Summary:

Shane gets a sudden urge to push Ilya away and get dressed, to go to one of the guest bedrooms and hide under a blanket until this is long forgotten. All of this would be forgotten. But he doesn’t. Instead he reaches for Ilya’s face, leans forward, cradles it in both hands and tries to drag him upwards. Away from his thighs. “Look at me,” he says, desperately, “kiss me, kiss me, please.” Ilya’s eyes are wide as he pulls away, “Shane,” he says, voice stern, “from when?” Shane doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know why he thought Ilya wouldn’t notice, why he thought it could still be something unsaid between them, something that was clearly there but wasn’t that big of a deal. “It doesn’t matter, Ilya please-” Or: Healing is never linear.