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Summary
It starts, as most things do, in the morning. Ilya is lying with his head in the crook of Shane’s shoulder, and Shane had really thought that he was asleep. He isn’t. He’s watching Shane, breathing deep and even, and Shane can picture his half closed eyes, his slack mouth.
He gives up his hiding place when he murmurs, accent thicker like it always is first thing after he wakes up, “What are you thinking about?”
Shane tenses, remembers it’s Ilya, relaxes. “You,” he says, simply, honestly.
(a litany of the many times ilya asks shane "what are you thinking about" and shane answers as honestly as he can)