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Ilya knew he was being too obvious. Who could blame him? If any of these assholes were lucky enough to spend even a night with Shane, they’d be just as obsessed with him and if they weren’t—well, they were idiots.
But Ilya was his own brand of idiot, he supposed, unable to take his eyes off of Shane from across the crowded bar.
He looked exceptionally beautiful tonight, somehow, which was a feat because Ilya thought he always looked good enough to eat. Maybe it was the way his dark hair was pushed back, or the tight sweater he was wearing that highlighted every inch of muscle he had worked tirelessly to get.
Either way, Ilya couldn’t take his eyes off him and he was just starting to reach for his phone – probably to ask Shane if he wanted to get out of here – when a stranger suddenly stepped up to Shane, blocking him from view.
Ilya frowned, stuffing his hand in his pocket instead. He didn’t recognize the guy, but he was far from ugly. Light hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders.
His chest tightened with every passing second as he waited. The man eventually walked off and Ilya felt only a split-second of relief before he was returning with drinks, offering one to Shane.
To his credit, Shane looked unsure – nervous, even – but then his eyes met Ilya over the crowd and he smiled a little.
Ilya tilted his head, giving a small smile back. His own form of permission. Shane seemed to visibly relaxed, as intended, and accepted the glass.
He might’ve been obsessed, but he wasn’t going to take it out on the poor guy. Shane was allowed to accept drinks – maybe, more importantly, attention – from other guys.
Even if it did make him feel a little sick. He knew Shane anyway; he was just being polite. He doubted he’d sleep with the guy, not after only one night and a single drink. He was smarter – and more careful – than that.
Seeing them together still stung a little though, so Ilya did the mature thing and forced himself to look away. He took a sip out of his own glass and counted the seconds.
Maybe after things had settled down, he could find a moment alone with Shane. He didn’t even need long. Just a few minutes. Anything to calm his racing heart a little.
Looking back, he wondered if maybe part of that had been his instincts, trying – and failing – to warn him something was wrong.
Unable to help it, he glanced back toward where Shane had been. The stranger was gone, sure, but he paused when he realized Shane was gone too. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Shane was feeling more careless than usual.
Somehow he knew that wasn’t right. Frowning, he walked over to the closest table and set his glass down before heading for the bathrooms. There were two doors, both unisex. One was unlocked; he flicked on the light anyway just to be sure. Empty.
That’s when he heard it: a thump from the other bathroom. His stomach suddenly lurched. Now there was no ignoring the blaringly obvious signs. Something was very wrong.
Within seconds, he was banging at the door. He knew it was loud. He didn’t care. “Shane?” His voice sounded faraway to his own ears. “Shane – are you in there?”
He pounded harder, twisted the knob a few more times. Suddenly the hallway to the bathroom was full; it was mostly just curious onlookers, but there was also a waitress who was staring at him like he was the problem.
“Sir, can you please try the other – ”
Ilya turned to her. “I need you to - uh - ” He hated how his English always failed him when he got too emotional, and in this case that was an understatement. He was outright panicking, could feel bile in the back of his throat, hear a rushing in his ears. “Open the door.”
She blinked. “I really can’t do that, just wait until – ”
And that was when he heard it through the door, muffled but undeniable: Shane. It was just a whimper, pained almost. Ilya had caused him to whimper before, but never like that.
“Okay,” Ilya said, and for a split-second she looked relieved before he turned back to the door and slammed into it full force with his shoulder.
She yelped, looking bewildered as he pulled back and did it again. The door let out a promising cracking noise. “I, okay, I’m - I’ll get the manager,” she said hurriedly before scurrying away.
Some people in the crowd followed her, others did not. Ilya really did not fucking care either way.
He also did not care at all when the door finally gave under his weight and swung open. He’d pay for it later if he had to. His vision went red for a moment when he saw the scene in front of him.
That asshole had Shane pushed up against the sink – Shane, whose dark eyes were glazed over, almost unseeing. Shane, who was swaying, only kept up by the sink behind him and the relentless grip the guy had on his waist.
Ilya barely registered the waitress returning with a gasp from behind him. Then another voice, presumably the manager: “What is going on here?”
He should’ve answered them, probably, but his only focus was on Shane and getting that asshole as far away from him as possible. He barely registered moving before his fist was colliding with the guy’s face. His nose made a satisfying cracking noise as he cried out and scurried back.
Ilya took Shane by the forearms, gentle. He turned them around and stared the waitress down. “Here, stay with her for a moment.” She looked frazzled but thankfully took hold of Shane, letting him lean heavily against her small frame.
He noticed out of the corner of his eye the manager dialing something on his phone. Probably the police. Ilya didn’t really care. That just meant his time was limited.
Spinning back around, he stalked up to the asshole who had been seconds away from – Ilya couldn’t even think it. The asshole who had definitely snuck something in his drink.
He was leaning against the wall, cupping his nose that was actively pouring blood. “I am going to sue the hell out of you! How dare you just…” His speech was slurred - surely not from any drugs, just the blood pooling in his mouth. Ilya felt only a hint of satisfaction now because it wasn’t nearly enough.
“I don’t give a fuck what you do to me,” he snarled. “If you ever touch Shane again…”
He couldn’t even finish his sentence because the truth was far scarier than he’d like to admit. He was pretty sure he could’ve killed that man in that moment and not regretted it a single bit. Instead he took a deep breath and pulled his fist back before punching him again.
This time he slumped to the floor, unconscious but alive. Ilya forced himself to take a step back and turned back toward Shane, who was now sipping out of a water bottle that somebody must’ve provided.
For a second he felt a spike of fear before pushing it down. It was just water, and it seemed to be helping – Shane’s eyes were a little clearer.
“I…” he tried before swallowing thickly. “Don’t feel good.”
The waitress tensed, obviously expecting the worst, but Ilya took him from her and led him to the toilet. He ran his hands over Shane’s hair, ensuring it was back and out of the way as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the toilet.
The manager returned a few seconds later and took one look at the scene before sighing, “I called the cops. I need all of you to stick around until they arrive.” He glanced at them, then the guy passed out on the floor, and Ilya was thankful to see a bit of understanding dawn, especially as Shane let out a particularly gruesome retch. “Actually, you two can stay in the back until they arrive.”
-
Shane sobered up even more as they waited for the police, probably due to the waitress giving them some lightly toasted bread. “To help him,” she said, nodding at Shane. Ilya had wanted to thank her but found his throat was too tight.
She smiled before rushing off, probably intending to give them privacy. She probably thought they were together – the way Shane was pressed up against his side, eating the bread slowly.
Or the way Ilya had his arm wrapped around him almost protectively. He thought back to the scene he had walked in and forced himself to speak, “I’m sorry.”
Shane stiffened; it was easy to feel with him so close. “You didn’t – what could you possibly be apologizing for?”
“I knew something was off,” he said, holding him tighter. He didn’t dare look at him. “I should’ve reacted sooner.”
Shane let out a disbelieving huff. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ilya.” He hated that he couldn’t even appreciate the sound of his name coming from Shane’s mouth, not under the circumstances, not the way he wanted to.
“Do I need to apologize for, uh… other thing?”
Shane shifted, peering up at him. He didn’t dare look back. “What other thing?”
“The crowd,” he clarified. “I saw at least a couple of them recording.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t know how it will look… to others.”
There was a lingering silence then suddenly Shane was cupping his face, forcing their eyes to meet. “You did a good thing because you are a decent human being.” His voice was surprisingly steady, his eyes clear. “That’s all.”
The thing was, there was truth to that. Ilya would’ve intervened if it was somebody else too, but… “I wanted to kill him,” he breathed, nearly startling himself with the honest confession. “I could’ve, I think.”
For a moment, Shane just stared at him. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he said finally, softly. “He isn’t worth it.”
Ilya’s lips twitched, almost forming a smirk but not quite. He would never understand how everybody on earth wasn’t at least a little in love with Shane Hollander. The most beautiful and brave person he knew.