Chapter Text
Ilya came to slowly, first registering the warm colors of sunrise filtering through the curtains, then the warm, naked presence of Shane pressed against his back.
Ilya flipped around, grimacing at the tacky pull of sweaty skin as he separated from Shane.
No matter how he fell asleep, Shane almost always ended up flat on his stomach, arms curled up and tucked under his chin, face pressed into the pillow, snoring softly. When he slept, he looked younger. The years of studying and working and walking around with his shoulders to his ears falling away, leaving a smooth space between his brows.
Ilya smiled at the sight and ran a hand over Shane’s dark hair, smoothing his spiky bedhead only for it to spring right back up.
He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, quickly checking the time. Shane’s alarm was set to go off in the next thirty minutes, so Ilya sprang out of bed, dressing quickly. Ilya waking up before Shane was a rare enough occurrence that he wanted to take advantage while he could.
If it were a Tuesday, Thursday or Saturday, Shane would be up even earlier, making a quick smoothie and heading to the gym, completing a workout before Ilya even opened his eyes.
But today was a blissful Wednesday, which meant Ilya was able to putter around the kitchen, coffee percolating and eggs scrambling while Shane slept blissfully in the other room.
Eventually, the sound of Shane’s alarm broke through the early morning atmosphere. Ilya listened closely as the other man shuffled around in the bedroom before the door creaked open, Shane padding out on socked feet.
He was wearing a pair of his own striped pajama pants along with one of Ilya’s white t-shirts bunched up to his chest as he scratched his stomach absentmindedly.
“Hello sleeping beauty, I thought I was going to have to check for a pulse soon!”
Shane smiled sleepily, ignoring the barb. “Breakfast?” he asked, sidling up next to him at the counter. There were pillow creases still indented on his face.
“Eggs. Sourdough toast. Your weird mushroom coffee.” Ilya pointed each item out as he listed them.
Shane paused, crease forming between his brows. “You hate my mushroom coffee.”
“Yes. It's disgusting.”
Shane frowned at the offending french press. “Where did you even get it?”
Ilya sighed. He missed when Shane was being cute and sleepy before he turned into a private investigator. “From store. Where else?” He punctuated this by taking a big bite of toast, crumbs falling from his lips and landing on his shirt.
Shane only spared the crumbs a fleeting glance. Damn.
“No, You can only get that kind from the farmers market. They don’t sell it anywhere else.”
So. So, maybe Ilya had woken up early last weekend and blearily made his way downtown. Maybe he also stopped at the farmers market, just for something to do. The stand was right there, really- covered in mushrooms of all kinds, and small paper bags of the aforementioned mushroom coffee, manned by a kind elderly woman. He was supporting small businesses, if anything.
And if stocking his cupboards with Shane's weird, holistic coffee alternative persuaded him to stay at Ilya’s apartment for an extra thirty minutes in the morning, well, that was just a lucky byproduct.
Ilya shrugged. “Is no big deal. I know you like it, so.” He flapped his hand around uselessly, English failing him.
Some people might say Shane wasn’t very expressive. Their coworkers, probably- his patients, definitely (his bedside manner left a lot to be desired.). Ilya thought that was bullshit.
The way his bottom lip trembled, the way his eyes went all shiny and he sucked in his cheek. The man wore his heart on his fucking sleeve, emotions trickling out with every minute facial expression.
“It just- It feels like a big deal, I guess.” Shane said, voice cracking towards the end. His shoulders were at his ears as if he could physically hide his vulnerability.
Ilya suddenly felt like this was no longer about coffee.
“Hey,” He said, immediately softening at the way the other man’s voice trembled, “What’s going on? Stupid mushroom coffee makes you sad now? I will throw it out.”
Ilya crowded him against the counter, hands coming up to cup his face, thumbs smoothing over the freckles on his cheeks and the puffy bags under his eyes. Shane smiled sadly.
“It’s not the coffee, Jesus. And it’s not stupid, it has several health benefits. There have been studies.”
Ilya smiled fondly. Citing studies was one of Shane's favorite things to do. “Okay, then what is making you pout like little baby?”
His hands drifted from Shane’s face, down to his shoulders, pressing them down out of their hunch before coming around to rest on his back. He looked beautiful like this, swallowed up in the pink morning light, wearing Ilya’s wrinkly shirt, serious expression on his handsome face. The only thing that could make this even better would be if he was wearing his glasses.
“What are we doing, Ilya?”
“Well, I thought maybe we could eat breakfast, but clearly you are having panic attack, so.”
That brought a weak huff of laughter out of the other man, swatting lightly at Ilya’s chest. “I’m serious, we’re getting too old to still be messing around like this.”
Ilya thought he might know what Shane was trying to say and he smiled. “You want to settle down with me? Have a million babies like Pike?”
“Honestly? Maybe, eventually.” Shane said, cheeks going pink with the confession.
Ilya wanted to eat him alive. He gave in a little, leaning forward, he kissed Shane’s pink mouth once, twice, the barest hint of tongue. He felt their years together unravel, the steady uncertainty that hummed under his skin falling away, leaving the soft underbelly of what this really was: Ilya’s body irreversibly tied to Shane’s. The way he could feel the other man's presence within the hospital, even when they were floors apart like the smallest red spot on a heat map, or the flowing, changing image of an MRI. His skin buzzed now with all their points of contact: Shane’s fingers scratching absentmindedly at the base of his neck, Ilya’s hands anchored to his back, the warm skin holding him there like a tether. Shane’s palm flattened over his heart. One-two. One-two. One-two.
When he pulled back he didn’t go far, resting their foreheads together. Shane’s eyes crossed from where he was still trying to look at him.
“Maybe a date first?” Shane asked hopefully, leaning back a bit to fully gauge Ilya’s reaction, his hand still a heavy, warm presence on the back of Ilya’s neck, tugging lightly at the curls there.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but we do not have a lot of free time.” Which made Shane frown, so Ilya quickly added- “We will do it. I will take you to Monks if there is no other way.”
Shane’s nose scrunched, grimacing, “God, anywhere but Monk’s”
Ilya cackled. Monk’s was a trashy dive bar right next to the hospital, mostly frequented by med students and interns looking to drink away the long, underpaid hours spent in the building next door. Or to engage in an ill-fated hookup with their coworker.
“Would be-” Iya paused, finding the word. “Nostalgiac, yes?”
Shane blushed and tugged at Ilya’s hair. “Don’t remind me.”
Ilya hummed, thinking of the bristly med student he cornered in the dingy bar bathroom all those years ago. The memories were fuzzy but Shane was there clear as anything: worked up to a bright flush- all of twenty-something years old, ready to eat the world. Back at his tiny studio apartment, naked and bright, eyes sparkling with youth and abandon and a million shiny stars.
“You were so cute. I couldn’t believe you kissed me.”
“I remember it being the other way around, but okay.” Shane scoffed.
“Ah. No.” Ilya rebutted, regretfully pulling from Shane’s embrace to reach for the french press. “You were so desperate, could not resist me.”
He poured a healthy serving of the disgusting fungus coffee into a mug, nose scrunching at the smell before passing it over to Shane, who rolled his eyes.
“Its not that bad.”
Eventually they made their way to the kitchen table, breakfast spread out between them. Ilya sandwiched an unholy amount of eggs between two heavily buttered pieces of bread, the contents spilling out with each bite. Shane watched warily from the other side of the table as he took respectable bites, a thin layer of mulberry jam over his toast, healthy portion of eggs on the side all broken up by sips of his weird coffee from a mug Ilya had gotten for free at a medical conference.
Unlike most residents, Shane took his diet very seriously. Where Ilya would go hours without eating save for an energy drink and maybe donuts from the breakroom, and then make it all up by scarfing down disgustingly large meals during his short time off, Shane religiously meal prepped lunch, dinner, and snacks in between, all carefully portioned and labeled under his name when stored in the break room fridge in case anyone got the wrong idea about whose food belonged to who.
It was endlessly endearing, but after years of knowing Shane, Ilya had found one or two ways to work around his weird hangups about food.
For instance, If Ilya had not made breakfast for them, Shane would have gone home to make his usual cottage cheese and protein smoothie combo. Unacceptable. Making enough food for both of them before Shane woke meant he would be unlikely to refuse food because he hated waste, the deal only sweetened with the addition of his weirdo coffee.
Which meant Ilya had bought himself at least an extra hour and a half of time to watch Shane slowly wake up as food converted to energy which he used to scold Ilya about his poor table manners.
“I have literally eaten your ass, Shane.” he argued, crumbs spilling out of his mouth as he spoke.
Shane flushed beautifully from the apples of his cheeks to his ears.
“Jesus Christ.”
Ilya grinned and swallowed, reaching across the table to grasp Shane’s jam-sticky hand, lacing their fingers together as the other man’s face went from annoyed to endeared.
“On our first date, I am thinking I want flowers.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. But not roses because that is tacky, and we will be classy couple.”
A shy smile broke out across Shane’s face, eyes soft and cheeks a lovely peach hue. He leaned across the table and pressed a quick peck on Ilya’s lips before pulling back just as fast.
As he sat back, Shane’s eyes lingered on Ilya’s face, gaze introspective.
“When are we gonna find the time to do this? We’re both at the hospital like a hundred hours this week.”
“I said we will make it work, okay? I am happy with just even this.” He punctuated the statement by squeezing their palms together.
As the dawn turned to early morning the two of them got ready side-by-side. This, at least, Ilya is familiar with. Shane pulled his toiletry bag out of his hospital duffel and shaved and brushed his teeth and hair. Ilya watched in the mirror as the doctor meticulously dragged the blade down his face, morning scruff disappearing into Shane’s usual baby-faced image. Ilya could watch this forever.
They dress in their matching scrubs before walking together to the parking garage to Shane’s boring car.
When they arrive at the hospital Ilya is ready to sit in the car and wait five minutes after Shane has gone inside to stagger their arrival times. But as Shane hops out of the car, duffel slung over one shoulder, looking handsome and strong and like everything Ilya has ever wanted, he gestures for the other man to follow.
“Are you coming?”
Ilya scrambled out of the vehicle with an urgency that had nothing to do with the ugliness of the car that confined him.
They lingered outside the elevator that separates them by department, Shane going up to the O.R. and Ilya staying down in the E.D.
“Dont forget to eat.” Shane said sternly.
“Ah. I am in a hospital. If I pass out from malnutrition, best place to be.”
Shane frowned. “Ilya.”
“I will eat, okay? Go save some lives, Hollander.”
“You too, Rozanov.”
Ilya grinned. He liked how Shane said his last name like it was an inside joke between them. He also liked the way Shane’s ass moved in the fabric of his scrub pants as he walked towards the elevator.
If he was smiling more than usual throughout his shift, no one mentioned it.