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Ilya woke up with a start, the dream slipping slowly through the cracks of remembering and forgetting. He closed his eyes tightly, wanting to keep replaying it. His body was covered in sweat. He felt slightly ill, conjuring images of a pretty man with stunning freckles–Shane Hollander. His heart ached. He began to rub absentmindedly on his chest, right above his heart. It was still dark, the blinds left slightly opened, revealing no sliver of sunlight. Ilya kept his eyes closed, willing the image of Shane to come forward. Shane was in his home, laughing. In the darkness, that memory brought a smile to Ilya’s face. And then, the images twisted. Shane was scared. He wouldn’t come closer to Ilya no matter how hard Ilya tried to close the distance. His hands constantly reaching out to touch Shane and his house expanded to keep the gap just far enough for Ilya to keep trying. So he reached over and over and every time, Shane became more and more frustrated. He looked feral; even the most aggressive form of Shane on the ice did not look like this. Then, Shane yelled and turned away and Ilya woke up.
Ilya suddenly wanted to know what it felt like to scream, so he yelled out into the abyss of his empty home. With a little bit of sorrow, Ilya knew nothing would respond. He reached over to his phone, 2:40 am. He’ll see Shane tomorrow. Shane would come to his new house, right outside the outskirts of Boston. The house was big, private, and modern. He had a feeling Shane would like it a lot. He had a penchant for real estate after all. Ilya continued to rub at his chest, working out this tension he couldn’t seem to release.
He had known that the last few times he saw Shane, things had been different. They lingered longer, fingers running over one another even after their time was mostly exhausted, their bodies spent. Ilya knew he was becoming needier. His text remained light-hearted, suggestive, and flirtatious, but when he saw Shane, the veil slipped. He stared a little longer, he smiled a little longer, signs that said maybe we could stay a little longer. He hoped it wasn’t just him.
The thing about Shane (sometimes to Ilya’s chagrin) is that he was so fucking polite. He always took his shoes off, he always returned a smile, a touch, a kiss. He was gentle in the best possible ways. So, even if everything about their sex was rough, he knew Shane would be polite. When they laid together last time, their fingers interlaced playfully, as Shane just being polite? Had he actually wanted Ilya to get out of there? To let go of his fingers and just fuck off already. Maybe Ilya was being too selfish. He liked it when they lay together afterwards. He liked giving each other slow kisses, with no expectation of escalating it again. But, god, wouldn’t it be a fucking nightmare if the whole time Shane just wanted him to leave?
Ilya sighed heavily and heaved himself out of bed. He walked into his kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He looked at his phone and opened the text thread with “Jane” and began typing. I wish it was game day already -delete- I wish you were here -delete- I miss you -delete-
Sometimes, he believed Shane had to feel the same way. It had been years now. Ilya wondered when the lines blurred. It had been years of hooking up or years of wanting more time. If Ilya was in this deep, Shane had to be somewhat on the same path. Shane might be a little rehearsed, some would say robotic even, but he was never that way with Ilya. He smiled easily, a genuine one that made Ilya feel like he was in on some sort of secret. A smile that made Ilya feel like it was made just for him. God, Ilya loved Shane’s smile. Sometimes, he wondered if he loved more than that.
Hours later, Ilya was at Star Market, carefully placing a 12-pack of ginger ale in his cart. He debated between baguettes or ciabatta. He picked up tuna cans, deciding between yellowfin or albacore. Would cheddar work best? American cheese? He threw everything in his cart and tossed a bag of organic chips for good measure. Ilya had never been like this. He treated his body well. He was a professional athlete after all, but when it came to food, he usually just grabbed whichever was closest. Sure, he would inspect a fruit or vegetable here, who wouldn’t? But, he had never felt so indecisive, wondering what combination would be the right one. Which choice would make or break his life? It was exhausting and Ilya hadn’t gotten enough sleep.
Unpacking his grocery bags into the fridge, Ilya imagined Shane sitting across from him at the counter. He thought about how Shane would look taking a sip of ginger ale with his pretty lips. He saw Shane’s Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped the drink appreciatively. Ilya would then tell him to sit on the couch, make himself comfortable. Ilya imagined the scene playing out, and he smiled to himself. This could work. He really, really wanted this to work.
The next day, Ilya panicked as Shane's name slipped out of his mouth, only to quickly transform back into Hollander once more. He panicked; he needed it to feel normal, whatever the fuck that meant for them. Stay, stay, please stay. And, as if the thoughts willed themselves to reality, Shane stopped. Ilya stood up, took Shane’s rigid hand, and put it over his heart. The ache, the tension, it all sat at the brink of something Ilya wanted so desperately to jump into. Ilya saw as Shane’s shoulders slowly lowered. He held his palm over Shane’s hand as it rested on Ilya’s heart. Shane dropped his head softly into the space where their hands were. Ilya lowered his head on top of Shane’s, and he poured into Shane the plea of a man who wanted relief.
“Ilya, I’ll stay.”
The ache and tension wrapped beneath his chest unwound itself within Ilya.