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Shane wakes up just after 7am, stretching his limbs and letting out a contented sigh. He and Ilya have the whole weekend together, a rare occurrence that they plan to take full advantage of. He rolls over, throwing an arm to his boyfriend's side of the bed and finding it cold and empty. Unusual but not unheard of.
He rolls out of his side of the bed, adjusting the waistband of his underwear before making his way to the bathroom. Ilya isn't there, so he pisses and brushes his teeth before padding out and down the hall, listening for the telltale sign of Ilya and Anya enjoying their breakfast together. What he's met with, however, is Anya staring dejectedly at her food bowl, Ilya nowhere to be found.
There's not a checkmark on the board next to her morning feeding, odd, so he feeds her and goes searching the house for his boyfriend. He's not in the gym, nor is he in his usual spot in the living room. He's not out on the deck enjoying his too sweet morning coffee. He's not in the downstairs bathroom. He's seemingly vanished.
Shane checks the shoe rack and finds Ilya's shoes, still neatly lined up where they should be. His car is still in the driveway, keys hanging on the hook in the entryway.
Shane tries not to panic. Maybe fails, just a little. There's nowhere else Ilya should be. Shane's checked everywhere that makes sense. He runs back upstairs, intending to grab his phone and call Ilya a hundred times until he answers. When he makes it to the bedroom, Anya is sitting on the floor on Ilya's side of the bed, staring intently at his nightstand. Ilya's phone sits there, mocking Shane. He grabs his own from the charger, opening his notifications, hoping for a miracle explanation for Ilya's mysterious absence.
He has an unread text from Ilya. Thank god.
Lily
5:37am
am wrm
The text doesn't clear anything up. In fact, it gives Shane a dozen new questions. He stands there and tries to decipher what Ilya meant. He's warm? Maybe he got hot in the middle of the night? Maybe he has a fever. Oh god, maybe he's delirious?
But he was perfectly fine when they went to sleep last night, after making Shane come so hard he's pretty sure he lost a few brain cells. Maybe that's what's wrong here. Shane was actually fucked stupid and can't think straight.
Ok, focus. He's...what? Warm...Shane can't come up with another word. Werm? Wirm? Wurm? Worm? Wyrm? None of that makes sense. It's giving Shane a headache trying to put it together. Not to mention the fact that Ilya hadn’t taken his phone with him wherever he went. Ilya is practically glued to the thing, obsessed with fighting strangers on Twitter like it’s his full time job.
Hmmm speaking of Twitter. Maybe he saw something on there that upset him? Worth a shot.
Shane opens his own app, which gets used more by his mother than him, and scrolls. But he doesn’t see anything that would make Ilya run like this. No upsetting headlines, no one in his mentions saying anything odd. But then again, Shane’s feed and Ilya’s are completely different. Shane uses social media because he’s contractually obligated. Ilya uses it despite his contracts’ “appropriate behavior” stipulations.
He walks around to where Anya still sits, standing guard at Ilya’s phone. He pets her with one hand, the other reaching out to grab the device. His hand is half a second from picking it up when Anya snaps, her jaws just missing the delicate skin of his palm. He jerks backwards, startled, and stares. She’s never tried to bite anyone, never even shown signs that she has a mean bone in her body. It worries him, but he doesn’t have time to panic over two separate things. Find Ilya. Then get Anya to the vet. Maybe she has a tumor? We can afford dog brain surgery. Do they even have canine neurosurgeons?
He reaches again, slower this time, eyes never leaving Anya’s face. When his hand gets closer to the phone, she starts growling. Honest to god deep, vibrating growls that kind of terrify Shane, if he’s honest. But as he watches her in the dim morning light, he realizes she doesn’t look angry. She looks almost...protective? Worried? Can dogs worry? He’ll Google that later.
“Anya, girl, I know your Papa isn’t here, ok? I’m trying to figure out why. If you would just let me look at his phone? It might help, alright? I swear I’ll find him, you ju-” You’re trying to reason with a fucking dog, man, get it together.
Shane’s hand hovers, so close to its target. Anya’s growling stops, like she might have actually understood him. Which is insane, but a problem for another day. No sex around the dog until further notice. She huffs, eyes darting from Shane’s face to the phone laying screen-up on the nightstand. Another huff, and Shane swears he sees her roll her eyes, and then she’s gently nudging the phone with her nose.
Shane’s eyes track the movement, somehow more confused than he was five minutes ago. When his gaze finally lands on the phone, he has to do a double take. He hadn’t been paying attention before but there’s something small laying atop the dark screen. The pale sunlight peeking past the curtains makes it impossible to make out what the small figure is. Not wanting to take his eyes off of it, he opens the flashlight on his phone and shines it towards the stand. There, laying on top of Ilya’s phone, is a...fucking worm?
It wriggles as the light hits it, thrashing silently back and forth under the harsh scrutiny. Anya whines, reaching up to gently headbutt Shane’s phone and therefore the light, away from the...fucking worm!? Shane’s head spins. His mind runs through approximately 8000 scenarios before coming to a screeching halt on one. Ilya is a fucking WORM!
The text suddenly makes sense. Ilya must have spent all morning unlocking his phone and opening the messages app before finally being able to send off a text. God, what if Shane had picked up the phone and smashed him? What if he’d smooshed his little worm guts all over the nightstand? Oh my god, he could’ve rolled over onto him in his sleep!! The horrifying possibilities roll around in his head, making him nauseous. He has no idea what to do. Who to call. What do you even say? How do you tell people? No one would believe him. They’d think he’d gone crazy. Hell, maybe he has.
He turns on the overhead light, glancing back over to where the worm - Ilya - lays, calm once again on top of the phone. Anya sits in her same spot, unmoving, guarding her Papa like it’s her life’s mission. He’s going to have to double her treats for the foreseeable future. And exercise. Balance.
Shane sits down beside Anya on the floor, almost eye level with th- Ilya, and opens Google. “Ok babe uh, I don’t even know if you can still understand me. Maybe you have a worm brain now? Not that that would be a bad thing,” he rushes out, defensively, “It’s just, y’know, I don’t know if you know what I’m saying. Anyways, uh. I’m gonna Google how this could’ve happened and how to fix it. We’ll fix this. I promise.”
__________
He can’t fix it. Every single Google search sends him to someone’s obnoxious video asking their partner if they’d still love them if they were a worm. Or he gets sent to Twitter where people are posting their partners’ responses, acting like it’s silly. Like it couldn’t happen to them. The arrogance.
He throws his head back against the bed, groaning in frustration. “Ok, ok. This is ok. It’s fine. We’re fine. It’s fine, right?” He turns to Ilya, expecting an answer. Of course he gets nothing. Because he's a fucking worm!
He shimmies closer, tucking himself tight against Anya who has at least laid down now, but refuses to leave Ilya’s side. Always so loyal. The perfect companion. Shane owes her his life. Ilya’s life.
Ilya lays there, unmoving, on the dark screen. Shane can’t tell if he’s even still alive, let alone awake. Do worms sleep? Which end is the head? Do they have heads? Eyes? He heads back to Google.
After an embarrassing hour of the most detailed worm googling anyone has ever done, Shane is pretty sure Ilya is still alive. He’s probably sleeping, depending on how you define sleep, to conserve energy. Which is understandable. He hasn’t eaten anything all morning, he’s probably starving. Which brings Shane to his newest goal, feed Ilya. But first he has to get him set up somewhere. He can’t live on his phone forever, as much as he’d love that. 24/7 screen time sounds like Ilya’s personal heaven.
Shane stands and grabs a pair of Ilya’s worn, cozy sweats and his favorite hoodie, getting dressed in a haste. He looks back at Anya, who is sleeping peacefully at the foot of the nightstand, and decides he can trust her not to eat her Papa while he’s gone.
He goes to the kitchen and starts digging through his cupboards, trying to find something to make a suitable habitat for his boyfriend. His boyfriend the worm. Fuck.
He finds a massive glass jar that his mom bought him years ago, insisting he could use it to store food or as decoration. He’s too polite to throw it away, so it’s been collecting dust in the back of his cabinet for years. It’s not big enough to be a long-term solution, but temporarily it’s more than enough space.
He washes and rinses it thoroughly, putting the lid away. Worms need oxygen, Ilya can’t be in an air tight container. Thank you Google.
The next order of business is setting it up to make it as comfortable as possible. According to his research, he doesn't need much in order to make it a pretty livable space for Ilya, which is nice because if he had to leave the house and go buy special worm supplies, he’d probably lose his mind.
As it stands, he’s pretty disgusted that he has to dig through his own trash and find the potato peels and apple core from yesterday’s meals. It makes him wonder, for just a second, if he’s doing too much. If the world would laugh if they knew what he’s doing for the man that he loves. He doesn’t dwell on it for long, because the world doesn’t know. They don’t even know he’s gay, so their opinion on this is entirely irrelevant.
Once he’s secured the goods, he puts them on a plate next to the empty jar. He gets his lettuce out of the fridge, and lays a couple leaves of it onto the plate as well. You can do this. We can get through this.
He puts on shoes and takes his jar and scraps outside, grabbing scissors on his way out the door, annoyed that he hadn’t listened to Hayden when he suggested container gardening as a way to unwind in the off season. Now Shane has no tools, no easily accessible dirt, and a pounding fucking headache.
At least he has small rocks and gravel that are easy to collect and add to the bottom of the jar, making a nice drainage layer for Ilya’s habitat. He briefly considers washing them, god only knows what’s touched these things, but realizes quickly that he’ll have to put dirt on top anyway and that would defeat the purpose. Plus, he’s already been away from Ilya for too long as it is. He wants to get back. To know he’s ok.
Luckily for him, Anya comes to the rescue yet again. I’m nominating her for the Nobel Peace prize. She’s been digging holes in his yard, much to Shane's ever growing displeasure, since the weather has warmed up. It’s frustrating for the landscapers, and Shane, but it’s perfect right now. He heads to one of her latest spots and scoops up some of the loose dirt with his hands, making an even layer atop the gravel.
Once he’s satisfied that it’s level and that there’s nothing sharp in there, he dumps the food scraps in, moving them this way and that until it looks...nice. Or well, as nice as garbage can look in a large glass jar. Another layer of dirt and it’s really coming together. All that’s left to do now is trim some grass and add the clippings to the top.
He picks a spot near the perimeter of the yard where the landscapers always get lazy, and takes out his scissors, neatly trimming a small patch of grass and adding it in. Once he’s done and has actually looked at it, it looks...well gross, honestly. But it’s what the internet said worms like, and Ilya is a worm. Shane will have to get used to his new preferences. Like when it took him 3 months to get used to having the toothpaste on the counter because Ilya insists there’s no reason to put it away when you’re just going to use it again in a few hours. Oh man, he’s going to miss that.
Once he’s back inside, he washes his hands three times before he’s convinced that they’re actually clean. Then he finds a spray bottle his dad keeps around for when he smokes meat for dinner over Shane’s fire pit. Shane puts water in the bottle and sprays the contents of the jar down, just until they’re damp. He feels foolishly accomplished, and has a moment where he wants to send a picture to Ilya and have his boyfriend tell him he did a good job. That, of course, will never happen again.
Sighing, and desperate to be back by Ilya’s side, Shane makes his way quickly back upstairs, careful not to shift the contents of the jar. He finds Anya right where he left her, Ilya too. He takes a moment to collect himself, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.I hope there’s some universal animal language and they can understand each other. Ilya needs someone now more than ever.
Anya makes a slight gravely noise as Shane approaches, but doesn’t snap at him this time when Shane very slowly lifts Ilya’s phone, and with it, Ilya. He brings him close, examining his prone form. Ilya doesn’t move from where he’s laid out on the screen, seemingly content to let Shane look his fill. If Shane didn’t know any better, he’d swear Ilya was showing off his new form, naked and basking in the attention. The thought softens Shane, just a little. Fuck, he really hopes Ilya still has his brain.
“Hey love. I uh, made you a little place to stay for a while. Just a few days, maybe, until I can find a large tank. Maybe 2. You’d probably wanna be in the living room sometimes and up here with me at night, yeah?”
Ilya moves then, wriggling around on the screen like his life depends on it. Shane takes that as a yes.
“Ok good. Um, there’s some food in there, too. I know you’re not the biggest fan of lettuce, but worms are supposed to love the stuff. If there’s something you don’t like just tell me and I’ll get rid of it. Or uh- i gue- I guess just don’t eat it. And I’ll know.” He tries to hold it together, not wanting Ilya to see him cry. It’ll only make him feel worse, and there’s nothing he can do in his current state.
Shane gently lifts Ilya’s squishy form, trying not to be disgusted. That’s his boyfriend. He can handle this. He’s always been beautiful. Shane can find the beauty in this too.
He deposits Ilya into the jar as carefully as humanly possible, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. It felt like he was defusing a bomb.
Ilya seems to settle in easily enough, moving about the grass before starting to burrow down in, probably after the food. Shane’s own stomach reminds him that it's now after 10am and he still hasn’t had his smoothie, so he picks up the jar and makes his way to the kitchen. Ilya gets sat down on the counter with a gentleness Shane has only previously used for the Pike children.
Shane makes sure Ilya has an unobstructed view while he gathers his supplies and makes his drink. By the time Shane’s turning around and drinking his breakfast, Ilya is nowhere in sight. Shane can see one small hole where he must’ve burrowed deep into the soil, hiding away from Shane’s prying eyes. This has to be hard for him. He’s probably hiding in embarrassment.
They had a lot of plans for the weekend, most of them involving Shane being bent over various pieces of furniture in the house, so Shane isn’t really sure what to do now. He takes Ilya to the living room, placing him carefully on the coffee table in full view of the television. He hears the pitter patter of Anya’s paws as she finds her way to them, settling down at Shane’s feet.
The TV blares to life after he hits the ‘on’ button, volume up way too loud from Ilya’s Real Housewives binge last night. He turns the volume down, then hesitates and turns it back up a few notches, unsure of how good a worm’s hearing really is. Something else he’ll have to research.
He scrolls through the channels, finds nothing he nor Ilya will like, and then heads to Netflix. Ilya’s saved at least 200 movies and tv shows in Shane’s watchlist; something he used to lightheartedly complain about. Now, he’s already missing Ilya’s hand reaching over and snatching the remote from his, scrolling through new releases for things to add to the ever growing list.
Sighing, Shane pages through the list, trying to find something that they’d both like. Eventually, he comes across Jurassic Park and laughs.
”I’m sorry. I did not hear right. You could not have said you have not seen Jurassic Park, Hollander. Is a masterpiece. A classic.”
“I wasn’t really interested in dinosaurs growing up.”
“Me either but I still have taste. Jesus christ. We are watching as soon as it is on streaming.”
Shane smiles and clicks Play.
“Really? ‘Spared no expense?’ That’s why you keep saying that?”
“Oh they’re all female? That’s smart actually.”
“Wow, the practical effects in this are really good.”
“Why would you even have carnivores? That just seems so ill conceived. Especially on the first iteration of the park.”
“Yeah, that guy deserved it.”
By the end of the movie, Shane has narrated most of his thoughts outloud, so that Ilya knows he’s appreciating the film. Shane’s feet have found their way onto the coffee table, absently rubbing against the smooth glass of Ilya’s habitat. He desperately wants to curl up around him, stealing his body heat while Ilya laughs underneath him, jostling them both with his joy. Instead, Shane has to sit here with a hole in his chest and an ache that will never be satiated again.
He looks around and doesn’t see Ilya, so he puts on the next episode of his Housewives show and lets Anya outside. He watches her run immediately to the holes she has started, digging and digging until her entire head fits into one. He opens the door and yells out, “Go potty, Anya, please.”
Again, she seems to understand him, pausing her journey to the center of the Earth to instead find a spot to pee. She runs inside gleefully, scattering dirt from the door all the way to her water bowl in the kitchen. She’s always so good about waiting at the door for Ilya to wipe her paws. But she’s never had that kind of respect for Shane. He’ll have to work on that now.
While his late lunch is cooking, he sweeps and mops down the floors, every single one on the first level. He uses the time to think. To plan. To strategize. Or he would. Except that he can’t think about a single thing other than the fact that his boyfriend is a worm and no one even knew they were dating and no one will ever believe that this is Ilya fucking Rozanov.
He has no idea what he’s gonna do about Ilya’s games next week. He plays Tuesday night in Toronto, while Shane will be in New Jersey Monday for his own game. When Ilya doesn’t show up in Toronto, people will talk. They’ll speculate. They’ll say all kinds of things that aren’t true. And what can Shane do? Refute them? Show up to the rink with Ilya in a jar decorated in Boston black and gold and ask them to make him their new mascot? Fucking ridiculous.
The floors are so clean you could eat off of them the time that he’s done, and his food is overcooked and dry. Doesn’t matter. It’s fuel. He has to fuel his body. Has to be here to take care of Ilya.
The rest of the day passes by mostly the same, with Shane watching other ‘classic’ movies that he has yet to see and narrating his opinions the whole time. On the second movie of the afternoon, he gets lonely and settles Ilya between his legs, trying to recreate the familiar weight while they watch Bruce WIllis say witty one liners and outsmart everyone in the building. It’s not the same, the jar is large but not the size of a Russian hockey player, but it’s something. Ilya makes his way to the side of the jar about 30 minutes in, watching intently. Shane’s almost sure he can see him wriggle out a laugh if he looks close enough. It makes him smile, just a little.
But he still feels alone. Isolated. Weird, for doing so much. He makes a hasty decision and sends a text to Rose before he can really think it through.
Shane
3:31pm
Would you still love your boyfriend if he was a worm?
Rose
3:38pm
You’re supposed to ask your own boyfriend that babe
Shane
3:39pm
Shut up, I'm being serious. Would you?
Rose
3:47pm
I hate when you discover trends smh
Idk probs not? He’d be a worm. Wtf am I doing with a worm
3:59pm
Shane? Was that a bad answer? Hello?????
Right, of course. Makes sense. He’s probably doing too much. But Rose has only been with Dylan for like four months. They don’t have the history that Shane and Ilya have. Bad example.
Shane
4:01pm
Would you still love Jackie if she was a worm?
Hayden
4:21pm
Are you drunk?
Shane
4:23pm
What? No? Just answer the question, Hayds. Please.
Hayden
4:40pm
Uh I mean, yeah? It’s Jackie. I’m never gonna stop loving her
Obviously some things would change but we could make it work
If she wanted. She could find a nice worm guy and have a worm family
Whatever she wanted, I would do.
Wait why?
Shane
4:43pm
Thanks man
Hayden
4:44pm
Wait Shane why?
Dude? Are you being held hostage? Is this a signal?
Shane???
That makes more sense. Hayden and Jackie have been together longer than Shane’s known them. Of course a relationship with that much history would be able to make it through something unpredictable like this.
His messages with Hayden put his mind more at ease and he sits back and enjoys the rest of the movie.
He feeds Anya when the movie ends, taking the time to check Ilya’s food supply as well. He’s always devoured anything put in front of him, so Shane has no idea how fast he’ll eat in this form. Shane finds the potatoes and apple core munched on, the lettuce untouched, and huffs.
“How many times do I have to tell you that lettuce will not kill you? It’s literally just mostly water. I’m not taking it out. You have to at least try it,” he says, in the tone of voice that always makes Ilya roll his eyes and give in.
Not this time. Never again.
The sun sets after more movies and Shane’s running commentary, and he’s never been happier for a day to be over. He hopes to every god that he doesn’t believe in that this will all be a cruel nightmare he’ll wake up from in the morning.
He lets Anya out one last time for the night, then heads up to bed. He brings Ilya with him, only mildly weirded out by the idea of him watching Shane sleep from his jar on the nightstand. He sits him down gently, making sure he’s not near the edge and in danger of toppling onto the floor, before grabbing his pajama pants and a change of underwear. He gets as far as removing his hoodie before he has the sense that he’s being watched. He glances over, and even through the low light of his bedside lamp, he can see Ilya’s form, tucked up against the glass. Staring. Well, not exactly staring, because worms don’t have eyes. But if anyone was going to manage to watch Shane get naked without the actual ability to do so, it would be Ilya.
And because it’s Ilya, Shane gets the same jolt of heat rolling through his body as usual, sending goosebumps across his skin. He flushes, in embarrassment but also arousal. He’s never been able to hide how Ilya’s attention affects him.
He closes his eyes and quickly strips, letting his half hard dick free of its confines for just a minute before he’s covering himself back up and throwing his head back against the wall in frustration. He will not jack off in front of a worm. He is stronger than that. He doesn’t need to ever get off again. He can do this, in solidarity with Ilya.
Taking a deep breath, he makes his way to the bathroom and does his nightly routine and tries not to freak out. Tomorrow he’ll have to take serious steps to find a more permanent solution to this...he doesn’t wanna say problem. Calling his boyfriend a problem seems mean and unfair. It’s...an unexpected challenge that they have to face. Together. Because they promised, back in the cottage, that they’d face everything together. God, he wishes he could talk to Ilya. Or, well, that Ilya could talk to him.
He crawls into bed with a heavy heart, feeling like a piece of himself is missing. The bed is too big without Ilya’s body next to his. It’s too quiet in the room without his gentle breathing at Shane’s neck. Shane falls into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning and dreaming of the way things used to be.
__________
When he wakes up, he registers a firm warmth beside him and instinctively rolls over, throwing an arm over the figure curled up beside him. But as his hand lands, it’s met with long fur and a huff, decidedly not Ilya.
His eyes open and he remembers the previous day. Being alone. Scared. Unsure of what to do next.
Anya lays beside him, taking Ilya’s spot even though she knows she’s not allowed on the bed. Maybe Ilya told her to. Maybe he knew I’d need the comfort. He allows himself a few moments of Anya cuddles before he’s getting up and coaxing her out of bed with the promise of breakfast.
Ilya is out in the food layer, close enough to the glass side that Shane can see him while he eats. He always likes having something on the tv when he’s eating breakfast, so Shane grabs Ilya’s phone and puts on highlights and coverage from last night’s Admirals vs Sharks game, propping it up where Ilya can hear and “see” it.
He does his usual morning routine, then makes his way downstairs and feeds Anya, putting a checkmark next to her morning feeding. Not that they’ll need that system anymore. But the routine is nice.
It’s also a bittersweet reminder of what could be. Of what once was.
He swallows the bile rising in his throat and opts to skip breakfast, worried he’ll just retch it back up later anyway. No reason to waste perfectly good food.
After Anya eats he lets her outside and goes back upstairs to fetch Ilya. He’s right where Shane left him, not that he could go anywhere. But Shane kind of hoped that something would’ve changed. Would’ve been different. He’s not sure he can do this.
“Fuck Ilya, I don’t- how am I supposed to do this without you? It’s like you’ve died, but you’re still here. Right here. So close but there’s nothing I can fucking do. Fuck.”
He doesn’t want to cry. He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes but he refuses to let them fall. You think this is hard for you? Imagine how he must be feeling.
He gathers himself back up, rolling his head from side to side, loosening the tension in his shoulders. He’s just reaching for the glass jar when he hears Anya screeching outside, barking and yowling like someone is out there. Like her Papa is home.
He leaves Ilya where he is, not sure how to explain to a visitor that he’s carrying around the worm version of his boyfriend, and jogs downstairs to see who’s here. Hopefully no one expecting to stay long. He can’t keep it together and act like his life isn’t quietly falling apart while Hayden goes on and on about the girls’ newest obsession.
He makes it downstairs and to the front hall before he’s stopping dead in his tracks. There, getting all of the love and kisses one could ever need from Anya, is Ilya. Human Ilya. Alive. Talking. Petting Anya like he isn’t squirming around in a jar upstairs in their bedroom.
“What the fuck?” He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s relieved. He’s terrified. He’s angry. He’s so fucking confused??
“Okay Anya, go play, I need to apologize to your dad,” Ilya says, actually speaks, giving her one last pat on the head before she bounds past Shane and towards a toy in the living room. “Sweetheart, before you yell at me, just know th-”
Shane doesn’t let him finish his sentence. He’s down the hall and throwing himself into Ilya’s arms in seconds, nearly bowling him over in the process. He wraps himself into Ilya’s embrace, tucking his face into Ilya’s neck and just breathing him in, so desperate for this to be real.
Ilya whispers sweet Russian into his hair, rubbing his hands up and down Shane’s back in soothing apology. “Shane, moy lyubimyy, are you ok? I am sorry I scared you.”
Shane doesn’t say anything for a long moment, soaking up the feeling of his boyfriend's warm body against his once again. Ilya lets him, because of course he does. He’s always been just as tactile as Shane, maybe even more.
After Shane has control over his breathing again, he hesitantly pulls back, taking in the sight of Ilya, there, back home with Shane where he belongs. He looks a little tired, light bags under his eyes. His curls are a tangled mess, no sign of the expensive products he uses to maintain them. He’s in a black tank top and running shorts, both slightly dirty and wrinkled.
Shane’s eyes track down to Ilya’s hands, now resting on Shane’s waist. On his right wrist sits a white plastic bracelet. It reads Montreal Clinical Care along with Ilya’s full name and date of birth. Shit.
“Oh my god, Ilya, were you in the fucking hospital?!” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but his panic comes out before he can stop it.
Ilya smiles, small and light, like Shane isn’t half a second from collapsing in a heap at his feet. “Yes, but is fine. I am fine. Got hit by a small car. Was nothing crazy.”
Shane’s brows furrow in shock and confusion. “A car?! You got hit by a fucking car?? When!? Where?! How?!” A million questions bounce around in his skull.
In lieu of answering, Ilya’s big hands come up to grasp Shane’s face, pulling him in for a sweet kiss. He breaks it off quickly, and Shane can taste the faintest hint of mint on his breath.
He lets Ilya lead him to the kitchen, where he deposits Shane on his usual stool and sets about making coffee. While Shane sits and tries not to have a panic attack.
“I was out running yesterday morning and some maniac in a fucking Prius swerves not to hit squirrel and hits me instead,” Ilya explains, his back to Shane while he gets his coffee stuff ready. “He was very sorry, took me to clinic to get head checked. They say “Oh you could have concussion, we cannot let you go if someone is not here to get you.” And of course I did not remember my phone that day. And it is not 1980, I do not have anyone’s numbers memorized. So, they had to keep me hostage for a day to make sure I am not bleeding into my head. Which, I am not, by the way. I am fine. And they called taxi for me this morning. And now I am here.”
Shane doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move. Can’t.
He thought...this whole time. The last 24 hours. He’s been devastated, heartbroken, coming to terms with never hearing Ilya’s voice again. And this is what he gets when he finally does? You have got to be fucking kidding me.
“You fucking idiot. Are you serious right now? You fucking idiot,” Shane yells, just a little, frustration bleeding through the relief. “I thought you were- I thought- and this whole time you just don’t know my fucking number?!”
Shane watches Ilya’s shoulders tense, just a fraction, as he pours too much caramel creamer into his coffee. He takes a sip, makes a satisfied hum, before turning around and facing Shane.
“Sweetheart, Shane, what would you have me do? “Hey nurse, will you please call my secret gay boyfriend Shane Hollander for me? He will pick me up.” You see how that would not have worked, yes?”
“Yes but-”
“No, no buts. There was no way for me to contact you that wouldn’t have had someone asking questions. It was better this way. I knew you would be worried, mad even, but you would have been more anxious and angry if I had accidentally outed you to the little old woman watching over me.”
“What if it wasn’t minor? What i- god Ilya what if it was serious?”
Ilya sighs, “I do not know. If I could still talk, I would tell them, maybe. Probably. Would be worth it, I think. But it was not. So it does not matter. I am fine. Everything is fine.”
“It’s not fine Ilya, I was worried! Panicking! I checked the whole house. Your keys, your sh- hey what shoes did you wear? Yours are still on the rack. I checked.”
“Rebok sent me new ones to promote next week, remember? I wanted to get a run in with them and see if they are as good as my old ones.”
Yeah, Shane did remember that, now that he thought about it. Something about Ilya posting about the shoes on his socials like some sort of influencer for the next month. He brought them along to try out in case they actually managed to get out of bed this weekend.
“Ok but, what about the text?” There was no way Ilya could explain that. Shane wasn’t crazy. It made sense, dammit.
Ilya has the nerve to look confused. As if he has the right, when Shane has been in panic mode for the last fucking day. “What text,” he asks, casually sipping his coffee. Shane is gonna lose his mind.
Shane pulls his phone out of his pajama pant’s pocket. “This one. From yesterday morning. ”am wrm””
Ilya squints, leaning over the counter and looking at the bright screen. “Oh no that says A.M. run. Or, was supposed to. I was tired, barely looked while I typed. Sorry.”
Sorry. He’s sorry? “I fucking hate you. Jesus christ.” He folds over onto the counter, head pillowed on his arms.
In an instant Ilya is there beside him, running his hand up and down his back. “No you do not. You love me. I am going to shower. You stay here and remember how to breathe.” He presses a kiss to Shane’s hair before walking off, heading up stairs.
He makes it about halfway before Shane remembers. Oh fuck. The worm!
But Shane’s too late. He makes it to the bedroom just in time for Ilya to turn on the light and stop, staring at the glass jar in clear confusion. “Shane, why is there a dirt jar on the nightstand?”
Shane doesn’t have time to come up with a convincing lie. Not that he’s ever been good at lying to Ilya anyway. He panics, trying to push past Ilya and grab the jar before he figures out what’s also in it. In the dirt.
“N- nothing. It’s nothing. Just let m-”
Ilya blocks his path, looking closer at the nightstand. “Actually, I have new question. Shane, why is there a worm watching the fucking Admirals game, on the nightstand?”
Fuck.
Shane backs up, caught and with absolutely no convincing lie in sight. Ilya is never going to let him live this down. He might actually have to kill him to know any peace ever again.
“It’s uh, fuck...ithoughtitwasyou.” He rushes the words out, barely more than a whisper under his breath. Suddenly, worm Ilya doesn't seem like a bad alternative.
Ilya’s head whips around, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “I think maybe my brain is bleeding. Because I swear you just said that you thought the Scott Hunter loving worm was me.”
Shane can’t help it. His knees give out and he falls face first onto the bed, regretting every one of his life’s choices that have gotten him to this point. He grumbles his response into the fabric of the duvet, resolutely unwilling to face his boyfriend. The torment after this will be endless.
Ilya, the asshole that he is, rolls Shane onto his back and stares down at him with an expression that Shane can only describe as confused glee.
“It made sense...at the time...,” Shane mumbles, throwing his arms over his face. He can feel how heated it is, the skin surely red and splotchy with his mortification. Maybe if he wishes hard enough, someone will turn him into a worm.
...On second thought. Nevermind. The thought of living in filth is enough to have him rethinking that particular dream. But still, he desperately wishes he was anywhere else right now.
His only minor saving grace is that Ilya can’t tell any of their friends about this. The only people he can tell are Shane’s parents, and if he knows Ilya, he’s already planning a trip to see the look on their faces when he tells them this story. Fuck his life.
“It made sense...that I was a worm?”
“Yes!” He throws his hands up, sitting back against the headboard with a thud. “You were gone. The text. The way Anya was looking at yo- it. It just made sense! She almost bit me for fucks sake when I almost squished y- it yesterday morning!”
As if a lightbulb has turned on in Ilya’s head, he gets a huge smile on his face and bursts out laughing. Full on, doubled over on the bed, his upper body resting on Shane’s lower half while he convulses with laughter. Shane might actually hate him.
“Sha-Shane oh my,” he can barely get a full word out between fits of laughter. “Oh my god, I am dy- I am dying. You have killed me.”
His laughter continues for long enough that when his head pops back up, the fucker actually has tears in his eyes.
“Oh fuck you,” Shane says, shoving his soon-to-be ex boyfriend off of him. “You’re the fucking worst.” Shane isn’t laughing. This isn’t funny. It was a fucking nightmare.
As if he can see how real this all has been for Shane, Ilya finally calms down, wiping his eyes and sitting down properly beside Shane on the bed. He lays a hand on Shane’s thigh, the warm familiar weight settling something inside of him.
“No no, shhh. Listen. Anya has been...she has baby fever, I think.”
“She’s a dog, Ilya,” Shane deadpans.
“And that is a worm that you thought was me,” Ilya says, pointing to the jar. “Perhaps we do not judge? Anyway. She has been bringing things in the house when she is outside. Last week it was a bird. Day before that was the biggest beetle known to mankind, I think. I do not tell you this because I knew you would not let me bring her for visit if she was going to bring strange creatures into your house.”
Shane is revoking all of Anya’s treat privileges. He’s taking away her Tempurpedic mattress topper. He’s pulling her name from the list of Nobel Peace prize nominees.
“She brought the fucking worm in here? How!?”
Ilya just shrugs, so casual about Shane’s life falling apart. “Well she went outside before my run. Probably snuck it in when I was in a hurry to go. Very smart dog.”
“It was laying on your fucking phone, Ilya. She laid it on your phone!” Shane’s not sure if he wants to scream or cry. What are the fucking odds.
“Hmm yes, probably trying to make me remember to take it. She is very wise.” His thumb rubs soothing circles over the skin of Shane’s thigh. Usually Shane finds it calming, grounding. Right now it feels like a searing brand, heating him up from the inside out.
“I’m killing you and then sending her to the pound.”
Ilya gasps, clutching his chest, the fucking drama queen. “Shane! You cannot say that about our daughter! At least let her live with your mother and father. They are good grandparents. They will keep my memory alive for her.”
“I take it back. I’m sending her to the pound and then killing you, so you have to watch as she goes.”
“That is the cruelest thing you have ever said to me.”
All Shane can do is close his eyes, the weight of the last 24 hours making exhaustion settle in his bones. He’s so fucking happy to have Ilya back. To hear his laugh and see his smile. Thankful doesn’t even begin to describe how fucking elated he is.
But the last day has reminded him just how limited their time together is. Even with Ilya playing in Ottawa now, their schedules are so hard to make work. This weekend was their only time off together for another 35 days. And he spent it cuddling with a fucking worm.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he’s enveloped in Ilya’s warm embrace, surrounded by his love and attention. Crazy that Shane ever thought he could live without this.
When the tears have finally stopped and Ilya’s shoulder is covered in more snot than he’d like to admit, Shane pulls away and smiles. He’s so fucking lucky.
“I love you, y’know.”
Ilya smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners with the intensity of it. “Yes, I know. So much that you would love me if I was a worm, even.”
Shane smacks him, jovial and without any malice. “Fuck you. I’m a good boyfriend, asshole. You should be grateful.”
“Grateful,” Ilya asks, glancing over at the nightstand, “Shane, you are torturing that poor worm with Scott Hunter’s face.”
Shane looks over and sees highlights from Hunter’s post-game presser on the screen. “It was the first thing I saw when I opened the app!”
A glint forms in Ilya's eyes. “For the record, if I do turn into a worm, please love me enough to at least put your Calvin Klein ads on repeat for me. I will need something to keep me warm in the long, lonely nights.”
“Worms don’t jack off, asshole.”
“Oh and you are worm expert now?”
“I did a lot of reading!”
“So good to me. My little zookeeper,” Ilya teases, leaning in for a kiss. “Is the worm staying? Are you two bonded now? Are we in a throuple with a worm?”
“Oh fuck you, go shower. You smell like antiseptic and stupidity.”
“You wound me, Hollander,” Ilya says, walking towards the ensuite, “I will shower and then show you how much I missed you. If worm would like to watch, I am ok with that. But it cannot join. You are mine.”
Shane throws a pillow at Ilya’s head, just missing as he walks into the bathroom.
He looks over at the jar, the worm nowhere in sight. He can’t believe the last 24 hours. What a rollercoaster of emotions. He can feel the adrenaline wearing off, his body finally, truly relaxing for the first time since 7am yesterday.
He gets up, taking off his pajama pants to settle into bed, to wait for Ilya to emerge from the bathroom clean and ready to fuck him senesless. Anya, Shane’s new worst enemy, trots in, looking...suspicious.
She opens her mouth and something falls out, small and fuzzy and decidedly not a toy. It moves, just a little, and Shane realizes it’s a fucking baby rabbit.
He trips in his haste to get his pants back on, giving Anya enough time to gently pick the bunny back up and take off with it in her mouth.
“Anya NO! BAD DOG!”
“Shane,” Ilya calls out from the shower, “stop yelling at our daughter!”