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The door slammed harder than Shane meant it to.
It echoed down the hallway, sharp enough that the picture on the wall rattled in its frame. The house felt too big and too small all at the same time, like it was amplifying everything neither of them wanted to voice out loud.
Ilya didn’t flinch.
He stood by the counter with his back to Shane, his shoulders were rigid, the coffee from this morning sat abandoned on the stove. His hands braced flat against the marble like he was holding himself up through pure stubbornness.
“You walk away again, I swear to God, Shane.” Ilya said, his voice was low and dangerous.
Shane stopped mid-step.
He turned slowly to face Ilya, his jaw was tight. “Do not do that, Ilya.”
“Do not do what?” Ilya snapped. His eyes were bright, like anger was easier than whatever was beneath it. “Call you out on your bullshit again?”
Shane laughed, it was harsh and humorless. “I didn’t walk away.”
“You slammed a fucking door, Hollander.” Ilya only ever referred to Shane by his last name when he was annoyed or angry with Shane.
“I needed fucking air, Rozanov.” Ilya was taken aback by this. Shane never called Ilya by his last name.
“You always need air, every time something gets hard, you need air. You need space. You need anything that is not me!” Ilya fired back.
Shane’s chest tightened, but he refused to let himself soften. “That isn’t fair, and you know it.”
“Fair?” Ilya scoffed. “You want fair? Fair is you telling me what you feel instead of disappearing like a…like a coward!”
The word landed like a slap.
Shane’s breath sharpened. “Do not fucking call me a coward.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
Silence crashed between them, it was brittle and thin.
Shane ran a hand through his hair, he paced back and forth like the floor was burning under his feet. “You are so fucking impossible when you are like this!”
“I am like this because you make me like this, Shane!” Ilya shot back. “You shut down, and then you expect me to just ignore it and then pretend like nothing ever fucking happened when you come out of it?”
“I don’t shut down,” Shane snapped.
“You freeze. Same thing.” Ilya laughed, it was sharp.
Shane stopped pacing and stared at him. “What do you fucking want me to do then, Ilya! Do you want me to yell? Want me to break something? Want me to be like you?!”
Ilya’s jaw tightened. “Well, at least then I would know you care.”
The words hung in the air, raw and ugly.
Shane felt something crack in his chest.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he couldn’t find the right shape for what he wanted to say. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I do care,” he said, finally, quieter than before.
“You have funny way of showing it.” Ilya scoffed as he turned away.
Shane took a step towards him, then stopped. He hated this — hated how easily they spiral, how quickly love turned into weapons in their hands.
“You do not get to do this,” Shane said, his voice low. “You do not get to decide that my silence means that I don’t love you.”
Ilya’s shoulders tensed up. “Then fucking speak.”
Shane exhaled sharply, he was frustrated. “I’m trying.”
“You’re hiding.”
“I’m thinking,” Shane snapped back. “There’s a big difference.”
Ilya finally turned around full again, his eyes searched Shane’s face like he his trying to carve the truth out of him by the sheer force of will. “Then think out loud.”
Shane stared at him.
For a moment, everything felt like it was teetering on a knife’s edge — one wrong move and they both will bleed.
Shane inhaled slowly.
“I was not walking away because I don’t want you, Ilya. I was walking away because I felt like I was going to say something that would hurt you.”
Ilya’s expression flickered.
“I get so overwhelmed, you know that. When that happens, I get quiet. That’s about me, not you.”
Ilya studied him, his breathing was uneven.
“And when you push me like that, I panic. I panic because I don’t want to lose you.”
The last sentence landed differently.
The anger drained from Ilya’s face in slow, reluctant increments, like a tide pulling back.
His arms dropped from the counter.
“You always think you will lose me,” Ilya said softly.
Shane swallowed. “Because I almost did, Ilya.”
Something shifted between them.
Ilya looked at him for a long moment, then he exhaled, it was long and shaky. The fight seemed to leave his body all at once, like he was too tired to carry it anymore.
He crossed the kitchen in three steps.
Shane stiffened instinctively, then forced himself to stay still.
Ilya doesn't yell. He doesn’t argue. He simply reached up and cupped Shane’s face in both hands, his thumbs rested just beneath Shane’s cheekbones.
Shane’s breath caught in his throat.
“You do not get to be noble alone,” Ilya murmured. “If you are scared, you tell me. If you are overwhelmed, you tell me. I carry it with you.”
Shane closed his eyes, he leaned into the touch.
“Ilya,” he exhaled.
Ilya’s forehead dropped to Shane’s, their noses brushed, the space between them collapsed into something soft instead of sharp.
“I am done fighting. Not because you are right but because I love you.”
“Say it to me in Russian.” Shane mumbled. The corner of Ilya’s mouth twitched. “Ya tebya lyublyu”
“Ya tozhe tyebya lyublyu.”
Ilya’s thumbs brushed beneath Shane’s eyes. He tilted Shane’s head back and kissed him — slow and careful, like he was reminding both of them that this was still theirs.
When they pulled back, Shane rested his forehead against Ilya’s again, his eyes were closed.
Outside, the world kept moving. Inside, the argument faded into something quieter, steadier, and undeniably theirs.