Chapter Text
Now
Shane Hollander has known two truths since he was old enough to retain memories.
1. He would inherit his family’s multimillion-dollar company.
2. He would marry the second son of the Rozanovs to bind their families’ tricennium-old alliance.
Thirty years ago, long before Shane was conceived, Rozanov Fitness and The Hollander, two major rival sports-wear brands, merged to form Hollanov Gears in a last-ditch attempt to redeem their crippling financial predicaments. Irrespective of their growing success and reputation in the sports industry, the two families had reservations about one another.
To overcome this concern, both sides agreed to merge in holy matrimony. It was a great decision barring the slight inconvenience of the immediate heirs already having wives. After more brainstorming, it was finalized that their children, regardless of gender will have to inherit not only their wealth but also their marital obligations.
And just like that, it was written in the stars; Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander would tie the knot at twenty-five years old.
Then came another problem, one which Shane couldn’t look past. Ilya Rozanov despised him. He tried, heaven knows he tried everything within his power to change Ilya’s position but failed.
That brings him to why he is currently pacing back and forth in his suite, with merely four hours to his wedding. His tuxedo jacket is hanging on his arm and his shiny black Louboutins are capsized at the foot of his enormous bed. He paces the length of the room one more time before deciding he doesn’t need to hold on to his jacket either. It falls to the carpeted floor with a thud.
Up until ten minutes ago, he thought he could marry Ilya Rozanov and fulfill his familial obligations. But as the seconds drew closer to minutes, and then to the moment he would sign his freedom away to Ilya, his anxiety deepened and veered him off the path of responsibility he had walked all his life.
He cannot seem to remember all the reasons he listed in his binder that justified this union. Is saving his family worth a lifetime of suffering? His incessant pacing only quickens his breath. He hooks an index finger into his bowtie and pulls it loose, sucking in a lungful of air.
Outside, the Rozanov villa is teeming with wedding planners making last-minute touches to decorations, august guests from far and near, and possibly all of the Canadian media. The Hollanov union has been the topic of conversation since it was announced at a presser a year ago. It generated a buzz of about five hundred thousand tweets. Shane Hollander, Rose Landry’s ex and media sweetheart, is set to tie the knot with Notorious Playboy, Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov. News like that was bound to make headlines.
Following the announcement, Hollanov Gears was banned from the Russian market but that only strengthened support for the brand from allies all over the world, staking more on the union than before.
Shane hoped the interest in his and Ilya’s relationship would dwindle with time but it only grew with a community of online people pushing a narrative of how they fell in love despite the age-long feud between their families.
They were right about the feud. Just wrong about who it involved.
“I don’t want to do this,” Shane laments to his two best friends who have been watching him pace a hole through the carpet.
“Then don’t.” Hayden, who has never been a fan of Rozanov, says.
“Shit, what is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be ready. I’ve prepared my entire life for this.”
“Just say the word, Shane.” Rose chimes in from the windowsill. Her lace dress replicates the curtains billowing in the breeze. It’s a nice day out. It could be a nice day to get married or a nice day to jilt one’s asshole fiancé.
Shane decides before he can walk it back. “I don’t want to get married.”
His best friends jump to their feet instantly. Hayden grabs the bag Shane brought with him and shoves the few items lying about back inside. Rose fishes her car keys out of her purse and flings them at Shane. He fumbles with the air but successfully snags it.
“Rose, I’m desperate but not enough to drive your car.” It’s an old clunky thing that Rose uses when she doesn’t want to be perceived by the public.
“Not the time to be a rich snob.”
“Your car doesn’t even start sometimes!”
“Not if you are mean to her. Treat her with love and she’ll take care of you.”
“It stopped in the middle of the highway two months ago.” Shane shakes his head. “Forget it. This was a bad idea in the first place. I can’t run away. Where would I go? They will find me before I leave the airport.”
“The secret’s to hide in plain sight.” Hayden offers.
“Like my condo?”
“No, Shane. Think of somewhere close but not too close. Somewhere your parents wouldn’t even begin to think of.”
Only one place comes to mind. A month ago, Shane’s parents summoned him to their home and presented him with an early wedding gift; the keys to a cottage in Ottawa. When Shane was younger, he spent some summers at his family’s cottage. It was some of his freest moments. Now, faced with the choice of bondage and freedom, he couldn’t conceive a better place to escape to.
“The cottage.” He dashes for his toiletries bag and rips the zip open. Exhales when he finds a shiny set of keys resting at the bottom. With renewed gusto, he pivots to his friends, the key chain hanging off a finger. “I’m going to the cottage.”
“Yeah let’s get moving.” Rose musses up his hair and pulls a cap over it. She digs through her purse for sunglasses and fits them over his eyes. “This is for when you stop for groceries,” Rose says, an illustration of her forward thinking. “You’ll need enough to tide you over for two weeks.”
“Two weeks? I was thinking maybe… one day?”
“Shane, I love you but you’re way too naive. You really think they wouldn’t marry you off tomorrow? Hide away until the flowers wilt and the cake ferments.” Rose’s eyes soften. “If they insist on this after two weeks, we will find a way. I won’t watch you sign your life off to a man you can’t stand.”
“It’s not me. It’s—,” Shane struggles to find a less pitiful way to say it. “It’s him. He can’t stand me.”
“And now he doesn’t get to try. Good luck, Shane.”
“Call us when you get there,” Hayden adds. “We’ll stay here and hold down the fort.”
They wrap him in a group hug and nudge him toward the door. Shane takes a deep breath and turns the handle.
**
Two and a half hours later find Shane on a narrow tarred road, fifteen minutes away from the cottage. His nerves are yet to settle despite trying every breathing exercise in the books.
His rebellion against his disposition to do the honorable thing provokes a dissonance that wreaks havoc on his nervous system. He migrates between heart palpitations, nausea, and the worst, a ringing in his ear that spots his vision every other second.
A sudden jerk makes him lose control of the wheel momentarily. He narrowly saves the car from veering off the road and slams on the brakes. The sputtering from the engine reduces to a whistle and then a tired choking sound before it goes completely still.
Shane lets out a barrage of curses as he slips out of the car. He shouldn’t have trusted Rose with anything concerning this car. He pops the hood open and stands akimbo as he peeks at the junk that controls the car. None of it makes sense to him. He slams it shut and grabs his phone to call an expert, annoyed to see zero signal bars.
He holds his phone at several angles, jumps up and down, and walks a couple of steps back, without success.
Exhausted, he stops to take in his surroundings. The sun is hidden behind a canopy of trees. It peeks through occasionally as the wind ruffles the leaves, refusing to be occluded. This falls at the bottom of the list of bad places to be stranded. Shane looks at his phone, relieved to find Google Maps is still functioning.
It takes some effort but he hefts his three grocery bags, pops the telescopic handle of his valise, and commences the trek to the cottage.
The cottage stands in the middle of a large clearing blanketed with carpet grass. It is a breathtaking structure of charred wood and tall glass walls. Not far away, sunlight twinkles over a still lake.
Shane ascends the short steps that lead to the entrance. Gets his keys out of his pocket after some struggling. He goes to insert it in the lock and pauses when the door nudges open with little effort. Warning bells go off in his head. There’s an intruder in the cottage.
“Hello?” He calls against better judgment. A wise person would have retracted his steps or called the fucking cops. Shane is not always wise. Running away from his wedding to be murdered in the woods is a case in point.
There’s a clattering sound from inside followed by a grunt. Shane drops his bags, assuming a fighting stance. A figure appears in the distance and begins its approach. Shane’s fisted hands collapse to his side and his volatile pulse further quickens even before the figure takes shape.
He would recognize the shape of him blindfolded.
“What the fuck!?” Ilya Rozanov appears before him, separated only by a glass wall. His sweatpants ride low on his hips and a lampstand fashioned as a weapon dangles in his left fist.
“Yeah,” Shane mumbles, his throat tightening. “What the fuck?”
**
Then
Nine years old
Shane peeks through the curtains. He taps a foot against the floorboards and bites his lips red as adults file out of the vehicle. He notices Sergei first, the Rozanovs’ personal lawyer. Mr. Rozanov follows. He has a name but Shane for the life of him can never memorize it so he refers to him as ‘the scary one’ in his head. The name befits the stout, bald man with eyes as blue and cold as death.
The next one out of the car is Alexei. Shane can smell his arrogance from a distance. He is just four years older than Shane but acts like a grown-up.
Irina steps out of the car with grace. She’s slender and tall and always smells nice. Her hair is the color of the sun and her eyes are a soft blue. Shane likes her because she smiles at him and doesn’t pretend he’s invisible.
After Irina disappears into the house, Shane’s feet start bouncing faster. Ilya, the second son of the Rozanovs, is the best part of these meetings. He was always the first to get out of the car, speeding toward the stairs to Shane. Shane drops his head, disappointed. Ilya is not coming today.
The first time they met, Shane was only eight, neglected and wandering the quiet halls of their mansion when a blond boy popped out of nowhere and started following him around. Shane was neither good at making friends nor talking to people but the boy didn't seem to want to make conversation. He was content to sit quietly with Shane.
He brought the boy to his bedroom and wordlessly laid out all his cool toys. He got the impression that the boy did not care much about them but he smiled when Shane smiled and laughed when he laughed.
Shane decided that he was going to keep him and make him happy. He didn’t make fun of Shane, or smell funny like the other boys at school, and his eyes were so big and pretty like the blue necklace mom wore. They were somehow larger while he watched Shane with rapt attention which made every crypt and freckle in them visible.
To make his new companion feel more at home, Shane decided to make room for him in his wardrobe. He was shifting his socks to one side of the drawer when his door swung open.
A wide-eyed woman barged in looking around frantically. She choked on a sob when her eyes found the boy and fell to her knees to wrap him in her arms.
“Ilyusha.” Her voice trembled as she spoke in a language Shane couldn’t understand no matter how much he strained his ears. It was quite frustrating. The boy whom Shane thought couldn’t speak, said something back, eyes pooling. The lady pressed a kiss to his forehead and tickled his side. The boy dissolved into laughter.
Before she would take the boy’s hand and lead him away, she turned soft eyes to Shane and smiled. “Hello Shane, I am Irina. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi.” Shane’s voice is small. He felt a blush rising to his cheeks.
“You have met my son, Ilyusha. He said you took care of him.”
“I did.” Shane felt proud.
“Thank you. I would like to sit and talk but we are running out of time. Next time?”
“Okay.” His voice came out squeaky again.
Irina smiled, gave a small nod to Mom who had rushed in with her, and left. Mom then told him about the Rozanovs. “They are… good friends from Russia,” she said. “It’s important that we are nice to them. We will see them four times every year.”
“Will he come every time?”
Mom did not ask who. She smiled warmly. “Yes, love. He will come too.”
She was right. Ilya, the blue-eyed boy, visited again in the spring. He said a few words this time like Shanya, hello, awesome, and goodbye. Shane and his family flew to Russia to see the Rozanovs in the summer. Ilya’s hair was lighter and looked like dry wheat in the sun rays. He proudly showed off all the new words he learned, grinning when Shane patted his head like Mom did whenever she was proud of him. Shane cried when they had to leave the Rozanovs’ house for their hotel room. He cried so hard he developed a fever.
When they returned to Russia during the fall, Ilya bounded down their perron steps even before the Hollander’s car stopped. Shane, just as eager, hopped out and snatched Ilya’s wrist up, laughing as they flew up the steps Ilya had just descended.
Ilya learned only one new word; freckles. He said it so much that Shane had to ban him from using it. Shane made a personal pact not to cry but when their car drove off the Rozanovs’ property, he burst into big fat tears.
Now, a few months later, Shane starts to turn away from the window when another head sticks out of the vehicle. Ilya looks taller than Shane last saw him. His hair is darker and streaked with gold. And his eyes, when he lifts them and stares right at where Shane is hiding behind the curtains, are still a brilliant shade of blue.
Shane takes the stairs two at a time. He is only halfway down when Ilya turns the corner and catches up to him. They crush into each other, panting breathlessly.
“Hello Shanya,” Ilya says, pulling away.
“Ilya.”
“You missed me?”
“You wish.”
“You are really bad liar,” he smirks. “I saw you from car. Watching and waiting. About to cry.”
“I was not about to cry!” He protests. But he thinks if Ilya didn’t come, he might really have cried.
“Is okay to cry.”
“Shut up, Ilya.” Shane takes Ilya’s wrist and begins herding him up the stairs, towards the music room at the end of the hall, which nobody ever uses. He has so much to tell him. Four months’ worth of stories.
Behind the door of the music room, with an assortment of Canadian snacks surrounding them, Shane tells Ilya he’s taking boxing classes now but might quit because he really doesn’t like it when they hit him. Ilya shares his new interest in fast cars. He likes the sounds they make.
“Small but— err big?”
“Powerful?”
“Da, powerful.”
He tells Shane about his parents. His Papa yells so much lately. And his Mama cries a lot. He hides in Irina’s library when it gets too loud.
“You could live here with me.”
Ilya shakes his head. “No, that is not good. Err I mean, Papa will say no.”
“Impossible?”
“Yes, impossible. But maybe in… when we grow up. It will be not impossible.”
“Possible.”
“Too much English, Shanya. My head—,” he makes an explosion sound with his lips.
“Okay, no more English.”
This time, when Ilya leaves, Shane only cries a little. Not enough to induce a fever.
**
Ten years old
As Ilya’s English improves, the more talkative he gets. He prattles on about sports cars and skating with Irina who was a former figure skater. After skating, Irina takes him to a bakery near the skating rink to get Ilya’s favorite dessert, syrniki.
He talks about summers. Swimming alone at the pool because Alexei refuses to play with him, and getting so sunburned, Irina lathers aloe on his skin. When it’s not too hot, he watches butterflies in the family garden. He loves butterflies, especially the blue ones. Sometimes, he sneaks off to play catch with the neighbor’s dog because Papa won’t get him a pet.
“Papa hates bad kids. I am bad and lazy. He disciplines me. But is okay, I get hugs from puppy.” He grins widely and unapologetically.
Ilya addresses suffering with a smile on his face. It’s not easy to quickly move past it like Ilya does. “I’m sorry,” says Shane.
“Do not say sorry for puppy hug.”
“For discipline.”
“Ah, that can be bad sometimes.”
Shane hugs him. He wishes hugs could transfer emotions so he could share some happiness with Ilya and take away his sadness. He wants to be Ilya’s best friend and make him the happiest person in the world.
Everyone at school has a best friend. He can’t tell if his relationship with Ilya qualifies because they only meet four times a year. Nonetheless, Ilya is all Shane thinks about. He has actively stopped trying to make friends in his school. The calendar in his room has four dates circled in red ink, counting the days until they meet.
Ilya is Shane’s only friend but he doesn’t know if he’s Ilya’s only friend. He hopes he is. He is certain nobody else could make Ilya as happy as he does. Moreover, he would be Ilya’s husband in the future. It would be pointless to have friends who are not his husband.
**
Eleven years old
Shane’s birthday falls on the Rozanovs’ second visit to Canada. Irina does not join the esteemed entourage.
“Mama is not well,” Ilya says when Shane asks.
In the music room, Ilya belts out ‘Happy Birthday’ in Russian while smashing random keys on the piano. It is simultaneously the worst and the best thing Shane has ever heard. He laughs until his tummy hurts. He only ever laughs this hard with Ilya.
Ilya gives him a birthday present. It’s a Ferrari model. He says it reminds him of Shane. “Small but powerful.”
“I’m not small! I’m bigger than all the boys in my class. You’re just freakishly big.”
“Freakishly.” Ilya scrunches up his nose. “Is funny word.”
“It means way too much of something.”
He nods seriously. “So you are freakishly small but powerful.”
“Ughhh shut uppppp.”
Shane has a whole plan to ask Ilya to be his best and only friend. He practiced his speech several times, in different voices and with various facial expressions. First, he will ask if Ilya has other friends. Ilya will obviously say no. Shane will then confess that he also has no other friends.
He’ll then list all his best qualities, like how he makes the best strawberry smoothies, and ask Ilya if he wants to be best friends. Yuna promised him a phone for his birthday this year. When Ilya says yes, Shane will give Ilya his number so he can call when he gets his phone too.
“So,” Shane starts while they are bent over a large slice of chocolate cake. He draws patterns with his fork in the icing smeared over the edge of the plate. He’s not a big fan of cake but Ilya is. “Kind of lame to have to have only one friend, right?” Ilya looks up from the cake, his eyebrows arching high. It’s not what Shane practiced. He wants to walk it back. “I mean, only losers have one friend, right?” He digs himself deeper. He clears his throat and abandons the speech, shooting straight. “I— uh, do you have any friends?”
Ilya doesn’t respond. His confused gaze scans Shane’s face. He’s taking too long to respond. Shane panics. “I make a mean strawberry smoothie,” he blurts.
“I have a friend,” Ilya says concurrently.
Shane’s heart sinks. Maybe if Ilya knew what else he could offer. “My smoothies make people happy. I’ll make you happy,” he adds weakly. A fire starts in his belly and spreads to his chest. It hurts worse than when he caught a stomach bug and was bedridden for a week.
“Her name is Svetlana.”
“A girl?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that’s nice?”
“Her father is friend of Papa. She lived in America.”
“Oh,” Shane says again. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces a smile. “That’s nice.”
“She is pretty. Like butterfly.”
“You like butterflies.”
“Yes.”
“That’s nice,” Shane repeats with a grimace. He wishes he had more words.
His mind paints a vivid picture of Ilya and Svetlana together, unencumbered by time constraints. Will they swim or play with the neighbor's dog together in the summer? Will they tend the garden together? Build model cars on Ilya’s bedroom floor? Has Ilya's English improved significantly because of her?
Shane bows his head to hide his wobbly lips from Ilya. Usually, breathing in and out stops his tears. The method fails him today. Still hiding his face, he scrambles to his feet and flees the music room.
He locks himself in his bedroom until the Rozanovs leave. Then he cries and makes a birthday wish for Svetlana to disappear from the surface of the planet.
**
They fly to Russia in the summer.
Shane is excited to see Ilya. He misses him so much. On the other hand, he’s dreading it, afraid Ilya would have his friend, Svetlana with him.
He’s relieved when only the Rozanovs, sans Irina, meet them at the entrance. Ilya does not rush toward Shane like he used to. He hardly looks at Shane at all.
After sharing courtesies, Shane and Ilya are left alone while the adults converge on the meeting room. Ilya stands facing away from Shane. The silence builds on. Shane knows he should say something. Perhaps apologize for his hissy fit the last time they were together.
That Ilya is Shane’s only and best friend does not require Ilya to make the same commitment. Shane decides he doesn’t have to be Ilya’s only friend to make him happy. He will settle for being just one of his friends— if Ilya will take him. But before Shane can speak, Ilya huffs in annoyance and walks out on him.
Shane is left in the middle of the hallway all alone. He fiddles with his thumbs, nibbling the inside of his mouth until it sores.
He stands there for a long time before finding an empty room to sit quietly in and pray his heartburn away.
**
Twelve years old
Irina passes on a Thursday evening.
Shane finds out on Friday morning. Breaking: Irina Rozanov found dead in her Moscow mansion. More to follow
Shane first read about Ilya in the tabloids purely by accident. His Google homepage thought he should know more about the Hollanov partnership and what it could mean for the business of sports in the coming years. He only opened the article because the thumbnail was a family photo of the Rozanovs.
Shane did not have any pictures of Ilya. He thought he could save it and crop Ilya’s family out. However, when he opened the article, he was directed to a different one written purely in Russian.
He quickly translated it. ‘Exclusive look into Ilya Rozanov’s 11th birthday party’. There were numerous photos of Ilya and Shane ravenously saved all but one, in which Ilya was captured smiling at a red-haired girl.
Thenceforth, Shane looked up news on Ilya every morning. It was invasive and inappropriate but he justified his actions with one reason. He missed Ilya. They hadn’t spoken since Shane’s birthday incident.
When the Rozanovs came around in April, Ilya stuck to his brother’s side and barely spared Shane a glance. Ilya was not a big fan of his brother. If he would rather spend time with him, it wasn’t hard to deduce how much Ilya hated Shane.
So as a substitute for Ilya’s attention, Shane scavenges Russian tabloids like a vulture.
Now, Shane stares at the headline until the page blurs. He didn’t talk to Irina much. She was a woman of few words— she smiled at Shane to welcome him and wave him bye— but he knew her.
He spent hours skating on the ice with her. He ate syrniki at a small bakery with her. He can almost hear the song she hums when she makes okroshka for her sick son.
Ilya made sure he had memories to mourn.
**
It is cold on the day Irina is put in the ground. How fitting that the sun hides her face for such a tragedy. Rain soaks the ground and splashes dirt on their expensive shoes and the hem of their pants.
The obsequies are conducted purely in Russian but grief is uniform in every language. It reveals itself in the black of their clothes and the downturn of their lips. In the shoulders that shake. In the eyes that weep. And the voices that wail.
Grigori, who often seemed mightier than the world, looks like he could be trampled under a toddler's foot. He seems to have aged several years, his hair greyer and his back more bent.
Alexei looks his age for once. Though he pretends to be fine, his high shoulders have lowered minutely.
Ilyusha wears his heart on his sleeve. He’d choose to hide it if he could, Shane knows, but his despair is the loudest on the field. He stands just a step away from Shane and his family, swaddled in clothes that were definitely picked up in a rush. What is the appropriate attire for burying a parent? Why should a twelve-year-old bury his mother?
**
The Rozanovs host Shane and his family at the left wing of their mansion. The dinner table is as silent as the cemetery. Nobody really eats. Shane keeps his eyes on Ilya the entire time. Somewhere along the way, a girl appears from nowhere and sticks to his side. Shane recognizes her by her hair. She’s even prettier in person. Ilya’s butterfly. She holds Ilya’s hand the way Shane wants to. She strokes his back over his too-big jacket and whispers platitudes.
Shane stares until the imagery burns behind his eyelids. It haunts him at night, flashes of gold and auburn hair in his dreams. He wakes up at two in the morning and can’t go back to sleep. Too antsy to stay still, he throws a robe over his pajamas and walks down the lonely halls to the right wing of the house where the Rozanovs live. He takes the stairs to Irina’s library, one of the two places he’s familiar with.
It was his second-favorite place to be after Ilya’s bedroom. Sometimes they sat on the balcony and chatted while watching clouds. On rare occasions, Ilya asked Shane to read out English books to him and laughed at words he thought sounded funny. Sometimes, they just lie in the stillness, enjoying each other’s space. Shane chases the memory.
The library is not as empty as he thought it would be. Ilya is curled up on the single three-seater couch squeezed between a desk and a shelf. He stirs at the intrusion, only jerking back slightly when he sees that it’s Shane.
“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.” Shane feels the need to explain. “I didn’t know you were here. If I did, I wouldn’t have bothered you.” Ilya’s silence triggers a ramble. “My condolences by the way. I was going to call you but I didn’t have your number and you’re not on social media. I checked. N-not in a stalkerish way. I’m not a stalker. I didn’t want to ask my parents then they’d have to ask your dad and it would become a whole thing. I just— I wanted to say sorry. I know how much she means to you. Sorry— meant. I just— sorry?”
Ilya stares at him for a moment and then breaks into laughter. Shane stands woodenly and quite baffled as he laughs to his fill. “Oh my God, Hollander. You have not changed.”
Was he supposed to? He would’ve tried if he knew. “Sorry.”
“You will stand there all night?”
“What? Oh.” He steps away from the door and perches beside Ilya. They are on opposite ends of the couch with a cushion between them and yet, it’s the closest they've been in months. They exist together in silence. Ilya’s gaze tingles the side of Shane’s face but he doesn’t turn to meet them.
More silence follows. Then Ilya says softly, “I did not think you would come.”
Shane frowns, finally meeting his eyes. Ilya is still smiling but his eyes are sad. “Why would you think that?”
“I thought you changed. How you say— uh grew out of me?”
“I didn’t.”
“So you don’t have a million new friends?”
“That would be you,” Shane says, annoyance souring his mood. “I don’t have a million other friends.” He feels ashamed for some reason when he adds, “It’s just you. Was just you.”
Ilya brightens at Shane’s confession. He sidles up to Shane until the side of their legs touch. “So you are loser?”
Shane frowns. He’s more embarrassed than angry. “I guess I am.”
“Nooo Shanya,” Ilya groans like he didn’t suggest it. “Do not talk about yourself like that. You are very boring but you are not loser.”
“Shut up, Ilya.”
“Hmm just because you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.” He is. He can feel the heat spreading to his cheeks and ears.
Ilya searches his face, smiling. Then he shifts even closer and lays his head on Shane’s shoulder. Something releases in Shane’s chest. The knot twisting in his stomach for months gives. Shane leans back to make Ilya comfortable. Then gently, he cards his fingers through his golden curls.
“I’m sorry about your Mama.”
“Hmm.”
“And I’m sorry for running away.”
“Hmm.”
Shane swallows. “I-I know you have a friend now but I think you should make me your best friend. I make the meanest strawberry smoothie and I can make you happy, I think. Will you be my best friend?”
“You always have been, Shanya.”
**
Sixteen years old
Ilya starts referring to Shane as his husband. But there are so many things Ilya starts at sixteen. One is wearing a gold crucifix around his neck in remembrance of Irina. He now talks about kissing girls, and the smell of nicotine clings to his clothes.
If you asked Shane, Ilya should not be kissing girls or anyone else since they are contractually engaged to be married but he doesn’t say this out loud. Ilya would roll his eyes and call him boring. He however makes sure Ilya knows how much he hates smoking.
“I don’t want you near me. You stink of cigarettes.”
“Shanya, I had just one.” He whines, chasing Shane around the library. Ilya eventually catches up to him, caging him against a shelf and pressing his entire weight into him. “I got you,” he grins, minty breath fanning Shane’s lips.
Shane stares at his lips for a moment. He bites his own and looks back at Ilya’s eyes. “Smoking is bad for you.”
“We are not married yet but you talk talk.”
“Nag.”
“Da that, you nag too much.”
“I just want you to live long enough to actually get married,” Shane teases.
“Ugh fine. I will stop. Happy?”
“Yes.”
“Now give me hug, pleeeaseeeee. I have missed you.”
At seven, Shane was told in a few words that when he was old enough, he would marry somebody called Ilya Rozanov. He didn’t know what that meant at the time. At ten, he figured out what was being asked of him to some extent.
Marriage: the state of being united as spouses in a contractual relationship recognized by law.
Spouse: a partner in marriage. Specifically a husband and wife.
Shane could imagine a much worse fate than being stuck with his best friend for the rest of his life. He liked spending time with Ilya. If they got married, they wouldn’t have to rely on quarterly visits a year. They’d always be together. Sleep in the same room like mom and dad and maybe kiss each other.
At twelve, with Ilya in his arms on a library couch, mourning Irina together, he understood marriage could mean a little more than the dictionary definition.
Now at sixteen, Shane’s stance on marrying his best friend hasn’t changed. He’s just a little more aware of it because it’s all they talk about in meetings. They get constant briefings on how to conduct themselves in public and stay out of negative press. Grigori repeats the latter one while staring at Ilya.
Ilya nods obediently. He’s different around his father. Stripped off his usual light. Whenever that happens, Shane recalls ten-year-old Ilya’s words. “Papa disciplines me.”
When they manage to escape the adults, Ilya teases him. He calls Shane his husband and laughs heartily when Shane blushes and tells him to fuck off.
In Russia, they hide away in Irina’s library and talk about what they would do once they were twenty-five, married, and free from their parents.
“Travel the world, probably,” Ilya says. “Many places to see.”
“Will you bring me with you?”
Ilya looks at him like he’s stupid for asking. “Will I bring my pretty husband with me?”
“Fuck off!”
Ilya only laughs harder. “Yes, Shanya. I will bring you with me.”
“Just us?” No Svetlana, Shane doesn’t say. He doesn’t want Ilya to be reminded of her existence.
“Yes, just us.”
**
Seventeen years old
Ilya plays the piano on Shane’s 16th. It’s not perfect but Shane tears up.
“Yes, you better cry, веснушки. I practiced hard for this.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Asshole might as well be a term of endearment the way he says it. “Thanks a lot.”
He caresses the underside of Shane’s eyes. “Anything for my husband.” Yelps and hops away when Shane pretends to bite his hand off.
They skip their meeting in favor of lazing about in Shane’s room. Ilya loves to dump his entire weight on him and he’s currently doing it now, lying across Shane in the shape of a multiplication sign.
“I smell cigarettes,” Shane says.
“No you do not.”
“You’re literally lying on top of me.”
“I had just one.”
“You said you quit.”
Ilya signs, twisting until he’s lying straight, his crucifix dangling in Shane’s face. “I quit last week.”
“You’re gonna look me right in the eye and lie to me?”
“Yes because you believe it when I do that.”
“Make it believable at least.”
“Fine, I will quit.”
“I don’t believe you, Ilyusha.”
Ilya’s eyes go impossibly soft. He groans, burrowing into Shane’s chest. “моя маленькая бабочка, you will kill me.” Voice muffled in Shane’s shirt. “I love it when you call me that.”
Shane hugs Ilya’s neck and rests his chin atop his curls. “You’re only saying that to distract me from your smoking.”
“You must believe me.”
“Okay, Ilyusha,” Shane says and laughs when Ilya shivers and lets out a slew of Russian words.
He makes a mental note to learn the language.
**
Eighteen years
Ilya is absent from the welcoming party when Shane and his family arrive in Moscow but Shane doesn’t panic. Two nights ago, they stayed up talking on the phone. Ilya had some exciting news to share but wanted to tell Shane in person. Before boarding, Shane called him at the airport and they also texted for a while on the flight.
Shane rushes through pleasantries and goes to find Ilya in the library. Ilya turns at the sound of the door, lips stretching in a smile that splits his bruised lips. There’s a large patch of discoloration on the right side of Ilya’s face. Shane freezes at the door, weakened by anger and helplessness.
“Shanya, is okay.” Ilya dabs the blood from his lips with a paper napkin.
“This is not okay.”
When it becomes apparent that Shane isn't going to move. Ilya rises and comes to him instead. He gently cups Shane’s face as though he is the one with a nasty bruise and a split lip.
“Am fine. Look at me.”
“I’m so sorry, Ilya.”
“This is not your fault, no? Do not be sorry.”
“Still it sucks.”
“Yes.”
“Will you at least tell me what happened?”
“Papa wanted to get rid of Mama’s things. I would not let him. He hit me.” He shrugs. “No big deal.”
“Shit, Ilya.” Shane pulls him into a hug. They are not of similar height anymore and Ilya’s shoulders seem to grow broader every time Shane sees him but he shrinks himself enough to fit in Shane’s arms, face tucking into Shane’s neck. Shane holds him close, rocking them slightly on his feet.
“Sorry.” Ilya’s tears are cool against Shane’s skin.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
Later, they stretch out on the carpeted floor with their backs against the couch. The curtains are drawn shut and only a single light at the end of the couch illuminates the room. Ilya has just finished a Jos Louis pack, his favorite and the only thing he asks Shane to bring from Canada, and is now playfully wrestling Shane’s socked toes with his.
“What’s the exciting news you wanted to share?”
Ilya grins. “Papa said we will move to Canada when I am twenty. Russia will not be so friendly when our engagement is announced to the world.”
“Really?” Shane separates his back from the couch. He does the mental math and gasps. Ilya will move to Canada in two years. “Really!?”
He laughs. “Yes. I will get stupid Canadian passport and buy stupid snack myself.”
“Shut up. You like it.”
“I will marry my neurotic Canadian husband.”
“Who even taught you that word?” Shane is dizzy with joy.
“Is same in Russian.”
His smile is almost splitting his face. “I am not neurotic. But Ilya,” Shane is almost bouncing. “Do you know what that means? We will see each other more than four times a year.”
“I did not think of that at all.”
“Asshole. We’ll be together 24/7. Ugh, two years is too far away.”
“I know.” Ilya is somber all of a sudden. “Is too far away.”
Shane settles back against the couch, face turned toward his friend. “I’m sorry.”
“Mama,” Ilya starts, noticeably struggling to get the words out. “She was so beautiful. But she was so sad and so lonely. Papa tells everyone that her death was an accident. She swallowed a bottle of pills.”
“Oh, Ilya.”
“I found her.” His chin wobbles. “Sorry.” He starts to turn his face away but Shane doesn’t let him.
“Hey hey, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I did not find her on time. If I were faster, maybe she would have lived. It is my fault—,”
“No,” Shane holds Ilya tighter as he tries to hide his face again. “Look at me, Ilyusha. It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault.”
On some nights, Ilya would call and say nothing at all, his breath filling the static quiet of the phone. Shane knows without asking that it is when he misses his mother the most.
Shane touches the bruise on Ilya’s face gently. “I wish I could steal you away.”
Ilya smiles sadly. “I would let you.”
“I’d take you somewhere far away. Somewhere our families couldn’t reach us. Probably to a place where nobody knows us.” He thumbs away the remaining tears on his face. “We could be normal.”
“Boring?”
“Maybe.” The lamp at the end of the couch glows around Ilya’s head like a halo. His bruises are not so visible now but the shine in his eyes is. How could someone so broken be so beautiful? “Tonight,” Shane says. “We could run away together.” He knows it’s impossible. Lying is not something Shane enjoys or actively partakes in but he knows that people are comforted by it. “We could meet at my hotel lobby at midnight and sneak off.”
“Are you serious?” The hopefulness in Ilya’s eyes makes the lie worth it.
“A faraway place where nobody would recognize us, right?”
“Shanya.” Ilya breathes. He closes in until the tips of their noses brush. Until his palm is warm against Shane’s cheek. “Where would we go?”
“Somewhere with a beach. I’d like to walk along the beach with you.”
Ilya closes his eyes and Shane immediately misses their blue depths. “You will hold my hand?” Shane nods, too choked up to even manage a whisper. “We will wear matching shirts like on TV, yes?”
“Yes.”
His thumb caresses the shell of Shane’s ear. “Shanya, мой муж. I want that, I want that so much.”
Shane closes the distance between them, pressing his lips once to his best friend's forehead and twice to the edge of his lips. He pulls back with bated breath to catch Ilya’s eyes. They are widened in shock. Shane panics. Was he not supposed to?
The kiss suddenly tastes like a huge ‘what if’ on his tongue. What if this changes everything? What if he ruined everything? Ilya only talks about kissing girls.
He swallows around the lump of regret in his throat and forces out a weak, "Ilya, I didn't—,"
The words are pushed back into his mouth by a firm press of lips against his own. He lets out a small sound of surprise which comes out more like a whimper. He’s alarmed by the way his body turns into the kiss, every ounce of uncertainty slipping through his fingers as they cling onto both sides of Ilya's waist. It's thrilling— too overwhelming, he feels everything and nothing at once as his world narrows down to the way his lips move against Ilya’s slightly swollen ones and the jolt of electricity that passes through him as the pads of Ilya’s fingers sink into his neck and drag him closer, pulling him over his legs.
He burns with a sudden wave of want that has been festering under his skin for years. A need that compels him to chase desperately at Ilya’s lips when he briefly breaks the kiss to adjust Shane into his lap. Ilya chuckles softly before grabbing Shane’s jaw between his thumb and index fingers and licking into his mouth. It is sinful. It is intoxicating. It is nothing like he has ever felt. Ever allowed himself to consider a possibility.
Shane has always wanted Ilya— fuck, he has never wanted anything more desperately. How many times did he wish he were one of the girls Ilya bragged about kissing? How many times has he touched himself, pushing out images of his best friend and feeling guilt upon failure?
He could live here forever, in Ilya's arms with their lips affixed, their erections straining against the fabric of their pants, his heart roaring in his ears. In this little library that Irina left behind.
“Shane, honey.” Yuna’s voice hits them like a bucket of ice. They jump apart but Shane doesn’t get too far because Ilya won't let him. “Be at the car in ten.” She calls out as the soft clack of her heels on the marble floor fades away.
Shane lets out a long exhale, shutting his eyes against the sudden rush of feelings. Fuck! He doesn’t want to leave.
“Hey, Shanya. Is okay.” Ilya soothes his palms down Shane's back, ducking down to catch his eyes. “Is okay. Just breathe.” Shane follows the sound of his voice and his breathing pattern. Ilya smiles encouragingly. “My brave Shanya.”
“I don’t want to go. It’s so unfair.”
“It will be over soon, yes?” Shane nods. His eyes drift to Ilya’s lips again. And Ilya, as if reading his mind, leans in and kisses Shane. It’s chaste and ends too soon but he understands that he has to go. Ilya rises first and then helps Shane to his feet. He flips some switches on the wall to flood the room with light. His bruises look more garish under the full illumination.
Shane winces. “Sorry.”
“I am better now. You kiss it better, младенец.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Can I kiss you again?”
“Da.” He takes Shane’s chin and draws him in for a longer kiss.
Shane keeps his eyes shut long after their lips part. “I’ll miss you.”
Ilya locks his arms around Shane. “You are singing to the choir.”
“Preaching to the choir,” Shane amends, smiling. Ilya smiles back softly.
After that, they gingerly pull their shoes on and join Shane’s parents at the entrance. Grigori and Alexei, unsurprisingly, are missing. Yuna frowns when she sees Ilya’s face. Her lips draw thin, swallowing whatever she must have wanted to say. A show of restraint if Shane has ever seen one. She’s not the type to keep her thoughts to herself.
“I’ll see you soon?” Shane whispers, grazing Ilya’s bruised cheek with his knuckles. He doesn’t care that his parents are watching. Ilya will be his husband in 7 years. Ilya’s eyes widen as Shane leans in to smack a kiss across his lips.
“See you later.” Ilya squeaks, cheeks unceremoniously tinted. He throws his hand at David and Yuna who seem unsurprised by the turn of events before tripping all the way back to the house.
Halfway to the hotel Shane’s phone pings.
Ilyusha🩵
See you later 🧑🏼❤️💋🧑🏻
He releases the smile he has been fighting since he left the Rozanovs’.
**
Shane wakes up the next morning to twenty-six missed calls and two messages from Ilya.
Ilyusha🩵
00:00
here
Missed facetime call
Ilyusha🩵
02:00
Shanya?
Shane calls Ilya’s phone. It goes through but there’s no response. He calls several more times to no avail. His hands are shaking by the time he starts scrolling through the news. He’s only slightly relieved when nothing about Ilya comes up. He calls Yuna who answers almost immediately.
“Mom, can you call Grigori and check up on Ilya?”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I don’t know. Please?”
“Okay.”
Shane bites his nails as he waits. Yuna calls back after a couple of minutes. Ilya is home. Shane exhales and calls him again. Still no answer. He sends a text back.
Shane
9:00
Hey, Ilya. Saw your missed calls. Shoot me a text when you see this. I’ll probably be on the plane when you do. See you ❤️
Shane alternates between calling Ilya and checking his phone until he boards his flight. He begins to worry when his phone stays dry for two hours after landing in Canada. He calls Ilya and sends messages. All texts tick blue.
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Shane to realize that Ilya is deliberately ignoring him. When it dawns, at first he feels sadness. He sends multiple texts, despondent whenever it ticks blue. He reads their old conversations, lingering on see you later 🧑🏼❤️💋🧑🏻.
After a week of moping comes anger. This is not his fault. Ilya kissed him back! If he was going to panic, he shouldn’t have. He wants to be as stubborn as Ilya and give him a taste of his own medicine by ignoring him. But he caves at each attempt.
Shane
00:00
I miss you Ilyusha. Can you pick up?
00:05
You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. I can listen to you breathing.
read
The months pass slowly and painfully without Ilya. Shane resorts to hunting for news of him in the Russian press again. His heart lurches whenever he sees Ilya. He saves paparazzi pictures like a creep and sends Ilya messages he never responds to.
Shane
12:00
Hey, Ilya. It’s my 19th birthday. I guess I got used to reading your messages first thing in the morning.
I hoped you’d pity me and send something today.
How are you? Have you made any new friends? I saw you in the news with someone called Sasha. They called you the most eligible heirs of Moscow.
I made a friend too. His name is Hayden. I met him when I followed Dad to the country club. I can’t wait to see you in two weeks.
read
**
All of Shane’s enthusiasm for Ilya’s visit fades when the Rozanovs arrive wearing matching stony looks. Ilya sits through meetings he formerly called boring and urged Shane to skip, forcing Shane to sit and endure the endless droning of their lawyers’ voices. The only thing that makes it somewhat bearable is staring at Ilya’s face across the table.
At the end of the meeting, while the adults bid their final courtesies, Shane chases Ilya down the hall. “Ilya!” Ilya walks faster. “Stop!” He quickens his pace. “Ilyusha!”
Ilya spins around, voice thundering. “Do not fucking call me that!”
Shane recoils at the fury on Ilya’s face. “What the hell is your problem!?”
“Fuck, Hollander! Can’t you leave me the fuck alone?” Not my husband, not Shanya, not even Shane. Hollander.
“What did I do wrong!?” He hates the helpless tremble in his voice.
Ilya huffs an unkind laugh. “Do you want a list!?”
“Fuck you! You shouldn’t have touched me if you were going to be an asshole about it!” Shane swipes at his face to stop his tears from breaking containment. “I'm done calling you, texting you, and making a fool of myself.”
“That is what I want, no?”
“Oh fuck you, Rozanov!”
Shane quickly walks away without waiting to hear any more of Ilya’s hurtful words. He sequesters himself in his room and doesn’t go to see the Rozanovs off. He gets the feeling that the days of hugging Ilya goodbye by the car are over. He closes his eyes and refuses to let his tears fall.
**
Shane successfully stays away for three days before falling back into old patterns of stalking Ilya in the news. Regret follows instantly.
Inside Ilya Rozanov’s wild night out with long-term girlfriend, Svetlana Vetrova.
Shane’s heart drops. The attached photos make bile rise in his throat. Ilya has his arms around her in one. In another one which looks like it could've been taken right after the first one, his lips are pressed to her cheek. She’s sitting in his lap in a different shot. Ilya looks happy in every frame. Shane holds his trembling lower lip between his teeth. It was foolish of him to believe he was enough to make Ilya Rozanov happy.
Shane makes it to the toilet before throwing up everything he ate for supper. He drops onto the bathroom floor, pulling his knees to his chest, and tries to breathe the way Ilya taught him back in Russia.
More than anything, it is knowing Ilya is okay that breaks him. For months, he convinced himself that Ilya must miss him too. That he too gets heartburn at the thought of Shane. That his eyes sting with tears when he misses him. That he lies in bed at night, thumb hovering over the call button or scrolling up to read their older messages. That his heart randomly clenches so painfully it feels like he ruptured something.
But he doesn’t. He is okay. More than okay. Did he ever care? The question will haunt him forever.
A sob rips itself from Shane’s throat as he comes to the terrifying realization that what he’s experiencing is heartbreak. What a fool he is to have gone and fallen irrevocably in love with his husband.
As a despairing last resort, he calls Ilya’s phone again. This time the call does not go through at all.