Archive of Our Own

It doesn’t start with a dramatic fall out or a long declaration of love, but with a few texts at a party, nine months after everything fell apart. 

Nine months is surely a long time, Shane Hollander knows that. But he isn’t sure it’s enough to move on from his ex boyfriend. Even if he’s really trying to. 

It all goes down while he’s at Rose’s birthday party. He drank a beer, maybe downed a shot with the birthday girl. That’s it. And he isn’t wallowing. He’s enjoying the party with his friends. He is not miserable. He is not glaring at his phone because of the new message he just received. As predicted, it's from Ilya 

He’s over it. He’s over Ilya, he reminds himself. The mantra turns in his head as it did for the past nine months. They broke up, and it was messy and he hurt but he’s over it. He pockets his phone before anyone around can realise what is happening. Especially Rose, who was here during the worst of the aftermath and nurtures a deep resentment toward Ilya Rozanov now. Not that Shane has been entirely honest with her. Not that he could bear to. 

He’s a little drunk and he doesn’t want to answer the message. Messages, as his phone vibrates again in his pocket but he won’t check. He forces himself to find Rose in the crowd, and she gets him to the dance floor. He hates it though, his phone burns his thigh through his jeans and he’s all too aware of the unread messages. Ilya’s messages. 

After three songs, he begs out and goes to the back porch to get some air. He’s suffocating, his head is turning. Before he can think about it, he pulls out his phone. 

He should know better. He should know where bickering with Ilya always gets him. 

This time Shane almost throws his phone in the garden stretching in front of him. He’s not answering. He is drunk at his best friend’s birthday and he is not going to see his ex-boyfriend’s apartment. His phone vibrates again. He knows it’s Ilya’s address. He doesn't move. It’s all too much. He’s only wearing a tank top and some slacks but his outfit feels too tight, and his watch is burning his wrist, and he’s too hot, the alcohol turning his stomach. He breathes deep, one time, two times. Three times.

He pulls his phone out. Opens the text thread. He sees Rozanov’s address. His ex-boyfriend’s address. His ex-boyfriend whom he broke up with nine months ago and hasn’t seen since. He tries to remember the first months, the worst of the hurt. But it all seems so far, the feeling like smoke around his fingers. Instead, his mind supplies him images of before. Before the endless fights, before they went their separate ways. His hands move on their own, maybe doing what his heart has his mind on. He has a few minutes before the car is here. He curses again. Ilya Rozanov always got him out of his habits, out of his usual routine. He used to hate it. Or love it. He can’t really remember. His mind supplies him with images of how harsh he was with it with Ilya, trying to settle the uneasiness coming with getting out of his shell. Something he had never been able to do easily, something Ilya was always good at. Another difference between them that he didn’t know what to do with.

He moves without thinking, crosses the house hoping no one will notice him. It’s 2am, later than the time he usually stays at parties. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to make any excuses.

“Shane!”

He curses and turns to see Rose and Jackie coming to him. 

“You’re leaving already?” Rose whines, putting her arms around his neck. She’s drunk, but smiling so brightly. He steadies her with a hand on her waist and she drops her head on his shoulder. “Don’t go, we’re having fun!”

“It’s late Rose,” he argues gently. “I’m going home.”

“Oh wait for me and Hayden then!” Jackie interrupts. “We can drop you off. It’s on our way.”

He shakes his head. “Uh…No. I’m fine. I ordered a car and…”

“Don’t be silly,” Jackie tuts, and he feels like a child. She isn’t even looking at him, searching Hayden in the crowd. “It’ll be less expensive.”

“Jackie, it's fine.” 

His tone is more clipped than what he thought because both Jackie and Rose turn their head back to him with a stunned expression. 

“I’m just…getting home. I’m tired. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Hey Shane, wait!” Rose calls after him but he’s already leaving through the door. He doesn’t even care about his jacket and gets in the car idling in front of Rose’s house. He gets in and closes his eyes. 

He breathes deep again. One time, two times, three times. His head is a little clearer but he doesn’t feel better. The taste of the mistake is heavy on his tongue, and he knows he should tell the driver to turn, to change the destination and take him back to his apartment. He doesn’t say anything. His apartment is nothing but silence these days, cold sheets and empty rooms. He doesn’t want that tonight, he’s burning for something else. He goes back to golden curls, a loud laugh that used to fill him, and hands holding him steady during so many years. 

When the car stops in front of an unknown building, Shane knows it’s his last chance at changing his mind. But he’s in control. He’s seeing his ex, hooking-up with his ex, but who can cast him the first stone? He’s not the first man to hook up with his ex-boyfriend. Give him some credit, because his ex-boyfriend is Ilya Rozanov. 

He gets out, thanking the driver and moves toward the hall. Ilya stands here, in grey joggers and a black shirt hugging his shoulders and arms in a delicious way. His curls are messed, he looks soft. He was probably in bed, texting Shane in the middle of the night. The thought makes his head turn. 

Ilya opens the door with a crooked smile. He looks so sure of himself, like he knew Shane would fold when he first sent the message. The asshole. 

“How was the party?” he asks nonchalantly as Shane glares at him while he follows to the elevator. Ilya presses the button for the second floor, his smile unwavering even when Shane mutters good between his teeth, aware that his anger is a bit useless given the circumstances. Yet, it’s all he has left to tame the shame of folding for his ex like that. The tension in the elevator is thick. This close, Shane can smell Ilya’s bodywash. Still the same one. He can observe the man he hasn’t seen in nine months. He hasn’t changed a bit. 

“Sad I wasn’t invited.”

“Rose hates you,” Shane clips back as they exit the tension in the elevator. 

“Does she now?” Ilya smiles, like he knows why he wasn’t invited that night, even if all of their friends were there. His friends. Ilya’s friends and Shane’s friends. Not their or our anymore, Shane has to stop thinking like that. It’s harder, when he steps foot in Ilya’s apartment and hears the door closing behind them. 

“It’s more small than before but it’s-”

Shane doesn’t let him finish. He pushes Ilya against the wall and kisses him hard. Like he’s dying to do for so long. Ilya’s hands fly to Shane’s hair and he lets out a low moan, Shane swallowing it greedily. He doesn’t care about a tour of the apartment, he isn’t here to see Ilya’s new living space, he knew this when he got the message, when he got in the car, when he was looking for any new marks on Ilya’s neck. There aren’t any yet. He allows himself one night, and he intends to leave traces behind. One night to get the closure he needs, he thinks, is reasonable, and is required in any break up to move on, to get your ex out of your system when remembering the most bitter parts of the break up isn’t enough anymore. When the empty space left hurts too much to get on with your day, and the feeling of loneliness sticks too close. 

He moves his hands under Ilya’s shirt, trying to distract himself. The feeling of his toned stomach and warm skin is quite effective, as always. It’s all too much, the heat of Ilya’s mouth is downright intoxicating. He drops to his knees before he can think better and gets Ilya’s jogging pants down. He isn’t wearing anything under. 

Having Ilya in his mouth after so long has the taste of coming home. The gestures are familiar, coming back to him quickly. He bobs his head harder when Ilya’s hand gets to his hair and pushes. He has seen other men in the meantime. Not even one of them can compare to this. It’s even better to hear Ilya’s moans again after so long, to hear the way he says his name, like a prayer in the dark, like the vowels are precious. It’s so far from the cold tone they only used with each other near the end. It’s so much better, it’s everything Shane thought he’d lost, thought he’d push away.

He wants to make sure Ilya is reminded of how good Shane is, in case he forgot. He wants to hear the praise again, the feeling of being good and the knowledge of being rewarded for it later. It works when he gets Ilya to the back of his throat, and he focuses on breathing through his nose. Ilya’s voice is broken, Russian curses and praise mixed together that Shane can understand because he’d started learning the language six-months in their relationship, because he’d kept learning Russian even after the break-up. 

Ilya’s hand in his hair suddenly tugs his head back and Shane whines at the loss of the heaviness on his tongue. He looks up to Ilya, his eyes watery. 

“Fuck, Shane. Your mouth feels so good.”

He lets Ilya tug him to his feet, kissing him harder, their hands touching everywhere they can. In a swift motion, Ilya takes his tank top off, his gaze heated. Shane doesn’t see where it lands, and tries to fight the urge to go and fold it, in favour of kissing Ilya’s neck.  

“For who did you dress like that?” Ilya asks, smirking. “Was there new boyfriend at the party?” Shane can hear it, the jealousy, the possessiveness, but he isn’t sure he places it right. 

“And if there was?” 

Ilya’s eyes go dark. “Well too bad for them. I get you to myself tonight.”

He kisses Shane again, and while he scrambles to get his thoughts in order, to sort through the jealousy, the push and pull they always get back to, Ilya lifts him right off the floor. As if Shane weighs nothing. There’s no reason to hold down his moan this time.

Their kiss is even more heated as Ilya manoeuvres them to what Shane guesses is the bedroom. He isn’t sure and he doesn’t care, as mentioned, he isn’t here to get a tour of the apartment. When Ilya drops him on the mattress he gasps, unused to being manhandled like this. It’s been so long. 

Sex with other people isn’t the same. It isn’t as intoxicating as Ilya getting his hands on his hips and pulling him to the edge of the bed, settling between his legs while he unbuckles his belt. They’re always too eager, where Ilya is patient, kissing Shane’s thighs as he takes his pants down. He bites gently, making Shane whine and kisses the same spot right after. It’s hunger laced with so much affection Shane isn’t sure he’s breathed properly since he got there. 

There is no shame in being naked in front of Ilya, because it isn’t the first time, because they’ve seen much worse with each other. 

There is no shame in begging. 

“Ilya, please.” Shane knows he sounds needy, but he doesn’t have it in him to regret it when it makes Ilya swallow him to the base and moan around him. He drops his head back while Ilya gets a hand on his chest and presses. The other hand is lost under them, teasing Shane’s hole and it’s enough that he could come right here, from Ilya’s mouth and fingers teasing him, pressing and breaking him down, tearing him apart. 

Ilya only stops when Shane is right at the edge, knowing perfectly well what he’s done. The sound Shane lets out is close to a sob. He gets a hand around himself that Ilya whacks away. 

“None of that Hollander,” he says. When Shane whines again, he adds, “Be a good boy and wait.” 

That’s what was missing from everything else, Shane realises with horror. The authority laced with an undertone of what used to be love, that still burns in Ilya’s tone but that Shane isn’t sure he can identify anymore. 

With only a hand, Ilya turns him to his stomach, cold air hitting his ass, his back arching. Maybe it’s muscle memory again, maybe it’s the need to be good again. It definitely is, when Ilya massages Shane’s ass with a low and appreciative hum. Liquid heat spills from his spine to his entire body as Ilya’s hands and tongue start tearing him apart from behind. 

“Fuck, Ilya,” he moans in the pillows. “More.”

His prayers are answered, and it’s soon too much, the overstimulation a delicious burn he’s missed for too long. He’s leaking on the mattress but the thought doesn’t really reach his brain, only focused on the fire building at the base of his spine.

“Tell me what you want Shane,” Ilya murmurs as he kisses Shane’s lower back, slowly kissing his way up. 

It’s been so long. He’s felt so empty ever since. He can indulge a little. This doesn’t mean anything. “You. I need you,” he exhales, his hands still fisted in the sheets. “Please, Ilya.”

Ilya’s control snaps, he hears the tear of a condom and Shane feels whole again in seconds. He feels Ilya inside him, draped against his back, everywhere. He’s on the sheets and on Shane, and on the pillows, and his hands are going to leave marks and he’s so deep yet it’s not enough. 

Shane moves his hips back to meet Ilya’s hard thrusts. 

That’s it, he thinks as he feels pleasure building hot in his lower belly. That’s what he’s been looking for. What he’s been missing since he slammed the door so many months ago. 

He sure had a good reason, an even better one not to contact Ilya during these past months. 

But as Ilya slams into him, murmuring praise and sweet names, as he’s moaning in the pillows, trying to fight his orgasm building just to get this longer, he can’t remember. 

Suddenly, Ilya gets out of him. The loss is too sudden, too terrible, it leaves him cold and empty. Without missing a beat, Ilya turns him over, facing him again, and bottoms out. Shane moans, but resists throwing his head back and losing himself in the pleasure. He wants to keep looking at Ilya, folded under him and spread like a fucking dinner. 

He puts one hand in Ilya’s now messed up curls and gets him closer to kiss him. It’s frantic, too many teeth and too much movements to really get into it, but the proximity, Ilya’s breath against his lips, it’s all he wants, all he’s ever wanted. 

They lie against each other in the darkness of the night, sweat drying on their skin. Ilya got him a warm towel and came back to clean him, but summer nights are too hot these days, and the breeze coming from the window Ilya cracked open coming back from the bathroom isn’t enough. Nothing is enough to calm the buzz under Shane’s skin. 

He shivers when Ilya’s fingers skims over his hips. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the feeling. It’s late in the night. He should be gathering his things to leave. 

But he doesn’t know where his things are, he hasn’t folded them properly, too lost in the moment. He doesn’t want to leave Ilya’s bed. The caresses are just a gentle plea, begging him to stay. 

It becomes too much when Ilya starts kissing Shane’s shoulder, the one scar on it from a bike accident when Shane was five. He remembers telling Ilya about it on a night like this one, years ago. They’d laughed quietly, trading kisses and stories in the dark night, the noise of the city far below their window from their apartment on the fourth floor. 

Now Ilya lives alone, in a new neighbourhood calmer during the night, on the second floor of an old building where you can hear the pipes cracking at night. Shane moved too, unable to stay in the apartment they had together, too many memories, too many what-ifs hidden in the hallways, in the empty side of the sink in the bathroom, the missing snacks in the pantry. There are no cokes in the fridge anymore and Shane doesn’t stop at Ilya’s favorite bakery on his way home from work. There are no plans to move and to adopt a dog. He can’t complain he keeps buying bread that Ilya eats before he can. He doesn’t have to pretend he doesn’t know about the pack of cigarettes hidden in Ilya’s nightstand, because there aren’t any cigarettes anymore, and the nightstand is empty. They aren’t planning their next vacations, deep in Ottawa’s countryside, or hiking in the Pyrénées, discovering France. Shane probably still has the tab opened on his phone, with hotels and flights and hiking trails. It makes him sick. He shouldn’t be here. They closed the door on that months ago. 

He rises slowly from the bed, trying to avoid Ilya’s worried gaze. He seems lost, panicking in front of Shane leaving. Again. 

“I should go home. It’s late.”

“Stay,” Ilya’s voice is rough. “You can sleep here.”

“I shouldn’t be here at all.”

Ilya shakes his head. “Shane.”

“This was a mistake,” Shane says, picking his clothes from the floor and dressing. He looks around for his tanktop. 

“Shane.” 

Ilya rises from the bed and Shane exits the room. Ilya started undressing him in the entry of his apartment. He hasn’t seen any of it, he can’t figure the plan, the number of rooms. There are no decorations in the hallway. It’s unfamiliar, cold. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Shane puts his shoes on. He doesn’t really know the neighbourhood he’s in, his phone is probably low on battery in the pocket of his slacks. He hates himself, guilt eating away at him. Ilya doesn’t say anything. He’s put his pants back on, and leans on the wall of the hallway, his arms crossed in front of him in a defensive posture. He’s closed off, not downright cold, but he feels so far away it’s a nightmare to see. 

They look at each other for a long time. There is so much left unsaid. Hundreds of promises, of i love you, said over the years. They have so much to say, so many broken things that need fixing. There’s this sadness that clings to Ilya, clouding his eyes and slumping his shoulders, there’s the way Shane can’t trust himself or his body, can’t surrender control, the insecurities he feels coming back to the surface. There were the fights, the weariness they both carried during their last few months, snapping at each other for so many things, insignificant things. And then, there was the silence. Heavy, unmoving, settling between them, choking them, crushing them.

They are back here. Looking at each other in silence. This time, Shane is leaving. He shouldn’t have been here at all. The door closing behind him feels like a finality that makes him sick. 

Three months later

“Yes, Ilya will be here.”

“But you hate him Rose!”

Rose looks at him with exasperation in her eyes. “It’s Svetlana’s birthday. He’s her friend.”

“And you're her girlfriend? Shouldn’t you have a say in this?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “You haven’t seen Ilya in a year Shane! Didn’t you say you were moving on?”

Shane thinks of the past few months. On Rose's birthday, “seeing” Ilya’s apartment for the first time. Then all the times after that. At least five. Six, if you count the day he went to Ilya’s neighbourhood to buy a very specific type of cheese for his father. He just made a detour. An itch to scratch. He never got any cheese for his father. He doesn’t tell Rose any of that. 

“Sorry for not wanting to spend an entire night with my ex,” he grits out but Rose only shakes her head again and tells him to dress faster because she doesn’t want to be late to her girlfriend’s birthday. 

He grumbles the whole time but actually gets dressed. He loves Rose, and Svetlana is his friend. He can make an effort and spend a night with his friends. He promises to himself he’ll stick to ginger ale and he’ll not end up in bed with his ex. He has to put an end to whatever has been happening for the past months. 

There’ll be so many people. Maybe he won’t even see Ilya at all. 

Ilya is the first person he sees when they finally get to the party. 

It’s already in full swing, people mingling in Svetlana’s apartment, some talking in the kitchen, a few are dancing in the living room. He can hear laughter coming from the bathroom. Especially one he recognizes in seconds. Right when he closes the door, another opens on his right and Ilya exits the bathroom, his gaze locking with Shane’s instantly. 

Immediately, Shane regrets refusing the beer Rose offered him before they left her house. It’s too much to navigate sober the sight of Ilya Rozanov in a see-through black mesh top and low rise jeans. His mouth waters at the sight, and his dick twitches. Fucking hell, he even wonders if Ilya isn’t more muscled than the last time they’ve seen each other. It’s only been two weeks. Shane is proud of himself for resisting so long, not answering Ilya’s texts and offers to meet. Seeing Ilya’s gaze on him, pupil blown by desire, he doesn’t regret his choice of a white shirt that hugs his arms, just a little too short on his waist, enough to show a sliver of skin above his belt.

His thoughts come to a halt when a manicured hand wraps around Ilya’s biceps, the girl exiting the bathroom. She’s petite, her head resting against Ilya’s shoulder, her dark brown hair falling in waves along her back. She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her breasts and hips. She’s small and delicate and hides her laugh behind her hands as she looks at Ilya with glinting eyes. She fits perfectly at Ilya’s side. She’s everything Shane is definitely not, but he desperately wishes he was.

He swallows, suddenly conscious of his size, of his arms, of the way the shirt shows the width of his shoulders. Rose isn’t by his side anymore, lost to the crowd. It’s only him, Ilya and that girl. The feeling that his skin doesn’t feel right over his bones. He wants to rip it, to claw his eyes out, to shrink on himself right there in this hallway. He can’t do any of that, so he opts for a stiff nod of his head, and goes to the kitchen to find something strong to drink. 

Fuck the ginger ale. He needs something that will burn his throat and tame the feeling. He feels his back against the soft material of the shirt, and his sweat from the heat in the apartment. All windows are opened, music traveling from rooms to rooms and pouring out of the windows. He feels his left wrist, the watch on it that he quickly takes off and shoves in his pocket. He accepts a cocktail from someone he thinks he has met before but can’t place right now. He drinks, letting the sweetness of the juice and the burn of alcohol wash the sickness rising in his stomach. None of it is enough to settle the storm of feelings in him. 

“Shane.”

Ilya’s voice is a low rumble behind him. He refuses to turn. He refuses to be met with Ilya standing with this girl again. He doesn’t know who she is and refuses to know. He wants to leave. He wants to go out and breathe. 

“Shane, look at me.”

Shane shakes his head and flinches away when he feels a hand against his back. It’s just Ilya, he knows it, could know it from touch alone. But he doesn’t feel strong enough. 

He exits the kitchen without sparing a look for Ilya. He needs to find some air, but the balcony is crowded with people smoking. Desperate, he finds an empty guest room at the end of the hallway, kicking the door closed and sitting on the bed with a sigh. His life is a disaster.

He’s about to have a panic attack, he knows it, all because his ex, whom he’s been fucking for the past three months, is fucking someone else. Because Ilya is moving on. Without him. 

I love you. So you are my lover, yes ?

In the years they’ve known each other, in their shared time as lovers like Ilya always said, even after they broke up, and when they started hooking up again, Shane hasn’t imagined his life without Ilya. Not really, not like this. He can’t do it. He can’t stay here and watch Ilya move on when he’s still so in love with him. Breaking through the fog of denial leaves him with a cold feeling clinging to his skin despite the heat in the room he’s in. 

The realisation isn’t sudden and much of a surprise. It’s more like coming out of a blanket on a cold morning, the warm feeling of denial being temporary before the cold seeps through to the bones. 

The bedroom door opens, and he hopes distantly it isn’t some couple looking for some privacy. He wants privacy, and he needs it. 

“Go fuck off somewhere else,” he grumbles, pressing his hands on his eyes and sighing. He has to get back control of his feelings. 

“Not very nice Hollander.”

Shane jumps and raises his head immediately. His vision swarms with colours from the pressure, but he can still see Ilya standing right in front of him. He’s still as beautiful, even in the room only lit by the streetlights outside. He’s standing in front of Shane but so far compared to what they’re used to, like he’s afraid to touch him. 

“Aren’t you occupied elsewhere? With someone else?” Shane sneers as he rises from the bed. He has to leave. Now.

“I am occupied here.”

“And that other girl?”

Ilya looks at him for a minute and regains some confidence, Shane can see it in the way he stands taller, right in front of him. Then, he moves slowly, as if not to scare Shane. “There is no other girl, Hollander,” he says with a low tone. “Only you.” 

Shane has to fight the fluttering of his stomach and the way his knees buckle. He can’t fold, but he desperately wants to. 

Ilya’s hand comes to Shane’s chin, sizing his jaw in a possessive gesture that Shane loves. A shiver travels up his spine, and he looks up at Ilya with what he knows are eyes full of desire. He should have left long ago, should have never come here at all. 

Ilya looks at Shane’s eyes then drops his gaze to his lips. In his eyes burns something akin to what Shane feels swirling in his stomach. It’s the look Ilya has when his patience is done. If Shane was to guess, he’d say he’s done running. But his brain is liquid and there’s only static between his ears, the only piercing thought being Ilya’s name again and again. 

Before he knows what he’s doing, his lips are crashing against Ilya’s. The kiss is frantic, like so many of their kisses for the past few months, like they’re running out of time. Ilya’s hand is still holding his face, and Shane grips Ilya’s shirt like he’s going to disappear any second from now. Shane deepens the kiss himself, his tongue sliding against Ilya’s lips until they fall open. He makes a soft sound, and Ilya is quick to swallow it. He feels whole, like a part of himself is at stake here, like he can hold his future in the cradle of his palms. 

He was so uncareful last time, he dropped it all on the floor, broke it into a thousand tiny pieces. The shards are still planted in his hands. That’s why, reluctantly, he detaches himself from Ilya. 

Ilya disagrees, as it seems. He mumbles something in russian, very close to fucking come back here if Shane has to guess. Shaking his head, Ilya tugs at Shane to get him back against him, but Shane puts a gentle hand on Ilya’s chest. 

“No.”

“No?” Ilya asks as he raises an eyebrow. “You are very yes, Hollander,” he adds with a pout as his hand travels down to Shane’s jeans. He’s only stopped by Shane’s glare, and his hand stops on the sliver of skin between his shirt and his waistband, which is enough to let liquid heat pool in his stomach. He has to do something, to leave or to speak or to indulge one more time. This is just like every other time, when they get together and ignore everything in favour of making the other pliant under their hands and their mouths. 

He knows he can’t indulge one more time. It’s not enough. He wants Ilya in more ways than one, needs him. 

More importantly, he loves him. All those months apart are proven to be ineffective. Despite what he keeps saying to Rose, he isn’t moving on. Not at all. It’s unfair, this situation. It hurts, and he can’t keep going on like this. He’s full of doubts like he was all those months ago, but he has to do something about it instead of leaving once again. He knew this, talked about it with his therapist. 

“Ilya we have to talk.”

Ilya frowns but doesn’t protest. His hands are still on Shane so he steps back, if only to focus a bit more on what he’s saying. “Now? Here?” he says, disbelief clear as he waves his hand around. “At Sveta’s birthday party?”

Shane shakes his head. “Well…tonight at least.” He has a goal and he doesn’t want to let it go. He needs his resolve to hold. “Tonight. My place. I’ll text you the address."

Ilya looks at him, saying nothing for a minute, and then finally nods. “And before that?”

“Enjoy your friend’s party,” he shrugs, pushing away again the sight of Ilya coming out of the bathroom with an unknown woman. “Try not to forget about me.”

Before Ilya arrives, Shane has way enough time to let his thoughts race. 

Maybe it’s all a mistake. Maybe he should change his mind, and be content to just have Ilya a few days here and there, a night at his apartment, not even sleeping there because that feels like crossing an invisible line. Maybe the line is invisible, and made up in his brain. He isn’t sure. He has never been sure of anything with Ilya, except that he loves him. And that wasn’t enough last time. 

They’d been officially together for only three months before moving in together, seizing the opportunity that had presented itself when Troy, one of Ilya’s friends, had left his apartment to move in with Harris, his boyfriend. They were already spending all of their time together anyway. The first few months were a dream, as they settled in a routine together. But things had turned sour after that. 

When Shane talked about it with his therapist, he had pinpointed the start to a party with Ilya’s coworkers. It wasn’t their first couple outing, but it was the first with Ilya’s coworkers and Shane had wanted to be perfect. For Ilya to show him around, to parade with Shane hanging from his arm. And it had happened, the party going as smoothly as it could and Ilya had made sure to let Shane know how good he’d been when they got home that time. It had been perfect, except for that one second while he was waiting at the bar. Some coworker’s wife was standing nearby and waiting for her own drink, laughing with another woman next to him, talking about expecting her first child and how it was finally time with a career like her husband’s, showing off her ring, exclaiming loudly about her wonderfully settled life. 

Shane had felt something sticky and bitter rising in his throat, his eyes closing briefly, trying not to let envy show on his face. He felt out of place, not feeling like the right thing next to Ilya, not being a girlfriend, that people knew Ilya would marry someday and have kids and a life. Maybe they could have a life, and kids and it had only been six months at this point but oh how he wanted that. But it would never be easy, he couldn’t offer the peace of mind and the possibilities someone else could. A girlfriend or a wife. 

It had spiraled from there. Shane had wanted to offer Ilya perfection, to make up for everything else in a way. To overcompensate what he couldn’t give to him, a stable life, a picture-perfect life. He wasn’t that, would never be. But he could make sure everything was perfect in their life, in their apartment, without burdening Ilya. 

Months later, he understood now how wrong he was. How mistaken he was to internalise everything instead of just talking with Ilya, or explaining how insecure he felt when they were out with another couple, when they were watching a movie or a show. How out of place he felt as a partner, even if Ilya’s presence had mostly been enough to settle the thoughts, especially when they were surrounded by people and Ilya did mindless things, like laying a hand on Shane’s thigh, or on his lower back, making sure he was still present, right next to him. 

It had gotten worse when Ilya had retreated. When he canceled outings with their friends, or spent week-ends moving silently from the bed to the couch, dragging the weight of the world  on his shoulder. When he had stopped talking to Shane, only dismissing him with a I’m fine, sorry. Never more. Retreating further and further away.

They aren’t the same anymore. Shane has put words on his feelings then, has stopped clinging to perfection and has let chaos in his life. He is working on himself, knowing now that his love isn’t enough to hold them together, but it's enough to try. 

Shane has been home for an hour already, pacing, hesitant to ask Ilya where he was and when he would be here and if he was coming at all. It’s 1am when Ilya finally knocks on Shane’s door. He opens the door immediately and tries to tell himself he’s fine and it’s all normal and not at all taking a decision that can change his life forever. 

“It’s only two rooms. But it’s cool, lots of daylight,” Shane starts ranting, nervous as Ilya takes off his shoes without needing to be asked and drops his jackets on the back of the couch. They haven’t spoken since the bedroom at the party, carefully avoiding each other during the night, even if their eyes kept finding each other across rooms. “It’s enough for two.”

 Ilya cocks an eyebrow. “Two?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s…uh. Well,” he waves a hand in the air, showing the apartment, like it explains everything. Ilya looks at him still as lost, but whips his head when they hear a miaow. “I have a cat now.”

As if summoned, his cat moves to them, like silent shadows in the apartment. Shane crouches and pets her behind her ears. “Hello, sweet girl. This is Ilya.”

His cat is a recent addition, a necessary one. He felt too alone lately, out of balance. The idea had planted in his mind one night when he was coming home from Ilya’s place, walking because he’d stayed too late and there were no public transports anymore. Maybe Ilya had done it on purpose, keeping him in bed long enough in the hope that maybe this time he’d stayed. The thought had been ridiculous. Whatever was happening between them wasn’t like this. But he had no one to talk with about it. He missed someone. The emptiness in his apartment had been his last straw. He’d come home at three am and by nine the next morning he was filling out forms to adopt a little cat. 

Bijou had been with him for two months now, and started to get used to her new apartment, her new living space. He’d gotten her all the necessities and more, toys and a cat tree he’d spent an entire day building with his father. His mother had been surprised, reluctant even before meeting her. Now, she was requesting daily photos of her granddaughter. She filled his heart with so much love, and he was finally so proud of himself, especially when he managed to get her out of her hiding places to play, or when she came to sleep with him in his bed or on the couch. 

Ilya does seem surprised by his cat. During their relationship, they’d never talked about adopting a cat. He knew Ilya wanted to adopt a dog, later, when they would live in a big house with a huge yard. It was so far away now, the idea almost ridiculous. 

Ilya crouches down next to him, and Bijou goes straight to him, putting her paws on his legs. “What’s her name?” 

“Bijou,” Shane answers distractedly, mesmerized by Ilya’s gentle brush of fingers against Bijou’s ginger fur, of his sweet and soft smile that could only exist between them, or so late in the night. It isn’t a surprise to see Ilya so gentle, but always so disarming for Shane. 

Bijou likes Ilya’s pets as it seems, because she doesn’t even protest when he picks her up in his arms. Shane had been living with her for weeks now and she’d never tolerate it. Yet, he isn’t jealous, feeling only sweetness and love floating in him, squeezing his heart. Especially when Ilya starts cooing to her in Russian. 

It’s two worlds colliding in front of him. Realisation of the progress he’s made during the past year dawns on him. A year ago, he would’ve never been able to adopt a cat. He wasn’t even able to let it slide when Ilya would fold the laundry wrong or fill the dishwasher in a different way than what Shane would’ve done, too focus on maintaining something that was supposed to be perfect, that everyone described as easy and effortless while he felt like his skin was pulled tight on his bones. They fought about it almost everyday, especially about that passive aggressive way Shane would move behind Ilya to redo things already done. He told himself it was his way of managing his stress and anxiety, he realizes how wrong he is now. 

And Bijou is a part of that realisation. A huge one. Because she leaves fur everywhere in the house, and he can’t always clean it. Because she doesn’t pick up her toys after playing, she hides them and makes them roll under the couch or his bed and miaows until he picks them up. Because sometimes she sleeps on her cat tree but most nights she comes in his bed and hides under the covers, taking most of the space when she stretches and he lets her do it. He lets her do everything. Because he loves her. And he loves Ilya. 

And it’s not the same with another human, but Shane wants to try. He lets Bijou’s chaos exist in his space and he can do it for the man he loves. He can talk like his therapist suggested. He can let Ilya in, and let him exist with him. Because it’s fine if Ilya’s mug sits on the counter for the whole day because he got distracted before cleaning it, and it’s alright if Ilya’s shoes aren’t aligned neatly by the door. Because it means Ilya’s mug is here and his shoes are there and he exists in Shane’s space, and Shane can make space for him here and there. It took him time, heartbreak and so many late night panic attacks, but he knows now how wrong he was before, because he doesn’t have to be perfect and clean through and through to keep Ilya with him. He has to let him exist too, and he’s better at that. Because of his therapist. Because of a fucking red-hair cat and a golden-curl man. 

He doesn’t even realise Ilya has been talking to him and watching him with careful eyes. 

“Sorry, what?” he snaps back to the present moment, a warmth settling in his chest.

“You wanted to talk, no? That’s why we’re here.” 

Bijou is still nestled in Ilya’s arms, purring as her eyes close, and Ilya drops a kiss on the top of her head. There is a life to be found in love there, one that may not be what picture-perfect-couples have in movies, where a boy loves a girl and they leave happily ever after, but it’s something Shane is allowed to have even if he’s a boy in love with another boy.

Shane needs to snap out of whatever trance seeing his ex-boyfriend with his cat is sending him into. He needs to get a grip on himself, and to get to his point. Now. Before he folds again and crashes in bed with Ilya under him. 

“I don’t want to keep doing this.”

Ilya tenses. “This?”

Shane shakes his head, because he isn’t sure he’s saying what he should, but he has no idea of where to start. “Hooking up with you here and there. I don’t want to keep doing it. I can’t.”

He can see the thoughts as they pass through Ilya’s brain, as his gaze is lost and full of panic before he looks away and puts Bijou gently back on the floor. She isn’t happy at all to leave the bundle of his arms and she hisses at him before raising her head and moving to her cat tree. 

“Why? You met someone else?”

Ilya’s tone is clipped, cold, and deep down Shane hopes it’s because, like him, Ilya doesn’t want to see him move on. He shakes his head, but Ilya doesn’t catch the gesture, still staring in the distance. 

“No. It’s just…It’s fucking killing me. And tonight seeing you with that girl…”

“She’s no one.”

“Someone you were laughing in a bathroom with at your best friend’s birthday party doesn’t seem like no one,” Shane retorts, unable to keep the jealousy out of his tone. 

Ilya shakes his head. “You were saying something important, right? About breaking up with me or something. Again,” he smiles bitterly. 

Shane always hated it, when Ilya started joking to deflect, to move the conversation far from where he was hurt or something. Right now, it makes him snap. 

“But that’s the fucking point isn’t it? I am not breaking up with you because we are not together! We are nothing but…” he waves his hand between them, “but i don’t know, fuck buddies and I hate it!”

Ilya crosses his arms in front of him. “You’re confusing Hollander. We fight, you say we have to break up, and now that you come back you settle for three months before leaving. Again.”

“I didn’t-” Shane starts and stops himself. Maybe he didn’t really leave before. But he told Ilya to go, and was distant for weeks before their breakup. 

“What the fuck do you want, Shane?” Ilya asks desperately, his hazel eyes shifting on Shane’s face. 

It’s nothing but the past unfurling again in front of him. The same fight he’s been playing in his head for the past year, the hurt and the sadness creeping in him again. His throat is tight, a lump heavy keeping him from speaking. A year ago, he hadn’t said anything, leaving Ilya sitting in silence, drawing conclusions before he could stop him, watching as Shane had retreated. He hadn’t fought then, had let the insecurities, the little voice in his head telling him Ilya deserved so much better, something so much easier. Despite the love he felt in him, he had stayed silent. And Ilya had left, then. After months of fighting for nothing. 

He doesn’t want it to happen again.

“I want you!” Shane finally explodes. “I can’t be your friend, Ilya, or even your friend with benefits or whatever the fuck we’ve been doing for the past months. I miss you too much to pretend this isn’t killing me.”

“You think it’s nothing to me?” Ilya snaps. “I had to watch you push me away for months, break up with me, and then disappear from earth 's surface for nine months!”

Shane shakes his head. “No it’s not-” he’s frustrated, trying to scramble his thoughts in order. “I know I’m not easy. I’m sorry. And I know it’s not what you signed up for with me. But I don’t…I want you more than I can say Ilya. I’m sorry I let you go,” he breathes, his eyes stinging and he blinks to get the tears away.

Shane knows there are so many things left unsaid between them. There are many things they have to say to each other, to fix or at least to work on. He cannot bother. Not when Ilya is standing right in front of him, in this new apartment like he belongs wherever they exist together. He doesn’t want to go back to frustration and anger. And there it is again, the point where Ilya deflects and turns harsh so he doesn’t hurt more. Shane knows it perfectly, every reaction and move catalogued in his mind like a study he’s been conducting for years. But instead of anger and vitriol burning between them, instead of throwing words they’ll regret, they react differently. This time, Ilya closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. He does it for a few seconds before looking back at Shane. 

“I’m sorry. I am trying to do better.”

Ilya’s tone is quieter, like a peace offering. Something that never really happened before. Shane takes it with both hands before it disappears. 

“I’m sorry too. I don’t want to scream at you, or fight with you, Ilya.”

Ilya looks at him, waiting for him to keep going. Because it’s him who offered to speak tonight, who invited Ilya here in his apartment. 

“I can’t be casual with you Ilya. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want but I can’t hook up with you sporadically and pretend it doesn’t kill me to see you go with other people. It kills me to pretend I’m not in love with you, and that there isn’t a day I don’t regret breaking up with you.”

There, the admission lies between them. It’s said, and done. He can’t take it back, as much as he wants to. Feeling his distress, Bijou comes to stand between his legs, and he looks at her with a small smile, because it’s easier than seeing whatever unfurls on Ilya’s face. It’s hard as it is, ending something he likes so much and probably ruining his chances to see Ilya ever again, but he can’t keep going like this.

“There are no other people.” 

That stops Shane dead in his tracks and makes him raise his head fast enough to hurt his neck. “What?”

“There are no other people, Shane. There hasn’t been since we first slept together.”

And that. That’s impossible. Shane is sure of it. Because they met years ago, and slept together for at least three months before even admitting a sliver of their actual feelings, before they agreed to be exclusive. It’s been so long. So it’s impossible. Because it’s Ilya and Shane can’t fathom a world where he’s enough for Ilya to settle with him. 

“Am I getting you speechless again?” Ilya says smugly, coming to stand right in front of Shane, hands hovering near his hips without touching even if Shane internally burns for him to do so. He can only nod, and Ilya goes on again. 

“We have many problems, yes? But I’ve been…working. On myself. With a therapist,” he talks without looking at Shane who’s desperate to find Ilya’s eyes. He gently reaches for his face, making sure Ilya knows he’s listening. “I have problems I need to fix, to get better for you.”

“You don’t need to,” Shane murmurs, but he knows deep down it isn’t entirely true, that they both have to work on themselves if they don’t want to end up where they did last time. 

“I have to and you too. But we know our mistakes, we won’t let them happen again. It’s never casual with you Shane,” Ilya murmurs, and his hands finally settle on Shane’s waist. “It’s much more than that. Always has been.”

Shane’s hand goes to Ilya’s hair and gets a wild strand out of his face. “We should try,” he says quietly, afraid of what the words can trigger. The only response he gets is the smile on Ilya’s face, the light back in his eyes. Before he can fully process it, Ilya’s lips are crashing against his. 

It’s not really a storm that breaks in Shane at that moment. Well it is. But it’s also a deep sense of calm, like a balm on an old scar that had been hurting him badly lately. It’s the relief when a long and hard pain suddenly stops and the feeling still hovers nearby, and the fear that it will come back looms above your shoulder, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth spreading from head to toes. 

He lets his hands roam freely in Ilya’s curls, and smiles against his lips when he feels the man in front of him lifting him from the floor like he weighs nothing. He carries him to the couch and lays him there, hovering over him, taking in the sight of him. In the low light, Ilya is still as beautiful, so much it takes Shane’s breath away. He shouldn’t speak again, should focus on kissing and undressing and worshipping the man in front of him, but he can’t stop himself. 

“I was always on your back at the end, I’m sorry Ilya,” he says as his fingers trails on the side of Ilya’s face. 

“I like that you are strict,” Ilya smiles and kisses Shane’s forehead. “But you have to let me near you.”

Shanes closes his eyes and nods, relaxing against the warmth. “You too.”

“I know. I’m trying, love.”

They look at each other for a long time, saying nothing more. Then, they kiss, unhurried and languid, taking the other in, feeling their presence with all the time in the world. 

“I want to be with you,” Shane says against Ilya’s lips. 

Ilya’s smile is blinding, and Shane regrets it instantly when Ilya hides it in the crook of his neck. In a way, it still emboldens him to talk more. 

“I was so afraid that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“You’re so good Shane.”

Shane smiles and racks his fingers through the blond curls. “Let me finish,” he drops a kiss on Ilya’s head. “I used to think you would be better if you were with a girl, someone you could marry, have kids with, without any threats or complications. And that I wasn’t good enough like that. That I had to … be more, be perfect,” he sighs. “So, I tried that how I knew. By being overbearing, making sure everything is clean and at its place in the apartment. You were the first person I lived with since my parents. I didn’t know how it worked, and everyone was just going on about how easy it was when you love one another and I…I love you so much, and I was afraid it wasn’t enough to keep you with me.”

He can feel how Ilya is deathly still against him, his shoulders tensed, but the words have been turning in his head for such a long time, it’s a relief that he can get them out. 

“I overdid it. And I know, well I know now that I was wrong, and it’s not easy living with someone else, especially not living with me because I tend to be so controlling, so rigid about everything. Just know I’m working on that,” he adds when he feels Ilya’s hand pressing on his hip. “Anyway, my therapist said I have to communicate my boundaries, not relying on others to understand them. And you know me really well, but I have to communicate and…Ilya you have too.”

This time Ilya raises his head, and his eyes are swirling with sadness. Some tears have rolled on his cheeks and Shane wipes them with his thumbs. “I know it’s hard,” Ilya croaks, trying to find his words. “I am not …well. But I am trying. I promise you.”

“I know,” Shane says gently and kisses Ilya’s forehead. “We’ll be okay.”

Ilya sighs against him, his shoulders relaxing. “We will.” 

The promise is a relief for Shane too. And his smile comes back on his face when he feels Ilya kissing his neck again. “You never stop yourself.”

“Never when I have a beautiful man under me.”

Shane laughs, and tries to shove him when Ilya gets bolder, letting his hands disappear under his shirt and tossing it on the floor. Shane doesn’t know where it lands but he hears Bijou miaowing loudly, offended. He turns his head to see her glaring at him and moving away from the couch. 

“She doesn’t like the lack of attention.”

“Just like you,” Ilya says against his neck. 

Shane hits the back of his head making Ilya snicker. 

“Don’t worry, Принцесса, you’re my favorite.”

Shane recognizes the pet name instantly, vowels wrapping around Ilya’s tongue in a way that sends a wave of heat and shivers down his back. He doesn’t really want to ask himself why but he knows he should at some point. Not right now, because Ilya is intent on kissing his way down his chest, murmuring names. Some Shane doesn’t catch, but others he’s sure of. Especially this one. 

Princess. 

When Ilya kisses him right above the waistband of his jeans, he’s painfully hard. He doesn’t have it in himself to be embarrassed because Ilya doesn’t waste time and pulls his trousers down with his boxers, leaving him hard and leaking against his abdomen. If it weren’t for the praise and the way Ilya swallows him down to the base, he could find the strength to translate in words the feelings that press down his chest and squeeze his heart. But he lets himself be pulled under by Ilya’s mouth around him and the tight wet heat, the sensation of Ilya’s tongue something wicked. He even thinks he finds some answer of the universe when he presses down with one hand on Ilya’s head, the other intertwined with Ilya’s on his own chest, the pressure and proximity making him spill down his throat. 

Ilya moans with Shane still in his mouth and it propels him from an oasis of pleasure to overstimulation, his thighs tensing immediately. As he always does, Ilya notices and pulls his mouth off, kissing his hips and down his left thigh. 

“I want to have you on your bed,” Ilya murmurs, licking Shane’s chest until he reaches his lips where he kisses him. The taste of himself on Ilya’s tongue makes Shane’s head turn and he can only moan against his lips, still too lost in the pleasure of his orgasm. Too soon, Ilya detaches himself from Shane who whines at the loss. 

“In your room I said,” Ilya laughs. He stands and gets one hand under Shane’s knees, the other behind the back. “Come on Принцесса, let’s get you to bed.”

Shanes lets out a startled laugh. “Fuck Ilya! Put me down!”

Ilya kisses him again, and moves to Shane’s room, laying him gently on the bed. 

“You’re still dressed, it's unfair.”

Ilya tilts his head with a smirk. “Eager?”

“Yes.”

There are times when Ilya likes to play with Shane, to make him soft and pliant under his hands, to edge him enough for Shane to sob and beg. Tonight isn’t one of these nights. Ilya is as eager to satisfy Shane as Shane is to please and satisfy Ilya. He rips his shirt off, showing his defined chest that Shane hasn’t forgotten at all but observes closely anyway. Oh how he missed him. 

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” Shane observes, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Ilya between his legs. “I love you so much, baby.”

Ilya’s smile is blinding and he topples forward to kiss Shane senseless, murmuring again and again in Russian, words Shane knows better than some part of himself. Love crashes over him and he goes pliant under Ilya’s hands, letting himself be praised and worshipped.

Ilya’s weight settles on Shane and he feels like he can breathe a little easier. This isn’t really a discovery, something new to learn. They move and breathe like they always did before, like they used to. It’s another late summer night, with the window opened, the light of the moon bathing the room in a silver light. 

It’s nothing they haven’t done before, but in a way, it feels new. 

When the sun rises that morning, Ilya is fast asleep on Shane’s bed, naked and glowing in the morning light. Shane watches him sleep, unable to close his eyes after everything that happened last night. There is no urge to leave, to move and do something, just the peace coming from existing in the sunlit room.

Last night was so far away from the frantic speed they’ve been moving together for the past few months. And here, with the breeze of the morning coming from the window, Ilya partially hidden behind the sheet, Shane feels like he can stop and take a breath again. 

He rose up earlier to fold their clothes, which are now sitting on a chair next to his bedroom door. The bed is a mess of untucked sheets and throwpillows scattered on the bed and on the floor, witnesses of their reconciliation. It’s a type of controlled chaos that appeases a part of his brain, one he got better used to. 

Next to Shane, Ilya moves and groans when the light of the sun hits his eyes. Shane kisses his forehead, then his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, gently stealing him from sleep, his chest so full it could burst at any moment. When he gets to his lips, he can feel Ilya smiling. They open their eyes and look at each other, letting a renewed silence settle over them. It’s a gentle kind, only broken by the sound of the city coming from the open window, and by Bijou moving behind the door. She isn’t used to a closed door between the living room and Shane’s bedroom, and Shane knows he’ll rise from the bed to let her in soon. But he’s enjoying this few seconds of silence with Ilya, away from the heavy kind of silence that settled over them all the previous times they were together. It’s now settled, with the promise to communicate, to try with each other, to be honest. 

It lasts for another minute before Bijou miaows louder and starts scratching at the door. Before Shane can move, Ilya rises from the bed and pulls his underwear back on from where it’s folded on the chair. He throws a wink to Shane and opens the door. 

“Hello, Принцесса,” Ilya smiles as he picks Bijou from the floor.

“She isn’t a princess you know. Or a very spoiled one,” Shane calls from the bed, watching with a fond look as Bijou curls against Ilya, not unlike what Shane likes to do at night. 

“Yes she’s a princess,” Ilya kisses Bijou’s head. “But I’m sure your father doesn’t treat you like he should.” 

“Excuse you, she’s very happy.”

Ilya shakes his head and comes back to bed still holding Bijou. When Shane moves to pet her, she turns her head to Ilya, ignoring him and starts kneading on his chest. “Ingrate.” Shane calls with a smile, but she ignores him spectacularly. 

It’s not something he thought he would ever see in his life. The cat he has very recently adopted to move on from his breakup, and the ex-boyfriend now something else whom he was trying to move on, together on his bed in his new apartment that he got after that very same breakup. Funny things. 

But as he watches Ilya cooing, Bijou purring against his chest, rays of sun playing on them, he feels something settling in his chest, like pieces falling into place. 

“Ilya?”

The man turns to him. “Jealous you don’t have my attention, Hollander?”

Shane laughs and shakes his head. “I love you.”

Ilya smiles, slowly stroking Bijou’s red fur. And for now, as Ilya says it back and leans in to kiss Shane, all of this is more than enough.