Work Text:
Oliver was 10 years old when he met his parents for the first time.
He got out of his social worker’s car, closed the door carefully behind him, and faltered when he saw the two men standing in front of the house. His house, for the next few months at least.
The first thing he noticed was that they were both holding each other. The blonde man had his arms around the dark-haired one, who was leaning back into him. Their hands were clasped together as well.
Oliver had never had two foster dads before, and he hadn’t expected them to be so affectionate. It settled something inside of him. He’d had plenty of nice foster dads, and mums, but they’d never looked quite like this. Displayed their love quite so openly.
The two men heard the car door slam and separated, untangling from each other like yarn that had been connected for a long, long time.
“Ilya looks excited,” his social worker, Amy, said, putting her hand on his shoulder.
Oliver was about to ask which one Ilya was but his unspoken question was answered when he saw the blonde man jumping up and down on the spot. The other man, who must be Shane, was laughing and trying to hold him still. The hope inside Oliver spread like sunlight in the morning. He didn’t think anyone had ever been this happy to see him.
Amy held out his backpack for him to put on and he slid his arms in. The familiar weight settled on his shoulders. Half his life was in this backpack; all the books and toys that didn’t fit in his main luggage. He wondered when the next time he’d have to pack it all up would be.
Amy was wheeling his suitcase for him, and normally he would take it from her, wanting to appear independent and tough, but for some reason he let her help him this time.
The less bouncy man, Shane, ran down the stairs of his front porch and took the suitcase from Amy, smiling. He looked nervous, Oliver thought. They always were. Sometimes, when Oliver looked in the mirror and saw a small, tired boy with dark freckles and hand-me-down clothes, he tried to imagine what they found so scary about him, and couldn’t.
“Shane, Ilya, it’s so good to finally meet you,” Amy said warmly, offering her hand as they all gathered on the porch.
Both men shook it and then Ilya pulled her into a hug.
He broke away abruptly and laughed, slightly sheepish. “Sorry, sorry. Is very exciting. Hi, Oliver.” He turned his wide grin on Oliver, who felt himself shrinking under the attention. Ilya seemed to notice, and reined himself in a bit. “Do you like Oliver, or something else?” he asked, blue eyes attentive, like the answer really mattered to him.
Oliver actually considered offering his nickname, Ollie, for the first time in a long time. It was what his mum called him. What he went by at his first few foster homes. He had switched to Oliver after a while. It felt less familiar. He didn’t like giving that part of himself to people who probably wouldn’t stick around.
“Oliver is fine,” he said quietly, but he managed to look Ilya right in the eye.
“It’s good to meet you, Oliver,” Shane said. His hand had drifted to Ilya’s waist, like it belonged there. “Thank you for making the trip down, I know it was a long drive.”
Oliver blinked. No one had ever thanked him for coming before. Like he was the one doing them a favour.
“It wasn’t too bad,” he murmured, and offered a small smile.
Suddenly, there was wild scratching at the front door and some strange growly-whiny sounds. Oliver jumped, and Ilya reached for him instinctively but stopped before touching him.
“That’s just Anya!” Shane said. “She’s excited to meet you.”
Anya. Oliver had almost forgotten they had a dog. He felt properly excited now.
“Can I meet her?” he said eagerly.
“Yes, let’s go inside,” Shane said, and kept his hand on Ilya’s arm as the other man opened the door.
Immediately, a medium-sized bundle of fur barreled into Oliver’s legs, and then Anya was licking his hands and knees and wiggling her whole body as she greeted him. Oliver sunk to the floor and let her climb into his lap, giggling as she panted doggy breath onto his face and nuzzled her wet nose into his neck.
“She likes you!” Ilya said, and Shane looked a bit like he might cry. “But I am favourite.”
“You might have some competition,” Shane said, and Ilya scowled at him.
It was playful, though, and Oliver could sense the adoration behind it.
“I’m really good with dogs,” he said proudly. “I bet I’ll be her favourite soon.”
He worried they’d think he was too boastful. Too confident, when he had only just met them and they’d welcomed him into their home.
But Ilya just laughed loudly and reached down to pat Anya’s head.
He was still careful not to touch Oliver. Some foster parents were immediately huggy, the mums squeezing him too tight, the dads ruffling his hair. Others held back in a way that made Oliver feel like an alien, like they wouldn’t dare to touch him. With Ilya it felt different. Oliver thought he would actually quite like a hug from the man, but he was too scared to say that yet.
“Oliver, I have to go over some paperwork with Shane and Ilya,” Amy said.
It was such a familiar routine at this point but the formality still made Oliver’s heart sink. Like he was a transaction, a business deal, something to sign off on rather than a boy who didn’t have a home.
“I’ll do that with you,” Shane said quickly. “Ilya, why don’t you show Oliver the TV room.”
Ilya perked up at that. He didn’t seem the paperwork type.
“Come, Oliver. We have new Nintendo switch, I can beat you at Mario Kart.”
Oliver followed Ilya down the hall, Anya trotting happily at his side. Shane and Amy went into what must have been the dining room, while Ilya led him to a dark doorway to the left. Oliver felt apprehensive until Ilya switched on the light and he saw a cosy living room.
There was a big squishy couch facing a huge TV, a coffee table with a stack of coasters, and a pile of beanbags in the corner. Everything was neat and organised, but not in a sterile way.
The walls, which were dark grey, like in a movie theatre, were covered in photographs. Silly ones, Oliver thought. Shane and Ilya in suits, pulling faces at the camera, in a garden full of people in fancy clothes. Many photos of Anya. His favourite was one right next to the TV of her with her tongue out, panting happily at the camera.
There were photos of Shane and Ilya with their hockey team, all wearing red and black uniforms and laughing together. And Shane and Ilya with two women, one with big curly hair and the other someone Oliver thought he recognised. They were all smiling at the camera while Ilya and the familiar women held up bunny ears behind Shane’s head.
“This is Yuna and David, our - Shane’s - mum and dad. They’re very keen to meet you,” Ilya said, pointing to a photo Oliver hadn’t noticed yet. It was of a shorter, older woman standing with Ilya’s arm around her shoulders. Shane and an older man were right beside them, and Shane was rolling his eyes at Ilya, who was laughing.
“Where are your mum and dad?” Oliver asked curiously.
Ilya’s happy expression faltered for a second, but he quickly straightened out his smile. “Ah. I don’t have many photos with them.”
Oliver wanted to know more, but he hated when people asked about his mum, so he said nothing.
Ilya flopped down onto the couch and gestured for Oliver to do the same. He picked up two controllers from the coffee table in front of them, handing one to Oliver.
“This is my living room,” he said as he turned on the TV. “We have one for guests, with a squeaky leather couch, but this is for family and friends. You can come in here whenever you like. The beanbags are very comfy.”
“Thank you,” Oliver said, and not just to be polite. He was grateful for how easily Ilya had welcomed him. Like it was already his house too.
“Now, who do you play as in Mario Kart?” Ilya asked, suddenly locking in on the TV. “I am Peach, but if you really want I will let you be her.”
***
“What do you want for dinner, Oliver?” Shane asked.
They were all in the kitchen. Oliver and Ilya were drinking chocolate milk. Shane was drinking tea. Decaf, he had made sure to remind Ilya, who made all the drinks.
It was dark outside, and Amy had left an hour ago, once he gave her the nod that meant he felt safe enough for her to leave him there.
“Yes, you must be hungry after I beat you so many times at Mario Kart,” Ilya said, and winked.
“Hey, I won once!” Oliver protested, but secretly he was glad Ilya hadn’t just let him win every time.
“Dinner, guys,” Shane said, and got out his phone. “We can order in, if you want, Oliver. Do you like pizza?”
Ilya gasped dramatically. “You will eat pizza for him but not for me, moya lyubov?! During the season, too!” When Oliver looked confused, he added, “Shane is boring about food. And other things. You will learn this.”
Shane rolled his eyes and told Ilya to be quiet.
“I like pizza,” Oliver said, worried about making Shane too impatient. “Can we get garlic bread too?” he felt nervous asking, but Ilya’s eager expression made him feel better.
“Yes, Shane, can we get garlic bread?” Ilya begged.
Shane sighed. They got garlic bread.
***
After dinner, both men showed Oliver his new bedroom.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “Is this my bed?”
He was used to sharing a room with foster siblings, delegated to the lower bunk, or a comfortable but small single bed. His bed at Shane and Ilya’s was huge. He wanted to jump on it immediately.
Ilya seemed to understand this, because he said, “Go ahead,” and dived onto the bed with Oliver. He propped himself up on an elbow as Oliver starfished beside him. “Now, I have to go shower, but Shane will help you get ready for bed.”
Oliver wanted to tell him not to go. He liked Ilya. He was funny, and laughed a lot, and played Mario Kart with him. Shane was serious and calm and Oliver didn’t feel quite as comfortable around him. But Ilya left, and Shane sat carefully beside him on the bed, looking down at his hands.
Oliver sat up, drawing his knees to his chest, but before he could say anything, Shane blurted out, “It’s really good to have you here.” He blushed, and Oliver noticed it made his freckles stand out, just like Oliver’s. “Ilya’s always been better with kids,” Shane continued, still not looking at Oliver. “I’m sorry I’m not…” he trailed off, looking dejected.
“Was it Ilya’s idea?” Oliver asked, something like regret pooling in his stomach. He had let himself get excited. The house was so great, and he had a huge bed, and Ilya was so nice. But of course, not everyone wanted him.
“Was what Ilya’s idea?” Shane finally looked at him, confused.
This time it was Oliver who looked down at his hands, picking at his fingernails.
“Fostering. Or fostering me. Did you not want to? Would you have chosen someone else?”
Someone younger, someone cuter, maybe a little girl.
“What?” Shane said sharply. Then softened, and turned his whole body towards Oliver, crossing his legs. “Oliver, no. It wasn’t Ilya’s idea to foster, it was mine.”
Oliver looked at him in shy disbelief. “Really?” he said in a small voice.
Shane smiled at him, and without thinking Oliver inched closer on the bed. Their knees were touching, and Oliver felt all warm and fuzzy inside.
“Really. And, you’re exactly what we wanted. What I wanted.”
Oliver’s eyes filled with tears. He tried not to cry around foster parents, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He’d never cried on the first night before. Well, not in front of them.
Shane hesitated. “Can I hug you?” he asked.
Lip trembling, Oliver nodded. Shane reached out and pulled him into his arms. He was a big, muscular man, but he held Oliver gently, hand warm against his back. It was strange to be held like this by someone he’d just met. It felt new and familiar all at once. He had settled into Shane’s arms when there was a commotion in the hall outside the bedroom, heavy footfalls and dog paws pattering.
“I’m back!” Ilya announced loudly, but paused in the doorway when he saw Shane and Oliver. For a moment, he looked like he was going to cry.
He walked over and plopped onto the bed beside Shane, who wrapped an arm around his waist, still holding Oliver close with the other one. Oliver, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed, buried his face in Shane’s chest and let the tears fall when he felt Ilya’s hand in his hair.
“You can call me Ollie,” he said, before he could stop himself.
Shane let out a wet laugh and Ilya stroked his hair.
“Okay, Ollie,” Shane said, voice thick.
And Ollie decided he was right to hope.