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Ilya woke with tears already running down his face. For a few terrible seconds, he couldn't tell whether he was awake or not. The nightmare still wrapped around him like a vice. Shane on the ice. Not moving.
The crowd had gone quiet. Quiet enough that Ilya could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He remembered the refs rushing past him. Remembered trying to get closer and being told to stay back.
And in the dream, Shane never opened his eyes. No matter how many times Ilya called his name. No matter how desperately he begged.
The hospital room felt unbearably cold, filled with the endless flat rhythm of machines that seemed to mock him with every passing second. Doctors moved in and out of the room, but none of them would meet his gaze for longer than a moment. Every question Ilya asked dissolved into silence, every desperate attempt to get an answer swallowed by the unbearable stillness surrounding Shane's bed.
Then he saw Yuna and David standing in the hallway. David had his arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her together as they both cried. Neither of them spoke. They simply stood there, broken in a way Ilya had never seen before. The sight struck him harder than anything else because their faces carried the kind of grief that only existed when hope was already gone. The kind of grief that came after the fight was over. After the prayers stopped working. After there was nothing left to do except mourn.
A crushing pain spread through his chest. Shane wasn't coming back. There would be no recovery. No miracle. No moment where Shane smiled at him through the haze of medication and asked, with that soft hopeful look in his eyes, if Ilya wanted to spend the summer at the cottage. No more sleepy smiles waiting for him in the morning. No more plans for a future they hadn't gotten to live yet. Just an empty hospital room.
"Shane."
Morning light filtered through the curtains of his bedroom in Ottawa, pale and ordinary and completely wrong after what he had just seen. For a few awful seconds, he couldn't separate the dream from reality. The images were still there, sharp and merciless behind his eyes. His heart pounded so violently that it hurt, and no matter how hard he tried to convince himself he was awake, panic was already spreading through his body faster than reason could catch it.
Then he turned toward Shane's side of the bed. It was empty. The sheets were smooth. The pillow was untouched, sitting neatly beside him as if nobody had slept there at all. There was no phone on the nightstand. The sight hit him with such force that for a moment he genuinely forgot how to breathe.
"Shane?"
Nothing.
Shane always woke up early. Most mornings he was awake before Ilya. Most mornings he was already making his boring smoothies or answering texts or doing something annoyingly productive while the rest of the world was still asleep. Ilya knew that. But all he could see was Shane lying motionless on the ice.
"Shane!"
Still no answer.
Ilya shoved the blankets aside and practically fell out of bed in his hurry to move. His bare feet hit the floor hard as he rushed into the hallway, his heart hammering so violently it made his chest hurt. The second floor was empty. The bathroom was empty. The guest room was empty.
"Hollander!" His voice echoed through the house.
He took the stairs two at a time, nearly missing a step when his foot slipped against the wood. The gym was still dark. The kitchen was empty. The living room sat untouched. Everywhere he looked there was only more empty space, more proof that Shane wasn't where he was supposed to be.
His hands were shaking. He pressed a hand against his chest and tried to breathe. It didn't help. His mind was already spiraling somewhere he didn't want it to go. What if— No. Don't Ilya. But the thought had already arrived. What if the nightmare wasn't a nightmare?
His hands were shaking so badly he could barely curl them into fists. His lungs burned from the desperate, uneven breaths he kept trying to force into them. He pressed a hand against his chest as if he could physically stop his heart from racing out of control, but it didn't help.
Wake up.
The thought slammed into him with sudden desperation.
Wake up, Ilya. Fucking wake up.
His hands flew to his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut so hard it hurt, trying to force himself awake. Trying to convince himself this wasn't real. That he was still trapped somewhere inside the nightmare. Because he couldn't accept this. He wouldn't.
Shane was alive. He had to be. Shane had been here yesterday. Ilya remembered kissing him in the kitchen while dinner burned because neither of them were paying attention. He remembered Shane complaining about the Ducati for twenty straight minutes. He remembered falling asleep with Shane's arm wrapped around his waist. Those things had happened. They were real. So this couldn't be.
This had to be a dream.
Wake up!
His breathing hitched painfully.
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up—
Then, a voice.
Faint. Distant. Definitely coming from outside. Muffled through walls and glass, but unmistakably there.
Ilya froze. The familiar voice cut through the panic so abruptly that, for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. His eyes snapped to the front door, slightly ajar—a narrow crack letting in the wind, slipping through the house. He pulled the door open wide.
Outside, beneath the large tree in the front yard, Shane paced slowly across the damp grass, his phone pressed against his ear. The early morning fog still clung to the ground, leaving everything washed in pale silver light.
"...No, Hayd, tell Jackie it's not a big deal. Arthur's a kid. He doesn't know what he's saying."
Shane was wearing one of Ilya's hoodies. Even from here, Ilya could tell the sleeves were too long. The slippers on Shane's feet belonged to him too—the black pair. He had probably grabbed the wrong ones while stumbling out of bed this morning, too busy answering the call to notice the difference.
Shane's were light grey.
The sight nearly brought Ilya to his knees. He’s alive. For a second, Ilya could only stare. Shane was talking. Walking. Breathing. Completely unaware that Ilya had just spent the last few minutes living through his worst nightmare.
Their car still sat outside where they'd left it the night before. Neither of them had bothered putting it in the garage when they arrived. After three weeks apart, parking properly had been the last thing on either of their minds.
Shane had barely shut the car door before he was running toward the house, finding Ilya already waiting by the door for him. Then Shane was kissing him, smiling against his lips, his hands holding on to Ilya like he finally felt whole again.
After a few seconds, Shane paused near the tree and glanced toward the house. Their eyes finally met.
"Oh, Ilya just woke up," he said into the phone, speaking to Hayden. Immediately, Shane smiled. He lifted his free hand and gave him a small wave. A silent good morning. A silent there you are.
The gesture was so normal. And somehow that made everything worse. Because Shane didn't know. He didn't know that five minutes ago Ilya had watched him die. He didn't know that Ilya had woken up crying. He didn't know that the sight of an empty bed had nearly convinced him that the worst thing that had ever happened to him was happening all over again.
Suddenly, Ilya's vision blurred. Relief slammed into him so violently it was almost painful, knocking the air from his lungs. Before he could stop himself, tears spilled down his face. He covered his eyes with both hands as a sob broke from his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt relief this overwhelming. It hurt almost as much as the fear had.
Damn it, Ilya thought. This was embarrassing. He was a grown man, standing in the doorway of his own house, crying because Shane had stepped outside for a phone call. But no matter how hard he tried, the tears wouldn't stop. He wiped at his face angrily, only for more tears to replace the ones he'd brushed away.
Because for a few awful minutes, he had believed it. He had believed Shane was gone. Believed he had lost him. Believed he had woken up in a world where Shane no longer existed. And now Shane was standing twenty feet away, smiling at him like everything was normal.
"Please don't make him do that. I don't want him to hate me. I don't want to be a boring uncle. I want to be a cool uncle, you know." He was completely unaware that Ilya was still standing in the doorway, crying.
Ilya pressed his palms harder against his eyes. Trying to hide it. Trying to pull himself together before Shane noticed. But his body wouldn't cooperate. The tears kept coming, hot and relentless, slipping through his defenses no matter how hard he fought them. And worse, the panic was creeping back in. It slithered into his chest and wrapped itself around his lungs, squeezing tighter and tighter.
He's here, Ilya told himself desperately. He's right there. He's alive. Stop it, Ilya.
His breathing had slipped out of his control somewhere between relief and heartbreak. He kept trying to pull air into his lungs, but nothing felt like enough. He was outside. The air was right there. Yet he still felt like he was drowning.
"What are you talking about? It has nothing to do with Ilya. No, I'm not jealous. I'm way cooler than—" He saw Ilya's hands covering his face. Saw the tremble in his shoulders. Saw the way his body had folded in on itself. And suddenly, Shane's chest went cold.
Is he crying?
The thought hit Shane like a punch to the gut. Then he noticed the way Ilya seemed unable to catch his breath. His stomach dropped.
Shit. No, Ilya. No.
"Hayd, I'll call you back."
He didn't wait for a response. The call ended. Then he was running. The distance couldn't have been more than a few meters, but suddenly it felt impossibly far. Too far. Why did Ilya look so far away?
"Ilya!" The panic in Shane's voice only made the tears come harder.
Shane.
The name echoed through Ilya's head. He needed Shane. Now. Immediately. He needed Shane's voice. Shane's hands. Shane's arms around him. He needed something real to pull him out of the nightmare that still clung to his skin.
"Shane..."
He tried to call for him. Tried to tell him to hurry. But his lungs refused to cooperate. Only a broken whisper escaped him, swallowed almost immediately by another shaky breath.
Please. Shane. I need you.
By the time Shane reached the porch, Ilya was struggling so hard to breathe that Shane's heart nearly stopped.
"Ilya.” Shane grabbed his shoulders gently. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong? Ilya?"
Ilya couldn't look at him. Couldn't explain. Couldn't make himself stop.
"Talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?"
Ilya wanted to answer. God, he wanted to.. But the panic inside him was screaming too loudly.
You died, Shane.
He had watched it happen all over again. Watched Shane collapse onto the ice. Watched the referees skate toward him. Watched people crowd around his body while Ilya stood there completely useless.
Shane could see something was terribly wrong. Ilya's face was flushed red. A vein stood out along his forehead. His breathing was uneven. His entire body was trembling
"Baby, you need to breathe. Hey, look at me. You're going to pass out if you keep breathing like that." Carefully, Shane reached for his wrists, trying to lower his hands from his face. They barely moved. His muscles felt rigid. Locked. "Ilya, please." Shane's voice cracked. "What's wrong? You're scaring me."
Scaring Shane was the last thing Ilya wanted. But how was he supposed to say it out loud? Sorry, I woke up crying because I dreamed you died. Sorry, I thought I lost you. Sorry, seeing you unconscious on the ice still haunts me. The words felt childish. Weak. Humiliating.
Instead of saying any of it, he lowered his hands and grabbed Shane. Both arms wrapped around him with enough force to almost hurt.
Shane stumbled slightly from the impact. For half a second, he looked startled. Then his arms were around Ilya immediately.
"Shh... it's okay. You're okay. I’m here." One hand slid into his hair. The other rubbed slow circles across his back. "Breath, Ilya."
Shane could feel the way his body was shaking. The way every breath seemed to catch halfway in his chest before falling apart.
It was breaking Shane's heart. Whatever had happened, whatever had terrified him enough to leave him like this, Shane wanted it gone. He wanted to reach inside Ilya's head and rip it out with his bare hands if that was what it took.
Ilya buried his face against Shane's shoulder. Against warm skin. Against a heartbeat. Against proof. Proof that Shane was alive. Proof that he was here. Proof that the nightmare had lied.
"Good... that's it." Shane's voice was soft against his hair as he pulled him even closer. "Breathe for me, baby."
Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. The warmth of Shane's body felt almost overwhelming. Like his entire nervous system had been stretched to its breaking point and was finally collapsing into something safe.
"Shh..." Another stroke across his back. "That's it. I've got you." Shane pressed a kiss into Ilya's hair and held him tighter.
Eventually, the panic loosened its grip enough for him to breathe properly again. The trembling eased. His chest stopped fighting for air. Reluctantly, Ilya loosened his hold and pulled back just enough to look away.
He immediately wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. Trying to erase the evidence. Trying to hide how badly he'd fallen apart. Trying to pretend he hadn't just stood in the doorway crying because he couldn't find Shane in bed.
Shane's hand remained on Ilya's shoulder. With the other, he brushed the damp hair away from his forehead, his fingers lingering briefly against his skin.
"What happened?"
Ilya kept his gaze fixed on Shane's chest. Anywhere except his eyes. Shane waited for a moment before gently hooking a finger beneath his chin.
"Ilyusha, look at me."
Slowly, Ilya lifted his head. Shane's eyes were full of worry. And good God. Those stupid freckles. Ilya was convinced those freckles could cure almost anything. The sight of them alone made something inside him soften. But it was Shane's eyes that nearly undid him all over again. The concern written across his face. The way he was studying him so carefully, as if he was afraid to miss something important.
"It's nothing." The lie died halfway out. "I—I, um..." His voice cracked. Fuck, why was this so hard to say?
"Take your time." Shane brushed his thumb across his cheek. "Deep breath. With me."
So they stood there breathing together. Until the tightness in Ilya's chest loosened enough for words. Slow inhales. Slow exhales. Shane never looked away.
“Is okay. I just… I had a nightmare." The confession came out barely above a whisper. "And when I woke up... I couldn't find you."
Understanding immediately filled Shane's expression. The kind that hurt more than judgment ever could. "Oh, baby.” The endearment came out soft and broken. "Come here.” Before Ilya could protest, Shane pulled him back against his chest. The gentleness of it nearly made him cry again.
"I’m sorry.” A miserable laugh escaped him. "I don't know why I panicked."
"No." Shane tightened his arms around him. "Don't apologize." A kiss landed against his cheek. Then another near his temple. "It’s okay. I’m here now.”
"It's embarrassing."
"It's not.” Shane pulled back just enough to look at him. His thumb caught another tear before it could fall. "How's your breathing?" he asked quietly.
Ilya took a careful breath. Then another. "Better. Thank you."
Shane squeezed his hand. "Let's get you inside." Only then did Shane seem to notice that Ilya was standing barefoot in the cold morning air, wearing nothing but sweatpants. His feet had to be freezing.
Shane immediately wrapped a hand around his and guided him toward the dining room. Like he couldn't quite bring himself to let go. "Sit down. I'll get you some water."
The moment Shane took a step back, something inside Ilya panicked. His hand shot out and grabbed Shane's wrist.
"Wait." The word slipped out. Too needy. Too desperate. Immediately, embarrassment flooded his face. He let go immediately. "Sorry."
Shane's heart cracked. "Hey." He crouched in front of him. "I'm not going anywhere."
Ilya looked down at their hands. "Yes. I know." His voice came out small. "I don't know why I do that."
Shane gently lifted Ilya's hand and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. "I'll be right back, okay?"
After a moment, Ilya nodded. Only then did Shane stand. And even while filling the glass in the kitchen, he kept glancing over his shoulder. Just making sure Ilya was still there. Just making sure he was okay.
"Here you go." Shane handed him the glass.
"Thank you."
Shane sat down across from him. “Um...” Shane rubbed his thumb against Ilya's knee. “Do you want to talk about it?” He hesitated. “It's okay if you don't want to. I don't want to push you—”
“It was your accident with Marleau.” Ilya stared blankly into his glass of water. His eyes were distant, still haunted by what he'd seen in the dream.
Shane went still. "Oh."
There wasn't really anything else to say. Because he knew. He knew exactly how much that day had affected Ilya. Even years later. Even after all the reassurances. Even after doctors, recovery, and endless conversations proving he was fine. Some fears didn't listen to logic.
"I watched it happen again," Ilya admitted quietly. His eyes remained fixed on the glass. "But it was worse this time."
Shane's hand stilled on his knee. "Worse how?"
Ilya swallowed. The answer should have been simple. Instead, his throat felt tight. "They couldn't save you."
Shane's chest ached. "Ilya…"
"No. I know." Ilya shook his head immediately. "I know it wasn't real. And I know it wasn't Marleau's fault." The words started coming faster. "He was just doing his job. He wasn't trying to hurt you. He looked shocked too. I remember that. But I also remember wanting to punch him so badly. Which wouldn't have been very captain-like of me. I just wish I could blame someone. I know he didn't mean it. I know he felt terrible." His voice cracked. "But he hurt you. And in my dream..." Ilya swallowed hard. "They couldn't do anything."
Shane's hand tightened around his.
"You were dead, Shane. I watched them try. I watched everyone standing around you. Yuna and David..." His breathing hitched. "Nobody would tell me anything." He looked at Shane like he still couldn't quite believe he was real. "And why the fuck was your side of the bed so tidy?"
Shane blinked. "I... cleaned it?" The answer came out more like a question. He hadn't expected to be interrogated about his side of the bed. "Ilya—"
"Sorry." Ilya scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to yell." His voice dropped. "I just thought it was real. I thought you were fucking gone."
For a second, neither of them spoke.
"I looked for you everywhere. I was screaming your name. What were you even doing outside?"
"Hayden called. I didn't want to wake you." His thumb brushed across Ilya's knuckles. "You haven't been sleeping enough."
"That motherfucker." The insult came out automatically. "Why would he even call you that early?"
"He called about Arthur. Yesterday, when we went out for lunch, I—" Shane stopped himself. The rest of the story could wait. One look at Ilya's face told him that. "No, hold on. Forget Arthur. Just breathe for a second, okay? You’re still panicking."
And even now, after everything had been explained, Ilya leaned instinctively into his touch. "I'm fine." The lie came out immediately. "I'm just mad. I wouldn't have been like this if you'd been beside me."
“Ilya…”
"If Hayden fucking Pike hadn't called you, this wouldn't—"
"Hey. Okay. Okay. Ilya, stop." Shane gently took hold of his jaw and guided his face up until their eyes met.
The interruption worked. Ilya took a deep breath. Then another. Only then did he realize he had been spiraling again. Throwing blame at Hayden. Snapping at Shane. Looking for someone to blame because the fear still had its claws buried in his chest. Shane had been right. He was still panicking.
"Sorry." Ilya lowered his gaze immediately. Guilt settled heavily in his stomach.
"No, it's okay." Shane's smile was soft. "Hey." His thumb brushed lightly against Ilya's cheek. "I'm sorry you had that nightmare. And I'm sorry you had to witness all of that." Shane swallowed. "I know how much it scared you.”
Ilya's throat tightened. "Is okay. You're okay now." His voice came out quiet. "You’re here with me."
"I'm okay." Shane squeezed his hand. "Completely healed. No more pain."
Ilya took that seriously. He needed to calm down. He needed to start letting go of those memories. He didn't want to scare Shane like this. It was enough carrying around the nightmares of his mother's death. Now this had joined them. Another thing waiting for him in the dark. It was too much. And he couldn't keep putting all of it on Shane's shoulders.
"And I'm proud of you."
Ilya blinked. "You... proud of me?"
A small laugh escaped Shane. “Yeah." The corner of his mouth lifted. "I'm proud of you for being a good captain and not punching Marleau."
For a second, Ilya just stared at him. Then a laugh burst out of him. "Fuck, I wanted to.”
"I know." Shane grinned. "I know you wanted to. But it wasn't his fault."
Ilya sighed. The fight drained out of him all at once. His fingers found Shane's automatically. "Yes, I know.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Shane rubbed his thumb across the back of Ilya's hand. They sat quietly, taking a moment to appreciate each other's presence.
“Are you okay?”
"Yes. I think so. Probably." Ilya yawned.
"Do you want to go back to sleep? It's still too early for you." Shane was right. Going back to sleep sounded fucking perfect right now. Ilya had been running on almost no sleep for days. He needed rest. But... He was scared. Scared the nightmare would come back. Scared he'd wake up and go through all of this again.
Ilya hesitated. "I-I don't know..."
"I'll go with you."
"Hmm?"
"I'll go back to sleep with you." Shane's expression softened. "I'll be right beside you until you wake up."
Something warm spread through Ilya's chest. "Really? But I'll ruin your boring routine."
"It's not boring." Shane looked offended. "It's discipline."
That made Ilya smile. Shane was too sweet for this. Shane never skipped his routine. Morning run. Workout. Boring smoothies. Shower. Boring meetings. Reading. The whole thing. Going back to bed was practically impossible. Yet here he was offering without hesitation. Just because Ilya had a nightmare.
“Okay.”
"Alright. Let's go."
Still holding hands, they walked upstairs to the bedroom. Shane took off his hoodie, folded it neatly, and set it on the chair. Then he climbed into bed and opened his arms. An unspoken invitation. Come here. Let me hold you. Let me take care of you. But Ilya moved first.
"No."
Shane blinked. "No?"
"I want to hold you."
For a second, Shane just looked at him. Then his expression melted. "Oh." He scooted closer immediately. "Okay."
Shane tucked himself against Ilya's chest and wrapped an arm around his waist. Ilya's arm settled around Shane's shoulders automatically. He pressed a kiss to Shane's forehead.
"This is nice." Ilya smiled.
"Hey..." Shane's voice sounded small.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
A tired smile spread across Ilya's face. "Hmm... more than you love Hayden?"
"Don't start."
"What?"
"What the fuck does Hayden have to do with this?"
Ilya laughed. "What did he even want from you? Why was he calling so early?"
"Well, you know I hung out with Arthur yesterday, right?"
"Yes. I know. You had lunch together."
"Yeah." Shane sighed. "Arthur asked me something he probably didn't realize was a loaded question. I mean, everybody's asked me that at some point. Even my mom." A small laugh escaped him. "I don't know. I just never expected that question to come from Arthur."
"What did he say?"
"He asked if I ever let you win."
Ilya groaned. “Wow.”
"Yeah." Shane buried his face in Ilya's chest. "And he didn't really believe my answer, because he said I'm too in love with you. That I'd probably give up the Cup for you."
That would probably never happen. Yes, they were disgustingly in love with each other. But hockey was a different matter entirely. Their rivalry wasn't a problem in their relationship. It was part of it.
The competition between them was something they both cherished. Something that made their eyes light up. Something that kept them sharp. It excited them. Made every game feel personal.
Ilya wanted Shane at his absolute best. Shane wanted the same from him. Neither of them wanted easy victories. They wanted each other at full strength. They wanted a fight. Then, afterward, they wanted to go home together.
"I didn't tell Hayden because I didn't want Arthur to get in trouble. But Arthur told them himself this morning when Jackie asked how lunch went."
"What an asshole. Just like his father."
"Ilya! You can't say that."
“I'm kidding.”
Shane rolled his eyes. "And Hayden is my best friend. I love him as my best friend."
"Mhm."
"I do not find him attractive."
"Sure."
"I'm serious. I don’t have feeling for him.”
"Well, he obviously has feelings for you."
"What?" Shane lifted his head and glared at Ilya. "What are you talking about?"
"The guy is obviously obsessed with you." Ilya looked down at Shane. He looked far too pleased with himself.
"No, he's not." Shane groaned dramatically. "Oh my God, why are we even talking about this? I don't know why I have to explain this shit to you."
"Because you love clarifying things. You're too easy."
“Shut up.” The warning only made Ilya smile wider.
A moment later, his eyes drifted shut. Sleep finally winning.
"I love you too, Shane." The words came out sleepy and slurred. Shane immediately went quiet. "I love you so much. I don't care if you love Hayden."
"Ilya—"
"He's too ugly for you anyway." Shane laughed. "You deserve someone as hot as me. And I know you love me more than anything."
"You're not that hot. Get over yourself."
“Is lie! Liar told you that.” Ilya tilted Shane's chin up and kissed him. "Ya tebya lyublyu."
"You're an asshole." Shane smiled shyly and pressed a kiss against Ilya's neck before burying his face there. "I love you."
“Don’t leave, yes?”
"I won't." Shane wrapped his arms around him a little tighter. "I'll stay with you. I'll stay with you forever."
Shane stayed awake long after Ilya fell asleep. He couldn't seem to help it. One of his hands rested on Ilya's side, feeling the steady rise and fall of each breath as if he needed the reassurance too. The panic was gone now. The tension had finally left Ilya's body. Every time Shane glanced up, Ilya looked more peaceful than he had all morning.
But Shane couldn't stop thinking about the terrified look on Ilya's face. The way his hands had been shaking. The way his face had gone red from crying and fighting for air. That had scared him more than he wanted to admit. Seeing Ilya cry always hurt, but this had been different.
Shane could still remember the way Ilya had clung to him. The way he'd grabbed his wrist when Shane tried to step away to get him some water. The way he'd held on so tightly, as if letting go might make him disappear again. Shane could still feel it. His chest ached. Shane wished he could erase that nightmare from Ilya's memory. He hated that the accident still haunted him this badly. Hated that, even now, it could reach across months and years and leave Ilya terrified of losing him all over again.
But if their positions had been reversed, Shane knew he would've been no better. If Ilya had been the one lying on the ice, Shane would've lost his mind. It would have haunted him just as badly. There was no doubt about that. He would've been just as terrified to wake up and find Ilya's side of the bed empty. The realization was both embarrassing and painfully simple. He loved him. He loved him so much that the thought of losing him made his stomach turn and left him lightheaded.
Carefully, Shane brushed his fingers through Ilya's hair, rubbing his thumb gently against his ear, and pressed a soft kiss against his chin. Even asleep, Ilya reacted immediately, shifting closer without waking. The movement was small, unconscious, and somehow it nearly melted Shane's heart. Like his body knew exactly where it wanted to be. Shane smiled and tightened his arm around him, tucking himself a little closer against Ilya's chest.
He would gladly ruin his routine just to go back to bed when Ilya asked. He would let Ilya eat McGriddles every morning for a month if that was what he needed. He wouldn't mind being teased about his routines, his diet, or his ridiculous discipline if it meant seeing Ilya smile again. He'd let Ilya make fun of him for the rest of his life if it kept that terrified look from ever returning to his face.
Shane would do anything to make Ilya feel safe. Anything to make him laugh. Anything to make him stay. Anything to make him happy. And if that meant climbing back into bed and holding him until noon, then Shane couldn't think of a single reason not to.
Shane closed his eyes and listened to the steady rhythm of Ilya's heartbeat beneath his cheek. Then he let himself relax for the first time that morning and hoped that, this time, Ilya was dreaming of something good. Something gentle. Or knowing Ilya, maybe something that would have him waking up with a smug grin and absolutely no intention of explaining why. Shane smiled to himself. He'd take that over nightmares any day. Anything that made Ilya feel loved.