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The sound of retching in the ensuite was enough to pull Shane forcibly from sleep. It took him a moment or two to figure out what exactly he was hearing, but when it finally registered in his sleep-addled brain, he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling to the bathroom to see what was going on.
Now, don’t get him wrong, Shane had seen Ilya in that position multiple times before. He could be a heavy drinker, and his ability to hold his drink had lessened the more time he spent in Canada, but this felt… different. Those other times, Ilya hadn’t looked clammy and pale, and his curls weren’t sticking to his head. Those other times, he hadn’t been knelt there for so long his knees were red raw. And those other times, he had at least been able to turn and greet Shane before going back to heaving up his guts.
This wasn’t like those other times.
“Ilya?” Shane asked, his voice soft. The only response he got was a groan, before another heave, and that woke Shane right up.
“Ilya.” Shane’s voice was sharper now, and he moved to kneel beside Ilya, rubbing his back. “Ilya, what’s wrong?”
Ilya managed to control his gag reflex long enough to get out the word, “Stomach,” before he was heaving again. With his head in the toilet, and his body clammy and shaking, all Shane could do was sit beside his husband and wait for it all to pass, gently rubbing his back. Eventually, what felt like hours later, Ilya stopped, no longer heaving (his body had been forcing him to dry heave for at least half an hour, Shane was sure of it).
There was a stench of vomit in the air that was even making Shane nauseous.
Ilya rested his head on the edge of the toilet, taking slow, deep breaths through his nose as he closed his eyes. Shane’s hand moved from rubbing his back to pushing his damp curls away from his face. The two of them sat in the quiet for a little while, the sounds of Ilya’s slow breathing filling the room.
“You need to brush your teeth.”
“I know,” Ilya mumbled, opening one eye to look at Shane.
Shane leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Ilya’s forehead. “It’s probably something you ate.”
The matter-of-fact way Shane said it, how he summarised the issue, did something to calm Ilya’s heart a little. Shane trying to take control of the situation like that… he knew he was worried, but Ilya was his first concern.
“Probably,” Ilya said quietly.
“Do you still feel nauseous?”
“…A little sick. Yes.”
Shane hummed thoughtfully, still brushing back Ilya’s damp curls. “I’ll give you some ginger ale, and I’ll see if there are any saltine crackers in the cupboards. To help your stomach.”
Ilya nodded, closing his eyes again. He coughed a little.
“Teeth.”
Ilya opened his eyes again. “Hmm?”
“You need to brush your teeth. It’ll take the taste out of your mouth.”
Ilya nodded, and then closed his eyes again. “Can’t get up,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. Not yet.” And he sat there with husband, until ‘not yet’ became ‘okay, now’.
Other than ginger ale, Ilya kept nothing down for a solid couple of days. Water was a no go, the crackers were dry and turned his stomach after he chewed for too long and struggled to swallow, and just the mere thought of crispier-than-preferred toast made Ilya turn his nose up before his stomach could flip inside out.
Shane didn’t think he had much right to be refusing anything that could help him, considering he was pale and weak and spent the whole day sweating and clammy in bed, but he also didn’t want to make Ilya worse. If he made Ilya worse, never mind upsetting his husband — he would never forgive himself.
And then there was the whole fact that he had to call Wiebe to update him on what happened, just in case Ilya had got food poisoning or caught a stomach bug whilst out with the team. He hadn’t been affected yet, and he made sure to let his coach know, but just in case someone else on the team ended up down for the count. He didn’t want the whole team to end up sick and no one to know why. Just in case it was contagious. Ilya was barely conscious enough to accept their coach’s well-wishes as Shane ended the call and tucked him in. He made sure the can of ginger ale on the bedside table had enough in it for when Ilya woke up, before heading downstairs, holding his phone up again.
He needed to make another call.
He leaned against the kitchen counter as he pressed his phone to his ear, only a couple of rings going through before the phone was picked up.
“Hi, Shane.”
“Hey, mom—”
“Is everything alright? It’s a bit late for you to be calling.”
Shane looked towards the bedroom, where Ilya was sleeping. “I’m… I’m fine. I’m okay.” He paused, waiting to see if his mother would say anything before he did, but then he just decided to go for it. “Ilya isn’t, though. His stomach is, uh… bad.”
“Do you need my okayu recipe?”
Trust Yuna to get straight to the point.
“That would be great—”
“Actually, I’ll be over in an hour. I’ll bring the ingredients. Just make sure you have the pots.”
Shane nodded slowly, before remembering that his mother couldn’t see him on the phone. “I’ll get everything out before you get here.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
As soon as the call ended, he set the phone down on the counter, sighing heavily and running his hands over his face.
And then he set about finding the pans.
When Shane went to wake Ilya, it was with a bowl of warm okayu and a slice of toast — bland and perfect for settling stomachs.
Hopefully.
He set the food down on the bedside table before gently running his hand through Ilya’s curls, slowly rousing him. The sleeping man groaned a little as he gradually returned to the world of the waking, his face scrunching up before his eyes fluttered open. His eyes slowly drifted from Shane, who was smiling a little at him, to the food on the bedside table, steaming with warmth.
The mere thought of food made his stomach flip, even though he hadn’t tried eating for a whole day. Before he could try closing his eyes and going back to sleep, he felt the bed shift a little as Shane got up to get the food for him, and then sat back down.
“You need to try and eat something.” Shane’s voice was soft, and encouraging, but that didn’t make Ilya any more willing. If anything, he was only more reluctant. He didn’t want to be sick again, the feeling of his stomach retching was horrible and he didn’t want to go through that again—
“Just a bite of toast,” Shane encouraged, and Ilya could see now that the plate that Shane was holding had two slices of very dry toast on it. There was absolutely nothing appealing about it.
He automatically hated it.
The main issue was, he didn’t have the energy right then to make any sort of complaint about it, so when Shane held the plate closer and told him that he had to eat it, Ilya didn’t bother protesting. He slowly pushed himself up so that he was sitting with his back against the headboard, and carefully took one of the pieces of toast from the plate Shane held. When his stomach didn’t turn at the toast, he continued, going slowly despite how hungry he was beginning to feel. He managed to finish half the slice before deciding that he didn’t want to push his stomach too hard and risk being sick again, so he put it back on the plate.
He did not expect Shane to then hold up the bowl of still-warm food. He looked slowly between Shane, and then the bowl, and back again.
“Just a couple of spoons,” Shane urged softly.
It smelled good. Ilya wanted to give it a shot. However, he didn’t want his stomach to revolt.
He shook his head, gently pushing the bowl away. Shane got the hint pretty quickly, and set the bowl back down. “Just tell me when you want it, I’ll reheat it for you.”
Ilya nodded.
For the rest of the time, whilst Ilya waited for his stomach to settle with the toast, Shane just sat beside him, letting his husband rest his head on his shoulder as he ran fingers through his curls. He was probably imagining it, but his curls felt a bit less sweaty, and even after the toast he could see a little colour was returning to Ilya’s cheeks.
As Ilya dozed off, head on Shane’s shoulder and Shane’s hand in his hair, Shane allowed himself half a minute to relax. Thirty seconds to let his muscles melt back into the headboard, to keep running his fingers through his husband’s hair to calm down both himself and the dozing man.
Thirty second to confirm to himself that his husband was getting better, that it was small but him keeping down the toast was a win. He probably wouldn’t have anything else other than ginger ale for the day, and Shane knew it, but he’d had something. And that was enough.
A gentle knock on the door sounded, and then Yuna was poking her head through to see how things were going. She smiled a little at the sight.
“I guess you two are all good in here.”
Shane continued to run his fingers through Ilya’s hair. “Yeah, we should be.”
Yuna nodded. “You call me if you need anything else. Most of the okayu is portioned out but there’s some in the pot on the stove for you.”
Shane nodded a little. “Thanks, mom.”
Yuna looked between her two boys. “He’s going to be okay.”
Shane nodded again, more distracted this time. “I know.”
“…Good. Then I will see you later.”
Shane nodded one last time, and then the door was closing, and he and Ilya were alone again, Ilya still sleeping and him silently keeping him company. And somehow, that paired with the knowledge that Ilya was slowly on the mend, told Shane that it was all going to be alright.