Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova, Kyle Swift, Rose Landry, Scott Hunter, Kip Grady, Eric Bennett, Harris Drover, Hayden Pike, Troy Barrett

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Friends to Lovers, They Are Vitriolic Best Mates, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Including Weed, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mutual Pining, Jealousy, Road Trips, if shane was an academic overachiever and they were childhood friends the au, they all live in a fictional canadian town dont ask, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Slow Burn

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2022-03-10 Completed: 2026-01-29 Words: 184,630 Chapters: 14/14

candle in the window (won't you stay till the am?)

Summary

Shane Hollander meets Ilya Rozanov when he is four years old and he cannot be any more unimpressed by this turn of events.

Thirteen years later, like the most cliché heartbreak in the making, they are best friends and Shane is thoroughly, utterly in love with him.

*

Ilya Rozanov's life has been a study in leaving things behind and one way or another he learned to deal with it.

One exception is Shane Hollander who came along thirteen years ago, settled in all too cozy, and ensured himself as the one thing Ilya can't ever leave.

Notes

I don't know why and where this came from but I've started writing this multichapter, planned-to-be-novel-length, fic of "what if shane was an academic overachiever and ilya was a delinquent and they were best friends since childhood and nearly all GCU guys went to same high school" au

Titled after REO Speedwagon's Can't Fight This Feeling and One Direction's A.M.

For discord peeps. I'm really self-conscious here (ughhh) but enjoy!

Author's note 24/01/2026: Hi everyone. Just wanted to drop a note here thanking you all for liking this fic in the past few months. I read and appreciate every comment tho I fell off trying to reply to them all. I'm glad you're all liking it. For the uninitiated about to start reading this I need to say that when I said Slow Burn, I meant it. There's a long stretch of angst and pining in this and as I assume the Shane/Ilya tag is your entire oyster right now, please click off the fic instead of frustrating yourselves and sharing that frustration with me if it gets too much. Let's keep the comments nice and fun. I also added some fanart my friend made for this fic back in the day as chapter 14, check it out! 🥰🫶

Chapter 1: we're going to be friends

Chapter Notes

September 1995

The first time Shane Hollander saw Ilya Rozanov, he was almost five and very unamused.

Shane’s town, Snowbury, Ontario, had only three parks with safe playgrounds for children. One was by the public elementary school which got occupied by older kids at this time. The second one was nice enough, but it overlooked a Canadian Tire parking lot. This one, Shane’s favorite, was waterfront and had a skateboard and BMX park right in front of it which Shane stole glances at while he was on the swing. That way he could get high in the sky and see the cool tricks clearly.

Once his mommy took a seat on a nearby bench and told Shane he could go play, Shane ran up to the swing set only to see one of the three swings was broken and cautioned with a ‘Do Not Use’ tape that Shane could read the words on now. The other two swings were occupied, but Shane didn’t mind; both mommy and daddy and Miss Blanchett had taught him to wait for his turn so everyone could play. It was all fine.

It was all fine, till it wasn’t.

One of the kids decided it was enough swinging for the day and got up with a smile, gesturing Shane to the seat he just unoccupied. It was this moment when this other boy, out of nowhere, ran towards where they were and seized the swing.

Just like that.

In the blink of an eye.

All smug and confident.

Like it was his right.

Shane felt so flabbergasted that he didn’t know what to say for a second.

Then the boy looked over, bright eyes tracing Shane’s face. He broke into a toothy grin.

Shane yelped in disbelief. “Hey!” He put both hands on his waist to give this boy a piece of his mind. “There is a line for the swings! You have to wait for your turn.”

For a moment of silence, the boy just stared at Shane. Then he simply shrugged. “No.”

Shane gasped, about to scold this boy for his unacceptable playground manners when the swing started moving back and forth, getting too quick too fast. Shane took a step back to avoid being hit on accident, but he didn’t walk away like this jerk probably wanted him to. He was not going to run and complain to his mommy, so he stayed and scowled at the smug boy. He looked so happy with himself, cheery, like he was taunting Shane on purpose to push him off the swing. Not that Shane would ever do that, but he still clenched his hands in frustration.

The boy was swinging so fast now his unruly mop of hair started bouncing around. It was very curly and a peculiar color; not really brown or blonde. It reminded Shane of the gold paint Miss Blanchett had in the arts and crafts box. Or the color of fallen leaves left unswept by the road to the park which was a hazard to pedestrians according to Shane’s mommy. Shane was sure the boy was new around here because he had never seen hair or attitude like that before. And Shane knew most of the kids his age in their small town, and this boy, now whooping with excitement at the top of the swing, was a strange new addition. It would be a big lie to say that Shane was happy to make his acquaintance.

Thankfully, the girl on the other swing decided this moment to leave her seat and ran up to the monkey bars before Shane could get really pissed off. Shane took the seat, head held high and scowl still on his face, and started gingerly moving himself back and forth. He arched his neck to see beyond the trees to the skatepark when the wild boy next to him started cackling in his ear.

“What?” Shane asked tersely. The boy, with mischievous glint in his eyes, just smiled his annoying grin again and started going faster. Shane huffed, his little fists going white around the swing’s chain, and he pushed himself back then forth with all the power in his body. If this boy was challenging Shane, he had something coming. Shane would go the fastest and the highest. He was tiny but he was the best at any games in his kindergarten.

He was at a bit of a disadvantage because while the swings here were lower than the ones close to the elementary school, he was only almost-five, and his feet barely reached the ground. The curly-haired jerk over there was likely older than Shane – maybe six – and he was tall; he could push against the sand under their feet easier for leverage. Shane could deal with it, it was okay. What was more annoying was the way the boy kept snickering and teasing Shane with glances thrown his way. At one point he started repeating “Come on, come on!” at Shane to rile him up; and it worked.

Shane started swinging faster than he had before in his life and he was surprised to find that after the initial fear, it only got exciting. At one point he started shrieking in joy as well. The wind was cold against his cheeks, his feet kicking back and forth, and his hands curled around the chains for dear life, but he couldn’t stop the grin on his face. The creaking sounds of their racing swings got joined by their combined laughter and the boy’s cheers of “Faster! Faster!” again and again.

The words sounded a little weird to Shane, like they were unpracticed, and he thought maybe the boy was foreign and just wanted to make friends but didn’t know how. He was about to introduce himself when he heard his mommy call out, “Shane! Slow down!”

Shane realized how fast they were now, and he couldn’t figure out how to slow down for a second before he stopped kicking his legs and let the swing grind to a stop. The boy next to him stopped as well, with a flashy move of putting his one foot on the ground before the swing even slowed down. Shane huffed but still reached out a friendly hand. “I’m Shane,” he said with a genuine smile. “What’s your name?”

The boy looked at Shane’s extended hand like he didn’t know what a handshake was, then he dissolved into cackles. “I’m faster than you,” he answered, evilly, but before he could – mockingly – take Shane’s hand someone called out to him.

“Ilya!”

Shane turned back to see that the voice belonged to another boy of maybe nine, holding a skateboard by his knee, looking impatient. “Let’s go!” the boy grunted, followed by words in a foreign language Shane didn’t understand.

Ilya, or whatever this jerk was called, dismounted his swing. Hair a mess but eyes still twinkling with the same irritating glint, he looked down at Shane and smiled. “See you later, Shane,” he said, and Shane really wanted to push him to the ground. He had never pushed anyone before, but this guy was a jerk and had the most annoying smile Shane had ever seen.

He scoffed at their backs as the two boys walked further away from the playground, and at that moment, decided for a fact that this boy was the worst person he had ever met in his entire life.

***

A week after they had moved to this foreign country where no one knew how to speak Russian and where Ilya wasn’t given any answers about why they moved, his mommy took him by the hand, and they walked down to the kindergarten by the river.

He was assigned to Miss Blanchett’s class which was in room 1410, and Miss Blanchett was this young woman with an always smiling mouth. She welcomed Ilya to the class with enthusiasm Ilya thought was maybe a little fake and the kids who had arrived already chirped, “Welcome Ilya!” all at once which Ilya thought was also probably fake.

He took a seat by one of the round tables and when his mommy caught his eye as she stood by the door, Ilya just waved at her with a big smile. He hated it here; Canada and also this weird little town. He hated how every single pair of eyes in the room was focused on him, and he hated that he didn’t have many words in English to tell them to stop doing it. So he just stared back and grinned all confident till they looked away and he didn’t tell his mommy he wanted to go back home, back to Russia.

Then he walked in, the boy from the park. Shane. And Ilya found himself looking at the already familiar freckles dotting already familiar too-pink cheeks. Shane smiled at Miss Blanchett with all his baby teeth on display which made his eyes disappear, and he said, “Good morning!” with enthusiasm that wasn’t fake at all.

Then he saw Ilya, recognized Ilya, and his lips twitched in annoyance. His brows furrowed, and his cheeks got even darker.

Ilya decided at that moment, maybe it wasn’t all too bad here in Snowbury, Canada. Maybe Shane could make it all fun.

***

May 1999

It was towards the end of the lunch break and Shane was getting his books for the science period when Dallas called out to him, “Hey! Hollander!”

Shane tried to stifle his groan. Now was not the time. Well, correction, it was never the time to deal with Dallas. Dallas Kent was the biggest asshole in not only their school but probably the entire tri-county region and Shane’s eyes rolled back automatically every single time he was in his unsolicited presence.

“Hollander!” the asshole gibed again in his annoying squeaky voice.

“What?” Shane answered in annoyance, turning back to see Dallas with his merry band of dicks; Frank Zullo and Troy Barrett. Frank was huge and Shane had always assumed he'd been held back a year by how dumb he was, whereas Troy was about Shane's height. Between the two of them stood Dallas himself, and despite all his posturing and vanity, he looked like a garden gnome which gave Shane immense joy that he wouldn’t admit to out loud.

“Oh, sorry!” Dallas gasped dramatically. “Did someone throw shit on your face?”

Shane rolled his eyes; he couldn’t help it. “You’ve been making the same joke since kindergarten, Dallas.”

Dallas, along with Frank and Troy, started cackling like a bunch of hyenas. It wasn’t even funny. It had never been funny. Shane was about to turn eight and he still heard the same joke about his freckles again and again. And he knew the mocking was only going to get worse and more frequent once summer reached its peak and Shane’s face sprouted thousands more of them.

“Sorry!” Dallas said with placating hands, with all the sincerity of whatever he had instead of a heart. “Your face just has too much to look at.”

Shane clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palm to reel himself in. He hated it because Dallas was right. On top of all the mocking he had to endure because of his freckles, he also had braces now. They put them on only a week ago and it was only a minor alignment issue, but Shane had to wear them for at least six months. So, yes, his face had a lot.

He wasn’t the type to shrivel in front of this bunch though. “And your face has not much to look at now, does it, Dallas?” he responded, about to push them out of the way and get out of here when he heard someone snicker next to them.

Ilya.

Yet another asshole who made Shane roll his eyes.

“What?!” he asked tersely. Ilya had been a permanent nuisance in his life since the day they had met but Shane had never seen him join in on Dallas Kent’s brand of joking around. If anything, hating Dallas Kent was one of the rare things they could agree on in life.

For one, Ilya never called Shane ugly. He taunted him with gibes at his height, and Shane noticed him eyeing his freckles since forever, but he never insulted them. And he’d only said, “Looking good, Hollander,” when he'd seen Shane’s braces last week. It'd probably been in a mocking manner, and Shane had scowled like he always did when Ilya spoke to him, but it hadn’t been meanspirited like Dallas calling him train tracks and making an awful impersonation of a locomotive anytime Shane walked by.

Ilya also never belittled Shane’s intelligence which was admittedly pretty stupid for Dallas and co. to do because Shane was at the top of their class while Dallas got a four in their French vocabulary test just last Thursday. Out of a hundred.

No, what Ilya was arguably more frustrating than the Dallas Kents of the world. Ilya was a unique pain in Shane’s ass. His deal was to taunt Shane by any means, goading him into challenges any chance he got, trying to prove that whatever Shane was good at, he was better. All done with that irritating smirk never leaving his face.

Just earlier this semester, he had put his name up for class president because he knew Shane was going to run for it again after first grade. And to Shane’s utter disbelief, he had actually won. Shane had run the perfect campaign, with real ideas, and a detailed and effective presentation while Ilya had just promised longer recess – which was impractical – and vending machines with soft drinks – which was unreasonable – and made some goofy jokes. And, at the end of the day, he had won. It was unbelievable! Of course, he couldn’t keep his promises – no one in school administration was going to give pop with caffeine and Yellow 5 to a bunch of seven-year-olds – but he still took immense joy in holding his win over Shane’s head.

And school wasn’t the only place he got to prod and poke Shane. Much to Shane’s dismay, Ilya was ever-present in every corner of his life. They lived on the same street, just two houses away from each other, and they were in the same U9 hockey program. And because they lived on the same street and were in the same hockey program, they carpooled there every weekend, and headache found Shane early in the day as response to the first smug word out of that annoying mouth.

And once they got there, it was all competition, and Ilya smirking at him behind his helmet, and Ilya sticking his tongue at him during face-offs, and Shane getting fed up with it and tripping him once or twice. The coach wanted them both to play forward and while they played non-checking, Ilya’s bigger body – and aggravating personality – made him a more imposing player. Shane was faster and he had read up on the technique so many times to fall behind, but that didn’t deter Ilya from claiming he was the better player. And once the weekend was over and Monday came around, at eight AM on the dot, they saw each other again as Shane’s mom’s new job at the mayor’s office resulted in him carpooling with the Rozanovs every weekday as well.

So, because their lives were entangled in such a way that didn’t seem like they would be untangling anytime soon, Shane spent a lot of time with Ilya and Ilya had a lot of opportunities to rile Shane up. Just this morning in the car, he'd almost got Shane to call him an insulting name in front of his mom. Shane liked Ilya’s mom. Mrs. Rozanov was so nice and so pretty and wore the nicest perfume. She had the same hair as Ilya, only it was longer down to her shoulders, and she had a voice so clear and bright that it sounded like a bell chime. Sometimes, Shane couldn’t believe that she had given birth to someone as annoying as her son. She also always had a nice word for Shane which made him preen a little.

Just this morning, she had been congratulating Shane on raising the most money during the fundraiser for their local ice rink and called him so intelligent for getting an A+ in English class but Ilya, being Ilya, had just rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, yeah, he is a generous little smart cookie, Mama. He wants to be the president.” Which had got Shane pissed off – because why did he always have to make Shane look bad in front of his mom – and he replied, “We don’t even have a president in Canada, you jerk!” Luckily, Shane had realized they were in the car with Mrs. Rozanov and bitten back his insult at the end, so it had come off as, “We don’t even have a president in Canada, youj–” Which had got Ilya laughing so hard and Shane annoyed just all the same.

And here he was again, laughing at Shane.

“What, Rozanov?!” Shane repeated when Ilya didn’t respond. He was already pissed off because of Dallas and his posse of morons and he didn’t want to deal with whatever stupid remarks Ilya was about to come up with.

Ilya shrugged, his stupid arrogant irritating smirk teasing his lips. “Nothing.”

Shane scoffed. “Well, yeah, shut up then.”

Dallas, clearly not happy about Shane’s comment on his ugly face, sneered. “He thinks you are stepping out of line and should be knocked down a peg, Hollander.”

Shane was about to turn back and give the douche a piece of his mind when Ilya scowled. “Don’t you dare talk for me, Kent.”

“Oh, come on, Rozanov, look at him!” Dallas fumed, stepping closer to Shane’s space. “You are ugly, Hollander! Your freaky face with your freaky eyes and your metal mouth and your freckles that look like shit stai—”

Before Shane realized what was happening, he heard a roar come from where Ilya was standing; then Dallas Kent was tackled to the floor.

“Oof!” Dallas said as all air left his body. Ilya pressed on him with a knee, his hands holding Dallas’s twiggy arms down. He didn’t hit him but the way he was snarling at his face told Shane that he probably wanted to.

“What the heck?!” Shane exclaimed once he could move from the shock of the situation. “Ilya, get off of him!”

“No.” Ilya said, so darkly. Shane hadn’t heard that sound from him even when their team blundered on ice.

“Come on!” Shane growled. They didn’t have time for this; one of the teachers was going to walk by now or somebody could already be alerting the principal. “We are going to get in trouble!”

Ilya just kept holding Dallas down, twisting his forearms in a way that made Shane cringe. Dallas was trashing under Ilya’s hold, but it was near impossible for him to push or tackle Ilya back with Ilya’s entire weight on him.

Shane felt a new wave of frustration surge in him because what the hell was this about? Shane could deal with Dallas himself, he had done for years now, what was Ilya – of all people – doing fighting with Dallas? It wasn’t his business and Shane didn’t need him putting his nose where it didn’t belong.

“Ilya, let go!” he shouted again, but Ilya looked like he didn’t even register Shane’s voice. Fuming in anger, Shane did the only thing he could think of; he ran full speed at Ilya and pushed him from the side with all the strength in his body.

Ilya clearly wasn’t expecting an attack from that way as his eyes widened and he faltered, his hands leaving Dallas to hold Shane. They toppled over, Shane going down with Ilya, and twin groans left their lips at the contact with the floor. “Oof, Hollander,” Ilya murmured. "What the hell?”

Shane was about to apologize when a voice roared from the end of the hallway. “Shane Hollander!” Shane tore his eyes away from Ilya, only to see Principal Crowell stomping towards where all three of them were tangled on the floor.

He looked down at Ilya, then back at Crowell again, then stammered, “I, I—”

“Did I just see you tackle your classmate to the floor?! What is this?” Crowell demanded with the fury of a hurricane.

Shane felt Ilya’s hand on his sleeve, pulling him up. All three of them rose from the ground. Dallas immediately looked down at his feet, not a peep out of him now, but Ilya, Ilya didn’t cower; he just stared back at their principal like he’d done nothing wrong. At that moment, Shane admired him, but he also hated him because he knew he was about to get into trouble for the first time in his life because of him. Because of Ilya Rozanov and his reckless behaviour to do what? Protect Shane? It made no sense to him.

“All three of you, my room. Now!”

***

It was after school and they were sitting in Miss Johnson’s classroom, two empty desks between them. Shane had been looking out the window since they entered the room and Ilya would be more annoyed if the alternative wasn’t him shooting daggers at Ilya’s way as he had done in Crowell’s office. Ilya didn’t understand what the big deal was; they were just going to stay for an hour after school and do extra work. Surely, it wasn’t something Hollander didn’t do in his spare time anyway.

“Don’t move, I’ll be back in five minutes,” Miss Johnson said, smiling at her phone in a way that suggested she wouldn’t be back in five minutes.

It was thirty seconds of relative silence – the sound of the clock ticking, the song Ilya was humming, the agitated taps of Shane’s fingers on the desk – before Shane exploded, “Why did you have to do that?”

“What?”

Ilya knew what. He felt like playing stupid.

“Why did you have to attack Dallas?”

Ilya also knew why.

“I hate him." He shrugged. “And he was being an asshole.” Like it was that simple. Like Ilya hadn’t felt like truly hurting him when he started spewing all that bullshit about Shane.

Shane was sweet till you got on his bad side, and he was cute when he tried to be all scowly about it. Like a little kitten who got his pride hurt. Ilya found amusement in that, true, and he egged Shane on purposefully sometimes, but not like Dallas. Never like Dallas. All the shit coming out of that bonehead’s mouth was just that, pure bullshit. He always meant to hurt Shane.

“Yeah, he was being an asshole to me,” Shane said with his angry kitten scowl, arms folded across his chest. “You didn’t have to get involved.”

Ilya knew he hadn't had to get involved. Shane wasn’t his friend. Hell, in most things Ilya considered Shane his rival. Shane was good – no – excellent in everything. He was at the top of their class in every subject except for math which was the only win Ilya had over him in academics. He was so good at hockey that Coach Salah had started hinting that maybe he could have a future in a professional league. He was like a walking encyclopedia with an answer for everything, and while Ilya called him Mr-Know-It-All because of it, it was admittedly pretty impressive. All the adults in the town – including Ilya’s own mom – loved him, and all the teachers praised him, and his perfect parents adored him. And he wasn’t a little wimpy wet noodle who couldn’t protect himself either. But Ilya couldn’t help himself. Dallas Kent just had such a punchable face.

“I can’t believe that asshole got out of detention,” Shane muttered with a shake of his head. It wasn’t hard to believe, Dallas’s father had so much power among the townsfolk; one call to Roger Crowell and all his son’s woes could be solved. What Shane didn’t mention was how Ilya got off lucky as well. Like Rudy Kent, Ilya’s father was also an influential man – a diplomat at the Russian embassy with a bunch of brown-nosers around him – and like Rudy Kent, he got his ass kissed and boots licked happily by Crowell as well.

So, yeah, Ilya was also let off easy, but it was hardly a relief. Ilya’s father was a big fan of punishment and Ilya being let out of Crowell’s decree this easily meant that he was going to be welcomed home to Grigori Rozanov’s disciplining hand waiting for him.

Ilya huffed to himself but his thoughts of what was going to happen after school got interrupted by a frustrated cry leaving Shane’s throat.

Ilya looked at him to see he had his face buried in his hands. Ilya had never seen him this distressed. “Are you—” he raised an eyebrow. “Are you crying?”

“I’m not crying!” Shane spat as he turned to face Ilya as if to prove that he wasn’t crying. And he wasn’t, but his face was twisted in what Ilya could only call frustration and disappointment. Disappointment with himself. “Just,” Shane murmured, dejected, “My parents will be so disappointed.”

An uneasiness spread over Ilya’s chest. Over the possibility of something that was too real for him, but too unimaginable for Shane Hollander and his perfect parents.

“They won’t like, shout at you or something, right?” The shouting wasn’t too bad, it was the something part that worried Ilya.

“What?” Shane looked confused. “No. They’ll probably just give me a lecture and ground me.”

Ilya let out a quiet breath. “That’s not too bad,” he said and thought of Shane’s mom who seemed tough but full of love for Shane, and his dad who, on the rare occasion that Ilya had seen him, patted Ilya’s shoulder with a touch that was warm instead of alarming.

“You don’t understand,” Shane carried on, oblivious to Ilya’s thoughts. He had his hands clasped in his lap and sounded miserable. “This is the first time I’ve got into trouble.”

“Relax, Hollander.” Ilya rolled his eyes. He didn’t like seeing Shane get all panicky when it wasn’t a big deal. “It won’t go onto your record or whatever. You can still run for president.”

“I’ve told you a million times, we don’t have a president in Canada!”

Shane had his hands thrown in the air in frustration and Ilya had to bite his lip to not burst out laughing.

“I know,” he said with a grin.

Shane just stared at his face. Then huffed with a shake of his head. “Why do you always do that?” he asked. “Say things just to annoy me?”

Ilya shrugged. "You are too easy to rile up.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Ilya said honestly. Shane was too easy to rile up. And when he was riled up, he blushed a dark pink and when the color spread to his cheeks, his freckles became so stark. “I just look at you across the ice and you take it as a challenge. It is fun.”

What Ilya didn’t say was that sometimes, they weren’t meant to annoy him at all. Like now, the way he sounded so miserable over getting detention for once in his perfect life got Ilya feeling so guilty that he felt like maybe he could somehow make up for it if he could make Shane smile. It hadn’t worked, it rarely worked, but Ilya could see the hints of amusement in those eyes and while Ilya was happy with the scowls and frowns usually sent his way, he wouldn’t mind the smiles either.

Shane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you mean for it to be a challenge, asshole.”

“Sometimes,” Ilya admitted, reaching out to grab the pencil abandoned on the desk next to him. He felt the twinge of the bruise he must have on his shoulder now from how he'd hit the ground.

His discomfort must have been clear on his face as Shane asked, “I didn’t push you too hard, did I?”

“Nah.” Ilya smiled, sitting back on his seat, and twirling the pencil. “You are not grown enough to do much damage.”

“Oh, piss off!”

Ilya couldn’t help but snicker. Shane had his arms crossed across his chest again and his irritated little pout was back on. “You know,” Ilya said, once it became quiet between them. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at what you said to Dallas Kent.”

Shane looked surprised. Then pleased. “That his face has not much to look at?”

“Yeah. Your comebacks can be funny when you come up with stuff more creative than ‘Oh, piss off, you jerk!’”

Shane opened his mouth to say something only to stop himself before, undoubtedly, “oh, piss off, you jerk!” could leave his lips.

Ilya burst into laughter. “See!”

It took a few seconds for his giggles to stop, only made harder by the way Shane kept glaring at him. He was annoyed but – Ilya could see now – also amused.

Ilya couldn’t help the genuine smile on his face. “I don’t agree with any of the shit Dallas says to you,” he said. “He's just a jealous imbecile. A total jerk.”

“Hmm.”

Ilya cocked his head. “You think I’m a jerk too, don’t you?” he asked, knowing the answer already. Just last week during P.E., Shane had screamed, ‘No one likes you because you are a jerk!’ to which Ilya countered with ‘Well, no one likes you because you are a tattletale!’ Which, looking back at it now, was a bit unfair because all Shane had done was to tell Hayden Pike that Ilya had changed his good chair in the homeroom with a broken one from the math class. He’d thought it’d be funny; Shane had thought it could be dangerous. So yeah, between the two of them, Ilya was the jerk.

Shane shrugged. “You are a little bit of a dick.”

Ilya snorted.

“What?”

“Dick is not better than jerk,” Ilya pointed out, his genuine smile turning into an amused grin.

“I said a little,” Shane responded with an eye roll, but Ilya could see the smile he was trying to hide behind the hand on his chin.

He was so close to getting a laugh out at him now, he could feel it, but he wished he could see Shane’s smile as well. On the rare occasion that Shane smiled around Ilya, his face crinkled so tight that his freckles got all bunched up into one cluster. Ilya hadn’t seen that smile in a while and couldn’t help but wonder whether it was partly because of the braces Shane had gotten last week. Which was bullshit.

“Hmm,” Ilya hummed in consideration, one hand going to his chin for the thinking pose. “Is a little dick better than a normal-sized jerk?” he asked with all the seriousness he could muster.

He knew it was stupid, but he also knew it would make Shane laugh. He watched in wonder as Shane’s face twisted in a way that suggested he was trying hard to hold back his laugh. He failed miserably a second later as a loud snort left his nose.

“What?” Ilya asked with fake sincerity. “I’m really asking. You know my English is bad!

Shane kept laughing and shook his head in not disbelief or exasperation, but for the first time, amusement. “Your English is not bad,” he chided between giggles. “You are just being a little dick.”

Delighted with his retort, he laughed again, and Ilya couldn’t help but laugh with him. For just a moment, this detention, Dallas Kent, Crowell, and his father didn’t exist. It was only Shane’s freckled face twisted in joy, warmer than any sun Ilya had seen here or in Russia.

***

“Hey Shane!”

Shane raised his head from his lunch tray to see Ilya walking towards him. For the first time in his life, that view elicited an urge to smile instead of groan. “Hey,” Shane said as he tried to keep the smile down. They hadn’t seen each other since yesterday, as Shane’s dad had driven him to school this morning, so Shane had no idea whether any smiles between them could be let free like their laughter yesterday.

Hope bloomed in his chest when Ilya stopped by the table and Shane could see those hazel eyes were amiable.

“Hey, Shane,” Ilya repeated, like he hadn't said hello already.

Shane didn’t mind because he liked hearing that. Shane. Which was a new development. Shane rarely heard his name out of the other boy’s mouth before, but last evening, as they'd been about to go their separate ways in the parking lot, Ilya had cracked the brightest smile and said his name. “See you tomorrow, Shane,” he'd said. And nearly twenty hours later, it still made Shane feel like he'd swallowed a bunch of bubbles.

“Hi?” Shane repeated.

“Heard it’s your birthday.”

“Yeah,” Shane confirmed. He didn’t mention how he had been inviting Ilya to his birthday party every year and how Ilya attended each and every one on Irina’s insistence.  

Ilya nodded. “Happy birthday,” he said with the enthusiasm one would have for reporting the weather.

“Thanks.”

Ilya kept nodding, like he didn’t know what else to say. “Uhm,” he muttered, rubbing a hand on his neck, then he took out something from his pocket. “Do you want my Snickers?”

“Why?” Shane asked suspiciously. Ilya didn’t even like Snickers. Shane could name ten other candies Ilya would prefer over a Snickers.

Snickers were Shane’s favorite.

“I don’t know,” Ilya said, shrugging. “Birthday gift.” He pushed the candy towards Shane. He looked at him like he really really wanted Shane to have his Snickers.

“Alright, thanks,” Shane said, choosing to believe Ilya’s genuineness. “It’s my favorite.”

“I know.”

Maybe Shane hadn’t been the only one who wanted to be friends after yesterday. And maybe he was really happy that Ilya came to wish him a happy birthday and brought him his favorite candy as a gift, all on his own, with no interference from Irina. And maybe Ilya was also really happy that Shane took the Snickers because the bright smile from yesterday – the one so different from his loony grins and irritating smirks – bloomed on his face as he said that. I know.

Shane smiled back. He chose to not point out how it was impossible for him to eat Snickers with braces.

Ilya nodded again and gave him a mock salute. “See you at your party on Saturday.”

“Yeah, see you,” Shane muttered, as he watched Ilya walk back to his table. He could feel the flush on his face, but he didn’t mind; he beamed to his lunch tray as he realized that, yeah, smiles between them could be let free.

He stayed there, smiling like a lunatic, till Hayden took the seat across from him and asked whether he could have his candy.

Shane shook his head and pocketed his birthday Snickers.

Chapter End Notes

TW: Any triggers for GCU books - especially HR - are valid here. There are also going to be implications and depictions of physical child abuse and domestic abuse. Future chapters will probably have underage weed usage.

I've listened to We're Going to Be Friends by The White Stripes and True Love by P!nk while writing this chapter and here's a Spotify playlist that I will add to as I write more.

If you didn't hate this (or even if you did?) please leave a comment. It would mean a lot to me!

Also I am sorry Dallas and Crowell had to be the first characters to make a cameo lmaooo

Chapter 2: ungodly hour

Chapter Notes

thank you all for reading the first chapter! this chapter was supposed to be 6k, ended up 8.6k.

chapter title from ungodly hour by the fray. hope you enjoy!

(please, please, check the tags and the end notes for tws.)

December 2003

“Hollanders!” Ilya called out as he let himself into the quaint little house with literal white picket fences sitting at the end of the street. The door was unlocked as always and there was no one to be seen in the entrance or the living room.

“Oh, Ilya,” came a voice from the kitchen and Shane’s dad emerged all frantic. “I'm already late, and this snow will add another half an hour to my drive. Good morning, have you had breakfast? I baked muffins this morning, they're in the kitchen, I think Shane is in his room. Do you see my briefcase?”

Ilya bit back his laugh and handed David the briefcase standing by the coat rack.

“Thank you, kiddo. Shane is in his room. Yuna, I’m leaving! Love you! Bye, Ilya.”

“Bye, Mr. H,” Ilya waved to the door opened and closed in a blink. David got all flustered whenever December arrived and brought its snowstorms along to mess with his routine. God help anyone who upset Hollanders’ routines.

Chuckling to himself, Ilya made his way to the kitchen. His favorite room in the house; it was all light-filled and warm even in December, and right now, smelled heavenly.

He perched on the seat closest to the batch of chocolate chip muffins. “Hi,” he said to the perpetrators behind the smell and shook his head in amusement.

David had been all panicked about being late to work in the city, his work in the parliament, but here they were, freshly-baked muffins standing there on his kitchen table. Out of the oven just this morning. Hollanders with their overachiever tendencies were never gonna not astound Ilya and frankly, he didn’t care when it meant he could stuff his face with homemade baked goods every day.

Talking about overachievers, Yuna walked into the kitchen in a perfectly tailored suit, clasping an earring to one ear.

“Hi, Mrs. H,” Ilya mumbled around the muffin that found its way to his mouth.

Yuna dropped her hands. “Hi,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I hope that’s not the only thing you're having for breakfast, mister.”

“Well." Ilya gave her a cheeky grin. “If you have coffee?”

“You're twelve, Ilya.”

Ilya shrugged a shoulder. Yuna shook her head like he amused her. She looked so much like Shane when she did that – or Shane looked like her.

“What is Shane still doing up there?” she asked just as Ilya was about to. It wasn’t like Shane to be late. Usually, he was the one waiting for Ilya, with an extremely frustrated glare waiting with him.

“Shaaneee!” Yuna and Ilya called out in unison.

“You're killing me!” Ilya added.

“Ilya.”

“Sorry.”

Yuna gave him another amused – and warning – smile and went on to brew coffee. Sadly, only for herself. Ilya decided to make himself happy with a second muffin.

“How’s your mother doing, sweetie?” Yuna asked as the coffee pot started making rumbling and sizzling sounds. “I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

The muffin in Ilya’s mouth suddenly felt like chalk. Dry and stale. He swallowed hard.

“Uhm, she’s feeling a bit tired,” Ilya said with an expression he hoped was convincing. That part wasn’t a lie, anyway. Mom had been very tired lately. “I think it’s the flu, you know?”

“Oh, poor woman,” Yuna responded, taking out a travel mug. “They say this is the toughest flu season we've had in years. I’ll give her a call today and see if she needs anything.”

Ilya nodded, glad that Yuna was preoccupied with her coffee to look at him.

The sound of a door opening and closing came from above, followed by rapid patter of footsteps down the stairs.

Shane entered the kitchen; Ilya had to do a double-take.

“Shane,” Yuna said slowly, with the same confusion Ilya felt. “Did you— did you coif your hair?”

Red spread over Shane’s face, up to the hairline that was visible now. His usually tousled bangs were styled away from his forehead, and it looked tall. Very tall. And prickly.

“Aww,” Yuna cooed, confusion leaving its place to that embarrassing sentiment only parents were capable of. “Is it for Rose?”

Rose.

“No, Mom,” Shane grumbled, hands going to his hair self-consciously. “I just felt like doing it.”

Ilya tried really hard not to roll his eyes. Shane was so transparent. Of course it was for Rose.

Rose Landry had moved to Snowbury last year and had become the darling of their school and the town seemingly overnight. She was so nice and funny and friendly – and admittedly, very pretty.

She’d also asked Shane if they could talk, in private, that one time and the two of them had been all smiles and blushes and handholding in the hallways and texting on their phones ever since. It had been five days and Ilya felt like it was big-time messing up his life.

So yeah, they were dating or whatever, and Shane had done his hair for Rose.

“Morning, NSYNC,” he said, just to be annoying.

Shane side-eyed him as he reached for a muffin. “I don’t look like anyone in NSYNC.”

“Hmm.” Ilya fake contemplated. “You kinda look like JC if he was Asian and a squirt.”

“Ilya, stop egging him on." Yuna hit him on the head affectionately.

Shane scoffed and tugged at a curl sprouting out of Ilya’s head. “Yeah, like you’re not the inspiration behind that noodle hairdo.”

Ilya clapped his hands together in mock delight. “So you agree I would be the Justin Timberlake of our band?”

Shane rolled his eyes, about to retort as Yuna interrupted. “So, are you guys ready for the bus? You have your money and everything, right?”

The reason Ilya was here this morning, instead of Shane and whatever baked-by-David good carpooling with them, was that they were finally allowed to take the public bus to school, on their own. It was stupid; they weren’t kids, they were going to turn thirteen in the new year, and they biked more distances across town than the mere ten-minute bus ride this was going to be. Still, it took weeks of begging for their moms to be convinced. Well, for Yuna to be convinced. Ilya’s mom was a bit… distracted, right now.

“Yeah,” Shane confirmed, checking the contents of his backpack. God forbid he forgot a single pen. “And I think we should leave. It’s already five-past.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ilya asked as he got up and took his own backpack from where he'd chucked it to the floor. After three warnings to not miss their bus stop and being reminded to be careful a million times, they left.

As Ilya thought, it wasn’t an exciting deal. They walked to the bus stop, got on the bus, and sat on the two empty seats next to each other.

He gazed at the view out the window, then turned back to Shane and had to do a double-take again. Shane looked… weird. Not bad, just strange without the inky strands framing his equally ink-black eyes.

Not that Ilya could see Shane’s eyes right now. Shane’s entire attention was on the phone he’d gotten as a birthday gift last spring and hadn’t given much shit about till now. Now, he held onto it like it was the string of a Rose-shaped balloon promising him sugar, spice, and everything nice above the clouds.

The phone chimed; Shane beamed at it.

“So…” Ilya said. “It’s meatloaf day.”

“Yikes,” Shane said, distracted.

“Wanna skip lunch and just buy chips from the vending machine? We can eat on the stairs by the music room.”

“Yeah sure,” Shane said, then shook his head. “Oh no, I mean. I promised Rose I would sit with her and her friends today.”

Ilya nodded slowly. “Okay.” He looked out the window again but there was not much to see except for fields of white. Snowbury, like the name suggested, got a lot of snow.

He turned back to Shane. “Wanna go to the skatepark after school? I heard the high schoolers are holding a sick tournament.” He didn’t hear shit, he just wanted to spend time with Shane and Shane loved the skatepark.

“In this weather?”

Leave it to Shane to go all logic on Ilya’s bullshit even when he was distracted.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, I can’t.”

“Why?” Shane loved the skatepark!

“Mom’s taking me to the mall.”

“To the city?” Ilya asked, confused. “I thought you guys did your Christmas shopping already.”

“Y-yeah,” Shane stammered. “It’s for something else.”

Ilya could guess what something else was about, but he pressed on. "You need new hockey gear?”

“No, it’s just.” Shane looked at Ilya, finally. Then he blushed, and it didn’t make Ilya feel as it usually would. “I’m buying a gift for Rose, okay? You know, we weren’t d-dating yet when I bought my Christmas gifts.”

Ilya knew but it still felt like a hand around his neck. Was Shane going to spend less and less time with him now? Ilya didn’t mind Rose, but he wasn’t willing to lose his time with Shane to her lunches and her Christmas gifts. He hated that.

Maybe it’d be different if they both had girlfriends. It wouldn’t feel as… upsetting as it did now.

“And you didn’t invite me why?” he asked and hoped it didn’t sound as hurt to Shane as it did to him. They always went to the mall together.

Shane shrugged a shoulder. “You’d just distract me.”

“Distract you how?” Ilya asked. “I’d help! You’re shit at picking gifts.” It was true; Shane always bought the lamest thing. Ilya didn’t mind, he still kept the Hockey Heroes Calendar Shane had gifted him last year. He wasn’t sure how Rose Landry would feel with a similar choice though.

“You just would,” Shane replied. “Look, I just want to do it on my own, okay? Mom promised she won’t meddle either.”

“Okay,” Ilya murmured, arms going across his chest. He looked down at his lap and no, he didn’t sulk or scowl.

A second later he felt Shane tug at his sleeve. He glanced sideways; Shane smiled. “We can hang out after hockey tomorrow, yeah?”

Ilya watched Shane for a moment. If Shane was going to split his time between Ilya and others now, Ilya had to accept it and just make the best out of what he was offered. No need to be a kid about it. “Yeah,” he answered.

It was still quiet for the rest of the ride.

***

Ilya spent the lunch in his own head, picking at his horrendous meatloaf, cracking forced smiles every once in a while at Wyatt and Harris’s goofing around. He didn’t look at where Shane was sitting with Rose Landry.

When the classes were done for the day, he got on the quickest bus going downtown, and walked by the riverbank till it became dark and cold and his boots were soaked. The driver of the bus he took home asked him if he was lost, he shook his head, and looked out the window to not miss his stop.

It was a short walk from there home. He trudged through the snow almost shin-high and once he could see the familiar street, he stopped.

He took in the colossal house – no, mansion, in comparison – sat back from the road, guarded by wrought iron fences as black as its rooftop. Monstrous brick box with its sickly grey color that Ilya had always hated, begging for attention. So incongruent with the rest of the neighbourhood, so dissimilar to the safe haven Ilya had come to associate with Hollanders’ home only two doors down.

He walked up to the house, passed its gates, and pushed the door open to the giant foyer. It was dark except for the single light he could see in the back of the house. Careful not to ruin the hideous carpet covering the floor with snow, he slowly undressed himself of his wet jacket and boots. He listened for footsteps and let out a relieved breath when he didn’t hear anything.

He would know; he would know Ilya was late, not because he’d got worried but because he liked his things in their place.

Traipsing softly, Ilya made his way to the light coming from the back parlour.

As he expected, he found Mom sitting by the piano.

This house, lifeless and hideous to its bones, was the masterwork of his father. Antiquated furniture more expensive than tasteful, colors one could only call claustrophobic. By the time they’d arrived, by the time Ilya had been snatched from his bed at an ungodly hour and put on a plane coming to this alien place, it was all set up. It wasn’t a house – home – where Ilya could hang the matching Centaurs poster Shane had bought him. Not a house where the kitchen felt warm all year long. Not a house for Irina who used to love putting flowers of all colors in her hair.

The grand white piano sitting in the middle of the parlour was the one thing Grigori allowed her. One piece of furniture she’d chosen, one thing she loved.

She turned around once she heard his footsteps. “Moye solnyshko,” she smiled.

“Hi, Mom,” Ilya muttered back in Russian. He got this sentiment to only whisper his words with Mom now, like she was an animal not to spook.

“Come sit,” she said, patting the bench.

No ‘where were you, Ilya?’. No ‘why are you so late?’ Because unlike his father, she wouldn’t know he was late. Not because she wouldn’t get worried but because she was… lost. Lost in her head, or in time, or something.

Ilya didn’t understand but he could see it; his own hazel eyes looking back at him from a face so delicate, without their usual shine that Ilya had no idea know how to bring back. So, every day, he did the only thing he could. He went to her, and he hugged her tight, made all the same jokes and wished to get a smile like her old ones. When she said come sit and patted her side, he went, and listened, as she tinkered with her piano.

***

Andrei made a sharp turn and skidded to a stop by the entrance with a loud screech. “Get out,” he spat. “I’ll be back at one pm sharp. Be late and I am leaving without you.”

Shane rolled his eyes as he pushed his way out of the car. One pm sharp his ass; in the last two weeks Andrei had been driving them up to the rink and the school, he’d never once arrived on time to pick them up.

“Has your brother become a bigger asshole since he turned sixteen or is it just me?” he asked Ilya who was following him two steps behind.

“No, he was always a big asshole. Now he is just a big asshole with a car.”

Shane chuckled at that and looked back to share in on the joke, only to find not even a trace of a smile on Ilya’s face.

“He's going to get himself killed pulling that shit in this weather.”

“Yeah.”

So, that was a thing now. Ever since yesterday morning, Ilya had been very withdrawn. Well, if Shane was honest with himself, Ilya wasn’t just withdrawn. He was upset. With Shane in particular, and Shane didn’t understand why. He’d just been busy after school.

He had to buy a gift for Rose, he’d realized after his mom had queried about what he’d thought Rose bought him. He’d also realized it couldn’t be any other gift because Rose was his first girlfriend, and she was the best girlfriend he could ask for. So, he had this necklace picked out from a magazine and asked his mom to drive him up to the mall.

It hadn’t gone as planned anyway. As he had been making his way to the jewelry store, with Mom pretending she wasn’t following him, something on Best Buy’s display had caught his eye.

It was stupid; it wasn’t any better than the gift he had already bought Ilya – a car air freshener shaped like a 2003 Porsche Carrera GT that was useless in hindsight as Ilya wasn’t going to be owning or driving a car anytime soon – but once he’d done it, he’d done it. He’d bought another gift for Ilya with the money he’d taken out of his piggy bank for the necklace.

Rose’s gift had ended up being a pair of Christmas socks with little Mrs. Clauses on them.

Which, admittedly, didn’t worry Shane as much as Ilya’s current mood did. And Andrei, the big asshole, hadn't helped.

“How’s your mom feeling by the way?” Shane asked genuinely. “I am literally sick of Andrei driving us.”

Something flashed on Ilya’s face, too fleeting to identify. “She’s good,” he mumbled and stepped ahead to hold the door open. “It’s just the flu, you know.”

Shane pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. He walked in ahead of Ilya and made his way to the locker room, listening to Ilya’s footsteps behind him. Ilya kept mentioning the flu, but it had been two weeks. What flu lasted two weeks?

He decided to change the subject as they reached their stalls and started undressing. “So, you ready to be pushed down to the third line?”

The coach had told them he was going to be making changes to the lineups for the next round of games after New Year’s. Naturally, Shane and Ilya had betted on who’d play center on the first line. It had been Shane for the entire start of the season, and he was confident it wouldn’t change. Ilya played on the second line right now, but he had been making promises of taking Shane down from his seat for months.

Ilya looked at him. Then he shook his head. “I’m not playing third line.”

A smile stretched on Shane’s face; Ilya didn’t shut down his banter. “You’re getting your ass kicked, Rozanov,” he sang.

Ilya looked at him again. Then, he cracked the first smile Shane had seen in over twenty-four hours. It was faint, but to Shane, it felt like victory. “Bring it on, Hollander.”

“You’re kidding yourself if you think I am giving up the first line,” Shane grinned. This felt normal, this was their normal.

“Uh oh,” came an amused voice. “I think you guys are forgetting someone there,” Scott Hunter, their fellow Snowburian and current third line center, said as he walked into the locker room.

Ilya gave him the most intentionally obvious fake smile, and flatly replied, “Har har, Hunter.”

Scott just rolled his eyes, shouldering past Ilya to his stall.

Ilya looked back at Shane, the faint smile still tucked at his lips.

Shane smiled back. It wasn’t one of his loud cackles, or silly faces of mockery, but Shane still allowed himself a moment of relieved breath.

***

Shane didn’t even care. That was the worst part.

Ilya hadn’t said anything throughout the practice. He hadn’t said anything as he’d packed his equipment in his bag. And he hadn’t said anything for the first five minutes they’d been waiting for Andrei.

It was grey and cold, and the snow above was falling heavy and the snow below was already knee-high, and the scarf around his neck felt too tight, and it was already twenty minutes past one, and Shane didn’t even look like he cared.

Ilya broke. “I can’t believe I am on the third line.”

“I know." Shane sighed.

Ilya needed more than that. He needed more than I know and a single sad sigh. Shane should be angrier. Why wasn’t he angrier when Scott Hunter was going to play on the first line?

Ilya kicked the pavement. “This is unbelievable,” he scoffed. More about Shane than Scott.

Shane sighed again. “To be fair, I understand. Scott has been playing really good lately.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “You understand?” Ilya’s best friend, Shane I-would-rather-die-than-come-in-second Hollander, did understand. Ilya wanted to laugh. “You’ll play second tier.”

“I know what being on the second line means, Ilya.” Shane rolled his eyes. “The coach said he just wanted to spread scoring across the lineup.”

It didn’t change the fact that he still thought Scott was a better scorer.

“And you’re okay with it?”

Shane let out a frustrated sigh. “Of course I’m not okay with it!” Finally, a tiny bit of emotion. “I am the one who lost his place on the first line.”

If he was being honest with himself, Ilya knew this wasn’t about hockey. Well, it wasn’t only about hockey. It was about everything else. It was about Shane being busy, and it was about things taking up his time and things distracting him. It was about things Shane didn’t do; about him leaving Ilya to wander around the town alone, about him not paying attention, and not knowing how much Ilya resented going home every night to his hateful father and depressed mother.

A humorless chuckle left his lips. “You don’t even care, do you?”

“Of course I care, all I’m saying is that Scott has been really good.”

Ilya shook his head. “You don’t care about anything.”

Shane stepped closer to him with a frown. “Ilya,” he said. “Are you freaking okay?”

“No Shane. Are you freaking okay?”

Shane’s phone chimed; his gaze flickered.

Ilya wanted to rip his hair out and just scream.

“I'm taking the bus,” he declared, pushing past Shane.

“What?” Shane sputtered. “All the way to Snowbury?!”

“Once you get on it, the driver drives it. It’s not a big deal.” He needed to get out of here, he needed to get rid of this scarf, and he had a vague idea of where the bus stop was.

“What about Andrei?!” Shane asked, feet scurrying behind Ilya.

“Fuck him.”

“No.” Footsteps stopped. “Fuck you!”

Ilya paused. Shane rarely cursed so…harshly.

“If I did something—” Ilya heard him take a shaky breath. “If I did something to upset you just tell me!”

Ilya turned around and tried not to wince in guilt once he looked at Shane. His face was flushed a dark red, his clenched jaw trembling, and his eyes were wet with both anger and agony.

Ilya felt like the biggest piece of shit on earth.

A frustrated tear slipped Shane’s eye.

“You didn’t do anything,” Ilya said with a shake of his head. “I— I’m just upset about being on the third line,” he lied.

Because behind Shane’s anger, Ilya could see that he was hurt and confused, and nothing else mattered other than making him not feel that way. Because when Ilya had wanted Shane to react, he didn’t mean the sullen face looking back at him right now.

Shane didn’t have to know; he didn’t have to know all the horrible ways Ilya had blamed him just a moment ago when it was everything else in Ilya’s life that was miserable. Shane, Shane was the furthest thing from all that. Shane was good; Shane was the best friend one could have, and Ilya didn’t deserve him.

Shane wiped away the wet track left behind by the single tear. He studied Ilya for a moment, then he smiled. “It’s okay,” he said, tugging at Ilya’s sleeve in a comforting manner. “It’s just a few games Hunter will play on the first line.”

“Yeah," Ilya said. “Just a few games.”

The familiar car pulled up behind Shane at that moment and honked with Andrei’s impatience. Shane glanced backward at the sound, then turned back. “Do you still wanna come over? We can make lunch and play video games till Mom comes home.”

Ilya nodded. That was what he wanted. That was what he always wanted.

***

So, that’s what they’d done. They’d got into Andrei’s car and let the remaining tension between them thaw on the way back to town. They’d walked to Hollanders’ house from where Andrei had ditched them, then they’d skipped the stew Yuna had left in the fridge, made tuna melts in the oven, and drunk more coke and ginger ale than they were allowed to drink. Ilya had beaten Shane at Tekken 4 twelve-to-seven and Shane had absolutely pouted about it.

When Yuna and David had arrived, they’d ordered pizza because Saturdays were movie nights and they’d watched Charlie’s Angels because it was Yuna’s turn to choose. They’d done puzzles because David had wanted to – and because Ilya secretly loved it too – and by the time Ilya had to go home, his heart was full, and he felt like he could breathe.

For that one moment, the dread he felt as he walked to the spook house and entered its gates didn’t feel as enormous.

Then he heard the sound of a crash coming from the back parlour.

“Mom!” he shouted, jacket and bag thrown away, booted feet rushing on the carpet.

He found her there; her eyes downcast, face hidden, leaning on her piano. At the other side of the room lay the bench, crooked.

And between them, back turned to the entrance, in all his intimidating glory, Grigori.

“Go to your room,” he ordered. Ilya didn’t have to see him to know his stern lip and icy eyes. The bloodcurdling face as he stood there in the middle of the room, tall, cruel, self-proclaimed king of the world.

“Mom?” Ilya ignored him. Because he was so tired of being frightened of him and his mother still didn’t look at him. “Mom?” he asked again, feeling uneasy. Irina raised her eyes.

He couldn’t help the gasp when he saw her.

“No,” he whispered, taking a step towards her. “What, what did you do to her?”

“Boy,” Grigori warned, stern eyes finally facing Ilya. “I am only saying this one more time, go to your room.”  

“Did you hurt her?” Ilya spat. Ilya never spoke back to his father; he wasn’t allowed to. But looking at the handprint on Mom’s face, her freshly split lip, he couldn’t help himself.

“Ilya,” Grigori hissed as Irina spoke up, “Ilya." It was said softly. “Go to your room, sweetie. I’ll be up there in a minute, okay?”

A comforting smile found her lips.

Ilya’s eyes darted between her and his father. He didn’t want to leave her, he didn’t want to leave this room surrendering to Grigori’s word one more time. But one look at that smile on her freshly bruised face, and he knew that was all he could do.

He ran upstairs. He took his boots off, threw them to a wall and himself on his bed. He could feel the angry tears prickling his eyes and he wiped them before they could fall. He didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. The satisfaction of him just taking and taking from Ilya and his mother and putting misery in its place.

It’d been longer than a minute when the door to his room cracked open. With the only light from the hallway, Ilya couldn’t see her face, but he still broke. “Mom,” he whimpered. He had promised himself not to cry, everyday he told himself Mom didn’t need that, but at that moment he couldn’t stop. “Mama.”

“Shh,” Irina shushed him, leaving the door open for the faint light and sitting beside Ilya. She pulled him against her chest. “Everything’s okay, moye solnyshko,” she whispered, gentle fingers threading into his curls. “Your father and I just had a disagreement. It was an accident.”

Ilya knew it wasn’t an accident and Mom knew he knew it wasn’t an accident. She just had nothing else to say. No other excuses she could make for his father, no new story she could spin for Ilya, nothing else to offer. Not when Ilya was all too aware this was why Mom wasn’t happy, why the house wasn’t filled with her songs anymore, and why a true smile took so much out of her.

When it became too much like this, all Ilya wanted to do was take her hand and tell her to run away with him. Anywhere. Back to Russia. Back to Moscow. Anywhere but here. Anywhere she could want in the entire world. Just the two of them.

“I hate him,” he whispered, face buried in Mom’s shoulder. “I want him gone. I want it to be just you and me, Mama.”

Mom tilted his face up and smiled. This close Ilya could see; what a sad, sad smile. “Don’t wish your family away, sunshine.”

Ilya could barely remember his life before Snowbury, but he remembered his grandmother with the same golden curls as theirs and his grandfather, the big intimidating man with the warmest hugs for Ilya. He didn’t even hear their voices on the phone anymore and he wondered if Mom did. So many things they’d left behind; the language they understood, the places they knew. He had these faint memories of a house so much smaller than this. Faces of people he wouldn’t recognize now. Soft white fur and one floppy ear.

He’d never asked before.

“What was his name?” he whispered.

“Whose name, sweetheart?”

“The dog,” he said. “With one floppy ear.”

Mom looked surprised for a second, then wistful. “Rada,” she answered.

Rada. Happy.

“Rada,” Ilya repeated. “What happened to him?”

The brief light in Mom’s eyes dimmed. “I’m afraid I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Ilya gave a shuddery breath, putting his head on Mom’s shoulder again. “I miss him,” he said quietly.

Mom didn’t say anything for a moment. She threaded her hands in his hair again, caressing so gently, like his curls were tiny flowers that could crush under force. Like he needed a gentle touch.

“I wish you weren’t so much like me sometimes, Ilya.” Ilya almost missed her whisper. “I wish you didn’t feel so much.”

Ilya frowned. He wondered if that was why father hated him so much. So much more than Andrei. Andrei was sixteen now and did so many horrible stuff, he stole, he smoked, he got into fights. Maybe Grigori wasn’t aware of some, but the last one, he was proud of. That his son beat up other kids. Inserted his dominance. Like a real man would.

The one-time Ilya had got into a fight with Dallas Kent had ended up being a different story. Some of the bruises Grigori’s punishment left behind lasted for weeks. But Ilya didn’t regret it; that fight, that detention was the beginning of his friendship with Shane.

And that was why leaving would hurt as much as staying. Leaving would mean leaving the ice rink he shared with Shane, leaving the staircase by the music room, leaving their playground by the riverbank and the skatepark. It would mean leaving the ever-sunny kitchen with the scent of muffins and freshly brewed coffee. It would mean leaving Shane.

Ilya would stay. Ilya would wear so many more bruises for Shane.

“I’m happy I’m like you, Mama,” he whispered at last. He snuggled closer to her warm shoulder, her perfumy scent.

He heard Mom chuckle softly. “Sleepy, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, eyes drooping. “Maybe, maybe you’ll feel better at Christmas, Mama. You love Christmas.”

Mom was quiet for a second, hands soft in Ilya’s hair. “Maybe,” she whispered at last.

For that moment, Ilya let himself be hopeful. “Stay, Mom,” he whispered, eyes closing shut.

But hope could be a fool’s errand.

Ilya had woken up a few hours later. He was tucked in his bed, where Mom had been laying cold to the touch. It wasn’t morning yet, but Mom woke up early sometimes.

He’d padded down the staircase. The piano bench had been put back in its place, but the parlour was empty. The kitchen, the front room, the foyer had been all empty. Padding back upstairs, he’d wondered if Mom was in the master bedroom, but the thought of seeing his father had been repulsive.

Then he’d found the door to the guest room ajar.

Then he’d found Mom.

Ilya didn’t know how he’d known at that moment, but one look at her and he could see she hadn’t been just sleeping.

He didn’t know whether he’d screamed or choked; whether it was five minutes or five hours before Andrei had found him.

All he knew, as he’d been carried out of the room, was that he hadn’t wanted to leave. Leave her there, all alone.

He never wanted to leave her.

***

The funeral was on Monday.

Sunday at dawn, Shane had woken up with a bad feeling. Overheated, he’d flailed around in his sheets. Then he’d heard the voices of people talking downstairs, and realized it wasn’t just a feeling.

He’d padded down the stairs quietly and found his parents by the door; they were still in their pyjamas, talking to their next-door neighbour.

“I heard his screams from all the way down here,” the neighbour had said with sorrow. “God. Poor boy.”

Shane had felt dread wash over him.

“Mom?” he’d tried to say but it’d only come out as a croak. He’d wished it was only because of the early morning and not the heavy feeling sitting on his chest.

Mom and Dad had turned to him at the same time. They’d had matching faces of grief.

“Shane,” Dad had whispered at the same time Mom had said with a clear voice, “Ilya is okay, sweetie. It’s– ” She had swallowed. “It’s Irina.”

Shane hadn’t understood for a minute. He could hear the voices outside in the street, could see the cars passing by their house to Rozanovs. He’d thought maybe it wasn’t too bad because he couldn’t hear any sirens. It was a slow realization that ambulances didn’t come for people already dead.

“Is she dead?” he’d whispered.

He’d felt his dad’s hand on his shoulder, and his mom kneeling in front of him. “Yes, Shane,” she said softly. “She’s dead.”

“We’re so sorry, buddy.”

They’d hugged him as he’d stood there and cried. He’d cried because he’d loved Irina. He’d loved the way she’d always worn the prettiest smile and he’d loved the way she’d watched Ilya as he told his stories all excited. Then Shane had sobbed harder, because who would take care of Ilya now? The father who was more of a commander than a dad? His cruel brother?

As the early rays of the morning had arrived, Dad had said he was going to see if there was anything they could do. Shane had wanted to beg him to take him along. He’d wanted to beg that someone, anyone let him see Ilya at that moment.

But he couldn’t. Not till Monday morning, in the Rozanovs’ church halfway between the town and the city.

There was no wake, no reception. Only a ceremony. The weather had been miserable, so there were only a handful of people from the town. Everyone else looked like they were Grigori’s people more than mourners who’d come for Irina. They shook Grigori and Andrei’s hands and didn’t spare one word of comfort for Ilya.

Ilya looked so… small. Ilya the boy with the big presence, wide-shouldered and too tall for his age, looked so small and lost and lonely among all these people. Even this far in the back of the church, Shane could see the dried tear tracks on his face, his trembling lip bitten down on in an effort to stop crying.

Shane wanted to run up to him. He wanted to hold him and tell him he was sorry, for his mother dying and for Shane not being there. Because despite what the Rozanovs said, Shane knew it wasn’t an accident. The adults whispered and Shane had heard Mom say just that morning ‘what a tragic death’ and he knew what tragic meant. Shane knew it wasn’t an accident like he had known it wasn’t the flu, and he’d been right there, right next to Ilya for weeks and he hadn’t understood. He was a horrible friend.

Scott Hunter came. His adoptive parents shook hands with the Rozanovs, and Shane watched as Scott stepped in front of Ilya, and they shared an understanding look. Like they were members of an exclusive club now.

Then it was Shane’s turn and when their eyes found each other, Shane wanted to sob. He wanted to crush Ilya to his chest and cry with him and hug him so tight and never ever let go. He didn’t. He had to be strong for Ilya.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he heard Mom say.

A fresh tear slipped Ilya’s eye. “Me too,” he croaked.

“Ilya…” Shane whispered, not knowing what else he could say at that moment. Or ever.

Ilya shook his head, like he couldn’t bear to hear what Shane would say. He squeezed Shane’s fingers, hand clammy and cold. “Thank you for coming.”

***

The next day at the breakfast table, Dad asked, “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

Shane pushed around the cereal swimming in his bowl. “I want to see Ilya,” he muttered.

Mom and Dad exchanged a look, then Mom put her hand on Shane’s wrist. “You will, baby.” She smiled. “He just needs a few days.”

Shane wasn’t sure how a few days could help. How any period of time could help Ilya right now when he was all alone in that huge house. It was so unfair that Shane couldn’t see him because Shane would know all the fun things Ilya liked to do and all the jokes he would laugh at and those wouldn’t bring Irina back but at least Ilya wouldn’t be alone.

Later that day, Shane broke up with Rose.

He’d been getting ready for school when the gift he’d bought caught his eye on his desk. It’d made his stomach roil, that come Friday, the last day before the Christmas break, he would be exchanging gifts with his girlfriend when Ilya was miserable in that big ugly house.

“Why?” was Rose’s reaction when he told her, her voice tiny in the empty classroom.

Shane just looked at his feet because in the way that he was a terrible best friend, he was also a terrible boyfriend.

“Is it me?” Rose asked.

“No,” Shane answered. Rose deserved better, she deserved so much better. “I just—” his gaze flickered to the empty seat in the back corner that Ilya usually sat on. “I have to take care of him now.”

There must have been something in his voice because the next thing he knew he was being hugged by her. She understood.

Shane handed her the gift but left before she could open it. It was a pair of stupid Christmas socks, and he wouldn’t wait even if it was the necklace. It didn’t matter.

Friday had arrived, the school got on break. Then it was Monday and it’d already been a week since the funeral. An entire week Shane hadn’t seen Ilya. He’d thought of just walking up to Rozanovs’ door so many times, but he chickened out every time in fear that maybe seeing him was the last thing Ilya wanted.

Wednesday was Christmas Eve, and it was the loneliest Christmas Eve of all time.

For the extended family of Hollanders, the actual celebration happened on the twenty-fifth and Shane and his parents drove up to his grandparents’ place every year. The twenty-fourth was for Ilya whose family didn’t celebrate Christmas, despite Irina loving the holiday. Every twenty-fourth, Shane and Ilya spent the day as their laziest day of the year, only playing video games and exclusively eating the goods of Dad’s Christmas baking. They exchanged gifts, but they did this silly thing where they wouldn’t open them till the next day, so Shane could open his with other gifts at his grandparents and Ilya could open his at the same time, despite them being miles away.

Like all those Christmas Eves, this one was supposed to be the best day of the year. Even snowstorms stopped, but it felt wrong somehow. That the snow calmed down and the town looked like a winter wonderland after Irina had left and when Ilya wasn’t here.

Shane had ended up spending the whole day reading, just to kill time, and with not much appetite for whatever Dad had brought him.

It was nearly midnight and way past Shane’s regular bedtime, and he was lying there in the dark when he heard the tapping on his window.

He looked up, wary, then he heard the tap again. Sliding from the bed, he carefully padded to the window and pulled the curtain.

“Ilya?” he uttered to himself in shock.

It was Ilya, even in the shadow there was no mistaking him. He was squatting on the flat roof of their back porch that Shane’s room looked over.

Shane opened the window. “Ilya?” he said again. “How, why?” He sputtered. “How?”

“Porch railing, porch column, porch roof." Ilya shrugged like it was all so normal that he’d climbed up to Shane’s window in December.

“It’s snowing!”

“It’s not snowing right now.”

“It’s still freaking dangerous!” Shane hissed.

“Can you let me in? It’s still freaking freezing!” Ilya hissed back.

Shane realized the cold entering the room and the way Ilya was slightly shivering. “Yeah,” he said, taking a step back.

Ilya stuck in one snowy boot, then other, then closed the window. He shook his head to let the snow fall, curls bouncing.

“Why didn’t you use the door?” Shane asked, turning on the lamp by his bed.

Ilya didn’t say anything for a second, undoing the laces of his boots. Then he shrugged, “I wanted to see only you.” He went to pull off the boots but hesitated, then he looked at Shane. “Look, I’m sorry I came, okay? I just can’t be at that house right now. Not when it’s Mom’s—” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Not when it’s Christmas,” Shane said with a nod.

“Yeah,” Ilya muttered, looking away. “Can I stay?”

Shane wanted to snap at him for even asking that. “Of course you can stay,” he said. “But shouldn’t we let him know?”

They didn’t have to say his name.

Ilya scoffed. “He won’t care. Believe me.”

“Okay." Shane nodded. Then he went on to straighten his sheets so they could sit. “Here." He gestured to Ilya and Ilya looked at him with the faintest of smiles. Shane wanted to keep it till it was in full bloom.

He wondered how Ilya was here now; Grigori didn’t like it when Ilya wasn’t home by a certain time. He wondered whether they had a big fight or if it’d been all tense silence between them. He wondered why Ilya was here now, sitting in the middle of Shane’s bed. Did he need someone to talk? Had he needed someone to talk all week? Or was he here to tell Shane off for not being there when he’d needed him the most?

Shane didn’t ask any of these questions as he gingerly sat across Ilya, their crossed legs touching each other.

This close, he could finally look at Ilya’s face. The tired lines, the ashen color. The gaze searching Shane’s face, but not looking him in the eyes.

“I like your hair soft like this,” he whispered at last, brushing Shane’s messy bangs out of his eyes.

Shane smiled. He tugged on a curl by Ilya’s ear. “I like your hair too, noodlehead.”

In the partial light of the room, Ilya’s hair looked dark, but Shane knew all the colors of it; the blonds and the golds, the chocolate and the copper.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

Ilya’s eyes finally locked with his. Shane hadn't expected to see it, but finding them without their usual mischievous glint still hurt something.

Ilya shook his head, then looked down. He cleared his throat, extending his legs on both sides of Shane and lounging back. “So,” he asked. “Did you give Rose Landry her gift?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. If Ilya didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t press. “I broke up with her,” he added.

Ilya’s gaze darted up to him. “You broke up with her?” He sounded surprised. “Why?”

Shane shrugged. “I don’t think I am good boyfriend material.” Like he wasn’t good best friend material either.

Ilya pursed his lips, about to say something, but he stopped. Then he asked, “What did you buy her anyway?”

Ugh.

“Socks,” Shane murmured.

“You went to the mall for socks?” Now he really looked confused.

“No,” Shane groaned, dropping his face to his hands. “They ended up being socks,” he mumbled.

Ilya didn’t say anything, then Shane felt a toe nudging him. “Did she dump you because you bought her socks? Be honest.”

He sounded… amused.

Shane couldn’t help but look at him through his fingers. “She didn’t dump me,” he grumbled. “Shut up.”

Ilya snorted. Then he laughed. It was all too familiar and too foreign, like Shane hadn’t heard that sound in forever. Shane would be dumped by Rose a thousand times to hear that sound forever.

Looking at Ilya’s face, the face he’d missed so much, twisted in even brief joy made him preen. He laughed with him.

“Shane,” Ilya said seriously a moment later. “I— I’m sorry about that day outside the hockey rink. I don’t think I’ve apologized for that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shane shook his head.

“No, it does. There was a lot. In my head.”

Shane wanted to laugh hysterically at that, that Ilya thought he should be the one apologizing. Nothing about that day or all those weeks was Ilya’s fault. It was Shane who had been a clueless asshole.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I shouted at you, so we are even.”

“Ugh,” Ilya groaned. “I can’t believe Hunter is playing on the first line.”

“You know, when I’ve said Scott has gotten really good lately, I’ve meant just that. It’s not that we got worse, he just got better. You're not on the third line cause you suck now, it’s just that Scott has really upped his game, and maybe we should also up our games but maybe also not because we're both already better than him and maybe—”

“Shane,” Ilya interrupted. “I get it.”

“Yeah,” Shane mumbled lamely.

Ilya’s toe nudged him again. His brows were raised. “We are both better than Scott Hunter, huh?”

“Duh,” Shane said with a smile. He glanced at the clock. “Oh, it’s past midnight. Do you want your gift?”

“Sure,” Ilya said, sitting up. “But I don’t have yours.”

Shane waved a hand, walking to his desk. “It’s okay, you can give it whenever.”

He pulled open the desk drawer and looked down at the two wrapped gifts. He grabbed the bigger package.

“Here,” he said nervously, putting it on Ilya’s lap as he sat down. He knew he wasn’t the best at giving gifts but no matter how stupid or plain bad they were, Ilya had always kept them. He’d said he liked them like a parent would love an ugly child. Shane needed him to really love this one.

“Here we go, you mean,” Ilya said jokingly, tearing the wrapping.

“It’s— I saw it on Best Buy,” Shane said immediately. “It’s not the best gift, I know. It’s stupid, but I know you loved the movie, and it was a fun day, so I thought…”

Shane had liked the idea at the time, but he wasn’t sure now. It was a DVD of 2 Fast 2 Furious. They’d watched the film in the city together, their moms taking them as a joint birthday gift. Ilya had been obsessed with the first film, so he’d been basically dancing on his feet, and hadn’t shut up once throughout the movie or afterward when he’d told Irina and Mom all about it.

He looked… forlorn now, looking at the gift.

Shane realized it’d been a horrible idea to remind the guy of the mom he’d recently lost.

“Do you hate it? I have a car air freshener too if you hate it.”

Ilya’s looked up at him, confused. “A car air freshener?”

“Yeah,” Shane nodded. “It's shaped like a 2003 Porsche Carrera GT. I looked for a Pagani Zonda C12-S Roadster because I know that’s your favorite, but I couldn’t find it.”

“You bought me a car air freshener?”

“Yeah. I can give that one if you hate the DVD.”

“I don’t hate the DVD,” Ilya said immediately, hugging it to his chest. “It’s… It was a fun day,” he said, voice a little strained. “Thank you. This is a great gift.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked, smiling.

“Sure, man,” Ilya said jokingly. “Better than anyone has ever expected of you, for sure.”

“Oh, piss off.”

Ilya chuckled, bumping his knee. “I want the air freshener as well.”

Shane grinned. “Okay.”

Ilya carefully placed his gift on the bedside table, then rearranged himself to lie with his head on the pillow. Shane lay down next to him. “You know what we should do for New Year's?” Ilya mused. “Get on a bus and go somewhere.”

“What?” Shane asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, like to the city or something,” he said seriously. “Not Ottawa, though. Toronto.”

“Toronto?”

“They have the best celebrations there.”

“You realize that’s like five hours away, right?”

“Yeah whatever. I’m not the one driving the bus,” Ilya shrugged. He looked at Shane and waggled his eyebrows. “I can get us into a club or something.”

Shane huffed. “You look old, but not that old, Ilya.”

“I’ll find us a party,” Ilya said with a wave of his hand.

Shane laughed. Ridiculous boy. “Yeah, so our parents can kill us.”

Just like that all the air was gone. Their smiles fell. Fuck.

“Sorry,” Shane whispered.

“It’s okay.”

They looked at the ceiling. It was so quiet for a long minute. Like it dawned on them just now how not-okay everything was and how no early-morning late-night joking was going to fix it.

“I don’t—” Ilya started. “I don’t want you to be mad at her,” he whispered. “She tried. She tried so damn hard—” His words broke, and Shane heard his shuddery inhale. That’s when he realized Ilya was crying. “I’d left her there. Every evening I’d spent here, I left her alone with him. I left her alone in that house. And I left her there in the guest room. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." His words turned into loud sobs, his body shaking with the pain of everything.

“No,” Shane said immediately, pulling himself up and pulling Ilya with him. He wanted to argue, to object, to make it so that Ilya didn’t cry. “No, Ilya. It’s not your fault,” he said fervently, feeling the tears on his own cheeks. “You’re just a kid.”

He shook his head, pulling Ilya to him. With Ilya’s every sob, he sobbed as well. He should've gone to him days ago. He should've known weeks ago. “God, I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry I was a horrible friend. I knew it wasn’t the flu and I knew you were upset. I just didn’t understand.”

Ilya pulled back, hazel eyes glinting with tears. “You’re not a horrible friend,” he sniffled. “You're my best friend. With Mom g-gone—” He took a shuddery breath. Then he gave him a watery smile. “With Mom gone, you're my favorite person.”

Shane choked out a sound and hugged him.

With a whimper, Ilya pushed his face into Shane’s neck. He sobbed and sobbed, and all Shane could do was caress the curls at his nape. The way he knew comforted Ilya, the way he knew Irina used to do. His fingers were clumsy, his movements unpracticed, but he would learn. He would learn to take care of him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll stay with you.”

Chapter End Notes

(tws: implied domestic abuse/child abuse. suicide.)

ilya won't have any use for that DVD in ten years but it's the thought that counts! (also DVDs were really cool gifts in early 2000s okay give shane some credit)

another song for this chapter was safe & sound by taylor swift and i cannot think of hunger games when i listen to it now

Chapter 3: butterflies

Chapter Notes

butterflies by MAX, thank you for naming this chapter

and thank you all for reading! for heated rivalry's third anniversary, i present you the longest single chapter of any game changers fic so far

as always, check the end notes for tws! enjoy!

August 2005

“Wake up already!”

A pillow was hitting him on the head. Repeatedly. He groaned, burrowing his face deeper in the mattress.

“Wake up!”

The pillow didn’t stop. He could sense the room was too bright, and the bed was too warm. The air was too thick with late August heat, sticking the hair on his nape with beads of sweat. Sadly, the state of being half-asleep was too sweet to leave behind just yet.

“Ilya!”

Ilya sighed.

Groaning, he turned around lazily and cracked one eye open. The room was indeed too bright. He mumbled something.

“What?” Shane asked. Ilya could see him now; looming over the bed like a pissed-off angel tasked with waking up mortals at unreasonable hours.

“It’s too early,” Ilya mumbled again.

“It’s not too early.”

He glanced at the clock by Shane’s bed. “It’s 9 am.”

“It’s 9:30.”

“It’s also August!” he groaned, pulling himself up grudgingly. “Summer. Summer break. We don’t have school.”

“You’d be late to school if you woke up at 9:30,” Shane said. He looked like he’d been up for at least a few hours, freshly showered and ready to make such a sunny day yet another episode of Trials and Tribulations of Ilya Rozanov by Shane Hollander.

Ilya let out another groan.

“Shut up and put on a shirt, idiot,” Shane said, throwing him something from the clean laundry basket. “And be downstairs in five.”

Ilya watched Shane leave the room, huffed, then put on the shirt. Shane’s clothes were tiny on him nowadays, but he didn’t mind. He yawned, stretched, cursed Shane for making him wake up at this hour, then lazily made his way down to the kitchen.

“Good morning, lazybutt,” Yuna greeted with a smile.

Ilya smiled back. If Shane looked like he was ready for the day, Yuna looked like she had already finished her run, and invented the Wi-Fi and conquered Constantinople while she was at it.

“Good morning,” he said sheepishly, taking the seat next to Shane on the kitchen table.

Sometime after Ilya’s mother passed away, it’d become like this. Ilya sneaked into Shane’s room every few nights a week. Yuna didn’t bat an eyelash when he came down the stairs. An extra plate waited for him on the kitchen table. They didn’t talk about it – except for Yuna hinting at how dangerous it could be to climb in the snow, so Ilya mostly didn’t do it in winters – and Ilya didn’t want to talk about it. It could only end in two ways; either with Yuna and David patting him on the shoulder and giving him a key so he could come anytime or with them telling him to stop doing it altogether. Ilya didn’t know which one would be more humiliating and tear-inducing.

“So, what are you boys up to today?” Yuna asked, putting a plate of hot toast on the table.

Shane grabbed one, dropped it, then blew on his hand. Idiot. “Hayden, Rose, and Jackie are coming over,” he said, reaching for the toast again. “We’re going to check each other’s schedules and read the course syllabi.”

Ilya’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “I told you yesterday.”

“Is this why you woke me up at ass o’clock?” he asked with a groan.

“Ilya,” Yuna warned.

“I woke you up at a normal o’clock but yes.” Shane rolled his eyes, spreading jam on his toast. “You knew it. We even bought snacks. I told you.”

Ilya huffed. “Yes, you did. And I made the decision to ignore it.” He reached for a toast — at a perfectly good temperature now. Then stabbed his knife in the butter. “I'm not staying.”

Shane’s head snapped from his breakfast. “What? Why?”

Ilya could swear that was almost a whine. He glanced at Shane, finding his eyebrows furrowed in that cute way, and his freckles crinkled behind the new glasses. Pink lips pursed into an almost pout. Strawberry jam on the pinched corner of his mouth.

He looked away.

“Shane,” he said, choosing to focus on the dark eyes instead. “You're having a study session before we’re even back to school.”

“It’s not a study session,” Shane objected. “It’s a preparation… party.”

“Alright,” Ilya said with an eyeroll.

Shane pursed his lips, then gave a sad sigh. “I found the syllabi for your classes as well.”

For a second there, Ilya felt really tempted to give in. Instead he said, “I’m sure you did,” with a sincere smile. He knew Shane only had his best intentions but there were only a handful of summer days left and Ilya couldn’t deal with yet another session of Shane's high school preparations.

He was obsessed. Literally consumed by the fact that they were starting high school. He'd changed his schedule a million times, called the guidance counselor at least thrice to Ilya’s knowledge, most likely memorized the curriculum, and made Ilya change his own schedule a million times as well. With one week left of August, Ilya couldn’t take it anymore. Especially if it involved hanging out with Hayden Pike.

“C’mon,” Shane whined again. “You like Rose and Jackie.”

“Exactly,” Ilya said with a grin.

“Ilya—”

The doorbell rang.

“Ah.” Ilya sighed in mock despair. “Interrupted by the bell. Go welcome your friends.”

Shane huffed and got off the table, throwing Ilya a death glare over his shoulder.

Yuna shook her head at Ilya, to which Ilya responded with a cheeky grin, getting up and running upstairs before Shane could come back with his three idiots.

It took him ten minutes to get ready in the bathroom and find clothes that he could actually go out in, and another five minutes of playing Snake on his phone to avoid Shane’s friends longer. Trying to suppress his millionth groan for the day, he finally went downstairs, finding Shane and his three musketeers on the back porch.

“I’m leaving,” he announced as he pushed the doors open.

“Hello to you as well, Ilya.” Rose waved from her seat; Jackie rolled her eyes.

Ilya gave them a wink.

“Where are you going?” Shane asked, turning around where he stood at the head of the table. He actually had printed out course syllabi in front of him, dear God.

“Out.”

“Ilya…” He was a tyrant, a despot. A prison guard with tanned freckled legs in his short shorts. Long summer hair and kitten scowl. Well, Ilya had done his time, and he was leaving.

“I’m gonna hang out with my cooler friends,” he said.

Shane's eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“Literally anyone else in this town. The grump at the local diner. That notorious old gossip. The town troubadour.”

Shane huffed. “Ilya.”

“Kyle and some other guys,” he answered with an eyeroll. “Probably Svetlana.”

“Oh.”

“The new girl?” Hayden Pike, unfortunately, made his presence known. “I didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

Ilya cocked his head to see Hayden clearer behind Shane. He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you know that all Russians know each other, Pike?”

Hayden just looked at him, brows furrowed. Then quietly he asked, “Really?”

“No,” Shane and Jackie said simultaneously.

Ilya sighed. “I understand why you three are doing this cause you are a bunch of nerds but why is Hayden here? He has one brain cell, and he uses that trying not to check out other girls. Sorry, Jackie.”

“What?”

Hayden huffed, getting to his feet. “At least I’m not the one who barely finished junior high.”

Shane spun around. Then sat on his chair. Ilya could see Rose pursing her lips in his peripheral. “Don’t be an asshole, Hayden,” Jackie muttered, pulling Hayden down.

Hayden looked sheepish. Then he sat down and mumbled a quiet, “Sorry, man.”

Ilya shrugged. He wasn’t wrong. Last year had been a shit show for Ilya, and the school had suffered the most. If it weren’t for Shane’s efforts to keep him on track, and his teachers’ willingness to accommodate him, he’d probably be repeating a year, and everyone knew it. After Mom, it just hadn’t felt like it mattered. If Ilya was being honest with himself, it still didn’t feel like it mattered.

“I’m leaving,” he said, clapping Shane on the shoulder.

Shane dragged his gaze away from Hayden and looked up at him. Ilya liked it better when his brows would knit in annoyance instead of concern like they did now. “Okay.” He nodded, then said, “Oh, you still have to call the coach. You bailed last week, and he still needs your new measurements.”

Ilya looked down at his feet. “Yeah. I will.”

He felt Shane pull at the hem of his shirt. He lifted his gaze and found those eyes and freckles and lips all smiling up at him.

“Skatepark tonight?” Shane asked in the most hopeful and equally reassuring way.

Ilya smiled. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Shane said with a grin, shuffling his papers on the table. “I’ll read your syllabi and tell you if there is anything exciting.”

“Okay.” Ilya laughed. “See ya.”

***

Push forward. Crouch down. Pop up the board. Jump. Spin the board. Kick down. Land. Push forward. Crouch down. Pop up the board. Jump. Spin the board. Kick down. Land.

Shane had been doing the same kickflip routine for about forever when he heard a whistle from the top of the ramp. Pushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes, he looked up. And smiled.

Ilya gave him a cheeky grin and a wave, then pushed himself down the slope. He was in an ollie stance and Shane thought he was going to do a kickflip when he pushed the deck of the board vertically till it started scooping around, the tail sweeping into and under the board.

Then he landed. The board scooped around his leg and leveled out just like that.

“What?!” Shane exclaimed. “When did you figure it out?”

Ilya rolled up to him, hair a mess and face flushed. “Just now.” He shrugged.

“Okay, Tony Hawk,” Shane said with an eyeroll. It was a trick they’d been trying to work out for months now, there was no way Ilya just got it.

“No, I swear.” Ilya huffed a laugh. “It just happened.”

Shane watched his face for a second. Then Ilya started laughing excitedly. “You just did an Impossible?” Shane asked at the same time Ilya started nodding. “I just did an Impossible.” His laughter got louder.

Shane started laughing as well. That was, well, impossible. “Okay, okay,” he said, hands clapped together in excitement. “Do it again.”

Ilya went up to the top of the ramp again, then came down. “Ta-daa,” he said, arms opened to both sides.

Shane narrowed his eyes. Then shook his head. “That wasn’t an Impossible.”

“What?” Ilya’s grin dropped. “Of course it was!”

Shane shook his head again. “That was a three-shove.”

“The board did the same thing!”

“Yeah, but your feet didn’t. Three shoves are popped and your back foot stays above the grip. Impossibles are scooped and they wrap around your foot." He picked up his board and sat on the edge of the ramp. “They are called Impossibles for a reason.”

Ilya huffed. “Okay, PhD in skateboarding. I still did it once, though.”

“Yeah,” Shane said – and it actually looked really fucking sick – and lay back on his elbows. “You are also late. I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“You’ve been waiting for twenty minutes tops,” Ilya said with an eyeroll, crouching next to Shane.

Shane still wasn’t used to this view. Ilya had always been bigger than him, always tall for his age, but now he was a giant. Sometime between that first Christmas Ilya had sneaked into his room and the beginning of this summer, the empty space in Shane’s twin-size bed had become too small for him. When he mimicked Shane and lay back, his legs stretched miles beyond Shane’s did. The golden crucifix he’d found in his mother’s belongings rested on a chest so much broader now. Shane knew that – Irina’s passing away – aged Ilya seemingly overnight in some ways, and now his body was catching up.

Shane’s wasn’t. Whereas Ilya had shot up like a beanstalk in the past few months, Shane stayed Shane. Barely an inch taller, voice still boyish, baby fat seemingly permanent on his face.

He sighed and looked up to the sky. Still bright with the last rays of the long summer day. A warm breeze swept over his cheeks.

He squinted. “Did you smoke?”

He knew for the past few months, maybe the entire past year, that Ilya had been smoking. They shared a bed more nights than not and the smell of cigarettes – and the occasional alcohol – wasn’t something Shane wouldn’t recognize.  

“How would you know?” Ilya asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I do this thing called smelling.”

“You smell me? Pervert!” Ilya tsked with mock revulsion. “What else do you do? Go through my underwear?”

Shane felt his face flush. “I’ll go through your head,” he gritted out.

Then he took a deep breath and looked down at his lap.

He had so many concerns about this because that was what Shane did; worry about things, worry about Ilya. It wasn’t just the smoking and the drinking either. Lately, it felt like Ilya just stopped… caring. About so many things. School, maybe even hockey. But anytime Shane wanted to open his mouth, he felt like an asshole. Who am I to tell him what to do, was what he told himself. And when Ilya reacted like this, all he could do was play along.

Still, most days, he couldn’t help the concern etched in his voice, on his face.

“So,” Ilya said, bumping him on the shoulder. “How was your nerd party?”

Shane stared at him and wanted to ask so many things. What he’d been thinking, what he’d been feeling. But Ilya carefree, doing whatever he’d been doing to keep his seemingly easy laughter and mischievous smiles, was worth so much more. It was worth all the anxiety tying Shane up in knots, leaving him with thoughts running wild in his head.

So, he just smiled.

“Preparation party,” he corrected Ilya. “We went over the syllabi. Jackie and I changed some stuff around in Hayden’s schedule. He had some subjects outside his… suitability, let’s say.”

“Hmm. Maybe you needed the course syllabus from the nursery.”

Shane forced a chuckle. He shoulder-bumped Ilya back. “What about you?”

“I was just around town with the guys,” Ilya said with a shrug.

Shane didn’t know who the guys were, except for Kyle Swift whose parents were a pretty big deal in the town and who’d been Shane’s one-sided academic rival since forever. Shane didn’t begrudge Ilya other friends, he himself hung out with Hayden and others all the time but he couldn’t help the iffy feeling in his chest anytime Ilya mentioned the guys. Ilya knew Shane’s other friends; all Shane had known about the guys was that they were involved in the aforementioned smoking and drinking.

Shane, again, didn’t say anything. Ilya continued, “Svetlana joined us later.”

There was also that.

Svetlana.

Shane pursed his lips. “You’ve been hanging out with her a lot.”

“Yeah,” Ilya said with a nod. “It’s nice to talk Russian with someone.”

“Good,” Shane said lamely because he didn’t know what else to say. He also didn’t point out how Ilya still had his father and brother to talk Russian with because they both knew what went in the Rozanov household could hardly be considered talking.

“Hey,” Ilya said excitedly. “Maybe I should bring her to Elena’s” – his voice went high on Elena’s – “party on Sunday.”

Shane thought that was the worst idea. He did the customary mimicking of Ilya’s voice crack, then schooled his features to not show that he thought that was the worst idea.

“Shut up,” Ilya said.

Shane didn’t know why he felt so… dismal about this. Elena Rygg was having a birthday party doubling as a celebration for the class of 2005 starting high school next week. Svetlana was going to be in their school, Ilya had told him, so she had every right to be at that party. Hell, it’d be good for her to meet them all before they were back in school.

Ilya coughed; Shane glanced at him.

“You know what she said today?” Ilya said quietly, like he was sharing classified information. “That she wants to hang out tomorrow.”

Shane stared at him.

“You know what I mean?” Ilya asked. Was he… blushing?

Shane shook his head. “No.”

“You know.”

Shane shook his head again. “I don’t think I do.”

“Hang out like.” Ilya waggled his brows. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Shane, while last to admit it, knew that he could be oblivious to most things. But he understood what Ilya meant. His head started spinning with million questions from “Do you mean sex?” because he still needed confirmation and “You are just fourteen!” which wasn’t a question at all. After brainstorming the size of a tropical cyclone, he settled on, “Are you sure?”

“Duh.” Ilya scoffed. “I know it when a girl means that.”

Shane wasn’t sure how Ilya knew it when a girl meant that seeing as he was still a virgin as of this second and he’d kissed only three more girls than Shane had. Which, admittedly, was zero but in Shane’s defense he’d been busy with other things. One second, they were all kids and Shane was planning his high school and university careers, the next, everyone was talking about kissing and the second base and the third base and going all the way. The last girl Shane had dated was Rose and that had been in junior high and lasted only one week. Shane felt like he’d got stuck a few steps behind while everyone else was grown up, doing grown-up business.

“And you know she's from Boston,” Ilya continued, oblivious to Shane’s thoughts. “It’s different in big cities.”

Shane wasn’t sure about the validity of that theory. Scott Hunter was originally from New York and Shane was sure that he wasn’t having sex yet. Not that Scott would go around announcing that but still.

“So, you are going out with her tomorrow?” Shane asked because he didn’t know what else to say.

Something must have shown on his face as Ilya grinned. “What?” he asked, flicking Shane on the cheek. “Did you have plans of tying me to a chair and recounting the life of Archimedes so I’m ready for that algebra class?”

“Archimedes wasn’t the one who discovered algebra, you idiot,” Shane said, trying to arrange his stupid features to show that he wasn’t bothered. Because he wasn’t. “And no, I don’t care. I have stuff to do with Hayden tomorrow anyway,” he lied.

“That’s where I’m changing the subject.” Ilya jumped to his feet and on his board, flashing Shane a smirk. “Wanna see me do another Impossible?”

Shane watched Ilya’s face for a moment. Just a moment. Then he smiled back and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna bet on who actually figures it out first? Not one on chance though. I mean mastering the trick.”

“Bring it.”

Neither of them had mastered the trick that night but they’d argued about the difference between Impossibles and three-shoves again for good measure – and no, they weren’t the same thing. The sky had become dark, the park had emptied, and they’d raced back home. Shane had won, throwing his hands in the air in triumph. And when Ilya had said he was going home instead of coming up, his mood hadn’t soured. It hadn’t.

***

The next morning Shane had woken up later than usual – it’d taken him an embarrassingly long while to fall asleep – and immediately thrown himself at work. He’d had readings to do for the first week of classes, calls to make, school errands to run.

He’d finished the readings, postponed the calls, and had been lacing up his sneakers to bike down to the stationary store when he’d remembered the lie he’d told Ilya yesterday. He’d fished out his phone and texted Hayden, telling him to meet him there.

“Didn’t you buy all this stuff a million years ago?” Hayden asked ten minutes later, awkwardly shifting the basket Shane had forced on him.

“I’ve realized I may need more colored pens than I’ve estimated,” Shane answered, eyeing the racks of school supplies in front of him. “Also sticky notes.” He reached for a packet of animal-shaped post-its. Ilya loved these ones with multiple colors and funny sayings on them, but Shane wasn’t thinking about Ilya right now.

“I guess,” Hayden muttered behind him.

Shane threw the post-its into the basket. His gaze moved to the colored pens again and he caught sight of himself in the mirror behind the shelves.

“Hey Shane—”

“Do you think I should keep my hair long?” he asked, passing a hand over his longish bangs.

“What?”

“And glasses.” He eyed the black frames on his face. “I don’t mind them, but they hide my freckles.” People loved his freckles; they might be upset about not seeing them clearly now.

“Sure, man, whatever.” Hayden shrugged. “Not like you often wear them in public.”

“Hmm.” He might need the glasses but perhaps he could let his hair grow. People loved long hair as well.

“Hey man.” Hayden fidgeted next to him. “Uhm, can I ask you something?”

That interrupted Shane’s inspection. Hayden, to his own disservice, wasn’t the type to consult people.

“Uh, sure,” Shane said with a raised eyebrow.

Hayden was twisting the hem of his shirt. “Sooo,” he said. “You know how me and Jackie are together?”

Shane tried not to roll his eyes. Hayden and Jackie had been together since before Shane could remember. Ilya often joked about how poor Jackie was probably forced into an arranged marriage situation. But Shane wasn’t thinking about Ilya right now.

“Of course, Hayden,” he said.

“Uhm.” Hayden’s gaze darted around. “We did something yesterday.”

Shane cocked his head in a question of what?

Hayden's eyes found his and his eyebrows rose.

Oh.

Ugh.

Not this again.

Did his best friends make a pact of taking this crucial step in life and not tell Shane about it? Because he felt really annoyed. Then he snorted, because Ilya and Hayden making a pact together.

“Why are you laughing, man?” Hayden asked with a frown.

Shane shook his head. “I’m not. Sorry. I’m all ears. What about it?” he asked but truthfully didn’t really care.

Hayden took a deep breath. “I think Jackie is pregnant.”

That, Shane cared.

“What?!” he shouted.

“Shh,” Hayden shushed, pulling him to a corner, gaze darting over his shoulder.

“What the hell, Hayden?!” Shane shouted again. Then whispered, “How?”

“I know,” Hayden wailed. “It’s horrible.”

Shane rubbed his temples. “Did you use a condom?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Hayden shook his head. “No.”

When Shane had decided to take a leisurely trip here with hopes of buying more highlighters than one person could ever need, he hadn’t signed up to deal with this. They were fourteen, for god’s sake!

He took a deep breath, mind already going a million miles an hour trying to figure out how to proceed with this – god knew Hayden was hopeless – then he frowned. “Wait,” he said. “You said you’ve done it yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“For the first time?”

“Yeah.” Hayden nodded miserably. “And she hasn’t been talking to me ever since.”

For fuck’s sake. “Hayden,” Shane said, not unkindly. “Have you considered any other options for why she’s not talking to you before jumping onto pregnancy?”

Confused eyes looked at him. “What else could it be, man?”

Shane inhaled, then exhaled. No use getting mad at his friend standing there between craft paper and birthday cards. “Maybe she got hurt. Or embarrassed,” he pointed out. “Maybe she hated it and she’s avoiding you.”

If Hayden looked worried a minute ago, now he looked downright horrified. “God,” he moaned. “I hope it’s not that.”

“Yeah,” Shane muttered drily. “Because that would be so much worse than teen pregnancy.”

Hayden nodded.

Shane opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind.

“Just talk to her, buddy,” he said instead, clapping Hayden on the shoulder. Now that he was pretty sure Jackie was not actually pregnant, he decided to just pay for his pens and sticky notes and leave Hayden to his thoughts.

Forgoing the haircut, he biked back home. He was planning to run up to his room and tell Ilya all about this as soon as possible – not that he was thinking about Ilya at the moment – when he found his parents standing around awkwardly in the living room.

“Hi Mom. Hi Dad,” he said.

“Shane!” Dad exclaimed. “Hi!”

Shane raised an eyebrow. That was weird.

“Hi, sweetie.” Mom smiled, all too normal in contrast. “Can you come sit with us for a moment? We want to talk about something.”

Shane walked into the living room. “Is this about the advanced English class?” he asked. “Because I was planning to call the guidance counselor today and tell her that it can actually work with my schedule but then I realized it’s a Saturday. She probably doesn’t want to be called on a Saturday.”

“No. No, Shane. It’s not about school,” Mom said, sitting down on the loveseat, pulling Dad down with her.

“You always have school figured out, buddy.” Dad smiled.

“So what is it?” Shane asked suspiciously, taking the seat across them.

For a second, he wondered if it was about Ilya. And the unspoken arrangement they all had. Shane rarely objected to his parents, but if it came to it and they asked Ilya to stop coming over after midnight, Shane would protest. Ilya did it because he needed someplace where he felt safe. Shane did it because, well, he needed to make sure Ilya felt safe.

Mom clasped her hands over her knees, giving him a reassuring smile. It didn’t make Shane feel reassured. “Honey,” she started. “We all know you are not a kid anymore.”

“Can’t believe he’s starting high school in four days,” Dad murmured with a wistful headshake.

“David.”

“Sorry.”

Was Shane dying and no one had told him yet? What the hell?

Mom smiled that creepy smile again. “And we know you’re now at an age where boys and girls start noticing each other.”

Oh no.

“And your body is changing,” she continued. Oh no.

Shane almost fell out of his seat trying to get up. This was not happening. “Oh no,” he said out loud, plugging his ears with both hands and starting a tuneless rendition of ”La la la la la la la!”

“Shane.”

“No Mom,” he cried. “We have health class! I know all these! Just no.” He shook his head, chanting louder.

His mom walked up to him, and Shane saw more than hear her say his name. “Shane.”

“Mom.”

“Shane.”

“La la la la la!”

“Shane.”

“Mom.”

“Shane!”

“Mom,” he wailed, finally pulling his hands away.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” Mom said, pushing him back to the sofa.

With a plaintive cry, Shane sat back down. With a pleased smile, Mom sat back across him.

“Time will come, Shane,” she started again like Shane hadn’t just become an off-key caroller in the face of this morbid reality. “And you will have a girlfriend.”

“Or a boyfriend,” Dad added.

“And you will want to have intercourse,” Mom said.

God, this was horrifying.

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t ever say that word.”

“Okay, you will want to have sex then.”

“Mom!” he cried. Why did everyone, including his parents, suddenly want to talk about sex?!

“And we want you to be prepared for that.”

“I told you,” Shane muttered, gaze darting on the carpet. “I know all this stuff.”

“It’s our duty as your parents, Shane.”

Shane looked up with squinted eyes. “You know what,” he said. “I’m pretty sure the number of parents who actually force their children to listen to this talk is pretty low.”

“Well, we are better parents than most, then,” Mom said with a shrug.

Dad chuckled, shifting awkwardly. Shane found camaraderie in the fact he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable here. Then Dad had to go ahead and shatter Shane’s trust. “Look, buddy,” he said in his tutor voice. “I know you know the sperm and egg and the baby part of this very well. But if you need information on condoms and lube—”

“We can buy some this week—”

“No." Shane got to his feet again. This was enough. He’d heard more than he’d ever wanted to. “I appreciate you guys doing this, I swear I do,” he said, despite all three of them knowing that Shane could happily live forever without this talk. “But it is extremely embarrassing to listen to you guys right now. And I know most of this stuff already, okay?” His parents didn’t affirm it was okay, so he added, "And now I know I can ask you anything if I have questions.” All three of them knew Shane was never asking them questions. “I love you,” he finished awkwardly.

“Aww,” his parents cooed simultaneously, and Shane got this feeling that they’d actually got some kind of twisted joy out of this.

“We love you too, sweetie.” Mom got up, smiling at him. With this out of the way, Shane could see it for its genuineness now. Dad followed suit, ruffling his hair. Then Shane found himself pulled into a massive Hollander hug.

Twisted joy or not, he knew he lucked out with this pair.

***

“Keep your throwing hand higher!”

“I’m telling you. I know how to bowl.”

“Just keep it higher when you finish! Shoulder level!”

Ilya released the ball, allowing his throwing hand to finish above his shoulder. The ball rolled towards the pins, and knocked down all ten of them.

“Strike,” Svetlana sang in his ear.

“Huh,” Ilya said. Okay, maybe the ending position was important to the ball’s trajectory.

“You’re lucky I’m teaching you,” Svetlana said, tilting her head towards the scoreboard. It was 154-112 for her.

Ilya raised both his hands. “Okay, I accept it.” He sighed. “I’m not as good a bowler as you.”

Svetlana chuckled at that, grabbing a new ball from the rack. “You realize this is not even real bowling, right?” She spun around the ball in her hand. “These are duckpin balls, and those lanes are scaled-down.”

Ilya huffed, sitting down on the bench. “What made you think we’d have a full-sized bowling alley in this town?”

Svetlana shrugged, a small smirk on her face. “I was hopeful I guess.”

“Well, that’s Snowbury for you,” Ilya said, gesturing around the town’s crap of an arcade. “Where we have multiple spas and nail salons, but not one decent bowling alley.”

Pushing her long blonde hair out of her face, Svetlana looked at him. Then asked, “Do you hate it?”

“What?”

“The town.”

Ilya shrugged. “I grew up here.”

Svetlana sauntered over, sitting next to him. “That’s not what I asked.”

Ilya thought for a moment. Then he shrugged again. “I don’t hate it.” He didn’t. Most of his life that he could remember had been in this place. Almost a decade now.

“But you want to leave right,” Svetlana asked. “That’s the plan?”

“Yes,” he said, getting up and moving to the ball rack.

That he didn’t have to think about.

Leaving was the plan. The only plan.

Shane had wanted to do what his father did since before he’d understood what it was. Ilya still didn’t but he knew it meant Shane would depart this town, even for a little while. He’d want to be, need to be, in a big city with universities with sprawling campuses. Somewhere filled with people as smart as him, maybe even law school afterward. Toronto, Montreal. Hell, maybe somewhere outside of Canada. So, leaving was the plan, the only plan, because Ilya would go with him. Anywhere. They whispered it too often in the safety of Shane’s bedroom that the alternative didn’t even exist.

What he didn’t know was how he’d do it; what path he could pave for himself that it always ran alongside Shane’s.

He touched the smooth surface of a ball midnight black, and exhaled. No reason to worry about it just yet, he told himself. No reason to worry is how he kept together in the past year and a half. No reason to worry just yet, he’d figure it out.

“One day,” he told Svetlana.

“Need to finish high school first,” she said. Ilya could feel her behind him.

“Need to start high school first,” he replied with a chuckle.

“I’m really excited to see this tiny school of yours,” she said, standing next to him now. “Do you guys share one desk three students?”

“Ha ha,” Ilya said drily but couldn’t help his smirk. Svetlana was fun, and funny, and gorgeous in all the ways Ilya loved. She was also easy to talk to because Ilya missed Russian. Something about it all made him feel like he could tell her almost anything. That was why he admitted next, “I’m not really looking forward to it.”

“You’re not?”

Ilya shrugged. Shane had all these great ideas about high school. How to best choose your classes for what you want to do in the future. How to make the best out of your extracurriculars. How crucial to alternate your schedule between important subjects and fun subjects. To Ilya, none of them, nothing about them, felt important or fun.

“Are you religious?” Svetlana asked.

“What?” Ilya said, surprised by the unrelated question.

Svetlana nodded towards his chest. “The crucifix.”

Ilya realized he’d been twisting the cross. He dropped his hand. “It was Mom’s.”

Svetlana didn’t say anything. She knew. “So are you?” She just pressed on. “Religious?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“My dad is,” Svetlana mused. Ilya’s father was as well, depending on what one considered a person of faith. “You know,” Svetlana continued. “He’s seen you before.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Your dad?”

“Yeah. A few months ago. When he first came here to check around town. He watched a bantam hockey game. He said there was a really good Russian guy.” Svetlana smirked, touching his arm. “He said you’re good enough to make pro.”

Ilya swallowed, looking back at the row of bowling balls.

He’d thought so too once. After Mom had passed away and he hadn’t known what else to do. For that half a hockey season where he’d thought it could be his ticket out of under his father’s thumb and out of here. He hadn’t entertained grand dreams like NHL, but he knew he could play and earn money in any other league.

Then it’d got too much. It’d become a chore. He’d looked at all the other guys and Shane following that puck around with pure joy on their faces, and he’d felt like a phony. An imposter acting like putting on those skates every day was still fun.

Shane kept telling him to call the coach for this season but both Ilya and the coach knew that he wasn’t coming back. That match Svetlana’s father had seen had been one of the last ones he’d ever played.

“So, are you?” Svetlana brushed his wrist.

“Eh,” Ilya said. Then he looked back at Svetlana and added. “I’m quitting.”

“What?” She sounded surprised, rare coming from her.

Ilya shrugged. He hadn’t even told Shane about this yet. “I don’t like it anymore. Too much effort.”

He moved to pick up a ball because he wanted to be done with this conversation. Weren’t they supposed to be having fun?

Svetlana wrapped a hand around his wrist. Ilya looked back.

She watched his face for a moment, with an expression Ilya didn’t want to recognize as pity. Then, she cracked a smirk. “You, Ilya Rozanov,” she said. “Are kinda stupid.”

Ilya huffed a surprised laugh. Svetlana was nothing if not direct. That’d been the first thing Ilya had noticed about her. Well, the second thing, because Ilya was a teenage boy and Svetlana had legs for days.

“Thanks,” he said drily, then dropped the ball. “Let’s do something more fun.”

Svetlana raised an eyebrow, then grinned. “You know,” she said conspiratorially. “I have a really good idea.” Now, they were talking. Then she added, “What’s the fastest way we can get to the city right now?”

***

Elena Rygg’s house was huge.

It was a giant Georgian-style mansion overlooking the river, illustrative of the fancy job her mother had in that fancy tech company, astounding Shane every single time he saw it. With an equally astounding pool in the backyard, presently hosting the cacophony of twenty-something teenagers Shane could hear before he even reached the front door.

Upon entering, he was met with a giant table in the middle of the living room, with gifts stacked on top of each other. He decided to drop his humble package and follow the sounds to the backyard when he got startled by Elena.

“Oh, Elena, hi,” he said with a smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks!” Elena answered, grabbing the gift in his hand and putting it on the table. Then turned back to Shane.

Well, that was all Shane had. Elena was more Rose and Ilya’s friend than his. He didn’t know what else to say. Looking around, he muttered, “Uhm, cool house.”

Elena laughed. “You’ve been here before, Shane.”

“Yeah." He rubbed his neck.

“Relax,” Elena said with an eyeroll. “No reason to be tense. My parents are not even here.”

Shane raised his brows. “They're not?”

“Nope. It’s not just a birthday party, you know? It’s kind of like a coming off age thing for all of us, so they left the house as long as we behaved.” She giggled in a way that Shane could only call mischievous. “We’ll just eat our cake and drink pop.”

Shane nodded. Then asked, “Hey, is Ilya here yet?”

Shane had tried not to bother Ilya yesterday, because of the Svetlana thing, but he’d send some texts that remained unanswered. He’d also stared at his damn window till two o’clock in the morning, just in case, but Ilya hadn’t shown up.

“No,” Elena said, then gestured to the doors opening to the backyard. “But Rose and others are by the pool.”

“Thanks,” Shane murmured. He could see Rose and Jackie lounging together.

Before he could make his way to them, loud voices erupted by the front door. Shane looked across the massive living room to see Ilya come in with Kyle and a tall blonde girl who he could only assume was Svetlana.

Ilya saw him and grinned. He sauntered into the room, hands busy with plastic bags.

“Heeey,” he sang.

“Hi,” Shane said back. “Where have you been? You didn’t answer my texts.”

“Sorry, my phone died yesterday.”

Shane frowned. He could have answered his texts this morning then. “So, where were you?” he asked again.

“Out and around." Ilya shrugged, looking annoyingly giddy.

“Yesterday?”

Dammit. He didn’t care about yesterday. He didn’t think about yesterday.

“Yes, yesterday.” Ilya said with a squint. Then he smirked. “Aw, Shane,” he said. “You know what curiosity did to that little kitten.”

“I’m not curious." Shane scoffed, ignoring the heat rushing to his face. “I just had a weird day yesterday and you didn’t come.” He realized what he’d said and added, “Don’t!” before Ilya could even waggle his brows.

Ilya just cackled. Shane could literally feel the color on his cheeks.

“So, where’s Elena?” Ilya asked, looking around. Whatever he had in the plastic bags made clinking sounds.

Shane narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”

Ilya pursed his lips, then slowly smiled. He showed Shane the contents.

Shane shrieked, “You sneaked alcohol to Elena’s party?!”

“Yeah,” Ilya said.

“Ilya!” he sputtered. “Where did you even get it?”

“Kyle.” Ilya shrugged, pointing towards the door. And there was Kyle, laughing with Kip Grady, as always looking like a whole different person outside of school. “He knows a lot of people.”

Shane gazed back at Ilya. “Ilya…”

“Relax, Shane.” Ilya rolled his eyes. “It’s just beer and wine coolers, it’s barely alcohol.”

Shane didn’t relax.

Ilya sighed, putting the bags on the gift table and clapping Shane on the shoulder. “Look,” he said. “Can you not tell Yuna and David about this?

Shane scoffed. “Contrary to what you believe I’m not a tattletale.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow.

“…I just don’t like lying to my parents.”

“It’s not lying. It’s omitting certain information.”

“Yeah. That’s called lying by omission.”

“Shane." Ilya sighed. “Can we just have fun?”

Shane curled his lips and looked around. Then focused back on Ilya and huffed. “What about Elena?”

“Rozanov!” Like summoned, Elena appeared by the back doors.

“Birthday girl!” Ilya grinned. Then waved a plastic bag.

“You brought it! You mad man!”

Ilya just cackled, grabbing the bags and dancing over to Elena.

Okay, Shane hadn’t realized literally all of his friends were on a different frequency now.

Just as he was about to follow them – to make sure that everyone stayed safe and sane – someone stepped next to him.

“Oh,” Shane said, feeling awkward immediately. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Svetlana said, giving him a smirk eerily like Ilya’s. “You must be Shane.”

“Yes,” he said, smiling up at her. She was tall. And outrageously pretty. Not his type, though. “And you’re Svetlana, right? Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Svetlana said, then turned her gaze to the pool.

Shane just nodded. Okaaay.

Silence hung awkwardly for a minute, then Svetlana snorted. “He’s ridiculous.”

Shane followed her gaze and chuckled. Ilya was mouthing along to Destiny’s Child and attempting a very elaborate choreography by the pool, forcing two other guys to join him. “He is,” Shane said, shaking his head. This was why he could never actually get mad at him. “He should have all the fun he wants now. He’ll be busy once it’s September.”

Svetlana huffed a laugh. “Yes. Probably not as busy as you, though, what with him quitting hockey.”

Shane’s head snapped to her.

“I’m sorry," Svetlana said, eyes wide. “I didn’t realize it was a secret.”

Shane looked back at Ilya. Then he marched up, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him out of whatever damn dance move he was in the middle of.

“Hey!” Ilya yelped.

“You’re quitting hockey?” Shane asked, pushing Ilya against a secluded tree.

Ilya dropped his head. “Shane...”

“You’re really quitting hockey?” Shane fumed. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Ilya’s gaze darted up to the pool behind him. “Look, can we talk about this later?”

“What else?” Shane pressed on. “You’re dropping out of school? You know that’s a crime right, your father can be arrested for that.”

“Yeah.” Ilya rolled his eyes. “Like that would be the most serious thing my father can be arrested for.”

Shane took back what he said about not being able to get mad at Ilya. He was mad. He was really mad. And not just because Ilya was quitting hockey.

“You told your girlfriend of what – one day? – before you told me?”

“Sha—"

“You know what?" Shane put a hand on Ilya’s mouth, then dropped it. “I’m not talking to you. For months, I’ve been trying to—” He exhaled. “No, I will find Hayden and the others.”

Then he stormed off, not wanting to see Ilya. Not wanting to see Svetlana or, truthfully, any of his own friends either. Of course, that was when Hayden had to appear in front of him.

“Shane!” he shouted. “Shane! I talked to Jackie. She didn’t hate it!” he said with a wide grin. “Oh, also she’s not pregnant. Turns out we didn’t even have the kind of sex that can get someone pregnant.”

Shane frowned, then shook his head. “Congrats, Hayden,” he just said. He was not in the mood to refresh Hayden on his sex education.

Hayden whooped. “I’ll drink one of Rozanov’s beers to that!”

Shane paused.

“You know what?” he said slowly, eyes narrowed. “Me too.”

***

Elena had sworn — threatened — everyone into secrecy about the drinks Ilya and Kyle had brought. Everyone had been too happy, and curious, to object.

Everyone, to Ilya’s utter shock, had included Shane. When Ilya had finally tracked him down, he’d been standing next to Rose and Jackie with a beer can in his hand. The view had been so weird, so unexpected that Ilya had sputtered, “You’re drinking?”

“Yes,” Shane had snapped with so much ire that Ilya had had to reel back.

They’d done regular birthday things. Eaten cake, opened gifts, listened to pop music on iTunes. But Ilya couldn’t keep his gaze away from Shane. It wasn’t like he’d been going crazy, that wasn’t built into Shane’s hardware, but he’d drunk. One beer, then a second.

Because they were a bunch of teenagers drinking secretly as they'd snickered, someone had thrown out there the idea of drinking games. Ilya had rolled his eyes but joined the others around the circle in the middle of the living room. In his peripheral, he could see Shane sitting between Hayden and Rose, only a few bodies away from him.

Someone had dared Kyle to call their former principal and tell him what a piece of shit he was in Spanish. Elena had asked Jackie who he’d thought was the most attractive boy in the room and Ilya had showered in the sounds of Hayden Pike’s cries when Jackie had chosen him. When it was his turn, Svetlana had put a pint of beer in his hand and told him to knock it down at once. All the while, Ilya had just watched Shane from the corner of his eye.

He was still watching Shane when Rose said, “Let’s play something different.”

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Elena shouted across from him.

“Nooo,” Ilya groaned. “That's so boring. It’s just a game of waiting.”

“Well, I want to,” Elena said.

“I thought this party was for all of us.”

She shrugged. “I’m still the birthday girl.”

There were sounds of discussion, sighs, groans, claps, then it was decided that they’d play seven minutes in heaven.

“Okay, who is going first?” Elena asked.

“You,” Ilya said. Whoever picked the game went first, it was a universal rule.

“Well, you’re the birthday girl.” Kip Grady, Elena’s best friend, giggled next to her.

Elena rolled her eyes but got up, walking to the closet by the entrance. Then she turned around and warned, “Make a good choice.”

Ilya chuckled under his breath.

Then, slyly, he turned to one guy who’d been quiet for most of the evening. He smiled, eyebrows raised.

“Me?!" Scott sputtered.

Ilya nodded.

“Me?” Scott asked again, looking around the room. Everyone seemed relatively amused by Ilya’s choice. “Why?”

Because Hunter was the funnest person to bother after Shane, all earnest and bashful, and there was no way Ilya was sending Shane.

“You heard the girl,” Ilya said with a grin. “You are the goodest of us all.”

Behind Scott, Shane scoffed. Ilya's gaze moved to him before he could stop himself.

Their eyes found each other and Shane was glowering at him, dark eyes piercing behind the glasses. His cheeks were flushed with the summer heat, alcohol, and anger. And his pink lips twisted in one corner.

Ilya looked away.

“Come on Hunter,” he said to Scott.

Scott blushed furiously, but finally got up, trudging to the closet.

As Ilya had expected, once Scott was gone, it was just a matter of waiting. Few conversations started around him, and some kids were trying to snort the wine coolers out of their noses. Hayden was pestering Jackie about choosing Ilya in the previous game, Svetlana watching them like an interesting documentary. Across from Ilya, Kip Grady was looking down at his lap.

Seven minutes later, Elena and Scott came out, both blushing and avoiding each other’s eyes, and everyone started hollering and whistling. Kip stood up abruptly, stepping out of the circle with a mumble of “Bathroom.”

Huh.

Once it was back to relative quiet, Kyle asked. “Who is next?”

“Shane!” Elena shouted immediately.

“No,” was out of Ilya’s mouth before he even realized it. He hoped it was low enough but of course, Shane had heard him.

“Why no?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Ilya shrugged. Shane didn’t deserve his first kiss to be in a stupid game of kissing. “I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

“Maybe I want to,” Shane said chin up.

Ilya raised both hands in the air. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe you want to.”

Shane scowled, getting to his feet in one swift move and stomping to the closet.

Ilya watched him go, lips pressed together.

Then he turned back to the others and found pairs of mischievous eyes all looking at him. He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

***

The closet felt more like a walk-in dressing room than anything else. It was deep, with built-in shelves of coats and jackets and shoes and one chandelier giving off a dim light.

Shane sat on the floor with his back against a cabinet. He crossed his arms over his chest.

He couldn’t believe Ilya’s audacity. Who was he telling Shane what he wanted or not when he himself hadn’t even thought about sharing important life decisions with him? When every day he went off with people Shane didn’t know, to places where Shane could never reach him?

The beer had made him feel sick, he decided. The beer, and the guilt over drinking it in the first place, and whatever Ilya had been doing.

The doors to the closet opened.

“Oh, fuck no!” Shane cried.

“They thought it’d be funny." Ilya shrugged, entering the room.

“It’s not.” Shane scoffed. “There’s no way I’m kissing you.”

“Good, because I'm not kissing you.” Ilya scoffed back, then came close and crouched next to Shane. Because of course he did.

Shane stared at the shoe closet across him, pretending he couldn’t feel Ilya’s eyes on him. A few moments later, he heard him ask. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Are you mad?”

Shane didn’t say anything, because, well duh, he was.

“Shane...” Ilya sighed. He sounded so dejected that Shane was tempted to look back for a second. Then Ilya whispered, “I just can’t do it anymore.”

Shane pressed his eyes closed, then looked at Ilya. “I know,” he said.

He’d had a feeling about it for so long; since the first time Ilya had smiled at him on ice but it hadn’t reached his eyes. It would be a lie to say Shane hadn’t seen it coming. It was so out of his control that he wanted to scream in frustration.

He knew he wasn’t equipped to solve all of Ilya’s problems, but he still wished he’d told him. “I’m upset that you told Svetlana before me I guess,” he admitted.

Ilya gave him a tiny smile. “You know she’s not my girlfriend, right?”

“Oh.” Shane hadn’t known. “I thought, after you two…” he trailed off, feeling the blush on his cheeks.

“No, it’s just for fun,” Ilya said with a shrug. Shane didn’t know whether that made him feel better or worse. And he didn’t know why it mattered. Ilya bumped him on the shoulder. “Are you jealous?”

Shane’s head snapped up. “What?!”

“Are you jealous that I had sex before you?”

Oh. He meant that, of course.

“No, Ilya. I’m not jealous.”

Ilya suppressed a smile. “I don’t know if you realized but you have a bit of a competitive streak so…”

“I’m not jealous about that.” Shane scoffed. Well, he wasn’t jealous about anything.

Ilya snickered under his breath. Then hiccupped. Then looked at Shane with wide eyes. “I have bubbles in my stomach,” he said with glee.

Shane watched him, then chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “You literally have bubbles in your stomach.”

“So many bubbles,” Ilya said with a shake of his head then started laughing. “So many fucking bubbles.”

Shane let out a giggle because it was so stupid, and Ilya was laughing like crazy now, face in hands, shaking his head. He chortled so loud that Shane’s giggles became full-on laughter.

“I think I’m a little drunk,” Shane admitted. He knew he was drunk; he wasn’t stupid. His stomach tightened. “And sick.”

Ilya’s laughter quietened. “Are you okay?”

Shane nodded. He didn’t think he was going to vomit. He just felt weird. He smiled at Ilya, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Ilya touched its bridge. “I like your glasses.”

Shane looked at him. “Fuck off."

“No, I mean it,” Ilya said, dropping his hand. “They are cute.”

Shane had felt blood rushing to his face so many times tonight, but he couldn’t help but think this felt different.

“Okay,” Ilya said, turning towards him. “I’ll give you a secret. Just for you.”

“A secret?” Shane raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. But promise not to tell anyone.”

“What is it?” Shane asked.

“Promise." Ilya poked him.

“Okay, I promise,” Shane said with an eyeroll.

Ilya leaned towards him, gaze intent. “I think,” he whispered. “I’m drunk too.”

“Oh fuck off.” Shane scoffed, shoving him away.

Ilya cackled in that ugly way Shane loved so much. He couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Okay, okay,” Ilya said, sobering up. “A real secret.”

Shane huffed in disbelief.

“I swear,” Ilya said. “Just promise not to tell anyone.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “I promise,” he said, waiting for whatever stupid joke Ilya had, but Ilya just stared at him. “Come on,” Shane said. “What other dumb thing you have to say?”

Ilya tucked on his lip. Then started undoing the buttons of his ugly Hawaiian shirt.

“You’re so stupid,” was Shane’s immediate reaction when Ilya pushed the shirt out of the way. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

There, on Ilya’s left pec, was a grizzly bear, snarling at Shane.

“What is this?” he asked with contempt.

“A bear,” Ilya answered as if that was what Shane was asking. “For Russia, I guess.” He shrugged. “Svetlana took me to the city yesterday. There was this giant Russian guy doing tattoos and everything.”

He mumbled off at the end. Good, at least he had the decency to feel pretty stupid about this.

“Svetlana?” Shane asked. “Did she get one too?” Did they have matching bear tattoos for Russia now? Because Shane wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“No,” Ilya muttered, looking down at his lap. “She made me go first, then bailed.”

Shane huffed. Then snorted. Then broke into the loudest laughter of his life. He laughed for so long that he thought those seven minutes must be up. “Aahhh,” he wheezed. “I think I love Svetlana now.”

Ilya looked at him, annoyed, but Shane could see his suppressed smile.

He leaned closer, reaching out a hand and tracing the fresh tattoo over the cling wrap, careful not to touch it. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

“Stupid,” Shane murmured softly. It was. But it also somewhat fit Ilya. Tough and fierce, but also full of life, a little silly.

Ilya whispered, “Do you wanna hear a third secret?”

Shane looked up, finding Ilya staring at him intently. “I didn’t know you kept so many things from me,” he said. “Okay, what’s your third secret?”

Ilya shook his head. “No word, no secret.”

Shane huffed, a little annoyed, a little fond. “I give you my word that I won’t tell anyone, Ilya. What’s your secret?”

Ilya’s gaze darted around the room, then he looked back at him. “With Svetlana, it was a bit awkward,” he said, rubbing his neck. “I mean, it was nice. But also very very awkward.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked.

Ilya nodded. He looked so embarrassed and confused that Shane wanted to wrap him in his arms.

“I think things are supposed to be a little awkward at this age,” he told him.

Ilya smiled. “Yeah, smartie?”

“Yeah." Shane smiled back.

Then it was silent, both of them leaning against the cabinet, not saying anything. There was something so reassuring about how tension never stayed long between them. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

God, the alcohol.

“We should drink water once we get out of here,” Shane blurted. “Mom is too perceptive to not realize tha—”

“Shane.” Ilya put a hand on his knee. “It’s okay.”

Shane breathed. “Okay.”

Then he started laughing again.

“Why are you laughing?” Ilya asked, amused.

“I don’t know.” Shane shook his head, still giggling. “I feel weird and silly.”

Shane understood why people drank this stuff, it clearly wasn’t for the taste, but the way butterflies fluttered in his stomach was very pleasant.

“Hey Shane,” Ilya said with a grin. “Do you wanna hear—”

“Don’t say another secret.” Shane rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“One more,” Ilya said, putting one finger to his nose. “Last secret.”

Shane sighed. “Okay.”

“Promise.”

“Ilya!”

“Come on,” Ilya moaned, eyes glinting with humor. “This one can ruin my reputation.”

“Okay, okay.” Shane shook his head. “We wouldn’t want your reputation to be ruined. Promise.”

Ilya leaned into his space; eyes crinkled in the corners. He whispered, “I think you’re really good-looking.”

Shane huffed a surprised laugh. What?

Ilya’s smile was so sweet, so genuine, when he continued. “I know you compare yourself to me and others sometimes. How we look, what we do. But you have no reason to be insecure.”

Shane swallowed hard; he didn’t know what to say.

Then there were voices outside, drawing both their attention. “Time's up!” someone yelled. “What are you guys still doing in there?”

Ilya turned back to him, ignoring the cacophony. “You’re very handsome, Shane.” He smiled. “Even more handsome than me.”

Then the weirdest thing happened. One second Shane was searching for words to say, the second Ilya’s lips were at the corner of his mouth, brushing faintly. Soft as the flutter of a butterfly, unfurling all Shane’s senses. Ilya soft-lipped, sunny, and warm; there and gone before Shane could even react.

In the back of his mind, Shane saw the light from the entrance, heard the noises, Ilya’s cheerful voice mixing with his friends. His mind was trying to calculate the distance between the center of his mouth and where he felt Ilya’s lips, comparing it to the distances of every other point Ilya had kissed him before.

But they were all secondary. Because what Shane had felt here and now was the flutter in his stomach and the tingle on his lips. Left by Ilya’s lips. Not on his forehead or nose or cheek, but there at the corner of his mouth.

Chapter End Notes

tws: any trigger warnings canon complaint, implied underage sex, underage drinking and smoking, implied depression

yes, ilya knows the entire choreography to lose my breath by destiny's child and shane finds shopping for stationary relaxing.

(the second song for this chapter was heather by conan gray just for the lyrics "why would you ever kiss me?" lol)

Chapter 4: just a silly phase

Chapter Notes

FINALLY! this chapter has been my trouble child but i don't hate the end product, hope you guys enjoy it as well! but before you go, there is a itty bitty tiny spoiler from the TLG preview chapters that i don't think you'd even recognize as a spoiler but be warned!

(the song title is from 10cc's i'm not in love; check the end notes for tws)

June 2006

“And then guess what they see behind the passenger seat? A freaking honest-to-god skunk!”

“No way!”

“Cross my heart, buddy, cross my heart. My sister’s there on her first real date, hoping to god that they don’t get sprayed by this guy. And they didn’t, thank god, but now my whole family thinks I was the one behind it. Like I can be that malicious just because they refused to give me a ride.”

Shane barrelled through the door, looked around the classroom, and allowed himself a deep breath. He wasn’t late, it was just Harris in front of the class, theatrically recounting a story like he did every Thursday. He walked up to the empty seat and dropped his books. “What’s he talking about?” he asked, perching next to Ilya.

“A skunk sneaked into his sister’s truck this weekend,” Ilya answered, eyes focused on Harris. “While she was on a date.”

Shane just nodded. Sounded like a Drover story, alright. He took out his notetaking supplies and started arranging them on the desk.

“I already bet Wyatt.”

He raised his head. “Bet Wyatt on what?”

“I’m a hundred percent sure Harris was the one who put it there,” Ilya answered, glancing at Shane and back. “Wyatt's too naïve.” He scoffed. “Just look at him.”

Shane looked at Harris who – as always – looked like the jolliest, nicest goofball this town had ever seen, creating a ruckus getting laughs and ooohs out of everyone. “Yeah,” Shane said drily. “He looks pretty evil to me.”

“Where have you been?” Ilya asked, leaning back in his seat.

Shane stopped with the highlighters, and took in Ilya’s relaxed pose. His tousled curls and one earring gleaming with the light through the curtains. He looked…

He looked as he’d looked just this morning when Shane had last seen him. As he’d looked yesterday, as he looked every day, as he’d looked last year; maybe a few inches taller, features more mature but the same. He looked like Ilya, Shane’s best friend for almost a decade. Nothing else.

“I was in the library.” He waved a hand. “I didn’t realize what time it was.”

The sound of hurried footsteps got their attention; Coach Wiebe appeared at the doorway and shook his head with poorly hidden amusement. “Harris,” he said with a warning tone that no one bought. “Stop being a class clown and take your seat, would you?”

Harris beamed at him, then all but skipped to his seat.

Coach put his belongings on the teacher’s desk, then looked around the room. “Look guys,” he said with the weariness of a man who coached the high school hockey team and taught math to freshmen all at once. “I know you are all itching to drop everything and fully settle into this vacation mood, but we still have one week of classes and an exam to go through. Let’s not make each other’s work harder.”

The class reacted with grumbles and huffs, but Shane just nodded. Like everyone else, he was also enjoying the weather getting warmer and was looking forward to days of swimming and skateboarding and roaming around the town with nothing else to do, but first, he needed to make sure he finished ninth grade with perfect marks. That was where all his attention was focused. Classes. Exams. Perfect marks.

“I have the results of your mock exam right here, by the way,” Coach said, showing a stack of paper. “But first, let’s turn to page 221.”

There were more objections and whines which quickly left their place to pages shuffling, pens scribbling, and Coach Wiebe’s lecturing voice.

Shane was focused on solving a deeply concerning quadratic function when a poke came from his right side.

He looked at Ilya, raising his eyebrows in a question of ‘what?’

Ilya pushed Shane’s own notebook towards him. There was a drawing of two stick men, one holding a trophy, the other defeated on his knees. The only thing identifying them as Ilya and Shane being the exaggerated curly hair and the freckles.

Shane rolled his eyes; Ilya snickered next to him.

A few minutes passed, Shane still wasn’t having any luck with the question, when Ilya nudged the notebook towards him again. This time in the margins of the page was written ‘ShaneHollanderSux’ with another bad drawing of a curly-haired stick man giving the L sign.

Shane wanted to hit him, but also laugh. “You’re such a child,” he murmured instead. “Also, not funny.”

Ilya just shrugged; eyes glinting with delight. The dummy was so pleased with his unfunny jokes.  

Shane huffed and turned back to the question. But he was enraptured once, and his eyes kept drifting to Ilya. At one point, he’d pulled Shane’s notebook against his chest and started drawing something with a frown between his eyebrows. “Ilya,” Shane hissed, glancing at Coach Wiebe and back. “Focus and stop drawing on my notebook.”

Ilya looked up and grinned at him. “But they make you laugh when you’re studying, right?” he whispered.

Shane willed his lips not to twitch.

They did make him laugh.

Then Ilya nudged him with his foot and turned around the notebook. Shane’s lips didn’t listen; they curved into a smile without his permission.

There on his notebook was an utterly horrendous drawing of a face, smattering of freckles its only distinguishing feature, wearing a wide grin and a king’s crown.

Shane’s cheeks didn’t listen to him either as he felt warmth rush to his face.

Ilya grinned at him; Shane rolled his eyes because that was a safe reaction to everything coming from Ilya. “You’re so stupid,” he whispered.

“Bored,” Ilya muttered, putting down the notebook with a thud.

Shane saw Coach glance at their direction at the sound and immediately turned his attention back to the front of the class. Once he was sure they weren’t being watched, he pulled the notebook to him. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he scrawled.

Ilya glanced at the notebook. ‘Entertain me,’ he wrote back. ‘Any new gossip?’

Shane huffed quietly. “Like I am the gossip between the two of us.”

Ilya shrugged, looking at him expectantly.

Shane shook his head and scribbled, ‘Zullo's getting suspended.’

Ilya read what he’d written and rolled his eyes. “I'm the one who told you about that.”

Shane rolled his eyes back.

Then he bit his lip, and wrote. ‘I heard that Scott Hunter has a crush on someone.’

Which would be a big gossip in this town under any condition, but Scott Hunter also came out as gay a few months ago – which had an odd, unsettling feeling furl in Shane’s stomach any time he thought too hard about it – and the entire school had gone in circles, up and down gossiping about it for months. So now, everyone was hungry for an update. Shane wasn’t even sure about the legitimacy of the gossip, seeing as he’d heard it from Jackie who’d heard it from Lisa who’d heard it from Wyatt who’d heard it from Harris, and a chain that long could drastically alter information.

He looked back at Ilya who just shook his head. He scribbled something and pushed the notebook towards him. ‘I work with Kip.’

Shane frowned.

Ilya just huffed. Another scribble. ‘I see Hunter crushing hard first-hand every day.’

Shane’s eyebrows went high. Scott’s crush was Kip Grady?

Ilya started snickering next to him. He whispered, “You didn’t know it was Kip?”

Was Kip even gay? How would Shane even know? He scoffed at Ilya whose body was shaking with silent laughter. He took the paper and wrote, ‘I thought it was you.’

Ilya squinted at the paper, then squinted at him. He mouthed, “Asshole.”

Shane was the one snickering now when he heard Coach Wiebe call out. “Shane." He was leaning back against the board, arms crossed. “Did you get the answer?”

“Uhm." Shane immediately reached for his notes. “Yes Coach, sorry, just a second,” he muttered, scrambling to grab the textbook, shuffling the pages. Then he found the question, and no answer written under it. “Uh…”

“It’s alright,” Coach said, watching him intently for a moment. “Who has the answer?”

Someone in the back piped up with the answer and Shane dropped his head in his hands. “It’s okay,” he heard Ilya whisper next to him and shook his head.

Focus on the class, he told himself. Classes, exams, perfect marks.

For the rest of the period, he diligently tried solving the questions and hung onto Coach’s every word. This topic or the subject, in general, weren’t exactly Shane’s strongest suits, but he would never allow himself to fall back or – god forbid – fail. He avoided Ilya because Ilya was a menace to share a class with, and Ilya had been a… disruptive thought for the past few months.

When five minutes were left on the clock, Coach started handing out their mock exams. “Ilya Rozanov,” he murmured, handing Ilya his paper. Then he looked Shane in the eyes. “And Shane,” he said, putting his exam face down on their desk.

Before Shane could even reach for his paper, Ilya looked at his own mark and snorted. “Look at this,” he said, turning it around to show Shane his perfect A+.

Ilya gave little fuck about school, just enough to assuage Shane, and barely passed his other classes, but this one came so naturally to him. Despite spending all periods doodling stupid shit on Shane’s notebook. He was an asshole.

“Wow, math genius,” Shane said with an eyeroll, knowing it probably came off rather fond. Whatever, he was allowed to be proud of this asshole.

Then he turned around his own paper and his smile dropped.

The bell went off at that moment and all the classrooms emptied with cacophony akin to a parade of elephants. “Come on." Ilya nudged him, standing up. “I want lunch.”

“Shane,” Coach Wiebe called out from the front of the classroom. “Can we chat for a second?”

Shane looked from his paper to Coach then to Ilya who just nodded. “I’ll wait in the hallway.”

Once Ilya was out of the room, Shane spluttered. “Coach, I’m sorry,” he said, approaching Coach’s desk. “I am—"

“That’s not a bad mark, Shane,” Coach interrupted, gesturing at the paper Shane was holding. “B+ is a perfectly great score. Your average across all classes is probably the highest this school has ever seen. I just feel like your attention has been elsewhere in these past few months.” He put a hand on Shane’s shoulder, eyes sympathetic. “I’m concerned whether there’s something distracting you.”

Shane couldn’t help his gaze flickering to the hallway. “No, Coach,” he lied. “Just the holiday mood, like you said.”

Coach didn’t look convinced. He was not wrong. Or rather, he was very wrong because Shane hadn’t been distracted in the past few months. He’d been distracted for the entire year, since the end of last summer in Elena Rygg’s hallway closet, but these past few months, he’d also been very very confused. He wasn’t slacking off with school, but there were so many thoughts running around in his head that sleeping and concentrating and not losing track of time because he’d been daydreaming had become a little bit of a problem.

“This won’t be my result in the actual exam, Coach, I promise,” he said with a tight smile.

Coach Wiebe looked at him, then sighed. “Okay, kid,” he said. “I trust you.”

“I won’t let you down,” Shane promised.

“I know." Coach smiled, thumping him on the shoulder. “Maybe you can get Ilya to study with you. God knows how he does it, but he somehow figures it all out despite spending all classes trying to get a giggle out of you.”

Shane felt the tips of his ears heat. He looked down.

When he stepped out of the classroom, Ilya was there. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, pushing himself off the wall.

“Sure,” Shane answered with a smile and started walking down the hallway. “Need you to tutor me.”

“Need me to tutor you?” Ilya grabbed his arm, stopping him. He looked at Shane with wide eyes. Bright eyes against his already sun-kissed skin, hair streaked with blonds and coppers, and his lips twisted with amusement. Not for the first time this past year Shane had thought golden.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, dragging his gaze away. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Don’t let it get to your head.

Classes, exams, perfect marks.

***

“Shane, literally all your answers have been right. I don’t know what we’re still doing here.”

“It still doesn’t come as easily to me as it does to you.”

Ilya looked up at Hollanders’ kitchen ceiling and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Look,” he said, turning to Shane. “Maybe trying to be a genius in all walks of life is aiming a bit too high even for you.”

Shane didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t registering Ilya’s words; he was hunched over his pre-calculus textbook, eyeing the question he solved correctly. Probably the millionth one that night. He untucked the bottom lip he’d had caught between his teeth and hummed. “Just ask me another one.”

Ilya gave Shane a look that he hoped conveyed his absolute bewilderment and agony. They’d been at this since this afternoon. Since the moment they’d stepped into the house coming back from school. According to the kitchen clock, that meant around six hours.

Shane nudged the notebook towards him, eyes wide with mania he perpetually possessed for academic duty.

Ilya sighed. He grabbed the notebook and scrawled a new function based on the textbook questions they’d exhausted approximately three hours ago.

Shane’s eyes narrowed at the page when Ilya handed it back to him; Ilya could swear he saw the moment gears started working in Shane’s head.

He could also see Shane’s pursed lips and crinkled nose, his freckles multiplied like a field of marigolds under the hot June sun. Already as abundant as they’d been at the end of last summer. His skin, however, was untouched. Distractingly smooth, funny how it remained flawless regardless of the season. Winter, fall, summer. Shane’s perfect skin and blooming freckles.

“Is it y = (x-5)² – 4?”

Ilya wretched his gaze away, finding Shane looking at him, head tilted to the side. “Uhm, no,” he murmured. “Let me see." He took the notebook and checked Shane’s answer. Then huffed, “Since when you can’t divide eight by two?”

“What?” Shane exclaimed, snatching the notebook from his hands.

Ilya could see the moment he found the small calculation error and the rising panic ready to give way to a decision to slave away another two hours till he got all the questions in the entire world right and Ilya died from old age. He clasped the notebook out of Shane’s grip, shushing his protests.

“No, no!” he warned when Shane reached for it wide-eyed. ”It’s enough for today. You got it wrong because you’re tired.”

Shane leapt from his seat; Ilya got up and held the notebook higher.

Shane looked at him, face in a scowl, then unclenched his hands and settled down.

Ilya eyed him warily for a moment before sitting back down. When he was sure Shane wasn’t going to attack for his most precious possession of the night, he said, “You’ll be fine.”

Shane swallowed, looked at the notebook, then at Ilya. “I understand it,” he said with a voice that didn’t have any business ever sounding that sad. “It’s just— it’s not perfect.”

Usually, on a scale of fucked-upness, Ilya considered himself at one end and Shane at the other, but sometimes he wondered how healthy Shane’s mindset exactly was. “Shane,” he whispered, pressing his leg against Shane’s in a manner he hoped was comforting. “It’s okay to be not perfect in one thing.”

Shane scrunched up his nose and scoffed. “Of course you’d say that.”

A surprised laugh left Ilya’s mouth. “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “I’m dumb as bricks.”

“You're not dumb as bricks." Shane smacked him on the arm.

Okay, Ilya knew he wasn’t dumb as bricks. If anything in private – and in public – he considered himself pretty quick-witted and naturally talented. But it’d been years since he could spare a fuck for school. Once, maybe years ago, he’d considered himself as good as Shane, but that had been a different life for a different Ilya. This one knew he kind of lost the thread at one point and had to find an alternative way of getting out of Grigori Rozanov’s house and following Shane wherever he was destined to go.

Right now, that only amounted to having a part-time job and saving money before he was cut off, but he was going to figure something out.

“Yeah." He smiled. “But I’m not the best at school stuff either.” Then he started bouncing on his seat. “You usually sit on the tutor chair, right?”

Shane’s lips twitched. Ilya kept bobbing, the chair creaking with his weight. The old and only mismatched one Yuna had kept when she’d refurnished the house last year, dubbed the tutor chair the first time Shane had invited him over and David had helped them with their English homework.

“Stop doing that.” Shane huffed, kicking Ilya under the table. When Ilya stopped bouncing, his exasperated gaze turned soft. Ilya felt the press of his leg against his own, just as he’d done himself a moment ago. “You’re not dumb, Ilya,” Shane murmured. “You just don’t pay attention.”

Ilya looked him in the eyes, his deep onyx eyes, before moving his gaze down to the freckles again. Shane’s smooth skin only blemished by those constellations, each dot a star on its own.

Ilya did pay attention.

To different things.

Maybe the wrong things.

“It’s just ninth grade. I have time,” he croaked, throat feeling tight suddenly. Then he rocked himself to his feet, almost knocking down the tutor chair, and started packing his stuff. “You know what, I’ll just head home.”

“Oh,” Shane said; Ilya stopped. “You’re not staying.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question. Ilya hadn’t stayed over last night or any night this past week. His middle-of-the-night knocks at Shane’s window had become rarer and rarer the past few months. For good reason, Ilya told himself. He was six-one now and Shane was not as small as Ilya loved to tease him about. Two teen boys in one twin mattress had become too crowded and more importantly, awkward.

But God, Ilya wanted to stay. Whenever he was in Grigori’s house, he wished he was anywhere else in the entire universe. And here, this house was where Ilya wanted to stay the most, always. This white picket fenced house with its creaky kitchen chair and the room right above where Ilya stood that he privately thought of as his safe haven, that he thought of as Shane.

“I have stuff to do in the morning,” he lied, stuffing his book in his bag. “We can bike together to work after school tomorrow.”

He could feel Shane’s eyes on the side of his face. Then heard him murmur, “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay." He nodded, rounding the table to the doorway. Then he glanced back, for a parting look, and found Shane staring down at his textbook. “Hey,” he said, taking a step back. “No more studying tonight.”

Shane didn’t say anything.

“Hey, promise." Ilya reached and tucked on his sleeve.

When Shane looked up, his eyes were clouded, smile reserved. “Promise,” he muttered.

When Ilya left Hollanders’ place, the tightness in his throat didn’t ease. If anything, it pulled tauter. He stalled between their houses and burned a cigarette to smoke. Not-thinking about how… disorienting stuff had become with Shane in the past few months. About how good and normal it was for most of the time, but then with one word or a touch, they let a drift get between them. And it was all Ilya’s fault.

He blew out a frustrated sigh, flicked away the stub of his cigarette, and pocketed his earring.

He entered the house, quietly, and was about to climb the stairs, quietly, when he heard his voice.

“Boy.”

Boy. Ilya hated being called that.

He lifted his head, taking in the sight of his father, of his baleful stance and cold eyes.

Boy, said with not affection or even familiarity but with an undercurrent of threat and warning.

“Father." Ilya acknowledged, chin held high. Not in defiance but in obedience. One look at Grigori Rozanov would make one think he wanted people to cower and look down at their feet before him, and they’d be right. Not from his sons though. When it came to them, when it came to Ilya, Grigori didn’t want flittering looks and mumbling. He wanted to see him compliant, and he wanted to see the acknowledgment of compliance in his eyes.

His grim gaze searched Ilya’s face for that now. “Where were you?” he grumbled, stepping closer.

Ilya’s breath gave a small hitch even though he knew nothing would come from it. Grigori was old, he’d always been old, as back as Ilya could remember. He’d also always been harsh, hard, and big. But Ilya had an inch on him now, give or take, an inch. And he didn’t know whether that was the reason, but his father’s physical disciplining stopped at one point. After Mom, it ebbed, then it stopped. Just that, though, the hits and the punches. Everything else remained.

Maybe it was the new fiancé. Barely a decade older than Andrei.

Ilya wanted to laugh.

“Hollanders,” he replied instead. “We were studying.”

Grigori scoffed. “You better be. There are only three years left.”

When Grigori said only three years left, it didn’t sound like Coach Wiebe or David’s guiding voice. Not only three years left till college. He meant three years left, with a heavy undertone of threat. Three years left till he cut Ilya off. Or worse, three years left till he pushed him into a cop role like he’d done with Andrei to make him do his own bidding. A leashed dog for daddy for the rest of his life.

Ilya really needed a way out of here.

“That Shane,” Grigori grumbled, then stopped. He looked at Ilya, his gaze so intense on his face that Ilya felt his mouth dry. “Don’t let him be a distraction,” he said, eyes almost boring into Ilya’s soul that for a terrifying second, Ilya thought he could see him. See everything; every messed up, alarming thought Ilya had about Shane and the implications of it all so, so clear that Ilya pretended they didn’t exist. For a moment, he feared Grigori could see it all.

“I won’t.” He swallowed again, forcing his gaze to stay on Grigori. He needed his father to see there was no fear, nothing hidden.

He thought about Shane’s bereft expression as he’d left tonight. The truth was Ilya could stay over, sleep anywhere else in the house, if the real reason was the size of Shane’s bed. The discomfort was a lie, and the awkwardness was an excuse. What staying with Shane was implausible, meant to be kept out of Ilya’s reach. If he wanted to keep it unknown to his father, his father whose cage would be rattled too good otherwise. If he wanted to keep it unknown to Shane who Ilya could not risk losing over Grigori’s rage or his own stupid, impulsive, inevitable decisions.

Like a stolen first kiss.

“Or god forbid that Hunter boy,” his father continued. He eyed where Ilya’s earring usually sat. “And don’t you dare get involved in stupid bullshit and make me hear it from other people, Ilya.” The venom in his words was arctic cold. “Our name means something in this town.”

Ilya pressed his lips together, trying to keep in a shuddery exhale. “I know, father.”

Grigori’s gaze studied him for a moment longer. Looking back, Ilya couldn’t see a single amiable line or humorous wrinkle on his face. At last, his father made a dismissive sound. “Leave.”

Ilya made sure he didn’t hurry up to his room like a fleeing mouse. He made sure he didn’t slam his door shut and sat against it with all his weight.

He threw himself on the bed and rubbed his temples.

When his phone started ringing, he groaned and answered it without checking the caller ID.

“Hey, man,” a rough voice said.

“Marlow.” Ilya sighed.

Cliff Marlow, a guy from the next town over Ilya had met a few years back. Usually fun to hang out with, but these past few weeks, a pain in his ass.

“Look,” Cliff said. “I know you said you’re not interested but I think you’re making a big mistake, Roz.”

Ilya wanted to laugh. For a moment, he wished Cliff could see when his own father threatened him, just minutes ago, about not getting mixed up in bullshit jobs Cliff was so fond of.

“I told you I can’t get into stuff like that."

“Come on, man,” Cliff groaned. “He’s paying better than whatever Starbucks is paying you.”

“Tim Hortons.”

“And you’d be so good at it.”

Ilya rubbed a hand on his face. “Sorry, buddy,” he said for the umpteenth time. “But there are people I have to think about.”

Cliff didn’t say anything for a moment, then clicked his tongue. “You have my number, I guess,” he sighed. “Call me if you change your mind.”

The line went dead. Ilya groaned, burying his face in a pillow.

***

Shane rushed out of the supermarket the moment he was given his break and crossed to the shop across the parking lot. His mom said he was still too young to be drinking black coffee every day, but it was how Shane soldiered through his study sessions and the shifts at the store.

He’d also been a little cold to Ilya this morning. As if Ilya choosing to go sleep in his own bed instead of Shane’s was a crime against him. Shane tried not to be a dick, he did, but sometimes he felt the cool gust between them, and couldn't help but think it was all his fault. His failure to keep his gaze away from Ilya and stop his thoughts from wandering to Elena Rygg’s birthday party; that changed something between them and now Ilya got this weird look on his face, and he stopped staying.

God, Shane was a dick.

And he wanted to see Ilya in his stupid Tim Hortons cap.

As he was about to open the door to the coffee shop, however, he caught the sight of Scott Hunter, and paused.

Scott was sitting there behind the wide windows, picking at a blueberry muffin, but all his attention was directed across the counter, at Kip Grady. His gaze was so soft, so fond. The smile stretching his lips was shy, cheeks blushed pink, and his eyes were flicking around every once in a while, as if he was afraid to be caught.

When Ilya had told him, yes, it was Kip Grady that Scott was crushing on yesterday, Shane had felt a bit stupid and a little embarrassed.

“Kip is gay?” had been the first thing out of his mouth which Ilya had snickered at and said, “Yeah,” then raised his eyebrows and added, “You’ve never heard the dickheads at school calling him and Kyle a couple of censored BFFs?”

Shane had frowned. No, he hadn’t heard what those dickheads had been saying, and admittedly, he was a little glad. What Ilya had meant by censored didn’t sound like a nice thing to call someone. Then he’d frowned harder. “Wait!” He'd hit Ilya on the shoulder. “Kyle is gay?!”

So, yeah, Shane wasn’t the most perceptive person around. He’d thought Scott had a crush on Elena for years, for god’s sake. And apparently, he’d long had classmates who were openly gay before Scott’s coming out was even a thing.

Scott Hunter coming out, however, had been different. It’d been at the start of this spring; Shane and Scott’s team had been losing embarrassingly, everyone overstrung and on edge. Then a forward from the opposing team had decided to spit some creative homophobic slurs at Scott’s face – and Scott had snapped. He’d shoved the guy to the boards, fists clenching to do more. But then he’d stopped, took a deep breath and a step back and in the calmest voice Shane had heard from him, he’d said, “What if I am?”

As everyone else on the ice that day, Shane’s mouth had dropped open. He hadn’t known why, but it’d felt like a punch to the gut. A lump in his throat had risen and he’d felt uneasy. Not like some of their teammates who’d started sneering and slandering once Scott had confirmed that yes, everyone heard him right and he was gay. No, Shane’s restlessness had been different, and it’d been buzzing under his skin ever since.

He prided himself on his mind, so he had a working theory. Hockey was a cutthroat world and Scott wanted to make pro in that cutthroat world, and Shane felt concerned on his behalf. Shane didn’t know of any openly gay players in the league and Shane knew his hockey pretty well. Scott’s decision to come out now when he was so young, so early was unconventional.

There was partial truth to that theory, but something niggled at the back of his mind that it was all bullshit.

He got pulled out of his reverie when the bell above the door chimed. He shook his head and walked up to the counter. “Hi, Kip.”

Kip, like Scott, was pink-cheeked and gazing at the other side of the counter. It took him a long second to pull his eyes away. “Hey, Shane.” He smiled, all dimpled. “He’s working the drive-thru,” he said, then glanced back at Scott and bit his lip.

Shane shook his head and made his way to the back to the drive-thru window. Ilya’s manager was never around to see him hang out there and eat whatever goods Ilya smuggled for him.

He came to a stop when Ilya’s cheeky voice filled the air.

“Cut me some slack, ladies! I only have two hands!” He was handing coffee orders to what sounded like a car full of girls. There were giggling, tittering, teasing comebacks and Shane swallowed hard.

Ilya was flirting.

Shane knew his flirtation; he saw it every day at school, around town, whenever a girl around their age was close by. He knew how girls caved in for his crooked smile and mischievous winks. He couldn’t see Ilya’s face right now, but he could swear on his life that that crooked smile was there tugged at his lips.

He arched his neck to see the girls in the car. He knew some of them, like Hayley with her dark straight hair and freckles. Shane didn’t think she was all that pretty. At least she wasn’t Shane’s type, but Svetlana wasn’t his type either and Ilya had been obsessed with her last year. Ilya had been obsessed with a lot of girls. Only for short periods of time but he loved adoring and being adored. Acting smug, coy, bold, and getting girls blushing all prettily at him.

He was laughing now, voice low and cocksure, leaning out the window just for the sake of flirting and being flirted with.

Shane turned back on his heel and left.

It wasn’t like he’d never gone on a date or talked to girls himself. He’d just been on a date with Olivia from the debate club who was nice but too nice, with curls too loose and debate skills pretty poor. So it hadn’t gone anywhere. Then, a few months ago, he’d been on a double date with Hayden and Jackie with a girl called Ophelia who’d been… not really interested in Shane.

So, he’d never been as smooth with girls as Ilya was, whatever.

He wasn’t jealous.

“Hey, Fabian,” he murmured as he passed by the drug store.

“Hi,” Fabian murmured back, fiddling with his phone while on his break, then stopped and called out. “Hey! Hollander kid!”

Shane paused and turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

Fabian didn’t really talk to him. He was older than Shane and carried himself with an air of disinterest for most things this town could offer.

“Do you know the new guy working at the bookstore?” he asked now, his dark eyes rimmed with dark eyeliner glancing at the store next to where Shane had just left. They looked voracious.

For a long time, Fabian had been the only gay person Shane had known. His father used to coach Shane’s novice hockey team, and in an entirely contrasting manner to Coach Salah, Fabian had been openly against hockey, into music, into make-up, and into guys. Truth be told, he always intimidated Shane a little.

“The big guy?” he asked, following Fabian’s gaze.

“Yeah, what’s his name? Isn’t your mom the mayor, you must know.”

“My mom’s not the mayor, she just works there,” Shane said, then added, “I think his name's Ryan.”

“Ryan,” Fabian all but purred.

Shane’s eyebrows raised. Oh.

He’d actually talked to Ryan a few times; he was a big but reserved guy with good book recommendations, but he didn’t really strike Shane as gay. But then again, it’d been established that Shane had a pretty poor functioning gaydar. And Fabian Salah, looking so fascinating even dressed down in his work clothes, could probably even tempt a monk.

“Ilya told me he’s from Nova Scotia,” Shane continued. “I think he’s going to start playing in the junior league this year.”

Fabian pursed his lips before looking back at Shane. “He plays hockey?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

“He seems nice,” Shane said when he couldn’t find anything else to add.

“Yeah, he does,” Fabian murmured, looking back at the bookstore.

For a moment, Shane watched him watch Ryan. His interest was so blatant in his gaze. His dark eyes glinted with open, unashamed want, and the uneasy tightness pulled at Shane’s stomach. Settled down like cement. Fabian arrant with his attraction, Kip and Scott shy but on the cusp of something, it all cracked open something in him. Yearning or fear. Yearning and fear.

His mind wandered to before, before Scott had come out. That same spring day, waking up to the soft press of Ilya’s knee on his upper thigh. The excitement and fear fluttering his heart, his eyes immediately turning to Ilya, just to find him sleeping quietly still. Soft breaths leaving his open mouth, his golden eyelashes dusting his cheeks, and his curls adorning Shane’s white pillows.

And even before that. Last summer in Elena Rygg’s hallway closet and the lack of distance between his lips and Ilya’s lips. The calculation he’d made a billion times, futile. The math always coming down to the same thing; nothing, no birthday congratulations on the cheek or the joking kisses on his nose had ever been that close.

He took in a shuddery breath. The tightness remained.  

“I should go back.”

Go back to work, to restocking the shelves, to studying for upcoming exams, and nothing more.

***

Ilya’s shift ended an hour before Shane’s. He found him at the canned food aisle, restocking baby food. “No coffee break?”

Shane jumped, one hand going to his chest. He spun around and glared. “Asshole.”

Ilya gave him a cheeky grin and waved the coffee cup in his hand. “I had your order put aside. And had to do it again when you ditched. You didn’t get a break?”

Shane lowered his head and went back to his work. A moment later he muttered, “Sorry, got caught up chatting with Laurent.”

Ilya lowered the cup. He was glad Shane wasn’t looking at him right now because he couldn’t help the scowl sneaking onto his face. Laurent the co-worker. Yikes. “That guy's weird.”

“He's not weird; he’s just very French.”

Very French. And very good-looking. With a very promising future studying journalism or whatever in Montreal next year, and very very obsessed with Shane.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t be francophobic, Ilya,” Shane muttered, still not sparing a glance Ilya’s way. He’d been a little cold all day, at school and when they were biking down here, and now he’d ditched Ilya for his smart, handsome, Québécois co-worker.

“Ha ha,” Ilya deadpanned. “If anyone is some kinda phobic, it’s Laurent.” He hoped his voice didn’t betray him when he said the name. “I swear he talks to me like I don’t understand English. I’ve lived here my whole life. It’s mine,” he snapped. Then exhaled. “The town, I mean.”

Fuck.

Shane turned around and stared at him. “Okay, Neanderthal, leave before you pop a vein and I have to clean blood off of Gerber Organic Baby Food.”

Ilya looked down at his feet and nodded. Leaving was a good idea. “I’ll wait outside,” he murmured. “And try not to puke if I see Kip and Hunter.”

He left the store.

He didn’t understand Shane. Was this all about last night? Was Shane stupid enough to think that Ilya would choose to sleep under Grigori Rozanov’s roof instead of with him? Was he so mad that he didn’t come drink his disgusting coffee and instead chose to spend time chatting with Laurent?

He stopped when he approached where they had their bicycles chained and drew in a deep breath. He unlocked his bike, swung a leg over it, took another breath and cycled around the parking lot till the purple hue of the evening gave way to dark, open summer sky.

When Shane came out, he was feeling a little better. God, he was an asshole. He didn’t even know why he’d snapped like that – or rather he knew, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge it.

Still, not much was said between them on the way back home.

Once they approached Hollanders’ place – Ilya a few steps behind Shane, both dragging their bicycles along – Shane stopped and groaned. “Ugh!” He threw his bike aside and checked his pockets. “Forgot my keys.”

Ilya crossed to the front porch and tried the door handle. Of course it was locked. Yuna and David were on a date. “Do you think the back door's open?”

Shane shook his head in negative.

Ilya looked up to the house, pursed his lips, then grabbed Shane’s wrist. “C’mon.”

“Ilya?!” Shane yelped as Ilya pulled him around the house. “What?” he asked, eyes wide, when Ilya gestured to the back porch.

“Just step here." Ilya patted the railing. “And pull yourself up.”

Shane looked at the railing, then up the porch columns to the roof to his bedroom window. He looked back at Ilya, blew out his cheeks and exhaled. Too much for his reluctance, though, as a moment later he was on the railing, pulling himself up in a few swift moves.

Ilya rolled his eyes. “You good?” he still asked when he couldn’t see Shane.

“Yeah,” came Shane’s voice. Then Ilya mounted the railing and Shane’s face popped up from above. “What are you doing?”

“Coming up,” Ilya said in a what-do-you-think manner.

Shane’s tiny face scrunched. “Let me get inside first,” he said. “What if it doesn’t carry both of us?”

“No, wait there,” Ilya muttered, one arm around the column, the other reaching for the edge of the porch roof. “It will.”

In a well-practiced move, he pulled his weight up and got both his knees on the roof. He gave Shane a ta-da grin to which Shane rolled his eyes.

“I have to study,” he said, turning to the window.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ilya grabbed him by the wrist. He didn’t want Shane to leave like this when it was him who’d been an asshole, both yesterday and this evening. Still holding Shane, he shifted and leaned back on his elbows on the roof. “Relax for one second." He tugged Shane next to him. “Come on.”

Shane eyed him for a second before huffing and sitting down.

“You know,” Ilya said, eyes on the clear sky, shoulder brushing with Shane’s. “Your parents should really reconsider this design. A back porch any maniac can climb up to their kid’s bedroom? What were they thinking?”

“I have a lock on my window.”

“Yeah, one you never use.”

He felt Shane’s eyes on the side of his face. After a long moment, Shane muttered, “Because you come up, you idiot.”

He sounded more upset than angry, and that cracked open something in Ilya. Shane was supposed to sound excited, passionate, sunny. Not somber or distressed, with his eyes cast down.

“Uhm,” Ilya said. He wanted to ask more, comfort, but his stupid brain could only come up with, “You okay?”

Shane did not meet his gaze. “Why do you ask?”

Ilya raised an eyebrow.

Why, because I fucked up last year when I kissed you in that closet and we’ve been having these weird patches ever since. Because today, you’ve been colder than ever and I’m afraid it’s all because of me, Ilya wanted to say. “You seem distracted,” he settled on.

Shane took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. “I’m just tired.”

Ilya risked a brush on his wrist. “You didn’t have to start working just because I did, dummy.” He smiled. “You’re already always busy.” Hence, this behaviour not ordinary.

Shane made a noise in his throat, eyes kept on the sky above.

Ilya nodded. He wanted to ask more, but he was afraid. That the reason behind Shane’s mood was him, what he’d done and what he’d been doing. He knew he was fucking up somehow, but he was just too confused, too afraid of the dissonance between what he should do and what he wanted to do. If he asked again, and Shane confirmed his doubts that he damaged something between them, he’d be left with nowhere, with no one; adrift and Shane-less.

He looked up to the sky, willing his lungs to draw in air.

A few quiet minutes passed, both gazing up to the stars. “You know,” Ilya muttered at last. “Svetlana said you don’t see this many stars in Boston. Or in Moscow.”

In his peripheral, Shane nodded. “It’s the light pollution. Same in all the big cities. You don’t see them like this in Ottawa either.”

“Ottawa is not a big city.” Ilya snorted, glancing at Shane.

Even in the dark and from his profile, it was easy to see Shane’s cute frown. “It’s the fourth largest city in the country.”

“That doesn’t mean much, now, does it?” Ilya asked sardonically.

“Yeah, like, maybe relative to the entire universe,” Shane responded, gesturing to the open sky. Then he huffed a quiet laugh, and Ilya saw the moment tension left his shoulders. He did a mental fist bump to the sky when Shane looked at him with a tiny smile on his face. “See that one,” Shane said, pointing to a particularly bright star. “That’s Saturn.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “No rings?”

“You can’t see them with the naked eye.” Shane shook his head, eyes on the star – the planet. Then he whispered, “But it’s golden.”

Ilya followed Shane’s gaze and just looked. Saturn wasn’t winking like all the other lights adorning the night sky; instead, it was solid, anchored, with a distinct yellow hue like Shane had said. Not the brightest, but still brilliant.

“You know,” Shane continued. “Canada may not be as fun as Boston or Moscow, but we have the world’s largest astronomy parks. One is even bigger than Switzerland. How about that?”

“The one in Alberta?” Ilya asked. He could swear he’d heard Shane mention this before, but he didn’t mind. He’d be happy listening to his nerd tirades as many times as there were stars in the sky, as long as Shane sounded like this. Content.

“It stretches from Alberta to Northwest Territories, actually. Wider than one of Saturn’s moons. And it’s not simply just stargazing you know; you can see entire galaxies, you can see entire waves of the Aurora Borealis.”

Ilya nodded. That was beautiful. Shane was beautiful. Gazing up to the sky, with his onyx eyes mirroring the lights above and his freckles the perfect likeness of constellations. The little curve of his smile musing, enraptured.

One moment; Ilya indulged himself one moment of acknowledgment, of how much he wanted nothing else in the entire universe but kiss Shane again.

“That’s cool,” he said, voice strained. “I’ll give you points for that.”

When Shane looked at him and smiled, the corner of his mouth pinched, and Ilya thought about how he knew what that corner felt like under his own lips.

“I’ll visit there one day,” Shane mused, turning his gaze to the sky again.

“Saturn?”

“No." Shane’s laugh was a bell-chime. “The park. Maybe a graduation gift to myself.”

“Okay." Ilya nodded. “I’ll take you.”

Shane’s smile dimmed. He turned to look at Ilya, and muttered, “Yeah?”

Ilya swallowed. “Do you want to go without me?”

For a moment there was nothing, then Shane’s smile came back, full-bloom. He shook his head. “Never.”

Ilya exhaled. “Good, I’ll drive then.” He bit down on his lip. “How far is it?”

“Forty-ish hours.”

“Great, we’ll make it there in twenty.”

Shane laughed again, and Ilya felt his heart ease and ache with fresh pain all at once. Shane was animatedly telling something, eyes twinkling with excitement, naming constellations or something but Ilya didn’t hear any of them.

He was so beautiful. Ilya'd always known it, at the back of his mind, but he didn’t realize what it meant that Shane’s beauty stopped him in his tracks sometimes and made his heart ache. Not till the day he’d kissed Svetlana Vetrova in a dingy tattoo parlour. Because being with Svetlana had been sweet, lovely, and mind-blowing all at once – only, Ilya was left with his thoughts wandering to Shane, Shane, Shane. Then there they were, in Elena’s closet; Shane waiting or not-waiting for his first kiss, bitching at Ilya, laughing with Ilya, cheeks flushed and eyes bright – and Ilya had a lapse in judgment. Alcohol buzzing beneath his skin, his Shane all lovely, and he couldn’t help himself.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. And this one moment of indulgence went on for so long, Ilya thought. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about kissing Shane. Neither about the time he’d kissed Shane or about how much he wanted to kiss Shane over and over again.

Shane was still talking when his pinkie grazed Ilya’s, such a casual touch – and Ilya jumped to his feet.

“I should go.”

Shane stopped talking and looked up at him. His eyes filled with the same resignation from last night. You’re not staying, he didn’t say this time, but Ilya could see it in the downward curve of his mouth.

How could he? Shane was a star, a million stars; dreaming about stargazing in moon-sized gardens, being admired by boys who wanted to be journalists, destined for entire galaxies. Ilya couldn’t even think about how much he thought of Shane, how his fingers itched for Shane, how he couldn’t have a good night’s sleep unless he was right there with Shane.

“You know I want to stay,” he said honestly. Because he always wanted to stay with Shane, go anywhere with Shane. He’d orbit around Shane. And when the entire universe started revering Shane, he wanted to be there. Even as a friend, as an acquaintance. And he couldn’t jeopardize that one wish he had for the future by tainting their friendship now with his mind wandering to kisses, and with his nightmares and doubts.

It was a long game he was playing; so he could stay forever. “But you need to study.” He smiled.

“Yeah,” Shane mumbled, eyes cast down again. Not looking at him, not looking at the sky.

Ilya left.

***

Shane was taking off his gear when Scott Hunter sat next to him. “Hi.” He smiled.

“Hi.” Shane smiled back.

They’d done this together a million times before, quietly packing and getting ready to leave the practice facility. Today, his head filled with too many thoughts, Shane couldn’t help glancing at Scott.

The third time Scott caught him, he slammed his bag down and glowered. “What is it, Hollander?”

“Nothing,” Shane said quickly.

Scott’s brows furrowed, suspicious. It was an odd look on his usually kind face. “If you have something to say,” he bit out. “Say it.”

For a moment it was quiet, both eyeing each other, then Shane blurted. “Why did you do it?”

Scott’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do what?”

“Come out,” Shane answered. Then he sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just— I’ve seen what happened on the ice, but you didn’t have to make it official in the locker room. You knew what all these guys would say.” He gestured around them. “I mean, don’t you want to play in the NHL?”

Scott nodded. “I do.”

“There hasn’t been any openly gay player in the league’s history. You know how hockey is, all that bullshit will be kept thrown your way,” Shane said; he needed to understand. “Life’s gonna be harder.”

Scott looked thoughtful for a second. Then sighed. “Life is harder for gay people anywhere, Shane,” he said and raised his chin. “This way, it’ll be harder on my own terms.”

Shane wasn’t sure if he understood, but he nodded. He wasn’t sure if Scott’s words answered what he needed to know, but it was clear Scott had found what Scott had needed. “Gotcha, Captain,” Shane murmured.

Then he spent the next thirty minutes on the bus back to Snowbury with his head on the window, weighing those words. Life is harder anywhere. It didn’t make Shane understand shit. If anything, the restlessness beneath his skin became grittier. Before he realized it, he was getting off the bus, not yet at home.

He was crossing the parking lot, attention not on his surroundings when he got intercepted by someone.

“Hey!” The person said, then added. “Shane!”

Shane looked up and blinked. “Laurent,” he said with a polite smile.

Laurent smiled back. He looked like he was just leaving work. “I didn’t know you had a shift today.”

“I don’t,” Shane answered. “I came to see Ilya.”

“Ilya.” Laurent nodded. Then he huffed a shy laugh. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Shane raised an eyebrow.

Laurent’s gaze darted around the parking lot, and he looked like he was possibly blushing. Then his eyes locked with Shane’s. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to go out with me.”

Shane recoiled.

What?

“Go out?” he asked stupidly. “Like— like, on a date?”

“Yeah.” Laurent nodded.

“Laurent, I’m—” Shane opened and closed his mouth. “Not— I mean—”

“I thought—” Laurent stopped himself and his brows furrowed in a frown. “I’m so sorry,” he said after a moment. “I thought wrong. I— I have to catch the bus.”

He could have sauntered or rushed away, and Shane wouldn’t know. He couldn’t see or hear. His fingers were trembling, chilled to ice on a summer day and he felt numb. Shane had always been prone to get lost in his head. Get lost in his worries and anxieties, get taken over by his own critical voice. This meant from a young age, he learned how to pull away and shut it down when it got too much. This now, he knew, wasn’t one of them; not an unfounded worry nor an intrusive thought that he could block out forever. This was real.

In light of that, his feelings about Scott coming out made so much sense. It wasn’t concern for him, but a pang of jealousy and lasting envy and admiration for how brave Scott had been. For not pretending he didn’t like a girl because of the wrong shape of her curls, for not freaking out in the face of another guy asking him out but instead being brave enough to buy a blueberry muffin every day and sit there till his feelings were recognized.

How did Laurent even know, Shane wondered, then a hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat. Apparently, not everyone was as oblivious as him.

Did Ilya know? Did he know every night that he refused to stay over? Had he known last summer when he’d been Shane’s first kiss?

Shane shook his head. A lot about him made sense in this weird moment where he looked at himself in his entirety, but the part with Ilya didn’t fit. Maybe the staying over thing was a precaution, but the kiss, it didn’t make sense. Ilya wasn’t like him; Ilya loved girls, Ilya had been with girls. Ilya didn’t like him, not like that.

And Shane didn’t like him either, not like that. Ilya was Ilya; his best friend, cheating at video games, eating all Shane’s food, drooling on his bed, and antagonizing him on purpose.

Shane had gotten confused by that kiss; one he wasn’t even sure had been meant for his lips and given under influence. He’d projected on Ilya and on that one silly kiss all his fears and doubts and long-time-coming realization that he was gay.

Because he was.

Shane was gay.

He looked at the coffee shop where Ilya was, only a hundred yards away, and ran back in the direction he’d come from.

***

Someone barged into the coffee shop just as Ilya was wiping down the counter.

He blinked, then squinted. “Shane?”

“I have to talk to you,” Shane said. His voice wavered – and that halted everything.

Ilya dropped the wipe, rounding the counter. “What is it?” he asked, grabbing Shane by the shoulders. “Are your parents—”

Shane shook his head. “They're fine. It’s not that.”

Ilya would be relieved if it wasn’t for the wide-eyed look on Shane’s face and the way he’d bitten down on his trembling lip.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Then nodded. “Okay. Let me take my five.”

Shane swallowed. “I may need more than five.”

It took Ilya a minute to let his manager know he was stepping out for his break and pull Shane to the secluded back wall of the building.

“Okay, what is it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. But Shane kept looking down at his feet. “Hey, dumbass,” he hissed, one hand lifting Shane’s chin up. “You're freaking me out.”

When Shane’s eyes finally met his, Ilya took a sharp breath. He was really really freaking out now because Shane’s eyes were bright with a sheen of tears and that view constricted Ilya’s chest. He had no idea what this could be about if Yuna and David were both okay, and not knowing what to say, he just waited.

At last, voice shaky, Shane muttered, “I was talking to Scott.”

Normally, Ilya would make a joke about how he felt like crying whenever he talked to Hunter as well, but this was Shane who felt like crying. That stopped Ilya’s world on its tracks. So he nodded encouragingly, eased his grip on Shane’s chin and moved his hand up to caress his cheek.

Shane took a deep breath before continuing. “I told him how stupid it was that he came out now when he wanted to play professional hockey. And he told me how it didn’t matter because gay people have it hard everywhere. And I knew that, right?” he prompted with wide eyes. “But I never actually thought about it. There are no gay NHL players. And you know what about the parliament? Again. None!”

Ilya narrowed his eyes; he wasn’t sure where this was going. “Shane, what are you talking about?”

“I know because I checked!” Shane cried, then lowered his voice. “I freaked out a little bit when Scott said that but then Laurent asked me out—”

“What?!”

“And I really freaked out this time because how the hell did Laurent know that about me? Then it got into my head because what Scott said can’t be true for me, right, so I went home and googled, and you know what? It’s 80% less likely to be successful in the top twenty work fields in Canada if you’re gay, Ilya,” he quavered, running a hand over his hair. “And that can’t happen to me. I have to make it, okay? I have to get into an acclaimed university program, and I have to graduate with top marks, and I have to not botch that pre-calculus exam and you know what?” He pointed a finger at him. “That one’s your fault because you distract me in class, and you distract me outside the class and—”

“Shane Shane Shane." Ilya grabbed Shane’s hands and stopped him. His voice had become too loud, too frantic and there was a tremor to his body that Ilya didn’t like, and fear in his eyes that Ilya wanted to kiss away. “Breathe,” he said and nodded when Shane did as he’d been told. Ilya breathed along with him. In and out. Then he eased his grip on Shane’s hands and paced a few steps. The question left his mouth before he even realized. “So, what did you say to Laurent?”

For fuck’s sake, Ilya, that wasn’t the most important thing now, was it?

Shane looked confused. “What?”

“When he asked you out,” Ilya said with a shrug. He might as well know now.

“I told you,” Shane said. “I freaked out.”

Ilya nodded. He felt like an asshole when a part of him felt relieved at that. “So,” he said. “This was after you talked to Hunter?”

Shane nodded, fingers finding the hem of his shirt.

“So, you left the practice a little freaked out,” Ilya said, stepping closer and grasping Shane’s hands again. “And talked to Laurent and got more freaked out.”

“Yeah,” Shane rasped, head bowed down.

Ilya had a hunch. He’d had a hunch for months, for years, and now, he had a good idea where this was going. And for some reason, it felt like a matter of life and death that he heard Shane say those words.

He interlocked his fingers with Shane’s, loose, and with what he hoped was a reassuring voice, he asked, “Why?”

Shane turned his head to the side and just gazed for a moment. Then he drew in a shuddery breath, and before Ilya knew it, the tears slipped down, and he choked out. “Because I’m gay.”

“Hey.” Ilya yanked Shane into his arms before his bawling started. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said against Shane’s temple, and his heart broke a little when Shane’s body racked with sobs. Ilya shushed him, kissed him on the head, and whispered quiet reassurances. He held him close against his chest, closer than ever before, and repeated like a mantra, “It’s okay.” His fingers caressed Shane’s silky hair. He would make sure it was okay.

It took long minutes for Shane’s sobs to quieten, his hands clutching the back of Ilya’s shirt. Ilya knew too well he was going to get bitched at for not returning to work yet, but that was the last thing on his mind. Especially when Shane pulled back a little, still in his embrace, and looked at him through teary eyelashes. Voice hoarse, he whispered, “You don’t hate me?”

Like that could ever happen, Ilya thought. “Why?” he asked with a smile. “For leaving all the girls to me?” It sounded so much like Hayden Pike that he wanted to punch himself. The truth was, Ilya was freaking out inside. A full-on fit of terror, because Shane being gay mattered the entire universe and nothing at all at once. Ilya had known, he’d known, but hearing Shane put them into words crashed into him as a fresh pang of longing and regret.

“And my research's not even comprehensive,” Shane mumbled, unaware of Ilya’s reverie. “I’m also half Asian, that will impact my statistics of success.”

“Statistics of success.” Ilya shook his head. “I would have asked if you’re kidding but I know you well enough to know that conducting research on your chances of success and getting paranoid over it is very you.”

Shane blushed at that, embarrassed, and a tiny smile broke out on his face like sunlight through the clouds. Then it turned into another frown. “I’m also short.”

For a moment, Ilya didn’t understand what he'd meant. Then he guffawed. “Yeah, I don’t think height is a criterion to get into politics.”

“Neither should be being gay.” Shane shrugged in his embrace.

“You’re right,” Ilya muttered, wiping Shane’s tear tracks. God, who was he kidding? He just wanted to touch Shane’s freckles. “But you’ll make it.” He grinned. “You’re Shane Hollander, right? One in a million.”

Shane got quiet for a moment, and suddenly Ilya was aware of how much he potentially revealed. Before he could pull back though, Shane smiled – a teasing one at that. “Technically, I am one in six point five billion.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, making a show of shoving Shane away but not letting him go. Shane’s soft laugh was water for his parched throat.

“It freaks me out when you're this nice to me, you know? It's rare.” Shane smiled and god, Ilya loved that smile.

“Appreciate it, then,” he replied with a smirk. Then asked, “So, are you gonna come out Hunter style?”

“No.” Shane immediately shook his head. “Not yet. Not like that.”

Ilya nodded. He didn’t think so. “What about your parents?” he asked. “You know they’ll be okay with it. I can see David getting upset over missing this year’s pride parade though.”

Shane just nodded.

Then he gave Ilya a weird look and extricated himself from his embrace. “You don’t really mind, right?” he asked. “Because you haven’t been staying over in a while and I—"

“Don’t be stupid,” Ilya said immediately. God, he hated that Shane would even think that. “That has nothing to do with this.”

Shane nodded, head bowing.

Ilya lifted his chin again and gave him a smile. “You know what? Wait here till my shift ends and we’ll go home together.”

Ilya could indulge in another night with Shane. It wasn’t selfish, he told himself, not when Shane looked at him beseeching, eyes filled with stars.

When they’d gone back inside, Ilya had got scolded for longer than he’d been gone. It’d meant shit when Shane had looked so much calmer and rewarded Ilya with the brightest smile when he’d brought coffee for him.

When they’d arrived home, the sky had been black and clear, adorned with its lights. They’d bid good night to Shane’s parents and climbed up the stairs to Shane’s bedroom. It’d only been a week since Ilya had been there, but its familiarity had felt like a balm for his aches.

And when Shane had scooted under the sheets, the length of his warm body almost pressing against Ilya’s, it’d felt like homecoming. It’d felt like the root and resolve of all of his problems.

“Good night,” Shane had whispered.

“Good night,” Ilya had said, and hadn’t closed his eyes till Shane’s breathing quietened.

In the morning, Ilya woke up to an empty bed. It wasn’t unusual, Shane always got up before him, but something made Ilya keep silent as he traipsed down the stairs.

“I think—” He heard Shane’s voice from the kitchen. “No. I know I’m gay.”

Ilya stopped in his tracks. He didn’t know what made Shane tell his parents right now, but he knew it wasn’t his moment to partake in. Still, a tiny part of himself who didn’t trust anyone with Shane, remained rooted by the kitchen door.

“Oh, Shane,” came Yuna’s voice, then there were sounds of sniffling, chairs creaking, clothes rustling, and Ilya knew that Shane was being hugged by both of his parents. He smiled, because Yuna and David were so good, but it felt wan on his face. It came with the pang of old pain and regret over missed chances.

Hollanders said all the right things, all the brilliant things. Ilya wanted to laugh when he heard David mutter, “It’s a bummer we’ve missed the pride parade. I have to make an itinerary for next summer.”

“No, Dad.” Shane huffed a laugh. “Ilya told me you’d say that.”

“Well, Ilya knows me very well then.”

Then Yuna’s voice came, sober. “Shane. About Ilya.”

Immediately, the hair stood up on the back of Ilya’s neck. He swallowed hard.

“What about Ilya?” Shane asked.

Yuna was quiet for a moment; Ilya wanted to look. Then came her answer. “Maybe it’s better he doesn’t stay with you anymore.”

Oh.

“What?!” Shane shouted, chair screeching across the floor.

“Honey—"

“No, Mom. It’s Ilya!”

“If you didn’t come out to us just now and it was Rose sneaking into your room every night, would that be appropriate, Shane?”

“Come on, Yuna,” David said.

“No, because the difference is, Mom,” Shane said with a bite to his voice Ilya had never heard him use with his parents. “That Rose could be attracted to me that way. Ilya dates a million girls in one week, it’s not like that. It’s Ilya. He’s my best friend.”

His voice tapered to a sad murmur at the end, and Ilya couldn’t help it anymore. He peered through the ajar door.

“Yuna, come on,” David said with a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “They are like brothers.”

Ilya flinched. He hoped David was never made aware of the thoughts he had about Shane. He thought maybe this really wasn’t a conversation he should be listening but then came Shane’s voice.

“He hates being there, Mom,” he muttered. Then raised his chin and looked Yuna straight in the eyes. “He wants to stay with me,” he said firmly. “I want to stay with him.”

The look on his face when he said the last part was so stubborn, unwavering and sure that Ilya had to take a step back.

Do you want to go without me?

Never.

All this time he’d thought about how he’d give up the entire universe to stay by Shane’s side, he’d never thought about how much Shane wanted to stay with him. The realization expanded like a balloon in his chest, alleviated him and sent him into a tizz all at once.

Quietly, he stepped away from the door and turned on his heel, not hearing the end of that conversation.

He found a silent corner of Shane’s room upstairs and took out his phone.

“Hey,” Cliff said when the line connected, voice groggy early on a Sunday.

Ilya didn’t care. “It’s Roz,” he said. Then swallowed and took a deep breath. “That guy. Do you still have his number?”

“Uhm, sure,” Cliff mumbled. But instead of rattling off numbers as Ilya had expected, he asked, “But what changed your mind?”

“I told you,” Ilya nodded. “There are people I have to think about.”

Chapter End Notes

but Mimi, why did Ilya do that? who knows man, not me

TWs: mentions of child abuse, implied anxiety, low-key homophobia from grigori and scott's teammates

second song for this chapter was like a star by corinne bailey rae, i know sappy

Chapter 5: puff of heaven

Chapter Notes

PLEASE read the end notes if you have triggers.

The chapter is named after Cigarette by offonoff.

(and an Ilya song for the chapter was Fake Happy by Paramore :) )

Enjoy!

November 2007

An EDM remix of a non-EDM song was blasting out of the speakers. A dreadful remix, Ilya thought, but the blonde girl pressed against him didn’t seem like she minded. If anything, the way she kept swaying her hips with her chest pressed against Ilya’s gave the idea that she was into the music as much as she was into him.

“You have an adorable nose,” she muttered with a tap on the said nose and a giggle.

Ilya huffed. “And you are very drunk.”

She pouted, then broke into a round of titters, pulling Ilya closer. Ilya went with her; he was drunk, possibly high, and here to do a job but the arms hooked around his neck and her skinny hips under his hands felt really good.

They danced through the song and an unbearable remix of yet another summer hit started blaring out when Ilya caught the guy watching them. Just outside the dance floor, sipping on a beer with dark eyes cast on them both, making Ilya’s feet falter for a beat.

“Oh,” the girl said, following Ilya’s gaze over her shoulder. “That’s my boyfriend.”

Ilya’s head snapped back. “Your boyfriend?”

“Aw, don’t get nervous,” the girl said with a pat on the cheek and giggled. “He loves watching.”

Ilya looked at the guy again. His eyes were intense, but the girl must be right as he wasn’t wearing the look of someone who wanted to march over and beat Ilya to a pulp. Instead, he was focused, gauging. Appraising.

Ilya groaned to himself; he had a good guess who this guy was.

“Hey!” the girl exclaimed when Ilya nudged her aside and made his way to the edge of the crowd.

The guy’s eyes followed him, and when Ilya stopped in front of him, his mouth spread into a grin. “You’re Ilya, right?” he asked.

Ilya gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

The guy, clearly already plenty high, beamed at him. “You’re taller than I’ve expected, Ilya.”

“Yeah, it’s all the vodka I drink before bed,” Ilya said drily. The guy stared at him, then – apparently full of giggles like his girlfriend – burst into laughter. And once he collected himself, and his eyes raked over Ilya’s body, his gaze too was all too similar to hers.

This wasn’t the first time Ilya had been checked out by a guy, but he still took an instinctive step back. This guy, he wasn’t ugly, Ilya thought. He had collar-length mousy hair and, like Marlow had told Ilya, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He hadn’t been gifted with the most fantastic facial features either, but he was cute, in a Peter Parker way. With his Mary-Jane twenty steps behind them, they probably made a hot picture.

Ilya shook his head at the thought before it could take a life on its own in his inebriated brain. He closed the gap between them just to squeeze what he’d been holding into the guy’s pocket.

 “Oh,” the guy murmured. Then he huffed a laugh and pressed folded bills into Ilya’s hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Ilya muttered with a nod, not really caring if the guy had heard him but when he made to withdraw, his hand was gripped tighter.

“You can keep dancing,” the guy murmured, eyes hazy with the weed he’d already smoked but gaze afire. It shifted to the girlfriend for a beat before he looked back at Ilya and laughed. “Kelsie seems to like you.”

Ilya didn’t turn to look at Kelsie. He knew the guy didn’t mean only Kelsie seemed to like him and that wasn’t something Ilya could allow himself to consider. “Thanks but no,” he said with a tight-lipped smile, jerking his hand away.

Pocketing what he hoped was the right sum, he turned on his heel and started walking to the other side of the dance floor. “Have fun, Kels!” he called out to the blonde girl who was standing there with pursed lips and hands on her waist.

Even in the crowded club, it wasn’t hard to find Kyle.

“Hey!” he yelped when Ilya jerked him away from his dance partner. Dance partner was an inappropriately nice term, Ilya should have said the creep because the guy looked old. Inappropriately old. In a club they’d sneaked in with fake IDs, dancing with older people was expected but this guy Kyle had found, scowling at Ilya now, looked at least in his late-thirties. Ilya had no idea how Kyle always attracted these types – this wasn’t even a gay club, for fuck’s sake – but he did.

Ilya shot the creep a dirty look and turned to his friend. “We should leave.”

“What?” Kyle asked with a frown. “Now?”

Ilya had known Kyle for basically his entire life, and he still wasn’t used to this Clark Kent bullshit. Kyle looked different. Outside of school, outside of their town. Ilya wasn’t a stranger to keeping some things away from Snowbury himself, but Kyle Swift went full double life. Where everyone knew him, he wore a pair of glasses, carried a book everywhere, knew everything and when he didn’t, he asked the right questions. The perfect picture student meant to be their valedictorian if it wasn’t for one Shane Hollander – who was a little bit like that Kyle; perfect scores, black-rimmed frames, ambitious academic goals. This Kyle, however, was utterly unlike Shane, in his skimpy white tee and tight jeans getting ogled by old perverts.

“Yeah,” Ilya said, maneuvering them away from tonight’s old pervert.

“But we’ve just arrived,” Kyle complained, the flush of alcohol and adrenaline still high on his cheeks.

For a fleeting moment, because the comparison had been on his mind, Ilya got hit with the mental image of how Shane would look if he had more in common with this Kyle. Not just taking off the glasses and putting away his books, Ilya had seen him without both. But here, under the neon lights of the club. In a pair of tight jeans with his cheeks pink and eyes hazy, dancing against Ilya like Kyle had been dancing against that guy, like Kelsie had been dancing against him all night.

It was a fleeting thought, thankfully, brought on by the atmosphere and Ilya’s dazed mind. He shook his head.

“It’s past midnight and you’re drunk and high,” he said. And right now I just want to lay next to Shane and sleep forever, and you're my ride. “We have school in the morning.”

“Since when Ilya Rozanov is concerned about school?” Kyle asked with a scowl, jabbing Ilya in the chest. Then his hand dropped, and his scowl gave into a smirk. “Aw,” he said. “Of course. Friday morning, English with Shane.”

Ilya huffed. “Yeah, the same Friday with that history club you only joined because Kip asked you.”

Kyle’s grin dropped. “Fuck off, Ilya.”

“This is not about Shane,” Ilya said. Then threw an arm around Kyle’s shoulders and hoped that was enough of an apology. He didn’t feel so bad; Kyle gave as good as he got when it came to needling each other on their hopeless crushes on their respective best friends. Not that it was something either ever spoke out loud. “I have stuff to do in the morning.”

Kyle looked at him. A long moment later, he sighed. “Okay, but I need to sober up. I can’t drive like this.”

Ilya smiled. “I’ll find Svetlana.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t kill you for cutting our fun short.”

It’d been as easy to find Svetlana as it’d been to find Kyle; she’d been drinking a group of college guys under the table and when Ilya approached she mercifully hadn’t killed him. Though, raising an eyebrow, she’d asked, “Why are we leaving so early?”

To which Kyle had grinned and said, “He misses Shane.”

“Aww,” Svetlana had cooed, her blue eyes brimming with mirth, a perfect mirror of Kyle’s. “He misses Shane.”

Ilya had ignored them and the heat on his face both, and marched outside with a grumble that was supposed to be, “Shut the hell up.”

The collective and arduous effort on trying to get Kyle sober enough, however, hadn’t been successful as their designated driver was more baked than anyone else, and Svetlana had ended up driving – which wasn’t the safest choice because Svetlana was… Svetlana.

By the time they reached the town, it was close to two am and Ilya had lost years off of his life. He loved his friends, he did, but his head was killing him and all he wanted to do was fall asleep.

Finally alone on the empty street, he allowed himself a second to listen to the winds of autumn, and just breathe. A few moments later, he was climbing up to Shane’s room. He landed on the carpet softly and was pulling the window closed when he heard the barely audible murmur of his name.

“Ilya?”

Ilya looked over his shoulder, only seeing Shane’s shadowy figure on the bed. With only light coming from the moon and the lamp posts outside, he could barely make out the shape of his back and the covers pooling around his waist.

“Yeah,” he whispered, approaching the bed. This close, he could see Shane’s dark head on the pillow, tilted back in a half-asleep attempt to see Ilya. His eyes weren’t even open. Ilya chuckled quietly, pulling the blanket over his bare shoulder. His free hand caressed the silky hair reaching Shane’s nape. “Go back to sleep.”

Shane hummed, burrowing into the pillow, and in a heartbeat, his breathing was even.

Ilya kept his fingers there for a few more seconds, observing what he could see of Shane’s relaxed face in the dark before toeing off his sneakers and stripping his jeans. He should step out to the hallway, find the bathroom, freshen up because he hated laying next to Shane smelling like booze and pot and sweat, but Shane’s bed – a bigger bed; the same desk, the same chair, the same goddamned Ottawa Centaurs poster but a new, bigger bed bought after the argument Ilya had witnessed between the Hollanders – was so inviting, and Shane looked so impossibly warm that Ilya felt aching chill down his spine.

He hadn’t been sleeping well in the past few nights; he couldn’t come to Shane’s at a reasonable hour – and wasn’t it hilarious that two in the morning was reasonable now – and sleeping anywhere else had left him agitated. It was a goddamned catch-22, Ilya thought, that he could only have restful sleep with Shane beside him but anytime he did, he worried that he’d startle awake in the middle of the night and wake Shane with him. Shane didn’t have to know that almost four years after his mom had passed away, he was still woken up by nightmares about her. And Shane didn’t have to know that most of the time, the nightmares featured Grigori more than they did Irina.

They never came with Shane, though. Not yet.

So, he just snatched a clean top from the dresser and slid under the covers behind him.

And he kept his hands to himself, like he always did. His head throbbed heavy with the weight of the day, and he kept his hands to himself; but at some point, ten, twenty, thirty minutes later, he found his forehead pressed between Shane’s shoulder blades. And when he let himself inhale the scent of his shampoo and the warmth of his skin, he told himself no one would know.

***

“You’re texting him?” Shane heard Ilya hiss at Kyle as he approached their table.

Kyle popped a piece of apple in his mouth, shrugging.

“When did you even get his number?”

Kyle shrugged again, before raising his head and catching the sight of Shane. “Oh, hi,” he smiled.

“Hey,” Shane said slowly. He hesitated for a moment, lunch tray in his hands. Normally, he’d sit without asking, this was their usual table, but it sounded like Ilya was having a private talk with his friend and that wasn’t any of Shane’s business. “Uhm—"

Ilya kicked the chair across from him before Shane could say anything else. “Sit." He motioned, smiling up at him.

Shane huffed but slid into the seat. He glanced at Kyle for a moment – who was now looking down at his phone – before shifting his gaze back to Ilya. “Where were you this morning?” he asked, taking a bite of his meatballs. “You missed English.”

More than missing English, Shane was sure that Ilya had come over last night. He didn’t remember him arriving, and he hadn’t been there when Shane had woken up, but Ilya always came and left like a hurricane trying to be considerate; only leaving the tiniest signs of him being there. The empty side of the bed not dishevelled but slept-in. One of Shane’s bigger shirts thrown towards the hamper but not quite making it. Shane, wrapped impossibly tight in his blankets, left hot and sweltering, in an attempt of caretaking.

It was cute, Shane thought, but would never say out loud. But he still didn’t like it when Ilya wasn’t there in the morning.

“Had an errand to run,” Ilya said with a wave of his hand. Then disgustingly he slurped his spaghetti and cracked a grin that looked mad with the red sauce all over his lips.

Shane shook his head. He was going to roll his eyes and call him an idiot, tell him to wipe that mess off, but before he could, the sound of Kyle’s texting pulled Ilya’s attention away.

His eyes narrowed, Ilya leaned in and said in a low voice. “Kyle.”

Kyle cast him a defiant look. “Ilya.”

For a brief moment, they just watched each other; Shane shifted in his seat. Suddenly, his yogurt cup seemed so interesting, the spaghetti utterly compelling.

Then he heard Ilya sigh. “He’s your father’s age.”

Shane’s eyebrows went high.

“He’s not that old,” Kyle retorted.

“Yeah sorry,” Ilya said in a tone that always accompanied his sardonic smiles. “He’s only twice your age.”

Oh wow, Shane thought, then chided himself for being nosy. Before he could hear what Kyle was going to respond with, however, they got interrupted by voices approaching their table. Laughs and giggles, flirty banter.

“Now shut up, please,” Kyle murmured to Ilya before smiling wide as Kip and Scott took the two empty seats next to Shane.

“Hi, guys,” Scott greeted.

“Hey." Kip grinned, leaning on his boyfriend’s arm.

Then Kyle started chatting with Kip like he hadn’t just been having an argument with Ilya, and Kip cracked jokes making Scott laugh too loud. Others came and left, a rotation of their friends having lunch while creating a cacophony, and Ilya didn’t say anything else about Kyle or the guy who was twice his age or anything else that didn’t concern Shane in the first place.

When it was only the two of them left, he nudged Shane’s foot and asked, “Did you bike here?”

Shane shook his head. “Took the bus.”

“Okay.” Ilya nodded with a slow grin. “I have a ride. We’ll go home together.”

When the last class for the day let out, the town’s entire high school population poured out into the parking lot, trying to leave the school premises as fast as possible on a Friday evening. Ilya stepped next to Shane, nudging him towards the back of the lot.

His windswept curls were longer than ever before, Shane noted. His wide shoulders clad in a flimsy leather jacket, he was gliding through the crowd with ease and a smirk on his face. So very Ilya that for a moment, Shane got hit with this feeling that he always had the omniscient knowledge that that four-year-old boy with the mischievous grin was always meant to look like this, meant to be here like this. The opposite of Shane in so many ways but his best friend.

He looked down at his feet and cleared his throat. “So, what’s going on with Kyle?”

In his peripheral, he could see Ilya smirking. “What?” He nudged Shane’s shoulder. “Running a recon mission on your enemy?”

“He’s not my enemy,” Shane said quickly. Kyle, at best, was a rival. An academic rival. He was also someone Shane had known all his life and someone who mattered to Ilya and someone who sounded like he was up to some bullshit. So what if Shane was curious? “I’m just worried about him.”

Ilya snorted. “Worried about Kyle?” he asked. “You don’t even like him.”

“I like him,” Shane argued. He did. “He’s just—” He’s just so brilliant and knowledgeable, tall, pretty. He just spends so much time with you. “He and I just don’t have much in common.”

“Yeah.” Ilya grinned, poking him on the cheek. “Unlike you, he actually knows how to have fun.”

Just for a beat, Shane’s steps faltered. Just for one beat.

Ilya continued. “I can’t believe you’re spending your hockey-free Saturday interviewing a saggy old guy, by the way,” he huffed with a shake of his head.

He hadn’t noticed.

Shane quickened his feet to make up for the lapse. “He’s a brilliant scholar on French and English literature.”

“Yeah. Boring.”

Shane rolled his eyes. It wasn’t boring. It was fantastic. Professor Quinn Cameron’s work on literature and identity and community was fascinating and when their guidance counsellor told Shane he could do a little project for an extra language credit, Shane was all too excited about it. The counsellor was also happy to tell Shane Kyle had done a similar project with someone in Columbia. Ilya would say Shane was playing catch-up or trying to one-up him or whatever but Kyle’s neither academic nor personal actions had any bearing on Shane. He wanted that extra credit and he was excited about it.

He was also excited about taking an early look around McGill, one of the places he’d considered since he learned what higher education was.

“You can come with me,” he told Ilya for the eighth time this week. “We can see around the city and the campus.”

“Hm, no thanks,” Ilya answered as expected.

Shane sighed. He’d never say this out loud, but Ilya was a factor in where Shane was going to end up. He’d only go as far and high as Ilya would come with him. And Montreal as a city, Shane thought, seemed logical. It had all the greatest universities, it was relatively close to home, and it was all the things Ilya could ever want. Loud. Crowded and lively. Fun.

“Mom’s very worried,” Shane tried again. “She thinks I’ll be tempted by Dad’s McGill spirit, you should have heard them arguing about which school is actually better… at…” He came to a halt. Then cocked his head to the side. “Ilya,” he said slowly. “Where’s the car?”

Ilya grinned. “Ta-daa!” he said, opening his arms to the side with flourish. Then patted the front fairing of the motorcycle.

An honest to god, real motorcycle.

Shiny and black, huge, heavy. Not brand-new or top-of-the-line with its imperfect paintwork and worn edges of its metal, but a goddamned motorcycle.

“Ilya,” Shane repeated. “Where’s the car?”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “I said I have a ride, not a car.” Then he grinned and did the jazz hands again. “So, ta-daa!”

“When you said you have a ride,” Shane said slowly. “I thought you borrowed Andrei’s car.” He rubbed a hand on his face and groaned. “Instead you rented a motorcycle.”

He knew Ilya didn’t rent a motorcycle, he wanted to be optimistic for one second.

“I bought a motorcycle,” Ilya confirmed his fears with a beam. Then he patted the bike again like it was a cute puppy and not a machine that could kill him in a momentary lapse. “This morning actually,” he continued, ignoring Shane’s reverie. “So, meet my baby.”

That grin, Shane thought, was so punchable sometimes.

He shook his head firmly. “I'm not getting on that thing.”

Ilya pouted. “Aw, c’mon Shane.”

Shane was stronger than that. “No.”

“Shane.”

“No.”

“You don’t wanna get on my baby?”

“When did you even get a license?” Shane asked.

“Last month,” Ilya answered quickly.

Shane narrowed his eyes, looking between the bike and Ilya’s innocent face. Then he scoffed because that machine wasn’t a bike; a bike was a relatively safe and fun vehicle to ride along the riverbank or across a park and to get in some cardio while doing so. This thing was deadly. “That thing has the potential to kill you, Ilya."

“You have the potential to kill me, Shane.”

“How did you even afford this?”

“I saved money.” Ilya shrugged.

Shane raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked. “Your tips at Timmies?”

“It’s second-hand, okay? Or maybe third,” Ilya said and yeah, Shane could see it was used, very used. Was this thing even remotely safe? Did anyone perform a pre-ride inspection on it in the last decade? Tire pressure and wheels, levers and brake function, oil, fluids, signals, lights and so many other things Shane didn’t know about that could go wrong in the blink of an eye and Ilya was just continuing, “It wasn’t expensive, okay? And look what I bought you.”

He reached towards the back of the seat with an auspicious smile, then pulled out a helmet. A helmet. At least there wasn’t a ta-daa this time.

“You didn’t buy it for me, asshole.” Shane yanked it out of Ilya’s hands. “It’s required by the state that you have an approved helmet for anyone you want to carry.”

“Thus for you,” Ilya said with a shrug. “You’re the permanent plus one in my life, aren’t you?”

Shane’s mouth opened and closed, he looked down at his feet to will away the heat on his face. It was November for god’s sake. Cold, windy autumn.

When he internally cursed Ilya enough for saying stupid shit and looked back up, the idiot already had his helmet on. He nodded towards the one Shane was holding. “C’mon,” he said with a smile.

Shane shook his head.

Ilya rolled his eyes, then raised three fingers in a salute. “I, Ilya Rozanov, promise I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and Shane Hollander to ride this baby as safely as possible. And I have both a license and a register. Scout’s honour.”

Shane felt his lips twitch. “You’re not a boy scout.”

“I could be.” Ilya shrugged.

“You got kicked out of the first troop, remember?”

“I didn’t get kicked out." Ilya huffed. “I quit.” Then he grinned like the idiot he was.

Shane tried to smile back, but it faded to a nervous crimp when he saw the bike again. Then he saw the hopeful glint in Ilya’s eyes and had to swallow hard. “Maybe.”

“C’mon.” Ilya waggled his brows.

A long moment, a very long moment later, Shane sighed. “Okay. But you’ll be careful!”

And for one second, the excited grin on Ilya’s face was worth all the anxiety he felt as he put on the helmet.

“Okay,” Ilya said with a clap, pushing up the kickstand and slinging a leg over the bike. He motioned Shane with a tilt of his head. “Come here.”

Shane stepped closer and gingerly perched behind Ilya. It was like sitting on any seat but for a second he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He’d forgotten to freak out about this part, the part where he’d have his chest pressed against Ilya’s back.

Ilya cast a glance over his shoulder and beckoned him closer. “Sit close to me, okay?” he said and there were no jokester grins, nor a hint of exasperation in his voice now. Just his hands finding Shane’s hands and guiding them around his waist. Just Shane’s arms encircling Ilya’s body and his pulse beating at his wrists where they brushed Ilya’s jacket.

Shane inhaled sharply.

Ilya let out a sound of pain and a quiet laugh. “Not too tight,” he said, peering over his shoulder with bright eyes again. “You don’t want to suffocate your rider.”

“Yeah,” Shane rasped out, hoping his voice wasn’t as hoarse as he felt it in his chest. “I’d like to see your face when I actually do that.”

Ilya gave him more tips, then; let your body go with the movement, don’t fight the turns, don’t lean into them either. Shane just nodded.

When the engine came to roar, however, he tensed again. “Ilya.”

Ilya let go of the handles, his hands warm as they slid over Shane’s. Gently, he disentangled Shane’s fingers from where they were curled around his jacket and held them for a moment.

“It’ll be fun,” he said with a smile. “I promise.”

“Okay.”

So, Shane nodded, tightening his arms around Ilya.

***

It hadn’t been fun.

It’d been okay at first, the mere seconds before they made it to the main road. But once Ilya had revved up the bike, Shane’s nerves were shot. His heartbeat mimicking the vehicle’s pulse had made him feel sick. Moving so fast so close to the ground was alarming, to say the least, and being pressed against Ilya, being wrapped around Ilya, hadn’t helped either. At all.

Thankfully, it was only a short ride home and Ilya couldn’t say much about the way Shane had frozen still or wiggled when he shouldn’t have as he had to hurry to his shift at the coffee shop.

Shane felt disappointed with himself, for not being able to relax enough when he’d seen Ilya with that glint in his eyes that meant he loved something so much and wanted to share it with Shane. Shane would give Ilya anything in the entire world, but the first trial had been an epic failure and it’d be a lie to say that he was looking forward to the second.

Discouraged, he’d taken the rest of the evening off. He’d just gone through the outline for his project, checked his list of questions a few times, packed. Mentally and physically preparing for his trip the next day.

The next day found him on McGill’s downtown campus with his parents trailing beside him. It was a Saturday, but it was packed with thousands of college students all dressed in university merch and all roaring hockey chants, cheering, and whooping.

“We should have bought tickets for the game,” Dad mused.

“Shane’s here for an interview, honey.”

“No, he’s here to see the great Canadian university experience, right buddy?” Dad nudged Shane’s shoulder with a mischievous grin.

Mom shot them an exasperated look.

It’d been like this since the morning and Shane wanted to scream.

“Look, Shane.” Dad gestured excitedly, ignoring Mom’s irritation. “That’s Marty the Martlet!”

“Yeah, real cool, Dad,” Shane muttered.

He wasn’t lying. He didn’t care for McGill’s mascot, clearly, but their day had been really cool. They’d wandered around the city, visited the museums at Place Royale and the library and the government buildings, and ate lunch at a fine dining restaurant that could fit four of Snowbury’s pseudo-fanciest. And while Marty the Martlet didn’t amuse Shane as much as it did his dad, McGill’s campus was equally amazing.

“Go Martlets!” A guy shouted, swatting his dad on the arm and holding up a high five.

Dad laughed loudly. “Yeah!” He slapped the guy five. “Let’s go Martlets!”

Shane couldn’t take any more of this.

“Hey guys,” he said to his parents. “Maybe I should go find Dr. Cameron’s office? It’s already quarter to five.”

“Are you sure, Shane?” Mom asked.

Shane just smiled. “Yeah, Mom. I’ll call you once I’m done and we can go get dinner.”

“Or,” Dad said with a grin. “We can go to the game.”

“I think we should see Université’s campus as well when we drove all the way here.”

“Oh, Canada’s fourth best university according to QS, you say?”

“McGill only ranks first because the education is in English, and you know that, David.”

“I am not really sure, Yuna, because I remember the 1986—”

“Look!” Shane almost shouted. “It’s there. That’s the department building. I’ll call once I’m done, okay? You guys decide what we do for dinner.”

Then he rushed out of there. He couldn’t take any more of Dad’s college spirit or Mom’s repugnance about McGill; he had a bigger thing to worry about. Once he entered the ground floor of the building, he pulled out his folder and checked his notes, and checked them again. And when there were only five minutes left on the clock, he made his way up the stairs, mentally rehearsing how to introduce himself and approach his subject.

He easily found the office and knocked on the door lightly.

“Come in!” came a voice from inside.

“Uhm, hi,” Shane said, pushing the door open. “Professor Cameron?”

The guy sitting behind the desk put a hand on his chest. “Ouch.” He winced. “Am I aging that badly?”

“Oh no,” Shane spluttered, a frantic shake of his head, because the guy was clearly not the fifty-something-year-old professor, nor aging badly. “I mean, I—” The rehearsed lines were dust in the air; he already messed it up.

The guy just laughed, and the sound was like honey. Shane swallowed. He made a note in the back of his mind, behind the sheet of panic, that he was very handsome, with his dark thick hair and his dark eyes. He looked so elegant, and so mature despite looking in his mid-twenties at most.

“It’s okay. Well, thank you, I guess, because I am not a professor yet,” he smiled a charming smile. “Just Cameron’s research assistant, Eric. You must be Shane, right?”

Shane nodded his head in assent. Then croaked out, “Yes.”

“Don’t stand there,” the guy, Eric, motioned for Shane to enter the room. “I'm afraid Professor Cameron is going to be busy for a while, but I can help you with your questions.”

“Oh,” Shane murmured, lowering himself on a seat at the opposite side of the desk. That was a bummer. That was a disaster. He made a fool of himself in front of a stranger and the guy he was supposed to interview wasn’t even here. “Uhm, thanks,” he said anyway.

All hope for his project was gone and he mentally kissed the extra credit goodbye. For a second, he mused whether the hotshot professor at Columbia actually spared his weekend for Kyle, then shook his head. Eric was looking at him expectantly, and Eric was being nice. The least Shane could do was take out his questions and try to do his best with a grad student’s answers.

It didn’t take him long to realize that doing his best with a grad student’s answers had been heavily underestimating Eric. Eric’s answers were wonderful; Eric was wonderful. He’d taken in every question with interest, let Shane overexplain the minutest details. And in answering, he’d offered so many new perspectives, ones Shane hadn’t even considered before. At one point, casually, so fucking casually, he’d mentioned he’d done his undergraduate in Harvard, and Shane had had a little freak-out and a little daydreaming about going there himself. And when Eric, again, casually, had dropped that he was bisexual, his heart had lurched. To see a guy like him – a little scholarly, a little into guys – on his way to absolute success made Shane feel both thrilled and envious.

“So, yoga, huh?” he asked with a grin when the conversation side-tracked, done with the interview questions.

“You have to have certain control over your body if you want to have control over here.” Eric smiled, tapping his temple. Then he squinted and asked with curiosity, “So, why here?” He gestured around. “You want to move to Montreal for university?”

“Uhm, maybe,” Shane said.

“Hm.” Eric cocked his head. “Tired of small-town life?”

Shane shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter to me actually,” he answered honestly. “As long as the education is good.” He knew what part of higher education appealed to him and the lifestyle on its own wasn’t really it. Shane wanted the academia, everything else could be kept or left. He wouldn’t mind a small town; he loved that routine he had all his life, living in a place that felt like he could contain it in his two palms. But that was the thing; it wasn’t just his life. “But I have someone who’ll come with me and he’s more fun than me, I guess,” he said. “Likes fun more than me for sure. I’m a bit on the boring side, and he may appreciate a big city.”

Eric made a thoughtful noise, then asked, “Is he a boyfriend?”

“What?” Shane spluttered, then gave an awkward laugh. “No, he, Ilya, he’s just my best friend.”

Eric hummed before cracking a smile. “You guys must be close.”

“We are.”

“But I don’t think you’re on the boring side, Shane,” Eric said. “You're a brilliant kid. Sorry, young person." He chuckled. Then with a sober tone, he added, “You don’t have to change parts of yourself or be fun, whatever that means. You don’t have to live the city life for someone else. Even a close friend.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Shane dissented, but he didn’t know what else to say. Because people didn’t understand. Ilya wasn’t a close friend. Hayden was a close friend. Rose was a close friend. Ilya was his best friend. Their lives were entangled so tight together that Shane couldn’t remember the last day he’d gone without seeing Ilya’s face or hearing Ilya’s voice. And Shane would mould and remould almost any aspect of his life to keep it that way. I need him to follow me, was a pathetic thought he didn’t acknowledge too often, but it was the truth. He couldn’t say that to Eric, though, so he just said, “I get lost sometimes. In whatever I am doing, in my books, in my own head.” He swallowed. “He helps me out of there.”

Eric kept quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “It must be nice to have someone who complements you that way, I guess,” he mused, then laughed. “To get you out of your comfort zone.”

Shane nodded, though he didn’t think Eric had completely understood. Ilya could take him out of his comfort zone, and Ilya could absolutely run it to the ground, burn it down to its bare bones with one flash of fire. Then with one glimpse, a reassuring arm around his shoulders, a true smile, he would build it all back up, with himself right in the middle of it.

“Yeah,” Shane muttered.

They talked for a few more minutes. As Shane was gathering his notes and papers to leave, Eric said, “You know what Shane, I think McGill would be so lucky to have you." He smiled. “I hope you choose us.”

Shane smiled back. “Don’t tell my mom but I think I already did.”

“Is she an Ottawa disciple?” Eric raised an eyebrow. “Or Toronto?”

Shane shook his head with a laugh. Then answered in his best French, “Université de Montréal.”

“Yikes.” Eric’s handsome face crinkled.

Shane laughed louder.

He got up and Eric raised with him. When they stopped at the door, he extended Shane a piece of paper. “Give me a call if your feelings stay the same next year. I’ll try to help you with anything I can, really.” He smiled again and added, “Your Ilya as well.”

Shane took the paper, nodding. He bid goodbye and left.

Your Ilya was still ringing in his ears when he found his parents.

***

Saturday morning, like the Friday evening the day before, had been spent in front of a coffee machine. Almost two years at this now, Ilya was good at making latte after latte. It was still a fucking relief when his shift ended, and he could get the fuck out there.

He rushed to where he’d parked his bike earlier that day. His new bike. A motorbike he’d got lucky enough to buy dirt cheap. He had to keep it at Kyle’s garage at night, away from Grigori’s reach, and it was an absolute fucking bummer that Shane had freaked out before and after getting on it, when all Ilya dreamt about was the two of them riding somewhere together – but it was still his bike. When the bed he slept in was Shane’s, and the food he ate was Shane’s, and he was still dependent on his father for some of the other basics, that meant something. One thing of Ilya’s, one thing for now, when every other cent of what he earned was boxed and put aside for the future. Like so many other things.

It was almost seven pm, and he parked the bike two streets away from the house party he was going to work tonight, when one of those things rang his phone.

“Hey,” Shane’s voice chimed in his ear.

“Hey,” Ilya said back, slowing down his steps. The college kids could wait for their weed. “How’s Montreal?”

“Good. I’ve just finished my interview, actually.”

“Yeah? How was the old man?”

“Well, he didn’t show up." Shane sighed. “Seems like he doesn’t have time for high school kids.”

“Rude,” Ilya said, but noted how Shane didn’t sound like his usual distraught self after something had gone wrong. Still, he asked, “Is your world ending?”

“No,” Shane said, then chuckled. “I’ve just conversed with his research assistant instead; his name’s Eric and it went better than I’ve imagined.” Then he let out a sigh and Ilya knew he was smiling into the phone. “He was just brilliant.”

Ilya asked, casually, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shane said excitedly, and at that moment, Ilya hated it. “He went to Harvard, can you believe it?”

“Harvard?”

“Yeah, English lit. And now he’s doing research on bilingual communities. He gave me this huge list of books, very exciting.” Ilya shuffled on his feet. So what, the guy had memorized a bunch of books. “Oh!” Shane laughed. “He even played hockey!”

Ilya looked up at the dark sky. “At Harvard?”

“Yeah, he was their goalie.”

“Harvard has a hockey team? I thought they only accepted smart people.”

“Eric is smart, though,” Shane said for what Ilya believed for the hundredth time in the last minute. “He made me think about this project from a whole new perspective. He knows things I haven’t ever thought about. He blew my mind away.”

It looked like it was going to break into rain any minute now. Ilya felt his free hand twitch. “Is he gay?” he blurted, the words out of his mouth before he’d even realized it. Because what was an older guy doing blowing a high schooler’s mind away? That didn’t sound right.

Shane hummed. “I think he’s bisexual.”

Ilya stalled completely then. “Bisexual?” The word sounded so foreign in his voice, so alien, as if it hadn’t existed somewhere distant in the back of his mind since he was fourteen. Just another thing he’d boxed and put away.

“Yeah,” Shane confirmed.

Ilya laughed, hollow, and his voice was a tangle when he tried to joke. “Old, smart, and into guys? Maybe we should hook him up with Kyle.”

“Yeah,” Shane said again, slower this time. A moment passed, he asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Your voice is weird.”

“It’s a long-distance call,” Ilya said with a shrug that no one would see. “You’re in Quebec right now, if you haven’t realized.”

“No, that’s not it,” Shane said simply, suspicious. Then he gasped, “Oh my god! Did you have an accident?”

Ilya couldn’t comprehend the switch for a second. Then he started laughing. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Did you?” Shane asked.

“Well, no.”

“I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, probably looking like a madman smiling alone in the middle of a dark road. “Both me and my baby are okay,” he assured.

Shane huffed. “Stop referring to your motorcycle as your baby.”

“Why?” Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Shane grumbled, “You are insufferable.”

Ilya chuckled. “You will miss me when I’m gone.”

“Yeah, if I ever notice,” Shane retorted.

Ilya’s madman grin waned to a wry smile. At that brief moment, Shane felt too far away. A province, a country, an entire universe away, and Ilya choked out, “When are you coming back?”

“Before midnight,” Shane answered; Ilya felt pathetic at the relief.

He’s not your sleeping aid, his sensible side said. Ilya got really good at ignoring it over years though, so that was what he did.

Then he heard distant noises at the other end of the line before Shane’s voice chimed clear again. “I have to go,” he said. “We’re having dinner before driving back.”

Ilya nodded. “Okay.”

“We’ll be back before midnight,” Shane repeated.

Moving his feet to the house at the end of the street, so he could be done and out and back home before Shane, Ilya said, “Great, I’ll see you tonight.”

***

It’d all gone to shit so fast.

One minute they'd been at Kyle's friend’s place; the music was blasting, everybody drinking, some boys dancing, and some girls puking. The next minute, the door was getting rapped on insistently and the party was ambushed by a group of cops snarling and forcing their way inside.

Ilya had been at the back of the house, in the kitchen, when he’d heard the voices, dealing right at that second. One of the cops growled out that they’d got complaints, about the noise from the house with the college kids, that there’d been underage drinking and possibly someone selling drugs.

Later, Ilya would think about how it could have been someone passing out actual hard shit, coke, meth, whatever, even though he’d not seen anything of the sort. At that moment though, the words had shot the wildest panic down his spine, and in the two sets of blue eyes cast on him, he could see its reflection.

The quarrel between some of the guys and the police had followed shortly after, the heated spats coming from the front of the house – and through the kitchen door, the cop who’d been talking had caught Ilya’s eyes. There hadn’t been time for his breath to even hitch before Kyle and Svetlana were pushing him out the back door and then, they’d started running.

“I can't believe you were dealing at Aram’s party.” Kyle heaved minutes later. The three of them were some distance away from the house now, trying to catch their breath after fleeing the scene with jack-rabbit hearts.

Svetlana groaned. “Kyle, where’s the fucking car?”

Flee, they had, but they couldn’t skip town yet seeing as Kyle didn’t fucking remember where he’d parked the car.

“His party that I invited you to,” he continued bitching at Ilya.

Ilya rolled his eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide how badly they were shaking. “You were fine smoking it.”

Kyle just shook his head, his normally friendly face contorted with ire. “You know,” he said a minute later. “When you first told me you were dealing, I thought it was just something on a whim.” He checked out a car, then made a frustrated noise in his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to go on for this long, Ilya,” he continued. “You weren’t supposed to deal at my friend's place.”

“How do you think these things happen, Kyle?” Ilya asked, feeling his own frustration bubble up in his chest. God, it sounded so shitty, but he hoped someone at Aram's party was actually dealing hard drugs. He had a plan in place, a plan that’d been working so well so far. “If you’re smoking at a party, someone’s dealing, and sometimes that’s me.”

A humorless hah left Kyle’s mouth.

“Where the hell is this car?” Svetlana grumbled again.

“It went on for so long, Ilya. You could be caught today.”

“Yeah, I realized, now let’s find your car and get the fuck out of here,” Ilya bit out. He could feel the tension, as brittle as the squally weather. On the edge of breaking.

And Kyle didn’t shut up. “What do you even do with the money, huh? Oh let me guess, it’s in a box labelled For Shane with a little heart doodled next to it. You’re just happy Shane granted you the permission to tag along with him while making all these grand plans for himself, aren’t you, Ilya?” He laughed. “It’s getting too old, too fucking old.”

In the back of his mind, Ilya knew that Kyle was just panicking, and worrying. Like Ilya worried about him and his troubling relationships with older men because the sensible part of Ilya knew that they were simply a bunch of kids way over their heads, sunk deep in shit water. Ilya at the forefront of his mind, however, having a tiny freak-out of his own, shot with adrenaline, and getting pressed where he was thin-skinned, barked out an ugly laugh.

“Pot kettle,” he scoffed, turning to Kyle. Only to find in his eyes that Kyle simply didn’t know. He didn’t understand; he had an idea, but he didn’t get the entirety of what it meant to be Grigori Rozanov’s son, and he couldn’t fathom, not even with his perfect IQ, why what Ilya had with Shane was the reprieve from it, the anti-thesis. “At least I don't seek validation from creeps my father's age because the guy I'm in love with is in love with someone else. You know Kip’s never going to leave Scott, right? Never, Kyle. When you're lining up with guys who want you for one thing, Kip and Scott—"

“Ilya, shut the hell up before you say anything worse,” Svetlana warned.

“Oh, fuck you, asshole,” Kyle spat at the same time.

Ilya laughed and laughed harder. He opened his mouth, but Svetlana jabbed him in the chest. “Shut up,” she repeated. “I'm not playing nanny to the two of you, okay? Let's just fucking go home.”

Her blue eyes were icier than he’d ever seen before, and Ilya had to avert his gaze. Looking around, he realized they’d been stalling near the end of whatever street they were on. He huffed, finding Kyle’s jeep parked on the curb. “There's your fucking car,” he grumbled.

“Fantastic!” Kyle shouted at his back, but Ilya was already out of there, stomping to where he’d left his bike.

The journey back home didn’t do anything to clear his head or stop his tremors. He crushed and gutted his promises to Shane to ride safely for the most part, too, but somehow, he made it home.

He didn’t know what it was that made his feet carry him to Grigori’s house. Fear and panic, maybe, the need to make sure what happened at Aram’s didn’t reach his father’s ears. It was unlikely, laughable. It’d been miles away from here, less than an hour ago, but Ilya had to reassure his mind, settle his stomach.

It was only a few minutes later that he cursed himself for calling the worst.

“What’s going on?” he asked when he found Andrei waiting for someone in the parlour. Him.

“Oh, here’s my little brother.” Andrei chuckled. Then Ilya saw it.

It wasn’t quite similar to what Kyle had described; the box Andrei was holding. It was a puzzle with a picture of a flashy sports car on its cover, a gag gift from Shane for one Christmas – the same gift he’d bought David as Ilya was secretly a puzzle fiend like him – that he’d bent double laughing over. Its pieces arranged and rearranged to make up the picture more than once, broken down again each time, now in a plastic bag in its box, next to a few thousand dollars Ilya had stashed away.

He stilled; it was like a flash freeze. It hadn’t been an hour yet. It’d been on the outskirts of the city, Andrei wouldn’t know, Andrei worked in the town, no one could have seen him.

“That’s mine,” he heard himself say.

“Yes,” his father’s voice came from the entrance. “Polina found it.”

If Ilya wasn’t frozen already, the sight of his father would cast ice to every bone and sinew in him. His icy face didn’t give away anything, his eyes not heated, not burning, not angry. Just ice. Just tension wisping off his skin, like sea smoke wisping off a glacier.

He walked up to Ilya and stopped in front of him.

“Last week,” he said. Ilya was cut chill from that gaze; it took a second for confusion to settle in. He’d taken money out of the box just yesterday, for the bike. Then he was hit with one rush of anger because what was his father’s wife doing snooping around his room? He didn’t voice any of them. His father continued in tedium, “After your brother told me he’d come across you in a little club outside town, selling weed.”

Ilya had known it was coming since he’d stepped inside the house, but his breath still hitched. He shook his head.

“Are you saying your brother was lying, boy?” Grigori got into his face. Ilya kept shaking his head. “That you weren’t dealing just an hour ago?”

God, he’d been so naïve, so stupid. When he spoke, his voice was gone. “You set me up.”

“I had to go to the chief of police, you ingrate. Making sure his boys turned a blind eye to you.”

“You set me up,” Ilya whispered again.

“I saved your ass, aren’t you listening? I told him to let you go. You drag my name through the mud, leave me shamefaced in front of the chief and I still watch your back, you ungrateful brat.”

Ilya’s chest constricted with hysterical, hollow laughter, but he couldn’t get it out. How can you be so ungrateful for your father, Ilya, for setting up an ambush to scare you, then embarrass you and belittle you, and like in a distorted mirror, in a fever dream, go on about what an incredible parent he is?

And Grigori dwelled on. “I told you clearly, Ilya. I told you not to get into bullshit like this. Do you find joy in disgracing my name like this, huh?”

The laugh was nervous and bitter in his throat but the idea of disgracing Grigori Rozanov’s untainted, honest name by selling pot was too funny to stay silent; he couldn’t help himself this time. Like Ilya wasn’t long past the age of thinking his father’s wealth was the result of his measly salary at the embassy.

It was short-lived, sudden, but Ilya’s amusement made his father take another step closer. Ilya swallowed; he could see the first crack in that ice-cold façade. “You want to live the rest of your life a bagman?” he growled. “A thug?”

He went on and on and on, and for one moment, Ilya was blessed with not having his hearing. There was only the sound of blood pounding in his ears. The sight of anger, though, he could see; fury working through his father’s face, like a lick of flame following a track of gasoline.

Then, he heard the sound of his own chest moving and the staccato of his harsh breathing. Then, the end of his father’s words. “You want people to talk about how Grigori Rozanov’s son is a bum on the streets?”

And like that flash freeze was melting, dissolving, he spat, “I’d rather be a bum than a pig like you.”

The flash of pain was unlike anything else; the lights turning off and on rapidly. The strike had been too sudden, too sharp, and now tiny pins prickled his cheeks, ears, sinuses. The pressure, the shock to the center of his face giving way to a tiny explosion.

The last of gasoline catching fire.

“Don’t let me see your face tonight.”

***

He was swaying on his feet by the time he made it up to Shane’s room. His trembling knuckles rapped on the window.

"Ilya?"

"Oh, you’re awake," Ilya said stupidly, one hand on the wall, one hand hovering over his face as he tried entering the room.

“Yeah, I was waiting—” Shane’s eyes widened, shock swallowing his features. “Ilya are you— You’re dripping on my carpet,” he sputtered, eyes ping-ponging between the floor and Ilya’s face, then hands scurrying to pull him inside. “Ilya, you’re bleeding.”

“I think it’s broken,” Ilya murmured. Then tried to flash a grin.

If Shane was shocked a moment ago, his entire face flared with panic now. “Why the hell are you here and not a hospital, then?!”

“Shane—"

“I'll get the car keys—"

“No— Shane, just—” He caught Shane’s arms, spinning him back around. “I've seen enough broken noses to know how to deal with it okay, I'll just—"

Suddenly, the pressure in his ears and the blood he could see on his hands were too much. Wobbling, he leaned against the window frame, closing his eyes.

Shane was immediately in his space, pulling him upright again. “Like hell you do." He scoffed. “Don’t tilt your head back, dumbass. Are you trying to drain all the blood down your throat?”

With a tight grip around his arm, Ilya was maneuvered inside the room and pushed down on the bed, letting out a guttural noise of pain. He blinked his eyes open, slowly, and found Shane crouching in front of him.

“No tilting back or forward, okay?” he said, rubbing his hands on Ilya’s wrists. “Just— Just wait here.”

Then he was gone, and Ilya closed his eyes again. He tried to keep straight as Shane had told him, but the sharp pain spread to his face made him want to crawl into the bed. He didn’t know how long he’d waited. It could have been minutes, it could have been seconds. Blood was dripping into his palm, but he could breathe. Distantly he thought that must be a good thing, but the pain was making him feel all woozy. He was out of damn metaphors; it just hurt like a motherfucker.

When Shane came back, he was holding a plastic bowl and a washcloth. “First aid,” he said, showing him the kit as well. Then, in the most efficient Hollander fashion, he got on with it. “Breathe through your mouth,” he said, helping Ilya drain out the blood, hands gentle on his jaw and nape. He cleaned around the nose, dabbing the washcloth gently, and packed it with gauze. He winced when Ilya winced at the cold compress on his face. “This looks horrible,” he murmured.

“Bet that Eric guy never had a busted nose,” the words left Ilya’s mouth before he’d realized.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Shane shook his head and adjusted the compress. “You can breathe fine, I think,” he muttered, more to himself than Ilya.

The cold waking up a part of him, Ilya had a clear sight of Shane now. His eyes focused, hands efficient, Shane looked surprisingly cool and collected. On the way here, in his dazed mind, Ilya had thought about what a huge, pathetic asshole he was being; coming here to seek refuge in Shane when he knew Shane would get worried, he’d freak out. But right at this moment, Shane wasn’t any of that. “You’re unexpectedly very calm right now,” Ilya told him.

Shane locked gazes with him. His eyes a pair of black marbles, concern, and curiosity reflecting off of their surface, but no storms in sight. Yet. “Because you didn’t give me a reason to freak out about,” he said. “Yet,” echoing Ilya’s thoughts. Then he winced. “Except for the obvious.”

Ilya didn’t say anything.

A few heartbeats later, shifting the compress to the other side, Shane asked, “What happened, though? Did you get in a fight?” Then, like everything clicked, his eyes widened. “Oh my god, the motorcycle—”

Ilya shook his head immediately, grabbing Shane’s free hand. “It’s not the motorcycle.”

Shane settled, dropping the compress. “What, then?” he asked, lacing his fingers around Ilya’s. “I thought you were with Kyle and Svetlana.”

Ilya didn’t know what it was, then. The jolt to the head, the haze in his mind. The absolute lack of fucks he had left to give. The safety of this room, the safety of Shane. Shane’s touch on him, Shane’s eyes peering at him, Shane taking care of him. All with the wet lump in his throat and Ilya wanted to confess everything. He wanted Shane to know everything. He wanted Shane angry with him. He wanted Shane angry for him.

“We were at a house party,” he said, voice hoarse, chest heavy.

“Yeah,” Shane prompted.

Ilya looked at the sympathetic, onyx eyes, and murmured, “The cops crashed in.”

Shane’s brows furrowed. Then, he tilted his head. “And what?” There was a confused twitch to his mouth. “Beat you up for underage drinking?” Then it dawned and his eyes widened. “There were drugs?”

“Just weed.” Ilya swallowed. At least from what he knew, and that was the important part.

“Well, marijuana is technically a drug,” Shane said.

Ilya looked away, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “I was the one dealing.”

Then there was just silence. A crash of silence before Shane huffed, “What?”

Ilya looked at Shane. “I was selling pot, okay?” he said. Better to get over this part; Ilya needed Shane right now, they had to get over this part.

“What?” Shane repeated, louder this time, scrambling to his feet.

Ilya followed him off the bed, getting dizzy for a second, but he stepped closer. “I needed money, okay—”

“I knew you smoked but—” Shane shook his head. Then he narrowed his eyes, jabbing Ilya on the chest. “How long?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“How long?”

Ilya ran a hand over his hair, then blew out a breath. “A little more than a year.”

Shane had had this laughter when they were kids. A weak tee-hee sound that came out as a wheeze which reminded Ilya of air escaping a balloon. Soundless and hysterical. The laugh Shane let out right now was like that, except it was joyless, heart-rending, ugly.

“I don’t—” he said. “I don’t understand. Was it the cops?”

Ilya shook his head.

“Then who?”

The next part was the hardest part. Ilya couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe; the one word was crawling its way out of his throat. “Grigori.”

Shane took a sharp breath. When he spoke, it came out as a whimper. “Your dad did this?”

And Ilya laughed. At the surprise in Shane’s voice, the shock, the concern, and most of all the innocence of Shane calling him his dad. The connotation of the word was lost to Shane, probably, but it’d been the first nick at Ilya when he’d been a child and he’d realized; Grigori wasn’t his dad. A father yes, but not a dad.

Shane’s breathing was shaky now. “Your father broke your nose.” His eyes were filling with tears, and Ilya wanted back the calm, calming, marble gaze. “Has he done this before?”

“Break my nose? No.”

“Ilya.”

Ilya swallowed. “Not in years.”

Shane drew in another sharp breath. “But before?”

Ilya shrugged. He couldn’t take the sight of Shane’s face when it twisted with hurt. What was he doing here? He shouldn’t have come; he shouldn’t have told Shane. Or maybe he should have told him years ago. “He stopped after mom died,” he muttered. “He got what he wanted, he got it out of his system after finally driving her into killing herself.” He laughed. “Or maybe he just felt bad.”

Silent tears followed the curve of Shane’s cheeks. He didn’t step back when Ilya approached this time. “But before that?” he whispered, letting Ilya cradle his face.

“When I pissed him off.” Ilya nodded.

Shane let out another of those awful laughs, empty.

“Shane.”

“I feel like I am in the fucking twilight zone! When you pissed him off, huh?” he spat. “And here I am—” He stopped himself. Then the silence turned into a whimper. Then a sob.

“Shane, Shane,” Ilya said, trying to pull him into his arms but Shane pushed back.

“You’re fucking bleeding, again,” he growled.

“Shane.”

“You’re bleeding.” He forced Ilya’s head back, fingers hard on his jaw.

“I thought—”

“Shut up,” he said, voice wet. “Don’t look at me.”

Ilya stayed like that, for a heartbeat. Looking at the ceiling, listening to Shane cry.

Then, Shane choked out, “I’m—” His soft hair pressed to Ilya’s collarbone, his hands finding a grip on his sweater.

Ilya exhaled, embracing him.

Shane trembled against his chest, his shuddery breaths brushing Ilya’s neck. Ilya felt the rumble of his words more than he heard them. “You’ll stop, okay?” Then louder, he repeated, “You’ll stop doing whatever that gets him like this. I can’t— I’m asking you.” He shook his head. “No, I’m not asking you. I’m demanding you, Ilya. I don’t care how selfish that sounds, I demand you.”

Ilya swallowed. You can demand all of me and I’d still try to give you more, he wanted to say. But it wouldn’t be true. Or it would be true because Ilya would bring down the entire sky for Shane, but it wouldn’t be honest. Not where Ilya himself was concerned.

“I promise,” he still said. Shane shuddered in his arms, and it took everything in Ilya to not lean down his head and nuzzle his hair. It was getting too hard, almost impossible. Thank god he had a broken nose.

***

There was the sound of bed sheets rustling, and a flicker of light painted behind his lids. The weight and the warmth beside him shifted away and Shane’s eyes fluttered open.

He must have made a noise as Ilya, with his curls tousled and under eyes already turning blue, one leg over the edge of the bed as if he was to leave, turned to look at him.

“Where are you going?” Shane’s voice was hoarse.

Ilya shrugged. “Just going to ride around town.”

Shane looked at the window; dawn didn’t yet break. He nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

Ilya gave a muted smile, not asking if he was sure.

They dressed silently, padded down the stairs softly. They left the house and Shane didn’t mention the relieved breath Ilya let out when they found his bike.

Shane felt calm this time as he watched Ilya put on his helmet. His were hands stable, the only chill in his body because of the weather. Still, Ilya took his helmet from him, and pushed his hair back before putting it over his head and fastening it under his chin.

It was weird how collected Shane felt, his mind was a clear ocean. It was like when one thing pushed you over the edge, and you cried and cried, cried about everything you couldn’t cry over before and when it ended, you were drained. Calm. That was what’d happened last night. As if all of Shane’s worries had been tangled into yarn and with one freak-out the size of North America, they’d unravelled. All the trivial things he’d worried about before, the extra credits, the school, whether Ilya would like the restaurants in Montreal. The bike. None of them mattered.

So, when he sat behind Ilya and held onto him, there was no fear this time, no murky water. Just the crisp November air. The rumbling of the engine reassuring, the proof that Ilya was here in his arms, warm against his chest. Not getting hurt when Shane was looking elsewhere. Because that was the only fear he’d had left now.

They rode for minutes, maybe hours. The dark sky changed to autumn grey, and Shane laid his head between Ilya’s shoulder blades. He counted his heartbeats; he watched the scenery pass by. Before he knew it, they were out of town, the view a blur of the highway with the occasional naked, brown trees of the season.

He’d read somewhere, a few months ago maybe, that one’s earliest memories might be as early as age three. Significant events; a death in the family, the birth of a sibling, but for the most part, hazy details. Shane remembered autumn, that was his earliest, clearest memory. The fall of the year he’d turned four. The yellows, browns, oranges the same as today’s, and the four-year-old boy stealing his turn on the swing. Always meant to be in that park, always meant to be here, always meant to be Shane’s. Shane’s to take care of. Which made the last night the biggest failure of his life; he couldn’t take care of Ilya.

They pulled to a rest stop. Ilya dismounted the bike, pulling off his helmet, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He took a long drag, trailing a line on the gravel ground with the toe of his shoe.

Shane stayed quiet.

When Ilya was done with his cigarette, dropping it and extinguishing it with a step, he looked up. Then nodded behind Shane. “Want to get breakfast?”

They walked to the diner, quiet, and took seats on the cheap vinyl booth on opposite sides.

Shane didn’t feel hungry. There was an emptiness inside him, reminiscent of that post-cry drainage but he didn’t want food. Maybe it was sleep; he’d spent hours after Ilya had passed out reading on his computer how to treat a broken nose. He didn’t think he’d fucked up the first aid, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“They still have Halloween pancakes, look,” Ilya said, not meeting Shane’s eyes. “Shaped like pumpkins.” He shook his head with a laugh.

“Ilya,” Shane said; Ilya looked at him. “Don’t.”

“Hello," a cheery voice piped. "How can I help you today?”

In his peripheral, Shane could see the girl with a pen and paper in hand. But he couldn’t look away from Ilya. There were so many things he wanted to say, admonitions, apologies, but they were like wood dust in his chest.

“Pancakes,” Ilya said, not looking away from Shane either. “Bacon. Coffee. He’ll have eggs with toast, over easy.”

“Water and ibuprofen too, please.” Shane swallowed, finally dragging his gaze away to give the waitress a smile. “And an ice pack.”

Then it was quiet between them again. Ilya was humming a tune, gaze trained outside, fingers tapping on the table. Shane couldn’t take it anymore.

“We should tell them.”

“No,” Ilya said immediately, amber eyes flashing.

“Why?” Shane asked.

“Why what Shane?”

“They can help.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ilya said, eyes narrowing. “We tell your parents, then what? We go to the cops? Speak to the child protective services? I’ll turn seventeen in a few months, do you know what that means?” He rubbed a hand over his hair, letting out a humorless chuckle. “I have a plan,” he said firmly. “I’ll be out of that place soon enough.”

“I don’t care if you are seventeen, you’re still a child,” Shane said, throwing his arms to the side. “Hell, be twenty-seven, thirty-seven! You’re still his child!”

“Uhm…” The waitress approached skittishly, slipping the water and the ibuprofen on the table.

Ilya flashed her a brilliant smile, still goddamned brilliant through the bloody gauze and puffy purple skin. “Thank you.”

Shane wanted to punch him himself.

The girl blushed, about to turn around as Shane grumbled, “The ice pack.”

He didn’t care if it sounded rude.

“Oh, sorry.” Then she was out of there, hopefully bringing an ice pack.

Shane watched Ilya’s throat work as he swallowed the painkiller. “So, what happened yesterday?” he asked, moving his gaze to meet Ilya’s.

Then Ilya had told him everything, hopefully, everything. How he’d started pot-dealing, and the party yesterday. The fight with Kyle and Svetlana. The scene at the Rozanov household.

“That’s stealing,” Shane said as he explained how his father and step-mother took the box with his money.

“Yeah, I should go to the cops and tell them my abusive father stole the money I’ve made off of selling weed.”

“You shouldn’t have hidden it in his house.”

“Yeah?” Ilya raised an eyebrow. “What would you do my little criminal mastermind?” he asked. “Hide it in your room? Because that would go so well with your parents.”

Shane felt a wave of frustration, but he didn’t know what it was directed at. The sneer curling Ilya’s lip, the way he acted like it wasn’t a big deal, was one option, sure. But Shane knew, deep down, he knew that he was angry at himself. For not realizing, for not asking. For being a fool to believe he’d known everything about this boy sitting across him, for daydreaming stupid shit like the apartment they’d share one day. For being oblivious. God, Shane was so oblivious, so naïve, so fucking stupid. This was just like the time Ilya’s mom—

“Why didn’t you come to me?” It took him a moment to realize the choked-out question was from him.

“What?”

“If you needed money, I'd give you money.”

“Shane,” Ilya whispered.

“If you need money for college, my parents wou—”

“I’m not taking your parents' money,” Ilya said, voice firmer, louder.

And Shane wanted to cry. He wanted to cry the most because Ilya didn’t. Why the fuck didn’t he cry? His eyes were dry, gaze hard solid gold instead of molten pools and Shane hated the sight. It was a whole another lump in his throat, circling around his windpipe.

He’d seen Ilya cry before. The first Christmas after his mom had died and Shane had held him, soothed him, as he’d tired himself out enough to sleep. And for a few more months after that, Ilya would cry, and Shane wouldn’t say anything. He’d just hold him. Even now, sometimes, Ilya whimpered in his sleep, and not knowing what else to do, Shane ran his fingers through his hair till he calmed down. It hurt, hurt worse than anything else that Ilya couldn’t cry when he was awake anymore. That it'd come to a point, crying didn’t offer any relief and there was nothing Shane could do.

Including crying for Ilya. Not in this cheap roadside diner with its fake-shiny upholstery and sticky tables, so he pushed himself up to his feet.

“Wait, wait,” Ilya said, immediately in his space. “Where are you going?” he asked, gently pushing Shane back down and sliding next to him.

“I…” Shane exhaled. Where the fuck was he going? He didn’t even know where they were. “I—”

“Here,” Ilya said with a smile, taking the ice pack from the waitress arriving at that moment. “Help me ice this.”

Shane took a deep breath. Then, with fingers trembling, he took the ice pack from Ilya and wrapped it with a napkin to avoid freezing his face. He touched it on the inflamed skin.

Ilya hissed but didn’t say anything. Not for a while. A few minutes later, he muttered, “I can get another job.” He sighed. “I can sell the bike.”

“Don’t sell the bike.” Shane shook his head.

“But—”

Shane pressed a thumb on his lips. “Don’t sell the bike,” he repeated. He’d die before he let Ilya lose something else he loved. “We’ll figure something out.”

Ilya gave a slow nod.

Shane moved the ice from one side to the other and slid his thumb to the bridge of Ilya's nose. “We should still see a doctor,” he murmured. “You were so bloody and swollen yesterday but I think you have a bad fracture here.” He tapped the bridge again. “They may need to realign the bone.”

Ilya widened his eyes. “Are you saying that my beautiful nose is crooked?”

“Yeah.” Shane rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking ugly now.”

“Damn it,” Ilya mock scoffed. “That was the one thing I had over you.”

Shane tried to smile at that but it died on the first twitch. “Ilya, my parents—”

“Shane…”

“I won’t tell them.” He shook his head. “If that’s not what you want.”

Ilya nodded, then frowned. “Do you want me to stay somewhere else while this heals up?”

“No, don’t stay anywhere else,” Shane said quickly. “I was going to say we can tell them you were playing basketball or something. I won’t mention the stuff with the pot and Grigori…” He trailed off, then cupped Ilya’s face with his free hand, gingerly. “But you have to promise me again. You can’t get up to shit that angers him anymore, okay?” He could feel the wetness in his eyes, so much for not crying in a diner. “And you can’t keep me in the dark. You can’t pull fun shit like this while stupid, boring Shane waits for you at home.”

Ilya didn’t say anything for a beat. He reached for Shane’s wrist, pulling off the ice. He warmed the fingertips which had turned numb, and Shane had this stupid feeling that Ilya was loving his hands. Then, gaze still down at their lap, he asked, “Do you know what boring means sometimes?”

Shane gave a tiny jerk of his head.

Gold eyes flitted to him, fingers laced tighter. “It means stable, steady.” Ilya swallowed. “Dependable.”

And Shane didn’t know what to say to that. Not in English, not in French, not in any language humankind had created could he come up with the words to explain the feeling in his chest. And he couldn’t even attempt, not then, when Ilya’s hands moved to his arms and Ilya’s head was hooked over his shoulder.

His first instinct was to pull back, check the broken nose, but the warm hands reached the back of his nape, and a heartbeat later, he let himself relax in Ilya's hold.

“We should ice your nose,” he muttered stupidly.

There was no answer for a moment. And when it came, it was a whisper, “Yeah.” Ilya pressed his cheek on Shane’s shoulder. “In a second.”

Shane Hollander, by nature, was a realist. Hell, for the most part, he was a pessimist. Hoping for the best but expecting the worst had never failed him. But for Ilya, he’d turn and twist every neuron in his head to be positive for once. Be an optimist, he could, for this boy who was his first memory, the boy who was so much more than a best friend. The boy threaded to him with such a fine line that him getting hurt, him slipping away could slash Shane's skin open.

“Okay.”

So, Shane nodded, tightening his arms around Ilya.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was my Common Goal by the virtue of having Kyleric and me not remembering writing it.

TW: Not graphic but on page violence, child abuse

Chapter 6: make believe

Chapter Notes

im so sorry this chapter took forever! this was a fleeting idea that i felt like i had to get out (so this fic is 11 chaps now?) and it took me a while to write it out

i've got so many new readers since ch5 and i want to thank everyone who's been reading this story. every kudos and comment makes my day. thank you <3

enjoy!

(this chapter is titled after the song make believe by astranout husband!)
(content warning: sexist language, homophobia)

EDIT: i am an idiot and keep forgetting it but i have to mention the gorgeous (and so many) art my brilliant friend Olivia made for this fic (and my other brilliant Antara created the twt moment for easy access) they make me ridiculously happy, so if you haven't come from discord or her twitter already go check them out and give love. and another brilliant friend of mine Nana put together a playlist for this fic. it's insane to me that they get inspired to do things like this. i love every song on it and listen to it religiously, give it a listen because it's amazing. thank you to all my discord friends for their support, i love you.

May 2008

It was late evening and Shane was sitting on one of the sticky booths at Monks – Snowbury’s own bright-colored greasy fast food joint masquerading as casual dining on the sole premises that it wasn’t a McDonald’s — and he was starving. His first drink of ginger ale had lasted about ten seconds and he was trying hard not to suck on the straw and rattle the ice cubes at the bottom of his cup.

“Hayden does that sometimes,” Jackie said, seated across him. “Like, I want to get angry, right, but he immediately goes back on what he said, and I can’t express this…” She clenched her fists. “Rage.”

“Oh, I know." Rose shook her head next to Jackie. “The guy I was dating last week? The one working at the record store? I said one thing and he put his hands up like this,” she made a placating gesture. “Like he was trying to calm down a spooked animal.”

“God, that’s so rude.” Jackie scoffed, before turning to Shane. “You know what Shane? You’re so lucky to be not dating anyone. Don’t date, ever. Boys are gross.”

Shane twirled the empty cup in his hands, chuckling. “There’s also the tiny issue of me still being closeted.”

More or less, he was. It’d been two years since Shane had admitted to himself, Ilya, and his parents that he was gay and over time, as he’d stopped freaking out about it, the list had extended to Hayden, Rose, and Jackie. Which meant minimum talk of his sexuality and zero experience in dating boys who were apparently very gross.

“Oh, please,” Rose said with an eyeroll.  “Like, no offense, sweetie, but your closet is like a box made out of glass. Transparent. See-through.”

Jackie giggled. “She’s not wrong.”

Shane furrowed his brows.

Rose took a long sip of her drink, staring at him. “I mean,” she said, wiping her mouth. “I know you haven’t told many people, but you know everyone sees how you look at—” Then she yelped. And glared at Jackie.

Shane raised an eyebrow.

The girls communicated something with their eyes, and a moment later, Rose muttered, “Never mind.” She found her straw again.

Shane couldn’t ask what she was talking about – and wasn’t sure whether he wanted to ask what she was talking about – as the sounds of Ilya and Hayden approaching the table interrupted them.

“I would rather be stuck in an elevator with Dallas Kent for a week than give you free oil change, Pike,” Ilya said, three trays balanced on his arms. “You realize that’d be cut from my pay, right?”

“Oh, come on,” Hayden whined, trotting behind Ilya, carrying trays of his own. “Just once. Aren’t we friends?”

Ilya’s face twisted in what Shane could only call disgust. “I’d rather suck Troy Barrett’s dick than be friends with you.”

“We’re literally hanging out right now.”

“That only means Shane should have gotten rid of you years ago.”

“Shane, Ilya's being an asshole. Tell him to stop being an asshole.”

They were standing by the table, arms still loaded; Shane caught Ilya’s gaze. He cracked an amused smile. “Stop being an asshole, asshole.”

Ilya huffed, rolling his eyes but not quite managing to hide the smile tucking at his lip. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, then frowned, and turned to Hayden. “Oh, fuck, you idiot,” he said, putting the trays down on the table. “We forgot the song because of your dumb ass.” He yanked Hayden’s trays away only to put another one in his hands. “Take this and walk over from there again. And sing!”

It was such a flurry of movement that Shane couldn’t even follow before Ilya was stepping behind the booth and covering his eyes. Then, along with Rose, Jackie, and the gradually approaching voice of Hayden, he found a tune that wasn’t too damaging on Shane’s eardrums but still incredibly embarrassing.

“Happy birthday, dear Shane, happy birthday to you!” His voice rang in Shane’s ear, and he pulled his hands away just as Hayden put the tray in front of him. All four of them broke into applause.

“Wow,” Shane said with mock surprise, looking at the food in front of him. “A fish burger and sweet potato fries. Exactly what I’ve ordered.”

“Yeah but with candles,” Ilya said.

“Which I’ve seen thirty seconds ago.”

Ilya swatted him lightly on the head; Shane grinned. “Just make a wish, idiot,” he said, sliding next to him.

“I don’t know.” Shane pursed his lips. “Do fish burger wishes count?”

“Stop being a smartass.” Ilya prodded him on the chest. “And blow out your candles. I know you’re starving.”

“Come on, make a wish!” Jackie clapped her hands, and Rose and Hayden joined in on the encouragement.

Shane looked down at the candles dripping wax onto his burger, then raised his eyes to look at his friends. He took in the silly look on Hayden’s face, with his arm thrown over Jackie, and he took in Jackie’s huge, excited eyes, and he watched as Rose’s lips spread into a wide grin.

Then he looked at Ilya. And he felt the warm press of his thigh against his. And he smelled the leather and the smoke mixed in with his cologne. Then he touched the hand hovering between their bodies, a slight brush, by accident, and Ilya gave him his best smile. Not a grin, not a smirk. Just his tiny Ilya smile which to Shane felt like a million suns rising all at once. His eyes gleamed liquid gold and his nose, fully healed and a little crooked, scrunched the tiniest bit, and all Shane could think was I want more of this. More of the last six months, the aftermath of that morning in the diner where Ilya had hugged Shane like Shane could be his rock too, and everything between them had been so much better, so much more. I want more of this, Shane wished, I want the best year for the two of us. And he blew out the candles.

“Yay!”

“Happy birthday, buddy.”

“Happy seventeenth!”

There were applauses and kisses sent his way and all Shane could do was smile wide.

Ilya leaned in, and voice so quiet like he was sharing a secret, he said, “Happy birthday.” And Shane wondered, for a second, whether they were actually sharing a secret. Whether Ilya ever thought of it too, that Shane’s birthday meant the beginning of their friendship. Not the exact date, but the significance of it. “One year older." Ilya held out his drink.

Shane’s gaze trailed the lines of his face, the curve of his mouth, before locking eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, clinking his empty cup against Ilya’s.

“Cheers!” came Hayden’s voice, then the sounds of paper cups clacking each other. Shane and Ilya looked away, joining their cups with their friends’.

“Aaah,” Rose sighed after taking a sip of her iced tea. “Can’t wait till we can do this with alcohol.”

Ilya shook his cup and waggled his eyebrows. “I already do.”

“You’re drinking coke,” Shane said with an eyeroll.

Ilya leaned back in his seat, popping a fry in his mouth. “Am I?”

“I can literally see it through the straw.”

“What if it’s coke with vodka?”

“It’s not. The one time I suggested something like that you said only the filthy, sacrilegious rich would drink vodka with mixers.”

Ilya shrugged. “Vodka, when drunk neat, is the people’s drink.” His lips spread with a slow grin. “But I can make exceptions.”

Shane narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not drinking vodka,” he said.

“Who knows?” Ilya gave another shrug.

“You’re not drinking vodka at a family fast food joint.”

“Monks is casual dining.”

“They give you the food on a plastic tray, how’s that casual dining?” Shane asked. “And stop distracting me, I know you’re not drinking vodka.”

Ilya took a long long sip, rattling the ice cubes on purpose. “It’s actually not the worst with coke, I think,” he said, licking his lips. “I mean, it’s not— Hey, what?” he yelped as Shane squeezed into his space and started sniffing.

He couldn’t scent any alcohol, as he’d guessed he wouldn’t. He knew he was playing into Ilya’s hand; he always knew when he was playing into Ilya’s hand, but he couldn’t help himself.

“What are you? A sniffer dog?” Ilya asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“I wanna—” Shane said and grabbed Ilya’s cup. Grabbed Ilya’s hand holding the cup and like puzzle pieces fitting together, their fingers slid against each other. Shane leaned down and sucked on the straw, his hand tightening.

Then he peered at Ilya over the lid, and Ilya smirked. It was just coke. “You’re so easy to rile up,” Ilya murmured, tapping Shane on the nose.

Shane rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop his lips from curling to a smile around the straw. It was ridiculous, Ilya always got him into arguments that were childishly, awfully ridiculous.

Their knees bumped together under the table and Shane heard himself let out a giggle.

Then he heard someone clear their throat.

With sudden enlightenment, Shane was made aware of the position they were in. Only a hair’s breadth away from each other, hands laced together over a paper cup, Shane’s mouth still around Ilya’s straw. And they had been, what? Giggling, laughing?

Like it was hot coal, Shane dropped Ilya’s hand. “Disgusting,” he muttered, glancing down at his fries. “But just coke.”

No one said anything for a moment, and Shane wouldn’t hear Jackie murmuring to herself either if he wasn’t straining for their reactions. “Awkward.”

“Yeah, we should have bought a cake,” Hayden said in his oblivious Hayden manner. “That burger looks stupid.”

Shane could feel the flush of red settle on his face, as well as the two pairs of eyes watching him. A heartbeat passed and Ilya turned to others, clearing his throat. “Shane doesn’t like cake, idiot.”

Then Hayden answered with something stupid, and Ilya retorted with something annoying, and Jackie giggled as they bickered. And the moment passed.

Once their burgers were gone and fries had got cold, the second pair of eyes he’d been avoiding finally caught his. With her head tilted to a side, Rose mouthed something. Something that frighteningly read as, “Glass box.”

***

What Ilya liked about riding was the captivation of the senses. He got off on the risk factor, that was thrilling in its own right, he wasn’t going to lie, but what most people didn’t understand was that it wasn’t the danger making you feel so damn alive; it was having this rumbling, powerful extension of yourself and how it could erase all the barriers between you and the world. How you felt the cool humid air of late spring brush your skin and smelt the road dust and the exhaust vividly. How you felt the boy behind you lean with you, shift with you, follow the gravity of you like you were moulded together, like teammates, like dance partners, like companions in that one moment you felt in charge of your life.

Ilya loved the feeling of Shane’s hands on his waist. He loved the warm floral scent of his skin he’d catch at every turn. It made the cool, clammy sweat inside his helmet and the scalding-hot muffler pressing against his leg worth it. It made him feel alive and it made him want to ride off, full-throttle. They had to be home, though, and they had one more stop before that.

“Why did we pull over?” Shane asked as Ilya stopped at a gas station and jumped off the bike.

“Dessert,” he answered. “Wait here.”

He jogged up to the convenience store. When he came out thirty seconds later, Shane was still perched on the back of the seat, watching cars pass by. Ilya allowed himself a private smile before approaching the bike. “Fancy one?” he asked when he was in hearing distance.

Shane looked at him, then at what he was holding, and his face brightened with a brilliant smile. “Of course,” he said, reaching for one of the Snickers bars. “But you don’t even like peanuts.”

Ilya leaned against the bike, tearing off the wrapping. “I like the peanuts in Snickers.”

“I love it. It’s my favorite,” Shane said like he had to. Like Ilya didn’t buy him one every May tenth. I know, Ilya wanted to say, I know it’s your favorite. I’d been five, six, seven years old and I’ve known all along.

“I can’t possibly let you turn seventeen without one,” he said instead as he watched Shane take a bite out of the chocolate. He nibbled down on his own. “I’m sorry this was a lame birthday.”

“It wasn’t lame!” Shane protested with a shake of his head. “I had fun. I’m happy you could find time.”

Ilya nodded slowly. He’d been working a lot lately. Ever since his father had gotten his hands on his savings and scared him off of dealing pot. Ever since he’d come to the realization that the part-time pay at Timmies was shit and he needed a second job. LeClaire paid even less, and car repair work was exhausting and filthy, but he could work more hours than he was legally allowed, and he was paid in cash.

Today had been particularly tiring but Ilya didn’t feel the slightest touch of fatigue as Shane let out a happy little sigh. “This is nice.”

Ilya took in the freckles backlit by that damn smile. “Eating Snickers at a gas station?” he asked.

“Everything." Shane shrugged. “Just nice.”

And he looked so damn happy saying that Ilya felt a twinge at it being virtually impossible for him to keep it that way forever. “Yeah." He smiled back. Then popped the last piece of gooey chocolate into his mouth and reached for his back pocket. “Okay, time for your real gift.”

Shane’s eyes widened and he made an excited noise, jumping off the seat. When he saw the folded paper Ilya was holding out, he cocked his head. “Wow, a piece of paper,” he said. “What is it?”

“Just look at it,” Ilya urged, warm spring evening turning his hands clammy.

Shane looked at him, then took the paper. “Huh,” he said, once he unfolded it. “A map.”

“Wow, genius." Ilya rolled his eyes.

“A map of Canada?”

“Are you sure the scientists around the world aren’t dying to study your brain?”

“It’s a map,” Shane said again, this time lips curling with a smile. “With a route from here to Alberta.”

Ilya nodded. “And the Northwest Territories.”

Shane peered at the paper more closely. Then his smile got wider, brighter, and he trailed one finger along the blue ink before raising his eyes to meet him. “Ilya…” he said softly.

“We only have one year till graduation, right?” Ilya asked, rubbing his hands over his jeans.

“Fourteen months.”

“Yeah, fourteen months.” He swallowed. “So, we have fourteen months to plan this thing.”

“This is—” Shane glanced at the map again. “This is gonna be a road trip?”

“Yeah. I thought we could have some fun stops on the way.”

Shane hummed, then tilted his head. “Toronto?”

“I vaguely remember promising you that I’d sneak us into a club.”

Pretty, dark eyes widened with surprise. “You remember that?”

“Eh." Ilya shrugged, like he hadn’t been thinking about that for years now. Like he didn’t have everything with and about Shane catalogued into neat folders in his mind. “I have a good memory.”

“What about Regina?” Shane squinted. “What’s in Regina?”

“Not much, we’ll need places to sleep,” Ilya answered. “I told you, we have fourteen months to change whatever I’ve put there.”

Shane nodded, eyes going back to the map. Then he pressed his lips together, like he couldn’t contain whatever feeling that piece of paper elicited in him, and Ilya realized he’d been worried about nothing. He’d been scared it’d been stupid sentimental nonsense. He didn’t have money, and frankly, between everything else, he hadn’t had any idea till last week either. He’d been on the road, thinking about Shane and Shane’s birthday, then he’d pulled over to a gas station very much like this one and seen the $1 tourist maps and the idea had snuck into his mind.

And Shane loved it. Ilya felt the relief of a thousand rainfalls because Shane loved it. He could see it in the crinkled eyes and his ebullient freckles, as he asked, “And we’re gonna see Saturn?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Saturn, Jupiter, Northern lights. Whichever you want.”

Shane hummed. Then carefully, as if a single wrong fold line could ruin their plans, he folded the map. It made familiar, frightening feelings bloom in Ilya’s chest. Then Shane beamed at him. “It’ll be fun.”

“Of course, it will be." Ilya smiled. “I’m the mastermind behind it.”

“Uhm,” Shane said. “Pretty sure it was my idea.”

“Well, who put in the work?”

“Oh yeah, sorry." Shane rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how to draw a line between two points. Thank you for your guidance.”

“You’re welcome." Ilya winked. Then nudged Shane’s shoulder. “What about joint custody?”

Shane just shook his head, his features laid open with exasperation and excitement. Then his full-bloom smile rose on his face again, spreading his lips and crinkling his eyes. It turned Ilya’s insides upside down.

He knew he was just staring like a fool, not being able to do anything but mirror the happy expression. Then, because he wanted to touch Shane achingly and was going to hell anyway, he lied. “Chocolate.”

“What?” Shane asked.

“Chocolate,” Ilya repeated and moved closer. He raised a hand to cup Shane’s face, softly, and brushed away the non-existent chocolate from his cheek. “Snickers get messy.”

Shane nodded. And when the time for Ilya to convincingly pretend had passed, he didn’t pull away. Ilya wasn’t good enough of a person to do it himself either.

“So, you like the gift?” he asked a moment later, voice quiet.

Shane’s lips curled to a smile. “I love the gift,” he whispered.

Ilya’s thumb caressed another line on the soft skin. “Happy birthday, then.”

***

August 2008

Shrieks of happy laughter pierced the air, followed by someone plummeting into the pool and splashing water in every direction. Elena’s backyard was busy with the chattery of twenty or so of Snowbury’s teen population and the sun glinting off of the pool’s surface was hot and sweltering. Shane had arrived early enough to snatch a lounge chair under an umbrella, now avoiding the heat and contently reading his book.

“God damn,” Rose muttered next to him, gaze focused on the water.

“Kip is so fucking lucky,” Jackie sighed.

“So damn lucky.”

Shane raised an eyebrow and lowered the paperback. Scott Hunter was breathing heavily as he sat on the edge of the pool, running a hand through his wet hair. He was big, handsome, and being ogled by several pairs of eyes.

“I hate nothing more than attractive boys,” Rose tsked.

“I love nothing more than attractive boys,” Jackie mumbled.

“Honestly,” piped up the high and bright voice of Harris Drover. “He’s like the hottest guy in school,” he sighed wistfully from where he sat on the floor in front of them.

Gen, one of his closest friends, snorted next to him. “The hottest guy in school?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. I thought that was Troy Barrett." Gen smirked. “I remember you saying you’d lie there open like a starfish if the opportunity ever presented itself.”

“Gen!” Harris cried. Even from this angle, Shane could see his blush.

“Troy Barrett?” Rose asked with disgust.

“Eww,” Jackie said. “Isn’t he like a homophobic asshole?”

Harris turned around, eyes wide. “No,” he objected. “I mean, he never said anything to me, and I know that doesn’t mean he’s not homophobic, just—” The blush got darker. “I was talking objectively,” he muttered. “He’s cute. Objectively.”

“Objectively, he’s fucking gorgeous,” Rose said. “But like in a Dallas-Kent-in-a-pretty-packaging way.”

“He’s not like Dallas!”

The girls teased Harris more and Shane contemplated that blush. Harris was vocal about literally any of his opinions, shameless even, so it felt like there was more to this than him finding Troy Barrett attractive. Ilya would understand better.

“What do you think, Shane?” Rose interrupted his thoughts.

He turned to find four pairs of eyes watching him. “What?”

“Who do you think is the hottest guy in school?” Rose asked with a teasing edge to her voice.

“Uhm,” Shane muttered. “Me?”

All four pairs of eyes rolled back. “That doesn’t count,” Jackie said.

Shane shrugged, looking around the pool. “Scott, I guess,” he said a moment later, a safe and honest answer. “He looks like a cross between an Abercrombie model and a literal angel.”

Harris barked out a laugh louder than Shane’s answer necessitated. Once sobered, he said, “That’s not very heterosexual of you, Shane.”

Shane didn’t know what it was at that moment, but he found himself responding with, “Uhm, I’m kinda not.”

Harris visibly reeled back; eyes widened to saucers. “You’re gay?” he asked, astonished.

“Y-yeah?” Shane answered.

“Oh my god!” Harris shouted and clamped a hand on his mouth. Then he dropped it and whispered, “Is this a secret? Because I’m so bad at keeping secrets.”

“Uhm,” Shane muttered, gaze darting to Rose and Jackie for a moment. Then he shrugged. “No,” he said. “It’s not a secret.”

“Oh my god,” Harris shrieked again and scrambled to his feet. “Oh my fucking god, I should find Wyatt!”

And before Shane knew it, he was dashing to the other side of the pool.

“I’ll try to do damage control,” Gen said, rising. With a sympathetic smile, she added, “Sorry.”

Shane watched her try to catch up with Harris. Then turned to his friends. “Uhm…”

“I think you’ve just come out to the entire town,” Rose said with an amused smile.

“We can tell him not to—"

“No." Shane shook his head. “It’s okay.”

And he realized that it was the truth. The thought of Harris just sharing what he’d learned with everyone; it didn’t feel scary. It felt like a fucking weight off of Shane’s chest, one less thing on his to-do list. He drew in a deep breath.

Rose and Jackie exchanged a look.

“What?” Shane asked.

Jackie gave him a sweet smile. “Does this mean we can finally find you a boyfriend?”

“Oh no.” Shane got to his feet, dropping his book. He strode to the edge of the pool, suddenly very interested in checking its temperature. It was warm, of course, it was a million degrees between his toes, but it could be Arctic levels and Shane wouldn’t mind. Not if it meant avoiding this conversation.

Rose and Jackie, of course, followed him. “I have a list of candidates,” Rose said.

Shane wanted to groan but he knew he couldn’t give them that much power. He just cocked an eyebrow instead. “Aren’t you guys the ones keep telling me how boys are terrible? Which, as a boy, I disagree with by the way.”

“Boys are terrible,” Rose agreed. “But they're also wonderful. It’s one of the greatest mysteries of life.” She let out a sigh and Jackie giggled. “Which, as a boy, you should already know by the way.”

“Honestly, Shane,” Jackie said. “We only have one year of high school left.”

“Exactly,” Shane answered. “Our senior year. The most important year. I’ve barely started my university applications, I don’t have time for dating.”

“We’re not saying commit to a relationship.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “Just find a guy to make out with or something.”

“Yeah, people rarely find everlasting love in high school anyway.” Rose shrugged. Then added, “Except for Kip and Scott but Kip and Scott are disgusting.”

“What about me and Hayden?” Jackie asked with a frown.

Rose gave her a sympathetic smile. “You can do better, honey.”

Jackie was silent for a moment before saying, “We’ll come back to that,” and turning to Shane. “But Shane, seriously.”

Shane sighed, moving his foot in the water again. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it. He was a gay teen who couldn’t do any of the gay teen things yet. He wouldn’t mind kissing and touching another boy. Being kissed and touched by another boy. If he was being honest with himself, he thought about it a lot. Almost every day, between the thoughts of everything else, he thought about it.

As if she’d heard those thoughts, Rose cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said. “My list had Harris first but seeing you two together just now, I think we should scratch that.”

Jackie nodded. “Yeah, no.”

“What about Kyle?” Rose asked.

“Oh, maybe,” Jackie hummed.

“Intellectual compatibility, you know?” Rose said. “Mental stimulation thing.”

“Yes, yes." Jackie giggled. “And Kyle is super hot.”

Shane gawked. Kyle was Ilya’s best friend. Other best friend. It sounded so fucking wrong, beyond weird. He shook his head. “No freaking way.”

The girls looked at each other. Then they both snorted a laugh.

Shane raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to ask what that was about when a heavy arm draped over his shoulders.

“What are you guys talking about?” Ilya asked with a grin.

A grin blindingly white against his tanned skin, Shane noted, framed by the wet curls escaping his tiny ponytail. To match his smile, his hazel eyes shimmered gold under the sun, like the chain around his neck. Shane’s gaze followed a bead of water trail down from his neck and across the hills of his chest. Not even the stupid bear tattoo ruined the image.

Shane looked away.

“Nothing,” he said, then cleared his throat. It was so unfair. Ilya stopped playing hockey years ago, his diet was copious amounts of fat, sugar, alcohol, and nicotine. He worked out but still, he had no right to look like this.

“Just debating who’s the hottest guy in school." Rose patted Ilya on the arm. “No one chose you, Rozanov.”

Ilya huffed. “I know Jackie chose me. Hayden cried, I reveled in it? C’mon, we were all there.”

“That was years ago, Ilya.” Jackie rolled her eyes, then grinned. “Before Scott Hunter gained all those muscles.”

Ilya scoffed, then started ranting about fucking Scott Hunter. The girls laughed, rolled their eyes, huffed, but Shane couldn’t pay any attention. Ilya’s arm was tight around his shoulders, turning the collar of his shirt damp, and the fucking sun was cooking his fucking brain. In spite of himself, his mind kept going back to Rose and Jackie’s words about boys and dates and whatever.

“Hey, Shane.”

Thankfully, Ilya’s words interrupted his reverie.

“Hm?”

A grin split the aurelian face. “You're an idiot.”

Then Shane was submerged deep in water, Ilya on top of him. There were shrieks of laughter coming from outside the pool, and what sounded like Rose cursing Ilya about her dress, but all Shane could focus on was that damn grin. Once they resurfaced, it left its place to mischievous cackles in Shane’s ear as he tried to squirm out of Ilya’s grip.

“Oh my god, asshole!” he yelled, his attempts at pushing Ilya unsuccessful with his arms pinned. “You ruined my shirt.”

“Is it made of non-drying material?” Ilya asked, chuckling.

Shane scowled, trying to shove him again. His feet barely reached the bottom and Ilya was stronger than him, but he managed to free his arms at last. He swatted Ilya on the chest, but Ilya just kept laughing and pulling him closer by the waist. Then they were wrestling, splashing water on each other’s faces, feet kicking in the pool. At one point, Shane’s laughter mixed with Ilya’s, his hands tugged on the wet curls, and after a few more minutes of struggle, he got the upper hand.

Ilya settled in his embrace, sighing. Shane watched as a bead of water rivuleted down his cheekbone. The sun shone on his gold hair, on his gold lashes, and his gold, tanned skin. “Did you put on sunscreen?” Shane asked, following the line left behind by the drop with a finger.  

“Yes, mom,” Ilya huffed.

“I’m serious,” Shane said. He knew he went overboard sometimes, trying to take care of Ilya, but at this stage, it was like drinking water when thirsty. Like breathing air. Etched in Shane’s limbic system. “Skin cancer is not a joke.”

Ilya wiggled in his grip. “Don’t you feel how slippery I am?”

Shane’s fingers clutched tighter. Then he opened a hand and ran his palm over the firm muscles of Ilya’s back, feeling the lotion residue on his warm skin. He made an approving noise.

Ilya coughed, breaking out of the embrace. He stared at a distant point for a quiet moment. Then he laughed. “Do you wanna race?”

Shane gave him a grin.

It didn’t have a long life-span, though, as twenty minutes and ten rounds later Ilya was hoisting himself out of the water with a victorious smirk and kissing his biceps.

“That was cheating,” Shane said, following Ilya.

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “How was it cheating?”

“You smoke! I do yoga!” Shane complained, grabbing his wet shirt from where he’d left it. “There’s no way you could have had this one!”

“You have short limbs.”

Shane jabbed him in the chest. “You. Cheated.”

“It’s not cheating that I have fully-grown person arms." Ilya smirked, smug and infuriating. “We can have a rematch in open water if you want, so you can show your superior breathing skills. We just have to make a detour the Atlantic way. It would add a million weeks to our trip of Summer ‘09, but it may be worth it for your pride.”

“What trip?” came Hayden’s voice.

“Are you guys going on a vacation?” Jackie asked.

“Summer of ‘09?” Rose raised an eyebrow.

“Uhm,” Shane and Ilya looked at each other. “Just some—”

“Hypothetical plans, yeah.” Ilya shrugged.

Hayden nodded.

Jackie hummed.

Rose squinted at them.

Then groaned. “This is a Shane-and-Ilya thing, isn’t it?”

“Oh,” Jackie said. “This is absolutely a Shane-and-Ilya thing.”

“What’s a Shane-and-Ilya thing?” Hayden asked.

“You know when they plan their entire days, weeks, months around each other and the rest of the world just doesn’t exist?”

“Oh yeah." Hayden nodded.

“It’s not a Shane-and-Ilya thing,” Shane objected. Shane-and-Ilya thing wasn’t even a thing.

“But you’re planning a road trip?

“No.”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “But there’s no Shane-and-Ilya—”

“Thing.” Shane said, a full stop at the end of a sentence. He grabbed a towel and got on with drying his hair.

None of them said anything else, just taking seats on the lounge chairs.

Till Hayden oh’ed and opened his mouth. “Is Shane-and-Ilya thing like a date thing?”

“What the hell, Hayden?” Shane shouted, spinning around. “It’s not a date thing or a Shane-and-Ilya thing! There’s no Shane-and-Ilya thing!” He saw the wide eyes balking at him and adjusted his tone. “You guys can join us if you want to. It’d be better, actually, cheaper. We can split the gas money.”

He turned back around, drawing in a deep breath. He sat down, grabbing his book from where he’d left it, and tried to avoid his friends’ eyes. Ilya was Ilya, though, and caught his gaze regardless. He raised an eyebrow; all Shane could do was shrug, his face burning.

The hours passed, the temperature dropped, and the bright blue of the sky bled to purple. Shane was sitting on the concrete pavers, isolated from the party, when Ilya approached him.

“Hey,” he said, crouching next to Shane. “You look tired. Wanna go home?”

Shane shook his head. “We’re having fun.”

“You were having fun two hours ago.” Ilya gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I know when you hit your social exhaustion limit. C'mon.”

Shane hugged his knees, ducking his head. He did feel tired, maybe even frazzled at the edges. After the sun, the pool, and his outburst that made him want to bury his face in his hands and never see anyone again. Because, dear fucking God, what the hell had that been about?

And Ilya could see that exhaustion. And no doubt his embarrassment. Ilya always knew how Shane felt. Regardless of how well Shane pretended, Ilya always saw into the nooks and crannies of his psyche. Most of the time, it was comfort, solace. Ilya would open his palms and present Shane with everything he needed at that moment. A hug, a joke, banter. An offer to go home early when socializing had become too much.

And sometimes it was terror, how fucking transparent Ilya made him feel.

Shane cracked a faint smile. “We can sit like this for a bit.”

Ilya nodded, smiling back, and brushed their arms together.

Neither said anything for a while after that, just gazing towards the pool. Then Ilya sighed. “Okay, we have to talk about it.”

Shane felt his heart stop for a beat. “Talk about what?”

“You,” Ilya said. “Just invited three of your most annoying best friends on our trip.”

Oh. That.

Shane exhaled and forced a laugh. “You're my most annoying best friend.”

Ilya waved a hand.

Shane looked at him, trying to understand if he was really upset about it. Shane himself wasn’t thrilled about how that’d gone but he'd panicked, saying things before he could even think. At this point, he could only keep up with his excuse. “I just thought that we can—"

“Split the gas money, yeah,” Ilya repeated the words with him. “I heard that.”

“C’mon." Shane decided to go the humorous way. “You don’t hate Hayden and the rest as much as you pretend.”

“No, but I just—” Ilya cut himself off. He looked at Shane for a moment. Then, “Never mind. It’s your trip.”

“I thought we had joint custody,” Shane said. It’d hurt the others’ feelings, considering how they’d pressed him for details and then got all excited about it but Shane – with the full acknowledgment that he was a terrible friend – cared about Ilya’s feelings above anyone else’s.

“Yes, but you can invite anyone,” Ilya said with a shrug. He started rubbing Shane’s bare knee, eyes on where his fingers touched Shane’s skin. When he looked up there was a smile, crooked, almost shy. “I’m doing it all for you after all.”

Shane knew he’d never be as good at it as Ilya, but he still prided himself on knowing his cues. He could recognize the different ways Ilya laughed, the various pitches to his voice. And that for you was uttered so achingly gentle that for a moment Shane feared he’d never be able to swallow against the lump in his throat again.

He tried to will it away, the memory he got reminded of so often, almost always, when he was in this house. Two young boys sitting against a shelf full of shoes, sidled close together. Ilya patting his knee, telling him he liked his glasses, sharing secrets with him in whispers. Then Ilya leaning in and pressing a kiss on Shane’s lips; one almost non-existent kiss Shane couldn’t figure out to this day.

For you.

Shane looked towards the pool, taking a deep breath. “You were right,” he said a moment later. “I’m feeling pretty exhausted. Can we please go home?”

There was a long pause, then came Ilya’s voice. “Of course." And a hand held out to Shane. “Let’s go.”

***

Ilya let out his thousandth sigh.

“Come on, baby,” he muttered and started the engine. The bike made a roaring noise, a wheeze, then nothing. “Fuck.”

He rose to his feet and looked around the workshop helplessly. He didn’t know what was wrong with her. He could barely make it to LeClaire’s after his shift at the coffee shop; the bike just stopped. It’d been working all morning, then she’d just decided to shatter Ilya’s heart into million pieces.

He decided to go back to basics, check everything one by one but before he could get on with it, a convertible came in. Ilya knew that car. And he knew the girl in the driver's seat.

“Svet?” he asked with narrowed eyes, grabbing a towel to clean his hands.

Svetlana got out of her car, offering him a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Ilya said back and jerked his chin towards the convertible. “Is something wrong there?”

“Just need the brake pads replaced.”

“Sure." Ilya nodded. “I’ll get on—”

“It’s not urgent,” Svetlana said. “Finish what you have there.”

Ilya hummed but couldn’t help the skeptical furrow between his brows. That was suspicious. Very suspicious.

Svetlana waited by her car for about thirty seconds before she started moving around the shop. Ilya was back to worrying about his bike, but he could hear her messing around with parts left here and there and tinkering with the tools. She ran a hand over other cars’ hoods and checked herself out on their side mirrors. She asked, “Is your boss around?”

Ilya made a noise in negative.

She picked up a piece of metal from the workstation and started twirling it in her hands. “You know?” she said a moment later. “I like this whole aesthetic. The tank top, the hair. Dishevelled. Very hot.”

Ilya cast her a glance. “Thanks.”

“It’s just a shame that we haven’t hooked up in months,” she continued, looking Ilya straight in the eyes. “Actually thinking about it, you haven’t hooked up with anyone in months, have you, Ilya?”

Ilya stood straight. “Why are you here Svetlana?” he asked. He knew it wasn’t about the car or the sex.

“Told you. Brake pads." She smiled and came closer. “And we couldn’t talk much yesterday.”

“Elena’s parties can be chaotic." Ilya shrugged.

Svetlana hummed, fingering the strap of Ilya’s tank top. “And you were busy flirting with Shane all night.”

The words drew steel in Ilya’s back. He couldn’t say anything at first, not really, so he just barked out a laugh, thin and strained. “I don’t flirt with Shane.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Svetlana agreed. “Because flirting is supposed to be fun. Not…” She gestured to Ilya. “Depressing.”

“What's this?” Ilya asked, trying to keep his tone casual. “An intervention?”

“If that’s what you want to call it." Svetlana shrugged. “These past few months… God, Ilya, what are you doing?”

Ilya looked at the tire of his bike. “Nothing.”

Svetlana didn’t say anything for a moment. Then echoed, “Nothing.” Her tone was so unequivocal, knowing that Ilya felt transparent. “Just spending your every moment not with Shane here, or the coffee shop, or doing whatever odd job you’ve found that week.” She huffed an unhappy laugh. “I’m shocked he’s not worried about this, you know, seeing as he’s been making these plans for the two of you since forever and this..." She gestured around. “Means you’re flunking school. Does he know that, Ilya? That your marks hit rock bottom or are you lying to him?”

“I don’t lie to him,” Ilya gritted. “I just don’t trouble him with everything.”

“Till when?”

“Svetlana.”

“I mean, he won’t be mad at you. Not for long. God knows he’s as weird about you as you’re about him but what’s the long-term plan here?”

Ilya looked her in the eyes. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Ilya Rozanov, the problem solver.”

“I’m working so I have money to start with.”

“Okay." Svetlana put her hands together and smiled. “I’ll try to be more direct here. This is not about money, not entirely. You’ll find a variation of this in Montreal, and you’ll have money, good." She nodded. “But Shane will have a different life. Different friends, a different circle. When you twist and bend yourself to fit into his life—”

Ilya’s words tumbled out in Russian. “What do you want me to say, Svetlana?!” he choked out, blue and bitter. “That I’ll still follow him? That I’m fucking in love with him?”

“Oh, Ilya,” Svetlana muttered; Ilya looked away before he could see the pity.

“It’s been good these past months,” he murmured. “Grigori’s been off my case. For now, at least. Till the police academy thing blows up. And Shane.” He took a deep breath. And Shane smiled at him sweeter than ever before, and he laughed brighter, and he let their touches linger. And like the selfish bastard he was, Ilya reveled in it, found air in it. “He’s so damn happy making all these plans and telling me all about Montreal and—” He flexed his hand open and closed and looked at Svetlana. “So yes, I will lie as long as I can and when I can’t, I'll figure something out so everyone gets what they want.”

“Except for you, Ilya,” Svetlana said. “Never you. You’ve accepted the crumbs of what you want, what you can be as life and that’s—” She cut herself off and smiled somberly. “You’re my closest friend. You’re my first. You mean a lot to me, and you deserve more than this.”

Ilya said nothing.

“I’m going to Boston next year,” she continued. “My father has connections in both the car and the hockey scene there and you know your way around both. Just say the word and we can find you a real job. Something with more security, something with prospects.”

Ilya shook his head. “I can’t leave him.”

“Shane will always be your best friend, Ilya. You can always go back to him.”

“No.”

Svetlana bit her lip. “Then why not just tell him—”

“I’ll bring the car around when it’s ready,” Ilya said, leaving for the office in the back.

It’d taken him a while to get his head back on straight and take up some actual work. The day was turning dark with hours, and Ilya’s hands were turning dark with motor oil when Shane entered the shop.

“Shane?” Ilya asked with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I could pick you up,” Shane said, grinning behind his smattering of freckles. “We can have dinner together.”

Something fluttered in Ilya’s chest. “Yeah,” he said, then grimaced. “But…”

Shane frowned before Ilya could even gesture to the bike. “Oh no,” he said, looking at the taken-out parts of the engine. “What happened to her?”

“Just died on me this morning,” Ilya sighed. “She needs a new carburetor, I think. We can take the bus.”

“Or we can walk?” Shane offered. “The sun’s going down; it’ll be nice.”

Ilya took in the moonlight eyes, the midnight hair. “Okay,” he said and rubbed his jaw.

Shane’s eyes flickered down.

“Did I—” Ilya rubbed a hand again. “Did I get oil on my face?”

A long pause. “No,” Shane breathed. “I mean, yeah.” He chuckled. “Go clean up, would you? I’m hungry.”

Ilya nodded. “Give me ten.”

He cleaned up and locked up the shop. By the time they stepped outside, the sky was purple turning black. Shane, apparently not as hungry as he’d claimed, grabbed Ilya by the wrist and led them down the way to the riverbank.

This was the long way home. On a summer evening with Shane beside him, it didn’t really matter.

They were passing by the skatepark when Shane stopped. “Wow,” he said. “That’s fucking cool.”

Ilya turned his head to see what he was looking at, then squinted. “I like seeing these stunts as much as the next guy, but have you seen our post office? Historical ruins status but no, what we need is this!” he gestured to the BMX ramps, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Why?”

“I don’t know actually,” Shane said seriously. “But we can go to the library and check the town records to see why they built it.”

Ilya stilled, then cursed the universe for allowing Shane to be so… Shane. “Yeah,” he said with a fond chuckle. “You go do that, nerd.”

“Hey, Hollander!” someone called their attention. They looked up to see Comeau and Drapeau, two guys from their year, walking towards them.

“Hey, guys,” Shane smiled.

“Hey,” Comeau said, then grinned, a sleazy and mocking thing. “Congrats. Heard you came out yesterday.”

Ilya's brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” Shane just said.

“I mean,” Drapeau smirked and glanced at Ilya. “It was like learning birds fly, fish swim.”

Comeau snorted like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Before Ilya could say anything, the two were leaving as they slapped and smacked each other.

Shane started walking without a word; Ilya grabbed his arm. “What was that about?”

Scuffing his shoe against the ground, Shane ignored his eyes. Then he sighed. “I kind of came out to Harris yesterday.”

Ilya’s brows rose. “Harris?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean,” Ilya said. “I love Harris, but you know he’s really bad at keeping his mouth shut, right?”

“I kind of…” Shane mumbled. “Didn’t want him to.”

Ilya’s frown deepened. “You wanted him to tell people?”

“Yeah.” Shane shrugged.

Ilya loosened his clasp to a comforting touch. He didn’t know what to say.

Shane must have not either as he just watched the river. At last, he said, “I feel relieved.”

Ilya waited for him to continue.

“I know." He swallowed. “I know it’ll be different when we’re back to school but, god." He let out a deep sigh. “I just feel relief. I feel like I can breathe now that Harris did it for me.” He finally met Ilya’s eyes. “Is that fucked up?”

Ilya immediately shook his head. “Of course it’s not fucked up.”

“I feel like I’m really bad at being gay, you know? I’m not like Scott or Fabian or—"

Ilya shushed him quickly. He raised a hand to cup his jaw. “I know you love instructions, but I don’t think there’s a right way to be gay, Shane.” He smiled. Then he couldn’t help himself, because he was the most powerless when Shane got like this, and pressed his lips to the warm skin of his temple. And he stayed there. “I just didn’t know you felt this way.”

Shane relaxed in Ilya’s loose hold. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I wanted to get over the hard part, so I can—” He paused.

Ilya raised a brow. “So you can what?”

Shane said nothing for a moment, twisting the hem of Ilya’s top. “Do what others do, I guess,” he murmured at last. “Like, date guys.”

“Oh,” Ilya said. Just an oh, like the earth didn’t just hurl out of its orbit.

God, Ilya, what are you doing?

Taking as much as I can.

Ilya knew that’d been the honest answer to Svetlana’s question. Because that was what he’d been doing. Stealing moments, sneaking touches. Hoarding Shane’s affection for his own miserly interests as he ran down the clock. He hadn’t thought, though, not for once, that the time would come so fast.

Shane let out a nervous chuckle. “It was just an idea—"

“I think you should.”

Shane stilled. The laughter coming from the skatepark got louder. “Oh?”

“Date guys, I mean,” Ilya clarified and broke out of their embrace. The words felt like barbed wire around his throat.

“I get it,” Shane said. Then frowned. “Do you really think so?”

“Sure, why not?” Ilya forced a grin. “I mean I kinda feel sorry for the local gay scene but…”

He couldn’t find the rest. What would a supportive best friend say, his mind searched for, but his heart couldn’t cooperate at that moment. His lungs had lost all their air. This was almost the most difficult breathing had felt for him.

Shane just smiled. “Yeah.”

***

October 2008

“Sorry." Ilya cracked an apologetic smile. “I’m five bucks short. I’ll owe you.”

The owner of the Chinese place shot him an exasperated look. “You always owe me, Rozanov.”

“I’ll pay next week,” Ilya promised.

The guy sighed, giving him a reluctant nod.

Ilya grinned, giving him a salute.

With plastic bags in hand, he stepped out into the autumn chill, making way for his bike. The voices coming from across the street stopped him in his tracks.

“Leave it alone, Barrett,” someone snapped. It was Dallas Kent. His ugly face screwed in fury. “It’s nothing.”

“Damn it, Dallas,” Troy Barrett said in disbelief, eyes narrowed. “I know what I’ve heard.”

Dallas bared his teeth. “And you trust those cunts more than me?!”

Troy opened his mouth to answer, only to stop himself when he saw Ilya.

Dallas followed his gaze. When he recognized him, his eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “What the hell are you looking at, Rozanov?” he sneered.

Ilya cracked a grin. “An imp and his lackey.”

Dallas’s nostrils flared, he twitched like he was going to march across the street; he got stopped by Troy’s hand on his shoulder.

Troy Barrett had this cold detached gaze Ilya always thought was eerie, fitting his aversive personality. Piercing blue marbles. When he raised them to meet Ilya’s now, they were far from cold. There was something troubled in them tonight, something conciliatory even.

In spite of himself, Ilya raised a questioning brow.

Troy opened his mouth.

Then shut it closed and ducked his head.

Ilya rolled his eyes. So much for a moment’s curiosity.

Dallas was still spitting some bullshit about how he was going to show him, yada yada yada. Tuning him out, Ilya turned on his heel and left the two pieces of shit to their argument.

By the time he arrived at Hollanders’ doorstep, there was nothing left to distract him. No work, no takeout, no eavesdropping on the motherfuckers he hated. All the lights were out, and the front door was locked. Yuna and David were in the city helping Yuna’s parents with something and Shane… Shane was on a date.

The fourth one in the last five weeks and yes, Ilya was absolutely counting. The fourth random dude he had no fucking idea about because Shane was all so cagey about them. They didn’t talk about it, not really, but anytime Shane came back from one of his dates, Ilya’s chest constricted in fear. He’d made relative peace with the dates themselves – or so he told himself – but he knew he couldn’t bear Shane coming back one night and telling him he got a boyfriend.

Because Shane would want a boyfriend. Ilya knew him; Shane wasn’t the type to just date around. He wanted, deserved, the best boyfriend. Someone who’d know to do all the right things, say all the right words, love Shane the right way, and just be disgustingly perfect in every aspect. If Shane Hollander was going to date, even that he’d try to do to perfection.

And Ilya was long past pretending it didn’t kill him. Past a few years, actually. He’d always known – like he’d known the sky was blue and the grass was green – that when it happened, it would break him. For a second, he contemplated chucking away the dumplings he’d bought for Shane and go sleep in his damned room in Grigori’s damned house for the night. It was that bad. It was agonizing.

“Ilya?”

Ilya breathed in sharply, spinning around. Shane was standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing the beanie Ilya had bought him last Christmas. With a brand-new sweater and his good shoes. Date clothes, Ilya thought, but it didn’t matter because Shane was here.

“Hey,” he said, hoping to god he didn’t sound as relieved as he felt. “How was your date?”

Shane shrugged, bouncing on the ball of his heel.

Ilya nodded. Sometimes it was better Shane kept quiet about it. Sometimes it was better not to know the details. “Well." He showed Shane the bags in his hand. “I’ve got Chinese.”

Shane gave him a smile; faint but ever beautiful. “Well,” he said, copying Ilya’s tone. “Twenty minutes till puck drop.”

Once inside, they took off their layers and put on comfier clothes and settled in the middle of the couch. Ilya tried not to pay attention to where their arms and thighs touched each other. One by one, he laid out the cartons of food he’d bought on the coffee table.

Shane made a face.

Ilya sniffed the box with his twice-fried rice and moaned. “I can feel my arteries getting blocked already.” He made an extreme face of pleasure. “So good.”

Shane snorted, flicking him on the forehead. He grabbed his steamed dumplings.

It took them twenty minutes to wolf down most of the food. And to find themselves shoved deep down in the dumps.

“This is the most depressing hockey game I’ve ever seen,” Ilya muttered. “And I’ve been a Centaurs fan since I was a literal baby.”

Shane nodded. Then made a pained noise. “God, they need a star center so bad.”

A player on TV – this time a Voyageur, thank god – fumbled a shot on goal.

“On the bright side,” Ilya said. “So does Montreal.”

By the time Ottawa had given away the puck three times in ten seconds, Ilya was done with everyone and everything that’d led him to this moment.

“This is painful,” Shane said. Ilya, sadly, agreed.

Once they were blessed with the first intermission, he said, “You know,” pointing his chopsticks at Shane. “I think you could be an all-star hockey legend if you wanted.”

Shane snorted, shooting him a look. “I’m not that good.”

“Yeah, because you never wanted to be. I’ve seen you fucking kill everything you’ve ever put your mind to, though. If you wanted to play professionally… Well, NHL wouldn’t know what hit them.”

Shane didn’t say anything.

“Asshole.”

“What?”

“This is the part you say, ‘you’d be absolutely brilliant, too, Ilya.’”

Shane huffed a laugh. “Not sure if you have the discipline needed to be a professional athlete, Ilya.” He nudged his shoulder. “You’re the laziest person I know.”

Ilya couldn’t help his smile from slipping. “Yeah,” he muttered.

They fell quiet again. The goddamn commercials were fucking worse than the game itself.

Years ago, when they’d still been kids playing on the playground, Ilya had done something stupid. Something he couldn’t remember the details of. Something dangerous. An attempt at a crash dive somersault, maybe. All he could remember was Shane looking at him dead in the eyes and calling him a freaking world-class masochist.

Ilya knew Shane had been right that day when he spoke again. “So,” he said, stabbing an empty box of noodles with his chopsticks. “Still no date for the trip of Summer ’09?”

It’d become a thing, to Ilya’s absolute dismay. Their friends had completely hijacked their trip and somehow it included Scott and Kip now as well. And someone, sometime, somewhere had made a joke about how Shane and Ilya were going to be the only single ones and they should find dates. It’d probably been Hayden because Hayden was the bane of Ilya’s existence, but the important part was that it’d become a joke. An inside joke. Ilya hated his friends.

So naturally, what he actually wanted to ask was, ‘When you shrug when I ask you about your dates, is that a good thing or a bad thing?’ What he wanted to ask was, ‘Was he perfect in all the ways you could ever want?’ What he wanted to ask was, ‘Are you fucking trying to kill me, Shane?’

Shane chuckled. “No. Not this one,” he answered the spoken question.

Ilya swallowed. “Well, he can’t be worse than the guy who tried to give you a blowjob in the men’s room of Ikea.”

“Ugh,” Shane groaned. “I said no mention of the Ikea blowjob guy.”

“You know,” Ilya said, ripping apart the box. “I think you should have let him.” The words stung, but he desperately needed to prove to himself that he could act as a best friend instead of a jealous piece of shit who was painfully in love. “It’s just sex.”

“It’s not just sex to me,” Shane said. “And sorry I didn’t lose my virginity when I was an infant like you did.”

Ilya had a funny retort to that. Then he made another joke, and another, till Shane was chuckling and punching him on the arm. Jokester, wisecracker, best friend Ilya. Every word left his lungs full of wood dust.

He would get used to it. He had to.

***

Shane stood at the sink, washing the few glasses and utensils they’d used. The game had been so utterly depressing that he’d decided the second intermission was a good time for taking out the trash and tidying around a little bit.

The kitchen phone rang as he was looking for a dishtowel.

He reached with his relatively not soapy hand. “Hey.”

“How was your date?”

It was Rose. Of course, it was Rose.

Shane tried not to roll his eyes. “Uhm. Not good.”

“Yeah? What was wrong with this one?” Rose asked. “Three nipples? Premature balding?”

“No,” Shane said patiently. “Just boring.”

Rose hummed; Shane could practically see the finger she was tapping on her chin. “Do you want me to hook you up with the guy from my acting class?” she offered a moment later, like she’d done a thousand times before. “Because he’s perfect and you’re perfect and you’d be so perfect together.”

“I appreciate it, Rose,” Shane said genuinely. “But I don’t need your help finding dates.”

He let his free hand drift in the dishwater. A moment passed; no answer came. Shane worried the line got cut off for a second but just as he was about to call out her name, Rose spoke. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

Shane’s hand stilled. “Doing what?”

“You go on dates with these guys just to find a fault with all of them,” Rose said, her voice stripped of its usual teasing note. “So you can tell yourself you’ve tried but it didn’t work out and you have an excuse to go home to Ilya and watch dumb action films with him.”

“We’re watching hockey,” Shane said. Then corrected himself. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you know everything in the goddamn universe but conveniently you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Shane unplugged the sink, watching the dishwater whirl down the drain.

“Is this why you don’t want to go out with my friend?” Rose asked. Her words were clear against the static of the landline. She sounded convinced of whatever nonsense she was saying. “Because you know I’ll hear whatever excuses you come up with?”

This was ridiculous, there were no excuses. Shane wasn’t sabotaging himself or whatever Rose was implying. He just hadn’t liked his dates. Yes, he’d pulled back when they’d tried to go for a goodbye kiss and yes, it didn’t fit the narrative of wanting-to-kiss-other-boys, but it was just a matter of not liking these guys. He didn’t need Rose lecturing him or hooking him up with someone. He was doing just fine.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting to keep my love life private,” he said.

“Oh, believe me, Shane." Rose chuckled. “Everyone sees your love life. Except for you.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Shane told her and cleared his throat when it came out rough.

“This was bad when you were just making moon eyes at him,” Rose continued, not hearing him. “And in a moment of naivete, I’ve actually thought you dating other people would change something, but no.” She didn’t say anything else for a moment, and when she did her voice was solemn. “You realize this is weird, right, Shane? You playing house with Ilya?”

“Ilya is my best friend,” Shane said. He felt his eyes burn and blinked them clear. He was just frustrated. “He has a shitty home life, so he stays with me sometimes. Don’t make this something it’s not.”

And, God, what would he think if he heard this stupid conversation? He was just in the other room, for fucks sake. Shane threw a glance over his shoulder.

“I don’t know how long you can keep your head buried in the sand,” Rose told him, none of his words registering. “I just don’t know.”

Shane knew he could hang up now; he should hang up now. But he only grabbed the phone tighter, refusing to let his hands tremble. “I don’t have my head—"

“There’ll come a point you won’t be able to fool yourself anymore, you know that, right?” Rose asked. “Maybe in ten years when he’s with someone else and you still have this mountain of unresolved feelings…” Shane felt his throat spasm; he wanted to object but couldn’t trust his voice. “…Or tomorrow when you realize how much you touch him. How you smile at him.”

Footsteps and whistling of a cheery tune approached the kitchen.

“I gotta go,” Shane said quickly, slamming the phone down.

Ilya entered the kitchen, his whistle tapering. “Was that Yuna?” he asked, walking towards Shane.

Shane shook his head. “Rose,” he said and didn’t elaborate. He raised an eyebrow instead, letting a smirk tuck at his lip. “Was that Montreal’s goal song you were whistling?”

“…Yeah.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

Shane’s gaze moved around the kitchen; trying to get rid of the… awkwardness Rose’s phone call had left. “You know what?” he said after a moment. “Fuck this game. Let’s do something else, like… Oh! We can start writing our cover letters!”

“Or,” Ilya said slowly, patting Shane’s shoulders. “You can go pick a film and I can make us hot chocolate?”

“Uh sure,” Shane mumbled. That also sounded fun. Everything with Ilya was fun. Because they were best friends. “But no—"

“Marshmallows in yours. I know,” Ilya said with an eyeroll. “Cinnamon instead because you represent the worst tastes of humankind.”

Shane smiled. “Refined tastes,” he corrected.

The next thing Shane had done, he wasn’t too proud of. To be perfectly honest, he felt a little bit shitty. Just the tiniest bit, though, because it wasn’t like it’d been premediated.

Shane had picked a movie and Ilya had made them drinks and they’d settled back on the couch, sidled close together. Shane had his cheek pressed to the backrest, his legs tucked in, while Ilya had spread like a big cat, perching his feet on the coffee table. At one point, they’d pulled a blanket over their laps, and after the full galore dinner, the cinnamon hot chocolate, and the disappointment of being a lifelong Ottawa Centaurs fan, Shane had found himself drifting off to the sounds of explosions coming from the Bourne movie.

Then a lightbulb had gone off.

A few months ago, a night just like this when Mom and Dad had been out and the two of them had been hanging out in the living room, Shane had fallen asleep on the couch, head on the armrest, feet on Ilya’s lap. When he’d woken up, he was in his bedroom. Then it’d happened again, and again. A few times more. Anytime Shane couldn’t resist the tug of sleep on this damn couch, he’d welcome the morning upstairs in his bed.

So, he’d got this working theory that someone had been carrying him. Someone being Ilya. It was possible Shane had walked himself up the stairs half-asleep once or twice, but it’d be statistically impossible for him to forget that journey every time.

So now, Shane was pretending. To be asleep. He just wanted to see what happened, wanted answers to his question. And seeing what Ilya did would be… silly. He knew he was being silly, but he wanted to know what happened during that relocation.

The first hour had been easy, with Shane somewhat paying attention to the contrived plot of the movie and soaking Ilya’s warmth. But then that warmth had become a call to sleep. He tried to resist the pull to the dreamland; he’d almost fall, then shake himself mentally. Fall and shake, on repeat, all the while keeping his eyes closed, pretending. All the while Ilya had an arm over Shane’s lap, tracing absent-minded shapes on his knee.

Finally, the sounds cut off and the light from the TV ceased to darkness. Shane held his breath.

He felt the warmth – the furnace pressing against his side, the familiar touch of familiar hands – leave first. Then the same hands pushed a lock of hair away from his face, before he was being scooped up and lifted by two strong arms.

The move wasn’t sudden. On the contrary, it felt as gentle as wind gliding fallen petals, like delicate careful ocean waves.

It hadn’t come as a surprise, Shane realized. Ilya had always been gentle. He had a gentle touch, a gentle smile, a gentle gaze. Shane had always attributed that to life; Ilya was made gentle by life, by the people around him, good and bad. But as the years passed, Shane recognized there was an inherent softness to Ilya. In his disposition, in his bare bones, and in the spaces in between. In the gold thread that held him together, sewed him together, as a child becoming a man who was tough, who was fierce and strong, and who was delicate.

They padded across the room to what Shane believed the direction of the stairs. Ilya tightened his grip, then made repeated moves with his arm under Shane’s legs, jerky, like he was trying to use his elbow for something. The light switch. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck, fuck.”

Shane felt a giggle build in his chest. He shut his eyes tighter, pressed his lips closer, and hoped Ilya wasn’t seeing this. Then the color behind his lids changed, Ilya finally got the light, and they ascended the stairs.

In his mind’s eye, Shane followed Ilya’s steps. He knew when they were on the landing. He knew when they entered his room. He knew when they stopped by his bed.

Then he was dropped on the mattress like a bag of rocks, wobbling.

“Ow!” He flinched, eyes shooting open.

Ilya was kneeled on the bed, looming over him with narrowed eyes. “I knew you were awake,” he said.

“That still hurt,” Shane whined, though it was a lie. Ilya even had one hand pillowing his head. “How did you know?” He pouted.

“People don’t smile like that in their sleep,” Ilya said, poking him on the cheek. Then he kept poking, again and again, till amusement reached his eyes and his lips spread with a tiny smile and his nose scrunched. It was so ridiculous, so stupid that Shane couldn’t help the bubbled-up giggle in his chest from escaping his lips. Then Ilya started laughing, quiet shakes to his body.

“I just wanted a free lift,” Shane told him, laughter still in his voice. He kept his volume down; there was something so silly, something so wonderful about that moment that he couldn’t dare speak any louder.

“Hm.” Ilya smiled, hand moving up to caress Shane’s hair. “Who’s lazy now?”

Their late-night sleepy smiles mirroring each other, they stayed like that for a moment. A long moment, stretching into forever. Logically, it couldn’t have been longer than a handful seconds, but Shane didn’t feel very logical right now. The lull to sleep he’d missed upon the impact was settling back in his bones, like a comforting blanket being draped over his shoulders. So, they held that way forever, with Ilya’s best smile aimed at him, in the best way that forever could be.

“Don’t,” Shane breathed when Ilya went to pull away, one hand curling around his arm.

“I left the lights on downstairs, and the mugs—"

“We’ll get them in the morning,” Shane whispered, because autumn was cold, and Ilya was warm. “Stay,” he said, lids heavy but everything else soft, everything else gentle.

The fingers combed through his hair again, and again. Then a weight settled next to him, and Shane felt the warm press of lips on his temple, then on the swell of his cheek. He was almost surrendered to sleep when the answer came. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

***

January 2009

Ilya was watching the shadows playing on Shane’s ceiling; the wind blowing the leaves in every direction, like a puppet show against the light from the street strobes. It was the coldest night of the season yet, but no snow. Only the wind which to Ilya was nothing but static against the backdrop of Shane’s breathing.

December had come and gone with no snow. The forecast had said it’d be coming today, so three hours into the new year, Ilya was awake, waiting. With Shane Hollander pressed against his chest, the back of his shirt warm where they touched.

He’d fallen asleep hours ago. In Ilya’s arms and Ilya hadn’t dared stir or breathe deep. In case Shane would awake, in case he wouldn’t curl up against Ilya’s chest once more, in case their arms wouldn’t be entwined like this again.

Ilya knew he’d made his own bed, but he still hated nights like this the most. He hated them furiously because having Shane in his arms, with no barriers in between, always made him feel like he’d gathered a part of himself. Like it wasn’t just him finding ease, but it was comfort itself choosing to settle on his shoulder, in his chest, filling every crack and every crevice.

Shane stirred in his arms; Ilya caressed a comforting touch on his wrist.

He had to recapitulate. Because looking at Shane now, seeing his inky hair and the curve of his cheek, he wanted to kiss him everywhere. He wanted to press his lips on his temple, on his hair. He wanted to feel the softness and the sharpness of his cheekbone. He wanted to raise their intertwined hands and kiss his palm and each of his knuckles. He’d stolen some of these kisses before, selfishly, and he knew it’d been selfishly because that was what Ilya had always done. Ever since the day he’d cornered Shane in a closet and pressed their lips together – clumsily, thank god clumsily – and he’d known he was stealing from Shane every time Kyle and Svetlana had called him out on it.

Ilya had never been good or moral or whatever enough to contemplate it deeply. He’d never been good at thinking with his head, that’d always been Shane’s forte, but some things were clearer now. Some very obvious things; Ilya was a terrible best friend, Ilya wanted Shane more than anything, and it would never happen for a million reasons.

And some others that’d been tiny cracklings of realization, making nights like this the bane of Ilya’s existence. Reasons telling him he had to do something to… resolve this mess.

Namely, it was the realization that moments like this had the power to make him almost believe. Moments where he could even fool himself, the idea of Shane-and-Ilya coming and leaving like a riptide. Moments where it felt possible, just for one second, just fleetingly, like a chance at finding a golden ticket. The past year had been filled with moments like this, and each one of them had hurt like a bitch.

The wind picked up, howling. Ilya glanced at the window over his shoulder. No trace of snow yet.

His eyes moved to Shane’s desk where they’d left the map and Shane’s long list of things that had to be done before the trip. Next to it laid the first drafts of their university letters. One going somewhere, a forewarning for all the things Shane Hollander was going to do, and second with its fate uncertain. Just another thing confirming that Ilya was a horrible person. He’d postponed that talk for months, lied with a smile on his face after promising Shane that he wouldn’t keep him in the dark anymore.

One of the loose letters was anchored by a book Shane had said he hadn’t liked very much. A gift from yet another nameless guy he’d gone on a date with. Another failed one, another guy not good enough for Shane, but nonetheless proof that Shane wanted, and that the time for Ilya’s self-indulgence was up.

Ilya knew he had to do something. Cut it off, somehow, kill the love, cease the hurt, whatever. But he hadn’t been lying months ago, when he’d told Svetlana he couldn’t. Even physically, it felt like sometimes, that he couldn’t uncouple himself from Shane. Shane was an endless field of gardenias that Ilya was stuck running through in circles. Shane was the glaring summer sun above the sea and Ilya was chained up below the surface. Shane was the autumn day they’d met that Ilya could recall down to its seconds, and Shane was the first snow of the year Ilya was awaiting.

He stole another kiss on Shane’s hair. Desperately, he’d been awaiting desperately.

It arrived just as the dawn was breaking.

Ilya felt a faint smile find home on his face. He looked at Shane, snuggled into the space between Ilya’s chest and limbs, face turned towards him now.

“Shane,” he whispered, running a thumb on the speckling of freckles.

Nothing.

He pushed back a lock of hair. “Shane.”

A stir, then the tiny face scrunching. “Hm?”

“It’s snowing,” Ilya told him, hearing the childish wonder in his voice, the relief.

God, Ilya was never resolving this mess. He’d made himself believe in myths, wait for good omens to stay here, like this, and never resolve this mess. He was going to repeat season after season, day in and day out, being hopelessly in love with his best friend despite knowing one day, it was going to crash and burn both of them.

“Shane.”

Shane’s eyelids finally fluttered open. Pretty eyes, matching every season.

“It always snows in this country,” he mumbled, voice rough but curious. “Why are you waking me up?

Ilya smiled. “It’s the first snow.”

***

Maybe Shane was a bit of a pushover, but he hadn’t minded waking up after that. Ilya had given him that gentle smile; eyes tired, face puffy, like he hadn’t had a blink of sleep, but the lazy curve of his mouth was painted with wonder, with unmarred glee. Something of child Ilya’s that Shane hadn’t seen in a while, somehow surviving to this day.

So, they’d slipped out of bed and dressed warmly as they watched the pelting snow. By the time they stepped outside, it’d calmed down; still falling but serene after decorating the yard, the road, and the beyond with a coat of white. Like draped lace over the land, tinged with warm colors in the early sunlight, not unlike Ilya’s smile.

Taking in the vast expanse of fresh powder, he looked so amazed now. He watched the snowfall like it was his first time seeing something so wonderful, inhaling the sharp scent of cold. It amused Shane; they spent months buried in snow in this damn town and he’d never seen Ilya this delighted about it before. He observed his easy smile and the golden curls escaping his beanie. The snowflakes melted on touch, like Ilya was a sliver of the actual sun put on earth. The logic told Shane it was just their bodies running hot for snow to survive upon meeting, but he’d been getting really good at ignoring logic lately.

He noticed Ilya was murmuring something to himself.

“What does that mean?” Shane asked before he’d realized.

Ilya stopped, turning to him. “What?”

“The first snow,” Shane said. That was what Ilya had said when he’d awakened Shane, and thinking back on it now, Shane had heard him talk about it before in the past weeks. “I mean, I know what it literally means but you mentioned it a few times.”

Ilya didn’t say anything for a moment. He grabbed a handful of fresh snow, only to sift it through his fingers. “Just something I remembered Mom saying,” he said, at last, gaze moving around the yard. As if he found a safe spot, he fixed it on a tree. “The person you witness the first snowfall with, you’ll stay with them for a really long time.”

Shane opened his mouth and closed it. The fact of it was both shocking and no surprise, that Ilya wanted to stay with him. They didn’t say it in so many words, but they both knew they were fixed points in each other’s lives. Shane had felt insecure about it before, he could admit to himself now, irrational fear that Ilya would slip away from him, but things had changed in the last year. Ilya was here, Ilya was solid, Ilya wanted Shane in his life as much as Shane wanted him.

But still, something about the confession, something about the symbolic, fairytale-esque nature of Ilya waking him up so they could witness what was an uneventful affair in this part of the world was startling. And new. Warmth unbecoming of the season lulled in Shane’s stomach.

Ilya huffed a nervous laugh, his cheeks kissed red by the cold. “You know how she was, collecting stories from here and there, even making up some herself." He smiled. It was a ragged line. “I mean, I’ve seen so many of my first snows with her and she still…” His words tapered off and he blinked his eyes. “It’s just bullshit,” he said a moment later. “I just wanted to see the snow.”

“I don’t think it’s bullshit,” Shane told Ilya, taking a step towards him. In moments like this he always felt like someone was taking a hammer to his heart. When Ilya felt grief and heartbreak and shut it off before Shane could take some of it on himself. “I think it’s beautiful.”

Ilya nodded, not reciprocating Shane’s gaze.

And Shane felt frustrated — with himself. Shouldn’t he be better at this already? He’d figured out how to excel at things years ago. It just took will and repeated practice. Will to take care of Ilya, Shane had in abundance. And practice, hell, he’d turned their entire lives into practice. But moments like this rushed in so fast sometimes that Shane was rendered a novice, an amateur.

So he did the only thing he knew would break the tension. He bent down, grabbed some snow, and hurled it onto Ilya’s face.

It splattered against his curls, dusting the collar of his coat. Frozen, Ilya blinked his eyes. “Oh,” he said a moment later, eyes narrowing, lips curling. “You're in so much trouble.”

Then he was squatted down on the ground, arms used like shovels, and cascaded Shane in a hail of snow. Shane squawked, hurriedly taking the same position. They both knew they would not be kind about it, there would be no spattering clumps of snow between them. There would only be war.

They were mean, impolite, crude even to nature’s work and ruined every inch of the untrodden snow as they yelled and shrieked, giggled and spouted cusses, making each other taste the snowmelt and experience brain freeze through the nose. At one point, Ilya scooped up an armful of snow and started making his way towards Shane, his gait menacing.

“Don’t you dare hug me like that.”

Ilya grinned. It was something he’d done a lot as a kid. He’d hug an armful of snow to his chest, then he’d fling himself to Shane. His then tiny arms would wrap around Shane’s even tinier frame, and the snow between them would melt into slush, touching Shane where he was sensitive to the cold; his neck, his nape, his ears.

Ilya just kept cackling now, bright mischievous lilt to his voice. Shane walked backward with every step he took towards him, keeping up the timid, coy act. Then he flashed a smirk, launching the snowball he’d packed into solid rock.

Ilya lifted his arms to shield his eyes, his pile of snow sprinkling down like powder. “Fuck,” he cried out at the contact. “Are you trying to blind me?”

For a moment, Shane hesitated.

Then wicked eyes flashed at him; wicked, wildfire, burnished eyes.

And Ilya fly-tackled him, landing them both on the ground, almost burying them in layers of snow. A groan left Shane’s lungs and Ilya smirked. He settled his entire mass on him, pinning Shane’s one arm down with his leg.

Shane wriggled, probably with a scowl on his face, and realized he couldn’t roll them over. At least not with a one-handed shove to Ilya’s ridiculously solid chest. But he still had that one hand free, and he used it to sneakily grab a handful of snow. Just as he was about to clap Ilya on the side of his face with it, Ilya clasped his wrist and pinned it down to his chest.

Like he’d foreseen Shane’s move. And he looked so infuriatingly smug about it, too, if the grin splitting his face was anything to go by. “You’re so predictable sometimes,” he said with a shake of his head.

“I’m not predictable." Shane scoffed. “We’ve been play fighting since forever, it was a lucky guess.”

“Nope,” Ilya stressed the syllable. God, he really was the most irritating person on earth. Shane wanted to tell him just that but then that smug grin reshaped into a genuine smile. “I just know all your tells,” Ilya told him, the hand that wasn’t around Shane’s wrist moving up to cup his face. “I always know what you’re going to do next.”

Shane paused. And swallowed. “Then I know what you’re going to do next, as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Ilya asked, eyes bright under the shattered sunlight. With snow billowing around him, he looked like a prince, like a king, like Midas. His cold, numb fingers stroked Shane’s jaw, cheekbone, temple, and Shane broke into million goosebumps at the touch. Ilya’s voice was silk when he spoke again, “What am I going to do now, then?”

Kiss me.

The thought was so sudden, so unexpected that Shane’s next breath got trapped in his lungs. Then he realized it wasn’t an observation, but a wish, a yearning from so deep in his psyche, body, parts of himself he didn’t recognize. The warmth in his stomach turned bitter, acidic and his conscious mind not knowing how to proceed, he acted on reflex. He kneeled Ilya on the crotch. A knee-jerk of literal senses.

“Fuck, Shane!” Ilya jerked back, crying out – and unlike the are you trying to blind me, this was very real. “What the hell?!”

“I’m so sorry,” Shane said immediately, sitting up in snow. His hands reached for Ilya but didn't know what to do with Ilya’s head bowed in pain. He had his hands pressing on his thigh where Shane must have got him. Silver linings, Shane supposed. “Are you okay?”

Ilya couldn’t say anything for a moment. When he raised his head, his eyes were watery, face flushed red. “Yeah,” he managed with a pained smile. “Andrei can still have kids, the Rozanov lineage will be fine,” he tried to joke.

Shane nodded, sitting back on his heels. He was sure he was feeling his throat close up. An avalanche of feelings was threatening to break out of his chest. He didn’t know if it was tears or a scream he needed to let out, but he knew it was something frustrated, something very very confused.

“Hey,” Ilya said, with a furrow between his brows. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Then he smiled his reassuring smile and reached for Shane’s hand between their bodies.

Shane almost tumbled back in the snow jerking away.

“Yeah,” he said, scurrying to his feet. “I'm cold, I—” He gestured to the house, avoiding Ilya’s eyes. “I’m gonna go inside.”

And before Ilya could even get on his feet, he was striding to the house and upstairs. He grabbed the phone he’d left on his bedside table and locked himself in the bathroom.

   (01/01 08:42AM) Shane: Rose.

He slid against the door, pulling his knees to his chest.

   (01/01 08:42AM) Rose: Hi best friend! Happy new year to you as well.

   (01/01 08:43AM) Rose: It’s barely 9 am on a holiday, what's it?

   (01/01 08:45AM) Rose: Shane?

Shane blinked his eyes clear.

   (01/01 08:46AM) Shane: I think I need your help.

Chapter End Notes

i'm sorry this chapter had no big incident it was leading up to. i just wanted to give shane and ilya space to grow closer (if possible) and reflect (or not, in shane's case) and got really obsessed with the four seasons vignette chapter thing. i hope it was still enjoyable!

Chapter 7: flying til the bone crush

Chapter Notes

another million years before a chapter :(

so my friend Antara, many moons ago, said that gold rush by taylor swift was a song for ch4 (and Nana put it on her playlist) and ever since i've been thinking how it'd be perfect for this hypothetical chapter i would write one day. well it's not hypothetical anymore, so enjoy!

(content warning: homophobic language, mentions of sexual assault, physical violence)

January 2009

The warm air left his lungs as a fog against the crisp cold, but Shane wasn’t sure if it’d been just an exhale. It could have been a sigh. It was a sigh. A weary, heavy, troubled, and bored sigh because Shane hadn’t realized till today how fucking boring this town could be in winter if you were on your own.

It was only about four o’clock on a Wednesday evening, but the sky was already turning dark gray and Shane’s feet – not used to wandering around town unaccompanied, not knowing where to go – carried him towards the yellow lights of the coffee shop.

“Hey,” Kip greeted with a confused smile when he saw Shane approaching the counter. “Ilya doesn’t have a shift today. I thought you knew.”

Irritation, mixed with a breadth of so many other things, pricked at Shane. “I know Ilya doesn’t have a shift today,” he gritted out, pulling off his beanie. “I don’t spend my every minute with Ilya. Can’t I just get a goddamn cup of coffee?”

“Uhh,” Kip mumbled, eyes wide. “Sure. And how would you like that?”

“Black." Shane sighed. “Very black.”

Kip nodded, then punched something on the register. “That’ll be a dollar and twenty cents.”

Shane fumbled with the change in his pocket and offered it to Kip, along with an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he said. What was wrong with him? Kip was his friend and great at his job. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. Apparently Shane was losing his manners as rapidly as he was losing his mind.

Kip flashed him his dimples. “It’s okay. We all have bad days.”

Shane nodded, dropping all his quarters and pennies in the tip box. The thing about bad days was that Shane’s were quickly turning into a bad week, and in retrospect, maybe a bad, miserable, self-sabotaged life but the thought was neither here nor there. Or it was here – very much paralyzing Shane day in and day out – and Shane wished it hadn’t. But Shane wished for a lot of things.

With his cup of coffee in his hands, he turned around, pursing his lips in thought as to go where next when he caught the sight of a corner table and Rose perched on a chair.

“Rose!” he called out. Then cringed at how loud it came out and slowed his marching steps to a casual approach, tucking a smile at his lip that he hoped didn’t look as forced as it felt.

Rose’s eyes widened. “Shane?”

“Hi,” he breathed. And smiled harder. Then realized he was just awkwardly idling by the table and turned to look at who was sitting across from his friend. “Oh, hi Jiya.”

“Hi Shane." Jiya, Rose’s acting friend, smiled.

Shane looked between the two girls, nodding. Then caved in. “Can I join you?”

Rose’s perfectly shaped brows rose. Just slightly.

Jiya waved a hand. “I have to drop by the house, anyway,” she said, grabbing her things, and smiled at Rose. “I’ll see you at the rehearsal.”

Rose bid her goodbye as Shane slid into the seat just vacated. He took his time stripping out his gloves, finger by finger. Then squeezed them into a ball. Then stuck the ball in the pocket of his winter coat. And hummed as he wrapped his hands around his warm cup of coffee.

“What are you doing here?” came Rose’s voice. Shane knew there’d be nothing slight about her skeptical gaze now before he even looked up. “Ilya’s not working tonight.”

“I—” He tamped the irritation down this time. “I know Ilya's not working tonight.” He smiled. “I was just walking around.”

“On your own when it’s minus ten degrees outside?”

Shane hummed. He started tapping a rhythm on the lid of his coffee cup. And repeated, and repeated.

Rose didn’t say anything for a second, ten seconds, half a minute. Then she shook her head. “You’re avoiding home.”

“What?” A throaty laugh left Shane. “Why would I be avoiding home?”

“You’ve been avoiding home for a week.”

Shane shifted in his seat. “I just stayed at Hayden’s for a few days.”

“Yeah.” Rose nodded. “After a few days of staying with me. That’s avoiding home for a week.”

Shane looked down at his lap. Technically, maybe, it’d been avoiding home. And at one point it’d become avoiding Rose too. Hayden was innocuous, clueless, easier to deal with as he never asked questions and Shane cursed Jackie every minute of today for returning early from her vacation, hijacking Hayden, and leaving Shane with nowhere to hide.

“It’s the middle of a school week, Shane,” Rose continued. “And not just any school week. The first week of our last semester and you’re acting unlike yourself.” She squinted. “You’ve been acting weird since your freak-out messages.”

“I wasn’t freaking out,” Shane opposed quickly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“So you just texted me at the crack of dawn that you needed my help, then ignored my response for hours, only to show up at my place unannounced?” Rose asked. “Then scurried off to Hayden’s because I kept asking questions and it freaked you out more and more?”

“I wasn’t freaking out,” Shane repeated. He didn’t know who he was trying to convince anymore. “You said it yourself, I just needed your help with something. Which you still haven’t, by the way.”

“Yeah, I heard you." Rose rolled her eyes. “You want me to set you up with someone.”

“Yes.”

Rose took a sip of her coffee. And another. Then chugged down the end of it.

She sighed. “Is this about Ilya?”

Shane missed his rhythm; fingers flubbing before clenching closed. “What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“God, Rose.” He scoffed. Why the fuck was it so hard to fool her? Why couldn’t everyone just be like Hayden? The world needed more Haydens. “I told you a million times this has nothing to do with Ilya.”

Rose leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “Something happened and you’re not telling me.”

Shane didn’t answer. He clutched his coffee cup, bringing it up to his lips, and swallowed a mouthful – only to grimace against the bitter taste. Kip had taken that very black very seriously. The distant thought of how Ilya would know better crossed and fleeted Shane’s mind.

Lying to himself seemed like a mislaid option now. He knew he was freaking out. He’d been freaking out since the morning of the crotch kneeling incident. Which he exclusively thought of as that because it sounded less guilt-inducing than that time I’ve fucking lost my mind and wanted my best friend to kiss me. Less mouthful too.

“I just have this New Year’s resolution,” he said, only a partial truth.

“New Year’s resolution?”

“Yes.” He nodded, picking at the lid again. “There are only so many gay guys in this town; you’re a social butterfly, you know people.” Then repeated out loud what he’d been telling himself for a week. “I look at Hayden and Jackie and you with your million boyfriends and I want that for myself.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “There was a jab somewhere in there,” she said. “But I'm willing to overlook it if you tell me the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I’ve decided…” I’ve decided to take some immediate measures and forget my one moment of insanity where I realized I can ruin my most important relationship. “…I’ve decided I don’t want to graduate high school or leave this town without kissing a boy for real.”

“What do you mean for real?”

“Nothing, gah!” He exhaled in frustration. “Why are you not jumping on this? You’ve been begging me for months.”

“Am I talking to a wall?” Rose asked. Then checked her watch. “I’d like to explain this again, but I have to leave.”

“Where?”

“I’ll pick up Jiya,” she said, dressing in her jacket. “We have a mid-week rehearsal for the upcoming show. I told you about it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Shane nodded. Then swallowed. “Can I come with you?”

Rose looked at him, then sighed. “God, Shane Hollander,” she said with a shake of her head. “You really are a difficult one. But lucky for you, I’m feeling quite selfish today and I want to show you my Janet Weiss.”

Then it’d been a quiet ride to somewhere halfway to the city. Well, quiet on Shane’s part. Rose and Jiya had gossiped about people he was unfamiliar with and done voice warm-ups at the front of the car as he’d gazed out the window.

When they arrived, Shane realized what he’d been expecting from Rose’s amateur theatre-slash-acting company had been a bit aggrandized. Certainly it’d been more than a dusty backstage and a heavy rack of costumes almost running over him.

“Oops, sorry,” the tiny woman navigating the tutus and headpieces said in a thick Quebecoise accent as she hurried away.

Shane mumbled a quick “Sorry!” himself, raising his hands in the air.

Rose laughed. “If you were expecting something different,” she said as she stripped out of her pedestrian clothes. “You were mistaken.”

“It’s okay,” Shane said, dropping his hands. “I mean, it’s nice.”

Whatever his life had become in the last week felt stranger and more alien than what they were doing here, anyway.

He waited by the back wall as Rose and Jiya chatted with others, people at various levels of being clothed coming and going by the backstage. After what felt like a million years, Rose turned to him. “Oh Shane,” she said. “You can go take a seat if you want.”

Shane was slowly nodding when a surprised voice piped up, “Shane?”

Shane turned his head to see who it was.

It was a stranger – of course it was a stranger.

A ridiculously, effortlessly attractive stranger with the whitest grin and shiny silver eyes against perfect light-brown skin.

“You are that Shane!” he said with a clap.

Shane knew the smile he offered was a confused one. “Hi?” He looked at Rose.

Rose’s eyes darted between the two before she cracked a slight smile. “Shane,” she said. “This is Miles. I told you about him.”

Shane nodded, racking his mind. Then oh’ed. The gay friend from the acting class. “Yeah.” He smiled. With more effort and honesty this time; it was only fair when the guy was handsomely smiling at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Rose, sweetheart!” sounded the Quebecoise accent from somewhere behind the curtain. “I need to fix that busted seem!”

“Coming!” Rose called out, then looked at the two of them again. And hugged Shane. “However this ends,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s not on me.”

Then she left.

Miles, with crinkling gorgeous eyes, stepped closer to Shane. “I heard so much about you.”

“Same,” Shane said, wringing his hands together. He looked around the backstage. “So, who do you play?”

“Unfortunately not Frank-N-Furter.”

“Oh.”

“Not everyone can be Tim Curry.”

Shane nodded like he understood.

“I’m just Brad.”

Another nod.

And Miles laughed. Shane could admit it was a beautiful laugh, a very pleasant sound. With argent eyes shining bright with joy, and Shane felt his own smile turning a bit more genuine with every peal.

“Has anyone told you that you have a perfect bone structure?” Miles asked once sober, voice a tease. “A face made for movies, is what my acting coach would say.”

“Well.” Shane huffed in surprise. “Not quite in those words.”

“The company you keep must suck then.”

A real laugh left Shane’s lips this time. Contrary to popular belief, he knew what someone flirting with him looked like. And stupidly attractive, objectively perfect Miles was flirting with him. It wasn’t a repulsive thought. Not at all. It was quite the opposite actually.

“Miles, baby!” piped up the Quebecois voice again. “I need you here.”

“Are you here to watch the rehearsal?” Miles asked, ignoring the call to him.

Shane nodded, with an almost painful stretch to his lips.

“Good.” Miles grinned.

“Miles!”

The silver eyes rolled back, and Miles made for the curtain. Another call-out came just as he was winking at Shane.

By the time they were back to Snowbury, the night was black.

Seeing the house as Rose pulled to his street flared a million emotions in Shane’s chest that he’d been trying to ignore. His good mood slipped away. “Good night,” he mumbled as he got out of the car; voice hoarse, windpipe barred, thoughts of Ilya running wild again.

Taking a few steps into their front yard and he saw him; idling by the flowerbeds his father tended to carefully in the spring.

“Oh,” Ilya said when he noticed him. “I was just leaving.”

Shane’s steps slowed to a stop. “Why?”

“Well." Ilya huffed. “It’d be a bit weird staying in your house without you.”

Shane swallowed. “Sorry." Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I needed to be away from you. “Hayden needed my help with something. And I had to be with Rose today, and I know I’ve been absent, and I know it was your day off…” He exhaled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay." Ilya shrugged. “I have other friends.”

Shane nodded and they fell silent.

Not the silence familiar to them, the one Shane had found comfort in all his life. But a pressing one, one with Shane’s heavy, self-made burden.

Ilya just stood there, hands in his pockets, lightly bouncing on his heel. And for a silly second, Shane thought I’ve missed him. He’d seen him at school just today, in passing but he’d seen him, and it’d been just a week since that morning in the snow. It’d been a handful of hours without him at most, nothing in the grand scheme of almost a decade of friendship between them, but Shane missed him.

He gazed at the distance between their feet, then at Ilya’s face. At the sun-basked eyes, the remnants of summer carried to January, looking exhausted tonight, and at his golden wreath of hair, like every lock knew exactly where to fall. Shane knew Ilya was handsome – this whole town knew Ilya was handsome. But some days, Shane felt like he was the only person who saw that Ilya was also beautiful. Unfairly beautiful. People called Shane a pretty boy, both as compliment and belittlement, but no one talked about how pretty Ilya was. Even that crooked nose, sparking anger in Shane anytime he thought too hard about it, was the most fascinating nose.

Shane had ridden this wave of thoughts too many times in the past few years, and with clarity and guilt in the past few days. He still couldn’t help himself when he thought I’d never get tired of this face.

Ilya cleared his throat, ducking his head. “So you were with Rose?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, almost absently. His mind took its time coming back to the conversation. “They had a dress rehearsal and she wanted me to see it.”

“Yeah, how’s her Janet coming along?”

Shane’s brow rose. “You know the show they’re doing?’

“Of course I do,” Ilya said, marring a stretch of snow with his boot. “Rocky Horror is a classic.”

“I’ve only heard of it today.”

Ilya looked up at that, not saying anything for a moment. Then he smiled. “Of course you have.” It was a faint smile. Tired and maybe possibly upset, because Shane was dealing with his bullshit in the worst way possible, but a smile regardless. “How's it that you are the gay one between the two of us?”

Shane’s own smile, the one that bloomed without permission along with Ilya’s every time, faded to a crimp. Reality underlying Ilya’s words crashed into him like a tide, a breaker.

Gay guy pining for his straight best friend was the most boring, pain-in-the-making of the cliches. So what if Ilya was beautiful? So had been Miles tonight. So would a million boys he’d meet one day. People who could like him in return; crushes, love, desire that wouldn’t end in Shane breaking his own heart, and Shane breaking what he had with Ilya. The alternative was losing him, wasn’t it, and Shane couldn’t even fathom that.

He smiled. He was good at solutions. He’d find one.

***

Boots still on his feet, laces undone, Ilya stood there. One hand mindlessly fidgeting with his scarf to the background noise of water running.

Seconds passed and it shut off; Shane padded into the bedroom in his pajamas and squinted at him. “Why are you standing there?”

Ilya opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head, unwrapping his scarf, toeing off his boots.

He hadn’t been expecting Shane to return home tonight. There’d been no text messages or Shane stopping him in the school hallways to say he was staying with Rose or Hayden as he’d done in the past few days, but there hadn’t been any communication of the contrary either. And Ilya wasn’t optimistic enough to think that’d meant he’d be home tonight. He’d still come, though, to see with his own eyes that Shane wasn’t there.

But he was. He’d come back. To Ilya’s utter relief and fear. He’d stood there all flawless skin and soft gaze, said something about Rocky Horror, then led Ilya up the stairs.

And he was fluffing the pillows now. As if this was any other night. As if he hadn’t been awol for a week and it wasn’t the most un-Shane thing to do. As if all of these hadn’t happened after he’d ditched Ilya’s ass in snow and just fled.

After Ilya said all that bullshit about staying together for a really long time and imagined what would it be like to kiss him right there at that moment for god knew the millionth time in their short lives.

Had he been too obvious?

“Can you get the light?” Shane said, now under the comforter on his side of the bed.

“Yeah.”

Had he unveiled too much?

Ilya flicked the switch; the room went dark.

He stripped out of his clothes, jacket, sweater, jeans, and picked out a pair of loose pajamas from the drawer he secretly thought of as his. Then sank into the mattress.

A heavy sigh escaped his chest.

He heard Shane’s deep inhale, then, a whiff. And could almost see his frown in the dark as he asked, “Are you drunk?”

Ilya shrugged. “I had drinks,” he said. “I’m not drunk.”

Shane fidgeted. “Were you with Kyle?”

“No.”

No reply for a moment, then, “Where then?”

“Party,” Ilya admitted. Distracting myself from the fact that I’ve royally fucked up. “Svetlana. Some other girls.” They had fun, I just got more and more desperate to see you. “It was fun.”

It’d been the opposite of fun. Pretending he’d been having a good time when he had this cocktail of intense feelings churning in his stomach. And Svetlana’s knowing eyes on him.

“Nice,” Shane said. Another fidget. Then a chuckle, and his voice light, “I’ve met someone tonight.”

Ilya waited.

“His name is Miles.”

His breath hitched. “Oh,” he said. “This one has a name.”

“Of course he has a name.”

None of them had names before. Not ones Ilya had been told. “Good for him.”

Shane scratched his cheek. “I think he’s going to ask me out.”

Ilya bit down on his lip; too hard, too long that he was afraid he’d taste copper. It wasn’t like this was the first time, but something about knowing his name, and something about Shane’s behaviour since New Year’s day burned in his lungs.

“He has the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen,” Shane continued, and it felt cruel. It wasn’t, not on Shane’s part, but it felt cruel. “Like silver.”

“Cool,” Ilya tried to say casually. “Maybe he can keep his eyes open when you guys make out.”

It hadn’t come off casually. He could hear Shane’s confusion in the silence before he asked, “Are you sure you're not drunk?”

“I know how many drinks I’ve had,” Ilya grumbled.

“Maybe you should still cut down a little,” Shane said, pulling on the comforter, another scratch on his cheek. “We're still young.”

The burn in Ilya’s lungs only spread out. “Exactly.”

“And you know, we should be finishing out our applications and stuff. I thought you were going to fill out your forms today. And your personal statement's not done. We have to get them ready by the end of the month, Ilya, you know it.”

“I—” Ilya clenched his jaw. Lungs burning, eyes burning, he took a deep breath. “I did, Shane. I don’t need you to remind me every day.”

Shane didn’t say anything.

Ilya’s chest heaved, in and out.

Then the hand between their bodies brushed Shane’s.

Shane withdrew it to his chest. “Maybe you should go brush your teeth,” he mumbled.

It’d been a ghost of a touch. Not even intentional.

“Yeah,” Ilya managed to get out.

Once in the bathroom, he felt like slamming the door shut. Like a child. He didn’t. He only padded to the sink and hit his face with big splashes of water. Ran his brush through his mouth and it felt like sandpaper on his gums.

He was angry, hands trembling, face flushed in the mirror. Feeling the urge to snap at something, someone, unfairly at Shane. But he knew it was all secondary. What he really felt was heartache, headache, confusion, and fear.

He washed his face again, for good measure.

When he went back, the room was quiet. Except for Shane’s breathing. He was snuggled under the comforter, at the edge of the bed, sleeping.

Ilya thought to leave for a moment, eyes moving from Shane to the boots he’d left in the corner, and his scarf thrown over the chair.

But he didn’t want to go home. And he didn’t want to go back to Kyle’s. He wanted comfort and relief, and this was all the comfort and relief he knew. It didn’t matter, not yet, that he could only find it where it’d been hurting the most for a while. It was still Hollanders’ laundry detergent he smelled when he slipped under the comforter, and the familiar pillow under his head. Shane’s chest rising and falling next to him. They still outweighed the burn in his lungs.

***

February 2009

Miles had asked him out in late January.

Shane had been lying when he’d told Ilya he would, for inexplicable and illogical reasons, but Miles had actually liked him enough to ask him on the opening night of their play. Shane had been there of course, for Rose, and when Miles had approached him as they’d been leaving, it’d just sounded right.

Rose had looked unsure, almost, when he’d told her in the car afterward. “Cool,” she’d just said, nodding.

It’d been kind of hard to fall asleep that night. It’d felt different from the few other times Shane had agreed to a date. Maybe he’d been more excited. He’d lain there all night staring at his ceiling, alone in his bedroom.

Ilya hadn’t been there. Not that night. He’d been staying with Kyle sometimes, not always, and not that Shane was keeping an exact count of how many nights. He just knew Ilya had been going out with the others more, and maybe partying, and that was good. Good for him; as long as he was being careful, and him and Shane still went to school together, and had lunch together. They'd even watched a movie together the other day.

There was an undercurrent of something, though. Something Shane didn’t know what to call. Him being awkward, and Ilya reacting to that, maybe. Especially during nights Ilya stayed over. Ilya and him, they'd had their normal, their ordinary, their familiar before. Things like sharing a bed for years, and months of it with them squeezed close together in the space between. Things like Shane going to bed and waking up with his limbs tangled around Ilya and Ilya’s heartbeat close by. It was a little jarring now, to have these touches second-guessed or not initiated at all. Restless that mornings came without the familiar, quiet reassurance.

Ever since Shane had the crackling of understanding, though, on why having Ilya in touching distance made his heart ache sweetly, he’d been glad. Glad that the caresses and hugs and kisses on the hair happened less. Because he’d been feeling paper-thin lately and Ilya touching him so casually could send him up in flames in all the unpleasant ways.

He was glad, he was, but he couldn’t seem to shake the distress and fear under his skin. Because it could all be just Ilya hearing him. Hearing his thoughts that morning, and ever since, because Ilya was keen and smart and knew Shane like the back of his hand. And even the thought of Ilya suspecting something was terrifying.

So, Shane had said yes to Miles because Miles was handsome, and made Shane laugh sometimes, and there was seemingly nothing wrong with him. And he’d kept saying yes, to the second date, and the third, and sometime after the fourth, Shane had invited Miles over for the next Saturday.

It was only a coincidence that it fell on the fourteenth.

Thankfully, his parents had their own Valentine’s day plans that evening, and Shane got flustered only a little as his mother teased him.

“And I know you're smart enough to practice safe sex but please don’t do it in my house.”

“Mom!”

They left quickly after that, with Mom still laughing as the car pulled out of the driveway. And Shane started pacing the living room.

The doorbell rang.

“Hi." Miles beamed when Shane opened the door.

“Hi,” Shane said awkwardly.

Between the dark evening sky and the white blanket of quiet snow, the silver eyes almost shone brighter. They moved up and down Shane’s body. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks." Shane smoothed a hand down his sweatshirt, blushing. “You too.”

Miles nodded, and Shane nodded. It took him a few embarrassing seconds to realize they were just standing there. “Oh my god, sorry. Come in.”

“Oh,” Miles said. “I thought we were going out.”

“Oh, I mean—”

“No, no, it’s okay." Miles gave a slow grin. “This is great.”

Shane released a quiet breath. He needed Miles to not find this boring.

They stepped inside and Miles shed his outerwear. Shane proceeded to show him around the house.

“And this is my floor,” he said once they were upstairs.

Miles hummed, head peeking into Shane’s room.

Then he grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.

Shane made a surprised noise. “You wanna hang out here?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Miles answered, smile lazy. Then threw himself on the bed. “Why not?”

Shane opened his mouth, then closed it. “Sure.”

Then he perched next to him, gingerly. And tried not to fidget.

“Should we put on some music?” Miles asked.

“Oh yeah.” Shane nodded. “Just let me get my laptop.”

He went to his desk and came back with his computer. Once it was on, he frowned. He didn’t really know music. Except for the angry punk rock and inappropriate pop he’d been exposed to, and he thought neither was suitable for the setting. He smiled at Miles. “Why don’t you pick?”

Miles put on something kind of corny. Shane said nothing.

They just sat there for a few songs before Shane remembered his manners. “Oh, you want something to drink?”

“Sure,” Miles grinned, leaving the laptop on the bedside table and lounging on his elbows. “What do you have?”

“Coke, ginger ale, cherry coke, vanilla coke. Probably juice. Coffee.”

“Uhm." Miles laughed. “Anything else?”

“There’s hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Yeah.”

Miles looked bemused. Oh god, was this lame? Should Shane have thought something better? He could check the basement to see if his parents had something maybe or run to the grocery store, though it was getting late, and snow would make running really hard but—

“I’ll get it.”

“What?”

“I’ll make it if hot chocolate is what you want.”

“Oh no—”

“Just tell me where the stuff is.”

Shane did and Miles left him in the bedroom. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to follow him downstairs. He wasn’t sure what the expectations here were in general. None of their previous dates had been like this.

Then Miles came back with two mugs in hands. He handed one to Shane and sipped his own.

Shane looked down at his.

“You don’t like it?”

Head shake. “Oh no. No. I mean it’s great.”

Then he sipped it.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, trying not to cringe at the marshmallow taste in his mouth. “Very sweet.”

“Like you.” Miles winked.

Shane smiled, abandoning his drink next to the laptop. They started talking about random stuff, Shane’s school and Miles’s acting dreams, while the music kept playing on the background and it all felt a bit more normal.

Then Miles leaned into his space, one hand cupping Shane’s cheek and he kissed him.

Shane froze, eyes widening.

It’d be stupid to say he hadn’t been expecting it, but it was a weird sensation, suddenly having someone’s mouth on you. It was a bit drier than Shane had expected. Then got so much wetter when he relaxed a little and Miles pushed his tongue on the seam of his lips.

The kiss got deeper, and Miles’s hold tighter then. It didn’t feel mind-blowing or heart-fluttering like so much of the media made it out to be, but Shane had known it wouldn’t. More than anything, it felt experimental on his side, and Shane didn’t hate experiments.

Miles pulled back slowly. He smiled a tease of a smile, then pushed Shane’s hair back. “That looks a bit big on you,” he said, nodding at Shane’s sweatshirt. “Why don’t you take it off?”

“Uhm." Shane let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m okay.”

Miles kept smiling. “Alright,” he said. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to.”

Shane nodded. He didn’t want that certainly. Not with a guy he’d just kissed.

Then Miles found his lips again and Shane let him. When he pushed him back on the bed, he let him again. And it was good, once the initial shock was gone. A bit messier than Shane would have liked but a handsome, solid guy was kissing him. Shane would take it.

He surged forward the tiniest bit when Miles moved, and they both laughed, lips still locked. Shane grabbed the shoulders above him and pulled closer.

A thud came from outside the window.

***

Ilya made his way down the porch almost in a tumble; one foot rolling out under him as he hit the snow, hands grabbing the columns for purchase. He should have taken Yuna’s warning more seriously. It was fucking unsafe to climb up to a window on a winter night, it was fucking dangerous. Ilya should have taken so many warnings, so many signs, and cold hard facts, all more seriously. He should have been a little smarter.

He’d known what he’d been doing when he’d come here. Being a world-class dumbass as always where Shane was concerned. Stupid, senseless Ilya, he’d just fucking missed Shane. He was an idiot. He’d known what day it was. He’d known about Miles. He just hadn’t thought he’d be here, right now. Not where… Ilya existed with Shane. Kiss him where Ilya was allowed to rest his head and breathe and hold Shane.

He wished he’d had his bike with him, god, he wished it’d stopped fucking snowing so fucking much in this damn country so he could get the fuck out of here as fast as possible. He couldn’t, so he ran.

“Ilya!”

Fuck.

He came to a stop in the middle of the street. He inhaled, deep, and a few more times for good measure before turning around. “Sorry,” he tried to say without choking out. “I didn’t think. I was just…”

He couldn’t find the rest of the words.

Shane’s steps slowed down. He stopped across from him, the road stretching between them. “It’s alright. I should’ve told you I had someone over.”

Ilya had a few old excuses for this, in case he came one night, and Shane didn’t want him. “I’ve just come to pick up a shirt I’ve forgotten the other…” He trailed off; both him and Shane looked down at what Shane was wearing.

He hadn’t realized, not with Shane’s arms wrapped around himself.

“This one?” Shane asked now, grabbing the hem as if to take it off. “You can have it if you want.”

“No!” Ilya took an automatic step towards Shane, then stopped. He took a deep breath. Smile, he told himself, dammit just smile. “You keep it. It looks better on you.” In any other context, it would, god. He tried for a joke. “A few sizes too big but you can wear it next year too.”

“Oh, shut up." Shane rolled his eyes.

Ilya looked at him, then. At his blown wide eyes, and mussed hair. His flushed cheeks – not because of the cold or embarrassment – glowing neon under the streetlights. And his pretty pink lips kiss-swollen. He’d probably never looked as beautiful before, but the image burned to the forefront of Ilya’s mind distorted the view, made it ugly. It was fucking twisted, looking at Shane at his prettiest and feeling this way. An undeniable slap of he’s not yours.

“So that’s Miles?” he heard himself ask.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Sorry, I didn’t want you guys to meet like this. It’s so embarrassing.”

Ilya swallowed. “So, it’s serious?”

“I think so.” Shane shrugged. Then added, “Is that okay?”

Ilya felt sudden, hysterical laughter surge in his chest. “Are you asking for my approval?” He tamped it down and just chuckled. “Because I think you should be asking David. Or Yuna. Definitely Yuna.”

“No, I mean...” Shane wrapped his arms tighter. “I’d like my best friend to get along with my boyfriend.”

It took a few heartbeats for Ilya to find his voice. “Yeah,” he managed. Boyfriend. “As long as you like him.”

Shane’s words were a whisper when he said, “I do.”

The wind brushed past them, shifting the snow in its wake.

And Ilya felt like kneeling over there in the middle of the street and coughing up everything in him. The gravel, the acid. The wet cement, and the poison, and the queasiness, the guilt, the self-loathing, and the heartache. Everything in his stomach and everything in his chest.

He would, only the reality would still stay. Shane kissing Miles in technicolor, and the words boyfriend and I do in clear audio.

“So, where are you going tonight?” Shane asked after a moment, scuffing his boot on the asphalt.

“Party,” Ilya lied. “With Kyle.”

“Good.” Shane nodded. Then his eyes brightened. “Hey, we can go look for discount Valentine’s candy tomorrow? If you’re free?”

Ilya forced a smile. Shocked he still could, that he didn’t break down and hurt something in the process, that he still had a sliver of self-preservation. “Sure.”

Shane’s smile got wider, before turning mellow. He took a step forward, and another. Then he crossed the entire distance between the two of them and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck, tight.

Ilya felt struck dumb, frozen. He didn’t know what to do for a second. Not with his hands, not with his breathing, not with the lump in his throat.

If this had been last month, he would have pulled Shane into his embrace, not too tight, careful, both arms wrapped around his waist. His hands would have brushed the fabric of the sweatshirt, trying to feel the warmth under it, and his lips would have brushed Shane's hair, his temple, the curve of his ear. All desperate, eager touches that Ilya would’ve pretended were casual, platonic, nothing-to-be-seen here.

If this had been another life, he would have pulled Shane impossibly close, boundlessly, infinitely. So tight that it would've hurt their ribs and numb their arms they’d had around each other. Ilya would’ve nuzzled into Shane's neck, breathed him in, and he would've buried himself under Shane’s skin so that he'd never have to leave.

Right now, his hands were clueless, awkward. And even in this not ideal reality, he could sense Shane’s cologne, only mixed with someone else’s.

He’s not yours, he’s not yours, he’s not yours.

Shane’s hold tightened, then. “Happy Valentine's Day,” he whispered in his ear.

And Ilya’s body shuddered; every part of him caved in. His hands raised to Shane’s back; his head leaned against his. He turned his face outside, though, and watched the orange strobes against the winter sky, lined up like beads. He had to shut his eyes when the view became a bit blurry. “Happy Valentine's Day.”

They stood there. Longer than Ilya could stand and shorter than he would have liked.

Shane pulled back, laughing. “Be careful.”

Ilya nodded. “You too.”

And Shane left. Ilya left behind with the words he’s not yours, he’s not yours, he’s not yours.

It still felt like he’d just lost something.

***

April 2009

Ilya knew where he’d crashed last night only half a second into regaining his consciousness.

“Come on, we’re leaving!” Svetlana yelled, voice rough, words Russian, mouth full of toothpaste.

Ilya groaned, rolling on Svetlana’s couch. It was one fucking uncomfortable couch, though, so he sighed and forced himself onto his feet. After making sure he wasn’t dizzy, he opened his eyes to find the jeans he’d ditched at night.

“Dad just left,” Svetlana said, emerging from her en suite.

Ilya nodded, finding his jeans next to his backpack and grabbing both. As much as Sergei Vetrov liked him, it’d be a death wish to let him see Ilya sneaking out of his daughter’s bedroom. He didn’t come over to Svetlana’s much for that reason. He’d just ended up here last night because Kyle was out of town, and he’d seen Grigori’s place to last a lifetime in the past few weeks.

He pulled up the jeans, then went on a hunt in his backpack to find something clean to wear.

Svetlana sighed. “You’re fucking miserable.”

“Thanks,” Ilya muttered. He sniffed a tee and dropped it.

“You’re living out of a bag,” Svetlana pointed out. “This must be like a personal low for you. And you were dealing pot when you were just fifteen.”

“Thanks,” Ilya repeated. And grunted a few seconds later when he couldn’t find something unworn and could still feel Svetlana’s eyes on him. “What?”

“I just don’t understand,” Svetlana mused. “I thought you were ready for this.”

Ilya laughed, a hoarse thing. “Ready for Shane to get a boyfriend just months before graduation?” He grabbed another shirt. “No. I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but you must have known it would happen at one point and you still always wanted to be with him.” She shook her head. “This is killing you and you still want to be with him, follow him. Hell, Ilya, I’ve seen you looking up motels in Bumfuck, Alberta just yesterday even though you know Miles is gonna be on that trip.”

Ilya’s fingers found a hole in the shirt.

“Which you still haven’t invited me on, by the way.”

He ripped it. Just a little bit.

The truth was that Ilya had always wanted to be with Shane; he barely remembered a time when that wasn’t the number one thing on his mind, in his heart. And the truth was that it’d been getting so hard in the past few weeks, despite all his best efforts. It was like a limbo, the place between having Shane and not having Shane. Still seeing him, but not in the morning light in his bedroom. Still eating with him, but not with forks in each other’s plates. Still walking with him, but not with the easiness of their conversations.

It hadn’t been like this before, not even after Shane had started dating people. But Miles wasn’t a faceless ghost, and he wasn’t transient. All of these things, Shane had with him now. So for the first time in their decade-long friendship, Ilya woke up some mornings hoping he didn’t see him that day.

But he was still a fool, thus Bumfuck, Alberta.

“Did you tell him about the university thing?”

And keeping a few more lies.

“God, Ilya.”

“Svetlana,” he said with the most sober, serious tone he could muster. “This is heavy talk for seven am.”

“Oh yeah?” Svetlana yanked the shirt out of his hands. “Here’s something heavier. You have fucking deep-seeded trauma you pretend doesn’t exist, and you are a fucking moron, and these two things are fucking up your life.”

Ilya’s next breath sounded sharp. “Thanks,” he muttered after a moment.

Svetlana looked at the shirt and proceeded to fold it. Then she put her hand on Ilya’s arm.

“If it’s worth anything,” she said quietly, eyes soft. “My offer’s still standing.”

Ilya knew this was as much of an apology he was going to get from her when she believed she was right, so he smiled. “I know." He stuffed his scatter in the backpack. His hoodie was going to do. “You can come on the trip, by the way.”

Svetlana smiled back. “I know.”

He followed her convertible to the school as his non-attendance was already all-time high and he still wanted to graduate. It wasn’t until lunchtime that Shane found him.

“Ilya!” his voice came down the hall as Ilya was making his way to the cafeteria.

Ilya turned around. “Hey.”

“Hey." Shane beamed, eyes crinkled, freckles bunched up, face bright.

And he kept grinning.

“What?” Ilya asked finally.

“You know how it’s the opening night of the movie theatre next Saturday?”

Ilya nodded. Rest in peace, their old bowling alley was gone. Instead, they had a brand-new place to see films now. “Yes.”

“And you know how the film they’re gonna show is still a secret?”

“Yes.”

“Well.” The deep black eyes literally glimmered. “I know what it is.”

“What?” Ilya shrugged.

“Well, guess." Shane rolled his eyes.

“American Pie 2?”

“No." He got a swat on the arm. “The new The Fast & The Furious movie.”

Ilya couldn’t help his snicker. “It’s just called Fast & Furious, dork.”

“Yeah, whatever." Shane shrugged and grinned again. “So we should go.”

“Yeah?” Ilya asked, not liking how achingly hopeful it sounded.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Miles is free that weekend so you guys can actually meet this time.”

Right.

That.

“Uhh, yeah." Ilya nodded, then tch-ed. “I think I’m working that Saturday actually.”

“No you’re not.”

Ilya looked over Shane’s shoulder. Then sighed. “I don’t know, Shane. I don’t really wanna third wheel.”

Shane’s eyes turned huge then, lips almost in a pout. “But we haven’t hung out in forever.”

And Ilya was so weak. But not entirely self-destructive, so he asked, “Well, can I invite someone?”

“Uhm.” Shane frowned. “Like a date?”

Ilya nodded. He’d need reinforcement, or a distraction. “Yeah.”

“I mean,” Shane mumbled. “I’ve never met your dates before.”

“I’ve never met your dates before either.”

The frown got deeper. “Miles is my boyfriend.”

“Maybe I have a girlfriend.”

“Do you?”

“It’s pending,” Ilya lied.

A moment passed. Then Shane smiled. “Sure. Bring her, too. It should be fun.”

They didn’t talk much for the rest of the lunch period.

When Saturday rolled around and Ilya entered the newly renovated building, he found Shane standing amongst the crowd with not one but two people next to him.

“What is Landry doing here?” was his first words when he was within hearing distance.

“Wow, Rozanov." Rose rolled her eyes. “What a reaction.”

Ilya smirked. “I meant the more the merrier.”

And truthfully, he did. He was fucking relieved. He’d made up a fake almost-girlfriend in the face of the nightmare that was third-wheeling Shane and his boyfriend, but he’d realized fast enough that double date wasn’t any better. Now, this was a group thing, a friend thing.

He turned to his date. “And this is Ivana.”

Ivana smiled gorgeously and introduced herself. She’d liked Ilya enough to join him on a stupid action movie as long as he paid, but not any more than that. It was a win-win situation.

Then Shane smiled and Ilya had to acknowledge him.

And Miles.

“Ilya, you know Miles. Miles, Ilya.”

Ilya nodded.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen him; Miles drove up to the town every once in a while in the past two months to see Shane and Ilya had caught the sight of them here and there. But he’d managed to avoid actually seeing him, looking at him. Now that he had, he was devastated to admit that Miles was as handsome as he’d made him out to be in his nightmares.

“Hi,” he said with smiling silver eyes.

“Hey." Ilya gave an up-nod.

Then they waited for the movie. He exchanged a few Russian words with Ivana, joked with Rose, and tried his best to ignore Shane, ignore Miles, and ignore Shane and Miles. He failed when the familiar laugh chimed in his ear.

“Thanks, Miles,” Shane said, smiling wide about whatever Miles’s words had been. Ilya had missed it, but his breath got trapped somewhere in his chest regardless.

The thing was Ilya loved Shane’s smile in every context. It included all of his favorite things. Shane’s freckles bunched up in bouquets, rose blush on the backdrop, pretty moon eyes crinkled at the corners, and Shane’s happiness. It took his air away sometimes. But not like this, never like this, like he couldn’t ever breathe again.

“Come on,” came Ivana’s voice. Ilya looked up to see people were being ushered in.

As they were about to take their seats, Miles cleared his throat.

Ilya and Shane turned to him. It took a moment for Ilya to realize he was standing between them and for Shane to turn red and mutter, “Sorry.”

“You sit in the middle,” Ilya said.

“Yeah." Shane nodded, and they switched seats.

The film was good, the regular action flick Ilya loved all his life. He couldn’t enjoy it though, not so much. Not with Shane right next to him and every part of him struggling not to touch him. It was a bit bittersweet; Ilya would have liked this film otherwise.

Then someone uttered a stupid one-liner and Shane laughed so hard that he snorted out his ginger ale. And he looked at Ilya to share in on the joke, and without his permission, Ilya’s lips spread into a smile. And a giggle left his chest.

He started making his usual weird noises after that, imitations of the characters, exaggerated accents, commentary on details no one cared about. And Shane kept giggling.

At one point Miles informed them that it was all CGI about a scene that was clearly all CGI and Ilya couldn’t help his “Oh no, I think Vin Diesel can just do that.” And Shane giggled harder.

It was Ilya’s favorite sound, and for a second there, it felt like they were in a bubble of their own. So when a quiet scene came on and Shane was all lost in it, Ilya couldn’t help his eyes wandering to him.

It could have been so much worse, he thought to himself as he watched the lights play across Shane's unblemished skin, accentuating his tiny nose. Shane could have known about his feelings, as he’d feared for a second. That was what he told himself, on the days he wanted to be optimistic. That at least the distance between them wasn’t because Shane knew.

It was because he had a boyfriend.

Ilya had laughed so hard at the thought one time that he’d almost swerved his bike off the road.

And the bubble popped just like that. Ilya knew there were a million reasons why Shane was a pipe dream for him. He’d recounted them many times in the past half-decade. Reasons independent of Miles, hell, reasons independent of Shane never returning his feelings. Ilya’s many issues that made the idea of him and Shane an absolute impossibility even when he was at his most optimistic.

He still felt like Miles stole something from him.

Once the film ended and they stepped out to the hallway, Rose, Ivana, and Shane declared bathroom time and left the two of them there. Ilya had no desire to engage in conversation but of course, Miles had to.

“This has been fun.”

“Yeah." Ilya nodded, leaning against the wall. “The movie was good.”

Miles flashed the kind smile from earlier. “And hanging out together.”

“Of course.”

Then silence. Ilya’s hands wished for a cigarette.

Miles laughed a moment later, shaking his head. “Surprised you’re not giving me the don’t hurt him speech like a big brother.”

Ilya's jaw clenched. “Shane’s older than me.”

“Well, you can give it as the little brother then,” Miles said cheekily.

It would be a lie to say that Ilya had never thought about inflicting pain on others before, he had, certainly. On his father, his brother, the dumb fucks whispering behind Shane’s back ever since he’d come out, Dallas Kent for his whole, Troy Barrett for his face, the assholes giving him shit when he’d been dealing pot, the old dumb perverts going after Kyle, their elementary school principal, many kids he’d gotten into fights with, his father again, for good measure…

All for a reason, though. But Miles… At that moment, Ilya wanted to hurt Miles for no reason.

Miles spoke again. “So, his birthday's coming up.”

Ilya froze. No.

“I’m thinking we can throw a big party or something. He’ll know where he’ll be going in the fall by then as well, so it can be a big celebration.”

Ilya hoped his breathing didn’t sound as harsh as it felt in his chest. “Shane doesn’t do big crowds,” he managed at last. “And once he gets the acceptance letters, he’ll only get more anxious and nervous. He tends to get into his head about this stuff, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

And Shane’s birthdays were their days.

“Well, I’m not planning to trouble him with the planning." Miles huffed a laugh. “It’s gonna be a day off for him. A surprise.”

Ilya ground his teeth. “Shane doesn’t do surprises either.”

“Look,” Miles said then, voice serious and silver eyes turning steel. “I’m not asking for your opinion or permission here. I’m just telling you what I’m doing for his birthday, alright. So just don’t do something to spoil it.”

And for the first time in the last decade, Ilya felt speechless where Shane was concerned. He didn’t have words to say, or the urge to hurt Miles from earlier. When slapped with reality and put in his place, they all slipped away.

***

When Shane returned from the men’s room, Rose and Ilya’s date weren’t back yet. The first thing he caught as he approached Ilya and Miles was the tension marking the lines of his best friend’s face.

Keeping his voice candid, he asked, “You guys okay?”

“Sure,” Miles answered, pulling him close by the waist. His low laugh rang in Shane’s ear, and Shane allowed him to press a kiss on his temple.

But he couldn’t look away from the stiff set of Ilya’s shoulders.

The chattery of the girls came from down the hallway, and Shane finally dragged his eyes. It felt wrong, or vulnerable, to watch Ivana clasp her fingers around Ilya’s arm.

When they stepped out of the movie theatre the evening was set in. Miles turned to Shane with an apologetic smile and asked whether he’d be fine going home by himself.

“Sure,” Shane said. “Your drive is so long. I literally live ten minutes away from here.”

“Sorry, you know I have that thing in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Shane waved a hand and smiled.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

They exchanged a hug. Then it was just Shane, his best friend, his other best friend he’d somehow managed to alienate when all he wanted was the exact opposite, and the gorgeous leggy blonde the said best friend had brought along. Shane hated to admit it but she was gorgeous, even to his gay eyes.

Thinking about her as Ilya’s date was a bed of thorns under his skin, but it was nothing compared to thinking about her as his girlfriend. Not that he’d introduced her as that, but he’d said that word, hadn’t he? And how come he’d decided to have a girlfriend now? How come Shane had never heard of this girl before?

“So, do you guys wanna get dinner or something?” he asked, despite a parade of elephants trampling on his chest. Because despite Ivana, and the way her presence messed up his wires, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Ilya yet. He needed a few more jokes, a few more flashes of that crooked smile, peals of laughter, a hug maybe.

“Nah,” Ilya said. “I have to drop off Ivana.”

Shane swallowed hard. “Sure.”

Then he watched them walk up to Ilya’s bike. Most of Ilya’s motions were familiar, recognizable but the way he offered her one of the helmets, and the wide smile he gave her as she wrapped his arms around him felt foreign to Shane. If, for one second, he allowed himself to lower his mental barriers, he could admit it didn’t feel just foreign. It felt stifling, a little tight in the chest. A trample.

“Come on,” came Rose’s voice. “I’ll take you home.”

It was a ride that felt like a blink of an eye, and like all of Shane’s sleepless nights attached together. Hard to perceive time when your mind was stuck on one thing, playing and replaying every decision you’d made on the way to feel like you were slowly losing your grip.

“Hey,” Rose said once she parked the car. “You okay?”

Shane forced a smile for her. “Yeah, of course.”

“Are you sure?” she asked with an unconvinced furrow to her brows.

“Yes.”

She watched him in silence, eyes moving over his face. “It felt like today was the happiest I’ve seen you in months,” she said after a moment. “But now I look at you and… you look like you’re about to cry.”

Shane shook his head immediately, keeping up his smile. Though he could feel it was a wobbly one, and maybe his words had wavered a little, and it was a bit too much to hear the gentleness in Rose’s voice. He smiled. “I’m fine.”

“You seem fine.” Rose nodded, eyes soft. “It’s just that just fine isn’t what I’m used to with you.”

Then a whimper escaped his lips.

He leaned forward, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. Everything he’d been trying to keep down for months was threatening to surface, he could feel it and he shook his head, desperately. He couldn’t cry here. He couldn’t cry now. He couldn’t cry about this ever.

But his hands were already getting damp and he felt Rose’s hand on his shoulder, and hoarse words left his mouth. “I’m not using Miles, I swear.”

Rose just waited. A tear rolled down Shane’s cheek.

“I’m just so, so confused, I can’t—” A full sob broke in his chest, and just like that, it was a lost battle.

Rose’s hand rubbed up and down his arm and Shane cried, ribs breaking, lungs collapsing. He knew he wasn’t making any sense, but the words spilled like they’d been waiting for this moment. “Ilya was just— and it’s Ilya, it’s Ilya and I was being so stupid—” His breath hitched, hands covering his face trembled. “He said stuff about how he wanted to stay with me, and he was so sad, and so beautiful and I—” He sobbed, he sobbed. “I just wanted to kiss him.”

“Oh, Shane.”

“And I tried to forget it, I did. I didn’t want it to change things, but I failed, and I've missed him so much and I’m just so, so confused…” He whimpered, chest heaving, tears running. Then he ripped his hands away from his face, frustrated. With himself, only with himself. “God, I’ve been so fucking confused since he fucking kissed me.”

“Wait.” Rose’s grip fell from his arm. “Since who kissed you?”

Shane just cried.

“Ilya?”

He finally turned to her, nodding.

Rose’s mouth opened and closed. Then she said, “When?”

“Seven minutes in heaven,” Shane muttered.

Her brows scrunched, a puzzled look passed on her face. Then her eyes went wide. “Oh. Wow. And you guys never talked about it?”

Shane swallowed, shaking his head.

“He kissed you.”

“I—” Shane made a noise of frustration. “I don’t know, it’d been something, I just—” He took a deep breath. “I just don’t know. God, I feel like I’m going insane.” He pressed his lips together, feeling their tremble despite the pressure. Another breath. “I swear I’m not using Miles, Rose. I know I’ve come to you with that stupid—” He shook his head. “I like Miles. I can love Miles.”

He felt fresh tears line his cheeks. He felt so guilty, so scared, about so many things, and he felt so frustrated. But between all flare of emotions, he just missed Ilya. And Ilya wasn’t even gone anywhere, he was right there. He wouldn’t come to Shane’s tonight but come Monday Shane could see him. If he ignored everything else, he could keep him, damned be his emotions. But none of his logic made sense at that moment, none of his reasonings unwound the yarn in his chest, wrapped around his ribs, tying him up to the breaking point. “God,” he moaned, tears streaming down with speed now. “Why am I so sad?”

Rose huffed. “I think you’re just in love.”

“I’m not,” Shane said immediately, head shaking. “I can’t be. I, he—” He stopped, and dashed at his eyes. Deep breaths, deep breaths, he told himself before turning his gaze out the front window. “Sometimes—” He paused, releasing a shaky breath. “Sometimes I think I love him more than anyone has ever loved anyone before,” he murmured, his most honest words. “And it has nothing to do with him kissing me or me wanting to kiss him. He’s just—” He swallowed, hard. “He’s just my person, okay? And I cannot ruin that with something as stupid and insignificant as being in love with him.”

What was probably the last of his tears welled up in his eyes. He pressed his lids closed, letting go of them.

Rose’s voice came after a long moment stretching with silence. “I get it,” she said, soberly. Shane turned to her to see a tiny smile on her lip. “You broke up with me for him. I don’t think you were thinking about kisses back then.” The smile got wider, and her hand found his. “So, I get it.”

Shane’s lips twitched to a smile of his own, watery, shaky, and he murmured, “Sorry.”

“Eh.” Rose waved a hand. “Your loss.”

Then a wet laugh left Shane’s chest. And he inhaled deep, again and again, repeatedly, and refused to let it turn into another sob.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment, free hand balling up the napkins he’d found. “Thanks for the ride, and thanks for coming with me tonight.”

“I thought you just wanted to hang out with your best best friend, but happy to be your buffer as well.” Rose smiled. As Shane was turning to the door, though, she tucked on his hand. “Look,” she said. “I don’t want to say something to confuse you or influence you or anything like that but—” She paused, eyes searching his face. Then she whispered, “But he kissed you first.”

Shane didn’t say anything, his throat was tight.

“Don’t you think that he may—” She stopped again and shook her head. “Never mind." She smiled, squeezing his hand. “I love you.”

Shane just nodded. “I love you too.”

***

May 2009

Ilya was watching Shane sleep.

It wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. Or it was. He wasn’t sure.

He’d watched Shane sleep many times before; at nights he’d rather stay awake than possibly have a nightmare, when he’d come over late, when he’d had to leave early. Some mornings when he’d woken up just to watch Shane. But those were all when he’d been allowed here, expected here. After almost three months, being alone with Shane in this room felt a bit stalkerish.

It was a Sunday, it was Shane’s birthday, and Ilya couldn’t sleep at all last night.

The party idea was a go, even more so since Shane had gotten his acceptance letters and Miles had decided to be the best boyfriend who’d ever walked the earth. In a few hours, he’d come and pick Shane up, take him to god knows where, and the others would get on with the preparations. It felt surreal to Ilya, that he was going to be blowing up balloons and hanging tacky decorations for a party Shane’s boyfriend had planned for him. While the said boyfriend was having a birthday outing with Shane.

Ilya just needed a quiet moment with him today. But sitting on the windowsill and watching him now, he was starting to second guess his decision on coming here. He hadn’t been thinking straight, clearly, not on almost zero hours of sleep. He couldn’t just caress Shane’s face or brush his hair to wake him up and expect him to react like it wasn’t fucking weird that he was there. The more sentimental side of him didn’t like waking up Shane, period. Not when he looked so cute.

He sniffled in his sleep and the little nose scrunched up the littlest bit. It was such a tiny gesture, but Ilya couldn’t help the wistful smile tucking at his lip.

Shane Hollander in his most perfect; long lashes, peaceful face, disheveled hair. Turning eighteen today and leaving for Montreal in a few months.

They still had that conversation to have.

Tonight, Ilya thought. Tonight.

So he left and went to work. And once he clocked out, he picked up the booze for the party. One thing Miles expected of him, as if Ilya wasn’t the best person to ask what Shane would like, what he’d feel comfortable with. As if Miles could ever understand every line and dot marking Shane’s face like him. As if Ilya wouldn’t bring down the entire sky just to match every star to Shane’s every need.

Ilya would like to say getting jealous and mad over a birthday celebration had been his lowest moment during this entire thing, but it hadn’t. It was top ten, maybe.

On his way back to Hollanders’ place, he picked up his date. Having a rotation of cute ‘girlfriends’ had been good enough of a distraction. Ilya could direct his focus elsewhere when he had to be in Shane and Miles’s presence. Just for short sporadic moments but it was better than nothing.

Rose was there when they entered the house, pushing around the furniture to make space in the living room.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Ilya answered.

Then her eyes moved to Liliana, his date, who was already rummaging through the bags they’d brought in. She made a noise of triumph when she found her preferred bottle.

Rose’s brows furrowed. “Is she gonna drink vodka at four pm?”

Ilya shrugged. “She’s Russian.”

Rose pursed her lips. “Smart choices, Rozanov. Smart choices.”

Ilya shrugged again. “She’s hot.”

Rose made a face at that, then handed him — admittedly not tacky — decorations because he was tall. Ilya took that as a request for him to hang them up and got on with it.

It was around six pm when people started trickling in and six-thirty by the time the house was more crowded than Ilya had anticipated.

“Is the whole town here?” he asked Rose once he found her by the entrance.

“Miles was in charge of the guest list,” she said and left before Ilya could ask why the fuck they’d let the one person from out the town be in charge of the invitations.

Then Shane and Miles stepped through the door and Ilya caught the exact moment Shane’s eyes doubled in size. It wasn’t surprise – frankly, there was no way they could make all these people keep shush then jump in with happy birthdays! as their sound was already heard from the next street. It was just pure shock, and anxiety creeping in, as he took in all the people from here to the backyard.

“Happy birthday,” Miles mouthed against Shane’s hair, then started clapping. Everyone joined in and it became a cacophony of yelled congratulations, applause, background music, and the buzzing of a million people Shane hadn’t been expecting.

Before Ilya realized, his feet carried him to the door.

“Hey." Shane breathed when he saw him, and it made Ilya feel like a king to see a little bit of the tension bleed out of his shoulders.

“Hi.” He smiled at him. “Hey, Miles,” he added as kindly as possible.

Miles nodded in acknowledgement; Ilya looked back at Shane.

Shane gave him a smile. Then frowned, just the tiniest bit, and blurted, “I thought you forgot.”

Ilya’s brows furrowed. “Forgot what?”

“The date,” Shane said. “You didn’t call me all day.”

And Ilya didn’t know what it was, but that felt like his breaking point. “Well." He grinned, with acting that could give Miles and Rose a run for their money. How can I forget? “I didn’t.” How could I?  he wanted to scream.

And he hugged Shane. A quick thing, lasting a mere second where he could say, “Happy birthday,” before letting go.

It was surprisingly easy to hide in the crowd after that, despite the size of the Hollanders’ house. At least for the most part. Because Ilya’s whole presence could cloak itself in a corner with Liliana, but his gaze didn’t cooperate; it sought every step Shane took.

He seemed happy enough, smiling at Miles and his friends, but Ilya could recognize the rigid way he held himself. It wasn’t that Shane was socially awkward, or even shy; he was the golden boy of this entire town, he was friendly, and he loved people. He just didn’t like not being prepared for social events of this size, especially when he felt like it was his responsibility to take care of it. And Ilya could see he’d already hijacked that burden, worry about every aspect of this party already marking his face.

Liliana’s whoop distracted Ilya as she threw herself half on his lap. She grabbed a handful of his curls, grinning, and shot back her third gallon of vodka. Okay, Ilya didn’t exactly know, but the girl was burning through the drinks faster than Ilya had been burning through his hopes and dreams. Hopes and dreams; his eyes wandered back to Shane again.

He wished they hadn’t when he saw him, though. Quietly talking with Miles in a secluded corner, their faces close together. Before Ilya could avert his eyes, Miles cupped Shane’s cheek and pressed a long kiss on his lips. Ilya’s chest constricted with despair at seeing that and knowing it was never going to get easier.

Liliana was muttering something in Russian now, but Ilya didn’t understand a single word. She grabbed his jaw, turning his face around. After seeing her eyelashes batting and her smile crooked, Ilya understood perfectly. He had no intention of hooking up with her, and until now he’d thought she’d had no intention of hooking up with him either. Now she was leaning into his space, searching for a kiss.

And Ilya gave it to her.

Not a simple peck either; a full kiss. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve here but the tight grip in his chest loosened a little bit with something oddly like vindication.

As if Shane would be watching him right now; as if seeing Ilya with someone could make him feel a fragment of what Ilya had been feeling for months.

God, Ilya was so stupid, so irrational. When Liliana surged forward, trying to get deeper, he realized he was also being a huge asshole. He grabbed her by the shoulders, distancing them. “I’ll get you water, okay?” he asked, and got up when hazy eyes blinked in understanding.

As he was pushing through the crowd to reach the kitchen, Hayden’s shocked voice rang in his ear. “Is that Dallas Kent?”

Ilya’s head turned to the door automatically.

It was Dallas Kent, with his usual squad of goons, including Troy Barrett who stood there all austere as always. Dallas himself was wearing his sleazy grin, repulsive on sight alone.

What the fuck?

“What the hell is he doing here?” Hayden asked, and Ilya could kiss him right there for saying something smart for once in his life.

He caught the sight of Rose nearby, both her and Jackie looking at Dallas as well, and cocked his head in question.

“I don’t know,” Rose shouted over the noise in the room, eyes wide. “I didn’t think Miles meant inviting literally the entire town.”

Then Ilya heard Shane’s voice behind him. “What is Dallas Kent doing here?”

He turned around, finding Shane with his brows furrowed and lips parted. “It’s okay,” he said immediately. “We’ll tell him to leave.”

“You know he’s gonna start shit, Ilya,” Shane told him, eyes alerted. “He fucking hates half the people here!”

“I know,” Ilya nodded, taking in the panic etching on Shane’s every feature. “I’ll tell him to get the fuck out, okay?”

Shane started shaking his head. “God, this party is already too much,” he moaned, looking around the room. “I don’t even know half of these people. And the half I know is not even nineteen yet. You know the legal drinking age in Ontario is nineteen, right? Like I’m pretty sure I’m committing a crime right now by letting all these underage teens consume alcohol in my house. And why the fuck are they not using plastic cups?”

“Shane,” Ilya said in his best reassuring voice. “Relax, okay? It’s alright.”

“No, Ilya, everyone’s everywhere. Someone has been in the bathroom for close to an hour now and I don’t even know if it’s just one person. And I don’t know if what they’re smoking in the backyard is just cigarettes, and Mom and Dad’s bedroom is on this floor, and someone will break something because no one is fucking using plastic cups!” His chin trembled, breathing harsh. “Do you know the mess this place will be once everyone leaves?”

God, Ilya’s hands itched for the simplest touch. A hand around Shane’s wrist to comfort him. A brush on his cheek. He only allowed himself a step towards him. “I locked Yuna and David’s door, okay?” he said softly. “And I’ll check what they're doing in the back. And I’ll kick out whoever’s in the bathroom along with Dallas,” he told him. “I’ll take care of the mess.”

Shane looked at him, pupils flittering. Then he huffed. "You take care of the mess that’s your girlfriend first.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Ilya said automatically. Then he frowned, seeing Shane’s worry lines getting a new cant to them. He squinted. “Are you mad at me?”

Shane pursed his lips. “This wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Well it wasn’t my fucking idea, so take it up with your boyfriend,” Ilya snapped.

Shane’s eyes widened.

Ilya felt bad immediately; Shane was worried, and he was being an asshole. How typical of them both. He ran a hand through his hair, then closed the space in between. He allowed himself one touch, for Shane’s sake, he told himself. “It’ll be okay, alright?” he asked, hands rubbing Shane’s arms. “I promise.”

The lines of Shane’s face softened, and he released a breath.

Relieved to see him give a tiny nod, Ilya smiled. “Go find Rose and the others, okay?” he told him. “I’ll take care of everything. You go have fun. Have a day off. Have a fucking drink!”

Shane’s lips twitched at that. “I’m not gonna drink my body weight in vodka like you.”

Then it bloomed into a full smile, and Ilya felt his chest loosen for real. “Well, your body weight is pretty minuscule,” he joked, pretending to do math on his fingers. “What does that come to? Two shots?”

A laugh left Shane’s lips, his freckles rejoicing, his cheeks pinking. All of Ilya’s favorite things.

When it waned down, though, his eyes were almost forlorn. He sighed.

Ilya held his breath.

Then Shane murmured, “Did you buy me Snickers?”

Ilya’s eyebrows went up at the question. He couldn’t help his chuckle. “Yes,” he said, caressing Shane. “I did.”

Shane nodded, head bowing.

“Do you want it now?”

Shane shook his head.

Ilya was hit with this urge to cup his face and steer that gaze back to him. He wanted to see those eyes again. See if they were solemn or sanguine, see if they were serene with the panic gone, see the tranquil dark waters and the quietest of night skies.

He wanted to talk to Shane, away from here.

“I’ll give it to you after the party, okay?” he said, running his fingers on the curve of Shane’s arm again. “And I want to talk—"

“Shane,” rose Miles’s somber tone behind them. “Can we talk? In private?”

***

Shane mirrored Miles’s steps up the stairs. Privacy in this part of the house was literally impossible right now, but the worry Shane was feeling about that had been taken over by the serious look on Miles’s face.

He closed the door behind them once they were in his bedroom.

“Miles?” he asked quietly, but Miles just shook his head, back still turned to him.

Shane waited.

A few moments passed, then Miles turned around. His eyes were trained on the carpet.

Shane could see him open his mouth, then close it, like he considered and reconsidered what to say. Shane didn’t know what it was but fresh panic was settling in his chest frighteningly quick. This wasn’t normal.

Then Miles blew out a breath and looked at him, gaze sharp silver.

“Are you in love with Ilya?”

The sound that left Shane’s lips wasn’t of shock or a laugh. It was ghastly. It was a bellow. It was something wretched from his throat.

“What?” he heard himself say, his feet taking a step back. “What are you talking about?”

“I think I knew it all along, but I pretended not to,” Miles said, face crumbling. “Or I just saw what I wanted to see. He—” He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. “He's it for you, isn’t he?”

Shane wasn’t registering those words; he was rendered a bit stupid.

“God.” Miles laughed. “Are you such a good actor that you have yourself fooled?”

“I—" Shane tried to talk, but he couldn’t.

“You’re just taken over by him, you know?” Miles continued, his expression not as painful as it was hollow. “Even when he’s not there. You don’t mention him so much in words, but I can see when you want to, when anything reminds you of him.” He shook his head. “Jesus, Shane, you spent the whole day looking at your phone waiting for his call.”

“There were birthday messages.” Shane managed words at last, but they came out hoarse. Insincere.

“Yeah, no.” Miles chuckled. “He's just—” he paused, then let out a sigh. “When you got that letter last week. The one you said you’d been expecting all your life, you know what was the first thing you did? Not calling your mom, not calling your dad. Not hugging me as I was standing there." He gave Shane an abject smile. “You called your Ilya.”

Shane could only whisper, “He's my best friend.”

“I have best friends Shane, childhood friends. Guys I consider closer to me than my real brothers. What you have with Ilya…”

Then they were both quiet, for a heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three. Then Miles let out a laugh.

“And this is only when he’s not there. When he is, God—” He blinked a few times, argent eyes turning clouded. Like rocks at the bottom of a river. “When he is there, it’s like the whole world could squeeze itself between you two and you’d still look at him.”

Shane’s breath got stuck in his throat.

“You always do that, watch him,” Miles continued. “And if he’s with someone, it’s like a switch goes off and your whole easygoing attitude is gone.”

Shane shook his head. “That’s not—"

“You’ve been glaring at that girl all night.”

Shane felt his jaw clench, at the words and at being reminded of that. That girl on Ilya’s lap, kissing him like she was searching for air underwater. Like she wanted him for lunch. Every flash of that image knotted Shane’s throat tighter and tighter till he was so terribly close to crying.

Then Miles whispered, “You don’t want to be with me.”

And Shane’s jaw went lax, eyes welling. He wanted to object, he wanted to apologize. But he couldn’t say anything. His complicated feelings for Ilya had a lifetime of excuses Shane had curated carefully, guardedly, for himself more than anyone else. But when faced with Miles’s simple statement of what he didn’t want, he had no words.

First love was supposed to feel like butterflies, fluttering, elevating. But where contentment was what Shane had expected, it’d been weariness that he’d been feeling. Inexplicable melancholy. A gloom hard to describe. Like someone had taken out his pieces and threaded him back together all wrong. A part went missing, a part misfitting. You don’t want to be with me; it rang true.

“It’s okay,” Miles said quietly, and Shane shook his head. Was it okay? That he was the biggest piece of shit on earth? Because he’d known, hadn’t he? Like the universe dropped the solution on my lap, he’d thought but couldn’t admit to himself the night he’d met Miles.

Like he’d been propelled on a series of actions born out of fear and tumultuous confusion. It felt like Shane hadn’t been making his own choices for a while, at least not the right ones.

“Miles…”

“I don’t like assuming things but,” Miles said and swallowed hard. Then he attempted a final smile for him. “You're in love with him, Shane.”

The words rang crystal clear this time. Shane could only stand there, breath hardly going in and going out.

“And I feel it’s not as different on his side as you think.”

And with that, Miles left, steps pattering on the staircase.

Shane gave him a moment before he went back downstairs. Shane tried to give himself a moment, but his breathing was harsh, lungs failing alongside everything else – the steadiness in his hands, the grip over his mind, his guard around his heart.

The commotion coming from the backyard reverberated in his ears. The pulsation under his feet stampeded his world.

With the thought of I need these people out of my house, he tumbled down the stairs.

He almost collided with Rose at the foot, who took one look at him and furrowed her brows. “Are you okay?”

A hoarse “Yeah,” left Shane’s mouth but before he could clear his throat and try again, a crash came from the living room, the music abruptly killed.

Shane rushed in panic, only to find Dallas Kent and Troy Barrett facing each other, sneering. With a bottle crushed on the floor between them.

“You’re a piece of shit, Dallas!” Troy spat. “And fuck me, I knew it for months! I knew what I heard!”

“Shut the fuck up, Barrett,” Dallas sneered.

“I saw the pictures! I saw your face!”

“Barrett!” Dallas hissed, face curdled, foul. “I would choose my next words very carefully if I were you.”

And Troy exploded, “You assaulted those girls, Dallas!” His face twisted, “You're a fucking rapist!”

Gasps and mutters went around the room at lightning speed.

Then Dallas started laughing.

In the uncomfortable silence of tens of people, it was a disturbing sound. It was a loud laugh, a guffaw, with Dallas hinging at the waist like he’d just heard the funniest thing.

“Ahhh,” he exhaled when he stood back up, wiping a tear. “This bullshit is what—”

“Get the fuck out.”

Shane’s gaze moved, and he saw Ilya, standing on the edge of Dallas and Troy’s circle. He was holding himself rigid, one hand clenched in a fist, and his words… They’d been uttered more darkly than anything Shane had ever heard out of his mouth.

Troy, looking deflated, took a step. “I—”

“Both of you,” Ilya growled. “Leave this house fucking right now.”

“Aw, Rozanov,” Dallas said with a deplorable grin. “Are you mad that we ruined your faggot boyfriend’s—”

The next two things happened almost simultaneously; Ilya’s clenched fist raised and exploded on that grin, and Dallas crashed into the coffee table behind him with thunderclap and bottles shattering.

Shane heard a pained “Gah!” escape his lungs but he couldn’t focus anywhere but the shaking hand Ilya was holding to his chest.

“Fuck,” Ilya muttered under his breath. Then eyes wide, face in hurt, he turned to Shane. “Shane…”

Shane shook his head to the step he’d taken towards him. It felt like everything that’d happened today was flooding in as absolute terror, but Shane’s mind was zeroed in on Ilya’s hand. It wasn’t just trembling, it looked bloody, skin broken, and all Shane wanted to do was make sure it was okay, but his body didn’t cooperate.

Then an “Ilya?” approached from the other side of the room and Liliana, more alert than she’d been all night, said something in Russian and reached for the wounded hand.

And Shane left. He yanked his jacket off the hook and escaped the house.

He didn’t cry. Not when walking past the river or downtown by the coffee shop. It was an achievement, he felt, because it seemed like all he’d been doing these past few months was crying. His mind kept replaying things, from Miles to Troy to his mom’s now broken coffee table, but Shane felt like an apathetic observer. And he felt like shit that he was being an apathetic observer because that fight had been nasty, so had the slur Dallas had spewed his way, and Troy’s words were just frightening. And Miles, Miles had broken up with him, running away with his heart broken because Shane couldn’t be a decent boyfriend.

At that moment, though, the only thing Shane’s heart felt was Ilya. Every part of his life pertaining to Ilya. Every part of today involving Ilya. Waking up this morning and wishing he could just see Ilya like he had on his last ten birthdays, and the relieved breath escaping his lungs at the feeling of Ilya's hands on his skin. And Miles’s words uttered with terrible conviction, with open heart, with sincerity, echoing Rose’s that evening in her car and Shane’s careless, mindless side every sleepless night.

You're in love with him.

This town is boring, Shane thought. It’s so boring every season without Ilya.

Ilya with his bloody, trembling hand. The human skull could break bones. Bare knuckles with fight bites could get infected. He could ruin his beautiful hands.

Shane wanted to see that he hadn’t. And with fear and confusion – more severe than the one that winter morning, more severe than what he’d felt at that butterfly kiss – he returned home.

The house was still lit up when he came back, twinkling against the dark sky, but there was no noise to be heard. The orange glow of Ilya’s cigarette was flickering by the side of the flowerbeds.

“Hey." Shane approached him, stepping around the wildflowers to not crush them.

“Hey,” Ilya murmured before snuffing the cigarette under his foot. He crouched, picking it up and putting it in his pocket.

The gesture made Shane smile. “Is everyone gone?”

Ilya made a noise of confirmation, then his brows creased. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Shane said, eyes moving to Ilya’s hand. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s not bad.”

“I want to see it,” Shane insisted and cracked a smile.

With a tiny eye roll, Ilya let him take his hand.

Shane held it gently, then rubbed a thumb across the intact skin under the wound. There wasn’t much to see; someone had already cleaned the blood and put a bandage around Ilya’s knuckles.

“Who wrapped you up?” Shane asked, eyes not meeting Ilya’s.

“Liliana,” Ilya answered.

Shane swallowed and his grip tightened. “She did a shoddy job with the gauze,” he murmured pettily. “I’ll fix it.”

He felt Ilya nod but didn’t look up. After a moment’s consideration, he laced their fingers together.

Ilya didn’t say anything. They stayed quiet like that; Shane’s fingers covering Ilya’s, thumb caressing the inside of his palm, eyes fixed on where they touched.

A few heartbeats passed, then Ilya whispered, “I don’t feel bad, you know? That asshole had it coming for a decade.”

Shane could only nod. “Do you think what Troy said was true?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

Then they were quiet again. It felt like a new kind of quiet. Not unlike their age-old comfortable silences, but repurposed somehow. Like there should be something emerging at the end, a breakdown, a confession, hell, a fire. But Shane had enough breakdowns to last a lifetime and the house was already in shambles.

Spring breeze brushed past them, messing up Ilya’s hair. Shane wanted to push it back in its place.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya murmured. His gold-flecked eyes shimmered, always so full of sincerity. “I know this wasn’t what you wanted for your birthday.”

Shane felt his lips curl at that. Because he would know, wouldn’t he? Like he’d put the dots and crossed the lines himself, Ilya would know Shane before Shane knew himself. Then why couldn’t he see Shane stumbling all over the place these past months? Didn’t he see the graceless way he’d been fumbling without him? His clumsy limbs, and frightened heart; couldn’t he just take a look and tell Shane what to do?

“I’m sorry I made it worse.”

Shane shook his head. He rubbed the warm skin of Ilya’s palm. “It’s not you.”

Ilya frowned. “Is it what Dallas said?”

“No,” Shane breathed, itching to smooth the furrow between those eyes.

“I mean, a single insult from that dipshit can’t knock Shane Hollander down.”

Shane let out a laugh at that, feeling every emotion underlying it. Because Ilya had said it with a smile, gold in the dark, and even the tiniest curl of his lips felt like daybreak, summer solstice – and Shane knew in his heart of hearts that he could never look at someone else and feel this way.

“I can see you're upset,” Ilya insisted. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“What—” Ilya’s brows furrowed. “It’s what Miles said then. What was it?”

“He didn’t—” Shane shook his head. “I'm not upset.”

Ilya didn’t say anything for a moment, then Shane felt their fingers laced even tighter and their other hands finding each other.

“Your poker face is not as good as you think it is, dummy,” Ilya said, suddenly so much closer, and Shane felt his chest starting to heave. “You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve.” Ilya cracked another smile. “Or whatever that phrase is.”

Shane tried to swallow. It was funny, because he’d been trying to keep his heart in his chest all his life, trying to entrap it, bury it, so deep that he couldn’t even see it himself. And he must have been good, god, he must have been really good, because his breaking point was arriving now, a whole decade later. How had Ilya not seen, he thought again. Can’t he hear my breathing right now?

Maybe he had but pretended not to, maybe he only saw what he wanted to see. Like Miles had said. But just before leaving, Miles had also said it’s not as different on his side as you think, and Shane couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He felt crazy; he felt scared.

God, he fucking knew there were so many people with their curls perfectly falling into place.

And he knew it was just human anatomy that people’s fingers fit so well together that it felt just right.

And he knew everyone could know his favorite places, and recognize a song just from the wrong way he hummed, and could learn how to calm him down.

But Shane didn’t want anyone else.

“Tell me,” Ilya urged again, warm cadence in his eyes, rubbing the inside of Shane’s wrists.

And Shane felt salt water on his lips.

“Hey." Ilya’s hands reached for his face immediately. “Hey.”

It didn’t feel like he was crying. There were no sobs breaking in his chest, no wail in his lungs. Tears were just leaking, leaving, escaping Shane.

And the eyes Shane loved the most looked at him with worry, so bright. So fucking bright that the uncertainty of maybes and the last of Shane’s defenses got hit by that brightness again and again and again. Paper lanterns in the night sky, Shane thought. That was what they looked like; a million wishes all at once.

So, he pushed himself up on his tiptoes.

My Ilya.

And wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck.

…I am in love with him.

And pressed their lips together. Ilya’s mouth parted on a gasp, and Shane felt the goosebumps bloom where his hands met Ilya’s skin.

Two threads ran parallel in his mind. God, I've missed him, at being so close to Ilya again, and feeling his solid chest against him, touching the curls at his nape. A relief that felt like coming home. And the second that was just an oh, I didn’t know. He assumed he would, with having Ilya’s lips on his like this before, but no, that one had been lost to most of his senses. This one was a marvel in the most familiar, present sense. Here, under Shane’s hands, under Shane’s lips, the faintest hint of Ilya’s stubble and the perfume and smoke on his skin. Perfectly his Ilya.

Their lips were parted against each other, but Shane wanted more. He wanted Ilya’s hands on him, pulling Shane against him. He wanted them so close that he could bury himself under Ilya’s skin, so he could stay with him. He wanted Ilya to stay with him, just stay with him.

He let one hand wander on Ilya’s back; he wanted closer. He pressed on the thin shirt; he wanted closer. And finally, beautifully, Ilya shuddered against him. And his hovering hands found Shane’s waist and gripped tight.

A sound so desperate left Shane’s lips but he couldn’t feel embarrassed even if he tried. With one hand still on Ilya’s nape, he tugged on the curls softly, surging forward on his tiptoes again. He parted his lips further, wanting to taste Ilya’s warm summer lips.

The hands on his waist flew to his cheeks then, frantic but gentle. Their faces got pried apart.

The eyelids Shane hadn’t known were shut fluttered open, slowly. The first thing he could see was Ilya’s eyes. Then he felt the goosebumps under his hands turn to ice picks. The breath parting them went cold. Shane’s recently, foolishly freed heart was descending like an avalanche. And Ilya’s eyes, Shane’s favorite eyes, gold, burnished eyes. Burnt honey and shards of summer. Now they looked huge, glassy. Horrified.

And glass shattered, and bones crushed.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Chapter End Notes

have a snickers shane, you are not you when you're hungry

anyways im SO sorry. i don't even know if i love or hate this chapter. i just want you to know that when you listen to lover by taylor swift as a wishful thinking song, it is such an ilya song. and you are in love by (again) taylor swift is clearly for shane in these past two chapters.

Chapter 8: flip a switch

Chapter Notes

hello, i apologize this chapter comes to you after almost an entire month. june has been very hard for me and this chapter has become an emotional overwrought mess. thank you for still sticking around!

cw: mentions of suicide, child abuse, violence, implied depression, homophobic language

May 2009

“What the hell are you doing?”

It took Ilya a moment to realize that words paring the silence of the night had come from him. They sounded too small, too horrified; unlike any tone he’d ever needed with Shane. Just a scared exhale leaving his chest. His heaving chest, as he’d been breathless for a second there, literally, because Shane’s body had been against his body, and Shane’s lips had covered his lips, and Shane’s breath stole his breath, and Shane had kissed him.

Shane had kissed him.

His flushed face cradled in Ilya’s palms, he looked equally dumbstruck about that now. Ilya felt half out of his mind, stomach tiding between dread and hysteria as he took in Shane’s parted lips and the clean spring of tears dried on his face. Sudden conflict almost made him dizzy; he wanted to drop his touch like he’d been burned, like he was being burned still, but a louder, self-destructive part of him just wanted to pull Shane back to him. Press their lips back together. Sink in and caress and taste his mouth again. Just kiss him once more till the last few minutes started making sense.

Shane had kissed him.

“I— I’m—” His words faltered now, and a shuddery breath left him. Ilya had to swallow against it caressing his lips. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked with an erratic shake of his head and jerked away, the move causing his ankle to almost roll out under him.

Ilya’s hand shot out immediately. “Careful!”

Shane recoiled.

What followed was just the static of the night and their out-of-rhythm breathing – an irregular staccato. Ilya withdrew the hand he’d reached to brace Shane with.

“Shane,” he whispered.

“I’m so sorry, I—” Shane squeezed his eyes shut.

Ilya couldn’t swallow, clenching the hand grasping air now. Not Shane’s face, not Shane’s waist, not Shane’s warmth. Just air. The mere feet separating the two of them felt like a vast moorland; the heat dissipating and being replaced by raw nerves. Ilya licked his lips because there was not enough moisture and there was not enough air and the brightly lit side of Shane’s face crumbled in regret, shining with new tears. Ilya didn’t know what to do.

“Shane.” He heard himself say again and watched as Shane’s eyes shot open and his feet took another step back.

Then he turned around and whirled for the front door of the house.

“Shane! Shane!” Ilya followed in a rush, though he was out of any other words but Shane’s name. His vocabulary wiped clean, his mouth and his feet working in instinct more than with thought. It must be hilarious, he thought, the sight of Ilya Rozanov finally robbed of speech. Because what was he supposed to say? God, what was he supposed to feel?

“Shane!” he repeated again in a pathetic hope to prevent something before it fully cracked.

Shane spun around. “Don’t!”

Ilya stopped.

Shane opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again; his chin trembling and eyes pained. Ilya held his breath, anticipating what to come with frayed nerves and an array of half-realized emotions, but flashing headlights intervened before either could say anything.

Ilya looked at the car, making out Yuna and David’s shadows behind the windshield.

The vehicle pulled to a park, its lights and gurgle dying down.

“Don’t.” Ilya heard Shane say again, a whisper this time, and his gaze snapped back to him. He noted the hand clutching the doorknob, and the cautionary shake of Shane’s head. The shadows cast across his skin, making all Ilya could see the cascading lines of his face. “Don’t stay for the clean-up.”

Then there was a door between them, and the sound of Shane’s hurried steps on the staircase. Before his parents could even get out of the car. Before Ilya could even open his mouth. The sight was a gut punch, all too similar to being left on New Year's morning, hands cold in the slowly melting snow. All too similar to the heartbreak and regret overflowing their street on Valentine's Day. Only it was so much worse because this one had Ilya disoriented on every axis. Because it made no fucking sense. Because Shane had left looking hurt and there was little Ilya cared about beyond that.

“Ilya!” David’s delighted voice came, and Ilya had to tear his gaze away from the door.

“Oh, hi sweetie,” Yuna said fondly as she approached him. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Ilya attempted a smile for her.

And felt every part of his face almost crumble.

Yuna’s own smile wavered, her gaze darting to the door. “Are you boys okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Ilya managed and averted his gaze. He had to look away from that face settling with questions.

“How was the party, buddy?” David asked, clapping him on the shoulder and waggling his brows. “Did you kids whoop it up? Have a wild time? Cause a ruckus?”

“David,” Yuna muttered.

Ilya only chuckled. Or at least he hoped he had because the breath escaping his lungs started to feel more like the beginnings of a sob. “It was good,” he said, throat tight. “Shane had fun.”

David laughed, patting him on the arm again, then started making a series of bad jokes.

Ilya tried to focus on that, on David’s familiar, reassuring joy, but he could feel Yuna’s gaze singe the side of his face. He couldn’t avoid that; he could never avoid those dark, inquisitive eyes. They were too much like Shane’s for his comfort. Peering into him as if they could see him in all the ways he didn’t want to be seen at that moment.

“It’s late.” Yuna’s words cut David’s chatter, her voice casual. Her hand reached out, smoothing the fabric on Ilya’s shoulder. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

“Oh, fantastic idea!”

Ilya swallowed. It took him a moment to find the strength to shake his head. And when he spoke, his voice was too small. “Not— not tonight. I’m sorry.”

It was instant how Yuna’s eyes softened with that, curiosity giving way to concern. Ilya almost hated it, hated how she’d heard how defeated he’d sounded. How she looked at him now like how she looked at Shane when he was hurt. Like how Shane usually looked at Ilya; ready to break himself in ways nobody else would do for him, in ways nobody else would do for anyone. That look, and Ilya almost let himself fall away.

“I’ll— I’ll just head home,” he tried to say, tongue idle, words clumsy. Then muttered, “I’m so sorry for the coffee table.”

Gaze on his feet succumbing to the pavement, bile in his throat and a part of him begging for a final look at Shane’s window, he walked away. He swallowed and left before he could break.

***

Shane had this clock in his room, placed on the table between his bed and the windowsill. Nothing notable or too nosy. Just an old-fashioned alarm clock that he'd never taken notice of before, ticking away into nights, then into days, on and on. A tedious tick tock, tick tock that’d never bothered him, not like it had Ilya, who’d bury his head under a pillow some nights just to muffle the sound.

Tick tock.

Shane heard it now. Tick tock, tick tock. It was a grate on his nerves, he realized, and wasn’t that fitting for a night of realizations. A night frazzled at the edges, very much like Shane, and dangling from his limp fingers.

He lay there in absolute stillness, the room in absolute darkness. As if the slightest move or the faintest light would make things too real, too enormous to ignore. It made Shane realize another, admittedly not unrelated thing; he’d been oblivious, and that’d been safe. His self-made sanctuary of unknowing; all his life he reveled in it, sought refuge in it, found solace in it. And the moment he’d allowed himself to take a step outside, the moment he’d risked the comfort of no acknowledgement, no awareness, the moment he’d taken notice, it’d all come back to bite him in the ass.

The clock ticked on; a hundred ticks, a thousand ticks, persevering in Shane’s ear. Till it became one with his pulse, repetitive, needling pins in his head that he couldn’t ignore anymore, and he had to get up.

His traipsing to the window didn’t break the night, nor did the light he allowed in by pushing the curtains open. He paced and paced, looking at that clock, looking at the spot Miles had stood hours ago, looking at the pillow he thought of as Ilya’s, on the side of the bed that was Ilya’s, with no Ilya now.

He felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. In hindsight, tonight wasn’t any different than all the other nights Shane had spent wishing Ilya was there. The last few months that he’d had little to no sleep just like tonight. The only difference was that he hadn’t allowed himself to think too deeply on those occasions and his mind hadn’t been stuck on an endless loop of kissing Ilya – his Ilya – with his heart in his throat and it feeling just right. Only to hear the blow of what the hell are you doing?

He groaned. Pacing wasn’t enough to wipe away all that or stop his stomach from constricting with the fear of the aftermath. An explosion of a million circuits, Shane could feel it coming. The sound of the clock was nagging at him, a swarm of bees stinging his palms, and he had to do something with his hands before the prickling got too severe and something started to bleed.

He wiped away the stickiness on his face – it’d become too hard to pinpoint exactly when his tears started, stopped, then started again – and he padded down the stairs, careful not to make a noise. His brows furrowed when he saw the lights on in the living room.

“Why are you guys awake?” he asked from the doorway, taking in the sight of his parents collecting empty beer bottles and fixing the disturbed and misplaced knickknacks of the room.

They both turned to him at the sound – Mom with a raised eyebrow, Dad with a gentle smile.

“You think your mother could just leave this mess here and go to sleep? She tried, believe me, then she tossed and turned and huffed till I told her we could clean up.”

Mom waved a hand at Dad.

Dad chuckled, turning to Shane. “Why are you awake?”

“Same,” Shane mumbled with a shrug, entering the room. “I need this mess gone. You guys can go to bed, I’ll deal with it.”

Dad huffed a laugh. “Thank god. For a second I feared my son turned eighteen and had an overnight personality change.”

Shane gave him a half-hearted smile. He looked around the room, the dishevel making him unhappy, and he found an odd comfort in feeling that. One familiar notion, one feeling he could name without it feeling alarming or like the end of the world.

“It’s okay,” Mom’s voice came. She nodded at Shane. “We’ll clean together.”

Then she handed him a garbage bag to pick up the trash thrown around. It felt good; doing such a mindless task and seeing the room get put back together to its ordinary. Dad moving the furniture where it belonged. Mom sweeping the broken glass. Shane letting his hands keep busy and tricking himself into believing that he was fixing things, remedying something. Making reparations so the infestation didn’t sit there any longer; getting rid of it before it could get out of hand and rot things in its wake.

They worked in the silence of the late night. Shane realized it didn’t really help with the heaviness in his chest or the constant needles at the back of his neck.

“Do I want to know who’s done this to my coffee table?” Mom asked when he crouched down next to her.

He shook his head, reaching for the shards of broken plywood. Feeling guilty about what happened to Mom’s furniture wasn’t high up on his list right now, but he still felt the all too familiar lump in his throat.

“Sweetie,” Mom said with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Uhm, yeah,” Shane said, seeing her soft gaze and swallowing. “It was just a tiring night.”

Dad chuckled from where he stood. “Did you have one too many drinks, buddy?”

Shane breathed a laugh. “Yeah, you know me,” he answered, voice strained. “The wildest party animal.” He swallowed again and pretended not to see the look his parents shared.

A heartbeat passed, then Dad asked, “Are you sure you’re fine, kid?”

Shane inhaled, deep. And tried to say, “Yeah.”

Silence hung heavy after that. Shane carried on with the task at hand, gathering the broken furniture in his arms. He got his thumb caught on a splinter and stupidly felt like that was the moment he’d start crying. He didn’t; he just took another deep breath. Slowly in through the nose, released through the lips.

“You know, you’re not a good actor by any means,” Mom said finally with her no-nonsense voice.

“Is it Miles?” Dad asked.

Miles. God, Shane wasn’t even sure if he was upset about that. It all just felt like grime and mud; thick, black, and ankle-deep. Hard to separate from each other.

“Uhm, yeah,” he said still. It was a good explanation. His first boyfriend had just dumped him. “He broke up with me.”

Dad’s face flashed with disbelief. “On your birthday?”

Shane nodded.

“Well, that’s just unacceptable.”

“Hm.” Mom furrowed her brows. Then she said, “Well, he was a bit dull for you, anyway, wasn’t he?” She smiled. “I’m sure there are gonna be many nice men in Montreal, honey.”

Shane nodded again, getting to his feet. He didn’t know what to say. He just didn’t care about any of it.

“Hey,” Dad said, taking the plywood off his hands. “We’re not saying don’t be upset. You’re allowed to feel shitty, okay? You’re just eighteen, you’re allowed to feel like it’s the end of the world.” Then he gave him a smile Shane always associated with being a kid and his dad putting butterfly band-aids on his scratched knees. He whispered, “First loves always hurt.”

Shane felt the pain of the splinter again, and the lump in his throat, and thought he could do with a band-aid now. Miles was a blip on his mind, but his dad was right; it did hurt, and it felt like the end of the world. Ilya was Shane’s first love, a fuse burning his entire life that he felt like a fool that it’d taken him this long to realize. If Miles was a blip, Ilya was a gunshot, a flashfire, a barrel of a thousand sparks, and Shane hadn’t understood, not fully, till he’d kissed him.

He had kissed him. God. And every brush of their lips felt electric, Shane’s nerves shot. Exhilarating before it stung.

“How do you know first loves hurt?” Mom teased Dad, endeared. “Who was your first love, huh?”

Dad didn’t look at Mom, he just winked at Shane. “I’ll take these outside.”

Then he left. And Shane stood there with nothing to do, hands empty except for the sting Ilya had left with him.

“So,” Mom said as soon as it was just the two of them, sitting on the couch. “What is it really?”

“Hm?”

One of her fine brows rose. “I love your father with my whole heart, but god knows he can be oblivious sometimes.” She gave him a tight smile. “I know it’s not Miles. Or it’s not just Miles. So what is it?”

Shane swallowed. “Nothing, Mom.”

Mom nodded. Then casually she said, “It’s Ilya, isn’t it?”

Shane’s breath caught.

“He hasn’t been coming over for a while,” Mom said, eyes bright and knowing. “I always hear him climb that porch, you know? But he hasn’t been for a time now.” Her brows scrunched. “I gave up on thinking you guys would grow out of that, so that’s unexpected, isn’t it?”

Shane ducked his head.

“Is it Montreal?”

He looked back up. “What about Montreal?”

“I’m just thinking out loud.” Mom shrugged. “His letters didn’t arrive yet, right?”

“They will,” Shane said. They would.

Mom nodded again, taking one of the throw pillows and fluffing it. Then she dropped it and sighed. “Is it his father?” Shane saw distaste shade her face. “I don’t know his relationship with that man, but I personally have never been a fan of him.”

“It’s…” Shane wanted to answer but realized he couldn’t. “I don’t know,” he muttered a moment later. He didn’t, and god, didn’t that hurt? The painful realization that he didn’t remember the last time he and Ilya actually talked. Ilya had never been a big sharer, but they’d had nights where he’d say one word and Shane would understand it was about Grigori or Andrei. The last few months, though, had been spent missing Ilya, and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t in love with Ilya. He tried to show himself that he could act like a best friend and in the meantime, he forgot to actually be one.

And now he went ahead and made it even worse. It took him years to realize he was in love with Ilya, and only minutes to completely ruin what they’d already had.

“I did something bad, Mom.” The words left his mouth without him realizing; cracking at snap points and stinging his eyes.

“Hey.” Mom stood up, hands finding his face. “Oh honey, no.” She shook her head. “I may be biased here, but I don’t think there’s anything bad you can do. Especially with Ilya.”

Shane felt her wipe away a tear from his cheek. “I’ve assumed things,” he choked out. “And I was wrong.”

Deep-belly nausea hit with those words. Because more than anything, maybe even more than the kiss itself, Shane struggled with that; being wrong. He took a skydive off the roof because Miles had said it, and Rose had said it, and all their friends had said it till Shane got his wires mixed up, and for a stupid moment, he thought maybe Ilya felt the same. The stray shock still going through him wasn’t the realization that he loved Ilya, or even knowing how it felt to kiss Ilya and how he’d never feel it again. It was the realization that during one of those sleepless nights he’d spent thinking about Ilya, he’d started misconstruing things, and fooled himself. He’d thought, Ilya doesn’t kiss boys, but he also doesn’t touch anyone like he touches me. He’d mistaken their kisses on the cheek and Ilya’s fingers brushing his skin for something else. He’d thought their hugs lingered, maybe, and that Ilya sought his touch as much as Shane sought his.

But they’d been meaningless. Or they had different meanings for the two of them. They’d been distorted and painted wrong with Shane’s own hopeless love and made his sight waver at the edges.

And he feared it could all cost him Ilya, now.

“I know you boys think you can read each other’s minds,” Mom said with a gentle smile. “And maybe you can with some things, but that’s not how it works, sweetheart.”

Shane inhaled deep. Then whispered, “I know that now.”

Bad judgments, he’d got familiar with the worst of it.

“What I’m saying is that you should talk to him,” Mom told him, brushing another tear. “You should go upstairs now, have a few hours of sleep, then talk to him in the morning.”

Shane looked at the eyes he’d seen in the mirror every day and bit the inside of his cheek. “And what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” he asked, uttering his most terrified words.

“Don’t be silly, Shane.” Mom huffed and caressed his face. “If I’m biased about you here, then Ilya’s got me beat.” She shook her head with a smile. “That boy is your biggest fan.”

A tiny cry escaped Shane’s lips, then he found himself being pulled into Mom’s arms. She held him like that; for seconds, minutes, maybe even years, but it didn’t feel nearly enough. Shane felt like any moment he could just leak through her fingers, so when she went to pull away, he only hung tighter.

“You haven’t hugged me like this since you were eight,” Mom said with a watery chuckle, pressing her nose into his temple. After a moment she whispered, “It’s going to be okay, baby.” She brushed his hair. “You boys love each other, and sometimes that’s all that matters.”

Shane felt himself nod and pressed his face harder into her shoulder. He didn’t know how much of it that Mom understood at that moment, whether she could read it all on his face, in the way he trembled in her arms, but Shane did love Ilya. In a way that was hard to describe but impossible to hide from.

He just didn’t know if it was a good thing.

***

Ilya didn't know what it was specifically about that night, but sometime between leaving the house and coming here, he’d found himself unlocking a new realm of weariness. Not the physical exhaustion of overworked muscles and aching bones, or even just the mental fatigue that came with the lack of sleep, but something that’d got him laying still on the flat plane of a skate ramp. The concrete cold where it touched his bare neck, the ground coarse under his palms. Rough rest for a rough boy with a rough shape.

In the long shot, from above, he knew he looked numb. That was what exhaustion looked like after all, slower heartbeat, still limbs. Dull, in a sense, like the reality lost its tangible quality, casting its desaturated colors on Ilya. A closer look, however, and one would see his shaking hands and the trembling lines of his face; hear the jittery presence of his heart in his throat. As if after months of sleepless nights, after months of feeling numb except for the occasional bursts of jealousy and self-hatred, he was about to hurtle down this very ramp he was laying on.

Haywire, that was how he felt. Gazing at the quiet night sky, he heard blood howl in his head. Laying on the concrete ground, he felt like slipping through and sinking to the bottom. Haywire, he thought, his knuckles throbbing where it’d exploded on Dallas’s face and where Shane’s hand caressed his. He took out his lighter with that shaking hand, sparking a cigarette to fire, and started to wonder if he’d ever sleep again.

He wouldn’t. Not tonight, at least, and he knew it. So, when his cigarette was burnt to smoke and stub and the dark black sky gave way to dark purple, he pushed himself to his feet and called Kyle and Svetlana. He just did it, because what’d happened felt achingly huge in his chest and it felt like he could only start breathing again if he let some of that pressure become sound, become words.

Purple was bleaching to a grey when they met him at the basketball court. Neither the scent of the morning dew nor the quick way they showed up with his one-word made it easier on Ilya’s lungs. He watched them walk up to him and stop by his tapping feet.

“This better be good,” Svetlana said.

“Good almost-morning,” Kyle added, stretching his arms above his head.

Then Ilya found himself being scrutinized by two pairs of curious blues.

A minute passed.

Svetlana said, “You look like shit.”

Ilya blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. This was why sleep must be important, he thought, because for a second there he’d forgotten who he was and confused himself with someone who could talk about his issues. For one second, he thought telling someone would be easier than just hearing it in his head. Shane kissed me. Shane kissed me. Shane kissed me.

“Look, I’m up before the sun is and it was already late by the time you kicked us out of the party,” Svetlana complained.

Kyle stared at him. “I have a lit quiz to study for.”

Ilya didn’t answer, hands fishing for his lighter again. He could only get it to click on the third try; once he managed he took a long drag. The words escaped with the smoke leaving his lungs. “Shane kissed me.”

He saw both pairs of eyes widen. Svetlana’s slightly, before shifting to a concerned furrow; Kyle’s just stumped.

“Wow.” He let out a whistle. “Congrats.”

“Oh Ilya.” Svetlana’s words, on the other hand, came with a shake of her head. There was so much awareness and pity in that tone that Ilya had to look down at his feet.

“What?” He heard Kyle ask, feeling his gaze flit between them. Then he heard him say, “Oh no.” Then in two strides, he was forcing himself into Ilya’s place and forcing their gazes together. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Shane kissed you and instead of, I don’t know, making out with him, you’re here at five fucking am looking miserable?”

“Kyle.”

“No, Svet.” Kyle shook his head. “No, Ilya,” he said, eyes liquid, infuriated. “This is a good thing. This is a great thing, what the hell's wrong with you?”

Ilya’s hand holding the cigarette shook. A moment passed before he heard his faint answer. “He didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kyle said sarcastically. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t mean it,” Ilya repeated.

“Did he take it back? Push you away? Said he mixed you up with his boyfriend?”

“Kyle,” Svetlana warned again.

Kyle sighed, shaking his head. “You’re talking about the guy you’ve been in love with your whole fucking life, Ilya,” he told him. “He kissed you and you’re here acting like you’ve just been given a death sentence.”

“He wasn’t in his right mind, okay?” Ilya said with a steadier voice this time. He flicked the cigarette to the ground. “He was confused and maybe drunk and he was upset about something and I—” He choked on his next words. Took advantage of that.

The rest of his sentence died.

“Ilya…” Svetlana whispered.

Ilya bowed his head and watched the orange flare of his stub die down slowly. “Miles said something, and he was upset about that. He—” He swallowed, throat dry. “He has Miles.”

He had to blink after that, a few times for the sand pricking his eyes to go away. Then he looked ahead, past the road stretching along the court, and took in the view. At quiet dawn, even the utility poles looked beautiful. With their power lines pulled taut and wires exposed.

“Maybe not.”

His gaze shot to Svetlana.

She shrugged. “A couple of theatre kids were hogging the downstairs bathroom, so I used Shane’s. I heard them fight. Or at least talk heatedly. I didn’t hear what they said but Miles got out of there like the house was on fire.” Her gaze cut his. “I think they broke up.”

It took Ilya a second to feel it was him grinding his teeth. He tried to unclench his jaw, his thoughts a whirlwind of that asshole dumped him on his birthday and they broke up.

“That’s even worse,” he said finally. Now it made sense. Of course he’d been crying. Of course he’d been upset. Of course he’d— Ilya groaned. “I made it fucking worse.”

Miles had hurt Shane, his mind reeled again, hand clenching around his lighter. But determined to be the number one in all things inadvisable, Ilya had hurt him more.

“Or Shane broke up with him because he loves you,” Kyle piped, shrugging when Ilya and Svetlana looked at him. “That’s what people do, you know? Kiss the people they have feelings for.”

“Shane doesn’t lov—” Ilya stopped himself. “He doesn’t have feelings for me,” he said instead. He couldn’t. That was one line of thought Ilya wasn’t willing to go because the simple matter of the truth was that Shane didn’t have feelings for him. Not like that.

“You’re so stupid,” Kyle told him.

“I’m so tired of this,” Svetlana muttered. It was for both of them.

“No, he is,” Kyle said again. Then he grabbed Ilya’s clenched fist. One by one, he forced his fingers open, then patted his jeans till he found the pack and stole a cigarette.

Ilya watched in silence as he inhaled the smoke.

Then the blue eyes found Ilya’s again and Kyle whispered, “Miles is not Scott, Ilya.”

“Are you drunk?” Ilya asked.

“I am,” Kyle said with a nod. Then his gaze intent, but voice the gentlest it’d been all morning, he said, “But you know what I mean.”

Ilya felt the jitter up his spine again. He looked away and up, at the orange-streaked sky turning pale blue and shook his head. Kyle didn’t understand what’d happened last night, the unadorned facts. For all his no-bullshit way of talking to Ilya, he was a romantic at heart, after all. But Ilya had known since the moment Shane’s lips touched his that it was simple math. Knowing Miles had broken up with him, it was even less complicated now. Shane had been confused; he’d been drunk. He’d been heartbroken and Ilya had happened to be there when he shouldn’t have. It all made sense.

One part of him, at the back of his head, said something different but Ilya was struck too raw to hear it. He was too tired, too hurt to streamline the intricate part of his thoughts. He wasn’t even sure if they could be considered thoughts, they were just nervous words that nicked at him.

Shane, Montreal, Grigori. Power lines. The goddamn power lines, susceptible to direct tapping if one was greedy enough, soaking up another’s spark whether they were willing to share it or not.

Shane kissed me, echoed his mind again. And how easy it would be to just kiss him back, he thought. And how difficult.

“Some of us have to be at school,” Kyle muttered after a minute, handing Ilya his lighter and the pack of cigarettes. “Coming?” he asked Svetlana.

Svetlana nodded, grabbing her bag from where she’d thrown it.

“I’m going to be so mad if you ruin this for yourself,” was the last thing Kyle said before he walked away.

Svetlana lingered for one more second, quiet and studying Ilya’s face, before she followed him.

Ilya let out a deep sigh.

Or maybe it was a soundless shout.

The rest of the day he spent at the garage even though he didn’t have a shift. His boss’s gaze followed him around the shop, but he didn’t say anything. Ilya was grateful because he didn’t have any words to explain why he felt like he quite literally, physically couldn’t go to school.

Work was good. Work was brainless and that was what Ilya needed. He didn’t even check the clock, he just worked and worked and worked till no work was left and he found himself in the washroom at the back.

It was a cramped thing with only light from a window half covered with newspaper. Except for the glow of Ilya’s phone held unsure in one hand now.

His mind had wandered to it a few times during the day. Or maybe it’d been the only thing he could think of. The way he’d reacted to Shane’s kiss and the way Shane had left. He had to say something but like everything else in his life, even the idea of texting Shane had become a dilemma. The bullshit between them was too deep for Ilya’s first worry to be acting rude last night, but Shane’s panicked expression kept flashing in his mind. He must be freaking out, Ilya knew. Shane was always like that, ready to take all the blame for Ilya’s fuckups. That kiss was his fuckup, Shane hadn’t even meant it, Ilya knew.

But he was a coward and not ready to hear those words from Shane yet. His thumb hovered over their last conversation. Or rather, Shane’s messages he’d left unanswered last week.

   (05/04 06:13PM) Shane: Sorry I had to cut it short, Miles is here.

   (05/04 06:13PM) Shane: I’m still freaking out but don’t worry haha, it’s in a good way.

   (05/04 06:14PM) Shane: Let me know when you get your letters too, okay?

Ilya sighed. Yeah, sorry wasn’t going to cut it. He pushed his phone deep into his pocket and moved to the sink.

He took his time cleaning up, washing his hands, his arms, his face. When he raised his head and met his own reflection for the first time that day, he was struck by surprise. Not because of anything remarkable, but because he looked so normal. He’d assumed maybe there’d be a change after last night. That Shane kissing him would leave a physical stamp on his appearance but no; he looked as he always had. Poor lighting accentuating the lack of sleep, his face bleached too white, eyes sunken and cheeks in need of a shave, but just Ilya.

“Hey kid,” his boss called to him when he stepped back into the garage. Ilya saw the old face twisted to a smirk. “Someone’s here to see you.”

He tilted his head; Ilya’s gaze followed.

Svetlana raised a hand by the door.

“Go.” The old man chuckled. “Don’t leave your girlfriend hanging.”

If only it was that easy, Ilya thought, nodding and walking to the door.

“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to pick you up.” Svetlana shrugged.

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “And where are we going?”

Her face spread with a grin. “On a date.”

***

Shane had known Ilya wouldn’t be there when he’d dragged himself to school the next day. Or hours after crying in his mom’s arms, which way you wanted to look at it. He’d known Ilya wouldn’t be there because he’d barely been at school in the past few months and because Shane had fucked up royally last night.

So when he’d taken his seat in the geography class they shared together, it wasn’t the dread of seeing Ilya churning at the bottom of his stomach. It was the fear of not knowing when he would and how much of his heart that conversation would carve out of him.

At least his mind was occupied, he’d told himself as he’d tried to listen to the buzz of the lectures all day. He’d overloaded it till Ilya’s name had become a dull thrum, and he could easily lie and say it was Miles he was upset about when Rose had asked, and he could keep his mire of emotions all subterranean. A needed measure after the way he’d bared himself last night.

But school wasn’t forever and as the day was closing in on its final lights, Shane found himself alone in his room again. The dull thrum was waking up to a literal pain in his head, and while he tried to shut it down, keep himself busy, do anything but mellow in silence, he couldn’t stop its full force.

He was teetering on the edge as he lay on his bed, eyes darting across the ceiling. Not on the edge of a breakdown – which was also close by – but on the edge of doing one more stupid thing and calling Ilya. He wanted to, he needed to hear Ilya’s voice right now. Talk to him, his mother had said, and call him now his mind yelled, only he chickened out every time he tried. He just wasn’t sure if he had any nerve left. It was like he’d got sapped of any courage, expelled it all and left void, after the reckless leap he’d taken last night.

His indecisive fingers spun the cell phone in his hands. He stopped and pulled up Ilya’s name. Then spun it again. Spin, stop. Spin, stop. He didn’t know how close he was to convincing himself when Ilya’s name flashed on the screen.

He shot up on the bed.

And hesitantly answered. “Ilya?”

There was the buzz of static. Then Ilya’s familiar voice came. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shane breathed, hating how wobbly even that one syllable sounded. “I was just about to call you.”

“Yeah?” Ilya asked.

“Yeah.”

Silence hung and Shane clutched the phone tighter. Like he could hear something even without Ilya saying any words. In the static of the line, in his quiet breathing, Shane would find the reassurance he needed – that Ilya didn’t hate him, that he didn’t call just to cut the single thread he was holding by.

But all he heard was his own heart beating, the sound washing his ears. He gulped, trying to push it down, before he spoke. “Ilya, I—”

“Do you remember when we were like nine and I dared you to go down by the creek with me?”

Shane felt his brows crease. The creek sundering away from the river at the lower reaches, more mud and mulch than water, following trail to the forest surrounding the town. Not pretty to look at or pleasant to be around, perpetually starring in the scary stories nine-year-olds told each other. He did remember it, and the day they’d wandered there without telling their parents. He just didn’t understand. “When you claimed you could walk across the giant log over it, slipped, and gashed your knee open?” he asked Ilya. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” Ilya answered quietly. “I’ve just been thinking about it.”

In those words, Shane heard heavy weariness. He sagged against his headboard, wondering if Ilya had slept last night. He wondered where he’d been, where he was now. How did he feel, what did he think? How did he look? Pale and sullen, or just tired?

It was ridiculous, Shane told himself, trying to picture the face he’d seen only hours ago, the face he’d seen all his life, and feeling longing like a band closing around his throat.

“You called me a wimp provoking me, knowing I’d break the rules with you,” he told Ilya, feeling his lips twinge with a wistful smile. “You kind of got what you deserved, I think.”

Ilya breathed a laugh – just a mist when what Shane needed was a downpour. “You held my hand all the way back home as if I was going to pass out from having a bloody knee.”

“I’d just learned that people could die from blood loss,” Shane said, pulling the pillow next to him in his arms. He leaned his cheek on it, feeling his smile stretch wider. It felt like a million years ago when they’d been that tiny; his little jack-rabbit heart petrified that Ilya was seriously hurt, his small hand clutching the other boy’s. And Ilya pretending he wasn’t scared when his eyes shone with tears. “You swore me to secrecy that I wouldn’t tell anyone you cried.”

“Well,” Ilya’s voice pulled like honey. “I had a reputation.”

Shane laughed. “What reputation does a nine-year-old have?”

“Please,” Ilya answered, eye roll almost audible. “Don’t act like you don’t know the social hierarchies of a school playground.” He inhaled, deep and heavy, and added, “And you didn’t tell anyone I was the one who dragged us there.”

“I didn’t want you to get into trouble,” Shane admitted.

He hadn’t understood it back then, not entirely – because Ilya had always jumped headfirst into everything, because he’d always been covered in bruises – but Shane had known to keep quiet when he’d seen those tears. He wondered with guilt not for the first time how much of it he’d missed, how much of Ilya’s scrapes and marks had been his daredevil streak, and how much of it’d been Grigori.

It was an eternal reminder of how him loving Ilya wasn’t enough sometimes. Most things stayed suspended by frayed and alone threads, ready to snap any moment.

“Ilya, I…” He wanted to talk but his words petered out. All of a sudden, heat was prickling his eyes and his skin felt tight. Please, he said like a prayer, and Shane never prayed. Please, please, please. He just desperately needed Ilya now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come onto you like that, I was—” he choked, words charged with so much regret. “I was just so upset, and Miles just broke up with me, and—”

He stopped himself and tried to take a breath.

“Shane…”

He felt too naked, too raw, frantic even. Ilya would just slip through his fingers if he didn’t say the right thing. And the right thing wasn’t the honest thing. I wanted to kiss you last night, and maybe every night since the day I’ve learned what kissing was would be Shane’s honest thing. And Ilya couldn’t hear that. “I swear,” he said instead, begging his true feelings to not intervene. “I swear it didn’t mean a thing,” he lied.

Heartbeats passed and the static got louder in his ears. The static and his breathing. Shane would think the line cut off if it wasn’t for that damn static filling his ears and closing up his throat. He couldn’t swallow.

Then Ilya whispered, “I know.”

Shane’s reins snapped, burning eyes finally overflowing. “Ilya—” he choked out.

“Hey, no, no,” Ilya’s voice came immediately, so much closer, like he’d pull Shane into a hug if he was there. “No. I know, okay? I know and I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to react that way. You have nothing to worry about.”

“You’re my best friend and I—” Shane cut himself off, hating how blubbery the words came out. He hated it, hated crying to Ilya so much, but he couldn’t stop, little whimpers continued.

“Hey, don’t cry, please,” Ilya said, sounding so familiar and comforting that Shane’s tears did the exact opposite, they just kept flowing. “No need to cry, alright, and fuck Miles too. He didn’t deserve you,” Ilya said heatedly. “He didn’t deserve even a single hair of you.”

Shane felt the flare of hatred again, this time for Ilya. Because how could Shane not be in love with him when Ilya had always been the balm for his agitated nerves? How could he not think maybe he loved him too when all their lives he told Shane things like that?

But he didn’t, Shane reminded himself, dashing at his eyes. Ilya didn’t love him. It was the unwavering truth that Ilya wouldn’t ever love him, not like that, ever, and it was fine. Shane repeated it like a mantra. It was fine, fine, fine. He just needed his best friend after all – it was fine.

“Can you—” He sniffled, taking a deep breath. “Can you come over tonight?”

His words sounded pleading, he knew. Begging even and they were only followed by a long silence. But he couldn’t take them back now.

Then Ilya answered, “Sorry, I’m out of town. Uhm, I’m in the city.” He added, “With Svetlana.”

“Oh.”

It left Shane’s lips like a wisp.

That made more sense.

That made all the sense.

He felt fresh tears track his face, feeling his throat tighten again. It was dehydration, with all that crying. He tried to swallow, work some moisture back into his mouth, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from brimming.

“Hey, I said no crying,” Ilya told him, like he could see the tears dotting his pillow. “Are you still crying?”

“No…” Shane shook his head, but his voice was thick. He sniffled, rubbing his puffy nose, and grabbed a tissue from the bedside. He wasn’t crying, not anymore.

“You know what you should do?” Ilya said as Shane dabbed at his eyes uselessly. “You should check the second drawer of your desk.”

Shane’s brows furrowed but with a sniffle he got to his feet. Two steps to his desk and he wormed the drawer open. A watery chuckle left his lips when he saw his time-honoured birthday gift. He should have known. Ilya had said he hadn’t forgotten after all.

“Should I eat it now?” he asked, letting his chair catch his weight as he reached for the Snickers.

“Would that cheer you up?”

“Yeah.” Shane nodded, squeezing his gift in one hand. He leaned his temple on the desk, holding the phone to his other ear, and stared at the night sky outside his window. This would be enough, wouldn’t it? As long as Ilya didn’t forget his birthday gifts and answered his calls and just stayed with him.

“Please come over tomorrow,” Shane whispered, praying this would be enough. A new mantra. It had to be enough. “Or whenever you’re ready,” he told him. “We’ll talk.”

Ilya didn’t answer for a second, his breathing fluttering in Shane’s ear. Shane listened and matched the rise of his chest with that rhythm.

“Okay,” came as a whisper at last. “We’ll talk.”

It felt like it would be so easy to say it, then. I love you. It was at the rim of Shane’s lips; it was at the tip of his tongue. I love you. It was impossible but Shane had to relieve some of that pressure before his lungs collapsed. He said the next worst thing. “I miss you.”

He swallowed and held his breath.

It was a few heartbeats later Ilya answered, “I miss you too.”

With that a new tear slipped Shane’s eye, following the gravity and falling onto his desk. Ilya wouldn’t hear this one. This one was a bidden one, a silent, final one Shane allowed himself.

This would be enough, he told himself again. He would pretend this was enough. If Shane at nine could pretend it wasn’t Ilya who’d led them to the creek, if Shane at twelve could pretend Ilya didn’t cry in his sleep, if Shane at sixteen could pretend the words of Ilya’s father and Ilya’s broken nose didn’t belong together, then Shane at eighteen could pretend that he wasn’t in love with Ilya.

Shane would do anything for Ilya.

“I’m gonna let you go,” he mumbled; stupidly proud that it didn’t waver, that it didn’t crack.

“Shane,” Ilya called his name, sobering like fresh water. “You and I. We’re always okay, alright?” Then his voice quelled to almost silence. “And I don’t want anything to change that.”

Shane shut his eyes, nodding. He heard it crystal clear.

***

Ilya clicked off his phone. Then hit it against his forehead. Three solid taps to the center of his brain till it started to hurt. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel it as much as he’d like after the conversation he’d just had.

I swear.

He rubbed a hand on his face, pushing himself off the brick wall.

I swear it didn’t mean a thing.

He shoved the back door of the bar open.

Roars and laughter welcomed him, too loud for a Monday evening. He trailed his gaze through the interior, but it was an absent look – it all felt like a haze. Both literally and figuratively, as the atmosphere was thick with smoke and because Ilya couldn’t really pay attention. His senses were numb, his reactions delayed, and his mind zeroed in on one thing.

Come over tomorrow.

I miss you.

He found Svetlana perched on a stool by the bar; the guy tending about to trip and fall into her mouth. Thankfully this time her plans included less getting impulsive tattoos and more putting on a show for bartenders since she and Ilya had sadly forgotten their IDs.

So, booze. Her plan was booze and Ilya approved of it. A fantastic decision if he said so himself.

The bartender’s grin wavered when he slid into the empty seat next to her.

Svetlana didn’t acknowledge him, she just smirked and leaned closer. “So, me and my buddy,” she said pointedly. “We’ll need eight shots. No ten. Make it ten.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “Please?”

The guy’s stupid grin twitched back on for a moment before it thinned again. “You’re sure you’re over nineteen, right?”

Svetlana tilted her head. Gaze heated, she asked, “Do I look like a child?”

The bartender spluttered, then scampered off for their drinks.

Ilya rolled his eyes.

“Ten?” he asked. “I thought it was just going to be the two of us.”

“It is but personally I’m planning to drink a lot.” Svetlana turned the smile to him. “The guy I’m on a date with is about to cry and snivel about his hopeless love life in a second.”

Ilya huffed and stared off at the back of the bar. Around them, excited roars went up and down like tidal waves, glasses clattered, and liquor sloshed. He had to close his eyes and rub his temples.

The bartender brought their shots. Svetlana grabbed one, clinking it against his.

“I say this in the most loving way possible,” she said. “But you don’t look good.”

Ilya cast her a sideways glance, fingers covering his face. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Or the night before.

“Oh yeah?” Svetlana cracked a smile. “Spent the whole night thinking about Shane kissing you?”

Ilya dropped his hands. He took one of the shot glasses, knocked it back, not savouring the taste.

When you spent your entire life in close quarters with someone, there were some things you just knew, not remembering how you’d learned them. Like the pattern of their breathing. Or how their skin felt to touch. Or their scent inlaid with whatever new perfume they’d started to wear.

Ilya knew Shane’s a little better than most people would; his attempts to ignore them emerging futile every time. But a kiss, a kiss had the ability to rewrite all that. You wouldn’t know, not without kissing someone, how their breath hitched for example. And touching them wouldn’t feel like touching hotplates, searing the tips of your fingers. And the scent, the scent wouldn’t become taste without a kiss.

Ilya had thought about a lot of things last night.

It didn’t mean a thing.

There was a melancholic reassurance in that.

“You know that’s a good thing, right?” Svetlana nudged his knee with hers. “Kyle was not wrong. I mean, he was a little aggressive with how he said it, but he’s biased with his own in-love-with-my-best-friend bullshit.”

Ilya snorted. “It’s been years. He really needs to get over Kip.”

Then his lip crimped to a smile and an unsure one mirrored on Svetlana’s face. He snorted a chuckle; hers echoed his. Then his chest fell and rose and erupted with a loud, pathetic laugh.

It sounded hysterical; every shake of his body senseless. He wasn’t even drunk, not yet, but he felt half out of his mind as he and Svetlana laughed. One group in the corner exploded with guffaws of their own and another string left Ilya’s mouth. It was like the entire world was laughing along with him.

He didn’t exactly know what tragicomic was, but he thought this must be it.

“But that’s what I mean, Ilya.” Svetlana batted at him once she sobered. “That’s not you and Shane. I thought it was for a long time but now everything makes so much more sense.” Her batting hand turned gentle on his shoulder. “Ilya, he kissed you.”

The last of Ilya’s smile faded. “He didn’t mean it.”

“Stop,” Svetlana said.

Another shot Ilya reached for and downed. He stared off into the distance, the vodka bitter on his tongue.

“You know it was him I’ve just called, right?” he said after a moment, sniffling. He’d had to call Shane, before he got drunk and forgot. Or worse, called him after he’d got drunk. He’d had to hear his voice and listen to him cry and tell him what he’d needed to hear. It chipped away at him a little, but it would chip away at Shane a lot more if he hadn’t lied and said it was okay. “He said those exact words. He was confused, he was upset that Miles broke up with him.” He shook his head. “He didn’t mean it.”

Svetlana didn’t say anything for a minute, one finger trailing the rim of her glass. Then she huffed. “And that works just fine for you, doesn’t it?”

Ilya wet his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Svetlana said with a laugh.

“Look,” Ilya said, turning to her. “You don’t know Shane like I do, okay? Shane is earnest, he’s honest. He’s…” He blew a sigh. “I don’t know, he stands his ground. So if he meant to kiss me, he’d just say it.”

Another excited whoop went up. This time it felt like knives in his head.

“Yeah, I don’t know Shane,” Svetlana said. “But do you know what I know? All the little things you’ve told me about him. And all of those put together, it sounds like he just loves you and cares about you. So much, Ilya. So don’t you think that he could have just freaked out and lied because he doesn’t want to lose you?”

Ilya reached for another shot.

“He would,” Svetlana said. “I think he would do a lot for you.”

He knocked it back, the alcohol burning its way down his throat.

That’s the problem, Ilya wanted to say. He shouldn’t.

His mind went to the creek again. Little Shane Hollander lying with his ears flushed red and eyes blown wide without even knowing Grigori would hand Ilya his ass that night. Strange memory to fixate on.

“And you know that, too, don’t you?” Svetlana continued. “That’s what’s been killing you. All the other bullshit, Miles, Shane being upset, Shane being confused, they’re just excuses.” She looked at him, really looked at him. “What you’re really thinking is what if he meant it.”

Down the bar, ice clinked as it hit liquid, someone’s glass shattered.

Ilya’s breath got trapped in his lungs, his eyes burning under the flashlight.

“And just the idea of it scares you shitless.”

The image swimming at the below surface of his mind brandished again. It wasn’t a scary one – no. Not at first, at least. Not when it was just a mesh of things like kissing Shane and Shane kissing him. Countless kisses, surefire and willing kisses that Ilya wouldn’t have to keep track of. A mesh interwoven with things like waking up with Shane, and going to sleep with Shane, and him being Shane’s, and Shane being his.

Ilya spent years trying to ignore those flash images, and he’d been trying harder since last night. Allowing them would only give way to hope, and Ilya didn’t need that. Because hope gave birth to something so close to your heart, and you had to take every breath with caution to not crash its fragile life. And that nurturing became liability. And liability became blighting burden because reality rarely matched those flash images.

The bartender came back and tried to flirt with Svetlana. She cast him a look and made him go away. The sounds of the patrons got louder and quieter, roaring, rising, crashing, quelling. Ilya felt the first haze of drunkenness.

Still, he wasn’t sure if his numb mouth was because of the vodka, static rippling his tongue, making it hard to say something. Or maybe it was the exhaustion. Or it was the fact that Ilya never learned to talk. He’d always had so many things to say, but he’d always felt if he were to start with one, the others would be left untold. His words in English or Russian would never be enough, or he’d be put on a clock, or simply, he just wouldn’t know how.

“You know I’ve found her?” came out his first attempt because he had to say something, for his own sake. “Mom.”

And everything came down to that, didn’t it? Freud would have had such a field day with him.

Svetlana shook her head.

“No one does. Well, maybe except for Shane. I know I blabbed about that the first time we talked after she—” He stopped, letting himself take a deep breath. “I mean it was years ago and we haven’t talked about it again. So I don’t know how much of it he understands.” He glanced at Svetlana, then back at the row of shot glasses. “Everything about that morning feels hazy now but you know what’s the one thing I can’t forget? It’s thinking I don’t want to leave her. I mean, that’s crazy, I was twelve. There was nothing I could do but that, having to leave her that morning…” The vodka shone under the spotlights of the bar, reminiscent of the morning sun shining on her skin. “I’ve felt guilty about that for too long.”

The admission, said out loud for the first time in his life, closed up Ilya’s throat. He drank like that would help loosen it.

There were a few other things he could recall. Being mad at Andrei as he’d pulled him away from their mom. Losing his shit on Grigori for gutting her till all she was left was a desperate, depressed shell. Even the fleeting moments of anger towards his mother for leaving. They still lived with him. He’d grown up and Grigori had got meaner, and Andrei had become something else, and Ilya’s emotions had changed, got more complicated, but at their core, they stayed with him.

But the guilt was unmarred, unchanged, feeling fresh and alive. He knew it wasn’t logical; he’d been a child, naïve and abused, but he still felt like it was his fault somehow. He couldn’t stay with her, and he couldn’t stop her from leaving.

“It’s not that I’m pretending it didn’t happen, Svetlana. Or that I’m not, you know, what you say.” Fucked up. Traumatized. Both felt like difficult words to say at that moment. All of it felt very hard to articulate. “I just don’t have any means to deal with it,” he murmured. “I only have Shane.” Then through the knot in his throat, he managed to whisper, “And I don’t want to leave him.”

Svetlana’s eyes shone keen, always too keen. “But?” she asked quietly.

But he’d already taken so much from him, and he would take so much more.

But Shane deserved better; a better friend, a better companion who didn’t depend on him so terribly.

But Ilya was a selfish asshole, and he knew if he kept feeding on Shane, he’d swallow him up and snuff him out.

And where would Ilya be then?

He downed his last shot. “But I’d hate to lose him more.”

They fell quiet after that, and all Ilya heard was white noise. He knew the party around them was roaring still, he knew there was a song in the background and the bartender was chatting with someone down a few seats, but all Ilya heard and felt was a dull roar.

In his peripheral, Svetlana knocked back another shot.

“So what now?” she asked after a minute.

Ilya met her calm blue eyes; so different than the midnight blacks he loved, the polished backdrop of a million stars.

“The last time I talked to your father my answer wasn’t a no,” he told her.

“It wasn’t a yes either,” Svetlana said, and Ilya heard in her answer that she knew what he was thinking. “He said you didn’t know what you wanted.”

He nodded. He hadn’t. Seeing Shane with Miles had been hard. Knowing there would always be a Miles even harder. But Shane kissing him had overridden all of that, surfacing the real reasons why Ilya couldn’t go with him. If Shane had meant it, like a tiny part of Ilya hoped like an idiot still, it would only be worse. It would only give Ilya more opportunities to drain Shane till Shane hated him, till those flash image surefire kisses caught fire, till the tether holding them snapped beyond repair.

Till Ilya lost Shane forever.

As it’d made Shane’s breath on his cheek, Shane’s warmth under his hands, Shane’s taste on his tongue real, the kiss had made it clear that Ilya was a bit too fucked up, a bit too dependent, a bit too troubled to stay with Shane.

So what now?

“Is Boston nice?” he asked, thinking of the light pollution. Thinking about stars and freckles and midnight eyes. As long as those stayed unchanged, still bright, still charged, still Ilya’s in a way, he’d be fine.

Svetlana didn’t look surprised. She didn’t say ‘Now, Ilya? You made up your mind now?’

She just shook her head. “You know I suggested that so you could have something for yourself. But now it feels like you’re pushing away something better.”

Ilya shrugged. “I thought your offer was standing.”

Svetlana’s eyes studied him, and Ilya pictured what she was seeing. Tired eyes, downward lines, faked okayness like this wasn’t killing him. “It is,” she said at last. “I just don’t want you to make the wrong decision because you’re scared.”

It was okay. Ilya had been scared before. He’d been a kid growing too tall and never fitting anywhere, never sure-footed, never having solid ground under his feet. Slipping off logs and falling off roofs and holding onto Shane too desperately.

“It’ll be better this way,” he said. “Just a little distance till I—”

Found the solid ground? Got over Shane? Neither of them sounded likely. Till he stopped feeling this fucking much at least, he hoped. Till he stopped taking and taking and taking from Shane. Till what they had became a few visits a year, a few more phone calls, and the idea of that stopped killing Ilya.

It was better than losing Shane entirely, he told himself. He knew this was the right choice. Having crumbs was better than nothing; loosening the tie before it snapped was logical.

“You are really stupid, Ilya Rozanov,” Svetlana told him, beckoning the bartender with a raise of her hand. “Absolutely, truly moronic.”

Ilya’s eyes prickled with sand again and his breath felt thin. He felt absolutely, truly moronic as a chuckle left his lips. Svetlana batted at him again, the bartender slipped them new drinks, and Ilya felt the closest to crying in years when the group in the corner joined his laughter.

***

Tuesdays had the student council meeting, making Shane leave school later and more tired than usual. This Tuesday in particular was tenfold in its restlessness. The last two days felt like years and missing Ilya – knowing he’d see Ilya – felt like having his stomach in his mouth. Harris chattering in his ear as they stepped out of the building also did not help.

“I left my bike this way,” Shane told him at last, interrupting the exciting story of apple cider distillation but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about it.

Harris, being Harris, just grinned and skipped to his truck.

Finally left alone, Shane let himself release the breath he’d been holding all day. He rubbed a hand on his face, turned the direction his bike was at – and his step faltered. Immediately, the restlessness doubled – tripled – in size. By the bike rack at the other side of the parking lot, Grigori Rozanov was waiting for… well, what looked like him.

Shane’s mind spun a million reasons for why. He looked out of place, unfitting, unnerving, but there was no mistaking that presence. It was so uniquely Grigori Rozanov that Shane would recognize it anywhere, like his instincts picking up danger.

Ilya, he thought, suddenly. Had something happened to Ilya?

It was that thought that made his feet move again. He could walk the other way and leave his bike but the ill feeling behind that question overrode that notion.

It only ebbed a little when Grigori’s first words were, “Where is he?”

The fact that he didn’t know was a relief to Shane, and that thought only made the illness surge in him again. He didn’t want to talk to this man. He just wanted to get to his bike, he just needed to go home, and he just needed to wait till Ilya came back. That presence though – no movement, no action – felt like a wall between him and his way out of here.

He clenched his jaw and did not look up. “Where is who?”

“Don’t act stupid, boy,” Grigori said. He sounded calm, but beneath those words, Shane could hear a rumble. A sleeping fault line. “Where’s he?”

A man like Grigori Rozanov – a head taller than anyone, with what he believed the authority of gods – demanded you look at him. So Shane did. He tilted his head up, he met that gaze and he stared at that face.

It came with a slight surprise, how normal he looked. Nothing like the conjured-up images Shane had of him when he was a child, mixing together the glimpses of the man and Ilya’s fear he could feel. Grigori Rozanov looked human; not humane or lively, but aged and hateful.

With no trace of Ilya in him, Shane realized. And not because of the lack of curls and honeycomb eyes – both of which Ilya kept from his mom – or because of his jaw wider with age and his nose smoother with no proof of abuse. No, it was the lack of warmth that was different. The lack of candescence. It was that missing bonfire quality.

“I don’t know,” Shane told him. Somehow the realization that this was just a man – a man who hurt Ilya – made it easier to look at those ice-salt eyes.

They narrowed at his answer, the thin line of his mouth crimping. It wasn’t a scowl, nor was it amused. “He’s hiding, isn’t he?” he asked. “He knows what the hell he’s done starting a fight with the Kent boy.”

“Ilya didn’t start anything.”

“He just has to act like a moron. He just has to disrespect what I tell him. Selfish, ingrate kid.”

If it wasn’t for the strain in the veins of his neck, Shane wouldn’t see the bubbling anger under those words. It made him sick, it made his own rage flare up and wash his insides. Selfish? Selfish? He wanted to spit those words.

“Can I get to my bike?” he asked instead but the wire around his throat sheared every word into sharp edges. “Please?”

Grigori didn’t move, neither did his gaze. It was a cold laser on Shane’s face.

“You're smart, Shane, aren’t you?” he asked after a minute. “And a little bossy, just like that mother of yours.” His mouth twitched to a scarecrow smile before he clenched his jaw again. “No wonder Ilya turned out this way, with your overbearing and coddling. He’s always been too soft of a child, but this is…” His eyes moved across Shane’s face. “It’s just pathetic. He’s just pathetic. Just a pup ready to do what you tell him.”

Shane didn’t know what it was but being confronted like this, being called out on his behaviour, hearing all the wrong things about Ilya, and the word pathetic – they all went through his head like a drill. How much dislike this man could bear for his own son, macerated any of Shane’s self-control.

“You’re right, Mr. Rozanov. I am a little overbearing,” he said coolly because this man didn’t deserve his rage. “And Ilya does a lot of the things I ask of him because he’s a good guy who wants to see people around him happy.” He smiled; his Ilya who was good, and soft, and generous, and stubborn, obstinate, challenging. Who was everything but pathetic. “With the things that matter, though,” he told Grigori. “I can never get him to listen to me, because if I could, sir, I would make him take your ass to the police station the day I learned.”

The ice sheet mask of Grigori’s cooled even more; he knew what Shane meant.

“Despite all the shit you’ve done to him,” Shane said quietly, almost in his face. “He turned out to be perfect. And you’ll never see him again once we leave. You’re pathetic enough to hunt him down so you can, what, beat him up about Dallas? Go ahead. Come summer we’ll be in Montreal, and this is the last bit of bullshit he’ll take from you.”

No answer came at first, not even a twitch of a muscle.

Then Grigori cracked one more of those scarecrow smiles. “Montreal?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “He’s still planning for that then?”

“Yes,” Shane said. His voice didn’t waver, but his shoulders pulled tight. He didn’t know what it was, but Grigori’s demeanor made a nervous feeling crawl up his spine.

Then he spoke. “Strange that all those applications still sit on his desk then.”

The crawling settled in Shane’s ears, in his eyes, in his mind, at the back of his neck. It buzzed denser like a thousand bugs all at once. He bit his lip, drawing blood because that didn’t make any sense. Because he’d like to think he’d believe Grigori lying to him before he’d believe Ilya doing the same, but something about those bugs, eating away at his gut too, told him it was true.

“But I’m sure you have planned something for him,” Grigori clapped him on the shoulder, crushing a few under his palm.

***

By the time Ilya and Svetlana made it back to the town, the sun was set, and Ilya was feeling like dropping in the middle of the street.

He didn’t remember much of last night except for the giant cloud of memories that made him falsely promise himself that he’d never drink again. He could recall them getting their second round of drinks, then it was hazier images of them getting kicked out of the bar sometime in the early morning and spending the dawn hours trying to find Svetlana’s car. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in the back seat with every muscle cramped and his stomach cartwheeling. It’d taken hours for them to stop feeling sick so they could eat, and even longer for them to start feeling sober so they could drive.

Now Ilya just wanted a bed. Preferably Shane’s bed. But the conversation awaiting them was a serious one that was going to need a lot of emotional strength on Ilya’s part, and he owed Shane the decency to at least stay awake for it. And he owed himself fresh clothes and a shower.

He took one glance at Grigori’s house of horrors and found its windows pitch black. It didn’t promise anything, and he’d like to avoid the blowout about Dallas Kent for at least a few more days, but he took the gamble. Still, walking up to his bedroom, he kept his footfalls quiet.

Unfortunately, no lights meant nothing, as he found his father lounging on the armchair outlooking his bedroom window. With only light coming from the club lamp by the seat and Andrei standing next to him.

“What are you doing here?” left Ilya’s mouth as he halted by the door.

The sight of his father waiting for him in his bedroom like a predator would wait for its prey was a comical one, but the look he shot Ilya wasn’t unfamiliar. “It’s my house, isn’t it?” he said. “I thought I could check out the view from here.”

Ilya inhaled, a hard swallow going down his throat. The Rozanov household hosted many tense nights before, but this, his father waiting for him, felt different. This one felt charged, high voltage; it was an amp to the white noise in Ilya’s head.

Slipping his bag off his shoulder, he willed his feet to move into the den. He forced his hands to not tremble as he reached for his dresser.

“What are you doing?”

He stopped. He knew it was coming. He wasn’t sure of the magnitude yet, but something was about to break and disintegrate.

“Packing,” he answered and cleared his throat.

He didn’t know where that honesty came from when all he felt was agitation like needles under his skin. What he knew was that he was so fucking tired. He felt sapped of everything but raw nerves. Sapped of everything but the bitter laughs leftover from the bar, and the sting of Shane saying the kiss didn’t mean anything, and the heartache he’d been carrying since he’d found his mom dead.

They could just get this over with and Ilya could start a life. A Shane-less, depleted life but anything was better than here and now.

He pushed the sweatshirt in his hands into his bag. “I’m not staying.”

Grigori sprang to his feet and Ilya saw it in his peripheral. His reflexes were slow, though; too slow to take a step back before he got grabbed by the collar.

“What did you think you were doing picking a fight with Dallas Kent?” Grigori asked him, grip tight, voice cool.

It was that haughty coolness that chiseled Ilya, made him a little daring. “Standing my ground,” he said. “Putting up my fists, knocking some heads. Isn’t that what you taught me?”

Grigori narrowed his eyes, gathering the fabric tighter in his hands. “What I taught you, Ilya, was to be sensible. Not punching the kids of men I do business with, not humiliating me.”

Ilya couldn’t help the sour smile on his face. “Don’t worry, father. You won’t have me embarrassing you in a few weeks.”

“Yes, I won’t.” Grigori nodded. “Because you will listen to my word like your brother and do what I tell you.”

Ilya heard Andrei make a noise, but Grigori’s eyes were steel at his neck; he couldn’t look away.

“Start being a man,” his father hissed.

“I’m leaving town,” Ilya told him.

This time, it was a laugh that Andrei snorted.

Grigori got closer in his face, jaw clenching. “It’s that queer boy, isn’t it?” he asked, and Ilya felt the ground beneath his feet fall off. “I thought you came to your senses when you stopped the foolishness about going to college, but no, that little boy has you wrapped around his finger.”

“Don’t talk about him,” Ilya said, shaking his head.

Grigori scoffed, one hand letting go of Ilya’s shirt. “So you are a faggot too, boy, huh?” he asked, slapping Ilya lightly. “Is that it, huh?” Another slap on the cheek before he hooked Ilya up high again. “Because I knew. I knew you were always soft. This one’s not like Andrei, I told your mother, but she didn’t listen.” He huffed a laugh. “She just had to keep babying you.”

“Don’t talk about her,” Ilya tried to say again. Maybe he had but he couldn’t hear it, the dull roar in his head was spinning like a turbine now. Ilya had never done hard drugs before, but some must feel like this, he thought. Body catatonic, mind a million explosions.

“She was like you, you know?” Grigori continued, his face twisting with deeper ire. “Not queer but weak. She could never stand up for herself.”

“Don’t…”

“And a selfish bitch too,” he spat in Ilya’s face. “She had to go fucking kill herself.”

It was those last words, the overflow. They halted the spin in Ilya’s brain, killed the noise. He felt his eyes burn; he felt his hands shake. He remembered his hands, he remembered he wasn’t actually stapled to place when this man was talking, and he snapped.

A roar left him, and he clutched the arms around his collar. Grigori’s one hand grabbed him by the jaw at the same time Andrei shouted, “Ilya!”

“No!” Ilya shouted back, squirming. “No! You, you—” he almost spat in his father’s face. “You fucked her up! And you fucked me up too! You fucked me up so bad that I can’t—” He stopped. He grappled, twisted, yelled, but Grigori’s grip didn’t loosen. His eyes stayed steel. Ilya screamed, “If you’re gonna break my jaw do it, you fucking asshole!”

“Ilya!” Andrei stepped into their space.

“Shut up!” Ilya roared. “What the hell is wrong with you? He ruined you too! He ruined all of us! You were sixteen when she died, don’t you remember?” Ilya remembered, god, he remembered. Finding your mom dead, killed, the morning after you fell asleep with her, that put you off sleep for years. “You were sixteen,” he spat. “He, he—” He looked at their father, again, and felt so pathetic. “You killed my mom.”

That alit something in Grigori’s eyes and Ilya was shaken off and thrown across the room. He caught himself before he could hit the floor, feeling another roar in his head. It took him a second to realize it was his brother.

“Leave!” Andrei yelled at him, standing where Ilya was standing a moment ago, arm before their father. “Get out!”

“Andrei.” Grigori’s voice was a warning, but Ilya heard surprise there too. His looming, giant, bloodcurdling father wasn’t doing anything. His face was set with shock and something else Ilya didn’t understand.

“You know,” he heard himself say, his whole body shaking. His voice was choked up, but he didn’t let his tears fall. This man didn’t deserve his pain. “When I was a kid I wanted the two of you to just go away. Just leave me and my mom alone. Now—”

He stopped, taking in the sight. Of his brother, an unexpected shield between him and his father. And his father, frozen for once, pulled taut like Ilya.

Now, he wanted to say. Now I’m the one leaving, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

The trembles through his body were worse when he threw himself into the street. All the frustration, life-long anger, and helplessness, it all stung his eyes, dry and pained and constant. He only tried to stop his shaking and drew in a breath when he realized where he was going.

Shane.

He was going to Shane.

He needed to see Shane.

The kiss they could talk about later. College, Montreal, Boston they could talk about later. He’d be okay if they didn’t even share a bed or if they didn’t even brush hands. He just wanted Shane now.

He took another deep breath and dashed at his eyes despite the lack of tears.

It was so familiar, so abating, almost alleviating to climb up to that window.

The room was dark except for the light from the hallway when he pulled himself inside.

By the desk, Shane’s silhouette was traced silver.

Even seeing that felt like a gut punch Ilya hadn't been ready for. It’d been only two days since he’d seen him but the tears that refused to come with his father were loosening his jaw now, threatening to crawl up his throat. It was a flashback to coming here years ago, days after his mom had died, and finding air when he’d seen Shane.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound steady, trying to hide the remnants of his shake-up.

“Oh, you came,” Shane answered, face cast in shadows.

Ilya’s brows furrowed. That didn’t sound right. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

Shane didn’t say anything.

Ilya could see the pen in his hand, and the mindless way he was sketching on a paper. What he needed to see was that face, though, and those eyes, and the curve of his mouth to know he was okay, that they’d be okay. Because he was too close to the edge tonight, almost at the end of his rope.

“Yeah, I guess,” Shane said finally and got up. He turned on the lights by his bed and gave Ilya a once-over. “You look terrible."

His voice matched how he looked, rough and blank. Ilya felt the hollow space beneath his feet again. “Yeah, I—”

“So did you come here to tell me you lied about applying to college or are we postponing that conversation till graduation?”

Ilya’s mouth snapped shut.

He could see Shane's eyes now. Always gentle on his face, even in sadness, even when they were fighting; they looked so cold now. Too black and bite-edged.

Ilya felt stitched to the place except the place was hollow, hollow, hollow. With no leverage under his feet, he could only fall.

Shane sank on the bed. “It’s true, then?” he asked. “Your father wasn’t lying?”

That got through Ilya’s shock and guilt. “My father? You talked to Grigori?”

“He came to see me.”

“He came to— what?” Ilya snapped, taking a step towards the bed. “What the hell, Shane? Why didn’t you call me? Did he—”

“That’s not what we’re talking about,” Shane’s voice cut like a sharp knife, his expression sleet. “I put them all together for you,” he said, huffing a bitter laugh. “I prepared them for you. I wrote your name and the addresses on the envelopes for you because you don’t like your handwriting, and I—” He paused, and Ilya saw his pupils flit. “All you had to do was drop them off.”

The last part came as the quietest whisper, the stingiest shock. Ilya took another step, then stopped. He ran a hand through his head. “It’s, it’s— It’s just fucking stupid."

Shane took two strides towards him. “How is it stupid?” he asked. “How is it stupid? We’ve talked about this for years. I thought it was something you wanted as well."

“I was never gonna get in, Shane.”

“So what? You didn’t even try?”

“Yes, I didn’t even try!” Ilya threw his hands in the air. “What was I supposed to do? Get my hopes up for something that wasn’t gonna happen?!”

Didn’t Shane know hope was stupid? Didn’t he know you shouldn’t wish for silly things like your father not hurting you because you slipped off a log, or your depressed mother surviving the winter, or the boy you love loving you back, and college, fucking college?

“I had my hopes high.” Shane jabbed a finger in his own chest. “I, I— hell, this is not even about college, Ilya. You promised you wouldn’t lie to me,” he told him, and tears sprang to his eyes. “Why would you lie to me?”

Ilya ducked his head. “I was going to tell you.”

“Did I force you into this?” Shane’s words came like bullets now, shaky, rapid. “Do I— do I tell you what to do?”

Ilya shook his head. “No…”

“I just want to help you and support you.”

Maybe you shouldn’t, Ilya wanted to scream. Maybe you shouldn’t let me get away with soaking your spark into my palms.

“You can fucking do anything you want in Montreal,” Shane shouted, hands on Ilya’s chest now. “You can—”

He stopped when their eyes met. Ilya saw the moment he realized.

“I’m not going to Montreal,” he said in a whisper.

Shane’s eyes widened; his mouth twitched, then fell flat.

“Svetlana’s dad is going to find me a job.” Ilya swallowed. “In Boston.”

A sound left Shane's mouth; an empty, acrid laugh. “You’re leaving with Svetlana?”

“It’s not like that.” Ilya shook his head.

“But you are going to Boston?” The midnight eyes glowed with pain and he laughed again, seesaw sounds.

“Shane…” Ilya wanted to touch him, grab him by the arms so he – they – didn’t drop like rocks through his hollow. But Shane twisted out of his grip.

“So it wasn’t just college you were lying to me about?" he asked, teeth clenched. “You had this entire plan already?”

“No, I—”

“No, no,” Shane said with jerky nods. “No, this is new. You just had a change of heart and decided you don’t want to come with me.”

Ilya bit his tongue. This was what he meant by never learning how to speak. Because he could scream how that was the one thing he wanted the most, the one thing he needed desperately, but how could he explain the part that he just couldn’t?

“This is about the kiss, isn’t it?”

“It’s not about the kiss.”

Shane shook his head. “It’s about the kiss.”

“Shane—”

“I told you it was a mistake, Ilya!” he yelled. “I got fucking dumped, okay, and I liked Miles and he dumped me, okay? I was so fucking upset, I was drunk! I told you it didn’t mean a thing!”

“I know it didn’t mean a fucking thing, Shane!” Ilya shouted, then clamped his mouth shut. Shane’s eyes were moon-sized, flashed with tears, and this was all Ilya’s fault. This was how it’d always be. “I just—” he huffed, shaking his head. “I just have to figure out something for myself.”

“Okay.” Shane nodded, hysterical. “Okay! If Montreal wasn’t the place for it, you could just tell me. Hell, Ilya!” He pushed past him, knocking books off the shelves till he got what he was looking for. “Pick anywhere, here, pick!” he said, opening a map and pushing it in Ilya’s face. “Whatever country you want, pick! Pick! Wherever you fucking want we could go there.” A whimper left his lips. “We could fucking go together!”

“It’s just a five-hour drive, Shane,” Ilya was saying, all the notes he’d studied. He could say he wasn’t going, and hug Shane, wipe those tears away, because those hurt more than his own unshed ones, but that would just be a band-aid. It wouldn’t be enough. Shane needed to understand it wouldn’t be enough. “I’ll come visit you, okay? And we’ll talk on the phone, okay?”

“That’s not the fucking same you dipshit!” Shane shoved him in the chest. “You’re fucking moving to another country!”

“Shane…”

“I don’t fucking understand,” he yelled, tugging at his hair. “I don’t fucking understand. What the hell is in Boston that’s not in Montreal, huh?”

Ilya caught fire with that, from that open wire.

“It’s not what’s in Boston, it’s what’s in Montreal!”

Maybe the fire had been burning for a long time, and he’d tried to stifle the flames with anything he could find. But they started eating away at him, taking singeing bites, because everything Ilya was just dry weed, cotton squeezed where he was weak, papier-mache.

“Fuck, Shane! I have to be away from you!”

The moment that followed was the aftermath of that fire; eerie quiet. If Ilya’s words were a clap in the air, Shane’s silence was a whip-crack. It’d be a whisper in comparison if he screamed fuck you, Ilya!

No, he just stayed silent. And his face, motionless. No glinting eyes, no starburst of freckles. Just cold, petrifying hurt. It took Ilya a second to realize while trying to loosen the tie, you slipped the end sometimes.

“Then why are you still here, Ilya?” Shane whispered, voice a stranger’s. “In my house? In my room? In my…”

He fell quiet but Ilya heard the rest. In my life.

He ran before he could burn more.

***

The front door slammed shut downstairs, but Shane didn’t jump. His nails breaking the skin of his palm started to hurt but Shane didn’t unclench. It was maybe a minute, maybe a year before he heard the steps traipsing into his room.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He heard his mom ask and he heard in those words she knew he wasn’t okay. Not at all.

“Buddy?”

“Is— are—” His mom couldn’t find the words. Then she settled on, “We thought Ilya was staying tonight.”

Shane felt all his needles and his crawling bugs finally crack — like a million circuits. That’d been dreadfully obvious, hadn’t it? That’d been the upshot, the final knell of the bell.

“No, Mom,” he whispered. “He’s not staying.”

Chapter End Notes

ruined a friendship today, it wasn't mine

jokes aside, i know this wasn't a fun chapter but i think it was an important one. i couldn't really handwave ilya's abuse and pretend none of this shit impacted his self-worth and relationships with other people. i hope his decision didn't come off baseless, i hope it makes sense for the character.

if you are still here, please leave a comment (or not!) it's hard to see how many people drop off or continue reading with wips.

a bunch of songs for this chapter btw; touch by sleeping at last, i love you by billie eilish, tokyo by RM, first love/late spring by mitski, forever winter by taylor swift, and the central ilya song was black out days by phantogram ft future island

Chapter 9: stay

Chapter Notes

this sure is a chapter i've tried to write. it ended up too long for a chapter where i had to slow down the pace for some housekeeping with the characters and the plot points. it could be better but uhhhh, i don't think i can write it again. i hope you still enjoy it!

thanks for the almost 200 kudos btw, it's insane!!

June 2009

The first thing rousing Shane out of sleep was the fingers at the base of his neck. They were curled around his sweaty hair, startling him with the foreignness of their touch. They were gentle, but almost in a way that they felt flimsy – lacking. They were fingers unfamiliar, fingers different than the ones he was used to waking him up, fingers that were absolutely wrong.

The second thing rousing Shane out of sleep was Rose’s voice.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart. It’s a new morning!”

Shane’s face twisted.

“It’s a bright, happy, summer morning.”

He hugged the pillow in his arms closer.

“It’s June 1st already, you know?” The mattress sank and the fingers tugged at his hair. Shane would groan if he was awake enough. “Though I’m not sure how much you’ve been keeping up with the calendar lately.”

The fingers moved on his nape again. Shane tried to swat at them.

“You need to see some sun.”

Then there was the harsh sound of curtains being pulled, and the harsher light blooming behind Shane’s eyelids. His face screwed tighter as another voice sang, “We all need some sun.”

It was Jackie.

God. There were two of them.

Shane actually groaned this time but what left his mouth sounded more like a whine. He tried to push Rose’s hand away again and grudgingly cracked one eye open.

The room was too bright and the air in the small space was too thick. He hated the sunny expressions on his friends’ faces and he hated the birds chirping outside.

“…How did you get in?”

The words left his throat like dry sand through an hourglass. It was apt, his sleep-addled brain thought, with how he didn’t remember the last time he’d actually spoken out loud. Time had been ticking on weirdly in the past few weeks, but Shane was sure he hadn’t used his voice at least for a few days now.

“Your dad let us in,” Jackie said as she plopped on his other side.

“Your dad ushered us in, actually.” Rose shot him a look. “Because his son is acting strange and he’s worried.”

Guilt churned at the pit of Shane’s stomach like that was the only thing missing from the mix. He knew his parents were worried that he couldn’t spare more than a few words for them lately. That he made the upstairs his cocoon and he couldn’t even attempt his best acting when he said everything was okay. But saying anything else – talking – would feel like being seen naked right now. It’d feel like seeing himself naked, and Shane was happy with no reflections.

“You have to come to school with us, Shane,” Jackie whined.

“And yes, it’s a Monday.” Rose pulled the pillow away from him before he could burrow himself back. “And you still have to come to school with us.”

“I don’t care if it’s a Monday.” It came out as a grumble.

Rose raised an eyebrow. “You missed the last two Mondays.”

“I was just sick both days.”

“Oh yeah? Weird. You’ve been randomly sick seven out of the past thirteen school days.”

“That’s more than half,” Jackie whispered.

“That’s more than all your absences in the last four years put together,” Rose said.

“It’s not.”

“It probably is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Regardless,” Jackie said. “We only have one month left. This is supposed to be the fun part of high school, right? At least that’s what I heard.”

Rose nodded, still staring at Shane. Then she rolled her eyes and tugged at his hair again. “I know you genius dummy is already on your way to the country’s best school.” Her lips curled to a tiny smile. “But you can’t half-ass the last few weeks we have together.”

“Yes!” Jackie bounced on the bed. “You have to go out with a bang.”

“And I wanted to show you where I’m gonna stay in California in the fall,” Rose sing-songed. “It’s not exactly Hollywood but it’s super cute.”

“And we have a prom to plan for,” Jackie said.

Rose laughed. “Everyone’s so excited.”

“Harris has so many ideas already.”

“He’s been talking about doing a survey across the school.”

“Well, he has like so many ideas.”

“Some of them are very over the budget, by the way.”

Jackie rolled her eyes fondly. Then she clapped. “And we still have a trip to plan for!”

Churning acid in Shane’s stomach rushed to his mouth, sour.

“Hayden said we should rent an RV or something, it’d be so much cheaper with seven people.”

“Jackie,” Rose murmured, her smile gone.

It was like a knife to Jackie’s excitement. The already scant air turned gelled and stifling. Shane felt overheated, too aware of the skin he was in and too aware of the sound of silence. He fixed his gaze on a far-away point.

“Sorry,” Jackie murmured. “I don’t think sometimes. You know.” She huffed an empty laugh. “Being with Hayden does that to you.”

Shane only nodded.

“It makes sense,” Rose said with attempted levity. “Be together with someone for so long, you start acting like them.”

Jackie didn’t laugh.

The birds’ chirping sounded like nails on a chalkboard now. And without even looking, Shane knew the sunny expressions had died. He could feel the apologetic eyes on him. Taking a deep breath, he looked up.

Jackie’s face was pinched. “I’m sorry, Shane.”

“It’s okay.” Shane shrugged.

She gave a nod and reached out a hand. Her fingers brushed away the hair on his forehead. Another gentle touch, meant to be comforting, but Shane didn’t know where comforting ended and pitiful started now. He didn’t like the gesture.

“I don’t like my hair played with,” he said and cleared his throat when the words sounded too strained.

Jackie attempted a smile and dropped her hand. Though her eyes still held that sorry glint.

Shane tried to swallow and felt the sand crowd his pipe again. And he himself felt like the see-through hourglass itself. Was he wrong to avoid people, school, his parents, his friends when it was crystal clear to everyone how he felt? Like cheap, frail glass filled with gravel.

He felt Rose’s hand on his arm. “She’s right, you know?” she said when he looked at her. “You still have your trip, and we should make sure it’s fantastic, right?” She smiled. “Even with just the six of us.”

“Yeah.” Shane nodded, pulling himself to a sitting position. “Yeah, yeah. The trip is fine.” The trip was not fine – nothing was fine. “I’m just thinking about what you said about Harris. How over the budget are we talking here?”

Rose’s brows drew together.

“Because the party committee already spent so much on school dances this year.”

“Shane.”

“Do we even have enough time to put this together?” he asked. “Why did we leave this to the last month?”

“Shane.”

“I shouldn’t have skipped the meeting last week.”

“This is what I mean you know.” Rose glared at him. “When you’re with someone for so long.”

“Yeah,” Jackie mumbled. “But Ilya deflects by making jokes.”

Shane sprang to his feet.

“Why do you avoid talking about him?” Rose asked without losing a second.

He found himself by the window. Under the sun’s glare, it was hard to see a reflection on the glass pane. “I’m not avoiding anything.”

“You don’t walk by the coffee shop, and you don’t go to school on the days you know you’ll see him,” Rose said. “And I know you asked Hayden if he’s still coming to school.”

Shane pressed his lips together. He couldn’t see much of the outside without his glasses, and that felt like a blessing right now. Because when his senses came into sharp focus, he did stupid things like that. Like calling Hayden so he could know if Ilya still came to school. Like watching Ilya’s way and risking talking to Andrei of all people to learn where he was. He didn’t stay at the Rozanovs, Shane knew that much, but he didn’t know where he was. And that made guilt and fear ate away at him. That day in the school parking lot, had he tempted Grigori to do something? Because that wouldn’t be good news for Ilya, right, and where would he go, then?

“Shane.”

Especially when Shane had all but told him to get the fuck out of his life.

“Shane.”

But Hayden had said he was coming to school still.

He was fine.

He was fine.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

The birds chirped, loud shrieks in Shane’s ears. He wouldn’t have to hear this right now if he could just go back to sleep. Like he’d done the last how many days.

“Why are you not telling us what happened?” Rose asked. “Did you guys have a fight?”

Shane wanted to laugh. He wanted to bark a guffaw so loud till all the sand and the gravel in his lungs were coughed up.

“Is it about him going to Boston?”

Then Jackie said, “Did you tell him you’re in love with him?”

Shane spun on his heel. “Rose?!”

“What?” Rose looked surprised. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?” Jackie asked, looking between them. “I thought we've all known since 7th grade.”

“I wasn’t even out in 7th grade.”

“When I say we all, I mean everyone but you,” Jackie said with a shrug. “And probably Hayden.”

So fucking see-through. He was already bared down. Hell, apparently he’d always been bared down. So there was no fucking sense in keeping it to himself. And if Shane were to be perfectly honest, he didn’t know how many more soundless days he could go before his throat was abraded beyond repair.

“I kissed him.”

The girls’ mouths fell open.

“And he pushed me away,” Shane admitted. “And he freaked out.” He wet his dry lips. Again and again, till the last words came out. “And he decided to leave me and go to Boston.”

If his voice broke on leave me, neither Rose nor Jackie’s expression had betrayed that. Shane felt grateful.

Rose blew out a breath. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Jackie looked confused. “That doesn’t sound like Ilya.”

“Oh.” Shane laughed. “It sounds exactly like Ilya.”

There was nothing more Ilya than running away and avoiding confrontation. Nothing more Ilya than lying to Shane. And the most hurtful part of that – the part Shane had cried enough over and didn’t want to anymore – wasn’t the lies about college or even Boston. It was Ilya telling him they’d always be okay.

He’d promised the two of them would always be okay.

That was the shittiest thing he could lie about.

Shane clenched his jaw and picked up a shirt from where he’d chucked it. And a pair of unmatching socks off the floor. And a sweater – Ilya’s sweater – he hadn’t worn since the cooler nights of spring. He hadn’t realized when it’d all got out of hand, but he’d let it. Like the biggest idiot who’d ever walked this earth.

“Are you sure those were his words?”

Shane looked at Jackie. “No,” he said with a headshake. “His words were he wanted to be away from me. Oh, sorry, he needs to be away from me.”

Jackie lowered her head.

Shane did the same. Because if his eyes caught Rose’s at that moment, there was a chance whatever dam holding him would give in. Because Rose had been there when he’d said it – when he’d admitted that the thing that scared him the most about his feelings for Ilya was the possibility of losing him forever. And now he’d got what he’d feared the most, and ever since, everything looked a bit wrong. Light broke in a way that defied the laws of physics. Like something had upset the ordinary.

“So, no, I don’t want to talk about him.” Shane abandoned the laundry on his desk. Who cared? Who fucking cared? “And I don’t want to go to school on Mondays.”

Silence stretched between them, and Shane drew in deep breaths. He wanted them to leave. He needed them out of here.

An unimpressed noise left Rose. “That sounds very Un-Shane Hollander.”

“Just because I have good attendance doesn’t mean I’ve never skipped school before, Rose.” Shane finally looked at her; glowered at her. “Hell, I can afford to miss every single Monday this month and still graduate just fine.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Rose told him, getting to her feet. “I mean not talking to him. I mean avoiding him.” She shook her head. “You are someone who just goes for it. Whatever it is, you always look it in the face.”

She sounded disappointed and Shane had to swallow.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me either.” His voice came out quiet. Ilya hadn’t called once either. So what was the point? “So what’s the point?”

“The point is,” Rose said, stepping into his space. “That the Shane Hollander I know wouldn’t let him go without an answer.”

The chirping birds were joined by yipping dogs and the neighbourhood waking up. A summer morning where the light bounced wrong only for Shane and his breath, caught, jammed the way for the only words that flashed in his mind.

I don’t know how to be Shane without Ilya.

That was why everything felt a bit disorienting, wasn’t it? Why his parents and his friends worried. Because Shane didn’t know how to act without Ilya. It was like Ilya had left him with a chestful of feelings, and thoughts, and time. And Shane had no idea where to put them. Shane had no idea how to just be without Ilya. He’d never had to learn.

The thought of how he would need to now hit with heavy nausea.

“And he would wash his hair every day and not miss geography third week in a row just because Ilya will be there,” Rose whispered, squeezing his arm. “We’ll wait in the kitchen.”

She and Jackie padded downstairs, and Shane could only stand there for a moment.

Every so often, since their fight, he’d get this ridiculous idea that what he felt was very much like grief. Only he’d skipped a few stages. There was nothing to deny, and there was nothing to get angry about or bargain. He’d accepted that Ilya was leaving, and he would have to accept that he’d have to learn how to be without him.

And looking around the room, Shane didn’t like this new him. He didn’t like that his hair felt waxy, and he hadn’t cracked a window in a while. He didn’t like that he’d missed the student council meetings and he’d missed so much school so close to the finals. Rose was right. This wasn’t Shane Hollander.

That was what he repeated to himself as he opened his windows to fresh air and took a shower, and as he walked through the school doors. His doors and his hallways he’d felt belonging to all his life. Shane Hollander was stubborn. He’d look Ilya in the eyes and demand they talk; an apology or a goodbye, he wasn’t sure, but they’d talk, and Shane would be okay with whatever he got.

His steps, though, failed to cooperate. They slowed and came to a grinding halt as he entered the classroom he’d shared with Ilya every Monday morning this past year. He stood there frozen, naked. Frail glass.

Ilya’s hair bounced as he looked up; Shane could only avert his eyes.

And he could take a seat, only at the front and not the one next to Ilya.

He gulped, trying to push the coarse sand and the acid back down. Trying to ignore the eyes on the back of his neck.

Time. It would just take a little time. Bit by bit, he’d put himself back together.

***

“You just can’t afford to miss any more school, Ilya.”

Ilya dragged his gaze away from the clock above the principal’s desk to the man himself. Bruce Cooper’s hands were steepled in front of him and his eyes were unblinking on Ilya’s face. He looked as stifled in his suit as Ilya did in the small office.

“I know,” he answered, gruff.

“I have two students going to the best school in the country on full scholarships.” Cooper’s voice was calm and cool. And grim. He liked this conversation as much as Ilya did. “I have a kid bound for the NHL. And by the luck of good God, it seems like all of you are graduating this year and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I know,” Ilya said again and rubbed his nose. “Because I swear I just saw Dallas Kent cut in the line in the cafeteria.”

Cooper lowered his hands. Ilya saw a vein tic on his temple. After almost eighteen years in his father’s house, he knew what that meant; and after the last three weeks, he had little shit to give about it.

“The school has taken disciplinary action about that.”

Ilya huffed. “You gave him two weeks of suspension.”

Cooper’s unblinking eyes roamed his face. “The videos presented against your classmate didn’t show any faces.” He flattened his hands on the surface of the desk. “No one came forward with details. Even if the things Dallas has been accused of actually happened,” he said, like all the things Troy had said on Shane’s birthday were baseless, like Dallas Kent was a paragon of virtue and not the bottom of a shit bucket. “It wasn’t on school grounds.”

Ilya shrugged. “You should have kicked him out.”

“I didn’t call you here to ask your opinion on these matters, Mr. Rozanov,” Cooper said. “We have a disciplinary board for that.”

Ilya couldn’t help the noise in his throat.

Cooper’s eyes narrowed and his jaw flexed. He leaned forward. “I didn’t even call you here to discuss you assaulting your classmate. Though you should know I haven’t forgotten about that.”

A snide smile found Ilya’s face. “It wasn’t on school grounds.”

Cooper huffed and cracked an unamused smile of his own. “Yes, it wasn’t. So,” he bit out. “Do as I say. Come to school this month. Don’t muck up your final exams. Keep your head down.” Then with gaze as intense as the stress he put on Ilya’s name he said, “And don’t make this difficult for yourself, Ilya.”

Ilya clenched his jaw. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Cooper nodded. His eyes dragged away from Ilya’s face, and he checked his watch. “And you can leave now.”

Ilya didn’t mean for the chair to grate on the linoleum as he pushed himself to his feet and left, but the movement sounded like an animal in pain screeching. It felt fitting of the cold pins prickling him in the chest and the need to crawl out of his skin lately.

It wasn’t even Dallas; it wasn’t even the gentle reminder of how punching that asshole could still cost him his senior year. It was spending the last four years working and studying and cramping himself into million folds for other people’s bids. He knew what he needed to do to graduate and to get the fuck out of this town – and he would, even if he had no one holding his hand anymore.

And he knew his irritation over the conversation with the principal was disproportionate; it was the Monday blues.

His steps clapped against the hallway floor as he stormed, and he almost collided with someone.

A bubble of laughter, however that would sound like in his current wounded state, threatened to leave his chest when he looked up and saw Shane.

The sorry or excuse me or whatever polite apology was frozen on his face, eyes buck-wild like he’d been caught in the flashlights. Fingers curled around the strap of his bag tightly.

Ilya felt the laughter turn into a bitter surge.

The sight of Shane pretending he didn’t exist this morning, him turning his back to Ilya like he wasn’t there was still too fresh in his mind. It was like someone had split him down the middle with reflective glass, making him exist on parallel but opposite images. One side of him had been relieved to finally see Shane coming to school; the other unreasonably mad over the way he’d ignored Ilya’s eyes, the way he was ignoring Ilya’s eyes right now.

And presently too, Ilya was at two minds. He wanted to plant himself there and just look at Shane – because this was the closest Shane had been to him in weeks – and he wanted to rush out of there with blind survival instinct, and never look back.

It was that part that made him take a step sideways, only to find Shane intercept him again. It wasn’t intentional, if the quick way he moved in the other direction was anything to go by, but this time Ilya mirrored him. Also unintentional. It was the most ridiculous dance they’d put together for a few moments before a low groan ripped from Ilya’s throat, and in two big strides, he walked past Shane.

He didn’t shoulder him on his way, he would never. But he wanted to shoulder something, anything. Just a shove, a kick, a punch again to expel all the feelings in his chest till all he was left with was sweet emptiness. But more than anything, he wanted to hide; like a child would hide in the closet till his parents’ quarrel died down or the rain stopped. But this school was too damn cramped for that, and the town too damn small, and his skin too damn tight.

Still, he sat the rest of his classes. And he made it to his shift at four o’clock on the dot. Though it mattered little now what time he was at the garage as he’d been staying there for weeks. It’d become a fairly regular fare for Ilya to drop his stuff by the cot that knotted his shoulders and back every night and get on with the job anytime to work till after closing hours. His boss had been understanding. Or rather, he liked the free labour.

It was less regular, however, to see his brother by the door when he raised his head from the boot of a car. It was unprecedented, actually. But Andrei stood there, gaze searching the interior before finding Ilya’s.

Ilya’s hackles went through the roof; his fists clenched around the wrench in his hands.

“What are you doing here?”

His tone couldn’t be any less antagonistic, but Andrei just shrugged. Closing the distance between them, he said elegantly, “Just dropping off some shit,” and shot the duffel bag he had over his shoulder to Ilya.

Ilya caught it with slight surprise. It felt light in his hands, but not empty. Clothes. After weeks of being away from home, Andrei thought to bring him his clothes? The mere idea made the knots in Ilya’s back coil tighter.

“I don’t need clothes.”

He didn’t; he’d replaced what he could already. Not that he’d accept them otherwise. So, he threw the duffel back at Andrei and looked down at the trunk.

He couldn’t see much, he realized, as sunspots crowded his eyes. He wasn’t having a good day, he wasn’t having a good month, and this work in June heat was already unbearable without his brother being here for reasons Ilya didn’t understand. But Andrei stayed, his sunbeam gaze laser-focused on one spot on Ilya’s face, like it wasn’t going to cause Ilya to burst out of his skin any moment now.

Then Andrei came closer. “Polina is thinking about turning your room into a display for her finest china.” A scoff left his mouth and Ilya found the duffel shoved against his chest. “It’s not just clothes. I brought your junk along, too.”

Ilya moved his gaze to the bag in his arms. Then dragged it up to Andrei.

“I thought you might appreciate it,” his brother said with a shrug.

The heat in the space rolled off in waves, now. And Ilya was shocked to see a glint of sincerity in Andrei’s eyes.

He looked down and opened the duffel on the trunk of the car. It was a bunch of clothes like he’d expected. And a bunch of Ilya’s rubbish like Andrei had promised. A few books he’d loved as a child, a model car he’d somehow convinced his parents to buy, a lot of silly Christmas gifts – all the silliest ones from Shane.

And a framed photo of their mom with her curls reaching her shoulders, her smile frozen in place, and her two sons at her two sides. More still life drawing than a portrait of a family.

Ilya tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He put the frame back down with fumbling of his fingers and a clumsy breath.

When he looked up Andrei was watching him. Hands in his pocket, stance nonchalant as it’d been all their lives. With Grigori’s eyes and Grigori’s demeanor so familiar to Ilya, but with that foreign glint in his gaze right now.

“Why are you doing this?”

Ilya didn’t know how but he managed to keep his voice casual, with no intonation. Though the rolling heat in the room, the coiled knots in his back, and Andrei’s eyes made it obvious they both knew what he was actually asking. It wasn’t a question of why Andrei had come here, trying to do a decent thing for once in his life. It wasn’t even a question of why he’d let Ilya go that night. It was just a simple question of why. Because there was no way Andrei hadn’t been hurt by losing their mom, and there was no way Andrei hadn’t been hurt by Grigori.

“It’s easier this way,” he answered with a shrug. Then gave Ilya a blue smile. “You just always had a tendency to make things harder for yourself.”

Ilya wanted to look down, but he couldn’t. It was a non-answer, but it made him see Andrei differently for a minute, made him understand the glint in his eyes for one moment. It wasn’t sympathy or forgiveness he felt – because he’d always be resentful of his big brother for never being his big brother – but it was light reflecting a new way through the magnifying glass.

Their father had been a big man, an important man, with steps heavy and movements grave. And since the beginning, he’d put them under his feet and rolled them like rocks and rags till all they were left was rubble and dust. For Ilya, it’d meant a lot of kicking and screaming back. For Andrei, it’d meant confirming so it stopped hurting, and being okay with the way he was left.

Yes, it was probably easier, Ilya assumed. And a lot harder. Because if there’d been one crack of light in these past few weeks – amidst all the overwhelm, and amidst losing Shane – it was knowing he’d be leaving soon.

It was knowing he’d never see that man again. And he’d probably never see his brother either.

He gripped the framed photo again. Eyes flicking to Andrei, he said, “You can keep this if you want.”

He had a few pictures of their mother. It was an irrational offer, but something in Ilya wanted Andrei to remember him. He didn’t want a rekindled brotherhood, he just wanted someone to remember that he’d existed in this town, in that house. And know that part of Ilya.

But Andrei shook his head, eyes on the frame. “I have other pictures of her.” He smiled and looked back at Ilya. He held his gaze, for one last moment. “Take that one to Boston with you.”

Ilya gave a clipped nod.

His brother walked away.

***

“Can everyone calm down, please? I set up this emergency meeting for a reason.”

“And again, why are we having an emergency meeting about prom?”

“Mondays already suck. I want to go home.”

“You don’t think prom planning is an emergency?”

“Harris, you are the only person who thinks prom planning is an emergency.”

“That’s kind of rude, Gen.”

“I want to go home,” Hayden moaned again.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Jackie muttered.

“Didn’t you already ask people?” Rose asked, eyes on Harris. “I thought we have settled on the theme already.”

“I did,” Harris said with a nod. Then pursed his lips. “But Under the Sea is a tired concept.”

“Well, that’s what people picked.”

“That’s not how democracy works. There’s a reason we have a council.”

“We are a committee. And none of us are elected representatives.”

“Semantics. We should make a swift and better decision.”

“It’s just prom, Harris,” Gen grumbled.

“Just prom?”

“Yes.”

“This is important.” Harris waved the papers in his hand. “And I’m thinking Disco.”

“No!”

“That’s so cheesy.”

“Well, if this is a council, Shane should have veto powers as the only elected person.”

“Shane, veto it!”

“The student body's dependent on you, president!”

“I—” Shane said and shifted in his seat. The whole meeting had been like a ping pong ball going in all directions across the room but now everyone stopped and turned their fervent gazes on him. Except for Hayden who had his face in his arms and was being patted by Jackie. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Jackie simply said.

“Shane.” Rose’s face pinched. “I cannot have prom pictures where I’m wearing disco couture.”

Shane turned his head to Harris – who looked kind of wild, honestly – and cracked a hesitant smile. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t think anyone wants Disco, Harris.”

Chaos went up in the room again, Harris’s voice upfront. Shane looked at the list of ideas and themes in front of him, but his eyes were strained behind his glasses, and he could barely see. This past week had been a little bit of a struggle for Shane, to gather his bearings and remember all his responsibilities. He was a bit tired, but this was Shane Hollander at his core, wasn’t it? So he tried to pay attention, shaking himself and trying to concentrate on the discussion because this was important. This was something Shane would lead and direct and try to make sure everyone got the best out of that one night.

But his mind kept going back to this morning.

The second Monday morning where he’d tried to talk to Ilya but this time he hadn’t even been given a chance. Or more realistically, he’d never had a chance, if the way Ilya had groaned and left him in the hallway last week was an indication. Like the way he’d said he needed to be away from Shane hadn’t been clear enough, Shane thought pathetically. But he’d promised himself he would at least try and this morning he’d entered the classroom more determined, more Shane-like. But Ilya already had someone sitting next to him and he hadn’t even raised his head. And once the bell had rung, he’d stormed out of there.

Shane hadn’t seen him again after that. And he didn’t know where Ilya would be right now, and that was the most hilarious thought. Ilya would get lost sometimes, yeah, he’d be with people Shane had never met, he’d be at places Shane had never seen, and he’d have this tiny pocket life Shane had never got to learn. Especially since Miles, since the gap between them that Shane had dug with his own hands. But Shane would still always know. He would always know where Ilya would be. Even when not given the precise location, he’d always have the luxury of knowing with one question, Ilya would tell him. Ilya would come back to him.

He didn’t have that luxury anymore. And even if he did, even if he knew where to find Ilya right now, he couldn’t talk after the way his nerves had wisped into the air this morning.

God, how could someone fail at this? How could Shane, of all people, fail at what he’d sought out to do, what he should do?

“I think we should reconsider the Disco idea. Enchanted Forest, Gen, really?”

“How has Enchanted Forest been done too many times, but not Disco?”

“It’ll be my take on Disco!”

“Shane already said no,” Jackie whined.

“What about Red Carpet?” Rose suggested.

“Red Carpet?!”

“I mean—"

“Shane, please tell the rest of the council we are not doing Red Carpet.”

“Shane, please tell Harris we’re not doing Disco.”

“I want to go home!”

“Enough!”

It took Shane a moment to realize the sound had come from him. And to see his hands trembling, the papers crumpled in his two fists. This discussion didn’t matter. It didn’t even make sense. Nothing in that moment in his life mattered or made sense. “Why are we still arguing about this?” Shaky breaths went through him. “This is freaking ridiculous; we’ve already made a choice. It’s already the 8th. We have less than two weeks to put this together and I have other stuff to deal with!”

All the eyes in the room stared at him wild, shocked, and Shane’s chest heaved.

“I have a lot of stuff to deal with actually!” He couldn’t stop. “I have the thing with the yearbook, and I have the debate club, and my parents, and college preparations, and tomorrow I have a quiz on…” He shook his head. He had a quiz, something to study for, but he couldn’t remember at that moment. All he knew was he didn’t have time. He was running out of time. “This is a waste of my time. Let’s just pick something. Disco, Under the Sea, whatever. We should have this done already!”

He felt a hand touch his wrist. He gulped down when he saw Harris’s open gaze on him. “Shane,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. It’s just prom.”

Shane bolted off his chair. “Excuse me.”

Once he was in the empty, after-hours hallway of the school, he tried to breathe. And he tried to blink away the strain in his eyes. It was like every sight, every sound was shifted off slightly, and everything in his body had gone wack. He didn’t know what had triggered it, but he couldn’t breathe.

He would go to the library, and he would study for whatever that exam or quiz he had. That would make him function as he was meant to for a while. It’d stop things from feeling so overwhelming for a minute. He was used to being pulled a million directions, after all. Being the best at his studies, at school duties, at sports, in debate, in manners; the best student, the best son, the best friend. So, he’d get his bearings, reorient.

And it would be so easy, if only on the way to the library he hadn’t passed by the open doors of the gym, and he hadn’t seen Ilya helping the coach with something.

He halted in his tracks. And just looked. And the sight of Ilya, candid, unaware, beautiful, made him remember why this was better than lying in his bed with no movement, no sound, no try. Why Shane had filled up his schedule and filled up his head like he always would. Because otherwise – without the struggle to stay on top of school and trying to convince his parents he was okay – he’d just feel empty. Not bored because even the boredom Shane had known all his life would be accompanied by Ilya; next to him on the couch huffing and complaining about time not passing. No, Shane would just be empty again, like the days and weeks following their fight. This was better than that. It was a million times better than that, Shane tried to convince himself. This was an effort at trying to have something, anything, pass through him other than sand and rubble.

After looking his fill, drinking in the sight of Ilya, he would just go and do exactly that. Busy himself. Study. Have dinner with his parents and pretend their questioning gazes didn’t exist. Set up a new meeting for tomorrow and talk to Principal Cooper about the yearbooks. And when a voice maddeningly like Ilya would say put down your pen, you’re killing yourself, it’s enough, he wouldn’t listen.

Shane would stay on top; he would take care of things. Even though the thing he wanted to take care of the most wouldn’t look him in the eyes anymore and trying to keep on top, trying to reach every direction, felt a little bit like coming apart.

***

“Why have we never hooked up?”

Ilya stopped the towel he was rubbing on his head. He glanced at Kyle lying on his bed and was met with a teasing once-over given to his bare chest. “Because you like guys with dicks shriveled up and about to fall off.”

“Hm,” Kyle said with pursed lips. Then shook his head. “I actually always thought it was because you were saving yourself for Shane but look how that turned out.”

Ilya’s jaw twitched. “Kyle.”

Kyle mimicked zipping his mouth, though not before a grin flared on his face.

Ilya continued drying himself. The sound of the tv at the background mixed with Kyle’s humming of a song and the evening was long settled dark outside the window. He kept his moves swift, efficient. After helping Coach Wiebe with the gym equipment today, followed by his shift at the coffee shop and the relatively long shower he’d just taken, all his body wanted to do was crash and switch off.

After throwing the towel in Kyle’s hamper, he nudged his knee. “Thanks for letting me use your shower,” he said for the hundredth time this past month. While the garage had a usable washroom in the back, even Ilya needed the luxury of a real shower sometimes. And he needed to do laundry. “And the washing machine. And lending me clothes in the first place.”

Kyle looked him up and down jokingly again. “Sure.”

Ilya kicked him this time and pulled his shirt over his head.

He heard Kyle laugh, pull himself upright on the bed, and say, “Though you know what? You can just go to Shane’s and pick up the clothes you have there. And in the meantime, make up with him!”

Ilya’s jaw ticked again.

“Actually,” Kyle continued, ignoring the drop-it look. “Tomorrow at school, I can just drop that you’re sleeping in the garage, and he’d just take you right back.”

Ilya knew there was no real intention behind Kyle’s words – he wouldn’t tell Shane when Ilya had specifically asked him not to; he shouldn’t when Ilya knew that would only make Shane worry – but he still felt heavy in the chest. This was the one thing with both Kyle and Svetlana; they were going to be extremely blunt, as they’d always been. And Ilya was too tired to hear this plain talk. Even with himself, he was tired, after being too aware, too perceptive of his feelings for Shane for years. After years of knowing that this would always end the way it’d ended.

He’d tried to change the outcome, redirect the events, corral every falling piece so he could stay with Shane, but it had been a fool’s errand. It was like he’d had a crystal ball showing him exactly how this would all blow up at the end, but he’d cloaked its surface and covered his eyes. But he always knew.

“Look—”

“I know,” Kyle interrupted him. “It’s better this way. Blah blah…”

Ilya couldn’t say anything. He just reached for his bag at the foot of the bed. The sound of the tv switched from commercials to whatever dumb game show Kyle had been watching, but all Ilya could hear was everything that blah blah encompassed. Yes, it was better this way; Shane would move on. He was resilient like that. But it was also worse because Ilya wasn’t; Ilya didn’t know what would be of him without Shane.

“Sorry,” came Kyle’s voice a moment later.

Ilya looked up and met an apologetic shrug.

“I don’t get it, but I get it,” Kyle said.

Ilya took in the sincerity of his words. And the concern accompanying his apology. He nodded. “Thanks again.”

It was only partly for the shower and the laundry, but they didn’t have to talk about it. As quickly as he’d covered all his crystal balls in the past and as quickly as he ran away from every room Shane was in now, he folded his freshly washed clothes and ignored Kyle’s eyes. He’d been counting down the days till he’d be free – free of what he wasn’t sure – and there was no sense in breaking down now in this room.

“Just stay, Ilya,” Kyle said, getting to his feet. “It’s not something you haven’t done before.”

“I’m fine at the garage,” Ilya mumbled, packing his clothes.

“We can put on a movie or something. I know it wouldn’t be as fun without Svetlana bitching about characters making stupid choices but— Ilya.”

The backpack got yanked from his hands. He looked up just as Kyle pushed his ass down on the bed.

“Just sit, dummy,” Kyle told him, gaze serious.

Ilya took a deep breath. He didn’t want to sit. He didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to disperse into the air and be sucked away.

Kyle sat down next to him.

They didn’t say anything for a moment. Ilya looked at the tv without seeing and what he heard was just a song of distorted voices. Cheers or cries. Canned laugh tracks. Or maybe applauses.

“Kip invited me on the road trip.”

Ilya felt his teeth dent his lip. “Nice.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should join.”

It was applauses, Ilya was sure now. Because they felt out of place with what he’d done with his life. He shrugged. “It’s not my trip.”

It wasn’t anymore. The silence followed.

Kyle said, “Have you seen Svetlana’s prom dress?”

Ilya shook his head. Then a phone was in his face, displaying the photo Svetlana had just sent Kyle.

“She looks nice.”

Kyle nodded. Then asked, “So what are you wearing?”

Ilya’s head turned to him.

“To the prom, I mean.”

“I’m not going to the prom, Kyle.”

“Ilya.”

Ilya wanted to laugh. What a ridiculous idea. In this brand-new version of his reality, what an upside-down, absurd idea.

“I don’t even know if I’m graduating yet,” he said.

“Yes, you are.” Kyle scoffed. “You can ruin your life by letting Shane go but I’m not allowing you to ruin it by dropping out of high school as well.”

“Still. No prom.”

Kyle’s gaze searched him. He sighed. “I gotta pick my battles here, don’t I?”

Ilya nodded, chewing his lip tender.

“You know,” Kyle said after a minute and found Ilya’s eyes. “It kinda sucks that you won’t be in Montreal next year.” He cracked a tiny smile. “It was the one good thing about your obsession with following Shane to the end of the world.”

Ilya couldn’t help his chuckle. “Sorry, can’t come with you,” he said. “Svetlana got me in the divorce, I’m afraid.”

Kyle’s smile faded to nothing. He swallowed. “I’ll miss you.”

Within the deadweight sat on his chest, Ilya felt a twinge at that. For all the shit they gave each other, he would miss him too. “Same,” he said, and not for the first time thought about how much of what he’d known, how much of he was familiar with that he was losing.

With Shane at the top. Shane first. Shane before anything else, but Ilya didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about how he’d lost even the chance of driving between Boston and Montreal. He didn’t want to think about how Shane had cried before he’d kissed him. He didn’t want to think about Shane’s face as he’d told him to leave his room, his house, and his life.

That was the one he wanted to forget the most because he knew behind that stony layer, Shane had been heartbroken. Ilya always knew when Shane was heartbroken, it’d been a blessing and now it was a curse. It was a threat to letting go; it was a threat to Shane letting him go, because thinking about it too much – about how Shane had been all but a phantom the few weeks following their fight, how he’d amped up and was probably running himself ragged now – just made Ilya want to go to him, comfort him, ruin him a little bit more.

“Can I—” His throat constricted. “Can you—”

He could see Kyle’s eyes on him. Curious and concerned again.

He took a deep breath. “Can you just, I don’t know, check up on him every once in a while when you’re in Montreal?”

Kyle’s lips twitched, before they died. Softly he said, “You can just talk to him.”

Ilya shook his head. All he could do was smash his crystal balls on the ground, forget about all he’d always known, shut it all off, and just leave. It was a clawing need now, to leave, but his most innate, most intrinsic part needed to hear Kyle say yes. He was being an asshole the way he’d been an asshole all their lives, not being able to talk to Shane when he knew he’d hurt him, but this was all he could do.

This was all he could afford.

“You’re really fucking stubborn, you know?” Kyle told him and shook his head.

“Can you?” Ilya repeated, as close to begging as he’d ever been before. “Just make sure he’s okay?”

Laugh track, followed by applauses. Kyle sighed. “Sure, you idiot.”

***

It was a week later that Shane found himself by the doors to the coffee shop.

He didn’t have long. He was keeping a pretty tight schedule, making sure he didn’t forget anything for the graduation, for the trip, for the move to Montreal, so he only had these little windows of time to himself. It was being prolific, he told himself; it was just filling up every space left hollow by Ilya, a part of him disagreed.

Regardless, he was here now, palms sweating and tongue thick in his mouth. As if he hadn’t been the one fishing people for information on where Ilya was staying or what his work schedule looked like this past week. As if when no one had let up, he hadn’t been the one to risk and come here anyway, fully aware he was being an asshole because Ilya wouldn’t have anywhere to run. Shane just wanted to talk; if he was inside, they could just talk. And if he wasn’t… well, Shane would just get a cup of coffee and leave.

He wasn’t desperate. And he wasn’t terrified. He just wanted to know where they stood. He just needed to know where Ilya stood, especially today.

And when he entered the coffee shop, he was right there.

Shane’s breath caught for a moment, taking a crooked way down to his lungs before he could correct it and approach the counter. “Hi.”

Ilya’s head snapped up.

“Hey,” he said, eyes wide, and cleared his throat. “Uhm. I mean, welcome to Tim Hortons, how can I help you today?”

He looked down at the register and Shane’s brows wrinkled. “Uhm,” his mouth said. “Coffee.”

Ilya nodded and Shane couldn’t help but deflate. It wasn’t like he’d expected Ilya to crack one of his dumb jokes and flash him his beautiful, crooked smile. It wasn’t like he’d expected Ilya to lean across the counter and touch his hand or tuck his hair behind his ear and they could move past it all. Those wouldn’t be realistic dreams, wouldn’t be logical, but God, when had dreams ever been logical? When had Shane, when it came to Ilya, ever been logical?

“And how would you like that?” he heard Ilya ask.

You know.

“Black,” Shane’s mouth moved again.

“Espresso or brewed?”

You know.

He knew. He knew how Shane always got his coffee. He knew the treat he would always want with it – a cinnamon bun – and he knew how Shane would like it – slightly warmed up.

An entire month had passed, Shane was hyperaware of that. And an entire month without talking to Ilya would only make the first instance feel absurd, look absurd, sound absurd, Shane had known. But he hadn’t realized how every piece of it would be recognizable, only turned upside down. The familiar lilt of Ilya’s voice, familiar place, familiar looks, but distorted; like looking out from the inside of a mirror.

“Ilya,” he whispered.

“Brewed?” Ilya didn’t look at him.

Shane swallowed. “Yeah.”

“It’s gonna take a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Shane mumbled and watched Ilya’s back as he worked the brewer.

There was a strange set to his shoulders, rigid in a way that was more than the long hours he’d worked all his life. Curls gathered at the nape of his neck looked wilted, and despite the June sun shining full-heat now, he looked a bit pale. Shane wondered since when these had been apparent. A month? Two months? Just now because Shane had shown up or maybe all along?

When Shane wasn’t busy missing him, trying not to miss him, feeling guilty, trying not to feel guilty, and just generally being hurt by everything that had happened between them, he worried about the words Ilya had said the night they’d fought. About needing to find something for himself, about not hoping for things. Had he been feeling lost and Shane just… hadn’t helped him? Had Shane just made it worse?

“Would you like anything else?”

Shane shook his head.

“That’ll be—”

“How did you feel about the quiz we got this morning?”

He needed something to feel normal. He needed something to feel casual.

Ilya looked at him. Looked through him, his gaze unfocused. “It was fine.”

“Yeah.” Shane nodded, pretending the barren eyes didn’t make dread pool in his stomach. “I’m a little worried about the final exam but I don’t think it’ll be too bad.”

Ilya’s lip twitched. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be fine.” His eyes glinted gold and true for one moment. “You’re always fine.”

In that pocket of a second, things sounded, looked, and felt right, and Shane tried to hold onto that. They left as quickly as they’d shone when Ilya looked down again.

Shane worried at his lip. The coffee machine churned, the bell above the door chimed, the sounds of people coming and going followed. Ilya stood in the space between the register and the coffee machine, making sure he didn’t look like he was ignoring their customer but making no effort to pretend he wasn’t ignoring Shane.

The pool of dread was kicking up now.

“Here you go,” Ilya mumbled a few seconds later, extending the cup of freshly brewed coffee. Shane reached without thinking and their hands brushed over the carton for the most fleeting moment. Ilya pulled away so quickly that it was a miracle they hadn’t dropped the cup and burned themselves.

Shane could almost see the breath Ilya exhaled as he punched something in the register.

“That’ll be—”

“Is your father,” Shane managed to say. He didn’t care about the coffee, he didn’t care about the tally, he didn’t even care if Ilya would ever look at him with rings glinting solid gold again. He just wanted to know if he was okay. Today more than anything, he just needed to know if Ilya was okay. “Is your father— Do you—”

“I don’t stay there anymore,” Ilya said, flat.

“I know,” Shane mumbled. “I mean, I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

The bell above the door tinged again and Ilya’s eyes flitted to the crowd entering the shop. When he looked back at Shane, his gaze was even more far-off. “Are you ready to pay?”

Shane felt his breathing turn shallow in his chest. He could feel the people queueing up behind him and he shifted in his place. He heard himself say, “S-sure.”

His hands checked his pocket and he frowned.

“Uhm, sorry,” he said, patting the other side of his jeans. “I can’t find my wallet.”

Ilya flashed a smile to the guy behind Shane. He mumbled, “It’s okay.”

“No, let me check—” Shane slung off his backpack.

“No, it’s alright.”

“I swear I had—”

“It’s fine, Shane.”

Shane felt his stomach stir up. “No, I had—”

“It’s fine, Shane,” Ilya repeated and smiled at the group again. Shane knew he needed to move but his hands were shaking now, and he couldn’t find his wallet, and he couldn’t even talk to Ilya. He couldn’t even say the beginning of what he wanted to say. And Ilya was looking at him like he needed him to leave and the churning dread in Shane’s gut made it hard to gauge if it meant leave the shop or leave Ilya alone altogether, and Shane didn’t know— “Shane. It’s alright.”

“Take back the coffee.”

“It’ll go to the trash, just take it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a problem—”

“I’m sorry,” Shane repeated, voice rickety. It wasn’t just the coffee, it wasn’t just the coffee.

“It’s—” Ilya’s jaw moved. “It’s alright.”

“Ilya—"

“Jeff!” Ilya shouted at someone in the back. “Can you please come help our customers here? I need— I need to take my five.”

Then he was taking off his apron, no, putting up a fight with his apron. Shane felt his panic rattle and reach high. No, he just thought, as he watched Ilya change places with his co-worker and take long strides to the door behind the counter. Shane just wanted to speak, he just wanted to speak.

“Ilya!”

Ilya halted.

Shane bit his lip, too hard.

When familiar but dim eyes turned to look at him, he felt the dread freeze in his gut. Like no matter what he did after that point, he’d never get rid of it again. It would just settle in his pit and never leave.

He swallowed. “Happy birthday.”

Something passed Ilya’s gold eyes at that, and Shane felt fear-stricken again by how he couldn’t recognize it. He couldn’t recognize the glint in those eyes and maybe, he’d never been able to, and he’d just fooled himself.

It died quickly enough. Ilya’s wilted curls shifted as he gave a single, curt nod.

And he left.

***

When late evening came around, Ilya found himself at the garage again.

His boss apparently hadn’t even bothered to show up today as the place was left untouched and dark. Ilya switched on the lights, bulbs coming to life one by one, and dragged his bike inside. He thought he could give her some love before they parted ways but when he sat in front of her twenty minutes later, polish and wax in hand to buff her back to shiny, his head just kept replaying Shane.

Shane and his happy birthday.

Ilya had spent the day trying not to think too deeply about it. Because it reminded him of Grigori and how he should be happy now as he was free of him. And it reminded him of every single birthday he’d shared with Shane. And it reminded him of every single birthday Shane had shared with him, especially his 18th, and especially how single-handedly Ilya had ruined everything that night.

Or maybe it was before that. Maybe he’d started this journey of shattering his everything years before that. Maybe the first morning they’d woken up tangled together in Shane’s bed and Shane had said nothing and Ilya had just let it. Hell, for all Ilya knew, maybe he’d started it the day they’d met by the swingset.

Shane and his happy birthday.

Shane and the way his eyes had flashed with panic at the end, and Ilya had just… left.

Someone entered the workshop just as Ilya let out a groan.

“Ilya!”

Ilya’s eyes widened; he scrambled to his feet. “David?”

“Hah!” David walked up to him. “Hey, kiddo.”

His evergreen, kind smile shone on his face. He looked like he was coming from home, with a garment bag slung over his shoulder.

Ilya’s brows furrowed.

“Your brother said I might find you here.”

“Uhm.” Ilya dragged his gaze from the bag to David. “Yeah, my shift ends late.”

He didn’t feel too bad saying it; it wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Hm.” David nodded before his smile lit up again. “Oh, look what I got you here!” He turned around the bag and unzipped it. When he showed it to Ilya, his eyes were glinting with excitement.

Ilya swallowed.

It was a tux.

“I promised you, didn’t I?”

Ilya felt himself nod. He had, but that was months ago. Hell, maybe years ago. When prom was a distant thing neither Ilya nor Shane had particularly cared for but would go together anyway, and Shane would look funny but adorable in his bowtie, and Ilya would tinker with the punch, and they would make fun of their friends' dancing fondly.

“Uhm.” Ilya cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m a little taller than you.”

“Yes, you giant!” David clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. “What are you now, 6’3?”

Ilya feigned a smile.

“I took it to a tailor, though. He’s taken down the hems a little. It was Yuna’s idea.”

Ilya nodded again, ducking his head. He managed to say, “Thank you, David, but I don’t think I’ll go to the prom.”

David tsked. “Nonsense! It’s going to be one of your last memories with all your friends.”

The emphasis on last memories wrapped like yarn around Ilya’s throat. He was so close to the end. The alarm was about to go off and signal the finish line, and with every moment now, he felt like he was collecting goodbyes. Goodbyes, last memories with all his friends; frankly he was okay with it all.

“You know Shane’s been working really hard on it.”

Shane. It was Shane and the idea of last memories with Shane Ilya didn’t want to think about. Shane and his last birthday. Shane and Ilya’s last birthday. Nonsensical. And the most ridiculous of it all was Shane and saying goodbye.

David let out a laugh. It sounded strained and Ilya’s brows furrowed.

“Just,” David said, rolling his eyes when Ilya looked at him. “Shane. He’s— He’s been a little wired lately. He’s trying to do everything all at once.” He smiled; it didn’t reach his eyes. “But I’m sure it’s just graduation nerves, and you know, moving to a whole new city and all.” He swallowed. “You know how he is.”

The yarn wound tighter, and Ilya couldn’t say anything. His traitorous mind kept taking him back to the coffee shop today and seeing Shane’s endearing face that close again in weeks and just hurting so much because Ilya never loved or missed anyone that much. And it hurt more when panic had struck Shane and all Ilya’s stupid feet could do was make him flee the scene.

David let out a breath. Then said, “Hah! You’re working on your bike?”

Ilya instinctively looked where he’d gestured behind him and nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled, turning back. “Just polishing its finish. I’m looking for a buyer.”

“Oh.” David frowned. “You know we don’t have a garage, but I can find some place to hold it till you come back, kiddo.”

“It’s okay.” Ilya tried for a smile. He looked back at his bike, gnawing on his lip, then looked back at David. “I think it’s better if I just let it go.”

David tilted his head to the side and his frown got deeper. Ilya wanted to avoid his eyes, his face, the worry lines. Something about the open expression was too familiar, too Shane, and this moment too felt like a goodbye.

“How long are your shifts, kid?”

“Long.”

David gave a slow nod. “You know, Yuna was kind of worried,” he said. “And Shane. I mean. I mean—” He looked around the place and Ilya saw the deep breaths he took. It was a second before he looked back. “You know she thinks he’s exactly like me. A little oblivious, a little nerdish.” He huffed a laugh, then his gaze turned troubled. “But he’s the spitting image of his mother,” he said. “They are thinkers, and they tend to get, uhm, in their heads. And I don’t know, Shane was very down for a few weeks after you…” He wet his lips, shaking his head. “And he’s very deep in his head right now, I think. He’s been a little all over the place and I’m just, I’m worried about him.”

Ilya felt his nails dent his palms. He’d never caught worry visibly like this on David’s face before. He’d always been the buoyant, good-humored of the two. Always the equalizer. Looking at him voice his worries about Shane so openly, though, Ilya felt gut-punched. If he hadn’t been thinking about Shane already, about how he’d looked and moved and acted jittery, about how he’d switched from being a ghost around town to the boy running in all directions, he felt guilt swallow him up now.

Guilt about all the same old shit, and new guilt about disappointing someone else. Disappointing David, and undoubtedly Yuna.

“I’m worried about you too,” David said, and Ilya wanted to scream because only a Hollander would worry about him after the way he’d let them down. “I don’t know what happened between you guys—” He shook his head when Ilya opened his mouth. “It’s not my place. But what I’m trying to say is…” He looked at Ilya. “You’re good for him. You’re so good for him. Just like his mom, he just needs someone to… crack jokes sometimes.”

And he let out a wet chuckle. Ilya watched him laugh and knew he wanted to say more. Ilya watched him laugh and wanted to tell him he was wrong; Ilya wasn’t good for Shane. Though a part of him was already thinking about making Shane laugh at nervous moments, and how his face would ease, and he’d relax into Ilya’s hold like whatever keeping him taut would bleed out. But that was all superficial, it was just veneer over how Ilya would ultimately hurt Shane.

David was wrong, and he was too kind. Too stupidly kind to care about Ilya. But Ilya heard himself choke out, “Thank you,” instead of a sorry. “Uhm, just, thank you,” he mumbled. “Not just for the tux, but everything, I guess. Just being there and, uh, letting me stay when things got too much at home.”

David’s smile twitched, his eyes softened, and searched Ilya’s face. “Of course, kiddo,” he murmured. “But don’t say it like it’s a goodbye.”

Ilya tried to nod.

“We’ll visit each other all the time. Yuna would kill you otherwise.”

He kept nodding, and the yarn almost choked him, but he just kept nodding.

“Ilya,” David said, and Ilya had no choice but to look into his eyes. David gave him the gentlest smile that he’d never deserved. “You know, kid,” he said, “I’d be really sad if you weren’t in my life.”

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek. He could barely hold it in check, then. The need for a hug at that moment. A parent hug, a Hollander hug, a hug by someone who loved him with no conditions, no expectations, no reprimands.

“I’d be really sad, too,” he could only say, though he saw no reality where he could keep David and Yuna and their unwavering, undeserved love. But what was one more feigned smile so David felt better?

David patted his arm, nodding. Carefully, he laid down the garment bag on a table. He gave Ilya a final smile. “Don’t forget the tux there.”

***

By the time they pulled into the school parking lot, Shane’s hands felt clammy, and his feet were in a rush.

It’d taken them so long to leave the house. His mom had wanted so many pictures, a million pictures, all the pictures. Shane had humored her because she was like that, a cherisher of tangible memories. Like Shane’s hand paintings she still kept on the refrigerator, and Shane’s spelling bee trophies by the mantle, and Shane’s every first place, every win, every achievement captured in photographs.

Hayden and Jackie had played along, too, because, well, they were his dates. Or rather, he was their third wheel. Not that he wanted to be. Not that prom mattered. But Rose – for some forsaken reason – had suggested that he could maybe call Miles and ask if he’d want to come with him and Shane had objected so adamantly that Hayden and Jackie had to adopt him for the night.

And they were made even later by that decision because Hayden – who was supposed to be the designated driver – kept complaining about his pants and had stopped every five minutes on the way here just to adjust himself.

“Stop pulling on your trousers.”

Jackie smacked him now, her heels clicking on the concrete.

“It’s tight on my crotch.”

“No one wants to hear that!”

Shane took a deep breath.

He was barely holding back a scream.

He was supposed to come here early. He was supposed to check everything was going as they’d planned. He was supposed to not feel like pulling his hair off his skull. And the weather was supposed to be a clear summer blue, warm and happy, and not at the edge of rain.

And he was supposed to get his pictures taken with not Hayden and Jackie but Ilya, for fuck's sake, because that was what his mom loved the most; taking their pictures together. Their first days of school and all their hockey games. The report card days and all the school dances.

It tasted bitter in Shane’s mouth.

When they finally entered the gym, he had to stop and do a double-take.

He’d seen the decorations before the lighting was set up but with the purple bulbs hanging from the high ceiling, with tall mirrors lining the walls, with giant unnerving singing flowers, and heavy curtains, and smoke machines, and a milling crowd, it was a world appearing unfamiliar.

A garden party mimicking the smile of a Cheshire cat; a creepy way through the looking glass.

Harris skipped up to them. “Hi,” he sang, a funky top hat on his head to match the theme.

“Harris.” Jackie breathed in awe. “This looks fantastic!”

“It’s not very romantic, though.”

“Prom doesn’t have to be romantic, Hayden.”

Harris grinned. “I think it’s romantic.” He turned to Shane. “What do you think?”

Shane gave him a smile. “You did great, Harris.”

“Well, you did great.”

Shane ducked his head at the compliment. He’d just worked out the budget and the logistics, he wouldn’t have the creative vision for this in a million years. Being reminded of the logistics, his brows furrowed. “Is the sound system working?” he asked. “I know it was glitching this morn—”

“I took care of it.”

Shane nodded. Then, “What about the photobooth?”

“Done.”

Another nod. Then, “And the playlist?”

“It’s fine, Shane,” Harris said with a smile. “You guys just have fun, okay?”

Shane nodded his okay, but he was a little too tense to have fun. They took seats on a long table covered with black-and-white linens they’d bought from the dollar store, someone put a soda in his hand, then all he could do was gaze around. Everyone seemed like they were having fun which was a relief but the music and the conversations around him frayed his edges. Or maybe it was something else, like the fact that other than Dallas Kent, the only people missing from their graduating class were Kyle and Svetlana.

And Ilya.

Shane’s eyes kept going to the wide doors of the gym.

His fingers tapping the checked linen and his one knee bouncing under the table all came to a halt a minute later when the three of them appeared.

Svetlana looked nice, and Kyle was always handsome, but Shane’s attention zeroed in on no one else, nothing else, but Ilya.

Shane hadn’t thought he’d actually come. He barely kept himself seated. There was a sea of people between them; there was the bitter wrongness of the past half-year between them, but all Shane wanted to do was jump up and just go to him.

He didn’t.

But he couldn’t drag his eyes away either. If they’d been stupid all night, now they were entirely out of Shane’s control. Every step Ilya took in the room, they followed him, like moonglade on water.

Ilya didn’t seem terribly into the crowd or the music. But Kyle and Svetlana kept tugging at him, and at one point, his mouth shaped into a wide smile and the three of them started moving to a dance song Shane didn’t recognize. Not that he could pay attention. All his senses were shut except the eyes, now seeing Svetlana’s hand on Ilya’s neck.

“Is Ilya dating Svetlana?” he heard Scott ask down the table.

“I thought they’ve been dating for years,” came Elena’s voice.

“No,” Kip said. “Ilya was dating a bunch of other girls just last month.”

“Hm. Aren’t they moving to Boston together?”

Of course, Shane’s ears picked up on those words. His hands clenched under the table and his gaze ping-ponged between every point Ilya and Svetlana touched each other. His eyes burned and his nose itched because this was so alien and so expected. It was like a kaleidoscope of the unfun kind, jumbling his stomach with the sickest feeling.

For one second, he couldn’t help the irrational jealousy – and yes, he could admit it was all pure jealousy now – from spreading to Kyle as well. How he laughed with Ilya, with one hand on his tux-clad shoulder. Shane embraced it, embraced the green flashing all around him, because everybody in this room, and the entire universe had to know it was supposed to be him. Even if Shane would never be like Svetlana for Ilya, at least the one goofy dancing with his best friend was supposed to be him.

He wished he wasn’t here right now.

He wished Ilya wasn’t here.

For one insane moment, he even wished Miles was instead. He wished like Rose’s dumb, temporary date, he’d also come with someone so he could do anything other than grit his teeth to powder in his mouth.

And think of anything but foolish wishes.

“Do you wanna dance?” he heard Rose ask, leaning into his space.

His gaze tore away, with difficulty, and turned to her. And the guy she’d brought along. “Don’t you wanna dance with your date?”

“Nope.” Rose shook her head.

Shane looked at the guy once more. Then tried, for one moment, to steal another glance at Ilya.

Rose’s brows were raised when their eyes met again.

“Nothing,” Shane said with a shrug. When her brows didn’t lower, he rolled his eyes. “Okay, let’s dance.”

He’d never been a big dancer and he was severely not in a dancing mood when Rose led him to the floor, but it wasn’t too bad. At least the playlist wasn’t yet onto the sappy, sentimental part yet. And what pop song playing just required basic shuffling in place, and Shane could do that.

The big downside, however, was how much closer he was to where Ilya was dancing with his friends now. And of course, his gaze just didn’t listen to him.

After the third warning, the biting pinch Rose had given him, though, he decided to take a deep breath and enjoy. Ilya was after all. He was enjoying himself like no one had ever enjoyed anything before. At one point, Coach Wiebe had to even interfere because the three of them were getting too inappropriate, they were just having too much fun. They were cackling bigger laughs than anyone else. They’d probably pre-partied before coming here, and hell they were totally going to party after too, and maybe even right now they were drinking something else, and Svetlana’s chest was so close to Ilya’s—

“You’re hurting me,” Rose said, twisting her wrist out of his grip.

Shane shook his head. “S-sorry.”

“Either go talk to him or stop,” Rose murmured.

Shane turned his gaze to the ceiling and took a few more breaths. He knew the jealousy that sat in his ribcage wasn’t going to ease anytime soon and he didn’t give a single fuck about prom, but he wanted one thing to feel as it was supposed to. He couldn’t go talk to Ilya right now, his last try just a few days ago was still burning in his chest, but he could have fun, dammit.

Rose held his hand again and started shuffling him to the music.

Shane successfully feigned a smile. Then let out a chuckle before tentatively moving with her.

Before he knew it, one song was over and the next was playing. Harris was dancing silly by the stage with a mocktail in hand, and Hayden and Jackie were bickering at the other side of the dance floor, and Kip and Scott were lost in each other’s eyes like the song playing was Frank Sinatra and not Good Girls Go Bad by Cobra Starship.

Shane heard himself laugh, maybe for the first time in weeks.

Before his attention – everyone’s attention – got drawn to the stage as the music cut off and the microphone screeched.

***

“Uhm, hello,” Troy murmured and frowned when the microphone screeched again. “I’m— I’m Troy Barrett.” He tapped it. “Which all of you know and some of you probably hate me for.”

Ilya looked around at the confused faces in the room. He nodded.

“Uhm, I just wanted to say a few things before we all go our separate ways,” Troy said, and looked at the foot of the stage – at Harris – and gulped. “First off, if I ever hurt—” Another look. “Uhm, I know, I hurt you. Some of you at least.” He took a deep breath. “And I want to apologize.”

Silence.

“I was a piece of shit.” He looked around the room. “I’m still a piece of shit, but uhm— yeah, sorry Coach, inappropriate language, I know. Sorry. But yeah, I’m sorry. To all of you.”

More silence.

Troy shifted in his place.

Ilya heard Harris whisper, “Shane.”

“Oh yeah, Shane!” Troy gestured to Shane. “Uhm, sorry for what happened on your birthday. I wanted to apologize before but like I said I’m a piece of— I’m… I’m working on it.”

Ilya couldn’t turn around to look at Shane, it’d be too obvious, but he could hear him murmur, “Okay.”

“And this prom is great! Thank you for putting this together as the president of our student body. Yeah!” He clapped.

A few people joined. Shane muttered another embarrassed, “Okay.”

“And Harris!” Troy said and the tight lines of his face turned soft with something Ilya understood at that moment. “Harris worked so hard on this. And he’s brilliant, and he is, uhm…” He inhaled and came closer to the mic. “And Harris is my boyfriend.”

If silence could get any louder, it’d be their gym at that moment.

“I’m gay.”

Just painful, awkward silence.

Ilya saw Troy deflate a bit and look at Harris again. He took a step back, as if to exit the stage, then changed his mind and came to the mic again. “And I love him,” he said, and this time a gasp rose. It was from Harris. “Have fun. I guess.”

For the longest minute, no one made a noise.

Ilya felt his lips twitch. And a rumble in his chest. He heard loud laughter escape him.

People turned to look at him, and Ilya just laughed more. He started clapping, too, and after a chain of confused murmurs, people started to join in. Scott Hunter let out a whistle because he had to and with that, it turned into full applause and cheers.

Troy just stood there all frozen and his ears pink. One look at Harris showed that he wasn’t faring any better, his face flushed all the way up to his hairline.

Ilya didn’t know if anything about it was actually funny, but this happening at their prom just made him laugh. He couldn’t stop his chuckles, even after the music came back on and Svetlana and Kyle rolled their eyes at him. Harris was on the mic now, blabbering something about love is love and inviting everyone to dance with their closest ones.

Ilya’s last giggle slipped off his face with that.

And he felt goosebumps rise on his nape, and the pair of eyes he knew so well.

Slowly, he turned around.

Shane’s eyes were steadfast on him, unlike the little runaways they’d done all night. They stayed dark and bottomless on him, playing as mirrors under the blue, pink, and purple lights. There was something so true and innate in that look. For one second, it was as if Ilya’s own longing reflected on that beautiful face.

Then Shane took a step towards him.

And stopped.

Someone – no, not someone, fucking Kyle – shoved Ilya from the back. Ilya found himself stumbling a few feet towards Shane.

And just like that, they were standing face to face.

Ilya’s shoulders stiffened.

“Oh my god you guys!” Harris’s blubbering came to the rescue before Shane could even open his mouth. “Have you heard what he said?”

It took forever but Ilya wretched his gaze away. He smirked. “Everyone heard what he said.”

“Yeah.” Ilya felt Shane’s eyes leave and turn to Harris as well. “But why are you not dancing with him?”

Ilya couldn’t help but agree. Not that he wasn’t happy to be interrupted – his lungs, his heart, his mind were all too happy – but poor Troy was just idling by the stage, waiting for Harris to come back.

“I will!” Harris babbled with a grin. “I just need to find Gen, so we can have photos!”

He stretched his neck to look around the gym. Standing by them, not moving away.

Ilya found new awkwardness crowd the square space he was in. Shane shifted next to him.

“Can’t believe you’re banging Troy Barrett, Harris,” he said when it looked like Harris wasn’t going anywhere.

Not that Ilya wanted him to.

Not that he’d been feeling like he was grappling underwater anytime Shane came this close to him in the last few months.

Not that, when light cut a certain way, he’d also felt like it was a moment of resurfacing, of finding air, of Shane being there to lift him up.

“Ilya!”

“And you, keeping a secret relationship?” he heard himself continue. “You, Harris Drover?”

Harris just turned redder. “Where’s Gen when I need her?”

“Actually that I’m shocked about as well,” Shane said. Ilya risked a glance and saw the tiniest playful smile on his lips. Like a little dimple on Shane’s otherwise unblemished face. Ilya’s chest hurt with how much he’d missed it. “You spread me being gay around the town in like one day.”

“You said it wasn’t a secret!”

“Still.” Ilya couldn’t help his own smirk. “We’re impressed by this glow-up.”

Shane chuckled quietly. Ilya’s grapple and resurface.

Harris huffed. Then said wickedly, “Hey! Why don’t you guys dance with each other?”

If Ilya was looking at Shane, he imagined he’d see the moment his posture pulled tense. But without even a glance, he felt it. He almost heard the way his jaw had clenched, the way his eyes had darkened to a new shade.

“Not every guy wants to dance with other guys, Harris,” he spat bitterly.

Ilya’s brows furrowed. “What—”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Shane faced him, eyes wieldly dark. “You were just dancing with Kyle.”

“Yeah?” Ilya said, confused. “I was.” He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Shane shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“That’s not—” Ilya shook his head. “You don’t wanna dance with me.”

“No! You don’t wanna dance with me!”

“It’s not about—”

Ilya couldn’t find words.

What was happening?

What?

What the hell?

Shane’s scowl got deeper.

“Fucking hell!” Ilya heard himself say. “I’ll dance with you!”

“No,” Shane said tersely. “I’ll dance with you!”

He had his arms thrown to two sides, his eyes narrowed to a glare. They were almost chest to chest, Shane breathing harshly.

Ilya felt irritation swallow him up and wrapped an arm around him, tugging him close by the waist.

Shane's hands found a grip on his shoulders and his eyes widened. Fire-eating look slipped off his face; he cast his gaze downward.

Ilya saw his cheeks rosing, and he felt annoyed.

He felt annoyed and he wanted to kiss him.

Mostly, though, he felt annoyed with himself. Because the moment he’d had Shane in his arms, his lungs gave in with the most relieved breath. He tried not to think too deeply about it, but he hadn’t hugged Shane like this in weeks. The last time was when Shane had kissed him, and Ilya had been freaking out too much about it to even appreciate. And now his hands were on Shane’s tapered waist and Shane’s touch was seeping through his jacket and his shirt, sunburning his skin.

He wasn’t looking at him, head turned to the side Harris had been standing a moment ago. Ilya didn’t want to look either, but he couldn’t help himself. Shane's blush was cherry wine under the neon lights, his freckles stark dark, and the curve of his still pouting lips so gentle. His hair was all the same; long, maybe longer than usual, inky, feathery. He’d made an effort to at least style his bangs tonight and the thought made a faint smile curl Ilya’s lips. He was so beautiful, and all Ilya wanted to do was touch and kiss his hair.

He found himself swaying them to the rhythm.

It felt like both minutes and years that they kept at it.

Ilya just wanted to pull Shane closer and bury his head where his neck met his shoulder, but he couldn't. He reined himself in.

Shane’s throat bobbed. He muttered above the music as his eyes darted around, “This is ridiculous.”

Ilya felt his smile wane.

Shane wasn’t dropping his hands or making an attempt to stop their movement, but he was right, this was ridiculous. Why Ilya had come here, he wasn’t even sure.

Someone was singing about how this might be our last goodbye, and Ilya’s throat clenched like a fist.

Shane’s blush and his pouted lips didn’t look as cute anymore.

“Gen's taking pictures,” he heard himself murmur. “I think you should smile.”

The downward lines of Shane’s face deepened. He shot Ilya a glare. “This is fucking ridiculous,” he repeated. It was like a spit over the sound, a slap, an acerb wash of water.

They stopped and Ilya's back pulled rigid. He wanted to shout back against Shane’s sneer. He was right, of course, he was always fucking right. This was fucking ludicrous, senseless. What was he doing running to a prom at a school he was barely graduating? What was he doing standing there in an ill-fitting tux dancing with Shane?

He’d made good on his promise, he’d avoided him. He’d tried to make peace with the idea of missing him, but not for the first time, Ilya was realizing that he was weak. He was a conflict, a dilemma, a confusion all to himself because once the moment presented itself, all he wanted to do still was take Shane into his arms. And be okay with longing for him the most as he held him.

He was just a coward. People kept telling him to stop being difficult and stubborn, but what Ilya was without Shane was just a coward. Even Troy Barrett had more spine than him. Avoiding Shane, fleeing rooms, averting his gaze were all easier. The idea of going to a city he didn’t know shit about was easier. And now, breaking out of Shane’s grip, and ignoring the look on his face was easier.

It was self-preservation, survival instinct. There was only so much longer Ilya could go struggling underwater.

It was easier to just leave. Without saying goodbye.

***

Shane’s ears were ringing. It was funny how one moment he could feel Ilya’s warmth and weight against him, and the songs had sounded like actual songs. The next, he was left there empty, his head was ringing.

“Shane!”

Rose appeared in his line of sight.

“Shane,” she said again, face pinched. “What are you doing?” She gesticulated to the doors. “Go to him, you dummy.”

I tried, Shane wanted to say. I’ve been trying for weeks.

His throat was too parched for the words to come out.

“Just talk to him.”

Shane swallowed. He needed water; his words sounded plucked, “And say what?”

“I don’t know, just…” Rose ran a hand over her hair. “He’s your best friend, right?” she asked. “You love him,” she said. “And maybe it’s not the same but he loves you too.”

The ringing faded away and quietened. Shane’s next gulp went down easier.

He’d had a momentary lapse weeks ago; it was the hardest pill he was still trying to swallow, but Rose was right. Ilya wasn’t in love with him, but Ilya loved him. It was the simplest fact; the innate truth of Shane’s being. Ilya loved him; he loved him every summer day they’d spent trying to learn skateboard tricks; he loved him anytime he read a book Shane couldn’t stop gushing about; he loved him on the days he’d convinced him to skip school just for the sake of it; he loved him with every hug, and every caress of his hair, and every time he’d said it was going to be okay when Shane was having a hard time believing it.

Shane pushed against the sea of people.

This was what it’d been about all along. It was a conviction etched so deeply in him; it was a pathological belief.

Ilya loved him and they’d always be okay.

This was why he’d felt not only unsettled but misplaced. Why while trying to harden, his edges only turned brittle. This wouldn’t be just losing Ilya. It wouldn’t be just missing Ilya. It would be blasphemy; it would be a blow to Shane’s only faith.

His steps ate away at the school corridors.

So, what would Shane Hollander do?

Find his best friend.

So he did.

Ten, twenty, thirty minutes later, he found himself by their swingset, and he found Ilya.

“Pretty sure smoking weed at a children’s playground is a federal crime,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual.

Ilya’s gaze turned to him.

He watched Shane’s approaching steps. Around the blunt, he murmured, “I’ve done worse things.” His one leg, clad in trousers too short for his frame, swayed the swing he’d squeezed himself into.

Shane tried not to look too intently, but it was hard. The view was so out of place. Ilya wasn’t four anymore, he wasn’t even seventeen. He was a man; so beautiful, and from what Shane could see, so very tired. His tie undone, curls escaping the hair gel, he was his Ilya. The earrings, the orange of his blunt, and the rings of his eyes glowing all at once against the grey background.

Shane sat down on the swing next to him.

Ilya reached out a hand. “Want some?”

Shane glanced at the pot, then back at Ilya.

Ilya shrugged, withdrawing his offer with a wry smile.

He kept moving lightly, eyes trained on the sky. The swing gave the occasional creak.

“It looks like it’s gonna rain,” he said a moment later. Shane didn’t think he could get high in half an hour, but his words were drawled slow. Maybe he was just sleepy, after all that dancing and laughing and whatever squabble they’d just had.

“Climate change,” Shane answered.

Ilya cracked a smile. “First no snow till January, now this.” He took a drag. “We really fucked up this planet.”

Shane nodded listlessly.

The wind was really picking up. Nothing felt like summer. Nothing felt like it was supposed to feel.

A shiver went through him.

The creaking changed rhythm. Ilya’s one side-step ate away the distance between them, and without leaving his swing, he threw his jacket around Shane.

Shane just looked down at it. With a loud noise, the swing and Ilya returned to their place, and Shane felt his brows furrow.

Ilya said nothing, eyes kept on the grey sky. Thunderclaps sounded, still afar.

Still, they had time.

Still, Shane had time.

“I thought you’d be riding off the town already,” he said, feet mirroring Ilya’s light push. Inches back, inches forth.

Ilya nodded. Then rubbed the back of his hand on his forehead. “I sold the bike.”

Shane’s movement stopped. "What?" he said and frowned. “But…”

Ilya looked at him.

Shane could only murmur, “But she’s yours.”

Something passed over Ilya's eyes. Inscrutable again, foreign. “She was,” he said with a tiny smile. “For a short while.”

Shane looked down at his lap. He felt it hard to swallow once again.

“You don’t even like motorcycles,” Ilya said, sounding somewhat amused. “What are you upset about?”

“It’s not that I don’t like them. It’s just—” Shane exhaled and pursed his lips. He let his gaze wander to where the skatepark was, empty on a June evening threatened with rain. “You know,” he said after a heartbeat. “When I was a kid, I used to love this park the most because I could watch the bike tricks over there.”

He smiled to himself; to a little Shane Hollander, they were unbelievable, magical, out of this world. Terrifying. Like a lot of askew things he’d been feeling in his ribcage. Like Ilya.

He tried to swallow again.

“That’s how I felt about your bike, I guess," he murmured with a shrug. “Very cool. Very scary.”

Ilya snorted. “Come on. You’ve never been scared of anything.”

Shane turned his gaze to him. “I’m scared of a lot of things, Ilya.” 

Ilya’s little smile dimmed. His eyes stayed on Shane for a moment, before he cleared his throat and looked away again.

Both their swings stayed halted. The only sound was the sky about to break into a shower. Shane couldn’t pinpoint why but he heard the ringing again, like it was approaching with the bolts of thunder. What determination he’d found between leaving prom and coming here was threatening to evaporate into the air.

Shane couldn’t let it.

“I am—”

“Let’s not." Ilya's voice came, low and firm. “I’m sorry. You’re sorry. We’re fine.”

Shane’s mouth opened and closed. “We are?” he asked quietly.

Ilya tried to take a drag but found his blunt dead. “Yeah.” He pushed it in his pocket. “I mean.” He shrugged, eyes turning to Shane’s. “I’ll still call you. And I kind of promised your parents I’d visit.”

Shane's hands felt cold. He nearly laughed but his muscles stayed drawn taut. He murmured, “And I can come down?”

“Sure.” Ilya nodded. “It’s not a long drive.”

“I— you—”

If Shane had thought the last few weeks had been upside down, laced with a sense of wrongness, this felt entirely crooked now.

“And you can call me too.” Ilya was still talking.

Artificial. Fake.

The weirdest spill of words. In Ilya’s voice, saying things Ilya would say, but a carnival act.

Hollow.

Like water to plastic trees, useless.

Or salt to the soil, cataclysmic.

Ilya huffed a laugh next to him. “It is what it is, right?”

Shane bit down on his cheek, teeth sharp.

He tasted copper.

Why he didn’t know but he heard himself say, “It’ll still be a weird first day of school without you.”

Ilya’s laugh rattled, low. Empty again. This wasn’t time running out, Shane realized; this had been a failure from the get-go. “Yeah, you won’t have anyone distracting you in class and making you laugh. Big loss.”

Thunders clapped closer. Shane’s throat stayed parched. He couldn’t look anywhere but at his lap; his frown lines stitched too deep.

He couldn’t look at Ilya.

Did he think this was all he was to Shane? A distraction in class, a few laughs? Didn’t he realize that Shane was falling big here? Falling and failing like he’d done all month, all year. In bed, off bed, with friends, alone; he was just being plucked a million ways, pinched and bitten and wearing the little cuts of a thousand shards.

Didn’t Ilya know that he was the only one who could put him back together?

Didn’t he realize that trying to be Shane without Ilya was like uprooting a house with barehands? Not only impossible, but too absurd.

Didn’t he realize that you didn’t remove things meant to stay; you didn’t tinker with a system’s core?

“Anyway,” Shane heard the words in his voice, clunky, trying. He pushed himself to his feet, looking away. “I came to say congrats. I heard you’re graduating and yeah—"

Ilya’s swing creaked, empty.

In one swift move, Shane was tucked under his chin.

“I should be the one congratulating you,” he muttered against Shane’s hair, arms stupidly tight around him. He chuckled. “Our little valedictorian.”

Shane felt his words knotted in his throat, his feelings a clasp. His breathing turned shallow, his air too thin. He tried to say, “Ilya—”

“It’s okay,” Ilya murmured. “You’ll be okay.” His cheek pressed hard. “You’ll be perfect.”

The last part came out so quiet, but Shane heard it. He heard how Ilya knew this was absurd too. They were acting at something, something Shane didn’t understand. Everything distorted all around them and Ilya’s words – Ilya’s unwavering promise that everything would always be okay – ringing hollow now. They just clanked against Shane’s surface.

Shane couldn’t even cry.

He felt Ilya’s hands on his nape, tangling around his hair. He pulled his head close, close against his warm lips. And he stayed there for long, but not long enough. That kiss on Shane’s hair too was so familiar but so wrong.

“Go home before it starts raining, okay?” Shane heard him say, arms still tight around him, hands still touching him.

And where will you go, Shane wanted to ask. You live two doors down from me, he wanted to say. No, you live with me, and you sleep in my bed, and you wake me up with fingers in my hair.

Ilya’s arms loosened; Shane clutched tighter.

You sit next to me in geography on Monday mornings like how you used to sit next to me in pre-school and kick me under the table. Till I got so red in the face, and you started laughing.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to sob, but couldn’t. If he cried now, in Ilya’s arms, and Ilya still left, he wouldn’t ever recover. Because in the real world, that would never happen. In the real world, Ilya would just brush away his tears and comfort him. He would just stay.

In this upside-down time and place, Shane couldn’t risk his token of reality.

He could just breathe deep, for air and for Ilya’s scent. And both would forever be scant.

“Go home,” Ilya said again, separating them. He smiled; mirth not reaching his gold eyes.

And Shane just stood there. Face dry, throat dry, mind and heart a jumbled mess, he just stood there.

Thunders sounded too close now.

“I’ll see you around,” Ilya said.

And the words sounded too hollow. Too fake. Too much like a goodbye and not even a real one at that.

Just anticlimactic.

Ilya stepped away.

Just a sham.

And he left.

Just a phony.

Like Shane. Like Shane who’d wanted to prove to the universe that he could make his every wish into reality. He could make Ilya saying they’d be okay the truth. Because all his life, he'd been told he could do anything. Shane Hollander was determined and stubborn; he could make his reality into anything.

What Shane Hollander was a failure. Inept at saying just one word, incapable of unknotting it from his barred, rough throat.

Stay.

A final thunder shook the sky.

Rain came down in sheets; in between Shane and everything he’d ever known.

Chapter End Notes

THE END

jk. if this felt anticlimactic and boring, it was by design. i just haven't planned for it to be this long, i'm so sorry. but we needed this for the set-up for the next chapters.

a bunch of songs as always; stay by hurts, to build a home by the cinematic orchestra, i wish i never met you by babygirl, happiness by taylor swift, and mirrorball by again taylor swift.

and carrie by europe as the prom song 😌

as always, it'd mean the world if you comments 💜 thanks!

Chapter 10: body's in space

Chapter Notes

i apologize for this chapter if you are 1) an astronomer, 2) here for fluff, 3) Canadian.

also look at this art by my friend Olivia made of the swingset scene in ch9. it's the only thing that matters to me.

as always, comments mean the world. this is a big, hefty, hopefully good one, and your one word would make all this effort worth it.

enjoy!

July 2009

“I’m coming!”

Ilya half-stomped, half-dragged his feet from the backroom of the garage to the front doors, bare soles on bare concrete. In early July, it was bright outside by six a.m., but he still couldn’t understand how the townsfolk stubbornly missed the giant sign outside that spelled out the working hours clearly. It’d better be damn fucking urgent, he thought, to bang on the door at this time, as he rolled up the shutter gates.

There stood Svetlana, a straw sunhat on her head, a matching duffle over her shoulder. With the cheekiest, most awake smile splitting her face.

Ilya shook his head. “No.”

“Come ooon.”

“Svetlana, no.”

She shoved past him into the garage. Flinging her bag aside, she planted her hands on her hips and turned around. Her brows rose.

“No,” Ilya repeated.

“Look, you invited me, okay?” she said. “You kind of have to be there for that.”

“You’re friends with all of them.”

“Eh. Acquaintances.”

“You don’t need me.”

“Of course I don’t.” A shrug. Then a grin. “But you still have to come.”

Ilya felt a deep groan rumble in his chest. He took off for the back of the garage.

Light footsteps fell behind him.

Svetlana sang, “Ilyaaa.”

She’d been on his ass all week about it, and all week Ilya had managed to not give in. He wasn’t going to now, either.

“It’s barely six-thirty,” he said.

“Well, duh. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“And I’m fucking tired, Svetlana.” On the cot, he found his phone as he’d chucked it.

“Whatever,” Svetlana said, her gaze trailing Ilya’s makeshift bedroom. “It’s not like you were sleeping.”

The phone pinged in his hand. Ilya ignored it and sat down.

No, he hadn’t been sleeping. Nowadays, sleep didn’t need any real excuses to pass him by at night. And tonight, too, he’d been left restless. Lying there, gaze fixed on the exposed beams crisscrossing the ceiling. And thinking about flying. About airplanes, actually. About flights taking off here and following route to Boston. The distance. The price.

The phone pinged again. It was his boss, Ilya knew. His new boss. The one at the end of that route with thoughtful questions of where he’d be staying and when he’d be arriving. Stuff Ilya had to think about; stuff Ilya didn’t want to think about.

Flights, he could see in his mind’s eye. Like the first and only one he’d taken from Moscow to here. He didn’t remember much of it except for the turbulence. And the pressure on his ears.

“Ilya.”

Ilya leaned forward, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He took in a second of darkness.

“You have to talk to him.”

“I talked to him.”

Him.

Shane.

Ilya pulled in a deep breath. Unsurprisingly, it tasted stale. He rubbed his eyes for another second. He knew he’d find Svetlana with one brow raised and her lips pursed when he lifted his gaze.

He did, finally, and he’d been right.

“We talked,” he said again. “I told you we talked. After prom. We’re fine. We’re on good terms.”

Svetlana’s gaze was unconvinced. “And how many times have you guys interacted ever since? And no.” She raised a hand. “That awkward shit during the graduation ceremony doesn’t count. You looked actually constipated when his mother started taking photos of the two of you.”

Ilya gnawed on his cheek.

He thought he’d handled that pretty well, actually. He and Shane had smiled at each other. Though Ilya’s had felt a bit plastic. They’d exchanged congratulations. If not friendly, at least cordial. And when the Hollanders had insisted on photographs, Ilya had undusted his most charming smile and flashed it to flashing cameras. And when Yuna had told him she was incredibly proud of him, and how his mother too would be incredibly proud of him, he’d managed to hold back his grimace.

“That was a difficult day for me,” he muttered now.

“All days are difficult days for you.” Svetlana sat next to him. “And I understand Ilya. You’ve avoided him for weeks on end and I said nothing because I understood. But this is not the way you guys should separate.” Her brows wrinkled, like the idea was unthinkable even for her. “You guys need to talk.”

“What we need is time,” Ilya said immediately. “We’re fine,” he insisted, and turned his gaze to the floor. “Yeah, it’s a little awkward now but it’ll settle. We just need time.”

Svetlana huffed. “Longer than the weeks you’ve spent ignoring him?”

“I was just giving him space,” Ilya said. “So he could get ov—”

He clamped his mouth shut.

Silence quickly filled the room.

“So he can get over being in love with you?” Svetlana asked quietly. “That’s very dickish, Ilya.”

Suddenly, Ilya’s throat was swollen. “He’s not in love with me.”

He kept his eyes down, on a discolored patch of the floor, but he couldn’t focus.

Svetlana scoffed next to him. “Sorry but I thought we had this conversation already. You panicked over that kiss because you knew he could have feelings for you. You freaked out because you have this warped idea that you’re not good enough for him or you’ll take advantage of him or— hey—” She grabbed his chin and forced his face up. “Or whatever dumb shit’s going on behind those red eyes.”

Ilya wrestled out of her grip. “I never said he was in lo—”

He paused again.

Svetlana rolled her eyes, flicking his under-bags. “You should really cut back on weed, by the way.”

“He is not,” Ilya tried again. “In love with me.” The words were wrenched out of his throat. “I said he might have meant to kiss me. It’s not the same thing.”

Svetlana gave another eyeroll.

It wasn’t, Ilya knew. It couldn’t be. Because what Ilya knew of love was the way he felt for Shane. The way he needed Shane, the way he’d be nothing without Shane. The thoughts feeding that kind of love came from a place a little too fucked. What Shane felt could never be the same.

It just came down to the inherent difference between them; Shane was everything, he was meant for everything. He’d always been, and all their lives Ilya could only hope to catch up with him. But it was clear now that from his foundation, from his build-up, he’d been locked onto a path with no reach to the same peak. Shane had the fortitude to bounce back from that transient feeling, the thing he’d mistaken for something romantic, something kiss-worthy. All Ilya had was paltry thoughts of no one else can ever fucking love this way.

“And I’m not gonna repeat my reasons for why I know it’s a bad idea.” More words left his mouth. “I wish we didn’t have that fight, but I’m acting with his best interests in mind. I’m giving him space.” Time and space. That was what he was doing. What Shane needed. “And he looks fine. Absolutely fine.”

He said them with all his conviction, but the words still tasted a little ashy on his tongue. A little like the residue of his cigarettes and blunts.

He clambered up to his feet. The thoughts of ash and dregs making him want to crack open a window. The thoughts of cigarettes and blunts making him think of the way he’d run away from prom, after being so close to Shane again and it feeling like knives on his thin skin. The way he could either ransack the entire world that night for a solution that didn’t exist or the way he could throw himself to the closest familiar place, light up a joint, blur the frantic edge, and say the right words when Shane had found him.

And he’d said the right words. He’d pulled Shane to a hug, even, and whispered into his ear all the reassurances. Hell, he’d even caved in for a kiss on the hair at the end.

So they were fine. Shane looked fine, absolutely fine.

“I talked to your boss,” Svetlana’s voice came.

Ilya’s gaze turned to her, his hand instinctively tightening around his phone.

“Well, your bosses. Funnily enough, the old geezer was harder to convince than your supervisor in Timmies. He really got used to having a live-in worker, huh?”

Ilya’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You have two weeks off.” Svetlana cracked a smile, getting to her feet. “We’re going to go see Shane and his stars and his constellations and full moons.”

“You can’t stargaze during full moons,” Ilya said, automatically, Shane-like. Then shook his head. “Wait? Two weeks off? You cashed in my vacation days? That’s very invasive, Svetlana.”

“Yeah, you need to be invaded sometimes.”

“Svet—”

He started and stopped when she cut him a no-bullshit glance.

His head bowed; gaze trained low again.

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” he asked after a moment, eyes on the same patch.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Svetlana said.

Ilya heard the mirth laced in her voice; he looked up.

She gave him a shrug. “I thought you guys were on good terms.”

Ilya’s jaw ticked.

“You just said you had a long and honest conversation after prom.”

His jaw clenched.

“And he didn’t, like, uninvite you.” Svetlana patted him on the shoulder. “I’m pretty sure he wants his best friend there.”

Ilya just glared; she gave him that teasing grin again.

One moment passed, two, Ilya felt his eyes narrow more, three. Then with a tsk he spun on his heel and beelined for his duffel bag.

A laugh clapped behind him. “Wait, really?” Svetlana asked. “Really?”

Ilya found his sneakers, pushing his feet in and pulling on his laces with force.

“I can’t believe it.” Another laugh. Too loud for the hour, too self-satisfied. “You’re coming just because you want to prove me wrong.”

Ilya felt his jaw tighten again, tension brought on by not Svetlana’s words, but the thoughts under and above the surface of his mind. Admittedly, thoughts that’d been swimming since the night of the prom. He wasn’t going because he wanted to prove anyone anything wrong.

He was going because he was foolish enough, selfish enough, to want to look at Shane for another two weeks – though it was possible Shane wasn’t going to look back at him.

He was going because Shane looked fine, seemed happy, after the weeks and the half-a-town Ilya had put between them. Because he’d smiled during graduation and hugged Ilya after prom.

Because, despite all that, despite Ilya’s reassuring whispers into his ear that night, his promises that he’d be fine, that he’d be perfect, Shane hadn’t relaxed in his hold. And when he’d uttered Ilya’s name, maybe it’d sounded a little choked-up.

Ilya’s mind flashed that image again, the first flight he’d taken, fourteen years ago, that he didn’t remember much of. Just the turbulence, and the cabin pressure. He imagined the plane shaking, and his ears starting to hurt. He imagined putting his head on his mom’s shoulder.

And he imagined a new flight, a new road, a brand-new destination. And how he’d have no one to hold onto now if it got too much and his ears popped and started to bleed.

It was a stupid thought. Svetlana was right about cutting back on weed.

And she was right that, maybe, Ilya needed to be on that trip.

A new message arrived just as they were leaving. Ilya ignored it.

***

Shane turned around in the open space of the RV, eyes following his checklist for the millionth time. Camping equipment, coolers, food, drinks, emergency kits, blankets, pillows, everyone’s freaking driver’s license, and a hundred other items all with little ticks next to them. He nodded to himself, in approval and reassurance.

His hands still felt clammy.

The others were all somewhere, making last-minute purchases at the superstore they were parked in front of, and Shane wondered briefly if Rose had found everything he’d asked her to buy. A second – smaller – list of items Shane thought was equally crucial. He was about to call her for a kind reminder when the sound of footsteps came from outside.

He turned to the door. “Rose, did you get—”

Mid-step, he froze. His hand clutched the doorframe and his breath got stuck somewhere in his lungs.

“Hi,” Ilya said.

Softly, with a slight smile.

Shane heard himself breathe out, “Hey.”

Three steps down, less than ten feet away, Ilya was here. Like the most startling view. Unexpected, because at one point over the past few months, Shane had managed to cut out the sight of him from his imagined vision of today. Leave it void where he’d once belonged. He’d just assumed – or wished in hopes of self-preservation – that Ilya wouldn’t be here.

But he was. With a pair of sunglasses pushing back his curls, in a skimpy tank top, and a duffel in hand, the tip of his nose sun-kissed, he was here. In flesh and bone, swiftly, rapidly making all bashed-up and mangled feelings whirl in Shane.

He wiped his hands on his shorts.

“You guys got a camper, huh?” Ilya asked, taking in the vehicle.

“Y-yeah,” Shane said. He cleared his throat. “Hayden’s idea.”

Morning sun cut across the empty parking lot, glinting off of Ilya’s eyes trailing the RV. Another look, then he stopped; his eyes locked with Shane’s.

Shane opened his mouth. “I didn’t know you were still—”

“I know I haven’t told y—”

They paused.

Ilya’s lip curled, at one corner, a half-smile. He nodded, a sign of go-ahead.

“I didn’t know you’d be joining us,” Shane managed to say.

The curl flatlined. “I know,” Ilya said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can leave, if you—”

“No.” Shane shook his head. When he should be saying, yes, yes, please go. “It’s fine.”

Please leave because the sight of you only eats away at me now.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure,” Shane croaked. “Of course.”

He tried to swallow, watching Ilya nod.

Then he heard himself say, “I mean. We’re friends, right?”

He knew where the words had come from. The part of him that thought of Ilya’s presence as not bites at his skin, but air for his lungs still.

Ilya’s brows knitted together. “Of course.”

They watched each other. Maybe for another heartbeat.

“I parked the car.” A lively sound interrupted them. “Dad said he’ll come get it.”

Their gazes broken, Shane’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“Hi, Shane.” Svetlana smiled, all beautiful and buoyant. Familiar in the way she stood next to Ilya.

All those mangled, bashed-up pieces of what Shane had felt burnt up in a flashfire. Leaving its place to unmitigated nausea.

“Hi, Svetlana,” he tried to say.

He didn’t think he’d managed. Svetlana’s smile flickered, the silence of the early morning stretching in the triangle of them. Painstaking, at least for Shane.

Svetlana darted her gaze in between. “Uhm, Ilya invited me.”

“It’s okay.” Shane heard himself say. Just digging deeper, signing up for a slow death. Of course Ilya had invited her. Of course. “The more the merrier.”

“We should’ve let you know sooner—”

“It’s okay,” Shane repeated, louder than he’d intended this time. He smiled. “You’re not the first last-minute addition, anyway.”

Like beckoned, Kyle appeared behind Ilya and Svetlana, a slushie at hand. He seemed too cheery for seven a.m., or it was Shane suddenly feeling a little too drab about everything. He could see Kip and Scott a few steps behind, hand-in-hand, and he couldn’t watch this anymore.

Especially not when Kyle said, “Heeey! You convinced him!”

To which Svetlana answered, “Of course. You know he can never say no to me.”

Shane retreated to the RV, steps shaky as he left, ill-feeling curling low in his gut. He heard the voices still, the words. Ilya’s words, fondly grumbled in Russian, and Svetlana’s answer, given with peals of laughter. Shane tried drying his hands again, rub off the dampness somehow. And he tried to breathe – forced himself to the point of pain to breathe – because whatever had just happened took up all his oxygen.

God.

He crouched down on a seat.

It wasn’t long before everyone arrived, entrenching on whatever flat surface or empty seat they’d found, and the voices roared, and the chuckles flew.

Each instance of Ilya fooling around with his friends, his nonchalant jokes and light-hearted quips, made fresh sourness collect in Shane’s stomach, and he couldn’t think. He couldn’t pay much attention to what was being said, and his eyes trained on his checklist again were unseeing. He was sure it was already past the departure time he’d set but cheering up for the task of gathering this lot and getting on the road seemed impossible now where it’d been just unexciting this morning.

Is it too late to cancel this, he wondered pathetically, as the cacophony around him lulled down with Svetlana’s question. “So, what’s the bed situation?”

“We have dibs on the overhead bed!” Hayden shouted, shrill.

“Hayden.” Jackie sighed next to him.

Then the lilt Shane would recognize in death said, “Aw, Jackie.”

Shane’s gaze flicked up.

Ilya, on the opposite sofa, gave Jackie a look of mock-repulsion. “Really?” A smirk appeared on his face. “With Hayden?”

Hayden spluttered, heated. Jackie said something to calm him.

And Shane couldn’t look away from that curved mouth. That crooked upward pinch.

An eerie feeling crept into his chest. That moment of seeing your face in the mirror and all your features looking odd, foreign. That moment of hearing your name and it sounding unfamiliar, not you, not anything you know.

“We’ll have to double up,” Rose’s voice interrupted. Shane blinked and turned to her. “There’s a bunk at the back. And these two sofas here.”

“Kip and I can take one of the sofas,” Scott said. “I don’t mind.”

Ilya snickered. “Of course you don’t, Hunter.”

“Do you know any other jokes, Rozanov?”

“No,” Ilya said. Then he looked around, gaze passing over Shane. “So who’s squeezing with who?”

“Top bunk!” Kyle jumped.

“Bottom,” Rose and Svetlana said at the same time.

They looked at each other across the empty space.

Rose shrugged. “We can share.”

It all sounded fine for one moment. Then it was a whiplash, how fast Shane’s thinking mind kicked in. “What?” he said, doing quick math. “No. I mean, it doesn’t make sense.”

It didn’t. That would leave only the other sofa bed. For Shane to share with Ilya. Ilya who could barely hold his gaze now let alone crawl into the same bed with him. Ilya whose sleeping presence curled up next to Shane felt like another life, a psychedelic trip Shane wasn’t sure of the reality of now. Ilya who came here with his… his Svetlana.

It’d be hysterical. It’d be palm sweating again, making this already impossible journey even harder for Shane.

He said, “You guys are tiny.”

Rose’s brow rose. “So?”

“It’s only logical that I share with you.” He gulped. “And Ilya with, with Svetlana.”

Rose searched his gaze, face pinched in thought. Then she looked at Svetlana.

In that one moment, Shane felt ready to pull her aside and beg. She knew it’d hurt. She knew Shane had gone to Ilya, again and again, and it was clear as the fresh air they’d find at the end of this trip that their friendship was beyond saving. She knew it would just hurt now.

Rose’s gaze turned back. “No.”

“Why?” Shane said, hoping his voice didn’t pitch too high.

Rose shrugged. “You're a guy.”

“I’m gay.”

“So?”

“I’m your best friend!” Shane felt his chin tremble as he glanced at Svetlana. “And Svetlana—”

“Svetlana doesn’t mind.” A flat answer came. Shane turned his gaze, finding Svetlana nod at Rose. “I’ll take the bottom bunk with Landry.”

“Svetlana,” Ilya said.

“This is better, Ilya.”

An inscrutable look passed Ilya’s face. Then, “Kyle.”

“No.”

“Let Shane take the top bunk.”

“No.”

Ilya opened his mouth again.

“No,” Shane heard himself echo.

Ilya’s gaze flicked to him.

Shane didn’t know what he was doing but the word had left his mouth already. If this was how they were gonna go out, he realized, he wanted his last moment with Ilya. It was that part again, the-air-in-the-lungs thing; aware he shouldn’t breathe in this particular air but couldn’t help himself.

“We must have a tent, then—”

“You’re not sleeping in a tent.”

Ilya’s jaw twitched; Shane didn’t care. If this was going to hurt anyway, he could go all out; ride the pain to the top, and hope when he came back down it’d all be consumed up. He wanted that hurt, he could deal with that hurt.

And in the meantime, Ilya could deal with Shane taking that.

“It is what it is, right?”

Ilya’s eyes flashed then, with the recognition of the words. The words that’d been ringing in Shane’s head for days now. The words Ilya had muttered, all high, all nonchalant, all aware of the downpour they’d cause later.

“Right.” His voice was a croak, and his gaze tore away. “So who’s driving first?”

***

Hayden was driving first. Much to Ilya’s dismay.

“We’re all going to die.”

“I’m a good driver, Rozanov.”

“We’re all either gonna die or somehow find ourselves in Mexico.”

Hayden’s nostrils flared.

Ilya smiled.

He could hear the chatter at the back, past the kitchenette and the door. The girls were screaming with laughter over a story Svetlana was recounting. Scott, Kip, and Kyle were talking about New York. There was music, loud, blasting from someone’s phone. Everyone was caffeinated and sugar-high and jumpy. The excitement of doing something big for the first time on their own was loud, bright, breakneck.

Ilya had tried to keep up, he had. He’d thought he’d have the stamina; he was Ilya Rozanov after all, fun-lover, backslapper, party animal, but it’d become really taxing really quick. He’d cracked a few jokes, entertained the girls, argued with Kyle about what made good road trip music, and soon enough, he’d needed a little time-out.

So he was sitting next to Hayden now, watching the Ottawa River passing by.

His brows furrowed. “Hey! This is the wrong way.”

“It’s not.”

“It is! We should be heading south of the river.”

“Shane showed me the map, okay?”

“Okay, where is it then, Hayden?”

Hayden made a frustrated noise, nodding towards the glove compartment.

Ilya made a noise himself and jerked the thing open. Amongst already accumulated clutter, he found the folded map.

“Wait.” His frown deepened. “This is a different m— route.”

“Yeah, I changed it,” Shane’s dry voice came.

Ilya looked up to see him looming over his shoulder, looking at the new route he’d drawn for the journey. On a map that wasn’t the year-old worn-and-cheap one with chocolate stains on it.

Ilya was cut a look. “We’re on the right track.”

“No Toronto, though.”

“And what are we supposed to do in Toronto?” Shane asked, brows rising.

Ilya was twelve years old the first time he’d climbed Shane’s window, the feeling of just losing his mother a dark cloud too heavy and vast for his tiny ribcage. He’d made up this story of one day in the future where that cloud would wisp away to nothing, and Ilya would take Shane somewhere big and fun, so they could dance, and crowded and loud, so no one could find them.

He was a few weeks shy of seventeen when he’d given Shane a map and asked him for real this time if he’d come along with him. It wasn’t anything special or thought out thoroughly, but Shane had said yes with the unbridled enthusiasm Ilya could feed on eternally.

Not that Toronto was particularly important to either of those events. Neither were the moon-sized astronomy parks or Boston or Montreal. It was just their thing. It’d always been their thing, to go somewhere together, anywhere, anyhow. On a bus, on a plane, on Ilya’s bike; just the two of them. Ilya and his favorite person.

His throat closed up over a stupid damn map.

“Club,” he said. Then flashed a smile. “Or a bar. Somewhere fun to take the kids.”

Shane didn’t seem amused by his joke. “Drinking age is nineteen in Ontario. We’re not sneaking into a club.”

“Well, we could see the city.” Ilya shrugged. “And stop by Chicago.”

“There’s nothing in Chicago.”

“And what exactly is there in Northern Ontario?”

Shane’s lips pursed. “…Nature.”

“There’s a lot of nature where we’re going. A forest, a lake. Nocturnal animals everywhere.”

“Yeah.” Shane crossed his arms. “But not the river.”

Ilya’s brow rose. He glanced outside and pointed at the river the RV was chugging by. “That’s what you wanna see?”

Shane shrugged. “There are museums too.”

“Museums?”

“Yes. In Thunder Bay,” he said. “And Manitoba.”

Ilya took in the scowl and the crossed arms; the stubborn, displeased line of his body.

His jaw clenched. “You want to see a museum in Nowheresville, Manitoba and not the thousand ones in Toronto?”

“Taking the southern route and stopping by the States would only make our drive longer.”

“Yeah,” Ilya said, exasperated. “By like four hours.”

“Exactly.” Shane yanked the map off his hands. “I need to be at the park at an exact date and time.”

I know, Ilya wanted to spit. They’d worked on that map together for months.

Shane took a deep breath. “Look.” His arms dropped. “I’m glad you guys joined us, honestly. Nine is better than six, this is great. And I don’t mind sleeping w— on the sofa bed. But no detours, Ilya,” he said, undeterred. “No underage bar sneaking. No distractions. No. Detours.”

The RV clunked away on the uneven road. Ilya swallowed as he looked at the dark eyes made solid with determination. And something else.

“I just want to be do—” Shane started, stopped, and looked down.

Ilya’s brows furrowed. “You just want to be what?”

It was a second before Shane mumbled, “There.” Ilya watched his throat bob. “I just wanna be there.”

He made a careless job of folding the map and threw it in the cup holder.

“Okay,” Ilya murmured. But Shane was already gone.

The next eight hours were just that, the RV following the road paved along the river. At one point it was Shane who’d taken the driver’s seat and Ilya had to remove himself from there. He’d thrown himself on one of the leather sofas, the conversation around him calmed now. The smooth feeling on his bare calves, and Kip snoring softly on Scott’s shoulder across from him were gut-twisting reminder that he’d be sharing a bed with Shane tonight.

It is what it is, Shane had said, and we’re still friends, right he’d asked this morning.

Ilya wasn’t delusional, he knew things weren’t normal, and he’d heard the edge of coldness in Shane’s voice. But he was also here so they could get over it, so Shane would move on, so they’d reach the point where they’d be friendly. Ilya could admit maybe he’d been wrong; maybe it wasn’t time and space they’d needed but an attempt at cordialness and normalcy. So maybe this was better. Shane seemed okay with it, so maybe this was what he wanted as well. To be casual, amicable. To not make a big deal out of this. They’d shared a bed before, they’d share a bed again.

This was fine.

The sun was falling beneath the horizon and the sky losing its warmth by the time they’d pulled into a campground tucked away by the river. Everyone was happy to stretch their legs and take a lungful of fresh air. Ilya was happy to run away for a bit and take a lungful of his cigarettes.

Weak, his father would say whenever he’d caught him smoking by a window, and he wouldn’t be wrong. Just because this was fine, didn’t mean it was easy; it wouldn’t be, not for Ilya. So he stepped away for a minute, from the others, from Shane, and took his moment to be weak.

Then he slapped on a jester’s hat and a wide grin. “So what are we eating, pumpkins?”

They ate brats and burgers because that was easy campfire food and Shane had stocked the mini-fridge in the RV. They didn’t have enough folding chairs which was why Ilya was perched on a piece of log with Svetlana next to him.

Of course, the conversation spun around the topic of the future. Not the distant, hypothetical one, but a few weeks from now.

“I have to go see the apartment again. I don’t know what I’ll do about the furniture situation,” Kyle said, taking a sip of his coke.

“Wait, you’re not staying on campus?” Jackie asked.

“Nope.” Kyle grinned, humorless. “My parents are fine paying for an apartment all just for me. As long as I’m out of their hair.”

“Yeah, that really sucks.” Kip rolled his eyes.

Kyle snickered, knocking back his drink.

“Well, my room is tiny,” Jackie said. “But I don’t mind. As long as my roommate is not a creep, I guess.”

“Oh, God,” Kip said. “I can’t wait to see what freak is waiting for me.”

Scott knocked their knees together. “You can come stay with me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kip asked like they hadn’t planned their entire lives around each other.

“Oh yeah,” Scott said playfully, kissing him with a full-beam.

Ilya rolled his eyes.

“Well, no Montreal apartment for me,” Shane’s quiet voice sounded; Ilya’s gaze snapped to him.

“Or a boyfriend with an NHL paycheck,” Jackie murmured.

“And I’m really not looking forward to who I’ll be sharing a room with,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

It was quiet for a moment before Kip said, sweetly, “I hope they're nice.”

Shane smiled, tight-lipped.

“I hope they're hot,” Rose said next to him.

“Rose.” Shane rolled his eyes, but Ilya heard the mirth creeping into his voice.

“I hope they're very hot, and very gay, and so very into you,” Rose said.

In the darkened backdrop of the sky, with the only light coming from the roaring open fire, Shane’s blush was ruby-red, a brush of torch-flame. He looked warm in the cheeks, he looked like July, and Ilya felt all the heat drain away from his own face.

Too cold this high up in the stratosphere.

He realized he had his lip caught too hard between his teeth the moment he realized Rose’s eyes boring into him.

He looked away.

“What about you, Rozanov?” came Scott’s voice.

Ilya was glad the moment moved on; he wasn’t as happy all eyes turned to him. All but Shane’s.

“I don’t think any of the Boston unis would take me in as a stray.”

Scott rolled his eyes.

Ilya smirked, then shrugged. “I’ll find an apartment, I guess.”

“I’m telling him he should rent a place close to mine but this noggin,” Svetlana said, knocking on Ilya’s head. “Is a mysterious place.”

She chuckled; Ilya chuckled with her.

“I’ll go get a drink,” Shane mumbled suddenly. His chair almost fell back as he got up, and Ilya’s eyes trailed him as he took two long strides to the RV.

“So you’re thinking someplace else?”

Ilya forced his gaze back. And he forced a smile. “It’s a secret, Hunter.”

His mind went to the unanswered texts on his phone and the plane tickets not yet bought. Things postponed to the point of almost stupidity when everyone else was moving on. He would… fix it. Somehow.

At one point, he’d fix things, and everything would be fine.

He pushed himself to his feet. Ignoring the eyes burning into him – not just Svetlana’s but Rose’s he could feel as well – he walked away again. Time-out.

By the time he came back, the fire was snuffed out, and the folding chairs put away. There was only the eerie sound of the night as he let himself in the RV and locked the door. He could hear chests rising, soft snores, the occasional rustling of the sheets, and murmurs. He made a quick job of getting ready for sleep. Then stood there.

They’d made the sofas into beds, wider and fitted with sheets, and Shane was there, curled up by the window. He had his back turned to Ilya, but he was asleep. Ilya could tell by his steady breathing, the rhythmic sound as his chest moved.

Not allowing himself to think too hard, he got into bed.

He lay on his back, keeping his eyes on the ceiling of the RV. He could feel the exhaustion in his body, the steel drawn between his shoulder blades, the heaviness of his head – but instead of it making him feel drowsy, dreamy, it felt like a frenzy. Fire ants in his fingertips, his breaths short.

He blamed Scott’s snoring a few feet away and Hayden’s sleepy mumbles he could hear. The canned air in the space, too stagnant. He tried to focus on sleep. He tried.

But Shane was right there.

Ilya turned his head. He couldn’t see him in the dark, but he got a whiff of the sheets – freshly laundered, the scent of Yuna’s detergent – and he could hear him. Feel him. The sound, the thing, Shane’s being Ilya lulled himself to sleep with all these years. It made the fire ants go crazier; it also made something in him ease a little.

He dozed off at one point, his body giving in. It wasn’t a surprise with how his limbs and lungs and chest had always been in sync with Shane sleeping next to him.

But his mind wasn’t as cooperative; thoughts and feelings he didn’t want resurfaced in his sleep, his defenses sinking deep. They were too obscure to call nightmares, but Ilya slipped in and out of shadows, snatches of being asleep and not.

He woke with a jolt. That feeling of falling in your sleep, plummeting too hard, too fast, before you even knew you were suspended. He grasped at the air, at the sheets, the pillow, and his head snapped to the side. Air escaped his lungs upon seeing Shane.

It was dark still, though with the way Shane had rolled in his sleep – facing Ilya now – the camp light fell on his face through the window slats. Parallel lines illuminating parts of him. One across his shoulders and collarbones, lighting the faint dusting of freckles. One on his Adam’s apple, one on his chin. One draped over his upper lip, and one a paintbrush across his cheekbones touched by his lashes.

It was breathtaking; not just the sight of Shane, but how familiar and strange it felt. Ilya couldn’t hope to count the number of times he’d watched Shane as he slept, but he could count the days and the nights since he had last. Not the couple of nights stolen here and there afterward, but in this way, as he’d lain next to him, as they’d shared the heat and the air in between.

The last true night between them, bleaching to the morning of the first snow. When Shane had been wrapped in his arms, and Ilya had watched and watched and watched, and touched him as he’d wanted.

They weren’t touching now. But their hands were right there, curled in the space between them. Moving his fingers an inch to the side, Ilya could clasp Shane’s wrist, and feel his pulse beating hot in his palm.

He moved his gaze to Shane’s face again and felt an odd smile tweeze at his lips. He looked at the freckled cheeks and the eyelashes, and he looked at the cupid’s bow above Shane’s lips. Just too perfect.

It crashed like a breaker, the sharp and sudden desire to kiss him. Not that Ilya could, not that it was new. Not that there hadn’t been that want – suppressed and helpless – in his chest since he was fourteen. Maybe even younger. It was hard to trace its origin. One moment, there was Shane. The next, there was the need to kiss him.

The need to be with him.

Ilya felt his face screw, remembering a time when that was his one and only goal. To follow Shane to the end of the world. But it seemed so far away now, so statistically impossible, because they’d grown up a bit differently, and they’d grown apart a bit painfully. In the July heat, looking at Shane in a flimsy tank top and with sweat beading his skin, it was hard to remember that winter morning and the anticipation of the first snow. That little window of hope when Ilya had said screw it, I’ll follow him anywhere, and I don’t even care if he never loves me the same way. As long as he had him, his best friend, his partner, his person, sleeping, eating, breathing next to him. That winter morning when the first snow had arrived and fooled Ilya into thinking he could keep that.

Buried in snow and all his senses taken over by Shane, it’d been a little hard to see how it could never work.

This was the reality. And this was better. For Shane, at least, it would be better.

The idea of having him in any capacity might have dwindled down to being friendly at the least, but this would be fine.

This was fine.

Shane was fine.

Ilya heard a hitched breath; his eyes found Shane’s beautiful face again.

What he saw was gone was the serene look, and in its place were brows drawn tight together, and lips thinned to nothing.

Like Shane was in pain.

Ilya bolted off the bed, looking for his shoes, his pack of cigarettes, whatever. He dispersed the thought and threw himself outside. He wasn’t getting any more sleep.

***

Shane was sitting in an overgrown field, his breath congealed, and the heat suffocating as he poked at his breakfast. The morning of day four found them in a campground somewhere near Saskatoon, and the drooping trees were the only thing shading it to bearable.

He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he’d thought he could stomach eggs in this weather. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking deciding to sit outside either; exposing himself to the one thing he didn’t want to be exposed to.

He was watching it through metaphorical fingers covering his eyes.

Svetlana’s laughter rang loud in the air. Over by the creek, only thirty feet away from Shane, Kyle and Ilya were drenching her in water.

Ilya’s smile was lazy, pretty, sticky like summer.

The eggs looked sad, turning Shane’s stomach.

Each time he’d thought he’d felt the last of this, it’d struck him again like a gut punch. This feeling of jealousy and envy. The ancient knowledge of Ilya having a life, wants, friends, and maybe even more that Shane never got to see. All the while Shane only had Ilya. Ilya as his best friend, his confidant, his everything. Like a timeworn body ache.

A timeworn misconception that he meant as much to him. Hopeful – wrong – epiphanies that came again and again only to leave Shane all alone in his bedroom or by an old swingset as it’d poured.

It was Svetlana and Kyle raining water on Ilya now. Sun at its peak was mottling his shoulders pink but he was laughing, unaware yet of the pain it’d cause him later. For such a smart guy, he could be careless like that sometimes.

Shane felt it burn, the thing in his pocket.

Svetlana’s face brightened, her smile too big for her tiny pretty features. Ilya’s one arm curled around her shoulders.

Shane nearly demanded, why? Why come here now, after putting down the spadework to a final goodbye between them already? Why be here, with his girlfriend or fuckbuddy or whatever Svetlana was to him? Why rub it in Shane’s face? Why act all Ilya, mischievous jokes, loose limbs, quicksilver smiles, to everyone but Shane?

Why are you hurting me?

A shutter went off. Shane blinked, looking ahead.

“Sorry,” Kyle said, lifting his camera. “I was capturing the trees behind you.”

Shane feigned a smile.

“Where are the others?”

“Uhm, exploring. I guess.”

“Or making out somewhere if they're called Scott and Kip,” Kyle said with an eyeroll.

Shane nodded.

Kyle’s lip twitched. “I’ll go ahead and take some pictures,” he said, showing the camera again, and pointing behind him. “Those two idiots don’t want to come with me.”

The invitation hung in the air, unspoken.

Shane’s masochistic side wanted nothing but to look at Ilya and Svetlana again. This was the plan, right? Hurt till it didn’t hurt anymore.

But Kyle stood there, rooted like a tree. His eyes expectant on Shane.

Shane swallowed.

He could admit it’d be healthier now, to step away for a second. Manage his masochism drip by drip instead of overdosing.

He nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

They walked away from the creek and the campground, finding themselves on a hiking trail not too hard or too high. It was just bugs and mosquitos, the buzzing sound of summer, for a long while.

Shane hated to admit that Ilya had been right. There hadn’t been much on this route, except for nature. Too much nature. The museums they’d stopped by yesterday and the day before hadn’t been anywhere as interesting as Toronto or Chicago to a bunch of eighteen-year-olds either. One afternoon, they’d spent just watching sheep as they’d grazed. No one said they were bored, but Shane knew Ilya had been right.

To be completely honest, he’d known it on day one. But he couldn’t let Ilya just barge in like nothing changed. Like Shane didn’t want to just get this over with now. Just a checkmark for the road trip at the end of high school. Like a checkmark for choosing his freshman year subjects, for applying for housing, for doing his school shopping. Like all the checkmarks on his checklists for this trip. Just steps to go through and be done with.

The shutter of Kyle’s camera sounded again, three consecutive ones. He stood up from where he’d been crouching and glanced at Shane.

“I’m sorry, you know,” he said. “For barging in on your trip. Kip invited me weeks ago, I assumed you knew.”

Shane shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Kyle nodded, moistening his lips. “She’s sorry, too. Svetlana, I mean.”

How could air get any less breathable? “I don’t mind Svetlana either.”

Kyle nodded again, a slow one. Then he asked, “What about Ilya?”

Shane’s back stiffened. “What about Ilya?”

“Do you mind Ilya?”

“Why would I mind Ilya?”

“I mean…” Kyle shrugged. “You don’t seem very excited about this whole thing.”

“No offense, Kyle,” Shane said. “But we're hardly what you’d call close friends.”

He knew the scowl on his face was too deep, maybe even deeper now. He started trekking up the path again.

“True,” Kyle said, falling into step beside him. “But we grew up in the same town. We went to all the same birthday parties, all the same town events, and we saw each other every single school day. Probably more than any other two people with all those advanced classes they stuck the two of us in.”

“And?” Shane asked tersely.

“And I’ve always seen what you look like when you’re next to Ilya.”

Shane’s foot almost slipped. He cursed, straightening himself. He could feel Kyle’s eyes blazing the side of his face, like the sun above, but he just continued.

Kyle followed him; the silence interrupted by the camera once or twice for long minutes again.

Then he said, “You know I had a crush on Kip for years?”

That stopped Shane. Not that he was in the mood for gossip, or the words sounded unfathomable, but for the reason they were said.

Humiliation came like a pang, instant white-hot.

He risked a glance at Kyle, but Kyle wasn’t looking at him.

“Hah,” left his mouth, eyes on the dirt road. “Crush. More like I was hopelessly in love with him. For years.”

Shane gulped. “Why are you telling me this?”

He watched Kyle take a deep breath and lift his gaze. “It would just hurt a lot, you know?” He tried to swallow. “Especially with Scott.”

Shane felt himself soften. If Kyle was over it, the despaired look on his face didn’t agree.

He gave Shane a smile. “So whenever I saw you with Ilya, I would just feel bitter, because I always thought you guys had a ch—”

His last word got crumbled in his throat. His eyes lowered once more.

“We what?” Shane’s words came out, full of dust.

Mosquitos buzzed again, and nothing else.

Then Kyle looked up. “You guys would just bounce back,” he said, lifting a shoulder. “If something happened because of…” Shane’s hopeless feelings. “You two would survive it. You two… I mean, don’t get me wrong, me and Kip will always be good friends. But you two are different. It’s like there's you…” Kyle smiled again, fuller this time. “Then everything else.”

Shane felt his eyes burn, dry. His throat burn, dry.

Kyle huffed a laugh, carefree stance back to his body. “I never had delusions, you know? Whenever me and Ilya hung out, that asshole just wanted to be back with you.”

Shane couldn’t say anything, eyes blinking against the sun.

Kyle knocked their shoulders together. He said, softly, “I always thought it was something like a red string.”

False hope threatened to fill his lungs again, but Shane was quick to quash it down. Because Kyle was wrong.

Ilya was right here, day-in and day-out like he hadn’t been in so long, and he didn’t come near Shane. Shane went to bed late, got up early, because he was hyperaware Ilya would be sleeping next to him, but he’d never found him there. Ilya smiled and his eyes shone, but in all the ways that stayed just out of reach for Shane. He didn’t even understand some of those curled lips and shifting gazes anymore, and that felt like his parched insides suffocating him inside out.

It was stupid how once he’d thought silly and dramatic things like rivers running dry before they separated. The roads would end, and the stars would dim before they could be uncoupled.

Stupid.

“He told you what happened, didn’t he?” he asked, words wrenched.

Kyle nodded, hesitant.

“And you’ve seen him in these past few months?”

Another nod.

“Then you know you were wrong.”

Shane turned around, starting down the path they’d come up.

“Shane,” Kyle said, cutting in front of him. “Ilya is…” He trailed off. Then blew out a breath. “You know how Ilya is.”

No, he didn’t. Because Ilya didn’t want him to anymore, and Shane was tired of this. Of being the one who bared himself to his friends, to Ilya’s friends, to Ilya. Tired of trying to figure him out, and tired of being the fretter, the nagger. Tired of worrying about stupid shit like the sunburn Ilya was going to get on his shoulders, and how he was going to freak out once he realized he’d dropped his mom’s necklace.

He wrenched it out of his pocket. “Give this to him,” he said. “Its clasp is broken, and he hasn’t noticed it’s missing yet—”

“Fucking God.”

Shane stopped.

Kyle let out a groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two are really fucking stupid about each other, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

A sigh escaped Kyle. Then grabbing his wrist, he curled Shane’s fingers around the chain. Tight. “You give it to him yourself, Hollander,” he said, each syllable clear, punctuated with the look in his eyes.

He started on the path, again.

The crucifix branding his palm, Shane stood there.

***

It was noon on the sixth day of their trip; the wheels under them going round, Bon Iver musing on the radio, and boredom honey-thick in every inch of the space.

Ilya was at the front again, next to Hayden. He was feeling restless in the chest, but they were all feeling it so. They were close enough to their destination, securely within the limits of Alberta, left only one more stop and one more day of driving. Outside of the window was a painting, panoramic, picturesque. The prairie grass was lush green, rolling hills perfectly golden, all the trails and passes they’d taken just breathtaking.

Only, it was exhausting. The repetition days-on-end just boring. The sight, stretching and stretching as the miles slipped by, was nothing but a blur of colors now. Their favorite songs were all played to dull drivel, and all their conversations stopped at their natural ending.

Maybe someone with more enthusiasm for life would call it character building.

Ilya called it bullshit.

It was choking too, the air. At night, it would cool down just enough, but whenever Ilya closed his eyes, the heat would stay an abyss. Just pitch black behind his eyelids, not going anywhere. Just a blackhole of a migraine, not budging. No sunspots, no flecks of vision. Just dark and heat. Ilya would find his hand going to his chest at those times, only to find the lack of his chain.

Character building, his ass. He was just pissed and bored and tired.

Svetlana was there suddenly, reaching towards the radio and killing the music.

“Thank God,” Ilya groaned.

A scoff came in response.

He glanced over his shoulder; Shane shot him a look.

Then there was that. Not just a headache but a heartburn too, growing like a tumbleweed. The tension between him and Shane, pulled to every corner of every room they filled. Ilya was at marvel because he didn’t know what stem it’d detached from. They were acting cordial still, but he found himself tiptoeing.

He’d blame the nights in one sofa they’d spent, worry about accidentally doing or saying something in his sleep – if only he could actually sleep. It’d play out the same every night; Ilya would climb next to an already asleep Shane, watch the ceiling, listen to the sounds. Then the tension would melt away from his body with Shane’s presence right there, but his mind would stay a churner, of too many thoughts and sentimental bullshit. Ilya would jump awake, something pressing against his ribs.

And during the day, Shane’s huffs and scowls would grow. Everyone could see it now, feel it; knowing glances sent each and every way.

Ilya risked another glance. Shane was paging through a book; everyone else was sitting in oppressive silence.

He didn’t know how – or why – he’d done the next thing he’d done, but Hayden, a good driver or not, was still a fool.

It wasn’t long before Shane noticed. “Wait.” His voice rose and footsteps followed. “Hayden, why did you enter the city limits?”

Hayden’s face turned to that of a scared child’s. “Ilya’s reading the map to me!”

Shane’s head whipped to Ilya. “I said no detours.”

The welcome to Edmonton sign looked closer now.

“Ilya.”

Ilya rose, passing Shane and moving to the back.

“Ilya!”

“Look,” Ilya said, turning around to face him. “We’re almost there, okay? Taking a little look around the city won’t change anything.”

“It’s gonna add at least eight hours to our drive.”

“About four actually.”

“Yeah, what about the time we’ll lose because all of you will be hungover in the morning?” Shane huffed. “This is what it’s about, isn’t it? Alberta clubs are open to you, so of course you have to go drink and grind on strangers.”

“Shane, everyone’s bored out of their minds, okay? And no offense, I like you all,” Ilya said to the audience watching them with full attention now. “But I’m tired of looking at your damn mugs. It’s not gonna kill any of us if we take a spontaneous day in the city.”

“I don’t like spontaneity, Ilya,” Shane said, crossing his arms. “I’m fucking boring, okay? I like knowing what I’m doing, and I like my schedules and my lists and my plans. I don’t like switching on p—things.” His brows knitted. “What’s so fucking wrong with sticking to a plan?”

“I already had a plan, if you remember,” Ilya said, voice a nick exasperated. “I planned all of our stops and all the places we'd visit and all the places we’d stay in.”

Just you and me – not caged in this fucking rattletrap with all these people.

He looked down and took a deep breath. He didn’t want this to be a fight.

“Well, it was cheaper this way,” Shane said. “What? Is your job in Boston paying big bucks?”

Ilya bit his tongue. “I’m thinking with everyone here in mind, Shane.”

Shane laughed. “No, Ilya,” he said. “You only think with you in mind.”

Ilya felt himself wince, his shoulders curling inward. He looked at those dark, unchanging eyes, and couldn’t help but feel like they were talking about something else now.

Ilya had grown up as the son of a rich man who’d slapped him with words of selfish and ungrateful constantly, daily. He’d never minded because he’d taken nothing from that man, he was given nothing by that man, material or sentimental.

But he’d taken from Shane, everything. Anything he was willing to give or not, so hearing words of a similar notion was…

Wasn’t Shane seeing this was Ilya looking around the damned faces and trying to keep everyone happy? Wasn’t Shane seeing that Ilya had come here to make sure leaving was the right choice, that he was doing right by him? Wasn’t Shane seeing that this was Ilya being selfless?

Ilya turned his head sideways, drawing in a breath. He counted to three, pressing his eyes together to see the blackout again, before turning back to Shane.

“Shane—”

“I told you I needed to be there at a certain time.”

“I know,” Ilya groaned. “I know, okay? Summer nights are short, we’ll have only a brief window of darkness. You want to be there on the first day of the new moon, so we get the most out of it.”

Shane’s scowl didn’t ease. If anything, it deepened. Everyone was watching them, Ilya could feel. And Ilya and Shane were watching each other.

A moment passed; Shane’s lips pursed. Ilya hadn’t realized till now how chewed and bitten they looked.

“We’ll be on time,” he said softly. I promise, he wanted to add but didn’t. He wasn’t even sure if this was a hill to die on. Maybe it’d be better to just take a step back.

Louder than necessary, Hayden’s shout came, “Should I get back on the highway?”

“Yes,” Ilya was about to say when Shane declared, “No.”

He eyed Ilya for another second. Then lifting his book from where he’d left it, he sat down, no other word said. Ilya looked at the frown still on his face; rippling cool air pulling the mountain ranges and high noon down with it.

Shane would see it, Ilya thought. Right? He’d see this was Ilya being selfless.

Ilya moved to the front again. The restless feeling refused to move.

***

Once they were in the city, they’d all scattered around.

They’d left the RV in a dingy campsite just outside Edmonton, agreeing to come back in the evening to change and head out together again. Shane had watched his friends – with self-reproach and indignation – as their voices had roared with excitement and they’d grinned like they hadn’t grinned all week.

In that cacophony, he’d somehow ended up tagging along with Kip and Scott. He’d wanted Ilya as far away from him as possible, and he wanted to avoid Rose and Jackie’s questions. And he’d thought a shopping street with little boutiques and gift shops would be nice, ease the frustration seeped above his skin.

He’d just failed to consider how… relentless Scott and Kip could be.

After the seventh halt he’d come to on a sidewalk because the couple wanted to share yet another open-mouthed, grinning kiss, Shane had started to suspect that they liked this. Having Shane as a third-wheel, an audience to awe at how fucking disgustingly perfect they were together.

Shane hadn’t awed. He’d judged, full condemnation, though he had no valid reason to. He’d told himself it wasn’t Ilya related – because why was Ilya sticking his nose in every corner of Shane’s brain, even half a city away – but deep down, Shane knew it and he hated it. He knew the judgement, the jealousy, the envy were all just bursts of wishful, hopeful, longing Ilya-thoughts.

He’d busied himself with buying gifts for his parents, trying to shoo Ilya away. His hands, though, traitorous, had kept patting his pocket for a broken chain. And his eyes, traitorous, had searched for a jewelry shop.

By the time they returned to the campsite, the sky was a muggy gray, and so was Shane’s mood. Everyone was in the RV already – girls doing each other’s make-up, Hayden and Kyle sitting on a sofa – when they stepped in.

Everyone but Ilya.

Shane didn’t want to care.

“Wait,” Hayden’s voice came, aghast. “This is a gay club you picked?!”

“Well yeah,” Kyle answered. “I’m gay, Pike.”

“Well, I’m not!”

“What does it matter? We’re just gonna dance.” Kyle shrugged. “Yelp says this place gets the best crowd.”

Hayden’s mouth opened and closed. Helplessly.

A sly look passed Kyle’s face. “Is this like…” His voice dropped to a suggestive tone. “Something internalized?”

Hayden spluttered and jumped to his feet. Everyone laughed, Jackie the loudest. Shane assumed it'd be funny if anything could be funny right now.

The door rattled in its frame and Ilya stepped in. “Is it finally time for a head count?” he asked, laughing.

Shane really, really didn’t want to care.

Everyone got out of their shorts and into proper jeans. They called a cab because they weren’t taking this clunky thing there. And in the meantime, they made a ruckus loud enough to get some shush from the campsite staff.

Shane had spent those twenty minutes unsure if he wanted to avoid Ilya or be cool, casual, carefree, and look at him. They were waiting for their cabs to arrive when he chose the latter, though he feared he didn’t manage coolness as he’d aspired. He could never, not when it came to him.

Ilya must be born nonchalant, Shane thought, as he watched him tease Hayden about something. Red in the face, Hayden was trying to come up with a comeback while Kyle and Jackie just laughed.

A handsome, crooked smile curled his lips. All familiar.

His curls all bounced around. All familiar.

Playfulness became catchlight in his eyes. All familiar.

“Relax, Pike. No one’s gonna hit on you.”

“Wait. Why wouldn’t they hit on me?”

“Uh oh. Should we unpack that?”

All familiar things. All light, loose, laid-back Ilya things.

Shane felt the hair on his arms rise, then. An uneasy feeling stirred in his gut.

He rubbed his gooseflesh skin and thought it must be the weather. The chill of a Canadian night not quite shaken off even in July.

“Chilly,” someone said, like reading his mind.

Ilya hummed; Shane watched as he shrugged into his jacket.

His eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, he was racking his head, trying to remember the last time he’d seen Ilya do that, and his mind blanked. Then he thought about how he’d probably never see it again, and his throat closed. Then he got that eerie feeling again, that there was something in that gesture – like that smirk the first day – that felt touched by something wrong.

He felt his insides chill.

He wasn’t sure if it was just the weather.

The ride to the club didn’t last long. They hopped out of their cabs in front of an industrial building with a parking lot to the side. The cars busying the place were the only thing making the warehouse-looking-thing not feel abandoned. The cars, the booming sound of music, and the all-pink, all-neon, flashy sign spelling the club’s name.

They were let in with no trouble, and Shane had this vivid image of them somehow journeying to the center of that sign. The first thing was the strobes, equally blinding, hitting Shane in the eye. The place flashed pink and blue for one second, faded back to black, then flashed again. And the music was more pressure and bass, throbbing pulse under their feet, than rhythm and sound. There was a bar on one side, booths on the other, and a dance floor in between. Looking at the dancing bodies, the flowing crowd, Shane wondered how much more overwhelming a weekend must be.

He felt as alien as he’d feared, and his anxiety reared its loyal head.

It only got worse when they found a booth to take over. Everyone immediately scattered, to the restroom or the bar. Everyone but Shane, Ilya, and Svetlana. Before Shane could gather his bearings, take a seat, hope his breathing wasn’t louder than the sound in the club, Ilya shouted, “I’ll go dance!”

It was for no one, meaning it wasn’t for Shane. Shane could very well be air, as Ilya chuckled, making a shimmy move towards the dance floor. He could very well be anything recommended-to-avoid as Ilya moved away like he couldn’t sit even one second with Shane there.

Svetlana rolled her eyes and followed him.

“Oh wow,” Rose said, watching Ilya’s back as she walked back from the bar. “You guys are literally dancing around each other now.”

“You have no right to comment on this anymore,” Shane told her, throwing himself on the booth.

He was still mad at her for the sleeping arrangement they’d ended up with. Though a part of him suspected she was being helpful in her way, not letting Shane see Ilya and Svetlana share a bed. He also suspected she was still being hopeful, an idiot just like Shane.

He had to scoot to the middle as she kept nudging closer to him. She shot him an apologetic smile and offered a drink.

Shane looked at the rainbow concoction. “What is this?”

“It’s called Be Merry and Gay. I asked the bartender to give you something for your current disposition.”

Shane shot her what he hoped was a deathly glare. Mouthing his straw, he took a sip. It was too sweet.

His gaze moved to the dance floor, of course. hungry for a sight of Ilya and Svetlana to balance all that sugar in his drink. Before he could find them, his line of sight got blocked.

Shane looked up to see a guy shyly smiling at him.

“Uhm,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hi.”

Shane’s one eyebrow rose. “Hello.”

“I was—” The guy hesitated, then louder, “I was wondering if you’d like to dance.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Or if you’d let me buy you a drink.”

Never one to feel comfortable with this, Shane shuffled in his seat. The guy sounded genuine, he could give him that. And he was handsome, probably not that much older than him. But there was nothing Shane was less interested in right now than having a drink, dancing, or putting on a face for a stranger.

“Thank you,” he said with a smile he hoped was sincere. “But I’m not in the mood.”

The guy’s aw-shucks smile died. “Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “It was shooting a bit high anyway.”

Rose punched Shane on the arm the moment he left. “He was cute!”

“He was very cute,” Kyle said, appearing out of nowhere.

Shane didn’t say anything.

When he looked back at the dance floor, he found a pair of eyes fixed on him. With the lights dancing overhead, they shifted colors, but Shane knew they were gold, and he knew they shone strange. It was not knowing why that made this sinking feeling worse every time.

Before he could even raise an eyebrow, the crowd cut in between.

Leaning his head back, Shane blew out a breath. He closed his eyes and distantly thought of picking up meditation again. The sound in the club reverberated too deeply in his head. He wasn’t hearing the music because Shane had never been in sync with a beat, and the taste of alcohol was just a bitter wash he’d never learn to enjoy. He thought this must be like experiencing the deep space. All force, no sense, no sound.

Like a clock, like the lunar cycle, like anything predictable ever, he opened his eyes to search for Ilya again. And like a clock, like the lunar cycle, like anything predictable ever, jealousy and unalloyed hurt crashed into him once more. It was getting too repetitive, seeing Ilya smile beautifully as Svetlana touched him.

A song change later, it was someone else touching him. Another girl, making Shane’s gut sour more, and his eyes narrow. He’d glanced at Svetlana only to feel more puzzled at the no offense on her face. He huffed a laugh because he didn’t understand. Then he thought, bitterly, maybe it was time he’d made peace with not understanding things anymore.

Something was holding him back still, though. The cross in his pocket; the decade and more shared between him and Ilya; that one morning in a roadside diner where he’d promised himself he’d be optimistic when it came to him, for him; the whisper of something strange in Ilya’s moves.

Then Hayden gasped, rushing to their table.

“Is that Ilya dancing with a guy?!”

Shane’s head snapped up, his fingertips going cold.

If seeing Ilya with Svetlana, with any girl, was hurtful but predictable, this was oxygen being cut instantly. Deep space. All force, no sense, no air.

“Shane,” he heard Rose whisper.

He couldn’t blink, his mind spinning. He’d never been good at math, but his head was trying to take in everything he was seeing; Ilya dancing with a guy, that half-smile thing he did curving his mouth. They were closer than Ilya had been with anyone else this entire evening, weren’t they? And the guy, was he taller than Shane, shorter, broader?

Distantly, he heard Kyle’s chuckle. “You gotta do what you gotta do for a free drink.”

And Hayden saying, “That’s not normal.”

“You’re just jealous that no cute guys asked to dance with you.”

“I have a girlfriend! Why would I be jealous?”

Shane’s sensible side was saying this didn’t necessarily mean anything, it was just dancing, they were at a club. But they were moving together in one space, and Shane didn’t think it looked platonic, or just for a free drink. It didn’t even matter, not the distance, not how the guy looked, not the angle of Ilya’s smile. They were all trivial, just a buffer for the real question.

What the fuck?

Like that, Shane’s single line of understanding snapped in half. The only logical part of this entire thing that he could hold in his hands: Ilya, straight, not being happy with his gay best friend falling for him. In the grand scheme of things, Shane knew it’d never made sense, not with everything he’d known about Ilya and about him and Ilya. But it’d been one thing, one flick of thought to build his defenses and collapse on.

Now with that ceasing to air, Shane was left with one hysterical thought.

Anyone but me.

Reactionary, predictable, hurt, he did the most nonsensical, inanely vindicative thing.

“Hey.” He found the guy who’d asked him to dance. “Do you still wanna buy me a drink?”

The guy turned around, surprised. His aw-shucks smile found his face. “I thought you weren’t in the mood?”

Shane shrugged. “I am now.”

***

“No, thanks,” Ilya said, leaning back from the kiss.

His gaze searched the direction of their table again. He felt his teeth clench, his jaw tick.

The guy gave a laugh, short and mirthless. “What?”

Shane wasn’t even there.

Ilya returned his gaze. “Thanks,” he said again, patting him on the shoulder. “But I’m good.”

He heard the splutter and the spew of curses behind him, pushing himself through the crowd. His eyes darted around but he couldn’t see Shane anywhere. The bass and the lights were aggravating his migraine, making his head throb like a giant bruise. And the alcohol he’d been consuming since the moment they’d arrived in the city wasn’t helping much. Or at all.

Unsurprising as it was, Ilya wasn’t dealing well with… anything. There wasn’t even a trigger, unless one counted the frown lines on Shane’s face anytime he looked at him. Unless one counted the same face blooming with a smile as another guy flirted with him. Unless one counted Ilya’s bullshit excuses starting to fail here and there as the reality was bubbling to the surface.

Weak. His father was right. Weak and stupid.

Dancing with a guy just because he saw Shane smile at someone else. A single smile, not even Shane’s most genuine.

But that was Ilya’s smile, god dammit. And he wanted it back.

His alcohol-addled brain was being too honest with himself, too greedy; he wanted it back, all of Shane’s smiles. And all the contrarian shit he’d been pulling this whole trip was because he wanted back their bickering, their banter. And he wanted back their road trip with its map of well-loved fold-lines, and he wanted back their easy touches and Shane’s skin against his as they slept together.

Even coming here, going against Shane’s schedule knowing it’d upset him, was because he wanted something back. Something like Shane believing him when he made promises. Something like Shane trusting that, for him, Ilya would solve anything and everything. Something like reassuring Shane, taking care of Shane. Of course they’d arrive on time, of course, because Ilya would make sure if the new moon was what Shane wanted, the sky would never see another lunar phase again.

He laughed. How stupid, and fake, and how Ilya. Causing problems just to fool himself into believing he fixed them later. A phony saviour.

He stopped at their table, finding no one but Scott and Kip giggling together. He turned around, his gaze roaming every face, every crevice, every chair.

His breath hitched when it landed on a quiet corner.

It wasn’t just one smile. It was Shane sitting by the bar, with the guy from earlier. Laughing with him, drinking with him, flirting with him.

From this distance and under the flickering colors, it was hard to see, but Ilya knew Shane’s line of body. And he knew, right now, it wasn’t apprehensive or anxious. On the contrary, it looked eased, joyed. The most carefree Shane had been this entire trip. The most carefree since before a time Ilya could recall.

Ilya was sure he was shooting daggers when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Want a drink?” Scott asked, eyes big and blue and sincere.

Ilya looked at the shot held out to him, and he looked at where Kip used to be. He wasn’t there anymore.

It was just the two of them.

Ilya took the drink and knocked it back.

Scott leaned back against the table; Ilya mirrored. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, on the anonymous bodies dancing as a wave, but Shane was just over there, laughing, joking. It was like a glimpse of the sun after long months of dreary dark skies, only Ilya wasn’t the one at the receiving end.

His gut clenched. Shane didn’t even feel comfortable with strangers, not at first. And he absolutely didn’t like downing what seemed like vodka shots. None of this felt normal.

Scott laughed, loud enough to be heard over the noise and Ilya’s thoughts.

Ilya forced his eyes away.

Turning back, he found Scott’s gaze; too fond, too in-love, too content to lead anywhere but to Kip. He was dancing with Kyle, and Scott was watching him with an open, jubilant grin.

“Why do you want to be with him?” Ilya heard himself ask.

Scott’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Kip.”

“Yeah. And?”

“I like Kip, don’t get me wrong.” Ilya raised his hands. “But you’re so giddy about this whole him coming to New York with you thing and just… why?”

Why do you want him to follow you?

No answer came for a moment.

Kip was twirling Kyle, both drunk, both laughing, as Ilya’s gaze was threatening to go another way.

Then Scott’s giant shoulder shifted against him. “Well, I love him.”

“…And?”

“That’s it. It’s not that complicated.”

Ilya’s brows furrowed.

How was it not complicated? How was that not the most complicated thing? They were only eighteen and Scott was shooting for the stars. What was the guarantee that he’d always love Kip? That Kip would always be enough for him?

Surrendering to the threat, Ilya let his gaze stray to Shane.

It was a futile attempt anyway; he would always go to Shane. If not his body then his eyes, if not his eyes then his thoughts, like a moth to a flame. He was weak in the face of his presence, and he was weak in the face of this jealousy he found again.

A sweet smile curled Shane’s mouth, made sweeter under the tinsel lights.

And in the face of this longing etched too deeply in him.

“You’re just one of the best people I know,” Ilya said, hoping the words didn’t sound choked-out.

“Uhm...”

“You’re like the embodiment of everything good.” Pink, purple, blue studded Shane’s face. “You’re earnest, honest, hard-working. Patient.” Precious stones to complement his precious laugh. “Loyal.”

The guy took Shane’s hand, tracing something in his palm.

Shane laughed again. Again precious, again not for Ilya.

Ilya tried to swallow.

“Didn’t know vodka got your tongue loose like this,” Scott said.

“You have the brightest future one can possibly imagine.”

“I mean, that’s subjective.”

“I just don’t understand.” Ilya shook his head, tearing his gaze away.

He looked at Scott, finding his face in the shadows and his brows drawn together in thought.

“Well,” Scott said. “First of all, you’re wrong. If someone’s everything good between me and Kip, it’s him. And second, it’s our future.” He gave Ilya a shrug. “I wouldn’t be who I'm without him. I’m here because he’s been with me all along.”

A heartbeat passed.

Ilya scoffed.

“I know it sounds silly but it’s the truth,” Scott argued, seeing the lack of faith on Ilya’s face. “I love him, I chose him. But I think I need him a little too.” He huffed a laugh. “I mean I’m man enough to admit that bright future you mention… it’s scary. Thinking about dealing with that without Kip gives me all the anxieties.”

Ilya wanted to scoff again but something got tied in his throat. Beneath his migraine were reeling images, in slow-mo. Like being flung too high in the air, at the most precarious angle, and not knowing how to land. Like cutting into a lane on the highway and instantly feeling that rear-view regret. Like feeling restless anytime he’d thought about the things he’d been putting off about Boston, about his future.

Terribly, he needed another shot at that moment.

Scott laughed again. “But he says he needs me as well, so I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

Did he? Need him too?

Ilya stole another glance at Shane; his lips pursed. That face was so determined, so stubborn, so strong and beautiful to ever need anything.

Not like Ilya. Never like Ilya.

“I need a smoke,” he declared to no one as he donned his jacket. If not another shot, then a smoke, a lungful of air, a rush of cold – he needed something. Anything but staying here and keep watching.

Only his feet got stuck two steps towards the exit.

Shane was taken by the hand, being led to the dance floor.

There was hesitation in his step, Ilya could see. Finally something normal, something familiar, but hardly a relief. It was probably awkwardness, Ilya knew, because Shane wouldn’t know much about clubbing, or dancing, or anything like the way the guy was pulling them close together. But he was smiling. And going with it, despite the apparent tension between his shoulders sending silent alarms in Ilya.

The guy looped an arm around his waist.

Ilya’s mind flashed, mine.

Instant shame rushed to his gut. Because he had no right to feel this way, no claim, no permission.

But Shane was touching the guy’s chest, and all Ilya could think was, mine. You’re supposed to be mine. You’re supposed to put your hands on me, on my ribcage, feel my heartbeat.

He told himself to leave, to not look.

Then Shane was pushing the guy away.

It wasn’t a shove, it wasn’t anything forceful, but his head was shaking in protest, and the guy was saying something, and Ilya’s already thinning self-control went the fuck out the window.

“Hey!” he barked, pushing his way to the two. “What the hell’s going on here?”

The guy looked up, hands rising. “It’s all fine, man.”

“Shut up,” Ilya snapped, turning to Shane. “Shane, are you okay?”

“What—”

“Are you okay, are you fine?”

“—the hell are you doing?”

Ilya’s mouth shut.

This close, he could see Shane’s eyes, dark, burning like hot coals. Whatever he’d been drinking, the heat, the crowd, the unbridled anger in his body, all flushing him a dark red.

Ilya felt himself take a step back. “It looked like you were—”

“Like what Ilya?!”

“It looked like he was—"

“He wasn’t doing anything!”

Ilya wanted to say something, fucking leave – but just as quickly as that flush had arrived, it bleached to a sickly white.

Shane clamped a hand on his mouth.

Then he was rushing outside.

Before he knew it, Ilya was rushing too, his two feet with their own minds. Shouldering the door shutting down on him, he threw himself out to the night. Cool and fresh, the breeze hit his face. His eyes, rapid, cut towards every direction for Shane.

A belching sound came from the corner.

Ilya’s steps slowed when he found him on his knees.

Hesitant, he said, “Hey.”

An unhappy sound left Shane.

Another hurl shook his body.

Ilya winced. And, knowing he shouldn’t but perpetually full of bad ideas, he crouched down next to him. “Hey,” he repeated, one hand finding Shane’s back. “Yeah, get it all out.”

Shane moaned, sounding miserable, and every new surge folding him in half even worse. Ilya found himself rubbing small circles. “You’re okay,” he whispered, pulling back Shane’s hair and feeling the dampness of his skin. “You’re okay, it’s alright.” He stroked a hand on his neck, easing the tension. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

It went on for seconds, minutes, forever maybe before Shane had it all vomited out. He wiped a hand on his mouth, trembling, shuddering like a leaf under Ilya’s touch. Empty heaves went through his body, his bangs stuck to his forehead, goosebumps awakened on his skin. Quickly, Ilya stripped himself of his jacket, draping it over him. He hoped the warmth of it would counter the shivers and the cold sweat running up and down.

Old habits, his hand stroking Shane’s back went to curl around him. Muscle memory, Shane leaned his head on his shoulder.

Ilya held him, tight.

A laugh left his lips, a frail thing. “You went a little overboard, huh?”

Shane’s eyes were closed, lashes flittering like petals in the breeze, and his breathing quiet. Ilya raised a hand to tuck his damp hair behind his ear. The side of Shane’s face was so hot against his shoulder, a burst of a star. And Ilya’s fingers, like they were home, didn’t want to leave Shane’s hair, happy to comb through.

It was a big steal, this moment tucked away in a distant corner of space. For the handful of heartbeats Ilya could feel between them.

Shane’s eyes fluttered open, finding his.

Ilya inhaled. Suddenly, his air felt too thin.

Bereft, he thought. Hot coal, glowing eyes bereft on him now. Shane’s gaze held nothing of the heat from earlier. Not even the frown lines creasing the corners. His eyes were bereft of anything but the fragile shine breaking their color of midnight.

Almost vulnerable, Ilya thought. Vulnerable and liquid. Quiet, somber lakes trapped in one boy.

What air Ilya could pull hurt his lungs.

Shane’s breath caressed his face. Soft and quiet at first, then ragged.

Then he was out of Ilya’s arms, half-standing, half-stumbling.

Just like that, the stolen corner of space slipped away. The sound of the club rushed back in.

“It’s fucking forty degrees,” Shane grumbled, tearing away Ilya’s jacket and shoving it at him. “I don’t need this.”

He pushed past him. To the direction of the parking lot.

“Wait!” Ilya stumbled after him. “Hey! Wait!”

Shane’s feet quickened, unsteady.

“Hey!” Ilya repeated. He reached for his arm; got evaded. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the camp.”

“It’s the middle of the night!” Ilya balked. “You don’t know the city! Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m not.”

“Well, you clearly are!” An adamant Shane was a force of nature, faster than an avalanche on his two wobbly feet. Ilya tried to keep up. “Or drunk!”

“I’m not drunk.”

“At least find a cab!”

“I don’t need a cab.”

“I’ll call us one, just wait!”

“I don’t need you, either.”

“Yeah, I fucking beg to disagree right now!”

Shane spun around. “I don’t!”

The words rang loud in the air, dead-stopping their chase.

Shane fumed a breath. “I— you— Why?”

The last syllable broke.

Shane’s gaze didn’t burn this time, but it twisted something in Ilya.

His mouth snapped closed.

“Why are you even here, Ilya?” Shane asked. “And don’t give me that we’re still friends bullshit, we both know that’s not true!”

Like the antithesis to the quiet moment they’d shared, this one was the ground shaking. The bass from the club reached Ilya’s feet. His head was forced into a pressure chamber.

His ears hurt.

He looked down.

Shane laughed, bitter. “You don’t even have an answer, do you?”

As if to prove him right, Ilya couldn’t string two words together.

“You know what?” Shane spat. “Here.”

Ilya’s hand was clutched tight.

Then in his palm was pooling his necklace.

“I was going to get its clasp fixed but…” Shane laughed again, weak. “I should have just given it to Kyle or Svetlana or…” Liquid eyes locked with Ilya’s. “Or anyone in there but me.”

The last part was so quiet.

It stretched and stretched with nothing but the thump of the club and Shane’s breathing.

Ilya opened his mouth. “Shane, I…”

That was all. He couldn’t find his words or his voice.

“It’s okay.” Shane shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said with a thin smile. “I give up.”

Ilya felt his pulse in his throat.

“Give up on what?” he asked, not sure if the words were loud enough to be heard. Not sure if they were words at all or just a whimper in his chest.

“You were right, you know?” Shane said, steps retreating. “I’m just fine without you, Ilya. Just fine.”

Feet rapping on concrete, he left, getting far away and away and away.

Till all Ilya could hear was the muffled sound again, his ballooning migraine. Crushing his head from all sides, wobbling his ground. One hand clutching his chain, one hand clutching his jacket, just Ilya and the pressure in his ears.

Till he heard Rose yell and push on his shoulder.

“What the fuck, Ilya? Why did you let him leave on his own?!” She forced his gaze to her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jaw clasped tight in her grip, Ilya felt his eyes sting. “He doesn’t want me.”

Rose’s hand dropped.

Ilya blinked back the tears.

Not that they’d know how to come out.

“You know,” Rose said, not shouting anymore but voice full of venom. “I’ve always known you were an asshole, but not like this, Ilya.” She shook her head. “Not this hot and cold bullshit. He kissed you, so what? You told him you guys were okay, just to avoid him later? You came here just to, to…” She scoffed, gesturing to the club. “Just to pull whatever this bullshit you’ve been pulling?”

Ilya’s head hurt.

“You’re one of the smartest guys I know. So you’re either being fucking blind,” Rose spat. “Or a pure asshole. And I’ve never seen you be the latter to Shane. Not like this. So whatever shit you’re going through, Ilya—” She jabbed a finger. “Fucking get over it. He deserves so much better.”

She took out her phone, then she was walking in the direction Shane had left.

I know, Ilya wanted to shout after her. He knew. Every decision he’d made since the day Shane had kissed him was because he knew; Sun shone during the day, Moon glowed at night, and Shane deserved things brighter than both.

Ilya just hadn’t realized how hard it’d be to let go.

For himself.

And for Shane.

He swallowed, passage tight still. He licked his mouth, tasting ash. He pressed on his temples, head still throbbing.

He wanted a drink. Till his throat was eased, and his tongue was fresh. Till his migraine didn’t exist.

***

Shane opened his eyes to dawn.

There was a faint glow through the window slats, blanching the place to a muted color. Shane’s head wasn’t feeling as delicate, lying laden on his pillow. On the same pillow, with his breath brushing Shane’s cheek, was Ilya’s sleeping face.

Shane’s pulse faltered.

This entire week of sleeping together, he’d never woken up to this. His body was touching Ilya’s body. His limbs, each as heavy as lead, were tangled around him. One arm over Ilya’s waist; one leg between Ilya’s knees. His mind was too hazy after last night to react quickly. It was like that in-between moment; he wasn’t awake yet enough to move.

So he could only be still.

It was like that question. If a tree fell in the forest with no one around to hear it, would it make a sound? If Shane drank in the sight of the face he loved and hated and missed the most with no one around to see, would that make him pathetic?

Ilya’s lips were parted slightly. Perfectly even. It was so easy to forget sometimes, with the smirks and the grins and the constant spill of words twisting them.

Shane felt his heart thump.

It seemed impossible now that kissing Ilya had been the worst decision of his life.

Everything rushed in all at once.

God, he’d been so reckless. Drinking with strangers till he was puking? Taking off on his own in a city he didn’t know? Who was he? Not the sound of reason he was commended as, for sure. Not when he could barely remember the details of what happened between seeing Ilya with that guy and Rose finding him alone on a bench.

But he remembered that guy, touching Ilya and Ilya touching him back. And he didn’t know what it meant. Whether it was just Ilya being drunk, daring, silly, or if it was him telling Shane something. The truth of the matter was that it didn’t matter. Because Shane also remembered Ilya standing there with no answer when he’d asked, point-blank, why he’d come here.

No answer after he’d held Shane, stroked his back, caressed his hair like he still cared about him.

It’d been easy to declare at that moment that he didn’t care anymore, but he did. He did care still, and he did hurt still, and he missed Ilya still as he lay there right next to him. And the idea of giving up was just so impossible, so foreign. He felt like a dog with a bone, not ready to let go yet, but there was nothing to hold onto anymore.

Ilya didn’t want him, not as a friend, not as anything more. After this trip, they’d never see each other again.

Suddenly the glow in the room wasn’t delicate, the quiet not as assuaging. It was just a moment of goodbye, painstaking.

A tear slipped Shane’s eye. He felt frustrated, with Ilya, with himself, with this whole thing. There was a stray curl over Ilya’s brows and Shane felt frustrated with that too because he couldn’t push it back. And his eyes were still searching Ilya’s face, to see if he was tired, if he was hurt, and Shane felt frustrated, frustrated, frustrated.

Ilya’s eyes opened.

Shane’s breath caught.

Hazel eyes, carved out of gold, mixed with pale stones, bored into his soul.

If Shane felt heavy a moment ago, he was just motionless now.

He could hear nothing but his pulse beating in his throat.

The lock of curl fell sideways. The body under Shane’s arm shifted. Ilya’s eyes softened.

“Shane,” he whispered.

Shane moved. His heart in his mouth, his limbs uncooperative, he forced himself to move. He untangled himself from Ilya, and left the RV. He was done, he was giving up, that was what he’d told himself.

He’d mar the penchant for hope he held for Ilya, and finally, he’d let go.

By the time he came back, everyone was awake and seated, eyes bleary.

“Did we have to wake up at seven?” Kyle grumbled through his hands.

“Yes,” Ilya answered, standing at the front. His eyes flicked to Shane, then back. “We need to be there before sunset, and we have a ten-hour drive.”

Some groaned, some whined. Hayden dragged his feet to the front.

Ilya’s hand cut in front of him. “I’ll drive.”

He had. He’d driven the whole way there with no breaks. And Shane had stayed on his seat, never once getting up as he watched the highway. He’d glanced at the rear-view mirror a few times, never coinciding with Ilya’s eyes. Luckily, he’d told himself, luckily because he shouldn’t want to see those eyes.

At last, they arrived, though the journey from the entrance of the park to the campsite was a long one on its own. Shane watched out the window with a parted mouth, the guidebook forgotten in one hand and his eyes taking in the sight.

It was a boreal forest as far as the eye can see, with freshwater deltas, wildflower meadows, and salt creeks woven through. Even in broad daylight, animals were trilling, chirping, crooning. It was vast, vaster than Shane could imagine, and the colors, they were paint bombs dropped off the sky.

The heart of the park was the campground, situated by the sandy shores of its sinkhole lake. Shane wondered quietly what it would look like when dark was squeezed to its last drops and the constellations hung above it.

There were two hours still till sunset, and longer for true night.

The miles of road, the hangovers, the lack of sleep all forgotten, everyone was in a chattering mood suddenly. They found themselves settled around a firepit again, wood burning fresh and slow.

Shane locked himself between Rose and Jackie, keeping Ilya far away, as far as one could be.

Svetlana was telling him something, in Russian, in hush-hush. Ilya listened with a smile, eyes on the embers and the firewood.

Shane idled with his ginger ale.

He thought maybe he could take off at Edmonton on the way back. Take a plane, cut this short when there wasn’t anywhere else to go.

He laughed, inwardly; the roads had ended, and the rivers had run dry after all.

Ilya’s voice pulled him out. Of course.

“You guys keep talking about New York,” he was saying, the gold eyes flitting between Scott and Kip. “And I know Admirals have the first draft pick and you’re projected as the choice but…” He shrugged. “What if they don’t?”

The convo lulled.

The fire crackled.

“It’s a possibility,” Scott answered. “But we considered all the other places.”

“Yeah.” Kip shifted awkwardly. “I applied to almost anywhere. If Scott goes somewhere else, I can transfer schools or defer a year.” He dimpled a smile. “Or something.”

People nodded, some hummed.

Shane heard his own voice. “Don’t you think you’ll regret planning your whole life around him when you guys break up?”

Silence fell, total.

Someone coughed into their fist, “Dicks.”

Rose said, “Nice to see you guys be on the same page again.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane said immediately, eyes on Kip and Scott. “I meant— I’m sorry. No one thinks you guys will break up.”

Kip nodded, though frowning.

“I swear,” Shane told him. “Admirals will be so lucky to have you, Scott.” He smiled. “And NYU you.”

“Even if they don’t,” Kip said with a shrug, turning to Scott with a smile. “We’ll still be together. That’s enough for me.”

Everyone cooed.

Shane cursed his tongue.

“Yeah.” Ilya cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Scott gave him a look.

“Please still invite me to the wedding?”

“Oh my god, Ilya!” Kip spluttered.

“What? I wanna meet the real pros.”

“Keep this up and we’ll see, Rozanov.”

Just like that everyone was laughing once more.

Shane looked down at his lap.

He cursed again. He cursed the promises of staying together and he cursed his newfound lack of faith in it.

They were done with dinner, tidying around, when he heard Svetlana’s whisper. “Have you talked to Boston?”

His eyes flicked up.

“No reception.” Ilya shrugged.

Svetlana’s lips pursed.

“I will.” Ilya nodded, patting her arm.

That little exchange, about their future, about Boston, made Shane’s chest ache anew.

It was real; Ilya was leaving.

Suddenly, the smell of burnt wood was too sharp in his nose, and the paling sky was a cooling sky. Ilya’s expression turned inscrutable as he got up, and Shane didn’t want to care. He stepped away from the camp, alone, and Shane didn’t want to care.

Why was it so hard to just not care? Why?

With thirty minutes or so left till sunset, they started to disperse. Scott took Kip by the hand, pulling him towards a trail leading to the salt creeks. Kyle was taking Svetlana’s photos as she put together a bag of needs. Hayden and Jackie were bickering about where to go see the sky.

Rose was by Shane as he packed his things. The necessities to stay up and watch the stars. The necessities to sit on a shore with only him and the Northern Lights.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

He shook his head. “Go with the others.”

It took a few more tries but she finally got convinced. Kyle and Svetlana waited for her, then they left.

Packing a blanket for two in his bag, Shane felt empty, uneasy, wrong. This wasn’t what he’d wanted for the night he’d finally see the stars at their brightest. He didn’t want to be this bitter inside and out, and he didn’t want to be this alone.

His hands trembled as he zipped up the backpack, his throat closed.

“We’re leaving,” Jackie declared cheerily, pulling Hayden by his shirt.

“Bye,” Shane was going to attempt when he heard Ilya’s voice.

“Use a condom, kids. We don’t want any more pregnancy scares.”

Jackie giggled and Hayden scoffed as they walked away.

Shane swallowed, fumbling with the keys of the RV.

Then with struggle, he locked the door.

“Hey,” Ilya’s voice came behind him. “Where’s Rose?”

Shane turned around, adjusting his backpack.

“Shane,” Ilya said. “Where’s Rose?”

He took a step forward, checking his watch.

“Shane.” Ilya intercepted. “Where’s Rose?”

Shane looked up. “With the others.”

Ilya’s eyes narrowed. “And you?”

Shane shrugged. “I’m going this way.”

He took another step, towards the trail circling to the other side of the lake where it joined the woods. It wouldn’t be as spacious as the shore here, or as beautiful as the flower meadows, but it would be quiet, isolated, dark.

If only Ilya let him go.

He mirrored Shane’s step again. “You’re not leaving on your own.”

Shane heard a laugh leave his chest. Unbelievable.

“Shane,” Ilya said, eyes shining hot. “This place is a jungle, with fucking wildlife everywhere.”

“They’re elusive.”

“Still. Animals. Undomesticated.”

Shane shouldered past him. “It’s just a park.”

“A park bigger than fucking Switzerland!” Ilya cried behind him. “There’s no cell reception, it’s gonna be dark.”

“It’s going to be very bright actually. That’s the point.”

Footsteps hit the dirt behind him. “I’m coming with you.”

“Oh no,” Shane said. “You’re not.”

“I am.”

His teeth clenched. “I’m not incompetent, Ilya.”

“No. You’re only the most competent person I know.” Stubborn thuds on the ground, he followed Shane. “I’m still coming with you.”

A laugh bubbled in Shane’s chest. Why did he have to make this so fucking hard for him? Why did he have to make it so complicated? Why?

“I think you should go with Svetlana.”

“I said I’m coming with you.”

“Yesterday’s a bit hazy but I remember us having this conversation already.”

“Yeah, do you also remember how reckless you’d been taking off on your own?!” Hands grabbed Shane by the shoulders, forcing him around. “I spent the whole night fucking worrying about you!”

Ilya shouted the last words.

Shane’s breath caught.

He looked at the face in front of him, marked with concern, with emotion from a caring place. And for a second there, those words even sounded genuine, honest. Like his Ilya. For that one second, Shane felt like apologizing, reassuring.

Then his gut locked. Because it was all wrong. He didn’t understand if Ilya was here out of a false sense of obligation, saying he’d been worried, acting still caring. Because those eyes of amber glass, while concerned, still swam with so much Shane wasn’t privy to, and those words still ringing between them were laced with so much he didn’t understand.

It knocked the edge off of him.

“Stop, Ilya,” he whispered.

Something shifted in Ilya’s eyes; his grip eased.

“Stop ruining things for me, okay?” Shane said, swallowing. “You ruined my birthday, you ruined my prom. You already ruined Montreal. And this trip…”

Why?

Why are you hurting me?

He inhaled, trying to keep his ribcage from giving in. He wasn’t going to cry now. Not yet. Though finally he was seeing how wrong he’d been. Hurt wasn’t burning up and snuffing out like he’d thought. It was just growing, surging, blooming anew. And Shane had been exposing himself to it like a man with a death wish, and he needed to stop. He needed to stop and finally let go.

And Ilya needed to stop as well. Stop pretending, acting. Stop hurting Shane.

“Stop,” Shane said again, stepping out of his grip. “Stop acting like you still care about me, okay? I know you don’t.”

And that was everything he’d known tumbling down on him. It was time to accept.

So he turned his back. He had no fight left.

***

Ilya’s hands dropped to his sides as Shane left, feeling cold where his presence used to be.

His footsteps could be heard still, like yesterday’s, drifting away.

Shane was leaving. Not angry, not drunk.

Just wrong.

Because what the hell did he mean Ilya didn’t care about him?

“What do you mean I don’t care about you?”

“God,” Shane groaned, seeing Ilya behind him. “Do you have to be so difficult?”

“Shane,” Ilya said, quickening his steps. “Shane, Shane.” He tried to touch his wrist. “What do you mean I don’t— Of course, I care about you!” You’re the only thing I fucking care about. “You’re, you’re my—”

“I’m your what, Ilya?” Shane stopped, gaze roaming Ilya’s face.

“You… you…”

A mirthless chuckle left his lips. “God, I’m so done with this.”

Ilya felt panic travel his body, from his hairline down to his soles.

“I wouldn’t lie about worrying about you!” He rushed behind Shane. “Why would I lie about that?!”

“You lie about a lot of things,” Shane said with a shrug. “Probably about everything.”

“Shane, I’m not—"

“Like, I don’t think you said a single honest thing this entire trip. Actually, I don’t think you've said an honest thing in months.”

“Shane—”

“So forgive me for not knowing what to believe.”

“Shane—”

“And I’m fucking sorry, okay?!” He spun around, throwing his backpack aside. “I’m so fucking sorry I kissed you!”

Ilya halted in his tracks; his breathing stopped.

They were by the lakeshore again, he realized, with coarser sand and thicker trees. And Shane’s eyes were hot bling against the backdrop.

“If I could undo it, I would,” he said, voice bleeding remorse. “And I understand you didn’t want to see me afterward, I do, it’s fine. And I understand you don’t want to come to Montreal with me, that’s okay, that’s fine! But then you say we’re okay when we’re not and you come here with, with—” He huffed bitterly. “That’s what hurts, you know? You lying to me and you pretending.”

“Shane,” Ilya tried to say, throat locked.

“Don’t, Ilya.” Shane shook his head. “Don’t pretend when you know how I feel.”

Air cramped something in Ilya’s lungs. Then twisted it, till all he felt was the sharpest pain in his ribcage, as he saw Shane’s tears. Rushing to the shore and leaking out. A quiet spill of the quiet, sorrowful lakes.

“How you feel?” Ilya heard himself whisper.

“Don’t make me say it, Ilya,” Shane almost begged. “Don’t make me say it when you know why I kissed you.” He gave a wet chuckle. “You’ve probably known way longer than I did, haven’t you?”

Ilya could hear the nocturnal birds coming out. He could see the pale gloom of dusk settling. The realization came as that, not anything new, not anything unexpected.

Still, a revelation. Because Ilya had had an inkling, of course, that was what had scared him, but he hadn’t thought it could ever be the same for Shane. Selfishly, blindly, self-consciously, he’d been operating with the assumption that no one could ever love like Ilya; so no one could ever hurt like Ilya.

But Shane was. He was falling apart.

“And you know, I would shut it down.” A whimper broke in his chest. “I would, Ilya. That’s why I kept coming to you, so we’d move past it. I mean it’s the two of us, right, so we’d just get over it.”

Ilya stepped forward.

Shane backed away, his head shaking. “I even thought you came here to reconcile for a moment, you know? When I first saw you that morning, that’s what I thought. Because I didn’t think you’d just abandon me like this.”

Ilya’s stomach sank, succumbing to that word. Succumbing to this moment where Shane was crying openly, and Ilya was the one who’d hurt him. His hands itched to brush away his tears for him, caress his skin. He wanted to hug him, till he gave in, and all this hurt and all this edge bled out.

Abandon.

God, Ilya thought, why did I leave him that night? That night when they’d fought, and Shane had cried just like this. Why did I leave him that night and every night after that?

He couldn’t find an answer.

It’s better this way, Shane will be fine; they all rang empty.

“Shane.” He walked to him, again. Pushing Shane further away, again.

What a stupid struggle it’d been. He hadn’t gotten any close to letting go, he hadn’t gotten any less in love. All he’d done only served to hurt Shane.

“I didn’t think you’d be this o-offended.” Shane’s breath hitched, his body trembled. “This a-angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Ilya whispered.

“Well, I don’t understand what you are!” Shane cried out. Ilya did; selfish, ungrateful. “I don’t even understand the way you look at me now, and I don’t understand your eyes and your smiles, and it used to scare me.” Fresh tears filled Shane’s eyes. “But now it just makes me sad, Ilya. So fucking sad.”

The last word was choked-out, but Ilya had heard it. Shane was shaking now, crying out loud. Whimpers and snivels hurt to hear, but Shane convulsing with sobs pressed on Ilya’s ribcage, insistent, unkind.

“Please go,” Shane said, an ugly sound. “I want you to go.” He blinked, expelling the tears. “I just want to be done with this.”

Panic flared again in Ilya. Those words were too pained, too honest, making him feel like the scum of the earth. The idea of Shane being done with him cut his breath, cut his air. They were teetering at the edge now, almost at a place they could not come back from.

And Ilya had known all along, hadn’t he? He’d been scared all along because the reality of being without Shane was becoming too real. Not his future but his almost-present.

God, he’d been too high up in the air. Higher than the flight he’d been scared to take. Higher than the star, no, the entire constellations, he was guilty of leaving behind.

“Shane,” he said in a last, vain, pitiful attempt. “I’m not leaving because you kissed me.”

“Ilya…”

“I’m not!”

“I said stop lying!” Shane shouted, his voice echoed, carried to the skies. “I was lying too, is that what you want to hear?!” His arms waved in fury, in hurt. “I lied too, alright? I’m not fucking fine without you. I can’t eat, I can’t fucking sleep, and you, you—” He covered his face; a heartbeat passed. When he looked up, everything glinted in those eyes. “And you’re just being cruel to me.”

Ilya stepped back, not of his own volition, but with shock. It came as a whip. He’d heard Svetlana call him a dick for how he’d been acting, he heard Rose say he was an asshole. But cruel to Shane?

He licked his lips, trying to swallow. Like Ilya could ever be cruel to Shane.

“I’m not.” He shook his head, sounding small. “I wouldn’t. I would never be cruel to you.”

But he had. Hurtful was something, but cruel?

That was the snap of the last string holding him suspended.

“Then why are you acting like this, you asshole?” Shane cried. “Why are you fucking leaving me? Why are you—”

“Because I’m fucking in love with you!”

Shane stilled. His eyes widened.

Ilya felt his ears pop. Firecrackers a million, string of lights one by one.

Bam, bam, bam.

He found himself in front of Shane, spurred with every emotion under the stars, and gripped him, fast. One hand cradling his face, the other grabbing his hair, he crashed their mouths together.

Shane did nothing at first.

Then, like his cord had been cut, he sighed.

Body melting against Ilya, his hands found Ilya’s back. His palms burned where they touched, and Ilya could only pull him closer. This was what he’d wanted all these years, having Shane’s lips against his, warm and soft. Having Shane’s scent filling his nose. Having Shane in his arms, placid, unhurried, eased. This was what he’d wanted at the swingset, too; Shane in his embrace, comforted.

Ilya moved his one hand to Shane’s nape, the other down to his waist. He couldn’t help his groan when he felt Shane’s hands travel up his body, arms wrapping around his neck. A gasp left his sweet lips and Ilya swallowed it up. He tasted Shane’s mouth, his little sounds, his shaky breaths.

He pressed his tongue between his parted lips.

Shane stopped for one moment.

Then he opened his mouth and pulled himself against Ilya.

It was messy at first, their bodies trembling, their teeth clanking.

Then it was just perfect.

With already-there hunger, with ancient desire, Ilya slipped his tongue inside. Shane moaned, shuddering in his grip, and pressed them closer. His touch was clutching now, his hands searching Ilya, urgent, demanding. Ilya tugged at his lower lip, pulling it between his teeth, and he wanted more, more, more. They kissed deep, clumsy, new; leaving each other breathless, allowing single gasps before slating their mouths together again.

Ilya could sense the glow of the stars above them now, unveiled, adorning the sky, but he would never lift his gaze again. He’d stay here, their faces together, Shane’s hands burning, blazing, bright where they touched, forever if he could. He would just breathe in Shane’s scent and kiss his mouth. The saccharine lips that were chaser for the ash Ilya couldn’t rub off his tongue for months.

Something surged in his chest, making Ilya lurch forward again. He tasted the lingering sweetness of Shane’s ginger ale, a taste suited to him. Then he tasted the salt tracks, the tears reaching their joint lips, the bitter counter.

His senses returned.

He made to move back.

Shane’s arms tightened. “No,” he protested. “Don’t push me away again.”

Ilya stopped, turning his head sideways.

He blinked against the lake, a mirror of the sky, each dot too white, each dot too bright. He listened for the animals awake at night, all cooing, all howling, all giving wavering cries.

He felt the cool air caress his sticky face.

His breaths were ragged, short, prickling his lungs.

“Ilya, please look at me,” Shane whispered against his ear. “Please.”

How could he? How could he look at Shane after the months he’d spent hurting him? How could he when Shane had thought, even for one second, that Ilya didn’t care about him? How could he when he’d been cruel to Shane?

“Please,” Shane begged. “I’m so confused.”

How could he not when Shane asked like that?

Blinking back the stinging in his eyes, with a clumsy collection of courage, Ilya turned his head.

Shane’s eyes widened; new tears brimmed.

“Don’t,” Ilya said, rubbing the dull flush of color on his cheeks. “Don’t cry, please.”

Shane’s hand slid down his face, thumb following the stickiness. “But you are.”

Ilya blinked and something spilled, wetting his face.

He realized it wasn’t pressure through his ears, finally bleeding out. It was just tears. Slick, salty trails marking his face. Arriving at his lips and disturbing the tingling of Shane’s kiss he could still sense.

And Shane was still there, too, warm hands cupping his face.

Ilya broke.

His knees buckled.

Whatever had been building in his chest all his life just gave in, breaking with a sob.

He felt the ground under him, and he felt Shane follow. He saw Shane calling his name, his lips moving. But he couldn’t hear. He couldn’t hear over that sound, the sound of him crying in earnest, whimpers ripping off his ribcage. Ilya remembered what it felt like now, finally, at last, after years. As if the tears had been waiting for the sanctuary of Shane’s embrace to come out and drip down Ilya’s cheeks, down his chin, and melt the brave face he’d put on to paint new lines. True lines of a confused, scared, guilty boy.

“I’m so sorry,” Ilya heard himself say, sobs hurting his lungs. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I’d never hurt you.”

Don’t give up on me, he thought, selfishly, pathetically. Please don’t give up on me, don’t, not yet.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Shane whispered. “I know,” he promised. “I know.”

As if it wasn’t even a choice for him, believing Ilya, forgiving Ilya. Not even a split-second decision. He was just caressing Ilya’s hair, leaning their foreheads together. He was pressing kisses on his face, each soft and gentle. Because that was Shane. Shane who’d love Ilya at his worst, Shane who’d love him despite how much he’d been hurt.

“I’m just scared.” Ilya whimpered, his chest heaving, his tears escaping. “I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve just been scared.”

“It’s okay,” Shane was repeating like a mantra. “I’ll be scared with you. It’s okay.”

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut, trembling, and holding Shane. He listened to their shared breath, felt the thud of their heartbeats in sync. He cried for the months they’d lost, for the years. He cried for every tear Shane had ever shed for him, for not being brave sooner. He cried because this was what he’d come here for, this touch he needed so pathetically; holding Shane, and Shane holding him back.

It wasn’t dark behind his eyelids, he realized. He’d thought when this moment eventually came, his breakdown, his tipping point, it’d be pitch black. It’d be dark forests and blackholes of his nightmares.

But it wasn’t. It was new stars blooming, old ones exploding, hot and alive where Shane was joined with him. It was bright like the dome of the sky above. It was very bright. And maybe, that’d been the point.

Ilya could hear himself still murmuring something, pleas, apologies. And he could hear Shane’s soothing voice, his quiet cries accompanying Ilya’s.

“It’s okay,” he was saying, promising. “It’s okay.” He kissed Ilya’s cheek, again and again. “I’ll hold you, okay? I promise, I’ll hold you.”

Ilya nodded, burying his face closer.

And Shane, safe and solid, hurt but still here, held Ilya tight.

Chapter End Notes

pls don't bully me for the unashamedly wrong times and geographical information in this

songs: meteor shower by cavetown, hazel by cavetown, like gold by vance joy, sunsetz by cigarettes after sex, somebody else by lucy daydream, rivers and roads by the head and the heart

Chapter 11: sunrise laughing

Chapter Notes

it feels like forever since i wrote an author's note.

hi, i know it's been two months since the last chapter but september was really busy and i couldn't write a word. then i started writing and realized this chapter is gonna easily reach 30k and i didn't want to make you guys wait longer. so this is like half a chapter in concept, but as long as a full chapter. nothing gets resolved and it's mostly ilya noise over shane's (as that was the second half) but i still like it and i hope you guys like it too. thanks for your patience and enjoy.

p.s.: the second half will probably come next week, not a long wait this time, i promise!

July 2009

Nighttime was strange, Ilya thought distantly.

Nighttime in a vast and secluse place like this even stranger. Too quiet that every sound was louder.

The serene sway of the lake.

The gentle breeze of the night.

Shane’s heartbeat under his ear.

He was calm now. He’d been calm for minutes, for hundreds of those steady thuds in tandem with the stroke of Shane’s hand on his nape. He’d been calm, only for a fraction of the time he’d been anything but. It’d felt like an hour that he’d spent crying. An hour of his ass resting on the cool sand and Shane kneeled in front of him, against him, with him; holding him like he might not let go. Solid and there and breathing with Ilya.

Oh God, Ilya thought.

Oh God, he’d broken down in seconds. In mere moments, giving in just like that, all at once. Forgetting what he’d been lodging a protest against, what war he’d been fighting. Because he was hurt, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Because Shane was hurt, and finally that bile of guilt and fear churning in Ilya’s gut had gotten too much, overbrimmed and spilled.

Oh God, I kissed him.

He lifted his head, backing away.

Shane’s arms tightened like iron cuffs.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “But I’m not letting you go.”

A sound escaped Ilya’s lips. A sob, an almost laugh, a sigh, he didn’t know. And maybe it didn’t matter. Because Shane’s breath was warm against his temple, and his words were even warmer. So Ilya squeezed his eyes shut and buried himself closer. His face touched the hollow of Shane’s neck. His hands fisted Shane’s shirt. And he breathed in – deep and desperate.

Shane caressed his hair.

Ilya counted their shared heartbeats.

Hundreds more of those solid, real thuds before Shane pulled back. Just an inch.

Their eyes met and Ilya saw his irises huge and glassy, with a look that held many questions.

“You, you—” His voice came out raspy.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said you’re…”

“I’m sorry,” Ilya repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Shane’s brows furrowed. “Is that what you’re sorry for?”

“No, I—”

Ilya went quiet.

No, he thought.

But maybe I should.

Maybe he should've been sorry for that.

For being in love with Shane.

The bile in his gut was of guilt and every inch of him was sorry for something. For hurting Shane, for lying to Shane, for breaking his promise that he’d never lie to Shane. But that? He couldn’t find it in himself to apologize for that. He couldn’t, not even if he tried. Not for the thousand or so sunrises he’d spent being in love with Shane.

He felt his eyes water again and wondered where he’d been bottling all these tears. He didn’t want to cry, but Shane was looking at him, his gaze of total confusion and his gaze still soft, still tender. His hands were touching him, feather-light but steady, holding him in place like a tether. Amidst all of Ilya’s mess and chaos, he was just here. Here and unbearably beautiful.

He licked his lips. “I don’t understand—”

Ilya rubbed a thumb on the shiny mouth.

They both froze.

Ilya’s hand dropped.

He shot to his feet.

Quick steps, he closed the distance to the lake.

He heard Shane scramble up behind him. “You can’t just walk away now.”  

He felt his breath quicken.

“You can’t just do that—” Shane said, voice pitching high and sharp. “—kiss me, and walk away.”

Ilya bit down on his lip.

“You can’t just say y-you’re in love with me and walk away!”

“I know!” Ilya turned around. “I don’t want to. I want to— I want to—”

Kiss you again.

Hold you again.

Say something. Anything.

Suddenly, his body was sapped of all energy.

His chest deflated.

“What is this?” Shane asked, stepping closer. “No, Ilya. Don’t shake your head at me. I, I’ve never seen you break down like that. Saying you’re sorry and you’ve been scared and crying—” A line crinkled his brows. “Are you— What is it? A— a sexuality crisis? Or—”  

“I knew I wanted to do that since I was fourteen.”

Shane’s eyes went wide.

Ilya blew out a breath, running a hand over his hair.

“There’s just so much,” he mumbled, trying to find his words, rearrange them in a way that made sense to him first. But they felt as flimsy and as overwhelming as the clean air in his lungs. “There’s… everything.” He shook his head. “Just, too much that’s too difficult to talk about.”

“Even with me?” Shane asked, voice small.

“Especially with you,” Ilya answered, throat tight.

Shane winced.

“Because what you think matters to me.” Ilya walked to him, holding his shoulders. “Because you matter to me, okay? You’re the only thing that matters to me.”

Leaves rustled softly, and a contemplative look shadowed Shane’s face. He looked at Ilya, long and hard, dried tear tracks lining his cheeks aglow. His chin trembled and his teeth worried at his lip, and Ilya did the only thing he knew to do when Shane was like this.

He cupped his cheek.

Shane’s eyes fluttered shut.

He inhaled; deep breaths, in-and-out. His face rested in Ilya’s palm.

“Okay,” he whispered at last as his eyes opened.

“Okay?” Ilya felt surprised.

“Okay.” Shane nodded and looked around them. Ilya watched him take in the view of the sky, his eyes glowing like he’d just realized where they were. “I came here to watch the stars, right?” he asked, after a moment. “So I just want to watch the stars.” He glanced back at Ilya. “With my best friend.” My best friend. “Is that okay?”

Ilya ran his knuckles on his cheek.

His best friend.

Okay wasn't an adequate word for that.

“If that’s what you want,” he whispered.

“That’s what I want,” Shane answered.

He stepped away from Ilya’s touch and found his backpack where he’d flung it. He rummaged through for a mat, and carefully, laid it down on the sand.

And reached out a hand.

Ilya’s air felt thin, his swallow difficult, as he allowed his fingers to tangle with Shane’s.

It was a sensation that shouldn’t have been as hard on the seams of his heart as it was because he held that hand a million times before. But it felt new somehow. And Ilya felt like something in his chest was about to burst again. There've been enough spills of everything today, he thought to himself, a prayer to not cry. I just want to watch the stars with my best friend.

He sat down; shoulder against Shane’s shoulder, hip along Shane’s hip.

The sky was beautiful, indeed. A tapestry of fairy lights, collective specks of brilliance. A little heady, a little surreal.

Ilya could only half care.

Because all his senses were locked onto Shane who’d started rambling at one point. A spiel about Earth’s axial tilt and absolute darkness, the Aurora Borealis and what-not. So achingly familiar of Shane, like the mountain of hurt feelings between them didn’t exist. Like they hadn’t been fighting just an hour ago, like they hadn’t spent months separate and severed.

“Wish we’d done this months earlier, right?” he asked Ilya, face bathed in the starlight. “When we could see the northern lights.”

Ilya heard himself make a sound of agreement.

It weighed heavy on his chest, how he wished for that too.

He wished they’d done this months earlier too. When the nights were long, and the darks were total; when it was winter, and they hadn’t spent months without each other. When no one was hurt because Ilya hadn’t gotten his chance to be a coward. When they could see the northern lights as Shane wanted, as Shane deserved; and even if they couldn’t, it wouldn’t matter.

“But this is good too,” Shane said, breathing a laugh. His eyes were bright enough to wash out the stars, and despite the whirlwind of emotions Ilya knew was overlaid with his words, he was just everything breathtaking that ever walked this earth.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Shane’s gaze snapped to him, his body going still.

Ilya wanted to laugh.

How can you not know, he wanted to ask. How could he not know he was the most beautiful thing to Ilya, had always been, ages and eons before Ilya could even fathom or make sense of it? How could he not know the entire universe conspired for him to look like this, sound like this, be like this?

A quiet laugh left the pretty lips, a shy smile curling his mouth. “It’s all the shock and the confusion,” he half-joked. “It gives a certain glow.”

Something in that smile wavered though, and Ilya realized so had his voice. His eyelashes were dark wet inky strokes.

“Shane…”

“Did you miss me?” he blurted, words barely more than a whisper. “Because I missed you a lot and—”

Ilya yanked him into a hug.

A sob sounded between them; Ilya had no idea which one it’d come from.

“I’ve been missing you for months,” he muttered against Shane’s temple, pulling him closer. So much closer. “I’ve been missing you the whole year.”

He felt Shane desperately nod against his shoulder, his face burying in Ilya’s neck. He heard the quiet sniffles, the ragged breath, and felt his own eyes burn with salty tears.

So much for no more crying tonight.

Shane leaned back.

His gaze turned achingly soft. Gently, he cradled Ilya’s face and wiped the pad of his thumb under his eye.

Ilya laughed, choked-up. “You know, we can do that with a Kleenex.”

Shane shrugged, brushing away another tear. “You always do it this way for me, don’t you?”

Ilya’s gut soured. “Haven’t been doing a good job at that lately.”

Shane's gaze flicked up. “Ilya…”

Ilya shook his head. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said again, and again it didn’t feel enough. “God, Shane, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I just…”

He blew out a breath, ducking his head.

“I know,” Shane said again, tipping his face up. “And it’ll be okay. I promise.”

Ilya said nothing.

“I know I can’t change your mind with a few words—”

“You don’t know what you’re capable of—”

“But I know it, Ilya,” Shane bored down on his words. “Whatever it is, I’ll make it okay.”

His gaze was bright with the heat of determination, that dogged Shane Hollander stubbornness. Like he could – would – bear the weight of anything Ilya could tell him. The thing was Ilya had never doubted that. He just didn’t like the possibility of how reckless Shane could be with that promise, how far he’d take it, how much of himself he’d give to Ilya.

Ilya chewed his lip and copper filled his mouth. He felt tongue-tied. Because how could he explain that? How could he explain to Shane that he didn’t deserve the lengths Shane would go for him? How could he explain it was an old anxiety, a familiar fear, that he’d fuck up – that he was too prone to fuck things up. How could he talk when he’d been holding it all too close to his chest for so long that it didn’t even make sense to him?

“When did you become an optimist?” he asked instead, hoarse.

“One of us had to.” Shane shrugged, fingertips warm on his face.

Ilya exhaled and nuzzled into the touch. He pressed a kiss in Shane’s palm.

Pink tinted Shane’s cheeks. His gaze flicked to Ilya’s lips. “Can I—” He swallowed. “Can you?”

Ilya leaned in and softly grazed the corner of Shane’s mouth. Like the flutter of a butterfly.

Shane’s breath hitched and it made Ilya want more. So much more. He’d never learned how to ask for things, but this, he wanted to ask for this every morning and every night. He didn’t think he could yearn for anything else like this, for so long and so desperately.

Their foreheads touched, and Shane’s soft palm navigated their faces. They searched for a proper kiss, nuzzling their noses together, and finally slotting their lips. It was the softest and the gentlest of their kisses, but to Ilya, a riot and a rush all the same. There was a sense of familiarity, despite how new it was. The balmy weather was an echo of the thousand summer nights they’d spent together. Shane’s breath on his face was almost breathing life into him. Shane’s touch on his nape was like finding his center of gravity.

That was the same, Shane was the same; under any season, under all latitudes and longitudes.

He put a final peck on Ilya’s lips before pulling away. Their foreheads stayed together. “Teary.”

Ilya huffed and licked his lips, tasting Shane and tasting salt.

Shane exhaled, pulling back enough to look up at the sky. “This is pretty spectacular, isn’t it?”

Eyes on Shane, Ilya breathed, “Yeah.”

They sat in silence after that. In ease. Their sides almost fused, and their limbs wound around each other.

Shane took Ilya’s hand and interlaced their fingers together.

Tightening his hold, Ilya finally raised his gaze to the sky.

“Is that Saturn?” he asked, moments later.

Shane’s body shook next to him with quiet laughter. “That’s Jupiter.” He raised their linked hands. “Five o’clock: that’s Saturn.”

Ilya squinted at the tiny speckle. Trying its best to shine between all the stars.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” swallowing hard, he whispered. He didn’t mean the planets and the constellations.

Shane’s eyes turned to him. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you,” he whispered back. He didn’t mean the planets and the constellations.

Ilya nodded and allowed himself to pull Shane closer. He just wanted to hold onto this moment a little longer, this feeling of catching-lightning-in-a-bottle. Because he knew come morning, his worries would start playing havoc again. He’d be reminded how of all the things he sucked at, trying to let go of Shane had been his biggest blunder. How words pending were scary, but not knowing what’d follow was even scarier.

But the stringing lights of the night looked bright now, and the weight of Shane’s hand felt perfect in his.

Shane’s head came to rest on his shoulder. And Ilya knew there was no coming back from this.

He breathed in Shane’s scent.

And exhaled.

He wondered distantly how long he’d been holding that breath.

***

They’d stayed like that till they’d seen the break of dawn.

A pearly color had gradually taken over the night sky, a rosy hue seeping in where stars used to be. Shane and Ilya had laid on their backs, Shane’s head still tucked by Ilya’s shoulder, and Ilya’s hand busy tracing the veins of his palm. Lying there, Shane had realized how bone-tired he’d been, body and soul. It was a peculiar type of an ache, a miracle silencing his usually overworking brain. Just for one night, he’d said like a prayer. Just for one night, be quiet.

Their friends were in the RV by the time they’d returned, all of them fast asleep. The space was filled with the hum of the early morning and the pulse of this thing between them. Ilya had held one side of the fitted sheet as they’d made their bed, coordinated and quiet.

“C’mere,” Shane had said in a hush as he’d got under the covers.

Something had passed Ilya’s eyes. A moment of hesitation. It’d lasted shorter than a heartbeat before he’d nodded and lay beside Shane.

Shane had looped an arm around him.

Ilya’s face had come to rest next to his.

“We should get some sleep,” Shane had whispered.

Ilya’s eyes had looked sunken and his expression complicated. There was so much his face was trying to say, but Shane had felt incapable of thinking then, not ready yet. He’d looked at Ilya’s fluttering eyelashes, and just wanted to rest. Wanted him to rest.

He’d stroked Ilya’s cheekbone. “I’ll be here in the morning,” he’d said. “I promise.”

He’d shifted till Ilya’s chest was under his ear. And fallen asleep as he’d listened to his heartbeat through the thin veil of his shirt.

He’d woken up once, feeling unsettled for a fraction of a second before he’d found Ilya there next to him. As if his subconscious mind had to check he was still there.

And he was.

Shane had exhaled, dozing off again.

The next time he woke, the daylight was brighter in the RV, and the only sound heard was the birds’ crooning and Ilya’s deep breaths.

His one arm was tucked perfectly in the hollow of Shane’s waist, the other curled over Shane’s stomach. Shane held his breath as he let his gaze trace the lines of that face, the sunburnt skin and the crooked nose. Just yesterday he’d woken up to this thinking how the rest of his life was going to be spent trying to pry out the pieces of Ilya left behind. Now, his insides were home to kaleidoscopes of butterflies.

Because like the sun and the birds, Shane’s mind was awake now. And it was reeling just one thought.

He kissed me.

Ilya had kissed him, and a damn real kiss at that. He’d kissed him right after he’d shouted to his face, to the woods, to the lake, and to the sky that he was in love with him. After weeks on end of Shane thinking he’d committed a grave mistake and lost him forever, Ilya had just kissed him. After a lifetime of Shane thinking it wasn’t a thing, it wouldn’t – couldn’t – be a thing, Ilya had said he was in love with him.

Just sleeping entangled with Shane.

He said he loves me.

And broken down right after.

His mind being awake now also meant remembering that, the way Ilya had dissolved into crying. It meant not knowing why or what’d happened. Realizing he must have missed something, something big, and getting assaulted with many questions and the guilt and the confusion of it all.

The butterflies swarming his stomach gave nervous flaps.

“I can feel you watching me.”

Shane’s gaze flicked up. He found Ilya with his eyes closed. “I’m always watching you.”

Ilya cracked one eye open. “Creep.”

Shane’s lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. Turning in Ilya’s arms, he shuffled closer. “Hi,” he whispered.

Ilya smiled lazily. “Hi.”

His eyes glinted happy, making Shane’s chest ache. He didn’t even remember the last time they’d woken up like this; Ilya in touching proximity, looking at him all soft and warm, voice still rough with sleep. This was good, this was brilliant, this was everything Shane wanted. Because whatever guilt and whatever worry he was feeling, they could talk about it. Right? As long as Ilya’s smile mirrored his as they gazed at each other, they could talk.

“What time is it?” Ilya muttered, rubbing an eye.

“Like twelve or something.”

He went still.

“Like twelve or something?” he asked, voice incredulous. “Shane Hollander in bed after twelve or something? What will the people think?”

Mock concern wrinkled his brows, making him look ridiculous. Shane bit down on his lip, giving a customary eyeroll.

“Surely that you’ve fallen ill,” Ilya continued with a headshake. “They’ll need a new king. They’ll write you songs. Hopefully keep you in their prayers.”

“You’re not funny.”

“You’re smiling.”

Just like that Shane’s grin unfurled.

Ilya smiled back.

They just looked at each other, lips hurting with the stretch. And Shane thought, this moment, he could live in this moment forever. Ilya’s one hand fixing the strap of his tank top, the other placed strong on his back. His hair flopping over his forehead and his eyes bright behind it. The grin, the jokes, the casual touches that were all so familiar. Old sensations cherished and loved by Shane for so long.

Ilya’s grin faded.

And he leaned in.

This wasn’t old or familiar.

It was awfully new.

Shane almost yelped, “Morning breath,” and turned his head.

Ilya halted. “But,” he murmured. “What about my dreams of kissing you first thing in the morning?”

“Well.” Shane swallowed, feeling Ilya’s eyes follow the bob of his throat. “Reality is a disappointment.”

“Hm.” Fingers tucked at Shane’s tank top again. Then Ilya said, voice dropping an octave, “I think we should compromise.”

Shane risked a glance at him.

“What if,” Ilya muttered, eyes on Shane. “I kiss you here?”

He brushed his lips on Shane’s shoulder.

Shane felt his breath hitch.

Ilya dipped lower. “And here?” He pressed a kiss on Shane’s collarbone. “Here?” He moved to his jaw. He followed a route from there to the side of Shane’s neck and under his ear. Countless pecks to every inch of his face, his cheekbone, his temple. Not rushing any of them, just placing each one like a flower arrangement.

By the time he dropped a kiss on Shane’s nose, Shane’s lungs were tight.

“You cheated,” he breathed, as Ilya’s forehead rested against his.

Ilya touched his cheek. “Yeah. I did.”

Heady feeling fogging his brain, Shane didn’t know what to think. Yesterday had been one thing, but today they shouldn’t be kissing. They had too much unresolved pending between them, shit they had to figure out, stuff Shane needed to say and needed to hear. Long conversations where he could hold Ilya, be mad at Ilya, ransack the entire earth and the heaven to make sure he never saw Ilya cry again.

His traitor mouth said, “Just one.”

A wild grin took over Ilya’s face and he closed the distance.

The kiss came as a gentle pressure first, before tiding back.

Only to return with more force and Ilya’s arms pulling Shane close by the waist.

A sigh left Shane’s mouth and he gave into the soft but firm press of their lips. Ilya’s one hand found his nape, and the other gently walked the ridge of his spine. Shane could only respond by sliding his fingers into Ilya’s thick curls and urging him closer.

His nose wrinkled when Ilya licked the seam of his lips.

“You know,” he muttered against Ilya’s mouth. “Your morning breath is oddly minty.”

“It’s the menthol cigarettes,” Ilya mumbled, continuing with the pecks. “A pack a day for the freshest breath.”

Shane hummed. “You sure you didn’t brush your teeth, so I’d kiss you in bed?”

Ilya tsked. “Nonsense.”

Shane giggled, snuggling closer to Ilya. This was ridiculous. It was crazy. Ilya wanting this, him, enough to consider all the reasons Shane might deny him on. As if they existed. As if Shane didn’t want to tie himself to Ilya so the distance couldn’t get between them again. As if Shane didn’t want to forever touch his skin, live under his skin, and be one with him.

It was dizzying, he thought, as he drowned in the minty taste of Ilya’s mouth, their just-one-kiss turning into million kisses. Just how much he could want one person, how much he could feel for one person. That person being Ilya and Ilya wanting him back.

Just-one-kiss turned into million-kisses turned into something deep and hungry quickly. Shane’s hands pawed at Ilya’s chest, feeling his snare-drum of a heartbeat and thanking whatever god was above he wasn’t the only one feeling like this. His own heart was racing against his ribcage as Ilya nipped at his lip and his long and deft fingers roamed his body.

“Ilya,” Shane whined softly just as Ilya whispered his name. Like a reminder of how well-versed they were in each other. His hands found purchase on Ilya’s shoulders and Ilya’s one hand touched under his bare thigh.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice quiet.

Eyes closed, Shane just nodded.

Ilya hitched his leg up, caressing his skin and kissing him, and Shane’s chest flooded with one too many feelings he couldn’t name. Soft hands, he thought. Soft hands he knew now stroking down his leg, with the same heat Shane felt in the pit of his stomach all these years. Just for Ilya.

So this is what it feels like.

The RV door slammed open; Shane and Ilya jumped away.

Hayden took two steps into the vehicle and stopped.

His eyes narrowed.

“Hey,” Shane said and cleared his throat when it came out hoarse. He licked his lips, feeling heat travel up his neck.

Hayden’s gaze darted between them. Suspicious, he asked, “Are you guys fighting?”

Ilya laughed, awkward. “Why would we be fighting?”

Hayden’s brows wrinkled deep like he was giving it actual thought.

Then he just shrugged. “We’re going swimming,” he said. “Up and get ready!”

And left the way he’d come.

Shane stayed there, hands rumpling the cover over them. He couldn’t look at Ilya, his gaze was trained on his lap, but from the corner of his eye, he saw him rub a hand over his face. Pulling back his curls with a hair tie, he murmured, “Swimming,” like it was a ridiculous idea.

And it was. It was. What the fuck are we doing was a thought that’d been at the back of Shane’s head since yesterday and now it was flaring like a distress signal. There were too many steps they’d skipped, a slew of talking points they hadn’t talked about. The entirety of last night was still confusing. The entirety of this trip, and their prom, and their fight, and their whole fucking lives, now that Shane was thinking about it, was confusing. And it was Ilya, for fuck’s sake. As thrilling as it was to kiss him, it was also mortifying, and Shane had no fucking idea—

Ilya’s hand clasped his wrist, plucking it away from the bed cover.

“Swimming,” he said when Shane’s gaze turned to him. His eyes were soft and his smile familiar. Like home. Thousands of miles away from where they’d grown up, Ilya beside him, was like a piece of home.

Shane felt his shoulders ease.

Ilya pulled him to his feet. “C’mon.”

***

It was a splashy, wet chaos when they joined the others at the lake.

Shane watched Ilya cackle like a kid as he took off towards the water. He dived in and emerged and bothered the others on purpose in doing so. Their friends shrieked and scoffed at him, but Ilya just turned to look at Shane. His eyes gold under the gleaming sun, he shouted, “Come on, Hollander!”

Shane left his towel by the shore and did not walk so much as floated to Ilya. Something giddy tickled in his chest as Ilya immediately attacked him with splashes, his face beaming and drenched with water. His darkened curls sticking to his skin, he was Shane’s favorite thing.

They swam and chased each other, raced and squabbled with their friends. Shane yelped when he felt two hands grab him by the legs and lift him above water.

“Hunter!” Ilya shouted below him, his shoulders solid beneath Shane’s thighs and hands holding him securely. “Get your boy and come here!”

Scott and Kip snickered and took the challenge. Chicken fight or not, Shane was too competitive to let Kip win. He knocked him down in seconds, but his mind was stuck on the two words, your boy. He couldn’t help but think, wish, it had implications. Kip was Scott’s boy and Shane was Ilya’s… something, right?

Ilya’s hand grazed the small of his back when he touched down on the ground again. “Good job, Hollander,” he said, tucking Shane’s wet hair behind his ear.

Shane felt buoyed by the touch. He smiled. “Good job, Rozanov.”

The look that took over Ilya’s face was more childlike than the day Shane had met him.

But because Shane was Shane, all the good feelings and happy thoughts were an ebb and flow at best.

Despite Ilya’s reassuring hand around his wrist this morning, he couldn’t help his worries tiding over and seeping. When all gathered around the camp area, and Shane watched Ilya laugh with Kyle as they looked at the photos they’d taken, all he could think about was how night and day it was with last night. When Ilya looked at him and winked, his smile open and brilliant, all Shane could do as he smiled back was to search his face for any wrong seams.

Ilya had either bounced back quickly and he was just fine, or it was just the harbinger of a hard conversation they were going to have. Either way, it was disconcerting. And Shane’s lack of clarity about anything was only made harder by the suspicious looks of Rose. He could feel it on the side of his face as he sat there and pondered.

Ilya’s full laughter called his attention.

Shane’s eyes flicked up.

And his brows furrowed.

Ilya was sitting across him now, next to a smiling Svetlana. He was talking in Russian, words rambly, his voice soft.

And Svetlana, as if she felt Shane watching them, turned to look.

Rose’s keen eyes Shane knew how to handle. But this pair of blues looking at him was a mystery. Like Rose, she’d been watching the two of them all day and it made Shane feel uncomfortable. Unsettled. Irritated.

“Ilya,” he called out.

The conversations around them lulled, and all his friends glanced his way.

“We’ll need kindling for the evening.”

Ilya’s brows rose. “Yeah?”

Shane wet his lips. “Come help me?”

A shocked look passed Ilya’s face. Then, softly, he smiled. “Sure.”

He got up and dusted his jeans, gesturing for Shane to lead the way.

Their friends’ silence was deafening. Shane ignored them. And the silence between the two was charged with something as they moved away from the group. Shane knew what it was as Ilya’s knuckles brushed his like a gentle burn and he looked warm under the sun. Shane wanted to feel his lips against Ilya’s red and bitten ones again.

But his brain had other ideas.

He blurted, “So where have you been staying?”

Ilya came to halt.

“With Svetlana?”

His eyes narrowed. “With Svetlana?”

Trying to be nonchalant, Shane said, “Because you haven’t been home in a while. Right?”

Suddenly, something changed in the way Ilya stood. Tension pulled his back. He didn’t say anything for a moment and just watched the row of trees lining the footpath they were on.

Then he blew out a breath.

“Grigori kicked me out,” he said. “I mean, I wish he kicked me out. If it was up to him, he’d rather keep me on a leash, I’m sure, so I think it’s more right to say that I left.” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “It wasn’t a nice goodbye.”

Shane felt something in his stomach kick up.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know or couldn’t guess, it was just…

“Why—” He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you…”

Come to me?

Ilya smiled faintly. “I did. The day you and I…”

The day they had fought.

Guilt, now that Shane had realized it for it was, reached his mouth.

Ilya had come to him. After getting kicked out of home and losing what was left of his family. And all Shane had done was banish him from his house as well. His house that all their lives he’d promised was Ilya’s too. When Ilya had needed him the most…

His eyes burned.

“But I haven’t been with Svetlana.” Ilya chuckled.

Shane glanced at him, finding a teasing smile curling his mouth.

Ilya moved into his space. “Why would I be staying with Svetlana?”

Shane didn’t know what to say for a second. This was the dilemma. To back up and demand they talked about the big elephants in the room or go along with Ilya? How could Shane know what was the right choice after the time and the distance that’d got between them?

“Shane?”

“You guys are close.” He shrugged.

“Yeah. And?”

“And, you know… She’s very touchy with you.”

A mischievous smirk tucked at Ilya’s lips.

“Hm, really? I think Rose touches you more actually.”

“Yeah but I haven’t been sleeping with Rose,” Shane grumbled.

“I don’t know.” Ilya tilted his head. “You used to date her.”

“In 7th grade,” Shane sputtered. “For a week!”

Ilya’s grin didn’t move.

“Ugh.” Shane tried to push him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Ilya grabbed his arm. The teasing glint in his eyes immediately gone, its place was left to genuine gold. “I haven’t been sleeping with Svetlana,” he said, cupping Shane’s face. “Shane, you… I…” He exhaled a breath. Like whatever he wanted to say was too big for words. “I haven’t been dating anyone. It just— it didn’t feel right.”

Shane knew he had to reconsider everything he’d accepted as facts, rewrite it with this new thing, but with words like these…

He stepped closer to Ilya.

“Svetlana’s a friend,” Ilya said, stroking his cheek. “I promise. Just a friend. I mean both she and Kyle drive me crazy sometimes, but these few months, they’ve been a big help. I owe them one.”

Shane nodded but something tied in his throat. God, he’d been the worst fucking best friend ever. He should have been the one helping Ilya, listening to Ilya, having Ilya’s time and attention and problems all to himself. He had no right to feel jealous, but he did. And he felt like choking on regret.

Realizing Ilya didn’t answer his question, he asked again, “So where have you been staying?”

“At the garage.” Ilya shrugged.

Shane reeled back. “At the garage?”

“Yeah,” Ilya said casually. “And it’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s free room and I can work longer. I saved quite a bit of money, actually. It’s been good.”

Shane whispered, mostly to himself, “It was still cold in May.”

For a big-time worrier, he fucking sucked at taking care of his best friend, huh?

“Hey.” Ilya brought their faces close, less than an inch in between. He whispered, “I swear it’s not bad.”

His gaze dropped to Shane’s lips.

Shane’s breath caught.

“I mean…” Ilya muttered, voice low and languid, smile lazy. “If it was, I would just stay with Svetlana.”

“God!” Shane shoved him. “You’re seriously insufferable!”

“Heeey!” Ilya cackled behind him as Shane took off. “I thought we needed firewood!”

***

The last lights of the day found them around the fire again and Shane and Ilya huddled next to each other. It was an automatic gesture almost, Ilya looking at Shane and Shane immediately squeezing himself beside him. Ilya saw the glances sent around the circle, some confused, some knowing, and ignored them. Shane was there with him, their shoulders brushing, their arms touching, so Ilya just breathed it in. He watched Shane and with a touch barely-there, he ran the back of his hand on his bare thigh.

It was almost perfect, if not for the way Shane kept frowning at Svetlana.

As everyone was distracted by their own chatter, Ilya leaned in and murmured, “Stop glaring at her.”

Shane glanced at him out the side of his eye. “I’m not glaring at her.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow.

Shane didn’t say anything.

The conversation flowed and changed and shifted.

Shane’s glares didn’t go anywhere. At any word Svetlana said, his brows would pinch, and he’d fidget next to Ilya. It was kind of cute because he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He just wore everything on his face as usual, for all the world to see. Ilya wanted to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him close. He wanted to drop a peck on those pursed lips till they went lax under the touch.

What’s the worst that can happen, he wondered to himself like a crazy person.

Kyle and Svetlana already knew and going by the way Rose and Jackie kept giggling with them, they had an idea too. Scott and Kip were boring and nice, they’d say some supportive shit, and Hayden… who fucking cared about Hayden?

Ilya just wanted to kiss Shane.

Like this morning.

This morning had shifted something in him, letting himself kiss Shane like that. It hadn’t been premeditated despite what Shane had said about the minty breath. Ilya had just jolted awake, as usual, and this time it was made worse by the memory of his absolutely humiliating break-down hours prior. As he’d known, everything had come back like a breaker; the ways he’d fucked up already, the ways he could fuck up again.

Then, it was just better. Hundred times better. Because after his morning smoke and cleaning his mouth of the ashy taste, he’d gone back, and Shane was there. And Ilya had held him. He hadn’t even had a clue what Shane’s reaction would be – things could always flip on their heads once the sun was high above the horizon – but he’d held him. And Shane, upon waking up, looking incredibly soft and kissable, just wiggled his way into Ilya’s arms.

Ilya couldn’t do anything but kiss him.

And he wanted to kiss him again. He wanted their friends to see it, know it. Despite not knowing himself what this thing meant or could mean yet. One more reckless thing, he told himself. The worst that could happen was Shane saying no.

Leaning close, he whispered, “I wanna kiss you.”

Shane’s head whipped to him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“But…” He blinked his doe eyes, so so lovely. “But you, but I… I mean, you…”

“You can say no,” Ilya said. “But I want to kiss you.”

“Hey,” Kyle’s voice came from somewhere close. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Honestly, secrets don’t make friends, guys!”

“About that, are you two friends again?”

“Yeah,” Ilya muttered, eyes not leaving Shane’s. “Something like that.”

Shane’s face, glorious and kissed-by-the-sun, brightened.

“Now?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Ilya nodded. “Now.”

Shane bit down on his lip.

Then put the softest, sweetest kiss on Ilya’s mouth.

Ilya hadn’t known something so innocent could cause a roar of this volume.

“Oh my god!”

“What?!”

“I knew it! I’ve been telling Rose, I knew it!”

“I gotta admit, this is actually pretty shocking.”

“I knew it!”

Shane’s cheeks immediately tinged pink. He hid his face in Ilya’s shoulder. A muffled groan followed, and Ilya couldn’t help his chuckle.

“Are you okay?”

Shane shook his head.

Someone clapped Ilya on the back. “Answer our questions!”

“When did this happen?”

“Are you pranking us?”

“Make them stop,” Shane moaned.

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Guys, maybe we should calm down and just congratulate them.”

Shane lifted his head, his small face peeking out. “Thank you, Scott.”

His eyes met Ilya’s. And a tiny smile flitted across his face.

It was so beautiful it left Ilya winded.

“Hayden,” Jackie’s voice came. “Hayden, baby?”

“Oh my god, is he having a stroke?”

Everyone’s attention snapped.

Hayden was just sitting there, color pale, face aghast, saying nothing.

“Yeah,” Ilya grumbled. “It’s a stroke alright.”

“Him—” Hayden pointed at Shane. “You—” He pointed at Ilya.

“Don’t think too hard about it, buddy.”

Hayden’s brows furrowed. “But you two have been sharing a bed!”

“Honestly, Pike, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“All your lives, you shared a bed!”

“You did what?” someone asked.

“This is new,” Shane said hurriedly.

“But Ilya is gay? He’s been gay all along?”

“Uhm...”

Everyone turned to Ilya.

Trying nonchalance, he said, “Bisexual, actually.”

Nothing broke and the world did not end.

But Shane muttered, “Bisexual?”

Ilya looked at him. “Yeah.” He swallowed. “Is that okay?”

Shane’s dark eyes studied him for a moment.

Then he smiled. “Of course it’s okay.”

A relieved breath escaped Ilya. He hadn’t even realized there’d been something waiting to be eased and reassured in his chest.

Shane got close in his space. And kissed him again, this time on his cheek. The roars rose again, and fresh blush dusted Shane’s face. Hayden stuttered out confused half-words, Jackie consoled him, and Ilya thought secretly even this cacophony sounded nice.

Three days later, he was taking what he’d said right back.

It’d been a moment of sentimentality. The cacophony was anything but nice. It was driving Ilya crazy.

It was probably karma, he thought. Or payback. For all the times he’d spent annoying this lot of people on purpose. For his every joke about Scott and Kip being disgusting. For all the times he’d refused to listen to Kyle and Svetlana.

They were somewhere on the outskirts of Regina on their way to a mall they were going to stop by, and Ilya thought he was dying. It was a twisted joke of fate that after all these years, he could finally touch Shane, but they were surrounded by the nosiest, most annoying people on earth who did not let them have a single undisturbed cuddle at night, or a square space private enough to kiss.

He was sitting on a sofa, across from Shane, and he knew just by looking at those black well eyes that the feeling was mutual. Shane was chatting with Rose and Jackie, joking, teasing, unaware of how everyone bloomed along with him, his one smile catching onto others. But every few seconds, his eyes would flick to Ilya and Ilya would ache to be alone with him.

“Aw, look at those miserable puppy eyes,” Kyle cooed next to him and threw popcorn at his face.

Ilya cursed, grabbing a handful and flicking it Kyle’s way.

“Don’t litter!” Hayden chided, taking the bowl away. “Shane doesn’t like it.”

“Shane’s here,” Shane muttered.

“Boo, party pooper.” Kyle rolled his eyes.

“I’m not a party pooper!” Hayden scoffed.

“You know, I actually know why you’ve been very moody, Pike.”

“Oh yeah? Why, Swift?”

“You’re mad we outnumber you now.”

“Outnumber what?”

“We’re pulling over!” Scott called out from the driver’s seat.

“Five gays. Four straights.”

“If any of you bring smelly food in here, I’m leaving you at the curb!”

“You’re just not used to it. I get it. To be the only hetero guy in a place. That’s scary, man.”

“I’m not the only hetero guy!”

“Did anyone hear Scott?” Kip asked. “Say copy.”

“Copy!”

“The last time I checked, you were.”

“Ilya’s bisexual. That’s like half-straight.”

“That’s absolutely not how it is.”

“Aw.” It was Jackie. “Give him one. At least he’s got the spirit.”

“You know what, Swift? I think you’re just butthurt.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“You’re the only single guy here.”

“That’s ludicrous.”

“You’re just lonely and sad and—"

Ilya shouted, “Shane!”

Everyone shut up.

Shane’s eyes widened. “Y-yeah?”

“Where’s your driver’s license?” Ilya asked, leaving the sofa. “Money?”

“Uhm, in my wallet?”

“Where’s your wallet?”

He moved to the closet.

“In my backpack.”

He threw Shane his backpack.

“Your phone?”

“Pocket.”

“Contacts?”

“Backpack.”

“Glasses.”

“On my face?”

Ilya looked from where he was bolstering his own bag on his shoulder. Behind the frames, Shane looked cute and confused.

Just as the RV was stopping, Ilya grabbed his hand.

And flashed a grin. “Come on.”

“What?!” Shane exclaimed, getting pulled off the sofa and out of the vehicle.

Their friends echoed, “What?!”

Feet fast on the pavement, Ilya shouted, “We’re leaving!”

“We’re leaving?”

“Do not follow us!”

“What?!” Shane sputtered again, trying to catch up with Ilya. Then a lovely giggle escaped his mouth. “What?”

Ilya couldn’t help his own laughter and laughed harder when Shane giggled again. The chuckles off their lips and the raps of their feet on the ground got louder and louder, till they were full-speed running across the parking lot. Hand-in-hand, together. Till they couldn’t laugh or run anymore.

Bowed in half, out of breath, Shane asked, “Ilya?”

“Look.” Ilya exhaled. “I’m fucking tired of those idiots, okay?” He held both Shane’s hands. “I wanna be alone with you.”

Shane looked at him all flushed, rosy pink and pretty. “This is stupid,” he said but his voice was light. “Are we gonna walk the whole way to the city? That’s gonna take us at least an hour.”

“We can find a bus stop,” Ilya said with a smirk and a shrug.

“Ilya, this is…” Shane shook his head. But it wasn’t a dismissal. If anything, he’d looked content. And in awe.

“Shane.” Ilya gripped his shoulders. “I wanna hold you.”

A shy smile painted Shane’s face.

“I wanna sleep with you.”

His brows shot up. “What?!”

“I mean actual sleep,” Ilya said hurriedly.

“Oh. Oh.” Shane went deep red. “Sure. I mean, yeah. But you’re right, we’ll probably need to find a bus stop and we’ll need—”

“Hey.” Ilya slipped his arms around him. As much as it was thrilling to see Shane flustered like this, he’d meant it. Quietly he said, “I just wanna fall asleep with you.” Though it was more of a need than a want.

Shane released his held breath.

“Without that chorus of morons.” Ilya smiled.

Looking still stunned and always stunning, Shane breathed, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Hm.”

“Okay!” Ilya clapped and pulled Shane under one arm. “Great! Let’s find a way downtown.” He stopped. “Wait, Regina has a downtown, right?”

***

They had walked almost an hour to the city. Knocking each other’s shoulders, trying to trip the other, groaning about the sun half-heartedly, making jokes about how they were going to keel over and pass out.

They’d found a diner and thrown themselves inside. Taking seats side by side, they’d ordered burgers. Ilya had taken out his pickles and given them to Shane because Shane loved pickles, and Shane had left the last bit of his milkshake for Ilya.

Backpacks on their backs, hats over their heads, they’d wandered around downtown.

“We should probably find a hotel,” Shane had said, as the sun lingered low by the horizon.

The colors of the sunset had never been something that’d occupied much of Ilya’s thoughts. Till he’d got Shane all to himself for a day like this; absolutely mundane but terribly missed. Shane with happy crinkles by his eyes, freckles a splash on his tanned skin, hair dappled by the final lights.

“Yeah,” Ilya had muttered, not really caring where they went.

Till they entered the hotel room Shane had picked for them.

“Wow,” he said, looking around the place. “Isn’t this a bit too nice?”

It wasn’t luxurious or anything, but it was nice. Terribly. And its niceness made Ilya realize he hadn’t considered what this trip back home was going to cost. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had some money saved but this was going to tally up.

Setting his backpack down on the floor, he took a seat at the edge of a bed. He bounced. “Did we really need two bed— Hhmph.”

Teeth clanking, noses bumping, Shane’s mouth was on his. Frenetic, unbalanced, he threw himself half on Ilya’s lap.

Instinctively, Ilya’s hands went to his hips, steadying him.

A soft moan left Shane’s mouth.

Too eager, he tugged at Ilya’s bottom lip. His hands fisting Ilya’s shirt, he urged him to scoot back in bed. Ilya found himself obeying, Shane following him and straddling his legs. Ilya felt his nerves crackle as Shane’s heated fingers touched his nape as he deepened the kiss.

Ilya kissed him back because he couldn’t think of a reality where he didn’t do that. He slipped his one palm to Shane’s thigh and curled his other arm tight around his waist. He went through the motions, mouth kissing Shane’s mouth, skin brushing Shane’s skin, but his mind was short-circuited. Having the boy you wanted all your life plopped on your lap like this, kissing you borderline desperate would do that to any teenage boy. The cloud of lust was static in his head.

Shane was not patient with his moves. He was demanding with the way he slid his tongue against Ilya’s and drew his lip between his own. His grip tightened with each heartbeat, like he was trying to ensure Ilya kept kissing him back.

Heat building between them almost bringing him to the edge of something not-advised, Ilya broke the kiss. “Shane, Shane,” he breathed when Shane kept chasing his mouth. “Let’s slow down, okay?” He let out a strained laugh.

Shane shook his head and surged forward. “No.”

“Hey, hey.” Ilya held his face, separating them.

He frowned.

Shane’s eyes were glazed, his face flushed, but Ilya had spent so much of his life categorizing every inch square of that face to know there was something else. “What is this?”

Shane licked his lips. “You said… Today…”

“I told you I didn’t mean that.” Ilya shook his head.

“But you said— And I’ve been thinking about you with other guys since the park and it makes me—” He exhaled a breath. Then buried his face in his hands. “I thought maybe you wanted to,” he mumbled.

“Hey.” Ilya wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. “I do. Of course I fucking want you.”

Shane peeked between his fingers.

Ilya huffed a chuckle.

Reaching with one hand, he eased Shane’s hands away from his face and caressed the inside of his palms. He took those few moments to collect himself. He hadn’t been expecting this. At all.

Still pink in the face, eyes unsure, Shane looked at him.

Ilya understood. He understood because knew Shane. He understood how the self-doubt and the uncertainty could make Shane jump onto this. Which was ridiculous because Shane was perfect, and flawless, and the one thing Ilya coveted the most.

But this was insane.

This wasn’t something Ilya could be careless about, and he’d already been careless plenty. It’d been reckless once kissing Shane that night, twice kissing Shane in its morning, three times kissing Shane in front of their friends, and four times ditching them today to be alone. He couldn’t regret any of them when Shane was pretty in his arms like this, but there was so much he couldn’t say, promise, foresee, or even understand. This thing between them was a balancing act, which Ilya didn’t know the chances of staying stable at the end. What he knew was that some things needed caution.

“God, Shane,” he muttered. “Of course I want you. You have no idea how much I want you.”

Shane’s throat bobbed.

“But not like this, okay?” Ilya smiled gently. “Rare, I know, but you haven’t thought this one through.” He brushed Shane’s hair away from his eyes. “This is not how we’re doing this.”

Sheepishly, Shane nodded.

“And if you must know,” Ilya continued. “I haven’t been with other guys.”

Shane's eyes widened. “You haven’t?”

“Nope. I haven’t even kissed one.”

It was a heartbeat too quiet before Shane said, “Okay.”

Ilya lowered his gaze. He ran his one hand on the fine hair on Shane’s leg. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Have you?”

It was something he’d absolutely refused to think about. But it slipped in sometimes, during the worst nights. Not that Shane had ever owed him to not have sex with his boyfriend or that Ilya had any right to feel upset or disappointed about it. Not that it would change anything or matter at all, except for the wellbeing of Ilya’s heart or it would—

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Shane shifted on his lap, arms going around his neck. “That was all that was on my mind, you know? In between school and hockey, the student council and realizing I have these very confusing feelings for my best friend.”

Ilya raised his gaze.

He found a faint smile teasing the kiss-swollen lips.

“Funny.” He scoffed.

Shane’s mouth stretched to a grin.

“Was that get-back for the Svetlana thing?”

“Maybe.”

“Evil.”

Shane laughed. “Sorry.” He pressed a kiss on Ilya’s face. “I was joking.”

“Hm.” Ilya smiled. He dragged his nose on Shane’s cheek and Shane made that happy breathy laugh thing he did. Ilya missed all of his sounds.

But when he pulled back, Shane’s expression was sober.

“Miles was fine,” he said with a shrug. “But he, uhm, he was…”

Ilya’s hold tightened. “He was what?”

Midnight eyes traced his face. “Not you.”

There was so much sincerity in those two words that Ilya didn’t know what to say for a moment. Instead, he groaned and dropped his forehead on Shane’s shoulder. “You can’t just say things like that.” He shook his head. “God, Shane, I saw you with him just one time and…”

God, to think he could have had Shane for the entirety of this time Miles had had him. To think Miles hadn’t even had to be a thing in their lives, not even a blip.

A depreciative voice said, he broke up with him for you. He came to you and kissed you. You were just a coward.

And he still was.

Not sure what he was doing – in general and especially with this – but still needing Shane.

“God,” he moaned again and pressed a kiss on Shane’s mouth. “I have to kiss you so much to get rid of that image. I have to kiss you like a thousand times a day.”

“That’s unrealistic.” Shane giggled.

“What do you know?” Ilya tipped his chin up. “You always sucked at math.”

Shane laughed again as Ilya steered him close for another kiss. He was met with no resistance. Shane opened his mouth, and a quiet sigh left his lips. This time they kissed unhurriedly, both taking their time. Ilya wanted to draw it out till all the noise outside was muted and the earth stopped spinning.

He hadn’t expected to see a contemplative line between Shane’s brows when he leaned back.

Ilya’s own pinched. “What?”

Shane pursed his lips.

“C’mon. Get it out.”

“I just… You dated a lot of girls, right?”

Date was a loose term, but Ilya nodded.

“And the other day you said you wanted this—” Shane gestured between them. “—for a long time. But you also say you’ve never been with a guy and I… I just don’t understand.”

Ilya took in the bright pair of eyes in front of him, looking at him for an answer. He felt his face soften.

“It’s hard to explain,” he whispered.

“Try?” Shane asked.

Ilya swallowed. How could he explain it with just mere words? It lived in his muscles and his seams and everything in between. It was too much sometimes, the way he wanted Shane – singularly, without an end, without a beginning – that he felt scared to touch him some days, scared to look for too long.

“You come before any of that,” he admitted. “I wanted you before I even knew what wanting meant.”

It wasn’t hard to see now, looking back. All those ill-advised things he’d done when they were children, the loud and boisterous act taken up a notch when they were in the same room. Just so Shane paid attention to him. Even before they were friends, just so Shane Hollander, always sitting at the front desk in the middle, would look at him. Only him.

“Before I noticed anyone. Guy or girl. I didn’t always know what it was, but I think it was just me thinking there’s this distance, right? Between girls and the idea of you, I mean. But with guys… It never felt right.”

Shane was quiet.

Then he said, “Would you want to? One day—”

“No.”

“What about girls? What if you miss—”

“Shane.” Ilya grabbed his face. “You’re not listening to me. Yes, I’ve been with other people, and I liked it. But I’ve only been in l—” Love with you. “I’ve only wanted you. I’ll always only want you.”

A car honked outside, and footsteps pattered upstairs. And Ilya’s words stayed there, Shane’s face illuminated in awe.

Then slowly, a smile rose.

Like moonrise.

Shane leaned in and kissed Ilya, making a sigh escape his lips. Making him want to bask in this taste, Shane’s mouth he was quickly becoming obsessed with. Ilya wanted so much, he wanted to bottle Shane’s each gasp and breath, his touch and warmth. He wanted to forget his own body, have his bones be as fine as dust and his limbs featherlike, so he could keep this feeling of lightness.

He moved, descending down Shane’s neck with kisses. He slipped one hand under his shirt, smoothing a palm on the glorious skin.

“I thought we weren’t doing this,” Shane muttered against his cheek.

“We’re just kissing,” Ilya answered, pressing their mouths together again to prove his point. “I promised you a thousand a day, remember?”

Shane nodded. Shifting, he wound his legs around Ilya’s waist. He pushed his hands into Ilya’s hair and kissed, kissed, kissed.

Ilya didn’t know how long it’d lasted, he just took the moment in.

But he was only human and at one point his mouth got tired and his breaths more laboured. He pulled back for a quick gasp, then dived back in.

And bumped their heads together.

“Ow,” Shane squawked, hands flying to his forehead.

“Oh shit,” Ilya said immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Just let me take a look—”

A loud laugh erupted.

Shane, with his head thrown back, guffawed.

Ilya froze.

“This is so ridiculous,” Shane said, shaking his head, giggling. “Just so stupid.”

“Uhm…”

Shane barked out another laugh. Ilya saw his eyes tear up. “Am I the only one who thinks this is just awkward? Like, you’re you and I’m me, and this is just— Ilya, this is so awkward.” A silent round took over his body. “Why the hell am I on your lap?!”

Ilya felt his own lips curl. Then heard a laugh leave him. He laughed, continuously, full-on. The sound mixed with Shane’s, and they shook in each other’s arms, and Shane’s eyes were bright and his giggles joyful and he was right. This was awkward. And brilliant.

“Something something about none of the guys comparing to me,” Ilya answered his question.

“I said none of those words!”

“Something something about you only wanting me.”

“You’re the one who said that!”

He reached for the face he loved so much and cradled Shane’s cheeks. He brushed away the tears of laughter.

Something about me loving you and you loving me.

He wanted to say it again. He wanted to hear it. It was at the tip of his tongue but Shane smiling like this, laughing, stealing his heat, and putting kisses on his cheeks; they all were too precarious. This, too, felt like something that needed a little caution.

Because it was just days ago that Ilya had been adamant to leave. Just days ago when he’d thought never seeing Shane again, spending the rest of his life trying to get over him was the right choice. Whatever set that decision in motion didn’t just disappear. Ilya didn’t even know what to name the visceral feelings behind it, so a part of him said, a little caution wouldn’t hurt.

And Ilya no longer wanted to underestimate his power to hurt people.

Saying I love you could wait.

He just listened to Shane laugh.

***

Shane came to awareness as a shiver went through his body. In the middle of July, it was a strange call to wake up, but his sleep-addled brain distantly recalled cranking up the air conditioner the night before. It’d probably been a bad idea, but night into day staying up for hours, neither he nor Ilya had been capable of good ideas. And neither had been forthcoming with their ulterior motive: cuddling each other as they’d fallen asleep.

Now, though, chills were pebbling Shane’s skin. He tried pulling the sheet over his shoulder; it didn’t budge.

“Ilya,” he whined. “Stop hogging the covers.”

No answer came.

“Ilyaaa—”

“You’re the one hogging them.”

Scowling, Shane tugged at the fabric again.

And again.

His lids flew open as a pair of hands dragged him back by the hips. Firmly but gently, he got manhandled into turning around and facing Ilya.

A gulp went down his throat.

That’d been… impressive.

He let his gaze wander for a quick peruse. Ilya’s shirt was rumpled, clinging to his skin just right. His hair was hanging loose, mussed with sleep, and there was the shadow of morning stubble on his cheeks, making Shane want to put his lips on him and feel the prickle. He wanted to touch him. He always wanted to touch him, even after the way he’d embarrassed himself last night. And right now Ilya looked perfect; lazy, lavish, languid, and Shane had to swallow again.

“I hate you,” he said. It came out strained.

Ilya nosed at the hollow of his throat. His voice was rough in Shane’s ear when he spoke, “Months of sleeping alone made you so selfish in bed.”

“At least I didn’t spend the whole night putting my cold feet on you.” Shane scoffed.

Ilya pulled back, squinting at him. Then a slow, amused smile curled his lips. “Okay, kitten scowl, you win this one.”

Shane frowned. “Kitten scowl?”

“Yeah. When you pout like a little cat.”

“I don’t pout. Especially not like a cat.”

“You do.” Ilya shrugged. “What? It’s a basic fact of life.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does. It’s something they teach kids in pre-school, you must have missed it.” Something like mischief, something like fondness illuminated his amber eyes. He was so handsome, and Shane hated him. “I remember, like, Miss Blanchett gathered us all around, right? You know, me, Jackie, Hayden, everyone honestly. And she said—” He cleared his throat theatrically. “—Don’t touch hot stoves, it’ll burn. Don’t annoy Shane Hollander, he’ll pout.”

Shane's lips twitched. “And you took it as a challenge?”

“Of course.” Ilya tapped him on the mouth. “I love your little kitten scowl.”

Heat flooded Shane’s face.

“Oh my god.” Ilya chuckled. “How do you get so red so quickly? There must be something wrong with your blood circulation, honestly.”

“Shut up.”

Ilya laughed again. And softly put a kiss on what Shane assumed was his pinked cheek.

“You’re so much stupider in the mornings, you know?” he told Ilya.

“You’re just mad you missed Miss B.’s class.” Ilya shrugged.

Shane couldn’t help his eyeroll. Or his smile. Leaning in, he pressed a closed-lipped kiss on Ilya’s mirroring one. He’d been keeping a count since that morning in the RV, of how many times they’d done this, but sometime last night he’d forgotten the number. That alone felt thrilling and unreal.

He twined his arms around Ilya’s back and pulled him close. Ilya tucked his head in the crook of his neck; the light brush of his lips on Shane’s temple making him smile. Closing his eyes, Shane’s melted into his arms and relished the familiarity and the comfort of his embrace.

It was warm, and after days of sleeping on the sofa bed, this mattress was heaven.

Immediately, his brows furrowed.

The comfort he’d been enjoying quickly became the reminder of where Ilya had been sleeping, not just for days, but for months.

He pulled back. “So did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Ilya answered.

“Yeah?”

The gold eyes strayed. And Ilya’s lips pursed. It was a long moment before he looked back at Shane. “I, uhm…” He rubbed his brow. “I startle awake sometimes.”

Shane’s chest tightened. “Like, nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you last night?”

“Yeah,” Ilya said with a shrug. He attempted a smile; it looked wrong. “But I just hugged you and went right back to sleep.”

Shane felt taken aback. Not with realization but with the reminder. Ilya Rozanov, a kid who’d willingly run into walls till he was a Christmas tree lit up with bruises. Till it caused microfractures in his bones that could heal to make him stronger. Faster than other kids, better than other kids, cooler than other kids. Shane had always known and even envied. But looking at his eyes now, he wondered how much of it had been healing, and how much masking the tiny shatters.

Ilya was tired, Shane could see. And he wanted to listen. He wanted to hear whatever it was. When he’d been the cause behind Ilya spending months away from home on a cot, and maybe the cause of something worse, for longer, he needed to hear it.

“Ilya—”

Something rattled on the bedside table.

Shane looked over his shoulder and saw his phone vibrating.

“Oh shit.” He rolled over and reached for it. It went quiet in his hand. He pulled up the call log: 8 unanswered calls. “Shit, shit.”

He put the phone to his ear.

The line connected on the second ring.

 “Hi, Mom—”

“You’d better have a good excuse for not answering my calls, mister.”

Shane winced. “I’m sorry.”

“That was my only condition, Shane. You were going to check in with me every day.”

Ilya straightened next to him; Shane tried to shoo him away. He shrugged and pressed his ear to the other side of the phone.

“I told you. We didn’t have reception in the park—”

“But you haven’t been in the park for a while now, have you?”

Their eyes met. “Uhm…”

“I actually have a wild guess of somewhere like a hotel in Regina. Do you know why? Because my bank was kind enough to call me about seemingly suspicious payments in my name.”

Ilya frowned. “You paid already?”

Shane asked, “Your bank called you?”

“Out of province spending of hundreds of dollars? Yeah, Shane, my bank called me.” Her voice changed. “I gave you that card for emergencies, are you kids okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“Did you crash the RV? Are you lost?”

“The RV’s okay, Mom, I promise. The others are on their way home, uhm… I just stayed back.” He licked his lips, then said, “With Ilya.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Shane saw Ilya smirk as he reached for his collarbone. He knew he was blushing again when Ilya rubbed the skin there.

“Mom?”

“Ilya’s with you?”

“Yeah.”

“He came on the trip?”

“Yeah.”

“You two ditched your friends?”

Shane swallowed. “Yeah.”

It was silent again.

Shane shifted awkwardly. Ilya blew air at his bangs, still grinning. Shane gestured for him to go away to no avail.

Mom’s sigh came over the phone. “So what are you planning to do?”

“Uhm. Rent a car?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ilya mouthed.

“Just pick a secure one, alright? Make sure it has airbags and working seatbelts. And make sure it’s a one-way rental, no one’s driving that car back to Saskatchewan, Shane. And if you guys are going down the States route, be exceptionally careful, I don’t like how they drive down there. And if you’re lost—”

“You’re the one who taught us both how to drive, remember?” Shane interrupted because this could go on forever.

Ilya chuckled next to him. Audibly, he said, “It was hilarious how you used to tense up at every turn.”

“Can you not interrupt?”

“It took you months to get over it.”

“Ilya.”

“You would just stop and take a deep, deep breath every time.”

Shane grumbled, “Were you put on this earth just to annoy me?”

“No." Ilya poked his cheek. "Yes.” He cracked a wild grin. “See, that’s the little kitten scowl I’m talking about! You always do that.”

“It’s been four days and you’re already testing me.”

Ilya quirked an eyebrow. “Four days of what?”

Shane ignored him and the new rush of heat to his face. “Mom,” he said into the speaker. “Mom?”

Mom’s voice came, sober. “I love you. Both of you. Be careful.”

And the line went dead.

Ilya laced his arms above his head. “Well, you have a serious talking-to waiting for you.”

Shane huffed. “Like she won’t get her hands on you.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Rent a car. Make sure it’s a one-way deal. Drive exceptionally safe.”

Ilya pursed his lips. “Drive where?”

Shane looked at him, then at his backpack he’d abandoned by the door.

He got up.

Ilya’s eyes went wide when he saw him come back with a Sharpie and a folded map. Shane laid it on the bed and settled next to Ilya. Immediately arms wrapped around him, and a chin propped on his shoulder.

He uncapped the Sharpie and drew a thick black line over the old blue ink.

He glanced sideways. “What do you think?”

“You’ve just traced over what I already had there.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t they teach you plagiarism is not it?”

“Ilya.”

Ilya smiled, slow and crooked. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Of course. It was my idea, anyway.” He booped Shane’s nose. “It’s gonna be great.”

The way he’d said it and smiled was so animated and alive. It was something of warm cadence, cutting Shane’s breath short. That smile could defuse a bomb. It could fool the devil. But Shane knew Ilya like he knew his own name, like the tongue he spoke, the house he’d grown up in, the veins of his palm. He knew that smile – while as genuine as it was beautiful – came with a world of things Ilya didn’t confide in him yet.

“You were saying something before Mom called?” he asked. What he meant to say exactly was what’s wrong, Ilya? Why break down like that by the lake but don’t utter another word afterward? Why shout I love you then, but bite down on your tongue yesterday?

Ilya waved him off. “Forget it.” He kissed the top of his head. “Let’s just go get breakfast before we start this Shane-and-Ilya thing.”

Shane’s chest ached.

Their Shane-and-Ilya thing.

There were so many things he wanted to ask. Even demand. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be the Shane that was too much, too naggy, overbearing, and restrictive all the time.

Don’t force his hand again, he chided himself.

Ilya was beautiful and his for now.

He’d come to him on his own time.

For once, don’t overthink.

Just focus on this.

“Breakfast.” He smiled.

This Shane-and-Ilya thing.

***

“I’m telling you, the game is rigged.”

“Did you consider maybe you fucking suck at aiming?

The carnival worker put the water gun in Shane’s hand. The red tent of the booth they were standing under was reflecting a warm color on his already-tanned skin. His lips were pink and pursed, and brows furrowed in concentration.

He lifted the gun, looking down its barrel.

He took the shot.

One bottle down.

Throwing a smirk over his shoulder, he pointed at the line of stuffed animals hanging above. “Was that the one you wanted?” he asked Ilya.

Ilya rolled his eyes.

He loved seeing Shane like this. With a little competitiveness and self-praise. Holding himself confident, cocksure, even a little arrogant. It made Ilya hot to the core in a way that had nothing to do with the blazing sun overhead.

Shane took the second shot. One more bottle down.

They were somewhere in North Dakota, a stop they had not planned. It’d just been two days since they’d left Regina and quickly the itinerary they’d mapped out got forgotten.

Shane had asked Ilya when he had to be back in town for work that very morning to which Ilya had shrugged. Work reminded him of Boston, of the messages he continued to ignore ever since they’d got back to the land of cell reception. It reminded him of future and what was going to be of this thing between the two of them once they were back in Snowbury, and Ilya didn’t want to think. Not when they were losing track of time and track of space in the best way possible.

“Don’t worry.” He’d beamed at Shane. “We have all the time in the world.”

And he wanted to waste that time. Till it wasn’t an obstacle in between.

After that neither had said anything of home. Or about Boston or Montreal.

Their exchanges had mostly been a lot of kissing when they stopped, and a lot of bickering over the scenic transition as they drove across the border.

Some had been very Shane-like.

“Take your feet off my dashboard!”

“It’s not your car.”

“It is when I’m driving.”

Some serious.

“Of course I’d rather burn alive than be eaten by a shark, Shane.”

“Do you know how painful it’d be to feel your entire skin burn?”

“That’s good! I would just go into shock.”

“You’d go into shock as shark food as well. At least you’d be useful in its survival.”

Some retaliating.

“No, Ilya. Linkin Park is not road trip music.”

“It is to me.”

“You’re not choosing the music.”

“I do when I’m driving.”

Some, again, Shane-like.

“Oh my god, Ilya! Don’t stick your arm out the window like that!”

“Hm.”

“That’s the first thing they teach you!”

“Hmm.”

“Ilya!”

Full of concern and caring and pouting and being cute. Ilya had answered that one by catching Shane’s hand that was about to bat him in the air. And smacking a kiss in his palm. “You’re such a worrywart.”

Now, his worrywart was only concerned about the sixth and the last bottle he was looking in the eye to take down to take his prize. They were here because Shane had got distracted by the signs of the state fair and Ilya had got distracted by the sight of him excited.

Water out the gun hit the bottle with barely any force.

The bottle rattled.

And stopped, standing tall.

“Aha,” the carnival worker said.

Ilya saw Shane give the man a death glare and slap a dollar bill in his hand. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“No second try?” he asked as Shane stormed out to the crowd, his face in a scowl.

“The game is rigged.”

“Oh, that’s how it is now?”

“Let’s take the rollercoaster.”

“We already did.”

“Let’s take that ride that flips—”

He stopped.

Ilya followed his gaze to a line of photobooths decorated with tacky glittery banners.

“That’s so cheesy,” he said with a chuckle, expecting Shane to laugh with him.

Shane just shrugged. “We had something like that at prom.”

Ilya’s face fell.

Prom.

Another thing they didn’t talk about.

“I know we weren’t on good terms, but I wanted to have pictures with you,” Shane said casually. “That day, I mean.”

Ilya didn’t say anything.

“I wanted a lot of pictures, actually. I wanted a lot of things. I wanted to go with you, and I wanted to dance with—”

He cut himself off.

Ilya’s gut tightened.

Then, shaking his head, Shane smiled. “Never mind. Kyle’s not here to take photos, so I thought it’d be fun.”

A breath escaped Ilya’s lips; he hated how relieved it was.

The thought of prom soured something for Shane, he could see. The way he held himself got tenser, the lines of his face brittle. But he was smiling at him. He was just smiling at Ilya. And that made Ilya feel safe. And like a jerk. And inexplicably angry.

“I wanted to dance with you too,” he admitted.

Tentative, Shane’s smile brightened.

“And not that silly thing we’ve done.” Ilya tried to grin.

Saying that hadn’t taken much from him but the rest…

He ignored the acerb feeling in his gut. And brushed away the hair on Shane’s nape. “And I didn’t say no, you know. I said it’s cheesy.”

Shane looked at him, eyes expectant.

“And you know how much I love cheese.”

Immediately, those eyes rolled back. But Ilya saw the glint of a smile in them.

That was all that mattered, wasn’t it?

“Honestly you should know better,” he joked as he pulled Shane in the direction of the photobooths. “You’ve just seen me wolf down half a pizza and mozzarella sticks.”

“Have I failed to mention how not funny you’re all these years?” Shane joked back, smile now full-bloom.

“Yeah, you usually just laugh till you snort.”

It was so easy to be like this.

“Now that’s an exaggeration.”

To speak nonsense till all left was their matching grins.

“Oh! I had cheese fries too.”

“Yeah, and you looked disgusting doing it.”

“Not like you looked any hot demolishing your funnel cake. Hell, there’s still powdered sugar on your face—”

“Ilya!”

Ilya went still, his hand about to brush the sugar away from Shane’s cheek halted in the air.

“Oh.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that it? Is this why you wanna be in a closed booth?” he teased; Shane kept walking. “You haven’t kissed me in four hours, and you can’t stand it anymore, that’s it?” They entered a booth. “Are you gonna ask me to take my shirt off? My pants? This is so improper of you, you know—” He sat down on the bench, leaving space for Shane. “—With all those kids out there. Honestly, Shane, it’s a photobooth, not a kissing booth. Especially not a making-out booth—”

Shane threw himself on his lap, grabbed his face tight, and smacked a loud kiss on his lips.

Ilya knew the look on his face was stunned once they pulled apart.

“I wasn’t actually planning on doing this—” Shane said with a slow grin. “—but sometimes you really have to shut up.”

Ilya heard an amused chuckle leave him. “When did you get so bold?” he asked, though it was a silly question. Shane had always been bold and always beautiful. And as the strangest gift or test of fate, also fucking insanely hot on Ilya’s lap right now.

“Hm.” Shane bit his lip teasingly. “When did you become a blusher?”

“I don’t blush.” Ilya scoffed.

“You do.” Shane’s fingers touched his neck; Ilya shivered. “And this shade of pink really suits you.”

The self-satisfied way he’d said those words… Ilya wanted to feel that smirk fade to stunned silence under his own lips.

Inserting a coin in the machine, Shane said, “Say cheese. Or no, don’t say cheese. I don’t want to hear you say cheese aga—”

Fingers splayed on both sides of his neck, Ilya grabbed him and swallowed the rest of that sentence. The flash for the first photo went off but he barely heard it taking Shane’s mouth with a searing kiss. His hands fast around Ilya’s wrists, Shane just sat there frozen, letting him.

Ilya pulled back and cracked a slow smile. From Shane's warm neck to the two pink spots on his face, he trailed finger. Enjoying the dazed look and the blush, he whispered, “Now we match.”

Shane cleared his throat. “Photos.”

Ilya’s smirk widened.

They got their photos after that. It was a silly endeavor made sillier by Ilya on purpose, for his own good, Shane’s, and thousands of people outside who probably didn’t want to walk in on two teenagers flushed from head to toe. He made one exceptionally bad cheese pun that coaxed a snorty laugh out of Shane and a new rush of kisses. These ones stayed slow and sweet, and Ilya was a sucker for those. The sun-basked, love-soaked way their mouths met. They made him think, just for one moment, why haven’t we been doing this earlier? Why had they kept running circles around each other when it was clear as day that these pair of lips were the ones meant to match his?

***

Wearing his Timberlands in the middle of summer was Ilya’s fault. But the sleep deprivation was entirely Shane’s.

“Come here!” His boots hit heavy on the paved riverbank as he ran after him. “Do you have to make everything a competition?”

Shane’s laugh echoed loud in the five-a.m. emptiness of the town. “It’s not my fault you’re losing!”

Okay, maybe the sleep deprivation was on them both. Because Ilya sucked at saying no to Shane. When he’d asked they drive along the Mississippi River at night – via the scenic route, taking the local roads and heading inland – Ilya was first aghast, because driving in the dark and not sticking to highways were both against Yuna Hollander’s rules of road-tripping. Then he was just for it. Because Shane could ask Ilya to throw himself into that water and float to his early death within its currents, and Ilya would cave in.

“Gotcha!” He finally caught Shane, lifting him by the waist.

“Ilya!” Shane yelped and snorted a laugh. “Put me down!”

“No.” Ilya chuckled.

“Put me down!”

“No!”

“Ilya!” Shane cycled his legs in the air, hitting Ilya’s arms, still giggling. “Ilya!”

“Be a little louder and we’ll be kicked out of this town,” Ilya told him. “Or get deported.”

The manic edge in their laughter and cries, the wiredness that came with the lack of sleep, was so loud. It was disturbing the breaking dawn of the quiet place they were in. Driving at night got too tiring too fast; they’d parked in a sleeping town overlooking the river, and just watched for a while, sitting in the car and munching on their car snacks.

Then Shane had suggested they stretch their legs.

And took off along the riverbank, cackling as he dared Ilya to race him.

And now, elbowing him in the spleen.

“Oof,” left Ilya’s mouth; he managed to tighten his hold. “Sometimes I think you don’t know your strength.”

“Oh, I do know my strength,” Shane said, kicking him in the knee.

“Shane!”

Giggles leaving his lips, Shane escaped his hold.

Ilya surged forward and spun him around before he could take off again.

Shane could be so many contradicting things at once; prudent and a thrill-seeker, rule-follower and a little rebel. His smile was like that now, wild but soft around the edges.

Pulling him close, Ilya said, “What were you thinking leaving me behind, huh?”

Instantly, the smile froze.

And faded.

Shane slipped off his arms.

Ilya’s brows drew together.

Their volume finally matching the town and the rising dawn, Shane turned to the river.

Ilya opened his mouth to say something.

Shane interrupted, “It’s kinda like home here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Ilya stepped forward. “Shane?”

Turning around, Shane blurted, “I never wanted to leave you behind.”

“What?”

“That morning…”

Realization dawned. “New Years'?”

Shane nodded. His delighted smile was replaced by cascading lines, face pulled down by sadness. It felt like a whiplash.

“I just freaked out, Ilya. I looked at you and I wanted to kiss you and it hit me like a train. It freaked me the fuck out.”

A single tear slipped out; quickly his hands pressed to his eyes.

“Hey.” Ilya pulled him into his arms.

“I tried to do damage control or something, I don’t know.” Shane shook his head, his words coming out frantic. “It sounds fucking horrible but even dating Miles was just a distraction. I acted so stupid trying to fool myself and f-forget I have these feelings for you,” he mumbled. “I tried so hard to protect this.” He let Ilya take his hands away from his face. “But I ruined everything.”

His head thudded on Ilya’s chest.

“Hey, no,” Ilya protested.

“I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too—”

“And I assumed stuff—”

“You assumed right.”

“And I kissed you. Like an idiot.”

“Shane—”

Almost angry, Shane spat, “I fucking ruined everything.”

“Hey.” Ilya forced his head up and stressed his next words, “You ruined absolutely nothing.”

“But I did, Ilya,” Shane whimpered. “You came to me that night, and I told you to leave.”

Quiet tears flowed out of his eyes, painted pale with the dawning sunlight. Wind ruffled his hair, his mouth drooped, and his gaze shone with sorrow.

Ilya felt something in him broke.

“You didn’t have anywhere to stay,” Shane whispered.

“I did have—”

“And Grigori hurt you.”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

“And I a-angered him that day, I think.” He sniffed. “I told him off when he came to talk to me. I told him he couldn’t do anything anymore and called him pathetic—”

“You did what?”

“And you needed me.” He wiped a tear, furious. “You needed me, and I just kicked you out.”

God, Ilya was so stupid.

“You’ve been feeling guilty about that?” he whispered.

“Of course I have,” Shane’s voice broke.

Shane who’d try to slow down the earth if he thought that was what Ilya needed would of course find the fault in himself – and not in the impossibility of the task – once he realized he couldn’t.

Ilya’s gut churned with guilt and regret. Remorse he didn’t know how to word.

“Shane.” He smiled and cradled his face. “That thing with Grigori was always going to happen, okay?” he said. “I promise you, you had nothing to do with it.”

Shane bit down his lip.

“And I don’t remember you kicking me out. It was me who left, wasn’t it?”

Shane shook his head. “I implied—” He paused and took a deep breath. Then quietly, he said, “I don’t want you out of my life, Ilya. I swear I never wanted you out of my life.”

“Hey, I know.”

“That was the worst fucking six months of my life.”

“Shane—”

“I thought I made you hate me.”

“What?”

“I thought I lost you forever.”

A sob broke, and just like that Ilya had an armful of Shane, with his arms tight around Ilya’s neck, his whimpers getting loud, his body trembled in his embrace. It was one of Ilya’s least favorite things.

“Hey,” he whispered, clutching him tight. “Hey, don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m crying,” Shane said, snivelly, angry.

“You’re right.” Ilya nodded. He ran his fingers through Shane’s silky hair and pressed kisses on his head. Shane’s sounds got louder, and Ilya made sure to hold him tighter. “But,” he murmured against his temple. “I still think you’re being a little bit silly. Just a little. Maybe a tad? A teaspoon.”

Ilya might know fuck all about most things in the world, but reassuring Shane he had a lifetime experience of. Coaxing an angry gibe, a wet chuckle, he knew all the ways.

He was proven right when Shane grumbled, “And you’re a fucking idiot.”

“I am.” Ilya agreed, kissing him again and closing his eyes. He tried to swallow against the words making a lump in his throat. Like most things, he knew fuck all about how to voice them. He didn’t like the realization of how fast they’d fallen into this, how clumsily and stupidly, childishly with no plans. And he didn’t like the reminder of how long they’d been apart, how Ilya had ruined things and how cruel he’d been.

He pressed their cheeks together, feeling Shane’s warmth and the faint stubble.

“Shane,” he whispered. “You can’t make me hate you even if you tried.” He leaned back and put a finger on Shane’s lip, against the protest he knew was coming. Fixing his eyes on the dark, still shiny ones, he said, “You can’t lose me, ever, even if you tried.”

Losing implied Ilya could exist uncoupled from Shane. But Ilya knew even in separate countries, his existence would always be dependent on him. Losing Shane on the other hand, that was a cold knife against Ilya’s throat. It was possible, an arresting thought.

“Yeah,” Shane murmured. “Didn’t feel that way when you said you can’t stand to be in the same city as me.”

Ilya felt ragged and worn in a way that had nothing to do with the lack of sleep. It was everything nestled in those words. Montreal, Boston, Ilya refusing to talk about anything waiting for them at home. Words – questions – were inscribed on Shane’s face; he didn’t conceal any of it.

Ilya opened his mouth, but any confession building quickly died on his lips.

It was like a dark mouth waiting for him to say one thing – right or wrong – to entirely swallow him up. And a part of Ilya knew, the other side of that could very well be peace and finally having anything he ever wanted. But he couldn’t. He just wished he was a dollar bill Shane could hold against the light and see through. Into everything that made him real and whoever this person he’d turned out to be.

See everything, anything you need to know. Then cry, shout, scream, and be mad at me, please.

But don’t make me talk.

“I promise you,” he could only tell him now. “Nothing about this is your fault. Hell, Shane Hollander.” He huffed a hoarse chuckle. “I don’t think you’ve done a single wrong thing in your entire life.”

Maybe it was an exaggeration. But compared to all of Ilya’s teenage transgressions and all the ways he’d fucked up between the two of them, Shane was just perfect. Still worried about Ilya, guilty about things he couldn’t control, and just perfect.

Perfect and deserving of perfection.

His lips parted, “Ilya, I…”

Ilya’s heartbeat quickened. Part in anticipation, part in fear.

Then Shane shook his head.

Wordlessly, he burrowed himself closer and hugged Ilya with his entire body.

Ilya hugged him back, kissing his hair. “You’re just tired,” he said. “Let’s find some real food and a room.”

Shane’s hold tightened. “Just a bit longer.”

Ilya swallowed. And nodded. He pulled him close till his face was pressed to warm skin. He breathed him in and wished there was nothing in between.

Chapter End Notes

thank you for reading. i'm sorry for what it is lol. i have no idea what has become of this fic, im so sorry,

comments and kudos always appreciated.

the chapter is named after the caamp song strawberries :)

Chapter 12: to the moon and to saturn

Chapter Notes

Hello!

I know I said this chapter was gonna be quicker yadda, yadda, I'm a liar. I got distracted by watching Young Royals and reading some great books. But finally it is here. If you're wondering why the pacing of this chapter is like this it's because it had a 15k prologue which is now called chapter 11. We still have an epilogue to go so I'm not getting sappy and sniffly yet, but thank you all sooo much for enjoying this ride with me.

This chapter is named after the Taylor Swift song Seven. Fun fact, in my initial notes, I have the chapter "to the moon and to saturn" listed as chapter 9. That's how long this fic has gotten lmao. Enjoy!

July 2009

Shane hated being wrong, but he’d been really wrong when he’d said there was nothing in Chicago.

There was a lot.

Mainly people everywhere.

Someone all but shouldered him as they passed by.

He flinched, then turned to Ilya. “It’s just a bean,” he said. “Can we please leave?”

“Cloud Gate.”

“It’s just a distorted reflection. How’s this interesting to you?”

Ilya stopped making faces at the shiny surface of the sculpture and glanced at him. “How's it not interesting to you?”

“It was. Like ten minutes ago.”

“I don’t know, you took us to very boring places, Mister President of the Boring Bores of Boringness. I think I deserve this.”

“I’m not boring.”

“You took us to a baseball museum, Shane. We hate baseball.”

“I thought I’d get insight into why people like it.”

“Did you? Get insight?”

“…No.”

The heat was beading his forehead and his nape with sweat. The crowd’s noise was flying around their heads, making him feel a bit dizzy.

Ilya finally turned to him.

And smiled. Lazily, handsomely.

Both the curl of his lip and his voice as he spoke were honey-like, “Do you want to be alone?”

Shane crossed his arms, scoffing.

The truth, though, for one brief moment he actually considered. He could just take Ilya back to their hotel room and they could just kiss and kiss and kiss some more till the noise of the city drowned out and it was just the two of them. It’d be so easy too. Like this entire trip had been so easy so far. Like getting swept in the… romance of it all, the freedom of being together, had been laughably easy. So easy to forget everything else when they kissed every morning and every afternoon, every evening and every night. When Ilya gazed at him in bed with his eyes hooded, hair rumpled, and his smile indolent; when they slipped their palms against each other’s, weaving their fingers tight when it was just the two of them and no one else.

Ilya was right; Shane did want to be alone.

But not for the easy part.

The sound of a toddler’s meltdown pierced his ears filled with tourists’ buzzing. The sun high and hot above cut into his eyes.

And something tied his stomach in knots.

Letting himself cry like that by the river that morning, that'd broken something in him. The lid he’d been trying to keep, the hold around what he’d been feeling all these months. Something that’d needed to be broken, and once it had, something that’d felt good. Euphoric even. Like nervous energy along his spine finally seeping out, like a pressure valve easing his chest and getting him to equilibrium. The emotions when put into words becoming light and easy to digest.

Only it made every instance of Ilya shutting down… anything that mattered, honestly, that bit more difficult to take.

It’d been more than a week since Ilya had kissed him and cried and confessed he’d been scared; more than a week since Shane had squared his shoulders and geared up for the worst. He’d assumed, they would have this big talk. When they’d left their friends behind, he’d thought they’d have the space and the time to finally do so. He’d wanted to wait till Ilya came to him, tread carefully, not come on too strong, but Ilya’s simper and teasing eyes didn’t slip or glide. Sometimes – with annoyance he was trying to keep in check because he wasn’t being the forceful, naggy Shane right now – he thought Ilya had actually dialed it up to eleven.

“Hello, excuse me,” his voice cut off Shane’s thoughts now.

Shane frowned as he watched Ilya approach a stranger.

“Would you mind taking a picture of us in front of the Bean, if I may ask?”

His eyes rolled back.

The stranger – a middle-aged woman with kind eyes – gave Ilya the widest smile. Like the total sucker she was for the Ilya Rozanov charm. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Ilya thanked her and ran back to Shane. With a wink, he threw an arm around his shoulders.

“Smile!” the woman said.

Shane huffed. But he did smile. And leaned close to Ilya as he did so.

“Oh, you’re such darlings,” the woman gushed, taking a million pictures. “Are you two brothers?”

Shane and Ilya’s eyes met. Both quickly suppressed their laughs.

“Oh yeah, brothers.” Ilya smiled at the woman. “Hundred percent. Fully biological.”

Shane couldn’t help the sound escaping him. The woman kept smiling like she was totally blind to the physical difference between them. She tapped the phone a few thousand times more, called them handsome and sweet kids and a million other embarrassing compliments, and left.

Shane chuckled as Ilya burst into a huge laughter.

“I wanna see how these photos turned out with that eyesight.” He shook his head, fiddling with his phone. “Eww. No. Maybe. Absolutely not. Aha, this one’s nice.”

“Let me see.” Shane took the phone.

The woman had been right, Ilya did look handsome and sweet and dreamy. And like everything Shane had ever wanted. She hadn’t said that last part, but Shane felt it like a grip around his heart as he looked at the picture. Not a vicious hold, but something steadying and reassuring. Because Ilya was his Ilya, grinning ear-to-ear and holding Shane close, being as precious as the light and the air itself. Smiling, Shane decided it was a nice picture, a great picture even, one Mom was going to like and frame and put next to all the others.

The phone vibrated in his hand.

The warmth he’d been feeling immediately turned into prickling heat.

“Uhm…”

Ilya’s brow rose.

“Different area code,” Shane muttered. “I think it’s Boston.”

The handsome features he’d been gushing about a moment ago shifted into something he didn’t understand. He tried to swallow as Ilya snatched the phone off his hands.

He looked at the screen for a moment. Then pushed it down his pocket. “It’s too loud here,” he murmured. “I’ll call later.”

Shane nodded listlessly. He chewed the inside of his cheek. This was what hung heavy between them. Untouched, unspoken, and kind of driving Shane insane. And it wasn’t the only thing. He’d actually come close to making a list yesterday as they were in bed, Ilya sleeping softly and deeply next to him, and he’d barely stopped himself at the last second.

Ilya clapped loudly. His smile, relentless, was back on his face. “So what’s next? We had pizza, we looked at the Bean, I made enough jokes about Al Capone and Scarface. I think we’re done with the Chicago experience.”

And Shane… he just played along. “Scarface takes place in Miami.”

“The book’s set in Chicago.”

“Doesn’t count when you’ve only seen the movie.”

Ilya tried to prevent it, but Shane saw his smile waver. This was what he didn’t want… this awkwardness. But how far could they go with just being Shane-and-Ilya when there was a mountain of things Shane couldn’t just let go? When Chicago was only eight hours away from Toronto, and Toronto only five hours away from home, and they were running out of time?

“So what do you wanna do tonight?” Ilya asked with another attempted smile.

“I don’t know,” Shane said. “We can just watch the skyline, I guess.”

“Do you wanna find an observation deck or something?”

“Aren’t they expensive? We can just go sit on a hill.”

“You sure?”

“Do you want to go up an observation deck?”

“No, I’m asking you.”

“We can use Mom’s card if you want to.”

“I can pay for it, Shane. I’m asking you if you want to.”

“I don’t want to. Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

Shane looked down at his feet.

People’s chattering was lively, adorned with the occasional bell of a bike and endless laughter of children, and the park was beautiful, the lake gleaming, and the sun beating down like pure gold. A beautiful sunny day, Shane told himself.

He scuffed his toe on the pavement.

If this was some time ago, before Ilya’s father had called him coddling and overbearing, before Ilya had claimed he had no fault in any of this but offered no follow-up explanations, Shane could maybe ask. And they could maybe talk.

He scraped the bottom of his shoe.

A bit more viciously than he’d intended.

Sometimes, treading lightly felt really hard.

“Did you fail geography?”

His head rose. “What?”

“It’s gonna be hard to find a hill around here.” Ilya stepped close to him. “It’s called the Chicago Plain for a reason.”

He tapped his boot against Shane’s sneakers.

“Where did you learn that?” Shane asked.

“Just heard a tour guide say it.” Ilya shrugged. And let his face bloom with a smile.

His burnt honey eyes gazed at Shane so sweetly above that smile. That smile which, somehow, had the right touch of light every time.

Every single time.

“So yeah.” He shrugged again. “Not many high points around here. You can even say it’s a bit vertically challenged. Kind of like—”

“Don’t,” Shane warned; he knew what he was going to say. “I’m not short. I am 5’10.”

“Eh, maybe on a good day,” Ilya teased.

He was standing right in front of him now, their chests almost touching. Their hands hung by their sides casually. Clearing his throat, he hooked a finger around Shane’s. And gave a soft squeeze.

“Doesn’t matter what we do for the rest of the day,” he said, voice dropping a volume. “I just wanna be with you.”

Shane blinked. The sun was too bright in his eye.

It was these slivers of promises making things hard, he lamented. The string of hope sewn along the route they followed making his heart soar dangerously, vulnerably. Maybe even a little selfishly because he didn’t want to mar it.

Growing up, he hadn’t realized communication could be this thing so easy one minute, like looking at someone’s eyes and knowing what they were thinking exactly; and something so difficult the next, like not knowing how to say what is this? What are we doing?

But growing up, Shane had played hide-and-seek with Ilya many times. And he loved the game. Because it always ended with them finding each other and running home together, pushing and shoving as they raced but keeping each other close. And Shane wanted to – had to – keep believing in that.

He blinked his eyes again and leaned close. He kissed Ilya’s cheek where the sun had made it warm. Ilya’s scent filled him, like summertime; like the sunscreen Shane had made him put on; like the aglow, aurulent sunlight itself.

“Scandalous!” he gasped teasingly once Shane pulled back, his cheeks were tainted with a faint color. A color Shane loved so dearly on him and would hate to ruin; a color that made the knots in his stomach worth it for a little while longer. “Let’s hope the lady who thinks we’re brothers didn’t see that.”

***

They’d driven around for a while, proving the point of the tour guide Ilya had been eavesdropping on. Nowhere with a good view seemed private enough, making Shane wish they were home; in their skatepark, by their swingset, on top of Shane’s porch. It was a thought that quickly slipped into fear with the uncertainty of what was going to happen once they were back home. Shane really really wasn’t making a list, but every question was now so close to the surface of his mind.

About half an hour’s drive away from downtown, they finally found a point high enough in a park. It had an okay view of the Chicago skyline and not many people around. Ilya set down a blanket and took out the food they’d bought from a corner store for what he called their night picnic as the sun dipped below the horizon.

“See, this is as fancy as a rooftop restaurant by the pier,” he said, clinking his cup noodle against Shane’s in cheers.

Shane gave it a sniff. “We’re gonna taste like fake beef flavour.”

“Hm, too bad for the guy I’m going to kiss before bed.” Ilya grinned.

Painted by the paling light, framed by red cherry and ginkgo trees, he looked worriless, light. Like startling awake at night and breaking down at sandy lakeshores belonged to another Ilya. Shane’s throat had felt tight all day, but his head ached more now with his own reminders of don’t be pushy, don’t be pushy, don’t be pushy. He gave Ilya a smile he hoped didn’t look forced or cramped.

Chewing his noodles slowly, he turned his gaze to the view. It most likely wasn’t as good as it’d be on the pier regardless of what Ilya had claimed, but Shane found a special fascination in watching skyscrapers loom far away. His entire life had been spent in Snowbury with its population a handful, so seeing a cityscape so wide, so foreign, and crowded by the millions felt a little breathtaking, a little eerie. And ironically, a little lonely.

He glanced at Ilya, not knowing how much of this feeling was the idea of leaving home and how much of it was the unsure ground under his feet when it came to this boy next to him.

He wanted to say something.

Ilya’s phone pinged.

With an eyeroll, he fished it out of his pocket.

His chewing came to a halt and his swallow sounded loud as he read the message.

“Who's it?” Shane asked before he could stop himself.

“Uhm…” Ilya glanced at him. “Kip.”

“Kip?”

“Yeah.” Ilya shrugged, pocketing the phone. “Just the manager complaining about me missing work. I, uhm—” He gave a chuckle. “My break actually ended three days ago.”

Shane put down his noodles. “What?” He frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not a big deal. I told him I was going to miss a few days, he’s just being an ass.”

“Ilya…” Shane shook his head in disbelief. “What about the garage?”

“I hope the boss won’t put my stuff outside?”

“Ilya!”

“It’s not important, Shane,” Ilya said. “I’m tired of changing oil and steaming milk all day, okay? It’s almost the end of summer anyway. I’ll be out of that town soon enough.”

The almost disdain in his voice as he’d said those last words robbed the summer evening of its pleasantness.

Something sat heavy in Shane’s gut. “You could have told me anyway.”

“Shane…”

Shane rubbed a hand on his brow and picked up his noodles again. It tasted like rubbish in his mouth, and he felt this dangerous sense of slipping. Through the cracks they clearly still had between them, the cracks Shane didn’t know how to patch up or if he could ever. And as time passed, cracks that looked like would only be plastered by stupid jokes and teasing grins if left up to Ilya.

Don’t be pushy, he reminded himself.

Ilya’s hand, meant to be warm and reassuring, found his ankle.

“I don’t understand,” left Shane’s mouth before he could stop it.

“Shane…”

“You’re planning on quitting your job and you’re here spending your saved money on this?” he gestured around, not meaning the noodles or the picnic.

“I’ve worked my whole life. I think I know how to manage my finances.”

“Of course you do,” Shane said. “I’m just saying you could let me cover the rooms or something at least.”

A laugh left Ilya, unamused. He shook his head.

“No. It’s always a headshake when it comes from me,” Shane said bitterly. “For some reason, Svetlana’s father can find you a job but mine can’t even lend you a suit without you bringing it back the next morning.”

“Are we really fighting about this?”

“We’re not fighting, Ilya. Because I’m trying really hard not to fight you,” Shane said and took a deep breath. “You’re just making it incredibly hard.”

“I just don’t want to take from you, Shane.”

“Why? Why won’t you?” Shane’s voice rose and cracked. “I take from you. A lot actually. I take everything from you.”

He wasn’t talking about money or bills or jobs anymore and Ilya knew it too; Shane saw the moment his defenses had gone up, literally. The way his jaw clenched, his expression hardened, and his shoulders pulled up. And Shane didn’t understand, he just blinked against the tears threatening to fill his eyes. He didn’t understand why Ilya had to be so cautious with him when Shane only felt free and boundless when they were together. He didn’t understand why he kept saying Shane had done nothing wrong, nothing was his fault, when it still felt like there was this wall between them.

“Look.” Ilya sighed. “We’re having fun, right? Let’s just not ruin it.”

“Fun?”  Shane asked, his throat closing. “That’s what we’re having? Like the girls you hung out with at school?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what are we doing, Ilya?” His voice wavered and one tear slipped. “If this—” He gestured between the two of them. “—was what you wanted as well, why did you push me away when I kissed you? Why did you avoid me when you knew how I felt?”

It’d been so easy to forget, with Ilya in just touching distance; the hurt he’d felt that night, that entire month, and even longer. But now Shane was feeling a new heartbreak impending, and he knew his heart was out of strength – probably for the rest of his life – to bear any more cracks.

“You said you’re scared, alright. Scared of what? Me?”

Ilya said nothing.

“Just talk to me!” Shane begged. “I geared up for whatever you can say, I promise I did. Just talk to me and I’ll listen. I’ll find a solution.”

Ilya didn’t look at him.

A breeze stirred the branches above and another tear left Shane’s eye. He felt it burn down his cheek and the frustration crawl up his throat.

“You just have to talk to me,” he said again, his voice breaking. “Why are you not talking to me?” he asked desperately. Did he have to stick a revolver between Ilya’s ribs for the words? Did he have to pluck them one by one, be forceful again, pushy, overbearing because he didn’t know how to be anything else? “I shared my whole fucking life with you, you’re— you’re half of me.” A whimper broke the words. “Just talk to me and I’d give you anything you need, Ilya, I swear to god. Just say the word and I would do anything—”

Ilya shot to his feet. “Why, Shane? Why?!”

Shane froze.

His eyes wild, his face red, his teeth clenched, Ilya looked at him.

“Are you— are you angry at me?”

“Why do you always have to be like this?” Ilya spat. “You’re so, you’re so— Gah!”

Shane rose. “I’m so what?”

He wished his voice hadn’t sounded that small.

“You just have to be so…” Ilya exhaled a breath. “Caring and understanding and just worried about me.”

“You’re mad I worry?”

“God, Shane.” Ilya shook his head. “I hurt you, okay? I broke your heart. I still do.” He ran a hand over his face, taking a harsh breath. “Not anyone but you. The one person I have—”

“I only have you too—”

“No!” he shouted. “You’re all I fucking have!”

The breeze stopped and the trees paused.

Shane felt rooted to the place he stood.

“I don’t have any plans or any dreams!” Ilya spat. “I don’t have any family. You’re the only thing I have!”

His golden eyes burned with heat. Then a sheen of tears appeared.

“I always knew how much I relied on you,” he said with a shaky breath. “But then Miles happened, this distance between us happened, and it felt like a fucking slap on the face, Shane, realizing how I’m nothing without you. How much I depend on you. How much I need you. And it’s fucking too much, okay? I take from you, too fucking much! I need you, too fucking much! And you just, you just keep giving!” He threw his arms out. “I’ve been cruel to you, and instead of being angry, you’re just here! Like nothing happened. Like nothing changed. You had to go and comfort me that night, hell, Shane—” He exhaled furiously. “So yeah, I’m fucking mad at you because you’re not mad at me! And I’m fucking mad at myself because I—”

“Love me?” Shane asked, quiet. “Too fucking much?”

Ilya paused.

“And I love you the same?”

His face contorted. “Shane…”

“Because I do, Ilya,” Shane said, closing the distance between them. His steps felt wobbly, his breath faltering, but his words came from a solid place. A steady old rock that’d been there since the beginning of his existence. “It took me so long to realize because I don’t know anything else, it’s— it’s just there. It’s like breathing air.” He shook his head. “I’m in love with you. I don’t think there’s been a moment I haven’t been in love with you.” Seeing Ilya’s eyes bright with tears, his face lined with pain, and feeling his own insides burn at every inch, Shane knew it was true. He felt it was true. “And it feels too much sometimes, you’re right about that. But you’re not nothing.” He smiled, feeling it clash with the tears now flowing free. “You’re my best friend, my person. You’d do anything for me. You’d give anything for me. And this is not transactional, Ilya.” He touched Ilya’s face. “I’d give you anything too.”

It was almost soundless the way Ilya said, “I know…”

“Then take it,” Shane said, voice hitching. “Why won’t you take it? Why can’t I love you the same? Am I bad at it, am I incapable?” he asked. “Are you less deserving?”

Ilya’s lips pressed together.

His gaze lowered.

Shane saw the moment tears, now unbridled, spilled down his face.

He felt his chest tighten. “Ilya…”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” Ilya whispered.

“You’re not gonna—”

“I can’t lose you,” he said a little louder, shaking his head.

Shane felt the tears on his hands, warm in the evening breeze, slick with words that’d been strangled and suppressed for too long. “Ilya…”

“I’m just—” Ilya paused, looking down at his feet. When he raised his gaze, his eyes were two mirrors; clear with fresh tears but muddled with emotions. “My mom killed herself, Shane,” he said quietly. “I went to sleep one night with her telling me she’d be there in the morning and found her dead body in a guest room when I woke up. And my father…”

He squeezed his eyes tight. More tears freed and glowed a way down his cheek.

“He made her life a living hell and he made mine—” A choked sound cut the sentence.

Shane willed his throat to open up so he could breathe, his hands to not shake so he could hold Ilya’s face up. He felt his palms were there to keep Ilya together in that moment, to brush away the salt, and keep Ilya up here with him. He tried to inhale.

“So when you ask what I’m scared of…” Ilya said at last, with a smile shaky and crimped. “It’s just not that great of a look at how I’m gonna turn out.”

Shane’s teeth ripped his lip. He’d thought Ilya weeping with strangled breaths and fast tears, him going weak at the knees and dropping to the ground, the mumbled incomprehensible words between sobs, was the most hurtful thing he could see. Watching him trying to keep his gaze up and his smile on, the quiet tears dripping down his chin, that tore the threshold of true pain.

“How I already turned out. I don’t have anything to my name, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just a fuck-up.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Grigori—”

“He can’t do anything.”

“He already did, Shane!” Ilya’s face crumbled. “He did. I don’t even know how to talk about this. Hell, I can’t speak, I don’t know how, about anything.” He clasped Shane’s hands and sniffed. “I’ve just been trying to keep you somehow, you know? In any way I could because I didn’t want to lose you. But I’m just one bad decision after another. You deserve something perfect, Shane. And I’m just not.”

“Neither am I,” Shane said with a headshake. “You know that better than anyone.”

“I ruined so many things for you. I hurt you.”

“I’ve only been hurt because you weren’t with me, dummy.” Shane’s voice cracked. “You don’t ruin things, I’m sorry I said that. You’re not cruel. You’re—you’re my safe place.” He eased his hands to push Ilya’s curls away. “I was so mad at you last week, just barging in on my trip like that and not even talking to me. But you know what a part of me felt?” He gave a smile, shaky. “Relief. I thought, if something happens on the road, if the RV crashes, if we get lost, Ilya will find a way. Ilya will solve whatever it is because he’ll solve anything for me. You’ve been that person for me our whole lives. For anyone. You care and you love, and I was only hurt because you pretended you didn’t. Because I know you. You’re so good, Ilya. Even with your mom and Grigori. You fucking raised yourself when you shouldn’t have had to, and you raised yourself to be so fucking good.” Taking a deep breath, he pressed their temples together. “You’re the best person I know,” he whispered. “And even if you weren’t, you’re my Ilya. I’d love you just the same.”

Ilya was quiet for a moment, still. His breathing sounded too harsh in the silent night, his chest trembling against Shane’s. Shane just waited, his nose pressed to Ilya’s curls, holding his nape, not leaving an inch between. A heartbeat passed before he felt a responding hand on his back. Then Ilya’s two hands grabbing him by the waist. But instead of tightening their hold to a hug, Ilya pulled them apart.

His gaze, troubled but beautiful, traced Shane’s face.

His voice cracking, he whispered, “I love you too.”

Amidst the tears still tracking down his face and Ilya’s pained words still ringing in his ear, Shane felt something in him bloom. The first time Ilya had said it had been a shock, the air hitting you in the face as a train passed by. This one was finding your seat, comfortable and cozy, and sagging into it. It was huge, all-embracing blossoms of flowers and branches, entire gardens.

“I love you so much,” Ilya repeated, cupping his face. “I wish I had a better word for it, but I don’t. I just love you. I want to be with you.” Fresh tears lined his cheeks. “I know I should've talked to you earlier, but I was just trying to hold onto this as long as I could. I should've talked to you after prom. I should've talked to you on your birthday.” He dashed at his eyes. Then, like all fight had been finally sapped from him, he deflated, and whispered. “I’ve just been really really tired.”

Shane swallowed. Grasping the hands on his face, he weaved his fingers together with Ilya’s. He held tight, maybe even painful but he didn’t care. He caressed Ilya’s knuckles, his palms, and inhaled. “Let me take care of you then,” he said. “I can’t know or even imagine half of what you feel, but I can make it better, yeah? So, just lean on me. Use me.” He smiled watery. “I promise I wouldn’t mind.”

Ilya’s face twisted with a new whimper; Shane pulled him into his arms. He pushed Ilya’s face in the crook of his neck and just took it. The weight, the tears, the sounds breaking in Ilya’s chest. He pressed his nose to Ilya’s curls again and rooted his palms on his back. For that one moment, he couldn’t even remember what else he’d ever used these hands for. It was a whirlwind in his head, in his ribcage, in his every crevice and every cell, but he could focus on that. His hands on Ilya’s back, a touch of promise and support.

Their legs tired at one point, their bodies became heavy. Shane detached Ilya enough to sit down on the blanket. Ilya just nestled his head on Shane’s lap. With slow strokes, Shane caressed his hair. He let Ilya hold his other hand, tight between his palms, on top of his chest, right by his heart.

The breeze drifted amongst the leaves quieter, and the sky turned full dark – as dark as it could be with the city lights. Shane couldn’t see any stars, but the moon was there, past the phase of the first quarter, a few days till full-bloom, and the skyscrapers rising high and gleaming didn’t seem as eerie now.

He gazed down at Ilya, finding a single tear left behind following a route down his golden cheek and escape.

Shane caught it with the pad of his thumb. “You know,” he said, keeping quiet so as to not disturb any of this. “I like you better like this.”

“Crying all the time?” Ilya asked, voice raspy.

“Yeah.” Shane nodded. “So much better than that nonchalant, indifferent act. You’re actually a little ugly when you smirk like that, you know? This is so much prettier.”

Ilya huffed, smiled, and his eyes filled again. He blinked to get rid of them as Shane caressed his cheek. Ilya with his bright eyes, gentle smiles, and lashes dusted with gold. So blasé, so carefree all their lives, so rooted and so solid, Shane had missed it. Just how many things he couldn’t control – neither of them could control – hurt him.

“A little silly of you to think this could be anything but the best thing, yeah?” he asked, his words choked. The whirlwind was catching up to him though he understood a little better. He understood why Ilya could think that; that distance between them would be needed, could be good, that it could even exist in the first place. And what Shane didn’t understand he’d read in books, he’d find in pages, he’d flip the earth inside out if necessary.

Ilya just shrugged and whispered, “It’s just always been a dream. And not a dream that’s mine to have.” He tried to smile, his eyes shining wet. “You were never supposed to love me back.”

“Well I do…” Shane said. “So you better deal with it.”

Ilya laughed, a breathy sad thing. He pulled Shane down and pressed their foreheads together. Eyes closed he breathed in. And Shane breathed with him.

This boy who loved and cared for him for so long. Eons compared to their short lives that amassed to nothing but grains in the grand scheme of things. How could Shane even pay back? Could he will all his strength in his palms, all his willpower and all his force, so he could grasp Ilya’s face as gently as he deserved? Could he maybe learn to run his fingers on the crinkles by his eyes in a way that was just right? Could he, one day, soothe the wrinkles between his beautiful brows for once and all?

Shane inhaled deep again, knowing if he opened his eyes now, Ilya would look a little blurry around the edges. The city colors lighting the horizon across them would look a little hazy, a little nebulous.

So he opened them after a good even number of breaths; in and out. Found Ilya staring right back at him. Dragging his fingers on Shane’s nape, he whispered, “Thank you.”

Shane asked, “For what?”

Illuminated by the milky light of the strobes and his face tear-stained, Ilya smiled. Beautiful. “Being you.”

Shane didn’t know if he could, he couldn’t think right now how he could possibly, but he promised himself; I’ll love you the best I can. Till the moon above, and the hidden stars; the whole world, and the universe from one end to the other cave in and give you anything you ever deserved.

He brushed his lips on Ilya’s eyelids. And whispered back, “Ditto.”

***

Ilya dragged a gentle finger along the dip of Shane’s waist.

He was sleeping still, peacefully on his stomach, puffing soft breaths. His face was unguarded, his lashes brushing his cheeks, his lips lax. Ilya could smell the faded cologne he’d worn yesterday, the shampoo that was courtesy of the hotel, and the clean sweat on his skin.

The room they’d found last night was overlooking a busy street. The buzz of the Torontonians rushing to start their day had woken up Ilya hours ago, but just like his eyes, his mind was only busy with Shane. Shane with his achingly old and familiar scent and the soft sounds he made while asleep. Shane uncharacteristically still in dreamland because the last two days had been wearying.

They’d driven across the border yesterday, a day-long travel they’d started at an ungodly hour in the morning because the night before had been emotionally taxing on them both. A little too big for either of them to handle. Ilya barely remembered Shane holding his hand as they’d gone back to their Chicago hotel room, and he remembered even less when and how he’d passed out.

When they’d woken, it was wordless, how they’d both packed up and loaded the car. And it was wordless for the rest of the drive. They both had too much to think, take in, lament and promise to themselves that the quiet felt needed. After the rollercoaster of highs and lows, it was appreciated. Even a little assuring.

Ilya could, of course, only think about how he’d just… crumbled. For the second time in two weeks. And how all of that ugly stuff exploded out of him, as if Shane had tugged at a thread that’d unraveled it all. Sitting in the car, watching Shane watch the road, he’d felt embarrassed and a little incompetent. Like he was a little kid who could only express himself by throwing a tantrum, by shedding tears.

He’d brushed the back of Shane’s hand around the gearshift and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you.” It’d maybe been his first real words of the day.

Shane had just smiled and replied, “It’s okay. I didn’t want to shout at you either.” Twenty minutes had passed in silence after that, before they’d stopped at a red light, and with his dark soft eyes holding Ilya’s, Shane added, “I love you.”

Just recalling that now, Ilya felt the center left of his chest burn. As if he’d swallowed a fireball, a bursting star, a supernova that was too warm, too fevered, and longed for for so long.

Shane stirred next to him, smacking his lips. Ilya watched the movement and wanted to put a little bit of that heat he’d been carrying in his ribcage on that pretty mouth. His hand went to his chest, as if to ease this crazy, almost unbearable feeling. His fingertips tangled with his chain.

That was another thing they’d done yesterday. Finding a jewelry shop and getting his necklace repaired. Having it hang around his neck felt as comforting as Shane’s gentle hands in his curls had been at that hilltop back in Chicago. His eyes not leaving Shane’s face, Ilya followed the shape of his cross with one finger. The smooth edges and the sharp corners.

He’d always been religious like this. In the way that anyone who looked up to the sky was religious. Not in his ritual, not in his routine, not in gratefulness or anticipation of anything; but in the it’s good to scream at the night sky sometimes and blame something greater than me way. When that didn’t solve anything in a broken whisper of please way. He was religious in the sense that when he looked back at moments like this, Shane lying beside him and Ilya allowed to share in on his air, he could see them for what they’d always been; wishes verging upon desperate prayers.

After spending his whole life with one currency in his palms being those stolen moments, hearing Shane say I love you was a privilege. Not fearing Shane’s reaction as he leaned in and pressed a kiss on his fevered cheek was divine sanction.

Shane didn’t move at the kiss, but his brows pinched. He buried his face deeper into the pillow, looking so warm and impossibly gorgeous. Ilya wanted to eat him up.

After another kiss had gone with no reaction, that was what he did. Getting close to Shane’s face again, he dug his teeth into his cheek.

Shane’s nose wrinkled; his eyes squeezed. His voice rough, he said, “Did you just bite me?”

A grin stretched on Ilya’s face.

“Just a nibble,” he answered.

“You’re so weird,” Shane mumbled, though he was squirming closer.

“Well.” Ilya stretched his arm for him to settle on. “I don’t see you getting off the bed.”

Eyes closed, cheek now squished on Ilya’s peck, Shane bit down his smile.

Ilya leaned down and grazed his teeth on the side of his face again. He soothed the gesture with a kiss. When he pulled back, Shane was looking up at him through his beautiful lashes. The smile bigger on his face now, he whispered, “I love you.”

The fireball-supernova-star pulsed in Ilya’s chest.

“Are you gonna say that every day?” he asked.

“Hm.” Shane nodded.

“Even when I’m being weird?”

“Sure.” His grin showed his teeth. “Weird is the new sexy. I’m into that.”

Ilya chuckled. Cupping Shane’s cheek, he rubbed a thumb on where he’d bitten and kissed him.

Shane’s expression softened. Then he asked, “How are you feeling?”

Ilya’s caress slowed down; his eyes met Shane’s.

For so long he’d thought when that question came he could only pull on a showman smile and lie. Especially with Shane who’d never done anything half-assed, never left a thing incomplete or fitting wrong, and would only turn it around, spin it, rework it till it worked. Now, he knew Ilya was a little bit wrong like that, but he looked to be in no rush. No rush to pull him a million directions, mould him into new shapes, and solve what made him crooked – solve him. He simply just wanted to know how Ilya was feeling. Because he loved Ilya. Because he was so good at loving Ilya.

It made the clawing need in Ilya’s chest to shut down and hide shrink a little bit more. Till hopefully, there was nothing of it left one day.

“Better,” he answered, meaning it. Then corrected himself, “Great, actually.”

“Good.” Shane smiled. He scooted up till he could reach Ilya’s face and pressed a kiss on his temple. Then another one on his cheek.

Then he paused.

For one moment, he was just a bundle of muscles pulled too taut in Ilya’s arms. Before he met eyes with him. And ducked his head lower.

He placed a warm kiss on Ilya’s throat, his mouth parted.

Ilya went still.

Shane just moved to his jaw. A few kisses he laid there; they were not insistent or wet, but they weren’t chaste either. Something about their locked gazes made each one feel too much, too intense. Suddenly Ilya was hyperaware of his lungs tightening, of his breath thinning, of Shane’s weight half on top of him, and his one palm smoothed on his chest.

Dragging his open mouth down, Shane found the side of Ilya’s neck. He pressed his lips firmly into the skin. Ilya heard blood hammer in his ears when Shane’s lips made a seal, and his mouth soft and warm, he sucked.

Ilya’s breath cut. He swallowed, hard.

It went on for maybe half a minute with Shane’s inviting and insistent mouth sucking and giving kittenish licks, with occasional teeth lightly pressing on Ilya’s skin, making it so much more intense, even borderline painful. Ilya didn’t mind; Ilya just tried to control his breath and keep Shane’s gaze anytime he glanced up at him.

He flinched when he felt Shane’s fingertips under his tank top. He hadn’t even realized Shane dragging his hand down from his chest to the hem of his shirt, but with what he believed was primitive survival instincts – as no animal wanted its heart to explode – he caught Shane’s wrist. Voice hoarse, he warned, “Shane.”

Shane brushed a kiss on the sensitive skin and leaned back. His eyes were blown wide, his cheeks pink, and his smile incredibly self-satisfied as he said, “Sorry.” He did not sound sorry. “Should have asked.”

He rubbed a thumb on where he marked Ilya.

Ilya narrowed his eyes, and said, “Hey, remember when you blushed and stuttered asking me to kiss you again that night?”

Shane’s smile widened.

“Remember when you yelped when I tried to kiss you in its morning?”

He shrugged, mischievous and unashamed.

Ilya felt his own face stretch with a smile. He loved Shane in his every form, even his grumpiest and most pissed, but something about Shane giving as good as he got and being so incredibly smug about it – that was the indulgence and exhilaration Ilya wanted to see on him forever.

And not like getting hickey-ed up by Shane Hollander hurt. Though Ilya was mildly uncomfortable right now. And he couldn’t, even if his life depended on it, keep himself from watching Shane’s shirt pull up and bare a strip of skin as he sat up and stretched.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” he asked, settling cross-legged on the bed. “Ilya?”

“What?” Ilya’s gaze snapped up.

“What’s the plan?” Shane repeated. “Should we get on the road?”

Feeling his face heat and hoping it didn’t show, Ilya pulled himself up.

“I mean, I’m not looking forward to a full day of driving again after yesterday.”

Ilya didn’t want that either. He actually had a plan, but he hesitated for a moment. Then twisting around he reached for the bedside table and picked up the flyer.

He handed it to Shane – whose brows furrowed. “What is this?”

“I picked it up at the reception desk last night.” Ilya shrugged. His face was probably turning pink again but for a completely new – and dumb – reason. “It’s a live event. At this nightclub. I thought we could— I mean it’d be fun.” He swallowed. “’Cause you said you wanted to dance with me?”

Shane just looked at the brochure.

“It’s for all-ages, you know? No being at places we shouldn’t be, they ask for the ID only at the bar. We can just drink our cokes and ginger ale and dance, I mean, if you want—”

“Is this a date?”

Ilya felt his face burn. And he felt incredibly stupid about it. And because he hated feeling incredibly stupid, he acted clueless and joking. “Date? What do you think we’ve been doing so far, champ?”

Shane gave him a look.

“Dinners, funfairs, casual walks by the beach… A lot of people would call that dating, you know? If you let me check my math, that’s about twelve days of dating, actually. Some people might even argue we’ve been dating for years, at least since—”

“Hey, Ilya, do you wanna go on a date with me?”

“Hell, no!” Ilya pointed a finger. “You are not stealing this one.”

Swatting him on the forehead, Shane said, “Then ask like a normal person.”

Ilya didn’t know why it was so anxiety-inducing, so palm-sweating. They were doing this all in the wrong order anyway, so Ilya already knew Shane’s answer. He already knew the notion of going on a date was so simple, so mundane for what they were. For what he felt, for what he’d been feeling for Shane all his teen years. But simple could still be overwhelming.

With expectant eyes, Shane took his hand in his.

Ilya shifted. Then murmured, “Hey, Shane, do you wanna go dancing with me?” And added, “As a date?”

Shane bit down on his lip, trying to suppress what Ilya knew was a huge smile. He said, “Sure, that sounds fun.” And added, “It’s a date.”

They were really bad at this. They were terrible at this and Ilya couldn’t help his awkward chuckle. He just knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s a date,” he confirmed. Smiling, he leaned forward for another kiss – only to topple over when Shane jumped off the bed with one quick move.

“So, what kind of music they’re playing?” he asked innocently, his smile proof that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Ilya squinted. Maybe cheeky Shane was going to be harder to deal with than he’d imagined. Getting off the bed reluctantly, he grumbled, “Like you’d know the difference.”

Late morning turned to afternoon and afternoon turned to evening really quickly. They hadn’t done much except walk aimlessly around the city, eat, and buy Shane a pair of jeans as – according to him – someone’s spur-of-the-moment-dumb-actions left him with nothing but the two pairs of shorts he had in his backpack. Ilya had just shrugged and said it was his own uncharacteristic oversight because what if the RV crashed and burned and they got deserted with only their daypacks and no one came to their rescue till it was winter and Shane froze to death because of his bare legs?

Shane had just stared at him, unamused.

Now, though, back in their hotel room getting ready for the night, he was smirking at Ilya. “How do I look?” he asked.

Ilya’s eyes raked over him. It was like any other dumb jeans he’d ever put on, and his shirt was basic as hell even though it clung to his shoulders a little too nicely, and his hair was a mess, too long and too free and in absolute need of a haircut. He just looked like Shane in every moment Ilya had found him beautiful. When he was silver and gold under the splintered sunlight. When he looked soft and pure with the snow falling off the sky. In every moment he was Ilya’s blessing and divine sanction and lucky break and million other phrases in the dictionary. He looked beautiful. And as intense as the fire in Ilya’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Ilya said, walking to him. “I saw you with dried drool on your chin this morning. Hard to move past that image.”

Shane rolled his eyes. It was fond.

The avenue wasn’t far away from where they were staying. Through one street out the other, with giddy energy carrying them on their feet, they arrived. Shane didn’t say anything when Ilya paid their entrance fees. He was just smiling at him, buoyant and amicable, with a skip on his feet.

Ilya knew how he’d felt. While there’d always been a part of his life distanced from Shane, anything worthwhile they had always shared. They had gone anywhere together, done anything as mundane as buying their first video game or something as thrilling as skipping school for the first time with each other. Where there was Ilya, there was Shane. Two boys who were very different, moving as one, laughing as one. They had danced together before too; at a homecoming one year, and all silly and clumsy at random times of the night in Shane’s bedroom sometimes. And they had prettied up and gone outside, as well; to a movie, to a game, to a party. But this felt like breaking new ground.

“Wow, this place is big,” Shane said, his gaze taking in the interior.

It was a vast room with one corner reserved for the bands performing, the rest for the sea of people who wanted to jump and dance. Music was already reverberating through the air, an 80s cover band playing something riffy and synth-pop. Ilya spotted the bar.

Over the sound, he shouted, “Do you want a drink?”

Shane looked at him.

“A coke. The boring kind with no cocaine.”

The look turned to an eyeroll. “Drinks later. I came here to dance,” Shane shouted, then he smiled. It was brighter than ever with the overhead lights. “Also, you’re so dumb.”

Matching Shane’s grin, Ilya shrugged a shoulder.

They idled there for a moment, at the edge of the crowd just looking at each other, both waiting for the other to do something. At last, Ilya gave in. And slipped his hand in Shane’s. Shane darted looks around them, his eyes wide for a beat. Before they softened, and his smile bloomed anew, and he let Ilya lead him to the dance floor.

Mirroring the other couples, they stood chest to chest. Ilya felt his nerves shoot. Nerves he couldn’t put into words. Nothing he could think at that moment would scratch the surface of how much and how long he’d wanted Shane with him like this. How much he’d wanted people to look at them and see not just two best friends, but something more. Something, Ilya arrogantly relished, not many people got to experience, not even once in their lives, that he’d found at age four by a creaky swingset.

A grin broke on his face. Holding him by one hand, he rolled out Shane.

“What are you doing?!” Shane shrieked.

Ilya laughed, lead him back to him, and grabbed his wrists between their bodies. “When you were busy learning trigonometry and Hamlet, I mastered the tango.”

“Even I know this is not tango music!” Shane shouted, a cute frown between his brows as he let Ilya roll him out and in again, and even attempt at a dip. He looked amused and a little embarrassed, but he wasn’t resisting. When Ilya tried to spin him, he laughed. “To be entirely honest with you, I’m not sure if what we’re doing is even tango.”

Ilya just shrugged and tried dipping him again. Shane’s laughter doubled. He was just going along with Ilya’s dumbassery, both out of rhythm because it wasn’t anywhere near a tango piece that was playing, nor Ilya would know what the fuck that sounded or looked like. The music changed, something post-disco and something Ilya called, “Oh, salsa!” Then it was swing, then cha-cha, and rumba. By the time he was trying to convince Shane what they were doing was a form of waltz, Shane was in fits of laughter, tears down his face.

“Stop,” he said, hitting Ilya’s chest. “Stop. Everybody’s looking at us.”

“No.” Ilya shook his head, smile hurting his face. But he could feel people shooting them dirty looks, not happy that their space was being invaded by dumb teenagers and their dumb actions for the last fifteen minutes. Ilya didn’t care, not at all, not when Shane looked radiant like this, exuberant, and doing a shit job at trying to hold back his gale of laughter. As far as Ilya was concerned everyone should have stopped and just listened to that sound right now.

A woman caught his eye; she sneered.

A guffaw erupted out of Ilya. He pressed his forehead to Shane’s, and almost out of breath, echoed, “Everybody’s looking at us.”

“It’s because you’re the most embarrassing person alive,” Shane said, hands warm on his nape.

“Shh.”

“This is the worst first date ever.” He shook his head, giggles breaking.

“Shh!”

“You didn’t even buy me a drink, this is terrible. Just the worst.”

Laughter hurt Ilya’s chest. They hadn’t even drunk, but this was the least sober he’d ever felt. A trip to the constellations Shane had explained that day on the beach. “You didn’t want one!”

Shane shrugged and tried to pout. He failed miserably when another laugh left his lips. It made his nose wrinkle and his eyes shut close, and Ilya had never been more in love.

It went on like that for a while, their giggles mixing together over the most nonsensical thing. Shane’s fingers stayed hot on the back of his neck, and Ilya made sure his arms were secure around Shane’s middle. Finally, with Shane’s scent filling him and the music shifting to something quieter and more romantic, they calmed down.

They were hugging more than dancing, a light sway of their bodies while entangled together, when Ilya had his temple on top of Shane’s head and confessed, “You know, I was lying about the drool.” He brushed his lips on Shane’s hair. Shane’s breath was warm on his cheek, and his shoulders wide, his waist tapered, and his chest solid against him. Ilya couldn’t believe how well he fit into his arms sometimes. “You looked great this morning and you look great now.” His lips quirked. “Everyone’s looking at you.”

The music was calm, and their sway quiet. Shane said nothing.

Heartbeats passed. Ilya felt each one in the shared space between their bodies. And when Shane still didn’t talk, nor looked at Ilya, Ilya pulled back.

“Shane?”

What he found was Shane’s eyes made darker by the dimmed lights and his gaze naked. Almost troubled. “Everyone’s looking at you, Ilya,” he whispered, solemn.

Their rhythm came to a halt.

“You’re you.” Shane shrugged, his voice cracking. “And everyone’s always looking at you. Smiling at you, t-touching you.”

Ilya shook his head. “Shane…”

Shane just let out a laugh, nothing boisterous or jubilant like the ones from earlier. Then his eyes glazed with something. “Last week at the club, I, I felt like shit. You were dancing with that guy, and he was touching you, and I felt like absolute shit, Ilya.”

Ilya heard himself whisper, “I was trying to make you jealous.”

“You succeeded.” Shane nodded with a mirthless smile. Then, he said, with so much ire, “I hate everyone who gets to touch you. Everyone who ever got to touch you. Even Svetlana and Kyle because you’re mine, Ilya.” A furious tear slipped his eye. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Ilya felt his ribcage cave in. Something ignited inside and closed his throat.

Shane’s hold tightened. “And I’m yours.”

Ilya couldn’t move. He couldn’t even swallow, his jaw was too lax. He just remembered every single moment he’d thought the same thing, only to feel ashamed and small, because he could never deserve it. Deserve Shane.

“Say it, Ilya,” Shane spat now, another tear leaving his eye. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” Ilya whispered.

Shane shook his head, frantic. “Say the other one. Say it!”

Ilya gulped. And said quietly, almost too quietly, “You’re mine.” And it felt right. And exhilarating with this feeling of daring he’d found beside Shane all their lives. How could he have forgotten it? Shane was his. It was always that simple, like everything was simple Shane. Simple and overwhelming, like stars just combusting. “You’re mine,” he repeated, feeling a tear of his own slide down his cheekbone. “My Shane.”

Shane nodded, breathing heavily, and pushed their foreheads together. “I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you with everyone here to see.”

“Do it,” left Ilya’s mouth. He smiled. He’d tasted this world’s bitterness, had actual blood fill his mouth, and cover his teeth. Now he just wanted to taste his Shane. The ever-burning star in his chest. “Kiss me.”

***

Kiss me.

So, that was what Shane did. He kissed Ilya, fervent and bruising. Pulling himself so close that air couldn’t trickle in between. Kiss me, two words that months ago had wormed their way into his brain, flipped his world hundred and eighty, and caused them to hurt each other unwittingly, leading to so much lost time, so many nights with troubled sleep, and phantom pains left behind.

So, Shane kissed. Almost with vengeance towards past him, with vindication. Crushing their lips together, reminiscent of the sweet cherries they’d tasted by the Mississippi river. His teeth grazed and pricked the thin skin of Ilya’s lip like Ilya’s words had done to him two nights ago. It was a kiss meant to be a mark – Shane’s finger brushed the hickey he’d left on Ilya’s throat this morning – a mark so that Ilya could see how much he meant to Shane, so that Ilya didn’t misunderstand any of this ever again.

When the kiss broke, Ilya’s eyes were bright and huge. Their foreheads still one, he huffed a chuckle. “We’re getting better at this. Less tears, no head-bumping.” He ran his tongue on his lip. “More teeth, though.”

Shane thought he must be nodding, though he couldn’t know. He wasn’t really in his body at that moment, he didn’t feel or sense much that was tangible. The music had become a pulsating force in his head a while ago and he didn’t know if people shooting them dirty looks were even paying attention anymore. His heart was just beating to the drum of a single thing as he breathed with Ilya; I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Shane?”

I want you.

“I want to go.”

“What?”

“I want to leave.”

Ilya’s brows furrowed. “I thought you wanted to dance. I mean we’ve just—”

“Ilya,” Shane said with controlled timbre; he needed Ilya to understand. “I want to go back to the hotel.” He laced their fingers together and swallowed. “I want to be alone. I want to touch you,” he whispered, hoping Ilya heard it above the music, what he’d been trying to say. “I want you.”

Ilya’s throat bobbed. He didn’t blink. Shane knew blood was washing against his ears, a white noise too loud as it was for Shane too. Pulling in a ragged breath, in complete daze, he gave Shane a nod. “Okay.”

His hand was unbearably warm in Shane’s when they stepped out to the cooling night. What had been a short walk earlier in the evening felt like forever to Shane now. The sleeve of Ilya’s shirt caught his bare arm every few steps, full of potential to wick fuel to the flame. And his feet felt jittery as they moved through the yellow haze of the city, high-risers around them ascending to the sky. He stole a glance at Ilya and found moonlight raking across his skin, making him soft and silver around the edges.

Shane’s air was scant by the time they entered their room. He clicked the lights into life, took two steps inside, and turned around.

Ilya was watching him by the door, eyes gentle but questioning.

Shane didn’t know what to say, felt his hands go cold and his face scorch.

Then Ilya smiled. A private little thing dawning on his face. He closed the distance between them to bring Shane into a hug.

Shane felt his chest release. It was a hug that burned through his shirt, making his heartbeat batter like a hummingbird in his ribcage; nonetheless, it was an Ilya hug. Reassurance he’d known since what felt like his first breath.

Ilya pulled back. He whispered, “You sure?”

Shane didn’t say anything; he answered with a kiss. A soft one as he allowed his hands to wander between them; one finding Ilya’s bicep, the other tracing down Ilya’s back. He felt the muscle flex under his touch and Ilya’s whole body quivering. He couldn’t help smiling against their attached lips.

A shaky breath left Ilya and he kissed Shane one more time. His eyes were blown wide when they parted, and Shane realized his hands were shaking a little when he reached for Shane’s shirt. He stopped himself before his fingers could touch the fabric and whispered, “Is this okay?”

Shane nodded. Then his shirt was dragging across his chest and back and sliding over his head. The chill of the room – along with nerves and anticipation – left him shuddering. Ilya’s one palm rested on the goosebumps awakening on his arms, just warm. Then it slid to his chest and with a thumb, Ilya drew a line across his collarbone. Gold hair spilling over gold eyes, he looked at him, and let his lips close around the clavicle.

Shane swallowed, placing one hand on Ilya’s face. Ilya kissed him again, once more, twice, three times; his lips leaving hot prints across Shane’s chest up to his neck. Once he straightened, he pulled them tighter to each other, his arms closing around Shane’s bare body. It was pure heat in the tips of his fingers, Shane felt, when his hands pressed between Shane’s shoulder blades.

Aware he was trembling, Shane brought their mouths together again. He wrapped himself around Ilya in the same fashion as they kissed, long and breathless. When he gathered the fabric of Ilya’s shirt in his palms, Ilya was quick to get the hint. He pulled it over his head in one swift move, exposing the slender but solid lines of his body. And when their bare chests brushed for the first time, Shane felt like he’d swallowed hot coals.

His pulse revved up and he heard a mewl building in his chest. He couldn’t even feel embarrassed – though his skin was likely burning red – because Ilya was kissing him. Whatever noise Shane might have been making, he was just swallowing, and keeping Shane’s lips between his own and their tongues pressed together. He pulled back once, wild gaze darting across Shane’s face, and just whispered his name before leaning in again. Shane understood. He felt the same. It was as if he was tongue-tied for words, his mouth’s only function left behind was to kiss and to be kissed.

Locked like that, they staggered to the bed. Shane hit the edge. Before he could fall, Ilya’s hands were on him, softening his landing.

Huffing a raspy chuckle, he said, “Easy.”

“Worry about yourself,” Shane responded but the words felt tight in his throat. He scooted back a little, then reached out gingerly. He knew his touch was nervous, his hands clumsy, as he tried to pull Ilya close.

Ilya didn’t move. He just asked, “Are you nervous?”

Shane answered, “No.” Then nodded.

With another soft laugh, Ilya kissed him, a single peck. His fingers combed back the hair obscuring Shane’s sight, then with his smile still there and still brilliant, he said, “Don’t be. You’re captaining this ship, okay?”

It wasn’t Shakespeare but it was enough for Shane.

He brought down Ilya for another press of their mouths and just enjoyed that for a while. It was familiar now, but he never had an unbridled moment like this to just be in love with Ilya. He’d spent so long completely unaware, then so long trying to fool himself. Even still, he sometimes thought, this must be it, right? The ceiling, the peak, the most he could love Ilya. But anytime he would know, no. Because the next kiss, the next smile, the next gaze upon his, he was just going to be a little bit more in love. It was a growing thing, Shane had realized, an exponential thing. So from now on, he would just take each moment like it was new to dote on, to cherish, to live, till they all bloomed.

Ilya’s hands moved between them; his fingertips running the span of Shane’s ribcage. They left phantom impressions where they touched, making Shane shudder again. He could feel the sweat beading his hairline and prickling a way down his chest. He heard his pulse skyrocketing in his throat as their stomachs brushed. All were new sensations Shane trembled in the face of.

He touched Ilya back, breathing laboured already. He took his palms away from where they’d been clasping Ilya’s face and moved them to the back of his neck, tangling his fingers around the damp curls there. He pressed them on the warm skin, urging Ilya into deepening their kiss. He let them ride down an inch, to Ilya’s wide shoulders, and feeling the bone and the muscle and the heat. He just explored as Ilya did the same, pressing his lips to every patch of Shane’s visible skin; he just explored because this was his Ilya, and he was allowed.

The gentle drag of his palms over Ilya’s back came to a stop at the delicate dip of his waist. The breath leaving Ilya sounded hitched, brushing Shane’s face, and suddenly, Shane felt courageous. He brought his hands to the front, put them on Ilya’s stomach, and followed a trail down his scattering of hair. It was a slow, luxuriating touch, making Ilya’s skin dimple under his fingers. He stopped when he reached the band of Ilya’s jeans.

Their eyes met; gold light against Shane’s dark ones. And for one moment, Ilya just looked at him, and Shane looked back. He took in the sight of his best friend; with wit as sharp as knives, laughter loud and cackly, smile always crooked, and eyes as beautiful as dead leaves in autumn. All wrapped in gold skin to accompany Shane since the earliest day he could recall in this world. Now with overhead lights pooling in his clavicle, in the hollow of his throat, in the ripple of his muscles, and with his face barren except for anticipation, Ilya was just looking at him.

Shane touched the button of his jeans; it was a question.

Ilya’s quiet but sharp intake of air was answer enough.

Working together, they took their jeans off. Their bare legs tangled with one another, hair brushing against hair like a lick of fire. Shane brought Ilya in for another kiss, hands feeling shaky and clammy. Ilya clasped one, interlacing their fingers together. He whispered something, something meant to be soothing, but Shane couldn’t hear over the sound of his own gulp, and the blood surging through him and rushing to his ears. He just kissed Ilya again and again, till the kiss got so messy that Ilya had to pull back.

“Hey,” he whispered, a thumb running on Shane’s cheekbone. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t have to; Shane knew this boy, he knew that furrow between his brows.

“I’m fine,” he assured him, caressing his face. His eyes stung a little bit, and his chest was expanding achingly, but Shane was just fine. He’d probably never been finer than this moment. Giving Ilya a smile that he hoped conveyed that, he whispered, “Just kiss me, okay?”

Ilya stared for another moment, then his eyes softened. “Okay,” he murmured, thumb following the curve of Shane’s lip before he leaned down and kissed him. It was a great kiss, Shane thought. Not as messy, just the right amount of clanking teeth, the taste of Ilya, and warm air mingling between them. As if they were breathing for each other.

Ilya’s lips traveled down from there. Across his throat, down his chest. His exhalations were tickling the soft skin of Shane’s stomach, and his mouth was warm when he reached his navel. Once his lips reached Shane’s hipbone, he looked up. He brushed the skin there, his eyes glinting with a question, his eyes molten gold. They matched the coals burning bright and hot in Shane’s stomach, down to nothing but embers.

Shane gave a jerky nod.

Then it was touches he’d known all his life finding new places; Ilya’s body he’d seen since the time he was a scrawny child, in a new context. It was the anticipation of something you knew was coming. Like seeing clouds ahead and waiting for the rain to close in. Like Shane and Ilya – maybe thirteen, maybe fourteen – standing in Hollanders’ backyard just moments before the clock struck eight to hear the sprinklers come to life and drench them from head to sole. Light cutting the hailing water just right, and for that one moment, the sky tinting with every color available to the human eye – rose red and marigold, aegean blue and violet.

Shane could feel his breath whistling in his chest, pleasure gathering at every sinew. His fingers dug deep into Ilya’s skin, and he couldn’t help when his name came out as a whine, “Ilya.”

Ilya breathed against his cheek, “I got you, baby.”

Shane didn’t hear the rest. Everything whited out, and the hum of the city around them quietened. Any semblance of logical thought was gone for one moment. Then Ilya’s face was right there, in Shane’s line of sight. His eyes were huge with a punch-drunk look, his hair mussed on a pillow, making Shane wonder what he himself looked like. He knew Ilya was wrapped around him, their limbs one with the other, and it was hard to pinpoint where one began and the other ended.

Shane didn’t have anything else to compare this to, except for a lifetime of Shane-and-Ilya moments he’d collected like little treasures. He’d thought he’d be worried in the aftermath, self-conscious, and maybe that would come later once he was more lucid. But this moment stretched into eternity was fashioned after what they’d always been; soft touches and gentle kisses, silent reassurance and not many words needed to talk. Just two boys who loved each other possibly forever.

Overwhelmed tears sprang to Shane’s eyes.

“I love you,” he heard from a distance. He didn’t know which one it’d come from, just a whisper flitting between them. Not like it mattered; because if it was Ilya, Shane wanted to say it back. And if it was him, he wanted to say it again and again.

So he just echoed, “I love you.”

Burrowing close, he rested his head on Ilya’s chest. And when the arm around him tightened, he felt real. True and tangible and teemed to the brim with the reality he’d always pictured. As if he’d been standing barefoot on hot sand for years, and the ocean he’d been imagining had finally rushed to the shore.

***

Ilya returned from the bathroom and padded softly to the windows. He took one glance outside, seeing the sky dark and the moon high, and drew the curtains closed. He mused they probably should have done that earlier and turned around to look at Shane.

He was still in bed; bare from the waist up and lying on his side. His lids were partway open as he gazed at Ilya.

Ilya perched at the edge of the bed. It sank under his knees. “Do you want to take a shower?”

Shane shook his head.

“Do you want a snack?”

Another headshake.

“You sure?”

“Ilya.” He patted the divot on the mattress Ilya’s weight had left behind. “Just come here.”

Ilya gave a slow nod, moving to settle next to Shane. A hand stopped him.

“Turn around,” Shane said with a tiny smile.

Ilya frowned. “Uh oh.”

Shane tapped him on the forehead. “Not like that, idiot.”

Ilya grinned. Being manhandled around, he asked, “You want to be the big spoon?”

Shane tried to roll him. “You want to be the little spoon.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

Shane huffed. “Yes, you do.”

“But I can’t see you like this,” Ilya said, digging his feet into the mattress.

“You don’t have to see me all the time,” Shane answered, digging his fingers into Ilya’s back.

“Uhm, yes, I do.”

“No, you absolutely don’t.”

“Yes, I absolutely do.”

“No, you absolutely don’t. Just—” Shane shoved on his shoulder. “Just— Ilya—” But Ilya was a rock. “Ilya—” A rock pushing back against Shane’s hands and chuckling. “Can you—” No, Ilya couldn’t. “God—” Shane wrestled a bit more, tried to roll him around, even pinched him once. Finally, realizing it wasn’t happening, he yielded. A frustrated sound left him. “Do you have to be so stubborn all the time?”

Settling on his side, head on Shane’s pillow, Ilya cracked a smile. He ran a thumb on the little line between Shane’s brows and said, “This is so much better.”

Shane rolled his eyes. But it took only a few moments for his expression to soften. He brought their faces close and let Ilya travel a finger on the lines of his jaw, his cheek, his lips, and nose. He was so dumb, Ilya thought as he appreciated the features under his hands. Of course, Ilya had to see this face in his every awake moment.

“I love you so much,” he heard himself whisper to the narrow space in between.

Like a bow, Shane’s expression pulled taut beneath his fingers. “Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not,” Ilya objected with a headshake. “You’re never a bad thing. You’re a fucking great thing.” He swept Shane’s bangs away. “It’s just… We’re only eighteen and I feel like this is a little crazy. Don’t you think this is a little crazy?” he asked, feeling a smile find his face.

Shane just pursed his lips. A moment passed.

“No answer, smartie?”

Shane shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know much.”

Ilya frowned.

“About you, I mean. I don’t know as much as I thought.”

His hand stopped. “What?” he asked incredulously. “Shane, you know everything about me.”

“I didn’t know you’ve been… feeling this way.”

“You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you—”

“And I’m not sure if I know how to make this okay.”

Ilya dropped his hand and just looked at Shane for one moment. If his cute frown from earlier had been contorting his pretty face, now everything was downward, including his eyes.

“Okay, long face,” Ilya said, bringing Shane’s gaze up. “Was your first time really that bad? Just so you know, this is hurting my ego.”

Shane blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m acting like this right now.”

Ilya brushed back the silky hair again. He would snuggle closer to Shane if it was possible. “You know you don’t have to do anything, right?” he asked quietly. “To make this okay, I mean. Because you already do, every day. Did you miss the part where I had a meltdown over how much of yourself you’re willing to give me?” He gave a smile. “How much you put into taking care of me?”

“But that’s not always a good thing, is it?” Shane asked with a tiny shrug. “I mean, I don’t want to coddle you. Or get overbearing or… naggy.”

“Okay, where is this coming from?”

Shane pulled back a little, just to press a hand on his eye. Then mumbled, “Something your father said.”

Ilya’s groan was loud. “No, no!” He put a hand over Shane’s mouth when he saw him trying to continue. “No. I’m shutting you up about that right this instance. This is not the pillow talk I pictured for us, okay? We’re not talking about that asshole.” Shane’s mouth moved; Ilya shook his head. Then, pressing their forehead together, he spelled out, “He’s wrong. Whatever you’ve cooked up in that beautiful brain of yours, also wrong. You’re world-class in caring for dumb idiots who need more help than they realize, okay? Nod if okay.”

Eyes huge, Shane nodded.

“You’re not overbearing. You’re not coddling. Okay?”

Another nod of okay.

“And the nagging,” Ilya said. “He’s kind of right about that one but— Ow!” He wagged his hand in the air, pain shooting up his fingers. “I was gonna say I love your nagging! It keeps me in check!” He couldn’t help the laugh leaving him. It only got louder when he saw Shane scowling. After a few more waves of his hand, he asked, “Biting? Really?”

Shane didn’t answer. He just kept frowning. But Ilya could see he was happy to be frowning. Grumpy that Ilya got another smile out of him, one he was really good at keeping hidden, but Ilya knew those lips and he loved those lips. Ilya could see they were trying very hard to not curl in satisfaction. Settling close again, he traced them once more. It was quickly becoming his favorite thing.

“If anything…” He sighed. “I’m the piece of shit who’s going to make this thing you signed up for very very hard.”

Shane huffed. “What? Like loving you is hard?”

Ilya simply shrugged.

“No way.” Shane shook his head. “Na-uh.”

“I think a lot of people would disagree with that,” Ilya said. “I’ve been told I like making things difficult.”

“No.” Shane cradled his face, like a spot where the sun had touched. “Sure, you’re insufferable sometimes. Unbearable. Infuriating. Terribly stubborn…” He smiled. “And hard on yourself more than anyone else I know, but you’re not difficult, Ilya. And loving you is not difficult.” He rubbed his cheekbone. “It’s very easy, actually. Comically. Everyone adores you, you know that right? Your friends, my friends. My parents. Hell, I think they missed you more in these past few months than they’ll ever miss me when I’m in college,” he said with an eyeroll. “Like no Mom, I don’t know where Ilya is, and I have no idea if he got Dad’s phone call.” He moved his hand up and threaded a finger in Ilya’s curls. “And I love you,” he said, tugging at a lock. “You’re my great thing, too.”

Ilya didn’t know what to say for a second. Maybe this was a bubble that was going to burst once they were home, a moment carved in time and space just for the two of them that was temporary, but it was hard to believe any of that when Shane’s earnestness, a burning stone with no desire to go out anytime soon, was right in his face. It was hard to succumb to any of the voices still eating away at his brain under the light of Shane’s smile.

Before Ilya could talk, Shane added, brushing their noses together, “I can only hope to be half as good as you in this.”

Ilya felt his eyes sting. “You’re ridiculous.”

Shane shrugged, huffing a chuckle. His hand slid from Ilya’s head down to his bare chest. He touched his tattoo first, gingerly, then his chain for a long moment. He smoothed it down with his palm before lacing their fingers together. They lay still and quiet like that for a while.

When Ilya spoke again, he kept his voice low. “Maybe—” He cleared his throat and tried once more. “Maybe this is a huge thing to tell someone, burdensome to just plop this on your lap like this but…” He looked into Shane’s eyes. “I truly believe you kept me alive all these years, Shane.”

Shane tilted his head. “You mean…?”

“No.” Ilya shook his head quickly. “Nothing like that.” He squeezed Shane’s fingers. “I just mean I would be really lost without you.”

It was Shane’s turn to be silent. He didn’t break their gaze, but his hold tightened. Rubbing his thumb on the inside of Ilya’s wrist, he drew nonsense shapes and lines as he took a minute. Then he said, “Wanna hear a burdensome thing from me?”

Ilya nodded.

“Sometimes things feel too much, just regular stuff, you know how I get. And I feel like you’re the only reason I can keep it together.” He smiled, shaky. “If we never talked again, I don’t know how I would deal with any of that. I think my pride would just take a backseat and you’d get a phone call at 3 a.m. to talk me down from a stupid freak-out.”

Ilya whispered, “They’re not stupid.”

“You don’t know how much I need you, Ilya.”

“I need you too.”

“You can’t even guess.”

“Can’t guess? What?”

“You don’t know how you just make everything okay—”