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Shane hadn’t answered any of Ilya’s calls during the two-hour drive from Ottawa to Montreal, but he knew Ilya was arriving that afternoon after morning training so it didn’t worry Ilya. What did worry him was that Shane’s car was parked in the driveway when he got there. And when he entered the door code, there were shoes out of place in the entryway, and Shane’s jacket was laying on the floor. Shane never left his coat and shoes out of place.
“Shane?” Ilya called, shucking his own coat and shoes haphazardly to the side. He listened, but didn’t hear any noise.
He quickly checked the kitchen. No Shane, but there was a nearly empty mug of tea on the counter and two separate cabinets had been left open. He checked the living room next. No Shane, but it looked untouched. Shane had to be in the bedroom then.
His socked feet padded silently across the floor to Shane’s room. The door was cracked open and he pushed it open slowly, apprehensive about what he might find. He first sees Shane’s clothes piled on the floor instead of folded, another worrisome thing. Then he sees his fiancé face-down in bed, half on top of his blankets, in just his boxers. A box of tissues is on the bedside table within arms reach, but so are several bottles of cold, flu, and headache medication and a trashcan almost full with used tissues.
He clocks the feverish flush on Shane’s cheeks and knows he has to be sick.
Deciding to let his fiancé sleep, he goes back into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind himself. He goes back and straightens up their coats and shoes, knowing the mess will drive Shane crazy when he wakes up. He handles the kitchen next, setting a fresh cup of tea to steep while he unloads the dishwasher and closes the cabinets. Armed with the fresh cup of tea, he heads back to the bedroom and sets it next to the medications.
He slides into bed on the other side and slowly moves Shane on his side with Ilya curled around him. He can feel the heat coming off Shane’s skin and is worried about how high his temperature might be, but he would let Shane rest for now and check it later.
Not being able to stop himself from kissing his fiancé, Ilya presses light kisses into the back of Shane’s too-warm neck. The other man sighs at the soothing contact and his muscles seem to loosen a little. Ilya’s isn’t sure exactly how long they lay there, but he must have dozed off as the room was now growing dim. He realized Shane was moving around, groaning in discomfort. Ilya’s arm tightened around Shane’s waist instinctively.
“Ilya?” Shane questioned, seemingly having just realized Ilya was there with him.
“Yes, muy lyubov, I’m here.”
“Oh shit, I forgot to text you not to come. I’ve got the flu, I didn’t want you to get sick too.”
“Then I should definitely be here to take care of you. You should not be alone when sick.”
“Ilya, don’t be like that. I don’t want you to catch this shit from me.” Shane tried to roll away, but Ilya kept his hold on Shane.
Shane’s lack of fighting let Ilya know how shitty he really felt.
“I brought fresh tea earlier, but is probably cold now. I go make another one.”
Before Shane could form a protest, Ilya had tucked him in and left the room, taking the old cup and returning a few minutes later with another mug. He sets it down and grabs the thermometer sitting on the table. Shane opens his mouth for it obediently and waits for the beeps to stop.
Ilya frowns at the number. “39 (102.2F) is too high. When did you last take fever medicine?”
“Uh, I think around noon?”
A quick glance at his watch showed it was 6:00 pm. “Ok, time for more. And I check again in an hour. How long have you had fever?”
“Since yesterday afternoon. Team doc tested me this morning when I came in for practice and apparently looked half-dead.”
“Why did you not call me? Would have skipped practice, come take care of you.”
Ilya sounded genuinely hurt and Shane felt guilt wash over him.
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“Sweetheart, we are fiancés. I always want to be by your side. Sick or not, I take care of you. Is what I want to do for you, muy lyubov.”
“Ok,” Shane acquiesced quietly.
He let Ilya fuss over him, giving him more medication, writing down times on a piece of paper so he wouldn’t forget. He dutifully drank the tea Ilya made and then ate the soup he ordered in as well. And when he couldn’t keep his eyes open, they curled up together in bed again.
Sure, the medicine definitely helped, but Ilya’s soothing touch and caring actions felt like they helped more as he slipped into a deep sleep.