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    Summary

    “I’m sorry,” Shane whispers against Ilya’s hair. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t—”

    Shane cuts himself off with a faint stutter in his breath that Ilya feels in his own chest.

    “Please,” Ilya begs, but he isn’t sure what he is even asking for.

    He wants Shane to leave. He wants Shane to stay. He wants Shane to hold him and never let go.

    Ilya feels Shane’s fingers fist in his curls, holding tight as if Ilya could ever bring himself to pull away.

    Shane doesn’t know that Ilya could never, that he cannot fathom turning his back to take even one step away from him.

    All he can do is push Shane away, make him walk first, and pick up the pieces left behind.

     

    Or an alternative to that fight from the long game, but instead of Shane leaving as Ilya asks, they actually talk it out

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