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3:07 a.m.
Ilya knows the time because he’s been staring at it for the past fifteen minutes.
He can’t sleep.
That’s not unusual. Lately, sleep has become optional. Like eating properly. Like not thinking about Shane.
Especially not thinking about Shane.
His phone vibrates against the nightstand.
Ilya doesn’t move at first.
Ignores it.
It vibrates again.
And again.
He exhales sharply, annoyed more than anything, and reaches for it.
Then freezes when he sees the name.
Shane.
Of course.
Who else would be calling at this hour?
He lets it ring once more before answering.
“What do you want, Hollander?”
Silence.
Breathing.
It takes Shane a few seconds to speak.
“…couldn’t sleep.”
Ilya rolls his eyes, even though Shane can’t see him.
“Tragic.”
But he doesn’t hang up.
He never does.
“I know,” Shane says, a soft, tired laugh slipping through. “Figured you couldn’t either.”
Ilya pauses.
“Wrong.”
“Liar.”
Too quick.
Too certain.
Ilya tightens his jaw.
“Are you drunk?”
“A little.”
Of course.
It’s always easier like this.
It’s always more dangerous like this.
“Then go to sleep.”
“Don’t want to.”
Immediate.
Simple.
And there’s something in Shane’s tone that makes Ilya stay.
Again.
“Not my problem.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
The sound of Shane breathing fills the line, louder than the silence between words.
“…just wanted to talk to you.”
Ilya closes his eyes.
Mistake.
Big mistake.
“It’s three in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
“Normal people are asleep.”
“You never said we were normal.”
A quiet laugh escapes Ilya before he can stop it.
“We’re not.”
Silence.
But not uncomfortable.
It never is.
That’s the problem.
“What are you doing?” Shane asks, softer now.
“Nothing.”
“Thinking?”
Ilya hesitates.
“No.”
“Liar.”
Again.
Always so sure.
Always so—
“What do you want, Shane?”
He cuts him off before this goes anywhere else.
Before it turns into something worse.
There’s a small noise on the other end, like Shane shifting.
“Can I ask you something?”
Ilya exhales slowly.
“No.”
“I’m going to anyway.”
“Of course you are.”
A pause.
Longer this time.
“Do you ever…” Shane hesitates. That’s new. Shane doesn’t hesitate. “…do you ever regret it?”
Ilya frowns.
“Regret what?”
Silence.
“Us.”
Oh.
That.
Ilya stares at the ceiling.
Counts to three.
“No.”
Too fast.
Automatic.
Wrong.
Shane doesn’t say anything.
But Ilya can feel it.
He doesn’t believe him.
“Liar,” Shane murmurs, softer now.
Ilya tightens his grip on the phone.
“Why ask if you already know the answer?”
“Because I want to hear it.”
“You did.”
“Not the real one.”
Silence.
Ilya swallows.
This is a bad idea.
A very bad idea.
“You shouldn’t call when you’re drunk.”
“I shouldn’t do a lot of things.”
“Start with this.”
Another pause.
“I don’t want to.”
His voice drops, almost a whisper.
“I don’t want to stop talking to you.”
That—
That hurts more than it should.
“We’re not talking,” Ilya says, colder than he feels. “You’re calling because you’re drunk and alone.”
“Yeah.”
Direct.
No defense.
“But that’s not why.”
Ilya shuts his eyes again.
“Then why?”
Silence.
Heavy.
And then—
“Because it’s you.”
Ilya stops breathing.
“What?”
“It’s always you.”
The confession comes out like it’s been waiting.
Like it couldn’t stay buried any longer.
“No matter who I’m with, no matter what I’m doing, I end up thinking about you.”
Something tightens painfully in Ilya’s chest.
“Shane—”
“No, let me finish.”
There’s urgency now.
“Just—let me say it now, okay? Because I probably won’t say it tomorrow.”
That’s what alcohol does.
Breaks everything open.
“I miss you.”
Ilya squeezes his eyes shut.
“And not in a ‘that sucks’ kind of way, but—” Shane exhales, frustrated. “Like something’s wrong all the time.”
Each word hits harder than the last.
“Like nothing fits right anymore.”
Ilya doesn’t say anything.
He can’t.
“And I hate it,” Shane continues. “I hate that it’s you. I hate that I can’t just—”
He cuts himself off.
Breathes in.
“But also…” his voice falters slightly, “I don’t want it to be anyone else.”
Silence.
Total.
“Stupid, right?” Shane lets out a hollow laugh.
Ilya swallows.
“Yeah.”
But it doesn’t sound convincing.
“I know.”
Another pause.
Softer now.
“Are you going to say something?”
Ilya should.
He should say it doesn’t mean anything.
That it’s just the alcohol.
That Shane won’t remember this tomorrow.
That it doesn’t matter.
That it—
“Me too.”
The words slip out before he can stop them.
Silence.
“What?”
Too late now.
Ilya exhales.
“I miss you too.”
His voice is quieter now.
More honest.
More dangerous.
Shane doesn’t answer right away.
When he does, he sounds different.
More awake.
“Really?”
“Don’t ask if you don’t want the answer.”
“I do.”
Of course he does.
That’s the problem.
Ilya stays quiet for a second.
Then—
“It didn’t go away,” he admits. “None of it.”
The weight of that hangs between them.
“Then why—?”
“Because it doesn’t work.”
Fast.
Defensive.
Necessary.
“It never has.”
“But it could—”
“No.”
Firm.
Even if it hurts.
Even if he wants to say yes.
Silence again.
This time, it aches.
“…yeah,” Shane says eventually, soft. “I know.”
Ilya closes his eyes.
This is why they don’t talk about it.
Because when they do, everything cracks open.
“You should sleep,” Ilya murmurs.
“Probably.”
But neither of them hangs up.
“Shane.”
“Yeah.”
Ilya hesitates.
Just for a second.
“Don’t call me to say things like this again.”
Silence.
“Why?”
Because I won’t be able to ignore it.
Because I won’t be able to forget it.
Because I’ll want more.
But he doesn’t say any of that.
“Because it doesn’t change anything.”
Another pause.
“…it changes something for me.”
That—
That’s dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Ilya tightens his grip on the phone.
“Goodnight, Shane.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply.
He hangs up.
3:29 a.m.
Ilya is still awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
Phone in his hand.
Shane’s words looping in his head.
It’s always you.
He closes his eyes.
But this time, he doesn’t try to sleep.
Because he knows he won’t.
The next morning, Shane doesn’t remember everything he said.
But he remembers enough.
And that’s already a problem.