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“No, I can’t,” Hayden groans into his pillow, while Shane stands in the bathroom doorway of their hotel room, cleaning his teeth as he waits for his friend to get up. “Don’t make me.”
Shane huffs a laugh around his toothbrush. He’s a little sore too, having beat his own personal best at the Lisbon Marathon yesterday, but he’s not half as bad as Hayden appears to be.
“Go without me,” Hayden continues, flapping a hand roughly in the air. “I just wanna sleep for another two, three, maybe like eight hours.”
Shane rinses his mouth as he debates internally. He’s rarely alone when travelling abroad, he’s been lucky enough that until his early twenties his parents had usually taken him with them. While he’s travelled to a few places across North America with Hayden or other friends who either join him in running the marathons or just want to travel under the guise of supporting him, this is his first jaunt out to Europe, and he doesn’t want to waste the opportunity.
He maybe hadn’t thought about the fact that Hayden wouldn’t want to walk around for a couple of hours the day directly after the marathon.
But Shane loves history, wants to know about where they’re staying and the free walking tour had seemed like a great way to get to see and learn about the city without having to shell out insane amounts for a private tour guide.
They’re in Lisbon for another few days yet, so he could always change the date and time of the walking tour, but he’s up and dressed and doesn’t really want to sit around in the hotel room waiting for Hayden to get out of bed.
“You sure?” Shane checks, even as he pulls on his trainers and checks the weather forecast on his phone. It says it’ll be hot and sunny so he forgoes a jacket, packs his side bag instead with the euros and the spare hotel room key as Hayden insists he’ll be fine, that Shane should go and enjoy himself.
Shane stops by the coffee shop just around the corner from their hotel, picks up a black coffee and an egg muffin to go and makes his way down the streets of the Alfama district of the city where they’re staying. He moves to the side as a tram rumbles past, full of tourists even before 10am, and it’s just a twenty minute walk until he’s at the Praça do Comércio where the tour guide is already waiting with a bright orange umbrella.
She smiles at him as he approaches and he apologises that it’s just him, not the 2 people booked on the tour. She waves a hand, reassures him it’s no problem, and says she’s still waiting for five or six more people so if he doesn’t mind waiting they’ll set off in five minutes or so.
He nods, moves to the edge of the little group also clearly waiting. He’s the only person there solo so far that he can tell, three other pairs of attendees currently hovering and he tries not to feel out-of-place or regret deciding not to come another time with Hayden.
The early morning sun is warm on his face and he soaks it in, shifts on his feet and tries to subtly stretch. He’s a little tired from yesterday, but hopes that walking around a little will keep him loose and reduce some of the soreness.
He watches from the corner of his eye as a small group of four greet the tour guide, followed by two women holding hands and giggling as they nibble at pastries. The guide is checking her phone, focusing intently and just as she looks up a ridiculously attractive man approaches and apologises for cutting it fine.
He’s alone, which makes Shane feel a tiny bit better about being by himself too. The other guy is wearing well-fitting jeans and Shane swallows at the way they outline a ridiculously perky butt when he turns around. A soft-looking t-shirt is tight around broad shoulders and well-defined biceps, and hangs loose around a ridiculously tiny waist. Sunglasses block his eyes, but emphasise the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw, softened by gentle curls cropped short around his skull.
Shane’s attention is dragged away as the tour guide encourages them all to stand in a circle with her. Once they're all arranged to her satisfaction, she introduces herself as Sofia and gives a quick self-introduction before she makes them all do so, too.
Shane hates it but he can’t exactly run away now, so listens to what the others say even though he knows he won’t remember a thing in five minutes, and copies the pattern of saying his name, his home country, that it’s his first time in Lisbon and he’d come for the marathon and passes the buck on quickly. He’s the only Canadian, two of the couples are from the U.K., another from France/Belgium, a pair from Germany, and the group of four is from the U.S..
A couple of the others mention the marathon too, so at least he’s not alone there. The hot solo guy is last and Shane’s ears strain as he introduces himself as Ilya in a lyrical accent he subsequently tells them is Russian. He’d also come for the marathon, he adds with a bright, slightly-cocky grin.
Sofia nods and thanks them all, before launching into a quick explanation of the tour, and then starts to explain the history of the square they’re in now, of the tall statue of King Jose I behind them. He’d been the ruler of Portugal when the 1755 earthquake had decimated much of the city, rebuilding efforts led not really by the King but by his Marquis who’d commissioned the statue. The King had moved out to the edges of the city and lived in tents after the earthquake, refused to live in a stone-walled building ever again, and there was a common belief that he’d turned his back on his citizens, which is why the statue is facing out, away from the city behind him.
Shane’s fascinated, the little tidbits of history he’d never known or thought about interesting and he tries to memorise as many of the facts as he can as the tour continues, up towards the Lisbon Cathedral and towards the Alfama district Shane had come from that morning.
Sofia tells them the streets are narrower in the older towns as they’d been less affected by the earthquake, and points them to look into a couple of buildings where joists and walls made of triangles are apparently some of the most seismic-stable structures that man can make. She tells them that the areas less affected by the earthquake were those filled with more of the outcasts of society, the queers and the non-Catholics, who’d not gone to church that day or lit the candles as was typical at the time, so hadn’t seen fires ignite as other areas had.
She shows them the hidden elevators around the city, saving his and the other tour attendee’s legs as they skip climbing so many hills, and he tries to note exactly where some of them are so he can save Hayden’s legs later when they go out for dinner.
He ends up walking next to Ilya at one point, as the street narrows enough they need to walk two-by-two, and he returns Ilya’s friendly smile. They don’t seem to really part, after that, falling into step easily and even when the group pauses for the next few stops Ilya always seems to be at Shane’s side, which he likes more than he wants to admit.
They’re just setting off from the stop they're told is mid-way through the tour when Ilya leans over and speaks to him quietly.
“Sorry, what is defenestration?”
“Oh,” Shane glances back at the Cathedral that Sofia had explained had been the site of the defenestration of a Bishop who’d refused to ring the church bells in celebration of King John I’s acclamation to the throne. “It means to throw somebody out of a window,” he explains, and Ilya’s eyes widen behind the sunglasses now pushed up on his head as he also looks back at the church.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and Shane laughs.
“Not a great way to die,” he agrees, and Ilya grins back at him.
They start speaking a little more, from then on. Ilya makes witty, dry observations that have Shane quietly cracking up and he tries to offer the same, is pleased when he makes Ilya laugh once or twice. But Ilya is quiet at each stop, lets Shane listen to Sofia as she tells them the history of whatever stop they make next, asks Shane to confirm his understanding at a point or two where a car or tram rumbles past and he can’t quite hear or misses a word.
They’re told there was a second defenestration in 1640, too, when the Portuguese had rebelled against the Spanish rule, and Ilya’s grinning brightly as he shakes his head at Shane in a little awe and disbelief.
Shane doesn’t normally fall into such easy camaraderie with… well, anyone, so he’s a little surprised but pleased to have found that here.
They’re approaching the end of the tour when they stop at a stunning view point, another little plaza overlooking the bay where the cruise ships usually dock, but they’ve been lucky and there are no giant ships marring the view here.
Shane takes a couple of photos, wonders if he should take a selfie but he always feels too awkward to do so.
“Want me to take one of you?” Ilya offers, hand out already for Shane’s phone.
“Thanks,” Shane steps in front of the railing, smiles awkwardly into the camera. He offers to return the favour and Ilya thanks him back as they switch places. He’s no less stunning through the camera screen, turning his shoulders so the long length of his impeccable physique is shown off at the best angle.
“Can we take one together?” Ilya asks as Shane steps closer to hand his phone back. “Would be a nice memory from good tour with new friend.”
Shane’s flattered and nods, steps into Ilya’s side and tries not to lean in too close. It doesn’t matter anyway, as Ilya places a hand on his lower back when they’re in the right position, shoulder to shoulder, the camera facing them and Shane smiles as least-awkwardly as he can into the screen. Ilya’s hand burns as it trails up his spine, the heat lingering even as he steps away, and Shane opens his airdrop so the photo can be sent to him.
They find Sofia again, and their fingers bump as they stand closer still. Shane keeps his eyes fixed on the tour guide as she answers one of the couple’s questions, the answer interesting, but doesn’t pull away as their hands bump again, presses gently back into Ilya’s knuckles as they graze the back of his hand.
He’s not brave enough to do anything else as they continue walking, but keeps pace with Ilya, glances across to see him watching the guys ahead of them.
Their last stop is in front of the Church of St Anthony, and Shane listens as Sofia tells them about the Weddings of Saint Anthony, a celebration on the 12th June each year where the city hall pays for the weddings of 16 couples, intended to allow couples with less financial stability to be able to get married.
The statue in the square of Saint Anthony is holding a book, and Sofia tells them that if you can throw a coin and make it land on the open book, tradition says you’ll get married within a year. She also warns them that if they miss, the number of missed tosses indicates how many years you will have to wait, so to be sure in your throw before you have a go.
Three of the five couples on the tour nudge each other, and they step up to have a go as the rest of them watch. Ilya rummages through his pockets but seems disappointed to come up empty.
“You want to have a go?” Shane asks, a little surprised. But maybe Ilya has a partner he wants to marry?
Ilya shrugs, “I am single,” he answers Shane’s unspoken thought. “But I would like to get married, one day. I think maybe asking the saints for help is no bad thing.”
Shane can’t argue against that, really. And well, when in Rome Lisbon. He digs out his wallet from his bag and holds out a couple of coins to Ilya, who blinks at him.
“Here,” Shane insists, shaking his hand gently until Ilya lifts his own. Their fingers linger as he places the coins in Ilya’s palm, something unspoken passing through the contact as their eyes meet.
Ilya takes the newly vacated spot in front of the statue and with loose knees and lazy confidence gently throws a coin upwards, where it lands almost perfectly in the open crease of the book. He gets a little round of applause from the members of their group still watching, and turns to Shane with a bright grin.
“You do not want to try?” he asks, holding out the other coin Shane had held him.
There’s something almost challenging about the way Ilya says it that has Shane’s competitive streak firing up, and before he really knows it he’s nodding, taking the coin back and stepping into the space Ilya had just been in.
He breathes in slowly, doesn’t want to fail and embarrass himself here, but the coin flies up neatly. It doesn’t quite end up as perfectly in the middle as Ilya’s had, but it stays on the top of the book all the same and he can’t stop a quick grin of triumph and relief.
“Nice,” Ilya compliments him, and they turn to see most of the group thanking Sofia and passing over tips before dispersing. Shane pulls out cash from his wallet, sees Ilya do the same and they thank Sofia together. Shane asks a couple of last questions, mostly about modern-day religion in the city, given the heavily Catholic slant of most of the architecture and history, and tries not to regret his curiosity as Ilya steps away without a goodbye as she answers.
“Hey,” Ilya says as Shane turns, steps towards him with two little cups of espresso. “You like coffee? To pay you back for the coin,” he adds, and Shane tries to muffle the minor disappointment that this is just payback.
“Thanks,” he takes the little cup, sips the strong black coffee within and is surprised at how nice it is.
“What are you doing now?” Ilya asks him, and Shane hopes that that’s also hope on his face.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m here with a friend who ran the marathon with me, but he’s too tired so is sleeping it off back at our hotel, but I didn’t have any other plans after the tour.”
“Oh,” Ilya’s face shutters.
“He’s just a friend,” Shane adds hastily, “We’re just sharing a room to keep things cheap.”
“Ah,” the shutters lift again. “Would, ah, would you want to go get lunch, maybe?”
Shane’s nodding before Ilya’s even finished his sentence, really. “I’d like that,” he accepts.
Ilya’s smile is brighter than the sun, and they agree to head back the way they’d come, where Sofia had pointed out a little row of restaurants she’d recommended.
Lunch is lovely, the conversation easy and fun and Shane doesn’t think he’s ever laughed so much with someone he’s only known for a couple of hours before. Even after they’ve finished eating Hayden’s not messaged him so they agree to walk around for a while longer yet, Ilya entirely on his own and at a loose end.
He flies back late tonight, he admits with a little disappointment.
He tells Shane he’s based in Boston, but similar to Shane is a keen marathon runner and applies to participate in many of them. He has a friend who usually travels with him for marathons, too, and has done a few more in other European cities - Cardiff, Paris, Rome - but she's injured her ankle and so had to bow out this time. Otherwise, he also travels a fair bit back-and-forth to various Canadian cities for work.
Shane hesitantly suggests they could meet up again, the next time Ilya’s in Montreal, and is almost bowled away by the delight with which Ilya replies. They exchange phone numbers and Shane opens his rarely used Instagram to follow Ilya, too.
Their fingers brush again as they walk around, conversation flowing and Shane blushes but tightens his grip when Ilya’s fingers carefully catch his. Ilya steps even closer, so their shoulders brush as they walk down the water front, find a little cafe where they order Pastel de Nata and sit by the water’s edge with a coffee and their pastries.
They talk about their work, about their hobbies and plans for the near future, hopes for the long-term. Much of what Ilya tells him makes sense and Shane could see their lives slotting together nicely, if they could work out a way to bridge the physical distance between them. It’s too soon, too crazy to be thinking such things, but Shane doesn’t think he’s the only one as he watches the wistful twist to Ilya’s lips.
They share their first kiss in a quiet alley, Shane pressed back against the brick as Ilya’s hands cup his face and his tongue twines around Shane’s, only breaking apart when people walk past on the main road, laughing loudly as they go.
Hayden finally breaks the spell of their day as evening creeps closer and he messages Shane about their plans for dinner. Ilya admits he needs to leave too, if he’s to collect his luggage and make his flight, and they kiss once more outside his hotel, on the way back to Shane’s.
“I wish we had more time,” Shane admits as they part reluctantly. “But this was a really nice day.”
Ilya kisses him once more, slow and so fucking soft that Shane barely prevents himself from melting into a puddle on the floor.
“I will message you, okay? We will meet again. I will make it so.”
Ilya’s face is so intent that Shane believes him automatically, nods and leans up to press a quick kiss to plush lips.
“Okay,” he agrees gently, turns his head to press another kiss to a cheek, the whisper of stubble grazing his kiss-sensitive lips. “Get back safe, okay?”
Ilya sighs, and looks like it takes all his willpower to actually step inside the lobby of his hotel with a parting wave. Shane knows how he feels, it’s a monumental effort to move his feet and leave Ilya behind.
Three Months Later
Shane approaches The Ring sculpture in Place Ville Marie, spots the bright red umbrella of the tour guide towards the top of the steps.
His heart thumps, stomach churning with anticipation as he spots the figure he’s really looking for though, dressed in jeans and a red floral shirt, gold curls and familiar sunglasses, leaning against the railing midway up the stairs.
“Hey, Ilya,” he leans in and taps at Ilya’s shoulder from behind, can’t stifle the laugh as Ilya jumps in surprise, spinning around with a mock-frown that quickly fades under a bright grin as his eyes meet Shane’s.
“Hello, Shane.”