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The damp chill of the window pressed against Ilya’s forehead keeps him awake. This close, he can hear the soft patter of rain hitting the pavement outside, the occasional crescendo of the wind in the trees, and the gurgle of water overflowing in the gutters. He curls up tighter against the window and closes his eyes. It’s calm. Not the calm he likes, though. The calm that lets everything feel too raw and jagged, like he’s the cold, wet pavement and not a placid lake.
“Ilya?” Shane’s voice sounds from somewhere near the entrance to the living room. Ilya smiles to let him know he’s awake, but doesn’t open his eyes.
He hates when Shane catches him like this. So obviously curled inside himself and fighting. He knows what Shane’s face looks like when he spots him, or even thinks he might sense the wave cresting. Ilya doesn’t want to see it. A partnership is equal, yes, but Ilya has a hard time receiving even half of what Shane is willing to give.
Shane’s socked feet pad closer with the sound of dog nails, and Ilya’s lips quirk involuntarily. Incapable of remaining too lost to himself when so much love is tapping across the floor to him, no matter how embarrassed he feels.
A moment later, Shane’s nudging him from the wall, making tiny sounds of difficulty as he positions Ilya for maximum tuckage. He snuggles in between the wall and his slumped form, humming delightedly as Ilya uncurls just enough for his hands to wrap around his waist.
Ilya places his hands over Shane’s without taking his eyes off the yard, rubbing slow, soothing circles onto the back of his palm. Soothing for Shane or himself, he’s not sure.
“Anything I can do?” He asks, lips pressed to the crown of his head. It makes Ilya feel small, but in a better way than the calm felt. Small in Shane’s arm never feels diminishing. It’s like there is so much Shane that Ilya simply has to be enveloped by him. It’s why Ilya failed to outrun his feelings for so long. There was just too much. He wishes there was so much it drowned out any reason to ever be sad. So unreasonably sad.
“This,” Ilya murmurs, finally settling back against Shane’s chest instead of the window. The rain is quieter even from this short distance. The thump of Shane’s heart mingles with the gush of the gutters. Just the exhaustion of getting here today makes Ilya sleepy, and he feels less like a coward for going back to bed if it’s what Shane wants, too.
Shane nods. A knock comes as his head leans back against the wall. It causes them both to slouch a bit more, and Anya finally sees her opening. Shane makes a small “ooph” as he takes on the weight of them both. Ilya watches fondly as the girl circles clumsily twice, three times between their legs before settling amongst the limbs.
“How is that comfortable,” Shane mutters into Ilya’s curls.
“Feels nice,” Ilya answers, even though he knows the question was posed to Anya. Shane chuckles. As the wind picks up, he makes a sound of acknowledgement, his fingertips idly scratching at Ilya through his sweatshirt.
“The weather is bad out there today, huh?”
Ilya just nods, snuggling in closer to Shane as a way of saying he doesn’t want to talk about it. The move jostles Anya, who pops an eye open in displeasure. It’s okay, Ilya doesn’t want to go anywhere that’s not right here, now.
The view outside feels different with Shane there. He is like the earth. He grounds Ilya. He carries him like the wind. He showers him in soft affection like the rain. He’s blindingly hot in his passion. He’s a soothing press of a cool touch when he’s overwhelmed. He is all encompassing, the way he holds him close. It’s probably why Ilya is always aching for him– to feel physically what is always there mentally, emotionally.
In the corner of their living room holed up next to the window, they both seem so small. Ilya takes up so little space here, just like he does in the world. Everything still seems pointless, but in a good way. Like being small isn’t to satisfy someone or for safety but for their own enjoyment. Staying here may mean nothing but can be everything with each other. Their conversations can be the traded hums and sighs from wandering hands or intertwined fingers. Ilya develops meaning in the interlacing of his fingers and nuzzles against his back in ways much better than how his mind wanders when he is alone.
The world is constructed by their bodies, a home with open windows to let the world in but keep it at bay with the walls of their joined forms. Shane’s frame feels so sturdy, and sometimes Ilya forgets when he spends most of the time thinking he needs to be the beams that keep their home intact.
Eventually, Shane’s gentle kisses and Anya’s lazy smacking cracks a smile on Ilya’s face. His cheek touches the window pane, and it doesn’t feel like a biting cold anymore. It feels refreshing, a little jolting, like he’s waking up.
With Shane, rainy days are much more pleasant. Like the plants outside in the rain, Ilya drowns in him. He soaks him up. He presses closer, hoping to absorb all he can. Shane pulls him in tighter, eager to give.
“Shane,” Ilya whispers against his mouth, craning his neck like a plant seeking the sun behind the clouds. Shane hums curiously, tracing his fingers over Ilya’s cooled cheeks. “moye solnyshko.”
When they are this close, when Ilya calls him, Shane’s unusually silent. His silence carries its own kind of weighted intimacy. The sparkles in his eyes that brim with excitement like lilies greeting the day settle into embers in a fireplace that have burned long into the night. The smile stays on his lips, but in a different way. A kind of soft comfort that eases all his features when Ilya’s lips touch his again.
To Shane, despite his concerning glances and nervous fussing, they are the same. There’s a kind and gentle way to how Ilya calls him that burns down Shane’s exterior into something bare, like stripped wood that cracks and condenses into those embers that cannot be doused. He becomes the warm core of Ilya’s home. It never burns up, never blows away, never washes out.
Shane holds him closer, kisses his nose, his cheeks, and returns to resting his lips on Ilya’s crown. Ilya sinks into him and closes his eyes. Calmer, more content. Together, in the chilled living room on a rainy day, they keep each other warm with soft touches and a firm love.