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There’s a storm blowing outside, marking the beginning of spring. The trees crash into each other, the scent of pine and petrichor filling the cottage air. The thunder is roaring so powerfully that it shakes the windows, and the lightning illuminates the sky. It’s been brewing all day, beginning as a snow shower in the morning and gradually gaining power as the hours ticked by.
Now at midnight, it’s reached its peak, whipping winds wailing around the house. The bedroom is warm and quiet, lit only by the soft light of the lamp on Ilya’s bedside table and the hallway light coming in under the door.
Shane’s snoring softly, tucked into Ilya’s side. Anya is stirring on the floor at the foot of the bed, idly thumping her tail against the floor. Ilya’s close to falling asleep himself, face turned into his husband’s hair and his blinks becoming slow and heavy. He’s on the cusp, in that fuzzy and warm between.
There’s a soft noise down the hall. The storm has picked up a little in the last hour, howling louder and rattling the windows slightly, so he doesn’t think much of it, eyes drooping further.
The noise comes again, shuffling and getting nearer. Ilya raises his head to squint at the dim hallway. He thinks it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him, shadows shifting under the door.
The handle slowly turns and the door opens, soft hallway light flooding the room. Ivy’s standing in the doorway in her pyjamas and her plushie puck clutched to her chest.
She’s three, her birthday a few weeks ago. She has Shane’s dark hair with Ilya’s curls, a face full of freckles, and big blue eyes, which right now are filled with tears. Ilya sits up and holds a hand out for her, and she walks to him, her plushie cradled in her arms.
“Loud,” Is all she says before she quickly climbs onto the bed and into her Papa’s lap.
“The storm? Yeah, is very loud tonight,” Ilya murmurs and rubs soothing circles on her back as she hiccups. She tucks her face into his neck and he can feel her trembling. A flood of empathy washes through him and he runs his other hand through her dark curls.
Suddenly, the branches from the pine tree outside hit the bedroom window with a violent lash, and Ivy flinches and buries herself closer into Ilya.
“Oh, solnyshko, it’s okay.” Ilya coos. “It’s just noisy, it can’t hurt you in here.”
Ivy shakes her head and sniffs loudly, dropping her plushie and pulling at Ilya’s t-shirt. “Is scary.”
“I know, I know.” He racks his brain for what to do, but can come up with nothing, deciding to just hold her tighter and rock her gently.
They stay there for a bit. Ivy’s crying eventually subsides but every time there’s a distant crash of thunder she flinches. After around ten minutes of this, Ilya’s sure that she’s trying to climb inside his ribcage, her bony knees and elbows digging into his skin.
He stays completely still though, he doesn’t have the heart to move her when she’s comfortable.
She says something muffled against his shirt, face fully turned into his shoulder. He hums and untucks her gently, supporting her back. “What’s that, lapochka?”
“Mango juice,” She says, sadly.
“You want to get mango juice?”
She nods, still sniffling.
He looks over at Shane, who's still snoozing steadily. They had a game last night that went into overtime and eventually shootouts, so he went straight to bed when they got home. He doesn’t want to wake him, so he gathers Ivy up into his arms as he sits up. “Okay, let's go downstairs.”
He takes her down to the living room. It's quieter here, with no branches to hit the windows and less rain lashing on the panes. He can’t believe he didn't think about it earlier, to be honest.
He picks up a blanket from the couch and wraps her up in it before he goes into the kitchen and sets her down gently on the countertop beside the fridge, keeping an arm on her as he pulls the mango juice out.
Lately, she's been obsessed with mangoes. She goes through pouches of mango puree like they're going out of fashion, and is able to devour slices of mango like the pink vacuum creature from her favourite show, a comparison that always makes her laugh. They always make sure to keep a carton of mango juice in the fridge, and even her plates and cutlery have images of mangoes on them. Shane tries to control her mango frenzy as best he can, worried about all the excess sugar on her teeth, but Ilya knows he won't mind if she has some even after she's brushed them for the night.
He pours the juice into her cup (decorated with pictures of mangoes with cute faces, of course) and hands it to her, taking her back into his arms.
She takes a sip and immediately melts back into her father's arms. He decides to take her to the wide bay windows overlooking their surroundings while she drinks. Snow blankets the landscape, settling on the frozen parts of the lake. The mountains in the distance are capped with white, and the sky is a dark blue-grey colour. If he opened the windows, they'd surely be able to hear a loon call, but it would take Ivy’s anxiety all the way back to square one, so he doesn’t. He points outside at the distant trees swaying in the wind.
“Look, solnyshko, it’s just a little bit of wind. It can't hurt you in here.”
“No?”
“No. The weather is just having a tantrum. Like you do,” He adds, and she squeals as he pokes her in the stomach, her woes quickly being forgotten.
She drinks her juice in record time, passing the empty cup back to her father.
“Better?” He asks, placing it in the sink before heading to the stairs.
“Better,” She affirms.
They return to the bedroom, only to see that Shane is no longer in bed.
Ilya tilts his head before looking at Ivy, who's confusedly looking up at him.
“Where did that man go?” He asks, and Ivy giggles hysterically. She's only just started understanding and laughing at his jokes, and it very much boosts his ego.
They settle into bed anyway, and Shane appears in the doorway as Ilya tucks her under the duvet.
“Hi,” Shane greets, walking toward the bed. “I thought you were in her room.”
“Storm scary,” Ivy tells him sincerely, reaching out for him the second he lies back down.
“Oh, it woke you up?” He asks, and she nods as he takes her into her arms and settles on his chest. He begins stroking his hand through her locks. “Is it okay now?” He asks.
“Yes. I got mango juice,” Ivy says seriously, like it could fix all the world's problems.
“Oh, I see,” Shane says back, voice trying to sound serious despite his smiling, and kisses the top of her head.
Ilya watches with a soft smile. He always knew Shane would be good with their baby; he's so sweet with Hayden’s army of children, surprisingly playful and able to suspend his disbelief for their imaginary games, which Ilya knows is very difficult for him. He’s always able to calm Ivy down and constantly encourages any interest she finds. Lately, he's been very carefully skating with her at the rink, catching her before she falls and cheering her on when she skates independently.
“Papa,” Ivy prompts, looking at Ilya with her baby blues and holding her little arm out. Ilya goes because he can’t deny her anything, and tucks himself into Shane’s side, placing his hand on her back.
“Ah, better,” She sighs, and places her outspread arm on Ilya.
She's quickly asleep, snoring softly, and Ilya looks up at Shane to see him already looking back, a sweet smile on his face. Ilya leans in to peck his lips and tucks his face into his husband’s neck, pulling the duvet further over them.
They curl up there for the rest of the night, sleeping soundly, and by the time the sun has risen, Ivy has long forgotten the storm.