Ilya Rozanov lost his mother, Irina Rozanova, when he was 12.
Irina, whose name derives from the Greek goddess of peace, Eirene.
He found her. He finds ways to hide from the grief, the pain, the fear, and the melancholy that haunts him too.
Ilya hides behind humor like armor.
When he calls Shane āboringā he knows itās taken as a jab. But he means it. Not in the literal sense, not in the uninteresting sense.
Shane is everything he has been seeking out. Endlessly fascinating in the tender, mellow ways.
Shane isnāt slamming doors. Shane isnāt mindless anger. Shane isnāt painful fists.
Shane, to Ilya, makes all the harsh things softer. The first time Ilya hears a door slam in the same room as Shane itās because they couldnāt wait another second to get their hands on each other.
When Shane gets angry he can be rather cute (but when he is actually angry, it can be a little scary, but never like anger that seemed to come from nowhere).
When Ilya holds Shaneās hand the first time, really holds it, the callouses from years of being a hockey player feels like they were formed just for that moment. Rough and gentle.
Shane is āboringā in the way that domesticity is sweet.
Shane is little waves in a lake lapping against the shore. Light and steady.
Shane is laundry detergent that isnāt too fragrant. Just right.
Ilya Rozanov met Shane Hollander when he was 17.
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