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Ilya consults the list of things he needs he’d scrawled on the back of a receipt as he enters the grocery store, but past-Ilya hadn’t been very helpful, had merely written ‘food’ & ‘vodka’.
He goes to pick up a basket, and blinks when there’s a new stack of bright red ones next to the usual metal. There’s a big sign to the right, titled ‘Looking for Love?’ with an explanation that singles in the supermarket the week leading up to Valentine’s Day can use a red basket to indicate that they’re open to chatting to other singles while shopping.
Ilya barely hesitates as he picks up a red one. What can it hurt? He’s single, bored, and this is weird enough that he loves the idea. Meeting someone in a supermarket over a gimmicky basket? He doubts it’ll actually happen, but who knows? If it does, it’d be the funniest thing North American corporate capitalism could ever do for him.
He’s more attentive than he usually is as he walks around the aisles, but the majority of people aren’t holding red baskets and Ilya wonders if anybody else has decided to participate, or if he’s the only sad sack here today. He picks up bananas and debates whether or not he can be bothered to cook this week, or whether he’ll just grab a selection of ready-meals.
He’s staring at the potatoes, trying to motivate himself, when he glances up and sees him.
The most ethereally beautiful man he’s ever seen. He looks to be about Ilya’s height, thick enough in the shoulders and thighs that he could probably deadlift Ilya with ease, short black hair and a wide, sharp jawline. He looks frustrated, phone to his ear as he speaks to someone on the other end, and fuck he’s holding a red basket.
Ilya tries not to feel like a stalker as he tosses a potato in his basket and slowly walks down the aisle towards the man, waiting for him to finish his phone call.
The man doesn’t seem to notice him, though Ilya notices the freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and feels like someone’s taken a bat to his ribs. How the fuck does someone this pretty just exist in real life, let alone in mundane places like a supermarket?
The man finally hangs up as he turns the corner and Ilya perks up, this could be his chance! He picks up the pace a little bit, turns into the dairy aisle only to stop dead: someone else has approached the man.
She’s stunning, Ilya concedes grumpily in the privacy of his own head, and is holding onto her red basket with neatly-manicured nails as she flicks back long brown tresses with her other hand. She’s gorgeous, someone Ilya would approach and flirt with easily, if only he’d not already seen the man a thousand times prettier.
Ilya pretends to stare at the… goats cheese, in front of him, as he tries not to listen in.
“I’m sorry, I’m not-” the man is saying and the woman flushes.
“Oh, of course. Sorry. They don’t, um, I guess there’s not a way to make that clear, is there?” she titters gently and Ilya glances over, sees the man frowning at her in confusion. “Um, good luck, then.”
“... Thanks?” the man responds and the woman shoots him another smile before turning and walking down the aisle, luckily in the opposite direction.
Does this mean the handsome stranger isn’t interested in women? Ilya’s heart thumps with anticipation and hope, and he tightens his grip on his basket with determination.
He turns, but the handsome man has already disappeared down the aisle.
Shit.
Ilya sighs and hurries after him, trying not to look like that’s exactly what he’s doing.
He turns left, and freezes again as another person approaches the attractive man. Of course they fucking do, he’s the most attractive person likely in the entire county, if not country.
Ilya browses the fridge shelves in front of him without really paying attention, trying to see how beautiful man reacts to a potential male suitor.
The new approacher is handsome, in a rugged sort of way, in flannels and ripped jeans with an impressive ginger beard, red basket hanging from one meaty hand.
Ilya’s a little too far to hear what they say, but he does get to see the very attractive man frown in confusion again, and the guy who’d approached him flushes prettily under his beard and turns away, looking sad for a brief moment as he does and Ilya feels a flash of compassion for the stranger.
Maybe lumberjacks just aren’t the gorgeous man’s type?
Ilya has no idea, but maybe third time lucky?
He speeds up, finds the man at the end of the aisle, frowning down at the fresh fish counter. Just as he’s approaching, someone else cuts in and he almost screams as a petite twink of indeterminate gender in front of him glances back confrontationally.
“The fuck?” he mouthes at them, and gets blatantly checked out. The twink looks tempted by Ilya for a second, but the most beautiful man is given his order of salmon by the fishmonger and turns away, oblivious to the two other shoppers watching him.
Ilya sighs, but can’t start a brawl in the middle of the supermarket. Plus, if the twink is handsome man’s type then Ilya’s got little chance really, so he turns away, peruses the sauce jars on the end of the aisle as they start chatting, tries not to listen in.
Just as they speak a stupid call comes over the tannoy, so Ilya loses all ability to hear their conversation, but it’s not long until the twink is turning away, looking dejected.
“Good luck,” they mutter as they pass him, and Ilya blinks after them but he’ll take it.
He approaches the handsome man, who’s now frowning at the varieties of rice in the next aisle over.
“Hello,” Ilya coughs as his throat catches on the word, repeats it again.
“Hello?” The freckled man’s voice is just as beautiful as the rest of him, Ilya wants to hear it groaning his name.
“I, ah, my name is Ilya,” he introduces himself, lifting one hand for a handshake, the other holding the red basket slightly forward so that the man will see it.
The man frowns at him, but accepts his hand and responds with a wary, “I’m Shane.”
“Is nice to meet you Shane,” Ilya offers his most charming smile.
“You too?” Shane makes it sound like a question, and Ilya wonders maybe if this won’t go to plan either.
“So, ah, you are single?” Ilya decides to just fucking go for it. “I would not have thought so, with how pretty you are. Your freckles, they took my breath away.”
“I- what?” Shane blinks at him, looking dumbfounded. “Sorry, I don’t think I understand.”
“The basket?” Ilya points down to the red cart in his hand, “For the, ah, Valentine’s Day thing?”
“The Valentine’s Day thing?” Shane echoes, looking down at his own basket, filled with fruit, vegetables and other healthy things. “What’s that?”
Ah.
Stomach six feet underground, Ilya explains the meaning of the red baskets, waving around at the stupid heart decorations trailing across the ceiling and signs across the store.
“Shit,” Shane hisses, “Is that why the others-? Fuck! This isn’t my usual supermarket and I was in a hurry so I just grabbed the first thing, I didn’t realise…”
Ilya feels his stomach sink down past the earth’s crust as he realises the man hadn’t even intended on participating in the supermarket event.
“Ah. Then I am very sorry to have bothered you.” He knows he probably looks even sadder than the lumberjack as he takes a step back and turns to head back down the aisle. Such a fool, Ilya.
“Wait!”
He freezes, turns back to meet liquid brown eyes watching him.
“It, um, it wasn’t a bother,” Shane says, voice soft as freckles turn a dark pink across his cheeks. “And, um, I- ah, I am single.”
Ilya’s stomach shoots up from the earth’s mantle so quickly he feels dizzy with it. He feels his grin grow almost giddy as he takes a step back closer to Shane.
“I am too,” he says, and Shane’s eyes flicker to his from his shoulder, back down to his mouth. “Would you want to, ah, maybe go somewhere? Get coffee, or something?”
“Yeah, yes, sure,” Shane nods in agreement, and Ilya beams brightly.
They finish their shopping together, Shane not-so-silently judging Ilya’s basket filled randomly with the potato, a pack of goats cheese, some kind of dip and a random jar of sauce that Ilya isn’t even sure he remembers picking up, alongside added junk food and ready meals, until he eventually just sighs, exasperated, and invites Ilya back to his for a fresh home-cooked meal instead.
Ilya beams and agrees straight away, so fucking charmed by this man who’s not afraid to judge him.
Ilya puts his red basket back in the right pile, thanks it silently for giving him this chance to meet Shane, but from the glance he gets from Shane as he puts his own back, is pretty sure he’ll never need it again.