Summary:

Ilya taps ashes off the end of his cig, ignoring Shane’s repeated glance between his fingers and his face. But he makes sure—because he is nothing if not a sucker for a little bit of attention—to rub his lips against each other before wetting them with his tongue, then placing the cigarette back in his mouth. Hopes that the curve of his mouth around it isn’t as offputting as Hollander seems intent to pretend it is. I got you, Hollander, he thinks. I get it, I get how it feels to realize you want something. To have it be undefinable until someone else spells it out for you.