Chapter Text
Folding laundry is probably one of Ilya's least favourite tasks. It can't be done quickly; dress clothes get wrinkled and Harris fusses about looking unpresentable during interviews. Matching socks sucks because there's always one sock that wants to play hide and seek. If clothes are thrown into a drawer haphazardly, Shane takes them out and re-folds them, which Ilya hates because laundry already takes so much of their goddamn time. It's summer and they are at the cottage, they should be in the lake or playing with Anya! Laundry never fails to piss Ilya off, and folding laundry is the worst.
His inner monologue is cut short when Ilya feels a pair of eyes on him. He has a quip ready on the tip of his tongue: "Really, Hollander, me folding your boxers is doing it for you?" The look in Shane's eyes, however, takes the breath he was going to use. His doe eyes are wide and unguarded. His cheek rests on his first, arm propped up by their kitchen table. He has a small smile on his face that Ilya hadn't seen until he was 26 years old.
"What?" He asks, feeling unexpectedly exposed.
Shane shakes his head softly. "Nothing. I just... really like this."
"What, laundry?"
Shane's smile widens as Ilya's grimace deepens. "No, no. Just, being here. With you. Doing stuff like making grocery lists and laundry. Thinking about what we're going to make for dinner. Stuff that normal couples do."
Shane's smile is infectious. Ilya ducks his head and is totally not blushing, thank you very much.
And... okay. Maybe laundry isn't that bad. Especially if he's rewarded with a kiss once it's done.