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Shane Hollander is an idiot. The stairway is cold where he sits, and for a short second he’s years in the past, watching as Ilya’s tying his shoes, his taxi waiting outside. Only, Ilya is too far away now, alone in Russia with a dead father and a brother he can’t stand. And yet, somehow, listening to his voice over the phone, Ilya feels miles closer than he did back then.
Florida happened only recently, but to Shane, it had happened yesterday and an eternity ago. It had cracked him open, had shifted something between them, had made this phone call possible, had made it possible for him to say - “You can say it in Russian, if it will help,” like an idiot. A selfish moron, really. Because he kept the truth for himself.
“Hey, by the way, I understand Russian to an extent.” Easy words to say, but they would require explanations. Explanations Shane didn’t feel brave enough to give yet, explanations Ilya probably couldn’t stomach at that moment. Not when everything was still too fresh. Too raw, unstable.
But when had anything between them been stable? Shane felt like he was trying to balance on a rope miles up in the air ever since he’s first talked to Ilya. Half the time, he’s barely holding on, his feet slipping till he’s gripping the line with his hands, trying like an idiot to get back up and carry on.
He had half a second to reconsider his offer, to speak up, before Ilya started talking.
Shane didn’t understand everything. He was still a rookie when it came to Russian, but he caught on to every second, third word. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the meaning of words and focus on Ilya, on his voice, the pain in it. It was a raw, unfiltered strain of words.
And then -
“No ne tak, kak ya lyublyu tebya.”
Shane’s eyes flew open.
On the other side of the phone, Ilya continued, oblivious.
“Eto khudshaya chast' vsego etogo. Chto vsyo, chto ya khochu, eto ty. Eto vsegda ty. Ya tak sil'no tebya lyublyu i ne znayu, chto s etim delat'.”
Shane tried to take a breath. Tried to calm his fucking heart the hell down, because he shouldn't have heard this. Or, he shouldn’t have understood it. Ilya might have said it, might have meant it, but he didn’t mean for Shane to hear it. And Shane hated that because he wanted to say it back, he realized with a shaky breath. But this was Ilya’s. Something personal, something he needed to come to terms with, something he needed to say on his own terms.
“Hello?” Ilya’s voice echoed from the phone. “Did you fall asleep?”
“No,” Shane whispered, his eyes tearing up. “No, no. I’m here, Ilya. Did that - “ he took in another shak breath. “Did it help?”
“Maybe,” Ilya said. “Yes. Thank you.”
Shane wanted to cry. He wouldn’t be thanking him if he knew Shane understood him. He would be freaking out because, fuck, they barely got to the stage where they talked on the phone.
“Are you okay?”
“Aha, yeah, why?”
He imagined Ilya would be staring him down if he were there with him, his eyebrows raised as if the answer was obvious to the entire world but Shane.
“You sound weird,” Ilya said.
Oh, maybe he was the one panicking. Because he was falling again, his feet slipping from the rope underneath him, and he was trying to catch it, barely holding onto it. He held onto it with his fingers, but it was getting harder with every passing second because there were words bubbling in his chest, trying to claw their way out.
“Shane,” Ilya repeated softly. And that undid Shane, because that was not safe. None of it was safe, but saying his name so openly there - Shane bowed his head, laughing tiredly.
“Ilya,” he said back. He was falling, the rope slipping from his grasp. There was no going back to what they were. He could only hope for a soft landing. “I wish you were here.”
“Yes, me too.”
There was silence then, one Shane didn’t feel needed to be broken.
The words were lodged in his throat, but he didn’t let them out. There would be time. Later. When they weren’t on different continents. When he would be able to look Ilya in the eyes and make him believe that he could be loved.
There would be time later, he would make sure of it.