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Ilya didn’t even notice it at first.
Shane had always been particular about routines and their daily fitness regimen, he didn’t get suspicious when Shane seemed to be even more particular about their routines after they got married.
So when a bottle of omega-3 supplements appeared next to Ilya’s coffee mug one morning, he just assumed Shane had read another article and decided to fix something that wasn’t broken.
“Take one,” Shane said.
Ilya glanced at it, then at Shane. “You’re not even going to try to make this sound normal?”
“Omega-3,” Shane replied. “It is normal.”
“For who? A 65-year-old man named Klaus?”
Shane didn’t laugh. “It’s good for your brain.”
“I have a brain.”
“Debatable.”
Ilya scoffed, but he did pick up the bottle and swallowed the pill right after his antidepressants.
The next change was quieter.
Ilya opened the fridge one evening and paused.
“Why are there… five identical containers of blueberries?”
“Seven,” Shane corrected from the couch. “You’re holding Wednesday.”
Ilya turned, container in hand. “You portioned fruit.”
“Yes.”
“…Why?”
“Antioxidants.”
“That is not explanation, that is word people use when they don’t want explain.” Ilya shook the container in his hand and watched the blue little balls tumble around.
Shane shrugged without looking away from his laptop. “They’re good for memory.”
Ilya leaned against the counter, watching him carefully now.
“You think I am going to forget how to eat fruit?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“No,” Ilya said slowly. “But it is what you are… implying.”
Shane didn’t answer.
The silence lingered.
Ilya sighed, popped a blueberry into his mouth, and chewed.
"They are good,” he admitted reluctantly.
“I know.”
Anya sat down expectantly.
“No,” Ilya told her. “You cannot have. This is apparently for my brain.”
“Don’t give her blueberries,” Shane added automatically.
“I was not going to..okay maybe one,” Ilya said, crouching down.
“Ilya.”
“Just small one.”
“No.”
Ilya sighed, then popped it into his own mouth instead. “You are both very controlling.”
Anya huffed softly and leaned against his knee in protest.
“…Traitor,” Ilya murmured.
The puzzles came after.
A crossword left half-finished on the table.
A Sudoku book appearing beside it.
And then...
“Why there is chess app on my phone?”
“I installed it,” Shane said.
“I don’t play chess.”
“You should.”
“I don’t want to.”
Shane finally looked up. “It helps with cognitive function.”
Ilya narrowed his eyes. “You call me stupid again, I uninstall you from my house"
Anya jumped onto the couch between them, spinning twice before settling like she had appointed herself referee.
Shane exhaled. “One game.”
“No.”
“Two.”
“No.”
“Loser walks Anya.”
Ilya paused.
Anya’s head snapped up at her name.
“You are manipulative,” Ilya said.
“Effective.”
“…Fine.”
Ilya lost.
Badly.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Why horse moves like this? It makes no sense.”
“It’s a knight.”
“It is horse.”
Anya, now fully invested, placed one paw directly on Ilya’s phone screen.
“…She is sabotaging me,” Ilya said.
“She’s helping me.”
“That is not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.”
Ilya looked down at Anya. “You betray me.”
Anya wagged her tail.
“…Again,” Ilya sighed.
It settled into something like routine.
Morning:coffee, pills, Anya circling their feet.
Evening: chess, or puzzles, or sometimes just silence with Ilya’s new Notebook nearby.
Galina had told him that it might help him to write down feelings, or important moments.
And while Ilya still thought that the task was dumb - he certainly wasn't a thirteen year old girl with a diary thank you very much - he still decided to take therapy seriously.
For Shane mostly.
But he tried.
So he did what he was supposed to: He wrote down great Sex with Shane, a new trick Anya learned or how Troy stumbled over nothing during training.
And in between, things Ilya didn’t always talk about.
The tiredness that didn’t go away with sleep.
The heaviness that sat in his chest like something permanent.
Some days were better. Some days were… not.
Shane didn’t push on those days.
He just adjusted.
Quieter voice. Softer presence. Anya on Ilya’s lap without asking.
Like they both understood something fragile was being held together.
The notebook changed too.
At first, it was small things. Then it wasn’t.
I forgot where I put my keys today. Only for few minutes.
Ilya stared at that line for a long time after writing it.
Then, slowly, he added:
This is normal.
The words didn’t feel convincing.
Anya nudged his arm.
“…It is normal,” Ilya repeated under his breath, like saying it twice might make it true.
Another day he wrote
I slept twelve hours and still tired.
Mama used to be like this.
Ilya paused.
The pen hovered.
I think I am becoming like her.
He didn’t write anything after that.
Just closed the notebook and sat there, staring at nothing while Anya pressed closer into his side.
Shane noticed too.
Of course he did. Shane knew Ilya the best.
Shane knew parts Ilya didn’t know existed.
He just didn’t always know what to do with it.
“Do you have therapy today?” Shane asked one afternoon, trying to sound casual.
Ilya didn’t look up from where he was staring at nothing in particular.
“…Yes.”
“What time?”
“Three.”
A pause.
“Do you want me to—”
“No.”
It came out sharper than intended.
Ilya exhaled, rubbing his face. “…No, it is okay. I go.”
Shane nodded, even though Ilya wasn’t looking.
“Okay.”
He wanted to say more.
He didn’t.
Galina’s office smelled like tea and something faintly floral.
Ilya sat in the chair across from her, shoulders slightly hunched, hands clasped loosely together.
She waited.
She always waited.
“…He thinks I am going to get dementia,” Ilya said finally.
Galina tilted her head slightly. “Do you think that?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not the same answer.”
Ilya huffed softly. “…I think it is possible.”
“Because of your father.”
“Yes.”
“And because you’ve noticed changes?”
Ilya hesitated.
“…Small things,” he admitted. “Forgetting. Losing focus.”
Galina nodded. “And how do those moments feel when they happen?”
“Like…” He frowned, searching. “…Like something is slipping. And I cannot hold it.”
She let that sit for a moment.
“And your husband’s response?”
Ilya let out a quiet, humorless breath. “He tries to fix it.”
“How?”
“Food. Supplements. Games.” A small pause. “Systems.”
Galina’s expression softened slightly. “And how does that make you feel?”
Ilya stared at his hands.
“…Like project,” he said after a moment. “Like something that needs to be managed.”
Another pause.
“…But also…” He exhaled slowly. “Like he cares.”
“That’s an important distinction,” Galina said gently.
“I know.”
“Do you feel alone in this?”
Ilya shook his head.
“No,” he said quietly. “That is problem.”
Galina raised an eyebrow slightly.
“If I was alone,” Ilya continued, slower now, “it would be easier. I would not have to… think about what it does to him.”
Ah.
There it was.
Back home, Shane was sitting on the couch with Anya, absently scratching behind her ears.
He looked up when the door opened.
“How was it?”
Ilya shrugged, slipping off his shoes. “Therapy is therapy.”
“That bad?”
Ilya shrugged again. Shane knew how bad his mood got after therapy. How Ilya had to breathe for a moment before he could move on.
Ilya moved into the living room, dropping onto the couch beside them. Anya immediately climbed halfway into his lap, like she had been waiting.
Shane huffed, offended that she actually just stole his favorite place, but still settled on putting his head on Ilya’s shoulder.
"You know you can talk to me, right?"
Ilya went still for a second.
Not tense. Just… quiet.
Anya shifted in his lap, turning once before settling, her weight warm and familiar. Grounding. Always grounding.
“I know,” Ilya said softly.
His accent blurred a little at the edges, vowels slower, like the words had to travel further to reach the surface.
Shane didn’t move his head from Ilya’s shoulder. If anything, he leaned into it more, just slightly—like he belonged there.
“Okay,” Shane murmured.
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“You don’t have to tell me everything. I just… want you to know it’s an option.”
Ilya huffed softly through his nose.
“You are very persistent,” he said.
“I’ve been told.”
Anya stretched, pushing her head insistently into Ilya’s hand until he started petting her again.
“See?” Ilya muttered. “She also does not let things go.”
“She learned from me.”
“She learned from me,” Ilya corrected. “I am stubborn one.”
"That you are" Shane whispered, to which Ilya let out an offended gasp.
Ilya glanced down at Shane, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
“…You want to fight about this too?”
“Not today,” Shane said, too quickly.
That earned him the faintest smile.
Silence settled again, but softer this time.
Not heavy.
Just close.
Shane adjusted a little, shifting so he was more comfortably tucked against Ilya’s side. His hand found the edge of Ilya’s sleeve without really thinking about it—fingers curling there, light but present.
Grounding, in his own way.
Ilya noticed.
“…You worry too much,” Ilya said after a moment.
“I know.”
“But you still do it.”
“I know.”
A small pause.
“…Annoying.”
“Consistent.”
That got a quiet breath of a laugh out of Ilya. Not loud, not bright but real.
“I talked about my father,” Ilya whispered.
Shane’s fingers tightened slightly on his sleeve, just for a second.
“And my mother.”
Another pause.
“…And me?”
Ilya glanced down at him, something gentler in his expression now.
“…Always you,” he said quietly.
Shane huffed, a little embarrassed. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“It is your fault,” Ilya replied. “You married me.”
“Regretting it already?”
Ilya pretended to think about it, looking up toward the ceiling.
“…Sometimes.”
Shane pulled back just enough to look at him, mock-offended. “Wow.”
“Mostly when you make me eat blueberries.”
“They’re good for you.”
“They are suspicious.”
“They’re fruit.”
“They are organized fruit,” Ilya said firmly. “This is different.”
The quiet returned, but it felt warmer now.
Safer.
Ilya shifted slightly, just enough to rest more comfortably against the back of the couch, letting Shane’s weight settle naturally against him.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
“…I am still here,” Ilya said.
It wasn’t defensive this time.
Just… a statement.
Shane nodded against his shoulder.
“I know.”
A pause.
“And I’m not going anywhere,” Shane added.
Ilya’s hand stilled briefly in Anya’s fur.
“…You better not,” he said, softer now.
“Kind of committed at this point.”
“You say this like it is burden.”
“It’s a lifelong contract,” Shane said. “Very serious.”
“Ah,” Ilya nodded solemnly. “Too late to cancel, then.”
“Non-refundable.”
“Terrible service.”
“The worst.”
Ilya let out a quiet breath that almost turned into a laugh again.
Anya shifted, pressing closer into both of them like she was making sure the moment stayed exactly where it was.
“…Okay,” Ilya said after a while.
“Okay?” Shane echoed.
“I will talk,” Ilya said. “Sometimes.”
Shane smiled slightly. “I’ll take that.”
“But not all the time.”
“Fair.”
“And you stop looking at me like I am puzzle to solve.”
Shane hesitated.
“I’ll try.”
Ilya nodded once. “Good enough.”
Shane’s hand absentmindedly started tracing small patterns against Ilya’s sleeve.
Ilya didn’t pull away.
“…We should walk Anya,” Shane said eventually, though he made no move to get up.
“No,” Ilya replied immediately.
“We said loser walks her.”
“I am not loser,” Ilya said. “Game was rigged.”
“You lost four times.”
“Details.”
Anya perked up at the word walk, tail wagging hopefully.
Ilya glanced down at her.
“…We wait five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” Shane agreed.
Neither of them moved.