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Shane Hollander does not get sick.
Okay, addendum; he does not get sick during the season. He has too much to do during the season. There’s drills to run, games to play, cups to win, a team to lead. His schedule is planned to the very minute, colour-coded and written a month in advance, and nowhere in there is there time to get sick. So he takes his vitamins, drinks twice as much water as needed and if there’s a tickle in his throat or a twinge in his head, he doesn’t allow it to take space. It’s a foolproof plan, really.
Except for when the season ends and then-
Well, then he ends up here. Curled up on one side of the couch with cold sweat running down his back, giving his boyfriend another apologetic look as he picks up the bowl he just vomited into so he can clean it out.
The movie they had playing sits frozen for the third time since it started. Shane couldn’t tell you what the plot is. Something about cars and robbery that Ilya swears is the best one ever made. Shane’s not entirely sure.
Speaking of Ilya, he reappears with a clean bowl just as another cramp twists Shane’s stomach. Despite his attempts to hide it, a small groan escapes him, a shiver runs down his back. Ilya is at his side in a second, placing the bowl back in front of him and running his hand over his back. Shane ducks his head, but not before he catches the tightness in Ilya’s jaw, the slight crease in his forehead.
“Drink some water,” he says quietly. Shane feels his knuckles over his spine, carefully nudging ridges and bumps. The motion continues as Shane takes a swig out of his water bottle, sloshes it around and spits it into the bowl to get the vomit-taste out, before taking an actual drink.
This is nothing serious, they both know it. It’s just a pain-in-the-ass stomach flu that maybe, maybe would have been slightly less of a pain had Shane just taken that day off when he first felt unwell a few weeks ago.
But he didn’t, and Ilya knows he can’t convince him to, so they ended up here. And probably will end up here again.
As Shane’s eyes fall closed, he hears Ilya climbing up on the arm of the couch, feels his hand trail up Shane’s back to thread through his hair. There’s a shift, a click, and then the movie is playing again. If he’s honest, Shane gave up paying attention a while ago, so he abandons himself to this little half-sleeping state and the feeling of Ilya running his hand through his hair.
“I love this part,” Ilya says.
“I’m probably going to interrupt it again,” Shane mumbles. He opens his eyes just enough and looks up at him, his fingertips scraping against the couch cushions. He pulls his knees into his chest. “I’m sorry.”
Ilya just shrugs, as if he hasn’t been trying for months to get Shane to watch this movie.
“Is okay.” He looks down, dimples and golden hair and a level of fondness Shane didn’t think was possible. Not when he’s half-conscious and puking every 15 minutes anyway. “Just means I get to choose what we watch next week as payback.”
“Asshole,” Shane huffs as his eyes close again. He exhales again, slower this time, and grimaces as his stomach twists. Ilya says nothing, although Shane can feel the weight of his gaze on him.
He wants to thank him. Yuna and David Hollander raised a polite boy, damn it, but more than that, Ilya deserves it. Shane wants to thank him and tell him he’ll watch a load of movies with him and that he loves him and maybe he’ll think about taking a sick day or two if he needs it next season, because Ilya asked him and he knows it stresses him out.
He wants to say all of it. Unfortunately, words are hard and his head hurts and he’s probably one more minute of hair-stroking away from falling asleep.
“Mom’s going to kill you if she finds out you sat on the arm,” he mumbles instead. Ilya just laughs, and Shane knows he heard the other stuff too.