Lucrezias



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    Shane’s heart drops into his stomach. “Ilya,” he breathes. His vision goes blurry, throat tight. He tries to swallow it down and focus, shove his swirling thoughts into a neat little box, but it’s impossible. He feels—he might throw up, actually. “Are you seriously telling me you tried to fucking kill yourself?”

    “Yes,” Ilya agrees blandly, “It did not work.”

    Ilya calls Shane from the hospital. Shane handles it very normally.

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    15 May 2026

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    It wasn’t like he had to throw up, Ilya reasoned. It was just a bad habit, and he quit those all the time. But he was leaving the cottage in two days, and the thought of packing up this life with Shane into his carry-on and flying back to Boston alone was tying him in knots. He was just stressed, and vomiting made him feel lighter. He didn’t need to, though.

    Or, a study of Ilya's recklessness and unhealthy coping as a foil to Shane's ED-coded behaviors, where he has his own disordered habits. He has it under control, until he doesn't. This work is fully finished, just updating as I edit :)

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    10 May 2026

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    22 Apr 2026

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    At that moment, Ilya knew he was hallucinating, and that he’d hit his head a lot harder than he thought.

    Because here was Shane fucking Hollander— in his fucking kitchen, wearing his fucking clothes. He was making borscht.

    “What the fuck,” Ilya croaked.

    (Ilya takes a rough hit. Shane is there to take care of him.)

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    20 Apr 2026

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    Sometimes, late at night, he catches himself sitting still on the couch. Hours pass without him noticing.

    He thinks about his mother then. Not about the way she died, but the way she lived on her worst days. The way she would sit for hours, staring at nothing. The way he would sit in the corner of her room, quiet, and afraid to leave her alone.

    He shakes himself out of it. He’s embarrassed by the comparison. He’s not like that. He’s functioning. He’s successful. And most importantly, he’s loved.

    He’s fine.

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    19 Apr 2026