Chapter Text
That night in Boston, around 10 months ago, ~ 3 am.
Iris was winning the poker game they played while waiting for the CT results. “At this rate, I’ll be able to pay for the CT myself.”
“Yes, yes you are full of luck. Time to go all in I think. Double down while the luck is with you.”
Ilya is good at poker. Very good, normally. He has not been tonight, and he does not care. Iris isn’t taking it seriously either, but somehow, despite the concussion, she is more attentive. She’s funny, Ilya has learnt. The jokes and her victorious playing are reassuring; her head isn’t okay but it probably isn’t terrible either.
It’s also slightly nauseating and deeply unsettling, the way Iris deflects and twists all concern or pain. Ilya could tease a mopping teammate, chirp a dumb reporter, and coax a sad friend. He could tear up his tragedies into fodder for sly quips and inflate his ego so big no one couldn't see his failures. What he couldn’t do, was comfort a near stranger into feeling safe and brave enough to share earnestly. Ilya, earnest. What a joke.
What he couldn’t shake were the stills of his mother he saw in Iris’ face. They weren’t the same, not at all. They didn’t even look all that much alike, except Ilya would see a flash where for a moment they did. His mother always looked beautiful in the most epitomously “beautiful” way. Her nails were clean and blush, her hair was blond and styled, she was slender and soft. Iris wasn’t that, especially not after getting slammed into a wall and sitting in a hospital all night. But she was blond like his mother, she had eyes – the actual pupil, not the mascara around it – like his mothers, and that slight inclination of features that came from a shared regional heritage. It really wasn’t much of a resemblance, but as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t remember his mothers face that well. He had photos that reminded him of the details, but she was a blur most of the time. When he did try to summon her face from memory, most of the time he saw the image of her slack and cold. Then he did his best to think of anything else.
Ilya kept looking at the woman in front of himself, then he wouldn’t be sure which was looking back. He wanted to grab her. Hold her arm tight and pull her out of her life – pull his mother out of that house in Moscow. Bring her to Boston. She would have hated Boston, but she would have loved the house Ilya would buy her. She would love having her own back account, filled since his signing bonus. Ilya would get a dog, if his mother could care for it while he traveled. She would complain and scold, then pamper it silly. But she was gone. The she sitting in front of him wasn’t the same. He needed to remember that.
And fuck, it was stupid. It hadn’t been like this, exactly, when Ilya was growing up. Irena never had to go to the hospital, she hadn’t been hurt like this. She wasn’t her. Except she had been beaten down. His fucking father. His father he still cared for, paid for. Maybe he wouldn’t hit her with a closed fist but – and then, his mother, she would be funny. Not funny like Ilya – she would be appalled, probably, by the things he says to the media – but she would quip quietly, sarcastically, whisper into her little son's ear to make him giggle. She would try to lighten the weight of his fathers moods. The morning before her face went slack and cold, she hugged Ilya, told him sweetly and earnestly how much she loved him. His father shouted and she quietly called him something so horrible, funny and – in the moment – insignificant and common that Ilya forgot what it was. It made Ilya laugh, as she patted his shoulder through the door. That time, she didn’t laugh with him.
Ilya didn’t want to laugh with Iris.
***
Marly cut into Ilya’s stupor, “So… what was that?”
“What?” He hadn't even noticed his friend approaching. He had watched Shane and Iris leave, watched Shane pick up Iris’ bag that was still left by the poolside while she weakly protested that she could carry her own bag.
“Or should I ask who that was? I mean…” His eyes flicked to where they had left, “Fuck have you fucked Hollanders girl?”
So, Marly doesn’t remember her, or not her face at least. He only saw her during the fight and probably never actually looked at Iris. Marly knew that Ilya had helped out ‘that girl’ from the bar and stayed in touch, but the pieces were not connecting. That was better, probably, for Iris. Marly was a good friend, a good guy, who would never try to reveal someone's personal shit. But he was a read-able dumbass who got too drunk too often, better he doesn’t know anything. Besides, Ilya isn’t going to start talking openly this close to “the thing” he could never reveal, and not after “the fucking thing” dumped him. He forced himself to find the nonchalance that he normally equipped so easily.
“Her? No, she is just some girl who played hockey back in Boston. Met her coaching once.”
“So you never tried anything with her?” Marly’s eyebrows were at his hairline.
“No.” He’d rather leave it there, say no more and leave the damn pool where people were still eyeing him up strangely, but Marly was obviously disbelieving. “She is hot, yes, but she had a boyfriend then. Maybe I was thinking we could fuck when I saw her. And, maybe, if I am feeling like an asshole I will seduce her anyways, get her to trade in Hollander for the better model.” The words had all the confident brashness typical of him, but his voice was flat.
“Ha! That's cold.” was Marly’s automatic reply, but he didn’t let the conversation drop, “You sure you don’t maybe have a little crush?”
“Crush? What the fuck Marly I do not ‘crush’.”
“Really? Because you looked fucking thrilled to see her. And then, you were fucking staring. ” Marly was grinning now. Fuck. Fuck. Marly didn’t know his ass from his mouth, and – fuck – after this display, everyone would think something similar. At least assume Iris and Ilya had fucked, which felt dangerously and sickeningly close to the reality that Shane and Ilya fuck. Or used to.
“I am staring because I cannot believe that awkward little Hollander got a hot Montreal girl into his bed.”
Marly thought too long about Ilya’s simple statement, “She’s from Montreal?... Jesus Christ - is Hollander dating your Montreal Jane?” Marly's grin was still ear splitting when he started speaking, but it disappeared while the intensity in his eyes grew. Eye’s laced with – concern, maybe?
“No, no. Fuck off. That is Lilichka, – or probably she goes by Iris, is her first name. I just call her Lilichka because it is her Russian name, her middle name.” Ilya flicked his wrist dismissively. “And Jane is just hookup, good sex that is it. Besides, that is over, Jane has someone now.” And because Ilya can’t resist quietly telling Hollander to go fuck himself, he adds, “And if Jane did want pretty-Canadian-boy-Hollander she is free to go fuck him. I do not care.”
“Jane is seeing someone? Is that why you’ve been a moody bitch lately?” The concern hadn’t quite left. Ilya shoved at his chest. “Shit fine I see you are sensitive about this I’ll drop it.” Marly rolled his eyes before settling back into his previous appraising look, “Iris. Well, I hope I meet her later. I still think you like her.”
Marly moved over to a lounge chair before he could reply. Good.
Ilya left, dripping the whole way to his room.
***
“I just – I am so sorry, I just – I have to – Have – Have you slept with Rosanov?”
Shane hating asking. It was fucked. It was all fucked. Why did it all come back to him? Always. He finds someone good, someone who fits into his life so well, so simply and cleanly, and then of course all of that has been secretly perverted the whole time.
And he isn’t jealous or possessive or puritanical. He fucking isn’t. But he feels sick, at the thought. Rosanov and Iris, together in bed. They were laughing, playful; was it more? More than sex? Was Shane the distraction, the B plot, in the story of Rosanov and Iris? Lilichka, that's what he called her. Ilya and Lilichka. ‘Lily’ and Lily. The twisted coincidence that had got Shane and Iris texting, months ago, was that some tease of the real story happening?
He tried. He behaved like a good boyfriend and let Iris lead the conversation as she asked about the hotel, about the weekend plans, about his media obligations from the day before while he replied awkwardly in stilted little phrases, but he had to ask. Once they were in the room and all the convenient topics had burned away, it burned out of him.
“No. No Shane, no. I swear.” Iris snapped to attention, turning away from her suitcase to stand right in front of where he sat on the bed. “Fuck I know – I know what it looks like, I know you hate him. It isn’t like that. I know he’s a player, like yeah he is always out getting laid, but he can be other things. We are close, I guess. We – I… Look we have never done anything sexual.”
Shane’s eyes stayed locked on her forgotten suitcase, because Iris’ eyes were close, intense and maybe he didn’t want to know the lie for what it was. But she wouldn’t lie, would she? It just didn’t make sense.
Iris took his face in her hands and kissed him. She kissed hard, Shane let her, and it was horrible. It was gross and wrong, not the comforting intimacy they sometimes shared after a night in together. But he couldn’t prob any further, so he just said a muted “okay”.
“Shane. No, come on don’t – don’t do that. You don’t believe me.” Iris let her hands fall from his face and went to lie on the couch, with her legs up on the back of it. She out out something like a huff or a sign, then she continued, “He saw my ex give me a black eye in a bar. He – Rosanov was out with some teammates after a game, my ex was trying to talking to them and – well fuck, whatever, in the end he took me to the hospital because I had a concussion and a fucked shoulder, then he was helping me for a while. Helped me get out of the relationship and Boston. We became friends.”
Fuck. His eyes were locked on her now, while she stayed just as she was looking at the ceiling. The fucking shame was burning now. He was the jealous bitch boyfriend who made his girlfriend feel bad for having a real guy friend who’d helped and supported her. And shame because his frustration wasn’t gone, because as wrong as it is Shane is fucking mad it was Ilya. Why is it always Ilya? He should go and thank him. Thank him for helping his girlfriend, express his gratitude for helping her get safe – and wholly shit he is gratifule someone was there to help her – but mostly he is thinking “how many times did Ilya and I fuck since he’s known Iris?” And Iris can never know, she can never know what a fucking hypocrit he is when he asks if she’s had sex with the man he’s been blowing since before his first NHL game.
“Fuck, Iris I’m sorry.” He blinked while trying to wrangle his thoughts into something he could present. “I’m sorry I made that weird with him. I’m glad he was there for you.” It comes out more flat then he wants. It’s the truth, but it isn’t the thing burning in his mind. He should leave it there, he knows that, but Ilya breaks his discipline, makes him greedy. “I believe you, I’m not questioning that, just –” why didn’t you fucking warn me? What do I do now? “ – why didn’t you say anything about knowing him?”
Iris didn’t seem to question what he was asking, which was a more generous response then Shane deserved. “I mean at first it just would’ve been weird, like I couldn’t have explained until you knew about the ex and why I left boston, and then I guess I was worried it would be weird for you?” she had to pause a minute, “and honestly, I – I was embarrassed I guess? Because he was acting like he wanted nothing to do with me, the last time I saw him. When the Raiders came to Montreal a few weeks ago? He was at the club, like the same one we were at. I saw him and he totally ignored me. I guess I just thought he’s an asshole hotshot moving on with his life, but… I don’t know? maybe he was like too drunk to recognize me or something? I don’t know”
“Oh…” How is he supposed to talk about Rosanov? It’s okay enough when its about hockey, when it’s some version of ‘fuck that guy’. What is he supposed to say to someone else who knows him as a whole ass person? He settles for the familiar, “What an asshole.”
“I guess, but, he isn’t, also. Like, fuck I don’t know, he’s always an asshole but sometimes he’s kinder than the nicest person in the world..”
The both of them just sat with everything for a minute after that, because what would Shane say to that? Isn’t that the horrible fucking truth? He’s the kindest asshole both of them have ever met.
They didn’t say more on the topic in the hotel room just then. Both of them were tired. They got dinner together that night, just the two of them. Shane still felt a little like he was dying inside, but he followed the motions and Iris carried the conversation. She kept it to hockey, mostly asking about various players she might meet this weekend and making her bets for the skills competitions tomorrow. Even in his state, he appreciated the conversation. Even if he was running through the motions, the familiar conversation was a comfort. Eventually though, after her second glass of wine, she shared more about how she knew Ilya. how he pummeled her ex efficiently, then took her to the hospital and eventually back to Ilya’s friend Sventlana’s house where she stayed for the week before she returned to Quebec. How the two of them went to the apartment she shared with her ex to move her out. How Sveta and Iris wrung Ilya out playing cards, when her head was feeling okay. She always called him Ilya.
“It sounds like they were really good friends to you.” He felt like less of a little shit now, because he said that like he meant it – which he did. When she started, it was awful to hear about him, about Ilya. He kept thinking about what his face was doing. But then, she kept going, without needing Shane to say much, and he relaxed. Because the thing was, he had spent so long listening to things from ‘that asshole’ all the way to ‘let’s fuck up that cocksucker’. He nodded along and he never questioned how he felt about it really, because it was inevitable, but he was sitting at diner listening to one of his favorite people explain how Ilya could be supportive, generous, and disarmingly gentile. How he would needle her out of her head. And yeah, Shane knew all those things. Hearing someone else be brave enough to say it made him feel sane.
“Yeah” She smiled, “Yeah they were fucking godsend. I needed to snap out of the whole world I was living in.” She paused and picked at her phone, “Ilya texted actually, just before dinner.” She still sounded nervous about that. Shane couldn’t read people well, but he knew her and she wasn’t trying to be subtle. She’d been appraising his reactions the whole time, probably worried he’d be suspicious or jealous. So far, he had reacted well apparently, not that Iris could understand exactly why Shane had gone soft and appreciative.
Now though, he did have to school his face. Because he was jealous, and she would misunderstand exactly what he was jealous of, “Yeah? What did he say?”
“Uuuum, nothing much honestly,” she pulled up her phone, “He asked if we are dating, well, he knows we are but he was confirming I guess.” She looked up to check Shane's face again, and he must have passed because she continued, suppressing a smile, “Well actually what he said was ‘I am happy you found a kotonok who is actually decent at hockey sometimes’.” She laughed and continued “Kotonok means kitten. Sorry. I mean,” she waved her hand concedingly, “yeah, he’s still a dick.”
Shane rolled his eyes, of course that's what the asshole would say. “Yeah okay, sounds like Rosanov. Can’t believe he admitted I was even ‘decent at hockey sometimes’”
“We watched a game you played together actually, when he isn’t playing for the game, or the media, he can say you are a good player. I think he defended some play you made to Sveta or something. I mean this was a while ago but I remember him being very complementary of you.”
“Oh.” He didn’t want to talk about Ilya liking him. That was too close to… that. What was he supposed to say? Oh yeah, I know how encouraging and complementary he can be, he loves to praise my mouth, my ass, the way I take him.
“I don’t really get how much of your thing with him is media or real, but it would be kinda fun to hang out? Like the three of us, or – it would just be fun to see him and –” She toyed with her cutlery, arranging it to point to 10 o’clock, “I’m worried other people might interpret my friendship with Ilya as, like, more? The way you did at first. It might help if they see us all hanging out together? Maybe thats a bad idea,” she sat back and ran a hand over her face, “uuugh, Yuna would like me anymore if that rumour starts.”
Ohhh, fuck the media. “Fuck the media, god.” She’s right of course, but he can’t do that, can he? Ilya would probably be funny and chirping like always, while Shane would explode. He couldn’t handle a tuna melt – he definitely can’t handle a beer with his ex-fuck-rival and current girlfriend.
“Hollander!”
Is it a blessing or curse that Scott Hunter walks by?
“Hey Hunter, how are you doing?”
“I’m alright, yeah, would love to be resting this weekend but at least we’re by the beach this year.” His eyes flicked to Iris, “Whose your friend?”
“Oh, sorry, this is Iris, Iris this is Scott Hunter, Admirals captain.”
Iris greeted him from her seat on the bench side of the table. “Nice to meet you Hunter, you’re great to watch this season, you and the whole team.”
“Nice to meet you too Iris, that’s a very generous interpretation of my play”
Iris had that wicked look in her eye, “It would be boring if you played well every game.” They all laughed, including Scott who even nodded at the truth of it, “you keep me on the edge of my seat. Shane, he’s no fun to watch, boring.” She looked at Shane fondly.
Scott's eyes flicked between the couple, “So you two are dating? I’ve never known you to bring a guest to All Stars Hollander.”
Shane was actually a little taken aback by it, that Scott didn’t just completely assume they were together. “Oh, yeah, Iris and I have been seeing each other. We, umm, we started dating not that long ago but Florida is a nice vacation, so yeah, we’re making a weekend of it.”
“Wow, you make that sound real romantic Hollander.” It was a joke and he was laughing, but his eyes still flickered like he was investigating, not chatting.
It made Iris laugh, “Yeah he didn’t ask actually, he asked his mom if it was a good idea and she asked me.”
“Iris!” The mischief hadn’t left her, apparently, she just had to embarrass him in front of his respected peer.
“What? It’s true. And we like Hunter, don’t we?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell you to the big chirpers, Rosanov would have a field day with that.”
“Ha! Oh god, he would.” Iris was lit up, having fun, then she turned to Shane “I may not be as generous as Hunter over here, hmm, maybe if Ilya chirps you enough you’ll learn and next time you’ll ask yourself?”
Scott laughed and replied when Shane didn’t, “Oh wow, you’d betray your boy to go speak to the enemy?”
Shane could feel this conversation slipping from his grasp, and running somewhere terrifying. Iris did appear to actually think about what she was saying, but nonetheless she ran it right where Shane feared, “I actually knew Ilya first, back when I was in school in Boston. He came and coached our team for a day. I’m Russian – well my family is – so he invited me to come to a Russian holiday thing. I became friends with some of his friends and shit.” She waved her like she was both approximating the story and dismissing it at the same time.
“Oh. Shit, wow.” Scott was clearly a little stunned and openly appraising both of them. Shane could only will his face into neutrality. “That’s – ah, messy?..”
“Oh fuck off, no it’s not.” She said lightly, “like to be clear we weren’t sleeping together.” She raised her eyebrows at Scott. “I know all he seemed to do is play hockey and fuck but occasionally he chills out.”
Shane figured he should chime in, pressing down his reluctance, he added, “yeah, and I know there’s all the rivalry branding, but like, that’s just work you know. Like yeah he’s an asshole, but most of that shit is the league hyping us up.”
“Right, okay.” Even Shane could tell Scott was not convinced of his nonchalance, but he was polite. It was what Shane liked about him. “Well fuck, cats and dogs getting along this weekend I guess. Maybe you can coach them into playing together cooperatively Iris,”
Shane frowned, “I’m always cooperative on the ice.”
Scott and Iris both laughed. “And competitive,” Iris smiled. “I actually invited Ilya to join us for a beer sometime this weekend. The plans aren’t really certain yet but you should join us, help me keep those two in check.”
What. The. Fuck.
Scott looked excited, only furthering Shane's dismay. “Ha! Really? Yeah okay. Hollander, text me if that works out, I’d love to see that.”
“Will do.”
“I should go, let you two enjoy your night together. It was really nice to meet you Iris.”
Iris got up to give him a quick hug, because she was friendly like that. “Really nice to meet you too. I know I was being a shit earlier but, really, you are great to watch, I think you guys could do it this year. Good luck.”
“Shouldn’t you save that for your boyfriend?”
Shane’s mind continued to burn over the concept of drinks together, while those two shot the shit about – what were they even joking about?
“Ah, well, I like an underdog, it would warm my heart to see old Scott Hunter get his first.”
Scott told her to fuck off, jovially, and said goodnight to each of them.
“Nice to see you Hunter.”
Shane sipped his water while Iris watched him walk off.
“Shane?” The joking expression from the conversation had left.
“Yeah?” what had even just happened?
“Sorry if that was too much? I took my chance there. I know players saw Ilya and I today at the pool, I’m just trying to put it out there that Ilya and I are just friends. And we don’t have to get drinks, just like, that would help right? If Hunter was there too? You said you like him. Sorry if I jumped the gun, just, it was a natural opportunity and if I bring up Ilya in an unnatural way it will only look more suspicious.”
She was right. She had done that well, probably. Because she was good at that, she was at ease socialising, even with new people, that was part of why Shane wanted her here. He couldn’t keep up with the way people used conversations as tools. Like, he just tried to get through everything normally and politely, meanwhile she was making a friend, being funny and staving off rumours. He paused awkwardly, as he caught up, then rushed out his words “No, no. Yeah that makes sense.” Another pause, “That’s – That’s good, that was smart. I’m, I’m not sure about drinks, but yeah, we can figure that out later.” Because he could not think about it now.
“Ilya said – like earlier in his texts – he said that he told Marley that he coached me, that we met that way. So it’s a consistent story, and I don’t have to talk about the actual story.”
Shane just nodded. It had been a long day.
“You want to go back to the hotel now? Tomorrow will be a long day between media and skills.”
And – maybe – drinks with Rosanov.
“Yes, that sounds good.”
***
The rink schedule was visible to all the players. Of course, Ilya hadn’t bothered to check the schedule until the day he needed to be on that ice. So in the morning, when Ilya checked to see when he needed to be there, was the first time Ilya saw:
10:15-11:00
Shane Hollander and Girlfriend On Ice Interview with Sports Central
Blayt.
Seeing this first thing in the morning – what the hell? ‘And Girlfriend’, what a way to reduce Lilyochka and slap Ilya in the face with reality at the same time. But fuck, it was time to face reality maybe. He spent the previous evening snapping Marly’s head off and privately mopping. But the reality he had to live with was Hollander had a girlfriend; a girlfriend serious enough that he was doing media appearances with her. He must’ve been able to reject the interview, it’s not like they could force Lilyochka to do media, which means that this was entirely his choice. Their choice, they are a pair now.
It would be adorable, probably. People will love it. Players sometimes get their partners on the ice with them for a cutsy-teasing thing. Often their girlfriend or wives hardly skate, or haven’t in years, so their man can swoop in and peacock their skill. They can appear manly and competent. Shane and Lilyochka will be different, they will put on a show. She can flaunt too. Would they ask her to play her skill down? That would be bullshit, but they might. Of course the moment she is a presence online people will know she played for Boston University, then it would look stupid. No, probably they will play into the ‘hockey robot’ angle. Cast Hollander as Wall-E, like a dedicated but lonely robot who lights up when, finally, he found his perfect-pretty-girl-robot. Wholesome. Fucking lovely, really. That will sell, the audience will eat it up. They’ll eat her up.
He can’t even be mad, can he? It is exactly what was always going to happen. Shane would find someone wholesome and lovely to put up his picket fence with, and Ilya would watch it from his couch when they make another ‘Inside the life of Shane Hollander’ show. Three generations of Hollanders smiling at the table, or maybe the whole family at his little boys first hockey game. Hollander would watch ‘Inside the life of Ilya Rosanov’, where he would flaunt his cars, his trophy room, and his hot wife Sveta. She will flaunt the cars actually, in something tight and stiletto heels, so she can advertise her business. “If I am parading for you Ilya, I am getting something out of it too. I will sell so many cars to idiots that think a Lamborghini will make them feel like you. Look like you.” She will, and Ilya will be happy for her, he’ll laugh with her about it. That was always what would happen, both of had known it from the start.
He has a terrible idea, but he should talk to Lilyochka sometime, shouldn’t he? And he needs to be at the rink a half hour later anyways, so there's plausible deniability. If he goes and watches them on the ice, he is just being early, responsible. They are always telling him to be more reliable.
He does not tell Marly he is going early, because fuck him. He cannot mind his own business. Even if he probably expects to head over together, later.
Ilya has texted her, since he made a fool of himself:
Ilya (1:22 pm): I am happy you found a kotonok who is actually decent at hockey sometimes
Ilya (1:23 pm): Marly did not remember who you are, I told him I coached your team once and we are friends
Lilyochka (3:01 pm): yes he very cute
Lilyochka (3:02 pm): sorry to be friendly with your enemy but who wouldn’t want to pet him?
Lilyochka (3:05 pm): he knows about the ex but I haven’t told him anything about how I left
Lilyochka (3:05 pm): or about you
Lilyochka (3:08 pm): thought you were done with me after you ignored me at that club? wtf
Ilya (4:11 pm): I am sorry
Ilya (4:11 pm): I am asshole
Ilya (4:12 pm): I was drunk and pissy it was not your fault at all
Ilya (4:12 pm): tell Hollander whatever you want I will go with it
Lilyochka (4:20 pm): I will tell him
Lilyochka (4:21 pm): let’s all have a drink together sometime this weekend
Lilyochka (4:21 pm): tbh I’m worried people will think used to be a thing or smth
Lilyochka (4:21 pm): and I want to hang out with you
That, he couldn’t respond to.
Lilyochka (9:33 pm): we ran into hunter and I told him we know each other, said the coaching thing
They look good together, on the ice. The flat look on Shane’s face is gone. He looks alive, the ice always makes him come to life, and probably she does too. They are competing in what looks like a mini version of the skills competition, blasting through various events unseriously. Right now, shot accuracy. And yes, she is playing well.
The two of them are wearing matching gear. Not like an obnoxious set, just both of them are wearing black compression shirts, black sweats, and seemingly the same gloves and skates. Maybe she is getting a bonus from his sponsors to wear the same gear? Or maybe they really are just perfect little hockey robots together, and completely agree on the optimal gear for fooling around on the ice.
He is sat far enough away that they shouldn’t notice him, and close enough to the hallway that he could brush off his presence. Claim that he just ducked in for a second on his way. Which was the plan. Get a look, see them together, get used to seeing them together. That did not feel possible right now. It was probably around 10:30 when he got here, an hour earlier than necessary, and somehow it’s done. They are done filming. The crewing is packing up, but they keep going. They return to something from early, racing backwards, looks like.
They are cute. They are happy, laughing. Ilya will be fine with it because it is exactly right. Ilya is the wrong thing here, the fuck thing. They liked having him around, while they were fucked too, but at the end of it neither of them are messed up like him. They are good, they are loving and they are loved, at the center of it all. Ilya, he knows where he comes from, maybe he knows where he’s going. He can be happy he had bits of his friend and bits of Shane, whatever Shane was to him.
He left and smoked two cigarettes, one for Lilyochka and one for Shane.