Summary:

Ilya Rozanov, even at eighteen in an unfamiliar country and speaking a second language, had never seemed small. But now, at… what, twenty-five? He’s standing in front of Scott with his hands clasped in front of him, shoulders hunched, looking… shy. Nervous, maybe.

Rozanov flinches when a loud laugh breaks the white noise from the party inside, and Scott realises that Rozanov’s been doing the same thing he has all these years: cataloguing who is or isn’t safe, watching, noticing, waiting.

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Or: Ilya talks to Scott at the MLH Awards