Summary:

It is December, and Scott has been out for long enough to pretend to be used to it, and things are not perfect but they’re fucking good, and Ilya Rozanov is at his apartment for dinner—has been for over an hour—and he’s still waiting so stupidly hopefully to introduce a boyfriend who very, very clearly isn’t coming.

(Or: studies on coming out, learning patience, one-sided conversations, and other absurdist waiting games.)