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1.
Every night before dinner that first week of summer, Ilya starts disappearing.
The first time Shane notices, Ilya is in running shoes and athletic shorts, Ray-Bans already pushed up into his curls.
The following evening, Ilya leaves the house wearing black flip-flops and blue jeans; the day after, he’s jogging out the door so fast Shane can’t even clock it.
The rest of the week continues in much the same way. Backwards hat and Adidas trainers. The tan houndstooth shorts that Shane loves, hugging his ass. Sweats and an old Raiders t-shirt. Always right before 5pm.
No recognizable pattern. Shane’s tried to find one.
Because while Shane keeps to the regular rhythms of his day, Ilya’s patterns are less distinct. He always drinks his coffee with cream and sugar but doesn’t drink it every day. He plays games on his phone every morning at breakfast, but sometimes it’s Tetris and sometimes it’s Candy Crush. He sleeps on the left side of the bed, but never wakes up at the same time.
Frankly, it’s confusing. But Shane’s too embarrassed to ask where he’s going.
Because what if Ilya’s interested in someone else? Shane thinks about the barista at the drive-thru Tim Hortons Ilya stops at daily, all curly hair and Doc Martens, loose and graceful and always smiling. Or the archivist at the Ottawa Public Library with thick, black-rimmed glasses or the Pilates instructor that gave him their number just last week.
Shane knows Ilya loves him, doesn’t believe he’d ever cheat. No matter how hard he tries, though, he can’t shake the fact that Shane can count his past hookups on one hand, while Ilya would lose track halfway through naming his. That fact lingers in his mind like a brainworm: primitive and invasive.
2.
Ilya finally has it all figured out.
If he leaves his house right around 5pm, he’ll see more dogs on his walk through the neighborhood than at any other time of the day.
A few weeks ago at therapy, Galina had asked about his hobbies, specifically things he did that didn’t involve Shane, or hockey, things that were just for him to decompress. He’d stared at her a full two minutes before admitting he didn’t have any.
That’s when Ilya had started taking long walks again. It was something he’d done a lot when he moved to Ottawa for his first season with the Centaurs, when he was lonely for Shane and just needed to be somewhere in a swell of people. Back then, he’d usually picked tourist destinations where he could blend into the crowd, places like the arboretum (where, surprise, nobody ever recognized him) or around Parliament Hill. The aimless walking had helped quiet his mind and even felt a little indulgent after hours of punishing his body in the gym and on the ice.
He doesn’t have time for long, directionless ambling anymore, though. It’s why he’s been sticking to doing loops around their neighborhood this summer: it’s quiet and gated in Rockcliffe Park, and they’re surrounded by boring diplomats. Them, and dogs.
Ilya sees so many of them on his walks. This week alone, he’s met scruffy rescue dogs and purebreds, a puppy with floppy ears, two elegant black poodles, and several dog walkers with small packs of golden retrievers pulling them along on leads. And no one he meets ever cares that he’s Rozanov, the hockey player. It’s nice being Ilya to more people. He resolves to bring Anya next time, and maybe Shane too. Even if he is more of a cat person.
3.
When Ilya gets home that night, Shane is sitting on the barstool in their kitchen, hunched over a crossword puzzle in the New Yorker.
Ilya sneaks up behind him, slipping his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.
“Four across, hm.” Ilya tilts his head, reading. “Word said 269 times in Pulp Fiction. You know this, Hollander. Is easy, kind of like you.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“So close! Try again.” Ilya moves his hand to Shane’s lap and gives his dick a light squeeze.
But Shane isn’t having any of it. He shrugs Ilya off. “Where’ve you been, anyway? I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”
Ilya narrows his eyes, taking in Shane’s flared nostrils and dipped mouth. “What’s wrong, Kotenok?”
“You tell me. Where have you been disappearing to?”
“When? We are together all day.”
“Yeah, I know but…” Shane pauses. He looks down at his feet. “I noticed you’ve been leaving in the evenings, and fuck.” He scrubs at the back of his neck. “This isn’t coming out how I want it to.”
Ilya softens. He takes a step closer and puts a hand on Shane’s cheek. “You mean, in evening, when I run out the door?”
“Yeah, is there someone else?” Shane cringes as he says it, the words fast and jumbled in his mouth. “Like, I trust you and I don’t think so, but I had to ask.”
“Shane. You know there’s not.”
Ilya hears him let out his breath in a single, long stream. “Ok, right. You’re right. So where have you been going?”
Ilya laughs, a combustible, full-chested sound. “Did I ever tell you what I used to do when I moved here?”
“Do I want to know?”
“Yes. Ok, so. Even though we were closer when I moved to Ottawa, I missed you so much. It used to make me sad to stay in my house by myself, so I would go on long walks in the city. Sometimes, I visited the arboretum, sometimes the trails in Gatineau Park. Once in the winter I skated the entire length of the Rideau Canal and back again. I didn’t really care where I walked as long as I was surrounded by people. It made me feel better, almost like I was closer to you, even if that doesn’t make sense. I felt you here.” Ilya tapped twice over his heart.
“Anyway, I was talking to Galina recently and she asked me what I do when I need to get out of my head. It reminded me of those walks. So, I decided to try it again.”
Ilya pauses to look at Shane and sees the set of his mouth softening.
“Before you ask,” he continues. “I do not know why I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t secret. If anything, maybe I felt strange admitting this thing to you. Like, maybe you would think I was crazy, someone who has to walk miles just to make his brain feel quiet. But then, I started meeting friends.”
Ilya leads Shane over to the couch and pulls him down next to him. He taps the passcode into his phone, bringing up a photo album.
“This is Waffles,” he tells Shane, pointing to a toy chihuahua with an adorable underbite. “She is so sweet, thinks she is big Rottweiler in a tiny little body.”
Ilya swipes again, bringing up a photo of two golden retrievers. “This is Ziggy and this one is Stardust. I think the man said they are called that after someone named David, like your dad.”
Another swipe. “Ok, this one, she is my favorite, Daisy. I visit her now every night this week. She lives down the street from us.” Ilya taps on the screen to enlarge the photo. “Her mom says she is a mix, part Pekingese and part something called Supermutt. She is literal superhero, Shane!”
Shane scrolls through the album on Ilya’s phone. It’s filled with different dogs, many of the photos taken in the last week, but some dating back longer, even back around the time of those first walks in 2018: poodles and huskies and beagles and labrador retrievers and dogs like Daisy whose owners didn’t know what they are except for 100% certifiable in the art of being a good dog. He can see why Ilya likes doing this.
“I didn’t know.” It’s all Shane says, but he kisses Ilya on his temple.
“Well, now you do. I like taking long walks, what is it they say? Long walks on the beach?” Ilya laughs again, a little nervously, knocking his shoulder into Shane. “Maybe I should have tried that in Tampa with you where there was real sand, yes?”
Shane nods. “All joking aside, though, I’m glad you’re doing something like this for yourself. I think it’s important.”
“You don’t think it’s dumb?”
“No, I don’t think it’s dumb. I feel dumb for thinking you might be hooking up with the girl from Tim Hortons.”
“Ah, yes, her.” Ilya playfully bops Shane on his nose. “She has very nice smile. And always gives me the donut with the most chocolate frosting.”
“Shut up!”
The quiet settles around them, heavy and comfortable. “I think I will still do this alone most of the time. Sometimes I talk to mama on these walks. I tell her about our life.”
Shane nods, reaches out to grab Ilya’s hand. “Yeah, I understand. I’m just glad I know now. Maybe I could come occasionally with Anya, if that’s ok?”
“Yes, maybe tomorrow?”
Shane nods and leans his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “Yeah, tomorrow.”