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Ilya doesn’t like hospitals.
Ilya especially doesn’t like whenever hospitals with Shane in them are involved.
He still remembers the first time too clearly, Shane lying there on the ice without moving, then lying there in a hospital bed. He still remembers the horrible waiting in between, after they took Shane away to where Ilya could not immediately follow. He still remembers that awful feeling of having his heart in his throat, not breathing until he could see Shane again and touch him even if for just a moment, knowing that he would be okay.
Shane was okay, and Ilya is still grateful every day for this. That Shane is okay. That Shane is his.
There have been minor injuries for both of them since then, but nothing that needed more than an x-ray or two, sometimes some stitches, and this one time when they had to place two tiny staples in Shane’s beautiful head because he’d bumped it on some furniture while wrestling with Anya.
Still, there’s been nothing like the first time, at least until now. Now, here Shane is lying in one of those shitty blue beds yet again, too many wires attached to his body, eyes closed as Ilya takes a deep breath and then opens the door.
“Shane,” he says. “Shane. I am here.”
Shane opens his eyes. A slow smile spreads across his face.
Ilya exhales, and all the tension he’d been holding goes out of his body just like that.
Shane is still his Shane, even if he is a bit glassy-eyed and also drooling just a little. His right cheek is twice the size of his left. There’s an open cup of applesauce in his lap that he appears to have forgotten about. His smile turns into a big dopey grin as Ilya approaches the bed and dries the corner of Shane’s mouth with his thumb. Even now, even with Shane looking like this, Ilya’s heart still thumps at the sight.
“Moya lyubov,” he says. “I was worried about you.”
“It’s just a wisdom tooth, Ilya.” Shane’s voice sounds like his mouth’s stuffed with cotton. Ilya’s chest starts to ache uncontrollably again.
“I know.” He does know this, and yet. “I do not like it here. I will take you home now, okay?”
“Home?” Shane repeats. “That sounds nice.” His nose scrunches up then like he’s just had a very big thought. “You know,” he says, “home is wherever you are, right?”
“Yes. Okay.” Ilya loves this man a ridiculous amount. “But, real home is nice place too.” Real home has Anya, and their giant master bath where Ilya plans to take Shane first and wash every last trace of this hospital off him. Real home has their giant bed too, where Ilya will be sure to take care of Shane in other ways.
He reaches for Shane’s hand, frowning when Shane draws away like Ilya’s touch has just burned him. Shane looks at him with a goggle-eyed expression, half-accusing, half-alarmed, then at the nurse who’s just walked in after Ilya.
She has papers with her, and a few bottles of prescription pills. She sets these down next to a pile of Shane’s clothes, neatly folded, which makes Ilya smile to see.
“This is Ilya. Rozanov,” Shane tells her, maybe a little bit louder than necessary. “He’s my teammate. Not anything else.”
Ilya frowns again. His husband is acting very strangely.
“Sure, Mr. Hollander,” the nurse says, giving Ilya a wink. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
“There’s no secret,” Shane says muzzily. “Right, Ilya?” He swings his head slowly around and looks sideways at Ilya with a sly grin like they’ve just gotten away with something together, and what is happening to his husband right now?
The nurse turns to Ilya, who must be looking as concerned as he feels because she pats him on the arm and says, “He’s been like this for the last half hour. Don’t worry. It will wear off.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “He keeps insisting I don’t know the two of you are married.”
“What? You are serious. Literally everyone knows.” Ilya thinks about this. “The last time I had to see him like this in a hospital, we really were having to hide what we were to each other. So maybe this makes some sense.”
“Oh, that is so sad,” says the nurse sympathetically.
“Yes,” says Ilya. “But we are both very happy now, so it was worth it. Shane would say the same, once he is feeling back to himself.”
Both of them turn to look at Shane. Shane, his Shane, his everything, is looking thoughtfully at his spoon before taking a tiny baby bite of his applesauce. He doesn’t appear to be listening to them anymore.
Ilya inches a hand toward his again. The moment they touch, Shane goes bug-eyed, looking at Ilya and then jerking his head in the nurse’s direction not very subtly at all. Ilya bites the inside of his cheek.
“Here, I will feed you the rest,” Ilya says.
“Okay.” Shane leans forward automatically, then freezes as though caught. He glares at Ilya with all the ferocity of a very small kitten. Cute. Ilya wants to make him do it again.
“We don’t really do that,” Shane tells the nurse. “He’s kidding.”
“Unless Shane asks nicely.”
“No.” Shane shakes his head vehemently.
“I mean hypothetically,” Ilya soothes him. “If you were to hypothetically ask really nicely, then I would do it. You know, as your teammate.”
The nurse hands Ilya their discharge instructions. She looks like she’s trying hard to keep a straight face.
“Okay, Mr. Just Shane’s Teammate Rozanov,” says the nurse, and Ilya decides that he likes her, “Soft foods only for the next few days. Nothing with straws so he doesn’t dislodge any blood clots. After the first twenty-four hours, he’s going to use this mouthwash twice daily. These are his painkillers and antibiotics.”
Then she says, “Please restrict physical activity at least for the rest of today,” and Ilya thinks he does not like her so much, actually, but fine. He will do—or not do—whatever Shane needs.
She goes through some signs and symptoms to look out for, then tells Ilya that the effects of the anesthesia typically wear off after a few hours.
“So, he is going to spend next few hours thinking that we are married but no one else knows this?”
“Watch this,” says the nurse. She looks at Shane. “Mr. Hollander, are you ready for your husband to take you home?”
Shane lolls his head in a nod, smiling before her words catch all the way up to him. “Yes. I mean, what?” His voice pitches higher than Ilya’s ever heard it. He clears his throat. “What—what made you think that?”
“So, you’re not ready?”
Shane frowns like he’s not sure what the right answer is.
“Okay,” says Ilya. “This will be fun.”
The nurse has Shane in a wheelchair and waiting for him as Ilya pulls up to the curb. Shane doesn’t protest—much—when Ilya has to bodily lift him into the passenger seat, his limbs like dead weights that keep getting in the way.
“Here. Lean your head back, sweetheart.”
Shane groans as he does. “I love it when you call me that.” His eyes pop open. “Wait, don’t call me that?!”
The nurse hands Ilya a white paper bag of their things, the pills rattling around inside. Ilya tucks them into the glove box, closing the door after gently scooting Shane’s leaden foot back into the car, and then turns around to face her again.
“Thank you for taking care of Shane,” he says. “And for, you know. Letting him think what the medicine is telling him.”
“Anytime.”
Ilya shudders. “Well, I hope not. I do not like it here. Sorry.”
He doesn’t like hospitals, and he doesn’t like Shane not wanting people to know they are married. Shane is very bad at pretending, at least. If his husband is going to be bad at something, which is hardly ever the case, it can be this, Ilya decides. He supposes it’s a good thing Shane hasn’t registered Ilya’s wedding band; he’d held on to Shane’s for the procedure, but this way Ilya won’t have to break it to Shane that he will not be removing his own ring for anything, ever. Even if Shane does ask him nicely.
“Totally understandable,” says the nurse, reaching out and touching his arm. “But Shane is going to be just fine. I know you’ll take good care of him.”
“Yes. I will take the best care of my husband.”
Ilya turns to look affectionately at Shane, who’s glaring through the tinted car window at the nurse’s hand on his arm. Shane frowns at her when she gives him a wave.
Ilya gets in and eases the car away from the curb. He glances at Shane often, fearful of jostling him as he drives slowly to the very edge of the lot before putting the car back into park.
“Why’d you stop?” Shane asks, eyes closed. He has a beatific little smile on his face and Ilya cannot wait anymore.
“I needed a moment. Come here. No one can see, moya lyubov, don’t worry.”
Ilya cradles Shane’s neck in his hand and presses a kiss to the left side of his mouth. Shane makes a low, happy sound in his throat, turning into the kiss. He looks bereft when Ilya starts pulling away.
“Ah, no. Later. When you are all healed.” llya ghosts his thumb across Shane’s swollen cheek, a barely-there caress. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Shane leans into Ilya’s hand as he grasps the back of Shane’s neck for a moment, squeezing gently before letting go.
Ilya glances at the touchscreen display, which has lit up with what looks like a million different notifications that Ilya does not want to bother with right now. Some texts, and a few missed calls from his teammates for some reason. Probably about the recent NHL draft results. Ilya ignores these for now, instead craning around toward the backseat of the car.
He hands Shane a stuffed polar bear. It has a downturned mouth and thick white brows drooping over its eyes that make the thing look kind of sad.
“I, ah. I got this. For you.” He had wandered a Walmart while clutching onto this bear, waiting for the call that said his husband was okay and would be ready to see him again very soon.
“Hey,” says Shane happily. “He kind of looks like you.”
“What? He doesn’t.” But something twinges in his chest anyway as Shane presses the stuffed bear to his face and breathes in. “Maybe,” Ilya concedes, “whenever you are thinking of me and I cannot be there with you at that moment, you can hold this bear instead.”
“Okay,” says Shane, his voice muffled by the bear fur as Ilya snaps a photo of him. “What are you doing?”
“Is for your parents,” Ilya says. “No one else.” This is a lie. It is also for him.
He smiles fondly down at the photo and sends it to the family group chat.
ILYA:
Shane won a prize for being so good and brave today
YUNA:
Aw, thank you for the photo. How are you boys holding up?
ILYA:
He seems comfortable, for now. They gave him pain medicine before we left
YUNA:
I’m glad that it’s helping.
ILYA:
It is certainly doing something
DAVID:
And how are you feeling, son?
ILYA:
Oh. I am not the one with a missing tooth right now. At least, not recently
YUNA:
No, we know. But we know that you worry.
ILYA:
i am fine now that he is here with me and not in that place anymore. Thank you
YUNA:
Should we come by with dinner later?
ILYA:
They said he has physical activity restriction for today so yes that should be fine
YUNA:
Oh. I’m not sure that I follow, but okay.
DAVID:
I see.
YUNA:
I don’t think I do.
DAVID:
Just say ‘I see,’ honey.
Yuna’s three typing dots appear, then disappear after a moment. Ilya pictures David giving Yuna a meaningful look over their phone screens until she understands. Finally she starts typing again.
YUNA:
All right, all right. We’ll be by with soup around 6?
ILYA:
Okay, sounds good. See you then
Ilya sets his phone aside. “Shane,” he says as the thought occurs to him, “do your parents know? That we are married?”
Shane cracks one eye open and, still cuddling the polar bear to his chest, turns around and looks at him like Ilya’s the one who’s just gone insane. “Yes, Ilya,” he says very slowly, “my parents know that we’re married. Obviously.”
“Okay,” says Ilya. “And does Anya know too, do you think?”
“What? Fuck off.” Shane burrows into his seat. The polar bear is tucked under his chin now. “Of course she does.”
Ilya has to look away to hide his smile for a moment. “And what about the guys?”
“It would be nice,” says Shane. “To be able to tell them someday.”
Ilya nods. “If it helps, I think they would be very supportive of us.” He rests his hand on the gearshift. “Ready to go home? We can be married to our hearts’ content there.”
“Yeah. Yes, please.” Shane smiles a bit dreamily. “Actually, wait. Before we do that, I was thinking.”
“This is going to be good,” Ilya says. “Yes, solnyshko, what were you thinking?”
“I was wondering—” Shane squints one eye closed at Ilya, looking so adorable that Ilya knows he is done for, he will do anything this man asks of him “—if we could stop and get like a milkshake or something?”
He says this all very fast, as if Ilya would say no otherwise.
“You. Want a milkshake,” Ilya repeats.
“Yes,” says Shane, definitively. He’s closing his eyes again. “Yes. I want that.”
“Then you will have it,” Ilya says, and he shifts the car out of park.
There’s a little burger place close to home that has very good milkshakes that Shane likes. He never gets his own, but he never says no either when Ilya offers him a sip of his, tracing the edge of the straw over Shane’s bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth and telling him to suck.
Yes. Shane likes Ilya’s milkshakes very much.
Shane dozes while Ilya drives, coming to the most careful stops at every stop sign and red light. More than one car passes him on the left, occasionally slowing down long enough to honk at him or flip him off. Ilya ignores them all and just drives. He is transporting very precious cargo, after all.
Ilya has to silence another phone call and several more texts from the team as he drives, not wanting to wake up Shane. Finally he disconnects his phone from the car’s Bluetooth and switches it to do not disturb mode.
He wants Shane to get as much rest as he can. Maybe then he can sleep off this weird confusion about what the world does or doesn’t know about them, because that is not something they ever have to worry about ever again. He can’t wait for Shane to wake up and remember that.
The guy at the drive-thru looks like a kid the way Luca is still a kid to Ilya. Unlike Luca, however, Milkshake Guy doesn’t seem to follow hockey, or to have ever turned on a TV in this town in his life apparently, because there’s no stare of recognition when he sees Ilya pull up at the window.
He orders—a vanilla milkshake instead of their usual cookie dough one, and with a spoon this time instead of a straw—and then while he waits he glances down at his phone to see another text from Yuna. Shane had, at Ilya’s request, helped set up his do not disturb to under no circumstances apply to the likes of Yuna Hollander.
YUNA:
Are you sure you don’t want us to text first?
ILYA:
No need this time. I promise
Ilya sets his phone back down on the console.
It all happens so fast. He’s still smiling about Yuna’s text when he looks up at Milkshake Guy returning to the window. Milkshake Guy blinks, then smiles back. His fingers seem to brush Ilya’s for just a touch longer than necessary as he hands Ilya his order. “So, is that your…friend?” he asks, nodding over at Shane. “Boyfriend?”
Ilya thinks it will be safe to say, very firmly, that Shane is his husband, as a matter of fact. Shane is still sleeping, after all. He cannot be mad about this.
Shane is not sleeping.
He’s chosen that moment to wake up, just in time to see Milkshake Guy smiling at Ilya and their hands sort of holding each other’s around the milkshake cup. Ilya sees the exact moment the little medicated cogs in Shane’s brain kick into gear, and then Shane is sitting bolt upright with that angry kitten look on his face again.
Shane hates when he calls it that. Ilya, however, loves it very much.
Before Ilya can stop him—not that he would—Shane is launching himself across the console, still holding onto his bear as he shouts, “Hey. That’s my fucking milkshake, and that’s my fucking husband who’s getting it for me!”
His words are thick and he trips over them a little, but despite this and the bear and his swollen right cheek—or maybe even because of these things all combined, Ilya muses—the overall effect is apparently terrifying because Milkshake Guy takes a wide step back and starts stammering out an apology.
“Thank you for husband’s milkshake,” Ilya calls cheerfully. “Goodbye.”
When he glances back over, Shane is struggling to open the cup. He has his tongue between his teeth and the spoon awkwardly held in his hand as he pries and pries at the lid. He still won’t let go of the bear.
“Shane. Sweetheart.” Ilya pulls out of the drive-thru, maneuvers around to the other side of the building, then parks. “Come here.”
Shane makes a rapturous face as Ilya gently spoons the first few bites of milkshake to him.
“Is good?” Ilya dabs at the side of Shane’s mouth with a napkin.
“Mm. Yes. Good.” Shane opens his mouth for some more.
“Shane, I have to tell you something,” Ilya says as he feeds Shane another small spoonful. “Please do not be offended, but. You are really bad at this whole pretending we are not married thing.”
“I’m not,” Shane protests. “Okay, maybe I am, a little.” He gives him a lopsided grin, then seems to sober a little. He says, sadly, “I don’t want to pretend anymore, Ilya.”
“Da. I know.”
“Don’t you get tired of pretending?” Shane leans against the headrest, gazing at Ilya through heavy-looking lids.
“Of course.” Ilya can still remember as though it were yesterday the torture of all those long years, first the agony of being in love with Shane Hollander and then the agony of having to hide that love from the rest of the world. He hates that Shane is living in that again, even if just for a couple of hours. “What if I told you we did not have to anymore?”
“That would be really nice.” Shane closes his eyes again, smiling. “Like a dream.”
“I think,” says Ilya, “the next time you wake up, it will have happened.”
“That’s not how dreams work, Ilya.”
“Not a dream, moya lyubov. A reality. Ours.”
Shane tucks in with his bear while Ilya speaks, like a bedtime story that he’s listening to. “I’m sorry,” Shane says. “That I outed us to the milkshake guy.”
“It’s okay. I think we will live. Milkshake Guy, I’m not so sure. You were very scary to him.”
Shane beams. “Really?”
“The scariest, kotik.” Ilya kisses the back of Shane’s hand and does not let go of it for the rest of the drive home.
Ilya tries to put Shane to bed after fumbling their way through a very chaste shower, if Ilya says so himself. Shane is more coordinated by now, but he keeps losing the plot by just standing there underneath the spray, wanting to hold Ilya. Wanting to be held by him too.
They only get handsy a few times. It is mostly a soothing thing, not a preface to sex thing, just to be able to touch each other how they like after being outside in the real world—or at least, the real world according to Shane right now.
Ilya towels Shane off after, and then Shane insists on returning the favor, which takes at least twice as long because he keeps forgetting which areas he’s already dried. Then he wants to hold Ilya some more, the two of them standing there naked in the steam of their bathroom until Shane starts to nod off on his shoulder. Ilya kisses his hair before gently ushering them out.
Ilya dresses him, and then he’s finally pulling back the comforter and fluffing up Shane’s pillow just the way he likes it when he realizes that Shane’s wandered off and isn’t even in the room with him anymore. Ilya checks the bathroom again just in case before heading downstairs while calling his name.
He finds Shane on the couch. He’s cuddled up with their dog, the polar bear back in his arms, his milkshake on the coffee table forgotten. Ilya watches them together and feels as though his heart will burst. It’s a feeling he gets to have often, when it comes to being married to Shane.
Ilya’s draping a blanket over them when he sees the picture frame in Shane’s hand. Ilya eases it out of his grasp, smiling down at their wedding photo. He imagines Shane taking it from the fireplace and then carrying it around with him and that bear, refusing to let go of either.
Ilya carefully sets the photo aside by the milkshake, then tucks Shane and Anya in before settling in at the other end of the couch. Shane mumbles something, pressing his feet up against Ilya’s thigh until Ilya pulls them into his lap.
Anya snuffles in her sleep. Shane wiggles his toes in between Ilya’s thighs for more warmth. Ilya closes his eyes for a moment and marvels at how they fit together, perfectly and always.
He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but when he opens his eyes again his phone says it’s just past 5.
Ilya slips off the couch and pads to the bathroom, trying to stifle a yawn. He will freshen up a little, and then he would like to tidy a bit before Yuna and David get here with soup. He thinks about how he should feed Shane tomorrow, and what will be the freshest berries to put into Shane’s breakfast smoothie. Then maybe for lunch they can—
“Ilya?”
Ilya drops his water glass. It shatters in the bathroom sink. “Fuck. Shane? What is it? Shane?”
Ilya flies back to the living room in a panic. The fear in Shane’s voice terrifies him. Something has happened. Is he bleeding? Is he in terrible pain? “Shane?”
Anya is sitting on the floor next to the couch now, looking up at Ilya with big side eyes. Shane is upright and has his phone in his hands, which he appears to have just rediscovered. He’s staring down at it in horror.
“Shane?” Ilya tries again. “What is it?”
Shane looks up at him, lower lip trembling. His eyes are as big as Anya’s right now, dark and depthless and starting to blur at the edges and fuck. Are those tears? Why does Shane look like he’s trying so hard not to cry?
“Are—” Shane’s voice gets so small, suddenly. “Are we getting a divorce?”
“What?”
Ilya is by his side in an instant, his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest and reach Shane. Ilya takes his face in his hands, careful with his swollen side. “Shane. Moya lyubov. No. No.”
Ilya presses a kiss to his lower lip, then everywhere on the left side of Shane’s face he can reach.
“No,” he says again, with so much force that even Anya sits up straighter. “What would ever make you think this? That would never ever fucking happen. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” says Shane. “Yes, I hear you.” He gives himself a little shake. “It’s just. I had this awful dream that we had to get married in secret, and when I woke up it only got worse.”
Ilya is so relieved about the stupid anesthesia wearing off that he has to remind himself Shane still needs him right now. “Okay. Shh. Okay. Tell me what you mean by ‘got worse.’”
“Because they said we were getting divorced! And then—” Shane puts his head in his hands and says, miserably, “And then I couldn’t find my wedding ring and I freaked the fuck out, Ilya.”
“Shane, it’s okay. I have it,” Ilya reassures him, lifting the chain around his neck. “You had me put it here for safekeeping, remember?”
“Oh, thank God.” Shane scoots forward as Ilya unclasps his chain and untangles Shane’s ring from his cross. He takes Shane’s hand and slides it back on. Shane seems to visibly relax the moment the ring is back on his finger again. Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s knuckle, then rubs the back of his hand comfortingly.
“It’s okay. We’re okay.” Ilya moves his palm in soothing circles over Shane’s upper back, coming to rest at his nape and squeezing. He tucks the polar bear back into Shane’s lap for extra reinforcement. “Okay?”
Shane blows out a fortifying breath, holding onto the bear, and then nods. “Okay.”
“Also, ‘they,’” Ilya says. “Who is this ‘they’? Some tabloid? I have not seen any of them say this.” Granted, he hasn’t been looking today; he’s been busy taking care of his husband, who is going to stay Ilya’s husband for forever and always as far as Ilya is concerned.
“I told you to stop reading those,” Shane grumbles, sounding more like himself as he unlocks his phone again.
“Why? They are funny, most of the time. Hayden Pike giving birth to baby chihuahua is very funny, for example.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “Wonder who called the tip line with that one.”
“I have no idea. What is this?” Ilya asks as Shane hands over his phone. Their text thread with the team is pulled up. It’s funny to see the guys’ real names so formally there rather than their nicknames like Ilya has them in his own phone. Then Ilya starts reading and sees what Shane must have seen, which is a string of texts from the guys that look very genuine in their panic about the two of them divorcing. What the fuck?
“What? What are they all smoking?”
“I don’t know," Shane moans, distraught. “I just saw the word ‘divorce’ and something about joint custody of the team, which is when I panicked and stopped reading.”
“Shh, shh. We will get to the bottom of this and then fix it. Is okay.” Ilya puts an arm around Shane, pulling him into his chest as he scrolls to find the beginning of their text thread today.
After a moment, he says, “Shane?” in a calm and patient tone. “You don’t remember…texting the guys earlier, do you?”
Shane frowns in thought. “No? I don’t think so? I mean, I don’t know when I would’ve done that. Maybe when you went to get the car, I guess. Why?”
Ilya bites his lip. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”
“What? No way.” Shane makes a swipe for his phone. “Give me that!”
“Okay, okay. Just remember I still love you and that you are already forgiven.”
“Forgiven for what?” Shane looks down at his phone with Ilya reading over his shoulder. “Oh,” Shane says after a moment. “Oh. Oh, no.”
SHANE:
Hey guys. I have an announcement to make. I just wanted to make sure you all know that Ilya and I are NOT married. In case any of you were wondering. NOT. Married. Like at all.
WYATT:
Haha what did he do now
ZANE:
Yeah seriously what did Ilya do to get himself in the doghouse
TROY:
Are you guys getting divorced or something LOL
EVAN:
Hahhahaa right as if that would ever happen
WYATT:
Ilya’s MIA I see
It must’ve been bad, whatever he did
ZANE:
Shane, care to elaborate?
Shane?
TROY:
Come on you can’t just leave us hanging like that
EVAN:
Shit maybe they are having some kind of fight
LUCA:
We don’t need to be worried, though, right?
Guys, right?
ZANE:
Shit. Guys, they’re not answering their phones
WYATT:
What are we going to do if they get divorced?? What’s going to happen to the team?
EVAN:
They’ll have joint custody I guess
LUCA:
I can’t tell if you guys are being serious right now
ZANE:
Still not answering
TROY:
Fuck. Fuck, this isn’t good
Let me try. I’ll have Harris call too
Guys…fuck
It goes on like this for some time. Ilya sighs. “I will put them out of their misery. Give me your phone back, please.” He starts typing.
SHANE:
Hello everyone. Shane has lost a tooth and maybe a little bit of his mind on the anesthesia but he has not lost his husband. Don’t worry
The replies flood in instantly as Shane puts his head in his hands again. “I can’t believe I did this. Oh my God, I can’t believe I yelled at that guy at the drive-thru.”
“Why not? I can.” Ilya shrugs. “It was hot.”
“What? Shut up.” Shane’s face is a very pretty pink now, just to illustrate Ilya’s point. “Do you think he recognized us?”
“Ah, no,” says Ilya. “I think you managed to find the one person in this city who did not already know we were married. Is okay, is not your fault for wanting to correct him on this.”
Shane just groans.
TROY:
Roz you fucking asshole took you long enough
EVAN:
Oh thank fuck
ZANE:
Jesus, you both had us worried there for a minute
WYATT:
Thank God but also, for fuck’s sake
LUCA:
Yay!!!!!!!!!!
Wait. How do we know for sure Ilya sent that?
WYATT:
You’re joking right
LUCA:
Yeah okay you’re right never mind
TROY:
Oh shit so Shane is high right now??
I would pay to see that
SHANE:
Should we send a selfie?
LUCA:
Yes!
“Do not send them a selfie,” says Shane.
“Please,” Ilya wheedles. “Please, sweetheart, do this for me. I had to watch you pretend to people all day that we are not married, it was torture.”
“It wasn’t all day,” Shane grumbles, “but fine.”
Seconds later, Ilya sends a photo of him kissing Shane on the temple. Anya has aimed a kiss of her own at his chin. Shane had insisted on turning his swollen cheek away from the camera, despite Ilya’s protests over how cute it is, actually, “Like you are a little chipmunk. My chipmunk.” The polar bear is still wedged solidly under Shane’s arm.
WYATT:
Awwwww
TROY:
I think you’ve got some competition there, Roz
EVAN:
Especially with the polar bear
LUCA:
Hey am I crazy or does the polar bear kind of look like Ilya though
SHANE:
Okay fuck you all very much
Goodbye while I tend to my ailing husband
He needs more of his milkshake now ;)
LUCA:
Is that a euphemism for something
ZANE:
That’s definitely a euphemism
EVAN:
‘For something’ oh Luca you sweet summer child
SHANE:
I am happy to go into more detail if n
Which is when Shane makes a grab for his phone. Ilya dodges him easily, tossing it over his shoulder and onto the couch out of view. Shane sighs, but he’s smiling as Ilya leans in and kisses the side of his mouth. Ilya smiles too, scooting over him until he has Shane lying back on the couch with his head against the armrest.
“Anya,” says Ilya, “take very good care of this, please,” and he hands her the stuffed polar bear.
“Maybe you’re the one who needs my milkshake,” Shane says as Ilya leans back over him, nuzzling more kisses along his jawline and then down the contours of his throat. “Mm. Did you ever think of that?”
“All the time, yes,” Ilya says honestly. He slides a hand up the inside of Shane’s shirt, landing warmly on his side. Ilya could leave his hand here like this forever, feeling Shane alive and whole and his. “But, only if you are up for it right now. They said no physical activity for you for the rest of this day at least.”
“Okay. But,” Shane reasons, tilting his head back to give Ilya’s mouth better access. “They didn’t say the same for you.”
“No,” Ilya agrees, nipping down to Shane’s collarbone now. “They did not.” His fingers trace along the hem of his sweatpants, feeling Shane’s sharp intake of breath. “This okay?”
Shane nods. “More than okay,” he breathes out.
“In that case,” says Ilya, “I will need to send one more message.”
He retrieves his own phone and pulls up their family group chat.
ILYA:
Actually, Mama Hollander
Please text first