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Ilya stood hunched over the sink in the en-suite bathroom, fingers gripping the edges hard. A ragged cough shook his entire frame, a hand lifted to his mouth to muffle the sound. A quick glance over his shoulder assured him that he hadn’t been found out yet, though he most certainly would if he kept this up.
Of course Ilya had to come down with something his first few days after arriving at Shane’s cottage. Blame it on the change of climate, or the fact that the season was over and he could finally relax, but his body wasn’t tolerating it well. He’d woken that morning with a scratchy throat and a headache, but thought nothing of it. It was only later when he started having to swallow down his coughs that he realized it might be more than just dry air bothering him.
He was not going to let this ruin his time. Shane would not know, could not know. If he found out Ilya was sick, he may ask him to leave as that wasn’t part of their plan. Ilya might scare him, or worse, get him sick too. That would not be ideal in the slightest and should be avoided at all costs.
But, how?
They shared a bed now, which was one of Ilya’s favorite things to do. He loved laying in bed with Shane in his arms, the feel of his smooth muscles against his own. He could smell Shane’s seaweed shampoo and mint toothpaste. Ilya could trace those freckles for hours with the pad of his thumb while Shane slept, memorizing each and everyone so that he could dedicate them to memory. Falling asleep to the symphony of Shane’s breaths was unlike anything else. Shane’s presence kept the nightmares at bay, the ones that would wake Ilya in a cold sweat screaming for his mother.
How could they still share a bed when Ilya was most likely contagious?
Ilya realized it would be even more suspicious if he didn’t go back to bed, if he chose a guest room or he couch instead. Shane would wake to a cold space where Ilya once laid and would go searching for him. That would lead to more uncomfortable questions that Ilya might not be able to answer.
No, he needed to return to their bed. He would just try and keep as close to the edge as possible, with his back to Shane so he didn’t breathe on him. Perhaps that would save the Metro’s captain from Ilya’s same fate.
Ilya switched on the faucet and cupped his hands under the water. He brought it up to his face, washing the last traces of sleep from his body. He repeated this twice more before switching off the water and reaching for a nearby towel. He dabbed his face dry, sniffled heavily to find his nose filled, before reaching for the lights. They switched off, plunging the bathroom into darkness before he attempted to open the door to the bedroom.
It was as quiet as when he left it, the only sounds the ticking of a nearby clock on the wall and Shane’s soft breathing. He was in the same position as Ilya left him, curled onto his side with his arm rested on the open space that Ilya previously occupied. The sight warmed Ilya’s heart, a stir of protectiveness overwhelming him to the point it almost hurt. He couldn’t imagine leaving this man’s side, not anymore. Oh, what a dangerous and unhelpful thought.
Ilya tiptoed to the edge of the bed and lifted his side of the covers. He slid into the bed as quietly as possible, wincing at how his ribs shifted when he lowered down. Try as he might to keep silent, Ilya’s stuttering breaths were enough to rouse Shane from his slumber. The Canadian shifted slightly to throw an arm around Ilya’s shoulders, snuggling his back. Ilya tensed for no more than a moment before relaxing back into Shane’s embrace.
Shane buried his head into the back of his neck, his lips warm against the fine hairs at the base of Ilya’s neck. Shane’s leg also came to drape over Ilya’s middle so that even if he wanted to get up, he’d be unable to without waking Shane.
Ilya willed the coughs thickening in his lungs to stay at bay, no way for him to muffle the shaking of his body with Shane practically on top of him. The best thing he could do in this situation was sleep, and although he was certainly tired enough, he feared sleep may never come.
He spent the better part of the night staring out the window, watching the stars shine down and the clouds moving through the sky. Ilya wasn’t sure how long he spent staring until his eyelids finally grew heavy and he drifted off the with the feel of Shane behind him.
It felt like minutes later when Ilya awoke to an all new sensation. It was a prickle derived deep from his sinuses, toying with all the sensitive areas. Frustration curled through his gut as he propped himself up just enough so that he was on his elbow, Shane’s grip never leaving him though it did slip down to his hip. The Canadian appeared still fast asleep, which didn’t give Ilya much leeway for what would happen next.
Ilya pinched his thumb and pointer finger around his flaring nostrils, head bobbed down to brace himself as he sneezed as silent as he could, only a jut of his Adam’s apple in his throat giving him away. The next sneeze was stronger than the first. This time his whole body shook with the attempt to contain it, a shiver racing down his spine that he wasn’t able to fully suppress.
Shit! There was no way Shane didn’t notice that.
Sure enough, Shane shifted beside him, arm falling from his side. At first, Ilya hoped that Shane would fall back asleep, that he would forget Ilya was even right beside him and drift off. They had a busy first couple days, so it wasn’t out of the question for perhaps Shane would just fall right back and Ilya could spend his morning deciding how he was going to hide his budding head cold from his…..lover.
“You okay?”
Fuck! So much for that idea.
“What,” Ilya asked, voice groggy. He just hoped Shane would think it was from sleep and not congestion.
Shane lazily opened his eyes, staring up at Ilya, who was now almost upright beside him. “You were shaking. Are you cold?”
Ilya shook his head, hand that he hadn’t sneezed in, reaching to cup Shane’s cheek. “No, I’m alright. Thought about fixing us some coffee. That sound good, yes?”
Shane grinned from ear to ear. He looked even more radiant like that. Ilya wished he could see that smile on his face everyday. Hell, he wished he could see Shane everyday.
“That sounds amazing. Thank you.”
Ilya didn’t hesitate to scramble out of the bed and make a quick escape out the door and down the hallway. He thanked the abundance of space as he halted in the kitchen, lungs straining as he braced his hands on the counter to cough. It wasn’t just a few light coughs either, but a round of hacks that left his vision blurry and his throat raw. He just hoped that Shane wouldn’t be able to hear him from so far away.
Once Ilya straightened, ribs throbbing from the exertion the coughs caused, he got to work. He found two mugs and started to brew a large cup of coffee in the coffeemaker that Shane had. It seemed to take forever before the dark liquid started to fill the pot, steadily at first before finally starting to increase until the entire pot is filled with delicious liquid. Ilya grumbled to himself as he couldn’t smell the wonderful scent even as he stared daggers into the large pot.
Ilya grasped the coffee pot by the handle and poured equal amounts into both cups. For his own he added a generous amount of cream and sugar, but for Shane he added a splash of oat milk. Shane never told him that’s how he prefers to take his coffee, yet it’s something that Ilya just seemed to know.
With both mugs in hand, Ilya completed the walk back to Shane’s bedroom, finding that Shane had already fallen back into bed, sprawled over both their sides. The very sight twists Ilya’s mouth into a grin, unable to stop himself from placing their coffees on coasters on the nightstand and just staring at him. He can’t believe he’s waited all this time to be with the man he loves, the one that he wants to share the rest of his life with. Sure, he’s never actually told him that, fearful about how Shane might take it. The last thing he wants to do is scare Shane away. He’s already done that and isn’t keen on doing it again.
A wretched burn plunges deep into Ilya’s chest, seizing his breath like a thief in the night. He quickly brings his own coffee mug to his lips and sips, ignoring the burn on the tip of his tongue. Tears leap into the corners of his eyes as he chokes down more than he feels he can handle all to quell that itch radiating through him.
This is not a solution he can count on for long. Shane is going to notice if he just doubles over in a coughing fit, and he’s already suppressed more fits than he can count. His sneezes too prove to be an issue as he may have been able to stifle them earlier, but the more the congestion settled in his head, the less feasible of an option that would be. He needed some kind of brief escape to take a mental inventory, come up with a plan, and hopefully be as conspicuous as possible.
Ilya set his mug down on his respective coaster and reached for his cellphone. He shot ‘Jane’ a quick text to say that he was going for a run and he’d be back soon. Ilya then changed into a pair of gym shorts and a tank top. His tennis shoes were right where he left them by the door, slipping into them easily with his earbuds pressed into his ears. He didn’t plan on doing a whole hell of a lot of running, but just enough to warm his sore muscles couldn’t be a bad idea.
It definitely was.
Ilya hardly made it a few meters from the house into the surrounding woods when he was forced to lean against a tree, gasping for breath. His lungs felt like they were about to explode, eyes bugging out of his head. The world tilted on its axis as Ilya’s left leg crossed his right and he toppled over. He landed in a pile of leaves and twigs, the edge of stick stuck into his thigh. Ilya may have hissed in pain if not for the lack of breath he now possessed.
He fought to keep himself upright, sitting on his ass, staring at the forest that stretched out in front of him. Birds chirped overhead, leaves crinkled as the breeze blew, warm and sweet, through them. It would almost be ideal if not for the crushing weight on his chest accompanied by the furious itch deep within his sinuses. Whatever he was almost able to force back from earlier returned with a burning vengeance, the need all the more consuming.
Blessedly he was alone, with hopefully no chance of Shane to hear him when he was this far from the house. He settled for turning off to the side towards the undergrowth beside him, expression pinched and lips parted. “TcSHs’Shoo! HrcSH’Shoo!” Ilya was left snuffling pitifully, dragging his wrist under his nose to mop up the mess. He really should’ve remember to bring tissues or something as now that the dam broke with those unsuppressed sneezes. That was exactly what he was afraid of.
Deciding he couldn’t just sit here for the rest of the morning, Ilya forced himself to stand. His legs quaked under his weight, the tree behind him possibly the only thing keeping him upright. He blinked the daze from his eyes as he collected his bearings, the feel of the solid ground beneath him the one thing he could trust. His thoughts were a complete jumble, made worse by the rapid expanse of congestion.
Ilya gave his head a shake and started back on the path. Gravel crunched under his shoes as he struggled to maintain a light jog, let alone breaking into an actual run. He knew this trail quite well by now as he usually ran it with Shane, partially around the lake and back. He knew the rough distance of a single kilometer, and he wasn’t even close.
A stitch in his side caused him to slow once more, a hand splayed against his flank. He skidded to a half, one hand on his side and the other on his knee and he began to cough, a harsh almost barking sound that did nothing to aid with the hot flash of pain spreading from his side into his ribs. Face twisted, Ilya staggered back over to the opposite end of the trail and sat back down, coughing pitifully in front of himself until it turned to dry retching.
Tears trickled from the corners of his tightly closed eyes, disgust at the forefront of his mind. Mucus dripped from his nose onto the path. Ilya’s palm came to press against his nose, tip squished against the center of his palm as he rubbed in tight circles. A gooey squelch greeted his ears, and when he sniffled hard, he felt the congestion dribble down his throat and trigger another coughing spell.
“Blyat,” Ilya exclaimed to no one’s benefit but his own. It wasn’t like anyone could hear him way out here.
Just the thought of how far he’d managed to make it reminded Ilya how long it would take him to return to the cottage. Part of him wanted to remain stuck on the forest floor for as long as possible, collect his bearings, maybe even rest his eyes. The more logical part of him reminded him that Shane would be waiting for him and would grow worried if he deferred from his usual pattern. He cursed Shane for being so observant, the pain in his lungs increasing as he hauled himself back to his feet.
Ilya’s eyes stared through the thick tree line, to the vast vegetation that stretched as far as he could see. It was truly beautiful the way that sunlight caught on the thick oak trees combined with the whisper of the breeze against his skin. Twigs snapped as animals prowled the undergrowth, veering deeper into the trees on the hunt for food and water. Birdsong chittered overhead, not the harsh call of a loon, but of softer chirps in a symphony of sound. He would stay here all day if he could. Hell, he would stay here for the rest of his life he could.
Shaking his head to clear it, Ilya bunched his tired muscles and readied himself for the walk back. He just hoped his body would cooperate.
To no one’s surprise but his own, it took Ilya an extra half and hour off his usual time to stagger up the steps to the front of the cottage. His brow knit in concentration, a cough smothered into his arm before he opened the door slowly and squeezed himself through.
“Hey,” an eager voice sounded from the kitchen. Shane rounded the corner, eyes bright when they caught sight of Ilya. “You could’ve waited for me and we could’ve gone together.”
Ilya waved him off. “Wanted to let you sleep.”
Shane grinned, eyes dropped to the floor. “Are you hungry? I’m making omelets.”
Truthfully, no, Ilya wasn’t. However, Shane didn’t need to know that. “Sounds good.” Ilya couldn’t help but sniffle, a knuckle quick to swipe at the side before his nose could drip. “Going to shower.”
Ilya brushed past Shane quickly, even as he heard Shane call for him to be quick. Ilya didn’t bother to respond, not trusting his voice as he clenched his throat to stop another cough from tearing free.
He practically threw himself into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, springing for the shower and turning on the faucet. Once the water began to flow, Ilya pressed himself as tightly into the corner as possible, body seized with a flurry of coughs. They didn’t stop after a few moments and Ilya briefly pondered if he could actually cough up a lung. Moisture clung to his eyelashes against the strain, one hand anchored on the wall to keep him from falling forward.
A slew of Russian swears left his lips when he was finally able to take in an unobstructed breath. It felt like a weight settled over his chest, combined with the increasing congestion in his head, made him feel just a little woozy. He hoped the steam might be able to help loosen some of the worst of the pressure building behind his eyes, though he didn’t want to make it obvious by taking too long of a shower.
Once the bathroom filled with steam, Ilya shrugged out of his clothes. His shorts and boxers pooled at his feet, to which he kicked them aside. His shirt joined it moments later as he stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror. His exhaustion filled eyes were the focus, dark bags illuminated against his ghostly pale skin. Perhaps a shower would bring a new wave of life into his body. Ilya doubted it, but he would try.
The shower had some of the desired effects with Ilya sneezing no less than five times when the congestion finally started to loosen. Sure, they were stifled, so they didn’t bring the relief he craved, but he would be damned if his sneezed in this echoey room. Shane may be int he kitchen for now, but he wouldn’t put it past the Canadian to walk past the bathroom at any moment for various reasons. So, the sneezes were contained between his thumb and pointer finger, ears ringing in the aftermath as he was forced to cough to clear the lingering phlegm from the back of his throat.
Ilya scrubbed the sweat and sickness from his skin with vigor. Red lines appeared on his skin the more that he furiously scrubbed. The soap had long since been washed clean, yet Ilya didn’t ease up. He kept scrubbing, skin flecked under his fingernails. Frustration poured out of him until he finally sagged against the opposite side of the shower, water streaming down his trembling frame. Soreness coated Ilya like a blanket, abating only when he stepped back into the full force of the stream. His wet curls clung to his neck and forehead, water dripping into his eyes and mouth.
He would’ve stayed in there forever if he could. However, the water soon ran cool against his skin, a shiver racing down his spine. Reluctantly he reached out to shut off the spray, a cough rattling through his infected lungs.
Briefly, he stood there, gooseflesh sprouting over his skin. He gave his head a shake, water droplets raining around him. He slid the glass door open and stepped out, grasping a nearby towel and drying his hair as quickly as possible. The curls were still damp, but Ilya hardly noticed as he dried off the rest of his body. When he bent down to dry his legs, black dots flooded his vision. Staggering, he reached out to the vanity to catch himself before he could plummet to the floor.
Ilya struggled to right himself, muscles howling in protest. His fingers dug into the roots of his hair to push his curls back from his eyes when he finally stood to his full height, chest quivering with the need to cough. With the water no longer filling the space, he didn’t dare give into the harshness of it, instead allowing one or two to shake him with his lips pursed, hoping it was quieter than it sounded in his head.
He cursed himself for not bringing a change of clothes in with him as he’d been in quite a hurry. That meant he’d be forced with a towel around his waist to venture to their bedroom. It took a moment for him to tuck the towel in place, open the door a crack, and look outside with his gaze flickering to and fro to see if he could see a glimpse of Shane sneaking about.
There was no sign of Shane, but the sounds coming from the kitchen was enough of a sign for Ilya to believe he was still there. He squeezed his way out of the room, practically freezing once the cool air touched his skin. He darted into their bedroom and dropped by his suitcase, easily pulling out a clean pair of boxers as well as sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. Ilya didn’t bother rushing back into the bathroom, instead pulling on all the clothes right there in the bedroom, entire body relaxing into the soft and warm feel of his clothing.
Ilya headed back into the bathroom to hang up his towel and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looked no better than before, only seeming to be smaller with his entire body hunched in his oversized sweatshirt. The color may take away from his pale features, though he worried Shane would be able to see through him easily. Well, he couldn’t stay in the bathroom for the foreseeable future no matter how long he wanted to.
Hands shoved deep into his pockets, he shouldered the bathroom door open and crept down the hallway. Despite his sweatshirt, he was still shivering, the soreness of his throat intensifying with each swallow. His eyes were downcast as he ventured the rest of the way into the kitchen to find that Shane was finishing setting the table with two plates filled with eggs and fruit. Ilya’s plate even had two slices of rye toast.
The idea of swallowing anything right now was less than appealing. However, if keeping up appearances was his goal, he needed to eat something.
“I hope it’s okay,” Shane broke in, taking Ilya’s silence as distain.
Ilya forced a smile before taking his seat. “Is perfect. Thank you.”
Shane hesitantly took his seat beside Ilya, eyes watching intently as Ilya took a bite of eggs with the toast, only to follow it with a generous amount of orange juice. Sure enough, the dryness of the toast scratched along his inflamed throat. The orange juice soothed it enough for Ilya to force it down, though it was a temporary solution at best. Forgoing the toast, Ilya nibbled on the fruit and managed at least half of the eggs before his throat proclaimed it’s discomfort and he burst into a small fit of coughs.
Ilya reached for the glass of orange juice and began to gulp it down greedily, Shane’s attention never leaving him. Shane set his fork down when Ilya stopped coughing, the orange juice drained from the glass. His chest trembled as if he still needed to cough, but Ilya clenched his jaw hard to contain it.
“Ilya,” Shane started knowingly.
Ilya ignored him, hunched back over his plate to stubbornly force the last few bites of cantaloupe through his teeth. They were much easier to chew and swallow than the toast, though he doubted that Shane was seeing it that way. The Canadian’s gaze was unnerving, never leaving Ilya. He sensed that Shane wanted to say more, but Ilya was being purposely rude. The less he needed to speak, the better.
Shane took his time eating while Ilya rose to his feet to clear his plate. He kept his back to Shane so he couldn’t see him throwing away what was left of the toast and eggs, quick to start the dishes even without Shane adding his. The warmth from the water chased some of the chill away as he was forced to roll up his sweatshirt sleeves and expose his skin to the air. He was so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice Shane coming behind him, arms wrapped around his middle.
“Hey,” Shane breathed as he rested his chin on Ilya’s shoulder. His breath was warm on Ilya’s neck, chasing the worst of the chill away. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ilya mumbled.
Shane kept hold, much to Ilya’s dismay. He still didn’t trust his lungs to comply and every word he spoke felt wrong. Could Shane detect that? Or was Ilya just being paranoid?
“I can tell something is bothering you.” Shane kissed the back of Ilya’s neck as Ilya set his plate on the drying rack beside the sink. “We were going to be honest with each other here, remember? Say what we actually feel.”
Ilya remembered this conversation well. However, that was before his entire body decided to betray him. Shane didn’t need to know about how he felt. Worse, he didn’t know if when Shane found out he was sick, if he would want him to leave. Shane’s entire life was so controlled and prepared that an illness didn’t fit nicely into that timeline. Ilya was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t register Shane turning him around to face him, hands gliding over his cheeks.
“Ilya,” Shane pressed. “I know something is going on. Just tell me.”
Shane’s hands dropped from Ilya’s cheeks to instead grabbing his damp hands. He squeezed Ilya’s fingers, frowning at the cold. “Are you cold? It’s the middle of summer.”
Ilya couldn’t bring himself to answer as he was fighting a losing battle with his sinuses. He’d felt the prickle once he finished eating and hoped it would lay dormant until he could break away from Shane. That was a wasted thought as all the sensitive areas in his sinuses burned with need, not even the rapid blinking of his eyes or the tongue against the roof of his mouth could stave off the sensation. Shane was also far too close for comfort, still gripping his hands in his own.
Shane watched him intently, too intently for Ilya’s own good. His body was against him, blocking any escape without Ilya shoving him back, something that he couldn’t bring himself to do. Options limited, he did what he could to wrench his hands from Shane’s grasp and cover them over his nose and mouth, head ducked down so that his curls almost touched Shane’s chest as he sneezed harshly three times. He kept his hands cupped over his face in case there were more, hoping that he saved Shane from the worst of it.
To Ilya’s surprise, Shane didn’t jump away or exclaim how gross Ilya was. Instead his fingers tangled in his still wet curls, massaging lightly until Ilya trusted himself enough to stand, hands falling at his sides as he sniffled hard to clear some of the lingering congestion.
“Bless you,” Shane murmured softly, a hand trailing upwards.
Ilya visibly flinched, just for a fleeting moment. His eyes suddenly focused as he started to lean into the gentle touch he knew Shane possessed. “Sorry.” Ilya wasn’t sure if he was apologize for sneezing or flinching, or any number of other offenses. He just felt like it needed to be said.
Shane brushed a few stray curls from Ilya’s forehead before resting the backs of his fingers against it. Ilya relaxed into the touch despite himself. Shane’s touch was the only one that he craved. It was something he would never confess to the man in front of him, even if he felt his eyes would betray him.
“Ilya,” Shane started pointedly. “Are you feeling alright?”
Ilya debated on lying, to try and preserve what little ego he had left. All of that vanished when he looked into Shane’s knowing gaze. Anything that he said now would be easily dissected no matter what facade he attempted to carry. Shane was smarter than that, especially when it came to Ilya.
“I should leave,” Ilya choked out as he attempted to sidestep away from Shane.
Shane’s eyes widened in shock. “What?” He lunged forward and caught Ilya by the wrist before he could dart down the hallway. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Ilya managed to wrangle his wrist back from Shane, eyes downcast. “You don’t want this,” he croaked.
“Don’t want what? Your cold? Yeah, I’m sure that I don’t. But I want you and that comes with the cold.” Shane’s eyes glowed in the sunlight that streamed through the tall windows. “I certainly don’t want you to leave.”
Ilya’s head snapped up. A look of surprise passed over his features as though he couldn’t fathom what Shane just said. “Y-You don’t?”
“No, of course not! I mean not unless you do.”
Ilya shook his head vigorously. He didn’t want to leave unless Shane wanted him to. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing from the controlled and prepared Shane Hollander.
“What if I get you sick?” Ilya lifted the crook of his elbow and hacked into it, eyes squeezed shut as he willed his breakfast not to make a reappearance.
Ilya was so caught up in his coughing that he didn’t notice Shane close the space between them, a hand rested on his back to rub in soothing circles.
“Then you get me sick,” Shane answered when Ilya’s coughing finally died down. “It’s not like we have anything we need to do. If it means staying in bed with you, I’d say it’s worth it.”
A warmth like one that Ilya had never felt before warmed through him. No one since his mother had ever showed him such kindness and care. Hell, no one wanted to be around him when he was healthy, let alone sick. Shane was the only one who treated him like someone and now what he could do. Even when the risk was contagion, Shane wouldn’t leave his side. The sentiment almost brought tears to his eyes.
“Speaking of which, you really should go back to bed, or the couch at least. I don’t know how you managed a run.”
“Was barely a run. More of a….fall?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? I could’ve given you something before you got to this point.”
The question hangs in the air between them, neither of them expecting an answer. There’s so much that Ilya could say in response, yet won’t. To his relief, Shane does’t press it as he leads Ilya towards the couch while the Russian is forced to break away from Shane to sneeze again, this time lifting his sweatshirt over his face instead.
“Bless you!” Shane veers off towards the hall before returning with a box of tissues in hand. “Here. These are probably better than your hand.”
There’s a small command embedded in his words, to which the corner of Ilya’s mouth twitches in a tiny smile. “Yes, better,” he agrees as he takes the box, rips open the top, and gives into a series of wet blows that do very little in actually clearing his head. Although, Shane appears satisfied as he anchors a hand on Ilya’s shoulder to lead him back to the couch.
Ilya sits down hard, still blowing his nose while Shane gathers a blanket and pillow. Each is set down with care while Shane holds back until Ilya finishes, nose still leaking at the edges. A few chesty coughs add to his misery, back hunched and shoulders raised until he regains his breath.
“Sit up a little,” encouraged Shane as he stacked two pillows under where Ilya would rest his head. “It should help a little with the coughing.”
Ilya’s eyes, once moody and dark, turned glassy with a haze not solely brought on by sickness. “You do not need to do all this for me.”
“What? Course I do. You’re sick.”
Shane said it so matter-of-fact that Ilya could only agree. He was sick, but that wasn’t Shane’s problem. If anything he was sure the Canadian should be frustrated with him for bringing sickness into his home and disrupting his plans. They had so much they wanted to do in the two weeks of Ilya’s stay besides rot on the couch while Ilya struggled not to drown in his own mucus.
As though reading his thoughts, Shane stooped down and kissed the top of his floppy curls. “It’s okay,” Shane whispered affectionately. “I’m right where I want to be.”
A lump lodged in Ilya’s throat as he reached out a hand to catch Shane by the elbow. “Stay? Here with me?”
His voice sounded so small that Ilya hardly recognized it. This wasn’t the voice of a man who was at the top of his professional game and didn’t need anyone. No, this was the voice of a boy that was neglected his entire life and was looking for someone to assure him that they cared and they wouldn’t leave no matter what happened. Ilya lost that when he was twelve and he’d been hoping he’d find it again ever since.
Shane’s face morphed into one of unbridled care. “Of course I will. Do you want to put your head on my lap?”
It was a relatively common position Ilya found himself in as of late with his body curled onto the couch and head pooled in Shane’s lap. The Canadian would run his fingers through his curls, oftentimes until Ilya fell asleep. He’d never told Shane how much he enjoyed it, but somehow he was certain that Shane knew.
Wordlessly, Ilya twisted his hips so his legs landed on the couch. Shane sat back with the pillows discarded between himself and the armrest. Ilya’s head rested on Shane’s lap with Shane throwing the blanket around Ilya, tucking it in around his body. One of Ilya’s hands found Shane’s knee and latched on tight, the other still holding the box of tissues as he sniffled against them pitifully.
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” Shane sympathized as Ilya blew his nose once more. “Do you want to take anything for it?”
“Not now. Do not move.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Okay, but later. We don’t want it getting worse.”
The prospect of it getting worse wasn’t something Ilya ever considered. He was never one to seek out medical attention if he could help it and feared that without Shane, even a dangerously high fever or inability to breathe would be ignored. Ilya had never been great at taking care of himself when it mattered, only to push through ailments until they killed him or he eventually felt better.
“M’sorry for all this,” Ilya muttered once he’d given his nose one final swipe.
“Hey! You don’t have to be sorry, at least not for this.” Shane’s fingers drew deeper through his hair until they scratched along his scalp. If Ilya was feeling better, he may have moaned. “We’ll get you feeling better, and until then we have plenty of cuddles and baths to look forward to.”
“Hmmm, baths.”
Shane chuckled. “Let’s see how you’re doing in an hour and we’ll go from there.”
Ilya gripped Shane’s knee like his life depended on it. Shane gave him time to formulate what he wanted to say.
“You did not have to, but thank you.”
Shane didn’t need to ask what for. A genuine smile, the one reserved for just Ilya, spread across Shane’s face. Although Ilya couldn’t see him, Ilya knew what graced Shane’s face.
There was so much more that Ilya wanted to say, but curled up with Shane against him even with his nose stuffed up and throat raw, he determined it could wait.
All Ilya needed was Shane at his anchor and everything else would finally fall into place.