Summary:

"I’m sorry, I am just—” He drops his fork to wave his hand around, the way he does when he's searching for the proper word. He knows enough English words to describe what it is he’s feeling, but they don’t feel like adequate descriptors. My father, the man I loathe, is dying, and there is nothing I can do to save him. Everyone in my life expects so little of me, and I feel as though I may disappear. I feel like, if I did disappear, perhaps the world would be all the better for it. You are the only man in my life who has made me feel happy to take up space. Shane, tell me, what is the English word for this?

Ilya Rozanov's okay, not good, probably bad day.

Set during a liminal space of my design between the All-Star game and Ilya's father's death.