They stay in bed for as long as possible, even though both of their stomachs are growling with hunger.
There are clouds blowing past the big windows, a reminder that time doesn’t stand still.
Shane clings to him under the covers. Neither of them speak, as if silence could stop the clouds from moving.
Ilya feels an anxious finger tapping against his chest. He brings the restless hand up to his mouth and kisses it before intertwining with his own.
There’s a weird sort of empty feeling when Ilya closes his bag. He thinks this might have been the best two weeks of his life. No, he’s sure of it, has never been so sure about anything.
“Made some sandwiches,” Shane says, voice low. “For the road.”
Ilya nods. He’s not hungry.
His ribs don't hurt anymore, but Shane still insists on carrying his bag to the car, and Ilya wants nothing more than to steal it from him and put it back in the bedroom.
He doesn’t. Instead he opens the door to the passenger seat and gets in.
They sit in silence for a while, the engine doesn’t start and Ilya is about to say something when Shane speaks.
“We won’t be able to, you know… say goodbye…at the airport.”
Ilya looks at him confused for a second before he understands what Shane actually means.
Ilya’s hand comes to rest against Shane’s cheek, thumb stroking over his freckles. Shane closes his eyes and Ilya leans in and kisses him. Once, twice, lets the third one linger.
“Thank you for inviting me,” he says as they pull apart.
“I wanted to say it again.”
They have to start driving if they want to make it to Ilya’s afternoon flight.
“I love you,” Shane says, and his eyes look so sincere.
“You said that already,” Ilya echoes.
“I wanted to say it again,” Shane smiles.