Archive of Our Own

I tremble

They are gonna eat me alive

If I stumble

They are gonna eat me alive

Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer?

Ilya didn’t grow up knowing the term ‘depression’.

He didn’t have a word for it. He just thought it was a personality defect he was born with. Because even after his mama took her own life, there was no term for what had happened to her. And Ilya got called many adjectives for his own inheritance. Lazy–mainly. Dramatic, ungrateful.

There was a long list.

His father was hard on him. Grigori used to stand on the doorway and watch him lie down staring at nothing. 

“Get up, Ilya.” His tone always stern and flat. “Stop being lazy.”

“You are being ungrateful.”

“My son is always lazy.” His dad liked saying that to people a lot.

So, Ilya learned from a young age that feeling a deep heaviness in his bones was laziness.

That the way his thoughts moved slowly and foggy in his mind was laziness.

That if standing up sometimes felt like lifting a building it was laziness. 

Lazy. 

That was what he was. Something that was undeniable; it was there and part of his character. 

Not only that, but he learned that this side of him caused his father to get so angry that he would drag Ilya by the wrist or arm to get him out of bed. That he would be shoved even if his legs felt like they belonged to a new-born deer.

Laziness made people angry, disappointed in him. And that was not a good feeling. So Ilya tried his best to avoid showing anyone a glimpse of that state he sometimes got in.

For so many years, no one really saw that side of him from up close. Once he moved to the US, his sad moments were only his. No one witnessed them; they were his. And he was free to just be lazy without facing violent consequences for it. 

No one saw that side of him, until Shane.

_

Shane was aware that the charming version of Ilya was not his personality all the time. That loud, competitive, smirking version of him, that could skate through pain and grin during interviews despite feeling like dying–that wasn’t his true self. 

Or at least it wasn’t all the time. 

It was subtle at first. How Ilya slept in, after getting to bed late or not being able to sleep during the night. A cycle that repeated one day, then two, then more. Sometimes Shane woke up in the middle of the night finding him wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Shane could tell Ilya wasn’t asleep just by his breathing pattern. 

“You okay?” Shane asked, eyes heavy with sleep, but noticing Ilya was wide awake. 

“Am fine.” Ilya circled his arms around Shane’s waist. “Go back to sleep.” 

There were days in which Shane woke up feeling the absence of a body next to him. He would get up, only to find Ilya on the couch, slumped with round shoulders, staring at nothing. 

It made his stomach drop a little every time. There was something not right.

“Hey,” he’d whisper and get close to Ilya, noticing from up-close how bad his eye bags were.

“Hey,” Ilya tried to straighten himself, like he hadn’t been dissociating in the silence and dark. “Did I wake you up?” 

Shane noticed Ilya had been touching the cross hanging in his neck, the one that belonged to Irina.

“No, no. Just had to pee. And saw you weren’t in bed.” Shane sat down next to Ilya.

“Told you you drink too much water before bed.” 

Shane could see how it was literally exhausting for Ilya to smile and joke. 

“Can’t sleep?” He asked, cupping Ilya’s cheek. 

Ilya shook his head, then his body sagged a little, unable to hold the posture from before. “But I’m tired. I hate when I can’t fall asleep.”

“Maybe you can consult? Give you something to be able to–”

“I’m not taking pills.” Ilya cut him off, almost horrified. “And definitely not for sleep. I sleep in too much already. I cannot get more lazy.” 

Shane knew he was in dangerous territory when the second pills were brought up. “But you are having a lot of sleepless nights. And you are not lazy.” 

“I’ll survive.” Ilya attempted a joke. Shane gave him a kind smile despite it not landing. “I am okay, do not worry.”

Usually after nights like that, Ilya was almost normal during the day. It was hard for Shane to decide if he should push and ask Ilya about how he was feeling, if he should bring up Ilya’s trouble to sleep again or leave it be.

At first, Shane had felt overwhelmed by the uncertainty of Ilya’s mood, by not knowing what was going on inside Ilya’s head, or how to properly help his boyfriend.

As their relationship progressed, Shane was able to pick up when Ilya was not having a good day, and he slowly but surely learned how to support Ilya during those days.

-

A Bad Day, capital letters, for Ilya was not like a bad day for most people, Shane knew. Sometimes people felt down, tired, angry, frustrated, overwhelmed and that could ruin their entire day.

He had bad days when he was feeling an extra sensitivity and had to go on with his day as if the lights weren’t pissing him off. As if the volume of multiple conversations wasn’t a nightmare that made him want to cover his ears. When he wanted to rip his clothes off because no fabric felt right yet he had to endure them. Those were definitely not good days at all, and sometimes it caused him to snap at his loved ones. Which only made him feel worse, and the cycle continued until he woke up the next day feeling better.

Ilya’s bad days were quiet and heavy. 

It was not that the house was taken over by silence; it was more like an absence of something Shane couldn’t quite name. 

On normal days, there were usually signs of Ilya going around the house. A faint hum while he listened to music, the sound of stupid phone games Ilya loved to play and always left the sound on. The clink of a spoon against a bowl, or a cup against the table. The sound of video games in the background. The shower was running while Ilya hummed a Russian song.

Bad days were quieter.

That day he had found Ilya on their bed with his elbows on his knees, slumped, head down. Unable to move; looking utterly exhausted and heavy. 

The second Ilya saw him, he had straightened up, but still wasn’t able to get up. His hands rested on his knees; his limbs looked heavy and his eyes were distant again. 

“Ilya?” Shane walked over and crouched in front of him. 

“Sorry.” Ilya’s jaw tightened like bracing for impact. He turned his head to the side.

“Hey.” Shane rested his hands on Ilya’s.  “You okay?”

Ilya’s eyes were apologetic. Shy in a way he never was unless he was feeling a certain way. 

“It’s okay.” Shane lifted Ilya’s hand and kissed its palm. “You can tell me.”

Shane tried his best not to beg Ilya to speak, but he couldn’t handle how tormented Ilya looked. 

“Everything is…heavy,” Ilya whispered, like it was something wrong, a secret. “Body is too heavy today.” 

Shane moved his hand on instinct, touching Ilya’s forehead. But he knew this wasn’t physical. This was Ilya’s nervous system pulling the emergency break. 

“I’m sorry. Thank you for telling me.” Shane moved Ilya’s curls away from his face, analyzing his face and posture. “I-I’ll stay with you.” 

“No, please. It’s…bad enough that I can’t go. I am sorry. You go.”

“It’s okay, Ilya. It’s just lunch with them. I can tell them we–”

“No. Please. My body is being stupid.”

“No it’s not. It’s saying something.” Shane sat down next to Ilya on the bed. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like…the words you use. Lazy. Stupid. That’s not true at all.”

Ilya frowned, then smiled and shook his head. He thought Shane was just being nice. 

“They won’t mind at all. We can go another day.” Shane shot a quick message to his parents. 

Ilya put his head on his hands. Shane shifted closer. “We can stay in, do nothing. Whatever feels easiest for you.”

“Your parents will be dissappointed.”

“No, they won’t. I swear.”

Ilya let out a breath that sounded as it was stuck there for hours. His voice was quiet, almost as if he was letting out a confession. “I feel…gross.”

Shane frowned again, but didn’t want to interrupt telling Ilya he wasn’t gross. What mattered was what Ilya felt like.

“Dirty.” Ilya removed his hands from his face and gave Shane a guilty look. “But I don’t think I can shower.”

There was so much shame in the way that Ilya carried his words, that it broke Shane’s heart. 

“Okay. That’s okay.” Shane nodded. “We can help that feeling.”

Shane stood up, kissed Ilya’s head and went to the bathroom. 

Ilya watched him go with a confused look. He let his head down again. 

Shane knew there was going to be resistance. But he knew that Ilya usually felt a little better after being in contact with water. Swimming was something that Ilya loved, being submerged in baths. It lifted his spirits, so Shane adjusted the temperature while turning on the water. He added Ilya’s favorite soap, and watched soft foam gather at the surface. 

He then grabbed towels, one of his t-shirts and sweats, as Shane knew Ilya loved wearing his clothes. 

When he came back to Ilya, he crouched in front of his boyfriend. Ilya was looking ashamed, avoiding eye contact. “I ran you a bath.”

“Shane.” Ilya’s eyes stayed down. “I am not child.”

“I’ll help you.” Shane didn’t bother in clarifying that Ilya obviously wasn’t a child. “It will help that gross feeling you said.” 

“You don’t have to– we should be at your parents’.” Ilya rubbed his eyes, his skin was slightly red in the eye area. He had deep eyebags. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Come with me. You just have to do that. I’d do the rest.” 

Ilya swallowed. He got up, slowly, almost sluggish. Shane’s heart ached seeing how exhausted Ilya’s posture was. 

In the bathroom the air was warm, filled with steam, and a lovely scent. Ilya stared at the bath. 

“Let me do everything.” Shane slowly helped Ilya get out of his clothes, giving a kiss to Ilya’s shoulder after the skin was exposed.  

Ilya stepped into the bath slowly, and Shane could see his body tense up at the contact of the water, then slowly easing. 

“Temperature feels good?” Shane asked, getting out of his clothes too, only staying in his boxers. 

Ilya nodded. Shane kneeled beside the tub. He grabbed a wet a cloth and carefully started to work on Ilya’s arms. No rush, and only the soft sound of the water surrounded them. 

“Shane.” Ilya pulled away slightly. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I want to.” Shane desperately wanted to make Ilya feel better. He wanted to erase the shame he knew Ilya was feeling for needing help. Toshow him that it was okay not to be okay. That he was still deserving of love no matter what.

Shane moved to Ilya’s shoulders with gentle, soothing strokes that made Ilya’s head tip forward slightly as tension eased under Shane’s touch. 

“I’ve got you,” Shane murmured softly. “You are okay.” 

Ilya’s eyes followed him, his eyelashes were slightly damp and not from the bath water. 

“I’ve got you,” Shane repeated like a mantra. 

He made sure to carefully wash Ilya’s skin, not irritating it, but giving gentle massages to his muscles to ease tension.

Soon after, Ilya’s posture was less rigid. He had surrendered under the warmth of Shane’s hands and the hot water.

“Can I wash your hair?” Shane asked, not wanting to go further than what Ilya could handle at that moment. 

Ilya nodded. His breathing was less sharp. 

_

Ilya was used to dealing with his body feeling wrong. It was something he had been dealing with for years, with that cold and damp feeling inside his body. With his skin feeling tight and his thoughts being slow and sticky. 

He hated it, but he was used to it. He had been dealing with it alone after all. 

Now that Shane was his partner, Ilya was learning how to deal with what Shane seeing him in that state felt like. He heavily despised himself when imagining what he looked from the outside. 

Just sitting there.

Doing nothing. Again, after having done it a few weeks ago. 

He was not being a good boyfriend. He felt as if he was rotting the room he was in whenever he was in that state. 

His stomach felt heavy with that familiar tension of waiting for something to shift in the wrong direction. Ilya waited for a sharp word, for an ugly look. They always came. 

He braced for Shane’s shift in tone, for him to snap because Ilya was pushing him away and was not fulfilling his role. 

Every time, Ilya braced for any of it. And every time, it never came.

Shane’s face and expression was never irritated, angry or disappointed. He never raised his voice, he never scoffed or rolled his eyes at Ilya. Shane never pushed him, and it felt wrong. 

It didn’t feel right because there should be something. There should be a correction, a reprimand, a question. A why are you doing this.

Why are you like this, Ilya.

Why are you doing this?

Why? Why are we like this, mama?

But on Shane’s face there was only concern. In his words there was only sweetness that felt undeserved. 

When Ilya said he felt gross, when he wanted to shower but didn’t know if he would be able to do it, he was sure that was it for Shane.

When Shane stood up, Ilya almost cried. Pathetically, he didn’t go after Shane. He didn’t get up and demonstrated that he was going to be better, that he wasn’t going to disappoint Shane anymore. He didn’t get up because he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with Shane having enough of him.

But instead of running away from him and feeling disgusted, Shane ran him a bath.

He stood there, like what was happening was normal. Like there was no big deal.

“I’ll help you.” 

His first instinct had obviously been to refuse. But Shane showed no impatience, no pressure, no reprimand or disappointment.

Ilya felt irritation with himself when walking felt harder than it should be. He felt angry at his body, but not even anger went far when he was like that. Everything was dulled. 

When Shane helped him undress, he expected the worst again. He felt exposed, vulnerable. He expected judgement, feeling watched. It had to feel wrong. 

But Shane was so careful. He was practical, but soft. Like Ilya was not something difficult to deal with. Like he was not being inconvenient and acting like a child.

The water was so warm, the cloth so gentle. Shane didn’t rush, didn’t rub the cloth harshly. His movements were slow and gentle in a way that made Ilya’s vision blur with tears.

Shane washed his hair with care, massaging his scalp so slowly and lovely.

It was so quiet. So warm. Nothing hurt. 

Ilya choked on a sob.

“Hey,” Shane’s concerned voice tried to reach him. Ilya curled in on himself, knees on his chest, covering his face. His forehead dug against his knees and his throat burned with shame. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

Nothing hurt, he realized. It overwhelmed him to the point of crying.

“You are okay. You are okay, Ilyushka.” Shane was almost in the bath with him. Holding him clumsy, wet, and twisted while trying to properly hold Ilya. 

Crying was something scary for Ilya. It was always like a switch on and off. When it came, it crushed him; it crushed his chest, it overwhelmed him with pure sadness. But the switch went off quickly. Like his brain flagged it as something dangerous, something he had to stop to keep himself safe. So crying was never more than a minute and some choked sobs that clawed his throat. 

“It’s okay, you can cry.” Shane kept reassuring him softly, both with his words and his touch. “You can cry. You are allowed to.”

Ilya shook his head, then held Shane back. His tears had stopped and all he wanted to do was to crush Shane in a hug. He felt a deep gratitude for his boyfriend. It was something he couldn’t even put into words. 

It was not the first time it happened, but it took his breath away when Shane kissed his tears clean. His boyfriend’s lips cleaned the tears from his cheeks with a soft press of lips.

Ilya closed his eyes, swimming in that feeling. In how utterly loved the gesture made him feel.

_

Shane watched Ilya stand in front of him, wrapped in a towel, damp hair clinging to his forehead. It always melted his heart whenever Ilya was wrapped like that. He grabbed a towel and gently rubbed his hair with it.

Seeing Ilya cry was always painful, but he was proud of his boyfriend for allowing that wall to fall, even if it was for a brief moment. 

“Here,” Shane murmured, picking up the clothes that he had grabbed before. 

“Arms,” he guided. 

Ilya followed without clarifying he wasn’t a child, without resistance. He just complied, allowing Sane to adjust the clothes for him, and to help him get into the sweatpants. 

“Okay?” Shane looked into Ilya’s sky blue eyes. They were brighter, like every time Ilya came out of the shower or cried. 

“...yes.” 

Shane glanced at the window. The curtains were still shut tight, and the room was closed off and dark in a way that completely matched Ilya earlier. He hesitated, not wanting to push, but he still decided to ask.

“Do you mind if I open the curtains?” he asked gently. 

Ilya watched carefully, a familiar shameful look invaded his face for a moment. 

“It’s okay. Just a bit?”

Ilya's eyes kept analyzing him, still waiting for a snap. Shane could never imagine snapping at a loved one during such a vulnerable moment. 

“Okay.”

Shane pulled the curtains slowly, letting the light in gradually instead of all at once. Then he cracked the window open. Light and fresh air eased softly instead of flooding the room. 

When he turned around, Ilya was sitting on the bed, but in a different way than before. 

The light had reached him across his face. Resting in his skin, kissing it gold. 

Shane watched Ilya close his eyes and soak in it. Not turning away to stay in the darker part of the room; instead, he allowed the sun to bathe him.

Shane felt something overwhelming in his chest.

Ilya was so beautiful. 

Shane would never forget Ilya’s words when he first opened up about Irina.

She was funny, so beautiful. She was so sad. 

It tormented Shane how he realized Ilya also fitted that description. 

Shane swallowed hard, and moved back to his boyfriend. He sat down, and Ilya’s hand shifted slightly, searching for him. Shane met him halfway, fingers lacing together. He squeezed Ilya’s hand, then brushed his thumb over Ilya’s knuckles.

He knew what this was. He kept referring to what was happening as Bad Days. But it was more than that. It was something that had a pattern, a weight, and it was something that took Ilya under and didn’t let him go easily.

They should name it. There was a conversation that was waiting. About help, medication. About something bigger than what Shane could fix. 

Shane knew it was coming. But not at that moment.

Not when it seemed as if Ilya was a little less under that sadness. His shoulders had dropped, his eyes stopped waiting for the worst. He was sitting in the sunlight instead of curled in on himself in the dark. 

That day didn’t have to be about solving everything. Shane tried his best to stop his spiraling mind, to stop jumping to the worst scenarios. He reminded himself that Ilya wasn’t in the same situation as Irina; he wasn’t isolated and with a partner that was cruel. 

Shane took a deep breath and focussed on how that day was about making it bearable. 

He glanced at Ilya again, at the way the light rested on his face and how his eyelashes sat pretty on his skin. 

“Okay.” Shane thought. 

He rested his head against Ilya’s shoulder, then let out a breath when Ilya leaned his head against his.