There were things, Shane suspected, that Ilya wasn’t telling him, which made Shane anxious and a bit angry. Why would Ilya keep anything from Shane? He’d thought they were beyond that. If Shane didn’t know better, he’d think Ilya was cheating on him or something. Or that he wanted to break up.
But, Shane kept assuring himself, he did know better. Maybe Ilya’s mood was purely hockey-related. Shane would certainly be in a pissy mood if his team sucked as much as the Ottawa Centaurs.
Whatever it was, Shane was getting tired of it. If Ilya had a problem with Shane, or with anything, he should talk to Shane about it. Not dig into him about his diet or his friends or whatever else Ilya decided to make fun of him about.
Ilya entered the kitchen as Shane was irritably extracting seeds from the pomegranate. “Need help?” he asked.
Shane sighed, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. Maybe he was being annoyed with Ilya for no reason. “I’m good.” He pinched a seed between his finger and thumb and held it out. “Want one?”
Ilya opened his mouth, and Shane slipped the seed inside. Ilya closed his lips around Shane’s fingers for a second, which made Shane smile. He really did love Ilya so much.
“Good,” Ilya said when he’d swallowed the seed. “Not as good as the cookies, but good.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Ilya opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggnog. He glanced at Shane as he made his way to the cupboard where the glasses were, as if waiting for him to say something about the nutritional horrors of eggnog.
“What?” Shane asked testily.
“No lecture?”
Shane slammed the pomegranate half he was working with down on the cutting board. Juice flew everywhere. “Would you please fuck off? I don’t give a shit what you or anyone else eats, Ilya.”
Ilya snorted. “This is not true. You bitch at me all the time.”
“Because you always start it!”
Ilya didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled a large glass from the cupboard and poured himself about a gallon of eggnog.
Shane’s pomegranate-stained fingers curled into fists. He was not going to say anything.
Ilya raised the glass in a toast, and took a long haul of eggnog, which was disgusting to watch. Shane stared him down anyway.
Ilya finished with a loud, obnoxious “Ahh,” then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Shane turned his back to him, grabbed a dishcloth, and began cleaning the spattered pomegranate juice from the counter.
“Your parents want to exchange presents now,” Ilya said.
“Okay.”
“Come to the living room when you are done, yes?”
“I know where we exchange presents on Christmas.” God, Shane knew he sounded like an absolute bitch, but he couldn’t help it.
He could hear Ilya leave the kitchen as Shane continued to aggressively wipe the counter.