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Ilya is not used to failing.

(Well. His father would probably tell another story, but. The man is dead. That technically scores a point for Ilya. Ah-ah.)

Truth to be told, he really is one of those fuckers who thought that his sports full scholarship would have got him away with anything. He’s really good at floating just above the grades he needs to not be kicked out. Plus, Svetlana and Troy, Ilya’s best friends, always kind of helped him in choosing the right classes. The ones Ilya could easily follow and pass without too much thinking. He’s not stupid, after all. Quite the opposite. And uOttawa knows damn well how Ilya is crucial for their hockey team. He’s factually just sitting pretty in there.

But then, something terrible happened. A mistake easily avoidable, crucially underestimated.

Someone let Ilya take his own initiative.

How cruel.

Chemistry looked like a good choice, while he was filling his last year’s programme. Something technical, useful. A subject greedy to fill his mouth by only saying it out loud. Yes, look at me. Hockey team captain, great Chemistry student. The whole lot. A hot, European brainiac. You’ll never know what Ilya Rozanov is not capable of.

Mhm. So cute.

If only he wasn’t failing it. Miserably.

Ilya did what he always does. He whined about it with his friends, until Svetlana found him a bearable solution. Luckily for him, uOttawa provides a newsletter for pair-tutoring. By only filling a form, you can be directed to other students interested in wasting their time and looking infuriatingly more clever than you. Ilya has to presume they all have some sort of advantage in doing this pair-tutoring, like extra credits or something, but he’d first have to go past the fact that someone willingly applies for this. Which he can’t. He’s a man of principles.

Except that now it’s a Tuesday, and Ilya received an email from his tutor during the weekend. This Shane H. was apparently really good in Chemistry, and ready to help him go through this crisis. He offered Ilya to meet in the main library, right next to the South American Literature section. Weirdly specific, Ilya thought, but easy to find. That’s the setting which sees him waiting at an empty table, mindlessly chewing at his sweatshirt string, scrolling Instagram with his backpack still untouched on the table. He wonders how long all of this will take. He has practice at seven— Quite the reason he’s there in Ottawa. Will he be able to bribe the guy? He’ll offer real money to do his assignments. That’s one way of passing Chemistry.

A polite voice cuts through his plans: ‘’Ilya?’’

While someone sits right in front of him. Ilya lets go off the string, before looking up, eyebrows raising.

And, holy fuck.

See, Ilya has been checked into the boards more times than he could ever count. He knows what he’s talking about pretty well. Up to his personal experience, the worst is in the lungs. All crushed between the boards and your own arms, leaving you gasping for air like a fish. You immediately feel dizzy, you furiously blink, checking your own body, wondering if you’re still all in one piece, since it doesn’t seem like it.

That’s… That’s what’s happening right now. Even if there are no boards, no penalty, and definitely no impact. It’s just— A guy looking at him. And Ilya’s lungs are well crumpled all of a sudden.

‘’Ilya?’’, the stranger repeats, biting his own cheek. Ilya’s knees touch one another. Please, say it again, that’s lovely, can you say it again? The guy briefly glances at his phone: ‘’I know I am in the right place—‘’

‘’Yes’’, Ilya blurts. The stranger immediately looks back at him, smiling, cheeks flustered. Oh, God. Ilya needs a minute. What it’s even going on? This — all of this — never happened to him before. His heart is pounding in his chest like it’s about to explode. His stomach is tight. His throat is burning, seeking for release. Release from what? There’s nothing. Ilya knows there’s nothing. He tries with: ‘’This is the right place and I am Ilya.’’

Fucking Hell. What is wrong with him?

But all the guy does is smiling at him, clearly relieved. ‘’Great! I’m Shane. Shane Hollander’’ Ilya blinks some more, shoulders tense ‘’You… Uh, you applied to the newsletter? You know, the— The pair-tutoring. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even explain it to you, of course you know you did it. My point is— I’m your Chemistry tutor, and I’m ready to help you out.’’

Chemistry tutor. Chemistry. Yes. The class Ilya is brilliantly failing. Shane is his tutor. The tutor Ilya looked out for. By applying to that newsletter. They’re both in the right place, that’s— Yeah. That’s how things are going. That’s why Shane’s here. With Ilya. In the library. Right now.

He needs to get a grip on himself, and quickly. Ilya clears his throat, fixing his posture on the chair: ‘’Yes, I do need help’’, and nothing much. Great. Not only his stupid, fucking accent is thicker than ever, but now Shane will probably think this poor attempt of talking is all the English Ilya knows. Which is far from true.

He allows himself a second look. Shane has a comfy, plain blue sweater emphasising his fair skin, scattered in freckles all over his nose and cheeks. He bets some are even on his neck, judging from there. Big, brown eyes study him closely, guarded by a pair of glasses that Shane mindlessly fixes with a bump of his index. There’s truly a lot to look at. His shoulders, the tip of his nose, the curve of his puffed lips, his black, silky air, and—

Fuck, he’s talking.

‘’What?’’, he probably interrupts, skin tingling. He’s not— Ilya is not embarrassed. At all. Nothing like that ever happens to him. It’s scientifically impossible.

Shane pauses, then smiles some more. ‘’I asked you where we should start. We can revise the programme together, or go through your notes. Just to see where you are with your Chemistry notions.’’

Pair-tutoring. Right. The tutoring Ilya needs for his scholarship. Of course. He shakes his head, gulping one last time before grabbing his backpack. You’re not a teenager, Rozanov. Fucking breathe. Nothing’s happening here. ‘’We can revise’’, he agrees, voice more firm. 

Whatever is blooming is Ilya’s chest — nothing, he states immediately — has to be pushed down. It’s nothing but a dumb slip. 

He should really focus on Chemistry.

*

Whatever happened on Tuesday can’t happen again. 

Or that’s Ilya’s resolution, at least. 

Officially, nothing happened. That’s the storyline, remember?  Ilya has probably— Some stomach bug, yes. Something foul he must have eaten. A perfectly valid explanation. He just hopes it won’t mess his hockey, now that he’s looking forward for his next games. A tiny voice inquires if Shane Hollander even follows uOttawa hockey team. Ilya shushes it with determination. It’s none of his business, after all. And, Shane probably does. Everyone does, mostly thanks to Ilya.

It’s Friday, and Ilya sits at the same table, waiting for Shane. Attentive, this time. He won’t let Shane Hollander surprise him again. His unfortunate, physical condition, well mixed with his surprise, played him dirty last time. It won’t happen today— Whatever that was, Ilya hated it. He felt like he was about to melt on the spot, dripping from the chair like a puddle. Something he wasn’t even aware he could feel. Which he didn’t. He’s just fighting a flu, that’s all.

‘’Ilya!’’, he hears from his back. He almost jumps on the spot, before turning his head, meeting Shane’s bright eyes.

And, Jesus. He has a shirt on.

A really nice one, fitting his golden-boy persona. Pale blue, sleeves carefully rolled up, the collar neat around his neck. Ilya briefly stares at his pulsing point, swallowing a whimper— He’d love to bite it. Or lick it, even better. Just to see how Shane’s lips part at the intrusion. 

‘’Ilya’’ Shane echoes himself, before finding his seat. Right next to Ilya, this time, knees briefly touching. He blinks, insanely long lashes winking at him: ‘’Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you’’, he mutters, almost pouting. Almost. Sweet mother of Jesus, Ilya’s head is spinning. Why are they even in the library in the first place? They should be somewhere else. Somewhere Ilya could make Shane lay down and kiss him senseless for hours. His lips are dry at the bare thought. Ilya never— He never wants to just kiss someone. Fuck them? Yes. You could bet good money on that. Ilya is not stupid, he likes sex. But making out like teenagers at their first home party? That’s something different.

Wow. Stomach bugs are really dangerous, these days.

‘’Takes a lot to scary me’’ it’s what Ilya goes for, trying to sound cocky. He’s still staring at Shane. Of course he is, he can’t help it. He’s sick. With the flu.

Shane just nods, relieved, before opening his backpack: ‘’Yeah, I figured. I brought you some notes for our first topics… We could revise them together again? There are also some flashcards, and a final quiz. In this way, you’ll probably be fine for your first assignment. But I can also help you with writing it.’’

Ilya caught probably half of those words. It’s so unfair. Shane shouldn’t be allowed to talk, having such a mouth. This fever is really hitting his nervous system brilliantly. ‘’Okay’’, he blurts. Shane just blinks, before echoing:

‘’Okay.’’

God. Shane must think Ilya is brainless.

On Saturday, Ilya is doing nothing but staring at his room’s ceiling, when a bare foot nudges him. ‘’What are you even doing?’’ Svetlana inquires, arms crossed. She’s only wearing a mini denim skirt and a blue bra, getting ready for the night. That’s not really a big deal: Troy, Ilya’s roommate, is in a happy, committed relationship with a guy, Harris. And for Ilya and Svetlana, they have already tried in that sense. More than, Svetlana is now taken, too. Which leaves Ilya utterly bored. 

‘’Nothing’’, he mutters, dismissive. Which is the truth, he just said that. Svetlana insists:

‘’Yeah, that’s the point. Since when you do nothing? You’re restless.’’

‘’I do not know that word.’’

‘’Whatever. You’ve been weird all week’’ she points out, sitting at Ilya’s side ‘’Like… Pensive. What’s bugging you?’’

Ilya makes a face: ‘’Dating a Canadian is really hurting our communication here.’’

‘’Don’t be crass. And watch your mouth before talking about my girlfriend. Seriously, Ilya’’ Svetlana looks slightly concerned, now ‘’What’s up?’’

Well. Time to confess, finally. ‘’I think I have the flu, Sveta’’ he whines, after a dramatic sigh ‘’My body is betraying me. It never happened before. It shivers. It gets hot. It has… Weird feelings. Weird… How do you say. Impulses’’ he supplies in Russian. Svetlana’s hand flies at his forehead:

‘’Shit. You’re not burning, though. When has all of this started?’’

‘’On Tuesday. During my damn tutoring with Hollander.’’

Ilya doesn’t expect Svetlana to frown. ‘’Hollander? Hollander as Shane Hollander?’’

Ilya’s doesn’t sit up straight at that. At all. ‘’How do you know him?’’

‘’Ilya, you fucking idiot. He’s Rose’s best friend. I literally always mention him!’’

‘’You do not! You just say best friend. I do not know who you mean and I do not usually care.’’

Svetlana is now studying him with narrowed eyes. Before Ilya can ever defend himself, his best friend starts smiling widely. ‘’Troy’’, she sing-songs, calling his roommate.

Ilya opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Just seconds later, Troy is resting against Ilya’s open door. ‘’You called?’’, and Ilya should really start sensing danger. Could he still pretend to faint in front of them?

‘’Ilya, here, has started his pair-tutoring. His tutor is Shane. Rose’s best friend?’’, she supplies, and Troy quietly nods. ‘’They met on Tuesday. Ilya, care to repeat what you just told me?’’

‘’Yes’’, he hisses through his teeth. Svetlana grins.

‘’Lovely. Try again.’’

‘’What’s… Going on?’’

‘’Nothing, Barrett.’’

‘’Cut the shit, Ilya.’’

‘’It is nothing!’’ he yells, irritate ‘’I just got a bad flu!’’

Troys blows a raspberry: ‘’Fuck, Cap. Right before a game?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’No’’ Svetlana slaps Ilya’s knee ‘’Ilya. Tell Troy your symptoms, please.’’

‘’The usual ones’’ Ilya shrugs, unimpressed ‘’Cold, then hot, and cold again. Weak legs. Dizziness. Tight throat. The whole lot.’’

‘’Right during Shane’s tutoring’’ Svetlana underlines ‘’Twice.’’

Ilya barely blinks at the clarification. Yes, it’s true, but he doesn’t see the point in stressing it. Not until Troy, after several seconds spent in silence (too many, judging by Svetlana rolling her eyes at the ceiling, right before muttering Men), literally smacks his own hand on his mouth:

‘’Holy shit, Cap! You have a crush on Hollander? Never thought I’d see the day!’’

No. No, no, no. Ilya doesn’t— Ilya doesn’t. That’s it. End of the discussion. He doesn’t have crushes. He’s not the type. That wouldn’t even be a crush— He doesn’t know the guy at all. What should Ilya be crushing about? Nothing. He has promised himself long ago that college should have been all about fun and messing around, and he’s been religious about it ever since. Everyone knows that around uOttawa, it’s not a mystery either for Ilya or his hookups, male or female. Everyone has fun, everyone is forgotten after a good couple of days. Great memories, great sex, a decent talk, and up to the next, if Ilya is in the mood. That’s easy. That’s convenient. That doesn’t imply anyone knowing Ilya only to be undoubtedly disappointed in him. That’s what they expect from Ilya: an unforgettable night of sex. But staying? That implies breaking the facade, showing someone there’s not a lot to hold into, after all. Hell no. Never. No.

And again, he doesn’t know Shane. Never heard of him before. Doesn’t have any idea of what he’s like. This would imply that it was—

‘’Love at first sight’’ Troy breathes ‘’Unbelievable.’’

‘’Shut your fucking mouth, Barrett. Don’t you have something to do with Harris tonight?’’

‘’Easy with that claws, Cap. I see the vision.’’

‘’I’m sorry?’’, he indulges, while Svetlana mutters:

‘’I mean, who doesn’t. What?’’ she squeaks at Ilya’s burning gaze ‘’I actually know Shane. He’s a sweet guy. Really clever. And hot as fuck’’ she shrugs ‘’I can say it. Rose agrees with me. But he’s not into casual fucking, so you can’t go that far with him in such sense.’’

‘’I have no intention to—‘’

‘’Can we just address the elephant in the room for a second? It means talking about what we know to know’’ Troy tries to explain at their glances, before breathing: ‘’Ilya. Since I’ve known you, all you did was fucking around. Which is fine. You don’t hide it, and whoever sleeps with you agrees. You know I don’t judge, you’re young, and good-looking, it’s fine, that’s established. But… Would it be so bad? You know, to… Have a crush and give it a go?’’

If Troy is completely clueless, Svetlana only has a vague idea of Ilya’s insecurities. It’s hard to tell he has them, looking at him. And yet, all she does is caressing his leg up to his knee, one slow movement, sweet, grounding. Ilya frowns at his own lap.

The thing is— Ilya is the thing.

Being attractive has never been a problem. He’d be a hypocrite telling otherwise. If he likes someone, there’s a high chance he gets where he wants. Which is usually in a bed, and never for too long. It wasn’t a rule for him, until it became one. Having a nice face and a bold personality truly runs miracles, when you are terrified of letting someone in. You can just sell the story where all you want to do is hooking up, and a flashed smile clears up all the doubts about it. Not even Ilya’s lovers have never doubted it.

Truth to be told, it’s not completely true. Ilya doesn’t know what he wants. He knows that hooking up is reliable, and that he’s lucky enough to get that easily, when he’s bored or he feels lonely. When he needs to be warmed up properly. But if that’s what he wants? He’s not so sure about it. Ilya is never really sure of what he wants.

Some days, Ilya just wants his mother. But she’s three feet deep in the ground, so it’s a really complicated thing, to holding onto. And when you crave something so intimately and desperately, even if it’s impossible— That makes desiring everything else quite complicated. And hoping even worse.

Let someone stay almost throws Ilya in a spiral. What if they discover there’s nothing under his own body? A voice in Ilya’s mind — that quite sounds like his father’s — already tells him such. You don’t love enough. You don’t care enough. You are not enough to stay.

Otherwise, your mother would be still alive.

‘’Maybe’’, he offers, but it’s weak. Svetlana goes for a smile:

‘’Why don’t you try to ask him out? I’m sure Shane would like it.’’

Ilya sniffs. It’s happening again. He feels like he weights tons, and he’s really not in the mood for talking. Or existing. ‘’I will think about it’’ he promises, low ‘’I see him on Monday. I will… See how my flu reacts. And I will decide.’’

‘’Your flu’’ Troy mocks ‘’Obviously.’’

‘’Go fuck yourself, Barrett.’’

*

Monday. Ilya waits for Shane, endlessly readjusting himself on the library chair. His notes already open, his pen ready. And, he now has a plan. Well, sort of.

It’s not like he has googled how to ask someone out the night before. He didn’t. Of course he knows how to ask someone out. He did that. Before. At… Yeah. Some point.

It’s an easy plan, the one he has to stick to. First of all, not looking at Hollander like he’s the Second Coming of Christ. That’s quite easy— Ilya is an athlete. He has a spotless control on his body. Second, trying to talk as normally as possible, inviting Shane out at the first given occasion. The second Shane mentions a movie, or a coffee spot, or a nice bar, he’ll be done without even knowing it. This, unfortunately, implies Ilya talking for more than a yes or a thank you. But he can manage that, too.

There’s no step three. Ilya is too freaked out to think about a three steps plan.

It’s not the best week of his life.

‘’Hey’’, a voice greets him from his back. One second later, a cup of coffee appears right next Ilya’s pencil. Gently offered by Shane’s hand. Obviously tied to Shane’s body.

Ilya’s plan is already failing. Great.

‘’What is that?’’, he asks, but that’s not courage, that’s confusion. A great prologue for panic, if you ask him. Coffee. A topic Ilya had all the intention to touch after a bit of warming up, with his own terms, following his own strategy. At least, the question rebuilds a bit of his cocky, lowkey asshole persona. He hopes.

Shane doesn’t seem offended by his blunt inquiring: ‘’Uh, coffee. Our sessions are pretty long, so I thought— I stopped for mine anyway. But you are an athlete’’ he slowly realises, cheeks burning up ‘’And I don’t really know if you can drink any of that. I— Fuck, I should have texted you. But I only have your email, and—‘’

‘’It is no problem’’ Ilya interrupts, voice even. Mostly hiding the fact that he’s about to burst into tears and kiss the tip of his nose. Jesus. The guy looks like a terrified doe. Ilya wants to hide him in his jacket. ‘’I can drink it. Thanks.’’

Shane lets go an insane amount of air: ‘’Jesus. You could’ve stopped me earlier’’, he jokes, sitting next to him, again. Legs touching, again. God, don’t to this to me. I am a weak man in uncharted territory. In the meantime, Shane is staring at his books: ‘’Someone really likes highlighting’’, it’s the hummed comment while he fixes his glasses. Ilya suddenly frowns:

‘’I am sorry. What are you talking about?’’

‘’Oh, nothing.’’

‘’I do not believe you. That was a comment about my impeccable study method.’’

‘’Impeccable. While I’m tutoring you.’’

A grin breaks Shane’s face, now. Ilya is about to spit his own heart out. That’s good. This couldn’t go any better. When Ilya doesn’t fight back, Shane lets out a laugh before shaking his head: ‘’Alright. Time to start. Drink you coffee, before it gets cold.’’

The thing is, Shane is a fucking good tutor. Sipping his coffee, he helps Ilya writing some schemes on the side of the pages, before breaking the topics in smaller units he proceeds to explain with the patience of a Saint. Ilya scribbles some extra notes in Cyrillic, guidelines to finally grasp the main concepts for the day. Shane has started since last week with general notions, before digging in more detailed facts, diagrams, even equations. When Ilya correctly writes a chemical reaction, explaining it with slow, careful words, Shane literally beams at him like he’s hanged the Sun. ‘’That was brilliant, Ilya! Well done!’’

Ilya blinks. He has spent the last one hour and a half trying to look casual, even if he was staring at Shane’s scattered freckles, Shane gently fixing his own glasses, Shane fidgeting with the empty cup he bought together with a cup for Ilya. The perfect excuse was already sit on the tip of his tongue. This coffee is really good, Hollander. You should show me the place some time or another. Tomorrow? Smooth. Confident. Everything Ilya is— Used to be before this disastrous week. Apparently, he’s now a genius in Chemistry and also an unfortunate loser. 

Thank him and ask about the fucking coffee.

You can do it. Damn you.

‘’What do you do after this?’’

Wow. Lame doesn’t even cover it.

Shane clears his throat after a single heartbeat: ‘’What?’’

Ilya shrugs, even if he feels like his own skin is peeling off his burning flesh. ‘’You know, this’’ he vaguely gestures at their books, now mixed together ‘’You have— Hm, something to do?’’

‘’Oh. Oh, no. Just a couple of errands before dinner.’’

Since the casual, cool attempt is now aborted, might as well just say it and hope for the best. ‘’Okay. We could have another coffee. Or dinner. Together.’’

Shane doesn’t answer to that. Ilya doesn’t care— It’s Shane’s turn, now. He has done (maybe disastrously, but he did it) what he had to do. Now he waits. 

For a bit.

‘’Ilya’’ Shane rolls his name with clear incertitude ‘’You know you don’t have to… Repay me for this, do you? It’s a university programme. And I’m glad to help you. The coffee was just… Me’’, he cringes, ears burning. Ilya tries to keep it together:

‘’I know, yes. And I know I do not have to. I just want to ask you out.’’

Remember the plan? Because it’s going great, apparently. Screw being subtle, that shit’s for the weak.

Except that Shane just stares, at that. Eyes big and confused, while he chews his own lower lip. Ilya would gladly ask him to avoid doing that in front of him (or any other human being, whatever), when Shane mutters: ‘’No.’’

Oh. It’s— Okay. That’s a fair answer. Something Ilya totally predicted. It was, like, fifty per cent of the outcome. Of course. ‘’No?’’, he echoes. Just because. It’s not like he’s disappointed. Why should he be? ‘’Why?’’

‘’Because… Because we are really different, Ilya. And I don’t think our ways are… Compatible.’’

Ilya has no idea what compatible means, by the way. ‘’It is because I am not attractive?’’, and he hates this. He hates that the only way to fight or cover his disappointment is to tease. To turn everything into a little, grotesque role play. Like everything’s fucking funny.

Shane scoffs, looking for words, before ducking his head, dismissive: ‘’Oh, God. You know it’s not that, we both do. It’s… You know.’’

‘’I do not’’, his voice is not hurt. That’s just how Ilya talks everyday. 

‘’You do. You know how you’re like. Everyone does, Ilya. You have a… Well. A reputation everyone is aware of. And there’s nothing wrong with that! You can do whatever you want, really, that’s totally up to you and… Uh, your dates. But— I don’t want causal flings’’ he admits, shy ‘’Or one night stands. They’re not my thing, and it would be… Unfair trying to act otherwise.’’

That’s… Well. A perfectly good explanation. Totally aligned with what Ilya actually is, and has been for a while.

This doesn’t explain why he feels his own organs dry up in the hollows of his body. 

For a moment, Ilya thinks it’s better this way. Shane is talking about a fragmented part of the personality Ilya has crafted for others. He can’t blame him if he believes what Ilya has been telling around since years. It’s not like they’re lies. It can’t be any other way: Ilya himself worked hard to be sure no one ever had doubts about him. That there was nothing under the dickhead fucking around for fun. How could Shane be attracted by anything that lays under the surface, if Ilya himself fears there’s nothing to fall for? He knows Ilya for who he has sold to others, and that version is nothing he could be interested in. The matter should be closed.

Ilya should just dismiss it with a poor joke. He should feed that version living in Shane’s mind, just for a good measure. He should go back where he knows he has a place, without dreaming again on unraveling himself to some sort of tenderness. Even if it’s Shane’s one. Kind, genuine, available. Warm.

But… Well. Shane looks almost sorry about it. Sad. Like putting Ilya in place has been physically hurtful. Like — maybe, maybe — he finds rejecting him (yes, that’s what is happening, there’s a first time for everyone) almost unfair.

A hand in his hair. The soft voice of his mother behind his curls. There’s no one more sweet than you, my bright soul.

‘’How can I change your mind?’’

Uh. Here’s step three, apparently.

Shane gulps: ‘’What?’’

‘’I am asking how can I convince you that I do not want just sex. That I want to— Hang out. Talk. I do not know’’ he admits, lips now tight. This whole thing is frankly humiliating. ‘’Whatever people knowing each other do.’’

‘’You want— That? Ilya. You don’t even know me.’’

‘’Yes, Hollander. That is the point. How do I do that? Because you have to teach me about it, too.’’

Shane fixes this posture, like he quite cant’t believe he’s having this conversation. That makes the two of them. ‘’Uhm, you… You have to impress me, I guess.’’

‘’Fine. I am good at impressing people. What do you want?’’

‘’That’s not how it works, Ilya’’, it’s Shane reply. Always patient, and now vaguely confused, even. He should not worry. Ilya is really confused, too.  ‘’I can’t tell you what you have to do to impress me. It has to be natural. Like, spontaneous. You are the one who should think about it. Five times’’ he adds in a split second. Ilya raises his eyebrows:

‘’Five times what?’’

‘’You said you want to know me better. And I said I don’t want to know better the guy who has a new flame every week’’ twice, sometimes, but Ilya senses it’s probably not the right time ‘’So, prove me wrong. Convince me you want more— If you want more. If you are willing to try. If you are not, that’s fine. We’ll be friends, or whatever, like this conversation never happened. But if you want to prove me that you don’t want what you always want… Surprise me’’ he indulges, cheeks pink ‘’Five times. Think about something without any of my advice. And I’ll promise you a date.’’

Ilya ponders the offer. Something he’s used to, testing the strategy like he’s on the ice. ‘’And I can ask for help?’’, he negotiates, equally serious ‘’Without you knowing, I mean.’’

He’s quite sure Shane has no idea Svetlana is his best friend. They would have met before, otherwise. Shane shrugs— Looking a bit incredulous Ilya is even agreeing to… This. ‘’Sure. All’s fair in love and war, or so they say.’’

‘’And if I win’’ he adds, swiftly ‘’You also come to one of my home games. With my jersey on.’’

Shane scoffs: ‘’I won’t buy a jersey only to boost your ego, Rozanov.’’

‘’Who do you think you’re talking to? You are wearing one of mines. From my closet.’’

Shane sighs, at that. It’s a small one, almost unnoticeable, but doesn’t escape Ilya’s attention. ‘’Deal’’ he resonates, stretching out his hand ‘’Let’s see how’s your courtship, then.’’

Ilya accepts the shake with a grin on his face. There’s something he’s good at. A good, satisfying challenge.

He also has to google what the fuck courtship means.  

I

What if I told you none of it was accidental
And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me?

Ilya’s phone chimes.

Sveta: a really cute bird told me shane has forgot his umbrella. his class is over in 20

Sveta: main building x 

Ilya literally jumps on his legs.

Shane truly has no idea of how convenient this whole bet situation is. Ilya is always up for a challenge, especially when it can distract him from the fact that — probably for the first time in his life — he’s really into someone. Well, sort of. It’s probably too early to say it, but you know what he means. Like, he’s genuinely curious of knowing the guy better. Itchy at the need of spending some time with him. Kind of jealous of whoever interacts with Shane on a daily basis. And, of course, frightened of fucking all up. Frightened of caging Shane in the position of rejecting him because… Well. Probably because Ilya is a flat, empty thing good to own only once, and never again.

Oh, well. He can go past that for now.

He grabs his black umbrella and his leather jacket right before heading out. As planned, Shane has no idea Ilya is Svetlana’s best friend. Yes, it took a bit of Ilya’s time through the week convincing Rose he has no intention to mess around with his best friend, and eventually Svetlana guaranteed for him, too. Ilya wouldn’t dare breaking those two’s trust anyway. He’s frankly terrified of both.

When he gets to the main building, Shane is already out, looking at the rain falling like it has personally offended him, sheltered under a roof right next to the exit. Without any hesitation, Ilya stops in front of him, apparently unhurried. Shane’s eyes go wide at his sight.

‘’Hollander’’ he smirks, purring ‘’Lift home?’’

Shane glares at him: ‘’Okay. Who do you know, Rozanov?’’

‘’Weird question. I thought we agreed I know pretty much everyone.’’

‘’You know what I mean.’’

‘’Uh, no. You know what I mean. You said I can ask some help, if you are not involved in it. And judging by how surprised you look, you are definitely not involved now. Just accept I have my ways. Do you want to get to your dorm of not?’’

Shane mutters something under his breath, before sliding right next to Ilya, safe under the umbrella. ‘’Thanks’’, he whispers, ears pink. Ilya could almost be endeared by that, by how his freckles beautifully stand out, if only he hadn’t just noticed Shane’s eyes, deflective and watery. ‘’Hollander’’, he calls, now serious ‘’Everything fine, yes? It is just rain.’’

Or maybe you are upset because I’m here. But he doesn’t say that. Shane huffs, looking everywhere but in Ilya’s direction: ‘’I hate when things don’t go as I planned them’’, he admits, defensive, eyes now half closed ‘’And I hate rain. It… It bugs me, I think. I also hate umbrellas, and wet clothes on skin, and walking in puddles, it— It’s a lot, yeah. Sorry’’ he breathes, furrowing ‘’I was babbling. Forget I said anything, and… Thanks, I guess. For the ride’’ he jokes, shoulders still tense. Ilya nudges him with the umbrella holder instead:

‘’Take this.’’

‘’What— Ilya. I just told you…’’

‘’You have cotton shirt, I have leather jacket. I will be quick. Now take this.’’

‘’Ilya’’, Shane calls, cheeks now burning ‘’We are not in a romantic comedy. I don’t need your—‘’

‘’You said you do not like rain. I’m fixing it. No big deal. Put it on’’, he instructs, handing his leather jacket. Shane stares at it for a good second, before grasping the soft material in one hand, let it slide on his arms, tugging himself in. It’s slightly oversized for Ilya, even more on Shane, but it’s not so bad. Quite the opposite— Ilya kind of needs this vision right in front of his eyes everyday now. Maybe not always in his jacket: his jersey could be a goos start, if he plans his moves well enough. And after the jersey, maybe, one of his shirts. Right in Ilya’s bed. Where it won’t be necessarily needed anyway.

They start walking quietly, Ilya following Shane’s lead. ‘’It is just the rain?’’, it’s Ilya’s question after a while. Shane shakes his head:

‘’No. There are… Things that I don’t like. For example, loud noises. Some flavours. And strong scents, too. Or when everyone speaks at the same time’’ he supplies, scrunching his nose at the bare thought ‘’Some textures, fox example.’’

‘’Oh. Is the jacket okay?’’

Shane hides his neck in the leather collar: ‘’Very. You smell good. Sorry’’ he almost panics, gulping all of a sudden ‘’That was— That was fucking weird.’’

‘’Pretty sure it is called a compliment.’’

Shane nudges him in lieu of an answer. ‘’Whatever. I am… Hm, complicated.’’

Ilya adjusts his hold on the umbrella: ‘’Everyone is, Hollander.’’

‘’You do not look complicated at all’’ it’s Shane’s reply ‘’You are so sure of yourself. Confident. And all in the best ways! I mean, you’re naturally successful. Our tutoring is doing great, and you’re the team captain, and… You get pretty much everyone you want.’’

‘’Except you.’’

‘’That story’s different.’’

‘’Never said I was complaining’’, and Ilya smirks, while they approach the East dorms. He acts almost distracted, while he carefully registers the information for some other time. He even teases: ‘’Well. No need to walk you up to your door. It does not rain in hallways, does it?’’

Shane fixes his glasses, one corner of his lips quivering in a smile: ‘’No care to know my dorm number?’’

‘’I thought you understood I have my methods. Or are you secretly a softie, Hollander?’’ Ilya narrows his eyes ‘’Silently cheering for me already? Don’t you worry. I tend to win a good challenge.’’

‘’You sure do. Wait, I should—‘’, Shane is about to unzip the leather jacket, but Ilya tosses it back on his shoulders in one swift movement:

‘’No, no. Do a pretty walk up to your door. Let people be a little curious, yes? It is fun.’’

Shane just stares at him, at that. Glasses well balanced on his nose, cheeks flustered by the cold, hands in the jacket’s pockets, hair slightly curved around his pink ears, probably because of the humidity. What would be like to twist it around his finger? With Shane cocooned at his side, maybe, head on Ilya’s pillow, soft, tired voice speaking in his neck. He’d totally kick Troy out to have the whole flat all for them. Maybe with some music. He wonders if Shane—

‘’Ilya?’’

He’s totally cool, by the way.

‘’Yes. I am sorry, what?’’

Shane giggles: ‘’I said I’ll see you around. You know, there’s our tutoring, tomorrow.’’

‘’Yes’’, Ilya nods, while Shane takes a couple of steps back, sliding under the dorm’s shed, not leaving his sight, not yet. ‘’Tomorrow.’’

Something shines in Shane’s eyes: ‘’Four to go, Rozanov’’, he whispers, just above his own breath. Then: ‘’1410, by the way. Just in case you’ll ever need it.’’

One second later, he’s gone. Ilya can’t risk running all the way to his place just to burn off adrenaline. It’s raining too much, he could break his neck in one slip.

Nothing someone lucky enough to have Shane Hollander’s dorm number should do.

II

Yeah, all you did was smile
'Cause I'm a mastermind

Shane probably expects Ilya to make good use of his dorm number.

That’s exactly why Ilya doesn’t.

You could say he’s a perfectionist. Not only he wants to win their bet — and for good reasons, too —, he wants to surprise Shane. So, no. Even if he could show up there with a nice surprise, something straight out of one of those romcoms Troy only pretends not to like, right before crying in the middle of their living room. Not that Ilya has any intention to ask for advice. Having Shane is up to no one but him.

This is probably why he does the most simple, mushy thing ever. Something Shane has probably discarded himself, thinking Ilya could never go for such a gesture. Too predictable. Quite a cliche, even. Lame, if Shane wanted to be cruel. Easy to mess up.

A hidden, ticking bomb.

That’s exactly Ilya’s style.

‘’Oh?’’, it’s Shane’s exhale when he spots Ilya. It’s Tuesday, and they’re about to start their tutoring: it’s a nice, warm day; that’s why Shane suggested to meet at the cafeteria instead of their usual spot. Ilya immediately agreed. The flowers he’s holding look way prettier in the evening sun.

Shane just stares, big eyes fixed on the bouquet. There are some roses, some small, pink flowers and a bunch of lavenders. And on top of it all— ‘’It’s paper’’, Shane states, voice in awe. Ilya nods, gently placing them on the table, hiding his hands in his pockets with a swiftness he hopes Shane won’t notice. ‘’It is’’, he confirms, trying to look dismissive. Like he hasn’t thought about dozens of implications in the last twenty-four hours. ‘’You said you do not like strong scents. And you probably do not like flowers dying out. So, this is solution.’’

‘’I… Jesus, Ilya. Thanks. I had no idea you would’ve— Where do they even sell these?’’

Oh. That’s the interesting bit. Ilya scratches his own neck: ‘’No buying. I made them. YouTube has a tutorial for everything.’’

And, well, fuck. Shane blinks, eyes distant and watery, before smiling like Ilya has just solved every single problem in the Universe. That’s great. Now Ilya just has to do one-hundred more bouquets. No big deal. ‘’Thank you’’, he breathes, and he sounds fond, shy, sincere. No one has ever looked at Ilya like that. Like he has done something sweet, something that has disclosed his heart, showing the slow beating, the strong contraction. He’s not used to it, to perceive the intrusion. Not when Ilya is well aware of how such a place has been dismissed for too long now. Even if Shane is tiptoeing in, opening the curtains, dispelling the dust it has settled in him. I’m not used to all of his. I’m not used to indulge in it.

It’s okay, Ilya. It’s okay, come here. Mama’s got you.

‘’Let me grab us some coffee”, Shane excuses himself, leaving Ilya with his books open. Ilya, who briefly stares at the two plasters on his right hand, sighing. He could always say something happened at practice.

But it would be even better if Shane didn’t notice at all.

(He knew he would have hid them. And it comes from something fragile, complicated. 

Troy was there, the other night. While Ilya was making the flowers— Or failing, whatever. It took him three attempts, and of course Troy was there. They’re roommates. ‘’I can’t believe my eyes’’, he muttered, resting against the wall ‘’Ilya Rozanov, Russian Terminator on the ice, busy with paper roses.’’

‘’Shut up.’’

‘’And they’re winning.’’

‘’They are not. And it costs me nothing.’’

Like that was the point. Of course it wasn’t. The point was that paper is a bitch to fold, and Ilya already had two cuts to care of. Two plasters that would have stared at him for a couple of days. Accusing. Remembering him he was getting ridiculous, slippery on his own feeling. Clearly giving out. Those plasters would have been a shining proof of Ilya trying, and hurting himself. A proof of what tenderness was.

Yes. He would have hid them.

I’m like a wounded animal. And if I bleed, I bleed alone.)

III

You and I ended up in the same room
At the same time

Ilya lets a week pass. 

Not on purpose, of course. It’s just that Ilya has to catch up with other classes, practice and Shane’s tutoring. Of course revising their lessons is easy, Ilya would quite literally do anything to please Shane, but that’s unfortunately not the same for his Chemistry professor. He’s quite smug with professors in general. They know he’s too good to be kicked out. Ilya takes advantage of that information as much as he can.

On a Thursday, he gets home on Svetlana and Rose chatting on his couch: Rose’s legs are on Svetlana lap, who’s also curling a lock of her hair through her slim fingers. ‘’Oh, you are here again’’ Ilya greets, hair still damp from his shower taken right after practice. He drops his bag, looking for some Gatorade in the fridge ‘’It is almost like you are actually paying rent.’’

Rose laughs, Svetlana snaps: ‘’Fuck you, Ilya.’’

‘’How did you even got inside?’’

‘’Troy gave me a copy of the keys.’’

‘’Of course he did. An empty flat is good for everyone’’, he mumbles, chugging on his Gatorade. Svetlana looks at him past her own shoulder, still seated next to Rose:

‘’Indeed. I wonder when you will start using it, too.’’

‘’Hey’’, Rose gently bumps her ‘’It’s my best friend we’re talking about. I won’t leave him to Ilya unless I’m sure his intentions with Shane are pure. He’s like a deer!’’ she squeaks, noticing both Svetlana and Ilya staring at her ‘’Or, like, a very small bear. A puppy’’ she mutters, ducking her head against Svetlana’s shoulder. She smacks a kiss on her forehead:

‘’Don’t worry, bunny. We’ll protect Shane from the big, terrifying Russian who’s after him.’’

He knows for a fact that Svetlana is joking, and yet something twists in his chest. Even if Svetlana herself waited to be sure of him (caging Ilya in a very unpleasant debrief about how weak he was for Shane Hollander), before guaranteeing on Ilya with Rose. And if Svetlana was sure, Svetlana who knew him better than Ilya knew himself, there’s no need to think that her words are anything more than a light pun. And yet. Yet.

She hasn’t said that your affection is terrifying. Get a grip.

They trust you with him. They trust you. 

Do you?

Do you trust yourself with him?

Will you disappoint Shane?

Will you?

‘’Rose? Everything’s fine, honey?’’

Svetlana’s voice snaps Ilya out of it. They’re both looking at Rose’s phone, while she texts someone furiously, fingers hovering on the screen, anxious. ‘’It’s—‘’ a pause. She briefly looks at Ilya, too pointed to be casual. Then: ‘’Hm, nothing. It’s just Shane.’’

Something tingles in his ears. ‘’What is he saying?’’, he can’t help asking. Truly. He has the weird urge to bite is own tongue, but it’s too late, now. Rose shakes her head, nipping at her own lower lip:

‘’He had a rough day. Maybe I’ll check on him later. He’s… Trying to relax, now. Taking a shower and such. Maybe I could— I don’t know if—‘’

‘’Rose, baby, it’s probably for the better le—‘’

‘’Was it because of the noises?’

They both turn to look at Ilya, who’s still resting against the kitchen fridge. Svetlana pinches her eyebrows, confused, but Rose is looking at him like Ilya has just showed her a third arm growing from his shoulder blades. ‘’Yes’’ she murmurs after a long pause. Ilya exhales:

‘’I can go, if you want. I know his dorm number.’’

‘’You do?’’, Svetlana inquires, right before Rose insisting:

‘’Ilya, seriously, it’s not the right time for whatever you and Shane have going on—‘’

‘’Fuck it. I mean’’, and he’s not babbling. He’s not even flustered, that’s absolutely not what’s going on. Maybe the heat is on. ‘’I do not do it for our bet. I thought it was obvious I care, too. I saw Shane on Monday, and yesterday, and even Tuesday before. He was pale, and I told him he was probably stressing too much. He denied, because that is what Shane does. But I would like to check on him. You are good to Shane’’ he insists, voice even ‘’But right now he needs someone who forces him to slow down a bit. Even if it is a bit rude. And I can be rude to him. Still. You, I do not know. I know it sounds weird’’ he mutters, shoulders tense ‘’But let me do this, please.’’

This is absolutely true, all of it. Ilya has told Shane he looked quite distressed lately. Shane dismissed it without looking at Ilya, blaming it on the weather, the tiredness settling in his bones due to the fatigue, the semester. ‘’What about resting a bit?’’, said Ilya. Shane’s mouth twitched:

‘’After midterms.’’

Now, Ilya vaguely gulps, waiting for a… Well, some sort of permission, apparently. He can imagine how much Rose cares about Shane— More or less as much as Svetlana cares about him. Ilya’s bubbling feelings are already caging both of them in a difficult position, and he shouldn’t push it more than he has to. It’s too late, that’s it. Now that he has pictured himself going to check out on Shane, he doesn’t know how to leave the idea out of his mind. He might have proven that he is charming, and flirty, endearing, even, but this is different. This is something like Let me show you you can count on me. Let me show you this is not about the good days. He hates that his own, previous behaviour obliges him to ask to Rose and Svetlana to trust his intentions. But can he blame them? All Ilya has is hope.

Rose looks at Svetlana for a long second, then smiles: ‘’Well, I guess Shane can take his own decisions. You know how he is. If he wants you there, he’ll tell you. Same if he doesn’t. Go for it’’, she shrugs, cuddling again against his girlfriend. 

Less than twenty minutes later, he’s out, heading to Shane’s dorm.

The walk itself it’s easy. Ilya even buys some Ginger Ale from a local drugstore. Shane mentioned it was one of the few things he truly enjoys drinking, something about a comfort food and such. Ilya tried to understand, he always does, almost frantically. He’s terrified, of course he is. It’s not like he knows how to take care of someone. It’s been years since someone has taken care of him in the first place. Like a machine needing oil, rusty and barely functional.

And yet, he knocks. After a couple of deep breaths, after wondering if it wasn’t for the better to just leave and excuse himself with Rose. I can’t take care of him. I’ll ruin him. I’ll corrupt him with whatever is poisoning me from the inside, that’s what I do. I’m like a snake. Please, don’t let me reach Shane, please. I’m doing this for the both of us.

That’s not his voice, though. That’s his father’s.

So, Ilya knocks.

And Shane, of course, opens. ‘’Rose, I am really not—‘’, he’s saying, right before swallowing his own words at Ilya’s sight. 

Ilya, who’s about to munch and spit his own heart. Shane looks… He looks small. His eyebrows are pinched, his shoulders tensed in a straight line. He’s paler than the last time Ilya saw him, the rim of his puffed eyes red, even if he tries to hide it by ducking his head against his own chest. He clears his throat: ‘’Unfortunate time to remember my dorm number’’, he mutters, with no harsh in it. Ilya is still holding the cans of Ginger Ale. Shane continues: ‘’Do you— Uh, need something? I’m really not in the mood for tutoring now, but I should have some notes to—‘’

‘’No, no, Hollander, that is not what I want. I…’’, and Ilya really doesn’t know how to not make it ridiculous. He also doesn’t want to put Rose in an even more difficult position. ‘’I… I have heard about your day. Do not blame this on whoever informed me, I am the one who decided to check on you. So, here I am. Checking. I also have an offer’’, he hints, showing the cans. Shane seems to notice them straight in that moment. He also seems to understand who is so gently rooting for Ilya, but that’s still debatable, and just a faint hypothesis. Maybe Ilya is just paranoid; that wouldn’t be a complete surprise. He’s discovering he can be a whole lot of stuff, lately.

‘’Thank you’’, he murmurs, taking them. He squeezes the can on his own chest, like he’s not so sure of what to do. They’re gladly on the same boat. ‘’I, uh, yes. I kinda had a shitty day.’’

‘’I figured’’, and is it pure concern dropping from his tongue? God Heavens, he’s gone. ‘’Do you want some company? Just for a little while and then I go, I promise.’’

Shane is clearly thinking about it. He glances at the cans of Ginger Ale, then spies Ilya through his long lashes. ‘’I was just making dinner, if you’re hungry’’, he admits, shifting on the side. To welcome him. Inside his dorm. Ilya feels like he’s on the edge of something really important.

‘’Shoes off, please’’, it’s Shane shy request once he stepped in. Ilya immediately obliges, leaving his jacket on the hanger, looking around, probably more curious than he should be. Shane’s room is a single, not too big, but with a nice bed, a private bathroom on the side — one Ilya bets it’s insanely small —, a hob and a mini fridge, one single cupboard and a clearly old fashioned closet, together with a circular table and two chairs. ‘’It is nice’’, it’s Ilya’s only comment, and it’s the truth. It is a bit crowded, Shane clearly couldn’t or wouldn’t sacrifice any piece of furniture, but it’s so tidy and taken care of that Ilya truly doesn’t mind. There are two cactus on the window (right next to Ilya’s flowers in, probably, Shane’s nicest mug, he notices with a twist of his heart), a couple of books on the table (also Shane’s desk, he has to suppose), a laundry basket in the corner and three pairs of shoes right next to the door. The bed, covered in a blue navy duvet, is neatly done, the angles carefully tucked. A single hoodie rests in the corner, folded. Of course. 

‘’The shower runs like shit and I don’t have any heating, but I can manage’’, it’s Shane’s hummed comment ‘’Sit where you want. What would you like to eat?’’

‘’Whatever you planned is fine’’, he swears, awkwardly sitting at the table. Ilya Rozanov. Awkwardly. Someone above is truly having a good laugh right now. ‘’And thank you for… Letting me stay, I think.’’

Shane snorts a laugh: ‘’You think?’’

‘’Shush, Hollander. I am trying. What is for dinner? I can help.’’

‘’I’ll just microwave some yaki udon I cooked yesterday.’’

For a moment, Ilya thinks Shane is having a stroke. He knows those usually hit language abilities. Or maybe he is having a stroke. ‘’I am sorry, what?’’

‘’Oh. It’s, uh, Japanese? A Japanese dish. Vegetables, udon, chicken, teriyaki, katsuobushi…’’

‘’Ka-tzu-bo-shi?’’, he echoes, in an almost disrespectful attempt. Shane laughs, though:

‘’Almost, but yes. It’s basically fermented tuna. Well, that’s an easy way to describe it. It’s common in Japanese cuisine, but it’s really good. I understand if you want something else’’ he offers, already reaching for the small cupboard. Ilya stops him immediately:

‘’No, no, I will try it, it is fine. Russia has traditional dishes, too. So, you are Japanese?’’

‘’Half Japanese’’ he corrects, going for a Tupperware resting in the fridge: he also grabs two bowls and a pair of chopsticks. Oh, right. Japanese food is typically eaten like that. Something Ilya never tried to use. This is great. ‘’Mom’s side.’’

‘’So you speak Japanese?’’

‘’A bit. I understand it better than I talk it’’ it’s Shane’s admission. He grabs two glasses, handling them to Ilya, together with a plastic bottle of water. ‘’My mom… Well, she had some problems with her family when she came here in Canada. They weren’t really supportive about my dad.’’

‘’He’s Canadian?’’

‘’Yes. And my grandparents, on mom’s side, of course, were strict. It’s not so unusual in Japan, at least for their generation. And my mom is quite clever’’ he admits, a smile dancing on his face ‘’She had everything, there. An excellent degree, good perspectives. Hearing them, she threw it all away for dad, for Canada. It’s the same racism I had to put up with all my life, only inverted. Mom never really cared, though. She still talks with her sisters and an old aunt, and of course my cousins. But my grandparents can’t stand hearing about her. Or me, or dad.’’

‘’I am so sorry to hear that.’’

‘’Oh, don’t worry. I’m not. My grandparents on dad’s side are great, and I never really knew mom’s, did I? It’s quite difficult to miss something I never had. I’m mad for my mother, that’s for sure. She’s the best person in the entire world, and she never deserved what they did to her.’’

Those last words heavily sit on Ilya’s heart. He can definitely relate to that. She never deserved what they did to her. But it’s not the moment to think about it, and Shane is still talking. ‘’When she was younger, and angrier, she completely refused speaking about Japan. Or speaking Japanese. My dad never forced her, of course. But then they had me, and I was curious’’ Shane brings to the table two steaming bowls, careful in his movements ‘’Because I wasn’t like the other kids, in many ways, and… And it wasn’t easy. Kids can be really cruel, and I never had the nerve to fight them. Thank God, my parents were always honest with me. They knew I needed to have clear explanations, and, y’know, having me was some sort of closure for my mother, so she picked up with her own culture again. Yes, I guess that’s it. Fuck’’ he mutters, frowning ‘’I was really rambling, sorry. I haven’t ask if you are okay with chopsticks. Do you want a fork?’’

Ilya blinks, fixing his posture with a snap. He was so focused on listening to Shane’s soothing voice, he has barely realised that dinner is ready. Dinner. With chopsticks. Something Ilya never—‘’More than okay’’, he blurts, flashing a smile. He should be damned. Ilya is pretty sure there’s a circle in Hell for assholes like him.

‘’Cool. Let me know if you like them, then.’’

And they just… Fall silent. Ilya looks at the chopsticks next to his bowl, nice ones, clearly not disposable. They’re blue, with elegant drawings at the top of it, white and gold, a hint of black. Shane’s are the same, but red. Ilya bets he has a set of those. That’s so adorable he might combust. 

Shane is staring, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Ilya realises in a split second that the bastard is playing with him. ‘’Well?’’, he asks, voice angelic. His brown eyes innocently blink, before serving himself with some Ginger Ale. Ilya tries:

‘’I am waiting for you to start. It would be rude do otherwise.’’

‘’Oh, you’re so nice. I don’t mind’’ he swears in a heartbeat ‘’Actually, I know how my yaki udon taste. I’m curious to know your opinion, so… Eat.’’

‘’I’m about to.’’

‘’With the chopsticks.’’

‘’Of course. Do you want me to splash my face in it, Hollander?’’

‘’Well, you haven’t even grab them.’’

‘’I will now.’’

‘’Good’’, Shane goes for his ones, in one swift, knowing movement. He doesn’t touch the food, though. He’s not showing the right handling to Ilya, of course he’s not. And if Ilya copies him furtively, it’s no one’s business but his. 

‘’So’’, while Shane eats silently, Ilya is still trying to grab a single udon, before going for something more similar to a forkful to shove in his mouth ‘’Kids were mean to you? We can find them with Facebook. I will send them e-mails in Russian. They will think I am dangerous hacker. And they will cry. Spend a lot of money for new phone, new computer, and sort. I can do that and write in Russian that they are ugly motherfuckers. They never translate them anyway.’’

‘’They never— You’ve done this before?’’

‘’… No.’’

Shane chuckles at him, amused, before covering his own mouth while chewing: ‘’By the way, yes and no. Being Asian was a thing. But I am also in the spectrum, so.’’

Ilya blinks at him wordlessly. He has just managed to eat his udon like a civilised man, and now here’s another thing he has never heard of. At least not in English. And Ilya has this need, mixed to whatever his image was before meeting Shane, to always appear sure of himself. It started with his father, he’s afraid. Or maybe with the absence of his mother. ‘’And that is, like… You see, what, the other word for ghosts?’’

Shane lowers his chopsticks: ‘’What?’’

‘’The other word, what is it? Specter? Are you medium?’’

‘’Ilya, what the fuck? I’m autistic.’’

‘’So, you don’t see ghosts?’’

‘’No! That’s literally why I had a shitty day!’’

‘’Because you don’t see ghosts?’’

‘’Because I’m autistic, Ilya!’’

‘’I am sorry’’ Ilya hesitates, then mutters ‘’I am not sure I know what that means in English. Never heard before.’’

Shane’s eyes suddenly clear: ‘’Oh. Oh. Sorry, I thought you were—‘’ heat creeps through Shane’s whole face while he breathes in, then out ‘’Never mind. I’m in the autistic spectrum, yes. It’s a neurological condition. I perceive emotions, social communications and interactions differently. It also affects my behaviour with others. It is called spectrum because there is a range in it. Like dropping a pebble in the water, you know?’’

‘’I think I do. Is this related to the noises thing?’’

‘’It is. Noises, textures, high voices, flavours… It’s like you have an extra layer I lack of. Some sort of shield containing the impact, while I feel everything raw. Emotions, too. Sometimes too strong, sometimes too… Little? I’m not really… You know, socially aware. I don’t understand sarcasm or humour. I don’t like clubbing, or loud bars, or giant parties. Imagine being caged in a room full of noises scraping your brain’’ Ilya flinches, Shane hums a laugh ‘’Yeah, that. But it’s fine, I can manage. Most of the days. And even better now that I’m older, I think. Teens had been truly critical, though.’’

Ilya slowly realises: ‘’The kids.’’

‘’Those you were trying to scare over Facebook, yes.’’

‘’Hm. Facebook is not enough’’ he resonates, looking at his bowl, frowned ‘’I need addresses now.’’

Shane properly laughs at that, cheeks pink, hiding his fond expression with the back of his hand: ‘’You don’t. Being autistic taught me a lot of things.’’

‘’Like?’’

Shane hesitates, then shrugs: ‘’Forgiveness.’’

And, yes. That’s probably one of the few things you’ll never catch Ilya saying. He has never learned forgiveness, never, not even when it would have been easier. Not even when it meant forgiving his father for having rotten his mother. That taught Ilya anger, and that single detail is what makes him and Shane so different, or Shane so endearing. Shane already knows how to excuse the world.

‘’Today was shit’’ Shane adds, looking at him again, now that’s obvious Ilya won’t say anything. ‘’It happens, sometimes. Especially when I’m already stressed. It makes everything less bearable, or me less tolerable. I’ve lost an important file because Wi-Fi wasn’t working properly, a girl next to me chewed a gum for the whole class, and I met an old friend of mine who’s really… Touchy. Like, while he speaks’’ he supplies at Ilya’s questioning eyes ‘’You know, reaching for elbows and such. I hated it, but it’s over. And you did a nice job’’ his voice goes low ‘’In distracting me. I like talking to you, I always do. And you’ve actually eaten, look at that!’’, he cheers, heading at Ilya’s bowl.

‘’Because it was really good. I do not know if I have said it already, but it is true. I was distracted by your freckles.’’

Shane ducks his head: ‘’Stop that.’’

‘’No, no. It is true, I am not here for our bet. But they are stunning, Hollander.’’

‘’What?’’, he breathes, and Ilya hesitates:

‘’Am I… Is the word correct? They, uh… Take by breath away?’’

‘’Oh. Oh! No, the adjective is… Very correct. I mean, grammatically and semantically’’ he babbles, turning a devastatingly attractive shade of red ‘’It is, uh, quite specific. You have a really good vocabulary, for English being your second language. I’ve read a lot of articles, since I’ve met you. Not because I had troubles understanding you! Your speaking is great, and the accent is no bother. I was just wondering how—‘’

Ilya stops him with a chuckle: ‘’Thank you for the nice compliment, Ilya. Just say that.’’

Shane diligently repeats: ‘’Thank you for the nice compliment, Ilya.’’

‘’Mhm, like that. Well, I will go now. You need a nice shower and some rest and a little bit of time to think about me. Thank you for the really good dinner.’’

‘’Asshole’’, Shane retorts, but there’s no heat in it.

Once he’s out in the hallway, he lingers on Shane framed by his own door, hair ruffled, expression now relaxed, almost content. Ilya can’t believe he’s done that. He was unaware of being able to spread calmness. He’s used to vomit chaos just to mitigate the cramps in his lungs. ‘’See you for our next lesson? And my third move’’, he reminds, grinning. Shane softly smiles:

‘’Uh, no. I think it’s the fourth.’’

‘’Fourth? Hollander, I have told you—‘’

‘’Precisely. And if it wasn’t for our bet’’ Shane lays his temple against the door, now, eyes almost dreaming ‘’I would have kissed you goodnight.’’

And isn’t that enough to make the strongest man a weak puddle of melted bones? Considering Ilya is far from the strongest, when it comes to Shane Hollander. A flicker of his old bravado blooms on his lips: ‘’Oh, but you can still do that. I will be good and forget immediately. I will also close my eyes.’’

(Big, fat lie, by the way. He’s already concentrating on incapsulating everything coming from Shane, even a shift of his knees while sitting. But that’s no one’s business but his.)

Shane narrows his eyes, gesturing Ilya to come closer. Of course, Ilya follows like a dog, like a ridiculous cartoon doomed by a spell. Shane is so close now he could count the freckles on his nose. That’s why his smile shots him so quickly. ‘’Nope’’, he whispers.

Right before slamming the door on Ilya’s nose.

Good mother of Christ. He’s sold.

IV

If you fail to plan, you plan to fail
Strategy sets the scene for the tale

‘’So. You said you do not come to parties?’’

Shane stops flipping through his Chemistry book: ‘’And this helps our tutoring how…?’’

‘’It does not. It helps my bet.’’

The other scrunches his nose: ‘’But we’re studying, Ilya.’’

Yes. Shane is not really fond of mixing tasks, he’s now aware of that. There’s a time and a space for anything. Ilya, being the asshole that he is, also has a perfectly crafted excuse. ‘’True, but I can’t ask you casual questions unless we go to a date. And we can’t go to a date if I do not win our bet. So I have to ask now, and then we go back to studying.’’

Shane sighs, but bumps the book away: ‘’Okay. No, I don’t usually go to parties. Some of my friends are into it, but I don’t usually join them. We can always hang out some other night without feeling like someone’s putting my eardrums on fire. Or my skin in a pure chlorine bath.’’

‘’Oh. Is that so bad for you?’’

‘’Kinda. Why do you ask?’’

‘’Because I am throwing one at a bar, with the team. Something nice, you will have a small backyard to take a break, if you want to. You and your friends can come. I promise there are not chlorine baths.’’

Shane blinks, then narrows his eyes: ‘’This has something to do with the bet’’, and that’s not truly a question.

‘’Mhm, maybe. I really want to see you in my jersey before Christmas break.’’

‘’Ilya.’’

‘’What? It is true. And it is my fourth move, so. You know I will not do anything crazy. But if the point is to surprise you…’’

‘’Yes, but…’’, Shane looks at his knees, unsure. His gaze is still there when he speaks: ‘’If I come, you have to promise me I won’t absolutely hate it. I’m really trusting you on this one. It’s something I don’t like, but if you say that I will enjoy it, and that I will get to spend the night with you, then fine. I’ll be there. But please, don’t make me… I don’t know. Don’t give me the chance to turn like the other night’’, he murmurs, clearly expecting Ilya to understand what he’s referring to. And he does, he really does. He feels the weight of what Shane is asking like a bunch of stones on his lungs. This is what all is about. Not the good days, not the laughs, not even the sex. It’s about him being safe with you.

No one has ever been safe with Ilya. Or maybe no one has ever believed they could be. Never stayed there to know, to let Ilya know. Shane is asking him to have the occasion to.

It’s precious, so precious that Ilya is afraid he will ruin it. That’s usually what he does anyway. Nonetheless, he reaches for Shane’s knee with his hand: it’s bouncing, but his hold stops it immediately. ‘’I will not’’, he swears, and he’s never heard himself so serious ‘’I already had the intention to walk you home in the first place. I will do it as soon as you tell me, da? Even after twenty minutes.’’

‘’What? Ilya, no. You and your team organised—‘’

‘’I am captain, and they would not dare. I promise you this, you promise me to not endure for me. We leave. We ditch anyone. We start a giant rumour and no one looks at you anymore. I win.’’

Shane chuckles, surprised: ‘’Endure. Man of big words today, uh?’’

‘’I do crosswords. Do not tell a soul, they will not believe you.’’

Shane rolls his eyes, still smiling: ‘’When is the party, then?’’

Knowing that Shane is coming, that he trusts Ilya, puts everything into perspective. He’s extremely — excessively, someone would say — careful about who gets invited, how the bar will be settled, if the back garden is really comfortable as he guaranteed. He checks every morning it won’t rain, and he texts Shane about inviting Rose, if he wants to. Leaving that Rose, being with Svetlana, will probably show up anyway.

That’s the point, you see. Ilya’s fourth move. He wants to introduce Shane to all his friends, his teammates. He wants to grab his wrist and say He’s Shane, Shane Hollan— and he wants to be interrupted because Troy, or everyone, will make fun of him. In front of Shane. Saying Ilya follows him like a pup, always talking about him. Always running away from practice when he risks to be late to their tutoring. Always saying Shane has it when someone mentions his beloved leather jacket. He will probably reveal to Shane Rose’s suggestions in their bet, but he hopes it won’t be nothing but helpful. Knowing that his best friend supports Ilya that much to inform him about Shane — and Ilya knows how much Rose loves Shane — will only tell Shane that Ilya is worth it. 

Which is weird. He knows, he just tries to ignore it. It’s weird because he truly can’t picture convincing Shane with his own forces: he has to display someone else’s approval. He doesn’t think he can really do this on his own. He has always needed someone else telling him he was good enough. His mother, and desperately, later, his father. Confirming him he wasn’t a complete failure, something to throw away and forget. Ilya is not so sure he could think that good on himself alone, with no one confirming it. And even if he could, he wouldn’t be true. Because Ilya is cocky, arrogant, and lazy. Because Ilya would lie to get his ways. It doesn’t matter if he’s a good friend to Svetlana, a good captain to his team, if he tried to be a good son for his mother. He’ll have his own opinion on himself, and it doesn’t holds the expectations. Shane should hear it by someone else. That’s the only way to have him, even so wrongly. Ilya should not think about it, even if the empty cavities of his heart murmur it anyway. You’re going to ruin him, and you crave him anyway. You’ve always been selfish, after all. 

That night, at the bar, Ilya waits. It kinda has been a lifetime of waiting. Troy observes his buzzing, amused, and lets him be a little over judging on the room’s settlement. ‘’We have everything stocked’’ he repeats for the one-hundredth time ‘’And I told everyone it’s not a invite who you want situation. You approved the playlist. The backyard is fine. It’s a nice evening, and all of your friends are here. You’re doing good, Cap. We’re actually eager to be introduced, here.’’

‘’You told everyone?’’, Ilya scoffs, unsurprised.

‘’Uh, not everyone. Our closest. Marlow can’t fucking wait to meet the tutor you’ve been running to for two months now. And Wyatt plans on making you cry from embarrassment. Quite easy, if you ask me’’, Troy crosses his arms ‘’You look like an idiot every time the guy’s mentioned anyway.’’

‘’I do not. Russians—‘’

‘’Cut the bullshit, man. You thought it was a fucking stomach bug and now you’re planning on kids and family. I’ll mention it in my best man speech.’’

‘’Wyatt will be my best man.’’

‘’Fuck you, Roz, he will not.’’

The party slowly levitates. People start showing up, and Ilya greets them, of course, cocky and insufferable as always, flashing smiles and winks like it’s nothing. Only Troy can tell how distracted he is, really. Waiting for Shane to show up, knowing how important it is. It’s not just a yes, for him. It’s trust. And Ilya knows he can be trusted as a captain, even as a casual lover. He’s more attentive than it seems in both senses. But as… Whatever this is? It’s crucially similar to the trust his mother had in him, probably. Something Ilya doesn’t like to think about.

He grumbles when he has to leave the main entrance (where he was quite lurking like a guard dog), just because someone has shouted about being out of beers. Which is impossible, by the way. They’re probably too fucking stupid to look for the cases.

It takes him a while, though. Someone has moved the cases further in the back of the bar, but when Ilya collects them successfully, he’s awarded with victorious screams and big pats on the back. He huffs a laugh, saying something close to: ‘’Yes, okay, bye. I have no time to waste with you fuckers’’, because Shane is probably there and waiting for him, and Ilya’s skin is tickling at the thought of stealing Shane for the night.

But when he spots him, he freezes.

He’s… Well, breathtaking is an understatement. He has a white, plain shirt, the soft fabric accentuating his hips, right before falling gently on a pair of jeans, quite loose on the waist. Low. A flick of skin glances at Ilya from afar. There must be Rose’s hand behind all of this.

That’s not the point right now. 

Shane is not alone. He’s with Rose, and Svetlana, of course, but someone else is in the picture. Someone with his arm solid around Shane’s shoulders, their sides touching, their cheeks millimetres apart. And they’re both laughing, he — Hayden fucking Pike, Ilya realises with horror — murmurs in Shane’s ear and Shane nods, tilting his head to the side to laugh freely— Shane, who was so afraid of coming. Shane, who said to Ilya how difficult it was for him to linger in someone else’s presence. Shane, who has no obligation towards Ilya, who has all the right to do whatever he wants to do because they aren’t dating, and their stupid bet isn’t a promise to say otherwise. 

And even if he hates the guy — a strong word, they’re not exactly friends, either, but right now Ilya does hate him, that’s for sure —, he understands Shane. He understands leaving open doors to whoever is less complicated than Ilya. Which is, to sum things up, everyone. Everyone who hasn’t built his reputation on leaving after less than twenty-four hours.

Whatever makes him happy. Even if that was Ilya’s primary goal. Even if he assured Shane it was an important night for him, too. He’s not in any position to judge.

And yet. He’s not sad, or even disappointed. He’s not hurt. 

Ilya’s mad. Angry. Which is, he’s sure, everything he’s made of. Deep down. 

It started way earlier his mother’s death. Even if Ilya would love telling himself that he has always been influenced only by his mama, that would be a lie. A big part of him is made of whatever survived his father, like a monster transmitted by faith and remorse. He was mad when he couldn’t understand what brought his parents together. He was mad when, as a kid, he couldn’t understand what to do to be loved by his father. He was mad when he wasn’t able to cure whatever it was haunting his mother. Even when Irina killed herself, for a while, beyond the love and the breathtaking grief, there it was: anger. Because he hadn’t been enough as a son, because he had never stopped her, because he hadn’t caught the signs, because, because, because. Ilya is essentially, purely mad at a lot of things. It grows in him like ivy covering his insides. It’s what Ilya is made of, even when he tries to ignore it. When he tells himself there has to be something more. Beyond, where eyes can’t reach.

When his father was still lucid, Ilya tried to bottle it all up. He really did. He still had years ahead of him to be mad; his father probably didn’t. And his brother, Alexei, wasn’t mad. He was stupid, but he was also cruel. And cruelty, Ilya learned with time, is cold, like trying to swallow an iced river, gulp after gulp. But they had their own war against each other, signed by a truce only in front of their father. No one deserves to die in a burning house, not even someone like Grigori Rozanov. Or who he used to be before the illness got him. Or who the illness left behind.

But when Ilya snapped, his father never looked too surprised. Like Ilya was just some predictable thing moving in his peripheral view. ‘’You are just like your mother’’, he used to mutter, face to the wall. Maybe because his bare sight disgusted him. Or maybe because, after what he did to Irina, he never had the courage to mention her directly in front of Ilya. ‘’A restless animal, fed by your instincts. Caged in your own ribs. Unsatisfied. Mad. Angry. That’s what you are, what’s what you will always be. The angry son.’’

You will always be the angry son.

Maybe that’s everything they were able to create together, Grigori and his mama. Cruelty and anger. A common thread between them, their own, rotten product. Ilya is sure his father poisoned his mother, corrupted her, injected in her whatever killed her mind even before her body. All that restlessness, all that anger, all that upcoming sadness, they all had a source, a meaning, a purpose. They all led that family like a cult. Ilya was born by a driving anger. And no one taught him to do otherwise.

Shane laughs again, and the world breaks a little. 

Ilya swiftly turns his back at the scene.

‘’Do we have something stronger?’’, he’s asking just seconds later. Troy ducks his head to hear him better:

‘’The fuck, Cap?’’

‘’I am asking if we only have lame beer or there is something decent I can drink.’’

Troy properly looks at him, now, startled. ‘’What about your big night?’’

‘’I do not know what you are talking about.’’

‘’Ilya—‘’

‘’Is there some vodka or do I have to search for myself?’’

‘’Yeah, of course there is. Wyatt’s treat. It’s over there. Ilya’’ he repeats, grabbing his arm ‘’I thought you wanted to be sober tonight. You told me there was…’’

‘’That is not important, Barrett. Do me a favour and shut up.’’

Being constantly angry does miracles to your pride, Ilya certainly knows that. This means that, even if he’s hurt and his heart is throbbing, he doesn’t go hunting for another pray. Not that night. And not just because Shane might see him doing so. It would be slightly less humiliating if he was desperate for it, though, restraining himself just to act superior. But it’s not the case. He’s focused on Shane and Shane only, and the worst of it is that it’s not even up to Shane anymore. He’s hanging out and having fun, while Ilya, who could get anyone in that fucking bar, yearns for him like an idiot. Chasing someone else, someone easy, someone who’s waiting for Ilya’s ministrations, would be pointless. His body and his mind are allied, and uninterested. 

Which leaves him to drink.

Maybe too much.

One of Ilya’s last coherent thoughts is a laconic the more, the better. He wants a blurry memory to water down with humiliation. He wants to remember just glimpses of it. He wants to delete his subscription to that fucking newsletter. He wants to check Pike at their next practice, until he loses a tooth or two. 

He also wants his mama. But that’s something Ilya usually thinks about every time his guard is down enough. 

He hasn’t heard from Sveta. Troy sent half of the team to check on him, but Ilya has been able to chase away every single one of them, hiding in clusters of people, shielding himself with shoulders and backs, laughs and shadows. Someone has pumped up the music, and he’s quite pissed about it, but not enough to care. He knows Shane is not alone; he’ll manage. Pike could always walk him home, if he’s smart enough to understand how uncomfortable Shane is being. Looking at Pike’s intuition on the ice, that’s frankly debatable.

Okay. Time for a cig. He should be loaded enough with them to sober up a little by just smoking a bit, or a lot. With no doe eyes praying him to quit, he could go for three in a row and call it a night. 

The cool air is already helpful, together with the sudden darkness. Ilya’s hand fumbles on the handle, before falling off, sloppy and uncoordinated. He takes a deep breath, his mouth sandy thanks to the shitty alcohol. He should educate Wyatt about what vodka truly is. Shutting out the party’s drunk chaos, he finds the wall with his shoulders, groaning. Fucking Canadians, fucking cheap vodka, fucking low budget, fucking Chemistry—

‘’Ilya?’’

He immediately looks up to the sky. Please, mama. Don’t do this to me. Not now.

It doesn’t work. Maybe Irina is having her fun, up there.

‘’It’s you’’, Shane mutters, and he sounds… Weird. Stiff. Not that Ilya cares. 

‘’It is me, yes’’, he groans, patting his own jacket, looking for lighter and cigarettes. He just hopes they’re there, that he has grabbed them right before leaving his place, out of habit. He’s not completely sure he will go back home on his own two legs without smoking first. Just to clear his mind and sober up a bit.

‘’So you showed up’’, it’s Shane’s lame attempt of chirping. Ilya grunts:

‘’Of course I did, I told you so.’’

‘’I know. It would have been fucking nice to see you, too.’’

Ilya almost laughs right in his face. Shane is mad at him? Of course. Seems everyone’s favourite sport, now. ‘’You were’’ Ilya lowers his head, unable to suppress a hiccup ‘’Uh, busy. And I do not interrupt.’’

Shane immediately tries to catch up with him: ‘’Busy? Interrupt? What are you talking about? I was with Rose. And Svetlana’’, he adds after a pause, clearly telling Ilya he knows, now. About them, about their help, about Rose’s approval. Right on fucking time, it seems. Was it before of after Hayden Pike decided to wrap himself around Shane like an octopus? Jesus. Ilya might throw up his several drinks. Shane speaks again before a sigh, voice now clearly hurt:

‘’I was waiting for you. I told you how difficult all of this was for me. You literally convinced me to come, and I did, just because I wanted to see you. I wanted to fit somewhere you liked to be’’ he admits, now shy, eyes suddenly glassy. His voice goes higher, probably without Shane himself noticing: ‘’And then I’m here, and all I do is looking around like an idiot, and I literally bear all of this for you, and my friends are making fun of me—‘’

‘’Making fun? Your friends? Give me a fucking break, Hollander, give me a break right now, it is not funny, no one asked you to play with me.’’

Shane stands still, a couple of feet away from him. He looks suddenly concerned. ‘’Ilya’’ he mutters, taking a step ‘’Are you drunk?’’

Ilya’s head spins, tongue tied. ‘’Of course not. Russian do not get drunk on Canadian vodka. It is shame. It could revoke citizenship.’’

‘’Yeah, I supposed so’’ Shane frowns ‘’Well, you look… Unstable. Let me take you home, yes? C’me here’’ and he takes one more step forward. Ilya is about to snarl his way out of this, when his eyes finally wander on Shane, focusing for the first time on him, now that he’s under the light coming from inside the bar, flirting through the French window.

He’s wearing Ilya’s jacket. Hands carefully tugged in the pockets, collar up against his flustered cheeks.

Oh, fuck off.

‘’This is not fun’’, he echoes himself, slurring. Shane, who was about to touch him with one hand raised, backs off.

‘’What is not fun, Ilya?’’

‘’This!’’ he underlines, eyeing at his jacket, Shane’s fucking confused face, his awkward, adorable pose, everything ‘’You think I am heartless, you think I am asshole, and I try to change your mind, and you let me. I do change and I am scared and then I want to introduce you to fucking everyone in there and I find you wrapped up with someone else—‘’

‘’What? Ilya—‘’

‘’… And I do not feel shame, I do not feel disgust, I feel anger. It is always what I feel, there is not anything else inside of me! I know I am not—’’ he breathes, voice wobbling ‘’I do know I am not made of anger and bitterness, Shane, I do, but I am so tired to also know that it is the first thing that always comes out of me. I had to show you that I am not always like this, but I do not know if I can. But I promise I am not made of that. I am not. I am not’’, he whines, breaking on the last words. 

Shane doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t, Ilya is a fucking, pathetic mess, throbbing his heart out, spitting out broken pieces like his mouth is full of blood and glass, and he has made a fool of himself, and now Shane will know that—

His burning, wet cheek meets the familiar fabric of his own jacket. Ilya’s hands stay still in the cold air, while Shane tightly wraps himself around him, fingers in his curls, one palm open on his back, rubbing, soothing. That’s enough to hug him back, miserable, knowing he stinks of alcohol and sweat, knowing that he’s making a mess of his shirt by how hard he’s sobbing against his shoulders, muttering nonsense in Russian while Shane listens to it like he could actually understand what he’s saying. ‘’I’m not always mad’’, he whispers, voice hoarse ‘’I’m so much more than that. Please, please, let me show you I deserve you. I am not my anger, I swear, please, I know there must be something else, please.’’

Shane doesn’t speak for a while, rubbing his scalp with precise motions. ‘’You’ve never been mad at me, Ilya’’ he swears in his ear, nose against his temple ‘’Not once since I’ve met you. Understood? You were caring, and attentive, and fun, and kind. You are. You’re fine, okay? Deep breaths, now. Like that. Like that, baby, you’re doing great.’’

Ilya closes his eyes, muttering nonsense against Shane’s neck, face wet. Strong fingers lock his waist: ‘’What were you babbling about earlier? I was wrapped around who, uh?’’

There’s no point in lying now. Shane has already seen him wrecked anyway. ‘’Pike’’, he admits, shame creeping through his voice. At least they’re almost in the dark, if it wasn’t for the light coming from the bar, and he can’t see Shane’s expression now. Shane, who hesitates, before spitting a surprised chuckle:

‘’You mean my best friend Hayden?’’ he punctuates, and Ilya blinks at him ‘’The one who speaks the worst about you in my ears since our first year? The one I know you can’t stand? The one I had to convince to come here, because I wanted him to understand that you were about to be part of my life? The one I was hoping to let you understand that he’s not so bad?’’

They’re staring at each other, now. Shane mutters something fond and ungraspable, cradling his face, wiping his tears in one swift movement of his thumbs. His fingers are soft, warm, and Ilya finds himself nuzzling into them. ‘’Pike is your best friend?’’, he repeats, mind still foggy thanks to the vodka. His head starting to hurt, too, but that’s probably thanks to the furious, sudden crying. Shane smiles, holding back another laugh:

‘’You’d know, if you weren’t so busy messing around with him. A little too much, even. He hasn’t one kind word about you’’, he admits, but he doesn’t look upset about it. Like Shane doesn’t really care about who says what, even if it comes from one of his closest friend. He has seen Ilya. He has his own opinion. And he seems quite sure of it. ‘’I do not either’’, he grumbles against Shane’s hand, starting to feel dizzy. Shane sighs:

‘’Yeah, I figured. Especially if you thought I was flirting with him at the party you invited me to’’ he underlines, eyebrows raised, thumb now on his chin ‘’While I was all nervous and restless, looking everywhere for you like a fool. And you thought drinking that much was a good idea?’’, and Ilya nods, keeping him close, hands wandering on the small of Shane’s back. Shane rolls his eyes: ‘’Alright, you big, dramatic pup. Let me get you to your place, mh? You need some rest now. I’ve got you, baby.’’

V

No one wanted to play with me as a little kid
So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since
To make them love me and make it seem effortless
This is the first time I've felt the need to confess

Ilya doesn’t stumble his way home.

Well. Kind of.

‘’Watch out’’, Shane prays, leaving him against the wall right next to Ilya’s door. The hallway is dim, chilly, and it’s probably already quite late. Past midnight, he’d say. But the flat should be empty, and Troy will probably crush at Harris’ tonight. 

‘’I need the keys’’, Shane mutters, before grasping his waist with gentle hands. He palms at Ilya’s pockets, careful, while he sighs: ‘’Please, tell me you don’t have them in your back pockets.’’

Ilya grins, giggling: ‘’What a lame excuse to touch my ass, Hollander.’’

‘’I am not touching you.’’

The tone is harsh, but only half-heated. Ilya pouts: ‘’Why not?’’

‘’Because you’re drunk.’’

‘’Quite. And you’re not.’’

‘’That’s the point, yes. You need to eat something. And also a lot of water. I’ll look for some ibuprofen to leave on your nightstand for tomorrow—‘’

‘’Or you could stay’’, he interrupts, voice hoarse, tired. He groans, leaving his nape resting on the wall, closing his eyes. Shane has found the keys, and proceeds to open the door. ‘’Nooo, Hollander, where are you? Y’were warm. Need you, come here.’’

‘’I am right here, Ilya.’’

‘’And you will stay the night? With me? Wanna see you in my clothes’’ he whispers, when Shane wraps an arm around him to guide both of them inside ‘’Mhm, wanna give you a shirt. No one should sleep in jeans. You smell good’’, Ilya’s nose bumps against Shane’s neck, and he literally sniffs, leaving a faint kiss on his jaw ‘’ And you’re hmm— Warm. You should sleep next to me and keep me warm all night.’’

‘’Ilya’’ Shane’s voice is quiet, but uneasy, breath shallow ‘’We’ll see. Let’s get you to bed first, alright? Where’s your room?’’

Ilya grins against his shoulder: ‘’Take your guess, Hollander.’’

‘’Ilya’’ he insists, but there’s no heat in it. He hasn’t even turned the light on, with so much gratitude from Ilya’s now pulsing eyes. ‘’I am about to drop them’’, he slurs under his breath. Shane holds him with a hand on his chest:

‘’Drop what?’’

‘‘M’eyes.’’

Shane immediately relaxes: ‘’Of course. Okay, let’s guess your room. It should be easy. It’s either yours or Troy’s.’’

Ilya’s scattered mind thinks for a split second about Shane sleeping in Troy’s bed. And he almost throws up, vodka or not. ‘’Fucking Barrett. The one on the right.’’

One minute later, Ilya is relocated on his own bed. Shane undresses him of the jacket, and Ilya hums, grazing the side of his leg, reaching the back of his knee, eyes lidded: ‘’Yes, finally’’, going for Shane’s shirt, hands heavy. Shane gently spanks him away: ‘’Not now, you asshole’’, he retorts, but his voice is low, fond. Ilya grunts, right before pressing his face on Shane’s stomach. He leaves a small kiss on the cotton, mumbling: ‘’Let’s get to bed.’’

‘’Yeah, I’m trying. Out of your jeans, now.’’

‘’Make me.’’

‘’That’s not— Jesus. Fine. Let’s make this quick’’, he huffs, unzipping Ilya with one swift movement. He tugs at the jeans, getting Ilya out before neatly folding them on the desk. He switches on the lamp on the nightstand, closing the curtains after a quick peek outside. ‘’Good. Now, under the covers. I’ll get you some water—‘’

‘’Water tomorrow’’ Ilya squeezes his hand, grabbing Shane by the waist with the other ‘’Bed now, me and you, solnyshko. Need you close now. I want to count your freckles until I fall asleep. Get out of these and lay with me’’, he pleads, trying to reach his jeans’ button. Shane gently moves him away:

‘’I’ll join you in a minute.’’

‘’Promise you’ll stay the night’’, but it’s so unfocused it sounds like promssie ‘u sta’ dnight, or something. English is swallowing in Ilya’s mouth, bitter and particularly foreign. Only a fine thread is remembering him that Shane wouldn’t understand a word, in Russian. Shane, who tucks Ilya under the duvet, closing his eyes with a palm on his face, gentle: ‘’Yes, I’m coming. You’ll have a hell of a headache tomorrow, and someone needs to keep an eye on you.’’

‘’You, you, you.’’

‘’Yes, Ilya, you.’’

‘’Uhg, nowh. You’ll take an eye on me. Only you.’’

Shane moves a bit around the room, before swiftly sliding at Ilya’s side, one strong arm on his hip, hot puffs of breath behind his ear. Ilya snuggles against Shane’s chest, sighing in relief at the other’s bicep moving under his ear, serving as a pillow. He purses his lips, kissing mindlessly the exposed skin, the side of his hand, his wrist, the back of his arm, the tensed muscles. Shane drops his glasses on the nightstand with a small sound, right before turning the light off. The sudden darkness is a balm for Ilya’s upcoming headache, still dull, but predictably strong. He’s about to doze off, when a small voice calls him back: ‘’Ilya?’’

‘’Uhh, listening. ‘M here in my bed.’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’Whe’ are you?’’

‘’Right here, baby. I’ve told you, I’ve got you’’, he swears, kissing softly his forehead, caressing his side with the back of his knuckles. His voice has never been lower: ‘’Ilya, I’d really like to talk about what you said before. Tomorrow, alright? You need to promise me we will talk about it. I need you to. I can’t bare you thinking all that bullshit about yourself. But maybe it’s for the better telling you all of this in the morning’’, he murmurs, kissing the nape of his neck ‘’After a good breakfast, water and some medicine. Stay here, now.’’

‘’Mhm, yes, here, night’’, he grunts, frowning. Maybe, if he squints his eyes enough, the headache will pop put of his ears and nose. Or maybe he really needs some rest. The soft lips kissing his neck to sleep are definitely helpful.

Someone is hammering on Ilya’s head. Maybe, more precisely, in Ilya’s head. He feels like a huge clamp is tightening on his temples. In the aching confusion, something gently presses against his dry lips. Fuck, his mouth tastes like shit. He groans, trying to free himself from the duvet, when a voice murmurs: ‘’I know, baby, I know. Just one second. You need to take some medicine, yes? You’ll feel better in a couple of hours. Here, I have water. Drink. Please, Ilya, come on, baby. Just a sip for me.’’

A warm hand manoeuvres his head, caressing his curls, before Ilya is supposedly embraced by an arm, tugged up, up, up. ‘’No’’, he whines, head pounding. The pill keeps pushing against his lips. The voice is now closer, lower:

‘’I know. I know’’, and whoever is talking sounds really in pain. In pain for Ilya, seeing him in such a condition. That’s new. Nice, even. A small part of his heart, vaguely more present, warms up at the genuine concern in what Ilya recognises as Shane’s voice.

‘’Shane’’, and he scrunches his nose, finding Shane’s shoulder. Everything is pitch black. It must be even before six in the morning. Or maybe Ilya is refusing to open his eyes. Who knows. He parts his lips, leaving the pill slide on his tongue, before shivering at a cold glass pressed against his lower lip. ‘’Just one sip to swallow that’’ Shane swears, voice now reduced in a faint sound. Ilya obeys, his throat relived for a split second. ‘’There you go, baby, that’s it. It’s over. Back to sleep, now’’, and Ilya immediately finds his pillow, still warm, dipped in a new scent. Shane’s cologne, he supposes, and the vague ghost of his skin. He mumbles, content, right before seeking Shane’s warmth with an extended palm. ‘’Here’’, and the mattress sways, welcoming Shane’s weight again. He holds him close, pressing kisses on his forehead. ‘’Sleep, now’’, and Ilya is more than happy to listen to him.

When Ilya wakes up again, it’s definitely later. Probably eleven, judging by the light outside, still blocked by the curtains. Ilya slowly recollects himself, readjusting in his own body. His throat is sore, his lips dry, but his headache is more than manageable. That’s probably thanks to Shane and his quick mind in giving Ilya ibuprofen as soon as the alcohol wore off.

Shane, currently curled against his back, hugging him from behind, one hand in his hair, lips resting on his shoulder blade. 

Ilya doesn’t dare moving. Hot puffs oh hair mingle in the curls at the nape of his neck, while Shane’s palm rests on his shirt, firm, right where his heart is. Their legs are tangled together, and they’re both in tops and briefs. Ilya scans the room as much as he can, through the headache and the still pale light: two pair of jeans are folded on his desk. Yeah, there’s no way Ilya has done something like that, especially if he was drunk. And since he knows he was, he’s also pretty sure he hasn’t done nothing much than sleeping, with Shane. Even if he probably tried to flirt with him.

The previous night resurfaces from the fog like the skeleton of some shipwreck. Shane and Pike, glued together in a corner of the bar. Ilya’s anger. Shane finding him in the backyard. Ilya, already drunk, shouting nonsense. Shane reassuring him, telling him that there’s nothing between him and Pike, instead of yelling Ilya to fuck off, because he has no right to be jealous over someone he hasn’t even tried to win in there.

I’m so much more than that. Please, please, let me show you I deserve you. I am not my anger, I swear, please, I know there must be something else, please.

‘’Fuck’’, he groans, almost sobs in self-pity. That was pathetic.

Shane moves against him, his breath finding a steady rhythm. ‘’Ilya?’’, he calls, voice raspy. An interesting sound, if Ilya wasn’t too busy in burying himself in Hell. Fingers are now playing with his locks: ‘’Are you awake? How are you feeling?’’

Maybe he could pretend he doesn’t know how to speak English anymore. He’s about to slur some gibberish in Russian, when a hand starts caressing his back: ‘’Talk to me, please?’’

Ilya’s shoulders tense. This is ridiculous. He’s lying in bed with the boy he’s being crazy over for three months now, and all of his cockiness, his confidence, is long gone. He’s hungover, tremendously embarrassed and he probably smells of sweat and alcohol. Shane has spent the last few hours taking care of him, gentle, patient, understanding. And Ilya can’t even talk— Of course he can’t. There’s no way Shane will be so amazing to forgive whatever happened last night, the ultimate show of Ilya’s insecurities. He still feels exposed, like he’s raw under Shane’s fingers, chest open, bones uprooted, revealing his very beating heart. That is what’s truly humiliating. Ilya suffering, and Shane knowing.

‘’Are you mad at me?’’, Shane pleads, his hand now on Ilya’s nape. Ilya turns so suddenly he almost retches. ‘’What?’’, he asks, raising his eyebrows. Shane’s furrow deepens:

‘’Yes, because maybe… You know, you’re right. I shouldn’t have been next to Hayden—‘’

‘’No. No, Shane, no’’, he interrupts, suppressing a groan. Fuck. His head still hurts, even if the pain is quite dull, now ‘’It is not that. Of course you can stay with your friend, even if I do not like him very much.’’

A soft laugh: ‘’He’s not your number one fan, either.’’

‘’I do not care about it. We are— Different people, yes?’’ Shane blinks ‘’Me is me, you is you. I can like you and you can like me, and you can like Pike and I can make him trip with my stick during practice.’’

‘’Have you ever really—‘’

‘’Unimportant’’ Ilya waves a hand in the air ‘’I am upset because these things always get the same reaction, from me. Even if they’re not true, and I am deceiving myself.’’

‘’Yeah, I remember what you said. But, Ilya’’ Shane’s thumb gently caresses his jaw, like he’s about to trace Ilya’s body up to whoever his softness is nestled ‘’I swear, you’ve never been angry at me. Truth to be told, you’ve never been angry at anyone I know. You’re insufferable, maybe, and an asshole, but that’s what you are, and it’s more fascinating than anything, for me. What where you talking about?’’ and now he’s grazing his shirt, in small, calculated movements.

Ilya looks at the wall, unable to answer. He scrunches his nose. Fuck, he can’t cry. Not now, not with him and Shane sharing a pillow, noses close to one another, foreheads almost touching. He can’t even imagine the headache he’ll have from that. A soft kiss traces his cheek: ‘’Breakfast first?’’, it’s Shane’s deal, thumb now brushing his lower lip ‘’Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll cook something with what you guys have. We’ll eat in bed. But don’t make a habit out of it’’, he softly orders, placing another kiss right on Ilya’s forehead ‘’Be right back.’’

Ilya doesn’t argue; he just nods, tangled in the warm sheets. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of all that. Don’t make a habit out of it. Does all of this mean that Shane will stay? That there’s still a faint chance of having him in his life? The doubt poisons Ilya, so he just decides to ignore the doubt itself. And definitely takes that shower. 

Once he’s back, he’s welcomed with a plate of blueberry pancakes sitting on his nightstand, still warm, coated in honey. Shane is on the bed, too, comfortable amongst the sheets — the sheets they fucking shared for the night, Ilya whining in his hold, Jesus —, glasses in place. ‘’Morning again’’, he tries, while Ilya sits on the edge on the bed, far enough to look almost mature about it. Shane is clearly studying him; Ilya huffs: ‘’Come on, Hollander. Start with your questions.’’

The quicker, the better. I don’t want to look at him while he leaves. Because no, it doesn’t matter how many times Shane has told him that he’ll stay, some part of Ilya still swears he wants to clear the air before forgetting the mess he was almost stepping into. Damn, that was a close call. And it’s just Ilya’s beating heart gasping on the ground.  

Shane hesitates. Then: ‘’What were you talking about yesterday? You said… Well. A lot of stuff, to be fair. So, just start from what you want to share with me.’’

That sounds so earnest. So soft. Ilya plays with his own fingers, head still pounding from alcohol lingering in his veins, nourishing his instincts. ‘’My mother killed herself when I was twelve. I found her’’, he admits at his own knees. Shane stills, sucking his own breath in, but doesn’t dare speak. Ilya’s voice is each second lower and lower: ‘’And I do not know if that is the beginning or the end of what I told you yesterday. My mama was… Sad. Most of the times thanks to my father. He’s dead, too. But I do not care about that as much as I care about mama. I do not know why. When it comes to my family, I feel like a child. I do not know many things, and some of them are hidden from me. I do not know why mama killed herself and I do not know why my father needed to be sick to love me. I do not know why he needed to forget who I was to be kind. Like his desperation called me back, too.’’

‘’Ilya—‘’

‘’No. No, I… I really have to finish talking. I am not sure I want to say everything, but I know I have to do it in one go right now. I know what you know about me, what you have heard from everybody. But I need you also to know that everyone I slept with knew it was just sex. I have always been clear. I have never hurt anyone, I—‘’

‘’Ilya, oh, Ilya. I know. I’ve never—‘’

‘’That is not even the point. Everything I told you, about my mama and my father, it was… It still is complicated. It is hurtful. And I think I have always been taught to answer to that with anger. Or, I do not know. Maybe with mama gone and my father almost gone, too, anger was all I had left. Anger of not knowing, or knowing too much. But it feels like I am walking with a gap between my bones. Do you know that gap means a space that is not supposed to be there? That. I am not so sure I am made to be… Something to stay for. I am really not tied to anything, not even my family, which never really was tied to me, also. How can be someone be tied to me? As I am now? It is easier to sell myself with the only thing people seem to care about. At least I had someone noticing the space I was trying to fill. Even for one night. I never thought I could do more than a night, not when— They could’ve discovered that I am, I am… Hm. I am so afraid of— Of— I am so afraid that if I will open up you will see that I am an empty room with no light and a lot of dust. And I am not. I know I am not’’, he whispers, blinking at the blurred vision of Shane’s chest right in front of him. Suddenly, they’re hugging, Shane wrapped around him in a firm hold, his finger engraved in Ilya’s shoulders.

‘’Ilya. Ilya, please, God, stop. I don’t know if I can hear you saying all of this right now. You’ve never been empty to me, baby. Never, okay?’’

‘’And I have also lost the stupid bet. You asked something simple and I fucked it all up’’, he slurs against his shoulder, feeling silly, childish. His eyes are burning. Shane mutters, caressing his hair:

‘’No, no, you didn’t.’’

‘’I did, Shane, I am not idiot, I remember what we said.’’

Shane moves his own chin down to look at him properly: his eyes are watery, but his voice his fond, maybe a little broken, when he speaks caressing Ilya’s wet cheek: ‘’You didn’t. We’re here, and you’re telling me all these things. It is way more important than a stupid party, or a stupid bet. If you think you’re an empty room, it also means there’s plenty of space for me’’, he confesses against his forehead, kissing it slowly one, two, three times. Ilya is now resting between his legs, head on Shane’s chest, and in a matter of seconds, he’s also violently sobbing.

Shane doesn’t seem to care. He holds him tighter, hands on his back, in his hair, cooing sweet nothings in his ear, rocking them both in the muffled sheets, gathering Ilya’s tears on his palm, letting his broken sobs bump on his now wet shirt. ‘’You’re okay’’, it’s the first thing he hears clearly ‘’The world is not burning, I swear it. We are both okay, it’s fine, yes? Everything’s fine. Cry as much as you want, it’s okay. It’s over’’, he reassures him, right before peppering kisses on the crown of Ilya’s hair. 

Ilya nestles himself between Shane’s thighs, eyes closed, face hidden in the creek of Shane’s arm. ‘’You will think I am lame’’, he whines, voice hoarse, and Shane quietly chuckles above him, one hand caressing his back.

‘’No, I will not. I find you really endearing.’’

‘’I do not know what that means.’’

‘’It means I like you, Ilya. Like, a lot.’’

Ilya abruptly looks at him. Shane clears his forehead from some locks, fingers attentive, almost holding his head in place, adoring. ‘’After all of this?’’, he wonders, unsure. Shane’s eyebrows furrow:

‘’This what?’’

‘’Uh, me? Getting jealous, getting drunk, spilling my past to you, crying like an idiot? You were there too?’’

A corner of Shane’s lips quivers his way up: ‘’And you also snore. Just a bit.’’

‘’What? I do not!’’

‘’You do. And if you don’t, I’m still pretty much sure you do move a lot. Guess I don’t care that much’’ he resonates, caressing his shoulders ‘’And I care a lot about whatever bugs you. Hurts you. We can be disgustingly mad at the world together.’’

Ilya blinks, dispelling the last tears on the rim of his eyes. Shane eyes him curiously, palms now resting behind himself on the duvet. Ilya moves himself carefully, placing one hand on Shane’s knee, the other too trembling to act. He’s not so sure he wants to be mad at the world anymore. ‘’Can I kiss you?’’, he asks, unsure. Tilting his head just right. 

Shane chuckles in lieu of an answer, rolling his eyes, tugging at Ilya’s shirt before slotting their lips together.

They fall between the sheets, Shane’s arm quickly clinging at Ilya’s neck, mouth open, breath heavy. There’s too much to think about— Shane’s fingers pushing his hair, his legs almost around Ilya’s waist, Ilya’s own hands frenetically roaming on his sides, Shane’s pliant mouth, hot and perfect, feeling like velvet, tongue heavy against Ilya’s. Thank fucking God he has briefly brushed his teeth just twenty minutes ago. Shane’s tongue tastes something sweet, something like a warm embrace at the end of a long day. Ilya pants, sucking at his lower lip, one hand sneaking expectantly under Shane’s shirt— Ilya’s. Fuck. Fuck, he’s about to be rock hard down there.

That’s exactly when Shane decides to moan: ‘’Ilya, please’’, small, submissive, one hand clasped at his chest, caressing, pushing, asking. His grip on Ilya’s hair is maybe a little too strong, which means it’s absolutely perfect. Ilya’s lips tremble against Shane’s neck, finding fair skin to kiss, lick, bite, and Shane huffs, chanting: ‘’Yes, yes, please, just like that…’’

‘’Hey! Is that shit on the counter for pancakes? It looks sick!’’

Ilya bitterly curses against Shane’s chin; Shane slowly lets him go, pulling back with a low sigh, lips wet, cheeks flustered. Ilya could just tide him there and eat him alive; God, he fears Shane would love that. ‘’My fault. No one should ever leave any of that unguarded’’, Shane presumes, rolling on his back next to Ilya. Ilya, who seeks for his hip, caressing it gently, right before changing his mind and sliding on Shane’s body, grumbling in his neck after a soft bite:

‘’Do not leave.’’

‘’I’m not. I’ll just go making some pancakes for Troy. Is that Troy?’’

Troy’s voice answers from behind the door: ‘’Yep. Still here. And I’m afraid no one is really able to do those pancakes, Hollander.’’

‘’Coming right up’’, and Ilya groans, moving aside. Shane reaches for his chest, his neck, kissing him lightly on the lips: ‘’Take a couple of minutes and join us. Please?’’

Ilya pouts: ‘’I wanted you all for me.’’

‘’We have the whole weekend for that. And Monday’’, a kiss on the tip of his nose ‘’Tuesday’’ on his forehead ‘’Wednesday’’ on his cheek ‘’And all the others. I promise you. Now, let me cook for your best friend out there. I want to make a good impression after whatever yesterday was.’’

Ilya huffs, but doesn’t argue. Troy tried to cheer him up at some point yesterday at the bar, and Ilya was probably just good enough at catastrophizing to listen to him. That’s usually what gets him through.

When he joins the kitchen, he stills at the edge of the door, one hand resting on the jamb. Rose and Svetlana are cuddling on the couch, in shorts and bras, chatting about whatever the news are transmitting. There’s some juice on the coffee table, and a half-eaten muffin. Shane is making pancakes — Ilya has his plate in one hand, even if he has already taken a bite, too eager to wait, fighting with soft moans and sticky fingers, fuck these are good —, and Troy is truly focused on following all the passages, probably to impress Harris later. Shane looks soft, in Ilya’s rumpled clothes, glasses on the tip of his nose, a faint, new bruise on his neck, all Ilya had the time for. The room smells like breakfast and warm perfume, a soft thread coming from Svetlana, whose laugh echoes at something Shane has just said. Troy elbows him, but he’s smiling, too. Rose angles her head and asks for some pancakes, too. ‘’Is my muffin not enough?’’, Svetlana inquires. Rose pushes her with her foot, slightly. Shane swears that there’s enough for all of them, and when he notices Ilya, he smiles, then frowns. ‘’Don’t just stand there, baby. Eat on the counter or they’ll get cold. There’s more honey here, if you want to.’’

Ilya blinks. He breathes.

Shane is right. The world is not burning and there’s no reason to stay mad anymore. 

*

songs mentioned in the end notes:

- fila indiana

- come un bambino