Chapter Text
Shane Hollander is a man of routine. He’s been this way since childhood, when he’d whine and cry and shut himself down if anything changed in his day to day schedule. Living on his own, starting university, and having a part-time job requires so much energy that he must abide by a routine, or else he’ll lose his mind.
So, it’s a little telling when he, for the first time in his life, manages to sleep through his alarm. The day of his last midterm.
He knows something is up when he also, for the first time in his life, wakes up feeling actually rested. The anxiety medication he’s been on since his pre-teen years has messed up his quality of sleep, and Shane is so used to feeling exhausted whenever he wakes up, that when he cracks his eyes open and actually feels good, he knows something is wrong. He checks his phone.
10:48 AM. 12 minutes until his exam starts.
Shane shoots out of bed with the grace of a fawn with four broken legs. He pulls a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, not even bothering to change out of the top he slept in, and runs a hand through his hair before grabbing his bag and practically sprinting out the door. He had so many plans to wake up early- a study room booked, a pre-made healthy breakfast in the fridge, a new pack of flashcards to cram at the last minute.
He’s so busy thinking of everything he’s either messed up already or is about to mess up that he doesn’t realize Ilya’s door is open. He only comes to this conclusion when he runs directly into the massive plain of Ilya’s chest.
“Hey, hey, woah!” Ilya steadies him, holding onto his shoulders tightly to keep him from falling. He ducks his head to look at Shane’s face, his eyebrows pinched in concern. “Who is chasing you?”
“I have- I have an exam in- fuck, in ten minutes, and it’s an eleven minute walk, seven if I run, I need to go, I’m sorry-“ Shane pants, trying to squirm away, but Ilya keeps a hold on him.
“I drive you. Come.”
To his credit, Ilya makes haste. He quickly gets Irina’s car seat in the back seat of his Jeep Cherokee, which- really? He’s driving as fast as he can while maintaining traffic laws to get Shane on campus on time. Shane, who, to nobody’s surprise, is still freaking the hell out.
“Breathe,” Ilya says quietly when Shane makes a gutted noise at the light turning red. “You will not do well if you are so… in your head.”
“I’m so fucked,” Shane says, dropping his head into his hands and pulling at his hair. “I’m so fucked.”
Ilya shocks him by reaching over, pulling one of his hands out of his hair and gripping it tightly. “You will be okay.”
“This is my nightmare,” Shane deadpans, sitting back as Ilya begins to drive. He doesn’t let go of his hand. “This is literally my fucking nightmare, Ilya. Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt of this? Sleeping through my exam?”
“Did not sleep through exam,” Ilya counters. He rubs his thumb along the vein of Shane’s wrist, the touch simultaneously burning and freezing. “You have… six minutes. I get you there on time.”
Shane lets out a deep sigh of relief when the front doors to campus appear, and hops out of the passenger seat with a little more grace than he got out of bed with. He runs over to the backseat and opens the door, grabbing his backpack, and, to his own shock, finds himself pausing to look at Irina.
Her big, bright eyes are staring up at him curiously, her lips curling in a smile. He can’t stop himself from cupping the side of her face, a soft smile replacing his permanent scowl. He leans down and presses a tiny kiss to her head, laughing when she babbles happily.
“Okay, okay, get going,” Ilya says, but his voice is fond as he watches through his mirror. “Text me when you are done. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Ilya. I can’t- I can’t thank you enough.”
“Dinner,” Ilya says, suddenly a little shy. “Tonight. You can thank me then.” He turns, addressing Shane. “Nice sweater, by the way.”
Shane opens and closes his mouth a few times before nodding, waving to Irina one more time as he closes the door softly and practically sprints into the school. He slides into his seat with one minute to spare.
It’s only when he’s halfway through his exam and he goes to chew on the string of his sweater that he realizes what Ilya meant.
He’s wearing his hoodie.
-
Ilya Rozanov has had to turn his entire life, his entire routine around, because of the beautiful devil in his backseat with a gummy smile and chubby cheeks. He had to download children’s songs, buy children’s books, learn how to assemble a crib in less than a day. He’s been so desperate for some kind of routine that he’s now, after having Irina for just over a month, finally returning to the gym.
He takes the car seat out, whispering to her in Russian as he enters the gym he used to go to daily, ignoring the dirty looks from people. I mean- seriously, it’s before noon on a weekday. Do people not have jobs?
He skips cardio for now, going over to the stretching section and grabbing two yoga mats. He puts them both down and unclips Irina, carefully depositing her on the mat and laughing quietly when she rolls over onto her tummy, her thumb in her mouth.
“Good girl. We stretch,” he explains to her, sitting down on the mat next to her and stretching his legs out. He’s sore- so fucking sore- from constantly having additional weight on his side from carrying her. He never thought he’d be some old, decrepit man, but here he is. “Touch toes. No- no, not in your mouth. Icky.”
He picks her up, placing her on his lap, and helps her stretch out her floppy limbs. She squeals loudly, grabbing onto his finger and sticking it in her mouth, but he lets her. He’d let her do just about anything
He slowly goes through an upper body workout, tucked away in the corner of the gym, with Irina getting some high quality tummy time. He’s glad he thought to bring a few toys, because halfway through she starts getting fussy, upset that Ilya’s attention is on the 35 pound dumbbells in his hands and not her.
Ilya feels fucking incredible afterward. His muscles are aching, and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, but he can’t stop himself from picking Irina up, holding her close and using his free hand to take a picture in the mirror. He frowns at it, repositions himself so the dark lines of his arm muscles are more displayed, and nods when he gets a good one.
He sends it off to Shane.
Ilya:
Irina and I are wishing you good luck on exam!
He deletes the exclamation mark. He can’t be too enthusiastic.
Truth be told, Shane’s all he’s been thinking about. Well- when he’s not stressing every possible thought that something might go wrong with Irina. He’s only known Shane for a few weeks, but the man has quickly swindled his way into Ilya’s brain. He’s been busy lately, hasn’t been coming around much, but Ilya knows how exam season affects people. He keeps himself busy waiting for Shane to knock on the door most days.
It helps that Irina seems to be in love with Shane. He was upset, at first. That he couldn’t manage to keep her quiet, keep her content. That Shane barged his way into their apartment and managed to turn his own flesh and blood against him. He can’t blame her, though. He feels the same.
Ilya’s never been a particularly possessive person. He’s always been protective, the dog that barks at people who would snap at his mother or would hit on Svetlana at the bar. But something about seeing Shane in his hoodie, with his last name embroidered on the sleeve- Ilya has to take a couple of deep breaths to focus.
He shoots the picture off to Svetlana, who’s been keeping him company over the phone most nights. He stretches his sore arms and opts to shower at home instead of trying to wrangle Irina into the men’s change room. He’s unlocking his front door when his phone buzzes, and he nearly drops his keys to grab it.
Sveta:
Getting back in shape for my visit in December?
He sighs, disappointed. Well - not disappointed. He loves hearing from Svetlana. But he’s been waiting for an update from another certain ‘S’ name in his phone.
Ilya:
You wish.
Sveta:
No, no. This is to impress your new man, yes? Mousy neighbour boy?
Ilya:
Go to work
He scowls at his phone and brings the car seat into the bathroom. His stupid carrier is still delayed. He rests it on the floor and hops into the shower, quickly scrubbing himself clean and talking quietly to Irina to keep her content.
“We will go out for dinner tonight,” he informs her as he double shampoos his hair. He likes the way his curls look when he actually takes care of them. “And you are going to be good girl who does not make scene in restaurant. Yes?”
She whines loudly in response. Ilya turns the water off and sighs, wrapping a towel around his waist, and attends to her quickly. He unclips her and brings her back to the little play pen in the living room, letting her wiggle around and get her bearings. He dresses quickly and goes to take another picture of Irina to join the other 14,000 he’s been taking, when Shane’s name pops up on the screen. He lets it ring for a couple of seconds before answering, trying to appear casual.
“Hello,” he greets, then cringes at his voice. Shane lets out a little huff of air on the other side.
“I am- so fucking sorry for this morning. Jesus. You shouldn’t have seen me like that. I was- well, I mean, I still am- a mess. Thank you so much for driving me. I swear I was like… half asleep in the car. I’m so sorry, I probably screwed your morning up, I shouldn’t have let you-“
“Shane,” Ilya interrupts. He can’t stop the little smile on his face when he wipes down the condensation on the mirror. “Take a breath. You sound like crazy person.”
“You probably think I am a crazy person,” Shane replies, then pauses, taking a shuddering breath.
“Good,” Ilya praises quietly. Shane goes silent for a long beat before clearing his throat, sounding much more calm.
“Sorry. I’m- I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy day,” Ilya can hear noise in the background, a door opening, before the soft buzz of wind accompanies Shane’s voice. “Sorry.”
“But are you sorry?”
“Asshole,” Shane scoffs. “I… uh, I wasn’t sure. If you actually meant it. Dinner, I mean.”
“Of course I mean it,” Ilya puts the phone on speaker and puts it down on the counter. “I do not say things I don’t mean, Hollander.”
Shane laugh a little. “Okay. Where? When?”
“Why don’t you let me plan it?” Ilya pitches. He grabs some hair cream and runs it through his damp curls, beginning to define some of them the way Svetlana showed him. “You just look pretty. I pick you up at six.”
“I… I work until six thirty.”
Ilya rolls his eyes. “Then I pick you up at seven.”
“Okay, okay,” Shane mumbles into the phone. Ilya can hear the bell of the cafe. “Thank you again. You didn’t have to do that.”
I think I might just do anything for you, Ilya’s mind offers. Instead, he nods, even though Shane can’t see him. “Have a good shift.”
“You too. I mean- I mean, not you too. I- uh. I’m just gonna hang up.”
“Bye,” Ilya chuckles, pressing the end button on the call. He finishes styling his hair and walks back to the living room, flopping on the couch and looking toward Irina. “How do you feel about a new mommy?”
-
Shane’s practically hyperventilating by the time the clock hits 6:59. Rose sent him home early again, saying he looked like he was going to puke in the dark roast, but Shane certainly didn’t complain about the extra half hour of getting ready time. Still, after showering, trying on four different outfits, and attempting to make his hair do something more than just sit atop his head, he still feels stupid.
He hasn’t been on a date since… well, since Rose. And that was over half a decade ago.
It’s not that he doesn’t like the idea of finding someone. It’s all he thinks about sometimes. Falling in love, starting a family. It’s the fact that instead of a woman at the altar, he pictures another man, and that thought is paralyzing enough some days to make him forgo his idea of love in the first place.
Until Ilya showed up.
Shane has been compared to an emotionally repressed pet rock before. Hayden always complains about how he’s impossible to cuddle with - an uncomfortable, bumpy pillow that doesn’t know how to wrap his arms around someone else. Rose beat that habit out of him, but he still flinches when she touches him, when anyone touches him.
He doesn’t flinch when Ilya does.
He doesn’t even know if this is a date. Ilya never said the word date, he just said dinner. Shane goes for dinner with his friends all the time. Sure, the two of them have spent the last few weeks beating around the bush, flirting cautiously, but nothing has been said. For all Shane knows, this is a professional dinner asking him to stay the hell out of him and Irina’s lives.
A soft, confident knock is heard at his front door. Shane hastily rips the bow tie he had attempted off of his collared shirt and fixes his hair a few more times, rubbing his sweaty hands off on his jeans. Oh well. He opens the door, his mouth going dry at the sight.
Ilya. In a pair of dress pants. With a white, billowy long sleeve. With the top three buttons undone.
“Uh.”
Ilya lets him stare for a moment before laughing softly. “Hello. You look better than this morning.”
“Uh,” Shane repeats. Irina squirms in Ilya’s arms, reaching out for Shane, and he doesn’t hesitate before gently plucking her from his hold. The soft weight of Irina settles the nerves in his stomach. “Sorry. Hi. You look nice.”
“You say sorry a lot,” Ilya points out quietly. He reaches out, and Shane holds Irina outwards, thinking he’s moving to adjust something on her, but his big hand slides right past her, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind Shane’s ear. Shane’s whole body relaxes into the touch. “You look very good,” Ilya repeats.
Shane goes to dismiss him, to shake his head and say he just threw something on, but something in Ilya’s eyes makes him want to believe that maybe he does look nice- maybe he is something somebody would want to look at.
“Thank you,” he says instead, the words coming out as a quiet whisper.
Ilya removes his hand, and Shane practically sways, busying himself with adjusting Irina. She squeaks happily and nuzzles into his hold.
“And you look pretty too,” Shane says to her, his face splitting in a grin when she claps her hands loudly in front of him and reaches to tug on his hair. Ilya rests a hand on the small of his back, leading him out of his apartment door and down the stairs.
“I buy another carrier today,” Ilya speaks as they walk. “I think I got… what is word?”
“Scammed,” Shane supplies. He tightens his hold on Irina as they exit the building, feeling the cool wind on his skin.
“Yes. Scammed.” He opens the back door of the car and helps put Irina in, then rushes over to the other side to open the passengers door for Shane. “So I spend more money.”
Shane can’t help the heat that rises to his cheeks, the little giggle that escapes his mouth at Ilya’s nonchalant display of romance. He slides into the seat and buckles his seatbelt, feeling his nerves melt away.
Ilya drives them down to a fancy looking restaurant. He’s a good driver - if Shane had managed to be awake this morning, he may have appreciated it - but Ilya’s fussy, constantly changing the direction the vents are blowing, cracking his own window, checking on Irina through the mirror, sparing glances at Shane every few moments. The ten minute drive seems like thirty seconds.
“Did you book a table?” Shane asks, his anxious demeanor coming back at the amount of cars in the parking lot. Nobody will be here, his brain supplies. This isn’t the restaurant Auntie Lisa comes to every week. She won’t see you. She won’t take a picture and send it in the Facebook Messenger groupchat. She won't out you to your entire family.
Ilya dismisses him with a wave of his hand, allowing Shane to unclip Irina from the seat and carry her inside. She whines in annoyance when they enter, the loud environment and bright lights bugging her, and though Shane would never say it out loud, he feels the same way. He squints at the line up to the hostess stand, bouncing Irina gently when she begins to fuss.
Ilya makes idle small talk while they wait, Shane’s stomach beginning to twist in both hunger and discomfort. He feels underdressed. After nearly twenty minutes of waiting in line, they get to the front, and Ilya hasn't even opened his mouth to say anything when the girl behind the desk gives them a nasty look.
“Sorry,” she says, though she really doesn’t sound sorry. “No babies allowed in here.”
“What?” Ilya shakes his head. “I have brought her here before.”
“Maybe for our lunch special,” the girl drawls. She’s looking at Shane now. “No babies allowed after five. And there’s a dress code.”
Shane swallows the lump in his throat. Ilya’s about to protest, about to make a scene, but he shakes his head, moving closer to Ilya. “Let’s just- let’s go.”
“This is bullshit-“
“Ilya,” Shane’s voice cracks. “Let’s go. Please.”
Ilya softens, sighing quietly and allowing Shane to lead them out of the restaurant. They get back in the car and Shane takes a few deep breaths.
“Sorry,” he says impulsively. “I- uh, I didn’t know about the dress code. I’m sorry-“
“No,” Ilya interrupts. “Is bullshit. You look amazing.”
Shane huffs out a quiet sigh. He cups the back of his head and looks out the window. “I guess it makes sense. No babies.”
“No,” Ilya repeats. When Shane looks at him, his jaw is tense, his knuckles white. “No. Is not your outfit, is not baby. Is- is us. Two men with a baby. They have problem with that.”
Shane’s jaw drops a bit. He never even thought of that. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
It’s quiet for a few beats before Ilya starts the car. “Am sorry. Should not have taken you there. Now night is… night is ruined.”
Shane’s eyebrows furrow. “Hey, no,” he says softly. Ilya puts his hand behind his headrest as he reverses out of the parking spot. “No, not ruined. How about… how about we just cook at my place?”
“You should not have to cook for me.”
“I’m not good at it,” Shane tries to break the tension. “Drop me and Irina off. Go pick up some pizza or something. I’ll tidy quickly.”
Ilya glances at him, his eyes softening. “You are sure?”
“Positive.”
So, less than twenty minutes later, Shane is stress cleaning his apartment with one hand, holding Irina close with the other. She cries whenever he puts her down. So, he’s kicking his laundry into the closet with his foot, wiping down his counters while humming to Irina, and trying to tidy up enough to impress Ilya. Which, to be fair, should be in no place to judge apartment cleanliness.
He’s readjusting the few chairs at his kitchen table when he hears a knock on the door.
“It’s open!” Shane calls. He looks down at Irina and smiles. “It’s okay, Ilya’s back, we’re gonna get you a bottle and-“
“Shane?”
Oh. Fuck.
“… Mom?!”