❛ ... oh, ❜ is all that ilya manages to get out, his stupid fucking brain still looping on ice dragon boat and trying to figure out if the boat is made out of ice. would it melt? it's the wrong thing to get stuck on, because shane is still talking, smiling at him sweetly in a way that ilya thinks means exactly the opposite of how it looks. he feels... backwards, stupid, out of step with himself. before— even when he was fucked up, in his own head, before, he could manage to pull his shit together long enough to fucking chirp shane, and now he can't even chirp him back.
ilya sits on the couch, for a long moment, like he's fucking frozen there. should he follow shane into his parents' kitchen?
should he just fucking ... make an excuse, and go? maybe he should go. it would be sad and lonely and miserable to spend christmas alone in his big empty house, but ilya's the one who ended things between them, and it isn't shane's fault that ilya shoved his way into shane's parents' lives — or that he tripped into it, he still doesn't fucking know — and that they don't know any better to know that they shouldn't want him in their home.
belatedly, he stands up, unsure of which direction he's going. if he's going to leave, he should— should say something, maybe, to yuna and david, because he doesn't want to be rude to them.
he winds his way towards the hollanders' kitchen, or at least where he thinks it must be, based on the voices he can hear and the clattering of dishes, and— ilya doesn't know what to do with himself. he opens his mouth to say ... sorry, maybe, to tell them he needs to go. and then david says, oh, ilya—! i was just saying to shane, there's vodka in the freezer if you'd like some. i usually try to get the russian stuff, but i don't know if it's up to your standards—
ilya's mouth opens and closes, like he's a fish. he can't look at shane. ❛ ah— that is okay, thank you. i have to drive, after, so ... if you have a coke, please, maybe? ❜
