Summary:

Ilya makes it eight minutes and nineteen seconds before he finally gives into the urge to speak.

“So…now we just wait?” he murmurs, staring down at the spot where his line meets the water, imagining what the feeling might be like when a fish actually bites on the worm at the bottom.

“Yes.” Shane bites out, laser-focused on his own rod.

Ilya sighs and looks around the calm lake, nothing but the sound of birds and the occasional lap of water against the side of their boat to fill his ears.

“Canada continues to amaze.”

 

For the Hollanov May Microfic prompt: Reel