Summary:

Ilya Rozanov has been saying I love you into the void his whole life.

To his mother’s cold hands at twelve, making promises she can’t hear. To his teammates through fist bumps in tunnel rituals that cost nothing because they ask for nothing. To a sleeping man, in Russian, because his native language is the only container safe enough for what he actually feels. To a country he is slowly losing the ability to love back.

He keeps saying it. No one says it back.

Until they do.