Work Text:
[The screen flickers on. The footage is warm-toned, slightly shaky, shot in the blue-gold haze of early morning. Through the curtains, the lake is just barely visible. Ilya adjusts the GoPro camera and holds in by one hand. The other hand is rubbing sleep from a very familiar face.]
Ilya: Good morning. Yes. It is me. I am doing this now.
[He turns the camera outward. The master bedroom of the cottage spreads behind him showing the pale wood floors, crisp white linens, a sliding glass door that opens onto a private deck. Beyond the deck the lake can be seen. The trees crowd the far shore in thick dark green. Ilya holds the shot for a moment longer than necessary.]
Ilya: This is the cottage. Shane's favourite place on earth. He tells me this every summer like maybe I have forgotten from the last one.
[A pause. He tilts the camera slowly across the view.]
Ilya: I have not forgotten. It is also my favourite place on earth. But I do not say this to him so much. He gets
[He makes a gesture with his free hand that somehow communicates Shane making an unbearably smug and tender face simultaneously.]
Ilya: a face. You will see the face today. I promise you.
[He sets the camera on the dresser, propped against a bottle of cologne, and stretches. He is wearing grey sweatpants and a well-worn Ottawa Centaurs t-shirt with a small hole near the left collar that has been there for three seasons and will never, ever be thrown away. His hair is doing something extraordinary. He does not appear to care.]
Ilya: I will show you guys my morning routine. It is very sophisticated.
[He picks the camera back up and heads for the ensuite. The bathroom is all warm marble and brushed brass fixtures. Shane's taste, clearly, though Ilya has never complained about a single fixture. A row of skincare products lines the shelf above the sink. Ilya props the camera against the mirror with the help of small tripod he carried with him.]
Ilya: Step one.
[He splashes cold water on his face.]
Ilya: Water is very important and very underrated too, yeah?
[He holds up a small glass bottle of serum. The label is in French. It clearly looks expensive. He tries to look casual about this.]
Ilya: This. Shane bought it. He has a whole-
[He gestures at the full shelf. There are at least twelve products. He uses two of them.]
Ilya: situation. I use like three or four. He uses the rest. I will let you decide what this says about us as people. But sometimes I like to experiment with his products, he gets mad when I finish them.
[He quietly laughs and works through the routine with focus. He used the serum and then the moisturizer. He took a brief, deeply serious pause to examine his jaw in the mirror. He is thirty-two years old and looks like a Renaissance painting someone decided to create.]
Ilya: Step three is teeth. You know how to brush teeth. I do not have to film this.
[Cut to: the hallway. The cottage opens dramatically here with high ceilings, a wall of windows at the far end framing the lake like it is too good to be real. Ilya walks slowly, filming as he goes.]
Ilya: The plaid blankets on the couch are from when he was maybe twelve years old. He will not replace them. I have asked.
[He rounds the corner into the main living area. The sectional is enormous, deep caramel leather, with plaid throws in deep red and forest green draped over the back. They look like something a very earnest Canadian child picked out, which is exactly what they are. One mug sit on the coffee table.]
Ilya: Shane thinks these blankets are charming. They are, a little. Do not tell him I said that.
[Soft rhythmic thumping. A tail against the floor, accelerating.]
Ilya: (voice dropping immediately into something soft) Oh, there she is. My sweet girl, Anya. My baby, were you with your Papa?
[Anya is curled in the corner of the sectional in a patch of morning sun she has been finding at this precise location every summer morning for years. She is medium-sized and frankly beautiful: a merle Australian shepherd mix, one blue eye, one amber, ears that cannot decide between standing up or flopping over. Her tail, upon registering Ilya and the camera, begins wagging with full-body enthusiasm.]
Ilya: (barely above a whisper) Anya. Anya, look. Look at the camera, солнышко.
[Anya looks directly at the camera. Then she stands, stretches with the complete commitment of a creature who knows how to stretch properly, and presses her nose against the lens.]
Ilya: (laughing) Yes, hello. You are on YouTube now. Are you happy? Is this what you wanted?
[Anya sneezes.]
Ilya: She says yes.
[He sits on the couch and lets her climb half into his lap, which she does with zero hesitation and maximum occupation of space. He rubs her ears and she tips her chin up with her eyes half-closed in pure ecstasy. For a long moment Ilya just films her face.]
Ilya: This is Anya. She is… I don't know, six now? Six-seven? She is a rescue pup, thanks to Harris. She has a million toys, spoilt little girl. Shane swears that I am the only one who spoils her, but he was the one who broke the no-dog-on-the-bed rule, ah?
[Anya licks his chin. He lets her.]
[He finds a toy between the couch cushions: a well-loved stuffed hedgehog with one eye missing, squeaker still fully operational. He holds it up.]
Ilya: Okay. I want to show you guys something. Anya has a collection. Shane calls it her library. I am going to give you a tour.
[He begins retrieving toys from around the living area with the practiced ease of a man who stopped finding this remarkable approximately three years ago. He lines them up on the coffee table.]
Ilya: This is Yezhik. The hedgehog. He is the oldest. He has survived four years. He is missing one eye and part of his stuffing and he is still Anya's most beloved. This
[He holds up a slightly flattened stuffed beaver.]
Ilya: is Bob. Shane named him. Very Canadian. I did not argue. This is the rope. She ignores the rope mostly but she needs to know it is there. This
[A tennis ball with bite marks.]
Ilya: is one of the ball. She has seventeen of these. I am not joking. Seventeen. They are everywhere. I found one in my skate bag last March. I have no explanation.
[Anya, watching the lineup of her toys from the couch, has gone into a focused, trembling state of anticipation. Her whole body is vibrating at a frequency only dogs understand.]
Ilya: And this
[He holds up a squeaky rubber puck. It is bright orange. It squeaks when he presses it. Anya LAUNCHES off the couch.]
Ilya: (laughing hard, holding it above his head) Ah, wait, wait, Anya, wait
[She does not wait. The camera tilts wildly as she jumps for the puck and Ilya tries to keep filming while also not falling over. He is laughing. He cannot stop laughing.]
Ilya: Okay, okay
[He rolls it down the hallway. She rockets after it. The sound of her paws on the wood floor and the frantic orange-puck squeaking echoes through the cottage.]
[From somewhere down the hall, a muffled voice can be heard]
Shane: Ilya, what, what is happening, it's seven in the morning
Ilya: (calling back, still grinning) I am vlogging
Shane: You're what?
[Shane Hollander appears in the hallway approximately ninety seconds later, Anya trotting happily at his heels with the orange puck in her mouth. He is wearing a white t-shirt and dark blue sleep shorts and his hair is both dishevelled and aesthetically perfect, which has always been one of his most irritating qualities. He squints at the camera.]
Shane: What are you doing.
Ilya: I told you. I am making a YouTube channel.
Shane: You said you were thinking about it. When did you purchase the GoPro? Is it at least Hero13?
Ilya: I thought about it. I decided yes. Good morning.
[He kisses Shane on the cheek. It is quick and entirely unprompted and Shane's expression cycles through several emotions in under a second: surprise, exasperation, helpless warmth before landing somewhere in the vicinity of resigned affection.]
Ilya: Why would I need Hero13? I looked it up, too expensive. This is good enough for vlogging. But when we go sky-diving, I will get it!
Shane: Alright, what are you filming?
Ilya: Everything. You. Anya. The lake. The cottage.
Shane: Why?
Ilya: For the people.
Shane: What people?
Ilya: The YouTube people.
Shane: There are no YouTube people yet, you haven't posted anything.
Ilya: There will be YouTube people. I am building the audience.
Shane: (to the camera, pointing at Ilya) This is what he's like. This is my life.
Ilya: (already filming the lake through the window)
He loves it.
Shane: I didn't say that.
Ilya: You didn't not say it.
[Shane opens his mouth. Closes it. Anya presses the orange puck against his shin and he looks down at her.]
Shane: (to Anya, automatically softening) Good morning, baby. Did you already destroy the living room?
[Anya wags her whole back half.]
Shane: Yeah, that tracks.
[He crouches down and scrubs her ears and she melts against him like she's boneless, and for a moment Ilya just holds the camera on them. Shane murmuring to the dog, Anya stays with her chin on Shane's knee, the lake gold through the windows behind them.]
Ilya: (quietly, more for himself than the camera) This is the morning. Every morning.
[Shane looks up at him. Something passes between them, private and very old. The man is completely smitten by his husband. Then Shane clears his throat.]
Shane: Are you going to film me making breakfast?
Ilya: I am going to film everything.
Shane: Are you going to narrate me making coffee.
Ilya: Probably.
Shane: What are you going to say.
Ilya: I don't know yet. Something will come to me.
Shane: Great. Fantastic.
[Cut to: the kitchen. It is enormous and very beautiful with white oak cabinets, stone countertops, a massive island in the center that has hosted more dinners and meals and late-night card games than either of them can count. Shane is at the espresso machine with the focused intensity he brings to everything, which Ilya finds consistently, privately hilarious.]
[Anya has come in from the yard smelling of something she found near the dock. The nature of this something is unclear. The bath is non-negotiable. Ilya sets the camera on the bathroom counter and he and Shane get to work. Anya sits in the tub looking at them with the expression of a creature who understands exactly what is happening and has strong feelings about it, which she will express only through pointed eye contact and the occasional deeply aggrieved sigh.]
Ilya: Okay. So I will show you guys how to do this properly, because people always ask about Anya's coat and how we keep it so nice. The merle coat is think, it is a lot of fur, you know. You have to be careful.
Shane: (kneeling at the tub with a cup for rinsing)You want me to hold her or
Ilya: Just keep her calm.
Shane: (immediately, to Anya) Hey, baby. You must be so used to this already. Your dad is going to bathe you today.
Ilya: (addressing the camera while wetting her coat) Okay. First, you wet all the way through. With a coat this thick, the water needs to get down to the skin. Do not just wet the surface. It looks wet on top but she is still dry underneath, which means the shampoo will not work properly.
[He works slowly and thoroughly, running his fingers through her coat, separating the fur so the water reaches the skin. He is careful around her face, using just his cupped hand.]
Ilya: She does not like water on her face. We use just the hand, very gentle. Like this.
[He cups water over her forehead and cheeks, soft and slow. Anya closes her eyes with the long-suffering dignity of a monarch tolerating a necessary inconvenience.]
Shane: She really does look like a little queen right now.
Ilya: She is always a queen.
[He reaches for the shampoo, a good oatmeal-based formula in a large amber bottle, the one they've been using for three years.]
Ilya: Now for the shampoo. We pour it in this little silicone bottle we have, with a little bit of water to dilute it a bit. It comes with a scrub but we like to use our hands first. Do not pour the shampoo directly onto the dog.
[He begins working it into Anya's coat at the base of the neck, his hands moving in slow firm circles.]
Ilya: You start at the neck and you work back. Always the same direction. You are not scrubbing, you are pressing it through. Into the coat. If you just rub on top you are wasting your time and also the dog will not smell good.
Shane: The first time I tried to give her a bath by myself I basically just put shampoo on top of the fur and called it a day. She smelled like wet dog for a week.
Ilya: (not unkindly) This is why I handle the baths.
Shane: I didn't argue.
[Anya sneezes. Both of them flinch. Shampoo goes on the wall.]
Ilya: (wiping his face with his forearm) She does this all the time.
Shane: (already laughing) Every single time. It's like she waits for maximum lather.
[Ilya looks at the camera. He is also starting to smile, despite himself.]
Ilya: You see? This is real life.
[He works through the rest of the coat on hert chest, legs, belly (Anya is deeply suspicious of belly-washing but tolerates it), and finally the tail, which she keeps trying to move away from him.]
Ilya: The tail is always the problem. She thinks if she moves it we cannot wash it. This is not how it works, Anya.
[Anya looks back at him over her shoulder.]
Shane: (gently holding her still) I've got her. Go ahead.
[Ilya works the shampoo through the feathery tail fur carefully, and for a moment they are just two people washing their dog, hands occasionally brushing, Shane murmuring reassurances to Anya in a low, steady voice that Ilya has heard him use with nervous teammates and scared rookies and is, objectively, one of the best sounds in the world.]
Ilya: (quietly, narrating) The rinse is just as important as the shampoo. Maybe more. If you leave residue in the coat it will make her itchy and the coat will look dull. You rinse until the water runs completely clear.
[He rinses with steady thoroughness, fingers working through the fur, checking and rechecking.]
Ilya: Clear. Okay. Now,
[He reaches for the towel. Anya sees this coming and shakes, a full-body hurricane shake that sends water in every direction. Shane takes the brunt of it directly to the face.]
Shane: (sputtering) Anya!
Ilya: (already laughing loudly) Every time. I am sorry, I saw it coming. I should have warned you.
Shane: (wiping his face with the dry part of his shirt, which is now a small area) She does it every time and every time I stand right there-
Ilya: You stand in the blast zone, Shane
Shane: Where else am i supposed to stand?
[Anya looks between them with her ears up and her tail wagging, very pleased with herself.]
Ilya: (to the camera, wrapping Anya in the towel) This is the part where he gets wet. You can see it is a surprise to him every time. After all these years.
Shane: It's always a different level of wet. You can't predict it.
Ilya: You can predict. You can always predict.
[He wraps Anya in the towel and lifts her, all damp warm weight, and she presses her nose against his jaw and wriggles.]
Ilya: (to Anya, softly) Good girl. You are very clean now. You are beautiful.
[He kisses the top of her damp head. Shane, still damp and a bit dishevelled, watches this.]
Shane: (small, quiet) You're very good with her.
[Ilya looks up from the top of Anya's head. Then he leans over and kisses Shane, quick and warm, right on the corner of his mouth.]
Shane: (slightly breathless) What was that for?
Ilya: Nothing. Come. Help me dry her properly.
[ Shane's parents have come over to the cottage for lunch. Yuna Hollander is at the kitchen table with her laptop and a stack of papers, glasses on, making notes in the margin of something that looks important and possibly annoying. David Hollander is at the kitchen island doing something with a large onion and a good knife.]
[Ilya appears in the kitchen doorway with the camera. Anya trots in ahead of him, now fully dry and fluffy and extremely pleased about it, and makes a beeline for David because David, as a rule, always has something to give her.]
David: Hey, sweetheart.
[He gives her a small piece of carrot. Anya takes it with tremendous delicacy and goes to her bed in the corner to eat it.]
Ilya: Mr. Hollander. What are we making?
David: (looking up, noticing the camera, entirely unfazed) Oh, are you filming today?
Ilya: Yes. Is it okay?
David: (already grinning) Sure, sure. Come in. We're doing the summer soup. Shane asked for it.
Ilya: (to camera) Shane has been asking for this soup since April. It is a corn chowder. David makes it every summer and Shane talks about it like it is-
Shane: It's very good soup, Ilya.
Ilya: I know it is good soup. I am saying you talk about it like-
Shane: (appearing beside him, nudging past to wash his hands) Like it's very good soup, because it is very good soup, so
David: You two want to help or just narrate?
Ilya: We help. Shane, you do the corn.
Shane: Why do I do the corn?
Ilya: Because you are better at it.
Shane: (slightly suspicious of this compliment but taking it) ...Okay.
[Shane takes the corn and a cutting board and begins cutting the kernels off the cob. Ilya films him for a moment, then films David, who is building the base of the soup with the onions going soft and golden in good butter, the smell beginning to drift through the whole kitchen.]
David: You want to take your time with the onions. A lot of people rush the onions. But this is where all the sweetness comes from, so you let them go low and slow until they're almost translucent.
Ilya: How long?
David: Ten, fifteen minutes. There's no shortcut and there's no substitute. Your kitchen starts smelling like this and you know you're doing it right.
[From the table, without looking up from her papers:]
Yuna: Add a little more butter.
David: (already reaching for the butter) Yep.
Shane: They've been doing this for thirty-five years. She knows the recipe as well as he does.
Ilya: Yuna. How is the mail?
Yuna: So annoying, Ilya. But manageable. How's the vlog?
Ilya: Good, I think. You are in it.
Yuna: Of course, I am.
[She finally looks up and at the camera with the expression of someone who is very fond of you but will not be performing for your entertainment, which is, Ilya has decided, one of his favourite things about her.]
Yuna: Make sure you get the soup. David's been marinating this trip for a week.
David: I haven't been marinating-
Yuna: You made the list on Monday.
David: Alright...I made a small list.
[Ilya puts the camera down on the counter, angled at the island, and goes to stand next to Shane. He takes a piece of corn off Shane's board and eats it. Shane looks at him.]
Shane: That's supposed to go in the soup.
Ilya: I am quality-checking.
Shane: You're being annoying.
Ilya: (taking another piece) Also this.
[Shane nudges him with his shoulder. Ilya nudges back, harder. David watches this with a tranquil expression as his peace with it.]
[They eat at the big kitchen table, four of them and Anya under the table near Shane's chair, keeping completely still in the hopes that her stillness will be rewarded. The sun is high and the lake is bright through the windows and someone has opened the sliding door and there is a breeze coming off the water.]
Shane: (on his second bowl) This is, every year I think maybe I'm remembering it wrong. Like it can't be as good as I remember. And then I have it again and it's exactly as good.
David: That's the summer, isn't it? That's what summer is supposed to do.
Ilya: (quietly, filming the table, the food, the faces) Yes.
[He sets the camera down and eats his own bowl.]
[The garden is on the far side of the cottage, near the front entrance where they park the cars. Two vehicles sit in the gravel: Shane's black SUV and Ilya's Range Rover in a deep grey-green that Ilya chose himself. The garden runs along the side of the house in a long, low stretch, bordered by smooth river stones, sheltered on one side by the tree line.]
[It is entirely Ilya's. Shane weeds it occasionally and waters it when Ilya asks, but the garden is Ilya's in a way that is not about ownership so much as it is about a specific quality of attention. He films it first from the path, the whole length of it: pale pink peonies in a couple of pots, Russian sage and bulby flowers like daffodils and crocuses were planted. Sunflowers in a stand at the far end, not yet open, heads still bowed. Tomatoes were in a wire cage. Sweet basil in a terracotta pot near the hose. A small patch of nasturtiums in orange and red that got a little out of hand, which Ilya has mixed feelings about. He takes care of the greens and herbs like lettuce, swiss chard and chives for Shane.]
Ilya: (walking the length of the garden slowly) Okay. So. This is mine. I started this a couple of summers ago, which is when we started spending all the summers here instead of splitting between here and wherever. The first year it was not very good. There was lavender which I am pretty sure died by itself, but I killed the basil twice and the tomatoes were very small and not sweet. The second year was better. This year-
[He stops at the daffodils and crouches down, rubbing one of the flower heads gently between his fingers.]
Ilya: this year by far is the best year. I know what this soil wants now. You have to learn the soil.
[He moves to the peonies, which are just past their peak, big blowsy blooms in the palest pink, a few of them dropping petals onto the mulch.]
Ilya: These are peonies. They are my favourite. I know they do not last very long, they bloom maybe two, three weeks, and then they are gone. But when they bloom they are,
[He looks at them for a moment.]
Ilya: They are worth it. My mother grew them. White ones, not the pink. She had white peonies back home. I think, in June they would bloom and you could really smell them.
[He is quiet for a moment, his hand among the petals.]
Ilya: She was very good at growing things. She had the patience for it, I am developing them now. She would be outside in the early morning before my father was awake and she would just be with the garden. I used to watch from my bedroom window. I did not understand it then. I understand it now.
[He stands and moves on, filming the Russian sage which was tall spires of silvery-blue that swayed in the lake breeze.]
Ilya: This is Russian sage. Obviously. I grow it here because it reminds me of something, I don't know exactly what, maybe nothing specific. Maybe just the feeling of something from before. It is very tough and very easy to grow. It comes back every year without me doing anything. I like that about it.
[He pauses at the nasturtiums.]
Ilya: I don’t remember planning them, maybe they spread? I am not sure how I feel about this. They are orange and red and they are growing very aggressively and they are also- actually quite beautiful, so.
[He tilts the camera down at them. They are beautiful, tumbling over the edge of the border stones in waves of warm colour.]
Ilya: I will let them stay.
[From behind him, Shane appears around the corner of the cottage with two glasses of iced tea, Anya padding at his heels. He stops at the edge of the garden path and looks at Ilya crouching there with the camera. His face does the thing again.]
Shane: Ilya, tea?
Ilya: Thank you, sweetheart.
Shane: The sunflowers are getting close.
Ilya: Another week, maybe.
Shane: Did you tell YouTube about your philosophy of gardens not caring about us?
Ilya: What?
Shane: Wait, film me, let me stand in front of the garden and hold my cup. Remember to cut this part.
Ilya: Shane, I am vlogging. No cutting and editing. This is my first video, I want it to be authentic.
[Shane quietly murmurs ‘shut up’ at Ilya which prompts him to giggle. Shane straightens his linen shirt and fixes a small smile.]
Shane: When Ilya started gardening, he often used to say that a garden does not care about you personally. It does not know you. It just needs what it needs, and if you give it that, it will grow. I used to think it was pessimistic but now I think he meant the opposite. He meant that we should do the work, pay attention, be consistent. We should show up even when there is nothing visible happening yet. This is not only about gardens, I think that’s one of the reasons why the Cens are the way they are. All the success-
Ilya: Oh my god, Shane, stop. This is not Ilya glazing hour.
Shane: Who taught you that word? I was not glazing by the way-
[The video cuts abruptly.]
[The gym is along the back of the cottage, a long room with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. The light falls through in long gold rectangles across the rubber flooring. There is good equipment here including weights, a cable machine, a rowing machine, a pull-up bar, a spin bike that mostly serves as a very expensive clothes hanger. The view, though. The view is the thing. You can watch the whole lake from here, the light changing on the water, the herons working the shallows.]
[Shane is already on the rowing machine when Ilya comes in with the camera. He is in a rhythm just steadily moving. He glances at the camera without breaking pace.]
Shane: Don't film this.
Ilya: Why not?
Shane: I'm not doing anything impressive. I'm just doing cardio.
Ilya: I find it very impressive.
Shane: (with considerable effort to maintain dignity on the rowing machine) Ilya.
Ilya: You look very-
Shane: Don't.
Ilya: dedicated. I was going to say dedicated.
[Shane gives him a look that says he knows Ilya was not going to say dedicated, exactly, and Ilya holds the camera on him for another three seconds and then, mercifully, pans away to the windows and the lake beyond.]
Ilya: We try to stay in shape in the off-season, which is obvious, but also we are careful about it now. We have been careful about it for a few years. You get to a certain point in a career and you understand: the training is maintenance. You are not trying to earn something. You are just keeping the machine running. Keeping it well, I guess.
[He sets the camera on a shelf facing the room and does his own work out. It was nothing dramatic, it was just some mobility and lifting. It seemed almost telepathic with the way they were moving around each other.]
[At one point Ilya is doing pull-ups and Shane, finished with the rower and towelling off, stands below him and says something under his breath that the camera almost definitely doesn't catch, and Ilya drops down and says something back, and they are both grinning about it, standing close in the afternoon light coming through the windows, and Anya is asleep in the only patch of sunlight on the floor and the lake outside is completely still.]
The screen fades to black and a set of texts pop on the screen.
My arms grew too sore to continue filming. Hope you guys enjoyed the video! A new video will be out soon!
-
@rararozanov: “you stand in the blast zone, shane” PLEASEEEEE this whole video is just ilya lovingly documenting his husband getting repeatedly bullied by a wet australian shepherd
@censfans: shane hearing “i am vlogging” at 7am and immediately realizing his peaceful cottage weekend is over forever
@hockeyboy2004: I lowkey started hitting the six-seven emote when I heard him say it
@rachelrachel: not to be dramatic but the garden scene changed my brain chemistry a little. “you have to learn the soil” ??? okay mr poet
@24hollander: “he gets a face. you will see the face today. i promise you.” and then ilya spends the next 40 minutes zooming in on shane’s fond expression every 3 seconds 😭😭😭
@darenholes: shane i know you can win a fight but allow me to win tonight pls
@neutralzone_: so are we not simply ignoring the box labelled ‘toys’ seen at 01:56 near their bed?