The truth makes him flinch, but he appreciates the direct delivery of it. Nothing to overthink, no flowery diplomatic language where something is said when the opposite is meant. He likes Ilya already, although the way the man is looking him over makes him feel like he's being rotated on a toaster like a rotisserie chicken.

God, he hopes he's not blushing. And if he is, he hopes Ilya can't tell because it's dark. Dark-ish.

"Ilya," he pronounces carefully, doing his best to be super cool and calm and collected after a literal muse that ancient Greeks would've worshiped has checked him out. "It's nice to meet you. Just Shane is—Shane is just fine."

Against his better judgment, he takes a few steps closer to come stand next to his new friend, digesting everything else that he's said.

"You probably don't support this then, huh? I mean, it's kind of weird. Like a totally outdated practice."