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Shane woke up first, which wasn’t unusual. Normally, he was the one who sprang out of bed like he was late for a playoff game, even if it was their free Sunday. Ilya loved to stay in bed for a whole day. As usual, Ilya was still asleep, sprawled out on his stomach half on top of Shane, one arm flung over Shane’s waist like a very possessive, very muscular octopus. Shane tried to move underneath his husband but Ilya’s arm did not. So Shane sighed, smiled, and gave up.
He reached out to brush a hand through Ilya’s hair. It stuck up in every direction. Shane loved it. Ilya would deny it, but he loved when Shane played with it too.
“Mmm,” Ilya mumbled into the pillow, tightening his hold. “Stop trying to get away. Is warm.”
“You’re literally on top of me,” Shane said quietly.
“Exactly,” Ilya murmured. “Is perfect.”
Shane’s heart tried to launch itself out of his chest. It had been years, and he still wasn’t immune to how casually, effortlessly affectionate Ilya could be when they were alone.
Eventually, Ilya blinked awake, squinting at Shane like he was the sun.
“Good morning,” Shane whispered.
Ilya made a noise that was not quite English, not quite Russian, but definitely fond. He leaned in, pressing a soft, sleepy kiss to Shane’s cheek.
“You’re smiling,” Ilya said, poking Shane’s dimples with one lazy finger. “Why?”
“Because you’re cute like this.”
“I am always cute,” Ilya said, dead serious.
Shane rolled his eyes, but laughter bubbled up anyway. He kissed the top of Ilya’s head.
They eventually made it to the kitchen—Shane in one of Ilya’s hoodies, Ilya in sweatpants and still half-asleep. Shane cooked scrambled eggs while Ilya wrapped his arms around him from behind, chin on his shoulder.
“You are making the best breakfast in the world,” Ilya said solemnly.
“It’s just eggs.”
“Yes. But you made them. With love.” He paused. “Also I am starving.”
Shane elbowed him gently.
They ate together at the tiny table, knees brushing, sharing bites off each other’s forks. After breakfast, they sat on the couch with a blanket, Ilya’s feet on Shane’s lap, some NHL documentary playing quietly in the background. Shane absently rubbed circles into Ilya’s ankle. Ilya melted like butter.
“This is nice,” Shane said softly.
Ilya looked over, eyes warm in that way that still undid Shane completely.
“This is us,” he said. “It is always nice. I love you.”
Ilya whispered it so quietly that Shane’s heart wobbled. He smiled at Ilya.
“I love you too, Ilya. So much.”
After an hour of lazy couch cuddling, Shane noticed something outside the window.
“Ilya,” he whispered, pointing. “Look.”
Ilya squinted at the brightening light. Then his eyes widened.
Snow.
Soft, slow, perfect flakes drifting down in a steady curtain. Even if their jobs mostly had to do with ice, they loved snow.
“The first snow,” Ilya said, voice quiet, almost reverent. “My favorite.”
Shane grinned. “Good thing we have someone who also loves snow.”
Ilya blinked. “You?”
“No,” Shane said. “Anya.”
Right on cue, Anya—who had been taking her nap in her dog bed—lifted her head, ears perked, and let out the tiniest excited bark. She ran to the window, tail wagging so hard her whole body wriggled.
Shane laughed. “See?”
Ilya puffed out his chest. “She is genius. Takes after me.”
Ten minutes later, all three were bundled up: Shane in a light blue winter jacket, Ilya in a black one that made him look like a model, and Anya in a tiny knitted sweater that Ilya had bought her. It made him melt instantly whenever she wore it.
“She is too cute,” he murmured, scooping her up.
Shane rolled his eyes, smiling.
They stepped outside, and the cold air greeted them in one soft rush. Snowflakes landed on Shane’s eyelashes. Anya started zooming in tiny circles, making little pawprint constellations.
They walked down the quiet street together, hands brushing now and then until Ilya simply took Shane’s hand outright.
Ilya loved that he could just take Shane’s hand. That privilege was so simple but felt so good. He loved that he could now be openly affectionate and soft toward Shane. It was the best feeling ever.
Shane felt it too. He squeezed Ilya’s hand.
“This is nice,” he said.
“This is perfect,” Ilya corrected.
When they reached the park, a field of untouched white snow lay before them. Ilya stopped, eyes narrowed, holding Anya’s leash.
“Shane Hollander,” he announced grandly. “I challenge you.”
“To what?” Shane asked.
Ilya bent down and scooped up a handful of snow.
“Oh no. Don’t you dare, Rozanov.”
“Oh yes, Hollander.”
Shane barely had time to yelp before the snowball hit him square in the shoulder. Anya barked at Ilya as if to protect Shane.
“Oh, it’s on, Rozanov,” Shane said—and Ilya immediately bolted.
He ran away, and as Shane’s first snowball flew, he ducked and dodged the snow.
After that, they threw snowballs while laughing so hard neither could aim properly. Anya chased after each throw, trying to catch the snowballs as they exploded on impact.
At one point, Ilya ran toward Shane, getting hit by two snowballs, but as he reached Shane, he tackled him gently into the snow. Both of them sank into the soft powder.
Shane ended up on his back, breathless with laughter, snowflakes caught in his hair. Ilya leaned over him, cheeks pink from the cold, grin soft and dopey.
“You lose,” he said, brushing a flake from Shane’s forehead.
“Do I?” Shane whispered. “I think I won because I have you, Ilya.”
Ilya kissed him. “Now you are too soft, Hollander,” he said smugly—but inside, he loved it when Shane openly shared his feelings.
Ilya was content lying in the snow with Shane. The calm moment ended as Shane shoved a handful of snow down the back of his jacket.
Ilya shrieked in Russian.
Anya barked in solidarity.
By the time they made it back home, all three were soaked and freezing. Shane towel-dried Anya, who wiggled happily and tried to lick everyone’s face. After Anya was dry and happily lying in her dog bed, Ilya wrapped Shane in a giant blanket burrito, and they piled onto the couch again—Shane in Ilya’s lap.
After a while, Shane started kissing Ilya’s cheek, ending at his mouth. Ilya happily indulged him and kissed him back. They made out for a while.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Inside, everything was warm and perfect.
After a while of kissing and cuddling, Shane got off the couch. He wiggled himself out of the blanket burrito and laid the blanket on top of Ilya.
Ilya looked up at his husband. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m getting something from the kitchen. You stay right there,” Shane said, smiling.
It took ten minutes until he emerged again. Ilya’s smile—one he hadn’t been able to get rid of all day—grew even wider.
Shane handed him a mug of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
“For me?” Ilya asked.
“Yes,” Shane said, grinning. “For you.”
“And for Anya?” Ilya asked, pointing accusingly at their dog.
“She gets one treat,” Shane said firmly.
Ilya gasped. “ONE? She deserves two.”
In the end, Anya got one and a half treats because Ilya snuck her an extra tiny piece while pretending to cough.
They settled on the couch together again. Shane leaned his head on Ilya’s shoulder, and Ilya rested his cheek on top of Shane’s hair, rubbing slow circles into Shane’s arm. Anya, who had woken from her nap, lay across both their laps.
Outside, snow still drifted steadily past the window.
They had been spending the whole day cuddling, but now Shane needed to move, so he stretched.
“You know,” he said, “we should probably get up soon.”
Ilya tightened his hold. “Why would we ruin this moment?”
“Because,” Shane said, smiling, “we’re building a snowman.”
Ilya blinked. “In our front yard?”
“Yep. So when other kids walk by, they get something cheerful to look at.”
Ilya stared at him. He couldn’t believe that this was his life now—that this domestic life with Shane Hollander was real, and that Shane was his husband.
Ilya felt so soft and warm inside.
“Shane Hollander,” he said quietly, “I love you so much.”
Shane blushed, and Ilya kissed his cheek just because he could.
Bundled up again, they stepped outside. The snow was already over their ankles and beautifully untouched—but that would change soon.
“Okay,” Shane said, rubbing his gloves together. “Let’s make him big.”
“Big is easy. You love big, Hollander,” Ilya said confidently. “You have a good reference in me for big, yes?”
Shane glared at him.
“Stop looking at me like that, Shane. It is the truth. You love my big—”
“Ilya, stop!” Shane yelped.
He crouched down and rolled a ball of snow, which he immediately threw at Ilya.
Ilya burst out laughing.
“Let’s start, Hollander! Who can make the bigger snowball, huh?” he teased.
“You want us to compete while building a snowman now?” Shane asked.
“I compete with you while doing everything,” Ilya said. “Snow included.”
They built the base as a competition. Ilya’s snowball was bigger and became the base of the snowman, then Shane’s snowball made the middle. The snowman was now missing its head.
They started building the head together, with Ilya stacking the three parts while Shane found some pebbles and a carrot.
When they finished, the snowman stood proudly on the lawn, smiling wide, arms outstretched as if welcoming every kid who passed by.
Shane stepped back. “He looks perfect.”
“Just like you,” Ilya said proudly.
Shane laughed, leaning into Ilya’s side. Ilya wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.
“It’s good,” Ilya murmured. “Kids will like him.”
“They will,” Shane said softly. “And we made him together.”
Ilya’s smile went all warm and quiet.
“Everything is better when we make it together.”
Anya barked at their feet, and the three of them stood there for a moment, watching their snowman.
It was a perfect first snow day.