Chapter Text
Ilya sat with those questions, with his own thoughts and feelings, for a long time. He did not bring it up again, and Shane did not push, but he knew Ilya well enough to know he was still thinking about it and would talk to someone when he felt ready.
The next time it actually came up was in Galina’s office, during one of their now monthly sessions.
Her office was quiet, calm, in a way that always naturally cracked Ilya open, whether he wanted to or not. He sat back against the couch, one leg tucked under the other, twisting his ring around his finger as he tried to decide where to start.
Galina didn’t rush him. She never did.
“You’ve been thinking about something,” she said after a moment, her voice calm, observant rather than probing.
“Is it obvious?” Ilya huffed out a soft laugh.
“It is to me,” she said, with the faintest hint of a smile. Ilya had spent enough hours on this couch for her to know when something was keeping his mind busy.
He considered deflecting, if only for a moment. Then he thought better of it.
“I’ve been reading about gender,” he said instead, gauging her reaction, “About people who are…not exactly men or women. Non-binary. Gender-queer. Something like it.”
Galina nodded once, slow, “And something about that resonated with you?”
“I guess,” Ilya shrugged, like he was trying to soften the blow. Then he immediately shook his head, exhaling in frustration, “But also…I don’t know. It’s not simple.”
“It usually isn’t. Not when it matters,” she said gently.
Ilya let out a soft chuckle at that, “Shane said something similar. That I would not make up an identity crisis for fun.”
That made Galina smile, “You should listen to your husband sometimes. He is a smart man.”
Ilya could not keep the fond smile off his own lips whenever they talked about Shane – and she was right, Shane often knew things he did not.
“I don’t feel like I’m not a man,” he elaborated, “I’ve never felt like I was in the wrong body. I don’t feel like anything about it needs to be changed.”
“But,” Galina prompted softly. She knew when a ‘but’ was coming before it was ever said out loud, and Ilya had hated that at first, but had come to appreciate it over time. Sometimes he needed some gentle nudging.
“But-” he hesitated, searching for the right words. How was he supposed to explain the chaos he was feeling in his head, in his heart? How such a simple question had unravelled him in ways he never could have anticipated?
“I think I have always felt different. Or people told me I was. Even when I was trying not to be.”
The words hung between them, uncommented. They had talked about this enough in the past, enough for her to understand that most of it must have come from Ilya’s father. Or brother.
“How so?” She asked instead, inviting him to reflect on his feelings. Ilya hated that part. He also knew that was the necessary part.
Ilya shrugged, not dismissively, just uncertain. Like he was afraid of defining himself, afraid of his vulnerability being seen – even after all these years.
“Softer, maybe. More…sensitive. I never really cared about what other people think, even if I did things they thought a man should not be doing.”
“Like?”
He glanced down at his hands. His nails were bare right now, but he remembered the last time he had painted them - black, keeping the colour on until it chipped at the edges, Shane absentmindedly picking at the polish whenever they were sitting together, something that seemed to soothe him when he was feeling stressed or anxious.
“I don’t mind painting my nails,” he said, “Or wearing things that aren’t-” he gestured vaguely, unsure of the correct term, “Super masculine. It’s fun, but I never really thought about it. It doesn’t feel like I’m pretending. I’m still me.”
Galina nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“And I’ve always been like that,” he added, “But now I know people have words for that. And I have to ask myself if those words fit.”
“That’s something we can try to figure out, if you want to,” Galina offered, only continuing when Ilya gave her a small nod.
“It might help to separate a few things first, because right now you are mixing up a lot of things, and that can feel confusing. We have gender expression and gender identity. They often overlap, but they’re not the same.”
Ilya looked at her, listening, wanting to learn. Wanting to understand. He had read about it, mostly in English, but truth to be told, it was difficult, especially because some words still felt too big for him, too complicated, even after all these years.
“Gender expression is how you present yourself - clothing, style, mannerisms,” she explained, “It’s what you described - painting your nails, wearing different types of clothing – all of that falls under expression.”
Ilya sat with that for a moment before responding, “So that doesn’t have to mean anything about my identity.”
“Not necessarily,” she agreed, “A man can do and wear things that are considered feminine and still feel entirely comfortable identifying as a man.”
Ilya nodded slowly. That part made sense.
“And gender identity,” she continued, “is your own sense of who you are. How you feel on the inside, in your heart and mind. Man, woman, both, neither, or something else entirely.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” Ilya quietly admitted, “Because I don’t feel like I’m not a man. But I also don’t feel like that word explains all of me?”
Galina considered this for a moment before responding.
“That’s entirely possible. Sometimes there is more to us than we realise for a very long time. Some people who feel that way identify as non-binary. Some as gender-queer. Some as genderfluid,” she gently offered.
“Genderfluid?” Ilya looked back up at her at that. He was sure he had read that term before, but wasn’t entirely sure what it meant.
“Yes,” she said. “Some people experience their gender as something that shifts over time, or depending on context. They might feel more aligned with one aspect of themselves in certain moments, and then with another aspect during others. That’s often described as being genderfluid.”
Ilya stilled.
“Genderfluid,” he repeated, slower than usual, like he was testing the weight of it.
“And,” Galina continued, “some people don’t identify as being outside of being a man or a woman, but they reject the expectations tied to those categories. They may call themselves gender non-conforming. It’s more about how they exist within, or outside of those norms, rather than changing the gender they were assigned at birth.”
Ilya looked down at his hands again, everything slowly sinking in, slowly creating a foundation he had so desperately hoped for.
Genderfluid.
Gender non-conforming.
It was a lot. To consider. To allow himself to feel. To test out and see if any of it fit, if any of it described, explained himself.
“I don’t think I feel like I am a different person,” he still sounded a little unsure.
Galina nodded, encouraging him to keep going.
“But…” He frowned slightly, “There are days when I lean into some things more. Where I feel more comfortable being softer. And other days where I don’t think about it at all. Where being a man feels simple.”
“And those shifts feel natural to you?” Galina asked.
“Yes,” came Ilya’s immediate reply, “Most of the time, anyway. I mean, some days I still feel like I have to be strong, like I am not allowed to show emotions, but it’s less now. I don’t feel like I’m pretending. I just do what feels right at the time.”
Galina tilted her head, remembering all the things they had talked about in the past few years.
“I understand that this has been a long process for you. You worked really hard to exist outside of your father’s expectations,” she reminded him. Ilya softened at that, thinking back to all the sessions he had spent crying as he had slowly worked through every burden his father had placed on his shoulders – including the notion that he was not allowed to cry, that he had to be strong and void of any softness. It was still hard, some days, but he was working on it, on being kind to himself.
“What you are describing could align with a more fluid experience of gender. Or it could simply reflect that you are being flexible within your identity. Both are equally okay.”
“That’s the hard part,” Ilya admitted, a hint of frustration creeping in, “Where is the line? At what point does one become the other?”
Galina’s expression softened, “There isn’t always a clear line. Not in the way you hope or want there to be.”
He huffed quietly, then let out a soft chuckle, “Of course not.”
She smiled faintly, understanding Ilya’s frustration.
“Being human is a messy experience, Ilya. For some people, labels like ‘genderfluid’ help make sense of the shifts they are feeling. For others, ‘gender non-conforming’ feels more true to themselves, because it allows them to keep their identity while rejecting the limitations placed on it.”
Ilya leaned back, absorbing it all, allowing it to exist without the need to come to an immediate conclusion.
“I think…” he hesitated, “Genderfluid feels…close. Like maybe not everything has to be so strict. But I also don’t want to…lose the part of me that feels like a man. If that makes sense?” Ilya looked at her questioningly.
“It does. And you wouldn’t have to give that up. Or lose it. But the fear is valid. It can be scary, to feel like such an integral part of yourself is suddenly changing into something else, something new. It’s okay to allow these feelings.”
Ilya considered that for a long moment, then slowly exhaled, insecurity clinging to his bones in ways he was still learning to accept.
“I think the scary part is the feeling that I have to pick. That I have to make a choice. What if I am making the wrong one?”
“Ilya. You don’t have to pick. You don’t need to have all of the answers right now. Even if it feels loud and messy and uncertain. And there is absolutely no rule that you cannot change the label if it no longer fits. If it no longer serves you or expresses how you feel on the inside.”
When Ilya looked to the side, out of the window, Galina knew the words had hit something inside of Ilya, something vulnerable and raw. She understood his need to process his own feelings for a moment. There was no pressure, no urge to pull him back into the conversation. Ilya’s expression softened, the way it often did when he felt emotions coming to the surface that he didn’t quite know how to handle yet.
“Does it help? To give yourself permission to try? Even if it’s messy? To not need all the answers right away?” She softly checked in after a few minutes, noticing that Ilya needed some gentle guidance to stay anchored in the present.
“I think so, yes,” Ilya turned his head to look at her again, “Knowing I don’t have to decide everything at once. Knowing I am allowed to test the labels, without pressure.”
“You are allowed to do exactly that,” Galina affirmed.
“Genderqueer,” Ilya said then, testing how it felt to say it out loud, voice soft but no longer scared of the label.
“How does it feel?” she asked.
“Like it gives me space,” Ilya breathed out, “Like I can just be myself, without explaining it all. For now.”
“For now,” Galina easily agreed, “That’s more than enough. And Ilya? Don’t forget your joy. You are allowed to feel that part, too. It doesn’t have to feel heavy and intimidating all the time.”
Ilya leaned back into the couch, quieter now. The question was still there, but it had changed shape. It felt less sharp now, less urgent.
For the first time since this had started, it didn’t feel like he was missing something, missing a part of himself. Just that he was allowed to be more than one thing at once, and that he did not need to have a name for that right away.
“Oh my god, you are the worst,” Rose laughed, “I said sit still, or I’m going to give you a monobrow.”
Ilya was sitting on a chair at their dining table, various make-up items scattered across the table, the ring light Rose had also brought set up so she could see more clearly what she was doing.
“Mhh, a glitter monobrow, though,” Ilya just grinned, while Rose still tried to apply the glitter eyeliner Ilya had gleefully picked.
“Asshole,” Rose kept laughing, and Shane could not hold back his smirk, watching it all unfold while he was leaning against the table.
“Finally, someone agrees with me.”
“Hey, no teaming up!” Ilya gasped.
“You deserve it, Ilya. You should be thankful she brought all of this…stuff. To get you all pretty for your night out,” Shane teased, but there was no bite to it, only a fond smile spreading across his lips.
“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you. Please make me pretty,” Ilya seriously nodded, and Rose pulled away the eyeliner just in time to avoid a disaster.
“You are lucky I love Shane. And you, I guess, by extension. And that I really need that night out,” Rose grinned and reached for the eye shadow palette next.
“Pick a colour,” she told him, before he had a chance to come up with another chirp.
Ilya grinned and pointed at his favourite, happy when it earned him an approving nod from Rose.
“At least your husband seems to have a decent taste,” Rose briefly tilted her head to look at Shane with a grin.
“I have a very good taste,” Ilya protested and then grinned, “Look at my husband.”
“Ew, gross. But also not wrong,” Rose sounded amused, not so secretly loving how soft Ilya was for Shane.
When she was done with the make-up, she looked pleased, and Ilya seemed happy as well with what he was seeing in the small mirror that was sitting on the table. It was subtle, but it still felt nice. A hint of colour, a hint of sparkle. A hint of him allowing himself to exist outside of strict rules.
“Okay, go get changed. I want to see your outfit,” Rose smiled, and Ilya didn’t need to be told twice. Both Rose and Shane watched him leave, and Shane looked at Rose when he was gone, expression softening.
“Thank you. For helping him with this,” his voice turned soft, grateful. It had been a journey, still was, with Ilya figuring out how to exist both outside and inside of labels. Figuring out what felt right for him.
“Are you kidding? This is the best thing ever,” Rose smiled, but then, gentler, “I’m always there for you. Both of you. And it’s not exactly torture to get to play with make-up and go out with a friend.”
Shane felt grateful, so very, deeply grateful. He was no good at this, but he didn’t have to be. Rose was not only his friend, but Ilya’s too. Rose, who didn’t need to be asked twice if she wanted to go out and have some fun, while Shane would blissfully stay home, knowing they would have a good time.
Ilya returned moments later, fully dressed and ready to head out.
“Ohh, sexy. I love it. Even if you are direct competition, if you look this hot,” Rose grinned, and Ilya easily returned the grin.
“Hey, he’s not. He’s married,” Shane weakly protested.
“And he knows that. I won’t even have to remind him, because he will proudly tell anyone who his husband is,” Rose kept grinning, knowing how much Ilya loved bragging about his husband back at home.
“I will be your wing-person, yes?” Ilya grinned, and Rose lit up at the term.
“Sounds perfect,” she smiled, noticing how Ilya visibly relaxed at the affirmation.
“Okay, go say bye to your husband, we gotta get going. I will even turn around so you can be gross with each other,” Rose laughed and moved to grab her purse, giving them a moment.
Ilya moved over to Shane, stepping between his legs, expression turning into a soft smile, before leaning in for a kiss.
“Feeling good?” Shane quietly asked, though he could see the happiness radiating off his husband. It felt nice, to see the weight being lifted off his shoulders, to see him being himself.
“Yeah,” Ilya breathed out, with the softest, happiest smile on his lips, eyes radiating joy.
“I love you,” Shane returned the smile, easy, gentle.
“I love you more,” Ilya kept smiling, stealing a final kiss from Shane before reluctantly pulling away.
Ilya looked happy. Carefree. Himself.
Shane knew he would do whatever it took to make sure he would always feel loved and supported enough to be just that.