Work Text:
Ilya Rozanov had always slept badly.
That wasn’t new. The travelling, the games, the adrenaline, the noise in his head, it had all trained his body to exist in fragments of sleep rather than anything restful.
Two hours on a plane, a doze in a hotel room, passing out from exhaustion rather than drifting peacefully into anything resembling dreams.
But lately the dreams had been coming anyway.
And they were always about her.
His mother appeared the way she had in the last good memory he had of her, hair tucked behind one ear, a tired smile that somehow still managed to be warm, eyes that made him feel like the center of the world.
She always looked at him like she knew him.
Not the perfect hockey player or the perfect son his father demanded. Just him.
The dreams started the same way almost every time.
He’d be in some strange blend of places, half childhood apartment in Moscow, half some anonymous hallway that could belong to any rink in the NHL. His skates would be slung over his shoulder like when he was a kid, and she’d be standing there waiting.
“Ilya.” she’d say softly.
And god, that voice. He’d feel ten years old again.
Safe, loved.
The worst part was what happened after. Because lately, in the dreams, someone else had started appearing too.
Shane.
Not right away, never right away. First it was just his mother and the quiet warmth of her presence. Then somewhere in the distance, Shane would show up, walking toward them, smiling that easy crooked smile like he always did.
Every time Ilya would feel this strange surge of hope in his chest, this desperate, childish wish.
Look, mama, he would want to say. Look who I found. Look who loves me.
Shane would get closer, his mother would turn.
And right before they could meet, Ilya would wake up.
Every. Single. Time.
He stared at the tile floor of his bathroom like it might give him answers.
The apartment was quiet, too quiet.
Ilya sat on the closed lid of the toilet, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking, breaths coming out broken and wet and humiliating.
Fuck.
This was pathetic. He hadn’t cried like this in years.
Not when he left Russia, not when he got drafted, not even when his mother died.
His father had made sure of that.
Weakness was unacceptable in their house, weakness meant you weren’t strong enough.
It meant you didn’t deserve the opportunities given to you.
Weakness meant you were useless, and useless sons didn’t get attention.
They got ignored, or worse.
So Ilya had learned very early that emotions were something to swallow down and bury somewhere deep where no one could see them.
Be perfect, better, stronger.
Score goals, win games. Make them proud.
And if you couldn’t do that, at least don’t embarrass the family by falling apart.
Hockey had saved him. For years it had been his only escape.
The ice was simple, rules were clear. The world made sense there.
But lately even that felt… wrong. Like someone had drained the color out of it.
Practices dragged, games blurred together. The excitement was gone, replaced by a dull heaviness in his chest that made everything feel like a chore.
He hated it.
Hated that the one thing that had always been his refuge now felt like work.
Hated himself for feeling that way.
Another sob tore out of his throat before he could stop it.
Jesus fucking christ.
He pressed his palms harder against his eyes like he could physically push the tears back in.
Today was supposed to be good. Perfect, even.
Shane was coming. They hadn’t seen each other in a month.
A whole fucking month.
Schedules, road trips, playoffs, everything had kept them apart. They’d talked, obviously, texted constantly, called whenever they could.
But it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t Shane’s warm weight beside him in bed, it wasn’t Shane’s laugh filling the room. It wasn’t Shane’s hand squeezing the back of his neck in that absentminded way he had.
And now Shane was finally here, or supposed to be here soon, and instead of being excited, instead of cleaning his apartment or cooking something or doing literally anything normal, Ilya was hiding in his bathroom crying like a fucking child.
Great.
Fantastic.
Real attractive look, Rozanov.
Shane deserved better than this, that thought made his chest ache even worse.
Because Shane always chose him, always.
Even when Ilya was being difficult, when he pushed too hard or pulled away or made stupid jokes to avoid real conversations.
Shane stayed because he loved him.
They said it out loud now, that still felt surreal sometimes.
Three simple words that somehow terrified Ilya more than any opponent he’d ever faced on the ice.
Because love meant vulnerability. It meant that someone could see the messy, broken parts of you. That they might decide those parts were too much.
And leave.
Which was ridiculous.
Shane had proven a thousand times that he wasn’t going anywhere, but fear didn’t care about logic.
Especially not the kind of fear that had been planted in you when you were a kid.
Ilya dragged a shaky breath into his lungs.
Ever since Shane came into his life, something inside him had shifted.
At first it was just attraction, competition. This stupid rivalry that turned into something heated and secret and addictive.
Then it became more.
And now, now when Shane looked at him, Ilya felt something he hadn’t felt since he was young.
The same warmth, same quiet certainty.
The same love his mother used to give him.
Being loved like that again was overwhelming.
Both wonderful and terrifying.
Because it made him realize how much he had been missing.
And how badly he needed it.
Which meant he needed Shane, and needing someone felt dangerously close to weakness.
Another sob slipped out before he could stop it.
Fuck.
He wiped angrily at his face.
Shane was going to be here any minute.
Ilya needed to stand up, wash his face, pretend he was fine like he always did.
Easy, simple, just stop crying.
Except his chest kept hitching like his body had completely forgotten how to breathe normally.
He pressed his hands over his face again.
In his mind he could still see the dream from last night.
His mother standing in the hallway, Shane walking toward them, the moment before they met.
Ilya’s throat tightened painfully.
God, he wished she could meet him. Just once.
Just long enough to see that Ilya wasn’t alone anymore.
That someone loved him, took care of him.
Maybe then she wouldn’t have worried so much before she died.
Maybe then-
The sound of a door opening faintly in the apartment didn’t even register at first.
Ilya was too deep in his own head, too busy trying to breathe through the ache in his chest.
Footsteps moved through the living room, a bag dropped quietly near the couch.
“Ilya?” Shane called.
Ilya didn’t hear him.
Shane frowned slightly as he stepped further inside the apartment.
Usually by now Ilya would already be at the door, grinning that smug grin and making some teasing comment about how long Shane took.
Instead, the place was quiet, too quiet.
“Ilya?” Shane called again, louder.
Still nothing.
A small knot of concern started forming in his stomach.
He walked down the hallway, the bathroom, which was slightly open, caught his attention.
And through the crack-
Shane froze.
Ilya was sitting on the closed toilet lid, shoulders shaking, face buried in his hands as he sobbed.
For a moment Shane just stood there, stunned.
Ilya never cried, not like this.
Not openly, not where anyone could see.
The sound coming out of him was raw and broken in a way Shane had never heard before.
Shane’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. He pushed the door open gently.
“Ilya?”
Ilya’s head jerked up, and for half a second his brain didn’t process what he was seeing.
Shane, standing in the doorway.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
A wave of pure humiliation crashed over him so violently he almost felt dizzy.
Great.
Perfect.
Exactly what he needed today.
Shane had walked in on him crying like a fucking baby. Ilya wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
His first instinct was panic. Second instinct, pretend nothing was happening.
Too late for both.
“I-” Ilya scrubbed aggressively at his face, voice rough. “I did not hear you come in.”
Yeah, no shit.
Shane stepped inside slowly, eyes soft but worried.
“I used the key.”
Of course he did, and suddenly Ilya wanted to go back in time and slap himself for ever giving Shane that extra key in the first place.
Brilliant idea, Rozanov.
Now your boyfriend can walk in anytime and catch you having emotional breakdowns in the bathroom.
Fantastic.
Ilya stood up quickly, avoiding Shane’s eyes.
“I am fine.” he said automatically.
Shane didn’t even react to the lie, he just walked closer.
“Ilya.”
That tone. Gentle, concerned and absolutely dangerous.
Because it made something fragile crack open inside Ilya’s chest.
“I said I am fine.” Ilya snapped, too fast.
Shane stopped in front of him.
“Ilya,” he said again quietly, “you’re crying.”
“Was crying.”
“Ilya-”
“It is nothing.”
Shane studied his face for a long moment.
“Hey.”
That single word nearly broke him.
Ilya looked away. God, this was humiliating.
Shane deserved someone stable, someone easy. Someone who didn’t fall apart over dreams and grief like some fragile idiot.
Instead he got this mess.
“I ruined today.” Ilya muttered bitterly.
“What?”
“You came all this way.” Ilya said, voice tight. “We did not see each other for a month and I am sitting in bathroom crying like child.”
Shane blinked, then he stepped closer.
“Ilya,” he said gently, “look at me.”
Ilya didn’t want to, because if he did, he might cry again.
But Shane waited.
Eventually Ilya glanced up, and that was a mistake.
Because Shane’s expression wasn’t annoyed, or disappointed.
It was just worried, and full of so much care it made Ilya’s chest ache.
“You didn’t ruin anything.” Shane said quietly.
“I did.”
“No.”
“I look pathetic.”
Shane snorted softly.
“You look like someone who’s having a rough day.”
Ilya shook his head.
“You should not have to deal with this.”
“With what?”
“This.” Ilya gestured vaguely to himself.
Shane stepped even closer.
“Ilya, you think I don’t want to be here for this?”
Ilya hesitated. That was exactly what he thought.
Shane’s voice softened further.
“Talk to me.”
The words landed heavy in the quiet bathroom.
God, Ilya didn’t know how.
Opening up felt like standing naked in front of someone with every flaw exposed. It felt dangerous.
But Shane was standing there, waiting, choosing him.
Like he always did.
“I keep dreaming about my mother.” Ilya whispered.
The words felt fragile in the air, but Shane didn’t interrupt, he just listened, and somehow that made it a little easier to keep going.
For a long moment after Ilya spoke, the bathroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the apartment’s ventilation and Ilya’s uneven breathing.
Shane leaned back slightly against the sink beside them, giving Ilya space but staying close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
“You dream about her.” Shane said gently.
Ilya nodded once, staring at the tile again.
“Yes.”
Shane’s brow furrowed a little.
“I mean… yeah,” he said slowly. “you’ve told me that before.”
He wasn’t confused in a judgmental way, just trying to understand. Because this didn’t seem like the whole thing.
Ilya’s jaw tightened.
“That is not new.” he muttered.
Shane waited.
There was something else there. Something Ilya was circling around like he didn’t know how to approach it.
Shane had learned, over the years, that pushing never worked with him. Ilya opened up on his own terms, or not at all. So Shane stayed quiet.
Eventually, Ilya dragged a hand over his face and spoke again, voice rough.
“You are there too.”
Shane blinked.
“In the dreams?”
“Yes.”
That alone clearly meant something huge to Ilya, judging by the way his shoulders tensed again.
Shane’s voice stayed soft.
“Okay.”
Ilya huffed a shaky breath.
“It is stupid.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” Ilya insisted immediately. “it is ridiculous thing to be upset about.”
Shane tilted his head.
“Doesn’t sound ridiculous to me.”
Ilya rubbed both hands over his face again like he was trying to scrub away the emotions crawling up his throat.
“In the dreams,” he said quietly, “I am with my mother.” Shane nodded slightly. “And then you appear. You are walking toward us,” Ilya continued, staring somewhere over Shane’s shoulder like he could see it happening again. “and I know what is about to happen.”
Shane didn’t speak.
“I know she is about to meet you.” The words came out tight, fragile. “And every time-” Ilya swallowed. “every time right before it happens, I wake up.”
Shane felt something in his chest twist painfully.
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
Ilya laughed under his breath, but there was nothing amused about it.
“It happens again and again. Same thing.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I wake up and remember that she will never meet you.”
Shane’s throat tightened.
Ilya’s voice dropped even softer.
“And I want her to.”
The confession landed between them like something delicate. Shane’s heart ached.
“Ilya…”
Ilya kept talking, like the words had been locked inside him for so long that once they started coming out, he couldn’t stop them.
“I want her to see you,” he said hoarsely. “I want her to know that I am not alone.” His hands clenched loosely at his sides. “She worried about that.”
Shane stayed very still.
“Before she died,” Ilya continued, voice beginning to shake again, “she always asked if I had someone who takes care of me.” His eyes flicked toward Shane briefly before dropping again. “I told her hockey was enough.”
A bitter smile tugged at his mouth.
“That was lie.”
Shane felt his chest tighten.
“Hockey was just escape.”
Ilya let out a slow breath.
“But now I have you.” The words sounded almost disbelieving. “And it feels like…” he hesitated.
Shane waited.
Ilya’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“It feels like the way my mother loved me.”
That nearly broke Shane.
The raw sincerity in it, the vulnerability, Ilya rarely let anyone see that part of him.
“I feel safe,” Ilya continued quietly. “seen, understood, and that is terrifying.”
He let out a soft, shaky laugh.
Shane’s lips curved faintly.
“Terrifying?”
“Yes.” Ilya finally looked at him fully. “You know how I grew up.”
Shane nodded slowly.
Ilya’s father had been difficult, to put it mildly.
In their house, weakness wasn’t tolerated.
“You are only worth something if you are perfect.” Ilya said flatly, his jaw clenched. “Being vulnerable means you are weak, and weak means useless.”
Shane’s expression softened even further.
“Ilya…”
“So when someone loves you like this,” Ilya continued, voice tight again, “when they see everything and still stay…”
He shook his head.
“It feels dangerous.” His gaze dropped again “Because what if they stop?”
Shane stepped closer.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” Ilya said quickly. “I just do not know how to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“Open.”
The word sounded foreign in his mouth.
They stood there in silence for a moment, then Ilya added something even softer.
“I miss her.”
Shane’s chest tightened painfully.
“Yeah.” he murmured.
“I miss her so much.”
And just like that, the fragile control Ilya had been clinging to shattered again.
A sob ripped out of his chest before he could stop it.
“Oh, hey.” Shane said immediately, stepping forward.
Ilya didn’t even try to hide it this time.
His shoulders folded inward like something inside him had finally given up fighting.
“I am sorry.” he choked.
“For what?”
“For this,” Ilya gestured helplessly to himself again. “for being mess.”
“You’re not a mess.”
“Yes I am.”
“No.” Shane said firmly.
Ilya shook his head.
“You deserve someone better.”
That made Shane’s heart drop straight into his stomach.
“What?”
“I do not deserve you.”
“Ilya, could you stop.”
“You should be with someone normal,” Ilya continued hoarsely. “someone who is not broken.”
Shane stared at him like he’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“Broken?”
“Yes.”
“Ilya.”
“I am serious.”
Shane stepped forward again until there was barely any space between them.
“You think this makes you broken?”
Ilya didn’t answer, he just looked exhausted.
The sight of him like this, usually so confident, so composed, so sharp-edged, completely undone.
It made Shane’s chest ache, but it also filled him with something else.
Something warm, something proud.
Because this was hard for Ilya, unbelievably hard, and he was doing it anyway.
“You know what I see?” Shane said quietly.
Ilya frowned slightly.
“What?”
“I see someone who just did the bravest thing he’s done in a long time.”
Ilya blinked.
“You opened up to me.”
“That is not bravery.”
“Yeah it is.”
Ilya looked unconvinced.
Shane reached out slowly, resting his hands on Ilya’s arms.
“You’ve been carrying this alone for a long time, haven’t you?”
Ilya hesitated, then nodded.
“Yes.”
Shane’s grip tightened gently.
“You don’t have to do that anymore.”
Ilya’s eyes burned again.
“Shane…”
And then suddenly he was leaning forward. Just enough that his forehead pressed into Shane’s shoulder like something inside him had finally run out of strength.
Shane wrapped his arms around him instantly, pulling him close.
Ilya let out a shaky breath against his collarbone.
“This is humiliating.” he muttered weakly.
Shane huffed a soft laugh.
“Yeah, real humiliating. Crying in your boyfriend’s arms.”
Ilya groaned quietly.
“You are making fun of me.”
“Nope.”
“Liar.”
Shane pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.
“I’m proud of you.”
That made Ilya freeze slightly.
“Why?”
“Because this is hard for you.” Shane said simply. He tightened the embrace, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Ilya’s head. “And you’re still doing it.”
Ilya’s grip on his shirt tightened a little.
For a while they just stood there like that. Shane slowly rubbing circles on his back, letting him breathe.
Eventually Ilya spoke again, voice muffled against Shane’s shoulder.
“I think something is wrong with me.”
Shane didn’t react outwardly.
“What do you mean?”
Ilya hesitated, then forced the words out.
“I think I am depressed.”
The admission seemed to physically drain him, like saying it out loud made it more real.
Shane stayed quiet for a second.
“Okay.”
Ilya pulled back slightly, searching his face.
“That is all you say?”
Shane shrugged gently.
“It doesn’t change how I feel about you, or how I see you.”
Ilya looked confused.
“You are not surprised?”
Shane hesitated.
“Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“I kind of knew something was going on.”
Ilya stared at him.
“You did?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya frowned slightly.
“Why did you not say anything?”
Shane smiled faintly.
“Because you would’ve brushed it off.”
Ilya opened his mouth then closed it again.
Because yeah, he would have.
“I saw the moments.” Shane continued quietly. “When hockey started feeling like work, when you got quiet for no reason. When you’d disappear into your head.”
Ilya looked down.
“I thought I was hiding it.”
“You were trying.” Shane said gently.
“But I know you.”
That made something warm and painful twist in Ilya’s chest.
“I did not want you to see it.”
“Why?”
“Because it is ugly.”
Shane immediately shook his head.
“No it isn’t.”
“It is weakness.”
“It’s being human.”
Ilya didn’t respond. Shane cupped his face suddenly, making him look up.
“Hey.” Ilya’s eyes were still glassy. “You said you think you need help.” Shane said.
Ilya swallowed.
“Yes.”
“And that scares you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ilya let out a shaky breath.
“Because asking for help means admitting I cannot fix it myself.”
“And?”
“And that feels like failure.”
Shane’s thumbs brushed gently under his eyes.
“Ilya, needing help doesn’t make you a failure.” Ilya looked unconvinced. “It means you’re dealing with something hard.”
He leaned forward and kissed him softly. Not urgent, or demanding.
Just warm and reassuring.
When they pulled apart, Shane rested his forehead against Ilya’s.
“We’ll figure it out.” he murmured.
“We?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya’s voice was small.
“You would stay for that?”
Shane actually laughed.
“Are you kidding me?”
Ilya blinked.
“You think this scares me off?”
“Yes.”
“Not a chance.”
He kissed him again, a little firmer this time.
“I’m here.” Shane said against his lips.
Ilya’s shoulders slowly started to relax for the first time all day.
“I do not know what to do.” he admitted quietly.
“That’s okay.”
“I feel lost.”
“That’s okay too.”
Shane brushed his fingers through Ilya’s hair.
“We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Ilya leaned into the touch.
“And if I am still mess?”
Shane smiled softly.
“Then you’ll be my mess.”
A small, fragile laugh slipped out of Ilya’s chest.
And for the first time in days, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.
Not gone, but no longer something he had to carry alone.
For a long moment after that, they didn’t move.
Ilya stayed folded against Shane, his forehead resting against the side of Shane’s neck, breathing slowly but unevenly. Shane held him close, one arm wrapped around his back, the other hand still resting gently at the base of his skull.
Shane kept his fingers moving there, combing slowly through the soft strands of Ilya’s hair.
It was a quiet, steady motion. Grounding.
“I’ve got you.” Shane murmured.
Ilya huffed a faint breath against his collarbone.
“Yes.” he said quietly.
Shane felt the tension still lingering in his shoulders. Not as sharp as before, but still there, coiled under the surface.
So Shane shifted slightly and pressed a soft kiss into Ilya’s hair. Then another against his temple.
Ilya exhaled slowly, Shane kissed his cheek.
“You know you’re wrong about something.” Shane said gently.
Ilya made a quiet noise of skepticism.
“Oh?”
Shane lifted his hand to Ilya’s face and tilted his chin up slightly so their eyes met.
“Yes,” Shane said softly. “several things, actually.”
Ilya’s eyes were still red, lashes damp, but the storm in them had softened.
“That sounds like lot of criticism.” Ilya said hoarsely.
Shane smiled faintly.
“It’s not criticism.” he said.
His thumb brushed under Ilya’s eye, catching a stray tear.
“It’s corrections.”
Ilya gave him a suspicious look.
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
Shane leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth.
“You said you don’t deserve me.” Shane said.
Ilya’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Yes.”
“That’s wrong.” Shane said immediately.
Ilya huffed quietly.
“Of course you would say that.”
Shane shook his head slightly.
“No, I mean it.”
He pressed another kiss against Ilya’s cheek.
“You said you’re broken.” Shane continued softly.
Another kiss to the other cheek.
“Wrong again.”
Ilya’s lips pressed together, trying not to smile.
Shane kissed the bridge of his nose.
“You said you’re a mess.”
Ilya rolled his eyes slightly.
“I am.” he muttered.
Shane kissed his forehead.
“Incorrect.”
Ilya let out a small breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Shane kept going.
He kissed the corner of Ilya’s jaw.
“You said I deserve someone better.”
Another kiss under his ear.
“That one’s especially wrong.”
Ilya finally let out a soft chuckle.
“You are very determined.” he said quietly.
“Very.” Shane agreed.
He cupped Ilya’s face fully now, thumbs resting along his cheekbones.
“Because you’re not any of those things.” Shane said firmly.
Ilya raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
Shane nodded.
“You’re the opposite.”
Ilya snorted softly.
“That is very generous interpretation.”
“It’s the correct one.” Shane insisted.
He leaned in and kissed him again, slow and warm.
When he pulled back, he brushed his nose lightly against Ilya’s.
“You know what you actually are?” Shane asked.
Ilya looked skeptical.
“What?”
Shane’s voice softened.
“You’re one of the best people I know.”
Ilya blinked.
“That is definitely incorrect.” he said dryly.
Shane laughed quietly.
“Nope.”
He nudged Ilya back slightly until his hips bumped the sink, then rested his hands loosely on Ilya’s waist.
“You’re stubborn.” Shane continued. “Very.”
Ilya smirked slightly.
“That is true.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Also true.”
“You’re an asshole sometimes.”
Ilya gasped softly, mock offense flashing across his face.
“Sometimes?” he said.
Shane grinned.
“Okay, often.”
Ilya huffed a laugh.
“But you’re also the sweetest guy I know.” Shane added quietly.
Ilya’s smirk faded slightly.
“That part is lie.”
“Nope.”
“Yes.”
Shane shook his head.
“You’re the guy who remembers everyone’s birthdays on the team.” he said.
Ilya frowned faintly.
“That is basic politeness.”
“You’re the guy who sends money home to half your extended family without telling anyone.”
Ilya shifted slightly.
“That is normal.”
“You’re the guy who stays after practice to help rookies who are struggling.”
“That is-”
“And you’re the guy who once drove three hours in a snowstorm because I said I had a bad game.” Shane finished.
Ilya opened his mouth, then closed it.
Shane raised an eyebrow.
“Sweetest guy I know.” he repeated.
Ilya looked away slightly.
“That was different.” he muttered.
Shane gently turned his face back.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “it was.”
Their eyes held for a moment.
Then Shane leaned forward and kissed him again. This one lasted longer. Slow and patient.
When they pulled apart, Shane rested his forehead against Ilya’s again.
“You make my life better.” Shane said quietly.
Ilya blinked.
“You make me happier.” Shane continued.
His thumb brushed lightly along Ilya’s jaw.
“I’m lucky to have you.”
Ilya stared at him for a moment.
“You are very strange man.” he said softly.
Shane grinned.
“Probably.”
“You say these things like they are facts.”
“They are.”
Ilya studied his face.
“You really believe that?”
Shane didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah.”
Something in Ilya’s expression shifted then. The heaviness in his eyes loosened slightly.
“And you still want this mess?” Ilya asked.
Shane snorted.
“Buddy, I signed up for this mess years ago.”
Ilya huffed a quiet laugh.
“That is very questionable decision.”
“Best decision I ever made.”
Ilya shook his head slowly.
“You are unbelievable.”
Shane shrugged.
“I try.”
For a moment they just looked at each other.
Then Shane leaned forward again and started pressing little kisses across Ilya’s face.
Cheek, temple, jaw.
Another on his forehead.
“Shane.” Ilya said, half laughing now.
“Yes?”
“You are kissing me like grandmother.”
Shane pulled back with a grin.
“Wow.”
“Very affectionate grandmother.” Ilya clarified.
Shane laughed.
“I’m trying to erase those stupid thoughts from your brain.” he said.
“By suffocating me with kisses?”
“Exactly.”
Ilya chuckled again.
The sound was lighter now, real.
Shane noticed the way his shoulders had relaxed, the way the tension had drained from his posture.
The smug little spark was slowly creeping back into his eyes.
Shane tilted his head slightly.
“There he is.” he said.
Ilya raised an eyebrow.
“Who?”
“My smug Russian boyfriend.”
Ilya’s lips curved into a familiar, cocky smirk.
“I was always here.”
Shane snorted.
“Uh huh.”
Ilya straightened slightly now, some of his usual confidence settling back into his posture.
“You were just crying on your bathroom floor twenty minutes ago.” Shane reminded him.
“That was tactical emotional release.” Ilya said smoothly.
Shane burst out laughing.
“Of course it was.”
Ilya leaned casually against the sink now, arms crossing loosely.
“Very important psychological strategy.” he added.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.”
Shane shook his head in amusement.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
The smirk on Ilya’s face widened slightly, and Shane felt warmth bloom in his chest.
There he was.
That sharp, confident version of Ilya who always seemed untouchable.
But now Shane knew what lived underneath it, and somehow that made him love him even more.
Shane stepped forward again and slid his arms around Ilya’s waist.
Ilya didn’t resist. He rested his hands lightly on Shane’s hips.
“You feeling a little better?” Shane asked quietly.
Ilya nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Shane brushed his thumb along Ilya’s side.
“Good.”
Ilya looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.
“Thank you.” he said softly.
Shane shrugged.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”
Shane leaned up and kissed him again.
“Just doing my job.”
Ilya hummed quietly against his lips.
“And what job is that?” he asked.
Shane grinned.
“Professional Ilya-handler.”
Ilya snorted.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” Shane said. “you’re very high maintenance.”
Ilya gasped in mock offense.
“I am delight.”
“You’re chaos.”
“Excuse you.”
Shane laughed and pulled him closer again, but this time the hug felt lighter.
Comfort instead of desperation.
Ilya rested his chin on Shane’s shoulder.
“You did good work.” Ilya admitted quietly.
Shane smiled into his neck.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Ilya pulled back slightly, that smug glint fully back in his eyes now.
“I feel significantly less tragic.”
Shane laughed.
“Mission accomplished.”
”I love you.” Ilya whispered.
”I love you too.”
And as he looked at Ilya now, smirking, steady, alive again, Shane felt ridiculously proud.
Not because he had fixed anything, but because Ilya had let him be there.