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Ilya had spent six weeks choosing the car.
Six weeks, three dealerships, an unreasonable number of test drives, and one particularly unfortunate afternoon during which a salesman had tried to explain to Ilya that the car was not, in fact, “basically indestructible.”
Ilya had disagreed.
Not because he actually believed the car was indestructible.
Because Shane would be horrified by the price.
He’d been planning this surprise for months.
It had started with a conversation so ordinary that Shane probably didn’t even remember it.
Their old SUV had been making a terrible noise. Shane had spent an entire Sunday morning under the hood, hands covered in grease, muttering increasingly creative insults at the engine.
“We need another car,” he’d finally announced.
Ilya had been making coffee.
“Why?”
“Because this one is dying.”
“It is not dying.”
“It sounds like it’s dying.”
“Maybe it is dramatic.”
Shane had looked at him over the hood.
“Cars don’t get dramatic.”
“You married me.”
“I regret it every day.”
Ilya had kissed him anyway.
Shane had laughed and pushed him away.
“Something reliable,” Shane had said. “Something we can use up here in winter.”
Ilya had nodded.
He’d remembered.
Of course he had.
He remembered everything Shane said.
The way Shane took his coffee. The exact side of the bed he preferred. Which shirts he secretly stole from Ilya and then pretended he hadn’t. The fact that Shane hated the sound of the bathroom fan but somehow always forgot to turn it off.
He remembered things Shane didn’t remember telling him.
So Ilya had gone looking.
And then he’d found the car.
It was perfect.
Not practical.
Not sensible.
Not remotely what a reasonable person would have bought for a cottage in Canada.
But perfect.
It was red, low and sleek, with a ridiculous engine and an interior that made Ilya want to sit inside it just because he could.
He’d fallen in love with it immediately.
Then he’d imagined Shane behind the wheel.
That had been the end of the discussion.
He’d bought it.
Now it was sitting in their driveway.
And Shane was staring at it like Ilya had brought a live tiger home.
Ilya smiled uncertainly.
“Surprise?”
Shane didn’t answer.
He was wearing the dark green sweater Ilya liked, the one that made his eyes look brighter. His hair was messy from the drive back from town, and there was a little crease between his eyebrows.
Ilya loved that crease.
He loved everything about this man.
Even when Shane was glaring at him.
Especially then.
“I know,” Ilya said. “It is beautiful.”
Shane finally looked at him.
“You bought this?”
“For us.”
Ilya opened his arms.
“Come. Admire my excellent taste.”
Shane didn’t move.
Ilya dropped his arms.
“Okay. Admire from there.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Shane’s mouth.
It disappeared almost immediately.
“How much?”
Ilya winced.
“That is not the important question.”
“How much?”
“Why does money matter when we are talking about love?”
“How much, Ilya?”
Ilya named the number.
Shane’s eyes widened.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
Ilya grinned.
“That is approximately what I said.”
“You bought this for me?”
“For us.”
“We needed a car.”
“Yes.”
“A normal car.”
“This is normal.”
“Nothing about this is normal.”
Ilya walked over and slipped an arm around Shane’s waist.
“Look at it.”
“I am.”
“Really look.”
“I am looking.”
“You like it.”
Shane’s fingers brushed over the hood.
His expression softened despite himself.
“I do.”
Ilya immediately brightened.
“I knew it.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I might.”
Ilya kissed his cheek.
“You love me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Same thing.”
Shane shook his head, but there was a smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.
Ilya felt ridiculously pleased with himself.
Then Shane looked at the road.
His smile disappeared.
“What kind of tires does it have?”
Ilya hesitated.
Shane looked at him.
“Ilya.”
“We can get winter tires.”
“These aren’t winter tires?”
“They are currently not winter tires.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I was going to get them.”
“When?”
“Before winter.”
“It’s November.”
Ilya glanced at the snow lining the driveway.
“Yes.”
“Which means winter is already here.”
“It is not technically winter.”
Shane stared at him.
Ilya smiled weakly.
“Fine.”
Shane walked around the car.
“How fast does it go?”
Ilya decided honesty was probably best.
“Very.”
“Ilya.”
“Fast.”
“How fast?”
He told him.
Shane stopped walking.
“No.”
Ilya’s stomach dropped.
“No?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean this is insane.”
“It’s a car.”
“It’s a sports car.”
“Yes.”
“We live in the middle of nowhere.”
“Yes.”
“With icy roads.”
“I know.”
“Snow.”
“I know.”
“Black ice.”
“I know.”
“Wildlife.”
Ilya frowned.
“Wildlife?”
“Moose.”
“Ah.”
“Deer.”
“I know.”
“Things that jump onto the road.”
“I will not race the moose.”
Shane gave him a look.
Ilya tried to smile.
It didn’t work.
“I’ll be careful.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
Shane’s voice tightened.
“The point is that it’s dangerous.”
Ilya’s own irritation began to rise.
He didn’t understand.
He’d done something loving.
He’d remembered something Shane needed.
He’d spent weeks choosing something beautiful.
He’d even arranged for their anniversary date to be stitched discreetly into the headrests because, apparently, he was a complete idiot who believed romance could be measured in embroidery.
And Shane was looking at it like it was a threat.
“I thought you would be happy.”
“I am.”
“You don’t look happy.”
“I like the car.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“I’m not angry.”
“You are.”
“I’m worried.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
Ilya’s jaw tightened.
“I can drive.”
“I know.”
“I have driven in winter before.”
“I know.”
“I am not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You are looking at me like I am.”
Shane rubbed a hand over his face.
“Ilya, please.”
“Please what?”
“Don’t make this into a fight.”
“I’m not making it into anything.”
“You are.”
“Because I don’t understand why you are upset.”
Shane looked away.
Ilya watched him.
Something was wrong.
Not with the car.
With Shane.
And because Ilya didn’t understand what it was, he did what he always did when he felt helpless.
He tried to make it smaller.
“So maybe you drive.”
“No.”
“I’ll sit beside you.”
“No.”
“I can hold your hand.”
“Ilya.”
“Very supportive passenger.”
Shane’s expression didn’t change.
Ilya reached for him anyway, fingers brushing his wrist.
Shane pulled away.
That hurt.
More than it should have.
Ilya’s hand dropped.
“Okay.”
Shane’s face softened immediately.
“Ilya—”
“No.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You don’t want the car.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I like the car.”
“You hate what it means.”
Shane went still.
Ilya didn’t know where the words had come from.
But once he’d said them, he couldn’t take them back.
Shane’s eyes filled.
Ilya’s heart stopped.
“Shane?”
He took a step toward him.
Shane backed away.
“I need to go upstairs.”
“Don’t.”
“I need a minute.”
“Please.”
“I can’t talk about this.”
Ilya’s frustration cracked.
“Then when?”
Shane looked at him.
“Not tonight.”
“Tomorrow is our anniversary.”
“I know.”
“I wanted tomorrow to be perfect.”
“So did I.”
“Then why does it feel like I’ve ruined everything?”
Shane’s face crumpled.
“Ilya.”
The anger vanished from Ilya’s body.
He crossed the room.
Shane turned away.
Ilya reached for him carefully, touching his elbow.
“Baby.”
Shane flinched.
Not away from him.
At the word.
And then the tears came.
“I thought you were dead.”
Ilya froze.
The sentence barely registered.
“What?”
Shane wiped his face.
“I thought you were dead.”
The room became very quiet.
Ilya remembered.
Of course he remembered.
The flight.
The system failure.
The sudden emergency.
The terrifying reports.
The hours in which nobody knew exactly what was happening.
He remembered landing safely.
He remembered the relief.
He remembered being annoyed that his phone had been unusable.
He remembered calling Shane afterward.
He remembered Shane answering and saying nothing for several seconds.
But he’d never known.
Not really.
What those hours had been like for Shane.
“I didn’t know where you were,” Shane whispered.
Ilya’s throat tightened.
“I couldn’t get through.”
“I know.”
“I kept calling.”
“I know.”
“I was watching the updates.”
Ilya’s eyes burned.
“I kept thinking that if something happened—”
Shane stopped.
He couldn’t finish.
Ilya reached for him.
This time Shane let him.
Ilya pulled him against his chest.
Shane’s arms immediately went around his waist, gripping the back of his sweater.
His forehead pressed against Ilya’s shoulder.
Ilya held him tightly.
One hand moved slowly through his hair.
The other rubbed circles between his shoulder blades.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
Shane nodded against him.
“I know.”
Ilya kissed his temple.
Then his forehead.
Then his hair.
He didn’t know what else to do.
He wanted to crawl inside Shane’s chest and remove the memory with his bare hands.
“I didn’t know you were still carrying this.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”
Ilya pulled back.
“How could I not?”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.”
“You couldn’t control it.”
“I know.”
Shane’s eyes were red.
“But I was scared.”
Ilya cupped his face.
“Of course you were.”
“I don’t want to be.”
“I know.”
“I hate feeling like this.”
“I know.”
Shane laughed weakly through his tears.
“You’re saying I know a lot.”
Ilya brushed his thumb beneath Shane’s eye.
“Because I do.”
Then he kissed him.
Softly.
Once.
Twice.
A third time against the corner of his mouth.
Shane leaned into him.
Ilya wrapped both arms around him again.
“I love you,” he murmured.
Shane closed his eyes.
“I love you too.”
Ilya kissed his forehead.
“More than the car.”
That made Shane laugh.
“Good.”
“Much more.”
“Good.”
“Car is very replaceable.”
Shane looked at him.
“You spent six weeks choosing it.”
“Yes.”
“You were excited.”
“Very.”
“I’m sorry.”
Ilya shook his head.
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
He tucked Shane’s hair behind his ear.
“I wanted to give you something beautiful.”
“You did.”
“But if beautiful makes you afraid, then I don’t want it.”
Shane stared at him.
Ilya smiled faintly.
“We’ll get boring car.”
“Very boring.”
“Ugly.”
“Very.”
“Slow.”
“Extremely.”
Ilya sighed dramatically.
“Marriage is sacrifice.”
Shane laughed again.
Ilya kissed him.
This time Shane kissed him back properly, hands sliding up around his neck.
Ilya melted instantly.
He always did.
He could be furious with Shane and still fold the second Shane touched him.
It was embarrassing.
He didn’t care.
Shane was his husband.
His favorite person.
His home.
Ilya would happily be pathetic about it.
They stayed wrapped around each other until the cold from outside no longer seemed to matter.
Later, upstairs, Shane fell asleep with his head on Ilya’s chest.
Ilya stayed awake for a long time.
He watched Shane breathe.
He ran his fingers gently through his hair.
He thought about the plane.
About all the things he had dismissed as something that happened and was over.
He understood now.
For Ilya, the emergency had ended when the plane landed.
For Shane, it had never completely ended.
It had simply become quieter.
Until a red sports car had brought it back.
Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head.
“Idiot,” he whispered affectionately.
He wasn’t sure whether he meant himself or Shane.
Probably both.
When Shane woke the next morning, Ilya was gone.
He found him downstairs an hour later.
His hair was damp from the shower, cheeks pink from the cold.
Shane stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“Where were you?”
Ilya looked up from his coffee.
“I returned it.”
Shane stared.
“The car?”
“Yes.”
“You already did?”
“First thing.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
Ilya stood and crossed the room.
He took Shane’s hands between his.
“Come here.”
Shane stepped into him.
Ilya wrapped his arms around him immediately.
Shane’s cheek rested against his shoulder.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Ilya kissed his hair.
“Happy anniversary.”
Shane smiled against him.
“Happy anniversary.”
Ilya squeezed him.
“I ordered another car.”
Shane groaned.
“Ilya.”
“This one is sensible.”
“How sensible?”
“Very.”
“Four-wheel drive?”
“Yes.”
“Winter tires?”
“Already included.”
Shane pulled back.
“You’ve been researching.”
“I am capable of learning.”
“Rarely.”
Ilya kissed him.
“Careful.”
Shane smiled.
Ilya kissed him again.
And again.
By the third kiss, Shane was laughing.
“There,” Ilya said, satisfied. “Much better.”
“What?”
“You’re smiling.”
Shane touched his cheek.
“I love you.”
Ilya’s expression softened.
“I know.”
Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he pulled Shane into another hug.
Held him tighter.
Kissed his forehead.
His temple.
His cheek.
Finally, his mouth.
Not because he was trying to erase the fear.
He knew better now.
He couldn’t erase it.
But he could be there when it surfaced.
He could hold Shane through it.
He could make sure that when Shane thought about that terrifying night, the memory didn’t end with uncertainty.
It ended here.
With warm arms around him.
A kiss against his hair.
A husband who was very much alive.
And a promise, unspoken but absolute, that Ilya would always come home.