Chapter Text
Ilya Rozanov’s favourite day of the week is Sunday.
This is because it’s the only day of the week where Shane allows himself a break from his rigid morning routine and stays in bed with Ilya for as long as they feel like it (unless they’re travelling or playing that day, of course). On this particular Sunday the sun shines bright through their bedroom window and the birds chirp happily outside as they lay in each other’s arms and exist together between the soft sheets and waves of love that flows between them.
Ilya thinks he could stay this way forever. But then Shane’s stomach growls and Ilya lets out a little laugh at the way his cheeks blush in response to it.
“Maybe it is time for breakfast, yes?” he murmurs against Shane’s hair, where he’s buried his nose and refuses to leave. He’s found his resting place here, as close to Shane as he can physically be without being inside of him.
“Hm,” Shane agrees.
Neither of them move, too caught up in the tranquility of the moment; too caught up in each other. Ilya runs his fingers languidly up and down his back as Shane traces patterns onto his chest. It’s their initials he’s tracing. He’s been doing it for years, this quiet way of claiming Ilya, but he doesn’t think Shane knows that Ilya is aware of it. He’s never said anything, too afraid that Shane might stop if he were to call him out for it. He didn’t want Shane to stop.
Eventually, Shane sighs.
“Okay, okay. Let’s go,” he says and sits up, untangling himself from Ilya and the sheets.
Ilya groans as he stretches and joins him.
“I want pancakes,” he says with his arms up above his head. He cranes his neck from side to side and feels a sense of satisfaction when he hears the crack as he stretches.
Shane makes a face. He hates it when Ilya makes that sound. Ilya grins.
“Seriously?” he says as he pulls on a clean T-shirt and some shorts.
Ilya shrugs.
“I will make them with your protein powder. And blueberries. Do not worry, Mr. WHO.”
Shane turns around, eyebrow raised.
“Mr. who now?”
Ilya smirks.
“Mr. WHO. World Health Organisation. You should know this, Shane.”
Shane snorts and then catches himself before a smile can break out across his face.
“You are so stupid.”
Ilya shrugs, moving closer until they’re standing toe to toe. He beams down at Shane and says:
“Yes, your stupid.”
Shane rolls his eyes but he can see that pleased look in his eyes. It’s the same one he gets when he scores a goal or Coach Wiebe praises him for something. It makes Ilya’s heart squirm happily to be the reason for that look.
“Fine,” Shane says. “But no maple syrup or whipped cream on mine.”
Ilya kisses his cheek quickly, already moving towards the kitchen before Shane has the time to have a change of heart.
“I know!” he shouts over his shoulder.
The rest of the day flies by in a similar manner. They take Anya for a walk, they laze around in the garden before ending up in the living room, sprawled out; Ilya playing a game of tug of war with Anya on the floor while Shane reads one of his boring books.
It is a completely ordinary Sunday. The kind that Ilya likes the best. That is, until it no longer isn’t.
The knock comes just before lunchtime.
Ilya turns to Shane, eyebrow raised in question but Shane looks just as confused as he does about the sound. They aren’t expecting anyone today. Who could it possibly be?
Anya’s already barking happily, running towards the door and looking back at Ilya as if to say what are you waiting for? Open the door!
Ilya goes to open the door.
Whatever it was he was expecting to find it was certainly not Arthur Pike, eyes red-rimmed and sadder than Ilya’s ever seen them before. He looks small and hesitant in a way that doesn’t feel right. Arthur’s always been quiet, sure, but he’s never been small. Not like this.
“Hey kid,” Ilya says. Anya keeps barking happily, circling Arthur as she greets him. “You want to come in?”
Arthur nods and Ilya notices the way his lower lip trembles. It’s the same thing Shane’s lip does when he’s trying to stop himself from crying.
Ilya’s heart breaks. Whatever’s going on the kid needs his help.
He makes space for Arthur to come inside and then ushers Anya in after him although he doesn’t need to usher much, she seems to be glued to the kid.
Arthur takes his shoes off before bending down and finally giving Anya the attention that she’s been begging for.
“Hey, Anya,” he says, burying his face in her fur as he scratches her back. “Hi.”
Ilya’s not really sure what to do here. For years he’s been Uncle Ilya. Has bought the kids instruments for their birthdays to annoy Hayden but also because the kids really wanted them, had kissed scraped knees and helped with homework and given them too much ice cream whenever he and Shane babysat but he’d never had to deal with something that seemed so… serious. Arthur wasn’t five anymore. He was fifteen, a teenager. His problems couldn’t be fixed with a bandaid and a song anymore.
Before Ilya gets the chance to say anything though, Shane’s there.
“Oh,” he says, surprised. “Hey, kiddo.”
Arthur looks up and Ilya sees the moment it registers to Shane that something is wrong. His face does a complicated thing before it settles into something gentle and kind.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
Arthur watches Shane for a moment. And then he starts to cry.
“Whoa,” Shane breathes. He hurries down onto the floor and holds Arthur to him, carefully tucking his head under his chin as he rocks him back and forth. “Whoa, hey. It’s okay.”
Arthur’s sobs grow louder and louder as he hugs Shane closer, his fingers gripping his T-shirt tightly as if afraid that Shane might let go.
“Hey, Art. Art, I’m gonna need you to tell me what’s going on because you’re freaking me out a little. Is everyone okay? Did something happen?”
Shane looks up to Ilya, gaze questioning and desperate. Ilya shakes his head. Tries to convey that he doesn’t know what’s going on any more than Shane does. Shane seems to get it.
“Sorry,” Arthur wails against Shane’s neck. His T-shirt is wet with tears and snot and Ilya is sure the sensations aren’t pleasant for Shane but he seems to be ignoring that for now. Arthur comes first.
“Sorry,” Arthur sobs again. “I’m sorry. Nothing’s happened, everyone’s fine.”
Shane makes a soothing sound as he continues to rock Arthur back and forth in an effort to comfort. It seems to be working. The sobs are slowly but surely dying down and turning into sniffles instead.
“Hey, no. No sorries. It’s okay, you’re okay,” Shane promises.
Ilya finally moves, sitting down beside the two of them and putting a gentle hand on Arthur’s back. He’s not sure what’s going on but he can show the kid that he’s there for him. That he’s not going anywhere. He hopes that’s enough.
They stay like that for a long time; Shane holding the kid in his arms as he slowly calms him down, Ilya doing everything he can to be there for them. It’s not much but it seems to work eventually. Arthur tires himself out and when Shane suggests they move to the couch he only nods softly, face still buried against Shane.
They make their way into the living room one step at a time, Arthur still clinging to Shane, Anya following them obediently. Ilya pulls a knitted throw over the kid as he settles against the soft cushions. It’s soft and worn and well-loved and Arthur looks like he might need all the softness and the love the world has to offer right now. He doesn’t protest when Shane stands but he looks up at him, eyes wide, and if Ilya’s heart wasn’t already breaking that look would surely do him in. For a second, Ilya blinks and he’s eight again, begging for another story before bed. He blinks again and he’s fifteen, staring up at Shane.
“I’m gonna make you something to drink, okay? Hot chocolate or tea?”
Arthur swallows. His gaze is hazy, eyes unfocused as if he were a million miles away.
“Chocolate, please,” he says eventually and Shane nods, grateful for the response. He hurries to the kitchen but not before giving Ilya a look, subtly conveying that it’s his turn to take over.
Ilya sits down.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says. He gives Arthur space, not wanting to intrude in case the kid wants room to breathe. Arthur sighs, scoots closer. Rests his head against Ilya’s shoulder.
Okay. Message received.
“Hey,” Arthur sighs heavily.
Ilya puts his arm around him, pulls him just a bit closer. He still finds it hard to believe that the kid doesn’t fit under his arm anymore. He remembers when he could lift him with one arm only. When Arthur clung to him and let him carry him around, like a vine around his body that would hold on tightly no matter what.
“You wanna talk?” he offers.
Arthur’s quiet for a moment. Ilya’s fine with that. Shane gets the same way sometimes and Ilya’s learned that all they need is more time to process. Ilya can wait. For them, he’ll wait.
Eventually Arthur says:
“I think my dad hates me.”
Ilya frowns.
Hayden Pike was a lot of things but Ilya had never thought of him as a bad father. Not really in any serious way. So Ilya wasn’t quite sure where this was coming from.
“I don’t think that’s true,” Ilya tries but Arthur’s already shaking his head before Ilya’s even finished talking.
“No, no, it is. I know it is.”
Ilya’s quiet for a moment, contemplating.
“Why do you think he hates you?” he asks because he thinks it might be easier to disarm the bomb that is Arthur Pike’s emotions right now with the use of logic rather than flatout disagreement and denial.
“I don’t think it. I know it,” Arthur says petulantly just as Shane comes back with a mug of hot chocolate. The real kind that Ilya keeps for when he’s craving one, not the carob nonsense his husband insists on drinking. He’s even put whipped cream on top. He’s truly going all out to cheer the kid up.
“Know what?” Shane asks as he hands Arthur the mug. Arthur takes it gratefully, sniffling as he shuffles to straighten against Ilya’s side.
Arthur stares into the mug as if it holds all of the secrets of the universe. He refuses to meet Shane’s gaze.
“That his father hates him,” Ilya answers when it becomes apparent Arthur isn’t going to. The kid's shoulders slump a bit, relieved at not having to say the words himself, Ilya would bet.
“What?” Shane says, surprised. His voice is high, incredulous. Ilya guesses this is why Arthur felt more comfortable telling this particular tidbit of information to him rather than Shane. “That’s ridiculous. Your parents love you so much.”
Arthur curls further into himself, his nose practically dipping into the hot chocolate in his mug.
“Not anymore,” he says, barely audible.
Shane looks to Ilya, eyebrows furrowed. He looks helpless. Unsure. Ilya can’t help but feel the same. This was uncharted territory.
“Why would you say that, зайчонок?” Ilya tries again.
Arthur takes a sip of his hot chocolate, still refusing to meet either of their eyes. He’s quiet for a long moment. Way longer than any of his pauses have been before. Ilya’s starting to worry by the time that words make it out of the kids mouth.
“Because,” Arthur says, voice barely a whisper. “Because I think I’m queer.”
They’re quiet for a few seconds, processing the words they’ve just heard. Eventually, Shane lets out a breathless laugh.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, that’s fine. But you know your dad’s my best friend and I’m gay. Uncle Ilya’s bi. I don’t think your dad is going to hate you for being queer.”
Arthur shakes his head again, his hair brushing against Ilya’s cheek as he moves.
“No,” he says vehemently. “No, you don’t get it. I’m not like you guys. It’s not— I’m not—”
He keeps shaking his head and suddenly there’s tears in his eyes and he’s sobbing again and Ilya doesn’t know what to do other than to hold him closer, arms tightening around his trembling frame.
“It’s okay,” he whispers against his head. “It’s okay, just breathe.”
Arthur keeps shaking his head and Shane leans forward, pulling the mug out of his hands and resting it on the table behind him. Keeping it safe for later.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and gentle. “Hey, Art, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. We love you. No matter what.”
Arthur sniffles, hand coming up to wipe at his face before he takes a shuddering breath.
“Sorry, I’ve just never said it before. I don’t—”
“Okay,” Shane soothes. “That’s okay. Take your time. I know how hard this can be. We both do.”
Shane’s phone rings. Arthur’s eyes are immediately drawn to it but Shane silences it without even looking at the screen. Whoever it is isn’t as important as what’s happening here and now.
“Do you guys remember when I was a kid and I wanted to paint my nails but my dad wouldn’t let me because it ‘wasn’t for boys’?”
You’re still a kid, Ilya wants to say. You’re still so young. Too young to be dealing with this kind of heartache. A burden this heavy.
“Yes, and I told you it was stupid. And then I painted my nails,” Ilya replies.
Arthur nods.
“Well. That’s why. That’s why he hates me.”
Shane's brows meet in the middle, a look of confusion clear on his face.
“He hates you because you want to paint your nails?”
Arthur sighs.
“No,” he admits. “Well. Yes, kinda. It’s part of it.”
Ilya feels just as confused as Shane looks.
“Part of…?” he prompts.
“Part of being agender. Which I am. Sometimes, I don’t feel like a boy. Sometimes I feel like a girl. Or something else. Most times I don’t feel like anything at all. Just. Me. But those days. The ones where I don’t feel like a boy. My dad would hate me for those.”
There’s tears streaming down his face again, quietly but in a way that makes Ilya’s insides twist and ache. Hayden Pike was going to pay for ever putting these fears in his kid’s head. For every comment that led to this moment. For every way he’s disappointed his kid.
“Hey,” Shane says and he’s kneeling down now, hand on Arthur’s knee as he rubs it softly. “Hey, your dad could never hate you. He’s just a bit dumb sometimes, okay? But trust me when I say this: that man loves you more than the world. More than anything. You could probably kill someone and he’d help you bury the body. Because that’s how much he loves you.”
Arthur wipes the back of his hand against his nose again, sniffling loudly as he watches Shane. His eyes are wide and full of thinly concealed hope.
“I don’t know, uncle Shane. I don’t know if that’s true.”
Shane shakes his head, his forehead coming to rest against Arthur’s.
“You don’t need to know, you just need to trust me. I love you, your uncle Ilya loves you. Your sisters love you. And so do your parents. Both of them. They have loved you since the moment they found out about you and they will love you until the end of time. If you can’t trust them about it, trust me, okay? I promise. I promise you’re okay.”
Arthur opens his mouth to say something but just then Shane’s phone rings again and this time Ilya’s does as well.
They look at each other, frowning. Ilya glances down at his phone just as Shane does the same.
“Hayden,” Shane says quietly.
“Jackie,” Ilya says back.
They both turn to Arthur at the same time. He sobs quietly.
“I ran away,” he says. “They’re probably looking for me.”
Ilya doesn’t move. Neither does Shane.
“What do you want us to do?” Shane asks.
Arthur looks at him with surprise, completely astonished at Shane’s words.
“What?”
Shane nods towards their phones.
“This is your call. We’ll do whatever you want.”
Arthur thinks for a minute.
“Can I stay here?” he asks quietly.
“Of course,” Ilya and Shane say at the same time.
“Okay,” Shane says with that look in his eyes that he gets when he’s concocting a plan. “We have to tell your parents you’re safe or they’ll worry. But you can stay here for however long you need. Deal?”
Shane holds out a pinky.
Arthur nods, curling his own pinky around Shane’s.
“Deal.”