Work Text:
Ilya had realized he wasn’t getting any sleep that night hours ago, but he still groaned in disappointment when Shane’s 6:00 am alarm went off. Shane hit the alarm clock with one hand to stop the musical noise of his custom alarm tone as he sat up in bed. Instead of getting up right away, he took a moment to plant a kiss on Ilya’s forehead.
“Sorry that woke you,” he whispered into Ilya’s blond curls.
“Is okay, do not worry.” Ilya responded, voice scratchy in the morning. He rolled over to face the other way as Shane got out of bed to get dressed for his morning run.
Ilya could already feel in his body that this was going to be a long day. Everything in his body, from his bones to his muscles to his organs, felt impossibly heavy in a way that he was all-too familiar with. As much as he loved spending the summer with Shane at the cottage, the longing in his heart to visit and honor his mother’s grave in Russia as he used to was a persistent grief that he was unable to shake. He didn’t regret coming out, getting married at all, no. But some days, when he let himself ruminate too long about his mother’s death and the realization that he would soon be older than his mother ever was, he missed the easier days of his youth. Turning thirty the year before had been weird, and Ilya more and more felt like he was dangling on a precipice of what he would do with his life once he retired. He had Shane, he had the Irina Foundation, he had some friends and Shane’s family, which was now like his own. But he wouldn’t have hockey, wouldn’t have the drive to get out of bed every morning to train and compete.
Like today.
Ilya used to love the summer break because it meant visiting his Russian hometown and then spending time with Shane. But now, with him unable to go to Russia for the fear of being arrested and able to see Shane every day, the summer offered little of value to him. Often, Ilya felt like even more of a show pony than he did during the hockey season, as he followed Shane around to meetings with sponsors or dinners at the Pike house. He knew Shane loved routine, but the constant walk-Anya-model-for-Rolex-babysit-Pike-children-have-sex cycle was wearing on Ilya.
The sun was shining through their bedroom curtains into his face so Ilya reached out and checked the time on his phone. It was almost 7:00 am so Shane would be back any minute now. Ilya sank deeper into the covers, wishing he could sleep for even a minute, but grief clung onto his closed eyelids in a way he couldn’t escape from.
Downstairs, he heard the cottage door open, Anya barking excitedly as Shane came back. He heard Shane’s footsteps coming up the stairs, the quiet sound of shock once he saw Ilya still in bed.
Normally, Ilya loved to make Shane’s gross breakfast smoothie along with his own bagel, eggs, bacon, and fruit. He would greet Shane with a hug and a kiss, ignoring the sweat that got on him, and then they would go shower together and see what was on their schedule.
Ilya could feel Shane’s eyes on his still form as Shane pulled the blinds open and let light fill the room. Ilya burrowed deeper into their bed, squeezing his eyes closed tightly.
“Time to get up, Ilya,” Shane said lightly. When Ilya didn’t respond, Shane came over to the bed, pulling the blankets away from Ilya’s face to put the back of his hand against Ilya’s forehead. “Are you sick?” Shane asked, concerned.
“No.” Ilya grunted, feeling like a liar. But he didn’t want to get dragged to a doctor, poked and prodded as Shane would have surely made him if he had said yes.
“Did you uh, forget to take your pill last night?” Shane said quietly.
A pit formed in Ilya’s stomach as he realized that yes, he had forgotten to take his depression medication. But he didn’t feel like taking it now. He hated taking it when he felt like shit already because then he just felt. Nothing. He didn’t know what was better, feeling everything like he did then or feeling nothing at all. But one took effort and the other didn’t so he lied. “Yes, I took pill,” he muttered. “We are pro hockey player. We need rest sometimes.”
“We need to leave for Rolex in an hour.” Shane reminded him tersely. “It’s our biggest sponsorship, and we have to meet to plan modeling for the new line.”
“Yes, yes, I know, I know.” Ilya rolled over, facing away from Shane. “I will be ready. Leave me alone.”
“Fine.” Shane said. “I’m going to make breakfast. Do you want anything?” He offered.
“Am fine.” Ilya grunted. Food would just make him feel sick.
“Be ready on time, Ilya.” Shane reminded him again as he left the room to make breakfast.
Shame curled in Ilya’s gut. He had no idea how he was going to get through a Rolex meeting, which was usually at least three hours. He didn’t even know how he was going to get up, and showered, and dressed before eight. He curled deeper into the blankets.
“Ilya!” Shane shouted from the kitchen. “Where did you put the blueberries you got from the store?” He called.
Blueberries? Ilya ran through the shopping list from the groceries he’d had delivered yesterday. Frozen waffles, lunch meat, ginger ale, but no blueberries. Fuck. He’d forgotten.
His stomach tightened as he heard Shane coming up the stairs. Ilya knew, by now, how upset Shane could get when his routines were disturbed. He would pretend it was fine, and then more things would add up, and suddenly it would all topple over into Shane’s anxieties. Except, unlike himself, Shane could actually put on a brave face and hold it together.
“Honey?” Shane prompted from the doorway of the bedroom.
“I forgot to order.” Ilya admitted shortly.
“Um. Fuck. Yeah. Uh, it’s alright. Accidents happen.” Shane sounded like he was convincing himself more than Ilya. “Are you uh, getting up now?”
“What if we not go to Rolex,” Ilya proposed. “We are already millionaires. Stay in bed with your sexy husband, da?” He offered, even though he knew sex appeal was the last thing he was giving then.
“Ilya, my mom has worked so hard on this deal for me and then for you. It’s Rolex. They can replace us with some new movie star in like five seconds flat.” Shane pointed out. “Besides, what would the media say? ‘Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov take summer off to hide in solitude?’ People would literally think we’re getting a divorce.”
“They are just jealous.” Ilya muttered.
Shane sighed, then walked over to rip the blankets off Ilya, who instinctively curled up. He pulled Ilya up, pressed an annoyed kiss to the corner of his mouth, then straightened and patted his shoulder when Ilya tried to lean into it. “Get up.” He instructed. “I’ll turn on the shower.”
Ilya stared at his feet, hanging over the side of the bed, willing himself to get up. Miraculously, he did. He walked over to his side of the dresser in a daze, thankful Shane had laid out a sensible blue linen shirt with brown pants the night before. He grabbed them along with a pair of boxers from a drawer and walked into the bathroom.
“Oh good, you’re up.” Shane said, turning away from the shower. Ilya could smell that Shane had put one of the fancy eucalyptus shower steamers under the spray. “I’ll be up in a minute, okay sweetheart? I’m just going to blend my smoothie and stick it in the fridge. Just uh, take a minute.” He said kindly.
Ilya could tell that Shane was a little frustrated with his behavior but also had a level of understanding of what was going on. Ilya stripped off his boxers and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water relax his muscles. He took a deep breath, inhaling the thick eucalyptus steam and sank down to the tiled shower floor.
Water was rolling down his face in tiny streams as Shane came up, took one look at Ilya, and immediately stripped to get into the shower. “Come here,” He said softly, pulling Ilya up into a hug. “What’s-” he faltered. “Is something wrong? Something I did?”
“Just tired today, moy lyubimyy.” Ilya leaned into Shane's embrace as he felt his husband relax with the lie. “Hibernating, like bear. Except we are not in Boston, da?”
“Centaurs don’t hibernate.” Shane agreed. “Hey, turn around, I’ll wash your hair.” He prompted.
Ilya turned obediently. “You need stepstool?” He joked, willing himself to put on the facade to get through the morning.
“Oh, haha,” Shane scrubbed their shared, high-end but unscented shampoo into Ilya’s hair. “That joke was only funny the first five hundred times.”
Ilya rinsed out his hair and turned to offer to wash Shane’s but Shane had already turned away, massaging suds into hair. Sometimes Ilya missed Shane’s longer hair but he knew Shane had felt the need to appear more masculine after they had come out, and it was still a point of contention.
Shane got out of the shower first, turning on the overhead fan to suck the steam out of the room. Ilya inhaled one last breath of eucalyptus before stepping out after Shane, wrapping a towel around his hips. He longed for a cigarette, but knew Shane would freak if he went to Rolex smelling like smoke. Maybe he would have one later, in the backyard, while Shane worked out. A reward, of sorts. He would have to be sneaky, though, for Shane to not smell it.
He frowned at the thought. Ilya hated lying to Shane but sometimes it was better for the both of them if Shane didn’t know. Besides, Shane was his husband, not his mother.
His heart hurt at the thought of his mother and his hand instinctively came up to rub his thumb against his mother’s crucifix on the chain around his neck. He wondered what she would think if she could see him now. Her lost son, who couldn’t even honor her grave. Not for the first time, Ilya felt like he was truly disappointing everyone he loved.
He took a deep breath. Rolex. He could do Rolex. He would prove to Shane that he could do Rolex and then he would smoke a cigarette and walk the dog and go back to sleep. He could be back in bed by 1:00 pm if he was lucky. It felt further away than retirement but he knew it would be bad if he didn’t.
He dressed quickly, the weight of the clothes against his skin adding to the weight he felt in his heart. Rolex would be better off with some movie star over him, but Shane wanted him there, so he willed himself to go.
“Ilya?” Shane called, dressed, with his smoothie in one hand. “Time to go. Are you driving or should I?”
“You can drive Jeep,” Ilya shrugged. “Rolex already knows you love boring car. Maybe they will give you another boring watch to match.”
“Alright,” Shane agreed warily. “Please don’t behave like this once we get there.” He sighed. “We need to keep a good impression. Especially now that we’re… us.”
“Da, da, you do not have to give me the speech again.” Ilya waved his hand. “I am Ilya Rozanov, best Centaurs player since ever. They will love me, as all do.”
“Best Centaurs player since ever.” Shane muttered under his breath. “Whatever. Get in the car, love.”
-------
Ilya had the signature Rozanov bravado up to 100% in the meeting with Rolex. The advertisement team was changing their style. The previous director, who Shane had been working with since he was 19, had moved to Europe for an international position and the new director had been stressing a more modern shift for their modeling the entire meeting.
Ilya could tell Shane hadn’t known about the new director in advance from the way his jaw had miniscully tightened the minute they were introduced. Ilya found himself doing most of the talking even though Shane was the more business-savvy one. The new director, Alexander, wanted them both to wear the new watch line on red carpets and press conferences. Ilya agreed. The new director wanted to get some test shots before they came in to photograph the new campaign at the start of the preseason.
Ilya allowed himself to be led into the photography studio, and found that the lighting was much brighter. Shane tensed beside him, fidgeting with one of the buttons on his shirt.
Shane had liked the Rolex job so much because the shoots normally had warm, dim lighting and he was given clear instructions by the director. This test run had none of that. The lights were up all the way and Alexander had only instructed them to “act natural” as he tested angles. Ilya saw Shane swallow, clearly unsure how to behave, so Ilya took the lead, posing to let Shane copy him, or incorporating them both. The camera light flashed, again and again, and Ilya wouldn’t have been surprised if they had been posing all day.
Shane looked pale as Ilya had switched poses so they were facing each other so he turned to the director.
“Alexander, hey, can we take break? Five minutes?” Ilya asked neutrally.
“Oh?” Alexander looked up from a clipboard. “Yeah, alright, actually I think we have the shots we need. So yeah, take five and then we can retcon in the conference room to talk scheduling.”
Ilya led Shane out into the hall and stood by him, breathing and trying to focus on thoughts of watches and jewelry. His heart yearned to properly console his husband, discuss what was upsetting him, but he had too much fear that he would say the wrong thing and give Shane more stress. Breathing was easier than speaking, a rarity for Ilya Rozanov.
Five minutes passed quickly, and although Shane was still tense, the feeling of being lost in his eyes was gone and a general stress was left in its place. Ilya and Shane rejoined the Rolex team in the conference room and Ilya handled scheduling their September shoot, with Shane occasionally interjecting. They thanked Alexander, shook hands with the rest of the team, and then the meeting was finally, blessedly, over. As soon as they were out of sight, Shane beelined it to the Jeep, resting his head on the steering wheel and taking a deep breath.
“You can drive, da?” Ilya clarified as he got into the car, not trusting himself to be focused enough to drive well.
“I just need a minute, alright?” Shane responded, a little more defensively than usual.
“No worry, all okay.” Ilya rested his head against the cool glass of the window as Shane breathed out and powered up the car, mapping back to the cottage.
-------
The drive between the Rolex Ottawa office and the cottage was only thirty minutes but Ilya wished he could have forever in the quiet companionship with no place to be. He could sense a storm brewing in Shane’s mind but didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know all the things he had done wrong. Didn’t want to hear what a disappointment that he was.
Reasonably, he could tell that Shane was just overwhelmed and struggling to manage the changing plans, but he knew that he could’ve been a better, more supportive husband. He wanted to. But the day was so heavy.
Shane immediately went and sat on the couch when they got back to the cottage. The look on his face was clouded, thinking. Ilya lingered for a second on the staircase going up to their bedroom but decided not to push it.
He went up to their bedroom to find Anya taking her midday nap on her dog bed and brushed a large hand through her soft fur. Anya’s sweet eyes opened and Ilya smiled sadly at her. “At least you are uncomplicated, da, Anya Hollander-Rozanova?” He said softly, tone lingering on the syllables in the dog’s unofficial last name. Anya perked up, stretching as she got out of her bed. “We go outside? Yes?” Ilya prompted and Anya boofed like she understood him.
Ilya tossed a glance at the doorway and, seeing it empty, went rifling into his T-shirt drawer for his secret lighter and pack of Player’s cigarettes. The T-shirt drawer was one of the few places Shane didn’t look into or clean religiously, disliking the rougher textures and tags of Ilya’s hockey advertisement shirts. He slipped the pack and lighter under his arm and it felt like a betrayal. What Shane didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, he reminded himself. He traded his Yuna-approved Rolex modelling outfit for a random Irina Foundation hockey camp tank top and some basketball shorts. He clipped Anya’s collar on and followed the dog down the stairs.
Ilya glanced over his shoulder as he went into the backyard and faltered when he saw Shane in the same position on the couch. As much as he wanted to invite Shane to the backyard with them, that would mean talking. Ilya was barely keeping it together enough to take care of their dog. Talking would probably destroy them both.
Anya ran around happily in the backyard, barking at squirrels and rolling in the grass as Ilya settled into one of Shane’s cushy lawn chairs, hidden from the windows in the house. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, not thinking about how hard he had been working to break the habit. The nicotine didn’t help his mental state, however much he tried to convince himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the afternoon summer sun.
Ilya was on his fifth cigarette, chainsmoking them, when he heard a noise at the door to the cottage. “Sweetheart, I-” Ilya opened his eyes at Shane’s voice to see his husband coming towards him with not enough time to hide the evidence of his lie. “Ilya are you,” Shane paused. “Are you smoking?”
“Not a big deal,” Ilya tried to dismiss it, “Is summer. Special occasion.”
“It smells terrible .” Shane’s voice broke off. “I… fuck, Ilya, I-”
Ilya stamped out the cigarette in the grass, feeling horribly guilty. “You’re right. Nasty habit.” He muttered. “Do you uh…” he didn’t know what to do. He was Ilya Rozanov, and he was talking to the man he had been with for over a decade, and he didn’t know what to do. “What do you need, moy lyubimyy?”
“I need you,” Shane admitted softly. “But,” he paused. “The smell. Hurts my head.”
Ilya knew he needed a gameplan. Some way to fix all the hurt he had created that day. Preferably with less talking. He could shower all the smoke off. And then what? Lay in bed, he supposed. That was the only thing that sounded plausible to him.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, using the English term of endearment instead of the Russian one. “I will go shower then we can,” he shrugged, “take a nap, cuddle, something easy.”
“Alright,” Shane agreed.
“Do you need food first?” He prompted. “Lunch?”
“Can we do it later?” Shane said quietly.
Normally Ilya would’ve pressured him into having something small and plain but he didn’t push it. There would be time to eat later, and truthfully, he didn’t feel like doing it either.
“Of course.” Ilya agreed. “Anyechka!” He called Anya back, who came bounding towards them. Ilya watched Shane stroke her soft fur and then take her collar off as they went into the house.
“Shane,” Ilya said when they reached the doorway.
Shane turned around, question in his eyes, as he watched Ilya purposefully throw the cigarettes and the lighter in the trash. In the back of his head, Ilya knew he would go out and buy more. But Shane didn’t need to know that right now.
“Oh.” Shane gave a small smile. “Thanks, love.”
Ilya’s heart felt just a little lighter as he removed his tank top and shorts in the doorway to get rid of the smell of smoke, then followed Shane up the stairs.
“You’re showering?” Shane checked.
Ilya nodded in agreement. “Will be quick. Just rinse off the smoke.”
Shane took off the button-up shirt and slacks he had been wearing for the Rolex meeting (which felt like forever ago for Ilya but was probably still startlingly recent for Shane) and put on a simple T-shirt, not bothering with bottoms beyond boxers.
Knowing that his husband would be waiting for him, Ilya went into the shower quickly, turned it on not caring about the temperature, and let the cool water rinse away all the smoke. He did a quick once-over with a bar of soap, then got out, shaking a towel through his wet hair.
Entering back into their bedroom, Ilya grabbed a new pair of boxers out of his drawer and towelled off as Shane watched, his gaze far away. Ilya got into bed with Shane, pulled his head onto his large chest and stroked soothing patterns with his fingers on Shane’s scalp. Shane cuddled closer into Ilya, who could suddenly feel all of his tiredness from his lack of sleep the night before weighing down on him. He reached out to turn off his lamp, enveloping the room in darkness, and finally was able to fall asleep with Shane comfortably in his arms.
-------
Ilya noticed two things as he woke up. One, he had ended up in Shane’s arms somehow. He curled into his husband’s embrace as he noticed the second thing: he felt lighter. Maybe not better but more stable, at least.
“Hi sweetheart,” Shane’s voice came softly near his ear. “You slept for a long time.”
“What time is it?” Ilya asked, not wanting to get up with Shane curled around him like that.
“Bit past four,” Shane said lightly. He reached over to press on his soft nightstand lamp. “You were out for like three hours. I’ve been up for maybe an hour now.”
“And you stayed.” Ilya commented.
“Yeah.” Shane kissed his forehead. “I did.”
Ilya looked up into Shane’s eyes at the same time as Shane did. A beat passed.
“We should talk.” They said in unison.
Shane pulled back a little bit so they were still touching but could see each other easier. “I…” he paused. “I’d like to talk about this morning.”
“I forgot blueberries,” Ilya pointed out the safest option. “I’m sorry. I know that makes you feel a little” he shook his shoulders “bleh. I will write note next time.”
Shane nodded. “Thank you, honey, but I wanted to talk about you.”
“I am fine now.” Ilya gestured to himself. “Morning was stupid. Didn’t sleep well. Ah, all fixed now, you see?”
“Ilya.” Shane said dryly.
“Yes, moy lyubimyy?”
“You were having a bad morning.” Shane stated.
Ilya looked away, tangling his hands in the blanket awkwardly. Shame was taking root in his stomach again. He didn’t know how to fix this. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.
Shane blinked. “You’re- no, no, no, sweetheart, come here.” Ilya allowed himself to be pulled into Shane’s embrace, hiding his face in the front of Shane’s faded Sochi Olympics shirt. “You were having a bad morning and I didn’t address it. I should’ve. You will always be more important to me than anything, Ilya, okay? Hockey, sponsorships, any of it, I choose you first, always.”
Ilya sniffled into the front of Shane’s shirt. “I didn’t take pill. I forgot and then I didn’t want to take it in the morning. I didn’t get any sleep and I miss-” his voice cracked “my mom. I miss my mom.”
“Okay. It’s okay.” Shane rubbed soothing circles into Ilya’s back. It was rare for either of them to cry like this. “I’m not mad at all, honey. You can tell me these things, okay? Always.”
“I did not want-” Ilya wiped his eyes with one hand. “I did not want to upset you. You cannot bring my mother back. Or Russia. I want you to be happy.”
“I want you to be happy.” Shane brushed his hand through Ilya’s curls. “I want you to be able to talk to me, ok? I want to help you.”
“I don’t know what help I need,” Ilya admitted, muffled. “I do pill, I do team psychiatrist, I do smoking and lots of sex and it all end up the same. I am,” he said with no resentment, “like my mother was, da? Except I have you. My husband. And you're a better husband than my father ever was to my mother.”
“I don’t want to fix you, sweetheart,” Shane redirected. “I want to be able to support you. Know when to push, know when to stop. I shouldn’t have made you go to Rolex.” He wiped his eyes with his hand and Ilya realized Shane was crying a little bit. “I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“But you needed me at Rolex,” Ilya pointed out, “I don’t want you to have to go alone. I could tell, Alexander, he make you,” he motioned his hand by his head. “Overwhelmed. And Yuna worked hard on that deal, you’re right. I don’t want you to be alone, moy lyubimyy.”
Shane nodded thoughtfully. “Rolex was a lot,” he admitted. “The lights were bad and I never knew how to act natural enough.” He shook his head. “Being with you was the only good thing. But even that, I felt like I either wasn’t there at all or I was everything, everywhere, all at once. I uh,” he swallowed, “I don’t really know what to do about it.”
“We have Yuna talk to Rolex,” Ilya offered. “Or Farah. We are, ah, what do tabloids call us now? Oh, first husbands of hockey, yes. If we suggest better lighting, they will agree.” He paused. “I’m sorry about car, after Rolex. I should not have pressed.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Shane closed his eyes, then opened them to look down at Ilya. “We can talk to my mom and Farah. I like that idea. It’s so weird though, it’s like there’s so much going on right now, even though there isn’t.” Shane sighed. “I feel myself getting overwhelmed so easily right now. It’s like-” he shrugged. “It’s almost easier in the season because there’s so much going on. Now it’s like, when something goes wrong, I have to cling so hard to everything I can control so those things can be right. And I do it to you too, but” he frowned, “I want to be partners. I support you and you support me.”
“Summer is hard,” Ilya admitted softly. “I miss Russia with my mom, you know. But I love being with you, being husbands.” His gaze softened as he looked at Shane, “I love you so much, Shane Hollander, but I am still,” he paused. “Scared. I am scared of life after hockey. Life where this is every day and I am not Ilya Rozanov, star Ottawa Centaurs hockey player, but instead Ilya Hollander-Rozanov, husband of sexy Shane Hollander-Rozanov who is best hockey player ever but despite that I still cannot get out of bed.” He sighed.
He could see Shane mouth Shane and Ilya Hollander-Rozanov for a happy second before sobering on Ilya’s words.
“We can talk to the psychiatrist.” Shane said steadily. “Maybe there are some other medicines that could work better for you. We can figure it out.”
“Those days, I just don’t know what to do with myself.” Ilya shrugged. “Sleeping is easy. And,” he sighed. “Smoking. Very easy habit, don’t even notice when it is one cigarette or five. But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, so that is why I hide.”
“I don’t mind the actual smoking,” Shane admitted slowly. “People do it. I worry about your lungs but you know, so many of our friends do it, we can die in worse ways on the ice, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. But,” he paused. “The smell. I don’t know what it is,” he admitted, frustrated, “but the smell gives me such a headache every time and then I stay away from you when all I want is to be close to you.” Shane said, pulling Ilya close. “It’s a problem with myself, really. Not you.”
“No, no, Shane, I don’t want to smoke,” Ilya corrected. “Cigarettes, they make me feel like shit.” He admitted. “But my father always would, and my brother, and everyone I know in Russia. It is, ah… coping mechanism but,” he paused. “Not a very good one.”
“Yeah.” Shane held Ilya, pausing to sit with the moment. “I don’t really know where to go from here,” he admitted. “I think we just… try to be more honest. You can tell me if it’s a bad way. I can tell you if I feel overwhelmed. We stay home and cuddle our dog or face challenges as a team and,” Shane shrugged. “Live our life.”
“I love you, Shane Hollander,” Ilya said softly, “For you, I try.”
Shane nodded, stroked a hand through Ilya’s hair. “I love you too, Ilya. I guess we should go get something to eat now?”
The heaviness hadn’t lifted but it felt shared now. Seen. Tangible. No longer impossible.
“Yes,” Ilya agreed, “I will even eat gross tofu and quinoa with you. No complaining. Well.” He shrugged, “limited complaining.”
“I was uh,” Shane smiled bashfully. “I was actually thinking we could order in tuna melts. And y’know, eat them in bed together.”
“Oh!” Ilya smiled back. “Yes, excellent idea, this is why they say you have the highest IQ of all hockey players. Yes, yes, you order tuna melts and then I will suck your cock. After tuna melt, of course.”
“Ilya!” Shane laughed. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”
“I love you too, moy lyubimyy.” Ilya replied with a kiss.