Chapter Text
They talked about it properly a few weeks later.
It had taken Shane some careful maneuvering to get them there. Ilya's instinct, predictably, was to act like the conversation at the cottage had been a fluke, something that they could pretend never happened. Shane had let him have the space for a little while before gently making clear that he didn’t intend to do that.
So they talked. Ilya spent the first ten minutes making jokes — deflecting with the particular brand of cheerful inappropriateness that Shane had learned to recognize as his way of showing that he was nervous. Shane let him get it out, laughed where it was warranted, and waited. Eventually Ilya ran out of deflections and went quiet, picking at the hem of his sleeve, and Shane asked his questions carefully and waited out the silences.
He learned that Ilya hadn't known it had a name, not until Shane told him. To Ilya, regressing had just been the embarrassing thing that happened when he got too overwhelmed — something to manage alone, to hide, to be ashamed of after. He promised Shane it wasn't something that happened often. Shane told him it would've been okay if it did.
Ilya looked at him like he'd said something in a language he didn't speak.
Then, quietly, like it cost him something to say it, Ilya admitted that he'd been on the verge of feeling small that first night. The night he'd shown up acting off after a loss and Shane hadn't known what to do. The night he'd left.
Shane didn't say anything for a moment. He thought about Ilya walking out the door, making it all the way down to his car, driving home. Feeling small and sad and alone, and thinking he had to keep it to himself.
It broke his heart. He wished Ilya had felt comfortable enough to let Shane be there for him that first time.
As he was thinking that, Ilya asked his own question, tentatively, self-consciously: Why?
Why was Shane offering to do this?
Shane told him that it helped him too, which was the truth.
“How?” Ilya asked skeptically.
It took most of the rest of the conversation for Shane to find the right words. That he genuinely liked it, and wasn’t simply trying to be supportive for Ilya’s sake. That taking care of Ilya made him feel warm and settled in a way he didn’t know how to articulate. It made him feel close to Ilya in an entirely new way, like he was being trusted with something real. Something the rest of the world didn’t get.
It had felt important. It had felt like the most important thing he’d ever done.
Ilya was quiet for a long moment after that.
"Don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Ilya said quietly. Then after a beat he added, “Must have been very good in past life. A saint. Mother Teresa. Perhaps Mister Rogers.”
Shane barked out a laugh. “What do you know about Mister Rogers?”
Ilya paused. “Nothing,” he finally admitted. “But name sounds very trustworthy. I hear good things.”
They made a plan after that. Shane went home and spent the better part of a weekend doing research, buying things, and preparing for the weekend they’d decided to try this thing for real.
The plan went out the window when Shane got hit from behind and ended up going flying into the boards. As the medics were looking him over, he watched the replay on the Jumbotron and winced. From that angle, it looked like Shane had hit his head, even though his head felt fine and he was pretty certain it was his shoulder that had taken the brunt of it.
“I’m good to play,” Shane said.
“We’re gonna check you for concussion in the locker room,” one medic said, shaking his head.
“What? No, I’m fine,” Shane argued. “It looked worse than it was. My shoulder is what connected, not my head, I swear. I want to keep playing.”
“Better safe than sorry. Protocol says locker room,” the first medic said. “Come on, you’ve already had one head injury. You know the drill, Shane.”
“The game’s almost over! We’re a point behind!”
“Hollander! Off the ice, now!” Coach yelled.
Shane huffed in irritation but did as he was instructed, escorted off the ice by the two medics. He wanted to shrug off the hand resting on his uninjured shoulder, but refrained. Barely.
Instead, he followed them to the locker room and let them do their concussion checklist and examine his shoulder — which, as he’d expected, turned out to be the real injury.
“Oh, yeah. That’s gonna bruise nicely,” one medic said. “Can you move it?”
Shane did a tentative orbit with his shoulder. “Hurts a little, but yeah.”
“It’ll definitely be sore,” the other medic said, observing the already-appearing bruising. “Ice and wrap it tonight and keep an eye on it. If it’s not getting better in a few days, let someone know.”
“Got it,” Shane sighed, moving it up and down slowly in a vain attempt to get rid of some of the soreness.
The medics packed up their stuff and left, leaving Shane alone in the locker room. He sighed and stared down at his skates, jaw clenched. He understood protocol, he got that it had looked bad, but Shane could’ve finished that game. They’d only been one point behind. Shane could’ve helped them score and gotten them into overtime.
There was no point in ruminating, but Shane did it anyway. He moved automatically as he got the rest of his gear off and stepped into the shower. He showered quickly and got dressed, then sat back and waited for the game to finish.
He pulled his phone out of his bag, planning to find a way to entertain himself until the team returned. He was thinking a round of chess, or a text of frustration about the way his game had ended sent to Ilya — but all those ideas died when he saw his notifications, the name Lily plastered over most of them.
7 missed calls.
8 new texts.
Shane’s pulse pounded as he opened the text thread.
oh my god shane
i was watching
are you okay?
respond when you can
am worried about you
A few minutes had passed between those and the next few texts. Shane figured Ilya had tried to call him a few more times.
shane call me when you get chance
please
im getting scared
Shane’s fingers were flying over the keyboard while he was still finishing reading them.
I’m okay!
Sorry
They had me looked at by the doctors to make sure I didn’t have a concussion
But I don’t! Just a little bruised up on my shoulder
Three bubbles popped up and disappeared, then returned and sat there for a while. Shane waited, wondering what Ilya was typing.
cn i call
Shane frowned. He’d expected a longer text with how long it had taken Ilya to type. And the typo…
Gimme ten minutes. I’m okay.
Just have to find somewhere private, I think the game is about to wrap up
hurry
Shane felt icy dread bloom in his chest. He sent another text.
You okay?
There was a long pause before Shane got a reply.
will be
Which meant no. Shane stood up and walked straight out of the locker room. He couldn’t wait and clearly neither could Ilya. He needed to find somewhere to call him now. He walked down the hall and tried door after door in search of one that was unlocked.
As much as he’d wanted to crack as soon as he’d seen the message and just call Ilya right there in the middle of the locker room, he knew he couldn’t. The game would be finished any minute and the team would be filing in and wondering who he was on the phone with after taking a hit like that. Clearly, it would have to be someone important for him to be prioritizing reaching out to them before the game had even wrapped up. It was way too risky.
He eventually found an unlocked supply closet to step into. It smelled overwhelmingly of disinfectant and other abrasive chemicals. Shane distantly wondered if it was dangerous for his lungs to be inhaling the fumes. But he didn’t care enough to waste time finding somewhere else. He dialed Ilya’s number.
He was met with shaky breaths when the line connected, but no voice accompanied it.
“Ilya?”
Shane heard a small sniffle. Ilya’s voice came out small and tentative. “Shane?”
“Hi,” Shane said softly. He’d already had his suspicions from the texts, but Ilya’s tentative voice all but confirmed it. He was pretty certain that he was talking to an Ilya that didn’t feel very big. “Hey, buddy.”
“Your head?” Ilya whispered. “Is okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Shane soothed. “The doctors checked me out, they said everything is completely normal. I didn’t even actually hit my head, it was my shoulder.”
Ilya exhaled a shuddery breath. “Thought it was like— last time.”
Last time. When Shane had been hit so hard he’d ended up in the hospital with a concussion. He remembered watching the footage later— at the time he hadn’t been aware of much at all. But he’d seen Ilya’s face on the replay, the abject panic as Shane was taken off the ice.
“Not like last time,” Shane said. “I promise, I’m okay.”
The line went quiet for a moment.
“I got scared.” Ilya’s voice was wobbly and heartbreaking. “And then I was calling and— you didn’t answer.”
“I know,” Shane said softly. “I’m so sorry, Ilya. That must have been really scary, to see me get hit and then not to hear from me for a while.”
“Yeah.” Ilya let out another quiet sniffle. Shane could tell he was trying his best to muffle it.
“Does it help to hear that I’m okay?”
There was silence for a moment. “Little bit.”
“Still hard though, yeah?”
“It’s—“ Ilya made a frustrated noise. “I am being stupid.”
“You’re not being stupid,” Shane said. “If I had seen you get hurt and couldn’t get in contact with you, I’d lose my mind. I think it’s a very normal reaction, to be upset when you see someone you love get hurt.”
“Yes, but not—“ Ilya cut himself off. “Not like this,” he finished in an ashamed mumble.
Shane didn’t know it was possible for his heart to break any further. “Oh, baby. It’s okay if you feel small. I just wish I could be there.”
“No,” Ilya said, frustrated. Shane frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “That is problem! You are hurt and I—“ he cut himself off with another frustrated huff. “Is not about me!”
“I don’t think you’re making it about you,” Shane said. “Ilya, you haven’t asked anything of me. You just called to see if I was okay. That’s allowed.”
“But I should— nevermind,” Ilya said.
“What?” Shane pressed. “What exactly did you do wrong?”
Ilya was quiet, aside from the occasional sniffle.
Shane waited, hoping Ilya would answer and give him something to work with. He didn’t. The silence stretched out and Shane felt the edges of his own exhaustion pressing in. His shoulder ached. He was standing in a supply closet breathing in bleach fumes, because he couldn’t even have a phone call with his boyfriend in the locker room like everyone else on the team could with their spouses.
Shane was tired. And sore. And he’d had a plan. A whole carefully considered plan, and none of it involved a supply closet and Ilya spiraling four hundred kilometers away where Shane couldn’t even touch him.
For one second, he felt completely out of his depth. He didn’t know how to do this through a phone. He couldn’t be what Ilya needed from this far away.
“Ilya,” he started, and there was a sharp edge to his voice he didn’t mean to let out, “I can’t fix it if you won’t tell me what—“
He cut himself off. On the other end of the line, Ilya was silent.
Shit.
Shane dragged a hand over his face. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. Shane snapping at him was the last thing Ilya needed.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, gentling his tone. “That came out wrong. I’m not mad at you. I’m just—“
He exhaled through his nose, trying to think of what to say. Eventually, he settled on the truth.
“I’m just wishing I could be there,” Shane said quietly. “That’s all. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just wish I was there. This…sucks.”
Ilya was quiet for a moment. Then, small and careful: “I don’t want to make worse for you. You are already hurt.”
“No,” Shane sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re not making anything worse. I’m frustrated because I’m tired and sore and stuck in a supply closet, not because of you. None of this is your fault.”
“You need to take care of yourself and I am in way,” Ilya said. “I can manage this on my own. You should go home and rest, Shane.”
Shane noticed the change in tone, the intentional modulation of his voice, the carefully chosen words. Ilya was so worried about making things harder for Shane. It would be sweet, if it wasn’t so misled.
“Ilya, no, that— I don’t want that,” Shane said, squeezing the phone hard. “I want to hear your voice. I want to talk to you, and listen to you, and I don’t mind that you’re feeling small, okay? I want you exactly the way you are.”
He softened his voice. “It’s okay. I promise it’s okay. Can you trust that I’m being honest?”
Ilya was quiet for a beat. “Will try,” he whispered.
“That’s all I can ask,” Shane said, letting out a quiet, relieved exhale. “So can I tell you what I think should be the plan for tonight?”
“Okay,” Ilya mumbled.
“I’m gonna give you some instructions,” Shane said. “Then I’m gonna have to hang up long enough to get to my car. Five minutes, max. That’ll give you enough time to do what I’m asking. With me so far?”
“Mhm,” Ilya said.
“Good. I’ll call you as soon as I’m in the car, then we can talk for the rest of the night if you want.”
A pause. “Do you?”
Shane huffed a quiet, tired laugh. “There’s nothing else I can think of that I’d rather do.”
“Okay,” Ilya said softly.
“Alright, you ready?” Shane asked.
“Ready,” Ilya said seriously. Shane bit back a grin, feeling some of the tightness in his muscles loosen.
“First, get into comfy clothes. Second, make yourself a snack and something to drink. Third, find a movie or show. Think you can do that?”
“Uh huh.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna check,” Shane warned.
“Clothes, snack, movie,” Ilya recited.
“And drink,” Shane said.
Shane could hear Ilya’s eye roll over the phone. “Clothes, snack and drink, movie.”
“Good boy,” Shane praised. Now he could hear the blush.
“Shane,” Ilya complained, but there was less wobble in it now.
“Okay,” Shane said. “I need to hang up now so I can get out of here. You ready for that?”
“Wish you did not have to,” Ilya mumbled.
“Me too, baby,” Shane said, voice softening. “But I’ll be quick, promise.”
“I know,” Ilya said, sounding steady now. “You can hang up.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm, but five minutes,” Ilya reminded him seriously.
“Five minutes,” Shane agreed. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Once he hung up, Shane moved quickly, pushing out of the closet—
And into JJ.
“Oh— fuck,” Shane blurted.
“What are you doing in the janitor’s closet?” JJ asked in French.
“Uh,” Shane said. His mind went blank. He couldn’t even think of a lie. JJ clearly saw his predicament and took pity on him, shaking his head and holding up a hand.
“You know what? I don’t think I want to know.”
As JJ walked away, Shane squeezed his eyes shut and winced. This definitely wouldn’t help the team’s rumor mill.
Luckily, because of his injury, there wasn’t much pushback to his decision to skip media duties and head home. He quickly packed his bag and avoided eye contact with Hayden and JJ, who he could see whispering and looking at him, as he walked out.
As soon as he was in the car, he called Ilya. The line connected, and Shane could hear the faint tinny sound of a cartoon playing in the background.
“Hi, baby,” he said cheerfully.
Ilya’s response was shy. “Hi.”
“What did you end up finding to watch?”
“Hercules,” Ilya replied.
“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Shane said. “When I get home, I’ll put it on too and we can watch together.”
“But we won’t be at the same part,” Ilya said.
“It’s okay, I’ll fast forward to where you are. I’ve seen it a bazillion times, I won’t have missed anything.”
Ilya considered this. “Okay, fine.”
“And what did you grab to eat?” Shane asked.
“Peanut butter pretzels,” Ilya replied. “And apple but there was big mushy spot.”
“Oh no! That’s a bummer.”
“Mhm. Threw out the rest.”
“I don’t blame you. I would’ve done the same thing,” Shane said. “And you got something to drink?”
“Mhm,” Ilya said. “Coke.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Shane said with a grin. “Besides me scaring you, how was your day today?”
“Was okay,” Ilya said. “Felt funny all day.”
“You felt funny? Like you’re not feeling good?” Shane tried to clarify.
“No, like,” Ilya paused. “Like funny.”
“Hm.” Shane wondered if Ilya was trying to say he felt like he could be small all day. It’d be hard for a normal Ilya to articulate, and probably next to impossible for little Ilya without some help. “Funny like you wanted to be small?”
Ilya was quiet.
“It’s okay,” Shane encouraged.
“Yeah. Like that.”
“So me getting hurt was just the icing on the cake, huh?”
“Mhm,” Ilya said. There was a pause. “I like the horse.”
It took Shane a minute to realize that Ilya was talking about Pegasus. He grinned. “Me too. I bet he would’ve eaten your mushy apple for you.”
He felt stupid after he said it, but then Ilya laughed, and it was a lovely sound. Shane smiled, feeling himself loosen up a little more.
Shane made it home in just under forty minutes. He trudged up the steps to his apartment, phone held to his ear, fishing his keys from his pocket. He’d never been so happy to see the inside of his apartment.
He changed into sweats, put together a protein bowl he’d meal prepped earlier in the week for dinner, and half-listened to Ilya’s steady babble of movie commentary while he did. He didn’t catch most of it, but it was nice to hear his voice.
“Still going to watch with me?” Ilya asked as Shane finished heating his food.
“Sure am,” Shane said, carrying his bowl to the couch. “I’m putting it on right now.”
He found Hercules after a moment of searching and fast-forwarded to where Ilya was in the movie. They watched together, Shane picking half-heartedly at his protein bowl. Eventually he gave up, setting it down. He needed food so the pain meds would settle in his stomach, but he wasn’t feeling hungry.
Somewhere underneath the softness of the moment, a heaviness pulled at him. He’d had everything planned. A perfect weekend, Ilya’s favorite foods, the right activities, the gift he’d spent forever considering, everything had been prepared and waiting. He hadn’t imagined the first real time would be like this, over a phone, Ilya on one end and Shane on the other.
But he also knew how special it was that Ilya had trusted him with this over the phone, when he could’ve kept it a secret and dealt with it himself. The fact that he’d gone to Shane, that meant something. It meant everything. Shane had to blink a bit quicker for a moment as he considered it.
It struck him then that this might be more complicated than he’d originally thought. Not the taking care of Ilya itself, that came easily. But the distance. Not being able to drive right over whenever Ilya needed him.
The thoughts were heavy, and Shane grew quiet. Ilya didn’t seem to notice, too busy yawning with increasing frequency. Shane blinked, realizing he’d gotten lost in his own head.
“Okay,” Shane said after the fiftieth yawn. “Bedtime.”
“Movie’s not over,” Ilya protested.
“Baby, you’ve yawned four times in the last two minutes.”
“Am not tired,” Ilya said adamantly, voice thick with exhaustion.
Shane bit back a smile. “We’ll finish it next time. I promise it ends well.”
“I know how it ends,” Ilya mumbled. “Want to see it.”
Shane relented. They watched to the credits, Ilya going quieter and quieter as the movie wound down, and then Shane said firmly that it was time for bed. Ilya had no protests this time, and Shane wondered if he’d started to drift off completely there at the end. He wished he’d been there to see it, him dozing off despite his best efforts to keep his eyes open and watch the end of the movie.
Shane talked him through getting ready for bed, keeping his voice low and even while he did the same on his end— brushing his teeth, finding his way under the covers in the dark. He climbed into bed and listened to Ilya do the same, the familiar sounds of it traveling through the phone.
“Shane?”
“Yeah?”
“Read to me?” Ilya asked.
Shane turned into a puddle. “Of course. Get comfy.”
He heard Ilya shuffling around, the phone muffled briefly in the blankets. Shane got under his own covers and reached for his glasses on the nightstand, wincing as he shifted weight onto his bruised shoulder. He pulled up Winnie the Pooh on his phone, still saved from last time.
“Ready?”
“Mhm,” Ilya hummed.
Shane started reading, keeping his voice low and even. He read until he could hear nothing but slow, deep breaths from the other end of the phone. He didn’t hang up. Instead he lay there in the dark, listening to Ilya sleep, until he drifted off himself.
Shane had anticipated Ilya not being able to feel small just because they planned to. He gave Ilya ten minutes alone in the living room while he made lunch to give him a chance to try, but he was far from surprised when he came out to see an embarrassed and frustrated Ilya sitting on the couch with his arms crossed.
“I can’t,” he huffed. “This will not work.”
Grateful he’d thought of contingency plans for this exact situation, Shane set a plate of chicken nuggets and carrots down on the coffee table in front of him and sat down. “Can I try something?” he asked.
Pink dusted Ilya’s cheeks. He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. Shane grabbed the remote and found what he was looking for quickly.
He’d spent way too much time researching what children’s shows had been popular in Russia when Ilya was growing up. He was nervous that he wouldn’t get it right, but Ilya’s little gasp of surprise as it started immediately put that fear to rest. “Gav,” he whispered, almost to himself. On the screen, a kitten was having a very serious conversation with a dog.
Ilya looked at Shane in shock. “How did you—?”
Shane ignored his question and nodded at the TV. “You’re gonna miss it,” he chided with a smile. Ilya stared at him for another moment before he relented, shoving himself into Shane’s side, half-hiding his face. Shane just tucked him in closer and tried to follow the story, silently picking out the handful of Russian words he recognized from the textbook in his nightstand.
Gradually, Ilya relaxed, the taut line of his shoulders finally loosening, his face turned out of Shane’s chest so he could fully face the TV. He melted into Shane’s side, transfixed by the cartoon. He grabbed chicken nuggets from the plate in front of him, commenting on the show in the same mix of English and Russian he always used when he was excited about something.
Then, slowly, the English dropped away. Ilya was speaking entirely in Russian, low and unthinking, still watching the screen. Shane didn’t understand it, but that was fine. He watched Ilya’s face instead— the focused eyes, hands fidgeting with his necklace, lips ever so slightly parted and occasionally flickering with a smile.
This was what it looked like. Ilya’s walls were down, his movements loose and light. Shane saw the same look in his eyes that he did the first night he’d read to him.
Then Ilya glanced over and caught Shane watching him.
He went quiet. He dropped his necklace and straightened, pulling away from Shane’s side a little. Not all the way, but enough for Shane to feel the warmth between them dissipate. Shane silently cursed himself.
“Sorry,” Ilya muttered, eyes dropping to his lap. “Got carried away. Is stupid.”
“I didn’t mind,” Shane said, keeping his voice easy, modeling for Ilya that this was no big deal. “Actually, I liked it. It helps me.”
Ilya frowned slightly. “Helps you?” he repeated.
Shane smiled cryptically and nodded at the TV. “You’re missing it.”
Ilya gave him a suspicious look but his eyes slid back to the screen despite himself. He sat slightly stiff, picking at the hem of his sleeve. Shane kept his arm around him and watched the show, patiently waiting.
It took a few minutes, but gradually, the stiffness bled away. His weight shifted back against Shane’s side, his hand stilled on his sleeve. By the next episode he was comfortable enough to resume his narration, mostly in English with only the occasional Russian word slipping in.
Shane let them run through a few more episodes before he moved. Ilya seemed truly settled now, pliant and calm, so Shane made the decision to grab his gift at the end of the current episode.
When the episode ended, Shane pressed a kiss to the top of Ilya’s head. “Stay here a second,” he said, getting up before Ilya could ask why. He retrieved the bag he’d stashed in the bedroom earlier and came back to find Ilya exactly where he’d left him, watching the opening of the next episode as he fidgeted absently with the cross on his necklace.
Shane grabbed the remote and paused the show. Ilya looked up in disapproval, disappointment outlined on his face. Then he saw the gift bag Shane was holding and his eyes lit up with curiosity.
“What is that?”
“How about you open it up and see?”
Shane held out the bag and Ilya reached for it eagerly. Shane’s smile stayed fixed on his face while his stomach did something complicated. He’d felt confident about this when he’d bought it. Now, watching Ilya pull out the tissue paper, he was significantly less sure.
Ilya pulled out the stuffed tan dog in its red sweater and stared at it for a moment. Shane’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, watching his reaction carefully. Emotions flickered across Ilya’s face— first surprise, then something softer and harder to name. He pulled the dog closer slowly, like he wasn’t fully conscious of the action.
“I like him,” Ilya said quietly. His voice was a little rough at the edges.
Shane felt his anxiety melt away, a smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m glad. He’ll keep you company when I can’t be around,” Shane said. “You ready for your other gift?”
Ilya looked into the bag curiously and pulled out the other item inside. A Lego set. The pieces rattled as he turned it over in his hands to look at the cover.
“Lego!” he exclaimed, smiling so big his eyes crinkled.
“It’s a 3-in-1 set, so you can pick between three things to build. That one can be a dog, a squirrel, or a duck.”
“Can we build now?” Ilya asked. He was holding the box close, his dog tucked into an elbow, staring up hopefully at Shane like there was a possibility that Shane would say no. He looked so sweet.
“Of course, mon chou,” Shane said. “Wanna do it at the coffee table and keep watching your show?”
Ilya nodded with a smile, looking well and truly small now. As if to prove it, he threw himself at Shane’s middle, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, voice muffled where his face was shoved into Shane’s chest.
Shane wrapped his arms around him and held on, feeling the full weight of it, everything it had taken to get here. The amount of trust Ilya had given Shane. The effort it had taken him to let himself be small.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Shane said.
Ilya just squeezed him tighter, burying himself deeper into Shane’s side. Shane let him take his time, only letting him go when Ilya himself began to pull away.
When he did, his eyes were bright and soft, a warmer version of the look Shane had seen in his eyes the night he’d read to him. Shane softened at the sight. He pressed a kiss to Ilya’s forehead and reached for the remote.
While Shane resumed Ilya’s show, Ilya ripped open the box with fervor, pouring out its contents on the coffee table.
Shane wanted to let Ilya build most of the set himself, so he designated himself the piece-sorter. While Ilya built, Shane handed him the pieces he needed and put the rest in neat rows organized by color. Ilya was focused with the same intensity he used on the ice, brow furrowed slightly, following the instructions with deep concentration. His dog sat in his lap.
Shane watched him and thought about the Ilya who had left rather than let Shane see him be anything close to vulnerable. This Ilya, sitting cross-legged on the floor and intensely focused on building Lego with his dog in his lap, felt like a completely different person. Shane felt honored that he got to see this version.
“Looks like blob,” Ilya frowned down at his mass of Lego.
“You’ve gotta keep building,” Shane encouraged. “It’ll start to look right soon.”
Ilya looked skeptical but he kept building anyway.
After a while Ilya made a small sound. He held up the half-finished shape, turning it, and then his face broke into a grin. “Oh— I see dog!”
Shane leaned over to look. “Yeah?”
“Yes, look,” Ilya said, holding it out and pointing. “Tail. Is dog.”
“Oh, yeah, there it is,” Shane said with a smile. “Now I’m starting to see it.”
Ilya set it back down, still smiling, and went back to building. Shane watched him, happy and small and completely oblivious to being observed, and felt warmth settle in him.