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It’s nearly mid-morning when Ilya’s phone rings. He’s alone, thankfully, a mile out from his house on a run. The summer sun is weak through the clouds as he ignores the first vibration, then slows to a walk when it vibrates again. When he sees the caller ID, he stills entirely on the path, frowning at the screen.
His first thought is to panic. Something must be wrong for Hollander to risk calling. It’s after midnight in Montreal. Ilya wipes sweat from his eyes. There’s a feeling like something’s been ripped out from under him, or perhaps ripped from his hands, even if he hardly had it to begin with.
He hits answer.
“Hollander?”
He can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve spoken on the phone. Usually, it’s for sex. Never, though, has Hollander opened a call by whimpering into the receiver.
Dumbly, Ilya frowns at his feet, sneakers toeing at the path beneath him. Hollander’s whine cuts off, followed by a bit of shuffling on the other side. Ilya waits.
“Rozanov,” Hollander says at last, voice wavering.
“What happened?”
A beat in which Ilya fears for the worst, stomach tense, throat tight. Someone found out about them; someone told; something happened to Hollander’s health; he’s realized he never wants to see Ilya again. He feels strung tight waiting for Hollander to spit it out, tight enough that he’s about to snap before Hollander says, in that same wavering, breathless tone, “I missed you.”
Ilya frowns. “What?”
“Missed you,” Hollander says again, like it’s obvious.
“You called because you missed me?”
Hollander makes that whining noise again. Without the looming threat of disaster hanging over him, Ilya can enjoy it far more. He laughs, untensing.
“That’s all?”
“I wanted to talk to you…”
“Okay,” Ilya says, beginning to walk now. His legs are sore, his breath slowing from the run. He feels light, listening to Hollander presumably move around on the other end of the line. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Nothing.”
“Why did you call me then?”
“I don’t know.”
Ilya waits for him to elaborate, but Hollander only breathes into the receiver. Ilya grins.
“Are you drunk, Hollander?”
“Yes.”
Ilya raises his eyebrows. It’s not like him to drink so much, if at all. Last Ilya checked, Hollander’s only vice was ginger ale. “Shane Hollander goes drinking on a Tuesday night. Very wild.”
Hollander hums. “I’m not that drunk.”
Based on the way his voice lingers over the line, Ilya doesn’t believe that. He grins. “Are you lost? Can’t find your way to stupid apartment?”
“No,” Hollander says, and Ilya can picture the scowl on his face. “Hayden walked me back.”
Ilya frowns, fisting the hem of his shirt irritably and rubbing sweat from his neck. “Pike is still there?”
“No. Duh. He’s…” Hollander makes a thoughtful noise. “He’s gone. Went to his own place, I think. Not here.”
“Good.” Ilya looks up at the sun, squinting at the clouds. The relief that washes through him is only partially because they won’t get caught-- jealousy is not an emotion he easily owns up to. He ignores the clench in his chest and instead says, “Were you celebrating then?”
“No. Or yes, I think…” Hollander laughs into the receiver, close and sleepy.
“Are you in bed?” Ilya asks. He looks around himself. The path isn’t isolated by any means, but it’s a ways out from casual society. He moves slowly, feet aimless on the path.
“No. I’m trying to brush my teeth.”
“You don’t know how to brush your teeth?”
Shane makes a noise, and then curses when something clatters. “Not anymore, I guess.”
Ilya shakes his head. Of course Shane Hollander is the type to remember to brush his teeth before bed even when stumbling drunk. Hollander lets out a soft “yes, finally” and then the water turns on. Ilya smiles fondly.
Not knowing what to say isn’t something Ilya is familiar with, but he finds himself waiting for Hollander to speak first, listening intently to the sounds of the water running. Ilya can picture it: Shane in sweats, standing sleepily in the bathroom and lazily moving the toothbrush around his mouth, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Ilya’s never actually seen him drunk, but it’s a nice image nonetheless. He can hardly imagine that Hollander is the rowdy type.
“Say something,” Shane ends up saying, voice muffled by the toothbrush.
“Say what.”
“I don’t know,” Hollander says, then there’s the sound of him spitting and the water stops.
“You called me.”
“I know. Stupid.”
Ilya’s chest twinges, and he looks around again. Still alone. “It’s not stupid,” He says quietly, then tacks on, “You were thinking about my dick, then? Missed it so much you had to give me call?”
There’s more sounds of movement, and then the rustle of bedsheets. “Mm. No.”
“In bed now?”
“Yes.”
“Going to touch yourself?”
The unmistakable sound of a yawn. “No. I’m too tired. Your voice sounds nice.”
Ilya’s brow furrows. “Sounds nice?”
“Relaxing. I always think so.”
That makes Ilya’s chest flutter again and he glances down at his feet, then up at the path behind him again. “Sexy, you mean?”
“No. Well, yes.”
Ilya waits.
“It’s pretty.”
Stiltedly, Ilya laughs. He’s never heard that one before. “Drunk Hollander is more honest. Looser this way.”
“Yeah. Maybe you’ll like me better this way.”
Ilya frowns. “What?”
“Not so uptight.” There’s a bit more rustling and a soft sigh, dreamy and close to the speaker. It reverberates through Ilya’s skull and down his spine. “I’m bad at talking,” Hollander laughs, “But I like when you do it.”
“Talk?” Ilya knows he’s not the most talkative person, so this is news to him. He idles along the path, straining to hear each soft, slow inhale Shane takes. He must have put the phone close to his head, maybe on his pillow, because Ilya can hear each one. It’s domestic in a way that makes Ilya feel a little disoriented, like he’s drunk too, even though it’s eleven in the morning and the sun is shining through the clouds. “Are you asleep, Hollander? Did I bore you?”
“Maybe you wish I was more like Hayden.”
Ilya snorts. “Why the fuck would I want you to be like Pike?” He can’t think of anything he’d like less.
“You know.” A bit of rustling from the other end of the line again. “More adventurous and relaxed.”
“Adventurous? That doesn’t seem his style.”
“He is when he’s drunk.”
“You have that in common.”
“No, like…” An irritated huff. Ilya likes the sounds Hollander makes when he’s annoyed, especially when he’s annoyed at Ilya. “I don’t know. He’s usually so calm and… Jackie doesn’t help.”
“Who?”
“His wife.”
“You were out with his wife, too?” Ilya’s lips quirk. “Are you doing threesomes without me, Hollander?”
“Shut up. I don’t want that. I don’t like sharing. And what if… it’s weird?”
Of course he’s worried about it being weird. Ilya shakes his head. “What about Jackie?”
“She encourages him when they’re drunk. We were at a winebar.”
“Ah.” Ilya would like to see Hollander winedrunk. He guesses he’s hearing it now, but he’d like to see the full effect up close some time, flushed freckled cheeks and all. He’d like to see Hollander try and skate drunk, too, just to see him be shit on the ice for once. “And you let them feed you too much wine?”
“Yes. Jackie is persuasive and Hayden does whatever she says, so.”
“And what did she say?”
Shane giggles, a sound that Ilya indulges in for a moment before Hollander’s words come crashing down on him. “That Hayden had a crush on me when we first started together.”
Ilya stops walking. His feet scuff on the path, kicking up a cloud of dirt. “What?”
“Yeahhhh,” Hollander says, drawing out the word like it’s something funny. “Can you believe it?”
He can. Anyone with eyes could see that Shane Hollander was gorgeous, and he had a certain charm about him that was helplessly endearing. “Yes,” Ilya says, then says, “He told you that? Confessed his love?” The image makes him grimace.
“No,” Shane says, like it’s obvious. “Jackie told me.”
“His wife?"
Shane giggles again, a carefree, sleepy sort of noise he would never make sober. Ilya covets it. “She thinks it’s funny.”
She must have a hell of a sense of humor, then. “Did Pike think it was funny?” Not that Ilya really cares about that man’s opinion, but he wants to hear Hollander keep talking in that tired, carefree voice, free of the stops and starts he usually puts out.
“He was proud of it. Said that it meant we were soulmates.”
Ilya shakes his head and begins walking again. He’s pressing the phone hard against his ear, like if he holds it close enough he can feel Shane’s breath on his ear. “Did you think it was funny?”
The sound Hollander makes is half laugh and half embarrassed sputter. “Well, a little,” He says honestly.
“You date Pike now?”
“No, but it’s funny. For Hayden to have a crush on me. Because he’s my friend. And he has Jackie and Jackie can fight.”
Ilya hums sourly.
“And Hayden wouldn’t kiss me if he was serious.”
Instead of stopping, Ilya stomps his foot into the dirt this time. This has to be some kind of test from God. “When did he do that?” He asks, digging his heel into the ground.
“After Jackie started teasing him for it. He said he didn’t have a crush on me anymore and she said prove it and-”
“Hollander, I have to go.”
“Noooo,” Shane says, and there’s a bit more rustling. He makes a grumpy noise. “I want you to keep talking.”
“And say what?” The clouds shift overhead. There’s a bit of a breeze coming through now, and Ilya really should get back to his run before his whole morning is thrown off course.
Hollander makes another stirred noise and then sighs. “Just anything.”
Ilya has never been one for schedules anyway. “...How is Canada summer?”
“Hot. Long.”
“Boring,” Ilya supplies.
“Fuck off.”
The words are badly muffled, and Ilya strains his ears towards them desperately. “You have big bed there with too many pillows?”
Another sleepy laugh. “It’s comfortable.”
You’ll have to show me sometime, Ilya almost says, and then instead says, “Designer make that one for you too? Designer blankets?”
“No. It’s a quilt my mom made me.”
Ilya looks at the trees overhead, moving the way he came down the path. He doubts he’ll be finishing his run now. It’s peaceful out here, far from all of the people he has responsibility to. He doesn’t say anything, listening to Shane breathing and rustling the sheets and waiting for Hollander to egg him on again.
He doesn’t. Instead, there’s only quiet on the other end of the line. Ilya listens patiently, wondering if Hollander had fallen asleep. He can hear the soft, slow puffs of his breath. He’d seen Shane close to sleep a handful of times now, exhausted from the day and their hookups and always about to kick Ilya out. He’s never seen him drunk before, though. Maybe he’s not asleep, but instead staring at the ceiling or at his boring blank bedroom walls. He’d like to see Shane sleeping, though, face lax, freckles on display. He probably drools, because not everything about Shane Hollander can be perfect.
The silence stretches long enough that Ilya decides he really is asleep. He’s not sure how to feel about the idea of Shane falling asleep on the line, while still talking to him. Hollander is the boring one, not him. He should be offended, but instead he finds it a bit endearing. But then the thought of Shane falling asleep on the line with Hayden Pike crops up and Ilya frowns. Pike is nothing like Ilya. He’s mild-mannered and sensitive, everything Ilya’s not. It’s no wonder Shane gets along with him-- he’s as boring as Hollander is. The thought isn’t as amusing as it should be.
Ilya’s feet on the path and the wind in the trees are the only other sounds. He doesn’t speak for fear of waking Shane up. It might be funny, but then Shane would probably never call him again. He probably won’t anyway, though; Ilya can hardly imagine he’ll wake up and not regret this, feeling stupid, especially if he couldn’t even explain why he called in the first place. From Shane’s end of the line, there’s only silence for the rest of the call, but Ilya lingers on the phone until his house is in sight once again. Only then does he murmur a soft goodbye before cutting the connection.