Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Road Trips, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Break Up Talk, Fluff and Angst, Planned Break Up, sometimes planning a break up is the most intimate thing a couple can do, Hand Jobs, Top Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Angst, Lack of Communication, guys they don’t go through with the break up trust me pls, it’s shane’s turn to psychologically torture ilya

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-11 Words: 23,050 Chapters: 1/1

It's Brave to Be Nothing to No One At All

Summary

A road trip through California, a nice second hand car, and the beginning of the end.

or: Shane and Ilya agree to end it on a good note.

Notes

my third hollanov fic. so terrifying, so exciting. mama i’m still scared…

 

this is a very selfish and self indulgent work birthed from the fact that i just love calico by ryan beatty. this plot plays in my head every time i listen to the album so i thought why not try bringing it to life with one of my favorite ships? also i want to see if writing hollanov is something i can do long term. just a lot of experimenting going on around here!
!

some disclaimers that contain spoilers:

- i am not from california but have been many a times, so i apologize if there's some inaccurate depictions. but i promise we will be okay.
- this takes place after the cottage episode, but some parts of the cottage have changed. for example, it is mentioned that they never officially labeled their relationship, so we can assume that the whole ilya calling shane his boyfriend thing never happened. as mentioned in the tags, this is canon divergent. ilya has not transferred to ottawa yet, as this is before the plan starts to roll out/before ilya’s a free agent or whatever but it's mentioned that they do have a plan, and that is the same plan from the books/show so there’s not a lot of change there. in this their communication at the cottage still wasn't fully truthful which his how we get into this situation. sorry for yapping but i've seen the way fics get torn apart online and i feel like i need to be very clear about some of this.

anyway, please enjoy! this was written listening to (of course) ryan beatty. title comes from ribbons, the plot is inspired by ribbons as well as white teeth <3

and a big thank you to my dear beta Lizzie!

It's kind of poetic if Ilya thinks about it hard enough. Planning a road trip with your first love, maybe even the love of your life, for the sole purpose of ending things in a positive, pain free way. It's maybe even a little funny if Ilya really, really thinks about it because technically… they technically aren't even together.

Well, no. That's not true. They're together, exclusive. Dating if they really want to put a label on it, but the word boyfriend has never been said, not even on accident. Ilya is careful like that, he's seen what happens when something unexpected and raw is thrown at Shane. It's the reason Ilya can't really stomach tuna melts or sex where the daylight can still be seen through curtains.

So, they're not boyfriends, but they're together. They're boyfriends in every sense except the actual word, and that is good enough for Ilya. It's been good for Ilya until recently, when he's, for once, grateful to be so far away from Shane when it all happens.

A phone call isn't out of the ordinary, not when they live in different countries. But a phone call from Shane when he's supposed to be at Hayden's for dinner, that's not normal.

Ilya is careful to feign some nonchalance as he exits the gym where he'd been with some teammates and out the back door into the fresh air and its warm breezes welcoming summer. He answers after tugging at his necklace and glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't followed. "Shane," he says, whispered, always so carefully. "Everything okay?"

There's a pause, a breath that crackles through the receiver. Ilya swears he can feel it caress the shell of his ear. Then, Shane is speaking. "There's… fuck. Hayden knows."

Ilya blinks, looking around in confusion. "Hayden knows…? What does he know, sweetheart?"

"About us," Shane says and Ilya's stomach drops.

"Ah. Okay, that's…" Not good, he wants to say. You are panicking, you are scared. You already made a choice. "Is not terrible, right? We can—"

"We need to talk," Shane says over him. Quick and panicked. Ilya knows that tone, had heard it in his living room before. He's already made a choice. "I'm gonna… I can fly to Boston tonight. I don't have anything going on tomorrow and I can leave in the morning I just… This is a conversation we need to have in person, I think."

For once, Ilya is grateful to be so far away from Shane. He isn't sure how quick he'd fall apart if Shane was in front of him right now. "Okay," Ilya agrees because that's all he can say. "I… I will see you tonight, then." He pauses, and when he's sure Shane hasn't hung up already, he says, "I love you."

"Ilya," Shane sighs, voice so quiet, not wanting to be heard. The seconds stretch endlessly and Ilya shuts his eyes, digs his head into the rough textured wall. "I love you too."

Ilya deflates. At the very least, he has that.

☼

Shane arrives in Boston just past midnight. He takes a ride-share because if Ilya was spotted picking him up it would certainly make things worse. Ilya waits for him in his living room, pacing until it feels like he may wear a hole in the floor. When Shane is finally in his house, Ilya is already expecting the worse, so it doesn't hurt as terribly as he thought it would when Shane bluntly says:

"We need to end this."

Ilya nods even though his skull weighs a thousand pounds. "Okay," he says after a second. "Okay. Why?"

Shane lets out something close to a sigh and a scoff, rolling his eyes and tilting his chin up toward the ceiling. "Because—because Hayden knows, Ilya."

"Who cares about Hayden," Ilya is quick to retort. But in all seriousness, Hayden Pike isn't smart enough to be a threat. It's almost funny that Shane is so worried about someone with the brain of a pigeon knowing about their secret. "He will probably forget by tomorrow. He is not very smart, you know."

"I'm being serious," Shane snaps, standing from the sofa where Ilya had a hand rested on his knee. The air that takes his place is cold, empty. Ilya presses his lips together and leans back, watching as Shane starts to pace. "He pieced it together in, like, ten seconds. If—if Hayden can do it, who else do you think has figured this out? Like, fuck. Fuck—it's just…"

"Not a good idea," Ilya finishes for him. Shane swallows, jaw tensing as he nods. "So, what? We break up and that's it? No more…" Ilya gestures the space between them. "No more this? If you are so bored of me, just say it, Hollander. You do not need to make excuses."

He isn't sure why he says it at all— he knows Shane is nothing but honest with him. Maybe he wants Shane to share the sharp pain in his chest, to make him feel the knife he's twisting in Ilya's ribs.

It works. The tension in Shane's face drops, replaced by watering eyes and a trembling mouth. "No—no, Ilya. What the hell? That's not—I'm not bored of you. Why are you saying that?"

Ilya shrugs, pinching the center of his palm. "I don't know. Maybe I'm trying to make this make sense."

"You know we can't just tell people," Shane says rather desperately. "We talked about it—we had a fucking plan. The charity, the—the narrative changing. It was going so well but—god. Maybe it's just unrealistic."

"Or maybe life is happening," Ilya tries, knowing this is mostly a losing battle. Shane has convinced himself already, has mulled this over in his own head. "Not everything has to follow the plan perfectly, Shane. We have figured things out before, yes? Like your parents. That wasn't part of the plan, but we are okay still. They are happy for us. Even the schedules, we have found a way around being so far from each other all the time, no? There are solutions—"

"Ilya," Shane says firmly, cutting him off. Even in the dimness of the lighting, Ilya can see the tears clinging onto his lashes. It's enough of an answer within itself. He shakes his head, just barely, but enough to be noticed.

Ilya looks down at his blistering red palm. He pinches it again. "Is what you want?"

"No," Shane whispers, a bitter laugh punching out of his chest as he looks at the ceiling again. "But it's—it's probably for the best."

"The best. Right," Ilya nods stiffly. When he hears Shane sniffle, he cracks, getting up to pull him into an embrace. They both need it, so it's more than just Ilya's selfish need to touch him one last time. Shane is quick to press his face into Ilya's neck, the wetness trailing down the skin until it soaks in the white collar of his shirt. He squeezes Shane tighter, noses at his temple before pressing a kiss to the warm skin.

"I'm sorry," Shane starts, voice tight. "I'm really fucking sorry—"

"Hey, no," Ilya shushes, tracing aimless patterns onto Shane's back. There's no one at fault here, that's the sad reality of it all. "Don't be."

"I don't want you to hate me," Shane continues, breath hitching as he sucks in air, always so reluctant to cry. Ilya's throat aches and the corners of his eyes burn with wetness. "Please don't hate me, Ilya. Please—"

"I don't," Ilya tells him, hoping the honesty can be felt. He couldn't imagine living a life where he ever hated Shane. It was never a choice to love him this much, but a natural thing, as instinctual as breathing. "Never. I could never. I love you too much to do that."

Shane tightens his arms around him and then raises his head, pressing his forehead to Ilya's. Like this, all the tear tracks are visible, running like ribbons down his face. "I just wish we had more time."

Ilya chuckles wetly, nodding because, yes. That would be very nice. If they had all the time in the world, maybe they wouldn't be here right now. If Ilya knew their time was running out, he would have done a little more, tried a little harder, loved a little louder. "Yes, me too."

Shane looks at Ilya from beneath his lashes, his eyes flickering in thought. He inhales slowly before asking, "Can we go for a drive?"

Ilya blinks, the corners of his mouth dropping in confusion. "You do not like my cars."

"I know."

"You say they are stupid," Ilya continues slowly. "Too fast."

Shane nods. "Because they are."

"And that they are a waste of money." Again, Shane nods. Still confused, Ilya gives him a look. "Then why?"

"Because I don't want to go," Shane says quietly, smiling like he can't believe he's admitting it out loud. "Because I'm gonna miss you and your stupid cars."

It makes sense in a weird way. Ilya is gonna miss Shane judging his 2AM purchases on MacLaren's website. "Okay," he agrees, pocketing all the time he can.

☼

They drive for ten minutes before Shane breaks the silence right after a particularly annoying engine rev at a red light.

"You're ridiculous," he says when Ilya shoots him a grin. "No one likes hearing that shit."

"I do," Ilya says back, revving the engine one more time. For a moment, it's like nothing has changed. He wonders what would happen if he pretended like the last hour never happened. Maybe Shane would be willing to forget all about it.

When the light turns green, Ilya peels off, earning a string of curses from Shane that eventually turn into indecipherable grumbles. As much as Ilya wants to push it, he doesn't want to give Shane a reason to think the break-up was a good idea. So, he follows the speed limit and signage, taking them away from the city. The buildings crumble into trees crowded together, their green leaves vibrant against the LED headlights.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Shane tells him to pull over, but listens anyway.

When they're parked on the side of the empty road, Ilya taps on the steering wheel. "Are you—"

"What if we went on a road trip," Shane says over him, staring down at his hands fidgeting on his lap.

Ilya pauses, replaying the words until they sort of start to make sense. "Road trip? Like… right now?"

"No," Shane says quickly, eyebrows creased as he shakes his head. "Obviously not now, but soon. We have two weeks off, that's coming up. Instead of the cottage we can—we can take a road trip. For at least a few days, I don't know. We can just take some time to go somewhere together."

Ilya stares at him, waiting for more, but getting nothing. "I am confused," he starts slowly. "Hollander, you said you wanted to break up."

"I don't want to break up," Shane corrects. "But I think we should."

"Okay…?" Ilya drawls, earning an eye roll. "So, we are breaking up. Why should we take a road trip?"

"Listen," Shane begins, adjusting himself in the leather seats to face Ilya, his knee tucked under him. He puts a hand on Ilya's chest as he speaks. "We go on a road trip. Just a few days, we get a few more days together, and we just… we forget about everything. We won't be Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, we'll just be Shane and Ilya. No pressure, no expectations, no hockey. We enjoy the time we have together before we part ways. We try to make the best of it and end it on a good note."

Ilya's eyes dance across Shane's serious expression. "And after?"

"We move on," Shane says simply. Like it's going to be easy.

As much as Ilya wants to rip the band-aid off, he can't help but start nodding. Time is being handed to him on a silver platter. It would be stupid not to agree. "Okay," he says after a beat, wiping the corner of his mouth with his knuckle. "Okay, so we go on a road trip and then we… we break up. That's…" He laughs despite himself, knocking his head back against the seat. "Jesus Christ, Shane Hollander. I cannot believe you are planning our break-up."

This time, Shane laughs too.

☼

They choose California. It's far enough to wrench themselves away from the comforting familiarity of the east, but not so unfamiliar that they won't know what to expect. The weather will be nice, a dry heat instead of the sticky one Ilya has hated since his first summer in Boston.

And, yeah, it is kind of poetic and funny to be planning a road trip with his soon-to-be ex-boyfriend that isn't really his boyfriend. Life has never been too fair and has always been kind of fucking weird. So, Ilya rolls with the punches and completes every task on the list Shane sent him over before they were set to start the beginning of the end.

First thing on the list is to make sure his passport is up to date, "just in case" they had any run ins with law officials. Not that they would, Shane makes sure to assure, but he'd rather Ilya be safe than sorry. Ilya reminds him that if anything they're both equally as foreign in the US, and while Shane doesn't laugh, Ilya lets himself giggle at that one.

Shane takes it as an opportunity to emphasize how important it is for them to remain unseen, unknown. He goes as far as sending Ilya a link to brown hair dye that Ilya immediately says no to. He'll wear a hat and sunglasses the whole time if he needs to, but he'll be damned if he fucks up his curls just to get dumped in a discreet fashion.

Second on the list is figuring out what car they're going to use. Ilya says no to driving Shane's weird and ugly Jeep, and refuses to fly to California just to buy a car there. It's his own idea to buy a dated and used car, getting it fixed up enough to get him across the country. It would probably do him some good to drive to California by himself. He did his own research and everything—it would take him ten days at most to get there. Maybe even eight days if he blew through the country, but that goes against Shane's plan to not get arrested. And maybe if he swerves into a ditch he won't have to deal with the what ifs that have been haunting him since Shane proposed the break-up road trip.

That's a joke. To an extent.

When he runs this by Shane—sans the whole dying in a ditch part—Shane offers to fly down to Boston ten days earlier instead, but Ilya refuses.

"It'll be good for me," he says, pretending not to notice the way Shane's face falls. "I need to practice driving slow and boring, you know."

And that seems to be enough for Shane to agree. So, Ilya finds a car, a 1966 Ford Mustang Convertible repainted a milky yellow. Low miles with regular maintenance Ilya is told by the old man selling it. A bit pricey for a car Ilya only needs for a few weeks, but the more he talks to the man, the more he knows he'll have a hard time letting it go.

"Used to be my dad's," the man, Roger, tells him, patting the hood proudly. "Rarely drove the thing and I was always too scared I'd wreck it, so it's been sitting pretty in my garage for the last forty years."

"I will take good care of it," Ilya promises with a close mouthed smile, squinting against the sunlight even with his glasses on. "I am going on a road trip, so. I will be making use of it."

"A road trip," Roger repeats with a smile, a stamp of approval if Ilya has ever seen one. "That's great. Take her to see America, son. It's what she deserves." When Ilya nods, Roger tilts his head. "You going by yourself?"

"With a—" a friend, Ilya almost says, stopping himself, unsure why he can't lie to this stranger. "Someone very special."

"Oh, I see," Roger nods, patting Ilya's shoulder. "Make some good memories, alright? And win Boston a cup next year! I have a bet going on with my buddy."

Ilya nods, knowing he can probably only make good on one of those promises. He hands over the wad of cash and receives the keys in return. On the way home, he drops the top, letting the wind whip over his face and through his hair, and by the time he gets home he knows he made the right choice in car.

☼

Ilya counts down the days, his body unable to tell the difference between anxiety and excitement. He doesn't think he could try placing his emotions either, but the time passes, and Ilya is waking up at four in the morning to get a head start on the driving. Shane calls right as Ilya gets out of the shower.

"You mentioned waking up at four," Shane explains when Ilya asks how he got the timing so right. "And I know you take around thirty minutes in the shower, so I just timed it."

"Just timed it," Ilya repeats with a soft smile, phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder as he picks up the two duffel bags filled with clothes and essentials. "That is a lot of effort, Shane."

"I wanted to talk to you before you left," Shane says, his voice addled with the remnants of sleep. "I can't believe you're making the drive from fucking Boston to California. You're gonna be driving forever."

"Nine hours today," Ilya says proudly, starting to actually look forward to it. "And then seven tomorrow. And then many more hours until I get there."

"Ridiculous," Shane mumbles, barely loud enough to hear. "You could have taken a flight."

"Road trips in rentals are not fun," Ilya points out. "They tell you that on Google, Shane."

"Yeah, whatever. You should probably get going."

Ilya sighs, staring at the bags now leaning beside his front door. "Yes, I should."

There's a pause before Shane says, "Drive safe. Call me when you get to the hotel."

"I will," Ilya promises. "Maybe you can video call me and jerk off. It will help me sleep better."

"Asshole," Shane laughs but doesn't say no. "Be safe. I love you."

The endless hours on the road seem like nothing if it means hearing that again in person, even for the last time. "Yes, I will. I love you."

His first stop is Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, a nine hour drive before he turns in for the night. After that to Chicago, Illinois—about seven hours of driving. Then Kansas City, Missouri nearly eight hours. From Kansas City to Dallas, Texas. Eight hours. Dallas to Albuquerque, New Mexico ten hours. Albuquerque to Phoenix, Arizona. Phoenix to Los Angeles. Los Angeles to San Francisco, and from there to the airport where Shane will be waiting.

Eight days of driving that starts with a lit cigarette hanging from Ilya's mouth, the top dropped and smoke billowing up toward the rising sun.

☼

Somewhere between Kansas City and Phoenix, it all starts to get a bit repetitive. Ilya tries going out, lingering at bars or looking for any sort of entertainment in these unknown cities, but more often than not exhaustion claws at him until he's lying in a hotel bed, talking to Shane.

In Los Angeles, Ilya listens as Shane reads him some pages from his boring hockey book he bought a few days ago. It's the best sound he's heard in a long time. He only opens his eyes when he hears the dull thud of the hardback closing.

"Done already?" he asks, forcing himself to wake up from his partial sleep. He slurps up the drool threatening to fall from the corner of his mouth and he can practically hear Shane roll his eyes.

"Yeah, I know it bores you—"

"Not in a bad way," Ilya is quick to say. "It is boring but also… nice."

"Nice?" Shane repeats, unbelieving.

"Yes," Ilya insists. "It is nice to just listen to your voice, Hollander."

Tomorrow, Shane is set to land in San Francisco. Ilya will get to touch him again, get to exist in the same space as him while the invisible timer hanging above their heads starts counting down. As much as he tries not to dread it, he can't help but feel 18 again, wondering if living only exists as a form of punishment.

His hasty thoughts are trampled by Shane's soft and sweet voice. "I'm excited to see you."

He closes his eyes and breathes out his nose, the fluttering in his chest twisting. "Me too, sweetheart."

"We're going towards Monterey first, right?"

"Yes," Ilya confirms even though he knows Shane has their itinerary drafted up and memorized like the back of his hand. "Monterey, yes. I think so."

"There's a nice aquarium there. It's right by the ocean," Shane tells him, the sound of bedsheets rustling muted in the background. Ilya can picture him adjusting himself, lying on his side with his phone perched on his pillow. "I've always wanted to take you to an aquarium."

Ilya can't help but smile. "Oh? Why is that?"

There's a pause before Shane's voice comes back softer than before. "I just feel like you would love it."

Ilya hums. "Yes, I think I will."

☼

Ten hours later Ilya is waiting at the airport. He had gotten a text twenty minutes ago from Shane, informing him that the plane landed safely (something Ilya didn't doubt unless ghosts were now able to send messages) and that he needed to grab his things real quick.

He sees Shane before Shane sees him.

His baseball cap is angled down so the brim covers his face. He's sporting his Ray-Bans, the dark tint making it impossible to see his eyes, if he's even looking at Ilya at all. A long sleeved, white shirt covers his muscled torso and some athletic shorts hug his thighs nicely but Ilya doesn't have a chance to ogle him properly as Shane does a double take, seemingly spotting the car based on Ilya's description: is yellow and beautiful.

When he gets done shoving his bags in the back and gets into the passenger seat, he looks around the interior.

"Vintage," he says with an approving nod. "Convertible?"

Ilya pats the roof with a flat palm. "Yes, yes."

Shane nods again, bottom lip jutting out, impressed. "Didn't know you were into classics."

"It was cheap," Ilya shrugs even though he knows that's technically not the truth.

Of course, Shane sees right through him. "Was it? These things go for a decent penny."

"Well, it was cheap to me."

Shane laughs as he buckles his seatbelt, shaking his head. "You're such an asshole."

It makes Ilya's stomach flutter. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really—" Shane stops himself, opening and closing his mouth for a moment before smiling. "Actually, yeah. Yeah, a little. Any suggestions? You know what, I can drive," he offers quickly, already unbuckling himself. "You've been driving for days."

Ilya doesn't argue, already opening the door to swap spots because it would be nice to simply sit in the passenger seat for a little bit.

Shane is focused on his driver duties the moment he adjusts the seat for himself. He plucks his phone from his back pocket, fingers working against the screen until the GPS voice sounds.

Ilya raises an eyebrow. "Oh, you already have plans?"

Shane shrugs even though a proud grin starts to tilt the corner of his mouth up. "I did some research."

Ilya says nothing, pressing his head back against the headrest and letting himself look at Shane. The slope of his nose, the edge of his jaw, the gentleness of his mouth. He finds himself missing it already and reaches up to caress his face, hoping to commit it to memory.

In turn, Shane kisses his palm, reaches up to intertwine their fingers. Then, they drive.

☼

The diner they arrive at is retro and charming and, surprisingly, not as busy as Ilya had expected it to be. There's an electric blue sign hanging above the entrance doors with its name, bright even against the sunlight. He can vividly imagine the way it would look at night, the blue glow it'd paint the sidewalk and the cool tones that would drench those walking past. The blinking OPEN sign flashes steadily, welcoming them in as they're greeted by the hostess with a cheery tone and genuine smile.

"Just for two," Shane nods politely, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. He looks over his shoulder as she leads them to a booth made for two people, catching Ilya's eye and offering something of a smile.

Ilya mimics the expression, waiting until they're left alone with the menus on the forest green table top chipped with age before he says something.

"Interesting choice." He makes a show of looking around, taking it all in. The wall stretched against their table has a black and white image plastered on it of the diner several decades ago. There's a jukebox near the front, blinking red and green and purple lights as it plays a whiny melody. On the other side, leather and metal bar stools line the bar, a few occupied with customers. Mugs lined with lipstick and coffee stains are quickly scooped up by a passing waitress, still joyful even in her haste as she wishes someone a good rest of their day. "Very… American."

Shane lets out a breathy laugh, holding the menu in his hand and thumbing at the corner. A nervous tick that Ilya can place easily. "I was going for authenticity. Full American experience."

Ilya waits a moment, regarding Shane carefully, taking note of every flit of his eyes, every subtle tilt of his head, the way his nail starts to peel the plastic off the menu. Nerves. He's nervous, and Ilya doesn't have to wonder where it's coming from because he knows Shane better than anyone else does.

This is the first time they've been together in public like this. There's no ice, no padded gear, no skates on their feet, no helmets perched on their heads. No cheering crowd with loyal fans. Right now it's just them and some strangers that seem less than interested about two guys having breakfast together.

It's… normal. Or at least, the closest thing to normal they've ever been allowed.

"Hey," Ilya says quietly, carefully, snapping Shane's attention away from where it was zeroed in on the table. "We do not have to eat here. We can order to-go, yes? Maybe eat in the car—"

"No," Shane interrupts quickly, efficiently stunning Ilya into silence. "No, it's okay. I don't—I'm not—"

"You said we needed to be unknown and unseen," Ilya reminds him. "And I am okay with that, I promise."

Shane presses his lips together, taking off his sunglasses and turning his head toward the world moving around them. "We seem pretty unseen and unknown."

Ilya blinks, staring at him like he's grown two heads, partially wondering if he stepped into some weird reality where he cares more about enforcing Shane Hollander's rules than Shane fucking Hollander. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?"

Beneath the table, the blunt force of Shane's shoe collides with Ilya's shin rather unpleasantly, earning a choked yelp. "No, asshole."

"Then what is happening?" Ilya presses, leaning forward and lowering his tone. "I'm a little confused. It's like… whiplash, yes? You are giving me whiplash." In my heart and my head, he wants to say but bites his tongue. One thing at a time.

Shane sighs, rubbing his hands over his face before pressing his fingertips to his lips, taking slow breaths before he drops his hands onto the table, speaking carefully. "We're here to forget everything, remember? I'm fine, stop looking at me like that, Jesus Christ. I'm just—that was the point of this, right? To have some time together without everything in the way. To… to make some good memories before we… you know."

"Ah," Ilya nods. "You mean before you break up with me and make me drive back to Boston by myself—"

"This," Shane starts, pointing at Ilya accusingly, "is the opposite of ending it on a good note."

"Is any end really good?"

There's a beat of silence. Ilya can see the gears turning in Shane's head as he looks at Ilya intently. "Then we won't think of it as the end."

Ilya raises an unimpressed eyebrow, barely holding back a laugh. "Oh? What is it, then?"

"It's…" Shane looks up in thought. "It's our paths diverging. Splitting. Us going our separate ways. There's no end like that, life just keeps going. It doesn't have to be a bad thing."

It feels like a bad thing, Ilya wants to argue. He knows Shane can see it in his face and the tightening of his jaw. "Okay," he answers after a moment. "Fine."

"Ilya—"

"No, is fine," Ilya says over him, shrugging heavily and dropping his palms onto the table. He can see Shane's mouth start to tremble, barely noticeable to anyone else who doesn't understand what it means to be loved by and to love him. Maybe there is a reason people say if you love something you should let it go. Within the second, Ilya's defenses collapse. "I'm sorry. I—you are right. We should enjoy this time together. No fighting, pinky swear."

Shane visibly deflates in relief, dropping his head and staying in the position for a good minute until Ilya reaches across the table to touch his hand. "I'm good," Shane says eventually, sucking in a deep breath. "I just needed to not think for a little but I'm fine."

Ilya smiles softly at him, nodding in understanding. "You want to go outside? Get some air?"

"No," Shane says with a small laugh, pressing his shoe against Ilya's beneath the table. "I'm fucking starving."

☼

From San Francisco to Monterey Bay, it's a two hour drive. With Shane behind the wheel, it will likely take thirty hours. It's a joke that pulls a laugh straight from Ilya's belly even though it came out of his own mouth. But he sees the way Shane's mouth twitches into the ghost of a smile before he blindly swats at Ilya, promptly telling him to shut the fuck up—a good sign that it truly was a good joke.

When Ilya has yet to tame his chuckles, Shane fully turns his neck to look over, even if for a few seconds. Just enough for Ilya to get a glimpse at the expression on his face, some sort of attempt of what he thinks is supposed to be scolding and serious. Like a puppy baring its teeth at its own toy that is completely unaffected by the threat presented. Ilya is more fond than threatened, which would make him Shane's battered toy, he thinks with another smile that is quickly noticed.

"Everything's a fucking joke to you," Shane says, softened by the way he's starting to smile. More amused than annoyed.

"Everything is funny," Ilya answers, tilting his head back against the seat with his own grin. "Like how I am your chew toy."

Shane blinks, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"You are a puppy," Ilya explains, not caring if it makes any sense or not. It's not like anything really matters anymore anyway. "And I am your little toy you get angry at, but I do not mind because we are having fun."

There's a beat of silence where Ilya thinks he's fully lost Shane. Then, he finally speaks, his voice gentle but firm. "I don't get angry at you. Not anymore, at least."

Ilya raises an eyebrow, head lolling to the side to get a better look at Shane. "Anymore?"

"I mean, yeah," Shane says, the corner of his mouth tilting up as his eyes stay on the road ahead. "You were kind of an asshole when we first met—"

"You say I am still an asshole—"

"You are," Shane teases quickly before schooling his expression into something more serious, eyebrows creasing as he continues. "But it was different back then. I, um. I get it now, you know. You had a lot to be angry at. It was hard navigating personal stuff plus… this."

Ilya regards him carefully. "So you were angry at me for being—?"

"An asshole," Shane explains with a shrug. "I mean, you sort of would ignore me for months and then throw yourself at me out of nowhere. It got confusing—that on top of trying to figure out everything else about myself. I definitely hated you sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Ilya laughs, just barely. They've never talked about this—the before. Not like this at least.

Shane smiles softly, reaching over to squeeze Ilya's thigh. "As much as I wanted to, I could never fully hate you. I think I loved you too much for that."

Ilya swallows around the aching in his throat. He blinks, looking down at where Shane's thumb is rubbing at the bare skin. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," Shane says quickly. "It's okay—it's in the past. I don't hold any of it against you, okay? I fucked up a lot too, I know you don't hold it against me either. We were young, everything was—was fucking crazy. But we figured it out, right?"

The sunlight is warm through the windshield, drenching the side of Ilya's face in the same golden hues haloed around Shane. He nods, just enough for Shane to notice as their eyes meet for a fleeting moment before he's pulled back to the stretched roads ahead.

"Yes," he says quietly, placing his hand over Shane's and curling his fingers. "We did."

☼

The first hour concludes with a stop at a gas station somewhere between between city and suburban life. When Shane takes the exit, Ilya cracks his eyes open, straightening up and craning his head to take in the surroundings of chain and locally owned stores. It's simple in a way that fascinates him more than anything, only having lived in big cities for most of his life. It's almost like this is where time could cease to exist.

"Tank's almost empty," Shane tells him once he's pulled up next to a free gas pump. "Does this take regular or premium?"

"Regular is fine," Ilya says, already unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. "You want snacks?"

"I'll go in after," Shane says back, placing a hat on his head and pulling the brim down. "Make sure you use the bathroom. Our next stop will probably be the aquarium."

Ilya groans, earning a deserved eye roll. "I'll be fine—"

"Not up for debate. And put your sunglasses on or something."

"Yes, because people who have never seen snow before will recognize two hockey players."

"Ilya," Shane warns. Ilya sighs, unhooking his sunglasses from his shirt and making a show of putting them on. Shane gives him a tight-lipped smile. "Was that so hard?"

"Yes," Ilya clips stubbornly, swinging his legs out the passenger side and stepping out into the California sun.

It's a relief to stand after having his knees bent for so long. He takes the opportunity to stretch out his back and arms before heading into the gas station, not even earning so much as a hello from the cashier who seems more focused on whatever video is playing on their cellphone propped against the register.

Ilya doesn't stick around long enough to be noticed anyway, bee-lining for the bathroom and then for a Coke when he's out. He lingers near the chips, considering before deciding against it, mostly killing some time to meet Shane inside. When the minutes have stretched far too long for him not to look like a fucking weirdo, he pays without much thought, head turning toward the glass walls and finding Shane pacing near the hood of the car, phone up to his ear and his head tilted down.

He barely hears the cashier read him his change back as he grabs his Coke replies with keep the change, ignoring the fact that he paid for a three dollar drink with a fifty dollar bill, and hurries outside just as Shane is pocketing his phone, startling when he looks up and Ilya is right in front of him.

"Okay?" Ilya asks, eyes tracking every feature on Shane's face.

"Yeah, sorry," Shane says with a tight smile. "I, um. I didn't get a chance to get gas, my mom called—"

"And she is okay?" Ilya asks just to be sure. Something of a habit, maybe.

"Everything's okay," Shane tells him honestly, reaching out to squeeze Ilya's wrist. "She's just checking in, that's all. Wanted to make sure we weren't stranded or something, I don't know. You know how she gets."

Ilya can't help but smile because, yes. He is aware of how Yuna Hollander operates because, after all, Shane is cut from the same cloth. He loves how they have the tendency to care, even when they maybe shouldn't. "Okay, good."

"Good," Shane repeats, waiting a beat before he shifts on his feet, laughing slightly. "Sorry—I really have to pee. Can you—?"

"Oh, yes. I'll get the gas," Ilya says quickly, earning a rushed thank you before Shane hurries inside.

By the time Ilya is leaning against the driver's side, watching the numbers on the screen shoot up, Shane is walking out with a plastic bag in his grasp. Instinctively, Ilya nods toward the bag once Shane is occupying the space beside him.

"What did you get?"

"Oh," Shane blinks, as if just having been reminded of his purchase. He opens the bag up, revealing candy as well as chips. "They had a lot of the things you like. I noticed you only got a Coke, so I thought maybe you forgot to look around or something."

"Ah," Ilya says after a moment. Surely enough, the closer he looks the more he can make out every single one of his favorite snacks he keeps stashed in his pantry in Boston. "All for me?"

Shane scrunches his nose. "You know I don't eat this shit."

A laugh escapes from Ilya's lungs and he shakes his head. "Yes, yes I know. But you did not have to buy all this."

This time Shane shrugs wordlessly and reaches in to retrieve some chips. He tosses the rest of the bagged items into the open window of the driver's side before opening the snack, plucking out a well seasoned chip and holding it up to Ilya's mouth. Ilya raises an eyebrow. "I washed my hands. You touched the pump," Shane says like that explains it. It's a good enough excuse for Ilya to let his lips part.

The nozzle finally clicks after a few more hand fed chips and Ilya asks, "Are you tired of driving? I can take over if you want."

"I'll manage," Shane says, waiting for Ilya to finish placing the nozzle back and closing the gas cap before getting back into the driver's seat.

By the time they're both buckled up again, the savory taste has disappeared from Ilya's mouth. Though, he knows a handful of those chips wouldn't taste the same right now as they had several minutes ago. It's not the food that he's craving so much as the simplicity of the intimacy. He waits until they're back on the highway to reach over and scrape his nails through the hair at the nape of Shane's neck. He's rewarded with the flutter of Shane's eyes, just barely visible from the side with his sunglasses perched on his freckled nose, and him leaning back into the touch.

A light warmth swoops down from his chest into his stomach. Suddenly, Ilya is reminded of his first time at Shane's cottage, of the trip there. All the nerves threaded through his excitement, how it felt surreal up until everything became so beautifully real. It's all reminiscent to what he's feeling now, and not for the first time in his life, he doesn't know what to do with it.

The silence becomes too much as it stretches, only vaguely interrupted by the wind whipping around the exterior of the car. Ilya drops his hand from Shane's warm skin, fidgeting for a moment before turning the radio on. A pop song crackles to life, something overplayed and tiring that makes him regret his choice.

He's left fumbling through the stations, partially cursing at himself for not paying someone to install Bluetooth on this thing when Shane's voice cuts through all the noise. "Maybe we can just turn it off," he suggests carefully, like it might kill Ilya to hear it. "And, um. We can just… just talk or something."

Talking feels like maybe too much right now. He doesn't know what he could say right now that wouldn't lead right back to what the fuck are we doing? It all seems like some sort of joke, like a camera will reveal itself pointed straight through the windshield and the roads around them will drop like curtains to reveal an audience who have tuned in to watch Ilya get his heart broken. But that's far from reality, and the tires against the asphalt are only more amplified by the second.

"—Ilya? Are you okay?"

Ilya blinks through a sharp inhale, coming back to himself. He looks over at Shane, forcing what he hopes is a smile as he nods. "Yes, I'm okay. What should we talk about? Your weak backhand?"

Shane's chest shakes with laughter. "Why do you always have to bring that up? You know it's not true."

"Yes," Ilya sighs with a dramatic flare. "But who else is going to keep you this, what is the word… humble?"

This time, Shane's laugh is caught in an exhale. "Just you."

As much as Ilya wants to slot those words into his chest and pick them apart until they mean enough to change things, he wrangles his heart off his sleeve, tucks it back into his pocket, and tries to be good. "Just me," he repeats instead. "Well, then. Let's talk about your slow driving, then."

☼

Monterey Bay Aquarium is located right along the ocean side. The saltwater lingers in the air, every breath tasting like the airy ocean breeze. In the distance the waves can be heard gently crashing against the rocks and the legs of the deck. Surprisingly, it's emptier than the both of them had expected it to be. Of course it's not vacant, there's still a decent amount of people filtering in and out of the building with noon approaching quickly.

With the sun hanging high and momentarily hidden by thick clouds, the heat isn't terrible, but Shane insists on lathering himself with sunscreen and refusing to go near the entrance until Ilya does the same. It feels humiliating for only a few seconds before he realizes that no one is paying either of them any mind, too caught up in their own adventure to regard something as mundane as strangers on a normal day. There's children running toward the open gates, tugging or beckoning their parents along with high pitched laughter, met with the exasperated but fond reply of their parent or parents. Ilya finds himself watching with something close to envy but not quite. It's happier than that.

As if reading his mind, Shane's eyes follow the passing by family before meeting Ilya's gaze and offering him a smile, bumping their shoulders together. It does more for Ilya than any words could, so he takes the subtle affection and nags at Shane to hurry and take their tickets out. He heard there's otters here and he wants to see it for himself.

There's a greatly detailed display of an orca hanging from the ceiling when they walk in, distracting Ilya while Shane busies himself with figuring out the layout. Ilya takes a moment to regard him with just as much attention, the corner of his mouth tilting up softly at the sight of Shane running his hand through his dark hair, eyes darting across their surroundings and pausing to read signs. The hat on his head is now facing backward, something he rarely likes doing which is a shame because he looks good. Better than good, actually. His sunglasses are off now, hanging from the collar of his white long sleeved shirt. The straps of the black backpack with water and snacks and sunscreen are accentuating his shoulders and chest very well. And to top it all off, his athletic shorts hug his thighs so nicely that it's way, way more distracting than the orca hanging from the ceiling.

His ogling is short-lived as Shane's mumbling becomes louder. "Gift shop is over there which means—oh! Look, there's a directory. Come on—"

"You go ahead," Ilya tells him with a nod. "I am just here enjoying the view."

Already several steps ahead, Shane stops in confusion, half turning with his head tilted. "The view…?" he pauses before the confusion turns into disbelief. "Are you—are you looking at my ass?"

Ilya gives him a thumbs up and nods. "Looks great."

"You're ridiculous," Shane says back, barely turning in time to hide the blush and smile. Ilya sees it anyway, but pretends like he doesn't. When he catches up, Shane shoves him lightly. "I thought you had priorities. You know, the otters."

"I have many priorities. But this one is first," Ilya teases, reaching down to swat at Shane's ass. It's only when his palm makes contact with the (beautifully firm) surface that he remembers they're very much in public, and yanks his hand back like it's been burnt. "Sorry—"

Shane is shaking his head already, clearing his throat. "No, um. Don't be it's—" he gestures around vaguely, waiting for Ilya to look around before he continues. "I think we're good. So, don't be sorry."

"You are giving me permission to grope you in public?" Ilya tries even though he knows better. It is a bit jarring, however, to have Shane telling him to relax instead of the other way around.

"Don't be gross," Shane scolds, rolling his eyes and tilting his chin back at the directory. "Look. Otters are to the right but if we go left we get to the—"

"Later," Ilya says over him, already spotting a group of people heading toward the otters. "Let's go to the otters before it gets busy. Hurry, Shane—they are waiting for me, I can hear them. They are whispering, 'Ilya, Ilya, Ilya'—" He gets close to the side of Shane's face with every whisper, earning a chime of laughter and another shove to his shoulder which leads to Shane's hand lingering, trailing down from Ilya's shoulder to his wrist, their fingertips brushing.

"Come on," Shane beckons, curling his fingers against Ilya's for a fleeting moment before the touch is gone.

It's enough to kick Ilya into motion, following behind Shane with a giddy smile tamed by his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

More people have filed into the otters' area by the time they get closer. There's a large sign filled with information just before they enter and Ilya's steps slow until he stops in front of it, carefully reading it all just in case. Shane waits beside him, humming in acknowledgement when he reads a particularly interesting tidbit.

They look at the deeper section first where fish and kelp occupy the water. When they look up, the otters are at the surface, more distracted by the snacks tossed by their caregivers above and the toys floating around. After they wrap around the first section, they go up the stairs to get a look at them from behind the thick glass, but above the water. Distracted by a particularly small otter playing with one of the many rubber toys floating around, Ilya barely notices Shane pointing at something. It's only when Shane tsks and reaches over to grasp Ilya's chin in his hand that Ilya snaps out of his child-like trance, head turned toward a pair of otters floating on their backs side by side.

"Aw," Ilya says because it's cute, not minding the fact that his cheeks are still squished by Shane's grasp. "They are friends."

"Look at their hands," Shane says quietly.

Ilya blinks before squinting and—ah. "Oh, they are holding hands."

"I read somewhere that they do that to keep from drifting apart when they sleep," Shane explains, dropping his hand from Ilya's face.

And with that, he's moving along. Ilya stays there for a few more seconds, appreciating the sight.

From there, Shane seems to have made a mental map of where to go already. Ilya stays at his side, not questioning his logic, happy to be there in the first place. He had only heard of aquariums before, but never found a reason to visit one during his spare time, and it wasn't like anyone in his life made it a mission to do the same. But it's nice to stop for a moment and observe the life that lives away from the land, like a new part of the world has been fleshed out and splayed in front of him to marvel at. Maybe he should cut fish from his diet.

Shane is patient with him as they make their way through every exhibit carefully. After the otters comes The Ocean's Edge where they're drenched in hues of light ocean blue as they stare up at the floor to ceiling glass revealing a kelp forest buzzing with fish swimming in every direction. Ilya finds himself nearly nose to nose with the glass, gazing up in amazement as the kelp sways with the movement of the water.

From there, they head to the Deep Reef. There's a giant octopus in one of the first displays, resting on the sandy floor while its long limbs are splayed around it. It doesn't move much, but that doesn't stop them from appreciating the sight of such an interesting creature. Then they come across a large crab, hidden somewhere in the safety of its habitat, unwilling to be seen by greedy eyes and sticky palms of children pressed against the glass. It's an easy shot from there to the Sandy Shore where they get a closer look at the creatures that linger more toward the sand and surface of the ocean. Then, upstairs for a brief moment once Ilya gets wind of the touch pools and waits behind a group of parents and kids to touch a stingray while Shane watches from behind, scrunching his nose in distaste when Ilya asks if he wants a turn.

The real star of the show comes toward the end of their exploration: Into the Deep Sea. Ilya hesitates before they enter, the darkness seeming endless as people walk in, nearly swallowed by the nothingness. Shane doesn't notice his hesitance, already halfway in when he turns suddenly, his eyebrows creased when he notices the empty space beside him.

"Everything okay?" he asks, taking a step toward Ilya.

It feels a bit silly the longer Ilya stands there motionless. He huffs out something between a laugh and a breath, shoulders sagging for a fleeting moment before he straightens them and nods. "Yes, I'm fine."

Shane nods back, eyes flickering across Ilya's face as he joins him in step again. The tips of their fingers brush as they walk in sync, plunged into the world of the deep sea. Projected text is displayed along a wall, reading Most of the deep sea is unknown. Ilya almost laughs, wondering if this is all some sort of fucking metaphor for his life.

The twisted humor is lost the moment they continue walking and he catches sight of a school of fish swimming in unison, their shape widening and then narrowing again as they change their path. The further in they go, the darker it gets. Small and transparent creatures glide through the dark waters gracefully, lit by bioluminescence. A pair of sea-butterflies no bigger than his pinky float past their faces, their light small but bright. The blue strobe of a helmet jelly catches their attention next, its colors standing out against the darkness and beckoning attention even as it is blissfully unaware.

His focus is pulled away by Shane's whisper from beside him: "Whoa—look at that one."

It's easy to spot once Ilya turns his face. Bloodybelly comb jelly the sign reads. A red jellyfish shaped like the head of a bat—or at least that's how Ilya sees it. The deep redness is accompanied by the sparkling of its colorful lights running up and down its combs, like a light show meant for them.

"Crazy," Ilya mumbles mostly to himself but just loud enough for Shane to hear.

He chuckles, his face barely visible as he looks over at Ilya with a wide smile. "Are you having a good time?"

Ilya's mouth stretches into its own grin, unable to help itself. He nods. "Yes. You were right. I do love it."

There's a pause as Shane's eyes dance across Ilya's face, like he's searching for the punchline of a missed joke. When Ilya doesn't follow it up, Shane's face lights up, rivaling every creature in the darkness. "I'm glad."

Ilya's stomach twists with warmth, his body acting quicker than his mind can as his hand reaches out to brush against Shane's. He can feel the jump in Shane's body, the way his hand is already pulling away, and goes to take a step back to widen the space between them. He shouldn't be so careless in public, even if Shane gave something of an okay. There's still boundaries, however far they may be from home.

Before Ilya can trek on and pretend like nothing happened, he feels the warmth of Shane grasping his arm. He says nothing, breath caught in his throat as Shane trails his fingertips down the thin skin of his wrist and then his palm until, finally, their fingers are intertwined.

Ilya blinks, frozen like any sudden movement might shatter this. But Shane tugs him along, shoots him a soft smile, and leads them toward another creature with its glowing lights. As they stand and admire the view, Shane leans his head on Ilya's shoulder. Ilya closes his eyes, enjoying the moment for what it is, and resting his head on Shane's. In front of them, against the darkness, the creatures' bioluminescence paint their silhouettes in an array of colors.

☼

The sun is starting to set by the time they head to the hotel Shane booked them, only a ten minute drive from the restaurant they decide to pick up food from. It's a decent hotel. Not overly fancy or expensive, but definitely not a shit-hole because Shane has standards.

They're given the key-cards to their room without so much as a blink from the receptionist whose attention is pulled away by the blaring trill of the phone. She does offer them a smile but it seems like more of a formality than anything else, which eases some of the nerves nestled in Ilya's chest when she confirms that it's just one bed and Shane nods stiffly, taking the key-cards with a mumbled thanks before ushering Ilya toward the elevators.

As confirmed, there is only one bed in the room. Ilya raises an eyebrow as Shane takes his luggage to the bed, quick to start unpacking even as Ilya makes a show of setting the food down on the small desk offered beside the TV. "Just one bed? What, you are cheap person now?"

Shane looks up, mouth opening and closing as he scrambles with is words. "You—I mean—what, did you want to sleep in the fucking bathtub tonight? I've had your dick inside me, I think you can handle sharing a bed with me."

Ilya's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, fully expecting Shane to brush it off with a simple fuck off. What he sees instead is the tension in Shane's shoulders, the way his hands shake as he unfolds and folds a perfectly pressed t-shirt before shoving it back where it had just been. "Hey," Ilya starts softly, slotting himself against Shane's back and kissing the side of his neck. He feels the exhale beneath his palms resting flat on Shane's stomach as his body relaxes. "What is wrong?"

Shane's eyes flutter shut and his head hangs for several stretched seconds until he finally takes a breath and speaks. "I don't know. It's just… it's a first for us."

Ilya pauses. "Sweetheart, we have been in hotel rooms together before. That is how this started, remember?"

"This is different," Shane continues. "It's not just a hook-up, it's like… We're here together, you know? I'm not gonna leave and, god, I hope you're not gonna leave. I just… I don't know how to describe it. It's a lot."

Ilya holds him tighter, brushing his nose behind Shane's ear. "I get it," he whispers even though it's just the two of them. "It does not make sense, but I get it." Shane snorts, hands on Ilya's wrist, halfheartedly trying to pry him off. He has the strength to do it, Ilya knows better than anyone else that they're equal in terms of strength, but they're both right where they want to be. So, he keeps his embrace firm and presses his lips to the back of Shane's neck and speaks into his skin. "And I am excited to sleep next to you. It's been… it's been a long time, yes? Almost a year?"

"Yeah," Shane says quietly with a nod, leaning his head back onto Ilya's shoulder, just enough for their eyes to meet. "Way too long."

Ilya smiles, kissing his cheek loudly before dropping his arms and gesturing toward the bed. "Exactly. So pick your shit up so we can eat and then shower and maybe, maybe, I will touch your dick."

Shane's eyes widen slightly before he goes back to his task, this time faster than before.

They eat on the bed after much convincing (begging) from Ilya, promising to clean up any crumbs that manage to get past them. Eventually, they're sitting against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder while they watch a movie from the '90s they settled on after surfing through the limited channels.

Ilya isn't following much of the plot, more focused on catching the scarce crumbs with a napkin held under his chin with precision. He really doesn't feel like spending the night picking up crumbs, even in the name of love. He knows Shane isn't paying attention either, the conversation between them flowing naturally; stream of conscious thoughts poured out their mouths and into tidbits of trivial details neither of them had ever brought up before. Ilya learns that Shane, for a fleeting moment of his childhood, had wanted to be a train conductor. In turn, Shane learns that Ilya developed a rational fear of geese after being harassed by one on his way home from school when he was eight.

"No one was with you?" Shane asks, genuinely concerned like Ilya had been killed by one of them instead of chased. "Or saw you?"

"No," Ilya shrugs and then pauses in thought. "Well, my brother."

"Oh. That's nice—”

"He was there but he did not help," Ilya clarifies. "Unless laughing and leaving me is called helping."

"What an asshole," Shane mumbles, stabbing at his rice bowl with an aggression that is more endearing than anything.

Ilya smiles and reaches over to pet his hair, earning a confused blink. "Is okay. I have not seen a goose since, so. Not too terrible."

"Yeah, wait until you run into one."

This time it's Ilya blinking, eyebrows furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Shane simply shrugs. "Well, it's not like you're never gonna see a goose again. It's not a matter of if, it's when."

Ilya stares at him until Shane meets his eyes. "Is this a threat?"

"Well," Shane starts, a smile starting to spread. He shrugs. "Just the truth, I guess."

"Wow," Ilya says blandly. "Maybe you are the bigger asshole."

The laugh that bursts from Shane is worth the looming fear of potential geese in Ilya's future.

By the time the end-credits are rolling, the two of them are finished and cleaning up. Ilya pats himself on the shoulder when he does a triple check of the bed and finds no crumbs visible to the naked eye. It's good enough for him, and seemingly good enough for Shane who pushes him into the bathroom for a deserved shower.

Ilya, having shed his clothes already, watches on the opposite side of the bathroom as Shane takes his clothes off, his reflection revealing the way his eyes flicker toward Ilya for a fraction of a second, feigning nonchalance all too visible to Ilya's eager eyes. He strips slowly, with a sort of knowing confidence that makes Ilya's teeth ache and mouth water. He must know what he's doing. He must have rolled this exact scene over in his head in-between the gaps of silence in their conversations.

And like the beautiful little shit he is, Shane looks over his bare shoulder, making eye contact as he raises an eyebrow. "Need something?"

"No," Ilya lies through his aching teeth. "But it seems like maybe you do, yes?"

Shane's eyes flicker down Ilya's body. "Well, I was promised something."

"Hmm," Ilya hums, nodding slightly. "I do not remember it being a promise. Was more like a… maybe."

Shane is quick with it. "Well maybe I'll just shower by myself."

Ilya barely contains his smile, managing it keep it down as he drags his steps, slowly crowding Shane against the sink, their bare bodies pressed together. He takes his time, brushes their noses together to watch the way Shane's eyes flutter, the way he sways into Ilya. Some sort of gravity crafted specifically for the two of them, guiding their paths together, always. It's only then that Ilya realizes they haven't kissed and that…

It is a problem Ilya must fix. He holds Shane's face with one hand, palm to cheek, and lets his gaze dance across all of Shane's features. His straight lashes, the freckles scattered on his nose and beneath his eyes. The curve of his cupid's bow, the fullness of his lower lip. Beautiful—he feels the word leave his mind like a habit, sees the twitch in Shane's mouth—and all for Ilya in this moment. He closes the distance between them carefully, brushing their lips together and waiting until he can feel Shane's impatience before tilting his chin and slotting their mouths together more forcefully, pouring every ounce of himself into Shane.

Beneath him, Shane is pliant, all traces of tension dissipating beneath Ilya's touch. His head rolls back in bliss, stopped by one of Ilya's hands on the back of his neck to keep him steady as he licks into Shane's mouth, pulling every breath and whimper from his lungs until both their lungs burn. When Ilya trails open mouthed kisses down Shane's neck, Shane grasps the back of Ilya's curls, holding him flush to his blushing skin, always eager for more, more, more.

Before he can get too carried away, Ilya forces himself to break away, nearly regretting it when Shane chases his mouth. "First," Ilya manages to say as he catches his breath, eyes darting down to Shane's swollen lips, "we shower."

For a moment, it looks like Shane wants to argue, but he nods instead and is the first one to step beneath the warm spray of water. It's a little less rare to have moments like this. They shower together nearly every time they see each other, but of course this trip consists of many firsts for them, so it would make sense that this be different, too. For starters, there's no rush, no limit of time they have to get out of the shower and enjoy the night together before one of them has to leave.

Another difference manifests quickly, Ilya notes as Shane lathers shampoo in his palms and gestures for Ilya to turn around. It's a pleasant surprise when he obliges and in turn gets Shane's nimble fingers in his golden curls, washing carefully and precisely. Ilya gets lost in the motions, eyes shutting before he can even process that he's in darkness. He's brought back by a gentle kiss to his shoulder and an amused chuckle against the skin. After that it's only fair that Ilya returns the favor. Shane seems surprised, eyes widening when Ilya tells him it's his turn, but ultimately succumbing to his fate as well. He doesn't argue or fight it, simply leans his head back to give Ilya a good angle, and allows himself to be taken care of.

It's hard for Ilya to keep his hands still after he and Shane been rinsed of soap and suds. His hands are ceaseless, wandering and mapping every inch of Shane's soft and wet skin. He glides his palm down Shane's stomach, presses his fingertips into the muscles that contract beneath his touch before moving down and over to his hip. From there, it's a journey up and around, palm pressed to Shane's back, pulling him closer, holding him and pressing open mouthed kisses to his bicep and shoulder and neck. Then, he kneads at the space between Shane's shoulder blades, knowing he tends to carry the most tension there.

They stay wrapped up in each other for an unknown amount of time—Ilya doesn't think all the time in the world would ever be enough—and all the lust is momentarily traded for tenderness. Ilya sighs contentedly as Shane starts to kiss all the angel kisses creating undiscovered constellations on Ilya's neck and collarbones. It's only when the softness of lips is replaced by the pinch of teeth to flesh that Ilya feels Shane's erection against his thigh.

He smiles to himself, reaching down to wrap his hand around it. "Is this what you wanted?"

Shane nods clumsily, his face pressed into Ilya's neck, his words choked. "Yeah—yeah. Please—"

Ilya shushes him, working his hand slowly and precisely. He had said it to Shane before, in the past, but it still rings as true as ever: he knows how Shane likes to be treated. It's almost like a science, closer to a ritual of sorts. When Ilya starts touching him like this, it has to start off slow, calculated. Shane will try to rush it, but Ilya knows better than to rush such a precious thing. So, he licks into Shane's mouth again, times every one of his strokes with his mouth moving against Shane's.

He gets Shane off with a steady and slow rhythm until he can feel Shane's mouth go slack, his thighs start to tremble with their efforts to hold himself upright. Then, Ilya quickens his pace slightly and abandons kissing to lick along Shane's jawline, scraping his teeth against his pulse point to draw a moan out only to swallow it back up.

When Shane starts to buck into Ilya's touch, Ilya stills his hand, listening for the disbelief.

"Fuck," Shane sighs, gripping onto Ilya's bicep. "Don't—don't stop. Please, I need—"

"I know what you need," Ilya assures him, backing him up against the wall opposite of the shower head. When Shane goes to open his mouth again, Ilya drops to his knees, sure to look up and watch the way Shane's eyes widen, the way his mouth parts with a gasp. Ilya wraps his hand around him again, gives it a few tugs before opening his mouth and his tongue comes out to press against the head.

"Oh fuck," Shane whispers, eyebrows creased as he grips onto the back of Ilya's head, the wet curls tangled in his fingers.

It's all the permission Ilya needs to lick from the shaft back to the head, swallowing Shane down until he can feel the pulse against his tongue. Above him, Shane falls apart beautifully, something Ilya doesn't think he'll ever get tired of seeing. He commits it to memory, keeps his eyes up as he suckles at the head and works at the shaft with his hand. Then he takes Shane fully, dropping his hand to touch himself instead while the head of Shane's cock hits the back of his throat. Shane takes the hint without missing a beat, rolling his hips and fucking into Ilya's mouth, getting himself off.

Ilya's eyes fluttered shut momentarily as Shane's grip tightened in his hair, keeping Ilya in place while his rhythm began to falter. He slowed his pace, the head of his cock at the tip of Ilya's tongue, nearly falling out before Ilya tightened his mouth around it, teasing the skin beneath the head before swallowing around him once again, picking up the pace.

"I'm close," Shane warns through a hiccuped breath. "Ilya—Ilya. I'm close—"

Ilya moans, coming over his fist before he can stop himself. He falters for only a second before he grips the back of Shane's thighs with both his hands, pulling him closer until Shane is moaning loudly, head tilted back against the wet tiles as he comes into Ilya's mouth.

His chest is heaving as his orgasm starts to fade and Ilya stands, rinsing his hands beneath the spray quickly before hurrying to gently kiss at Shane's neck and lips, helping him come down from his high. Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Shane's hand finds Ilya's now softening dick.

He makes a confused noise, cracking his eyes open and looking down. "What—?"

"I finished before you," Ilya explains, with a small smile. "You are very sexy, you know."

"But I wanted to get you off," Shane says stubbornly, making Ilya roll his eyes and kiss him firmly.

"We have—" all the time in the world. Ilya pauses, eyes dancing between Shane's attentive ones as he trails off. He tries to smile again through the prickle in his chest. "We have time. Tomorrow, maybe."

"You and your 'maybe's," Shane huffs, pushing at Ilya's chest and earning a small laugh.

Their skin is pruney by the time they finally turn off the water. Shane mumbles his complaints while Ilya dries the both of them off, wishing they had some robes to lounge around in. He shuts that thought down quickly when Shane, clean and dried, goes straight to the bed, situating himself on the right side, sitting against the head board with the sheets covering his bare legs. This is a much better alternative, Ilya realizes.

He pulls back the sheets and plops down on the left side, letting out a heavy sigh as his head hits the pillow and looks at Shane, only illuminated by the sole light above the nightstand. "What do they say here in America," Ilya starts, taking a moment to think before finding it. "Do not let the bed bugs…?"

"Bite," Shane finishes for him, the corner of his mouth tilted up in amusement.

"Yes," Ilya exhales. "Very stupid."

There's a wave of silence before Shane offers, "You know, mom used to be, like, super paranoid about bed bugs when we stayed at hotels. My dad and I weren't allowed to say that around her."

Ilya hums with a small chuckle, eyes already closed. "I am surprised you are not checking the bed."

"Oh, I already did," Shane says back easily.

Ilya opens his eyes, looking at him with his brows raised as he blinks. "Wow. You really are her child."

Shane blinks back. "Well, yeah. She gave birth to me."

"Who would have thought."

Shane snorts, kicking him beneath the sheets before reaching over and turning the light off, plunging them into darkness. The exhaustion is already clawing at Ilya, but in his half-awake state, the darkness reminds him of the events of the day. He reaches out between them, finds Shane's hand, and holds it. He can feel Shane turn his head to look at him curiously, even if there isn't much to see.

"So we do not drift apart when we are asleep," Ilya explains sleepily, knowing it probably makes no sense. It makes sense to him though, so it has to matter in some way.

"Oh," Shane says back quietly. "Like the otters?"

Ilya smiles in the darkness. "Yes," he says. "Like the otters."

☼

Shane's alarm wakes them up around six-thirty in the morning. Well, it wakes Shane up. Ilya wakes up to his dick in Shane's mouth which is far better than waking up to the generic blaring of an alarm. It almost feels like a dream—he's moaning before he's even opening his eyes and when he gets a bearing on his surroundings, the first thing he sees is Shane's naked body splayed between his legs. The second thing he sees is the head of his dick disappear back into Shane's mouth and yeah. Yeah, he's very much awake after that.

It's a great way to start the morning, so getting up and ready after that isn't so much of a feat. They brush their teeth together at the sink, bickering over the small amount of room they have, elbowing one another as they try spitting the minty foam into the sink. It ends with Ilya accidentally spitting on the faucet, and Shane barely has a chance to scold him before they're falling into laughter together.

On today's schedule is Avila Beach, between Monterey and Camarillo. It had been Ilya's idea to dedicate a day to enjoying the beach, and Shane was good at doing research and planning things accordingly. This beach in particular had many secluded areas where they can relax without worrying about seeing too many people, or too many people seeing them. So, today was a beach day. They'd stop at a store right before the beach to pick up lunch and maybe a blanket or two and some towels, as well as some toys for the sand because Ilya would be damned if he didn't try his hand at sandcastle building. And after, they'd head toward Camarillo, stopping at a campsite for the night. Shane had wanted to go camping for some time now, and what better time to do it than here?

They get ready quickly, both sporting swimming trunks, battered t-shirts, baseball caps, and sunglasses. Ilya almost laughs when he realizes they're pretty much wearing the same thing, just in different colors.

When he voices this, Shane grins. "You wish you were me, don't you Rozanov?"

The banter in his tone is so reminiscent of their teen years and early twenties that Ilya nearly drops the bottle of water nearing his mouth, sputtering when the water dribbles down his lips. Shane's expression only gets smugger as Ilya fumbles with his grasp on the English language. "What? Ah, no. No, never. You wish you were me. Strong backhand and everything—"

"Oh bullshit," Shane huffs over him. "You don't even—"

"Ah!" Ilya says loudly, pointing a finger directly at him. "You said no fighting! Rules—these are the rules, Hollander!"

Shane opens his mouth to argue before shutting it with another huff. Ilya laughs. "Fuck you, asshole. I only made the rule because you were trying to start shit!"

"Start shit?" Ilya repeats incredulously after a beat, the banter nearing hysterical because wow. You are the one who wanted to start shit first, look at this. Look at where we're at, what we're fucking doing. All this only to never speak to each other again. It's on the tip of his tongue, bitter and sharp, but the moment he sees Shane's face fall in realization, Ilya swallows it back. Instead, he schools his expression into a playful smile, waiting until the sadness leaves Shane's eyes. "I have never started shit in my life. I am only innocent, is true. Ask anyone and they will tell you."

Shane lets out a laugh that's more close to a breath of relief. "I think that's even more bullshit than the backhand thing."

Ilya only shrugs, not trusting himself to say anything else. He promised Shane this, one last trip, one last time to make some good memories. So, he finishes putting his toiletries in his backpack and surveying the room for anything left behind. He does a verbal checklist with himself and then Shane, grateful to have done it when Shane realizes he forgot his charger plugged into the ports on the nightstand. Then, they're heading to the lobby to check out.

Avila Beach is two and a half hours from Monterey. With the traffic, it ends up stretching for another thirty minutes, making the trip a little over three hours. From the passenger seat, after they've made it back to the highway from their side quest to the store, Ilya entertains the both of them with what he can think of. Eventually, he lands on a license plate game, tallying up those different from the plain California ones they've seen many of throughout their trip.

He drops his hand from where it was kneading at the space beneath Shane's neck to point at a passing by car. "Ah, look! Hawai'i!" He pauses in thought, the corners of his mouth turning down in a frown. "How did they get that over the water?"

Shane glances over where the vehicle is breaking in the lane beside them. "It's a rental."

"Ah," Ilya says blandly. "Did they tell you this?"

"No," Shane answers back, already smiling in amusement and fondness. "But I asked my mom the same thing when I was, like, ten."

Ilya raises an eyebrow, turning his upper body to face Shane as he presses a finger into his own chest. "You think I am a stupid ten year old?"

"Well, no," Shane says simply. A wave of silence follows, neither of them breaking until Shane says: "You're definitely not ten."

As much as Ilya wants to argue or be slightly offended, he can't help but laugh. It's one of the things he's loved about Shane since they met. He's always so quick with his comebacks, always so clever with it. For the first time in Ilya's life, he met someone that could keep up with him, both on and off the ice. Someone that fit beside him without imbalance. Someone perfect for him.

His laughter quickly dwindles down as he rolls the thought over in his mind. It really is true, isn't it? The only person made for him is Shane Hollander.

Shane glances over, curiosity seemingly piqued at the sudden silence. He reaches over and places his hand on Ilya's thigh and squeezes once. "Everything okay?" Before Ilya can brush it off, Shane is jostling his leg. "And don't say you're fine. I know that look on your face. You're thinking."

"Well yes, Hollander," Ilya says back, eyes cast out the windshield and toward where the traffic is finally starting to clear up. "People tend to do that." Shane doesn't let it go, and unfortunately for Ilya, that means he has to speak. "I was just thinking how we are good together," he finishes, looking down at where Shane's thumb is dragging between the hem of his shorts and his skin.

"Oh," Shane says, quiet for several bleeding seconds after. His fingers flick up on the side of the steering wheel, turning the blinker on and flooding the car with the staccato tick. He looks over his shoulder and at his blind-spot, switches lanes, and turns the blinker back off. For a moment, Ilya is sure that's the end of the conversation, but Shane is speaking before he can finish that thought. "We are, aren't we?" A pause, his lip pulled between his teeth in thought. He looks at Ilya briefly but with a small, almost nervous, smile. "It's funny because it's like… the second we're together, I'm always reminded about how well we work together. Even All-Stars—do you remember? My dad said our chemistry was insane, and that's coming from him. He never notices those types of things."

"Ah," Ilya nods. "That is genetic too, then." Before Shane can tell him to fuck off, Ilya speaks over him. "But, yes. Yes, we are…" He trails off, lips pressed together as he searches for a word on the tip of his tongue, begging to slip past.

"Compatible," Shane finishes for him.

There's a gripping twist in Ilya's chest at the word. He nods again, slipping his hand beneath Shane's to hold it properly. "Da. Yes, compatible."

☼

Avila Beach is pretty, but also looks like other beaches in California. Which isn't to say it's not special, it becomes special the moment they find a parking space, and only grows more important to Ilya as he and Shane walk a great distance to find a secluded area, one nearly surrounded by cliffs. The small hike is worth it, even if Ilya complains the entire time, holding a newly purchased cooler in one hand and a bag of beach toys in the other. Shane is mostly amused by the whole thing, guiding them down a trail made by people that came before them, down toward the empty shore. They settle in a small nook, hoping if someone else stumbles across it, they'll keep some distance. Not that they have much to worry about, there were barely any cars parked around, and most of the people there occupied the area closest to the parking.

The two of them are quick to drop their things and get situated. Shane lies a quilted blanket down in the sand while Ilya sets the cooler down and tosses the sand toys aside, assisting in straightening out the blanket. When everything seems to have its place, they sit together and unpack the sandwiches, sides, and beer they bought for an early lunch.

Ilya tilts his beer bottle toward Shane, smiling contentedly when he gets the message and clinks their bottles together. They eat their meal with small conversation, mostly enjoying the humming of the waves crashing against the bottom of the cliffs and the birds calling overhead.

When the last of Ilya's sandwich has been polished off, he lets out a loud and extended breath, stretching his arms up toward the sun before standing and pulling off his shirt. Shane furrows his eyebrows, nose scrunching in confusion as he looks up. "What are you doing?"

Ilya blinks at him before gesturing toward the rippling waters. "Swimming. Is what people do at the beach."

"You just ate," Shane says. "And you didn't even put sunscreen on."

With a groan, Ilya childishly tilts his head back. "You are so boring—"

"I don't want you getting sick," Shane scolds, pulling at Ilya's hand to get him to sit back down. "Or sunburned. The more sunburns you get the more prone you are to developing skin cancer—"

"New Yorker?" Ilya guesses, sighing when Shane just stares at him. "What? I read it too."

Shane pauses, his eyes widening behind his sunglasses. The shock quickly turns into a stupid grin and the rest of his face lighting up. "No fucking way—"

"No," Ilya defends quickly. "Is not like that—"

"You read the fucking New Yorker now!"

"I do not it is just something I saw," Ilya grumbles, reaching behind Shane to grab his backpack and dig the sunscreen out. He tosses it onto Shane's lap. "Now be quiet and put sunscreen on me like in those sexy movies."

Shane chuckles and does as he's told. He makes sure to cover every inch of Ilya's back before moving to his arms wordlessly, then his legs, and finally up to his neck. He pauses, lips pressed together before he's suddenly swinging a leg over Ilya's lap, plopping down right on his thighs before putting more sunscreen on his hands.

Ilya's mouth parts, body partially frozen as he tries to ground himself in this reality. The one where Shane Hollander is sitting on his lap, nothing but swim trunks separating them, in public, and gently applying sunscreen to Ilya's face with careful concentration. He nearly pinches himself as he stares up at Shane from behind his sunglasses, but decides against it in case it really is a dream.

"There," Shane says quietly, his thumbs brushing softly over the skin beneath Ilya's eyes. He smiles, his freckles prominent beneath the blazing sun. "You're safe."

"Safe," Ilya repeats, nearly breathless. "Yes. Good. I feel it."

He fully expects Shane to get off him, but is pleasantly surprised when Shane doesn't move. "You still can't swim yet."

"I was not thinking about swimming anymore," Ilya admits boldly, raising his eyebrows. "Very good distraction. This was your plan?"

Shane hums, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "Not really. I just… wanted to be close to you, I guess."

It nearly draws a whimper from Ilya's chest. He lets out a heavy breath, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to Shane's. "This is good? Close enough?"

He can feel Shane shake his head, just barely. "No," he says quietly, nearly a whisper lost between the gentle roar of the waves. "It never is."

Ilya waits with a baited breath, doesn't dare move in case he fucks it up. Luckily he doesn't have to. Shane makes a small noise, something between a hum and sigh, as he brushes their noses together, holding Ilya's face and tilting it up to slot their lips together.

The kiss is deep but short-lived, but it's enough for Ilya to temporarily forget about how nice the cooling ocean water would feel against his skin. Instead, he holds Shane for some time, tracing circles in his back until he's given the okay to go and swim. Even then, he stays a little longer.

As he predicted, the waves are like a kind gift from the earth, as if to apologize for the heat of the sun. Ilya treks further into the water until it's at his chest. He stops there, not wanting to get pulled into the ocean (he's seen enough films to know) and plugs his nose as he submerges himself in the saltiness. When he comes back up, he looks over at their set up, smiling to himself when he finds Shane lying on his back, his hands above him as he holds a book.

Knowing Shane will join him on his own time, Ilya swims around until he can feel a muted ache in his muscles. Then he floats on his back, closing his eyes toward the wispy clouds passing through the sky.

He's not sure how much time passes, but eventually he lowers his legs and submerges himself again. When he comes back up, he spots Shane standing right where the tide rises, toeing at the water with a concentrated expression, like he's wondering if the temporary biting cold will be worth it.

Ilya smiles to himself, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. "Is not so bad, like a cold plunge!"

"I hate those," Shane calls back, unmoving.

"Come on!" Ilya beckons, already moving through the water to get closer. "You'll be fine, Shane. It feels nice—"

"Yeah but it's gonna suck," Shane shoots back petulantly, eyes widening when Ilya's soaking wet body emerges from the water, trekking toward him. "What are you—?"

"Give me a kiss," Ilya grins, reaching toward Shane who takes a step back with a laugh.

"No way, you're all wet."

"It will help you," Ilya insists, following him. "You can get used to it, what is the word—"

"Acclimate," Shane says and then shakes his head when Ilya grabs at the waistband of his trunks. "Ilya, I'm serious."

The thing is, he doesn't look that serious. He's smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs again, swatting Ilya's dripping hands away and not at all running as fast as Ilya knows he can run. So, Ilya takes the bait and catches him by the back of his swimming trunks, pulling him back until they're flush together. Shane squirms with laughter that bleeds into Ilya, weaseling out of his grip and gaining a decent distance before Ilya is rushing toward him again. This time he bends slightly, shoulder to Shane's waist, and hoists him up over his shoulder.

"You fucking asshole!" Shane manages to get out between waves of laughter, slapping Ilya's broad back and doing his best to worm out of the grasp. When Ilya smacks his ass for fun, he makes a noise, something between a yelp and gasp. "You—you're fucking insufferable, you know that?"

"Big word for Ilya," Ilya says back, taking them toward where the water is up to his thighs before he stops. "Say you are sorry for calling me an asshole."

"I'm sorry," Shane starts, "that you're an asshole."

Ilya tsks. "Ah, wrong answer."

With that he adjusts his grip on Shane before swinging him back down and straight into the water, just enough to get the entirety of his legs and back wet but not his face. Unfortunately for his brilliant plan, Shane is a quick thinker and just as strong, pulling Ilya down into the water with him.

It's a mess of splashing water and limbs as they wrestle, each of them doing their best to dunk the other in the rippling water. The thing most people don't know about Shane is that he can be a dirty fucking player—something Ilya loves to see. It comes out when Ilya is blinded by the mess of wet hair plastered to his face only to be tackled from behind and crashing back into the water before he can even catch his breath. He pleads for mercy when Shane does it one more time, unable to keep his laughter at bay when Shane looks too proud of himself.

The exhaustion after comes quickly and eventually they settle for wading in the water, drifting back toward each other like the ocean can't stand to see them distant. Unsurprisingly, Shane is apologetic after the fact, tracing his hand over a particularly red splotch on Ilya's chest caused by the blunt impact of him hitting the water.

"Doesn't hurt," Ilya assures him when he sees the corner of Shane's mouth start to turn down. "I am a strong Russian man, remember? I can probably fight a bear if I wanted to."

"You're not fighting a bear," Shane says like it's an actual possibility.

"But I am so strong," Ilya insists, waiting for the huff and eye roll.

Instead, Shane hums and cups Ilya's cheek with one hand, eyes flickering between Ilya's in thought. "Sure. You're still my baby, so I'm allowed to care."

Ilya's stomach swoops, his breath catching. "Ah. Am I?" he manages steadily even though his skin buzzes. "Your baby?"

"Of course," Shane answers easily though there's a growing blush on his cheeks bleeding toward his ears. "Especially since you act like one."

Ilya kisses him anyway, pressing their foreheads together when they come up for air. "I think I can live with that."

Time seems both infinite and limited as they let themselves stand in the rolling waves, mouths slick and hungry against each other until their skin begins to prune. Once they're dried off and their sunscreen is reapplied (per Shane), they settle into their own individual activities: Ilya on his sandcastle and Shane back on his book.

The minutes bleed together as Ilya scours the shores for shells and other small objects that would be nice decorations. He comes back with the bottom of the bucket covered in anything that looked pretty and within an hour, he's got a decent looking sandcastle with it's own moat and everything.

"You're pretty good at that," Shane comments as Ilya carefully places shells on the second level tower.

"Natural talent," Ilya quips. "Maybe I should be architect. You can pay me to build your fancy houses."

"I'd buy this one," Shane says, shuffling over to sit beside Ilya. "A beach house would be nice."

Ilya hums. Shane could make it happen if he wanted to, could buy a big chunk of land in California and spend only a handful of days a year there. "You can afford it."

"So can you," Shane points out.

"Yes," Ilya says with a shrug. "But I would not want to."

Shane snorts. "Not even in the Golden State?"

Ilya shakes his head, quiet as he answers. "Especially not here."

There's a beat of silence that stretches before Shane rests his head on Ilya's shoulders. "Yeah. I get it."

☼

The drive from Avila Beach to their chosen campground is a little over an hour and a half toward Camarillo. Of course, the GPS is nothing but a liar and the drive stretches closer to two and a half hours after they stop for food and gas. By the time they make it to the campground where Shane had rented a cabin for them, the sun is already sinking beneath the horizon.

It isn't so bad, not when the view is incredible. Another beach, though this time there's signs mounted around with warnings. No swimming, no disturbing the wildlife, no littering, no vehicles allowed on the beach.

"Did not know camping had this many rules," Ilya points out as Shane unlocks the cabin door, revealing nothing but a dark interior before it's flooded with light as the switch is flipped. It's nice and simple inside. A small kitchenette, a small bathroom, a decently sized bed against one of the walls. Ilya whistles as they cross the threshold. "This is still called camping?"

"It's sort of camping," Shane shrugs, leaving his backpack by the door and taking his luggage into the cramped open area with a double sofa and coffee table. "There's a fire pit outside."

"Wow," Ilya deadpans. "Very fun, just like Canada."

"Shut up," Shane huffs with a laugh. He pauses just before he gets to the bed, stretching his arms over his head before turning to look at Ilya. "What should we do?"

"I don't know," Ilya answers honestly. He looks around their limited surroundings. There isn't much to do inside, so their best bet is finding something to do outside. "We can go for a walk. Start a fire. Whatever you want."

Shane considers the options. "A walk and fire after sounds good."

As boring as Ilya says it is, he finds himself enjoying the simple walk they take along the beach. Their hands brush together with every step, more than Ilya's ever allowed himself to dream of. Families are scattered around the area as well, mostly parents with their children running around the sand, their shrieking laughter melding with the crashing waves.

They stop to sit on some boulders to watch the sun set and all the colors that it offers. The sight is so beautiful Ilya finds himself wishing he could capture the moment with the two of them in it, shoving the thought down before it can take over and upset him for the rest of the night. It's not time to dwell on what the inevitable is—he has to enjoy each minute the best he can, memorize every trivial detail even if he won't know what to do with it all after.

Eventually, the thought is fully gone once he's watching Shane get a fire going. The orange flames jump, licking up toward the sky as Shane straightens up, poking at the center to agitate the flames further, gifting them warmth against the coldness starting to seep through the air. They sit on a rickety log side by side, their knees touching and thighs pressed together as they watch the fire dance in the subtle breezes.

A year ago, Ilya would have droned about what a bore it was to watch a fire. Right now, he wonders if it's possible for the flames to burn forever, and if so, how can he make it happen?

He never gets to ask. Shane's voice is quiet against all the stillness, the syllables crackling from his throat. His warmth bleeds into Ilya's side while the fire in front of them reaches toward the sky with unrelenting hope, like it won't be smothered in the next hour when their eyes can no longer bare the smoke and exhaustion. "What's the first thing you're gonna do when you get back to Boston?"

Ilya nearly whips his head around at the question but keeps his composure, much to his own surprise.

What is he going to do when he gets back to Boston?

He hadn't allowed himself to think about it, to think about what after may entail. He sits with the question for several seconds, all his hasty thoughts tripping over each other as he scrambles to come up with a coherent answer.

Maybe die. That seems like a dramatic answer, but he can't imagine living like this. Not that he's going to actively try dying—he will live, he has to, but a part of him will die surely. There will be a death no matter what, one so silent no one will mourn its absence except for Ilya. And he will continue to live despite the corpse of them, of this, decomposing in the depths of his core.

"I don't know," he answers instead with a loose shrug. Selfishly, he turns his face, presses his nose into Shane's hair and tries to pluck out all the notes, store it away in his memory so even once the scent starts to disappear from his bedsheets, he can at least come back to this. Musk, maybe some citrus. Salt water and ash. The distant, sour notes of the cigarette Ilya smoked around few hours ago. "Maybe I will take a nap. It will be a long drive again."

An exhale in the shape of a laugh comes from Shane's nose. He doesn't say anything for about a minute, shifting his body to press into Ilya's even though there's hardly any way they could be sitting closer without morphing into one. His hand rests on Ilya's bare thigh exposed by the rising hem of his shorts, and picks at a loose thread. "What, no club?"

He means it as a joke judging by the playful lilt of his voice, but Ilya stiffens, lips grazing Shane's forehead just barely before he sits up straighter and just like that, they are two separate people again. "What do you mean?" he asks even though he thinks he knows what Shane means. He's just hoping that maybe, by some miracle, he doesn't actually mean it.

"You know," Shane continues, still yet to look at him. "Like a rebound."

Ilya swallows through the aching in his throat. He stares at Shane, the outline of his profile. "Is that what you are going to do?" he asks. "Have a rebound?"

Shane is quiet for a long time. "No," he says eventually. "I don't think…. I don't think I'll want anyone for a long time."

"Me neither," Ilya admits after a beat. And because he's a masochist, he follows it up. "What are you going to do? In Montreal?"

"Probably drive straight to Ottawa," Shane answers easily. "See my parents."

Ilya nods. "Tell Yuna and David I said hello."

"They're gonna miss you," Shane says quietly, looking down at his fidgeting hands resting between his knees.

"I will not be dead," Ilya says even though there's little truth to it. "I will still bother them, don't worry."

Shane smiles, just barely. "I'm sure they'd love that."

☼

Ilya is the first to wake up the following morning, before Shane's alarm even has a chance to disturb the stillness.

The sun filters in through the window beside the bed, golden and drenching them in its warmth and light. Ilya looks down at the weight on his chest and finds Shane there, still asleep. All his features soft and delicate, completely peaceful. He's not sure how long he stares, but eventually Shane inhales slowly before his eyes flutter open, meeting Ilya's like a habit.

"I love you," Ilya says because he still can.

Shane kisses his chest, right over where his heart beats clumsily, stuck at seventeen, never having learned better. "I love you too."

☼

Tomorrow, they'll be in Los Angeles. Shane will get on a flight back to Montreal at ten in the morning, and that'll be that.

But today, they're set for Camarillo. Today, Ilya still has Shane and that's enough.

They have something of a plan when they get to Camarillo—a tour of some ranches Shane found online. That's what they're known for I guess, Shane had explained over the phone while Ilya looked up fun things to do in fucking Albuquerque.

They leave the campground around noon, spending the early and late morning enjoying the peace and the ocean one last time. But unfortunately, the world is still moving, so they pack their things and load the car back up and get back on the road. Ilya takes the wheel this time, giving Shane the chance to look up other things to do in Camarillo. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like it's all that eventful.

"Maybe a hike," he suggest after nearly twenty minutes of silently scrolling through Yelp.

Ilya sighs dramatically. "You have got to be kidding me, Hollander—"

"It'll be a good workout," Shane defends quickly.

"All we do is workout," Ilya complains, cursing under his breath when a truck cuts him off and inhaling slowly to keep himself from laying on the horn or tailgating. He looks over at Shane who seems less than impressed with his argument. "Working out is literally our job."

"It's still good to be in shape."

Ilya groans again and Shane swats at his chest before making a list of some more ideas, all of which sound so incredibly boring. "Why don't we just drive toward LA tonight?" Ilya suggests. "Maybe see if we find anything fun and then we stop to sleep before—" before this ends. "Before LA," he finishes lamely.

Oblivious, Shane nods, locking his phone and slotting it back into his pocket. "Yeah, that's probably a better idea."

An hour into being on an open road, Ilya is bored out of his fucking mind. The radio is barely audible against the rolling of tires on asphalt and Shane has a book out, something non-fiction and hockey related with its spine worn from use. Definitely not the first time he's read it. When Ilya's thoughts go from internal to verbal complaints, he still doesn't put the book down.

"Come on," Ilya whines, gripping the steering wheel and shaking it like a petulant child. "You are supposed to keep me entertained."

Without looking up at Ilya, his elbow is perched against the window, Shane blandly says: "Said who?"

"Me!" Ilya exclaims. "I keep you entertained when you are driving!"

"That was a personal choice, not an obligation," Shane says, the corner of his mouth starting to tilt up.

Ilya groans, loud and irritating. " I am bored, Shane. Please, do something before I fall asleep and we crash and NHL loses their only two good players."

This seems to actually get Shane's attention. He puts his book down and finally regards him. "You're really that bored?"

"Yes," Ilya insists. "So bored."

There's a pause before Shane is taking off his seatbelt. Ilya snaps his head to look over for a fleeting moment, taken aback by the sound of the unbuckling. "Ah, no," he says quickly, shaking his head. "Put that back on—"

Shane adjusts in his seat to face Ilya. "I'm trying to do something—"

"What is going on with you?" Ilya nearly snaps. "Usually you are the annoying one about safety."

Shane rolls his eyes, but doesn't reach for the seatbelt. "I'll put it back on, let me just—"

"Please, moy lyubimyy," Ilya begs. "We are driving, I—you need to be safe."

Shane huffs before putting the seatbelt back on but adjusting it so it's not over his chest. Before Ilya can thank him, Shane is leaning over the center consol, his head dipping down to nose at the seam of Ilya's shorts.

Ilya nearly chokes, eyes widening as he snaps his gaze from the road to Shane and back to the road. "What are you—?"

"Entertaining you," Shane says simply, already pulling the waistband down to take out Ilya's soft dick. "Now shut up and make sure we don't crash."

Ilya's grip tightens on the steering wheel, mouth dropping when Shane licks at the head and then wraps his lips around it, laving at the crown in the way he knows Ilya likes. "Ah—fuck, Shane."

"Eyes on the road, Rozanov," Shane quips as he holds Ilya's now erect dick, getting him off with slow and dragging motions.

Despite the desperate desire to say fuck it and abandon his focus on the road, Ilya listens and looks out the windshield instead of the wet dream in his lap. He can feel the way Shane's mouth goes slack to fit the entirety of Ilya, the way his tongue presses right beneath the head as he starts to bob. He comes up for air momentarily, using his hand to jerk him off, thumb rubbing over the slit before he dives back in, making Ilya slam his head back against the headrest with a moan.

Blindly, Shane reaches up to grab one of Ilya's hands, unlatching it from the steering wheel and bringing it down to the back of his head. Ilya understands the silent request immediately, brows furrowed as his mouth hangs open while he tangles his fingers in Shane's hair, pushing him down further.

The muffled moan from Shane is nearly enough for Ilya to lose control of the car. He swerves slightly, cursing under his breath and gaining his composure, knowing Shane will stop the moment he senses it's too dangerous to continue. But it's still challenging to not react, especially when Ilya lets himself glance down and finds one of Shane's hands down the waistband of his own shorts, touching himself in time with the pace of his mouth on Ilya.

"Jesus Christ," Ilya whispers, the breath punched out of his lungs in an instant, all the blood in his body replaced by a burning white heat. "Oh fuck—fuck. Shane I'm—”

When Ilya tries to pull him off, Shane forces himself down, moaning around his cock like an encouragement. It's all Ilya needs to spill into his mouth, nearly choking on his saliva as his hips buck up, fucking into Shane's mouth once and then twice before he's coming back down.

After what seems like a lifetime, Shane is tucking him back into his shorts and briefs, sitting up and properly adjusting his seatbelt. "That was quick."

"Where the hell did that come from?" Ilya asks, not even trying to deny the fact that he blew his load in less than ten minutes.

Shane shrugs, his chest heaving as he catches his breath, too. "Don't know. Just felt like it."

He reaches over to rub the back of Shane's neck. "Come give me a kiss."

There's no smart-ass comment that follows as Shane grants the request easily, leaning over to kiss Ilya chastely once and then twice before falling back into the passenger seat. "Was it good?"

"Too good," Ilya laughs, glancing over and down. "What about you?"

Shane smiles. "Looks like you owe me."

☼

Camarillo is simple. Not a terrible thing, but also nothing special, not even as they venture further into the city. The location of the tour is nice and for a moment Ilya is sure that maybe things are starting to look interesting. But the tour drags and Ilya can only take so much of regurgitated facts before he loses his mind.

Luckily, it's Shane who leans over to whisper: "This is fucking boring." And within the minute, they're breaking away from the group like giddy teenagers and kissing beneath the shade of an awning.

Eventually, they decide to leave. The late afternoon sun is blazing and their hunger leads them through an In-N-Out drive through. They find a secluded parking lot, somewhere between a Walmart and smoke shop, and eat outside, watching the sunset and leaning against the back of the car.

"What do you rate it?" Shane asks as Ilya polishes off the last of his burger.

Ilya pretends to contemplate it. "Hm. Overrated, I think. Probably a four out of ten. The ones you make are better."

"I feel like that's a lie," Shane says but is smiling like he believes it anyway. "I'll give it a six."

"Wow," Ilya deadpans. "It is probably because you do not eat enough cheeseburgers. You do not have the—what is the word—expertise to rate it properly. Disqualified."

"Disqualified?" Shane repeats with a laugh, shaking his head and bumping their shoulders. "That's not fair, Ilya."

"Life is not fair, Shane," Ilya says back.

What follows is a wave of silence, like the two of them have thought of the same thing at the exact same time, and can't bring themselves to let it see the last of the light offered by the day. Instead, Shane presses his foot against Ilya's. Ilya presses back.

☼

Darkness surrounds them on one of the winding roads they find themselves on, toward LA in search of something interesting enough to end their day and start their night with. It's late, though, and it seems as if everything has disappeared the further they get from the city. There's hardly any lights to offer guidance, and very few cars on the road joining them in their journey.

Ilya glances over at Shane, ready to ask if he's found anything worth stopping for, only for the words to die on his tongue when he finds Shane slumped against the door, fast asleep with his phone still glowing in his limp hand. His chest constricts with fondness, knowing Shane's sleeping schedule is rarely ever interrupted. He definitely didn't mean to fall asleep, but he needs it, Ilya is certain. So, he turns the headlights off for the time being to make sure the temporarily slumber is uninterrupted.

Something aches in his throat once the darkness surrounds him, unable to keep the tears from spilling over. Not for the first time he's hit with the reminder of how deeply this love is threaded through his being. He knew it was all different from the moment he first saw Shane, from the moment they first kissed. There was nothing to compare the feeling to, nothing that could even come close. A love like this was its own separate category and emotion. Once in a lifetime, the type of stuff Ilya would see on the television and read in books when he grew up, always skeptical, convinced it was nothing more than something conjured by humans for some false hope.

But, no. It exists, and it lives in every moment he and Shane have shared in all their years of knowing each other.

It's the first time Ilya has known a love like this, and it will be the last.

☼

The dull and flashing lights of a neon sign drench Shane's sleep-addled face as he stretches his arms out, face scrunched as he does so. He takes a moment to blink before looking at their surroundings, which doesn't take long because there isn't much to look at. A lot of dirt, some trees with barely any leaves. A few other cars parked crookedly without lines to guide them. The only thing that really stands out is the rainbow lights around the roof-line.

"Where are we?" he finally asks.

Ilya shrugs. "Was driving, saw the lights. I think is a bar, I don't know." The silence that follows is deafening. Ilya drums his fingers on the steering wheel, puffing his cheeks as he exhales and wills his heart to not fall out of his chest. "We can leave. I am sure there are other places—"

"No," Shane says over him, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "I mean, we're already here. It wouldn't hurt to just… go inside."

Ilya carefully scans Shane's expression, looking for any sort of nervous tick that will hint at discomfort. But the expression is neutral, looking over at Ilya curiously when he's still motionless even as Shane opens the car door.

"Okay," Ilya finally says, unbuckling his seatbelt too.

The glass door is covered in all sorts of stickers. Ilya recognizes a few of them—a pride flag, California's state flag, one that says NO HATE! in bold and red letters. Shane seems to notice them too, humming in the back of his throat before he's opening the door and tilting his head to the side, signaling for Ilya to go in first.

Inside is cleaner than the outside. The walls are wood, stained a dark oak color with several university banners as well as random brands and quotes. The bar is in the middle and circular with a bartender on either side, both of them caught up in conversation with some of the very few patrons inside. Tables are spread around evenly, most of them with two or four seats while others are crowded with more, the chairs seemingly pulled from tables that are empty.

No one pays them any mind as they walk in. It isn't until Ilya notices this that the tension in his shoulders finally lessens. He looks over at Shane who seems to be taking in everything as well, eyes flickering from corner to corner like he's waiting for someone to gasp and point at them, waiting for the: Is that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov?

It never comes. Instead, the bartender with fiery red hair raises an eyebrow and tilts their head in a greeting. "Welcome in."

Shane exhales, glancing at Ilya before stammering out, "Uh. Yeah, thanks."

Ilya can't help but chuckle. "You have never been to a bar before?"

"I have," Shane says back too quickly for it to be true. "It's just… it's been a while, alright?"

"Sure it has," Ilya grins, taking slow steps toward the bar until Shane starts to follow. "Is this okay? Or do you want to get a table?"

"This is fine," Shane nods, his voice barely audible against the music playing from the speakers overhead.

Ilya slides onto the bar stool, twisting himself to get another look around. Two girls are sat at a table, feet interlocked in the middle as they laugh about something. There's a group of friends on the other side of the bar, speaking over each other and nursing beer bottles. In the corner, there's two other men, both caught up in conversation with empty glasses between them.

"What can I get for you boys?"

Ilya snaps his head toward the voice. Waiting for an answer is the bartender that greeted them, her hip cocked as she drums her fingers against the wiped down bar. "What kind of vodka do you have?"

"Not the good kind," she answers with a tight smile. "Not by your Russian standards anyway, I'm assuming. But I can get you some Grey Goose."

"That works," Ilya says with the wave of his hand. It'll taste like shit but it's better than nothing. He looks over at Shane who is looking down at the bar where his fingertips are pressed into the surface. Ilya waits a moment before swinging his chair slightly to bump their knees together, earning Shane's attention. "What would you like?"

"Just a beer," Shane answers quickly. "Doesn't matter what kind."

The bartender seems less than curious about the weird vibe around them, already turning around to get started on the drinks. Ilya gives it a few more seconds before he tries again. "Hey," he starts softly, ducking his head slightly to meet Shane's gaze. "We can go. I don't mind—"

"It's fine," Shane insists, taking in a deep breath when Ilya raises an eyebrow at him. "Well, I'm not fine, I'm fucking scared shitless but—fuck. I mean, I don't wanna go to the hotel. I'm gonna end up falling asleep and wasting the rest of the night."

Ilya opens his mouth to argue that time spent resting isn't wasted time, but he clamps it shut just as quickly, understanding. "Okay," he agrees. "We have a few drinks and then we go, yes?"

Shane presses his lips together, eyebrows creased in thought. Then, he nods stiffly. It's enough of an answer that Ilya drops the conversation, and within the minute they're handed their drinks and left alone again.

While Ilya sips at his, Shane downs most of the beer in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and blinking when he notices Ilya staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Ilya says, pushing down his smile. "You are trying to get drunk already, yes?"

Shane lets out a laugh, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. "Fuck. Yeah, I just… It might be easier to not freak out if I'm on the tipsy side."

"Do not go too crazy," Ilya warns, bringing his glass up to his mouth. "Or else you might start telling people how much you like to suck dick."

It startles a laugh out of Shane and he smacks Ilya in the chest. Then, he downs the rest of his beer, ignoring the smirk on Ilya's face.

An hour and a half passes between beers, vodka, and scattered conversation that Ilya can't even begin to keep track of. Eventually, Shane is tipsy, a red flush trailing up from his neck to his cheeks, bringing out his freckles even more than the sunlight ever could. Ilya is more than in love, and more than a little drunk, unable to keep himself from propping his chin on his hand and smiling softly as Shane trails on about something so fucking incredible yet boring.

"—I mean, he had no hand-eye coordination," Shane explains, hands animated. "And my mom was already being so fucking mean to him, I honestly felt bad for the kid. But he's a shit player and somehow he made it that far, so I guess someone's gotta be honest with him."

"Not everyone can be born a star," Ilya says.

"But we were," Shane says back quickly. "You know, you're the only person who I get excited to play against because—because I never know what you're gonna do. You keep me on my toes. It's never boring."

Ilya smiles. "Yes, yes. I feel the same. It is always… fun."

"You said it the other day," Shane mentions. "We work well together. On and off the ice, have you noticed that? How everything's just been so… so fucking easy here?"

"Easy?" Ilya repeats curiously. It's true, he knows it is, but he wonders what Shane means by it exactly.

"You know, like everything just falls into place as we go," Shane explains. "Whenever we'd go on vacations when I was a kid, my parents would be stressed and arguing in the middle of the trip and it'd get weird but it hasn't gotten weird. I keep waiting for it to get weird and it—it doesn't. It just gets better. Everything is just better with you."

Ilya's chest tightens as his eyes dance across Shane's oblivious yet earnest face. "Yes," he says through the pinch in his throat. "It is always better with you."

Shane blinks, a bright smile starting to bleed onto his lips. Before he can say anything else, the bartender is back, pointing at his fifth empty beer bottle. "Another one?"

"I think I'm good for now," Shane says with a laugh, confidence sitting easily on his shoulders with all the liquid courage in his system. He pauses, looking down at Ilya's empty glass and points to it. "But can you get another—what was it, Grey Goose? Yeah, that, please. Another one for my boyfriend."

It's said so quickly Ilya almost doesn't catch it. Almost.

All the alcohol in his system evaporates, like a sledge hammer making contact with his gut and forcing him to come back to reality in all its ugly hues. Suddenly, the lights in the bar seem brighter, the music louder. Clarity washes over him, cold and bitter, and every ounce of carelessness lodged in his ribs is falling out and plummeting into his stomach.

It's three in the morning and in seven hours, they'll say goodbye. Paths diverging, or whatever Shane wanted to call it. In seven hours, there will be no more this, no more them. And the seconds are only passing the longer Ilya sits in this bar, staring at the side of Shane's face, and eventually the seven hours will be gone and he'll be left with nothing but this. The memory of hearing the word boyfriend come from Shane's mouth for the first and last time.

All at once, Ilya feels it all slipping through his fingers.

Something of an excuse is mumbled out through his mouth as his feet hit the floor, the room swaying slightly as he hurries outside, the cool air against his skin doing nothing to calm him down. The more he thinks about it, the funnier it gets.

He can't help the laugh that bubbles from his chest, spilling over until his head is tossed back toward the stars, hysterically laughing because this is…

He can't believe this is his reality. He can't believe all these years of wanting something so badly and finally getting it has lead to this. To him losing once again.

The crunch of steps against the dirt sound against the bouts of laughter. He should have known Shane would follow him out here.

"Ilya?" he says cautiously, stopping behind him but not getting any closer. "Are you okay?"

Ilya laughs again, quick and loud. "I'm… I'm fine. I'm great, Shane. Fuck," he whispers, mostly to himself. "Fuck this shit."

Finally, Shane walks around to stand in front of Ilya, looking at him very incredulously and suddenly sober. "You don't look okay. You look like you're losing it—"

"I am not," Ilya snaps defensively. "I am just… I am laughing," he continues with another laugh, gesturing toward the emptiness surrounding them. "Is a little funny, no? We have the best time of our lives, we get to fucking be together how we always wanted to, and then we go home and pretend we never loved each other. And suddenly—suddenly I am your fucking boyfriend. Fucking hilarious. You should laugh too."

The beats of silence seem endless, but eventually Shane speaks, his voice small. "I'm not gonna pretend like I never loved you," he says before pausing again, eyebrows drawn down, eyes sad and shining with wetness. "Is that what you want?"

"What does it matter?" Ilya whispers, all the humor disappearing from his bones and replaced with exhaustion. Defeat. "What does any of it matter, Shane?"

"It matters," Shane says, taking a step toward him. "It does, I swear it does."

Ilya shakes his head, lips tight to keep himself from falling apart. "I don't know," he breathes. "I just… I don't fucking know. I don't know what to do. You could have just broken up with me in Boston, you know. Maybe—maybe it would have been easier than this."

"Probably," Shane laughs without any humor. "But I'm—I'm fucking selfish when it comes to you, alright? And I didn't—I just wanted you to myself for a little bit longer."

Ilya nods, understanding. "Time has never been on our side, has it? We always wish there was more."

"We tried," Shane points out, tears clinging to his lashes.

Ilya smiles sadly. "Yes. But it is almost up."

"Almost," Shane says firmly. "Not yet, we still have some time."

"What?" Ilya chuckles dryly. "I get seven more hours to finally be your boyfriend? Seems a little unfair, no?"

Shane stares at him for a moment before lurching forward, licking into Ilya's mouth in a feverish rush, hands tangled in his curls while they're a tangled mess of teeth and tongues. When they part, a strand of saliva hangs between their lips. "Then make the most of it, Rozanov."

☼

The dimmed hotel lights stay on. It's Ilya that insists on this after Shane comes out of the bathroom, reaching for the light switch only to stop when Ilya shakes his head.

"I want to see you," he'd said, selfish at heart and wanting to pocket every detail, every stuttered breath and slap of skin.

And it's exactly what he does as he takes Shane apart, deliberate in all his motions. When he kisses down his abdomen, he makes sure to look up, to meet his eye so the next time someone is there, he thinks of Ilya's mouth first. When he's taking Shane in his mouth, fucking him open with three fingers, he makes sure Shane is chanting Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. He hopes and prays that it's a habit at this point, that it slips out in the future when someone else is in his bed.

He makes sure to have Shane on his back so he can grip the back of his head and keep their eyes locked while Ilya fucks into him slowly, hips flush to Shane's skin until he's whining in the back of his throat, begging for more. Ilya moves just barely, enough to pull a pretty sound out from Shane's chest, but doesn't quicken his pace, not yet.

He drags it as long as he can. Shane's cock twitches uselessly against his stomach, leaking with neglect while Shane's hands are caught between Ilya's and pressed into the mattress above to keep him from touching himself. As much as Ilya enjoys the sight, he can only be unfair for so long. So, he pulls out, shushes the whine that follows by peppering kisses to Shane's face and neck, trailing down until he's licking at the lines of his pelvis and holding Shane by the hips, manhandling him onto his stomach.

The gasp of shock melts into a moan when Ilya licks into Shane sloppily, holding him in place to keep him from squirming. He loses himself in the sounds Shane makes, the way he pushes back against Ilya for more even when Ilya's tongue is fucking into him.

He does the same when Ilya is pressing the tip into him, shoving himself back even when Ilya is flush against him. This time Ilya gives it to him how he wants—quick and rough, a hand planted between Shane's shoulder blades to keep him against the mattress while his ass is in the air.

Every moan and whimper is punched out of him, a clumsily rhythmic slapping skin and hitching breaths until Shane is coming untouched and begging for Ilya to finish inside. It doesn't take long for the burning white light inside of Ilya's stomach to snap, his hips faltering from their steady strokes as he comes inside Shane. Exhausted, he drapes himself over Shane's sweaty back, pressing kisses to whatever he can reach while petting Shane's hair, helping him come down too.

That night, they sleep with the lights on.

☼

Morning comes too quickly.

Ilya dreams of an hourglass, each grain of sand passing through the narrow opening beneath until he wakes with a start, finding Shane already sitting up with the sheets pooled around his bare waist. He doesn't ask what's wrong, seemingly having been reminded of their dwindling time, too.

The drive to LAX passes in a blur. There's hardly any traffic, something Ilya wants to laugh at because it all just seems so convenient. Like the universe is pushing them toward the edge, slicing seconds in half just for the hell of it. Before he knows it, the car is parked inside the parking garage, and the two of them are standing at the trunk of the car where Shane's things have been taken out.

He's got his backpack over his shoulders and his luggage beside him, the handle extended, already ready to go. Shane says nothing, eyes glancing everywhere except for Ilya.

"Come here," Ilya finally beckons, breaking the silence and catching Shane as he crashes into him in an embrace. He kisses the side of Shane's head, speaking softly for only the two of them to hear. "You're brave, you know."

"I'm not," Shane mutters into his shoulder. "If I was, this wouldn't have happened. I wouldn't be so fucking scared of people knowing about me. Us."

Ilya presses his nose into Shane's hair. "But it is still brave to choose yourself. To be nothing to no one."

Shane lets out a breathy laugh. "Yeah, well. It's probably braver to let yourself be something to someone."

Ilya doesn't reply. Instead, he closes his eyes and tightens his arms.

Unfortunately, time is constant. Shane untucks his head from Ilya's neck and leans back slightly to meet his gaze, a mirrored sadness. "I have to go."

The smile Ilya gives him is heavy, barely meeting his eyes. "Yes, I know."

Shane sighs, dropping his forehead against Ilya's and swallowing shakily. "When you get in the car, just start driving, alright? Don't… don't stick around."

Ilya blinks. "Why?"

"Just listen to me, please."

"Okay," Ilya says after a beat. "Okay. I will drive."

Shane nods, hesitating for a fleeting moment before tilting his chin, meeting Ilya halfway in a kiss. It's slow, their mouths parted against each other. Ilya's tongue presses at the seam of Shane's mouth, coaxing it open and slipping past just barely. Ilya stops himself before he can deepen it any further, knowing it'll be harder to walk away if he tries it.

Shane's eyebrows are creased, his jaw clenched in the all too familiar way it does when he's trying not to cry. Ilya's nearly there too, but he swallows it back.

"You are going to miss your flight, moy lyubimyy," he finds himself saying selfishly. It doesn't count, he thinks to himself. It's only over when Shane walks away.

Shane nods, sniffling slightly and finally opening his eyes. He steps back, reaching down to grab the handle of his luggage, and looks up at Ilya. "Can I tell you I love you?"

Ilya's mouth trembles. "Yes," he breathes out. "Of course."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too."

Shane nods again, eyes trailing from Ilya's face down to his feet and back up. Ilya lets himself do the same, taking in as much as he can. Then, Shane turns and walks away.

He doesn't let himself watch. Ilya turns too, rounding the trunk of the car and getting into the driver's seat, fumbling with the keys until they're finally in the ignition, and cranks it on. The engine hums loudly in between all the silence, and every ounce of energy in Ilya's being begins to disappear.

His body slumps over, head pressed against the steering wheel while heavy tears stain his cheeks. For the first time in a while, he lets out a choked sob, gasping for air even though it feels like his lungs are filled with lead.

When it feels like he can't fucking breathe, the sound of the passenger door opening startles him out of his breakdown. He snaps his tear stained face up, not mentally ready to argue with a lost tourist or potential robber. Fortunately, he doesn't have to mentally prepare himself because he recognizes the person sitting in the passenger seat.

Shane stares back at him. "You were supposed to drive, Ilya."

"Yes," Ilya says, partially convinced that he's lost his fucking mind and is already starting to hallucinate. He thought it would take at least a few days for that to happen, but he's exhausted, he's heartbroken. He can't really try to explain himself to anyone right now.

Somehow, Shane is still there, still talking. "I told you—"

"Jesus Christ," Ilya snaps, running his hands through his hair. "I know. Fuck, can I have a second to get myself together? You shouldn't—you shouldn't even be here, Hollander. You are going to miss your flight."

Shane presses his lips together. "You were supposed to be gone already."

Ilya blinks at him incredulously. "Yes, I know but what does it fucking matter? Your plane—”

"I'm not getting on that plane," Shane says suddenly. "I can't."

Ilya stares at him, gaping. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I," Shane starts with a laugh, like he can't even believe himself. "Actually, no. No, I think I understand, actually. I think I get it."

"Get what?"

"We're good together," Shane says. "So, so good together that it—it shouldn't make sense. This shouldn't have worked—the whole road trip should have been a fucking shit-show because who the fuck does this? Who plans their break-up?"

"You do," Ilya says slowly. "You did. This was your idea, you came up with it—”

"And you let me," Shane says over him. "Why?"

Ilya blinks, mouth opening and closing around the words lost on his tongue. Why? He can't think of an answer. The better question would be why not? "We wanted more time. It made sense."

"I think you're the only person in the world who would say it makes sense."

Ilya shrugs. "Maybe. So?"

"So… so maybe it all isn't for a nothing," Shane starts, words careful and thought through. "When Hayden pieced it together, it freaked me out—"

"No shit," Ilya says, gesturing vaguely.

"Shut up," Shane tells him, only continuing when Ilya actually does shut his mouth. "It freaked me out, alright? I'm not proud of it and I'm sorry this is where it got us. All I could think of was the worst case scenario. Everyone knowing, everything falling apart. We hadn't even kick-started our plan yet, we were nowhere near getting you a Canadian passport—you weren't even in fucking Canada yet. I— I kept thinking about what you said to me in Tampa."

Ilya blinks, the words coming back to him. I could never go back home, to Russia. It all seems like a lifetime ago in this moment.

"And you're brave, Ilya, the bravest person I know, so I knew if things went to shit, if people found out, you'd still hold your ground but I didn't want to take that away from you. Your home. Not when—not when you've already given up so much for me."

Ilya looks down at his lap, shaking his head slightly. "I have not given up anything yet."

"But you were going to," Shane continues softly. "You were going to give up your team. Your house. The only city you've known since you came here, all the friends you made." There's a beat as his mouth opens and closes around unsaid words. "You were about to give up fucking everything, Ilya."

The silence lingers as Ilya gathers his thoughts, not trusting himself to say the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Eventually, he says, "I think… I think we are worth it. I have nothing in Russia anymore, but I have everything I ever wanted with you, so. It is a little selfish if you really think about it. Maybe I am not a good person."

Shane turns his body in the seat and getting closer, holding Ilya's face in his hands. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as his eyes flicker across Ilya's features. "I think we deserve to be a little selfish for once." He pauses, and then whispers: "Tell me what you want."

Ilya stares up at him, brushes a thumb over the freckles beneath his left eye. "And if I cannot have it?"

Shane shakes his head. "Whatever you want, it's yours. I swear."

The answer has always been simple. "You, Hollander. Of course I want you."

Then, Shane is kissing him. For the first time since getting to California, it feels like the start of a future.

Ilya barely gets to slip his tongue past the seam of Shane's lips, interrupted by the distance between them as Shane presses their foreheads together.

He laughs, breath puffing in Ilya's face. "Wow. You were really gonna let us break up?"

"You are very hard to say no to," Ilya defends lamely even though it's sort of, embarrassingly, true. "But, if it was what you wanted, yes. Of course. I wouldn't make you stay."

"You don't have to," Shane says. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I am going to need that in writing."

"Shut the fuck up," Shane laughs, falling back into the seat.

And just like that, everything is a little more certain, a little less unknown. There's still so much left to say and figure out in the outside world buzzing around them. At the very least, they still have this.

"So," Ilya says carefully. He hadn't really planned on getting this far. "What do we do now?"

Shane says nothing for a moment, gaze holding Ilya's, the seconds seeming endless. "We drive to Boston," he says simply. "And then we visit my parents. They miss you, you know."

It's kind of poetic if Ilya thinks about all of it hard enough. Maybe even a little bit funny. He can't help but chuckle.

"What?" Shane asks, the corner of his mouth tilted up.

"Nothing," Ilya tells him, reaching over to squeeze his thigh. "Later I will tell you about it. We have a very long drive."

They can laugh about the hidden humor in all of this in the near future. Ilya knows they have all the time in the world.