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Shane stood alone in the quiet dressing room, the low hum of the venue's air conditioning being the only sound besides his own breathing. The full length mirror in front of him had become his entire world for the last fifteen minutes. He tugged at a stubborn strand of dark hair that refused to lie flat, then smoothed it again with nervous fingers, only for it to spring back up the second he let go. Tenth time. Maybe eleventh. He'd lost count.
He exhaled through his nose, shoulders rising and falling.
The charcoal suit fit him like it had been sewn directly onto his body, tailored just for him, but somehow it still didn't feel right. Not to him. He still felt like with all the eyes on him tonight, he couldn't risk anything imperfect on him.
The door eased open behind him with the softest creak. Shane didn't hear it. He was too busy tilting his head, frowning at the tiny crease that had appeared near his lapel like an insult.
Then warm, familiar arms slid around his waist from behind.
Shane was broken out of his daze. He jumped, head snapped around only to find his fiance looking down at him. That crooked, lopsided smile was already in place, the one that always started on the left side of his mouth first. His pale eyes were bright with mischief and something softer underneath.
"Ilya..." Shane breathed the name like a secret he hadn't meant to let out. He tried to pull his voice into something stern. "What are you doing here?"
The attempt failed immediately. There was no real edge to it, just wonder, and relief, and the stupid happy flutter that always happened when Ilya appeared unexpectedly. Like the room had been slightly out of focus until he stepped into it.
Ilya only tightened his hold, chin dipping so he could rest it lightly on Shane's shoulder. Their reflections stared back at them in the mirror. Two men pressed close, one still startled, the other looking like he'd just won something precious. And if you asked Ilya, he did win.
The warmth from Ilya almost made Shane forget that in less than thirty minutes they would be on stage in front of hundreds of people.
Almost.
"Want to see you, Moy miliy." Ilya murmured, voice low and thick with that unmistakable Russian accent. The words curled around Shane like smoke, warm, deliberate. "Don't want me here?"
Shane felt the shiver race down his spine before he could stop it. Moy miliy. My darling. One of the very first phrases Ilya had whispered to him, months ago. Ilya had taught him how to say it back, patient, repeating it until Shane's tongue stopped tripping over the soft Russian sounds. Now it lived inside Shane's chest like a second heartbeat.
"No," Shane said quickly, shaking his head so fast a few strands of hair fell into his eyes again. "No! I didn't say that. I didn't mean it like that."
Shane finally turned in the circle of Ilya's arms. It took effort, like peeling himself away from gravity. He didn't want to leave the warmth, didn't want to lose the solid press of Ilya's chest against his, but the clock on the wall was merciless. Twenty eight minutes until they had to walk out there.
He looked up.
Ilya was already watching him. Always watching him, like Shane might disappear if he blinked too long.
"Just...aren't you supposed to be getting ready?" Shane added, looking back at the clock once again.
"Da. And I'm ready, aren't I?" Shane's gaze drifted, down the crisp white shirt, the dark jacket that fit Ilya's shoulders like it had been waiting its whole life for him, and landed on the tie.
It was crooked. Not just a little. The knot was lumpy and off centre, one side longer than the other, the fabric twisted like it had personally offended Ilya during the tying process.
Shane reached up and loosened the knot with careful fingers, unwinding the mess Ilya had made. The fabric whispered against itself. He could feel Ilya's steady heartbeat under his knuckles. Calm, sure, completely unbothered by the ticking clock or the hundreds of eyes waiting outside.
"Need everything to be perfect? Still so boring."
"And you still can't tie a tie." Shane quipped back with a loving eye roll. A snicker left Ilya. "You teach me sometime."
Shane shook his head, "I'm not a good teacher."
"Liar," Ilya answered immediately. But he stayed perfectly still, letting Shane work.
"My dad could teach you, I'm sure he'd love to." Shane added, more quietly as he contuined on the tie.
Ilya hummed, smile settling on his face. His eyes wandered down a little, landing on Shane's hand pressed against his chest. The soft ring wrapped around Shane's finger stood out in the light.
The ring caught the light.
Simple platinum band. No flashy stone, just clean lines, quiet strength. The same design Ilya wore. The one Shane had slipped onto Ilya's finger, both of them shivering from cold and nerves and too much feeling. Shane had insisted it should be only Ilya who wore one, "It's traditional," he'd said, cheeks flaming. Ilya had listened seriously, then calmly informed him that nothing about them had ever been traditional, and anyway, he wanted the whole world to know he belonged to Shane too.
So Ilya had gone out the next day and come back with a second ring. Same size. Same weight. Same quiet promise.
Now it sat on Shane's finger like it had always been there.
Ilya lifted his own hand. The matching band glinted as he moved his hand down, brushing his thumb across Shane's knuckles, once, twice, slow.
"Everyone will see," Ilya said, voice soft. "They look at you tonight...they see this." Another gentle pass of his thumb over the ring. "They know."
Shane's throat tightened.
"They know you're mine," Ilya finished. "And I am yours."
Shane blinked quickly. The room felt too warm, too small, too full of everything they'd built together.
He curled his fingers around Ilya's, pressing their palms together so the rings touched, cool metal kissing cool metal.
"Yeah," Shane whispered. His voice cracked just a little. "They'll know."
Ilya leaned forward slowly, giving Shane every chance to pull away if he wanted to, but of course he didn't. Their mouths met in the softest, sweetest press, barely more than a brush at first, like Ilya was asking permission even though he already had it forever.
Shane's hand, the one that had been fussing with Ilya's tie only moments ago, forgot the silk entirely. His fingers slid up, gentle and sure, threading into the short hairs at the back of Ilya's neck. He held on lightly, like he needed the anchor, like the kiss might float them both away if he didn't.
Ilya smiled against Shane's lips. Not a big grin, just that small, private curve of happiness that only Shane ever got to see up close. The kind of smile that lived in the corners of his eyes first. He hummed low in his throat, a content little sound, and wrapped both arms fully around Shane now, pulling him in until there was no space left between them at all. Chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. The faint scent of Ilya's cologne, something warm and woody mixed with the crisp starch of his shirt wrapped around Shane like a blanket.
The kiss stayed slow. Lazy. No hurry. Just the gentle slide of lips, the occasional soft catch of breath when one of them tilted their head a fraction more. Shane's other hand found Ilya's waist, fingers curling into the fabric over his hip, holding him there like he might vanish otherwise.
When they finally parted, just enough to breathe, Ilya didn't go far. He stayed close, resting his forehead against Shane's again, noses brushing in that soft, silly way that always made Shane's heart do an extra little flip. Their eyes were half closed, and the world outside the dressing room felt miles away. Ilya's thumbs kept tracing slow, absent patterns along Shane's jaw, like he couldn't quite stop touching even now.
Shane smiled, small at first, then wider, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He finally pulled back the tiniest bit, just enough to glance down at himself. His suit jacket had shifted slightly where Ilya's arms had wrapped around him, one lapel flipped up like it was trying to wave hello. A faint wrinkle had bloomed across his shirt front from being pressed so close.
His face shifted into the tiniest pout. He huffed, soft and dramatic, fingers already smoothing down the fabric like it had personally betrayed him.
"You messed up my suit," he accused, but there was zero heat in it.
Ilya snickered, low and warm, the sound vibrating right through Shane's chest. One big hand came up to cup Shane's face, thumb brushing gently over the pout like he could coax it into a smile. His palm was warm, callused just enough to feel comforting against Shane's freshly shaved cheek.
"Is okay," Ilya murmured, voice all soft edges and honey. "No one will be paying attention. Too busy looking at your pretty face."
Shane's pout melted into something shy and pleased. He rolled his eyes anyway, because that was their rhythm.
"No," he said quietly, "I think that's just you."
Ilya shrugged one shoulder, casual as anything, like it was the most obvious fact in the world. "More for me then."
He leaned down for one more quick kiss, light, playful, ending with a tiny nip to Shane's bottom lip that made Shane laugh against his mouth. When Ilya pulled back this time, his eyes were sparkling, bright and stupidly in love.
Shane glanced at the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes until they had to step out there and face the sea of faces, the polite clapping. Fifteen minutes that had somehow slipped through their fingers while they stood here trading kisses and quiet nonsense.
He felt a small pang, not panic exactly, just the sudden awareness of time moving faster than he wanted. Shane stepped back half a step, reluctantly, hands sliding down Ilya's arms until only their fingertips were touching.
"I have something for you," he said.
Ilya's eyebrow lifted, slow and curious. That crooked smile tugged at his mouth again. "Something?"
Shane nodded, already turning toward the small side table where he'd left his things. His heart was doing that nervous-excited flutter again, the one that happened every time he gave Ilya anything. It always felt big, even when it was small.
He picked up the slim velvet box he'd hidden there earlier. Black, simple, nothing flashy. His fingers were a little shaky when he turned back around.
Ilya watched him the whole time, head tilted, eyes soft and patient. He didn't rush him. "Proposing again?" Shane rolled his eyes then gently put the box in his hands.
Ilya's fingers hesitated for just a second at the edge of the small velvet box, the soft black fabric cool against his skin. He glanced up at Shane first, quick, searching, like he needed to see Shane's face before he could look inside. Shane gave him the tiniest nod, lips pressed together in that nervous but happy way he did when he wasn't sure if his gift would land the way he hoped.
Only then did Ilya ease the lid open.
The hinge gave the softest click, almost inaudible, and a spill of warm lamplight caught on whatever waited inside.
Against the deep midnight blue satin lining, something small and bright gleamed.
A brooch.
Delicate. Intricate. Shaped like a bird in who had just stopped its flight, wings settled against its body, head tilted upward as if it had just caught sight of something wonderful far ahead. The body was crafted from fine silver, every detail etched with impossible care, catching the light in soft, shimmering ripples. Below the bird, dangling from a single delicate loop, hung a single gem, silver with gold accents, matching the rest of the brooch. The whole piece was dusted with dozens of tiny rhinestones, so small they looked like captured starlight, glittering faintly with every breath of air that moved between them.
Ilya smiled down at the brooch, the expression soft and unguarded, the kind that started in his eyes before it ever reached his mouth. He studied it for a long moment, head tilted slightly, thumb brushing once over the delicate silver wings, tracing the curve where the tiny rhinestones caught the light like scattered frost. Then his gaze flicked back up to Shane, just briefly, long enough for Shane to see the quiet wonder there, before dropping again to the glittering bird perched in the velvet.
"You told me your brooch had broken..." Shane started, voice gentle, almost apologetic, like he needed to justify the gift before Ilya could even speak. "A few weeks ago. So I wanted to get you one. But I didn't know what you'd want. I mean, you're so picky about these things, and I didn't want to get it wrong-"
"Such a stupid bird," Ilya muttered under his breath, the words barely audible, laced with so much affection they sounded like praise. There was no bite, no mockery, just that rough, fond grumble he used when something touched him deeper than he knew how to say. His fingers were already moving, reaching into the box with careful reverence. He lifted the brooch free, holding it up to the light for one more second.
Then, without another word, he brought it to the left side of his lapel, right over his heart, and pinned it in place. The clasp clicked softly, secure. The bird settled there like it had always belonged.
Shane watched the whole thing, lips parted, a soft giggle escaping before he could catch it. The sound was light, relieved, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest. Ilya set the empty velvet box down on the side table with a quiet thud, then looked back at Shane, one eyebrow raised in that familiar teasing way.
"Do you like it?" Shane asked, voice small, hopeful, fingers twisting together behind his back.
Ilya didn't answer right away. Instead he stepped forward, closing the space between them in one easy motion, and pulled Shane back into his arms. One hand slid to the small of Shane's back, the other cupped the nape of his neck, thumb brushing the soft hair there.
"Love it," Ilya said simply, low and certain. "Love you more."
Shane's heart squeezed. He wanted nothing more than to tip his face up, to chase Ilya's mouth again, to let the minutes dissolve in slow kisses and whispered nonsense until the world outside ceased to exist. He could already imagine it.
But the clock on the wall ticked louder now, relentless. Twelve minutes. Maybe eleven. The reminder settled like a cool hand on the back of Shane's neck, pulling the earlier calm into something tighter, more urgent.
"You should go..." Shane said, the words reluctant, almost a plea. "Before they come looking for you. Or me. And see that you're here."
The stress crept back into his face, small lines between his brows, the way his mouth pressed thin. Ilya saw it immediately. He didn't argue, didn't tease. He just studied Shane for a beat, then leaned in and gave him one more quick kiss, firm, sweet, a promise pressed to his lips.
When he pulled back, his eyes drifted down to the brooch again. The tiny bird glinted as Ilya's chest rose and fell, catching the light with every breath.
"I'll make up for it after," Ilya murmured, voice dropping to that smooth, silky register that always sent heat curling through Shane's stomach. The suggestion hung there, warm and unmistakable, later, when the lights were low and the crowd was gone, when it was only them and no clocks to watch.
Shane felt the shiver race down his spine, delicious and inevitable. His cheeks warmed, he ducked his head for a second, smiling despite himself.
Then Ilya stepped back.
One last brush of his thumb across Shane's cheekbone, one last lingering look, eyes soft, full of everything he didn't say out loud.
And then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him, soft as a sigh.
Shane stood there for a moment, alone again in the quiet dressing room. His pulse still thrummed too fast, nerves buzzing under his skin like static. But the sharp edge of it had dulled. The room felt warmer now, steadier. The brooch on Ilya's lapel flashed in his mind.
He smoothed his suit one more time, straightened his tie, touched the ring on his finger.
Calmer.
Just that bit more ready.