notenoughgin



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    “No one is here now,” Ilya observes, theatrically turning his head left and right and spreading his arms wide. Droplets of water trickle temptingly down the line of his forearms, tracing a stark vein running along his bicep. “Just us.”

    “Just us,” Shane echoes, quiet and almost disbelieving.

    These days together have melted into one long, sundrenched dream. At any given moment, he half-expects he’ll jolt awake.

    -

    Or: the day after the 'I love you's, Shane still doesn't quite think this could all be real. A golden afternoon down at the lake helps him believe it. A 1x06 missing scene.

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    23 Jul 2026

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    Ilya had dismissed the feeling out of hand, except he has now just spent half an hour in the bicycle shop considering the difference between 190 gsm and 250 gsm merino wool and which would best keep Shane warm while wicking sweat during his morning commutes.

    This is yet another thing Ilya has never done before. The only person whose sweat he has ever contemplated the wicking of has been himself.

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    19 Jul 2026

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    “Is someone chasing you?” Ilya drawls. 

    He turns, and yeah, this guy doesn’t look like much of a smoker. Ilya’s learned through time and experience that stoners come in all shapes and sizes, but it’s clear that he isn’t one: hair cut neat and short, straight-laced, brows furrowed into a scowl, shoulders all tight—too squared away. He’s probably not much of a drinker, either, if Ilya had to guess. 

    And he’s wearing a fucking suit, for Christ’s sake. 

    So boring, Ilya thinks, strangely delighted. He wants to take him by the collar and scruff up his hair, if only to see what he might do in response. 

    Or, Shane's struggling with anxiety. Hayden thinks his grumpy weed dealer might be able to help. 

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    14 Jul 2026

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    Anyway, Shane didn't remember exactly what was in the folder ... But he knew they were all good shots of him.

    He hastily clicked open the folder, his eyes barely glancing through the dozen or so shots there, vaguely registering a picture with a sunset background from his condo balcony, something of him laughing, a picture of him working at his laptop with his glasses on...

    The director called him again, and he shook his head, the photos blurring. Whatever. It would have to do.

    He clicked "select all," then the messages icon, then Rozanov's name. Hit send.

    ----

    Or: When never-hooked-up Shane and Ilya have to collaborate on a league charity project, Shane accidentally sends Ilya a nude.

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    10 Jul 2026

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    Shane Hollander is a man who thrives on structure, routine, the solid ground of a ten-year plan. Ilya likes that about him, likes the embracing squeeze of having a life organized in tandem with Shane.

    No one would call Ilya a man who thrives on structure. But it’s there, if not in his DNA then in the patterns of his brain. A call-and-response of: they do this, I do that.

    When Ilya’s life is flayed open for the world to dissect, how will they push-and-pull their way back towards what was once a well-organized life?


    “I thought we could go through the schedules and figure out what days we’ll be in the same cities this season, or when either of us have a couple of days off in a row. Maybe make a shared calendar, so we c—”

    “A sex calendar? Your parents are arriving in thirty minutes, and you are proposing making a sex calendar?” Oh, this was delicious. He’d be able to eat out on this for years, if Shane was willing to give him that long.

    “It’s not a sex calendar! It’s just … when we might be able to see each other,” he finished, already sounding defeated.

    “And what are you planning on doing when we are seeing each other? Not fucking?”

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    06 Jul 2026