I go back and forth on how emotional hollanov would be when they say goodbye at the cottage/airport their first summer together, but I ultimately think it would hit them at different points.
The first time it really hits Shane is the night before Ilya’s flight back to Boston. The pair were lying in bed together, fingers dancing on skin, Ilya’s breath rhythmic on Shane’s neck. Their last full day had been a haze, barely getting out of bed, bodies glued together for nearly every moment.
Shane genuinely lost count of the orgasms, his body feeling like one giant aching bruise in all the best ways.
And now, he was exhausted. He could tell Ilya was too by the way his hands that were gliding against Shane’s skin slowed, his breaths evening out more and more, hanging on the precipice of sleep.
If they slept now, they wouldn’t see each other until the morning. Until they would have to pack up in Shane’s car.
Tears stung Shane’s eyes.
He squeezed them shut, trying to will himself to calm down, the burning in his throat near agonizing. He must have tensed too much, because Ilya began to pull out of his dozing and adjust, his nose brushing against Shane’s. “What’s wrong?” Ilya whispered.
Shane made a pathetic noise in protest, refusing to open his eyes.
“Shane. Look at me.” There was a sternness to Ilya’s voice that was too commanding for Shane to ignore. It wasn’t loud, the volume still that of a whisper, but it was clear.
Shane opened his eyes to meet Ilya’s and the way Ilya’s eyes shuttered told Shane that he must look wrecked. “What is it?” He pressed again.
Shane’s voice came out in a croak, a tear falling from his waterline. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
And Ilya understood. He understood the gravity of that and how the perfect bubble of these last weeks was about to be gone. So he gathered Shane up in his arms. “I’m still here now,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Shane’s head.
They stayed that way until morning.
Ilya didn’t break until they were at the airport.
They were… okay, leading up to it. They were okay as they got ready, they were okay as Shane started driving. But Shane quickly noticed that the closer they got to the airport, Ilya got quieter. His grip on Shane’s hand was getting tighter and tighter, to the point where it was near crushing.
When Shane parked the car in the back of the lot, they were silent. Ilya stared out the passenger window, refusing to look at Shane. “Are you okay?” Shane dared to ask.
Ilya didn’t look back immediately, but when he did, Shane’s heart broke.
Ilya’s eyes were shining and his mouth had the smallest of trembles. His Adam’s apple bobbed once before he spoke. “I love you,” he said, voice wobbling.
Ilya bit his lip and looked down at the space between them, where their hands were clasped. “I don’t know how to go back,” Ilya said. “How do we go back?”
“It’ll be different now.” Shane started. “Better. We’ll talk all the time. Every day, we’ll at least text, and then call when we can. It’ll be hard, but people do long distance all the time.”
A tear slid down Ilya’s face and Shane had to stop every nerve in his body that screamed to wipe it away. “Do you think people who do long distance are as in love as we are?”
Shane smiled sadly at him, and shook his head gently. “Probably not.”
Ilya’s face crumpled even more and he gasped, leaning forward to press his lips to their joined hands. Shane leaned forward too, pressing their heads together over the center console.
Shane didn’t dare kiss him, but he would allow them this much. Ilya was whimpering softly against their hands, eyes screwed shut, forcing Shane to close his eyes too to stop himself from crying also.
“We’ll be okay,” Shane promised. “We can do this. Just one season.”
Ilya made a noise in acknowledgement, but did not speak. Shane wasn’t sure how long they sat there together, but he knew that Ilya had to go or he would miss the flight. “You have to pull it together, baby,” Shane whispered as softly as he could.
After a few more seconds, Ilya took a loud, deep breath, and sat up, separating their hands.
As Ilya tried shaking off the emotions, Shane spoke. “Text me when you board.”
“And call me when you get home.”
Ilya huffed wetly and nodded, a smile pulling at him. “I will.”
They looked at each other one last time, and Shane made sure to memorize Ilya’s face as much as he possibly could. Every mole, every blemish, every pore. “I love you,” Shane said again, but in Russian, hoping he wasn’t butchering the phrase. Then, in English: “So much.”
Ilya nodded once. “I love you.”
Then Ilya was basically throwing himself out the car and hauling his bags out the back hatch.
Shane watched Ilya walk toward the airport doors, not looking back. Only when Shane lost sight of him, did he close his eyes and rest his forehead on the steering wheel.
What a fucking summer, huh?
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