Work Text:
He sat.
The ground around him seemed to be wet and the sound around him was similar to rain.
Cold.
He shook with it.
Was he cold or just the air?
Was it supposed to be cold inside?
Or was he not inside?
Was he outside?
Outside where?
Everything felt wrong. His clothes, his skin. He wanted to shed himself bare.
Pain.
It pulsed all around him.
His fingertips.
His temples.
His chest.
A persistent ache.
Sore.
Everything hurt and everything was cold.
And yet, not cold enough to grace him with the mercy of numbness.
Where was he again?
Who was he again?
“Ilya!” a voice called, something sharp in it.
The sound was frantic and something else.
What was it?
Distant.
Static.
Too far.
Familiar?
He knew that voice, and yet he didn’t.
Someone who knew him.
Ilya.
Somehow, he knew he was.
His name.
He was Ilya.
Someone was calling Ilya.
Someone was calling him.
Who?
The feet came first. Tan toes bathed in a blue hue of the rain covered world.
Tan toes that peaked out of brown sandals.
Two toes painted bright pink on each foot.
A sticker of a white horse with a horn on the ankle that was peeling.
The calves flex as the person squatted down.
Flexed calves covered in black hair.
Golden skin that glistened beneath.
Wet skin.
Rain.
It was raining.
It was raining on him.
His name was Ilya and he was wet too.
This person with gold skin, hands on his knees.
Waiting.
This person was waiting.
For what?
Ilya kept looking.
This person was familiar.
Ilya knew something about this person.
Hands on knees that led to muscular arms that led to muscular shoulders.
A thick, yet soft neck.
A soft neck that led to a rounded chin and sharp jaw.
Sharp jaws led to red ears.
A rounded chin led to a plump bottom lip.
A plump bottom lip led to a thin top lip.
They fit perfectly together.
Lips that looked warm.
Warm lips that led to a red rose.
A red nose that was also soft.
The angle of the nose was very straight.
At the bridge there were freckles.
Light brown constellations that draw the way across dimpled cheeks.
The contour of dimpled cheeks traced up to gently wrinkled corners of eyes.
Wrinkled corners of eyes that pointed to long black eyelashes.
Long black eyelashes that could not shield from the luminescence of brown nebulas.
Brown nebulas that reflected Ilya’s face back at him.
In this mirror Ilya truly recognized himself for the first time.
Brown eyes that were the mirror to a soul that knew him.
The mirror to his own soul.
The world was wet.
His eyes stung as he cried.
Tears mixed with rain.
His voice came to him then.
“Shane?”
A smile so bright with love.
The Sun.
“Hi baby.”
Home.