survival instincts, makemegentle, wip 1/3
Less than eight weeks before their first wedding anniversary, at breakfast, Ilya told Shane that he wanted to fly into London earlier than planned. He was freshly showered, curls damp and water-darkened, after their morning run. Shane was already furrowing his eyebrows, finding himself revisiting departure times and flight change fees for their Business Class tickets and how to tell his mother than the meeting with Calvin Klein needed to be rescheduled, again, except: Ilya leaned forward, palms flat against the white granite of their kitchen island. “I want,” he said, bluntly, “to see Sasha.”
Somehow, the “healing” process fraudulent therapists talk about includes, among other things, a vacation in London, old wounds, new tattoos, mind-altering substances, and a Berlinesque techno sex club.
