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Ilya felt it when he woke up. Try as he might - no, that was an understatement. Even when he fought like hell, it still happened. When the admitting, the talking, the therapy, the pills, and not even Shane’s warm body next to him as the sun rose was enough to keep it at bay. Sometimes, he just felt it. That dark, looming thing that crept in from its usual place in his world. Some days he imagined it was in the yard, far enough away that he knew it was there but he didn’t have to pay it any mind. More days than he liked to admit, it was in the corner of the room. Lurking. Watching. Waiting.
Today, it was right above him, hovering and souring every thought and every breath. With a sigh, he moved to shift Shane off his chest, kissing his temple gently to settle him when he stirred before he rolled out of bed, as if that may help him avoid it.
He went through his usual motions when they were at the cottage- down the hall to the kitchen, let Anya out, make coffee, get meds from the cabinet, listen to the birds outside through the glass. He only opted for one change. He grabbed Shane’s jacket off the hooks by the door, trading his dislike for the tight fit in his shoulders for the comfort of being able to turn his head and smell the whisper of his cologne when he went outside. The morning was coated in frost, the type of cold that would usually come with a bite clinging in the air, but he could barely feel it.
He could barely feel anything actually, except for a lingering ache for a cigarette.
“Yebat,” he swore.
A red flag. That’s what Dr. Galina had called it. A sign that maybe it wasn’t just a bad mood. He hadn’t smoked in months, which Shane was very proud of him for, and that was the only thing that kept him from going back into the house to get his keys and taking a drive to the nearest gas station.
Instead, he tapped his ring against his mug, listening to the clink mixed with the gentle sound of the water hitting the shore as he tried to get Galina’s voice out of his head.
Two red flags means it’s time to ask for help.
“Only one,” he muttered to himself, hoping nothing else from the list they’d made last month made an appearance.
He wasn’t sure how long he was outside, but the sun was just high enough to throw a reflection off the water when he heard the whisper of the glass door slide open.
Shane was quiet, but it didn’t matter. Ilya was pretty sure it had to be his soul that heard him - he couldn’t think of anything else housed that deeply in him, that inner thing that just seemed to know wherever Shane was at any given moment. He gained just a bit more room in his chest to breathe when his husband sat down beside him on the outdoor couch, his own mug tucked in his hands.
“I was wondering where that went,” Shane hummed, weaving an arm around Ilya’s bicep and plucking a piece of lint from his jacket. Ilya felt the trace of a smile on his face when he realized Shane was in one of his old Boston hoodies - something he would never dare let anyone else see him in. Ilya tried his best to liven himself up.
“I am thief, tie me up,” he teased, putting his wrists out half heartedly and even that was still enough to make Shane blush.
“You’re unusually perky for this early in the morning.” Shane peeked into Ilya’s almost empty coffee cup. “Have you been up a while?”
There was a gentle curiosity to his tone, but Ilya knew him inside and out and could still hear the concern underneath. He fought the urge to call him on it. He didn’t take well to being spoken to like a skittish creature, as if one step too close would send him running into the brush.
There was a genuineness in Shane’s gaze when he met his eyes that told him that man would chase after him if did though, and any bitterness faded.
“For a bit, yes.”
“I missed you when I woke up,” Shane said softly, resting his cheek on Ilya’s shoulder.
“Sorry.” It sounded flat, even to him. He hadn’t even been able to keep the act up for a half a conversation. Lovely.
The only sound for a bit was the water and the birds, until Shane spoke again.
“Did you dream?”
That was a loaded question, and Ilya understood why it took Shane a minute to ask it. He’d told him about the nightmares that plagued him even though it felt like pulling teeth to say it outloud- his mother’s hand, limp and hanging. Shane was familiar with that one. But there had been a new addition in the last few months that was somehow worse. His niece, scared and alone. The places changed, all blurry memories of Russia but the terror in her eyes never went away. Svetlana had said she was doing well last time she’d visited home, but it didn’t matter. He’d woken up in cold sweats more nights than one, where the only thing that could soothe him was Shane’s voice and strong arms.
Tell him it was just a nightmare. Give him a reason.
It would be much easier that way, to just tell him he’d had a bad dream and that was the cause of his mood, his inability to shake it off today. A gentle, easy lie. Shane would comfort him with his words, and maybe his body, and then he would move on with his day as Ilya would try to move on with his, and tomorrow would be better.
Hopefully.
The list came back into his head, and he sighed. Urge to lie about it. Red flag number two.
“Chertova zhenshchina,” he muttered, running his hand along his face.
“What damn woman?” Shane sat up, concerned. In the back of his mind, Ilya was impressed with that translation on the fly.
“I have homework. From Dr. Galina,” he admitted. “I do not want to do it.”
“Oh. Is it… hard?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Would telling me about it make it any easier?” Shane offered, shifting his weight so he could face his husband more fully. That was enough to have Ilya sighing, and he dropped his forehead onto Shane’s shoulder, breathing him in and appreciating that he didn’t have to look at him when he spoke again.
“Telling you is homework.”
No response. Shane waited patiently until he worked up the nerve to say it, though he put a hand on the back of Ilya’s neck and squeezed gently in silent comfort.
“I am having bad day, but I don’t know why. My homework is to ask for help.”
He immediately wanted to pull the words back out of the air and hide them again. Why was he telling anyone this? It was his own to deal with, and now he’d brought Shane into the muck with him when he should be able to handle it himself. Needless to say he was surprised when he looked up and only found a soft kindness in Shane’s eyes.
“Ilya, that’s okay. You don’t have to know why.” He stated it like it was a fact, and just that was enough to have Ilya on the brink of tears, his eyes stinging.
“Okay, but I should not feel like this. I have you, I have nice house, I have best dog, I have great team, I have parents again. I have beautiful life that I have always wanted. Is not enough? So I take the medicine and I talk to Galina and I write in stupid journal and still I wake up and I feel like this!”
“Hey, hey hey,” Shane murmured, coaxing the mug out of his hands and placing it on the table next to his own before he climbed into his lap. Ilya didn’t fight him - Shane being close was one of the only things that helped when he felt this far gone, but it was still hard to look up at him when he put a finger under his chin.
“None of those things mean that you aren’t going to have bad days, baby. And I’m sorry that it’s not easier, because I see how hard you work every single day. I’m proud of you, and I wish I could take some of it for you-”
“No no. Do not wish that,” Ilya interrupted, fighting off a shudder at the thought. Just the idea of Shane feeling a hint of that lingering darkness made him want to vomit all over the grass.
“But even though I can’t, I’m here. And I’ll help however I can, okay? I love you.”
The tears finally spilled over, single streams from the corner of his eyes as he leaned up to kiss Shane, lip quivering along the way.
“I love you,” he murmured against his neck when they broke apart. Shane just pulled him closer, letting him rest his cheek on his chest and rocked them just barely as he always did.
It was a long time before Shane finally tutted about it being cold and guided Ilya inside, never fully letting go even as they got untangled, fingers still intertwined.
Ilya hadn’t realized how cold he was until he was blasted by the heat inside, though he was still reluctant to take Shane’s jacket off. Having the real thing right next to him was a good enough substitute at least, and he stayed close enough to breathe him in as he muddled around the kitchen.
“I know you probably aren’t hungry, but you need to eat something. You want a bagel or toast?”
Ilya swallowed the embarrassment of Shane having experienced his low days enough to know the appetite loss that came with it and muttered “bagel, please” instead of quipping back.
“Go find us something to watch,” Shane instructed, and Ilya obeyed, though he was a bit unwilling to peel himself away to go to the couch. The absence wasn’t long, and he was still scrolling when Shane returned with his bagel, open faced with one side buttered and the other side smeared with nutella. He thanked him with a kiss.
In an effort to free his hands he landed on an ocean documentary, which had opening credits so long that he finished his bagel before the first scene played. As soon as he sat his plate down Shane was lifting up a blanket and leaning back on the couch, patting his chest in invitation.
Ilya crawled on top of him, slotting himself between his legs and relishing in the feeling of being held, one of Shane’s arms wrapping around him tightly while the other started idle twists in his curls. It soothed that ache in his chest just enough to make it feel like it wouldn’t swallow him whole, and before he knew it his eyelids were closing.
When they opened again, the Netflix loading screen was on the TV, and Shane was talking as quietly as he could into his phone above his head.
“I don’t think I can do today. No, I know you said it’s the only availability they have but I just - I need to reschedule.”
Ilya sat up, eyes bleary but eyebrows knitted together in concern as he listened.
“Tell them an emergency came up. Don’t they have my measurements from last time, can’t they just use those?”
It clicked then. Ilya had almost forgotten in the stir of the morning that Shane had a suit fitting today for an upcoming charity gala. And he was the emergency.
Without hesitation, he snatched the phone from Shane.
“Farah? Yes, he’ll be there. I’ll make sure. Uh huh. Bye bye.” He hung up before Shane could protest.
“Wh-”
“You need a suit, you need to go to your fitting. I am not emergency.”
“Ilya I didn’t mean it to sound like that, I was just trying to get them to work with me.”
He worked to soften his tone. “I know you didn’t. I am not mad. But you cannot cancel your plans just because it’s bad day. It will make it harder for me to tell you I need help if I feel like you will baby me.”
“I can’t help you if I’m not here,” Shane countered. “And me caring about you isn’t babying you, for the record.”
“It will be what, a few hours? I will survive. I’ve made it much longer than that.”
“Not when I knew about it.”
Ilya didn’t have a response to that because he was right. Shane would drop anything the moment he asked him to. It was still unreal to him, to be loved so intensely after all this time.
“I’m not trying to smother you I just - I worry…” Shane trailed off, and when he looked away Ilya caught that familiar gleam of tears in his eyes. He knew where his mind had gone, why he didn’t want to say it, and it felt like his heart cracked straight down the middle.
“Hey, look at me. I am safe, okay? I am sad, yes, but I am safe. I would not lie about that.”
Shane nodded, swallowing hard. Ilya was telling the truth, and he knew that Shane trusted him but that anxiety was thrumming through him so hard that he could practically feel it where their bodies were still connected.
“I will make you deal,” Ilya offered, desperate to soothe him. “When you leave for your fitting, I will go help David. He wants to do more storage shelves in the shed. You get your suit, you do not worry about me, and I will be home before you get back.”
He felt Shane’s body melt into the cushions in relief, but even still, he offered him an out.
“Are you sure you want to deal with dad today?”
Ilya offered him a soft smile. Shane couldn’t understand the privilege he had to have the parents he did, and Ilya was grateful he never would.
“I am sure. Let’s go get dressed.”
Thirty minutes later and Ilya was loading Anya into the back of his car as Shane climbed into his own, pulling out of the driveway in different directions.
The work with David was mindless, and easy, and just what Ilya needed. Getting out of the house was good, even when he had to force himself. Using his body was good. Anya loved the Hollander’s yard, and David appreciated the help so he didn’t have to ask Yuna to lift anything. He taught Ilya about his different tools and how to use them in a way that didn’t make him feel lesser that no one ever took the time to show him the basics when he was younger.
Three hours later and Ilya was washing the plates in the sink after a lunch of chicken salad sandwiches, with a massive Tupperware of leftovers already packed up by Yuna and waiting for his departure on the counter. He’d barely eaten half of his usual serving, so there was plenty. She’d kept a watchful eye over him all day after that, and Ilya caught her with those same furrowed eyebrows that Shane made before she masked it quickly and smiled a few times through the windows.
Shane had promised not to tell them why Ilya was there, and he trusted that he hadn’t. But Yuna had a way of seeing right through him - a mother’s eyes, he supposed. So he accepted the hug that lasted longer than usual at the door, and her murmured “love you sweetheart” into his ear and didn’t let it sink in until he got to the car and drove away with his eyes burning.
When he got back to the house, he checked in on what he’d been trying to ignore all day. He could breathe a bit easier, but it still felt heavy. Not right over him, but not even to the corner yet. The frustration mounted at the lack of progress, but at least he was feeling something.
So he checked Shane’s location and saw that he was on his way back. 38 minutes. He could make it 38 minutes. He got himself a glass of water and Shane’s favorite blanket from the couch, wrapping up in it and putting the same ocean documentary on as earlier for background noise.
The weight increased, creeping up so slowly that he didn’t notice it until it lifted again when he heard the key in the lock. Ilya watched expectantly, head lulled back on the couch so he could see him as soon as he walked through the door. It was a bit uncoordinated as he tried to manage a garment bag and another smaller one tucked onto his arm, but endearing all the same.
“Hi,” he smiled, shifting everything in his arms so he could move to the couch and kiss Ilya without delay. “How was building shelves?”
“Good. Easy. Yuna made chicken salad, more in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
Shane crinkled his nose at that, and Ilya surprised himself with a chuckle.
“Forgot. Too many textures, yes?”
“I’ll stick to last night’s soup. But tonight we’re ordering in and I have a surprise.”
“Oh? What color this time?” Ilya teased, just to watch the blush rush over his husband’s cheeks. The bonus was Shane kissing him harder to shut him up.
“I’m trying to be sweet, and you make it very hard,” Shane sighed against his lips.
“Not the only thing I make hard,” Ilya grinned, catching his chin to pull him closer, eager for more.
“I have to put the groceries away,” Shane warned, but it was only half convicted as Ilya kissed him around the words. “The sour cream will go bad.”
That was enough to get his attention.
“You hate sour cream. You banned it from house,” he reminded him, confusion all over his face.
“I never said you couldn’t have it. And stop asking questions, you’ll ruin the surprise.”
“That was only one question,” Ilya reminded him, but he let him go gently so he could finish in the kitchen, heart warming when Shane leaned in to steal one more kiss anyway before departing. He made quick work of what he needed to, including warming himself a bowl of soup and a few pieces of bread, one of which he passed to Ilya. Making sure he ate something, he was sure.
“Are you committed to this documentary, or do you wanna watch something in our room?”
Ilya looked pointedly at the bowl in Shane’s hands. He never ate in their bed. Ever. He’d practically keeled over the day he caught Ilya in there with a few oreos, and that was on top of the comforter.
Shane read his look and rolled his eyes.
“I can make exceptions. And I know you hate the glare in here, we can take the shades down in the bedroom.”
God, Ilya loved him more than he could even fathom. It wasn’t just about the thoughtfulness - it was the fact that Shane would do anything to help him, even bend his rules that he never waivered from just to give him a better chance at relief. He understood then why it was so hard to ask for it. The combination of the weight and the depth of all that love was overwhelming to him on such a level that he didn’t even know how to reach it to begin sorting through.
“I don’t want to go to bed. Will be hard to get back out, I think.” He didn’t try to soften it, or doctor his words. And Shane didn’t flinch at the honesty, only nodded and came to sit by him on the couch. The feeling moved closer to the corner at that realization, and Ilya slumped over, resting his head in Shane’s lap.
“What should we put on?” Shane asked around a mouthful of bread, gesturing to the documentary, which was now full of colorful fish in a coral reef.
“Don’t really care. Just want to be here,” he responded, turning his head to kiss his thigh. Decisions still felt impossible, too heavy. So he watched passively as Shane scrolled through and landed on a real estate show that he would usually whine about, but he didn’t care. He was more focused on the steady warmth beneath him.
“Scoot across, I’ll draw on your back,” Shane instructed, grabbing a pillow for him to rest on.
“Your legs will go numb,” Ilya pointed out, but he was already moving, fighting with his shirt as he tried to pull it off. He’d discovered over the years that there were few things he found more comforting than Shane’s fingers tracing patterns over his skin. Sometimes it was words, or paths between his moles, or shapes. But it was the type of intimate touch that soothed his very being, and as he positioned his torso over Shane’s legs and tucked the pillow under his head, he felt his body fully relax for the first time all day.
He closed his eyes and tried to only focus on Shane’s finger, to picture what he was drawing across his skin, to settle into that gentle care, even if he was almost positive it was the route of their new power play that coach had come up with last practice. It soothed him nonetheless, his breathing evening out.
When he woke up, he had a blanket over top of him, and Shane was peppering kisses to his temple. Ilya grumbled a bit, wanting the real thing. But Shane had already sat up again.
“Our food is here,” he hummed, guiding Ilya off him until he could slip out from under his warm body and head to the door. Ilya shook the sleep from himself, surprised that he felt a bit hungry.
Hungry. A new list came into his head. The green flags from Dr. Galina. Usually, it took days for him to find even one after a low, and the realization of his progress made it a bit easier to sit up. Shane was in fact limping his way to the door, leg asleep. Ilya found it endearing that he was willing to swallow that discomfort for him.
“Couch or table?” Shane asked once he had the bags. Ilya nodded towards the table, pulling himself up off the cushions. He looked down at himself and sighed. No shirt, same sweaty pants he’d had on from his work at the Hollander’s earlier. He hadn’t cared when he’d gotten home, but now he felt gross and excused himself to change, feeling Shane’s eyes follow him on his walk to the bedroom.
He thought he’d been fast, but by the time he re-emerged into the kitchen in his new shorts and one of Shane’s shirts, the table was already set. The three bowls sitting on his usual placemat made him stop in his tracks, quirking an eyebrow.
“I didn’t know what you’d have an appetite for, so I got all three of your usuals,” Shane explained a bit sheepishly. Ilya’s heart squeezed in his chest.
“You could have asked me.”
“You were knocked out and peaceful, I wasn’t going to wake you up. And now you can have leftovers to warm up for the next few days if you don’t feel like cooking and I’m not here.”
Another gentle gesture, a way of supporting without making Ilya feel guilty.
“Gimme kiss,” he murmured, though he was already moving towards Shane, unable to stop himself. Shane’s hands found his cheeks, pulling him in softly but kissing him hard, as if trying to tell him with his body how much he loved him. It felt like one of their early kisses, when that was the only way they knew how to tell each other anything.
When they broke away, a bit breathless, they settled into their usual chairs. Ilya opted for the fettuccine bowl, scooting the others to the side. Shane had ordered from his favorite place in town, which he usually refused secondary to the amount of butter in every single one of the recipes. Another rule bent, just for Ilya.
Their dinner conversation felt normal, the flow that always came when they talked to each other ever present. The ease was a relief for Ilya. They talked about Shane’s suit, the upcoming gala, David’s tool collection and how Ilya thought he’d managed a jigsaw quite well for his first time.
“I’m sorry I slept most of our time away today,” Ilya apologized in a lull in the conversation, and Shane shook his head before he even finished.
“Don’t be. Extra fatigue is part of depression, rest is what you needed.”
“You sound like textbook,” Ilya chuckled, but he appreciated the bluntness, the lack of judgement.
“Well, I did read up on it. Before we started the foundation, and then a bit more when you told me you were seeing Dr. Galina. I wanted to make sure I could help anyone who needed me, but especially you.”
The pasta was harder to swallow with the lump in his throat, and Ilya sat down his fork.
“What else did your book tell you? About helping.”
“It said to make sure you take it seriously, make sure the person you care about is getting the help they need. Monitor for changes, help where you’re capable. Try to make the day to day things easier. Plan things that involve them, but keep it low pressure if they don’t have the energy. Listen, be there. Check in.”
“You say those things like they are easy to do.”
“They are easy, when you love someone. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make this easier for you.” Again, said with the bluntness of fact. Ilya was out of his chair in an instant, kissing him again, tilting his chin up to get the angle he needed to open him up. He worked him over smoothly, telling him what he couldn’t say and getting lost in the whimpers he elicited until Shane broke away just barely, squirming.
“If we start this now, you won’t get your surprise tonight.” Shane was breathless, grasping at his last tendrils of control. But he knew surprises were a weak spot for Ilya.
“Don’t know that it will be better than having you under me,” Ilya countered, but he pulled one hand away from Shane’s hair and rested it on the back of his chair.
“There’s always time for that later.”
“And your little surprise cannot wait until after we fuck?”
“Nope,” Shane grinned. “It’s a pre-fuck activity. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“You are a tease,” Ilya groaned, leaning in to kiss him again, nipping at his bottom lip once before sitting up and moving back to his seat. He ate a few more bites of pasta, happy with the portion he managed to get down without overdoing it. And he managed to wait until the dishes were in the dishwasher and the leftovers in the fridge before he asked.
“Show me this surprise.”
“Go change first. Put on something Boston, or just something old,” Shane instructed.
Ilya grinned. “What, are we roleplaying being 18 again?”
Shane blushed bright red. “No. I just like that shirt, and I don’t want it to get messy.”
So Ilya lifted it over his head and tossed it towards the couch.
“Problem solved. Your turn.”
Shane rolled his eyes before he pulled his own shirt off, letting it join the pile before he turned to the cabinets and fridge, pulling out ingredients. Flour, eggs, baking soda. Ilya was only half paying attention, the ripple of muscles under Shane’s skin taking the majority of his focus.
“Messy…” Ilya mused. “We’re baking?”
Shane turned to him with a beaming smile, the one that still made him weak in the knees after all these years.
“Yes. But we’re not just baking anything. We’re baking - “ Shane turned around, grabbing the last ingredient and putting it in front of them on the counter with a bit of added flourish. “Medovik!”
Ilya could have burst into tears right then when he saw the honey on the counter. Medovik. Russian honey cake, just like his mom used to make on holidays when he was small.
He hadn’t realized he was silent until Shane shifted nervously on his feet.
“And all the ingredients will keep, so if you aren’t up for it tonight we don’t have to, I just know you’ve said that baking would be fun and I -”
Ilya cut him off with a kiss, closing the distance with a few steps and pulling him in by the hips. Shane melted into it, relief seeping from his pores. Ilya could picture him in the grocery store with a pinterest recipe, gathering all these ingredients, a plan made just for him. He would never be deserving, but he couldn’t imagine how he ever survived without Shane.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he breathed. “More than you could ever understand.”
“I do understand, and I love you the same.” Shane smiled, kissing his cheek gently before pulling back. Ilya felt him check him over once, just to be sure, and then he was pulling up the instructions, ready to work. Ilya followed his orders of gathering pans and measuring spoons, but not until he had put on one of their favorite Russian artists in the background.
They weren’t quite as in sync as they were on the ice, but they made a decent team in the kitchen. Shane cracked the eggs, Ilya whisked. Shane got honey on his fingers, Ilya licked it off before he could rinse them. Shane measured the flour, Ilya put his hand in the excess and left a white handprint on the ass of Shane’s shorts. By the time they had poured the layers of batter into the four sheet pans they had managed to find and squeezed them into the oven like a game of overheated tetris, the kitchen was chaos. But he was laughing, and they were kissing, and teasing and Ilya felt… light. So he took Shane by the hand and spun him to the music, catching his waist in his hand and swaying them, sticky fingers and all.
When the oven beeped, Shane’s cheek was resting so perfectly on Ilya’s chest that he considered letting their hard work burn for more than a few seconds. He settled for kissing the top of his head instead before donning his oven mitts.
Thirty minutes and many layers of icing later, they were putting the final touches on the crumb coat which was just that - crumbs.
“This was always my favorite part,” Ilya mused. “Mama used to get mad when I ate the scraps, she would tell me she needed them for this part and kick me out of kitchen.”
“I didn’t know Irina made this for you,” Shane smiled. llya loved when he said her name. It felt nice to know he cared that she existed, cared enough about someone he never met.
“Only on special days. I never told you?” Shane shook his head. “Then how did you know to make this?”
Shane paused, biting his lip. “Uh. Being totally honest, I googled Russian desserts. And I knew if we tried to make hand pies they wouldn’t be as good as the ones you buy in town. This one looked…doable. So I guess I just got lucky.
He looked sheepish about it, but Ilya had never seen anything so adorable.
“Maybe you just know everything about me. Even what I haven’t told you,” Ilya grinned, kissing his temple.
“I’d like to,” Shane said, and Ilya knew he meant it.
They didn’t even cut pieces when it was finished - they just went after it with forks, both groaning at the first bite.
“Not as good as Mama’s, but it’s close,” Ilya beamed when he was full. “We will have to practice.”
“So you had fun?”
There it was - that unabashed hope that Shane had been trying to tame down all day. Ilya had gotten glimpses, but it was clear now. That desperation Shane had to make it better, to know that his offered help was actually helpful without pressuring him to be okay. It made him think of all the times he’d wished he could take something off Shane’s shoulders, and he bit back the guilt of what Shane must have been thinking all day, all the worry he had caused.
“I always have fun with you,” Ilya reassured him. He took his hand and pulled him close again. “Thank you. For everything today. You take care of me, even when it is not easy.”
“It’s not always easy,” Shane admitted. “But it’s easier when you let me. And it’s kinda my favorite thing to do,” he grinned.
“How rude of me to deprive you,” Ilya laughed, flicking his nose gently before kissing him hard, a reminder of his earlier promise. “Take care of me all you want, Hollander.”
“Be careful what you ask for,” Shane grinned, taking him by the hand and leading him to the shower, cake forgotten on the counter.
By the time they made it back into bed, Ilya dared one more glance from the safety of Shane’s arms. The thing had moved back to the lawn. He was sure it would be closer when he woke up, but he nuzzled into Shane’s warmth anyways, a silent reminder that he had two more hands to help push it away come morning.