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In Ilya’s dream, he’s eight years old. He holds his mother’s hand as they walk through the crowded market. His father wouldn’t approve, he knows, but his father isn’t here right now. Somewhere far off, he smells something frying, and it mingles pleasantly with the smell of his mother’s sweet perfume. It makes him think of blinis, and he wonders if he’ll be allowed any kind of treat at their outing today.
Something shifts, and while the market has not changed, his hand is suddenly empty. He looks around for his mother but does not find her. “Mama!” he calls for her. “Mama!” he tries again. With every passing second, he keeps expecting her hand on his shoulder, her voice from the crowd. But it doesn’t come. He’s alone. He begins to move, walking and looking, doing anything to keep from standing there scared.
Ilya wakes with a start. He feels like he still needs to be searching, but instead of looking around for–well, instead of looking around for something that he won’t find, he shuts his eyes again tightly.
He braces for the grief to hit him, but even so it knocks the wind out of him. He wants her back like an ache.
Very suddenly he finds he can’t be alone like this, and he shakes Shane awake.
“Ilya?” says Shane, soft and sleepy.
“Shane,” he says, keeping his voice as low and controlled as he can manage.
“What’s wrong?” Shane asks.
“Nothing, nothing” Ilya promises. “Hold me please?”
Shane nods, then turns on his side to wrap Ilya in an embrace. Ilya turns too, so he can bury his face in Shane’s chest. He breathes in the smell of him. It’s soothing, this extra closeness, and he finds he can hold off from crying if he tries. So he tries, breathing in his love’s scent deep and picturing the two of them together on a beach somewhere.
He’s almost able to lull himself back to sleep when Shane kisses his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
Ilya sighs. “Had a dream. About my mom.”
Shane puts his hand in his hair. “Was it a nightmare?”
“Not at first. We were just walking together. But then I couldn’t find her.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No, no it’s okay.”
“You woke me up,” Shane points out.
“It made me sad,” Ilya admits.
Shane kisses him again. “Can I do anything for you?”
“You’re already doing it now,” Ilya replies, holding Shane close. Shane holds him tightly in response.
“I love you,” Shane says after a bit spent like that, just holding each other.
“I love you,” Ilya echoes.
Ilya buries his face in Shane’s chest again and shuts his eyes. And that’s how he falls asleep again: completely enveloped in his love.