Summary:

Shane can’t think of a better way to wake up than this: The sun is casting rays from the big window, spilling all over their white bedsheets, blanketing them in luminosity and warmth. The big comforter is haphazardly thrown around them, half of it on the floor, and there is a glow, a light that he can’t even begin to explain, everywhere. If he raises his head just slightly from the warmth of Ilya’s—his husband’s—back he can see the river, and make out the blue sky. He chooses not to raise his head and instead bury the growing smile on his face to Ilya’s back. His husband. Or: their first morning as husbands spent dancing to an old Japanese song and saying vows in Russian.