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Ilya knows his husband through and through. He knows Shane’s likes and dislikes, his preferences, his needs, his habits, routines, non-negotiables, adorable quirks, and everything in-between. He knows how to read all the looks on Shane’s face, has come to learn what Shane needs even before the Canadian himself realizes it, he’s able to dissect Shane’s smallest of expressions and shifts in body language and can hear everything his husband isn’t saying out loud.
Of course, despite all of this, Ilya knows there are aspects of Shane that he’ll probably never understand, like the dark corners of his mind, his often-racing thoughts, his inherently anxious nature. But that’s perfectly fine. Shane is a delightful mystery that Ilya is happy to spend the rest of his life unraveling, one thread at a time. It works for them. They’re perfect together. Their bond and understanding of one another is natural. They were always destined for each other. Fated.
Ilya will never get enough of his husband. Shane is a magnificent mixture of serious, tightly wound, and strict yet playful, brave, curious, and shy. He’s simultaneously brilliant and naïve. He’s rebellious at the best of times, bratty at even better ones. He’s the most beautiful contradiction, a fascinating paradox that Ilya loves.
Still, there are times when certain aspects of Shane work against him and darkness overwhelms him; his insecurities being the main culprit. Luckily, Ilya is there guide him back into the light.
Back from a night out with a few old friends from Boston, Ilya returns home to an eerily quiet house.
“Honey, I’m home!” he calls out playfully.
He’s met with nothing. No response, no sounds, no nothing.
Slowly, his smile fades. “Shane?”
Silence.
His eyes dart around the living room. Everything is in its place, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. But still no sign of Shane. Alarms start blaring in his head. “Anya?”
Finally, there’s noise from the other side of the house. The sound of padded feet pattering across the hardwood floor precede Anya’s appearance at the end of the hall. The usually happy-go-lucky dog stands rigid, her posture tense. She whines once she spots Ilya.
Immediately, Ilya is on high alert. “Anya, where is Daddy?”
Anya releases a series of barks, turning and walking a few steps down the hall before looking back at Ilya.
Her message is clear.
“Show me,” Ilya tells her hurriedly. “Take Papa to Daddy.”
With a thundering heart, Ilya rushes to follow the loyal pup. He nearly trips over his own feet as visions of Shane hurt squeeze unforgivingly at his lungs. Desperate, he charges after Anya into the master bedroom. His gaze combs the room until zeroing in on something in the far corner. Huddled in the massive armchair, the one that neither of them uses but Shane insists on having because it completes the room and fills that space, is Shane.
His knees are hugged to his chest, his face ashen, lips grey, eyes unblinking, expression blank. There are dried tear tracks framing his freckled cheeks, but no sobs, no sounds. Just mindless staring and unnerving stillness.
Ilya would be worried, but he already knows what’s going on. He can tell by the glazed over, faraway look in Shane’s eyes that his husband is lost in that dark place in the back of his mind, the one that tells him lies. Breathing in a deep breath to steady himself, Ilya relaxes knowing that, at least physically, his husband is okay. The problem is whatever evil brain leech has entered his mind and is sucking all happiness out.
It's okay, though. Ilya is well equipped to handle this. They’ve worked on situations like this together, bringing Shane out of an episode. By the looks of this, it’s a bad one. But Ilya is here now, he’s here to help Shane, his husband isn’t alone anymore; that’s what matters.
Careful not to spook his husband, Ilya approaches slowly. Shane doesn’t even react. It’s likely he hasn’t even registered the fact that the other man is there yet. Ilya crouches in front of Shane, his heart stinging with pain and a desperation to fix whatever is wrong. Ever so gently, he places his hands on his beloved’s socked feet.
“Moya lyubov.”
Shane jerks. He blinks rapidly, eyes boring into Ilya’s. He looks so, so lost.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Ilya smiles sadly. “I’m here.”
“I realized something while you were gone,” Shane says without preamble. “I don’t have any friends.”
The words are flat and dull. Like they are cold, hard facts, no room for argument. Indisputable.
Ilya doesn’t have a chance to respond before Shane is turning away and staring at the wall. His expression is miserable and heartbroken, like he can’t stand to face his husband right now. “You have a lot of friends. I’ve never been good at making friends. Or keeping them.”
Ideally, Ilya would already understand the issue. He would be able to take these bad thoughts by the neck and toss them away, replacing them with all of his love and support. But, this time, he’s lost. Shane has many friends. He and Ilya share almost all of the exact same friends. So, there’s no deciphering what Shane is implying without asking. “What do you mean, moya lyubov?”
“There’s something wrong with me. I have no friends from childhood. I have no friends from school. I was the kid that people hated being paired up with for projects. I was only chosen during sports because they know I’m athletic. When it came to hanging out, I was always the last person asked. You have friends from Russia. You have friends from Boston. Almost all the people I thought were my friends in Montreal turned on me. They hate me now. Hayden became my friend out of pity. Rose, too. Your friends here are my friends because I’m your husband. They wouldn’t like me otherwise.”
Ilya shakes his head swiftly, his brow furrowed, grip on Shane’s feet tightening. “That is not true.”
“You’re cool. You’re funny. You like to go out and do things,” Shane continues as if Ilya said nothing and tears start to well up in his heartbreakingly vacant eyes. “You know how to talk to people. You’re likable. You’re fun and you have a great personality and you’re charming. You’re approachable. For years, people have said that I’m not sociable: I like to stay home, I’m too boring, I’m too strict, I’m too picky, I’m too quiet. I don’t like being around large groups of people. I have a hard time talking to people I don’t know. I never know what to say. Even when I try, it’s not good enough. I’m too awkward. I never say the right thing. I just always end up embarrassing myself. So, I just— I feel so alone even though I know I’m not. But I just always feel like the odd man out. Like I don’t fit in. And I know I don’t because no one ever chooses to be friends with me for me, only what I can do for them. Or out of pity.”
The last word is spit like venom; the bitterness clear in his voice.
As if she can understand, Anya huddles next to Ilya and whines up at Shane.
A single tear races down the Canadian’s cheek. “Even Anya. She only likes me because she has to. Because I’m with you.”
Ilya is horrified. He’s heartbroken. He can’t allow Shane to believe these things are true. “Shane—"
“Just like the guys on the team. They only talk casually with me when you’re there. They can say whatever to you because they know you know how to properly respond. With me, it’s like they’re walking on eggshells. Like they’re afraid they’re going to upset me or I’ll get spooked and runaway like some scared little animal. Because I’m weird.”
“No—"
“It’s true.”
“Is not.”
“Just admit it, Ilya. People avoid me because I’m difficult.”
“You. Are. Not. Difficult.”
Shane nods into his knees, wetness spilling heavily over his cheeks. “The only friends I have are by luck. I’m not like you. I can’t be ‘one of the guys’ because there’s something wrong with me. I’m—I’m broken.”
“No—"
“Yes. Everyone knows it, Ilya. I’m not blind or deaf; I’ve picked up on people’s opinion of me over the years. They all think I’m some sort of crazy,” Shane’s voice breaks. “And I am.”
“No. Stop it. You are not crazy. Do not say this.”
“Even you think so,” Shane’s bottom lip trembles. “That’s why you’re always telling me I’m boring.”
Ilya’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. “No. No, moy lyubimmy. No.”
A heart-wrenching sob tumbles out of Shane. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Stop,” Ilya says gently but sternly. “You will listen to me,” he frames Shane’s face with both of his hands, forcing the other man to look at him. “There is nothing wrong with you. You are not broken. And you have so many friends that care about you. You think Rose Landry would let you talk like this? You think Pike would not punch you if he heard the terrible things you are saying about yourself?”
“B-but—"
“No. No buts, moy lyubimyy. Your brain has been telling you lies. Yes, I call you boring, but I say this because I love it. Is one of my favorite things about you. I would be lost without you and your boring. Don’t you know that? And how can you believe those terrible things,” Ilya asks, voice rough with emotion. “When you have been my best friend for all these years?”
He’s met with a lap full of tearful, freckled Canadian.
Ilya hauls Shane as close as he can, pressing himself heavily against his husband, determined to give him as much tactile contact as possible. He slides his hand up under Shane’s shirt and glides it soothingly across the planes of his back, the points of his shoulder blades, the ridges of his spine, trying to emit comfort and peace straight into Shane’s skin. Ilya tugs him impossibly closer, smushing them together in a desperate bid to ease his husband’s pain, hoping with all his being that the other man feels better with the warmth and solid presence his body provides.
“Is okay, moya lyubov,” he whispers against Shane’s head. “I’m here now. You always have me.”
Shane heaves the saddest of sobs against Ilya’s shoulder. They sound like they’re being wrenched from the deepest depths of his gut. Like they been repressed for years and years and have piled up until finally overflowing, leaving Shane with no choice but to expel them. And as much as Ilya hates to see his husband cry, he is thankful for these tears. Because his husband is letting it all out rather than keeping poisonous feelings suppressed and hidden within himself. Because when Shane shares these insecurities, Ilya is here to make everything better again.
He dots soft, tender kisses to Shane’s temple as the dark-haired man continues to cry. “It breaks my heart to hear this is how you feel because is not true. Even if you did not have feelings for me, if we were not in a relationship, I would still want to be your friend so I could be close to you. My soul is so relaxed around you. You are the only person I can talk freely with. I can tell you anything. You are the best listener. You are funny when you want to be. You do not judge people. I never have to pretend around you. You are not aggressive. You are kind and sweet. The things you do and the way you act is so cute. That is your personality, and it is perfect because it is yours. I have never pitied you. I have only wanted to know you. To love you. To be with you.”
Shane sniffles against his neck. “You—You’re just saying that b-because—"
“Shh...” Ilya hushes him gently. “Listen to me Shane, I need you to know this. I have had many friends, yes, but I was lonely until I met you. I was always around people, but I also felt alone because was missing something. That was you,” he says, caressing Shane’s cheek. “My boring sweetheart. You are my support and my safe space and my home. You are the sunshine that melted the ice in my heart. I have found peace because of you. You complete me. You are my soulmate. You are the best friend that I thought didn’t exist for me, and I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Shane murmurs wetly.
Smiling, Ilya taps Shane’s head. “And I love your mind. Is so special. There is no other mind like it.”
“Because I’m different,” Shane mutters.
“No. Because you are Shane. You are my Shane, and I love you exactly as you are. There is nothing wrong with you. You are you. And you are mine. That is all that matters.”
Shane dissolves into another round of sobs against him. Ilya holds him through it all, determined to show his husband that he isn’t alone.
“You must always remember these things I am going to tell you: Pike is your friend because he likes talking to you, because you are kind and smart and funny. Rose is your friend because of the same. The guys on the team are your friends because of those reasons. They are not fake. None of it is pity. Do not let those assholes from Montreal make you believe you are not worthy of friendship. You were a true friend to them, they were fake. And those people from school and when you were a child do not matter. It is their loss. They were wrong. They were stupid. They were assholes. But I know you. I understand you. I love you. I want you. I choose you. You are my best friend. We were made for each other and nothing will ever change that. Do you believe me, Shane?”
A weepy, “Yes” is mumbled against Ilya’s jaw as Shane’s arms loop tightly around his neck.
“Good. But when the lies start again and you think you have no friends, you must always remember that you have me. Promise me this.”
“I promise.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
A wet nose nudges where their arms are looped around each other. Anya whines high in her throat, clearly wanting to get in on the cuddles. This draws a glorious little giggle out of Shane which soon turns into a real laugh when she starts vigorously licking his face, almost as if she’s trying to erase all of the tears off of her Daddy’s face.
“She loves you,” Ilya tells him fondly. “After me, you are her next best friend.”
That gets another laugh out of Shane. “I know. I’m sorry I let my mind—”
“No. Do not apologize. Just remember how loved you are.”
Shane grins a little at him. “I know.”
“Good. Now answer this question: who is your best friend?”
This time, he gets a gleaming smile in response. “You.”
Ducking to find Shane’s mouth for a kiss, Ilya mouths a single word against his husband’s lips.
“Always.”