Chapter Text
The party was the most ridiculous thing Shane has ever seen. He remembered the house being huge when he used to come around when he was a kid, but he figured everything seemed large when you were barely a meter off the ground. The house though, or a mansion more like, was still enormous and there were tons of people spilling out of it on the lawn and flashing in the windows. Shane didn't even realise that this town had this many teenagers. I guess when you're rich you truly can buy anything. Even friends.
He righted his gown and looked offended at the skimpy outfits the rest of the party wore.
Maybe Harris was right. Maybe dressing up as Ruth Bader Ginsburg wasn't the best idea for a Halloween costume.
He shrugged finally and decided fuck it. It's not like he had any friends to lose. It's not like people even paid attention to him.
He moved between people, everyone already drunk. He thought he was on time, how they managed to get inebriated already was beyond him. Even the lousiest students seemed to be overachievers when it came to drinking.
"Hollzy!" He heard a booming voice and whipped his head around to find Harris wearing nothing but a gold speedo and angel wings. Well that's an image.
"What are you supposed to be?" Shane asked condescendingly.
"An angel. A cupid. A slave of looove" Harris sang, grabbing Shane by his neck. “Come on I’ll get you a drink”
“Why are we even here?” Shane whined.
“Because it’s Halloween, because there’s booze, because there are a lot of warm bodies and I worked out all summer for this” Harris explained patiently dragging Shane towards the kitchen.
They moved through the crowd, people parting in front of Harris like a red sea. He grabbed a few bottles, shrugged and then poured some vodka and soda into a red cup. Red cups. This was truly an American teenage horror of Shane’s nightmares.
“Drink.” Harris ordered.
“As if I would do this sober.” Shane mumbled, throwing the drink back and thrusting the cup back to Harris in a silent plea for a refill.
“What are you supposed to be?” Harris asked as if he just noticed Shane's outfit.
“Ruth Bader Ginsburg.”
“Shane.” Harris deadpanned.
“Harris.”
“Shane! I told you. Sexy outfit!”
“This is sexy. Feminism is sexy. Brains are fucking sexy. And I don’t want to do sexy with anyone who doesn’t think that it is” Shane pouted.
“You have a great ass, you should’ve worn something tight.” Harris stated “That’s also sexy.”
“I think we’re using word ‘sexy’ way to much”
“You’re right. That’s not sexy.” Harris agreed. “Come on, let's dance!”
He was once again being pulled by his hand toward the living room. It was dark except for the strobe lights hanging for the ceiling. Rich people. There was a crowd of people moving like one mythical creature, bouncing to the beat of the song. Harris pulled him into it and when they landed in the middle that’s when Shane saw him.
He was dancing, with two girls plastered to his sides. Wearing nothing but low rise jeans. His chest was sweaty. His hand bandaged up and his face painted as if he had been beaten up. Shane guessed it was probably meant to be fight club, and he found it a bit amusing that he used such an obvious homoerotic movie for the costume. Straight bros and their homoerotic tension.
His hair was shorter, his face sharper. He must have been 20 cm taller than Shane now. Even with the weird make up Shane would recognise him anywhere. Even the last time he saw him he was all pudgy rosy cheeks and bitten raw lips. He was different somehow. But it was still Ilya.
Shane wanted to look away, but somehow couldn’t. Ilya's eyes were closed and his mouth hanging open. He was probably dancing for a while and was getting out of breath. The girls were touching him but his hands were hanging to his sides. And then he opened his eyes and looked straight at Shane, and just like that Shane was thirteen again, and he was in that ridiculous tree house in the back of this ridiculous house and he was being looked at like that and then he was being kissed for the first time in his life. Shane swallowed, Harris talking to him but Shane wasn’t able to hear him. He was only able to look and see if he could spot a spark of recognition on Ilya's face, a blush, some kind of emotion that would make him feel like he didn’t spend the past five years obsessed over a guy who didn’t remember his name. Or his face. Or the fact that he stole his first kiss from him, when all he ever needed to do was ask.
Ilya's eyes slid over Shane like he was a piece of decor, something inside his eyes looked like maybe the person Shane knew was dead, and then he took a cigarette out of his pocket and slipped out of the room. Doing it again. Leaving Shane. He used to think that that feeling he got when he woke up the day after that kiss, all hopeful and giddy, only to realise that Ilya ran from him to the other side of the world without as much as a goodbye, that feeling of having his heart broken for the first time was the worst feeling in the world. Now he knew better, having Ilya back, building his hopes up over nothing, only for Ilya to not even remember him… that was worse.
He really shouldn’t have come here.