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"Rozanov!" Shane's voice echoed through the house, loud and angry.
Oh no.
Ilya's eyes widened in actual horror. He had never heard Shane's voice go this serious before.
Sure, Shane got angry at Ilya. One might say Shane gets angry at Ilya quite often. He leaves open doors, forgets to water plants, leaves his Nutella-covered knife hanging over the edge of the sink when he's not sure yet whether or not he wants another slice. It gets Shane... frustrated. He knows his ways can be a little extreme at times and certainly doesn't expect anyone to follow the regime he has built for himself over the last decade, but God, does it frustrate Shane sometimes. Ilya knows, and tries to take it into account as much as he can. But, you know, he's an adult who lived by himself for years and who has built his own routines. Shane wouldn't call Ilya's routine a routine, though. He's been pissed off at Ilya's routines before, but never this loud and never starting with 'Rozanov'.
He will never forget how angry Shane was during one of their earlier hook-ups, after the All Star game. Scott fucking Hunter had been next door and Shane had pushed himself into the room, prompting Ilya to ask if someone was chasing Shane. He thought it was funny. Shane, not so much. As if Scott Hunter would have heard or seen anything. The man was basically geriatric, there was no way his eyesight or ears would have been able to know about Shane's presence.
The slow turn, the pursed lips, the frown between his eyebrows after he had entered the hotel room. It was hot. But Ilya had initially been unsure of how to handle hothead Hollander. Back then, his anger had subsided quickly. Ilya was not so sure if that would be the case today.
"Ilya! Where the fuck are you?" Shane shouted, his voice nearing the living room where Ilya was laying on the couch. Feet up, head down, scrolling through his phone.
Oh no.
Ilya actually considered hiding for a second. He eyed the curtains and cursed under his breath when the sound Shane's footsteps entered the living room. He stopped in front of the couch, where Ilya's head was still hanging upside down. Shane's spear-white socks were staring back at him.
"Rozanov." Shane threatened, "Get. Up."
Ilya's eyes slightly widened, thinking about what he possibly could have done to make Shane this mad. He was sure he closed all of the doors. He knew he watered all of the plants yesterday, even making sure to get the one in the gym despite his doubt the plant will even survive in nothing but man-sweat air. Did he forgot to put away his stuff after making a sandwich earlier? He was sure he had done it.
Angry Shane was cute, of course. He loved to tease Shane, get him a little riled up. He knew Shane loved it as well. After all, Shane had always been attracted to Ilya, even when we was a chirping asshole (which he still was, by the way). Sure, Ilya had gone a little soft for Shane, ... and other Hollanders. But Ilya knew that they could both appreciate the asshole side of Ilya, sometimes. He loved the way Shane would blush a little in frustration, huffing and puffing out a Fuck you and subsequently actually ending up fucking. It was a back-and-forth they were familiar with, and it was comfortable now that they knew it went deeper than just that.
Ilya had gone wandering into his mind, forgetting about Shane's request. Shane's order? Shane's order.
"Rozanov." Shane bit out. "Up."
Oh shit.
Ilya threw his legs off the couch, standing up. He ended up standing with the back of his shins against the edge of the couch and very close to Shane, who had stubbornly refused to move from his position. He didn't have to do much to try to look as innocent of possible, the worry already having been on his face since Shane first called out to him.
Shane's face, on the other hand, looked a lot like it had during that one evening with Scott Hunter next door. The pursed lips, the furrowed brows, now also with his arms crossed.
"What have you done," Shane gritted out.
What had Ilya done? Ilya's eyes darted across Shane's face to try to find any clue. But Ilya had absolutely no clue of what he had done.
"Malysh, I am sorry," Ilya finally spoke. He had decided that just apologizing would be the best option here. If he would admit to Shane he didn't have a clue of what he had done, it would piss him off even more. Ilya had zero reason to think that, as nothing like this had never happened before. But if he knew anything, it was how to assess Shane's reactions to things. Or so he thought.
Shane's nostrils flared at Ilya's apology. But like Ilya, Shane had also gotten quite good at reading his boyfriend. And right now, he could easily tell that Ilya was absolutely clueless. Which, in Ilya's defense, did in fact piss him off even more.
A frustrated huff left Shane's lips. He grabbed Ilya's wrist and dragged him through the house. Ilya looked around everywhere as they walked, searching for the cause of Shane's anger. Maybe he had left groceries in the garage, instead of putting them in the freezer? Or maybe he scratched Shane's car. Fuck. Shane loved that ugly old Rover.
They eventually came to a stop in front of the washing machine. The door to the machine was open and revealed... All of their whites, pink.
"Ah," Ilya said. He had put in a load of laundry this morning. All whites that were mostly shirts, underwear, workout clothes and more specifically Shane's compression shirts. He loved those things. The brand had recently stopped producing the particular model Shane loved and it had, in fact, made for a very grumpy Shane.
"You left in your fucking sweater. Which by the way, has shrunk, you asshole," Shane gritted out, pushing a pair of damp pink Calvin Klein boxers against Ilya's chest.
"All of my workout clothes are ruined, Ilya."
"Ah, I am glad you say my name." Ilya exhaled, "I was starting to think you will murder me," He tried, too soon.
"I still fucking might." Shane scowled, crossing his arms over his chest again. "You know how much I like those shirts." Ilya reached out to Shane's shoulder, stepping closer to him and the washing machine. He started rummaging through the load, which did in fact contain Ilya's red cashmere sweater he wore for a photoshoot and got to keep. He had sent Shane's pictures of the shoot, who responded very praising to the test shots. Ilya then proceeded to bully the wardrobe lady into gifting it to him. He had charmed her the moment he appeared on set, so it didn't cost him a lot of effort, in the end. Ilya had come home wearing it, and it had given them both a highly satisfactory evening.
So, maybe Shane was upset about more than just the shirts.
"I am so sorry, Shane." Ilya attempted. He didn't know how to fix his mistake, so he was left standing in the washing room, lost. "I really didn't mean to."
Shane sighed.
"I know, I know." His shoulders sagged. A chuckle left his lips. "I'm being fucking dramatic." Ilya shook his head.
"No, I understand. I am really sorry." Ilya started, unsure of how to fix it.
"You can have mine? We usually share anyway? I think I still have some in storage." He tried, but Shane frowned even more at his words.
"Storage? What storage?" He asked. Ilya shrugged. "I have a box I rent for my stuff from Boston." Shane frowned deeper, taking a step back as he crossed his arms.
"Ilya, we have been living here for seven months and you're telling me you haven't even fully moved in yet?" Ilya, confused by Shane's reaction, reached out to touch Shane shoulder.
"I am? I do not understand, malysh."
"Why are you renting a box when you have a house to put your stuff in?"
"Well, the house is full?" Shane sighed in exasperation at Ilya's words, tugging him out of the washing room and to the garage where he handed Ilya his shoes as he put on his own.
"What are we doing?" Ilya asked as Shane pushed his keys into Ilya's hands. "We're going to this box and taking your stuff out, what do you think?" Ilya's eyes slightly widened, unsure of anything that was happening or whether Shane was still mad at him. Shane's eyes softened at Ilya's confusion, his hands reaching up to cup Ilya's cheeks.
"It's our home, Ilya. I don't understand why you didn't bring your stuff here. You're allowed to take up space." Ilya's throat tightened at that. He nodded softly and pulled Shane into his body, hiding his face in the crook of Shane's neck. "I am sorry." He mumbles.
"Stop apologizing. Let's go," Shane says resolutely and presses one last kiss to the side of Ilya's mouth before letting go of him. "Let's get your stuff."
-
They arrive at the box twenty minutes later, and it's different that Shane had guessed it would look like. There are no narrow hallways, or small garage boxes. Instead it's a big open space with five huge hangars on each side. Ilya walks towards the one with a big number 8 above it and types in a code into the keypad.
8124
Shane actually laughs as he sees the number. "You're fucking lying," He says fondly. Ilya's cheeks blush as the gate opens automatically.
"That's really dumb, you know," Shane says.
The gate reveals a hangar filled with 3 cars and rows and rows of boxes and clothing racks.
"What the fuck?" Shane whispers. "I thought you meant like a small garage box with some moving boxes, what the hell is this?"
"It's all my stuff from my Moscow apartment, and Boston house. Some of my cars, some clothes..."
Shane immediately walks towards the boxes and clothing racks. "This is... surprisingly organized," He says in approval.
"It's Kim Kardashian," Ilya says smugly, and Shane turns to him in surprise. "What?"
"Kim Kardashian. I asked them to do it like her." He says, as if Shane should know what any of that means. A fond feeling seeps into his chest at the thought of Ilya watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians and thinking Da, I want it like that.
"Alright well, we're probably going to have to make a few trips to get all of this," Shane says. Ilya shakes his head.
"I don't need most of this stuff."
"What do you mean?"
Ilya sighs.
"It's... A lot of it is from Russia and I do not feel ready to look at it. Not yet." Shane nods in understanding, putting his hand on the small of Ilya's back.
"Well, is there anything you do want to bring now? Please don't say the cars. You're already taking up a third of the garage." Ah. So he had noticed the cars.
"Yes, maybe some boxes from Boston. I think they have the shirts you like."
"Right, the shirts," Shane sighs, his anger over the shirts having long flown over.
They start piling up boxes Ilya wants to take home at the entrance of the hangar, and as they finish up, Shane finally takes a good look at the cars. His eyes bulge at the three oldtimers.
"Holy shit, Ilya. These are beautiful," Ilya chuckles, running his hand along the hood of an eggshell white oldtimer. "Ah, so now Hollander knows cars?" He looks satisfied at Shane's approval. Shane's hand joins Ilya's on the hood of the car. "Where did you get them?" He asks, running his hand along the edges of the car, bending to look inside at the white leather seats.
"I already had the two other in Boston, but I saw this one at that oldtimer convention I went to with David." Shane snorts. "So you bought it?" Ilya shrugs at Shane's words, his eyes settling on Shane as he carefully weighs his words.
"I thought it would be nice for when we get married." Shane's eyes shoot up at Ilya, his mouth open in surprise. "Married?" Shane says breathlessly.
"Yes, Hollander, I do plan on marrying you one day." Ilya says, stepping closer to Shane until his back hits the side of the car, Ilya's hands landing on his waist. "I thought it would be nice for us to drive away from the city hall to the party." A wide smile spreads across Shane's face, his freckled cheeks red. "You've thought about this," He states.
"Of course." Ilya says, as if it's so obvious. "I think about marrying you a lot." He confesses, as if it's so simple. Shane feels his insides heat up at Ilya's words, butterflies filling every corner of his body. Ilya seems amused by how flushed his words are making Shane, deciding against teasing him about it, for once. He knows Shane probably doesn't think about it like he does, but he's okay with that. They were still settling into all of this, Ilya only recently having moved to Ottowa.
"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" Shane questions.
Unsure of how to answer that question, Ilya's eyes dart away from Shane's face and land on his boxes with Россия written over them. He could give Shane the whole explanation about how the house he bought was nice, and they were making it their house, instead of Ilya's, and how he liked this, seeing as Ilya had been the one to propose it. He didn't want Shane arriving at his house like a guest, with bags in his hands every time. He wanted Shane to have his stuff there, he knew how he could be when he didn't have everything he was used to within handreach. He could tell him about how it felt like a hole appeared in his chest every time he woke up with all of Shane's stuff around him, but no Shane. He could tell him that was why he didn't have the energy, nor heart, to empty his boxes from Russia and try to bring some of his home into theirs. It felt like a new start with only Shane's stuff, and he didn't want to taint what he had created. But how could he tell Shane all of this without making Shane's chest feel hollow as well?
Shane's eyes flickered between his, and his lips, waiting for any words to come out. When he followed Ilya's gaze to the boxes, he lowered his head onto Ilya's shoulder, and just held him.
"How about this," Shane started, pressing a kiss to the side of Ilya's head before cupping his cheeks, their eyes locking. "How about we take the boxes, and we come back here every once in a while, when you feel like it, and we go through one box at a time, together." Ilya nodded, his face red with emotion. "And I don't want to push, but I think it would be good if you took one piece from Russia you have fond memories of." Ilya's eye twitched for a second. Fond memories, right. He took a deep breath, rubbed his thumb along where he was holding Shane's arm and nodded, clearing his throat before speaking.
"My mama did the same like me." He said softly, walking over to the corner of the hangar where some stuff was leaning against the wall. "She was smart enough to store some of her stuff of her when she married my papa. She knew he would not like it." He reached out to what looked like a rolled up carpet as Shane nodded to his words to show he was listening.
"It might be too much, you can tell me." Ilya said, removing the band holding it together.
"We don't have to-"
"Baby, we do." Shane said, interrupting him. It was a name he didn't call Ilya a lot, but when it felt right, like at this moment, it was out of his mouth before he could think about it. A small smile appeared on Ilya's face at the endearment. He loved it when Shane called him baby.
"Show me." Shane encouraged. Ilya rolled open the carpet to reveal a beautiful deep red patterened carpet. Shane crouched down to feel the material. It was still in perfect condition, the threads soft against his skin. "This is beautiful."
Ilya had also crouched down, both of his hands running along the maroon carpet. He smiled in a way Shane had never seen before. Tears sprung into his eyes at how at peace Ilya looked.
"So, where would you like to put it?" Shane asked, already knowing where it would be perfect. Ilya hesitated for a second. "Maybe... Maybe in the bedroom?" Shane smiled in agreement, standing up to stand behind Ilya, putting his hands on his shoulders as Ilya was still running his hands along the material. "Your mother had a good eye."
"It's actually from her grandmother. From what she told me, this carpet has survived Stalin." Ilya chuckled. Shane's eyes widened at the knowledge of it being a family heirloom.
"Oh shit. I don't want you to feel like you have to use it though, if it's been in the family." Ilya stood up, turning around to Shane as he felt his sudden hesitation.
"You are my family. So it is staying in the family." Shane smiled at his words.
"Are you being this sweet because of the shirts? Or is there anything else you dyed pink that you have to tell me about?" Shane joked, drawing a gasp out of Ilya in feigned disbelief. A laugh escaped Shane's mouth as he wrapped his arms around Ilya, bringing him in a hug as Ilya struggled to get out of his arms. "You are a menace, Hollander." He yelled, running a few metres away from Shane after escaping.
"I buy you oldtimer for our wedding and you think I am fooling you!" Shane couldn't hold back his laugh as he doubled over, the emotions of the day leaving his body. "I'm sorry!" He yells out, running towards Ilya to hug him again. "I was kidding!" He almost catches up to Ilya, who shrieks in joy as he slips away just in time.
"I see how it is!" They end up chasing each other, delighted laughs echoing around the hangar. Shane ends up catching Ilya, jumping into his arms and holding on tight in order to keep him still.
"Who's slow now, Rozanov?" He jokes, his arms wrapped tightly around Ilya's head as he finally stops running, his arms dropping down to support Shane's legs.
"Do not challenge me, Hollander. Or I will stop calling you Husband by accident." He says smugly, his forehead pressing against Shane's.
"How do you stop doing something by accident?" Shane asks. Ilya lets out an exasperated sigh. "Tomato tomahtoe!" He shouts, walking over to the spread out carpet with his arms still wrapped around Shane's ass and laying Shane down on it softly.
"So," Shane says with a twinke in his eyes, his hands resting on the back of Ilya's neck. "This is coming home with us?"
"Да," Ilya whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to Shane's lips. "Home."