Archive of Our Own

Ilya didn’t know that a tabloid headline could be seared into his mind. It’s like he got it tattooed on the back of his eyelids like some fucked up self-flagellation routine. 

Is Rose Landry dating MHL star Shane Hollander?

Ilya started learning English a long time ago, almost ten years at this point, tediously studying a language that had no regard for rules or his sanity. He hated how he sounded when he spoke it, sometimes still did. Felt like his accent made him sound like a villain in a low budget movie or worse a cartoonish one. 

Ilya had never liked studying, felt extra stupid when he tried, hated how he wasn’t instantly good at it, hated struggling but English was one thing he never could get rid of. Needed it for hockey, needed it to play for Boston, needed it to leave Russia and so he had learned, had gotten better at understanding it, spoke it with way more confidence than he had as a teenager. And all of it had led to that fucked up moment in the gym, when Marlow had tilted his screen towards Ilya and a decade of English helped him read a headline, he wished he never had. 

He never should have learned English. All his problems stemmed from this stupid language. 

If he hadn’t learnt it, he never would have spoken to Shane Hollander. He never would have understood his silly praise and kind words. And he never would have replied back and then all this wouldn’t have been a problem. 

This Ilya knew was wishful thinking because even if he couldn’t have read the headline, he would have seen that photo. That ratchet, disgusting, god awful photo. There are very few things Ilya can think of at the top of his head that he hated more than he hated that fucking photo. He hated that it was being used as proof that those two were together. Hated that they could go outside and be photographed together. Hated Rose Landry’s stupid smile, hated how their fingers were intertwined, how that was something they were allowed to do in public. 

It wasn’t fair.

Ilya hated Rose Landry. Really hated her. 

Ilya didn’t do hate. He disliked people, didn’t agree with their behaviour, detested some personality traits, but hated very few. Hate was a strong word and a stronger emotion and having grown up in the family he did, Ilya’s tolerance for people’s bullshit was rather high. It took a lot for him to truly hate someone but Rose Landry had done enough. She took his person, stole him, to him there was no worse crime than that. 

He wished she’d do or say something that would make her public enemy number one. He needed everyone to hate her alongside him. He wanted everyone to think she was awful, he felt the public scorn would be deserved. He hoped her movie would fail or that she’d fall on set and break a bone or something. Nothing fatal, Ilya wasn’t a monster but something that really hurt. It was only fair given that she had taken Shane Hollander from him. Never mind that Hollander wasn’t his to begin with, that he didn’t have any claim on him nor that Hollander wanted to be kept. She took him and that’s all that mattered. 

Ilya was an idiot. He knew this, Alexei used to remind him every day, had seen in it his father’s eyes, felt it sometimes when he couldn’t articulate his thoughts in English or couldn’t recall a word immediately. He knew it yet sometime he was surprised; taken aback by how fucking stupid he really could be. 

Inviting Hollander to his house was stupid, asking him to stay was all kinds of stupid, cooking for him, clothing him in his t-shirt was kind of stupid, buying multiple cans of ginger ale was stupid, calling him Shane had been really fucking stupid. 

For a moment there, with Hollander in his lap, his skin warm and soft, sun making him glow, Ilya had thought maybe Hollander had felt some of what he did. He wasn’t stupid enough to think Hollander felt with the same intensity he did. But he had thought maybe Ilya meant something to him after years, almost a decade of fucking.

He had been so wrong. 

So so wrong.

Maybe in 10, 15 or 50 years later Ilya would find it funny. He couldn’t find it right now. 

Ilya stared at his ceiling without actually seeing it. He was on his bed; the same one he and Hollander had cuddled in. Cuddled. They had cuddled for the first time and Ilya had been breathless with how much he’d liked it. 

They had shared a bed before. Of course they had, they usually fucked in one. Once they finished, both breathing deeply, the blood still pounding in their ears, Ilya’s fingers still trembling. But never for long, never touching for too long either. Ilya would try to keep the touch as casual as possible after being inside of him. They’d lie next to each other for a few moments and then the pretence of needing to go back to the hotel, curfew or worried team mates would be spoken. It was part of their dance. One they both had perfected over the years. Ilya was getting a little (a lot) sick of it. 

Ilya liked touch. All forms of it. 

He liked touching people, supple skin under his fingers, the slight sting of body heat on his cold fingertips. The fine fuzz of hair, the squish of fat and muscle. He liked their gasp when he pinched a little or when their breath left them too quick when he was rough. He also liked being on the receiving end. Touch was essential in sex and he liked sex, so it made sense to like touch. 

But Ilya liked it outside of sex too. 

Maybe, sometimes he liked that touch more than the sex itself. The grab and pull of hands on his body in the club. The breath of another person on the back of his neck. The flutter of lips on his throat, the fingers on his thighs and back and stomach. He liked all of it. Ilya liked being wanted and liked feeling loved. And what was more adoring, loving, than someone grabbing a handful of his waist to pull him, so he wouldn’t get too far? 

Cuddling was different. He didn’t do it often, hardly got the chance to. It wasn’t like he could pick someone up from the club or a bar to just lay with them in bed, to hold or maybe to be held. It felt too intimate to ask that from a random hook-up. 

But cuddling with Hollander had been life changing. His face pressed into the back of his head, Hollander’s hair almost in his mouth, Ilya had thought that there was no way any of this could be casual. And with how relaxed Hollander had been, he thought maybe he felt the same. He could not have been more wrong.

He hated his house. Every room, every piece of furniture down to the fucking cutlery reminded him of Hollander. He wanted to burn the house down, move out, sell the place and find somewhere else to live. A place that wasn’t haunted by Hollander, a kitchen where he could actually eat and a couch that he could at least look at. But that felt too close to losing. He wasn’t even sure who he was losing to, maybe to Rose Landry, so Ilya wouldn’t give up and sell the place. Not that it mattered. He had lost to her in a way that mattered the most. He lost Hollander to her. Losing the cup had felt less devastating. 

Ilya blindly reached for his phone. The house felt too quiet, his head too loud. A cigarette would be nice but then he’d feel too buzzy later on once the nicotine wore off and then he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep at all. The thought of drinking, in equal parts nauseated him and made him feel disgusted with himself. No, he wouldn’t give Rose Landry the satisfaction of his jealousy. He’d listen to music, distract himself and if that didn’t work, he’d hit the gym tire himself out. He needed something to tire him out, needed that extra help to attempt to sleep. Concentrating on understanding English was an easy ticket to exhaust himself, focusing on the words, separating them from the music would help, it usually did. 

He had ‘Hotline Bling’ stuck in his head. Drake had articulated his situation so well in the song that Ilya couldn’t bring himself to listen to anything else. And now it had been ringing in his head. He won’t do that to himself again. He’ll find something else to listen to, he needed a distraction not a fucking soundtrack to his life.

Ilya was still figuring out the mechanics of browsing for new music. He had half a mind to ask Malow for recommendations, when he saw on the home page of the app, under new releases, a golden star streaking at the edges. An album he didn’t recognise. Good, he wouldn’t have to ask anyone for music, wouldn’t have to humiliate himself more.

Cosmic

He looked up what that word meant, because no matter how much this language upset him, gave him a fucking headache, there was a special sense of accomplishment he felt when he used a word that people didn’t expect him to know. Made him feel less stupid. It was also really nice when Hollander complimented his—

Cosmic: relating to the universe or cosmos, especially as distinct from the earth. (Inconceivably vast.)

Ilya listened to the pronunciation a couple of times trying to mimic its sound. It didn’t sound as pretty in his mouth as what the word meant. It made him think of Hollander, as most things did. How his freckles looked like those illustrations of the galaxies, how his feelings for him sometimes felt inconceivably vast within his chest. 

Enough. 

He was going to listen to music and focus on it so that he could translate the lyrics. Get his mind off someone who didn’t give two flying shits about him. 

1. Dreams

The singer said something and then the music picked up. Ilya had to restart the song thrice to understand and make himself listen instead of zoning out. He needed to pay attention because if he didn’t, his mind would wander off and the entire purpose of listening to new music would be defeated. 

Girl, it felt good with your body on me

We should never ever leave the sheets, yeah

We could stay forever underneath, yeah

Ilya had wanted to stay in bed with him the entire day and if it would have been possible then the entire week. Hollander made him want to be selfish like that. Always had, despite knowing that wasn’t their relationship. Now he was in bed with some beautiful, gorgeous, pretty woman who he could go out on dates and show off and Ilya was rotting in his bed alone.

He changed the song, didn’t even let the chorus finish.

2. Soarin 

Too young to see tomorrow

Too young to know it hurts

Ilya had been too young, only 18. He never would have imagined this thing with Hollander would grow to this size, make him feel this way. Sure asking him to stay over and calling him by his name had made it explode into his face but it had hurt even before that. Leaving once they were done while Shane looked flushed, his breathing still slightly rushed, softly rolling around in plush blankets. Watching Hollander fumble with his pants while Ilya’s fingers twitched for a cigarette or for a drink, mostly for pulling him back. In Sochi, in Vegas, in Montreal and in Boston. Everyplace and every time they’d met in dark rooms, all the while rushing because they never had time. All of it had hurt but it didn’t matter because the reward had been Hollander. Hollander under him, in his mouth, holding him, seeing him like no one else ever would.

I apologize if I say

Anything I do mean

He should have kept his fucking mouth shut. Growing up, he was often told to shut up but it had never formed into a habit, never truly stuck. Ilya wished it had. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d want to call him Shane. He should have swallowed that want like he had a hundred times. But stupidly, foolishly he had convinced himself that day, a fantasy that only existed in his mind could be reality. 

He liked how his name felt in his mouth, Shane, the flick of his tongue at the end. The rush of air in his mouth while he said it. The look in Hollander’s eyes, the pink of his cheeks because of it. Liked everything about it. He loved how Ilya sounded in Hollander’s voice. When he had heard it, his heart skipped several beats but he also felt so, so relieved. Relieved that Hollander was reciprocating. In that moment fantasy bled into reality even if it had been only for a little while. 

3. Myself 

I think I'm losing my mind

Trying to stay inside the lines

It's like I'm running in place

How you keep staying the same?

Ilya did feel like he was losing it. He knew the difference between wishful thinking and reality. And that day it hadn’t just been a fantasy, it felt different, knew Hollander had felt the difference too. They had done things that they never did before. Spent more time than they usually did, shared a meal, cuddled, watched a match, cuddled, slept together not just for sex but also for the purpose of sleep (while cuddling). And it had been different, better. They weren’t rushing, pretending like they had other places to be. For the first time it felt like they had time, like they could occupy each other’s time and Ilya had loved every second of it right up until Hollander decided to be a fucking chicken and run. 

I'm better by myself

I'm better by myself

I don't need no one else

I'm better by myself

Myself

Ilya was better by himself. He had a team that played well, fans that would probably die for him, beautiful women who threw themselves at him at any given moment. He was young and had an attractive body that people really liked. There was never a shortage of those who wanted to fuck him. No matter the city Ilya knew how to party and have fun and he usually did. Never mind that the last time he was in a club, he saw Rose Landry rubbing herself all over Hollander or that watching that had made him want to curl up and die. Never mind that those two may have ruined clubbing for him for the foreseeable future. 

No, he was good at clubbing, was just choosing not at the moment because he was better by himself. He liked his own company and unlike Hollander didn’t need a girl to feel good about himself. Alone in his bedroom, he was doing just fine.  

He was better by himself. He was happy alone. He was just fine.

4. Star

And you like me 'cause I'm gifted 

He wished Hollander liked him.

Ilya knew Hollander was attracted to competence, to skill, mostly when it came to hockey. Something Ilya knew he had. He had been drafted first, and had beaten him in several games. He wished having the skill, the gift for hockey was enough to make Hollander like him. 

He changed the song. It sounded too happy anyways.

5. Why

Even though your parents, they don't fucking trust me

They probably are right though, I know I'm an asshole

No reply to all your texts, girl, I do you mad cold

Ilya was an asshole, he knew this, his team knew this, the fans knew this, the entire fucking hockey world knew this. Shane Hollander also knew it. Usually called him one several times in one night. And Ilya liked being one, found it fun to rile others up by being a dick. Liked the booing of the crowd and the anger in people’s eyes, found it funny even. He especially liked being an asshole to Hollander, how it would colour him a pretty pink, making his freckles stand out. How he’d clench his fists to his sides like he was holding himself back from hitting Ilya. Liked how with a few choice words he could have hockey’s perfect golden boy shaking with rage. 

He knew this and it had never bothered him. Until it did. Maybe this was why he could never have Hollander. Not like Rose Landry at least. Because she wasn’t an asshole (he had seen her interview, saw her polite words and kind smile). Because she was someone Hollander could take on nice dates and hold hands with.  

Ilya didn’t mind being an asshole, it was who he was and it hadn’t bothered him. It shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t make a habit of changing himself for others. But these days when he thought of being an asshole, he got this sinking feeling in his gut. Because even if everything else had been different, it was a universal truth that assholes don’t get introduced to parents. And even if by some miracle they had made things work out, Hollander would never be able to take him home to his parents. Ilya couldn’t think of anyone else who he cared about whose parents he wanted to impress. He was ready to bet his entire net worth that Rose Landry didn’t have to worry about impressing Hollander’s parents. Perfect golden boys take perfect pretty girls home, not some asshole. 

I'm all that you want, but not what you need, girl, why?

Ilya was the asshole. He was the problem. Shane Hollander may have been dumb enough to want his dick but he was sensible enough to know that there was no future with him. He may want sex with him in fleeting moments when it was too complicated to find someone else but Hollander did not need him. Shane Hollander did not feel the same way as Ilya felt about him. 

Ilya knew he was an asshole. Mr. Bazzi knew he was an asshole. But unlike him, Bazzi’s girl needed him back. 

6. 3:15

Lying next to you, I got a flight in the morning

Got me questioning what I think is important

They never had time. Stolen moments in showers, gyms, in hotel rooms had been exciting in the beginning. It had been fun, hot, even sneaking around, hiding to make sure they wouldn’t get caught. Ilya liked the risk of sleeping with a guy, the added layer of danger of it being his rival. But the novelty of it had worn off quickly and now all Ilya wanted was time with him. He wanted to have sex for days, fold Hollander into different positions, edge both of them for hours, see how many times they could cum before the timer went off, finger him till his wrist cramped and Shane’s thighs shook, till the sheets were soaked with their sweat, till they were slick with spit and the fucking cum dripped from them. 

That was a good way to spend time. A great way even. But—

But Ilya wanted time with him for regular things too. Mundane things like eating or watching the television or doing the dishes or cuddling. He wanted to spend time with Hollander, ask him stupid questions, not just ones designed to piss him off. What his favorite colour was or if he had a particular type of socks he preferred. 

They never had that. And the one time they almost did, like everything else, Ilya fucked up . And like always Hollander ran. 

I can't even lie, think of you when I'm with her

Look me in my eye, tell me that you feel different

The entire night in that fucking club, all he could think of was Hollander. He had left his hotel room to find a distraction. Needed one badly. He couldn’t get those two out of his mind, felt like he was teetering on the edge. But the universe must find profound humor in his suffering. Of all the damn clubs, Rose Landry could have gone to with her perfect boyfriend. Of all the clubs that his team could have picked, it had to be the one where his suffering would have been maximum. 

And Ilya tried really hard not to let it bother him. He tried to be mature and adult about it. Tried to smooth his face into indifference. Tried to control the shaking of his hands, the loud thump of his heart. 

He failed spectacularly. 

Even with a gorgeous woman backing up into him, his lips on her throat, her earring in his mouth, he could only see Hollander. His hands may have been on that woman but head was filled with Shane. He had wanted to shove her away, grab him by the shoulders and scream in his face. Ask him what the fuck he was doing with Rose Landry, what he was doing in a club, why he had left and if he really hadn’t felt the same. Ilya wanted so many things but mostly he wanted Shane.

Haven't seen you in a year, but I still get you

They may not have had time with each other but they sure had plenty of it apart. He had heard one of those stupid English sayings ‘Distance makes the heart grow fonder’. Ilya didn’t know if he believed that or not but he did know one thing for sure. Shane Hollander was intense. Time with him was intense and time without him was also intense, just in different ways. Ilya could never tell which was harder, waiting for months to see Hollander, leaving right after or having to watch him leave or holding himself back from texting too much. Whatever it was no matter how long they spent apart, Hollander had an effect on him, one which made him want to go down on his knees and pray, say his name in a litany, like a lunatic. 

Hurts to see you laugh 'cause I know I'll fucking miss that

How could I forget that?

It sometimes hurt to see Hollander laugh, making his chest squeeze to the point of pain. He had to remind himself to breathe, and got a ridiculous sense of pride when he was the one to make Hollander giggle. Or when he’d scoff trying to hide his amusement or right after sex when he’d outright laugh because he was still a little loopy and would forget to not find Ilya funny. He loved all of it, would have spent a lifetime making him laugh if only Hollander would have allowed it. 

But he never would. And now he didn’t need to. Because now he was busy grinning with Rose Landry on tabloid covers, drinking and laughing in clubs with her and all her pretty friends. Maybe Rose Landry knew exactly what to say to make Hollander laugh, not just little quips and comments that bordered on mean. Ilya wouldn’t know.

You made me feel alive

Forget them other bitches, I will put 'em to the side

He could be an asshole and it wouldn’t matter because Hollander would see right past his nonsense. Could go quiet when his mind raced, sit in silence with him without feeling like peeling his skin. And Hollander had a habit of asking questions, sometimes too many. But Ilya liked it, felt assured that with so many questions and then even more follow ups, he’d never be misunderstood. Could articulate himself without his mind running away from him. It comforted him that despite not knowing all the words he needed in English, he would never be misunderstood with Hollander.

He realized with a start that he had tuned out the rest of the song but Ilya wasn’t ready to let this one go. He looped it back to the start.

Shane Hollander made his heart thump, like he was getting a head rush, made his fingertips tingle. No one made Ilya feel like Hollander, on and off ice, close and apart. And ironically no one knew him like Hollander either. Svetlana knew him, loved him and he was comfortable with her but she didn’t make his blood sing, and had never made him feel like he was free falling. He could be childish with her, as annoying as physically possible, revert back to the dick he used to be as a teenager but with Shane he could just be. 

Now I'm on a flight in my feels, thinkin' 'bout you

…

You the only thing that makes me wish things were different

Ilya never really cared for Montreal, hadn’t felt one way or another about it before. But Hollander ruined it for him. He’ll never be able to think of Montreal or even fucking Canada without thinking about him. Now every flight to Montreal, every trip that side of the broader, every mention of Canada made him think of him. Associating all of Canada to Hollander had never been a problem before. 

Well not a super big problem. 

Sure, he should not have thought about Hollander so much that an entire country was reduced to one person but there were a lot of things Ilya wasn’t supposed to do that he did. Hollander usually just made it to the top of the list. 

Ilya wanted to think if he had the chance to go back in time, he would change things. But he was also getting a little sick of lying to himself. Because despite everything, he didn’t know if he would have changed things. Didn’t really even want to consider how life would have been like without Hollander. If Ilya could do something differently, then it would have been not calling him Shane. Maybe not create fantasies in his head he knew that would never come true. Or maybe pray for the quick downfall of Rose Landry. There were many ways things could have gone differently but he wanted Shane in all those iterations. 

Maybe I'm stuck in the past, girl

Not willing to let it all go

Hollander wasn’t thinking about him. Ilya wished he could convince himself of that, somehow tricking his brain into accepting it.

Ilya was thinking about him. Constantly. Thanks to him he was thinking about some b-grade actress, he hated every second of it. He was still stuck on that day, when Shane had agreed to stay the night. When they for the first time spent time together outside of sex. It had more than Ilya had hoped for and then he had gone and messed it up. The regret was suffocating, making him want to throw up, but only about saying his name. 

Everything else had felt too right, too correct for him to regret. Couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for asking him to stay. Didn’t feel bad for feeding him. Couldn’t feel bad for cuddling with him or falling asleep, it had been some of the best sleep he’d had in a long long time. And Ilya knew he was never going to have Hollander. It just wasn’t a possibility. So selfishly he was glad he got at least one day. No matter how much it hurt now. It didn't matter that he couldn’t even bring himself to fully think about it. It was weird, to regret and not at the same time. He wished he had done things differently, in a way that wouldn’t have freaked Hollander out. Ilya almost wanted to be stuck in a time loop, doing the day again and again till he got it just right. Structure the day in a way that was the most comfortable for Shane. The regret was making him lose it.

For a moment, I was feeling like I had you

That made him laugh. He felt it bubble up in his chest, up his throat, spilling out his mouth, echoing softly in his room. 

Mr. Bazzi and him weren’t just assholes, they both were also fucking idiots. 

7. Honest

Gonna turn my read receipts on

Just to let you know I won't respond

Girl, it hurts me to do this

Ilya often ignored Hollander’s text. He had multiple excuses lined up in his head. Not sure who he’d give those excuses to but he was prepared, just in case. Didn’t text back because the texts were objectively bland, because he was in Russia and couldn’t risk it, because of his father’s declining health, because of Alexei’s growing demands. Because Hollander didn’t deserve a text from him, because their relationship didn’t extend to that realm. Because he didn’t feel like it, because a text from him made his heart rush, because he just wanted to be a dick. Because he was worried about sending something that would tip their dynamic into unfamiliar territory. 

It didn’t matter what the contents of the texts were. Ilya would almost always hold himself back from texting during off season (would have varying degrees of success). Tried convincingly himself that he didn’t even want to. That somehow responding to Hollander was nothing but a chore. Failed at that too. 

He wanted.

He really really wanted to text back, maybe call him even. Talk to Hollander, ask him about his day, tell him about his, wanted to know what he was doing all day, if he was also thinking about him just as much as Ilya was. He wanted domestic shit with him. He wanted to send photos of random things that reminded him of Hollander, wanted to receive pictures from him back, pictures of regular, everyday nonsense from his life. Wanted it but couldn’t have it like everything else when it came to Shane Hollander. 

He wanted and got some odd, fucked up version of what he wanted, but he liked it still. Liked receiving texts from Hollander, every few months; liked how eager he was to hear back from Ilya. How he didn’t really know how to quit texting him, would send messages every few months despite not hearing back. Would do it so earnestly, with so much kindness and interest, Ilya hated him for it, hated how it made his fucking diaphragm hurt. 

I was selfish in the way that I acted

Now you doing things just to get a reaction

God, he had been selfish. So, fucking selfish. He had done everything his way, asked him to stay, made him food he didn’t even know if Hollander liked, clothed him in his t-shirt, for his own sick satisfaction, spoke about shit he knew made him uncomfortable, fucking talked about girls. 

He really was a fucking dick.

When Hollander had gotten up and left, he thought things would play out the same way they had after Vegas. Maybe a little worse. He had thought they wouldn’t speak for a few months (not new for them) and then after playing against each other, they’d meet, fuck and get the discomfort and tension out of their system. Maybe—

I can’t do this. 

That sentence was all encompassing. And okay Ilya understood that, in some abstract, theoretical way, like on paper that made sense. Shane Hollander was allowed to feel whichever way he wanted to. And if that meant ending things with Ilya then sure that made sense. Except that Ilya wanted to shoot himself in the throat and then Rose Landry and then himself again.

Shane had gone and started dating Rose Landry because of him. Either to forget him or to mess with Ilya. To show him, ‘See I like girls too.’ And he hated him for it. But mostly he hated himself. Maybe if he hadn’t asked him to stay, hadn’t pressed about girls, hadn’t called him Shane. Maybe. So many maybes, Ilya felt a little nauseous with it. 

Yeah, I wonder if he's there with you now, fucking you like I used to

I know you think about all the things that we did when he's with you

Rose Landry couldn’t fuck Hollander the way he did. That simple fact made him feel so good about himself that it circled back to making him feel pathetic. He’d always win in that department. She could never hold Hollander down, just how he liked it. Could never pick him up and carry him around, press his shoulders into the mattress from behind. Could never swallow all of Hollander’s dick like he did. Ilya didn’t even know if Hollander liked topping, wouldn’t matter if he by some miracle asked Rose to peg him, (Hollander would never be able to get past his own blushing to ask, didn’t know how to ask for things in general, let alone in bed) she could never fuck him like Ilya did. He knew Shane’s body better than he knew himself. He wanted to consume him, whole. Rose Landry would never feel that way. She would never want to live inside of Hollander like some sort of freak. He’d always beat her when it came to wanting Hollander. 

He wonders not for the first time if when they were fucking Hollander thought of him. If when he moaned into her ear, he would close his eyes and pretend it was him. If while he breathed out her name, Hollander would convince himself he was saying a cut off version of Rozanov. If he later went to the bathroom to jerk himself off in the shower, after having unsatisfying sex with her, thinking of Ilya. 

He hoped he did.

Does he make you feel the same?

Rose Landry could never fuck him the same but that was all Ilya was confident about. She was in all other ways a little too perfect for Ilya’s comfort. She was beautiful, kind, talented, rich and most of all someone Hollander could introduce to his parents. Someone he could go out in public with, hold hands and have a stupid perfect life with. His parent would be proud, happily accept her into their lives, attend their stupid fucking wedding and cry real tears of joy. The world would be satisfied with two gorgeous people being with each other and Ilya would spend the rest of his life rotting away in his bedroom. 

Could we have got what we wanted

Oh, if we had just been honest?

Oh, what bullshit. He had been honest. For the first time in a very long time, he had been honest with Hollander. Held him impossibly close like he had always wanted to. Said his name, and had been honest with his want. Couldn’t not have been more open with Hollander than he had been.

He didn’t get shit in return for his honesty. What he had gotten was the emotional equivalent to getting spat in the face and Hollander walking out on him wearing his shirt and then a week later hand in hand, grinning like a fool with some pretty actress. 

Ilya grabbed his phone while getting up. He stopped the music, couldn't deal with more of this nonsense. He was going to go to the gym. And tire himself out so he could fall asleep instead of just lying in bed and staring around his house as he had been for the past few days. 

Fuck Hollander. Fuck Rose Landry. Fuck Bazzi.