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Ilya stood next to his boring car, waiting patiently for the dismissal bell to ring.
School pickup was his favourite time of the day— especially now that both of his kids were in school. With Dimitri in kindergarten and Luka in second grade, there were six hours of the day that Ilya was free of direct caretaking.
He hated it.
The alone time was nice; getting the chance to wash dishes without fear of something exploding in the other room was a luxury, and when Shane was home, they were able to spend some quality time together. Ilya did appreciate this fact.
But he much preferred having his boys home with him.
Dimitri was a wild ball of energy, constantly changing topics and shifting focus, coming through the house like a tornado. Ilya loved the challenge of keeping up with him; it was the most rewarding thing, hearing the youngest Hollander-Rozanov’s delighted laugh when one of his parents or brother played along with his endless imagination.
Luka was much quieter than Dimitri, but no less loveable. The eldest was witty, bouncing back to Ilya’s quips with ease and humour. He played and created with a quieter enthusiasm, eager to explore the world on slower terms. He was so much like Shane, it made Ilya’s chest ache.
Adjusting the sunglasses on his face, Ilya looked around the busy school parking lot. He had baked some raspberry and white chocolate muffins earlier that afternoon, and he was excited for his boys to try them.
The bell rang at last, a flood of kids bursting from the school doors. Teachers typically held the kindergarteners back to avoid being trampled, and Luka hung back with Dimitri so they could come out together.
“Hi, Mr. Rozanov!”
“See you on Saturday, coach!”
Ilya stepped to the side, waiting for his sons to exit the coming hoard. He laughed at the few passing greetings he received from some of Luka’s classmates.
“Yes, do not forget your knee pads!” He called to one of the kids, smiling at the affirmative response. Ilya had taken to coaching youth hockey through the week, mostly for something to do. He had become quite popular among all kids in the junior league working with Dimitri and Luka and their teammates in the 5-7 age division because of his career. The Russian had lost count of all the hockey cards he had signed for the kids he coached.
Ilya stepped closer as the hoard of children dispersed, waiting for his boys to walk out of the school. After a second of growing concern, a loud and familiar voice erupted from the exit.
“Papa!”
Ilya crouched down, just as rapid footsteps propelled a small body into his chest. He grinned, catching the boy with ease before standing with Dimitri and swinging him in his arms. He peppered kisses across his cheeks and forehead, smiling at the loud giggles.
“Dimitri! Hello, solnyshko! How was school?” He asked, setting the boy on his hip as he pressed a final kiss to his temple.
“Was good, daddy! We played soooo much!” Dimitri exclaimed, wrapping one arm around the back of Ilya’s neck. He affectionately bonked his head against his papa’s jaw, grinning as he was held.
“I’m so happy to hear that. Lukasha!” Ilya replied, greeting his eldest as the seven year old walked over to his brother and father. “How was your day, malysh?” He asked, gently smoothing Luka’s black hair back from his face.
The older child scrunched his nose in distaste, batting Ilya’s hand away. “I’m not a baby,” he scowled.
Ilya paused. He was no stranger to bad moods; they were inevitable and abundant in a house with two little ones and parents who struggled with mental illness. Still, this was unusual. Luka was rarely angry, and when he had been in the past, he didn’t shy away from affection. Something was wrong.
“You’ll always be my baby,” Ilya said softly, tilting his head as he analyzed his son. “Mine and Daddy’s. But I won’t call you that, if it bothers you.”
The Russian meant it, even if it would kill him to stop. His kids’ comfort was more important than his wants, and even if it hurt to watch his babies grow up, Ilya was grateful for the privilege. It was a hurt he’d choose every single time.
Luka glared at the ground, frustrated by the lack of reaction from his father. He kicked a stray pebble, holding the straps of his backpack tightly before walking towards the car.
Ilya took a breath, adjusting his hold on Dimitri, who had occupied himself by playing with Ilya’s chain. He was always careful with it, something Ilya appreciated. The retired hockey player let Luka walk ahead of them a few paces before he followed.
“Dima? Do you know why your brother is upset?” He asked gently, unlocking the car so his eldest could climb into the backseat of the SUV as he reached the vehicle.
Dimitri shrugged, resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “Dunno, Papa. He didn’t say hi to me after school, but I thought maybe he forgot.”
Ilya hummed. “Let’s give him space when we get home, yes?”
Dimitri nodded. “Can I marker him a picture?”
Ilya’s chest warmed. “Colour, baby. Markers are what you use to colour. But yes, I think Luka would love that.”
Dimitri nodded as they approached the car. Ilya opened the door on the driver’s side, carefully maneuvering his youngest’s backpack off before setting him in his booster seat. As he leaned over to buckle him, he checked Luka’s seatbelt as well.
“Lukasha, can I help you fix your seatbelt? It is twisted.”
Luka let out a sigh much heavier than any seven year old should be capable of. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking in the opposite direction of Ilya.
The father waited a moment, eyebrow raised. After a moment, Luka gave a short nod, keeping his glare pointed out the window.
Ilya straightened his posture, pressing a kiss to Dimitri’s cheek and closing his door. He walked around the car, opening the passenger side door. He offered Luka a soft smile, leaning over him and unbuckling his seatbelt. He carefully untwisted it, rebuckling and placing a hand on his scowling kid’s knee. He ducked down to catch his brown eyes.
“I love you,” Ilya murmured, eyes soft as he gazed at his son. “I’m here if you want to talk.” Up close he could see the smattering of freckles decorating his cheeks and nose. Luka was almost identical to Shane; it made Ilya’s heart tremble in his chest.
Luka sniffed, breaking eye contact. Ilya fought a smile. His looks weren’t the only thing he got from Shane. All three of his boys were petulant when they wanted to be.
Ilya gently squeezed the second grader’s knee, pulling back and closing the door. He took a moment to breathe, rolling his shoulders back. He glanced at the school, wondering what on earth had happened in that building to make his son feel so bad.
Ilya walked to the driver’s side, climbed in, and started the car.
~
When they arrived home, Luka immediately unbuckled and got out of the car, all but running into the house. Ilya sighed, turning off the ignition and slipping out of his seat. He opened Dimitri’s door and unbuckled the excited toddler. He smiled, helping him hop out of his booster seat. “Go get yourself settled in kitchen, da? I made muffins for snack.”
Dimitri smiled brightly, nodding as he rushed into the house. Ilya grabbed both of the boys’ backpacks, closing the car door. He locked it, walking into the house. He toed off his shoes, huffing fondly at the Luka and Dimitri’s abandoned sneakers in the entry way. He hung their bags on their respective hooks, grabbing their lunchbags from the main compartment before tucking their shoes into the proper cubbies.
Ilya looked up the staircase, confirming Luka’s door was shut at the top of the landing. He let out a breath, continuing to the kitchen. He smiled at Dimitri, who had managed to climb onto one of the barstools at the island. He set the boys’ lunchboxes on the counter, turning and grabbing a small plate from the cupboard.
“Do you want a drink, solnyshko?” Ilya asked, plating a muffin and sliding it across the counter to Dimitri. The kindergartener nodded enthusiastically. “Chocolate milk!”
Ilya chuckled, raising a brow. “Alright. Small cup, da?”
Dimitri nodded emphatically. “Da,” he parroted.
Rozanov smiled, turning and grabbing a plastic cup. He walked to the fridge. “What else did you do today?” He asked his youngest, pouring him some chocolate milk.
Dimitri took a bite of his muffin. “Ummmmm, we did spelling. Like c-a-t. Cat. Meow.”
“Meow,” Ilya repeated in amusement, setting the small cup down next to the plate. He gazed at Dimitri fondly, admiring his youngest baby. He looked like a true mix of Shane and Ilya, thanks to their surrogate. She looked a lot like Ilya, and had Russian heritage, as well as being one of the kindest women the couple had met. Ilya thanked the stars everyday for her, and the gift of his babies.
Dimitri lifted the cup with both hands, sipping his chocolate milk with a loud slurp. He set the cup down, revealing his milk mustache. Ilya laughed, walking around the island and wiping his lip with his thumb. “Messy,” he teased.
The five year old merely grinned, picking up his muffin. “This is so yummy. Did you use ‘papberries?”
“Raspberries, synochek. Yes, I did. Good taste.” He ruffled his hair before reaching for a blank sheet of paper that sat on the island. “Still want to colour picture?”
The answer was a resounding yes.
~
Shane opened the front door, letting the smell of garlic and tomato flood his nose. Spaghetti for dinner; a staple in the Hollander-Rozanov home. He took his shoes off, grateful to see the entryway relatively organized. Ilya must’ve been close behind the disaster of their boys.
“Guys, I’m home,” he called as he hung his keys and jacket on his hook, walking into the house. He smiled at the sight of Dimitri and Ilya in the kitchen, the former intensely colouring on some paper. Ilya turned from the stove, smiling at Shane.
“Hello, moya lyubov. Work was good?” Ilya asked, stirring the sauce in the pot. Shane nodded, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s waist and hugging him tightly from behind.
“Mhm,” he murmured in between his husband’s shoulderblades. “Where’s Luka?”
Ilya made a small noise, turning the heat down on the stove. “In his room. Something happened at school. He seemed very upset. Snapped at me.”
Shane furrowed his brows. “Doesn’t sound like him at all,” he replied quietly.
“Da,” Ilya agreed softly. “I wanted to give space. I checked on him once. He was lying on bed. Did not talk.”
Shane frowned, giving a small nod. He pressed a kiss to the back of Ilya’s neck before pressing a kiss to his pulse point. “I’ll go talk to him,” he promised in a whisper.
Ilya hummed, blushing faintly at the kisses. He turned his head, pressing his lips to Shane’s temple. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”
Shane smiled. “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.” He pulled away from his husband, walking around the island and placing his hand on Dimitri’s back.
“Hi, buddy,” he greeted softly, kissing the top of his head.
Dimitri startled a little. “Daddy! You’re home. Was markerin’.”
Shane laughed, rubbing the toddler’s back. “Colouring,” he corrected gently. “I didn’t mean to scare you, honey. What are you colouring?”
“‘S okay! Picture! For Luka, ‘cause he’s sad.” Dimitri held up the paper, showing a colourful family portrait of the four of them as stick figures. Each figure had a smile wide enough to bypass the circles of their heads. Dimitri had written each of their names under the corresponding figure, though ‘daddy’ was spelt with an ‘ie’ instead of a ‘y’. They were working on it.
Above the four figures was the childlike handwriting that spelled “we love you” in all capital letters. Shane’s heart melted into a puddle.
“Oh, that’s beautiful, Dimitri. I’m sure he’ll love it. You can give it to him after dinner, okay?”
Dimitri pouted. “I want him to have it now.”
Shane nodded. “I hear that. But I want to talk to Luka alone. I think he needs some time with Daddy.”
“Mpghh,” the five year old huffed. “Can you give it to him? Please?”
Shane carefully took the picture, nodding slowly. “I can. If you’re sure you don’t want to do it.”
Dimitri nodded, putting his hands on Shane’s stomach and pushing him away. “Uh huh. Go give. Like the mailman.”
Ilya laughed from the stove, grinning at Shane’s glare. Shane sighed dramatically.
“If I must. You better tip me when I get back.”
Dimitri laughed. “I have no moneys!”
Shane smiled, looking over his shoulder as he approached the staircase. “I guess I can settle for some cuddles.”
Dimitri grinned, swinging his legs from where he sat on the barstool. “I am the best at those! Papa says so!”
Ilya nodded. “Is true. Dima is excellent cuddler.”
Shane laughed as he made his way up the stairs. “I’ll look forward to it.” He walked up the steps slowly, thinking about how he was going to approach Luka. Shane was no stranger when it came to soothing his boys; he was an expert at it. But his strategy would have to change based on what the problem was, and Shane had no idea what sort of situation would make Luka, their gentle baby, snap at Ilya, no matter how minor the retort was. He took a breath, gently knocking on the door. The Canadian waited a moment before slowly twisting the handle and pushing the door open.
“Luka? Buddy, it’s dad.”
A muffled sound came from the lump on the bed. Shane smiled, closing the door behind him and crossing the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Luka kept his back adamantly facing Shane. Shane rested a hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly.
“What’s going on, baby?” He asked in a hushed tone.
Luka sniffled, body trembling as he turned to face Shane. Tears were streaked across his cheeks, his nose stuffy and dripping. Shane’s eyes softened, moving his hand to Luka’s cheek. He gently brushed his thumb over his skin, the pad of his finger collecting the tears.
The seven year old sat up, letting Shane’s hand fall from his face. He hesitated, hiccuping quietly.
Shane gazed at his eldest, eyes soft. “Do you want to sit how we do when we read?” He asked gently. “So you don’t have to look at me when we have this conversation.”
Luka shrugged weakly, eyes pointed at his lap. “My teacher says ‘s disrespectful not to look at someone when they talk,” he mumbled.
Shane paused, considering. “It’s a way to show that you’re listening,” he agreed quietly. “But sometimes it’s tricky. I don’t like to make eye contact when I talk to people that aren’t you or papa or Dimitri. I want this conversation to be easier for you, honey. I think it’s hard enough without you having to worry about what your eyes are doing.”
Luka let the words resonate in his mind. He silently climbed into Shane’s lap, his back to his chest. He grabbed his father’s hand, fidgeting with it as he sat.
Shane let him settle, smiling as Luka began tracing the lines of his palm. He used his free hand to hold his son around the middle, dropping a kiss to the top of his head.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmured, keeping his hand lax in Luka’s hold.
The seven year old took a shaky breath, sniffling as he kept his focus on Shane’s hand. He traced up his middle finger before he spoke.
“Am I weird?”
Shane sat in stunned silence, letting the question hang in the air. Years of ridicule in elementary and high school crept up the back of his neck. He swallowed back his lingering grief.
“What— what do you mean?” Shane was proud of how steady his voice came out. He wished distantly that Ilya was having this conversation.
“I… I dunno, daddy. I don’t like looking at people’s eyes, sometimes things are too loud, the other kids don’t really like playing with me. My teacher says I need to talk more but I sometimes like to just listen.” Luka trailed his fingertips over Shane’s index finger.
“I dunno. Makes me feel bad. I wish other kids were nice to me.”
Shane swallowed the lump in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes anyway.
“Are they… are they mean to you?” He asked, voice thick with emotion.
Luka shrugged. “Sometimes. They call me weird. Or dumb. An’...” Luka trailed off, his bottom lip trembling. “They make fun of me for being a baby sometimes. Cause Papa kisses me goodbye in the morning. Or sometimes when I feel upset at school, I was for him. Or you, Daddy.”
Shane’s heart clenched tightly in his chest. A stray tear rolled down his cheek as he kissed Luka’s black hair. Seven year olds were so little. Luka was developing normally, maybe even faster than most. He’s counting and reading and he’s such a good friend, it made Shane’s heart soar.
And here he was second guessing himself.
Shane Hollander is not going to let this happen.
Tightening his hold on Luka, Shane pressed a kiss to his head, rocking him back and forth slowly. “Luka, you are not weird. Not in the slightest. You are a kind boy; the kindest I know. You’re sweet and so smart. It’s okay to be different; to like or dislike things other kids don’t. Papa and I are so proud of you. We love you, we love showing up for you. I love my Luka hugs and kisses.”
Luka sniffled, holding Shane’s hand tightly to his chest.
“Really?”
“Really,” Shane promised, pressing another kiss to Luka’s head. He couldn’t help it. “You’re the most beautiful Luka we could ask for. I love you so much. I’m going to talk to your teacher, okay? It’s not true, what she’s been saying to you.”
The seven year old gave a small nod.
“O-Okay.”
“I’m so sorry you’ve been experiencing that, baby. You deserve the nicest things.”
Luka moved swiftly, turning in Shane’s lap and hugging him tightly. “I love you, Daddy,” he whispered into his chest, still trembling with residual tears.
Shane caught him with ease, holding his child tightly to his chest. He cradled the back of his head. “I love you too, Luka. So much.”
He stood from the bed, swaying them back and forth slowly. Shane kept his gaze fixed at the wall, pressing gentle kisses to Luka’s temple and cheek. When the sniffles stopped, he gave a small hum.
“Your brother drew you a picture,” he murmured. Luka lifted his head from Shane’s chest, cheeks flushed. Shane cooed, smiling warmly at his baby.
“Hi, buddy. Do you want to see it?”
Luka nodded, exhaling slowly. “Hi, daddy. Uh huh, I want to see.” Shane sat back down on the bed, holding Luka on his lap as he reached for the abandoned picture on the duvet. He showed it to the second grader, smiling fondly at his gentle handling.
“This is so pretty,” he murmured in awe. “Dee-Dee is so good at colouring.”
Shane smiled, nodding in agreement. “One of the best,” he agreed gently. “Do you want to go downstairs and see him?”
Luka nodded again, slipping out of Shane’s lap and bringing the picture to a small corkboard he kept in the corner of his room. He turned to look at his dad.
“Help?” He requested quietly. Shane smiled, walking over and taking the picture, carefully pinning it to the board.
“Good?” He asked gently.
Luka nodded, satisfied. He wrapped his arms around Shane’s leg, hugging him tightly before letting go and rushing to the door. He opened it, making his way down the stairs. The Canadian laughed, following behind him closely.
Ilya looked up as Luka and Shane made it downstairs. He smiled, finishing setting the pot of spaghetti on the table, and gently catching Dimitri’s hand as it shot out to grab the steaming dish. “Ah. Hello. Right on time, my loves.”
Luka immediately walked over to Ilya, tugging on his pant leg. He was growing steadily, the top of his head reaching the Russian’s navel. Ilya raised a brow, crouching down to his eldest son.
“Hi, Lukasha. Are you feeling better?”
Luka nodded shyly. “Hi, Papa. Uh huh. ‘M sorry for being rude earlier.”
Ilya looked up, meeting Shane’s eye. Shane smiled at him from where he was cutting up Dimitri’s portion of pasta.
Ilya turned back to Luka, shaking his head. “No sorries needed. I am glad you are feeling better. Can I give you hug?”
Luka responded by wrapping his arms tightly around Ilya’s shoulders, burying his face in his collarbone. Ilya smiled, hugging him back tightly. “I love you,” he murmured into Luka’s hair. “Even when you’re grumpy.”
Luka’s voice was muffled from his position in Ilya’s neck. “I love you too. ‘Specially when ‘m grumpy.”