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It all starts with a social media post.
Ilya should have known; social media has been the bane of his existence ever since an online article once compared his skills to those of Hayden Pike. He’d deleted Instagram for four whole days after that.
It’s a calm Sunday night at the cottage, Shane perched up on the headboard scrolling his phone while Ilya absentmindedly traces letters into the skin between Shane’s chest, Anya sleeping peacefully with the occasional huff at the end of their bed.
It’s all grossly domestic, and Ilya won’t even admit it, but he’s grateful for how soft his life has gotten with Shane. The gentleness that comes with the routine of waking up every day with his husband —it's overwhelming, all-encompassing, but lovely all the same.
Ilya breaks out of his stupor when he takes a glance at Shane’s phone, “What the fuck is that?”
On Shane’s phone, there’s a video of a jar filled with some sort of substance. The lady in the background of the video is poking the inside of said jar with a plastic spoon, describing that it needs to be stored in a warm place, preferably in sunlight.
Shane blinks and looks down at Ilya, confusion taking over the features of his face as he tilts his phone left and right to inspect it, “What? My phone is fine.”
“No, solnyshko, what is playing on your phone. It looks like an alien baby- or maybe Hayden when he wakes up in the morning.”
Shane’s eyes dart from the phone back to Ilya, “What are you talking about? It’s a video about sourdough starter.”
Ilya uses the surface of Shane’s chest to push himself upright to view the phone properly. “Yes, it looks like it is going to come alive and start killing someone.”
“Ilya, it’s bread,” Shane says on a laugh. “Or, well, the beginnings of bread, hence why it’s called a starter.”
“That is not bread. I know what bread looks like. That looks like bread murder. Bread homicide. Is what happens to leftover bread in the bread bakery at the end of the day.”
“You’re so ridiculous. That doesn’t even make sense. Rose sent me the TikTok, I’m planning on making some next weekend when I have some time off from practice. It’s supposed to have great health benefits.”
Ilya ignores the flare of jealousy that flares through his body at the mention of Rose Landry’s name, yet his voice still rises several octaves when he asks, “You are planning on making this devil-spawn? Hollander, we can buy already-made bread at the store; there is no need for-”
“Ilya,” Shane starts, and Ilya can see his lips tilting up into a smile that means absolutely nothing but trouble, “are you scared of the sourdough starter?”
And-no he’s not. That would be ridiculous. It’s just- it moves. A lot. And it’s very stringy. And bubbles-
Just then, Shane pauses the TikTok right on a particularly horrifying screencap of the sourdough starter and shoves the phone closer into Ilya’s face, “You sureee you’re not scared?”
Ilya scrambles back from the phone with such abrupt force he almost tips off and over the bed, he grips the bedsheets for balance and levels Shane with a glare that he hopes is fierce. “Not funny. Is very serious matter. We don’t know what spirits lie in that... thing.”
Shane chuckles, settling back into the (many) pillows before setting his phone on his nightstand. “You’re an idiot. Come spoon me.”
Ilya grumbles but obliges, always happy to indulge his husband.
By the time the weekend rolls around, Ilya is on edge.
Throughout the week, he has been on the lookout for nefarious-looking jars of bread substance. It’s basically become part of his routine to cautiously check the kitchen counter once he comes home from practice. Today is no different, Ilya coming home from a long day of practice and setting his duffel down in the designated place Shane assigned for their hockey bags to be.
That’s when he spots it.
On their counter in the corner of the kitchen, there’s a mason jar filled with…something. Human souls, if Ilya had to guess.
He was almost scared to move from the spot he had planted himself in by the entryway– afraid that any sudden movements might cause the thing to, like, simultaneously explode or something. He’d stay here forever if he could– he doesn’t need the kitchen anyway, he could always DoorDash.
But, unfortunately, he’s had a long day, and he’s really fuckin’ hungry.
This is stupid, a voice that sounds a lot like Shane nags in the back of his mind. It's just a jar full of yeast. You’re being a baby.
With a nod to himself and a feign of nonchalance, Ilya removes himself from the spot where he rooted himself in and makes his way to the kitchen, trying his best to pay no mind to the satan spawn on their counter. His ‘out of sight, out of mind’ plan only works for about three minutes– Ilya is reaching into the pantry to retrieve some bread to make a hearty sandwich (what? Shane’s not here, he can eat what he wants!), when all of a sudden, he hears a small hissing sound.
His first thought is to brush it off as a one-off; it could be anything in the house, right? Except, when Ilya walks over to the refrigerator to grab condiments, it happens again, and this time, Ilya bears witness to the culprit.
The fucking jar.
Not only is the jar fucking hissing at him, but from the spot Ilya has set himself in fear, he can also see that the contents inside the jar are moving. Moving!
Yeah, no. He’s getting this thing out his fucking house.
One pair of oven mitts, some tongs, and most of his protective hockey gear on later, Ilya is ready to face any challenges the villainous vessel of food has to offer. He has half a mind to snap a quick photo of the jar (from as far away as possible) to show Shane that the starter is clearly defective, so, like, Ilya is basically doing Shane a very noble favor.
Moy Lyubimyy
Today, 17:31
Be home in 20, love you.
Today, 17:49
Your bread is radioactive and moving. I am humbly throwing it away for you
It keeps hissing at me. I think it can smell my fear.
???
Are you having a stroke?
I am throwing away your stupid jar of bread before it attacks us in our sleep.
I cannot be ambushed while I am sleeping, Shanya. I sleep naked. I am vunlerable!!
I understand all those words, like, separately.
And you aren’t throwing my sourdough starter away!
I’ll be home in a second. I’m pulling into the neighborhood now.
I want my sourdough to be where I left it when I get there!
Though his dick gives a tiny twitch at Shane’s strict tone, he can’t help but feel a little helpless. He gives a futile look at the jar once more, and jumps when the contents inside crackle with what seems like more and more intensity.
His staring contest with the sourdough is cut short by the sound of keys being turned through a lock, and then Shane is standing in the doorway staring at Ilya like he’s grown 5 extra heads since seeing him last.
Ilya almost forgets the current get-up he’s in until he sees Shane curve his lips in the way he only does when he’s trying (and failing) to hold back laughter.
“Wow, out of all the scenarios I had planned for what'd I see when I got home, this is, like, bottom of the list.”
Ilya sets the tongs down on the counter and turns to face Shane fully, “Hi to you too, moya lyubov.”
Shane rolls his eyes in that fond way he does and walks over to his boyfriend, placing his hands on the pads covering Ilya’s shoulders. "Your protective gear? Really, what was that going to save you from?”
Ilya sticks his bottom lip out in a fake pout. “I am hearing a lot of you making fun of me, and not a lot of you commending me for wanting to keep us safe.”
Shane only lets out a tiny chuckle at this and pecks his lips sweetly on Ilya’s, “I really appreciate it. My knight in shining armor. Are you ready to admit I was right about you being scared of sourdough starter?”
“Ah, no.” Ilya pulls his face back slightly, “I am not scared. I am Russian, we do not get scared. I was… simply worried for us.”
Shane pats his cheek in a kinda mean way. “Of course, my baby. Go sit on the couch and put on that trashy reality show you like. Let me just feed the sourdough quickly and put it away so you don’t have to see it anymore.”
With that, Shane walked into the kitchen, leaving Ilya smiling sappily after him. He went to settle into the couch with a sense of contentment before realizing what Shane had said.
“You’re feeding it?”
Shane just laughs. Ridiculous.