Chapter Text
The second Ilya opens his eyes, he knows that something’s wrong. He doesn’t know what, but he knows that it feels wrong. His body feels three times heavier, and there should be no reason that it would be. It’s the off-season. The most activity he’s been doing is working out in Shane’s private gym or fucking him senseless. Most of the time both.
Usually that thought would make him smile. Usually any mention of Shane in his mind would have him smirking regardless of the situation. Something is really wrong, then, if he’s not smiling.
More than anything, he’s upset that this is happening right now. He was supposed to have plans today. Shane and Ilya were going to spend their day at the lake, maybe meander around the cottage, maybe even meander outside of the cottage. They were going to do something.
But now, Ilya’s biggest wish was to never get up. To pull the blanket up over his head, and never crawl out. Scroll on his phone until his eyes start watering from the lack of blinking. To take a break, he’ll stare at a wall.
Waking up to Shane directly next to him in bed has been one of his favorite joys. Regardless of how often he complained about the heat, Shane always found his way to be somehow snaked around Ilya halfway through the night.
Now, he dreaded it. He didn’t want him to wake up. He didn’t even want him touching him. But how was Shane supposed to know that? He was not even awake.
Torn between hiding away somewhere in the house and not moving at all, Ilya was left staring at the ceiling with an unknown facial expression. He wanted to hide. He wanted to move. He couldn’t.
Useless. You can’t even get yourself up to hide? To run away? You are too cowardly to be a coward? How fucking pathetic do you have to be too lazy to hide.
His thoughts were interrupted by a shuffling beside him. No, no, no, no. Shane could not see him like this. He knows that he can be… depressed… but he’s never…He’s never seen it. He can’t.
He should hide. He should close his eyes, pretend to be asleep. Open his mouth ajar like Shane had told him that was his biggest sign he was truly asleep.
Again, he couldn’t. Fuck, he couldn’t. He could only stare.
And Shane, beautiful, beautiful Shane, noticed it immediately. He hated that. He was being seen, vulnerable, stripped. He hated it. But it was too late to back out.
Shane sat up slightly on his elbows, his hair an absolute mess. His eyes were still hooded with sleep, and he had wrinkles on his face from the sheets. Ilya wanted to cry at his beauty. Or just cry in general, he didn’t know.
His eyes were boring into his skin. He knew. By now, a Normal Ilya would have smiled at him, and wished him good morning. Called him a million different names in Russian. Made Shane say good morning, I love you, how’d you sleep in Russian. Shane knew.
“Ilya?” Shane whispered, worry creasing his eyebrows up. Ilya wanted to reach out and push them down. Turn them into neutral, anger, contempt. Anything but this. Anything but pity, worry, sadness. He couldn’t handle that. Ilya could only stare at him back, unmoving and mute.
“Ilyusha, what’s wrong?” Shane sat higher now, on his hands. His eyes lacked the sleep glaze over them, and they were now 100% worry. Ilya should probably say something to calm him down, assure him that everything is fine, he’s okay.
But Ilyusha. Ilyusha Ilyusha Ilyusha.
Ilya could only respond with a tear down his cheek. He couldn’t muster any anger at himself for crying.
Shane twisted his face to match Ilya’s. It was like it was physically hurting him to watch. He wanted to wipe that off his face, tell him that it’s okay. He’s really okay. He just needs a second to wake up.
Shane mustered a soft, “Oh, Ilya,” and inched closer to him. He reached to wipe the tears off his cheek, hesitating at the last possible centimeter. When Ilya made no move to swipe him away, yell, or turn away, Shane ran his thumb under his eye. It only made Ilya cry harder, sobbing now. Shane reached down to inch himself farther into Ilya’s space, a hand finding itself into his hair. The other laid softly at his cheek, encompassing him into a hold that Ilya never knew he wanted.
Ilya turned into his chest, fully sobbing and drooling all over the place. He didn’t know where this came from. He was doing so well over the past couple of days. Sure, it was lingering in the background, but he didn’t think it would come to head this quickly.
He felt so bad. For himself, for this, for Shane. For subjecting Shane to this. For making him stay.
He wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have to see this, Shane. I’m sorry I have to be broken. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He could only fist his hands into himself and tap Shane, over, and over, and over again with the waves of his thoughts and cries.
“I know,” Shane muttered into his hair, “I know. It’s okay. I’ve got you, Ilya. I’ve got you.”
He didn’t know how long he laid there crying into Shane’s chest. He was sure Shane must have had a bruise on him now from how often Ilya was hitting the same spot on his side. His sobs eventually subsided, and the empty feeling he woke up with this morning came to haunt his body again. He felt light, but not in the way that encourages you to float to joy. He felt like a balloon a kid let go of, floating off into the atmosphere until the pressure would make him pop.
Shane still held him, though. He still raked his fingers through Ilya’s hair, still keeping him tucked into his chest. He was still solid, alive, and there. It was the only thing keeping him from doing something drastic.
Ilya was no stranger to his own episodes of sadness. He knew the second he found his Mama that he would be cursed with this forever. He didn’t know much, but his Papa and brother loved to antagonize how he would end up just like her. He would be weak, pathetic, and sad, and it would drive him to a cowardly escape that was a shame to their family.
The episodes didn’t take long to start after that. He got good at hiding them, though. If he woke up with an elephant on his chest, he would slap himself into moving. If that didn’t work, whatever water was on his bedside would be thrown on his face. He’d explain the wet sheets later, only if someone noticed. If the episode turned to anger, he would take it out on the carpeted floor of his room. No one would care if there was blood on it. Ilya would just say he got hit hard in a match, and everyone would turn away.
He never let them turn to sadness though. If he was caught crying, he would be slapped and called a Пидор, a disgrace, a shame. If he was caught again, there would be blood.
“Ilya,” he’d hear in his fathers voice. Disdain. Contempt. Anger.
“Ilya,” Alexei would say with such disgust filling his throat. It was like it pained him to say it.
But his Mama. His Mama, she would never. “Ilyushka, Зайка, Я люблю тебя всей душой.”
Ilyushka. Ilyushka. Ilyushka.
“Ilya,” Shane’s voice broke through gentle, whispered, and tender. He had that concerned look on his face again, and Ilya wanted nothing more than to roll off the bed and hide under the bed frame.
Ilya gazed into his wide, brown eyes. They held so much emotion no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
“Do you want to get up?” Shane asked softly. Ilya shook his head. He didn’t want to do anything.
Shane retracted his hand from his hair and rose to get up. “I’ll make us some food. Do you think you could eat some?”
Ilya didn’t even hear the question. His mind was racing with don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me like this. I know I am a mess, I am broken, I am disgusting, but please don’t leave me. He latched onto Shane’s hand and willed him to stay with no outward indication that he wanted him to stay.
Shane left. He left, and Ilya inwardly cursed himself for not saying something. But how could you expect him to stay? You didn’t say anything. You never say anything, Ilya. And if you do, it’s always the wrong thing.
Still, he came back with a plate with avocado toast and scrambled eggs. Ilya couldn’t even try to figure out how long he spent staring at the door whispering mean thoughts to himself while waiting for Shane to come back. Waiting for someone to cater you Ilya? You need to man up. Grow up. You are pathetic. What, you’re too weak to go make yourself some food? What’s next, can’t brush your own teeth? You disgusting, vile piece of–
He blinked. He didn’t realize Shane was holding a piece of avocado toast in front of his face. One was just avocado, and the other was sprinkled with sesame seeds and honey just how Ilya liked. Shane didn’t bug, didn’t push, didn’t force feed him– he only sat on the edge of the bed with the plate on his lap and a toast-full hand reached out to Ilya.
Ilya was once again, torn. He wanted to slap the toast out of his hand. Throw it at the wall. Maybe throw it at Shane’s face. He didn’t want to eat it. He didn’t want to even breathe, let alone eat some nasty fucking avocado smothered– and how can he be mean to Shane? How can he say no to the man that stumbled out of bed to make food for him? And how could he just stare at the toast incapable of making a decision?
Shane must have picked on some sort of internal battle, because he put the plate next to where Ilya was still laying in bed. He didn’t turn away, didn’t get up and leave him, but he rather just stared softly at Ilya. Ilya hated it and never wanted him to look away at the same time.
Shane opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to hesitate at the last possible moment. Ilya hated that he implemented this fear into him–the fear of saying the wrong thing to Ilya. He hated and he hated and he hated–
“I uhm…” Shane started, fiddling with his hands like he did when he was nervous. Ilya chose to find it slightly cute instead of hating it. “When you told me about, uhm… Irina. Last summer at the cottage…” Ilya naturally flinched at the mention of his Mama’s name. “I researched…depression.” Shane looked like he was waiting for Ilya to freak out, start cursing in Russian, or run away. He had no energy for any.
Ilya only stared, with a small expression of confusion on his face. Shane took that as a hesitant sign to continue.
“I researched…an unproportional amount, I’m sure you know,” Shane said softly.
Ilya dared to crack a small smirk.
“And…I looked into episodes, symptoms, treatments…All that stuff. We never talked about it after, which I was fine with obviously. Well, not obviously, but– whatever. I meant, I mean to ask: are you, uhm. Are you having a…depressive episode?” Shane stuttered his way through the questions while wrangling his fingers together.
Usually Ilya would shout, become angry, or completely dodge the question, but he felt comfortably exposed with Shane. It was like peeling back the layers of Ilya, each one was ugly and rotten, but Shane didn’t seem to mind.
Ilya didn’t want to speak, but he mumbled, “I think so, yes.”
Shane relaxed at the mere sound of Ilya’s voice. “Okay.” Shane whispered. “Okay. We’ll get through this together. Whether you beat me up for it or not.”
Ilya couldn’t help the tear that ran down his face at the fact that he didn’t have to be alone. If he wanted to, he was sure Shane would oblige from a distance. But he wasn’t alone. He didn’t have to punch his carpet in order to hide the amount of pain he was feeling, he didn’t have to scream into his pillow, hell he didn’t even have to hide anymore.
He remembers telling Shane about his Mama last summer at the cottage. Over the rest of the season, he subtly expressed that he feared he’d be like his Mama, but he never mentioned that he actually was.
Ilya smiled the most he could with his face still wet with tears. He reached for the god awful avocado toast made just the way he liked. He wanted nothing to do with food, but Shane was unfortunately right. He would be pissed if he didn’t eat later.
Shane watched him eat his half of toast in silence while eating his own. Ilya allowed himself to be fed eggs–scrambled, but not overcooked, just how he liked it– and Ilya subtly encouraged Shane to eat more too. After they ate in pure silence, Shane grabbed Ilya and held him so close that Ilya didn’t know whether the skin he was touching was his or Shane’s, and he shuddered at the caress of Shane’s hands through his hair. Shane didn’t seem to care that he kept crying into his shoulder, chest, or neck, and he especially didn’t seem to care when Ilya would oscillate between enjoying his touch and being angry and bitter at every movement that wasn’t his own.
Ilya fell asleep at some point. When he reawoke, he saw that Shane fell asleep as well; his eyes were shut while he was snoring softly. Ilya still felt tied down from absolutely nothing, but there was still a breath to the air that felt hopeful. It wasn’t his, and all he could do was silently thank Shane.
Shane stirred, magically feeling when Ilya is awake, and turned to face his boyfriend. He pushed a stray curl out of his face, and looked at Ilya like he hung the moon. Ilya felt sick in the sweetest way possible.
“Let’s go out to the lake?” Shane whispered, beckoning with his eyes.
Ilya reached out to poke his freckles. All 107 of them. “I can never say no to you, Shane.”
Ilya allowed himself to be literally dragged out of bed and shuffled into a shirt that smelled like Shane. He felt bad at his lack of movement. He felt bad that Shane had to do this. He felt bad that he was ruining the day. He felt bad. He cried one more time for good measure.
He allowed himself to be led by his hand, by his soul, by his heart. The sun through the large windows did nothing to aid the slowness in his steps, but he squinted into the light and willed himself to feel the warmth of it instead. Maybe it would drown out the heaviness of his head on his shoulders, or maybe the warmth could be an excuse for his sluggish behavior.
Usually, Ilya would get up a little after Shane so he could make black tea with the electric samovar that he got from Yuna for Christmas. He would have a Raffaello or Sushki and marmalade with it and would travel outside to bask in the early morning sun that wasn’t too hot yet. When Shane would come back from his morning run or other morning exercise that was not Ilya included, he would be greeted with his own green tea set on the counter with one secret spoonful of sugar. Ilya always pretended he didn’t notice that Shane preferred it that way, and Shane must have thought that the tea came naturally that sweet.
Now, with emptiness in his heart, head, and the samovar, he sat at the blank kitchen counter. Shane scuffled around the kitchen and gathered mugs to make their respective teas. He stood on his tiptoes to reach the Raffaello and set one down next to Ilya’s mug.
After an undetermined amount of time– Ilya couldn’t grasp the sense of time right now– Shane set Ilya’s tea in front of his face and handed over the Raffaello. Shane took a sip of his green tea, and he unconsciously scrunched his nose up. Ilya knew what he was going to ask before Shane even had the opportunity to open his mouth. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel like speaking unprompted.
“Did we get new tea?” Shane asked into the quiet kitchen.
Ilya took a long sip of his black tea and shook his head. “No. I put spoonful of sugar in it.”
Shane’s expression went from shock, anger, an internal battle, and then acceptance all in 5 seconds. He had been working on accepting things that were not in his “performance diet.”
Shane sighed. “I was wondering why it always tasted perfect. I thought you were a tea whisperer.”
Ilya cracked a small smile. “Tea whisperer,” he echoed.
“Tea whisperer,” Shane smiled. He walked over to the counter where the sugar was kept in a porcelain jar that David found when thrifting. He was strangely obsessed with it.
Shane leaned on the counter with his newly sugared tea. “Are you feeling a bit better?”
Ilya could lie and say yes, but that would be stupid. Shane constantly says Ilya has a “lying face,” even though there’s no way it is accurate. Either way, he doesn’t feel the need to lie to Shane anymore.
“A little bit. Tea is nice.” Ilya says quietly. It’s not a lie, the tea is nice, but the urge to crawl back into bed and hide is still rattling in his head. He knows Shane would never let him stagger back, but that doesn’t stop Ilya from coming up with secret ways to travel back.
Shane lets them sit in silence a little longer. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, but he does look like he’s starting to plot a way to get Ilya out of the house. He shifts to come around the kitchen counter to where Ilya is sitting and wraps his arms round the back of him. He says nothing–just softly rests his chin in the nook of Ilya’s neck.
Ilya doesn’t know how long he embraces the warmth of his boyfriend before Shane asks him to come outside with him.
Ilya slowly stands up and takes the hand of Shane, wordlessly signaling to him that he has to lead. If Shane didn’t take him anywhere, he would still be in bed. He probably wouldn’t even be awake. If Shane didn’t move him within the next couple of seconds while standing here, he was going to walk back into the room himself.
Shane gets the subtle hint and leads Ilya outside. The sun hurts, but Ilya chooses to ignore it once more. Shane lets go of his hand, and he stands right where Shane left him. He could help Shane set up whatever he was doing, but that sounded like it was effort. And even standing was too much effort.
Shane scooched two lounge chairs together on the deck and carried and put down an umbrella beside the two. The chairs were halfway in the sun but allowed enough shade to not be overwhelmingly coated in heat. Instead of telling Ilya to come sit, Shane walked to where Ilya was frozen on the deck and walked him to the chairs.
Shane laid in the leftmost chair. Ilya did too.
It was small, but neither of them had any complaints with being attached to the hip. Ilya positioned himself to lay on Shane’s chest and took the biggest sigh possible when he was comfortable.
The outside felt nice. The air was warm, and the sun was halfway on his body that allowed him to feel like the sun was kissing him. The birds were chirping, and you could faintly hear the sounds of water in the distance.
Ilya hated how upset he still felt with all this beauty around him. He had Shane. He had the cottage. The lake. A promise to a dog. Yuna. David. His team.
But right now, he wanted nothing to do with anyone. He felt nothing. His tricks of staying happy haven’t worked. His dream dog depicted in his brain didn’t work. His tea, his songs, his memories, his Shane. It didn’t work.
Shane’s hand was in his hair before he realized he was crying again.
It took everything in his soul to mutter, “I’m sorry.”
The hand froze.
Fuck, Ilya you fucked up again. Showing weakness, showing worry, showing-
“What?” Shane whispered.
Ilya opened his mouth again to speak, but Shane was quicker.
“No, Ilya– did you just say sorry?” Shane said now with a stronger tone.
Ilya looked up at him from his lap. He hoped the redness in his eyes sufficed as an answer.
“Ilya, sit up,” Shane said, removing his hand from his hair.
Ilya didn’t sit up. He fucked up. He fucked up, he fucked up, he fucked up, he-
“Ilyusha, please.” The softness in his voice is the only thing that convinced him.
Ilya sat up crossing his legs, mirroring the way Shane always sat criss-cross.
Shane reached to wipe a tear that was streaming down Ilya’s cheek. “I need you to listen to me. Can you hear what I’m saying?”
Ilya only stared.
“You are everything to me,” Shane started. “You mean absolutely everything to me. I don’t care how sad you get, how tired you get, how angry you get, or how anything you get. You mean everything to me.”
Ilya could only feel his lower lip tremble in response.
“I am here for you regardless of any hardships. I will help in any way I can. I don’t know what to do most of the time, but I want to be there for you. I want to love you with my whole heart. I want to love every part of you. I want to hold you when you cry, I want to hold you when you are angry, I want to make sure you’re okay. I want to bring you tea in the morning with your Raffaello, and I want to bug you about said Raffaello–” Ilya smiled, and Shane beamed in response to it– “Especially when you eat more than 3 with your tea. I want to be there for all of it. Even if you lock yourself in the room, I’ll slide even more Raffaello under the door. I’ll print pictures of dogs to slide under there. I’ll slide myself under there, if you really want.”
Ilya had tears dripping from his face. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think he had anything to say at all.
Shane reached out to hold the sides of his face while simultaneously clearing the tears. “I love you with everything in my being, Ilya. Don’t apologize for something that you cannot control. I have you. I love you. Ya tebya lyublyu.”
Ilya didn’t know what else to do besides surge forward and kiss his boyfriend sweetly. Shane was crying a little too, and the sentiment made him feel seen in a strange way.
Shane pulled back. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t even have to do anything. Just be you, Ilya. That’s enough for me.”
Ilya gave him a watery smile and collapsed back into his chest. He murmured thank you while wrapping himself around Shane like a sloth to a tree.
He still felt disgusting. He still felt empty, sad, upset, apathetic.
But under that he felt love. He felt the solid presence below him, the hand that returned to hair. He felt the soft whispers and reminders of love streaming from Shane under the warm sunlight.
Ilya didn’t feel okay. But he knew he was going to be.
And that was more than enough.