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Shane Hollander is responsible. It’s one of his foremost qualities, if he’s friends can be trusted. He makes good decisions. He takes care of himself and the people around him. He always slows down at yellow lights, even if he could definitely make it if he went just a little bit faster.
Shane always does the right thing.
But he doesn’t always have to contend with the biggest heartbreak of his life. Shane was sure that Luke was his person. Smart, reliable, kind, ambitious. Luke understood Shane and all his idiosyncrasies. He never judged him for skipping a date to spend more time at the office during a difficult project or begging off a slice of cake at his own birthday party. Shane honestly thought that he’d end up marrying Luke in a couple of years. Instead, Luke gets the job he’s been gunning for for years. At the company’s new office in Los Angeles.
It was a simple conversation. They were both skeptical of long distance relationships. Luke couldn’t ask Shane to go with him. Shane couldn’t ask Luke not to go. Breaking up was the right decision for both of them– and Shane was absolutely gutted.
After almost two months of moping (which, for Shane, consists of an even more brutal gym schedule and multiple nights crying on the couch watching romance movies with sad endings) Rose and Hayden manage to drag him out to a club to celebrate a mutual friends birthday.
That’s how Shane finds himself drinking a little more than he should in the sluttiest button down he owns and sitting far too close to Ilya Rozanov, a cocky, smooth-talking flirt who just screams bad news. The kind of guy Shane would normally give a polite smile before pointedly turning away. He and Shane have run in the same circles for a few years and have yet to get through a single conversation without Shane getting annoyed or pissed off. And despite the sultry smile and golden curls, Shane’s well aware of the string of broken hearts the man leaves behind him.
Ilya Rozanov is a mess waiting to happen. A terrible decision.
But it’s been months of re-watching Call Me By Your Name and becoming reacquainted with his own hand. Though he knows getting involved with someone so soon isn’t the best idea, Ilya’s hand on his thigh feels so good. He knows the rules and the two of them don’t have much of a friendship to ruin. It’s just something to take the edge off. It can’t be that bad, can it?
After a night of (admittedly mindblowing) sex, Shane is greeted with nearly a week of total radio silence until the next weekend when Shane receives a simple two word text.
“Round 2?”
Shane is pissed. When he tells Hayden and Rose about it, they’re pissed as well. But not nearly as angry as they are when Shane admits that he invited Ilya over again. And again. And again…
As loath as he is to admit it, Ilya is the best Shane has ever had by a country mile. He’s taught Shane so much about his own body— what it wants, what it can handle, the ways it can bend —that Shane’s pretty sure the man could teach a class on it.
As soon as they're done, however, Ilya’s back to his annoying, infuriating self, teasing and congratulating himself on a job well done. As if that wasn’t bad enough, their nights (and occasional mid-days) together have inspired Ilya to be even more brazen and obnoxious when they find themselves at the same events.
Shane’s not a stiff. He flirts. He enjoys it. He’s a regular, human person. But something about the way Ilya smiles at him, like he knows exactly how irresistible he is, makes him want to cut the guy’s tongue out.
After he’s used it to make Shane see stars.
“You can’t do this, Shane,” Rose admonishes when he sheepishly admits he has plans with Ilya that night. “Luke was such a sweetheart. You can’t rebound with Ilya of all people.”
It’s only then that Shane realizes in the months since Luke’s departure, he and Ilya have started sleeping together. Not just fucking. Not stumbling into bed together every now and again when their schedules align. Sleeping together. Exclusively– at least for Shane. Multiple times a week. Sometimes after attending the same parties, even if they spent most of their time there bickering with each other.
This is a slippery slope. Fucking leads to sleeping together leads to “talking” leads to the worst situationship known to man— which, Jesus Christ, are they already there? Shane nearly bit Ilya’s head off when he asked Shane to leave with him after dancing with some random blonde all night. And again when Ilya interrupted a conversation he was having with one of Rose’s hot yoga instructor friends. Their arguing has become so commonplace that people have made jokes about it.
Is that how people see him now? A guy so desperate for dick he’ll tolerate notorious fuckboy Ilya Rozanov and his bad behavior?
A few days later, as Ilya’s driving him home from a house party (Shane ubered. Don’t ask him why) Shane decides enough is enough.
“You can’t come in,” Shane says firmly.
“But I wear condom!”
Shane’s face goes bright red. He smacks Ilya’s shoulder, earning a pout. “Into my apartment, jackass.”
Ilya gives him a confused look. “You want to fuck here? We do not have space for what I want to do.”
The idea sends a thrill up Shane’s spine, but he scolds himself. “No. We’re not fucking. Not tonight, not anymore.”
“Is something wrong?”
“This! All of this. You and I fucking and arguing and then fucking again. It’s a mess. I should’ve stopped it before it started.”
An expression Shane can’t quite discern crosses Ilya’s face. “I do not get it, Hollander. You do not like how we fuck?”
“I only like how we fuck. And that’s not enough. I can’t keep tolerating you being an asshole just because you have some… whatever. Cosmic voodoo penis.” Shane’s face flushes once more. “Don’t look that up.”
Ilya smirks. “I do not need to.” Ilya leans in over the center console, looking delectable and dangerous. “You think my dick is magic?”
“I think it’s time that I started dating more seriously again. We’ve had our fun, but this isn’t going anywhere. Let’s stop wasting each other’s time.”
Shane isn’t sure how Ilya convinced him that one last night was a good idea. All he knows is that by the time Ilya is done fucking him slowly and tortuously into the mattress, the sun is coming up. Shane is too exhausted to kick Ilya out by the time he’s finally allowed to come, but in the morning, he ushers Ilya out the door and changes his contact to “Do Not Fuck”. There, a line in the sand. That chapter is officially closed.
If only it were so simple.
In hindsight, Shane should’ve just blocked him. Then he wouldn’t see the notifications of all the filthy things Ilya iss offering to do to him. Shane is two seconds from caving when he realizes he needs a better plan.
Do Not Fuck: and if you come to my place, I make breakfast in the morning
Do Not Fuck: you will need energy for round two ))
Shane: Can’t. I have a date.
And he did, after about 20 minutes of swiping at his desk when he should’ve been working. Tyler, 28. Likes long walks on the beach and any other activity that keeps him shirtless and tanned. Shane’s just sent him the address of his favorite bar when Ilya texts back.
Do Not Fuck: ok.
Do Not Fuck: text me when you need me.
Shane scoffs.
Shane: I won’t.
That night, Shane dresses sexy yet sophisticated. He doesn’t typically have sex until the third date if he’s trying to really get to know somebody, but Ilya’s words have been taunting him all day. A part of him wants to get laid tonight just to shut it up. And honestly, Shane isn’t confident that there’s much to know about Shirtless Tyler. He shows up almost fifteen minutes late with no apology and does most of the talking despite having very little to say.
Shane doesn’t think the night can get any worse until Ilya walks in with a group of friends. Shane spots him before Ilya does, carefully trying to angle himself away from the booth his friends claim. But Shane can feel the moment Ilya spots him. The hairs on his neck stands on end.
After twenty more minutes, Tyler excuses himself to use the restroom. Twenty seconds after that, Ilya is settling into the barstool on the other side of him, smirking devilishly. “Hello.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Shane snaps.
“You said you were busy. My friends invite me out. There is English word for this… Fate, yes?”
“Get out of here before Tyler sees you.”
Ilya hums. “Tyler. Boring name for boring man.”
“If we’re both so boring, then he and I must be a perfect match.”
“You are not boring. You just pretend to be.” Ilya leans in close, whispering in Shane’s ear. “It will be good at first. Maybe he is good kisser. He seems handsy. You like this. But he will not know how to handle you. It will be boring. You will not come. You will send him home. You will call me.”
Ilya slips back to his booth before Shane can fully process his words. Tyler returns to the table and immediately launches back into the story he was telling before he left. Shane glances over to see Ilya watching them, a satisfied grin on his face.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Shane asks.
It’s almost exactly as Ilya predicted. Tyler is very handsy, which Shane loves. He’s lacking a bit of finesse, but Shane can look past that. He’s also only a decent kisser, but Shane will take what he can get. It’s once the clothes come off that the issues begin. It’s not that Tyler is too gentle or too vanilla. It just doesn’t seem like he’s trying very hard. Just going through the motions of fucking as if it’s a task to check off his to-do list. He comes quickly and with a vague offer to go down on Shane.
Shane declines, sees him out, and then stares at his phone. Tyler got him just hot and bothered enough that Shane is too wired to sleep. He could get himself off, but he knows that’s not what he’s craving. He wants to make a bad decision.
Shane: You can’t stay the night.
Do Not Fuck: then I do not go
Shane groans. He should leave it there. Scrape up what’s left of his dignity and jerk off like a regular person.
Shane: Fine.
Do Not Fuck: what is fine?
Shane: You can stay. Just get over here.
Ilya is so smug when he arrives it makes Shane sick. He gives Shane an expectant look. “He could not give you what you need?”
“No.”
“What do you need, Hollander.”
Therapy. “You.”
Ilya points indelicately down at his crotch. “And?”
Shane turns to walk out of his room, but Ilya grabs him and shoves him up against the door before he can go. “Say it.”
In one of the most embarrassing, disappointing moments of Shane’s life, he sighs. “I need your cosmic voodoo penis.”
Shane comes three times and receives a noise complaint from his neighbors in the morning.
They carry on like that for months. Shane going on okay dates, having okay (if he’s lucky) sex, and then calling Ilya up for the most embarrassing, exhilarating consolation prize he’s ever gotten. He’s not proud of it. After one particularly upsetting night where a genuinely lovely man ended up being absolutely awful in bed, Shane attempted to even the embarrassment score by moaning his name in bed just as Ilya made him come.
The anger and indignation he saw on Ilya’s face when he came back to earth was gratifying— for the thirty seconds it lasted. Then Ilya got his revenge, fucking directly into Shane’s overstimulated prostate until he cried, stammering apologies and begging Ilya to let him go. After cleaning them both up and getting back in bed, Ilya pulled a still shaking Shane into his arms and whispered, “never do that again.”
“I feel like I’m going fucking insane,” Shane says the next day.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Hayden chastises. “There’s no way it’s that good.”
“We’re so far past that, Hayd. Just accept it.”
“Well, this whole dating other people as a preamble to fucking has flown right past crazy and straight to toxic. If you’re not going to give these guys an actual chance, you might as well just date Ilya. You’re already halfway there.”
Shane considers for a moment. It’s not an untrue statement. Their post-date meetups have Shane and Ilya seeing each other fairly often. In between, they text pretty regularly. Granted, it’s mostly about the sex, save for the occasional argument about anything from the hockey teams they root for to the nutritional value of McDonalds (or lack thereof). Shane has a few pairs of underwear in Ilya’s drawer so he doesn’t have to put on dirty ones when he’s leaving. They’re always in the bottom left corner, under Ilya’s socks so they stay separate. Ilya keeps a toothbrush in Shane’s medicine cabinet. It’s a foldable travel toothbrush that Shane grabbed after Ilya kept asking to use his, but still. It’s there.
Once, when Shane had a date while Ilya was out of town, he talked Shane through an orgasm over the phone, then just… didn’t hang up. He talked to Shane about his work trip, complained about his boss, laughed when Shane told him about his date unironically calling their server “little lady.” By the time Shane’s eyelids started to droop, it was nearly one in the morning. He knew it was even later where Ilya was but the man had yet to complain.
When he woke up the next morning, the call was still running. There was shuffling on the other end of the line. Shane groaned as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
Ilya chuckled. “Good morning, solnyshko.”
“How long have you been up?”
“Maybe an hour? I am packing for airport now. I will see you when I get back?”
Shane had always believed people when they said that Ilya was nothing but a fuckboy. And even more than that, he believed Ilya’s fuckboy actions. Ilya is an almost textbook sleaze. Except for when he makes Shane breakfast on nights he stays over. And insists on cleaning him up and getting him water, even when Shane is coherent enough to do it himself. And gets him drinks at bars and parties. And his pathological need to wrap himself around Shane like an octopus when they sleep.
Would dating Ilya really be that crazy? Should Shane give him a chance?
“That was a joke!” Hayden exclaims, breaking his train of thought. “Please, for the love of god, do not date Ilya Rozanov. He is the fuckiest of fuckboys.”
“Right, of course not.”
So at a mutual friend’s birthday party, when Ilya sidles up to him at the restaurant bar with an easy smile and the Rozanov equivalent of fuck me eyes (more like “I’m gonna fuck you” eyes), Shane turns him down.
“You do not need to be disappointed first before we fuck. It will feel just as good without this. Maybe better.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
Ilya perks up. “You want good date, then? I take you somewhere. We get dinner. And maybe breakfast.”
“I already told you, Rozanov. I’m not doing this with you.”
“Yes, you say this and then you do it anyway. Because you want to. I like it, too. I do not understand the issue, Hollander.”
“I want something serious. That’s not you.”
Ilya flinches at the words, his frustrated expression smoothing into something unreadable. “Ah, yes. And you are so serious? Fucking other men and then running to me for voodoo penis?”
“Will you please stop bringing that up?” Shane hisses.
“I am beginning to think I do not understand this word. Tell me, Shane, what is serious?”
Before Shane can answer the question, a familiar voice makes his breath catch.
“Shane?”
Shane turns to see Luke standing at the other end of the bar, holding a to-go bag with a shocked expression. Shane can’t help the grin that takes over his face.
“Oh my god! What are you doing here?”
Luke slowly approaches, taking a seat on the other side of Shane with a shy smile. “You mean at a restaurant? With a to-go bag?” Shane just rolls his eyes. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”
“Hoped so much you didn’t bother texting?”
“I wanted to wait until I heard something for sure.” Luke shifts nervously in his seat. Shane gives him a curious look. “I’m in town for a job interview.”
Shane’s eyes blow wide. His heart stutters. “Actually?”
Luke smiles and nods. “I got tapped by another company looking to fill a position out here. It’s all still up in the air. I might not even get the gig—“
“They’d be crazy not to want you.”
This couldn’t be more perfect. Luke, the only partner Shane has ever told he loves them, back in the same city. It’s almost too good to be true.
“Hi.”
Shane and Luke both startle at Ilya’s curt greeting.
“Oh shit, Ilya! It’s been a while, dude. How have things been?”
Ilya raises an eyebrow. “Were you gone? I did not notice.”
Shane elbows him in the side, ignoring the pout Ilya sends him. Luke only shakes his head. “Some things never change.” His eyes drift to Shane and soften. “I don’t fly out until the evening tomorrow. Would you want to grab breakfast? Or lunch! Or just coffee. I’m down for anything. Well, not dinner, because of my flight, but—“
“Let’s do breakfast. Text me where you’re staying and I’ll pick you up.”
“Awesome! Cool.” Luke waves shyly before grabbing his food and leaving.
Ilya mutters in rapid fire Russian and when Shane turns to him, his gaze is murderous. The shock of it alone is enough to make Shane’s mouth go dry. “So you are done with me now, yes? Hope you enjoyed ride.”
Before Shane can respond, Ilya is standing from his barstool and cutting a path towards the door. Shane hurries after him, catching him just before he reaches the parking lot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Boring, serious boyfriend is back so you do not need to keep me around anymore. You are done using me. Is this not true?”
“Using you? Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been making off like a fucking bandit! I’ve been giving you everything you want.”
“Ah yes, because I am unserious man who could only want sex. You are so different, calling whenever you want to get laid and pretending you’re better than me.”
“You told me to call you after. Don’t pin that on me. It was your fucking game.”
“I am not playing a game!” Ilya’s voice is so loud it draws the attention of a few people nearby. “Is this really what you think of me? That I am so careless and awful that I am doing this to win game? To embarrass you?”
Shane hesitates. Yes, he did think that. Though he’s only realizing how hurtful that assumption must be hearing the emotion in Ilya's voice. “Then why are you doing this?”
Ilya scoffs. “Because I am a fucking idiot, trying to get attention from man that clearly doesn’t want me. Thinks I am terrible when really he is asshole.”
“Ilya—“
“When you text, I answer. When you call, I answer. I buy you drinks and cook you breakfast, but when I ask to buy you dinner, you say no. You get dinner with other men. Men who talk too much or cannot make you laugh or cannot make you come. Men who are serious because you say they are. And after, when you need me, when you call me or text me and ask me to come to you, I go. I cancel plans and change schedule for pieces of you. And now you say I get everything I want? I get nothing, Hollander!”
Shane is too stunned to speak. He told himself that he was in the right. All this time they’ve been doing this— Jesus, it’s been months —Shane told himself he was protecting his sanity, dignity, feelings, whatever from being crushed under Ilya’s boot. He said that Ilya didn’t do relationships. That he only enjoyed fucking Shane because of how much it embarrassed him. To need to be touched by Ilya. To only be truly satisfied by him.
Yes, Ilya’s reputation preceded him. Shane has had a front row seat to some of his messy situationships and was afraid of becoming one. Of the embarrassment of being one of Ilya’s conquests.
When did that become being embarrassed of Ilya? Because as much as Shane doesn’t want to admit it, he is. And that’s what’s stopped him from pursuing this. From seeing where this could go.
And now, it seems that he’s too late.
Ilya shrugs, though he avoids eye contact. “Whatever. Glad you are happy. I’m done.”
The next morning, as Shane and Luke eat their breakfast, Shane can’t help but reflect on Ilya’s words. Especially his continual questioning of what serious means. Luke made Shane feel safe and secure. He’s kind, has a stable career, Shane’s parents love him. When Shane looks at Luke, he sees a row of ticked boxes.
Ilya is more complicated. He’s kind, but he’s also snarky and rude at times. He has a good job, but horrible spending habits. Shane can’t imagine what a conversation between Ilya and his parents would look like. It’s bad enough with the two of them bickering all the time. But sometimes their arguments are fun. Maybe not productive or mature, but they enjoy them. And Ilya’s not alone in his snark. Shane can also be a bit tetchy when he’s not careful. Ilya opens up a lot of those parts of Shane, something he’s not sure Luke would even want to do.
Shane has spent his whole life keeping his lines straight only for Ilya to blur them. Shane was so busy lamenting the perfection he lost to consider whether or not he liked the new picture.
As breakfast winds down, Shane admits that he’s started seeing someone else since Luke moved away. Someone that he thinks he really likes.
“Is it serious?” Luke asks, the disappointment clear in his tone.
Shane nods. “Yeah. I think it might be.”
After dropping Luke back off at his hotel, Shane calls Ilya. The line rings once before being sent to voicemail.
***
Ilya Rozanov isn’t often concerned with “right” and “wrong”. He’s a man who follows his gut. It’s what led him to Canada and out of his father’s clutches. It landed him a well paying job in a field that he loves. And it’s what drew him to Shane Hollander.
He first met Shane a few years after moving to Canada, at a party thrown by one of Sveta’s friends. His interest was immediate and white hot. Unfortunately, he was late to the party.
Luke slung his arm over Shane’s shoulder and pecked him in the cheek just as Ilya started to approach. Sveta teased him when he slunk back to her, a pout on his face.
“There are plenty of hot people in Toronto. You will find someone new.”
But Ilya never forgot about Shane.
He’s not a sap, by any means. He has his reputation for a reason. At his worst, the only thing stopping Ilya from hopping from one lover to the next is an empty box of condoms. But the opposite, less fun extreme is also true for him. When Ilya gets stuck on somebody, it’s almost impossible to get himself off. It’s happened a few times in his life, crushes/obsessions that have left him sniffling in Sveta’s lap, but it’s never been quite this painful.
Probably because no one is quite like Shane Hollander.
This particular rejection is like a knife to the heart, but Ilya is determined to pick himself back up without turning into a puddle on his best friend’s couch. So what if the hottest, smartest, most ambitious, sexiest, cutest, most perfect man in the world treated him like doordash for dick because he couldn’t fathom the idea of Ilya having feelings? Who cares! He’s still gorgeous and he’s still standing. He’ll deal with the heartache in the Slavic tradition: drinking as much vodka as his body can handle and finding someone else to fuck through the mattress.
He knocks back the rest of his drink and scans the crowd of sweaty bodies. He’s on the prowl tonight. He cannot go home alone.
Ilya nudges Sveta and nods towards a guy near the edge of the dance floor. “What about him?”
Sveta sneaks a glance and raises an eyebrow at Ilya. “You are not serious.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
She scoffs. “Look closer, Ilyusha.”
Ilya looks at the man again, studying his silky black hair. His tall, athletic build. His tanned skin…
“Fuck.” Ilya turns back to the bartender. “Another please.”
Sveta chuckles next to him. “Doppelgänger could be fun. Just squint as you go down on him.”
“I am broken,” Ilya declares after downing his tumbler of cheap vodka in one go. “Hollander broke me and I will never be the same.”
“Yes, is all Hollander’s fault,” Sveta mocks. “He dragged you into his bed against your will and forced you to make pancakes after.”
Ilya pouts. “He doesn’t even like pancakes.”
“And he is the one who stopped you from telling him about years spent lusting after him. Or that you want serious relationship and for him to stop fucking other people because you’re in love with him.”
Ilya blows a raspberry. “Wrong answer. You are supposed to be on my side.”
Sveta turns a glare on him. “I’m supposed to be burying my face between Rose Landry’s legs, but she is comforting crying friend because you will not answer the phone.”
The first time Shane called, Ilya declined it immediately and then paced the length of his apartment as he tried to decide what to do next. It was still early. After Shane would’ve been done with breakfast. Did talking with Luke make him realize how boring and irrelevant the man was? Was Shane calling to apologize and admit that he, too, was obsessed with Ilya and ready to stop looking at other men?
Or was he calling from bed again after having mediocre sex, summoning Ilya and his magic dick to come make him feel better? Ilya stuck his phone in the bottom of his work bag and went on a silent run.
Since then, he’s declined every call and ignored every text. He reads them and listens to the voicemails, fielding vague requests to “talk about things”, but he can’t deal with Hollander yet. He knows himself. Shane will smile and Ilya’s brain will short circuit and he’ll be back to sharing him. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
It drove him absolutely insane, knowing that he was having Shane after someone else had already touched him. Smelling their cologne on his sheets. Tasting them on his skin. It’s a miracle Ilya didn’t burn the whole city down. He still might, honestly. And track down wherever the fuck Luke moved to…
“We have nothing to talk about,” Ilya says with a shrug.
“Rose says he thinks he made a mistake.”
Ilya keeps his gaze firmly on the empty glass in his hand.
“She says he is distracted at work, staring off into space when they are getting coffee.”
“You are evil.”
“She says she has never seen him like this before.”
Ilya slams his glass down on the bar. The noise catches the attention of the bartender in front of them. She’s cute, but he doesn’t want to wait for her shift to end. “I am going to fuck doppelgänger. Do not wait up.”
After almost an hour of drunken fumbling, Ilya still can’t get it up. He sends the clone back home with an embarrassed smile and spends the rest of the night staring at his phone.
He could call him. Summon him here for a quick fuck and then send him home when he tries to talk. Give him a taste of his own medicine.
He could also listen to what he has to say, but that’s dangerous. If Ilya listens to Shane apologize and explain himself, he won’t be able to stay angry at him. And Ilya wants to be angry. It’s only fair. If Shane gets to hurt him with his ignorance, then Ilya should be able to hurt him with his pain. Though, part of Shane’s ignorance is Ilya’s fault. If Ilya had told him how he felt, maybe–
Ilya groans and buries his face in his pillow. Stupid Svetlana and her stupid fucking wisdom. So what if Shane didn’t know about his crush? That didn’t give him the right to treat him the way he did. And who cares if Shane heard he was a fuckboy? Ilya was on his best behavior while they were together.
Other than when Ilya was so nervous about texting Shane after their hookup that he panicked and waited for him to reach out only for a week of nothing to pass which Ilya ended by essentially sending a “you up?” text. Or how Ilya’s possessive tendencies did most of the talking when he caught Shane on that date. Or how he accidentally fell back onto his nonchalant tactics until the urge to cook for Shane became too much. It’s not Ilya’s fault. He did absolutely everything he could. Well, everything that didn’t feel painfully vulnerable.
God, he’s such a fucking idiot.
The inevitable occurs when Shane and Ilya are both invited to Rose and Svetlana’s housewarming bash. Ilya arrives early and plans to leave after an hour. Preferably with one of Sveta’s hot friends just as Shane is walking in. Unfortunately for him, Shane comes only a few minutes after him, looking like sex on a stick. Ilya hurries to the balcony, planning to hide and chainsmoke until Shane–
“Hey.”
Ilya jumps, dropping his lighter and watching it clatter on the asphalt two floors below. Shane’s eyes blow wide, guilt and shock warring on his face.
“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”
“Is fine. I go get it.”
Ilya attempts to slip by Shane and through the sliding door, but Shane grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket. “Wait, Ilya, can we please talk?”
“Why? Did you bring date with you? Are they already boring you?”
Shane winces at the comment. The zing of satisfaction Ilya was hoping to get curdles into guilt. Fuck. He has to get out of here.
“I deserve that,” Shane admits. “And you deserve an apology. For the way I treated you. And also all the shit I said when I was trying to defend it. I am so sorry, Ilya–”
“How is Luke?”
Ilya doesn’t want to know the answer to this question. He suffers in some way no matter what the answer is. But Shane is building to something that Ilya doesn’t want to hear. Not on the balcony of his best friend’s new apartment with her beautiful girlfriend and their impeccable taste in decor. The hanging lights attached to the awning are painting Shane in golden tones. He looks like he’s glowing. Why the fuck is Ilya here?
“Luke is fine. Back in LA. I think he’s staying out there.”
Ilya nods. “Too bad.”
“Not really. I think seeing him really put things into perspective for me.” Shane glances shyly at his shoes and Ilya is glued to his spot because Jesus Christ, he’s so adorable it hurts.
“Perspective?”
Shane nods. “It made me realize I have feelings for someone else.”
“I have to go.”
The hopeful look on Shane’s face falters as Ilya pushes past him and back into the party. He gives Sveta a curt wave on his way to the door, which she returns with a scowl, and hurries out of the building. It’s when he doubles back to look for his lighter (he has never needed a cigarette more in his goddamn life) that he hears Shane approaching him.
“I just need five minutes. Please. And then you can say whatever you want or never speak to me again and I swear, I won’t push.”
Ilya is aware that he’s holding his breath, tensing for impact. Whatever Shane is about to say is going to change things. Again. He’s been so all over the place this past year and he just wants something solid to hold on to. But the determined set of Shane’s brow tells him that this conversation is a matter of when, not if. Ilya continues digging through the grass until he finds his lighter. It takes him a few tries to light a cigarette and take a long drag.
“You have until I finish this, then I go.”
Shane nods and takes a deep breath. “You were right about what you said at the bar. You’re right about fucking everything. It’s fucking terrifying and– whatever. I made a lot of assumptions about you. And I benefitted from them. It was easier to have casual sex with someone who couldn’t possibly see me or know me or want something real. It was also easier to think of us as just fucking while I looked for something else. Something that made more sense in my head. You were at my beck and call and that worked for me so I didn’t think about it. I just kept it going even when I thought that… that maybe things were changing.”
Ilya takes another drag, waiting while Shane collects his thoughts.
“I never envisioned anything happening with us. I knew your reputation and I wanted to avoid being another notch on your belt. I thought it would be embarrassing to be yet another person who thought Ilya Rozanov would stick around for them.” When Ilya huffs, Shane rushes to correct himself. “I’m not blaming you! I’m just trying to explain where my head was at. Why I was so scared to admit what we were doing.”
“What were we doing, Hollander?” Ilya flicks ash onto the sidewalk. “What is it called when man goes on date then calls you to pick up scraps?”
It was truly the most pitiful thing Ilya had ever done. The first time, it did feel like a game he was winning. Making Shane admit that he was better than that other man. That he wanted Ilya more, regardless of what he said. That it was a step towards Shane becoming truly his. After the third time, Ilya saw it for what it was. Proof of his desperation. He didn’t say no once. Not even a business trip could stop him from being there when Shane finally decided he wanted him.
Shane shrugs. “I don’t even know, honestly. I thought calling you was admitting that I need you. That you were smug and satisfied about it.”
Need. Present tense.
“Never satisfied. Not even close.”
“And I know that now. I should’ve known it then. And I’m sorry.”
Ilya sighs. His cigarette is mostly abandoned, burning down to the filter as he tries to think of anything to say in response. In the end, there’s only one thing on his mind.
“You embarrassed me, Hollander,” Ilya admits. “You pounced on Luke right in front of me. You did to me what you thought I would do to you.”
“I know.” Shane’s bottom lip begins to tremble and he bites it to still the motion. Ilya looks away in a failed attempt to save himself. “You really scare me, Ilya.”
Ilya’s gaze snaps back over to Shane, but he doesn’t correct himself.
“You do. You’re complicated. There’s so much of you. And you make me complicated in ways that I don’t always like. In some ways that are hard to handle. I didn’t know I could hurt someone like this before I met you. I didn’t know I had it in me. And I feel like everyday you show me something about myself that I didn’t know. And it’s terrifying. The idea that I don’t know myself. That there are darker parts hidden somewhere.”
A small smile cracks Shane’s lips. “But I also didn’t know I liked arguing. Or that I’m pretty good at comebacks. Or that I love being squeezed to death in my sleep by someone who has no concept of personal space.”
Ilya tuts. “I know concept. I do not like it.”
Shane rolls his eyes, but his smile grows. He takes a tentative step forward. “Being with you made me realize that I might be more than I thought I was. That there might be a lot of me, too. And I couldn’t be with you without also facing that. I wasn’t ready to then, but I am now.”
It makes sense. It doesn’t erase any of the pain or humiliation or anger, but it does settle it. It’s a bit easier to hold now. Ilya takes one last drag of his cigarette and stomps it out on the cement.
“Thank you for telling me this. I appreciate it.”
Shane’s smile dims a bit at the dismissal and something wraps around Ilya’s heart and squeezes.
“Thanks for listening. Maybe we could try being friends one day? If you’re up for it?”
Shane Hollander’s friend. Sitting with him at bars while he chats with other men. Going to a housewarming party for him and his perfect, serious boyfriend. Ilya’s thoughts must show on his face because Shane waves away the thought.
“That’s fine. I’ll just see you around then.”
After a few silent moments, Shane turns and heads down the street towards his car. Ilya watches him go, his hands twitching at his sides. This is the smart decision. Shane hurt him, would probably hurt him again the next time he did something that didn’t fit into his cookie cutter life plan. Ilya is saving himself a lot of pain.
But he’s in pain now, watching Shane walk out of his life. If right and wrong both lead to suffering, then maybe the real choice is what suffering he’s willing to handle.
“I looked up serious.”
Shane stops and turns back to Ilya, confused. “What?”
“Serious. Dictionary definition. You keep saying it at the bar and I think you do not know what it means,” Ilya says with a sniff.
“Okay. And what does it mean?”
Ilya shrugs. “Thoughtful. Considerate. A lot about thinking.”
Shane nods. “Sounds about right.”
“I think you should know that I was always very serious about you. Since I saw you at party years ago. Even when you were with Luke. I saw you and I became very serious. I couldn’t stop being serious about you.” Ilya swallows. “I still can’t.”
Shane walks towards him, his hope on full display. “Really?”
“Yes. I am also very serious about the men you have been seeing and how painfully I can kill them,” Ilya deadpans. A startled laugh slips past Shane’s lips. “I do not want to be serious about this.”
“You don’t have to be. There’s nothing to think about. I swear.”
When he gets close enough, Ilya grabs Shane by the waist and pulls their bodies flush together. “I mean it, Shane. If you look at another man again, I am going to burn him alive. It will be ugly.”
Shane giggles and the sound hits Ilya right in the chest. “I promise. No more dates. Not with anyone but you.”
“And you are sure? That you are serious about this?”
A smile splits Shane’s face. “Very, very serious.”
That night, when Ilya finds his way to Shane’s bed, none of the usual shame follows him there. It’s just Shane and him, the way it was always supposed to be. Ilya wraps his arms around Shane, buries his face in his hair, and falls into a deep, restful sleep.