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Summary
"I would like a do-over," Ilya says. "Of the last time you were here in Boston.”
Something twists painfully in Shane, like a toe ground through broken glass. He feels that kissing Ilya’s cheeks until they blush with the faintest dusting of peach is the only remedy. “But you weren’t the problem last time, in Boston,” he says, stomach sinking. “It was me walking out and being a weirdo, remember?”
“Yes.” Ilya shuffles on the other end. “And you are my weirdo. And we will go to see Boston sights together.”
or: Ilya takes Shane to a holiday market.