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    Ilya murmurs, “I like you like this. Nice and – complying? What is word?”

    “Compliant,” Shane offers dizzily. 

    “Yes, this. Compliant.” Ilya’s hips swivel, and he hits that perfect angle with every syrupy thrust, lighting him up from the inside. “Following orders, no arguing. You should be like this all the time.” 

    “You’d hate that,” Shane says, without hesitation, even as his voice breaks into a whimper.  

    Ilya chokes out a ragged laugh and admits, “Yes, probably.” 

    [Or: Shane insists that he is fine, Ilya insists that he is selfish, and they both insist that this whole thing is casual. Everyone here is lying through their fucking teeth.]

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    22 Jan 2026

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    “When are you going to invite me to stay?”

    Shane coughed. “I don’t know. I’ve been pretty busy with, uh… the charity, and the camp, and all the planning. It hasn’t been very relaxing.” It wasn’t a total lie. He had been working on the charity with Ilya and with his mom, and he was keeping pretty busy. It just wasn’t all work that he was busy with. A lot of it was he and Ilya making up for lost time, putting the shower pressure to good use, losing their clothes in every room and making a game out of finding them when it was time to do laundry. They had a score sheet. Shane was winning.

    Rose seemed to accept that excuse, and she talked for a little bit longer until Shane maneuvered his way off the call. Then, and only then, did he turn to look at Ilya. “Sorry about that,” he said, but Ilya only shrugged.

    “Is fine.” He put down his glass of water. “You should do it.”

    Shane was distracted by the way Ilya reached around his waist to pull food out of the pan and put it, still hot, into his mouth. After a beat too long, he asked, “Do what?”

    “Invite Rose Landry to the cottage,” Ilya said, like it was no big deal.

    (what it says on the tin)

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    06 Jan 2026

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    “I don’t want to sound like an asshole man, really, but… why him?”
    Shane had heard this question a hundred times by now, from all sorts of people, in various tones. Some people were more serious than others, most genuinely didn’t get it.
    “Of all the available guys in North America, why Ilya Rozanov?”

    Or: Shane has heard the question again and again, but for once he really thinks about it

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    05 Jan 2026

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    Surprisingly, Rozanov seemed to understand completely. “Long distance is hard, yes?”

    Wyatt saw Bood’s eyebrows raise. “You talking about your girl, Rozy?”

    Rozanov shrugged. “We know what it is like. I have had years of practice. Was complicated. Long distance is shit. It is better now I am here, in Ottawa.”

    “What?”

    “Yes, uh- she is from Ottawa.”

    Bood’s mouth dropped open. “That’s why you moved teams? For her?”

    (snapshots from the centuars pov of ilya rozanov moving too ottawa)

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    04 Jan 2026

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    Shane rests his head against the window. Breathes in, out. Clenches his hands into fists on his lap, then slowly uncurls them.

    Nothing between his fingers now. No bedsheets, no shirt, no Ilya. No proper goodbye.

    No kiss.

    "Fuck," he breathes out. Fuck.

    This isn't the same as all those years ago. It isn't, and he knows it. But there's a strange, hollow feeling that's starting to expand in his chest. Making his ribs feel brittle, his lungs made paper-thin.

    Shane drops. It's unfortunate timing.

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    03 Jan 2026