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    Summary

    Ilya coughed into his elbow, and looked back at Shane, pathetically. “I think,” he whispered, “I think I am sick. I do not feel good.”

    “I know,” said Shane, rising and placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head. He stood close to Ilya, but busied himself, measuring out doses of medication and checking for interactions on the sides of pill bottles, “but I… am going to help with that.” As he said that, reading the side of a box of decongestant, he felt Ilya tip forward and wrap his long arms around Shane’s hips – the only part of him, he could reach.

    Ilya’s forehead pressed into his waist and he felt the warmth radiating off of him immediately. Shane’s heart split open and his eyes prickled.

    “My Shane,” Ilya whispered to himself. Shane ran one hand gently through Ilya’s hair, and when he was ready, stepped backwards. “Mphhh” whined Ilya, arms outstretched, “come back.”

    ---

    Or, Ilya had the flu, and Shane steps up.

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