Chapter Text
Ilya was a confident, witty, and mostly self-assured man, he exuded confidence in everything he did. His team seemed to appreciate these qualities, even if it meant letting his smart ass comments slide; he was just a kid, no reason to take anything to heart. The Russian was adjusting well to the team, all things considered, being so far away from home had to be hard; or at least that’s what they assumed, but he took it all in stride.
It had been a particularly rough and humiliating loss for Boston, The Russian stormed his way into the locker room; he didn’t take losing on home ice all that lightly. Marleau followed close behind him, a suspicious feeling crept into him. Judging by how Rozanov had been playing, something had to be on his mind. Ilya wasn’t the most open person, his walls were high and heavily guarded.
“Roz.” Cliff tried to provide some sort of comfort or reassurance, Marleau wasn’t entirely sure of what he was doing as usually he’d just let the Russian go on his way, but not this time; something was off and he was determined to figure it out.
Ilya clawed at his uniform carelessly yanking it off, a storm of emotions ran through him. Disappointment, anger, frustration, and most of all fear. He needed to get out of here, his head swam with unwanted thoughts of what to expect from the phone call he’d get sometime tonight or tomorrow; his father was going to tear him a new one. Everything was blurry, Ilya clenched his jaw tightly. He could hear the muffled sounds of shuffling around him, but he dared not to look around, he couldn’t face his team in this moment.
“Rozanov.” Marleau raised his voice slightly, breaking through the trace Ilya had found himself in. The Russian whipped his head around, finally facing his teammate. Swallowing hard as he scanned the taller man’s face for some kind of emotion, by the looks of it he was in trouble. A pit formed in his stomach, it was one thing to be berated and degraded by his father, but it was a new kind of betrayal to hear it from his teammates as they had always praised him; even if they didn’t win.
“What?” Ilya attempted to growl, his voice cracked, he was clearly choked up. Tears were welling in the corners of his eyes, his nostrils flared with each heavy breath he inhaled.
Studying Marleau’s face for a moment before averting his gaze to the floor, Ilya was frozen in place. Unsure of what to make of this predicament, Marleau wasn’t mad at him. Concern was painted on his face as he looked to the shorter man, and yet Ilya waited for some kind of punishment; he expected anything from a verbal lashing to a smack across the face. He knew better than to talk to others like that, he knew better than to speak words of anger.
Ilya knew he’d done bad, he played horribly, and made so many mistakes on the ice. His head wasn’t in the game, he didn’t know where his head was. It felt like their was cotton in place of his brain, and right now his cotton filled brain told him to scream, shout, throw something, or throw himself to the ground and start flailing around until he felt better; however he knew better than to do so.
“Hey, look at me.” Marleau’s words were soft and laced with a sweetness the Russian hadn’t heard since his mother, Ilya could only shake his head desperately biting down on his cheek in hopes of keeping the unwanted fuzzy feeling from growing. Desperately holding back tears, there was no reason to hide; everyone had scurried out of the locker room, rushing to leave as it was clear their captain needed a moment to himself.
“Look at me, bud.” Marleau cooed, Ilya knew most of his teammates classifications. Cliff Marleau is a caregiver, of course he’d be the one to comfort Ilya. ‘Does he know?’ The Russian thought to himself, panic surged through him. Alarm bells went off as Cliff stepped closer, The Russian wanted to run away or hid somewhere never to be seen again. Ilya stayed in place unable to move, he could feel himself being dragged into the fluffy fog that clouded his mind.
The Russian clung to anything that could ground him, desperately trying to avoid turning into nothing more than a puddle of emotion. Clawing into his palms as he balled his fists at his sides, feeling the burn of pain spread through his hands. He was one wrong move away from watching his world crash down around him, everything he’d worked so hard to build.
Ilya hadn’t realized how heavy he was breathing, stale air burned his lungs but he couldn’t get enough oxygen. It felt like his brain was deprived of the oxygen he craved, sucking in a few frantic breaths through pathetic hiccups.
“Roz, look at me.” There was sternness mixed with that sickly sweet tone that made Ilya want to claw his skin off, it was demeaning and yet the Russian couldn’t help but crave the softness he was being handed. Ilya locked eyes with Cliff for a brief moment before deciding he couldn’t do it, “Sorry.” Ilya shook his head. He was desperate to escape the situation he was in, it made him feel small and helpless; a victim to his own classification.
“Can you take a deep breath?” Marleau was dramatic when giving his example for The Russian to follow, Ilya copied his behavior not knowing what else he could do in this moment. “Good job, another one.” Marleau breathed alongside Ilya waiting for his breath to be steady, “Good boy.” The caregiver praised in that sweet tone that Rozanov both loved and hated. He did not feel worthy of praise.
The silence was thick, almost unbearable but Ilya didn’t dare to speak. He was still in shock, Marleau and Ilya’s relationship was full of shit talk and teasing one another. The sudden shift in the dynamic was comforting in one way and terrifying in another, this was new terrain the Russian didn’t have the strength to explore. Neither of the men had seen this side of each other, Ilya Rozanov was a confident and hot headed man, to see him reduced to something that could be perceived as helpless was more than out of the ordinary. Cliff Marleau held quite the reputation as an arrogant play boy of sorts, to see him in such a caring light was intimidating. Would he think less of Ilya now? Would he hold this over the Russian’s head as some kind of blackmail?
“Can you tell me what’s got you so upset?” Marleau allowed the question to hang in the air, placing a hand on the nape of Rozanov’s neck gripping onto him lightly in hopes of helping Ilya ground himself long enough to answer the question. Marleau knew Rozanov could be a sore loser with how much ego he had, but it was very obvious something else lurked beneath the surface. Sure, Rozanov had quite the temper with the occasional tantrum, but he did not yell at the team this time. He’d rather seethe in silence than risk his voice betraying him, rather than risking becoming a mess of tears.
“Angry, he will be angry.” A new wave of panic surged through Ilya, all the work Cliff had done to get the Russian to steady his breathing was undone. Marleau was a little confused as to who would possibly be upset with the Russian because it sure as hell wasn’t the team, “Who will be angry?” Ilya bit his bottom lip in hopes it would keep it from wobbling; he wasn’t supposed to cry, boys don’t cry.
The Russian felt himself losing to the dreaded fuzzy feeling that was rapidly consuming him, “Папа!” ‘Papa’ The crack in his voice was humiliating, he could hear how pathetic he sounded. Part of him waited for Marleau to snap at him to whip him back into shape, but it hadn’t happened yet. Sobs clawed up his throat desperate to get out, Ilya could only keep them in for so long before he was wailing uncontrollably; as he hid his face in his hands.
Marleau didn’t know what he was doing, he was acting on instinct alone. Wrapping his arms around Ilya, squeezing him softly as if to say ‘I’m here’. Rozanov wrapped himself around his teammate, his knuckles turning white from how fiercely he gripped at Cliff’s shirt. Once the crying had been reduced to nothing more than a few sniffles and the occasional whimper, Marleau hesitantly let go after telling the little they needed to finish getting undressed.
The caregiver took it upon himself to finish undressing Ilya, the shorter of the men sat patiently on the bench once he’d been settled into a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie. “How are you feeling now, bud?” Cliff hummed as he got himself out of his uniform, when the response was not immediate he glanced over to Rozanov who wore a look of frustration.
Ilya felt ridiculous, he knew the word he was looking for but no matter how far into his brain he dug he could not find it. “Испуганный.” ‘Frightened’ His hands trembled in his lap as he awaited some kind of repercussion for not knowing the English word, only there was no punishment. “I’m sorry baby I don’t know what that means, are you scared? Sad? Angry?” Cliff gave him options to choose from hoping that this would help him figure out the English word the little was looking for.
“Scared.” He mumbled quietly as he felt the awkward way the words fumbled on his tongue, Cliff slung both his and Ilya’s duffle bags over his shoulders. “Good job baby, thank you for telling me how you feel.” The caregiver praised offering a hand to the Russian who only saw the hand coming towards him, flinching away from the caregiver with a wild look in his eyes. Marleau couldn’t help but feel awful, “Come on bud, grab my hand.” The brunette encouraged.
They walked out in silence, Ilya didn’t know where they were going but he didn’t dare to ask questions, the little followed with his head down allowing himself to be led through the dark parking lot. Marleau told him everything he was going to do before he did it, everything from putting their bags in the trunk to buckling the little in the passengers seat.
The car ride was silent almost the whole way, aside from the occasional whine or whimper that escaped Ilya as he fought sleep. His head bobbing side to side and up and down, “I know you’re so sleepy.” Marleau cooed caressing Ilya’s cheek watching how the boy leaned into the touch. Rozanov whined when he lost the contact, Cliff could only coo at him calling him the cutest.
Ilya hadn’t realized they were parked in front of a rather large house, regardless of Cliff’s absence he didn’t get out the car as he wasn’t told to. “Come on, baby.” The caregiver scooped up the baby, resting the little on his hip. Their bags would stay in the trunk, right now his main priority was to get Ilya in the shower so they could have some dinner and head to bed; Ilya was still fighting sleep.
Once inside Ilya was set down on his own two feet tugging a whine from his throat, Ilya couldn’t help it he craved the comfort and touch of another, of a caregiver. Cliff couldn’t help the fond smile that formed on his face, “Can you tell me how old you are, buddy?” The caregiver hummed setting his keys on the kitchen counter before turning back to the little who had followed behind him. Rather than exploring his environment like most littles Marleau knew, Ilya stood behind him, following him wherever he went; Ilya was staying where he thought it was safe, more like who he thought was safe.
Rozanov didn’t know if he should be truthful about his headspace age, what if it was too little? Or not little enough? But if he lied about it and got caught, what would Marleau do? Would he hit him?
Cliff watched the cogs in Ilya’s brain turn as he was weighed down by the endless amount of possibilities and consequences that came with both telling the truth and lying, the caregiver let out a small hum which effectively snapped Ilya out of his worries. The Russian held up two fingers hesitantly as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, he needed some kind of comfort that didn’t come from Marleau.
Subconsciously tucking his thumb into his mouth, gently sucking as he felt himself relax ever so slightly. Cliff gently pulled Ilya’s hand away from his mouth, the little’s eyes widened as he was made aware of what he’d been doing. Ilya’s lip wobbled as fresh tears fell down his cheeks, hugging onto the caregiver in order to hide his face, as an overwhelming sense of shame settled deep into his bones at his childish behavior; he knew better than to act this way.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Marleau hushed him, giving him a light squeeze of reassurance. The caregiver couldn’t tell if he was crying because he was corrected or if there was something else going on, Cliff would be sure to talk about it with Rozanov when he was in a bigger headspace. Gently pulling away from the hug, Ilya cried louder and louder clearly not wanting to be let go. Marleau grabbed Ilya’s hand, leading him down the main hallway of the large house as he verbally reassured the little boy that everything was okay.
The caregiver sat Ilya on the closed toilet seat of the guest bathroom, informing the little of everything he was doing. As of the moment he was searching for shower products that were tear-free, while he did not have a little of his own, Cliff was a go-to babysitter for a lot of his friends and family, so he was well prepared for this situation.
“Can you sit in here for a moment?” The boy shook his head, curls sticking to his forehead from the sweat he’d accumulated over the course of the game and the nerve wracking situation he’d found himself in. Marleau sighed playfully with a fond smile, holding his hand out for Rozanov to grab onto. Ilya scampered towards him, intertwining their hands with a sniffle. Lead down the hall to the master bedroom, Ilya waited awkwardly behind Cliff as the caregiver rummaged through dresser drawers. While Ilya was wearing clothes that are suitable for sleep, Marleau didn’t want the little to sleep in anything that he’d sweated in.
Pulling out a pair of basket ball shorts and an oversized band shirt, once they’d gathered clothes they made their way back to the guest bathroom. Ilya sat back down on the toilet lid as he was unsure of what it was he was supposed to be doing, he felt helpless gnawing at him. Marleau turned him around in a swift motion that slightly startled the Russian, hooking a finger at the little’s waistband, Cliff was checking what size underwear Ilya wore before rummaging in the bathroom closet. Marleau hummed in satisfaction upon finding a half-full package of pull-ups, they were about the same size as Ilya’s underwear if not a little bigger.
Ilya had turned himself around the moment Cliff was done looking down his pants, watching intently as the caregiver did whatever it was he was doing. His eyes landed on the padding the moment Marleau turned back to him, “No! No! No!” The Russian screamed loudly as he stomped his feet.
“Hey,” the caregiver had a stern edge in his voice with a matching expression that registered as anger or disappointment, the little couldn’t really tell, but it made Ilya freeze in place biting his bottom lip as he focused his gaze on the ground. “That’s enough, you’re too little to wear boxers. I don’t want you to have an accident, understood?” Cliff sighed softly before ruffling Ilya’s hair.
“Yes, sir. ‘M sorry.” The little boy mumbled as shame was sharp in his chest, if his father saw him in a pull-up or in this state of mind he’d for sure face severe consequences; a beating was more than ensured. “Who usually takes care of you when you’re little?” Marleau couldn’t help but wonder who Ilya would allow to see him in such a vulnerable position, Rozanov pointed to himself with a sniffle.
Cliff felt his heart was going to shatter into a million tiny pieces, “That’s not good,” Marleau felt ashamed that he hadn’t picked up on this earlier despite knowing Ilya Rozanov would never show any kind of weakness in front of the people he was meant to inspire. “You need to let someone take care of you every now and then.” Marleau ran the water, adjusting the temperature to something on the warmer side, while simultaneously mentally preparing himself for all the things that could go wrong in giving Ilya a bath; it was one thing to be baby say but it was another to have never experienced this level of care from another person or caregiver in general.
Ilya seemed terrified when it came time to get undressed, this was a whole new ballpark for Ilya, Cliff would have to be extremely careful in this situation as it was make or break. “Come on baby,” The caregiver cooed helping Ilya into a standing position, pulling him into a quick hug giving him the comfort he desired. “Arms up.” Marleau instructed amused by how obedient Ilya could be, Cliff praised Rozanov for every command he followed.
The caregiver felt it was important the little hear praise for everything he did, he was using the praise as a means to teach Ilya good things happen when he lets other people help him. Eventually he’d have to teach the little boy how to ask for help when he needed it, no matter how big or small he was. Trying to instill that needing help was a perfectly normal thing, however the chances that he’d absorb that lesson.
It was a shit show from start to finish, Ilya was hesitant to get fully undressed, hooking his fingers around the waistband of the little’s boxers and pants he’d noticed a damp spot on the crotch area; had Ilya had an accident earlier and he had just not noticed? “Baby, why are your pants and underwear damp?” Cliff hummed softly as Ilya stepped out of his damp clothes. The Russian avoided eye contact at all costs, staring up at the ceiling as tears welled in his eyes.
“Did you have an accident earlier?” The caregiver questioned throwing the damp clothes off to the side, the little boy gave a very stiff nod after hesitating. Cliff reassured him it was okay, that no one was upset with him but that next time he needed to tell the caregiver immediately.
Stepping into the shower was the easy part, however Ilya didn’t want to get water on his face. Screeching as he was held back by his forehead so Cliff could wet his hair, Marleau was starting to believe it would have been easier to give Ilya a bath rather than a shower.
Ilya calmed down significantly once he was out of the shower, he chewed on his necklace content with staring off into space as Cliff patted him dry. “You did so good, puppy.” the caregiver cooed, “Nuh-uh.” Ilya sniffled only to be told not to talk back in a playful tone.
Having been dried off it was now time to get dressed, Ilya freaked out as soon as it was time to put the padding on. Screaming as tears flooded his eyes, overwhelmed by the humiliation that came with having to wear a pull-up. Stomping his feet before trying to shove Marleau away as the caregiver inched closer essentially backing the Russian into a corner, “Ilya,” Cliff placed the padding down onto the counter for a moment before grabbing both of Rozanov’s hands to keep him from pushing and hitting.
“No! No! Please! No! I be good!” He begged sinking to the ground as he tried to cover his face with his hands despite them being restrained, “Ilya, it’s just to make sure you don’t have an accident. It’ll be okay, I promise.” The caregiver cooed helping Ilya back to his feet. The little steadied himself, holding onto Marleau’s shoulder’s to keep himself balanced as he stepped into the pull-up. “Good boy, you’re doing such a good job.” The caregiver praised as he pulled the padding all the way making sure it fit properly, Cliff gave Ilya a pat on the bottom watching how the little turned a light shade of pink.
Ilya’s eyes were glossed over, more tears threatened to fall at any given moment. His head was filled with cotton, an all consuming fogginess he couldn’t seem to breach. A small whimper escaped him, the overwhelming sense of helplessness consumed him once more as Cliff tugged the over size shirt over his head, helping him pull his arms through as Ilya made no effort to do it himself.
The part of Ilya that was trapped in this foggy abyss felt pity for himself, almost as if he could see himself in third person watching as he stepped into the basketball shorts. For a split second he could feel himself breach a clearing far from the fog only for it to thicken around him, wrapping his entire body in the cloudy substance; it was suffocating.
“All done, good job pup.” Marleau hummed, scooping up the little boy who cried silently into the taller man’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, baby?” Cliff questioned rubbing a hand up and down Ilya’s back, “No want to be little.” He choked back a sob as his voice betrayed him by being a wobbly wreck.
The caregiver didn’t know what to do about the boy’s fear of being little, at the moment he felt all he could do was reassure Ilya that it was a perfectly normal thing to do.
New problems arose when the caregiver came to the realization that he himself still needed to shower, Ilya was very clingy and emotionally fragile at the moment; it felt like disaster waited for him. “Here’s the plan,” Cliff bounced Ilya on his hip in an attempt to get the little’s attention, “I need to take a shower, so you’re going to sit in my room and watch some tv, sound good?” He explained as he traveled down the hallway towards the master bedroom.
Set to stand on his own, Ilya stood awkwardly right where he was placed. He was no stranger to feeling like he didn’t belong, but he did not have the strength to muster up any kind of facade. The Russian stood there unsure of what to do, his eyes followed Cliff around the room; watching intently as the caregiver gathered clothes for his shower. Marleau smiled fondly at him, he found it adorable how Rozanov fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he stood nervously awaiting some kind of instruction.
“Wanna lay down for a little bit, maybe watch some cartoons?” The little gave a stiff nod but made no effort to move, Cliff helped Ilya into his bed, tucking him in before finding a random cartoon switching the audio to Russian in hopes that would help ease his nerves. “I’ll leave the door cracked, come get me if you need to.” Cliff gave him a kiss on the forehead before ruffling Ilya’s wet curls, Ilya watched as the caregiver disappeared into the bathroom.
Ilya let out a heavy sigh as he tried his best to be entertained by the show that played quietly, after a few moments of observing his surroundings he was bored. Crawling out of bed after a moment of hesitation, he questioned whether or not he’d be in trouble for getting up. The little quietly snuck into the bathroom, it was much bigger than the guest bathroom but it was just as plainly decorated.
Hoisting himself up onto the sink countertop, cringing at the crinkly sound he made when sitting down. While it wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing he’d experienced, it was however one of the most humiliating. Ilya didn’t lurk on the thought for too long, instead he lightly swung his legs, giggling quietly as he did so.
Cliff peeked from behind the shower curtain watching how Ilya had felt more entertained by his own legs than the tv. Rozanov dragged his finger across the foggy mirror making various shapes, while Marleau was busy dressing himself. “Whatcha doing, baby?” The caregiver hummed watching how Ilya paid him no mind, the little was much more relaxed as he drew on the mirror.
“Shapes.” Marleau didn’t think Rozanov would be a Velcro baby, so far Ilya wasn’t the most talkative within his headspace but Cliff assumed it was the shyness mixed with the slight language barrier. Scooping up Ilya and whisking him away towards the kitchen, he’d need to figure out what it was they’d be having for dinner. Ilya wasn’t worried about eating, he was busy nuzzling into Marleau’s shoulder as he hummed softly to no particular tune.
“Someone’s getting sleepy.” Cliff teased placing a kiss on Rozanov’s cheek, Ilya shook his head lazily with a whine, how dare Marleau accuse him of being tired. “Yeah you’re getting sleepy.” The caregiver chuckled while patting the baby’s back before setting him on the kitchen counter, Ilya felt he was going to burst into tears. Losing the comforting embrace of his teammate felt like his world was crumbling around him, Cliff kept his eye on the little while simultaneously searching through his mostly empty fridge. This was a rude reminder he needed groceries, “How do we feel about spaghetti?” Ilya was pouting but gave a nod of approval; anything to be held again.
Microwaving the little’s food first before scooping him up, watching how Ilya relaxed into the embrace. Plopping him down at the dinning table as the microwave beeped, signaling to the pair that it was ready for consumption. Cliff let the little’s food sit on the counter for a moment, allowing it to cool off before he’d serve it to Ilya.
Ilya was slightly uncoordinated as he ate, spaghetti falling down the front of his shirt and on the table. It was only after he was finished eating did he notice the mess he’d made, glancing at Cliff who was watching him as he shoveled food into his mouth. “Sorry.” Shame settled deep into his stomach, he knew better than to make a mess. “It’s okay, baby.” The caregiver reassured that they could clean it up in a minute, Cliff took it upon himself to wash their dishes. “I help?” Ilya tilted his head to the side waiting for a response, Cliff instructed him to wipe the table and clean the mess the little had made earlier.
Ilya did so with more excitement than necessary, it felt good to help when he was allowed to. Father would just berate him and send him to his room, but Cliff wasn’t Father.
Settling Ilya on his hip loving the way the little clung to him with a satisfied hum, a new problem arose when Ilya was laid in the guest bedroom, Cliff had no intention of staying in the room with him. “No! No!” Ilya cried out as the caregiver tried to leave, Ilya crawled out of bed nearly fumbling over his own feet as he ran towards Marleau. “What’s the matter, pup?” He questioned as he scooped up Ilya, wanting nothing more than to avoid anymore tears.
It took a minute but the caregiver pieced it together, Ilya didn’t want to sleep by himself. He should’ve assumed as much from the clingy behavior, “You can sleep in my bed.” Cliff hummed giving Ilya a kiss on the cheek. Ilya nodded into his shoulder, agreeing that this is the only way he’d be able to sleep.
Marleau was still in shock about how clingy the little was being, resting his head on Cliff’s chest peeking over to see what it was the caregiver was doing on his phone. Words floated across the screen, while Ilya could recognize some, in his current state he couldn’t seem to make out what any of them meant; it was a jumbled mess of English with the occasional picture he could stare at. He’d tried to sound things out with much confusion, but only when Marleau had stopped scrolling to read something, the sounds that were meant to be words fumbled off his tongue. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, little boy.” Cliff hummed placing a hand on the little’s back, rubbing in rhythmic circles, hoping that would aid Ilya in his journey to sleep.
The little ignored him and continued to sound out ‘impossible’ to the best of his abilities, his eyes felt heavy and his jaw and tongue was beginning to become more and more uncoordinated. Marleau alternated between rubbing and patting the boy’s back watching in his peripheral vision, Ilya was beginning to whine and shake his head slightly as he tried to fight the tiredness that covered him like a weighted blanket. After ten minutes of fighting tooth and nail to stay awake, Ilya was knocked out cold, his mouth slightly ajar as drool pooled in the corner of his mouth trickling down onto Cliff’s shirt.
Marleau had made plans for tonight, a fling of his was visiting Boston, he’d agreed to go out with her after his game; but for very obvious reasons he never made it to the bar they were meeting at. Scrolling absentmindedly on his phone cycling through various social medias and news outlets until his ringtone blared loudly through his phone speaker, an incoming call from his fling, his memory of these pre-established plans began to surface.
The caregiver was quick to answer the call, anything for the loud noise to stop. Ilya had shot up from where he once laid peacefully asleep, his head whipping around the room in every direction to find where the sound had come from and to see where it went. Cliff placed a hand onto the nape of the boy’s neck, gently guiding him back down to the caregiver’s chest in hopes of getting him back to sleep. “Hey, I know we had plans for tonight, but I am a bit busy.” Ilya whined as he laid against Cliff’s chest, scooting closer into the caregiver’s side; if that was even physically possible.
The little could faintly hear a woman’s voice on the other end of the line, “Last minute babysitting for my sister.” He sighed as if he was disappointed to miss out on their plans.
“Кто?” ‘Who?’ The little boy mumbled as his thumb made its way into his mouth, “Hold on, buddy.” Marleau hushed him a few more times as he repeated his question. Ilya let out a frustrated whine, he wanted to know who the caregiver was talking to. Whoever it was they sounded pretty upset, Cliff promised they’d reschedule for another night as he knew she’d be in town for a couple of days.
“Baby, when I’m on the phone you have to be quiet, understand?” The caregiver’s voice was stern but gentle as he wrapped both arms around the little, “Я понимаю.” ‘I understand’ Ilya mumbled around his thumb before he let out a huff. Cliff had no idea what that meant but guessing by the remorseful sound of Ilya’s voice he was understanding of the newly formed rule, Ilya never did find out who Marleau was on the phone with, instead he was lulled to sleep while the caregiver played with his hair gently scratching at his scalp and twirling curls around his fingers.
Morning’s sun spewed through black-out curtains, warm beams of light shining down onto Marleau’s face as if signaling it was time for him to get his day started. However he refrained from getting up as he felt the body pressed up against him, he didn’t want Ilya to freak out if he left the room, even if there was the smallest chance that Rozanov was regressed he felt he needed to be there. Instead of getting out of bed he reached for his phone on the nightstand, checking any notifications he’d gotten before going through his emails, occasionally glancing at Rozanov to check if he was still asleep.
After an hour Ilya began to stir, slowly rousing himself awake. Taking in a deep breath glancing around the room the Russian realized he was in an unfamiliar room, bolting up as he registered he was laying on top of someone, it was very obviously a man, looking to Marleau with wide eyes.
“What the fuck?!” Was all Ilya could get out as he created as much distance between him and his teammates without falling off the bed, the rustling of sheets followed his movements. “Good morning, sunshine.” Marleau teased recognizing that Rozanov was no longer regressed, Cliff was unable to hide the smile that snuck its way onto his face.
“Did we…?” Ilya only had one guess as to why he was in Marleau’s bed, but by the looks of it they were both dressed. Cliff looked offended at the very thought of them hooking up, but then again only he had the context of what happened last night. “No! No, we did nothing like that. You regressed last night after the game, so I took you home. No big deal.” Marleau assumed that would calm the Russian’s nerves and ease the fear in his eyes, however it seemed to only make things worse.
Ilya looked mortified, “That’s even worse.” He snapped trembling as he crawled out of bed as fast as physically possible, or as fast as he could when his body felt like jello; his arms and legs felt like they’d give out from under him. A crinkling sound seemed to follow him as he made his way towards the bedroom door, “What is that!?” Rozanov sounded more horrified than angry as he screeched grabbing a handful of his own ass.
“It’s a pull-up, didn’t want you pissing in my bed.” Cliff thought the joke would lighten the mood, he was sorely mistaken. Ilya was flushed in the face, his jaw slack as he looked to Marleau with bewilderment. His blood ran cold when he’d heard that he was wearing a pull-up, did he willingly put one on? Had he stooped so low?
Ilya felt the room was growing larger, the bed, the nightstand all while he shrunk down into the floor. His head was swimming with endless possibilities, none good, his breathing became shallow edging towards hyperventilation. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as nausea began to set in the back of his throat, he’d never felt so sick before. Anything he had to say was caught in the back of his throat threatening to come up with last night’s dinner, swallowing thick bile that was rapidly clawing its way up his throat.
Marleau was at a loss of what to do, Rozanov was unusually pale and sweating more than a sinner in church. “Roz, hey, can you hear me?” Cliff questioned as his previous attempts to reassure and reason with the Russian had gone unheard, the caregiver knew now was not the time to panic. The brunette slowly got out of bed, fearing that any sudden movements would cause Ilya’s condition to become worse than either of them could handle; if that was possible. Running towards the kitchen where he’d plugged Ilya’s phone in the previous night, Cliff searched through his call logs, desperately searching for someone who could help him in this situation.
It was clear that Rozanov was dodging calls from people left and right, the only two people he’d answered recently was ‘Svetlana’ and ‘Jane’. Weighing out his options on which of the women he should call he took into account which phone call had been more recent, settling on ‘Jane’ he called her waiting impatiently as the phone rang a few times before he heard a voice; a man’s voice.
“Ilya?” Marleau let silence hang in the air, unsure of what to make of this. He knew the voice on the other line, Shane Hollander, “Hollander.” Marleau cleared his voice trying his best to hide any kind of potential judgement or shock that would leak out of him. The bubble of panic was popped as soon as Ilya had heard Cliff utter Shane’s last name from down the hall, patting his pockets in search of his phone, horrified upon piecing together Marleau had it. “What are you doing?!” Ilya growled bursting out of the bedroom heading towards Cliff at unnecessary speeds, he snatched the phone from Marleau, practically clawing the other man.
“Marleau, you fucking idiot.” Ilya sounded wounded, tears of frustration and fear fell down his cheeks in rapid succession. The Russian didn’t give any answers to the man on the other end of the line, hanging up abruptly despite hearing Shane asking many questions through the phone’s speaker. Cliff was pulled from his state of shock upon hearing Ilya’s sharp tone and harsh words, something in the caregiver clicked. The overwhelming urge to turn this into a learning experience, he needed to nip bad behavior in the bud.
“You do not get to speak to me that way,” Marleau didn’t raise his voice but he was stern with his words and facial expression, watching how the Russian shrunk in on himself ever so slightly. It wasn’t like his teammates to snap back at him when he was throwing a temper tantrum, biting his inner cheek nervously as he awaited a slap across the face or some kind of physical repercussion.
“You are upset, I understand that. I snooped through your phone, that was not okay and I’m sorry. I was trying to find someone who could help you in your episode, but regardless that was not okay, however you do not get to speak to me or anyone else like that when you’re upset. Do you understand?” Ilya was at a loss, he felt powerless. Emotions raged through him, none of them made sense to him. He couldn’t piece together a response, he was consumed by the panic of Marleau finding out about Shane, Marleau finding out about his classification, and worst of all Marleau telling anyone about what happened last night or the ongoing events of the morning.
“Do you understand?” Cliff repeated awaiting a response, Ilya gave him a stiff nod hoping that would suffice as he feared any verbal response would result in punishment. “Use your big boy words.” The only problem with that was Ilya wasn’t feeling like a big boy, he felt small and helpless as he prayed this was just a horrible nightmare or that this situation would resolve itself if he’d just “disappear” as this was a fate worse than death.
“Yes, sir.” His throat felt dry, and his words slurred as he spoke. For a brief moment he felt he was talking to his Father again, only his father never let him speak. His father had always told him that children and littles alike were meant to be seen not heard, it didn’t matter the situation; if an adult was talking he was to keep his mouth shut and listen, they were to be seen not heard.
Ilya’s phone had been ringing nonstop throughout the whole conversation, no doubt it was ‘Jane’; as if things couldn’t be any worse. The Russian was at a loss of what to do, shoving his phone into Marleau’s hands hoping the caregiver would do the hard part for him, what else were caregiver’s there for? “Answer it.” Cliff attempted to give the phone back but Ilya turned around shaking his head ‘no’ so Cliff couldn’t try to force the phone into his hands, “You’re such a baby.” Marleau sighed forgetting how insensitive of a joke that was in the moment. Ilya let out an ear piercing shriek, “No!” He screeched elongating the word until he ran out of breath.
“Ilya Rozanov, what did we just talk about? Sit your ass on the couch and wait until I’m done on the phone.” Marleau snapped his fingers pointing to the spot on the couch where he wanted the little to sit, Ilya did not cooperate in the slightest. The boy continued to scream what Cliff could only assume to be curses in Russian, “Sit. Down. Now.” Marleau practically dragged the little to the couch before pushing him down onto the cushions. Guilt stirred in when he saw how Ilya stiffened, shrinking into the corner of the couch as he hid his face.
Cliff hesitated for a moment before inhaling a deep breath to mentally prepare himself for the shit show that was about to happen, this is not how he predicted his morning would be.
“Ilya, what the fuck is going on?” Shane sounded as if he too was having an episode, more of a nervous breakdown compared to whatever it was Rozanov had going on. “Yeah, ummm, Ilya is having a bit of an episode. He regressed last night after our loss, so I took him to my place.” It didn’t take long for Shane to piece everything together, Hollander hadn’t found out about Ilya’s classification until recently. He could only imagine what the little was feeling having someone on his team find out, littles were traditionally not allowed in major league contact sports.
“Can you talk to him, please I beg of you.” Cliff was on the verge of losing his patience with both Rozanov and Hollander, “I….I can talk to him.” Hollander finally spoke up after an agonizingly long minute of silence. Marleau could only hope and pray that Shane knew what to do in this situation, that this nightmare would all be over. Hoping Ilya would realize none of what was happening would end the world as they knew it, but it would take a burden off their shoulders.
Ilya glanced over to Cliff as he sat on the couch, his hackles raised, his every sense was acutely aware as if looking for some kind of danger, but Marleau kept his distance not wanting to intrude on the frightened boy’s personal space. Lifting the phone to his ear using both hands, the phone felt heavier than it had before. Ilya’s breath was shaky, breathing heavy into the mic of the phone.
“Ilya, baby, can you take a deep breath for me.” Shane swallowed his fear, he didn’t have time to panic about Marleau knowing about him and Ilya, he didn’t have time to think about how Ilya never disclosed his classification to him as right now he had to be the one to bring Ilya back down to earth and out of the darkest corners of the Russian’s mind. Shane could worry about all of that later, he could ask as many questions as Ilya would answer when the time was appropriate. Right now Ilya needed him.
Ilya took a deep breath as instructed, he was good at following instructions most of the time. “Everything is going to be okay, Marleau isn’t here to hurt you; he wants to help you. He’s not going to tell anyone, I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re not in trouble for being little. Okay?” Shane prayed he was telling the truth as he didn’t know Ilya’s teammate very well, but from what he’d seen in the last twenty minutes, Marleau only wanted to help.
“But- Father.” Ilya choked out a sob despite desperately trying to pull himself together, he felt helpless as he attempted to claw his way out of the fog that weighed down on his brain. He wanted nothing more than to sound like something other than a sniveling child, trapped in his own mind. “Father isn’t here right now, is he?” Hollander knew the wound was still semi-fresh but it was all he could think to say in hopes it would reassure Ilya to some degree, “No, sir.” The little swallowed hard feeling as if his throat was closing in on itself.
“Good boy, you’re going to be okay. I promise, now can you give the phone back to Marleau?” Shane cooed as he wished for nothing more than to be in Ilya’s presence in this very moment, he wanted to squeeze him tight and make the little feel like everything truly would be okay. Glancing to Cliff before handing the phone over to his current guardian, “For you.” Ilya sniffled wiping his face with his forearm.
Marleau was hesitant to take the phone, but if Hollander wanted to speak to him it was probably important and Ilya related. “All I can ask is you take care of him, don’t tell anyone what you know. Not about him or me and him, if not for the both of us then just for him.” Panic was surging through Shane as he tried his best not to get choked up by his own words and the swirl of anxiety inducing thoughts that came with them. Being a little or gay to any degree within their profession was a sore subject, it was a losing game for Ilya; but it didn’t have to be.
Marleau reassured Shane that it would stay between the three of them, he had nothing to gain from outing them but he had everything to lose for doing so. The caregiver also reassured Hollander he’d take care of Ilya in and out of his regressed state, promising to keep a close eye on him as neither of them wanted him to be suppressing his regression.
Cliff hung up the phone with a heavy sigh, this was more than he’d signed up for, he really should’ve called ‘Svetlana’. Ilya was hiding against the arm of the couch, curled into the corner. The Russian could feel his rapid heart beat, he could feel the sweat that accumulated in the palms of his hands. Guilt ate at Cliff suddenly feeling he was too harsh with the little earlier, “Come here, pup.” The caregiver cooed patting the spot next to him urging Ilya to come closer.
The boy shook his head, tightening his arms around his torso, he hugged onto himself in hopes of providing himself any kind of comfort. Marleau wasn’t going to force Ilya to do anything he didn’t want to do, not after all that had happened over the course of the last forty-five minutes.
“Are you hungry, bud?” Ilya let the question hang in the air as he thought way too hard about it before giving a stiff nod, Cliff could work with this. Ilya’s breath had evened out after a few minutes of silence and no sudden movements, “Sorry.” Ilya sniffled crawling towards the caregiver before curling into his side. Wrapping an arm loosely around the Russian, “Why are you sorry?” Marleau was a little confused but at the same time there were a couple things Ilya should be sorry about.
“Screaming an’ cursing.” The boy was wracked with guilt, he knew better than to raise his voice or curse at others. Cliff took a moment to process the apology, “It’s not okay to do those things, not to me, not to anyone. Next time you’ll do better, I forgive you.” Marleau kissed the top of Ilya’s head.
They let silence drape over them for a good ten minutes, simply soaking in each other’s presence. “In trouble?” Ilya broke the silence as he looked up to the caregiver hoping and praying he’d say no, “Only a little bit.” That was not the answer he wanted to hear.
“What do we want for breakfast?” Cliff pulled himself off the couch before scooping up Ilya, settling the little on his hip. They were headed down the hall where all the bedrooms were located, Ilya stared at each picture that hung on the wall; he hadn’t noticed them last night. “Pancake?” The Russian mumbled around his thumb, he hadn’t noticed he was sucking on it until his words came out muffled and slightly slurred. Marleau gave a nod of approval as he flicked on the guest bathroom light before he set Ilya to stand on his own, the caregiver pulled at the Russian’s waistband checking the dryness of the little’s padding.
“All dry, good job!” Ilya was a bright shade of red as he was praised for something that shouldn’t be seen as an accomplishment, to add insult to injury Marleau gave him a gentle pat on the bottom before giving the little everything he could need to brush his teeth.
‘Maybe this will not be so bad?’ Ilya thought to himself as he was carried off to the kitchen with the promise that he could stir the pancake batter.