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It shouldn’t have been surprising, it really shouldn’t. After all, Ilya liked to say Shane got his boringness from his father– that it was genetic.
And now, Shane guessed that this was genetic.
The radiance that spilled from every pour of their bodies– the easy laughter that they could cause to trickle out of anyone’s lips. The happiness that seemed so real…
Even now, Shane was doubted if it was real at all. Or if it was fake just like Shane knew his feelings for women that he claimed weren’t just friendship were.
Because how could the smiles be real when Shane knew the truth? When he saw what lay under the surface of that carefully crafted mask that Ilya inherited from his mother?
(When his fingers clawed behind that cooling mask and forced what laid deep within Ilya to spill out onto the bathroom floor?)
A mask that, like his mother’s, eventually could no longer hold itself together.
So that mask of happiness – of everything being okay – simply fell apart. Just like Irina. Just like Ilya.
The illusion of happiness – of everything being okay – was shattered like the sounds of the loons shattered the silence of the night as they stared into the fire. Or, well, as Ilya gazed into the fire like he wasn’t really seeing the flames dancing there, and Shane stared at him.
Ilya was strong, Shane knew he was. He was strong for so long, just like his mother was. Until, like her, he wasn't. He couldn’t.
And he followed in her footsteps.
(Maybe in a way that, deep down, Ilya always knew he would.)
Maybe it was bound to happen because it was ingrained in his DNA just like Shane’s boringness was.
Ilya’s sadness was there since birth– it was woven in his blood just like bits of Ilya’s stomach acid was now woven through Shane’s hair after he accidentally ran a hand through it. But that dormant sadness that maybe wasn’t always dormant was kept hidden, contained until it couldn’t be kept inside anymore.
(Until it begged for an escape– an escape that ilya happily gave it.)
Until it transformed into something more than just a type of sadness that everyone felt.
A type of sadness that, maybe, Ilya did feel once. Until that sadness became more– become something deeper that was once foreign but now so familiar to Ilya. Familiar in a way that was foreign and unfamiliar to Shane.
Ilya’s brand of sadness – a sadness that required medication to try to stabilize and a therapist to try to coax him towards a new normal – Shane wasn’t familiar with it. But with the stale smell of vomit clinging to his clothing, Shane didn’t think it was true anymore.
And, really, maybe Shane should have expected it. Maybe like how Ilya probably felt like he should have expected it– when his mother’s smiles became too forced and barely existence. When there was nothing but sorrow, desperation and whatever else was clouding that mind.
Just like he had come to expect Ilya’s quips about his genetic boringness whenever he learned about a trait he shared with his father…
Maybe he should have expected the need to hide the pills Ilya was prescribed when he first noticed that growing emptiness in his partner's eyes– when he first saw a little bit of light dim in his eyes that used to shine…
Shine with something that Shane didn’t know if it was real or not. Not like the lingering sorrow he always captured in Ilya’s eyes, even before he knew the real reason for it.
Irina had an accident.
And now Ilya did too.
At least, that’s what the newspapers printed. That’s what they would print…
Until they realized that it was pretty hard to swallow a whole bottle of pills. Until news of another almost ancient (but once successfully buried from the public eye) accident seeped out of Russia and shone a new light onto the situaton– onto Ilya and his accident. His accident wasn't an accident, no matter how Shane tried to convince himself it was.
No matter how hard he wished it was an accident, it wasn’t.
It never would be.
Because how could it be?