Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A sticky Southern breeze blankets over Ilya’s sun-assaulted skin in a stuffy hotel room. He grips a blinking Juul as the skyline of Los Angeles blurs together into one big spotlight, which is representative of Ilya’s life the past two years. One EP leads to an album which quickly leads to a VMAS nomination for Best New Artist. The stench of AXE quickly turns into expensive Italian scents that he can barely pronounce, earning snickers from managers in thousand dollar suits. Svetlana was just flashing to drunken patrons two years ago, now her boobs are a statement. Molded into tasteful nipslips through sheer Swarovski dresses. Freeing the nipple and all that.

He looks over at her statement boobs, on a hotel TV. Svetlana sandwiched between Shane and Ilya, who spent the entire time counting loose threads on Jimmy Kimmel’s couch, wait, no, they were on Jimmy Fallon. Ilya should remember because Jimmy Fallon spent the most of the interview fanning out over Shane, but Ilya can’t blame him.

He can’t blame any TV host for talking about Shane and his sunkissed, sticky Canadian skin with constellations across his always blushing face. Talking about Shane’s perfect mouth that is always talking about his musical choices in depth as if anyone cares what an arpeggiating synthesizer drone is. The way Shane’s big hands wrap around the shaft of a guitar, fingering the strings, sweating and panting all over the stage.

Okay, maybe, Jimmy Fallon didn’t say all that on national television, but Ilya knows he was thinking it. Everybody does. It just took the world about four years to finally catch up to what Ilya has always said about Shane this entire time, that he’s the hottest musical genius ever. Ilya would never tell him this but everytime he plays a new song to Ilya, Shane feels like the first person to ever make a song.

Shane is a wet dream, an incredibly talented wet dream. That somehow makes Ilya want him more. When they first met, Shane failed to mention his musical prowess. Too occupied with Ilya looking at allergy medicine in a polo shirt that was a size too small probably from constant washing. His nametag decorated with Spongebob stickers and hair covering his forehead,

“What’s with the stickers?” Was the first thing Ilya said to him, pointing at Shane’s chest. When Ilya should’ve asked him his hand in marriage, they were in California, gay marriage had just been legalized.

And Shane’s first words to Ilya, “Oh, um, my friend’s niece decorated it.”

His ‘friend,’ who Ilya later discovered is Zachary, Shane’s high school sweetheart. Got together when they were about eighteen. Told Shane fables of him being a famous actor and being able to provide for Shane, as if Shane is some housewife with no aspirations of his own. If every film was about failed actors who do cheap coke mixed with flour in club bathrooms with hot boyfriends they abandon at home, then sure, Zachary would be a movie star.

Forced Shane to move to Los Angeles with barely any savings. Zachary is so stupid, if Ilya had Shane he wouldn’t move him to the horniest city in the world, he would maybe fly to space and live there. No, aliens would probably want to fuck Shane too, with all their alien cocks. An image Ilya has jerked off to more times than he’d like to admit. If Ilya had Shane, he would probably dig an underground bunker and hide Shane there. Cook him all his favorite Canadian food, listen to him talk about music for days until they both probably die from lack of real oxygen. Ilya before Shane because Ilya would hold his breath, leaving what little oxygen they have, to Shane whose last words would be, we’re so thankful for this opportunity, or whatever PR answer comes to mine as his heart stops.

One of the answers he spends hours rehearsing in Ilya’s dressing room mirror,

“Did that sound too robotic?” Shane glanced at Ilya, hair hugging the back of his neck, a boring white shirt that probably cost five hundred dollars wrapped around his torso. Fingers tapped along his jeans. Ilya wishes he could be reincarnated as Shane’s fingers so he could be inside of him without Shane crying about cheating and the media and his image.

“You think if you give an honest answer, that you will die?” Ilya snorted

Shane nodded, “Yeah, the way you would die if you actually spoke during interviews.”

“People do not care what I have to say.

“I care.”

Shane cares too much. Sometimes it’s a blessing, like when Shane nags him about making sure everything’s packed for tour, as if they can’t just buy whatever they need on the road. Yet, he still lets Shane over to dig through all his luggage while Ilya watches from his couch. He spends those long bus rides, with a fully packed bag, reminiscing about being able to loiter outside of department stores. Hanging out in random restaurants and playing footsie under the table with Shane like he used to without fear of fans bombarding them. Becoming a cover of some tabloid magazine, speculating about some secret gay affair.

Or being able to wait outside clubs with Svetlana, drunkenly making out with her because they were both drunk and bored. Instead of getting whistles from people passing by, they would now get camera flashes and Wendy Williams calling Svetlana a drunk slut on network television.

But at the same time, he wouldn’t give up his life for anything. He loves waking up in unknown hotel bedrooms, models staining his sheets with expensive spraytan, tipping the maids an extra four hundred for their mess. Left behind designer dresses still drenched in sweat from coke-ridden afterparties. Narcan stuffed somewhere in their Chanel purses. Even the weird fame-induced psychosis Ilya has developed. He feels like he’s always being watched. In the shower, he’ll close his eyes and imagine someone pulling the curtains and snapping a quick pap photo of him, his flaccid cock all over billboards in Hollywood and TMZ, not like that would be a problem.

Oh wait, it is...

Svetlana groans as she pauses the interview, right when the camera focuses on Shane’s beautiful face, “Does my hair look flat in this interview?” Her voice is shaky.

Ilya furrows his brows as he looks over at her, she’s standing on some type of vibration plate, remote in hand and her face covered in some type of milky mask.

“Your hair always looks perfect.”

“Right answer.”

Somebody knocks on the hotel door, “Who is it?” Svetlana questions, sounding like a robot, like when they were kids and she’d sing in front of a fan.

“Your favorite manager in the world!” The disembodied voice yells.

“Do not come in, we are having sex! I am so close to coming, please.” Ilya loudly moans, Svetlana joins him.

Christopher, his hair transplant, odd-fitting shirt and attitude, barge into the room, “Ilya, Ilya, Ilya, Ilya,” He repeats as he slams the door behind him.

“Are you casting a spell on me, what is happening?”

Svetlana stifles a giggle.

“When you told me about this Calvin Klein photoshoot you’re doing, I’m thinking, okay, he’s going through a lot right now, maybe this will boost your morale, so me, being akin to Jesus Christ, I approve of it. I’m thinking you're probably just gonna grab his own cock, show off that little fruity navel piercing, whatever, I’ve grown to love the piercing and you. I trust you, you’re twenty-five now, you’re old as fuck in the eyes of the industry. I don’t need to babysit you anymore, so I send you alone.” Christopher gets such a crazy look in his eye when he’s mad.

“Okay?”

“I think you can imagine my surprise, when I’m driving down La Brea and Fairfax after I pick up my daughters from school, and I see one of my top-selling clients on a billboard. I see a pretty big bulge, congratulations, some hair, but you’re a man, that’s normal. I look further down while at a really long light, and I see not just one person grabbing your cock, oh no, I see two people grabbing your cock. One of the hands has french tip nails, the kind my wife gets, okay. But the other hand, weirdly enough looks like mine, or it could be yours, or it could be Shane’s. You see what the issue here is, right?”

That the hand isn’t Shane’s.

“No.”

“A bisexual Calvin Klein ad without my approval is the problem.”

“You think I handpick that photo?”

Christopher takes a deep breath, “’m going easy on you for now, I know you’re going through a lot and I don’t want a lawsuit in my future so, you win, you and your bisexuality, um, I’ll be spending all night calling people I’d rather not be talking to, so thanks for that. By the way, you guys got Rolling Stone tomorrow morning then we fly out to Shaneland. Also, Ilya, you’re quitting cold turkey tonight. I’ll have Cathy buy you some ultra-strength nicotine patches or whatever. I cannot have you sounding like shit and smelling like shit during this whole VMAS press run.”

Ilya rolls his eyes, “Is your monologue over?”

“Ha,” Christopher deadpans, “You’re always a pleasure. Also, don’t pull a fucking Britney and Madonna with Shane. America couldn’t handle two hot broads kissing each other, can't imagine what they would do if they saw you two lock lips.”

Christopher closes the door behind him.

“‘Two hot broads,'” Svetlana repeats in a deep voice, “Chris is such a feminist.”

“Atleast he has good taste.”

Ilya’s relationship with Christopher is weird. He treats the three of them like their his children. He’ll kinda let Svetlana do whatever she wants, as if he’s a single father learning how to talk to his daughter about periods for the first time or taking her bra shopping. Fully supported her modeling for Victoria Secret. Got a couple of scandalous panty shots and drunken nights scrubbed off the internet forever. He never compliments her, always afraid of being sued for misconduct.

Shane is his pride and joy, he could spit on a baby and Christopher would be able to spin it into protest against fascism. He’s asked, moreso, begged Shane on several different occasions to drop Svetlana and Ilya, mainly Ilya, and just go solo but Shane, the beautiful martyr, always declines.

Christopher once said to Ilya, “I’m hard on you, because I see myself in you.” The four of them were cramped in a van with no air conditioning, somewhere in Florida, Ilya remembers because sweat stuck to his body, but more importantly, sweat slid off of Shane’s perfect body. T-shirt sleeves rolled up, showing off a farmer’s tan as he scrolled on his phone. Christopher next to him, sweat dripping down his once bald head.

Ilya cringed, “Please, you would never be in me.” He muttered, Svetlana drooling against his shoulder. Somehow she slept in that heat.

“See, I used to joke like that when I was like twenty three.”

“When was that, sixty years ago?”

“Ilya, I’m being serious. One day, you’re gonna look back on our moments together when you put me in the ground and realize I was right about everything.”

Christopher knows about Ilya’s daddy issues and is trying to become his pseduo-father like this is some feel good sports drama. He should atleast commit to this role and spank Ilya a couple times, to make this all worth something. All he does is complain about how Ilya weighs down their marketability and how much he wished Ilya was just Shane 2.0.

Svetlana resumes the tv.

“We’re very thankful for the opportunity to keep performing." PR angel, Shane, says on the tv.

“I am mad neither of us ever fucked Shane.” Svetlana frowns.

They’ve definitely fucked about Shane about a month or so of knowing him. Svetlana getting off the idea of Ilya fucking Shane. Asking what Ilya would do to Shane. Ilya tried to say everything in English, as you know, practice for the real thing but eventually transitioned to Russian, flopping on top of Svetlana, babbling into her neck, solely focusing on his own pleasure. Somehow they both come to the thought of Shane.

Ilya’s gotten off to the idea of Svetlana fucking girls, it an equal exchange. They used to be so horny and fun. Now, Ilya cannot remember the last time he had enjoyable sex. Probably right before his hiatus a couple months back. Fucking into some guy who was just as big as him, probably just as big as Shane, who was in the room next to his.

Ilya purposefully moaned loud, earning banging on the wall from Shane who was probably reading some book about music theory, in those glasses of his, and that image finally led him to orgasm. Grindr guy, whose name Ilya really should’ve remembered, leaves after overstaying his welcome and Ilya gets a text from some unknown number talking about his father. Which leads to Ilya taking a two-month hiatus, ‘Christopher’s orders’, when his father’s Alzheimer's worsened.

Probably the first time Ilya took an actual break in about two years. He was restless. After putting his dad to sleep, he would just wander around the house. He spent two months watching his dad and career deteriorate, Ilya couldn’t figure out which one was more heartbreaking to watch. Switching between MediaTakeOut and WebMD on his old laptop, from high school, full of saved porn and pirated music, every hour until his eyes hurt.

Shane and Svetlana went to listening events together, she modeled for Vogue and Shane modeled for GQ. Nobody texted him, that’s why he didn’t bother looking at his phone for the first three weeks. Was probably never acknowledged in any interviews, so he didn’t bother reading them. It was so dumb, sulking around, begging for attention when his dad repeatedly asked about their childhood dog, that Ilya had to put down, if only Ilya could put down his dad. Bury him in their backyard too, would probably be more humane than letting him slowly forget everything before inevitably falling over and dying.

He sat by an unlocked door as his father showered every morning. This specific night, Ilya scrolled through TeamHollander on an old phone that can barely run Instagram. An account full of paparazzi photos of Shane, he scrolls to the comments, constant love and praise because what else would it be. Ilya zooms in on a photo to Shane at Erewhon, Ilya rolls his eyes, he was there yesterday with Zach. They stood together shopping, Zach’s arm wrapped around Shane’s waist. Probably begging to go drinking like he does every night. A little Lego Shane Hollander still hangs from Shane’s keys, given to him by some young girl in Portland who said she can’t wait until she’s playing alongside him. Shane calls it his ‘good luck charm,’ Ilya scoffed, as if Shane Hollander needs a good luck charm.

Ilya spent dinner with his father, now stuck scrolling on his real phone, ignoring texts from everyone. Svetlana texted him every hour, begging for updates on him. Skipping past messages of support from fans, rereading through old Instagram DMs with Shane. His dad picked at his frozen dinner, wondering why Ilya is so frustrated with him all the time. Ilya wiped his eyes so hard, he saw stars.

Sometimes he’ll remember.

“Your brother tells me you’re putting a band together.”

Ilya wipes his face, “I already started a band—three years ago.”

“After everything I did for you…you end up singing silly little songs.”

“I’m going to bed.”

His father stomps, “Just like your mother always did.”

Sometimes he doesn’t.

Ilya sat on the couch, watching a Shane interview,

“I was a very timid kid. Uh, I didn't have a lot of friends growing up, only had three. So, I spent a lot of time listening to music.” The screen shows a young Shane, around ten or eleven singing offtune to Lucky by Britney Spears.

Ilya snorted, did Shane throw the first brick at Stonewall as soon as he came out of the womb?

Shane groaned, “Where did you guys get that video?”

Off screen, “Your mother sent it to us.”

His father walked in front of the television.

“When is our next game? We need to train. Stop watching TV right now, Anatoly.”

Anatoly was an old teammate. He used to coach Ilya up until he died of some heart condition when Ilya was sixteen. He went to the funeral, fucked Anatoly’s son in the bathroom, it was his way of grieving. He was so hot too, he kinda looked like Shane. Or maybe Shane looked like him. Or maybe Ilya has pseudo-Alzhemier’s and reimagines everyone as Shane Hollander, not like that’d be so bad.

“We don’t have a game today,” Ilya sighs. “Or ever.” He switches to English.

“Today is Friday. We have a game, idiot.”

Ilya looked down at his phone, it was Friday, also saw a missed alarm about his meds.

“You hurt your back during the last game, remember?” Ilya said, getting up, pausing the Shane interview.

“Oh.” His father said, “Thank you, Anatoly. You know that you are my closest friend, even if I am better than you.”

Ilya chuckles, “Yes.”

He grabbed his father’s pills from a cabinet. As Ilya separated them, he wondered why he didn't just let his father die. He let his mother die, what’s one more parent? He pressed his forehead against the kitchen counter, a counter he used to sit at as he watched his mother cook. He needs to get out of here before he meets his mother again, not like that would be so bad.

His father gestured to the tv, “Who is this?”

“A singer I really like.” Ilya smiles.

His father was once a baby crawling around for attention, a fat baby, just like Ilya. Ilya stared down at a photo of his grandma holding his father in a sink. Ilya’s grandfather somewhere in the distance. A bright gummy smile and fat cheeks, he was a cute baby. His dad never talked about his childhood, not that Ilya would care about it anymore. He was once a cocky asshole that somehow had friends, his father holding up some trophy with short cropped hair, curls barely coming out. He was a shitty father, who stood behind Alexei as he sulked and Ilya, who beamed at the lens, showing off a missing tooth and freshly buzzed hair, Ilya’s mother behind the camera.

Now, he’s an old man wandering around for attention, with no photo to immortalize him. Ilya can’t feel bad, well, maybe he does a tiny bit. He feels bad to the point where he babyproofs the house, having to have everything delivered, too scared of someone snapping of photo of him and suddenly he’s on the cover of some magazine, ‘Future Slutty Orphan Ilya Rozanov buys a Shower Chair for his Dying Father,’ would not be the worst thing he’s read about himself.

He chainsmoked everyday, coating his childhood room walls in thirdhand smoke. Had nicotine poisoning as he drafted his departure post which doubled as a suicide note. Well, the first couple drafts were, but he would get assassinated by Christopher himself if he left right before the VMAS, not like that would be so bad. He’d be considered a martyr instead of a man who just gave up. He can stick it out a couple more months, get everybody really attached, then just leave. Leave the band, leave the earth, same thing really. He should probably cross some things off his bucket list.

As Ilya helps his father shave the stray grey hairs on his cheeks, he thinks of that bucket list, which only has one unmarked aspiration, fucking Shane Hollander, he’d probably be able to find a cure for Alzheimer’s before that ever happens. He helped his father get dressed everyday, at first trying not to look at his bare chest, but at a certain point he got curious about the faint scars scattered across. Possibly from his hockey career or Ilya’s distant, blurry grandfather. Not like it matters. None of this care would amount to anything. Wouldn’t redo Ilya’s childhood, wouldn’t gift him good karma, wouldn’t even make his father remember.

He got mistaken for half of his father’s old hockey team, had to have very awkward lockerroom talk with his father, or a younger version of himself, which always stings. Having to be sixteen years old again is never easy. Or even Alexei, who hasn’t shown his face in years. Ilya doesn’t even know if he’s sending money to a real niece anymore.

As soon as Polina came back from some business trip or whatever excuse she said not to watch her husband die. Ilya immediately flew back to LA, all jet lagged and jumpy. The smell of cigarettes now disgusted him, no nearby smokeshops open this late, nicotine patches and gum too weak, so he went to his other addiction.

A penthouse door slowly opens, the tip of a freckled nose peers out before it is completely swung open, “You’re back!” Shane whisper-yelled before pulling Ilya into a hug.

Ilya pulled back from the hug, “Are you still mad at me.” His voice is so brittle and small.

Shane shook his head, “No, no, no.”

Ilya attempted to kiss Shane, some part of him having nothing to lose, some other part trying to recreate a buzz.

Shane pulls back, because this isn’t a romcom.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry. Just been, so,” Ilya fully stepped back from Shane.

“Shit, you’re shaking.”

“Yeah, I–” Ilya weakly chuckles, nothing’s funny, “I feel like shit.”

“Zach just, um, he just, left. You could like, stay for a while if you want.”

Ilya nodded, brushing past Shane.

Shane takes his bag from his hand before leaving it by the door.

“Why did Zachary leave?” Ilya slips off his shoes.

“Um, some of his costars wanted to go to a party, get to know each other. I don’t know.”

“Hm. You didn’t go with?”

“Had a long day, so,” Shane shrugged. “Just wanted to sleep in.”

“You always want to sleep in.” Pot calls the kettle black.

“You know I hate partying.”

Ilya coughed as he took off his hoodie, a permanent itch in his throat, all the cigarettes probably burnt his esophagus.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight.” Shane remarked, inspecting Ilya’s body. Not quite the response Ilya wanted.

“I only ate frozen dinner and cigarettes for two months straight, it was no biotic diet.”

“Fuck off.”

Ilya picked at his nicotine patch placed on the back of his neck. Shane awkwardly stood in sweatpants and some old-man band t-shirt, “Uh, are you hungry? I could, don’t know, make something.” He offered.

“You still cook your own food?”

“Yeah. And I still clean my house too.” Shane beamed.

“Are you even famous?”

“To some people I am.”

Ilya really should eat, “I am not hungry.” He mutters, rubbing at his eye.

“Okay. Do you wanna lay down?”

Ilya nodded, “That’d be nice.”

Ilya laid against Shane’s stomach which normally Shane would push him off, but Shane and all his benevolence, let him, just that once.

Ilya laughed against Shane’s stomach. Cheek pressed against Shane’s shirt, taking in his scent. It’s kinda briny, like he had been working out earlier, “He, like, actually hit on Svetlana the entire time. Like, imagine somebody unsuccessfully flirting with you for two hours straight as their album plays in the back.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ilya murmurs.

“I’m being serious. I actually wanted to cry, it was that bad. I liked the album but,”

“But?”

“The whole time,” Shane found a curl and twirls it, Ilya was really getting five-star treatment from Shane, hopefully his brother gets sick next, maybe Shane will give him a pity blowjob. “I was just like, I wish Ilya was here. Never thought I would think that.” He joked and Ilya knows it’s a joke, but the dam breaks, well moreso, cracks. Ilya can’t really say he cried, just a couple tears fell out.

“Are you crying?”

Ilya wants to bite out an ‘obviously’ but he can’t. He just shoved his face into Shane’s shirt, sniffling against it. Shane’s stomach tenses beneath him, “Hey.” Shane’s about to run his hand through Ilya’s hair but it’s tangled, so he opts to cautiously rub his head, kinda like Ilya’s a stray cat.

So different from the fight they just had a day before Ilya left.

Ilya was sitting on a couch in his dressing room, they had just finished some photoshoot with kittens, which made no sense. Flooding in an oversized Supreme hoodie, switching between Grindr and Vine in one hand and gripping onto a blinking vape in the other.

And speak of the Devil, just as Ilya taps on a freckled back and nice ass, Shane whipped his door open, a soppy angry kitten, and instantly started yel— “Can you give a shit about anything?”

Ilya had messed up a shot one too many times. And maybe purposefully bumped into Shane one too many times just to feel his skin against his and because he was getting restless from standing in the same spot for two hours. Cat fur clogged up his sinuses as Shane pushed him back, prompting Christopher, and his freshly done hair transplant, to end their photos early. Letting Svetlana and her beautiful face get all the camera time as Ilya got yelled at, for bothering Shane. Ilya just stared at Christopher’s unhealed skin grafts.

Shane had walked into Ilya’s dressing room with just a towel on, as if that would instantly make Ilya agree with him, but Ilya’s not twenty-two, seeing Shane shirtless and wet doesn’t turn his brain off anymore.

Ilya groaned, “We have this argument every week, let us try some new material for once, Shane. You are a very talented songwriter, I am sure you can come up with something.”

“We have it every week because nothing ever changes with you.” Shane points at Ilya.

“Sorry, I do not want to change for you or this industry.” Ilya shrugged before taking a long hit from his Juul.

“I can’t even take you seriously when you’re vaping like a teenager.”

Ilya blew minty flavored vapor in Shane’s direction, “And I am supposed to take you serious when your cock is right in my face?” Ilya glanced down, to prove his point, obviously, “Were you in the shower getting hard at the thought of me getting yelled at?”

Shane tightly laughed as he swatted the smoke from his face, “You think everything is a joke.”

“Becasue I do not care about all this bullshit?”

“You get to not care about anything,”

Ilya stopped Shane from going on one of his many tangents about how he has some responsibility or whatever, “Did you have Zachary fight? Is this why you are mad at me? He is not happy with that role you bought him?”

“I didn’t—”

“Mhm, yes you did. Do not sit up here and act like you are perfect and can’t do anything wrong.”

“Nobody said I was perfect.”

“Nobody has to, because you already act like it.”

“No, I—ugh—you’re just insecure that I’m better at this than you.”

“What is this?” Ilya waved his hands around.

“Music, I don’t know, being famous. Being a good person, maybe?”

“A good person?” Ilya laughed. “Wow, you have been dragging along a man you do not like anymore because it makes you feel good. Doing charity work, buying him roles because he could not do it himself. Oh, and everybody knows you two are fucking, but you are barely seen with your boyfriend out because of plausible deniability, whatever that means,” He pouts, “Но я — тот самый большой, злой и страшный волк.”

“Wow, you’re literally a sex addict who doesn’t do anything for anybody. When was the last time you helped someone other than yourself? And fucking them with your huge dick doesn’t count,” Shane blurted out, “And I am being strategic. I am protecting Zach’s career by not attaching my name to his. I am not denying anything.”

Not typical of Shane. Ilya likes when Shane is mean to him, likes when Shane is nice to him. Huh, maybe he just likes when Shane gives him the time of day.

“Sure,” Ilya squinted at Shane, “You love Zachary, but trust me, you do not like him.”

“When was the last time you had a relationship that lasted longer than a night?”

“When was the last time Zachary made you come?”

Shane pressed his wrists into his eyes, “I’m done.”

“Bye.”

“Fuck you.”

“You always say that, but you never do. I hate these mixed signals.”

Shane groaned as he walked out, “Please try growing up, everyone would appreciate it.” Said by a man who went into Ilya’s room to throw a tantrum.

A man who calls him a child every chance he gets, consoles him like one every chance he gets. Maybe, Shane is the one playing into his whole daddy issues thing, Ilya thinks to himself as he now sits on a hotel bed.

The early dawn of Los Angeles pouring over the skyline. Ten or so people all cramped in a hotel room, all running around doing something, as if this interview is the most important thing in the world.

Their publicist, Catherine blurts out, “They’re saying Ilya is breaking down barriers for many young queer people and challenging toxic masculinity." Her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, showing that she means business today.

Svetlana snorts as her makeup artist applies mascara, "That's one way to put it.”

Shane is next to Ilya, too busy looking down at his phone, texting. Probably texting Zachary or whatever. His face always shows it. The slight quirk of his eyebrow and the way his lips purse.

“What?” Ilya frowns.

“Your Calvin Klein photoshoot.” She hands him a pack of medical grade nicotine patches. Now he’s back to surviving off of nicotine patches and meals with smaller portions than what Shane eats. As if he’s not already skin and bones.

“And that is good?”

“Yes, especially for the demographic you attract, but the opposing side is lik—”

“I do not want to know what they are saying.”

“Huh, okay. But, we are currently drafting apologies and we should have one prepared in like two days, let some of the initial blowback calm down before you release anything. We’re tryna think if we want you to be more apologetic. Have you cry and shit, or, or, we use it as a way to make you a queer icon, maybe get GLAAD to back us up, we could probably get you guys a float during Pride Month next year in WeHo, maybe get you on a Ryan Murphy show?” Catherine flashes Ilya a fake smile.

“Uh huh.” Ilya mindlessly nods as Catherine calls somebody.

“I always knew you would be the first in hot water.” Shane nudges Ilya’s shoulder.

“And why is that?”

“You have a very, um,” Shane laughs into his hands.

“Shane, speak,” Ilya attempts to pull his hands apart, “Shane, I do not want to tickle you in front of everybody.” He whispers in Shane’s ear, letting his fingers brush against his ribcage.

Shane grips Ilya’s wrists, “Okay, okay, you have a very, provocative nature about you.”

“Provocative?”

“Yeah, provocative.”

“I’d rather be provocative than boring.” Ilya flicks Shane’s forehead.

Shane gets up, “Nobody is tweeting ‘Hashtag Shane Hollander is Over Party.’”

“People are posting that about me?”

“Probably.”

“Maybe, I could pose naked too, get some heat off of you.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Shane simpers, “No.”

Ilya groans as he falls back on the bed, “What is this interview for, again?” He asks, Does he have Alzheimer's too?

“Rolling Stone,” Shane yawns out. “Please, don’t let the journalist touch your dick too.”

“Why? Would you be jealous?”

Shane flushes, “Maybe.”

 ☆

Rozanov: The Rolling Stone Interview

by Pat Zehme

I walk into The Ritz-Carlton room, I get hit with the smell of artificial mint. Ilya Rozanov was standing on the balcony, watching the sun crack and drip over the skyline of Los Angeles as Sorry by Beyonce quietly played off his cracked iPhone. (Check out our review of Lemonade, HERE.) Pretty fitting. Both in the midst of this latest news cycle. I greet him as he quietly hums along. All he does ‘zeros’ the smoke. At least somebody cares about my sensitive lungs. There’s nobody else in the room. If I had known any better, I would think we were about to have sex. Adding me to a long list of people. This introduction was the complete opposite of his bandmates. Shane Hollander stood by the door, hand out ready to greet me. A bright smile and a tiny thought bubble that reminded him to not go off script. Svetlana Vetrova sat already in a chair, flashing me a small smile, all dolled up. A bit tired, don’t blame her.

Ilya turned, nodding towards two chairs in the middle of the room. At this point, I really felt like I was about to have sex with Ilya Rozanov. I sat as he let the rest of the song play out. Ilya waltzes over in Rick Owens sweatpants, a faded graphic t-shirt, disheveled hair, but no more cigarette smell. Something he had been known for when he was a rookie. People often ask me, ‘who’s the worst person you’ve interviewed.’ Or ‘who’s the nicest?’ But, never who's the realest. Completely unfiltered and honest, it was a bit scary. Does this guy have a publicist? Are they still alive? Is he his own publicist?

Piercing blueish-green eyes, luminous skin (despite the smoking, God has his favorites), and swollen muscles covered in various purple-green bruises. Some part of me wished I was having sex with Ilya Rozanov instead of interviewing him and recording his blunt replies, but heavy is the head that wears the crown. Still, somehow, I gained the courage to flaunt Madonna’s 1992 Sex book, thinking Ilya would enjoy relating to another controversial blonde sex symbol, and of course, he does. “I should have been in this book.” Is the first thing he says to me as he flips through softcore pornography.

As a one year old? That would raise some ethical concerns.

[He laughs.] You did your research.

I always do.

Did you always want to be a journalist?

Is this an interview for you or me?

[He closes the book] Could be both.

I’ll just stick to asking the questions.

Go ahead.

You see what I am alluding to with this book, right?

[He groans and tosses the book aside] It was an ad for underwear. Why would my cock not be the center of attention?

You had a man’s hand on your penis.

[He smiles slyly] And a woman’s. I was being inclusive.

I take it that you want to be a modern-day sex symbol.

Not really.

Then why pose naked for Calvin Klein?

I was not naked.

Okay, then why pose almost-naked for Calvin Klein?

For fun.

How is that fun?

You do not like hot people grabbing at you?

Fair enough, you enjoy the infamy?

No, it is annoying.

Do you see yourself as a role model?

[He laughs] You are not serious. Did you get my questions mixed up with Shane’s?

You think Shane [Hollander] is a role model?

Everyone acts as if he’s the savior of music, so yes, I would consider him a role model.

Something that struck me about your band is your chemistry. You and Svetlana have a long history together, but you and Shane have only known each other for about four years, and your chemistry is palpable. In terms of your chemistry, you are two strong-willed individuals with two very different personalities. Do you clash often?

Very long question. Um, yes.

What was the worst fight so far?

[He clears his throat] Don’t think he would like my answer. Just know, I am usually the one in the wrong.

 ★

Pat looks at Ilya before asking, “So, you wouldn’t say you two are friends?”

Ilya titters. Shane Ilya’s best friend. He decided that back after three months of knowing him,

Shane stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk, “I have a question.” In a backwards Obey hat, because it is 2013 and that’s what people wear.

Ilya stopped in his, “Is it how you can audition for FratX? Because you already have dress code down.”

“Fuck off, I have an actual question.”

“Okay, I have an actual answer.”

Shane takes his hat off for seemingly dramatic effect, “Do you wanna, maybe like, I don’t know, stay over for Christmas this year? Zach has to go back home for his dying grandma and he just wants to be alone with his family. My parents are gonna go to Florida, so I’m all alone this year.” He runs a hand through his hair, it’s kinda overgrown.

Ilya blinked.

“You can totally say no, sorry, I know it’s kinda weird to ask, but I just see you as more of a friend than a bandmate, I guess. I don’t know. That sounds weird and stalkerish. I am fine if you want to keep it strictly business, I know how music can get really complicated once feelings are involved. Like, friendship feelings. I don’t have a lot of friends here.” Shane word-vomited, frowning.

Svetlana’s going back home as well, leaving Ilya alone to sulk around the apartment.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I will stay with you. Big sleepover.”

“Cool, cool, cool, cool.” Shane repeated to himself, walking away. As he walked away Ilya’s earbud gets yanked out of his ear, “Fuck, sorry.” He walked backwards, so Ilya can catch his earbud and catch up.

Shane leaned his head against a crosswalk pole. Yellow traffic lights pouring all over his skin, freckles barely visible as he watched cars pass. A breeze passes through as Beyonce filled Ilya’s left ear. Ilya purposefully stretched his pinky out to Shane’s, pressing their tips together. Shane faintly smiles before turning his face to look at Ilya.

And just as Ilya was going to lean in and kiss him, some BMW got rear-ended right in front of them. Shane looked over and watched as two guys got out of their respective vehicles and fought on Overland and National Blvd. Ilya heard a ‘Worldstar’ or two as they duked it out.

“Do you think they saw Beyonce drop?” Ilya joked.

Shane chuckled as he looked back at Ilya.

Ilya should walk into the collision in front of them as a form of punishment for getting himself in this situation, plenty of single people in this huge city, also plenty of shitty people who don’t care about cheating, but here he is, with Shane, I Love my Boyfriend Who Isn't You, Hollander sharing cheap headphones.

“Were you gonna kiss me just now?” Shane tilted his head.

Ilya huffed, “No.”

“Okay.” Their favorite word now. Shane just nodded his head and Ilya couldn’t read his tone.

Their Christmas was spent lounging on Shane’s couch. No gifts. Just greasy pizza, back when Shane used to let himself touch oil. Shane had spent twenty minutes on the phone with one of his hometown friends, “JJ, if you cheated on her, you never really liked her.”

“Yeah, I get that. But, I see hot guys everyday, but that doesn’t make me automatically wanna cheat.”

Ilya heard that and tried his hardest not to scream.

“I am not saying I’m better than you, I’m just saying, practice self-control, dude, seriously.”

“Okay, okay. It’s Christmas, just turn your phone off and deal with it tomorrow. Yes, I know it’s Boxing Day tomorrow, just because I live here doesn’t mean I forgot everything about Canada. Call me tomorrow, I’m busy. Tell your parents I said, ‘Merry Christmas.’”

Shane groaned, “Uh, Joyeux Noël?”

“Am I still on speaker? Fuck you, JJ. Stop messaging girls on Facebook. Bye.” Shane giggled into the phone.

Shane cleared his throat before walking back over to the couch, “Sorry about that.”

“You speak French?”

“Enough to get me by.”

“How do you say, you are so sexy, in French?”

Shane looked up to the ceiling, “Um, Tu es laid.”

“You are tricking me.”

“No.”

After scrolling through Netflix for what seemed like hours. The two never agreed on what to watch.

Shane gave up and asked Ilya, “Why did you move to LA?”

Ilya snorted, wearing one of Shane’s band tees because he conveniently forgot to pack pajamas, “I wanted to get away from my father and brother back in Russia. Sveta already lived out here, I am a professional freeloader.” Ilya can’t remember the last time he was this excited to answer boring questions. Dusty chrysalis finally being broken by young butterflies hidden deep in his stomach

“Why did you?”

“Zach wanted to be an actor, so,”

“So, you moved across the world for your boyfriend?”

“I—yeah, I guess. I wanted to be a musician though, so moving here worked out.”

“You have always wanted to be a musician?”

Shane nodded his head, “Yeah, but I had this little stint in my life where I really wanted to be a hockey player then went back to wanting to make music.”

Ilya nodded his head slowly, screws twisting and turning in his head, “Hm.”

“What?”

Ilya shrugged, “I used to play hockey too.”

Shane’s eyes widened, “Really?”

Ilya nods.

“Tell me about it.”

“Um,” Ilya wiped his nose. “My older brother used to play and being younger, I wanted to be like him, you know, with siblings.”

“I don’t know, I’m an only child.”

Ilya sucked in his teeth, “Only child?”

“Yeah? Is that bad?”

“I think so.”

“Whatever. Keep talking.”

Ilya smiled, “Um, I had his stick and began playing. My mother was my biggest fan. I only played for her, really. I played until I was a teenager,” He sighed. “Then I got injured. I was seventeen. Was like, a national tragedy,” Shane laughed at the theatrics. “The world did not get to see me play. I am over it now, but that was like second worst thing to happen to me.”

Shane nodded, “Huh.”

“What?”

“You were gonna go pro?”

“Obviously.” Ilya scoffed.

“I could’ve gone pro too if I kept at it.”

“That’s funny, our paths still would have crossed.” Ilya gestured between them.

“Yeah, probably would’ve beaten you all the time.”

“Why go straight into competition, what if we were teammates?”

Shane shook his head. They both sat in silence. Ilya imagines a world of Shane wearing a hockey jersey, and his hands wrapped around a stick. Sliding across ice, getting into fights, spitting out blood. Wearing Ilya’s jersey as Ilya pounds into h—

“Don’t think we could be on the same team.” Shane yanked him out of this fantasy.

“We are in the same band.”

“Not the same thing.”

“Pretty much the same.”

“No, because there are no captains in bands.”

“To you, there isn’t. There is always a leader.”

“Whatever.”

Ilya looked back at a blank tv screen. He watched as Shane’s reflection fiddled with the remote right before asking, “Are you talking to anyone?”

“I am talking to you.”

“No, like romantically,” Shane clears his throat. “You’re always talking about me and Zach, I wanna talk about your, like, um,”

“Lovers?”

Shane cringed. “Ew, yeah, I guess.”

“I live through you. I do not have a love life.”

“Oh, please.”

The last girl was Alicia. Faded pink hair with her brown roots who was obsessed with Tumblr and music blogs. She used to draw on fake freckles everytime they hung out, because Ilya complimented them once. The sex was good, she always begged Ilya to hit her during it. Used to post photos of Ilya on her Instagram with Lana Del Rey’s lyrics as the caption. She was funny, especially when she was high, introduced Ilya to Blood Orange. Her eyes would crinkle after making fun of Ilya who forced out a fake laugh every time. But her ex would hit her during sex, had tougher skin than Ilya, and had better music taste so she went back.

“There was this girl, um, a month ago. Huge tits,” Shane snorted at that. “She was nice, went to all our shows, cheered the loudest, also fucked me everynight. But she was too in love with her ex. She cut me off before we ever got started.”

“Pink haired girl?”

Ilya tilted his head, “Yeah, how did you—”

“I notice everything. You’re not upset?”

Ilya shook his head, “People come and they go. Won’t be too long until the next one. Before her, it was some techbro who would talk on and on about Bitcoin until I fucked him.” Some techbro who stood like Shane, was super annoying about literally everything, Ilya loved shutting him up. Was obsessed with Childish Gambino which was interesting to fuck to.

Shane laughed, “You’re not tired of that?”

“Of what?”

“Like, fucking so many people for fun. You don’t wanna ever just,” Shane gestured.

“Just what?”

“Just, I dunno, fall in love with somebody.”

Ilya wanted to laugh in Shane’s face but he’s not Alicia, so he withheld, “You think I have never been in love?” He questioned.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Shane, everyone is not as lucky as you when it comes to love.”

“You think I’m lucky?”

“Uh, you are on track to marrying your high school sweetheart, I would say you are luckier than most.”

Shane shifted.

“You do not think you’re gonna marry Zachary?”

“We’re twenty two.” Shane said that as if that’s an answer.

“My mother was twenty two when she married my father.”

“What the fuck.”

“It happens.”

Ilya has a photo of her in her wedding dress somewhere. Most of the photoshoot somewhere in Russia, maybe Alexei took it, or it’s rotting away in an attic. Frilly lace covering her scrawny body, dramatic lashes to distract from a fake smile, veil to cover her hairsprayed pin curls. The photo he has of her is a solo shot, she might be really smiling, Ilya can’t really remember how she used to smile. Sometimes, he feels her all the way out here, as if she followed him to LA. It would make sense, this is the City of Angels. It’s too many blondes out here, it’s like she’s everywhere,

Ilya felt something nudge at his foot.

“Where’d you go? Shane asked.

He really does notice everything.

“Nowhere.”

“Okay, um, can I ask another question.”

“Mhm.”

“What—um—god,” Shane looked down at his socked feet. “What was the best sex you’ve ever had?”

Ilya laughed so hard, his stomach hurt.

“What? You get to pry into my love life, I should be able to pry into your sex life.”

“Hm,” Ilya watched as Shane covered his crotch with a pillow, huh. “I do not think I have had it yet.”

“How.”

“You have listened to many songs, do you think you will ever listen to the best one ever?”

“No.”

“Same thing with sex,” Ilya shrugged. “I do not think I will ever have the best sex ever.”

“But, you can change your mind on music. You can revisit a song and think it’s the best song ever, you can’t revisit sex with someone and change your mind on the sex itself.”

Ilya tilted his head, “Have you ever had sex with somebody other than Zachary?”

“No.”

“Exactly. So, you have no clue how to rate sex. You are like a virgin."

“I’m not a virgin. You’re not seeing my point,” Shane shifted, “I know you don’t have a good standing with everyone you’ve ever fucked, but you can still confidently say you had good sex together at the time, its objective, it won’t change because you already had the sex. Set in stone.”

“No, because I can change my mind at any point. Is not like I have sex journal and have strict rating system that never changes. What if I used to, mhm, liked getting pissed on,”

Shane chuckled, “What?”

“Shh, listen. I used to like getting pissed on, now I don’t, that makes all sex involving piss not count. Does not even cross my mind anymore for good sex.”

“But, what if you loved getting pissed on, um,” Shane wiped a smile off his face. “In the moment. Do you just ignore that orgasm now?”

“Yes.”

Shane laid his elbow on the pillow, “But, all the sex you had has made you into the man you are today, so to just, treat it like it never happened, is weird.”

Ilya groaned, “I do not focus on past orgasms, I focus on future orgasms, simple. That is why, I will never have the best sex ever because then there is no more point in to keep having sex, I will have peaked. You see, yes?”

“You are more philosophical than you lead on when you’re not talking about getting pissed on.”

Ilya kicked Shane’s thigh, “It happened once.”

Shane tilted his head, scowling.

“Guy wants to piss on me. I let him piss on me.” It was one of Ilya’s first hookups in LA. In the bathroom at some gay club, some guy had led Ilya to the bathrooms, Ilya had sucked his cock in a stall and just as he was about to come, he asked Ilya if he could piss real quick. Ilya said, sure, why not, they were in a stall. Then the guy reiterated, if he could piss on Ilya, making this whole bathroom choice make a whole lot of sense.

“How did it feel?”

“Warm.”

Shane’s nose wrinkled, “Was it at least hot?”

“I was like, ‘Okay, I am getting pissed on.’ Was like, whatever.”

“Ew.”

“You would never let Zach piss on you?”

“I wouldn’t let Jesus pee on me.”

Ilya cocked an eyebrow, “Okay.”

“Have you ever, like,” Shane swallowed, he brought his voice low, “had a threesome?”

“Yes.”

Shane just stared at him, “Well?”

“Well what?”

Shane gestured as if that’s a question.

Ilya gestured back.

Shane groaned, “How was it?”

“Good.”

“Can I get details?”

“You are such a pervert, I am not telling you that for you to jerk off to.”

Shane blinked repeatedly, “No, uh—I’m—You wouldn’t consider that the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Is close.”

“Was it all guys?”

Ilya’s mouth twitched, “No, Shane. Oh my God. Is this your way of inviting me to threeway?”

“Uh—no—I’m—no, just curious.”

“You and Zachary would never do threesome with some random guy?”

Shane shook his head, “It would feel like cheating.”

“Even if he begged you?”

“No.”

“What if he wanted a threesome with me and you?”

Shane paused. For too long.

“Is okay to say yes, Shane.”

“Well, uh, that’s different because I know you,”

“Hm, weird, that doesn’t sound like yes or no.” Ilya tapped his chin.

“Sure, I guess, if Zach really wanted it.” Shane conceded, hanging his head in defeat.

“Who fucks who?” Ilya has thought about it too many times. Shane getting fucked into a mattress, crying, whining for more.

“I fuck him.”

Ilya just blurted it out, “You have never been fucked?” Maybe some bias is slipping out.

“You have?”

“No.”

“Why is it so crazy that I haven't?”

The fact that he’s Shane Hollander.

“I dunno.”

“Uh huh.” Shane nodded.

They sit in silence for a moment. Ilya gets a good look around Shane’s apartment. Walls covered to the brim of photos. Some framed, like ones with, Ilya can only assume with his parents. Some not, photos with Shane’s friends. Shane looks like a baby in most of those photos, Ilya wishes he met Shane sooner, way before Zachary. Should build a time machine and tell his eighteen year old self to run away to Ottawa, maybe use the machine to go a lil further back to see his mother again.

Shane broke the silence, “Stop me if I’m overstepping,”

“I told you I got pissed on, we are past that.”

Shane blew out a small chuckle, “Um, you said you left Russia because of your dad and brother, but you didn’t mention your mom.”

“That is not a question, Shane.”

Shane took a deep breath, “What, um, happened to her, if like, you don’t mind me asking.”

“What do you think happened.” It’s a bit mean.

Shane just nodded, all somber-like, as if his mother was the one that killed herself, wait no, as if his mother was the one to accidentally overdose on pills.

Ilya nudged Shane’s thigh, just to see it jiggle, “How about your mother?”

“Um, she’s, um, my mom.”

Ilya cocked an eyebrow.

“What do you wanna know about her?”

Ilya shrugged, “Whatever you want to tell me.”

Shane stared at his wall, “Uh, she had me audition for Degrassi when I was like ten.”

Ilya bursted out laughing, “What? You are horrible actor.”

“I know,” Shane shook his head, “That might be the worst thing to ever happen to me. I completely bombed it.”

“You could’ve been the next Drake.”

“Ugh, don’t wish that on me.”

“Do not act like you were not listening to Drake when you lived in Toronto.”

“I lived in Ottawa.”

“Same place.”

Shane wrinkled his nose.

“What does Drake stand for?” Ilya rubbed Shane’s thigh with his foot.

“Don’t make me sing it.”

Ilya serenaded him by singing Shot For Me offkey with no beat. And when Shane begrudgingly sang along, that’s when Ilya knew Shane was his best friend, just because he liked talking to Ilya, which in retrospect, is really pathetic.

“Shane is my best friend.”

Pat fiddles with his recorder as he looks down at his notes, “And you met him while he was working. Right?”

Ilya beams, “Yeah.”

He thinks back to a younger, lost Ilya.

That Ilya who stood under a right, yellow light buzzed quietly in a cramped, humid bathroom. Shower steam stuck to a large mirror containing a focused Ilya bringing an unguarded razor against the curve of his jaw. Shaving cream dripping down his bare chest, a pink towel wrapped around his hips. His freshly pierced navel piercing winked at him through the mirror, irritated and red.

Ilya stared at himself in the mirror, his skin breaking out. Been indulging in too much fast food as of late. Too much alcohol as well, not enough time spent sweating it out like he usually does. Whether on the ice before he got injured and forever left him with a tinge in his ankle whenever he steps too hard or in the gym where he sticks out like a sore thumb. Ilya’s never been insecure before. If he ever had any doubt about anything, he would look toward his budding NHL career.

Now he has no crutch, no landing pad, no career path, but he has a belly button piercing.

Living in this star-studded city has flipped on some pathetic switch in Ilya’s body that he did not know was there. He can’t seem to really fit in anywhere. He’s tried to party with Svetlana’s friends and is currently fucking his way through that friend group or more like group of coworkers. They’re all models, whether high fashion or commercial, it doesn’t matter to Ilya as long as there’s a pretty face above visible sternums. Girls of various backgrounds and shades, their true personalities only show when their jaws are twitching or when they’re too fucked out to care about performing for an audience of one or sometimes two, if Ilya is lucky. These models are way more comfortable talking about sex then anything personal and Ilya can’t complain. They’re so freeing about it. Unashamed. One time a girl offered a threesome between her and her boyfriend, something Ilya thought only happened in porn, but anything is possible in this city.

Ilya wiped off the cream on his face. He opened the medicine cabinet looking for Tylenol, he brushed past laxatives. As he dry swallowed Tylenol, he tripped over a cheap body scale in the corner. He trudged into his room. Barely any decor, a poster of one of Svetlana’s model friends given out at some event that Svetlana begged him to go to. There was a dusty guitar in the corner of the room, he got it off of Craigslist, the previous owner an aspiring musician who ended up suffering from an heart-attack while he fucked his girlfriend. Something about a drug cocktail and a predisposition to heart disease. He saw himself in the guy who fucked so hard that he died, so he bought his guitar. Maybe his spirit has been haunting Ilya, that would explain the past miserable six months. The only time the guitar is plucked is when Ilya’s drunk enough, he used to play a few chords from whatever song drunken models chose as they lounge around their apartment, they cheered him on. Quickly earning complaints from his neighbors.

Svetlana stood in his room slipping a pair of his sweatpants, “You know what we should do?” She questions before taking a swig of chia seed water.

Svetlana only spoke to Ilya in English, she told him it was good practice for both of them. Ilya thought she was forcing him to assimilate into this cultural hotpot disguised as a city.

“What?”

She rubbed her face, “Become famous.”

Ilya snorted, “Because it is so easy.” He dropped his towel, slipped on a pair of boxers.

“I’m just tired of my life,” Svetlana splayed out on Ilya’s bed. “I am bored. You’re not bored?”

Ilya shrugged, “I guess. So, what? You want to be model?”

“I want to be known for more than just my looks.”

Ilya laid next to Svetlana and smiled at her, “Impossible.”

Svetlana smiled back, “I should be a singer. I have been told I have a good voice. Ooh, no. A band with a really hot third member we take turns fucking.”

Ilya shook his head, “No,” He cringed. “That is stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” She bit back. “It would be fun,” She twirled his curls against her finger. His hair was freshly cut, not giving her much to work with. His barber rushed the back of his head just to get Ilya’s hands on her as soon as possible, he used to be some type of haircut prostitute, fucked some middle-aged hairdresser for free haircuts, God, his life used to suck. “All the clothes. Think of all the groupies and drugs. We would get paid to party. One of my friends, is apart of some band, all they do is fuck each other and do Molly. That is literally our dream career.” Svetlana raised her brows.

“You are serious?” A smile was etched across his face as he looked at Svetlana.

“Yes.”

Ilya thought about it. Being fed all types of drugs before shows, then getting on stage and doing fuck all as the crowd cheers him on. Hypergamous women and men in every city. High-fashion models clung to his hip. Driving down Mulholland Drive in sleek expensive cars, covered in designer clothes made for his body.

He reached over to his laptop. Opened it up and waited for it to power on. Resting it against his thigh

“What are you doing?” Svetlana sniffled as she laid her head on top of Ilya’s damp shoulder.

Ilya rested his cheek on her head, “Making your dreams come true.”

His laptop took years to boot up and when it finally does, Ilya is greeted with an old childhood photo of him and Svetlana. Both pointed at their missing front teeth, always doing everything together.

Svetlana awed, “I forgot about that. You were so cute.”

“I am still cute.”

Svetlana huffed.

“I have more.” He scrolled over a folder and opened it. A photo of him holding Svetlana’s waist in a light blue dress with matching blue makeup. Hair straightened and thrown up in a tight bun. A matching corsage around her wrist. Ilya, already drunk, hides his face on her shoulder. Svetlana ushered him away to get solo shots, doing modeling poses she learnt from watching archived runway videos.

Another one of him and Svetlana in Toronto when they were freshly eighteen. Both flipping off the CN Tower, the little old lady who took the photo gasped at them. Too many photos taken off a cracked digital camera at random basement parties. In skimpy clothes and a cigarette always attached to Svetlana’s fingers. Ilya barely in the photos always opting to drunkenly take photos of Svetlana, she was always his muse. A couple featuring both of them, Ilya kissing Svetlana’s cheek. They would stay out late at these house parties and clubs with no way back home, always hitching a ride from a lesser drunken teenager, whose car had a wonky break. Yet, Ilya and Svetlana smoked in the backseats of these death machines, having some unspoken suicide pact. But, Ilya couldn’t die before his father so, he would pray to his mother that they would get home safe. They always did, somehow. A couple of scares here and there from stray cats running across the street.

As they tripped into Svetlana’s old house somewhere in Moscow, Ilya would hold onto his necklace, thanking his mother for always protecting him and Svetlana even though he was acting like an idiot. But that’s what mothers are supposed to do. Some nights after thanking her, him and Svetlana laid in bed together. Ilya would cry into her knock-off designer dress, chest hurting from smoking too much and dryheaving into bacteria-ridden bathrooms. Svetlana would just lay with him, also drunk out of her mind.

“We were babies trying to look older.” Svetlana softly said as Ilya clicked out of the photo folder.

“Trying to act older too.”

“Ah, yes. You and all your old women.”

Ilya rolled his eyes as he opened up a browser and typed in Craigslist. He created some shitpost that makes Svetlana giggle.

new band needs 3rd member

i am only writing this because my friend who is so amazing and beauifual wants to be famous. no i am not kidding. we are not murderers. just 2 hot ppl. this is not for sex, i do not need to make a post for that lol. please know how to use your mouth and know how to use shaft of guitar.

“You spelled beautiful wrong.” She yawned.

“Eh, whatever. It will pull people in.”

Ilya woke up to about six unknown numbers all sending him various dick pics, maybe shaft and mouth shouldn’t have been used in a sentence together.

Ilya and Svetlana rated them in detail over breakfast. Svetlana drank a meal replacement and Ilya had a cigarette, after disabling their smoke alarms in the kitchen.

“Too big,” Svetlana stared at Ilya’s phone, “It doesn’t not feel good when those are slapping against you.”

She swiped, “Ugh, too hairy.”

Ilya huffed, “No, such thing.”

“Um, yes, there is. I do not want to be fucking a beast, it’s disgusting.”

“Каждый дрочит как хочет.”

Svetlana giggled, “I am very happy you moved here. I was getting bored here.”

“What? Your model friends are not as fun as me?”

“Of course not.”

Ilya had thought of other different ways of starting a band. He thought about his friends, which only consists of Svetlana and she is already in the band, so that wouldn’t work. They could try Svetlana’s friends, but he’s still fucking through that group and half of them hate him already, so no. The internet didn’t work, so he thought of doing it the old fashioned way, posting a flyer. He printed out a copy of his Craigslist listing which will ultimately lead to more dick picks, but maybe this time, he’ll reply back.

He walked to their local grocery store. Some dingy building with concrete floors that hurt Ilya’s feet. Too many old people that have no concept of personal space and mice shaped holes in chip bags close to the ground. It’d be stupid to staple this flyer here, but he walked all this way and he got distracted by an employee.

A hockey logo jacket draped over his body, some team in Canada that Ilya cannot remember. He’s smoked too much weed in the last three months. The employee ran a hand over his gorgeous, freckled face before he opened the car trunk of a small green Beetle with eyelashes on the headlights. An older lady watched him put away cases of water. Jacket slipping off, showing off his arms.

Ilya took out his earbud to overhear their conversation, hopefully he’s talking about how gay he is.

“No, I haven’t been stabbed yet and I’m not really planning on it.” The employee smiled at the old lady.

Ilya furrowed his brow.

“Good, because it hurts like a bitch. But, if you ever do. Just let me know, I’ll get my husband to come up here and patch you up for free. He’s a retired emergency physician. He’s a bit shaky though, so his stitching may not be the best.”

He laughed, “Good to know. Get home safe, Helen.” The employee pats the back of the car’s truck, giving her a thumbs up before walking away. Ilya watched as the employee took a deep breath, walking back into the store and Ilya could not help but check out his ass, it’s was a nice ass.

Ilya started to think with his cock, which was definitely not the first time that has happened. He tossed his barely-smoked cigarette on the ground and moved one foot in front of the other inside the store, stuffed the flyer in his pocket. Not having anything more than a twenty in his wallet and two Camels left in the pack or an objective in this store, he just threw himself into the closest checkstand to the employee.

Ilya watched as the employee fiddled behind a checkstand as another old lady talked to him. Somebody’s cougarbait, “I had my grandson log onto the internet and he showed me Youtube. Are you on Youtube?”

“Yes, Jacqueline, I am on Youtube,” He smiled. “What did you watch on there?” He asked as he scans prune juice and oatmeal, wow, she is super old, maybe he’s into grandma porn or something like that, hopefully, bisexual grandparent porn. Ilya cringed to himself, ew.

“He showed me this Poptart cat with a rainbow coming out of his behind, have you seen that before?”

He laughed while nodding, “I have.”

Another cashier came into view, “Hey.”

Ilya looked at his cashier, who isn’t nearly as hot as the other one. He had a wrapped hand and receding hairline, “You need something?”

“Um, Camels. Ninety-nine.”

“Camels? Geez, I didn’t know kids still smoke. How old are ya?”

Ilya glared at him.

“Okay. Sensitive topic.” This guy mumbled, he walked away to retrieve his cigarettes.

The employee looked up at Ilya peering over screens. His lips slightly twitched before the old lady, Jacqueline said, “My grandson posts himself on YouTube playing the guitar, you should too.”

He looked away from Ilya to Jacqueline, flustered, “Um, I haven’t played the guitar in forever, don’t think anyone on YouTube wants to hear me play.”

Ilya would watch him play anything, he squinted and read his name-tag, Shane.

“He isn’t the best but he tells me about all the nice comments he gets from his Internet friends.”

Shane tilted his pretty head, “I think you or your daughter need to look into those comments.”

His cashier who isn’t as hot as Shane peered back into the view, “Where’s that accent from? My first wife’s mom was from Russia, I think I know that accent.”

“Russia.”

“Suprised, you’re not getting vodka.”

Ilya scowled, this city is so fucking strange.

“Fuck, is that offensive? My third wife told me I gotta work on my microaggressions. Sorry. I used to love her mom’s Blinis before she left me for my brother.”

“Uh huh.”

All Ilya thought about on his walk home is Shane. Ilya walked to that store almost everyday, checked through the windows to see if Shane was working, it’s not really considered stalking if he left the store with something, so he routinely bought a singular protein bar. With no luck for two weeks, he almost gave up until Svetlana complained about cramping.

Ilya waltzed down the medicine aisle and passed by a mother who handed her baby a cigarette. He frowned, but saw Shane as he read the back of some allergy medication.

Ilya slowly made his way over to him, taking a deep breath as he pretended to look through period medication. He glanced over and saw the sticker-covered nametag, filled to the brim of Spongebob stickers, Ilya bit back a smile as he asked, “What’s with the stickers?”

Shane turned his head so fast, he must have gotten lightheaded, judging by the way he aggressively blinked at Ilya. This guy is even hotter up close. Like, come in your pants at the sight of him, hot. Like, I want to murder whoever has fucked you, hot. Ilya has been around so many attractive people this past year, but he’s never seen anyone like him. He was really sweaty, it was kinda hot, the AC was blasting in the store, and he’s still so damp. With clusters of freckles across his flushed face. He’s big too. Veins begging to be let out of their skin prison. Ilya would do anything to be trapped underneath his skin.

“Oh, um, my friend’s niece decorated it.”

Ilya swallowed hard, “Cool.” he nodded. He’s good with kids, good to know for when they have kids together.

“Do you know a good kind of Benadryl or any other allergy medicine? Uh. It’s, um, for my coworker. He’s—I don’t have allergies, so, never bought Benadryl.” Shane rushed out.

Ilya felt the anxiety bouncing off of him, at least he isn’t the only one.

“I think they all do the same thing.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Shane muttered to himself. He grabbed a box of Benadryl.

Ilya just stared down at the Midol box he’s now holding, attempting to gain some type of courage. It was such a weird feeling.

“Do you know where the ice cream aisle is?”

“Um, yeah, it’s like aisle nine.”

Ilya pouted, “Can you walk me there? I don’t want to get lost. The store is so big.”

“Uh, our store is not that big.” Shane shook his head.

Fuck, that usually worked.

“Shane, come back!” Echoed throughout the store, some southern guy screaming. This city is the absolute worst.

“That’s my cue.” Shane gestured to the ceiling and before Ilya could say anything else, Shane practically ran to the front of the store.

So smooth. Ilya groaned to himself as he made his way to the ice cream aisle. He couldn’t even successfully flirt with random grocery clerks. Ilya didn’t even know he was anymore. Maybe Shane’s not gay, he thought to himself just as he was about to go to self-checkout. He hummed along to Beyonce before he saw a familiar freckled body hunched over. Ilya ran a hand through his hair as he waltzed over to the checkstand, slammed his basket down on the belt.

Shane lifted his body up, a scowl quickly turned into a small smile.

“You do not like Beyonce?” He questioned

“No, I love her. It’s just, I hear this song everyday. She has way better songs.”

He loves Beyonce, definitely gay, interesting.

“Like what?”

Shane scanned a bag of Doritos, “I dunno, probably, Party.”

He scanned Svetlana’s Midol, “You like music?” Ilya asked.

Shane looked up at him, then his eyes darted somewhere behind him, “Doesn’t everybody?”

“You play guitar?”

Too obvious, Ilya almost slapped himself.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Ilya had to come up with something on the spot, he looked down at his hand which was holding a protein bar. His fingertips were a bit dry, “You have guitar fingers,”

He looked down at his fingertips, gullible is written on the ceiling.

“Me and my friend are starting a band, and I think you would be a good fit.”

Shane looked unconvinced, “You’ve never heard me play.”

“I have great intuition.”

“Sure.” Shane scanned vanilla ice cream.

“You do not believe me?”

“I don’t believe anything a customer tells me.” Then Malibu, he didn’t even card Ilya.

“Isn’t the customer always right?”

He dropped protein powder into a bag, “No.”

“I do not need the powder in a bag.”

“You don’t live in an apartment?”

Maybe, he’s the stalker.

Shane snickers at the way Ilya’s face falls, “You’re not the only one with great intuition.”

“How did you know that?”

“You’re about my age, you have headphones hanging out of your pocket which means you walked here and you smell like smoke, so you probably smoked on your walk over here.”

Ilya sniffled, he smelt like a chimney, “Hm. Are you a genius?”

“Sometimes.”

“You do not think you are too smart to work normal job?” Ilya flattered him.

“Nobody’s too smart to work a normal job.”

Ilya inserted his card into the reader. He clicked his tongue, “Somebody is humble.”

Shane scoffed, “The humblest.” He handed Ilya his receipt and Ilya purposefully brushed his hand against Shane’s, pulling out all his usual moves.

He pulled a pen out of his pocket and wrote on his receipt. He slid it back over to Shane.

“Bye, Shane.” He sang, grabbing his bags.

Ilya walked away before he could see Shane’s reaction. But Ilya remembered who he was in the moment, he turned around and winked at Shane.

 ★

Shane was my cashier. I wrote my number on the receipt inviting him to join our band. He thought I was inviting him to a threesome.

Were you?

He would also not like my answer.

How did you know he was a great musician?

Intuition.

Have you two ever hooked up?

No.

You call him boring a lot.

Because he is.

Have you and Svetlana ever hooked up?

[He laughs] Yes, yes, yes. When we were teenagers, I thought I was going to marry her, but I want better for her. Had to let her go. So sad. She is such a catch.

Is there any hope in igniting that romance again? Fans would love it.

It was never romance. But if money ever dries up, we could always sell a sextape. Kim and RayJ it, no? Would you buy it?

Nobody buys porn anymore. Everything’s online now.

Does not answer my question.

Sure. I guess. My girlfriend has a big crush on you.

Is that why you wanted to interview me? For your girlfriend? Is this foreplay?

No. Okay, we’re moving on, turning our attention to relationships. You seem to be very progressive when it comes to intimate relationships. Very open about your various trysts with many different types of people. You have yet to have a public relationship like your two bandmates, why?

Am I her hallpass?

Ilya, please stick to the interview.

Okay, okay. I fuck around but do not have public relationships because sex is fun, relationships are not. Simple.

Your public persona is built around your flirtatiousness and sex appeal, do you think this has influenced the way you navigate relationships.

I have always been like this.

Always been sexy or flirty or avoidant?

All three.

So, you have never fallen in love before?

I have.

Did you enjoy it?

No.

You’re not exactly the loverboy type?

With the right person I am.

You’re not the only star who loves sleeping around. No other celebrity has caught your eye yet?

There is one.

Who?

I am using my little PR training and saying, I do not feel comfortable answering.

Touché. So, you have a lot of sex?

Yes.

Would you call yourself a sex addict?

Does anyone willingly call themselves an addict? I have a lot of sex, not addicted.

Is this whole sex-crazed thing, just a part of your persona or is it really who you are?

I take a couple photos and suddenly I am sex-crazed. I am much more than some guy who has sex.

That’s a good point. You think people often reduce who you are?

All the time, but I am used to it.

How are you getting along with your father these days? Have you guys finally reached an understanding with each other? I know you spoke about him a little bit on Instagram in a deleted post.

It’s been the same. I do not think we will ever reach an understanding. Maybe when he is dead, I will finally understand him.

Do you think about death much?

Yes, a lot.

Does it scare you?

Not so much anymore. When I was little and played hockey. I was so scared that somebody’s skate was going to slit my throat like Clint Malarchuk. I used to play with such bad posture to protect my neck [He laughs.] Death used to scare me a lot, it doesn’t bother me much anymore.

So, you’d be okay if you died tomorrow?
Yes.

Had she not died, what kind of role do you think your mother would have in your life right now?
I do not know. [He fiddles with his chain] I don’t know if she would have agreed with everything in my life, but I think she would tolerate it because she loves me. I hate being this famous, but it is nice being able to somehow keep her legacy alive through me. Show the world how amazing she is.

I take it your mother was very prominent in your life.
She is very prominent. I am just always upset she died before she got to really know me. Sometimes I am mad at myself for being mad at her, it is complicated.

It always is with parents. Do you think if you have kids, you’ll be like her?

Yes. All the good and the bad.

Why the bad?

Being realistic.

Okay, gonna do rapid fire questions. You ready?

Always.

Do you ever want to get married?

Maybe.

Are you ever gonna quit smoking?

Again. I do not care about dying.

Do you do other drugs?

You are going to get me in trouble again. Sometimes I smoke weed. I like coke, but I have super sensitive nose, so only on special occasions.

Do you like Los Angeles?

I love it. LA is hot and fun, two things I am, so perfect match.

What album has been in your rotation?

Views by Drake.

Favorite song?

Childs Play

Have you ever crossed paths with Drake?

I only have room for one Canadian in my life.

What’s one word that can describe this new era?

Eh.

You were listening to Lemonade when I came in, do you relate to that album in any way?

In a way, yes.

In which way?

Not a good way.

What was the last concert you went to?

I do not listen to music.

What was the worst thing you’ve ever done?

I am an angel.

Are you lying?

I do not lie.

 ☆

“I didn’t know Ilya played hockey and has a dead mom,” Hayden says, “Maybe he isn’t so bad.”

It’s Shane’s first time being home in about a year. There’s a light rain pattering outside. Shane scoffs, walking over, jostling Arthur further into his arm as he shuts Hayden’s laptop with the other, “Wow. Hayden, you’ve finally discovered that people other than you have lives.”

“He's still an asshole.”

“He’s not that bad once you know him, he’s, uh, I guess, complicated.”

“A lot of people are assholes, not everyone is complicated, dude.” Hayden gets up, fixing his shirt, which reads ‘Soccer Dad.’

“Everybody is complicated, that’s my point, Hayden.”

“I’m not complicated. You’re not complicated. We’re simple men.”

“Sure.”

“By the way, thanks for watching Arthur, dude. It’s just so hard to keep up with him as the girls play.”

Arthur reaches for Shane’s cheek, “Yeah, because you and Jackie act like you’re on the field with them.”

“Hey, I couldn’t make it to the NHL, one of my daughters is making it to the World Cup.”

“Okay, dude. Have fun.”

Shane feels as if he has some sort of duty to defend Ilya. He plucked Shane from some dinky store and dropped him into the land of newfound fame. Ilya’s a saint, Shane should start praying to him, maybe that’s why he wants to get his knees for him

He thinks about the day he met Ilya a lot. It was a Tuesday, sometime during the fall in 2013.

Shane stared at the bags under his eyes. Babyfat still on his face. He brushed his tongue. Pushing the toothbrush to the back of his throat, trying to choke on it and die. A fan stuttered in the corner, no ac in their apartment. Maybe, he’ll die of heatstroke before he can choke himself.

Zach leaned his cheek against the side of their bath, wet arms hanging off the side, “Where you going?” He mumbled.

Shane looked over at tanned, muscular skin from long days in Santa Monica. Shaggy, brown hair. A golden nose hoop. His Toronto-born boyfriend looks like California on a stick. He spat out his toothpaste, “Work, where I always go.” A tight black polo hugged his arms, he always gets treated better whenever he wears that specific shirt.

“You look good.” Zach pointed out.

“Thanks.”

Zach groaned, leaning further into the bath, “I am so fucking hot. Can I come and have lunch with you in an air conditioned restaurant?”

Shane tossed his toothbrush somewhere along the counter. Knowing Zach will use it shortly after.

Shane bent down and smacked a wet kiss across Zach’s cheek, “Of course, Ziggy.”

“You know, I just realized that’s a David Bowie reference.”

“Wow, nothing gets past you.” Shane tittered.

“Fuck you.” Zach splashed water at Shane.

“Bye bye, love you.” Shane blew a kiss as he walked backwards.

Zach caught the kiss and pressed it to his glimmering chest, “Love you too.”

Shane left before the smell of raw stomach acid stuck to his uniform. He glanced at an old photo of him, his mom and Zach on their kitchen counter. He was in a black blazer, two sizes too big, a bright smile plastered across his flustered face. Holding a bouquet of flowers as a young Zach gave him bunny ears while his mom wiped her own tears. It was taken at the stagedoor of Shane’s last choir performance. Vocal chords buzzed and adrenaline rushed through his whole body as he and Zach shared their first chaste kiss during Shane’s celebratory dinner at some breakfast spot Zach used to work at.

Shane remembered picking at his pancake before he looked up and saw Zach, freshly buzzed hair and back when his rosacea was bad. He gestured to a side door.

“Um, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Shane muttered to his parents, he quickly got up, bumped into a waiter as he rushed to the door.

“Sorry, this was the only place without cameras.” Zach whispered as he pushed Shane toward a shady part of the building. It smelt like rotting meat and breathspray.

“Okay,” Shane huffed out, they stared at each other for a while, “I can barely see you.” He said.

Zach smiled, “You don’t need to see me for this,” He said while he held Shane’s face.

He pulled him into a brief kiss. Shane had no clue what to do with his hands, so he just put them behind his back.

Zach barely pulled back, his lips still against Shane’s as he said, “That was exactly like My Beautiful Laundrette.”

“What is that?”

“Some old gay film.”

Shane rolled his eyes, “Of course.”

Zach used to do that a lot. He used to watch his favorite kisses on screen and recreate them with Shane. Broke his wrist recreating the Spiderman kiss when they were eighteen. Had to tell Zach’s parents that he broke it while wrestling.

Zach had always been a bit reckless, maybe that’s why Shane fell in love with him. Zach was his way of rebelling. First time he got drunk, it was at Zach’s halloween party, parents out of town, for some reason. His older brother bought all the alcohol for them and went to a party of his own.

Sixteen years old, too much Smirnoff mixed drinks and a horrible costume. He wore shutter shades and said he was Kanye West. Zach was some niche movie character, Shane can’t even remember, something with pink bunny ears. Shane spent half of the night drunkenly trying to kiss Zach and the other half with his face in the toilet. Zach took photos of him throwing up as Nelly Furtado’s vocals blast through his house. Zach donated that camera when they moved out of Ottawa, Shane prayed to whatever God there is that he deleted those photos before he dropped it off.

They started officially dating the summer after graduating. Zach had saved up enough money to move to Los Angeles,

“Why LA?” Shane asked, hand shaking as he held an alcohol pad.

Zach turned to him, a needle stuck out his nose, “I wanna be an actor, you wanna be a popstar.”

“I don’t want to be a popstar, I want to make music.”

“Is that not the same thing? Anywho, LA is like the only place we can go to do any of that. Can’t do shit out here and I’m done living with my fucking parents, it’s like I’m living in a Larry Clark film.”

“You could always move in with me.”

Zach ripped the needle out and forced a gold stud in, Shane winced, but couldn’t look away.

Blood dripped down the side of his nose, “Don’t wanna do that to your parents,” Zach took the pad and wipes his face, “Besides, don’t you wanna fuck anytime we want? Go to the beach like all the time. Meet a bunch of people. We can do whatever we want there whenever we want everyday. It’ll be like a forever vacation.”

Shane would probably move to the deepest depths of Hell if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with Zach, “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Zach smiled.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll go with you.”

Zach laid kisses all over Shane’s cheek, “I love you so much. We’re gonna have so much fucking fun.”

So, Shane packed up his whole life.

“Dude, I would never move across the whole world just because my girlfriend wanted to.” Hayden, with a rattail, remarked as he tossed moving boxes toward Shane who was sitting on the floor.

“Because you have never been in love.” Shane muttered.

“I am in love with my right hand.” Hayden held up his left hand.

“Gross.” Shane cringed.

“Lesbian porn will always be better than any girl I ever meet.” Hayden said.

“Did you just start watching porn like yesterday?” JJ teased as he walked into Shane’s childhood room.

“No, I’m just always thinking about two chicks scissoring.”

“As you hang out with two dudes.” Shane said, earning a laugh from JJ.

“You’re a dick.”

“You said it, not me.” Shane put up two hands.

JJ looked around the walls, “Are you bringing her?”

Shane looks over at a poster of Beyonce.

“Fuck off.”

JJ laughed.

And LA was fun. The first day they moved in, they had no furniture, they just sat on the floor and smiled at each other. Too many days at Venice Beach, too kisses against sunburnt skin, too much weed smoked. It felt like the whole city was theirs. Making out in ferris wheel gondolas. Giving street performers the time of day, Zach twirling Shane to offtune guitar riffs. Zach slipped CDs into his comically large tote bag while Shane tossed bills into plastic cups. Attached to the hip as they walked along the Walk of Fame, imaging their names on all the blank stars. Critiqued artworks during free artwalks as if they knew anything about art.

Then, the LA light dimmed. Shane finally settled in. Getting used to the smell of piss and smog. Getting used to the traffic. Getting used to the constant stares from people. Getting used to hard water that dried his hair and skin out. Getting used to being broke once Zach’s savings ran out. The whole fantasy bubble popped, and somebody had to pay rent so Shane took a backseat on his own dreams. Got a job at an awfully run grocery store. Bags under his eyes as he listens to complicated bagging arrangements, always looking and feeling like shit.

Shane has learned how to talk to people, because everybody in this city loves to talk. When he’s waiting in a long line at the bank, some guy will turn around and start talking about ‘how long the line is,’ as if Shane isn’t in said line. Or when he’s standing in an aisle, a woman will come up next to him, sparking some conversation about healthy kinds of bread, Shane is fine talking about that, actually. Too many people flirt with him whenever he’s at the gym, no matter what time he goes or what he wears. Too many handwritten numbers slipped over to him during shifts, his checkstand trashcan is always full of post-it notes from far-too willing patrons.

His usual customers are all much older women, which isn’t too bad, they’re always fun to talk to. He has Pearl who likes to wear, well, pearls. She only shops on Wednesday, brings her own bags which are all M&M themed and she always pays in coins. As Shane mindlessly counts out fifty dollars in quarters, she’ll talk about her time living in New York, snorting coke with James Brown when she was pregnant with her third daughter. Shane is not quite sure he believes her.

Helen that always reeks of Chanel and mothballs and is always trying to set Shane up with her forty-year old daughter who is married. Used to be a Waffle House manager, and has once shown Shane the scar she got when she got stabbed by her customer over prices, Shane wishes that would happen to him.

And Shane’s favorite customer, Jacqueline, all they do is talk about music. She lets him talk about music as she takes fifteen minutes writing out a check. She talks about how her father used to be a jazz musician. Reminds Shane of the classics way before his time while Shane introduces her to the concept of Dubstep way ahead of her time.

There’s never been a time in this city where Shane gets any peace and quiet, he’s kinda losing his mind out here, but Zach still loves it, somehow four years later. He loves the community this city forces upon you. Shane wishes LA would force a job upon Zach. That's not fair, Zach’s had a couple gigs since they moved there. Only background actor stuff, but since the pay is too inconsistent, Shane can’t really call that a job.

He hasn’t played any instrument since getting a job. His guitar collects dust deep in him and Zach’s shared closet. It was a birthday gift, and his mom told him it was a combined effort of JJ and Hayden saving up their allowance money and Shane’s parents paying the difference. It was the first time he ever cried in front of his friends and Chuck E Cheese, himself. The fuzzy glove rubbed his back as he held his huge guitar case. His mom has that photo somewhere deep within a photo album.

Guitar strings imprinted against juvenile fingers. CDs of different genres pile up right by his dusty guitar. He eyes his bulky MacBook which he only bought to play around with GarageBand. Some resemblance of an EP lives there, virtually collecting dust as Shane spends his time online watching his favorite musicians live out his dreams.

He misses making music so much. Zach still gets to chase his impossible dream while Shane spends slow shifts memorizing produce codes. Zach hasn’t been to an audition in a month, opting to go do poppers in gay clubs with his other failed actor friends, calling it networking. Shane loves Zach, so much it hurts sometimes. It hurts when he picks up extra shifts at work just so they can live comfortably, the cushion in his sneakers falling apart as he provides for them. It hurts when Zach can go out with his friends while Shane hasn’t made any because he spends most of his time working or if he’s not working, he’s out with Zach, or tries to hang out with Zach. Always either drunk or hungover. They live right by a liquor store and Zach’s bag isn’t getting checked by anybody.

Shane wouldn’t technically call Zach an alcoholic, he just has a slight drinking problem. Something Shane has learned by living in LA for about four years is that everyone in this city abuses something. His coworkers are all either alcoholics, often heading straight to the liquor store after work. Cigarette addicts who smoke outside the doors, still wearing their nametags, getting complaints from the elderly who lost their husbands and wives to lung cancer. Sex addicts who have been caught on the clock with a cock in their mouth, Shane’s walked in on it happening one too many times in the breakroom.

Shane just hasn’t found his vice yet. He's okay with drinking, being drunk isn’t the best feeling in the world. Smoking is awful, cigarettes hurt and weed gives him anxiety. Sex with Zach is okay, no, it’s great but not addicting to the point where he’d risk everything for it or write music about it like every musician in the world does. Especially Drake, who is flooding his eardrums as his bus stopped.

Drake reminds him of home. Late Canadian nights with JJ and Hayden, when Hayden got his license to ‘impress girls,’ when all he did was drive JJ and Shane around. Now, Hayden is a father. Sending Shane copies of Jackie’s ultrasounds and Shane can’t decide if that’s weird or not. He scrolls through JJ’s decked out Facebook page. Photos of him at various clubs and resorts. Always messaging Shane, wishing he was there with him, as if Shane likes clubbing but Shane knows that’s a straight man’s way of saying ‘I miss you.’

He misses home so much it hurts. He should’ve never moved here. Him and Zach could’ve done long distance, it’s not 2008 anymore, they have iPhones now. Shane gets off the bus and is immediately hit with the stench of tar lingering in the air next to a loud weed scent. His black work polo already clinging to his armpits. The dying sunlight illuminates Shane’s face as he waltzes in his beloved store, going over his usual lines,

Do you have a rewards card with us?
Do you want bags?
No, thank you, I have a partner.
I’m sorry, I’m seeing someone right now.
I appreciate it but I am not single.
Can you please kill me?

“Shane! Shane,” Andrew, an older coworker, yelled out from an empty checkstand. He’s been divorced like five times to three different wives. Shane doesn’t care enough to ask how that’s possible. He’s always calling in sick, always getting surgery for his arms, or his legs or his wrists. His whole body falling apart from working at this specific store for about thirty years. Was one of the first employees and is still a cashier, getting paid maybe fifty cents more than Shane.

Sometimes Shane can’t stand to look at him, it’s like a mirror to Shane’s future.

“You got any Bendaryl?”

Shane turned around, “No.”

“Fuck, I need it. Some customer came in with cilantro, you know my thing,” Andrew held up his wrapped hand, “I can’t leave my checkstand, can you please buy it for me? You’re the only kid I like here.” Hives developed on his cheek.

Shane had about fifteen minutes until he had to clock in, “Yeah, okay. Gimme a second.”

“Thank you, this is why I told Shawn not to fire you.”

Shane doesn’t know whether to question why that conversation was had or to thank him, so he just walked down the medicine aisle. He watched as a mother hands her child her Cigalike to play with. Shane furrowed his brows as he found the allergy medication section.

The smell of cigarettes itch up his nose, it’s probably Aubrey. Her hair always freshly blown out, always buying Lucky Strike cigarettes and complaining about her husband is tracking her every move. Taking up way too much time in Shane’s line as she rants and rants about his family and whatnot. Shane mindlessly nods along as he scans her endless supply of cigarettes and gourmet cakes, or if he gets unlucky that day, Aubrey will call her husband, begging him to unlock her card.

Shane took a deep breath as he’s about to be told about how he should never get married, especially to a slavic man for probably the thousandth time this year.

“What’s with the stickers?”

It’s not Aubrey. Maybe Aubrey’s husband, judging by that accent.

Shane whipped his head and was greeted with a bundle of frizzy golden curls. Tangled headphones hanging from his jeans, a Ralph Lauren logo hangs above his chest. A splotchy flush gets lost beneath his white polo shirt. Long, big fingers that fiddle with his headphone wires.

Shane looked down at his nametag, he forgot to take off the plethora of Spongebob from Zach’s niece, Megan.

“Oh, um, my friend’s niece decorated it.”

“Cool.”

It was so not cool. Shane takes a deep breath, “Do you know a good kind of Benadryl or any other allergy medicine? Uh. It’s, um, for my coworker. He’s—I don’t have allergies, so, never bought Benadryl.” He gets out all in one breath.

Adding more fuel to his not cool fire.

The man furrows his brows as he smiles, “I think they all do the same thing.”

His apartment heat still lingers along Shane’s stomach, maybe somewhere along his pelvic bone. It’s the California heat. He’s been here for four years and the persistent sun still hasn’t acquainted itself with Shane. His mother remarks how tan he’s gotten every time he visits home, telling him how much he looks like his grandfather with a tan. JJ jokes how Shane is getting as dark as him, Shane doesn’t laugh while JJ giggles. His dad always buying Shane his favorite brands of sunscreen to take home, which almost never work. New freckles keep popping up all over his body as the Californian sun beats down on Shane.

Sweat pools heavier against his skin, because of this heatwave, not this random guy. The store’s AC stutters loudly above them as Rihanna’s vocals blast through the entire store.

“Yeah, obviously.” Shane muttered to himself, grabbing their store brand Benadryl. He pretended to read the label, stealing glances at the man, who is now holding a box of Midol. Mystery man probably has a girlfriend, Shane can’t help but feel a bit disappointed, weird. Atleast, she’s not pregnant, an even weirder thought, why think about this guy’s dick going anywhere.

“Do you know where the ice cream aisle is?”

“Um, yeah, it’s like aisle nine.”

Mystery man pouted, “Can you walk me there? I don’t want to get lost. The store is so big.”

Might be the worst attempt at flirting he’s seen from a customer, it’s a good thing he’s hot, “Uh, our store is not that big.”

The man’s smirk falters.

“Shane, come back!” Andrew had put on some grating southern accent that echoed throughout the store. It reminded Shane that he has a boyfriend and he’s at work.

Shane took a deep breath as he flagged down his chubbing dick. He pointed up to the ceiling, “That’s my cue.” He speedwalked to the front of the store.

“That was a movie reference.” Andrew sniffled scanning the Benadryl.

Shane furrowed his brow as he pays for the Benadryl, “Not following.”

“Some old western,” Andrew swallowed it down with his store-branded water bottle, “Damn, am I getting that old?” Andrew is somehow a bigger dork than Shane.

“I just don’t know a lot of old films.” Shane chuckled

“What’s your favorite?”

“Uhm, I like,” Shane thought back to films his dad liked when he was growing up, “Fatal Attraction.” His fake smile faltered, what a weird choice.

“What a great choice! You know, I took my first wife to go see that in the theaters. Maybe, she got some idea and she ended up cheating on me with my brother.”

“Uh huh. Well, I gotta go clock in.”

And just as Shane was making his way to the timeclock, he got yanked into another direction.

“Shane, come here a sec,” His store director, Shawn, called him over from his office. Office decked out in family photos. Four girls and his wife, clearly a matriarchy, probably why he gets so much pleasure micromanaging this store with leaking freezers and mice in the back.

Shane took another deep breath, before taking a detour.

“Are you clocked in?”

Shane shook his head.

“Okay, I’ve been having concerns. Trust me, I’m not just talking to you, I’m talking to all the cashiers about this,” Shane stared down at his shoes. “Customers have been complaining a lot about how we’re not smiling enough, our stores are dirty, and complaining about wait-times and customer interaction. We’re not passing these secret shops, do you know what happens when we don’t pass these shops?”

“We fail them.”

Shawn huffed out a fake laugh, “You’re funny. No, when we fail, I cut whoever fails hours. But when everyone fails, I have to cut everyone’s hours. I cut everyone’s hours, I am left with all these extra hours and corporate is on my ass about all these extra hours, and I don’t want to deal with that. Would you want to deal with that?”

“No.”

“Exactly! You’re a very smart kid, not one of those soft democrats who voted for Obummer again and cry about fakeass global warming.”

“I can’t vote.” Shane deadpanned.

“I don’t vote neither, but that’s not the point. I know you’re a tough kid and will apply my criticism to your work.”

Shane just nodded.

“I know you need the money, so maybe work harder and you’ll get those hours you beg your coworkers for.” Shawn had the audacity to wink.

Shane should’ve argued back, but instead he just nodded again, “Thanks, Shawn.” He murmured as he walks out to clock in.

“Smile more! You’re happy you have a job, remember?”

Shawn is such an idiot. Can barely run a store or his family. Always complaining to Andrew about his ‘wild’ teenagers and Andrew, who never shuts up, tells Shane. He finally clocks in and took whatever checkstand he could. Halo by Beyonce blasts through the store for the millionth time that week. Shane bent over and pressed his forehead against the weight scale, praying for America to live up to its reputation and somebody randomly shoots him.

“You do not like Beyonce?” An all too familiar Russian accent purred, something hitting the belt.

Shane shot up at the mere mention of her, “No, I love her. It’s just, I hear this song everyday. She has way better songs.” Trickled out all too fast.

“Like what?”

Shane scanned a bag of chips, “I dunno, probably, Party.”

He scanned Midol, “You like music?” Mr. Midol asked

Shane looked up at him, Shawn was across the store as he held a thumbs up, “Doesn’t everybody?” He looked back over at Mr. Midol.

“You play guitar?”

Shane’s not a customer, so no point in oversharing, “Yeah, how’d you know?” Short and simple. His training modules have finally kicked in.

“You have guitar fingers.”

Shane looked down at his fingers, a bit callused, he touches money and plastic everyday, so not a crazy observation.

“Me and my friend are starting a band, and I think you would be a good fit.”

Shane furrowed his brow, “You’ve never heard me play.”

“I have great intuition.”

“Sure.” Shane scanned ice cream.

“You do not believe me?”

“I don’t believe anything a customer tells me.”

“The customer is always right, yes?”

Shane dropped protein powder into a bag, “No.”

“I do not need the powder in a bag.”

“You don’t live in an apartment?”

The man furrowed his brows.

“You’re not the only one with great intuition.”

“How did you know that?”

“You’re about my age, you have headphones hanging out of your pocket which means you walked here and you smell like smoke, so you probably smoked on your walk over here.” And people who have houses don’t walk around with fobs on their key hanging off of a carabiner, right next to his probably huge dic—

“Hm. Are you a genius?”

“Sometimes.”

“You do not think you are too smart to work normal job?”

“Nobody’s too smart to work a normal job.”

The man inserted his card into the reader, and some part of Shane wished he would insert his card into Shane’s reader.

He clicked his tongue, “Somebody is humble.”

Shane scoffed at the offhanded comment, “The humblest.”

Shane mindlessly hands him his receipt and their hands brush slightly together, so cliché.

The man pulled a pen out of nowhere and wrote on his receipt. He slides it back over to Shane,

“Bye, Shane.” He sang. Shane had to hold back a groan.

future rockstar ilya
(323) 555 5555

plz protect this 4 archival reasons ;)

Shane looked down at it and rolled his eyes. He watched as Ilya walked away. Ilya turned and winked at Shane, as if the winky face on the receipt wasn’t enough. But instead of Shane throwing the receipt away, like he usually does, he stuffed it in his back pocket. He’s finally being thrown a bone to escape this hellhole.

Zach doesn’t come to eat lunch with Shane. Zach called him on the phone as a fan loudly buzzed in the speaker. He hung up on Zach, told him he’s taking a short lunch and spent the rest of his lunch break texting Ilya.

Shane twisted open his apartment door. He’s immediately hit with the stench of Old Spice dancing in the air next to a loud weed scent. He looked over and watched as some green jersey dunks over a blurry blue jersey. His offbrand nonslip shoes fell apart as soon as he slipped them off by the front door.

He walked into his bedroom and Zach’s shirtless, just in his boxers as he flipped through a magazine, the cover of Miley Cyrus, surprisingly, topless and sticking her tongue out.

“Are you reading a how-to guide on cultural appropriation?”

Zach snorted, “Did you know she has a Teddy Roosevelt tattoo?”

Shane took off his work shirt, tossing it in the full hamper, “No, why would I know that?”

“She has layers.”

Shane groaned, “You like anybody.”

“I don’t ‘like anybody,’ I just think everyone is multilayered and you shouldn’t just assume you know everything about everyone.”

“Can we fuck?” Shane asked, completely ignoring what Zach just said.

Zach moaned out of frustration, “Why didn’t you tell me when you were at work, I would’ve prepped.”

“I’m not gonna blurt out that I want to fuck my boyfriend in the breakroom.”

“That’s why we have iMessage,” Zach got up, tossing Shane’s Rolling Stone magazine somewhere, “I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes.” He kissed Shane cheek before lightly slapping Shane’s ass.

“You got something sticking out the back pocket, by the way.”

Shane dug into his pocket, pulling out the receipt as Zach pranced off to the bathroom.

Shane hid the receipt in his bedside table. He took off his work uniform before laying in bed. Almost falling asleep until Zach and his douched body lay on top on him.

He spent the next ten minutes laying down as Zach did all the foreplay, nipping at Shane’s dull skin, licking over his hardening dick, fingering himself above Shane. Zach tasted like Backwoods, it makes Shane want to vomit. Shane lazily fucked into his boyfriend, lube all over his inner thighs. Zach moaned how big Shane is and how perfect his cock is, it’s like a lullaby. Shane almost fell asleep as Zach began to ride him, the tight, warmth felt like a warm glass of milk.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, old man,” Zach giggled, licking the shell of Shane’s ear, “Fuck me like you mean it.” He whispered. Drooling against Shane’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Shane yawned as Zach grinded against him, “I actually have a real job so I get tired.”

“Ugh, you’re being an asshole tonight,” Zach groaned as he pulled Shane out of him, “And not in a hot way. In like an asshole kinda way.” He slightly slurred out.

Shane whimpered at the loss of warmth, shivering as a late night breeze snuck through the window, finally cooling their apartment.

He’s too exhausted to point out how that didn’t make any sense, even more exhausted to argue, “I was—come on, Ziggy.”

“You know how hard I’ve been trying to find work. There is too much competition out here, now. All I do is network and get fucking nowhere. I already feel like a fucking failure, I don’t need my boyfriend rubbing it in while he attempts to fuck me.” Zach whined, shoving Shane off of him.

“Zachary, I’m sorry.”

Zach got up from bed, pulling up his sweatpants, “I think I’m just gonna go.”

“Where?” Shane shot up.

“Couch.”

“Zachary.”

“I know, I know. I’m a piece of shit.”

“I never said that, Zach, come here.” Zach sat next to Shane, back to Shane. Shane looked at a keloid scar from when they playfought during some hiking date, he has a matching one on his shoulder.

Shane ran a hand through his hair, “I really am sorry, okay? I just had a weird day at work.”

“Did somebody knock a beer display over again?”

Shane giggled, “No, because I would be on suicide watch,” Zach tried his hardest to bite back a smile. “I really am sorry though, it just came out. Okay?”

Zach nodded, Shane kissed his shoulder, “Now, I would actually be mad at you if you gave me blue balls.”

“Like, you wouldn’t just make yourself come, pervert.” Zach said so earnestly, pulling down his sweatpants, before getting back ontop of Shane.

“But it feels so much better coming inside you,” Shane smiled so hard, it hurt.

Zach slid Shane back inside him. He slowly rode Shane. Never leaving his orbit. “Oh, fuck.” He grumbles out.

Streetlights slipping through the thin, tattered curtains of their window. Shane’s mind usually never drifts during sex, always so focused on the task at hand or sometimes, in his hand, but he shuts his eyes, too tired to keep them open. This tiredness causes his brain to drift away from his typical images of Zach’s scrunched up face as he’s about to come. He wonders if Ilya’s face would scrunch up the same way.

Shane tensed, peeling his eyes open.

“What?” Zach moaned out.

“Nothing, sorry, just thought of something awful.”

“Like, what?”

Shane thought about a woman in the store today with her five cute puppies she was selling, “A dead puppy.”

Zach tilted his head, “Your shift was that bad?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, just think about me, okay? I’m thinking about you and your come inside me.”

“Funny,” Shane breathes, “I’m thinking the same thing.”

Zach’s giggle turned into a loud whine as Shane thrusted up.

Dick throbbing even harder at the thought of Ilya and his face. Curls falling over his sweaty forehead as veins protrude out his stocky arms. An image of Ilya fucking his imaginary girlfriend sears into his eyelids, precum squirts out, Zach whimpered.

Shane whimpered back, trying to envision anything else. Old memories of Zach but he can only focus on Ilya. He would probably tease Shane. Whispering things that make Shane flush everywhere, trailing wet kisses over his pink skin until Shane was begging for Ilya to fuck him. Shane clenched around nothing, furrowing his brows. He’s never been fucked ever. Zach has never wanted to top, so Shane left it alone. He’s fucked himself before with trembling fingers. Ilya’s fingers would probably be steady as he presses into Shane.

Shane drags a sticky finger to his Zach’s tacky rim, rubbing slightly against the rough skin, somehow imagining that he’s Ilya and Zach is somehow Shane.

Ilya would push himself into Shane, stretching him out until he finds a bundle of nerves, he’ll rub into it, as Shane cries out, begging for more. A thick Russian accent whispering praise in his ear instead of a grating Toronto with a hint of Southern California, one slurring out attempts of praise.

“Fuck,” Is all Shane hissed out as he came. His cock spurts out, what seems like, gallons of cum against inside Zach.

“Holy fuck, you haven’t came that quickly since we were eighteen.” Zach laughed, still riding a now oversimulated Shane.

Shane laid there, breathing in the loud smell of cum and smog creeping through his open window. Zach came soon after, not even bothering to clean up, he just rolled over on the other side and passed out. Shane wiped himself and a dozed off Zach clean. And spends the rest of the night tossing and turning as Zach quietly snoring next to him.

He attempts to lull himself to sleep, but Ilya keeps replacing the sheep he’s trying to count.

Getting off to some random guy isn’t cheating. Zach has done it plenty of times. When Shane comes home and Zach is, for some reason, watching vintage gay porn on the tv. Shane will scoff and tell him there’s porn on the internet now, but Zach will moan how much he loves the classics and how it’s practically cinema. Shane doesn’t consider that cheating. Well, all those men are probably dead or on their death bed, forever immortalized as some hairy bear fucking a twink to the beat of synth-pop music, so not really cheating.

Ilya is a real guy who he might be spending the next couple of months with, maybe up to a year with, so maybe it might count as cheating. But, it’ll give Shane something to write about for the EP he might finish soon. Their band probably won’t go too far, just a little hobby for Shane, let him get some skin in the game before he actually auditions for real bands. This won’t matter in a couple of years. Whatever.

He stopped texting Ilya and prayed to some God that he moved out of the neighborhood Shane works at. And just when Shane seemed to gain some faith, he got a tap on the shoulder as he cleaned spilled milk, thirty or so minutes till he got off.

Shane turned around, it’s Ilya, in black hoodie, hair a bit overgrown or maybe when he first met Ilya it was cut short. What if he put some camera in Shane’s brain and knows he’s come to the thought of Ilya at least five times now and he’s like confronting him,

“Are you stalking me?” Shane asked, it’s supposed to come off as a joke, but it kinda isn’t.

Ilya smirked, “Would you find that charming?”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, “Okay, then no, I am not stalking you.” Ilya scratched his neck, “Would you like to come over and meet my friend? I don’t really know how this whole band thing works, she is the ringleader of it all.”

“Why couldn’t you text me?”

“I have. You are very hard to reach, Shane.”

Right.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just even really busy with,”

Ilya waited for the rest of that sentence. Somehow it never came, “With?”

“With stuff.” Milk soaked into Shane’s shoes.

“Mhm, okay. If you do not want to be in the band, just rip bandaid off, please. This is serious business.”

“No, I do, I do.”

“So, act like it.”

“You’re kinda an asshole.”

“I know this. You will learn to love it.”

So, Ilya loitered around the store till Shane gets off. Shane waved goodbye to Andrew and his now eyepatch. Something to do with one of his sons getting into welding and not being very good at it.

“I gotta, um, text my,” Shane pulled out his phone.

“Your roommate?”

“Yeah.”

Ilya laughed, “Shane. I know.”

Shane swallowed

“Is it serious with you and him?”

Shane wanted to lie, but they passed by a Jesus mural so, “Yes.”

“Shame.” Ilya pouted.

For the rest of his life, Shane has to live with the fact that he owes his whole career to the fact that a tiny bit of him wanted to cheat on his boyfriend with Ilya, but mainly because he wanted friends who didn’t buy endless supplies of denture cream. No matter how many interviews he does, talking about representation and how much music changes the world, the only reason he even had the motivation to do any of that was because of Ilya’s kindness. Who is Shane kidding? It was because of Ilya’s dick. His whole career is on the basis of being a horny twenty-something.

Shane still has that receipt, three years later. Stuffed somewhere in a box full of his earliest fangifts. A lot of handwritten letters thrown up on stage. His old childhood room has been transformed into a mailroom. His mom loves to keep fan-made gifts as some type of motivation to keep playing. His mother has a whole room dedicated to various paintings, sweaters, and letters to Shane. Letters full of fans, both old and young, detailing how much of an icon Shane is to them. He’s had dogs, cats, and even babies named after him. Been invited to christenings, quinceaneras, graduations, proms and of course funerals.

The letters are nice but always a mixed bag.

Hi Shane, ur the goat.
G - greatest
O - of
A - all
T - time
I have two questions. If you play OW (Overwatch) who do you main? I like Lucio. And if you could solve one, which would you solve, systemic racism or world hunger?

Sincerely, a twelve year old who’s writing this for an assignment.

Hi, twelve year old. I was unfamiliar with that acronym, thank you for teaching me something and for the compliment. I don’t know if I would consider myself a ‘goat’ haha. To answer your first question, I have never played Overwatch. My friends back home have tried to get me to play, so maybe your letter will finally push me into finally playing. But I don’t really have time for video games right now. And to answer your second question, I would find a way to solve both because they are both important issues.

Sincerely, Shane.

Dear Shane, you are my hero. This is embarrassing but I love writing fanfiction about you. Fanfiction is well, fiction written by fans LOL. I've written you as a prince and I'm the princess you save from my shitty homelife. Or honestly, I’ve written tons of fanfic about you and Ilya. I know you have Zach, but he’s not a public figure so it feels a bit weird to write about him. But I don’t make you and Ilya do anything…weird…just adopting me and raising me as your child. Now this is awkward, I’m sorry, I love you!

Best Regards, a fifteen year old who hates her parents and life, probably.

Hello, fifteen year old. I am glad I am your hero. Having a passion is never embarrassing, being able to sit and write for hours is a really amazing skill, I can barely sit down and write songs but you create whole stories, that’s really cool. I have heard of fanfiction before as well. Ilya happens to love the fact people write about him, haha, so you have his blessing. You will not be a teenager forever, trust me, I thought the same. Keep writing, it’s an escape from all of it.

Best Regards, Shane.

PS. Can you write me and Ilya as NHL stars, preferably with me being the better player hahaha

Dear Shane, I’ve been listening to you since I was fifteen. I’ve recently come to terms with the fact I’m gay. You’re my favorite gay celebrity behind Freddie Mercury, but you know… How did you learn to be okay with it? Other people being gay is cool, but I don’t wanna be gay myself. It's literally 2016, but it’s still so scary to tell anybody about it, that’s why I’m telling some popstar that’ll never see this. Will I ever feel normal about it? I see you so open about it, I wanna be like that one day.

Regards, a scared seventeen year old

Hi, seventeen year old. I know you didn’t expect me to write back, but surprise! I was just like you when I was seventeen, I never thought I would never tell anybody either. I wasn’t okay with it for a while but after a lot of trial and error, I fell in love and everything just clicked. That love made me seen, like I’m not alone. Gave me the courage to be out. I know it’s cheesy and being seventeen, you’re probably rolling your eyes as you read this, but surrounding yourself with people that love you will help you feel more ‘normal’ about it, even though you’re already normal, don’t ever let anyone try to convince you otherwise.

Regards, Shane Hollander.

Shane, you are soooo sexy, please take my virginity, I am 32 years old and obsessed with you. I even sent you my panties, worn. I know you are gay but my pussy can set any man straight.

Yours, a pervert who jerks off to your photoshoots and has a collection of your hair.

Re: Cease and Desist - Harassment

Dear Pervert:

This letter serves as a notice to you to immediately cease and desist all harassing activities against and towards me, including but not limited to:

Sending intimate garments, sending intimate toys, sending intimate pictures.

Your actions are unwanted, (Check all that apply) ☒embarassing ☒annoying ☒aggressive ☒threatening ☒other: disturbing, and have become unbearable to me. Your actions also infringe upon my right to remain free from harassment, I have suffered: will not be responding as you might get off on that.

If you do not cease and desist the harassment, I will be forced to take appropriate legal action against you and will seek all available damages and remedies.

Sincerely, Shane Hollander’s team.

Hello, Shane. I am writing this letter to let you know that you represent a whole demographic of people and any wrong move you make will reflect on us as a community, so don’t fuck up.

Love, The Entire World.

Shane can’t seem to write a reply to that one.

Shane constantly suffers from too much pressure from everyone wanting him to be everything they want him to be. He’s constantly being stretched in every direction. Show more skin, fans need to be able to jerk off to you and keep buying your guys’ music, sex sells, you know this, Shane. Show less skin, we need to target young kids and their parents, we’re looking to have you guys guest star on Sesame Street, maybe not Ilya, but Shane you could be on with Bert and Ernie, cause you know.

He is everything to these people, he’s forgotten how to just be Shane.

“You’re like a music Jesus.” Shane’s mom remarks flipping through letters.

His family doesn’t make it any better by talking like that.

“Mom.” Shane whines, covering his face. Arthur whines at the disappearance of Shane.

Yuna smiles, “What? People are writing out their woes to you. I think it's sweet, the world finally knows how wonderful and talented my son is. It took everybody way too long to find that out.”

How talented she made him.

Yuna saw how much of a liking Shane took to singing in his school’s Christmas programs and took it to the extreme. She had Shane audition for Degrassi, which was eventually going to lead him down a child star route to eventually lead to a record deal and being the biggest popstar in that world. Throw in a couple of barrier-breaking awards, being the first Asian-Canadian to do…well, everything. Get a partnership with Pepsi, hopefully don’t sizzle off his hair while doing it. Maybe a pseudo-controversy thrown in there that’ll sway even the most casual fans into being obsessed with Shane and everything he stands for.

But Shane bombed his Degrassi audition. Froze up the second that casting directors looked at him. He sulked on the car ride home, Yuna looked over at him and asked if he wanted anything to eat. He said no, felt like he didn’t deserve to eat anything.

Shane went home that day and opened up his bulky Dell laptop and scrolled through tabloid websites about young childstars either dying, doing drugs or being degenerates. He decided that he officially dodged a bullet, even though some part of him wanted it to at least skim his skin. Being able to be homeschooled because he was too busy making his dreams come too, but he most definitely would’ve fallen out of contact with JJ and Hayden, and would’ve never met Zach, so it all kinda worked out for him, even though he wasn’t going down a straight path, his parents still nurtured his pipedream.

His mother stood outside stores with him, soliciting donations for Shane’s choir. Also kept a portion of the money for themselves. She used to buy suits from thrift stores and tailor them to Shane’s body. One too many pins pricked his stomach. His dad used to pick up extra shifts to pay for field trips. He was there for Shane’s first solo and cried as Shane drove them back home,

“Dad, it’s really not that serious,” Shane muttered, wiping off his eyeliner at a red light, “I was a bit pitchy anyway.”

“You’re just,” David took a deep breath, “It’s nice to see you nourish this spark in you. I know as your parents we have to tell you that you’re special as a checklist for our kids’ self esteem, but you really are, Shane. Don’t forget that, even when you leave us behind and chase your dreams, you’re not like every other kid.”

Shane’s vision gets a bit blurry before he’s pulled out of the moment by a car honking at him.

“You may be a great performer, but maybe refocus some of that passion into your driving, kid.”

“Okay, dad.”

Even his friends supported him.

Hayden skated over to Shane, “Dude, when you make it big, please, please, please, please buy me a Lambo.” Hayden begged.

Shane sniffled, “Okay.” A chill slid down his spine. He was already catching a cold, he was never built for a NHL career.

“You do not have to get me anything, Hollander. Your friendship is priceless,” JJ slid close to Shane’s ear, “Maybe, get me a Ferrari instead.”

Shane tittered, another shiver slid down his spine from JJ whispering in his ear, “Why do I have to be the one to make it big? You guys can go to the NHL and boom, we’re all rich.”

“Shane, you are a genius. Hayden is a dumb jock,”

“Fuck you!”

“And I am simply too lazy to be rich. You got to take one for the team.”

Hayden skated next to JJ, “Why can’t I be the one to take one for the team?”

“T’es cave.”

Hayden shoves JJ, “Yeah, nobody understands what you just said.”

“That is the most basic French ever, you do belong in the NHL with that brain of yours.” JJ flicks Hayden’s forehead before running away. Hayden runs after him.

Yuna takes Shane out of that memory, “Do people write these letters to Ilya?”

Shane can barely stand to hear his name right now. Another catfight happened while boarding. Ilya said some snide comment about him, because he was bored and Shane was an easy target. No critic or account on Twitter can get under Shane’s skin like Ilya. Always holding that ‘I found you and made you a star’ rhetoric over Shane’s head and Shane never has an argument.

Maybe Ilya’s more irritating, maybe because he is always carrying around that nicotine infused binky. Maybe Shane is just more irritable because he hasn’t sex in about a month. Zach all wrapped up in the filming of some B-flick rom-com. Shane happened to have connections to get Zach in that audition room and some good grace with one of the casting directors’ daughters. But other than that, Zach got that role fair and square, no matter what Ilya says.

Shane drops his hands, causing Arthur to giggle and clap at his appearance, “Can we not talk about him, please. He’s been pissing me off lately.”

“Seems like he’s pissing the whole world off.”

“Yeah, he has that effect on people.”

This is the only day off Shane has. Tomorrow, Ilya’s gonna issue an apology on Instagram, then the three of them are gonna visit Make-A-Wish teens. Because Ilya may be a sexual deviant but the three of them still care about philanthropy. Then, so many interviews with possibly every Canadian talk show host to ever exist. Where they will ask about the photo and Shane will regurgitate some PR-issued answer until his ears bleed. Photoshoots and sponsorships. Working out. Flying out to New York and doing the exact same thing until the VMAS. It’s exhausting but Shane spent half of his adolescence practicing interviews in the dark, whispering manufactured answers in a mirror to prepare. Now, gets to blurt them out under bright studio lights and an audience who worship the ground he walks on. He should be more thankful, he’s gotten everything he wanted…thanks to Ilya.

“He’s not pissing me off, he’s just, um, going through a lot right now.” Shane says. Arthur crawls closer to Shane.

“His dad, right?”

“Yeah,” Shane runs his fingers over Arthur’s tummy, he giggles loudly, falling into Shane’s lap, “And that whole Calvin Klein thing.”

“I actually really liked it.”

“Should I tell dad that or…?”

Yuna chuckles, “No, it was a smart move. It takes the focus off his dad, everybody’s talking about the photo now.”

“You think he did it on purpose.”

“I think him agreeing to a Calvin Klein shoot was on purpose. It was gonna get talked about anyway. You have got to start giving that boy more credit. Think he’s smarter than he leads on.”

“Huh.”

“Do people write letters to Svetlana?” Yuna holds up a hand drawn photo of Shane as a horse? Maybe a pony?

“Yeah, but it’s just all old guys talking about how hot she is.”

 ☆

Ilya slumps against a couch, groaning, “You are too good.” He stares at his side of the screen, a disappointed Birdo shakes her head while a Yoshi celebrates on the other side.

“All I do is play Mario Kart with my friends here,” Victoria, a fifteen year old girl with liver disease. Ilya doesn’t like to pry into the medical history, it doesn’t matter when they’re hanging out, “I’ve gotten really good.”

“Clearly,” Ilya huffs, “This is the first time somebody has beaten me. I do not know what to do.”

Victoria giggles, “Do you play a lot of games?”

“Ah, I used to. When I was a young kid, I played Sonic a lot.”

“Sonic? I love Sonic. You and Shane are like Sonic and Shadow.”

Ilya smiles. The world sees them as a packaged duo now. Shane and Ilya. Cute. “I am Shadow, because I am cooler than him.”

“Svetlana is like Rogue.” Ilya has something to say, but he remembers Victoria is fifteen so he just nods.

“Can I, uh,” She glances at the window. “Tell you something?”

“Of course.” Ilya tosses his Wii remote on a table.

“My family doesn’t know I’m,” She waves her hand in the air. “That Calvin Klein thing was lit. I felt kinda like seen in a way, I know it’s stupid,” Victoria shakes her head.

“No, no, it’s not stupid,” Ilya puts his hands on top of hers. “I am glad somebody likes it.”

Victoria looks behind her, the coordinators too busy discussing business and such, “Can I ask you something now.” She looks back at Ilya.

“Anything.”

“Do you like Shane?”

Ilya clears his throat, he picks at the nicotine patch under his hoodie.

“You can tell me, I’ll probably die before I can tell anyone.”

Ilya’s breath gets stuck in his chest cavity.

“Kidding, well, kind of. I like to joke about it, makes it less scary.”

“Mhm. Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I like Shane. Do not tell him anybody once you get out of here,” Ilya holds out his pinky. “Pinky swear.”

She smiles, wrapping her pinky against Ilya’s, “I swear.”

“Shh,” Ilya holds a finger up to his mouth. “I can’t let that get out. That is top secret. If you tell anybody. I will sue you. Sue you for defamation and for beating me in Mario Kart.”
Victoria laughs loudly.

Ilya zips his mouth, tossing an imaginary key to Victoria.

She catches it and puts it in her pocket, “Okay, secret’s safe with me.”

“I’ll even invite you to our wedding, if you keep the secret and let me win this game.” Ilya reaches for his Wii remote.

“Guess, I’ll just have to watch the livestream of it.” Victoria remarks. Ilya laughs and takes his loss in stride, bowing down to her. He takes a couple photos with her and gives her a hug before walking out. With a little crochet doll of Ilya that her mom helped her make, she’s a seamstress. He’s smiling down at it as he walks out, he doesn’t even notice the freckled body he bumps into.

“Sorry,” Ilya apologizes but Shane just smiles at him. “What? You are no longer mad at me?”

“I wasn’t ever mad at you.” Shane didn’t speak to him the entire ride to the hospital. Ilya made a joke about how he’s Shane’s maker, but it was all in good fun, he laughed, which was a signal for Shane to start laughing as well.

“I know when you’re mad.”

Shane completely ignores him, “You’re good with kids,”

Ilya looks through the window to see Victoria beaming at them. Ilya raises his eyebrows at her before looking back over to Shane.

“You try to act like you’re all big and tough but you’re all gooey in here.” Shane presses a hand into Ilya’s chest.

“That is so cheesy.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

They begin to walk together, Ilya brushing his fingers against Shane’s, “You are wrong.”

“What did you guys talk about?”

“HIPAA.” Ilya holds a finger up to his mouth.

Shane fidgets, “You’re not her doctor, Ilya.” He pointed out.

“We talked about how much we hate you.”

“I’m always on your mind.”

“Yeah, I am kind of obsessed with you.”

Shane playfully pushes Ilya, “Everybody is.”

Ilya pushes back, “Your ego is so big now, no longer the humble man I once knew, so long ago.”

“You’re still the asshole I knew, so long ago,” Shane stops in front of Ilya. “She gave you a doll?”

“Yeah,” Ilya holds up the little doll. “Looks like me?”

“Eh, the doll is cuter.”

Ilya holds his mini me in front of his face, he clears his throat, “Hi, Shane.” He exclaims in a high pitched voice.

Shane tries to stifle his smile “Hi, Ilya.”

“I am trapped in this little doll, I cannot get out unless I am saved by true love’s kiss!”

Ilya swears he can see Shane flush, “Shut up.”

“Shane,” Ilya holds the doll in Shane’s face, “Save me…” He puts the down face down in Shane’s pecs, motorboating himself.

Ilya floats the doll back up next to Shane’s lips. He licks his lips before pressing his lips against the side of the doll.

Ilya’s slight smirk turns into a beaming smile as he spins the doll, “My hero.” He sings, rubbing the doll against Shane’s face.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.” Ilya didn’t mean for that to slip out.

Thankfully, it just makes Shane smile harder, “Yeah, you are.”

   ☆

Wendy Williams sits in front of multiple screens,

“Let’s talk about Ilya Rozanov,” The crowd is a mix of cheers and boos. “Interesting reaction. I'm not the most fond of White Russian either, I’m lactose intolerant.”

The crowd laughs.

“But he’s been under fire recently for a recent collab with Calvin Klein.”

The infamous photo appears on the television screens behind her. The crowd cheers, Wendy turns around to look at the photo. A huge pink W over Ilya’s crotch, “Oh wow.”

“A navel piercing? Like he’s Britney Spears? I would ask, ‘where’s his snake’, but he has one already.”

The crowd gasps, “What? We were all thinking it. Anywho, many have a problem with this photo because of the hands featured in it, um, we see one woman, and then we see, what is that, a man’s hand. Might be his little friend, Shane Hollander’s hand for all we know.”

The crowd guffaws, “But I’m not here to fuel rumors, but some little birdies have told me this photo is a daily occurrence for the singer.”

The crowd ‘oohs,’ “Yep, yep. Not that I blame those many, many, many, many little birdies for wanting to get a taste of Mr. White Russian. But enough about belly buttons and other body parts, he has recently issued an apology on Instagram,”

“I just wanted to come on here really quickly and apologize for this photo of me that has been circulating. It was a lapse in judgment. I know I have many, many, many,” Ilya clears his throat, “young fans who look up to me and I am embarrassed,” Ilya presses his lips together to stifle a laugh, “I will be more careful in the future about how I pose or who I pose with and what it means on my image. I am very sorry to anyone I may have offended with it. It will not happen again.”

There’s a pause before Ilya bursts out laughing, the video quickly cuts.

The camera cuts back to Wendy Williams. She sits in silence and the crowd begins to laugh.

“They had no other takes? I know most of his fans are young girls and possibly boys after that photo but,” The crowd laughs again. “But, nobody is believing that. Clap if you believe that apology.”

There’s sparse claps across the crowd.

“That is the face of a man who does not care. Could be a Kardashian with that lack of shame. But, we all know they only date—“

Christopher shuts off the tv and looks back over to the three of them. They’re all watching it on a hospital television. Ilya plays with Svetlana’s fingers as Christopher seethes with anger.

“Catherine,” He pants, “Please, tell me you didn’t approve of this video.”

“It was, um, it was the only one we could get of him.”

“Then, you should’ve wrote some bullshit in an email and sent it off. This looks like a SNL sketch and it’s not even fucking funny.”

“Eh, I laughed, so,” Ilya shrugs before rubbing his eye, “was funny to me.”

“Ilya,” Christopher wipes his face. “Do you know when I have family dinner, you’re always a topic of conversation. I can’t even hear how my daughters are on honor roll because the whole world is so focused on all your fuck ups. Fuck ups that lose us money."

Ilya gets up, scoffing loudly.

“We’re having a talk tomorrow, Ilya. Don't think you can get out of this one just cause your dad's dying!"

Ilya flips Christopher off as he pushes open a door, he hears Shane talk to Christopher but it’s drowned out by the busy hallway. Hot doctors in colorful scrubs with sticker-decorated badges, like Shane’s old nametag. He waves at a couple of young teens in the cafeteria who recognize him. He finally makes his way outside away from all the death and sickness, which seems to always follow him. He immediately starts vaping outside the hospital, next to a no smoking sign, on the side of the building, away from the young children jumping into the hospital.

Children are dying and everybody is so worried about Ilya.

Who’s touching HIS COCK or who’s not touching HIS COCK???
Check out top ten Ilya Rozanov Hookups ranked from most predicable, like his bandmate with great tits to most BATSHIT CRAZY.

(NUMBER ONE WILL SHOCK YOU!!!)

NUMBER TWO
Shane Hollander.

Now, we have no confirmation on anything happening between these two, but fans love to theorize. Since the beginning of the band, fans have always suspected something going on between the two. From their long gazes full of yearning during interviews or the fact Ilya has shared in the past, the two have slept in the same bed before. Yeah, probably slept in the same bed after having intense gay sex with each other. Shane does have a confirmed boyfriend, whose name might be ZANDER, who does really exist, he’s been seen out with Shane before, BUT that has never stopped Ilya before, his PENIS POWER is just too crazy.

NUMBER ONE
Bride To Be

We’ve gotten exclusive GOSS from an old fling from Ilya’s past. Two years ago, Ilya was at a club and WRECKED a joint Bachelor/Bachelorette party. He reportedly had gotten so WASTED, he flirted with the bride to be, kissed her and the groom to be, gave Ilya a MAJOR BEATDOWN in the club. I mean, talk about something new, because Ilya got kicked out of the club with a fresh black eye. HOMEWRECKER ALERT! We got the CCTV footage right [HERE.] Our bride and groom amended and did eventually get married, but wish to stay anonymous, fearful of Ilya’s team taking down this story, but we can confirm that Ilya is in that video, you can see his belly button piercing, HOMO ALERT! You know what we're gonna throw in another alert, HARLOT ALERT!

ILYA FUTURE ORPHAN ROZANOV

Hi, my noisy God-fearing neighbors. You guys, know I LOVE to keep up with all the hot gossip for this blog and I’ve found out this information by piecing together a couple blind items and talking to my sources.

Ilya Rozanov, best known for his…penis, has a dying father.

Yes. A father with dementia. Now, let’s keep his father all in our prayers through this difficult time. We all know how heartbreaking dementia is. May the lord heal him and heal his son and his wickedness. His father is dying probably because Ilya left him behind to go do drugs with Hollywood’s biggest stars, a narcissist, I tell you.

Always talking about his flesh, but can’t spare one second to talk about his poor father. And I mean poor, literally. He doesn't even provide for his father, I mean the man raised him, at least throw him a bone, buy him a new car, it could be used, we know most of his money is going to ‘sexual enhancement pills’, which I’ve heard through the grapevine. His penis isn’t even ‘nine inches’, he just takes a pill everyday to get it to that size. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That is the state of men nowadays, so lustful and so insecure about their size that they take PILLS, absolutely pathetic. His mother probably killed herself because she couldn’t stand how pathetic Ilya was. I would too if I had a son like him. Disgusting.

That’s all the gossip I have for you guys. Thanks for all the support, my lovelies! Jesus loves you.

Ephesians 4:3
Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

r/relationship_advice
Hi_Ohmyluv1221 • 2y

+18NSFW
My girlfriend(27F) has an intense celebrity crush and I(26M) have no clue how to tell her it’s gone too far.

Hi. So my GF(27F) and I(26M) have been together for four years. I really love her. We’re strictly monogamous, the most we’ve had someone else in our relationship is the couple of times we’ve watched porn together, but that’s it. I buy her lots of gifts, bathe her after her long shifts at work, cook her all her favorite foods and overall support her. I would say I’m a pretty good BF. But lately, she’s discovered this rock-pop band of sorts, their music is pretty good, the female vocalist is amazing, I like listening to them on the way to work, they really get me going. They get my girlfriend going too, just not in the way I thought…

She loves them so much that I bought us tickets to their show at the Hollywood Palladium in two days. She gets so excited that she’ll be able to see Ilya Rozanov in person. I say, yeah, he’s pretty cool. She has merch with his face on it, a couple of posters scattered across our room, and even a heart locket with his face in it. Other people might have a problem with it, but it’s all harmless fun to me. She was with me even when I went through a whole Halle Berry obsession, celebrity crushes don’t bother us. We joke about hallpasses all time, but I noticed something strange as we got ready to go and eat later that day, typically we shower together, but she wanted to shower alone, this time.

I thought really nothing of it, so I walk out the bathroom, play this indie horror game with haunted animatronics and I hear buzzing, thinking it was apart of the game or she’s just shaving (even tho I prefer bush, but she could just be trimming) but then I hear a russian accent over the shower. I get up and knock on the door and ask if everything’s alright, she likes to sometimes play Youtube videos as she showers. I don’t hear a response, I hear just a tiny groan and gasp. I immediately get scared, she’s been susceptible to slipping, so I barge in. I barge in and see her, on the toilet, a vibrator in her hand, and an interview of Ilya Rozanov playing. All I do is walk out. I left our apartment, I’m currently staying with a friend. She’s been calling me and texting me but I do not know how to talk to her about this. Is this considered cheating? Even with my Halle Berry obsession, I never jerked off to her, so I’m just confused. Does she not want me anymore? Am I not enough??? I am the exact opposite of him in everyway, I feel cucked. It’s dumb, she probably won’t ever meet him but I just feel inadequate to him in everyway. I know his reputation and I’m just nervous he’s gonna steal the love of my life. Should I refund the tickets? Should I break up with her? Should I pierce my belly button?

Ilya chews on his vape, he should’ve quit the second they got an ounce of fame. Maybe this life just isn’t for him.

“If the paparazzi saw you, they would tear you apart.” Svetlana teases, coming from around the corner. Svetlana’s hair pulled back in a slickback, really showing off her face, and bright purple lipstick and messily done mascara and bright red blush. She looks like a clown, but a beautiful one, as always.

Ilya shrugs, “They already have.”

“She called you, White Russian. That was good.”

“Better than calling me manwhore.”

“White Russian,” Svetlana repeats, a huge grin plastered across her face, “I am mad I didn't come up with that. I have seen you drink a White Russian before, ugh.”

They stand together in silence.

“I would ask how you are doing but,” She snatches Ilya’s Juul, takes a long hit of his vape, blowing out a cloud of smoke before sucking it back in, “Would be like speaking to a wall.” She finishes, vapour pouring out of her mouth.

Ilya glances down at a pink diamond bracelet sparkling against her smooth skin, “She buys you gifts now? That's serious.” Ilya swears he can see another layer of blush across her face.

Svetlana folds her arms, concealing the bracelet, “It’s nothing.”

“Right.”

“Are you still,” She pauses, “влюблён в котёнка”

“Now you speak Russian,” Ilya shakes his head. “Чем больше я его узнаю, тем хуже всё становится.”

Svetlana shakes her head, “Yeah,” She sighs. “That’s how it goes.”

They stand in silence. “You know, Shane actually knows Rose. Coincidence, no?” Svetlana lights up talking about her.

Ilya can’t help but smile, “How do you think Zachary got that audition?”

“Shut up. Shane’s a little opportunist."

“He has always been one, but he is hot, so is okay,” Ilya shrugs. “What did you do today?”

“Gave a makeover and got one.”

“That explains the,” Ilya points to Svetlana’s face, “look.”

“This?” Svetlana points to her own face.

Ilya nods, “Duh.”

“No, this is my new signature look. It’ll be all over Vogue tomorrow morning.” Svetlana poses with a hand on her hip.

“With the Juul too?”

Svetlana softly laughs, “Yeah.”

“Classy.”

“I know, so what did you do?”

“Played Mario Kart. Confessed my love for Shane to a fifteen year old girl. The usual.”

Svetlana knits her brows but just nods, “Somehow, not the weirdest thing you’ve done.”

 ★

Ilya texted Shane immediately after his meeting with Chris, just a simple frowny face as he was eating dinner with his parents. Ilya came over and Shane left his parents to go hang out in his room with his plate, completely abandoning their conversation about future plans with Zach. Ilya gave Shane’s parents a polite wave before following Shane to his room. Shane mentally prepares for a future conversation, should probably start preparing his answers.

They sit on Shane’s bed, passing around a fork, “Is like he fucking wants me to either quit or kill myself and I will do both,” Ilya swallows a piece of chicken. “I do not care, I will do it to prove a point. We are all a packaged deal. You cannot get Shane without me or Sveta. Simple. If he did not want me, he shouldn’t have picked us up.”

Shane just watches as Ilya scarfs down basically the rest of his plate, “Him and his fucking hair transplant that does not even look good.”

“It’s weird, right?”

“Right.”

Ilya cuts out a piece of chicken parmesan, he stabs it and floats it in the air in front of Shane. Shane furrows a brow until Ilya sings, “Here come the train.” Waving the fork closer to Shane’s face. He makes a ‘choo choo’ sound before Shane gives in, like he always does and bites down the fork, Ilya slowly pulls the fork out. Shane eats said chicken, hoping some of Ilya’s saliva got on it.

Ilya inspects the fork before sticking it in his mouth, winking at Shane. Shane has to pretend that wasn’t weirdly hot, “You’re fucking disgusting.” He tries to sound disgusted, but the breathiness of his voice does the exact opposite.

Ilya pulls the fork out, holding it out to Shane. His saliva glistened against the fork, “You are such a neat freak. We were basically doing that the whole time.” He rolls his eyes.

Shane stands up before he does something he probably won’t regret, he walks to a box full of replies to fans, most written by him, some written by his mother pretending to be him.

“If your parents ever get divorced. I will marry your dad and his cooking skills,” Shane looks over at Ilya, who is now laying down, a hand on his stomach, fork back on the plate and on the bedside table. His happy trail peaking out as he fiddles with his belly button piercing, sometimes he’ll trail over to the double nicotine patch right on his hipbone. “Seriously. No prenup.” He pops the last ‘P’

“Don’t wish for my parents divorce. I’d also hate to have you as a stepdad, that’s weird.”

“Because…?” Ilya trails off, sitting up, spreading his legs.

Because Shane wants to fuck Ilya.

“Because we are the same age and apparently you like to feed me now, so there’s that.”

“I should ground you for talking back to me.”

“Also, I can't get grounded anymore.”

“Uh, under my roof, you can.”

“This is not your roof,” Shane says, even though it practically is. “What would you even ground me for?”

“Mmm, for being boring and too clean.”

“Right, because that’s such a crime.” Shane snorts, waving a dismissive hand.

“In my world it is."

“What a sad world that is.” Shane remarks, kicking a box full of replies toward his door.

Ilya sits up and looks up at a collage of magazine clippings, all featuring Shane, “This has really turned into a shrine for you.” Shane looks over at the wall. Just a whole wall full of Shane. It’s a bit creepy but it was done out of love, so he doesn’t really mind it, most of the time.

“Technically it has always been a shrine.”

“Your parents should turn it into museum, an exhibit. Come see where Shane Hollander jerked off for the first time.” Ilya announces, cupping his hands around his mouth.

He was coincidentally sitting in the exact spot.

“Ew,” Shane cringes. “Also, don’t give my mom any ideas, please. She’s already trying to create a clothing brand around me.” He deadpans.

“But you can not dress.”

“Exactlyyyy,” He drags out the Y. “I try to tell her the nicest way possible that, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

Ilya beams, he really does like when Shane gets a bit mean, “Do you like not being heard?”

Shane pauses, what a bomb of a question, “You know I’m gratef—“

“Shane, it is me. No more of this PR bullshit, please. Nobody knows the real you, I like this Shane. Not that PR guy.”

Shane has been a commodity the day he shook hands with big corporate overlords. Given up his voice, everything written in a song, because it has deniability. It’s a story about how somebody wants to cheat on their partner, not my real feelings. It's entertainment. It’s a story about how pressure can drive a man insane, not my real feelings. I don’t even write any of my music. I have ghostwriters now. He doesn’t even run his own Instagram and Twitter, something so miniscule isn’t even his.

None of this is.

“I,” Shane closes his mouth. “Yeah. I do. Makes my life easier.”

Ilya sniffles, “Okay,” he nods. Not believing Shane at all. He hates how Ilya can just see through him all the time. Shane really needs to be like every other celebrity and hire yesmen.

Ilya yawns, “You want me to help with the boxes Mr. PR?” He drops it because he knows this version of Shane has no rebuttal.

“Yeah, if you’re strong enough,” Shane crosses his arms, “Mr. Calvin Klein.”

“You are so mean,” Ilya frowns as he gets up. “I should send a tip to TMZ. Breaking, Shane Hollander is actually an asshole.”

“Then, I’ll send one about you. Ilya Rozanov is, um.” He really shouldn’t beat a guy while he’s down.

Ilya tilts his head, “You cannot think of one thing?”

“I don’t wanna be too mean.”

Ilya holds an imaginary phone to his ear, “Harvey, hey, it is Ilya. I have a new tip, Shane Hollander is actually an angel. Yes, this is exclusive and yes, I have footage.” he smiles, using his other hand to pinch Shane’s cheek.

Shane leans into the touch, “Of course, you know the TMZ guy’s name.”

“I have to. Who knows what dirt he has on me?” Ilya lightly slaps Shane’s cheek.

Ilya bends over to grab the box of replies and Shane tries to not to look at his Off-White yellow belt which is right above his really great ass. Shane still wishes that Calvin Klein photographers had Ilya turn around for the photo.

Ilya suddenly turns around and raises an eyebrow at Shane.

“I was looking at your ugly belt.”

“Says the man who can’t dress.”

 ☆

Over the course of three weeks back home, Shane regurgitated the same PR answer on radio shows, talk shows and even did a Vine, but kept forgetting they only had six seconds, the intern getting frustrated with all of Shane’s pauses. Finally, their little pressrun stint ended, giving them a week before they fly out to New York and do the same thing, but with the Statue of Liberty looming over them instead of the CN Tower, where he takes a photo of Svetlana and Ilya flipping it off, they tell him it’s an inside joke.

Shane was able to hang out with JJ and talk over coffee. JJ told Shane all about his girlfriend, hopefully, fiancée soon. Shane imagines little twelve year old Shane’s heart breaking at the news. JJ asks Shane to be his best man, if a wedding does happen. Shane accepts, hugging JJ just a tad bit tight. Shane spends the rest of the time talking about Ilya, as if he’s his girlfriend. When JJ asks about Zach, Shane just says, same old, same old,

“If he needs French lessons, tell him, I am here.” JJ leans forward.

“I think he’ll have a translator on set, but I’ll let him know you’re available.”

JJ laughs, “So, what is this film?”

“Uh, he told me, it’s a mix of, um, Videodrome and When Harry Met Sally.”

JJ narrows his eyes, tilting his head.

“Yeah, I said the same thing.” Shane states.

He babysits Hayden’s three kids, Jackie and Hayden are trying for a fourth hence this late night date. Where Shane has to tire his twins, Jade and Ruby out. Roughhousing with them, spinning them around and letting them paint his nails and face with glittery eyeshadow. When the girls fall asleep on the couch, Arthur lays on Shane’s shoulder, drooling on his shoulder as he texts Ilya. He comes over, forcing Shane to cover Hayden’s Ring Camera when he comes in and out. Sneaking Ilya in, reminding Shane of this one time, Zach snuck him in while he was watching his niece.

Ilya’s laugh wakes Arthur up, Shane always coaxes him back to sleep. Ilya watches as he softly sings, Arthur slowly drifts to sleep to the tune of—

“Are you singing All Night?”

Shane looks up at Ilya, “It’s a good song.”

Ilya shakes his head, softly smiling as he stares at Shane longer.

Shane furrows his brows, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.” Shane whispers.

“Okay, Mr. Baby Whisperer.” Ilya whispers back.

Shane quietly giggles.

“You look pretty.”

Shane squints at Ilya, praying the little to no light in the living room masks his blush.

“The makeup,” Ilya swipes a thumb over Shane’s cheek. “I was not giving you a real compliment, Shane.”

“Right, because it’d kill you to be nice to me.”

“Yes. It would.”

He eats out with his parents. Taking them out to fancy restaurants that don’t even have prices on the menu because they expect you to be rich. His mom tears up every time she stares at Shane too long, just so proud of him. Yet, as he watches his parents eat on his dime under dim lighting, he thinks of Ilya and the room service he’s probably eating right no—

“How’s Zach?” Yuna asks.

Shane looks away from the wall, “Huh?”

“How’s Zach?” She repeats.

“Um, he’s good. Yeah, he’s good.” Shane nods to himself, picking at his plate.

“He hasn’t been texting you about Paris?”

“We’ve just both been really busy, so, no time to text.”

“But, you’re always glued to your phone. We just assumed it was Zach.” David shrugs

Shane looks down, one hand holding a fork, the other holding his phone, the screen open on Ilya’s contact. “It’s just a lot of moving parts with the VMAS.” He mutters, placing his phone face down.

Yuna slams her margarita down, “Oh, my God. The VMAS, how could I forget. How are you feeling?”

“Um, scared.”

“Shane, you’re gonna do great. Just be yourself.” David flashes Shane a reassuring smile.

“Remember to thank us in your speech.” Yuna winks causing David to titter.

“That’s if we win.”

“Shane, you guys are gonna win. I don’t know anybody on that list, only you.”

“That’s because you raised me and don’t listen to the radio, dad.”

“Way to call your old man, old.” David laughs.

Yuna puts on her glasses as she looks down at her phone, “I don’t know any of these names either. Desiigner? Shane, sing a song we’d know by them”

Shane shakes his head, “Yeah, I'm not doing that.”

His parents scroll through the rest of nominations. Shane looks over at a window and watches as someone in a hoodie snaps a quick photo of him, scurrying away.

Yuna takes off her glasses, “So, Ilya came over the other day.”

“Yeah?”

“What was that about?”

“He just—I told you he’s going through a lot right now.”

“Hm. Okay.”

David very obviously kicks Yuna under the table, “What?” Yuna yelps.

“What.” Shane deadpans.

Yuna looks over at David, who shakes his head, “Nothing.” She looks back over at Shane.

“Mom.”

“Okay, I just thought—”

“Mom, I'm still with Zach.”

Yuna puts her hands up, “Okay. Just curious. Your life is changing so fast, I don’t know what to expect anymore.”

He even some spent time alone with Svetlana in a bar booth,

“So, you’re dating Rose now?”

Svetlana pulls at one of her curls, “It—we—it’s casual.”

Shane nods, “Cool.”

They both sit awkwardly. Shane fidgets.

“How did you two meet?” Svetlana asks.

“Oh, um, we met at some GNC event.”

“Nice.” Svetlana nods.

“Uh, how did you guys meet?”

“We met at a fashion show. She came up to me, upset that you never introduced us.” She smiles.

“Well–uh—I thought she was still dating that actor guy.”

Svetlana playfully rolls her eyes, “Shane, you do know it is 2016 right? It was all PR.”

“Oh.”

Rose comes back holding three drinks, “Ooh, I feel like a bottle girl.”

Svetlana watches as she twirls, spilling beer onto her Red Bottoms. She giggles which makes Svetlana giggle, so now they’re giggling at each other, as Shane sits and watches them giggle.

He misses that excitement in a relationship. He misses Zach, but makes no effort in texting him. Paris is six hours ahead of New York. By the time Zach wakes up, Shane is asleep, or at least trying to sleep. Shane cannot remember the last time he got a full eight hours, maybe when he was a baby, and slept all the time.

He’s been permanently exhausted for two years, he's got to go to the doctor, but after everything is done of course, Chris would probably kill him if he went on medical leave right now.

Shane walks out of a hotel bathroom, eyes barely open, causing him to bump into a rack full of different suits and dresses.

Ilya and Svetlana both scowl at him when he makes it to the main area.

His stylist, or technically all their stylist, frowns.

“Oh, I get it, Canadian tuxedo.” Svetlana nods.

Shane stands uncomfortably, looking down at himself in full denim suit, “No.”

“I think it’s different,” Ilya shrugs, “it is a statement.”

Svetlana fiddles with her pink diamond earring, “What is it saying?”

“I love denim.” Ilya waves a hand toward Shane.

Shane drew his brows together, “Because that is something I am known for.”

He gets through the fittings, landing on some classic black t-shirt and jeans which earns booing from Ilya. Svetlana walks out in an array of fabrics. When she walks out in black, tight dress with laces tied up on the sides. Ilya whistles, inching closer to Shane. When she walks out in black bandage dress, Shane can feel Ilya’s knee knocking against his.

But, when she walks out in a Vetements dress, Ilya grips Shane’s thigh, “That’s the one.” He exclaims.

There’s been too many touches like that lately and too many lingering gazes during interviews. Ilya’s always orbiting around Shane, more than usual. Maybe it's a cry for help, like when he crawled into Shane’s bed, all nicotine ‘withdrawally’ and teary-eyed, like a lost puppy. Shane just held him, before he eventually fell asleep, Shane wanted to sneak a photo of him sleeping, but what if somebody hacked into his iCloud.

“Are you okay, like, um, mentally?” Shane asks, leaning his head against a closed door.

He hears a toilet flush and a zipper, “Uh, is this the question to ask as I piss?” Ilya sniffles as the sink runs.

“I’m ju—”

Ilya opens the door, flicking sink water at Shane, “Calm down, mom.”

“Sorry, for being a good friend.”

“Never apologize for caring, Shane.”

Maybe it’s just Ilya suffering from boredom. Hasn’t hooked up with anyone since he’s been back, not that Shane’s paying that much attention, but instead of clubbing all the time like Ilya used to, he’s been spending that time with Shane, maybe he’s just finally growing up, sleeping on Shane’s bed instead of some stranger’s during Shane’s rare calls with Zach.

“I finally caught you,” Zach’s voice bleeds into Shane’s ear, “I miss your voice. Ugh, I miss your face, seeing it on the screen isn’t the same, I miss counting your freckles, I miss your dick. I miss your heart.” He rambles out.

Shane looks out the window, a pink hue over New York, “Are you drunk?” He chuckles.

“Kinda. I—just—I never tell you this, but I hate you being this big,” Zach huffs. “Everybody loves you and it’s just kinda, hard to see. Like, I get jealous of that, I don’t know it’s stupid. But, that’s my Shane on stage and everybody’s acting like you’re theirs. You know?”

Shane inhales, “I know.”

“I think, I don’t know, some part of me never wanted this for you, because I didn’t wanna share you, not because I ever thought you weren’t good enough. Ugh, I miss you so fucking much. How do you do this all the time? Ugh, I miss when it was so simple, when I used to steal music for you or we used to dryhump on our shitty couch. Now, you’re a superstar that everyone loves who is nominated for fucking awards and I’m in Paris. I keep trying to like, replace you with all this, did you ever do that with me?”

Shane looks over at Ilya sprawling out on his bed, quietly snoring, “Yeah.”

“Did it work?”

Yes.

Shane looks away, “No.”

“Me neither, it’s like. It’s like, tryi—tryna drive a car with no gas. You’re my gas, well, not like that. That’s what I get for tryna be poetic to the songwriter.”

Shane smiles.

“Just no point in driving with no passenger, you know?”

“I know.”

“Can’t believe there was a time where we spent every waking moment together, now we’re so far. This is like Brokeback Mountain.”

Shane giggles, “Zach, I swear.” He delivered in his best cowboy accent.

“Oh my God, you made a film reference. That was so fucking hot.” Zach loudly laughs.

“Yeah?

“Yeah. I’m like getting hard, right now.”

“You’re an idiot.” Shane laughs.

“God, I miss you so fucking much.” Zach repeats.

“Two more months and then you’ll have me.”

“I hate sharing you with the whole world,” Zach slurs out but clearing his throat. “Okay, okay. I’m starting to get emotional, I wanna keep partying so, I’m hanging up. Bye, babe. Please, call me anytime. I will run off set to answer, I don’t give a fuck what anyone has to say, you’re more important than all this shit.”

“Okay, bye, Ziggy. Love you.” He hangs up.

Shane looks down at his contact photo. An old photo of Zach with a broken nose, when they first moved to LA. He got it because he was trying to impress Shane and a group of kids who were definitely too young to be smoking on Venice Beach, he attempted to do some trick off of one of the kids’ skateboards which led to their first trip to the ER. When they got home, Shane lightly pressed his fingers against his nostrils, covered in dried blood, just to see Zach wince.

Eventually, pinching the cracked bridge of Zach’s nose out of curiosity. Five years, after that incident, Shane pinched the bridge of his own bruised nose out of frustration. His phone goes straight to voicemail for the millionth time. A stage manager passed by him. Shane glanced up at a printed out sign that read ‘STAGE’ with an arrow pointing to the left, his phone rang in his hand, he looked over at Ilya, who had a cigarette hugging his ear, too busy flirting with some groupie he let backstage. Fingers playing with the hole of her jeans, Ilya glanced over at Shane.

Finally, Zach answered the phone, Shane looked away from Ilya to look down at the wall in front of him.

“Hey.” Shane tried his best to sound normal.

“That’s not a good hey. What’s up?”

Shane inhaled, “Why didn’t you answer me earlier.”

“I was showering. Don't ignore my question, Shane.”

“Um, I’m not coming home tonight.”

“Shane.”

“I know, I know, It—”

“I am only eight hours away, Shane.”

“And you think I want to do that drive after two back to back shows?”

“If you love me, you would.”

“Oh, don’t start with that, please, Zach. I can’t.”

“I miss you so much, Shane. All you do is throw yourself into fucking music, it’s like you chose it over me.”

Shane thudded his head against the wall behind him, “Don’t start.” He repeated.

“Don’t start what? Don’t start talking about fucking selfish you are?”

“Jesus Christ.” Shane muttered to himself, he can practically smell the booze through the phone.

“I told you I would’ve gone anywhere with you, but you said no, that’s not healthy, as if I have ever given a shit about my health. Now you’re upset that I’m upset that I’m losing my mind in an empty apartment. Do you not want me around anymore? Please, just say it. I’ll leave you alone forever, Shane, just tell me. I’m tired of this.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“I feel it in the way you talk to me.”

“All this, because I didn’t want you to pack up your whole life for me? Touring is awful, Zach. I love you and don’t wanna put you through that.”

“Do you?”

“What are we even fighting about? Me caring about your wellbeing?”

“If you cared about my wellbeing you wouldn’t have ever left me alone.”

Shane rubbed his face, not knowing what to say, “I do care about you.”

“Fuck you.” Zach said before hanging up. Shane thudded his head against the wall again. Hoping to give himself a brainbleed.

“Cost of chasing your dreams.” Ilya whispered as he walked past Shane, winking.

After they performed, Ilya begged Shane to go out and party, Shane shook his head and laid in his hotel bed, noticing the influx of missed calls from Zach. Shane called him back, Zach apologized and they had pathetic phone-sex.

Ilya’s voice, accent now less thick, pulls him out that memory, “Ziggy, wow. Have not heard that one in a while.”

Shane whips his head to find Ilya, fully awake, looking at him, “Thought you were asleep.”

“Oh, is that why you were having phone-sex with your boyfriend?”

“Wasn’t phone-sex.”

“I bet you wish it was.”

Shane rolls his eyes.

Ilya sits up, “You’re upset,” He groans, “This is why you should have broken up with him before we got too big.”

“You really have never been in love before, that is depressing.” Shane says.

“I am being honest.”

“No, you’re being a heartless asshole, like always”

“Rather be that, then be somebody who spends all day looking back when I have everything in front of me.”

“That’s what you think I’m doing.”

“На воре и шапка горит” Ilya mutters to himself.

 ☆

VMAS press was blurry and hazy. Shane did a couple more vines, finally getting the hang of the six-second time. VMAS Night was even blurry. Shane couldn’t take a deep breath the whole, grueling show. They won Best New Artist, Shane delivered a sterile and short speech with conviction behind it. Something that reads as confident, when Shane is one misstep from sinking into the ground. Boyfriend across the entire world, the only action his dick gets is when he holds it to pee. His body on the verge of collapse, sitting in cars for too long, in talk show hosts’ really uncomfortable couches, too many sleepless nights. He can feel all the ibuprofen he’s taken over the span of a week sizzling in his stomach.

Shane tries his hardest not to die on stage, because that’d be a media nightmare.

“And I’d also like to thank our fans for voting.” Svetlana holds up the Moonman, whistles from the crowd, her smiles falters. Shane looks from Svetlana over at Ilya, who’s bouncing from all the Jose Cuervo in his system.

Shane nudges Ilya to the mic.

“Thank you everyone,” Ilya bites his lip, “I love you all.” He yells into the mic before kissing Shane’s cheek, garnering loud cheers from the crowd. The kiss is wet and makes a loud smacking noise into the mic, he drags his lips over Shane’s flushed cheek, which pushes 50c saline into his bloodstream. Ilya pulls back and smiles at Shane.

Ilya looks over at Svetlana and gives her a light peck on the lips, less wet and modest. Music starts to play, rushing them off stage. Shane waves to the crowd politely, the crowd cheers so loudly, it hurts Shane’s ears.

“Don’t fall off the stairs,” Shane whispers in Ilya’s ear as he guides him down, hand on his lower back.

Ilya nudges Shane’s shoulder, “Would you catch me?”

“Yeah.”

“Still my hero.”

They get through the rest of this somehow seven hour award show. Shane would get up and just wander around, no wonder Ilya was drunk the entire time. Photos taken of the three of them just sitting. Drinks passed out, too many people coming up to the three of them for photos, Shane politely smiling at everyone until his face hurts.

 ★

A host in a red jumpsuit smiles brightly at the camera, waiting for some type of signal, “Okay, so I am here with two thirds of—” She points over to Shane and Ilya.

“I am so fucked up right now,” Ilya giggles into Shane’s mic, speaking over the host.

Shane pulls away his mic, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, we all are right now,” The host smiles. “So, how did you guys like the show?”

“I loved it.” Shane says.

He holds the mic towards Ilya’s mouth, “So fun, I love bei—” Shane whips it back to his face, flashing the host a smile.

“How does it feel having a Moonman?”

“Um, it’s a dream come true honestly, I never thought it would actua—”

Ilya takes the mic from Shane, “Shane, I’m really happy for you, Imma let you finish, but Beyoncé had one of the best performances of all time,” Ilya quotes, shrugging before laughing into Shane’s shoulder.

“Ilya,” Shane laughs, taking back the mic. “Sorry, can we redo this?” He asks as Ilya wraps a hand around his waist.

“It’s live, Shane.”

Shane pulls the mic away to mutter out a ‘fuck.’ The mic barely picks it up.

 ☆

Shane watches as Svetlana poses with the Moonman, her makeup artist hyping her up as she repeatedly takes photos.

The whole world goes dark, someone’s weirdly soft palms cover his eyes.

“Guess who?”

Shane smiles, “Lena Katina.”

“Hmmm. Yes.”

Ilya drags his hands off of Shane’s face down to his lower back, before sliding into Shane’s view, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Was it everything you dreamed of?”

Shane nods his head.

“I think I saw you cry when Beyonce performed.”

He definitely did, “I don’t cry.”

Ilya nods, “Sure.”

“Can’t believe you’re drunk.”

“Everybody is drunk. You are drunk.”

Shane’s a bit tipsy, “I am not drunk.”

“You are getting there, I see it,” Ilya pinches Shane’s cheek. “Are you going to drink at the super amazing afterparty I got us into?” Shane’s about to ask how, but he remembered how Ilya talked to everyone tonight, because he was that drunk.

“I think I’m gonna have an early night.”

“Shane, Shane, Shane, Shane. It is the biggest night of your life so far and you want to sleep in. Are you insane?”

“I’m tired.”

“So, drink a Redbull. Shane, I have never partied with you. I want to see how you used to party in Toronto.”

“Ilya, you know I was born in Ottawa.”

“Is that still not the same place? Come on, for me. To celebrate this win. Rockstars party, Shane, you are a rockstar, no?”

Shane smirks, “I am a rockstar.”

“Okay, so party like one, just tonight. Then never again. I will babysit you, please,” He whines, “You are only a hot, young awards winner once.”

“Okay.”

Ilya sticks a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, “Yay!”

“I thought you quit.”

“I did not quit, I was just taking a break.”

“I liked not smelling smoke on you.”

“It is one night.”

“Is Svetlana coming with us?”

“She’s going to a label party, we are going to real party.”

They spend about an hour and half stuck in traffic, Shane wishing he just followed Christopher to whatever record label-ran party he’s going to. Roads are blocked, too many people jaywalk in front of their car, even the driver, Malcolm, is getting restless, actually turning around to speak to them.

Shane scrolls through Twitter reading what everyone thinks about him, all the good and the bad. He switches over to look at Zach’s location, he has no connection, his contact photo stuck in the middle of gray matter. He glances over at Ilya who is currently taking photos of himself. Fluffing his hair as he adjusts the camera angle.

Shane would usually roll his eyes but watching Ilya’s fingers stretch out his curls, kinda does something to Shane, wishing he would use those fingers to stretch out Shane. He’s been so pent-up lately, his foot always shaking and jerking, he tries his hardest not to scoot over and suck Ilya’s dick, because he’s the closest human to him.

Ilya glances at Shane, looking him up and down before smirking to himself, looking out the window.

“What?” Shane feels like an exposed nerve, Ilya prodding at him constantly, just to watch him squirm.

“I said nothing.”

Shane does the same, looking outside at pedestrians walking along the sidewalk. He watches as a woman holds her phone to her ear, twirling the fingers of the woman next to her. He feels something touch his jeans, he looks down and watches as Ilya’s fingers walk along the denim, “Do you want to know what I have planned for us?” Ilya murmurs.

Shane shakes his head, “I think I got an idea.”

Once they arrive at somebody’s expensive home, somewhere that reeks of old money. Walls filled to the brim with accolades, Shane tries to read them, trying to prepare himself for what he knows is about to happen tonight. It doesn’t take Shane long to get drunk. Downing expensive tequila shots on an empty stomach. Maybe, to make cheating easier, actually to make it more fun, it was always gonna be easy. Shane was gonna cheat tonight even if they had lost. Shane moping around his hotel room, pouting, saying how the only thing that’ll make him feel better is Ilya’s fingering him till he came. Ilya rubbing his fingers into him as he cries over Zara Larsson winning over them. But he'll finally be fucked like a winner.

 ★

Ilya puffs on a blunt he stole from a large rotation, he holds it up to Shane. They’re both leaning against a wall, shoulders pressed together, Ilya not-so-subtly interlacing their fingers.

Shane’s cute nose crinkles, “Who’s mouth has been on that?”

He gestures to the now huge crowd of models and celebrities alike, coughing out, “Everybody.” Smoke getting caught in his chest.

“You’re gonna get mono.”

Ilya hands the blunt to some random model and before he gets yelled at for breaking the rotation, he pushes Shane into a random bedroom, maybe locking the door, maybe not, some part of him, praying they get caught. Shane all folded up on TMZ, his cock twitches at the thought.

It’s a nice room. Pink stripped walls, with flatscreen television and a decked bathroom, fancy.

“Wha—”

“Shh.” Ilya covers Shane’s mouth, “I need to hide.”

Shane attempts to say something through Ilya’s hand.

“I do not hear you.” Ilya teases.

Shane licks Ilya’s hand, but Ilya doesn’t budge, so he chomps down on a piece of skin.

Ilya pulls back his hand, “I said, then why not leave?”

“Because, I want to keep hanging out with you.” Ilya flops on the bed with a blue comforter, weird juxtaposition. Ilya closes his eyes, trying his hardest to come down, so he can properly seduce Shane, but it’s so hard when he’s already at his peak. Even the inside of his eyelids are spinning. He hears Shane walk around the room, and feels a body drop next to him, their shoulders touching.

“I haven’t drank in so long.” Shane whines.

“I know. You are Mr. Sober All the Time. Boring.”

“I feel like, I feel like,” Shane keeps laughing, “I feel like you.”

“Ow?” Ilya opens his eyes to stare at Shane.

“Was that rude?”

“Yeah.”

“Not sorry.”

Shane heavily breathes, just staring at Ilya, whole body jittering.

Ilya barely leans in for a kiss, Shane sits up, leaning on his elbow. So smooth, Ilya sniffles, he feels twenty-two again.

“Are you okay?” Shane asks, again. Is Ilya about to be put on suicide watch?

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t know, I just, I guess I worry about you alot,” Shane dances his fingers along the seam of Ilya’s shirt. “More than I should,” Ilya looks down at Shane’s fingers which are now inching their way into Ilya’s shirt.

“Just don’t feel like you’re enjoying all this anymore,” His fingers lightly run over Ilya’s stomach, “like you should.” Shane mutters, lightly tugging on the belly button piercing.

Goosebumps run all over Ilya’s body, definitely not a 5150, “And how should I enjoy it?”

Shane looks up through his lashes, “However you want.” He whispers. Shane’s passing him the puck.

Ilya sits up, eyelevel with Shane, “Mhm, I think I have an idea on how to enjoy it.” Ilya shoots.

“Yeah?” Shane attempts to deadpan but a smile sneaks through.

Ilya nods, smirking, “Yeah.” His lips brush against Shane’s as he whispers.

Shane shuts his eyes pressing against him, Ilya scores.

Sliding his tongue deep into Ilya’s mouth, he licks left-over bubbly champagne and leftover coke particles. He sucks Shane’s quivering tongue, tasting a whole mouthful of tequila, calming his own shaky jaw. Heat simmers beneath Ilya’s stomach. Ilya pulls back, a thick string of saliva between their lips, expecting some type of pushback, but Shane drags his tongue over Ilya’s lips.

Ilya whispers, “Actually, I have a better idea.” He laughs, falling back on the bed. He drags his hand from his chest all the way down to his denim-covered cock, Shane follows the movement. Ilya’s already hard from one kiss, he blames it on the alcohol, actually on the weed, no, the coke, no, he blames Shane and his perfect mouth. “I think the idea is somewhere down,” He grips himself. “Mhm. Down here.”

Shane hesitates for a moment, Ilya prepares to put on suicidewatch, because only someone with a deathwish would start any of this. But, Shane smiles at Ilya before crawling down Ilya’s body until he’s face to face with Ilya’s cock, or face to cock. He giggles pulling down Ilya’s jeans, “Did Calvin Klein himself give you these?” He drags a finger along the branded waistband.

“Yeah,” the finger that’s been attached to Shane forever, it’s an honor to be touched by such greatness, Ilya thrusts up into the touch. Shane leans over and drags his nose against Ilya’s cock, “Shane.” Ilya gasps out.

Shane doesn’t really spit against his underwear. He just pushes out foamy saliva, dripping down on Ilya’s hardening cock. Shane wraps his mouth around his clothed, throbbing cock, tasting his underwear. Cotton, vodka-stained saliva and precome. He makes this muffled, squelching noise around it, staring up at Ilya.

Shane barely pulls off before pulling down his briefs, and Ilya's cock jumps out.

Shane’s eyes widened, “You’re big.”

“Really?” Ilya sardonically gasps.

“Fuck you.”

“If you get lucky tonight.” Ilya pushes Shane’s face into his cock. Coarse pubic hair brushes against his cheek, Ilya should’ve shaved for Shane, it feels blasphemous to look like this in front of Shane.

“You’re the one getting lucky.” Shane mumbles into a cluster of hair.

“Promise?”

Shane rolls his eyes before licking along Ilya’s shaft, after so many years, he’s finally found the correct shaft to hold. Ilya gasps as he feels the tip of his cock rub against the roof of his mouth. Even the ridges in his mouth are symmetrical and perfect, Ilya fucks up into the ridges.

Shane pulls back, a trail of spit hangs from Shane’s slick, red lips, “I’m gonna vomit if I suck your dick. My gag,” Shane swallows, face flushed, “My gag reflex is bad when I’m drunk.” He wipes his face, spreading his saliva and Ilya’s precome across his freckles, Shane is so graceful.

“Just give me your hand.”

Shane wiggles Ilya’s cock, “No,” he shakes his head. Shane barely pulls down his briefs, flashing a silver of pale skin. “I think I want more.”

“Shane.”

“Shh, I’m making your dreams come true,” Shane sits up as his cock springs out, “You don’t wanna fuck me?”

Ilya should sober up, sit up, and tell Shane, that cheating is evil and Shane is anything but that. Zach loves him so much. Showing Shane off as a trophy, invited Ilya to Shane’s twenty-third party. Cried when Shane blew out the candles like Shane was a hospice patient. Would probably go and tattoo Shane’s name across his heart, and has loved Shane longer than Ilya has even known him. Yeah, Zach probably is buying a ring in Paris, a simple band because they all know Shane isn’t the glamorous, probably engraved in some cheesy French saying.

But Ilya’s on his way to becoming an orphan at twenty five, he kinda deserves Shane more in this moment, “Yes, fuck, Shane, please.” He takes off his shirt so fast, probably ripping off a couple buttons. He tries to not think about the fact Rick Owens made it especially for him.

Shane looks around the dim room, he reaches over to the bedside table, digging in somebody’s drawer. Cock smushed against Ilya’s stomach, leaking precome against his abs and the front of Shane’s shirt, plastering the two together.

“Can’t find any lube,” He squeaks, “Let’s just use our spit.”

“You are crazy.” Ilya giggles.

“Fuck, Ilya, please, I want you.” Shane whines into his neck before licking off Ilya’s sweat.

“On your back.”

Shane instantly rolls over onto his back, like a trained dog.

Ilya gets on top of him and starts tugging at Shane’s shirt, like an untrained dog, “Your shirt.”

Shane takes a deep breath before slowly lifting his shirt up. Ilya stares down at his stomach, faint bruises from previous nights of working out wrap around the curve of his hip. Loose glitter particles find solace in the dips and lines of his stomach. Shane stops once he gets to his chest, brown nipples slightly peaking out.

“Now.” Ilya orders.

Shane’s eyes twinkle as he lifts up one side of his shirt, exposing one of his hard nipples. He looks up at the ceiling as if he’s ashamed of his body, like Shane is ashamed of anything. Ilya runs his hands along Shane’s chest, pushing the shirt out of the way, “These tits.” He sighs as he gropes and jiggles them. Firm yet soft, kinda like Shane. He grazes over his rigid nipples, circling the areolas.

“What are you doing?” Shane complains but he still arches into the touch.

“Shh, let me play.” He kneads at Shane’s pec, blossoming pink patches.

“I’m getting—ah—bored, just fuck me already.” Shane lolls his head to the side, a pretty little pout across his face.

Ilya rolls his eyes before he pinches both his nipples. Shane’s breath hitches, “Asshole.”

Shane thuds his head against his pillow, letting Ilya play with his nipples. Precome squirting out into ripples of skin. Shane’s head is tilted to the side and his eyes wander around the room, when they’re not squeezed shut.

“Wait—mhm—check the vanity.”

Ilya slightly turns his head at a vanity, covered in half-closed makeup products, “Yeah. Because lube would be right next to blush.”

“Just look,” He knees Ilya in the rib, “I’d let you fuck me with primer.”

“That’s be su—“

“Stop with the jokes before I find someone else.”

Ilya huffs as he gets up. Pants and briefs wrapping around his thigh, causing him to waddle over to the vanity.

“You have such a nice ass.” Shane declares just as Ilya looks at the makeup products. A powder blush that’s been dug in so much, the silver plate below can be seen. Mascara that’s drying up, the wand all bent and frayed. Other various makeup products

Ilya smiles, “I’m glad Shane Hollander thinks so.” He opens the drawer, pushing lipliners and eyeliners out of the way, until he sees an unopened tub of Vaseline, like finding an oasis in the desert.

He looks back at Shane, he’s splayed out, completely naked except for his pure white socks. Ilya tosses off his shoes, and takes off his pants and briefs, getting his foot stuck in his pant-leg, “Shit.”

Shane quietly laughs, “Ilya.”

“Gimme a second,” Ilya finally gets his pants off, “Okay.”

“That was hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shane grips the base of his cock, “Do you do private dances?”

Ilya feels heat in his cheeks, “Yes, but I charge extra.”

Shane rubs his hand over his face, “If only I had an endless supply of money.”

“Tough break, kid.” Ilya tosses the tub of Vaseline without any warning and Shane tries to catch it, but it ends up hitting his face, “Ow.”

“That did not hurt.”

Shane inspects the tub before clasping it in between his hands.

Ilya furrows his brows as he makes his way to the bed, “What are you doing?”

“Warming it up.”

Ilya breaks the strong clasp, “I can’t wait.” He flips open the top, quickly shoving his fingers in the tub.

“You gonna do me like that?” Shane teases, yanking at his cock at the view.

Ilya rubs his thumb, warming up the jelly, “Mhm.”

“This is like Vaseline Alley.” Shane giggles loudly to himself before Ilya grazes Shane’s hole with his greased up finger.

Shane scoots down into the touch.

He rubs Shane’s puckering hole, it feels it clench against him, too afraid of saying I love you, he says another set of three words, “You’re so tight.”

“You’re not even in, yet.”

“I’ve dreamt about how tight you are.”

“You’re so stupid.”

“Okay, deep breath,”

“That is so—” Ilya presses barely the tip of his finger in, Shane winces, “Feels so fucking weird.”

Shane is so mouthy when he’s drunk.

“Do you want to be fucked or no?” Ilya looks down at Shane, expecting his usual snark, but instead he gets hit with Shane panting and shaking his head,

“No, no, please, Ilya, I do. Fuck, I’m sorry.” He begs. Clawing at Ilya’s arms, leaving a trail of red and raised skin, Ilya involuntarily hooks his finger, scratching the inside of Shane. Interesting.

“Fuck.” Shane shakes his head. Ilya’s too impatient. He pulls his finger out and shoves in two fingers at once, Shane’s gonna hate him in the morning, but the night is young, so he scissors his fingers deeper into Shane.

Shane squeezes his eyes shut, digging his nails into Ilya’s arms. Probably drawing blood, that’d be better lube than Vaseline. “I’m sorry, baby,” Ilya slips out. But Shane, already so tight, clenches at the Freudian slip, “Shane.” It’s already out, Ilya can’t stick it back in, but he can find something to stick back in.

He’s finally able to get a rhythm, Shane’s tight, warm hole melting the vaseline.

“Another.”

After what feels like forever, he finally loosens Shane up. Scissoring into his tight hole, probably, stuffing Shane up with gallons of Vaseline but he wasn’t complaining. Too busy, gripping Ilya’s hair and fucking himself down on Ilya’s trembling fingers to complain at the sensation. Ilya’s cock drops beads of precome onto the comforter, not even concerned with his own body, all consumed by Shane’s blissed out face.

“‘M ready.” He slurs out, pulling out Ilya’s hand, who was just three fingers deep.

“Okay.” Ilya mutters before covering his cock in Vaseline, which is not the most satisfying feeling. Just a thick coat of oil. Like his stuffing his whole cock in guitar wax, but alas, he persists, lining his cock to Shane’s fluttering hole.

“Finally.” Shane breathes out.

Ilya snorts, “Diva.”

“I know what I want.”

“You always do.”

Ilya finally pushes the head of his flushed and frankly, frustrated cock. Vaseline squeezes out onto the sides of Shane’s ass. Shane coughs out a hoarse groan, clenching around the leaking tip. Ilya can’t even move, too afraid he’ll break Shane in half. But that means Ilya would get to fuck both half, so he takes his chances, he slightly thrusts in.

“Fuck,” Shane yelps. “Come on, I can barely feel you.”

Ilya laughs, “Can I—” Shane scoots further down, forcing half of Ilya’s cock inside of him, “Fuck.” They both breathe out in unison.

“So impatient,” Ilya swallows, “Is anything enough for you?” It’s supposed to be sexy, but too much truth leaks out. Nothing will ever be enough for Shane, that’s why he’s laid out on the biggest night of his career so far, begging for Ilya’s cock.

Shane’s eyebrows knit together as he repeatedly clenches around Ilya, “No, I need more, Ilya, fuck.”

After three years straight of knowing, maybe loving, Shane, Ilya has seen how greedy Shane can get. Never in the usual sense, he spends long hours in recording studios, because he’s greedy for knowledge, sitting by rotating producers. Greedy for attention, so he can use it for good, Shane wearing a vacuumed-sealed shirt just to raise awareness for abandoned animals, big pleading eyes looking at into the camera as he begs the world to save the animals with sad music playing in the back, his massive arms wrapped around some golden retriever. Arms currently behind Ilya’s head as those same eyes stare up at him.

Ilya bullies his whole cock inside, always giving into his greediness.

Shane keens, head thrown back.

“Do you feel me now?”

Shane nods before pulling Ilya down. Knocking both their faces together, almost breaking Shane’s perfect nose. Ilya snakes his tongue in Shane’s mouth. Licking the ridges of his teeth. So, raw and rough, unlike the typical Shane Hollander who sings in hospitals or helps little old ladies cross the street.

Shane pulls back, “Wait, wait, wait,” he babbles, Ilya freezes, “Is the door locked?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Shane glares up at Ilya, somebody’s sobering up.

“What? You do not want anyone to walk in on you getting fucked?”

“You’re annoying.”

Ilya quickly pulls out, forcing a gasp from Shane, before he just as quickly pushed himself back in

Shane wails right into Ilya’s ear.

“Am I still annoying?”

“I’m sorry,”

Ilya clenches his jaw. Could be the coke or he’s trying to hold onto the smallest amount of self control he still has.

“Ilya, please,” Shane lolls his head to the side. His calves tighten against Ilya’s waist.

Ilya grabs his chin, yanking his face forward, “Please what?”

“Please, fuck me,” That perfect voice splitting, tears welling, “Fuck me good.”

Ilya gets a couple good thrusts in until he completely loses his rhythm when he looks down at Shane. Mouth agape, eyebrows knitted together as he stares back at Ilya. Eyes glossy and half closed. Ilya’s stomach heats up from the inside, like some water heater, so close to just exploding. Sweat drips down from the back of his neck as he keeps grinding into Shane, too afraid to even pull out the slightest bit, suffocating his cock inside Shane.

“Ilya, uh, fuck.” Shane sighs. All disheveled and fucked. Whole face and chest glistening with sweat and drool. Ilya’s about to come. It’s kinda humiliating, but he hasn’t had sex raw probably since he lost his virginity and he’s also fucking Shane, so he gives himself some grace.

Last time, he barely pulled out in time, leading to a frustrating walk to a nearby pharmacy, but Ilya isn’t fourteen anymore and Shane doesn’t need to take Escapelle, so, “Let—mhm—me come inside you,” Ilya begs, “Please.” Some of Shane’s neediness seeping into his bloodstream.

Ilya expects some type of pushback, they need to be tested, no that’s gross, no i have a boyfriend, but Shane being so polite and sweet says, “Please,” He presses their foreheads together, both so sweaty, they might fuse their bodies together.

Shane smiles, “Wait.”

Ilya uses all his manpower to stop again. A frayed wire so close to short circuiting, honestly, if Ilya being honest, he might be close to dying, if he doesn’t come soon.

“What if,” Shane huffs out a strained laugh, as if anything is funny right now, “What if, you knock me up?”

“боже мой,” Ilya gasps so hard, it hurts. He weakly thrusts one last time before he convulses, he’s never done that before, all that coke and alcohol fucking up his body. Come spurts out of his sore cock coating Shane’s walls. Shane wrings out every last drop, moaning right into his ear. His jaw almost unhinging, pleasure paralyzing him from the waist up. Ilya wants to convert Shane’s wail and burn it into a CD. Or engrave it into a vinyl, play it on loop until he gets stuck in the grooves of Ilya’s brain.

“Jesus,” Shane gasps out, burying his face into Ilya’s shoulder, “Ilya.” He says those two names like they’re one of the same as his flawless cock squirts out milky white come, hitting his chest. Ilya falls ontop of Shane, pressing Shane’s come between them like glue.

Ilya licks the drool in the corner of Shane’s twitching lip.

Shane just wrinkles his nose, “I feel it.”

Ilya lifts his head and kisses the tip of said nose, “Do you wanna,” Ilya kisses Shane’s cheek, “Go back to my hotel.” He kisses his chin.

Shane takes a deep breath, “And do what?”

“I don’t know, maybe play Chess.” Ilya can’t even feel himself soften up inside Shane, coke doing all the heavy lifting, literally.

Shane grabs Ilya’s curls and connects the two. Ilya expects some type of heat from it but their sweat has dulled the flame. It’s a slow, tender kiss, neither bothering to take it any further. Their lips slotted perfectly together, almost as if they should be doing this. Ilya captures Shane’s top lip in between his.

Shane pulls away, “Mhm, ‘m thinking we play Checkers.”

“Don’t know the rules.” Ilya pouts.

“I’ll teach you.”

 ☆

Come drips down Shane’s thighs and Vaseline coats inside of Shane’s jeans as he writes on some ripped up piece of paper.

Sorry for getting fucked so hard on your bed.

No. He erases.

Sory for having sex

No. He erases again.

Sorry for the mess.

Okay, that's okay.

He leaves it on the vanity and tosses two hundred dollars mainly in ones and twenties, that was for some reason in his pocket.

“Do you think we can call Peter?” Ilya does his best to wipe his come and Vaseline off the comforter, which is impossible, he scrubs at it with a random washcloth from the bathroom. He gives up as soon as he starts, walking toward Shane, in a ripped up Rick Owens shirt.

“Not like this, let’s just call an Uber.”

Ilya wraps his greasy arms around Shane’s torso, “You are too famous for Uber."

“Nobody’s too famous for anything.” Shane pulls out his phone, books some Uber back to their hotel, his screen all blurry and damp.

Ilya licks the side of Shane’s face, pretty sure his sweat has crystallized at this point.

“You are fun to party with, why have you been holding out on me for years? That’s very mean, Shane.”

“I party hard.”

Another way of saying, I have no self control. The two of them trail back into the living room. Ilya gets pulled to do one more line with models, he gestures Shane over, but Shane just shakes his head. It’s way more people now from when they first walked in, too many bodies, too much heat, too many witnesses.

Shane can feel everyone’s eyes on him, it’s like everyone knows he cheated with Ilya. Hollywood’s newest most open secret. But, he gets a closer look, the models that surround Ilya all have tan lines on their ring fingers. Everybody is cheating on somebody in there, so it shouldn’t really matter if he cheats too and lets himself finally blend into the crowd of celebrities.

Shane’s escaping the repercussions of his actions for one night as he lets his fingers linger against Ilya’s greasy wrist. Standing outside some gates. A New York breeze settles over Shane’s soaked skin. Ilya stumbles over his feet, excitement and anxiety hitting him like a truck.

Ilya leans in for a kiss, Shane pushes him off, “We’re outside.”

“Oh, I am now your little secret? Fuck, that is so hot.” Ilya presses his face against Shane’s shoulder. Wiping the coke residue off his face.

Shane just laughs because this is all so ridiculous, “Sure.”

A 2013 Nissan quickly pulls up and honks.

“A millionaire but couldn’t afford an Uber Black.”

“Fuck you.” Shane lightly pushes Ilya.

“Again? Shane, that is so sweet of you.”

They walk, well, Shane waddles and Ilya toddles.

“Shh, let’s not be, um,” Shane swallows, “Obvious. Okay?”

Ilya salutes as Shane holds Ilya’s door open before wobbling over to his side. Cringing as he sits on a mixture of come and Vaseline, he swallows back his vomit at the thought of that, taking a deep breath in.

“Hi.” Ilya beams at the driver, not listening to Shane’s advice in the slightest.

“Hey,” The driver is middle-aged, and kinda hazy, “Hey. I know you guys from somewhere. You guys are in that band with that girl. My daughter is a huge fan of you guys. Where’s, uh, the girl? She loves her.”

“Um, Svetlana’s at her—um—hotel,” Shane comes up with it on the spot, “Thank you sir, for taking us so late.” Shane slurs, should probably take his own advice.

“No problem, I work mornings so, this is just a little night side hustle.”

“What do you do for work?” Ilya scoots to the middle of the backseat, leaning his head against Shane’s shoulder.

His voice lowers, “I’m a fast food manager.” The car starts, the shaking somehow makes Shane more nauseous.

“Where?”

“Mcdonalds.”

Ilya shoots up, “No fucking way. I love Mcdonalds.” His hand snaking onto Shane’s knee, rubbing at the bone. Shane would let Ilya prod at his bones if he really wanted to. They bond about Mcdonalds for some reason? Shane rolls his window down, he really should’ve asked before he did, but he’s too sick. He sticks his head outside, like a dog, letting the East Coast chill wrap around his body.

He tries his absolute hardest not to vomit in this man’s car which would lead to him telling his daughter who probably has a fan account dedicated to Svetlana, and will most definitely post about how Shane Hollander puked on her dad’s car, and now Shane is some drunk who throws up in people’s cars, which is on the same level of evil as cheating.

“Shane,” Ilya whispers under the tune of the most generic Yacht Rock, Shane turns to look at him, their faces inches apart, “Do you want to get Mcdonalds. I got us a discount.”

Shane shakes his head.

“Your loss,” Ilya looks back at the driver, “Noah, do you like driving?”

Shane groans, stuffing his head into his hands.

They finally arrive at the hotel, after a crossfaded Ilya asks a plethora of questions about everything. Somehow Ilya talking about cars, calmed Shane down a bit. He didn’t feel like total shit anymore. Before they get out Shane asks Noah a question, “Um, do you happen to like have hats or something?” He asks over the tune of Dirty Work, at least he has good taste.

Shane and Ilya sober up the best they can as they take a photo with Noah for his daughter. The two walk out, almost hand in hand in matching NBA hats, holding down the bills of their hats as if that would disguise two six-foot men. Paparazzi too distracted with some other celebrity to notice them coming in.

Somehow they make it to the hotel unscathed, the receptionist too busy flirting with a housekeeper to notice the two. They make it to the elevator, sneaking in one or two kisses until they make it to Ilya’s room, and somehow Ilya still has his keycard.

Ilya presses Shane against the door. Shane tosses off his blue hat and Ilya’s green hat to grip his curls.

“Can you still get hard?” Ilya asks against Shane’s lips.

“Maybe.”

Ilya drops to his knees so hard, it creates a thud.

Shane winces for him, “You okay?” They’re both so fucked up, this is just blind leading the blind.

“I am invincible." He mutters against Shane’s dick.

“God, you are so high.”

“Wait,” Ilya shoots back up, “I have coke somewhere in here, we can fuck all night. Can just keep fucking you, until my cock falls off.” He smiles into Shane’s neck.

“Shhh. Let’s just, comedown together,” Shane rubs the back of Ilya’s neck, “I also don’t wanna do coke.”

“But, Shane, it is sooo fun. You would love it.”

Shane pushes Ilya across the hotel room, “Let’s lay down.”

Ilya nods, “Next time, I won’t be so fucked up,” He runs his hands over Shane’s shoulder. “I’ll be sober and won’t come so quickly.”

“You were perfect,” Shane whispers. “It’s okay, okay?” He pushes him on the bed.

“You mean it?” Shane swears he sees Ilya’s eyes well up.

“Yeah.” He gets on top of him.

Ilya winces at the dead weight, “Is so hot when you’re nice to me.”

“I’m always, oh fuck,” He feels Ilya’s big, fat, dick press up against his throbbing dick, looks like he can still get hard, they’re separated by denim, but he can still feel Ilya against him as he subtly rubs their fronts together, punching out a gasp from both of them.

“I’m always nice to you.” Shane exhales. Ilya snakes his hands from Shane’s ribs all the way down to his ass. He sneaks his hands inside his stained briefs, spreading Shane open, pressing them closer together.

“I know.” Ilya smiles, sliding a finger toward Shane’s swollen hole.

Shane’s whole head plumments on top of Ilya’s, skulls knocking together. Ilya grunts at the pain but Shane soothes him by weaving their mouths together. He never comes up for air as Ilya keeps slowly thrusting up against Shane, while holding him down, not even fingering him, just feeling his work. They’re not even properly kissing anymore. Shane is just drooling into Ilya’s mouth.

Shane barely pulls away from Ilya’s mouth, “This is—ah—hot, right?” He asks, looking down at a disheveled Ilya, curls frizzy like when they first met, eyes glazed over, a smirk on his face as he registers what Shane just said.

Ilya laughs, “No, mhm, I’m just—fuck—hard for no reason.”

Shane props himself up, rolling his hip himself, pressing his dick somehow closer into Ilya’s. His precise rolling instantly turns into frantic thrusts. Dick spurting out precome, staining the front of Ilya’s jeans. Ilya just takes it, now gripping onto Shane’s hair, probably ripping some follicles out, he would let Ilya pull out all his hair if it meant being able to fuck him again, he has enough for a hair transplant.

“Is this,” Ilya tries to speak but Shane rocks into him, forcing him to swallow a keen. “Is this, how you fuck Zach?”

Shane’s rhythm stutters, “Don’t.” He croaks, he sounds like actual shit. The name sobers him up.

“Or are you fucking me harder than him?” Ilya forces Shane down to his eye level by his hair. Shane’s arms shake, holding himself up the best he can. He squeezes his eyes shut, it just now hits him, he’s really cheating.

“Tell me.” Ilya grinds upward into Shane, who just shakes his head.

“Shane, Shane, Shane,” Ilya repeats, like he’s a concertgoer chanting his name.

Shane subtly rubs against Ilya, trying to distract him. “Uh-Uh,” Ilya tugs at Shane’s hair to get him to stop, Shane whimpers, his cock twitching, “Tell me.” Ilya just repeats.

Shane shakes his head again, this time more firmly.

“No? No, what?”

Shane groans. Ilya is so fucking frustating and self-absorbed.

“This isn’t how I fuck Zach.” Shane opens his eyes to look at Ilya, telling him what he wants to hear.

“Because?” Ilya cocks a brow.

Shane takes a deep breath, “Because, he’s not you.”

Ilya beams, “Right answer.” He rolls upwards into Shane, knocking a gasp out of him. Shane just sits there and takes it, wishing he had the energy to get fucked again.

“He can’t make you, mhm—fuck, feel like this, can he?”

“No.” Shane shakes his head, before letting it fall in the nook of Ilya’s neck, gripping onto Ilya’s hair. Ilya practically melds their dicks together, softening the friction of denim with their precome.

“He can’t make you come like this, huh?” Ilya whispers, slamming upwards into Shane. It’s so desperate. Ilya begging Shane, please tell me I’m better than him, please, please please, tell me I’m good, Shane wants to scoff, as if Ilya Rozanov needs an ego boost, but instead he gasps out a “No,” before arching his back closer to Ilya, “Oh, fuck.”

He forces his face deeper into Ilya’s shoulder. His whole body trembles as he spills inside his pants, biting down on Ilya’s neck to mask a moan. Ilya follows shortly behind, legs spasming beneath Shane as he comes. They lay there in silence, only their breathing filling the silence.

 ★

Shane watches the sun come up. Damp arms wrapped around his back. He doesn’t have quite a headache yet, but he feels one simmering. Ilya’s thick saliva pools into the nook of his neck. The room reeks of ruminating and hotel soap.

He tries to peel Ilya off of him, but his grip around Shane tightens.

“Ilya.” He whispers.

Ilya groans, “Don’t go.”

“I have to eventually.”

“You’re gonna hate me when you leave, I don’t want you to hate me.” He mumbles while pressing kisses against the column of Shane’s throat.

“Ilya.” Shane gets a little louder.

“We both fucked up, is okay, just, please stay with me,” he whines, “Let’s just sleep for while, please, Shane.”

Shane huffs out a frustrated breath before giving up, “Okay.” He brings a hand to Ilya’s curls, still damp from when he washed it last night, or technically earlier this morning. Ilya tries to fall back asleep, probably still coming down from last night.

Shane can still taste coke, champagne and Ilya’s cock. Ilya tasted like validation and recognition. Two things Shane can’t ever get enough of, he’ll squeeze it out of anything he can, even if it’s someone else’s dick. When Ilya kissed along his skin, it felt like his name engraved in thousands more awards, his face across magazine stands and across people’s skin. His dick felt like a reward, all his sacrifice amounted to come dripping out of his puffy hole.

Zach’s never felt like that. For years, he tasted like daydreams and rebellion. Daydreams Shane used to carve against Zach’s skin, drawing out stars along his back, imagining his name in flashing lights or being on Forbes 30 Under 30. Rebellion when Zach pierced Shane’s ear, kissing the shattered cartilage and eventually the scar it left behind. Now, that taste has dulled, Shane’s been chewing the same gum for seven years, Zach tastes like flavorless gum, maybe with enough pressure, he can squeeze out some flavor. It’s comforting, the routine, the ache in Shane’s jaw but fame has developed Shane’s palate. He feels as if he deserves so much more than just gum.

Maybe, it’s an ego thing, he’s had people his whole life tell him he’s destined for greatness and more. Even the executives who polished him up for cameras knew he was destined for something more. Taught him how to sit still so the cameras could focus on him, told him what eyedrops to use when his eyes would dry up from camera flashes, and how to coddle up to predators in suits. They told him he’s a star, a star they molded. Shane’s made up of a bunch of stitched up pieces, kinda like some ambitious Frankenstein’s monster, always wanting more fame, more notoriety, more awards, more love, more everything, more more more. Never satisfied with anything. Took away his voice for a chance to walk among stars.

That's probably why he sent Zach all the way to Paris to have him play the role of some stereotypical gay best friend to the beautiful leading woman, because he can't be that boy Zach fell in love with anymore. He can’t be that young twenty-something Shane, who was unpolished, real, and frankly awkward, who could be wooed by old films and detailed explanations of the difference between Technicolor and Eastmancolor. Now, Shane can only be wooed by award shows and the next big thing.

Shane rests his arm against his forehead and thinks, maybe he’s always been this way, always wanting more,

Ilya came with him to Ottawa, just because Ilya had started to tag along with Shane everywhere, like a dog. He followed Shane when he had to renovate his childhood home because his parents were that bored at home. Him and Zach fresh off of some fight about the band, saying Shane was suspiciously spending too much time over at Ilya’s. Shane scoffed and told Zach, If I were to cheat, it wouldn’t be with Ilya, which was both the wrong thing to say and also just wrong. Zach was supposed to come help with the house but Shane brushed him off saying Ilya’s coming instead and we’re gonna fuck all over my parents’ house, and somehow Zach didn’t break up with him, maybe Shane’s been the shitty boyfriend this whole time.

It had to be around 2014 because Ilya’s kept singing,

“—How we had the club going up,”

Shane yanks out Ilya’s headphones from his phone.

“On a Tuesday.” He deadpans looking over at Shane.

Shane looks over at Ilya. A fading black eye paints his right eye, “I am so tired of you and Drake.”

“We are in Toronto.”

“We are in Ottawa.”

“Same difference.”

Shane presses his back against his childhood bedroom door.

“I haven’t touched this room since I moved out, so I’m begging you not to make fun of me.”

“That is like asking me not to breathe.”

“Fuck, I should’ve fixed it before you came,” Shane mumbled.

“You wanted me to visit your childhood room?”

Shane huffed out an incredulous laugh, “I mean, yeah, at some point.”

“Wish I could see yours.”

“Hm. Was nothing special.”

“What did it look like?”

Ilya dragged a finger along Shane’s forearm, “I had plain white sheets, my mother’s old pillow, my walls were pretty bare, had a couple of,” Ilya trailed off as he stared at Shane.

“Couple of?” Shane licked his lips, Ilya inched closer to close the gap. Shane closed his eyes before his door, somehow disappeared behind him. He caught himself before he cracked his skull open, feeling Ilya nudge against him.

Ilya snaked into his room behind him.

“Ilya!” He yelped.

Ilya started laughing as soon as he walked in, “Wow, have you been gay since you were born.”

“Everyone has been gay since they were born.”

“Not this gay.” Ilya pointed to the decade old Beyonce poster.

“Whatever.”

While Ilya is distracted looking at the poster, he hiked up his dark blue comforter. Ilya, somehow, took notice.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“What you just did.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Shane.”

Ilya walked toward the bed. Shane stepped in front of him.

“You do know I can push you out the way, yes?”

“I’d just press into your eye.”

Ilya pouted, “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, I would.”

“You would?”

“Yeah.”

Ilya walked toward Shane, Shane walked backwards. Ilya looked him up and down, a faint smile gracing his face. Once he got Shane cornered, the back of his thighs against a nightstand, “Mm, I think you like me too much to do that.” He beamed.

“I don’t.” Shane shook his head.

Ilya invaded Shane’s personal space, lips inches away before Ilya pulled the top corner of Shane’s comforter to expose Shane’s sheets. He’s greeted with white sheets featuring a plethora of different Spongebob Squarepants poses. Ilya tried to bite back a laugh, but a snort escaped past his bitten lips, “You really like SpongeBob, huh?”

A flush ran across Shane’s face, trailing down to his chest, “Liked.” Shane pushed Ilya back. He reached to pull the comforter back up, “I liked his work ethic.”

Ilya smiled, “Of course you did.”

“Were you lying about Zachary’s niece?”

“No, she’s real.”

“Mhm, okay.” Ilya looked around Shane’s room, an unreadable expression across his stunning face.

Shane walked over to his closet, “Uh, I think I have an air mattress in my closet.”

“I can just sleep with you on your Spongebob bed.”

Shane looked up at Ilya who is now sitting on his bed.

“Unless, you think that’s gay.”

Shane huffed, “Um,”

“Is not cheating. Trust me, I know what cheating is now.” Ilya pointed to his eye.

“Do you think they can recover from that?”

“I do not know, is my first time homewrecking, was a trial run.”

“A trial run? You deserved that black eye.” Shane sat on the other side of the bed.

Ilya glared at him.

“What? Can’t imagine what I’d do to you if you fucked Zach behind my back.” Which wasn’t a lie. He probably would’ve killed Ilya if he fucked Zach instead of him.

“I would not touch him with ten foot pole.”

Ilya stared at Shane. Shane brought a knuckle up to the purple-greenish patch of tender skin. He brushed over it, punching a hiss from Ilya.

“Shut up, that didn’t hurt,” Shane gingerly rubbed the bruise, “He got you good.”

“I was drunk, I could’ve got him back.”

“You couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“If I could roll my eyes, I would.”

“You look good with a black eye though. Very delicate.”

Ilya chuckled, “What.”

“Reminds me you’re still human. Like, you got blood pumping through your body.”

“Did you think I am some robot?”

“Yes, I did.”

Ilya fell back on the bed, “Did you lose your virginity on your Spongebob bed?”

“Ugh, yeah.” Shane fell back as well. Monkey see, monkey do.

“With Zachary?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. Are you not curious about other people? He tied you down so quickly, before I could get to you.”

Shane smiled, “Before you could get to me?”

“Yes. I would’ve been the one to lock you down.”

“Fuck off.” Shane bit his lip.

“I am dead serious.”

Shane wiped his smile off his face.

“What? Am I stroking your huge ego?” Ilya sat up on his elbow, muscle rippling as he looked down at Shane.

“Just a little, you need two hands though.”

“Oh, it’s that big.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t believe people say you’re not funny.”

“Who says I’m not funny?”

“Mhm. People.”

They lay there in silence before Ilya breaks it, “Zachary really thinks we are sleeping together?”

“Why do you call him Zachary?”

“Becuase that is his name. Why does he think we are fucking?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, he’s become so fucking insecure since we got picked up. It’s exhausting. I am finally doing something with my life and he undermines it, thinking it’s all some coverup to cheat.”

“You deserve so much better.” Ilya shook his head in disappointment as if he didn’t just homewreck at a joint bachelor and bachelorette party. He fluttered his eyelashes at Shane, which felt like bait at the time. Shane, being some pathetic little fish, reaches for it, mouth open.

Shane nodded, yeah, he does deserve more. He slowly leaned up into Ilya’s space, before a knock at the door took him out the moment. And like a fish, he rolled off his twin-sized bed and flopped onto the floor. Hitting the back of his head.

Shane’s mom walked in, “Aw, having floor time like when you were a baby.” Yuna lightly kicks Shane in the stomach.

“Yeah.” Shane lets out a strained cry.

“Shane used to love sleeping on the floor when he was a kid. He had such bad back problems when he was a kid. Has he ever told you that?”

“No, but he has told me about his Degrassi audition.” Shane heard the smile in Ilya’s voice.

Come to think of it, Shane wanted to cheat as soon as he met Ilya. But, that initial lust died down and his loneliness took over. Ilya was his first friend in the city that didn’t have a 401K, so he was a nice change of pace. They spent a lot of time just loitering outside stores, talking about everything two people could. The lust had always been there though, just simmering, until it reached a boiling point last night.

This one time, was early 2014 before they got picked up by a record label, he and Ilya spent the whole day outside trying to get Ilya some side jobs which just earned them an invitation to some gay porn company, something with two first names. Ilya almost took the offer, but Shane shook his head, said it was bad optics for the future.

Shane proceeded to have pornographic wet dreams about Ilya every night after that, him as a pizza deliveryman and Shane had no money, which isn’t too unrealistic. Ilya with blue rubber gloves and a big coat, pressing into Shane for a prostate exam, which also isn’t too unrealistic, if Ilya pushed himself, he could give Shane prostate exams and it wouldn’t count as cheating. Ilya as a really shitty cop, bringing Shane in for questioning because he looked suspicious. After that dream, Shane thought deeper about the porn he was watching and what it said about society as a whole. But the most recurring one Shane had, was Ilya fucking into Shane as Zach was in the other room. A ring on Shane’s finger as he held onto Ilya’s arm. Giving Shane more, while he had everything he wanted. A manifestation of Shane’s selfishness through a cucking wet dream.

Shane has really been the shitty boyfriend this whole time, Zach didn’t spend the past three years hanging out with some hot guy, telling Shane not to worry about or swear that he’s just a friend, just to fuck him anyways, because he’s famous and everybody else is doing it, so who cares? If everyone jumped off a cliff, would Shane too? Shane would probably weigh his options, does cliff-jumping have more pros and cons for his career?

Definitely, more cons. The biggest con would be death, but he’d probably have a big, expensive funeral. All his fuck-ups magically wiped from everyone’s memory when they think of him, definitely a pro, death reimagines a person’s life and legacy. Cheating on your boyfriend doesn’t seem that bad, when you were a tortured artist.

Shane’s spent way too long weighing the cons of cheating the same way. If it ever got out, Shane’s whole persona falls apart. His face across every blog and magazine known to man.

Turns out, Mr. Monogamy isn’t so monogamous. We always knew this was happening, maybe the worst attempt at covering something up since Hollywood tried to convince us OJ didn’t do it. If it doesn't fit you must acquit, do we think Ilya Rozanov fit inside Shane Hollander or what? Look at a recent poll where we compiled the thoughts of the entire world. 0% thought: No chance. And a whopping 100% thought: Definitely, he’s totally a cockslut.

Shane never deserved his boyfriend anyways, a boyfriend who didn’t sacrifice his twenties for us. A boyfriend we barely knew existed but now we’re gonna devote our life to him because he’s white and we all feel bad for him, funny, Shane cheated on his boyfriend with another white guy, is this some fucked up form of internalized racism? White dick will not save you LMAO. Superficial douchebag, his music isn’t even that good.

Canadian Sweetheart, Shane Hollander turned Cheater? Possibly the worst thing a Canadian figure has done with a pipe since Rob Ford, may he rest in peace. Check out this exclusive footage we’ve gotten from a hidden camera inside of Shane’s brain.

He could go on a sob-tour, people already love him and can look past cheating if he wants to paint Ilya as a villain. A seductress or something, he kinda already has that reputation. He caught me in a very vulnerable point of my life, I was missing the love of my life and he was a warm body to hold, which isn’t really a lie, but Shane wouldn’t do that, he still has morals.

He could go down the sex-addict route, but he can’t really be a sex-addict if he’s only had sex with two people his whole life. Could probably hire actors to say they slept with Shane to keep the story going until eventually the NDA inevitably dries up and somebody talks. Then, Shane would be known as a cheater and a liar, kinda one of the same if he thinks about it.

All this because Ilya was new and shiny and looked at Shane like he’s some God because he slid down a crossfader. The letters by horny women aren’t enough, tattoos of Shane’s face or lyrics aren’t enough, fan accounts run by teenagers who’d kill for him aren’t enough, what does real devotion look like? How does it feel being fucked with something other than fingers and silicone? How does it feel to be full of come and played with? How does it feel being under disgraced musician Ilya Rozanov? How does it feel losing yourself and forgetting who you are? How does it feel being a disgusting cheater?

“I’m getting up.” Shane nudges Ilya, a bit forcefully.

Ilya whimpers but stays on top of him, “Shane. You okay?” He asks, wiping the sleep out of his eye.

“Yeah, I just,” He bites his nails, tasting a bit of iron, not even knowing what he was gonna say.

“Shane, people cheat all the time. Was not the worst thing you could’ve done last night,” Ilya frowns. “You’re still a good guy, okay?”

Shane doesn't say anything. He wishes he has some sort of cue card to read.

“You love Zachary. You will stay with him and I will be here if you ever want to fuck me again, I, just,” He scoots up until he’s face to face with Shane, “You are my best friend, Shane. I can not lose you over something this stupid,” A scowl is painted over his face, a slight pout of his lip, and a small bruise on his neck. “I don’t want you to hate me too.” Shane doesn’t even know what Ilya is really saying anymore, both hungover and probably speaking in tongues.

He just knows Ilya wants him so badly, he’ll take him anyway he can. It’s pathetic, but so is Shane, so he nods at the invitation or the apology or the assurance or whatever, everything is mixed up now, “Okay.” Shane whispers just as he presses a chaste kiss on Ilya’s lips which quickly develops into something more heated.

Shane finally comes up with a pro of all this cheating as Ilya’s tongue prods at his cheek, he would get this, everynight, in every city and country. After years of being lonely on tour, lackluster phone-sex, he finally gets to feel warmth that doesn’t come from crowded rooms and expensive suits, but from another body.