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All his life, Shane had perceived it as a sequence of algorithms that had to be followed in order to achieve the perfect result. Therefore, the upcoming Valentine’s Day had to be planned down to the smallest detail: where the meeting would take place, what kind of atmosphere there would be, what speech would be best to deliver. And it didn’t matter that officially their relationship had already lasted four months and sixteen days — for Shane, it still felt like reliving the moment of the first confession all over again.
Only back then he hadn’t been able to control or decide anything at all, whereas now that possibility had finally appeared, so on that very Day X the first alarm went off exactly at six a.m. At six fifteen, Shane took a shower, brushed his teeth, and opened the app to pre-order dinner in the form of Ilya’s favorite hamburgers.
At seven, after making breakfast, he started cleaning, focusing most of his attention on the living room and the bedroom in case they were both overcome with passion. Well — or rather, when, because it would be unwise to exclude Rozanov’s lustfulness, who, among other things, would definitely not pay attention to minor imperfections like wrinkled pillows, each of which Shane fluffed with particular diligence. All so that exactly two hours later the house would be completely ready, and he could move on to choosing an outfit.
A blazer? No, too formal. The blue sweater? During the last time he wore it, a thread had started coming loose on the left sleeve, and just thinking about it already made him anxious and uncomfortable. The T-shirt Ilya had given him after their first sleepover? Yes — the most perfect, sweet, and romantic option.
All that remained was to think through the speech — the part most incomprehensible to his brain — so Shane came up with nothing better than to stand in front of the mirror and simply start going through different versions:
“Ilya, you are the most important person in my life, and I would like to…Damn, no,” he cut himself off sharply, realizing that “I would like” sounded more like asking for a favor than proposing to celebrate Valentine’s Day. “I want us to celebrate February fourteenth together. As a couple. No—” Shane faltered again.
They were already a couple — four whole months and sixteen days — so he needed to emphasize something else:
“I want us to spend this day together and… become Valentines for each other. You — mine, and I — yours. Do you agree?” Shane tried to make his intonation as calm and undemanding as possible, then nodded to himself and began to wait.
According to his calculations, Ilya was supposed to arrive exactly at six in the evening, after practice, which had actually ended a little earlier, so the entire plan shifted by a full thirty minutes. And, of course, it wasn’t a catastrophe, but when he opened the door, Shane couldn’t hide his surprise mixed with slight embarrassment at the sight of wind-tousled hair and that familiar wide smile.
“Hi,” Ilya said first, not daring to step over the threshold without an official invitation.
“You’re early,” slipped from Shane’s lips.
“Is that problem?”
“No, um… no, of course not,” realizing how stupid it had sounded, he shook his head and then stepped slightly aside, allowing Rozanov to enter and look around the perfectly cleaned apartment.
“What, you did general cleaning? Or we waiting for some delegation?”
“Very witty.”
“No, really, you know that excessive desire to keep everything clean is first sign of being maniac?” Ilya shrugged off his jacket in one quick movement and walked further, into the living room, where dinner was already beautifully arranged on the table. “Wow…”
“You like it?” Shane asked with sincere curiosity.
“You even asking!” Clearly starving after practice, he broke into a wide grin, gave Shane a quick kiss on the cheek, and sat down on the couch.
Shane sat down beside him, almost pressed against him, so he could feel the bodily contact and have the opportunity to examine every small detail on Ilya’s face. At first Ilya chewed in silence, but soon he began to talk about his entire day. About how practice had gone, about a small argument with one of the team members, about annoying messages from his annoyingly-weird PR manager. And about many other, more insignificant things, each of which Shane listened to with utmost attention, simultaneously waiting for the moment when he could finally deliver his speech.
The right moment came exactly when Ilya, having eaten his fill, collapsed onto the pillows and rested his head on Shane’s shoulder, as if ready to fall asleep. Which was logical after such a busy day, but even if their evening ended with nothing more than lying in each other’s arms, Shane first wanted to carry out what he had planned.
“Ilya.”
“Mm?” he responded dully.
“Would you like to be my Valentine?” Despite the fact that the words came out in a completely different order than originally intended, Shane tried to ask the question as calmly as possible.
“My what?”
“Valentine. I mean… before Valentine’s Day couples usually ask this each other and…”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.” Ilya lifted his head and looked straight into Shane’s eyes, maintaining eye contact. “I agree to be your Valentine, but…”
Shane didn’t like that part of the sentence, because his brain, accustomed to certain patterns, couldn’t understand what might be hidden behind that drawn-out “but” with a noticeable Russian accent.
“But, if you curious, I was also planning to ask you this. Just didn’t know how this is called, because in Russia nobody calls each other ‘Valentines.’”
“Why?”
“Because for us this is name. And it stupid to call someone by some other person’s name,” he shrugged, then quickly pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. On it, in slightly crooked English letters, was written: “Happy Lovers’ Day.”
Shane laughed.
“Actually, it’s ‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’ It’s written a little differently.”
“Oh, well yes, excuse me, Mister Bore,” Ilya said in a mock voice, not forgetting to perform something like a bow. “In my head it same. Lovers, people in love — same thing. And lovers we are also very good.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Shane said fondly, still smiling.
“What? You want say this not true?”
“It’s true, just… it sounds silly.”
“Your ‘Valentines’ also sound silly, so just admit already you liked my card and kiss me.”
“With pleasure.” Saying that, Shane leaned closer and did what he had been asked to do — he kissed Rozanov on the lips, running his fingers through his silky, curly hair, scented with sweet cologne.