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Ilya was so close to dozing off, despite the cold hard plastic chair. His flight had already been delayed twice and he felt frozen in place after sitting for so long. But then he felt his phone buzz.
Shane.
Ilya sat up and quickly read the text. Wanna meet up? He let out a content, slightly frustrated sigh; why hadn’t he thought of that before? They could’ve been together for the past few hours instead of apart. And it could be as casual as the bar, when he teased Shane for his sense of style—or lack thereof—and no one would suspect a thing.
“I’m going to get a snack” Ilya said to no teammate in particular. They were all on their phones, anyway. He jolted out of his seat like he was flying off the bench and into the game.
Shane was waiting in the airport’s large and cozy Starbucks, nestled into a corner booth tucked away behind some large potted ferns. Ilya thought he looked adorable, like a little puppy trying to hide.
“There you are. What took you so long?” Shane quietly demanded. Regardless, he pushed out the seat in front of him with his foot, an invitation for Ilya.
Ilya sat down, smirking at Shane but really feeling giddy. “Sorry. I know you wanted to see me so bad.”
“I sent you, like, twenty texts,” Shane scoffed.
“Oh? You did?”
“Yeah, I did!” Shane pulled out his phone and showed Ilya all the unanswered messages, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. Aw, poor guy was left waiting. It was sweet how much he cared.
“Sorry. I’m really sorry, Shane,” Ilya said, as sincerely as possible. “But I’m here now, so don’t be sad, ok?”
Shane snorted. “Ok.” He took a sip of his drink—half full, he really was waiting. It was something cold and creamy and so utterly boring. As the straw left his mouth, a droplet remained on his lips. Ilya wished he could lean forward and lick it off, but Shane beat him too it.
Russians did not blush, but Florida was hot, so.
Ilya crossed his arms, slumped back, and puffed up his chest. “What did you get to drink? I think I want same.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s a vanilla bean—hey!” Shane lurched across the table, reaching for his stolen Starbucks. Ilya dodged, taking a long sip and loudly smacking his lips when he was done. Sharing a drink would probably be the closest they could get to kissing in public. Not nearly enough, but why care about the public? The best things happen behind closed doors, anyway.
“Damn, this is good,” Ilya said, taking another long sip. Shane stopped trying to snatch it back and instead settled for a heated glare. Around the straw, Ilya asked, “You want it back?”
“I’ll just get another one, asshole,” Shane grumbled, standing up. Still, Ilya caught the ghost of a smile as he headed to the front counter.
God, he really missed Shane. Moments like these, however br if, were like mosaic pieces of his heart, many out together to form a whole.
"So mushy," he muttered to himself, drinking in vanilla bean shit as well as the sight of an ok hockey player with beautiful freckles. Finally, Shane got his drink, the same boring, tasty one as before. He was walking back, quickly weaving through tables to get back to Ilya, but before he could make it, everything went black.
The other guests shouted in confusion and Ilya blinked until he could adjust to the sudden darkness. The clamor was chaotic...and distracting.
That gave Ilya an idea.
"Ilya? You still there?" Shane said into the shadows.
"Still here, Hollander. Just follow my voice, yes?"
"That sounds stupid."
"Shut up and come here."
"Ok..."
Blindly, Ilya reached out, waiting until he felt a familiar body pressed against his palms. "Shane?"
"Yeah?" He was so close Ilya could feel his breath.
Then, impulsively, he kissed him.
"Rozanov!" Shane gasp was drowned out by the noise of the uncertain customers. The atmosphere was getting crazier by the second, and Ilya was going to take advantage of it.
"Shh. Is dark, is loud, no one knows." Ilya kissed him once more, but knowing how much Shane was probably freaking out he left it at that.
"Sorry," Ilya whispered, not sorry at all. He pulled back, still holding onto Shane's sides. "I missed you is all."
"You saw me yesterday," Shane whispered back, his no-nonsense tone edged with delight.
"Still. I missed you."
"...Me, too."
Suddenly, lights flashed around the room. Phone flashlights swayed as if at a concert, and Shane and Ilya quickly backed away from each other. They got their own phones out, switching on the light to lead their way out. Ilya shined his on Shane, who blushed. Shane did the same to him. He winked.
"Bathroom?" Ilya quickly suggested.
Shane laughed. "No chance."
"Please?"
"God, no."
"You are no fun, Hollander."
Shane scoffed. "Oh yeah?" The lights momentarily flashed away, and Shane seized the opportunity to kiss Ilya so hard he would surely feel it for weeks. Ilya nearly moaned. He'd be tasting vanilla bean for eternity.
"How's that for no fun, Rozanov?"
"Ok, ok, you proved me wrong. You want medal?"
"No, just you."
Ilya stopped. He must've heard wrong. The words looped on his head, just you, just you, just you. By the darkness went away before he could inquire.
"Apologies for the blackout, folks," the PA boomed. "All flights are back on schedule."
"Shit, I have to go," Shane cursed.
"Yes, me too." Ilya was way more upset than he should've been. Their fun has come to an end, as it always did. And, like always, there was a little treasure at the end, but not enough time to fully uncover it.
"I'll text," Shane assured Ilya.
"I'll text back. See you in three weeks, Hollander."
"I'll kick you're ass in three weeks, Rozanov."
Ilya wanted to make another dirtier comment, like I'll eat your ass in three weeks, but they had to part with nothing more than a head nod. He kept his head down as he strolled to his terminal, delighted to feel his phone buzz only a minute later.
Already missing you, the text read.
Already missing you, too, Ilya replied.