Summary:

The fight on Boxing Day had been explosive and painful. But they'd decided they would make a new plan. One they could both live with.

But the more Shane tried to compromise, all the years of resentment and hiding crowded in at once. He spat an ultimatum across the table. Six months. A year at the absolute most. Or they were done.

“That’s not enough time. A year is… tough, but maybe,” Shane offered carefully. “Eighteen months?”

Ilya’s temper flared.

“I do not want to wait another eighteen fucking months!” The words echoed through the room. “I want to be like Hunter! Go on dates with my boyfriend. Talk about him to people. Not always feel like some awful, shameful secret.”

“You want to talk to people about me?” he asked quietly. His voice sounded so small and fragile and confused. But Ilya was still furious and raw.

“Well I would,” he sneered, “if there was anything about you that was fucking interesting to talk about! It would be nice to not be so fucking bored and miserable!”

As the words left his mouth, he knew he'd gone too far.

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What if the Centaur's plane never malfunctions, so Shane never proposes. Instead, Ilya gives him an ultimatum.