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“I can’t, I can’t do this.” Shane looks down at his feet, panting, looking so fucking beautiful and Ilya aches. Shane is ripping his heart out, gripping it tight in his hand how he is Ilya’s t-shirt.
“Hollander,” Ilya says, and it’s a plea. It’s I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have said it, come back.
“I’m sorry,” Shane breathes, his eyes screwed shut like if he looks at Ilya, he’ll break. Will come running back to the couch. But he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want Ilya, so he turns and leaves and Ilya is alone.