Chapter Text
The following year’s conference was held in the heart of San Francisco. Shane drove down with Ilya the night before, trying to beat the rain on the way in.
“We should’ve taken the train,” Ilya muttered from the passenger seat, closing his eyes with his head tipped against the window.
“Why? It would’ve taken longer than just driving in.”
Ilya rolled the window down an inch and breathed in some of the fresh air before answering. “Because it goes in a straight line.”
Shane snorted. “You’ll be alright, we’re almost through the curvy bit.”
He patted Ilya’s thigh and left his hand there as they twisted through the last few miles of wine country.
By the time they crossed the Golden Gate Bridge into the city, the sun was dissolving into a sweep of orange and pink over the bay. The city shimmered ahead of them, metallic and alive. Traffic hummed, cable cars rang as they passed by, too close for comfort, and the air smelled of salt and sea. Shane took a deep breath and regretted it almost immediately. The ‘sea’ smell was just a bit too fishy for his liking.
Their hotel perched high above the city, overlooking the piers, the bay, and Alcatraz in the distance.
Once in their room, Shane slid his arm around Ilya’s waist and leaned his head against his shoulder. They stood in front of the window for a few minutes in silence, taking in the twinkling lights and the busy city below.
“Could get used to this for a weekend.” Ilya leaned closer to the window and peered out to the right.
“That’s the bridge that collapsed from the earthquake during the World Series back in 1989,” Shane said, almost in awe as he studied the reconstructed structure.
Ilya hummed. “Kinda crazy to think about, right? Every time I drive on the bottom level, I hold the wheel a little tighter. Think I always will.”
Breathing him in, Shane agreed and stepped away to unpack. He managed to get two shirts out of his suitcase before Ilya took over.
The next morning, the skyline stretched in a haze of grey-orange fog from the conference ballroom’s windows. Taking the seat next to Ilya in the back of the hall, Shane felt small in the sea of tables and lanyards. It was the kind of gathering where everyone wore their best blazers and practiced their smiles. Servers moved between tables with silver coffee urns, the low buzz of conversation swelling beneath the soft jazz playing over the speakers. It was much more formal than last year at the lodge.
“I miss The Evergreen,” Ilya said under his breath, as if reading Shane's mind.
“Yeah,” Shane agreed softly. “Me too. Harris would hate this.”
Ilya laughed quietly. “He would.” He huffed out a breath and tipped his head against Shane's shoulder. “Three weeks and counting until we’re back.”
A few short speeches filled the day’s agenda. The Director of Design talked about innovation through emotion, Scott followed, recapping a year of connection and storytelling through scents, and the Founder closed with many thanks and record-breaking numbers.
By the time Shane's name was called, the nerves that had been quietly simmering under his skin finally surfaced. Ilya leaned over and brushed a hand against his knee.
“Go get ‘em, tiger,” he whispered.
Shane stood, straightened his tie (he still couldn’t get the knot right without Ilya’s help), and made his way to the stage. The lights were warm and blinding, the crowd a blur of faces, both familiar and new. He paused at the podium, breath catching as the applause died down.
He glanced toward the back of the room, at Ilya smiling up at him, eyes soft and proud.
The same eyes that had been there through every doubt and triumph for the last nineteen years of his life, and would be there for many more to come.
Shane's voice came out steadier than he expected. “I’ve always believed that scent is memory,” he began. “That one whiff of something familiar can take you back to the best moments of your life. Or the worst. This past year, I’ve learned that the people you share those moments with matter just as much, if not more.”
He didn’t say a name, but everyone shuffled, turning to find Ilya.
When the ceremony closed, they broke for lunch and then the group spent the rest of the day at Pier 39. They went shopping in the pouring rain, walking beneath the wooden planks of the second level for shelter, but fat raindrops dripped through and drenched them anyway. Ilya paused along the railing and watched the sea lions for a long time. Their arf-arfs echoing between the shop buildings.
They escaped the rain for a bit in the sourdough shop where Ilya got clam chowder in a sourdough bowl. Shane crinkled his nose at it, stating that it was not a scent he’d be recreating. Shane ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, five ooey-gooey cheeses melted together between freshly baked toasted sourdough. It was like heaven orgasmed in his mouth.
After the awards ceremony on day two, where Shane won for the second year in a row, Ilya leaned in for a kiss right there in front of everyone. Shane laughed, breathless, hugging his trophy with the envelope pinched between his fingers while being wrapped in Ilya’s arms, the weight of the year melting away. They did the pictures, the obligatory mingling, and then back in their room Shane ordered room service for lunch, opting to skip the seafood spread that was provided by Afterglow, before heading out for a group meet-up.
The fog hung thick over the bay, the kind that swallowed the skyline whole and left misty silhouettes of seagulls and sea lions, charter boats and cargo ships. They walked along the Embarcadero towards Pier 33, passing the aquarium and the giant Hard Rock guitar along the way. Elena and Maria were already there, bundled in coats and scarves, the wind biting at their ears, leaning into their husbands for warmth.
Slick with saltwater and mist, the dock creaked underfoot. The bay smelled sharp and briny, a tang that caught in Shane's throat. Gulls shrieked overhead, circling the docks, swooping down in the middle of the crowd to snatch a dropped fry or mini donut, not afraid of people at all.
When they boarded the ferry to Alcatraz, Ilya led them to the upper deck. “Might as well get the full experience,” he said, eyes glinting.
“Full experience hypothermia, you mean.” Shane tugged his beanie lower and zipped his jacket up to his chin.
Ilya laughed and slipped an arm around him, pulling him close against the wind. It didn’t help much. The gusts whipped off of the water like they were angry with it, but Shane leaned back against Ilya anyway, holding his arms out to recreate their very own Titanic moment on the short trip out to the island.
The ferry cut through the choppy water, sending sprays of cold mist over the railing. The city got smaller and smaller behind them, the skyscrapers soft-edged through the fog, the tall point of the Transamerica Pyramid sticking up through the haze, the red-orange arc of the Golden Gate peeking in and out like a mirage. Ahead, the island rose out of the grey, jagged cliffs, aged faded buildings, and a tall watch tower.
When they docked at Alcatraz Island, the captain’s voice crackled through the speaker, directing everyone up the steep hill toward the main cellhouse. The path wound between crumbling brick walls and weeds pushing through the cracks. Ilya’s gloved hand brushed against Shane's back as they climbed.
Inside, the air was cool but, thankfully, still. The cell blocks stretched in symmetrical rows, old beige paint peeling in strips off of metal bars. Stainless beds that looked more like tables, metal basins, ratty old cushions, plastered walls. Their footsteps echoed.
They moved slowly through the narrow aisles, listening to the audio tour through headsets they’d been handed as they entered– the voices of former guards and inmates recounting riots, escape attempts, long stretches of silence. One recording described the 1962 escape: three men chiseling through air vents with smuggled spoons, building dummy heads out of soap and toilet paper, slipping out under the cover of night and vanishing into the bay.
“Do you think they made it?” Ilya whispered.
Shane tilted his head, studying the rusted bars and the dark corridor leading out to the yard. “Maybe. I kinda hope they did.”
“Why?”
Shane shrugged. “Because it’s sad to think that they didn’t. Everyone deserves to get out eventually.”
Ilya didn’t say anything for a moment, just reached out and slid his arm around Shane, kissing his forehead through his beanie.
“Well, maybe not everybody,” Ilya said, teasing.
Shane laughed. “The way that you don’t even have to say who you’re thinking of, and I just know.”
“It’s why we work so well together, baby.”
They stood like that for a while, the hum of the audio track fading to background noise – just the wind swooping through the bars and the faint drip of water somewhere down the corridor.
By the time they shuffled back outside, the fog had lifted slightly. They boarded the ferry again, shoulders brushing as they found a bench in the bottom cabin this time, safe from the wind.
The water was still rough, bouncing them around, making Shane's face turn green. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and tipped his head against Ilya’s shoulder until they docked back at the pier. Only a few work weeks left of the year and then The Evergreen would be waiting.
***
The Evergreen looked just the same as it had the year before, but a little brighter, maybe just because Shane was. They pulled around the bend, weaving between white-tipped trees and staying on the narrow path that had been cleared for them to pull in. Snow blanketed the roofs, soft and thick, the kind that muffled sound and made the world feel gentler. Bright cherry wood stood still in a blanket of white, just like it had all of those months ago. Smoke puffed out from the chimney, thick and swirly, hanging in the air before disappearing into the mountains.
The lights along the porch twinkled in the hazy glow, and the smell of pine hit the moment he stepped out of the truck. Crisp air stung his cheeks but warmed his soul immediately.
Ilya followed close behind, pulling his jacket on, wrapping his scarf around his neck, tugging his matching beanie over his messy curls that almost reached his shoulders now. He reached for Shane's hand on the walk up without thinking, their fingers tangling easily. It was a habit now, not a performance.
Shane smiled as their boots crunched through the snow, dragging suitcases toward the lodge door. “Feels weird being back, yeah?”
The same wooden sign swung in the mountain breeze, squeaking as if to welcome them home.
Ilya hummed. “Good weird.”
Inside, the inn was alive with laughter. Scott and Kip were already by the fire, mugs in hand. Harris was behind the counter chatting with Troy, who looked far too handsome in his flannel for someone who was supposedly doing manual labor.
“Smells like nostalgia,” Ilya said, stepping through the entry.
“Look at you trying to steal my job,” Shane teased.
They didn’t come empty-handed this time. Shane unhooked the straps from around the box on top of his suitcase and braced for impact once Harris spotted them.
Harris and Troy nearly tackled them at the front door, knocking them back a few steps and almost pushing them out into the snow. The family room was warm and cluttered with comfort items – blankets on the couch, board games stacked high on the coffee table, fire blazing as always.
Once they said their hellos, Shane presented Harris with the box, Afterglow’s logo printed on every side.
“What’s this then?” Harris asked, raising a brow.
“A little something from Afterglow,” Shane said. “Custom wax warmers for every room, plus a few extras. I worked with the design team and got them to etch your logo on the front of each one.”
Harris' shoulders fell and his eyes went soft. “Shane, you didn’t have to–”
“I wanted to,” Shane interrupted softly. “And, uh. These too.” He pulled out a smaller box, a collection of wax bars, each labelled with a familiar scent: Evergreen & Embers, Lavender Sky, Hug in a Mug, Evergreen Wintermint, Cozy Fire, Apple Cobbler. “Inspired by our last trip here. Thought you might like them.”
Troy leaned over to sniff one. “God damn, that’s incredible. I want to eat it!”
Shane laughed, “Well, I wouldn’t advise it, but they’re non-toxic if you just can’t help yourself.”
He groaned when he smelled another. “That one smells like Christmas and…”
“Home,” Ilya finished for Troy, glancing at Shane.
Shane's chest warmed and he leaned into Ilya. “Yeah. Home.”
They were led up to their room by Harris, who’d turned right at the top of the stairs instead of left just to mess with them before heading back in the other direction. He cracked the door open to the same room they’d stayed in last year before handing over the key, going in for one more hug, and telling them to head down for lunch when they were ready. The room was stocked with extra supplies this time: thick soft blankets, wine and champagne in the mini fridge, extra firewood, even a sled leaning in the corner by the window. Shane assumed that Kip and Scott had the other waiting for them in their room.
“Shane, did you see this?” Ilya was laughing, sitting on the edge of the bed with the nightstand drawer pulled open.
When Shane approached and saw what Ilya was laughing at, he shook his head. “Seriously, Harris?”
Ilya made a frame with his fingers in the air in front of him, pulling his hands apart like he was reading a banner. “Hospitality,” he said in a dramatic voice through a laugh.
“Never stayed anywhere that provided lube and condoms before. Gotta hand it to him, I guess. He really takes care of his clients.”
Fetching the bottle from the drawer, Ilya held it up and started laughing all over again. “Of course it’s branded. He even put fucking maple leaves on the lube. How extremely Harris of him.”
“Do you think it’s maple flavored, too?”
Ilya raised a brow. “Let’s test it out, so that I’ll know what to write for the Yelp review.”
***
It was easy to fall into a rhythm at The Evergreen. Not much had changed since last year – family dinner, card games at the table, causing trouble out in the snow. They spent the afternoon the same way they had a year ago – sledding down the same hill (still badly), drinking too much boozy cocoa, dancing in the dining room-turned-dance-floor while Harris yelled at them for spilling their drinks on his rug, not wanting to set them down while they danced because they were too good.
Troy took a break to chop some more wood for the fire, ignoring Ilya and Shane's insistence on helping until Shane stole the axe right out of his hand just to prove a point. He nearly dropped it in the snow two minutes later, swinging it too far behind his head and nearly toppling over.
“The wood’s chopped, isn’t it? Who cares what it looks like? It’s just gonna be burned!” Shane defended his hard work and helped to stack the uneven wood into the wheelbarrow before letting Troy haul it in all by himself.
They built a snowman, even though Troy groaned the entire time about how it felt like work to him. How, if he wanted to be knee-deep in snow, he’d go shovel the parking lot for fun. But when they were done, Troy draped his scarf around the snowman and propped his knit cap on top of its head anyway. Ilya wrapped his arm around Shane's shoulders and kissed his cheek when they finished, murmuring, “How can you bottle this feeling?”
That night, after dinner (venison stew – cooked so perfectly that the gaminess wasn’t even detectable), Harris suggested a game. “Two Truths and a Lie. Come on, for old time’s sake.”
Everyone groaned but agreed, already half-drunk and far too comfortable to suggest a game that would make them get up unless it was to refill their drinks.
They went around the circle – Scott’s terrible poker face gave his away immediately, Troy lied about being allergic to cats, Kip confessed that he once got locked in a hotel bathroom for two hours. Then it was Ilya’s turn.
He looked at Shane, a teasing glint in his eye. “Alright. Let’s see…One, I can juggle. Two, I’ve… been to space. Three…” He paused, slow and deliberate, squeezing Shane's thigh before breaking the news. “The first time we came here, Shane and I weren’t actually dating.”
The room went silent for half a beat before Scott sputtered, nearly choking out his drink. “What?”
Harris blinked. “Wait, what do you mean you weren’t dating?”
Shane laughed, cheeks pink. He put his hand over top of Ilya’s. “What he means is that we were pretending to be boyfriends. Long story.”
“We’ve got time,” Troy said, eyeing him, urging him to go on.
So, he told him the Cliffnotes version. Scott was mortified, knowing that he played a part in it. Shane jokingly called him homophobic. Teased him for not telling him about Kip when Shane had admitted that he didn’t like women. They both laughed it off. Scott liked the idea of just bringing Kip along and introducing him as his partner and not needing to come out. When they saw that his partner was male presenting, they’d figure it out.
Kip leaned forward. “You’re joking. You two had everyone fooled.”
“Guess we’re good actors,” Ilya said with a shrug, bumping Shane's shoulder.
Scott snorted. “You absolute menaces. You fooled me, and I see Shane nearly every day!”
Shane grinned, the firelight catching in his eyes. “Yeah, well, turned out we didn’t have to pretend for very long.”
That earned a chorus of good-natured toasts and the game was suddenly over. Someone started the Karaoke machine, and the night rolled into song and stories and the kind of easy joy that only comes when everything has finally fallen into place.
They sang off key, danced even worse, and laughed until their sides hurt.
Somewhere between “Wonderwall” and “Dancing Queen,” Shane realized how different this felt from the last time they were here. How easy it was to be here again. How he wasn’t pretending to be Ilya’s boyfriend this time, how they didn’t have to hide that detail anymore.
Later that night, when the others were asleep, or at least in their rooms for the night, Shane and Ilya bundled up and slipped outside. The world was quiet. The stars were bright and plentiful without the city lights polluting the darkness. They walked hand-in-hand down the same path they’d taken last year, their boots crunching over the snow.
Behind the building, they stayed close to the wall, under the shelter of the eve. Shane hummed a happy sigh and leaned into Ilya, who wrapped his arms around him easily.
“I’m glad I’m here with you again,” Ilya said.
“I’m glad it’s real this time,” Shane responded.
***
After breakfast the next morning, they geared up and traveled out to the lifts. The fresh powder waited for them, untouched and still, glittering off the bright morning sun.
They sat on the lift shoulder-to-shoulder, gloved hands clamped together. The lift creaked, carrying them above the glowing white world below.
For a long time, neither spoke. They just sat there, looking around, taking it all in.
Then Ilya said quietly, “Remember last year? You were terrified of falling.”
Shane smirked. “Yeah. Turns out I was terrified of other things too,” he laughed.
Ilya glanced at him, a small smile playing at his lips. “You’re not anymore?”
“Nah.” Shane shook his head. “Don’t need to be anymore. Got what I wanted.” He nudged his shoulder into Ilya’s and turned to face him.
And then Ilya kissed him.
He didn’t have to trick him into it this time. It wasn’t for show, it wasn’t for any reason other than he loved Shane and wanted to kiss him. The kiss was slow and steady, a promise whispered between their lips. It was the kind of kiss that said we made it.
When they finally broke apart, Shane rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent he loved so much. The one he used to chase through his workshop like a ghost.
Something made him pick his head up, looking around in confusion. Finally, he spotted the source of the noise. On the lift behind them, Scott and Kip were cheering and hollering, chanting, “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” like they were fifteen. Shane rolled his eyes and smiled into another kiss.
The lift swayed gently as Ilya’s hand found his again, the world below still and shimmering. Snowflakes caught in Ilya’s curls, in Shane's eyelashes, in the space between them that finally wasn’t empty anymore.
The Evergreen stood silent beneath the lifts, holding their laughter, their love, and the faintest trace of cedar and vanilla – proof that something real had bloomed there once, and stayed.