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The first time their daughter skated, Shane cried.
He didn’t mean to. Promised himself he wouldn’t.
He hadn’t cried when she was born, when she called him Daddy, when he and Ilya had discussed it at length- hell, even when she took her first steps and fell flat on her face on the carpet, he didn’t break.
However, when tiny Irina Rozanov-Hollander wobbled onto the ice in her tiny pink skates, scowling in concentration - exactly like Ilya - before darting forward with all the confidence of a future Metro, Shane felt himself sob as his husband pulled him close, feeling Ilya’s chest vibrate into his back as he pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple.
See?” Ilya murmured, hand squeezing Shane’s bicep, breathless grin on his face. “She’s идеальна. Perfect.” It was teasing, but Shane only had to look up with a small scowl before it smoothed itself out as he watched Ilya swipe at his own eyes, the blue in them glassy. “She’ll be better than us by college.”
Shane leaned into him, smiling against his shoulder.
“Take that dirty word out of your mouth about my baby. She’ll never be that old, she’ll be little forever.”
Ilya just threw his head back and laughed. “Are you sure about that?”
“Bite me, Rozanov.”
“Is Rozanov-Hollander to you.”
Shane just blew a raspberry with a roll of his eyes before he settled into the crook of Ilya’s neck as their daughter squealed with delight on the ice.
She was perfect; it was all that mattered.