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Shane and Ilya were officially preparing for their wedding now.
They stood side by side in front of the full-length mirror at a high-end bespoke suit shop. Everything was almost too carefully arranged, from the fabric samples displayed along the walls to the staff moving quietly around them, even the classical music playing low in the background. The employees treated them like a famous couple people had been waiting a long time to see together, and they congratulated Shane again and again. Each time, Shane smiled just enough. It was not a smile that lingered for long, but it looked natural enough that it would not seem strange if someone took a picture. He had never been especially good at praise or private conversation, but he did have the public-facing composure he had spent years learning how to wear.
Beside him, Ilya traded jokes with the staff. He said things about Shane being difficult like this by nature, and about how Shane would end up wearing whatever Ilya chose anyway, and the employees laughed. Shane laughed along before it could become noticeable that he had not.
In the mirror, he was wearing a dark jacket that fit neatly across his shoulders, while the sleeves of his shirt had not yet been pinned and still fell close to the backs of his hands. When the fitter stepped closer and took Shane’s wrist to check the sleeve length, his fingers went still for the briefest moment. Not enough for anyone to notice. The fitter wrapped the measuring tape below his wrist without realizing anything was wrong and began explaining where the end of the sleeve should fall. Shane nodded, and Ilya watched him through the mirror.
Shane did not move his hand until the fitter let go. He did not pull his wrist back, and he did not show any sign of discomfort. Only after the measuring tape loosened and the fitter returned to the side table did he bend his fingers once, then straighten them again.
Ilya did not say anything. Instead, while the fitter stepped away to get another cuff sample, he turned toward Shane, took the end of his shirt sleeve, and smoothed out the fold. His touch was unhurried, and in the mirror it looked like the familiar habit of an affectionate fiancé. Shane did not look down at Ilya’s hand where it rested against his wrist. He stood there with his eyes on his own reflection, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, and Ilya only let go after pressing the edge of the cuff flat with his thumb.
“This one should be better,” the fitter said as he returned. “Something classic suits Mr. Hollander much better than anything too flashy.”
Ilya shrugged as if he had known that from the beginning. Shane smiled again. While the fitter held the cufflink near his wrist to compare the color, Ilya watched Shane through the mirror. Shane pretended not to notice. The cuff had not been fastened yet, and the shirt sleeve was being adjusted again beneath the fitter’s fingertips. When another congratulations came, Shane nodded before the pause could become noticeable.
───
Ilya stood in front of the display and picked out a few ties, holding them against Shane’s suit one after another. Shane looked at himself in the mirror and accepted the colors Ilya chose without much argument. When the employee asked, “What kind of style does the groom prefer?” Ilya answered with a smile before Shane could even open his mouth.
“He likes to pretend he’s picky, but he always ends up wearing what I choose.”
The employee laughed, and another staff member nearby laughed along. Shane lifted the corners of his mouth just enough. Ilya picked up the next tie as if nothing had happened, and the employee naturally turned toward him, not Shane, as he explained the color and fabric. Shane stood still with one hand in his pocket. He was smiling on the outside, but his fingers kept rubbing at the lining inside.
───
The tasting was quieter than the suit shop. The restaurant’s private room had low lighting, white tablecloths, and soft music playing in the background, and the wedding planner calmly explained the name and ingredients of each dish as it was placed in front of them. Ilya nodded at the appropriate moments as he cut into his steak. The meat sliced easily, and after putting a piece in his mouth and chewing for a moment, he lifted his chin slightly as if to say it was fine. Beside him, Shane was holding his knife and fork, but the meat on his plate was almost untouched.
Ilya did not pretend not to notice. He did not ask about it either. While the planner explained the wine pairing, he reached over and naturally pulled Shane’s plate a little closer to himself. Shane’s fork made a small sound as it touched the edge of the plate, but Ilya simply cut a piece of meat from it and put it into his own mouth as if nothing about it were strange. The planner smiled at the sight, with the look of someone who thought they were watching an old couple who knew each other’s tastes so well they no longer needed to check with words. Shane smiled along with her and set down the knife in his hand.
───
When dessert came, the planner took a sample order of ceremony from a small file and spread it out on the table. Their names were printed side by side on the paper. Ilya Rozanov. Shane Hollander. Below them was a witness signature line that was still blank. When the planner asked whether they had decided who would stand as their witness, Ilya said not yet. Shane did not answer. He was looking at the empty space.
The black letters on the white paper caught his eye. The neatly printed lines and the blank space left beneath them, just wide enough for someone to write a name. Shane felt his grip tighten around the fork in his hand. For a brief moment, the sensation of a pen tip pressing into paper overlapped with his fingertips. The slight give of the paper as it dented under pressure, the dry smell of ink, someone’s hand arranging documents as if nothing were wrong. And when he looked down, his own wrist, blotched with dried blood.
“Shane?”
At Ilya’s voice, Shane lifted his head. The planner was still looking at him. Only then did he realize he had been quiet for too long.
“Not yet,” Shane said. His voice came out more normal than he expected. “We haven’t decided yet.”
Ilya looked at him once, then turned his gaze back to the planner. He did not say anything. Instead, he pushed the water glass beside Shane’s plate a little closer to him. The planner began explaining the next item, and Shane picked up the glass and took a sip. Even as the cold water passed down his throat, his eyes kept returning to the paper on the table.
───
When the planner stepped out for a moment to take a phone call, the room was left to the two of them. Ilya was idly turning his water glass in his hand, and Shane was looking at the place card samples laid out neatly on the table. Each small card had a guest’s name printed on it. Yuna Hollander. David Hollander. A few team officials. Among the names Shane recognized, there was one he did not know.
Shane picked up the place card. The name was unfamiliar. He was sure he had never seen it before.
“Who is this?”
Ilya did not answer right away. It was a very brief silence, so brief that anyone else might not have noticed it. He looked at the place card in Shane’s hand, then back at Shane’s face.
“No one important.”
His voice was ordinary. Shane did not look away from the card.
“You know him?”
“Someone from before.”
Ilya said it and took a sip of water. He did not seem inclined to explain any further. Shane looked at the name once more before slowly setting the card down. The paper was thin, and the edge felt smooth beneath his fingers. There was nothing strange about it. It was a wedding place card, with a guest’s name printed on it, and Ilya had said the person was someone from before. That was all.
───
After they returned to the suit shop, the employee led Shane back into the fitting room. Shane took off the jacket he was wearing and hung it over the back of the chair, only to feel something catch against his fingertips inside the inner pocket. At first, he thought it was a folded receipt. But when he took it out, it was a small card. A sample wedding invitation.
The envelope was empty. There was no date or venue written inside the invitation either. Instead, there was only one short sentence written by hand in the center.
The room was not empty after the two of you left that night.
He pressed his thumb against the edge of the paper and read it again. The two of you. That night. After you left. The room. Was not empty. The paper was thick and expensive. It felt smooth beneath his fingertips, and the ink had not bled at all. The handwriting was almost too neat, not something anyone would immediately mistake for a threat. If anything, it looked like a congratulatory card sent with perfect manners.
Outside the fitting room, he could hear an employee explaining something to Ilya. It was an ordinary voice, talking about the fabric and how much could be adjusted. Ilya answered with a low laugh. Shane only realized he had been holding his breath when he heard that laugh. He stood there with the invitation still unfolded in his hand. Shane tried to think about which night it meant, what room it meant, why someone knew what had happened after they left. But the thought would not carry itself to the end. It kept stopping in the same place.
───
There was a careful knock outside the door. Shane looked down at the invitation in his hand, then lifted his head a little too late. The card was still unfolded, caught between his fingers. For a moment, he stood there as if he had no idea where to put it, before finally sliding it back into the inner pocket of his jacket.
“May I come in?”
The employee’s voice was bright and polite. Before Shane could answer, the door opened slightly, and the employee came in carrying the next shirt and jacket on a hanger. He looked Shane over as if checking the fit of what he was currently wearing, then stepped closer with easy professionalism and reached toward the buttons of Shane’s shirt.
“I’ll help you out of this.”
Shane’s shoulders rose a fraction. It was not enough to be noticeable. The employee did not see it. But Ilya, standing by the door, did.
“It’s fine.”
Ilya said it with a smile. His voice was gentle, and he did not sound rushed at all. He moved naturally between the employee and Shane, stepping in front of Shane before the employee’s hand could come any closer.
“He doesn’t really like being helped with this kind of thing.”
The employee paused for a moment, then smiled. He did not seem uncomfortable. His expression suggested he had taken it as the sort of thing an old lover would know about someone’s sensitivities. Ilya smiled back with the same ease. Shane said nothing.
“Then you can change inside and come back out.”
The employee stepped away. Ilya placed a hand on Shane’s elbow and led him into the fitting room. Once the door closed, the voices outside grew a little distant through the thin wall. Ilya did not start undoing the buttons right away. First, he moved behind Shane and set both hands on his shoulders. Shane’s shoulders were rigid. Without saying anything, Ilya slowly pressed his thumbs into the back of Shane’s neck and along the line of his shoulders. After he rubbed the same places again and again, a small amount of tension left Shane’s body. Not all of it. But his breathing grew a little longer.
“It’s okay,” Ilya said quietly.
Shane did not answer.
In the mirror, the two of them were standing too close together. Ilya ran his hands down from Shane’s shoulders to his elbows one more time before bringing them around to the front and starting to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one. When he reached the button near Shane’s wrist, he paused. Shane’s arm had folded inward on reflex.
Ilya pretended not to notice that either. Instead, he carefully held the end of the sleeve and slowly covered Shane’s wrist as he slipped it free. As the shirt slid down his arm, the long, uneven scar on the inside of Shane’s wrist appeared for the briefest moment before the fabric covered it again. Shane did not look at the mirror.
When the shirt was completely off, the first thing visible was not his wrist. It was his chest. As soon as the shirt fell below his shoulders, the scars left across his chest and stomach showed first. They had all faded until they sat close to the color of his skin, but on his bare body there was no missing them. A pale line cutting across beneath his chest, marks left along his ribs, old traces running down toward his lower stomach. Shane always looked clean. On screen, on the ice, in front of other people. Apart from the scars, it was still the same body people had seen from a distance, with shoulders and a chest built by years of training and a smooth line down his stomach. But under the fitting room lights, once the shadow of the shirt was gone completely, thin lines surfaced one after another. Somehow that made them look even more numerous. From far away, his body looked perfectly clean. Up close, it was covered in marks that had been hidden quietly for a very long time.
Ilya said nothing for a while. Shane turned his head as if he could not bear the silence.
“Don’t look.”
His voice was small. Only then did Ilya move. He folded the shirt he had taken off Shane and set it on the chair, picked up the new one, then put it back down again. Then he turned toward the wall without a mirror. Shane had not asked him to, but he did it anyway.
For a while, the only sound in the fitting room was fabric moving. A belt buckle clicked softly, followed by the sound of trousers being pushed down near the floor. Ilya did not turn around. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, looking only at the wall. Behind him, Shane drew in a very short breath, and a moment later there was the sound of worn fabric being folded in a hurry.
“Done.”
Shane’s voice was a little lower than before. Only then did Ilya turn back around. Shane was wearing the new trousers, but he still had no shirt on. One hand was holding the waistband in place, and the other lingered for a moment near the outside of his thigh before dropping the second Ilya looked at him.
Ilya did not ask anything. He picked up the new shirt and stood in front of Shane. Shane did not look at the mirror this time either. Ilya carefully took Shane’s arm and guided it into the sleeve, then began fastening the buttons from the bottom up. His hands were steady, but just before closing the last button, he stopped for the briefest moment near Shane’s lower stomach.
“Ilya.”
“I know.”
That was all Ilya said. Then he fastened the last button.
Outside, the employee asked if everything was all right. Ilya turned toward the door at once and answered in a smiling voice.
“Yes. Almost done.”
Shane was holding the end of his new sleeve. The fabric was clean, and his wrist was hidden again. In the mirror, he did not look very different from a moment ago. His hair was neat, his shirt was white, and his face was composed in the way that suited someone about to be married. Ilya adjusted his cuff without lifting his eyes.
Only then did Shane let out a slow breath.
───
Ilya opened the fitting room door and stepped out first. The employees came toward him as if they had been waiting, smoothing the shoulders and lapels of his jacket, and Ilya casually lifted his arms a little for them. Even while someone checked his sleeve length and another employee adjusted the knot of his tie, he kept watching Shane through the mirror.
Shane came out of the fitting room a little later. The new shirt was clean, and his wrist was hidden beneath the cuff again. From the outside, it looked as if nothing had happened. He stood quietly while an employee helped him into his jacket, and when the planner said the photo location was almost ready, he gave a small nod.
When the employees stepped away for a moment, the room went quiet. Only then did Shane reach into the inner pocket of his jacket. The card caught between his fingers was slightly crumpled. Even after he took it out, he could not hand it over right away. He looked down at it once more.
Ilya did not ask first.
In the end, Shane held the card out without a word. Ilya took it and read the sentence. His eyes moved across it once. He did not move an eyebrow, did not get angry, and did not go still like someone frightened. After a moment, the corner of his mouth lifted briefly. Then he folded the card again and pressed it back into Shane’s hand.
“We’re taking pictures today.”
Shane looked at him, still holding the card.
Ilya adjusted his cuff one more time. His fingertips were steady, and his voice sounded the same as always.
“Don’t let it show on your face.”
───
The ceremony hall was still empty. The chairs had been arranged in neat rows, and the planner explained that the flower arrangements were only for the rehearsal, so they were a little smaller than the real ones would be. The photographer checked his camera and asked the two of them to stand in the center. Ilya took his place beside Shane as if nothing were strange, and Shane turned his body to match the position Ilya wanted.
“Good. Just a little closer, please.”
Ilya wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist. His palm settled firmly over the jacket. Shane inhaled, then smiled. It was not difficult. He had spent a long time learning how to smile like that. In front of cameras, in front of people, whenever someone was looking at him.
“Now look at each other for me.”
Shane looked at Ilya. Ilya looked back at him and smiled. The photographer said that was good, and the flash went off. Shane closed his eyes for the briefest moment. The card in the inner pocket of his jacket pressed against him again. He tried to steady his breathing, but Ilya’s hand moved a little higher on his waist. It did not look like he was holding him in place. In the photo, it would probably look affectionate.
“Perfect. Let’s do one more just like that.”
Shane smiled again. He placed his hand over Ilya’s arm and slowly pressed down, trying to keep his fingers from trembling. Ilya did not look down at his hand. Only his thumb moved slightly against Shane’s waist, as if soothing him, or quietly telling him to stay exactly where he was.
“That’s really good. You both look so natural.”
The photographer kept pressing the shutter, and the planner smiled warmly from the side. Shane did not know when he was supposed to let go, so he stayed as he was. Ilya did not change his position either. The hand around Shane’s waist was steady, warm, and far too familiar. Shane could not tell whether it was holding him there or keeping him from falling apart.
When the shoot was over, the photographer checked the camera screen and came closer to show them.
“The photo we just took came out beautifully.”
He turned the screen toward them. On the small screen, Shane and Ilya were standing close, leaning into each other. Ilya’s hand was wrapped around Shane’s waist, and Shane’s hand rested quietly over Ilya’s arm. They were smiling. Like people about to be married, like people who had loved each other for a long time.