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Summary
At the corner store, the guy asks what brand of cigarettes Shane wants. Shane has never paid enough attention to Ilya’s cigarettes to notice a brand name; he asks for Marlboro, because at least it’s a name he knows.
At home, on his balcony, he cracks the pack and lights one. The smell curves towards him slowly, diffuse in the city air.
He closes his eyes. If he focuses, it’s three months ago and he’s sitting in Ilya’s bed and Ilya is resting his chin on Shane’s shoulder. Stay, he’s murmuring. I am not done with you yet.
—
Or: Shane has a thing about smells.
Series
- Part 17 of my anonymous heated rivalry fic

