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Shane had a secret. Ilya didn’t know what it was yet, but he was certain of one thing; his husband was keeping something from him.
Granted, Ilya didn’t think it was anything malicious. Whatever Shane was hiding, it didn’t feel dangerous, just consuming. It was taking up too much of his time, too much of his attention. There was a new and alien distance in him. It was subtle, but persistent.
Ilya wasn’t the type to overthink Shane’s every move or spiral into suspicion over him disappearing to go do whatever, because he was used to Shane not being able to sit still by now. He trusted him, but he also knew him. When he began to notice Shane’s change in routine and attitude, when he noticed Shane slipping away at the same time every week, the pattern became impossible to ignore.
Every Tuesday at noon.
At first, the excuses were casual. A catchup with Hayden, a quick errand across town followed by a check in on his parents. But the reasons changed from week to week, altering just enough for it to feel rehearsed.
‘Oh shit, we’re out of milk. I’ll go grab some. I’ll stop to say hi to Mom and Dad on the way back.’
‘Going a run, okay? Can you unload the dishwasher?’
And that was when Ilya started paying attention.
Ilya was snapped out of his daydream by the sound of Shane jogging down the stairs, the soft slap of his bare feet against the hardwood floor. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him before turning back to the television he’d forgotten was even on.
Shane was roughly toweling his hair dry with one hand, while the other reached into the fridge for a bottle of water.
“I’m just about to go meet Hayd. Will you take the washing out when the cycle’s done?”
Ilya clicked the TV off and turned his body toward him. “Where are you going?”
“Gym.”
Ilya watched him carefully, studying every micro expression. Shane was too busy grabbing his shoes and sitting onto the bottom stair to tie them to notice.
“After a shower?” Ilya asked, trying to hide the accusation in his voice.
Shane paused, only for a beat. “Uh, yeah. He only texted after I got out.”
“Hm.” Ilya turned back around.
He heard Shane stand, footsteps padding closer, then felt him lean down and press a kiss to the crown of his head.
Shane playfully tossed the damp towel onto Ilya’s lap. “Washing, please. I love you. See you soon.”
A second later, the front door opened and shut. Ilya stared at the blank television screen.
Little shit, he thought.
***
The sharp sound of the door closing shut jolted Ilya awake. He jolted around from the sofa to see Shane walking in. Shane dropped his keys in their usual spot on the shelf, right beside Ilya’s set, then kicked off his shoes.
His gaze drifted to Ilya, who was still in the exact same position as when he’d left, then to the washing machine, its light still blinking insistently.
“Really?” Shane sighed.
“Hi.”
“Have you seriously been laying there since I left? The washing, Ilya.”
“I fell asleep,” Ilya groaned.
“Where’s Anya?”
Ilya shrugged. “I think asleep on our bed.”
“Well, has she been walked? Taken out at all?”
“Боже мой.” Ilya muttered under his breath.
Shane scoffed, “I asked one thing of you. Is something wrong? Do you not feel well or something? It’s almost two, you’ve been lazing around all day.”
Ilya rubbed at his eyes, then pushed himself to his feet without another word, heading upstairs.
He entered into their bedroom, crossing the room to Anya, who was curled into a tight little ball at the foot of the king-sized bed. Ilya stroked her gently, to not startle her awake.
“Come on, my baby.” he cooed. “Let’s go.”
Anya stretched long and low, a loud yawn escaping her, before she hopped down. She followed Ilya downstairs, nails clicking softly against the floor, tail wagging enthusiastically.
Ilya slid open the patio door and let her bound outside. He stepped out after her and sat on the cold wooden steps, arms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on Anya as she sniffed around the grass.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
“What’s your problem?” Shane asked.
Ilya rolled his eyes but didn’t look at him. Normally, he would’ve tried to talk it through, Shane knew that. But today he didn’t feel like talking it out.
“Ilya?” Shane pressed.
Shane sat beside him and nudged him with his elbow. “What is going on with you?”
Ilya’s jaw tightened, “Where do you go every Tuesday at noon?” he blurted out.
Shane went still. From the corner of his eye, Ilya saw his expression shift, annoyance fading into something different. Something almost like he’d been caught out.
“Are you keeping fucking tabs on me? What the hell, Ilya?” Shane barked.
Ilya figured Shane would twist it into irritation directed at him. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t have the energy for it.
“I don’t go anywhere. I– If it’s at the same time, then I don’t know. Maybe my body’s just in a routine.” Shane scrambled.
“Is same time every Tuesday. Not any other day. Tuesdays.” Ilya insisted.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Shane replied with a humourless laugh.
Ilya stood, whistling for Anya to finish up so he could take her back inside.
Shane pushed himself to stand up. “Ilya, really. What do you think I’m doing?”
Ilya opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He only shrugged.
Shane dragged a hand over his face, then rested both hands on top of his head, exhaling slowly.
”If you are seeing someone else you need to fucking tell me.” Ilya muttered, and Shane laughed.
”Seriously?”
”Seriously.”
Shane exhaled.
“Ya khotel sdelat' tebe syurpriz.” he said carefully, in Russian.
Ilya’s head snapped around.
“U menya byl tselyy plan,” Shane continued with a sigh. “No eto normal'no.”
Ilya stared at him, completely taken aback. He was talking in Russian to him right now, properly talking.
“Ya beru uroki russkogo yazyka.” Shane said slowly.
Shane had been taking Russian lessons.
Shane kept going, still in Russian. “I’m still not very good at it, but I decided it was better to find a teacher than to keep learning on my own. Duolingo and online lessons can only get you so far.” He let out a small, nervous laugh.
My God, Ilya loved him.
“My accent clearly needs work, and I’ll definitely mess up words here and there. But apparently I’m almost conversationally fluent.” Shane added, beaming, still speaking in Ilya’s native tongue.
Ilya just stared at him. Shane’s face was bright red now, embarrassment creeping in.
“I sound so bad, don’t I?” Shane asked, switching back to English.
Ilya didn’t answer. He closed the distance between them and pulled Shane into a tight embrace.
“Я тебя люблю.” Ilya choked out.
“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane repeated, rubbing his back, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and that you thought I was hiding something. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”
Ilya shook his head against his shoulder. “No, my love. I’m sorry.”
He squeezed him tighter.
“Ilya,” Shane laughed softly, “you might suffocate me.”
Ilya pulled back, quickly wiping at his eyes. “You are so good, Shane.”
Shane ducked his head. “No.”
“Yes. Like, surprisingly very good.”
“Shut up.”
Ilya ran a hand over Shane’s face, looking at his husband with nothing but pure love.
“Now whenever you can’t find the words in English, you can tell me in Russian. There’s still a lot for me to learn, but we can do my practice together.”
Ilya practically melted. “My baby. I love you so much.”
Shane grinned, proud of himself, and relieved he could take some of the pressure off Ilya, who was so often expected to navigate everything in his second language.
“Can you talk dirty to me in Russian?”
Of course Ilya had to ruin the tender moment.
Shane’s face fell. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I–I couldn’t ask him. I– No, Ilya. That’s your job. You can teach me.”
Ilya’s brows furrowed. “Him!? I’m supposed to be the only Russian man in your life.”
Shane rolled his eyes, then turned and patted his legs for Anya. She ran back into the house. Shane and Ilya followed, sliding the glass patio door shut behind them.
“Is he hot?” Ilya asked
“Not answering that.”
“He is!” Ilya gasped. “No. You must quit. I’ll be your teacher now.”
“Yeah, because I really need a teacher who’s going to ignore all the important phrases and teach me something like ‘Yebi menya zhostche.’”
Ilya froze. “Who the fuck taught you that?”
Shane smirked and bent down to pet Anya, pointedly ignoring him.
Ilya stormed over. “Uh, who? Hollander! What the fuck? Who is telling you ‘fuck me harder’!?”
Shane straightened and kissed him. “I googled it. Psycho.”
Ilya grabbed Shane by the thighs and lifted him so his legs wrapped around his waist.
“We’re going upstairs,” Ilya said darkly, “and you’re going to ask me that again. You are going to tell me everything you want me to do to you, in Russian, yes?”
Shane giggled. “Da, ser.”
Ilya wasted no time, setting him down only long enough to grab his hand and pull him toward the stairs.