Chapter Text
The last thing Ilya remembered clearly was the rain.
It came down so heavily that the world beyond the windshield had disappeared.
There was only grey.
Grey sky.
Grey road.
Grey streaks of water running down the glass.
Shane's hands rested loosely on the steering wheel.
"You know," Shane said, "if you keep staring at the rain like that, it's not going to stop."
Ilya looked over.
"I wasn't staring."
"You were."
"I was thinking."
"That's worse."
Ilya smiled.
"You talk too much."
"You love when I talk."
"I tolerate it."
"Same thing."
Shane reached over and squeezed his knee.
The gesture was so ordinary that Ilya would remember it for the rest of his life.
Or, at least, he thought he would.
Then the headlights appeared.
Two white shapes through the rain.
Too close.
Too fast.
Shane's hand tightened around the steering wheel.
"Ilya."
Something in his voice changed.
Ilya turned.
"Shane?"
"Hold on."
The horn sounded.
The car swerved.
There was a flash of metal.
Glass.
The violent folding of the world.
And Shane shouting his name.
Then…
Nothing.
When Ilya opened his eyes, the ceiling was white.
He hated it immediately.
There were machines beside him.
A tube in his arm.
Something pressing against his chest.
His entire body hurt.
He tried to move.
A woman sitting beside the bed shot upright.
"Oh my God."
She grabbed his hand.
"Ilya?"
He looked at her.
He knew her.
He was almost certain he knew her.
But the knowledge felt distant, like a word he'd forgotten how to pronounce.
"Where's Shane?"
The woman froze.
Ilya frowned.
"Where's Shane?"
She looked toward the door.
A doctor entered.
Then another person.
Then a nurse.
Nobody answered.
Ilya's heart began to beat faster.
"Where is he?"
The doctor approached slowly.
"Mr. Rozanov—"
"Where's Shane?"
"You've been through a serious accident."
"I know."
"You sustained significant injuries."
"I know."
"The other vehicle—"
"Where is Shane?"
The doctor paused.
Ilya stared at him.
"He's okay, right?"
Nobody spoke.
"He was driving."
"I know."
"So he's okay."
The doctor looked at him with an expression Ilya didn't understand.
"He was driving," Ilya repeated.
The woman beside him began crying.
"Why are you crying?"
She covered her mouth.
"Why are you crying?"
"Ilya—"
"Where is he?"
The doctor took a breath.
"There was nothing we could do."
Ilya stared at him.
The sentence meant nothing.
Or perhaps it meant something that his mind refused to understand.
"What does that mean?"
"I'm very sorry."
"No."
"Ilya—"
"No."
The room tilted.
"He was driving."
"I know."
"So he's alive."
The doctor didn't answer.
Ilya's breathing became ragged.
"He has to be alive."
"I'm sorry."
"No."
"Ilya—"
"No."
He pulled the wires from his chest.
Someone tried to stop him.
He fought.
"SHANE!"
His voice tore itself apart.
"SHANE!"
Nobody answered.
Three days later, Shane sat in the chair beside his bed.
"You look awful."
Ilya stared at him.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Ilya laughed.
It came out shaky.
"You scared the hell out of me."
Shane smiled.
"Sorry."
Ilya's eyes filled with tears.
"Don't do that again."
"Do what?"
"Disappear."
Shane's smile faded.
"I didn't."
"You did."
"I'm right here."
Ilya looked at him.
Dark hair.
Tired eyes.
The little scar near his eyebrow.
The black jacket he always wore when he was cold.
Everything was exactly right.
Ilya reached for him.
His fingers touched Shane's wrist.
Warm.
Real.
Ilya exhaled.
"I knew it."
"Knew what?"
"That you're okay."
Shane looked at him strangely.
"I'm okay."
"Good."
Ilya smiled.
"Then we can go home."
Shane looked away.
"Yeah."
"Tomorrow?"
"Maybe."
Ilya squeezed his hand.
"Tomorrow."
And Shane didn't correct him.