Chapter Text
Ilya was calling Shane's phone for the thirtieth time when the backdoor opened. Shane stepped in casually, sans any socks, and closed the door softly behind him as he brushed sweat from his brow. He barely had time to turn around fully before he was assaulted by 200 pounds of pure Russian muscle.
"Moya lyubov, I'm so so sorry." Ilya buried his face into Shane's neck and clung to him.
"Um..." Shane tentatively hugged him back, "For what exactly?"
"I was making fun of you. I shouldn't have." Ilya's words were muffled against Shane's sweaty neck.
"You were just teasing. I was being dramatic; I should be the one apologizing."
"No," Ilya pulled back and locked eyes with his husband, "I am just glad you're okay. I was so worried."
"You were... worried?" Shane scratched at his temple. "Why?"
"Why?!" Ilya took a step back and looked at him incredulously.
"You ran out without shoes, and I didn't know where you were! You wouldn't answer the phone!"
"Ilya," Shane let out a disbelieving laugh, "I was just on the porch doing yoga."
"You were... doing yoga?"
"Yes! Like I do most mornings when it's nice out."
"You stormed out!"
"I'm sorry I just walked out, but Ilya, I left through the back door. Into our fenced-in backyard. Wouldn't I have used the front door if I was running away?"
"But you would not answer the phone!" Ilya insisted, ready to die on this hill. Shane pointed at the kitchen island, and Ilya's eyes followed the gesture. There it was, nestled between Anya's treats and the fruit bowl, Shane's phone. "But!"
"It's probably still on silent from last night," Shane explained as he went to gather his phone. Ilya felt like he'd stepped into a parallel universe. "Ilya!"
"What?" Ilya saw Shane's expression and felt himself cringe.
"Why do I have hundreds of texts and missed calls from basically everyone I know?!"
"Well..."
