THE NEW SHADOW

20. THE NIGHT THAT NEVER ENDS

Ilya doesn’t remember the exact moment he stopped understanding what was happening. He only knows that from one second to the next… he was already standing on top of the float. Elevated above a human tide with no end in sight.

The air felt different up there. Hotter. Thicker. Heavy with perfume, sweat, smoke, fireworks residue… and something harder to name. Euphoria. Ilya slowly turned his head.

To the left, an ocean of bodies glowing beneath impossible lights. Skin covered in glitter, sequins, stones reflecting every flash like each person had become a living piece of jewelry.

To the right, endless rows of people in the stands. Standing. Screaming. Jumping. Thousands of phones pointed toward them like artificial stars.

Higher above, drones crossing the sky. Suspended cameras. Giant screens replaying every movement live in real time.

Everyone was watching.

Everyone was recording.

Everyone was there.

And then… the feathers.

God. The feathers.

Massive. Exaggerated. Impossible. They opened behind the dancers like wings from another planet. Colors that shouldn’t belong together… and somehow did. Green and gold. Fuchsia and orange. Electric blue and silver. Everything glittered. Everything moved. Everything breathed.

The floats advanced slowly, but they didn’t feel heavy. They felt majestic. Each one carrying its own universe on top. Giant figures. Sculptures. Lights shifting colors constantly. Bodies dancing without stopping. And the sound,  the sound wasn’t coming from one place. It came from everywhere. From ahead. Behind. Below. Inside.

PUM — PUM — pa-rán — pa-rán — PUM PUM PUM.

Ilya felt it through the soles of his feet. Climbing his legs. Cutting through his torso. Settling inside his chest like a second heartbeat.

It wasn’t music. It was force. Something you didn’t listen to. Something you obeyed. Ilya parted his lips slightly without realizing it. His eyes couldn’t stay still. Jumping from one thing to another, unable to choose where to focus.

One dancer spun so fast it looked impossible. A woman lifted her arms and the feathers behind her exploded open like fire. An entire group moved in perfect synchronization, like one living organism. And the people, the people weren’t just watching. They answered. They screamed names. Threw flowers. Blew kisses into the air. Cried. Laughed.

It was devotion.

It was madness.

It was life in its most excessive form.

Ilya swallowed slowly. And for one second… he thought something he would never say out loud. This can’t be real. He blinked. But nothing changed. Nothing disappeared. It stayed there. Louder. Closer. More impossible. And then he understood.

He wasn’t watching Carnival. He was inside it.

The sound didn’t begin, it exploded. Again. And again.

PUM — PUM — pa-rán — pa-rán — PUM PUM PUM.

But even with all of that… Ilya started feeling something that had nothing to do with the music anymore. Something quieter. More dangerous. Because while everyone else was watching João… Ilya had stopped watching the spectacle. He was watching him. And that changed everything. His chest still vibrated with the batucada, but now something else mixed into it. Pressure. Tension. Something that didn’t belong in the middle of a celebration. João spun again. Leaned toward the crowd. Smiled.

Someone threw him a flower and he caught it effortlessly out of the air, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Natural. Perfect. Too perfect. Ilya clenched his jaw. It wasn’t jealousy. No. Not that.

But it wasn’t indifference either. Because what he was seeing wasn’t just talent. It was control. Presence. Total command over a space where everyone wanted to be seen… and somehow João still made everything orbit around him. And that, that felt familiar. Too familiar. Because Ilya knew that kind of power. He’d felt it. Used it himself. On the ice. During games. In every glance that pulled Shane toward him without anyone else noticing. But this… this was different. There was no ice here. No rules. No structure. Just chaos… and João controlled it like it belonged to him.

Ilya swallowed again. And for the first time all night… he didn’t feel in control. He tried moving again. Forced himself to. Marked the rhythm with his foot. One. Two. Lost it immediately. Tried again.

His body wouldn’t respond the way it should. It wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that he didn’t know how to let go. How to stop thinking. How to stop measuring every movement. And that irritated him. Because Ilya didn’t fail at physical things. Ever. But this wasn’t physical. It was something else. Something discipline couldn’t dominate.

He lifted his eyes toward João again. And there he was. Laughing. Spinning. Sweat glowing across his skin beneath the lights. Alive. Free. Unfiltered. And suddenly Ilya felt the contrast. Brutally. Because his mind—without permission—shifted somewhere else.

Another place. Another body. Another rhythm. Another kind of connection. Shane. Not as a sweet memory. No. As impact. As interference. As something that shouldn’t be there… but was. Flashes. Hands. Held breath. The weight of a body pressed against his. The silence between them when words weren’t necessary anymore. The way Shane never tried to shine… and still somehow filled everything. Ilya closed his eyes for one second. Mistake. Because the sound crashed into him harder. His body betrayed him. And now it wasn’t just samba moving through him anymore.

It was mixture. Confusion. Something he couldn’t separate. He opened his eyes again. João was closer now. The float had advanced. The crowd had become even more feral.

—JOÃOOOO!
—COSTA!
—BRAZIL!

The energy climbed higher. Higher. Too high. And João answered it with even more intensity. More movement. More fire. More connection. Ilya watched him… and understood something he didn’t like at all.

This, this was who João really was when nothing held him back. When he stopped filtering himself. When he stopped pretending to be anything else. This was his truest version. And it was… dangerously attractive.

Ilya exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. But he couldn’t. Because now two different rhythms were fighting inside him. The one outside. And the one underneath. The samba… and everything he’d left unresolved. He curled his fingers tightly, forcing himself to focus. To stay present. To not disappear into whatever this was becoming. But the problem wasn’t thinking about Shane. The problem was what it did to him when he looked at João again afterward. Because now he didn’t see him the same way anymore.

Now he compared them. And that, that was the beginning of something dangerous.

João spun again. His eyes swept over the crowd… and for one second—just one—locked onto Ilya’s. And Ilya felt it. Not imagination. Not coincidence. He felt it. That tiny fraction of a second where João stopped belonging to the crowd… and became his again. And he smiled. Not the Carnival smile. Not the performance smile. Another one. Smaller. More private. More direct. Like he was saying:

Do you see it now?

Ilya didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because in that instant… all the noise, all the music, all the people disappeared. And all that remained was that uncomfortable pressure in his chest. That mixture. That tension. That certainty he never wanted to have.

This wasn’t just a trip. Wasn’t just an experience. Wasn’t just João. And it definitely wasn’t something he could control the way he always had before. The rhythm kept going. Carnival didn’t stop. But Ilya had stopped being a spectator. Now he was inside it. And that… changed the rules.

Carnival didn’t end all at once. It faded slowly. Like someone lowering the volume on an entire world. The rhythm lingered for a little longer, but it no longer hit the same way. The lights still burned bright, but they no longer blinded him. People still screamed, but now it sounded more like echoes than a roar. Ilya barely processed any of it. His body was exhausted. Legs heavy. Shirt glued to his skin. Breathing still uneven, like his body hadn’t realized everything was already over. And somehow… his head was still up there on the float. In that suspended moment where everything had become too much.

Then he felt a hand. Firm. Warm. João. He grabbed Ilya by the arm without asking permission.

—This doesn’t end here,” he said, smiling with traces of Carnival still burning in his eyes. “It’s only getting started.”

Ilya looked at him. Didn’t answer. He didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. Or question. Or even fully understand. He just nodded. Almost automatically.

The ride back was a blur. Passing lights. Distant laughter. Portuguese voices he still couldn’t fully untangle. And by the time he realized it, they were already inside the house. But it didn’t feel like the same place they’d left earlier. Now it was full. Not overcrowded… but alive. People coming and going. Voices overlapping. Laughter bouncing off the walls. A long table in the back covered with things—snacks, fruit, opened bottles, half-finished drinks. Music playing from a speaker someone had already connected. It wasn’t formal. Wasn’t organized. It was… natural. Like all of this simply happened on its own.

—Hey!” someone shouted from the living room.

—João!”

And suddenly there was movement everywhere. Hugs. Hands slapping shoulders. Fast comments in Portuguese stacking over one another. João answered everyone easily. Comfortably. Completely in his element.

And then—

—This is Ilya.”

Just like that.

No elaborate introduction. No context. Just his name… and somehow that was enough. The looks shifted toward him. Focused on him. But there was no judgment in them. No distance. Only curiosity… and warmth. A girl approached first. Smiled at him.

—Hi,” she said in English. “Welcome.”

Then hugged him like she already knew him.

Another guy slapped him lightly on the shoulder. Someone else handed him a drink.

—Vodka,” João called from somewhere nearby. “The good kind.”

Ilya took it. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t think about it. He just drank. The alcohol burned all the way down. And for the first time in hours… his body finally started loosening. Not completely. But enough.

The music grew louder again. Someone changed the song. Another rhythm this time. More relaxed. Closer.

Conversations blurred together. Portuguese. English. Laughter that didn’t need translation. Ilya watched everything. Not fully participating… but not outside of it either. He existed somewhere in the middle. That strange place where he didn’t belong… and yet somehow didn’t feel out of place. And little by little… he let himself drift into it.

Another drink. Then another. The voices softened. Drew closer. Stopped feeling foreign. Someone laughed way too loudly.

Another guy was already shirtless. A couple sprinted toward the pool and jumped in without warning, water exploding everywhere. Screams. Laughter. Splashing.

—COME ON!” someone yelled.

And within seconds several more people followed. Shoes kicked off. Shirts dropped onto the floor. Water. Movement. Freedom without explanation.

Ilya watched all of it… and couldn’t stop one thought from hitting him hard:

What the hell is this place?

He didn’t say it out loud. But he felt it. Deeply. Because none of this resembled the world he knew. There was no calculation here.

No image to protect. No masks. Everyone was simply… there. Existing. And somehow that unraveled him more than anything else had. He looked around again. The house. The people. The music. The heat. And for one moment… everything else truly slipped away from him. Not because he decided to let it go. Not because he wanted to. Simply because this place absorbed him. Because it was too much.

At some point… things softened. Not stopped. But slowed. Fragmented. Smaller groups forming. Slower conversations. The air changing.

Ilya stepped away slightly. He needed air. Space. Silence. And there was João. A few steps away. No dancing now. No spectacle. No Carnival noise wrapped around him anymore. Just him. Calmer. More… real. Ilya looked at him. And this time there was no audience. No lights. No distractions. Only that moment. João took a step closer.

—So?” he asked with a half-smile. “Still think this isn’t real?”

Ilya exhaled slowly. Looked around one more time… then back at him.

—I don’t know what this is,” he admitted honestly. “But… it doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever lived before.”

No sarcasm. No defense. Just truth.

João watched him for one second longer than necessary. Like he was measuring something unspoken. Like he understood more than Ilya realized. The pool noise still echoed in the background. Distant laughter. Soft music. The house breathing around them. But between the two of them… there was something else now.

Something quieter. More contained. More dangerous. And for the first time since all of this started… it wasn’t Carnival that mattered anymore. It was what came after.

The party kept going behind them. Laughter. Water. Music. But João wasn’t really there anymore. And neither was Ilya.

João only throws him a sideways glance. Subtle. Almost invisible. But enough. Ilya understands immediately. He always understands those kinds of things. Without saying anything, he follows him. Down the hallway. Leaving behind the noise. The humidity. The voices. Until they reach a different part of the house. Quieter. More contained. A small table. Vodka. Ice.
Glasses already waiting. A candle burning softly, barely illuminating the space enough to matter. It’s impossible to tell whether it was planned… or whether the moment simply arranged itself this way on its own. João leans lightly against the table. Looks at him.

—Well…” he says calmly, “I think this is the part where we can finally be completely honest.”

Ilya lifts an eyebrow.

—I’m not sure if I should be worried… or call 911 now and save time.”

João lets out a quiet laugh.

—You’re always like this.”

He steps a little closer.

—Relax. Nothing’s gonna happen that you don’t want.

Silence.

They hold each other’s gaze. No distractions. No audience.

João grabs the bottle and starts pouring.

—Okay… first, the important thing,” he says. “A drink.”

Ilya stops him with one hand.

—No. On the rocks. And with water.”

João looks amused.

—Seriously?”

Ilya holds his gaze.

—Good vodka deserves respect.”

João smiles.

—Didn’t know you were a coward.”

Ilya shakes his head, almost laughing now.

—Not even close. Come on.”

Their glasses clink softly.

—Thanks for coming to Brazil,” João says.

Ilya doesn’t look away.

—Nothing to thank me for… thank you for inviting me.”

They drink. The alcohol goes down easier now. The tension doesn’t. They start talking. Lightly at first. Surface-level things.

—So?” João asks. “What do you think?”

Ilya exhales slowly, looking around like he still hasn’t fully processed any of it.

—Incredible… no, more than that. I’ve never seen anything like this. Never thought something like this even existed.”

Pause.

—Now I understand why they call it the marvelous city.”

João smiles softly.

—And you’ve barely started.”

Another drink. More laughter. Random comments. Looks that linger one second longer than they should. Until somehow, without noticing exactly when it happened, they end up standing beside the railing. Cool air. Open night. Moonlight reflecting in the distance. The ocean… dark and endless below them. The house behind them is still alive, but here, here it’s different. Slower. More intimate.

João breaks the silence first.

—I’m guessing you already know what I meant the other day… or do I need to draw it for you?”

Ilya doesn’t answer immediately.

—I don’t wanna say something I’ll regret later.”

João turns toward him.

—You have permission.”

Direct.

Ilya looks him in the eyes.

—I’m guessing you’re going through the same thing I am.”

João tilts his head slightly.

—I don’t know what your situation is… you tell me.”

Ilya lets out a short laugh.

—You already know. Why make it more complicated?”

Silence.

João doesn’t push. Instead, he turns, connects his phone to a nearby speaker, and soft music begins filling the space. Bossa nova. Subtle. Almost like a whisper.

When Ilya looks at him again, João is already closer.

Too close.

He moves to stand beside him.

For a moment, it looks like he's about to say something.

But he doesn't.

He looks away.

His jaw tightens.

João, who always seems to know exactly what to do, suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands.

His voice drops.

Close to Ilya's ear.

—Ilya... I think I’m drawn to you.

Ilya doesn’t move. He only turns his face just enough to look at him.

—Why do you think that?”

João lowers his eyes for a second. Unusual for him.

—I don’t know… I get nervous around you. I never know what to say.”

Pause.

“But at the same time… I’m scared.”

—Scared of what?”

—Of ruining everything.”

Another pause.

“What already exists… and what shouldn’t happen.”

Ilya’s brow tightens slightly.

—What shouldn’t happen?”

João breathes in deeply.

—I can’t fail God.”

Ilya falls silent.

—I can’t do something I know is wrong… even if part of me wants to.”

No drama.

No exaggeration.

Just truth.

Ilya watches him carefully.

Thinking.

Measuring.

—Would you really let go of something you want… because of your God?”

João looks directly at him.

—It’s what I’ve struggled with my entire life.”

Ilya takes one step forward.

Now they’re face to face.

Close.
Too close.

—And what if your God didn’t exist?”

João shakes his head almost immediately.

—I couldn’t even imagine that.”

The air changes.

Heavier now.

Denser.

João lowers his voice even more.

—The flesh is weak…”

Ilya doesn’t step back.

Neither of them does.

The distance between them disappears almost completely.

Breath against breath.

The moment stretches.

Tightens.
Breaks internally without breaking outwardly.

And João whispers:

—If I could make one mistake… it would be with you.”

Ilya closes his eyes for one second.

Looks down.

The silence weighs heavily between them.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower now.

Firmer.

More real.

—You’re the kind of person anyone would want to have.”

Pause.

“But my heart already belongs to someone else.”

The air seems to stop.

Something drops inside João.

So suddenly that, for a moment, he loses his voice.

He lowers his eyes.

Swallows.
It takes him a second longer than usual to look at Ilya again.

—I hope one day someone loves me like that… the way you love him.”

Ilya goes still.

Caught off guard.

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn’t know how.

Doesn’t know how much João already knows.

Doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say anymore.

João breaks the moment himself.

Raises his glass slightly.

—Cheers.”

Ilya follows.

They drink.

Another one.

Then another.

The music keeps playing. The night keeps moving.

And slowly… everything starts becoming blurry.

A laugh neither of them could hold back.

Comments that barely made sense anymore.

At some point, João tried speaking Russian.

Ilya couldn't stop laughing.

—What the fuck are you saying?

—I'm practicing my Russian. It's very good.

Ilya burst out laughing again.

—I'm just telling you, nothing you're saying makes sense.

—Let me practice a little more. You'll see.

Another drink.

And then, out of nowhere, João lost his balance. His body tipped dangerously toward the floor.

Ilya reached out on instinct, trying to catch him.

But João managed to steady himself on his own.

—I'm fine.

Another laugh.

Another drink.

Morning arrives all at once.

Ilya opens his eyes slowly.

Pain.

In his head.

In his body.

Everywhere.

He blinks.

Doesn’t recognize the ceiling.

Pushes himself up slightly.

And then—

he sees him.

João.

Beside him.

In the same bed.

Wearing only underwear.

Ilya goes completely still.

Time stops.

He looks at his hands.

His body.

His clothes.

His mind trying desperately to reconstruct the night—

and finding nothing clear.

Only fragments.

Laughter.
Alcohol.
Looks.

And then… nothing.

His breathing catches sharply.

—Fuck…”

One hand drags across his face.

—Fuck…”

He gets up too fast, dizzy instantly.

—What did I do…?”

His heartbeat explodes. His stomach twists violently.

—No…”

He looks at João again.

Sleeping peacefully.

Calm.

And the impact hits him completely.

Shane.

The name never leaves his mouth out loud.

But it crushes him anyway.

I fucked up.

He stays there standing motionless.

Not knowing whether to get closer.

Whether to run.

Whether to remember.

Whether to forget.

With only one certainty cutting straight through his chest—

There was no going back to how things used to be.