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July 2017
Shane gently folded his red and brown plaid flannel and placed it neatly in his suitcase. Even in the summertime, Montreal gets chilly at night, and the flannel would be the perfect addition to his thoughtfully-planned wardrobe. And Shane desperately wanted everything to be perfect this time.
For years, Shane had been in a secret “situationship” with his hockey rival, Ilya. And during those years, he'd insisted his feelings for Ilya were nothing more than sexual attraction (which, by the way, was easy to do when the sex was as exhilarating as it was).
But now, Shane had completely come to terms with who he was and what he wanted: he was a gay professional hockey player who desperately wanted to spend some quality time relaxing at his secluded cottage with Ilya.
Shane’s cell phone pinged, pulling him back to the present: a text from Ilya.
Lily: are you packing right now?
Jane: yes
Lily: you are bringing the suitcase full of condoms again, right? I don't need to bring?
Jane: 🙄 it was one box that time, not a whole suitcase.
Lily: Yes but this time I'm there longer. Want to be sure there is enough.
Shane’s stomach somersaulted with anticipation as he thought about how much time they were about to spend together. And how many…activities… they could do in that time. They'd never spent even one full night together since starting this arrangement ten years ago, and now that they were done lying to themselves by pretending that real feelings hadn't developed, they were going to spend a whole week (or maybe two) alone, together.
Shane closed his eyes and smiled as he remembered the moment Ilya agreed to come: immediately after the first gay hockey player in the league came out by kissing his boyfriend on national television. That was one month ago, and since hearing the words, "I'm coming to the cottage," Shane could only do what he did best: focus on the goal and work like hell to get there. And the goal was to finally be with Ilya–-the man he felt very strongly about.
Shane looked down at his phone again, fingers tapping across the keyboard.
Jane: I'll bring another box. Just in case.
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Two days later
Shane put on the flannel and went outside to start the grill.
Day one at the cottage was going well even though they were both still getting used to the domesticity and honesty of it all. Ilya’s flight had arrived on time, and Shane managed to pick him up from the Montreal airport without being recognized (he hoped). He spent the first thirty minutes of the drive nervously describing, in great detail, all that he had prepared for the week. He could hear himself rambling, half expecting Ilya to tease him about his overplanning, but Ilya just held his hand and listened, looking at him and nodding with a soft smile and adoring eyes.
Shane’s stomach still swooped when Ilya looked at him like that.
Ilya, however, was not concerned about having enough food or how fresh the water would be; if he was being honest, his fantasies of what the cottage would be like did not include normal things like eating. He just wanted to be with Shane. In fact, it took all his energy to not launch himself at Shane in the Jeep (or whatever boring car it was) as they drove the two hours to the cottage.
It had been months since they were last together. Every little detail about Shane was irresistible: Shane’s summer freckles; Shane licking his lips nervously as he explained (adorably) the plan for the week; Shane's wrinkled blue shirt. That’s why when they arrived, Shane spent a whole thirty seconds giving Ilya a tour of the house--if thirty seconds counts as a tour--before they were both pantsless in the bedroom.
And now Shane was grilling homemade burgers for their first meal here. He was deeply focused on flipping each burger when a freshly-showered Ilya emerged from the house.
“Why are you making so many burgers?” Ilya gestured towards the eight patties, eyebrows furrowed in question.
“The recipe was for eight, so…,” Shane trailed off, also staring at the burgers. It seemed so obvious now. But when he chose the recipe, his focus was not on the number of burgers; his focus was on finding the most perfect recipe and following it precisely.
“OK, you cut it in half. What, you can't do math?" Ilya teased.
Shane knew Ilya's love language was gently poking him about his idiosyncrasies, and his go-to response to Ilya’s ribbing was usually the classic ‘fuck you’ or ‘you're such an asshole’. But this time he decided to go with a milder, ‘leave me alone’. One corner of his mouth lifted as he concentrated on cooking.
“No,” Ilya grumbled and hugged Shane from behind. Teasing Shane felt safe, especially when that voice in Ilya's head often warned him he was being too much, too soft, too clingy. But the truth was, seeing Shane cooking for him made his heart melt. He felt cared for. Shane made him feel worthy of being loved in a way only a few people ever had. God, he was really, really fucking happy to be here.
He planted a gentle kiss behind Shane's ear and nuzzled his neck. “How do you always smell so good?”
“I always wear the same cologne,” Shane explained.
“It’s more than that.” He took a deep breath and pressed closer, tucking himself under Shane’s arms and feeling the soft and cozy warmth of the flannel Shane wore.
An unfamiliar feeling washed over Ilya, like being wrapped in the safest blanket. Is the flannel making me feel like this? Ilya wondered. He wasn’t sure he'd ever experienced comfort like he did right now, and he was pretty sure that if home was a feeling, this was it.
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Later that evening, they talked intimately by the bonfire. Ilya felt emotionally safe enough to share about his mother’s suicide while Shane tenderly stroked his hair. Ilya hadn't spoken about it with anyone since it happened years ago, and it was not only a relief for another person to know her, it was meaningful to finally share his memories of her with the man he loved. Shane received the memories with love and respect, holding them gently and without judgement or worthless platitudes.
When the fire faded and their eyelids were heavy, they climbed into bed, smiling shyly with the mutual understanding that this would be their first time spending the whole night together. Ilya felt lighter than he had in years.
The next day, after indulging in lazy morning cuddles, playing video games, having sex (twice), and playing sewer ball, they wrapped the evening by quietly existing together on the oversized living room couch. Shane was busy answering several missed messages, and Ilya went to freshen up. As he was leaving the bedroom, he spotted Shane’s flannel neatly folded on the dresser.
Ilya chuckled to himself as he remembered the first time they had sex years ago. They were both noticeably turned on, but that didn’t stop Shane from slowly folding each item of clothing he took off, carefully stacking each one on the hotel dresser, before joining Ilya in bed. Ilya remembered watching him in absolute delight. He had never seen anyone do that before sex, and honestly, he loved it. Ilya thought Shane was insanely sexy and hot, but he also found him incredibly charming and sincere.
Ilya knew now that he was hopelessly in love with Shane. But he wondered if it was that moment, in that hotel room, watching Shane fold his clothes as if he didn't just have Ilya’s dick in his mouth two minutes before… if that was actually the moment he started to fall for Shane.
The warm, cozy feeling washed over Ilya again with the memory, and he was compelled to grab the flannel. He held it up to his face and buried his nose into it, breathing in deeply and letting the feeling of home and comfort unfurl inside him. He pulled it on, taking pleasure in the feeling of the soft cotton on his skin, and headed back out to the living room.
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Two weeks later
Ilya zipped his suitcase closed and wheeled it towards the bedroom door. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he walked by, surprised to see that he didn't look different, even though he felt irrevocably changed. Well, that's not entirely true. There was one big visual difference: he was wearing the flannel.
Ilya was famously fashionable, and even his tank tops were high-quality, name-brand shirts. He would never dream he would be wearing flannel by the end of this trip, but reality was quite the contrary; he had barely taken it off. His feelings for this shirt bordered on obsession, and the idea of leaving the cottage without it made him feel slightly panicked.
Looking at himself wearing the flannel, he was reminded of the things that happened here--some of the best things that have ever happened to him. Things he never dared to hope for, like being a part of a new family. Or finding a man that he loved more than he thought possible, and who actually loved him too.
Shane walked into the bedroom just then, as if summoned by Ilya's thoughts. “I love seeing you in that flannel, like you're wearing a piece of this place. You should take it with you,” Shane said as he slipped his arms around Ilya’s waist from behind.
Shane noticed even the little things, and it made Ilya feel seen. And every time Shane demonstrated how much he knew Ilya, Ilya felt indescribably loved, because Shane knew exactly what Ilya needed when he needed it.
Ilya turned around in Shane’s arms and hugged him close. “Okey. Thank you,” Ilya said, relieved to take a part of Shane and the cottage with him.
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November 2020
Ilya looked at the calendar one more time, hoping it would say something different. But no, it was still two more weeks until he and Shane would see each other again. He missed him so much, it hurt his heart.
The first time they had a long stretch apart after the cottage, Ilya was genuinely surprised to discover that it wasn't just a sappy cliché; his chest actually felt tight and achy. They video-chatted as often as possible, and Ilya felt better when they were talking, but the moment they ended every call, the rebound sadness was painful. In desperation, Ilya put on the flannel and hugged himself, imagining Shane was holding him. And it helped.
All the memories of the cottage seemed woven into the fibers of the flannel. Just like the cross necklace he wore so he could feel his mother’s presence close to his heart, the flannel felt like Shane’s love surrounding him. He ran his fingers rhythmically along the soft edges, one of his many self-soothing habits.
Now the chest tightness was happening again with another long stretch apart. Ilya reached for the flannel.
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January 2021
After Ilya’s flight caught fire and made an emergency landing tonight, he couldn't wait to get to the privacy of his hotel room and take the flannel out.
Except it wasn't there.
Ilya felt like a bundle of exposed nerves, desperate for something to soothe his exhausted emotions. But there was no Shane and no flannel; a cigarette was his only option. He headed to the lobby to find one.
He stood in the parking lot of the Tampa Bay Hotel, smoking the cigarette and pacing as he waited for Shane to call. What a time to accidentally leave the flannel at home when he had always remembered to pack it for away games. He vowed to never forget the flannel while on the road again…
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October 2021
Shane grabbed the folded laundry and headed towards the bedroom. Once Ilya returned from walking Anya, they were going to go shopping together for a new couch. They could finally do ‘couple’ things without worrying they would be found out, and mundane tasks like furniture shopping had become exhilarating.
Shane opened the bottom drawer and spotted a familiar red and brown plaid flannel peaking out from under a stack of other shirts. He pulled it out and stared at it, confused. Not because he didn't remember the shirt; he would always remember the first time he saw Ilya wearing something simple like a plaid flannel, and knowing he was the reason. But he didn't know Ilya still had it after all this time.
The color was faded. The hems were worn and frayed, especially along the cuffs. Two buttons were missing. There was a small hole in the corner of the right chest pocket. It was clear this shirt had not been inactively sitting in a drawer; it had been worn and washed again and again for years. Shane sat on the edge of the bed, all the memories of that first summer together at the cottage flooding back.
“What's wrong?” asked an anxious voice from behind him.
Shane jumped a little; he didn't hear Ilya come in. “I uh, I found this, and I forgot it existed until now.” He showed the flannel to Ilya, and judging by Ilya’s facial expression, Shane felt like maybe he wasn't meant to know about it.
Ilya blushed and looked down. “Oh. Uh… I uh…” Ilya tried to come up with an explanation other than, “It's my emotional support flannel, and I carried it around with me for years, like a child.”
“Hey, it's okay! I just wasn't expecting to see it, that's all. I remembered you loved it that summer. Who knew Ilya secretly loved flannel?” He smirked as he stood and slipped the flannel back in the drawer.
Ilya shook his head no. “No. I loved you that summer, and somehow that flannel became you when you… weren't around… and I missed you so much. That’s how much I love you. You made me, Ilya, a fashion icon, love plaid flannel.” Ilya scrunched his nose as he said the words.
Shane laughed. “Fuck you! Flannel can be fashionable!”
“Where? At a lumberjack convention?”
Shane smiled and grabbed Ilya's hands. He considered the effort Ilya had to put into keeping track of that shirt all these years and what it meant... Wow, he loves me that much.
“You know what? No one knows how soft you are,” Shane whispered, holding Ilya’s gaze and softly tucking a curl of hair behind his ear. He continued, “But I do, and I'm so thankful I do… and I love you too.”