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    Summary

    “Look,” Shane began, hitting the edge of the basin with the flat of his palm. “I don’t know if I did something to piss you off, or…or what, but you’re being fucking weird. The phonecall? And this? What is this?”

    Before he’d even really processed Shane’s words, Ilya was standing directly in front of him, grabbing his lapels, pulling him closer. Then his shoulders sagged and their foreheads met. Ilya could feel Shane shift, moving away, but Ilya kept him still. It felt so good just to have Shane near again. “You would not believe me,” Ilya murmured.

    Shane let his shoulders slump in acquiescence. He gave a little shrug. “I’m already having a tough time believing that you’re acting like this.” He laughed weakly, and Ilya envisioned what it would be like to tilt his head just slightly and press his lips to Shane’s. Would he reciprocate? Pull away? The latter. The latter. Obviously.

    Or, after Ilya takes the girl from the club in Montreal back to his hotel room, he falls asleep wishing that he and Shane had never been anything at all, and wakes up to a world in which that’s true.

    Language:
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