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Ilya knew something was wrong because the kitchen was too quiet.
Shane was sitting at the island, elbows on either side of a plate he’d clearly put effort into. Rice. Roasted vegetables. Salmon, perfectly seared.
He was just… staring at it, holding his fork.
Ilya leaned against the doorway and jokingly asked, “You are waiting for it to apologize?”
Shane didn’t look up as he replied, “I was hungry.”
“Mm.” Rozanov nodded.
“I’m still hungry.”
“Good. Then eat.”
Shane exhaled through his nose, eyes fixated on the plate. “I was excited to make this. It smells amazing.”
Ilya pushed off the doorway and came closer. “Okay.”
The man saw how Shane’s fingers flexed nervously against the counter.
“And now I’m looking at it and it’s…” He hesitated. His voice dropped. “Unappetizing.”
Ilya glanced at the plate. It looked exactly the same as it had thirty seconds ago.
“What changed, solnyshko?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Shane’s jaw tightened. “It just flipped.” His leg bounced. “The color-“
“You don’t like the color?” Ilya questioned as he shifted his weight.
He frowned. “I-it’s weird. I know-“
“Shane,” Rozanov said firmly as he pulled out the stool beside him and sat down. “Is okay.”
Ilya reached out, fingers twitching near Shane’s arm, but pulled back just as quickly. He wasn’t sure if Shane wanted to be touched or needed distance. In the end, he withdrew his hand.
“No, it’s not,” Shane argued. “It’s too… it’s too much. The orange, the green, the pink. It looked good before, but now it’s just loud.”
“Loud,” Ilya repeated, almost in the form of a question.
“Jarring.” He swallowed, not sure if he could quite articulate everything that was wrong. “I don’t… I don’t like how they look right now.”
Rozanov waited patiently anyway.
“It should have-“ Shane put the fork down. “It should be fine.” He rested his face in his palms for a second, rubbing around his eyes in one smooth motion from his nose to the far ends of his eyebrows. “I know it works because I made it eight days ago. It worked then. I liked it. I planned for this. I was excited about it. And now I feel like I failed, like I ruined it somehow.”
Hollander stared at the plate as if was supposed to hold the answers. He hated when things didn’t behave the way they were supposed to. Hated it more when he didn’t.
Ilya pursed his lips as a thought came to him. Slowly, he reached forward and gently rotated the plate ninety degrees. The salmon no longer cut harshly against the vegetables.
“Maybe is just the lighting…” he suggested. “How it…” he absentmindedly moved his hand around as he searched for the words. “… hit the food.”
Shane blinked.
Ilya tilted his head. “Better?”
The tightness in Hollander’s chest loosened just a fraction. He let out a slow breath and shifted his gaze back to the plate, now easier to look at.
“…A little,” he replied.
“Mm.” Ilya nodded like this was valuable data. “But still wrong.”
“Still wrong,” Shane confirmed quietly, exhaling softly.
“I could…” he moved to stand. “…dim the lights?”
“I don’t think that’ll help much.”
“Okay,” Rozanov nodded. “Then we solve other problem.”
Ilya pushed Shane’s plate a few inches away from him.
“You want different food?” He asked, fully getting out of his chair. His feet made moves toward the fridge.
Shane shook his head immediately, replying, “No. That’s wasteful.”
Rozanov stopped in his tracks and turned around to face him.
“You are hungry,” he felt the need to point out.
“Yes.” Hollander nodded, but he wasn’t looking at him.
He gestured to his boyfriend’s plate. “And this food is wrong.”
“Yes.”
Ilya shrugged. “Then eat something else.”
Shane finally looked at him. “Like what?”
He held out a hand and started listing with his fingers. “Cereal. Toast. Protein bar. Whatever.” He opened the cabinets that should have such items.
Shane pursed his lips, responding, “But that’s unhealthy.”
“Is still food.” Ilya shrugged, entirely unbothered.
“It’s not balanced.”
“Neither are you right now,” Rozanov said as he faced him again.
Shane scoffed. “Gee, thanks.” Shane stared at the plate again. His throat bobbed as he picked up the fork again. “I should just eat this.”
“You cannot,” Ilya corrected gently.
Shane’s shoulders went rigid.
He gave him a look. “I can.”
“You will hate it,” Ilya argued, stepping closer. “And then you will not eat enough. And then you will be grumpy.”
Shane’s brows knitted together. “I’m not grumpy.”
“You are vibrating.”
Hollander huffed. His shoulders dropped. His leg stopped bouncing.
“You made good food,” Ilya said as he reached out and grabbed the plate. “Tomorrow it will still be good food.” He set the food on the counter and got out Tupperware to hold it in.
Meanwhile, Shane blinked, staring at him. The frustration started loosening. The sharpness dulled. Something warm edged in.
They stayed like that until Rozanov put the food in the fridge and took milk out.
It was then that Hollander said, quietly, “I hate that this happened.”
Ilya closed the fridge door and looked at him. His own expression softened. He stepped closer but didn’t crowd Shane.
“I don’t,” Rozanov admitted.
Shane tilted his head, confused.
“I like knowing,” Ilya clarified. “I like helping you.” It felt better than guessing. Better than watching his partner go quiet and pretending not to notice.
Something in Shane’s face shifted at that. The feeling that started growing only seconds ago blossomed now. The ghost of a smile began to show.
Ilya then got out a bowl, and poured Cocoa Puffs into it, then the milk. Next, he grabbed a spoon from the utensils drawer and added it to the bowl. Afterwards, he handed the snack to his partner.
Without a word, Shane took it, grabbing hold of the spoon as he set the bowl down.
After a few bites, he said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Ilya replied, making his own bowl of cereal before rejoining him at the island.
The two of them ate in silence for a moment. Their knees bumped together. Neither pulled away.
The soft clink of spoons against bowls filled the kitchen.
Shane’s lips twitched into a soft smile as he took another bite. Ilya caught it and returned the gesture, a quiet conversation without words.
When they finished, Ilya took the dishes to the sink.
“Next time,” he said as he turned on the faucet. “We make two options. Loud food and quiet food.”
Shane snorted softly. “That’s not a real category.”
“It is now.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously right.”
Hollander rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.