ramonapest



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    Shane is in the front pew. His face is—Ilya does not have words for what Shane's face is doing. He has seen Shane angry and afraid and exhausted and soft and undone. He has never seen this: living at the very bottom of a person, surfacing only when every single thing above it has given way.

    This is what it looks like when Shane has nothing left to manage.

    Ilya reaches for him.

    His hand passes through air.

    -

    Or: Ilya Rozanov turns the same age his mother was when she died. Featuring strange dreams, tarot readings, and a woman with her back to him who keeps appearing where she shouldn’t.

    A man who spent twenty years preparing to die, and one husband who refuses to let him.

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    06 Sep 2026

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    Ilya is not going to do anything. He knows this. He's also standing very still.

    He thinks about his mother's arm, hanging over the side of the bed. He was twelve. He'd thought she was sleeping.

    He closes the cabinet.

    The face in the mirror is someone he recognizes in the way you recognize a city you lived in as a child: the basic geography is familiar, but you can't find anything you're looking for.

    -

    Or: A closer look at Ilya’s first year in Ottawa, set against his first in Boston—featuring a long-lost answering machine he claimed he’d never listen to, the family inevitably left behind when you move, and the mostly self-imposed pressure of loving a man as large and looming as the great Shane Hollander.

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    06 Sep 2026

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    Over the course of the three days, there are plenty of opportunities to tell Shane about Moscow.

    There’s dinner the first night. They’re having pasta and salmon and Ilya’s whining about the amount of chicken and beef they’ll have to eat now that bulking season is approaching. Shane says well, they’re high protein foods. Like Ilya isn’t also a professional athlete who’s been doing this for just as long as he has. That’s not what he shoots back, though. He says, lamb is a great source of protein but we never have lamb. Okay, good lamb’s hard to find. You know what has lamb? Pelmeni! We should get Russian take out sometime soon, Shane says. I’ve always wanted to try. And always means nothing in this sentence, because always is only as long as they’ve known each other for.

    Forget about take out, Ilya could say then. The best pelmeni can only be found in the motherland. Russia, Moscow! I am going there in ten days for a box of my dead-dad’s things and maybe, my dead-mother’s suicide note. But of course, he doesn’t.

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    06 Sep 2026

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    Shane was fourteen the first time a number felt like safety.

    The nutritionist worked out of an office in Kanata, framed certificates, a calm voice, laminated charts with columns. She explained it simply: fuel in, output required, timing of each. She said it was a starting point.

    Shane took notes in the margins the way he took notes on everything—completely, past what was required. Yuna had found the nutritionist herself, sat beside him, and took notes too.

    Like mother, like son.

    -

    Or: Shane’s system works until it doesn’t; Ilya notices first.

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    06 Sep 2026

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    "And is like I said, very easy to do. You just lay back and let someone else do work. Could do it in my sleep, would not be problem at all for me to come hands-free.”

    Hollander scowled, full competitive personality shining through. “Prove it.”

    “Fine, I will,” Ilya snapped back.

    Hollander's eyes went wide, and so did Ilya's when he realized what he had promised. His words hung in the air between them, suddenly heavy with implication.

    ---
    Ilya doesn't think switching with Hollander one time for the sake of settling a bet will change anything about their arrangement, and it certainly wouldn't make him discover anything about himself. Afterall, it would only be one time, right?

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    06 Sep 2026