Chapter Text
1.
Shane Hollander washes two coffee cups, two bowls, two plates, two sets of silverware, then begins to deep clean the kitchen. He wants it to be spotless when his parents come over for dinner tonight. He scrubs the grout to a pearly white and tries not to think too hard about the events of this week, lest he throws himself into a spiral. The events of the week have all surrounded the confessing-his-love-to and then making-a-boyfriend-of his beautiful arch-rival, a wonderful development, but he still needs to mind his excessive rumination; his anxiety does not care if the events he is ruminating upon are good or not.
The bleach is strong and makes his eyes water. He steadies himself on the cool tile floor, then begins to sway softly back and forth just to see how much has gotten to his head. He doesn't feel high but he almost wishes he does. He continues to sway back, and forth, and back.
2.
Ilya Rozanov wishes he brought a button up shirt. The most appropriate item of clothing he brought for a dinner with the boyfriend's parents is a beige cashmere sweater that is far too warm for this weather. Or at least he assumes it's appropriate for a dinner with the boyfriend's parents. He's not sure. He's never had a boyfriend before.
He looks in the mirror and wonders if his hair is too unruly, regrets not getting it cut before coming to the cottage. He pats down a stray curl and it bounces back up. What are you supposed to talk about with your boyfriend's parents? He catalogues everything he knows about Yuna and David Hollander: they both love hockey, they both love reading, they both love Shane. Good. Ilya also loves all of those things.
When he comes down to the kitchen, Shane is scrubbing the floor with his signature determination, the smell of the air sharp with chemicals from the cleaning products. Maybe he should tell Shane to let it be, but he can tell he is attending to more than just the floor with his taut focus. Instead, he goes and picks some lavender and rosemary from the garden outside, presses it delicately between his palms to release the scent. Inside, he arranges them into small bouquets, tucks them in mugs and sets them on platters, to disperse throughout the rooms. He lights a few candles (soy, unscented), and scatters those, too. He fluffs the decorative pillows on the couch, pushes the chairs of the dining table in, stacks the coffee table books neatly.
When he's finished, he kneels down quietly behind Shane, gently grabs the cleaning supplies out of his hands, kisses him on the cheek, and returns them to the laundry room closet. When he comes back, Shane is still on the floor, sitting against the cabinets with his legs out long in front of him, head resting back, eyes closed. They blink open when Ilya approaches. Ilya sits down beside him, and they wait.
3.
Yuna Hollander reminds her husband to grab the salad from the fridge. When she turns around she finds him already carrying it, and the serving spoons, and the extra dressing.
Everyone always says that Shane takes more after his mother. Yuna knows they think this because of his looks, and his ferocious love of hockey. She also knows they are wrong, and for as much as Shane has inherited her discipline, her tenacity, her freckles, her confidence, he has inherited twice as much from David; his gentleness, his curiosity, his strength, his perception, his humor, his grace. His carefulness, his commitment.
When Yuna first bumped into David, literally, at a house party, he had been staring into the bottom of his still-full cup of cheap, shitty beer. She knocked into him, causing a bit to spill over the lip of the open container, and he apologized and apologized. He was nervous, she could tell, and so she thought maybe he could benefit from a breath of fresh air. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the terrace, and he went so willingly she almost felt bad.
She talked to him (to, not necessarily with) for about an hour before he decided to disclose he had played hockey for McGill University— goalie,— and she was so upset he hadn't told her earlier, when she had been going on and on about her full NHL league review, that she threw up her hands and began to walk away, but David just said Stay, in the calmest, most enticing voice she had heard in her life, and so she stayed.
Then later, still on the terrace, after trying to make the remaining sips of their cups last all night, Yuna finally turned to David and said Well? Aren't you going to kiss me?, to which he said I'm sorry, Yuna, but I can't do that. If I kiss you, I'm gonna want to marry you.
4.
They drive to Shane's, an FM station playing jazz radio. They are mostly silent.
Yuna thinks about her son, in love. She has thought about her son in love before, always abstracted. Some vague shape of him next to a blurry image of a woman. Then later, next to maybe a man. In these imaginings, he never seemed to look quite like Shane. Around the same size and general shape, but imagined-Shane's posture didn't quite look right, his face just a mess of shapes and colors.
Last night, the picture snapped into focus, crystal clear. Her son, in love.
It was so obvious, really. She had never seen Shane so himself before in her life. It was not unlike when she was pregnant with him— pregnant not for the first time, though he is an only child. This abstract child, this vague blob on an ultrasound, promised to be real. There was nothing to hold onto in pregnancy, no imagined-child clear enough. Then Shane was born on a blessed Friday morning, and the doctor handed her the baby, and she thought Of course! There is my son.
When they arrive, Ilya opens the door. Yuna hugs him, and she notes how his body tenses at the contact. The place is spotless, of course it is, but it is also warmer, more settled.
They follow Ilya into the kitchen, where Shane is preparing the salmon for the grill. She kisses the side of his head as he works, they all make small talk. David offers to help Shane outside, leaving Yuna with Ilya. He offers her a glass of wine, she accepts. They sip a bit awkwardly, then,
"Thank you."
She is surprised by his voice, by what it is saying.
"For yesterday. He was very nervous. It was not how he wanted to tell you. We had been talking about it, for a while. I think I made it harder for him, being who I am. I thought it was a bit silly, that he felt that he had to tell you about me at all. It would have been okay for me, to keep me a secret, but that's not how he wanted to do it. We were— this is all new. To both of us. So we don't really know how to talk about it yet. Mrs. Hollander—"
"Yuna."
"Yuna— I— I was also very nervous. I did not tell Shane this. It would have made it harder for him, if he knew. This conversation with my parents would not, would not have been the same. You could have been angry with me and I would have let you, I would understand—"
"Ilya."
Yuna sets down her glass and wraps her arms around the boy. He relaxes into it this time. She feels him take a few deep breaths, thankful it gives her the time to do the same.
"I love him," he whispers.
"I know you do. Me too."
They pull back, avoiding each other's eyes. Begin to set the table.
5.
They eat dinner and conversation flows. Earlier that day, Ilya had asked Shane what kind of physical touch he was comfortable with in front of his parents. Shane didn't know. First he said that he's never thought about it. Then he said, maybe none? Or maybe some, but take it slow.
So now Ilya eats his last bite of salmon and casually leans back, reaching his arm over the back of Shane's chair. He touches lightly at the back of his neck, and Shane stiffens, then relaxes. Ilya waits to see if Shane pulls away, and when he doesn't, he begins to roll a section of hair in between his fingers. He does this for a couple minutes before he feels Shane's hand land lightly on the top of his thigh. Ilya watches Shane carefully, who is talking something about his guest bathroom remodel. Bites the inside of his lip to keep from smiling like a loon.
Ilya moves his other hand so that is rests on top of Shane's. He pays close attention to the points of contact. It is not hard to; they are burning. He teases Shane about his architectural knowledge, earning him an eye roll. He responds with a quick kiss on the tip of his ear. Shane's back straightens, his hand moves off of Ilya's thigh, leaving the empty space cold. Ilya presses his thumb again on the back of his neck, and Shane continues speaking as he runs it over the skin there. So it is there he finds the line. Something more than a soft touch on the back of the neck, less than a kiss on the ear. He can work with that.
Ilya asks if they like Scrabble.
6.
David Hollander had another charger at home. That's his secret.
It was just a dumb excuse to check on his son. He was worried. So like himself, his son can isolate almost to his own detriment. So when Shane didn't answer his texts, then didn't pick up the phone, then didn't pick up the phone seven more times, he worried. He is Shane's father. He always worries. Of course he worries.
So he went to check on his son, and now he's eating dinner with his son's boyfriend. A lot can change in a day.
He's grabbing the bottle of wine from the counter to refill everyone's glass, and a picture in a picture frame catches his eye. It's a selfie of Shane and Ilya, on the porch outside, faces squished together and smiling underneath the glow of the sunset.
Ilya comes to the kitchen with an armful of plates to set in the sink. He notices David looking at the photo.
"It is, ah, our only real picture together."
In the photo, Shane is wearing a blue linen button down, and Ilya is in a black Boston Raiders t-shirt. David realizes it was taken yesterday.
7.
Shane reminds himself to breathe. He seems to keep forgetting how. He watches the steady rise and fall of Ilya's chest as he listens to David talk about the crossword clue he struggled with this morning— "Does something," answer: "Goes about it"— and tries to follow the steady in, out, in.
Then: a moment of deja vu, like he'd been here before. Strange, because he surely has not. But that weird memory feeling floods him and he lets it. Maybe he has been here before. Maybe it's just nice to think so.
He moves to grab his wine glass for another sip, to prolong the hazy dreamlike state he's fallen in, and realizes his mother is looking at him. He meets her eye, tries to read her thoughts. Realizes he's bad at that and so just smiles and says "What?," soft enough as to not distract Ilya and his father's conversation. She nods her head to the kitchen, gets up and expects him to follow her. He does, breathes in, then out.
His mother fills her wine glass, takes a sip, pulls Shane into her side and kisses him on the temple. He wraps his arm around her, the wine and the joy of the night having gone straight to his head and causing him to relax against her as if he were still eight years old and tiny.
"We adore him," she whispers.
"You do?"
She continues on, presumably explaining why, but all he can hear is We adore him, We adore him on repeat, and he reminds himself to breathe in, then out, and it's getting hard for him to see a little, everything going a bit fuzzy at the edges, and then his mother is wiping tears from his cheeks, and she is whispering to him to take a little time alone, they'll get Scrabble set up, to join them when he's ready.
He takes a moment in the kitchen, leaning against the cold, hard counter top and listening to the sweet sounds of the people he loves the most mixing in the room next to him. He wipes the tears from his eyes, then he goes to join that room.
8.
They are brushing their teeth when their phones buzz simultaneously; a text from Shane's father. A group chat, made with the four of them, and a single attachment of a photo. The photo is taken in secret— it is of Shane and Ilya on the couch. Shane is reaching forward to set his wine glass on the coffee table, smiling softly, other hand touching Ilya's shoulder. Ilya has a large grin on his face, staring at Shane, laughter in his eyes.
The picture is so sweet and unexpected and so they say nothing, just stare at their phones, toothbrushes stilled in their mouths. Ilya breaks the silence by reminding Shane that he was probably teasing him in that picture— who loses Scrabble to someone playing in their second language?
9.
The next morning, they sleep in. Ilya brings Shane coffee in bed, and they sit up against the headboard, taking tiny sips in an attempt to make the time slow down. It works, and the morning lasts forever. They talk about the couple days they've had, playing footsie under the duvet. They are happy.
Forever doesn't last, and they have to find a new way of extending time, so Shane straddles Ilya and presses wet kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. He pulls back and gathers saliva in his mouth. Lets it slowly begin to drip out of his mouth. Ilya recognizes it as the offering it is, and sticks out his tongue to receive it, staring reverently up at Shane. He goes to swallow, but Shane gives a slight shake of his head, shifting up on his knees, placing one hand on the head board and while the other guides Ilya's to the back of his thighs. He presses his cockhead gently to Ilya's lips. They open gratefully, and Shane fucks Ilya like that, slowly and rhythmically, until he comes with a shudder on Ilya's tongue. He holds Ilya's jaw open, leans over, says, in a low voice, "Give it back."
Shane swallows himself, then flips over so he's laying on his back, pulling Ilya on top of him. Looks up, returning the reverence, and says "Me, now."
10.
"Do you miss your family?"
They are playing catch with old baseball gloves Shane found in his shed. They are shockingly bad at it, considering their profession— every third or so throw is a wayward ball. They lunge for it anyway, sometimes catching it successfully, sometimes not. They might be more successful if they took a step closer to each other but they don't. They also don't acknowledge their uncharacteristic incompetence, out of embarrassment or maybe just apathy. They enjoy the repetitive activity regardless, and so they spend hours throwing the ball back, forth, back.
Ilya thinks about this question. It is so Shane in it's delivery. Direct, earnest, completely unknowing of its velocity.
From someone else, this question might make Ilya bristle, but he cannot take offense by the question if he tried; Shane really just wants to know. Does he miss his family?
He reaches for the ball, feeling the thwump in his glove.
He thinks about his family. Not his mother and his father and his brother, but his family. There is a picture framed in his apartment back in Russia. His family skating on a pond. A ten-year-old Ilya is the only one smiling. He hates that picture.
He throws the ball back to Shane.
He remembers that day. It was a good day for them, a great day, even. Why was he the only one smiling?
Thwump.
He wishes everything had been different. Wishes he could have changed how it ended for all of them. Feels guilty for the second chance he's been given, unearned.
In the picture, it is his mother's birthday. She had wanted to go skating, but the pond wasn't usually still frozen this time of the year. They had hiked all the way out to it, and they had squealed with delight to find it thick and sturdy enough for them to enjoy.
He and Shane throw the ball back, and forth, and back again.
"Yes."
11.
Ilya has made it a goal of swimming in the lake at least once, preferably twice, occasionally three times a day. Shane isn't much of a leisure swimmer, but is happy to sit on the dock, feet dangling down in the water. Sometimes he takes a kayak out, Ilya swimming around him like a shark.
Shane always ends up swimming anyway, easily persuaded (or easily capsized). They wrestle in the water, grabbing at each other, legs tangled beneath the surface. Climbing breathless onto the kayak, they lay with their chests heaving, catching their breath. They push each other weakly through fits of laughter. They groan when they realize how far away they are from the shore.
12.
They lay in the sun to dry off, picking at the grass and asking each other questions. Shane answers, then Ilya.
What is your favorite color? Blue. Green.
Do you like the rain? Yes, when I can stay in and watch a movie. Yes, all the time.
When was your first kiss? Fifteen. Twelve.
What is your favorite thing about yourself? (Physical or personality? Both.) My leadership, my legs. My charm, my ass.
Beach or mountains? Mountains. Mountains.
Favorite breakfast food? A smoothie. That's not a breakfast food. Yes, it— okay, fine— spinach and goat cheese omelette. Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream and a side of eggs and bacon.
If you went to university, what would you study? Sports medicine. Literature.
Do you believe in god? I don't know, I've never really thought about it before, so I guess not. Yes, I want to.
If you had one superpower, what would it be? To be invisible. To fly.
13.
They sit on the couch, Ilya with his legs pulled up, resting his cheek against his knee, and Shane perched on the armrest. Shane is teasing a tangle out of Ilya's lakewater hair. It is silent. The room is golden and sleepy and warm. Ilya stares at nothing on the ground, eyes glazed over, breath shallow and calm. Shane begins to hum, softly, a song that had been playing on the radio earlier. Ilya shifts a bit in the cushions, puts his legs down and leans back and relaxes further. Blinks back a tear, then thinks better of it and lets it fall.
14.
Ilya gets Shane to eat pizza. It has a cauliflower crust, but still. They sip on soda and turn on the TV to find something to watch. Cable television is featuring Sleepless in Seattle. It's already twenty minutes in and neither of them have seen it, but they keep it on anyway. Ilya tells Shane about how he first thought the Space Needle actually communicated with space, it looking like an antenna and all, and was angry when his teammates had told him it was just a really tall restaurant.
"Why would it be called the Space Needle if it wasn't controlling like—like a satellite or something in space?"
It's something about the World Fair, Shane explains, which he supposes is a good enough answer as anything.
They talk about how Seattle should have a hockey team and spend the next twenty minutes detailing a daydream of founding a team there, arguing over ridiculous mascots. In this fantasy, they are both captains and there are no rules against kissing. They live in a gloomy brick condo with large windows overlooking the sound, and on the weekends they go to farmers markets, and take ferries to see the whales, and maybe they learn to ski, and there is always an abundance of salmon and rain.
15.
They fuck on the couch, dirty and quick, this time by choice and not by necessity.
16.
Ilya offers to go to the grocery store to restock some essentials. On the way back, he notices a small stand on the side of the road selling fresh berries. He makes small talk with the teenager managing the sales, she asks him if he's getting them as a gift for anybody. This is the first time Ilya gets to refer to Shane as his partner. He smiles the entire way home, and later feeds the berries to his partner one by one, letting him suck the sweet, vibrant juice off his fingers.
17.
Shane's home gym has a punching bag, and Ilya asks about it. Shane explains he used to be really into MMA— still is, as a spectator, but he hasn't fought in an official capacity since year ten.
"You fought in an official capacity?"
"Well, kind of. I had some consistent sparring partners at the gym but I only competed a handful of times."
He says this in the most infuriatingly nonchalant tone, as if this isn't coming as a huge shock to Ilya. He forces Shane to show him everything he knows, and Shane is good. Quick and calculated, in full control of his body, not a single part of him out of place. Ilya is fascinated, enamored. Falling somehow more in love with this man. Falling so damn willingly.
Ilya teases Shane about how of course he is the only one in the NHL to know how to actually fight, and the only one in the NHL who refuses to. This earns Ilya a lecture on the importance of pacifism in the face of conflict, which in turn earns Shane a lecture on how it's just hockey, let a guy throw a punch when he wants to. Ilya should have known better, because now Shane is going on about how nothing is "just hockey," and how "just hockey" doesn't exist, that all life is a metaphor for sport—
"Life is metaphor for sport? Do you mean it the other way around?"
"No. I mean, maybe it is. But not to me, anyway."
Then Shane is sitting on a weight bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and Ilya is on the floor with his legs spread out in front of him, and they are talking about Sport, capital S. Shane talks about his mind and his body and his soul and how the only time he ever feels at home in all of them is when he is playing hockey, and Ilya's thoughts drift vaguely to Russian Orthodox homilies about three-in-one. He talks about connection to the physical, the buzz of being completely in one's body. Neither of them say what they're both thinking, that this awareness of self also happens during sex together— that beautiful, forbidden communion— so they just stick to talking about hockey.
Shane tells a story about an assistant coach he had in juniors, a young player who retired from the pro leagues far too early due to an injury. He would always quote a line from some book, "How promising you are as a Student of the Game is a function of what you can pay attention to without running away." This coach would recite this any time he felt a player was running from something; the puck, the defense, the game entirely. Sometimes he'd pull it out when he felt like a player was running to hockey, and away from something else. It is bad hockey to playing it as a distraction, he would say. The coach was a little strange, Shane explains, but that quote of his really stuck. Now, sometimes, when Shane feels a bit untethered from the world, he audits his attention.
"Well then what did you discover in your last 'attention audit,' Mr. Accountant?"
"Well, you're here, aren't you?"
18.
They stand in the kitchen, sweaty and flushed, picking at cold grapes and staring into nothing.
"Surely there's something you're good at that I don't know about."
"Hm?"
"Like me and MMA. Surely you have something, too."
Ilya thinks for a second.
"I am a good dancer." Ilya pops a grape into his mouth. "Like, ballroom dancing."
Shane's eyebrows shoot up.
"I like the waltz."
He explains that he had to learn for formal events back in Russia. That he acted like he hated it, but he didn't really. That he could show Shane how to, if he wants.
"It's kind of like fighting. The footwork and all. If you know one, you usually know the other."
19.
One particularly sunny day, they begin to feel a bit stir crazy, and Ilya convinces Shane to go on a hike nearby. He finds a trail that the internet says is not often utilized, and so they are unlikely to see anyone.
It's just them, a few songbirds, a fox, two deer, lots of mosquitoes, and a kingfisher the entire way up. It's a challenging route, but their athlete bodies see it only as opportunity. The trail ends at a small lake, shimmering blue and ice cold. They take off their shirts to swim, wrestling each other under the water, feeling like kids again.
The activity of the day tires them out quick, so they take a quick cat nap while drying off on a large, warm rock. Time waits for them to rest, making sure there is still plenty left over after. However much longer later, Shane wakes his boyfriend up with his lips pressed against skin, and Ilya sighs into the feeling of both the sun and his lover giving sweet kisses to his body.
On the way back down, they pass a family of four, two young boys scampering off-trail like little mountain goats. Shane feels the initial threat of panic, a small but noticeable rush of adrenaline at outside-people seeing him and Ilya together. He takes a steady breath (he's getting better at this) and makes an effort to make eye contact with the young couple, gives them an encouraging word, You're halfway there!, and laughs at the boys racing each other, not completely unlike he and Ilya that morning.
The smiles are returned, silly trail talk reciprocated, and they both move their separate ways. Ilya chirps Shane for his Canadian-ness, speeding up to boyishly shove Shane and take over as the line leader. Eventually, the family's voices fade into the mountains, and Shane considers this; that they have been seen together, and absolutely nothing has changed at all.
20.
Shane shows Ilya his well. Ilya does not get what's so special about it.
"What good is a well for but making wishes?"
"Good drinking water."
21.
The stars are much brighter at the cottage. One night, they lay on the dock and watch the sky until 3 AM. They pull up Wikipedia pages on their phones to answer wondrous musings about the cosmos, and then about quantum mechanics, and then about David Bowie.
They want their heads as close as possible, so they shift so that they are laying different ways, heads and shoulders fitting like puzzle pieces, both upside-down to the other. This way they can simply turn their heads to gift a sweet kiss, noses into chins, then return to star-watching. They listen to the lake water lap against the side of the dock, swish through the reeds. They do not talk. One of them reaches up above them to find the other's hand, and the other takes it.
They don't know this, but they are both thinking about the slow speed of light, and how the stars they see started burning a long time ago, and how strange it was that they get to see them now. And if there was a God, and if she were listening in on this moment, she would be tickled by the coincidence.
22.
They spend an entire day figuring out what they like, sexually. For seven years it was guessing, intuiting. Now they conduct experiments, logging every movement of muscle, every caught breath in a throat. They study each others bodies, memorizing each inch, now with the freedom to look and not look away.
Some experimental results: Shane nearly loses himself when Ilya whispers a Good girl, and bites his ear. They both can come from Shane eating Ilya out. Ilya likes when Shane refuses to be pinned down without a fight. Shane is far too joyful when he realizes Ilya likes to rut up against the bottom of his foot. They don't really love to sixty-nine. Ilya's eyes go glassy when he's forced to kneel in front of Shane, bandana wrapped around his mouth like a muzzle, watching Shane get himself off just centimeters away from his face. Shane blushes and goes silent when Ilya asks him, grinning, if he'd want to call him daddy, and then shuts them both up when he retorts with Then would you call me mommy? (They decide to table that one for another day). They both like fucking pressed up against a window.
They love kissing. They do it often. Shane sits on Ilya's lap and pulls at his lips with his fingers. Opens his mouth for him and sticks them in, pressing down on the tops of his bottom teeth. Commands, bite. Ilya listens. Harder. Harder. Harder. Then Ilya shakes his head no. He will not bite down any harder.
23.
Ilya is laying down, head on Shane's chest, still a bit damp from the shower and sleepy from the day, when he sees a wasp. He jumps and pulls Shane away from where it hovers.
He scrambles out of bed but Shane just waits, watches. The wasp moves closer to him, and Ilya is making sounds he will be embarrassed by when this is all over.
"Relax." Shane's voice is calm. "It won't hurt us."
"It could!"
"It won't."
Shane moves slowly, reaching over to grab an empty glass from the bedside table. He moves to his knees, following the languid flight of the creature. Carefully he sneaks up on it, before quickly trapping it between the glass and the wall. The wasp buzzes inside, bouncing off the edges as it tries to escape.
Shane asks Ilya to rip out a page in the magazine on the dresser, and he skillfully moves the glossy paper between the glass and the wall, holding it together, and taking the wasp outside to let it free.
24.
Ilya teaches Shane Russian. Useful phrases. Like I love you, and my darling, and fuck me, please. He explains about Russian terms of endearment, like sunshine and kitten. Shane likes my favorite the best. Likes thinking of himself as Ilya's favorite.
They talk about English and French pet names, like my heart and baby. Ilya cannot choose which one he prefers to be called, leaves it to Shane's discernment.
"How about, my angel?"
Ilya takes a sip of his drink to hide the way his lip quivers.
25.
Two days before they leave, Ilya is cutting an avocado and his hand slips. They argue over whether or not he needs stitches, and Shane wins.
He drives them to the closest urgent care, and they wait for the nurse under fluorescent lighting.
Waiting with them is a father and his daughter. The daughter looks as if she has been crying, leaning into her father's side. She stares at Ilya and doesn't look away. Ilya smiles and waves, and she nuzzles further into her dad, grinning embarrassingly.
When the nurse is available, shes motions for Ilya to come to one of the rooms in the back. She asks if he wants Shane to join, a question neither of them anticipated. They look at each other for a moment, both hesitating before nodding enthusiastically.
Ilya only needs a few stitches, the doctor on call fixes him up quickly. Shane sits in a chair, watching, strangely interested in the minor procedure while Ilya is forced to look away, being the more squeamish of the two. When the doctor is done, she leaves them in the room to wait for the nurse to come and give proper care instructions. Ilya sits down next to Shane, holds still while Shane inspects the bandage. When he has found it up to his standards, he kisses it lightly, then Ilya's shoulder, then the corner of Ilya's mouth. They are then interrupted by the nurse returning, and she politely pretends to look at something on her clipboard while Shane jumps back, sitting up a little too straight in his chair, tapping his fingers on the arm rest.
Ilya doesn't listen much to the nurse's care instructions, is too busy thinking about how to calm Shane down after this, reassure him their secret is safe, that it's all okay. Shane's leg bounces up and down nervously.
When the nurse is finished, she tells Ilya to make sure to stop by the front on the way out and gives some general words of comfort and well-wishes. The second the door closes, Ilya and Shane turn to look at each other, wide-eyed and breathless.
Then Shane laughs. Crumples into Ilya's neck, groaning Oh my god, grabbing his arm and shaking it playfully. Ilya's throat constricts, just slightly, filled with emotion from the sound of Shane's unceasing giggles. He mentally notes the amount of people who now know they are together: three. Five, if he includes themselves. It has more than doubled since this time last week. He hopes it multiplies exponentially. He hopes the stars find out someday.
Shane turns out to be quite the stickler for post-operation care, though Ilya should have guessed this. Shane tries to persuade him to take it seriously, so the cut won't leave too bad of a scar, but Ilya secretly hopes it does. He hopes it's deep and red and obvious. He wants people to ask him about it for the rest of his life, so each time he can return to that moment in the operating room, in a fit of giggles with his lover, buoyed by the sweet joy of being caught in something beautiful.
26.
"Do you think we should talk about expectations? Like, for this next year or something."
"Expectations?"
"Yeah, like, I don't know. How often we talk on the phone, or text, or see each other. So that neither of us are disappointed."
"I will text you anytime I can. I will call you anytime I can. I will see you anytime I can. Okay, easy."
"Ilya. I'm serious."
"I am also serious."
"I would like to say good morning and goodnight everyday. Even just over text. Is that too much?"
"That is not enough, I think."
"Well, I'm just saying. At least that, if nothing else. We'll both be busy, with the season. I just wanna make sure we're checking in with each other."
"Yes, okay."
"And I want to always know when we're going to see each other next. I don't want to be guessing. We have our game schedule, of course, but maybe if there are chances to see each other outside of that? I can compare our schedules and map it out."
"Ah, yes, please, mastermind my schedule, lyubimyy."
"I'm serious."
"Me too."
"Is there anything you can think of?"
"Hm. I would like to maybe not mention each other as much in interviews. Before it was fun, but maybe not so much anymore."
"Yeah. Yeah, no problem."
"Not when I can just chirp in person. When I'm f—"
"Ilya."
"I'm serious!"
"Anything else?"
"…"
"I can hear you thinking."
"I— I am thinking maybe, maybe we could spend Christmas together?"
"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course, Ilya. We can spend Christmas together."
27.
They continue to find ways they are compatible. For example, Shane doesn't mind doing the laundry, and Ilya is fine with cleaning the bathroom. They trade off cooking and doing the dishes.
28.
Every morning, Ilya gets up early and smokes a cigarette. He apologizes for this by bringing Shane coffee in bed. He is charmed by Shane's ability to sleep in when he doesn't have a plan for the day, loves finding him resting in the sheets rustled by the two of them, eyes fluttering with dreams of some other world.
The last morning at the cottage, he forgoes his cigarette, opts to stay in bed with his boyfriend, arms around him tightly, then tighter. Trying to imprint the feeling of their bodies together on his memory. Around the usual time Ilya would get up and smoke, Shane stirs slightly, turns around to face Ilya. He asks why he is still there, which makes Ilya laugh.
"I want the most time with you possible today."
Shane scowls at him. Shifts to get up and out of bed.
"Come on," he motions for Ilya to follow.
"Where are we going?"
"We are going to smoke a cigarette."
They put on sweats and sweatshirts, going out to the porch in just their socks. Ilya lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, scoots a bit closer to Shane so their entire sides are touching. Shane reaches out, as if asking for the cigarette. Ilya hands it to him hesitantly, curious at why. His eyebrows shoot up when Shane takes a similarly long drag of it, impressed by the way he hardly coughs on the smoke at all. He hands it back.
"I thought you hated cigarettes. Didn't like the smell."
"I don't mind the smell. It kinda reminds me of you."
This is oddly sweet to Ilya, though he does reconsider his life choices that led to this being true.
"You always tell me not to smoke. You will not shut up about it."
"Yeah, because it's gonna kill you."
Oh.
Shane goes on. "You can't die before me. I won't let it happen."
"That is not fair, you are not going to die until you are like one hundred years old."
Shane nods his head, as if this were obvious. "Peacefully, and in my sleep."
29.
Shane watches in silence as Ilya packs his suitcase. It is a solemn affair.
30.
The car is silent on the way to the airport. Eventually Ilya turns the radio to some soft rock FM station, but keeps the volume low.
That morning, Shane had packed him a whole bag of travel essentials: snacks, antibacterial hand wipes, a portable charger, a small Sudoku book. He also included a note, like his mother used to do, some silly sentimentality scribbled on it with a Love, Shane. Suddenly, he worries Ilya won't find it because his snacks are too healthy and there's no way Ilya is wiping down the seatback tray, so he secretly hopes his phone battery drains quickly so he will find the note.
Ilya spends two hours thinking about how to say thank you. He comes up with nothing, so he just says Thank you when they pull up to the curb. Shane surprises him by getting out of the car to grab Ilya's suitcase, and Ilya is overjoyed by this small act of bravery. Even Ilya thinks it's a little reckless, hands touching as they transfer the luggage. Then Shane throws his arms around him, squeezes him tight. Kisses Ilya discreetly on the side of his neck.
They pull away and Ilya steps into the airport. The skin on his neck burns, as if his entire body is built around this one spot where Shane has kissed. He gets in the security line and hope it goes quickly. He's a bit lightheaded, and is suddenly glad Shane packed him those protein bars he loves.
Shane swallows sobs the entire drive home.