We will need to be careful around him, if he joins the band. Maybe no clubs.” 

Shane nodded slowly.  “Makes sense. Must be hard to get back into the music scene as a recovering alcoholic,” he murmured. Ilya huffed a laugh. 

“He is certainly in a tough spot,” he admitted as he crossed his arms. “Playing with us is probably best case scenario for him right now. Not many bands would take a chance on him until the trial is over at the very least, too scared of the PR fallout. But hey, we already have several layers of bullshit going on. What’s one more?” 

He glanced over at Shane with a small smile. “How was your day?” he asked. Shane sat up and beamed, reaching for his laptop. 

“Great, actually. I think we found the perfect place.” 

Ilya cocked his head in confusion. “Place? Place for what?” 

“For me to move into,” Shane went on, his attention now squarely on the open browser page. It was reloading, because of course it was, and slowly the photos started to fill in. He turned the screen towards Ilya with a grin, only to find Ilya looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“What?” Shane asked. Ilya shook his head slowly and seemed to blink away whatever had been running through his head. 

“Nothing. You found an apartment? Where?” 

Shane pushed his reading glasses further up his nose and pulled the screen closer. “Mhm. Not far. It’s in a different neighborhood from my old place, not in WeHo anymore. I would have liked to go back, but everyone told me it would be better not to,” Shane said with a little frown. He liked WeHo, had been there basically since he arrived, but he recognized the security reasons around moving to a new neighborhood. 

“But this place is beautiful,” Shane continued. “Great around the clock security, underground parking. The kitchen isn’t quite as big as yours, but it is so much bigger than my old place. I mean, anything would have been bigger than my old place, but still. Two bedrooms, so my parents can stay with me when they visit instead of getting a hotel. They have a cleaning service, but I think I’m gonna ask them not to do that, I’m kind of particular…” 

Shane was squinting at his screen as he scrolled through the photos for Ilya to see. It was a beautiful apartment, if a little boring. Everything was white and grey, the classic look for a new build. But the view from the master bedroom and the living room was stunning, facing out over Hollywood, and the lease had no restrictions on what he could do with the place. He was going to be paying a premium for that, but it was worth it in Shane’s mind. As much as he’d been enjoying going out with Ilya, he was a bit of a homebody at heart. He wanted his home to feel like his. 

“Furnished?” Ilya asked. Shane hummed and nodded slowly. 

“I’ll keep some of it for now, but Wiebe moved a bunch of the stuff from my apartment that wasn’t destroyed into storage. I want it back, to make this place feel more like mine.” 

“It is a little… unspecific,” Ilya offered as he looked at the next photo, which showed a bathroom so white it was almost hard to make out any details. Shane chuckled. 

“Basically every place the realtor sent over had this look. All the places with character weren’t secure enough,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, you will bring enough character to it,” Ilya declared, clearing his throat. Shane looked over at him and smiled shyly. 

“Thanks. It’s kind of a gamble, though. I could never afford this place usually, but Wiebe said budget wasn’t a problem. Not sure what I’ll do after this year, but hopefully I’m making enough to stay. Otherwise I guess I’ll just move again.” 

Shane didn’t want to move again. He liked this apartment, had seen the vision of what he could make the space as soon as he stepped inside. Now more than ever he was determined to make this year work for him, even if only to keep this apartment for a little longer. He’d figure it out. 

Ilya was looking at him with another unreadable look, but before Shane could ask again it faded into a smile. “Ah, good thing you will be a famous movie star by this time next year, yes?” Ilya teased. Shane rolled his eyes but shoved at Ilya playfully. 

“Yeah, sure. Or maybe I’ll just be rolling in Canada Dry money,” he laughed. He closed his laptop and stretched. He felt Ilya turn to face him more completely on the couch, an arm coming around behind him on the couch. 

“Ah, I will be so lonely without you,” Ilya pouted.

“Oh stop,” Shane laughed. He clutched the laptop to his chest and tried to keep his back straight and not fall backwards into Ilya’s arms behind him. He could feel the faint blush on his cheeks. “I bet you can’t wait to have your space all to yourself again. I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay here.” 

Ilya shrugged. “That is what friends are for, right?” Shane raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

“Are we friends then, Mr. Rozanov?” he asked. Ilya blinked in surprise. 

“Oh. Um. I thought, yes, but-” he mumbled. Shane nudged him with his shoulder.

“I’m teasing, Ilya. Of course we’re friends,” he whispered. Ilya’s return smile came off a little forced, but he was up and off the couch before Shane could press. 

“Well, make sure to take all of the groceries you bought. I will not use them without you,” Ilya called behind him as he disappeared down the hall. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah, of course. Will do,” Shane mumbled after him. He heard a door close, and he was once again alone. He collapsed back against the couch with a sigh. 

Ilya was such a complicated man. Shand had figured he’d be over the moon to get his house back, to not walk on eggshells around Shane 24/7 despite Shane never asking him to. He’d been navigating Ilya’s minefield of emotions rather successfully for two weeks, had he accidentally stepped on one right at the last minute? 

Or was he overthinking Ilya’s reaction? Maybe he really was happy, just not all that interested in where Shane was going. That was ok, he could get that. Not everyone was as into architecture and interior design as Shane was. 

Shane checked his watch and immediately decided it was too late to call his parents that night, but Hayden would probably still answer. He wanted to tell someone else about his new apartment, and Hayden was nothing if not a hype man. He’d call his parents in the morning, let them know he’d be moving in a week so they could try and come down.

He could picture his mom’s reaction at the view immediately, as well as both their approval regarding the new security measures. His dad would want to go to Ikea. Shane wondered if he could ask Ilya about letting him borrow Ryan while they were in town. He liked Ryan, and he thought his parents would too. 

The next week passed without incident, though Shane felt like Ilya was a little more reserved than he had been before. They only went out on one more date during that time, finally fulfilling the promise of bowling that they’d postponed due to Ilya feeling unwell. Shane would have liked to do more, but Ilya seemed to have thrown himself head first into writing now that they had a new guitarist lined up. 

Troy apparently performed well enough at his audition with the rest of the band that he was officially announced as the new guitar and backing vocals for Iron and Ice only three days after Ilya met with him. The press release praised his musical skills and listed numerous impressive credits, though his time with Dallas Kent was conspicuously left off. It also included only a brief official confirmation that Sasha had indeed stepped back from the band, saying it was to “spend more time with his family.” Ilya had been in an odd mood after that had gone public, holing up in his room for the remainder of the day. 

On the night before Shane moved into the apartment, his parents flew in. He had wanted to pick them up from the airport himself, but Wiebe had talked him out of it.

“We’ll get them picked up by a private driver and taken to the hotel,” he’d promised Shane on the phone. “I know it’s annoying, but you and Ilya are still trending after that bowling date. Some folks know what your parents look like, but no one is going to recognize them just walking around at the airport. If you show up, the risk increases.” 

So Shane had agreed and was waiting for them at their hotel when they arrived. In their stubbornness they’d insisted on getting a hotel room for themselves instead of accepting Wiebe’s offer to pay for one. Shane knew it was hypocritical to be annoyed by their choice when he got his own stubbornness from them, but standing in the middle of a queen room in a Century City Holiday Inn when they could have had a suite in some fancy Beverly Hills hotel made him want to roll his eyes. 

All potential annoyance at them flew out the window when the door opened and his mom was there. A lump appeared almost immediately in his throat as she saw him and dropped her suitcase right in the doorway, arms open wide. He rushed across the room and collapsed against her. 

“Oh honey,” she sighed in his ear. He felt her hand card gently through his hair and he squeezed his eyes tight. 

“Could we move maybe five feet further into the room so I’m not out in the hall like dirty room service plates?” his dad joked from just behind his mom. Shane opened his eyes to see his dad, face lit up with a grin, and he had to force back tears. 

“You always know how to ruin a moment, don’t you dear?” Yuna muttered, which made Shane release a wet laugh. He pulled back from her shoulders and wiped quickly at his face as he moved further into the room. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he rambled. He felt a hand on his cheek immediately as the door closed behind his dad, who had wrestled both of their bags inside. His mom came over to him, her own eyes bright. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You have had a stressful couple of weeks,” she soothed. He nodded, allowing his mom to comfort him. He’d been keeping it together ever since he’d moved into Ilya’s, but the stress and emotion had been building up. And if he was going to cry about it in front of anyone, it was going to be his parents. 

But he was his mother’s son, and there was planning to be done. Once he had his breathing under control, he launched into it. 

“I already have my keys to the new place, I started dropping stuff off this afternoon,” he said. “I assume you want to see if before we go shopping? Wiebe’s having more stuff delivered from storage around noon.” 

“Absolutely,” Yuna said, her business face on. “The photos were beautiful but you know photos rarely capture the totality of the space.” 

“Your mother spent the whole plane ride drawing up concepts based on those photos, by the way,” David said as he stretched out his neck. He reached for Shane and pulled him into a hug, which Shane melted into. “Her iPad is probably out of storage.” 

“It was a long plane ride,” Yuna sniffed, but she was already reaching for her bag. “I think you’ll really like what I put together, Shane. Obviously we’ll have to adjust based on what we can find but we can also order some finishing touches.” 

Shane smiled as she tugged him down next to her at the foot of the bed. His dad pulled up a chair and sat across from them, content to observe. Shane got his love for interior design from his mom. She had gone to school specifically for architecture, but shifted into design in order to spend more time at home after he was born. She was a gifted artist, and a firm believer in the arts in general. She, and his dad, had always been his biggest supporters when it came to his interest in film, and they had been completely on board when he declared he wanted to move to LA and go into acting. 

As he sat next to her while she flipped through concept art she had put together for his new apartment, across from his dad who continued to make little jokes and smile, he was reminded of how lucky he was to have the two of them. 

They ended up ordering room service that evening so they didn’t have to go through any security protocol, and because both Shane and his mom were neck deep in design catalogues she’d brought along by the time dinner rolled around. David had eventually turned on a movie, which played quietly in the background as Shane held up yet another selection of curtains next to one of his mom’s mock ups of the living room. 

“Oh, the color on those is stunning,” she said, filling in the curtains in the drawing with a similar color. 

“Your food is going to get cold, you two,” David laughed. He was almost done with his burger and fries, while Yuna and Shane had yet to even start. 

“We ordered salads David, they’ll be fine,” Yuna muttered. Shane was actually very hungry, but he couldn’t tear himself away from what he was doing. He hadn’t had the space (or the budget) to do much more than the basics with his last apartment. His mom had helped here and there with that place, but most of the square footage had been dedicated to function over form. He loved seeing his mom in her element. Tomorrow was going to be so fun. 

“Any chance we’ll get to meet your boyfriend while we’re here?” his dad asked nonchalantly. Shane’s head shot up, his face suddenly on fire. Yuna also snapped to attention, though she looked more delighted than Shane felt. 

“Oh we must. We have to thank him for everything!” she said with a smile. “So sweet of him, letting you stay there. A little early to move in together…” 

“Mom!” Shane groaned. He set the catalogue aside and moved to get his salad. If they were going to break to talk about Ilya, he was at least going to eat. “You guys are only here for three days, and I know the second you get in there tomorrow you're going to find fifteen extra projects you’ll want to handle before you leave. We won’t have any time!” 

David chuckled. “He’s got you there, Yuna.” 

Yuna pursed her lips and took the salad Shane was handing her. “Thank you, honey. And I’m sure we could slot it in. He’s not coming to help you move in at all?” 

Shand sat cross legged on the end of the bed and stabbed at the lettuce in his bowl. “I told him he didn’t need to. It’s not like I have a ton of big furniture, and Hayden’s coming to help with the delivery tomorrow. After everything I didn’t want to ask him to also help me move, you know?”

Yuna hummed. “Well, we’d still like to meet him. We keep seeing all those pictures of the two of you. He looks at you like you hung the moon, you know that?” 

“And you look at him the same way,” David added. 

Shane swallowed and kept his eyes on his salad. He’d seen all of the pictures, he knew what they looked like. You’d have to be blind not to see how they looked at one another. Wiebe had even commented on it on their last call, that he couldn’t ask for better pictures than they were getting. 

Shane was growing to hate the pictures, though. He hated how honest he looked in them, and how much he couldn’t tell the level of honesty in Ilya’s returning gaze. When they were in the moment everything felt natural and easy, and Ilya had taken the promise of honesty very seriously so no other public disasters like the rooftop bar had occurred. 

But behind closed doors, things were harder to figure out. For the first two weeks he’d lived with Ilya they had spent almost every moment they were both home together. After he’d told him he was moving out, Ilya suddenly seemed to be around less. They texted but not as much as they had before. Shane didn’t know what to think.

“Yeah, he’s great,” he said softly. And he was. He had a laundry list of issues that Shane was sure he hadn’t even scratched the surface of, but under it all was a really great man. Someone Shane could see himself falling for.

In the end, Shane stayed the night at the hotel with his parents so they could get an early start. They asked for a cot to be brought up, and while it was far from the plush bed he had at Ilya’s he slept like the dead that night. He had texted Ilya to let him know he wasn’t coming back to the house, and had gotten only a thumbs up in response. 

As he expected, his mother was head over heels with the apartment as soon as they arrived at 9am the following morning. 

“This place has so much potential,” she breathed as she walked through the kitchen. The remainder of the groceries he hadn’t used from Ilya’s were already in the fridge and the pantry, but the counters were bare. “There’s so much light, this is gorgeous!” 

“Seriously, kid,” David whispered in his ear with a pat on his back. “This place is really awesome.” 

“Thanks dad,” he whispered back. He wondered briefly how they thought he was affording such a nice place. He hoped they just didn’t have a grasp on the cost of LA real estate. As long as they didn’t think it was some kind of sugar baby thing from Ilya. 

They spent the next couple hours going over his mom’s sketches again and figuring out which designs they wanted to go with and what to tackle first. By the time Shane got a text from Hayden saying he was downstairs to help with the stuff from storage, they’d put together a game plan for the next few days. 

It did not include meeting Ilya. Shane had been relieved when his parents seemed to forget their original insistence that they squeeze that in. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if all three of them were in the same room. 

“Bro, this place rips!” Hayden laughed as soon as he got inside. “And the security downstairs? Like airport level, dude. I think they took a retinal scan.” Shane rolled his eyes, but his dad laughed. His parents had met Hayden before, and were always asking after him. 

They took the freight elevator down to the underground parking, where Shane let in the delivery truck. There ended up being only a handful of boxes and a couple of pieces of furniture that had been truly worth saving from the apartment, so it only took a couple of trips up and down before they sent the truck on its way. 

“People always say don’t offer to help someone move, but this was no sweat,” Hayden said as he collapsed on the couch. Shane was making note of the furniture and decorations in the furnished apartment and his own boxes he wanted to keep and what he would get rid of, while his parents unloaded the boxes for the kitchen.

“Well, it is a lot easier if the person moving had most of their shit destroyed in a home invasion,” Shane muttered. Hayden winced.

“And there goes my foot, once again in my mouth,” he sighed. Shane waved him off, then nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a knock at the door. His mom’s head poked out from the kitchen. 

“Who could that be?” she asked, voice suspicious. Shane frowned and walked to the door, carefully checking the peep hole before opening it. In the hallway stood someone dressed in the uniform of the building. He was holding a large box. 

Shane cracked open the door just enough to speak to the man. “Yes?” he asked. 

“Delivery for Shane Hollander. It arrived with the specific instruction to be brought directly to your door,” the man said with a smile. Shane’s frown deepened. He’d barely told anyone his new address yet, who could possibly be sending him things? 

“Does it say who it’s from?” Yuna said loudly from behind him. The man glanced at the top of the box, his eyes widening.

“Um. Ilya Rozanov.” Shane bit back a grin as he opened the door a bit further. His father appeared and held it open as the man handed Shane the box. He nearly dropped it, unprepared for its weight. 

“Thank you,” Shane said. The man nodded.

“Anything you need, Mr. Hollander, you just let us know. Have a great day.” And then he was gone. 

“Oooo, his boyfriend sent him a present!” Hayden crowed. Shane set the box down on the kitchen counter and grabbed his car keys to cut it open. Of course it was Ilya. 

Inside the box was a series of new kitchen appliances, all top of the line. David whistled as he pulled out a blender. 

“These are perfect, Shane!” his mom gushed. “Excellent quality, and they’ll go with almost every one of my designs.” 

As his parents sorted through the delivery, with Hayden ogling each piece, Shane noticed another box buried at the bottom and surrounded by bubble wrap. He picked it up carefully and carried it into the living room. 

The box wasn’t taped shut, so he unfolded the cardboard to reveal the back of a dark wooden frame. His heart rate started to pick up as he gently turned it over to reveal a familiar painting of a winter landscape featuring a cottage on a frozen lake. 

A sticky note was stuck to the frame, barely clinging on. The chicken scratch writing said “Did you think I forgot? - IR”. Shane didn’t even bother holding back a smile. He looked up towards the empty wall across from the couch and held the painting at eye level. 

“Perfect,” he whispered to himself. It wasn’t yet. But it would be. 

Chapter End Notes

Why isn't Yuna Shane's manager in this fic? Because this scheme simply would not have gone down the same way if she had been invovled, and it had to for the plot.

I told you I wasn't going to forget the painting.

Next week: Lights, camera, action!

Chapter 10

Chapter Summary

I'm trying to behave, but you make it so hard.

Chapter Notes

A chapter entirely from Ilya's perspective? I didn't know I could do that...
This is not a safe space for any potential Rose-haters, she has done no wrongs. She is just destined to be in a situation when it comes to these two. Simply trying to live her life while they stare at each other across the club, literally or figuratively.
Lyrics once again credited to my wonderfully poetic friend lavenderski3s, please check out their works on here as well! More lyrics to come soon, the career part of this story has finally started in earnest. Kinda.

“You said that you don’t like it hot

I wanna be why you forgot

I can’t do what angels do

It’s easier to ruin you”

Ilya stepped back from the mic as the final beats of the song wrapped up and took off his headphones.

“That’s going to be a hit, guys,” Hunter’s voice came through the speaker in the recording booth. Ilya looked over towards the glass to see their manager leaning over the controls with a soft smile. Ilya rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, Hunter. Thank you so much for your brilliant commentary,” he drawled in response. Hunter scowled. 

“Do you even have the capacity to take a compliment, Rozanov?” he grumbled. 

Ilya opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a jab to his ribs. “He says thank you, Scott,” Svetlana offered with a wink. Hunter shook his head, but he was smiling. 

“You will go to your grave in debt to that woman, kid,” he said. He then nodded at Troy, who was carefully replacing his guitar on its stand. “Great adjustment on the timing, Troy. I think you got it.” 

Troy blinked, looking surprised to be addressed. Ilya held back a sigh. The guy had been playing with them for over two months and he still seemed shocked to be included in literally anything. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he’d come to Ilya’s place to practice, how many meals he’d shared with the band, and how many times Scott Hunter spoke directly to him. It was always a deer in the headlights moment. 

Time had gotten weird for Ilya. After months of barely being able to write a single line, he and his bandmates had successfully put together what Ilya thought was their best work yet. It would only be their second complete studio album and would feature ten songs, all of which were either finished and recorded or just about ready to record. Today was their attempt to put the finishing touches on their recording of Ruin You in order to get it ready for release to radio stations.  

Almost every song on the album was inspired, in one way or another, by Shane Hollander. There were two exceptions. The song featuring Fabian was a bit more abstract since he had worked closely with the other man on it, but the inspiration behind it was all from Ilya. Very few people knew the truth about his mother, so it would be impossible for fans to pin the meaning of the song down. It was a departure from the band’s usual style, and Fabian’s feature on the violin was incredibly haunting when it had been put together with the rest of the music. It would likely be one of the more controversial songs with fans and critics, but Ilya loved it for finally giving him a way to talk about his mother even if no one understood what he was saying. 

The other exception was 100% about his father. It was far and away the angriest piece of music he had ever written, which was saying something. 

The rest of the album might as well have been a love letter to Shane. The songs varied in tone from overtly sexual to lightly teasing to desperately sweet, though he managed to cover most of the sweetness with the band’s usual aggressive sound. Not that any of this got past Svetlana, who almost always had a small smirk and a slightly raised eyebrow whenever they were working on songs. Ilya ignored her as best he could.

When Ilya had gotten back from meeting with Troy and Shane had announced he had found a new apartment, Ilya had felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Shane had been so excited about the new place, talking about its potential, and all Ilya heard was how happy Shane was to get away from him. 

Svetlana would have told him he was catastrophizing, putting thoughts into Shane’s head and words into his mouth. Ilya did not ask for her opinion. 

When Shane had briefly suggested he didn’t see Ilya as a friend, Ilya had felt like he was drowning. Despite the immediate clarification that he was just teasing, Ilya couldn’t shake the feeling of his chest caving in. In that moment he decided he needed to alter course before he was past the point of no return.

So he’d pulled back. He continued going on dates with Shane per their contract, but he left him to his devices otherwise. This was much simpler once the other man moved into his new apartment. They texted occasionally, but Shane had become a hot commodity in Hollywood all of the sudden so it was easy to keep the conversations to a minimum. Despite several more public appearances, including an official afterparty for some film premiere at which they were photographed more than any other celebrities present, they had not shared another kiss. 

None of this had made the pain in Ilya’s chest lessen even slightly. He woke every day thinking about Shane Hollander, and it was showing in his music. He was incredibly proud of what this album was shaping up to be, but sometimes he would be in the middle of recording a song and a wave of melancholy would nearly rob him of his voice. 

The upside of having Shane no longer in his house was he was free to return to his usual terrible habits. He’d dropped his meds again, which restored his dormant sex drive (yay) but left him more vulnerable to his unpredictable mood swings. He was still trying to regulate the recreational drug use so he could finish the album, but cocaine had made a bit of a comeback in order to keep him alert in the face of his insomnia, which had only barely improved once he stopped taking the antidepressants. 

That being said, Ilya felt like he was doing pretty good. Dates with Shane had gone incident free. The one time a planned outing to Santa Monica Pier had landed on one of Ilya’s no good, very bad days in which he felt ready to yell at anyone who even breathed in his direction, he had made the choice to text Shane and ask to reschedule. Shane was so busy that they had ended up needing to push a whole week, which had made Ilya sad. Still, when he woke up the next morning to see that he had punched his bathroom mirror and shattered it at some point in the night he knew he’d made the right call.

Distance. He needed to keep distance from Shane, nothing deeper than the relationship outlined in their contract, he told himself as he helped pack away the instruments in the recording booth. He could do that.

Distance had actually been easier this past month anyway, since Shane had been away from LA. On set. Filming a movie. With Rose fucking Landry. 

Ilya knew it was unreasonable, but he could feel the scowl pulling at his mouth at the very thought of her name. 

A couple of weeks after Shane moved into his new apartment, which Ilya still had not been to, they had a lunch date at the Chateau Marmont. Shane had specified the time and place when he’d texted, saying it was to celebrate something. Ilya had asked what they were celebrating, but Shane had only replied with the zipped-mouth emoji. 

Ilya arrived late as usual, but only just. Shane was already seated when he arrived and even from across the patio Ilya could tell he was nearly vibrating with excitement. 

“Hi,” he said with a soft laugh as he approached the table. Shane looked up, his face bright and happy. Ilya felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight. This man was so unbelievably beautiful. 

“Hi,” Shane replied. He stood from the table and wrapped his arms around Ilya, who tried not to lean into it more than necessary. A few wandering eyes were on them, but this was not the type of place where they would be over-photographed. Ilya attempted not to read too much into Shane’s choice to have lunch here. 

“How have you been?” Shane asked as they sat down. There was a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket next to the table, which Ilya clocked immediately. Shane almost exclusively drank water or ginger ale unless they were out to dinner, when he would sometimes get a beer. Shane saw him looking and blushed. 

“Ah, I just. Thought it would be a nice touch. To celebrate.” 

Ilya smiled and cocked his head. “No complaints from me, but you still have not said what we are celebrating,” he chuckled. Shane shook his head with a smile. 

“I will, obviously. But tell me how you’ve been first.” 

Ilya filled him in on the last few days since they’d seen one another, which had been almost nothing but writing and recording. His rockstar lifestyle had really taken a backseat for the time being, his vices limited to his time alone at home. 

“Troy is adjusting though,” he hummed as the waiter walked away after taking their appetizer order. “He’s still very, very quiet for a performer. Most of us have big personalities, you know? I wonder how much of it is just him and how much of it is everything else.” 

Shane nodded, his dark hair falling into one eye. Ilya noticed there was a touch of eyeliner on his waterline. He tried to stop noticing, but he knew that would be making an appearance in his next dream about his PR boyfriend. He wondered if it was waterproof or if it would run down his face if his eyes started watering… 

“But yeah,” Ilya cleared his throat and pinched his thigh to try and focus, “otherwise it’s all good. We’re making great progress.”

“Ilya, that’s great,” Shane beamed. “I’m so happy to hear that.” 

Ilya flushed at the sincerity and took the opportunity to shift the conversation. “Now it is your turn. Tell me what we are celebrating so we can open this champagne.” 

Shane bit his lip but it did nothing to stop his smile. He nodded quickly and gestured for Ilya to lean forward. Ilya did, his elbows bracing him against the table. “I, uh. I booked a movie.” 

Ilya’s eyebrows flew up and he felt his mouth split into a smile. “Oh?” he asked.

“Mhm. Remember that studio I had that general with last month? Turns out they had something they wanted me to audition for, but they wanted to meet me first. A couple days after they called me, sent over the script and told me to come in. I did, it went great, and they called me in last week to do a chemistry test with the other lead.” 

“Other lead?” Ilya asked, eyes wide. “So you are one lead?” Shane nodded, his smile so big his cheeks probably hurt.

“The project’s called Vigilante. My character is a failed boxer whose brother died in a work accident. He’s trying to get revenge on the company, which is super predatory and totally behind the brother’s death. But there’s this girl who works for the company that he ends up falling in love with. The script is excellent, it has so much to say about the morality of revenge and where that fits when it comes to late stage capitalism.” 

“Wow,” Ilya breathed. “You are the lead lead, yes? Most of the movie is you?” 

“Well, there are a lot of flashbacks with the brother, and then a lot of shared screen time with Rebecca, the female lead. But,” he giggled shyly, “yeah. It’s enormous, actually. I almost passed out when they told me I got the role.” 

Ilya reached across the table and grabbed Shane’s hands, squeezing them tight. “Shane, congratulations, holy shit!” he laughed. Every other thought, including the constant drumbeat of ‘distance distance distance’ he’d walked in with flew out the window. He wanted to get up and pull Shane into another hug. He wanted to tell everyone else in the restaurant. He wanted to kiss him. 

Shane laughed and squeezed Ilya’s hands back. “Thank you,” he replied. “I am so excited.” 

Ilya let go of his hands and grabbed the champagne just as their waiter returned to the table with their appetizers. “Let’s break into this champagne, then!” 

After glasses were poured and a proper toast was had, they dug into their food. Ilya was over the moon for Shane. This whole thing was paying off for him, thank god. He’d had his home broken into, he was nearly publicly humiliated at that rooftop bar, and he’d lost a significant amount of his privacy as part of this deal to help improve Ilya’s image. Finally he was getting something out of this too. It didn’t eliminate Ilya’s guilt for everything he’d put Shane through so far, but there was a very real sense of relief. 

“And guess who the female lead is,” Shane whispered. Ilya tried to think of any actresses he could name off the top of his head, but the list was short. 

“Ummmm. Meryl Streep?” 

Shane reached across the table and swatted at his arm. “No, jesus! Not that I wouldn’t love to work with Meryl.” He paused before proudly announcing, “Rose Landry.” 

Ilya nodded slowly, his mind doing everything in its power to pull that name from his memory. “Ah. Yes. Rose Landry. She was great in… everything she’s been in,” he attempted. 

Shane laughed and sat back in his chair. “You have no idea who that is, do you?” 

Ilya shrugged and took a quick bite of his crab cake. “I do not follow movies so much, you know this. But if you are excited, I am excited.” 

Shane chuckled and pushed the salad on his plate around. “She’s incredible. She was one of the leads on this super popular thriller TV series that just finished. She was nominated for an Emmy for the final season. She’s done a couple of indie films in between and she’s always good. Honestly I think her performance in Exclusive should have gotten more attention, but the marketing for it was terrible so I think just not enough people saw it.” 

“Ah, so you are a fan of hers?” Ilya asked carefully around a sip of champagne. Shane shrugged, his cheeks flushed. 

“I guess kind of. I just think she’s a great actor, you know? We did the chemistry read together and she was so cool, super down to earth, really collaborative. It’s unbelievable to get a chance to work with her. And they told me she had some input in who they went with so. It’s just so awesome.” 

Shane took a very happy bite of his salad, seemingly oblivious to Ilya’s darkening mood. He couldn’t put his finger on why this conversation about Rose Landry was starting to make his stomach turn. He glanced down at his plate. Maybe it was the crab cakes. 

“Well, congratulations,” Ilya forced out with a smile. “She is very lucky to work with you. You will be her best co-star yet.” 

It was the right thing to say, based on Shane’s reaction. He looked close to jumping across the table to give Ilya another hug. Ilya quickly grabbed his glass and held it up to Shane for a toast before Ilya did something stupid like let him. 

The film was apparently on a fast track, as it was only a week later that Shane had told him he would be heading to Toronto for filming for four weeks. Ilya couldn’t believe his eyes when the text had come through. 

“Four weeks! He’s going to be gone for four weeks, Sveta. A whole month!” he’d whined on the phone that night. He was sitting alone next to his pool, his third glass of sangria almost empty. His phone was on speaker next to his ear as he lay sprawled out on a pool chair under a starless sky, the heat of the day lingering. 

“Ilya, you see him like once a week. He was busy when he was filming that Canada Dry commercial and you were fine!” she laughed. Ilya groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. 

“That was only three days, that was totally different! And the commercial was very sexy, so it was worth it.” 

The commercial was sexy. The Canada Dry people really leaned into Shane’s inherent hotness and had gone with a summer, pool themed concept, meaning Shane was only in swim trunks and soaking wet through the whole thing. Ilya couldn’t say for sure how many times he had seen it, but it had to be in the hundreds. He’d considered writing a personal thank you to the good people at Canada Dry, they had really done their big one with that commercial. 

“You can still text him, maybe ask if you guys can Facetime or something,” she soothed. Ilya frowned and flipped over onto his stomach. 

“He’s going to be so busy, filming and rehearsing and hanging out with Rose Landry.” 

“Woah, there could not have been more disdain in your voice when you said her name if you tried,” Svetlana laughed. Ilya stuck out his tongue before realizing she couldn’t see him. 

“She’s just so. Ugh. You know,” he mumbled, his head dropping to his crossed arms. “Ilyusha, have you asked if you can visit him on set? He’d probably love that, and then you could see in person that he’s not going to leave you for his co-star. Who is a woman, and he is gay so it’s not even an issue but I realize your jealousy addled brain cannot see this-”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped. “I’m just going to miss him.” He winced as the words came out of his mouth against his will. Great, because just being sad Shane was leaving was so much better than being jealous of Rose Landry. Stupid sangria. 

“Visit. Him. On. Set. It’s a romantic thing to do, there’s no way they wouldn’t let you,” she insisted. 

Which was why as soon as they were done at the recording studio, Ilya was heading to the airport. He would be spending three days in Toronto during Shane’s last week of production, including a full day on the set of the movie. To his surprise, Svetlana had been right. Ilya had shyly floated the idea to Shane a week after he left, playing the card that it would be a very couply thing for him to be spotted in the same city Shane was filming in.

“You want to come to set? Oh my god, absolutely! And we can do dinner while you’re here, there’s this steakhouse everyone keeps telling me I need to try. Oh, and maybe we can do the CN Tower!” Shane had rambled in response. Ilya had let out a sigh of relief, glad that Shane was excited and didn’t immediately reject the idea. 

“What time do you land in Toronto?” Svetlana asked as the band headed out the door. Ilya pursed his lips. 

“Late, past midnight. Going east from LA sucks.” 

Wyatt sighed. “Too true. Let me know if you want any recs, I have family in Toronto. Though I’m sure the people on set will have like a laundry list of stuff to do.” 

“When I am not with Shane I think I will be writing,” Ilya said carefully. “I do not want to sightsee.” 

“Oh Ilya, live a little,” Cliff grumbled. “Don’t be boring and sit in your hotel room all alone until he’s free. Enjoy your vacation a little bit, it’s been a long time.” 

And it had. Despite having money and a relatively flexible schedule, Ilya had not traveled for any reason outside of the band since moving to LA. He’d been all over the world for the tour, but they’d only been in each city for a night before getting on their next flight, so he’d barely seen anything at all. 

“I will consider it,” he replied haughtily. In truth, he had no intention of sitting alone in his hotel room if he could find a way to be around Shane. He was only in Toronto for three days, and he had gone over three weeks without seeing him. He felt like he’d earned a little decrease in distance. 

“Please text us when you land, alright?” Scott Hunter appeared, eyes glued to his phone as he spoke, fingers flying. “A car is picking you up, and there will be security available if you want it. I emailed you the details.” 

Ilya’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything. He and Hunter had a strange relationship from an outside perspective. They were at each other’s throats constantly, but were almost always on the same page when it really mattered. Ilya would never tell him to his face, but Scott Hunter was shaping up to be a very, very good manager. 

The flight landed in Toronto at 12:05am, and Ilya barely made it to the bed in his hotel suite before crashing. Planes exhausted him like nothing else, somehow even defeating his insomnia. Still on west coast time, he woke the next morning just after 10am. He rolled over and checked his phone and couldn’t hold back a smile at the text waiting for him from Shane. 

From Pretty Boy: 

‘Hope your flight was ok! I’ll see you this afternoon, I can’t wait :)’

While Shane’s call time was noon he wouldn’t actually be on set until closer to two, so Ilya would meet him there. Scott, damn him, had worked it all out with the studio and he had an email in his inbox with all of the instructions about how to get to set, who to talk to, and when to be there. 

Ilya decided to order room service so he wouldn’t have to call his car and security just to have an early lunch. He played a couple of games of chess on his phone to pass the time, a habit he had picked up after Shane had wiped the floor with him in every one of their games. His room had a balcony so he smoked a couple of cigarettes in order to have a little bit of something in his blood before seeing Shane again, but decided to wait until dinner to have a drink. He was sure the steakhouse would have a nice selection. 

Finally it was time to leave, and for once in his life Ilya was going to be perfectly on time. His car pulled up to where the movie was filming that day, which appeared to be some alleyway by the harbor. He was cleared by security and his driver was told where to park. Just as they pulled into the proper spot, Ilya’s eyes locked on Shane. He was very grateful he saw him before he’d gotten out of the car, as it gave him a chance to stare without anyone noticing. 

There were probably two dozen people running around set, all orbiting around Shane Hollander. Even from a distance Ilya was struck by how handsome the other man was. He was dressed in black athletic pants and a tight burgundy shirt that showed off arms that Ilya did not remember being that toned. His hair was perfectly disheveled and he was talking to a woman in a baseball hat with a pair of headphones around her neck and a clipboard in her hands, nodding intently. 

Ilya forced himself to get out of the car and quietly made his way over to the monitors set up on the edge of the set, eyes never leaving Shane. 

“Oh shit, hi!” a voice said from behind him. Ilya turned to see a very young man with nearly white hair, also wearing headphones and clutching a clipboard, staring at him with big eyes. “Ilya Rozanov, right? Shane said you were coming.” 

Ilya put on his best smile and reached out to shake the man’s hand. “That’s me. And you are…?” The young man quickly juggled his clipboard and shook Ilya’s hand. 

“Luca, I’m his on set PA. I set up a seat for you, if you want to come this way? Also we have so much food, if you’re hungry.” Ilya glanced over at Shane, who was still deep in conversation with who Ilya could only guess was the director.

“Sure. Thank you, Luca,” he replied easily. What he really wanted was to go kiss Shane in front of everyone on this set, but he would not bother Shane while he was working. 

Luca had indeed set him up a chair just behind and to the left of the monitors with a shockingly perfect view of where Shane would be for this scene. He sat down and locked his eyes back on the other man. 

“Anything you need, and I mean anything, just let me know. Shane is the easiest talent I’ve ever worked with, so I’m super available to you too. The most he’s asked for this whole shoot was a Snickers bar,” Luca laughed nervously. Ilya bit down a smile. 

“Sounds like him,” he murmured. He perked up as he watched the director pat Shane on the back and walk back over to the monitors. 

“Alright everyone, let’s do this!” the woman shouted. Shane was staring down at the ground and it almost looked like he was muttering to himself. Then the director yelled action. 

Ilya had never seen Shane work. At this point he was fairly certain he had seen all the projects Shane had worked on, including his short films from highschool which were still available on Youtube, but he had never seen Shane in the process of making anything. He wasn’t sure what to expect when the camera started rolling, though he was sure Shane would be great.

What he had not predicted was how hot it would be to watch Shane be very, very good at his job. Ilya felt his mouth hanging open as the Shane he recognized disappeared into his character, an angry, bitter young man who couldn’t let go of his desire for revenge, not even for love. The scene was just him and one other guy, whose presence barely registered to Ilya as he had eyes only for Shane. The context of the scene was all but lost on Ilya, but he could not have cared less. Shane was shouting, up in the other guy's face delivering a goddamn performance, and Ilya had to shift in his seat at the sight. 

‘Competency kink’ a voice that sounded far too much like Svetlana’s muttered in the back of his mind. He couldn’t even argue with her as the director yelled cut and suddenly the character was gone and his Shane was back, looking over at the director expectantly. 

“Good?” he asked with a little smile. 

“You have made my job so easy this month, kid,” she replied happily. “Let’s get maybe two more takes for options but I am happy to move on otherwise!” 

Ilya snapped his mouth shut and sat back in his chair. They were going to do this again? He was going to die. 

The next two hours passed with the production getting several angles of this scene, as well as the other man’s side of the argument (who was not nearly as compelling as Shane, if you asked Ilya). About a half hour in, Shane had started looking around during one of their resets before making eye contact with Ilya. He immediately lit up and waved. Ilya waved back and gave him a thumbs up. The smile he got back was literally going to haunt his dreams. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“Alright everyone, let’s get inside for the interiors with Rebecca,” the director eventually said. The whole production moved like they were in the military towards a large building further away from the dock. Luca appeared suddenly at Ilya’s elbow, making him nearly jump out of his skin. 

“Come with me, I have the perfect seat for this one too! This is going to be the rest of the day pretty much, at least for Shane. Probably three or four more hours,” he chirped. Ilya stood and stretched, then gestured ahead of him. 

“Lead the way,” he said with a smile. Luca blushed and practically ran off towards the new location. Ilya moved to follow him before a hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him back. He stumbled and almost collapsed directly into the waiting arms of Shane Hollander. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered in Ilya’s ear. Ilya scrambled to shake off his surprise and return the hug, inordinately thrilled to have Shane within arm’s reach again. “I have to go change, but I hadn’t gotten to say hi yet so. Hi,” Shane giggled as he pulled away. He squeezed Ilya’s shoulders. “I’ll see you later, I have so much to tell you.” 

And then he was gone, before Ilya could get his shit together and form a response. Not that one had been forthcoming, as seeing Shane up close with his makeup and hair done and his sexy arms in that sexy shirt had robbed every English word from Ilya’s vocabulary. 

“Mr. Rozanov, are you coming?” Luca called back to him. Ilya turned to see that he was all the way over by the building looking at him like a lost puppy. 

“Yes, but please do not call me Mr. Rozanov,” Ilya forced out as he rushed to catch up. “I’m 22, not 40. Just Ilya is fine.” 

Ilya could not figure out what this building was used for on a regular day, but for the purposes of this film it had been transformed into a series of boring, high end office sets. Walls had been knocked down to open the space up for cameras and crew, and Luca settled him in a similar position near the director. The room they were focusing on was all dark wood and sleek electronics, with moody lighting that suggested this scene was taking place at night. Ilya figured they would add in a skyline to the back wall to make the office seem high up and important. 

“I’m here!” a voice suddenly said. It was a voice Ilya recognized from the many interviews he had watched since first hearing the name attached, and his blood ran cold. Fuck. The interiors with Rebecca, that’s what the director had said. Which meant- 

“How’s today been so far?” Rose Landry asked the director, smile wide and eyes bright. Ilya forced himself not to react outwardly. She was dressed in a formal business suit, though with one more button open on her shirt than Ilya thought appropriate. Her skirt hugged her ass perfectly and her hair fell around her shoulders in gentle curls. She was gorgeous, the exact type of woman Ilya would usually flirt with shamelessly. 

Ilya did not mourn that he could not flirt with this woman. He did not want to flirt with her. He did not even want to be in the same room with her. Svetlana’s voice popped up in his head again. ‘Yeah, so not jealous’. He told it to fuck off. 

Panic started to rise up in his chest as she continued talking to the director. What if she came over and talked to him? He wouldn’t be able to do it, he wouldn’t be able to keep his dislike of her to himself. He knew he didn’t  have a legitimate reason to dislike her, she seemed charming and relatable in every piece of footage he had seen of her. She would be so confused when she introduced herself and he was unable to look her in the eyes without scowling. 

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately in the grand scheme of things, Shane suddenly appeared and drew Rose’s attention away before she noticed Ilya. Fortunately because it meant he didn’t have to attempt pleasantries with her. Unfortunately because Shane somehow came back looking hotter than before and was now being hugged by Rose Landry right in front of him.

Today was actually going to kill him. How had he not anticipated this? Didn’t Luca say this would take another three or four hours? Was he really going to have to watch them together for four hours?

Ilya gripped the wooden armrests of his chair so tight his knuckles turned white. He had somehow ended up in a circle of hell he had never considered before as he watched Shane talk animatedly with Rose Landry over the script in his hands. The other man’s eyes were bright and he had a soft smile on his lips as he nodded along with whatever she was saying. 

“Alright everyone, let’s jump in. We’ve got a lot to do here!” the director said as she sat down in her chair. For the first time she seemed to notice Ilya and did a double take. “Oh, hi! You must be Ilya, Shane told us you were coming to set!” 

Ilya, usually thrilled to be the center of attention, wanted to melt into the floor as every single eye in the room snapped to him. Including Rose Landry, who immediately smiled a dreadfully sincere smile and waved. 

“Ilya, hi!” she said. “I totally didn’t see you there! I’m Rose. Shane’s told us so much about you, he talks about you all the time.” 

“Rose!” Shane hissed, his face bright red. Ilya attempted a smile back at Rose, which he believed he only pulled off because Shane’s reaction to what she said made him feel a little better. 

“Ah, nice to meet you. Ignore me though, please, you are working,” he ground out.

“He’s right, we can all freak out about Ilya Rozanov later,” the director, Ilya’s new favorite person on earth at this point, cut in. “Let’s get this show on the road!” 

If watching Shane work earlier had been unintentionally arousing, watching Shane work across from Rose Landry was torture. It didn’t help that the scenes Ilya happened to be present for were the part in the movie where Shane’s character, who Ilya finally figured out was named Jason, and Rebecca had their big romantic moment. 

Over and over again Ilya had to watch Rebecca catch Jason trying to steal some confidential information from her bosses’ office, confront him and eventually be convinced of the righteousness of his mission for revenge. They shot the scene from several angles, got multiple takes, and at the end of every single one he watched Shane reach out and kiss his co-star with desperation and emotion before running out the door. 

Ilya considered how insane he would come off if he walked out of this room and directly into the bay. 

The worst part was the two of them together were good. Very good, in fact. They had incredible chemistry, both as their characters and when they were between takes. It was clear to Ilya that Shane really liked Rose, and Rose would have to be an idiot not to like Shane. In another life this would be the perfect setup for the two of them to become a gorgeous Hollywood it-couple. 

But in this life, Shane was his. Only because of a contract, and only until next July, but he was his. Ilya kept repeating this to himself like a mantra every time Shane kissed Rose like he needed her to breathe. 

“He is gay, remember?!” Svetlana’s voice kept shouting in his head, but Ilya could barely hear it over the white noise of insanity that lasted all four hours. 

Finally the director declared that they had wrapped with Rose and Shane for the day. They had more scenes to film with the actor playing Shane’s dead brother, but they didn’t need either of them until the following day. Ilya had never been so relieved in his life. 

He was even more relieved that Shane didn’t say a word to Rose before hurrying over to Ilya with a massive smile on his face. He looked so fucking hot in his all black vigilante costume, his features augmented by just a touch of makeup, his excitement to see Ilya clear on his face. The day had been a real test of Ilya’s patience and he had been so well behaved. So as a reward, he decided he could do something kind of stupid.

Before Shane could say anything, Ilya pulled him in by the waist and kissed him. 

They had not kissed since that date in the park. There was no paparazzi here to impress, no chance photos of this moment would appear in TMZ. They were on a closed set, surrounded by industry people who had signed NDAs to even be there. But after hours of watching Shane kiss Rose over and over, he couldn’t help himself. He needed to kiss this man who had inspired an entire album, who had taken up residency in a corner of Ilya’s brain and chest without even trying. 

Their first kiss had been a good one, but this one was even better. Shane gasped as his lips collided with Ilya’s and his arms wrapped around Ilya’s shoulders seemingly without him telling them too. Ilya took the opportunity to lick at the slight opening of Shane’s mouth and was thrilled when Shane let out a quiet moan and allowed him to deepen the kiss. 

Of the many, many kisses Ilya had experienced in his life, this was easily in the top five. It was made all the sweeter when Ilya opened one eye to see Rose Landry standing just behind Shane, her own eyes wide with shock. 

Ilya pulled back just enough to breathe. He was pleased to see Shane looking borderline dazed, his eyes locked on Ilya’s lips. His arms slid down enough so that his hands rested on Ilya’s shoulders, and Ilya did not release his hips. Shane shook himself slightly and let out a breathy laugh. 

“Oh, uh. Hi,” he stuttered. He was blushing, his eyes darting around the room. Most everyone had looked away and were conspicuously doing anything else, but Rose remained staring at them. Ilya couldn’t get a read for the look on her face. She seemed almost delighted, but he didn’t trust it. 

“Hello,” he purred at Shane with a smirk. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s nose, then his cheek. The other man was squirming in his arms and giggling. 

“Oh my god, Ilya, stop it!” he laughed. He finally managed to escape Ilya and ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Ilya hummed and reached a hand out, which Shane took shyly. “I missed you,” he admitted. It cost him a lot to say, his heart racing at the honesty in the statement even as he tried to convince himself he was just laying it on for Rose. He was rewarded with a beautiful smile from Shane, who squeezed his hand. 

“I missed you too,” Shane said softly. “I’m so glad you were able to make it. It’s been so weird, going this long without seeing you.” 

Ilya felt the pressure that had been wrapping around his heart since he’d first seen Rose Landry appear begin to loosen. Shane was excited to see him. He hadn’t forgotten about Ilya, hadn’t fallen in love with Rose in the last three weeks. Shane was still his, in the ways he had always been. His more than anyone else’s, at least. 

“We have a dinner reservation to get to, yes? We will catch up there,” Ilya murmured, his voice low enough that only Shane could hear. Shane smiled and nodded before stepping back. 

“Let us go get changed, we’ll be quick I swear. I’m starving,” Shane said. Ilya stiffened as the words fully processed. 

“... Us?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. Shane cocked his head to the side. 

“Did I not mention I invited Rose? Oh shit, I’m sorry! That’s ok, right?” 

Ilya had been a villain before, he knew he was capable. He could very easily answer that no, that was not ok, he would rather dine with anyone else on the planet besides Shane’s precious Rose. But the look in Shane’s eyes as he asked, sweet and excited, caused Ilya to pause.

“Shane,” Rose said as she stepped up right behind him. She was looking at Ilya with an odd expression, eyes narrowed. “Maybe you guys should go, just the two of you. I can join you for something tomorrow.” 

For the first time since laying eyes on her, Ilya felt a flicker of something besides animosity. Good, he thought, she was smart enough to pick up on the situation without him having to be outwardly rude. 

“No, please Rose, you have to come,” Shane replied. “I’ve been looking forward to this for like two weeks. Please?” 

Rose nodded with a tight smile and sent Ilya a look he may generously describe as apologetic. Ilya couldn’t even blame her for giving in. Shane was impossible to say no to. 

Ilya forced a smile onto his own face and nodded as happily as he could manage. “That’s a great idea,” he ground out. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” 

Shane leaned in and kissed Ilya on the cheek before grabbing Rose’s wrist and hurrying away. “20 minutes, I promise!” he called behind him. Rose made eye contact with him before they disappeared out the door. She was grimacing. 

“Wow,” Luca sighed, nearly giving Ilya a heart attack at his sudden appearance. He turned to see the younger man staring after Shane and Rose. “They’re so great, aren’t they? This project is going to be such a hit for them.” 

Ilya sighed and successfully managed not to roll his eyes. The universe was really out to get him today. Was this karma for a past life, or the one he was currently living? 

He muttered a goodbye to Luca and headed back to his car. The driver perked up when he slipped into the back seat.

“Take me back to the hotel,” Ilya mumbled, his hands coming up to rub at his eyes. “I will meet him- them. I will meet them at the restaurant.” The car started and pulled away from its spot, and Ilya pulled out his phone. 

He was dressed nicely enough for a steakhouse, but if he was going to spend the whole evening across from Rose Landry, he was going to have to try a little harder. Also he’d left his pack of cigarettes on the hotel balcony and he really needed one before jumping into this particular night, as fucked up as it had become. 

He would be fine. Shane was not in love with his gorgeous co-star. He had kissed Ilya back, he knew he had. This was just Shane being excited for Ilya to meet his new friend. He had two more full days in Toronto, he’d have plenty of alone time with Shane. Besides, once this was all over Shane would be back in LA. Things would be back to normal. 

Ilya let out a heavy sigh and dropped his head against the headrest. This was going to be a very long dinner.

Chapter End Notes

Shane, you really gotta text a man if you're gonna invite a third wheel on your reunion date. That's just manners.
Next week: Already friends, why not some benefits?

Chapter 11

Chapter Summary

Don't look at her, look at me. Please, look at me.

Chapter Notes

FINALLY the time has come for me to earn that E rating.

Also I have been meaning to say, thank you to every person who has left kudos and comments on this fic while it has been in progress. I really appreciate it, it's so nice to hear people's thoughts and theories on where this is all going. I can only hope it lives up to expectations!

Half an hour into dinner it occurred to Shane that this had maybe not been his best idea. 

Nothing specific happened to cause this realization. The service so far had been excellent. Ilya, who had texted him that he’d meet them at the restaurant so he could stop by his hotel first, had actually beaten them there and was waiting for him and Rose at their table. He’d gotten up and given Shane a hug (no sweeping kiss this time, but Shane hadn’t been expecting the first one) and shaken Rose’s hand before sitting down with a smile. 

Ilya had launched into questions immediately, all directed at Rose. How was it working in the film industry? What’s been her favorite role? Does she spend much time in LA? What kind of moisturizer does she use, her skin is so flawless!

Somehow despite being the one person at the table the other two had in common, Shane quickly felt like the odd one out. He hadn’t seen Ilya in weeks, had only texted and had a few brief calls with the other man. He’d been up to his neck in work and spent almost all of his free time getting to know Rose. 

What the fuck had he been thinking, inviting her to dinner with them? Ilya Rozanov, the dazzling, charming rockstar, was on full display as he laughed and teased Rose through the entire appetizer course. Shane barely tasted the chef recommended brussel sprouts as he shoved them in his mouth in order to keep from scowling. 

“Ah, I’m sorry I have not seen more of your work. I am not a movie person,” Ilya chuckled after Rose finished explaining the plot of her last project. Rose giggled. 

“So Shane has mentioned. I’m sure you’ve caught up on his filmography by now, though.” 

“Of course, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I had not. He is a revelation, and I don’t think that is just my biased opinion,” Ilya replied, sending Shane a wink. Shane’s eyes narrowed. And what kind of boyfriend was he being now, flirting with Rose right in front of him, he thought sourly. 

Not your real boyfriend, his rational side whispered. He’s just a friend, he’s here as part of the contract you stupidly signed. He can’t do anything with Rose now anyway, not unless he wants to be in breach of that contract. 

Somehow that didn’t actually make Shane feel any better. 

He wished he were in a better mood when the steak arrived because he assumed it was great. The way Ilya moaned as he took a bite, his eyes rolling back in his head dramatically, sure suggested it was. Rose laughed at his antics. Shane grit his teeth. 

“Who suggested this place?” Ilya mumbled around his food, his dreadful table manners on display once again. “We should send them a gift basket.” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Shane snapped, then immediately winced at the tone of his words. He shook his head slightly and forced a smile. “Rose did, actually. She’s filmed in Toronto a couple of times and always tries to come here.” 

Rose nodded. “When Shane mentioned you were coming to town, it was the first place that came to mind. An absolute must do.” 

“You, Rose Landry, are brilliant,” Ilya said sincerely, pointing in her direction with his fork. “Shane is a lucky man to work with you.” 

Don’t kill him in public, Shane’s brain screamed. It’s not worth it. Kill him later, when you finally manage to get him alone. Why the fuck didn’t you just bring him here alone? 

By the time Ilya ordered dessert, like he always did, Shane had finished all three glasses of wine allowed by the contract and was borderline itching for another. Instead he quietly asked for an espresso in the hopes that it would help him sober up enough to have a civil conversation with his so-called boyfriend after this because in his current state he was a little worried about what might come out of his mouth. 

“It’s been great to get to know you tonight, Ilya,” Rose hummed, her chin propped up in her palm as she leaned on the table. “The rumors and tabloids don’t do you justice.” 

Ilya scoffed. “Sadly, they mostly do. I try my best to behave for Shane.” He sent Shane a soft smile as he said this. Shane, feeling light headed from the wine, stared back at him. Ilya quirked an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Awww, how sweet. Shane’s a sweetheart, you’re a very lucky man,” Rose cooed. Ilya looked back towards her, his expression clearing. 

“I know I am,” he said. His hand suddenly reached out and tried to take Shane’s, but Shane moved away with a frown. Ilya met his eye briefly, looking hurt. Shane swallowed heavily and threw back his espresso. 

“So, any plans for the rest of Ilya’s visit?” Rose asked. It took a moment for Shane to realize she was talking to him. 

“Uh. Yeah. We were gonna do the CN Tower tomorrow after we wrap. Early start, I think I’m done around 3pm. But I guess I’m not sure,” Shane mumbled. 

“That sounds fun! The view is great. I’m on set literally all day tomorrow, we’re filming that scene where Rebecca confronts her boss. Easy scene, but I feel like they’ll want a lot of takes. I’m going to be there forever,” Rose rolled her eyes playfully as she addressed Ilya. 

Ilya pouted. “Ah, it is too bad that we will miss you tomorrow afternoon! We will just have to manage without you,” he sighed heavily. 

Ilya picked up the check, which Shane did not even attempt to put a stop to. After the night he just had watching Ilya flirt with Rose for over two hours he figured Ilya could pay for dinner.

Rose had driven Shane to the restaurant and the original plan had been that Shane would go back to Ilya’s hotel so they could catch up some more. He considered cancelling and having Rose take him back to his temporary apartment, but he needed to talk to Ilya. Alone. 

They waited outside the restaurant for Rose’s car to be brought around. October in Toronto wasn’t truly cold yet but with the sun fully set it was brisk. The air was helping Shane shake off some of his wine haze, but now there was more room for anger. 

“Well, if I don’t see you again before you leave it was a real pleasure to meet you,” Rose offered as she tugged her coat tighter around her. Ilya smiled and took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Landry. Thank you for looking after Shane while we have been apart. He is in good hands, I can tell.” 

Shane released a slow breath as Rose laughed and took her hand back. He raised his arms to respond to her hug when she reached for him out of habit, no matter how much he didn’t want to at that moment. 

“Have fun tonight,” she purred in his ear. She pulled back and stepped off the curb, gracefully taking her keys from the valet. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Bye Ilya!” 

Shane watched her drive away, eyes not leaving her car until it turned out of the parking lot and down the street. He heard Ilya clear his throat and he slowly turned to see the other man holding open the back door to a dark SUV. 

“Coming?” Ilya asked. He sounded a little unsure, and his smile had faded now that Rose was gone. Shane nodded curtly and climbed into the car. Ilya closed the door and hustled around to the other side. Once he was also in the car the driver pulled away without a word. 

The ride to Ilya’s hotel was silent and tense. Shane kept his head turned away from the other man, eyes focused out the window. He’s been waiting all night to get Ilya alone and now that they were he had no idea what to say. 

That rational part of his brain was telling him he had no real reason to be angry with Ilya. Shane had sprung the information on him that he had invited Rose to dinner and Ilya had been a complete gentleman, including Rose in the conversation, getting to know her. Shane could not have asked for it to have gone better between the two of them. 

He liked Rose. He’d liked her work before he met her, and he liked her in person even more. She had been an incredible friend from the moment he landed in Toronto and had been a fantastic guide as he stepped onto this level of film set for the first time. He was grateful to her and simply wanted her to meet the man he'd been talking about nonstop ever since he arrived.

When Shane wasn’t actively working, he was thinking about Ilya. He knew the band was close to finishing their album and he was practically salivating to hear it at this point. Ilya had refused to play a single song for him, saying he wanted Shane to experience them “when they are perfect”. Shane had never been so excited for an album in his life. Except maybe the last album The Admirals had put out before Scott Hunter quit, though he’d never say that to Ilya. 

He knew he’d talked Rose’s ear off about Ilya over the last three weeks, but he couldn’t help it. He’d thought being in a different city with minimal contact would have given him some clarity about the situation, but if anything it made things much worse. 

Shane missed Ilya. He’d already started missing him before he’d left LA, when Ilya had seemingly… backed off. They’d spent so much time together when Shane had lived in his house that it had taken Shane about a week to notice that the difference wasn’t just because he was no longer sharing a kitchen with the other man. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Ilya was trying to create some distance between them. 

At the time Shane had been able to understand and rationalize it. He’d forced down his knee-jerk reaction of sadness and focused on the reality of the situation. Ilya was doing the pragmatic thing, Shane should be grateful and proud of his friend. Their dates continued and Ilya was his usual self for the most part. He kept his promise to let Shane know when he wasn’t feeling up for an event or to even see him, and things had gone smoothly. Everything was fine. Shane hadn’t lost Ilya. They just needed to recalibrate.

Being in Toronto, in two separate cities in two different time zones, was more of a challenge than Shane had anticipated. No dates, barely any time to talk. It was like trying to go cold turkey on drugs, or so Shane imagined. He missed Ilya, missed being able to fill him in on anything and everything, missed his humor and snarkiness. Rose had been a lifesaver and the work kept him plenty busy, but it wasn’t the same. 

And now he had Ilya, finally back close enough to touch, and he didn’t know what to do about it. It seemed Ilya didn’t either, if his silence was anything to go by. Shane swallowed and pursed his lips. People called alcohol liquid courage. That did not appear to be the experience Shane was having with it. 

Ilya had booked himself a suite in the Ritz Carlton Toronto. As the car pulled up to the front of the hotel Shane felt Ilya nearly throw himself out before it even came to a complete stop. 

“Have a good night,” the driver said happily from the front seat. Shane gave him a shaky smile and a nod just as his door was yanked open by Ilya. He climbed down from the SUV and hurried into the lobby before realizing he didn’t know the room number. He stood in front of the elevators as Ilya came up behind him and hit the button. 

The ride up was a different kind of awkward than the last time they’d been in a hotel elevator together. Ilya had been drunk and upset and Shane had not known how to comfort him. Now Shane was the slightly tipsy and upset one, and he could tell that Ilya didn’t know what to do about it. 

Truthfully, Shane had no plan as he followed Ilya to his suite. He wasn’t a confrontational guy by definition but he hated to stay angry at people. Usually he would sit down and take some time to think through his feelings before crafting a perfect, eloquent statement. It had worked after that last elevator ride. Somehow he didn’t think that was how this was going to go tonight. 

Ilya held open the door of his hotel suite for Shane and Shane walked in slowly. He was still a little drunk but the combination of water, espresso and cold Toronto air had done him well. He just hoped he wouldn’t have a headache in the morning before needing to be on set.

“So,” Ilya started quietly as he closed the door with a soft click. He leaned back against it and blew out some air. “Rose Landry. She is nice, yeah?” 

Shane saw red. Every bit of anger that had simmered down during the drive and the elevator ride was fanned back into a raging inferno. How dare she be the first thing Ilya wanted to discuss when they were finally, finally alone?

Shane cleared the distance he’d already crossed in two strides and got right up in Ilya’s space. He watched Ilya’s eyes blow open in shock as he pressed himself backwards against the door, but Shane didn’t slow down or let him speak. Instead his hands came up to wrap around Ilya’s neck and yank him down into a desperate, starving kiss. 

Ilya had caught him off guard with that kiss on set. They hadn’t kissed once since their date in the park. Shane had wanted to, almost every single date since, but he had been following Ilya’s lead about space and distance. Because of that the kiss earlier had been unexpected but not unwelcome. Shane had been thrilled at the possessive way Ilya had grabbed onto him and held him close in front of everyone, even if a part of him had been a little embarrassed at the public display of affection. 

And then Ilya had gone and spent the rest of the night with eyes only for Rose. Not on his watch, Shane thought to himself manically as he licked at Ilya’s lips and deepened the kiss when Ilya gasped. Ilya was his PR boyfriend, thank you very much. For nine more months he was all Shane’s. 

Shane ran his hands down Ilya’s neck to his shoulders before continuing down his chest. Ilya was kissing him back with equal fervor, eyes closed and head bent to get a better angle. Shane hummed softly as his tongue tangled with Ilya’s. He’d gotten a brief taste earlier and he wanted more. 

He felt Ilya’s hands wrap around his waist but go no further. Shane whined and pressed closer to Ilya so they were chest to chest. A thrill ran down his spine at both the moan that came out of Ilya’s throat and the feeling of him hard against his leg. 

Shane released Ilya’s mouth to immediately latch on to his neck. He wanted to leave a mark, something that would show everyone in Toronto but also everyone back in LA that Ilya was his. Ilya gasped as his head fell back against the door and his hips involuntarily jerked up to press against Shane. 

“Holy fuck, Shane,” he moaned. Shane hummed in response before biting down, hard. Ilya cried out and Shane began soothing the spot with sweet, gentle kisses. “What are you doing?” 

Despite his shock, Ilya’s hands had strayed from where they’d rested on Shane’s hips down to grope at his ass. Shane rocked his hips backwards into Ilya’s grip then forward to grind against Ilya. One hand drifted lower to rest on Ilya’s waistline while the other came up to dig itself in the curls at the base of Ilya’s neck and hold it still as Shane continued to lavish attention on it. He felt more than heard Ilya’s stuttering breath at the action. The grip on his ass tightened. 

This had not been the plan. Shane could admit to himself that he’d thought about this over the past few months. He’d lived in the same space as Ilya for two weeks, and saw him multiple times a week after that. He would have to be blind not to notice how gorgeous the other man was. He knew Ilya had been looking at him too. He’d sometimes feel Ilya’s eyes linger on his ass when he was standing in the pantry, or zero in on his neck after he got back from a run. 

Shane had never done anything about it because Ilya had never done anything about it. But that hadn’t prevented Shane from picturing those eyes, that mouth, when he was alone in his room. He’d never had sex with another man, but he was far from unaware of the mechanics. Ilya had taken on a starring role in every one of his most recent fantasies. 

Space and distance. That had been the mantra ever since he’d moved into his apartment. Recalibration. Friends. 

Fuck it, Shane managed to think through the haze of lust. Friends with benefits could work too. 

Shane pulled off Ilya's neck and pressed his forehead against Ilya’s. “Want you,” he mumbled against Ilya’s lips. His eyes fluttered open to meet Ilya's, which were almost entirely pupil. “Fuck, Ilya, please.” 

Those appeared to be the magic words, as Shane felt Ilya’s arms come under his ass and lift him off of the ground. He let out a gasp as he wrapped his legs around Ilya’s waist and tucked his face back into Ilya’s neck. 

Shane did not take in a single inch of the journey to the bedroom. He was sure the suite was lovely, but nothing mattered besides the king sized bed he was gently laid down upon. He refused to let go of Ilya for even a moment, pulling him down on top of him and capturing his mouth in another kiss. He felt Ilya’s hands travel every inch of his body and he decided he needed more. 

“Off, off, get it off,” he mumbled against Ilya’s mouth and he pulled at the bottom of Ilya’s shirt to untuck it from his pants. Ilya chuckled. 

“Ok, yes, but you need to let me go for two seconds,” he laughed quietly. Shane felt his mouth turn down in a pout but he let his arms fall back onto the bed and off of Ilya. Priorities. 

He watched as Ilya sat back on his knees between Shane’s legs and pulled his dark blue button down shirt over his head in one solid motion. Shane bit his lips as he greedily took in the sight of Ilya’s chest, bare with the exception of the golden cross that was always hanging around his neck. He’d seen Ilya shirtless before while living with the man, but only brief glimpses and never in this context. Shane wanted to lick every inch. 

While he was distracted by the miles of tanned skin on display Ilya had managed to remove his belt and start shimmying out of his pants. Shane decided to get with the program and started unbuttoning his own shirt. He was much clumsier and slower than Ilya though, and before he was even halfway done Ilya’s hands joined his own. 

“Let me,” the other man nearly growled, and Shane let his hands fall away. His eyes were locked on Ilya’s face, which was twisted in focus as he made quick work of Shane’s shirt. He gasped as Ilya ducked to kiss his newly exposed chest and nearly cried out at the feeling of his tongue swirling around his nipple. 

“Fuck, Ilya,” he moaned. One hand found its way back into Ilya’s hair while the other gripped at the comforter below him. He thrust his hips up in a desperate attempt at friction and whined when one of Ilya’s hands grasped his hip and held it down against the mattress. 

“Patience,” he heard Ilya mumble against his skin, “let me take care of you.” 

Shane sighed and let his eyes fall closed as Ilya slowly made his way down his body, kissing and licking at every available inch of skin. He fought the urge to thrust up and somehow managed to keep his hips glued to the bed. 

“So good for me,” Ilya mumbled as he finally reached Shane’s belt. Shane moaned. He wanted to be good, he wanted Ilya to tell him he was good. 

Ilya slowly unbuckled his belt and pulled it off before finally pressing a palm against Shane’s painfully hard dick. Shane let out a cry and nearly arched off of the bed, but managed at the last second to fight it. 

“What a good boy, fuck. You are so perfect,” Ilya said. Shane opened his eyes and met Ilya’s gaze. The other man was staring up at him with awe. “So beautiful, so, so good.” 

Shane let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp. “Please,” he begged. “Please, touch me, Ilya.” 

Ilya groaned and grabbed Shane’s waistband, pulling down his pants and boxers together and freeing Shane’s dick. Shane didn’t even have a moment to breathe before Ilya’s mouth was on him, taking him all the way to the back of his throat. 

“Fuck!” Shane shouted. He thrust upwards into the tight, wet heat, but Ilya seemed to have anticipated it and moved back with the motion. “Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry,” Shane rambled. 

He shivered as he felt Ilya laugh around his cock. Ilya pulled off as he gently pushed Shane’s hips back down. “It’s ok baby, I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Just relax,” 

Shane let out a shaky breath as Ilya took his cock back into his mouth. His hands found their way back into his curls in an attempt to ground himself. 

Ilya was good at this. Not that Shane had ever had anyone suck his dick before, but that much was obvious. A jealous voice in the corner of his brain wondered how many people Ilya had been with before him, but he didn’t linger on the thought. It could be one or a hundred, it didn’t matter. Right now Ilya was here, between his legs, with his cock in his mouth.

Shane could feel himself getting close to the edge and barely had the presence of mind to feel embarrassed about it. “Stop, wait,” he mumbled as he pulled at Ilya’s hair. He cried out as Ilya moaned around him. Instead of stopping, Ilya’s head only bobbed faster. The suction was unbelievable and Shane kept feeling the tip of his dick nudge the back of Ilya’s throat. 

“Oh fuck, Ilya,” Shane whimpered as he came. His orgasm ripped through him, and Ilya didn’t back off until he’d swallowed every drop. Shane collapsed on the bed, chest heaving, and Ilya slowly let Shane’s softening cock fall from his lips. He looked up at Shane with pure satisfaction. 

“Good?” he asked with a smirk. Shane barked out an exhausted laugh. 

“Fuck you,” he mumbled. Ilya laughed and pressed a kiss to the inside of Shane’s thigh. Shane shivered at the contact and he forced his arm to beckon Ilya upwards. Ilya crawled up Shane’s body and let out a soft gasp as Shane tugged him down for a proper kiss. 

“Mmm,” Shane hummed as he let Ilya pull back. He could taste himself in Ilya’s mouth, which was somehow both disgusting and incredibly hot. He pressed his leg up to push against Ilya’s cock, still tucked away in his underwear. “Can I?” 

Ilya groaned and dropped his head to Shane’s shoulder. “You can do whatever you want,” he mumbled quietly. Shane grinned and slipped a hand down and into Ilya’s boxers. Ilya hissed as Shane wrapped his fingers around Ilya’s hard length. 

The sound of Ilya’s breath in his ear was like music, panting mixed with soft whines and gasps of Shane’s name. Shane knew this couldn’t be the best handjob Ilya had ever gotten. He wished he had the energy to flip Ilya over and attempt to suck him off, but it was taking everything he had to move his hand at all. The long day, the dinner, the alcohol, the last however many minutes with Ilya. Shane was running on pure adrenaline at this point and he knew he was on the verge of crashing. 

If the sounds coming out of Ilya were anything to go by, he was still doing an alright job. 

“Shane, oh my god. So fucking good,” Ilya sighed. Shane turned his head and pressed a kiss to Ilya’s temple, nosing at his hair. The hand not currently occupied came up under Ilya’s arm and clutched at his back.

“Ilya, fuck. Come for me, please,” Shane begged softly. Ilya moaned and shook as he spilled into Shane’s hand. He managed to keep himself from collapsing until Shane pulled him down, tucking his head against his collarbone. 

The two lay on the bed, still on top of the comforter, in silence for several moments as they tried to catch their breaths. Shane’s eyes had fallen closed and one hand was absentmindedly carding through Ilya’s hair. He could feel Ilya breathing next to him, slower with each moment that passed. 

Shane whined when eventually Ilya pressed a kiss to his chest and pulled back. “Shh, I’ll be right back. Let me clean us up, ok?” Ilya whispered in his ear. Shane reluctantly released him, his hand falling gently to the bed. 

True to his word, Ilya returned moments later with a warm washcloth and a kiss to Shane’s hair. Shane hummed, too tired to open his eyes, and let Ilya take care of him. He barely registered Ilya forcing the comforter out from under him until it was being gently settled down over his naked body. He felt the bed dip as Ilya rejoined him and smiled at the feeling of Ilya pressing kisses to his cheeks, eyelids, nose. He forced his eyes open just enough to meet Ilya’s and brought a hand up to cup Ilya’s cheek. Ilya grabbed his wrist and turned to kiss Shane’s palm. 

“Go to sleep,” he whispered to Shane. “You have to be up early tomorrow, yes?” Shane sighed and nodded. 

“7am call time,” he mumbled. Ilya set his arm down gently and lay down with Shane under the sheets. 

“I will set an alarm,” he said softly. 

“Thank you,” Shane sighed in response. “Goodnight, Ilya.” 

He was almost completely unconscious when he felt one last kiss on his lips and an arm wrap gently around his waist. 

“Goodnight, Shane.”

Life was not fair. 

That was all Ilya could think when he woke up the next morning to see Shane hurrying around his hotel room, already dressed and typing on his phone. Ilya squinted at the sight. 

“Are you wearing my clothes?” he croaked. Shane spun around, eyes wide. He looked down at himself. 

“Umm, yeah. I didn’t have any with me besides what I wore last night and I didn’t want to show up to set in those so…” he winced. “Do you mind?” 

Did he mind? Ilya wanted to laugh. “No, of course not. You look very sexy in my clothes,” he mumbled. He was rewarded with a blush and a shy smile from Shane. He was further rewarded with Shane coming over and kissing him square on the mouth. 

“I’ll text you when I’m done today. Still want to do the tower?” he asked, his voice quiet in the darkness of the room. Ilya didn’t know what time it was but it had to be early. How was Shane, who had had twice as much to drink as Ilya last night, so awake and alert? 

“Mhm,” Ilya yawned. “Sounds good to me.” Shane smiled and kissed him again. His eyes flickered to Ilya’s neck briefly and his smile grew. 

“I’ll see you later, then. My Uber’s almost here, I need to go.” He stood up and Ilya’s gaze unashamedly lingered on his ass this time. He’d touched that ass now. Hadn’t seen as much of it as he wanted to, but It seemed like Shane wasn’t panicking about last night so maybe he’d get another chance. 

“See you later, Shane Hollander,” he called after the other man as he hurried out of the bedroom. 

“Bye!” his voice replied from far down the hallway. He heard the click of the suite door and let out a sigh as his head fell back against the bed. 

He’d had sex with Shane. Finally, after literal months of dreaming about it, he knew what the other man tasted like. He had been shocked when Shane had pushed him against the door last night, but not at all uninterested. He’d briefly worried that Shane had had too much to drink, had somehow lost his mind, but the feeling of Shane literally biting at his neck had been too much to refuse. 

He was so relieved Shane had kissed him again this morning. Whatever had caused him to jump Ilya’s bones the night before, it hadn’t magically disappeared with the dawn. Shane wanted him, maybe as much as Ilya wanted Shane. 

Ilya grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and groaned at the time. It was just barely after 6:30, but Ilya’s mind was racing too much to fall back asleep. He lamented how unfair it was that he hadn’t woken up to a naked, sleepy Shane Hollander. He could have attempted to convince Shane to linger, maybe go another round. 

Shane said he’d be free around 3. Ilya had so many hours to fill before then. He pulled a pillow over his head with a sigh. Free time was rarely his friend but he needed to stay sharp and sober today. He wanted to talk to Shane about last night, figure out what that was and how it changed things for them. 

Bottom line, Ilya wanted to do it again. He wanted to take Shane apart and put him back together as many times as the other man would allow it. Ilya smiled as he remembered Svetlana’s comment several months earlier about how the whole ‘no cheating’ thing in the contract didn’t necessarily mean he’d have to be celibate for an entire year. She really was always right. 

The specter of the contract loomed large between them, that was unavoidable. There was an end date to this whole thing, and while outwardly they were supposed to be acting as if that were not the case they both knew it was. Ilya had been backing off with that very thought in mind. Getting too close when they both knew how this ended was an unnecessary risk. 

But how was he supposed to refuse, now that this was on the table? Ilya was starting to realize he was a very weak man when it came to Shane Hollander. 

Ilya wasn’t sure how long he laid in bed after Shane left just thinking about it all, but eventually he dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower. He noticed the neatly folded towel that Shane must have used that morning placed on the floor. The idea of folding a used towel was both amusing and very Shane, and the image of Shane in the shower was erotic and distracting. Ilya figured he could no longer be faulted for jerking off to mental images of the other man, and he enjoyed a nice, long shower. 

He decided to once again go with room service, despite the list of nearby restaurants Rose Landry had sent him on Instagram. She had followed him the night before and had started DMing him almost immediately with local recommendations. 

Ilya was of two minds when it came to Rose Landry after their dinner. On the one hand, she was so fucking likeable. She was easy to talk to, very funny, and clearly serious about her work,  which was something Ilya always respected. Despite not originally wanting to spend a moment with her, Ilya could admit that dinner had been very pleasant, besides whatever weird vibe Shane had been giving off. Asking her for local spots for breakfast had been a no brainer, and he hadn’t really thought twice about offering her his Instagram. 

On the other hand, the irrational spike of jealousy that jabbed at his brain every time he remembered she had kissed Shane more times in one afternoon than he had in their entire relationship remained. He really needed to get a fucking grip.

After a late breakfast Ilya decided to try and get some work done while he waited for Shane. He had plenty of emails to get through, and he had been putting off considerations for what to do for the album release. Scott Hunter had been nagging him for weeks about whether the band wanted to do a party or not, but Ilya had refused to consider it until he knew whether the album was going to work. 

Of course there was no real way to know how the album would be received. Art was subjective. However, Ilya was confident enough at this point to greenlight the party. This album was really fucking good. 

He ended up so engrossed in the details of the album release that the text from Shane saying he was on his way back to the hotel came as a surprise. It was just after 3:30 and Ilya snapped his laptop closed and hurried to get changed into something less loungey, having thrown on sweatpants and a ratty tshirt post shower. 

By the time a knock came at his door, he was ready. His hair was a mess of curls that hadn’t dried quite right, but he was hoping Shane’s fingers would be running through them ASAP so he made no effort to fix them. He yanked open the door to the wonderful sight that was Shane Hollander. 

“Hey,” he said with a shy smile. 

“Hello,” Ilya purred. He wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist and pulled him in for a kiss. He shivered as Shane’s hands immediately found their way to his hair. Perfect. 

Shane hummed happily as Ilya released him, a faint blush now on his face. Ilya became momentarily distracted by the adorable freckles on his nose and cheeks. He’d seen them before of course, but now he felt he could really stare. 

“Ready to go? We have a dinner reservation at the top at five, but we can take our time on the observation deck,” Shane asked. Ilya pulled him inside the suite. 

“Five minutes, I promise. I was working since I got up, lost track of time.” 

He ducked back into the bedroom to hunt down a pair of socks. Shane followed, leaning on the doorframe. 

“What were you working on?” he asked. 

“Album release stuff. Hunter has been bugging me about a party forever, I’ve been putting it off,” Ilya responded. He glanced over at Shane. “You will be my date, yes?” 

Shane grinned and rolled his eyes. “Unless you have another PR boyfriend you haven’t mentioned to me, yeah I’ll be your date. That sounds awesome.” 

Ilya went back to what he was doing and attempted to hide his wince at ‘PR boyfriend’. Of course Shane was going to be there. This was exactly the kind of event Wiebe needed them to attend together. 

“Great,” he said, trying to sound excited. He finally found two matching socks in his bag and shooed Shane back into the hallway. “Let’s go see the view, then. You can tell me about your day.” 

The view from CN Tower was, as promised, beautiful. It helped that it was a clear day, the water shining bright and the city sparkling in the sun. They’d be at dinner during the sunset, and it was just starting to dip by the time they reached the observation deck. 

“I haven’t been to Toronto in years,” Shane admitted as he leaned over the rail. Ilya hummed as he joined him. “My family came a couple times when I was a kid, but then we started going to Montreal more often. My mom is a Metros fan, it was a good excuse for a quick trip.” 

“Mmm, good to know your family at least has enough taste to not like Toronto hockey,” Ilya replied sagely. “You should have followed your mama and been a Metros fan. Much less sad than cheering for the Centaurs.” 

Shane nudged him in the rib, but not particularly hard. “My dad is a Centaurs fan, and they were local. And my mom cheers for them now too, though she says it’s because they’re never going to be a threat to Montreal. I think she’s lying, doesn’t want to admit they’ve grown on her. The Centaurs are endearing.”

Ilya chuckled and ducked closer to whisper in Shane’s ear. “I believe you. Lot’s of things from Ottawa are… endearing.” 

Shane blushed and shook his head. He straightened and cast a look around. There were other people on the observation deck, but none of them were looking their way. 

“Look, about last night,” Shane started, his voice low. He was leaning back against the rail, his hands gripping it tightly. Ilya felt a pit of concern in his stomach. 

“You did not enjoy?” he asked quietly. Shane frowned and met his eyes. 

“What? No! I mean, yeah I enjoyed. I enjoyed a lot,” he muttered. Ilya let out a sigh of relief. “I just… I wanted to. Check in. About it.” 

Ilya cocked his head to the side with a smirk he didn’t fully feel. “Check in about what?” 

“If you, maybe. Wanted to do it again. Sometime,” Shane offered. His cheeks were bright red now and his gaze had wandered back to the spot on Ilya’s neck where Ilya had found a truly magnificent bruise after his shower that morning. 

Ilya hummed and nodded slowly. “Do I want to have sex with Shane Hollander again?” he mused. 

Shane hissed and smacked his shoulder. “Quiet, Jesus! I’m trying to be proactive here.” 

Ilya laughed. “Mmm proactive. I like the sound of that,” he purred. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Shane muttered. Ilya reached out and pulled him closer with one arm, not letting Shane wiggle away. 

“Yes, Shane. I would like to do it again. I would like to do many, many things with you. Would you like a list?” he asked playfully. 

Shane bit his lip and Ilya was thrilled to feel him shift against him as he seemed to readjust his pants. He was so easy to rile up, what had Ilya done in this life to deserve even a taste? 

“Ok. Great. That’s great. I’d like to, too. And uh, you don’t have to make a list,” Shane mumbled, refusing to make eye contact. Ilya was about to go in for a kiss when Shane took a deep breath. “Obviously there’s nothing in the contract about this,” he said, voice just loud enough for Ilya to hear. 

Ilya paused. “No, there is not,” he answered slowly. “Wiebe is thorough, but not that thorough.” 

Shane smiled tightly at the joke. “Right. So we should probably set some rules. I’ll be honest, I’ve never really done the friends-with-benefits thing before.” 

Ilya raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Really? But it seems so you.” 

“I’ll push you off this tower, so help me,” Shane warned, but he had a tiny grin on his face as he said it. Ilya finally ducked to press a heated kiss to his lips. 

“It is easy, Hollander. We keep doing what we have been doing, but afterwards we fuck. Great plan, no notes,” he said breezily. He pressed a soft kiss to Shane’s nose, thinking about how he wanted to kiss each of his freckles. “Sex is fun. We have fun. We can have even more fun.” 

Shane nodded slowly. “Ok. Yeah, you’re right. I’m overthinking this, aren’t I?” he laughed. Ilya hummed and let the hand around Shane’s waist wrap further around so he could grope at his ass. Shane flushed and gasped but didn’t push Ilya away. 

“You are good at overthinking, it’s ok. Maybe just this once we listen to me,” Ilya said. Shane rolled his eyes and leaned in for a kiss, which Ilya happily returned.

“Alright Casanova, let’s get to our dinner reservation,” he huffed. He slipped out of Ilya’s grip and started walking away.

Ilya followed quickly behind him, his mind a bit of a mess. He’s gotten exactly what he wanted from that conversation. Shane had agreed that having sex was a good idea, and that they should keep doing it. Ilya had had a taste last night and now he wanted more. He wanted Shane’s beautiful mouth on his cock, his hands in his hair. He wanted so badly to fuck the other man that he was a little bit dizzy with it. He could barely keep his eyes off of Shane’s ass as he walked ahead of him. 

And now all of that was very much on the table. He could have dates with Shane, spend time with him in public, kiss him in public, and then drag him into the bedroom or down onto the couch, or maybe even in his recording studio and have his way with him. A year of celibacy, be gone! It was the perfect scenario, everything he could have hoped for. 

Why, then, was there a weight in his chest that only grew with each step? Why did it suddenly feel like the distance between them, despite the physical closeness of the night before, was greater than ever? Why did it feel like something important was moving even further out of his reach? 

Chapter End Notes

Impulsive, possessive Shane is very near and dear to me. That's his man who isn't his man.

Next week: The newest release from Iron and Ice.

Chapter 12

Chapter Summary

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage...

Chapter Notes

Ilya? Hot. Shane? Bothered. Svetlana? Aware. Scott? Tired of it.

Lyrics by lavenderski3s, please go check out their works on here as well! Thank you for all the kudos and comments :)

If asked beforehand, Shane would not have been able to predict what an album release party for a band like Iron and Ice would be. Before he actually knew the band, he likely would have assumed it to be a massive, dramatic affair with endless alcohol and beautiful men and women, perhaps in a club in Hollywood rented specifically for the event. If asked a week before, he might have adjusted that expectation to being at an upscale restaurant, a little bit smaller but still featuring some of Hollywood’s hottest names. 

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that Ilya would host such an event in his own house. 

It made sense. The place was massive and beautiful. Ilya was barely home the last few months as they finished the album so most of the house looked almost unlived in. The private grounds that the mansion sat on were lovely and spacious, and tucked far enough up the private road that none of the attendees had to worry about paparazzi. The only photos getting out from the party would be those taken by the professional photographers hired by the band for the evening. Guests couldn’t even have their phones for the night. 

Shane had spent three full weeks in this house. He thought he knew it fairly well even though he didn’t explore as much as Ilya had insisted he could. When he walked through the doors about an hour before the rest of the guests would arrive, he was shocked by how different everything seemed. 

“Shane!” a voice called from down the hall. Shane turned from what used to be the living room and now appeared to have been cleared of art and furniture to act as a dance floor to see Scott Hunter waving at him. “Glad you could make it! You look great.” 

Shane flushed and looked down at his outfit. He was not any better at accepting compliments from Scott Hunter than he had been back when they’d first met. 

“Thanks,” he managed to get out. Scott had approached by then and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Ready to hear the album, finally?” he asked. Shane nodded with a grin. 

“Hell yeah. Ilya hasn’t let me hear a single song, it’s been driving me nuts.” 

“Do not tell him I said this, but it’s really something. When that kid is locked in he’s one of the best writers I’ve met,” Scott admitted. He winced. “Seriously, do not tell him I said that. I will never hear the end of it.” 

Shane laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Where is he?” 

Scott nodded towards the glass door to the backyard. “He and Wyatt are finishing up with sound check. Almost a bummer to be doing this in December, we had to bring in some porch heaters in order for them to play outside. LA weather man, there’s nothing like it.”

Shane nodded in agreement. It was only a little under 65 degrees even as the sun was starting to go down in mid December, but once the sun was totally gone it would probably drop to the low 50s. At least the cold in Ottawa had been consistent. 

Scott pushed him gently towards the doors. “Go say hi, let me know if you need anything. Obviously you don’t have like a real role tonight, but I know it’s different for you than any other guests. So seriously, if you need anything-” 

“Thanks, Scott. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Shane cut him off gently. One thing he’d picked up on about Scott Hunter was that he was a worrier. It was probably a good thing as a manager of a band, and as a fellow worrier Shane found it very relatable, but sometimes he just needed to pump the brakes for the other man. 

Shane made his way to the door and paused as he caught sight of Ilya Rozanov on the newly assembled stage they’d built for the occasion, the valley stretching out behind him in the setting sun. He was fiddling with a mic stand, a guitar slung behind his back. He was fucking breathtaking. 

After Toronto things had been good. Really, really good. Shane had wrapped on the film a week later and immediately came back to LA. Originally he had intended to stay a couple extra days to hang out with Rose, but the thought of what was waiting for him in LA was too enticing. Besides, he’d already confirmed Rose would be in California in a month. They’d have plenty of time to hang out then.

Shane had been so relieved after that conversation with Ilya. The whole day on set he’d been thinking about the night before, about how badly he wanted Ilya again. He couldn’t bring himself to regret the whole thing for even a second, even if in the morning light it seemed insane and so out of character for him to have done. He needed more, one night with Ilya Rozanov was never going to be enough. 

Well, he’d gotten what he asked for. After the tower they went back to Ilya’s hotel again, no longer exhausted from alcohol and adrenaline. Shane had gotten the chance to get his mouth on Ilya’s cock and he had been floored by how much he loved it. Ilya then proceeded to drag him into the shower and spend the next half hour taking him apart. It had been a very, very good night. 

Ilya had left the following afternoon, but he’d made his case about morning sex by waking Shane up before his alarm with his warm, wet mouth. It was the first (and only) time Shane was almost late to set. 

After all that, he could not be blamed for wanting to come back to LA as soon as possible. He finished his work in Toronto and was satisfied with his performance and the experience. He’d adored the director of the project and was already in conversation with her about potential future collaborations, either with her or one of her colleagues. If the movie performed well, which everyone seemed to think it would, this might be exactly the break he needed. 

Being picked up from LAX by Ilya Rozanov had been a perfect end to the whole thing. The second he saw the other man in his sunglasses and baseball cap, smile wide and sexy, he’d wanted to climb him like a tree. Ilya had offered to drop him off at his apartment and let him get settled back in. Instead Shane directed him to the underground parking, dragged him upstairs, and didn’t let him leave until the next morning. 

It hadn’t occurred to Shane until Ilya was tying his shoes on his way out the door that the other man had not yet seen the apartment. 

“What do you think of the place?” he’d asked as he leaned on the doorframe into the kitchen. Ilya glanced up from his laces with a grin. 

“What I saw of it? Very nice. Great sheets,” he teased. Shane flushed and rolled his eyes, taking a sip of coffee to hide his smile. 

“You’re welcome to look around,” he grumbled. Ilya straightened and cast a look down the hall towards the living room. A soft smile took over his face. 

“Art wall is a little sparse. I should get you more,” he eventually declared. Shane groaned. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

They weren’t able to go on as many dates as before Shane had left for Toronto as Iron and Ice geared up for their album release. The first single, Ruin You, had been released the week after Shane’s return. Ilya had forbidden him from listening to it until the whole album was ready, claiming he wanted Shane to experience it “the way it was written to be consumed”. Shane had petulantly agreed to wait, though he’d been unable to avoid the glowing reviews the song was getting on social media. 

The dates they did go on had been great, the two of them falling back into the easy friendship they’d built. It was just that now almost every date ended either at Ilya’s house or Shane’s apartment. And not at the front door. 

They’d attended a film premiere together just a few weeks before, a historical drama that was likely going to get some awards buzz. Shane couldn’t remember much of it as he’d spent the whole movie with Ilya’s hand just a little too high up on his thigh. They’d attended the afterparty for about half an hour, forcing their way in front of as many cameras as possible so they could call the night a contractual success. Shane had nearly caused Ilya to crash his car (the Escalade, just for Shane) when he’d reached out and palmed Ilya’s cock through his tuxedo pants while he was driving. 

They still hadn’t fucked, not properly. Shane wanted to. He wanted to very badly, but Ilya had been borderline scandalized after Shane told him he’d never had sex before that night in Toronto. 

“But you… and then you… seriously?” Ilya had nearly cried. Shane had rolled his eyes and tried to get Ilya back to sucking his dick, which he had been right in the middle of. 

“It’s no big deal, don’t you dare make it one,” he threatened. Ilya had let it go, but Shane had noticed a bit of a change after that. Ilya would do whatever Shane asked, especially if Shane begged, but he rarely took a step farther without Shane initiating. It was driving Shane crazy. 

As he looked out the glass and saw Ilya, his arms on full display in a tank top despite the chill, he decided enough was enough. He was not above begging this man to fuck him. He only had so much time with him. He needed to make it count.

Shane slid open the glass door and made his way across the deck. Wyatt, who was seated at the edge of the stage detangling an extension cord, beamed as he approached. 

“Shane, let’s fucking go! You look awesome, so stoked you’re here man!” 

Shane smiled. He liked Wyatt. He liked all of Ilya’s bandmates if he was being honest. Troy was the only one he felt a little awkward around, but that seemed to be most people’s reactions to Troy. He didn’t envy the other man’s position either - Dallas Kent’s trial was set to start at the end of next February. 

Ilya’s eyes had landed on him as soon as Wyatt said his name and Shane felt his face heat up under the scrutiny. Ilya was in his element, something Shane had never seen live. He had watched endless hours of Ilya performing on Youtube, but this was the first time he’d be seeing him sing in person. He had on heavy eye makeup and his hair was perfectly imperfect. His ripped jeans were tucked into black combat style boots and Shane could swear there was some kind of gloss on his lips. 

Ilya dropped to a knee and reached out with a grin to pull Shane in for a kiss. Yep, gloss. Strawberry, if Shane had to guess.

“Hi, handsome,” Ilya mumbled against his lips.

“Hi. Are you ready?” Shane whispered in response. Ilya drew back and Shane immediately knew he was. It wasn’t just that he looked the part. Tonight he was exactly who he wanted to be, the man Brandon Wiebe had begged Shane to bring to the forefront of the many versions of Ilya Rozanov. He was the lead singer of Iron and Ice, one of the youngest, hottest rock bands on earth, and he was about to perform the fuck out of their new album. 

“You bet. I really hope you like it,” Ilya said quietly. Wyatt barked a laugh. 

“He better, the whole damn thing’s about - never mind,” Wyatt snapped his mouth closed as he noticed the red hot glare being sent his way by Ilya. “I think I hear Svetlana calling my name. Goodbye!” He dropped the cord he was winding and took off towards the house. 

“I didn’t hear Svetlana,” Shane said to Ilya in confusion. 

“Don’t listen to Hazy, he is crazier than me. Let me show you where the VIPs will be,” Ilya said breezily as he took the guitar off of his back and stepped down off of the stage. He took Shane’s hand and laced their fingers together as he led him away. Shane tried to keep his increasingly traitorous heart from leaping out his chest.  

Shane wasn’t naive enough to think he’d fixed all of Ilya’s problems. Ever since the band had started working on the album in full force, Ilya had clearly cut back on the drugs and alcohol consumption. He still had erratic mood swings, but he’d been so good about communicating with Shane. Logically Shane knew that the creative process of working on this album, in addition to having to spend so much time with Shane, likely left Ilya with almost no time or energy to party. Now that the album was about to be released the status quo might change again. 

The contract didn’t end with the release of the album. Shane still had just under seven months with this man, and tomorrow could be an entirely different beast. He was trying to be prepared for the possibility, to not let his attachment to this Ilya Rozanov set him up for heartbreak. 

Easier said than done, he thought to himself as Ilya handed him an ice cold can of ginger ale. “Canada Dry, because I am very fond of their latest ad campaign,” Ilya said with a grin. 

An hour later Shane found himself seated at a table right up by the stage, a little off to the left. The official guest list for the party was less than 100 people, which Shane had found surprising. Svetlana had shrugged it off when he’d asked. 

“Some people do big parties for fans, some do something like this. We didn’t do shit last time, so I’m just excited Ilya wanted to do anything,” she admitted. Shane had been surprised by this. 

“He didn’t do a party last time? Seems like his kind of thing,” he asked. 

Svetlana went quiet for a moment before carefully replying, “Ilya… was not in the best place the last time we released an album. I don’t know if he could have really handled something like this. It’s a lot to play new music for people when they haven’t heard it before. What if they don’t like it? What if you mess up? It is nerve wracking.” 

Shane frowned. “But your last album was a huge hit.” Svetlana smiled softly at him. 

“Well, he didn’t know that at the time, did he?” she countered. 

Shane pondered that as the backyard filled up with people. He was nursing his second ginger ale of the night, having turned down the offered champagne. He wanted to have a clear head for the performance, wanted to take it all in and not miss a note. It hadn’t really occurred to him that Ilya would be nervous about this. He always spoke of performing and making music like it was the one thing he was endlessly confident about, the one place he always felt comfortable. Shane felt a little silly that he’d taken that at face value. He himself was a performer. Even if it was one of his favorite things in the world, there was still anxiety and nerves that came with it.

Shane stayed where he was but spoke with people as they approached him. He was mildly surprised to see so many of the guests were names he recognized from the film industry, including the director he’d worked with on Vigilante. He chatted with her about the status of the film and was thrilled to hear they were looking at a May premiere date. 

Finally Scott Hunter took the stage and tapped gently on the mic. The music that had been drifting outside from the speaker in the living room disappeared and all attention turned to the band’s manager. 

“Hey everyone, hope you’re all having a great night,” he started with a smile. “I won’t waste any time rambling on, I promise. I just wanted to say that it’s been a real treat to work with this group for the last couple of months. I think they’ve put together something really special, if my opinion counts for anything.” A chuckle spread through the crowd. “Now let’s get this party started. Please welcome Iron and Ice.” 

Scott stepped away from the mic and the whole crowd exploded in applause as the band hopped up on stage. They looked incredible, so clearly in their element. Cliff sat down at the drums with a massive smile on his face, and Wyatt was nearly vibrating as he stepped up to his keyboard. Svetlana was cool as a cucumber, but that was just her. Troy looked a little nervous, but clearly laser focused on the task at hand. 

Ilya looked so fucking hot. He stepped up to the mic at the middle of the stage with a smirk and ran a hand through his hair. Shane held his breath in anticipation of what Ilya would say. 

“Usually I would say disregard anything that Scott Hunter says, but today is a special case,” he said. The crowd laughed, while Shane rolled his eyes. He should have expected that. “I won’t give too much away at the top here, I think this one speaks for itself. So please enjoy the first ever live performance of Paparazzi Joyride.” 

Over the next hour, Shane might say he lived a thousand lives. He was no expert when it came to music, didn’t claim to have a great ear. He liked The Admirals and recognized they weren’t as good without Scott Hunter, but he’d never be able to explain why. He’d never listened to Iron and Ice’s music before meeting Ilya, and he still would likely not seek out anything similar in the future.

Maybe it was just because Ilya Rozanov was singing, or that Shane knew he’d written the album in the time since they’d met, but every song was like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t selfish enough to think they were all about him, but he couldn’t be blamed if he thought a few of them might be. The title song, Paparazzi Joyride, sure seemed to be referencing their whole thing. It had to be. Right?  

Ruin You and Sweet Ginger had him blushing and grateful that all eyes were glued to the stage and not on him. God, Ilya could write some sexy lyrics, and they didn’t even come off corny. Shane reached to take a sip of his ginger ale to cool off, though the taste of the drink on his tongue made him think about how it might linger for Ilya to taste later. His face grew even more hot. So much for that, then. Was Ilya really giving him a Pavlovian response to ginger ale now? 

The crowd erupted in applause when Fabian Salah joined the band on stage for a song called Moonlight. He pressed a kiss to Ilya’s cheek before lifting his violin to his shoulder. The song was by far the most sonically unusual of the album, and Shane couldn’t totally follow the narrative. It was haunting, and seemed mired in a sadness Shane didn’t see from Ilya very often. On an album that seemed largely stacked with sexually charged lyrics and classic rock sound, it was very different. 

Ilya sang the lyrics with such a passion, it was clear it meant a lot to him. “I know I don’t look too good. But I swear I’m getting by. You’d be surprised how far this car runs, on the memory of moonlight.” Shane decided he’d ask about it later.

Fuck Off Back to Moscow was an easy one to follow. Shane had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing when Ilya had very matter of factly announced the name of the song. They never really spoke about his father but it didn’t take a genius to unpack that one. 

By the end of the performance, it was clear even to Shane that they’d put together a brilliant album. The applause was thunderous considering there were only about a hundred people gathered, with Shane trying to be the loudest of them all. Now that he was looking for it he recognized the relief on Ilya’s face as he stepped back from the mic. He was sweaty, clearly worn out from the near hour straight of performing, but as he looked out at the crowd and saw their reaction he seemed to relax. 

Ilya caught Shane’s eye as he took his guitar off of his back and set it down. He raised an eyebrow and mouthed “good?” Shane, unable to stop grinning even if he wanted to, nodded. “You’re amazing” he mouthed in response. Ilya lit up like a Christmas tree. 

Shane stayed off to the side as the stage was swarmed. He desperately wanted to go up there and crush Ilya to his chest, congratulate the rest of the band, but he let the other guests have their time. Besides, once he had Ilya in his arms he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let him go again. 

Guests came up and congratulated him too, which confused him. He kept gently rebuking the praise, refusing to accept any of the credit. 

“You did have a little something to do with it, you know?” Scott Hunter chuckled as yet another couple walked away after congratulating Shane. Shane huffed a laugh. 

“He would have gotten there without me,” he replied quietly. “He has a gift.” 

Scott hummed and crossed his arms, eyes locked on Ilya through the crowd. “He would have gotten somewhere. But he got to this because of you. Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve spent too many months listening to his lyrics about how sexy you are and how much he wants to fuck you to not at least hand you a little credit.” 

Shane wanted to be more embarrassed, but hearing Scott confirm that at least a couple of the songs were about him were too much of a boost to his ego. He blushed and tried to bite back a smile. 

“Shame he’ll never get the chance, but the pining is working great,” Scott continued. Shane frowned and glanced at Scott. 

“Never get the chance to what?” he asked. Scott cocked his head to the side with a confused grin. 

“To you know. Fuck you?” he replied. He held Shane’s gaze for a moment before his face shifted into horror. “He hasn’t, right? You two aren’t fucking, are you?” he hissed. 

Shane didn’t respond, unsure how to proceed. They hadn’t explicitly told anyone their relationship had shifted to be physical, but Shane was positive the band knew. Obviously he hadn’t called his parents or friends to mention it either, but they all thought they’d been fucking since the beginning. 

“... No,” Shane replied slowly. He knew it was too late though, and Scott groaned. 

“You two are a real trip, you know that? I know for a fact that’s not covered in the contract,” he muttered quietly. Shane shrugged, feeling off balance. 

“We talked about it, we have rules. Friends with benefits, if you must know,” he sniffed. “It’s not like the contract said we couldn’t.” 

Scott sighed, his eyes fixated back on Ilya. Ilya had an arm around Troy and was laughing, while Troy looked mildly uncomfortable. “And you both thought about this? Like really thought about it?” he asked carefully. 

Shane thought back to that night at the Ritz Carlton, how he’d leapt at Ilya without a moment’s consideration. “Yep,” he said airly. “Totally.” 

Scott sent him a withering look. “If you say so. I’m… I’m gonna go get a drink.” He wandered off into the crowd without another word. 

Shane watched him go until he lost sight of him. Why did Scott Hunter seem so concerned about this? Shane and Ilya were both consenting adults. Their arrangement was certainly unusual for friends with benefits, since they were also publicly dating. But they had discussed it and had been acting accordingly. It was fine. Everything was fine. 

He caught Ilya’s eye again from across the yard. His grin grew and he winked at Shane, and Shane felt his heart speed up at the sight. 

Absolutely, totally chill. They were managing it perfectly. Fuck you, Scott Hunter. 

Ilya wasn’t sure when the last perfect day in his life had been. 

He’d had a lot of great days. He remembered going to New York City with Svetlana and Sasha for his eighteenth birthday, just the three of them against the world like when they were younger. He remembered the first time the band found out they’d sold out a concert venue, and the day he moved into his house in the hills. If he cast his memory even further back, he could recall his brother playing card games with him after he was done with homework, the few times his father gave him a compliment about his music.

The last perfect day though, that he couldn’t pinpoint. It probably had been a day with his mom. No Grigori, no Alexei. Just the two of them going to the park or a museum. The memories of her were fuzzy at best now, so there was really no way to be sure. 

Today? Today was a perfect day. And he didn’t intend to forget this one. 

The last time Iron and Ice had released an album to the public his father had wanted to do some kind of party. His pitch had been audacious and gaudy, and Ilya couldn’t even fault him for the idea. On paper it sounded like something Ilya, in all his twenty year old bravado, would have loved. 

Instead he couldn’t stomach the idea, and he had thrown a fit and refused. He’d known he was letting the rest of the band down by refusing to do anything at all, instead just letting the day of the album release arrive with no pomp or circumstance. Ilya wasn’t even sure what he’d been so afraid of, he’d been performing with these people for years and had rarely felt more than surface level nerves. 

But he couldn’t do it. The idea made him physically sick and he didn’t get out of bed for the two days leading up to the release date. It was only after the earliest reviews were quietly read by Svetlana outside of his bedroom door that the noose of anxiety that had wrapped around his heart and lungs finally started to loosen. People liked it, called it provocative and emotional and sexy. Some called it brilliant, saying Iron and Ice could be the next big thing. Ilya was able to breathe for the first time in days. 

He kept waiting for the anxiety to return as the release date of Paparazzi Joyride approached, but it never came. At least not to the extent that it did the last time. Instead it had been more like anticipation, a nervousness that required him to perform in order to shake it off. By the morning of the party Ilya had been counting down the minutes until he had an audience, captive and waiting for him and his bandmates to dazzle them once again. 

The last of the nerves disappeared the second he saw Shane arrive. His muse, the eyes and lips and freckles behind a vast majority of the songs on the album. It wouldn’t exist without him, and it didn’t even matter if no one else liked a single note off the whole damn thing. Ilya had needed to create it, needed it to exist in the same world as Shane Hollander.

The fact that the audience adored it had been a very satisfying bonus.

Ilya believed he was fairly good at sniffing out bullshit, even in a town and industry known for its lack of authenticity. He could tell when people were saying things to butter him up or get on his good side, or if they were going to want something from him at the end of a conversation. So when the band’s performance was over and the rest of the night was nothing but sincere compliments and congratulations, he felt confident they were earned. 

It helped that the album was good, and he’d known it. The band, Wiebe, even Scott Hunter had known it. Ilya would never tell him, but Scott’s introduction before they took the stage had forced a very inconvenient lump into his throat that he’d had to clear by making fun of him before he could sing. His father had never said anything even remotely as kind before introducing them in the past.

But everyone in the house could have come up to him and said the album was trash, he was a talentless hack, and the band had no future with him at the helm as long as Shane Hollander liked it. When he’d met his eyes after the performance and Shane had told him he was amazing, Ilya knew that this was it. This was a perfect day. 

He hadn’t fully grasped how perfect until the current moment, which found him sliding his dick slowly into Shane’s ass, the other man moaning below him with one arm wrapped around Ilya’s shoulders and the other gripping his side. Ilya couldn’t take his eyes off of Shane’s oh so expressive face, barely wanted to blink in case he missed something. Shane’s eyes were closed and his head was thrown back. Part of Ilya wanted to lean down and bite at his exposed neck, but it was taking all of his concentration to keep from moving while Shane adjusted below him. 

To say he’d been thrilled when Shane had grabbed his wrist and steered him aside around 11pm, eyes bright and face flushed, would be an understatement. Shane had pulled him in for a kiss that was a little too heated for the number of eyes in the room, but Ilya was unbothered. Shane released him reluctantly and bit his bottom lip like he wanted to say something. They had barely gotten a chance to speak since the performance ended, so Ilya figured it was about that. 

“Tonight, um. If you want. I’d really like it if you fucked me,” Shane had whispered into the microscopic space between their mouths. Ilya choked on air and nearly dropped the lukewarm champagne he’d been nursing for almost an hour. 

“Holy fuck, Hollander, how am I supposed to host this party now?” he hissed. Shane’s blush deepened but he didn’t break eye contact. 

“Is that a yes?” he asked. So earnest, so fucking cute, Ilya’s brain supplied unhelpfully. It had very little to say about the question at hand. 

“Are you sure?” he managed to squeak out. 

Ilya had been momentarily floored when Shane had told him, while Ilya was between his thighs mind you, that their night in Toronto had been the first time he’d ever had sex. Ilya had snapped up from what he was doing and stared up at Shane, mouth hanging open. 

Shane had just rolled his eyes and told him it was no big deal. And it wasn’t, at least not really. Ilya didn’t care that Shane hadn’t had sex before, and it wasn’t like he’d been a complete raging asshole in bed with him, so no regrets there. However, it did change Ilya’s approach from then on. He’d been happy to move at a slower pace, ensuring that Shane loved every single moment they had together. If Shane asked for more, he delivered. But he never pressed. 

And here Shane was, asking for more. Ilya couldn’t deny he’d thought about it. He’d thought about everything with Shane. He had mapped every other inch of the man’s body at that point, from the freckles on his cheeks to the delicate bones in his ankle. Of course he wanted to fuck him.

“Mhm,” Shane was responding. “I’m sure. Please?” 

Ilya wasn’t strong enough to refuse a ‘please’ from Shane Hollander. He nodded and pulled Shane in for another bruising kiss before gently pushing him away. 

“Stay the fuck away from me for a couple more hours then, I won’t be able to stop myself from kicking everyone out and dragging you upstairs,” he muttered. The delighted smile he got in return was everything. 

The party finally started to split up around 1am, and Ilya had dragged Svetlana into helping him clear the place out as quickly and efficiently as possible. She’d given him one of her trademark eyebrow raises but had said nothing. It was just after two in the morning when the only people left were Ilya, Shane, the band, Scott Hunter, and Brandon Wiebe. 

“This is going to come off kind of mean,” Wiebe sighed as he set his empty glass down on the kitchen counter, “but I cannot believe you guys pulled that off. It’s genuinely incredible work, even better than the last. You fucking did it.” 

“You’re right, that did come off kind of mean,” Ilya snarked. He was somehow the most sober person in the room besides Shane. All of the talking had held him to only two glasses of champagne the whole evening. Wiebe had had no such issue and had already called an Uber to get home. Scott Hunter was also a little worse for wear, though for all Ilya knew it was because he’d had one sip of alcohol and his dinosaur body had started to shut down on him. 

“You know what I mean, Roz,” Wiebe chided gently. Ilya considered arguing just for the sake of it, but he caught Shane’s eye from across the kitchen and decided to drop it. Maybe not a good idea to start an argument with your PR rep while trying to get him out the door. 

Scott was squinting at him and pursing his lips. Ilya lifted an eyebrow. 

“Can I help you?” he asked. Scott sighed and finished off the whiskey in his glass. 

“You really, really can’t,” he muttered. Ilya frowned in confusion but Scott just patted him on the shoulder and walked towards the front door. “Behave, all of you. And get some sleep. You’re doing press tomorrow ahead of the official album release, all of you know this and will be there on time so help me.” 

Ilya rolled his eyes but winked at Shane, who smiled softly back at him. “Sir, yes sir. On time, as always,” Ilya called after Scott. 

“Fuck you, Rozanov!” he heard in return. “Come on Wiebe, you’re Uber’s here and we’re sharing. We gotta get out of this house before things start happening.” 

“Things? What things?” Wiebe asked as he wandered out after Hunter. Svetlana kissed Ilya on the cheek with a grin. 

“I’ll take everyone home, I’m good to drive. We’ll see you tomorrow morning, please be actually kind of on time?” she teased. Ilya sighed but nodded. 

“Drive safe, text me when you get home,” he mumbled without thinking. Svetlana blinked in surprise and it occurred to Ilya that was something he and Shane always said to one another and not something he usually asked of his bandmates. “I mean-” 

“Yeah, ok. Will do. Love you, Ilyusha,” Svetlana interrupted, a big smile on her face. She squeezed his hand and turned to the living room, which was still furnitureless from the night but where the other band members had chosen to sprawl out on the floor. 

“Alright boys, show’s over. Time to get out of here,” Svetlana called. Wyatt groaned and pressed his palms to his eyes. 

“Can’t we just stay here tonight? The floor is so comfy,” he whined. Svetlana looked back at Ilya, then quickly at Shane and seemed on the verge of laughter. 

“No no, early day tomorrow. You will need new clothes, a shower. The sooner we go the sooner you will be in your nice, actually comfy beds.” 

Eventually they all stumbled their way out the door and into Svetlana’s car. She waved from the driver’s seat before heading off down the long driveway and into the night.

The moment Ilya closed the front door, Shane was on him. He’d barely turned around before the other man was crowded against him, hands tugging at the curls at the base of his neck. Ilya’s hands came up to wrap around Shane’s waist and pull him against him, moaning at the feeling of Shane’s hard length against his hip. 

“Couldn’t fucking wait for them all to leave,” Shane mumbled against his lips as he gently rocked against Ilya. “Is that mean?” 

“I don’t care,” Ilya moaned as his hands came down to grope at Shane’s ass. He was finally going to have that ass, preferably right there and now. But that wasn’t the right way to go about this. He needed a little more patience, to make sure this was perfect for Shane. 

Which led him to where he was now, his cock sliding into the unbelievable heat that was Shane Hollander’s hole. He’d taken his time preparing the other man, stretching him out with his fingers for what felt like ages. Not that it had been a chore. Watching Shane’s reactions as Ilya found all the right angles, occasionally sucking his dick into his mouth while he was at it, would have been more than enough for the night. He offered to let Shane come on his fingers, but Shane had begged him to fuck him. 

Who was he to deny him such a thing? 

“Ilya, fuck,” Shane breathed into his ear. 

“Ok?” Ilya managed to ask. His voice sounded strangled to his own ears as he said it, the vice grip around his cock making it hard to focus on anything else. He hissed as Shane let out a delirious laugh.

“Yeah. Ok,” he replied. “More.” 

Ilya moaned and pressed further in, slowly but steadily. He considered himself a giving lover, but his limits were being tested. Like Shane, he needed more. 

By the time he was all the way inside, one of Shane’s thighs draped over his shoulder, the other leg braced against the bed, Ilya was sure this was more than just a perfect day. It was the best day he’d ever lived. 

“Oh my god, move,” Shane mumbled. The hand in Ilya’s hair was gripping so hard he might tear out a chunk, but Ilya didn’t care. He shifted his weight to one elbow and pressed a kiss to the inside of Shane’s knee as he pulled out, gently, then slowly thrust back in. The sound Shane made was music to his ears. 

Fucking Shane Hollander was a revelation. He was so responsive, so open with his pleasure. While Ilya had never had a particular interest in being someone’s first, he was so happy Shane had never been with anyone who might have made him feel self conscious about his reactions, his sensitivity, his emotion. Shane begged and gasped and moaned with abandon, never letting Ilya second guess a moment. 

“Such a good boy, fuck Shane,” Ilya whispered as he started picking up the pace. Shane cried out, his eyes starting to tear up. Ilya had noticed how much he liked being praised that very first night, and he was unafraid to use it. Besides, it was no hardship and it certainly wasn’t a lie. Shane was a very, very good boy. 

“Ilya, please,” Shane mumbled. His voice was breathy and barely audible, and Ilya knew he was close. He reached down between Shane’s legs and took his dick in his hand, pumping it slowly. Shane let out what may have been a sob.

“So good for me, you can let go. I have you,” he whispered against Shane’s temple, his hand speeding up while he tried to maintain some kind of rhythm with his hips. He was almost there himself, all he needed was- 

Shane cried out and gripped his shoulder tight enough to bruise as he spilled into Ilya’s hand. Ilya gasped as Shane tightened around his cock, nearly seeing stars. He followed Shane over the edge moments later, rocking his hips gently as he came down from the high. It took all of his willpower to flop down next to Shane instead of collapsing on top of him. 

“Holy shit, Ilya,” Shane muttered after what could have been a minute or an hour of silence. Ilya grunted in response, his brain still fried and his body exhausted. “Why haven’t we been doing that like, every time?” 

That managed to pull a laugh out of Ilya. He pressed a hard kiss to the closest bit of exposed skin, which appeared to be Shane’s bicep, then rolled over to get rid of the condom. “Ask me that again in the morning when your ass is too sore to sit in your very practical car seat,” he teased as he flipped the light on in the bathroom. He winced at the brightness, having only managed to turn on the bedside lamp when he first dragged Shane into his room. 

He grabbed a washcloth off of the sink and ran the water for a moment to get it warm. He heard Shane scoff from the bed. “You’re dick isn’t that big, calm down,” he replied, sounding like he was coming back to himself a bit. 

“Doesn’t matter, even though it is and you know it,” Ilya chucked as he came back to Shane’s side. He gently wiped between his legs and was rewarded with a sleepy smile. “You’ve never had anything up your ass at all, Hollander. It will be sore.” 

“Hm. Shows what you know,” Shane sighed. Ilya quirked an eyebrow before turning back to the bathroom to drop the cloth and grab some sleeping pills. “I have a dildo.”

Ilya froze for a moment, then groaned. “Why would you say that now, when I cannot fuck you again right away? You give me this image of you fucking yourself with a dildo and I can do nothing about it! You are evil, Shane Hollander.” 

Shane was giggling as Ilya threw himself back down on the bed next to him. He’d managed to pull the sheets out from under him and Ilya refused to smile the way he wanted to as Shane tucked them around Ilya’s body. 

“Maybe I’ll let you watch, the next time we’re at my place,” he said as he pressed his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya suppressed another moan, though it took all of his strength. How was this man so hot and yet so shy? 

Instead Ilya hummed and leaned down to kiss Shane’s forehead. “Evil, and no one even suspects,” he muttered. Shane laughed and bit down gently on Ilya’s shoulder before snuggling deeper into the sheets. 

“I know I said this earlier, but you were amazing tonight. I don’t know how much my opinion means, but I thought it was the best album I’ve ever heard,” Shane mumbled sleepily. Ilya swallowed around the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He reached up to turn off the bedside lamp and sneakily dry swallowed his pills. The insomnia had been better since he stopped taking the antidepressants consistently again, but he rarely risked sleeping next to Shane without medicated sleep aids. He couldn’t afford restless tossing and turning or shitty dreams in the same bed as him. 

“Your opinion is the one that mattered most,” he eventually replied into the darkness. He slid his arm under Shane’s neck and his hand carded gently through the other man’s hair. Shane had no such issues with sleep and often knocked out within a few minutes of snuggling up to Ilya. This was one of those times, his breathing having evened out before Ilya could come up with something to say. It was far from the first time that Ilya had spoken to him after he was no longer conscious. 

“I don’t know what I will do, who I will be, without you,” Ilya admitted as he started to feel the pills pull him under. At the very last moment he was able to keep himself from saying the one phrase, the three little words he’d yet to say even in the relative safety of a private bedroom with a sleeping Shane and only the darkness as a witness. He couldn’t say it, not even there, and risk ruining his perfect, best day. 

But the words rang in his head, even as he drifted off. Ya tebya…

Chapter End Notes

I'm curious what you all think Ilya's band sounds like. I have comps in my head but I'd love to know what feels right to others.

Next week: Music's biggest night

Chapter 13

Chapter Summary

Time is slipping through our fingers.

Chapter Notes

Does this chapter super move the plot along? Not really. But I needed to get us further along in the timeline and I do think it moves the needle emotionally so there was no justification to cut it.

Lyrics by my dear friend lavenderski3s!

Winter in Los Angeles was practically meaningless. January on the west coast was a breeze compared to Shane’s childhood winters in Ottawa. As a true Canadian, born and bred, it was almost disturbing to only need to break out the fuzzy socks at night. 

After the album release party in mid December, Shane went home to his parents’ place for the holidays. He did not invite Ilya, even though his parents practically begged him to. He came up with some excuse, saying the press for the album and early stages of planning for the tour meant he couldn’t take two weeks off to hang out in Ottawa. 

In reality, he’d almost asked Ilya to come but managed to hold back at the last minute. The idea of introducing him to his parents knowing there was an expiration date on their relationship didn’t sit right with him. Besides, Ilya really was very busy. Shane called him every night he was back home and while sometimes they were able to talk for an hour, there were nights where he barely got five minutes of Ilya’s time. 

The album had been a smash success, not that Shane had been surprised. Critics and fans alike praised it for being both exactly what they wanted from the band while also being new and innovative. As expected, Moonlight had received some mixed reviews as the most experimental song on the album, but even that one was mostly met with a sense of pleasant confusion. 

While this was of course a wonderful thing for Iron and Ice, it meant they were doing a lot of press and planning. The tour was tentatively set to kick off in July of the following year, with the first leg being North America before they went overseas. Shane tried not to think about how he wouldn’t be attending any of the concerts as Ilya’s boyfriend. The contract would be up before the tour began. 

January was largely uneventful, with both Shane and Ilya working a lot. The premiere date for Vigilante was officially set for mid May, which happened to be just a few days after his birthday. Ilya had laughed when Shane told him. 

“We will have to celebrate your birthday early then, so we can have an excuse to celebrate both,” he’d said over the phone. Shane’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. 

He would begin press for the movie in a few weeks. Rose would be in town and they would be doing some interviews, photoshoots and a couple of talk shows together. Ilya had not laughed when he’d told him that part, and Shane did notice a particularly high number of possessive hickeys on his neck and thighs the following morning. He’d felt inordinately pleased. 

In the meantime he had committed himself to his writing, something that had taken a back seat while he’d been in Toronto. By the end of January he had a fully finished, genuine first draft. He had edits to make, things he wanted to change, but finally it all existed on the page. 

The only other truly exciting thing to happen in January for Shane was that, as threatened, Ilya Rozanov took him to a Boston Raiders game. 

Technically they went to a Los Angeles Squires game, since they did not fly to Boston for it, but Ilya referred to it solely as a ‘Raiders game’ from the jump. He’d texted Shane the tickets on Christmas morning even though Shane had forced him to agree to no gifts. 

“It’s not a gift, it’s a date. I planned it, I got the tickets, and now you have to go. Besides, it is a Raiders game and you don’t like the Raiders. So, not a gift,” Ilya had argued. 

Shane had a harder time arguing how the jersey signed by the captain of the Raiders he had delivered to Ilya’s house on December 27th wasn’t a gift. Best he could say was that it was two days after Christmas so it didn’t count. 

The Raiders were in town on a Wednesday night, which Shane tried to keep in mind as he took in the relatively poor attendance. Ilya had gotten them tickets right up against the ice instead of a suite so their section was fairly full, but the upper levels were sparse to say the least. The Knights were an average team, but hockey simply wasn’t the sport of choice in LA. It was one of the things he missed most about home. 

Ilya had worn the jersey Shane had gotten him for not-Christmas, a Raiders hat, and a Raiders scarf despite it being 60 degrees outside. He’d tried to convince Shane to wear one of his many Raiders t-shirts, which Shane had somehow never seen before despite spending several nights a week in his bedroom. 

Ilya had just shrugged while Shane had sorted through the entire drawer of Raiders merch in shock. “You do not like the Raiders, I wear it when you are not around. I am very respectful.” Shane had rolled his eyes and almost given in to wearing something from the pile, before thinking about the very real possibility of being photographed at the game and his parents seeing him willinging wearing a Raiders shirt. He slammed the drawer shut and strutted out of the room, head held high. 

Despite the lack of atmosphere and the fact that it was one of his least favorite teams in the league they were there to see, Shane considered the game one of his favorite dates with Ilya. The two of them got along well, and they shared the core fact that they were young people in difficult, demanding industries, but their actual interests didn’t overlap all that much. Ilya didn’t watch many movies, and Shane’s opinions on music were mostly limited to ‘liked it’ or ‘didn’t like it’. 

Hockey was different. Shane was overjoyed to discover that Ilya didn’t just like hockey, he knew hockey. Although his eyes remained glued to the action on the ice, he kept up a running commentary on the plays as they happened, filling Shane in on the stats and facts about the Boston players. By the end of the game Shane was almost as informed on the Raiders team as he was on the Centaurs, which was a truly horrid thought. 

Boston won, because of course they did. Shane and Ilya had been shown on the jumbotron at the start of the second period, with the arena playfully booing Ilya for showing up to support the enemy. Ilya had leaned into it, kicking his feet up on the glass and leaning back in his seat, the picture of comfort. Easy for him, with his team up 3-0 already. Shane had leaned as far away from him as possible, shaking his head and mouthing “I’m not with him”. He knew video of that exchange would make it onto social media in minutes. 

The scoring slowed down a bit for the rest of the game and the final score was 4-2. Shane was torn on how to feel. The Raiders winning was, of course, always a bad thing for society. He was having a hard time feeling too bad about it with Ilya’s hand in his, a massive smile on his face as he excitedly recapped every goal and every save. 

“They’re going to go on a run this year, I can tell. It is 2011 all over again!” Ilya laughed as he tugged Shane out of the arena. Shane groaned but couldn’t squash his smile. 

“God save us from Boston winning another cup. I’d rather it be Montreal,” he whined. Ilya gasped and clutched at his chest dramatically. 

“How can you say this, this is a bigger betrayal to Ottawa than being with me could ever be!” Shane flushed and swatted at Ilya’s arm. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he mumbled. Ilya pulled him against his side and pressed a kiss to his temple. 

“You will be so happy, cheering for Boston. It is so much fun, almost never sad,” Ilya sang. Shane rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He’d never really cheer for Boston, but if they made it to the cup final this year, he knew he’d be cheering for Ilya. 

And if he wore one of Ilya’s Raiders t-shirts while Ilya fucked him that night, well. That was between the two of them.

Not everything was perfect, of course. While he was busier with business related things now, the creative part of actually making the album was done for Ilya, at least for the time being. Shane noticed right away that he started having his allotted three drinks at almost every event, that he called or texted to cancel or reschedule dates more often. Shane tried not to let it bother him, and Ilya always seemed mostly fine when he saw him. What he got up to when he wasn’t with Shane wasn’t supposed to be any of Shane’s business, after all. Or so he told himself when Ilya would go a handful of days barely managing more than a few words even over text. 

As January started to wind down, Ilya started getting very cagey about something. Not in a bad way, more like how you could tell when someone was planning a surprise. Shane knew it involved the whole band, as they would often clam up when he entered a room, eyes shifty and giggles silenced. Shane didn’t push, since it didn’t feel like bad news, but he did pull Svetlana to the side a few days before February and ask her if he needed to be worried about whatever this was. 

“Oh, no honey. Not at all, I swear. Ilya just wants to surprise you, but I promise it’s good!” she replied emphatically. Shane had decided to believe her. 

He ended up being very happy he had. 

“You’re performing at the Grammys?” Shane gasped. It was two days before the first Sunday in February and he was seated in Ilya’s living room. The band was all there, as well as Soctt Hunter. The musicians all looked thrilled and excited, while Scott looked what Shane would generously call ‘haggarred’.

“Scott’s been working on it for like a month,” Svetlana laughed, her face lit up with delight. “We weren’t totally sure it was going to happen until a week ago.” 

Shane snapped his head to look at Scott, who waved his hand lazily despite the semi-crazed look in his eye. “It was nothing. I know a guy who works in coordinating for the Grammys, we go way back. Wouldn’t have happened if the album wasn’t so damn good.” 

“Our manager, so modest,” Wyatt sighed dreamily. He and Cliff were stretched out on the floor while Svetlana was curled up in the loveseat like a cat. Scott was on one end of the couch while Ilya was leaning up against the massive fireplace (which Shane had not seen him use once in the months that might be considered ‘cold’ in LA), arms crossed and the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Thank you, Scott,” Troy said quietly, almost causing Shane to jump out of his own seat on the couch. He’d forgotten Troy was there, standing behind the couch against the entranceway hall. 

While he’d gotten to know the rest of the band pretty well at this point, Troy remained an enigma to Shane. He knew Ilya had warmed up to him quite a lot while Shane was in Toronto, and he talked about him often, but whenever Shane was around Troy seemed to make himself scarce. Shane tried not to let it bother him, the man wasn’t required to be friendly with him because of Ilya or anything, but it was odd. Whenever they did speak it was perfectly polite. Almost too polite.

“Yes, thank you Scott Hunter,” Ilya sighed with a dramatic eye roll. Everyone in the room turned to stare at him, including Scott, whose mouth fell open in shock.

“Excuse me?” he questioned. “Did you, Ilya Rozanov, just thank me for something?” 

“Nope, you misheard me,” Ilya declared, his grin sharpening. “I have never done this and I will never do this. You are losing your hearing in your old age.” 

Shane sighed. “Ilya,” he began, but Scott barked a laugh and cut him off. 

“Don’t bother, Shane. This is a good sign actually. For a second there I thought I was going to have to take back all the negative shit I told the Grammys about him.” 

Ilya’s eyes narrowed and he stuck his tongue out at Scott while the room burst into laughter. “They will not believe you. No one has a bad thing to say about me these days,” he huffed. 

And it was true. Wiebe’s scheme of attaching Ilya to Shane publicly had seemed a little crazy in the beginning, but never let it be said it hadn’t worked. Not only had Shane become the talk of Hollywood and landed a leading role in a studio film, Ilya’s reputation had done almost a complete one-eighty in the tabloids. Gone were the days where he would be photographed stumbling out of bars and making out with several different women in one night. There were no more stories about him getting into Twitter fights (though that had less to do with Shane than it did with Wiebe confiscating his Twitter) and his recent media appearances had gone almost entirely without incident. 

Tabloids and respected industry publications alike were all saying the same thing; Ilya Rozanov was turning over a new leaf with this relationship. He was settling down, leaving the wild life behind. And since his music was just as good if not better than before, everyone seemed to think Shane Hollander had a magic touch. Well, some publications suggested that he had a magic dick, but Shane tried to avoid those. He was looking for ways to prevent them from being included in his dad’s Google alerts. 

“Oh don’t pout, Ilyusha. We can stay extra late at an after party, maybe you can dance with Fabian. That will get the torches back out,” Svetlana teased. Ilya clutched his chest dramatically. 

“Sveta, how could you? I will dance with only one beautiful man at the party, you suggest otherwise?” 

Shane rolled his eyes, but he was secretly very pleased with the answer. He had met Fabian at the release party and had liked him immediately. He was unapologetically himself, something uncommon in their industries, and he had talked to Shane like they’d known each other for years. Still, the idea of watching Ilya dance with the other man, confident and handsome as he was, didn’t sit great with Shane. 

“What song are you performing?” Shane asked. Scott tsked and glared at Ilya, who shrugged with a grin.

“He won’t tell me. I made him promise it wouldn’t be Fuck Off Back to Moscow because we would definitely have to pay a fine for that and he refuses to release a clean version,” Scott grumbled. 

“Hunter, if we remove the word ‘fuck’ from the song, it loses all meaning. The ‘fuck’ is core to the story!” Ilya whined. 

“Ok, so not that one,” Shane cut in. He’d witnessed enough arguments between Ilya and his manager before, both of them stubborn as an ox. They could do this all day and get nowhere. “But I assume you’ve decided, right?” 

Ilya shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe we decide when we get on stage. Maybe it will be Fuck Off Back to Moscow because I like to piss of Scott Hunter. The world is full of mysteries.” 

“You are beyond impossible, did you know that?” Scott groaned. Svetlana threw a pillow across the room at Ilya, which bounced gently off of his crossed arms. 

“We’re doing Hocus Pocus,” she said, causing Ilya to throw his hands up with frustration. 

“Traitor,” he muttered. Svetlana just sent him a wink. 

Scott was nodding, looking a little less stressed now that he had that information. “It’s a good choice. Not a single, not the highest streamed song on the album, but popular. Showcase something a few songs in. Smart,” Hunter admitted. Ilya scowled. 

“I am smart, sometimes,” he mumbled. Shane bit back a smile and got up, unable to refrain from kissing his nose. 

“You’re smart all of the time,” he declared, and was delighted to see Ilya’s cheeks flush red immediately. 

“God you’re good, Hollander,” Hunter laughed. He stood from his seat with a groan and stretched, and Shane pinched Ilya lightly in the ribs when he looked like he was going to say something about the cracking of the other man’s joints. “I assume we’ll see you there?” 

Shane looked over at Ilya, who nodded quickly. He smiled. “Can’t wait. I’ll call Farah, let her know.”

“Great. Boys, Svetlana, I’ll see you all tomorrow at the venue for rehearsal. Be on time or I get to kill you.”

Shane’s eyebrows shot up at that as Scott made his way out the door. “That felt more drastic than his usual threats,” he muttered to Ilya. 

Cliff laughed as he pulled himself off the floor. “Ah, he really busted his ass for us on this one. Since we aren’t up for an award this year I think it took some real convincing. Pretty sure he cashed in some old favors too. He gets to threaten us with murder this time.” 

After everyone had left and Shane had sucked Ilya off in the shower in congratulations, Shane poked Ilya in the ribs with a laugh and said, “You like him.” 

Ilya, still dazed from his orgasm and the heat of the shower, frowned as he wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist and pulled him close. “What? Who?” 

“Mmm. Scott Hunter,” Shane sighed as Ilya started pressing kisses to his neck. 

“Not true, this is a lie,” Ilya mumbled against his throat. His other hand came around to grab at Shane’s ass. “I cannot stand the old dinosaur man.” 

Shane let out a breathy moan and wrapped his fingers around Ilya’s wet curls. “Nope. You do, and you’re happy he’s your manager. Admit it, he’s been great.” 

Ilya sighed and pulled back from Shane’s neck. His hands came up to gently cup Shane’s cheeks and he pressed a hard kiss to his lips. “I admit nothing. You cannot make me. I am just very excited to perform at the Grammys. Last year we were in Europe, so we could not even attend. Not that I think my father would have tried to get us invited, anyway.

Shane froze as Ilya released him and turned to face the spray. This was the first time he’d referred to the band’s former manager as his father and not just by his job title. Shane really didn’t want to fuck this up. 

“Oh?” he asked carefully, reaching around Ilya to grab the shampoo. He tried for casual as he squeezed out the soap and reached up to wash his hair. “Scott’s more connected in the industry, he probably knew who to ask.” 

Ilya barked a laugh as he ran his hands through his hair and shook out the curls. “Even if Grigori knew every single person and performer at the Grammys, he would not have made an effort. He barely made an effort to get us on that first tour. If Fabian had not put us in touch with the right people and if Hazy and Sveta were not so charming on the phone we would have never played a single show.” 

Shane’s hands had stilled in his hair, shocked. “But then… what did he even do?” he asked incredulously. Ilya shifted him under the spray gently and shrugged. 

“Drank, gambled. Sent money back to my brother in Moscow, complained about how he hated America and wanted to go back to Russia. At least he got his wish.” 

Shane took the moment he was under the water to recalibrate his thoughts. He’d figured Ilya and his father were not close based on, well, everything. But he hadn’t really considered that on top of being a bad dad, he was also a bad manager. 

“He was good at arguing, though,” Ilya continued. He was leaning against the tiled wall, eyes focused just beyond Shane’s head. Shane briefly thought that he must be cold. “So he was sometimes very useful. And once the tour was going and he saw how much money we were making, he got on board. Sometimes he was okay.”

Shane, who had been running conditioner through his hair absentmindedly while Ilya was talking, stepped closer to Ilya and pressed a kiss to his lips. Ilya sighed against him and tried to deepen it, but Shane gently pulled back. 

“Can I say something selfish?” he asked quietly. Ilya nodded once. “I’m glad he’s gone. It sucks how it happened, but for what it’s worth I think this is way better for you guys.” 

Ilya stared at him, a seriousness in his eyes that Shane wasn’t used to seeing. Shane stared back, refusing to back down or let this moment collapse between them. Eventually Ilya nodded slowly and offered a small smile. 

“It is not selfish of you to say this. He is not your family, your father. I am the selfish one, I think.” He pushed Shane backwards and helped rinse the conditioner out of his hair, his fingernails scraping his scalp gently. “I knew not having a manager, even a bad one, was not good for the band. I knew I should have begged forgiveness, lied and said I was not queer and convinced him to stay. I did not even try.” 

Shane almost cut him off in indignation, but Ilya pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and continued. “I hated him. I wished he had gone back to Russia years ago and left me in Boston with Svetlana. I wished he had not come to LA, had not gotten involved with… it doesn’t matter. But I also loved him because he was my father, and I did not want to lose the chance to have more with him.” He sighed and reached up to touch his necklace, drawing Shane’s eyes to the golden cross. “I think it was lost a long time ago.” 

Shane reached out slowly, giving Ilya time to stop him if he wanted to, and delicately lifted the necklace from Ilya’s chest. “Is this from him?” he asked quietly. 

Ilya, who seemed not to have noticed he was fiddling with the necklace, glanced down and let out a huff. “Ah, no. That is… it was my mother’s.” 

He reached behind Shane and shut off the shower, quickly moving away to reach for a towel. The necklace slipped out of Shane’s grasp as he moved, and he cursed himself for saying anything. His father, though not a safe topic to discuss, was at least a known variable to him. Shane knew next to nothing about his mother. 

They didn’t speak as they got out of the shower. Shane was too afraid to ask any follow up questions, and Ilya seemed lost in thought. They went through the motions of preparing for bed. Shane had his own toothbrush (electric) and set of sleep clothes (often discarded immediately). He tried to move quickly and get out of Ilya’s way, as it seemed Ilya was taking his time. 

Shane climbed into bed and got under the sheets. It was the first time in a while he felt unsure of himself with Ilya. Ever since Toronto they’d been… in sync. On the same page. Shane wasn’t dumb, he knew Ilya tried to keep his worst days separate from Shane, and while a part of him wanted to be the one Ilya went to when he was down he knew this was better for the contract. Beyond a few curt phone calls, lengthy silences and rescheduled dates, they had never been better. 

Ilya turned off the overhead light to his bedroom as he emerged from the ensuite, plunging them into darkness. Shane bit his lip as the bed dipped. He was on his side facing where Ilya’s head had now appeared, barely visible in the dark. They lay in silence for a few moments as Shane’s eyes adjusted. 

“I’m sorr-” 

“The thing is-” 

Shane snapped his mouth closed and shook his head. “Oh, you first,” he said quickly. He was now able to make out the shape of Ilya’s mouth, which was turned up in a small smile. 

“The thing is,” he offered quietly, “I think it was selfish to not even try and make him stay. It was selfish to put myself above the band, yes?” 

Shane frowned but did not respond. It was clear Ilya wasn’t done. 

“But if I could go back to that night, the one where those pictures got out and he came here screaming and calling me names, I would not change a fucking thing. I would let him walk away, board that plane, and fly out of my life. It was selfish and foolish and I don’t regret it,” Ilya rushed to say. He let out a sigh and his smile grew. “I think I should feel worse about that.” 

“No, Ilya,” Shane said softly. He laced his fingers together with Ilya’s, their hands resting on the mattress between them. “However you feel about it is how you feel. He doesn’t deserve your sadness or pity just because he’s your father. He made his choices, and you made yours. And, obviously, take what I think with a grain of salt, but I think you made the right one.” 

Ilya’s smile broke out in a full grin and he lifted their tangled fingers to kiss Shane’s knuckles. “I think I did too. And maybe,” he sighed, “Scott Hunter was not the worst ever idea. Maybe. Plenty of time for him to get terrible at his job.” 

Shane giggled, a weight lifted from his chest. Ilya was ok, they were ok. He hadn’t pushed too hard, and now he felt like he had a new little piece of Ilya to add to the growing treasure trove in his chest. He might not have wanted to talk about his mother but that was ok, it really wasn’t any of Shane’s business. 

As Ilya’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him close, he let out a content sigh. He felt the cross pendant dig slightly into his collarbone as Ilya pulled his head down against his bare chest and kissed the top of his head. 

“That was fucking incredible, you guys. Absolutely kick ass,” Scott Hunter laughed as Iron and Ice exited the Grammy stage. They had just wrapped up their performance, which was met with resounding approval from the audience. Ilya did not write music to win awards, or even specifically to appeal to other artists in the industry, but he couldn’t help but feel pleased with the reaction in the room. Validation was always nice. 

“Hunter please, stop trying to sound cool by saying things like ‘kick ass’. This is not a 90s teen comedy,” Ilya replied breezily, but even he couldn’t keep up his usual standoffish approach to Scott Hunter. Not after he had just performed on the Grammys with his band because this man decided to go to bat for them. He clapped Scott on the shoulder and squeezed. 

“Is kick ass not something people say?” Hunter asked, seeming genuinely confused. Wyatt laughed as he wiped off the sweat from his brow, grin massive.

“Could be, could not be. I think it’s more about tone.” 

Ilya shook his head as the band began debating the coolness of ‘kick ass’. Usually he would happily partake, but somewhere around here should be- 

“Ilya!” Ilya grinned and hurried over to where Shane was standing and waving excitedly. Despite the fact that he was covered in sweat and makeup, he pulled Shane to his chest and ducked his head into the space between his neck and his shoulder. 

“You were fantastic, fuck you guys are so great!” Shane whisper-yelled in his ear. The two of them stood there, wrapped around each other, for longer than Ilya thought was likely appropriate for two male friends. Even ones with benefits. 

“You liked the song choice? Shouldn’t have insisted on Fuck Off Back to Moscow?” he teased. Shane pulled back and swatted him lightly on the arm. 

“You know I like Hocus Pocus. Even if one of the lyrics is about crashing a car,” he muttered. Ilya rolled his eyes. 

“It is a metaphor, Shane, it is not literally about crashing a literal car. It is about the potentially deadly consequences of love and human connection.” 

Shane raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well I’ve been in your ridiculous sports car and I am much more concerned with the literal version of the car crash.” 

Ilya’s own heart did a little flip at that. His Shane, more worried about a non-existent, actual car crash than a metaphorical car crash of the heart. Ilya had never explicitly told Shane that every song on the album except two was about him. Sure, Ilya had taken some creative liberties, maybe embellished the emotions on some of them for entertainment value. But at the core they were all about Shane. 

You’re dangerous and I’ll pay for this

One taste and now I see you in my dreams

You’ve got me losing focus

Under your spell

Like hocus pocus

Yeah. Just a little bit of embellishment.

“Oi, lovebirds! We gotta get back to our seats, show’s not over just because no one’s performance is gonna top ours!” Cliff called to them. Shane smiled and grabbed Ilya’s hand, tugging him back towards the band and out onto the floor. Ilya went along happily, eyes never leaving Shane’s ass in his perfectly tailored pants. 

They had looked good on the red carpet together. Ilya hadn’t seen the pictures yet, but he didn’t need to. He knew they would be two of the most photographed people there, coming off the success of the album and the hype for Shane’s movie on top of their already headline story romance. Shane had even signed with some fashion brand who had styled him for the night. Ilya wouldn’t have been able to pull the name since his brain went offline while Shane was explaining due to how hot he looked in the chosen suit, but he was planning to ask Farah so he could write them a thank you note. 

Wiebe’s plan had worked like a charm, and everyone was getting what they wanted. Mostly, at least. 

The truth was, Ilya had abandoned the premise that this was just a good friendship with sex as an added bonus, at least on his part. There came a point where it was more work trying to deny it to himself than it was just to admit defeat and recognize that he was falling (had already fallen) for Shane Hollander. And that point was when he’d asked about his mother. 

He didn’t end up talking about her that night, instead choosing to close the loop on his father. A topic he couldn’t believe he’d brought up willingly in hindsight. But when Shane had so gently held his orthodox cross, the one that had been around his mother’s neck since before he could remember until the day she died, and asked so sweetly about it, he’d wanted to. 

For the first time in over a decade, he wanted to tell someone about Irina. About how funny and beautiful she was in his memory, even though the memories were starting to fade and it felt like he was losing her all over again. He wanted to explain that he blamed his father for not getting her help, for not seeing how sad she was and how much she struggled to even get out of bed most days. 

Ilya knew that while Grigori always claimed to outsiders that his wife’s death was an accident, his father had known that it was not. It was why he’d moved so quickly when the band first got to LA and Ilya went radio silent for almost three days. He’d had to bust down Ilya’s brand new apartment door and had found him, alive but not well, huddled in bed. He’d barely moved for almost 72 hours. 

Before Irina’s death, Grigori likely would have just shouted at him, yanked him out of bed and thrown him into a cold shower. After, he did all that as well. He just also called a psychiatrist. 

Ilya had been so deep in whatever it was he had no memory of that trip to the doctor. He knew his father had been in the room doing most of the talking. He’d been given a prescription for antidepressants and he’d been on them ever since. Well, when he took them anyway. He never saw that psychiatrist, or any other psychiatrist, again.

Talking about his father meant thinking about his mother, which meant wanting to talk about her too. He thought Shane would listen, if he told him. Maybe he could tell him about the drugs too, and why he didn’t take them most of the time. In his experience they help a little with one thing and cause ten others. He wasn’t so sad constantly, not like his mama. He could do without almost all the time. 

Maybe he could tell him about that first year in LA, when they were finishing their first album. How Ilya had been young and stupid and in a new place with a space of his own. How he would ride the highs of drugs and liquor knowing full well that the crash could come at any time. How he’d woken up in places he didn’t recognize with people he didn’t remember one time too many. How Svetlana had screamed and thrown things and cried when he’d stumbled back into his apartment after two days he could barely piece together, having lost his phone and his sense of direction somewhere on day one. The two of them never spoke about it again, but Ilya had tried to at least straighten out a bit. For her. 

And here he was, hand in hand with the boy next door, all straightened out for him. He was better now than he’d been in years. After finishing Paparazzi Joyride he’d tried to keep the vices to a minimum, with varying success. He only took his prescription when he really felt he needed it, which had been less often for the last few months. If he tried to spend as much time either working with the band or with Shane to keep him too busy to fall back into bad habits, that was his business.

The rest of the show was great, though Ilya was thoroughly distracted by his date. Shane was so beautiful, even in the dim light of the theater floor. He hadn’t released Ilya’s hand when he sat down, instead shifting it so he could run his thumb across Ilya’s knuckles. He kept glancing over at Ilya with a shy smile. 

Ilya could look at him forever. He wanted to. He wouldn’t say anything, of course. The contract was an albatross around his neck, a constant reminder that even if Shane liked him, maybe even as more than friends with benefits, this whole thing started with two legal teams hashing out the logistics of when they could have their first kiss. 

So for now he would just look. He would keep one eye on the stage, or the screen, or the world in front of him, and one eye on Shane Hollander. He would drink his fill of this wonderful, beautiful man who he could see himself telling about his mother. Who Ilya thought would understand. And when it was done he would figure out how to live without it. That was the deal. 

He was in a good mood that night so this thought only made him a little sad. His emotions when he was in a worse place tended to be more all consuming. 

The afterparty the band (and Shane) attended was fun, full of some of the best and most successful artists in the industry. Many of them wanted to talk to Ilya and his bandmates, congratulate them, tell them they were shoe-ins to be nominated next year for their new album.

Ilya enjoyed himself but he was internally counting down the minutes until they could leave. He only had so much more time with Shane Hollander as his boyfriend and here he was, sharing the man with the rest of the room when he could have him splayed out on his bed at home. 

At one point Ilya wandered over to the bar to get his second allotted drink of the night. Leaning up against it, head down and eyes closed, was Troy Barrett. Ilya frowned and nudged the other many lightly in the side, causing his head to shoot up and his eyes to fly open in panic. 

“Woah, hey,” Ilya said carefully as he raised his hands. “I am unarmed.” 

“Fuck, sorry,” Troy mumbled, his head dropping back down. Ilya leaned up against the bar and shook his head when the bartender tried to approach for their orders. “I didn’t see you.” 

“Please do not take this the wrong way but is the bar the best place for someone of your… recent history to be stationed at something like this?” Ilya asked carefully. He didn’t want to shame Troy in any way, god knew he had his own vices, but Troy had been very vocal about remaining sober since joining the band. It was one of the few things he was ever vocal about. 

Troy huffed a laugh. “I’m good, I promise. Just lost in thought, didn’t want to talk to people anymore. Figured if I was posted up at the bar people would assume I was too drunk to talk.” 

Ilya nodded sagely and leaned in closer to keep their volume low. “Ah, sorry. I know you too well to think this,” he whispered. Troy flashed him a quick grin, small but real. 

“You played great tonight,” Ilya continued. “We are lucky to have you.” Troy shrugged and looked away. 

“I’m lucky to be here,” he breathed. “I know you guys took a risk on me. You say you’re the drama, but I know it’s not the same. And now the trial is coming up, and -” 

Ilya waved him off with a scoff. “Troy, you are so hard on yourself. Life is about learning from our mistakes and righting our wrongs. Will it bring some flashy headlines when you take the stand? Sure. But you are doing the right thing and we will stand by you.” He shrugged. “Besides, Fabian vouched for you and I always say he is an excellent judge of character.” 

Troy rolled his eyes but the small smile was firmly in place now. His eyes were a little watery, though Ilya figured it might just be the lighting. “I’m not so sure about that. He’s friends with you, after all,” he joked. 

Ilya laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “You are secretly very funny, Troy Barrett, never let anyone tell you you are not. Now, how do you feel about getting out of here? I have been looking for an excuse to leave for hours.” 

Troy chuckled but walked with Ilya around the room in an attempt to hunt down their bandmates. Svetlana was holding court with several other artists and waved them off when Ilya motioned about leaving. He wasn’t worried about her, she could handle herself. Cliff was happily munching away at the spread with a folk artist Ilya was sure he knew the name of but couldn’t quite pull, and Wyatt was deep in the middle of the dancefloor and completely oblivious to Ilya’s weak attempts at getting his attention. In the end he shrugged and left them to have their fun. He would text them that he and Troy had left a little early. 

Ilya knew exactly where Shane would be, and he didn’t linger on why he knew that. He left Troy at the door and told him he’d be right back before heading out onto the patio. Plenty of people were out there despite the chill, but there was one long figure tucked up on a plush lounge chair on the edge of the space with a half full glass of champagne in his hand. 

“Party too boring for you, Mr. Hollander?” Ilya teased softly. Shane turned his head with a smile. Ilya could tell he was tired but not unhappy. His eyes were unfocused, like they got when he occasionally let himself have a little more to drink than usual. 

“Well,” Shane drawled dramatically, “a bit, maybe. But then it can be hard to live up to the fast paced excitement of my day-to-day life.” 

“Ah, yes. Grammy after parties have nothing on your long days and nights of ‘staying in and reading’ or ‘getting coffee with hand model Hayden’,” Ilya replied, attempting to be serious but unable to hold back a grin when Shane threw his head back and laughed. 

“Hey, before I met you, coffee with Hayden was about as thrilling as it got,” Shane giggled. He held up his free hand and Ilya reached down to help him stand. His breath caught in his throat as Shane leaned close into his personal space. “Now I have no shortage of exciting moments.” 

Ilya held his breath as Shane pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. There was no heat or sexual desire behind it, as almost all of their kisses had. There were also, importantly, no cameras pointed in their direction. This kiss was for no one but them. 

Shane hummed as he moved back just enough to create the tiniest amount of space between their lips. “You were so great tonight, Ilya,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “I am really, really proud of you.” 

Shane might as well have hit him with a truck. Ilya could barely make himself release the breath he’d been holding, let alone form any kind of response. He swallowed around a lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat and tried to fight back the rush of tears that were insisting on falling. 

Fortunately Shane dropped his head against Ilya’s chest, his eyes still shut tight. “I’m tired. Can we go home?” he mumbled. “Don’t tell Wiebe, but this is my fourth glass. I didn’t finish it though.”  

Ilya cleared his throat and quickly swiped at the wetness on his cheek. “Of course we can go,” he forced out. His voice sounded too high, too breathy to his own ears, but he figured Shane wasn’t paying much attention. He took the half full glass from Shane’s hand and finished it off in one go. He never ended up getting his second glass anyway, sue him. 

Ilya turned to head back inside and nearly burst into tears at the feeling of Shane’s fingers lacing with his own. He gently led Shane through the throngs of people towards the doorway to the venue, where Troy was still patiently waiting. He met Troy's eye and immediately knew that his emotions were all too clear on his face.

“Yo, are you okay?” Troy asked, his brow furrowed as he pushed gently off of the wall he was leaning on. 

“Oh, hi Troy. You did great tonight,” Shane offered from behind Ilya, their hands still tightly wound around each other. 

Troy glanced over Ilya’s shoulder at Shane and flushed. “Ah. Thanks,” he mumbled. His gaze turned back to Ilya, eyebrow raised in question. 

Ilya shook his head slightly and smiled wide. “It is time to get someone home, he is a lightweight,” he chuckled. Troy nodded slowly before moving to open the door. 

“Yeah, alright. Did you guys need a ride? I could take you home.” 

Ilya started, surprised by the offer. “Really?” he asked. 

Troy nodded once and seemed to force a smile. “Going sober means I am always available as the designated driver,” he joked weakly. 

“That’s nice of you, Troy,” Shane hummed as the three stepped out into the chilly night air. “Are you always this nice when I’m not around?” 

Ilya turned to look at Shane, but Shane’s head was turned in the opposite direction. Troy was a few steps ahead of them, clearly heading towards the valet stand. 

“Oh, um. Sometimes, I guess,” he offered with a strained laugh. 

The wait for the car was in near total silence. Ilya, already thrown for an emotional loop by Shane’s earlier words, had no idea what to do with the dynamic between Shane and Troy. Shane, clearly slipping into the quiet maudlin stage of drunk, was lost in thought with his hand still grasping Ilya’s, while Troy stood on his other side fidgeting with his wallet. 

When they were all in Troy’s Lexus, Shane and Ilya both in the back because Shane would not let go of Ilya’s hand, there was more silence. Shane was gazing out the window with one elbow propped up against it, while Troy stared straight ahead at the road. His knuckles were almost white on the steering wheel. 

Finally Ilya couldn’t take it anymore. “I think the Raiders will make the playoffs this yea-” 

“Why don’t you like me?” Shane cut him off. Ilya’s mouth snapped shut and he turned, stunned, only to find that Shane’s attention was focused solely on the driver of the car. Ilya looked ahead as well and briefly met Troy’s eyes in the rear view mirror. In them he saw something bordering on panic. 

“What?” Troy sputtered.  “What do you mean? I like you fine!” 

Shane pouted and his head fell softly against the window. “You’re always avoiding me. Did I do something to upset you? I’m sorry if I did.” 

Ilya opened his mouth to jump in, then decided to wait a moment. He had noticed this as well, that Troy always seemed to pull back or leave a room when Shane was hanging out with them all. He had convinced himself it was nothing, and certainly not personal, but if Shane had picked up on it maybe he was wrong. 

Troy eased to a stop at a red light and took a deep breath. “It’s not like that,” he said. His voice was low and serious. His eyes flickered up to meet Ilya’s again. The panic had been replaced with something closer to resignation. 

“Look, you guys can’t tell anyone. I’m just… I’m not ready to…” Ilya watched his hands tighten on the wheel, then release. “I guess I’m a little jealous. Of you two. Sometimes.” 

Just when Ilya thought he couldn’t experience any other emotions tonight, in came confusion. “What?” he asked. 

Troy winced and started to drive again as the light turned green. “You’re both so open and… affectionate. With each other. Romantically. You know?” 

Ilya felt more lost than ever, but Shane hummed and nodded, his eyes closing. “Oh, I see. You’re gay.” 

Ilya’s neck snapped so quickly to Shane he thought he’d pull a muscle. Then he snapped back to Troy’s reflection. The man himself was making no effort to refute Shane’s casual, drunken claim. “Fuck you, no way. Are you?” 

Troy nodded tightly. “Seriously, don’t tell anyone. Yet. I have enough shit to deal with right now, that one’s kind of on the back burner.” 

“Do you have a crush on Ilya? Because I totally get that,” Shane sighed. Troy let out a loud laugh, causing Ilya to scowl. 

“No, that’s not it. It’s just… sometimes when you are together I get kind of sad? That I can’t have that yet. It’s not about you at all. All me and my never ending list of issues,” he admitted. 

Ilya sat back in his seat and looked down at his hand still in Shane’s. He and Shane weren’t actually dating, there was nothing to even be jealous of. The band knew about the contract, why would Troy be…

Ilya barely managed to hold back a gasp. Troy hadn’t been there when Wiebe pitched the deal. The rest of the band never spoke about it, welcomed Shane like he was Ilya’s very real, very legitimate boyfriend. The two of them certainly didn’t hold back with the PDA, especially after Toronto. 

No one had ever told Troy they weren’t really dating. 

Ilya opened his mouth, about to inform Troy that he was severely mistaken and should not pine for the kind of relationship he and Shane had, but was stopped when Shane squeezed his hand. He looked over at the other man, who was staring across the car at him, and saw him give a tiny shake of his head.

“You have to come out in your own time,” Shane said softly. His eyes stayed locked on Ilya’s as he spoke. “Today, tomorrow, in a decade. I’m sorry if we make things worse for you, we can try and tone it down-” 

“No, please. Honestly just telling you both, I think it’ll be easier. Don’t change what you guys are doing for me, fuck,” Troy chuckled. Ilya glanced up and could see the relief on his face and watched as his shoulders relaxed a bit. 

“Okay,” Shane sighed. He squeezed Ilya’s hand again and sent him a soft smile. “We won’t. Thank you for telling us, Troy. That was really brave.” 

The lump was back in Ilya’s throat and he turned away from Shane quickly. “Yes, thank you Troy,” he forced out.

The streets of LA were largely abandoned as Troy continued on towards Ilya’s house. Ilya kept his eyes on the streetlamps as they left the city behind and started to wind up the hill. It had been one of the greatest nights of his life. He’d gotten to perform a song he was truly proud of in front of titans of the industry and had been met with acceptance and praise. He should be flying higher than ever before.

Instead he felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest. He didn’t know why Shane stopped him from telling Troy the truth, but in the end it didn’t really matter. The day would come when they would part ways, and Ilya knew he was in too deep to pretend it wouldn’t break his heart. The image of Shane walking away would likely haunt him for the rest of his life. It would be obvious to everyone, including those who knew about the contract, that Ilya had let himself fall in love with Shane Hollander. To him, the relationship had become all too real. 

The question was, would the time they had together be worth the pain of it ending? As Ilya stared out the window and gently rubbed his thumb over Shane’s knuckles, he said a prayer to the god his mother believed in that it would be.

Chapter End Notes

Discovering that nobody every told Troy about this dumbass plan was at first a very annoying plot hole, but I decided instead of going back to fix it I'd fold it into the plot. And look, Shane got to have the gaydar this time. How exciting for him!

In other exciting news, there is now a draft of every chapter of this fic, including the epilogue. They are a mess and require time and care to edit, but they exist. This will be completed!

Next week: A movie premiere and a birthday celebration

Chapter 14

Chapter Summary

Take a bow, baby.

Chapter Notes

Shane's turn to be unbelievably good at his job. Shane and Ilya, canonically the best at their chosen professions in every universe.

*Please read the notes at the end, as they will include some important information about the next chapter.

There were a handful of birthdays that Shane could remember not really enjoying. His parents had taken him to the Rainforest Cafe at Niagara Falls for his 6th birthday. It was the first time he had ever seen animatronic animals and while his mom had tried to explain the concept to him he had failed to grasp what she meant. According to his parents, he had one of his rare epic meltdowns when the fake thunderstorm began and they left before their mozzarella sticks even arrived. 

He also remembered, much more clearly, the disaster that had been his 14th birthday party. It had been the last before leaving behind junior high and his mom had insisted they invite the whole class and make it a joint birthday slash graduation party even though they had over a month of school left. Shane hadn’t even been in ear-shot when it happened, but two of the boys had decided to climb onto the roof of his parent’s house and see who could jump the farthest into the yard. No good birthday ends with an ambulance being called. 

Almost every other birthday had been nice and relatively unmemorable, including the first he’d spent in LA. Hayden had dragged him out to a club to celebrate despite only turning 19 and thus still well below the drinking age in the US. He’d woken up the next day with a hangover and a box from his parents filled with Canadian candy waiting at his door. Nice, relatively pleasant, but somewhat mundane.

Shane was sure he wouldn’t be forgetting his 23rd birthday any time soon. May 10th was a Tuesday, and the premiere of Vigilante was set for the following day. The universe could not have aligned better, unless of course the movie wasn’t well received. That might be enough to take the ‘worst birthday’ prize currently held by the Rainforest Cafe. 

He wasn’t actually worried about that. Shane had a lot of confidence in the project, and while there would likely be some nerves up until it was released, they were relatively minor. It helped that Ilya had been so vocally supportive in the month leading up to the premiere. 

“Shane, I saw you on set. You were excellent, a completely different person than the one I know,” Ilya had declared at dinner a few weeks back. Shane had been fretting after receiving the press tour information from Farah. He and Rose would be going on a few talk shows and doing a handful of interviews for socials. It was more than he had ever done to promote a project, though Rose hadn’t been phased at all. 

“But it isn’t just my performance, you know? There are a lot of things outside of my control. And what if I come off as a complete asshole in an interview and it ruins the reputation for the movie before it even comes out and-” Shane had rambled before Ilya cut him off by grabbing his hand. 

“In order for you to come off as a complete asshole, I think you need to at least be a little bit of an asshole,” Ilya had deadpanned in response. He squeezed Shane’s hand. “You have nothing to worry about. You will charm them all, I know it.” 

If the reactions Shane had seen on social media since the press tour began were anything to go by, Ilya had been right. Shane had been relieved to discover that he could answer questions about the project with ease, and doing everything with Rose by his side had made even the more personal questions manageable. No one had even asked about his relationship with Ilya, and it was only once Rose had burst into laughter after they got off the Jimmy Kimmel stage that Shane discovered he had been bringing up Ilya unprompted anyway. 

“If you were his muse for Paparazzi Joyride, then he must be the muse for your stellar performance,” she’d giggled. Shane had scoffed but knew his face was on fire as they hurried towards the exit. 

“I’d hardly say I was his ‘muse’,” he muttered. Rose just laughed harder. 

The months after the Grammys had flown by for both Ilya and Shane. Shane was working more than ever, and he had finally decided it was time to get outside eyes on his screenplay. He’d shyly asked Farah if she knew any good script consultants who may want to take a look at it, and she happily agreed. A couple weeks later he had a handful of annotated copies with excellent notes and feedback, and had been working on revisions ever since.

Shane had figured Ilya would be a little less busy since the album was done and the tour was a couple months off, but things hadn’t slowed down for him much at all. First up was the trial of Dallas Kent. Iron and Ice didn’t have anything to do with the man besides their association with Troy, but by taking him on as their guitarist they had stepped into that spotlight regardless. Troy did end up testifying for the prosecution, and ultimately decided to let his name and photos be used in coverage of the trial. Ilya and the rest of the band flew with him to New York for the two days he needed to be on the stand, and they ended up staying to see the verdict. 

From what Shane had seen of Troy’s testimony he really hadn’t had any damning evidence. The questions he was asked were more focused on Kent’s character and general behavior while he’d known him. Shane had grimaced at his TV at Troy’s responses. He might not have ever witnessed Kent’s crimes, but he sure had turned a blind eye to some despicable qualities in the man. 

Shane had been pleasantly surprised to see Kent convicted. Not because the evidence wasn’t there, but because justice was so rarely served in situations like this. He was happy for Troy, he knew it hadn’t been an easy decision to get up on the stand and look his former friend in the eye while helping to send him to prison. Sometimes the right decisions were the hardest ones. After that, the band spent most of the months of March and into April on music videos for a handful of the songs, including Sweet Ginger and Ruin You. Shane hadn’t been able to make it to set, and upon seeing the final products he had… mixed feelings. 

On the one hand, the videos were unbearably sexy. Ilya wasn’t a trained dancer but he moved like one. The videos reflected the subject of the songs, meaning they were erotic odes to an unnamed object of desire, and Ilya played the part of desirer without issue. If Shane had been on set he would have had a difficult time keeping his hands to himself.

On the other hand, he wished Ilya had asked him to be in the videos. It was a ridiculous thought and it never would have happened. Ilya knew for a fact they were going to break up in a handful of months, it would be a terrible idea to have Shane play the sexy, desirable subject of the songs. It made much more sense to cast a hot, young model that Shane didn’t recognize in the role for Ruin You, while Sweet Ginger took the approach of having two actors cast while the band simply told the story. 

Shane hoped to god he never ran into the man that had been all over Ilya in the video for Ruin You. He’d been very good, not that it could be difficult to pretend to be sexually attracted to Ilya Rozanov. Acting. Shane knew acting. The guy had just been very good at acting like he couldn’t stand to be apart from Ilya, like he loved nothing more than being taken apart by the singer. 

Shane had watched that video once and decided he didn’t need to revisit it ever again. If he had left particularly dark bruises on Ilya’s neck and scratches on his back the next time they had fucked, that was his business alone. 

The album had received several nominations for the American Music Awards, which were going to be held at the end of May, so there were rehearsals for that to be done, and the planning for the tour was full steam ahead. Wiebe had called Shane one day in late April with a question Shane perhaps should have been more prepared for. 

“As you know, the contract expires on July 11th,” he’d said as soon as Shane picked up the phone. Shane’s mouth fell open and he was unable to speak, but this didn’t slow Wiebe down a bit. “Not sure if you’ve heard but the first date for the tour has been confirmed for July 16th in New York, incredible timing actually. So I was thinking maybe we wait a couple weeks to tell the public that you two have split. He’s suddenly on tour and super busy, you’re obviously also super busy now, congrats by the way, so it’ll make total sense to people why you guys didn’t work out. No drama whatsoever, if you ever see each other it’s nice and amicable, boom huge success. Thoughts?” 

Shane sat down slowly on his couch as he gazed out the window of his apartment, his heart rate increasing dramatically. “Oh. Um. Yeah, sure. I guess that makes sense,” he’d managed weakly. 

“Great! So no real changes, just when they leave for tour you guys are done. Thanks, Shane, we all owe you one!” Wiebe hung up and Shane sat on his couch for an indeterminate amount of time absorbing what he’d been told. 

Of course he knew the date was approaching. A year was a year was a year, the end date agreed upon before they’d ever met in person. He tried not to think about it often, but that didn’t change the reality of the situation. Truly the tour coming so close to the end of the contract was a good thing, like Wiebe said. It gave them a perfect reason to break up that didn’t have anything to do with them personally. 

The problem was Shane just… didn’t want to break up. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them as the sun started to go down, and he let himself repeat it over and over in his head. He didn’t want to break up with Ilya. He liked Ilya, liked being with Ilya. He wanted to text him while he was on tour, attend a couple of shows when he could, Facetime him and the band while they were on the road. He wanted to be waiting in LA with open arms when the tour ended and Ilya came home. 

That wasn’t the deal, though. July 11th was coming, whether he liked it or not. And now when he said goodbye to Ilya on that day he might not see him again for months, not even in passing. 

Sleep had not come easy for Shane the night after that phone call.

Otherwise the months had been good. Ilya continued to keep his promise of honesty and would cancel or reschedule dates if he didn’t feel right. Shane wished he would say more about how he was feeling when that happened, if not to Shane then to someone, but he didn’t push. When Rose came to town for the press tour the three of them went out to dinner and Shane didn’t walk away wanting to kill either of them, so that was a win. In fact he had managed to find amusement in how well they seemed to get along. It likely helped that Ilya kept their fingers laced together the entire meal. 

Ilya had been going on and on about his birthday since mid April, asking him what he wanted to do for it. “It is not every day you turn twenty three, Shane Hollander. This is a big one!” he had whined when Shane had asked just to go to dinner while the were lounging in his living room together.  

“Twenty three is a big one?” he’d asked skeptically. Ilya shrugged and squeezed his ankle where it rested in his lap.

“I think maybe every birthday is a big one,” he admitted quietly. Shane had looked at him and noticed the slight melancholy that appeared on his face. With a sigh, he gave in.  

“Fine, we can have a party the weekend before. But nothing too big, we have the premiere literally a few days later, that’s like a whole other birthday party!” he acquiesced. Ilya lit up like a Christmas tree though, so it was worth it. 

The party consisted of the band, Rose, Hayden and JJ coming to Ilya’s house and hanging out in the backyard. Hayden had met Ilya a few weeks after Shane got back from Toronto, but neither him nor JJ had ever been to Ilya’s mansion. 

“Look man, your apartment is nice and all but why the fuck did you move out of here?” Hayden loudly whispered as Shane led them from the front door to the backyard. He rolled his eyes and punched Hayden lightly on the arm. 

“I am begging you two to be normal,” he replied as he slid open the glass door. “You in particular JJ, I know you’re going to have one drink and start saying odd shit and I will not have it.” 

“Best behavior, I promise,” JJ swore. Shane decided not to call him out on the obviously crossed fingers behind his back. 

Fortunately the party went off without a hitch. JJ and Hayden behaved, even if JJ decided he was going to unsuccessfully shoot his shot with both of the beautiful women present. Ilya also behaved, which Shane knew was hard for him. From the moment he met Hayden he’d seemingly decided he was put on the earth to antagonize him, so much so that he’d asked for Hayden’s number to continue needling him by text. He managed to keep it to a minimum as the afternoon faded into evening, though when Hayden asked why he was being so nice to him he claimed it was solely on Shane’s behalf. 

“Think of it like a birthday present, Harry,” Ilya sighed as he sipped on a sangria and lounged in one of the pool chairs. 

“It’s Hayden, and you know it’s Hayden,” Hayden grumbled. Shane couldn’t hold back a laugh at that one. 

It was all around a perfect birthday, one that would continue the following day. His parents were flying in and staying at his apartment so they could attend the premiere and be there for his actual birthday. As the last of their friends left the party, Sevtlana giving him a long hug and a soft kiss on the cheek, Shane was almost painfully content. 

Ilya had taken him apart slowly that night, pushing Shane right up to the edge of orgasm over and over again before pulling back. Shane chased the taste of cigarette smoke and citrus that lingered on Ilya’s tongue, constantly pulling him back in for more kisses. When Ilya finally fucked him he nearly lost consciousness at the feeling. He wanted Ilya all of the time, and wished he could keep him this close forever. He knew he was crying when he finally came and just hoped Ilya assumed it was only from the overstimulation and not the looming dread of losing him. 

Afterwards Ilya slipped out of the room before returning with something behind his back. 

“I thought I told you, no gifts,” Shane chided as he sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. The only light in the room emanated from a soft yellow lamp on the bedside table. Ilya smirked and sat down on the bed. 

“And you thought I would listen? You know me better,” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss Shane’s lips gently. Shane hummed and smiled. 

“I suppose I do,” he sighed. Ilya gestured for him to hold out his hands.

“Close your eyes,” he demanded. Shane laughed but complied. He felt a large box land in his hands and when he opened them the box was wrapped. “Why did I close my eyes if you wrapped the box?” he questioned. Ilya shrugged. 

“It felt like the right thing to do,” he offered, a faint blush visible in the low light. Shane rolled his eyes and sat back against the headboard to rip away the paper. The box underneath was also carefully taped shut, and Shane barely managed not to giggle as he forced the box open. 

Inside were a couple of things. The first was a vinyl record of Paparazzi Joyride. The artwork had become very familiar to Shane, a photo of the band standing out in the California desert at night, the sky above them full of stars. Scrawled across each of them were signatures. 

“Ok that one is mostly from the rest of the band, I told them it would make me look self centered to give it to you,” Ilya admitted. Shane refused to bite back a grin as he lifted the vinyl out and traced Ilya’s signature. 

“It’s great, Ilya. I love it,” he replied. He set the album down on the bed next to him and gasped as he saw the next thing. “Shut up!” 

Ilya sighed dramatically as Shane lifted a second vinyl from the box. He was very, very familiar with this one. “I will try not to take the difference in excitement personally,” he muttered. 

“Is this an original release copy?” Shane stuttered. “How did you get this?” In his hands was the first album by The Admirals, released over a decade earlier. As a kid he’d had a copy on CD and had probably driven his parents insane with the number of times he’d demanded they play it in the car. 

“I did not get this, this is from Hunter,” Ilya admitted. He pointed to a signature scrawled across the bottom and tilted the cover slightly towards the light for Shane to better see the note that accompanied it. 

Shane - Happy Birthday. If this pops up on eBay, I’ll know it was you. - Scott Hunter 

“Holy shit,” Shane breathed. He’d gotten used to being around Scott and was almost always able to compartmentalize the part of him that wanted to freak out about him being the Scott Hunter. In this moment, that ability completely fled. “My ten year old self would pass out if he saw this,” he laughed. 

Ilya blew a raspberry and leaned back on his hands. “Yes, yes, Scott Hunter is your favorite musician and your hero, he gives the best gifts, fine,” he grumbled. Shane carefully placed the vinyl down and reached out to pull Ilya in for a kiss. 

“Drama queen,” he muttered against Ilya’s lips. “I like your gift just as much, asshole.” Ilya tilted his head and nodded back towards the box. 

“You have not seen my gift yet,” he said. Shane pulled back to look and sure enough there was one final item in the box, this one wrapped in tissue paper. He picked it up and immediately knew it was a canvas. He chuckled. 

“You didn’t spend an absurd amount of money on another painting, did you?” he asked. Ilya smirked. 

“Not absurd,” he agreed. Shane rolled his eyes and removed the paper. His heart stopped in his chest at what was revealed. 

“This is… this is the cottage. My family’s cottage,” he breathed. And it was, unmistakably so. The painting captured a moment in one of Shane’s childhood summers perfectly. The same path to the door, the same view of the lake, the same flowers in the front garden. He felt tears start to well in his eyes and he glanced up to see Ilya looking nervous. “How did you…?”

Ilya pursed his lips. “Well, I had to go to Hayden, so please remember I am a saint. I asked him to ask your mama if she had any photos of the cottage she could share. Then I hired the artist who did your other painting and asked her if she would make another one like it, but with the house and the lake in the photos. She was very happy to, but I was a little worried it wouldn’t be done in time -” 

Shane cut him off by launching himself towards Ilya and wrapping his arms around his neck. He buried his face in his shoulder and gave up on trying not to cry. Ilya’s arms came around him and held him close. “So you like it? Troy said it might come off kind of creepy,” Ilya said in his ear. 

“I love it,” Shane whispered as he turned his head towards Ilya’s face. “It’s exactly like I remember it. Fuck, Ilya, it’s so perfect.” He pressed a kiss to Ilya’s throat, entirely unable to hold back. Ilya sighed and held him tighter.

“Ah, good. I had no backup plans,” he admitted. Shane let out a wet laugh. He was so in love with this ridiculous man. 

The next day his parents arrived at his apartment and immediately his mom stopped in front of the painting, newly hung in the living room near the original. “Oh Shane, it’s perfect,” she gasped. His dad stepped up behind her and Shane was surprised to see he looked about to cry. 

“You’re really sneaky for sending those photos to Hayden,” Shane teased around the growing lump in his throat. Yuna scoffed.

“He told me Ilya’s idea and I thought it was brilliant. And it came out better than I imagined. Look dear, the artist even captured the way the mailbox was crooked no matter how many times you straightened it!” 

She turned to look at Shane, beaming. “I am so excited to meet him on Tuesday. You’ve kept him away from us long enough, you have to let us embarrass you a bit!” 

Tuesday, Shane’s actual birthday, was filled with last minute preparations for the premiere. Shane could barely keep up with all of the things that needed to be done, but fortunately his mother and Farah had it all under control. He just showed up when told to, answered questions if he knew the answers, and sat very still for stylists and designers alike. 

Ilya charmed his parents effortlessly. While this didn’t surprise Shane, he was a little relieved that the feeling appeared to be mutual. Shane would look over and catch a glimpse of his dad and Ilya chatting animatedly, or see his mom scrolling through pictures on her phone and pointing them out to Ilya. At one point he managed to catch Ilya’s eye and tried to ask what his mom was showing him. All he got in response was a wink and a grin. 

He did get a birthday dinner on the10th. It was just him, his parents, and Ilya, in a private booth at a cozy bistro in Santa Monica. His dad would not stop cracking jokes, his mom would not stop telling stories about Shane as a kid, and Ilya would not stop indulging them both. It was the best birthday dinner he’d ever had. 

The day of the premiere dawned bright but a little chilly. Shane had stayed at his apartment with his parents despite how much he’d wanted to go home with Ilya instead. When he woke up his mom was in the kitchen, putting the final touches on an egg white omelet. 

“Good morning, honey,” she said softly as he sat down at his kitchen table. She slid the omelet in front of him as his dad came up behind him and rustled his hair like he had when Shane was little. Shane felt a twinge of melancholy as it occurred to him that the only thing missing from this moment was Ilya. 

The day was a blur of names and faces and hands being shaken and makeup being applied. He scarfed down a lettuce wrap at some point but couldn’t bear to eat anything else due to the nerves.

Awareness returned all at once as a car door slammed and Shane’s head snapped to it. He was in a limousine dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, hair mussed and light makeup on. There was no one else in the car besides the driver, and the man seated next to him.

Ilya looked radiant, and if Shane hadn’t been so excited and nervous for this night he might have dragged him out of the car and back upstairs to his apartment. He was dressed in a suit as well, buttons open just enough to show the golden chain around his neck. His eyes were immediately drawn to the exposed line of his throat where he could just barely make out a bruise he’d left there on Saturday night. 

“You look at me like that you will make me drag you back inside,” Ilya hummed as the limo pulled away. Shane pulled his attention up to Ilya’s eyes, which were sparkling with mirth. 

“Later,” Shane muttered. He pressed his hands to his knees and let out a deep breath. “Fuck, I think I might throw up.” 

Ilya gently took one of Shane’s hands and gave it a kiss. “No you won’t. I watched you eat vegetables wrapped in more vegetables for lunch, there is nothing to throw up!” he laughed. Shane let his head fall back against the seat. 

“What if they don’t like it?” he asked quietly. “What if I’m wrong and it’s terrible and I’m terrible and I was just too close to it to see that?” 

Ilya’s head joined his and he pressed their foreheads together. “Then we can be wrong about it together,” he whispered into the space between them. “Because I will like it, and it will be wonderful, and I will think you are wonderful. And I am not just saying that because I am too close to see it.” 

Shane smiled weakly. “I’m glad you are going to be there tonight. Thank you for coming.” 

Ilya kissed his cheek, his other cheek, his nose. He pulled him a little closer and Shane let his eyes fall closed as his head collapsed against Ilya’s chest. “There is nowhere I would rather be,” he replied. 

The rest of the ride happened in silence. Ilya kept one arm around Shane and held him tightly to his side while the other gently stroked his knuckles. Shane let himself enjoy the moment of peace. He wanted to get out on the red carpet and show people what he and the rest of the cast and crew had worked so hard on. He never wanted to leave this car. 

The decision was made for him as the limo came to a stop and Ilya softly pushed him up. He held Shane’s face in his hands and checked him over. “Perfect. A movie star. Are you ready?” 

Shane took a breath and pulled Ilya in for a brief kiss before nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go.” The door opened and Ilya slid out, standing gracefully. Shane could see the cameras flashing and heard the gathered press calling out their names. Ilya leaned back in and held out a hand.

Shane took it. 

Ilya didn’t think he was being biased when the credits to Vigilante rolled and his first thought was ‘that was the best movie I’ve ever seen’. Sure, the star of the film was the man he was desperately in love with, so it was impossible to be completely unbiased. But if the reaction in the room was anything to go by, being in love with Shane Hollander was not a prerequisite to thinking the movie was fantastic. 

Unless everyone at the premiere was secretly in love with Shane Hollander, something Ilya simply couldn’t blame them for. 

The red carpet had been a breeze, even when Ilya had to hand Shane off for photos with Rose and the rest of the cast. Rose wasn’t so bad, now that he was significantly less concerned about her and Shane running off into the sunset together. He could clearly see that she adored Shane (who wouldn’t?) but not in the way he’d been worried about. Their chemistry on screen was likely bolstered by the fact that they’d become very close friends, but that was all. They were friends. 

She was also very, very funny, and Ilya liked funny people. They’d hung out a couple of times during the press tour and he’d been unable to keep up any kind of pretense of dislike pretty quickly. As he watched her and Shane pose on the carpet, he felt nothing but fondness for her and the aching, desperate want he always felt when looking at Shane these days. 

Ilya was no expert when it came to movies, but even he could tell that the people involved in Vigilante had made something special. Shane was, of course, his favorite part. It was almost uncanny how much it wasn’t Shane at all, despite looking exactly like him. His character was so different from the man Ilya knew, angry and violent and so full of self righteousness that you were torn the whole movie whether to root for him or revile him for his choices. He’d only seen Shane angry a handful of times, and never like what he managed to bring out on screen. 

Rose was also very good, and Ilya made a mental note to watch some of her other films now that he could look at her without scowling. 

The crowd loved it and there was barely a dry eye in the theatre once the lights came up. The director and main cast received a long round of applause, which Shane accepted sheepishly. They were then whisked away to the afterparty at the Sunset Tower Hotel. 

Since the movie was a smaller production and not a massive Hollywood blockbuster, the party itself was on the more understated side. Ilya hadn’t attended many like it and found that actually being able to hear people talk to him was a nice change of pace. 

While he had arrived with Shane he let him go work the room and receive his proper congratulations almost as soon as they arrived. Tonight was Shane’s night to be the star, not the boyfriend of Ilya Rozanov. Besides, lingering at his elbow all night would just make Shane feel the need to include him in conversations and keep things brisk and professional. Ilya wanted to give him the space to nerd out about film with whoever he wanted. 

He found a comfortable couch and took a seat and was soon joined by a revolving set of people making a steady stream of small talk and letting him know how wonderful Shane was in the film. Ilya caught a few glimpses of Shane over the next couple of hours, and he was always surrounded by well wishers and always had a smile on his face. 

At some point Ilya felt the couch next to him dip and he turned to find David Hollander, a bottle of beer in his hand and a slight flush to his face. Ilya froze, momentarily panicked at the thought of talking to Shane’s dad. He’d done well so far with both of Shane’s parents, or at least he thought so. Still, every conversation was a new opportunity to fuck it up. He forced himself to relax and flashed a grin at the man. 

“Enjoying the party, Mr. Hollander?” he asked. David laughed. 

“Absolutely. I’ve met more people tonight than I have in the last fifteen years, and one of them was Judi Dench. I’m having a blast.” Ilya chuckled and leaned back in his seat. 

“So you are the social one in the family?” he questioned. David tilted his head in thought. 

“In some ways. Yuna is plenty social too, but she’s more the type to hold court with one or two people for hours, especially if the topic is something she knows a lot about. And Shane, I’m sure you’ve noticed, takes after her on that. I’m probably more of a listener.” 

Ilya nodded slowly. “That is a nice thing to be, I think.” 

David raised an eyebrow. “Well, you should know. I think you’re more of a listener yourself.” 

Ilya scoffed. “No, I disagree. I love attention too much to be a listener,” he laughed. David shook his head with a smile. 

“Not the same thing. You’re a performer, it’s part of the job to be the center of attention sometimes. But, and I’ll admit I’ve only known you a couple of days now, I’ve been very impressed. Shane’s needed a lot from you leading up to this and from what I’ve seen you’ve done a stand up job. That’s real partner stuff there, Ilya. If you were actually a spotlight hog, I think this,” he gestured with his bottle towards Shane, who was speaking animatedly with someone Ilya didn’t recognize, “would look a lot different. I can tell you really get him.” 

Ilya swallowed thickly and glanced away. He had been prepared for Shane’s parents to like him fine, or to dislike him mildly. He’d considered the possibility they would hate him, though he’d tried not to think about it too seriously. He had not been at all prepared for a speech from Shane’s father suggesting he was good for Shane. 

“Ah, well as you said. You have only known me a couple of days,” he forced out with a laugh. David hummed and took another drink from his bottle. Ilya finished off the champagne in his glass as well, intending to use it as an excuse to extract himself from the conversation. Before he could say anything, David placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. 

“Maybe, but I’ve known Shane his whole life. I’ve always found him to be an excellent judge of character. Don’t sell yourself short, kid. He chose you, right?” 

David pushed himself up with a sigh. “And now I will attempt to find my wife. I’m sure she has convinced at least a half dozen celebrities that they need complete interior design overhauls and has been discussing the benefits of different types of lighting with them for the last hour.” He said this with a goofy smile on his face, clearly eternally smitten with his wife. He patted Ilya on the shoulder as he walked away. 

Ilya let out a shaky sigh as David faded into the crowd and rubbed a hand over his face. Fuck, he wished that hadn’t happened. He wished he had stood up and walked away as soon as David sat down, as rude as that would have seemed. He hadn’t wanted to hear how Shane Hollander’s father supported their relationship, all but saying he approved of Ilya as Shane’s boyfriend. 

He chose you, David had said. Ilya felt an insane giggle bubble up in his throat and he bit his lip to keep it inside. No he didn’t, he thought to himself. He chose to enter into a year-long contract to help rehab Ilya’s image, which in turn helped Shane get right where he was tonight. It didn’t have anything to do with Ilya, not really. In fact, Ilya was positive that if he’d actually run into Shane at that gallery, no staging or planning involved, Shane would have sooner scoffed and rolled his eyes before giving him his number. 

Suddenly the party was too much and too loud. Ilya had been just fine and now he felt like he was crawling out of his skin. He stood from the couch abruptly and weaved his way through the people and back into the hotel. He managed to get an elevator alone and took it down to the lobby, which he hurried across to get outside. 

The street was also loud, but in the way that Sunset was always loud. Ilya started walking in the hopes of shaking off this feeling. He itched for a cigarette but hadn’t brought any with him. He really itched for a joint, but it had been almost a week since he’d done drugs of any kind and he’d been doing so fucking well -

A liquor store appeared in front of him and he was incapable of walking past. He ducked inside and bought a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, then walked out behind the store to smoke. It was quieter back there. He shook out a cigarette and lit it with shaky hands. The first drag immediately helped center his thoughts and he let out the smoke with a heavy sigh. 

He’d played a good game, but the game was almost over. In two months he and Shane would break up, possibly never to meet again. Wiebe had worked it all out with Scott and the tour for Paparazzi Joyride was all but set in stone. New York City on July 16th. Five days after he said goodbye to Shane forever. Of course neither Wiebe nor Scott were aware of how much that was  going to crush him, so he had no real excuse to push back on the plan. He’d just have to figure it out. 

What would life be like in the after? Because his life was always going to be split, just like it had been when his mom died. There was ‘before’ her passing, and ‘after’. The world had been a different place with her in it, and his life had been irrevocably changed when she’d gone.  

Now there would also be ‘before’ Shane and ‘after’. Ilya knew it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t like Shane was dying. There was nothing written into the contract stopping them from being friendly, texting or hanging out once it was over. But Ilya knew he wouldn’t be able to handle having just a little bit of Shane after having so much of him for a year. It would eat away at his soul to be that close and not be able to touch, to hold, to press kisses to the constellation of freckles that spread across his cheeks. His only shot at survival was to let him go, wholly and completely.  

Would Shane miss him? Would he jump into dating as soon as he had the chance now that he was out and famous? Would Ilya see him and his new boyfriend on Instagram while he and the band were in Chicago, or Florida, or Berlin? Ilya had seen plenty of handsome queer men online and in person ogling Shane or claiming to be jealous of Ilya. Little did they know there wouldn’t be anything to be jealous of for long. 

Ilya took another deep drag of his cigarette and leaned against the wall of the liquor store. Some electronic billboard on Sunset was flashing and lighting the trees on the hill up with pinks and whites and blues over and over again. He stared at it, lost in thought. 

Despite all of the pain that was sure to follow, Ilya couldn’t bring himself to regret signing the contract. Not only had it inspired the best music he’d ever written, but seeing Shane in that room surrounded by people who saw his brilliance for what it was? That was the final confirmation. He deserved to be there and Ilya could feel only pride at playing even a small role in helping him. It was selfish to want anything more, but Ilya had never claimed to be unselfish. 

Ilya flinched and dropped the remains of the cigarette, shaking his hand. It had burned all the way down while he’d been staring off into space and had left a little blister on his finger. He stepped on the smouldering remains and contemplated having another one. He pulled out his phone to see a text from Shane. 

From Shane:

‘Where did you go? My parents are heading back to my place, I was wondering if I could come back to yours tonight?’ 

Ilya groaned and pushed off from the wall. He couldn’t say no to Shane, it was far too late for that. He typed up a response and started quickly back towards the hotel. 

To Shane: 

‘Bathroom. Meet me in the lobby?’ 

Shane replied immediately in the affirmative and Ilya nearly sprinted to meet him. Shane could text him any time. He’d always come running. 

He managed to make it back to the lobby before Shane arrived and he sat down heavily in one of the chairs. He couldn’t be caught spiralling, not tonight. There was no way to undo the damage, no way to walk it all back. He had to try and enjoy what he had while it lasted. 

Ilya looked up as the hotel elevator opened and Shane walked out. His face lit up when he saw Ilya and Ilya’s own heart ached at the sight. He’d miss that face so much.

“Hi,” Shane breathed as he sat down next to Ilya. On instinct Ilya reached out and rubbed at his thigh, causing Shane’s head to fall back against the couch with a sigh. 

“Hello,” Ilya replied softly. “Did you have a good night?” It was well past one in the morning, and he could tell Shane was done. He felt Shane nod, his head gently hitting Ilya’s shoulder. 

“It was perfect,” he whispered. “Everyone loved it.” 

“Everyone loved you,” Ilya added. He heard Shane breath a laugh. 

“Mm. Sorry about my dad, by the way. I saw he cornered you,” he replied as he sat up. Ilya shook his head quickly. 

“No, don’t apologise. He is very nice, not scary at all. Your mama too. Well,” he thought for a moment, “she is maybe a little scary.” 

Shane threw his head back and laughed. It took all of Ilya’s restraint not to duck in and kiss his throat. “You haven’t even seen her at her scariest,” he said as he pulled out his phone. “Let me call an Uber, ok if I come with you?” 

Ilya nodded and let his head fall against Shane’s shoulder as Shane typed. “Always ok,” he replied quietly. 

The Uber ride was quick and Ilya barely had time to close his front door before Shane was on him. He leaned back against the door and wrapped his hands around Shane’s waist. The kiss was slow and sensual, and he shivered at the feeling of Shane’s hands sinking into his hair and keeping him close. 

After what might as well have been hours Shane pulled back with a smile on his face and his eyes closed. Ilya pressed a kiss to his nose, then his cheeks. “Pretty good birthday?” he asked jokingly. Shane nodded slowly.

“The best. Thank you for being part of it,” he said quietly. His eyes fluttered open and he smirked. “I’ve got a lot of planning to do to even come close to making yours as good.” 

Ilya rolled his eyes and pushed Shane backwards so he could take his hand and lead him upstairs. “Ah, what do I want for my birthday?” he mused. “Maybe a very big cake, big enough for you to pop out of. Naked, of course.” 

Shane laughed. “We can do better than that. Don’t you want a party? Maybe we could rent out a club, or a house on the beach.”  

Ilya reached the top of the stairs and slowed as he walked down the hall. He pushed open his bedroom door but pulled Shane up against him before they went inside. Shane kissed him and wrapped his arms around his neck. 

“We can do that,” Ilya replied. Shane pursed his lips. 

“Not what you want though, is it?” he asked. Ilya shook his head.

“No no, it’s good. Beach party, I think. June is like the start of summer, everyone will love it.” 

“Nope, you’re lying,” Shane declared as he poked him in the chest. “I can tell you’re saying what you think I want to hear. Seriously, tell me. What do you want to do for your birthday?” 

Ilya stared down at Shane and weighed his options. He’d been thinking about this for a while and had both hoped for and dreaded Shane asking. Now he had to decide if he was going to be selfish again and ask for what he really wanted. 

Shane was looking at him with such expectancy and simmering desire, and Ilya hated to deny him. Besides, he’s promised him honesty. 

“Maybe a trip. Just you and me?” he asked quietly. Shane blinked in surprise, though he didn’t pull back or shoot the idea down immediately. 

“Really? Like where?” Shane asked. 

“Anywhere. Just a couple of days, not like a European tour,” Ilya laughed, feeling his face heat up. “Plenty of nice places to go in June, yes?’

Shane titled his head as he seemed to consider it. “Yeah. Ok, that sounds like a great idea. And you really want it to be just you and me?” he asked, almost shy. Ilya nodded, absolutely positive. He would have dozens more birthdays with the band and his friends. He’d only have the one with Shane. Shane grinned and kissed him again, this time with more passion. 

“Ok. We’ll go on a trip, then. Just the two of us,” he mumbled against Ilya’s lips. Ilya let out a groan as Shane bit down gently and started walking him backwards into the bedroom. Ilya sat down heavy on the bed and watched with wide eyes as Shane sank to the floor between Ilya’s spread legs. 

“It’s your birthday, shouldn’t I be the one on my knees?” he managed to say as Shane's hands ran up his thighs. Shane blushed and bit his lip. 

“Maybe this is what I want,” he replied. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Ilya’s leg, then a little higher. He looked up at Ilya with smouldering eyes. “Maybe I like being down here.”

“You are unbelievable,” Ilya muttered, his own eyes falling closed as Shane’s hand pressed down against his dick through his pants. His hips lifted off of the bed as he tried to increase the pressure and Shane took the opportunity to undo the button and slide the waistband down.

“I do, you know,” Shane said almost conversationally. Ilya bit his lip as Shane’s fingers hooked into his boxers and pulled them down as well. As soon as his cock was free Shane wrapped a hand around it and slowly started pumping. “Like this. I like being here with you.” 

Ilya’s hand came to rest on the back of Shane’s head as he ducked down to take him in his mouth. It took all of his self restraint not to thrust up into the wet heat immediately, but he breathed out slowly and gripped Shane’s hair to ground himself. 

“Oh yeah?” he asked breathily. “What do you like about it?” Shane hummed around him, causing Ilya to shiver. He pulled off with a pop and licked up the side of Ilya’s shaft.

“I like watching you and knowing I’m the one causing you to react this way,” he admitted quietly. The hand still on Ilya’s thigh tightened, nails digging into his skin. “I like when you grip onto my hair because you’re trying to control yourself. It means I’m doing a good job.” 

“So good,” Ilya mumbled as Shane ducked back down, taking him all the way to the root. “So fucking good for me, Shane.” 

Shane groaned around him, both hands now holding on tightly to his legs. Ilya knotted his hair in his fist a bit tighter and gently started to guide him faster.

After a few minutes Shane pushed back and shoved himself up from his knees and clambered into Ilya’s lap. Ilya gasped as Shane started to grind down on him, his own dress plants likely being ruined in the process.

“Love this so much, Ilya,” Shane moaned as he wrapped his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and circled his hips. “Every part of it. Love being with you.” 

Ilya felt the sudden urge to cry. He knew Shane meant he loved having sex with him, but the way it was phrased was doing no favors for his lovesick heart. He quickly grabbed Shane’s hips and flipped them over so Shane was laid out flat on the bed. Shane’s gasp of surprise became a stuttered moan as Ilya latched onto his throat, determined to leave bruises. Shane’s hands flew up into his curls and his hips seemed unable to remain on the bed. 

Without pulling himself off of Shane’s neck, Ilya managed to undo his pants and tear them off. He heard some of the fabric rip, but they were beyond saving anyway. He pressed down with his palm against Shane’s dick, which caused Shane to cry out. 

“Fuck me, please,” he moaned into Ilya’s ear. 

“Thought all you wanted was to suck my cock,” Ilya whispered against his neck. Shane pulled hard on his hair, causing Ilya to shiver. 

“Never said that was all I wanted,” he replied breathily. He tugged at Ilya’s curls until Ilya looked up and met his eyes. They were blown wide with arousal. Ilya decided to take pity on him and kissed him hard on the lips.

He trailed kisses all the way down his chest, his stomach, to his dick. He took it in his mouth only briefly, all too familiar with how easy it was to make Shane Hollander come when he was worked up like this. He pulled back with a bite to Shane’s thigh and nodded at the bedside table. 

“Lube?” he asked gruffly. Shane reached out and grabbed it before almost throwing it at Ilya's head. “Alright, no need to get violent!” Ilya laughed as he opened it up and squeezed some into his hand. Shane tsked and opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was going to say became caught in his throat as Ilya gently worked a finger into his ass. His head fell back against the sheets with a thud. 

“Good?” Ilya asked. When he didn’t get a verbal response he bit gently at Shane’s thigh again. “I asked, are you good?” 

“Yes, fuck,” Shane cried. “More, come on!” 

“So greedy,” Ilya scolded but added a second finger. Shane tightened at the intrusion but relaxed almost immediately. He really was so good for Ilya. 

After a few minutes of gently preparing him with his fingers, Ilya knew Shane was ready. They’d fucked enough in the past few months that Ilya could read his body like an open book, and he knew Shane was already dangerously close to coming. While Ilya wouldn’t mind that in the slightest, he also knew Shane well enough to know he would pout if he came before Ilya was inside him.

Ilya pulled his fingers free and climbed up the bed to grab a condom from the bedside table. He felt Shane grab his arms and pull him back with a whine, like he was trying to keep Ilya from leaving. “Shh, I’m right here,” Ilya soothed as he worked the condom onto his cock. “I’ve got you, you know I’ve got you.” 

He laid down on top of Shane, their noses almost touching as he maneuvered Shane’s legs to reach his hole. One of Shane’s arms was up and tucked under the pillow beneath his head while the other came to wrap around Ilya’s shoulders, and his eyes were wide open and locked on Ilya’s as Ilya slid inside of him. Ilya couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to, too mesmerized by the look of bliss on Shane’s face. 

Ilya knew he wouldn’t last long as soon as he was all the way inside. Fucking Shane was just as good every time as it had been the first, he was so tight and hot. He reacted to the slightest touch and always seemed on the edge of falling apart at every movement. Ilya watched in awe as Shane’s eyes fell closed and he started letting out tiny breaths as Ilya started pumping his hips in earnest, fucking into him faster. He closed his own eyes and let his head drop to Shane’s chest as he used the last remaining energy he had to fuck Shane the way he liked it. 

“Ilya,” Shane whispered after a while. Ilya glanced up to see Shane looking at him, eyes glazed and hazy. “Kiss me.” 

Ilya surged up to obey, his tongue forcing its way into Shane’s mouth with no resistance. Shane moaned and both of his arms were now wrapped around Ilya’s shoulders, his legs tightly wound around his hips. Ilya braced himself on his elbows above Shane and fucked him even harder, until Shane pulled back from their kiss and cried out as he came. A handful of thrusts later and Ilya followed, his hips pressed to Shane’s ass and his name on his lips. 

They lay together, both trying to catch their breath. Ilya pressed gentle kisses to Shane’s shoulder and collarbone while Shane pet gently at Ilya’s hair. Eventually Ilya pushed himself up and pulled out of Shane, who winced slightly as his legs fell back to the bed. Ilya kissed his knee as he shuffled off of the bed and to the bathroom, pulling off the condom and tossing it. He returned with a washcloth and wiped the cum and sweat from Shane’s skin as Shane watched him with sleepy eyes and a small smile. 

By the time Ilya climbed back into bed, Shane was fast asleep. Ilya opened up the drawer to his nightstand as quietly as possible and shook out a handful of sleeping pills before laying back to stare at the ceiling. He felt Shane snuggle closer to his warmth, his breath even with sleep. 

Even with the pills, Ilya didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep. He felt stupid for asking for that trip with Shane. His birthday was less than a month before the end of the contract, they shouldn’t be going on a romantic getaway. It would only make things worse. Not that they could get all that much worse at this point anyway. 

Ilya reached up to run his hands through Shane’s hair. Going on the trip, not going on the trip, it was all the same. He supposed he could grant himself this last wish, like a final meal on death row. 

Despite the night, the sex, Shane in his arms right now, Ilya had never managed to shake the weight that dropped on his chest after his conversation with David Hollander. He was able to ignore it at certain points, but in the darkness of his room with Shane tucked against his side it was back and heavier than before. 

He didn’t want to face the ‘after Shane’. He wasn’t sure what it would look like, and he didn’t want to find out. He was a better man when he was with Shane, he liked who he’d become. He was trying, even when it was hard. 

He wished he could live in the ‘with Shane’ forever.

Chapter End Notes

Hello there, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as this story is going to take a bit of a turn for awhile. I am here to promise that there is a happy ending. However, there was no way this was going to be smooth sailing all the way through and the rough waters are coming up next. I will be adding a few new tags and will be sure to point them out in the author's notes next time. We have some heavy things to deal with going forward.

Next week: We're going to the cottage....

Chapter 15

Chapter Summary

911, where is your emergency?

Chapter Notes

Hi everyone! As promised, I have updated the tags to include some new broad warnings for this chapter. I will be summarizing the events of this chapter in the notes at the end if you would like to check those out first and/or skip this one entirely. It is not particularly graphic but it has the potential to be somewhat triggering so I'd rather be safe than sorry. Please take care of yourselves!

*please note I am not a medical expert, so apologies for any potential inaccuricies

Thank you for all of the kudos and comments, we're approaching the end game now :)

Shane’s grip on the wheel of the rented Jeep was so tight that his knuckles had gone white. He wasn’t sure why he felt so tense about this week, the trip had been Ilya’s idea after all. Surely he wasn’t going to regret it now. He’d had over a month to think about it and instead of backing out he had let Shane plan the whole thing sight unseen. 

It was Sunday the 12th, three days before Ilya’s twenty-third birthday, and the two of them were driving through the Canadian wilderness. It was a far cry from the tropical beaches of Cancun or the thrilling excitement of New York City, and Shane was now worried he had gone the wrong direction with it. He glanced over to the passenger seat and saw Ilya scrolling on his phone, an easy smile on his face. At least he didn’t look angry or totally bored yet. 

When Ilya told him he wanted to do a getaway with just the two of them for his birthday, Shane had been over the moon. They were running out of time on the contract and he had figured they’d never get a chance to do something like this. Two nights in Toronto was not the same as a whole five days together. 

Which was why Shane had gravitated towards something more private and understated as opposed to a spectacle. He’d looked into Hawaii and Miami and even Puerto Rico, but in the end he kept coming back to one, nagging idea. 

“Will there be food where we are going, Shane?” Ilya suddenly asked. Shane turned to look at him in mild panic before realizing Ilya was grinning and not actually complaining. “I mean, we have left civilization behind now. Are we hunting and gathering to survive for the week? I could find this sexy.” 

“Shut up, of course there’s food,” Shane grumbled. Ilya reached out and pried one of Shane’s hands off of the steering wheel with a laugh. 

“I am sorry,” he said as he pressed a kiss to his palm. “I am teasing. You have been so secretive about where we are going, that is all.” 

“I just wanted it to be a surprise,” Shane replied airly. He swallowed heavily and squeezed Ilya’s hand. 

He’d been unable to keep the fact that they were going to Ottawa from Ilya since they’d needed to board a plane at LAX and he’d needed his passport. He’d shared no further details though, and Ilya’s guesses had dried up quickly once Shane drove them straight out of the city. 

“Maybe you will murder me,” Ilya mused. “I thought I was on my best behavior, but if I have upset you…” 

Shane scoffed. “You’re going to make it back to LA just fine, asshole. Relax, we’re almost there.” 

Ilya raised an eyebrow and looked out the window before looking back at him with an expression that said ‘almost where?’ but he didn’t speak again. 

After the premiere of Vigilante, life had become what Shane had decided to call his ‘new normal’. It would likely never be the same as it was before he’d been in the movie but hadn’t that been the whole point? The film had done excellent numbers at the box office for its budget, and both Shane and Rose had been praised by critics for their performances. 

Calls from casting directors had started coming in a few days after the premiere and Shane finally felt like he could breathe. While nothing in Hollywood was ever set in stone, it didn’t feel like he was teetering on the precipice anymore. At least for the time being he would be able to pick up the payments on his apartment and still afford to be a little picky with his next role and work on his own writing. It was a luxury that would have been well out of his reach a year before. 

He’d taken to reading some of the scripts he was sent out loud to Ilya, either in person or over the phone. It wasn’t technically allowed, but he couldn’t help himself. He could feel the clock ticking down on his time with the other man and he wanted to share some of what his future might be with him before he was gone. 

Ilya had remained busy with the plans for the tour, but he seemed to have more free time than before. More importantly, he seemed to be spending a lot of that free time with Shane. He was at Shane’s apartment almost constantly, and when Shane had teased him about not using his massive home, Ilya had only tilted his head with an odd look before dropping to his knees. A good distraction method, certainly. 

When he wasn’t around, he would text Shane almost constantly. The only times he wouldn’t hear from the other man was when the band was rehearsing, which Ilya would explain before disappearing for a few hours. Shane felt as though he should find it smothering. Instead he clung to the texts and updates like a life raft, watching his connection with Ilya slowly move further into the horizon with each day. 

When he’d finally decided to pull the trigger on the trip, he hadn’t even tried to convince himself he wasn’t being dreadfully sentimental. It wouldn’t have been worth the effort. 

With every rotation of the tires Shane felt a little more nervous. What if Ilya thought this was too much? Would he be bored and want to leave before the five days were up? What was Shane supposed to do then? 

Either way, it was far too late to change the plan now. Shane turned up one final road and felt Ilya sit up in his seat. The sun was high in the sky and sparkled off the lake that had appeared right in front of them. 

“Shane,” he said quietly. “Where are we?” 

Shane did not respond and instead slowly pulled into a gravel driveway. The building at the end of it looked exactly like he remembered, though now he wasn’t sure if the painting hanging in his house was why he had such a clear picture of it all these years later. The mailbox was still crooked. 

“Holy shit,” Ilya breathed. He’d let go of Shane’s hand and was leaning against the dashboard, eyes wide as they took in the structure ahead. They flickered towards Shane, but Shane couldn’t read the emotion there. “This is the cottage?” 

Shane swallowed. “Mhm. I asked my mom where it was and I was able to get in touch with the local real estate office. Apparently it just went on the market and the current owner agreed to rent it for a few days since it hasn’t sold yet. Kind of felt like fate, I guess?” he mumbled. 

He let out a gasp as Ilya surged across the center console and kissed him, hard and passionate. His hands came up to cup his cheeks and Shane sighed as his eyes fell closed. This was not the reaction of someone upset about being dragged into the Canadian woods to spend five days at a cottage.

“We are staying here?” Ilya asked excitedly as he pulled back. His eyes were bright and his smile wide, and all Shane could do was nod. Somehow the grin got wider before Ilya scrambled out of the car. “Ok, come on then!”

Shane watched him run around to the back of the Jeep and pull open the trunk. He hurried to unbuckle his seat belt and follow, not wanting Ilya to carry their bags in. He was the guest, after all. 

“I hired someone locally to stock the pantry and the fridge, but there’s a restaurant in town too if you want to do that for your birthday,” Shane rushed to explain as he wrestled Ilya’s bag out of his hands with a frown. “And the owner said there are kayaks and some sports equipment, and then I brought you a pair of water shoes because I knew you wouldn’t bring your own even though I told you to but you really need them in the lake because the rocks can be very sharp-” 

Shane cut himself off as he reached the front door and set down the bags to reach for the keys, only to be gently grabbed by the waist and turned around for another kiss. He hummed as Ilya pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. “Yes, all of it I think,” Ilya whispered between them. “It is perfect.” 

“Not too boring?” Shane whispered back. He’d picked up so far that Ilya was pleased with what he’d come up with, but he still needed to hear it. 

“Yes, boring,” Ilya laughed, and Shane’s eyes flew open, his heart sinking. Ilya pressed kisses to his cheeks and giggled. “But perfect. Perfectly, wonderfully boring. Thank you, Shane.” 

Shane bit his lip and turned to open the door. Ilya’s arms came around his waist and hugged him as he fumbled with the lock. He only let go once the door was wide open, and only enough to take one of Shane’s hands while he picked up his own bag. Shane let him so he wouldn’t have to drop his hand. 

The interior of the cottage wasn’t quite what he remembered, though that had always been a less clear memory. He’d spent so much of his time here outside or in the water that he mostly remembered the vague layout of the place - the entry hall that led towards the kitchen, the steps down into a cozy sitting room, the huge glass doors that led to the backyard which looked out onto the lake. The decor had changed and some upgrades had been made, but it felt familiar enough. 

Ilya followed as he gave him a tour of a house he hadn’t stepped foot in in years. Their hands remained tangled as Shane pulled him from room to room, even opening up the laundry room they likely wouldn’t need. 

“And then upstairs are the bedrooms, we can be in the master,” he said. Ilya nodded slowly before a wicked grin spread over his face. 

“And can we be in it now?” he asked. Shane flushed but tugged Ilya upstairs, both of them grabbing their bags on the way up. They could finish the tour later. 

After, the sun is still high and there is plenty of day ahead of them. Ilya might as well be a kid in a candy store, dragging Shane down to the beach and stopping only to put on swim trunks and the water shoes Shane bought for him. They spend hours walking along the shoreline, talking about everything under the sun. Shane even let Ilya gloat about the Boston Raider’s recent cup win. 

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday,” Shane grumbled when Ilya finished recapping the last game of the finals. Which Shane had watched with him and remembered just as clearly. He was sitting on the edge of the dock with his feet dangling in the water. Ilya had chosen to swim and had been floating on his back while he recounted the best plays of the game. He straightened out and paddled over to Shane with a grin before pressing a kiss to his calf. 

“I know I saw you cheering when they scored,” he teased. Shane shook his head with a pout. 

“You don’t know what you saw,” he insisted. Ilya laughed and ducked back under the water. 

They had burgers for dinner that night, which Shane grilled on the deck. He remembered it being a charcoal grill, but this one was gas. It didn’t really matter, but he’d always preferred the taste of the charcoal more. He said so as he handed a plate to Ilya, who had hopped in the shower while he cooked. Ilya cocked his head. 

“They had a charcoal grill in Boston, at Sveta’s house,” he mused. He was staring out over the lake and leaning against the house as he spoke. Shane’s eyes flickered towards him, curious but unwilling to push for more. “I remember the first time I had an American hamburger, home made by her father. I loved it. I think I said it was all I ever wanted to eat forever.” 

Shane laughed as he took the last of the burgers off the grill. “Well, sorry these are Canadian instead. And also not charcoal,” he joked. Ilya’s gaze turned toward him and he smiled. 

“Ah, I think I will live. They look perfect,” he said softly.

They ate on the deck as the sun started to set, the two of them keeping up a steady conversation about everything and nothing. Shane itched to ask more about his life in Boston or Moscow, but his past was the one thing he still remained tight lipped on. He would offer morsels of information like the charcoal grill or how he met Fabian, and then he might go weeks without admitting he’d even existed before Iron and Ice’s first tour. 

Shane wasn’t sure how long they spent fucking that night. By the time Ilya was finally done with him, Shane was sure he could see the sun starting to appear on the horizon, but that might have been his sex addled brain imagining things. 

Monday was everything Shane wanted the trip to be. They woke up in each other’s arms and started the day with breakfast and coffee that they made together. They took the kayaks the owner had mentioned out on the lake and spent most of the time just sitting in them or paddling slowly enough to continue talking. They went into town for lunch at the little diner style restaurant and no one recognized them. They hiked in the afternoon until they were completely worn out and returned to the cottage for a shower and a nap. 

Shane woke up around 6pm to the sun shining bright off of the water. Ilya was still dead asleep next to him so Shane let him be while he went downstairs to make dinner. He pulled out his iPad and made a slightly more complex pasta recipe since he wouldn’t be distracted by wandering hands and lips.

When the pasta was just about ready and Ilya still hadn’t come down Shane decided he needed to go get him. He was mildly surprised to find him still in bed, having barely moved. He shook his shoulder gently, then a little harder when he didn’t get much response. 

“Ilya, dinner’s ready,” he said softly. He watched Ilya’s eyes flutter open and squint. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his hairline and smiled. “Come on, you’re going to love it.” 

He headed back downstairs and placed servings of pasta on two plates, poured them each a glass of wine and a water, and set the table. He sat down in one spot and pulled out his phone to see if there was anything special in the area they should make sure to do before Friday. 

He felt more than saw Ilya slide into the chair across from him and he glanced up. He immediately grew concerned. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. Ilya looked tired despite having slept for several hours. His eyes were hazy and his mouth pinched. “Do you feel sick?” 

Ilya shook his head and offered him a smile as he picked up his fork. “No, I am alright. Very sleepy though, I’m sorry,” he said. He shoveled a bite of food into his mouth and nodded appreciatively. “This is good, любимый,” he muttered. 

Shane frowned at the Russian word. Ilya almost never spoke Russian, at least not around him. He’d heard him speak to Svetlana occasionally, but it seemed he tried to stick to English around others. He opened his mouth to ask, but Ilya cut in before he could. 

“We are here until Friday, yes?” he asked. Shane thought his voice sounded a little rough. Was it from sleep or was he coming down with something?

“Uh, yeah. We need to be out by Friday morning at the latest. But we can head back sooner if you’re coming down with something,” Shane clarified. Ilya shook his head almost violently. 

“No, Friday is good. It’s good,” he mumbled around another bite of food. Shane couldn’t help but roll his eyes and lightly kick at his ankle. 

“No table manners, really,” he scolded. Ilya grinned around the pasta and Shane relaxed. He was fine, just tired. These things happen. 

They watched a movie, some cheesy action film, on the couch that night. Ilya laid down and held open his arms, which Shane obligingly climbed into. He figured the other man might get kind of handsy at some point, but instead they remained spooned together on the couch until the credits rolled. 

Ilya pushed him down onto the bed as soon as they got upstairs and fucked him soft and sweet. Through the haze of bliss it occurred to Shane he was leaving scratches down Ilya’s back and he almost pulled back to apologize, but Ilya kept ducking down for one hungry kiss after another, effectively silencing Shane’s worries. 

Shane, not nearly as exhausted as he usually was due to their midday nap, watched in curiosity as Ilya stood in the bathroom and seemed to shake out some pills from a little container. Maybe he was taking some ibuprofen, since he clearly wasn’t feeling a hundred percent. Shane wished he had his usual fully stocked medicine cabinet with him. Ilya climbed into bed and kissed him soundly on the mouth, and Shane stopped thinking about anything else. 

The next day was odd. It was clear to Shane from the moment he woke up that there was something wrong with Ilya. He wasn’t exactly a morning person, but 11am was late considering they’d gone to sleep at a very reasonable hour. After being woken by Shane and taking a very long shower, he appeared in the kitchen and drank two cups of coffee back to back. Shane had watched carefully and almost suggested leaving again, but Ilya had pushed him up against the fridge and stolen his words right out of his mouth. 

The afternoon was better. Ilya seemed to shake off some of whatever was dragging him down and he insisted they get outside. They played badminton in the backyard for a while before taking a stroll along the waterfront. The summer season was just heating up and there were more people starting to appear on the lake and beach. They still went largely unrecognized, though there were a few knowing looks from a handful of visitors. 

Ilya made dinner that night, potstickers and rice. Shane sat at the kitchen island and watched him closely as he fished the potstickers out of the pot, grimacing with almost every movement. He looked lethargic, like he was having trouble making his muscles go where he needed them to. 

“Ilya, are you sure you’re ok?” he asked gently. Ilya scoffed and placed the plate of potstickers down on the counter a little harder than necessary. 

“Fine,” he snapped. Shane’s eyebrows flew up and he sat up straighter in his seat. Ilya winced and let his head fall against his chest as he leaned over the counter with a sigh. “Sorry. I did not mean to yell,” he continued much more quietly. “I am just tired. I did not sleep well last night."

“You could have woken me up,” Shane chided. He placed his hand on the counter, palm up. Ilya took it gently. “Do you have any meds you can take? I know you’ve had trouble sleeping before.” 

Ilya nodded roughly and straightened. “Yes, yes. I will take more tonight, I promise,” he said. He sounded a little better, more awake, and Shane assumed it was because he’d finally admitted he wasn’t feeling his best.

“We can stay here all day tomorrow, if you want. No dinner in town. I might have over-ordered on the food anyway…” Shane trailed off as he squinted at the still very packed pantry. Ilya chuckled and squeezed his hand before turning to go upstairs. 

“Yes, just us. Let’s stay here,” he called backwards. “Be right back.” 

As promised Ilya was back moments later and Shane watched as he popped something into his mouth and threw back an entire glass of water. He then piled his plate high and waltzed to the dinner table. Shane followed.

It was only after Ilya had wandered into the living room to pick out a movie for the night that Shane noticed he barely put a dent in the food on his plate. He frowned as he scraped almost three quarters of what Ilya had served himself in the garbage. He must not be feeling well at all, to have such little appetite. 

The movie was once again unremarkable, but tonight Shane found himself more focused on Ilya. He’d pulled Shane into an identical configuration as the night before and held him just tightly enough that Shane couldn’t turn around and look at him. This didn’t keep Shane from noticing the way Ilya seemed tense and stiff for the full two hours, barely offering up any commentary to the ridiculousness of the movie. 

Shane wanted to ask about it, but the second the film was over Ilya was halfway up the stairs. Shane hurried to make sure the house was locked up and the lights were off, and by the time he made it to their bedroom Ilya was already curled up under the sheets, facing away from the door. Shane bit his lip and headed into the bathroom, quickly brushing his teeth and washing his face for bed. 

With the lights turned off he carefully made his way across the room and slid under the covers. Ilya immediately rolled over and pulled him close, laying his head against his chest. Shane felt a bit of the tension in him release at the action. At least he didn’t seem upset at Shane. 

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispered against his collarbone. He sounded exhausted and sad, and Shane immediately reached up to pet his hair and soothe him. 

“It’s ok, it’s not your fault,” he said quietly. Ilya seemed to curl closer, his left hand lightly gripping Shane’s undershirt. “We’ll stay here all day tomorrow and you can rest, ok?” 

Ilya barely hummed a response, and Shane dropped his hand from his hair to wrap around Ilya’s shoulder and hold him tighter. He drifted off to sleep not long after, with Ilya still against his chest. 

When he woke the next morning, he was alone. He could hear the shower running in the ensuite and he stretched out to see the time. It was just after 8am, much earlier than when Ilya had woken the last two days. Maybe he was feeling better. Maybe it was just because it was his birthday. 

By the time Ilya got out of the shower and came downstairs, Shane had put together a breakfast spread worthy of the occasion. Ilya looked more refreshed than he had the previous two days, but Shane could tell there was still something off. He seemed almost too alert, eyes darting everywhere and fingers drumming on his thighs as he walked. 

Still, he smiled when he saw Shane and pulled him in for a hug. Shane tried to sneakily feel for his temperature, but Ilya was gone as soon as he arrived, pulling himself onto one of the stools at the island with a sigh. 

“So, what are we doing today?” he asked, eyes tired, as Shane sat down on the stool next to him. 

“Oh, well. I was thinking maybe just go down to the dock and enjoy the sun a bit?” he offered. He spooned some eggs onto his plate and started adding jam to a piece of toast. Ilya reached over and grabbed his own piece of toast, eating it slowly with nothing on it. 

“That sounds perfect,” he mumbled. He was staring out the window towards the lake, which was shimmering in the morning sun. “I think today will be perfect.” 

“Yeah, we can do that,” Shane laughed lightly. “A perfect birthday. Happy birthday, by the way. How does it feel to be twenty-three?” 

Ilya’s eyes narrowed and he frowned around another bite of dry toast. “It feels… hmmm. I do not know how it feels,” he said softly. Shane nodded and dragged his toast through the egg yolk on his plate.

“Yeah, it hasn’t been that different than twenty-two, honestly,” he said with a shrug. He watched Ilya nod and turn away from the window. 

“Not that different,” he repeated quietly. Shane reached out and squeezed his thigh. Ilya didn’t seem to really notice. They finished their breakfast in silence, and Ilya ate almost none of it. 

Shane hadn’t actually intended to spend the entire day on the dock. He’d planned for them to go on another hike, though he’d shortened the distance in his head considerably based on Ilya’s condition. He’d also dragged the kayaks back out to the edge of the yard with the intention of drifting around the lake again. 

Ilya, however, seemed to take what Shane had said at breakfast to heart. He followed Shane down to the dock and collapsed heavily in a lounge chair and proceeded to remain there for hours. Shane brought out a book and sat next to him, occasionally checking in to gauge if he was bored and ready to move on. He was met every time with a gentle shake of his head. 

Ilya did come up to the house with him for lunch. Shane made tuna melts because Ilya had made them for him at his house before. He was pleased to see Ilya eat almost a whole sandwich as well as some apple slices. After lunch he went upstairs for a bit and reemerged with a new shirt and a sharpness in his eyes that Shane didn't recognize. 

“Back to the dock, please,” he said as he moved to the backdoor. Shane blinked in shock. 

“That’s… that’s it? That’s all you want to do?” he asked carefully. Ilya, who had reached the door and was sliding it open, looked back with a frown. 

“Do we have to do something else?” he asked. Shane shook his head and grabbed his book again. 

“I guess not,” he said with a shrug. He came up behind Ilya and took the hand that was bracing itself against the doorframe. It was clammy and seemed to be shaking a bit. “Are you still feeling sick?” 

“Yes,” Ilya admitted quietly. “Sick.” 

Shane hummed and walked back to the dock slowly. “That’s ok. I’m sorry you ended up sick on your birthday,” he soothed. “I hope you’re still having some fun, at least.” 

Ilya lowered himself back into his lounge chair and released Shane’s hand. He was frowning, like he was trying to figure out what to say. Shane sat back down as well and opened his book. He didn’t really have an issue with this being how they spent Ilya’s birthday. He just wanted Ilya to enjoy it. 

Two hours later Ilya suddenly sat straight up in his chair with a gasp. Shane yelped and fumbled his book, turning to look at Ilya in shock. He was pale, his lips chapped like he’d been licking at them all day, and his eyes were staring out across the water like he’d seen a ghost. 

“What, what’s wrong?” Shane gasped. Ilya blinked rapidly, glancing at Shane before his eyes darted back across the water. 

“Did you… no,” he stuttered. He sank back into the chair and squeezed his eyes closed. “Nothing. It is nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing,” Shane huffed, his heart rate slowing down enough to make room for some annoyance. “You just sacred the fuck out of me.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Ilya sighed, eyes still closed. Shane frowned and reached over, finally feeling his head for a temperature. 

“Ilya, you are burning up,” he admonsided. “You’re worse than you’ve been saying, I knew it.” 

“I’m fine, Shane,” he mumbled back, but he didn’t open his eyes. Shane shook his head and stood. 

“You’re sick, you should be in bed. It’s going to be cold out here soon anyway. Let’s go inside, I can make some soup and you can go to sleep early,” he suggested. He held out his hand for Ilya to take, and the other man’s eyes fluttered open. They fixed on the outstretched hand but it took him nearly a minute to reach up and take it. 

The walk back to the house was slow, and Shane tried his best to squash down the disappointment and anger he was feeling. Disappointment that the trip had taken such an unfortunate turn with Ilya getting some kind of cold or flu. Anger at him refusing to admit he was sick until it got this bad. 

He tried to get Ilya to sit down while he went upstairs to get whatever meds he’d been taking, but Ilya just held onto his sleeve and insisted he would take more before he went to bed. Shane acquiesced, but only because Ilya looked so sad when he tried to walk away. 

By the time he finished the soup and watched Ilya force down a total of six spoonfuls, the sun had gone down. He sighed and leaned against the table, turning the spoon in his own bowl in circles. 

“I got you an ice cream cake, but I don’t know if you’re in the mood for it tonight,” he said wryly. Ilya barely reacted, his eyes wandering unfocused. Shane set the spoon down. 

“I think maybe we should go to a doctor tomorrow,” he suggested. “I don’t think whatever you’re taking is helping.” 

“It’s supposed to though,” Ilya mumbled. His head swayed until he met Shane’s eyes, and Shane felt a sharp pang of worry at how glossy they were. “That was the deal.” 

Shane frowned, unable to fully understand what Ilya meant by that. “Well, I still think we should go. I’m not very helpful here at this point.” 

Ilya shook his head decisively with a wince. “Always help,” he mumbled. Shane smiled weakly and pat Ilya’s hand, both of which were palms down on the table. Ilya looked up and Shane saw tears in his eyes. He cooed and came around to lean against the table to pull Ilya in for a hug. 

“Don’t cry, baby,” he said softly. Ilya’s head fell gently against his chest like it had the night before. “I know it sucks to be sick, but you’ll feel better soon.” He kissed Ilya’s curls and felt him puff out a breath against his skin. He pulled back and turned Ilya’s face up towards him. His eyes were closed.

“How about you head to bed? I’ll clean up down here, see if I can find the closest doctor. Maybe we’ll even be able to come back tomorrow afternoon for one more day, hm?” he said. Ilya didn’t respond but he nodded slowly. Shane pressed a kiss to his nose and pushed himself up from the table. Ilya watched him head back to the kitchen, eyes blinking rapidly. “Do you need help up the stairs?” 

Ilya shook his head and slowly rose from the table. Shane began brushing the discarded pieces of vegetable on the cutting boards into the trash and Ilya made his way through the kitchen. He felt Ilya’s hand brush against his back and heard him slowly ascend the stairs. 

It took about an hour to clear dinner and clean the kitchen to his liking. He spent some time digging through the pantry trying to decide what he would make tomorrow before the doctor. He knew Ilya didn’t have much of an appetite, but maybe some oatmeal wouldn’t be a problem. Then he pulled out his phone and searched the area for doctors that might be able to help Ilya on short notice. There was one in town that looked promising, and then a hospital fifteen minutes away if that ended up being necessary. Good. 

He grabbed the birthday present he’d gotten for Ilya from where he’d stashed it in the front closet, intending to give it to him before they went to sleep. He’d originally meant to do it at dinner, but it had slipped his mind. It wasn’t anything big, just a nice, high-end watch his eye had landed on while shopping with Rose when she was in town, but he wanted to give it to him on his birthday. It felt important, somehow. 

Finally Shane shut off all of the lights downstairs, made sure their shoes were lined up by the door, and headed upstairs to their bedroom.

When he walked inside, all of the lights were off and Ilya was a lump on the bed. Shane made his way quietly across the room and shut the door to the bathroom before turning on the light. He set the box with the watch down on the counter and made peace with the idea of giving it to him the next morning. 

It was early, but if Ilya wanted to rest then he would leave him to rest. Sleep was often the best medicine, Shane thought. He would brush his teeth and do his usual nightly routine, then join him in bed with his headphones in. It wasn’t exactly a thrilling end to a birthday, but that was alright. Some things couldn’t be helped. 

As Shane started brushing his teeth his eyes scanned the bathroom counter for whatever medication Ilya had been taking. It didn’t seem to be helping much, but they could ask the doctor about that. He knew he’d seen Ilya take something the previous night but hadn’t noticed a bottle or box anywhere. Ilya’s toothbrush and hairbrush were on the counter, but that was it. He opened up the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and found it completely empty. He opened the drawers under the sink. Nothing. Shane frowned. Where had he put those pills?

Shane finished with his routine and snapped the light in the bathroom off. He carefully made his way back across the bedroom towards the bed. The curtains were still open and while the sun had officially set the sky wasn’t totally dark. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light as he walked around to Ilya’s side of the bed, trying to see if he’d left his medication on the bedside table. 

Still nothing. Shane glanced at Ilya and saw that his eyes were closed, his mouth just barely open and slack. Shane swallowed. Something was off here. He couldn’t name it, but there was a feeling settling in his chest. Something heavy. 

Shane gently shook Ilya’s shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. He felt bad about disturbing him, but the need to find out what meds he was taking had become urgent. They didn’t even know what it was he was sick with yet, what if whatever he’d been taking was making it worse? “Ilya,” he whispered. Ilya didn’t stir. “Ilya, wake up.” 

Silence. The blood in Shane’s veins was turning to ice. His eyes darted around and landed on Ilya’s bag in the corner. Part of him felt guilty as he tiptoed across the floor towards it. He didn’t really have any right to be snooping through Ilya’s things for his medications, this was turning into a serious breach of his privacy. He might have abandoned the search and left it alone, but the nagging feeling of something being wrong pushed him forward. He would apologize later. 

He checked the front pockets, the side pockets, even flipped open the main compartment. Nothing in there but clothes. The something in his chest was getting heavier. 

“Ilya,” he said again, louder this time. Ilya didn’t move, didn’t react to the noise at all. Like he was dead to the world. Shane moved back to his side and put a hand to his forehead. He was sweaty, hotter than he’d been earlier. Fuck, he really was getting worse. What had been taking? 

Shane’s eyes landed on the bedside table’s drawer. He quietly opened it to find a couple of condoms, lube, an extra charger, and an airpod case. Shane almost closed it to continue searching elsewhere, but at the last moment he noticed two small bottles shoved way in the back. He fished them out, holding them up to read the labels. 

One was clear and about halfway full of little blue pills. The label told Shane that they were a generic, over-the-counter sleep aid. The other was an orange prescription bottle with only a couple of pills remaining. Shane held it up to his face and squinted at the label for a moment before turning on the bedside lamp, despite the possibility of it waking Ilya. He didn’t recognize the name of the medication, but the instructions read ‘Take once daily’. Quantity 30. Refilled: June 1, earlier that month. Original: July -

Shane blinked at the year that followed July. Three years ago? This couldn’t be for whatever he had now. And Shane had known Ilya for a year, he hadn’t been sick the whole time. What the fuck was this for? Shane reached for his phone, which he had set down on the bedside table, and ignored how his hand was shaking. He entered the name of the medication, careful to type it all out instead of using the autofill suggestion. Still, even knowing he’d spelled it perfectly, he double checked every letter as soon as the answer popped up. Because it simply couldn’t be right. 

An antidepressant. It was a prescription antidepressant, one that had been refilled two weeks ago. One that was supposed to have thirty pills in total, should still have at least fifteen left, and was already nearly empty. 

Shane’s head snapped to Ilya, who was still silent and unmoving. “Ilya,” he demanded. No response, not even an annoyed twitch. He dropped his phone and grabbed Ilya’s arm, no longer concerned about disturbing him. He needed to disturb him. “Ilya, wake up!” Nothing. 

Shane stood and pushed the other man onto his back. He could feel his own heart beating out of his chest as he tried to pry open Ilya’s eyelid, only to be met with the rolled back whites of his eyes. He sucked in a breath and let out a sob. “Oh fuck, no no no no,” he mumbled. He knew he was panicking but the fear was overwhelming. How long had Ilya been laying here like this while he had been fucking around downstairs, cleaning counters and staring at his phone?

“Ilya, baby, I need you to wake up!” He was screaming, and there were tears in his eyes, so he couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw Ilya’s face move. He frantically placed a shaking finger to his pulse point but couldn’t tell if he felt anything or not. “I am fucking begging you, Ilya, wake up!” 

This time he was sure Ilya flinched, just barely. He let out a gasping sob as he scrambled to pick up his discarded phone and dial 911. The phone rang a few times as he tried to control his crying and continue to seek out a pulse. 

“911, where is your emergency?” 

Shane wasn’t sure afterwards what all he said on that call. He figured it was recorded somewhere. He hoped he’d never hear it. He did know that the operator promised him that the paramedics were on the way and stayed on the line with him. She helped him confirm that Ilya was in fact breathing. At one point Ilya’s eyes flickered open, looking dazed and far away before slipping closed again with a drawn out moan of pain. 

“Good, that’s good,” he’d remember her saying as he babbled this information into the phone. “He’s alive, Shane. You’re doing everything you can.” 

It hadn’t felt like he was doing everything he could. He remembered stumbling over the name of the medication, not having any answers about how long he’d been on it beyond the original prescription date, when he usually took them. He felt like he’d been no help at all. 

The paramedics arrived in seven minutes, and it was without a doubt the longest seven minutes of his life. If he hadn’t at least been able to confirm Ilya was still breathing, he wasn’t sure he would have survived. He heard them break down the door and immediately started screaming for them to come upstairs. 

He didn’t remember much after that either, only that he ended up in the waiting room of the hospital at some point, one of Ilya’s hoodie’s pulled over his undershirt and slippers on his feet. He was clutching his phone and his head was pounding, and a cup of water was being pressed into his hands. He looked up to see an older nurse smiling at him with sympathy before walking away. 

Shane sat on an uncomfortable chair in that waiting room for over an hour, staring into space. He didn’t text anyone, didn’t make any calls. He didn’t know what to say or who to say it to. The whole thing felt like a terrible, horrible dream, and yet it was all falling into place right in front of him. 

It made perfect sense in hindsight. Depression. Diagnosed and medicated. Ilya had never mentioned it once in the year he’d known the other man, but that wasn’t surprising. His pride would never allow it. But the pills, there was no way they were working correctly. Shane had never been this close to someone with depression, but this couldn’t be the intended outcome. If he was being treated, if he was on antidepressants, how had it come to this? 

Shane’s heart ached along with his head and he sagged into the chair. Almost a year and he’d never noticed. Or, well, that wasn’t quite true. He’d noticed something. He’d just never asked for the details. He’d turned a blind eye, hid behind the idea that it wasn’t his place to pry. What a coward he was. 

“Mr. Hollander?” Shane’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. A woman in a white coat was standing in front of him, looking as though she might have been trying to get his attention for a while. 

“Sorry, that’s me,” he replied as he rushed to stand. The woman smiled gently and held out her hand. He shook it, only mildly embarrassed by how sweaty it was. 

“Nothing to apologize for,” she said, voice soft and kind. She gestured towards the doors that led into the wing of the emergency room. “Walk with me?” 

He followed without a word. 

Ilya had been in a hospital before, and hospitals have a lot of similarities. It was a good thing too, since he wasn’t sure he’d have any clue where he was if not for the beeping of the heart monitor and unique scent of hospital cleanliness that assaulted his nose as soon as he woke up. He squinted in the strange light of the room, dark except for a soft glow coming from the other side of a thin curtain. He forced his head, which felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, to turn on the thin pillow. 

“Ilya,” a soft voice whispered. A hand was suddenly in his and he squeezed instinctually. “Holy fuck, Ilya. Thank god.” 

He knew that voice. It was his favorite voice in the world. “Shane,” he croaked out. His throat felt raw and his mouth was dry. He felt movement next to him before a piece of ice was pressed to his chapped lips. He opened greedily and nearly moaned as the cold soothed the ache in his mouth and throat. 

“Shh, you’re alright,” Shane whispered. Ilya forced his eyes open again. This time he was face to face with one Shane Hollander, eyes rimmed with red and jaw tight. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbled. Shane blinked in surprise, which Ilya thought was unfair. He called him beautiful all the time. Though often not outloud. A tear escaped Shane’s eye and he reached up to wipe at it harshly. Why would he be crying about being called beautiful? 

Memory of the day slammed into Ilya like a truck, and if there had been anything at all in his stomach he would have heaved it right back up. As it was he could hear the heart rate monitor pick up speed and felt his own chest rising and falling much too fast. 

“Ilya, calm down, it’s ok,” Shane was saying. Ilya shook his head. It wasn’t ok. It wasn’t ok at all. He was in the hospital because… because he’d- 

The week had started so nice. Seeing that cottage had felt like coming home, even though he’d never been. Shane had been so thoughtful and sweet to bring him there and share such a treasured place with him. 

He’d give anything to go back to Monday. Monday had possibly been one of the greatest days of his life. He remembered feeling like he was flying, like nothing could ever bring him down. He should have known that meant the fall was right around the corner. 

It started Monday night. He’d known what it was in his bones, years of this feeling creeping in and crushing his will to get out of bed, to move, to live. He’d refused to admit it. He was on a trip with Shane, for once in his life he could fight it off. He was in control of his body and his mind, he wouldn’t let the feeling in. 

He failed, like he’d failed every time before. There were moments where it improved a bit but only briefly. Shane asked if he was sick and he couldn’t answer with the truth. That he was and is and always will be, that it was a sickness he was sure he shared with his mother that he’d been trying to manage for years. That the management demanded a higher cost than the illness at times and Ilya had always been selfish. 

He started taking the drugs on Tuesday. He hadn’t wanted to because he’d wanted to fuck Shane on every surface of the house and knew one of the worst side effect of the pills had always been a drastic drop in his libido. It wasn’t fair that they were going to have five whole days together and he wouldn’t be able to get it up for the rest of the trip. 

Still, he figured it was better to be alert and happy and unable to have sex than unable to get up at all. But the pills didn’t help. It was like he was swallowing mints for all they were doing. Wednesday had dawned and the thought of doing anything at all had made him almost violently sick. He could barely force down a piece of toast from the beautiful breakfast spread Shane had prepared. Which he then proceeded to feel horrible and ungrateful about being unable to eat.

Shane had told him they would be going to a doctor the next day. Ilya hadn’t been able to admit that he wasn’t sick, not like how Shane thought he was. He’d had the flu before and this wasn’t it. The flu had never caused him to see his mother, waving at him from the end of the dock, her golden hair shining in the sunlight like the water on the lake.

He hoped the doctor wouldn’t ask him how many pills he’d ended up taking. He’d lost count by the time he dragged himself upstairs on Shane’s orders to rest. They hadn’t been working. They were dreadful and he hated them and what they did to him but the whole point was that they were supposed to make the feeling of drowning in his own skin go away and they. Hadn’t. Been. Working. 

Now, sitting in a hospital room across from Shane Hollander, whose eyes were puffy and red rimmed, whose lip was trembling as he pressed a call button next to the bed to summon help, it was clear to Ilya that the solution his mind had conjured had not been the smartest. The pills weren’t working. ‘Take more’, his traitorous brain had whispered. ‘Take more and maybe these ones will work. You’ve never taken them like this, to get yourself out of a hole already dug too deep. Try it. Take more.’ 

He knew better, he did. There was always a limit to how much you could take of anything, cocaine, alcohol, prescription medication. He’d learned that at a young age, and despite his many, many problems, he would never- 

“I would never,” he wheezed out as his hand flailed to grab Shane’s arm. Shane’s head snapped to meet his eyes and he quickly grasped Ilya’s wrist. “I would never, never,” he babbled. 

“Shh, it’s ok,” Shane insisted. His eyes were wide with worry and fear and Ilya loathed himself for putting it there. “The nurse is coming, please calm down.”

“No, no, no, I would never-” Ilya almost sobbed, shaking his head. He couldn’t explain, the words caught in his dry mouth. He would never do this, not on purpose. Not to Svetlana, or Hayes, or Cliff. Not to Troy or Wiebe or Scott fucking Hunter. Not to Shane Hollander. 

“Mr. Rozanov, can you take a deep breath for me?” When did a nurse get here? How long had he been begging Shane with barely completed sentences to believe that he would never, not if he could help it? He couldn’t be sure. His eyes flickered to the nurse, an older lady with a kind smile and likely the patience of a saint. She gently took his hand and pried it off of Shane’s arm, who was staring at him with wide eyes. She helped him sit back on the bed as he sucked in a breath and released it slowly. 

“Good, thank you!” she said with a grin. She straightened and looked over at Shane, addressing him. “The doctor will be in soon, can I go ahead and check his vitals?” Shane’s eyes darted to her, then back to Ilya. He nodded jerkily when Ilya made no move to respond or take his own eyes off of Shane. 

The woman was clearly a veteran at her job and went through the motions efficiently. “Well things look about where we’d want them after an overdose, so that’s great news,” she said softly. “Obviously we will have some questions to make sure we’re looking at all the right things but you being awake and alert is a wonderful sign. The rest will follow, hm?” 

Overdose. After years of partying with hard drugs and alcohol, he’d finally fucking overdosed. On the one medication that was supposed to help him. Figures. 

Ilya’s mind was wandering and suddenly the nurse was gone and Shane was speaking. He forced himself to listen, to pay attention. Shane was muttering, the volume low, and it took Ilya a second to realize he wasn’t speaking to him at all. 

“Thank god, thank fucking god, jesus fucking christ,” he kept repeating, different variations. His hands were folded in his lap and his head was down. Ilya tried to reach for him but his limbs felt a little too heavy and Shane wasn’t looking and missed him trying. 

“Mr. Rozanov?” Ilya blinked and there was another woman in front of him. Shane was looking at her attentively. An image of  him holding a clipboard with little glasses perched on his nose came to Ilya’s mind. He’d have made a great doctor in another life. 

“How are you feeling, Mr. Rozanov?” the doctor asked. Ilya licked his lips and frowned. 

“Ilya,” he managed. “Call me Ilya.”

“Of course,” the woman continued without reaction. “And you can call me Marie, or Doctor Sanderson. Whichever you prefer. If you’re up to it, I’d like to talk you through some things, ask some questions. Is that alright, or should I come back later?” 

Ilya pondered the question before nodding slowly. “Now, please,” he mumbled. The sooner he knew the situation the sooner he could leave. He needed to leave. 

The doctor, Marie, looked over at Shane and opened her mouth but Ilya knew what she was going to say. “He stays,” he cut in. Shane swallowed heavily but met Ilya's gaze. “He stays, please.” 

Marie smiled. “Great, not a problem. So based on our labs it looks like you had far more than the prescribed dose of your antidepressant in your system. Now usually this could cause a variety of symptoms, but I think your situation might have been complicated by the addition of sleeping pills. Does that sound right?” 

Ilya bit his lip and nodded. “The pills… they make it hard to sleep,” he mumbled. She nodded once, no sign of judgement on her face. He dared not look at Shane. 

“Insomnia is a common side effect for this particular drug. How long have you had this prescription?” 

Ilya frowned. “Um, three years. But I never take.” At this she paused and glanced up from where she was writing her notes. 

“You never take the sleeping pills?” Ilya shook his head. 

“I never take the other ones. I hate them. But I needed them and they weren’t working,” he tried to explain. He realized he wasn’t making any sense. 

To his surprise, Marie was nodding like something finally clicked for her. “I see. So you aren’t regularly taking the antidepressants as prescribed?” Ilya shook his head.” And when the insomnia associated with the medication kicked in, you took sleeping pills to mitigate that symptom. Does that seem right?”

Ilya nodded. “I just wanted to sleep, I wasn’t trying to…” he mumbled. She patted his knee gently and stood, turning to address both of them. 

“You got help quickly and you’re already looking like you’ll be in good enough shape to leave tomorrow. In the grand scheme of things, it could have been much worse.” She pursed her lips and turned to look Ilya directly in the eyes. “But you should keep that in mind, young man. Antidepressants are prescribed in a very particular dosage for a reason. Taking them inconsistently can be extremely dangerous, and taking a lot of them at once also doesn’t speed up or increase their effects.”

Ilya knew this. He wasn’t stupid, no medication worked like that. But it had all been so muddy and he’d been so desperate to not feel the way he was feeling. How could he explain that?

Marie continued. “Have you been back to see your prescribing doctor recently? I might recommend switching to a different medication or dose if this one is causing such bad side effects for you.” 

Ilya scrunched up his nose. A different medication? There were other medications he could take? Would they not cause the same problems? He’d gone to the psychiatrist once with his father and then never again. Should he have been going back? 

“I’ll make sure he goes back,” Shane offered when Ilya did not respond. He looked exhausted, like listening to the doctor had taken the last of his adrenaline. He was sunk back in his chair, picking at his nails. 

“Great. I’ll see you both again in a couple of hours, drink some water and get some rest. Goodnight Ilya, Mr. Hollander” she said as she walked out of the room. And then they were alone. 

Ilya had no idea what to say. He needed Shane to know. He hadn’t meant to… he would never mean to….

“That was really fucking scary, Ilya,” Shane whispered suddenly. Ilya realized his eyes had been drifting a bit, and when he locked back on Shane the other man was staring down at the floor, his hands gripping the armrests. 

“I am sorry,” he offered, knowing it was weak. It was all he could offer, though. He was sorry. He was sorry Shane had to rush him to the hospital. He was sorry he had ruined their trip. He was sorry he needed medication not to be sad all the time and that he wasn’t taking that medication because it made other things worse. He was so, so sorry. 

Shane nodded once and swallowed. “I know. Get some sleep, we can talk tomorrow. Ok?” 

Ilya had already been trying hard to keep his eyes open, and now that he’d received permission from Shane to sleep he felt like a puppet with its strings cut. His eyes fell closed and he tried to get comfortable on the miserable hospital bed with a sigh. 

As he tumbled into sleep he was just able to feel Shane’s hand slip into his. 

Chapter End Notes

Summary: Shane and Ilya go to the cottage for Ilya's birthday. The first day goes great but afterwards Ilya starts to appear sick, fatigued, moody, and lethargic. Shane starts asking about his health and Ilya insists he is fine and is taking medication. On Ilya's birthday he finally admits he isn't feeling well and Shane suggests they see a doctor the following morning and Ilya goes to bed. When Shane comes upstairs he finds Ilya unresponsive with a nearly empty bottle of antidepressants and sleeping pills nearby. He calls 911, who take Ilya to the hospital. Ilya wakes up and begs Shane to understand his overdose was not intentional, but is having a hard time communicating this. Shane is incredibly shaken by this chain of events and the discovery that Ilya has been treated (however poorly) for depression.

Next week: It's all too much, isn't it?

Chapter 16

Chapter Summary

Right person, wrong time.

Chapter Notes

FINALLY time for them to talk. Will they actually arrive at any well informed, beneficial conclusions? In some ways, maybe.

Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos, I very much appreciate them :)

The drive back to the cottage was silent. Awkward maybe wasn’t the word to describe it. The silence was so much thicker, the space between them much wider than what could be described by the word ‘awkward’. They were together for the fifteen minute drive, but they might as well have been in two separate cars. It was clear there was so much to say, but the rental car wasn’t the place to start saying it. 

After the doctor had come in to speak with them and Ilya had fallen back asleep, Shane made a largely unsuccessful attempt to process what had happened. He’d been so wrapped up in fear before that he felt almost like he was missing time. He didn’t really remember driving himself to the hospital, but he’d found a parking receipt in his pocket that insisted he must have. He probably shouldn’t have driven in the state he was in. Oh well. 

He likely got a little sleep in that horrible chair next to Ilya’s bed at some point because the morning came faster than it should have. Another nurse came in, a young man this time, and checked all the same things they checked the night before. Heart rate, temperature, blood pressure. A little high, normal, normal. Was he feeling sore, did his head hurt, was he feeling nauseous? A bit, yes, not anymore. 

Shane picked up bits and pieces of what people were saying. They’d given Ilya activated charcoal to absorb the medication and he had been on an IV drip all night. His explanation to the doctor had been enough to convince everyone that he wasn’t a danger to himself, that it had been a genuine accident, though they made him swear up and down that he’d seek further treatment. His medical team seemed happy with how he was doing physically, and he was cleared to check out by 11am. They’d been there for just over 14 hours. They could go home. 

Home. Shane was driving them to the home they were sharing for the week. The one he had booked for their trip, the one where he had spent many childhood summers. The one where Ilya had almost died. 

The doctor had gone into detail the next time she stopped in about all of the potential symptoms of an overdose for the medication Ilya was on. His reaction had been on the extreme side, but she theorized the reason it had looked as bad as it had was because Ilya had also taken the sleeping pills. Mixing them with the antidepressants, which were already causing fever and nausea and confusion, likely led to his unresponsiveness. They couldn’t be sure, of course. Ilya couldn’t give them details on how many pills he’d taken or when, mumbling about how the whole previous day was fuzzy. But the doctor kept reassuring Shane he’d done the right thing, and acted as fast as he could. This information didn’t make Shane feel any better. 

Shane helped sign Ilya out of the hospital, though Ilya had to sign most of the forms himself since Shane wasn’t related to him in any tangible way. He was lucky they’d let him into the room, let him be a part of the conversation with the doctor. They didn’t technically owe him any of that. 

Once they were finally done with the paperwork, Shane grabbed a wheelchair and gestured for Ilya to take a seat and allow himself to be wheeled to the car. Ilya had opened his mouth to protest, but seemed to see something in Shane’s face that suggested it would be useless. He sat down without a word. 

Pulling into the driveway of the cottage felt alien. Shane stared at the front door and couldn’t stop the memories from coming back in flashes. The way the ambulance lights bounced off the windows. The sound of the tires on the gravel as it sped out onto the road carrying a barely conscious Ilya. The suffocating feeling in his chest as he stood at the end of the driveway and stared after it like a moron. 

He unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed himself out of the car without a word. He needed air. He leaned over with his hands on his knees and tried to focus on his breathing like his mom had taught him when he was an anxious child. Inhale slowly, hold for three, exhale. Repeat. 

He heard the other door of the car close, then the crunch of Ilya’s shoes on the gravel as he walked around. “I’m fine,” Shane gasped. He held up a hand and waved at the front door. “Just a second, I’m fine.” 

Ilya didn’t respond, but he didn’t move inside either. Shane could tell he was leaning gently against the Jeep, waiting for him. Shane straightened with a shuddering breath. Ilya needed to lay down and rest. If he wouldn’t go inside without him, then Shane needed to get inside. He walked quickly across the driveway and up the front steps, only to barely hold back a sob at the sight of the door. The lock was busted, kicked in by the paramedics. It had been hanging loosely open all night.

“I’m gonna have to call,” he started before choking on the lump in his throat. The owner of the cottage. He had to call the owner, let him know the door was broken. He’d have to decide on a story, he couldn’t tell him the whole truth. Maybe he could just say medical emergency and that would be enough. It was one, after all.  

He felt Ilya climb the steps slowly behind him and reach around to push open the door all the way. “Later, I think,” Ilya whispered softly. Shane nodded once and stepped inside without looking at the other man. He was too afraid he would burst into tears again and he really couldn’t afford that at this point. 

“Upstairs. You, upstairs,” he forced out as he headed towards the kitchen. “I’ll be up with some food, and, and some tea, but you need to go lay down. Right now.” He winced at his tone. He knew he sounded bossy but he really needed a few minutes alone before trying to talk to Ilya. 

“Ok,” came Ilya’s quiet reply. Shane leaned against the countertop and listened as Ilya walked up the stairs. Just like he had last night. Fuck, had that only been last night? 

Food, he could make food. Ilya should be starving, he’d barely eaten for the last couple of days. They’d said his throat might be sore but otherwise no reason not to eat. Shane pushed himself off of the counter and wiped at his eyes. He felt like he had been crying for days. His head ached from dehydration and he shakily poured himself a glass of water after dropping four slices of bread in the toaster. 

Having something to do was helping. Sitting in that waiting room and then sitting in that hospital room, Shane had no avenue to be useful. He could do nothing but sit and wait. Usually he could handle that, he’d done it dozens of times on set, but he had never hated sitting and waiting more in his life. 

Shane had known Ilya for almost a year and he had never once mentioned that he was on any medication, let alone antidepressants. He’d figured the mood swings, the unpredictable behavior, had just been part of being a rockstar with the weight of fame on his shoulders. Perhaps the side effects of a rough childhood. It was so clear now that there had been something wrong, and that Ilya had been going out of his way to hide it from him.

He thought back to when he’d asked Ilya for honesty. So much for that, he thought hysterically. He immediately squashed that thought down with shame. Ilya didn’t owe him every part of himself in the name of a contract, certainly not his medical history. Keeping things for himself wasn’t the same as lying. He was being unfair. 

By the time the tea was brewed and the toast was ready, he felt ready to talk. As ready as he ever would be. He set everything on a tray and carried it up the stairs with a heavy sigh. 

Ilya was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at something in his hands. “I thought I said you needed to lay down,” Shane grumbled. It was a particularly weak attempt to tease, but it fell flat on its face when Ilya looked up guiltily. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled before shuffling up the mattress to sit against the headboard. Shane sighed and set the tray down in the center of the bed. He stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands and saw the still wrapped present he had gotten Ilya sitting next to the sink. He stared at it for a moment, wishing so badly that he could go back to the last time he’d been holding it, when Ilya just had a bad cold. Before the pills and the paramedics and the hours of mind numbing fear. 

Shane emerged from the bathroom to see Ilya nibbling at the toast on his plate, half of the tea in his cup already gone. Good, at least the nausea seemed to have gone away. Shane carefully sat at the foot of the bed and took a tiny bite of his own toast. He could barely taste it, but that was ok. It wasn’t important right now. 

They sat and ate their meager breakfast in silence, barely looking at each other. Once there was no more toast left on his plate and no more tea left in his cup, he knew he needed to stop procrastinating. They had a lot of ground to cover. He nodded at Ilya’s left hand, which had been closed into a fist the whole time he had been eating. 

“What were you looking at, when I came in?” Shane asked. Ilya blinked and looked down at his hand like he’d forgotten he had anything at all. He slowly opened it to reveal the cross necklace, the one Shane remembered had once belonged to his mother.  “Oh, yeah. They took it off of you when they… the paramedics, I mean. They kind of shoved it at me, so I put it on the bedside table,” he explained carefully. 

Ilya traced the line of it in his palm. “I am glad it was here. I was worried I lost it,” he mused. “The clasp is broken.” 

“They ripped it off your neck. It kept getting in the way. When they were…” Shane whispered, unable to finish what he was trying to say. He was gripping his knees now, and could feel the tears returning to his eyes. Ilya shook his head and set the necklace down again. 

“It’s ok, I will get a new chain. The cross is what matters,” he sighed. Shane bit his lip and released a shaky breath. He had no idea where to begin. But Ilya beat him to it. 

“She was a believer, you know. Always went to church, used to take me and Alexei. My father never went, he was always working. I liked it that way because she would take us to the park after and I could feed the ducks.” He paused, scoffed. “Alexei called me пидор one time. It is like a slur for being gay. Because I wanted to sit with mama and feed the ducks.” He smiled, eyes far away. “I never saw mama so mad.” 

Despite Shane’s emotional turmoil, a hot lance of rage ran through him at the idea of Ilya’s own brother calling him a slur just because he wanted to feed some ducks. No wonder he wanted to stay in Boston with Svetlana. 

Ilya continued wistfully, “I have some pictures of her, but otherwise this is it. The rest of her is back in Moscow. Papa stopped letting me and Alexei visit her when I was fourteen. I will probably never go back now.” He looked Shane in the eyes, his gaze clear and determined. 

“She died when I was twelve. I found her in her bed. And then Alexei found me, screaming. She was so sad at the end. We barely saw her for days at a time. She was very sick.” He swallowed. “I think I have it too, the same sickness. When my father took me to get medication I thought maybe he was admitting it. That she had been sick and she never got help and this time he would get help before it was too late.” 

Shane felt as though there was a rock resting on his lungs. “Your father took you to a psychiatrist?” he asked carefully. Ilya nodded and took another bite of toast, his gaze thoughtful. 

“Yes, after I had, mmmm. Breakdown? Maybe that is the word. First year in LA, soon after we got there. I don’t remember the visit but then I had the pills and papa told me to take them when I got too sad.” 

Shane was sure that the sadness lodging in his chest would never go away, more sure with every word from Ilya’s mouth. “You don’t remember what you talked about with the doctor, or why they prescribed this medication?” he asked. 

Ilya tilted his head in confusion. “Not specifics. I assumed they gave it to me because it would help. And sometimes it did. I thought this was how they were supposed to work.” He pursed his lips. “This is not what the doctor said today though. So now I am… confused.”

Shane winced and he reached out to squeeze Ilya’s knee. “Ilya, I am so sorry. Antidepressants, they’re notorious for being challenging. You should have been going back, talking about the side effects, seeing if something else might work better for you. How did you even keep getting the prescription refilled if you never went back?” 

Ilya shrugged and refused to meet Shane’s eye. “I do not know. They were delivered to my house, many bottles at a time. I never thought about it.” 

Grigori Rozanov had better never step foot in North America again. Better yet, he better never leave Moscow again. If he did and Shane had the chance, he’d ring the man’s miserable neck and not feel a damn thing about it. How had he done it? How much money had it cost him, money he was making off of his son’s hard work, to get some doctor to keep refilling a prescription without being seen again? 

“Ok,” Shane breathed out. He looked at the necklace laying on the bedside table. “And your mother, she was depressed too?” 

Ilya bit his lip in thought. “No one ever used this word, but I think yes. She did not have any medication for it though because papa did not believe her. Called her lazy, said she just did not want to raise her children,” he whispered. His eyes darted to Shane, whose blood ran cold again at the desperate look in his eyes. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose, Shane,” he pleaded. “I would never… I couldn’t. Not to you, or our friends. I…” He released a shaky breath. “Papa always said it was an accident when she died but I know it was not. He knew it too, just would not admit it. And I love my mama, she was the best person in the world, but some days I am so angry she left me even though I know she was so sad, so I need you to know I would never-” 

Shane shoved the tray, now holding empty plates covered in crumbs, to the floor. He crawled across the space between them and threw his arms around Ilya’s shoulder, crushing his body to his own as Ilya started to sob. Plates and crumbs could be cleaned up later. 

“Shhh, okay. Okay, I hear you. I believe you, I promise, but I need you to breathe for me,” he whispered in Ilya's ear as his own eyes squeezed close and he fought to speak around the sorrow in his chest.

It took a few minutes for Ilya to calm down but Shane didn’t mind. He wondered when was the last time Ilya had allowed himself to cry for his mother, both out of love for the woman he remembered and anger for the one who left him. Not while his father was around, surely. And when had there been time after he was gone? 

“I don’t blame her. I don’t,” Ilya sniffled against Shane’s collarbone. “I know what it is like to feel like she felt and it is so fucking hard. And she was much more alone than I have ever been. I should have tried harder to help her-” 

“Don’t you dare put that on yourself,” Shane chastised, sitting back to look Ilya in the eyes. His face was red and puffy from crying, and his nose was running. He was so beautiful. “You were a child. There was nothing you could have done.” 

Ilya sighed and nodded slowly. “I know. Sometimes it is hard to remember.” 

Shane hummed and stroked his face. Ilya leaned his cheek into his palm and let his eyes fall closed. Despite how much he just wanted to curl up and sleep next to Ilya for the rest of the day, he knew he couldn’t leave it here, not yet.  

“Do any of your bandmates know? About the pills, or your mom?”

Ilya’s eyes fluttered open and he frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. “No. Well, they know mama died but not details. Svetlana likely has suspicions, but she does not know the whole of it. I never told her, or the others.” 

“Why?” Shane asked quietly. Ilya rolled his eyes. 

“Because I am leader, frontman, rockstar. They depend on me, and I have sickness that makes me undependable. I cannot tell them this.” 

“Ilya,” Shane scolded, “they are your friends. They would all sooner walk away from the industry than let you suffer.” But Ilya was already shaking his head. 

“And I do not want that. They work very hard, they do not need to worry about me. Besides, I am fine almost always. Not like mama.” 

Shane pursed his lips and considered his next words carefully. Ilya looked exhausted, but Shane couldn’t let him rest yet. Ilya was stubborn, one of the more stubborn people Shane knew, but he couldn’t give in. Not on this. 

“Ilya,” he said softly. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you can’t go on like this. It’s too dangerous. You say you would never… you know. But what if it gets worse? What if the bad days start to outnumber the good? People need to know so they can help you.”

Ilya didn’t respond for a long while. His eyes were unfocused and staring across the room. His skin was pale and he likely could use a good shower after that night in the hospital. Finally he released a breath and a curt nod. 

“I do not want to die,” he declared. Shane’s lip wobbled and he pressed his head to Ilya’s shoulder.

“I don’t know how to help you,” he whispered. Ilya’s head turned slowly to look down at him and Shane felt his lips press against his forehead. 

“It is not your job to help me, Shane Hollander,” he mumbled into Shane’s hair. Shane barked an incredulous laugh.

“Isn’t it, kind of?” he replied, referring to the contract. Ilya shook his head.

“No. This is not for you or anyone to fix. Until today I thought maybe there was no fixing, just… outlasting. But maybe that isn’t true, maybe there is something someone can do.” 

Shane nodded. He wanted to argue that he could help, that there had to be something he could do. He thought he’d been helping on some level, but he hadn’t known the scope of it. He’d never once seen Ilya take any pills, not the antidepressants or the sleeping pills. God, how useless was he? 

If not him, then -“And talk to someone? Like a therapist or something? If you don’t want to burden your friends, which you wouldn’t be by the way, you need to at least have someone you can talk to,” Shane begged. His eyes flickered up to see Ilya frowning. “Maybe,” he offered, then seemed to see something in Shane’s eyes that made him sag. “Ok, yes. I will look into it.” 

Shane leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, gentle and sweet. “I don’t want you to die, either,” he mumbled between them. He felt more than heard Ilya release a shuddering breath under him. He sat back and tugged Ilya down so they were laying on their sides facing one another. 

One of Ilya’s hands came up and began tracing the freckles on Shane’s face, something he’d started doing a while ago. Shane didn’t even want to blink, too afraid that if he closed his eyes Ilya would be gone. Or dead. 

“I am sorry for scaring you, любимый,” Ilya whispered. His eyes were falling closed, he was losing the battle to stay awake. Shane wasn’t far behind. 

“You called me that the other night,” Shane whispered in reply. “What does it mean?”

Ilya hummed and let his hand fall to the bed between them. “I will tell you…” he mumbled, but he was already drifting. Shane reached up and gripped his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“Ok,” he said as his last bit of energy drained. “We’re ok.” 

The security line at the Ottawa airport was short but shockingly slow. As someone who had been on a lot of planes in his life, Ilya often struggled to understand why it felt like 90% of people were always taking their first flight. Statistically that simply couldn’t be the truth. 

It was Friday afternoon and they were flying back to Los Angeles. Their time at the cottage was over, and their time together at all was coming to an end. Shane was a step in front of him in the line, eyes locked on an email open on his phone as they shuffled slowly along. 

Ilya wasn’t sure what time they’d woken from their nap on Thursday. It was the first time in a long time he had fallen asleep without the use of any sleep aids, as he had flushed them all down the toilet the moment he walked into that bedroom. If the options were never sleep again or end up back in the hospital scaring the shit out of Shane, he’d figure out a way to live with no sleep. 

Shane had been awake when he’d opened his eyes, one arm tucked under a pillow and the other drawing circles on Ilya’s arm. When he’d met Ilya’s gaze Ilya had felt nothing but shame knowing he was the cause for the sadness so clearly reflected there. 

They hadn’t talked much for the rest of that day. Ilya had already shared more in that room than he had with anyone else alive, and he’d run out of things to say. Shane was obviously trying to work through everything, and Ilya tried to give him space and brace for questions.

Only the questions never came, at least not the ones Ilya was anticipating. Instead it was what do you want for dinner? Did you want to watch a movie? Will you be ok to fly tomorrow? 

Nothing about the depression, why he hadn’t told Shane about it, what the fuck he’d been thinking when he’d taken those pills one after another after another. He had expected to be yelled at, to see the angry Shane Hollander who rarely appeared but could go toe to toe with the best lecturers Ilya had ever encountered. He’d been prepared for it as soon as it hit him what he’d done. 

But it never came. Instead Shane went about the day mother-henning him, always making sure he was sitting down and drinking water and wasn’t cold. The other shoe refused to drop and Ilya wasn’t sure what to do about it. 

Shockingly, the only time Shane referenced what happened after their conversation in the bedroom came in the form of an apology.

“I’m sorry,” Shane said over an early dinner that night. He was staring down at his plate and pushing the pasta around. Ilya had almost finished his second serving at that point, finally having a robust appetite again after days of barely being able to stomach the thought of food. He looked up at Shane with a frown.

“What?” he asked. Shane shrugged and continued to drag a noodle around in the sauce. 

“I uh. I went looking for your meds. I was trying to figure out what you were taking for the… The cold. Or whatever. I thought I should know so I could tell the doctor when we went.” He looked up and met Ilya’s gaze. His big, brown eyes were shining and he looked so sad. “I didn’t mean to pry, I shouldn’t have been snooping. It was a total invasion of your priva-” 

“Shane, Shane,” Ilya cut him off. “It’s ok. I am glad you went looking, I am not upset,” he said incredulously. Shane shrugged and looked back down at his plate. 

“Still. Sorry,” he mumbled. Ilya didn’t know what to say. Shane had saved his life and he was apologizing about looking through his things? Instead of being angry, raging at Ilya for how stupid he had been and all the trouble he caused? Ilya owed Shane a million apologies. Shane owed him nothing. 

“Please don’t apologize to me,” Ilya whispered. Shane didn’t respond, just continued to stare down at his half full plate in silence. They didn’t talk about it again. 

By the time they were laying down for bed again that evening and nothing more had been said, Ilya figured Shane had decided he’d learned enough. Too much, in fact. Finally he had reached the breaking point of dealing with Ilya and he was just going through the motions until they could part ways. The apology, however unnecessary in Ilya’s eyes, was a way to tie up loose ends, to make sure there was no unfinished business between them. When the contract was over, there would be nothing left. 

And while it hurt to see, Ilya didn’t blame him. This was why he’d never burdened the band with this information, or Wiebe, or Scott. Everyone in his life had a breaking point when it came to him and if he wanted people to stick around he knew he had to protect them from his reality for as long as possible. 

Shane came with an end date anyway, and they’d almost reached it before everything blew up. Honestly, he was a little impressed with himself. There had been a few bumps in the road, but he’d almost made it. An entire year of having Shane and being almost the kind of man that deserved him. 

On Friday morning Shane called whoever he was renting the cottage from and explained that there had been a medical emergency on the premises and the front door had been broken in the process. 

“I’ll pay for the damages of course, just let me know how much it ends up costing,” he said softly into the phone. Shane had been in the kitchen, clearing out the fridge. He hadn’t known Ilya was just around the corner, having brought their bags down from upstairs despite being explicitly told to leave them for Shane to handle. 

Another thing Ilya owed him for. He would never accept the money. Ilya would have to think of another way to pay him back for the door. And the trip. And the hospital. 

After several years of being what Svetlana once called ‘a walking disaster’, Ilya thought he’d known shame. It was not until he peered around the corner once Shane hung up the phone to see him crying quietly into his hands that he finally knew what real shame was. 

They were almost to the front of the security line now. Ilya was staring at the back of Shane’s head, his hair covered with a baseball cap. Shane reached up to remove it without looking up from his phone and his thick dark hair was stuck down the way hair gets under a hat. And Ilya was hit in the chest with a thought. 

Shane Hollander, of all the billions of people on earth, was the right person. So few people were lucky enough to find the right person, and Ilya certainly didn’t deserve it. It felt surreal to realize that at the age of 23 he had met his other half. 

They took a step forward in line and the second part of the thought rushed in. But this was the wrong time. 

And it was, wasn’t it? The wrong time. He remembered saying it to Shane in that hotel lobby after their disaster rooftop date. ‘This is not who I like to be’. But it’s who he was, who he still was. He was able to be charming and smooth and act alright, but at his core he always had the capacity to be angry and bitter and oh so sad. He had a sickness, the same one as his mother, and he had let it fester until it defined him. 

Ilya swallowed hard to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. He couldn't cry in this Canadian airport security line. He couldn’t make a scene, or give Shane more reason to worry. He’d done enough.

Ilya Rozanov was in love with Shane Hollander. And Ilya thought there was a real possibility Shane loved him too, even if it didn’t seem feasible that he loved him as much as Ilya did. It was hard to look at the past 48 hours, even the past couple of months, and really think they were just friends with benefits. 

But it didn’t matter. Sometimes love wasn’t enough. As Ilya slipped out of his shoes and placed them in the bin, he thought about his mother and how he knew without a doubt that she had loved him. And how it hadn’t been enough. 

Shane held his hand at the gate, the other still holding his phone. Ilya stared down at their joined hands and mourned. They had a little less than a month left together, but something had shifted in him in that security line. To him, it was already over. He had to let Shane go. 

On the plane Ilya tried to visualize. The trip to the cottage had been perfect up until it hadn’t, and he could be content with leaving their relationship there. It belonged there, hidden in the woods, private and theirs. With every second the plane was in the air it was farther and farther behind him. The ‘after Shane Hollander’ was already beginning, even while the man flipped through his seat back magazine right next to him. 

June in LA was weird and unpredictable, sometimes far too hot already and sometimes gloomy with rain. The air Ilya briefly encountered while exiting the plane on the bridgeway suggested that it had been hot that day, though it was certainly cooling off as the sun went down. The orange sunset cast a glow on the airport as Shane and Ilya made their way down to baggage claim, still mostly in silence. 

They stood shoulder to shoulder as the bags began to come around. Shane seemed to be getting more anxious with every bag that appeared that was not theirs, and Ilya finally put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Shane sagged under the weight of it. Now he just looked tired. 

As they made their way to the parking structure in the center of the airport, Ilya offered to drive them home. Shane had driven them both, having stayed at Ilya’s place the night before they left. They’d barely slept that night, too wrapped up in each other and excited for the trip. 

“No, that’s ok,” Shane replied quickly. They were approaching the car and he had a vice grip on his keys. Ilya nodded and headed to put his bag in the trunk. “Leave it, I can do it,” Shane said. 

“I can put my own bag in the car, Shane,” Ilya replied gently. He saw Shane wince and nod. 

“Yeah, no. Of course. Yeah. Ok,” he mumbled, popping the trunk. They both lifted their own suitcases into the trunk, and Ilya closed it. They got in the car. Shane paid the parking, which Ilya added to the never ending tab in his mind. They left. 

Traffic was miserable, which was to be expected for a Friday night. By the time they were pulling into Ilya’s driveway it was nearly 8pm. The day was coming to an end. Their trip was over. 

Shane put the car in park but did not release the wheel. He was staring at the front door to Ilya’s house, his eyes wide and tired. Ilya cleared his throat and undid his seat belt.

“Thank you,” he offered, and immediately winced. Thank you. That is all he could come up with? 

“I think maybe you should call Svetlana,” Shane replied. His voice was quiet but steady. He wasn’t looking at Ilya as he continued. “I think someone should be here tonight, with you.” 

Not me though. Ilya heard it loud and clear even though he didn’t say it. Someone should be here, but not me.

“I will call her,” he said, feeling nothing but exhaustion. Shane nodded once, his hands flexing on the steering wheel. He opened his mouth to speak again but Ilya cut him off.

“Are you going to tell Wiebe? About the trip to the hospital?” Ilya asked. Shane finally looked at him, brow furrowed. 

“What? No. I mean, I think maybe you should tell him. Or maybe Scott, if that’s better. But I’m not…” he sighed and sagged back against his seat. “I’m not going to tattle on you, Ilya. It’s your life.” 

Ilya swallowed and turned to look out the window. “I think it was enough to break the contract, yes?” he asked in an attempt at a joke. Shane did not laugh. Instead he hummed and turned back to stare out the windshield again. 

“There’s less than a month left. We can stick it out,” he replied softly.   

Ilya didn’t want to get out of the car. He’d made his decision on the plane to leave the tiny shred of hope for a future with Shane Hollander in it back in the cottage, but if he went inside and closed that door with Shane on the other side it would be real. ‘After Shane’ would truly begin. 

“Do you want to get lunch this week?” Shane asked. His tone was steady and gave nothing away. Ilya glanced at him and saw no emotions besides exhaustion on his face.  

“Ok. Maybe you want to invite Hayden?” Ilya offered. Shane nodded slowly and Ilya wasn’t sure he’d really heard the question. 

“Ok. That sounds nice,” Shane replied. Ilya nodded once, then threw himself out of the car without a backwards glance. He hurried to the trunk and pulled his luggage out before hustling towards his front door. He struggled to get his key out of the front pocket of his bag and stood on his porch for longer than he would have liked. 

“Goodnight, Ilya,” Shane’s voice said. Ilya turned to see his head hanging out the window. The glare from his headlights meant Ilya couldn't see his face, couldn't make out his expression. Finally the lock clicked and the door opened. 

“Goodnight Shane,” he called back. He stepped inside. He closed the door. He turned off the alarm.

He cried. 

He didn’t know how long he sat in this entryway, back to the door, knees pulled up to his chest. He had cried quite a bit in the last few days and he wasn’t sure how he still had any tears left. The light in the hall had turned on automatically, but the rest of the house was dark and silent. 

He didn’t hear Shane drive away but by the time he dragged himself up from the floor and wandered into the living room his car was long gone. No dramatic, lovestruck moment of him coming to the door, demanding to be let in. No romantic gesture that brings the lovers together, as they are meant to be. Just gone. 

Ilya stood at the window looking at the gate to his driveway and thought about the handle of vodka in his freezer. If he started now he could probably finish it by the time the sun came back up. He had no plans, having left the following day free to be at the house with Shane after their trip. Now he would just be alone. 

There was cocaine somewhere upstairs. In the guest bathroom, he thought. It had been awhile but that could help to pass the time. Or there was weed in his nightstand, since he had given up trying to hide that one from Shane. Shane had not been too upset by it, just asked him to smoke outside like he did with his cigarettes. 

Every room in this house had a vice, and in the ‘after Shane’ they were all on the table again. Even if he were to do lunch with Shane later that week, the veil had been lifted. The charade was over. What did he have to lose? 

Ilya wandered away from the window and through the dining room to the backyard. It was a little chilly, but nothing he couldn’t handle. It must have rained while they’d been gone, the view of the valley was breathtaking. Lights from street lamps and cars spread out over the whole thing like a constellation. 

Eventually Ilya dragged his bag up the stairs and threw it on his bed, which Shane had made the morning before they left for the airport. He should do laundry, change the sheets. No doubt they smelled like the vanilla cologne Shane had started using a couple months before. 

Instead he methodically unpacked his suitcase. Usually he would leave his bag packed for days, if not weeks, only dealing with it when he finally realized something was missing. He couldn’t do that this time. If he left the bag packed, it would never really be over. 

He hadn’t worn all of the clothes he’d brought but he threw them all in the laundry anyway. He walked around the house replacing all of the other items he’d brought with. He set his mother’s necklace down on the bedside table and made a note to go get a new chain for it tomorrow. 

At the bottom of the bag was a box he didn’t recognize, and when he opened it he had to sit down on the bed. Inside was a beautiful watch, classy and smart but just on the right side of flashy. There was an engraving on the back that said “HB, Shane.” Taped to the top of the interior of the box was a note that read, “They charged per letter for the engraving, so I kept it short but sweet. Happy birthday! - S. Hollander.”

Ilya placed the watch back in the box and closed the lid gently. He put the box on his dresser and tried to imagine ever opening it again. It felt unlikely. 

In the kitchen he stared at his fridge and considered his options. He didn’t have much food, and though he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, had barely eaten all week, he wasn’t very hungry. He glanced at the freezer. He walked away. 

Ilya lowered himself onto his couch and pulled out his phone. The lock screen was a photo of him and Shane. It had been taken on the red carpet for Vigilante and Ilya had chosen it because Shane looked sexy and radiant and happy as he smiled at the camera. Ilya had been smiling too, but not at the camera. Only and always at Shane. 

He unlocked his phone and opened his contacts. He looked up from the screen and towards the ceiling, thinking about the drugs upstairs. He blinked and looked back down. He pressed call. 

“Ilyusha, welcome back!” came Svetlana’s voice through the speaker. Ilya’s voice abandoned him at that moment as he opened his mouth to respond. All that came out was a choked whine. “Ilya?” Her tone shifted immediately to concern. “Ilya, what is wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he forced out with a gasp. “Sorry, nothing is wrong.” 

“Liar,” she said. He could hear her moving on the other end of the line. “Where are you?” 

“Home, I am home, alone. I swear,” he answered.

“Alone? Does Shane have somewhere to be tomorrow? I thought he was staying for the weekend?” she asked, sounding confused. Ilya huffed a laugh and laid down on his side. 

“Yes, something came up. He could not stay,” he replied softly. Svetlana hummed. 

“Oh, that’s too bad. Do you want me to come over? I can bring dinner, I was thinking Mendos.” 

Ilya’s eyes fell closed and he smiled even as a tear leaked out and rolled down his cheek. “Mendos. Ok. The-” 

“The chicken caprese, no peppers, yes? I will be there in thirty minutes,” she said. He could hear her grabbing her keys. 

“Thank you, Sveta,” he replied in Russian. “I love you.” 

A pause. “I love you, too, Ilyusha,” she eventually answered. He hung up the phone and set it down on the couch beside his head before rolling onto his back. 

He’d told Shane he would call her and he had. She was coming over and bringing food. She was his best friend in the whole world. Was it worth the risk to tell her about what had happened on the trip? What if it scared her, made her back off and not want to be as close to him anymore? 

The sound of the doorbell startled Ilya from his spiraling thoughts, and his phone showed that he’d been laying there for almost half an hour. He pulled himself up from the couch and went to answer the door. As expected, Svetlana was there. She held up her bag of sandwiches with a small smile.

“Last order before they closed, aren’t we lucky ducks?” she joked. Ilya smiled and moved to the side to let her enter. She sauntered past, her hair bouncing and the scent of her honey perfume trailing behind her. In another life maybe she was the right person. Or maybe in every life it was Shane Hollander. 

Ilya sat at the island in the kitchen and ate his sandwich while Svetlana filled him in on what the band had been up to while he and Shane were in Canada. Apparently Cliff had scalded his tongue so bad on a coffee that he’d been unable to taste anything for two whole days, and Scott Hunter had flown out to Boston for the week before the final push for the tour took up all of his time. 

“Not sure what is in Boston for him, but I gave him a list of all the places we liked to go,” she laughed. “He looked at it and said ‘thank you Svetlana, but I don’t think I will be going to any college bars or restaurants with the word ‘shack’ in the name’. And I said, 'your loss, all the best cheap restaurants have the word shack in the name’.” 

Ilya leaned against the counter and smiled. Good for Scott, visiting his Kip. He was happy for the other man, even if it hurt to think about the two of them cuddling up in the same bed tonight in Boston. He wished he could have taken Shane to Boston. 

“So, tell me details of your trip. You never even said where you ended up, I am very excited to know. You better have pictures, I know you are terrible about taking them unless someone reminds you,” Sveta said as she pulled a piece of spinach from her sandwich and tossed it onto the paper it came in with a grimace. Ilya raised an eyebrow. 

“Why do you get spinach on it if you do not like spinach?” he asked. She rolled her eyes and took a bite. 

“I like a little spinach. They put so much spinach on these things, you can taste nothing else. But I want a little bit, you know?” 

Ilya stared at his friend as she chewed her food. He’d loved her for years and would love her always. He’d been on the receiving end of conditional love before, and there often was no way to know if it was conditional until it was too late. But he knew his love for her, like his love for Shane, was unconditional. Unbreakable. 

He hoped it was mutual. 

“I ended up in the hospital,” he said. Svetlana froze, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. She stared at him, eyes wide, as she lowered it slowly. 

“What?” she asked. “Why? How, what happened?” 

Ilys sighed and straightened. He was very tired, but he’d made his choice. If this backfired he would likely never recover, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Shane, begging him to talk to someone. 

“This is a long story, Sveta. Do you have time?” 

He met Svetlana’s eye and tried to convey through look what he could not bring himself to say. Please, have time. I need you. I want to talk to you. 

She set her sandwich down with a thump and wrapped the remainder back in its paper before leaning onto the counter, hands folded together and elbows braced. She looked serious and focused and as beautiful as he had ever seen her. 

“Always, Ilyusha. For you, I always have time.” 

Ilya tried to swallow and encountered that pesky lump yet again. He nodded and stood up before holding out his hand. She stared at it, then stood and slipped her hand in his. He led her to the living room and sat down on the couch, legs crossed and facing the other end. She lowered herself as well and mirrored his posture. 

Finally, after years of lying and struggling and living with the belief that he was on borrowed time, that the illness he shared with his mother would inevitably come for him too, Ilya Rozanov told the truth. 

And Svetlana listened.

Chapter End Notes

Next Week: Time's up.

Chapter 17

Chapter Summary

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Chapter Notes

The penultimate chapter is here! Next week will be both the finale and the epilogue, no need to make you all wait any longer. I promised a happy ending and I intend to deliver, but first I have to complete the torture. I love to tear these two apart for the narrative.

July 11th was going to be a hot day. Shane could tell from the moment he opened his eyes, despite the blackout curtains and the air conditioning in his apartment blasting at full power. It was going to be a hot day because it was July in Los Angeles. And because Shane didn’t like the heat. And nothing was going to go Shane’s way today. 

He pulled himself up from his bed and sat staring at the sheets bundled around his waist. Today was the day. They were out of time. He had a couple of hours until he would meet Ilya for a late lunch at a cafe in Beverly Hills. After they were done, they would part ways. And he might never see him again, at least in person.

July 11th was going to be a miserable day. 

After returning from Ottawa, Shane hadn’t known what to do. He’d spent the day after Ilya returned from the hospital trying to give him space, to act normal. He’d spent the trip back attempting to make a game plan, but it was abundantly clear he was trying to plan for a game he had never played, or even really heard of. He was woefully unequipped to be of any use to Ilya, and by the time they made it back to his house he’d felt almost disconnected from his own body. 

They did end up getting lunch that week and Ilya seemed to have chosen to proceed like nothing had happened. Like nothing had changed. He greeted Shane at the table with a kiss on the cheek and a joke about the traffic and had ordered dessert like always. Hayden ended up joining them as well, effectively cutting off any opportunity for Shane to bring up what had happened in Ottawa to make way for their constant bickering. Shane had wanted nothing more than to talk to Ilya alone, ask him if he’d called Svetlana like he asked or had started looking for a new psychiatrist, one that would actually help him and not just refill prescriptions because their patient’s father was somehow paying them off-

But he followed Ilya’s lead and they fell into their usual pattern. In some ways. In other ways they seemed to be purposefully breaking their usual pattern. They didn’t go back to one another’s places anymore. They didn’t make out in the front seat of Ilya’s car, or have any ‘night in’ dates that were just for them and not the tabloids. It was professional, like perhaps it should have always been. 

It hurt. Everyday in the new normal was a reminder that this would all be over soon and the new normal would become the old normal and a newer normal would take its place. A normal where Ilya didn’t text him, didn’t call him, never saw him. He would be on tour with his band and Shane would be on set or working on the final draft of his screenplay and he would catch notes of his songs on the radio and wonder if Ilya still thought of him when he sang. 

Shane felt like Ilya was a little bit cagey ever since returning, not that he could blame him. He’d been basically forced to overshare and lay out all of his trauma for a man who wouldn’t mean anything to him in less than a month. So he didn’t ask any of the questions he so desperately wanted an answer to and instead laughed and smiled for the cameras as he forced himself through the final days as Ilya Rozanov’s boyfriend.

And now the final day was here. This was the end. 

Shane went for his run and drank his protein smoothie. He read through his emails and told Farah he was interested in one of the scripts that had come through and could she set up a meeting with the studio? He checked his social media for the first time in a while and noted that his follower account had gone up again. Hooray. 

He stared at his laptop, the one Ilya had bought for him after the break-in, and tried to continue rewrites of his screenplay, but his brain wouldn’t focus. He kept glancing at the clock in the corner of the screen as though if he glanced at it often enough it would slow down or just stop all together. It didn’t, of course. If anything it only seemed to speed up. 

1pm arrived and Shane closed his laptop gently and set it on the coffee table. How odd, that it would be there when he got back from lunch, unmoved and unchanged. Whereas Shane himself would be irreparably different. 

Shane had picked out what to wear two days earlier and had the clothes neatly folded on his dresser. A dark green shirt, dark jean shorts, his sandals. Casual, the place they were going was casual. He didn’t need to impress Ilya, but in the back of his mind he was thinking about how any photos snapped of them today would be the last ones he’d ever see of them. So he still wanted to look nice.

The drive to the restaurant was so average it likely wouldn’t be memorable at all if not for the way Shane’s heart sunk further and further in his chest with every stoplight. He’d dragged his feet so much leaving the house that he was running late, something he never did. But perhaps if he was late Ilya would get fed up and leave and he’d just get a text saying ‘thanks and goodbye’ and he wouldn’t have to stomach seeing him one last time. 

Was that worse? If he got to the cafe and the table was abandoned and the waiter said ‘he was here and then he was gone?’ Shane couldn’t decide. 

Parking, walking to the door, opening the door, it all breezed by because time refused to slow down for Shane. He was only five minutes late but his eyes locked on Ilya sitting at a table directly back from the entrance way as soon as he got inside. The air conditioning in the restaurant was even colder than his own at home, and goosebumps appeared all over his skin as he shivered. Ilya hadn’t seen him yet, he could run. 

He didn’t run. Instead he smiled at the hostess and nodded towards Ilya. She glanced over, and then back at him, beaming. “Welcome, Mr. Hollander!” she said. No introduction needed for him, not anymore. 

He walked across the restaurant. Ilya was seated at a two top against a large window which overlooked a lovely courtyard. Some people were outside under large umbrellas, but it was clearly more the spot to be when the sun went down. Inside the cafe it was busy, and Shane wished they’d gotten a table outside instead, despite the heat. They needed to be careful here, not give too much away as they said their goodbyes. 

“Shane,” Ilya said easily. He slipped from his chair and stood and kissed Shane gently on the cheek. Shane forced a grin and watched as Ilya pulled his chair out for him. He sat down gently and immediately crossed his arms over his body before deliberately uncrossing them and laying his palms down flat on his knees. He was in public, with his boyfriend. He needed to not look cagey and distressed. 

“Hello, Ilya,” he replied evenly. Ilya had sat back down and was leaning back in his chair, casual and comfortable. If Shane didn’t know him as well as he did (and he did know him, he was sure of it, recent revelations notwithstanding) he would say he looked completely at ease. The dark circles under his eyes that were hidden by a little bit of makeup and the way his fingernails looked chewed down gave him away to Shane in a heartbeat. “How are you?” 

Ilya opened his mouth to respond, before closing it slowly. He stared across the table at Shane, eyes intense and considering, then cast around the room as though he were taking stock of the other patrons. He let out a tiny sigh and shrugged. 

“I am okay,” he finally said. “It has been a long year, hasn’t it?” 

Right into it then. They’d have to talk in code but they could talk about it. Shane could talk about it, dammit.

“Yeah,” he managed around a swallow. “A good one, though.” 

Ilya’s head tilted to the side and he raised an eyebrow. Shane lifted his chin. He would not take that back. It had been a good one. No year was perfect, but good? Absolutely. 

“Ah yes, the year someone broke into your house and robbed you. All the best years have this,” Ilya said solemnly. Shane scowled, letting his shoulders drop a bit. 

“Alright, well when you put it like that,” he mumbled. Ilya laughed and Shane’s heart ached at the sound. 

The waiter came and took their drink orders. Ilya ordered a glass of wine, a chardonnay, for the both of them. As the waiter walked away, Shane asked “Whatever happened to getting their recommendations?” 

Ilya smiled, small and secret. “Maybe I have gotten enough recommendations now. I almost know what I am talking about,” he teased. 

“Mmm, I see. You’ve faked it so long that you’ve finally made it?” Shane replied. Ilya nodded slowly as his gaze turned out the window to the sunny courtyard. 

“Maybe, in some ways. In some things I think I will always be faking it,” he mused. He made eye contact with Shane and offered a small smile. “And some things will always be very real.” 

Don’t, Shane yelled at Ilya internally. Don’t get maudlin, don’t get sappy. I can’t do this if you start getting sappy.

“Are you excited for the tour to start? Five days,” Shane rushed to say. He reached across the table for a piece of bread that the waiter had dropped when he’d taken their drink order. He almost never ate the bread provided before meals, but anything to keep his hands busy. 

He was not looking at Ilya’s face as he replied, but he heard the sigh and the heaviness in his words. “The tour. Yes, right. I… I don’t know. About excited.” 

Shane roughly pulled out a bite of the bread and squashed it between his fingers. “But it’s exciting, right? You’ll get to play the new album for people, I know you love performing.” 

His eyes darted up to see Ilya leaning on his elbow on the tabletop, attention focused on the bread in Shane’s hands. “I do. I do love performing. The last tour was thrilling and exhausting and terrifying. There are parts of it I barely remember, whole cities on the list I cannot recall at all.” He bit his lip. “Maybe I am just nervous.” 

“Well,” Shane said carefully as the waiter returned and opened their wine bottle. He smiled sunnily, so much so that his cheeks hurt. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about. You are going to be fantastic.” 

He looked up at the waiter as he set their bottle between them. “I think we’re ready to order,” he said steadily. Now that this was happening, all Shane wanted was for it to be over. Or maybe to never end. He felt like the protagonist of some Greek myth, doomed to a unique torture only he could understand. An eternity stuck at this table on the cusp of saying goodbye.   

Shane ordered the first salad on the menu, unconcerned with what was in it. He likely wouldn’t taste a bite of it anyway. Ilya seemed to also pick something at random, some sandwich with a silly name that would have made Shane giggle two months earlier. Now he knew he’d never be able to come back to this restaurant and hear that name and not think of Ilya, and there was simply nothing to laugh about. 

“Shane, I think maybe I need to-” Ilya started, and panic raced through Shane’s veins. He jumped in before he could finish. 

“Nope. No, really. Sorry,” he winced. He let out a breath as Ilya’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Sorry, just. Please don’t.” He was begging, he knew he was begging, but he just couldn’t do this. Whatever Ilya thought he needed to say, Shane couldn’t hear it in this restaurant full of people who kept sneaking glances at them. He couldn’t break down here, he needed to keep it together until he could make it back to his apartment and have a meltdown in peace. 

Ilya nodded slowly and offered him a small, tired smile. “Okay. I understand. How is your writing coming along?” 

Shane released a shaky breath and forced back the tears that were trying to escape. A safer topic, but only just. He’d barely told Ilya anything about his screenplay beyond the basics. One of the main characters had increasingly reminded him of Ilya as he’d tweaked it and rewritten it, and now he could only hope he’d be able to separate them in his mind. 

“Good. It’s good. The notes I’m getting back are really thoughtful, so I feel like I’m actually making progress,” he offered. Ilya nodded and took a bite of bread. 

“You have another project lined up in the meantime?” he asked around the food in his mouth. Shane raised an eyebrow at the poor manners, but Ilya just wiggled his own brows in response. 

“I read something today that seems promising, Farah is setting up a meeting. I’d love to get back on set,” he admitted. It would be good, with Ilya’s tour kicking off, to also throw himself back into work. It would likely take some time before he was actually back and shooting something, though maybe he could do another guest appearance on a procedural…

“Make sure it is worth your time and talent though,” Ilya said. He was leaning on his palm and staring at Shane with those gorgeous eyes. “You have the luxury to take your time. Be picky, they’ll wait for you.” 

Shane rolled his eyes but smiled. “I’ll be sure to keep your advice in mind,” he replied softly. 

They both sat back as their plates arrived. The waiter quietly asked if there was anything else they needed. They both said no, and he left. 

Shane and Ilya picked their way around safe topics as they ate their food. As expected, Shane barely tasted whatever was on his fork. Any time the mood started to drift towards melancholy or the conversation made a turn towards serious he made a concerted effort to yank them back to neutral territory. Ilya always let him do so without a fight. 

“And did we save room for dessert today?” the waiter was suddenly asking. Shane looked up at him, then back down at his plate. The salad was gone, consumed one miserable leaf at a time. He glanced across the table to see that Ilya’s plate was also clear.

“No, I don’t think so,” Ilya responded with a smile to the waiter. “Just the check, please.” 

The man grabbed their cleared plates with a nod and a promise to be right back. Shane couldn’t tear his eyes away from where Ilya’s plate had been moments before.

“You always order dessert,” he mumbled. He blinked quickly to deter the tears that were trying to return. Not here. 

“Did you want something?” Ilya asked. “I am sorry, I was not in the mood but I should have asked.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Shane replied, forcing steadiness into his voice. He managed to look up and meet Ilya’s eyes. “Just surprising, that’s all.” 

Ilya bit his lip and nodded. “Well, I have always liked to surprise you,” he offered. 

The waiter returned with their check and Ilya slipped his card in before he could even walk away. Shane watched him take it off to close out, unable to even complain about Ilya buying lunch. He stared after the man and prayed he would walk out of the restaurant and into the sunset, never to be seen again, their check still tucked in his apron. 

This was not to be the case, of course. He returned only moments later and handed Ilya the little black book, thanking them both and wishing them a great rest of their day. Ilya put his card back in his wallet and signed the receipt with a flourish. He tucked it back in and gently closed the book, laying the pen on top of it. 

They sat at the table for a few moments in heavy silence. This was it, they had to go. The date was over and they were going to part ways. Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov had just finished their final date. It felt like there should be some kind of fanfare, some acknowledgment of the monumental moment everyone in this cafe was witnessing. But of course, there couldn’t be. They would never know that this was it. Instead people would read about it in some magazine or tabloid in a month or two and think they broke up over the phone while Ilya was on tour and Shane was back in LA. Long distance is hard, after all. 

“Did you drive?” Ilya asked suddenly. Shane blinked and nodded. “Valet?” Shane shook his head. Ilya grinned. “You never do.” 

He stood with a sigh and held out his hand for Shane to take, which he did. It was a reflex, to reach for this man when he reached for him. Ilya pulled him to stand and then linked their arms together before steering him towards the door. 

“Will you wait for my car with me?” he asked. Shane grimaced but turned his head away before Ilya could see. 

“Yeah, of course,” he choked out. He really just wanted to run away, run down the street to his boring car parked in the public parking lot three blocks down so he could finally fucking cry. 

It was bright and hot outside. Ilya flipped his sunglasses down from where they rested in his curls and Shane blinked in the light. Ilya slid a valet ticket out of his wallet and handed it to the valet, who reached down and grabbed a set of keys that had become very familiar to Shane despite how rarely he rode in the car. 

“The death trap?” he asked quietly. Ilya shrugged. 

“I am thinking I will take the scenic route home. It is the better car for that,” Ilya replied. Shane bit his lip and didn’t respond. Now more than ever what Ilya did was his business and his business alone. 

They stood on the curb outside of the restaurant, arm in arm, as people walked behind them and cars crawled along in front of them. Shane wished he could freeze time and stay on this curb with Ilya forever. He wished he was already back in his own car. 

“Will you come to the show when we are in LA?” Ilya asked. Shane felt all of his breath leave his body with a gasp and he turned to look at Ilya. Ilya was staring straight ahead, eyes covered by sunglasses and face giving away nothing. 

“You’re not serious,” Shane hissed. Ilya glanced down at him and smirked.

“Ah, you are right. Maybe not. Besides, movie star, you will probably not even be here.” 

Shane swallowed heavily. He’d thought about that actually. He was going to have to keep the tour schedule in mind and try to never be in the same city as Ilya. If he was and he knew he was performing that album within the city limits, he could see himself caving and buying a ticket. Then where would he be? 

The stupid yellow car that Shane hated so much pulled up to the curb and Shane felt like he was going to die. He needed to let Ilya go, let him get in this car and drive away into his future. A future Shane had no part in. 

Instead, Ilya walked with him around to the driver’s side of the car and took the keys from the valet with a grin and a large tip. The valet scampered off, leaving them alone. Their arms were still linked. 

“Be careful, okay?” Shane found himself saying. He was panicking, he had so much he should have said at lunch. If he’d been a little braver they could have had time to talk through things and part on solid terms. Instead he felt like he needed to rattle off every thought he’d had since they got back to the cottage from the hospital and he wasn’t going to be able to get it in while they were standing on the side of a busy Beverly Hills street. “On tour, with the band. Just, please be really careful and look after yourself and-” 

Ilya’s hands cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. By definition it was a pretty good kiss, like all of their kisses tended to be. Slow and sweet and intimate, the type of kiss two people shared when they knew one another well and cared deeply for each other. It was the worst kiss of Shane’s life, as it came with the very real knowledge that it would be the last he ever got from Ilya Rozanov. 

Ilya released him gently and kissed his nose. “I will. I promise,” he whispered. He kissed his forehead too, then slipped out of Shane’s grip and into his car. He looked up from where he was seated, far too low to the ground just like Shane remembered it being. 

“Drive safe, Shane Hollander. Goodbye,” he said. Shane went to reply, but the door was closed too quickly. He stepped back, almost into traffic, and watched the stupid yellow car pull away from the curb slowly and join the other cars on the street. 

Shane stood staring after Ilya’s car for far longer than he meant to. He meant to turn and head the three blocks back to his own car immediately, allowing himself to dwell there instead of here in public. But he couldn't leave, not yet. It couldn’t be over. Why did it have to be over? 

“Sir, did you have a ticket as well?” a voice startled Shane out of his daze and he turned his head to see the valet looking at him, puzzled. 

“No. No, sorry, I was just… thank you,” Shane mumbled. He turned and stepped back up on the curb and hurried down the street without looking back. He had to get out of there, away from prying eyes and curious valets. 

Shane wasn’t sure he looked up from his shoes once as he rushed back to his car. He fumbled the keys out of his pocket and yanked open the door before throwing himself inside. It was hot, boiling frankly. He quickly turned on the car and then the AC, full power. The sound of the air and his own heaving breaths were all he could hear. That, and the ringing in his ears. 

It was really over. The contract was up and they’d had their last date. He would never see Ilya again. Maybe in passing, and certainly online or on TV. Never again would he go to his house in the hills and spend the night listening to him talk about music. He would never have Ilya in his apartment again, making him little Russian crepes for breakfast despite Shane’s protests that they weren’t part of his diet. 

Shane’s head fell against the steering wheel and he finally let the tears that had been battling to escape all day flow. No more dates, no more kisses, no more holding hands. One full year of having Ilya, his Ilya, all of him. The good, the bad and the scary. And now he had none of him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat and cried for but eventually he peeled himself off of his steering wheel and wiped at his eyes. His head hurt and he knew his face was red and blotchy without even looking at it. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and tried to breathe. 

He couldn’t call anyone and tell them. Ilya’s band knew this was happening, though he didn’t know how much they knew about the details. But he couldn’t call them, they were Ilya’s friends first. He couldn’t call Hayden or JJ or Rose or his parents because they weren’t supposed to be broken up yet. He’d get their sympathy and support eventually, but it wouldn’t be for weeks. 

He was alone, all alone, with this crushing grief. It was an odd grief because Ilya was fine. He was on the other side of town in his dangerous car, heading back to his mansion to pack the last of his things before flying to New York the next day. He wasn’t missing, or dead, or even unreachable. Despite the day and the contract, Shane knew that if he called Ilya would still pick up. 

But he wouldn’t call because that was the deal. They got what they wanted out of all of this, and to ask for more would be selfish and stupid. Parting ways, a clean break. It was for the best. 

The drive home was even more unremarkable than the way there, and by the time Shane was pulling into his parking spot he felt a little calmer. No less sad, but he figured that would linger for a long time. He hoped by the time he could tell his friends and family about the break up he could pass it off as an unfortunate but necessary reality. They were busy, and young, and very in demand in their fields. Now wasn’t the right time to be in a serious relationship. 

Shane forced himself out of the car and up to his apartment. He locked the door behind him and poured himself a glass of water. He did not go into the living room, opting instead to make his way to his bedroom and shut the door. He hadn’t made the bed since that morning, and the blackout curtains were still drawn. He crawled back onto the mattress and wrapped the sheets tight around himself. 

There were dishes in the sink, and laundry to be done. Three new emails had come through on his phone while he’d been driving, as well as a text from Hayden asking if he was free for coffee later that week. There were no new texts from Ilya.

He would deal with it all. He just needed a quick break. Then he would deal with it. 

The next couple of days were strange. Shane was a planner, always five steps ahead. Nothing in his life had ever been as planned as his relationship with Ilya, right up until they derailed the whole operation. Right up until he fell in love with him. 

Having that relationship suddenly removed felt like he was missing a limb. He woke up the next day and checked his phone and was gutted to remember there would be no late night ‘goodnight’ from Ilya that he never saw until morning since he was usually asleep long before the other man. He read through his emails and found himself flagging potential scripts that he thought Ilya would like to hear about before remembering they didn’t have any dates lined up where they could read through them together. 

The days blurred together. He was technically doing all the right things, going through the motions that made up a ‘day’ in the life of Shane Hollander. Faking it, he thought hysterically to himself as he sipped at a protein smoothie he could barely taste two days after their breakup. When would he get to stop faking it? 

He ended up accepting Hayden’s invitation to coffee on the 14th. He needed to get out of his apartment and see people before he truly went insane. The acts of taking a shower, picking out clothes, and driving to a destination actually helped more than he thought it would, and by the time he saw Hayden through the window of the coffee shop he felt like he could have a conversation with his friend without bursting inexplicably into tears.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw that JJ was also seated at the table. The other man beamed and waved as he approached. 

“Long time no see, Hollander!” JJ cried. He swept Shane into a hug, punching the breath out of him. Shane returned the hug, holding a little tighter than he might have usually. 

“Hayden didn’t mention you were coming,” Shane laughed. Hayden shrugged and gave him a hug as well. 

“I told him we were meeting up and he invited himself along, you know how it is,” Hayden groaned. JJ scoffed and took a slurp of his frozen coffee. 

“It is not a party until JJ arrives,” he sniffed. Shane rolled his eyes and sat down. This was good. He’d needed this. 

JJ launched into a conversation without giving Shane a moment to breathe, which Shane appreciated. JJ was nothing if not a talker, and between him and Hayden they managed to make up for Shane’s lack of conversation. Hayden talked about Jackie and how they’d seen a show at the Pantages the week before, and JJ talked about a girl he’d been seeing for a month. 

“A month?! Is the famous JJ Boiziau finally settling down?” Hayden gasped. JJ shrugged, his face flushing. 

“She is a beautiful girl, is it a crime to date a beautiful girl?” he mumbled. Hayden laughed and shoved him in the arm, and Shane just smiled softly. 

He’d been waiting for it, but when the question finally came it still landed like a blow to the head. “So, how is Ilya?” JJ purred and wiggled his eyebrows. “I have not seen you since you got back from Ottawa for his birthday. Did you make love under the stars, skinny dip in the lake-” 

“JJ, jesus,” Hayden grumbled. Shane forced a smile. 

“Nothing that adventurous. It was… really beautiful. The lake, I mean. In June. Great place to visit.” 

Hayden cocked his head. “What did you guys do though?” 

Shane shrugged and looked away from his friends. “Um, we went kayaking. And did some hiking. We went to dinner in town one night, that was nice.” 

“Ah, the thrilling lives of the movie star and the rock star,” JJ deadpanned. “People dream of having what you have and here you are. Kayaking.” 

“I think it sounds relaxing,” Hayden sighed. “I wish I could take Jackie somewhere like that, but her schedule’s always so hectic. Maybe when she gets on a different rotation.” 

Shane let out a little sigh of relief as the conversation moved on. He’d done it. He’d talked about Ilya without becoming a blubbering mess or giving away that something was wrong. Now if he could just keep that up forever… 

As Shane picked up his cappuccino he felt his phone buzz where he had placed it face down on the table. He decided to leave it, stay focused on the moment. He leaned his elbow against the wood and glanced down when he felt his phone buzz again. He idly wondered if Rose was texting him. 

Then his phone started to buzz longer, meaning someone was calling him. Shane straightened in his seat and tried to ignore it. He’d told Farah he was going to be busy this afternoon, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t call and leave a message. 

The phone stopped ringing. Then started again. Then stopped, then started. Shane was frowning, anxiety rising in his stomach as he forced himself to focus on JJ’s description of his last date. 

“Dude, do you need to get that? It’s totally chill,” Hayden prompted. Shane blinked at him, then looked down at his phone. With a sigh he flipped it over and a chill ran through him. 

Three texts from his mom, one from his dad, one from Rose. Two missed calls from his mom, then one from his dad. As he was about to swipe open the messages it started ringing again, another call from his mom. 

“I gotta,” Shane mumbled. JJ waved him off and turned back to Hayden, who was looking at Shane questioningly. Shane stood and answered the phone as he walked outside into the heat. 

“Mom?” he said. 

“Shane, oh thank goodness!” Yuna gasped. Shane’s concern increased. 

“Mom, what’s wrong? Did something-” 

“Why didn’t you tell us Ilya’s tour was cancelled?” 

It was like being doused with ice water from head to toe. “What?” he whispered. 

“Your father added one of his Google alerts for Iron and Ice, it just popped up on, oh I don’t know the publication. But we couldn’t believe it so we started looking into and there’s a whole website for refunds for concert dates, every date is gone off of the band’s website and there’s just a message to the fans apologizing-” 

“Oh fuck,” Shane whimpered. He could barely breathe, and the whole world seemed to tilt on its axis. He slid to the ground, a disgusting sidewalk in Glendale. “Fuck.” 

“Is it real, is everything ok? It looks really official,” he heard his dad ask. His mom must have put him on speaker phone. “Did something happen, should we fly out?” 

“I need…” Shane attempted then trailed off with a shaky breath. “I need to call…” 

“Oh, do you need to call Ilya and see what you’re supposed to say? Understood, of course baby,” his mom said gently. “Can you just call us back as soon as possible? Let us know if you or Ilya need anything.” 

“Okay,” Shane replied robotically. His vision was fuzzy. He hoped he wasn’t crying again, his head couldn’t take it. 

“Okay honey, call soon,” she said. The phone beeped. The call was over. 

Shane pulled it down from his ear and stared at it. His lock screen was still a picture of him and Ilya from the Paparazzi Joyride release party. Ilya was beaming at the camera with an arm slung around his shoulder. Shane was looking at Ilya, starstruck and adoring. 

He opened his contacts, hands shaking. People were walking by him and glancing down, some doing a double take as they seemed to recognize him under the baseball cap and sunglasses. He scrolled through the list of names and paused. 

He could call Wiebe, he would know what the fuck was going on. Or Svetlana, though if something were wrong she’d be with him, taking care of him. She wouldn’t answer if they were in the emergency room. How long ago did they cancel the tour?  

He could call Ilya, but he was petrified of hearing his voicemail and not knowing why he hadn’t picked up. 

Shane pressed a name and held the phone up to his ear as it rang. And rang. And rang-

“Shane,” Scott Hunter sighed. “Shit, sorry kid, I was about to call you-” 

“Is he okay?” Shane whispered. He knew he was being too quiet for a phone call on a busy street but he couldn’t bring himself to ask it any louder. 

“Huh? What was that?” Scott replied. He almost seemed to be shouting. Shane groaned and dropped his head to his knees. 

“Is. He. Okay?” he gritted out. 

“Fuck, he really fucked you up in Ottawa, didn’t he?” Scott muttered. Shane let out a whimper. 

“Shane, I need you to breathe for me. Ilya is fine, he and the rest of the band are all fine. Nothing is wrong and no one is hurt. Can you take a breath?” 

Shane inhaled, though he almost choked halfway through, then exhaled. They were all fine, Scott had said. Ilya was fine. That was a good thing. 

Then why the fuck did they cancel the tour? And how did he…

“How do you know about Ottawa?” Shane asked, voice cracking on the final word. He heard Scott sigh on the other end of the line. 

“Ilya didn’t give me all the details, but he told me you two ended up at the ER. He called me a couple of days ago and wanted to sit down, bring me up to speed on everything before we left for the tour. It was a very long sit down.” 

“Everything?” Shane asked quietly. 

“Again, not all the details. The kid plays his cards close to his chest and to be fair, I get why. But I know a whole hell of a lot more now than I did even a week ago and-”

“So you cancelled the tour?” Shane asked, confusion starting to overtake the panic. 

“I did no such thing. At least not unilaterally. This was a band decision, all five of them decided together with me and Wiebe. Also, it’s not cancelled. Just indefinitely postponed,” Scott huffed. 

“‘Indefinitely postponed’,” Shane mumbled. “Code word, cancelled.” 

“Just for now,” Scott answered calmly. “We intend to honor all tickets purchased and will provide full refunds to anyone unable to make the new dates-” 

“Don’t give me the PR answer, Hunter. There’s a reason I called you and not Wiebe,” Shane snapped. 

Scott let out a sigh and Shane briefly felt a pang of sympathy for him. No matter the reason why, this man was now in charge of figuring out how to deal with a cancelled tour and a fanbase of disappointed and potentially angry fans. Not an easy job. 

“I’m sorry to say this Shane, but… it’s really not your business now,” Scott said carefully. Shane inhaled sharply and opened his mouth to argue, but Scott continued. “I don’t say that to be mean or to rub it in, but contractually your job is done. I know you and Ilya wrapped things up on Monday. I know that for a fact, so don’t argue with me. I understand that you’re worried about him, I do, but I just… my hands are tied here, kid. I’m really sorry.” 

“He told you not to tell me anything, didn’t he?” Shane responded as he let his head fall backwards against the brick of the wall behind him. 

“Not… in so many words. But it was heavily implied. He isn’t your responsibility anymore, Shane,” Scott offered as gently as he could. “I need you to take my word for it. He’s okay.” 

That didn’t make Shane feel even remotely better. Take his word, Scott Hunter’s word? What did that mean to Shane when it came to Ilya? Svetlana’s word would carry a little more weight, but even then, after everything, Shane wouldn’t even fully believe it from Ilya’s own mouth. 

“Can you… tell him I called?” Shane asked softly. His eyes were closed and he was starting to drift a little in his own head. He heard Scott hum on the other end of the call. 

“ I’ll let him know you know about the tour and that you called to check in,” Scott replied. Shane wasn’t sure that he would, but there was nothing else he could do except call Ilya himself. And he was far too cowardly to do that. 

Like he’d read his mind, Scott hesitantly said, “Um, and uh. He might be kind of hard to pin down. For a bit. So don’t freak out if he doesn’t answer, if you end up wanting to call him yourself.” 

Hard to pin down. Well, he was a big rockstar that just cancelled his tour, he’d probably be doing loads of press and appearances to get ahead of the fallout. Wiebe would have his work cut out for him with this one, but if Shane knew anything about the man, it was how far he was willing to go for his favorite client. 

“Got it,” Shane whispered. “Thanks, Scott.” 

“Any time, Shane. I mean that,” Scott replied seriously. Shane let the phone drop from his ear and into his lap. He assumed Scott would hang up. 

There were so many people driving and walking around, even on a Thursday. None of them had any idea of what had happened right in front of them, that they had borne witness to the final breaking of Shane’s heart. 

Ilya didn’t want to share any more of himself with Shane. That was fair, beyond fair. But it still hurt to hear. If he was in pain or struggling enough that he needed to cancel the tour he and the band had put their hearts and souls into, Shane wanted to know why. To be there for him.

Shane methodically called his parents back and attempted to provide some bullshit explanation. The band had chosen to postpone the tour because they needed more time to provide the experience they wanted to give their fans. He’d lifted that line directly from the ticket refund website, but he tried his best to deliver it with the right amount of flippancy so that they wouldn’t worry. It seemed to work, as his mom just told him to send Ilya their love. 

He had no idea how long he was outside, but by the time he dragged himself off the sidewalk and back into the coffee shop he was drenched in sweat and JJ had finished his frozen monstrosity. 

“Hey dude, everything alright?” Hayden asked. Shane bit his lip and shook his head. 

“They uh. They cancelled the tour. Postponed, sorry. Postponed the tour.” 

“No shit! Why?” JJ gasped. Shane shrugged and refused to meet either of their eyes. 

“It’s kind of complicated, sorry,” he muttered. “Things didn’t come together quite right, they uh. Want to wait until it’s perfect.” 

It sounded like a lie because it was a lie, but he didn’t even know the truth. He could only offer a slightly more reliable version of the lie everyone was hearing, no details, no information. He was no longer a part of Ilya’s inner circle, the few people in the world that got to see the Ilya behind the rock star. 

“Damn, that blows. I was gonna say we should see them in LA when they came here,” JJ pouted. Hayden was looking at Shane with a frown.

“Everything okay though? With Ilya?” he asked. Shane wanted to melt into the floor and never hear that question ever again. 

“Yeah, of course. Everything’s fine,” he forced out. He grabbed his cappuccino and threw it back. It had long gone ice cold and the foam was all but gone.

When he got home, Shane pulled out his phone and finally read the text from Rose. 

From: Rose Landry 

‘Hey hon, I heard about the tour. Everything alright? Let me know if you need anything! :)‘

Of all things, it was the little smiley face that finally forced a sob out through Shane’s throat. He’d probably cried more in the last two months than the rest of his life combined and he was starting to worry that was just something he did now. Cry a lot. 

He managed to type out a reply, something that included the word ‘bummer’, then threw his phone down on his couch. He stumbled into the bathroom and took a long hot shower with the intention of washing off the sidewalk gunk and the gut wrenching panic that the afternoon had brought. 

As he emerged into his kitchen with the vaguest idea of getting started on dinner, his mind wandered to Ilya. He had no choice but to believe Scott, and he didn’t really have a reason not to. Scott had been a hands-on, wonderful manager so far for Iron and Ice, and if both he and Wiebe were on board with postponing the tour then it must have been for the best. Shane just wanted so badly to know why. 

Had Ilya gotten new meds? Had he called Svetlana that night and told her everything, or was Scott the first to know? Was he talking to a therapist? Did he have some kind of breakdown where he was physically fine but mentally couldn’t handle the tour? Did the other members of the band freak out and turn tail? 

Shane pulled the ingredients for an eggplant parmesan out of his fridge slowly and methodically. He wanted to be with Ilya. He wished he was making dinner at his house, across the island in his kitchen while Ilya told him all about the plans to push the tour. Maybe he really was fine, and it really was about it not coming together. Shane would believe that more readily if he hadn’t seen how hard the band and their whole team had worked for months. If they weren’t ready now, they'd never be. 

When his food was done, Shane took it into the living room along with a ginger ale. He turned on the TV and chose the first recommended movie from the home screen. He curled up on the couch and pulled a blanket over his legs. July in Los Angeles was hot, but inside his apartment it was as cold as it had been at the arena when they saw the Boston Raiders play. 

Would there be a time when little things like that didn’t remind him of Ilya? He both hoped so and dreaded it. A year wasn’t even that long in the grand scheme of a lifetime, but Shane felt like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes with Ilya Rozanov.

His phone buzzed under the blanket and this time he fished it out, unwilling to run the risk of missing another massive emotional blow. It was a text from JJ to their group chat with Hayden, complaining about the LA metro system and how long he had to wait for a train back to his neighborhood. Shane set it back down with a sigh. 

He’d get over it. All of it, eventually. It would take time, and frankly having Ilya not be in the entertainment news constantly was probably a good thing for his attempt at moving on. Shane had to trust Scott and let it be. Ilya was an adult, an adult who had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t need Shane as a confidant or emotional support. 

Shane glanced up at the paintings on his wall, the two little cottages Ilya had gotten him. The one in the winterscape that had so charmed him at the gallery, and the one that was where Ilya had almost died. 

He’d get over it. He would. It was just a matter of time. 

Chapter End Notes

Next week: Encore.

Chapter 18

Chapter Summary

Time to be brave.

Chapter Notes

Congratulations, you've made it to the end where things are happy! Hooray! To everyone who read week to week, I am so so grateful for the comments and kudos. I hope you like how I wrapped this one up! To everyone who is joining after the end, thank you for giving her a read despite knowing how long she is from the jump. That's a commitment!

For the final time, lyrics provided by my dear friend lavenderski3s, please go check out all of their wonderful fics.

Five months later, mid-December 

Shane stared at the email on his laptop screen. He’d been staring at it for nearly half an hour, willing it to disappear, and yet there it remained. It didn’t feel fair that this email would arrive on such an average, normal Tuesday in December. And yet, here it was; 

THE PAPARAZZI JOYRIDE TOUR IS ON! 

Get your tickets now for the North American leg of Iron and Ice’s second world tour!

*fans who previously purchased tickets and did not request a refund, please use this link to trade in your previous tickets for new dates! 

With the exception of the line about previous tickets, the email was pretty standard. It was the type of thing you might get if you have a Ticketmaster or LiveNation account whether you care about the band or not. However, Shane had made a point of unsubscribing from these types of emails on the off chance that something like this might happen. 

What he had not thought to do was block Svetlana Vetrova’s email address, and thus she had apparently taken it upon herself to forward him the email. With two complimentary tickets to their first show attached. Which was no longer taking place in New York City and was instead, inexplicably, kicking off in Ottawa.

The forwarded email also included a little note from Svetlana. 

Shane,

Please come. It would mean the world. 

Love you,

Sveta 

It would mean the world to who? To Svetlana? To Scott Hunter? To Ilya? Shane didn’t know. Why, why would she do this now? He’d been doing so well. 

Five months after the breakup and the news that the tour was (indefinitely) postponed, Shane felt like he had a real grasp on the new normal. He wasn’t miserable. He had spent a couple of days, perhaps a week, wallowing. But since then, he’d been good. 

He’d been cast in another feature, though they hadn’t started filming yet, and Farah was in the middle of negotiating his deal to be one of the leads on a limited series that seemed really promising. He had also sent out another version of his screenplay for notes, and had started tentatively bringing it up when he had meetings with studios. Several of them had seemed at least open to reading it when he was ready to share, which was more than he could have imagined a year ago. Professionally he had never been more stable and successful. 

Personally, he was also doing alright. He tried to see more of JJ and Hayden than he had the previous year, but it turned out that his being in a relationship had not been the only reason he hadn’t seen too much of them. Both men were busy with their own lives and relationships. Hayden was even talking about proposing to Jackie. 

Both of them had come to his apartment and gotten extremely drunk with him when the news officially hit about the breakup. In the end Wiebe waited about a month after the tour was cancelled to release that information. Ilya’s PR firm released a formal, bland statement, saying they had parted ways due to the demands of their professions but that they remained friends. 

Hayden and JJ had been distraught for him, and Shane had tried to lean into it just enough to satisfy them. He danced around details, said they just hadn’t been able to see one another lately and the feelings had just… faded. When asked where Ilya had been, why they weren’t seeing much of each other, Shane gave the PR answer he’d been provided - the band had returned to Boston to get back to their roots and figure out their new approach. 

In reality, Shane had no fucking idea what that meant. He hadn’t heard from anyone in the band since the day the contract ended. He hadn’t heard from Scott again after that phone call, and he only got emails from Wiebe regarding the statement about the breakup. He had no idea if they were in Boston, and if they were what they were doing there. 

And now here he was, getting the first bit of contact from anyone in the band in months, and it was free tickets to see them in concert. In Ottawa. Shane narrowed his eyes and scrolled down to view the other dates. Yep, they’d be in Los Angeles in February. Why Ottawa, why opening night?

He sat back again and crossed his arms. What did Svetlana think she was playing at? Shane couldn’t go to this, it would be ludicrous. They’d broken up, they’d stuck to it. Ilya hadn’t reached out one time in the last five months and Shane had successfully moved on. He’d even gone on a date with someone else. The date had been kind of boring and the conversation had been lackluster. But he’d done it.

To go to opening night of the tour would be the definition of insanity. Oh, but he was curious. Would Ilya play the whole album, an album Shane had avoided listening to since July? He’d buried the signed vinyl in the back of his closet under a pile of clothes he needed to donate in the hopes that his feelings would be buried with it. 

Would Ilya say anything about why the original tour had been cancelled? Would he say anything about Shane? 

Shane groaned and let his head fall back on the couch. He was kidding himself. He knew he was going to this concert the second the email had popped up in his inbox. He put up the good fight mentally and tried to pretend he wouldn’t because it was the right thing to do, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Ilya again. 

It had been so long. Even if it had to be from the furthest back seat in the Canadian Tire Centre, Shane wanted to see him again.

With a sigh, Shane pulled out his phone and opened up his calendar. The concert was on December 19th, meaning Shane would already be in Ottawa for the holidays with his parents. He usually got there a week before Christmas and stayed through the New Year. His flight currently had him landing two days before the concert. He’d have to tell his parents he was going, since he’d probably be out pretty late. Unless he had a panic attack in the parking lot and turned right back around, which was certainly a possibility. 

Shane glanced at the email again. Two tickets. Right. He swiped over to his messages and typed out a text to Rose. She spent a lot of time in Canada filming and he couldn’t remember if she was going to be up there for the holidays. Maybe she would want to come with him? 

Telling Rose about the breakup had probably gone the smoothest because she was no stranger to these things. She took the explanation about different schedules with ease, had asked minimal follow up questions, and had just commiserated with him about heartbreak. It had been the closest thing to what he’d actually needed given the circumstances. 

“I thought you two might have been the lucky ones,” she had offered gently over Facetime. “I know you really liked him.” 

Shane had nodded and said, “Yeah, I really did.” And that was that. 

She’d likely have something to say about him going to the concert. She had asked if he would want to if they ended up rescheduling it, but he’d shot that line of questioning down immediately. He didn’t even want to entertain the hypothetical. 

Shane was once again staring at the email and was slightly startled when his phone buzzed by his elbow. He looked down to see Rose’s response. 

From Rose Landry: 

‘!!!!’

‘I’m in Toronto that week, I can fly in for the night!!!!’

‘You’re sure you want to go?’

Shane sighed and tapped a nail on the screen. Was he sure he wanted to go? Yes, he was positive. Was he sure it was a good idea? Not at all. 

So maybe he wasn’t totally over Ilya, sue him. His whole life had been turned on its head when Ilya came into it. It felt like a hole had been cut out of his day to day existence now that Ilya was gone. 

And try as he might to not be, he was worried about the other man. Scott had told him not to worry, that Ilya’s well being was no longer his concern. But he couldn’t just turn it off like a light switch. 

Together or not, he loved Ilya dearly. He wanted him to be happy and healthy and alive, and up until this email the most proof he had of Ilya’s welfare were some artsy, vague Instagram pictures that started appearing back in late September. The rest of the band had continued posting as they always had, though they seemingly ignored all comments asking about the tour. But Ilya’s Instagram had gone silent for almost two months. Then all of the sudden there were videos of his hands playing piano, or one from the chest down playing the guitar. 

Not that Shane spent his time looking. He’d just never unfollowed Ilya. He’d never tell anyone else, but he’d been desperate for some proof of life. 

The email had a link to the band’s official Instagram page, which Shane clicked before scowling at the need to log in on his laptop. Instead he opened his phone again and searched Iron and Ice directly, which brought him to their profile. 

He had never actually followed the band, just the individual members. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had felt too corporate, too impersonal at the time, to view them as the product they were selling instead of the people he knew. Thus he was taken by surprise by what he was met with and he instantly regretted waiting so long to seek it out. 

Ilya. Ilya smiling, Ilya laughing with his arms thrown around his bandmates. The photos were beautiful and professional, and the dates clearly showed they’d been posting over the last couple of months. The pinned post was the official tour announcement with all of the dates, but other than that it was candid shots of the band existing together. 

Shane felt a pang of jealousy when he landed on a photo of the five of them, clearly taken while they were at their photoshoot for the Paparazzi Joyride album cover. They were all grinning at the camera, leaned in close. Sveta had her head on Ilya’s shoulder, who had his arms around her and Wyatt’s waists. He looked so happy. 

Shane swiped back over to his messages and confirmed with Rose. 

To Rose Landry: 

‘I’m sure. I’ll buy your flight. Stay at my place? My parents will love it.’

He pulled up flights from Toronto to Ottawa on the 18th. He knew she would argue, but he wasn’t going to give her an option. She was signing up to potentially watch him have a breakdown at a rock concert. It was the least he could do. 

From Rose Landry: 

‘Fine, but I am counting this as my Christmas present.’

To Rose Landry: 

‘If that’s what you need to tell yourself. Sending you some options, let me know what works best.’ 

She responded with the middle finger emoji, which always reminded Shane of Ilya. A lot of things always reminded him of Ilya. Shane fired off the flight options and finally closed his laptop. His eyes drifted to his wall, the one with the paintings. 

He’d redecorated the living room about a month after the breakup. He’d called his mom and told her he wanted a change, that he should take advantage of being able to afford to mix things up from time to time. She’d been confused but delighted to help and by the end of the week the whole space had felt drastically different. New curtains, a new rug, the furniture all rearranged. 

The only thing that remained were the paintings. The wall they hung on made the most sense, and Shane couldn’t bear to take them down. He wasn’t some scorned lover who needed to eliminate all reminders of their ex. The paintings were still beautiful, even though the relationship was over. So they stayed. 

As he looked at them now he thought about the year he’d had with Ilya. It would never, ever feel like enough. He would move on one day because he had to and because that was how life was, but Ilya would always be the one that got away. Even though he only barely had him in the first place. 

Maybe seeing Ilya performing and in his element would provide some closure. Shane could stop worrying about him and get confirmation that what had happened at the cottage was being addressed and that Ilya really was okay. There was nothing more he could ask for now. 

Shane pulled himself up from the couch with a groan. He had a lot to do before his flight on the 17th, which was less than a week away. He’d have plenty of time to second guess his decision between now and then.

He was still second guessing it to some extent as he stared out the window of the plane and heard the pilot announce they were beginning their descent into Ottawa. 

Shane had been in the Ottawa airport numerous times. The last time had been with Ilya. He walked through the terminal quickly and tried not to think about how he’d felt the last time he’d walk these hallways, Ilya a step behind him the whole time. 

His parents were waiting for him at the curb. No one ever bothered Shane, celebrity though he now was, when he was in Ottawa. When he was home, he was just Yuna and David Hollander’s son again. His mom pulled him into a hug when he emerged from the airport and once he was settled in the backseat his dad reached back and gave him his own hug over the center console. 

“Welcome home, kiddo,” he said. Shane smiled and allowed himself a breath. The concert was still two days away. He would have to just focus on things minute by minute. And tonight he was going to have dinner with his parents. 

The concert went unmentioned all through the night and into the next day, like a taboo subject they all collectively agreed not to touch. He’d told them about it over the phone, and he hadn’t been able to get a read on their reaction. His mother had gently asked him if he was sure it was a good idea. Yes, he’d said. He was sure. God he was such a liar. 

Shane drove his mom’s hybrid to the airport to pick up Rose around 2pm. She immediately kissed him squarely and loudly on the cheek. 

“Take me home, darling. I’m frankly exhausted,” she groaned. Shane laughed and pulled away from the airport. 

“Exhausted? That flight is like an hour.” 

Rose scoffed. “Perhaps, but I’ve been on set for weeks. This whole production is going to go over schedule and over budget, I just know it. Not to mention the special effects. I just hope we can wrap my part of it and I can go home for a couple of weeks before my next shoot. Or maybe I can squeeze in a real vacation, somewhere warm for once.” She shot him a look, eyebrow raised. “Maybe if you have a little time, you could join me?” 

Shane bit his lip and tried to keep his eyes focused solely on the road. He hadn’t gone on a trip since getting back from the cottage with Ilya. Rose had been needling him for weeks to try and plan something, and he knew she was just trying to be a friend. But focusing on the work, his career, it had helped. He wasn’t so sure that having long stretches of nothing to think about on vacation would do him good in the way she was thinking. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know the full story. She never would. 

Shane’s parents welcomed Rose with open arms, as he had expected them to. Once again the concert was not brought up as they sat down for a late lunch and then moved to the covered deck to watch the snow fall. 

“Looks like we’ll be getting a white Christmas!” David said as he collapsed on one of the chairs. The deck was warm from a couple of heaters they had turned on before even stepping foot outside. Winter in Ottawa was no joke, and Shane wrapped his hands a little tighter around his mug of tea as he joined his dad. Rose walked over to the window and sipped at her own tea as his mother shut the door to the house behind them. 

“So,” Yuna started. Shane grit his teeth. He already knew what was coming. “Are you two… excited? About tomorrow?” 

Rose glanced at Shane with a look of sympathy before turning to smile at Yuna. “Oh yes, absolutely. I didn’t see Iron and Ice on their first tour, but I did kind of feel like I missed out on a cultural moment. So exciting to see opening night, too.” 

“Ah yes. Exciting to see the band,” David hummed. Shane sent him a withering look, but his father kept his focus steadily on the snow outside. 

“Just say whatever you’re going to say,” Shane muttered with a sigh. He collapsed back in his chair and waved at his mom. “Let’s not waste time dancing around it.” 

“Are you planning any kind of big gesture?” his mom asked. Shane frowned. 

“Sorry? What do you mean?” he asked carefully. His mom shrugged and tapped at the rim of her mug with her thumbs. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to figure out the why, you know? I thought maybe you were going to… try and win him back?” she offered with a wince. 

Shane just barely managed not to laugh out loud. He didn’t want to hurt his mom’s feelings, he understood how odd it looked from the outside to be going to your ex’s first show of his world tour. Pathetic, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. It looks pathetic. 

“Nothing like that,” he demurred. He stared down at his tea, wishing it would cool off so he could drink faster and have something to do that wasn’t talking. “I’m just supporting him. In a friendly way.” 

David looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still friendly? That wasn’t really the impression I was getting,” he asked. 

“Well, maybe not friendly. But I still support him. You know,” Shane mumbled defensively. Rose came and sat down next to Shane and squeezed his knee gently. 

“I think it’s sweet. Shane’s a really loyal friend,” she said. David smiled at that and though his mom looked like she wanted to press, she let it go and turned the conversation to parking at the Canadian Tire Centre. Shane shot Rose a grateful look, which she returned with a wink. 

It would be so much easier if he were in love with her, he thought to himself as the conversation moved on around him. Instead of Ilya Rozanov. 

Shane’s ability to put off panic finally ran out around 1am the night before the show. He woke up, his heart racing. He felt tears drying at the corners of his eyes and he wiped at them violently as he flopped onto his back. The details of the dream were fading already, but he knew he was back at the cottage, and that Ilya had been lying next to him. He couldn’t remember what happened, but there was a heavy sense of dread that weighed down on him so much that he woke up stuttering for breath. He’d had similar dreams for months. He hadn’t told anyone about them. 

Shane stared at the ceiling for hours, both dreading and begging for the sun to finally rise. Today he would see Ilya again, even if it was only from the audience. Ilya likely wouldn’t see him. Did this make him sad or was he glad to avoid the interaction? Did he want to talk to Ilya again after all this time or did he just want to see him happy? 

Shane opened his phone and scrolled down to his messages with Ilya. Not a word in months. The last texts between them were setting up their final date back in July. He could text him, there was nothing saying he couldn’t. Could let him know he was coming to the concert, wish him luck. Just a few keystrokes and they would be back in communication. 

Shane set his phone back face down on his nightstand and resigned himself to a sleepless night. 

The following day went by far too fast and suddenly Shane was gripping the wheel of his mom’s car again with Rose sitting in the passenger seat. He let out a slow breath and stared out into the driveway, which he and his dad had shovelled that morning. The snow had stopped and turned to muddy slush. 

“Shane, we don’t have to go,” Rose said quietly. He glanced to his side and saw her looking at him with concern. “We can go back inside and have dinner with your family, if you’d rather do that. No one will ever know.” 

Shane gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed the little button that put the car in drive. “I’d know,” he said stiffly. He gently pressed on the gas and forced the car out from the garage and down onto the street. Rose said nothing in response, just reached out and squeezed his shoulder. 

He had never been to the venue for a concert, only for Centaurs games. As Rose and he walked up to the doors from where they had parked, wrapped tightly in coats and scarves against the cold, the part of him that wasn’t freaking out was impressed by the number of people and their dedication to Iron and Ice. Fans in cropped t-shirts from their last tour and fishnet leggings, piercings and eye makeup and thick-soled Doc Martens milled about outside despite the weather. 

Shane spared a thought for his own outfit. Rose had helped him pick it out, but he had limited options with him. In the end they went with a black button down and dark jeans with snow boots since they had to walk through the slush to get to the building. Rose had clearly packed with the concert in mind and had arrived with an impeccable black lace minidress and a pair of leggings that matched her own skin color. She was wearing the thick winter coat he’d gotten her as an actual early Christmas present, despite her protests that the flight from Toronto was enough. 

“Svetlana sent some really nice tickets,” Rose mused as she peeked at the information open on Shane’s phone. He had saved the tickets in his downloads, had them open in his email, and had added them to his mobile wallet. Just in case. He was gripping the unlocked phone like a lifeline, his toque pulled low over his face to avoid even the possibility of being recognized. 

“Yeah, it’s really generous,” he muttered. He glanced down at the tickets again. VIP. Very Important Person. Was he? To whom? 

“Do you want to head straight to our seats? I was thinking of getting a bite to eat,” Rose said as they collected their items from security. Shane was almost vibrating out of his skin at this point, he wasn’t sure if sitting down or going with Rose was a better idea. There were twenty minutes till the start of the concert, no opening act. 

“Ah, I’ll come with you,” he said. He shoved his hat back on despite it being plenty warm inside and shuffled after Rose as she headed towards the nearest spot selling food. He contemplated the menu idly as they waited in the line, considered getting something just to have. He then considered the actual act of eating whatever he bought, and he waved off Rose’s offer to buy him anything when they reached the front of the line. 

Ten minutes to go. They showed their VIP tickets at the entrance to their section and were taken down to the floor by a very polite usher. They weren’t in the pit (thank god) and they weren’t first row, but they would have a perfect, unobstructed view of the stage from their seats. A perfect, unobstructed view of him. 

The room was already dark and loud, with rock music blasting through the speakers. People were shuffling to their seats, apologizing as they tried to avoid stepping on toes. There was an anticipation in the air as the minutes ticked down. Shane faced straight ahead in his seat, no more than twenty feet from the stage, and released a shaky breath. Five minutes. 

The music faded out and people around him started yelling. It became immediately clear that he would need to stand for the majority of the show to see anything, as the whole section around him got to their feet to start cheering. Rose looked at him and shrugged sympathetically before joining them. Shane stood, teeth clenched and heart racing, as the lights on the stage finally went down. 

They were close enough that they could see the shadows of the band walking out to take their places. Shane felt his heart jump as he instantly recognized the shape of every one of them - Svetlana’s bouncy curls, Cliff’s broad shoulders, Wyatt’s excited walk as he moved to his keyboard. Even Troy’s slouched form was familiar. 

And Ilya. It wouldn’t have mattered if the stage had gone pitch black and someone had covered his eyes, Shane would have known he was there. The second he stepped foot on stage it was like Shane was pulled in his direction, unable to focus on anything or anyone else. He walked to the microphone closest to the audience, guitar at the ready, and it was just him and Shane.

The lights went up, and the room erupted in screams. Ilya, looking as handsome as ever, grinned before looking back at Cliff and nodding. He turned back to the audience and launched directly into Ruin You. 

Shane released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding as he heard Ilya’s voice again for the first time in months. He’d avoided the music, the interviews, the videos. Anything to compartmentalize the year of his life he’d spent with the other man, to distance himself from it and try to move on. Hearing him sing again was a balm on his aching heart. He hadn’t admitted to himself how much it had been hurting to not hear that voice. 

Ilya remained right at the edge of the stage, singing out into the adoring audience. His eyes were tilted up for the most part but they would dart down to where Shane and Rose were located from time to time. Every time Shane’s breath caught, wondering if Ilya had seen him. But the gaze would shift too quickly and there was never a moment of recognition. The lights were probably too bright to see much of the audience. 

Ruin You went right into Hocus Pocus, and Shane felt his shoulders start to relax. Ilya was walking around the stage, singing into the same mic as Troy or Svetlana and grinning from ear to ear. He was alright, Shane didn’t need to be worried about him anymore. 

Shane swallowed around the lump building in his throat. He was so, so happy for Ilya. This was exactly what he wanted to see, what he had hoped for him. He just couldn’t help feeling a selfish, crushing sadness that he wasn’t part of that happiness anymore. 

Iron and Ice performed two more songs on the album before Ilya dragged the microphone stand further up the stage and swung his guitar behind his back. Shane hadn’t been to many concerts in his lifetime, but he’d seen enough to know that Ilya was probably going to address the crowd, say something like “How are we feeling tonight, Ottawa?” He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to keep from fidgeting as he waited to hear him speak again. 

“Well, hello there,” Ilya started. Shane felt his eyes flutter closed. It was like he was saying it just to Shane, the illusion only shattered by the ear-piercing screeches of the fans around him. “I hope you’re all enjoying the show so far, yes?” More screaming. 

Ilya smiled and Shane saw right away that he had something important to say by the look in his eyes. He watched the other man take a steadying breath and wrap his gorgeous fingers around the stand in front of him. 

“So I think you all have questions for us,” he began. “And I would like to give some answers. I have been… avoiding answers. Because I want to give it to you all, from me, to you, not through tabloids or social media.” 

Shane tensed, and he felt Rose tense beside him. He stared straight ahead at Ilya and ignored whatever look she was sending him. 

“First, I want to thank you. Especially anyone who got a ticket to the tour before it was, ah. Postponed,” Ilya winced theatrically. A ripple of laughter went through the room. “I wish I could have seen you when we originally planned it. But I am glad we are together now.” 

“I also want to say that the reason we postponed the tour was nothing to do with any of my bandmates,” he continued, getting mildly more stern. “There were some rumors early on, but it was… it was all my fault.” 

Shane frowned at this, but almost cracked a smile again at the sight of Svetlana rolling her eyes from where she was sitting with Wyatt by his keyboard. It was clear she disagreed with his phrasing. 

“I cannot share all the details,” Ilya went on. “But I have been a little dishonest in my life. And I would like to try something new. So, time for some honesty.” Ilya swallowed. Shane watched his Adam's apple move with the action, unable to even blink as he watched Ilya take a leap of faith right in front of him. 

“Two days before the tour was supposed to start, I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital. I had been keeping many secrets from my band and management, and I decided I could not keep those secrets anymore. I spent too long pretending I had everything under control, or at least that it didn’t matter when I didn’t.” He cleared his throat. The room was almost silent. 

“Early when I came to LA, I was not well. Someone who didn’t want to deal with it got me on medication but I did not go to therapy, did not get the right treatment. I didn’t know it was an option. I started drinking and doing drugs all the time to try and mmm, self medicate? This is what my therapist says, anyway,” he laughed. Shane could see his hands tightening on the stand as he talked. He wanted so badly to take those hands in his own and hold them. 

“I stayed at the hospital for two weeks, longer than I maybe needed to but I wanted to be sure. I wanted to take it very seriously and hear every option and read every pamphlet and see every doctor because I was so tired of not knowing when I would feel so bad I could not get out of bed.” 

Ilya straightened his shoulders. “I spent two weeks there and then I spent a month going back almost every single day. And it was so fucking hard, and I sometimes I really wanted to give up and just go back to what I had been doing before. But I had my friends and my team behind me and even though some days I fucking hated them for it, they didn’t let me quit.” 

Shane felt Rose lean her head against his shoulder softly. He knew there were tears building in his eyes and he just couldn’t care about letting them fall. 

“I have a therapist now, I talk to her all the time. She speaks Russian, which is very nice for me. It is still easier to say certain things in Russian,” he admitted. A very soft chuckle rippled through the room, the tension of the moment still high. “And I am on medication, which we have been tweaking for several months. It is helping for now, but the doctors say it might not forever. And that is… frustrating. I wish there was a cure, just a way for it to go away and leave me alone.” 

Ilya shrugged and fiddled awkwardly with his guitar strap. He looked so vulnerable under the lights of the stage, facing a room full of people that idolized him but didn’t really know him. Not like Shane did. 

“But that is not how it is. And that’s ok. I will not stop working on it because I want to be here. Which brings us to this next song.” 

Shane let his head drop and he let out a long, steadying breath. He already knew what it would be.

“My mama, she died when I was young. No one ever said it but I think we are the same. She did not get help like I am getting help because she was all alone. I wish I could have done something then but,” Ilya swallowed, “Anyway. Even though it is too little, too late, this song is for her.”

The opening chords of Moonlight filled the arena, haunting and sweet. The rest of the band had returned to their places and settled at their instruments. Shane idly wondered how much they had known about what he was going to say before he said it. Maybe they were just that perfectly in sync these days. 

Is there moonlight where you are?

Or at least a sky to pen you in?

Are you as happy now

As you couldn’t be back then?

Shane had put this particular puzzle together before the breakup, after Ilya had told him about his mother’s death. Before parting ways Shane had listened to Paparazzi Joyride over and over again, trying to engrave every word on his heart before he couldn’t bear to listen anymore. He had had to pull the car over and rest his head on his steering wheel on his way to Whole Foods when the meaning behind Moonlight finally all came together. 

He closed his eyes as Ilya’s voice filled the nearly silent venue, the melodic sounds of the other band members backing him up softly. Fabian wasn’t there but someone else had joined the stage and was playing the violin part, the sound of the strings and Ilya’s guitar seeping straight into his soul. 

Video of that speech would be everywhere tomorrow. There would be no putting a lid on it, no taking it back. Ilya had just stood up and told the whole world that he had willingly entered into psychiatric care for depression. This was the type of thing Hollywood had been keeping quiet since the silent film era, since before it was even Hollywood. People would have their takes, their opinions. It was unavoidable. 

Shane wasn’t surprised, though. This was the same man that had insisted on pushing through his public outing and refused to deny anything. He’d gone out of his way to be proudly bisexual even though it hadn’t been his choice to come out. He might have spent a lot of time lying to himself and refusing to confront things, but once they were confronted he would never back down. 

Shane saw a girl out of the corner of his eyes, tour shirt hanging off one shoulder, with tears running down her face. She was staring at Ilya as he sang, one hand coming up to wipe at her cheeks from time to time, as she swayed to the music. She was smiling. 

I know it’d kill you to see me now

But I won’t quit without a fight

You’d be surprised how far this car runs

On dreams of you and me and moonlight

Shane titled his head back and looked up at the ceiling. He hoped Ilya’s mother was watching, somehow. Hoped that she knew her son was brave and honest and fighting for the both of them now. 

When the song came to an end there was a moment of heavy silence. Shane could see that Ilya wasn’t sure if he’d made the right choice, being that honest. Then the room exploded in cheers and screams and applause. The girl next to Shane let out a sob and turned into her friend’s shoulder. Shane felt Rose do the same. 

“Oh fuck him for that, that was fucking beautiful,” she muttered. Shane let out a wet laugh and wrapped his arms around her. 

“Yeah, it was,” he whispered. 

Ilya looked relieved at the reception and turned to look at his band. Svetlana rushed forward to plant a kiss on his cheek while the other three beamed and applauded. Ilya shook his head and turned back to the mic with a loud and obviously overdramatic clearing of his throat. 

“Ok so now that that is over, here’s Fuck Off Back to Moscow,” he said with a grin. Shane, and most of the audience, laughed as the song began. A perfect Ilya Rozanov transition. 

Shane held on to Rose as the band played through the rest of the album, as well as some of their hits from their previous tour. He felt an immense amount of relief as he watched the man he loved play. He was in a better place, truly and seriously. Scott, Wiebe, the band, they had all heard and seen him and they had moved around their entire lives to get him to that better place, damn the consequences. Shane would always wish he could be a part of it, but this? This could be enough. 

A little over an hour and a half into the show, the rest of the band cleared off the stage entirely and Ilya sat down at a piano that had been tucked upstage and out of the way for the whole show. Shane tried to think of a song from either one of their albums that was just Ilya at a piano, but nothing came to him. 

“Ok, ok, last little speech, I promise,” Ilya joked as he pulled the microphone closer. “So. When I was working on getting better, I did a lot of writing. It has always helped me to stay busy, so Galina, my therapist, she said this was good. Most of what I wrote was… very bad. Made no sense when I read it back. But, not to brag of course, some of it was pretty good.” 

The room laughed again. Ilya ran his fingers over the keys of the piano softly, his attention drifting down. “I assume you all know that I was in a relationship this time last year,” he said, almost casually. Shane sucked in a breath and he felt Rose’s grip on his arm tighten. Some cheers ran through the audience and Ilya smiled out at the room. 

“It was everywhere, hard to miss I think. I assume you all also know we are not together anymore. And I want to be clear, he is not to blame. For anything. I do not want to see anyone talking shit or hating on him because we broke up and now you all know I was in the middle of… you know. It was not. His. Fault.” Ilya emphasised this point by glaring sternly out at the crowd. 

“Love is a very powerful emotion,” he continued. Shane’s eyes widened as he went on. “It can make you do very stupid, wonderful things. But love itself is not enough to save someone, or to be saved. I liked the man I was when we were together. I wanted to be that man for him, but that isn’t enough. I had to want to be that man for myself. I had to let him go.” 

“I think of it like this. He was the right person, the best person, but it was the wrong time. I am so grateful for him and the time we had together. I would not be here without him. So even though almost every song on this album was already about him, I didn’t feel like I had said everything I wanted to say. I wasn’t ready to say it. But now I am.” 

He bit his lip and nodded to himself before placing his fingers on the keys. “This is called In Another Life”. 

Shane stared up at the stage as the room melted away and it became, once again, just him and Ilya. Ilya began playing a song he’d never heard before, alone at the piano, the notes ringing through the venue. Shane felt like he was standing on the thinnest ice on a frozen lake, like the slightest breath would shatter it and plunge him into the cold. Subconsciously he knew Rose was gripping his arm so hard it was likely cutting off the circulation, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Ilya and the music. 

And I would love you there

Exactly how you need

How dare he? How dare he get up there and face the world in all his bravery and tell them all that he loved Shane before he told Shane himself? Shane felt like he had been a coward, too terrified of rejection to see what was right in front of him when he had it. He had refused to see it, over and over again. 

Ilya loved him. It was clear as day and now that Shane knew it always had been. He wasn’t sure when it changed but it had changed, for both of them. As Ilya laid his heart bare, it was impossible to deny. 

Shane would have stayed. He would have stood by him as he went into treatment, would have driven him to appointments and helped keep track of his medications and celebrated his progress with him. Ilya was wrong, it wasn’t the wrong time. They had just both been too afraid to find out if it was. 

And you would see me clear

There’d be no need for me to hide

He’d go back in time if he could, back to that trip to the cottage. Maybe some things were fixed points, unchangeable and necessary, but afterwards he could have been brave. Instead of trying to act like everything was fine and giving Ilya space he could have been there for him, said what he had wanted to say. He could have been honest instead of scared. 

Or maybe not. Maybe it needed to go this way. Maybe he wasn’t ready yet and needed time himself. Maybe he wasn’t even ready now. 

No pushing once you got inside

You’d just be mine

In another life

Shane let out a gasp as the song came to an end, suddenly and forcefully returning to his body. He looked over to see Rose staring at him and was instantly aware of the wetness on his cheeks and nose. 

“Those tickets came with backstage passes, didn’t they?” she whispered, eyes bright. Shane blinked, trying to process what she said. He nodded slowly and watched as her face split into a grin. “Maybe your mom was onto something with that grand gesture idea.” 

As the room applauded around them, he started to smile back.

As soon as he stepped off the stage after the band’s second encore song, Ilya found himself wrapped in a hug. He nearly stumbled as arms came around him and he just barely managed to bring his own arms up to reciprocate. 

“That was incredible, kid,” Scott Hunter whispered. Ilya’s smile, which had already been as wide as he thought possible, grew even wider. 

“Not too much, you think?” he asked quietly, just for Scott. Scott pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. Ilya was mildly shocked to see he was crying. 

“Not at all. I think it was just enough,” he replied. Ilya laughed and pulled him in for another hug. 

“Ooooh, group hug!” Wyatt called from somewhere behind Ilya, and suddenly the whole band was piled on top of him. They were all sweaty and exhausted and high on the experience of kicking off their tour, and Ilya had never loved them more. 

Eventually Scott gently attempted to extract himself and pushed the whole band to stand right in the wings of the stage. He turned to wave someone over, and Harris Drover bounced into view, beaming. 

“This is a perfect photo to post tonight, I’ll have all the professional ones put together for tomorrow,” the band’s new social media manager said as he held up his camera and waved for them all to get in close. Once again Ilya found himself nearly crushed by sweaty, excited bandmates. He knew he was grinning like a loon, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Harris took several photos before nodding, satisfied. 

“Excellent, thank you! Great job out there by the way, the excitement in the building literally gave me goosebumps,” he gushed. Troy sidled up behind him and hooked his chin over Harris’ shoulder to look at the photos he’d just taken. A blush started to spread across Harris’ face as he flipped through them for Troy, though Troy seemed a little more focused on the hands holding the camera than the pictures on it. 

Ilya bit back a grin and wandered off to set his guitar down. There had been an instant connection between those two from the moment Harris arrived, but nothing had come of it yet. Or at least not as far as Ilya knew. He could hardly begrudge Troy his secrets, even if he had no reason to hide anymore. 

Ilya ran a hand through his curls as he glanced back at the rest of the band. The night really couldn’t have gone better. He’d been so, so fucking nervous to talk about why the tour had been postponed but he knew it needed to be done. Not because he owed the world any kind of explanation, but because he had nothing to be ashamed of. He wanted to be brave and honest about the things he’d been through. It had felt right. 

Cliff and Wyatt were locked in a heated conversation of some kind right next to Troy and Harris, while Scott had seemingly disappeared. Sevtlana was standing with them as well, arms crossed and eyes darting around like she was looking for someone. When he briefly caught her eye, she winked and mouthed “ya tebya lyublyu”. He smiled and mouthed it back. They’d been doing that more ever since he’d told her about his depression. It had always been true, their love for each other. They’d gone too long without saying it. 

Ilya sat down on one of the large boxes used to move equipment with a sigh and massaged at the shoulder his guitar hung off of all night. People were bustling back and forth, already starting to pack everything up for them to ship off to their next stop in Montreal. They’d play there the following night before going south to Boston for a special homecoming show just before Christmas. The map of the tour was unusual, but Ilya had insisted when they had the chance to redo the whole plan that they start it in Ottawa. 

He wasn’t sure what he thought would come of it. He knew Shane went home to Ottawa for the holidays, or at least he had last year. Maybe they would go somewhere else as a family, somewhere warm. Maybe he had a nice boyfriend he was going home with instead. Someone handsome and uncomplicated who knew from day one how special it was to stand next to Shane Hollander. 

No part of him expected Shane to come to the show. Ilya had made a point not to reach out, even after getting home from in-patient treatment. It was the one suggestion from Galina he had pushed back against. 

“I am not saying you need to be with him, Ilya. Maybe you are right and you need time apart to grow. But you said it yourself, it haunts you to leave things how you left them. There is no reason to stay haunted,” she’d gently scolded him on one of their latest calls. He liked that about her, that she scolded him. He needed that sometimes, and while Sveta was an expert at it after all these years it didn’t hurt to have a second voice. 

Still he’d left it be. He was sure people in the audience had filmed every second of the show, including both of his little self indulgent speeches. It would all be out there, all over the internet. The likelihood of Shane seeing it somewhere, somehow, was pretty high. What he did with that was up to him. 

Ilya would answer the phone, if he called. He’d cancel the tour again, if Shane asked him to come home. Well, maybe he wouldn’t. He already owed every person working on this tour more than he could ever repay for their unending patience and support. He wouldn’t leave them high and dry. But he’d certainly consider it. 

With a sigh Ilya tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. Shane was somewhere in the city tonight, he was sure of it. There were moments during the show where he was sure the other man was in the crowd, could almost feel his eyes on him. At first it had knocked him a little off balance but in the end it had been a comfort. When he’d sat down to play In Another Life he had reached for that feeling of being seen by Shane and had played it just for him, like he was sitting on the piano bench next to him.

If nothing else he hoped Shane would hear that song. He wanted him to know that though he’d never said it while they were together, Ilya had loved him. Still loved him. Would always, always, always love him. And it was ok that that wasn’t enough this time around. Painful and heartbreaking and tragic, but ok. They’d get another chance one day, even if it had to be in a different lifetime. 

There was a commotion happening down the hall, but Ilya paid it no mind. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. The level of honesty he had offered tonight had felt like flaying himself alive and holding out the broken, bloody pieces for final judgement. There was no putting those worms back in the can. His father could put out some kind of statement and deny what he’d said about his mother. His brother could take to social media and call him a bad son for abandoning their family. They could call him every slur under the sun for telling the world that even though it hadn’t lasted he had had the privilege to love Shane Hollander. 

It didn’t matter anymore. They couldn’t harm him, they had nothing left. A life without them and their shame and their disgust and their refusal to love unconditionally lay ahead. The only way now was forward. 

“Holy shit, no fucking way!” Wyatt yelped. Ilya let his head fall forward and looked over with vague interest. Wyatt was a demonstrative guy, he wasn’t too worried. He frowned when he saw the look on his keyboardist’s face, shocked and pale with mouth ajar, reflected on Cliff’s as well. Cliff was significantly less demonstrative than Hayes, maybe there was a real problem. 

Ilya followed their line of sight towards a doorway just off the edge of the stage. Svetlana and Soctt were already there, apparently having been part of the commotion. Sveta had her hand on Scott’s shoulder and was shaking her head at him as he stared back at her with a face similar to Cliff and Wyatt’s. Ilya couldn’t see who was in the doorway, so he sat up a little bit to try and get a peak. 

“Oh my god,” Harris gasped. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head and the camera he was still holding nearly tumbled out of his hands. Troy caught it, but just barely, his own eyes also locking back on the doorway immediately before darting to Ilya. Ilya’s frown deepened. His first thought was that his father was here, somehow, some way. He would pull something like this, Ilya thought with a scowl. Wait for the band to finally get on tour again and then show back up like he’d been part of it all along. 

Not on my watch, he thought as he pulled himself up from the crate. Grigori Rozanov had caused him enough misery. 

“Wait, Ilya,” Troy hissed, lunging at him as he passed, but Ilya managed to dodge his grip. 

“No, I will handle this,” Ilya replied breathily. His father would not ruin this. Even if he had to punch the man square in the jaw to get the message across.

Svetlana turned when she heard him approaching, finally allowing him to see what was standing in the doorway. He noticed several things all at once. One was that Svetlana was grinning from ear to ear, not scowling as he might have expected if she’d been talking to Grigori. Second, that for some unknown and frankly incomprehensible reason, Rose Landry was standing with her arms crossed frowning at Scott Hunter. 

And finally, that standing next to Rose Landry, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, was Shane Hollander. Ilya blinked, then blinked again, but there he remained. The part of his brain that was still convinced the new prescription wasn’t working suggested this was a hallucination, that he should turn around and call Galina right this second because he was now seeing things that couldn’t be there. It hadn’t happened with these meds yet, but it was the only explanation. 

“Ilya,” Shane said. Was that how Shane had always said his name? Like a lifeline, like a promise, like a call home? Or was that just the hallucination saying his name the way he’d always wanted Shane to say it?

“Jesus, you two,” Scott muttered. “How are you even here, Hollander?” 

Rose lifted a delicate eyebrow and nodded at Svetlana. “He was invited, we have a pass and everything. How about you stand down and take a breath, pal?” she snarked. The tiny part of Ilya that wasn’t frozen in place five feet from the door and trying to verify his own reality started laughing maniacally in his head at the offended look on his manager’s face. 

Svetlana was looking at him now. He met her eyes in order to spend just a few more moments not looking back at where Shane might be standing. If he met the eyes of the man standing there again and it wasn’t him, he might fall apart. 

“Don’t be mad at me, Ilyusha,” she was saying in Russian. Her smile had dimmed a bit but her eyes were fierce. He wasn’t positive what she was asking him not to be mad at, but he knew whatever it was she would not back down.

“You should have told me, Vetrova, instead of blindsiding us-” Scott was saying. Svetlana’s head snapped to look at him. 

“I invited, I did not know if he would come,” she answered. 

“Ilya,” Shane, or the memory of Shane, or the ghost of Shane, said again. This time the name was softer as it fell from his lips. He’d heard it said like that before. Ilya sucked in a breath, then released it shakily. He’d taken several massive leaps of faith over the last few months, trusted people to have his back. What was one more? 

Ilya let his eyes land on the man in the doorway again and this time there was no doubt. There’d been no doubt before, not really. Just fear. But when Shane Hollander was looking at him, eyes wide and arms outstretched, there was nothing left to fear at all. 

They met in the middle like they’d never been apart, arms wrapped around each other so tight there’d probably be bruises. Ilya hoped there would be, to act as a stark reminder that Shane had been there. Back in his arms once again, even for just a moment. 

“I knew it, I fucking knew you were here,” he muttered into Shane’s hair as he crushed him to his chest. “I could feel it.” 

“I’m here, I’m here,” Shane was mumbling into his collarbone. He fit so perfectly against him, Ilya couldn’t begin to imagine why they weren’t always like this. “I missed you.” 

Ilya hummed and let his head collapse onto Shane’s shoulder. He had no idea what everyone around them was doing and he didn’t care. It was him and Shane, just them. Like it should be. “I missed you,” he sighed in response. 

All too soon, Shane pulled back. His eyes were wet and wide and had the look of someone who had spent a significant amount of time crying, though the smile on his face assuaged any concerns Ilya had of him being sad. He pressed their heads together and his hands came up to cup his cheeks.

“I love you, too,” he whispered in the space between their lips. Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist and pulled him so close, they might as well have been one person. “You said it over and over and I didn’t hear it. I’m so sorry.” 

Ilya shook his head, his nose bumping against Shane’s. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure the audience still filtering out into the cold Ottawa night could hear it. “No, no, it’s alright. I needed to let you go, you shouldn’t have to put up with-”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” Shane scolded quietly. “Don’t call it ‘putting up’ with you. I could have been there for you, I would have gone to every appointment and held your hand and picked you up and -” 

“Shhhh,” Ilya cut him off gently as Shane’s breathing started to speed up to the point of hyperventilating. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s cheek, then the other. “I could not ask you to do that. I could not let the man I love see me like that. Bad enough Hunter and Sveta were there,” he tried to joke. Shane shook his head quickly and forced Ilya to look him right in the eyes. 

“I was so scared you didn’t feel what I felt, that I would look like a dumb, lovestruck idiot for falling in love with you,” he breathed. “I should have been braver and said something. I spent a year being your partner and when you needed me you didn’t trust that I could handle it.” 

Ilya sighed and reached out to wipe away a tear that was now sliding down Shane’s cheek. Shane leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “That is not it. I could not bring myself to ask you to handle it. You did not sign up for all of that, if I was ever going to deserve you I needed to handle it myself.” 

Shane let out a wet laugh. “I think maybe we both fucked up,” he replied. “Can you forgive me?” 

“Only if you can forgive me,” Ilya whispered. Shane smiled and kissed him again, and Ilya thought he could fly. If Shane asked it of him, he was sure he could do anything. 

“Um, so sorry guys,” a voice suddenly cut in. They pulled back and turned their heads to see a stagehand with a headset around his neck, nervously wringing his hands. “Seriously, so sorry, but there’s this box like right behind you-” 

“Way to ruin a moment, man,” Wyatt whined. Ilya turned his neck further still, arms securely wrapped around Shane, to see the whole band, along with Scott and Rose, standing right by the wing of the stage. Svetlana was grinning her patented “I’m always right” grin, while Wyatt was playfully scowling at the stagehand. Troy and Cliff were smiling, while Harris appeared to be dabbing at his eyes. Scott looked extremely put upon, but Ilya could tell he was fighting his own smile, while Rose was holding up her phone. He’d have to ask her for the pictures later. 

Ilya rolled his eyes at them all and pulled Shane out of the way. “Sorry, our fault,” he said to the man with the headset. “We will be on our way.” 

He released Shane but immediately grabbed his hand, tugging him towards the door he’d come in from. “Hey, hey, hey, where are you going!” Scott yelped. Ilya turned back and sent Scott a very serious look. 

“No details for boring Scott Hunter, you do not deserve them,” he decreed. Shane laughed and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s waist from behind, hooking his chin over his shoulder. It was a beautiful laugh. 

“Slow down, Ilya, don’t run away from your band,” he said softly. “Do what you need to do here. I’ll wait for you.” 

Ilya turned his head and captured Shane’s mouth in a kiss. “We should maybe talk,” he mumbled. Shane hummed and kissed his shoulder. 

“We should. Did I tell you you were wonderful tonight?” he asked. Ilya shook his head. “Well, you were. The whole show, it was… it was perfect. Though you better never perform that new song again. It’s patently untrue.”

“I love you,” Ilya sighed. Shane was right, he had a lot to do before they could leave. They had to be in Montreal tomorrow for the next concert and it was a whole operation to move a tour like theirs. But he didn’t want to part from Shane, not for one second. Not without saying it, loud and clear. 

“I love you, too,” Shane replied. He smiled gently as he said it, eyes warm and bright. They had a lot to talk about. They couldn’t just hop back into the way things were, when their relationship was outlined by a contract. They had no script to perform now, no sheet music to follow. Whatever their future might look like, separately or together, it was up to them. 

And maybe, Ilya thought as he kissed Shane again, that was a good thing. Maybe this time they could do it for real.

Chapter End Notes

Epilogue next!

*BTW I have several other fics in the works so if you like my writing or just want to read more Hollanov while we all patiently wait for season two, please keep an eye out. They will be all sorts of genres and ratings, not sure what order I intend to post in but I won't be gone long!

Chapter 19: Epilogue

Chapter Summary

And they lived...

Chapter Notes

Happy epilogue :)

Six months later, July 

Shane was just putting the last of his dishes away after emptying the dishwasher when there came a knock at his door. He glanced at the clock on the stove and smiled. 7:30pm on the dot. Right on time. 

He gently closed the cabinet that housed his mugs and wiped his hands on a dish towel before heading towards the door. He paused to check his hair in the mirror hanging in the hallway with just a tiny bit of anxiety before hurrying to let his guest inside. The first thing he saw was the bouquet of flowers right at eye level, before they moved out of the way to reveal Shane’s favorite sight in the world. A sight he hadn’t seen in person in months. 

“Ilya,” he sighed with a smile. Ilya smiled back. 

“Shane,” he replied. The two stood in the doorway for a moment, taking one another in. Eventually Shane stepped back and held the door open. 

“Please come in,” he said. Ilya walked inside and waited for Shane to close the door before handing him the bouquet. Shane blushed as he took them. They were lilies. 

“These are beautiful, thank you,” he said. Ilya’s smile was so wide and he looked so happy that Shane wanted to call the whole night off and drag him into his bedroom. Instead he took a deep breath and forced himself to turn towards the kitchen. “Let me get a vase, then we should go.” And they really did need to get going. Tonight was a very special date night.

It had been just over six months since Shane and Ilya had reunited at the opening show of the Paparazzi Joyride tour, and things between them looked a lot different now than they ever had. They hadn’t actually had much time to talk after the concert, with Shane needing to get Rose home (no matter how much she claimed she could take an Uber, he felt like a dick making her do that) and Ilya needing to get ready to leave for Montreal that night. Instead they decided Shane would also go to Montreal the following day, which would give him and Ilya a chance to catch up before the second show. 

Shane had been on cloud nine when they got back to his parents’ house. Even though it was past midnight, his parents were still up waiting for them, and it took less than ten seconds for his mother to notice his change of attitude. 

“Oh my god, you’re back together!” she yelped, sitting straight up from where she had been lounging on the couch watching a movie. His dad had startled, likely half asleep, and looked back and forth between Yuna and Shane. Rose started laughing as she took off her coat while Shane groaned and tried to run away. 

“No we are not!” he yelled as he rushed up the stairs. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Mrs. Hollander,” Rose giggled. “But wait until you hear what happened!” 

Shane closed the door to the upstairs bathroom, the one that still had a hockey themed night light plugged into the wall, and sank down to the floor. His head fell back against the door with a thunk and he let out his first full, deep breath in hours. 

Like Rose said, it was a little more complicated than that. There hadn’t been time to say all the things that needed saying. Things could never be the way they were before the cottage, that was for sure. But maybe that was okay. Maybe the next phase would be even better. At least now he may have a chance to find out. 

Ilya had missed him. Ilya had written him another song and had told the whole damn world that he loved Shane. He’d been saying it for months, and Shane was finally listening. He felt a goofy grin appear on his face as his eyes fell closed and he thought about the way Ilya’s arms had wrapped around him, the feeling of his lips on his own. It was intoxicating. He’d wanted to trail Ilya back to his tour bus like a lost puppy, tail wagging with the joy of being back in Ilya’s orbit once again.

But one thing they both seemed to know right away was that they couldn’t just hop back in. No, this time they had to do things right. It would be hard to try again while Ilya was away on tour for so long, and Shane couldn’t drop everything and follow him to every show. He had his own life, his own career to consider. 

All he knew was that he wanted Ilya to be a part of it. They could figure out the rest, hash it out between the two of them instead of handing the whole thing over to lawyers this time. He was so glad he’d gone backstage. His mom would be so damn smug when she heard there had been a big romantic gesture after all. 

Shane woke up early the next morning, having barely slept for more than an hour. He took Rose to the airport, where she hugged him long and tight. 

“I am so fucking happy for you, Shane Hollander. I knew you two would figure it out,” she whispered. He pushed back the urge to cry and kissed her on the cheek. As soon as she was in the airport safely he got back in his car and started the two hour drive to Montreal. 

About an hour into the drive he got a text, the first new text from a number he’d thought about deleting time and time again but just never could. It popped up on the dash of his mom’s car. 

From Ilya:

‘Good morning, Shane.’

Shane couldn’t see his own face but he knew the smile on it must be ridiculous. His cheeks hurt immediately. It had been a while since he’d smiled like that. 

From Ilya: 

‘We are in Montreal now, we got in before sunrise. I forgot how brutal touring is. Let me know when you leave Ottawa, I will find somewhere for us to have lunch. See you soon.’ 

Shane grimaced and pressed the button on the steering wheel that allowed him to dictate a response. 

To Ilya: 

‘Good morning, Ilya. I’m sorry, I should have said. I had to drop Rose off at the airport early this morning, so I left right from there. I’ll be in Montreal in an hour. I can entertain myself for a while if you are busy.’

Shane continued to drive and tried not to let any concern settle in. He really should have texted Ilya that he was leaving so early, or gone back to his parents’ place for a bit. Ilya had a whole tour to run, he was probably totally swamped this morning-

From Ilya: 

‘Thank god, I was already missing you too much. Also Wyatt is giving me so much shit for last night, I need to get away. I will send an address for breakfast and will meet you there in an hour.’ 

Shane beamed and let out a shaky breath. Rule number one for moving forward - no overthinking. They were getting a fresh start, if he was going to make this work long distance he would need to not second guess every move. Ilya had held him tight and kissed him over and over before they parted ways the night before, his eyes bright and his face happy. He wanted to see Shane again, as desperately as Shane wanted to see him. Shane needed to believe that. 

From Ilya: 

‘I love you.’ 

Shane let out a laugh that sounded more like sob. He pressed the button again with a sniffle. 

To Ilya: 

‘I love you, too. I’ll see you soon.’ 

Ilya replied with a heart emoji and an address for a restaurant in downtown Montreal. Shane quickly switched the GPS on the car over to the new address and turned on the radio. Christmas carols drifted through the speakers and Shane relaxed into the seat as he drove along. The interior of the car was warm and the world outside was blanketed with light snow. The sun was shining and the air was clear. It was going to be a beautiful day. 

Seeing Ilya again felt, as cliche as it sounded, like coming home. He was already outside of the restaurant, bouncing slightly in the cold. He was bundled up with a scarf and a hat and his hands were shoved deep in his pockets, but Shane would be able to pick him out anywhere. It was cold enough that his breath was visible in the air as Shane approached, and his nose was red from the chill. Shane cleared his throat and was nearly thrown off balance as their eyes met. 

Ilya’s face lit up as soon as he saw Shane and his hands came out of his pockets to reach for him. Shane sighed as he wrapped his arms around Ilya’s middle and tucked his head against his neck.

“Hello любимый,” Ilya breathed against his ear. Shane squeezed tighter and pressed a kiss to his jaw before pulling back. They rested their heads together, almost sharing the same air. 

“You promised you’d tell me what that meant,” Shane replied quietly. Ilya chuckled and nodded once before kissing his nose. 

“It could mean many things,” he replied. Shane opened his mouth to argue that that wasn’t fair, but Ilya kissed him into silence. Shane grinned as Ilya pulled back and lifted Shane’s hands to kiss them as well. “When I say to you, it means something like ‘beloved’.”

Shane hoped the cold made his face red enough to hide the blush he knew was appearing. It seemed unlikely based on the shit eating grin Ilya now had on his own face. Ilya wrapped one gloved hand around one of Shane’s and tugged him towards the door. “Come on, любимый, I am so fucking hungry.” 

Over the course of breakfast, Ilya and Shane caught up on all the things that happened in the months they had been apart. Some parts were easy to talk about. Shane went through the new projects he was working on or had coming up. Ilya walked Shane through the process of scheduling the tour again, the rehearsals leading up to the shows, the creative work that had gone into it all. 

By the time their entrees arrived they were on to the difficult parts. Shane held Ilya’s hand over the table while Ilya carefully shared the details of his time in the hospital, the early struggles with the new medications. Shane tried to be honest about how much learning about the cancellation of the tour had scared him, and how hurt he’d been to not hear it from Ilya directly. 

“I wanted to call you,” Ilya admitted. He wouldn’t meet Shane’s eyes, but their hands were still intertwined on the table. “I just didn’t know what to say. I thought maybe it was better not to bother you.” 

Shane rolled his eyes and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He squeezed Ilya’s hand. “It wouldn’t have bothered me. You never bother me,” he replied. Ilya smiled and nodded. 

“I know. Galina says I am an expert at catastrophizing and self-deprecation,” he said primly. Shane barked out a laugh as Ilya continued. “I am working on this, though. I am trying not to think like that as much. Still hard, sometimes.” 

As the meal came to a close, Ilya ordered a dessert for them to share. Shane grinned at him as the waitress walked away. Ilya took his hand back and laced his fingers together before leaning forward. Shane mirrored his posture, knowing right away that Ilya had something to say. 

“So,” Ilya sighed. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Shane replied quietly. “And I’m very happy we are.” 

“Me too,” Ilya admitted. He had a soft smile on his face. “I missed you very much. I would like to try again, being together. But I don’t think we did things right the first time.” 

Shane laughed and shook his head. “No, I don’t think we did. If we wanted to try again, what do you think we should do differently?” 

Ilya bit his lip. “I will be honest, even if I don’t like what I have to tell you,” he replied seriously. “I am better now but I will never be perfect.” 

Shane scoffed. “I don’t want you to be perfect. I want you to be healthy, and safe, and happy,” he said. “I want to be there for you, to be someone you trust.” 

Ilya nodded. “I do trust you. I always trusted you, that was never the problem. I was trying to protect you like I was trying to protect everyone. I thought I could handle it.” 

“You don’t need to handle it, not alone,” Shane admonished gently. “And I don’t want to be protected.” 

“I know. Galina said this too, that I have a bad habit of thinking people will give up on me if I let them get too close. I am trying not to think like that either,” Ilya said. Shane let out a breath.

“It’s not just your fault, though. There were so many times I wanted to ask you what was wrong when you would cancel dates and I always talked myself out of it, convinced myself it wasn’t any of my business. How were you supposed to think I wanted to be there for you if I never tried?” 

Ilya leaned back as a slice of cheesecake was placed between them. He held out a fork for Shane to take, who rolled his eyes with a grin. Cheesecake at 10:30am. Why not? 

“You were following the contract,” Ilya argued as he took a bite. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. “We both mishandled things, I think. We let that stupid contract control our lives even when we knew there was something more.” 

Shane hummed around a forkful of cheesecake. He stared across the table at Ilya as the other man attempted to spear a strawberry. 

“Do you think we have a shot?” he asked quietly. Ilya looked up from the plate with a frown. “If we try again, I mean. It would break my heart to lose you a second time. And don’t-” he held up a hand as Ilya went to reply, “just say what you think I want to hear. Honesty, right?” 

Ilya closed his mouth and stared at Shane. Shane stared back, bracing for the truth. He asked for it, he would need to take it whatever it might be. Ilya set his fork down and leaned across the table, his palms face up. Shane placed his hands in Ilya’s. 

“Yes, Shane Hollander,” Ilya whispered. There was a small smudge of strawberry sauce at the corner of his mouth, the remnants of eyeliner from the night before under his right eye. He was beautiful. “I think we have a shot.” 

The decision, however, was to take things slow. They had not taken things particularly slow the first time, so they figured it made sense to try something new. Shane attended the second night of the tour, this time from backstage where he was briefly mauled by the band. After escaping Wyatt and Cliff and sharing a friendly hug with Troy (and an even friendlier hug with someone named Harris who seemed on the verge of crying with joy), he’d let himself be smothered by Svetlana. 

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. He was referring to much more than the tickets. He meant for being there for Ilya, for not running away when he told her the truth. He’d been so relieved when Ilya told him at breakfast that he’d called her the night they got back from the cottage. She kissed his cheek and pressed her forehead to his temple. 

“You two figure things out?” she asked.

“We will,” he replied. 

After the show, which was a very different experience now that Shane was both backstage and also not panicking, Shane congratulated the band as they exited the stage. He and Ilya shared a kiss and a promise to talk the following day. Then Shane went back to Ottawa. 

He didn’t get back to his parents’ place until close to one in the morning. They hadn’t waited up for him this time, he’d made sure to text when he decided to stay for the show that he would be home very late. His mom just asked him to drive safe in case the roads were dangerous overnight. His dad had asked him to say hi to Ilya.

As Shane fell backwards onto the bed in his childhood bedroom and stared at the ceiling, he considered the months ahead. His next project would likely begin filming mid-January if the latest emails were to be believed, so he would be back in LA. Ilya’s tour was taking them from coast to coast for the next several months, wrapping up in Los Angeles in July. A month later the band would be heading to Europe to kick off the international leg of the tour. It was a lot of time to go without seeing one another regularly, especially if they were serious about trying again. And Shane was very serious about it. He believed Ilya was too. 

Shane finally filled his parents in on everything the next day at breakfast. He even came clean about the nature of their initial relationship, how the whole thing had been a PR stunt that had spiraled out of control almost immediately. It was a massive weight off his shoulders to tell them, and while they were pretty taken aback by the news, his dad was making jokes about it before they gathered again for lunch. 

“Well, at least now it makes sense why you were so squirrely about us meeting him,” he said with a loud laugh. “I was convinced you were embarrassed of us!” 

Shane shook his head seriously. “Absolutely not. You guys are the best,” he replied. His mom rolled her eyes. 

“Look at him, trying to butter us up now,” she grumbled. Shane opened his mouth to apologize again, but she just sent him a wink. 

Iron and Ice had taken a couple of days off to get everything down to Boston, where they were doing two shows back to back on December 23rd and 24th for their hometown crowd. Ilya had given Scott his phone to video call with Shane and his parents through the whole Christmas eve show from the floor, so his parents and him spent the night huddled around a laptop. 

At one point the phone had been handed off to someone else, with Scott yelling over the music that he’d ‘be right back, hang with Kip’. A man Shane had never seen before popped up on the screen with a smile and introduced himself as Kip Grady, a friend of Scott’s. 

“Well,” the man whisper-yelled into the mic. He was clearly quite tipsy. “More than a friend. Scott told me you’re cool and you can know. And I guess also your parents, hi parents!” 

Shane managed to keep his jaw from falling open, but he had immediately reached for his phone and texted Scott’s personal number.

To THE Scott Hunter:

‘More than a friend????’ 

From THE Scott Hunter: 

‘Double date in LA?’ 

Shane grinned at that and looked back at the screen to see Ilya was launching into Sweet Ginger. A double date sounded awesome. 

Christmas and Boxing Day came and went, then New Years. Ilya and Shane texted every day and called almost as often. Ilya had anecdotes about every single city they ended up in, from his beloved Boston to Miami to Nashville to Chicago. Shane’s movie did end up picking up speed in the new year, and he was back and forth between Utah and LA for several weeks. Any free time he got that lined up with Ilya was spent on the phone or on video call. 

As he’d expected, video of that first show where Ilya talked about both his time in rehab and his breakup with Shane had gone massively viral. The response to Ilya’s honesty about his mental health had been largely positive, with some negativity mixed in. Harris, who was eventually formally introduced to Shane as the band’s social media manager, had become a one man battalion stomping out hateful comments across all of the band’s profiles and using the platform to promote local mental health resources in every city the tour stopped in. Shane found him to be an absolutely wonderful addition to the team. It didn’t hurt that it seemed like Troy was head over heels for him.

In Another Life, while not officially released in any form, was absolutely everywhere online. Shane asked Ilya at one point why he was still playing it. 

“It’s part of the journey, yeah? It is how I felt at the moment, and I want to share that. Even if it ends up not being true for me, maybe it will mean something to others. It is one of the most honest songs I’ve ever written,” Ilya said. Shane felt as though he was about to cry before Ilya continued. “Besides, it’s a good fucking song. Why deprive the world of my genius just because we stopped being stupid?” 

It wasn’t perfect. They had their low moments, where Ilya was clearly struggling with something in therapy or was experiencing some side effects to his medication. Shane caught himself getting frustrated when Ilya sometimes didn’t want to go into details about how he was feeling, the fear of being shut out again causing him to lash out. After a particularly bad call where Shane had hung up on Ilya, he’d broken down crying and called Rose. 

“Shane, you can’t expect him to always tell you everything,” she offered gently. He sniffled and nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him. 

“No, I know. I guess I’m still just kind of freaked out…” With Ilya’s permission, Shane had told Rose about what had happened at the cabin, the whole story, so she knew what he meant. 

“Have you maybe considered talking to a therapist yourself? It sounds like you haven’t totally worked through some things,” she suggested. Honestly, the thought hadn’t occurred to Shane. He’d been so adamant about getting Ilya help that he hadn’t considered he might need some as well. Once Rose brought it up, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. The next morning he woke up and immediately called Ilya. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as the other man picked up. 

“No, me too,” Ilya sighed. It was loud wherever he was today. Minneapolis, maybe. It was halfway through March, and the band was making its way west. “I know we talked about honesty and I am trying, I swear-”

“Ilya, don’t. It’s my fault. You deserve privacy, you don’t owe me your every thought just because I’m freaked out,” Shane cut him off. “I have to trust you when you say you're just having a bad day.” 

He paused and cleared his throat. He had his laptop open in front of him and was scrolling through a list of local mental health professionals. “I’m thinking I might go see a therapist. I kind of never dealt with some stuff, you know? And you’re always saying how much talking to Galina has helped. I think something like that might help me, too.” 

Ilya didn’t reply for a moment, and Shane got a little nervous. He’d thought about it all night and he was confident it was a good move, but what if Ilya thought he was overreacting, or trying to compare whatever he had going on with Ilya’s struggles? 

Finally he replied. “I think you are very brave to think of that, Shane,” he said softly. Shane breathed a sigh of relief. 

“To tell you the truth, Rose kind of told me I needed it,” he admitted. Ilya laughed, and they were ok. 

They didn’t do anything for one another’s birthdays. They never discussed it, but there was a silent agreement. No gifts, no plans, nothing but an inclusion of a ‘happy birthday’ in their usual texts. They would try again next year. 

And now it was July, almost two years from the day they first met. Iron and Ice’s last show of the first part of the tour was the following night, and Shane was going to be in attendance. He’d spent the last month moving his schedule around so that he would have as much free time as possible to spend with Ilya while he was in town before they left for London. The only thing on his calendar was a couple of development meetings with the studio that had optioned his script. 

But tonight was extra special. Shane and Ilya hadn’t seen each other in person since Montreal, tethered together by emails and texts and phone calls. When Ilya had said he was going to be free the night before the show, Shane had dove head first into figuring out the perfect first date for a second try. 

“You ate, right?” he asked as he popped into his room to grab his wallet.

“Yes, you told me to. So I assume we are not doing dinner?” Ilya teased. Shane emerged and leaned against his bedroom door frame, watching as Ilya took in the paintings he’d given Shane still up on the wall. 

“Not tonight. Though I’m thinking maybe Italian next week?” Shane said. Ilya turned with a grin, and Shane hurried to head towards the door before he actually abandoned the plans and yanked Ilya down onto the couch to make out. He was a twenty-four, dammit, he wasn’t a teenager. 

“Let’s go, we’re already going to be fashionably late!” he called behind him. He held open the door as Ilya sauntered past him, hands in his pockets. After locking up he turned to find Ilya with his hand held out, and he slipped his own into it with a smile. 

“Did you have any problems getting into the building? I told security you were coming,” Shane said. Ilya shook his head. 

“No problems, though I think one of the security guards is a fan. Or maybe just excited there is an epic love story happening in the building. He was grinning like a madman when I handed over my ID,” Ilya replied with a laugh. Shane groaned in embarrassment. 

“Great, now I’m gonna get an earful the next time I come through the front door,” he complained. “The worst thing about this building is how friendly everyone is. Do you know how many of them told me they were so sad when we broke up? It was like they were worried I was forgetting to be sad about it and they were doing it on my behalf.” 

“Was I public enemy number one here, then?” Ilya asked. Shane glanced over to see if he was at all offended or upset, but he was smiling as he asked. 

“Not at all, actually. They were splitting the sadness for both of us. You might even be the favorite for some of them,” Shane admitted. 

“How sweet! Maybe I should buy them all Porsches.” 

“Don’t buy them all Porsches, Ilya!” 

By then they’d gotten to the underground garage and were walking to Shane’s car. He’d insisted on driving tonight as he wanted to keep the destination a surprise for as long as possible. Ilya rolled his eyes as Shane unlocked his Subaru. 

“Maybe I need to buy you a Porsche. Hot movie star, still driving a Crosstrek,” he muttered. Shane pursed his lips as he climbed into the front seat and adjusted his mirror. 

“It’s a very safe car. And it’s a hybrid,” he argued. He was about to present further benefits of his car when he caught a glimpse of the watch on Ilya’s wrist. 

“You’re wearing it,” he said, his eyes locked on the timepiece. Ilya looked at him in confusion, before following Shane’s gaze to his wrist. Shane noticed his cheeks redden ever so slightly.

“Ah, yes. I thought it was appropriate. I never got to thank you for it. It is a very nice watch,” he replied stiffly. Shane hummed and reached out to gently outline the watchface. 

“I wanted so badly to give it to you that night. I even brought it upstairs after you went up. It didn’t feel right, to wait until the next day,” he said softly. It had gotten easier after a couple months of therapy, to talk about that night. “After, I couldn’t figure out when to give it to you so I just shoved it in your suitcase.” He looked up and met Ilya’s eyes, which were shining with tears. “I’m glad you kept it. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.” 

Ilya glanced down. “I couldn’t get rid of it. It was a gift from you. I didn’t wear it for a long time, though. Now I wear it almost every day,” he confessed. 

Shane leaned across the center console and captured Ilya’s lips in their first kiss in months. He felt Ilya sigh against his mouth and lean into him. It was a ridiculous place to have this kiss, in Shane’s car in an underground parking garage, but Shane needed to stop keeping track of every kiss. The plan was for there to be many, many more, in all kinds of ridiculous places. He intended to lose count. 

After a few moments, Shane pulled back with a groan and turned the car on. “We are running so late,” he muttered. Ilya sat back in his seat and started laughing as Shane backed out of his parking spot. 

In the end they were pulling up to the valet by 8:15, barely late at all. They were still some of the first people there, and Shane knew his car was still one of the cheapest that would be parked tonight. He didn’t feel nearly as bad about it this time. 

“The auction is tonight?” Ilya asked excitedly as he leaned forward in his seat. Shane nodded. 

“What are the odds, right? The Friday right before your last show. Thought it might be nice, to show up together this time,” he said. Ilya beamed at him as they pulled up to the valet and got out of the car. 

Shane handed his keys over with a smile and walked around the car. Ilya immediately slipped the hand with the watch into his own and squeezed. Shane got his phone out of his pocket and opened up the tickets he’d had Farah secure for the auction, confident this time he would be let in. 

The set up of the gallery was totally different from two years ago, but the space still felt hauntingly familiar. There was a long table along the wall with charcuterie and fruit that Shane still couldn’t be sure was real or plastic. Both he and Ilya picked up a glass of water instead of champagne, Ilya because he wasn’t supposed to mix his current prescription with alcohol and Shane to be supportive. 

“I didn’t make it last year, everything was so crazy,” Ilya admitted as they started wandering the gallery. Shane still didn’t have a deep knowledge of art, but he was a lot less on edge this time around. He stopped them in front of a sculpture that seemed to depict several types of vegetables covered in molten metal. 

“I wondered. It completely slipped my mind since we were so close to the end of the contract, and then a few months after I thought ‘I wonder if he went to the auction.’ Wiebe said you never missed it,” Shane replied. He squinted at the sculpture, trying to decide if there was a deeper meaning he was missing. 

“Yeah, well. I was in the middle of figuring out if we were going to cancel the tour. I knew it was the right thing to do but it fucked up a lot of people’s plans. I felt like shit for that for a while,” Ilya mumbled. Shane squeezed his hand. 

“Are you excited to go to Europe?” Shane asked as they wandered on. Ilya nodded slowly, smiling to a couple that walked past them. 

“Yes. I want to see more things this time, like touristy things. I did not take advantage last tour,” he answered. “Do you think you will be able to fly out at all?” 

They had talked about this a bit before, that Ilya wanted him to join the tour in Europe for a week or two. Shane wanted to, he really did, but they were going slow. Even if Ilya would be busy, it was still a lot of extended time together. 

“I haven’t decided,” Shane admitted. Honesty. “I think maybe I want to see how the next month goes first.” Ilya nodded in understanding and offered a small smile. 

“Open invitation,” he said. Shane leaned in and kissed him softly. 

By then they’d made it to the back of the room where the smaller, less flashy paintings were. There was a canvas on the wall that caught Shane’s eye. It wasn’t a landscape this time. Instead it was of the silhouette of a woman in front of a window. Her back was turned so her face was hidden, but her golden hair shone in the late afternoon light coming in. The world beyond the window was vague but beautiful, a blue sky and green trees. 

Shane stared at the painting, unwilling to move on until he decided how he felt about it. Was the woman in the painting sad? Did she want to go outside to that beautiful yet vague unknown? Did she feel trapped? 

Or was she content? Was there someone just out of frame waiting for her to turn around and smile at them, to open her arms and pull them in for a hug? Was she enjoying the view with someone else? Or was there someone outside in the unknown, coming home? 

“This one? It is not your usual taste,” Ilya asked. Shane looked to see Ilya staring at the painting as well. His face didn’t give anything away, but Shane knew him too well. His eyes were roaming over the painting, like he too was trying to decipher the meaning. 

“I don’t know. I think it’s rather hopeful, don’t you?” Shane asked. He turned back to the painting and decided that yes, there was someone coming up the driveway. Someone the woman had missed dearly, someone she was so excited to see that she had to get a first look through the window. 

“Hmm. I might say… homey,” Ilya answered softly. Shane grinned and glanced down at the paper under the piece. There wasn’t a single offer. 

Shane released Ilya’s hand to lean down and pick up the pen. He felt Ilya start to reach to stop him, but Shane successfully boxed him out. 

“Are you being serious?” Ilya asked. “Getting art for you is my thing, you can’t steal my thing!” 

Shane laughed as he filled out the paper with his information and a bid that was well over what anyone else was likely to offer that evening. As he stood back up, Ilya peaked at the number and let out a dramatic groan. “You should not go around auctions behaving like me, Shane. It is not financially responsible.” 

Shane shrugged as he held out his hand, which Ilya took immediately. He tugged him away and made a note to keep an eye on the bidding for that piece, just in case anyone else at the auction ended up as moved by the art as he had been. He was willing to up his offer, if need be. 

“You’re a bad influence, Ilya Rozanov. Throwing around thousands of dollars for mental health research. Whatever will people think?” Shane teased. 

Ilya grabbed him by the waist and pulled him against his chest. The gallery was starting to fill up, but for the moment they were all alone right in the back, tucked away from it all. Shane set his water down next to Ilya’s on one of the little tables and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck while Ilya’s settled on his hips. 

“You know that I love you, right?” Ilya whispered. Shane felt a shiver of thrill run through him at the words. He did know it, they’d said it to each other nearly every day since their reunion in Ottawa. 

“Mhm. And you know that I love you?” he replied softly. Ilya pressed their foreheads together and sighed. 

“Yes. Thank you for bringing me here tonight. This is very special,” he said. 

“I thought it was a good spot to have our second first date,” Shane offered. “It went so well that first time.” 

“Technically,” Ilya said as he leaned back, “our first first date was at the restaurant. This, this wasn’t a date.”

Shane rolled his eyes and shoved playfully at Ilya’s chest. “Oh whatever, you know what I meant,” he grumbled. He turned to walk away but was pulled back by arms that came around his waist and hugged him from behind. He felt Ilya’s chin land on his shoulder and his lips against his ear. He leaned back and idly wondered if it would be bad form to take Ilya home after this, their first date. 

“It’s perfect,” Ilya mumbled. He kissed Shane’s temple. “You’re brilliant. I love you.” 

Shane closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards. "I love you too," he whispered.

This was where he wanted to be, and who he wanted to be with. The work wasn’t finished and it never would be. And that was ok. Whatever they were going to end up being, it would be wonderfully, totally real.