Chapter Text
“Rose, no. Please, I don’t want to go,” Shane cried, falling back onto the bed with his hands over his eyes.
Rose from across the room simply ignored him, choosing to instead continue where she was halfway inside his cupboard, sorting through each of his coat hangers with growing disgust, examining every shirt that was the exact same fabric and cut as the one before.
“Shane, you need to get out there,” she said. “I feel like I’m one day away from coming in here and seeing you jerk off to a health science skeleton in one of your books.”
Shane grimaced at the sad image she painted and pushed himself up onto his forearms. “Gross, Rose.” he inhaled, letting a small smile tug at the side of his mouth. “I would at least pick my Male anatomy book if I wanted to do that. Specifically page 36 as well.”
Rose paused her actions to look back over her shoulder. She yanked one of his plain white shirts from the seven neat rows of others exactly like it and threw it at him. “I don’t even want to know why you already have a page in mind, Shane. I don’t want to see if they're already stuck together as well.”
The shirt hit Shane directly in the face as he giggled to himself beneath it.
Rose seemed to give up on the bareities of the cupboard and move to the bag Shane had left in the corner, the one that was supposed to have gone to the Salvation Army two months ago. “Svetlana said this guy is amazing,” she praised. “Apparently he’s smart and kind and funny, not to add insanely gorgeous. Fresh from Russia and fresh from the terrible frat boys you’ve familiarised yourself with.”
Shane let out an offended puff. He hadn't familiarised himself with any frat boy…besides one. And if there was an new insanely good looking man in his vicinity Shane is sure he would've known him by now. Or at least bumped into him in grinder of it all. The most good looking man Shane had ever met was his ex, Matt. Everyone else was waste tissue as far as he was concerned.
Which is probably why Rose is doing this. Rose was the more concerned.
“If this fresh Russian so insanely gorgeous,” Shane asked, “Then why can’t I see a photo? Why do I have to dress up nice and follow you and your girlfriend on a blind date just to be blindly stuck with him for hours? Does he have a giant mole on his face or something?”
Rose let out a laugh, for reasons Shane couldn’t place. It made him sit up with vigour. “Wait, does he actually have a giant mole on his face?”
Rose tutted and shook her head, tapping the side of her nose. “Secrets, secrets Shane.” She plucked out a black tank top he’d bought as a winter layer, and a winter layer only and looked it over. “Look, tonight is going to be fun, okay? The mystery side is what makes it exciting!”
Shane highly doubted that. “Dating is not supposed to be fun, Rose. It’s not just something to do willy-nilly. You need to see a future with them. You need to want to be with them on a Sunday. You need to drive up to the top of a hill and have a picnic in the sunset and—”
Rose spun with glare, cutting off his lovely daydreaming ramble with a point. “Cheat on you with the frat sweetheart of the year?”
The correct allegation made Shane go quiet. He sniffed and looked away, “We were broken up when he did that. Technically.”
Rose nodded a huff and crossed her arms as she leaned close. “And the other thing? The Dallas thing?”
Shane opened his mouth, but he didn’t have anything to say. Yeah. That was bad.
Rose seemed to know she hit a high scoring point and went to sort through shoes, which also were basically the same thing over and over again. “This is a new year Shane. We are not getting back with Matthew for the fifth time. We are leaving him in the last calendar and—”
Shane kicked his feet out, “It’s July, so it can’t really be a new ye—”
“The new financial year! For god’s sake!” The red head cried, “See, that is exactly why you need to do this. Dating is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be enjoyable. You’re supposed to not cry every second weekend. You’re supposed to be happy. You’re supposed to be in love.”
She threw a pair of black leather boots at him and turned back to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of matching black slacks. During this Shane must have made some kind of face, or maybe she simply sensed him preparing to say he is in love with Matt like he does every time he and Matt break up or are together, or on a break, because she spun around before he could say anything.
“Matthew doesn’t love you, Shane.” she stated. “And you want to know why I know that? Because I love you.”
The words shrapnel cut silver into his chest. It had been three months since Doomsday, which is their longest solid breakup record in a while. Shane knew Rose didn’t like Matt from day one, but day however long now, she is still going strong.
He didn’t bother answering, instead he looked down at the monochrome outfit in his lap like it had been handed to him by a gothic, my chemical romance loving, funeral undertaker. “Is this Russian guy a necrophiliac or something."
Rose laughed. “If you're lucky. God knows whatever you’ve got down there is dead. Now chop-chop. We have to be there in twenty minutes, and I still have to finish my hair so I can also look hot.”
Shane giggled at the sentence and glanced back at his wardrobe, mournful. “Why can’t I wear my blue sweater?”
Rose groaned up at the ceiling. “Because you are going to look hot, Shane. So come on. I’ll meet you at the door in five. Svet is picking us up.” She turned and walked out of Shane’s room toward her own. “Also, no Virgin bloody Marys tonight,” she called back. “We are Mary Magdalene and open for business and tequila.”
Shane grimaced at the idea of alcohol of any kind, and losing control over himself. He yelled after her, “Mary Magdalene was not a prostitute, you know. Scholars say that propaganda was done intentionally to diminish her significance to the church and religion, as well as the significance of women in Christ’s ministry. Not that she was ever real or anything from the bible was, there’s actually more evidence to support—”
From down the hall, Shane heard another, louder groan. “Not hot, Shane!”
Shane laughed as he looked down at the clothes in his lap and let out a slow breath.
He didn’t know why he had to do this still.
Date or find someone else.
Shane had more than enough future prospects to keep himself busy. He was at the top of every class and captain of his school's hockey team. He ran and organised charity events. He even owned several peace lilies. He was booked and busy.
And sometimes…sometimes, he had someone who’s family was impressive enough to make his parents smile at the idea of dating him.
He had more future prospects than anyone he knew. Just because he didn’t sleep around, or go to parties, or whatever else people did, that meant he had to do this?
No.
Shane liked himself, to a point. His life too.
But he had already succumbed to going tonight just for Rose. To cross it off his list and say he at least tried to move on. He didn’t have to tell her Matt was already planning on coming over tonight. He could just get dressed, meet this guy, wave goodbye and send her off in her uber to Svets house.
It’ll be his own temporary Roman holiday.
Shane stood up and quickly changed into the clothes.
When he looked in the mirror, he almost didn’t recognise himself. His toned arms were completely out, the shirt barely more than a singlet, clinging in a way that made him feel more than strangely exposed. He liked the slacks, though. They were the ones he had bought for his internship last year, well-made and tailored to him properly, and—
“Shane! Svet just messaged me she’s in the elevator, come on!”
“Coming,” Shane called back.
He looked himself over once more, then stepped out into the lounge. At the sound of his timid footsteps Rose turned and gawked at him. “Wow, Shane. You’re pretty set on this gay thing right? No room for a lesbian on the schedule?"
Shane’s face pulled into confusion. “What—”
But at that moment, there was a knock at the door, and Rose bloomed into an early-spring smile. She bounded over and opened it to reveal Svetlana, also dressed in black, with a grin just as wide as new blooms.
“Hey, babe,” Svetlana murmured as she stepped inside. She leaned in close and kissed Rose, then put her hands on her hips and looked her over. “You look…wow.”
Rose let out an adoring breath and kissed her again. They kept whispering back and forth, faces close, as Shane stood there silently across the room, watching like a weird pervert.
He means, he isn't a pervert. It’s just when Shane sees them together, he couldn’t lie: for one second, he wishes he could have something like that. Someone who stares at you for hours and lets loose honey tasting whispers and are never able to take their hands off you.
But then Shane remembered he could not.
He remembered it every few months or so.
Shane knows he’s not the type of person that garners that kind of affection, that's saved for people who are not like Shane Hollander.
He cleared his throat, and both girls looked over at him. This time, it was Svetlana who ogled him. “Wow, Hollander. Look at you.” She glanced at Rose with approval. “Good job, babe. Ilya is not going to know what hit him.”
With the reference that Rose was apparently the reason for him looking semi-decent, Shane made an offended noise. “Hey, I could have dressed myself.”
Svetlana’s face shifted into something deeply unconvinced. “You are not wearing that ugly blue sweater, so I know you did not. Babe, did he ask to wear the sweater?”
Rose nodded with conviction, “More than once.”
Forget it, Shane wished he never had this. He crossed his arms over his chest, to show just how true the charge was. “Are we going now or what?”
Svetlana drew back, looking him over again, and muttered something in Russian that made Rose laugh. “U nego takoye zhe uzhasnoye otnosheniye, kak i u Il'i.”
Rose pushed her lightly away. “Stop it. Yes, come on. Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
Shane nodded and followed them out the door, but as he stepped into the hall behind them, he couldn’t help but think, with no small amount of offence, what was wrong with his blue sweater?
—
The bar they ended up going to was called Hanky Panky, which Shane thought was a little inappropriate for a bar name, however, alas inside was actually pretty cool.
By the time they sat down, they were right on time. Rose and Svetlana offered to get the first round of drinks, and Shane almost declined. It felt rude not to wait until all parties had arrived before ordering, or at least he was pretty sure he had read something like that once in a sociology book. But when he realised his heart was racing and his palms were sweaty, he accepted.
“A ginger ale, please.” He muttered, “Full sugar as well.” He needed something to take the edge off.
Rose disappeared to get their order, and Shane looked around the bar. He didn’t see anyone trying to make their way over to their table, but that did not stop his stomach from jumping every time a man walked through the door.
Svetlana must have noticed his sudden spike in his adrenaline, because she glanced down at her phone and typed something furiously before looking back up.
“He’s running a little late, but he’ll be here soon,” she said. “Seriously, you’re going to love him, Shane. I can’t believe you two haven’t met yet.”
Shane nodded, even if that sentence confused him.
He wanted to say that maybe the reason they had never met was because Shane was always ten minutes early to everything, out of basic human respect and decency and maybe this guy was there when the establishment shut down. Instead, he only smiled and accepted his can when Rose sat back down.
Another ten minutes passed, and the first round was finished. After twenty, Rose looked pointedly at Svetlana, who had not stopped typing angrily. “He’s almost here.” She smiled.
Yet, by the time thirty minutes had passed, Rose had started typing furiously as well, and Shane felt his stomach sink.
He didn’t need to pick up on any social cues to understand what had happened. This amazing, hot, funny and fresh Russian wasn’t coming. Whatever person they'd plucked and probably forced was pulling an irish goodbye without even saying an irish hello.
Shane crossed his arms over his chest and bit the inside of his cheek. He knew he should have pushed back on this idea harder. He knew he’d end up feeling worse than when he started somehow. He knew not to test his luck and just stick with what he had, what's known can’t hurt you more than what's not, right?
“So, Shane,” Rose drawled like a fake glittering shining star, “How is the hockey semester going? Any…goals yet?” She elbowed Svetlana, who blew out a breath more furious than Shane had ever seen her before.
“Yes,” Svetlana said, as she dropped her phone. “How is it?”
Shane suddenly got the feeling he was a bullied nerd sitting with the cool kids out of pity.
This was a terrible idea. He should go.
Shane sniffed once, and shook his head before either of them could say anything else. “I should go home.” He muttered and started to stand.
Rose and Svetlana both reacted at once, their voices overlapping in immediate and high pitched protest. “No, sit back down,” Rose said quickly. “Come on, Shane. We can still have fun! Tonight can be fun.”
The double use of the word fun didn’t seem to change anything in how red Shane’s face had become. It just sat there on the table beside the empty glasses and his dignity.
Shane shook his head again. “No, you guys should use tonight as a good date night,” he waved, already reaching for the edge of his jacket. “I’ll be fine.”
Rose looked around like there had to be another option hiding somewhere in the bar. Some better non-russian solution. Some way to reverse the last twenty minutes and make this not what it was. Not her convincing her depressed housemate to come to a date only to be stood up.
“One more drink,” she pleaded finally, her voice had gone softer. “Just…just go outside, get some air, and then come back. Please.”
Shane inhaled and held it. He could feel the humiliation spreading under his skin, crawling up his neck, settling in his cheeks. It was ridiculous, really. He hadn’t even wanted to come or meet some stranger with no photo and no surname and apparently no respect for other people’s time. Still, somehow, he swallowed, and nodded. “Okay. Fine, I’ll be back in five minutes.”
He spun around and walked out before they could say anything else. Outside, he found the blue night gleam cooled every facet of him and he hated to admit it, but almost like the flick of a switch, he felt better.
He pulled out his phone and opened the contact saved as My Matt and started typing a message, something casual about maybe coming over in an hour or so earlier, if Matt was still down to talk.
The reply bubble appeared and disappeared. Then appeared again. Then disappeared without a message. And that all too familiar worry, that didn’t help anything else tonight, seeped into Shane’s skin before he could stop it.
Was Matt with someone else right now? Was he busy? Was he trying to decide what to say? Was he looking at Shane’s message and weighing whether he wanted him badly enough to answer and come over sooner then he had too?
Shane hovered his thumb over the call button. He was just about to press it when someone walked straight into his shoulder, with the powerful thump of what he’d assumed to be a running man.
Shane stumbled to the side and turned to see the leather jacket strapped man keep walking with absolutely no regard, head bent over his own phone, and a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“Excuse you!” Shane yelled, to the very large and broad back. It came out with a venom he didn’t expect, and full of an anger he hadn’t even realised had been building all night. Or the last three months. Or years. Or his life. It’s hard to tell.
The man didn’t stop in his stride, “You’re excused.” He replied, uncaring.
What happened then could only be described as Shane bubbling over. He looked down and saw a scrunched up brown paperbag, maybe from a bakery or a hotdog stand. He doesn’t know.
What he does know though is he picked it up and used his very good hockey scoring aim and threw it at the man's fading back. “Asshole!” He called out with it.
The projectile hit its target and made the man freeze.
Oh shit, Shane thought. Oh shit.
As the man spun around, Shane took a step back and raised his hands to hopefully stop what he assumed was about to turn into an assault case. “Look, man. I—”
But, as soon as the man laid his eyes on Shane standing there, furious and embarrassed and still burning from the inside out, he stopped once more. And Shane couldn’t lie. For a second, he stopped too.
The man had blond curls falling messily around his face and eyes to match the cold of the night sky. Shane thought they might have suited summer better, but still without the sun to prove him right, this was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life.
And he’d just thrown a dirty wrapper at him.
Shane tried to open his mouth again, yet nothing came out. All he could do was stand there and watch the man and every inch of his being. Like an art piece from his trip to the Louvre with Matt’s family.
The man looked him over in the same way, “Krasivyy,” He whispered with a hint of an accent Shane wanted to hear more of, preferably close in his ear.
He watched as the man took one last drag from the white rolled paper between his fingers before smirking and breaking the solvent of silence they had accidentally fallen under. “Yes, excuse me. Sorry.” he apologised, and pointed toward the bar. “Do you know if this is Hanky Panky? I think I’m a little lost.”
Shane, still caught somewhere in the hooks of the man’s face, tried to make a response or a sound of any kind, “Yes,” he stuttered. “Yes. That’s it. Right there. That one. Hanky Panky.”
The man smiled again, and Shane knew he could watch that smile for hours just to understand the mechanics of it. Instead he watched the man nod a “Thank you,” and turn away.
For three whole steps the man took, Shane stayed exactly where he was on the pavement, staring, until he understood what he was doing. Shane quickly spun around and started walking in whatever direction was opposite.
He knew his five minutes were already up and he could probably go back inside, but that was where the man was heading. So Shane went the other way instead, and yelled inside himself.
What the fuck is wrong with him? Be normal Shane. Walk away. This has never happened before so just walk away. Walk away. Call your boyfriend, remember him? Call him.
Yet, despite all this self flagellation, Shane glanced over his shoulder one more time, and caught the man doing the same. Butterflies were not the creature that fluttered across his skin then, at just that once stolen glance. It was something with fire and heat.
The blond held out a hand. “Wait.”
And like a dog caught on a chain, Shane did.
He stopped where he was and stared again as the blond jogged back over to him. “Do you know any other bars around here?” he asked.
Shane blinked and pretended to think about it.
Why is the man asking him that? Did he know any bars?
He realised then he was acting like he was thinking about it, while actually thinking about it. He was pretending to consider the question, and considering the question.
Shane shook his head, side to side with cute abandon.
The man tutted quietly, at the action. “That’s a pity,” he smirked, “I was going to offer to buy you a drink if you helped me.”
Shane felt a pink blush, streamline across his cheeks. He managed a small smile, and laughed against the twist he felt in his stomach, “My friends know the area, not me. I just—” He gestured vaguely behind him, toward the bar, toward the night, toward the whole humiliating situation. “I’m here.”
The man’s gaze caught somewhere on Shane’s nose, then his cheeks, like he was noticing the cherry dusting and enjoying it. “Me too,” he shrugged, not looking away, “I’m supposed to be going on this blind date my friend Svetlana set up, but if I’m honest…I would rather ditch and be with you.”
And just like that, whatever spell this man had cast over him with one shoulder bump broke.
Oh.
Oh.
Svetlana. Blind date. This was the man.
Wait…what the fuck did he just say?
Shane’s guts dropped, as he opened his mouth, but the man was already talking over him.
“I told her already I didn’t want to waste my Saturday night with some boy who needed his friends to set him up on a date,” he said, with a flush of his own. “That he was probably weird—” He stopped himself, then laughed under his breath, almost embarrassed. “Never mind. I am rambling. You are very beautiful. I don’t know what I am sayi—”
Shane’s mouth fell open a little further. The anger came back fast enough to steady him to what tonight was once more. Weird? Who the fuck did this man think he was? Did he understand he would also have been a participant on that date? That this was a blind two way street?
“Fuck you!” Shane pushed out, cutting the man off. The, now, very ugly man.
The blond only blinked at him, then pointed at his chest. “Me?”
Shane laughed like a crazed bird, right there on the street, then set his hands on his hips because apparently his body needed somewhere to put the outrage. “So you’re supposed to be on your way to a date,” He said slowly, “and you’re asking someone else to go get a drink with you?”
The man looked a little taken aback. “Well, I…have not met this date yet,” he frowned. “And I did not plan the date, so…” He shrugged, that smile trying to return to his face even if he looked a little grossed out by his own words, “I will…keep my options open?”
And there it was. The phrase Shane needed to know Matt wasn’t the only man who thought this way.
The phrase he needed to know Matt wasn’t individually terrible.
He was just like every other man, but at least he was his.
This is why he knew he didn't need to try for something else. He just now needed to get out of here.
Shane looked over the blonde again. What was his name supposed to be? Isaac? Emmanuel? Never mind. Suddenly, he had the grossest smile Shane had ever seen. A moment ago, his eyes had seemed blue-green and beautiful, now they were only a murky moss colour, and the darkness behind him seemed far more appealing.
“You’re disgusting,” Shane muttered. He moved to push past him, heading back toward the bar now, but the man apparently wasn’t ready to let him go that easily.
“Wait,” he cried quickly. “I’m sorry. That was probably bad impression. I’m nice, I swear. Let me start over, I can not seem to think right when you are looking at m—”
Shane shook his arm free. “Have a good fucking night.” He snapped before he stormed back inside with his whole body hot, the freezing wind still clinging uselessly to his skin.
His eyes found Rose and Svetlana were still at the table and once they saw his face, they stood almost at the same time. Rose’s expression fell first, “Shane, what—?”
But Shane didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to sit back down. He didn’t want one more drink, or five more minutes, or any version of the night where he had to pretend this had not become exactly as degrading as he had always known it would be.
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for his things. “I’m going home. Thank you for trying to set this up, but—”
“Ilya!” Svetlana cried suddenly and Shane went still.
Oh. Ilya. Right. Yes.
For three seconds, he did not turn around. He only stood there with his hand curled around his jacket, and breathing in through his nose while the name sank through him.
It was not until Svetlana smiled, relieved and completely unaware of the car crash this was turning into, and said, “This is Shane, your date!” that he finally forced himself to look.
The man from outside stood behind him, except now the smirk was gone. Shane saw it die on his face in real time with all that easy arrogance. It faded like a horror reveal in a cheap movie.
“Oh,” Ilya whispered.
The fire in Shane’s chest, lit further on the single stupid word and went white-hot. He turned back to the girls. “Right. Okay. Well, I’m going to head out n—”
Ilya seemed to realise this was do or die time, because he stepped quickly around him and toward Svetlana instead, whose expression had shifted into something deeply disappointed. “Gde zhe ty, chort voz’mi, byl?” she snapped.
Ilya threw up a hand, looking between her and Rose with a kind of frantic disbelief. “Ya zhe govoril tebe, chto zanyat! No radi nego ya, vozmozhno, uzhe osvobodilsya by. Tebe nikogda ne prikhodilo v golovu pokazat' mne fotografiyu etogo parnya?”
Svetlana threw her hands up. “Eto dolzhen byl byt' syurpriz! Yesli by ya pokazal tebe fotografiyu, syurpriza by ne poluchilos'!”
Ilya gestured to Shane. “Takogo parnya nevozmozhno derzhat' v sekrete! Ty vechno chto-to skryvayesh', a ya iz-za etogo teryayu krasavchikov.”
The scene was beginning to pull eyes from the tables around them. A few people looked over their glasses and with each new glance, Shane felt himself take another step back toward the door.
He did not want to be here. He did not want to be the spectacle, the setup, the punchline, the boy that had to have his friends set him up on a saturday because he was apparently too much of a clingy loser to have something else or whatever Ilya said outside.
Ilya noticed him retreating and jumped forward, all that practiced charm trying to crawl back onto his face. “Shane, let me buy you a drink,” he smiled, panicking in all the wrong directions now. “I’m sorry. I got… caught in traffic.”
Shane exhaled. Was this man seriously going to try to lie to him now? After he had already told Shane the truth outside with that stupid cigarette in his hand and that stupid smile on his face?
Shane turned without answering and walked toward the door.
Behind him, footsteps started after him but from the corner of his eye, he saw Svetlana catch Ilya by the ear before he could get too far. Ilya’s head yanked to the side, his expression melting into something almost comically wounded as he looked between Svetlana, Rose, and Shane. It was terribly sad, really.
But Shane did not care. See? He had been right. Nothing about dating was fun. This felt terrible. It felt fucking terrible. He walked out and hit call on Matt’s contact before he could think too hard about it. To his surprise, Matt picked up almost right away. “What?” came through the phone.
Shane breathed in. “Can you come pick me up? I’m at a bar on Hindley Street.”
There was a pause, then a sigh. An exhale Shane knew by sound, taste, touch and feel. “We are broken up, remember, Shane. You ended things. Call Rose.”
Shane tipped his head back, looking up at the night. He couldn’t deal with this right now. “I know, Matt. I know that. It’s just…she’s at the bar too. She didn’t bring her car because she’s staying at Svet’s place tonight. So, I need you.”
Something in Matt’s tone gleaned at the phrasing. “Oh. You need me.” He repeated with a tone.
Shane rolled his eyes. “I need your car, yes. So can you, or—”
“I’m on my way now.” Matt replied, “I’ve missed you so much, babe. I’m glad you’ve finally gotten over Dallas. We both know it wasn’t my choice to—”
Shane exhaled hard, and squeezed his fist and eyes shit. “Stop. I haven’t. This doesn't mean we are back together, Matt. It’s just a pick up.”
He heard Matt laugh a dismissive chuckle, “Sure, babe. I’ll be there in two minutes, since you need me. I’m just at the gym around the corner.”
“Whatever,” Shane muttered back, he lowered his phone as he hung up and tried to breathe out the fury that permeated his very being again, yet it seemed to come out like wetness in his eyes instead.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket.
Why had he even tried at all?
There was a reason he and Matt kept coming back together.
Magnets did not apologise for finding each other again. They just did. No matter how far they were pulled apart, no matter how many times Shane told himself he was done, that this hurt was the final hurt, there was always that snap back into place.
Shane shifted on his feet and looked out at the street. It was a Tuesday, so the busy strip was not as alive as it would have been later in the week. A few starry-eyed dates moved in tangled pairs down the footpath, jazz bar lights spilled weakly onto the pavement behind them.
Shane liked it better this way, he decided.
Empty.
Less feeling like he was odd for not understanding why people needed to chase imaginary love like them.
Why they just didn’t accept what they had instead.
He was just admiring a very well-placed advertisement poster across the street, mostly because it gave him something to look at that was not the bar, when the door behind him swung open and a body tumbled out.
“Shane, please let me apologise.” The annoying Russian accent sounded out once more, ringing his bones through a saw.
Shane did not turn around and made a point of facing forward, chin lifted, as what was ahead of him was much more interesting than Ilya trying to salvage whatever the hell that had been. “No need, Ilya,” Shane said. “I really don’t care about you enough to care about one.”
For a second, there was only Ilya giving a small breath. He took the dig remarkably well, and muttered, “I maybe deserve that.”
Shane nodded, still facing the street. “There’s one step in the right direction,” he said. “Ten more asshole dates and you might be a semi-decent person in the end.”
Shane hoped that would do it and finally make Ilya understand the general idea and turn back inside, preferably to be yelled at by Svetlana in a language Shane did not have to listen to. But instead, Ilya stepped closer.
“Is that how many dates we will be going on?” he asked. “Wow. I will really have time to improve, then.”
Shane couldn’t help how he smirked in indignation. The line was so annoying he had to look back.
He turned his head just enough to glance over his shoulder and, damn it, no. That was a mistake. Ilya was standing too close, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking far better than Shane had been hoping for and far too entertained by the fact that Shane was still talking to him.
Shane snapped his eyes forward again. “I’m afraid this will be our one and only date,” he said. “My boyfriend is actually on his way to pick me up.”
Complete and utter silence came from behind him now.
Shane felt a swirl of mean pride in his chest. He had no idea how he was talking like this. He did not know what cruel ghost had taken over his body in the last five minutes, but it seemed to be doing a better job at talking than Shane usually did, so he let it.
“You…” Ilya said slowly. “You have a boyfriend?”
Shane nodded at the street.
“Then why did…” Ilya stopped, sounding much less amused and on the edge of something crushed. “Why did Svet set this—”
A car pulled up in front of them before he could finish and through the windshield Shane could see Matt didn’t even look up from behind the wheel, he had his head down with his phone in his hand, typing away.
Shane moved his gaze then to Ilya to see him also looking at Matt. Ilya then looked back at Shane, and then once more at Matt, his whole posture morphing in a way Shane did not quite understand the need for.
Shane only felt the moment open in front of him and took it. “I guess Sveta set it up because…I like to keep my options open,” He opened the passenger door, got into Matt’s car and they set off without even a second thought.
Matt didn’t even really check if it was okay to merge and narrowly missed the edge of another car.
Shane would typically scold him for that but he was too tired and rundown to be yet again in this seat. Matt must have felt the lack of energy and glanced over at Shane with a little smile. “You have a good time, babe?”
Shane side-eyed him. “Don’t call me babe.” His voice came out flat. “I’m serious. We are not back together.”
Matt’s pleased smile only lazily widened, like Shane had said exactly what he expected him to say. “I know, babe,” he said, looking back at the road. “I know.” He grabbed Shane’s hand and kissed it, “I know.”
—
Two days later.
“No!” Rose cried. “No, no, no, no, nooooo.” She threw a pillow across the room and collapsed back onto the couch. “You are lying to me, Hollander. You have seriously hit your head, fallen into the mall fountain like that episode of glee, because you cannot be for real. You cannot be. I refuse to believe it.”
Shane shifted from foot to foot in the kitchen and gave a small look to Matt, who was standing on his left, eating an apple he had stolen from very much not his section of the fridge.
“Look, Rose,” Shane said carefully. “We talked it through, didn’t we? Right, Matt?”
Matt kept biting into his apple.
“Matt,” Shane muttered, elbowing him.
Matt swallowed and breathed out a little. “Oh, yeah. Right. We talked, Rosie. I should’ve listened to Shane from the start. I could've stopped Dallas sooner if I listened.” He gave her an easy smile. “I feel terrible, I didn’t even know about this racism and sexism stuff until Shane explained it to me. Crazy.”
Rose squinted her eyes, and leaned her head forward like a disbelieving pelican. “You didn’t know about that stuff? You didn’t know about racism?”
“Yes.” Matt chimed back, “Like I said, crazy stuff. I understand now why Shane got so upset when I mentioned it in my speech to get the frat presidency."
Rose threw both hands out. “He got upset because his boyfriend of three years told him to shut up about Dallas until Dallas finally got expelled and left the presidency open! Then you used the whole thing to get sympathy votes. It was all, ‘Vote for me if you want change! My boyfriend was the one most affected! I know how to change this frat because my boyfriend was getting hate-crimed on the regular right under my fucking nose, and—’”
“Okay!” Shane cut in quickly with a tad bit more volume then he wanted. “Stop. This isn’t the foot we’re starting on. This is a new year, you said it yourself, Rose.”
Rose looked back at him. “A new year,” she repeated, in the most petulant voice she could possibly use. “Shane, we were so close to being free. So close! How can you forgive him?”
Shane stared at her. He didn’t really know what to reply to without the reason sounding very despondent and sad. Maybe because the reason was very despondent and sad.
This was the best he could get.
“Well I haven’t forgiven him,” Shane mumbled, “But we can work toward forgiveness in the meantime.”
Rose blinked at him, and nodded her head with each word let out, “Work toward forgiveness.”
Matt smiled around the bite of apple in his mouth, then pointed at her with the half-eaten thing like this was evidence in his favour. “In the bible, Jesus said something about forgiving people. Rosie, are you really going to go against Jesus?”
Rose’s face mimicked Jim’s from the office for a second before she turned away, reaching the absolute end of what her body could tolerate. “Shane, let me know when he’s gone,” she said. “I can’t.”
Shane frowned. “Rose.”
“No, seriously,” Rose said. “I don’t want to embarrass myself by arguing over the fictional man Jesus and if he would forgive actual hate crimes.”
Matt’s face twisted. “Well, I’m not particularly fond of arguing over you either.”
Shane looked between them, already feeling the pull to smooth them over, to explain Rose to Matt and Matt to Rose, to make the kitchen less like a mousetrap around all three of them.
“No one’s fond of arguing, great to know!” Shane clapped his hands once, as if that could somehow reset the room. “Maybe let’s go to the frat and let Rose absorb this in her own time.”
He didn't expect enthusiastic happiness from the redirect but what he didn't expect even more was Matt with a tight smile. “....About that.”
Across the room, Rose groaned and screamed into a pillow. “It’s already starting!”
But Shane didn’t have time for that. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down, lowering his voice. “Matt, we talked about this. Why don’t you want to tell them we're back together?"
Matt sighed. “It’s embarrassing, Shane,” he drawled. “You broke up with me right after I became president. I had to explain to all of them why and they all almost agreed with you, it was hard for me. Especially stepping into the role after Dallas. They looked at me like I was like him. You did that to me.”
Shane looked away, and felt reluctant ashamedness in his chest, “Well. I didn’t plan the timing. You seriously hurt me.” He wanted a second more to hide in the absence of eyes, but instead he felt Matt take Shane’s face in both hands, to turn it back.
“I know,” he said. “We talked. And this is me trying now to fix that hurt. Now you know when we tell the boys again, we’re going to really mean it. Isn’t that better? You’ve always liked goalposts, just think of it that way.”
Shane tried to find every flick of colour in his dull eyes, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I guess that’s better. We’re really just focusing on us right now. We need that.”
Matt smiled before leaning in and kissing Shane fast. “Exactly,” he murmured, already gone, “I love you. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Shane smirked even if it felt like lifting weights with the corners of his mouth, “I love you too.”
He looked over at Rose.
She was only shaking her head now, silent in a way that made something in his throat dry. And Shane couldn’t lie. He did feel a little guilty for putting her through this again. But he and Matt were always going to get back together. She knew that. Everyone knew that.
So Shane pushed the guilt away, the same way he always did, and continued on. “So, Rose,” he grinned, forcing life into his voice. “Are you coming to the frat party this week? It’s… what is it?”
Matt laughed. “Babe, it’s just a random party.”
“Oh,” Shane corrected. “Right. It’s just a random party. You’ll bring Svet, right?”
But Rose didn’t crack or roll her eyes and insult him. She didn’t throw anything. She just stood there, quiet, looking at him like she had finally run out of ways to say the same thing.
Okay. Maybe this had been a bad choice. Matt seemed to get the vibe as well and just as Rose was about to open her mouth, he pointed toward the door and smirked. “Library? You wanted me to drop you off?”
Shane shook himself out of the almost changing his mind moment and nodded, “Oh, yes please.” He gave Rose’s glare one last glance before following him. They walked downstairs together, and when they climbed into Matt’s car, Shane cleared his throat.
He had been building up the courage to ask something since they met up that morning.
“Do you want to come study with me?”
He looked over, trying to catch any hint of Matt’s reaction, but Matt’s face stayed flat as he started the car and pulled out onto the road. Shane bit the inside of his cheek and looked away to make himself try again, and plead for any hint of human contact again as he should. As people like Shane Hollander always need too.
“I made you political science flashcards last night too,” he added. “I thought I could quiz you through your prep for your internship. I made them in better card this time as well because I know you said you didn’t use the last ones because of how flimsy they wer—”
“Shane,” Matt interrupted. “I’m sure my uncle, the senator, won’t care if I’m a bit behind in my flashcards.”
Shane furrowed his brow. He knew that was probably true, but still. He wanted Matt to be as ready as possible. Didn’t everyone want to know every facet of the thing they were interested in? Didn’t everyone want to walk into the future already prepared for every inch of what it would be?
“It’s just…I know how important it is to you to be a senator before you’re thirty,” Shane said. “I also made Quebec regulations and demographic info panels, and I thought studying together could—”
“Shane,” Matt cut him off again, keeping his eyes on the road. “I don’t want to spend my Thursday night at the library, okay? Shit.”
Shane closed his mouth, and quickly looked out the window.
Matt must have heard it then, how his own tone had landed. How quickly Shane had gone quiet because he sighed and reached over to take Shane’s hand, bringing it up to kiss it. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I’m just stressed. This presidential gig isn’t easy and stuff has gone down with us and a McGill frat, their new president is like the Russian KGB and out to get us. It’s just… a lot.”
Shane let his fingers sink into Matt’s hand. He carefully brushed his thumb over his skin, careful to not frighten it away, and smiled. “Do you want me to help? I can come to help, maybe.”
Matt wiped a hand over the lower half of his face before shaking his head. “No, it’s okay. You’re super busy yourself. And like I said before, I just want to lay low for a while with the guys.”
Shane nodded. Of course. That made sense. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. And, beneath that, a little shitty for feeling disappointed at all.
Matt brought Shane’s hand up again and kissed it once more. “Maybe you can still give me the flashcards,” he said. “I can go over them later.”
Shane’s head snapped around. “Really?”
Matt looked over at him and smiled. “You put effort into them,” he said. “So of course. I love you.”
And just like that, any bad feeling Shane had evaporated like water in the warm sun. “Okay,” Shane shone, trying not to smile too much. “Sure. I love you too.”
Matt smirked again. “Maybe bring them over tonight?” he said. “We can go over them in my room and you can…sleepover?”
Shane's smile cracked for a blink before he could still it.
He knew that he and Matt did not seem like the best couple, whether you were standing inside the relationship or looking in from the outside. But they were one of the few things Shane could rely on in life.
And he knew he was doing well when Matt offered him things like this, despite how bad everything sometimes looked. It was the same way Matt knew he was doing well whenever Shane initiated them getting back together.
And something things were not necessarily good for you. Shane’s diet wasn’t always good for him either, but it worked. And sex worked too.
“Great,” Shane nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Matt kissed his hand once more, and lost the tension in his shoulders.
When they pulled up to the library, Shane jumped out of the car, gave Matt a quick kiss, and promised he would see him later that night, and as he walked towards the building, there was a little pep in his step.
He tried to avert his eyes as he passed a donation table by the door, but the clipboard guy stepped directly into his path and Shane’s pep died.
“Hi, I’m Evan Dykstra,” he said nervously. “Would you mind signing my petition to have presidents everywhere sent back to their own dictatorship countries when they make us wake up at six in the morning to clean up frat parties?” He held out the clipboard. “All I need is your number.”
Shane quickly shook his head and went through the cobblestone entrance.
Once inside he laid out all of his books and his laptop on his designated studying table. His table. The one he had worn in over the last three years until it was perfect, positioned just right in relation to the air conditioner. Close enough to feel it, far enough not to freeze. Far enough from the bathroom, far enough from the door, and, most importantly, far enough from the freshman side.
With everything in its proper place, Shane sat down, finally ready to pull out all of his things.
He had just started on the exercise physiology section of his textbook for his upcoming exam when someone stumbled loudly through the library doors and made his way up to the information desk in front of him.
Shane sighed, but didn’t look up. He kept his eyes on his textbook, determined not to reward the interruption with attention. He just prayed they went away fast.
Well, he did pray until the person at the desk started talking in an accent and Shane froze.
It was only a few words, yet the string of Russian set off something awful inside him. It made every hair on his arm stand, it made his feet curl in his shoes and more importantly, it lifted his eyes.
He hoped what he saw was a figment of his terrible imagination. Yet when he found the Blond hair, blue eyes and nose so stupidly perfect it looked like a Greek statue, he knew it was real. Really bad.
Unable to stop himself, Shane’s line of sight moved over Ilya’s as if confirming each ugly detail one by one. Then, as if drawn by the same invisible force, Ilya glanced away from the old woman at the desk and found Shane staring back at him.
Delightful recognition passed over his features as his beautifully disgusting mouth curved into a smile.
Shane’s own expression dropped like a rock in the ocean. He tore his eyes back down to his textbook and forced his pen to move as he cursed every hint of nightmare serendipity.
He fixed his gaze stubbornly on the same line of text when from much closer than before, came an insufferable voice. “Psst. Could I borrow a pen?”
Shane hesitantly looked up and like an opening curtain for a play, Ilya put on a big show of shock, letting out a small gasp. “Oh, Shane,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “I didn’t know it was you. What a surprise. I forgot you went here.”
Shane continued to fix him with a look, as he raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You forgot.”
Ilya only widened his eyes, acting shocked all over again. “Yes, really. I was just in here to print off these papers, and then I realised I didn’t have a pen to sign them, so I thought I would ask the pretty boy and wow...” He glanced around the empty library table, then back at Shane. “What a coincidence.”
Shane blushed at the quick fire and hidden word yet while from it Ilya smirked again. “What a short world.” He continued, “Seeing you here, after a few days ago. With no boyfriend I thought was attached to your hip.”
Attached to his hip? Where on earth did he hear that? Should Shane correct him? He should absolutely stop staring at him. Shane. Stop staring at him. Shane looked him over once more before looking back down at his book. He picked up his pen again and started taking notes.
For one brief, hopeful second, he thought he might have sent the correct message. That Ilya would pack up his three pieces of paper, and leave him to forget any hint of his brief singlehood.
Yet, instead he did none of that. Instead, Ilya started loudly tapping his foot against the old purple carpet.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Shane lasted exactly eleven seconds before he looked up again. “Can I help you?”
Ilya smiled, and shrugged. “Yes actually. With a pen?”
Shane hesitated at the strange and very loaded ask, eyes flicking to the students sitting nearby. “A pen?” He shifted on his chair trying to get comfortable again, which was impossible now that Ilya was standing across from him for some reason.
Ilya, though, did not look uncomfortable in the slightest.
He only pulled out the chair across from Shane and dropped himself into it as if he had been invited there personally. As if Shane had not just been sitting alone, studying peacefully, doing everything in his power to look unavailable for an absolute reason.
Shane held up a hand. “Look,” he said, already breathing weird, “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but as you know I have a boyfriend.” He waved his hand around, “...so whatever you came over here for you won't get it.”
The serious and very straight forward phrase did not have the desired effect. Ilya only nodded, as if Shane had given him a useful piece of information rather than a reason to leave. “Does this boyfriend get to decide who borrows one of your pens? Because that is what I came over here for.”
Shane let out an indignant scoff. What the fuck was this guys problem? Why wouldn’t you just go away? “Yes, actually he does.” Shane leered, matching Ilya’s tone, “I can give you his number to ask, maybe? You can just tell him we met on a terrible date and now you're here, asking for…a pen.”
The verbal throw seemed to make Ilya look impressed and Shane’s stomach did that turning thing again. Again, obviously, in disgust.
“Well,” Ilya said, leaning back in his chair, “if it helps, I can tell him Sveta didn’t mean it as a date date. She wanted me to have a fun night out. Rose talked about you so much at her apartment that I think they just thought we would be really good...” He paused, smile widening. “Friends.”
Shane narrowed his eyes and also leaned back in his chair, accidentally shadowing the man. “Friends? Really.”
Ilya looked him over, seeming to find something unsaid in how Shane mirrored him. “Yes,” he said. “Definitely friends. We can be that right?”
Shane smirked despite this indifferent facade he was very tryingly attempting to put on and shook his head. “We are not going to be friends.”
Ilya made a face of exaggerated offence. “Well, not if you won’t even give me a pen. It’s like you don’t want me to leave. You want me to stay here huh, Hollander? Just say the word and I’m yours.”
Shane bit the inside of his lip, trying to hide the beginning of a very very annoyed smile. He looked down at the pen in his hand, then tossed it across the table without warning, half hoping Ilya would fumble it. Drop it. Miss it. Anything, really, that might fracture the whole smooth, unbearable persona he had going on. “Fine.”
Unfortunately, Ilya caught it in one hand.
Fuck. Shane’s lower stomach hated that too.
Ilya didn’t move to write anything on the paper front of him. He slipped the pen into his pocket and stood up.
“Hey,” Shane called, sitting forward in his chair.
Ilya raised his eyebrows at him. “Can I help you?” He mimicked Shane’s earlier words.
Shane floundered with his hand in a waving scramble, "I don’t know if this was lost in translation or something but you can’t have my pen. I thought you wanted to borrow it.”
Ilya easily shrugged, and turned to start walking away from the table and instead like a feather through the air toward the front door. “We are not friends, so why do I care?”
Shane stood to follow him.
He couldn’t lie, the sight of following Ilya wasn’t terrible.
It was horrible.
“Hey. Ilya. Stop. That’s not cool—”
Reaching the front doors of the library, Ilya spun around and pushed one open with his back. “Do you know where the purple building is?” he asked, completely changing the subject, “I am supposed to be there.”
Shane followed him out, and found air outside was colder than it had looked from behind the glass, cutting through the warmth of the library and making him suddenly aware that he had abandoned all his books, his laptop, his perfectly arranged table, all because Ilya Rozanov had stolen his pen.
One of many. But he would never admit that.
“Maybe I do,” Shane chided, stepping onto the cobblestone path. “I can tell you where it is if you give me back my pen.”
Ilya kept walking. “Mmm,” he hummed, considering the offer with entirely too much seriousness, “I do not think that is a very good deal.” He moved in long strides carrying them past the study benches and the low bushes that bordered the path. “Not fair, you know.”
Shane quickened his pace until he was only a couple of steps behind him. “Oh yeah? And why is that, asshole.”
Ilya glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes shining at finding Shane in his tail, “Because I need the pen for when I get to the purple building.”
Shane dodged around an oncoming student, which only made him more annoyed. What the hell was he doing? “And what exactly are you doing in the purple building?” he asked. “Stealing other people’s pens? Flirting with other people's boyfriends.”
It was then that Ilya stopped completely, which was bad because Shane did not. He walked straight into the back of him, as he discovered, with a lot of vexation, that Ilya was built like a wall.
He didn’t flinch at all when Shane’s weight crashed into his. Shane, on the other hand, had to grab him by the shoulder from behind just to keep himself from stumbling sideways.
He thought it was that, the hands on him, the ridiculous need to steady himself against Ilya Rozanov of all people, that made Ilya flush red when he glanced around. “Left or right, Shane?” he asked. “Which way are we going? Where is purple building?”
Shane pulled his hand back and tucked it against himself as if that could erase the feeling of leather under his fingertips. But the golden twine of Ilya stayed there anyway, caught in his palm. Maybe that was why he stuttered when he answered. “Left.”
What the hell, Shane? Why the fuck did you just say that?
Ilya bit down on his smile, clearly trying and failing to hide it. Then he turned right and continued walking.
Shane froze on the spot and pointed in the opposite direction. “I said left.”
Ilya nodded without slowing. “Yes,” he called back. “But there is a good café this way. I think we will need coffee first. You like cappuccino? Latte?”
Coffee? We? Shane should go back to the library. He should go back to studying. He had twenty other ballpoint, sparkle, coloured, and lead pens he could use. He should turn around, call Matt to come pick him up, and bury this short lapse in judgement somewhere far below the—
“Shane.” Ilya had stopped on the pavement ahead of him again, but this time with a hesitance that didn’t suit him. The pause in his demeanor had Shane’s feet moving before could stop himself, walking toward him.
“We are not getting coffee,” Shane chastised, once he was close enough to sound firm about it.
Ilya seemed to snap back into place as well as he tutted and fell into step beside him again. “There are a lot of nots today, Shane,” he said. “Are you usually this negative? I heard you were loyal and giving. That is what I was promised.”
Shane raised a hand to shove at his shoulder. “You weren’t promised fucking anything, now give me back my pen. I need to study.”
Ilya rolled his eyes and looked over at him. “Yes, after coffee. Do you have your listening ears in?”
“We are not getting coffee,” Shane repeated, higher.
Ilya tried to criticize again, but that was when Shane saw his opportunity.
Or more importantly saw the pen slipping out of Ilya’s pocket as he walked, inching higher with every step, and before Ilya could respond, Shane reached over and snatched it free.
At the last second, Ilya realised what he was doing and tried to stop him and what followed was a ridiculous little tussle on the footpath, all slapping hands and dodging shoulders in front of half the students lounging on the grass and the other half walking to class.
Shane twisted away as Ilya reached for his wrist and Shane ducked under his arm, somehow ended up, miraculously, in the end winning.
Shane held the pen up high with a smug little, “Uh-huh,” feeling more righteous then he does when he scores a goal. He started walking backward toward the library. “Have fun in the purple building.” He gloated. “Don’t get too lost on your way there.”
Ilya shook his head, amused yet lost in the look of something, “Can I at least have your number, in case I do?”
Shane responded, with a laugh. “Sure! It’s 1800-Go-Fuck-Yourself. I’ll answer to the name, Matt.”
Ilya winked, and Shane felt his face go red. Volcano red. Like an allergic reaction. “I will leave you alone if you give it to me,” Ilya continued. “You’ll never hear from me again.”
“I highly doubt that.” Shane replied as he tucked the pen safely back into his own pocket. “Goodbye, Ilya. Have a terrible life.” Hee spun around, and tried very hard to push down the corner of his mouth.
“That is very mean.” Ilya called after him.
Shane did not respond.
“I will have a great life to spite you.”
Still, Shane kept walking.
“If you give me your number I swear to have a terrible one thoug—”
“No!” Shane called back, and after that, he didn’t hear Ilya anymore. The silence made him look over his shoulder to check if Ilya was still standing there, watching him. And he was.
Shane, traitorously, couldn’t help giving him a little sarcastic wave. “Goodbye.”
For one terrible second, Shane wanted Ilya to say more and worse, he wanted him to follow. But Ilya didn’t. He only turned around and kept walking, and Shane felt a small, traitorous pulse in his throat as he forced himself to face forward again.
When he got back into the library, he sat down at his table and pulled out his pen to continue his notes, but for some strange reason for the first time in Shane's life he couldn’t focus. Not even a little.
His eyes kept drifting from the paper. His mind kept circling back to the interruption, to the stolen pen, to the warm leather under his hand when he’d crashed into Ilya’s back and the way Ilya had stood there watching him when Shane looked over his shoulder.
Shane dropped his head into one hand and stared down at his notebook but as the library doors opened, Shane looked up before he could stop himself. It was not Ilya. Of course it was not Ilya. He didn’t want it to be Ilya. He never wanted to see Ilya again.
The doors opened again ten minutes later, and Shane looked up again. Still not Ilya.
In the end, he packed up all his things and called it a day. As he walked out, he pulled out his phone and messaged Matt. Did you want to grab coffee? I can’t focus.
Which was also completely unrelated.
Matt replied a few minutes later with something about knowing exactly how to make Shane focus. Shane sent something back. Something flirtatious, probably. Something he couldn’t remember almost as soon as he had written it.
By the time he made it back to the apartment, the warmth in his face still hadn’t fully gone away. Rose was lounging on the couch with Svetlana when he came in, both of them tangled together under a blanket with the television flickering blue over their faces.
Rose looked over first. “Why do you look so happy?”
Shane didn’t stop in the doorway. “Matt did something nice.”
Rose and Svetlana both sighed at the same time and turned back to the TV. “I highly doubt that.”
Shane ignored them, and chose to instead go back into his room, shut the door behind him, and fall back onto his bed. For a while, he only stared up at the ceiling. Then he shook his head. What was wrong with him?
“Ilya.” Shane whispered and then repeated. “Ilya.”
For such an asshole, Shane couldn't deny it was a pretty name. He turned to the side, tucking his arm under his pillow and looking to the window. Such a pretty name for such a terrible person.
He hoped to never say it again.
Yet, just as he heard the girls in the other room laugh and someone knock on the front door, Shane whispered it one final time just to make his stomach twist one more.
“Fuck you, Ilya.”