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The afternoon sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Shane's lakeside cottage, turning the polished wood floors gold and casting shimmering reflections across the walls. Outside, the lake stretched endlessly beneath a cloudless sky, its surface disturbed only by the occasional breeze that sent ripples dancing toward the shore. It was the kind of day people imagined when they talked about happiness—warm, peaceful, uncomplicated.
Which was precisely why Shane felt so guilty for being miserable.
From the kitchen came the soft clink of ceramic against stone countertops. Ilya was making coffee, humming some Russian song under his breath, completely unconcerned with whether he knew the words correctly or not. Every now and then he glanced out toward the lake, looking perfectly content.
Perfectly happy.
Perfectly in love.
The sight should have reassured Shane.
Instead, it made the uncomfortable pressure in his chest grow heavier.
He sat on the couch pretending to read a book, though he'd been staring at the same page for nearly ten minutes.
His thoughts refused to leave him alone.
They circled endlessly.
Relentlessly.
Stupidly.
The worst part was that he knew they were stupid.
He knew Ilya loved him.
He knew it.
The problem was that knowing something and believing it were not always the same thing.
Before Shane, Ilya had been... well.
Ilya.
Beautiful. Charming. Reckless.
The kind of person who never had trouble finding company.
The kind of person who had spent years treating relationships like temporary arrangements and hookups like hobbies.
Women.
Men.
Whoever caught his attention.
And now he was with Shane.
Just Shane.
Forever, if things went the way they both hoped.
The thought should have made him happy.
Instead, a cruel little voice kept whispering:
What if one day that isn't enough?
The book snapped shut beneath his fingers.
Immediately, he regretted it.
Because from the kitchen came silence.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that meant Ilya had noticed.
A few moments later, Shane heard approaching footsteps.
"Okay."
Shane stared stubbornly out the window.
"Okay what?"
"What is wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Lie."
Shane rolled his eyes.
"Ilya."
"No, seriously."
A hand settled against the back of his neck.
Warm.
Comforting.
Far too familiar.
"You have looked miserable since lunch."
"I'm fine."
"You are not."
"I'm just tired."
"You slept ten hours."
Shane cursed internally.
Unfortunately, that was true.
The hand squeezed gently.
"Talk to me."
"I'm talking."
"You are grunting at me."
"That's communication."
"That is caveman communication."
Despite everything, Shane snorted.
The sound seemed to encourage Ilya.
A moment later the couch dipped as he sat beside him.
Shane could feel those blue eyes studying him.
Waiting.
Patient.
Determined.
Eventually, Ilya sighed dramatically.
"You know, normal couples communicate."
"We communicate."
"No. We stare dramatically into the distance and hope the other person develops psychic abilities."
"I'd rather do that."
"I know."
The answer came so quickly that Shane almost smiled.
Almost.
Unfortunately, Ilya caught it.
His expression softened immediately.
"There you are."
Shane looked away.
The smile disappeared.
And just like that, concern returned to Ilya's face.
For several moments neither of them spoke.
Then, quietly, Ilya asked:
"Are you unhappy?"
The question caught Shane off guard.
He turned immediately.
"What?"
"I asked if you're unhappy."
"No."
"With us?"
"No."
"With me?"
"Jesus Christ, no."
The tension in Ilya's shoulders eased slightly.
But only slightly.
"Then what?"
Shane looked down at the book in his hands.
His fingers tightened around the cover.
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
"No."
"Shane."
There was no irritation in his voice.
No frustration.
Just gentle certainty.
The certainty of someone who knew him too well.
"Please."
The single word broke through the last of Shane's resistance.
He sighed heavily.
Immediately, Ilya shifted closer.
Not touching.
Just waiting.
Giving him room.
Shane hated how much that made him want to talk.
"I've been thinking."
"Terrifying."
Shane glared.
Ilya raised both hands.
"Sorry. Continue."
Another sigh.
Then another.
Finally:
"Do you ever miss it?"
The amusement vanished from Ilya's face.
"Miss what?"
"The way things used to be."
Confusion appeared.
"Hockey?"
"No."
"Hm."
A pause.
Then realization.
"Oh."
Shane immediately wished he could disappear.
Because now Ilya was looking at him with heartbreaking understanding.
"Oh, sweetheart."
"Don't."
"Oh, Shane."
"Seriously, don't."
The nickname alone made embarrassment crawl up his neck.
Unfortunately, Ilya looked even softer.
Even more concerned.
"What exactly are you asking?"
Shane rubbed a hand across his face.
The words felt ridiculous.
Childish.
But they'd been sitting inside his chest all day.
"What if you miss women?"
The silence that followed was immediate.
Complete.
Shane stared at the floor.
"I mean—"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"What if you miss... all of it?"
Still silence.
Shane forced himself to continue.
"You weren't exactly known for being monogamous."
A short laugh escaped Ilya.
Not mocking.
Just surprised.
"That is one way to put it."
"You know what I mean."
"I do."
The couch shifted.
Ilya turned fully toward him.
"Look at me."
Shane didn't.
"Shane."
Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head.
The expression waiting for him wasn't annoyance.
It wasn't anger.
If anything, it looked like sadness.
"I cannot believe you've been carrying this around all day."
Shane groaned.
"See? It sounds stupid."
"No."
The answer was immediate.
Firm.
"It sounds like something scared you."
The gentleness of it hurt more than anger would have.
Shane swallowed.
"What if one day you realize you want something I can't give you?"
For a moment, Ilya simply stared at him.
Then he reached forward and took Shane's hand.
His grip was warm.
Steady.
Certain.
"What exactly do you think I am giving up?"
Shane frowned.
"What?"
"What do you think I am sacrificing?"
"You know."
"No."
"Ilya."
"No, tell me."
The intensity in his voice made Shane hesitate.
"You've been with women."
"Yes."
"You liked women."
"Yes."
"And—"
"And?"
Shane looked away.
"And I can't be one."
The words landed heavily between them.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Ilya leaned forward.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Until Shane had no choice but to meet his eyes.
"What makes you think I want you to be?"
Shane blinked.
"What?"
"What makes you think I am sitting here wishing you were somebody else?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
His voice remained soft.
But there was something fierce underneath it now.
Something determined.
"I am bisexual."
"Yeah."
"I know that."
A small smile appeared.
"Good. Glad we agree."
Shane rolled his eyes.
The smile disappeared again.
"I am bisexual," Ilya repeated, "which means I can be attracted to men and women."
"I know."
"It does not mean I need both."
The words struck something deep inside Shane.
Ilya squeezed his hand.
"It is not a buffet."
Despite himself, Shane laughed.
"A buffet?"
"Yes."
"A buffet."
"I do not walk around thinking, today I need one man and one woman for balanced nutrition."
That earned an actual laugh.
Ilya smiled briefly.
Then his expression softened.
"Shane."
The amusement vanished.
"You are not competing with women."
His thumb brushed across Shane's knuckles.
"You are not competing with anyone."
The sincerity in his voice made Shane's chest ache.
"I had hookups before you."
"Yeah."
"I had crushes."
"Yeah."
"I had attraction."
Another squeeze.
"But I never loved them."
Shane's breath caught.
The room seemed to grow quieter.
"I never loved anybody."
Ilya's voice had become almost impossibly gentle.
"I never looked at anyone and thought, I want this person beside me for the rest of my life."
His eyes never left Shane's.
"I never wanted forever."
The next words came quietly.
Almost reverently.
"Then I met you."
Something inside Shane twisted painfully.
Not from hurt.
From affection.
From the overwhelming sincerity in front of him.
"I don't wake up wishing you were a woman."
Ilya leaned closer.
"I wake up grateful you're Shane."
Another inch closer.
"I don't love half of you."
Closer still.
"I don't love you with conditions."
His forehead touched Shane's.
Warm.
Familiar.
Home.
"I love all of you."
Shane closed his eyes.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The lake shimmered outside.
The cottage remained quiet.
The world felt very far away.
When Shane finally opened his eyes, Ilya was still there.
Still looking at him as though he were something precious.
Something irreplaceable.
"You're really annoying when you're sweet."
A grin spread across Ilya's face.
"There he is."
"Shut up."
"You love me."
"Unfortunately."
The grin widened.
"I love you too."
Shane felt his chest tighten again.
But this time, it wasn't from fear.
This time, it felt warm.
Certain.
Safe.
Ilya reached up and brushed his fingers through Shane's hair.
A simple gesture.
A familiar one.
Yet somehow it carried all the tenderness in the world.
"You know something funny?"
Shane sighed.
"What?"
"I spent years thinking I was bad at relationships."
"You were."
"I know."
"Objectively."
"Very true."
Shane smiled despite himself.
Ilya's gaze softened.
"And then I met you."
The smile faded into something quieter.
Something deeper.
"I didn't know love was supposed to feel easy."
Shane's throat tightened.
"I didn't know it was supposed to feel like home."
The confession settled between them.
Warm and sincere.
"I don't miss my old life."
His hand moved to Shane's cheek.
"I escaped it."
The words were almost a whisper.
"And if I had to choose between every person I've ever wanted and one more day with you?"
His smile returned.
Small.
Certain.
Unshakable.
"It wouldn't even be a difficult decision."
And looking into those impossibly blue eyes, hearing the certainty in that voice, Shane finally believed him. Not because Ilya was trying to convince him. Not because he was saying the right things.
But because every expression, every touch, every glance across the room carried the same truth.
Ilya loved him.
Not temporarily.
Not conditionally.
Not until something better came along.
Just him.
Only him.
And for the first time all day, the insecurity finally loosened its grip.