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It’s quickly becoming Ilya's habit to repress his regression whenever he needs it. Of course that is very predictable of Ilya- Shane isn't surprised that he wants to hide it considering how embarrassed he is every time it’s bought up. Even in casual conversation, Ilya shuts it down immediately with a ‘fuck off, Hollander’ or ‘I do not do that’.
Out of all of Ilya's habits, this is probably the one Shane hates the most. The regression is the one thing that's actually helping Ilya and it's so frustrating when he pushes it down or denies it a hundred times before giving in. There's nothing bad about being little, even, and Shane's definitely never given him a reason to be ashamed. Where did Ilya even get the embarrassment from? Shane's got no idea- he usually doesn't have much shame about anything.
Throughout the day, it's become increasingly apparent that Ilya needs it. He was quiet at dinner with Shane's parents and then he fell asleep in the car on the way home, which isn't Ilya at all. Whether he's slipping already or not Shane struggles to tell, but the way he's currently leaning back against his legs, sitting on the floor and doing nothing but watching the fire is definitely a sign. Ilya normally calls that boring. He'll get frustrated and insist they play a game, or tell Shane to give up his phone so he can open Subway Surfers. Shane is beginning to regret introducing Ilya to that game in the first place.
A good thing about the cottage is that Shane's got everything he needs to care for Ilya right here. They don't have to worry about hiding it, or pretending like Ilya's ‘just tired’; Shane can just deal if and when it happens.
Now, though, the sun has set over the cottage, and with the dark comes cold. Shane reaches down to adjust the blanket around Ilya's shoulders, stroking some of the curls out of his face. Even the movement doesn't get a response. “Do you feel okay?” Shane prompts.
All that gets is a nod and sniff from Ilya.
“Okay. Um, you want to go inside?”
He shakes his head no.
“There's not really much we can play with out here.” Shane knows they do a lot of that during the day. Even though he doesn't regress like Ilya does, they're both like children when they play football, or swim in the lake. Mostly it's Ilya doing the swimming, but whatever. The water is too cold for Shane to properly enjoy it. “We have time to build one of your train tracks, or-”
“Not… little, Shane.” It's unconvincing when Ilya says it, mostly because he rests his cheek tiredly against Shane's inner thigh as soon as it's out. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Yeah, Shane definitely saw that coming. They never do this when Ilya doesn't try to refuse it first.
“Okay.” Shane says.
Quiet settles over them for a few more minutes. Shane keeps stroking Ilya's curls, more for his benefit than anything. They're always so soft and perfect and he takes great pride in knowing that he's one of the few people who can actually touch Ilya's hair without him throwing a fit.
Between his legs, Ilya shifts. He sighs and picks at a thread on the fabric shorts he's wearing, not moving his head from Shane's knee.
“You seem tired.” Shane attempts, his hand trailing down to gently rub his fingers over Ilya's cheekbone. Predictably, Ilya shakes his head. “So you can't even sit up on your own, but you aren't tired? Really believable.”
This time, Ilya doesn't respond at all. Shane knows how he gets when he's regressed- even if Ilya's denying it, his lack of words and movement is definitely giving him away. It's like English just slips away from him when he's in a younger headspace. When they talked about it, Ilya reassured Shane that he could understand him just fine, but he couldn't find the words in himself to reply.
At least he isn't fighting it. It could be worse. Shane pats Ilya's shoulder to let him know he's moving before he stands, and then attempts to haul Ilya up by the armpits. Ilya's movements are all sloppy and uncoordinated. Sometimes Shane carries him, but when he's still half in denial Ilya would not allow that.
“C'mon. Let's put your pajamas on.” Shane doesn't give Ilya a chance to protest. The fire can be dealt with later- Ilya's more important- and Shane takes him by the hand and guides him inside.
Inside is warmer, so Shane takes the blanket off from where it's wrapped around Ilya and folds it, putting it on the back of the couch. Ilya looks enamoured. He always does that when Shane does laundry, and he doesn't get it himself, but having Ilya look at him like that isn't something he'll complain about.
Tonight he's not going to ask at all. Shane leads Ilya through to their bedroom and gestures for him to sit while he finds him a t-shirt. Typical Ilya is always shirtless- especially when he sleeps- but little Ilya isn't so much of a fan. Unless it's been a full day and then he starts stripping clothes off like a toddler. Shane always finds that inwardly amusing, even though he has to put on his stern face and get him to put them back on.
“Here.” Shane eases one of his t-shirts- a worn Reebok one- over Ilya's head. He kisses his curls when they pop out of the neckline. “Better. We can brush our teeth and then watch TV, okay?”
Ilya doesn't look too enthusiastic about that. Brushing teeth isn't the most exciting thing, so Shane lets him off. It's mostly Shane brushing his teeth and Ilya just chewing on the toothbrush, but Shane doesn't have the heart to bring it up or tell him off for it.
Even once that's done and Shane's wiped Ilya's face- which he always hates and wrinkles his nose at- Ilya still doesn't look impressed. His tired face is just permanently fed up, and Ilya looks very, very tired.
Trying to cheer him up, Shane produces Ilya's favourite and overly loved bear from their bed. “Woah, Ilya, look who I found!”
Ilya comes through from the ensuite and offers a small smile at the sight of his bear. He hums as he rubs the fur over his face, and, respectfully, Shane turns away to let him self-soothe and finds himself a t-shirt. It's not like he hasn't seen Ilya do this before, but he always gets stupidly embarrassed when he's starting to slip and gets caught acting younger. Shane thinks it's ridiculous. He still doesn't push it.
In the lounge, Shane gets Ilya set up on the couch under the blanket that he'd just so neatly folded, and he puts on some hockey documentary in Russian with English subtitles. It's a system they've made; Ilya prefers Russian when regressed, but Shane obviously has absolutely no idea what's going on. Subtitles are fine for him.
And Ilya's never been a fan of kid's TV anyway. Maybe he just didn't watch it as a child.
Shane grabs a ginger ale for himself and a glass of oat milk for Ilya before settling on the couch. The position is familiar- they spread out down the long L shaped part and Shane tucks Ilya into his side so he's squashed between him and the pillows. Apparently he feels safe like this, he told Shane once.
“Do you want to play something?” Shane prompts, resting his lips in Ilya's curls.
Unsurprisingly, Ilya shakes his head no.
“Okay.” A pause. “What about your iPad?”
That does make Ilya think. He's still curled against Shane, his bear held against his face, but he nods. It's obvious he's not going to be the one to move and get it.
Shane doesn't mind. He grabs the iPad off the shelf before settling back down next to Ilya. Some people would definitely think this was weird, but Shane actually loves taking care of Ilya like this. It's the one time he lets his guard down and Shane wants to indulge him, wants to help him. Seeing him all curled up, all 6 feet of him, is special. He's the only one who's ever seen Ilya this way.
Tiredly, Ilya turns the iPad on and opens Subway Surfers. Fucking game. Shane doesn't tease him like he would if he was in his adult mindset, just kisses his temple and Ilya hums.
“You sure you aren't tired?” Shane says, only a little amused as Ilya yawns. He's starting a new Subway Surfers game every 10 seconds because little Ilya is absolutely terrible at it, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by his lack of skill.
“Not little.” Ilya mumbles.
Shane has to hold back a laugh. “If you say so.”
“Not.”
“I don't know if I believe you.”
Ilya gives up after that. He tucks his face more securely against Shane's chest with a small sigh, not paying attention to the TV at all, and takes a sip of the oat milk. For once, he doesn't spill it everywhere. Shane still makes sure to brace one hand against the base of the glass just in case and puts it back on the table for him.
“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane murmurs against Ilya's forehead after a moment, once they're settled again.
Even with all his practice, Shane sounds sloppy with his pronunciation. Ilya doesn't seem to mind.
“Ya tebya lyublyu.” He replies.