Chapter Text
As Ilya got off the bus he immediately felt the air cool his still damp hair. It was still fall but the temperatures had already started to drop, it looked as if it was going to be a tough winter this year once again. He turned around and gave a quick middle finger to his friend Vanya as he barely saw him through the moving window covered in dirt. The streetlights lit up the road in an orange haze although the sun hadn’t gone down yet.
They’d gotten yelled at in practice for messing around, coach going on and on about discipline in his loud but still deep voice. Outside the locker room Ilya alone had been sternly told, in a way that reminded him of his father, that he was wasting his potential by acting like a “skittish little girl”. He’d apologized and then was on his way as Vanya quickly grabbed him and pulled him to run for the bus.
He ran when he got off the bus as well, not wanting to let the shivers of the cold run through him. As he turned a corner and saw his building he caught his toe in a missing patch of pavement and fell to the ground at full speed. Ilya, however, was used to falling on the ice, though his knees and shoulder were bound to end up with some scratchwounds atop of bruises as he did not have his gear on to soften the fall. In the end he laid on his back, looking up at the sky covered in clouds as he felt the hard stares of the hardworking men and women, likely coming home from work, walking around him as he felt the hard ground grinding at his bones. His father was likely not home yet, but he still stayed there breathing heavily from exhaustion for a minute or five, just in case.
He ran his hand from corner to corner of his bag looking for his keys until he felt the cold metal and he pulled it out along with the lanyard he never wore. The one his mom had sewed for him after he’d started knocking on the door instead of bothering to try finding his key. He hadn’t knocked since then because he knew she would nag him. Instead, he settled for spending a minute or two a day looking for his keys. As he put his shoes away he saw that his fathers and Andrei's shoes weren’t there. His posture relaxed as he threw his keys back into the bag. His brother wasn’t home often, always staying out late. Like father, like son, as they say. Although Andrei probably isn’t out late working, but who’s to say their father is either.
“Mama,” he shouted. “I’m home”.
The cold silence didn’t concern him.
He went to the kitchen to see if his mom had started dinner already, as she often would, even if the silence probably meant she was sleeping or had gone out. He grabbed a glass of water instead, when he found the kitchen empty and unlit. What he really wanted was juice, but his mom always said none right before dinner. The sink was filled with dirty dishes and he sighed as he turned the roof lamp on in order to do them before his father came home and complained.
The hall light was already on as he made his way to his parents room, with the door locked. He knocked carefully.
“Mama?” he said through the door after he didn’t get an answer.
The silence felt slightly stiff at this point. He opened the door gently as he peeked inside. His mama was laying in bed peacefully, as she often did. He contemplated letting her sleep or waking her up, as he knew his father would not take it lightly if she hadn’t fed Ilya by the time he came home. As he got closer he ended up never having to make a choice as he noticed her hand hanging heavily off the bed, and a pill bottle laying on the floor underneath. His vision went blurry as he took her cold, pale hand in his. “Mama”, “wake up” he said again and again as he brushed her long wavy hair off her face. Her eyes didn’t open, he couldn’t get her to open them, to look into those eyes that look so much like his own. When he shook her, she felt heavy in a way he’d never imagined she could be. She was always so light, moving gracefully on the ice with him, letting herself be pulled by Ilya's hand whenever he had something to show her, even when being pushed around by his father. He could smell her perfume, sweet and heavy, but it didn’t smell like her, the lack of warmth as he laid on her chest made it foreign. As if it wasn't his mother laying there lifeless.
After what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes, he left his mother to go to the landline. He called his father on instinct.
“Papa” he said, barely louder than a whisper.
“Ilya, why are you calling at this time?” his father answered, sounding a bit bothered.
“What do I do?” he paused.
“Mama, she’s sleeping, but I can’t wake her. She’s cold and she won’t wake up” he said quickly through tears he was trying hard not to shed, but in the end failing.
“What do I do?”
There was empty silence on the other end. A distinct lack of his fathers voice that he wasn't used to.
“I will call someone, unlock the door for them when they come,” he said, before the line cut out.
Ilya stood there, leaning against the wall and watching as his tears fell to the floor. He then went to the door and unlocked it before heading right back to his mom. His mama. He sat next to the bed, laid his head between her shoulder and neck, her hand and her cross in his hands, crying as he smelled the perfume that now made him feel lonely, as if she wasn't right next to him. It felt weird not being embraced, not looked at, not talked to, not smiled at, not feeling loved as he always felt next to her. Next to his lovely mama.
By the time he heard footsteps coming through the hall, he had dried tears on his cheeks, and none left to cry. He looked back to the door where paramedics stood, with a look of pity in their eyes Ilya didn’t want to see. She wasn’t warm, but he didn’t want to leave, he wanted to stay with her and so he did. They went around him for a while, did things he didn’t bother looking at.
This time, he heard the door slam before the footsteps came. Before he could look back, his arm was being pulled back.
“What are you doing?” his father asked a little too loud, sounding slightly angry or disgusted.
Ilya tried to get back to her, but the grip on his arm was almost painfully hard.
“Let me go!” he cried out.
He got shoved through the doorframe and fell onto the ground outside the room. The tears he had run out of suddenly came back, as he laid on the floor sobbing. His father had closed the door and he’d heard it lock. He heard his father's deep voice still, but couldn’t make out the words he was saying. His eyelids started feeling heavy and by the time he heard the door unlocking he’d already closed them.