Chapter Text
Three hours and seventeen minutes. That is how long he has been gripping the wheel with white knuckles. What was supposed to be a thirty-five minute drive turned into Shane’s biggest nightmare. All he wanted to do was make a quick trip to the mall to pick out his husband’s Christmas present on his off day, and now he wondered if he would ever make it home to Ilya.
He chugged along the highway at a snail’s pace. The snow was coming down in thick, fluffy flakes, blanketing the road and erasing any indication of where the lanes should be. Shane had lived in Ottawa for the majority of his life, even learning to drive on this exact stretch, yet he had never seen the roads in this condition. He braced for impact as the car in the lane next to him slid toward him for the third time tonight. An accident hasn’t occurred yet, but Shane’s patience wears thinner with each near miss. The extreme, unexpected stress has put his nervous system into overdrive.
Every muscle in his body is tense as though he is bracing for a blow that will never come. His thick winter coat squeezes his shoulders and presses the seams of his hoodie into his skin. The broadcaster’s voice on the news radio station is too sharp. Tears well up in his eyes, obstructing what little view of the road is visible through the snowfall. There’s too much going on at once and it makes Shane want to crawl out of his skin. Everything feels wrong. His chest is tight and no matter how many breaths he takes Shane can’t seem to fill his lungs. He hyperventilates while willing his tears not to fall. He feels ridiculously pathetic. He's thirty years old—snowy roads should not cause this much stress to a grown man.
Just two kilometers until your exit and you’ll be turning down your driveway, Shane repeated to himself as he gripped the steering wheel even tighter.
Shane finally reaches his front door forty-five minutes later, leaving all of the bags from the mall in the car. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than turn the key in the lock and make his way inside. He frantically flings his coat off and hangs it on its designated hook in the mudroom. He kicks off his boots, too rattled to make sure they land in the correct spot, and strips off his jeans. His clothes brushing against his skin is too much, leaving him feeling like there is a colony of ants crawling under every centimeter of his skin. Free of the restrictive clothing, Shane heads to the living room and flops face-first into the couch. He can hear Ilya coming downstairs from their bedroom, but can’t find his voice to acknowledge that he made it home in one piece.
“Shane, thank God you are finally home! I watched your picture on Life360 moving slow like snail for hours,” says Ilya as he walks into the room. “Shane,” he repeats as he kneels down beside the couch. “Moya lyubov, what is wrong? Why you are not wearing pants?”
Shane wants more than anything to fall into his husband’s arms and vent, but he’s frozen in this state. That drive took more energy out of him than any press conference ever could.
“Shane, are you hurt?” Ilya asks him, voice gentle and low. Shane shakes his head, still buried in the couch pillows. “Was overwhelming drive, yes?” Ilya confirms before stating, “You need to decompress.” Shane nods into the pillows, the only kind of response he can muster at the moment.
Ilya quickly gets up to turn off the overhead lights in the room, leaving only the soft, warm glow of the lamp in the corner. He grabs the decorative basket filled with Shane’s support items that they kept in the living room beside the couch. Ilya usually refers to the basket as Shane’s Sensory Stash, but he realizes that Shane is probably not in the mood for a joke right now. He sits down on the carpet beside Shane’s head and gently works to bring Shane out of his shutdown state.
“Sweetheart, I know words are hard right now so don’t have to talk. Are you able to lift head out of pillows and look at me? I turn off all big lights,” At the request, Shane slowly turns his head towards his husband. “That’s great, you’re doing so great for me malysh.”
Even in his altered state, Shane gives a small smile at the praise from his husband. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve his amazing, attentive husband, but he doesn’t have the energy to think about it too much. He was so exhausted from the stress of the day, and his body ached as his muscles attempt to relax from their previously contracted state. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew his husband wanted his attention right now.
“I’ll give you options and you can point to what you need to feel better,” Ilya instructed. He knew Shane had trouble with voicing his needs, so he always presented options to help him. “Okay, you want weighted blanket or weighted dino?” Ilya asked while holding up the blue plush and corner of the blanket. Shane pointed to the dinosaur. The weight of the blanket felt like too much right now, not wanting his movement to be restricted. “Very good,” Ilya said, handing over the plush. Shane immediately clutched it and curled into a fetal position around it.
“You want ear defenders or eye cover?” Ilya asks as he holds the items in Shane’s line of vision. Shane points to the noise cancelling headphones. “Anything else you need sweetheart?” Ilya asks before he carefully slips them onto his head, carefully maneuvering one side between Shane's ear and the pillow underneath it.
Shane automatically points to Ilya. Ilya immediately scoots in behind his husband, holding him firmly against him and providing gentle pressure. Ilya had waited to touch his husband because sometimes physical contact made it worse for Shane, but he was relieved that his husband found comfort in his touch right now. He hadn’t shown it earlier, but Ilya had panicked when he saw the winter weather advisory pop up on the news earlier that afternoon. He is so happy to have his husband back home and in his arms.
Ilya noticed Shane running his hand up and down the short, soft fuzz of the dinosaur plush and rubbing his feet together. He knows this means his husband is feeling better, finding good feelings. Shane says it’s called stimming, but Ilya just calls it cricketing because he thinks his husband looks like a little bug making a song with its legs.
“Love you,” Shane finally mumbles when he finds his voice.
Ilya moves one side of the headphones off of Shane’s ear to reply. “I love you more malysh.”
“I’m sorry for this. I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend the evening.”
“No moya lyubov, we talked about this. Do not apologize for brain.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
Ilya peppers soft kisses across the back of Shane’s neck, desperate to show him that he loves every part of him. Even the part that freaks out when clothes feel wrong on his skin. “It is me who does not deserve you. Let’s get some rest and we can talk about your drive in the morning if you want.”
“Okay,” Shane replies as sleep begins to take him.