hand on my heart. hand on my stupid heart.

shane: am i also a worm

ilya: no

shane: i am a human man

ilya: you are still a slow hockey player yes

shane: fuck off. have you been a worm the whole time or did you just become a worm?

ilya: i have been turned into a worm. by a witch. but it’s permanent

shane: oh okay. um. well…i would be sad but i guess i would do a bunch of research about what kind of soil and food and light worms like best and build you a tank with what you need. or maybe two so you could be in the bedroom with me at night and in the living room to see anya and the tv during the day. and maybe let you lie on a wet sidewalk sometimes? i don’t know if worms actually like doing that or if they just like being outside in the rain and the sidewalks get in the way. and i would get you a phone or tablet so you can type to me, but that’s only if you still have your brain and can understand me. if you don’t have your brain and just have a worm brain then i’ll miss you but i’ll still take care of you. though i’d probably do more research to make sure it really is permanent and there’s not another witch who can turn you back. but i’ll take care of you either way

orders in poutine for dinner. it squeaks! decides he likes it.

hits the hotel gym to do bicep curls.

back to his room to shower. a fortifying cigarette.

half an hour in front of the mirror trying to decide between two nearly identical black tanks. eventually picks one. examines the arms. yeah, they're good.

can't go out into the hallway in his fuck-me shirt. carefully picks jacket to layer on top.

it's eight forty. debates merits of showing up early, but not worth the risk of spooking hollander. turns on the tv for fifteen minutes to practice his english, but everything on is stupid.

eight fifty-five. last look in the mirror. should he be wearing different underwear? he doesn't have time to change. whatever. it's fine.

an aspirational condom in his pocket. the elevator doors open with a soft ding. he probably shouldn't be half-hard in the hotel elevator.

FUCK, IT'S HOLLANDER'S MOTHER.

fuck, thank god, fuck, fuck. he is no longer half-hard in the hotel elevator. ilya's heart is pounding. he needs another cigarette.

what shane means: i can never love a woman in any way resembling the way i love you and when i tried she called my shit IMMEDIATELY so what im trying to say is i can't sidestep whatever we are the way you can, i will never ever love anyone but u

what ilya hears: somewhere along the line of our multi-year situationship that began with me immediately sucking ur dick, i have determined that i like men.