Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Kyle Swift

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover, Kyle Swift

Additional Tags:

Fake/Pretend Relationship, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Best Friends to Lovers, Best Friends to Fake Boyfriends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Fluff, Smut, Bottom Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Pining, Miscommunication, Light Angst, Winter, Snow, Alternate Universe

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-03 Words: 52,101 Chapters: 8/8

Babe for the Weekend - Hollanov

Summary

Ilya was going to murder him.

He should have just corrected Scott. Should have said, "No, that's my best friend, we grew up together." Simple. But instead he'd agreed to bring his nonexistent boyfriend on the trip like an idiot.

How was he going to talk Ilya into this?

-or-

The one where Shane accidentally lets his coworkers assume Ilya is his boyfriend and instead of telling them the truth, he convinces Ilya to play along for the weekend.

Notes

Full disclosure - this was originally a Larry fic (written by me, so I didn't steal anything) and I had a few requests to turn it into a Hollanov fic. Some of the details are changed to make it fit better into Hollanov's world but it's essentially the same story with names changed.

Thank you to Joy and Bess for reading this on such short notice and for helping to make sure I got all of the little details updated. :)

 

**I am not a scent curator so if any scent experts are reading this, I'm sorry. I made up scent combos that sounded good in my brain, so don't come at me if anything sounds wrong.

Anyway, enjoy!

xJae

Chapter 1

In the three years he’s worked at Afterglow, Shane had learned two things; one, the coffee always tasted faintly like burnt regret, and two, no one in his office knew how to mind their own business. 

He typed quietly at his desk, pretending not to hear the familiar voices float over the wall. 

“So, Shane,” Scott from the creative team called, voice dripping with curiosity. “You never bring your wife to the company events. When will we get to meet her?”

Shane didn’t look up, he just stared at his screen as the voice got closer and flatly said, “Never,” hoping that would be the end of it.

“C’mon, man. You’ve got to bring her along on the Tahoe trip. I promise we’ll be nice.” 

“Seriously, Scott?” Shane finally looked up from his computer, glaring into the soft blue eyes hovering over him. “Why are you, of all people, pushing me? You never bring anyone either.”

“I’m bringing someone to the lodge.”

“Are you?” 

“Mhmm. And I really want to meet your lady. So please bring her?” 

Shane took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He tucked his lips between his teeth and considered telling him, but did he really want the entire office to know? Word traveled like wildfire at Afterglow. Everybody was likely already listening in on their conversation, he knew they wouldn’t have to try very hard to hear every word they were saying, because he had to put on headphones to drown out the voices in the office some days. 

With a steadying breath, Shane decided to finally come clean. After three years of people assuming he was married, three years of showing up at events alone, three years of saying “nope, just me tonight” when they’d ask if his wife was coming, he was finally going to tell them the truth.

“Scott.” Shane fidgeted with his computer mouse, spinning the little wheel and sending his document flying up the screen just for something to do with his hands. “I’m not married,” he finally said. “I’m not even interested in women.”

“What?” Scott looked genuinely confused, his head tilted and eyebrows scrunching. “Then who’s that?” he asked, nodding his head toward the framed photo on Shane's desk.

Following his gesture, Shane studied the contents of his desk, almost like he forgot what was on it, as if he didn’t put it all there himself. His eyes landed on the photo in question and a chuckle fell out of him uncontrollably. “Her?” Scott nodded. “Dude, that’s my sister!”

Looking around, Shane saw his colleagues trying very hard to look like they weren’t eavesdropping, but the way their hands had stilled over their keyboards, the chatter between Maria and Elena dying down, and the way he could hear Scott breathing next to him proved that they weren’t doing a very good job of it.

He watched Scott’s chest deflate as he huffed out a laugh. “Oh,” was all he said.

“Yeah.”

So that was it. The truth was finally out. Shane could stop being caught in the middle of a lie. A lie he didn’t even start, but didn’t know how to end. A sense of relief washed over him as the realization set in. Shane could live his single life and not have to pretend someone was waiting for him at home. There’d be no more making excuses for a wife who didn’t even exist. He was finally free.

“So, you’ll bring your boyfriend then?”

“What?”

Following Scott’s eyes, Shane's breath hitched when they landed on a photo of him and his childhood best friend, and he once again didn’t know what to do. He’d just come out to his favorite work friend (and probably all of the others, if he’s honest), and he felt free for all of two seconds before being badgered again about bringing someone on the snow trip. He felt trapped.

Sure, he could have explained. Could have said he and Ilya had been best friends since they played on the little league team together as kids, that Ilya had dragged him into that photo after three beers and his go-to karaoke song. Instead, his stomach twisted. His mouth opened to correct Scott, to tell him that Ilya wasn’t his boyfriend, just as he’d done with the photo of his sister, Maggie. It would be painless. Then he imagined the endless follow-up questions, the awkward pity smile, the “oh, I have a gay friend,” blind dates he’d be propositioned for. He closed his mouth again.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “He’ll be there.”

 

***

 

By the time Shane shut down his computer that evening, the pit in his stomach had gone from mild anxiety to full-blown dread. He sat in his car, hands on the steering wheel, staring at his phone like it might explode if he touched it.

Ilya was going to murder him.

He should have just corrected Scott. Should have said, “No, that’s my best friend, we grew up together.” Simple. But instead he’d agreed to bring his nonexistent boyfriend on the trip like an idiot. 

How was he going to talk Ilya into this? There was no way his best friend would agree to be his boyfriend for a work event. A free snow trip might convince him to play along, but Shane didn’t think that would be enough. 

Cursing under his breath, Shane drove home, rehearsing what he’d say and trying to predict how Ilya would respond. None of the made-up conversations ended in his favor.

Shane was screwed.

“Hey stranger!” Ilya picked up on the second ring. “You never call, is everything okay? Is the world ending?”

“In a way.”

Ilya laughed, “Oh no, you finally snapped and quit your job?” 

“What? No. I love it there. But look, I…” Shane sighed. He didn’t want to do this over the phone. He owed it to Ilya to explain it all in person, that way Ilya could murder him on the spot instead of having to wait to do it. “Are you busy? Can I come by?”

He heard Ilya hum through the phone before saying, “Ooh, no can do. I have someone over, but tomorrow?” 

“I can’t tomorrow, Wednesday?”

“Wednesday it is. See you then.”

“See ya.”

 

***

 

“You what?” Ilya’s eyes went wide and his mouth hung open.

Shane looked down at the floor, drawing lines on the carpet with his sock for something to distract him from the conversation. “It wasn’t on purpose!”

There was a pause and Ilya stared at him for a long time. Finally, his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile and his nostrils flared. “How does one accidentally tell their colleagues that they have a boyfriend? Please tell me you’re joking.”

Shane dragged a hand down his face and shook his head slowly, exhaling through his nose. “Unfortunately, I’m not. It’s true.”

Shane knew Ilya was going to give him shit over this. He practically saw the whole scene play out in his head before he even got to Ilya’s.

“And I didn’t tell them, they just assumed.” Shane did his best to keep his tone neutral and face free of any expression. He waited for Ilya’s eyebrows to scrunch in the way he knew they did before Ilya started to complain about something. Waited for his mouth to open just a bit, but before any words came out, Shane was quick to add, “They think you’re my boyfriend and they really want to meet you.”

“Me?” There was a moment of silence as Ilya’s mouth snapped shut and Shane waited for him to process what he was thinking. “And why would they think that, Shane?” Ilya’s question came out through a smirk and he crossed his arms in an amused way that said you’re such a disaster.

“I don’t know,” Shane responded, running his hands through his hair and taking a step around the coffee table so he’d have room to pace out of awkwardness. “Because it was better than the alternative, I guess.”

Ilya’s eyes followed him around the room and then his face morphed to something more concerned. “What alternative? Shane, what are you talking about? What happened?”

Shane dropped down onto Ilya’s old plaid couch, twisting the pilled fibers between his fingers as he started talking, hoping that Ilya would understand and agree to come on this trip with him. To be his boyfriend for the weekend.

“They thought Maggie was my wife, because I have a picture from her birthday on my desk.” Shane shrugged and shook his head like he was trying to shake off the thought of his sister being his wife. “They all just assumed.”

Ilya snorted. “They thought you were married to your sister?”

“Apparently!” Shane threw his hands up and finally cracked a smile for the first time since he got to Ilya’s. “I was confused too. Didn’t know where they came up with that until Scott told me the other day.”

When Scott had pointed at the picture of Shane with his arm around Maggie and the realization hit, his face made the exact same expression Ilya was making at that moment.

Shane huffed, shifting his weight to one foot. “So anyway, I told him that I wasn’t married. Thought that would clear things up. And I even came out to him, thinking that if he knew I was gay, maybe everyone would stop asking me to invite my wife to our company events.” He paused to take a breath, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

Ilya’s face had softened a bit and he leaned forward, narrowing his eyes playfully. “Mm, yes. The logical next step. ‘I’m not married. Also, fun fact, I’m gay.’ How could this possibly go wrong?”

Shane shot him a flat look. “You done?”

“Not even close,” Ilya said through a smile. “But go on.”

“Well.” Shane sighed. “Then he saw a photo of you…”

Ilya’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You have pictures of me on your desk at work?”

“I have pictures of a lot of people on my desk.” Shane's response was quick. Defensive. He waved a hand as if that would make it matter any less.

Ilya crossed his arms, popping a hip and glaring at him. He licked his lips. “Who?”

Shane blinked, tilting his head. “What?”

“Who else do you have pictures of?” 

“Um.” Shane scratched the back of his neck. “My parents, Maggie, my nieces, and that picture of us at the A’s game last year.”

Ilya stared at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s it? Your family and then…me?” 

He looked down again, toes digging into the carpet like he could hide in it. He wasn’t sure if he should say more. And maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to understand how Scott had jumped to conclusions. Because now that he was saying it out loud, it kinda made sense. 

“And one of us in St. Thomas,” he mumbled, not looking up from the floor. “From when we swam with the dolphins.”

“Shane.” Ilya huffed out a dramatic laugh, dragging out his name.

“I know.” Shane groaned, dragging hands over his face. “I see it now.” 

He peeked at Ilya through the gap between his fingers, giving him a sheepish, painfully hopeful look. He tried an innocent laugh – soft, embarrassed, a peace offering of sorts. He flashed the guilty smile he always used when he asked Ilya for a favor. “So…what do you say?”

Ilya didn’t even blink. Didn’t hesitate. Hardly even let Shane finish his question. “Absolutely not.”

Shane dropped his hands. “Ilya, come on!” He gestured wildly, like he could physically shove the idea into place. 

“What is the trip even for?”

“It’s the Afterglow end of year trip. We meet up with the Afterglow employees from different regional offices every year for a few days and it’s usually pretty fun. I’m speaking this year at the conference, and the next day there’s usually an awards ceremony. The rest of the time, though, we’re free to do whatever.”

That may have done it. He could see Ilya considering it now, and since Ilya didn’t have a snarky response for him, he continued.

“You love the snow. And you wouldn’t have to go to the conference or anything. You just need to show up and pretend to like me, call me ‘babe’ for the weekend, and then you can fuck off. I’ll even let you break up with me in front of everyone if you hate it.” 

Ilya stared at him, tapping his chin like he was considering saying something witty. His shoulders dropped and then he sighed. “…Will you pay for all of my drinks?”

“Of course.”

“And food?”

Shane flung his hand out, rolling his eyes. “Obviously.”

For a long beat, Ilya held his gaze, saying nothing just to torture him. Then he nodded once. “Fine.”

 

***

 

The lab was always quiet in the late afternoon, all soft light and cluttered surfaces, evidence of a hard day’s work. Shane stood at the workbench with his sleeves pushed up, a row of small glass vials scattered in front of him. They’d started out in an orderly row, but as the hours ticked by, he’d made a mess of them. He moved around the workshop without really thinking, guided more by instinct than any of the written base formulas the others worked from.

He let himself mix slowly and without a plan. Several drops from the first bottle, a few less of the next one, and just one single drop from the third. After swirling the mixture over the burner, he dipped a test strip and set it aside with the others while he made some notes, allowing it time to dry. There was a whole collection of samples in a jagged row across his workspace by the time the shop lights dimmed, signaling that it was six o’clock. He should have left an hour ago, but he wanted to finish his final blend of the year before closing up. 

Picking up sample A, he waved the test strip in front of his face, inhaling. Something was off, not quite how he’d imagined it in his head. He made a note and set it back down. Sample B was pleasant. Fresh, airy, something rich and deep hidden under a hint of eucalyptus. That one made it to the ‘maybe’ pile. 

Nothing had names yet at this stage. This part was just about working with the way certain notes softened others, the way sharpness could give way to warmth if he mixed it just right. The blend he was working on was meant to close out the year. Not in a neat, celebratory way, but just something to round it up. To punctuate it. He wanted something comforting without being too sweet, familiar without being obvious. It wasn’t easy for him to describe the feeling he was trying to recreate with words, but when he smelled it, he’d know.

“Hey Shane.”

His head snapped up and he turned toward the door with sample C pinched between his fingers. “Oh hey, I’m almost done here. Just need to settle on one and then I’ll close up.”

“You’re fine.” Elena waved him off and stepped into his space, helping herself to some of his samples. “I was just going to ask if the supply guy came by last night. My test strips weren’t refilled.”

“Oh.” He tried to remember how many were left in his drawer when he’d grabbed out a stack earlier. “I’m not sure actually, but I have plenty. You can grab some of mine if you run out.”

She set down sample B and skipped to sample D since Shane was still holding onto C. He watched her head tilt and then she sniffed it again, nodding as she placed it back into the row. “That one’s nice. It’s kinda giving, like, am I in a garden or at the beach? There’s a lot of floral notes but they’re muted by sea salt and… maybe coconut? Or something.”

Smiling, Shane raised his eyebrows and pointed at her, wagging his finger in a way that told her she was good. “Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

“Nice!” The look on Elena’s face said that she’d even surprised herself with how accurate that guess was. She patted Shane on the shoulder and took a step toward the door. “Well, I’m gonna get outta here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night.”

After finally having a chance to smell C, he didn’t hate it, but he didn’t love it either. It was just okay. Elena was right, D was very nice. He moved it over with B and continued down the row, sniffing, notating, and sniffing again until he ultimately set the ‘maybes’ aside to deal with after the trip. Perhaps if he waited, he’d be able to create one last batch from whatever inspiration struck in Tahoe.

The rhythm of it all steadied him. He worked best when he was alone in the workshop, where he was free to move about the space with no one asking what he was going to name each sample or who it was for, what it was inspired by. A different kind of calm washed over him when he was able to zone out. Or zone in, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that when he was locked in, that’s when some of his best creations were born.

 

***

 

The stench hit Shane in the face the moment they walked into Summit Supply - a mix of metal shelving, synthetic fabric, rubber soles, and something sharp and chemical, like fake pine.

“Someone overdid it with the alpine breeze diffuser,” he muttered, waving his hand in front of his nose as if it would help. “I feel like this is what a boardroom thinks a mountain smells like.” 

The smell didn’t seem to bother Ilya, but then again he wasn’t a scent curator for a wax melt company. He didn’t experience the world through smell like Shane did. “Maybe you could convince them to try Afterglow. Might get us a discount next time we’re here.”

“Next time we pretend to be boyfriends and need snow gear for a trip that neither of us wants to go on?”

“Exactly.” 

They wandered toward the back of the store, weaving between racks of workout clothes, sporting equipment, and shoes before finally reaching the section they were looking for. Colorful snowboards lined the wall and skis hung from the ceiling over a display of fleece sweaters and puffer jackets. Shane picked up a wool beanie and sniffed it before putting it back on the rack.

Ilya caught the motion and smirked. “Do you have to do that everywhere we go?”

“Habit,” Shane said, shrugging. “Didn’t smell how it looked.”

“How it looked?”

“Yeah, it’s yellow. Thought it would smell, I don’t know, yellowy.”

Ilya stared at him for a beat, blinked twice, and then sighed. “And what does yellow smell like, exactly?”

Shane hummed, grabbing a red sherpa-lined beanie and trying to be less obvious about sniffing it before slipping it on. “Like, sunny, warm, bright. Fresh. Like lemons maybe.”

“You wanted the hat to smell like lemons?”

“I didn’t want it to smell like lemons, I was just seeing. I don’t know, Ilya. It’s a work thing.”

“Right, the candle guy thing.”

“Scent curator,” Shane corrected. “And we don’t make candles, we make wax. That’s, like, the entire point of Afterglow - no flames. So, not candles.”

Ilya grinned, his glare only slightly judgmental as he turned and slid a blue and white beanie over his curls. “Sorry, Mr. Curator. I’ll try to remember that next time something doesn’t smell how it looks. Whatever that means.”

“Thank you,” Shane said. “It’s easier that way. That one looks good.”

“You think?” Ilya asked, spinning the rack of hats to find the mirror on the side of the display. “Oh yeah, I like it. Here, you should get one, too.” 

Shane took the blue and white striped beanie from Ilya’s outstretched hand, traded it with the red one on his head, and stepped in front of the mirror. “You don’t think we’ll look weird with matching beanies?”

“I think we’ll look coupley. Isn’t that the point?” 

Humming, Shane took the beanie off and tucked it under his arm. “Yeah I guess so.” 

“Come on, babe.” Ilya winked, reaching for Shane's hand and leading him toward the jackets.

Pulling out of his reach, Shane glared at him and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Being your boyfriend, now come on. We need jackets.”

Shane allowed himself to be dragged over to the coats before yanking his arm away and finding a jacket in his size.

“Two hundred dollars for something that makes me look like a marshmallow,” Shane muttered, tugging on the zipper of the puffer jacket and twisting to see the back in the mirror.

A flash of color caught his eye and he turned to find Ilya holding up a deep royal blue parka next to the rack of jackets. “Yeah, that color isn’t working for you. Try this one.”

Shane slipped on the one Ilya handed him. It was sleeker, more fitted, and the color even matched his beanie. He nodded and met Ilya’s eyes in the mirror behind him. 

“Yeah.” Ilya tugged on the bottom hem of the jacket, smoothing it out and giving a nod of approval. His breath was hot on Shane's neck as he added, “That’s something more like what I’d imagine my boyfriend wearing.”

Shane rolled his eyes and unzipped the parka, sliding it off and folding it over his arm while he waited for Ilya to sift through the rack again. “It smells like plastic and factory air.”

“How about this one? You’d never lose me in a snowstorm,” Ilya asked, ignoring his complaint.

“I am not dragging around an orange highlighter all weekend.”

He could see the gears turning in Ilya’s head, how he smirked a little at his own joke before he could even get it out. Ilya had already put the jacket back on its hanger when he asked, “What if I get some citrus shampoo so I’ll smell orange, too?” 

Shane hated him. “That’s probably the only way I’d walk around with you looking like that, actually. You’ve finally cracked the code.”

Fifteen hundred dollars later, they each had new jackets, snow pants, beanies, and ski goggles. They hadn’t even gotten boots or gloves yet, or rented their snowboards. Living in the Sacramento Valley meant that they had to travel to get to the snow, so the warmest item of clothing in either of their closets was a hoodie. The winter there was warm enough for a light sweater most days, with the temperature only dipping below freezing at night, like, three weeks out of the year. Last time Shane went snowboarding, he borrowed his gear from a friend, but that was years ago. Since he was going for work, and since he actually had adult money now, he decided it was time to buy his own. 

“Having a fake boyfriend is expensive,” Shane complained. “Can we break up yet?”

“Nope. You’ve already promised me a free weekend away, so you may as well impress your coworkers and make it worth it.”

 

***

 

Back at Shane's apartment, they dropped the bags by the couch and settled in to pack. Ilya crouched down beside the bags, removing tags and folding their jackets and pants. He stacked them into a pile next to Shane's duffel bags.

Shane sat cross-legged on the rug, pairing outfits together and setting them near his bag.

“When you’re finished packing we should practice,” Ilya said casually, folding one of Shane's shirts and tucking it inside his bag.

Shane balled a few pairs of socks together and tossed them aside. “Practice what?”

“Being boyfriends.” Ilya grabbed the socks from the top of Shane's pile and smoothed them out, folded them in half, and slid them down the side of his bag to fill in an empty gap. “Holding hands, touching…” Ilya looked up then, meeting Shane's eyes over the stack of clothes. “Kissing.”

Shane blinked. “Ilya.”

“Don’t ‘Ilya’ me. This is a romantic getaway. You know your coworkers are gonna be all coupled-up and we’ll need to match their energy. We have to practice so it’ll look natural. We can’t have you flinching away if I go to grab your hand.” 

Taking a breath, Shane focused on folding his pajama pants without looking up. “I don’t feel like we need to practice that though. You just…hold hands? Easy.”

Laughing softly, Ilya’s tone softened. “Didn’t seem simple when I grabbed your hand in the store.”

“That’s because I wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t know we were playing boyfriends yet.”

“Well,” Ilya started, grabbing the pajama pants from him and tucking them into Shane’s bag. “I still think we should practice. I don’t want your coworkers to think that I’m a bad lay because you don’t know how to kiss.”

His hands froze and Shane looked up sharply. “What? I know how to kiss.” The balled-up boxers in Shane's hand accidentally slipped and hit Ilya in the chest.

He caught them, one brow arched, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Sure you do.” Folding them in half, he pushed them down the side of the bag next to the socks. “Then prove it.”

“Seriously, Ilya?”

Ilya shrugged. “I mean, my job is to make people believe we’ve been dating for years, right? If we want it to be convincing, then we need to get used to touching each other.”

“Ilya, I’ve kissed hella people. I don’t need to get used to anything. You just…do it. What’s there to practice?”

“You know what? Why don’t you go grab a drink or something. Let me finish packing for you.” Ilya started refolding the jeans that Shane had set aside, flattening them out with his palms and probably making creases in them, but Shane wasn’t about to argue. “This will only take a few minutes, then we can relax and I’ll teach you how to kiss.”

“I don’t need to be taught.” Shane glared at him, but was already moving to stand up.

Ilya leaned back and a smile tugged at his lips. “We’ll see about that.”

 

***

 

It was annoying how fast Ilya finished packing. He was zipping the second bag closed before Shane could even finish half of his beer.

“Alright, all packed.” Ilya clapped his hands together before rubbing them on his thighs and standing up. “You know what that means?”

Shane didn’t bother looking up from the couch. “That you’re going home to pack your own bags now?”

“Ha, not quite.” Ilya nudged Shane's knee with his own, grinning. “Scooch over, we’ve got some boyfriending to rehearse.”

Shane let his head fall back dramatically. “Ilya, we’ve been over this. We don’t need to practice. It’ll be fine.” 

“It won’t be.” Ilya put his hands on his hips and glared down at him. “And we do. We have to look like we’re comfortable with each other.” 

“I am comfortable with you.” Shane gestured between them with a lazy flick of his hand. “We’ve been friends for, like, eighteen years.”

“That’s exactly the point. We’ll look like we’ve been friends for years and not, you know, boyfriends.”

“Fine,” Shane huffed, sitting up straighter even as he rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ilya’s bottom lip pushed out into an exaggerated pout. “Way to make your boyfriend feel special. I thought you loved me.”

Shane scoffed and waved him off. “Shut up. Just do whatever you think we need to do to practice,” he said, his hands making air quotes around the word ‘practice.’

The couch dipped down beside Shane as Ilya sat down next to him, their bodies touching from hip to knee. And, that wasn’t so bad. It felt normal, like something he and Ilya already did when they watched movies together. This was going to be fine.

“Here, give me your hand. Do you like the top or bottom?”

Shane raised a brow, a smirk curling across his face. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself, there?”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “I meant your thumb, dumbass. I already know you’re a bratty bottom.”

“Hey!” Shane scoffed, and he would’ve clutched his nonexistent pearls if Ilya hadn’t grabbed his hand.

Ilya ignored him, linking their fingers together and resting his thumb over top of Shane's. “Bottom? Or…” Repositioning their hands, Ilya made it so that Shane's thumb was now on top. “Top?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Let go and see what happens if I just reach for you naturally.” 

Shane tried initiating the hand-holding a few times. They even stood up and walked around the living room linking and unlinking hands as they went, just to get a feel for it. For each other.

“I think the top. I don’t like when my thumb feels trapped.”

“Perfect,” Ilya said, tugging Shane's hand and pulling him against the front of his body. “Now hug me.”

“We hug all the time.” Shane's words were muffled with his face squished against Ilya’s shoulder. “This is unnecessary.”

“Not like this, we don’t. Now put your arms around me. And turn your head towards me like you aren’t trying to find an escape route.” 

Shane did as he was told, sighing and turning to face Ilya. With his nose in Ilya’s neck, he couldn’t help himself when he inhaled. It smelled woodsy with just a hint of spice, and a warm undertone. If Shane had to guess the scent profile, he’d go with cedar, amber, and vanilla. It smelled nice. He snapped out of his scent-induced buzz when Ilya tugged Shane's arms out from between them, positioning them around his waist. 

Stepping a little closer to regain his balance, Shane adjusted the hold he had on Ilya, falling into the embrace and hoping it felt comfortable. “Like this? This feels fine.”

“Yeah, I think this’ll be alright. Now let’s try it sitting down. Come cuddle me, babe.”

Shane was getting better at not rolling his eyes every time Ilya called him ‘babe’ or referred to him as his boyfriend, accepting the reality that in less than twenty four hours they’d be pretending to be boyfriends in front of an audience and didn’t have time for snark. Plus, Ilya was doing Shane a favor after all. He may as well put some effort into their fake relationship if they were going to make it believable.

Following Ilya over to the couch, Shane sat down first, scooting into the corner between two blue cushions. He raised his arm, leaving space for Ilya to scoot in and rest his head on his chest. Shane dropped his arm around Ilya’s shoulders, rubbing his thumb in circles over his shirt. “See, this isn’t so bad. I’m a natural.”

Ilya nudged closer, humming against Shane's chest as he got comfortable, wrapping his arms around Shane's waist. “It’s almost as if you’ve done this before.”

His shirt was soft under Shane's hand, and the warmth of Ilya’s body seeped through the thin fabric separating them. With Ilya’s head resting on him, he thought to himself that it wouldn’t be so bad to have to do this for the weekend. “So, what now?”

Craning his neck to look up at Shane, Ilya was upside-down with his curls nearly in Shane's mouth. Shane brushed them away with his fingers, leaving his hand in Ilya’s hair as he looked down at him. “Now…pretend we’re at the lodge. Your coworkers are gathered around the fire and someone is watching us. What do you do?”

Readjusting his body to face Shane more comfortably, Ilya slid out from under his arm and sat upright next to him.

“Um, I don’t know. Probably put my arm around you or something.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Or something.”

A beat passed where nothing happened and they just stared at each other. Ilya’s expression was careful, patient, his chin tilted like he was waiting for Shane to move first.

Shane felt his stomach tug uncomfortably. He knew Ilya was waiting for him to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. Or maybe he was sure, and that was the problem.

With a quiet sigh, he lifted his arm off his lap and slid it around Ilya’s back, his fingers skimming the fabric of Ilya’s shirt as he scooted an inch closer. He didn’t look at him, just settled his arm there, wordless.

“Okay, that’s a start. Now pretend you actually like me.”

Shane groaned under his breath and let his head fall back against the couch. “This is ridiculous, Ilya.”

“It’s not,” Ilya insisted, shifting so their hips brushed. “If the first time we kiss is in front of an audience, it isn’t gonna look real. We have to get the awkwardness out of the way before we do it in front of other people.”

Shane gave him a flat, knowing look. And then he said, “This isn’t the first time we’ve kissed, though. It’ll be fine.”

Ilya scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “We were like twelve. That doesn’t count.”

With a knowing smirk, Shane narrowed his eyes, lips twitching. “It wouldn’t even be our first time kissing in front of an audience. Remember that Halloween party a couple years ago?”

Ilya’s face flushed and Shane saw him swallow hard. That was something they never talked about. The few times they’d kissed in the past or when they woke up wrapped around each other, it was like it never happened once the sun came up. Shane never brought it up and Ilya didn’t either. It was just something they did, something that happened, and it was almost like talking about it would shatter something, or change things between them. Or keep it from happening again, maybe. 

Ilya blinked a couple times like he wasn’t sure what to do, how to react to Shane bringing up their messy makeout session that happened in front of all of their friends. He paused for a second and then said, “That doesn’t count either. We were drunk.”

Shane huffed out a defeated breath, realizing that nothing he said was going to get him out of this. He knew that Ilya was right, but he’d never tell him so. He felt his throat bob, caught Ilya’s eyes on it as he swallowed dryly. “Okay, fine. So do we just…”

The edge of Ilya’s lips twitched and he was being way more calm about this than Shane was. It was annoying, actually. “Yeah, just go for it.”

Ilya just sat there looking at Shane, waiting for him to move. His clear blue eyes were open and inviting as they flicked down to Shane's mouth. Shane decided it would be better to just hurry up and get it over with.

Leaning in, Shane pressed a quick, perfunctory kiss against Ilya’s lips. It was brief, barely there, kinda awkward. Hopefully it was enough to get Ilya off of his case about needing to practice.

When he pulled back, Ilya blinked, unimpressed. “Okay,” he said flatly. “That’s nice. If you’re kissing your aunt.”

Shane frowned. “I don’t kiss my aunt.”

“Exactly.” Ilya’s grin returned, lazy and insistent. “Try again. Needs more chemistry. Pretend I’m one of your candles or something.”

Shane hesitated, then gave a small, resigned laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stalling.”

So Shane leaned in again, slower this time, less reserved. The second kiss landed warmer, steadier. Still a little hesitant, but not bad. Ilya didn’t rush him, didn’t push. He just kissed back once, easy and certain. His tongue brushed against Shane's lips, a teasing flick of warmth slipping in just enough to urge Shane to open his mouth a bit and chase after him. It was easier with Ilya leading, less something to prove and more to fall into, and just as they’d started getting into a decent rhythm, Ilya pulled away.

When they broke apart, Shane blinked like he’d forgotten it was supposed to be fake for a second. His hand was still on the back of the couch, fingers brushing Ilya’s shoulder. His mind flashed back to the Halloween party they went to in their early twenties, how the warmth from Ilya’s tongue zapped through his entire body and left him stunned. How it was even better now.

Ilya’s mouth curved into a small, smug smile. “Better.”

The quiet stretched between them, filled only by the soft hum of the heater. Shane cleared his throat, sitting back and reaching for his beer to finish it off. “Great,” he said between gulps. “We’re done, then.”

“Sure,” Ilya said, settling back beside him. “For now.”

Shane gave him a sideways look. “You’re impossible.”

Ilya smirked, leaning his head against the cushion. “And yet you still chose me to be your fake boyfriend.”

“Actually, Scott chose you,” Shane responded. “If we’re being technical.”

“Only because you have pictures of me all over your desk,” Ilya teased, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks as he said it.

Shane scoffed, rolling his head along the back of the couch to glare at him. “I have, like, three pictures of us. It’s not my fault we’ve known each other forever and go everywhere together.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” Shane admitted. “I just didn’t realize how it looked until Scott pointed it out.”

Ilya hummed, stretching his socked foot out until it bumped Shane's. “Well, might as well commit to the bit.”

“You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“Someone has to,” Ilya said lightly. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”

Shane checked his phone. “If we want to beat traffic, I’ll pick you up around seven.”

Ilya groaned. “Seven is inhumane.”

“So is pretending to be my boyfriend, but here we are.” 

Ilya laughed, a low, warm sound that filled the room. “Fine. Seven it is. Can you stop for coffee on the way?”

“If you promise to leave your sparkling morning personality at home, sure.”

“Hey!” Ilya’s brows scrunched like he was upset, but they both knew that Ilya wasn’t a morning person. After all, they’d known each other since they were eight and nine, and not once has Shane seen him in a good mood before ten a.m. They shared a knowing look and laughed.

Ilya stood up, stretching his arms over his head and groaning. “Well, I still have to pack so I’m gonna head out now. See you in the morning, Shane.”

“Night, Ilya. See you at seven.”

“-ish,” Ilya added just before the door closed behind him.

Chapter 2

The engine purred as Shane's truck idled at the curb, a breath of exhaust curling into the cold morning air. Fog hung low in the valley, soft and silvery, swallowing the edges of the street. If he hadn’t been to Ilya’s a million times before, he wouldn’t have been sure he was in front of the correct apartment, the shroud of fog so thick it disguised the buildings and made it impossible to see any identifying markers. The world looked muted, early-winter grey with a handful of golden leaves clinging stubbornly to the branches of the trees hanging over the hood of his Tacoma.

Ilya emerged through the haze, dragging a suitcase that rattled over the sidewalk cracks. His new jacket was zipped to his chin with his matching beanie pulled low as he opened the passenger-side door and tossed his suitcase and backpack in the back seat.

“Morning,” Ilya said, his breath misting in the air before climbing in.

“You’re late.”

“Only seven minutes,” Ilya said, taking the coffee cup from Shane's outstretched hand. “Thanks.”

Before Shane could put the truck in gear, Ilya leaned over and brushed a quick kiss against the edge of his mouth. It wasn’t long, just a casual hello, light and a bit cold.

Shane blinked, hand frozen on the gearshift. “What was that for?”

Ilya shrugged, buckling his seatbelt. “Staying in character. You never know who’s watching.”

Glancing out the windshield, fog so dense he could barely see the stairs leading up to Ilya’s apartment, Shane said, “Pretty sure no one’s watching. And they wouldn’t be able to see us through this fog if they tried.”

“Then we’re overprepared,” Ilya said, sipping his coffee.

Shane shook his head, but his ears had gone faintly pink. He put the truck into Drive, the wipers scraping over a film of frost, and pulled out onto the road.

 

***

 

The drive wound through the foothills, where the last of the maple leaves clung to the branches in streaks of copper and rust. Higher up, the air turned sharper and the fog lifted, the sky bruised grey between the pine trees. Snow dusted the shoulders of the highway as they approached the Donner Pass.

Slowing at the first chain-control checkpoint, Shane rolled down his window to talk to the attendant. The man’s breath billowed white as he waved them through. He pulled over and got the chains from the back floorboard, breath puffing in rhythm with the metallic clink.

Ilya leaned out the passenger window. “Need help?”

“No,” Shane said automatically, crouched by the back wheel with the chains laid out on the pavement.

“Translation: yes,” Ilya said, climbing out anyway. He shivered and reached for his coat from the back seat. “God, it’s freezing.” 

Fumbling with the latch, Shane stared at the chains. “Yeah, snow is cold. Who knew?”

“You’re cranky in the cold,” Ilya said, shooting him a look that he didn’t see, but heard.

Shane huffed, pretending to focus on the chains, but there was a ghost of a smile hiding in his voice.

Ilya’s shoes crunched over the snow before he crouched down beside him and took over, expertly hooking the chains around the other three tires in the time it took Shane to do one.

“There we go,” Ilya said, wiping his hands off on his jeans and hopping back into the truck, then holding his hands in front of the vent to warm them up.

Back on the road, fog drifted between the trees and the landscape turned quiet. The forest stretched wide and still until sunlight began to break through the pines in pale streaks. They wound through tall evergreens and snow-lined guardrails, cranking up the heat as the temperature noticeably dropped as they climbed the mountain. 

Ilya fiddled with the Spotify app, choosing a playlist of pop hits that both of them pretended to hate but knew every word to. He started humming along under his breath until Shane joined in, barely a beat behind, tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm.

By the time “Shake It Off” came on, they were both belting the chorus at the top of their lungs, dancing in their seats, windows fogged, laughter cutting through the cold.

When the song ended, Ilya sank back in his seat, breathless. “We’re gonna have to add karaoke to the fake-boyfriend repertoire. People need to know we’re a power duo.”

Shane chuckled. “Please don’t say ‘power duo.’ It makes it sound like we’re in a buddy cop movie.”

“I’d be the hot one,” Ilya said, pretending to ponder.

Shane rolled his eyes, but didn’t disagree.

The fog thickened between ridges and the road wound like ribbon through the white-dusted pines. Their conversation had faded into small talk - half jokes, half comfortable silence.

Ilya adjusted the heater. Leaned his head against the window, watching the evergreens blur past in shades of white and green. “You think your coworkers are the type to do group activities?”

“Probably,” Shane said. “They’re big on board games and team-building activities.” 

Ilya groaned. “If there’s a trust fall exercise, I’m faking a migraine.”

Shane's mouth twitched. “You’ll survive one weekend.”

Ilya leaned his head against the window, watching the world blur by. “Yeah,” he said easily. “With you I probably will.”

Eyes fixed on the road, Shane didn’t answer. His grip on the wheel eased just a little, and the corner of his mouth betrayed him, a quiet, almost invisible smile.

 

***

 

The Evergreen Inn came into view through the fog like something out of a snow globe – a thick layer of powder blanketing the roof, cherry wood and amber windows glowing through the mist, smoke rising from the chimney in a lazy spiral. A hand carved sign swung on its post, its letters half-buried in frost: Welcome to the Evergreen.

“Cute,” Ilya said as Shane parked.

Shane turned off the engine and sat for a second, the low hum fading into silence. The air outside was cold enough that his breath fogged the windshield as soon as he exhaled.

They got out, breath billowing in the cold. Ilya pulled their bags from the back seat, handing Shane's duffels out to him while pulling on his own backpack. The wheels of his suitcase crunched over the thin layer of snow as they made their way to the door.

Inside, warmth greeted them immediately – the scent of pine and woodsmoke, undercut with something sweet and spiced. A fire crackled in the hearth of the main room, drenching the all green and wood interior in an orange glow, throwing flickers of light against the planked floors.

Shane's coworkers were already gathered there, mugs of cocoa in hand, chatting near a table stacked with pastries. Scott spotted them first.

“Shane!” He called, waving. “You made it!”

Shane smiled, setting down his bag. “Would’ve been here sooner if I didn’t have to wait around for this one to get up.” He nudged Ilya, who dropped the handle of his bag and wrapped his arm around Shane's waist.

“Hey!” Ilya’s eyebrows scrunched in offense. “I would’ve been up on time if you didn’t keep me out so late last night.”

Scott approached with a hand extended toward him. “And you must be Ilya,” he said. “I’m Scott.”

Ilya straightened instinctively, switching on the warm, approachable smile that always seemed to make people trust him. “Nice to meet you, Scott. Thanks for inviting me along.” His voice was calm and sincere – not teasing, not performative – and his handshake was firm and confident.

Looking genuinely pleased, Scott glanced between the two of them, smiling. “We’re glad you could make it. Shane never brings anyone to these things, so you’re the talk of the town already.” 

Shane felt the back of his neck heat up. “That’s not-”

Ilya glanced at him with an amused glint, then back to Scott. “Well, I’m honored to be the exception.”

“Everyone’s gathering for a welcome drink before dinner,” Scott said. “Go get settled, and then join us in the main room. Harris – he runs the place – will show you around.” 

“Thanks,” Shane said, waving to his colleagues.

As Scott went back to the group, Shane exhaled, shifting his weight. “That was…fine.”

Raising an eyebrow, Ilya said, “You sound surprised.”

“I just didn’t expect you to behave.”

Ilya grinned. “You make it sound like I’m a menace or something.”

Shouldering one of his duffel bags, Shane started toward the stairs. “You’re basically a feral kitten with curls.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Ilya said from behind him. He could hear the smirk on his face as he said it.

Harris, the innkeeper, met them at the base of the staircase, bubbly and welcoming with dark blonde hair swooped over his forehead. “I’ll show you to your room,” he said warmly. “Then you can join everyone in the family room before dinner.” 

They trailed behind him through the lodge, past the wide family room where firelight flickered against the walls, past the kitchen that smelled like butter and cinnamon. “We push the table aside and turn this space into a dance floor at night,” he said as they passed through. “A little tradition. Nothing fancy, just good music and too much wine.”

Ilya caught Shane's eye, raising a brow. “Sounds romantic.”

“Don’t,” Shane muttered.

Finally, Harris stopped at the end of a quiet hallway and pushed open a wooden door. “Here we are – our best suite. Perfect for couples. Scott requested the best room for you two. Said it’s a special occasion.”

Shane froze in the doorway. “I’m gonna murder him,” he said under his breath.

The room was cozy and inviting in a way that made him uneasy. A king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, covered in plaid blankets and soft white pillows with maple leaves embroidered into the delicate edges. A small stone fireplace crackled in the corner. Through a glass partition, the bathroom gleamed – a deep jet tub and rainfall shower clearly visible from the bed. It was warm and romantic and, unfortunately, designed for people who actually shared some kind of intimacy. Shane didn’t know how they were going to survive the weekend.

“Oh,” Shane managed finally.

Ilya stepped past him, taking in the room with an approving nod. “Wow!”

Harris smiled, oblivious. “There’s wine chilling in the mini-fridge, and the fireplace can be adjusted with that switch by the window. Dinner is at seven.”

“Thank you,” Shane said, his voice faint.

When the door shut behind Harris, the quiet seemed to expand. Only the soft pop of the fire broke it. 

Shane looked around hopelessly, then gestured toward the bed. “This is fine. Bed’s big enough.” He paused and swallowed nervously. “The shower though…” Shane eyed the shower like he wasn’t sure what to do. The shower was right there, visible from anywhere in the room. There was no way either of them would have any privacy. No way he’d be able to shower without Ilya seeing his…

“I think it’s nice.” Ilya kicked off his shoes and wheeled his suitcase to the closet, completely unbothered. 

“Of course you do.” Shane dropped his bags by the door and wandered into the bathroom. “At least the toilet’s behind a door.” 

Shane reappeared to Ilya unpacking both of their bags and began poking around the room, opening drawers and touching everything. He ran his fingers over the carved bedpost, the edge of the nightstand, and sniffed the lampshade, nose scrunching as he pulled away.

“Just relax,” Ilya said, stacking their jeans into the bottom drawer of the dresser. “Sit down and take a breather.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Ilya tossed Shane's empty duffel into the closet and pulled over the second one.

“Because this is ridiculous. I don’t know why I agreed to this. I should have just told Scott the truth.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?” Shane watched Ilya stuff their puffy snow pants into the last empty drawer, pushing the fabric down to get it closed. “It’ll be alright, Shane. I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had. Your coworkers will never know that you’re a big, filthy, liar.” 

Shane rolled his eyes, mouth curving up against his will. “Right. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now let’s get changed and head down.”

Glancing down at himself, Shane frowned. His soft thermal shirt and rumpled jeans screamed ‘road trip’ and he wasn’t about to argue. “Right,” he said, opening the dresser drawer. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” Ilya said, already unbuttoning his shirt. 

He peeled it off casually, folding it and tossing it into the corner of the room before undoing his fly.

Shane froze while digging through the jeans in the drawer Ilya had organized for him, blinking as the fire flickered, painting Ilya’s skin a deep orange-gold just inches from his face. 

“Seriously? You could’ve warned me,” he said, watching Ilya step out of his jeans.

“What?” Ilya glanced over his shoulder, half a grin on his face, unbothered. “We’ve changed in front of each other before. It’s not a big deal.”

“Well,” Shane said, dragging out the word and attempting to avert his eyes. “Not as adults. Unless we were drunk.”

“Well,” Ilya said lightly, slightly mocking him. “I’m still the same me.”

He finally managed to find a pair of jeans – fitted black ones that were snug in all the right places – and grabbed a polo shirt from the closet, muttering something as he walked into the bathroom to change. The glass walls didn’t provide much privacy, but at least his back was turned. He changed quickly, trying to ignore the muffled sounds of Ilya moving around in the next room – drawers closing, the faint zip of a suitcase, a low hum of some tune under his breath.

When Shane stepped back out into the main room, Ilya was standing in front of the mirror fussing with his hair. He’d rolled his sleeves up his forearms and was adjusting his collar, looking effortlessly put together. He caught Shane's reflection and smiled.

“You look nice,” Ilya said in his best supportive fake boyfriend voice.

Shane tugged at the hem of his polo, pretending to fix something. “Thanks,” he said. “You too.”

“Ready?” Ilya asked, turning toward him.

Nodding, Shane grabbed his phone and room key off of the dresser under the TV. “Let’s just get through the introductions without you embarrassing me, please.”

“No promises,” he said, earning him a glare in response.

Ilya’s expression softened, more sincere than his usual teasing tone. “Hey,” he said, giving Shane's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be fine.”

Shane nodded once. “Yeah.”

“I promise,” Ilya said – and before Shane could step away, he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against his cheek.

Shane startled, blinking.

“Practice.” Ilya winked. “Let’s go, babe.”

Shane exhaled slowly and opened the door.

 

***

 

The sound of laughter and low music met them halfway down the stairs. The scent of mulled wine and pine filled the air, the warmth of the fire spilling across the floor in the main room. 

Shane spotted his coworkers right away. They were gathered near the fireplace – all stone and stretching clear to the ceiling, drinks in hand, relaxed in that out of office kind of way that always made him feel a little out of place.

Maria spotted them first, her eyes lighting up as she waved them over. “Shane! So glad you made it safely.”

“Oh hey Maria.” Shane smiled and reached out for hug. “Yeah, we barely got out of town before rush hour.”

“Sounds like perfect timing!” She eyed Ilya with a curious smile. “And who’ve you brought with you?”

Shane gulped and leaned into Ilya, a comforting presence by his side. And for a moment, he was glad to have him there. “This is Ilya,” Shane said easily. That part was true, at least. He took a steadying breath and hoped that the next thing he said didn’t sound foreign coming out of his mouth. “My boyfriend.”

“Oh, it’s lovely to meet you, Ilya!” 

Maria introduced herself to Ilya, standing up to shake his hand before introducing her husband. “Come grab a drink, everyone is dying to meet you.”

Before Shane could respond, Ilya slipped his fingers down Shane's wrist and laced their hands together casually like it was the most natural thing in the world. Shane stiffened for half a second, but Ilya’s hand was warm and grounding and, for once, he didn’t want to pull away.

As they moved through the group, Ilya greeted everyone with practiced charm – friendly, open, somehow remembering names of people who Shane saw every year and still couldn’t recall.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Elena asked after the chatter died down.

Shane froze mid-sip. Of course, The one thing they hadn’t discussed. He couldn’t believe that Ilya made him practice kissing and holding hands, but had completely skipped over the part where they needed an actual backstory. 

Before he even opened his mouth, Ilya squeezed his hand and smiled easily.

“Oh, we’ve known each other forever,” Ilya said. “Met when I was eight and Shane was nine. We played baseball together – from the 8U little league team all through high school.” 

Shane nodded, grateful that at least the story Ilya was going with was true.

Ilya, unfortunately, didn’t stop there.

“I played third base,” he continued, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed Shane's, “and he was the pitcher. So, I had the privilege of staring at his ass in tight baseball pants for years. Nearly missed a few plays because of it.”

The group erupted in laughter, glancing between them both with admiration.

Shane's ears heated and he shot Ilya a warning look.

With a smug smile, Ilya just shrugged and said, “What, babe? It’s distracting.”

Scott laughed into his drink. “Well, I mean, that’s fair.” He looked up at Shane. “Will you turn me in to HR if I agree?”

“Oh, god, Scott. Don’t encourage him,” Shane pleaded, though he could feel his face pulling into an involuntary grin.

“You love it,” Ilya said, reaching over to pluck the spiked cocoa out of Shane's hand. He took a sip and made an approving hum.

“I hate you,” Shane muttered under his breath, cheeks flushed as Ilya pressed a warm cocoa-scented kiss to his cheek.

The group laughed again, and Shane swore under his breath, but it was hard not to smile. Ilya had everyone eating out of his hand – Elena giggling, Maria whispering something to her husband, even Harris watching with an amused grin from the check-in counter.

“So, were you two, like, best friends all those years?” Elena asked, resting her chin on her palm. “Is this like a real life friends-to-lovers situation?”

Shane opened his mouth, but Ilya beat him to it again. “We tried to get rid of each other a few times, but we always ended up back together. We just…fit, I guess.”

Glancing sideways, Shane saw something wash over Ilya’s face. The words were teasing, sure, but there was something softer to them, something that made his chest tighten and his hand squeeze Ilya’s a little more.

He cleared his throat. “You make it sound like we’re some kind of rom-com cliche.”

Ilya’s thumb rubbed lightly over the back of Shane's hand. “Aren’t we?”

A chorus of Awws filled the room and Shane was relieved when Scott changed the subject.

Once the spotlight was off of them and everyone was talking quietly amongst themselves, Shane leaned closer and whispered, “You’re too good at this.”

Ilya bumped his shoulder against Shane's. “It’s easy. I was just telling the truth.”

Shane gave him a long look. He wasn’t sure how to respond. There was a part of him that had always loved Ilya, even when they weren’t seeing each other. When they both had boyfriends or girlfriends and stopped hanging out as often. When they fought over stupid stuff and didn’t talk for months. But Ilya was right. There was a strong force that always pulled them back together.

 “I’m getting more of this boozy cocoa,” he eventually said, detaching himself from Ilya and standing up.

Ilya smiled to himself, watching him retreat before calling after him. “Will you grab me one, too, sweetheart?”

Shane didn’t turn around, the smile that tugged at his lips hidden from everybody but himself.

 

***

 

Dinner was served family-style on the long wooden table beside the staircase, the whole room glowing under the chandelier made of mason jars framed by antlers. The walls were paneled in honeyed pine, permanently scented of woodsmoke from the fireplace, a sheen of black crawling up the edges. Deep green linens ran the length of the table, scattered with brass candleholders dripping wax (Shane would talk to Harris about that later – we don’t do flames here, he’d say) and a few vases of late autumn branches.

A big ceramic bowl of chicken and dumplings was placed in front of each of them, steam curling up like a cloud and carrying the scent of butter, thyme, and pepper. The rim of the bowls had the same maple leaf pattern as the pillows upstairs – an easy touch that made the space feel like someone’s grandmother’s house. Warm and comfortable.

Conversation hummed softly as they passed around dishes of roasted vegetables and poured wine. Laughter rose and fell in the warm light. Shane relaxed for the first time all day, the weariness of the drive through the valley and over the Sierra Nevadas melting under the weight of good food and easy chatter. Even Ilya, for once, seemed to behave. His knee brushed against Shane's under the table and his warm hand on Shane's thigh reminded him of the part they were still playing.

The front door creaked open mid-meal, letting in a cold gust of mountain air that curled through the lodge making the candles flicker. Everyone turned as footsteps crunched across the entryway.

“Ah – there he is!” Scott brightened as a figure appeared by the front desk, standing up to greet him. “You’re here!”

“Barely!” The man rubbed his hands together and shivered, cheeks pink from the cold. He wore a slate wool coat and a tired grin, rich brown wisps escaping from his purple beanie. “They closed the pass for half an hour for the plows.”

“Well, glad you finally made it,” Scott said, glancing behind him and leaning in for a quick kiss. “Everyone, this is Kip.”

“Hi,” Kip said with a small wave before his gaze locked on the food.

“Go ahead,” Scott encouraged, motioning to the chair between his own and Shane's. “Grab a bowl, there’s plenty left.”

Kip smiled and slid into the seat with an easy sort of grace, his coat brushing against Shane's arm as he sat. Up close, he smelled faintly of the crisp air outside and something that made Shane's nose twitch in a very distinct, all-too-familiar way. He’d bet money that Kip had a cat.

“Hey man, how’s it goin’? I’m Shane.” He hoped that his surprise was hidden by his sincerity. “Long drive?”

“About five hours with the traffic and delays,” Kip said, sighing as he picked up the wine that Scott had poured for him. “Worth it though. Smells amazing in here.”

“You drove all that way for this guy?” Shane teased, tilting his head in Scott’s direction.

Kip turned to Scott, his face softened and resembled a lovesick puppy as he nodded slowly. “Any time,” he said easily.

Scott’s cheeks pinkened and he looked down at his bowl. “Kip’s my partner,” he said, the words slipping out in the same tone he used when talking about work deadlines or hiking routes.

Shane had assumed as much, since Scott greeted Kip with a kiss, but he was surprised to hear him say it out loud. He hadn’t known. When Shane had nervously come out to Scott at work earlier in the week, he hadn’t mentioned it at all.

“That’s great,” Shane said. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Kip. This is my, uh. My boyfriend, Ilya.” He stumbled over the words a little, but didn’t think that anyone caught on. He was still getting used to saying those words aloud. Perhaps they should have role-played their introductions as part of their practice session.

The table came alive again with chatter and stories about the drive, about last year’s disastrous Top Golf night – the group referring to one event as “the incident” and not elaborating, and about Scott trying to golf for the first time and throwing out his back. The fire crackled, the scent of lemon and sweet icing thick in the air as Harris brought out dessert, and the windows fogged with the combined warmth of good food and too many people talking over each other.

And for the first time that evening, Shane felt himself exhale completely, relaxing into the warmth and comfort of the steady presence beside him.

 

***

 

After dinner, the group migrated from the dining room to the family room, as Harris calls it, switching from wine to spiced cider. The fireplace burned brighter at night, its flames throwing a flickering amber light across the wide-planked floors and casting shadows on the walls.

A stack of board games sat on the coffee table, everyone piling into the three plush couches surrounding the table in a U-shape. Shane sank down into the corner of the big brown plaid couch, Ilya dropping down beside him, nearly in his lap. But this time, it didn’t bother Shane so much. Their knees brushed, shoulders molded together, and Shane didn’t try to move away. The cider and warmth from the fire were starting to soften everything – his edges, his nerves, this lie that was starting to feel easier to go along with.

“Alright, team building time! Nobody’s going to bed until we’ve played at least one round of something embarrassing.” Elena was loud and a little tipsy, clapping her hands together over the games.

Scott groaned. “Do I need to remind you of how badly that went last year?”

“Exactly why we’re doing it again,” Elena said, holding up a box of Taboo like a trophy. “Alright, team up in pairs. Couples together, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Shane said under his breath.

Ilya’s hand landed on Shane's thigh as casually as if it belonged there, his thumb tracing lazy circles. The touch was warm through the fabric of Shane's jeans. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Shane shot him a look that was supposed to be annoyed, but Ilya’s smile only widened.

The rules were simple: one person gives clues without using the “taboo” words on the card, while their partner guesses as many as possible before the timer runs out.

As the game began, laughter filled the room, the kind that came easily after good food and a few glasses of wine. The clatter of the timer, the playful arguments over words that are allowed, the mix of voices, the shouts when someone said a forbidden word – it all blurred together into a cozy hum.

When it was Shane's turn to give clues, they moved to face each other. Ilya leaned forward eagerly, his gaze on the back of the card as if he could see through it.

“Okay, Shane said, flipping the timer. “Uh, this is something you wear.”

“A coat!” Ilya guessed immediately.

“No, smaller.”

“Hat.”

“Smaller!”

Ilya squinted at him. “What’s smaller than a hat?”

“Uh, okay.” Shane decided to go with a different approach because clearly this wasn’t working. “You had to throw these out after they got too dirty from walking around downtown in only these after-” He paused to avoid saying a word he wasn’t allowed to use.

“Socks!”

“Yes!” He removed the card and glanced at the next word. “Okay, uh. Big. Yellow. Kids.”

“Clowns! Big Bird?” Ilya guessed immediately.

Shane laughed. “No. Uh, it moves. Wheels!”

Silence.

“It’s where you kissed Jimmy in the seventh grade.”

“Oh! A bus!”

“Yes! Okay, next one. Um, it’s sugary. Comes on a stick. You eat it at fairs.”

“Caramel apple!”

“Close! The other one.”

“Cotton candy!”

“Yeah! Oh, shit. Alright. Uh. Something you wear to bed.”

Ilya smirked. “Nothing?”

“No, focus! Um, I packed plaid ones for this trip.”

“Time’s up!” Elena shouted, just seconds after Ilya shouted “Pajamas!”

“We got four, that’s not bad!” Shane said.

They high-fived over the coffee table, and then Ilya pulled him into a celebratory kiss, startling him for a second before he kissed back.

“Alright love birds, move over,” Scott said, grabbing the deck. “Let others have a turn.”

Kip leaned forward, ready.

“Go!”

Kip stared at the first card. “Oh god, okay. Okay, this is something edible.”

“Yeah, gonna need more than that.”

Kip’s lips puckered while he thought, likely trying to figure out how to give his clue without saying any of the taboo words. “They grow on a, um…thing. Oh! There’s an episode of I Love Lucy where she squishes them with her feet to make…a word I can’t say.”

“Grapes! It’s grapes!”

“Yes! Okay, next one. Um, you drink it. Warm, can be dark or light.”

“Coffee!” Scott shouted.

“Yes! Next. It’s an animal. It, um. Has a horn?”

“A rhino?”

“No, it’s colorful. Magical.”

“The Magic Schoolbus?”

“Five seconds,” Elena said.

“It’s, um. Rainbow Dash!”

“A unicorn!” Scott shouted, just before the time ran out.

Ilya was already laughing the second he flipped the card over. “You refuse to eat this because you threw one up when you were ten and it came out your nose!” 

Elena curled her nose, and somewhere in the background Shane heard Maria go, “Ew.” but he shouted the answer easily over the commotion. “Hot dogs! It’s hot dogs!”

“Correct!”

“This isn’t fair. You guys know too much about each other,” Scott pouted. “We don’t stand a chance.”

Ilya just shushed him and went right into the next clue, bringing up the most off-the-wall lore to get to the answers, but it worked. They managed to get five cards that time.

By the time Taboo gave way into Two Truths and a Lie, the room had relaxed into easy conversation. Harris put on soft music while he cleaned up – old jazz, something calm as the backtrack to their game night. The lights dimmed and the snow outside gathered along the windows, muting the world to silence beyond the walls.

Scott started them off, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Alright, um. I once worked as a stripper, my favorite food is sushi, and I once showed up to a date with a set of Legos and left once I finished completing it.”

A chorus of soft laughs broke out before anyone started guessing.

“Well, I want to say number one is the lie, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat sushi, so maybe that one?” Elena said, more as a thought than an actual guess.

Kip laughed beside him, nudging Scott and giving him a knowing look.

Ilya leaned back against the couch, settling with his hand on Shane's knee. “I think it’s the sushi, too. I could absolutely see you putting together Legos at a nice restaurant.”

“Final answer?” Scott asked. Ilya nodded, and the group waited for the reveal. “It’s sushi. I’m actually allergic to a lot of seafood, so I stay away just to be safe.”

Shane leaned forward, sliding his hand over top of Ilya’s and leaving it there. “Okay, so tell us about this stripper gig then. When was this?”

Scott’s cheeks flushed and he looked around the room before landing back on Shane. “It’s how I put myself through college. I used my tips to pay my way because I didn’t have any help from my parents or financial aid. It was the only thing I could do legally,” he emphasized, giving a look to Shane and making him smile, “that earned me quick cash and didn’t interfere with my class schedule.”

Shane hummed, nodding and settling back half against the couch, half against Ilya.

“No debt, baby!” Kip cheered, giving Scott a high-five as the others laughed.

When it was Ilya’s turn, he grinned and said, “Okay, lets see…I’ve broken my arm twice, I once crashed a go-kart into a chicken coop, and my first crush was my best friend when I was twelve.”

It was silent for a beat while the group processed.

“Well, obviously that last one is the lie,” Maria said.

“Right,” Elena agreed. “Sounds kinda old for a first crush. Doesn’t that usually happen around nine, ten?”

Maria nodded, agreeing.

Shane froze beside him, pulse thudding loudly in his ears. Ilya, though, didn’t look away. He was still smiling, but there was something softer in it now, something that made the room feel warmer than the fire beside them. 

Scott hummed. “I’ve seen you trip over your own feet like four times today alone, so number one is probably true.”

Ilya laughed. “Guess you’ll never know,” he said easily, taking a sip of his drink.

Swallowing hard, Shane looked down at his mug, pretending to be interested in the pattern on the side. Shane knew that the lie was actually number one. It was Shane who’d broken his arm twice, not Ilya. Which meant that the other two had to be true. Obviously Ilya had made that up for the bit.

“Come on!” Scott begged. “Tell us.”

“Yeah,” Ilya said. “You guys are right, nicely done.”

When the next round started, Ilya leaned close enough for Shane to feel the ghost of his breath against his ear, spicy and appley. “Relax,” he whispered. “You’re overthinking it.”

Shane wanted to deny it, wanted to ask if he was telling the actual truth, and not just for the part they were playing, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to move. Ilya’s shoulder pressed into his, his hand was a comforting anchor on Shane's knee. And somewhere between the chatter, the clinking glasses, and the blur of warm light, Shane realized he actually kind of preferred it there.

The laughter around them rose and fell in waves, but somehow it all seemed to fade to a blur around Shane. Despite the noise and motion, there was a strange calm settling between him and Ilya, something comfortable and private that belonged only to them. Like they’d found a small, steady rhythm in the middle of everyone else’s chaos. A quiet space where Shane didn’t feel alone for once.

And for the first time, he thought that maybe this weekend wouldn’t be so hard to fake after all.

 

***

 

By the time half the group had drifted off to their rooms, Shane felt pleasantly heavy from hard cider and warmth. The fire was burning low and he was nearly asleep against Ilya, eyes fighting to stay open while Ilya and Scott joked like they’d known each other forever. Finally, they said their goodnights and slipped out of the family room, their footsteps echoing softly on the wood as they climbed the stairs, the sound of distant laughter trailing off behind them.

When they reached their room at the end of the hall, Shane plopped down onto the bed face-first, toeing off his shoes and letting them fall off the edge of the mattress.

“Well,” Ilya said, stretching his arms overhead, his voice still rough from laughter and booze. “That went better than I expected.”

Shane hummed in agreement, tugging the corner of the duvet to cover half of his body.

He heard Ilya’s socks shuffling across the floor toward the bathroom. “Oh, hell yes! I can’t wait to get in this tub.”

By the time Shane glanced up, Ilya had already started the water, twisting the knobs until it was his preferred temperature. Steam began to curl into the air, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the little jar of bath salts Ilya had found next to the tub.

“You’re not actually taking a bath, are you?” Shane asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ilya peeled off his shirt in one smooth motion and tossed it onto the floor, completely unbothered. Shane's eyes darted away when Ilya’s hands moved to unbuckle his belt. “It’s right there, it’s huge, it has jets, and I reek of fire, tires, and dumplings.”

And, well, okay. He had a point.

Shane turned away to face the fireplace, doing his best not to think about what was happening on the other side of the glass. “You are aware that the wall is completely see-through, yeah?”

“Then you probably shouldn’t look,” Ilya called out, voice echoing as he stepped into the tub. A second later, Shane heard the unmistakable slosh of water as Ilya sank down into it.

Dragging his hands down his face, Shane grumbled. “Who designs a room like this, anyway?”

Ilya groaned once his body was fully submerged in the tub. Shane could picture him there with his head tipped back against the edge, eyes closed, completely unbothered. “Romantics probably.”

“How long are you planning on hogging the bathroom? I want a shower.” Shane finally pushed himself off of the bed and padded over to the drawers to grab his pajamas. He shot a look toward the tub to see if it was safe for him to enter. Ilya’s knees were sticking out of the water, his head was resting on the lip of the tub just like he’d imagined, and everything… private seemed to be covered.

“I’m never moving again, actually. Sorry.” Ilya stretched his legs out with a long sigh. “All of your colleagues will have to come in here if they want to see me for the rest of the weekend.” 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

“Well, you are.” Shane shook his head and made his way to the shower, reaching in and turning on the water. Steam immediately began to fog up the glass, turning Ilya into nothing more than a blurry silhouette. The steamy glass hid the details, thankfully, but the outline of Shane's own body as he stripped down using the door as a shield was still there, still visible if Ilya were to glance up. “Okay. Well, don’t look, I guess.”

He stepped in and steam filled the air, mingling with the lavender from Ilya’s bath, softening the edges of everything. The smell of soap mixed with the scent of the fire as he washed out his hair. Shane scrubbed quickly, trying to ignore the sound of Ilya humming contentedly on the other side of the glass. 

When he finally stepped out, towel wrapped tight around his waist, Ilya was leaning back in the tub like he’d been born for luxury. One arm draped over the edge, hair damp, cheeks flushed, eyes closed.

Shane raised an eyebrow. “Comfy?” he teased.

Ilya cracked one eye open. “Relaxed.”

Sighing, Shane pulled his shirt on. “Don’t drown.”

“I’ll try not to,” he said, closing his eye again. “Be hard to explain to your colleagues if I did.”

Shane rolled his eyes and finished getting dressed, pulling his boxers on under his towel before dropping it to step into his flannel pants. He climbed into bed, the heavy blankets swallowing him up in warmth. Firelight danced across the ceiling and the sound of water sloshing slightly from the bathroom filled the quiet. It was the kind of peace that felt normal, but shouldn’t have.

When Ilya finally emerged, he grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from the drawer and dropped his towel to step into them. Shane's eyes snapped back to the ceiling and he forced himself not to look. The next time he saw Ilya, he was crawling into the other side of the bed without hesitation. The mattress dipped, the air smelling faintly of soap and something familiar.

“Night, Shane,” he murmured, voice soft and sleepy.

Shane lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the fire crack and pop in the corner. “Goodnight,” he said quietly.

And somewhere in that quiet, he realized he was no longer annoyed.

Chapter 3

Shane woke to the low crackle of the fire that had burned through most of the night. The room was pale with early light, every edge softened by the glow bouncing off the drifts beyond the window. For a few seconds, he didn’t remember where he was, only that there was a steady warmth pressed along his back and a slow, even breath against the nape of his neck.

Then Ilya shifted, mumbling something half-asleep, and Shane came back to himself.

“Morning,” Ilya rasped, voice rough with sleep.

Shane glanced over his shoulder. “You’re on my side.”

Ilya smiled, eyes still closed. “Mmm. Your side’s warmer.”

Before settling back into the warmth, Shane huffed, trying to act annoyed. “We have to be up in twenty minutes.”

A tired grunt was all he got in response, heavy breaths puffing out in an even rhythm on the back of his neck before he could say more.

The smell of coffee and maple syrup hit Shane before they even reached the bottom of the stairs. The lodge’s main dining room was already humming with conversation, silverware clinking against ceramic. A long buffet stretched across the counter: golden waffles stacked beside bowls of berries, scrambled eggs steaming alongside crisp bacon and sausages, a basket of toast with a colorful array of jam, and pitchers of orange juice sweating under the warm light.

Ilya’s eyes went wide. “It’s like a hotel buffet, but cute!”

“It’s breakfast, Ilya,” Shane deadpanned. “You might not recognize it because you’re never up this early.”

“Hush.” Ilya added a waffle to his plate and then tipped it toward Shane. “But look at the waffles. They’ve got little maple leaves on them! Tell me that’s not adorable.”

Shaking his head, Shane tried not to smile as he filled a mug with steaming coffee. “Adorable,” he said flatly.

Ilya smiled, balancing two plates while pouring himself some juice.

They found a small corner table near the back end of the fireplace, where sunlight pooled across the wooden floorboards and the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and last night’s burnt out embers. Shane scrolled through the conference schedule on his phone while Ilya drowned his waffle in syrup.

“Ten to eleven: Scent Development Workshop,” Shane read aloud. “That’s the one I’m speaking at.”

“Mm.” Ilya nodded, mouth full. “And I’ll be your supportive arm candy.”

“Or you could just…not go.” Shane gave him a look. 

Ilya swallowed his bite, unfazed. “You say that like it’s an option.”

By the time they filed into the conference room upstairs, scent curators from all over Northern California stood around a table, working silently. Two tables were lined with rows of glass vials and droppers, strips of testing paper, and notebooks embossed with Sierra Scent Summit, with that same maple leaf design they kept finding like little easter eggs all over the inn. Shane fit himself into a space at the end of one of the tables, looking over the setup before getting started.

Shane relaxed the moment he picked up a pipette. It was familiar, structured. His world. He leaned over the bottles, analyzing the labels: vetiver, sandalwood, cocoa absolute, amber resin, smoked birch…

He could feel Ilya’s warmth as he hovered behind him, peering over his shoulder. “So…you just mix these until it smells nice?”

Shane exhaled a slow, patient breath. “It’s not exactly like that. It’s about balance, memory, association…”

“Smell and vibes.” Ilya nodded, reaching for one of the bottles. “Got it.” He brought the tiny glass bottle up to his nose and sniffed cautiously. “This one smells like a lumberjack’s laundry detergent. Tell me that doesn’t smell like ratty red buffalo plaid.”

“That’s sandalwood,” Shane said dryly, snatching it back. But he did have to admit that ‘ratty red buffalo plaid’ as a fragrance title had a nice ring to it.

He got to work blending, his focus sharp. Around him, the chatter of the other attendees came in waves. A few drops of cocoa absolute, a splash of vanilla, a tiny hint of brandy accord, something smoky to anchor it. He took some notes, inhaled, closed his eyes, adjusted, and tested again.

When he opened them, Ilya was watching him with an amused, fond smile. “You look very serious right now.”

Shane ignored him and labeled his strip: hug in a mug.

Wordlessly, he held it out for Ilya to smell. “Oh wow. It’s like hot cocoa but…spicy.”

“Exactly,” Shane said softly, a faint smile appearing at the edge of his mouth. “It reminds me of this weekend. That boozy cocoa was the inspiration.”

Grinning, Ilya asked, “You mean the weekend where we’re boyfriends? That’s what you’re bottling to remember forever?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “It’s supposed to evoke warmth and comfort, not regret.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” Ilya said, taking another sniff. “Smells like you’re in love,” he said around a teasing smile.

“Smells like you’re annoying.”

But Shane smiled despite himself. 

By the end of the hour, he had the other attendees gathered around, complimenting his blend and asking for ratios. Ilya clapped him on the back. “Look at you, Mr. Scent Curator. I had no idea what you actually did at work. This was fun to watch. And you’re so good at it.”

Shane's cheeks were pink with something that wasn’t just embarrassment.

 

***

 

They filtered into the seating area and found some empty chairs, lights dimming slightly as the host stepped up to the podium. He thanked everyone for another year of creativity and growth, rambling about sales and competition and goals for the upcoming year. Then the speeches began.

First was the Director of Design, talking about innovation, color trends, sustainable packaging. “We want our brand to look as good on the shelf as it smells in the air,” she said, smiling at her team.

Then Scott took the mic, as the Creative Team Lead, joking about long nights and endless brainstorm sessions. “If scent could be powered by caffeine, we’d be unstoppable,” he said, earning a wave of laughter before softening into something earnest. “We’ve built something beautiful together. Next year, we’ll make it even better.”

The Founder of Afterglow stepped up to the podium next, his presence calm and commanding. “We’re not just selling products,” he said. “We’re bottling moments. Emotion. Memory. The goal isn’t to make the room smell good, it’s to make people feel something.” He paused, scanning the room with proud eyes. “And no one captures that better than our next speaker.”

Ilya turned to Shane with a soft grin, his eyes sparkling. He nudged Shane with his elbow. “That’s you, babe.”

Shane exhaled slowly, heart kicking up as applause spread through the room. His own name echoed as he walked toward the stand smiling politely and shaking hands before stepping up to the mic.

He gripped the edges of the podium, took a deep breath, and smiled at the crowd.

“Good morning everyone,” he started, voice a bit shaky. He cleared his throat and glanced up from his notecards. “My name is Shane. I’ve been with Afterglow for three and a half years as a scent curator and I’m here today to share a little bit about what I do, why I love it, and my thought process when walking into the workshop every day.

“It’s been an incredible year of creativity, collaboration, and – if you follow me around in the workshop long enough – more spilled wax than I’d ever admit to.”

The audience laughed, and Shane's shoulders relaxed a bit, voice more steady now.

“What I love most about this job is that every day I get to chase something unseen and give it shape.

“People often ask me where the scent ideas come from. They expect me to say I’m inspired by other perfumes, or by trends, or by something I smelled in a boutique in Paris.

“But honestly? Most of the time, I’m just trying to capture a moment.

“A scent is a snapshot. It’s a way of bottling something before it disappears – an emotion, a place, a season, the warmth of someone’s skin melded with coconut sun oil after a long day outside.

“When I start curating a scent, I’m thinking about balance. The way sweetness needs something sharp to keep it honest. The way warmth feels deeper when there’s a trace of something cold beneath it. The best fragrances aren’t perfect, they’re a little human. A little messy. Like life.

“Sometimes inspiration comes from something ordinary. Coffee on a slow Sunday morning. Rain hitting hot pavement. The smell of leather gloves and wood after a long day of work.

“But what really drives me is the idea of keeping it. Of finding a way to hold on to something that would otherwise fade – the comfort, the nostalgia, the joy – and letting someone else experience it, too.

“When someone melts the wax I’ve created, I want them to feel like they were there with me. I want them to close their eyes and remember something good.

“Scent is personal, but it’s also shared. It connects us to each other the same way a song does, or a photograph. It’s our way of saying, ‘I was here. I felt this. I remember.’

“And that, to me, is what makes scent curating less about chemistry and more about storytelling. We’re not just mixing notes – we’re preserving feelings. Turning the invisible into something tangible.

“The goal isn’t perfection, it’s honesty. A scent should feel alive, like something that breathes with you. Something that reminds you that the world still has beauty worth noticing and that it’s okay to hold onto it for a little while.

“So, with that, I’d like to thank Afterglow for letting me recreate these moments – and all of you for trusting me with your own. Here’s to more stories, more inspiration, and more scents worth remembering. Thank you.”

When Shane finished speaking, there was a moment of silence before the polite applause began, soft at first and then steady. A few coworkers nodded appreciatively, scent curators from other companies jotted down notes. It was the kind of reception Shane had hoped for.

From the back of the room, Ilya’s proud smile was impossible to miss. He looked like he’d just watched Shane win the World Series. When the applause faded, he mouthed a very clear wow.

As he stepped away from the podium, shuffling his notecards and sliding them into his pocket, Shane tried not to smile. He blinked to distract from the heat crawling up his neck.

Ilya was waiting with a paper cup of coffee in each hand. “That was beautiful,” he said, passing one to Shane. “Didn’t know I was dating a poet.”

Shane rolled his eyes and snorted, though the compliment landed deeper than he’d admit. “It’s just part of the job.”

“Part of the job?” Ilya leaned closer, voice low and teasing. “You made half of the room tear up over sandalwood and cinnamon, Shane. That’s not a job, that’s witchcraft.”

“Well. Witchcraft pays the bills,” Shane said dryly, but his lips curved around them.

Ilya laughed, bright and easy, bumping their shoulders together before taking Shane's hand as they joined the rest of the group spilling out into the lobby. Outside, the sun had finally broken through the clouds – white light glinting off of the thick snow piled along the lodge’s railings.

Scott clapped his hands. “Conference adjourned. Well, until tomorrow. Anyone up for hitting the slopes?”

Ilya’s head snapped toward Shane and he squeezed his hand. “You promised me snow,” he said, eyes already sparkling.

And that was that.

They changed into their gear – layers and gloves and goggles – then trudged out toward the lifts, each with their rented snowboard tucked under an arm. The air bit at their cheeks, sharp and clean, and every breath tasted faintly of pine and fresh mountain air.

On the first run, Shane took it easy. Ilya didn’t. He nearly wiped out twice before finding his rhythm, laughing so hard that Shane couldn’t help but laugh, too. It was easy. Easier than anything else had been this weekend. No pretending, no questions, no small talk. Just snow beneath them and the rush of cold air slicing through their laughter.

They reached the bottom panting, snow clinging to their coats and beanies. Ilya pushed his goggles to his forehead and huffed out a heavy breath. “You’re a natural,” he said, cheeks flushed bright pink.

Shane bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. “And you’re a liar.”

“Maybe.” Ilya shrugged. “But you looked good doing it.”

Shane tried to glare at him but couldn’t hold it. He huffed a laugh instead and motioned toward the lift. “Again?”

By the third run, they rode the ski lift in comfortable silence. The metal chair creaked softly as it climbed, snowboards dangling above the glittering white slope. The sun peeked out between clouds, catching flecks of gold on Ilya’s lashes.

Then Ilya leaned close, voice warm against the wind. “Quick,” he said, nodding over his shoulder. “Kiss me. I think Scott and Kip are on the lift behind us.”

Shane blinked, twisting slightly to look, but Ilya stopped him. 

“Well, you can’t look or it’ll be obvious.”

He let out a sigh, but he didn’t hesitate. The kiss was slow and soft, their cold noses brushing, ski goggles bumping together as they laughed against each other’s lips. It tasted faintly of coffee and chap stick. When he pulled back, Ilya was smirking.

“...They’re not even behind us, are they?”

“No, but you kissed me anyway.”

Shane didn’t bother replying. He just looked back at the horizon, the long sweep of mountains, rows of trees blanketed in white dust, the fading orange sky, and let himself breathe.

Maybe it was the altitude. Maybe it was the quiet. Whatever it was, he couldn’t even be annoyed as he stepped off of the lift and sent himself down the mountain with a smile plastered on his face.

Ilya sped ahead, carving easy, confident turns while Shane followed close behind. By the time they reached the bottom, both of them were flushed, hot under their jackets, and laughing like they’d forgotten anyone else existed. Their hair was damp with sweat from being trapped under their beanies, gloves soaked through from melted snow, legs trembling from exertion.

“Okay,” Shane panted, tugging off one glove to rub his face. “I’m calling it. I can’t feel my legs.”

“Come on.” Ilya nudged him, eyes bright. “One more?”

Shane groaned. “Fine, but after that I need a nap.”

 

***

 

By late afternoon, the light had turned honey-gold, stretching long shadows across the slopes. The sky was painted faintly violet at the edges where the sun slipped behind the mountains, and the air carried that sharp, clean scent of fresh snow and pine. Their breath hung in the air like ghosts.

They wandered toward the open lawn in front of the lodge, boards tucked under their arms, cheeks flushed from cold and laughter. Someone had already started a lopsided snowman near the treeline, but otherwise the expanse was untouched – a smooth, glittering stretch of white that invited trouble.

“Alright,” Ilya said, leaning his board against the railing. He tugged off his beanie, curls smashed flat against his forehead. “You’re getting better,” he said. “Didn’t even wobble on that last run.”

Unzipping his jacket, Shane scoffed. “Because you finally stopped cutting me off.”

Ilya’s answering laugh echoed through the crisp air, and before Shane could react, a ball of snow hit him square in the chest. 

“Did you just–”

Ilya was already scooping up another handful. “Consider it payback for this weekend.”

Another snowball zipped through the air, missing Shane's ear by an inch. He ducked and felt the cold wind slice by his cheek.

“Oh, you’re dead.”

Snow sprayed in a glittering arc as Shane lunged, tackling Ilya and sinking into the fluff. They rolled clumsily, both laughing, boots tangled together until Ilya ended up on top, straddling him. Sometime during the scuffle, Shane's beanie was knocked off and forgotten in the snow beside them. An evil grin stretched across Shane's face as he grabbed a fistful of snow and shoved it down the back of Ilya’s jacket.

“Ahh!” Ilya yelped, twisting away. “You little shit!”

When Ilya retaliated, smearing snow into his hair, Shane was laughing too hard to defend himself.

“You started it!” Shane shouted, voice breaking through his laughter.

They ended up sprawled on their backs, boards abandoned a few feet away. Their chests heaved, the world quiet except for their breath and the distant hum of the lift. The air around them settled with that winter stillness that came after a storm, like the world was holding its breath. Snowflakes drifted down slow and lazy, melting where they landed on flushed skin.

Ilya turned his head. His cheeks were pink, his eyes bright as glass marbles. He reached for Shane's hand, cold fingers clumsy but sure as they linked together. “Okay,” he said, huffing. “I surrender.”

Catching his breath, Shane smiled. His chest rose and fell quickly, his heart beating harder than it should’ve after a snowball fight. “Well, I don’t,” he said after a pause.

Ilya squealed as Shane jumped on top of him, scooping handfuls of snow from all around him and piling it up on Ilya’s chest. He twisted underneath Shane, gasping and laughing as he shoved back. Shane's thighs squeezed tight to hold him in place as he covered him in cold white powder before being tackled back into it, the fight dissolving into giggles and panting breaths.

Their laughter faded into the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just calm. Ilya’s body relaxed finally, weighing down on Shane and sinking them both into the snow. He tucked his face into the curve of Shane's neck, breath mingling in short clouds. The world felt impossibly quiet. Only the wind through the trees and the sound of their heavy breathing filled the space.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world felt still, just the two of them, sweaty under their layers of clothes, but cold everywhere the snow touched. 

He felt Ilya’s nose trail up his neck, a cold trail sinking into the dip, and he stopped breathing. His heart pounded against his ribs. Every inch of him was aware of Ilya – the weight of him, his warmth, the faint smell of coffee and sweat and skin.

“That was fun,” Ilya murmured, voice muffled against his neck, making him shiver.

“Yeah,” Shane said easily, wrapping his arm around Ilya. “You’re fun, who knew?” he teased.

Ilya gave a soft hum that turned into a quiet laugh. “Told you I’d be the best fake boyfriend you ever had,” Ilya whispered against his skin, sending tingles down his spine.

Shane turned his head slightly, the motion slow and unsure. Ilya’s eyelashes were tipped with snowflakes, catching the light that lingered through the trees. He noticed the way his curls were plastered to his head from a mix of sweat and melted snow, the way his cold fingers slipped under Shane's jacket, finding warmth under his armpit. The way his lips were pink and rosy. His gaze stayed on them, tongue wetting his own lips as he tipped his chin. 

He didn’t plan it, he just leaned in and kissed him. He felt Ilya’s breath catch, as if he was surprised for a moment before he melted into it, a steady, even, welcome pressure. The kiss was slow and warm where the rest of the world was frozen. Shane exhaled through his nose, forgetting about the snow on the back of his neck, his cold fingers, how the slush was surely melting through his clothes. He didn’t care.

His finger traced Ilya’s jawline, scratching against the faint stubble there, and he blinked his eyes open as he pulled away to look at him for a moment. He noticed how the evergreens reflected in Ilya’s eyes, turning them green in this light. He leaned back in again, barely a whisper between them. 

“Thank you,” he said, sighing against Ilya’s lips.

Ilya’s eyes searched his face. “For what?”Pressing another kiss to the corner of Ilya’s mouth, then his cheek, Shane said, “This weekend,” his words brushing skin, nosing against his neck.

Ilya smiled softly, one hand still in Shane's jacket, resting flat and sure against his ribs. “Anytime, babe.”

The quiet settled around them, gentle and real. Snowflakes drifted down and clung to their hair and lashes. For a little while, the outside world didn’t exist. Just the warmth between them, the slow breaths shared between smiles and soft, tender kisses.

They didn’t seem to notice as the sun dipped lower behind the mountain. Didn’t emerge from their comfortable cocoon when Kip and Scott trudged past them toward the lodge. Didn’t budge when they were covered over by a dusting of fresh snow. They just stayed there sprawled out in their little bubble, as if nothing could pop it.

When they finally returned their boards and made their way back into the lodge, they were half-covered in snow, dragging one another hand-in-hand and stumbling through the entry like they’d just shared a secret no one else was privy to. Their hands were frozen, noses red, clothes soaked through, but none of that mattered.

Inside, the fire was roaring, mixed with the scent of savory onions and spices thick in the air. They thawed beside the hearth, boots kicked off and drying by the fire, hands firmly linked together, pretending it didn’t mean anything.

But Shane had stopped pulling away hours prior, and was, instead, leaning into it.

 

***

 

The bathroom was full of fog and the faint smell of Ilya’s shampoo mingling with Shane's aftershave as they took turns in the shower. By the time they dressed and descended the stairs for cocktail hour, the lodge had taken on that soft golden glow again – windows fogged from the warmth inside, firelight flickering across the walls, voices floating up from the dining room.

Ilya sank into the cushions first, his knees spreading comfortably, an arm draped across the back of the couch. Shane sat down beside him, too close. He realized it, but then decided not to move. The couch dipped under their combined weight, drawing them even closer.

“See?” Ilya said, leaning into him, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “We’re good at this.”

“You think?” Shane gave him a side glance, hiding a smile behind his mug.

Ilya nodded, more serious now. “I mean, look at us. We’re cuddled together and not bickering. We have matching beanies…”

“That was your idea,” Shane said.

“And a great one, it was.”

The heat from the fire curled against Shane's skin. His shoulder leaned against Ilya’s chest, his weight relaxing into him. Neither of them moved. Maybe he didn’t want them to.

They sat like that for a while, quiet and content, watching as Shane's colleagues shuffled in, filling the couches and chatting about their day. Shane smiled shyly as they complimented him on his speech at the conference. He leaned further into Ilya after finishing the last sip of his boozy cocoa and setting the empty mug on the coffee table.

Halfway through cocktail hour, Ilya’s foot nudged Shane's calf. Shane nudged him back, a silent challenge that earned a quiet smile. Their hands met over Ilya’s thigh, an accident at first, but when Ilya’s fingers curled loosely around his, Shane didn’t let go.

The silence that followed was steady and warm. Ilya’s thumb brushed lightly over the back of Shane's hand. “You’re quiet,” he said softly.

“Just tired,” Shane said, but that wasn’t all he was thinking. 

Ilya tilted his head, studying him. “Good tired?”

Looking over at him, Shane studied the faint shadows under his eyes and the pink still clinging to his nose from their day under the sun. He forgot they could still get burnt in the winter, even in the snow with the sun hiding most of the day. “Yeah. Good tired.”

The fire popped, scattering sparks that danced in the air before fading away. 

“Tomorrow’s the last day,” Ilya said after a while.

Shane hummed. “Already?”

“Time flies when you’re dating your best friend,” Ilya said, squeezing his hand.

The sound of Shane's laugh was soft and a little unsteady. “Guess so.”

Ilya’s eyes were half-closed, head tipped over the back of the couch when Harris called them over for dinner. He was setting steaming dishes down on the long table when they arrived – pot roast with roasted vegetables, buttery mashed potatoes, and warm bread fresh from the oven. The loaf of sourdough had a maple leaf carved into the top, something that just made sense after staying there a couple of days. A deep, rich scent filled the air – rosemary, garlic, slow-cooked meat – the kind of dinner that could only come from the comfort of someone’s home, from a recipe book passed down generations.

“Grab a seat, you two,” Harris called, wiping his hands on his apron. “Hope you like comfort food.”

The chairs creaked and skidded over the wood floors as Shane took a seat near the end of the table, Ilya sliding in beside him. Silverware clinked on ceramic plates and the room swelled with easy chatter.

Ilya was in his element somehow, charming, quick, effortlessly blending in with Shane's coworkers as always. He didn’t know how Ilya managed to do that everywhere he went. He teased Elena about her wipeout on the mountain, traded jokes with Scott, even got Kip laughing hard enough to wipe tears from his eyes. Shane watched him quietly, half amused, half dazed by how easily Ilya fit in, like he’d always been part of it.

But as the meal stretched on, something inside Shane started to stir. He looked around the table – at Scott leaning into Kip’s shoulder, at Elena’s husband rubbing her knee under the table, at Maria brushing a crumb from her husband’s cheek with the cloth napkin – and the laughter felt a little distant.

Everyone looked so in love. Easy. Effortless. Real.

And here Shane was, faking it. Pretending. Pretending Ilya was his. Pretending this was something more than a story he’d fabricated to make his life less complicated.

Ilya nudged his knee under the table. “You good?”

Forcing a smile, Shane blinked, giving a hesitant nod. “Yeah, just tired.”

Ilya studied him for a second, but the conversation carried on around them and he let it go.

Pushing food around his plate with his fork, Shane only managed a few bites, laughing at the right moments and nodding when people spoke to him. But his chest ached with a hollow kind of guilt, the kind that whispered he was lying to people who trusted him. By the time dessert came, he watched the ice cream melt, forming a creamy puddle and seeping into the warm apple cobbler, and he couldn’t even convince himself to taste it.

When they finally excused themselves and went back to their room, Shane felt heavier than before.

 

Their room was dim when they stepped inside, the fire flickering to life when Ilya turned the knob. Shane went straight for his side of the bed, pulling off his sweater and sitting on the edge of the mattress, sinking into it with a huff. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the floor, jaw tight.

Ilya watched quietly, slipping off his shoes and loosening the buttons on his cuffs. “You’ve been off since dinner,” he said gently, crossing the room and sitting beside him. “What’s going on?” He smelled of cinnamon and sugar from the dessert he’d just finished, the scent strong on Ilya’s tongue.

Shane hesitated, his voice coming out rougher than intended, but he didn’t have control over it. “I just-” He exhaled, pressing his palms to his eyes. “I feel like shit. We’re lying to everyone. They’re truly, like, some of the coolest people I know. Like, I genuinely love working with them and it doesn’t feel like work when we go away for conferences and stuff. And I’m sitting here pretending to be someone I’m not. I feel like a complete fraud.”

“Hey.” Ilya’s expression softened. He reached out, brushing his hand along Shane's back, up to his nape and thumbing over the soft hairs there. “You’re not a fraud. You were trying to make things easier for yourself. It was all just one big misunderstanding,” he said softly. 

Shane shook his head, still staring down at his socks dangling inches from the floor. “I just hate pretending. They’re all being so genuine, so in love, and I couldn’t even look at them. I feel hella stupid. I don’t like you seeing me like this.”

“You’re far from stupid, babe.” Silence filled the space for a moment, the fire popped and something shifted, simmering and flickering before settling back down. Shane's heart thudded at the endearment. They didn’t have an audience, there was no need for it, but he found that he liked it anyway. Ilya shifted closer, his thigh pressing against Shane's. “Don’t think about them right now,” Ilya said. “Think about me. Just focus on me. On us. Right now in this moment.”

Turning his head slightly, Shane met Ilya’s eyes and inhaled shakily. The teasing warmth was still there, but quieter now. More sincere. He watched Ilya’s eyes skim over his face and land on his lips, warm orange light swallowing his cheekbones and carving deep shadows around his dimples.

“Let me be a good boyfriend,” Ilya whispered, tracing his thumb down Shane's neck. He leaned in, slow and certain, giving Shane every opportunity to pull away. When their lips met, it wasn’t for show. It wasn’t for practice. It was careful. It was a question.

Shane's breath hitched. His hand found Ilya’s sleeve, fingers curling there, not pulling him closer, but not pushing him away either. He held on. For what, he wasn’t sure. But he knew he didn’t want to let go.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, the kind that settled instead of burned. That warmed his insides, but sent a chill down his spine, and made his hair stand on end. The soft brush of lips, the faint taste of ice cream and apples from the dessert Shane didn’t eat, the warmth and wetness that he was starting to get used to. Shane forgot for a moment that they weren’t supposed to mean it.

When they broke apart, the air between them stayed charged, quiet. Ilya’s forehead rested lightly against his. “Better?” he whispered.

“A little.” Shane's voice was barely there. “I still feel terrible about all this. About being fake when they’re all giving me the real versions of themselves.”

Ilya’s thumb brushed against Shane's jaw. He took a breath and his other hand squeezed Shane's thigh, sliding up over his grey slacks. 

“Then let me make it feel real,” he whispered, leaning in again, more insistent this time. 

His hand slid up around Shane's hip and he pressed his thumb into the dip there, Shane sighing into it and allowing Ilya to push him back into the duvet. He was frozen, unsure of what was happening and how they got there, but he wasn’t protesting. He blinked up at Ilya, exhaling a stuttered breath out his nose. His throat was dry as he swallowed, his abs trembling under Ilya’s weight, his touch.

“It’s okay to let go,” Ilya said softly, his expression turning into something gentle, reassuring. “Let me take care of you.”

Shane closed his eyes, fingers curling into Ilya’s shirt as he let himself sink into the warmth, into the rhythm of their shared breaths, the soft brush of Ilya’s thumb under his jaw, the gentle press of lips on his.

“You don’t have to keep it together all the time, Shane,” Ilya said, resting their foreheads together. “Not with me.”

Shane swallowed, the lump in his throat too big to speak around. So instead, he tipped his head up and bumped their noses together. A breath shared. Then another. Until he finally tilted his chin the smallest bit and reconnected their lips, sighing into it.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was lazy and gentle, soft like the dusting of snow against the window. Ilya’s hand slid to the back of Shane's head, holding him there, not to deepen it but to keep him close, like maybe he didn’t want to let the moment slip away either.

Shane felt his whole body ease, tension melting away until there was nothing left but warmth and quiet. He sighed into Ilya’s mouth, one hand finding its way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His fingers fussed with the buttons there and he opened his eyes to Ilya already nodding.

He parted his lips as he went for the first button, licking into Ilya’s mouth with purpose as he slowly worked his fingers down the front of his shirt. Ilya’s hand twisted in his hair, his hips pressing into Shane as he scooted against him, leaving no space between their bodies. Shane pushed the fabric over Ilya’s shoulders and he shrugged it off before settling back on top of Shane, hovering over him, breathing evenly with his gaze locked on Shane's eyes. They shared a look that said I’m sure, let’s do this, without either of them having to ask or answer out loud. They knew each other well enough to know what the other was thinking, and also to know that if one of them didn’t want to continue, he would have no problem saying to stop.

Shane's hand landed flat on Ilya’s chest, just resting there while he looked up at him. Feeling the warmth of his skin, the dusting of hair between his pecs, the rise and fall of each of Ilya’s breaths grounded him. He took a deep breath and then swallowed thickly before tilting his chin and asking for more. Ilya went easily, their kisses turning sloppy and wet, hair being tugged and hands slipping beneath fabric. Soft moans bounced across the room, off of the wooden bed posts and floating away like the sparks of the fire. Shane's eyes rolled back when Ilya ground down against his cock, thick and fully hard in his work pants. He shivered and moaned, pressing his head back against the duvet and huffing out a shaky breath.

“Tell me to stop, Shane…” Ilya’s hands were at Shane's fly after shoving his shirt halfway up his chest. He was perched over Shane's legs, looking up for permission before going for the button. 

With desperate eyes, Shane shook his head. “I- I don’t want you to stop,” he said, rocking his hips up into Ilya’s hands, showing him how much he wanted it. His pants were halfway down his thighs seconds after he gave permission, and Ilya’s mouth was already on him, hot and tight through his boxers. 

Shane laced his fingers in Ilya’s hair and his eyelids fluttered before slipping shut. He allowed himself to get lost in the sensation, the wetness through the fabric, the pressure from Ilya’s lips tracing his bulge, the practiced motion of Ilya’s hand cupping around him and giving a firm stroke.

He slipped Shane's boxers off and tossed them over his shoulder, finding him again with his mouth. An orange glow painted his jaw, darker when he sucked his cheeks in and sank down.

“You better hope that didn’t land in the fire,” Shane said through a heavy breath, glancing around Ilya.

“It didn’t,” Ilya removed his mouth long enough to mumble, not even attempting to look backwards. “Probably.”

Shane shoved his head back down into the bed and watched their shadows dance across the ceiling: Ilya’s curls bouncing, his knees bending, Ilya readjusting to crawl between his legs to get a good grip on him as he finished him off. Shane's toes curled and his abs tightened when he was close, and he tapped Ilya to tell him so. Ilya, though, persisted. He didn’t back off, if anything, he went harder. 

There was suction added, one hand on his balls rubbing in sure circles, his other grabbing a handful of his ass, and finally, Shane let go with a quiet, “Fuck,” in between heaving breaths.

By the time Ilya collapsed beside him, Shane still couldn’t get any words out. He just reached out a lazy hand and patted around Ilya’s lap, sliding his palm up once he found the bulge he was searching for. 

“No,” Ilya whispered, placing his hand over Shane's, kissing him and sliding closer. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me, I’m good.”

So Shane stilled and relaxed into Ilya. Right there in their maple-embroidered bedding, under the soft orange crackle, with the fogged-up windows. With Shane naked from the waist down and Ilya from the waist up. Maybe it should’ve felt weird or awkward. Perhaps he should have been embarrassed that his best friend had just sucked him off. Somehow none of that mattered. For some reason he couldn’t explain, it was the most comfortable he’d felt in months. 

He nodded against Ilya and his eyes slipped shut. “If you’re sure.”

They stayed that way, tangled together on top of the duvet, trading quiet words and soft kisses until the fire burned low and the chatter downstairs disappeared.

Eventually, Ilya broke the spell they were under and got out of bed. He wandered into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, tossed Shane's pajamas to him (read: on him) while he stripped down into only his boxers and climbed into bed. Shane pulled his pajama pants on and his sweater off and then shuffled into the bathroom to clean up before coming back to bed, finding Ilya already on his side. 

But this time, instead of being annoyed by it, he sank down into it, into him, and drifted right to sleep.

Chapter 4

The next morning crept in slowly, pale white light glowing against the frosty window. Shane was the first to wake, as usual, but he didn’t move right away. He had Ilya pressed against his back, hot breath steady against the curve of Shane's shoulder, one arm slung across his waist like it had always belonged there.

The fire had gone out sometime in the night, but the warmth between them lingered, heavy with sleep and something more that Shane was afraid to think about. The sheets smelled like Ilya’s shampoo and deodorant mixed with the sweetness of cinnamon and apples that still lingered from the night before.

He should’ve moved. Should’ve started his day, checked his schedule, thought about breakfast. But then Ilya mumbled something soft and sleepy. Something that sounded a lot like Shane's name, causing him to freeze, smiling in spite of himself. He rolled slightly onto his back, slowly and careful not to disturb Ilya, just enough to see him. His curls were a mess, his mouth soft and parted just a bit, exhaling tiny puffs of air between them. Ilya looked younger in his sleep. 

It reminded him of all the mornings like this that had come before. Sleepovers throughout their teenage years where they’d wake up tangled together in one of their twin beds, Ilya pressed to Shane's back. They’d always pretend it was accidental, that it just happened in the night, neither of them ever mentioning it out loud. Shane would just roll his eyes and shove Ilya away, while secretly hoping he wouldn’t move too far. Back then, it was easier to ignore, to file away as one of those unspoken things between them that just happened. But lying there now, warm and certain, Shane realized they’d been orbiting this truth for years, maybe waiting until it was finally allowed to be real.

Without thinking, Shane reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. Ilya stirred, blinking sleepily, cracking his eyes open just enough to catch his hand and hold it there.

“Mmm,” Ilya hummed. His voice was rough with sleep and his hand swallowed Shane's in warmth. “Mine.” 

Barely a breath of sound escaped as Shane whispered, “Yeah,” before closing his eyes again, smiling into Ilya’s shoulder.

With his hand in Ilya’s curls, the events of the night before replayed in his head. There was an urge to panic, to be embarrassed, to get out of bed and flee, but the way Ilya pulled him closer gave him the reassurance he needed to leave that headspace.

It was quiet except for the wind against the glass and the faint creak of the stairs as the morning started without them. Eventually, Shane sighed and rolled toward the edge of the bed, slipping out of Ilya’s arms. 

“We should probably get up.”

A warm hand chased Shane and held onto his waist tightly from behind. “We could,” Ilya said through a yawn. “Or we could stay here and skip breakfast.”

Shane twisted just enough to meet his half-lidded eyes. “You’d never forgive yourself for missing out on those cute waffles.”

“That’s true,” Ilya said, mouth curving up on one side. “How about this-” He pulled Shane closer and rested his head on his shoulder. “How about you get up,” he paused to yawn, pressing a sleepy kiss to Shane's neck, “and take your happy little morning ass downstairs and meet me back here with the food.”

“Tempting.” Laughing quietly, he pulled Ilya’s arm further around himself, hugging it to his chest. He relaxed into it, into Ilya, allowing himself to enjoy their slow, lazy morning for another minute before he’d force himself to get up. “What’s in it for me?”

Shane went easily when Ilya rolled him onto his back to look him in the eye. He was smiling when he said, “Me getting ten more minutes of sleep and not being a pain in the ass today, probably.” 

He laughed, the sound low and light. Ilya’s hand bounced on his stomach along with the movement.

Only a few drops spilled as he managed his way back up the stairs with everything piled onto a tray – eggs, bacon, and a cream cheese pastry for himself, and waffles, fruit, and extra syrup for Ilya, along with two coffees. Once he was in front of their door, he paused and blinked. As if it was going to open itself. 

His hands were full. The keycard was in his pocket. He stared at the tray, then the door, sighing under his breath. 

Just as he was considering risking disaster to knock with his knee, the door cracked open.

Ilya stood there, hair a mess, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, rubbing his eyes. His mouth twitched, eyes sleepy and squinty. “Took you long enough. I was about to come rescue you.”

“In your underwear?” Shane raised his brow and tilted his head in a teasing way, eyes trailing down to the tight black boxer briefs, lingering for a beat too long. He snapped his eyes back to Ilya’s face. Where they belonged.

Ilya’s face scrunched as if he was offended. “I’m covered.”

“Right.” Shane's voice was light and playful. “Were you gonna let me in or did you just plan on standing there like Quail Man while I drop our breakfast?”

Tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders, Ilya rolled his eyes but stepped aside. Shane brushed past him with a soft huff.

“Thanks, Shane,” Ilya said, stealing a slice of bacon from Shane's plate before the tray even hit the dresser.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.”

Shane spread a towel over the bedsheets before sitting down, balancing his plate on his lap. They ate lazily, bumping shoulders between quiet conversation and laughter. Ilya kept reaching over to steal bites from Shane's plate, offering him berries and cubes of melon in exchange, an offer Shane declined with a dramatic grimace.

“If you wanted eggs and bacon, why did you ask for waffles and fruit?”

“I don’t want eggs and bacon.”

“Hm,” Shane hummed, shoving a bite of egg in his mouth before Ilya could steal that, too. “Coulda fooled me.”

Ilya looked down at his plate and frowned. He poked at his waffle with his fork, moving it around before popping a blueberry into his mouth. “Yours tastes better than mine.”

“It’s literally the same thing we had yesterday.”

His shoulders sank as he pushed a strawberry around his plate. “I only wanted mine for the cuteness factor.”

“Of course you did.” Shane shook his head, trying not to smile. Then, like it was nothing, he slid his plate over and pulled Ilya’s toward himself. “Here.” 

Ilya’s eyes lit up instantly. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Shane cut into the soggy, overly sweet (but very cute) waffles without complaint while Ilya dug into the eggs like he’d won a prize, mumbling Thanks around a mouth full of eggs.

It was silent while they ate for a few minutes before Shane snorted to himself.

“Oh, by the way,” he said casually, like he hadn’t been dying to share this. “I think Harris had company last night.”

Freezing mid-bite, Ilya’s head snapped toward him. “How do you know?”

“When I went down to the buffet, someone was sneaking out of his room.”

His eyes widened. “Sneaking how?”

“Like, tiptoeing down the hall, hiding under a hat, looking around and hoping no one noticed.”

Ilya hummed. “What did she look like?”

Setting his coffee back on the nightstand, Shane smirked as he gave the description. “Very attractive. Tall, dark hair, a penis. Wearing a toolbelt.”

After staring at him for a moment, Ilya started laughing. “You’re lying.”

“I swear.” Shane held his hand to his chest. “Harris has been hiding a man from us. A hot one.”

All Ilya could do was shake his head. “I cannot wait to ask him about it later.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely bringing it up if he doesn’t.” Shane swallowed a too-syrupy bite of waffle and washed it down with a sip of coffee. “When he least expects it. Maybe over dinner or something. Right as he’s setting down our plates.”

Spearing the last bit of egg with his fork, Ilya looked over with narrowed eyes and a crooked grin. “You’re evil,” he said, like it was an accusation and a compliment all at once.

When the plates were cleared, they lingered – neither eager to leave the warmth of the bed or the comfort of their quiet room. But the awards ceremony was in an hour, and Shane needed to look presentable for it.

He stood and stretched, tugging his shirt over his head on the way to the bathroom. “We should get ready,” he said, his voice echoing against the glass partition.

Ilya followed a minute later, still wrapped in the blanket. He popped a toothbrush in his mouth and stood beside Shane at the sink with white foam around his lips, and his curls still wild. Steam rose from the faucet, fogging the bottom edge of the mirror, and Shane couldn’t help but reach out and draw a penis in the steam with his finger, smiling proudly at his work before wetting his hair.

“Classy,” Ilya said, eyeing Shane in the mirror with a crooked smile around his pink toothbrush.

“You’ve got toothpaste on your cheek,” Shane responded, ignoring him. He reached out and swiped it away with his thumb, their eyes meeting for a moment before Ilya turned to spit.

“Thanks,” Ilya said softly, dabbing his mouth dry with a fluffy white towel.

While he was styling his hair, Ilya must have gotten Shane's suit out of the closet and laid it across the bed. Shane dropped his jeans to the floor and pulled on his navy slacks along with a light grey button up that Ilya insisted on ironing for him. He found the tie that he’d packed – blue with a silver paisley pattern – rolled up in their underwear drawer and slung it around his neck with the shirt still unbuttoned while he pulled on his socks. Once he was all buttoned up to his chin, he stood in front of the mirror, tying and retying the knot. It didn’t sit right, and he was about to give up when Ilya appeared behind him.

“Here. Let me.” Ilya’s voice was low when the heat fanned across Shane's ear, causing him to squeeze his eyes closed and take a deep breath as he willed his dick to behave.

He went easily as Ilya turned him gently by the shoulders. With warm, steady hands, Ilya slid his fingers up the silky fabric, looping the tie with ease. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth while he concentrated, fingertips brushing lightly against Shane's chin as he worked. Finally, he slid the knot up, straightening the fabric and pulling it snug. The air between them felt thick again, soft and unhurried. The kind of quiet that didn’t need words.

“There.” Ilya smoothed his hands down Shane's chest, centering the tie and admiring his work. His hands lingered, palms warm over the fabric. “Perfect.”

He opened his mouth to thank him, but Ilya leaned in and kissed him instead, minty and warm. The kiss was light and sure at the same time, and it felt like there was more to it than just practice.

When Ilya pulled back, he smiled. “For good luck,” he said, winking.

“Sure,” Shane said, laughing. He turned to grab his suit jacket from the bed and shook his head, but there was no protest left in him. “You’re something else, you know that?” he said softly.

“And you love it.”

A beat passed, and he didn’t disagree. He couldn’t. Instead, he just looked at Ilya in a way that was probably much too fond, and asked, “Ready?”

 

***

 

The conference room had been transformed overnight. What had been rows of tables and chairs facing a brown podium was now a small stage with garlands, trophies, and fairy lights wound around the exposed beams. The air carried the faint sweetness of the dessert table in the back of the room which had thankfully masked the pleather chairs and carpet cleaner stench that lingered yesterday.

Everyone filed in dressed neatly, bright eyes and cups of warm drinks in hand. The Sierra Scent Summit logo hung behind the podium and was printed on all of the cups and napkins to tie it together: Three loopy S’s connected inside an outline of Lake Tahoe.

Elena leaned toward Shane as they took their seats. “Nervous?” she whispered.

Smoothing his tie, Shane shook his head, even though his stomach had a soft flutter to it and his palms were a bit sweaty. “Not really. Just ready for it to be over.”

From the seat beside him, Ilya bumped his knee lightly and took his hand. “You’re gonna win,” he said. “And I might even reward you if you do.”

Before Shane could react, the host stepped behind the podium and cleared his throat to begin the ceremony. “Welcome back everyone, let’s try to keep this short so you all can enjoy the snow before heading home. We’ve had an incredible year, and I want to start by recognizing a few scents that made waves across our winter and autumn lines…”

About halfway through, the lead from each region presented their statistics for the year. The top sales month, most popular scent for each season, best-selling warmers, and total revenue were projected on the wall behind the podium as each person spoke, giving a visual of their year in numbers.

When the host took the mic again, he announced the top ten scents of the year company-wide, eight of which were Shane's creations. He tried not to get a big head about it, but he knew he was good at his job and when he leaned over, whispering, “That’s mine, and that, and that one,” to Ilya as the list went on, his chest swelled proudly. 

They went on to recognize those with the most innovative packaging, the crowd favorite that they couldn’t keep in stock (also one of Shane's), and the best selling seasonal blends. Elena and Maria each got a mention, sharing an award for a collaborative scent they’d worked on in May called Bananaberry. When their names were called, they squealed and jumped up, hugging each other before hurrying up to the front.

Then came the summer category. Shane's scent Ice and Easy won a design award for “most evocative branding,” and the host made a joke about the label being too sexy for retail shelves, earning a laugh from the crowd. Shane quickly collected his certificate and went back to his seat, where he was met with a celebratory kiss and a warm hand on his thigh for the rest of the event.

Shane smiled politely through it all, proud of his colleagues, but his palms were sweaty and his heart was beating faster as they approached the last and final award. The big one that earned the winner a huge holiday bonus and bragging rights for the entire year. The one that would get the recipient’s photo plastered on the website, on their catalog, on the wall right when you walk into the office.

Finally, the host cleared his throat and tapped the mic. “And now, the one we’ve all been waiting for. We’re almost done, I promise.” He shuffled his papers and pulled the final, and biggest, trophy to the podium. “The Creative Excellence Award goes to a curator who’s defined consistency, heart, and innovation. They’ve had scents in the top three every month of this calendar year. This individual had a hand in creating a whopping twenty four of the thirty six top scents for the year. That’s not just talent, that’s… that’s soul.”

Ilya squeezed Shane's knee before the host even said a name, like he just knew he was going to win. When Shane looked over at him, Ilya was already smiling, dimples carved deep into his cheeks, eyes shining proudly.

He continued to list the winner’s contributions to the company, how the curator’s scent blending is some of the best they’ve ever had, how this individual researched Afterglow and only applied because the company’s values aligned with their own. Over the heads of forty other people, he met Shane's eyes and set his notes down.

“It is my honor to present this year’s Creative Excellence Award to Shane Hollander, Senior Scent Curator at Afterglow. Everyone, let’s give a big round of applause for Shane!”

The room broke into applause, Ilya whooped and turned towards Shane, pulling him up with a hand on either cheek and planting a big, proud, smooch on his lips. Shane blinked once, twice, processing it. That was his name they’d just said. Elena squealed beside him and pulled him into a hug before pushing him toward the aisle. Ilya stood tall, cheering loudest of all, hands cupped around his mouth. “That’s my boy!” he shouted.

Shane's ears burned as he walked up to the front, shaking the host’s hand and accepting the trophy that was already engraved with his name. The host smiled at him warmly, congratulating him once again. “Care to say a few words?”

He had no clue what he was going to say, but he nodded anyway, stepping up to the microphone and clearing his throat. The room fell into a soft, expectant quiet that made him nervous, and he waited a moment for the shuffling to stop as everyone found their seats again.

“Um, hi,” Shane said, glancing across the room. Dozens of people had their eyes glued to him, waiting for him to say something deep and meaningful. “I, uh, didn’t prepare a speech because I wasn’t expecting to win, but I did prepare to clap convincingly for whoever would be standing in my place right now…so this is a plot twist for all of us, I guess.” 

A soft ripple of laughter moved through the room, and Shane's shoulders relaxed as he let out a breath.

“First, I’d just like to thank the Scent Summit for this award. It’s something I didn’t think I’d be earning after only three years.” He looked around the room then, meeting the eyes of his colleagues, his team lead, his (fake) boyfriend. They all looked immensely proud of him with their matching smiles and warm, genuine expressions as they stared back at him.

“I guess what I love most about being a scent curator is how it holds moments still. Like the smell of someone’s sweater after they’ve been outside, or the way a kitchen smells after baking cookies. Or the way the citrus lingers on your hands hours after you zest a lemon. Scents are how we remember people and places and feelings we might otherwise lose. You can’t keep a weekend or a season forever, but you can keep the way it smelled.”

He paused for a beat, his eyes catching on Ilya’s before he went on.

“I think that’s what this year’s been for me. Collecting moments and turning them into something I can hold onto. And I’m really proud of that.” He lifted the trophy into the air and flashed a grateful smile. “So just…thank you.”

He nodded politely before stepping away from the podium and working his way down the stage. At the edge, the host gave him a firm handshake and pressed an envelope into his palm, the room erupting with applause as he headed offstage.

As he made his way back to his seat, he caught a series of congratulatory pats on the back from everyone down the row. And when he reached Ilya, they both broke into matching, ridiculous grins. 

“I’m so proud of you, babe,” Ilya said, squeezing his arms. “My boyfriend won the Creative Excellence Award!”

Shane ducked his head, cheeks warming. “Shut up.”

“No, really. You made me emotional, and I don’t even know what a Creative Excellence Award is.”

Their laughter mixed with light applause as the ceremony wrapped up.

During the closing remarks, Shane opened the envelope the host had given him. Inside, he found a check with his name written in swoopy letters, and a dollar amount that made him stop breathing.

“Holy shit, Shane,” Ilya whispered, leaning into his space. “That has four zeroes on it!”

Shane sat there frozen, eyes glued the check in disbelief. “Yeah,” was all he could manage to say.

 

***

 

Everyone shuffled out of the conference room and went separate ways. Some employees from the other regional office hung around for lunch, others headed back to wherever they were staying for the weekend, and some people went back to their rooms to change out of their fancy clothes.

When Shane and Ilya walked out of the conference room, they spotted Scott and Kip, already changed into warm clothes and dragging sleds through the lobby.

“Oh, hey guys! Wanna come?” Scott asked, nodding his head toward the door.

“You brought sleds when we literally rented snowboards?”

Laughing, Scott stopped in front of the door and waved him off. “Nah. Harris let us borrow them, but we had to promise we wouldn’t sue if we get hurt.”

Turning to Ilya with his brows raised, Shane asked him a silent question, to which Ilya nodded in response.

“Alright, yeah. Just let us get changed into snow gear and we’ll meet you outside in a few.”

By the time they trudged around to the hill behind the lodge, the afternoon sun was bright and warm, beating down on the snow, soft gold sparkles following behind Kip as he slid down the hill and crashed into a snow bank at the bottom.

Shane stood at the top, breath puffing white and swirling off into the mountains, the air sharp in his chest. He looked down at the thick white blanket of fresh snow trying to remember the last time he’d gone sledding. He felt Ilya step up next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and Shane reached out and took his gloved hand. They stood there at the top of the hill like that for a few minutes while Scott and Kip brought the sleds back up, only breaking apart when it was their turn to go down.

They started off separately, taking turns with the two sleds, shouting and whoop-ing the whole way down. The first run ended with Shane flipping over halfway down and rolling the rest of the way to the bottom, right behind the sled that had slipped out from under him. Ilya zipped by him, nearly taking him out, and waited for him at the bottom before they hiked back up the hill, dragging the sleds behind them, red-cheeked and giggling about Shane's spill.

By the second and third rounds, the others had followed the cheers and laughter and joined them. Elena and her husband raced down, bumping together at the bottom and spilling out in a chorus of laughter. Maria went down backwards, regretting it the second her husband pushed her off and she shrieked the whole way down. Everyone laughed so hard they were folded over themselves and heaving to catch their breath.

“Race ya?” Scott called, dragging his sled to the drop-off with Kip on his heels. “Last couple to the bottom buys drinks.”

Shane quirked a brow. “It’s all-inclusive, Scott.”

“Then…last one to the bottom fetches the drinks.”

Ilya shot Shane a look, having a silent conversation with him before looking back at Scott. “You’re on.”

Shane hesitated for only a second before climbing onto the sled, bending his knees and scooting forward with Ilya’s long legs draped around his hips. Ilya’s arms wrapped around his waist and they geared up for go-time.

Elena counted them down, and at one, Shane shouted, “Hold on!” and they pushed off.

The sled took off down the hill, bumpy at first and a bit lopsided. Ilya noticed and leaned to the other side to even it out. They gained speed and skimmed over the packed snow, bouncing and gaining a little air from the added weight, and landing with a thud that made them both let out an oof when their backsides bounced off the hard ground.

“Go right,” Shane shouted, both of them leaning to turn the sled just before it hit a dip and they spilled out.

They flew off of the sled in opposite directions, tumbling to a stop just seconds before Scott and Kip joined them in a similar manner. They lay there sprawled out in the glittery expanse to catch their breath, staring up at the white hot sky, cheeks red and chests heaving.

“Okay,” Shane gasped, rolling onto his front and crawling over to where Ilya landed. “That was…kinda terrifying.” He clutched onto Ilya’s sleeve before collapsing back down in the snow beside him.

Ilya propped himself on one elbow, breathless. “It was amazing,” he said, smiling brightly.

Shane shook his head to disagree, but before he could say anything, Ilya reached out and brushed snow off of his hat before booping his nose with the tip of his glove.

Scott’s voice carried down from their crashing point. “That’s a disqualification! You didn’t even cross the finish line!”

“What are you talking about? We crashed into it!”

“You flew over it, but you did not cross it on your sled.” Scott made a buzzer sound and then said, “You lose. Fair and square.”

Shane didn’t look away from Ilya, who was dusting snow off of his jacket and hat. “Eh, whatever,” he said.

“Worth it,” Ilya said, getting to his feet. “Come on.” He grabbed Shane's hand and walked over to collect their sled.

They dragged the sled back up the hill and handed it off to Elena before working their way back to the lodge. Nearby, the handyman was chopping wood for the fire and stacking it in a wheelbarrow. His motions were practiced and precise, the axe splitting a log effortlessly into halves and then wedges in record time.

When they passed by, Shane nudged Ilya and glanced toward the handyman. “That’s him,” he whispered. “Harris' man.”

After getting a good look at him, Ilya turned back and whistled. “Damn, go Harris.”

“Right?”

By the time they stepped back inside, their noses were red and their hair was damp with melted snow, beanies soaked through. The fire was already going when they passed by, Ilya tugging Shane toward the stairs. “Hot shower,” he said. “Then cocktails.”

Shane smiled and followed easily.

“You can go first,” Shane said, stepping back so Ilya could get to the shower. They’d already stripped off most of their wet layers, leaving them in a trail to the bathroom.

“Or.” Ilya’s eye met his in the mirror, just visible through a thin layer of fog that’d started to form on the surface. “We can go together?”

Shane blinked, considering it for a moment, his mind flashing back to the prior night. Ilya’s mouth on him, the firelight painting his toned back a warm shade of orange, Shane's head shoved into the duvet, panting, holding his breath and shuddering through the release. 

They should probably talk about that instead of pretending everything was the same between them as they’d done all day so far. Ilya was his best friend. Yeah, they’d kissed a few times over the years, but that’s as far as it ever went. This was new and different and something had shifted. Shane wanted to join him, but he didn’t want to rush things when they had somewhere to be.

“We’ll be late for cocktail hour,” he said, breaking their eye contact and leaving Ilya alone in the bathroom.

 

***

 

The dining room and lounge opened into one big space, filled with low golden light and soft music. A fire crackled in the center of the room, flickers of gold lighting the chairs and couches and floorboards.

Shane tugged at his sweater sleeves, pulling them down over his hands and holding them there, a comforting feeling as he scanned the room looking for familiar faces. Elena and Maria spotted them and waved them over to the bar where Harris was already mixing a cocktail and pouring it into a row of shot glasses. As they approached, the shot glass on the far right filled with red liquid, then the next one with orange and, as he went down the row, each glass was turned a different color of the rainbow. It was impressive.

Scott and Kip stood nearby talking to the handyman. His dark hair was tucked under a woven hat and his warm eyes flicked up when Shane approached with Ilya right behind him.

“Oh hey,” Scott said, smiling. “Shane, this is Troy. Troy, this is Shane and his boyfriend Ilya.”

“Yeah, my boyfriend, not my wife,” Shane teased, eyeing Scott.

“Ha ha,” Scott said dryly. 

“Aw, babe. If you wanted me to pretend to be your wife for the weekend, you know I would’ve,” Ilya said, nudging Shane. “All you had to do was ask.”

Shane shot Ilya a glance as Troy extended a hand, his head tilted a bit in confusion, but he kept his voice smooth and polite. “Heard a lot about you, Creative Excellence and all that.”

“It’s just part of the job.” Shane flushed, shaking his hand. He tried to shrug it off but he couldn’t hold back his smile.

“Only when you’re the best at it,” Ilya added, handing Shane a blue drink from Harris' rainbow display.

“Well, it was great to meet you both, but I’ve gotta bring in some more wood before it gets too dark out there, we’ll catch up later!” And then Troy was gone.

As the group mingled, Shane found himself relaxing. The pressure of the award ceremony was gone and the night buzzed with that easy kind of joy that follows a win. Ilya was a warm presence, not leaving his side the entire night. Shane found himself reaching out for his hand while they were chatting with Elena and her husband, he held onto his arm when they sat on the couch with Maria. His palm found Ilya’s thigh and it stayed as if it was glued there the entire time Scott and Kip were entertaining them. It was a much different feeling from the night before. 

Where last night, Shane felt like he was letting all of his friends down by lying to them and putting on a performance, showing them a fake version of himself, tonight was different. Ever since Ilya had comforted him the night before, it felt less like they were pretending and more like they were actually together. 

Dinner was served at the long wooden table and they all gathered around, finding their seats. Harris served chicken parmesan over steaming pasta, melted cheese bubbling on top of chunky tomato sauce. Vegetables and salad bowls were passed around the table and someone made a speech halfway through that was equal parts heartfelt and chaotic, suggesting that cocktail hour may have hit a little too hard.

Harris tapped a glass in the corner before dessert and he thanked them all for coming, for being great guests, for educating him on the dangers and toxins of open-flame candles. The group laughed, but it was true. He wrapped it up with a more serious tone and then brought out their final dessert for the weekend – chocolate lava cake.

The lights were dimmed and music took over – something calm and jazzy at first, then looser, louder. Couples filled the space in front of the fire while a team worked to clear the table and slide it out of the way, opening the room to the dance floor that Harris had pointed out when they’d first arrived.

Elena and her husband swayed lazily, laughing and sharing sweet kisses between light conversation. Scott spun Kip until they nearly toppled over, and Maria stayed on the sofa clinging onto her husband’s arm and hoping nobody would force her to get up and dance. She wasn’t a dancer. Didn’t like it, wasn’t good at it, and definitely didn’t want to do it when people were watching.

With his drink in one hand and Ilya’s thigh warm under the other, Shane sank into the cushions with the fire flickering against his glass. Among the chatter, Ilya leaned close, voice soft enough for only him to hear.

“You look happy,” he said.

Shane turned toward him and his lips formed into a curve. “I am.”

A smile appeared on Ilya’s face then. It was real and warm in a way that reached his eyes. “Good.”

Shane squeezed his thigh and leaned into him, head resting against his shoulder.

As a slow song transitioned into a more upbeat one, Troy pushed through the door and wheeled in a cart stacked high with wood. He parked near the fireplace and unloaded it all, piling it high on the rack before wiping his brow and turning around with his hands on his hips to assess the room.

Shane caught his line of sight and followed it. He was watching Harris dance around behind the counter, swirling a bar towel over his head while he cleaned glasses and restocked bottles. It made Troy smile from across the room, and watching the scene play out made Shane smile and hold onto Ilya a little tighter.

The music faded into something softer as Harris switched playlists and announced that it was game time.

Across the room, Elena was already corralling everyone into teams while Scott rummaged through the stack of board games on the table. “Let’s see. We’ve got Cranium, Monopoly, Uno…”

“Cranium,” Ilya said immediately.

“Perfect!” Kip said excitedly. “We can show off our superior intellect.”

“Babe. You can’t even spell superior intellect,” Scott teased, nudging Kip lovingly with his elbow.

Shane snorted. “Cranium it is!”

As they started clearing space around the coffee table, Shane spotted Troy and Harris lingering near the bar, quietly tidying up the counter and watching with amusement. Shane frowned, waving them over.

Drying his hands on a towel, Harris appeared beside Shane. “Yeah, need something?”

“Yes,” Shane said. “You and Troy. Come play with us.”

Harris blinked. “We’re working.”

“Not anymore.” Shane shook his head like Harris was crazy for wanting to do work at work. “Call it an early night. You’ve been serving us all weekend. Take a break. Have some fun.”

Troy looked between them, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “We shouldn’t. We’re meant to entertain you, not the other way around.”

Ilya scoffed. “Not tonight, you aren’t. Tonight, you’re teaming up and facing off against us.”

Nodding toward the open seats, Shane encouraged them to sit. “Come on. It’s our last night. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

There was a quiet beat of hesitation before Harris set down the towel and smiled. “Well, if you insist.” He nudged Troy. “You in?”

Troy shrugged and then asked, “Will I be in trouble if I don’t get my work done?”

Harris raised a brow. “Only if you wanna be.”

Humming, Troy’s cheeks heated and he chuckled under his breath. “Alright, we’re in.”

They joined the circle just as Elena was setting up the board and lining up the materials.

The first round was charades, and it was chaos from the start. Scott acted out The Titanic by standing on a log and shouting, “I’m flying!” while Kip guessed, “Superman!” very enthusiastically at the top of his lungs. 

Harris and Troy got Pictionary, and Troy’s drawings were so perfect that Harris shouted the correct answer before the time ran out. They high fived so hard that their glasses almost tipped over.

When it was Ilya’s turn to act out Romeo and Juliet, he collapsed dramatically over Shane's lap before puckering his lips and pretending to faint. Shane guessed it immediately.

“He should get extra points for commitment,” Elena said, sipping her drink.

Elena had to guess something her husband was building out of modeling clay, shouting, “A pickle! Sausage! A balloon!” and sadly never guessing the eggplant that it was supposed to resemble.

When the game ended, Harris dimmed the lights and put on a playlist of slow songs, claiming it was to “cool everyone off before bed.”

Ilya held out his hand to Shane. “Dance with me,” he said, the fire reflecting brightly in his eyes. It wasn’t a question.

Shane groaned, but his smile gave him away and he let Ilya pull him close, arms looping easily around his neck. The fire crackled nearby, chatter faded to a soft hum behind them, and the world felt smaller, gentler, quiet in the little space between them.

Ilya’s breath brushed his temple. “You realize we’ve never danced like this before?”

Tilting his head back just enough to look him in the eye, Shane nodded. “I know.”

“It’s nice.” His dimples carved into his cheeks as he smiled and pulled Shane closer, swaying until the song ended. Neither of them moved away even as another song started.

Behind them, Harris had pulled Troy close, whispering something in his ear as they danced, laughing and blushing for the entire song. Shane caught Harris' eye just before he pulled Troy into a kiss, and they shared a knowing smile before Ilya spun him to face the other way again.

The night wound down gently after that, the fire burning low, glasses empty and left abandoned on the coffee table, laughter blurring into the kind of quiet that meant no one really wanted to go to bed.

When they finally made their way to the stairs, Shane's hand brushed Ilya’s, fingers curling loosely together as they walked. There was no audience, no need to sell it anymore. It was just for them, still warm from the fire and the boozy cocoa, the dancing, and something that felt real enough to make Shane feel something settle deep in his tummy.

 

***

 

Shane unlocked their room and stepped inside after Ilya, exhaling the kind of sigh that only came after a full day of conferences and snow and cocktails.

Once the door clicked behind them, they stepped out of their shoes and Ilya started unbuttoning his shirt, running a hand through his curls. “Think I’m gonna take a bath,” he said heading toward the bathroom.

“Alright. I’ll be right back,” Shane said, looking around the room. “Think I forgot my sweater in the family room.”

Shane slipped his shoes back on and made his way downstairs. The lounge was still warm and the music was still going. Troy was there tidying up the pile of wood and sweeping the floors. Harris wiped down the bar counter and washed cocktail glasses, working quickly to catch up from their long break to play games. He spotted his sweater quickly on the back of the couch and collected it, waving at them both on his way out.

When Shane got back upstairs, the room was dim except for the soft glow through the glass partition leading to the bathroom. The steam was thick and the faucet hissed in the background. Ilya was already in the tub, up to his waist in frothy water while it filled the rest of the way. That much Shane could see through the glass, the beads of steam forming fat drops and racing down the shower door in stripes.

“Hey, Shane!” Ilya’s voice echoed against the tiles and drifted over the glass. “You back?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

He looked up when Shane appeared in the doorway, his cheeks flushed from the heat and chest damp, a dusting of dark hair glued between his pecs. A glass of wine balanced on the rim of the tub between his loose fingers and he smiled. “Nothing, just waiting for you,” he said easily, eyeing him in a way that made Shane swallow thickly.

Shane paused. “Did you need something? I can grab it for you.”

He licked his lips after sipping from the wine glass. “No, I mean I was waiting for you. In here. Like, in the bath.” Ilya bent his knees and spread his legs, bubbles dripping down his thighs and thick froth covering his bits. The water sloshed with the movement. “There’s plenty of room. The jets feel amazing on my sore muscles from snowboarding yesterday.”

His lips parted to protest, but before he could say anything, Ilya added, “It’s our last night as fake boyfriends. Let’s enjoy it.”

Shane hesitated, but only for a moment before he set his phone down on the counter, peeled off his shirt, then his jeans and socks. He looked over to see Ilya’s eyes on him while sipping his wine. Swallowing around a lump in his throat, he pulled his boxers down and quickly stepped out of them and over the edge of the tub, sinking into the bubbles on the other end. The water wrapped him up instantly like a warm embrace, hot enough to make him sigh out loud, to hiss a little as it burned his cold toes and fingertips.

“Told you,” Ilya murmured, nudging his leg with his toe.

Shane let his head tip back against the porcelain, the warmth soaking into his bones.

“I poured you some wine.” Ilya nodded to the second glass, smiling around the rim of his own when Shane raised a curious brow and reached for it.

“Sneaky,” he said, swirling his glass and smelling it before taking a careful sip.

Ilya’s mouth twitched. “Hopeful.”

Shane didn’t respond verbally, but he gave him a look. The silence between them was comfortable as Ilya turned off the tap, his glass clinking against the rim of the tub. They sat like that for a while, half-drowsy in the heat, leaning into the jets and fighting over the one between their knees. They shared their thoughts about the weekend – about snowboarding and sledding and the awards and how Shane almost pissed himself laughing when Scott fell face-first into the snow. Ilya watched him carefully between sentences, smiling as he recalled their time together at The Evergreen.

Something shifted when Ilya spoke about the second night, the air in the room turning thick and looming overhead. Shane held his breath, expecting him to mention the dinner, how off he was the entire night, and how they retired to the room early. How Ilya made him feel better. How their relationship went from friends to something more complicated. But he didn’t, he only raved about how good the pot roast was, how he planned on begging Harris for the apple cobbler recipe in the morning before they left.

“Of course you will,” Shane laughed, stretching his foot out to nudge Ilya, catching on something under the water that made Ilya stop laughing and snap his eyes up. 

“Sorry,” Shane said quickly, raising his arms up with one palm out and his fingers splayed around the glass in the other. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I don’t mind. You can do it again if you want.” The water sloshed as Ilya readjusted his legs and his eyes darkened, a smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh god, don’t tell me you have a thing for feet,” Shane said dramatically. 

“I mean, I don’t not have a thing for feet.” Ilya smirked, shrugging in a careless, playful way.

“Really, Ilya?” He wasn’t judging, but he looked at him in a way that challenged him. As if he was calling his bluff.

“It depends whose feet they are.” Ilya said easily. “Yours? Yeah, sure. Go for it.” He took a sip of wine and licked his lips. “Dallas Kent’s feet? Absolutely not.”

“Ew, please don’t mention that man while I’m naked ever again.” Shane's face scrunched into a disgusted grimace.

The echo from Ilya laughing into his glass bounced off the walls in their tiny porcelain oasis. A beat passed where nothing happened, they just drank their wine and made eyes at each other.

“You could use your hand if you want,” Ilya said lightly, playfully, breaking the silence. As if he was testing the waters.

Pausing, Shane tipped his head back and finished the last of his wine before setting the glass down. “Is this you asking me to?”

“It’s not me not asking you to.” Ilya’s mouth twitched, but there was a dark glint in his eye. Something that said he was being serious under his teasing tone.

Shane shook his head, because Ilya was being ridiculous and kind of adorable. But he was also intrigued. His hand itched to reach out and touch him, to see if he was being serious, to see if he’d stop him again. 

Ilya chuckled, and then turned more serious. “I still haven’t…from last night. Been dying all day.”

Shane's shoulders sank and he felt the need to defend himself. “I offered last night! I tried to-”

“No, no, I know. I wasn’t- Last night was about you. You were down and I wanted to make you feel good. It wasn’t about me. That’s why I didn’t expect you to reciprocate.”

Shane looked up at him cautiously, his lashes were wet and his cheeks were pink as he huffed out a breath. He rubbed Ilya under the water again with his toes, just to see. Moved his foot in careful circles until he felt Ilya start to harden, watching his face to see how it affected him. He noticed when Ilya’s body stilled, saw his head tip back only slightly while maintaining eye contact, and then he sucked in a breath. 

Only then did Shane shift and move through the water swiftly, hovering over him and leaning in for a kiss. He settled against Ilya, straddling him as best he could in the confined space, legs tangled and pressed against the porcelain. 

He slid a hand down Ilya’s chest, slippery from the bubbles and water, and wrapped it around Ilya’s cock. Shane licked into Ilya’s mouth and stroked him once, earning a soft moan. The water threatened to spill over the edge as Shane's arm worked faster, Ilya’s hips moving with him. After Shane heard the unmistakable clink of Ilya’s glass when he scrambled to put it down, he felt Ilya’s hands slide around his ass, pulling him closer. Their lips smacked, hot breath between them, a chill down his spine where the air stung his wet skin. Shane tipped his head back and Ilya mouthed at his neck, pausing when Shane increased his speed and stroked him with purpose. 

“Water doesn’t make great lube,” Shane stated simply through a huffed breath.

“It does not,” Ilya agreed, sharing a giggle. He nipped at Shane's neck and dragged his nose along the soft skin behind his ear.

Shane's lips parted and he huffed out a shuddery breath and turned to snag his teeth on Ilya’s ear, tugging gently. He pressed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. His thumb traced circles on the underside of his cockhead before switching back to long, even strokes. Dragging his teeth gently over his collar bone, he sucked and nibbled until he felt Ilya shiver. The skin prickled beneath his lips, his fingertips. He reached behind Ilya and released the plug to start draining the water, his mouth never leaving Ilya’s skin in the process. 

The water level dropped quickly, bubbles swirling down the drain in a foamy spiral, and Shane followed behind the trail, sucking and biting his pecs and nipples and abs on the way down. He pressed a kiss next to Ilya’s belly button and, when the water was low enough for Ilya’s tip to poke out, Shane wrapped his lips around it, sighing when he made contact. Ilya lifted his hips out of the last few inches of water and Shane looked up at him through his eyelashes then sank down further. It was warm and wet, heavy against his tongue. The hair clinging to his groin was dark and smooth, Shane's nose nudging against it as he worked over Ilya, his lips stretched around him and his jaw burning in the best way.

Shane's hand slid down Ilya’s slick chest, massaging his tits, squeezing and pinching his nipples as he swallowed him down. He felt Ilya’s abs tense, his hips twitch, heard his breath catch, and he sped up, slipping a hand down to massage his balls.

Steam cooled in the air as the water drained away, a faint mist curling around them. The chill that crept through the room raised goosebumps across Shane's arms, his back.

With one hand tangled in Shane's hair and the other gripping the edge of the tub, Ilya finished with a groan. Shane caught it all on his tongue before collapsing on top of him, breathing heavily, licking his lips. His head was resting on Ilya’s chest, ass in the air, legs scrunched beneath him on the hard, cold porcelain. It was extremely uncomfortable now that he was finished, but he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave Ilya’s warmth, his comfort, his hands that were splayed across his back, soothing his goosebumps away.

“Your knees are gonna be bruised tomorrow.” Ilya’s voice was light, almost a whisper. He paused and then Shane felt him bury his lips into his hair. 

His eyes fluttered closed at the gesture. Then Shane caught his breath and shrugged. “Worth it.”

Ilya traced slow, absent-minded circles along Shane's shoulder blades, down his spine and back up again, and for a long while, they just breathed together. 

Finally, when Shane's legs were tingling beneath him, he shifted, pushed himself up to stand, and shivered. He bent his knees and rolled his ankles, trying to get some feeling back in his toes before getting out. With firm hands on his hips, Ilya steadied him as he stepped over the edge and wrapped himself in a towel. He turned and caught Ilya’s eyes on him, soft, tired, fond. 

“Well, come on then,” Shane murmured, mirroring his expression and holding out a towel.

Ilya stood, and Shane draped it over his shoulders, rubbing circles into his arms to bring the warmth back. He brushed a damp curl off Ilya’s forehead, fingers lingering just long enough for Ilya to lean into the touch. Shane smiled faintly and tugged him forward by the fabric into a kiss.

Shane used the edge of the towel to dry Ilya’s face, the soft terrycloth curving over his cheeks, in the dip behind his ears, under his chin. His dimples. His neck. He dropped that section and brushed his hands over Ilya’s towel-covered arms. Moving slowly, he draped his hand through the fabric to dry under his arms and along his chest, taking extra time to cup around and between his pecs, earning him a silent huff of a laugh.

“Just being thorough,” Shane said around a puckered smile.

His eyes clung to a drop of water that hung from Ilya’s chin and lingered there, threatening to fall. After a beat, it finally dripped and raced down his torso, leaving a wet trail from his sternum, through his muscled abs, and ending in his belly button. Shane leaned in without thinking and licked it, pointing his tongue to retrieve the drop from where it had pooled, then flattening it over Ilya’s stomach to follow the path all the way back up to his lips. Ilya’s breath hitched as he smiled into it, catching Shane's bottom lip between his teeth. 

When he let go, Shane kissed him again, just two pecks against his lips, humming into the second one before separating to finish soaking up the water droplets that still clung to Ilya’s skin.

They dried each other off slowly and carefully, catching beads of water before they slipped too far down Shane's chest, patting the hair under Ilya’s belly button dry with a gentle, towel-wrapped hand. Shane followed behind the soft towel strokes with gentle kisses pressed down his spine, and over his shoulders, his neck. He let the towel fall, pooling by their feet as he trailed a dry finger down Ilya’s crack before planting a kiss there. It made Ilya’s breath catch and Shane saw his cheeks clench, and he smiled but didn’t do anything about it. When he was sure that Ilya had been dried properly, he swatted him playfully on the ass before turning him back around and nodding that he was finished.

Ilya dropped to his knees, grazing the soft cloth around Shane's body and down the curve of his lower back, over the round peaks of his ass. Shane's skin was covered in goosebumps everywhere Ilya touched. He pretended to ignore his cock fattening up inches from Ilya’s face, since Ilya seemed to be ignoring it, too. It was almost frustrating how calm and focused Ilya was, soaking up every drop of water. How he didn’t seem to be affected by it in the same way that Shane was.

He nudged Shane's legs apart, carefully drying them one at a time, draping the towel over a finger and sliding it between each of his toes, soaking up the moisture with care. He made a show of kneeling down and kissing Shane's big toe once it was dry, a playful glint in his eye as he smirked up at him. They shared a look that let Shane know they were both thinking about Ilya’s not-foot fetish, and then Ilya’s expression changed to something more heated once he moved to do his ankle.

Shane giggled and just watched him with a weird tingle low in his abdomen. He could feel every small detail – the soft cotton over his skin, the whisper of Ilya’s breath when he exhaled, the scent of lavender and bubbles and wine still lingering that he knew he’d never be able to get out of his head. Every hair on his body stood on end, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the chill taking over the bathroom as the steam cleared out, or from Ilya.

Once he was mostly dry, Ilya dropped the towel onto the floor and his gaze lifted, quiet and steady on the surface, but there was a slow-burning heat underneath. Something unspoken flickered there. It was a want, a need. Something deep and simmering, and it tugged at Shane the way a whisper does when it’s trying to be heard.

A light graze of fingertips trailed up Shane's calf, almost ticklish, but there was too much heat for him to react any way other than following him with his eyes, waiting for what would come next. He watched Ilya’s finger trace over his knee as if he was drawing a circle around it before continuing up to his thigh. The air was charged between them, with a trail of electricity following Ilya’s fingertip as it brushed through the hair at his groin, swooped around his hipbone and circled around his bum before his palm flattened and settled there. Ilya’s gentle touch made Shane's hairs stand on end and he sucked in a sharp, shuddery breath, an airy moan escaping on the exhale.

Warm air tickled Shane's thighs as Ilya nuzzled against him, faint stubble scratching his thighs as Ilya breathed heavily and paused there for a moment. The cold tip of Ilya’s nose trailed up Shane's groin to his hip, followed by soft presses of his lips along the way. Both hands were cupped around Shane's ass now, switching from light gentle circles to grabbing handfuls and squeezing greedily.

Open-mouth kisses were sucked across Shane's stomach from one hip to the other, it was frustratingly slow as he lingered there, lips pressed in the same spot for several seconds as if Ilya was cataloging it in his mind, his soul, before dragging them along to the next spot and doing it all over again. It made Shane shiver, his cock twitched and his nipples hardened as he tipped his head back to soak it all in. It was gentle and careful and it felt like way too much to be worshipped by Ilya in this way. He wanted to look down, wanted to watch him, but he squeezed his eyes closed instead and pushed away the thoughts that were muddling his brain. The ones that told him that maybe this could be more than just a weekend of fun. That maybe Ilya was enjoying being this close, touching, kissing, being together, as much as he was. And that maybe, possibly, Ilya wasn’t pretending anymore either.

When he felt Ilya’s heat leave the front of his body, he chanced a glance down. Ilya was still on his knees, but he was sitting back a few inches now as if he didn’t know what to do next. Or perhaps he was considering getting up and popping the serene bubble they were in.

He watched Ilya’s throat bob as his eyes trailed down his stomach and stopped at his dick. His tongue poked out to wet his lips and he looked up at Shane, eyes clear and hungry. Then he inched forward and raised a brow as if he was asking a question, not leaving Shane's eyes for a moment. 

“Shane?” His voice was a rumbly whisper but it still echoed off of the glass partition, bounced off of the porcelain tub next to them. Hearing his name like that, from that man, in that tone would go on to find a cozy spot in Shane's brain and tuck itself there for later.

“Yeah.” Shane nodded, inhaling a sharp breath before his lips parted. “Please.”

Ilya backed him slowly against the vanity, and Shane grabbed his aching dick with one hand and eagerly tapped it against Ilya’s open lips. Replacing Shane's hand with his own, Ilya looked up at him hungrily before making a show of spreading his tongue wide to lick up a bead of precome and savoring it before sighing and taking him into his mouth. 

Warmth filled the room and Shane's eyes fluttered shut as he relaxed against the counter and allowed himself to be taken care of by Ilya. Firm hands slid around his hips, curved over his ass, down the backs of his thighs. Ilya squeezed anywhere he could reach, his huge hands pressing into Shane's sensitive skin, grabbing and massaging as he bobbed his head. When Ilya’s finger brushed against his hole, Shane shivered, clenching his jaw.

“I didn’t pack any lube,” he huffed out. “Or condoms.”

Rubbing gently with the tip of his finger from his crack to just behind his balls, Ilya popped off to say, “That’s okay,” completely unbothered. He licked his lips and sank back down to kiss along his shaft, applying pressure to his hole but not dipping inside. When he pulled away and readjusted his position on the floor, there was a glint in his eye and his expression turned dark, heated, like a simmering want that he didn’t bother to hide.

“Don’t need it for this,” Ilya said with a smirk, gripping Shane by the hips and spinning him to face the other way.

For a second, he hesitated before allowing Ilya to fold him over the counter with a palm stretched across his back, pushing him forward. He felt Ilya’s hands slide down to his ass on either cheek as he spread them apart. Shane inhaled sharply, and his mind raced. Was this really happening? He wasn’t sure if it was too much, but he wasn’t about to stop him. To lose himself in Ilya, be taken apart by him inch by inch and put back together again? There was nobody else he’d rather do this with.

The first press of Ilya’s lips against his hole almost made Shane whimper. His toes curled against the rug and he steadied himself on his elbows, popped his hips up so Ilya would have better access, and waited for whatever came next.

Ilya flattened his tongue and licked wide stripes from his balls clear up to the top of his crack. It was warm and overwhelming, and made Shane suck in a sharp breath and hold it. Kisses were pressed into the dimples at the bottom of his spine before Ilya worked his way back down again. He moaned when Ilya mouthed over his balls, his thumb circling Shane's hole with his other hand wrapping around to grab his dick. Shane's entire body was tingling. He was caught in a cycle of holding his breath and then exhaling shakily before remembering to breathe again.

With a few well-timed strokes, Shane was panting, head tipping forward and eyes clenched shut.

Warmth flooded his senses when Ilya’s mouth moved back to his ass and his tongue pressed against Shane's hole. He huffed out a breathy moan and pushed his hips back, tucking his lips between his teeth to keep from begging for more.

The tip of Ilya’s tongue poked inside, finally, and Ilya hummed against him, sending shockwaves up Shane's spine. One hand circled around Shane's cock, stroking in sync with every thrust of his tongue. The other was gripping Shane's hip, fingertips bruising as he guided Shane to fuck himself back onto his tongue.

It didn’t take long before Shane's whole body tensed as he shuddered and came against the cabinet, moans bouncing off of the mirror and echoing in the room. His knuckles were white from where he clenched the edge of the counter to steady himself. When he finally righted himself, he was met with his own fucked-out reflection in the mirror. Red cheeks, watery eyes, mouth agape, heaving chest. And then Ilya appeared behind him, smoothing his hands up his back to his shoulders. His lips were swollen, cherry red. It reminded him of when they were kids and kissed for the first time after eating otter pops in his back yard.

Ilya kissed the notch at the top of his spine and massaged his shoulders while he came down, staring at each other in the mirror. It was all too… normal. Too easy. Was it supposed to be this easy?

Using the damp towels from the floor, Ilya cleaned the cabinet and stood to stretch his legs, rub his knees. Shane laughed as he watched in the mirror because he knew just how sore he must have been after sitting on his knees for so long. They took a few minutes to hang the wet towels and brush their teeth before moving to the main room.

The lavender clinging to Ilya’s skin tickled Shane's nose as they climbed into bed and wordlessly scooted together in the middle. Ilya held up the duvet and waited for him to settle against his chest before wrapping his arms around Shane's back and letting it float over them. The steady beat of Ilya’s heart was comforting as Ilya traced shapes over his back with his blunt fingernail. He wrapped his arm around Ilya’s waist and Ilya mumbled something sleepily into his hair, leaving a kiss there. Shane grunted in response and pressed closer, breathing in the scent of bubble bath and wine as he nodded off.

Chapter 5

Light peeked through the window in between the tall evergreens, catching the floating dust in the air. Shane woke first. He was on his side, cheek pressed to Ilya’s chest, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Ilya’s arm was draped over his waist, hand curled into the dip of his hip.

For a few minutes, Shane didn’t move. He just stayed there, letting the stillness sink in. The soft weight of the blanket, the quiet comfort of someone he loves holding him close, the sheets drenched in their combined scents: lavender still lingering from their bath, Shane's woodsy coconut cardamom deodorant, along with Ilya’s signature cedar vanilla spice. It was dizzying and overwhelmingly them.

He tilted his head slightly to look at Ilya, at the way his curls had dried into messy waves overnight, at the shadow of stubble along his jaw. Ilya looked peaceful in his sleep. Shane's thumb traced light circles over Ilya’s stomach, his foot grazing gently along Ilya’s calf under the blanket.

Ilya stirred, eyes blinking open slowly, lashes heavy. When he caught Shane's small smile, he hummed a sleepy laugh. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Shane said quietly. “You snore, you know?”

“Lies.” Ilya yawned, stretching an arm over his head. “I’ve never once heard myself snore, so it obviously can’t be true.”

Shane laughed into his chest. “Obviously,” he said with an eyeroll.

They stayed there another few minutes, letting the light creep across the room before Shane sighed and pushed himself upright. “We should probably pack before breakfast.”

Ilya sighed. “Yeah, probably.”

They got up and took turns in the bathroom, changing into comfortable clothes for their long drive. Shane went downstairs and grabbed them breakfast, being sure to prop the door open with one of Ilya’s shoes so he could get back in this time. By the time he’d returned, Ilya had emptied the drawers and laid everything from the closet onto the bed, gathered their dirty laundry from the corner and sorted it, and had half of Shane's duffel filled. He took a break from packing to eat – his very own plate piled high with bacon, eggs, and toast. Not a cute waffle in sight. 

Once they finished eating, Shane watched him quietly from the edge of the bed, not bothering to help with his own bags because he knew Ilya would insist on doing it all anyway.

“You’re staring,” Ilya said without looking up.

“Am not,” Shane lied.

Folding a pair of jeans, Ilya smirked. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Shane shrugged. “Maybe I’m just trying to learn how to properly pack a suitcase.”

“Maybe you’re just a shameless flirt.”

“Maybe I am.”

Ilya finished packing in comfortable silence after that while Shane cleared their things from the bathroom, double checking to be sure they didn’t leave anything behind.

He found the half-empty bottle of wine by the tub and smiled to himself, remembering the bath, the closeness and warmth of sharing that moment with Ilya. Wine, lavender, bubbles. Shared breaths. Something worth remembering.

When the bags were all packed and the room looked almost like they’d never been there, save for the rumpled sheets, Ilya set Shane's coat on the bed and placed a hand on his forearm. “Ready?”

Shane looked around once more before nodding. “Yeah. I guess so.”

 

Downstairs, the chatter was softer than usual – people lingering over breakfast, stretching out the last few moments before the long drive home.

Elena and Maria were by the fireplace with their husbands, hugging everyone goodbye with promises to do this again soon. Shane didn’t understand why everyone was emotional. They’d see each other at work the next day and every day after. But he still let her pull him in for a hug anyway. 

Scott and Kip were dragging their bags to the door, arguing about who’d left the charger in the room and who was going to have to beg Harris to let them back in to get it. They’d be driving back home together. Since Kip had to come later, Scott rode up with Maria and Rob on Friday. Shane laughed at how they fought like siblings, like they’d spent too much time together but wouldn’t have it any other way. Eventually, it was Scott who gave in and asked Harris for the room key with a, “you owe me” look flashed at Kip on his way back up the stairs.

“You two get any sleep last night?” Elena teased when she approached Shane and Ilya, eyeing their messy hair that they hadn’t bothered styling just to sit in the car for hours.

“Some,” Ilya said, grinning. “Eventually.”

Shane rolled his eyes, cheeks heating. “Ignore him.”

She flashed a knowing smile and pulled Ilya in for a hug, told him how nice it was to finally meet him, how surprised she was when he didn’t look like the woman in the picture on Shane's desk. As if she hadn’t heard Shane come out to Scott from two cubicles away just last week.

A warm presence appeared behind Shane then. When he turned, Harris was pressing a travel mug into Shane's hands – a deep, emerald green one with the Evergreen logo printed onto the side. “Got some of that cinnamon blend you liked. Thought you might need it for the drive.”

“Thanks, Harris,” Shane said warmly. “Everything was perfect, really.”

“Glad you think so,” Harris said, nodding toward Troy through the window. “We’ll miss having you guys around. Place always feels a little emptier after a fun crowd leaves.”

Troy came in then, cheeks flushed from the cold, snow dusting on his shoulders. He smiled briefly at Shane and Ilya, giving them a little nod and balancing his shovel against the wall with a huff. “Truck’s all dug out and ready for you,” he said around a huff. “Road’s clear to the main highway, too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to-” Shane started.

“It’s my job,” Troy interrupted with a shrug, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Thanks,” Ilya said.

“You should come back next year,” Harris said suddenly, glancing between Shane, Ilya, Scott, and Kip. “Maybe not for work, but just for fun.”

Shane smiled at that. The idea of coming back together for real, no pretending. It sounded perfect. “Yeah,” he said, smiling and leaning into Ilya. “Maybe we will.”

They said their last goodbyes at the door, Scott and Kip squeezing them tightly, Maria shouting something about tagging them in photos later. Then it was just the two of them stepping out into the bright white morning, boots and suitcase wheels crunching on the snow.

Shane started warming up the truck while they loaded the bags in and found a playlist for the drive, surprised to see that Troy had even scraped the windshield as well. He turned the defrosters on full blast and they stripped off their jackets before getting comfortable and buckling their seatbelts. Outside, the world glowed a glittery gold as the sun peeked out over the mountains.

They drove out slowly, the lodge shrinking in the rearview mirror until it was just a smudge of dark wood against white. The road was clear, the sky soft and calm. Ilya had his seat reclined, curls sticking out wildly in all directions, and his hands in his lap. 

For the first hour or so, the drive was easy and quiet as they twisted through the mountain roads and back towards home. Ilya hummed along with the music, made a comment about them thankfully not needing to put the chains on for the way down. Once the road straightened out and felt safer, Shane reached a hand out to rest on Ilya’s thigh, keeping one hand on the wheel and relaxing into his seat. He tapped his thumb along to the rhythm of the music, the rough woven texture of Ilya’s jeans skidding across the pad of his thumb as he looked ahead at the road. It felt normal, easy. Like they were just two people coming home from a fun weekend away.

“I still can’t believe Scott face-planted off of the sled. He’s lucky he didn’t break his nose,” Ilya said, laughing.

Shane smiled, shaking his head. “It was like watching a cartoon. Every time he got back up, the sled just slipped out from under him again.”

They both laughed, and Ilya reached over to steal the Evergreen mug from the cup holder, taking a sip. “Mmm.” He took another sip. “Remind me to tell Harris that I love him.”

Shane hummed. “He really is a sweetheart. And Troy, too. He must have been out there all morning shoveling us out.”

“Yeah,” Ilya said, tilting his head toward the window. “Harris has good taste in company.”

Shane smirked, catching the tone. “You say that like you know.”

“True. I hang around you too often to know about good company.”

“Okay, rude.”

Ilya gave him a teasing look but didn’t reply, hiding his smile behind another sip of coffee.

They drifted into comfortable chatter, effortless. They talked about work and Shane's new scent launch, and about Shane's award, which Ilya had strapped into a seatbelt behind them.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t prepare a speech,” Ilya said. “You had to have known you were gonna win.”

Shane shrugged. “Didn’t want to jinx it. Plus, I figured I’d just get up there and ramble about moments and feelings and memories anyway. Like always.”

“You did great,” Ilya said softly, and something about the sincerity in his voice made Shane look over. “You always do.”

He squeezed Ilya’s thigh and felt a warm feeling in his chest. “You’re biased.”

“Mm. Maybe,” Ilya said. “But I’m also right.”

Stealing the coffee from Ilya, Shane took a long sip and offered it back to him. They fell into silence for a moment and Shane reached over for Ilya’s thigh again, the same way he’d done all weekend. But this time, Ilya shifted a little. Not pulling away, not leaning into it, just…stiffer.

Shane didn’t notice at first. He was smiling to himself, remembering the way Ilya had cheered and clapped when he got his award, how he’d kissed him in front of everyone without hesitation. The memory made him sigh happily.

“You know, you make a pretty good fake boyfriend.” Shane's voice was teasing but genuine at the same time. “I feel like nobody knew any different.”

“Yeah.” Ilya nodded once. “Guess we did a good job then.”

For a second, Shane hesitated, wasn’t sure what to say to that. So he took a breath and looked back to the road. “It kinda started to feel real around day two. I sorta forgot we were faking it.”

Ilya shifted in his seat, Shane's palm sliding off of his thigh. “Oh. Uh. Yeah,” Ilya said, quieter this time.

They finally broke free of the mountains, the city skyline blanketed with a thick grey haze in the distance. Shane couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there. They sang along softly when Fleetwood Mac came on, argued about which way would get them home quicker once the highway split into two and, when Shane nudged him teasingly and reached for his hand, Ilya slipped away and stared out the window again. It was a weird shift of energy and Shane didn’t know how to react.

As the city crept closer, Ilya grew quieter. His hands stayed clasped in his lap, while Shane's fist was tight around the gear shift, knuckles grazing Ilya’s knee when the road curved and his legs fell open. By the time they pulled in front of Ilya’s apartment, any lingering warmth from the weekend felt fragile, stretched thin. Shane parked by the curb and let the engine idle, turning toward him with a soft easy smile.

“Guess this is it,” Shane said. “Back to reality.”

Ilya gave a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Back to emails and answering phones.”

“For you,” Shane said. “I have to get back to the workshop and mix all of these scents before I lose the inspiration.”

They sat there for a second, neither moving to open the door. The air between them hummed with something unsaid, the heater beating on them a bit too hot now that they were back in the valley where winter hardly existed. Shane wanted to hold onto it just a little longer. The moment, the weekend, the illusion that maybe it had been at least a little genuine.

He reached over, slow and careful. His hand brushed Ilya’s knee, light enough to be accidental if he needed it to be. Maybe he was trying to convince them both that it was ordinary, that this is just what they did now. “Well,” he murmured, forcing a smile. “Thanks for agreeing to this. For coming with me.”

Ilya smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for hanging out with you, Shane.”

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Shane said through a laugh. “You want help with your things?”

“Nah.” Ilya shook his head, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ve got it.”

“It was a good weekend,” Shane said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I had fun.”

Ilya looked at him then. His face softened but there was something in his eyes that made Shane's chest feel tight. “Yeah,” Ilya said. “Me too.”

Shane leaned in then, gaze dropping to Ilya’s mouth as he moved closer. But before he could close the space between them, Ilya pulled back, just slightly,

“You don’t have to do that,” Ilya said, face scrunched in confusion.

Shane blinked. “What?”

“The kiss,” Ilya clarified. “We don’t have to do that anymore. The job’s over.”

It hit Shane like cold air. Like face-planting into the snow. He froze, eyes flicking between Ilya’s eyes and his hand on his leg. He snatched his hand back like it was on fire and put it in his own lap. “Right, the job,” he said, sitting back slowly. “Yeah. Of course.”

Ilya gave a small, awkward smile. “Thanks for driving.” He turned toward the door, the movement slow and final all at once, and the moment slipped through Shane's fingers like it had never been his to hold.

“Yeah. Anytime.”

Ilya opened the door and stepped out into the golden sun, brighter now that the fog had lifted. He grabbed his things from the back seat and gave a little wave before heading up the steps to his building without looking back.

Shane sat there for a long time after he was gone, the truck idling softly, playlist buzzing low. The passenger seat still smelled like Ilya, and there was an indent on the fabric where he’d been sitting. Shane let out a breath and whispered to himself, “Well. Guess that’s that.”

 

***

 

With the window down, crisp breeze blowing his hair, Shane drove home. It was muscle memory that led him, because he’s pretty sure he didn’t look at the road once the entire way back. He was so in his head about what Ilya said: The job’s over.

To Ilya, apparently that’s all it was. A job. And for Shane, that’s what it started out as. But as their time together dragged on, it definitely turned into something more. For him anyway. He now tried to tell himself that it was just a weekend thing, that they were just pretending, but he couldn’t fool himself. Shane had stopped pretending halfway through.

In his assigned parking spot, the truck idled for at least three songs before he finally talked himself into getting out. His lip curled into a pout as he looked at the bed of his truck filled with snow, a reminder of what had been the best weekend of his life and then quickly slipped out from under him just like that. It wasn’t lost on him that the snow would melt away like a physical representation of his dwindling happiness. 

He dragged his things up two flights of stairs to his apartment and pushed through the door, dropping everything as soon as it shut behind him. The silence was thick as he stood there in the middle of his living room feeling like something had been carved out of him. There was no laughter, no Ilya humming under his breath from the tub. Just the echo of it all.

While waiting for his food delivery to arrive, he watered his plants and changed into sweatpants. The least he could do was try to feed himself. Try to maintain some sense of normalcy to keep from spiraling.

His phone buzzed in his hand, almost like she’d known. Like she could somehow feel that he’d just walked through the door, that his chest felt heavy and hollow. She always seemed to call at the exact moment he needed her – even when he didn’t realize it.

“Hey Mags,” he answered, clearing his throat.

“Hey!” His sister’s voice was bright and lively. “How was your big, fancy weekend, Mr. Creative Excellence Award Winner?”

Shane managed to huff out a laugh and sank down onto the couch, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was…fine.”

“That doesn’t sound like it was fine.”

Shane smiled faintly, eyes flicking to the duffel bags still sitting by the door, his trophy tipped against the wall. He should probably pick that up, put it somewhere safe. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” she teased gently. “What’s going on?”

He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a long second before words started tumbling out.

So he told her everything – about how a simple misunderstanding turned into a stupid fake-dating plan that was never supposed to mean anything, and how he’d agreed only because it seemed like the easiest way to get through the weekend.

Then the snowboarding, the late-night games, the dancing, the sledding. The snowball fight that shifted something between them. Or so he thought. The ski lift Ilya had used to trick him into a kiss he couldn’t even be mad about. How everyone had adored Ilya instantly. The laughter, the teasing, the casual brushes of hands or knees that didn’t feel fake at all. Not even a little. 

How he’d started wanting those touches. Looking forward to them. Craving the closeness. How his leg felt wrong, empty, whenever Ilya’s hand wasn’t on it.

“And now?” Maggie asked softly.

Shane flopped his head back with a groan, one arm thrown over his eyes. “Now he’s home. And it’s like none of it happened. Like I dreamed the whole thing.”

“You miss him,” she said simply.

He exhaled a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. More an attempted denial. “I just saw him twenty minutes ago.”

“Okay. So. You feel like you lost him then.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Pathetic, right?”

“No,” she said gently. “Just human.”

Shane blinked up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin round and round, jaw clenching. “But he wasn’t even mine to lose. How can I lose something that I never had?”

“Ah, one of the many wonders of the world,” Maggie said with a soft laugh. “If you figure it out, let me know.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Will do.”

When they finally hung up, the silence pressed back in. Shane dragged his duffels over to the couch and unzipped them, spilling his clothes in a heap across the floor. The scent hit him immediately – evergreen and lavender, and underneath it, a faint but unmistakable Ilya.

His chest ached.

He gathered the clothes up, separating them into two uneven piles. Half went into the washing machine, the other half, the ones that smelled like him, stayed on the floor of the laundry room. Shane hesitated a second before closing the door behind him – as if shutting them away might make it easier to breathe.

It didn’t. 

His food arrived and he picked at it, managing to eat a few bites in front of the TV before giving up. He stood under the shower for what must have been an hour, trying to wash off the weekend, thinking that if he stayed in there long enough he’d forget all about it. Like it would wash away the memories, or something, too. 

The bed felt too big, too empty. It was cold without Ilya crowding his space, and too quiet without Ilya snoring in his ear. He tossed and turned all night, giving up on sleep around four in the morning and scrolling on his phone until it was time to get up for work.

He painted on a facade for the office, getting through his day without anyone catching on. Even when they brought up Ilya, how good they are together, how much they loved him, he managed to smile and nod politely before turning away and letting his face drop.

Shane stood in front of his workstation, staring at the lineup of glass vials under the fluorescent lights. Each one shimmered faintly, little prisms of pale gold and amber. Normally, this was his favorite part of the day – the quiet hum of the lab before everyone else shuffled in, the silence as he dropped oils into bottles and watched them mix. Smelling them, trying different combinations. 

But now, everything felt muted.

He went back to his desk, untying his apron and hanging it on the hook by his hoodie, rolling his shoulders. His head was still foggy from lack of sleep. He rubbed at his burning eyes.

Scott poked his head over the wall, holding a cup out. “Morning, man. You look like you could use about three of these,” he joked.

Smiling weakly, Shane reached for it and thanked him. “Rough night. I’ll live.”

“Conference hangover?” Scott asked, stepping into his cubicle, concerned. He lowered his voice. “Or something else?”

Shane hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the row of desks, seeing who else was there and if they were listening in. “Something else.”

Studying him for a beat, Scott nodded, not pressing. “Well, don’t work yourself to death,” he said. “You’re already ahead on the next catalog, so take it easy today.”

“Yeah,” Shane said automatically, though the moment Scott disappeared, he turned back to his computer and made notes for more scents he wanted to blend anyway.

He snuck back into the lab after everyone had filtered out, his hands moving on instinct. A little citrus, a hint of vanilla, a drop of something smoky. He didn’t know what he was making yet, just that it needed to smell alive. Something that filled the empty air.

Hours passed before he noticed the clock. The lab lights had shifted from white to a faint amber glow as the sun dipped behind the windows.

Shane leaned against the counter, staring at the row of blends. The air was thick with scent – vanilla, bergamot, orange blossom, a trace of musk. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing he made seemed to be enough.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and forced himself to clean up. The silence was too heavy. Too expectant.

As he turned to leave, his phone buzzed with a text. 

Mom: Thinking of you, love you

He smiled faintly and typed back.

Shane: Love you too, mom. I’ll call soon

 

***

 

Days blurred into weeks and work stayed steady. Orders went out, shipments came in, scents were made, meetings were held. But Shane moved through it all like he was half-asleep. He’d catch himself scrolling through pictures from the trip, or glancing at the bar he and Ilya would always meet at as he drove by. Dozens of texts were typed out and deleted before being sent, and his finger hovered over Ilya’s number before he’d lock his phone and shove it into his pocket, as if it was going to burn him or something. 

Every time he thought about Ilya, he told himself to stop. And every time, he couldn’t.

Weeks passed without a word from either of them. It wasn’t often they went this long without talking, even if it was just a few quick texts while they were both busy. He was worried about his best friend, but there was this other layer of hurt that he couldn’t stop thinking about. Shane couldn’t shake the fear that he’d ruined their friendship by asking Ilya to come along on the trip as his fake boyfriend. He knew he needed to reach out, to check on Ilya as his best friend, tell him how he was feeling, but he needed to sit with it a bit longer first. So, he turned his focus back to his work.

His boozy cocoa-inspired scent, Hug in a Mug, placed in the top three the week it was released, surprising absolutely nobody. Shane continued to be good at his job, mixing scents that reminded him of the good times before everything went to shit. 

He’d recreated a scent that reminded him of lavender bubble bath and wine and it brought him right back to that night, like he was standing in that bathroom with wet towels pooled around his ankles. There was a smoky undertone to it to represent the steam. It was fresh, but had a little bite to it. He sold it to a massage studio. 

The Evergreen scent smelled like he’d literally taken home some sprigs from the trees outside the lodge and bottled them. He added a drop of wintermint, just for some freshness, some brightness, to represent the snow. 

Cozy Fire was smoky and woodsy, perfect for a chilly night in with a warm drink and fuzzy socks.

And the scent he’d made last week, the one he spent days formulating and adjusting until it was just right, he kept only for himself in a tiny glass vial. The formula was three parts cedar to one part amber and one part vanilla. He labeled it: Boyfriend. 

And then he stared at it and crossed it out, because. Well. 

Boyfriend.

 

***

 

His mom called him one night after not hearing from him for a few weeks. Shane stared at her name flashing across the screen, already feeling his chest loosen in that way it always did with her, and he answered while curling deeper into the corner of his couch, blanket pulled over his knees. 

She’d greeted him with that voice that was all comfort and knowing, the kind that made him feel twelve again.

“Maggie told me you and Ilya went up to the mountains.” Her voice was gentle, almost cautious.

“Yeah,” he’d said, sighing and sinking into the cushions, dragging his hand down his face. “Just for a work thing.”

“Uh huh. And how’s that going?”

Shane groaned, tipping his head back against the edge of the sofa. “It’s not.”

“Oh, honey.”

“Don’t start.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut.

“I’m not starting, I’m asking. Maggie didn’t tell me much, just that I should probably check on you, that’s all.”

“Well.” Shane forced a smile, fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket as he contemplated how much to tell her. “We’re friends, mom.”

“But…”

“But what? That’s it.” He gestured vaguely at the empty room, even though she couldn’t see him. “We’re friends. We went to Tahoe for the weekend. We came home. The end.”

His mom sighed, that soft, sympathetic sigh that said she wasn’t prying but she definitely knew he was holding something back. Shane rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for her to say something. “If that’s what you’re telling yourself, then.”

“Ugh.” He dragged a hand down his face then switched to hold his phone to the other ear.

“So, the weekend didn’t go well then?”

“The weekend went… great.” It was the truth. He rubbed a hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling. “Everybody loved him.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He-” Shane huffed out through his nose, his jaw tensing as he searched for the right words. “He was just pretending the entire time. And I’d stopped pretending halfway through.”

“Oh, Shane.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re sure that he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Yeah.” Shane swallowed and took a deep breath. He thought back to the drive home from the lodge. The silence. How Ilya had tensed when Shane touched him. How he’d backed away when Shane tried to kiss him goodbye. How Ilya hadn’t texted him since. “Pretty sure.”

She sighed softly and Shane heard rustling on the other end of the line, cupboard doors maybe, or the refrigerator contents being slid to the side as she dug for something. He glanced at the clock and imagined her in the kitchen, her signature blue fuzzy Cookie Monster slippers on her feet, shuffling around to start making herself some dinner. “Well, you should tell him anyway. Just to see. You don’t want to spend your life wondering about it.” Her tone said it all without having to voice it. If you’ve already ruined the friendship, you might as well tell him how you feel. What can it hurt?

Shane closed his eyes, rubbing at them with his free hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not,” she agreed. “But it might be worth it.”

 

***

 

It took him three more days to work up the nerve to text Ilya. Three days of pacing his apartment, typing and deleting messages until the words blurred together.

Shane: hi… can we talk?

He responded within minutes. 

Ilya: Come over?

By the time Shane parked in front of his staircase, his stomach was in knots. His palms were damp against the steering wheel. He sat there for a beat too long, staring at Ilya’s building before forcing himself out of the car.

Ilya opened the door almost immediately, forcing a smile – that same disarming smile Shane had missed so much. The smell he’d been so enchanted by met him at the door, seeping into his pores, his bones, his soul.

“Hey,” Ilya said softly. He didn’t go in for a hug, didn’t reach out. His face softened and there was a hint of caution there, of uncertainty. Like he didn’t know how to act around Shane anymore either. “You okay?”

His breath caught. There was no easy way to do this. “No. Not really.”

Ilya’s smile slipped, brow furrowing. “Come in. Sit.”

Shane stepped inside, everything Ilya hitting him all at once. It was dizzying. Everything about Ilya’s apartment felt too familiar. The worn couch, the plants in the window, the record player in the corner. All reminders of a life that hadn’t changed while his own had quietly fallen apart. 

He sat on the couch, hands twisting together in his lap. His leg bounced.

“I just-” Shane started, then stopped. “I’ve been trying to get over it. That weekend. You. But I can’t.” He shook his head and looked down at his lap. His voice cracked. “I keep thinking about it. About you. Us. And I know it was only supposed to be for the weekend, but I wasn’t ready for it to end.”

Ilya’s expression changed, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Oh.” He blinked, as if caught off guard. His lips parted slightly. “I-I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t know either,” Shane said, shaking his head, a weak laugh catching in his throat. “Until I did.” He looked up, eyes glassy. A beat passed and he exhaled a heavy breath before pushing the words out. “I…think I love you, Ilya.”

“I love you too, Shane.” Ilya’s response was immediate, gentle, real. Almost too quick. His eyebrows scrunched in a way that was almost annoyed, but softer. “Obviously. You’re my best friend.”

The silence that followed was sharp, breaking something Shane didn’t even realize was still whole. His throat burned as he blinked hard, desperate to keep it together. “Oh. Right,” he said, voice cracking. He picked at the skin around the edge of his fingernail and swallowed thickly. “Of course.”

Ilya’s face fell. “I didn’t mean-”

“Forget it,” Shane swiped at his cheek, turning away so Ilya wouldn’t see him like this. “Forget I said anything.”

“Shane, stop.”

“Stop what, Ilya?” Shane whipped around, not bothering to hide his trembling lip. “Stop thinking about you? Stop feeling something for you? Because I can’t. Believe me, I tried.” His voice rose, the emotion spilling out before he could stop it. His cheeks were wet. His voice softened around the next words, almost pained. “You’re everywhere. Everything reminds me of you. Of that weekend.”

Ilya was beginning to look confused now, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. This was your idea.”

“This was not part of my idea,” Shane snapped, standing up before sinking right back down, gesturing to nothing and everything all at once. He sniffed and wiped his cheek on his sleeve.

“Shane,” Ilya sighed and his voice softened. “It was just pretend. It wasn’t real.”

“Yeah, well. It felt pretty damn real when my dick was in your mouth.” Shane glared at him, his lip trembling, eyes fiery. His fingers trembled against his leg as he tried not to fall apart.

Ilya threw his arms up in the air, his jaw clenching. “You were sad! I was only trying to help.”

“Yeah, well. Look at where that got us!”

“Well, fuck me for trying to make you feel better!” Ilya shouted, pacing around the room.

Shane's voice dropped, raw and trembling. His eyes burned, hot tears spilling down his cheeks and onto his shirt. “Yeah, well. I already kinda did that and apparently it didn’t mean anything to you.”

Ilya’s hands were on his hips as he stopped pacing, standing tall in the middle of the room. “Shane.” His voice was calmer now, his eyes sweeping from Shane's broken face to his shaky hands in his lap. “I was just doing what you asked me to do. I don’t know why you’re pissed at me for something you wanted.”

Shane's chest rose and fell sharply. He let out a shaky breath, swallowed. “I wasn’t sad that last night, Ilya. What the fuck was that then?”

“We were playing boyfriends.” Ilya blinked, taken aback. He had the audacity to sound offended.

Shane scoffed. “We were alone in our room. Nobody to ‘play boyfriends’ for.”

“I thought we were staying in character.”

Shane stared at him for a long moment, shaking his head. “Yeah. Okay.”

“It was just sex,” Ilya said as if he was almost annoyed by Shane's outburst. “I don’t understand why you’re so... I thought we were just…making the best of our time together. If I’d have known you’d-”

Shane's voice cut through him like ice. “You better think really fucking hard about how you want to finish that sentence.”

Then there was silence. Heavy and thick.

Shane's voice broke when he spoke again. “You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything when we…were together.”

Ilya hesitated, shoulders sagging. “I mean, it felt good. I don’t know? We were having fun. It was a nice weekend.”

“Okay.” Shane's eyes glistened as he attempted to blink a fresh wave of tears away. “Well, your idea of fun fucked with my head.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m so confused.”

Ilya crossed his arms, defensive now. “Well, it’s not my fault you can’t tell the difference between fact and fiction.”

That one landed like a slap. Shane inhaled sharply through his nose, eyes darting away before he could crumble right there. He nodded once, tucked his lips between his teeth. “Yeah, alright Ilya. Forget it.”

“Are you done?” Ilya asked, his tone brittle.

Swallowing hard, Shane wiped his nose and cheeks with his shirt. “I guess so.”

“Alright, well. I’ll see you around then.”

Shane stood, his chest tight and his throat aching. He let out a shaky exhale and nodded once. “Yeah.” He hesitated, one last glance at Ilya, hoping for something, anything, that might undo what just happened. But Ilya didn’t move, didn’t reach for him. Didn’t try to stop him.

So Shane turned and left.

It was raining when he got outside, because of-fucking-course it was. Twenty days a year it rained in the valley. Out of three hundred and sixty five, it chose that day as one of them. The rain hit him like a shock against his flushed face. He blinked up at the sky, grey and looming, his breath shaky. His hands trembled as he shoved them into his pockets, each step away from the apartment feeling like it might break him. Like he might shatter if he stepped too hard.

He got in his car and drove back home with his heart splintering in his chest.

 

***

 

Shane barely remembered the drive home. The painful silence flashed through his mind, and that’s all. No music, no words, just him, alone in his truck with the rain pounding against the windshield. He could hardly see the street. A blur of green ran down the glass, the only way he could tell the light had changed, before the wipers swiped it away. The sound of tires on wet pavement and the hollow ache sat in the middle of his chest, weighing him down. 

By the time he got home, the world outside had gone grey. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. Didn’t bother having dinner or taking a shower. He just stripped off his wet clothes and cocooned himself between his blankets.

For days afterward, he moved like a ghost. Work was the only thing that made sense – formulas, ratios, oils, glass vials. He buried himself in scents, desperate for distraction. Peppermint and chocolate, pumpkin and nutmeg. Comforting, safe, winter things that didn’t smell like Ilya.

But no matter what he mixed, there was always a trace of something warm underneath. Amber, cedar, lavender…ghosts of that weekend that refused to dissipate. As much as he tried to get away from it, from everything Ilya, he couldn’t. 

He started staying late. Eating little. Sleeping less. His coworkers stopped asking if he was okay. He painted on a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, laughed when he was supposed to, and went home to silence well after everyone else had left for the day.

It was a Tuesday night when his mom called. He almost didn’t answer, staring down at his phone on the workbench as the last trace of daylight faded from the windows. The workshop smelled faintly of vanilla and cinnamon – the remnants of his earlier experiments – mixed with the sharp tang of rubbing alcohol and coffee beans. Tiny vials clinked together in a tray as he rearranged them, trying to stay busy, trying to push the weekend and Ilya out of his head.

“Hi, honey,” his mom’s voice came through the speaker, gentle and cautious. “Haven’t heard from you in a bit.”

Shane's throat tightened. “Yeah. Been busy.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she hesitated, but asked anyway. “How’d it go with Ilya?”

Shane exhaled, long and shaky. He huffed a laugh, a short bitter sound that he didn’t recognize coming out of his own mouth. “Honestly? Fucking terrible.”

“Oh, no,” she said. Her voice carried the soft worry he remembered from childhood, the same way she’d always noticed when he was trying too hard or juggling too much. “What happened?”

He swirled a vial in his hand, the glass cold against his fingers, trying to focus on something tangible. He swallowed hard. “I told him I loved him,” he said, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “And then he told me he loved me too…as a friend. We fought. He said some really fucking awful things that I’ll probably never be able to forgive him for. And then I stormed out.”

Her sigh came out through the speaker like a soft wind, and for a moment he imagined her in her living room, sitting on the blue patchwork couch that she’d had since Shane was a child. She refused to get rid of it. Even when Shane offered to buy her a new one just so he’d get the satisfaction of tossing the old, ratty one into the dumpster. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Shane moved to the counter and began mixing, carefully measuring drops of vanilla and sandalwood into a small vial. The motion, precise and repetitive, steadied him. He added a touch of bergamot, inhaling the sharp, masculine scent before dipping a test strip in the liquid and setting it aside to dry. His fingers lingered on the cool glass, tracing its curve, and he realized how often he’d come here, how long he’d buried himself in work to avoid thinking. To avoid spiraling.

“I made a fool of myself, Mom,” he said, voice breaking. “I just thought that maybe… I don’t know. That maybe he felt it, too.” He shook his head, inhaling the faint scent of peppermint and pine that lingered. It smelled like Christmas at his mom’s house.

“At least you know now, honey. And you can stop wondering. You’ll breathe easier again, eventually.”

Shane set the beaker down and wiped his hands on his apron, the clink of vials sharp in the quiet. He nodded even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “Eventually.”

She hesitated, and then her voice softened again. “You’re working late,” she said knowingly. “Why don’t you take a break? Go home, get some rest. You can’t bottle your feelings like you bottle your scents, honey.”

He chuckled dryly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I guess not.” He glanced at the clock. It was past ten. The workshop was silent save for the faint hum of the heater and the occasional clatter of a vial as he moved. “I’ll…try.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” she said, teasing.

“I promise, Mom.” And for the first time all evening, he let himself lean back and breathe. The vials waited patiently, their scents soft and comforting, and for a moment, Shane let the ache in his chest ease just enough to think about tomorrow instead of what happened in the past.

Chapter 6

During one of Shane's late afternoons at the office, sunlight poured through the workshop windows like molten gold, catching on the glass vials and scattering reflections across the counter and walls. He was bent over a table, jotting down ratios in his notebook, when the door opened.

He jumped, nearly spilling a vial.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” came a voice from the doorway. “Wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

Shane turned, heart still racing, to see a man standing in the workshop entry, hand on a supply cart. He recognized him vaguely, often passing him on the way in as Shane was leaving for the night. He was shorter than Shane with a small frame, a kind smile and short blonde hair.

“Oh, hey. Sorry. Thought I was here alone,” Shane said, standing upright.

The man stepped inside, parking his cart by the door and offering his hand. “I’m Kyle,” he said. “I deliver your supplies. Usually everyone’s gone by the time I get here.”

Shane shook his hand, a little hesitant. “Oh, right. I think I’ve seen your name on the invoices. I’m Shane.”

“I…know,” Kyle said, his grin crooked and gentle. “There’s practically a life-size cutout of you in the lobby. Kinda hard to miss.”

Huffing a laugh, Shane's cheeks heated and he looked down at his vials. “Yeah. They love to embarrass me.”

“Smells incredible in here,” Kyle said, setting a box down on the counter and taking in the clutter. Droppers and vials and test strips scattered all over the surfaces.

“Thanks…yeah. I, uh, make the scents.” Shane gestured vaguely to the mess in front of him, and to the vials lining the shelves.

Leaning in, Kyle sniffed one of the open bottles. Shane took a step back to give him space to inspect his work, watching him curiously. “Oh, that one smells great. Is that oranges? And something spicy. Like cinnamon, maybe?”

“Close,” Shane said. “Clove, actually. Orange and clove.” Shane nodded, impressed with Kyle's ability to almost nail the scent at first sniff with, what he assumed was, an untrained nose. “Nicely done!”

Kyle shrugged, smiling. “It smells good. Comfortable. Homey.”

The word landed heavier than it should have. Shane felt it in his chest. A sharp, quiet ache. But he brushed it off with a small laugh. “Yeah, that’s the idea. I wanted it to smell like you’re on vacation. Sun beating overhead, toes in the sand, a fruity drink in hand. Citrus is comforting to me.” Shane brushed his hands off on his apron.

“Well, you nailed it.”

Shane turned back to his workstation, pretending to busy himself with the droppers. “At this stage it just smells like chemicals, probably.”

“Nah.” Kyle's mouth twitched and he leaned on the counter. “It smells like magic.”

The sincerity in Kyle's voice and the way he looked at Shane, not through him, unraveled something Shane hadn’t realized was still wound tight. Shane felt the corners of his mouth curving upwards, hiding a blush as he pretended to mix a scent right there while they chatted.

They talked for a while after that. About scent and memory, about how Shane got into fragrance curation in the first place, the way one note could pull a whole moment out of thin air. Kyle organized the shelves as they spoke, opening boxes, glancing back every so often to keep the conversation going. It felt easy. Steady. Shane laughed more than he had in weeks, the sound foreign in his own throat.

He found himself watching the way Kyle's eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his hands moved when he talked, how he was itching to reach out and touch him. When he finally straightened up to leave, the sun was gone, painting the windows inky black and leaving only the overhead lights.

“Well,” Kyle said, washing his hands in the workshop sink. “Guess I should get going before I start attempting to mix a scent.” He smiled at Shane and dried his hands off. “Have one more stop to make before I head home, anyway.”

Shane smiled faintly, wiping down his surface. “You’d probably do fine.”

“Maybe.” Kyle hesitated at the door, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Shane watched him shuffle through cards for a moment before he pulled out a business card. “Here. My number’s on there. In case you ever need anything… supply-wise, of course,” he punctuated with a wink.

Their fingers brushed as Shane took it, a stupid smile breaking across his face. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m running low on vials.”

“Or, you know,” Kyle added with a matching goofy grin. “Not supply-wise is fine, too.”

A quiet and genuine laugh escaped Shane. “Hmm. We’ll see.” He slid the card into his pocket and glanced up at him. “Ready to head out?”

“Yeah, just about. You?”

“Yeah, I’ll walk you.”

Shane held the door for Kyle, the empty cart clanking across the tile floors on their way down the hall. They walked comfortably side-by-side, Kyle gesturing to Shane's photo on the wall with a knowing look, Shane rolling his eyes in return.

When he locked up, he let out a refreshing exhale. The office building felt different when he turned back around, and a hopeful feeling washed over him. 

As Shane backed out of his parking space, he kept an eye on Kyle loading up the cart, closing the van doors, climbing into the driver’s seat, and he smiled to himself before driving away. The memory of Kyle and good conversation disappearing under the flickering lights in the parking lot.

 

***

 

A few days later, Shane found Kyle's business card in his pocket when he was doing laundry. He stared at it for a long time before setting it on the table and going about his day. Every time he passed by, he paused, his hand reaching for his phone before he stopped himself.

Since he’d promised his mom he would try to work more normal hours, try to enjoy life a little and take care of himself, he started coming home from work on time. Almost. 

He was warming up dinner for himself one night, just something quick and easy that he was able to cook in the microwave, when he picked up the card again. With a sigh, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Before he could overthink it, he punched in the number and sent a quick, hey, this is Shane. from afterglow. thanks again for helping me reorganize my mess

Kyle texted back just as he’d finished eating, feet propped up on the coffee table and scrolling aimlessly on his phone. 

Kyle: Anytime. (Because it’s literally my job)

That was how it started – light, harmless messages about work. It turned into random conversation, chatting about TV shows, turning on the same baseball game and texting all the way through. Then came a casual, “Want to grab coffee sometime?”

Shane hesitated, because did he? He thought back to that conversation with his mom and decided that he owed it to her to try to move forward.

Shane: sure, i could use a break

Their first date was easy. Coffee on an early-spring afternoon. The sky was grey, but it was getting warm out. Just a long-sleeved tee was enough to keep warm. They talked about music and road trips, vacations they’d taken and places they wanted to visit. Stories were shared about bad apartments and worse neighbors. Kyle's energy was calm, steady, and he made Shane laugh without trying too hard. It wasn’t fireworks, but it was fun, easy. Safe.

One date turned into two, then three. They went to a farmer’s market one weekend, to a movie the next. Kyle kissed him. It was…fine. With the official baseball season starting soon, they joked that they wouldn’t have to take date four to Arizona for spring training. 

Kyle always smelled faintly of sandalwood and aloe – nothing like Ilya, which Shane thought might be a good thing.

Shane tried. He really did.

But sometimes, when Kyle was talking, Shane would drift. He’d nod and smile, but his mind would wander to laughter echoing across the snow, to soft curls pressed into his pillow, to the scent of boozy cocoa and sweet apples on the sheets. To tossing a baseball back and forth in the backyard for hours, and going to the dive bar every few weeks for trivia night and a tray of nachos that covered nearly the entire table. To snowball fights and game nights and dancing. To romantic bubble baths with wine.

He’d catch himself and feel stupid for it. For still missing something that had ended before it ever really began.

Kyle never pushed, never asked him what was on his mind when he caught Shane zoning out. He was kind, thoughtful, the sort of man who noticed when Shane's hands trembled from too much coffee and switched him to decaf for his next cup. He made space for Shane to breathe, to just be.

But it wasn’t the right shape of space.

 

Weeks passed like that – light and easy on the surface, hollow underneath. Shane got good at pretending again. He filled his days with work and bright scents – lemon zest, coconut, strawberry – and told himself he was happy.

Then one afternoon, Kyle invited him out to lunch. A little bistro near his office with hanging plants and soft jazz playing through the speakers and fairy lights lining the walls. It was a slow day, the air thick with the smell of garlic and rosemary and roasted tomatoes.

They were halfway through their meal when Shane heard it.

That cackle.

Low and rich and full of life. Familiar in a way that punched the air right out of his lungs.

He froze, fork halfway to his mouth, eyes darting to the far corner of the room without even meaning to look. Before he could stop himself. And there he was.

Ilya. 

Sitting at a table across the restaurant, head tipped back, laughing at something one of his friends said. The sound hit Shane like a truck, like memory catching fire. He still had the same ridiculous laugh that Shane loved bringing out of him when they were kids. It made his chest tighten, heart pounding hard against his ribs. Ilya’s burgundy sweater was pushed up to his elbows, soft curls a bit longer than they were the last time Shane saw him. He couldn’t look away.

After nearly three months apart, he still looked like the same Ilya he’d always known. While his chest ached when thinking about their weekend together – the closeness, the way it had felt so easy to fall into each other – what he missed most was his best friend. The person who knew him better than anyone else, who used to be just a call or a text away. His feelings for Ilya hadn’t faded, not even a little, but if he could trade them all just to have their friendship back on steady ground, he’s pretty sure he would. Just for things to feel normal again.

“Shane,” Kyle asked softly, turning to follow his gaze. “You okay?”

Shane blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I just – thought I saw someone I know.”

Ilya stilled then, as if feeling the weight of being watched, his face dropping mid-breath. His eyes met Shane's, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The noise, the people, the space between them – it all fell away. 

Shane forced his eyes away, looking down at his plate, heart thudding. He pretended to be distracted by the half-eaten pasta he could no longer taste.

They finished their meal in silence and Kyle never mentioned it again.

 

***

 

Shane was cleaning up his kitchen after dinner the following week when a knock echoed through the apartment. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so he opened the door curiously, half-distracted, a dish towel still slung over his shoulder.

Standing on his doorstep was Ilya. Hair a mess, eyes wide, face open and uncertain. Like he’d run the whole way just to get there.

Shane blinked. Didn’t say anything, just stood there with the door cracked open, staring.

When he finally spoke, Ilya’s voice came out quiet but certain. “I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Shane's brow furrowed.

Ilya swallowed, words tumbling out before he could stop them. “That I was an idiot. That I said things I didn’t mean. That I was scared. And wrong. And that I miss you so much it actually hurts to breathe some days.”

His heart thudded loud in his ears and Shane froze. “Ilya-”

“Look. You were right. Something about that weekend started to feel real, and I think I was trying to deny it because you’re my best friend. I tried to push the feelings down, play it off as just being fun and casual…” Ilya took a deep breath then, looking up at Shane, eyes heavy and full of something Shane hadn’t ever seen before. “I wanna try it for reals, Shane.”

His chest tightened and his breath caught in his throat. Shane wanted to believe it. Wanted to ask more questions, wanted to be sure. But before he could say anything else, a voice called from inside the apartment.

“Was that the door, babe?”

Ilya went still. Completely, utterly still. His gaze flicked past Shane's shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion, hurt, disbelief.

For a few seconds, nothing came out when Shane's lips parted. He looked at Ilya with something like regret in his eyes – soft, apologetic, but firm.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll just be a minute,” Shane called out, loud enough to be heard in the other room before turning back to face him.

“Ilya…” he started quietly, shaking his head. “You can’t just show up like this, expecting me to drop everything. I’ve spent the last three months trying to get over the shit you said to me.”

Ilya’s mouth fell open and it looked like he tried to force something out, but the words never came.

“I think we need to sit down and talk.” With his hand still gripping the edge of the door, Shane sighed. “But not right now. I’m not ready for that yet.”

For a second, neither of them moved. The silence between them stretched thin. He waited for Ilya to nod, lips pulled tight, eyes threatening to spill over. Then Shane gave him one last look – a sad, almost regretful one – and closed the door.

The click of the latch was deafening.

Shane stood there, staring at the wood grain, breathing in the faint scent of Ilya’s cologne that still lingered. It was the same one he’d recreated in the winter, the one he’d carefully bottled up and carried with him for months just to feel close to something. Someone.

His eyes squeezed closed, holding back tears of his own when he heard an unmistakable sob on the other side of the door. He wanted to yank it open and run after him, to comfort him. Because under all of the hurt, the uncertainty, he was still Shane's best friend. But when he cracked the door open, just to see, Ilya was already gone.

 

***

 

He started working late again. Almost every night. Shane told himself he was fine. Or at least fine enough.

Work became his refuge. It was familiar and quiet, somewhere he didn’t have to think about life or explain himself. He lingered after everyone had gone home for the evening, typing up notes and responding to emails as they filtered out. Then he moved into the workshop where he stayed for hours. Just him, his oils, and his vials.

Kyle came to restock one night when Shane was still there, questioning him about why he was working so late. Since they’d been together, Shane had been leaving work on time most days. He told Kyle that he was focused on finishing the scents for the upcoming summer catalog, and Kyle, not knowing any better, believed him. What Shane didn’t tell him, though, was that the catalog had been finalized weeks ago. Every scent approved, poured into wax molds, packaged, and scheduled for release.

But he stayed anyway.

He blended things without purpose – florals that didn’t quite bloom, citrus that bit too sharply, linen that smelled faintly sterile. He kept notes that didn’t mean anything, formulas that led nowhere. 

Sometimes he’d catch himself staring at the shelf of winter scents, the ones he’d made in the aftermath, some of which he never released – Peppermint Mocha and Evergreen Wintermint and all the ghosts that came with them. He’d look away fast once he noticed and pretend it didn’t sting.

When Kyle called on his night off, Shane almost let it go to voicemail. He didn’t want company, didn’t want to talk, but Kyle was kind and didn’t deserve Shane's sour mood, so he picked up.

“Come dancing with me,” Kyle said. “You’ve been staying late every night, and I have tonight off. You need a break, and I need to let loose. Please?”

Shane hesitated. His mind felt foggy, unsure of what he actually wanted. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “Just for a bit.”

He didn’t know what he expected from it. Maybe a distraction, maybe nothing. He shrugged and thought that he might even have fun.

What he found instead was just noise.

The club lights flickered over sweat and sequins, people laughing and shouting over the too-loud music and shoving through the crowd of people who were already way too close. Shane let himself be guided through it, one drink past a buzz and his body moving just enough to pass for being present in the moment. Kyle smiled at him, leaned in close, shouted something he couldn’t quite make out over the bass. Shane nodded like he knew what he was agreeing to.

When the music slowed down, Kyle kissed him, and Shane let him. His eyes fluttered shut, his body moved through the motions, but there was nothing behind it. No spark, no heat, no…curls. Just a dull, hollow ache in his chest where something used to live.

Kyle pulled back, smiling, and Shane smiled too, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. He wanted to want it, but he just didn’t.

They left early. Shane said something about being tired, about early mornings and tight deadlines. Kyle didn’t press. He just kissed him and told him he’d call. Shane nodded and promised he’d answer, knowing he probably wouldn’t.

 

Back at his apartment, the silence hit harder than the music ever could. He sat on the couch, head in his hands, still in his date clothes. The faint smell of someone else’s cologne clung to his skin and to his fancy shirt. He hated it. Hated himself for pretending. For allowing it to go on for so long. For turning Ilya away.

He stood, restless, pacing between the kitchen and living room until something in him just snapped.

Maybe it was the way his chest still felt empty after weeks of trying to fill it. Maybe it was the memory of Ilya’s stupid laugh, or the way he used to hum under his breath when he was concentrating. Maybe it was the fact that every scent he mixed reminded him of Ilya, but nothing smelled as good as the real thing. And he missed it. Missed him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his keys and bolted.

 

***

 

The door stared back at him for a solid minute before he worked up the nerve to knock. Once, a pause, and then two quicker ones. It was their ‘secret knock’ that Ilya made up when he was ten so that Shane would know it was him at their fort and not Maggie.

It was a full moon, the sky clear and the stars bright. The chill had gone over the past week and the night air held a cool refreshing breeze. It helped to steady him, to bring him back to Earth while he stood there in front of Ilya’s door. His lungs burned and there had been a lump in his throat since he left his apartment, replaced by a dull ache watching Kyle's face drop when he’d showed up at his place and said, “I think we need to talk.”

When the door cracked open slowly, cautiously, Ilya was right in front of him. His hair was an oily mess, curls stuck to his head, eyes droopy with dark circles underneath. His oversized tee was stained and wrinkled. Shane could only see how beautiful he still was.

Ilya didn’t say anything, he just stood there like, what do you want?

Swallowing hard, Shane squeaked out, “Hey.” His voice was rough from practically running up the steps and from holding back tears for the last twenty minutes. “I, uh. I broke things off with Kyle,” he forced out quickly.

“Oh, it has a name?” was how Ilya responded, annoyance and disgust crossing his features.

“Will you shut up and let me finish?”

Ilya just stared at him, but he didn’t slam the door in Shane's face, so that was something.

Shane tucked his hands deep into his pockets and leaned back onto his heels. “I couldn’t keep pretending. It wasn’t fair. To him. To me. To you.”

At first, Ilya didn’t say anything. Just blinked, chest rising and falling. Finally, he exhaled. “Well,” he said, tone unreadable. “It’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?”

The words caught Shane off guard. Wasn’t this what Ilya wanted? He froze, confusion and hurt colliding behind his ribs. “Wait – what?” His head tilted and his eyebrows scrunched together. In disbelief. “It’s too late?” His voice was barely a whisper. “But. But you just said, like – it wasn’t that long ago when you-”

Then Ilya’s mouth twitched, a flicker of something between guilt and humor, and he laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Nah,” he said, smile breaking. “I’m just fuckin’ with you.”

Shane blinked, caught somewhere between heartbreak and relief. “Jesus Christ, Ilya.” He was holding his chest, heaving. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

He forced out a laugh, but it came out shaky. “I fucking hate you,” Shane said, shaking his head, but he couldn’t keep the smile from appearing behind the words.

“No you don’t,” Ilya said gently, stepping closer. “You love me,” he sing-songed, lifting Shane's chin with a finger. “Don’t try to take it back now.”

Shane's throat tightened. He exhaled and met Ilya’s eyes for the first time in months. His voice broke around the words. “Tried to stop. Couldn’t.”

When Ilya smiled, it was soft and earnest. “Good. Because I love you. And not in the way I said it before. Not only as a friend.”

A smirk appeared on Shane's face. He couldn’t help it. “Oh?” he challenged. “Is that a fact now, or is it fiction?”

Ilya’s smile faltered. It wasn’t completely gone, just trembling a bit at the edges. “Fact,” he said, eyes filling with guilt. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. For what I said. All of it. I was scared and confused and in denial and I’m so sorry I hurt you. I would take it all back if I could.”

For a long moment, Shane stared at him, then nodded, slow and tired and understanding. “Well, you can’t take it back. But you can promise to do better,” he said.

“I will,” Ilya said instantly. “Promise.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Shane stepped forward, close enough that the space between them disappeared, and he finally kissed him – deep and real and trembling with relief.

It didn’t happen all at once. It unfolded slowly, like both of them were afraid to move too fast and break whatever fragile thing had finally settled between them. Shane felt Ilya’s breath first, warm and shaky against his lips. He exhaled into Ilya in a way that felt like setting down a weight that he’d been carrying for far too long.

Then Ilya’s tongue grazed his own. Softly, carefully. As if relearning him. As if he was allowed to feel it and enjoy it this time.

Shane trembled, not from fear, but from everything else. Months of wanting, nights of lying awake and thinking about this, about Ilya. The ache of losing it and not knowing if he’d ever get it back. His fingers curled into Ilya’s wrinkled shirt, grounding himself in the warmth. Ilya’s hands slid up to cup his jaw, thumbs brushing along his cheeks like he needed to feel every inch of him to believe that he was real. That this was finally happening.

The warm sensation flooded through Shane slowly, unraveling the tightness in his chest. It steadied his breathing and his shoulders relaxed for the first time in months. The kiss tasted like relief. Like something he’d been starving for.

Ilya pressed closer, their bodies fitting together in the familiar way that felt almost unfairly perfect, and Shane let out a tiny, broken moan into the kiss. Ilya answered with a soft hum, a low vibration that traveled straight through him.

With his arms slung around Ilya’s neck, and Ilya sliding his hands up his shirt to settle on his bare waist, they stayed there in the open doorway for a little longer.

He lost himself in Ilya, in the kiss. Sank into it fully, now that he was finally allowed to give him everything he’d been holding back for years, even if he wasn’t aware that that’s what he was doing.

The world outside could have crumbled and neither of them would have noticed.

When they finally pulled apart, Ilya’s hands stayed at Shane's waist, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing in the small space between them. Ilya’s thumb swept across his hip and he looked into Shane's eyes with something so real and so gentle that tied his stomach into knots. Shane smiled and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of his mouth.

“I won’t be bottling this scent, for the record,” Shane said gently with a chuckle, pulling Ilya into a bruising hug and holding him close. Because he was finally allowed to. He exhaled into Ilya’s chest, unable to keep from smiling.

“Hey!” Ilya whined, pinching Shane's hip. “I was going through it, okay? The man I love was seeing someone else. I kinda fell apart.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He held Ilya’s face and brushed his thumbs over his thick stubble. It was longer than Shane had seen it in years. “God that feels good to say.” 

Squeezing him tightly, Ilya smiled. “Feels good to hear.”

He leaned in for another kiss, just because he could. “I’m where I want to be now.”

“Me too,” Ilya mumbled against his lips, pulling him closer.

Shane hummed. “Now let’s get you cleaned up so you can get all dirty again.”

Ilya backed him inside and locked the door behind them.

Chapter 7

“So I know we kinda…fell back into things quickly. But now that we’ve got the whole, like, reconnecting, making-up, fun out of the way, I think we need to talk.” Shane's hands were clasped in his lap as they sat across from each other on Ilya’s couch (purposely leaving a few feet of space between them so they could focus on something other than devouring each other), and his usual casual demeanor turned serious.

They’d cleaned up Ilya’s apartment together – take-out boxes, laundry, dishes, Ilya himself, and then spent some time in bed before wandering out of the room for food. The air between them was lighter, but heavy still, like the world was holding its breath for what came next.

Shane wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. His eyes searched Ilya’s face, memorizing every flicker of guilt, of longing. Of something that looked a lot like regret.

“I need to say this,” Shane said quietly. “Before we even think about trying this for reals.”

Ilya nodded, throat bobbing. “Okay.”

Pausing to take a steadying breath, and to choose his words carefully, Shane picked at a hangnail and looked at Ilya with a heavy gaze, one that was still filled with hurt. “We can never fight like that again. You can’t say things just to hurt me. You can’t shut down and lash out just because you’re scared. I won’t-” He stopped himself, voice cracking. “I won’t forgive you twice.”

Ilya flinched at that, and the look in his eyes, raw and unguarded, nearly did Shane in.

“I know,” Ilya said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know, and I am so fucking sorry, babe. I won’t ever flip out on you like that again. It wasn’t okay and it wasn’t even true.”

Shane waited, he could tell that Ilya was trying to say something else, but didn’t want to rush it out of him.

Ilya rubbed a hand over his face, like he was trying to scrub away the hatred he had for himself. “I don’t even know where it came from, Shane. That anger. I was…scared, I guess. Confused.” His voice trembled. “I spent that whole weekend in Tahoe – and like the entire month after that – trying to bury how I felt about you. Telling myself that if I ignored it long enough, it’d go away. Because if I lost you – if I ruined our friendship – I don’t think I could handle that.”

Shane blinked, the ache in his chest tightening. “So when I told you I loved you…”

“I panicked,” Ilya admitted. “I’d just spent literal weeks convincing myself that it was just pretend. That you couldn’t possibly feel the same way. Then you showed up and said that, and I wasn’t expecting it, and my brain just kinda… short-circuited. I said the worst things I could think of because I thought it’d make things easier for both of us. Like, if you hated me, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Then I could stop loving you easier.”

Shane's voice came out soft, but sure. “It was anything but easy, Ilya.”

Ilya nodded, eyes glassy. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”

They sat in silence for a long time, the wind whispering against the windows. Finally, Ilya leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t want to hurt you again, Shane. Not ever. I’ll do better. I’ll listen. I’ll talk instead of lashing out. I promise you that.”

Shane looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached across the space between them and took Ilya’s hand.

“Okay,” he said. “Then we can try this. But this time, we’ll do it right.”

Ilya’s lips curved, tentative and small, like he didn’t quite believe he deserved it yet. “Yeah. This time it’ll be real.”

Shane leaned in then, resting his forehead against Ilya’s. Neither of them moved for a while, just breathing, existing in that fragile, forgiving stillness. “I’m probably gonna ask you more about this later, because I have so many questions and can’t remember them all off the top of my head. But for now, we’re good.”

“Okay.” Ilya took Shane's hands into his own and his mouth twitched. “My… boyfriend told me I should talk about things instead of lashing out, so I’ll be ready to answer whenever you remember to ask.”

“Your boyfriend sounds very wise,” Shane said, smirking. And after a pause, he added, “And I bet he’s got a great ass.” His voice was just above a whisper, but Ilya matched his playful tone.

“A wise-ass, he is.”

Ilya’s hands moved up to Shane's cheeks, warm and steadying around his smile. He tipped Shane's chin up into a kiss. They both fell into it, into each other. Soft I love yous were whispered between gasps, and I promise was heard again when Ilya kissed and nibbled his way down Shane's chest, engraving it into his skin, his soul.

“I missed you so much, baby,” Shane said, sinking to the floor between Ilya’s knees. He looked up at him with hunger in his eyes, love bursting out of his chest.

“Are you talking to me, or my dick,” Ilya asked, mouth twitching.

Shane licked his lips and hummed. “Mmm. Yes,” he said with an eyebrow raise before tugging his pants and boxers down in one go and licking the head of his cock. 

His tongue swirled around the tip and he sucked hot kisses along the shaft before taking him fully into his mouth. Ilya’s eyes fell closed and he tipped his head back on the edge of the couch, taking in all of the raw emotion, the love, the pleasure. Shane worked over him slowly, popping off to nibble his thighs and to kiss his abs, suck on his nipples. He pulled Ilya forward into a kiss before dropping back down to his knees with a firm grip on his cock, teasing the tip with his tongue and licking into the slit as he stroked him.

“Can’t believe we waited eighteen years to do this,” Ilya said between breaths. “Fuck.”

Shane hummed around his cock, huffing a laugh out of his nose, but he kept going. It was true. They’d been flirting and tiptoeing around each other for years. They watched each other get their first girlfriends and then, a few years later, their first boyfriends. It was fragile, but comfortable, neither of them wanting to shatter the glass, admit their feelings and taint things. Ruin what they had.

They helped each other through the breakups, and attended events as the other’s plus-one, and went to family gatherings together. For at least the last decade, they’d practically been boyfriends, just without the love declarations or the monogamy or the sex. Now that they finally confessed their feelings and got past the hard part, Shane hoped it would be easier. Happier.

For the entire first night together, they were naked. Naked on the couch. Naked on the bed. Naked over the kitchen counter (they needed snacks but didn’t want to stop). In the shower, the water ran cold before they were ready to get out, moving to the bed under the blankets. 

On Ilya’s way back from a solo trip to the bathroom, he fished the lube and condoms from his drawer and tossed them onto the bed next to Shane. Eying the supplies, Shane practically growled and pulled Ilya on top of him. After being naked together all night, they still hadn’t done that.

Ilya gladly went, bracketing Shane's shoulders with his hands while he nipped at his lips and sucked on his tongue, and crushed his bottom half deliciously under his bodyweight. When the kiss heated up, Ilya slid off to one side and reached for the lube. His body trembled beside Shane as he balanced himself on one elbow to use both hands, not bothering to disconnect from their kiss. He smeared lube onto two of his fingers, trailing down to rub the cold gel over Shane's hole. 

Shane hissed at the sudden change in temperature and then froze. In the moment, something made him think about the sassy comment Ilya made the night they were practicing being boyfriends, and he couldn’t hold back. He popped apart from his lips to say, “I’m not a bratty bottom.”

The whole bed shook underneath them as Ilya laughed, sending warm puffs of air fanning over Shane's lips. “You’re still thinking about that?”

“No,” Shane lied, furrowing his brow around a smile.

“Well, you’re not a top.” Ilya mocked him and gave him a look. His eyes were narrowed in a playful, challenging way and the corner of his mouth twitched. One eyebrow was quirked higher than the other. It was one of those faces he made that always caused Shane to shake his head and grumble. He was annoying. 

“Excuse you,” Shane huffed, shoving Ilya and rolling him onto his back. He swung a leg over Ilya’s waist and straddled him, bracketing his hips between his strong thighs. “We’ll see about that.”

The smirk on Ilya’s face when he let Shane pin him without putting up a fight made Shane roll his eyes, like he just fell into a trap and he knew it. He realized that this was Ilya’s plan all along, getting him a little moody so Shane would take it out on him. And Shane didn’t like losing, so he snatched the lube out of Ilya’s hand and scooted down the bed, shoved his legs apart, and glanced up at Ilya to see how far he would let this go on before stopping him.

He made a show of drizzling lube onto two of his fingers and then he leaned down, nipping Ilya’s inner thigh with his teeth as he nudged his legs further apart and pressed open-mouthed kisses up toward his groin. With his clean hand, he slid his palm up Ilya’s abs until he found his pecs, squeezing and massaging one as his mouth worked its way inward. 

When he glanced up to check on Ilya, he saw him swallow hard, abs tightening when Shane’s mouth got closer to his hole. It was a challenge, he knew, so he maintained eye contact for another second before flicking his tongue over Ilya’s hole at the exact moment he pinched his nipple. Ilya writhed against the bed and Shane held him in place with the hand on his chest and teased him with another swipe, swirling his tongue around his rim.

“Fuck, Shane.”

Ilya’s hips twisted against the bed and he cursed under his breath when Shane pressed a kiss there and pointed his tongue to trace over his entrance. 

“You like that?”

It took a few seconds for Ilya to answer, as if he wasn’t quite sure, or maybe he didn’t want to admit it. Shane was pretty sure this hadn’t been part of his game, but he wasn’t stopping him either and he seemed to be enjoying it, so he did it again. His pressure was firmer this time, a wide press of his tongue, hot and wet, licking from his crack to his balls. Ilya pressed his head into the pillow and squeezed Shane’s hand, his hips moving involuntarily to chase Shane’s tongue. 

“No,” Ilya said with his teeth clenched.

Hot air ghosted over his hole when Shane laughed. “You fucking liar. You love it but you’re too much of an asshole to admit it.”

“I loved it more when you weren’t talking.”

“Fuck you,” Shane mumbled, pretending to be annoyed as he leaned back in and sunk his teeth into the flesh just beside his hole.

Mmm.

He fell into a rhythm and actually tried to make it feel good for Ilya, since this was something they’d never done before, and he wasn’t sure that Ilya had ever had it done to him based on his knowledge of his best friend-turned-boyfriend’s sex life over the years. 

Since he’d gotten distracted with teasing him, and it had gone on for longer than he’d anticipated, he reached for the lube again and coated the same two fingers. Ilya’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. Shane wasn’t sure if he would, but he didn’t want to top as much as Ilya probably didn’t want to bottom, so he teased Ilya one last time by rubbing his knuckle over Ilya’s hole with a mean smirk on his face. And the look on Ilya’s face told him that he knew exactly what Shane was doing.

His knuckle nudged against him again and his eyes flicked down to watch. He was just grazing over his hole, nudging it a little, just to see what he’d do. If he’d allow it. Before the lube dried on his hand again, though, he decided to end their little game because his dick was painfully hard and hadn’t been touched yet. 

“What are you doing?” Ilya asked, reaching for Shane as he turned around between his legs.

Shane was facing the foot of the bed now, and was positioning himself onto all fours. Ilya’s legs were still stretched wide on either side of him, his toes curled as he tried to figure out what the hell Shane was doing, and then when Shane reached back and traced a slick finger down his own crack, he heard Ilya’s breath catch and go, “Oh.”

He knew that Ilya couldn’t see the pleased look on his face, but it was there while he pressed two fingers into himself and tipped his head back, enjoying the slight burn and welcome pressure. 

“Hurry up, want to fuck you.”

“Shut up,” Shane said, breathless. “I’m fucking you, remember.”

Shane hooked his feet over Ilya’s thighs and pressed his ass backwards onto his hand, letting out a breathy groan. 

“Looks like you are fucking yourself.”

“So. Fucking. Impatient,” Shane said, fucking his fingers into himself after each word.

Before he knew it, he’d flipped around and was laying on top of Ilya and kissing him aggressively. Shane snagged his bottom lip between his teeth and let it snap back into place before devouring his face again. 

Finally, Shane reached for the condom and tore it open, going in for one last kiss before sitting up onto his knees. He scooted down and rolled the condom over Ilya’s cock, coated it with lube and, before Ilya could say anything snarky, he lined himself up and sank down onto him in one smooth motion.

It burned like hell, but felt so good, so full.

Somewhere between their shared grunts, he heard Ilya say, “Such a brat,” but he only smiled in response, leaning down to kiss the truth right off of his lips. 

Sweat and sex filled the air as they lay there together, chests heaving, sheets sticky. They finally decided to take a break from the make-up hand jobs, the officially-being-boyfriends blow jobs, the we-waited-eighteen-years-for-this sex. But they didn’t have to celebrate every occasion in one night. They still had forever to do that.

Shane's head turned, studying him. He traced lazy shapes over Ilya’s abs with his finger, brushing through the soft hairs there. “Can I ask you something?”

Ilya raised a brow, giving his full attention. “Go on.”

“That first night at the lodge, when we played Two Truths and a Lie. You said your first crush was on your best friend when you were twelve.” Shane's tone was light, almost teasing like he already knew the answer, but there was a question under it. “Were you talking about me?”

Ilya’s mouth curved into a lazy smile. He didn’t answer right away, his cheeks flushing pink. “Yeah,” he said finally, quiet and honest. “I was.”

“Then why did you tell me not to overthink it? And why’d you push me away when I told you I loved you?”

Ilya winced, reaching over to pull Shane into his arms. “Because it scared the hell out of me,” he admitted. “I don’t know, babe. I’d been obsessed with you for so long that I didn’t think you could actually feel the same way. And I panicked. Because it was supposed to be fake. You literally hired me as your fake boyfriend and there I was, making it feel way too real.” He pressed a kiss against Shane's forehead and huffed out a breath, like he was thinking of what to say next, or perhaps he was trying to recall the events of that weekend. “I convinced myself that it was all in my head. That you were just pretending, like I was supposed to be.”

With Ilya’s fingers tracing along his spine, Shane stared at him for a moment. “You’re an idiot,” he said fondly. “I literally told you that it was starting to feel real. I was trying to gauge how you felt about it, and when you brushed me off, I thought that was it. That we’d just go back to being best friends like it never happened.”

Ilya’s mouth curved into somewhere between a smile and a pout. “Yeah, well. I like this option better. Even if we did have to wait three months for it.”

Shane leaned in, pressing a long kiss against his lips. “Yeah, I do too.” Another kiss. “Although I could’ve done without the fight.” He pulled back and eyed Ilya in an I love you but you’re so infuriating kind of way. “But I’m glad we finally got here.”

“Me too.”

 

***

 

Shane woke slowly from the kind of deep sleep that made it feel like he was on another planet. For a few blurry seconds he lay still, unsure why his chest felt so loose and floaty, why he was already smiling before his eyes even opened. 

Then he realized he wasn’t alone. 

His smile widened as the memories rushed back in. Last night. The talking, the kissing, the laughing. The sex. The moment everything finally, finally clicked into place.

Ilya.

A solid, comforting weight was pressed against him from behind, an arm hooked around Shane's waist, and their legs tangled like they were trying to get as close as humanly possible even in their sleep. Ilya’s breaths were slow and deep, puffing warmly against the back of Shane's neck, and the sheets were twisted around their bare hips.

This was the first time in eighteen years of waking up in Ilya’s arms that he wasn’t conflicted about how he was supposed to feel. Because now, he wasn’t cuddling with his best friend he wasn’t supposed to have feelings for. Now, he didn’t have to pretend to hate it. Didn’t have to reluctantly shove Ilya away. Because now, he was cuddling with his boyfriend.

He leaned back and settled into it, huffing out a breath of relief, of happiness. His chest was full of something tingly and warm that was ready to burst out.

Shane let his eyes flutter open.

The soft morning sun filtered in through the cracks in the curtains in sharp gold stripes, catching on dust motes swirling through the room. It made Ilya’s deep maroon bedding look richer, almost velvety. Shane shifted slightly and the soft sheets slipped deliciously against his skin: worn-in cotton (that Ilya refused to replace because it took so long to get it to the perfect level of softness), cozy and cool and drenched in everything Ilya. 

He inhaled, cataloguing the scents from their first morning together as boyfriends. Ilya’s fresh laundry detergent, the vanilla cashmere candle on his nightstand (which Shane would be replacing with an Afterglow warmer now that he felt like he had a say in Ilya’s in-home scented products), the sharpness of their combined sweat that probably should have smelled unpleasant, but Shane couldn’t get enough of. It was intoxicating. It was them.

Recreating their combined scents would be tricky with all of the notes he’d have to mix and perfect, but that wasn’t going to keep him from trying. It was something that he’d work on between seasons, once the catalogs were finalized and he had some downtime. When it was completed, it’d live on his desk right next to the Boyfriend vial (whose label would need to be replaced) for only himself.

Shane turned his head just enough to breathe him in. 

Ilya tightened his hold on Shane instinctively, pulling him back into his chest with a sleepy groan. His skin was hot and Shane felt the heat seep into him, settling something that had been restless for weeks. Months.

Finally.

He turned in Ilya’s arms, rolling over gently, until they were face-to-face, noses brushing. Ilya blinked awake, slow and heavy, eyes crinkling the second he realized Shane was there, as if he couldn’t believe it was real either. 

“Hi,” Ilya whispered around an instant smile, voice raspy with sleep.

Shane's heart fluttered so hard it almost hurt. 

“Hi, baby,” Shane murmured, brushing a thumb over Ilya’s cheekbone. And god, the simple act of touching him freely, being able to stare at him unapologetically, and wake up wrapped in his arms, without pretending or pulling back, made his whole chest ache in the best way. 

It was similar to waking up with Ilya at The Evergreen. That was the closest they’d ever allowed themselves to get over the years without immediately pulling away, concealing morning woods that they’d silently agreed to ignore, and acting like it never happened. But this time, there was a reassuring comfort to it, because they were no longer lingering somewhere in the unknown with thoughts and feelings left unsaid.

Leaning into Shane's touch, Ilya nuzzled into his hand like he’d been starving for touch for months. He pressed a kiss into his palm and Shane's breath caught. 

This was real. That was something he’d have to tell himself multiple times over the next few days or weeks before he’d believe it. 

Ilya smiled, sleepy and shy in a way Shane rarely got to see. He leaned in without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and pressed a barely-there kiss to Shane's mouth.

“I love when you call me that,” Ilya said, kissing him again, his hand sliding up Shane's waist.

Shane sank into it, smiling against his lips with his hand over Ilya’s heart. “I love that I’m allowed to call you that.”

He pulled Ilya closer until their foreheads touched, Ilya’s wild curls tickling his skin and his breath warm against his lips. Shane could feel the slight tremble in his own hands from too much happiness, too much relief, too much of everything trying to burst out of him all at once.

When he kissed Ilya, it was slow and gentle, but sure. A kiss full of all the things they hadn’t been able to say over the years and all the nights they’d spent wanting and waiting. Ilya sighed into it, melting closer, fingers curling loosely in Shane's hair like he never planned to let go again.

The kiss deepened. The soft glide of lips, the quiet shared breaths, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. Like a thank you and an I missed you and a we don’t ever have to pretend again.

When they finally pulled apart, Ilya pressed another quick kiss to the corner of Shane's mouth, then his nose, then his cheek. His eyelid. Small, giddy things that made Shane tingle down to his toes.

“This is nice,” Ilya said, voice thick and fond. He was looking at Shane with so much heat behind his eyes, so much love, that it made Shane let out a heavy sigh of relief that he’d been holding for years.

He tucked his face into Ilya’s neck, letting the warmth of his skin, and of the moment, soak into him. “Yeah,” he breathed, smiling. “And we get to do this whenever we want, now.”

Ilya’s arms tightened around him, like the confirmation alone was something he wanted to hold onto. “Good,” he said softly. “Because now that I have it, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let it go.”

Shane's heart settled, a warm tingle in his chest. Something else tingled lower. 

He pressed a kiss behind Ilya’s ear and sank into the most perfect feeling, basking in the morning sunlight, the buttery-soft sheets, the hypnotic smell of Ilya’s warm body tangled with his own.

And for the first time in a long time, Shane let himself relax fully into the moment. Into the warmth, the relief. The quiet, overwhelming joy of finally having this – having him – and not being afraid of losing it.

They stayed in bed for a long time, drifting in and out of that delicious half-sleep feeling, knowing everything was right again. Eventually, though, Shane felt Ilya’s fingers tap lightly at his hip, a wordless question: are you awake?

Shane hummed, not bothering to move, but to let him know that he wasn't asleep.

He rubbed Shane's back with a warm hand before clearing his throat and saying, “We should probably get up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Shane mumbled into his collar bone.

“Me neither,” Ilya admitted, “But I gotta pee. And your arm is on my bladder.”

Shane laughed and slid his hand down, cupping his morning half-chub. “Better?”

“Mmm,” Ilya hummed, pressing his hips up into Shane's hand. “Much. But I really do have to pee, so get off me. I’ll be right back.” Ilya slipped out from under him and Shane watched his perky ass make its way into the hallway and out of sight.

He stretched his arms over his head and groaned, arching his back and sinking into the sheets, allowing himself a minute to just take it all in before propping himself up by stacking Ilya’s pillow on top of his own.

When Ilya came back, he met Shane with a kiss that was so bruising it was like he’d been gone for a year instead of only a minute. Shane wasn’t complaining, though. They had a lot of years to catch up on.

“I missed you,” Ilya said against his lips. “Come with me next time?”

Laughing, Shane shoved him away with a hand on his chest and raised his brow. “To the bathroom? You want me to hold it for you or something?”

Ilya shrugged and his lip twitched. “Sure. You can help me aim.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me though,” Ilya said, leaning in for another kiss.

“I do,” Shane said easily.

“Let’s go see if I have anything edible in the pantry.”

Raising a brow, Shane eyed him and tugged Ilya toward him. “You’ve got something edible right here.” His voice was low and hungry and Ilya went easily as he spun him around and guided his hips to hover right over his face.

 

Eventually, they shuffled out of Ilya’s room wearing nothing but sleepy smiles, moving around each other in Ilya’s tiny kitchen like they’d been doing it forever. Well, they had been doing it forever, just…not naked. And not as boyfriends. 

Ilya made toast, burning the first piece, because of course he did. Shane spread butter and jam on it anyway, as well as the next slice that came out much lighter. He tried to keep the burnt one for himself, but Ilya wrestled it away from him with his tongue out, licking it in the scuffle to ‘claim it’ as if their tongues hadn’t been inside each other just a half hour ago. Shane let him have it so that he could feel like he won as he secretly smiled around his perfectly-browned slice.

Between bites, Shane leaned against the counter, hip popped, and said “I worked on so many scents while we were…not talking.”

With his toast halfway to his mouth, Ilya looked up. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shane shrugged. “Every single one of them reminded me of you. I didn’t mean to, but… you were just kind of everywhere.”

Ilya didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at him with that doe-eyed expression Shane had missed. The one that said he felt everything deeply, but didn’t always know how to say it. When he spoke, it was quiet, almost playful, but honest under the tasing. “I kinda love that though. Being your muse.” He smiled around his toast, chewing slowly and raising a flirty brow at Shane.

Shane bumped their hips together. “Yeah, well. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” Ilya said with a puckered smile.

They didn’t bother getting dressed. By noon, they’d given up on pretending they might leave the apartment at all. Shane was sprawled on the couch in only a pair of Ilya’s fuzzy socks and Ilya was curled into him, legs tangled like that’s just how they existed now. As one.

It was after a second wave of orgasms, sweaty and clammy and out of breath, the room clouded with that muggy after-sex haze, that Shane said, “Should we, maybe, get something for lunch?” 

“Can we order in?” Ilya asked, sliding his finger down the sweat on Shane's chest and tracing a sticky circle around his belly button. “Don’t want to get dressed.” He looked at Shane with love-drunk, half-lidded eyes, his finger trailing across Shane's hot skin mindlessly. “Don’t want you to get dressed.”

“Mmm,” Shane hummed. “You’re very convincing.” His hand was in Ilya’s hair, twirling a messy curl around his finger and he went in for a lazy kiss. “Now one of us just has to get up and get my phone,” Shane mumbled against Ilya’s lips.

“Not it!” Ilya’s response was quick and loud, jolting Shane out of their little bubble. It was as if they were twelve again and were trying to decide who had to go knock on the neighbor’s door to ask for the baseball that went over the fence. Shane giggled against his mouth and patted his arm, signaling to get off of him so that he could get up, since he’d lost fair and square.

When the food arrived, Ilya grunted and peeled himself off of the couch, and off of Shane. He walked over to the door and cracked it open, peeking out like a suspicious cartoon character to make sure nobody was around. Then he pulled it open and snatched the bag off of the mat, slamming the door shut behind him and letting out a breath like he’d just successfully pulled off a heist.

Shane watched the scene from the couch, holding his stomach as he laughed and shook his head.

After tossing the bag of food onto the coffee table, Ilya flopped back down beside him like it was nothing. 

“Smooth,” Shane teased.

“Stealthy,” Ilya corrected, lifting his chin proudly.

They dug into their food in comfortable silence, the kind that settled when everything was right in the world. Every so often, one of them would brush fingers over the other’s knee, or lean in to kiss a cheek or temple. Ilya stole bites from Shane's plate, as he always did, and Shane rolled his eyes but offered him more, as he always did. He stared at Ilya unabashedly, letting himself look, admiring his beauty. 

He’d always loved Ilya’s curls and dimples, but he’d never been able to openly stare like this. The crinkles around Ilya’s eyes when he laughed, the crease in his forehead when he got offended and said, Heyyy!, the little freckle on his chin and his longer-than-usual stubble. Shane loved every bit of it. He drank it all in as they finished their food and fell back onto the couch together, limbs tangling together out of instinct.

The afternoon was spent talking about nothing and everything. It was comfortable and easy. They took time to relearn the new shapes of their relationship, only to realize it felt exactly like the old one. Just softer, sweeter, truer. And with less clothes and more touching.

“Love you.” Shane broke the silence and Ilya squeezed him tighter. He felt Ilya smile against the top of his head before leaving a kiss there.

“Love you too, babe,” Ilya said. “So much.”

Shane hummed and nuzzled into Ilya’s chest, not worrying about the sweat pooling between them, how they were sticky everywhere their bodies made contact, how neither of them had showered all day and were probably disgusting. He let his eyes slip shut anyway, exhaling a happy sigh into his boyfriend’s warm skin and nodding off for a quick nap.

By the time the sun dipped lower, Shane woke with his head on Ilya’s chest, listening to the steady, familiar heartbeat that felt like home.

And now, finally, it was.

 

***

 

They went away the next weekend, staying at a rental cottage on the beach, and when Shane returned, he floated through the office with a new sense of life. It wasn’t loud or showy, just a quiet hum beneath his skin, a steady warmth that surrounded him. Even the glow of the office lights felt gentler. The air smelled sweeter. The city outside the windows didn’t feel so daunting anymore.

He arrived earlier than usual, coffee in one hand and a smile he couldn’t quite shake, breaking his face into two.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Scott teased, glancing up from his computer as Shane passed by. “Either you finally got a full night’s sleep or you’re getting laid again.”

Setting his bag down by his chair, Shane snorted. “Bit of both, actually.”

He swiveled in his chair to face Shane, leaning back and laughing. “So I take it you and Ilya are good again?”

Shane couldn’t help it, his smile was impossible to turn off. “Better than good. There was a rough patch there for a bit, but we’re good now. Perfect, actually.”

“Bout fuckin’ time,” Scott said with a low whistle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Shane rolled his eyes but the grin wouldn’t fade. “It’s different now. He’s different. I am too, I think. We needed it. Needed the break.” Shane was trying to be subtle, to not give away the fact that they were faking it at The Evergreen. Obviously his coworkers knew something was off since they’d returned, even if he never said so. They practically work in each other’s pockets.

“Glad to hear,” Scott said genuinely. “You’ve been miserable to be around.”

Shane threw a pen at him. “Been miserable for me, too. Ass.”

They both laughed, the easy kind that fills a room and makes it feel lighter. 

Then, Scott’s face softened and he asked, “So, how’s he been?”

Shane let the truth spill out in that dreamy way that only comes when someone’s truly in love. Truly content. “He’s brilliant. Still a bit of a disaster – can’t cook to save his life, steals my hoodies and eats all of my food. But he does all the laundry, cleans up after both of us, leaves me little notes on the fridge. He brings me coffee just how I like it. Even had Harris ship us some more of the cinnamon blend I became obsessed with.”

Scott smiled. “You’re so gone, bro.”

Shane huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess I am. It’s weird. Like, I’ve loved him for years but we finally just landed where we were supposed to. Everything feels like it’s falling into place, finally.”

“I’m happy for you,” Scott said, eyes softening as he smiled. “You both deserve it. You’re so great together.”

“Thanks, man.” Shane lingered on the words for a second, then got up to grab his droppers. “Alright, enough about my love life. Got some scents to mix before the day gets away from me.”

The workshop was quiet when he slipped inside, sunlight streaming across the counters in bright golden streaks. He rolled up his sleeves, tied his apron around his waist, pulled his goggles down over his eyes, and let himself sink into the rhythm of work – measure, mix, test, adjust, notate.

Today’s batch was all about romance. Champagne and rose petals, chocolate-dipped strawberries, cherry cheesecake. He even created a scent that resembled the cherry flavored lube that he used before riding Ilya on the balcony of their beach cottage. It was mixed with neroli and sea fennel to give it that natural, sandy ocean undertone that clung to their skin all weekend.

The air turned decadent and dizzy with sweetness, a nice change from the moody scents of his past.

He jotted down notes between experiments, thinking of Ilya the entire week while he was curating: The scent of his shampoo, the mint lingering on his breath, the warmth of his skin when Shane buries his face into his neck. With a stupid smile that he couldn’t wipe away, he labeled one of his vials Lusty in Love.

Friday evening, when his mom called, he was still at the workshop, up to his elbows in vials that needed to be sealed and labelled and shelved and oils that needed to be put back into the cabinet.

“Hey bub, still at work?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, gathering vials and loading them into the mini-dishwasher next to the sink. “Just finishing up here, though. Lost track of time.”

“You sound happy.” It wasn’t a question. It was like she just knew.

“I am,” Shane replied, grinning. “Really, this time. Things with Ilya are good. Like, properly good. Officially good.”

She gasped and let out an aww. “I’m so glad to hear that. I was worried about you.”

“I was worried too. But I’m better now.” Shane leaned against the counter, eyes on the bottles glowing in the light. “I kinda forgot how it felt to be happy.”

Before she had a chance to respond, he asked, “You know how he’s always liked sleeping in?”

He waited for her to hum before continuing.

“Well, sometimes he gets up before me now. Makes me breakfast before work. Toast, mostly. But it’s the effort that counts.”

Pipettes clinked as he dropped them into empty glass jars, tidying up as he talked to his mom with a wide smile stretched across his face. “He makes me laugh before I’ve even had my coffee and he’s got this new thing where he wants to be involved in all of my scents. Says he wants to be my muse,” Shane said with a laugh.

“Little does he know, he already was.”

Shane laughed again. “Yeah. But it’s better this time. Happier. Brighter.”

“You love him.” He could tell that she was smiling around her words.

“Yeah,” Shane murmured, smiling down at the mess he’d made with his notes. “I really do.”

“I’m glad you guys finally figured it out. Do you know how many times I tried getting you two together?”

“You what? No.” He almost dropped the vial he was filing, managing to catch it just in time and slide it on the shelf. “Seriously?”

“Oh, very seriously.” She laughed into his ear, it was airy and light and had a slight whisper of I told you so underneath. “When you were sixteen and brought him camping with us, I got you guys your own tent, Shane. I thought for sure that two teenage boys who’d been dancing around each other for years wouldn’t be able to walk away from that trip as only friends.” 

“Mom!’

“What? It’s not like you would’ve ended up pregnant or something.”

Shane sputtered and shook his head. His mother was ridiculous and he loved her so much. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Well. It’s true,” she said easily. “Do you remember that trip?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft, almost like a far away whisper. A smile took over his face as the memories flooded back in. 

“We zipped our sleeping bags together that night,” he said quietly, almost like he was sharing a secret. “He said he was cold, and I made fun of him for it at first… but then I thought about it. The idea of sharing with him scared the hell out of me, but it was also exciting, you know? So I let it happen.”

“And?”

There was a pause, and Shane couldn’t help but smile when he started talking again. “That was the first time I ever woke up with him plastered to my back. And I don’t think I realized why it never felt the same with anybody else until recently. Until after Tahoe.”

“Wait. Did you guys…”

“Oh, no,” Shane laughed. “We literally only cuddled. Fully clothed. But it was still the best feeling, waking up in his arms. And now I get to do that every day.”

“I’m so happy for you, Shane. You boys will have to come by for dinner soon, yeah? I miss you. Both of you.”

Shane smiled. “We will, mom, promise. We miss you too.”

When they hung up, he finished organizing the workshop and went back to his desk to pack up. He was sliding his notebook into his bag when he remembered the photo he’d brought with him that morning, the one Ilya had printed and tucked into his backpack. He fished it out of the front zipper pocket and stared at it for a moment, brushing his finger over Ilya’s arm, his curls.

He reached for the picture that had been there since the beginning of his career with Afterglow – the one of him and Maggie. For a moment, he just looked at it, remembering what started all of this. He smiled at her and placed the frame back on his desk before picking up the one of him and Ilya that lived next to it.

Carefully, he removed the backing of the frame and slid the picture out, replacing it with the new one. It was him and Ilya, laughing into a kiss, caught in a bright, ridiculous moment from their first real date as official boyfriends. The beach stretched out behind them and Ilya’s curls were swept into their faces, covering their eyes. It was taken by someone who’d been sunbathing and watching them (non-creepily) from a distance, and when she’d approached to show it to them later, Ilya hugged her and asked her to AirDrop it to him immediately.

With a smile, he placed it beside the bottle labeled Boyfriend, straightened the frame, and nodded.

It all began with a picture. And somehow, it came back to one.

Chapter 8: Epilogue

The following year’s conference was held in the heart of San Francisco. Shane drove down with Ilya the night before, trying to beat the rain on the way in. 

“We should’ve taken the train,” Ilya muttered from the passenger seat, closing his eyes with his head tipped against the window.

“Why? It would’ve taken longer than just driving in.”

Ilya rolled the window down an inch and breathed in some of the fresh air before answering. “Because it goes in a straight line.”

Shane snorted. “You’ll be alright, we’re almost through the curvy bit.” 

He patted Ilya’s thigh and left his hand there as they twisted through the last few miles of wine country.

By the time they crossed the Golden Gate Bridge into the city, the sun was dissolving into a sweep of orange and pink over the bay. The city shimmered ahead of them, metallic and alive. Traffic hummed, cable cars rang as they passed by, too close for comfort, and the air smelled of salt and sea. Shane took a deep breath and regretted it almost immediately. The ‘sea’ smell was just a bit too fishy for his liking.

Their hotel perched high above the city, overlooking the piers, the bay, and Alcatraz in the distance.

Once in their room, Shane slid his arm around Ilya’s waist and leaned his head against his shoulder. They stood in front of the window for a few minutes in silence, taking in the twinkling lights and the busy city below.

“Could get used to this for a weekend.” Ilya leaned closer to the window and peered out to the right.

“That’s the bridge that collapsed from the earthquake during the World Series back in 1989,” Shane said, almost in awe as he studied the reconstructed structure.

Ilya hummed. “Kinda crazy to think about, right? Every time I drive on the bottom level, I hold the wheel a little tighter. Think I always will.”

Breathing him in, Shane agreed and stepped away to unpack. He managed to get two shirts out of his suitcase before Ilya took over.

 

The next morning, the skyline stretched in a haze of grey-orange fog from the conference ballroom’s windows. Taking the seat next to Ilya in the back of the hall, Shane felt small in the sea of tables and lanyards. It was the kind of gathering where everyone wore their best blazers and practiced their smiles. Servers moved between tables with silver coffee urns, the low buzz of conversation swelling beneath the soft jazz playing over the speakers. It was much more formal than last year at the lodge.

“I miss The Evergreen,” Ilya said under his breath, as if reading Shane's mind.

“Yeah,” Shane agreed softly. “Me too. Harris would hate this.”

Ilya laughed quietly. “He would.” He huffed out a breath and tipped his head against Shane's shoulder. “Three weeks and counting until we’re back.”

A few short speeches filled the day’s agenda. The Director of Design talked about innovation through emotion, Scott followed, recapping a year of connection and storytelling through scents, and the Founder closed with many thanks and record-breaking numbers.

By the time Shane's name was called, the nerves that had been quietly simmering under his skin finally surfaced. Ilya leaned over and brushed a hand against his knee.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” he whispered.

Shane stood, straightened his tie (he still couldn’t get the knot right without Ilya’s help), and made his way to the stage. The lights were warm and blinding, the crowd a blur of faces, both familiar and new. He paused at the podium, breath catching as the applause died down.

He glanced toward the back of the room, at Ilya smiling up at him, eyes soft and proud.

The same eyes that had been there through every doubt and triumph for the last nineteen years of his life, and would be there for many more to come.

Shane's voice came out steadier than he expected. “I’ve always believed that scent is memory,” he began. “That one whiff of something familiar can take you back to the best moments of your life. Or the worst. This past year, I’ve learned that the people you share those moments with matter just as much, if not more.”

He didn’t say a name, but everyone shuffled, turning to find Ilya.

When the ceremony closed, they broke for lunch and then the group spent the rest of the day at Pier 39. They went shopping in the pouring rain, walking beneath the wooden planks of the second level for shelter, but fat raindrops dripped through and drenched them anyway. Ilya paused along the railing and watched the sea lions for a long time. Their arf-arfs echoing between the shop buildings. 

They escaped the rain for a bit in the sourdough shop where Ilya got clam chowder in a sourdough bowl. Shane crinkled his nose at it, stating that it was not a scent he’d be recreating. Shane ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, five ooey-gooey cheeses melted together between freshly baked toasted sourdough. It was like heaven orgasmed in his mouth.

 

After the awards ceremony on day two, where Shane won for the second year in a row, Ilya leaned in for a kiss right there in front of everyone. Shane laughed, breathless, hugging his trophy with the envelope pinched between his fingers while being wrapped in Ilya’s arms, the weight of the year melting away. They did the pictures, the obligatory mingling, and then back in their room Shane ordered room service for lunch, opting to skip the seafood spread that was provided by Afterglow, before heading out for a group meet-up. 

The fog hung thick over the bay, the kind that swallowed the skyline whole and left misty silhouettes of seagulls and sea lions, charter boats and cargo ships. They walked along the Embarcadero towards Pier 33, passing the aquarium and the giant Hard Rock guitar along the way. Elena and Maria were already there, bundled in coats and scarves, the wind biting at their ears, leaning into their husbands for warmth.

Slick with saltwater and mist, the dock creaked underfoot. The bay smelled sharp and briny, a tang that caught in Shane's throat. Gulls shrieked overhead, circling the docks, swooping down in the middle of the crowd to snatch a dropped fry or mini donut, not afraid of people at all. 

When they boarded the ferry to Alcatraz, Ilya led them to the upper deck. “Might as well get the full experience,” he said, eyes glinting.

“Full experience hypothermia, you mean.” Shane tugged his beanie lower and zipped his jacket up to his chin.

Ilya laughed and slipped an arm around him, pulling him close against the wind. It didn’t help much. The gusts whipped off of the water like they were angry with it, but Shane leaned back against Ilya anyway, holding his arms out to recreate their very own Titanic moment on the short trip out to the island.

The ferry cut through the choppy water, sending sprays of cold mist over the railing. The city got smaller and smaller behind them, the skyscrapers soft-edged through the fog, the tall point of the Transamerica Pyramid sticking up through the haze, the red-orange arc of the Golden Gate peeking in and out like a mirage. Ahead, the island rose out of the grey, jagged cliffs, aged faded buildings, and a tall watch tower.

When they docked at Alcatraz Island, the captain’s voice crackled through the speaker, directing everyone up the steep hill toward the main cellhouse. The path wound between crumbling brick walls and weeds pushing through the cracks. Ilya’s gloved hand brushed against Shane's back as they climbed.

Inside, the air was cool but, thankfully, still. The cell blocks stretched in symmetrical rows, old beige paint peeling in strips off of metal bars. Stainless beds that looked more like tables, metal basins, ratty old cushions, plastered walls. Their footsteps echoed.

They moved slowly through the narrow aisles, listening to the audio tour through headsets they’d been handed as they entered– the voices of former guards and inmates recounting riots, escape attempts, long stretches of silence. One recording described the 1962 escape: three men chiseling through air vents with smuggled spoons, building dummy heads out of soap and toilet paper, slipping out under the cover of night and vanishing into the bay.

“Do you think they made it?” Ilya whispered.

Shane tilted his head, studying the rusted bars and the dark corridor leading out to the yard. “Maybe. I kinda hope they did.”

“Why?”

Shane shrugged. “Because it’s sad to think that they didn’t. Everyone deserves to get out eventually.”

Ilya didn’t say anything for a moment, just reached out and slid his arm around Shane, kissing his forehead through his beanie.

“Well, maybe not everybody,” Ilya said, teasing.

Shane laughed. “The way that you don’t even have to say who you’re thinking of, and I just know.”

“It’s why we work so well together, baby.”

They stood like that for a while, the hum of the audio track fading to background noise – just the wind swooping through the bars and the faint drip of water somewhere down the corridor.

By the time they shuffled back outside, the fog had lifted slightly. They boarded the ferry again, shoulders brushing as they found a bench in the bottom cabin this time, safe from the wind.

The water was still rough, bouncing them around, making Shane's face turn green. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and tipped his head against Ilya’s shoulder until they docked back at the pier. Only a few work weeks left of the year and then The Evergreen would be waiting.

 

***

The Evergreen looked just the same as it had the year before, but a little brighter, maybe just because Shane was. They pulled around the bend, weaving between white-tipped trees and staying on the narrow path that had been cleared for them to pull in. Snow blanketed the roofs, soft and thick, the kind that muffled sound and made the world feel gentler. Bright cherry wood stood still in a blanket of white, just like it had all of those months ago. Smoke puffed out from the chimney, thick and swirly, hanging in the air before disappearing into the mountains. 

The lights along the porch twinkled in the hazy glow, and the smell of pine hit the moment he stepped out of the truck. Crisp air stung his cheeks but warmed his soul immediately.

Ilya followed close behind, pulling his jacket on, wrapping his scarf around his neck, tugging his matching beanie over his messy curls that almost reached his shoulders now. He reached for Shane's hand on the walk up without thinking, their fingers tangling easily. It was a habit now, not a performance.

Shane smiled as their boots crunched through the snow, dragging suitcases toward the lodge door. “Feels weird being back, yeah?”

The same wooden sign swung in the mountain breeze, squeaking as if to welcome them home.

Ilya hummed. “Good weird.”

Inside, the inn was alive with laughter. Scott and Kip were already by the fire, mugs in hand. Harris was behind the counter chatting with Troy, who looked far too handsome in his flannel for someone who was supposedly doing manual labor.

“Smells like nostalgia,” Ilya said, stepping through the entry.

“Look at you trying to steal my job,” Shane teased.

They didn’t come empty-handed this time. Shane unhooked the straps from around the box on top of his suitcase and braced for impact once Harris spotted them.

Harris and Troy nearly tackled them at the front door, knocking them back a few steps and almost pushing them out into the snow. The family room was warm and cluttered with comfort items – blankets on the couch, board games stacked high on the coffee table, fire blazing as always.

Once they said their hellos, Shane presented Harris with the box, Afterglow’s logo printed on every side.

“What’s this then?” Harris asked, raising a brow.

“A little something from Afterglow,” Shane said. “Custom wax warmers for every room, plus a few extras. I worked with the design team and got them to etch your logo on the front of each one.”

Harris' shoulders fell and his eyes went soft. “Shane, you didn’t have to–”

“I wanted to,” Shane interrupted softly. “And, uh. These too.” He pulled out a smaller box, a collection of wax bars, each labelled with a familiar scent: Evergreen & Embers, Lavender Sky, Hug in a Mug, Evergreen Wintermint, Cozy Fire, Apple Cobbler. “Inspired by our last trip here. Thought you might like them.”

Troy leaned over to sniff one. “God damn, that’s incredible. I want to eat it!”

Shane laughed, “Well, I wouldn’t advise it, but they’re non-toxic if you just can’t help yourself.”

He groaned when he smelled another. “That one smells like Christmas and…”

“Home,” Ilya finished for Troy, glancing at Shane.

Shane's chest warmed and he leaned into Ilya. “Yeah. Home.”

They were led up to their room by Harris, who’d turned right at the top of the stairs instead of left just to mess with them before heading back in the other direction. He cracked the door open to the same room they’d stayed in last year before handing over the key, going in for one more hug, and telling them to head down for lunch when they were ready. The room was stocked with extra supplies this time: thick soft blankets, wine and champagne in the mini fridge, extra firewood, even a sled leaning in the corner by the window. Shane assumed that Kip and Scott had the other waiting for them in their room.

“Shane, did you see this?” Ilya was laughing, sitting on the edge of the bed with the nightstand drawer pulled open.

When Shane approached and saw what Ilya was laughing at, he shook his head. “Seriously, Harris?”

Ilya made a frame with his fingers in the air in front of him, pulling his hands apart like he was reading a banner. “Hospitality,” he said in a dramatic voice through a laugh.

“Never stayed anywhere that provided lube and condoms before. Gotta hand it to him, I guess. He really takes care of his clients.”

Fetching the bottle from the drawer, Ilya held it up and started laughing all over again. “Of course it’s branded. He even put fucking maple leaves on the lube. How extremely Harris of him.”

“Do you think it’s maple flavored, too?”

Ilya raised a brow. “Let’s test it out, so that I’ll know what to write for the Yelp review.” 

 

***

 

It was easy to fall into a rhythm at The Evergreen. Not much had changed since last year – family dinner, card games at the table, causing trouble out in the snow. They spent the afternoon the same way they had a year ago – sledding down the same hill (still badly), drinking too much boozy cocoa, dancing in the dining room-turned-dance-floor while Harris yelled at them for spilling their drinks on his rug, not wanting to set them down while they danced because they were too good.

Troy took a break to chop some more wood for the fire, ignoring Ilya and Shane's insistence on helping until Shane stole the axe right out of his hand just to prove a point. He nearly dropped it in the snow two minutes later, swinging it too far behind his head and nearly toppling over. 

“The wood’s chopped, isn’t it? Who cares what it looks like? It’s just gonna be burned!” Shane defended his hard work and helped to stack the uneven wood into the wheelbarrow before letting Troy haul it in all by himself.

They built a snowman, even though Troy groaned the entire time about how it felt like work to him. How, if he wanted to be knee-deep in snow, he’d go shovel the parking lot for fun. But when they were done, Troy draped his scarf around the snowman and propped his knit cap on top of its head anyway. Ilya wrapped his arm around Shane's shoulders and kissed his cheek when they finished, murmuring, “How can you bottle this feeling?”

 

That night, after dinner (venison stew – cooked so perfectly that the gaminess wasn’t even detectable), Harris suggested a game. “Two Truths and a Lie. Come on, for old time’s sake.”

Everyone groaned but agreed, already half-drunk and far too comfortable to suggest a game that would make them get up unless it was to refill their drinks. 

They went around the circle – Scott’s terrible poker face gave his away immediately, Troy lied about being allergic to cats, Kip confessed that he once got locked in a hotel bathroom for two hours. Then it was Ilya’s turn.

He looked at Shane, a teasing glint in his eye. “Alright. Let’s see…One, I can juggle. Two, I’ve… been to space. Three…” He paused, slow and deliberate, squeezing Shane's thigh before breaking the news. “The first time we came here, Shane and I weren’t actually dating.”

The room went silent for half a beat before Scott sputtered, nearly choking out his drink. “What?”

Harris blinked. “Wait, what do you mean you weren’t dating?”

Shane laughed, cheeks pink. He put his hand over top of Ilya’s. “What he means is that we were pretending to be boyfriends. Long story.”

“We’ve got time,” Troy said, eyeing him, urging him to go on.

So, he told him the Cliffnotes version. Scott was mortified, knowing that he played a part in it. Shane jokingly called him homophobic. Teased him for not telling him about Kip when Shane had admitted that he didn’t like women. They both laughed it off. Scott liked the idea of just bringing Kip along and introducing him as his partner and not needing to come out. When they saw that his partner was male presenting, they’d figure it out.

Kip leaned forward. “You’re joking. You two had everyone fooled.”

“Guess we’re good actors,” Ilya said with a shrug, bumping Shane's shoulder.

Scott snorted. “You absolute menaces. You fooled me, and I see Shane nearly every day!”

Shane grinned, the firelight catching in his eyes. “Yeah, well, turned out we didn’t have to pretend for very long.”

That earned a chorus of good-natured toasts and the game was suddenly over. Someone started the Karaoke machine, and the night rolled into song and stories and the kind of easy joy that only comes when everything has finally fallen into place.

They sang off key, danced even worse, and laughed until their sides hurt.

Somewhere between “Wonderwall” and “Dancing Queen,” Shane realized how different this felt from the last time they were here. How easy it was to be here again. How he wasn’t pretending to be Ilya’s boyfriend this time, how they didn’t have to hide that detail anymore. 

Later that night, when the others were asleep, or at least in their rooms for the night, Shane and Ilya bundled up and slipped outside. The world was quiet. The stars were bright and plentiful without the city lights polluting the darkness. They walked hand-in-hand down the same path they’d taken last year, their boots crunching over the snow.

Behind the building, they stayed close to the wall, under the shelter of the eve. Shane hummed a happy sigh and leaned into Ilya, who wrapped his arms around him easily. 

“I’m glad I’m here with you again,” Ilya said.

“I’m glad it’s real this time,” Shane responded.

 

***

 

After breakfast the next morning, they geared up and traveled out to the lifts. The fresh powder waited for them, untouched and still, glittering off the bright morning sun. 

They sat on the lift shoulder-to-shoulder, gloved hands clamped together. The lift creaked, carrying them above the glowing white world below.

For a long time, neither spoke. They just sat there, looking around, taking it all in.

Then Ilya said quietly, “Remember last year? You were terrified of falling.”

Shane smirked. “Yeah. Turns out I was terrified of other things too,” he laughed.

Ilya glanced at him, a small smile playing at his lips. “You’re not anymore?”

“Nah.” Shane shook his head. “Don’t need to be anymore. Got what I wanted.” He nudged his shoulder into Ilya’s and turned to face him.

And then Ilya kissed him.

He didn’t have to trick him into it this time. It wasn’t for show, it wasn’t for any reason other than he loved Shane and wanted to kiss him. The kiss was slow and steady, a promise whispered between their lips. It was the kind of kiss that said we made it.

When they finally broke apart, Shane rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent he loved so much. The one he used to chase through his workshop like a ghost. 

Something made him pick his head up, looking around in confusion. Finally, he spotted the source of the noise. On the lift behind them, Scott and Kip were cheering and hollering, chanting, “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” like they were fifteen. Shane rolled his eyes and smiled into another kiss.

The lift swayed gently as Ilya’s hand found his again, the world below still and shimmering. Snowflakes caught in Ilya’s curls, in Shane's eyelashes, in the space between them that finally wasn’t empty anymore.

The Evergreen stood silent beneath the lifts, holding their laughter, their love, and the faintest trace of cedar and vanilla – proof that something real had bloomed there once, and stayed.