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***
Irina had been a beautiful woman.
Every day, Ilya forgets something about her.
He doesn’t think he remembers her voice as well as he used to, though the lullabies she sang him are still alive in his mind. He doesn’t recall the exact color of her eyes anymore, even though he sees them whenever he closes his eyes. He’s not even entirely sure of the color of her hair anymore, though he heard many times about how similar his curls were to hers.
Still, he knows his mother had been a beautiful woman.
She was kind, and held him with all the love she had, and at times there wasn’t a lot of it, but still she saved it all for her Ilyusha, and he soaked it all up, as much as could.
He missed her fiercely, almost like a phantom limb he could still feel, but couldn’t touch.
He never used to dream of her — not until Shane. He might not be able to express it properly, but the irony isn’t lost on him. He never used to dream of her, used to holding onto his memories even as they failed him, but the second he fell in love with Shane — there she was. There she was.
He was obsessed with an impossibility, but he wanted them to meet. He wanted them to know each other, wanted it in the way Yuna knew him; he wanted Shane to be her son, too, because he knew they would love each other. Her kindness and her softness was exactly like Shane; she was quiet, and soft spoken, and Shane would have loved her the same way Ilya loved Yuna. They would have matched perfectly, the same way Ilya matched with Yuna. He wanted them together, laughing and loving him, like they were the only ones who could.
Impossible.
It was impossible, obviously. Ilya still dreamed about it.
***
It was unfair to be upset with Shane because Shane didn’t even know about any of it.
Ilya felt like he was cheating, telling Dr. Galina, and she didn’t press him to tell Shane, but she thought he should. He was pissed, then, because he knew he should tell Shane, but wasn’t that why he was here? He was here so he wouldn’t burden Shane with his stupidity.
She didn’t react to his outburst other than to press her lips into a thin line, keeping her opinions to herself, because she was professional like that, Ilya had to admit.
He left more confused than when he walked in, but he was used to that. And, besides — he wouldn’t tell Shane. They were in a fragile moment already, Ilya didn’t need to make things worse by talking about something that wouldn’t fix anything, anyway.
But the dreams didn’t stop coming, and Ilya worried about himself, and tried to pretend he wasn’t worried.
***
Shane was many great things, but perceptive wasn’t one of them, Ilya knew.
Still, Ilya noticed the way Shane watched him with big, worried eyes, every time he thought Ilya wasn’t looking.
Ilya fluctuated between feeling good that his boyfriend was worried about him, and pissed that Shane thought something was wrong with him. (Which was definitely the case, Ilya knew. Something was wrong with him.)
“Ilya,” he said, over his healthy chicken dinner and trying not to look at the monstrosity Ilya had made up with the obvious goal of irritating him, “is everything alright?”
Ilya only cocked his head at him, unsure of what he was trying to say.
He tried again. “You seem… sad, lately,” he finished, and suddenly the food turned to ash in Ilya’s mouth.
“Fine,” he lied. “Worried about fucking centaurs.”
Shane nodded. “Makes sense,” he smiled, but it was weak. Ilya hated that it was his fault. Then the smile disappeared, and he looked into Ilya’s eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” Ilya nodded. “Ok, good. Good,” he smiled again, and Ilya pretended he didn’t notice how fragile it was.
They had too little time to worry about Ilya’s sick brain, and Ilya wouldn’t spend whatever time they had together burdening Shane with problems that weren’t real. How would he react to Ilya being hurt because, in his dreams, Shane didn’t come out fast enough to meet Irina before she disappeared? That was stupid, is what it was.
He took Shane to the bedroom, instead, and fucked into him from behind, so Shane wouldn’t see his tears, and if they fell and hit his spine, then he would think it was Ilya’s sweat. Problem solved.
***
He didn’t stop dreaming of her, though.
He woke up miserable, tired, and worst of all, resenting Shane.
Dr. Galina, in the Russian way he was almost forgetting, with how long he’d been in North America, told him this couldn’t really continue for long. He didn’t want to talk to Shane about it, and she understood, but he was going to destroy their relationship if he kept that up. So…
He looked at her for long minutes, and just nodded.
He wasn’t sure he could talk to Shane about it, but he knew something had to give.
As was his habit, after his sessions with Dr. Galina, he walked around Ottawa, and although it was bitterly cold he had grown quite fond of the city. He sat on a bench and pulled out his cigarettes, and for whatever reason, he was reminded of the first time he truly understood something was wrong in his home.
It was probably the cold, but he suddenly remembered the last time he called his mom mamochka. He was six, maybe, and his brother was older, old enough to hurt him. He heard Ilya call their mom mamochka, and started making fun of him. Irina told Andrei to stop it, their father was almost home, and he wouldn’t like to hear that. It had, obviously, the opposite effect, and Andrei told their father as soon as he got home. Ilya got beaten almost bloodied, and it only didn’t get that bad because Irina took some of the punishment for him, getting between her husband and their youngest soon.
Ilya would never forget the slurs he heard at six years old, and it somehow felt good to know that, in the end, he was fucking other men, was in love with one.
In the aftermath of the beating, Irina held Ilya with as much love as she had, and cared for his wounds, and in exchange, never got to hear her baby calling her mamochka again.
Every day, Ilya found another reason to hate his father. He knew the man was rotting in hell, but Ilya hoped he was getting more suffering than just that.
And, sure, Ilya hated his father, but he also hated himself a little bit. He hated himself most of all because from that day on, she was only mama, until the day it became too much. Then she was nothing at all; nothing but a memory for Ilya to hold close and cry about when he was sure Andrei and their father weren’t listening.
He hated himself because he also hated her a little. He hated that she had abandoned him to the worst people Ilya had ever known, his brother and father, and she didn’t think of Ilya and—
The cherry of his cigarette burned his fingertips where he had forgotten about it, holding it and looking at nothing, and he stubbed it before walking all the way to a trashcan so he could safely dispose of it.
He loved his mamochka in a way that felt like it was trying to escape, but in order to get out, it had to strangle him first.
It was killing him.
***
“You would meet my mama?” He asked, out of the blue, and Shane turned confused eyes at him. He surprised himself with the question, too, and wanted to take it back, but it was too late now. “If she lived,” he amended, and Shane’s eyes turned understanding faster than he could blink.
Shane moved so he could rest his chin on Ilya’s pec, and while not the most comfortable position, Ilya loved the way he could look directly into Shane’s eyes.
“Of course,” he said. “I would have loved to know her,” he said, and Ilya didn’t miss the way his voice sounded like a promise.
Shane was being… more careful with him, lately. Ilya, once again, was torn between being offended and pleased — most of all, though, he was tired, and for tonight he chose to enjoy the attention.
“Ilya,” Shane started, voice as soft as Ilya knew it to be when Shane wanted to talk about something that was worrying him, “are you sure everything’s alright?”
“No,” Ilya whispered, because he couldn’t keep lying to Shane, and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the terror he knew was in Shane’s eyes right now.
“Sweetheart,” Shane whispered back, and Ilya wanted to throw up. They weren’t big on petnames, and in fact, Ilya was the one calling Shane ‘sweetheart’ most of the time — to have Shane call him that made his heart beat wrongly inside of his chest.
“Is okay,” Ilya promised him. “I see Dr. Galina still,” he continued, and opened his eyes to look at Shane. He was worried, yes, but not in a way that made Ilya feel useless, no. In a way like he loved Ilya, which Ilya knew he did, so why did it make Ilya’s lips tremble? Why did it make more tears roll down?
“That’s good,” Shane finally replied. “I’ve been… worried about you.”
“I know,” Ilya said. “I’m sorry.”
Shane shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry, I just want you to be okay.”
Ilya nodded.
“I love you, Ilya,” Shane said, and Ilya felt loved. Things hadn't been perfect between them, but in that moment, Ilya felt loved.
“I know, sweetheart. I love you, too, more than anything,” he promised.
Shane raised himself so they could kiss, and it was chaste and sweet and lovely. Ilya had missed these peaceful moments between them; everything felt so charged, lately.
Then, Shane placed his head on Ilya’s chest, not looking at him.
“Will you tell me about her?” He asked, his voice soft and kind.
Ilya did.
***
He wasn’t too proud to admit that Dr. Galina was right. Things did get better once he talked to Shane, even though he didn’t tell Shane the whole truth.
Still, talking about his mama with Shane had felt good. That night, he talked for longer than he meant to, some of it in Russian, even, but Shane listened, paying attention, and asking questions, and though Ilya’s memories faltered at some spots, he told Shane everything he could. (He left out most of the bad parts, though. No reason to talk about those if it wouldn’t change a thing. He preferred his happy memories.)
And then their life as they knew it went to hell.
All of their carefully constructed plans, all of the time they held their secret tightly, all of it gone with a single kiss.
And, well…
Ilya would never tell Shane, but he didn’t regret it.
If he were able to go back in time, he would still have dragged Shane with him to look for Mr. Chompy, and he would still have kissed Shane in the Pike’s garage, and yes, he would still choose to show up on Hayden’s stupid money-grab video.
And he regretted Shane’s despair and heartache, but that was the only thing he regretted.
It was out there, now. He could finally breathe.
***
Ilya dreamed of Irina on his wedding day.
He had Shane in his arms, his front to Shane’s back, the most perfect fit Ilya had ever known, and as with every other time he dreamed of his mama, he knew he was dreaming.
It was almost the same dream he always had, except, this time, the hammock was somewhere in his and Shane’s backyard, in Ottawa, and he wasn’t filled with dread when he looked at her as he approached. No, this time he felt light and carefree.
As he got closer, her hand, which had been hanging limply from the side of the hammock, started moving, as if to music, and Ilya smiled.
“Mamochka,” he said, in Russian this time, and Irina smiled at him, big and bright and happy, and in the dream, Ilya’s eyes filled with tears all the same — but happy, this time.
“Ilyusha,” she replied, for the first time ever in one of Ilya’s dreams, and Ilya couldn’t have contained the sob that erupted even if he had wanted to. Ilya didn’t really remember her voice anymore, but he didn’t have to; in the realm of dreams, she was there, and that was her voice.
“I want you to meet Shane. He doesn’t speak perfect Russian, but I think you will be able to talk,” he said, and she smiled, one of her hands coming up to his cheek. By twelve, he had already been taller than her, and he was taller still now, but still she held him.
“I would love to meet him,” she replied, and Shane arrived just then, before Ilya couldn’t even call out to him.
“Irina, I’m so happy to meet you,” he said, in accented Russian. He sounded perfect.
Irina took his hand, and they walked away from Ilya, hand in hand, and Ilya watched them, the two people he loved the most, and got lost in the happiness of watching the two of them together, even if in a dream.
In the dream still, he dropped himself in the hammock, and in the sunny, warm morning, he watched as the birds flew by.
He was happy, and he opened his eyes to the warmth of his bedroom and of his soon-to-be-husband pressed against him, his long hair on Ilya’s chest one of Ilya’s favorite feelings in the world.
Not long later, Shane stirred, and instead of good morning, what tumbled out of Ilya’s mouth was:
“We should get a hammock for the backyard.”
Shane turned around, so he was facing Ilya, and smiled, softly and sleepy.
“That’s a good idea,” he said, and fell quiet, closing his eyes.
Then—
“I dreamed of Irina,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost quiet.
Ilya didn’t trust himself to open his mouth, his eyes already wet enough to burst, so he only nodded while the first tear fell.
Shane brought a hand up to hold his cheek, thumb carefully sweeping under his eyes, not to wipe any wetness, but simply to touch.
“You introduced us, and we talked and talked and talked. I’m sorry I don’t remember what she said, but I know it was good. Left me feeling all…” He trailed off, sighing. “I don’t know. She’s not here, but I feel like she is. I know it was just a dream, but I feel like I met her, you know? On our wedding day. I feel like she blessed us, somehow, that she approves of us,” he finished, and Ilya looked at him, really looked.
Everything about Shane had always been perfect in Ilya’s eyes, and even before he realized Shane was the love of his life, he had been haunted by thoughts of Shane.
Now, here, listening to Shane tell him about how dreaming of his mama had meant as much to Shane as it meant to Ilya, there really was no doubt in Ilya’s mind. This was his love. He was going to be his husband in hours.
Irina approved of him.
“She loves you,” he said, and he knew it was the wrong tense and bad English, but he wasn’t wrong. It seemed unimportant, suddenly, that she wouldn’t be there physically, because for Ilya, she had found a way. She had found a way to let him know, to let Shane know.
She loves them.
Shane seemed to understand.
“She loves you, too. And I promised her I’d take care of you. And I will, Ilya. I love you so, so much,” he said, and pushed his face into Ilya’s chest, kissing right over Ilya’s heart.
“I love you, too, moya lyubov,” Ilya replied, kissing the top of Shane’s head.
They would be fine. They would be more than alright.
There was nothing else Ilya wanted.