Chapter Text
The air lay thick with awkward tension swirling above the pair, sweat pooled in the palms of his hands. Ilya held his hands in his lap as if careful not to touch anything, he’d ridden in Marleau’s car plenty of times, so why did it feel so different?
His eyes focused on the scenery that passed them by, not having the strength to muster any kind of eye contact or conversation. Thankfully Cliff didn’t try to make conversation nor did he bring up anything that had taken place in the last twenty-four hours. Ilya was more than grateful for the awkward silence, no doubt there would be an uncomfortable conversation in his near future.
Staring off into the distance as his body became void of all sensation, vision blurring as he focused his gaze on whatever car was in front of them in that moment; reading the license plate over and over again. His mind was a wandering mess, filled with emotions he couldn’t quite comprehend as they all muddled together to create an overwhelmingly numb feeling.
The Russian hadn’t noticed the engine die down or the gentle rock of the car parking nor did he hear the first few times Marleau called his name, “Roz.” Cliff placed a hand on Ilya’s shoulder effectively snapping him out of his trance. “Are you sure you’re okay to be on your own?” The brunette caregiver wasn’t sure how he felt leaving Rozanov on his own, if something happened he felt it would be his fault.
“I will be fine.” Ilya lied through gritted teeth, clearly agitated by the implications of the question.
Hopping out of the car with a wobble as he lost his balance for a second before circling around back to get his duffle bag. Cliff didn’t drive off immediately, something about that irritated Ilya further, the caregiver waited making sure the Russian got inside safely. Rozanov was having second thoughts on how ‘nice’ the whole thing was now that he was in his right mind, Marleau was already a mother hen towards him but now it would be amplified.
Soaking in the familiarity of his own domicile, the one place he wouldn’t be questioned about his classification by anyone, he was completely alone. It felt great to not have someone up his ass about the last time he went “potty” or whether or not he needed a change.
While Ilya didn’t mind the physical affection, hell he craved it more than anything, not that he’d admit that. He did however did enjoy not being questioned about his bathroom habits and if that meant no physical affection he would gladly choose to cuddle a pillow instead, he loved Marleau like a brother but the overbearing nature of a caregiver was not something he’d ever get used to.
He tossed his duffle bag to the ground not bothering to fish his jersey out just yet, he’d need to wash it eventually but right now it wasn’t a priority.
His shoulders slumped forward as he slouched in on himself, dragging his feet towards a nearby lamp as he clumsily turned the light on before heading towards his beloved couch; he snatched up a pillow, nuzzling into it with a deep exhale. Part of him thought he’d feel better without Cliff hovering over him and there was relief for a brief moment, but soon relief was replaced by the hollowing feeling of emptiness.
Ilya was completely on his own, just as it was intended to be, just like he wanted it to be. Right? There would be no one to cuddle tonight or to carry him to bed when he felt he couldn’t get there on his own, nor would anyone coddle him when he needed it most.
Ilya got what he wanted, right?
Glancing around the living room, his house was getting a tad bit messier than he was comfortable with. Surely cleaning it up would get his mind off of things, right? Starting in the living room, he plucked three Coke cans off of his coffee table; occasionally he got too lazy to toss the cans in the trash, they’d sat on the table for a few days now as he’d completely forgot about their existence despite passing by them everyday.
Fixing his throw pillows before he folded the blanket that lived on his couch, he regretted fixing the couch as he was just going to ruin it in a few hours.
The only two rooms he really spent time in were his room and living room, Ilya cringed slightly at the sight of his room. Clothes piled on the floor in a messy fashion, chip bags and snack wrappers covered his night stand alongside half a dozen of abandoned Coke cans. If his father could see the state of his living situation he’d have his head, he’d gotten too lazy due to the American way of life.
Ilya searched his closet for a laundry basket, so he could start a load of laundry he’d inevitably forget about and have to rewash. Frustration built up as he searched every inch of his closet and room, not a basket in sight. The chances he’d tried to do laundry earlier that week and forgot about it were high, stomping towards the laundry room before bursting into the room to find that he had a load already in the wash. Ilya couldn’t remember how long the clothes had been in the washer, he restarted the washing machine and settled on piling his clothes in a corner in efforts to make his room at least look cleaner.
Gathering all the trash was the easy part and concluded his cleaning spree for now, as he heard the faint chime of his phone that sat neglected on the coffee table; he’d received a text message. Ilya took a deep breath as he stalked through the house, plopping himself on the couch, scrolling through his missed notifications. Svetlana texted him three days ago, Cliff texted him twenty minutes ago, and ‘Jane’ sent a message a minute ago.
Ilya hesitated to read the message, his stomach twisted into knots of anxiety. The Russian had an idea of what ‘Jane’ wanted to talk about, but there was a chance he was wrong. Bracing for the worst and hoping for the best, biting his lip as he opened his phone to read the message.
‘Can we talk when you’re not busy?’ He read it in Shane’s voice, he’d missed the time he spent with Shane. His heart ached, knowing it would never be the same was devastating, it was considered taboo for littles to have any kind of sex drive; it was not unheard of but not widely accepted despite littles still being human they were often times not seen as such, Ilya would no longer be Shane’s equal.
Technically Ilya was not busy in the moment, quite the opposite, he’d finished most of what he wanted to get done and was actively looking for something to do. However the Russian didn’t know if he had the strength to have this conversation with Shane, there was no doubt in his mind, Shane must be so frustrated with him for keeping his classification a secret; the mere thought of Shane feeling any negative emotion towards him was enough to make the knots in his stomach twist tighter than he previously thought possible.
Ilya bit the bullet, calling Hollander despite his every instinct screaming and begging him to be reasonable. This call was not their usual FaceTime, Ilya couldn’t stomach the thought of having to look the Canadian in the eye for this conversation. His skin crawled at the mere thought of it, maybe it was best this conversation be had over the phone and not in person.
“Hey, baby.” Shane greeted as he always did, not wanting the Russian to feel like this call had to be different than any of their previous phone calls. It was nothing more than a pet name, it had nothing to do with his classification; Ilya knew that and yet he could feel the heat of irritation rise.
“Don’t, Hollander.” The Russian snapped, had he been talking to anyone else they’d see nothing but the persona Ilya often put on, but this was Shane Hollander. The Canadian knew there was no malice in his actions, Shane knew it was more like a plea, Ilya was begging him not to confirm his fears; that everything would change.
That was enough to clue Shane in on how Ilya was feeling about the whole situation, “No, I….I didn’t mean it like that.” The Canadian cleared his throat; a nervous habit. They sat in a brief moment of silence as Shane collected his thoughts, he knew better than to think Ilya would lead this conversation, by the looks of it he was nothing more than an unwilling participant.
“When were you going to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me?” There was a hint of hurt in Hollander’s voice, it sounded akin to the way people talk when they got that lump in their throat right before tears would inevitably fall.
Why wouldn’t Ilya tell him? Had he done something to prove he was untrustworthy?
Knowing what he knows now about Ilya’s Father’s view on Littles, it seemed self explanatory, and yet Shane couldn’t help but ask the question as it burned in his mouth begging to be let out as if he wouldn’t regret it when Ilya would inevitably shut down.
Shane liked to think that their was more trust in their dynamic, enough that Ilya wouldn’t have to bare this burden alone.
Ilya wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth, let the cold dirt swallow him whole. Nothing more than to run away, to hang up and never answer another call or text from anyone; especially not Shane, at least not until he had the right words to explain himself.
The Russian knew he was taking too long to answer, but every lie or excuse he could come up with was not believable enough. Would a lie only hurt Shane more? Probably. “I wasn’t going to tell you.” Ilya admitted, the words rolling off his tongue before he had time to really think about whether or not this was the right thing to say in this moment.
Maybe the truth would be less painful for Shane to hear, or at least Ilya could only hope that was the case.
Another brief moment of silence as Shane tried desperately to make sense as to why this would be, meanwhile Ilya felt like clawing his skin off. The silence felt different, it was heavy and punishing like his father’s hand. Ilya was no stranger to silence or the silent treatment, but for Shane to dish it out was a new level of betrayal he’d never imagined he’d have to endure.
Though the silence was brief it seemed to last an eternity.
“Is there a reason you weren’t going to tell me?” The Canadian cleared his throat again, Shane knew he couldn’t be upset at Ilya for this but part of him couldn’t help it. Most of this disappointment came from all the different ways Ilya had been or could’ve been hurting himself while avoiding his regression; deep down it was nothing more than worry.
“Because no one was supposed to know.” Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, should he really explain Russian politics right now? Did they have time for that? Would that ease Shane’s pain? Probably, but he didn’t have it in him to do that in this moment. Ilya effectively didn’t answer a single part of Shane’s question, not in a way that mattered at least.
Shane got the sneaking suspicion he would not be getting a solid explanation at this point and time, or at least not an explanation that fit his criteria; the criteria that made it acceptable to lie about such a thing.
“It’s good we found out now.” ‘We’ being Shane and Cliff, had it only been Shane this situation would be much harder to manage as the Canadian couldn’t always be there for Ilya, but Marleau could.
Ilya didn’t feel there was anything ‘good’ about this situation, he felt miserable knowing that not one but two people knew about his class. He had tried so hard to keep himself together, so why had it become so difficult? This would not have happened if he was still in Russia, so why was it different in America?
“We’ll have to put some rules into place and maybe you could give me Marleau’s number so I can get updates on you when you’re regressed, you know just so I know you’re doing okay. Oh and-“ Shane was rambling on and on before he was interrupted, “None of that will happen.” Ilya’s tone was flat as he tried to not seem upset; he was a muddled mess of worry and frustration.
None of this was meant to happen, why couldn’t Hollander just mind his business, none of this was any of his concern. Ilya was of the opinion that they should all forget anything happened rather than turning it into something it’s not. “Ilya, you can’t just go back to suppressing it, that’s really unhealthy.” Worry was apparent in Shane’s voice, part of him hoped Ilya would relent but the other part of him knew that wouldn’t be happening.
Shane felt nothing he could say would change the Russian’s mind nor could he be reasoned with, Ilya wouldn’t listen to Shane’s concerns; not right now at least, not when emotions were high.
“Yes I can,” Ilya had the utmost amount of seriousness in his voice, he had every intention to not let something like his classification ruin everything he worked so hard to build. He would not let a pair of caregiver’s ruin this for him. “Have a good night, Hollander.” His words were sharp and cold, hanging up before Shane even had a chance to respond.
Tossing his phone on the table, he flinched when the two objects collided, having not realized how much force he’d used when throwing the phone down. Ilya was desperate to find a distraction, to find the light at the end of whatever the fuck this tunnel was.
He snatched the tv remote off the coffee table, powering on the tv in a feeble attempt to focus on something other than the horror show that was his last twenty-four hours. He clicked through what felt like every tv channel and streaming platform he had access to, there was nothing interesting. Nothing to calm his nerves.
Eventually after an two hours of searching, he tried to force himself to watch something, Ilya sat there fidgeting as he stared at the tv. He could hear what the people were saying but couldn’t quite process it, groaning in frustration as he turned off the tv deciding he could just sleep away his worries.
Checking the time on his phone to see ‘Jane’ had texted him what seemed to be on long paragraph, the text would go unanswered as Ilya decided it was time for bed despite it only being seven o’ clock; yet there was still something so childish and degrading about going to bed before ten.
Hoisting himself up as he dragged his feet towards his bedroom, groaning as if he wasn’t the one telling himself to go to bed.
Ilya was restless the moment his head hit the pillow, rolling into awkward positions trying to get comfortable, but his body seemed to ache no matter which side he laid on. His eyes snapped open as he let out a dissatisfied huff, reaching for his phone to check over his notifications again only to see it was the same text’s he was avoiding earlier.
While he knew he wasn’t obligated to answer anyone’s texts or questions, he knew it was only a matter of time before Cliff would pull him aside during practice or worse show up to his house. Ilya weighed out his options settling on not responding to either of them, what he did with his life was none of their business, he is an adult who can take care of himself.
Right?
Practice was in the early hours of the morning, this was his chance to show Marleau that he was fine to be on his own, that he wasn’t some helpless brat.
Getting out of bed was proving to be more difficult than he anticipated, every part of him was screaming at him to just get up and move, but it felt impossible; his body felt like lead. Ilya sniffled as a stray tear fell down his face, why couldn’t he just get up? Why did it have to feel so hard? Why was he like this?
He rolled onto his stomach before entering the push-up position, for some odd reason that was easier than siting up in a traditional manner, but it didn’t need to make sense right now; it just needed to get him out of bed. Dragging his duvet off the bed with him as he shuffled towards his bathroom, Ilya couldn’t seem to recognize who it was in the mirror. Poking at his own face, pulling at the bags under his eyes. He looked as horrible as he felt.
Half-assing his morning routine was better than not doing it at all, he was content with it for the most part. Lazily brushing his teeth, not bothering to do much of any hair maintenance. He just needed to get through practice in one piece.
The moment he stepped into the locker room he could feel all the faux confidence he’d built in the car crumble right before his eyes, he felt all eyes were on him and they most likely were as he was slightly later than usual. Everything felt worse from the moment he stepped on the ice, looking akin to that of a baby deer taking its first steps.
“Are you okay?” Marleau whispered to the Russian not wanting him to feel called out in front of their teammates despite them all knowing Ilya was clearly not on his A-game.
Cliff would ask him this question four more times and his other teammates would also ask him passively, asking if he was alright or if something happened, and every time he’d brush them off as politely as he could manage; which was not very polite in any capacity.
The embers of frustration began to spark with each “Is everything alright?” Or “You good?”. The flames grew as he missed shot after shot, goals he could usually make with his eyes closed. While he did not preform at his best, his teammates still reassured him he’d ’get it next time’ but next time never came. It was a long a miserable hour.
Rozanov was the first off the ice, eagerly waiting for coach to tell them practice had concluded. The team and their coach looked to Marleau for some kind of answer, an answer they wouldn’t get. “I’ll talk to him.” Cliff insisted the coach stay out of it for the time being, though it took some convincing the coach allowed Cliff to handle the situation himself. Marleau followed after the Russian, finding him in the locker room mumbling to himself in his native language. He was facing the wall, it looked like he was punishing himself by putting himself in the corner.
“Roz, what’s going on?” Cliff knew they only had a few minutes before coach would be done giving pointers to their teammates and then they’d all file in one after the other. Rather than acknowledging his co-captain’s existence he continued to mumble to himself, “Rozanov.” Cliff placed a hand on the Russian’s shoulder in an attempt to get Ilya’s attention.
Rozanov slapped the hand away, “Fuck off, Marley.” Ilya’s voice cracked ever so slightly, he sounded exhausted; he looked like he hadn’t slept much last night. Marleau was at a loss of what to do, they sat in silence, Cliff hovering behind Ilya as he figured out how to approach the issue or what he assumed to be the issue without causing further damage.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Cliff knew Rozanov wouldn’t want to be treated little, even if he needed it, in this moment it was best to act like nothing had happened. The Russian didn’t answer as he tucked his head into his hands with a shaky breath, “Go away.” Ilya wasn’t going to give any answer; not when he could hear their teammates trickling in.
Marleau backed off for the time being, settling in front of his cubby before he got undressed. The caregiver kept a close eye on Ilya, who seemed to be struggling to get his gear off. No one commented on it, they all just let him struggle.
Ilya and Cliff were the last to make it to the showers, the Russian couldn’t help but feel slightly threatened by Marleau’s presence and how it seemed the other was following him; something about it put him on edge.
The Russian was quick and sloppy when washing himself, he could take a real shower when he got home as he usually did. Ilya was desperate to escape Cliff, but the caregiver was not letting him go that easily. They were alone aside from their coach who was in his office, the door was shut so they had privacy to talk about the matter at hand; this made Ilya more than nervous.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, what’s going on?” Marleau broke the silence that lay thick in the air, the caregiver was getting dressed while Ilya stood there glaring at him for even daring to speak to him and insinuate that there was something ‘going on’.
“I don’t want your help.” Ilya scoffed, there was no crack in his voice or the emotional squeakiness caused by distress; rather he sounded more put together. Rozanov could feel himself coming to a clearing within the fog of his mind.
“Maybe you don’t want it, but it’s looking like you need it.” Marleau sighed as he was now fully dressed while Ilya had just began to dress himself, the Russian was silent not willing to entertain this conversation any longer.
Truthfully the little wanted nothing more than to collapse into the caregiver’s arms and cry until he had no tears left to, everything had gone so wrong so fast, Ilya hadn’t had time to process anything before the uncomfortable conversation came with Shane; the last thing he wanted was to have that conversation with Cliff.
After thinking for a moment Rozanov opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped himself unsure if he could trust his own voice to not come out small and needy. “Are you feeling little?” Marleau whispered in case anyone was lurking near by, Ilya gave a frantic nod feeling everything hit him all at once; tears filled his eyes streaming down his cheeks as he bit back sobs not wanting to draw their coaches attention.
Marleau was deeply worried about what would come next week, they were playing a home game against Montreal. Would Ilya be able to hold it together the whole game? Would he even be able to get through tomorrow’s practice? Why was Ilya regressing so soon after having just done so? Cliff knew littles could go weeks or months without regressing, it varied person to person, however it wasn’t uncommon for littles to need to regress for days to weeks at a time; the caregiver could only pray this was not the case.
That was a problem for later, right now he needed to get Ilya out of the locker room and into the car. There was no way Cliff would allow the little to be alone right now.
Cliff opened the passenger side door watching as Ilya crawled in, he sat patiently waiting for the caregiver to buckle him in, “How old are we feeling?” Marleau hummed as he loosened the seatbelt just enough to fasten the little boy in. Rozanov wiped the last of his tears before he held up four fingers, this was a bit of a jump from the last time Marleau had taken care of him, the caregiver felt it was a good to know Ilya’s age range now so he could be better prepared for the future; so far he ranged from two to four years in mental age.
“Big boy today?” Cliff ruffled the little’s hair, he hoped with him being slightly older that it would help the slight language barrier they encountered. Closing the door before Marleau got into the driver’s seat, “Let’s rock and roll.” The caregiver cooed as they exited the parking lot.
The drive was no longer than twenty-five minutes but Ilya squirmed and whined as he pulled at his seatbelt, wanting nothing more than to be released from this prison. “Hurts.” The little kicked his legs with a loud whine, pulling the seatbelt away from his neck and shoulder area where it was supposed to sit.
Ilya felt the seatbelt was rubbing his skin raw, “Leave it alone.” Marleau lightly scolded. The boy left it alone for a few minutes before he’d mess with it again, after the first three warnings Cliff gave Ilya’s hand a light smack before sternly telling the Russian to stop messing with his seatbelt.
Pulling into his driveway Marleau let out a breathy sigh before turning to Ilya with a soft smile, “Alright big guy let’s go.” Cliff cooed releasing Ilya from the seatbelt he seemed to hate. The little made no effort to move from the seat aside from making grabby hands towards the caregiver, Cliff chuckled fondly as he scooped up Rozanov. Closing the door with his hip while settling Ilya on his other hip, the Russian felt all the anxieties and frustration melt away as he was carried inside the house.
Marleau attempted to set Ilya on the couch only for sobs to be ripped from the little’s throat as he clung tightly to the brunette for the comfort he needed, “I know, I know. Hey, can you sit on the couch for me? Just for a minute?” Cliff kept a calm and steady tone as he pried Rozanov’s arms from around his neck, gently setting him on the couch.
“Нет! No! No!” Ilya screamed bolting up from the couch and hugging onto the caregiver, desperately trying to climb up him to be held once more.
“Hey, buddy. Look at me.” The caregiver was stern in his words, pulling Ilya’s arms off of him before he held them to the little’s sides to keep him from clinging. “Ilya. Big breath.” Cliff gave a demonstrative breath, waiting for the little to look at him and copy his breathing.
Rozanov took a shallow breath desperate to follow the caregiver’s commands, but his breathing did not match Cliff’s, this only caused more tears as frustration bubbled in the little’s chest. “In through our nose,” Marleau demonstrated waiting for Ilya to follow, “Out through our mouth.” The Russian followed along until he was led back to the couch.
Cliff sat beside him, rubbing gentle circles on his upper back. “Are we ready to try again?” Marleau hummed wiping away what seemed to be the last of the little’s tears, Ilya gave a nod but didn’t bother to say anything. “I’m going to go into the office and grab my laptop, and you are going to sit on the couch, okay?” The little boy’s lip began to wobble as he sucked in large breaths from his nose, “Deep breath, big boy breath.” Cliff reassured him it would be really quick.
Ilya bit his bottom lip, gnawing off dead skin as he held back tears by holding his breath.
When Cliff did return from the office he settled on the couch a short distance away from the Russian, however to Rozanov the distance felt vast; crawling over to Marleau before he cuddled into the caregiver’s side.
Wrapping an arm around Ilya’s shoulders giving him a gentle squeeze, “What doing?” The little questioned as he watched closely to see why Marleau had grabbed the laptop in the first place.
Dragging the mouse across the screen, clicking an icon Ilya could recognize as Google before he began to type into the search bar. Rozanov could recognize the letters but when strung together they seemed to jumble into nothing more than nonsense, English was not his strong suit.
“We are doing some shopping.” Cliff hummed as he absentmindedly rubbed Ilya’s upper arm with one hand and found the Walmart website, same day delivery would be his savior today. Marleau didn’t think it was the best idea to bring Rozanov into the public eye when he was in such a vulnerable position, it would most likely only cause more problems.
“Shopping?” He dragged out the ‘H’ as the word felt foreign in the Russian’s mouth despite having had said the word many times in his time in America, his pronunciation had deteriorated with the drop in mental age.
Marleau spent a good hour adding things to his cart and researching product brands, only the best for Ilya Rozanov, Ilya on the other hand was asleep by the first thirty minutes; drool dripped down the side of his cheek forming a small damp spot on Cliff’s shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go lay down.” The caregiver cooed softly as he gently shook the little awake enough to respond, “Up?” Ilya sat up with a grumble. Cliff lifted Ilya onto his hip, patting the boy’s back hoping to soothe him back into sleep.
The Russian slept nestled into his teammates side, Marleau let him sleep for another hour before deciding that was a good enough nap.
Ilya begrudgingly got up, following Cliff into the kitchen. The caregiver was telling him something but the words fell on deaf ears, “What do you want for lunch?” Marleau hummed ruffling the little boy’s hair.
Rozanov was still dazed by sleep, shuffling socked feet against hardwood floors, as he was lead towards the kitchen. Mumbling something incoherently as he wiped drool from the corner of his mouth before smacking his lips, “How about a peanut butter and jelly?” The caregiver pressed a quick and gentle kiss to the top of the little’s head.
Ilya gave a nod before seating himself at the table where he would wait for his lunch, it didn’t take very long and it was accompanied by a large cup of water despite him insisting he wanted juice.
“No, you can have juice after you have some water.” Cliff was stern but not cruel with his words, regardless Ilya felt a tidal wave of emotion. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, his lip bottom lip began to wobble, the tip of his nose felt hot and red. Sniffles could be heard behind the caregiver who was busy fixing himself a sandwich, “Ilya, baby, what’s the matter?” Marleau carried his own plate to the table sitting across from the Russian so he could see his face.
“Wan’ juice.” He choked out a sob, he desperately tried to get himself to stop crying; he didn’t want to upset the brunette man in fear of the consequences that came with the man’s temper. However, Marleau’s expression softened.
“I understand you want juice, but right now you need water because we had practice. If you want after you finish all your water I will get you a cup of juice, is that okay?” Ilya gave a nod as he wiped his tears, Cliff had learned it was best to explain why things had to be done a certain way rather than just saying ‘because I said so’.
Ilya took a few moments to take a few deep breaths without being prompted, Cliff felt a sense of pride watching how the Ilya was using the coping skills he’d been given.
“All better?” The caregiver questioned as he watched Ilya take a bite of his sandwich, “Better.” The little mumbled with a mouthful of sandwich.
After lunch Cliff decided he could handle the dishes later, as his Walmart order had been delivered.
Ilya hid behind the caregiver when the doorbell rang before he scampered off jumping onto the couch, not so hidden behind a pillow. Marleau chuckled fondly before answering the door, sliding in two big boxes of stuff. The little was dying to know what the boxes contained but stayed where he was, waiting until both boxes were inside and the door closed; he even waited for the click of the lock.
“What that?” Ilya chirped slinking off the couch and scurrying over to the boxes, “Just some stuff we will be needing when you’re little.” The Russian cringed at the word ‘little’ but ignored it for the moment as he wanted to know what was inside the boxes, Marleau carried both boxes to the living room; setting the boxes beside the coffee table.
“Open! Open! Open!” The little chanted as Cliff walked from the kitchen with what he assumed was a box cutter, “What’s the magic word?” The caregiver hummed waiting.
“Please!” Ilya couldn’t wait a second longer as he bounced on the balls of his feet, he stood behind Marleau as the caregiver cut open the boxes before giving him free rein to rifle through them.
Ilya dropped to his knees, scooting towards the box. Peeking into the box with a mixture of a squeal and a giggle as he looked up to Marleau with a goofy grin, “What’s in there, bud?” The caregiver hummed from his spot on the couch.
Ilya dragged his fingers across various fabrics that the box held, some shirts, pants and even a blanket. The little felt slightly overwhelmed, frozen in place running his fingers along the soft plush blanket. The blonde swallowed hard as he looked up at his teammate, tears dripping down his cheeks.
“What’s the matter, pup? You don’t like it?” Rozanov shook his head frantically, his words seemed to escape him in this moment. Crawling over to Cliff before the caregiver lifted the little into his lap, that’s when the sobbing began. “Talk to me baby, what are you thinking?” Marleau was concerned as to why Ilya had begun to cry, were things not to his liking?
“Thank you.” Ilya managed to blubber out, he’d never been gifted so much for any occasion.
It dawned on Cliff that Ilya had never had support when it came to his classification, he’d never been gifted toys or blankets. He was expected to be an adult even when he didn’t feel like one, but that wasn’t the case anymore. While Ilya was not used to this kind of attention and care, he was more than grateful for it; he wasn’t crying out of dissatisfaction but rather these were tears of joy and gratitude.
“Oh, sweet boy. You’re very welcome.” Marleau cooed, rubbing a hand up and down Ilya’s back as he rocked them side to side gently. They took a few minutes to cry it out before the caregiver encouraged the little to finish rummaging through the boxes, but by the looks of it Cliff would have to join him on the floor.
Most of what he got was clothes and pull-ups that he had thrown across the room while screeching a firm “No!”, Cliff wasn’t going to correct the behavior now as they still had stuff to unpack.
Once Ilya had pulled everything out of the boxes and sprawled them across the living room floor he was no longer interested in the clothes or blanket that once had mesmerized him, he’d found something better, a hot wheels track with at least seven separate packs of cars.
His eyes sparkled when he first saw them, “Open! Please!” Ilya shoved the toys into the caregiver hands. Cliff couldn’t help but laugh as he told the little to be patient, the Russian was too busy building various tracks and watching his cars race to notice when Marleau would leave the room.
Play time could only last so long before Ilya got bored, Cliff sat on the couch scrolling his phone while Ilya played. “What’s the matter, bub?” The Russian had crawled into the caregiver’s lap with a sniffle, tears pricked at his eyes. “Want папа, Shane.” He wanted his ‘Papa’, but he’d done everything in his power to push Shane away, Rozanov tucked his face into the crook of the caregiver’s neck.
Cliff felt his heart ache, “Why don’t we give him a call?” Marleau suggested as he rubbed the little’s back with an occasional pat, “He is angry with me.” The thought of Shane being upset with him was enough to rip sobs out from his throat.
It took a good twenty minutes to get Ilya to settle down, his sobs reduced to sniffles as he lay exhausted against the caregiver’s chest. Cliff grabbed his phone and then Ilya’s before stealing ‘Jane’s’ number out of the little’s contacts, shooting him a quick text about the little boy’s current state.
Marleau got a response almost immediately, Shane asked if Cliff needed him to talk to Ilya and that he was free to do so. “Ilya, I have someone who wants to talk to you.” The caregiver bounced the boy on his knee a little, “Me? Кто?” ‘Who?’ He questioned looking up to Marleau with wet eyes.
“Here talk to ‘em.” Cliff passed the phone to the little who held it with unsteady hands before putting it up to his ear.
“Hi, baby.” Shane spoke softly from the other end of the phone as he paced around his living room hoping this plan Marleau had wasn’t going to burst into flames, “Папа!” ‘Papa’ Ilya all but shouted in excitement as he looked to Cliff in disbelief.
“Hi pretty boy, Marley told me you were upset, what’s going on?” Shane feigned ignorance to the situation despite being told what was going on, he didn’t care what Marleau said, he wanted to hear it from Ilya.
“You angry at me.” Ilya was beginning to get choked up, fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.
“No, not angry. Just worried.” Shane cooed hoping his words would ease any anxiety that the boy was feeling, “Why don’t you and Marley get ready for bed and we can talk more in the morning, yeah?” Ilya parroted back a “Yeah.” Before telling the Canadian good night.
It was about eight o’clock when they’d hung up, Shane didn’t know what time Ilya would actually be in bed as he imagined they still had a night time routine to get through.