Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Rose Landry, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Scott Hunter, Galina Molchalina, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe, POV Ilya Rozanov, Miscommunication, But It's Ilya's Fault LOL, Dating, Fluff and Crack, Feels, Light Angst, By My Standards!!!, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, no beta we die like ilya's dad, Slight Dubcon Content in Chapter 07

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-26 Completed: 2026-05-23 Words: 64,878 Chapters: 12/12

No Good Deed (Goes Unpunished)

Summary

“Hello,” Ilya repeats, still kind of stuck on those freckles.

“Hi?” the man says.

“Hi,” Ilya says—again.

Oh god, he's said hello three times now. He should literally say anything else. His name, probably. His phone number, preferably.

“Hi,” Ilya says again, because he can’t help it. “I am—”

“Are you Nick?” the man asks, and it comes out as a breathless sound.

OR: Shane gets stood up on a blind date, and Ilya comes to the rescue, and proceeds to make a series of questionable decisions.

Chapter 1: I am Nick.

Chapter Notes

Okay, hi.

This is my first multi-chapter AND alternate universe fic for this fandom. I'm taking it easy and going with something fluffy and fun. It kind of has a romcom vibe (but with some angst, because it's Ilya POV).

It's already outlined, and I hope to update twice a week since it's a relatively short fic.

Hope you enjoy x

Russian translation available here.

Ilya has always believed that dogs are way superior to humans.

Sure, he is a little biased, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.

They are prettier and nicer—and they are smarter too.

Not only can they smell and hear much better, but they are also great judge of character.

Although that last one might not be entirely accurate. After all, they seem to like Ilya a lot. Maybe they are a little biased, too.

Ilya adores them. So much so that his entire life revolves around them now.

The job at the shelter used to be a temporary gig, just like a bunch of other side hustles he had to do, since his scholarship could hardly cover his living expenses. Ilya let go of almost all of them after he graduated, except for this one job.

There is something about the shelter that made it impossible for him to quit.

Maybe it’s because he knows what it is like to be alone and abandoned, constantly seeking affection with a hopeless heart.

Maybe he knows, deep down, that he isn’t good enough for anything else.

Maybe it’s not all that deep. Maybe he just really likes dogs.

Either way, this is Ilya’s life now.

Second Chance might not be Montreal’s biggest animal shelter, but Ilya likes to believe, in his completely objective opinion, that it is certainly the buzziest. It’s a small place with a small team, but Ilya has never met a better group of people who care about dogs than his colleagues at Second Choice.

So, when he had to quit his part-time role as an adoption aide and look for a ‘real job’ like his lecturers suggested, it wasn’t all that hard to say ‘nope’ and stay back right here.

It’s been three years, and there hasn’t been a single day of regret.

It’s kind of hard to have any regrets when you are surrounded by the sweetest creatures in the whole world.

Well, mostly sweet.

“Rex,” Ilya chides at the terrier, who thinks it’s a great idea to chew off another one of Ilya’s sneakers.

In Rex’s defence, Ilya did spill food over his shoes at the barbecue at Bood’s last night. So, he is gentler with his admonishment, a courtesy that was never granted to him when he used to act out as a child.

“Be nice to me today,” he says in soft Russian, and the puppy licks the И inked into Ilya’s palm. “It might be the day we say goodbye to each other.”

Rex is fairly new at the shelter, along with a few others who were found this winter during their seasonal rescue mission. Ilya wishes the world were a kinder place where animals—and sometimes people—don’t get kicked to the curb in the middle of winter. But he knows intimately that people can be a lot crueller than that.

It’s okay.

Rex is safe now. Ilya is, too.

“You have to be on your best behaviour,” Ilya reminds the puppy, pressing a kiss to his nose. “And don’t worry. I’ll make sure you find the perfect home.”

Ilya focuses mostly on management now, finally putting his degree to use after Wiebe promoted him last year and told him it was time for more responsibility. Ilya had been horrified at first, for he had never considered himself a responsible person, and had been shocked to find that everyone else did so. He hadn’t realised how much the team relied on him quietly, always coming to him first in case of a problem or wanting a second opinion. He thought it was because he’s brutally honest and didn’t like beating around the bush. But turns out, he’s apparently reliable.

Who’d have thought, huh?

His current project focuses on working with schools in five of Montreal’s busiest boroughs, setting up adoption days at the school premises and inviting students to volunteer at the shelter over the weekend. Wiebe loved the idea when Ilya proposed it a year ago, saying it’s exactly the kind of thing they should be doing to build community and responsibility among young people. 

Working with schools is not easy. The adults and all their bureaucracy give him a bigger headache than the actual children. But it’s a long-term strategy to find enough funds for the renovations they so desperately need, so Ilya bites his tongue and deals with the endless paperwork and excuses.

But on days like today, he loves his job the most.

He gets to cover for Linda—who is on maternity leave and is currently pouting in the group chat about it—and be an adoption aide again.

He actually gets to spend time with the dogs rather than with an Excel sheet, which always puts him in a good mood.

“Ilya,” Harris, who runs all their Comms, calls from the hallway. “Your four o’clock is here.”

Ilya lets out a loud exhale and fixes Rex with a look. “Alright, buddy. Show time.”

For a place called Second Chances, Ilya is a little set on first impressions.

Hayden Pike does not make a good first impression.

For starters, he is twenty minutes late for his appointment. Not to mention that Rex barks twice upon seeing him.

“Mr Pike.” Ilya extends a hand anyway, because it is his job to do so. “Ilya Rozanov. Shelter Manager. This is Rex—short for Rek—”

“I’m sorry, I thought I got to choose the dog,” Hayden Pike interrupts, looking from Ilya to Rex with a frown.

“You do,” Ilya confirms with a nod. “But we have a priority list at the shelter, and Rex is on top. He is a good pup, yes, unless you have a habit of spilling food—”

“Man, I have four kids,” Hayden Pike snorts.

“Yes, that was in your application.” Ilya nods. “Great work, by the way.”

In Ilya’s experience, these things are filled out in a rush, often haphazardly, with zero consideration, as if they are the ones doing the shelter a favour. As if they are here to buy something and should be treated as a customer, not a potential parent looking to expand their family. 

This is not a business. They are not selling a product. Ilya hates it when people think so.

So, when he receives an application that was filled out to perfection, answering every question with care and thought, he notices. Of course he does.

“My friend filled it out,” Hayden Pike says, which explains a lot. “He did mention I have four kids, right? I’m not sure a puppy is a good idea. We’ve got our hands full, man. Can’t I get like a bigger dog? One that’s a bit low maintenance?”

Ilya grits his teeth but keeps his smile intact. “Your children are very small, yes?”

“Yeah, the twins are seven. Arthur is four, and we have a toddler,” Hayden Pike answers. “My friend, he said, grown dogs are a better option for little kids since they have a calmer temperament.”

“Does your friend have a dog?”

“No.”

“Does he have kids?”

“No?”

“Then his opinion does not matter.” Ilya shrugs. “It is true, older dog is less demanding. But these are dogs from the shelter. They are not going to be high maintenance. Puppy is more work, yes. But your children will have a chance to grow up with them. More bonding. Sounds good?”

“I don’t know, man.” Hayden Pike clicks his tongue. “Why don’t I look at other options first?”

Ilya gives Rex an apologetic look and nods at the man. “Sure. Did you ask your kids what kind of dog they want?”

“Oh, they don’t really know about this.” Hayden Pike chuckles, following Ilya towards the kennels. “It’s supposed to be a surprise for the twins’ birthday in spring.”

Ilya stops walking at that.

Listen, he is not against a good surprise or anything. In fact, he often sheds a tear when people who adopt eventually post the surprise reveal videos on their social media. God knows Harris loves them since they’re good for reach.

It’s just that one man’s surprise is another man’s shock or whatever.

It’s Ilya’s job to make sure these dogs go to a loving and accepting home. It’s hard to do either when you don’t know what you’re adopting one.

“Your wife knows about this?” Ilya asks, because he must.

He’s seen this before more times than he’d like.

Countless men turning up at the shelter, hoping a cute puppy with big eyes would be enough to fix whatever mess they caused with their spouse or girlfriend.

Ilya doesn’t care for shit like that. Their goal is not just to find these dogs a home, but a loving home.

Ilya knows what it’s like to live with people who don’t really want you there, and he’ll be damned if he’ll curse any of these poor souls to a similar fate.

“Why does that matter?” Hayden Pike frowns now.

“Your application said you have a job that makes you travel a lot,” Ilya explains. “So, your wife takes care of your children? Do you have maid? Family support?”

“What are you, C3P?” the man makes a face.

“Taking care of four children is a lot,” Ilya says carefully. “Maybe Mrs Pike doesn’t want dog on top of that.”

“I think I know what my wife wants.” Hayden Pike scoffs.

“Raising four little children with no help?” Ilya says, because sometimes he really can’t help himself.

“Excuse me??” Hayden Pike gapes at him.

“I think you should come back with your wife,” Ilya advises the man. “You can bring the kids, too. It will be good to make, er, informed decision.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise!” the man says incredulously. 

“Better to have safe home than surprise reveal.” Ilya shrugs. “We have to do what is best for our dogs, Mr Pike. Come back with your family, okay?”

Hayden Pike glares at him for a full minute before scoffing loudly. “I don’t think I’ll come back at all.”

The man leaves without another word, muttering under his breath about unprofessional service and cocky attitudes.

Ilya ignores all of it and turns to Rex with a huff.  “You were too good for him anyway.”

“Meanie, slob or creep?”

Ilya, pocketing his wallet and keys, snorts at Galina. “He didn’t ask the wife.”

“Ah.” Galina smiles, as if she considers it better than the other three options. “Good. Means there is still a chance he might come around.”

Galina is their resident vet and has been working at the shelter for a lot longer than Ilya. She is, truth be told, the main reason why Ilya chose this place. It isn’t simply because she is one of the very few people in Montreal whom he gets to talk to in his mother tongue. She just has that effect on people.

“You try to see the good in everyone,” Ilya says, and it is indeed a complaint.

“We are literally called Second Chances,” Galina reminds him. “Luca left his phone charger again.”

“Ah,” Ilya says, grabbing it from her. “I can drop it off on my way.”

“The weather is pretty bad tonight.”

“I’m Russian.”

“So am I, little shit.” Galina swats his shoulder. “He can pick it up tomorrow.”

“But what if his phone dies and he has panic attack?” Ilya demands. “I will drop it off. I’m going to Stanley’s anyway.”

“Big Friday night plans?” Galina grins.

“Big, yes.” Ilya grins, already thinking of new ways to terrorise an old friend, and gives her a little salute. “See you on Monday.”

“Ilyusha.”

Ilya turns around and tilts his head. “Yes?”

“I’m glad you stood your ground today,” Galina tells him.

“Rex deserves a home where he is loved just the way he is.” Ilya shrugs. Although he wonders if Rex will have to wait a long time for that to happen. Maybe Ilya can keep him company. He’s been waiting a long time, too.

“As do we all.” Galina smiles. “See you Monday.”

Stanley’s is a fusion restaurant in Saint-Henri, which went viral a couple of years ago for its hot servers.

Ilya, who had been one of said hot servers, had retired when he started working full-time at the shelter.

Except for Wyatt, who is the only one polite and patient enough to work full-time in the service industry,  everyone else is a struggling student like Ilya used to be.

Struggling, but very hot.

Ilya misses working here.

It wasn’t fulfilling by means, but he laughed the most when he worked here. He doesn’t think he’s laughed a lot lately. Although he doubts his place of work has anything to do with it. There is only so much you can blame your environment for, right?

But still, this place means a lot to him.

He might not have found his purpose here, but he did find his people.

“Ilya!” Bood exclaims with a wide grin when Ilya stalks straight into the kitchen. “You finally remembered us, huh?”

“I saw you last night, Boodram. No need to be dramatic.” Ilya rolls his eyes. “Where is Luca?”

“Man, you play favourites.” Young, one of the new servers, pouts as he picks up an order from Bood. “He’s out back, by the way. Smoke break.”

Ilya frowns at that. He might need to have a chat with the kid.

Luca is an exchange student like him, although Ilya is certain they both came to Canada for very different reasons. He interns at the shelter, working closely with Galina since he aspires to be a vet one day, too. But like most exchange students, internships don’t pay for half your bills—or your video games. Ilya had recommended Stanley’s to the boy, since he knew Luca would enjoy it here. 

Besides, their whole brand is hot servers. Luca fits right in.

“Rozanov.”

Ilya, who is munching on the cookie Bood sweetly passed him, turns around and grins broadly. “Hunter.”

“What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?” the man puts his hands on his hips.

“This is the restaurant with the hot servers, no?” Ilya hums. “I came to fulfil quota.”

Ilya has known Scott Hunter since the very first day he stepped into Stanley’s. The other man, who had just gotten promoted to General Manager, had interviewed Ilya and had been exasperated with his attitude by the second question.

He still hired Ilya, though. Of course he did. Charming servers, who happen to be hot, are the backbone of any restaurant.

“Came to be a pain in my ass, more like,” Hunter mumbles.

“Ah, Christopher not doing the job? You need me too?” Ilya asks.

“Fuck off.” Hunter glares at him. “If you are going to stand here and run your mouth, you might as well make yourself useful. We have a full house and can use the help.”

“Say please.” Ilya hums because rage-baiting Scott Hunter is one of his favourite hobbies.

“Fuck you,” Hunter says, which is the same thing if you speak his language. “Get an apron.”

“We ran out, boss,” Holmberg announces as he walks past them with empty dishes. “Dillon spilt sauce on the last one.”

Hunter groans into a hand. “You people are going to send me to an early grave.”

“Hunter, relax.” Ilya rolls his eyes. “I don’t need apron. Customer will be distracted by my handsome face anyway.”

“Man, I wish I had your confidence.” Holmberg cackles and taps Hunter on the shoulder. “What do we do about table 14?”

“God, he’s still there?” Hunter groans.

“You are very stressed today,” Ilya observes.

“I have date night with Kip, and I don’t want to be late again,” Hunter huffs. “The weather is fucked, so our reservations are getting delayed, and that’s going to cause chaos. And the flowers I ordered for Kip still haven’t arrived, and there is some rando hogging the table, and as if that’s not enough, my sleep paralysis demon turned up at my workplace today.”

“Please, you love me,” Ilya tells him, blowing a kiss. “Tell Wyatt to stagger reservations for now. We will be okay. I can check on flowers and keep them in your office. One of the kids can deal with the rando. And Kip will understand if you are late. He is a very nice guy. Wouldn’t have married your old ass otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” Hunter says, softly this time. “And fine. I’ll talk to Wyatt and the kids. Thanks, Rozanov.”

“Sorry, can you say that again?”

“Get to work!”

Ilya winks at Bood, who shakes his head fondly at the familiar shenanigans and gets to work, immediately making himself available at a table for an elderly couple. "Hello, I'm Ilya. I will be your server this evening."

He falls into the rhythm pretty easily. 

He should probably head home soon, though, since he already gave Luca the charger and got a big hug in return. 

But he doesn't leave. Not just yet. 

He's always had trouble leaving places. Except for Russia. That one, he could not leave fast enough. 

So, he stays back and handles more tables. He takes a couple of orders, serves a few more, before he heads out for a smoke break and finds some of the young servers huddling there in the freezing cold.

“Are you planning Hunter’s downfall?” Ilya pouts. “Without me?”

“Man, be serious for a second.” LaPointe chuckles, passing him the cigarette easily.

“You are right, he will die of old age soon.” Ilya takes a drag.

“Scott asked one of us to handle table 14.” Luca winces.

“Creep?” Ilya frowns.

Ilya is familiar with those. It’s bound to happen in a place with young, hot servers. Hunter is surprisingly efficient at handling those creeps. Ilya supposes he is good for something.

“No.” Young tuts. “Poor guy got stood up.”

“Ah.” Ilya clicks his tongue. “Just say goodbye and good luck.”

“Not it!” Holmberg all but shouts, putting his hands up. “What if he starts crying?”

“What if he starts ranting about his sad love life?” Young asks in horror, as if somehow that’s worse.

“He looks really sad,” Luca says quietly. “Like a sad kitten.”

Ilya rolls his eyes at that. “Weaklings. All of you. I will handle the sad kitten. Tell Hunter I am your hero.”

“We love you, Ilya!” All of them shout at the same time, and Ilya knows this was a pre-planned, so he flips them off and makes his way back into the restaurant, cigarette forgotten for now. He puts in an order for cheesy garlic bread to-go for the poor bastard and makes his way to the corner table at the front.

“Delivery for Scott Hunter?”

“Ah,” Ilya says to the guy at the door and grabs the bouquet quickly. “I will sign, thank you.”

He grabs the flowers and looks for Hunter, who should’ve left five minutes ago. Wyatt has that look on his face that says the evening crowd is trickling in now, quickly filling up the tables. The lights up ahead flicker for a moment before completely going out, which is a regular occurrence in the neighbourhood when the weather gets this bad.

The patrons let out soft gasps of surprise, and several team members audibly curse in annoyance.

Okay, one thing at a time.

Ilya calls for the security at the front to check on the generator first. Now they just need to clear any tables they can.

Ilya will handle the sad kitten first and deal with Hunter’s failing marriage after.

He walks over to the corner table and clears his throat, hoping the guy indeed doesn’t start crying on him.

Ilya has never been stood up in his life. But he has been left behind, and it’s a pretty shit feeling.

Maybe the garlic bread will help. He should check with the kitchen next.

“Hello.” Ilya clears his throat carefully. “I’m very sorry but—”

The patrons make a whooping noise and cheer loudly when the generator gets turned on, and everything comes back up. The soft yellow light above the table flickers to life, and the man finally looks up at Ilya’s voice.

Oh.

Oh, this is not a sad kitten.

This is some kind of angel. This is some kind of heavenly being with the most beautiful face Ilya has ever seen.

Soft brown eyes, wet and filled to the brim, blink at him slowly. The pinkest lips in Montreal, caught in between the two front teeth, tremor just so slightly as the man lets out a soft gasp.

And those freckles.

God really took his time with this one, didn’t he? Placing each one carefully, not an inch closer or further, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Yes?” the man says carefully.

“Hello,” Ilya repeats, still kind of stuck on those freckles.

The man stares back, too, unblinking. Ilya has no pretty freckles to stare at, the man does it anyway—his widened eyes travelling from Ilya’s face, to the flowers in his hand, to the tattoo on his palm.

“Hi?” the man says.

“Hi,” Ilya says—again.

Oh god, he's said hello three times now.

He should literally say anything else. His name, probably. His phone number, preferably.

“Hi,” Ilya says again, because he can’t help it. “I am—”

“Are you Nick?” the man asks, and it comes out as a breathless sound.

It's beautiful.

It's hopeful. 

Like the man desperately wants Ilya to be Nick. 

Ah.

Ah, shit.

He should probably go and get Hunter to deal with this.

Ilya slides into the booth and holds out his hand.

“Hi. Yes. I am Nick. Sorry for being late.”

Chapter End Notes

You: Wait, isn't this technically lying and impersonating—
Me: In my client's defense, your honor, who cares like omfgggggg who cares???? like come onnnn

Let me know what you think. If no one pulls any buffoonery at work, I might come back with a new chappy real soon x

You can subscribe or follow me on tumblr @khaleesiofalicante to find out about updates.

Fun fact: Just like human fingerprints, no two dog nose prints are the same.

Chapter 2: I don't smoke.

Chapter Summary

“I, um, I didn’t realise you were, erm…Eastern European?”

Ilya can’t help but smile at the hesitation on the man’s face, as if he’s genuinely worried about getting Ilya’s nationality wrong. “Russian.”

“Ah.” The man nods. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I don’t look Russian?” Ilya gasps, putting a hand to his chest. “I must get plastic surgery immediately.”

“Stop it.” The man chuckles, and God, he’s so fucking cute. “I mean, you do look very—not there is any one way to—I wasn’t stereotyping or—it’s just your cheekbones—um.”

“You like my cheekbones?” Ilya grins, hollowing out his cheeks to make them pop out more.

Chapter Notes

Me: I wonder if people will be uncomfortable with the fact that Ilya is basically deceiving Shane 🫣🫣🫣
This fandom: MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH YUM YUM YUM 🤤🤤🤤

Everyone say thank you to my clients for not pulling any tomfoolery at work today, so I actually managed to write another chappy!!

Ilya had this teacher at his school. A middle-aged woman who always had a flower pinned to her jacket and wore her hair in two braids. But the most unusual thing about her was that she always told the students that ‘everything happens for a reason’.

It’s a stupid fucking thing to say, especially to a twelve-year-old.

She said it when Ilya failed his first exam. She said it when Ilya got punished by their headmaster in year six. She said it when Ilya’s mother passed away because of an ‘accident’.

On that last occasion, Ilya had finally snapped and yelled at her. It didn’t end well for him. It’s a good thing she didn’t find out because she’d have told him that Papa must have beaten him for a reason, too.

He hasn’t thought about her and her ridiculous philosophy in a long time. But sitting here right now—opposite who might possibly be the most beautiful man in the world—Ilya feels the need to agree with Mrs Kutnetsova.

Because if Mama hadn’t died, Ilya’s relationship with his brother would have never soured the way it did. If Alexei didn’t hate Ilya as much as he did for their mother’s passing, he wouldn’t have told their father about Sasha. If their father hadn’t threatened to report Ilya, he never would’ve run away to Canada with Svetlana. If he had never come to Canada, he’d have never worked at Stanley’s.

If he had never worked at Stanley’s, he would have gone through life without meeting this ridiculously beautiful man.

So, yeah. Maybe everything happens for a reason.

But some things, though…some things don’t just happen. You have to make them happen.

Like selling his father’s watch collection to buy a plane ticket to Canada.

Like pretending to be a random Canadian man, so he could get a chance to speak with Mr Pretty Boy.

“I’m really sorry again.”

“No. No. Don’t worry about it.” The man shakes his head and looks out of the glass walls, gesturing vaguely. “It looks pretty bad out there. I’m glad you made it here safely.”

Oh god, he is so nice.

He is pretty and nice. 

Ilya is going to be insufferable. 

Ilya is going to find whoever stood him up and smack him with a hockey stick.

“Are those…Are those for me?”

Ilya follows the man’s gaze and looks down at the gigantic bouquet of lilies, which should be on its way to Kip right now, and looks back up at the man.

There’s that look on that face again.

Hope.

Like he wants the flowers to be for him. Like he wants Ilya to have bought flowers for him.

Ilya has never seen a face with so much want that it practically leaks out of the non-existent pores on the man’s face.

“Yes. For you.” Ilya nods and passes the bouquet. 

“This is very sweet of you,” the man says, mostly to himself as he inhales the flowers, before looking up at Ilya with a cheeky smile. Ah, fuck. Where did that come from? What can Ilya say to make him do that again? “Almost makes up for being an hour late.”

An hour? Holy shit.

Fuck the bouquet. If it were up to Ilya, he’d have bought this man a garden. 

“I’m very sorry—”

“It’s okay. Really. You’ve apologised enough times,” the man says firmly, and sounds like he means it too. “I’m not offended. I did…I was kind of panicking for a bit because you didn’t reply to my texts on the app.”

The app. Right.

So, this wasn’t a blind date set up by someone. They’ve met through some app.

Ilya wonders if it was a prank by some loser. Or if it was some asshole who cancelled at the last minute after realising going on a date is too much work to get your dick wet.

“My phone died,” Ilya says in the way of an explanation. “I am sorry you had panic attack.”

“It wasn’t a panic att—" the man begins and then shakes his head. “I, um, I didn’t realise you were, erm…Eastern European?”

Ilya can’t help but smile at the hesitation on the man’s face, as if he’s genuinely worried about getting Ilya’s nationality wrong. “Russian.”

“Ah.” The man nods. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I don’t look Russian?” Ilya gasps, putting a hand to his chest. “I must get plastic surgery immediately.”

“Stop it.” The man chuckles, and God, he’s so fucking cute. “I mean, you do look very—not there is any one way to—I wasn’t stereotyping or—it’s just your cheekbones—um.”

“You like my cheekbones?” Ilya grins, hollowing out his cheeks to make them pop out more.

“I didn’t say I like them. I meant they are very prominent.” The man coughs and toys with the napkin on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Russian?”

“Did you want to know?” Ilya raises an eyebrow.

“No. Of course not,” the man says immediately. “I mean, I did say I’m Asian on my profile, but I guess it’s not the same thing. I just meant, you didn’t mention it when we chatted on the app.”

Right. The app again.

How long have they been chatting?

Ilya isn’t a detective by any means, but he has a feeling that this man wouldn’t have agreed to meet in person unless he knew someone fairly well. So, how long have they known each other? How much do they know each other?

Should he talk to Dykstra and get one of his shady friends to hack into the app and find all the messages?

Even so, what app were they using? Tinder? Grindr? Hinge? Bumble?

Ilya didn’t use any of them. The whole swiping right and left thing nauseates him a little.

He prefers to go out and pick someone up. He enjoys putting the work in—both in bed and outside of it.

“Is Nick a common name in Russia?” the man asks when Ilya is quiet.

“You ask a lot of questions,” Ilya notes instead of answering.

The man looks like he is about to apologise, and then takes a sip of his drink. Is that Ginger Ale? “Isn’t that the point of a first date?”

Ilya supposes it is. He hasn’t been on one in ages, so he really wouldn’t know.

He wonders how often this man goes on dates. He wonders if he gets stood up a lot. He wonders if the Canadian police know about this injustice.

“Nick is, um, short for Nikita,” Ilya says, half of him low-key proud for coming up with it so quickly, and the other half appalled by the mere audacity. “It is very common name in Russia.”

“Nikita,” the man says slowly and carefully, and fuck, what Ilya wouldn’t give to hear his own name in the same way from those pretty lips. “Should I call you that or do you prefer Nick?”

“Nick is fine,” Ilya says, because if he’s going to hear the man say a Russian name, it should only be his own. “Is…Is your name short for something?”

Because really, what the fuck is this man’s name even? Ilya has been sitting here and calling him all sorts of things inside his head—Pretty Boy, Mr Freckles, Mr Pink Lips.

“What would it even be short for?” the man chuckles incredulously.

“I don't know.” Ilya tugs at his ear and shrugs nonchalantly. “Canadians have weird names sometimes.”

“My name is not weird,” the man scoffs, but doesn’t look offended. “It’s a perfectly normal Canadian name.”

What is it then?

David? Michael? James? Daniel? William? Matthew? Andrew? Thomas?

But they all have short versions, right? So, it couldn’t be any of those.

Eric? Ryan? Mark?

Ilya would really like to know.

He’d really like to say it out loud—preferably moan it into the man’s ear.

“Should we order?” the man asks him.

“Yes.” Ilya nods and lifts a hand. “I will call for—uh.”

It’s not a hot server that approaches them.

Not even sweet Haas, who might look the other way and ignore Ilya’s descent into madness. 

Scott Hunter, all five feet eight inches of him, stares at Ilya with his mouth slightly open. He thankfully doesn’t make a scene. He’d never, not in front of a customer.

“Hello,” the man smiles at Hunter politely. “I’ll have the black bean and avocado salad, please.” He turns to Ilya and gives an awkward smile. “I’m not super hungry, so I’ll just order the main. I hope that’s okay.” Then he looks back at Hunter and points at his empty glass. “Can I have another Ginger Ale, too, please?”

Hunter just stares, gaping like a fish, looking straight at Ilya. His face, which Ilya is painfully familiar with over the years, seems to scream, ‘What the fuck is going on, Rozanov?’, which Ilya decides to ignore under the circumstances.

Whatever. Hunter is not the boss of him. Ilya doesn’t actually work here anymore.

He certainly isn’t going to blow up his one opportunity to have dinner with this gorgeous man because of Scott fucking Hunter.

“Nick,” the man says, putting the menu away. “Have you decided what you want?”

Hunter gapes even more at that, mouthing the word ‘Nick’ almost out loud.

Ilya is going to kill him.

Honestly, if the man isn’t married and Ilya didn’t attend the wedding, he’d consider this kind of sabotage to be very homophobic.

Ilya clears his throat and pretends to look at the menu. “Yes. Hm. I will have the salted duck sandwich. Thank you.”

“You eat meat?” The man seems surprised.

Fuck.

This guy isn’t just a dickhead who stands beautiful men up, but is also a vegetarian or some shit? Fuck him. Seriously. What a loser.

“Ah, yes. But only on Fridays.” Ilya winks. “Silly family tradition.”

“I see,” the man chuckles and turns to Hunter. “That’s all for now. Thank you. Oh, sorry. If it’s no bother, could you put these in some water, please? I don’t want them to wilt.”

Hunter’s gaze travels to the bouquet by the man’s side, and then his eyes shoot right at Ilya, glaring with such a force that Ilya would’ve combusted on the spot if he had even an ounce of shame or self-dignity.

Unfortunately for Scott—and Nick—Ilya has neither.

“Sure, I’ll do that,” Hunter says through gritted teeth and grabs the bouquet from the man. “We don’t want them to wilt. It looks like someone spent a lot of money on them.”

“Money comes and goes.” Ilya waves a hand.

“Oh, does it?” Hunter asks dryly. “Then I’m sure you’ll leave a generous tip tonight…Nick.”

Then he just walks away with their order, leaving an awkward silence behind him.

“Well, he was a bit weird, wasn’t he?” the man says, mostly to himself.

“Probably his old age.” Ilya waves the concern away and leans closer to the table. “Let’s talk about you.”

“Oh.” The man blinks. “I feel like you pretty much know everything about me. We did text a lot.”

Fuck. 

Maybe he should actually hack the app. He might already get arrested for impersonation; what’s a little hacking on the side?

“Yes, but this is different, yes?” Ilya smiles. “I want to hear directly from you.”

“Okay.” The man smiles back, leaning back into the seat. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you do this a lot?” Ilya asks plainly. “Go on blind dates?”

“Not really. No.” The man says after a moment. “Actually, this is my first blind date. I’ve never…it was my first time on dating apps, too. Honestly, it was all my friend’s idea.”

“You don’t like dating?” Ilya inquires.

“No. No, it’s not that,” the man says and lets out a soft exhale. “I just…I wasn’t sure if I’ll be any good at it, you know. I don’t like doing things unless I know I’m good at them. And it’s not like you can practice dating to get better at it.”

“I’m sure lots of people will be interested in practising with you,” Ilya says, and it’s not even a line. Not really. It’s the truth. He’d have lined up, too. He might have even fought everyone else for the opportunity.

“It’s not like I would’ve tried,” the man says, a little quiet. “It took me a while to admit that I’m gay. I only figured it out in my senior year of university, and then I started working, and there was genuinely no time for dating.”

“Do you regret it?” Ilya asks softly. “Not dating in university?”

“Sometimes. When I see everyone’s got it figured out already,” the man says and then looks up at Ilya. “But not really. I met all of my closest friends there, so I’m glad something worked out for me.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you, too,” Ilya whispers, reaching across the table and squeezing the man’s hand gently.

The man’s eyes travel to their entwined hands. His thumb absently rubs the И on Ilya's palm before he looks up with a shy look. 

“What about you?” the man asks then. “Did you date in law school at all? I hear it’s hectic.”

Law school?

Fucking Law school???

This guy is a fucking lawyer?

“Ah. A little bit. Not too much.” Ilya gestures vaguely. “It is hectic, like you said. I was focusing on studying…law.”

“I totally get that. I don’t get people who date during university, you know. Like, how am I supposed to be planning a date during mid-terms?” the man mumbles in annoyance.

Ilya chuckles at that, oddly endeared by the man’s frustration. He squeezes his hand again. “I am glad we didn’t date in university. We probably would not be here otherwise, yes?”

The man’s eyes soften at that, and he nods. “Yeah. That’s true. I guess everything happens for a reason.”

Ilya can’t help but let out a loud laugh. “Yes! Exactly!”

“Hey, man. All good here? Luca is worried you got—”

“Hey. Hey. Hey.” Ilya all but shouts, removing his hand and cutting Lapointe off quickly. “We ordered Ginger Ale. Where is Ginger Ale? Can you go get Ginger Ale? Right now? Thank you. Bye-Bye.”

Lapointe looks at him in concern before he nods and walks back to the kitchen.

Ilya turns back to the man and lets out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry. They are very slow.”

“They do seem very busy,” the man says, looking around the restaurant.

“Friday night rush.” Ilya waves a hand and fails to watch his mouth. “Always big crowds coming from the theatre down the street.”

“Oh.” The man blinks and clears his throat. “Do you, um, do you come here often? With…With your friends?”

Shit. He probably thinks Ilya brings all his dates here.

Ilya doesn’t know how to explain that he’s never been on an actual date before, never even bothered to try.

Not until today. Not until he randomly decided to hijack someone else’s hard work.

“No. No. Not friends. I come with my colleagues,” Ilya says quickly.

“Isn’t your office like an hour away from here?” the man frowns.

“Ah, yes.” Ilya tries to keep his face neutral. “But Happy Hour margarita here is very good. You want to try?”

“Oh no. I shouldn’t really drink. I have to drive home.” The man chuckles. “And I have brunch with Rose tomorrow. I know she’s going to try and get me drunk so she can get all the details about tonight.”

Who is Rose?

His sister? Friend? Colleague? All three?

Is Ilya supposed to know about her?

“You will tell her good things?” Ilya asks anyway, idiotically hopeful to get a gold star review.

“That depends on how the rest of the dinner goes.” The man hums, that cheeky smile back on his face. Wow. 

LaPointe returns with a glass of Ginger Ale and replaces the one on the table, giving Ilya various looks of concern. He mouths something that Ilya really can’t figure out and then lets out a soft groan.

“Is, um, everything good?” LaPointe asks carefully, eyes on Ilya. “Do you need, um, backup?”

Backup? Does he think Ilya is in some kind of hostage situation? Does he believe Ilya is stuck here with this man somehow?

Is he so aggressively straight that he can’t see that Ilya is seated opposite Canadian Helen of Troy—Helen of Montreal—and is literally breaking several laws to have a chance to keep talking to this man?

Is LaPointe losing his mind?

Because one of them is acting crazy, and Ilya knows it’s not him.

“Back up Ginger Ale? We are good, thank you. We will order more later. You can go now.”

“Wow. I can see why you come here often. Their customer service is amazing.” The man hums, taking a sip from his Ginger Ale, as LaPointe disappears into the kitchen, no doubt to rally the troops to rescue Ilya.

“I will go to the bathroom,” Ilya says and stands up quickly. “Be right back.”

Then he beelines for the kitchen, where the staff is predictably huddled together, whispering furiously. Bood looks deeply concerned, and Young frowns as he picks up a frying pan for some reason.

“Ilya, oh my god, you are safe!” Haas all but shouts when he spots him.

“Safe from what?” Ilya demands incredulously.

“From the Sad Kitten, man,” LaPointe stage whispers for no reason. “Is he still ranting about his blind date?”

“He is not Sad Kitten! He has a name!” Ilya huffs.

“Oh? What is it?” Haas asks.

“I don’t know!” Ilya throws up his hands. “I am going back to him. If anyone disturbs us again, I will tell your girlfriends and wives that we actually watch The Bachelorette during our hockey nights.”

He ignores the dramatic gasps of betrayal from the kitchen and walks straight back to table 14 and sits down next to the man who is on his phone, smiling at it for some reason.

“Did you miss me?” Ilya asks as he sits down.

“No,” the man says with a fond eyeroll, and then bites his lip. “I…I kind of thought you might have left through the back door or something.”

“Why did you think that?” Ilya frowns in confusion.

LaPointe returns with their food, but this time has the sense not to make any weird faces and quickly runs away. Ilya ignores him completely and focuses on the man again, waiting for him to respond.

“Sometimes people see their date and run away.” The man shrugs a little, picking up the fork and tossing his salad around. “I heard it’s common during blind dates.”

“Who would run away from you?” Ilya asks incredulously. “They will have to be actually blind.”

“Stop.” The man chuckles.

And oh.

A soft blush spreads through his face, and it makes the tiny freckles across his skin get darker, making everything prettier and brighter all of a sudden, like someone turned on the lights of a Christmas tree.

All Ilya wants is to see that happen again.

“Seriously,” Ilya says, very seriously. “You are ridiculously pretty.”

And there it is. Those Christmas lights on his face.

Brighter. Prettier.

Fuck, Ilya wants to do this all night. Maybe forever.

“Maybe I will take the back door and go to hospital because I can’t breathe from how beautiful you are,” Ilya tells him.

“Oh my god.” The man flushes harder, and Ilya might actually have to call 911. “Shut up and eat your food.”

Ilya grins at that and eats his food.

They talk more as they eat.

Ilya puts a few things together, like the fact that the man is an interior designer.

Or an architect. Or maybe he is in real estate.

Ilya isn’t very sure, but he knows it’s got something to do with houses. He can’t probe for more without giving himself away.

He probably should, though. Give himself away, that is. 

Dinner is almost over, and Ilya has to tell him the truth. He must.

Maybe not inside the restaurant. He doesn’t want to disappoint the man in here again. He also doesn’t want his friends to see him possibly get slapped across the face.

“I like this place.” The man smiles. “It’s busy, but not in an overwhelming way. Good choice.”

Ilya manages a smile and waves his hand at LaPointe for the bill.

All good things must come to an end.

Mrs Kutnetsova didn’t teach him that. Ilya learned that lesson all on his own.

“No way!” the man argues when Ilya takes out his wallet.

“I was late, remember?” Ilya smiles and taps his card against the reader, ignoring one last look of judgment from LaPointe.

The man pouts at that. “But I asked you out.”

He did?

Whatever guilt Ilya felt about lying goes away. Well, at least most of it. He doesn’t want this man to think his first real attempt at dating was unsuccessful.

Ilya will explain, gently and carefully, about Nick’s asshole behaviour.

He will ask this beautiful soul not to give up hope on the rest of Montreal’s male population.

He will say sorry for his behaviour—and maybe thank you, for one of the best nights of his life in a long time.

He doesn’t want this man to give up—because of Nick and Ilya.

He wants him to try again. He wants him to find someone nice.

Someone who wouldn’t stand him up. Someone who probably doesn’t have to lie through the whole night to make themselves look appealing.

“Okay, fine.” The man gives Ilya that smile again. The smile that led to this whole situation. “I will pay next time.”

Next time. Wow.

Nick, you fucking idiot. Nick, you asshole.

Nick, you poor bastard.

“You drove here, yes?” Ilya asks and holds out his hand. “Come. I will walk you to your car.”

They walk quietly, still holding hands for some reason. Ilya knows why he doesn’t want to let go. He’s got to savour every last second of this. But he isn’t sure why the other man is holding on so tightly.

In Ilya’s experience, people are always eager to let go of him.

But the man holds him nevertheless, one hand tightly clasped in Ilya’s, and the other carrying the bouquet of lilies that a confused Hayes had brought back to their table earlier.

“Are you okay?” the man asks him worriedly.

Ilya lets out an exhale and slightly shudders in the cold. “I need a smoke.”

The man stops walking at that. “You said you don’t smoke.”

Ilya pauses too. “I meant, uh, I meant I need warm. It is cold, yes? I need warm smoke. From the fireplace. I’m freezing. Sorry, my English sometimes goes away.”

He’s used that excuse many times to get out of situations before. But he’s never felt this guilty about it before. Not once.

Fuck, what is this man doing to him?

The man nods as he points at the jeep parked a few cars away. “I have a scarf if you want.”

Maybe he should take it. A souvenir to keep. Something to remember him by.

But he feels like he’s taken enough from this man.

Mama would be really disappointed with all the lying and deceit.

He should stop. Enough now.

“No. It is okay. Thank you.” Ilya manages a smile as they reach the jeep, and the man puts the flowers away carefully in the passenger seat. “You should keep it. You need it more.”

“Canada is just as cold as Russia, you know.” There’s that smile again. Fuck. Does this man know no mercy?

“I meant because you are pretty,” Ilya tells him, one last time, and hopes he remembers Ilya’s words. “You need scarf to protect your pretty face from the evil cold. More important than me.”

The man doesn’t smile at that. He simply stares at Ilya for a moment, his soft eyes imperceptible.

Maybe he’s figured it out. Of course he did.

Ilya didn’t know who he was fooling. Probably himself.

As if he could pretend to be some hotshot lawyer from Westmount.

Ilya looks at his feet. “I should tell you—”

The words get cut off when soft lips press against his cold ones, making him gasp into the other man’s mouth in surprise. The man doesn’t waste a second, slipping his tongue into Ilya’s mouth, letting out the sweetest fucking sound Ilya’s ever heard.

Gloved fingers pull at his curls and yank his body closer, warming him up more than any cigarette ever could. His other hand finds Ilya’s waist, holding him tightly there.

Ilya melts, just for a moment. He allows himself to be kissed.

To be warmed. To be held. To be enjoyed.

When the man pulls back, his eyes are twinkling—and that smile is there on his face again.

Ilya knows, already and with deep clarity, that he isn't going to tell this man shit. 

Honestly, if Mama were here, she’d understand. After all, no one knows better than her that Ilya is a sucker for pretty things.

“What were you going to tell me?” the man hums, both hands clasped around Ilya’s neck now.

“Nothing.” Ilya shakes his head. “Text me when you get home?”

The man softens that and touches Ilya’s face gently. “You know, you can text me in Russian. If that’s more comfortable for you. I can always translate.”

Ilya all but melts into the snow beneath his feet. “You would really do that?”

“Of course.” The man nods easily—so very easily.

Ilya shakes his head, unable to hide his fondness. “No. It is okay. Thank you. Just don’t judge me if my English is not perfect, yes?”

“I will never judge you for that,” the man tells him seriously.

“And don’t judge me when I use too many emojis.”

“Ah, I might judge you for that a little bit.” The man makes a face.

Ilya chuckles as he presses a quick kiss to the mouth. As he pulls back, if he shudders when he sees the man chasing after his lips for more, then it’s between him and whoever checks the security cameras outside Stanley’s.

“You have phone?” Ilya asks and holds out his hand. “Give.”

The man hands his phone out without protest, following the command without question. It sends another shiver down his spine. He should probably revisit this later. 

Ilya types in his number and hands it back. “No more stupid app, yes? We can text normal.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” The man beams at him, and Ilya tries not to deflate when he sees the man save his number under another man’s name. “Grindr was killing my battery anyway.”

“You are too pretty for Grindr,” Ilya tells him. “You should delete.”

“Stop saying that,” the man mumbles, but blushes anyway. “And yeah, I will. I guess there is no use for it now...right?"

"Right." Ilya nods.

Goodbye, Nick. Thank you for your service. See you in hell.

He watches as the man climbs into the jeep and gives Ilya a little wave. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

Ilya nods and taps the window twice. “Drive home safe.”

“I will. This is a very safe vehicle,” the man says, making Ilya smile. “I…I really enjoyed tonight.”

“Yes. Me too.”

The man smiles one last time, lingering for a moment, before he drives away.

Ilya stands there like an idiot, watching the jeep disappear down the street, and wonders what the fuck he is supposed to do now.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

He’ll figure this out. Surely there is a way to tell this man the truth and also make him keep Ilya?

Surely Ilya is equally desirable as a lawyer who happens to be a non-smoking vegetarian with a brownstone in Westmount.

Yeah. Yeah. He can figure this out.

He just needs a plan.

He can talk to his friends. Maybe they will help him come up with something.

When he turns around, unable to hide the stupid smile on his face, it is not a friend that greets him.

Scott Hunter stands there, hands on his hips once more, and growls at Ilya. “You owe me 300 dollars for the flowers, you dick.”

“300?” Ilya gapes. “Yikes. How bad is your marriage?”

Hunter ignores him and looks seriously all of a sudden. “What the fuck are you playing at, Rozanov? Are you planning to scam that man or something?”

“Worse.” Ilya grins. “I’m going to date him.”

Chapter End Notes

All characters and other entities appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons who are non-smoking, plant-eating, law-school-going losers is purely coincidental.

Manifesting another chappy soon 🥹

Fun(?) fact: Smoking is the leading cause of preventable disease and death in Canada, causing over 48,000 deaths per year.

Chapter 3: I am vegan.

Chapter Summary

“Ilya, fucking Christ, this is actually illegal,” Troy says, not for the first time. “You are catfishing this man.”

“It is not catfishing if I am prettier than Nick, no?” Ilya asks thoughtfully.

“How do you know you’re prettier than him?” Troy demands. “Maybe he is prettier than you.”

“Troy, please, no jokes.” Ilya chuckles.

Chapter Notes

Broke: Ilya and Hayden banter
Woke: Ilya and Troy banter
Because no one can bitch at each other like the gays fr.

PS: In case it wasn't obvious, any conversation Ilya has with Galina, Sveta (and the doggos) is in Russian. Fuck English, bro.

PPS: If you saw the chapter count go up, it's not because the story got longer, but because I misnumbered the chapters in my outline. I've pulled this shit before. I will never learn. Fuck math, bro.

Ilya gets a text the next evening.

It’s simple, with perfect punctuation, and is straight to the point. 

[From: Unknown Number]

I had a great time last night.

Are you free sometime next week for dinner again?

Ilya stares at the two lines for a long time.

The giddiness he feels about the potential second date is replaced immediately with nausea when he remembers he’s got another night of pretence ahead of him.

Even though Ilya had been ill-advised to give him his number, he hadn’t expected the man to actually text him.

He had thought, or feared, that maybe the real Nick might have somehow gotten through to the man after missing the blind date.

He doesn’t know if the man actually deleted the app. Even if he did, surely Nick could have figured out a way to contact him if he really wanted to.

Ilya would have.

If he ever got to talk to someone like this—even without ever seeing his face—he would have found a way to contact him again. God knows he’s already broken the law and compromised his integrity.

But if the man texted Ilya today, then it can only mean that Nick hadn’t.

It makes him think that Nick isn’t really interested in the man—not as much as Ilya is, at least.

Only one of them is going to go to great lengths for this beautiful man, and Ilya wants to believe the man deserves someone who gives a shit.

It’s weird to care so much about someone whose name he still doesn’t know.

So, Ilya picks up his phone and decides to try something.

[To: Unknown Number]

who is this?

The reply is not what he expects.

Instead of replying with his name like he should, the man types and untypes for several minutes before Ilya’s phone finally pings again.

[From: Unknown Number]

I wasn’t aware you had dinner with several people last night.

I’m sure one of them can entertain you next week, too.

Goodbye.

Ilya all but drops his phone as he types out his response in a rush, smacking himself on the head for his idiocy, and saves the number under an appropriate alias.

[To: Pretty Boy 😍]

waittttttt 

i am sorry 😭😭

i was joking 😬

[From: Pretty Boy 😍]

Not funny.

[To: Pretty Boy 😍]

it is my russian sense of humor 🥲

forgive me 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

i am sorry 😔😔😔

[From: Pretty Boy 😍]

Wow. You weren’t kidding about those emojis, huh?

[To: Pretty Boy 😍]

i do not kid 

only make stupid jokes 😅

sorry 

i had great time too 😇

i also want to have dinner again with you 🥺

or breakfast!

or lunch!!

[From: Pretty Boy 😍]

Don’t you have work though?

I thought you barely have time to eat at the firm.  

Ah, fuck. Right.

Ilya doubts a fancy lawyer would be able to get away from work as easily as he could. He knows that if he tells his colleagues about a date, any of them would cover for him in a heartbeat. But maybe Nick works in a place where people don’t really give a shit about each other’s personal lives. Or maybe they consider their work way too important to compromise it for a lunch date.

Either way, Nick’s loss continues to be Ilya’s gain.

[To: Pretty Boy 😍]

right right

you are so pretty I forgot about work lol 🫢

[From: Pretty Boy 😍]

Stop calling me that.

[To: Pretty Boy 😍]

pretty??

why??? ☹️☹️☹️

[From: Pretty Boy 😍]

I don’t know.

[To: Pretty Boy 😍]

tell me why...

The man doesn’t answer for a while.

When he does, he completely ignores Ilya’s question.

[From: Pretty Boy 😍]

Dinner on Monday, then?

You can come over to my place. I’ll cook.

(Pretty Boy 😍 shared a location pin)

Ilya swallows.

To his place? Already?

What does that mean? Is that code for something?

He knows what it means when a stranger at a bar asks him to come back to their place. But what does it mean when someone you went on a really nice date with asks you to come to their place for the second date?

Ilya has no clue.

He doesn’t know what the man expects from him. They’ve kissed, yes. But has he done more with Nick?

Ilya, in his limited experience on Grindr, knows what kind of things people get up to on there.

Have they sexted? Did they share photos?

It is only when his phone buzzes in his hand again that he realises that, amidst his mini-spiral, he hasn’t actually replied to the other man yet.

[From: Pretty Boy 😍]

My apartment is not far away from your office.

So, you can come over directly.

Or whatever.

We can go out again.

I’m cool either way.

It is a very poor attempt at nonchalance, and Ilya is endlessly endeared already.

He bites his lip, unable to stop his idiotic grin, as he types back immediately this time.

[To: Pretty Boy 😍]

your place sounds nice

see you soon 😘

The man gives a thumbs up to his last message, which Ilya finds endearing for some reason, too.

He has a feeling that this man could throw up on him, and Ilya would still swoon.

Monday can’t come fast enough.

“Okay. So. I have—what do you call it—hypothetical question.”

“Nah, man. Your hypothetical questions are always specific as fuck.”

“I have big imagination.”

“You have an inability to mind your own business,” the man corrects him. “This is about some borderline illegal shit, isn’t it?”

“No.” Ilya scoffs. “It is about a very pretty man.”

“That’s worse.”

“Don’t be homophobic, Barrett.” Ilya rolls his eyes.

Troy Barrett gives him an incredulous look. “My boyfriend is literally sitting on my lap right now.”

“And I am standing here all alone with no pretty man.” Ilya gestures at himself. “Homophobia.”

“Biphobia,” Harris corrects, burrowing further back into his boyfriend’s chest.

“Babe, don’t encourage him!” Barrett groans, pinching his arm.

“Ilyusha,” Galina interrupts him. “Are you going to tell us why you called this meeting, or are we going to spend the whole lunch break arguing about queer politics?”

“Okay. Fine.” Ilya exhales, holding Rex tight to his chest for emotional support. “If a very pretty man—”

“You can just say man. You don’t have to say pretty man every time.”

“Why not? He is a pretty man. So, I call him that. I am telling you the full story.”

“No, you are wasting time with adjectives.”

“I am wasting time? You are giving useless feedback.”

“If both of you don’t stop bickering, I will put you on social media duty for the whole of next month.”

Troy, who hates doing content for social media, shuts up almost immediately. Ilya doesn’t mind it much. But more often than not, he ends up crying in every video that involves him talking to or playing with a dog. So, he avoids them as much as possible. Besides, Harris always has their publicity under control.

“Thank you, Harris,” Galina says pointedly and looks at Ilya. “Go on.”

“Okay. If a very pretty, very beautiful, very handsome, very—”

“Ilya.”

“—gorgeous man asks you to come over to his place for dinner, what does that mean?”

“Is this a trick question?” Harris frowns. “It means he wants you to come over.”

“Yes. But for what?”

“You said it’s for dinner.”

“Yes, but does dinner mean dinner, or is dinner code for something?” Ilya asks in confusion.

“Not everything is code for dick, you dick.” Barrett rolls his eyes.

“You said that about the girl who wanted to show me puppy video, and then suddenly she was riding my—”

“Please don’t remind me of that story again.” Barrett covers his ears.

“If he asked you to come for dinner, then it probably means dinner,” Harris says with a shrug. “Maybe he wants more after. Then you can take it from there. Is that a problem?”

Ilya frowns at that. “Hm. Maybe.”

“I thought he was 'really' pretty,” Troy says with air quotes for some reason. “What’s the issue?”

“Hm,” Ilya says again and gives a little shrug. “It is, what did you call it, borderline illegal shit.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

“Okay, I’m out,” Harris announces, climbing off his boyfriend’s lap. “I’m not becoming an accomplice to whatever this is.”

Troy reaches out for the other man. “Good call, babe. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re staying back.” Harris swats his hand away. “I want to know the tea when you get home.”

“So, it’s fine if I get arrested?” Troy blanches.

“Yes.” Ilya and Harris say at the same time.

Troy, who seems to have accepted his fate, doesn’t argue and slumps back into his chair. “Whatever, man. Tell us what you did this time.”

“Okay.” Ilya rubs his hands together as Harris exits the break room with a salute. “Before I say anything, remember he is really—”

“Pretty,” Troy finishes. “We know.”

Ilya takes a deep breath and tells them everything. From the beginning. He doesn’t leave a detail out.

Even though he’s close to everyone at the shelter, Galina and Troy have always been his closest confidantes. Galina has been there since before Ilya joined, and Troy, who is their chief trainer, joined at the same time as Ilya. The three of them bonded for life on a random Thursday evening after having too much vodka and sharing stories about shitty fathers.

That kind of trauma bonding is for life. 

Ilya’s never lied to them since. The same way he knows Galina never holds herself back with them, and Troy doesn’t keep secrets from the trio.

Once you spend an afternoon telling each other different ways your dad used to abuse you, there isn’t much you can’t talk to each other about. There is no room for embarrassment or hiding.

This also means once Ilya is done, Troy yells at him for a full four minutes. But as always, Galina’s silence hits him a lot worse.

“Ilya, fucking Christ, this is actually illegal,” Troy says, not for the first time. “You are catfishing this man.”

“It is not catfishing if I am prettier than Nick, no?” Ilya asks thoughtfully.

“How do you know you’re prettier than him?” Troy demands. “Maybe he is prettier than you.”

“Troy, please, no jokes.” Ilya chuckles.

A part of his brain tells him that Troy could be right.

Ilya knows he is a good-looking guy. He owns a mirror, and he’s been told enough times to believe it.

But Nick…Nick is better than him in every other way.

Every detail he learns about the man makes him realise how different they are, reminding Ilya that he could never successfully pretend to be someone like him.

So, maybe he is prettier too.

Maybe Pretty Nick and Pretty Boy are meant to be together.

“You have to block him,” Troy tells him seriously.

“That is so mean,” Ilya gasps, horrified at the idea.

“Meaner than lying to him?” Troy asks, and Ilya shuts up, not having a response to that. Troy scratches Rex behind the ear. “You made a bad call. Whatever. We’ve all been there. Just tell him the truth, ask him to reach out to Nick, and move on. Okay?”

Ilya sighs, pulling Rex closer, and buries his face in his fur.

“Okay, Ilya?” Troy asks again, firmer this time.

One of their interns knocks on the door and reminds Troy that the rest of the training team is ready for the next session. Troy sighs softly, grabbing his empty lunch box with one hand and reaching out for Rex with another.

“Be good for Troy, yes?” Ilya tells the pup in Russian. “He gets cranky when people don’t listen to him.”

“You are asking him to bite me for giving you sensible advice, aren’t you?” Troy grumbles.

Ilya winks at him. “Yes.”

“I give up.” Troy shakes his head and gives Galina a look. “Good luck.”

Then he is gone, taking Rex with him for his daily adoptability session, and Ilya doesn’t have a furry friend to hide behind anymore. Damnit.

But Galina doesn’t say anything. She never does. She always waits, with that eternal well of patience that never seems to run out, until Ilya cracks.

“You haven’t said anything!” Ilya groans, annoyed that he’s falling for her tricks again. “I don’t like this silent thing you do. It is very Canadian.”

Galina smiles at that and sips on her tea, passing her half-eaten box of blini to Ilya. “Why did you do it?”

Ilya shoves an entire blin into his mouth. “Did you not hear me say that he is very pretty?”

“I heard you.” Galina nods, unrelenting. “Why did you do it, Ilyusha?”

Ilya swallows down the food, along with the weird lump in his throat that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. “Because he looked sad, okay? No. Not sad. He looked…He looked—”

“How did he look?” Galina prompts gently.

Ilya thinks back to the dinner on Friday. He thinks of the look on the man’s face when the lights came back on at Stanley’s.

He had looked beautiful, yes. Breathtaking, quite literally so that all the blood left Ilya’s body, which resulted in him making some very questionable decisions.

But beyond all of that, Ilya saw something else, too.

Below the confused brows and above the stunning freckles, in between were eyes that carried something vaguely familiar. Something Ilya’s seen a hundred times before in every single dog they’ve rescued and brought to the shelter.

Please don’t hurt me too.

“He looked scared.” Ilya sighs tiredly. “Like I was going to tell him bad news. Like he already accepted he was going to get hurt that night.”

“I see.” Galina clicks her tongue.

“I know that doesn’t make it okay!” Ilya throws up his hands. “I know I did something wrong. But…But I couldn’t hurt him. Maybe I should have told him after. But then he said this was his first time putting himself out there, and I didn’t want to tell him that he failed. I know how much it sucks when your bravery is punished instead of being rewarded.”

“So, you decided to reward him,” Galina says, passing him her water bottle. “With a nice date.”

Ilya bites his lip. “I am a terrible person.”

“You want my advice?” Galina asks him. Ilya takes a large sip of the water and swallows it down nervously before giving a small nod. “Tell him the truth.”

“And ask him to go back to Nick and move on?” Ilya sighs, remembering Troy’s words.

“Tell him the truth and ask for a second chance,” Galina finished. “To date you, not Nick.”

“Why would he date me instead of Nick?” Ilya mumbles under his breath.

“Because you did a very crazy thing to protect his feelings,” Galina says with a smile. “You are not a terrible person, Ilya. You are a good man.”

“Even if I did a very crazy thing?” Ilya sighs.

“Even so.” Galina chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. “And who knows? Maybe he likes his men a little crazy.”

“I thought you were coming straight from work.”

Ilya, who had indeed come straight from the shelter, blinks in confusion before he realises his mistake. Hotshot lawyers probably don’t wear jeans and a hoodie to work.

“I went home to change,” Ilya explains as he steps into the apartment.

“You went back all the way to Westmount to change your clothes?” The man blinks.

Fuck.

Enough of this shit. Ilya should tell him the truth already.

“Yes.” Ilya finds himself saying instead. “Work clothes are very boring. And dirty and sweaty. I want to look nice for you. So, I went home and changed.”

“Oh.” The man says, looking oddly pleased. “You do. Look nice, I mean.”

“Thank you,” Ilya says politely. “You look very pretty.”

And God, he really does.

He’s dressed in jeans and a soft yellow sweater that Ilya wants to desperately smell—or sink his teeth into. He hasn’t decided yet.  

But he should probably tell the man the truth first.

Okay, here goes nothing.

“You have to stop saying that.”

The confession dies on Ilya’s lips. He frowns instead. “Pretty? You said that in text, too. Why? Shit. Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No. Fuck. I didn’t mean it like—” The man groans and winces a little. “I just meant…I appreciate it. Obviously. But you don’t have to say it all the time. Like, you don’t need to flirt with me or tell me nice stuff all the time. We are dating, right?”

Ilya blinks.

“I mean, I’ve not done this before, yeah. But this is a date. Our second date. So, that means we’re dating, right?” The man asks, blinking now, too.

“Yes?” Ilya says, because it’s not like he knows these rules any better either.

“Okay, so then you don’t have to do all that.” The man clicks his tongue. “It’s not like you’re trying to pick me up. You don’t have to seduce me.”

“Seduce?” Ilya asks in confusion.

“It’s when you try to charm somebody,” the man says, flushing a little. “Usually, to get into their pants.”

“Ah.” Ilya frowns and cocks his head. “Who told you this?”

“Some guys at work.” The man shrugs. “Well, they didn’t tell me directly. They were mostly talking about their girlfriends. But yeah.”

“Those guys sound very stupid.” Ilya rolls his eyes and grabs the man by his jaw. “I am not flirting with you. I mean, yes, I am. But I am not saying it to, uh, seduce you, okay? I am telling these things because they are true.”

“Oh.” The man blinks at him.

“Do you want me to stop?” Ilya asks, hand still cupping the man’s jaw.

A tongue peeks out to wet those pink lips. Then the man carefully shakes his head, holding Ilya’s gaze.

“Good.” Ilya smiles.

Okay, he should probably tell the truth now.

Even if the man chases him out of the apartment or yells at him, at least the last thing Ilya ever told him would be that he is really pretty and he deserves to be reminded of that all the time.

It’s not a bad note to end things, right?

But then, just like last time, there are lips against his own, except this time there is a hand holding his face softly instead of pulling at his hair.

The touch is so gentle, like the man is holding onto something precious. Something worth all that gentleness.

And Ilya…Ilya is a very weak man.

A weak man who will need to look at Troy and Galina in the eye tomorrow and admit that he is a weak man for soft kisses and gentle touches and beautiful freckles.

“Everything okay?” The man asks in a whisper when he pulls back, fingers curled around the front of Ilya’s hoodie.

Ilya nods several times. “Everything is perfect.”

“Great.” The man grins. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“It’s not Friday. So, I stuck to vegan food. I’m making a quinoa and red lentil risotto. That okay with you?”

No, it’s not fucking okay.

Ilya might be okay with lying to a beautiful man, but he draws the line at having quinoa for dinner.

Who even is this guy?

What kind of man intentionally chooses to go to law school and eat bird food?

What kind of self-torture is this? Is this why he stood this gorgeous specimen up? Because he likes making stupid fucking decisions?

“Nick,” the man calls. “Does the risotto sound okay? We can order something if you don’t like it.”

Yes.

They should order pizza.

Extra cheese. Stuffed crust.

But the man has that look on his face again—that hopeful look that has turned out to be Ilya’s undoing.

“Yes.” Ilya manages a smile. “Sounds good.”

They should build a shrine for him for these sacrifices.

Saint Ilya of Moscow, patron saint of pretty boys and dumb choices.

“Are you eating the same food?” Ilya asks, leaning against the kitchen wall and watching the other man hover by the stove.

“Yeah. Of course. I love quinoa.”

He loves quinoa? Nobody loves quinoa.

Ilya should tell him the truth. Nick is clearly this man’s soulmate.

He stays quiet, managing to keep a straight face, as the man finishes up in the kitchen and plates up the frankly disgusting-looking meal. As if there isn’t enough bird food on the plate, he then picks up a small bowl of herbs and starts sprinkling it over one plate before passing it to Ilya with a smile. Then he picks up the second one and carefully adds all the herbs to one side, in a neatly tucked corner.

“I don’t like it when it’s all over my food.” The man chuckles, probably noting Ilya’s confused face, as they take their plates and walk to the dining table. “I know the whole point of garnish is to make the dish look pretty or whatever, but I prefer it on the side so I can have it only when I want to.”

Ilya smiles, endeared endlessly, and takes a sip of his water. “Did you go to work today?”

“Ah, no. I work from home on Mondays and Fridays,” the man explains, taking in a spoonful of food, and covering his mouth demurely as he chews. “How was work for you? Any interesting cases these days?”

Ah, fuck.

Ilya has no idea what kind of lawyer this man is, or whether he even actually practices law or does some lame desk job.

Maybe this is when he actually comes clean.

“Ah, I can’t talk about cases,” Ilya says instead. “Confidentiality, yes? I can’t share secrets, even for a very pretty face.”

The man smiles, unbothered by Ilya’s reply. He doesn’t even chastise Ilya this time for calling him pretty. So, that’s a win-win for sure.

“How was your brunch with Rose?” Ilya asks, deciding it’s safer to be the one who asks the questions. “Did you tell her nice things about me?”

“Maybe.” The man smiles, ducking his head. “She was grilling me relentlessly. The whole group chat is mad.”

“They are excited for you?” Ilya smiles fondly, grateful that he knows what that’s like too.

“Worried, more like.” The man chuckles.

“Worried?” Ilya frowns. “Why?”

“Because it’s my first time doing this kind of thing,” the man reminds him, rolling his eyes a little. “It’s ridiculous, to be honest. I’m a grown man.”

“Grown man who does not like garnish sprinkled on his food,” Ilya teases.

The man doesn’t share the smile. He winces instead. “I know it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.” Ilya shrugs. “We all have preference, yes?”

The man finally smiles. “Yes.”

Ilya reaches out and squeezes his hand. “Tell me more about brunch.”

Ilya doesn’t talk a lot during dinner.

It’s very unusual for him not to be yapping and be the one who listens more.

He likes to talk. Usually nonsense, yes. But he likes to talk, especially with his partners—both in and out of bed.

So, this is very new to him, to learn to listen and to be careful of what comes out of his mouth.

But he realises that he doesn’t really mind, not when it is the other man who is talking, telling Ilya about things that would one day hopefully come in handy in a trivia quiz.

Like the fact that Canada is the world's largest producer and exporter of lentils, with Saskatchewan producing 95-97% of the country’s crop.

Admittedly, it is not a fun fact, even though the man called it as such. But Ilya has never had more fun in his whole life than right now, listening to the man ramble about Canada’s export businesses.

“I was talking a lot during dinner, wasn’t I?” The man chuckles nervously as they wash up after dinner. Ilya offers to do the dishes while the other man dries them carefully by his side.

“I like it,” Ilya says truthfully and smiles at the mushroom-shaped soap dispenser. He washes his hands and reaches for the towel the man hands him. “I like your home too. It is very pretty. Like you.”

The man doesn’t chastise him this time either, but he does roll his eyes fondly. “Well, it’d be embarrassing if my home looked ugly considering my job.”

His job. Right.

He’s an interior designer. Ilya knows that now.

He managed to figure it out over the course of dinner, and that the man is an only child.

Maybe if he keeps doing this, he can figure out the rest, too.

This might actually work out.

“The offer still stands, by the way,” the man says.

“Hm?” Ilya smiles stupidly.

“To decorate your brownstone,” the man explains. “I’m sure I can meet your Westmount standards.”

Right.

Okay. So, maybe it won’t work out.

Because Ilya doesn’t live in Westmount. He doesn’t own a brownstone.

He certainly cannot afford to hire an interior designer to decorate his house.

He can learn everything there is about the other man, but it still won’t change the fact that he is who he is—or rather, who he isn’t.

He is not Nick. He will do well to remember that.

Tell him. Just tell him.

“I’m not sure yet. I need to see the rest of your home,” Ilya says instead. “Are you going to give me a tour?”

The man grins at that and links his fingers with Ilya’s. “Come on.”

The rest of the house, just as Ilya predicted, is as pretty as the man himself. The best part is not the man’s gorgeous taste or his impressive knowledge, but the fact that he holds Ilya’s hand the entire time.

Maybe that detail is not too important during a house tour, but Ilya adores it all the time.

There is an expectant look on the man’s face as they eventually and probably coincidentally reach the bedroom at the end of the tour, which is the cosiest fucking room Ilya’s ever seen. He feels a primal urge to shove the man down the stunning four-poster bed the man apparently put together himself, or wrap him up in that recycled wool blanket from New Zealand.

But he can’t.

He can’t cross that line. Not yet. Not till he figures out a way to tell the truth without losing everything.

“I should go,” Ilya manages to say, even though it’s the last thing he wants. “I have work tomorrow.”

“Shit. Yes.” The man winces at that. “You have a long drive ahead of you, too. I shouldn’t have rambled for so long—”

“I like your rambles very much,” Ilya interrupts him, putting a finger to his mouth. “Maybe you can ramble again this week? Friday? When you finish work?”

The man grins at that slowly, his lips curving against Ilya’s finger. “I think I can make some time for that, yeah.”

They walk back to the kitchen, where Ilya watches in quiet horror as the man packs up the leftovers.

It’s his fault, really. It turns out Ilya is a great actor. He might have pretended to enjoy the fucking quinoa too much. He should probably fight Troy for the role of Joseph during their nativity play next Christmas. 

He is wondering who at the shelter he can bully to eat the damn thing—since he’d hate for all this hard work to go to waste just because he has a personal vendetta against quinoa—when his gaze falls on a water bottle on the kitchen counter.

An engraved water bottle.

“Hollander,” Ilya says out loud before he can help himself. 

The man looks over his shoulder. “Hm?”

Fuck. Fuck, okay.

Ilya looks back at the water bottle and runs his thumb over the engraving.

S. Hollander.

Simon? Steven? Sheldon?

Wait. No short versions.

Seth? Sam? Saul?

The man walks him to the door, carefully passing Ilya the bag of leftovers, and tugs at his hoodie. “Drive safe, yeah?”

“Okay,” Ilya promises. “Goodnight, Hollander.”

The man gives him an incredulous look before chuckling softly. “Goodnight, Wilson.”

Wilson.

Nick Wilson.

This is ridiculous.

This is ridiculous, right?

Ilya can’t possibly date someone without knowing their first name. Even worse, he can’t date someone who keeps calling him by the wrong name.

This is ridiculous.

But what’s not ridiculous is the press of those soft lips against his mouth.

It’s like he knows Ilya is about to do the right thing and decides to shut him up with a kiss.

Honestly, it’s all Hollander’s fault.

He’s the one stopping Ilya with his beautiful mouth every time. Ilya is completely innocent. He will be sure to explain this to Troy and Galina tomorrow morning.

Because he is not going to tell Hollander the truth.

He shouldn’t. Not yet.

Right?

Hollander pulls back and rests his forehead against Ilya’s. “Tonight was perfect.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah.”

See? Tonight was perfect.

Only a real asshole would ruin a perfect night. He is a good man, as Galina said. 

So, he is not going to tell Hollander the truth.

He shouldn’t. Not yet.

Chapter End Notes

Fuck quinoa, bro.

I have travel + family shit tomorrow, so probably no update. Hopefully, I will see you on Thursday :)

You can find me on tumblr @khaleesiofalicante

Fun fact: Quinoa has been used as space food; NASA included it in astronauts' diets during missions due to its high nutritional value and complete protein profile. (🙄🙄🙄)

Chapter 4: I speak French.

Chapter Summary

They live in completely different worlds, the two of them. The fact that they even met is only because of chance. An accident, really.

Every tiny detail reminds him of how he is absolutely forcing this whole thing to happen. How none of it is real. It's all lies. 

It’s pathetic. It’s sad.

But then Hollander fucking smiles, and Ilya couldn’t give less of a fuck about being a sad, pathetic liar.

It’s once again all Hollander’s fault. Ilya will make sure to tell the jury that when he’s on trial for identity fraud.

Chapter Notes

I would like to clarify that Ilya and I have never eaten quinoa, and we both simply hate it based on vibes. Normalise hating things based on vibes. Thank you.

Also, if anyone has a tutorial on how to embed/include photos (memes) into a fic in ao3, I'd really appreciate it.

Ilya ignores the burn on his tongue as he takes another sip of his coffee, glaring at his phone like it has personally wronged him.

It kind of has, to be honest.

The internet is not giving him what he wants.

Isn’t that the whole point of the internet? Information at your fingertips or whatever. So, why can’t he find what he needs?

It’s been a week now. A week of more dates and more laughter and more torture.

Every time they meet, Ilya orbits a little closer to Hollander, knowing there is no way he can go back now.

He ignores Troy’s loud judgment and Galina’s quiet concern at work. They know he’s a big boy and he can handle it.

Ilya is handling it, okay? He just needs the internet to help him out a little bit.

So, as he waits to be approached by another cautious parent, he stands in the middle of the school gym and tries once more to see if the internet has suddenly decided to be useful again.

Your Recent Searches

nick wilson canada

nick wilson montreal

nick wilson lawyer montreal

nick wilson westmount montreal lawyer

nick wilson gay lawyer montreal

nick wilson lgbt

nick wilson vegan

nick wilson quinoa

nick wilson photos

There is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Well, that’s not actually true.

There is a lot. It turns out that Nick Wilson is a very generic name in Canada, showing Ilya hundreds of options every time he looks up the man.

He can’t seem to narrow it down. He doesn’t find anything useful at all. Even his detailed and specific searches don’t lead to anything useful.

Not even a fucking website from his office with those stupid little headshots.

Ilya even considered that maybe the man gave a fake name to Hollander or something. But then he checked with a very confused Wyatt at Stanley’s, and the dinner reservation was indeed made under the name Nick Wilson.

So, Nick Wilson is a real man with a real name. Ilya should probably stop projecting.

Nick Wilson is real. He’s just apparently allergic to the internet.

It makes him think that the man stays off the internet on purpose, which is yet another way he is vastly different from Ilya.

The boys at Stanley’s used to joke that Ilya posts everything but his dick on his social media, which is both stupid and untrue. Ilya has indeed posted his dick, just not under his actual name.

It’s a nice dick. It deserves to be seen, so whatever.

But Nick wouldn’t, would he?

He doesn’t even post his face, let alone his dick.

Ilya has been posting a lot less these past days, sticking mostly to resharing the posts from Second Chances on his stories and his regular photo dumps of Anya, of course.

Harris had been worried—maybe secretly even relieved—and had questioned Ilya about it. Ilya had simply told him that he didn’t have time anymore.

But in truth, he just doesn’t have the guts to do it.

Because what if Hollander sees it? How would Ilya even begin to explain why Nick Wilson is posting midriff thirst traps under the username @rozanonono

Sure, it’s not like Hollander is actually going to see it. From the very little they know of each other—even though that has been quickly changing for the last two weeks—Ilya knows Hollander likes to stay offline. Just like Nick.

God, they are perfect for each other, aren’t they?

Besides, it’s not like even if Hollander is online, he’s going to come across Ilya’s profile, right?

They live in completely different worlds, the two of them. The fact that they even met is only because of chance. An accident, really.

Every tiny detail reminds him of how he is absolutely forcing this whole thing to happen. How none of it is real. It's all lies. 

It’s pathetic. It’s sad.

But then Hollander fucking smiles, and Ilya couldn’t give less of a fuck about being a sad, pathetic liar.

It’s once again all Hollander’s fault. Ilya will make sure to tell the jury that when he’s on trial for identity fraud.

That’s what he’ll be arrested for, apparently, which he now knows thanks to Troy.

He closes his browser and opens his text thread with Troy again.

[From: Barrett 😈]

(Attached Screenshot)

[To: Barrett 😈]

(Attached Image: Meme of Dora Winifred saying ‘that sign can’t stop me because I can’t read’)

[From: Barrett 😈]

(Attached GIF: Tiffany Pollard saying, ‘do you know you have 30 minutes?’)

Ilya ignores the GIF, just like he did last night, and stares at the screenshot again.

He reads the bottom part of the text, over and over, just like he did last night.

To be a crime, the act must generally be done with fraudulent intent—such as to gain an advantage, obtain property, or cause disadvantage to someone else.

A part of him wants to double-check with Svetlana. But there is a chance she might hand him over to the authorities herself, just to teach him a lesson.

Ilya understands the legal jargon enough to know he’s technically safe.

There are no fraudulent intentions. It’s not like he is using Nick’s identity to scam Hollander or make money. If anything, he’s spending money.

Seriously, who even pays 300 dollars on flowers? Honestly, if anyone is getting scammed, it’s Ilya.

It’s not illegal. He probably—hopefully—won’t get arrested, not get his work visa revoked and be deported back to Russia.

That would suck. Mostly because he knows Alexei will gloat about it for the next decade.

But he’s fine. It’s not illegal.

Except. Except…what does it say again?

Such as to gain an advantage. 

He is kind of doing that, isn’t he?

By hogging Hollander and keeping him all to himself, like some kind of greedy Russian Gollum, Ilya is gaining an advantage over Nick, who found Hollander in the first place.

He stole Hollander from this man. Does that count as theft?

He is preventing Hollander from being with a man who is clearly his soulmate. Does that count as obstruction of justice?

Ilya should ask Svetlana. Ilya should probably stop lying.

Ilya should definitely stop drinking coffee this early in the morning. But he needs the caffeine to deal with the kids—or rather with their parents.

“Hey there.”

Ilya puts away his phone quickly and turns his attention to the woman, because of course it’s a woman. He’s hardly ever seen a father at these school events. It’s always the mother who makes the time.

Well, most mothers.

Ilya tries not to think about his own right now, who didn’t—couldn’t—attend most of his school events. Now is not the time for this shit. This morning has been horrible enough already.

“Hello.” Ilya smiles politely, already grabbing a brochure and passing it to her. “Anyone caught your interest?”

She doesn’t respond with the usual ‘yes, you’ which Ilya has heard from the moms an alarming number of times since he started working with schools.

It’s nice, if not a little tiring. Although everyone back at the shelter finds it hilarious.

The woman narrows her eyes at the several dogs Ilya and a couple of interns brought with them to the school today and cocks her head. “I’m mostly just perusing, if that’s okay.”

She says it as if she’s checking out products at Sephora. But Ilya smiles anyway. “That’s okay.  They love the attention. Have you been thinking about adopting?”

“Well, my husband is,” the woman informs, walking closer to Nora, the adorable golden retriever whom Troy has predictably gotten attached to. “He visited your shelter recently, if I’m not wrong.”

“Oh?” Ilya says, intrigued.

“Hayden Pike?”

“Oh,” Ilya says, flatly. She laughs. “He told you then? About the surprise?”

“Hayden is shit at surprises,” the woman snorts. “I figured it out. Thought I see for myself what all the fuss is about. My kids go here, you know.”

Ilya immediately gives her all his attention. “I think you should meet Rex.”

“Is that the puppy with ADHD?” the woman asks. “I heard Hayden complaining about it on the phone. He was saying you were trying to twist his arm about it.”

“If I twist his arm, Hayden Pike will cry,” Ilya notes, and the woman laughs again. Ilya kind of likes her. “And no, Rex does not have ADHD.”

And because Rex enjoys embarrassing Ilya, as if on cue, the puppy starts humping Chloe’s leg. The poor intern tries to get him under control while Ilya carefully blocks the woman’s view.

“Rex is very enthusiastic. It is good, yes? Adds colour to your life,” Ilya tells her.

“I have four kids under the age of 8. I think I have enough colour in my life.” The woman laughs, sneaking a finger through the kennel and scratching Nora behind the ear. “Should you be recommending puppies to families with little kids, though? Our friend said that’s not sensible.”

“Your friend sounds like a know-it-all, and I don’t like him,” Ilya informs haughtily.

In truth, the stranger is right.

Ilya shouldn’t be advising families with young children, especially with overworked parents, to adopt a pup into the mix.

But Rex isn’t just a pup. He’s someone who needs a lot of love—and even more attention.

He needs gentleness.

Ilya, despite his faith in Troy’s training, knows Rex is always going to be that way, even once he grows up.

He knows, very personally, what it’s like to desperately need a gentle hand and get anything but that in return. He knows what that can do to a person—or a dog.

Maybe he’s making it all about himself, but he doesn’t trust just anyone to handle Rex. His best bet is to find Rex a home that understands what it’s like to deal with difficult children.

The Pikes—with their four little children—seem like they know how to do that really well.

Is that fair to the Pikes? Probably not. But humans can adapt. They are better at that than most animals, especially animals that end up in a shelter. Ilya thinks Rex and his friends might have done enough adapting for a lifetime. It’s time for someone else to learn and make sacrifices for once.

All this to say that Ilya will always side with the dogs. He’ll always do what is best for them. Wiebe used to say that Ilya is much better at being a manager than an adoption aide. Apparently, it's because of his ‘attachment issues’, Galina put it once.

Ilya doesn’t have attachment issues, thank you very much. You can only have attachment issues if you have ever found anything to be attached to in the first place.

“Do you have any?” the woman asks him now, gesturing at the dogs.

“Yes.” Ilya smiles broadly as he shows her his lockscreen. “Anya. My daughter.”

“Oh, she’s so cute!” the woman coos immediately.

Well, okay. They might still have a shot with the Pikes. Ilya can get Rex to be cute—well, cuter—once he stops trying to chew his own tail. Ilya personally finds it very cute, but whatever.

“You should visit the shelter,” Ilya tells her. “With the kids.”

“And ruin Hayden’s surprise?” The woman chuckles and squints at Ilya’s lockscreen before looking back up at him, giving him a slow once-over. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Ilya blinks at the sudden change of topic. It’s not the first time he’s been hit on at a school event, but he didn’t expect it from this one. Although, in her defense, she is married to Hayden Pike.

“I have a very handsome friend,” the woman says carefully, handing Ilya back the phone, where the picture he took with Anya during the Pride Parade in Montreal last year stares back at him—Ilya in a bisexual crown and Anya with a pretty asexual bow. “He is, well, he is kind of dating someone, sure, but—”

“Ah, not all bi people are into threesomes,” Ilya interrupts her, doing his best not to show his irritation.

“Shit. I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry,” she says immediately. “I just think—well, we all think, really—that he can do a lot better. We’re getting some really bad vibes from this guy, to be honest.”

Ilya, who is dealing with enough relationship drama in his own life, gives her a polite smile. “I have a boyfriend, Mrs Pike. Sorry.”

“It’s Jackie,” she says, and sighs. “Oh, well. It was worth a try.”

“But you should visit the shelter with the kids,” Ilya tells her again. “We can have a play date. I will bring Anya.”

“Don’t try to be sneaky with me. You and I both know I’m going home with a dog if I bring the kids to the shelter.” Jackie gives him a look. “This is a big decision. I need to be sensible.”

“Then don’t send Hayden Pike again,” Ilya tells her, and she laughs again. Okay, he really likes her.

“I might send him back with reinforcements next time.” She winks and waves the brochure at him. “Thank you for this.”

Ilya nods, even though he knows it will end up in the garbage as usual. Poor Harris never learns that people don’t read anymore. “We also have a quiz on our website. You should take it. To see if you are ready to be dog parent.”

“Oh, I love quizzes. I’ll do that.” Jackie smiles, giving Nora another scratch and turns to Ilya, giving him a once-over again. “Are things with your partner serious?”

Ilya can’t help but chuckle at her relentlessness. But he doesn’t feel the laugh in his chest.

Are they serious?

He doesn’t know. How could he?

They’ve gone on a handful of dates now and have planned to go on another tomorrow evening.

But is it serious? Are they boyfriends?

Can you call someone your boyfriend if you don’t know his first name?

His phone vibrates in his hand, and Ilya looks at the notification on the lockscreen.

[From: Hollander 🥰]

(Attached Image: A picture of a contemporary painting of the ocean, the canvas swirling in gorgeous shades of blue, green, and grey)

Buying this for a client.

It reminds me of your eyes.

Ilya chuckles—the sound reaching his chest this time, then somewhere even deeper—and looks up at Jackie. “Yes. It is serious.”

They go to the arcade the next day.

It’s Ilya’s turn to pick what to do for a date—because Hollander believes in democracy–and he suggests that they go out.

Partly because every time it’s Hollander’s turn, they hang out in his apartment—which Ilya tries not to read into too much—and partly because it’s not like Ilya can invite him back to his shitty one-bedroom apartment.

He did, very briefly, consider renting a house in Westmount for a day.

But that is unhinged behaviour, even for him.

More importantly, he couldn’t afford it. Even for a day.

The economy is so fucked, truly.

He had been worried that Hollander wouldn’t enjoy Ilya’s idea of a date, that the arcade might be too crowded and too noisy for him, since he had come to learn that the other man is a bit of an introverted homebody.

But what he didn’t know and has learned very quickly since they played the first game an hour ago, is that Hollander is extremely competitive.

It’s kind of scary—and so fucking hot.

Ilya does show him up when they play Ring Toss. He chooses a squeaky octopus as his prize, shoving it inside his hoodie, knowing Anya will be pleased about her new companion.

“You’re not gonna give it to me?” Hollander pouts.

“I did not realise you were a baby,” Ilya hums and then winks at the man. “I will buy you different toy.”

“Fuck off.” Hollander laughs, face reddening, as he shoves Ilya on the shoulder. “It’s just what they do in the movie.”

“You want me to win you big teddy bear?” Ilya smirks at him. “How is that fair, Hollander? Maybe you should win and give me the prize.”

Hollander, who apparently never backs down from a challenge, shrugs confidently and picks up the rings. “Okay.”

Two minutes later, Ilya finds himself with a dangerous-looking bird plushie. But he can’t bring himself to be concerned with the ugly bird or its creepy red eyes. Not when he is actively trying to stop himself from getting on his knees right then and there.

He is already possibly going to jail for identity fraud. He can’t be arrested for public indecency too.

But fuck, this man isn’t making it any easier for Ilya.

Especially, a few minutes later, when they find one of those Boxing Machine things, and Hollander punches the damn thing so hard that Ilya almost pops a boner right there. He literally has to think about abandoned dogs in the street to make himself sad and not horny. It works as usual, and they quickly move on to the other games.

Hollander obliterates Ilya in a game of Pac-Man, and Ilya, who always gives as good as he gets, defeats him when they play Space Invaders. They both turn out to be terrible with the claw machines—a fact which a group of judgmental teenagers inform them about very loudly. Ilya gets a little too involved with the racing simulators, which Hollander finds adorable for some reason. Hollander takes bowling very seriously, saying his mother never lets him win, and this might be his only shot at becoming a bowling champion.

And then…and then they play air hockey.

Thank fuck for the bulky hoodie Ilya grabbed the last minute before he left home because otherwise, he’s pretty sure everyone at the Arcade would be aware of the hard on he’s been covering up for the last twenty minutes.

It’s not his fault, really.

Hollander is…Hollander is a vision.

Despite the March cold, the man’s face is flushed, making those freckles pop up again, demanding all of Ilya’s undivided attention. There is a thin stream of sweat dripping down the side of his neck, and Ilya has to physically hold onto the table to stop himself from crawling over it and licking up the beads of sweat with his tongue.

They play several rounds, refusing to give up when the other takes the lead, until Ilya’s need for a jumbo hot dog and large cheesy fries supersedes his need to win. 

But then he is reminded it’s not Friday, and he is fucking vegan, so no hot dog and cheesy fries for Ilya.

Instead, he stands there and watches sadly as Hollander orders broccoli quiche and sweet potato fries, and does his best not to pout about it.

The guy behind the counter asks something in French. Hollander says something back quickly before turning to Ilya and asking him something too.

In French.

He is talking to Ilya in French.

Fuck.

“Nick,” Hollander says again, chuckling softly, poking Ilya in the chest. “Tu veux quelque chose à boire?”

“Uh,” Ilya says, “Ouais?”

Despite living in Montreal for a few years now, it's the only word he knows. 

Which is how, ten minutes later, he ends up drinking a disgusting green drink with an unholy amount of spinach in it.

They get settled at one of the tables in the food court, Ilya terrified that Hollander is going to keep talking in French and the jig will be up very soon, when a young girl comes by and drops off their food.

She says something in French—fuck, why is everyone suddenly talking in this cursed language—and Hollander answers her before looking at Ilya expectantly again.

“No, I’m good.” Ilya shakes his head.

“You don’t want water?” Hollander frowns. Ah, fuck. 

“I don’t want to pee,” Ilya says, and tries not to smack himself in the head.

Hollander shrugs at that and tells the girl something. She returns with a bottle of water shortly after, which Hollander shares with him anyway, going on a rant about how dehydration is actually common during winter just as much as summer.

Ilya listens quietly, trying to keep his focus on the other man, but his thoughts keep going back to Nick.

Where is he? What is he doing right now?

Is he talking to another man? Is he speaking in French?

Did they talk in French too? Did they make jokes? Does Hollander find it sexy?

What does the law say again?

Such as to gain an advantage. 

Or cause disadvantage to someone else.

He's doing that too, isn't he?

He isn't just gaining an advantage over Nick. He is causing a disadvantage to Hollander, too.

If anyone is the victim here, it’s Hollander.

He is the one who is getting someone he did not ask for—something he never wanted and will probably never want ever.

He wanted a lawyer. A French-speaking Canadian citizen who eats healthy shit just like him and has his life together.

He wanted Nick. He still wants Nick.

He is here with Nick. He is attracted to Nick.

“Are you okay?”

Ilya looks up and takes a small bite of the stupid sweet potato fry. “Yes. Hm. I—Sorry, my French is not very good.”

Hollander blinks, like he didn’t even realise it. “You seem fine with it when we text.”

No, he is not. They haven't texted in French since Ilya took over. Nick is probably fine with it, that competent asshole. 

Ilya is very good at communicating with memes, though. Although he doubts Hollander cares or would find it even remotely attractive.

“Texting is easy,” Ilya says, and it’s not entirely untrue. “I have Google to help.”

“Oh,” Hollander says, and then shrugs again. “It’s okay.”

“Your French is perfect,” Ilya tells him.

“Yeah, my mom didn’t really give me a choice.” The man chuckles, taking a sip of his drink.

Ilya doesn’t know a lot about Hollander’s family, other than what the man has told him so far.

A part of him wants to know more. He wants to know everything.

He knows he can look it up, too. He could simply go online and look up what he knows about the man to find out more about him.

He knows he could find the man’s first name if he wants to. 

Sid. Smith. Sloan. Sam.

But he doesn’t want to do that. He can’t.

For one, it feels really wrong. It feels wrong to look up this man online to learn more about him.

He’s already fucked this all up so much. Stalking Hollander online to give himself a better advantage feels like really crossing a line.

Ilya can’t do it.

Besides, he knows the closer he gets to the man—the more he learns, and the more real all of this gets—the closer he is to losing all of it.

So, maybe he is just delaying the inevitable. Or maybe he just likes punishing himself.

Either way, Ilya doesn’t stalk Hollander online.

“Hey,” Hollander says and reaches out for Ilya, squeezing his hand, which warms up under the man’s touch. “I don’t really care.”

“No?” Ilya asks carefully.

“You already speak a second language, which is very impressive,” Hollander tells him with a genuine smile. “I can’t speak a lick of Japanese, you know.”

“You can still learn.” Ilya returns the smile. “I think you will be good at it.”

Hollander hums at that. “Maybe I can learn Russian.”

Ilya’s jaw drops at that. “You will?”

“I could. I bet I’ll be good at it too.” Hollander grins at him. “How do I say, ‘I really enjoy spending time with you’?”

Ilya exhales softly, heart stuttering as he speaks the words. “Mnye kaifovo s toboi.”

Hollander takes a moment, muttering the words quietly to himself once, before he looks back up at Ilya. “Mnye kaifovo s toboi.”

Ilya lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Almost perfect.”

Hollander, who apparently hates the words ‘almost perfect’ more than anything, frowns deeply before he repeats it, perfectly this time. "Mnye kaifovo s toboi."

Ilya doesn’t laugh this time. He sighs quietly. “You are perfect, Hollander. It is very annoying.”

Hollander beams at that, clearly pleased with himself, and takes a bite of the quiche as he grins. “Told you I’d be good at it.”

Ilya manages a smile. “Now you will teach me how to say it in French.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Hollander says again. “Say it in English. Tell me you enjoy spending time with me, too.”

Ilya sighs again, wistfully this time. “I really, really enjoy spending time with you.”

Hollander softens before he gives a wide grin. “Wow. Double really. I win. You lose.”

Ilya smiles at this ridiculous man.

He doesn’t stop smiling until he gets back to his apartment.

Chapter End Notes

Shoutout to that Hudson Williams video where he punched the Boxing Machine thingy. I only watched it an appropriate number of times.

Shoutout to Anya for helping me with the Russian translations.

Shoutout to Rex, my ADHD king.

Shoutout to sweet potato fries, a truly underrated form of fries.

Fun fact: The most offensive swear words in languages are usually drawn from the domains of sex and bodily excretions. Swears from the domain of religion, like hell and damn, once had a stronger force, but are now considered pretty mild. Not so in Canadian French, where the most offensively profane words are tabarnack (tabernacle), calvaire (Calvary), and calisse (chalice).

Chapter 5: I am allergic to dogs.

Chapter Summary

“What if it’s a Japanese name?” Luca gasps to himself.

“No, he said it’s a common Canadian name,” Ilya sighs.

“No short versions, right?” Luca says, and Ilya nods. “Seth?”

“Could be.” Ilya shrugs. “But I’m not getting a vibe, you know.”

“Bro.” Troy’s eyes widen, and he grabs Ilya by the shoulder. “What if it’s Scott?”

“Don’t even joke.” Ilya makes a gagging noise. “I will literally kill myself.”

Chapter Notes

I've seen the theories about Shane already knowing Ilya is not Nick and going along anyway, and all I can say is that it's absolutely crazy behaviour, and that's the kind of unhinged theories I expect from my readers 🥰🥰🥰

“We’re trying, Doc. I think he just needs a little more time.”

Ilya has heard that one before. In a shelter, sometimes time is the most important thing you need. To learn new things. To unlearn old things.

He has been working here for a few years now, and he’s seen it over and over again. The trainers, including the ones before Troy, insist that some dogs just need more time.

It’s the kind thing to say. Ilya has heard the alternative, and he doubts even a dog would want to hear that.

You are useless. You will never change. Nobody could put up with you. You are going to end up alone. You are a burden on everyone around you.

He hugs Rex tight to himself and presses a kiss to his ear, as the pup chews on his tail, and whispers in soft Russian. “I don’t think you are a burden, sweet baby.”

“Maybe one of us could take him,” Luca says, trying to sound hopeful in the quiet space of Ilya’s office.

“We’re all still under the ban,” Troy notes tiredly.

They have a system to make sure the dogs in the shelter don’t all end up in their own homes. Given that they are all suckers, any dog that doesn’t find a home may end up with one of them. So, the shelter has a system in place, allowing them to only adopt one dog once every two years.

Ilya took Anya home just over a year ago, and Harris and Troy adopted yet another pup as soon as Harris' ban was lifted last month. Luca’s German Shepard is almost two now, but Ilya doubts he’s got the time with school and his job at Stanley’s.

Everyone else was either still within the ban or simply couldn’t afford to take care of another dog. Ilya knows his colleagues. He knows if anyone could, they would’ve already.

Rex has been at the shelter for four months now, which is the longest they’ve had a pup without finding them a family. Considering that their borough was family-oriented and had all the best schools, dog adoption was fairly common. With their interventions in schools, support from local community gatherings, and Harris’ social media magic, they got enough people to adopt the dogs they found throughout the year.

The challenge is not finding people, but making sure they find the right people.

It’s never been this difficult before. No one has struggled as much as Rex before.

It breaks Ilya’s fucking heart.

“Rex will be fine,” Galina tells them all. “He’s still well within his adoption window, and we will continue to train him.”

“Are we going to consider medication if the training continues to be useless?” Troy scratches his forehead.

“No medication!” Ilya all but snaps. This shit gets people killed. No, thank you.

“We’ve treated restlessness with medication before,” Galina reminds Ilya, ignoring his outburst as she takes Rex from him to examine him again. “But I don’t think Rex needs it. Not yet.”

“He must feel disappointed too, poor little guy,” Luca says softly, ignoring the constant barking they’ve all gotten used to by now.

“Let’s take him back to the kennels,” Troy orders the training team. “I want him to rest well before we try those exercises again.”

Joy and Naomi take Rex away, who barks and wiggles the whole time, clearly not in the mood to rest. Ilya sighs loudly and looks at his friend, keeping his voice low in Russian. “Have you considered what to do if we miss the adoption window? What will we do?”

“You know what we will do,” Galina says simply. “He will stay here at the shelter. With us.”

“But he’ll be all alone,” Ilya says.

“He won’t be alone,” Galina points out. “He’ll be with us.”

But it’s not the same, Ilya wants to say.

Because he knows.

He loves his colleagues. They are his friends. Fuck, they might even be his family.

But it’s not the same.

Because at the end of the day, he still has to go home. There, he is all alone. There, it’s hard to pretend otherwise.

Rex will face a similar fate soon enough.

Ilya doesn’t want that for him. He knows how much it sucks.

Everyone deserves someone to come home to and someone who comes home to you. Everyone deserves people who want you, not just people who accept you when you have no place to go.

There is a difference between a home and a shelter. Sometimes, Ilya thinks he’s still stuck at the shelter, too.

“Well, this is fucking depressing,” Troy groans, probably extra-annoyed with the situation since Harris isn’t in today to make him feel better. “Ilya, distract us all with your relationship drama.”

“Fuck off, Barrett.” Ilya flips him off, not in the mood.

“Have you figured out his name yet?” Luca asks, and even Galina chuckles, because apparently, it’s Let’s-Torture-Ilya Day at the shelter.

“Who even needs names?” Ilya throws up his hands. “I will call him Light of My Life. Problem solved.”

“Bro, you are unreal.” Troy snorts. He looks a little less sad, so Ilya will let it slide for now.

“Have you tried calling him by the wrong name or something?” Luca suggests. “Or going through his mail?”

“Luca, don’t encourage him, he’s already breaking several laws!” Troy groans loudly.

“I suppose looking it up online is out of the question?” Galina hums, obviously amused at Ilya's decision. 

“That feels like stalking,” Ilya mutters quietly. 

“You are okay with fraud, but stalking is where you draw the line?” Troy asks incredulously, and Ilya flips him off again. 

“What if it’s a Japanese name?” Luca gasps to himself.

“No, he said it’s a common Canadian name,” Ilya sighs.

“No short versions, right?” Luca says, and Ilya nods. “Seth?”

“Could be.” Ilya shrugs. “But I’m not getting a vibe, you know.”

“Bro.” Troy’s eyes widen, and he grabs Ilya by the shoulder. “What if it’s Scott?”

“Don’t even joke.” Ilya makes a gagging noise. “I will literally kill myself.”

“Ilyusha.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” Ilya says, raising his hands in apology. “Can we not discuss my boyfriend at my work, please? Just because you have no boundaries, Barrett—”

“Oh, so it’s your boyfriend now?” Luca gushes. 

“Maybe,” Ilya says, and does his best not to giggle into his hands.

Hollander was on the phone with his mother when Ilya had gone over to his place a week ago. He opened the door for Ilya, beaming with a bright smile, and Ilya couldn’t help but pin him right there against the wall.

A soft moan had fallen from Hollander’s lips, and he had muttered a distracted “Gotta go, mom, my boyfriend’s here.”

Ilya had frozen against the other man. Hollander had almost dropped the phone.

They had stayed like that for an awkward amount of time before they both broke into laughter.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Ilya had murmured against the man’s mouth.

“Yes.” Hollander had whispered back. “If you want.”

“I want,” Ilya had told him, and that was that.

“Are you going to introduce him to us?” Luca asks now, looking way too excited about the prospect.

“Are you going to introduce yourself to him?” Troy inquires, earning a smack to the head. “I’m just saying, I don’t approve.”

“Oh no! Troy Barrett does not approve! What will I do?” Ilya laments dramatically, earning a smack right back.

“I still think it’s Scott,” Troy tells no one in particular. “We should start a betting pool for the name.”

“Do not make money from my misery, Barrett,” Ilya complains and turns to Galina. “Tell him to behave.”

Galina shrugs. “He’s the trainer, not me.”

“You are all against me.” Ilya huffs in annoyance. “I’m quitting and finding a new job.”

“In a law firm?”

“Barrett, you are on thin ice—”

“Rozanov, someone’s here to see you. Says the name is Pike?” Chloe shouts from the hallway.

“Fuck, he probably came back with his wife.” Ilya looks at the others, and before he turns to Troy. “Any chance Rex will be ready to meet them?”

“Not unless you want Rex to jump them,” Troy winces.

“Fuck!” Ilya groans loudly.

“Ilya.” Galina placates him immediately. “I will go welcome them and guide them to your office. Maybe you can talk to them about other options, yes?”

“But Rex—”

“Rex is not the only one who needs a home,” Galina reminds him and turns to the others. “Troy, stay here with him, please. Luca, you can go to the kennels and see which of our friends are ready to meet our guests. Let Rex rest if he is not ready.”

“Got it.” Luca nods and dashes out of the office. Galina gives Ilya a comforting look before following after him. Ilya lets out another curse, this time in Russian, before he folds forward and rests his forehead against his chair.

“You okay, man?” Troy asks, sounding worried now. “Rex just needs time, you know.”

It’s bullshit.

What the fuck is time going to do? Is time going to miraculously find Rex a new home? Is time to help him get over his PTSD, because yes, that’s what it fucking is, not ADHD—even if they like to pretend otherwise.

Rex isn’t hyper or excited. He is just scared and restless.

It’s what you do when you have no fucking idea what’s going to happen to you. It’s what you do when you know what you don’t want to happen to you—again. 

Ilya knows a thing or two about that. He also knows time isn’t the solution here.

Not for Rex.

Not for him.

Because it’s not like Hollander is going to like the real him with time, right?

No. Of course not.

Time is not the problem here. It’s Ilya.

No amount of time is going to fix whatever the fuck is wrong with him. No amount of time is going to make Hollander be attracted to someone like him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I should handle this.” Ilya straightens up and walks to the door. He yanks it open, stepping into the hallway, before he all but jumps back, shutting the door with a loud thud.

No. No. No.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“What the—”

“Barrett.” Ilya grabs him tightly. “Barrett. I need help.”

“Ilya, what the hell is—”

“I will go hide in the bathroom now. You will handle Hayden Pike, okay?” Ilya asks him frantically.

“I’m not an adoption aide—”

“No, but you are the trainer. Maybe you can tell them about—”

“Hey, we decided to give the others a chance. Rex’s time will come—”

“Barrett, oh my god, this is not about Rex! I can’t talk to Pike right now. You will talk. Okay?” Ilya hisses. “I will owe you favour.”

“You already owe me like ten,” Troy grumbles.

“Fine. I will owe you eleven.” Ilya groans again. “Troy. Please.”

Something in the other man relents at that. He nods once and looks over his shoulder at the attached bathroom. “You are so fucking weird, you know that?”

“I love you!” Ilya shouts and runs into the bathroom, quickly shutting the door behind him.

It’s a good thing he makes it there in time, because the moment the lock clicks, he hears Hayden Pike inside his office–and he is not alone.

“Hello. We were told we could speak to the shelter manager.”

Ilya closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the door.

He’d recognise that voice anywhere.

He might not know his first name—but he knows the tremors of his voice, the shape of his lips, the pattern of his freckles, the softness of his hair.

He knows Hollander the way a boyfriend should. Even if this whole relationship is a lie.

“Hey, uh, welcome, dudes,” Troy says, because he is the most awkward person ever.

“You are not Rozanov,” Hayden Pike notes, sounding highly suspicious.

“He is on lunch break,” Troy says, because he is also the worst liar ever.

“At 10 AM?” Hollander asks.

“He’s not Canadian. He is on a different time zone,” Troy says in a rush. “Have a seat. How can I help? He might not come back soon.”

“Good thing too.” Hayden Pike huffs, not so quietly. “Guy’s a total dick.”

“Hayden!”

“What, it’s true.” Pike huffs again. “He totally embarrassed me in front of Jackie.”

“I don’t think you need any help with that.” Hollander chuckles, a fond sound. “We were hoping to talk to the manager about the logistics of a possible adoption.”

“Right. I see.” Troy clears his throat, getting serious now. “It’s a bit of a process, and there is a lot of paperwork involved.”

“Oh, I know.” Hayden Pike sounds excited. “That’s why I brought my friend here to help me.”

Friend.

Hollander is Hayden Pike’s friend.

Hayden Pike—the man who hates Ilya’s guts for no reason— is friends with the Light of Ilya’s Life.

Great. Just great.

What crimes has Ilya committed in his past life to suffer like this?

As if Nick isn’t enough, now he’s got to deal with Hayden Pike, too?

Why is Hollander surrounded by weirdos and assholes? Is this some kind of compensation from the universe because Hollander is too pretty and too perfect?

“I can handle the paperwork,” Hollander says, because of course he does. Hayden Pike, do you know how lucky you are? “But we should probably meet the dogs first, yeah? Hayd, Jackie wanted us to check out the golden retriever with the blue bow?”

“That’d be Nora.” Troy sounds ecstatic, even though Ilya’s heart aches for Rex. “She’s my favourite, actually. Your wife has excellent taste.”

“That she does,” Pike preens, making Ilya roll his eyes. “I guess we’re taking Nora home soon.”

“We should meet her first, Hayden!” Hollander says seriously. “Aren’t we supposed to sit through a mandatory training session with her and read the medical reports before we make our decision?”

“That’s correct,” Troy says, sounding impressed. "Did you already speak to someone?"

“Oh no. It was in the brochure,” Hollander replies. 

Ilya sighs softly against the bathroom door. Of course, Hollander read the stupid brochure.

What is Ilya going to do with this man? How is Ilya going to find a way to keep him?

“That's great, man. I'm glad you are aware of the process. Those are non-negotiables to ensure both the safety of the family and our dogs. Have you adopted before?”

“Oh no.” Hollander chuckles.

“Are you interested?” Troy hums curiously.

“Ah, probably not.” Hollander chuckles again, awkwardly this time. “My boyfriend is allergic.”

Ilya smacks himself in the face.

Of course. Of fucking course.

Of course, this quinoa-eating, French-speaking piece of shit would be allergic to dogs.

What kind of loser is allergic to dogs? Even worse, what kind of asshole uses his allergies as an excuse to not adopt these beautiful souls?

Take a Claritin and man up, bitch.

“Your boyfriend is allergic to a lot of things,” Hayden Pike grumbles, and Ilya’s stomach twists.

It’s the same tone Jackie had used last week, full of concern and judgment, like she fully believes Hollander can do better than Nick.

Maybe they know already. They’ve figured it out.

Even if Hollander is oblivious, his friends must be onto the truth. They must think that Ilya and Hollander are not meant for each other at all.

Oh, he hasn’t taken you to his place yet? How weird. Oh, he took you to the Arcade? Is he that stingy? Hasn’t he introduced you to any of his friends? Is he embarrassed by you?

Ilya can see them sitting around and shit-talking about what a pathetic loser Nick is and how Hollander can do so much better than him.

But none of it is Nick’s fault.

They probably wouldn’t say any of it if Real Nick is the one dating Hollander.

This is all Ilya’s fault.

They don’t like Ilya. They think Ilya is a terrible choice for Hollander.

And soon enough, Hollander will think the same.

See? Time doesn’t fix things. It just makes them worse.

Ilya should tell him the truth. Right now.

Yes. Yes, he should go out there and come clean.

Too bad Hayden Pike will be there to witness his downfall. But beggars can’t be choosers, right?

“We can head to the kennels now.” He hears Troy tell the two men. “I’m sure Nora will be excited to meet you.”

Ilya waits for a long moment before he lets himself out of the bathroom. His office is empty now, except for the lingering scent of Hollander’s cologne. Ilya takes a deep breath, inhaling the citrusy smell and summoning his non-existent courage, before he carefully makes his way to the kennels.

He hates to admit it, but Hayden Pike seems to be a good match for Nora. The man seems enamoured with her, taking a hundred pictures on his phone and ranting about buying matching bows for the twins to a very excited Luca. 

Ilya tries not to think about Rex. It’s fine.

His time will come, as they keep telling him. If not, Ilya will run away with him. Maybe they could be alone together.

He takes a deep breath and steps closer to the kennels, ready to tell Hollander the whole truth. But the sight before him stops him dead in his tracks.

Hollander is sitting in the corner bench, smiling at his friend’s antics, as he fills out a form.

Ilya almost passes out.

Because Hollander...he is…he is wearing glasses.

Since when does Hollander wear glasses??? And why are they so sexy?

What is Ilya supposed to do now? Is he supposed to tell his gorgeous man that he is a liar and a fraud? What if Hollander tells him to fuck off? What if Ilya never gets to see him in those glasses again?

That can’t happen. Ilya might actually die.

He runs away quickly and locks himself in Galina’s office.

Maybe he is a coward.

But he is also a very weak man.

Weak for Hollander and his glasses. Fuck, it’s unfair.

It takes a whole hour for Troy to find him. Ilya is responding to some emails on his phone—because he’s still got a job to do—when the other man lets himself into Galina’s office and crosses his arms.

“I can explain,” Ilya tells him. “Hayden Pike has leprosy, and I want to stay away from him.”

Troy doesn’t respond or even do his signature eye roll. Instead, he throws the clipboard at Galina’s desk.

Ilya’s eyes fall on the neatly filled-out form and the beautiful handwriting—and the signature at the bottom: S. Hollander.

“Ah,” Ilya says, and then sighs tiredly, accepting defeat. “Okay. You can yell now.”

Troy’s mouth curves downwards into an annoyed little frown before he sighs tiredly too. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Ilya repeats. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I get it!” Troy throws up his hands. “Jesus Christ. That’s your man? Your greed knows no bounds, Rozanov!”

“Uh,” Ilya says in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I do!” Troy scoffs, shaking his head. “I would break the law for a man like that, too. Fuck, dude, he’s a total babe.”

“Ah,” Ilya says and grins slowly. “You saw the glasses, yes?”

“Fuck the glasses, bro,” Troy says wistfully. “Did you see his ass?”

“Okay, that is enough.” Ilya glares at him. “I will tell your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend is gonna be so pissed he wasn’t here to see that dump truck—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Ilya groans, shoving one of Galina’s spare gloves into the man’s mouth. “Leave me and Hollander alone. We don’t want you.”

“Hollander, huh?” Troy grins, his face turning wicked all of a sudden. “Too bad you weren’t there when he introduced himself to me. I know his name now.”

“What?” Ilya gasps. “What is it?”

“Like hell I'm gonna tell you.” Troy rolls his eyes. 

“Troy, do not fucking with me right now,” Ilya warns.

“What will you give me in return?”

“I will let you live and go home to your nice boyfriend,” Ilya growls.

“Fine, so dramatic.” Troy chuckles before his face drops for a moment. “I…I’m sorry, man. It’s actually Scott.”

Ew. Ew no.

Please. God. Why??

This can't happen. This cannot be allowed. 

They might both have to change their names now, because there is no way he is going to moan the name ‘Scott’ in bed. He’d rather die.

Ilya can’t help the grimace as he repeats the name under his breath. “Scott. Fuck. Seriously?”

“Ilya!” Troy starts to cackle like a maniac. “Your fucking face, oh my god!”

“Barrett, I am going to kill you!” Ilya shouts.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you!” Troy pokes his neck. “It’s Steve.”

“Fuck off, Barrett. I don’t trust you.”

“It’s Sonny. Cute, right?”

“I’m filing harassment complaint to Wiebe tomorrow,” Ilya tells him and grabs his phone to respond to another email. “Get out of my office.”

“This is Galina’s office, actually.”

“Then get out of my shelter.”

“So mean. Not cool. I don’t think Shane is going to like this attitude at all.”

Ilya’s fingers freeze over his phone. Something about that name—just the mere sound of it—makes his heart stutter.

He looks up and swallows nervously.

Troy’s face softens for a second. He nods once.

Fuck.

Shane. Shane.

Shane Hollander.

It’s perfect. It fits. It’s everything.

He wants to drive to the beach and write the name in the sand. He wants to make a stupid beaded bracelet with the name and wear it everywhere. He wants to write it in Russian just to see how pretty it looks. He wants to get it tattooed on his forehead. 

Most of all, he wants to shout it from the rooftop, just to say it out loud for the whole world to hear.

Shane. Shane Hollander. 

Too bad the shelter doesn’t have a rooftop. Maybe he should climb the roof anyway—or maybe he should just climb Shane Hollander instead.

“You have that face that tells me you are going to do something stupid,” Troy says, looking worried now.

Ilya all but runs out of the room. “Tell Wiebe I have medical emergency.”

“Getting hard is not a medical emergency, asshole!” Troy yells after him.

But Ilya is already on his way to his office to grab his things.

It takes him an hour to get to Hollander’s apartment—to Shane’s apartment.

He rings the doorbell twice, and the other man opens after a minute, still dressed in the same baby-blue shirt as before. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming over—”

“Hi, Shane,” Ilya whispers, chest lighting up as the name leaves his mouth for the first time.

The man—Shane—blinks. “Hi?”

“Hi.” Ilya giggles. “Hello, Shane.”

“Hello, Nick.” Shane giggles too, and some of the light in Ilya’s chest dims a little bit. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I—Can I come in?” Ilya asks stupidly, because he really didn’t think this one through.

“Sure.” Shane lets him in, gesturing at the couch, which is scattered with forms. “I was just doing some paperwork for a friend.”

“Ah,” Ilya says and then picks up the glasses discarded on top of the landlord consent form. “Come here. Put this on.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked nicely?”

“I don’t think you asked nicely at all.”

“Please, Shane.”

Shane visibly shudders before he picks up the glasses and puts them on slowly. Then he rolls his eyes fondly. “Happy?”

“Shane,” Ilya says the name again, unable to stop now, and rubs his thumb under the man’s eyes, tracing the freckles there. “В твоих глазах кусочек ночного неба.”

Shane all but melts against him. “What does that mean?”

“It means there is a piece of night sky in your eye,” Ilya tells him.

“That makes no sense.” Shane frowns a little.

“It does to me,” Ilya says, and leans over, pressing a kiss over the frame of the man’s glasses. “You are so beautiful, Shane. I like your face so much.”

“Oh.” Shane flushes beautifully, his fingers digging into Ilya’s shoulder. “I…I like your voice. I like how you say my name.”

“Yes?” Ilya whispers.

Shane nods, biting his lip. “How do I say that in Russian? That I like how you sound?”

Ilya traces his thumb over the man’s lip this time. “Mne nravitsa slushat' tebya.”

“Mne nravitsa slushat' tebya,” Shane repeats carefully.

Ilya leans closer and captures the man's lips in a kiss first, his mouth drifting down his neck slowly. “So perfect, Shane. Always perfect for me, solnyshko.”

Shane puts a hand on Ilya’s chest. “I have to finish these forms and send them to Hayden.”

“Ugh.” Ilya groans loudly. “I hate Hayden. You should call him and tell him to fill his own forms, yes?”

“I promised I'll help.” Shane clicks his tongue, then lets out a frustrated sigh. “Sorry. Some of these look kind of confusing.”

Ilya can’t help but grin at that. 

He is not a lawyer, and he is terrible with paperwork. But if there is one thing he knows, it’s dog adoption.

“Come here, sweetheart. I got you.” Ilya says, settling on the couch and patting his lap. “And keep the glasses on.”

Chapter End Notes

Troy Barrett, you whore.

For the Russian, I alternate between using the Cyrillic alphabet (when Ilya speaks) and typing out the words phonetically in English (when Shane repeats the phrases, so we can say it with him, hehe). I'm not including translations in the notes because it's all explained in the dialogue itself.

Except for 'Solnyshko'. We all know what that means 😎

Fun fact: When you have a pet allergy, you are not allergic to the pet’s hair, fur, or feathers. You are allergic to the protein that is found in the pet’s dander (dead skin cells), saliva, and urine. The hair, fur, or feathers collect the dander.

Chapter 6: I am an entertainment lawyer.

Chapter Summary

“First of all, nobody wants your stinky clothes,” Sveta says, no mercy as usual. “Second of all, I’m sorry, are we going to ignore the clusterfuck of a situation with your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend!” Ilya all but wails. “Sveta, I have a boyfriend. Can you believe it?”

“Ilyusha, fuck, focus!” Sveta snaps. “You could get deported.”

“If they didn’t deport me when I peed on that Voyageurs banner, they’re not going to deport me now,” Ilya says, completely unrepentant about his past crimes.

Chapter Notes

You people: I love this story. It's so fluffy. I love fluff 🥰
Also, you people: I can't wait for Shane to find out 😈

Freaks. All of you.

Also, this is officially our first chapter that's over 5k words. In my experience, we ain't going back now 🙄

Ilya has a big problem with kissing Shane Hollander.

If he were a better man, it would probably be the fact that he is kissing him by pretending to be someone else.

But it’s not that, because he is not a better man.

It’s not the cute little moans Shane lets out when Ilya sucks on his tongue. It’s not even the fact that Shane always feels the need to climb onto his lap when the kisses get a little heated.

The problem with kissing Shane Hollander is that Ilya never wants to stop.

So, yes. It’s a big issue for him, since people have to stop kissing at some point—to breathe or whatever.

But especially because all this kissing—and everything else—is going to come to a stop at some point.

Ilya doesn’t know when that’s going to be.

It’s been almost two months of this now. Ilya is honestly surprised that it lasted this long. A part of him is kind of surprised that Shane still has no clue and that he’s never questioned Ilya’s odd behaviour till now.

But you are not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, so Ilya doesn’t question it too much either.

Besides, he is going to tell Shane the truth. Soon. Maybe as soon as Shane climbs off his lap.

“Lyubimyy,” Ilya whispers. He tries. “We should stop.”

“You stop,” Shane hisses against Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya vaguely realises he’s got a hand up Shane’s shirt, squeezing the man’s right pec. For someone who works a desk job, Shane is built like a warrior—a warrior sent to torture Ilya’s sanity.

They haven’t done much more than kissing—and some light groping, and maybe some distracted humping.

But that’s it. Ilya can’t let it go beyond that. He’s worried Shane won’t ever forgive him if they cross that line.

Not that he expects Shane to forgive him at all.

People in Ilya’s life, like his own family, have not forgiven him—and Ilya has never done anything to hurt them. He doesn’t think so, at least.

So, if they can’t forgive him—people who were supposed to love him the most and people he has never harmed—and then how could he expect Shane to forgive him?

Shane, who is not obligated to forgive Ilya because they’re family. Shane, whom Ilya has hurt and lied to for the last two months.

So, yes. Forgiveness is out of the question.

Ilya hopes, at least, that when he tells Shane the truth, the other man will not hate him. He doesn’t expect Shane to understand. His beautiful Shane is too perfect and too sane to understand why someone would ever do something like this. This kind of desperation cannot be understood or explained. It can only be lived.

Maybe Shane won’t hate him. Maybe Shane will suggest they can be friends.

Then Shane will go back to Real Nick. Ilya will be invited to their wedding one day. Hayden Pike will mention this silly story in his toast, and everyone will laugh.

Ilya will probably jump into the nearest lake after.

Yes, this all seems very possible.

“Nick.” Shane tugs at Ilya’s hoodie, his lips unfairly rosy. “Are we stopping?”

“Yes,” Ilya says, summoning self-control he didn’t know he possessed. “You have work. I came here to help, not distract.”

“Ugh,” Shane groans, but makes no move to climb off Ilya’s lap and squirms a little. “I’m on a break right now. This is a break.”

“Oh, and I’m the snack?” Ilya grins salaciously, unable to help himself. Then they’re kissing again. Fuck. “Shane. Shane. Dorogoy. We should stop. You have presentation to finish, yes?”

Ilya had taken the day off since he worked all of last weekend representing the shelter at two different community events. He was going to go to work today anyway, hoping to discuss Rex’s progress with Troy and Galina. But Wiebe had sternly told him to take the day off and rest. Ilya had a feeling it was because neither Troy nor Galina had anything positive to report, so he didn’t bother fighting his boss.

The only silver lining was that Shane was working from home since it was Friday and had asked Ilya to come over, saying he was losing his mind over some big presentation at work tomorrow. He had asked Ilya, very sweetly, to stay by his side while he finished working on his pitch for a new client.

Ilya had done that. He had sat by Shane and given words of gentle motivation. He made Shane a hibiscus tea the way he liked it, with ice and cinnamon. He even gave the man a little shoulder massage.

Then Shane had claimed he needed a break, climbed onto Ilya’s lap and started kissing him. That was twenty minutes ago.

“Fine. Fine.” Shane grumbles as he moves to climb off Ilya’s lap. Then his phone pings on the coffee table, and Shane plops his ass right back, making Ilya choke out a groan, as he checks the message. “It’s Rose.”

“Hm,” Ilya says, running his hand up and down the man’s thigh. One of them should have better self-control. Ilya was really hoping it would be Shane. “How is she?”

“She is coming to Montreal next month,” Shane says, typing on his phone. “You know, we should all hang out.”

Ilya freezes underneath him, and Shane notices, which almost makes him climb off Ilya’s lap.

“Or not,” Shane says in a rush, hovering over him now. “It was only a suggestion. It’s probably too soon, right?”

“No. No. Nothing like that.” Ilya tries to reassure him, making him sit back on Ilya’s lap.

“You could invite your friends too, if that’s better,” Shane suggests carefully. “Do they…do they know about me?”

Ilya hates the uncertainty in his tone, as if he isn’t sure whether Ilya would bother to discuss Shane with his friends, let alone care enough to introduce him. If only Shane knew Ilya’s friends and colleagues were sick of him talking about this man. If only he knew about the ‘No Shane Zone’ posters Harris had put up earlier this week as a joke. Well, mostly as a joke.

“Of course, they know about you,” Ilya tells him, squeezing the side of his waist. “But they are not like Rose. They are, well, boring lawyers.”

“I’m boring too,” Shane hums.

“Yes, but you are very pretty.” Ilya cups his face, pressing a kiss to the jaw because he really can’t help it. A tiny frown appears between the man’s eyebrows and disappears before Ilya can think too much of it. “I would like to meet Rose. Next month, yes?”

“Yeah.” Shane smiles now, obviously pleased. “I’ll check if Hayden and Jackie are available too. It’s going to be a mess to coordinate because of the kids, and Rose is filming over the weekend. But we’ll figure something out. We can host here.”

Right.

So, that’s not happening.

Ilya doubts if he’s even going to be allowed in this apartment next month. Not if he tells Shane the truth like he’s been planning to all week.

It’s not like he is deliberately putting it off.

Okay, fine. Most of the time, he’s the one who is deliberately putting it off, coming up with the most ridiculous excuses every time.

Like today. Ilya had thought that, since he had the day off, he should come over and talk to Shane and tell him the whole story. But then Shane had sounded so frustrated on the phone, saying his rude client was being unreasonable and demanding meetings on weekends and making last-minute changes. So what was Ilya supposed to do?

This presentation tomorrow is clearly important to Shane, and Ilya is not going to mess it up by dropping a bomb on him. So, instead, he made Shane tea, gave him a massage, and made out with him for a little bit.

It was the morally correct thing to do.

“You don’t have to meet Rose if you don’t want to,” Shane says again, putting his phone away now, looking anxious. “She was just asking since she doesn’t get to visit Montreal a lot anymore.”

“It is okay. I want to meet Rose,” Ilya says, which is at least true, even if it won’t happen. “She is the one you dated in university, yes?”

“Briefly,” Shane clarifies.

“Briefly.” Ilya nods. “I will give her talk in Russian. Maybe show my angry face.”

“Are you trying to threaten her?” Shane giggles.

“Not threaten. Just friendly talk. So, she remembers you have a boyfriend now.” Ilya shrugs.

“I only have a boyfriend because of her.” Shane rolls his eyes. “And you don’t have to threaten her in Russian. She knows I’m gay and she knows I’m very happy.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what? Gay?” Shane frowns. “Nick, I was literally grinding on your crotch five minutes ago.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Ilya says, grateful. “Are you very happy?”

Shane chews on his lower lip and looks at Ilya shyly. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Tell him. Tell him right now.

And then what? Take all this happiness away?

God, how is he even supposed to do this? Is there a guide for this kind of thing? There should be a brochure or something to help a guy out.

How to Tell Your Boyfriend You are Not Who He Thinks You Are.

Ilya did look it up online last week out of pure desperation and was promptly directed to a website about coming out to your partner as trans.

He did end up reading some of the resources and found a leaflet that turned out to be surprisingly helpful.

He was advised to pick a positive time and place to share the news, which is why he decided not to burden Shane with the truth today.

He was also told to write down what he wants to say beforehand and practice saying it. Ilya did try this the whole week, but he kept writing all the words in Russian. Translating has never been easy for him, especially when it comes to feelings.

The resource also said that he should allow his partner to react to the news, whether it’s anger, shock or apprehension. Ilya is worried it’s going to be all of it, maybe even a bit of disgust. He doesn’t mind Shane feeling any of it. He just doesn’t know how he is going to handle it, to be honest.

Worst of all, to end his ‘coming out’, he was encouraged to share what he is most excited about for their future together. He was asked to prepare a list of experiences he is excited to share with his partner as his most authentic self.

That’s when Ilya started to have a panic attack.

Because what the fuck kind of experience is he supposed to share with Shane as his most authentic self?

Are they going to enjoy the magic of tandoori chicken and throw out all the quinoa containers off the balcony? Are they going to smoke up together and listen to Rihanna? Is he going to introduce Shane to his friends who most certainly don’t live in Westmount or work in a fancy law firm? Are they going to take all the dogs at the shelter for a walk and see who gets the most hugs? Is he going to take Shane back to his apartment and introduce him to Anya instead of a normal, happy family?

Why would Shane look forward to any of this? What is exciting about any of this? What does Ilya even have to offer?

All of it, pressing down tightly on his ribcage, had made him back out of his plan to tell Shane last week.

He didn’t feel too guilty about it, though. What did the leaflet say at the end again?

Come out when you’re ready. There’s no deadline for becoming yourself. Take your time.

Yeah. That was some good advice.

“Are you happy?” Shane asks him back, his voice hesitant.

“I am happy if you are happy,” Ilya says, and means it wholeheartedly, too.

“That is such a non-answer.” Shane groans, not pleased. “You should be ready for this kind of thing. Rose is going to grill you for details. I think she’s already preparing a questionnaire.”

“I thought she was coming to Montreal for work,” Ilya chuckles, hoping he doesn’t sound nervous as he feels.

“She is. She’s super excited. It’s kind of her first big role,” Shane says, looking fond. “Oh, speaking of, since she’s new to this whole thing, she was wondering if you could help her out.”

“Help?” Ilya blinks.

“She got her contract a couple of days ago, and she isn’t super sure if everything is in order. So, she asked if you could take a look.”

“Take a look?” Ilya swallows.

“Well, her exact words were…” Shane chuckles as he picks up his phone and squints at it, his glasses unfortunately nowhere to be found. “Please remember I’m a starving artist who can’t afford to hire a lawyer and need your man to read this damn thing and give me some notes, pretty please.”

Give her notes? On what? Is he supposed to read her contract and then…and then what? What the fuck does this man even do for a living? Jesus Christ!

“Nick?” Shane must see the confusion on Ilya’s face because this time he climbs off his lap completely, sitting by his side, putting some distance between them. Fuck. “Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. This is still your job, and you shouldn’t be doing favours for free, and you haven’t even met her—”

“Shane.”

“—but entertainment lawyers are so expensive, and I told Rose I can pay for it, but she says it’s ridiculous for me to pay for an entertainment lawyer when I’m dating one. Apparently, that’s like low-key cheating, which is a ridiculous thing to say, by the way. But I shouldn’t have asked you. We shouldn’t mix work with our relationship because it could—”

“Shane,” Ilya says again, firmly this time, making the other man stop. He leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips. “I will do it.”

“Are you sure?” Shane asks worriedly.

“Yes.” Ilya nods. “Anything for you.”

Shane visibly relaxes at that and buries his face in Ilya’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Of course, dorogoy. It is no problem.”

Shane drops a kiss on Ilya’s shoulder before he picks up his phone again. “I’ll forward it to you right now.”

Ilya manages a smile and picks up his phone too. He doesn’t open his messages.

He opens Google instead.

So, Ilya might be fucked. Just a little bit.

Shane is in his office now, on a call with his team, discussing some final details of the pitch.

Ilya is outside, in the living room, totally not freaking out on Shane’s very fancy and very expensive couch.

Oh, what he’d do to have a hug from Anya right now. Or a cigarette. Preferably both.

Your Recent Searches

what is entertainment lawyer??

what is intellectual property?

bad bunny entertainment lawyer

how much entertainment lawyer salary?

how to bring back communism??

law school in montreal

how much law school cost montreal

how to bring back communism fast???

Every search result makes him nauseous, bringing up the chickpea and coconut stew Shane had made for them for lunch earlier. If Ilya didn’t throw up then, he is definitely about to throw up now.

He closes the browser and opens his text thread with Shane again, going back to the PDF the other man had forwarded him earlier this afternoon.

Ilya tries, okay? He tries to understand. He tries to be helpful.

But he barely understands legal jargon in Russian. So, it’s next to impossible for him to navigate this document without popping a vein in his forehead.

He’ll have to tell Shane the truth now.

It’s not like he can bullshit his way around this. If he makes a mistake, it could be dangerous for Rose. More importantly, Shane will probably be turned off by the incompetence.

Okay. Okay, time to come clean.

Ilya quietly walks over to Shane’s office and already hears raised voices. The sound of his boyfriend trying to explain something in very frustrated—and very sexy—French reaches the corridor.

Ilya sighs and walks back to the living room.

Okay, fine. So, he can’t tell Shane. Not today. Not right.

It’s already a horrible thing to do. Ilya is not going to do it at the worst moment. That’s not what the leaflet said.

So, Ilya does the unthinkable. He decides to walk into the lion’s den.

“Why are you calling me?”

“Sveta!” Ilya says brightly. “Hello, my sweet darling, sunshine, princess.”

“Gross.”

“Hello, my girlboss cunty diva queen.”

“Better,” Sveta hums, switching to Russian, the sound of home already easing the tightness in his chest. “Answer the question, asshole. Why are you calling me?”

“Do I need a reason?” Ilya pouts. “Can’t a man call his most loyal and supportive friend?”

“You never call anyone. We all live in fear of your texts and thousand emojis,” Sveta says, because she knows him a little too well. “Why are you calling me? Are you in trouble?”

“Uh,” Ilya says, which is not the correct response.

“Motherfucker.”

“I am fine. I promise.” Ilya tries to reassure her, because despite the frustration, he knows she’s worried now. “I need some legal advice.”

“Oh my god, for the hundredth time, you cannot kidnap dogs from the shelter. Even if you still work there. It’s still a crime.”

Ilya sighs at that. He might have run that idea by her out of desperation a couple of months ago when he first realised Rex is not going to find a home as quickly as the others. He wishes she didn’t remind him now.

Maybe he should just do it anyway since he’s already breaking a bunch of laws.

“Is Rex still waiting?” Sveta asks gently when he’s quiet for a while.

“Hm,” Ilya hums. “You can take him.”

“I work 60 hours a week,” Sveta reminds.

“And he can help,” Ilya offers. “He is very smart, you know.”

“No, thank you.” Sveta ignores his pleas. “I will, however, buy him some treats the next time I'm in Montreal.”

Ilya sighs again, even though he knows Rex will be grateful. “How is Toronto?”

She had moved there a couple of years ago for a better job offer. Ilya had made a whole dramatic intervention, telling her about the crime rates in Toronto and showing her how average the men—and women—from the city looked. It hadn’t stopped her, of course. The money had been too good to refuse.

These lawyers. They’re all greedy assholes.

“You didn’t call me to chat about Toronto.” Sveta scoffs loudly. “What legal advice do you want? Tell me what’s going on and be fucking honest.”

“Fine,” Ilya relents. “But you can’t report me to the police.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.”

He tells her everything, of course.

She’s one of the very few people he tells everything to. His inner circle is so small that it’s not even a circle. It’s barely even a hyphen.

And yet, a part of him desperately aches for Shane to join that precious group of confidantes.

But how could he tell Shane everything when he can’t even tell the man his name?

It’s never going to happen, is it?

“So, yeah.” Ilya finishes with a deep sigh. “I know you are not an entertainment lawyer, but if you could check her contract and give me some notes, I will give you unlimited access to my wardrobe the next time you stay over.”

“First of all, nobody wants your stinky clothes,” Sveta says, no mercy as usual. “Second of all, I’m sorry, are we going to ignore the clusterfuck of a situation with your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend!” Ilya all but wails. “Sveta, I have a boyfriend. Can you believe it?”

“Ilyusha, fuck, focus!” Sveta snaps. “You could get deported.”

“If they didn’t deport me when I peed on that Voyageurs banner, they’re not going to deport me now,” Ilya says, completely unrepentant about his past crimes.

“Ilya,” Sveta says, all serious now. He stands up a little straighter. “He could report you.”

“He wouldn’t,” Ilya says immediately.

“Have you fucked him yet?”

“Jesus, Sveta.”

“Have you?” Sveta demands. “Because that can make things worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Under Canadian law, consent is defined as the voluntary agreement to engage in the sexual activity in question—”

Ilya doesn’t listen to the rest of it. He might actually throw up.

She is not insinuating what he thinks she is insinuating, right?

He knows she is just looking out for him.

But even if they have sex, it could never be…Ilya would never force anyone. He’d literally rather cut off his own dick.

Besides, Shane would never report Ilya.

Or would he?

He would never report Nick. He would never hurt Nick.

Only God knows what he’d do to Ilya once he finds out.

“Sveta, please turn off your lawyer brain.” Ilya cuts her off. “This is a matter of the heart, not the law.”

“You are literally playing with the law—”

“Yes. Yes. Barrett said the same thing. But then he saw Shane’s ass and—”

“I’m going to kill all of you. Problem solved.”

“Then you will go to jail.” Ilya chuckles. “Wow, Sveta. You are a very bad criminal lawyer.”

Sveta doesn’t respond to that, not even to tell him to go fuck himself.

Ilya wonders if he’s crossed a line. He knows how hard she’s had to work to get to where she is now. He shouldn’t have made a callous joke like that.

“You do this all the time,” she says eventually, sounding awfully tired.

“I shouldn’t have made that joke,” Ilya winces. “Forgive me, please.”

“I don’t care about your stupid joke,” Sveta hisses at him. She sounds angry now. “You do this all the time. You have trouble letting go of things.”

“I let go of Russia,” Ilya argues, immediately defensive.

“We both know Russia let go of you, Ilyusha,” Sveta tells him gently. Ilya doesn’t respond. He stares at the И on his palm instead. “You held on for as long as you could. You stayed back for longer than you should have. You never should have waited until that piece of that old man died—”

“Sveta.”

“—but you always fucking do this. You always hold on. Until the very last moment. You hold on until you burn your fucking hands.” Sveta goes on, sounding more frustrated than he’s ever heard before. “Now you are doing it with him, too. You are holding on.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Ilya says quietly.

“What makes you think he’s the only one who is going to get hurt?” Sveta asks him.

Ilya closes his eyes.

It’s not like that matters. Whatever happens, he always ends up getting hurt anyway. Every time.

So, it doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant.

“I like him very much,” Ilya says, because that matters. It matters more than anything else. Only Sveta might get just how much.

“Then I am happy for you,” she says, and her tone softens. There, she gets it. He can hear it in her voice. He knows she gets it. “But relationships are built on trust, hm? If you like him, then you have to stop lying to him.”

“I know.”

“Then why aren’t you telling him the truth?”

“Because he will leave, Svetlana!”

“Well, you did lie to him—”

“No, he will leave because I am me!” Ilya says, almost to himself.

It might only be two months, and Shane might know nothing about him, but Ilya knows Shane all too well.

He knows Shane is good—as good as a person can get. He is not just polite and kind, like most people are, because that’s how humans should be. Shane is empathetic. Shane actually gives a shit about the people and plants and literally everything around him.

Shane cares.

And Ilya loves that about him—more than his freckles and his glasses and his butt and his grin and his face.

It’s why he doesn’t think Shane would hate him or report him. But none of that means Shane will actually like him.

You can not hate someone for their foolishness—even forgive them for it—and still not like them.

Ilya wouldn’t blame him if that were the case. There isn’t much about him to like. Certainly not for someone like Shane Hollander.

Shane likes perfection and success. Not men who cry over stray dogs that might never find a home.

“You are a ridiculous man,” Sveta informs him, sounding fond for some odd reason. “Your self-esteem has severely dropped since we moved to Canada.”

“How dare you?” Ilya gasps.

“Stop wallowing and talk to your boyfriend,” Sveta says, and he isn’t sure if this is legal advice or not. “Show him the real you, and you might surprise him.”

“I will give him a heart attack,” Ilya groans. “Sveta, he does not eat in bed.”

“Most people don’t eat in bed, you heathen.”

“But that’s the most comfiest place!”

“If the biggest hurdle in your relationship is where you eat, then I’m sure you will both be fine,” Sveta says, and he knows she is rolling her eyes now. “Will you talk to him? Tell him the truth.”

“Fine,” Ilya says, because he was going to do that anyway. He read a leaflet and everything. He should probably tell her that. “Will you look at the contract?”

“I will after you tell him the truth.”

“Sveta, no! This is urgent.”

“So is telling the truth,” she says simply, taking no prisoners. “Do we have a deal, Rozanov?”

Ilya sighs.

She is a very annoying person. Always pushing him.

It’s not a bad thing. Most people in Ilya’s life didn’t care what he did. Ilya likes it when they care. It makes him feel nice sometimes.

Svetlana makes him feel nice most of the time, except when they like the same person. Then she is not very nice to him, because she likes to win as much as he does.

Thank God she didn’t see Shane’s ass first.

“I am scared,” Ilya admits, because Sveta has seen him be scared about worse things. Although this definitely feels like it’s up there with some of the worst.

“I know,” she softens again. “But promise me you will try?”

“Fine,” Ilya grumbles, eternally grateful for having her in his corner. “But when he breaks up with me, you will fly back to Montreal to make me feel better.”

“I will bring the good vodka with me.”

“There is no good vodka in this cursed country.”

“I know, Ilyusha, I know.”

It’s late when Shane comes back to the living room. He looks drained and done. Ilya immediately drags him to the couch and holds him close, pressing kisses to his hair and murmuring words of comfort.

“Sorry.” Shane all but slurs. “Maybe we can watch a movie? Did you eat? I can make something.”

“No, Shane, you are tired,” Ilya says incredulously, and then, because he promised Sveta he’ll try, he swallows nervously and decides to try. “We can order something? Eat in bed?”

“In bed?” Shane removes his head from Ilya’s shoulder and looks up with wide, horrified eyes, as if Ilya had suggested that they should eat in the bathroom.

Ilya has indeed eaten in the bathroom several times when he’s been running late for work, or sometimes when he got hungry after a long workday. Who hasn’t taken a shawarma to the shower? He probably shouldn’t tell Shane any of that, though. One thing at a time.

“Or we could just get takeout,” Ilya says quickly, worrying that eating junk food and desecrating the bed might be too much for Shane in one night.

“Okay,” the man says easily, and that’s how Ilya knows Shane is actually tired. “Do you know any vegan places nearby? I can look it up if you want.”

“No. Not vegan.”

“Right.” Shane almost yawns, resting his head against Ilya again. “It’s Friday.”

“We could order fried chicken and cheesy fries,” Ilya says carefully. “Go crazy, you know.”

Shane tenses at that. Then he carefully removes himself from Ilya and shakes his head. “I can’t. I have my meeting tomorrow.”

“So, you can’t have fried chicken?” Ilya asks in confusion.

“I…I don’t want to get sick,” Shane says, twisting his fingers together. “I don’t usually eat that stuff.”

That stuff. Right.

That stuff doesn't just refer to food Shane despises. That stuff refers to everything Ilya likes. 

That stuff refers to everything Ilya is. 

Ilya tries not to deflate at that.

He doesn’t know why he even bothered to pretend to be organic broccoli. He is clearly the fried chicken. 

“Okay. Sorry. We can order something else. Maybe broccoli and tofu with garlic rice?” Ilya suggests, because of course he knows what Shane’s preference is, even if he doesn’t understand it.

“Perfect.” Shane gives a little smile, and his phone buzzes again. He sighs. “I have to take this.”

“Shane, enough working now—”

“It’s just JJ. I’ll be right back.”

By the time he comes back, the food has already arrived. Ilya is plating up—because Shane hates eating out of the takeout containers—when the other man wraps his arms around him from the back. “Sorry.”

“It is okay.” Ilya gives him a kiss.

“JJ was having an argument with his sister about her baby shower, and he needed to rant,” Shane sighs as they get settled at the dining table. “Sometimes, I’m so glad I’m an only child.”

“You like the attention, yes?” Ilya teases.

“Fuck off.” Shane gives a smile, this one a little brighter than before. “Do you ever wish you had siblings?”

Right.

Apparently, Nick is an only child too.

They truly are a match made in heaven, aren’t they?

“Sometimes, yes,” Ilya admits, and it’s the truth. Even though he’s got Alexei, it doesn’t feel like he actually has a sibling. He hasn’t had one for a long time, if he’s being honest.

“Really?” Shane looks surprised. “Older or younger?”

“Older, maybe.” Ilya smiles and tries not to look too sad about it. “I would have liked someone to look out for me. Like big brothers do, yes? I would have probably gotten into less trouble. So, yes. Older sibling would be nice, I think.”

He is munching on the tofu—and pretending to enjoy it—when Shane’s hand wraps around his own. “I don’t think you need one. You turned out perfectly fine, Nick.”

Ilya almost laughs out loud at that.

He doesn’t drive back home after that.

He goes to the shelter instead. He lets himself into the kennels.

Rex, who is still howling, doesn’t stop when he sees Ilya.

Ilya lets him out anyway and wraps himself around the pup, giving him a tight hug.

He sits on the floor, as Rex chews on Ilya’s last pair of good winter boots, and stares at his phone.

Alexei’s contact number stares right back at him.

Ilya’s fingers hover over the call button when Rex launches himself at Ilya and starts biting his thumb.

“Okay. Okay. I won’t do it. Message received.” Ilya chuckles, putting his phone away. “We don’t need extra pain, hm? I think you and I have both had enough for a lifetime.”

Rex ignores him and jumps from his hold, starting to pace around the kennels restlessly. Ilya sighs and runs after him, keeping a close eye as always.

“Dude, I thought you were off today.”

Ilya blinks at Troy. “Why are you here so late?”

“Uh,” Troy says, and then awkwardly scratches his head. “Sorry. I was training Rex.”

“Oh,” Ilya says and then pulls the man into a hug without another word. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Troy says and pulls back. “Why are you here?”

“Left my charger,” Ilya lies, and changes the topic. “How was Rex? Was he good?”

“No,” Troy says, because there is no point in lying, not about this. “But he tried, and that counts too.”

When Ilya gets back to his apartment, it’s almost midnight. He toes off his half-bitten shoes and slumps on the bed, taking out his phone.

[To: Sveta 🫶🏾]

i couldn’t do it

but i promise i tried

forgive me, rodnaya 💔💔💔

Then he opens his laptop and starts to type. He writes down everything he wants to say to Shane. If he sits down with a pen and paper, his fingers automatically turn to Russian. But he’s always found it easier to type in English, maybe because he only got a computer after he came to Canada.

It’s not a great confession by any means, but it’s an honest one. Ilya hopes it’s enough—enough to make Shane not hate him.

He is halfway through—deleting a paragraph about Shane’s freckles, because three seems excessive—when his phone pings again.

[From: Sveta 🫶🏾]

You always try

Now try harder tomorrow. I know you can do it ❤️

(Attached Document: Rose_Landry_TalentAgreement_Edited)

Ilya responds with a reasonable number of heart emojis and kissy face emojis before he forwards the document to Shane.

Then he hesitates for a moment before he sends off another message.

He might be a liar and a fraud. But he always keeps his promises.

[To: Shane 🥺]

do you want to come over to my place tomorrow? 

Chapter End Notes

Good News: The next two chapters are my favourite 😍
Bad News: I'm kinda busy starting tomorrow 😔

I will try to update as soon as I can. Find me on tumblr @khaleesiofalicante or subscribe on AO3 for updates!

Fun fact: In general, entertainment law involves several areas of law. It includes a combination of intellectual property law, contracts, business associations, securities law, and labour and employment law. Their job consists of negotiating contracts and fees, first rights and copyrights, publishing rights, etc., among other responsibilities. Large television or music studios usually have their own in-house legal departments with their own entertainment lawyers. (Oh, this man sold his soul to the devil fr).

Chapter 7: I am circumcised.

Chapter Summary

“Well, I hope it all goes well,” Troy says, sounding earnest for once. “If you get arrested, we’ll bail you out.”

“If I get arrested, I will be deported,” Ilya notes dryly.

“Then Troy will marry you for Canadian Citizenship,” Harris offers easily.

“Why do I have to marry him? You marry him!”

“I don’t want to marry him!

“I don’t wanna marry him either!”

“Oh, great. I have already been rejected twice. This will be good practice for later,” Ilya jokes, but only a little.

Chapter Notes

I tooooold you we will never get another chapter below 5k once we break the barrier. Same shit every time, man.

There is sexual content in this chapter. It's nothing too explicit (I think), but flagging it anyway. If you are icky about them having sex, given the circumstances, I'd suggest you skip that part.

“I understand that you might have a lot of questions. Maybe you have already suspected. I don’t know.  But I do know that hiding this from you has been exhausting. Every time you called me by a name that isn’t mine and every moment you believed I am someone I’m not, I was terrified. I was terrified that if I let you see the real me, everything would fall apart. But I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to be afraid of being known by you.”

“Bro, please, are you seriously reading from a leaflet for trans people?”

“Barrett, shut up, you are ruining my flow.”

“You are not real, dude.”

“Troy, hush. Ilyusha, keep going.”

“Thank you, Galina. I will continue.” Ilya clears his throat, sending a pointed glare towards Troy before he continues earnestly. "I am still me. This isn’t me becoming someone else. It’s me finally trying to stop pretending I’m someone I’m not.”

The break room is quiet for a moment before Troy folds forward and breaks into loud, offensive laughter, making Ilya seriously consider getting Rex to pee on the man’s Air Jordan collection.

“I think it works,” hums Galina, the only true friend he’s ever had.

“I agree.” Harris nods, his other true friend.

“Are you guys for real right now?” Troy, the traitor, asks as he still laughs.

“From a Comms angle, this confession is so much better than his previous speech,” Harris points out.

“The leaflet said I should add personal touch,” Ilya grumbles.

“Ilya, you spoke about his freckles for three minutes,” Harris says incredulously.

“And?”

“Stop bullying him!” Galina chuckles, shooing the heathens away. “Ilyusha, this is great. When are you talking to him?”

“Tonight,” Ilya says, suddenly nervous. “He is coming to my apartment.”

“Ah, so that’s why you are here on a Saturday and torturing all of us.” Troy clicks his tongue.

“I came to visit my friends,” Ilya says defensively. “My very wise friends who will give me wise advice. Not you, Barrett.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t go to Stanley’s for advice.” Harris shudders at the mere thought.

Ilya might have floated the idea in the group chat—which he is obviously still a part of, thanks to his incredible meme skills. But most of the suggestions revolved around standing outside Shane’s apartment with a boombox.

Ilya doesn’t know what a boombox is, and he isn’t keen on advice from younglings who are still trying to grow a moustache. He had hoped that maybe Scott Hunter would have some thoughts, since he managed to lock down a beautiful man himself. But the other man had put Ilya on Seen as usual.

Ilya ignored the silence. Maybe Hunter doesn’t want to share his secrets. Ilya is certain some kind of ancient witchcraft was involved anyway. It can’t surely be only because of his looks and charm.

“What if he starts yelling at you or something?” Troy asks, no longer laughing now.

“I can handle yelling.” Ilya shrugs, because that is unfortunately not a new thing for him at all. “But Anya will be there, and she is very cute. Shane will not yell in front of her.”

“Good plan.” Harris nods in approval.

“Well, I hope it all goes well,” Troy says, sounding earnest for once. “If you get arrested, we’ll bail you out.”

“If I get arrested, I will be deported,” Ilya notes dryly.

“Then Troy will marry you for Canadian Citizenship,” Harris offers easily.

“Why do I have to marry him? You marry him!”

“I don’t want to marry him!

“I don’t wanna marry him either!”

“Oh, great. I have already been rejected twice. This will be good practice for later,” Ilya jokes, but only a little.

The two men ignore Ilya’s self-deprecation and giving him a hug before they head outside to film the weekly content for the shelter’s social media. Ilya gives Galina a sideways glance before he quickly busies himself with dusting the very clean coffee maker in the break room.

“If it doesn’t go well, I want you to come here,” Galina tells him.

“If it doesn’t go well, I am jumping into Saint Lawrence,” Ilya says, only half-joking again.

“Saint Lawrence is frozen at this time of the year,” Galina says, ever the practical one.

“Great, I will break like egg and die.”

“Ilyusha.”

“It will go fine,” Ilya tells her. He tells himself, really. “Shane is a good person.”

“Good people don’t like being lied to,” Galina reminds him. “I’m not saying it will go badly. I’m just saying we’re here for you if it does.”

He knows that. Of course he does.

His colleagues—who are his closest friends, really—have been there for him during some really bad times.

But the thing with people like Ilya is that there are always worse times. Sometimes, life to him feels like one bad thing after another.

It’s why he constantly seeks out people, hoping to find new ones who will make it all a little less lonely and a little easier to bear.

Shane does that. Shane does that really well. Shane does that without even trying.

Ilya hasn’t even offered the man a single piece of himself, and yet, this is the most cared for he’s felt in a long time.

If Shane could make him feel like this now, how would it feel once Shane gets to know him?

Would it be a thousand times better?

Would it all stop completely?

Ilya doesn’t know. He supposes he will find out later today.

He turns away from the coffee maker and manages a smile. “How was Rex today? He is good now, yes? He does not need medication?”

Galina, not a stranger to his refusal to talk about things, indulges his distraction. But it’s not a good one.

Turns out, Rex might indeed need to start medication soon.

Ilya truly hopes it’s the last bit of bad news he receives today.

After procrastinating for as long as possible, Ilya finally leaves the shelter at noon.

He does feel a little better. Being around dogs—and his friends—always has that effect on him. A part of him wonders if he intentionally came here today preemptively seeking comfort, as if his heart already knows of the pain that awaits him tonight.

But that can’t be true.

Ilya, despite everything in his life, has always been surprised by pain. It has never done him the kindness of coming at him slowly and carefully, giving his heart time to adjust.

He never saw his mother’s departure or his father’s deterioration coming. He never anticipated Alexei’s betrayal either.

It always hits him square in the chest, out of nowhere, as if he deserves no gentleness. None at all.

It’s why, with Shane, he wants it to be different.

The pain will come, he knows, along with the heartbreak. But he wants it to be slow this time.

He wants to be put down gently, like a dog that’s been cared for and loved. Not run over in the middle of the street without a care.

It’s not a lot to ask, is it?

The maudlin thoughts consume him during the short walk from the shelter to his car. It’s pathetic, really, how tiring it is to be inside his own head. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but Ilya hasn’t touched one in weeks.

He is terrified that Shane will smell it on him, and everything will come to an end. But more importantly, Shane doesn’t like them. Ilya finds it very difficult to do things that make Shane uncomfortable.

It’s unnerving, the power this man has over him. It’s dangerous for sure.

Ilya wants to give him more.

An hour later, he finds himself in a grocery store in his neighbourhood that sells plant-based items, shopping for tonight’s dinner. Ilya wants it to be a good one, just in case it’s their last.

He has no idea what he is looking for, though, as he blindly tries to find the items listed in an online recipe he found, one he thinks Shane will like. He gives up five minutes later and decides to ask the man himself.

[To: Shane 🥺]

(Attached: Location Pin)

[From: Shane 🥺]

Did you send the wrong pin?

This isn’t in Westmount 🤔

[To: Shane 🥺]

i know

we will meet here for dinner 🥰🥰🥰

[From: Shane 🥺]

Why?

What is this place?

[To: Shane 🥺]

it’s a surprise 🤫

[From: Shane 🥺]

Okay…

I’m off to sleep now. Goodnight ❤️

[To: Shane 🥺]

goodnight, moy lyubimyy ❤️❤️❤️

good luck with presentation tomorrow 🍀

Ilya smiles at their last exchange as he shoots off another text, knowing Shane should be back home by now. Hopefully, he isn’t too tired for a nice dinner—and the terrible truth.

[To: Shane 🥺]

how was presentation, sweetheart? 😊😊

i am in grocery store 🛒

do you like miso paste??

they have chickpea and soy 😋

which one do you like?

He is reading the ingredients on both, because Shane always does that before buying anything from the grocery store, when his phone pings with a response.

[From: Shane 🥺]

I can’t today

Sorry

Ilya’s heart does an odd thing—half of it very obviously and quite treacherously relieved, while the other half scrambles for an explanation.

He figured out the truth. He knows your broke-ass doesn’t live in Westmount. He hates you. And then a worse possibility. He doesn’t want to see you. He is bored with you already. You’ve somehow managed to ruin Shane’s perfect soulmate for him. 

Either way, Ilya doesn’t care. Not when there are bigger things to worry about.

[To: Shane 🥺]

are you okay? 🥹🥹🥹

what happened??

you did not use punctuation in your text 😥

[From: Shane 🥺]

Nothing happened. I’m fine.

I’m just not feeling well. Raincheck?

[To: Shane 🥺]

are you sick? ☹️☹️☹️

do you need medicine? Soup?

i can bring you soup

[From: Shane 🥺]

No

I don’t want to talk to anyone right now

I just want to be alone

Well, fuck that.

Nobody wants to be alone, and Shane never says no to soup.

“What are you doing here?” Shane demands when Ilya rings his doorbell later that night.

“I brought soup,” Ilya says, holding up the paper bag with dinner for them both. 

“I told you I want to be alone,” Shane grumbles, but lets him in anyway.

“Ah, I did not see that text. My phone died.”

“You have read receipts on.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Nick.”

Ilya pauses in the kitchen.

It’s been so long pretending to be this other man that Ilya responds to the name on instinct now. He wonders, often at night when he lies awake and counts his sins in both hands, what his own name would sound like in Shane’s lips.

Would he say it just like everyone else in this country? Would he drag the wrong vowel, too?

It’s too much to think about right now, especially when he knows he has another night of lying ahead of him.

He walks back to the man, after dropping the food on the kitchen counter, and grabs him by the jaw. Shane’s eyes are filled with unshed tears, the same way they had been when they met for the first time at Stanley’s.

The night when all the lying began. The night when Ilya decided he never wanted to see this man hurt again.

And just like that, they are back to square one.

“What happened?” Ilya asks him now.

“Nothing.”

“Shane,” Ilya says, making the man look him in the eye. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing important,” Shane sighs, looking away briefly. “The client rejected my design.”

“They didn’t like it?” Ilya frowned.

“Worse, he didn’t even listen to the pitch.” Shane lets out a bitter laugh. “He was on his phone the whole time, and then not even ten minutes in, he AirDropped us a fucking Pinterest board his girlfriend sent him and told us to do something with it.”

Ilya knows many people like that. People who don’t care for other people’s feelings, or their time, and take all of it for granted. Ilya might get Rex to pee on this man's shoes, too. Maybe all over his ugly house because he clearly has no taste. 

“Your client is an idiot,” Ilya tells him seriously. “Only idiots will not like your design.”

“I don’t care that he didn’t like my design. If he didn’t, then I’d have asked for feedback and made him something he’d actually like,” Shane says quietly. “But he didn’t even listen to me. Like he had already decided my ideas are not up to his standards.”

“Shane.”

“It’s stupid. I’m sorry,” Shane says, mostly to himself, shaking his head. “I’m just annoyed he ignored me after I spent this whole week making that fucking presentation.”

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“The presentation,” Ilya elaborates. “Do it for me.”

“Why?” Shane frowns. “It’s pointless now.”

“It is not pointless. Not if you care about it so much,” Ilya tells him. “You deserve to be heard.”

Shane bites his lip before his eyes dart to his office. “Can I use my projector?

Ilya’s heart flutters a little. Of course, this nerd has his own projector.

“Yes.” Ilya nods with a smile. “But only if you wear your glasses for me.”

Ilya found out a long time ago that actions have consequences. But he never did learn the lesson.

If he had, then he wouldn’t be in his situation now, having to deal with dire consequences like this one.

Once Shane knows the truth, Ilya will never get to fuck Shane against the elegant mahogany desk in his office, and he’ll have to live with this consequence forever.

It is truly terrible.

He watches raptly, understandably hard in his jeans, as Shane moves around said mahogany desk and pushes his glasses back with a single finger. “So, at the end of the day, it’s not just about aesthetics. It’s about how this space performs for you. You wanted something that reflects your work and lifestyle, and this is it. Everything is completely integrated—responsive lighting, climate, and security. It’s all intuitive. It’s all in the background. So, you don’t have to even think about it. You just get to live. You get to live in a home that is as smart and technologically advanced as you are. It’s the perfect fit.”

Ilya just watches, mouth hanging slightly open. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but it genuinely sounds like Shane is sucking the man’s dick, but with his words.

In a really good way. In a ‘I want to give him all my money’ kind of way.

Holy shit.

“I’m done,” Shane stage whispers when Ilya is quiet.

“Already?” Ilya groans, but claps anyway, loud and proud. “I want more. Give me more slides, Shane. Tell me more about intuitive lighting, please.”

“You’re a dork.” Shane rolls his eyes as he grabs his iPad and plops down next to Ilya on the small couch in his office. “Did you like it?”

“The presentation?” Ilya asks, wondering if he should tell Shane that he is half-hard under the carefully placed throw pillow on his lap.

“The house,” Shane corrects. “It’s not what I’d design for you, sure, but I liked this one a lot. Sucks he didn’t like it, I guess.”

“You would design a house for me?” Ilya asks in surprise.

Shane hesitates for a moment. “Can I show you something?”

Ilya nods immediately. Shane turns to his iPad and opens a folder titled ‘For Future Reference’, which Ilya assumes is work stuff for future projects. Then he turns to Ilya and looks at him, his face tinting pink.

“I might have put something together,” Shane says bashfully. “For us.”

“Us,” Ilya repeats the word, heart in his throat in an instant. For Future Reference. Holy shit. “You designed a house for us?”

“Just…Just some basic ideas,” Shane says quickly, as if he is embarrassed. As if Ilya isn’t thinking of getting down on one knee right now. “I like thinking about it. Our future together. I’m not sure if we should buy it or build it, but I’m leaning towards—”

Ilya cuts him off with a kiss, unable to hold himself back for a second longer. He grabs Shane’s face with both hands, making him gasp into Ilya’s mouth in surprise. The iPad slides off the man’s lap and falls onto the Persian carpet with a soft thud. Shane ignores it completely as he kisses him back, as if this was the plan all along. As if nothing is more important than kissing Ilya.

It’s too much. All of this.

Ilya never thought he’d be enough to find his way into someone’s present, let alone their future.

He knows people care about him. He knows they want him around.

But he never expects them to make space for him.

Not like this.

Not so intentionally. Not with so much thought.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya tells him.

Because he does. Because it’s true.

He loves this man. He loves him so fucking much.

“What does that one mean?” Shane asks him, eyes dazed.

Ilya chuckles and then rubs a finger over his freckles. “It means you are crazy.”

Shane pouts at that, and Ilya kisses it away immediately.

“Crazy for planning a house in this economy,” Ilya explains, not knowing how to tell Shane the truth. Any of it. Even one bit of it.

“I’m not buying a house.” Shane huffs. “I’m just thinking about what our home looks like.”

“What does it look like?” Ilya can’t help but ask. “Our home?”

Shane smiles and picks up the iPad off the floor. He clicks on one of the documents in the folder, then his tone turns serious, slipping easily into work mode. “Okay, so. I just thought about some of the stuff you might like. This is obviously a work in progress.”

“Obviously,” Ilya says, matching him with an equally serious tone.

“We’ll have a garden in the back. You can grow your own vegetables and herbs since you like sourcing your own food,” Shane says fondly, and the smile on Ilya’s face dies just like that.

Right. Of course.

What was Ilya even thinking?

This is a house for Nick. This is a future with Nick.

“I want your office to be private and controlled,” Shane goes on. “We can soundproof so you can take your meetings with your bigshot celebrity clients from home if you need to.”

But Ilya doesn’t need a soundproof office. He might need a kennel in the back, though, to take care of the dozen dogs his colleagues have between them when they take turns going on holidays.

“We’ll obviously have a big guest room for your family and mine. I don’t want them to feel like an afterthought, you know. They can stay over whenever they come to Montreal.”

Ilya imagines Alexei visiting him and almost laughs at the thought. The fucker will probably burn the whole house down just for the fun of it.

“We can decorate with art, the expensive kind you like. I’ll let you choose since you are picky about that kind of thing.” Shane chuckles to himself. “Oh, and the bedroom—”

“Shane,” Ilya interrupts because he can’t bear to hear another word of this future he isn’t a part of. “Maybe we keep some of this surprise, yes?”

“Right. Yes. Of course,” Shane says, his smile dimming a little, as he puts the iPad away without another word. “Should we, er, eat?”

“Yes.” Ilya nods and climbs off the couch, taking the other man with him. “I know you skipped lunch, Hollander.”

They make it to the kitchen, both of them quiet, unusually so. Ilya doesn’t like it one bit.

But he doesn’t know how to fill it. All he has are more lies.

So, he sorts out the food quietly while Shane sets the table for them. Shane is pouring water for them both when Ilya returns to the table with all of the food. He is honestly not in the mood to eat, certainly not this rabbit food, but he puts on a brave face for Shane and sits on the chair next to him.

“This is from Leaf’s Bistro,” Shane says, having gone still next to him.

“You like it, yes?” Ilya asks, worrying if he got the order wrong. “Miso soup with the fancy seaweed and mushrooms?”

Shane turns to him, looking utterly confused. “Leaf’s Bistro is in Ottawa.”

“I know. The one your mother buys from when you are sick because it is your favourite,” Ilya says, remembering the time when Shane told him a story about it. He takes a bite of the buckwheat noodles–ugh—and turns to the man next to him. “Does your mother like to cook?”

Shane doesn’t respond. Shane is just staring at him.

Ilya panics, wondering if he completely misremembered the restaurant’s name. Does Shane even like miso soup, or did he make that up in his head? God knows it’s hard to keep track between the facts and the fiction.

“What’s wrong?” Ilya asks worriedly.

“You brought miso soup for me,” Shane tells him.

“Yes.” Ilya nods, confused. “You said you were not feeling well.”

“You drove all the way to Ottawa and then back in this fucking weather to bring miso soup for me,” Shane says it slowly, like he is the one who is confused.

Ah, shit.

He is probably wondering why his hotshot lawyer boyfriend spent five hours on the road to buy a bowl of soup.

Stupid Ilya. Always doing stupid shit like this.

“It’s Saturday,” Ilya says quickly, trying to cover up his mess. “I did not have much work and—”

Then Shane is on him. Shane is all over him.

Ilya literally has to reach out and grab the dining table with a hand to stop the chair from toppling back with the two of them because Shane Hollander is climbing onto his lap and kissing him like he needs Ilya’s mouth to breathe.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane whispers.

It’s perfect.

No accent. No mispronunciations.

It’s perfect. Like everything else Shane does.

Ilya’s entire body shakes at the words, and he blinks his eyes open in shock. “What?”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane says again, face painfully fond now. “You're crazy.”

“Oh,” Ilya says, remembering what he had told the man earlier. And then, because he is a greedy asshole, he pulls Shane closer. “Say it again.”

Shane laughs at that. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“One more time, please,” Ilya practically begs.

“Ya tebya lyublyu. You are actually crazy.” Shane laughs, shaking his head incredulously, and presses a kiss to Ilya’s forehead. “Who even drives five hours for soup?”

“Me.” Ilya shrugs. “Now eat.”

Shane stares at him for a long moment and then shakes his head slowly. “No.”

“Sweetheart, you probably have not eaten all day—”

“No,” Shane says again and then slides off his lap and settles between his legs, eyes gazing up at Ilya shyly. “Can I?”

Holy shit. What the fuck?

Did he just get on his knees because Ilya bought him soup? Who is the crazy one now?

“Shane,” Ilya says shakily. “We do not have to—”

“I want to,” Shane says, and Ilya can hear the ache in his tone. Fuck. “I want you so bad. Do you not want me?”

Ilya could fucking laugh.

Ilya wants this man so bad that he’s literally risking deportation. He wishes he could tell Shane that.

“I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life,” Ilya tells him truthfully.

“Then let me,” Shane says and unzips Ilya’s jeans and pulls his dick out of his trunks. The moment Shane’s hand wraps around him, Ilya throws his head back in the chair, letting it fall so hard that he almost twists his neck.

He is so fucking lost in the sensation—so fucking gone already, shit—that it takes him a moment to realise Shane isn’t doing anything.

Ilya raises his head back up and looks down at the man. Shane’s hand is frozen over Ilya’s dick, and he is blinking at it rapidly.

Right. Okay.

He isn’t sure if Shane is new to this—and Ilya isn’t exactly…small.

Maybe he needs help. Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.

Yeah, they really shouldn’t be fucking doing this. Ilya reaches forward with a careful hand to tell him just that when Shane looks up at him sharply.

“Did you send me a picture of someone else’s dick?” Shane demands.

“What?” Ilya asks stupidly.

“The photo you sent me on Grindr,” Shane says, pulling his hand away now, making Ilya let out a soft hiss at the loss. “That clearly wasn’t you. You are uncut.”

Ah. Ah, fuck.

Fucking Christ.

Fucking kill him right now.

Ilya has thought about this moment many times.

No, not sex with Shane Hollander. Although, yes, he’s thought about that extensively too.

But he’s thought a lot about the moment the truth would come to light. But he never thought he’d get caught because of his fucking uncircumcised dick.

No one can ever find out. Troy will never stop laughing. Ilya might have to deport himself at this point.

“Nick!” Shane says, seriously now. “Why did you send me someone else’s dick pic?”

“Uh,” Ilya says, scrambling for something. Literally anything. “Because we were strangers? You should not send strangers pictures of your dick, Hollander. It is unsafe.”

Shane frowns at that. “Well, I get that, but…Jesus. Sorry. I’m just...I don’t know. When I pictured it in my head—”

“You pictured my dick in your head?” Ilya asks, trying to joke, but it falls flat anyway.

“I thought you’d be circumcised because you are Jewish,” Shane says, still frowning a little.

Ilya sighs, deeply tired and no longer turned on. The lying hurts now. It physically hurts.“I—yes. I am. But, uh, my family is not very religious.”

“Oh,” Shane says, and then doesn’t say anything else after that.

Ilya feels the need to tuck himself back into his trunks and quickly does so, feeling deeply embarrassed. Jumping into Saint Lawrence and cracking his head open looks really appealing right now.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya says quietly, trying to fasten his jeans again.

“Why are you sorry?” Shane asks in confusion. “Wait. Why are you getting dressed?”

“Because I lied?” Ilya says, meaning it in more than one sense.

“Oh my god, it’s fine. I get it. You were worried about your privacy. There are definitely some creeps on Grindr.” Shane rolls his eyes before fixing Ilya’s crotch with a look. A very specific look. Then he looks back up at Ilya, licking his lips. “Besides, it’s…it’s not like I’m disappointed or anything.”

“Ah,” Ilya says, and fuck, he is getting hard again. Just like that. This man is either going to send him to prison or a hospital. One of those things is happening for sure. “You like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I think you like it,” Ilya grins, grabbing Shane’s face with a hand. “Tell me.”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” Ilya shakes his head, mind fuzzy with something he can’t name.

His head is full of one thing only.

Shane. Shane. Shane. 

“Shane,” Ilya says. “Tell me you like my big cock.”

“I like your big cock,” Shane repeats, almost immediately. “I want it in my mouth, please.”

Ilya is a weak man. Ilya is a terrible man.

He is a weak, terrible man who is most certainly going to hell.

Shane Hollander is a fucking vision on his knees.

The way his lips are wrapped around Ilya’s dick—stretched out and pink—is going to be seared into Ilya's brain for the rest of eternity. Ilya lets out a moan, just from the sight of him, and throws his head back again.

This man really does have the prettiest mouth in the whole world.

“Shane. Shane, fuck,” Ilya splutters above him, trying not to thrust into the man’s mouth.  But he doesn’t even have to. Shane groans softly and takes more of Ilya in.

Ilya, truth be told, has had many blowjobs in his life. But he’s never had someone so determined. It's a turn on in itself. 

So, surprisingly, it doesn’t take long at all. Ilya holds on for as long as possible, but Shane’s eager mouth and bottomless eyes undo him faster than he’d like. He pushes the man away, rushed but careful, and strokes himself all but twice before he comes all over his own fist.

Shane stares the entire time, mouth slightly open, and lips shiny with spit. Ilya wipes his hand on his t-shirt that was discarded at some point, decorum be damned, and drags the man up by his sweater, so he could kiss him senseless.

“My turn, yes?” Ilya asks him when he feels Shane not-so-subtly rutting against his thigh, as he peels the sweater off with careful hands. 

Shane doesn’t argue. He doesn’t even say ‘you don’t have to’ or ‘only if you want to’. He simply looks at Ilya with a face that says, ‘yeah, fuck, do it’. He looks as if he expects Ilya to suck his dick and rock his fucking world.

Ilya thinks he can do that.

He can’t speak French or annotate a legal document. But he can do this.

He drags Shane all the way to the couch and gets him comfortable. The other man shrugs off his jeans and underwear, and hisses softly when his bare ass touches the cold leather.

Well, that won’t do at all.

Ilya presses him down, face smushing against the leather, as he covers the man’s back in kisses, taking his time to warm up every inch of Shane’s body with his mouth. Shane whines in feeble protest, rutting against his expensive couch and somehow pushing his body back into Ilya’s lips at the same time.

“Please. Please. Please.” Shane’s chants are muffled, and Ilya hates every syllable that is lost to the stupid leather couch. “Please touch me now.”

“I am touching you,” Ilya tells him, dragging his tongue down the man’s left calf.

“Please touch my dick,” Shane hisses, and he sounds almost angry. Ilya chuckles. “Please, come on.”

“So many please. So polite.” Ilya sighs, reverent, before pulling back and carefully turning the man onto his back. Shane’s cock jerks against his stomach, hard and flushed. He is cut, unlike Ilya, and God, he is fucking leaking.

It’s so fucking pretty. Ilya doesn’t think he’s ever called a dick 'pretty' before.

“It is unfair, what you do to me,” Ilya whispers in Russian. “How am I supposed to be good? Why do you make it so difficult?”

“What are you saying?” Shane asks him, biting haed on his lower lip.

“It is secret between me and your dick.” Ilya winks at him, pressing a kiss to Shane’s thigh.

“Maybe you should do something else to my dick with your mouth than tell it secrets,” Shane suggests, looking impatient now.

“Good idea.” Ilya grins and then swallows him down in one go.

Shane jerks inside Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya immediately groans at the sensation, his hands tightening on the man’s waist.

He doesn’t come up, not even for air. He inhales through his nose, reminding himself to breathe. It doesn’t matter right now. If he dies, then he dies sucking Shane’s dick. It’s a wonderful way to go.

Shane shakes underneath him, his entire body trembling, and Ilya feels heady with power.

It’s an incredible feeling—to make your partner feel such pleasure that they lose control of their body. Ilya has always enjoyed it.

There aren’t many things he’s good at, so when he does find one, he does it as often as possible, knowing it might be the only way to feel good about himself.

But it doesn’t matter. Not at the end.

All the tricks and techniques don’t stop Shane from saying another man’s name when he comes inside Ilya’s mouth.

“Nick. Nick. Nick. Fuck. Ugh. I’m gonna—fuck.”

Ilya pulls off him carefully. He doesn’t know why his eyes are wet. He hopes Shane thinks it’s the side effect of blowing someone a little too well.

“Fucking hell, Nick.” Shane lets out a cute whine that Ilya is unable to fully enjoy. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

Ilya manages a smile as he sits next to the man. Shane all but melts into his side, peering at him thoughtfully. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Ilya whispers. “Perfect.”

Shane hums at that, muttering something about how the soup must have gone cold by now.

Ilya doesn’t hear it.

His head is full of one thing only.

Nick. Nick. Nick.

It’s a good reminder. Ilya really needed this one.

It doesn’t matter how good he is—or how good he thinks he is.

It still won’t ever be enough.

Chapter End Notes

"but—but—but ilya said he will tell the truth tomorrow!!" And you believed him?? Y'all are as guilliable as Shane 🥲

Fingers crossed, I am hoping to post again on Wednesday.

Fun fact: Over 70% of males in the United States are circumcised. Throughout the rest of the world, the circumcision rate is about 33%.

Chapter 8: I am a loving son.

Chapter Summary

“I saw a movie where the woman got amnesia and forgot everything about her boyfriend,” Luca tells no one in particular.

“And how exactly is Shane going to get amnesia?” Harris demands.

“I don’t know.” Luca shrugs. “My mom’s friend from her zumba class got amnesia after she was hit by a car.”

“We are not hitting Shane with a car!” Harris says, utterly incredulous, and then looks at Ilya suspiciously. “Right?”

Chapter Notes

I had a very shitty day, so I decided to ignore work and write instead.

I'd like to rescind my previous statement. This is not a fave chapter. But it's an important one, I think.

A very specific thing I enjoy about writing is finding songs that perfectly match my characters and stories. This song— called You Will Never Know by Imany —was written for Ilya in this story. It so perfectly captures his situation with Shane and how he feels about it. I listened to it a lot while writing his POV, particularly for this chapter. So, I thought I'd share it today. I hope you like it.

Content warning: Mentions of animal death and euthanasia.

“Okay. We have donuts and coffee. We can begin now. Everybody think hard. Only good ideas, please.”

Troy, Harris and Luca stare at each other in silence, exchanging concerned looks, as if Ilya is holding them hostage inside the break room or something.

He isn’t. He might have asked Chloe to guard the door outside, but that’s unrelated.

“Guys, come on!” Ilya claps his hands, trying to encourage them. “Any ideas? Harris, you have lots of creative ideas, yes?”

“For social media content,” Harris clarifies. “Not for identity theft.”

“Social media content is identity theft. Nothing is real on the internet,” Ilya replies with a scoff.

“He’s got a point there, babe,” Troy notes.

“Do not encourage him!” Harris groans and turns to Ilya. “Weren’t you supposed to tell him over the weekend? What happened to the dinner?”

“We had sex.”

“Oh my god, why would you do that?” Harris groans again. 

“Oh my god, how was it?” Troy gasps. 

“Troy!” Luca looks scandalised, donut halfway into his mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that. You all want to know too.” Troy accuses and raises a brow at Ilya. “And?”

Ilya exhales. “It was good.”

“Just good?” Troy looks skeptical. “I usually can’t get you to shut up about sex. Remember the last time you slept with a guy? You drew us a diagram of his hole.”

Ilya did do that.

Although a diagram would not be enough to sing praises about Shane, not that Ilya has seen his hole. Fine, he got a glimpse of it. But he needs to dig deeper, quite literally, in order to draw diagrams.

But he’s not going to do that—dig deep, that is. He has to sort this mess out before they go any further. He has to figure out how to keep Shane.

Because one thing has become abundantly clear to him over this weekend.

Shane doesn’t want him. Shane would leave the moment the illusion drops.

So, telling the truth is not a solution at all. In fact, it’s the problem.

Ilya needs a solution, and he needs it now.

He explains this to his friends, who give him sympathetic looks, and to their credit, actually start brainstorming ideas to save his ass.

“So, the sex didn’t work?” Troy asks him.

“Barrett, what is your obsession with my sex life?” Ilya asks in exasperation.

“I am not obsessed with it. But other people usually are,” Troy corrects in annoyance, as if he hates that it’s true. “My only idea is to fuck him so good that he doesn’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t want to fuck him.” Ilya shakes his head. “Not until I tell him the truth.”

“Okay, tell him the truth, and then fuck him.”

“The whole problem is that he probably wouldn’t want to fuck Ilya after he knows the truth,” Luca clarifies, sipping his coffee.

“Exactly.” Ilya nods in agreement. “I will tell him the truth. I promise. But I need to have plan for after.”

“Why are you so sure that he’s going to leave you, though?” Harris asks him.

Ilya doesn’t respond to that. He can’t, not without turning this strategy meeting into a pity party.

Because the truth is, he isn’t worried that Shane is going to leave. He is worried that Shane wouldn’t want to stay.

Even if they have sex, and Ilya manages to blow his mind, and Shane decides to stay, it won’t last for long. Even if Shane decides to be the most forgiving and understanding person in the world and decides to keep Ilya, they won’t be boyfriends forever.

Because Shane will eventually get tired of him. He will miss Nick. The man he is actually attracted to.

“Would you stay with the man who has been lying to you for two months?” Ilya asks instead, and Harris just sighs.

“I saw a movie where the woman got amnesia and forgot everything about her boyfriend,” Luca tells no one in particular.

“And how exactly is Shane going to get amnesia?” Harris demands.

“I don’t know.” Luca shrugs. “My mom’s friend from her zumba class got amnesia after she was hit by a car.”

“We are not hitting Shane with a car!” Harris says, utterly incredulous, and then looks at Ilya suspiciously. “Right?”

“Guys, if we’re branching from identity fraud to a hit-and-run, I think Svetlana should be here for this conversation,” Troy chimes in.

Then his friends dissolve into discussing whatever stupid movie Luca watched because apparently that’s more interesting than Ilya’s mess of a love life.

It’s ridiculous to even call it a love life. But it is what it is.

He is in love. There is no denying it now.

He’d just like to keep it for longer, forever if he could. He’d like the opportunity to love Shane properly. To love him as Ilya Rozanov.

Maybe Shane wouldn’t be into it. But, regardless, Ilya would die for an opportunity to find out.

If only his friends could get their shit together and help him out.

“You know, it wouldn’t be this fucked if you had told him earlier,” Troy says, unhelpful as ever. “Maybe he’d have been less angry if you told him after a week or so. It’s been two whole months, dude.”

“Barrett, this is not helpful!” Ilya groans. “It is not my fault, okay? Russians struggle with being honest.”

“That sounds like an offensive stereotype.” Luca wrinkles his nose.

“It is not offensive if I say it,” Ilya grumbles and stares at his hands. “I love him. So fucking much. I can’t lose him.”

He can’t. He doesn’t think he’d be able to survive it.

Svetlana would say that he is being dramatic as usual. But Ilya literally feels like his heart would split into several pieces if he loses Shane.

“Okay. I have a crazy idea.” Troy puts up a hand.

“Proceed.” Ilya nods, because beggars can’t be choosers.

“Instead of prematurely having a crisis about it and ruining our Monday, why don’t you tell him the truth and believe he will accept you anyway because you are a good guy?” Troy suggests.

Ilya stares at him for a moment. “You are right. It is definitely a crazy idea.”

“Man, I am trying to help you—”

“Luca’s amnesia idea is better than this!” Ilya rolls his eyes.

“Troy has a point, Ilya,” Harris says, traitorously taking his boyfriend’s side. “I can understand that Shane would be angry or even hurt. But I genuinely can’t see him being disappointed. Not when he still has you.”

“Babe, that was like, really sweet.” Troy coos before he glares at Ilya. “Listen to my man, Rozanov!”

“You are saying very nice things about me, Harris. Thank you. But that is not a solution.” Ilya sighs tiredly.

“What if it is?” Luca asks, munching on another donut now.

“Bro, how many donuts have you had?” Troy squints.

“Let the child eat.” Ilya shushes him. “What do you mean, Luca?”

“Harris did say nice things about you. But we shouldn’t be telling you that. We should tell Shane,” Luca explains, and Ilya politely ignores the powdered sugar all over his mouth. “You are worried Shane won’t like you once you tell the truth, right? That’s because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how awesome you are. Maybe we can tell him.”

“So, we’re going to break into that man’s apartment and do a PowerPoint on why Ilya is amazing?” Troy asks dryly.

“Or,” Harris says, his scheming face on. “We could invite Shane to the shelter, since he did the paperwork for his friend, and we can gas Ilya up.”

“I don’t know. I have already lied so much to him. If you lie also—”

“Who says we’re going to lie?” Harris frowns. “We’ve got a lot of nice things to say about you.”

“What kind of nice things?” Ilya asks suspiciously.

“We can tell him about your big dick,” Troy offers.

“He knows, Barrett. He has seen it. He has sucked—”

“I can tell him about the thing you can do with your tongue,” Troy amends, because he does indeed have an obsession with Ilya’s sex life.

“What thing with his tongue?” Harris asks curiously.

“I'll tell you later,” Troy winks at him.

“Will you tell me too?” Luca asks.

“No,” Ilya, Troy and Harris say at the same time, making the boy pout.

The thought of Shane visiting the shelter makes him unbearably happy. This is Ilya’s favourite place in the city—if not the whole country. He knows Shane’s visited before, but the thought of him here with Ilya and the two of them together with all his friends…it truly is something else.

Maybe seeing Ilya here, it will help Shane see his 'most authentic self', as the leaflet suggested.

If Shane doesn't like what he sees, well, then at least Ilya will be surrounded by his friends and his dogs. 

“Ilya,” Harris says gently. “The best thing about you is how much you care about other people. Let Shane meet us. Let us show him that he’d be lucky to be one of us.”

Troy grins widely at that and starts pounding the table with his fists. “One. Of. Us. One. Of. Us. One. Of. Us.”

Luca and Harris join him, all of them chanting and laughing, making Ilya’s heart soar, just for a moment.

It’s not entirely a bad idea.

Ilya might have very high self-confidence, which is not a big deal when you grow up alongside your disgusting mole rat of a brother. But his self-esteem is a whole other matter.

He is good at a lot of things. He just doesn’t think he is good, is the thing.

Maybe his friends can help. That’s what friends are there for, right?

Ilya joins them in the chant, laughing along, when the break room door is suddenly thrown open.

“They started it!” Ilya points at his friends immediately, because it is true.

“Asshole,” Troy comments, and Ilya sincerely hopes Troy won’t include this in the list of nice things he’ll be telling Shane.

Galina, who is usually endeared by their antics, doesn’t smile now. She simply looks tired and solemn.

Ilya has seen that face before.

It’s not a good one.

The worst part is that they didn’t even get to name her.

Troy and Harris had argued back and forth instead of settling on something, thinking they’d have more time to figure it out.

Ilya should’ve known.

Nobody gets more time. You only get whatever it is meant for you.

She had been brought to the shelter just three days ago by a jogger who found her cold and alone in the streets. It’s not uncommon for them to find street dogs with respiratory infections during winter. But with spring upon them now, Ilya had incorrectly thought that the worst was over.

But then she had been found.  Ilya had thought—incorrectly again—that they had enough time to help her.

His heart breaks as he tells her goodbye with the rest of the team. Luca cries quietly, shoving his face into Harris’ shoulder. Even Troy is quiet, nothing to say.

Ilya stays in his office.

He can’t do it. He can’t stand there and see her on that table. Worse, he can’t see his friends crying.

It’s the worst thing about death, he thinks. The ones who depart take a little of everyone around with them when they leave.

He finds Galina in the clinic later, who seems to have sent Luca home early, and is cleaning up on her own. He joins her side and helps her, the two of them working quietly without a single word having to be said. He likes that about her. She knows when to be quiet. 

“The crematorium can send someone today,” Galina informs him eventually, pointing at the small, bundled blanket on the tablet. “We don’t have to keep her in the freezer.”

“Good.” Ilya gives a singular nod.

Galina removes her gloves and sterilises her hands, her eyes searching him slowly. “Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m fine.” Ilya shrugs.

“I might be the one to put her to sleep, but we all feel the loss, don’t we?” She asks him softly.

Not put her down.

Put her to sleep. Усыпить собаку.

It’s what they say in Russian.

Ilya doesn’t care for the euphemism at all.

Death is death. There is no gentleness to it. He doesn’t like pretending otherwise.

“Yes. It is sad,” Ilya says, nodding again. “I can wait until they come to pick her up. Who is coming? Hendricks?”

“Yes. Probably,” Galina says, letting her hair down. “You don’t have to stay. I can—”

“No.”

“We can both wait together—”

“Galina, go home, please.”

Galina lets out a soft sigh. “I don’t know why you do it, Ilyusha.”

“Because it’s my job,” Ilya reminds her. “I can do the paperwork while I wait for Hendricks.”

Galina only gives him a look that almost makes Ilya look away. She looks so fucking sad, even sadder when she told them the dog had passed. “I don’t know why you hurt yourself on purpose.”

Well, that’s an easy one, isn’t it? Because it hurts less when he does it himself.

This he can handle. This he is used to.

But when others do it for him? Ilya doesn’t think he’d ever get used to that pain. No matter how much he’s endured, it always hurts like it’s the first time. It hurts like he should’ve known better.

Galina doesn’t hang around after. She doesn’t fight him. She simply leaves. Apparently, she has a better sense of self-preservation than him. Good.

He busies himself with the paperwork, knowing it’s got to be ready before Hendricks arrives at the shelter. But English is extra difficult today, so he takes his time, writing each word slowly and carefully. His thoughts drift to Shane, as they often do lately, thinking that the other man would take too much joy in filling out a form, even a depressing one like this. 

When he is done, he goes back to the top of the form, where they had asked for the deceased’s name.

“What should I write?” Ilya asks her. “Jane or Lily?”

They take turns at the shelter to pick the names of the dogs. There had been some confusion about whether the next turn belonged to Troy or Harris since they always swap their turns. Troy, who prefers to name the dogs after whatever TV show he is binge-watching at the moment, wanted to name her Jane after the character from Breaking Bad, and Harris, who never seems to run out of pop star names, wanted to pick Lily.

They had never settled on one, and now it has become Ilya’s problem.

“Don’t tell Harris, but I like Jane too,” Ilya whispers, and writes it down on the form. “It sounds like another pretty name I know.”

His hand shakes on the last letter. Ilya puts the pen down, clenching his palm into a fist and takes a deep breath.

He swivels in the chair and looks at the dog. “You will be okay, yes?”

Jane doesn’t respond. Of course, she doesn’t.

Ilya gets up and walks over to her and leans forward, his curls touching the purple blanket. “You will go to heaven now. My mama is there. She likes animals, you see. Well, she mostly likes bunnies. But she will like you, I think. She always liked wounded things the best. You will be okay. Give her a kiss for me.”

He doesn’t cry when Hendricks arrives to take her away. If his hand shakes again as he passes the forms, the man is kind enough to ignore it.

He climbs into his car an hour later, after checking on the others at the shelter, and his hands are still shaking. He probably shouldn’t drive under these conditions.

Maybe he should.

He could drive through the bridge over St. Lawrence’s. See what happens.

Ilya climbs out of the car immediately, as if it’s on fire, horrified at the thought that came out of nowhere.

They are not new. Not at all. He just didn’t expect them back so soon. It’s been good lately. Mostly because he’s been distracted with all the lies he’s got to keep track of instead of the other fucked up things going on in his head.

How silly of him to think he could also con himself into believing this part of him doesn’t exist. This part that is desperate and dangerous, and is waiting for the right moment—or the wrong moment—to do something drastic. 

It’s his fault, really. He probably wouldn’t have thoughts like these if he had taken Galina’s advice and started taking medication a long time ago.

Maybe she is right.

He does hurt himself on purpose, doesn’t he?

He locks the car and starts walking. He walks and walks until he is standing outside the familiar apartment building. One that is decidedly not his own.

“Nick?” Shane says, and Ilya wishes he had driven the car off the bridge instead. “I didn’t know you were coming over. Did you text? Sorry, I didn’t check my phone.”

Ilya throws himself at the man, burying his face in Shane’s neck and hoping to all higher deities that he doesn’t start crying. He’s embarrassed himself enough.

Shane’s arms immediately tighten around him as he pulls him even closer. “Hey. Hey. What’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ilya says predictably. “Bad day at work.”

Shane pulls back, just a fraction, a small smile on his face. “Did some asshole celebrity give you a hard time? Do you want me to yell at them?”

Ilya wants to laugh.

Imagine a life where your most difficult day at work is because some B-list celebrity is mad at you. Sounds really rough.

When he doesn’t respond, Shane drags him inside and makes him sit on the couch. Then he proceeds to make a chamomile tea with honey. Because that’s what Nick likes to drink when he is stressed.

But Ilya doesn’t want chamomile tea. He wants a hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows.

He quietly drinks the beverage anyway, too tired for the truth. Too tired for everything.

A part of him wants to leave and never come back here. Another part of him wants to curl up in Shane’s lap and cry.

He isn’t sure which one he wants more. It’s exhausting to make these choices. It is becoming difficult to recognise who he is and what he wants when he is next to Shane.

He no longer remembers where Nick begins, and Ilya ends.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shane asks as Ilya takes a slow sip of the tea.

“No.”

“It might help to talk about it,” Shane notes softly.

“I don’t think it will.”

“Okay,” Shane says, terribly failing to read the room—to see Ilya. But it’s not his fault. Ilya is not here after all. Ilya doesn’t exist within these walls. “Do you want to talk to someone else then?”

Ilya can’t help but snort at that. “Like who? A therapist?”

Because, of course, Nick would have a therapist. He’d have his life together and have excellent emotional regulation, too. Fuck him.

“You could talk to your mom.”

The cup almost slips from Ilya’s hands. “What?”

“You could call your mom,” Shane elaborates, and points over his shoulder. “Use my office. I’ll give you some space.”

“What?” Ilya says again, staring at him stupidly.

“Call your mom, Nick!” Shane urges him, and it sounds like an order. “You did say she’s the only one who can make you feel better.”

Ilya’s very mature response to this, of course, is to start crying.

He doesn’t know why this is what does it, but fuck if it doesn’t break the dam open.

Ilya has never seen Shane cry before—and hopefully he never will. But he’s seen the man sad and broken—his eyes wet and full, tears threatening to spill, and yet somehow held back with effort and grace.

Even when sad, Shane is beautiful. Even when he is crying, Shane aims for perfection.

Ilya is not like that.

As with everything else, he is messy about it. He is an ugly crier. Alexei has told him so many times, too.

The sobs shake his whole body. They sound loud and scary.

A part of him is aware that Shane is freaking out beside him, but Ilya can’t seem to stop himself.

So, this is how he finds out, huh? This is how Shane finally figures it out.

Because Ilya could bet everything he owns—which isn’t a lot—that Nick Wilson doesn’t have breakdowns like this in front of his boyfriend.

Ilya Rozanov apparently does. It’s probably why he never had a boyfriend—or girlfriend—before.

The thing is, he’s not exactly sure why he is crying.

Is it because he doesn’t have a mother to call? Is it because he doesn’t have a boyfriend either?

He doesn’t know. All he knows is that it all fucking hurts and somehow, all of it, is only his fault.

Shane’s arms are wrapped around him. Ilya doesn’t know when that happened. He is being rocked back and forth. It feels nice. Then he realises, he won’t have this forever, and suddenly it doesn’t feel very nice.

“Sorry I forced you to talk,” Shane whispers to him, kissing Ilya’s hair gently. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to talk to me. You don’t have to talk to your mom either.”

“I can’t,” Ilya chokes out. “I can’t talk to her.”

Shane presses a kiss to his temple. “Did you two fight?”

If only.

If it were just a mere disagreement that separated them, Ilya would move heaven and earth to fix it. He’d do anything.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’ll fuck that up too. He’s very good at that after all.

Either way, it’s too late to find out.

“Hey,” Shane says, turning Ilya’s face and holding it with both hands now. Ilya doesn't look at him, not when tears are still streaming down his face. “Whatever it is, I’m sure the two of you will figure it out.”

Ilya wants to say yes. Ilya wants to say thank you. Nick probably would. 

But the words don’t make it out of his mouth. They are stuck somewhere in his throat, and it feels like he is choking on them.

Because he can’t do it. He can’t fucking do it.

He could pretend to be a lawyer or vegan, or Jewish. He could pretend to be anything else but this.

He can’t pretend to have a mother—not when he hasn’t had one in a very long time.

He can’t pretend to be a loving son—not when he was never one in the first place.

Loving children probably don’t let their parents get killed.

“My mom and I argue all the time,” Shane tells him. “Whatever it is, she will forgive you.”

“Sometimes, I think she is the one waiting for me to forgive her,” Ilya says then.

He doesn’t know why he says those words. He didn’t even know those words even existed inside him.

Does he want that? An apology from his mother?

Why does it even fucking matter?

It’s not like he is going to get one. It’s not like it’s going to fix anything.

“Oh,” Shane says, surprised by the confession too. “Well, would you? Forgive her? For whatever she did?”

“I don’t know.” Ilya sighs into both hands, pulling away from the man.

“I think you will,” Shane tells him. Right. Saint Nick probably will.

“You don’t even know what happened,” Ilya mutters.

“No, but I know people do stupid things sometimes,” Shane says. “Including people we love.”

Ilya turns to him then, looking at him properly for the first time since he barged into the apartment tonight. “Would you forgive me if I do something stupid?”

“I really can’t see you doing something stupid.” Shane chuckles.

Right. Of course not. Perfect Nick Wilson.

Ilya wants to push him off a bridge. Ilya wants to jump in first.

“What if I do?” Ilya insists. “Will you forgive me?”

Shane leans forward and presses a kiss to Ilya’s shoulder. “I think I’d forgive you for just about anything.”

Ilya closes his eyes at that. He chooses to believe it’s true.

When he gets home, after picking up his car again, he spends the whole night with Anya. He holds her close, making her promise that she’d never leave him.

He knows she will one day. Or maybe he will first.

He doesn’t know. What he does know is that you can’t stop people from leaving.

Or he thought so at least.

Because maybe you can. Maybe you can stop them.

Maybe if you try hard enough, they might choose to stay.

Ilya never got a chance to find out with his mother. He has a chance with Shane now, and he isn’t going to lose it.

He picks up his phone, which is buried under Anya’s tail, and shoots off a text.

[To: Harris 📸]

okay fine lets invite shane to the shelter this week

Chapter End Notes

In my culture, we call this edging 😌

Next chappy, Shane meets Rex! I need to catch up with work, so I will try to post over the weekend. It's definitely a fave chappy, for sure! See ya.

PS: Thank you for all the love in the comment section. I really appreciate it. They fuel my cold soul.

Fun fact: It was President Woodrow Wilson who officially recognised Mother’s Day as a national holiday on May 9, 1914. The idea, however, originated earlier, in 1908, when Anna Jarvis created Mother’s Day to honour her own mother’s hard work in serving mothers after the Civil War. (Man steals woman's work again!!!). The Carnation is the official flower of Mother’s Day. The carnation’s association with Mother’s Day dates back to Anna Jarvis, who sent hundreds of carnations to her home church in West Virginia to honour mothers. Today, carnations remain the official flower of Mother’s Day, with white carnations symbolising remembrance of deceased mothers and red carnations celebrating those still living.

Chapter 9: I am a liar.

Chapter Summary

“Sorry about him,” Ilya says, not bothering if it’s an odd thing to do. “He is just—what is the word—agitated. He does not like it when we mess with his routine.”

“You and me both, bud.” Shane chuckles again, scratching Rex’s back.

The pup lets out a little whine and turns to the other man, seeking out more of Shane’s touch, curling closer to him instantly.

Yeah.

You and me both, bud.

Chapter Notes

It is with a heavy heart that I wish to inform you all that I have been updating so regularly recently because I was beefing with my best friend, and I had loads of free time on my hands. We have reconciled now, and therefore, I must prioritise listening to her yap about the transport system in Switzerland, why smoothies are not 'real food', and about a Van Gogh painting that was stolen twice in Egypt. Please forward any complaints directly to her. Thank you.

“Stop.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes.”

“Come on. Stop. For real.”

“Alright.” Ilya shrugs and lets go of the man’s hand.

Shane’s hand falls with a soft thwack, and he immediately shoots Ilya a disappointed glare from the driver's seat. “Hey!”

Ilya chuckles as he picks up Shane’s hand once more and starts pressing kisses on his wrist, alongside his stupid Apple Watch.

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” Shane tells him, eyes back on the road again, but no longer complaining about Ilya’s shenanigans. “I don’t want you to trigger your allergies.”

“It is fine,” Ilya promises. “I took medicine.”

“I just don’t understand why they want me back,” Shane says, mostly to himself. “They said I have more paperwork, but I am pretty sure I filled out everything.”

In truth, Shane actually hadn’t filled out everything.

It’s not uncommon for people to assume adopting a dog is a simple process that merely involves signing some papers and taking their new furry friend home. But there are multiple mandatory processes to follow, and finalising the adoption takes a while. Ilya, along with the rest of the staff at Second Chances, is very strict on making sure all boxes are ticked. You can’t take any chances with these people. Even with good people like Shane. These dogs have been through enough.

There is still much to be done. The Pikes are supposed to attend the mandatory training sessions, including the one on the 3-3-3 guidelines. But today, Nora will receive her final vaccines before the official adoption, which requires the adopters or a witness to be present. They had reached out to the Pikes first, of course, but since neither Hayden Pike nor his wife could make it, Ilya had seized the opportunity and asked if the ‘pretty man who filled out the paperwork’ was available.

Hayden Pike had not been happy to hear those words from Ilya’s mouth. But Shane is here, so it all worked out.

“You are a good friend,” Ilya tells the man, in case Hayden Pike doesn’t do it enough. “For helping them.”

“Eh, it’s not a big deal.” Shane shrugs, as if it really isn’t. As if he didn’t spend yesterday putting in extra hours to catch up on work, so he could sacrifice his morning for this today. “God knows they have their hands full with the kids.”

Ilya’s mind, always eager and hopelessly in love, immediately thinks of their own future and their own children.

Does Shane want them? How many would they have? Will they want to learn Cyrillic? Will they be allergic to dogs? Will they have freckles?

Even just the thought of it, of this beautiful future together, is too much. So, he pushes it away and focuses on the present. They are close to the shelter now, and Ilya doesn’t want the first thing he does, as they step in together, to be another lie.

“I have to tell you something,” Ilya says, fingers still wrapped around Shane’s hand.

Shane’s eyes flicker to him, and Ilya doesn’t miss the way he tenses slightly. “Oh?”

“I have been to the shelter before,” Ilya swallows, and it’s not exactly a lie now, is it? “Many times.”

“What?” Shane asks in confusion. “Why?”

“I like dogs,” Ilya says, and this one is completely true. “I like spending time with them.”

“You said you were allergic to dogs.” Shane immediately frowns.

Ilya decides to take a gamble. “I never said I did not like them.”

“Right.” Shane nods after a moment. Then he simply shrugs. “I guess we all like things that aren’t good for us. You saw me last night.”

Ilya can’t help but chuckle at that. “Snicker bar is not your enemy, Shane.”

“That thing has too much sugar, and I shouldn’t have indulged,” Shane grumbles, mostly to himself.

Ilya doesn’t say anything. He’s noticed it before, this odd restriction Shane has around food and calls 'discipline'. Ilya hasn’t called him out on it. He’s not sure if he could do it with the same mouth that spews nothing but lies.

So, he simply raises Shane’s hand to his mouth again and presses a kiss to the centre of his palm.

It seems to do the trick, though. Shane’s face softens a bit. “Do you have a favourite breed?”

“Not really.” Ilya shrugs after thinking about it for a moment. “I like all of them.”

Shane chuckles at that, looking even softer. “Well, I hope you don’t end up kidnapping one while we’re there. I’m gonna have to keep an eye on you, aren’t I?”

Ilya can’t help but respond with a face-splitting grin. 

Fuck, that feels fucking good.

It feels phenomenal to talk about something he actually cares about—something he didn’t have to look up on the internet the night before.

He knows he has a lot more to share with Shane.

All of him. The good parts and the bad ones.

He had been so terrified to give this man pieces of himself—pieces he is worried Shane wouldn’t like and wouldn’t want to cherish.

Galina had recommended him to do it gradually, to share one piece at a time, to see Shane accept it and protect it. She said it might give Ilya the courage to reveal all of himself very soon.

Looking at Shane now, so easily accepting that Ilya loves dogs, makes Ilya want to spill out everything right then and there.

My friends aren’t boring lawyers—except for one, but she is the least boring person on the planet.

I don’t care about Celine Dion. I love Bad Bunny.

Fuck quinoa. I eat Fruit Loops for breakfast.

My name is Ilya, and I might die when you say it for the first time.

I love you so much that it kills me not to say it out loud every day.

But no. He can’t vomit out all of it just like that. It might be too much for Shane.

There is a plan. Ilya has to stick to the plan.

And then…then Ilya will tell everything and more.

The thing about Ilya’s friends is that they mean well. It’s what makes it really difficult to be mad at them when they do stupid shit.

“Oh my god, it’s this guy!” Harris says loudly when Ilya walks into the shelter, Shane’s hand in his own. “I love this guy!”

His friends agreed to help him, of course. But they drew the line at calling Ilya by a fake name. It’s probably for the best. Ilya doesn’t think any of these idiots could actually lie for a minute straight to save their lives. They are too Canadian for that.

“Hello, Harris.” Ilya smiles politely. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m great. How are you, buddy? Save any lives recently?” Harris grins at him before looking at Shane. “This guy once saved a dog from drowning.”

“You did?” Shane blinks.

“It was in bathtub, not frozen lake,” Ilya explains in embarrassment.

“Still.” Harris huffs, ignoring Ilya. “Don’t even get me started on all the volunteering he does here.”

Ilya does volunteer at the shelter, mostly on his off days. But that’s mainly because he doesn’t have a social life in Montreal, and most of his friends work here. He's not sure it's something to boost about, to be honest. 

“And the dogs love him so much!” Harris gushes at Shane. “Dogs are excellent judges of character, by the way. We’d be lucky to have someone like this at our shelter. Anyone should be lucky to have him.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Shane says, looking confused. His phone rings in his pocket, and he pulls it out. “Shit, it’s Hayden. I said I’ll text him once I get here. Gimme one sec.”

The moment the man moves away to answer the call, Ilya whirls around to his friend. “What are you doing, Harris?”

“I’m hyping you up!” Harris explains. “Like we planned.”

“You are hyping up Nick!” Ilya groans. “Shane will now think Nick is puppy saviour. I am the puppy saviour, Harris! I rescued Bark Ruffalo from the bathtub.”

“Yes. Yes. We know,” Harris huffs. “So, like, what do you want us to do instead?”

“Maybe not talk about my love for dogs,” Ilya says after a moment. “I have other great qualities.”

“Oh, man. We should’ve brainstormed this last night,” Harris says, looking troubled.

“You are the one who said I have many great qualities!” Ilya groans.

“I know! I’m just coming up blank. I’m not good at lying under pressure.” Harris groans back.

“You are literally social media manager. You lie every day on Instagram!”

“I don’t lie. I curate the truth,” Harris tells him primly. 

Ilya pinches the bridge of his nose. “Harris.”

The other man puts up his hands. “I'll get Troy.”

When Shane comes back, he looks around for Harris before leaning close to Ilya. “You should tell your firm that the people in the shelter are trying to poach you.”

Ilya chuckles nervously before taking Shane’s hand again. “Come. You will need to do paperwork.”

Shane, looking adorably enthused by the idea of having to fill out paperwork, follows Ilya down the corridors. “How do you know where the offices are?”

“I told you. I have been here before,” Ilya explains.

“To hang out with the dogs.”

“I also hang out with the people.”

Shane’s hand twitches in his own. “I didn’t realise you were such a people’s person.”

Ilya swallows down the nerves.

Nick is probably an antisocial weirdo. Ilya can totally see that because he can’t think of a single person who would want to be this prick’s friend. Ilya can’t pretend to be a hermit if he tried. If he isn’t surrounded by bodies and voices, he’ll die in the next 24 hours.

Ilya knows Shane prefers his peace and quiet. He has friends, yes, but Shane doesn’t spend all his time with them. Like with everything else, even his relationships are neatly organised and carefully scheduled.

Nick fits into it perfectly. Ilya doesn’t know how to, not without causing carnage.

“So, we’re just walking into the manager’s office now.” Shane chuckles incredulously as Ilya guides the man into his own office.

It’s his space, in every way that matters. There are no photos of him, sure, but there is a framed photo of all his friends on the side of his table, right by a crochet doll of Anya, one of the volunteers made for him. There is a half-eaten packet of Skittles from last night and one of his old hoodies wrapped around his chair.

But Shane doesn’t recognise any of it. Of course, he doesn’t. How could you recognise the scent of a flower you’ve never seen? How could you fondly remember a dream that you’d consider your worst nightmare?

Shane wouldn’t ever expect to see old candy and a battered hoodie in Nick’s office, would he?

No, of course not.

He’d probably never expect to walk into Nick’s office and see a 19-year-old boy playing Stardew Valley on his phone either.

“Hey, Luca!” Ilya greets, just out of habit.

“Hey, Il-uh-sir,” Luca stutters.

“We are looking for the manager,” Shane prompts. “Mr Rozanov?”

“Uh,” Luca says, looking at Ilya with wide eyes.

“We are supposed to fill out paperwork for Nora,” Ilya explains slowly. “Paperwork that maybe your manager filled out last night and has waiting inside his drawer today?”

“Ah!” Luca says, jumping to his feet, as he grabs Nora’s file from Ilya’s desk and passes it to them.

Shane immediately gets engrossed with the forms, putting on his glasses—which even makes poor Luca blush a little—while Ilya leans against his desk and watches Shane exist so easily in Ilya’s second home.

He wishes he could say everything right now. In this very instant.

It’s not the truth he is afraid of, but the fallout. It feels, despite all the reassurances, quite inevitable to him.

“This all seems good to me,” Shane hums as he reads through the documents, biting on his pen.

“Yes. Of course. Our manager is very efficient,” Luca notes. “He is the best shelter manager in Canada. Probably in the whole world.”

“Oh?” Shane says, his focus not straying from the paperwork.

“Oh, yes. Our engagement with the local communities has increased so much since he took over. He is so charming and great with people. Everybody here loves him so much.”

Ilya flushes at the praise. It feels odd to be here for this. But he doesn’t trust any of these fuckers to be alone with Shane.

“He is also, uh, just a great person, you know? It’s always so much fun to have him around, and you know you can count on him for anything. It’s good to have someone like that in your life.”

Shane finally looks up, blinking bewilderedly, before passing the form back to Luca. “Can we meet Nora now?”

“Yes. Of course. Dr Galina is waiting with her in the clinic. You can follow me,” Luca says and scurries off quickly.

“Ready?” Ilya asks, holding out his hand again.

Shane takes it easily. “I think that boy has a crush on his manager.”

Ilya holds back a loud groan. This could not get any worse.

“Dude! Oh my god! Hi!”

They both whirl around to find Barrett jogging towards them. Okay, it can get worse. Ilya briefly wonders about the benefits of temporarily locking Shane inside his office.

“You are looking so great, bro!” Troy claps Ilya on the shoulders before his hands drift to his biceps. “Damn, have you been working out? These guns are insane.”

“Barrett,” Ilya mouths at him.

“It’s probably just genetics, huh?” Troy winks at Shane. “Because I’ve never seen an ass like that in the gym, I’ll tell you that.”

Shane makes a sound in the back of his throat that Ilya has never heard before as he steps carefully in between the two of them.

“Troy, we need you!” Chloe shouts from somewhere.

Troy, fully dressed in his training gear, grins at them both. “Gotta go. You keep that booty tight, my guy.”

Shane makes another sound that Ilya’s definitely heard in the kennels before. “I don't care for that man.”

“Yes, me too,” Ilya says, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

“Should we wait for the manager to come back and tell him that one of his employees sexually harassed you?” Shane asks, completely seriously.

“No, I think he has bigger problems to deal with right now.” Ilya chuckles and drags Shane towards the clinic.

“He talked about your ass—”

“It is a good ass, yes?” Ilya asks, trying to distract him.

“Well—”

“You are not sure? You need to have closer look?” Ilya grins.

“Stop it!” Shane’s face pinkens a little. “Not here.”

Ilya presses a quick kiss to his mouth before pulling Shane into the clinic, where Galina and Nora wait for them.

The process is pretty straightforward.

Galina informs Shane about the vaccines Nora has already received, including DHPP and the rabies shot. Then she goes on to inform him that Nora was spayed last week, as per the Pikes’ wishes, which is also pretty standard. Shane listens diligently, even taking notes on his phone, as Galina gives Nora the shot for Kennel Cough, and briefly explains the benefits of microchipping, which the shelter often encourages since some of their dogs, especially the ones that are too accustomed to the shelter, tend to run away after being adopted.

“This sounds great.” Shane nods, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll make sure to communicate this to Hayden and Jackie. I’m sure they’ll contact you if they have any questions.”

“Of course. No problem.” Galina smiles politely. “I know it sounds like a lot of work. But some people are worth the work, yes?”

“Sure.” 

“Nora is very caring. I think she’d be a great fit for the children in the Pike family. She loves to play, but is patient, almost like an older sister.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“She has been through a lot. Like most dogs here. So, the transition might be difficult for her.”

“Yes. Hayden did mention that,” Shane hums. “He has to attend some kind of training for that, right?”

“Yes. Training is helpful. But what really helps is being a little understanding and a lot empathetic,” Galina tells him gently. “You see, Mr Hollander, the dogs here have seen the worst of humanity. It is very hard for them to trust people again. So, when they do, we must count ourselves very lucky.”

“Right,” Shane says awkwardly.

“Can you promise to do that?” Galina asks him in a very serious voice, staring down at him intensely. “Can you promise to remember how lucky you are to be loved by someone who’s never had much of it in their life? Can you promise to be understanding when they show that love in the only way they know how, even if it doesn’t make sense to us?”

Shane blinks and then nods once. “Um. Sure.”

“Good.” Galina smiles again and then turns to Ilya. “Nice to see you again.”

And then she is gone.

Shane turns to him and blinks. “Everyone here is a little weird.”

Ilya can’t help but smile at that. “I know.”

They are making their way back to Shane’s jeep, Ilya’s heart heavy and yet somehow fond, when he hears the commotion from the kennels.

Ilya bolts without a second thought, instinct taking over. He finds Troy and the rest of the training team in the middle of the kennel, all of them trying to calm down Rex, who is barking and growling restlessly.

“What happened?” Ilya demands.

“Chloe missed his walk by like five minutes,” Troy sighs, holding up his padded palms in front of the puppy.

“You have to be exactly on time, Chloe,” Ilya reminds her, trying not to frighten the intern who already looks like she is about to burst into tears. “Rex becomes upset when his routine is not followed, yes?”

“Sorry. Sorry, I was checking on the packages that arrived for the—”

“Chloe, it’s fine.” Troy cuts her off, moving closer to the pup. “Rex, you gotta calm down, buddy. We talked about this, yeah? We’re gonna go into your crate, chill out for a bit, and then we’ll go on your walk.”

Rex growls at that, clearly not pleased with the idea.

The crates at the shelter are actually quite nice. When Ilya had first joined, just an intern like Chloe, they had been small and cramped, clearly uncomfortable for the dogs. Most people would assume it’s a luxury, especially since the dogs never complained.

But why would they? All rescued creatures know that only gratitude is expected of them. 

After they were able to find more donors, thanks to Wiebe’s contacts and Ilya’s charm, his first act as shelter manager was to upgrade the crates.

Now, the crates are no longer stacked wall to wall. These are built more like small rooms—long, open and spacious. The floors are sealed rubber and textured epoxy, easier on aging joints and easier to disinfect. Raised beds sit in the corners with washable blankets tucked over them—some neatly folded and some destroyed beyond recognition by nervous chewing. There are shelves fixed high into the walls holding toys, slow feeders, rubber chews, and half-shredded stuffed animals.

The small laminated cards beside each enclosure list not just medical notes or feeding schedules, but things like doesn’t like men with hats, needs a toy to sleep, prefers children, hates perfume, learns slowly but tries very hard, ask before touching collar.

Some kennels have painted murals along the back walls —forests, beaches, cartoon clouds—most of which were done by Luca over the last summer. A few have dim fairy lights strung carefully out of reach because Troy discovered they calmed the dogs during thunderstorms.

Despite all the practical engineering stuff—like the industrial ventilation systems cycling out disinfectant smells, the hidden drains, the reinforced latches, the washable surfaces—their kennel are built with gentleness.

Ilya doesn't want any of these dogs to wait until they find a home to experience comfort and love. That just doesn't seem fair.

So, it was a little offensive that Rex didn’t want to go back inside his crate, even if Ilya made sure his is one of the prettiest.

“Should we just take him out for the walk now?” Chloe offers. 

“No, you have to wait until he is calmer.” Troy shakes his head firmly. “Otherwise, he will not want to come back to his crate at all.”

“Rex, let’s go back inside, malysh,” Ilya says gently in Russian. “You are okay.”

“What’s going on?”

Ilya gasps as he turns around, pushing the man away with an arm. “Shane, no. He does not like new people when he is scared.”

“Why are you all surrounding him if he’s scared?” Shane asks in confusion.

“We have exactly four minutes to get him inside, or he starts peeing everywhere,” Troy tells Shane exasperatedly. “He is nothing if not predictable.”

Ilya crouches closer to the dog, who is still relentlessly barking, and whispers in Russian. “Reksio, do not embarrass me in front of my boyfriend. Be good for Ilya, hm?”

Rex’s very mature response to this, of course, is to jump on Ilya and chew at his shoe in retaliation.

“Rex, no!” Chloe shouts as Troy resorts to their last tactic—bringing out the fancy toys all the dogs love.

“Rex, look here!” Troy calls as he rolls out the snuffle mat inside the pup’s crate. “Look, it’s your favourite!”

Rex predictably ignores him, continuing to assault Ilya’s shoe, now having successfully chewed off the whole front of it.

“This is ridiculous,” Shane says, looking at them incredulously. “Aren’t you supposed to know how to control them?”

“Bro, don’t even.” Troy looks annoyed.

“Nobody controls Rex,” Chloe laments.

“Shane, go to the car,” Ilya tells him. “I will help and come.”

“You are not helping,” Shane scoffs, completely unsympathetic to Ilya and his shoe. “You are coddling him.”

“Shane,” Ilya groans, not knowing how to tell his boyfriend that they all have a lot more experience in dealing with difficult dogs.

Shane scoffs one more and walks past an agitated Rex, completely ignoring him, as he climbs inside the crate and closes the door.

Ilya blinks. As does everyone else.

Even Rex temporarily pauses his attack on Ilya and turns around in confusion, looking at the man inside his crate. Then he immediately leaps forward, scratching at the sealed door at the front.

“Oh, you want to come in now?” Shane hums loudly. “You can’t come in. This is my house now.”

Rex starts to howl, clearly annoyed, as he scratches at the door.

“Okay, fine!” Shane says with a small huff, and he unlocks the door a little. “I guess I can share.”

Rex bolts inside immediately, jumping over to the snuffle mat Troy had put down earlier, and then lolls his tongue out at Shane.

“What the actual shit?” Troy says quietly.

“My mom used to do this trick on me.” Shane chuckles, looking adorably embarrassed. “I’d hate bath time and wouldn’t get into the tub. Then she’d get in, clothes and all, and tell me I couldn’t get in. Apparently, I jumped inside in seconds.”

“I’m writing this down,” Troy says, mostly to himself, as he pulls out his phone. “You might have to stay in for a bit, though. He’ll get annoyed if you get out now.”

“I don’t mind,” Shane shrugs and turns to Ilya. “Do you?”

Oh God.

Ilya is going to marry this man, isn’t he?

“It is okay.” Ilya manages a nod and turns to Troy. “I will take him for his walk.”

“In exactly 15 minutes,” Troy reminds him seriously and looks at his team. “Let’s debrief in my office.”

When the others leave, Ilya walks over to Rex’s crate and crouches on the outside. “I am not welcome?”

“Hm, no,” Shane says cheekily before he chuckles and carefully pulls the door open, letting Ilya crawl inside too. Rex immediately jumps at him, chewing on Ilya’s battered shoe again.

“Sorry about him,” Ilya says, not bothering if it’s an odd thing to do. “He is just—what is the word—agitated. He does not like it when we mess with his routine.”

“You and me both, bud.” Shane chuckles again, scratching Rex’s back.

The pup lets out a little whine and turns to the other man, seeking out more of Shane’s touch, curling closer to him instantly.

Yeah.

You and me both, bud.

“Galina wants to give him medicine,” Ilya says when they are all quiet. Shane and Rex seem completely fine with the silence. But Ilya has unfortunately never been able to keep his mouth shut.

“Oh?” Shane asks, looking up from where he is letting the dog gently chew on his finger, instead of his own tail. “Is that normal?”

“In shelter, yes.” Ilya sighs, very well knowing that they’ve treated many dogs with medications before. But that doesn’t mean he approves. It’s the only time when he has ever vehemently disagreed with Galina. Thankfully, she does not give a shit about his unsolicited opinions.

“You don’t like it?” Shane asks carefully, probably noting the blatant disapproval in Ilya’s face.

“Pills don’t fix everything,” Ilya says in annoyance. “What if Rex gets addicted? What if he finds pill bottle and eats everything?”

“It’s medicine, not food,” Shane points out in confusion. “Why would anyone eat an entire bottle of pills?”

Ilya has no clue, to be honest. He’d like to know the answer himself.

He looks at Shane instead, searching for answers. But all he finds is a beautiful, blissed out face—the man’s lips curved into the softest smile as he draws the same pattern over and over Rex’s soft, white fur.

Ilya feels sick all of a sudden. He feels sick to the bottom of his soul.

“Shane,” Ilya whispers. “I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?” Shane says, his eyes closed.

“I was not honest with you before,” Ilya says, the words shaky as they leave his mouth.

Shane’s eyes blink open immediately. “About what?”

“When we texted in Grinder first.” Ilya swallows nervously, avoiding the man’s eyes. “That was not exactly me.”

“I know.”

Ilya blinks. “What?”

“You text completely differently now.” Shane chuckles, his voice softer than usual, and Ilya realises he’s trying not to startle the pup on his lap. God, when can they get married? “You didn’t think I’d notice?”

Fuck.

Fuck, he had thought—feared, really—that maybe Shane would figure it out before Ilya finds the courage to tell him. But he had never even considered that Shane might have known the entire time.

Why didn’t Ilya think of that possibility? Why didn’t he assume Shane might actually like him and let this stupidity continue, because he is worried about losing Ilya, too?

Why didn’t he believe that maybe Shane wants him back just as much?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ilya asks hoarsely.

Shane doesn’t look at him, his eyes carefully fixed on Rex. “Do you remember when you said it’s difficult for you to text in English sometimes?”

“Yes?”

“It’s difficult for me to type my feelings sometimes,” Shane says quietly. “I don’t always know what to say when I feel something or how to say what I am thinking. When we were texting on Grindr…I wasn’t entirely honest with you either.”

“What do you mean?” Ilya asks in confusion.

“Rose helped me write most of it.” Shane sighs loudly, looking embarrassed for some reason. “Especially all the flirty bits.”

“Oh,” Ilya says in surprise.

“I…I am sorry. I know it was deceptive and wrong,” Shane tells him quickly. “So, if you got help from a friend to write your texts, or I don’t know, used AI or something, Nick, I am really not in a position to judge you—”

“No!” Ilya almost snaps, sick of hearing another man’s name on Shane’s lips. “No, that is not what I meant, Shane. When you were texting me, no, actually that was not—”

“When I was texting you, I was worried you wouldn’t want to text me back.” Shane goes on, ignoring him. “It felt that way in the beginning, and I thought you had already gotten bored with me. It’s why I asked Rose for help. Because I…I didn’t think you’d be interested in the real me, let alone be attracted to the real me.”

“Shane.” Ilya shakes his head because that is the most ridiculous thing Ilya has ever heard.

“I was terrified during that blind date, you know.” Shane chuckles, his voice a little shaky now, too. “I didn’t have Rose. It was just the two of us. I thought you wouldn’t like me or be terribly disappointed. And then you were so late, and I started to think that you were not going to show up. It all felt so fucking stupid. Because it made me realise even the most interesting version of me, however fake it was, was still not enough for you.”

“Shane, do not be stupid! You are so interesting to me!” Ilya snaps at him. “I am literally obsessed with you.”

“Obsessed?” Shane lifts an eyebrow.

“You will run away if you know how much.” Ilya chuckles helplessly. “Do not say that about yourself. You are enough for me. No. You are too much, actually.”

“Too much?” Shane winces.

“Too much.” Ilya nods. “I have too many feelings for you in my heart. I can’t breathe sometimes, Hollander.”

“Oh,” Shane says, and then suddenly he is carefully removing the pup from his lap and crawling over to Ilya and kissing him on the mouth, climbing all over his lap. “Nick. Nick, I—”

Ilya shakes his head, wanting to pull that name out of Shane’s mouth and bury it in a place where he’d never find it again.

“Nick, I—”

Rex lets out a ferocious howl, startling them both. Shane pulls back with a shocked gasp and then dissolves into a fit of giggles at the very annoyed look on the pup’s face.

“Reksio,” Ilya says in disapproval. “You are being homophobic right now.”

“What is that?” Shane asks, giving space between their bodies so Rex can climb in between. “Reksio?”

“That is his full name.” Ilya smiles.

“Ah, like Nikita,” Shane says, and Ilya briefly considers ruining Rex’s crate by throwing up in it. “Is that Russian too?”

“Hm, no. It is Polish. After very famous cartoon dog,” Ilya explains as he pulls out his phone and finds a photo of the cartoon.

“Oh, wow. He’s really famous, huh?” Shane nods, impressed. “That’s like naming a dog Snoopy here. Was this your favourite cartoon growing up?”

“No. It is very old cartoon. In 60s, you know?” Ilya smiles and then looks at the pup in between, squeezing his paw. “It was my mama’s favourite when she was a little girl.”

“Oh,” Shane says softly.

“I did not watch on TV. But Mama would tell me all the stories about Reksio and his adventures,” Ilya says, still remembering every single one she had told him before bed.

“And how exactly did you end up naming a dog in a shelter after your mom’s favourite cartoon?” Shane asks him curiously.

“I asked nicely,” Ilya says, since it is the truth. It had been Galina’s turn to pick a name, and she had relinquished it to him after some begging. “People here like me.”

“I like you too.”

Ilya looks up at that. He smiles at Shane, but it hurts too much. “Sometimes, I think you do not like me at all.”

“Why the hell would you think that?” Shane asks, his voice raising ever so slightly. Ilya can only shrug. “I have never liked anyone this much before.”

“Yes?” Ilya asks, knowing it doesn’t mean anything. Not really.

“Yes.” Shane nods. “It makes me annoyed sometimes. I wish we had met sooner. Like when we were younger.”

Ilya considers that. Then he sighs softly. “Hm. Maybe not. My life was not so good when I was younger.”

“Oh,” Shane says, sounding a little surprised.

“In Russia, I was surrounded by people who made me feel bad about myself,” Ilya confesses before looking up at the man sitting on his lap. “They would not have been kind to you either.”

Shane bites his lip. “Because I am a man?”

“And for other reasons,” Ilya says, rubbing a thumb over the man’s freckles, too ashamed to even say those things out loud.

“I see,” the man says, and Ilya can practically see the moment where Shane chooses to ignore the bigotry, as he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Are those people still around?”

“They are not here.” Ilya shakes his head immediately, quietly grateful, and his fingers graze his temple carefully. “But the things they said…sometimes it is still here, hm?”

Shane is quiet for a long moment before he leans forward again, pressing gentle kisses all the way from Ilya’s temple to his forehead.

“What are you doing?” Ilya chuckles.

“Making it go away,” Shane replies, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

Ilya melts into the next kiss, one on his left temple this time. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“Yes, I am crazy, I know.” Shane chuckles into his ear. “But this might work. You never know.”

“Thank you, Shane,” Ilya tells him, heart in his throat.

“I’m glad those people aren’t here,” Shane whispers, his voice barely audible. “If they were here, we probably wouldn’t be together, right? I can’t bear the thought of not being with you.”

“I would not let anything keep me from you,” Ilya tells him fiercely. “I will take you to Russia and kiss you under the cross and tell those homophobic assholes to deal with it.”

Shane pulls back a fraction at that, frowning slightly. “Are there crosses in synagogues, Nick?”

Ilya swallows tightly. “It is just, how do they say it, figure of speech?”

“You are so dramatic.” Shane shakes his head fondly as he turns to Rex, who is pacing in a circle now. “Is he okay?”

“Time for his walk,” Ilya explains. “Will you join us?”

Shane’s phone pings. He checks it and lets out an annoyed groan.

“Work?” Ilya chuckles. “Is it the asshole client who did not like your design? Tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t.” Shane sighs, typing back a quick response. “He brings our company a lot of money.”

“Money is not everything.” Ilya rolls his eyes.

“Says the man who makes millions a year,” Shane snorts.

Ilya bites his lip at that. “Would you still like me if I didn’t?”

Shane frowns. “What do you mean? Do you want to move to a different firm?”

“Something like that,” Ilya says carefully. “I want to talk to you more about it. Maybe we can talk during the walk?”

“Of course.” Shane smiles easily and shoots off another text. “Let me just deal with this first.”

“Give me the phone, Shane.” Ilya groans in annoyance. “I can deal with him.”

“What are you going to do?” Shane grins as the two of them climb out of the crate, taking an excited Rex with them.

“I will grab him by the collar and tell him to stay away from my Shane, or I will contact Bratva,” Ilya huffs seriously.

“Your Shane?” The man’s mouth curves slightly. “Is that a figure of speech too?”

“No.” Ilya shakes his head. “It is fact. You are mine.”

Shane visibly swoons at that as he wraps his arms around Ilya’s neck and kisses the shit out of him. Ilya briefly considers getting down on his knees right then and there as Shane’s phone starts to ping again—and again and again.

“Oh my god, Hollander!” Ilya groans, pulling back reluctantly. “I will kill this client. Seriously.”

“It’s just Rose.” Shane chuckles, taking out his phone again. “She has a habit of texting every word in a separate text. She is dramatic like you.”

“I am excited to meet her this weekend,” Ilya tells him honestly, if Shane still wants that after everything. “But can we talk more? We can walk outside to the park—”

“Yeah. I’d love to. Just give me a sec.” Shane holds up a finger as his phone starts ringing. “Rose, seriously, this better be an actual emergency.”

Ilya chuckles—knowing very well from all the stories he’s heard that Rose probably accidentally set fire to her kitchen again—as he leans down to adjust Rex’s collar. Rex, who is now carefully clinging to Shane’s ankle, completely ignores Ilya and licks at the seam of the man’s jeans. 

“You are obsessed with him, too, huh?” Ilya asks the pup in Russian. “I always knew you had great taste, Reksio.”

“What do you mean? No, I am not home. I am out helping Hayden with something. No, he isn’t here. No. With Nick. Yes, my boyfriend Nick, who else?”

Ilya looks up at that and frowns a little. “Is everything okay, moy lyubimyy?”

“Rose is having a crisis,” Shane says, covering the mouth of his phone. “I think one of her Hollywood friends cheated or got cheated on. One of those things. I am not sure yet.”

Ilya chuckles, shaking his head. “Do you need to go?”

Shane sighs and removes his hand from the phone. “Is it urgent? Are you sure? Rose, I swear if this is like Cabo all over again—okay. Okay, fine. Yes, of course. I understand. I’ll text you when I get home. We can talk then. We’ll figure this out, okay? Yeah, okay. Love you too.” Shane puts his phone into his pocket again and lets out a deep sigh. “Sorry.”

“It is okay. You are a very good friend,” Ilya reminds him again and presses a kiss to his lips. “Rex and I will miss you.”

“No funny business during the walk, okay?” Shane says, crouching down to pet the terrier, before he straightens up to kiss Ilya once more. “Come over for dinner? We can talk more.”

“Yes,” Ilya agrees easily, stealing one more kiss.

Once Shane is gone, Ilya turns to Rex and pulls on the leash. “We will go for walk now, Reksio. We have to practice. I have feeling you will carry the rings at our wedding.”

Ilya is in love.

He knows because never in his life has he had a crisis about what to wear before meeting up with someone. Frankly, looking how he does, it has never mattered before.

But it matters now. Because he cares what Shane thinks of him. He cares what Shane thinks about everything.

It’s what love means, he thinks. He isn’t very sure, but he is ridiculously excited to find out.

After a lot of fretting—and an extremely unhelpful call with Svetlana—he decides on a pair of old jeans, which does incredible things to his ass, thanks very much, and a plain black t-shirt. He grabs his jacket from the hanger and picks up the flowers he put in the water earlier. They don’t cost 300 dollars, but they are pretty, and the soft pink reminds him of Shane’s mouth, so he hopes they are enough.

By the time he arrives at Shane’s apartment, it’s almost seven. They didn’t agree on a time. He had expected Shane to text him, since he’s particular about things like that. But it’s fine.

Ilya adjusts his hair with a hand, feeling like a child on his first day of school, before he rings the doorbell.

A moment passes, and there is no answer. Ilya rings it again.

Nothing.

Ilya frowns and takes out his phone, wondering if Shane isn’t home. Maybe he went to Hayden Pike’s house to tell them about Nora. Maybe he went to fix whatever is wrong with Rose and her friend.

Did he forget dinner? It isn’t like Shane to forget anything on his schedule, especially without sending a message first and an apology after.

Ilya’s mind immediately spirals, going to the worst-case scenario.

Is he okay? Did he see Shane’s jeep downstairs? Did he get home safe from the shelter? Who is his emergency contact?

[To: Shane 🥺]

sweetheart i am outside ❤️

are you home?

He clenches his fingers around his phone, waiting for a response, just as the device vibrates against his skin, almost immediately. Ilya almost drops the damn thing as he tries to read the reply.

But it’s not a reply at all.

[To: Shane 🥺]

sweetheart i am outside ❤️

(Message Not Delivered)

are you home?

(Message Not Delivered)

Ilya blinks and immediately sends out another message, only to get the same notification back.

[To: Shane 🥺]

shane???

(Message Not Delivered)

He presses the call button, and it automatically goes to voicemail after a single ring. Ilya tries again—and then again—only to get Shane’s voicemail over and over.

He starts pressing the doorbell again with one hand, fully freaking out now, as he goes through his call history and tries to find Hayden Pike’s number.

He’d know if Shane is in the hospital, right? He’d know if his best friend got into an accident.

He finds the number and presses dial just as the door swings open.

Shane stands on the other side, dressed in the same clothes as he had this morning, his head cast down.

“Shane!” Ilya gasps in relief. “Are you okay? Your phone is not working.”

Shane doesn’t respond. Ilya is certain he hears a soft sniffle.

“Shane?” Ilya says worriedly and steps closer. “What is wrong? Is it asshole client again?”

Shane looks up at him then, and for the first time, Ilya sees those gorgeous eyes lose the fight. He watches in horror as the hurt spills over and two fat teardrops run down his freckled face.

And Ilya immediately knows.

He doesn’t know how he knows. But he knows.

“You found out,” Ilya says, and it is not a question.

An indecipherable sound leaves Shane’s mouth. It reminds him of Anya when he found her the first time.

So scared. So terrified.

So fucking hurt.

But it disappears before Ilya could simmer in the guilt. Shane’s face masks from pain to fury in a flash.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Shane hisses furiously. “How long did you think you could keep lying to me?”

“Shane,” Ilya says.

“I trusted you!” Shane shouts. “I told you I am new to this. I told you I have never—I fucking trusted you, you fucking asshole!”

“Shane,” Ilya says again, because he is terrified this might be the last time he’d get to call him that.

Then, just like before, the anger in Shane's face disappears before the terror in Ilya’s chest settles fully.

Shane doesn’t look hurt or angry anymore. He just looks confused.

He looks like Rex now, wondering why no one wants to take him home.

“Why did you do it?” Shane asks him, and his voice is a whisper. “Why did you do this to me?”

“Shane,” Ilya whispers, one last time.

“Was…was it something I did?” Shane asks him, looking down at the flowers in Ilya’s hand. “Was I not—fuck!”

“Shane, no!” Ilya gasps because he can’t stand to let Shane think that he deserved to be deceived for any reason. “Shane, you are perfect.”

“Fuck off!” Shane shouts, that righteous fury returning immediately, as he looks up at Ilya again. “You are a fucking liar. You lied to me. This whole morning—oh my god, when we were at the shelter—”

“Shane, please, I can explain—”

“Explain what?” Shane spits. “What possible explanation could justify something like this?”

“Shane, I am sorry,” Ilya whispers, because he realises he hasn’t said it yet. He should say it a thousand times. A million.

“You are sorry,” Shane repeats with a tired chuckle. He shakes his head, looking down once more, and Ilya worries he might never see those eyes again. “I want you to leave.”

“No. No, Shane. No.” Ilya shakes his head desperately. “Please. Shane. Is it too late? Can’t you still like me?”

“Still like you? After what you did?” Shane repeats, looking utterly confused. “I don’t even fucking know you.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s right.

He doesn’t know Ilya. Why would he still like him? That implies he liked Ilya in the first place.

But he never did. It was never real.

It was all in Ilya’s head.

Right. Right. Of course.

“I am sorry,” Ilya tells him, because he is. He is not sure if it matters or makes any difference. “Can’t you…Can’t you give me another chance?”

Second chances, right? Everyone deserves one, yes?

He fucked up, yes. So fucking bad.

But he just needs another chance. He won’t waste it this time. He will not fuck it up again.

“Shane, please,” Ilya begs, taking a step closer. “Give me second chance. Please.”

Shane finally looks up, and somehow, a part of Ilya knows that it’s the last time they’ll see each other again.

“People like you don’t deserve second chances,” Shane tells him, his voice flat and emotionless. 

Then the door slams in Ilya’s face.

Chapter End Notes

Happy birthday, Shane Hollander. Sorry for making you cry on your birthday. But it is indeed a rite of passage for neurodivergent gays.

Next chappy, more pain 🫢

I'll try to be back soon, but the next one is going to be difficult to write for reasons I cannot divulge right now.

Fun fact: The character of Reksio was created by animation pioneer Lechosław Marszałek. Reksio first aired from 1967 to 1990, yet the beloved dog endures through stamps and books, as well as a mural and bronze statue. There’s no dialogue, allowing children of all ages (and nationalities) to enjoy the films easily. The series was also broadcast in other countries such as Russia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Hungary.

Chapter 10: He is Ilya.

Chapter Summary

Hayden snorts, arm wrapped around Shane’s shoulder. “Anything for you.”

“Does anything include committing homicide?” Rose asks from his other side.

“I have four children, Rose.”

“So, your kids are more important to you than Shane?” Rose demands.

“Uh, yes?”

“Wow, Shaney, I’d never pick my kids over you. I am obviously the better friend.”

“You don’t even have kids!” Hayden argues.

“Because Shane is enough for me,” Rose coos, pinching his cheek. “He is my baby.”

Chapter Notes

Oh, hello little bunny, what are you doing here even?

Shane24:
Hi! This is Shane!

NickyWilly:
NPNC.

Shane24:
Sorry?

NickyWilly:
No Pic. No chat.

Your Recent Searches:

Is it safe to send photos on Grindr?

Grindr end-to-end encryption

Grindr privacy policy

How to take a picture of my dick?

How to edit freckles on my face?

[To: Rose]

He is asking me to send pictures.

[From: Rose]

Already?????

I hateeeeeee men 😑

[To: Rose]

I don’t think I want to send my face...

[From: Rose]

But you are okay with sending other parts? 👀

[To: Rose]

Maybe later.

My research says it’s a common expectation on Grindr 🤷🏻

[From: Rose]

Fuck that

You don’t have to send ANYTHING you don’t want to

[To: Rose]

I know.

But I want to try. That’s the whole point of downloading this app, right?

I can’t give up already.

[From: Rose]

It’s not a test, Shane...

[To: Rose]

Sure.

NickyWilly:
Jesus, your ass...

Shane24:
Haha, thanks.

NickyWilly:
Such a tease, though.
Not showing me your face after all that.

Shane24:
Sorry. I just came out and everything.
Have you been out long? Is that okay to ask?

NickyWilly:
My mom has always known.

Shane24:
That’s nice. Is she supportive?

NickyWilly:
I guess? I’m an only child lol so she spoils me so bad.

Shane24:
Me too! I’m close to my mom, but she is kind of intense.
She obviously cares so much about me, but I think sometimes she forgets I’m a grown adult.
Sorry, that was a lot.

NickyWilly:
Hang out next week?

Shane24:
Oh, I’m visiting my parents in Ottawa next week, sorry!
Soon though!

Your Recent Searches:

Is it safe to meet a guy from Grindr in person?

How to flirt on Grindr?

How to know if he is interested in me?

How to be interesting?

Shane24:
Hi, Nick! It was nice chatting with you last night.
My cousin in Ottawa is a lawyer too, but not in entertainment.
Do you like working in corporate?
I think I’d have quit a long time ago if it wasn’t for WFH, haha 😅

NickyWilly:
It’s fine. Good money.
When do you wanna hang out irl?

Shane24:
Oh, I don’t think I’m ready to meet yet. Sorry.
Maybe we could talk more first?
Do you like to travel?

NickyWilly:
No.

Shane24:
Sorry, I am not clear.
Do you not want to talk more, or do you not like to travel?
Hello??
I’m so bad at texting lol. Sorry!
Goodnight 😃

[From: Hayden]

Thinking of getting a doggo for the twins for their birthday.

Thoughts?

[To: Hayden]

Ask Jackie.

[From: Hayden]

But I want it to be a surprise!! ☹️☹️

[To: Hayden]

ASK. JACKIE. FIRST.

Also, do you think I’m boring?

[From: Hayden]

???

What do you mean? Like your clothes?

[To: Hayden]

Nevermind.

Dogs are cute.

But ask Jackie, Hayden!

Shane24:
Your profile says you have tattoos.
Can I see?

NickyWilly:
You’re into tats, huh?

Shane24:
I don’t know. I’m just curious about you.
What’s the first one you got?

NickyWilly:
My initial on my hand.

Shane24:
Oh, cool.

NickyWilly:
You think it’s conceited? My ex thought so.

Shane24:
No. No. It’s nice 🙂 
Do you have a photo of it?

NickyWilly:
You first.

Shane24:
Oh. I don’t have any tattoos.

NickyWilly:
It doesn’t have to be tattoos.
You can send me something else.
I am waiting.

Your Recent Searches:

How to take dick pic?

Dick pic examples with good lighting

Dick pic big

Pornhub

Bratty twink gets dommed by hung daddy 

NickyWilly:
Please tell me we can meet soon!!
I can’t stop thinking about the pic you sent me.
I got sooo hard at work today.
(Attached Pic)

Shane24:
Oh nice.

NickyWilly:
You like it?

Shane24:
Yeah.

NickyWilly:
You want it in that tight ass?

Shane24:
Haha, sure.

NickyWilly:
It’s so juicy, fuck. 

Shane24:
I have Bulgarian split squats to thank for that.
I have to put in extra effort with my workout because my diet doesn’t include any meat already.
You are vegan too, right? How do you get your protein?

NickyWilly:
Idk quinoa and shit ig.

Shane24:
Quinoa is great! I’m partial to chickpeas myself.
Nick?

[To: Rose]

(Attached Screenshot)

I think I need help 😕

[From: Rose]

Oh, Shaney

I got you ❤️

Omw to an audition

Will ft when I’m home

Let’s manifest I book this because the shooting is in Montreal 🤩

[To: Rose]

Break a leg ❤️

NickyWilly:
Can’t stop thinking about last night.
You are so fucking hot.

Shane24:
❤️

[From: Hayden]

Found a good shelter 🥳

[To: Hayden]

Did you do a background check?

Some of these places are actually exploitative. 

[From: Hayden]

I know, sigh. 

The teachers at the school highly recommend this place

They wouldn’t stop talking about the manager 🙄

Do you have some free time next week to go check it out with me?

NickyWilly:
A dog shelter?

Shane24:
I can ask him not to come. Maybe it can just be us.
It’ll be cute, haha. Since you wanted to meet.
I feel bad for saying no for so long.
I’m kind of excited to meet you 😇

NickyWilly:
At a dog shelter???

Shane24:
We could grab a bite before or after?

Nicky:
Can’t. Sorry. I’m allergic.

Shane24:
Oh. Sorry to hear that.
Another time then.

Your Recent Searches

Are dog allergies real?

How to tell if someone likes you?

Is it weird to go to a dog shelter for a first date?

First date ideas

Hang out ideas for two men

Who is Christopher Nolan?

Movies now showing in Montreal

NickyWilly:
I can’t.

Shane24:
Oh, sorry. Do you not speak French?
I shouldn’t have assumed.
I could find a different movie?

NickyWilly:
I speak French, but I am busy next week.

Shane24:
Oh. Okay.

[To: Rose]

I need help again.

NickyWilly:
You sounded so hot in that voice note.
You fucking tease, Shane.

Shane24:
😋

NickyWilly:
Maybe we can hang out for a drink soon?
I know a good place.

Shane24:
Do you drink?
Your profile said you don’t drink or smoke.

NickyWilly:
I don’t.
But I bet you get all loose and sloppy when you’re drunk, huh?

Your Recent Searches

Safe bars in Montreal

Alcohol with least calories

How to share live location with friend on iPhone

NickyWilly:
Are we on for this weekend in Celio?

Shane24:
I don’t feel super comfortable in clubs, sorry.
Can we maybe go for dinner first?
 Nick?

[From: Mom]

I can make something different next time.

Just tell me what you like, please.

I don’t like it when you don’t finish your food, Shane.

[To: Rose]

I’ll be in Toronto this weekend for a work thing. You still there for the shoot?

Can you help me take a pic?

I tried, and it doesn’t look very good

(Attached Image)

[From: Rose]

Is this about Nick again?

I told you to stop texting him!!! 😡

And you look so tired, babes.

Have you been working too much again?

Please tell me you are eating and staying hydrated.

[To: Rose]

Yes, I am. Eating and hydrated, I mean.

Work is fine. Toronto visit has me a little stressed, but I’m fine.

Will you help me take the pic? Just the body, obviously.

I think Nick is uncomfortable meeting a stranger.

[From: Rose]

I think Nick is uncomfortable communicating like an adult 😐

[To: Rose]

He just responds to photos better.

[From: Rose]

For the record, I hate this man.

The vibes are sooooo off.

[To: Rose]

Maybe he’s just better at communicating in person.

Texting is so hard. 

He’ll probably be more comfortable when we meet.

Either way, I have to meet him. I have to see this through.

[From: Rose]

Once again, this is not a test.

It’s okay if your first gay quest is a failure. 

[To: Rose]

👍🏻

[From: Rose]

Bitch

Don’t 👍🏻 me.

SHANE

Shane, come backkkkk

Fine, I will take the stupid photo

NickyWilly:
Stanley’s. 7 PM. Friday.
I’ve made the reservation under Nick Wilson.

Shane24:
See you 🥰

The Department of Justice in Canada really needs to work on its web design.

He’s been sitting in front of his laptop all day, quietly reading through the website, and wondering why on earth the criminal code does not penalise cheating.

It’s okay to break someone’s arm, but not their heart? Who came up with these rules?

He had been annoyed by the injustice at first, but then he got completely distracted by the clusterfuck of a website.

It’s got a lot of useful information, sure. But the font is too big, and the navigation is too cluttered, and there is no consistency in the colour scheme.

Shane takes a sip of chamomile tea and glares at the website in quiet indignation.

It’s an occupational hazard, he thinks, to be able to look at something and not pick it apart. It’s a bad habit, he knows. Because most things are not pretty when they are dismembered like that.

His professor—the one who taught the module on Introduction to Spatial Design—told him that some great philosopher once said the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The advice came after Shane messed up one of his first assignments, spending too much time worrying about complementing every single detail in every single room to make sure everything aligned perfectly.

She had told him later, kindly enough, that dissecting a home is not so different from dissecting a person. She had asked him to look at the house as a whole and not as a collection of rooms.

“Anyone can build a room out of perfect pieces, Shane. The real art is in seeing potential in things that don’t quite belong together—and having the courage to place them side by side anyway. That’s how you build something special.”

She told him to leave space for imperfections, because perfect little parts don’t always add up to a perfect little house. She told him that sometimes the room only becomes beautiful because of the thing that almost doesn’t fit.

She was right, of course. Shane follows that advice to date.

It’s why, despite creaky floorboards, cluttered kitchens, narrow corridors, and poorly-lit bathrooms, people still love their homes.

Because the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

It’s how people are meant to be loved, too, Shane thinks.

As a whole, not as a sum of their parts.

Shane has always been terrible at that, at seeing people as a whole and not as a bundle of traits—traits he either approves or not.

Mom is too focused on his work life, but sometimes has no clue what Shane has going on in his personal life. Dad is a great cook, but always forgets to ask if Shane is hungry. Hayden loves his children, but mostly because he likes to act like a child too. JJ is a great colleague, but not always a great friend. Rose is always so supportive, but sometimes forgets he needs space.

None of it has stopped him from loving them, though. Of course not.

People aren’t perfect. They are not meant to be. The same way houses aren’t perfect.

It’s normal. It’s normal not to be perfect.

Shane has spent his whole life trying to make peace with that fact. He tries not to design houses with zero flaws. He tries not to expect perfection from people.

Because perfection doesn’t exist. Not really. Not as a whole.

Because even if each individual part is perfect, sometimes when you put it all together, it would just end up feeling very wrong.

It just doesn’t happen. It’s just not possible.

So, it’s really not his fault that he got obsessed with Nick.

Because Nick is perfect.

Nick is perfect in parts. Nick is perfect as a whole.

When they had met on Grindr—although met is a generous term, if you’d only been acquainted with someone’s dick—Shane had thought that Nick was too good to be true.

He doesn’t smoke or drink. He has a stable job and a steady income. He lives in the same city. He has a healthy lifestyle. He had a good relationship with his parents. He had a nice cock.

All the parts seemed to align perfectly. As if he were made for Shane. As if someone put this man together in some factory after consulting Shane’s checklist.

So, Shane, knowing what he does, had been terrified to meet Nick in person. A part of him thinks it’s why he was so hesitant to meet the other man, not because of any other reason.

Because surely the whole is going to be a mess, right? All those perfect parts put together must have produced the most insufferable man to ever exist. There had to be something fundamentally wrong with him.

But no. Shane was wrong.

Because Nick seemed somehow even more perfect in person.

It made Shane want to reach out to the people who made him and congratulate them on a job well done—and maybe ask a dozen follow-up questions.

Nick was so perfect that it started to unsettle Shane.

Every interaction made Shane fall more for him, leaving him utterly and helplessly fascinated with the other man.

Where are the flaws? Where are the creaky floorboards?

A part of him was terrified. It’s not easy to live with someone like that—let alone build a life together with them.

But Shane wanted to try. Shane wanted to try so badly.

Shane wanted him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

Not because Nick was perfect, but because Shane wanted to give him flaws—just one or two.

And then the other shoe dropped.

“Men suck. Like so bad. And not even in the good way.”

Nick does, though.

He is very good at sucking. It only happened once, but the memory is permanently seared into Shane’s frontal lobe now.

In retrospect, it should've been one of the first signs. 

Nick, on Grindr, couldn't wait to get his hands on Shane's ass. But after they met, he seemed very hesitant. Shane would see the heat in the man's eyes, especially when he wore those jeans Rose made him buy two summers ago. But Nick wouldn't do anything about it. Even the only time they had sex, Shane had been the one to initiate. There might have been some begging involved, too. 

He doesn't regret it, though. That's the worst part. Even after everything, he misses Nick. He misses everything about him. 

But he doesn’t mention that to Rose, not when she has been fuming all morning since she barged into his apartment.

He appreciates it, to be honest. He kind of likes it when people feel things on his behalf.

Rose’s anger. Hayden’s excitement. Mom’s worry.

Nick’s thoughtfulness.

It’s not as if Shane is angry anyway. Well, he is. Kind of.

But he is mostly confused—and incredibly hurt.

He doesn’t like things that don’t make sense. He hates it even more when he doesn’t get the opportunity to clarify.

“I am so sorry,” Rose tells him softly.

“Why?” Shane asks. “You didn’t cheat on me.”

“I would never!” Rose scoffs. “Even when you were terrible at giving head.”

“Is that why people cheat?” Shane asks her because he is still very much confused. “Do you think he didn’t like it when I…maybe I wasn’t very—”

“Do not finish that thought, Shane Hollander!” Rose glares at him. “He cheated because he is a piece of shit human being. End of discussion.”

But no. It cannot be the end of the discussion.

It doesn’t make sense. Shane desperately wants it to make sense.

“Miles is so sorry too,” Rose tells him, checking her phone again. “He didn’t know Nick was your man.”

“Not Miles’ fault either.” Shane shakes his head and then hesitates for a moment. “Can you ask Miles if Nick enjoyed the sex?”

“I won’t be asking him that!” Rose groans. “Shane, seriously. You have to stop.”

“I just wanted to know why he did it,” Shane tries to explain. “I want to know what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Rose puts up her hands.

“What’s the app they used again? Maya?” Shane asks tiredly.

“Raya.” Rose sighs. “I don’t know how the fuck that asshole got into it. He isn’t even a celebrity.”

“He works with them,” Shane reminds her. “Do you think he maybe wanted someone high profile?”

“Shane, I really don’t understand why you are torturing yourself like this—”

“Because it makes no sense, Rose!” Shane almost yells. “Because he made me feel like I’m the most precious thing in the world, and now I find out he’s been sleeping with other people this whole fucking time? It makes no fucking sense. I want it to make sense so I can…so I can move on.”

“Okay. Okay, so you want closure. That’s normal.” Rose softens a bit. “You know where he lives, right? Should we go to his place and make a scene?”

“I don’t know his exact address.” Shane sighs. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see him again.”

Shane can’t.

He can’t look at Nick again without wanting to pull at his curls or kiss the mole on his cheek or rub on that stupid tattoo on his palm.

“You don’t need closure to move on, Shaney. Sometimes people just do nasty things,” Rose tells him tiredly. “Especially rich pricks like him.”

“But…but why was he so…”

“So what?” Rose asks.

“So good to me,” Shane finishes, voice barely audible. “Did he feel bad about the cheating? Is that why he was so nice?”

“Probably. I don’t know.” Rose bites her lip. “All I know is that you deserve better.”

Does he? He isn’t so sure anymore.

“Look on the bright side,” Rose says, smiling a little. “You didn’t go public with this asshole, and you didn’t even introduce him to your parents. He was never really part of your life. Now he can fuck off forever.”

Shane’s bottom lip starts to wobble a little bit. “I designed a house for us.”

Rose stares for a moment before enveloping him in a fierce hug. “Oh, Shanebug. I am so sorry.”

Shane is sorry too.

It’s funny, really.

When Rose had told him that Miles had hooked up with an entertainment lawyer from Montreal called Nick Wilson, the first thing Shane did was fire up his laptop and delete all the designs he had made for their future home. It’s the first thing he did, even before he found the courage to block Nick’s number on his phone.

Because it hurt so much to even have the tiniest delusion that they have a future together anymore.

They don’t.

No future. No home.

No little dog that peed when he got anxious.

“You gotta eat something,” Rose tells him, getting off the couch and stalking into the kitchen.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Shane.”

“I’ll have a smoothie.”

“Shane.”

“He was going to tell me something,” Shane says, mostly to himself. “Do you think he was going to confess to the cheating?”

“I highly doubt it.” Rose scoffs, pulling out a carton of milk from the fridge. “You know, it never sat right with me that he only responded to your texts when you sent him pictures. And don’t even get me started on the whole 180 he did after he met you in person. He could clearly see you are hot as shit and decided to pretend to be nice.”

No one can pretend to be that nice, though.

No one can pretend to care that much.

Shane knows he is attractive or whatever. But he works hard for his body. He has to. It’s not like he has the most charming personality or anything, so he has to make sure that at least he looks interesting.

But is that really the only thing Nick liked about him? Is that why he drove for five hours to get Shane soup?

That doesn’t sound right. But then again, Shane did end up sucking the man’s dick that night, so maybe that was the plan all along.

Shane feels sick about the whole thing.

He feels even sicker when he realises he’ll never get to suck Nick’s dick again.

What a tragedy all around.

A part of him is deeply embarrassed by the whole thing, to be honest. If Rose hadn’t been the one to find out, Shane would’ve never told his friends what happened.

What kind of idiot gets cheated on for the entirety of their relationship? How did Shane not figure it out sooner?

Sure, a lot of things about Nick never made sense.

He texts completely differently now. He says and does things that are often inconsistent. He always seemed on edge—like he was waiting to be caught.

But Shane never poked at them.

Maybe he was too worried about what he’d find. Maybe he was too worried Nick would be annoyed.

Maybe he was just grateful for the attention.

Nick gave him the whole world, and Shane didn’t want to question why.

Maybe he should have. Maybe they wouldn’t be here if he had.

Maybe if he had tried to be braver, and not selfish and greedy like he was, he would’ve figured out the truth way sooner.

A pathetic part of him is glad he didn’t figure it out. Because if he had, everything would’ve ended as soon as it began.

Then he never would’ve had any time with Nick at all. He wouldn’t have any of these memories.

However short-lived and terribly stained now, those memories are truly some of the happiest of his life.

Fuck, that’s sad.

“You know what, fuck this guy!” Rose growls, putting down the smoothie with a small thug. “You are hot as shit. Let’s go out and get you laid.”

“Yeah, because that went so well last time—”

“Shane, you cannot let this asshole stop you from finding your true love,” Rose groans, settling down next to him again.

“I never asked for true love,” Shane grumbles. “I just wanted a decent guy with a good dick. Is that too much to ask?”

“It really is.” Rose sighs tiredly. “You know what will make you feel better?”

“I know it’s not going to the club and getting under some random man,” Shane mutters. 

It’s too much, and it’s too soon.

Shane doesn’t like hurling himself into the wild like that.

What if he doesn’t like the man’s deodorant? Or worse, what if the man isn’t wearing deodorant?

It’s a scary world out there.

He’s never going to someone like Nick again. Probably because Nick was never real to begin with.

Shane doesn’t care that Nick isn’t perfect. He likes imperfections. He seeks them out, poking and prodding, until they become familiar and safe.

He cares that Nick isn’t real. He cares that Nick isn’t who Shane thought he was.

He probably made the whole thing up in his head.

Was any of it ever real? Was he ever actually nice to Shane?

He hates it. He hates all this confusion.

Jackie was right. The man did sound too good to be true. Shane should’ve trusted her instincts. She’s always got good ones.

He turns to Rose and decides to indulge her. Mostly because he needs to leave the house. His office still smells like Nick’s stupid aftershave. Or maybe Shane is imagining that too.

“I know what will make me feel better,” Shane tells her. “We need to call Hayden.”

“You are a good friend, Hayd. You didn’t have to skip work for this.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Hayden snorts, arm wrapped around Shane’s shoulder. “Anything for you.”

“Does anything include committing homicide?” Rose asks from his other side.

“I have four children, Rose.”

“So, your kids are more important to you than Shane?” Rose demands.

“Uh, yes?”

“Wow, Shaney, I’d never pick my kids over you. I am obviously the better friend.”

“You don’t even have kids!” Hayden argues.

“Because Shane is enough for me,” Rose coos, pinching his cheek. “He is my baby.”

“Whatever,” Hayden says, way too used to Rose’s antics. “Are sure you want to do this, Shane?”

“Hayden, please. Shane wants to feel better. If attending a mandatory training course on the weekend is going to make him feel better, let the man have what he wants.”

“Okay, fine. I’m glad you’re here, though, Shane. I’m not sure I can pay attention. I didn’t get any sleep because Jackie was up all night trying to find Nick’s address online.”

“Now that’s a fine woman,” Rose huffs. “You lucky bastard.”

Shane manages a smile.

Hayden and Jackie met during orientation on their freshmen year. Literally on the first day of university. They’ve been together ever since.

The universe really has favourites, huh?

“I got you covered,” Shane promises. “Also, I’m pretty sure they have resources you can study later.”

“This is all very exciting!” Rose says with glee. “Maybe I should get a dog too.”

“Why don’t you try to keep a plant alive first?” Shane asks and Rose pouts immediately.

Hayden chuckles at that. “Should we go say hi to Nora first?”

“Yes! I want to meet her!” Rose claps her hands. “Jackie showed me pics. She is such a beauty.”

“You guys go ahead, I’ll let the management know we’re here,” Shane tells them. “We really shouldn’t have turned up here without informing them first.”

“It’s fine. I did text Rozanov I’ll be dropping by, but I don’t think he checked this phone,” Hayden says with an eyeroll. “That man is useless and annoying.”

Shane chuckles with a nod and heads down to the corridor with the offices. He thinks of the last time he was here, which wasn’t more than a couple of days ago. It might have been one of his favourite days ever, spending the morning with Nick here.

The memory is so fresh and so deeply seared into his soul that he swears he could almost smell Nick’s aftershave again. As if he is still here.

Fuck, he is going to crazy.

Shane takes a deep breath, ignoring whatever olfactory hallucination he is going through right now, and steps into the manager’s office after knocking twice. “Hello. I’m here with Hay—”

The man standing by one of the cabinets drops the file in his hand and blinks at him.

Okay, so the olfactory hallucinations might have evolved into visual hallucinations.

Because that’s Nick. Shane can see him. 

“Shane,” Nick whispers, and it comes out all soft and pained and surprised.

And beautiful too.

His name sounds so beautiful in Nick’s accent.

Shane’s never particularly cared for his name. It’s normal. It’s boring. It’s fine.

But Nick makes it sound interesting. Nick makes everything about Shane interesting.

Right now, however, Nick is making him have full-blown hallucinations. So, he should probably go find his friends and get the fuck home.

“Shane, you are here,” Nick says desperately, stepping closer to him. “You want to talk? Can we talk? Please?”

He is standing so close that Shane can feel the heat radiate from him. He can feel the man’s breath on his face.

“You’re real,” Shane whispers.

“Yes, Shane. I am real person.” Nick sighs. “Even if you don’t like me.”

He’s got that face on—the one he makes when he is nervous. His eyebrows draw lower and his lips quiver ever so slightly. Every time Shane sees it, he feels the need to kiss away every wrinkle and worry immediately.

He’s done it before. Nick always softens and melts when Shane does it. As if his kisses can actually fix whatever is wrong.

Shane wishes he could do it now. He wishes he could kiss away whatever is wrong.

But he can’t, can he?

Because he isn’t the only person Nick has been getting kisses from. Shane isn’t the only man who has been comforting Nick and caring for him.

Shane is not special.

It’s a horrifying thing to realise after weeks of being made to feel like it you are nothing less than perfect.

And suddenly, Shane doesn’t yearn for a kiss. He aches for answers.

“What are you doing here?” Shane demands.

“Me?” Nick asks in confusion, as if Shane is the one who has to explain his presence here.

Fine, maybe Nick is more familiar with the shelter. Shane didn’t even know how much the man loved dogs just until two days ago.

Why didn’t Nick tell him before? Why did Nick even feel the need to hide any of it?

What else was he hiding?

I like dogs so much. I like fucking other men so much.

Is that what he was going to tell Shane that night? Oh god, it was, wasn’t it?

“Shane, I am so sorry—”

“Why did you do it?” Shane asks him, because he has to know.

Not because he never wants to make that mistake again. This isn’t a learning moment for him.

He just…He’d like to know if he could’ve avoided it.

They don’t have a future anymore. But maybe Shane can picture one, at least inside his head, where he managed to keep Nick. A future where he didn’t do whatever he did that led to this.

“Why did you do that to me?” Shane asks him again, firmer this time.

“Because I am an idiot,” Nick replies after a moment.

That’s it?

Really? That’s it?

So, Rose is right? There is no big explanation? Men are idiots. That’s it? Shane doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed, to be honest.

“Shane, please, I know I am terrible. I am sorry for lying and I will—”

“It’s fine,” Shane says, and he immediately hates himself for it. “It’s not fine. But it’s…it’s whatever. It’s not like you owed me exclusivity or anything. We didn’t discuss boundaries of this relationship. We literally met on a hookup app. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“What?” Nick blinks in confusion. “Shane, I do not understand. Please. I want…I am sorry. Can we start over?”

“Start over?” Shane asks, unable to believe the audacity. “Start over how? Am I just supposed to forget that you cheated on me?”

“Cheated?” Nick repeats, frowning. “I do not cheat. I have never cheated!”

“Okay, so you thought we weren’t exclusive. So it’s not cheating for you. Whatever you want to call it, Nick, I really don’t give a shit—”

“Nick?” Nick repeats. “You call me Nick.”

“Am I supposed to call you sweetiepie after the shit you pulled on me?” Shane demands incredulously. “Fuck you, Nick.”

“Oh my god! Shane, oh my god.” Nick says, eyes widening, and then he starts ranting in Russian.

Shane—who might have impulsively started taking Russian classes two weeks ago—only catches a couple of words.

“Are you calling me stupid?” Shane gasps.

Nick gasps again. “Wait. How did you—”

“Fuck you!” Shane hisses at him. “Seriously, Nick—”

“No! Stop saying that!”

“Stop what? Calling you out?” Shane demands angrily. “You literally fuck people on every goddamn app on this planet, Nick, and I—”

“No! No! No!” The man shouts loudly. “Ilya!”

“What?”

“It is Ilya!”

“What the fuck is Ilya?” Shane shouts back. “Another app you used to cheat on me with?”

The man breathes heavily, his chest rising up and down behind his t-shirt, before he grabs the name plate from the table and points it at Shane. “Ilya.”

Shane stares at the name plate.

His first thought is that they should’ve used teak for the name plate instead of MDF. Rookie mistake, really.

His second thought is oh, that’s a really pretty name.

“Shane, you will not believe what Nora did, oh my god—Oh, uh, hi?”

Rose and Hayden, who had just walked through the open door, blink at him. Shane didn’t realize just how close he is standing next to Nick.

Nick? Not Nick??

“Rozanov.” Hayden’s face immediately turns into a scowl. “I told you he is taken. Well, not anymore, but seriously—”

“Rozanov?” Shane repeats in a whisper, eyes falling to the name plate still clutched tightly in his fingers.

“Rozanov,” the man repeats softly. “Ilya Rozanov.”

“Hello, Ilya Rozanov!” Rose shoves herself in between them, reaching out with a hand. “Are you single? Because my friend here is—”

“Ilya Rozanov,” Shane repeats slowly, and finally looks up to meet the man in the eye. His blue eyes.

Does Nick have blue eyes?

Does Nick have a constellation of moles on his back?

Does Nick swear in Russian?

Does Nick like to hold Shane’s hand and press kisses to the inside of his palm?

Is Nick even real?

“I have to go.”

He doesn’t know who he says the words to or whether they actually make it out of his throat. But something is climbing up his throat, and he really needs to leave this place before it does.

Shane runs all the way to the parking, throwing himself into his jeep. He chugs on the bottle of water he keeps at the front and almost chokes on the first sip as his mind races with his pulse.

Ilya Rozanov. Ilya. Rozanov.

Ilya Rozanov who Hayden thinks is an annoying asshole. Ilya Rozanov, the man who Jackie swears everyone at the school has a crush on. Ilya Rozanov, the shelter manager everyone seems to cherish so much.

Ilya Rozanov, the man Shane has been falling in love with for the last two months.

There is a soft rap on the jeep window. Shane sighs, pulling his face out of his hands, and wonders how on earth he is going to explain this to his friends.

But it’s not his friends on the other side.

It’s Ilya Rozanov.

Shane rolls down the shutter carefully. He swallows.

“Hi,” Nick says.

No.

No. Not Nick.

Wait. Where is Nick? Who is Nick?

“Where is Nick?” Shane blurts out.

The man’s face falls a little. “I don’t know. Probably in boring meeting, I guess.”

“He’s real?” Shane whispers. “Nick is real?”

The man bites his lip tightly. Then he nods once. “I saw you in Stanley’s. I pretended to be Nick.”

Why?

Why did you do it? Why wouldn’t you tell me your real name?

Are you fucking crazy? Ya tebya lyublyu.

“Oh,” Shane says, mind reeling, and says the first thing he could think of. “So…So, Nick didn’t cheat on me.”

“No.” The man shakes his head. “Nick didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t cheat on you. Only idiot with stone for brain will cheat on you.”

“Oh,” Shane says again, swallowing tightly, not sure what exactly he should say to that.

“You can report me to police if you want,” the man tells him.

“For what?” Shane blinks.

“It is identity fraud,” the man explains, eyes cast down.

“It’s not like you scammed me,” Shane says incredulously. “If anything, you’re the one who spent money on me.”

“Nick would have probably spent a lot more.”

Shane looks up at that. He swallows again. “Do you know him?” The man shakes his head slowly. Shane can’t help the snort that escapes him. “Well, I guess I don’t either.”

“Do you want to know him?” The man asks.

Shane doesn’t know what he wants.

He thinks he should probably lie down first—and delete the strongly worded email he wrote to the most prestigious law firm in Montreal.

“Right,” the man says into the silence and nods once. “I will go now.”

“Nick, wait!” Shane calls out and winces immediately. “Shit. Sorry. Wrong name.”

The man smiles tiredly and shakes his head a little. “No. Right name. Wrong guy. Goodbye, Hollander. Tell Nick he is very lucky guy.”

He doesn’t explain himself to Rose and Hayden.

Mostly because he has locked himself in his office and has been scrolling through his phone for the last four hours.

He reads every text between him and Nick.

No.

No, not Nick. Ilya.

He reads every text between them. He relives every memory between them.

It’s all so much that Shane can hardly remember who the real Nick is and why Shane wanted to meet him so badly in the first place.

So, he does what he needs to do.

He reactivates his Grindr profile.

His phone immediately pings with new messages.

NickyWilly:
Hey. I got held back at a work thing.
Don’t think I can make it. Sorry.
Hello?
Okay, guess you are mad. My bad.

Shane stares at the messages, stomach in twists, before his fingers start to move.

Shane24:
Hi.

The response is almost immediate, almost startling the phone out of his hands.

NickyWilly:
And he lives!!
I knew you’d come back.

Shane24:
Are you Russian?

NickyWilly:
Lol what?

Shane24:
Are you Russian? Is your name Nikita?

NickyWilly:
No? I’m French-Canadian.

Shane24:
Oh.

NickyWilly:
Is this role play?
Do you want me to talk Russian?
Weird opener after ghosting me for two months.
But I’ve seen weirder shit on this app tbh.

Shane24:
Oh my fucking god…
I didn't mean to ghost you. I am sorry! 

NickyWilly:
Yeah, whatever.
Are you okay, dude?

Shane24:
Not really.

NickyWilly:
What the fuck happened to you?
You seemed so eager for my dick ngl.

Shane24:
You will not believe me even if I tell you.

NickyWilly:
Tell me anyway?

Shane puts down the phone. 

He should tell Nick the truth. He should call Ilya. 

He should never speak to either of them again.

He doesn’t know what to do. It’s all so messed up.

He stares at his laptop, all the messages still on display. All his messages with 'Nick'. 

His eyes drift to the folder 'For Future Reference', pinned to his desktop and now painfully empty. 

Shane sighs. He picks up his phone again. 

Chapter End Notes

You people are so lucky I'm an antisocial weirdo who loves to write. It just felt right to post this chapter today. Happy Birthday again, Shanebug, my beautiful boy.

I'm still figuring out my Shane Voice. So, this chapter was kind of hard to write. Be nice to me or else.

Some important thoughts I had while writing this chapter:
1. The username 'nickywilly' tells me everything I need to know about this man...
2. If I send someone a dick pic and they respond with 'Oh, nice'. I will jump into a well.
3. I'm very curious about exploring Shane's sexuality through Grindr. Maybe another fic, idk. Queer people often have to navigate their sexuality through the internet, and it's not always pretty.
4. All of you hating on Nick before we even met the man has restored my faith in humanity.
5. One day, when I figure out coding, I will write so many text fics. You can say so much by saying so little. I find it a very fun characterisation exercise tbh.
6. Rose is such a lesbian. Justice for Lesbian Rose.
7. I speed wrote this tonight, so if there are mistakes, be oblivious like my shanebug.
8. Finally, for everyone who has been wondering how the fuck Shane didn't figure out Ilya is not Nick...That man was clearly dickmatized/Ilyamatized. Leave him alone.

I hope you enjoyed this one. I will be back with one last chapter (reconciliation, yay!) and a tiny epilogue later this week. And no, it won't be tomorrow. I have spoiled you people enough.

Fun fact: Grindr has around 145 million registered users total, with over 135 billion chats sent in 2025 alone. The platform has approximately 15 million monthly active users. In a 2024 "Unwrapped" report, it was revealed the highest percentage of bottoms was found in South Africa, followed by South Korea, then Japan, Vietnam and Denmark. It was Jordan, where the highest percentage of tops resided this year. This was followed by Greece, the United States, Singapore and Peru.

Chapter 11: I'm his boyfriend.

Chapter Summary

“Impersonating another man, Rozanov? What the fuck is wrong with you? You could’ve gone to jail.”

“You would love that, yes?” Ilya scoffs. “You hate me.”

“Nobody hates you,” Hunter says in annoyance. “God knows you get on our nerves. But we get used to it. Maybe your boy needs time to get used to you, too.”

Chapter Notes

Sorry, this one took a while. Would y'all believe if I said I had a worse week than Ilya 🫠

Also, thank you all for Nick-bashing in the comments. It's so beautiful that hate can bring people together 🤧

But here we fucking goooooo. Y'all better have dentist appointments set up for after you finish this.

Ilya has no one but himself to blame.

It is truly the worst thing about all of this.

Okay, no.

The worst thing about all of this is the fact that Shane is no longer in his arms, but the whole ‘you are the maker of your own misery’ thing is equally bad.

But it’s true, though. Ilya is indeed the maker of his misery. He can blame everyone and everything else as much as he wants, but at the end of the day, it comes down to him.

Mama wouldn’t have left if Ilya had found a reason for her to stay. Papa wouldn’t have been so disappointed with him if Ilya had made more of an effort to make him proud. Alexei wouldn’t loathe him so much if Ilya hadn’t been reckless enough to fool around with Sasha. Rex wouldn’t be alone still if Ilya had figured out a way to find him a home.

Shane wouldn’t be heartbroken if Ilya hadn’t lied to him. Shane wouldn’t be mad at him if Ilya hadn’t deceived him. Shane wouldn’t have run away if Ilya were at least half as decent as he pretended to be.

So, yes. It’s his fault. All of it.

It’s a very annoying predicament, not having anyone to blame for your misery. Life is so much simpler when you can point fingers instead of having to take a hard look in the mirror.

Ilya isn’t staring at the mirror right now. He can’t bear to look at the face that made Shane cry.

Instead, he decides to make himself feel worse, and stares at another face he disappointed lately. Unfortunately, there are too many of them around.

“I am sorry,” Ilya whispers in Russian. “I am sorry I ruined it for you. I am sorry, I always ruin everything.”

Rex yips at that, as if he doesn’t care for Ilya’s apology. Okay, fair enough. Apologies don’t fix anything.

Ilya knows.

He’s apologised to Shane a thousand times, and it has not made a difference. He doesn’t know why he thought it would anyway.

Maybe because he would’ve taken Shane back in a heartbeat. But then again, Shane would never do this to him—or to anyone else. Shane wouldn’t have to lie and pretend to be liked in the first place.

They truly aren’t meant for each other, huh?

“Sorry, Rex,” Ilya says one more time, for good measure. “He’d have been good for you, I think.”

It’s not like he thought Shane would actually adopt Rex or anything. It’s just wishful thinking.

Besides, the thought of Rex and Anya growing up in the same house made him ridiculously happy.

But it’s not going to happen now, is it?

It sucks that it won’t happen. It sucks even worse that he’s got no one else to blame.

“He’d have been good for me too,” Ilya confesses softly, sighing against the puppy.

“You could look for Russian expats in the city. That might work.”

Everyone has been so sweet to Ilya in the last week.

Even Svetlana didn’t call him an asshole when they spoke on the phone last night. It’s so obvious that everyone feels sorry for him.

What is that thing they say in English? Don’t kick a dog when it’s down? Stupid idiom. You shouldn’t be kicking dogs even when they're up.

But everyone is so nice. Even Troy.

It’s weird. It’s annoying. It’s embarrassing.

Ilya hates it. 

They should be mad at him. They should say I told you so and you deserve this and did you really think this will get a happy ending.

But they don’t say any of that. They are all sickeningly supportive. Assholes.

“What did you say?” Ilya asks tiredly.

“For Rex,” Troy explains, walking over to Dolly Pawton—Harris’ idea, of course—to get her ready for her training. “He’s bilingual now, thanks to you. We can put that on his card. It might help with his chances. I can ask Harris to share his adoption post in any Russian expat or diaspora groups in Montreal. I’m sure there’s something he can find on Facebook.”

“Okay,” Ilya says shortly.

It’s not a bad idea, considering their current luck in finding Rex a home. Although it doesn’t feel right for Rex to find another Russian friend who isn’t Ilya. It’s incredibly selfish of him—and greedy, too. No wonder he lost Shane.

“He was right, you know.”

“Who?”

“Your boy,” Troy elaborates. “We do coddle Rex.”

“He is not my boy,” Ilya mumbles, toying with Rex’s paw. “And what is wrong with coddling? These dogs deserve love.”

“Yes, sure, but sometimes it’s not about what they deserve, it’s about what they need,” Troy tells him with a shrug. “Most dogs don’t make it through winter in the streets. You know this. Rex has been through some real shit, having to keep running to stay alive. He’s not depressed, Ilya. He’s anxious. He’s still in survival mode. He needs stability.”

“And hugs,” Ilya adds.

“From the same person. At the same time. In the same way,” Troy says gently. “He needs a routine that he can rely on so he can stop being worried so much.”

“You are very high-maintenance, aren’t you, Reksio?” Ilya sighs in Russian, burying his face in the pup’s fur. “It is okay. We will find you high-maintenance parents.”

“I’ll ask Harris to get on the Facebook post right away,” Troy informs, walking past Ilya with Dolly Pawton. “I think it might work.”

“Thank you.” Ilya exhales softly, hoping it will work too. “You are a good trainer, you know.”

“I know.” Troy winks at him. “The key is to give them what they need, instead of what I think they need.”

Ilya wishes he had heard those words two months ago, when he decided Shane needed to be rescued and comforted instead of asking Shane what he needed in that moment.

Maybe if he had bothered to ask, Shane would’ve had dinner with Ilya instead. Or maybe this is just wishful thinking, too.

He doesn’t know what Shane needs right now either.

But he knows it’s not Ilya. That much has been made clear from the radio silence in the last week.

“You good?” Troy asks him, pausing at the kennel doors. “You wanna hang out tonight?”

“We’ll see,” Ilya replies.

“You’re not going to sneak back into the shelter and hang around in the kennel again, are you?” Troy asks him worriedly.

Okay, so maybe Ilya does that often. Fine, a lot. Especially recently. But unlike everyone else at the shelter, Ilya doesn’t really have anyone to go home to except for Anya, and she prefers to hang out here. God forbid a man indulges his daughter.

“Stop stalking me, Barrett, or I will tell your boyfriend you think Queer Eye promotes pink capitalism, and then we will both be single and sad.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Troy gasps, clearly affronted, before giving Ilya a soft look. “For the record, I thought y’all looked really cute together.”

“You are so gay,” Ilya notes. Troy gives him the finger. 

His plans to spend the night peacefully at the shelter are interrupted when he receives a text that evening from Scott Hunter of all people.

The man doesn’t say much other than that he needs Ilya to cover a shift. Ilya had ignored the message at first before Hunter had followed up with ‘You owe me, Rozanov’ and a dozen flower bouquet emojis.

So, here he is, back at Stanley’s where it all began, on another Friday night.

A nauseating wave of déjà vu swirls in his stomach as he grabs the spare apron from Wyatt and wraps it around his waist. He decides to hit the back alley first, maybe have a smoke to find the patience to get through the night, when he realises he doesn’t carry cigarettes with him anymore.

Shane had come into his life and turned everything upside down. Okay, fine, it was Ilya who did it so he could fit into Shane’s life.  

But either way, everything is upside down now, and Ilya doesn’t know how to make things go back to the way they were before.

After all, he’s good at messing things up, not so much at putting them back together.  

He walks through the back door and finds Luca and some of the other young waiters gathered there, whispering furiously to themselves. They immediately straighten up when they see Ilya and give him the most obvious ‘we weren’t talking about you, pinky promise’ smiles.

Ilya sighs and walks right back into the restaurant.

He isn’t mad that Luca told them about what happened. If he didn’t want people talking shit about him, then he probably shouldn’t be going around doing shit.

Once again, it’s all his fault.

“Ilya! Ilya, wait!” Luca chases after him and ambushes him near the kitchen. “Sorry, I wasn’t—I haven’t been at the shelter because of exams. Are you…Are you okay?”

“I’m great!” Ilya smiles and isn’t completely bothered if it comes across as genuine or not. Apparently, it doesn’t, because Luca makes a very sad face. Ugh. So, Ilya settles for a distraction. “How is Luna?”

“Settling in great!” Luca says, immediately cheering up, and honestly, it’s why Ilya does what he does. Only dogs have the power to do this. “Maybe we can set up a play date with Anya soon?”

“Yes,” Ilya agrees easily. Just because he is a depressed loser, there is no reason why Anya should be the same.

“Rozanov!” Hunter snaps, glaring at him from the kitchen doors. “I didn’t ask you to come here to stand and chit-chat in the corridor. Table 21. Go.”

Ilya rolls his eyes and gives Luca a look. “Don’t grow up, Luca. It makes people very cranky.”

Luca giggles at that before clearing his throat. “You should, um, go take their order.”

Ilya tries not to feel offended by that. Whatever said and done, he is good at his job—both here and at the shelter. Why is everyone on his ass today?

The fact that he’s up and running after what happened with Shane is a literal miracle. If he could get away with it and ignore all the social pressures of being an adult, and just stay home with a tub of ice cream and watch the Fast and Furious movies. 

But maybe he won’t be getting any sympathy around here. Good. Maybe he doesn’t deserve any in the first place.

Ilya walks past Hunter, giving a blinding smile, as he pulls out his notebook when he reaches the table. “Hello. My name is Ilya, and I will be your server this evening. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

The man jerks so violently that it almost topples the empty glass by his side. Ilya catches it on instinct and puts it back in place just as he notices the pair of bewildered brown eyes staring up at him.

Then Ilya almost drops the glass himself.

Shane looks beautiful. Of course he does.

His freckles are darker, new ones popping over the bridge of his nose, the spring sun painting his face like he is its favourite canvas.

The blue blazer suits him so well, and Ilya wonders why he never wore it when they were together. Is it new? Did his mom buy this for him, too? Or did he buy this himself? Did he buy it to impress someone?

Ilya doesn’t know. Because he isn’t part of Shane’s life anymore. He doesn’t have the privilege of hearing Shane rant about his mom and reading Shane’s shopping lists. For some reason, he misses it as much as the man himself. He misses everything Shane gave him.

And that’s the worst part.

Shane gave him so much—so many different parts of himself. All of him, really.

And Ilya almost gave him nothing.

They really were doomed from the start.

“Shane, you good?”

It is only then that Ilya notices Shane isn’t alone. Of course, he isn’t alone. Why would he be?

He didn’t do anything wrong. He doesn’t have anything to feel guilty about. He doesn’t have anything to punish himself for.

Unlike Ilya.

Ilya doesn’t need a name tag to know the man. He knows. He just does.

Besides, he’s seen this man here before. Many times, in fact. Too many times.

He should be ugly.

That’s his first thought.

If God is real and merciful, Nick Wilson should be fucking ugly.

But he isn’t.

He is handsome and broad-shouldered and has platinum blonde hair that is combed to perfection.

It’s so fucking unfair.

Looking at him now, it is clearer than ever that it would’ve never worked out between the two of them.

Nick looks so…so put together.

He looks like someone who gets his clothes tailored. He looks like someone who doesn’t use the same brand of bodywash and shampoo.

He looks like Shane Hollander’s boyfriend. He looks the part.

It is a part for sure—one Ilya tried to play and pathetically failed. Looking at the original now, it’s almost comical. What was he thinking trying to pull this off? How big is his ego to think he could pretend to be this man?

Nick is supposed to fit into Shane’s life, and he does.

He’s a clean square.

He has neat lines and perfect corners. He is predictable and intentional—the kind of person who slides perfectly into place without disturbing anything around him. You could pick him up and insert him straight into Shane’s heart.

Ilya doesn’t have that kind of luxury.

He’s too big and too uneven. He's got too many sharp edges jutting out at impossible angles.

Ilya is not a square. He’s a fucking hexagon.

Nothing about him fits cleanly.

Not the way he feels. Not the way he loves. Not the way he exists.

He wouldn’t fit into Shane’s heart—or his life.

It’ll hurt if someone tries. It hurt him when he tried not so long ago.

He knows that now. He’s known that all along.

Loving him requires force. It’s why Mama had to try so hard all the time to show him it’s true.

Loving him requires pressure. It’s why his father always had conditions, which Ilya could never fully meet.

Loving him requires violence. It’s why Alexei could never say a kind word without following up with an insult or a slur. 

So, he gets it. He gets why they would never work out.

You can’t place someone like Ilya gently into Shane’s heart.

You’d have to shove him in, forcing him every inch of the way, until Shane starts cracking around the edges.

Ilya should be grateful he stopped before things got too bloody and broken. 

“Shane?” Nick says again. “Babe, you good?”

Ilya runs away. Of course he does. It’s what he does best, after all.

He shoves Hunter on the way, who has the audacity to try to make him go back, and makes his way straight through the back door.

They are on a date, aren’t they?

Is this their first date? Is it a do-over? Is that why they are here?

Or have they been on other dates before?

Has Shane cooked for him? Has Shane kissed him? Has Shane sucked his dick?

What if Shane showed him how he folds his towels? With that serious little face that Ilya couldn’t help but kiss?

Fuck, this is torture.

The back door slams open. “Rozanov.”

“Hunter, give me a fucking break!” Ilya groans into his hands. “I am damsel in distress.”

“You are not a damsel in distress, Rozanov, you are the distress,” Hunter scoffs, completely unsympathetic. “You’re just gonna run out of there? After all the shit you pulled these last two months? You’re not even gonna try?”

Ilya looks up at him incredulously. “Did you fucking plan this?”

“Luca told us what happened. Wyatt noted that Nick Wilson made a reservation for two tonight. So, I took a gamble,” Hunter informs, far too casually, as if he isn’t fucking playing around with Ilya’s life.

“Why are you helping me?” Ilya asks suspiciously.

“Because you fucking need it.” Hunter rolls his eyes. “Impersonating another man, Rozanov? What the fuck is wrong with you? You could’ve gone to jail.”

“You would love that, yes?” Ilya scoffs. “You hate me.”

“Nobody hates you,” Hunter says in annoyance. “God knows you get on our nerves. But we get used to it. Maybe your boy needs time to get used to you, too.”

Ilya clenches his jaw. “He does not want me.”

“Look.” Hunter pinches his nose. “I have worked here for a decade. I know how to read them. So, trust me when I say that man does not want to be in this restaurant right now.”

“Maybe he does not like the food,” Ilya mumbles.

“I’m telling Bood you said that,” Hunter says, the traitor. “You should go talk to him.”

“He is there with Nick. Not with me. He has clearly made his decision.”

Hunter sighs at that. “It’s not easy, you know.”

“Not easy to choose me? Yes, I know,” Ilya snorts softly.

“Stop making everything about yourself. People have their own shit going on,” Hunter tells him seriously. “It’s not easy. This dating shit. Especially when you are queer. It does something to you.”

“Oh, so we are making it about you, now?” Ilya scoffs.

“You remember that first night he was here?” Hunter asks, maturely deciding to ignore Ilya’s jab at him. “He waited for hours for that guy to show up. Hours, Rozanov. He wouldn’t leave.”

Ilya does remember.

A part of him wonders if that’s why he did what he did. To get a glimpse of this man who wouldn’t quit.

What kind of person tries so hard for love? What would it feel like to be loved by them?

Maybe Shane wasn’t the only desperate one that night.

“So much of the world likes to remind us that we are difficult to love,” Hunter says quietly. “So, when someone finally chooses us, we cling to them harder than we should. We date like we’re trying to prove something to ourselves. That we’re lovable.”

Ilya exhales softly and looks up at the man. “You are very bad at pep talk. Now I am more depressed than before.”

“What I’m trying to say is that your boy out there is a fighter. So, maybe go out there and give him something worth fighting for,” Hunter says easily, like Ilya wouldn’t literally get on his knees for another chance.

“And how am I supposed to do that while he is sitting and having dinner with Mr Perfect?” Ilya asks dryly.

“You can handle that pretentious dickhead.” Hunter grins at him. “Do what you do best, Rozanov. Terrorise him.”

When Ilya gets back to table 21, he realises that no one else has served the table in the last ten minutes. It’s almost as if the entire team is in on the plan to help him, literally risking a bad Yelp review in the name of love.

He loves these idiots so much.

Ilya fights back tears and steps forward, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I went to the bathroom. Are you ready to order?”

Shane looks up at him and then immediately looks back down at his empty plate, but not before his eyes dart briefly to Ilya’s back. If Ilya cinched his apron tighter around his waist to make his ass pop out a little, then that’s between him and Scott Hunter.

“That was a long bathroom break,” Nick mumbles and looks at Shane. “I can’t believe no one else thought to take our order. This place has really gone down since the last time I was here.”

“Do you come here a lot?” Ilya asks, feigning curiosity. “I have seen you here with many other men. But this one is your prettiest.”

Both Nick and Shane look up at him, mouths hanging open.

Shane tries to say something, but Nick beats him to it, a small frown appearing between his brows. “What is that accent? Lithuanian? We have a lot of Slavic immigrants in Canada now, don’t we, Shane?”

“Lithuania is Baltic, not Slavic,” Shane corrects, almost on autopilot, and Ilya could kiss him right fucking there.

“That is correct,” Ilya tries not to preen and looks at Nick. “I’m Russian. This is Russian accent.”

Nick gasps at that. “Hey, wasn’t the guy who catfished you Russian too?”

Right.

Shane must have told him then. Of course he did. He is heartachingly honest like that. Not that Ilya would know a thing about that. 

“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised,” Nick goes on, not bothering to wait for Shane’s response. “Being a criminal is probably in their blood.”

“Do you know a lot of Russians?” Ilya asks him through gritted teeth. 

“I have watched a lot of movies. I know what they’re like,” Nick informs with a shrug, before winking at Shane. “The same way I know Koreans are super into skincare.”

He is Japanese, you fucking asshole, Ilya wants to correct him. But he waits for Shane to do it. Shane doesn’t, though. Shane says nothing at all. He just keeps staring at Nick.

Fuck.

Maybe Nick is too handsome for Shane to care about the casual racism. Maybe Shane doesn’t mind a flaw or two if you are rich and successful.

Too bad Ilya is broke as fuck.

“Shane, are you okay? You have been very quiet,” Nick says, frowning now. “I probably shouldn’t have brought up that weirdo, huh?”

Did Shane call him that? Did Shane call him a weirdo? Did they laugh behind his back?

“I still think you should consider reporting,” Nick goes on. “You could make a fortune, you know.”

“Can we just order?” Shane says, sounding exhausted. 

“Yes, of course.” Nick smiles brightly and turns to Ilya. “Can I get an iced matcha with coconut water, oat milk, and a light cinnamon sprinkle?”

Ilya writes the abomination down before he turns to Shane. “And for you?”

“Just water, please,” Shane says, still quiet.

“You should eat something, Shane,” Ilya says before he can help himself. He tosses the drink order to LaPointe, who is passing by, before he focuses on the other man again. “We have Alfredo with chickpeas. Sounds good, yes?”

“Yeah, he’ll have that.” Nick waves a hand, frowning at the menu, before looking up at Ilya. “I’ll have the kale salad with avocado, toasted seeds, pickled fennel, no croutons, and dressing on the side.”

Ilya doesn’t look away from Shane. “Do you want something else?”

“I think you should write my order down,” Nick tells him. “Or else, you’re going to mess it up.”

“I will remember,” Ilya says easily, because he’s been working here for years, thanks very much.

“Okay, then repeat it,” Nick orders. “I want you to repeat every single thing I just told you.”

“I will have the kale salad with avocado, toasted seeds, pickled fennel, no croutons, and dressing on the side. I think you should write my order down. Or else, you are going to mess it up. Okay, then repeat it. I want you to repeat every single thing I just told you,” Ilya repeats dutifully. “Did that sound all right, sir?”

Nick scoffs at that loudly. “The sass of this one. I told you, babe. Service staff these days really need etiquette training. I’d volunteer if I wasn’t slumped at work doing way more important things.”

“Like what?” Ilya asks, unable to stop himself. “Rescuing hockey players from another sexual harassment lawsuit?”

“What did you just—”

“I will go put in your order now,” Ilya says swiftly and escapes to the kitchen.

Maybe he took it a bit far, but he really couldn’t help himself.

This man? Really?

He knows Shane can do better than him, but surely, he can do better than Nick, too?

Are there no nice men left in Montreal?

Ilya scribbles a note in the order and sends it to the kitchen, thumping his head softly against the door.

“What do you mean you spat in it, too? I was going to spit.”

“No, asshole. I was supposed to spit, and you were supposed to stir.”

“Well, your instructions weren’t very clear to me!”

“What is going on here?” Ilya demands, opening the door to the kitchen and frowning at the servers.

“Hey, so quick question.” Young scratches his head. “Is there such a thing as too much spit for the human body to handle?”

“Depends on the hole.” Ilya shrugs. “What are you doing?

“Nothing. Just discussing biology.” LaPointe beams brightly and passes a tray. “On an unrelated note, your matcha order for table 21 is ready.”

Ilya gives them both a suspicious look as he grabs the order and a glass of water, before he makes it back to the table.

Nick isn’t there, though.

Maybe he left the date. Or better yet, maybe he left Earth.

He puts down the matcha and the water carefully and clears his throat. “How is your date?”

Shane looks up at that. “Do you actually work here, or are you pretending again to fool someone else?”

All the bravado disappears just like that. Ilya flounders for the next words. “Shane. No. I was not fooling you—”

“I feel like one, though,” Shane tells him, averting his gaze. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“You are not the idiot. It is me,” Ilya tells him.

“Because you thought you could get away with it?” Shane demands.

“Because I thought pretending to be someone else would make you like me.” Ilya smiles tiredly. “I should have known you could never like someone like me.”

Shane opens his mouth to respond just as the chair creaks loudly and Nick slides back into his seat. He takes a loud slurp and hums contentedly. “Oh, I love the thick texture.”

Shane’s gaze returns to his empty plate. Ilya sighs.

“Will the food be here soon?” Nick demands, before turning to Shane. “It’s taking too long, babe. We should head to my place for dessert, yeah?”

Okay, no.

Fuck this. Fuck everything.

Fuck Nick and his stupid spit-flavoured matcha. Fuck Scott Hunter and his dumb pep talk.

Ilya is going home now and cuddling the shit out of Anya.

“I will leave now,” Ilya says, more to Shane than the other man. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Oh, good. We weren’t gonna tip you anyway,” Nick says against his straw before he launches into a story about one of his clients.

Ilya doesn’t stick around to hear it.

He doesn’t bother turning around to see if Shane is watching him leave, either.

He already knows Shane wouldn’t.

The only silver lining of the night is when Ilya walks out the back door, LaPointe is already there, lighting a cigarette.

Ilya scowls at him until the boy passes him the cigarette and runs away.

Ilya takes a slow drag, letting it settle in deep into his stomach, before he lets out a soft exhale full of smoke and regret.

But peace doesn’t last for long. Not for Ilya Rozanov.

The back door blasts open shortly, and Ilya lets out a loud groan. “Hunter, leave me alone, or I will tell your husband you have armpit kink.”

But it’s not Hunter standing there and scowling at him.

It’s Shane.

He walks over to Ilya, looking so fucking good in that stupid blazer, as he holds out his plate. “What the fuck is this?”

Ilya stares at the food in confusion. “It is your order, Hollander. You wanted Alfredo, yes?”

“I know it’s my order,” Shane says, looking utterly annoyed. “What is this supposed to mean?”

“It means you are supposed to eat it,” Ilya says incredulously. “What is wrong with it? You do not like chickpeas now?”

“I like chickpeas just fine,” the man huffs. “Why is the garnish on the fucking side?”

“That is how you like it, yes?” Ilya says, even more confused now. “Garnish on side, not sprinkled over the food.”

“I did not ask for the garnish on the side.” Shane scowls at him.

“No, but you do like it that way,” Ilya shrugs. “You are customer, and I was doing my job—”

“Stop doing things I didn’t ask you to do!” Shane snaps, making Ilya shut up. “It’s not your job to remember how I like my garnish. It certainly wasn’t your job to step in as my date when I got stood up!”

Right.

He is angry. Furious, even. Of course, he is. He has every right to be.

This is what Ilya does to be people. He pisses them off. He doesn’t know why he is even surprised at this point.

Shane’s gaze shifts from the garnish on the side of the plate to the cigarette in Ilya’s hand. He lets out a loud scoff. “You smoke. Of course you do. Was anything you told me real?”

“Why does it matter?” Ilya snaps back. “Go back to your perfect boyfriend.”

“No. No, you don’t get to be mad.” Shane shakes his head firmly.

“I’m not mad,” Ilya says, mad as hell.

Shane lets out a tired sigh. “Why did you do it?”

Ilya wonders how long he’s had this question in his chest. What kind of answers must he have come up with in that beautiful, overthinking head of his?

“You looked sad. I did not want you to be sad,” Ilya says. It’s not the whole truth, of course. But he doesn’t have the energy for that right now.

“No, I get that. You wanted to be the knight in shining armour. You lied to me out of pity—”

“I did not pity you!” Ilya says, sharper than he means to. “It was not pity.”

“It’s not what I asked anyway.” Shane shrugs, as if he doesn’t believe Ilya. “Why did you lie to me for so long? What did you mean when you said I could never like someone like you?”

“Why does it matter?” Ilya asks again, way more exhausted this time.

“Because I want to know!” Shane groans. “Because you are deciding for me! Again!”

“Because I know who I am!” Ilya shouts.

“I know you too!” Shane shouts back.

“No, you don’t.” Ilya chuckles sadly. “You do not know me, Shane. I did not give myself to you. You cannot like me because you do not know me. If you do know me, you will not like me.”

At the end of the day, it is that simple.

Shane just stares at him, eyes brimming with tears once more. There, Ilya has done it again.

Hopefully, this is the last time.

Because he walks away after that.

Just like he should’ve two months ago.

The nice thing about dogs is that they are not judgmental.

Rex doesn’t care that Ilya has been crying for the last ten minutes or that he’d been getting the cute little cowboy vest Chloe sewed for the pup wet with tears and snot.

Humans, on the other hand, are very judgmental creatures. Even nice humans like Galina.

“Troy told me you might be moping around here,” she tells him, the words somehow sound harsher in Russian. Maybe because he hears them in a different voice. Stop crying. Stand up. Enough. You are pathetic.

“Is this about Shane?” Galina asks.

“No.” Ilya wipes his nose. “I’m sad Rex will die here—alone and sad.”

“He might live and die here,” Galina says, because she doesn’t believe in coddling. “But he won’t be alone. He will be loved by you and me. And everyone else here.”

“Troy says we should try Russian diaspora,” Ilya says, mostly to himself, as he rubs the tattoo on his palm. “Mama would’ve taken him in a heartbeat.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Galina chuckles heartily. “Especially if you had asked her.”

On the good days, Ilya thinks about it. About moving to Canada with his mother. About the life he would’ve had if she were still here.

On the bad days, he doesn’t think about her at all. He just stares at the wall.

“She would’ve been disappointed in me.” Ilya sniffles, trying to iron out the wrinkles on Rex’s vest with his thumb. “For what I did to Shane.”

“I’d like to think she would have understood,” Galina says with a shrug.

“Understood what?” Ilya scoffs. “That I lied and broke the law?”

“That you were desperate for love,” Galina corrects. “She knows the cost of not having enough of it.”

Ilya bites his lip tightly.

He knows it wouldn’t have made a difference at the end of the day. He could’ve given her all the love in the world, and it wouldn’t have been enough for her to stay.

But maybe it would’ve been enough for her to leave a little gently.

He supposes they will never know.

“I’m not saying you didn’t do a wrong thing. You absolutely did,” Galina says carefully. “But what is worse, Ilyusha, is that you are not using the chance you have to fix it.”

“There is no fixing it,” Ilya tells her. “He does not like me.”

Galina looks at him for a long moment before that sad smile—the one she has only reserved for Ilya and morbidly ick dogs—crosses her face again. “I think it is you who does not like yourself very much.”

Ilya doesn’t have anything to say to that. So, he doesn’t.

“You will get there one day, I hope. There will be a time when you no longer question why we all love you so much,” Galina tells him. “Until then, I hope you will let us love you anyway, Ilya. Because we do. Love you very much.”

Ilya wipes his nose again, burying his face in Rex’s fur. “You are better at this than Scott Hunter.”

“I don’t know what this is, but I agree.” Galina winks at him, adjusting her handbag. “You will lock up after you, yes?”

“Yes.” Ilya manages a nod and holds up Rex’s tiny paw to wave goodbye. “Goodnight, Galinka.”

He considers playing with Rex for a while, but according to his schedule—which Troy insists they have to stick to no matter what—it’s nap time now. So, Ilya stays there, rooted on the floor, while the pup dozes off in his lap, completely unbothered by Ilya's woes.

Good. He’s made enough people sad for a lifetime, he thinks.

He is looking up Russian diaspora groups on Facebook—and maybe consider using all the pity directed at him right now to get one of the boys at Staney’s to take Rex—when the kennel doors squeak open again.

Ilya looks up, ready to bully Troy about his stalking tendencies, when he is met with a man in a stupid blue blazer.

“How did you know I was here?” Ilya asks in surprise.

“I told you,” Shane says with a shrug. “I know you.”

“No, you don’t!” Ilya groans, extremely tired of this conversation. “You know the person I pretend to be, you know nothing about the real me—”

“I know you swear in English when you are happy, but switch to Russian when you are mad. I know you love those stupid movies with the fast cars because it's not about the cars, it's about family. I know you like to use a thousand emojis when you text. I know you can’t drive without listening to music. I know you rub the tattoo in your hand when you are unsure about something. I know you like hugging dogs more than people. I know all your shoes are ruined, thanks to Rex—”

“Rex has never done anything wrong in his life—”

“—and I know you let the people you care about be themselves, even if you have to pay the price for it,” Shane tells him, and takes a step closer.

Ilya can only stare.

Shane has got some kind of crazy look in his eye that Ilya has never seen before. It kind of looks like it could destroy him if he stares too closely. It kind of makes him want to run far away. But Rex is still asleep on his lap, and Ilya has never been able to walk away from a challenge.

So, he does nothing as Shane crosses the kennel and sits down on the floor next to Ilya.

“I know you. I’d know a lot more if you had let me,” Shane says gently, and reaches out to rub the И on Ilya’s palm. “Like this. Why do you have an N on your body if your name is not Nick? Is it…is it for someone else?”

“Yes, it is for Nicki Minaj,” Ilya replies, because he can’t help himself.

Shane frowns a little. “Is that an ex-girlfriend?”

Ilya sighs, letting his head thump back against Rex’s crate. “Hollander, you are so precious. Never change.”

When Shane looks somewhat more confused by that, Ilya simply chuckles and twists his hand the other way, so Shane can see the view from his perspective.

“It is not N. It is И. Cyrillic,” Ilya explains softly. “It is I. In our alphabet. For Irina. My mother. She is dead now.”

“Oh,” Shane says, eyes softening, before he looks up at Ilya. “I wish you had told me that. I wish you had told me a lot of things.”

“I am sorry,” Ilya says for the thousandth time. “My mother will not approve of me lying to nice Canadian boy.”

“Maybe you should stop lying then,” Shane tells him dryly.

Ilya doesn't know how to do that. That's the thing. 

He’s spent his whole life bending himself into shapes people could love more easily.

Be funny. Be useful. Be sexy. 

Be less angry. Be more strong. Be less needy. Be more reliable.

Love has never felt unconditional to him. It has always felt earned and negotiated.

Even with Shane—even when he was pretending to be another man—Ilya caught himself constantly calculating.

How charming should he be today? How difficult is he allowed to become before Shane gets tired? How much honesty can he afford before it ruins everything?

Because the terrifying thing is that people always say they want the truth until the truth becomes inconvenient.

Ilya has never once in his life felt convenient to love.

So no, he doesn’t know how to stop lying. He doesn’t know how to stop twisting himself into something softer and easier. 

What if the version of him that is completely real is not the one people stay for? What if love has only ever worked because he learned how to perform for it first?

So, he ignores Shane's advice and decides to ask him a more important question. “What happened to Nick?”

“I dunno.” Shane shrugs carelessly. “I said I have to go, and I just left. Last I saw him, he was ordering another matcha.”

“Oh, no, he is all alone in the restaurant!” Ilya says, in mock devastation.

“Maybe someone will pretend to be Shane to keep him company.” The man shrugs again. “I doubt he’d even notice.”

“No.” Ilya shakes his head. “No one can pretend to be you. You are too special.”

Shane bites his lip before his eyes drop to Ilya’s lap. “What’s gonna happen to him?”

“I don’t know.” Ilya sighs. “My team is looking at Russian diaspora because Rex can understand both languages.”

“He is a smart guy,” Shane says gently, running a hand over the puppy.

“I can also put up Instagram post and tell people he was in the last Star Wars movie,” Ilya says, mostly to himself. “People like famous dogs.”

“You're not serious!” Shane says incredulously.

“Very serious,” Ilya says, seriously. “LaPointe is good at Photoshop. We can put Rex in a spaceship.”

Shane lets out a soft sigh. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“Yes. Yes, I am crazy man, but Rex needs to find—”

“No, Ilya.” Shane leans closer, his eyes impossibly soft, his face painfully insistent. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

He knows. He knows. He knows. 

Ilya’s heart stills. He lets out a soft gasp. He leans closer, too. “Say that again.”

“Which one?” Shane smiles coyly. “Your name or the other thing?”

“Yes.”

Shane giggles at that and reaches out with a hand to hold the side of his face. “Ilya, ya tebya lyublyu.”

Oh God.

So, this is how he dies. With a dog in his lap and a beautiful man by his side.

Honestly, all things considered, not bad at all.

He’s been terrified all his life that he’d leave his world in a rather unkind way, just like his parents.  

He wishes he could tell his mother. He wishes she’d know somehow that the world has decided to be kinder to him.

“What’s wrong? Why do you look like that?” Shane immediately starts to panic. “Did I say it wrong? Wait, do you not feel the same anymore?”

“Do not be stupid, Hollander. Of course, I feel the same. No. I feel even more,” Ilya tells him seriously. “My heart is so hard with feelings right now.”

“Soft with feelings,” Shane corrects, putting a careful hand over Ilya’s chest and rubbing there gently. 

“No. It is hard. My heart is hard for you. Rock hard. It is going to burst now. Stroke it again. Say more nice things about me. I'm close.” Ilya moans loudly, writhing under the man’s touch.

“You are so gross!” Shane laughs, smacking Ilya in the chest cruelly.

Ilya softens at the sound. “This is the first time you laugh because of me.”

“I laughed plenty because of you,” Shane tells him seriously. “You might have been pretending, Ilya, but I was not.”

Ilya. Ilya. 

He loves the way Shane says it—almost hesitantly, like he is worried he is going to mispronounce it. Like he has to get it right every time.

Like he cares so much, even about something as small as Ilya's name. 

Ilya wants that care and consideration wrapped around him, head to toe. He wants to suffocate in it. 

For now, he manages a nod, then looks around awkwardly. “What do we do now?”

“Well, hopefully we get off the floor and go somewhere and have a proper conversation about this and figure out how to be real boyfriends,” Shane tells him. “How does that sound?”

Boyfriends. Boyfriends. Boyfriends. 

Ilya suddenly understands why Rex starts chewing off people's shoes when he gets excited. 

“That sounds good.” Ilya swallows.

“You don’t sound very sure.” Shane frowns.

“What if you do not like the real me—”

“Ilya, I swear to—”

“It is very real fear, Hollander!” Ilya argues, putting his hands up. “Everything you thought you liked about me is a lie. Maybe you know the truth now, but you don’t realise all the lies and how much you enjoyed them.”

“Okay,” Shane says. “Tell me the lies then.”

“What?”

“Tell me lies you think I enjoy much,” Shane orders, frowning at him. “And I will tell you why they never matter to me anyway.”

“Okay.” Ilya swallows, because he doesn’t know how to say know to that face. It’s a big problem. He’ll deal with it later. Because it looks like there might be a later. Holy shit. “Hm. Okay. Fine. My name is obviously not Nick.”

“That’s fine. I like Ilya much better,” Shane replies.

Ilya tries not to swoon at that. He focuses on the task at hand. “I do not speak French.”

“Who cares? You speak Russian.” Shane shrugs.

“I am not vegan.”

“Most people aren’t.”

“I am not entertainment lawyer.”

“No, but you do something much more worthwhile, I think.”

“I am not allergic to dogs.”

“Yeah, that’d be inconvenient given what you do.”

“I smoke.”

“Not for long.”

Ilya lets out a laugh, his heart softening—no, hardening—again. So, he goes for the hard ones. “I lied about my family, too. Well, no. But kind of. But you should know, Shane. My…my mother is dead. Like I said. Father also. I have a brother and some relatives in Russia. But they…I do not have very nice family.”

“That’s okay,” Shane tells him easily. “I do, and we can share.”

Ilya makes a pathetic sound and falls forward, burying his face in the man’s neck. “And I lied about having small, circumcised dick. I am uncut. And very big. Sorry.”

Shane lets out a ridiculous giggle. “Yeah, I think I can live with that.”

Ilya pulls back, just for a fraction, so he can look Shane in the eyes. “I know I lied too much. I know it was bad. I have issues. Yes. I know this. My brain tells me you will not like me if I tell you the truth. I am sorry I lied to you, Shane. I like you so much. I never lied about that.”

“I like you too,” Shane whispers, clutching Ilya’s face with both hands. “And yeah, you’ve got some serious issues. But I still like you, warts and all.”

“Ew, what? I do not have warts!” Ilya makes a face. “I have moles.”

“Fine.” Shane chuckles, correcting himself. “I still like you, moles and all.”

“Okay.” Ilya relaxes a little against him.

“But you have to promise, no more lying to people to make yourself more lovable,” Shane says seriously. “You have to tell people the truth. Either they can love you, or they can fuck off.”

Ilya smiles at that, heart impossibly hard. “It is not easy for me. But I promise to try.”

“Okay, I can work with that for now," Shane hums, because he is generous as he is beautiful. Ilya is so fucking lucky, fuck. “This applies to Rex, too. No lying about him.”

“But—”

“You are not going to tell people he was an extra in Star Wars, Ilya!” Shane tells him incredulously. The pup lets out a soft yawn in Ilya’s lap. Shane softens as he gives Rex a fond look before looking up at Ilya. “We’ll figure something out.”

Ilya suddenly feels a thousand times lighter. Not because he has a solution, but because he knows he is not alone in looking for one.

“Okay.” Ilya nods, knowing that with Shane and his team, they can possibly figure something out. “But we have Star Wars as backup plan.”

“Deal.” Shane grins before resting his forehead against Ilya’s gently. “I love you.”

“Yes?” Ilya asks in a whisper, helplessly in love himself.

“Yes.” Shane nods and pulls back a fraction, eyes intense. “If you don’t believe me, I guess you’ll have to date me and figure it out yourself. What do you say, Rozanov?”

It sounds vaguely like a challenge.

Ilya says yes.

Chapter End Notes

Don't let my Letterboxd fool you, folks. I'm a sucker for romcoms 🤤

If you are real nice to me, I might return real soon with a short but fluffy af epilogue.

If you are really, really nice, I might even return with some bonus content (kind of got an idea while writing this chapter and want to tinker with it a lil bit)

Fun fact: Speaking of romcoms, William Goldman, who wrote the novel The Princess Bride (my fave!) in 1973 and penned the screenplay, shared that his daughters helped him name the story: "I had two little daughters, I think they were seven and four at the time, and I said, 'I’ll write you a story. What do you want it to be about?' One of them said 'a princess' and the other one said, 'a bride.' I said, 'That’ll be the title.'

Chapter 12: Epilogue

Chapter Summary

“You are pouting again,” Shane tells him.

“Yes, because I am homeless now,” Ilya points out, pouting further.

“You are not allowed in the bedroom. You still have a house,” Shane clarifies with a shrug.

“But a house without a bedroom is like a dog without a cute bow! It is sad and incomplete!” Ilya throws up his hands in the air.

Shane’s mouth gives a little involuntary twitch. Ah-ha! “You are a ridiculous person.”

Chapter Notes

You: You said you'll come back real soon.
Me: It is lie. Liar told you that.

But seriously, I've got some real shit going on (save me, tits-out-glasses-on Shane Hollander, save me). I've decided not to write the bonus content for the moment (sorry, homies), but I hope you enjoy this epilogue 💙

Ilya never once thought that his life would turn out this way.

Sure, it’s been a wild ride since birth, but he had hoped that somewhere along the way, things would take a turn. Especially after Shane.

But no.

Life is cruel to him. Life has its way of kicking him down and punishing him at the worst possible moment.

Like today.

He’s been anxious this entire past week, reverting to old habits to curb what he could without worrying Shane too much. But it is impossible to manage the voices in his head.

Ilya is one ill-timed stub-to-the-toe away from curling to the floor and bawling like a baby.

So, of course, the universe decides to make it worse.

It’ll always be like this.

It is his destiny.

To suffer. To endure. To ache.

“Are you seriously still pouting?”

Ilya doesn’t bother looking up from the floor, where he is currently sprawled over the Shirvan rug, idly tracing over the familiar pattern with his thumb. “No.”

“Sure.” Shane scoffs, which is rude, given the pain Ilya is in right now. “Will you stop whatever it is your face is doing right now and help me pack?”

“I didn’t think you would want to speak to me, Hollander,” Ilya says haughtily.

“I don’t,” Shane replies. “We can pack quietly.”

See?

Pain. Torture. Suffering.

Life is so cruel to him.

Ilya gasps in horror. “First, you ask me to sleep in the guest room, and now you ask me not to talk to you?”

“Well, you obviously have more important things you can do with your mouth—”

“Shane, oh my god, it was one cigarette.”

Just one. A tiny one.

A tiny one from the emergency pack he kept inside the Maple Cream Cookies box—the one place Shane would never look.

“One cigarette is one too many,” Shane tells him seriously, his voice high, like this is something worth getting riled up about. “Do you know a single cigarette can take 11 minutes off your life? 11 minutes, Ilya!”

“That is not many minutes,” Ilya grumbles. “You come quicker than 11 minutes all the time.”

Shane puts his hands on his hips.

Ah, fuck. Abort. Abort!

“You think this is a joke?” Shane asks him, decidedly making it clear that this is indeed not a joke.

“I think it is ridiculous,” Ilya grumbles again. “You cannot make me sleep in guest room for one cigarette.”

It is a terrible injustice. Ilya has every right to lament and cry.

He might have even shared his woes in the Second Chances group chat, although those assholes had cackled at his misery and implied that Shane should send Ilya to the doghouse more often.

Ilya does not understand this stupid idiom, by the way.

Why would he be sad to be sent to the doghouse? The kennel is his favourite place—after their bedroom, of course.

But considering that he is currently banished from said bedroom, maybe he’s only got the kennel from now on.

“You are pouting again,” Shane tells him.

“Yes, because I am homeless now,” Ilya points out, pouting further.

“You are not allowed in the bedroom. You still have a house,” Shane clarifies with a shrug.

“But a house without a bedroom is like a dog without a cute bow! It is sad and incomplete!” Ilya throws up his hands in the air.

Shane’s mouth gives a little involuntary twitch. Ah-ha! “You are a ridiculous person.”

“Maybe,” Ilya hums, looking back at the rug again, trying to find comfort there.

It had been a housewarming gift from Svetlana. Ilya had almost cried when he saw the familiar pattern from back home. He had actually cried when he found out Shane sent Sveta the link for the damn thing because he wanted their home to feel familiar and safe for Ilya.

“You have to promise me you will never smoke another one again, Ilya,” Shane tells him.

It doesn’t sound like an order, but just a very desperate request coated in control.

He loves Shane like this. Shane who gets angry on behalf of Ilya.

This Shane feels things Ilya finds hard to process. This Shane says things Ilya can’t find the words for.

“Never is a long time,” Ilya drawls, just to push him a bit more.

Get madder. Be firmer.

Show me you care. Show me I matter.

“Long time minus 11 minutes,” Shane counters without missing a beat.

It is Ilya who almost breaks into a smile this time. But when he looks up, expecting Shane to be the one pouting now, he finds worry painted all over the man’s beautiful face. As if he is actually thinking about the 11 minutes he might have to survive without Ilya.

Ilya immediately feels like an asshole.

Because God knows he isn’t making it past eighty seconds himself.

Ilya himself knows it for certain because that’s how long it takes Shane to pee on average, and Ilya hates it when Shane has to pull away from him to go do mundane things like take a piss.

He did suggest using a bottle once and asked Troy if it’s a feasible idea, and the man had said that Ilya should ‘seriously see a therapist’.

Joke's on him, though. Ilya does see a therapist. Very seriously, too.

Although she also agrees that Ilya might be a tad too codependent with Shane.

Apparently, it’s a crime to be in love now.

It’s a problem for later, though—if he ever admits that it’s a problem at all.

Right now, he needs to wipe that frown off Shane’s face. So, Ilya crawls across the rug until he reaches the couch where Shane is packing the items into a small carrier, and presses a kiss to the man’s left knee. “Fine, I will never smoke again.”

“Ilya, you can obviously smoke if you want to.” Shane sighs tiredly. “I don’t want to tell you what to do with your body—”

“Oh, really? Because last night, I remember you telling me very specifically what to do with my—

“Stop it,” Shane mumbles, mouth twitching again.

Ilya presses a kiss to the right knee. “I only had it because I was nervous about the meeting today. Forgive me, solnyshko.”

Two large hands wrap around his face, tugging him closer. He feels warm all over, the feeling spreading all the way to his lungs, filling holes and crevices a cigarette never could.

“There is nothing to be nervous about,” Shane tells him gently. “Everything will be fine.”

“You promise?” Ilya asks.

“I promise,” Shane replies.

“Okay,” Ilya acquiesces, because he trusts Shane. Especially about this. “Does this mean I can sleep in bedroom tonight?”

“Fine,” Shane relents, and the world is suddenly beautiful again. “But no cuddling.”

Never mind. The world is dark again.

Everything sucks. Life is cruel. Ilya is doomed.

“You are a cruel husband, Hollander.”

“I’m a forgiving husband.”

They got married in January.

Ilya has never particularly cared for winter. It always used to be a difficult time for his mother, and by extension, for Ilya too.

Not to mention all the poor dogs they rescue in the worst of the snowfall.

It’s a shit time where nothing good happens.

Ilya doesn’t particularly know if Shane suggested it on purpose, like he wants to give him one winter that is worth remembering with fondness. But either way, he is grateful for it.

Winter is not suddenly magical, sure. Love doesn’t work like that.

But winter is tolerable now.

There are good memories to remember it by, like the wedding cake Rex ruined before they even cut it, which Ilya still believes is a conspiracy on Shane’s part. 

There are good things to look forward to, like all the anniversary plans his husband keeps making every year, eternally in competition with himself and trying to outdo last year’s festivities every time.

“I’m taking Rex for his walk,” Shane informs, putting on the little rain boots on their dog. The pink raincoat is adorable. Ilya wants to kiss David on the mouth for it. “You better not smoke again while we’re away.”

Ilya blows a kiss and crosses his heart.

Then it’s just him and Anya, who stays back home with him.

She doesn’t care for theatrics, but Rex needs his routine, so rain or shine, they’ve got to walk him.

Ilya had worried that adopting Rex might be too much for Shane, but it turned out that it was Ilya who struggled the most. Especially after they moved in together.

Moving in with Shane Hollander was a struggle in itself because Ilya had to drop hints for almost a whole year before he realised all of them were flying over Shane’s head.

“Can we live in same house, or do we need to get married first?” Ilya had blurted out during dinner one night.  

He moved in the next day—and got married a year later.

All in all, great strategy.

But it was only after he moved in that he realised that being a father of two is not for the weak.

Ilya, in his completely unbiased opinion, believes that Anya is the best girl in the whole world. She is sweet and sophisticated.

Rex is not sweet.

Rex is spoilt and snobby, and Ilya loves him so fucking much, and it’s all Shane’s fault.

Anya likes soft blankets and sleeping pressed against Ilya’s side like she’s trying to merge into him. Rex wants schedules and rules and the exact same route every morning, or he acts like society is collapsing.

Anya loves everybody immediately. Rex acts personally offended by human interaction unless it’s Shane.

They are completely different dogs. Not unlike Shane and Ilya themselves.

Somehow it works anyway.

Ilya has never lived in chaos this gentle before.

It took him 27 years to learn that people with differences can coexist under the same roof without hating each other. But better late than never, right?

He slips Anya a treat from one of the many cookie tins he keeps hidden around the house—and continues pretending Shane has not already found every single one of them months ago—before deciding to finally do his assigned chore for the day.

Their household is democratic, mostly.

Besides, Ilya genuinely likes vacuuming.

He’s better at it than Shane anyway, which mostly means he doesn’t start spiralling over dog hair in the living room and researching things like “nutritional deficiencies causing excessive shedding in small dogs” at two in the morning.

Ilya can just put on whatever new artist he discovered that week and drift through the house while cleaning.

But his favourite part about vacuuming is that it gives him an excuse to wander.

A free house tour.

An opportunity to admire every soft corner of the life they built together.

Because Shane designed this house. Of course he did.

This one is different from the first home Shane ever planned for him. For the Ilya who pretended to be someone else.

This house was built for the real Ilya.

For the loudness and the chaos and the tenderness of him.

Ilya had been terrified that moving in together would expose all the cracks between them.

Loving someone from a distance is easy enough. You can curate yourself. Control the angles.

But sharing a life with someone means they see everything eventually–like all the ways your edges don’t line up neatly with theirs.

He had expected those differences to grow teeth once they started living together.

But Shane had never seemed worried.

One night, when Ilya rambled himself into near hysteria over it in bed, Shane had only smiled sleepily and said about how a good designer recognises beauty, and a great one knows how to create balance between things that were never supposed to work together.

And maybe that’s what this house is.

Not proof that they fit perfectly.

Proof that love can make entirely different things feel like they belong in the same space anyway.

He likes this house better anyway. It’s so much better than stupid Nick’s stupid house.

There’s no soundproof office because Ilya refuses to bring work home with him if he can help it. But there is a massive backyard where Rex and Anya—and whichever dog Ilya is temporarily dog-sitting for a friend that week—have enough room to sprint themselves stupid.

The guest rooms are spacious because Shane plans for people carefully and thoughtfully. They are also strategically placed far enough from the master bedroom so that neither Shane’s parents nor their friends end up overhearing their ‘marital bliss’ as Rose once put it.

The walls aren’t lined with expensive art the way Shane once imagined they might be. Instead, they are cluttered with framed photographs: blurry polaroids, shelter adoption pictures, badly angled selfies, holiday dinners, tiny ordinary moments preserved because apparently both of them are sentimental idiots.

The kitchen shelves hold delicate blue-and-white Russian ceramics Ilya found online and insisted they needed immediately. The pantry is aggressively organised by Shane, but overflowing with strange teas, homemade preserves, and enough ingredients to survive an apocalypse because his husband loves to shop at international grocery stores when they go on vacation.

Shane’s office has a small couch tucked beneath the bookshelf. Officially, it is there for ‘design flexibility’. Unofficially, it exists because sometimes Shane works too late, and Ilya hates sleeping alone enough to drag himself in there at two in the morning and curl up nearby while Shane finishes up his drawings.

The bathroom has a ridiculous skylight, which Ilya practically bullied Shane into adding because he likes watching sunlight spill across Shane’s skin in the mornings, illuminating every freckle while steam curls around him.

There’s a low shelf in the living room dedicated entirely to puzzle sets Ilya collects to do with Shane’s father. Another cabinet carries a growing box of newspaper clippings that Yuna mails whenever Shane’s firm or the shelter gets mentioned in the news.

The house is beautiful, obviously. Shane Hollander does not know how to make ugly things.

But the loveliest parts of it are not the clean lines or the carefully selected materials.

It’s the way every room quietly says I thought about you when I built this.

Ilya had always been worried that when he died one day, he’d have nothing to show for it. When he eventually meets his mother again, he’d have nothing interesting to share, despite being fortunate enough to have lived for so much longer than her.

But now he's got something. 

One day, when Ilya meets his mother again, he will tell her about the house Shane built for him.

He will tell her about their home and say look at all the ways he loves me, mama.

Ilya has to pause bopping to Becky G when his phone starts blowing up in his back pocket.

It’s the group chat from work, wishing him good luck for the meeting today. Ilya might have had a tiny breakdown at work yesterday.

In his defense, the last time he was this nervous about a meeting was when he met Yuna Hollander for the first time. He even practised his english ahead, worrying he might forget his words or say something stupid.  

He might have fucked up the whole thing if Shane hadn’t helped him relax that morning with the world’s most reassuring blowjob.

Maybe Ilya should panic a little bit more visibly today. He has no idea how it’s going to go at the meeting, but at least he might get a blowjob out of this.

Shane returns from the walk when Ilya is dusting a framed photo on the man’s worktable, a sweet one from their wedding with Anya as the flower girl and Rex as the ring bearer—a fact Hayden Pike is still bitter about, by the way. Too bad he doesn’t know that their actual wedding—the one Ilya secretly loves the most—was organised and ordained by the Pike kids.

“Ilya, you were supposed to have gotten ready by now.” Shane frowns, helping Rex out of his boots and raincoat. “I don’t want us to be late. It will reflect badly on us.”

“I just finished vacuuming. I will go shower now. There is time, Shane,” Ilya says, even though he knows he is kind of cutting it close.

“Yes, but it’s raining, which might cause traffic. Or a tree could fall down and block the road—”

“If tree falls down and blocks the road, then we will reschedule,” Ilya says, the suggestion more selfish than it is practical.

“It says we don’t care,” Shane groans.

“It says we are careful,” Ilya corrects.

“I liked it better when you were the one freaking out about this,” Shane grumbles as Rex joins Anya in the living room.

“The walk didn’t help to clear your head?” Ilya asks him gently.

“Walks don’t clear my head. Runs do. But I couldn’t run because it’s raining and I didn’t want to slip,” Shane says, sounding annoyed about the inconvenience.

“You are careful,” Ilya repeats, pressing a kiss to Shane’s nose. “That is a good thing, sweetheart. They will like that about you.”

“You are gentle,” Shane counters, pressing a kiss to Ilya’s mouth. “That is a great thing. She will like that about you.”

Ilya manages a smile. “We will see.”

Adoption first came up on their wedding night—because Shane Hollander doesn’t understand subtlety.

It’s been a recurring topic in their home since then.

It took them a while to accept it more as a possibility than an idea. But once they decided on it, things started moving really fast.

Ilya understands a thing or two about adoption. But he didn’t realise just how nerve-wracking the whole process might be when it involves a human child.

For one, there is so much more paperwork. A fact Shane is visibly giddy about.

But it also involves so many feelings.

It wasn’t like this when he adopted Anya, or when Rex came into his life.

For some reason, he had been confident about adopting dogs. He knows how to love them. He also knows they usually love him back.

But he has no idea how to make a child love him. 

Children do not care about the things adults care about. They do not care whether you are charming enough, successful enough, or attractive enough. You cannot win them over with good manners, decent wine, and carefully curated versions of yourself.

Children look at you and simply decide whether they feel safe.

Maybe it’s not that different from dogs after all.

The quietness in the car is broken when Shane’s phone starts to vibrate—already switched to silent mode ahead of the meeting with the orphanage. Ilya loves this absurdly over-prepared man so much.

He answers the phone for his husband, who is driving way too carefully, and puts it on speaker.

“Hi, Rose,” Shane greets. “You are on the speaker.”

“You did not have to tell her,” Ilya grumbles. “I would like to know what you two talk about me.”

“Who says we talk about you?” Rose asks.

“No more puppy pics for you,” Ilya informs her seriously.

“No! Please! I loved the ones of the pitbull you shared in the group chat yesterday,” Rose whines immediately. “Are they taken?”

“Shane’s parents are considering taking him,” Ilya informs happily.

“Shane’s parents are busy with the mouthy chihuahua they already have,” Shane informs with a glare directed at Ilya.

Fine. Yuna might not budge. But Ilya will try his luck with David later. 

“What is the point of having a husband if I can’t influence his friends and family to adopt dogs from my shelter?” Ilya asks incredulously.

“I thought the point of having a husband is to be nice to him, so he won’t throw away your secret cookie stashes,” Shane says dryly.

“I do not know about secret cookie stash,” Ilya frowns seriously. “You have another husband somewhere, Hollander?”

“If I did, you’d have probably already found him and killed him.”

“You know me too well. This is why I love you the most.”

“Hey, guys. I’m still here. Thanks for including me,” Rose chirps.

“Sorry, Rose,” Shane winces, blushing a little. “And I was joking, Ilya. Please don’t kill anyone.”

“Because it is bad for adoption, yes,” Ilya agrees sadly.

“Because it's illegal!” Shane groans.

“Oh, so I can’t hunt and kill someone for the man I love? What are these crazy Canadian laws?” Ilya demands with a scoff.

“You promised to love and respect, not hunt and kill,” Shane reminds him of their vows. “You are a ridiculous person.”

“In his defense, your relationship started with him lying to you. So, you’re the ridiculous one for having unrealistic expectations,” Rose points out.

“Thank you, Rose,” Ilya says smugly. 

“Do not encourage him!” Shane groans again.

“Oh, I absolutely will,” Rose says haughtily. “Normalise breaking the law for Shane Hollander.”

Ilya cackles loudly just as Shane fixes him a look that says he might have to sleep in the guest bedroom tonight after all. Ilya shuts up immediately and presses a kiss to the man’s hand.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say good luck with the meeting today,” Rose tells them over the phone. “And don’t hesitate to pull the Rose Landry card if you need to, boys!”

“We are not adopting a child with bad taste in movies, Rose.”

“Man, fuck off. I hope she bites you.”

Ilya laughs at that.

He can handle a bit of biting. Rex has prepared him well for that. 

What he cannot handle are soft eyes full of disappointment.

You are not what I expected. You are not what I wanted. You are not good enough for me.

“Thank you, Rose. I will keep that in mind,” Shane says, sounding like he is actually thinking about it. “I think one of the counsellors at the orphanage is a fan.”

“Happy to help. I love you, babes. Call me after and tell me everything, okay?”

“Sure. Love you too.”

“I think she still has unresolved feelings for you,” Ilya says after the call disconnects.

“You think the boy who let me keep his pencil from second grade has unresolved feelings for me.” Shane rolls his eyes.

“You do not give away unicorn pencils for free, Hollander. He was in love. I will prove it during your next high school reunion.”

“Is this another side quest to distract you from the meeting today?” Shane asks him. “Because we’re here.”

Ilya looks out of the window and sees the familiar building, realising they are indeed here.

Fuck. Maybe Shane should’ve driven slower.

“Hey,” Shane says softly, turning the engine off and putting his hand on Ilya’s thigh. “If you are having second thoughts—”

“I do not have second thoughts,” Ilya says immediately. “I just, ugh, I just—”

“Say the stupid thing.”

“What?”

“You are about to say a stupid thing, right?” Shane asks with a small smile.

“It is not a stupid thing,” Ilya murmurs. “What if she doesn’t like me, Shane? What if she doesn’t want me to be her father?”

“You are the one who always says adoption needs time to adjust,” Shane points out.

“For dogs. Dogs need time to adjust,” Ilya corrects. “Children should not live with parents they do not like.”

For better or worse, most people never get to choose their parents. So if a child is finally given that choice, then she should choose wisely.

And being wise probably means staying very far away from Ilya Rozanov.

It’s not that he thinks he’s a terrible person. He knows he isn’t.

It took years and a frankly embarrassing amount of love for him to finally admit that he is a good friend.

A good colleague. A good husband.

But being a father is entirely new territory.

A child is an entire universe.

Ilya can bribe Anya with treats and convince Rex to forgive him with an extra-long walk. He has a feeling children are slightly more complicated than that.

“Okay, then we’re going to make sure she likes you,” Shane tells him easily. “And she will like you. A lot. And then you will realise I am right, like always. Then we will go and have dinner at Stanley’s to celebrate. You're paying.”

Ilya smiles reluctantly at that. “Only if you agree to share dessert.”

“I can make an exception,” Shane murmurs, leaning closer. “Because I like you very much too.”

Ilya closes the gap and seeks comfort in Shane’s embrace, letting the other man kiss him softly.

Dinner at Stanley’s has become a monthly tradition now, although Scott Hunter seems significantly less happy to see them these days.

Shane thinks it’s because Hunter once caught them making out in the staff bathroom.

But Ilya knows the truth.

Hunter is simply jealous.

Jealous that Stanley’s went viral on TikTok again, and he had absolutely nothing to do with it for the second time in a row.

In Ilya’s defense, when your absurdly beautiful boyfriend proposes to you in the exact place you first met, tackling him against the table and kissing the life out of him is basically mandatory.

Going viral was inevitable.

Scott Hunter should honestly thank him for the publicity and the flood of customers afterwards.

“I love you so much.” Shane breathes against him. “We’re going to be okay.”

“Okay,” Ilya says quietly. “If she does not like me, can we get extra chocolate chips with dessert?”

“No.”

“Wow, Hollander. Your love is conditional.”

Shane has already met the girl.

Apparently, she likes him, which honestly tells Ilya everything he needs to know about her.

Clearly, she has excellent taste and strong survival instincts.

Adoption is complicated, though. Especially with older children.

People like to imagine it as something simple and sentimental, like walking into a room and immediately knowing. But it doesn’t work like that. At least, not if the people running the place are doing their jobs properly.

Even at the shelter, they never let people just point at the cutest dog and take it home. They do compatibility assessments. They ask questions. They look at lifestyle, temperament, routines, experience, and patience. They try to figure out whether the dog and the person can actually meet each other’s needs long-term instead of trusting vibes and kismet.

And children are not dogs.

Children come with histories and fears and preferences and complicated little inner worlds of their own. Older children, especially, already know what rejection feels like. They notice things. They remember things.

So, the orphanage is careful. Very careful.

They don’t just throw potential parents and children together immediately because if it goes badly, everybody gets hurt.

The child gets attached. The adults get overwhelmed.

Someone leaves feeling unwanted all over again.

The staff are firm and thorough and impossible to charm around procedure, which only makes Ilya trust them more. He knows enough about care work to recognise people who don’t fuck around with protocol.

During the last visit, Shane had been the one spending time with her while Ilya got distracted talking to the staff about the shelter, behavioural rehabilitation, funding problems, and the strange overlap between abandoned animals and abandoned children that makes his chest ache if he thinks about it too long.

Afterwards, Shane had talked about her the entire drive home.

“She’s observant,” he had said quietly—almost fondly. “Like…scarily observant.”

Which is honestly terrifying.

Because Ilya has spent most of his life surviving through performance. Through charm and noise and making people laugh before they can look closely enough to see the uglier parts underneath.

Something about the idea of this quiet little girl looking at him too carefully makes panic crawl up his spine.

What if she sees through him immediately?

The thought lodges itself somewhere ugly inside his chest despite how stupid it is.

Because Shane already likes her. Shane had smiled, talking about her in that soft, careful way he only does when something has already begun mattering to him.

Sometimes, despite all the work he’s done on himself over the years, Ilya’s brain still turns love into something conditional before he can stop it.

So, a small, awful part of him keeps imagining it. Shane adopting her anyway.

Not leaving Ilya exactly—because Shane would never do that—but moving forward without him somehow. A reluctant family where Ilya slowly turns into an unnecessary extra piece hanging off the side.

It’s irrational. Embarrassing, honestly.

“Ilya, are you ready to meet her?” the case manager asks him.

Ilya turns to him.

His husband smiles at him.

It’s a big smile, like he is excited on behalf of Ilya. His freckles bunch up against his nose.

Ilya nods. “Yes. Let’s go.”

They meet in the common play area, which Ilya respects. He pushes down the urge to try out the tiny basketball hoop in the left corner of the room and follows after the case manager instead. 

“Hey, kiddo,” the woman greets the child settled at a corner desk with a big book spread open in front of her. “We’ve got a visitor today who’d like to talk to you. This is Ilya. Do you want to speak to him?”

Ilya smiles, pleased that she asked for consent first.

The girl looks up at Ilya and then gives a little shrug.

Oof, great start.

“I’ll be right here,” the woman says to them both, before stepping back discreetly to another table nearby. 

Ilya hovers.

He doesn’t usually hover. He doesn’t know how to do it, even. But he is hovering now.

His mouth—which normally never stops producing noise of some kind—seems to have gone on strike at this very moment. Ilya is simultaneously relieved and deeply annoyed that Shane isn’t here to witness this. 

He glances around helplessly for something to latch onto before his eyes settle on the book in front of her. He clears his throat. “What are you reading?”

“A book,” she replies.

Yeah, no shit, Ilya almost says before catching himself.

Honestly, Shane deserves financial compensation for the amount of patience he has taught him over the years.

Because she isn’t being sarcastic.

She simply answered exactly what he asked.

Five-year-olds probably aren’t sarcastic yet anyway.

Ilya can teach her later. Shane would probably find it hilarious.

“What is your book about?” Ilya asks instead. 

“It’s about Saturn,” she explains, pointing seriously at the big planet, which has a smiley face painted on it. “It has a ring.”

“I have a ring too,” Ilya says automatically and flashes his wedding ring at her.

She looks at it with complete disinterest. In Ilya’s defense, he has a pathological need to inform people that he is married to Shane Hollander.

“I like your pyjamas,” Ilya says when it becomes obvious she has no intention of acknowledging his beautiful marriage.

The girl looks down at the white pyjama set covered in tiny golden stars and moons. “Victoria said pyjamas are for bedtime only. It’s stupid.”

Ilya might need to actually take this child home immediately. 

“It is very stupid,” Ilya agreed with a scandalised scoff. “I think I should wear pyjamas to work.”

“No,” she says instantly, apparently drawing a firm ideological line in her pyjama politics. “That is silly.”

Ilya definitely needs to take her home with him immediately. 

Then she goes quiet again, flipping a page in her book. 

“Do you like Rose Landry?” Ilya blurts out in desperation.

She looks up at that and frowns. “Who is that?”

Wow.

Great taste in fashion and pop culture. Ilya approves.

“She’s an actress, sweetie,” the case manager explains from the next table. “She’s the one Talia likes, remember? The one who plays the superhero?”

“I like real people,” the girl informs no one in particular. “Like that doctor who fixed Timmy’s arm. She’s cool.”

“You can be a doctor too if you want,” Ilya tells her, hoping it’ll get him some points.

“No, I’m going to be an astronaut,” the girl informs him with complete certainty.

“That is also very cool,” Ilya tells her sincerely. 

“Why don’t you ask Ilya something too?” the woman prompts gently.

Ilya braces himself for impact.

Shane said she asked him endless questions. What if she does the same with him? What if he doesn’t have any answers for her?

Are you going to take me home? Do you know how to take care of me? Do you know how to love me? Do you think you are good enough for me? What makes you think you are ready for this?

In retrospect, five-year-olds probably aren’t that psychologically devastating. 

“Your socks don’t match,” the girl tells him.

“That is not a question,” Ilya says in response.

“Why don’t your socks match?” she corrects herself.

“Uh.” Ilya glances down awkwardly. “I was probably in a rush today.”

She makes a tiny noise at that, her eyebrows creasing in poorly concealed judgment.

No wonder Shane spoke to her for hours.

They are going to gang up on him, aren’t they? Ilya kind of wants that more than he’s ever wanted anything.

“Do you have a favourite planet?” she asks him.

“Earth,” Ilya replies easily.

“Why?” she frowns.

“Because all my favourite people are here,” Ilya shrugs.

“I like Saturn,” she offers.

“She’ll talk about space for hours if you let her,” the case manager says fondly, nudging the conversation forward with a smile. “Why don’t you tell her about some of the things you like, Ilya?”

Oh, that’s easy. “I like dogs and dessert and my Shane.”

The little girl gives him another long, assessing look. Ilya wonders if she is going to ask what kind of dogs he’s got or whether he’s carrying any candy with him.

“I know a Shane, too,” she tells him carefully. “He has stars in his face.”

Ilya turns toward the case manager with what is probably a deeply unprofessional amount of emotion on his face.

This child is coming home with him. Immediately. Effective now.

“Tell me more about the stars,” Ilya asks her almost breathlessly.

He knows the point of this meeting is technically for her to get to know him. To see whether she feels comfortable and safe around him.

But instead, he finds himself wanting to know everything she thinks about the world.

Especially about Shane.

Maybe the two of them can form a support group for yapping about Shane.

So she talks. And talks.

About stars and constellations and galaxies and astronauts and how the freckles across Shane’s cheeks looked like parts of Orion and Ursa Minor, although Centaurus is still her favourite because “it’s bigger and cooler”. 

And Ilya listens, completely spellbound.

There is something endlessly fascinating about watching someone so young care about something with such intensity. She talks about space like it personally matters to her. Like the universe is not some distant abstract thing but something alive and worthy of devotion.

Curiosity radiates out of her in waves.

And somewhere in the middle of listening to her ramble excitedly about planets and stars, something strange happens inside Ilya’s chest.

She stops feeling like a stranger.

Instead, she becomes this impossible little patchwork of every good thing in his life stitched together into one tiny person.

She’s got Mama’s smile, Svetlana’s curls and Barrett’s judgmental little stare.

She is full of Harris’ enthusiasm, Luca’s softness, Galina’s poise, Yuna’s sharpness and David’s earnest sincerity.

But more than anything, she has Shane’s heart.

That endless curiosity. That hunger to understand things. That way Shane looks at the world like there is always something more to discover if you just pay enough attention.

When she finally stops talking, Ilya realises with horror that their allotted time is already over.

The case manager looks apologetic, like this happens often.

The little girl, meanwhile, looks entirely unrepentant.

Honestly, Ilya is incredibly impressed by her.

He also realises belatedly that he probably should have said something interesting about himself at some point.

Something impressive.

Something that would make her think he was worth wanting too.

Too late now, apparently.

Maybe next time he’ll come prepared with accomplishments.

“We will finish the story next time,” she informs him seriously, and Ilya’s heart launches itself into a distant planet at the implication that she wants there to be a next time. “I will tell you about the first human in space.”

“Awesome!” Ilya grins, trying very hard not to pump a fist into the air. “Can’t wait to discuss Yuri Gagarin with you. Maybe we can talk about Valentina Tereshkova too?”

Her eyes widen so suddenly it almost startles him. “You know Yuri Gagarin and Valentina Tereshkova?”

“Duh,” Ilya says with a laugh. “I am Russian.”

And oh.

Her whole face changes.

It is like someone turned a light on inside her.

She sits up straighter, eyes bright and sparkling now, all that calm little seriousness cracking open into pure excitement. For the first time since meeting him, she looks completely delighted by him. 

“Are you an astronaut too?” she asks in complete awe. 

He should probably tell her that he works at the dog shelter and is eternally surrounded by the cutest dogs in the whole world. 

He opens his mouth, and she vibrates with excitement. 

Oh well.

“How did it go?” Shane asks when Ilya returns to the reception area, where his husband is now frowning at his phone. “Also, why did I just get an email saying a NASA space suit is being express shipped to our house?”

“Sweetheart,” Ilya says, and puts on his most charming smile. “We have a small problem.”

Chapter End Notes

He is innocent, your honour.

I cannot believe I have to clarify this, but this story is fictional and for funsies. DO NOT give second chances to men who lie to you and catfish you 🫠

A BIG thank you to everyone who followed this story along as I wrote it. Y'all are the real ones. Y'all are my kin. Everyone who waited until I was done, thank you for reading too (but I'm low-key judging y'all ngl).

Next order of business is my character study for Shane, which will be devastating, trust 🫡. My next multi-fic will probably be a fake-dating au or a soulmate au. I'm still messing around with ideas. Subscribe to my ao3 to get update emails or follow me on tumblr @khaleesiofalicante.

This fic is for people who feel the need to perform in order to be loved. Tis exhausting, but some divas are simply born for the stage 😌

Sending love 💖

Fun fact: Research shows that despite the thousands of children available domestically, Canadians adopt more children internationally than from the public foster system. Over 30,000 children are waiting for permanent homes in Canada's foster care system, yet only about 2,000 adoptions are finalised each year.