sick, like... super cool?

“when did you learn about that?”

ilya waves a hand. “marley took me to broadway. we watched wicked. glinda and elphaba—they are fucking, i think.”

“i’m sorry?”

“no, no sorry. it was fun. they were like us. rivals. and then maybe lovers.”

“and they melted like popsicles.”

“yes. well, one of them,” ilya says solemnly. “the same way i am going to if i do not get something sweet and cold. see, i am roasting.”

they both look to where he’s gesturing at his shoulders, the skin a little more pink than it usually is. neither of them typically burned easily, but being out for this long in the sun obviously has had consequences.

“fuck. yeah, okay, let’s go back in.” shane helps ilya push himself up, keeping one hand low on his back and ushering the other man in through the sliding doors and into the kitchen.

ilya slumps dramatically across the marble top, letting out a sigh about how cool it is.

shane shakes his head, smiling at ilya's antics. he thinks about what he bought beforehand—salmon, rice, natto. ginger ale and ilya's doritos. any sort of ice cream, though, was at the bottom of whatever grocery list he'd been writing in his head since ilya said yes to the cottage. there's a moment where he stalls, his back to ilya, hoping like god that a solution will come to him before ilya realizes that he's got nothing.

and then—then, he clocks it. yuna was over last week and left supplies.

he tugs the kakigōri machine forward and cradles it in his arms. whipping back around, shane's a bit breathless when he asks, "do you want kakigōri?"

"kakigōri? this is japanese word?"

"yeah. it's, uh—shaved ice? with toppings? it's not a popsicle but it's really nice on warm days." shane lifts the machine so it's more prominent, shifting it onto the counter.

"i will eat anything at this point," ilya bemoans. "my mouth is dry. i am dying of thirst."

"and the five steps to the kitchen sink is too much for you?" it's a gentle tease, made sure by the fact that ilya is grinning at him.

shane walks over to the sink himself instead, filling a glass to the brim and sliding it over to ilya. once it's sufficiently empty, shane keeps talking. "just for that, i'm going to make you shave the ice."

"i understand now. you are using me for eye candy. this, i accept."

shane shoves at ilya's shoulder and hands him the block of ice. "oh, fuck off. put this in the grinder and make sure to put a bowl underneath to catch the shavings. just shape them into a dome, okay?"

he leaves ilya to it, turning back to the fridge to get the condensed milk, the syrup, and the mango. it doesn't escape him, what this is—precious time spent together, almost domestic in a way.

something feels his chest in a way that leaves it full. it feels okay for the first time in years. he's almost shoulder to shoulder with ilya now, and the near contact feels like a line of warmth, of surety.

"okay," ilya says, "i'm done." there's a proud lilt to his voice, even as he steps back and showcases his work. two bowls sit on the counter, overflowing with ice. "it's perfect, yes?"

by this time, shane has cut the mangoes.

“almost,” he murmurs, pouring both the mango syrup and condensed milk on before topping it with the mango chunks. “now it’s perfect.”

shane gives a spoon over to ilya, a soft smile on his face at the look of anticipation ilya’s showing. “here, you get first bite.”

he watches closely as ilya tries to get a scoop of each individual component. when he finally brings it up to his lips, shane’s focus is solely on how ilya’s tongue darts out first to taste it. a contented hum leaves ilya and shane almost breathes a sigh of relief. but there’s also a little smear of condensed milk at the corner of ilya’s lips that stubbornly remains.

before shane can think too much about it, he licks it up, before licking into ilya’s mouth and giving ilya a longer kiss.

“tastes good.”