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It had been five weeks since they’d seen each other last. It wasn’t the longest stretch, not even close. Five weeks in the grand scheme of their story thus far was nothing, just a few pages to skim until they were together again.
Still though, since the cottage, their time apart felt…different.
Before, it was compartmentalizable. The dull ache was easy to ignore, to push away for survival’s sake.
But since the cottage, it wasn’t so easy. They’d spent that beautiful stretch of time that lingered learning about each other, confessing their true feelings, and making a real plan for their future. They’d been so nervous and unsteady at the start of those two weeks, but they'd come out the other side with stronger love. But also, worse pain.
Now they understood what they were truly missing out on. Now in the time spent apart, that pain was a constant thud, like a sixth sense they had both developed that was just ‘he’s not here.’ Neither Shane nor Ilya could put that feeling on a shelf anymore, or convince themselves it would go away. Now it was ever-present, a weight they were trying to figure out how to carry.
Their relationship was still so new, when they really stopped to think about it. Sure they had known each other for so many years, but this part-the naming the feelings, the giving this a real shot, being boyfriends- this was new territory they were delicately navigating and trying desperately not to fuck up.
It was no surprise then that they would try to manage every moment of their available time together. Before the start of the hockey season, they sat down and poured over their schedules, circling and planning for every chance they had to be together.
The one that started tomorrow was one they had been looking forward to the most: a miraculous almost three full days with no practices, games, or obligations for either of them. It would be the first time they’d spend this much time together since the cottage and they were both looking forward to it. Shane had even started a countdown. Each morning Ilya would wake to a text message from Shane with the number of days to start their day. Of course, Ilya had picked on him mercilessly each time, but today, on *the* day, Ilya found himself lying awake in bed at 5 a.m., phone in hand, waiting for that stupid text.
It finally arrived at 5:42am.
Jane
0 🎉
Lily
today is the day
Jane
You’re awake already?!
Lily
couldn’t sleep
Jane
You’re excited!
Lily
excited for days off, no hockey
Jane
Excited to see ME
Lily
no
Jane
Liar
Lily
Russians do not lie
Jane
Admit it
Lily
never
Jane
What time do you get here?
Lily
plane leaves in 3 hours, I will be there probably 11:30/12:00
Jane
See you ARE excited!
Lily
I know flight times and math, this is not excited
Shane scoffed, and thought enough. He hit a button on his phone to initiate a FaceTime request. It took Ilya an infuriating number of rings to answer considering Shane knew full well that Ilya’s phone was literally in his hands. But he'd grown accustomed to this gentle teasing, this subtle assholery that he understood now to be Ilya’s love language.
When Ilya finally accepted the call, the image that filled Shane’s screen made his heart actually skip a beat. It was Ilya’s gorgeous smiling face, his wild bed-head of golden curls falling over his forehead. He was laying on an indigo pillow. Shane could almost feel that lush, luxurious bedding he now knew so well. Though he could only see Ilya’s face, his brain filled in the rest of the image: the matching indigo sheets and plush comforter. The low bed. The inexplicable number of lamps in the room. He knew Ilya was sprawled out on the left side of the bed, probably with his right leg up to help prop up his hand and the phone.
“Hey you,” Shane said, the smile on his face burning so bright he knew he was about to be made fun of for it.
But this time Ilya surprised him. “You are so pretty.”
This caused Shane to blush, and he let the phone drop.
“No, no, come back,” Ilya demanded. “I will not give any compliments.”
At this Shane laughed and flipped the phone back in the direction of his face.
“I cannot wait to see you in person,” he said.
“You missssss me,” teased Ilya, but Shane could see his smile and knew from the crinkles in his eyes that they were both equally as excited for this time together.
“So three days. What’s the plan?” Shane wanted to know.
Illya sat up. “Besides all of the sex?”
Shane laughed. They had both agreed not to put too much pressure on these pockets of time together. No specific plans or expectations wherever possible. They would just enjoy being together and take things one moment at a time, for now.
But that didn’t stop Shane from asking every single time.
“Obviously lots of sex,” Shane agreed, giving an uncharacteristic wink that sent an unexpected jolt through Ilya’s body. “But we have THREE DAYS. Feels like we should plan…something.”
“Of course you would say we need plans. We will just do everything and nothing, like always. Or…” Ilya trailed off.
“Or what?”
“You could surprise me.”
“Surprise you? With what? How?” Shane’s brow furrowed and Ilya could see his brain flip into overdrive.
“Hollander, do you not know the definition of this word, ‘surprise’? Should I google it for you?”
“I know but…”
“Nevermind,” Ilya said with a resigned, but not unkind, sigh. “I must get up. I am packed but will need to shower and leave soon.”
A wry smile crept across Shane’s face.
“You are thinking of me naked in the shower!” Ilya accused, lifting a hand to his mouth as if scandalized by the idea.
“Definitely.”
They both laughed, marveling at how far they’d come and how easy this felt right now, despite how impossible the situation actually remained.
“See you soon, moya lyubov” Ilya said.
“Love you,” Shane returned and ended the call.
Shane looked at his watch, wondering how to fill the time until Ilya was at his doorstep. He had tidied the house, stocked the fridge and pantry, and changed the sheets on his bed to the nicest set he owned.
He started to think about that word: ‘surprise.’ It was not a surprise that surprises were not something he’d ever liked receiving or had any success planning. He would spend so long thinking of every possible negative outcome until he just abandoned the plans altogether.
But things were different now, Shane was different. He had done things now that old Shane could never have even dreamed about. He could do this. He could definitely do this. A surprise…
—---
Despite having known each other for over a decade, Shane still found himself nervous with anticipation anytime he was waiting for Ilya. Right now, he was sitting in a chair, legs crossed, staring at the front door. He rubbed a tear in the fabric of the chair, unable to pull on it in case that made it worse, but needing to touch it long enough to forget how much he hated knowing it was there to begin with.
Ilya had a key now, so Shane could have been doing any number of things to keep his mind occupied. Ilya had multiple keys, actually: one to Shane’s apartment in Montreal, one to the cottage, and one to his parents’ cottage, which had been a whole thing that ended in Ilya actually shedding a tear upon being presented with it. That was, of course, followed swiftly by a joke about using it for “emergencies only” to avoid finding Shane’s parents in any compromising positions. Shane was the only one who did not appreciate that particular joke.
Finally, Shane heard a sound coming from the hallway outside the door. He resisted the urge to rush the door and yank it open, choosing instead to stand awkwardly 20 feet away, continuing to stare.
And then the door was open. And Ilya was there. Sunglasses little askew on the top of his head, which Shane could tell had until very recently held a ball cap by the way his curls were matted down, sticking out only at the very ends at the back of his neck. He was wearing his usual black on black, a black leather weekender bag slung over his shoulder. Shane thought he looked…absolutely stunning.
Ilya put down his bag at the same time he was slipping off his sneakers, and finally looked up to see Shane. He froze, one shoe off and one shoe on, an eyebrow immediately shooting to the sky.
“You are wearing a suit,” he said matter-of-factly.
Shane looked down like he’d forgotten he was the one who had chosen in, then looked back up and nodded. “I am.”
“Why are you wearing a suit?” Ilya kicked off the second shoe and walked slowly toward Shane.
“Surprise?” Shane said it like a question and not an exclamation, which Ilya found completely adorable.
He opened his mouth to say something, but Shane’s eyes went wide, like he had just remembered the whole point of this, because he had just remembered the whole point of this.
“I have a confession to make.”
Now Ilya was intrigued. “Is it a dirty confession?”
Shane huffed. “No. Not dirty.” He took Ilya’s hand and pulled him over to the couch. They hadn’t even kissed yet, which was normally priorities number one, two, three, and four whenever they first saw each other so this was truly already a surprise.
“Remember the first time we met up?” Shane asked.
“Met up?” Illya questioned, and Shane could tell he was leafing through his memories, trying to decide Shane’s definition of “met up.”
Shane clarified. “After the commercial. The first time you came to my hotel room.”
One side of Ilya’s face crept into a knowing smile. “Oh yes. I remember that night well. Curious.”
Shane’s face flushed at the memory, despite how long ago it was. He pressed on. “Well, I never told you how nervous I was before you showed up.”
Ilya placed a hand gently over Shane’s. “Moya lyubov, I could tell.”
“I’m sure,” he said. “I was definitely not chill at all back then.”
“Ah yes, and now you are Captain Chill.” Ilya’s effortless sarcasm struck again.
“Well, what I never told you is that I changed my clothes like six times while I was waiting for you. Like combinations of every article of clothing in my suitcase. Including…a full suit. Tie and all.”
The look of delight that spread across Ilya’s face was one that Shane had not witnessed since his Tampa confession to having hired a stylist. Shane made a quick mental note to later unpack why Shane’s confessions elicited this particular response.
“You were going to open your hotel room door to me wearing a full suit?” he managed to ask through his grin.
“Maybe. Yes.”
“Why??”
“I don’t know. Because I wanted to make a good first impression? Because you had just seen me completely naked so I thought wearing the most clothes would be a good alternative?”
They both laughed at that, leaning into each other as their shoulders shook.
‘I would have made so much fun of you,” admitted Ilya.
“I know.”
“But probably I would still have fallen in love with you.”
Shane stilled. “You think so?”
“Probably, definitely.”
With that admission, they finally leaned in for a kiss. Not like the hurried, desperate kisses they usually started with because they were trying to make up for lost time. This kiss felt settled, meaningful, like they had the rest of their lives for kissing.
“This is the best surprise.”
“But it’s not the only one.”
“There is more?!” Ilya sat up and exaggerated looking around the apartment. “Who is this man and what has he done with my boyfriend Shane Hollander?”
—---
By the middle of the afternoon, Shane and Ilya were tired. Various pieces of Shane’s suit were strewn about the apartment, to be worried about later. They were laying on the couch, Shane pressed into Ilya. That was the other thing about their precious time together: they could never be close enough, they had to always be touching.
Around 6:00, after they’d spent some time absently flipping through 47 different streaming platforms before settling on a movie they’d both seen multiple times, the doorbell rang. They’d been playing with each other’s hands: weaving their fingers together, tracing lines, trying to memorize each other.
Shane gave Ilya’s hand a squeeze as his eyebrows shot up.
“Expecting company? Is my surprise a very discreet third?” Ilya sat up straight like he was ready to make a good first impression. Shane pushed him back down into the couch before he could continue.
“You wish, dude. Don’t move.”
He walked away toward the front front door and Ilya, now pouting, did not move. He’d joked about threesomes before but if he was really being honest with himself, the serious idea of sharing any intimate moments with Shane with another person made him feel physically ill. Which was a new and weird and awesome feeling.
Ilya thought that maybe it was Shane’s friend, Hayden, who seemed to get a real kick out of interrupting their time together since he’d found out about their relationship. Ilya found himself preemptively flipping through his brain file of Pike insults just in case.
It turned out that Ilya didn’t have to wonder about who or what was at the door for much longer because of the delicious scents that suddenly wafted over to him. Scents that Ilya had never smelled in the confines of Shane’s apartment ever before. He sat up straight again. And like the scent of cooling pie on a windowsill, Ilya stood up and followed the smell into the kitchen, where he found Shane placing a large cardboard box stuffed with two very large plastic take out bags of food on the counter.
“What is this?” Ilya asked. “I have never smelled such incredible smells in this apartment. Usually it smells like farts because of all the green vegetables you are steaming."
Shane barked out a laugh. “Gross.”
“Yes, that is what I always say.”
“Today is your lucky day, Rozanov. I ordered us arancini, chicken parmesan, truffle risotto, and garlic bread. An Italian feast!”
“Holy shit, Hollander. That is the sexiest thing I have ever heard you say.”
“Good thing I didn’t mention the side of roasted vegetables.”
“And just like that, my dick is soft again,” Ilya deadpanned, and pretended to leave the room. “But seriously,” he wanted to know. “You are just going to eat vegetables?”
“No,” said Shane. “I ordered two chicken parms.”
Ilya froze. “Shane Hollander is going to eat cheese?” He clutched his hands to his chest. “This is the best day of my life.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “I eat cheese.”
“I have never seen it. At the cottage, you made 8 hamburgers, no cheese in sight.”
“I eat cheese!” he insisted, his voice dipping toward defense.
Ilya walked up behind him, placing his arms gently around Shane’s waist.
“I joke,” he started. “I know how your health is important to you.”
“It is,” Shane agreed. “But so is enjoying life. And I know how much you love chicken parm and all this stuff, and I just wanted to do something different, so tonight…we are eating anything we want.”
Ilya whipped Shane around, both eyes going wide.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“You are lucky I am more interested in food than sex right now.”
Now it was Shane’s turn to clutch his chest.
“Never thought this day would come.”
“I really want to make jokes about you saying ‘come’ but I will resist.”
They leaned into each other and laughed.
“We are so dumb,” Shane chuckled.
“Adorable. We are adorable,” Illa corrected.
“Sure, whatever you say.”
With that, they got ready to eat. Shane started opening the takeout containers while Ilya went to the cabinet that held the nice plates and bowls. They floated around each other in the kitchen, never stepping on each other’s toes or knocking into each other. They’d settled into a domestic dance.
After the food was plated, they brought everything to the dining room table. While Ilya went back for a coke and a ginger ale, Shane quickly and lit the two candles he’d hidden close by.
Ilya walked back into the dining room holding the two cans of soda in one hand and two empty wine glasses in the other. When he saw the candles, he paused.
“Shane…” he said, his eyes softening. Shane was notoriously NOT a candle guy, both because he wasn’t great with the sometimes overpowering scents and the anxiety of an open flame.
Shane knew where this was going. “They are unscented. And I almost got the electric ones, but they don’t really look as nice. And I wanted to try to…surprise you. And I know this is all pretty weak as far as surprises go.”
But Ilya didn’t let him finish, setting down the soda and glasses. “This means so much to me, moya lyubov. You are getting out of your…” he paused, searching for the right words because sometimes when he was overcome with emotions, they were hard to find, “...comfort zone. For me.”
“I would do anything for you,” Shane admitted without hesitation.
‘I know,” Ilya assured him back. “And I love you so much for it. Now can we eat please?”
And so they did. The arancini, the chicken parm, even the fucking vegetables, which to Ilya’s delight were bathed in a salted garlic and butter sauce. They fed each other garlic bread after using it to soak up the red sauce from their plates.
Long after they’d finished eating, they were still at the table, laughing and trading insane locker room stories. They poured soda refill after refill into their fancy wine glasses, and it almost felt like getting drunk with how silly they were being. They savored the moment like they savored the food, pretending as if their time wasn't finite. Like in two days they wouldn’t be saying their goodbyes and restarting the countdown until the next time.
—---
It was nearly 11 by the time they’d finished cleaning up. Shane had given Ilya another mini-surprise: letting him do the dishes while Shane dried. He was pretty meticulous about the whole washing process and didn’t even trust the very expensive dishwasher in his kitchen to do the trick, nevermind sexy Russians who spent more time spraying water than focusing on the task at hand.
This time though, Ilya took the job very seriously and did not utter one complaint or joke and Shane loved him all the more for it. Of course, Ilya was going to Ilya, so he could not resist slapping Shane’s butt with one wet hand, leaving a glorious watery hand print on the left butt-cheek of his fitted grey joggers.
“What’s next?” Ilya asked. “More surprises.”
Shane took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to say that’s it. I told you it wasn’t anything crazy…” he trailed off, shoulders slinking a bit as he hooked his thumbs into his pockets.
“Hey…hey…” Ilya said, deftly tugging Shane’s hands from his default anxiety pose and moving them to his shoulders. “I do not need anything else from you. This has been so much already. I did not mean it to say I expected more. This has been…everything. I will think of you in that suit until my last breath.”
Shane chuckled. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. Now maybe we go upstairs and put on pajamas and watch a movie in bed?”
“Like actually watch a movie or,” he held up air quotes “watch a movie.” Shane wanted clarified.
Ilya screwed his face up to look puzzled, mimicking Shane’s air quotes.
“What is this gesture? I do not understand.”
Shane rolled his eyes and pushed Ilya, but only because they had gone through this years ago during one of their rendezvous. Shane had tried and failed to describe air quotes, and they ended up having to watch a YouTube video about it.
Shane kept pushing Ilya, toward the stairs, then up the stairs, then in the direction of Shane’s bedroom.
Once they’d reached the bedroom, the looks Ilya was giving Shane made it clear there would be no movies watched in this room tonight. Ilya’s eyes were dark and full of lust. He bit his bottom lip in a way that sent a rush through Shane’s body.
‘Kiss me,” Shane said. He lowered his gaze.
“Say please.”
“Kiss me, now.” Shane demanded, not asked.
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Still surprising me tonight, huh Hollander?”
Shane had the audacity to actually wink at Ilya, who was now officially done waiting. He rushed to close the gap between them, pressing one hand firmly on Shane’s chest, the other to the side of his face. He moved Shane’s head a fraction of an inch, so their lips aligned and then he kissed him, pressing his whole body into him. Shane gripped Ilya’s hips and kissed back, his brain flashing back to that first kiss in that first hotel room all those years ago. The sharp pull in his heart was the same. Like his heart had known the whole time that this is exactly where he belonged.
They moved seamlessly to the bed, their lips never coming apart. Ilya flopped down first and then Shane pressed the weight of his entire body over him while they continued kissing.
Shane moved a hand down Ilya’s side, searching for the bottom of Ilya’s shirt so he could lift it up to touch his skin. As he was feeling they were kissing, Shane’s stomach made a sound that could only be described as rolling thunder. They both froze for a second, lips parting and eyes locked. Shane’s eyes clearly said “please let’s pretend that never happened” while Ilya’s were more “I really want to make fun of you in a loving way right now”.
Mercifully, Ilya took pity on Shane’s poor embarrassed soul, and smashed their lips together again. This time Shane found Ilya’s skin, running his hands up and down Ilya’s firm chest. Ilya’s hands moved to Shane’s shirt and he helped Shane pull it off in one quick move, parting their lips only long enough for it to go over his head and be tossed aside.
They were really going to town now, back to kissing like they had weeks of kissing to make up for. And then, again, Shane’s stomach made that same sickening rumble, only it was even louder this time.
He sat up quickly, still straddling Ilya who now looked at him with genuine concern.
“Shane…” Ilya whispered.
Shane was frozen on top of Ilya, his eyes shut tight and his face scrunched up.
“What is happening? What’s wrong?”
Shane still hadn’t spoken. Or moved. Or possibly breathed. And then it looked like a chill rolled through his body because he shook from the top of his head down to his toes.
Ilya began to sit up while holding on to Shane’s hips, trying not to jostle him.
“Talk to me, Hollander. What is going on?”
Shane finally took a tiny breath in and out. “It feels like my insides are squeezing together. And I’m…tingly?” He whispered the words like a secret for some reason, and Ilya carefully slipped out from under Shane and helped position him off to the side of the bed.
“Do you need something? Water? Ginger ale?”
Shane shook his head as Ilya clicked on the bedside lamp to get a better look at him.
“You are looking very pale,” Ilya said, his voice growing with concern.
Shane took another few long, steadying breaths.
“Maybe eating all that food was not such a good idea,” he finally said, his face frownier than Ilya had ever seen it.
Ilya touched his back sympathetically. “Oh no. Probably your body is not used to all of the oil and the butter and the cheese.”
The words “oil” and “butter” and “cheese” felt like shots to Shane’s guts and he recoiled.
“Ilya, please stop saying food words.”
Ilya stopped. They sat together on the edge of the bed. Unmoving.
Shane’s eyes were still closed. His stomach was still making the most ungodly sounds Ilya had ever heard. And then, without warning, Shane was up and running to the ensuite bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
What proceeded was a solid five minutes of the most polite yet distressing vomiting Ilya had ever heard.
For the first time in a long time, Ilya had no idea what to do. He wanted to burst into the bathroom, kneel at Shane’s side and stroke his back but he knew that would probably make Shane want to throw up even more.
Instead Ilya took to pacing in front of the bathroom door, pausing each time he heard a toilet splash, trying to decipher Shane’s condition from the trajectory.
Finally, he heard a flush–nope, two flushes and a loud, excruciating groan.
“Shane?” Ilya called softly, cheek pressed to the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”
Shane paused before croaking out “No, I am disgusting.”
Ilya let out a quiet chuckle. “It’s ok. I do not care.”
“I care!” he retorted, but it came out weak and lackluster.
“My Shane, please. Let me come in.”
“Ok.”
Ilya slowly opened the bathroom and surveyed the scene. A still-shirtless Shane was huddled over the toilet bowl, gripping it with the same sexy force he’d felt around his own hips not too long ago, Ilya’s still somehow super horny brain noted.
He looked like an absolute wreck. His skin was pale, a sheen of sweat covering it, causing his dark hair to stick to his skin. The rest of his body was stiff as a scared cat, like he was afraid to move.
Ilya rushed to his side before he could protest any further.
“What do you need? What can I do?”
Before Shane had a chance to even think of an answer, a second wave hit.
Ilya turned around, offering Shane a modicum of dignity, but he didn't leave the room this time. He only said, as Shane continued to puke his everloving guts out, “I am right here, my love.”
When he was finally done, Ilya turned back around and his eyes widened. Shane was slumped over now, involuntary tears running down his face from the sheer force of what his body had just had to do.
“Dying,” Shane croaked, his voice now hoarse.
“Probably not dying,” Ilya said, reaching to place a hand gently on Shane’s shoulder.
“Maybe you should leave,” Shane continued on in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Leave?!?” Ilya exclaimed. “Are you serious?”
Shane let out another pitiful moan. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Ilya frowned. “You are sick. It’s not your fault. I will take care of you,” he said simply as a fact. This is what was happening.
“Do you want to try to go lay down or stay here?”
Shane paused. “Stay here…I don’t…know if I am…done,” he admitted weakly and made a face like he was embarrassed to have to say the words.
Ilya turned and walked out the door, grabbed a few pillows from the bed and a blanket before returning to the bathroom. He placed the pillows on the floor against the wall directly in front of the toilet.
“Can I help you move back? To lean against this wall with these pillows?”
Shane glanced over. ‘There are pillows. On the floor. In the bathroom.”
Ilya rolled his eyes.
“We will wash the pillows,” he assured.
Shane made a pained, unsatisfied face.
“We will burn the pillows. We will buy new pillows.”
That got the tiniest smile in response and Ilya helped move Shane back, lowering him gently against the wall so that he was still in front of the toilet, but could rest his back on the bathroom wall.
Ilya opened a closet door, grabbed a wash cloth and ran it under cool water before sliding down the wall next to Shane. He pressed the washcloth to Shane’s forehead and he breathed a small sigh of relief. Ilya continued, brushing away the sweat from his skin.
When he was done, Ilya reached over and placed his hand over Shane’s. They sat beside each other in silence, Ilya breathing in and out while Shane tried to match the pattern, attempting to normalize the beating of his heart.
Just as he thought his breathing was about to level out, another wave of nausea rolled over his body.
“I think…” he started to say, but Ilya was already on it, helping to pitch Shane’s body closer to the toilet so that he could do what needed to be done. Shane emptied more of his stomach into the toilet, silently cursing with each new heave.
He was so caught up in the horrors of his own body’s making that he failed to clock that Ilya was not by his side stroking his back, or standing up with his back turned. In fact, it wasn’t until Shane had finished this bout that he realized Ilya was not even in the bathroom anymore.
Shane took a few steadying breaths and managed to pull himself up to a mostly standing stance.
“Ilya?” He tried to shout but was so weak the word barely made it to the bathroom door.
Shane shuffled weakly back into the bedroom. And that’s when he heard it. Coming from the bathroom down the hall. The loudest, most god-awful sound of vomiting that he had ever heard, which was truly saying something for someone who’d just heard his own vomit sounds inside his own head. Ilya was retching between what Shane knew with 100% certainty to be the most vile Russian profanities ever to be spoken into existence.
Shane leaned lamely against the door frame, eyes closed. He didn’t trust himself to make it down the hallway to offer any assistance. And truly, what assistance could he offer at the moment? Instead, he stood there, trying to send Ilya emotional support via sheer force of will.
Many minutes and an obscene number of toilet flushes later, Shane finally heard the bathroom door open. He forced himself to open his eyes and swing his body in the direction of the man that he loved.
“Ilya?” he asked weakly. “You ok?”
Ilya was shuffling down the hallway, like a kid on his first day on skates, using both hands to alternate gripping the wall to steady himself. He inched his way back to Shane until he reached the threshold of the bedroom door. He leaned against it for support.
They were facing each other, mirrored in both weakness and disgust. Ilya’s shirt was drenched in sweat, the previously wild curls on his perfect head now soaked. His skin was ashen, totally devoid of its normally god-like glow.
Finally, Illya uttered with as much disdain as his weakened body could muster: “The chicken parmesan has betrayed me!”
Despite feeling like he was about a five minute drive from death’s door, Shane let out a low laugh. Their eyes met pityingly.
Shane managed a tiny shrug. “Surprise?”
—---
Half an hour and another round of barfing for each of them later, they were both holed up back on the ensuite bathroom floor. Ilya had managed to find an empty bucket in the bathroom closet so that they could stay in the same room in their shared pathetic states in the event they had to puke at the same time.
“This is fucking miserable,” Shane lamented.
Ilya nodded. They were now just laying on the bathroom floor, propped up by pillows that would need to be incinerated at this point when this was all over.
“Definitely not what I had in mind for tonight,” Ilya agreed.
Shane let out a pathetic whimper. “I’m so sorry, Ilya.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“I got us sick!”
“You made the food we ate?”
“No…”
“Ok, then you did not make us sick. It is not your fault.”
Shane sighed. “This is why I don’t do surprises…”
Ilya, who was curled up in the fetal position on top of a large bathmat, reached for Shane.
“It is not your fault,” he said again. “It is just life.”
“I know,” Shane admitted. “But we have such short amounts of time together, this is not how I wanted this time to go.”
Ilya traced circles on Shane’s arm. “This is part of being boyfriends though, no? This will happen. We will get sick, we will get better. We will argue, we will have make-up sex.”
That got a short but pained laugh out of Shane.
“I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
‘I am so tired.”
“Me too,” Ilya agreed. “Muscles feel like I worked out but all I did was puke.”
“Mmm…sexy,” Shane said absently.
They slowly shifted positions, Ilya asking at one point “The room is still spinning, yes?”, so that they were facing each other on the bathroom floor.
“What is the sickest you have ever been?” Shane asked.
Ilya’s face twisted. “This is what you want to know right now at this moment?”
Shane shrugged in response. “Sure, why not.”
Ilya thought for a moment. “When I was very young, maybe 8 or 9, I was very sick. Probably with the flu or something, I don’t remember. I could not go to school for three days because of fever. My mother did not leave my side. My father was so angry with her, said she was treating me like a baby, but I was so sick. I could barely stand up, I kept seeing spots. She gave me medicine and made me soup, and read me stories. She slept in my bed so she could check my fever and whisper songs in my ear. I had her to myself for three whole days. It was the best.”
Shane’s heart broke for Ilya, realizing that he was recounting a time when he was the sickest as if it was a happy memory, simply because he’d had someone to take care of him.
“Your turn,” Ilya said. “Same question.”
Shane thought for a moment. “I had chicken pox when I was like 11, maybe? It was fucking awful. I caught it at hockey camp and had to be sent home early. I was so itchy and miserable. My mom kept threatening to put my hockey gloves on me so I wouldn’t scratch myself and I begged her not to because I was afraid I would rip them off and ruin them. I complained so much, I don’t know how my parents put up with me. I remember feeling like I was crawling out of my skin for days and only feeling relief when I was asleep. I missed the last week of camp too, I was so mad.”
“That is the most Shane Hollander story I have ever heard.”
Shane pushed him playfully, and then realized he hadn’t thought about throwing up in a little while.
“Hey, when was the last time either of us threw up?”
Ilya scrunched his face in thought. “Maybe twenty minutes, maybe three hours. Time does not make sense right now.”
“Agreed. Should we maybe try to get up? Go lay in bed?”
Ilya shook his head. “I am still very dizzy. Let’s just stay here.”
Shane didn’t even protest, which is how Ilya knew he was still feeling pretty terrible as well. They shuffled around some more, making sure they were huddled together on the bathmat and blanket, then they each wrapped one arm around the other so that they were still touching, but left enough sick space between them.
They didn’t talk anymore, they just laid still, listening to each other’s breaths until they were perfectly in sync. And then, finally, sleep came.
—---
When Shane woke up, he had no idea how much time had passed. He actually had no idea where he even was for a solid 15 seconds after his eyes opened, until the horrors of the night before flashed in his memory. He shuddered, glancing into the bedroom, which from the spilling of sunlight through the windows at least let him know it was daytime.
He looked over Ilya, still asleep, curled up in the fetal position, his back pressed firmly into Shane’s side. His hands gripped the bath mat, most likely for comfort. His hair was a mess of wild curls like Shane had never witnessed. He definitely did not look great, but Shane’s heart squeezed anyway.
He assessed his own condition, noting that he didn’t feel queasy any more, thank God. He was however, still very weak, and felt the start of a headache clawing at the base of his skull.
He leaned over, gently nudging Ilya.
“Mmm…no thank you,” Ilya whispered, adjusting his body so that it pressed further into Shane for comfort.
“Ilya, we have to try and get up. We have to get some liquids or something in us. We are so dehydrated.”
Ilya cracked one eye open. “I do not want to move. Possibly ever again.”
“I know. Me either. But we have not had anything to drink at all. We need electrolytes. We need to try and move, get downstairs.”
“That sounds like too much work. We will just live here in the bathroom forever. Much easier.”
Now he gave Ilya a slight push. “We can’t live in the bathroom.”
“Why not? We have shower. We have toilet. What more do we need?”
Shane shuddered. “I promise if you have to use the bathroom in front me I might never want to kiss you again.”
‘OK, fine. We will get up.”
With that, they both sat up, slowly, their bones creaking and cracking from the cramped positions they’d been stuck in for so long. They both grumbled and groaned and reached for each other now that they were both on all fours, trying to figure out the best way to get up. Ilya leaned back so that both his hands were free and offered them to Shane.
“Here you get up first.”
Shane gripped Ilya’s hands, using the force to swing his leg out and get a foot solidly on the floor. He pushed himself up, his limbs all screaming in a way he was wholly unfamiliar with as someone who was in very good shape.
Finally, he was in a full upright position. He paused for a moment, trying to make sure the world wasn’t spinning so fast anymore.
“What is it like up there?” Ilya asked.
Shane shuffled a few paces up slowly, reaching his hands out to help pull Ilya up. It took three tries but finally they were both standing, gripping each other's elbows.
They surveyed the bathroom from this vantage point and winced. Though they had, for the most part, managed to contain all of their sick to the actual toilet and/or bucket, which was then emptied to the best of their abilities at the time, the bathroom was still…a hot mess. The bath mats were scrunched into the corners, the pillows (oh God, the pillows) were now pressed against the tub. Wash cloths and towels in varying stages of dampness were strewn on the floor, the towel rack, and the counter. It was quite the departure from Shane’s spotless and orderly bathroom.
“Don’t freak out,” Ilya said, “we will clean this.”
Shane shrugged. “I don’t really care. Let’s just get downstairs and get some fluids in us.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow, but didn’t make a comment on Shane’s lack of a comment on the state of the bathroom. They turned their bodies and took a tandem deep breath.
“Downstairs we go!”
—---
“Curse the idiot that bought this place!” exclaimed Shane about halfway down the stairs to the first floor of his apartment.
They were huddled together on the second landing, with two more to go before reaching the bottom.
They were leaning against the glass, a sheen of sweat on both their brows. Shane’s brilliant plan to get downstairs had turned out to be possibly the worst idea in the world once they’d remembered the four sets of sharply angled steps that needed to be traversed in order to actually get downstairs.
“You just cursed…yourself,” Ilya pointed out, breathing heavily like he’d just run 10 miles and not walked down like 14 steps.
Shane ignored Ilya and morphed his tortured face into a determined one. “Ok. We can do this. One more set of steps and we’ve made it.” He paused. “I’ll race you.”
Ilya felt a flicker in his stomach, a spark that ignited as soon as a competition of any kind was placed before him. But the flicker went out just as quickly as it sparked, and Ilya’s body shrunk into itself.
“I do not want to race you. I am broken,” he lamented.
Shane patted Ilya’s back, sympathetically. “Fair enough. Come on, we can do this. We are super strong, super sexy, elite hockey players. We can’t be defeated by stairs!”
Ilya’s eyes rolled, but he couldn’t help a small smile. “How are you this positive when we are dying?”
Shane didn’t answer, pushing himself forward while gripping the sleeve of Ilya’s shirt so he had no choice but to be pulled along.
It took an embarrassing amount of time, but they finally made it to the kitchen. Their bodies were screaming from the hours spent convulsing, the night spent on the bathroom floor, and the dehydration that had sucked the life from both their bodies and left only aches and pains.
Shane grabbed paper towels from the counter, ripping a few off to hand to Ilya so they could both wipe the sweat from their faces.
“Ok,” Shane said. “Time to rehydrate.” He shuffled over to a seemingly random cupboard at the far end of the kitchen and opened it to reveal an actually absurd amount of electrolyte beverages. There were bottles, cans, packets, tubs even.
More brands than Ilya knew even existed. He shuffled over to stand shoulder to shoulder with Shane. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “You can rehydrate a small country. How have I not seen this cabinet before?”
Shane shrugged. “I get sent a lot of stuff. I used to give it away but I am not great at explaining and it would just get awkward and I never want to throw the stuff away so I just kind of…kept it all.”
Ilya nodded. “Fair enough.” He reached in, shuffling items around, trying to decide what to choose. Finally, he settled on a single-use powder, a flavor called “Great Grapes of Wrath” for some reason. “Which one do you want?”
“Whatever you pick is fine,” Shane said, and stepped to another cabinet to pull out two room-temperature bottles of water. “Do you prefer cold?” he asked. “Normally I do but I am so scared to put anything in my body right now, I think this is a better idea.”
Ilya skipped right over the joke they both knew he wanted to make and just nodded, taking both bottles from Shane. He opened them up, poured a packet in each, put the caps back on and shook them. Both bottles turned an unnatural shade of plum. Ilya handed one out to Shane, who took it from him, making sure his hands fully brushed Ilya’s in the process.
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Not fair.”
Shane only smiled and shrugged simultaneously, before pitching his head in the direction of the living room.
Ilya followed Shane, their steps slowly going from a skate to a shuffle. Shane reached the couch first, grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and two blankets from a basket under the table before laying slowly on the couch.
“My body feels like it’s 1,000 years old,” he groaned, attempting to get comfortable. Ilya dropped down next to him, even more slowly if that was possible.
“Yes, mine too. Remind me to text Scott Hunter and apologize for calling him old man. This is terrible.” Ilya pressed the back of his body into Shane, slowly swinging his legs up. Shane swept one of the blankets over Ilya, and then placed the other on himself. He turned the TV on and they sat in silence, taking slow slips of their electrolyte water. At some point Ilya pushed himself down and laid his head on Shane’s lap and they both dozed off.
Shane woke up first, his fingers wrapped in Ilya’s curls. Ilya’s arm wrapped firmly around Shane’s legs. He glanced at the time, shocked to find it was now 9 p.m. He realized they’d lost the whole day and he couldn’t help but feel sad.
“What are you thinking right now?” Ilya asked. Shane jumped at the sound of his voice, startled.
“How do you know I’m thinking?”
Ilya slowly pushed himself up from Shane’s lap as Shane untangled his fingers from his hair. Ilya studied Shane’s face.
“If you awake, you are thinking,” he said. “Actually you are probably thinking even in your sleep. You dream only of making lists.”
Shane laughed. “I was thinking about how much it sucks that this whole day has been a waste.”
Ilya shook his head. “Has not been a waste. We are together, yes?”
“Yes…”
“Then it’s not a waste.”
“How are you feeling?” Shane asked, changing the subject. Ilya thought for a moment.
“Not terrible, but also not great. I do not think I am dizzy anymore, but could maybe use more water.”
Shane nodded. “Kind of the same. Here,” he said, handing Ilya the remote. “You find something to watch and I will get us more water.”
Ilya fiddled with the remote while Shane went to the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later with a tray of more water bottles, electrolyte packets, a few types of plain crackers, and a bunch of bananas. Also the candles from the night before. He placed the tray on the coffee table, moving the candles to the middle and lighting both. He held out two flavor packets for Ilya to choose from. He mixed the one he picked, and one for himself. He handed a water bottle to Ilya and grabbed his as well as one of the boxes of crackers. He sat down in the corner of the section so he could bring his legs up. Ilya moved his body over so they were pressed against each other in the corner, their legs up. He nestled his head on Shane’s shoulder as they settled into the movie that Ilya had picked.
Neither of them said a word, settled into a comfortable silence. He leaned in closer to Ilya and took his hand easily. No, maybe not a waste after all.
—---
In the end, they decided to spend the night on the couch. One look at the devil steps and they agreed emphatically. Thankfully, Shane had splurged on an enormous interchangeable sectional, so they moved a few pieces around to form a giant couch bed.
The next morning, they woke at the same time, twisting and stretching their limbs.
“Was not as comfortable as your fancy mattress, but fancy couch was definitely a step up from the cold bathroom floor,” Ilya said, sitting up.
Shane nodded in agreement. Suddenly, his eyes went wide.
Ilya scrambled to a sitting position, grabbing Shane’s arm.
“Are you OK?”
He paused for a moment, like he was trying to work something out in head.
Finally he said simply, “I think I am…hungry.”
Ilya laughed and punched Shane’s arm. “Let’s get up.”
They walked (walked!) to the kitchen. Shane went to the fridge and pulled out two containers of overnight oats. He started slicing a banana. Ilya turned poured water into a kettle before setting it on the stove. He opened a cabinet and reached for a box of tea, deciding that would be a better idea than coffee at this point.
Once they had assembled breakfast, they sat at the kitchen counter, slowly eating and drinking. They’d settled into another comfortable silence. In the stark light of day, however, Shane found himself losing that comfort and settling into a swirl of anxious thoughts.
Ilya swallowed a spoonful of oats, and said without even looking at Shane. “Tell me your thoughts.”
Shane took a deep breath. “I feel better.”
Ilya nodded.
“That’s good. I also feel better.”
“Good,” Shane nodded. “I also feel…scared.”
“Scared?” Ilya repeated “Why?”
“The last two days were…a lot, Ilya. I’m scared you’re not going to look at me the same now.”
Ilya placed his spoon in his bowl and swiveled his entire body toward Shane.
“You think because I saw you puking your guts out for hours that, what, I am disgusted by you now or something?”
Shane winced at the directness of Ilya’s question but forced himself to look Ilya in the eyes anyway.
“Maybe,” he said. “It was pretty gross and vulnerable. I never wanted you to see me like that.”
Ilya placed his hands on Shane’s thighs. “You remember I was also gross and vulnerable, yes?”
Shane nodded.
“Takes a lot for me to look gross but I think I really pulled it off.”
Shane looked away, the joke not really landing with him.
“Hey,” Ilya said, forcing Shane’s head back to him. “This is being boyfriends. It will not always be sunshine and rainbows and mind-blowing sex. We will both be gross sometimes and annoying other times. We will not always be strong and that is OK. It’s ok to be sick, to show weakness. I meant what I said before: I do not care. There is nothing you can do that will scare me away. Not after all this time.”
Shane’s eyes grew watery at Ilya’s earnestness and honesty. “You sure?”
“I am positive.”
Shane nodded. They both went back to eating their oatmeal and drinking their tea.
“Speaking of gross,” Ilya added. “I think we both desperately need a shower.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Shane said. “But you do smell absolutely terrible.”
‘Oh, I smell terrible? You smell like hot garbage.”
“You smell like a rotting corpse!”
“You smell like…two rotting corpses!”
They were doubled over with laughter now.
They cleaned up after breakfast, rearranged the couch back to its regular position, and put away everything Shane had taken from the kitchen the night before.
They walked together to the foot of the staircase and sighed.
“Ready to face these fuckers again?” Shane asked.
Ilya chuckled, grabbing Shane’s hand and pulling him up the steps. “We can do it. One step at a time, moya lyubov.”