Summary:

“Sveta - ”

“Ilya, there are photos. Of you. Ilya, you - you need to run.”

“Photos?” he asks, a bit stupidly. He knows what she means. Of course he does. He’s had nightmares about what she means. But - well. No. Surely not.

Right?

“They’re old, I think,” she says, sniffling. “I just saw them on some gossip rag, but they’re - Ilya, they’re definitely you. With a man. They just got published on this stupid, shitty blog, but they’re going to get picked up the moment people wake up.”

Well, at least Ilya has a shirt on. Now, he just needs to find pants before his life ends.