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Summary
Contrasting with the clench of his jaw, the rigid line of shoulders, the dark scrunch of anger on his face, when Ilya brings his hand up to cup Shane’s cheek, thumb very lightly brushing against his injured bottom lip, the touch is as gentle as ever.
"Who did this to you?”
Shane swallows, heart soaring painfully at the touch. He was convinced he’d never warm up, the chill of tonight just too strong especially with how poorly he’d dressed himself. But the press of Ilya’s palm against his skin has his insides flaring to life. His own hands tremble uselessly in his lap, lips unconsciously protruding into a small pout as he leans just a fraction into the contact.
________________Or, no matter how much Shane tries to convince himself they’re no good for each other, he and Ilya are the only ones who truly know how to handle one another.
They bring out the best and the worst in each other, at the same damned time.
________________