Chapter Text
Shane knew something was off the second the final buzzer sounded.
It wasn’t blatantly obvious. Ilya went through the motions, shook hands with the Metros, said “good game” like expected, seemed calm and subdued and accepting of the loss. Someone who didn’t know Ilya like Shane did wouldn’t notice that anything was wrong. But subdued was not Ilya after a loss.
After a loss he was sharp. Mouthy. He’d refuse to accept it, pick apart every bad call and demand a rematch before the Zamboni finished its first lap.
Tonight he was none of that.
Shane told himself it was just the game, that he’d be fine by the time they met later at Shane’s spare property. One look at Ilya when he went downstairs to get him told Shane that he was wrong.
Ilya was a blank slate. Usually he’d have something to say as soon as Shane opened the door, a quip about the game or a suggestive comment about what he had planned to do to Shane or— something. Not tonight.
He was silent when Shane let him in, headed up the stairs first, said nothing as he entered the apartment. Shane had no idea what to make of it, so he pretended like everything was fine.
“You almost had that breakaway in the third,” Shane said, grinning as he stepped in close, hands reaching out to pull Ilya closer by his belt loops. He kissed him once then tugged him towards the couch. “If you’d lifted it two inches—“
“I know where I should have put it, Hollander.”
“Okay, okay.” Shane’s hands pushed at Ilya’s shoulders until he fell onto the couch, then climbed into his lap. “Relax. I’m complimenting you.”
Ilya hummed a noncommittal sound. His hands settled on Shane’s waist, but he felt stiff. Shane figured he must be really frustrated by the game. Perhaps he needed an outlet. Luckily, Shane knew of a pretty good one.
Shane leaned in, pressed a kiss to Ilya’s mouth. “You played good.”
“I did not.”
He kissed him again, slower this time. One hand slid up under Ilya’s shirt, pressing against the warm skin, the other cupped Ilya’s jaw. He murmured against Ilya’s lips, “You did. You’re just dramatic.”
Shane felt Ilya’s jaw tighten. “I am not dramatic.”
Shane laughed and pulled back to look Ilya in the eye with a raised eyebrow. “You’re a little dramatic.”
Normally Ilya would chirp back. Normally he’d push Shane back against the wall, nip at his lip, turn the banter into something sharp and heady and electric.
Tonight, he just sat there, a miserable statue.
Shane pulled back slightly, studying him. Ilya wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” Ilya said unconvincingly.
“Then why are you all… quiet? It’s not like you.”
“Is nothing,” Ilya sighed, looking to the side. “Frustrated about the game. That is all.”
“One loss and you go all broody Russian novel,” Shane joked.
“Broody,” Ilya repeated.
“Yeah. It means—“
“I know what it means,” Ilya interrupted, voice clipped.
“Okay,” Shane said. “Sorry. Just saying, you’re being a sore loser.”
It was meant to be a light quip, not even close to some of the biting things they said to each other. But Ilya’s expression went rigid.
“I am not a sore loser,” Ilya said, real irritation in his voice.
Shane laughed lightly, trying to break the tension. “Okay, okay. You’re a very gracious, emotionally stable loser.”
That did it.
Ilya pulled back, eyes hard and mouth tight. “I should go.”
“Wait, wait,” Shane said, pulse thumping loudly in his ears. “I— I was just kidding.”
“And I am just leaving,” Ilya said, pushing Shane onto the cushion next to him. Shane stared at him in shock as Ilya turned on him with a glare. “You think this is funny? You joke and joke and joke like everything is simple.”
Shane felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “I was just trying to make you feel better.”
“I do not need you to make me feel better.”
“Okay, but you clearly—“
“I said I’m fine.”
The words were sharp enough to cut. Shane was out of his depth. Usually when things got tense between them, they could joke their way out of it, but it wasn’t working tonight. Nothing he said was right.
“I didn’t realize—” Shane faltered. “I thought we were joking. Usually we joke like this, I— I just. I didn’t realize.”
Ilya went still, then closed his eyes and ducked his head with a sigh. “Fuck. Is fine, Hollander. You are right. I am just not in the mood tonight. Nothing to do with you.”
Shane frowned. This had never happened before. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit disappointed, but mostly he was concerned. Something wasn’t right, and Shane didn’t know if it was even his place to bring it up. They didn’t really do that sort of thing. But if Ilya wasn’t upset about the game, wasn’t upset with him, then what was he upset about?
“That’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.”
Ilya nodded tiredly and stood up from the couch. Shane bit his lip, watching him with a pang in his chest. He didn’t want Ilya to leave. Not because he was expecting Ilya to change his mind, but he just—
It had been such a long time since he’d last seen him.
Shane swallowed, forcing his eyes away from Ilya and to the floor. Fuck, he couldn’t think like that. Of course he was just disappointed about losing out on the chance for a good lay. He and Ilya didn’t miss each other. Shane did not miss him.
He glanced back up and his heart clenched. There was this look on Ilya’s face, one that Shane had never seen before. His eyes were distant, faraway, but there was a fragility in them that was jarring. His lips were set in a small frown, his entire face drooping with exhaustion.
Shane couldn’t stand it.
“Ilya,” he said softly.
Ilya’s eyes flicked up and met Shane’s.
“Stay for a while,” Shane suggested.
“I told you, Hollander. Am not in mood tonight. Sorry, but I—“ Ilya cut himself off with a defeated sigh.
“No, I know, it’s okay,” Shane said. “But… I mean, you can hang out? And I mean, if you wanna talk about… anything, I’d be happy to listen.”
“Nothing to talk about,” Ilya said dismissively. Shane fought the urge to call out his bullshit. He knew it wouldn’t actually help. “Just tired. I will make it up next time. In two weeks, yes?”
Two weeks.
“Yeah, two weeks,” Shane agreed quietly. There was a heavy feeling in his chest. The rejection stung, but it was Shane’s fault for even offering when that wasn’t how their… this worked. Shane knew that. He was just an idiot.
And Ilya looked so sad.
Shane swallowed around the tightness in his throat, watching as Ilya started walking to the door.
“I guess I’ll see you in two weeks,” Shane called.
Ilya stopped and turned, face softening a bit as he looked at Shane. “Two weeks. I’m sorry, Hollander. Will make it up next time. That is promise.”
“You don’t have to make up for anything. Just take care of yourself,” Shane said. Ilya looked away, eyes downcast. It made Shane’s chest ache. He added, “You can text me anytime.”
“Don’t miss me too much,” Ilya joked weakly as he resumed his trek to the door. He sounded like he was just going through the motions, saying what was expected of him.
“I’ll try,” Shane said, entirely too earnestly. He winced, wishing he could rewind and retry that one, inject his words with the expected sarcasm. But he didn’t think he’d be able to do it convincingly even if he could rewind time.
Two weeks seemed eons away.
Ilya paused and looked at him and for a second the mask slipped away. Pain filled his eyes. His lips parted slightly, mouth trembling before he pressed his lips flat.
Shane’s breath caught in his throat. But before Shane could say anything, Ilya’s face shuttered and again went blank. He headed to the door and it was open and shut in an instant, leaving Shane in the empty apartment he’d bought just for Ilya.
Shane found himself exhaling deeply like he’d been holding his breath. He closed his eyes and took a few more breaths, trying and failing to loosen the tightness in his chest. Every muscle in his body wanted to get up and chase after Ilya, drag him back and hold him. Tell him that Shane wanted to hear about his troubles, wanted to listen to everything Ilya had to say. That Shane cared about him, he lo—
Oh God. No, he hadn’t— he didn’t—
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, eyes squeezed shut.
When Ilya told him his dad was sick, everything finally made sense. It wasn’t much longer after that Ilya didn’t take the plane to Nashville with his team. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.
Later, when they finally had another game against each other, Shane couldn’t pull his eyes away from Ilya. He was acting normal — throwing around chirps and winks and smirks — but his eyes, heavy-lidded and dull, betrayed that he was running on autopilot.
After the game, Shane paced back and forth while he waited for Ilya to let him know he was at the door. When the text arrived, Shane’s chest pounded like it was one of the first times they’d done this.
The phone call had changed things. Ilya’s broken voice pouring his heart out to Shane in Russian— it echoed in Shane’s ears still. That hadn’t been a casual hookup thing.
Shane didn’t think he’d be able to pretend like he didn’t know how much Ilya was hurting right now. He’d been so worried about him for weeks now, it seemed impossible to ignore all of that.
But that’s what Ilya seemed set on doing. He came into the apartment with intensity, his hands on Shane in an instant, pressing their fronts together, smashing their lips together with enough force to hurt. At first instinct took over and Shane embraced Ilya’s roaming hands, his fervent kisses.
No. Shane had to— he needed to make sure Ilya was okay. He pulled back and pushed gently at Ilya’s chest when he chased him.
Ilya groaned, half-protest, half-teasing. “What are you doing, Hollander?”
“We have all night,” Shane huffed. “I wanted to— check on you.”
Ilya’s face looked pained for a moment before his features went lax, blank.
“I am fine, but would be better if my dick was in your ass,” Ilya quipped.
Shane rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Ilya. I care about… how you’re doing. I just wanted to make sure you know that I’m, y’know, here.”
Ilya was quiet a moment, jaw tight. “Thank you,” he eventually muttered. It was quiet between them a moment, Shane unsure if Ilya planned to say more or not. He waited a moment, and he was just about to give up and break the silence when Ilya spoke again. “I know you are.”
“Good,” Shane replied quickly. “I’m glad you know. I hoped you did but… I wasn’t sure.”
Ilya nodded, looking downward but not at anything in particular. His eyes had that faraway look again, and Shane watched in surprise as they suddenly grew glassy. He reacted on instinct, stepping forward and putting a tentative hand on Ilya’s arm.
“Hey…” he whispered.
Ilya’s face crumpled. “Я так измотан,” he whimpered.
Shane didn’t need to speak Russian to get the gist. The heaviness in Ilya’s eyes gave it away. He tugged Ilya down to sit next to him on the bed and wrapped him up tight in a hug, burying his nose in Ilya’s hair. Instinctively, he rocked them back and forth as Ilya cried into Shane’s chest.
“I’ve got you,” Shane murmured into his hair, pressing kisses into his scalp. He swallowed against the tightness he felt growing in his own throat, trying to keep it together for Ilya’s sake. But God, it hurt to see Ilya hurting.
After a few minutes, Ilya tried to pull back, apologizing tearfully. “Sorry, is stupid—“
“No,” Shane cut him off, pulling him closer. His voice was firm in his conviction but still gentle. Ilya deserved nothing but gentleness right now. “It’s not. Ilya, it’s not stupid. Far from it.”
Ilya glanced up at him and Shane’s heart shattered at the bloodshot eyes that met his. Eventually, Ilya nodded and wordlessly shoved his face back into Shane’s chest. The tears had stopped but Shane kept rocking them, savoring the feeling of Ilya’s warm, even breath on his skin.
They were quiet for a long while after that, but it was a warm quiet. Shane continued to periodically place kisses on the crown of Ilya’s head, holding him tight. His thumb stroked back and forth against Ilya’s bicep.
“I miss my mom,” Ilya whispered, voice rough.
Shane bit his lip, looking tenderly down at the bundle in his arms. Ilya hadn’t talked about his mother much, but he’d told Shane how she had died. How she was the only person Ilya had until she was gone and left him with no one. Shane placed another kiss on his head. “Tell me about her?”
It took another moment for Ilya to respond, but Shane knew to be patient now. It seemed that it just took a minute for Ilya to work out his thoughts when it came to the heavy stuff. Shane absently wondered if it was due to having to translate things in his head, or because Ilya had to pull these things out of a deep recess he’d shoved them into. Probably a bit of both, Shane thought sadly.
“She was perfect,” Ilya said, voice soft. “She liked to paint. And she would read to me.”
Ilya stopped after that. Shane waited, stroking his arm, but Ilya had nothing else to say.
“What if—“ Shane bit his lip, wondering if he should say what he was thinking about saying. Last time it had been a disaster to suggest doing anything that didn’t involve having sex, and these were uncharted waters they were currently in. But that was also before Ilya’s dad died, and something had changed between them. Shane took a breath. “How about I read to you?”
Ilya went stiff in his arms. Fuck. Shane should have kept his big, stupid mouth shut. He braced for Ilya to pull away, to break the fragile cocoon they’d built around themselves. But he didn’t move, just stayed stiff in Shane’s arms. Shane kept stroking that same slow path along Ilya’s bicep, exhaling a little when he felt the stiff muscles slowly loosen again.
“What would you read?” Ilya eventually asked. Shane blinked in surprise at the question — and the sound of Ilya’s voice. So soft, vulnerable, small. He sounded like a child. Shane instinctively squeezed him tighter.
“Whatever you want,” Shane replied. “We can get comfy and look together for something good, or if you already have something in mind, I can read that.”
Ilya shook his head — not to reject Shane’s offer, Shane realized after a moment, but to say he didn’t have a story in mind.
“Do you wanna get into some pajamas?” Shane asked.
Ilya tensed again. “But we never…” he said, trailing off.
“That’s okay,” Shane soothed. “I’m not in the mood and I’m sure you aren’t either. I’m not upset, Ilya.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say the rest: I just want to be here for you. Not because it was too difficult, but because he didn’t want to give Ilya any reminder that he was being more vulnerable with Shane right now than he ever had before, that he was allowing Shane to see past his carefully maintained image to the raw, real, hurting person underneath.
“So. Pajamas and then we read?” Shane repeated.
Ilya hesitantly pulled away with a small nod, looking down at the floor. He didn’t move further than that, so Shane got up, grabbed the duffel bag Ilya had brought with him and dug out the change of clothes inside.
He came back to Ilya’s side with the clothes in hand and Ilya weakly reached out for them. Shane pulled the clothes back. Ilya frowned, looking wary and confused.
“Let me help,” Shane said.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he was offering to dress Ilya like this was something they did, but it just felt right. Something told Shane that it was exactly what Ilya needed right now, to be utterly held and cared for. He was all too happy to do it. God knew Ilya hadn’t received much coddling.
Ilya nodded, a blush rising on his cheeks. Shane set the clothes down and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up. He waited patiently until Ilya’s eyes met his, then placed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “I’ve got you tonight, okay? Just let me handle things.”
Ilya looked at him with wide eyes before he shuddered, a broken sound coming from his throat. “Not too much?”
“Never,” Shane soothed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to.”
Ilya sniffled quietly and nodded slowly.
“Good boy,” Shane praised. Ilya’s head whipped up, wide eyes meeting his.
Shane set another kiss on his forehead. “Arms up,” he instructed. Ilya followed his instructions after only a second of hesitation, and Shane made quick work of tugging off his shirt and replacing it with the soft longsleeve that Ilya had packed. As Ilya’s head popped through the collar, Shane couldn’t resist laying another kiss on his hair. Ilya tucked his face into Shane’s chest in response.
Shane held him there a moment, fingers idly playing with Ilya’s curls. He could’ve stood there like that for the rest of the night, but he had promised Ilya a story and he was going to deliver. He pulled back and tapped Ilya’s knee.
“These off,” he instructed. It was a clear sign of Ilya’s delicate state when he made no sort of innuendo about it, instead simply unbuttoning his jeans and shucking them off. Shane smiled softly and unfolded the sweatpants, rolling the legs up and crouching down to pull them over Ilya’s feet. “Stand up, baby.”
Ilya glanced at him warily but did as instructed. Shane pulled the pants up and grabbed Ilya’s hand, leading him away from the foot of the bed to get him settled properly. He pulled back the covers and navigated Ilya to sit down before pulling them back over him.
“Have you eaten dinner?” Shane asked.
“Not hungry,” Ilya responded.
“Not what I asked,” Shane countered with a raised brow.
Ilya looked down at his lap and picked at his cuticles. “No.”
Shane nodded. “Will you be okay here while I go grab us something?”
Ilya didn’t move for a moment, so nor did Shane, waiting on his response. Finally, Ilya gave him a small nod. He didn’t seem very sure, but he also seemed worn out and Shane didn’t want to drag him into the kitchen, so he resolved to just be quick.
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
Another nod. It tugged at Shane’s heart. He turned and hurried out of the room.
In the kitchen, he grabbed one of Ilya’s Cokes and himself a ginger ale. Finding food was harder. He didn’t have much food that wasn’t “stupid diet food” according to Ilya. He momentarily considered ordering takeout, but just as quickly he dismissed the idea — it would take too long. Ilya looked like the main thing he needed was sleep. Food wasn’t really the main priority tonight; he just needed something in his stomach.
Eventually, he settled on preparing a plate of fruit for them to share and a couple of cheese sticks. It wasn’t a real dinner, but it was better than nothing. And easy to eat, and Ilya had already said he wasn’t hungry. Shane nodded to himself, trying to shove away the self-doubt telling him he wasn’t doing enough.
He grabbed the plate and the drinks and made his way back to the bedroom. Ilya looked up hopefully when Shane walked in.
“Dinner has arrived,” Shane announced. “Bedside service will be a separate charge on your bill, sir, but tips are still very much appreciated.”
Ilya smiled and took the drink Shane held out to him. “Missed you,” he said, then froze and bit his lip, looking up at Shane warily to gauge his reaction.
Shane melted. He set down the plate of fruit on the nightstand and put a hand on Ilya’s cheek, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. “I missed you too.”
Ilya ducked his head, a small smile on his lips. It was adorable. Shane was used to Ilya being the one to make him blush. He’d had no idea it’d be this easy to turn the tables.
“Alright, scoot over,” Shane instructed. Ilya complied immediately and Shane climbed into the bed and pulled Ilya into his side before grabbing the plate off the nightstand. “I just cut us up some fruit, is that okay? And there’s cheese sticks. But if you want something else we can always do takeout.”
Ilya nodded contentedly, grabbing a grape and popping it into his mouth. “Is good. Thank you.”
Shane grabbed a blueberry, then pulled out his phone. “So, what do we wanna read?”
Ilya’s mouth stopped chewing for a moment before he slowly resumed. He swallowed and frowned, glancing at Shane. “Hollander, you don’t actually have to… read to me.”
“I know,” Shane said. “I want to.”
“You want to?” Ilya repeated skeptically. “Is not… weird?”
“Why would it be weird?” Shane frowned.
“Reading to me, like… like child getting bedtime story,” Ilya said, grimacing. “Weird.”
Shane studied him. He seemed overly sensitive about this, and Shane worried he’d made a wrong move with his suggestion. Perhaps it was too much, doing something that reminded Ilya of his mom. “Hey, if you don’t want me to, we don’t have to,” he said earnestly. “If it’s something you want to keep in your memories of your mom, I get it. But no, I don’t think it’s weird. I think it’ll be nice.”
“I,” Ilya said. He looked down at his hands and picked absently at his fingers. “I do. Want you to read.”
“Okay,” Shane said, eyes fixed on Ilya. He looked so uncomfortable. “How about I just pick something?”
Immediately, Ilya nodded. Shane scrolled through his phone while Ilya finished off the fruit. He passed over a few things — too dense, too bleak, wrong in ways he couldn’t pinpoint — before landing on something that felt right. His mom had read it to him when he was small, on nights when he couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t thought about that in years.
He set the plate on the nightstand and held his arm open. Without a word, Ilya tucked himself into Shane’s side, his head finding Shane’s chest. Shane felt him exhale, slow and deliberate. He pressed a kiss to the top of Ilya’s head before he’d even thought about doing it.
“My mom used to read this to me,” Shane said quietly. “She’s always loved Winnie the Pooh. That okay?”
A small nod against his chest. Shane began to read, keeping his voice low and even.
Gradually, Ilya’s breathing deepened, his body growing heavier against Shane’s side. Every so often his fingers tightened and gripped Shane’s shirt. Shane continued reading in the same consistent cadence, stroking the same path along Ilya’s arm.
When he reached the end of the chapter, he turned his phone screen off and set it on the nightstand, followed by his glasses. Ilya was asleep, warm sleep-breaths puffing against Shane’s chest.
Shane kissed the top of his head. Ilya exhaled, the tension that had been building in him for months now finally bled away.
Ilya didn’t respond to any of Shane’s texts for the next few weeks.
Shane tried not to let it get to him. They’d gone much longer without talking, a few weeks was really nothing. So why did his stomach drop every time he checked his phone and saw no text from Ilya waiting for him?
He told himself Ilya just needed space. That was allowed. Shane wasn’t his— they weren’t— Ilya could take all the space he needed, and it was fine. It was completely fine.
He texted anyway. Nothing heavy, just small things: a screenshot of an Instagram post, the occasional chirp about a game, a picture of a hideous sweater with a bear on it that Shane joked he’d bought for Ilya. He didn’t expect responses, he just wanted Ilya to know that he’d still be there whenever Ilya was ready to talk.
Two weeks passed, then three.
One day at the four week mark, Shane pulled out his phone in the locker room after practice.
Jane: We play the Admirals tomorrow. Want me to tell Scott Hunter that you send your love?
He was about to shove his phone back into his bag when three dots appeared on the screen. Shane’s heart leaped into his throat. He stared down at the screen with laser focus.
“Dude, if you stare at it any harder it might blow up,” Hayden chirped from across the room. Shane glanced up at him and back down, rolling his eyes.
“Shut up,” he muttered, cheeks warming.
Finally, his phone buzzed.
Lily: hahaha
Shane blinked. He looked at it for a moment. Well, it was a response. His fingers flew over the keyboard.
Jane: There he is!
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
Lily: don’t get sentimental on me hollander
Jane: Wouldn’t dream of it
He set the phone down and tried to look normal. Across the room, Hayden was watching him with an expression Shane chose not to think about.
“Good news?” Hayden asked.
“Just a text,” Shane said. “It’s nothing.”
Hayden’s mouth curved. “Uh huh. Sure.”
Shane pointedly ignored him. But the tightness in his chest had loosened considerably, and Shane realized that he hadn’t been able to breathe properly in weeks.
It wasn’t like things went back to normal immediately after that. Truth be told, Shane didn’t know what normal would even be for them at this point. Ilya slowly started responding to Shane’s texts at the same frequency he had before his father’s death, but their conversations were surface-level. Arrangements to meet up, pointless jokes.
Once, Shane asked how Ilya was doing and Ilya responded with a dick pic.
Some time after that, Shane tried to check in again.
They were lying in the dark after, Ilya on his back, Shane on his side facing him. Ilya’s arm was wrapped around Shane’s waist. The moment felt close enough that Shane thought maybe the door was open.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Mm.” Ilya’s eyes were closed.
“That… night, after the game, when your dad had just—“ Shane paused. “Just. You okay? Like. Actually.”
Ilya was quiet for long enough that Shane started to regret asking.
“Yes,” Ilya finally said.
“You sure? It’s okay if—“
“Shane.”
Shane stopped.
“I said yes.” His voice wasn’t sharp, exactly. Just firm, final. The door swinging shut with a definitive crack. Don’t ask again, Shane.
Shane looked at the ceiling. “Okay.”
He didn’t bring it up again. He just made sure the texts kept coming, a constant reminder to Ilya that he was here and wasn’t going anywhere.
Fucking Scott Hunter.
Shane still hadn’t processed the last ten minutes — between Hunter kissing a man at center ice in front of the entire fucking world, and Ilya’s immediately subsequent phone call. His lungs didn’t feel like they’d taken in air since.
Ilya was coming to the cottage.
Ilya had been in the water for most of the day.
Shane had watched him from the dock for a while in the afternoon, this ridiculous man doing laps out to the buoy and back, demanding Shane watch him do jumps and cannonballs off the dock, then floating on his back with his eyes closed when he’d worn himself out. At some point Shane had given up pretending to read and just watched him, the way the sun caught the water, the way Ilya’s chest rose and fell with each easy breath.
Now the sun had gone down and they were on the back deck, the lake gone black and glittering, a loon periodically calling somewhere out in the dark. Ilya was half-asleep in Shane’s lap, his hair still damp, one hand loosely fisted in the fabric of Shane’s sweatpants.
“Swam yourself out today, huh?” Shane murmured, admiring Ilya’s peaceful profile. His eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks, his lips ever slightly parted as he fell into a gentle doze, the notch in his nose where it’d clearly been broken more than once.
God, he was so in love with him.
Somewhere across the water, the loon called again — a long, mournful cry. Ilya jumped, his heavy eyes sliding open, a small pout on his lips. Shane tried and failed to fight back a smile.
“Just a loon, remember?” Shane reminded him.
“Nightmare bird,” Ilya grumbled in a sleep-thick voice.
“They do that to bother you specifically.”
“Is working,” Ilya replied, eyes falling back shut.
“Wait, don’t fall back asleep,” Shane said as he rubbed a hand over Ilya’s back. “Let’s get you into bed first.”
Ilya grumbled, turning his face into Shane’s thigh.
“I know, I’m the meanest person alive,” Shane laughed. “C’mon, the bed’ll be much more comfortable.”
“I am very comfortable here.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t carry you in if you fall asleep out here,” Shane pointed out.
“You don’t know that, you haven’t tried,” Ilya replied. He sat up, a yawn yanking his mouth open, and then dramatically threw himself back against the cushions. “I don’t think I will be able to make it, Hollander. Legs no longer work. Too much swimming.”
“Guess you’ll have to spend the night out here,” Shane said with fake dismay.
“You would leave me out here for the evil nightmare wolf birds to eat me?” Ilya said, putting a hand over his chest. “Hollander. I thought what we had was special.”
“Fine, fine,” Shane laughed. “But if I drop you, you’re not allowed to get mad at me.”
“You won’t.” Ilya grinned, holding his arms out and opening and closing his fingers at Shane in the universal up, please motion.
Shane shook his head. “You are so ridiculous.”
“You love it,” Ilya said.
Shane stood in front of Ilya and crouched into a squat. He looked at Ilya and rolled his eyes. “Seriously, I’m gonna drop you.”
“You won’t!” Ilya whined. “I have faith. What is rigorous exercise routine and diet plan for if you can’t even pick up boyfriend?”
Shane sighed but he couldn’t help the smile that broke over his face at Ilya calling him his boyfriend. “Fine, you big baby. C’mere.”
Ilya scooted forward and wrapped his legs around Shane’s waist and his arms around Shane’s shoulders. Shane slowly straightened up, and to his genuine surprise, it wasn’t nearly as difficult as he’d expected. He couldn’t hold him like this for long, obviously, but for the short walk to the bedroom, it wasn’t so bad. Ilya giggled in his ear.
“What are you laughing at, huh?”
“I did not think you would be able to do it,” Ilya replied. “Am impressed.”
“Asshole!” Shane huffed. “I should drop you on purpose.”
“But you won’t,” Ilya said serenely, tightening his arms around Shane’s neck.
“You’re really pushing it,” Shane muttered, nudging open the screen door with his shoulder. Ilya pressed a kiss to his temple.
Inside, Shane navigated them through the dark hallway to the bedroom, where he unceremoniously deposited Ilya onto the mattress. Ilya bounced once and grinned up at him, utterly unrepentant.
Shane looked at him — sprawled and sun-warm and happy — and felt the words pushing at the inside of his chest.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Mm.” Ilya shifted onto his side, propping his head up on one hand.
Shane picked at a loose thread on the duvet. “That night. After the— you know. When I read to you.”
The air changed very slightly. Shane felt it without looking up.
“What about it,” Ilya said. All mirth was gone from his voice.
“I just—“ Shane glanced over at him. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have brought this up. He hadn’t really meant to, but something about today had brought the memory to the forefront of his mind. “I liked it. That’s all.”
Ilya was quiet. He’d gone still in a way that could’ve meant anything. Shane fought the urge to walk it back, to make a joke, to do something to fill the silence.
”Is not question,” Ilya pointed out.
”Oh, I guess not,” Shane agreed. “I guess my question is, did you?”
“It was—“ Ilya stopped, started again. “I know that it was—“ He exhaled through his nose. “It was embarrassing.”
“It shouldn’t be,” Shane said. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”
“It was,” Ilya insisted, but there was no heat behind it. He was looking somewhere past Shane’s shoulder, jaw working slightly. “To cry like that. And then to be— to need you to—“ He made a vague gesture that Shane understood anyway.
“That’s not embarrassing,” Shane said. “I wanted to take care of you. I meant that.”
Ilya was quiet again. Then, so quietly Shane almost missed it: “I know.”
Shane looked at him and Ilya’s gaze finally came back to meet his, a little wary, a little soft at the edges.
“I liked it too,” Ilya admitted quietly. His mouth twitched. “Embarrassing, but was— nice.”
Shane didn’t know what made him offer — he hadn’t really thought about doing it before now — but as the words came out, he didn’t regret them. “Then maybe we can do it again, sometime. If you want to.”
Ilya’s face went slack with shock. “You don’t know what you are offering,” he eventually said. “I felt like I was… I don’t know how to say. It was not only you reading me bedtime story, for me.”
“I think I do,” Shane said. “You were feeling like when your mom would read to you when you were little, right? Younger.”
Ilya’s throat bobbed and he nodded wordlessly.
“Ilya,” Shane said, reaching out to touch him. “That’s okay. I want to take care of you. All of you.”
“You are sure? It’s so…” Ilya grimaced. “Weird.”
“It’s not common, but our whole situation threw weird out the window a while ago,” Shane said wryly. “I’m sure, Ilya. Let me take care of you?”
There was the slightest pink tinge to Ilya’s cheeks that Shane inwardly fawned over. He whispered, “Okay.”
The loon called out again from somewhere out on the lake. Ilya made a face.
“Nightmare bird,” he muttered.
Shane laughed. He reached over and turned off the lamp and climbed into bed next to Ilya, drawing him in close.