Work Text:
Everything stood still.
Ilya sat in complete silence, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his mind reeling in shock. All he could hear was his heart pounding and the rush of adrenaline surging through his veins, making him feel dizzy all of a sudden.
Just a few seconds ago, Shane had run off.
The lingering touches, Shane’s lips on his own, the warmth of Shane’s fingers on his skin—Ilya could still feel the traces of him on his body, and yet Shane had run off.
His eyes struggled to focus, his gaze eventually settling on the TV, muted in the background. His hands moved to his bare chest, then to his necklace, as if grounding himself. His heated body and sweaty skin were a reminder of what had happened moments ago. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed.
Shane.
Ilya’s own voice echoed in his head. One brief second without guarding himself, blurting out Shane’s name—and this was the result. It was his own damn fault. He had gotten so used to repeating Shane’s name silently, over and over again, that he forgot how dangerous it was to say it out loud. And with the reaction Ilya had received, the one thing he feared had become reality.
In some strange way, Ilya felt it was only right to be punished. He had pushed his luck too many times today: inviting Shane to stay over, making him tuna melt, opening up in a way that had felt good at the time—the sheer thought of it made him panic now. He couldn’t blame Shane.
But it all felt too familiar, too close, and this time his heart was stronger than his mind. The control he had maintained over the past weeks finally cracked, and Shane’s name slipped from his tongue, lingering in the air between them.
Ilya’s mind raced; he needed to do something, but he was completely lost. His hand found his phone beside him, fingers curling around it. Should he call him? Should he text him? His thoughts spiralled. Ilya shoved the phone into his pocket and stood up in one swift motion.
Running his fingers through his clammy curls, he walked into the kitchen. The smell of tuna melt hung heavily in the air; the kitchen was a complete mess. When he spotted the can of ginger ale on the counter, Ilya took a sharp breath. His gaze locked onto it as he reached out and took a sip.
What had he become that something as simple as ginger ale could make his heart ache this much? What kind of grip Shane Hollander had on his heart, his mind—his whole being.
Ilya sat down in the same spot Shane had occupied while watching him make the tuna melt. His eyes drifted around the kitchen and finally to the fridge, where even more cans of ginger ale waited inside. He remembered absentmindedly grabbing them during grocery shopping, only realising what he’d done when the cashier scanned them at checkout. He remembered the small, foolish smile that had formed on his lips, how the thought of Shane at his place—drinking the ginger ale Ilya had bought—had made him feel giddy.
And now he had ruined everything.
They had an unspoken agreement: everything needed to stay casual. No feelings. Just intimacy that wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It had been that way for years, and it worked.
But not anymore. For him at least.
Ilya once again sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and thought of the way Shane had said his name for the first time, too. Ilya’s name had slipped from Shane’s lips just as easily. It had to mean something. Ilya clung to the faintest thread of hope.
Ilya.
Shane had said it so softly, murmuring it into Ilya’s open mouth. It was so delicate that he didn’t even notice at first, but then it sank in. Ilya had never heard his name sound so beautiful. And their lips found each other in a kiss, lingering just long enough to steal their breath.
Ilya remembered how he had smiled into the kiss, reaching out for more, needing more kisses, more touches. He wanted to be closer to Shane so badly that, with his heart pounding too loudly, Ilya thought it might jump right out of his chest.
But something had cracked. Shane was too quick to pull away from Ilya, rushing to find any kind of excuse, running off and leaving Ilya on the couch. His heart shattered, scattered into millions of pieces.
Shane hadn’t met his eyes when he got up and fled. Not even saying Hollander out loud twice could erase the way Shane’s name had slipped from Ilya’s tongue. It couldn’t convince either of them that it meant nothing.
The walls they had built over the last years came crashing down in an instant—only to be erected again just as quickly. They were both too good at hiding.
Ilya didn’t want to hide anymore. He wanted to be honest. Not with everyone—just one person. And that person was Shane Hollander.
Lost in thought, Ilya pulled his phone from his pocket again and stared at the black screen. Shane wouldn’t reach out. Not after everything Ilya had done to ignore him in the past. He probably deserved that. The realisation left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It really was all his fault. Ilya couldn’t blame anyone but himself.
After all, he was the one who had started talking about Svetlana, about girls. With the rules they had established, Ilya hadn’t known any other way to express himself. He had felt trapped by his feelings and his words, forced to be careful, unwilling to lay everything bare. And so he had tried to casually hint that Svetlana was nothing compared to Shane. Not anymore, at least. Not for years. There was no one like Shane for him, even if Ilya continued to hide behind sarcasm and nonchalance in that moment.
Without realising it, Ilya had already opened the chat between himself and Shane on his phone. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard, before finally typing.
Come back. Please.
Ilya stared at the screen, breathing shallowly, not moving an inch. He couldn’t possibly send those words.
Come back.
Come
C
Ilya watched the cursor blink, then deleted every single word, one by one, painfully slowly.
As desperate as he was to send those words to Shane, Ilya feared they would only make everything more complicated. Whatever had made Shane run off, Ilya didn’t want to risk letting him slip through his fingers even further.
Ilya needed to restrain himself. He needed to get a grip. Shane had obviously not wanted anything more than what they already had. By running away so quickly, Shane had made it clear to Ilya that there was a line he wasn’t meant to overstep.
Ilya had been weak—undone by emotions that had overtaken him in a moment of vulnerability. Shane had taken care of him while his mind was immersed in worry and guilt over his family. His father’s phone call had thrown him off balance. He hadn’t been emotionally stable, and Shane had been there, seeing straight through his act, leaving Ilya feeling utterly exposed.
Shane had known how to take care of him. He had known that Ilya needed physical touch, in one way or another, to feel safe again. And Shane had given him exactly that.
It couldn’t have meant nothing. It had to mean something. Ilya needed to believe that.
Lost in thought, deep in the haze of his cloudy mind, Ilya heard the doorbell. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He wanted Shane to come back so badly that he thought he was imagining it.
But then came a second ring. Ilya hadn’t imagined it—someone really was at the door.
Dropping his phone onto the kitchen counter, Ilya rushed to answer it.
When he opened the door, his heart stopped for a millisecond, then gave a small, painful leap.
Because there he was—Shane Hollander.
Standing right in front of him.
He came back. He actually came back.
Ilya was speechless, consumed by a whirlwind of emotions crashing through him: the sheer joy of seeing Shane again, tangled with shock and the quiet fear of what might come next.
Shane’s face was closed off. Ilya couldn’t read his thoughts or guess his intentions.
“C-can I come in?” Shane mumbled. His gaze drifted somewhere past Ilya, never quite meeting his eyes.
“Sure,” was all Ilya managed to say as he stepped aside, opening the door fully to let Shane in. He tried to mirror Shane’s expression, to act as though nothing had happened.
Ilya’s eyes followed Shane as he moved through the house—stepping inside, passing him in the hallway, heading toward the kitchen. Shane’s uncertainty was evident in every movement: his slow steps, the way his gaze flicked from the windows to the garden, then back toward the kitchen, even a brief glance over his shoulder to where Ilya still stood, frozen in place.
Ilya followed at a distance, trying to compose himself. He needed to brace for whatever Shane was about to say or do. He hated not being in control of a situation—especially when it came to Shane. And with Shane giving away no emotion at all, Ilya had no idea what to expect. His heart raced with fear and concern.
Shane suddenly stopped. Ilya watched him take a deep breath before turning around to face him.
Ilya didn’t dare speak first. He simply stood there as silence settled heavily between them. He tried to catch Shane’s eye, but Shane kept looking anywhere but at him. Ilya’s own gaze traced him from head to toe: slightly ruffled hair, a faint flush on his cheeks, a deep frown etched into his face.
Ilya noticed that Shane was still wearing the shirt he had given him earlier.
“I’m sorry,” Shane blurted out. “I…” He trailed off, blinking a few times, struggling to continue. He licked his lips, as if searching for the right words and coming up empty.
“I understand,” Ilya interrupted.
There was so much more he wanted to say, so much he wanted to explain, but that could wait. For now, this was enough.
Ilya still couldn’t believe Shane was standing right in front of him. He had come back—for reasons Ilya didn’t dare to question —but he was here, with him, in this moment.
Ilya was afraid to talk about it any further. The risk of saying something that would send Shane retreating again felt too high. Ilya didn’t want to take that chance, too afraid that Shane would run off once more.
So Ilya did the only thing he believed was a safe option.
He closed the distance slowly, giving Shane time to pull away if he wanted to. When he didn’t, Ilya lifted his hand, fingers pausing for a moment before they found Shane’s cheek, warm beneath his palm. His thumb brushed lightly along the line of his cheekbone, a question more than a touch.
And finally, Shane’s eyes lifted to meet his.
The look there – uncertain but still present – made Ilya`s chest tighten.
He took another step forward, closing the space between them completely. Their bodies aligned, close enough that Ilya could feel Shane’s breath, feel the quiet tension holding him still.
Ilya was so close he could count Shane’s freckles. His finger traced a slow path between them, memorizing what was already familiar, before he rested his forehead against Shane’s.
This close, with sunlight spilling over Shane’s skin, everything felt unbearably intimate. The light caught in Shane’s eyes, turning them a soft hazel, and Ilya found himself staring, afraid to blink, afraid to break the moment.
Shane’s lips curved into the faintest smile, hesitant but real, his gaze locked on Ilya’s. Ilya felt it then—the moment Shane stopped holding himself apart and began to lean into the touch, just slightly, just enough.
Even if they couldn’t communicate with words, their bodies knew how to connect—how to offer comfort in a way that made them both feel safe.
After a split second of hesitation, Ilya’s lips closed the distance between them entirely. At last, he kissed Shane—tentative at first, then deeper, softer, as if afraid the moment might vanish if he pushed too hard.
Ilya only noticed then how tightly Shane’s hands were gripping his lower back, fingers digging in as though letting go were not an option. It felt like he clung to the kiss as much as Ilya did, with a quiet intensity that spoke of longing rather than urgency.
They were both so close to one another that Ilya could feel Shane’s heart racing against his chest, the slight tremble in Shane’s hands before they steadied and held him closer. Ilya could even feel the way Shane leaned into the kiss, seeking it.
All his worries slipped away as their lips stayed softly pressed together, leaving behind a quiet ache that settled warmly in his chest.
Whatever awaited them beyond this moment, Ilya could take it.
With Shane right here and now, breathing him in, holding him close, he knew that nothing was lost.