— Does he pay you? For sex? At the rate you're going, you could make a fortune.

— Betty.

— Everyone thinks so. Do you know what they say? They say you're a whore. Once they've all sampled you, they'll toss you aside like a used rag.

— Betty, stop now.

— The men you love don't want you. Your father doesn't want you. Professor Dunbar…

— Betty, that's enough.

— Everybody knows that you hide outside his house. It must be torturous running after a man who doesn't care about you...who's in love with someone else. Who hates you. He hates you!

— Betty.

— And it hurts!

(...) “I have this problem,” he mumbled. Shane waited. “I like women. I always was thinking that to get married would be nice. Kids. All of that. Someday. But...this problem will not go away.” Shane bit his lip. “Tell me about this problem.” “Is so annoying.” Ilya sighed, and Shane could see him fighting a grin. “Always I am with beautiful women. Wonderful women. Everywhere.” “Sounds rough.” “Yes. Listen. These women, they are so sexy and fun, but is no matter. I cannot stop thinking about this short fucking hockey player with these stupid freckles and a weak backhand.” “A weak backhand?” Shane couldn’t stop smiling. “Yes. And he is just so boring and he drives a terrible car and...that is my problem. All of these beautiful women and I am always wishing they were him.” Ilya bent to take his third shot. “Is terrible problem.” Fuck. Shane was going start crying right here in his games room. He swallowed and steadied himself. “Do you want the problem to go away?” “No,” Ilya said seriously, looking Shane dead in the eye. “I do not want the problem to ever go away.” “Don’t marry Svetlana,” Shane blurted out. Ilya raised an eyebrow.

“Just...don’t. I know it wouldn’t be...for love or whatever. But don’t. I couldn’t—we can figure something else out, okay?” Ilya looked surprised, but he nodded. “Okay.”

(...) “You really think that far ahead, Hollander?” “I do about this.” “You want that? To be together?” “I do. So much it terrifies me.” Ilya turned his face away from Shane, and was silent. Cold dread flooded Shane’s stomach; he had admitted too much. But Ilya turned back and quickly rolled on top of Shane and was kissing him and kissing him and kept murmuring the same thing in Russian over and over again until he pulled back and translated: “I love you.” Shane froze. And then Ilya froze. “Holy shit,” Shane whispered. It wasn’t how he had meant to respond. “I...” Ilya’s eyes were so wide and so scared. “I love you too,” Shane said. Ilya gave a shaky smile and exhaled. “Thank Christ.” “Does it...does it feel like agony for you too?” Ilya started to nod, then stopped. He shook his head slowly instead. “Not anymore.”

Ilya felt like his smile was going to split his face. He was overwhelmingly happy. Shane was beaming up at him, eyes bright and freckles crinkled, and Ilya loved him. And Shane loved him.