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Ilya stares at himself in the mirror for a long few moments, running a hand through his curls and back down over his face for what has to be the third time. At this point in his career, he knows how hockey bugs go—he knows how that shit spreads so easily in a locker room. For whatever reason, he thought he’d be immune to it this year. It’s just a nasty cold? He’s been taking vitamins and getting enough sleep and drinking water and taking care of his body. He’s been staying away from the Ottawa players who come down with it and washing his hands and not touching his face when he’s in the locker room. He’s been so fucking careful because…
Because this year, this holiday season is different. Ilya isn’t spending it alone or with a family that barely tolerates him. He’s spending it with Shane and his parents and he wills himself not to be sick because he can not fuck that up.
He sighs and pinches his eyes, forcing another breath in through his nose to calm himself down even though his sinuses are sharp and his throat is sore when he swallows. This can’t be fucking happening. I refuse.
Ilya nearly jumps out of his own skin when the bathroom door opens, Shane coming in from a run. It’s too cold to tackle the mileage he needs outside but he’s been waking up early to visit the in-house gym. He pulls earbuds from his ears, his face a little sweaty with a twinge of flush on his cheeks and along his neck,
“Shit, sorry. I didn’t realize you were awake.”
Ilya shakes his head, “Am barely awake.” His voice is slightly rougher than he wishes it was. He could blame it on just waking up but he knows better. He’s going to continue to sound like that until he gets better. Or worse.
Shane tugs his shirt off over his head, tossing it towards a small basket in the corner. Ilya can feel his eyes on his back, watching him, gaze tracing over the moles dotting along his shoulders and spine. He reaches for the shower and turns the water on, letting it heat up before he presses himself into Ilya’s body from behind.
He closes his eyes almost instantly, the heat of Shane’s skin always a comfort.
Shane presses a kiss to his shoulder, “You okay?”
“Just a headache.” Which isn’t exactly a lie—it feels like someone is digging their fingers underneath his eyeballs, attempting to pop them from his skull.
Shane nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He tucks his nose and lips into his neck, breathing him in, an arm moving around his waist and gently squeezing, “I know this year is different for a bunch of reasons but…you don’t have to feel nervous or scared, okay?”
Everything that Ilya’s ever been taught roils up against those two words—nervous, scared. He wants to deny them almost instantly. But then he catches the tip of his tongue between his teeth because…because Shane isn’t judging him. And he remembers that he can feel those two things and it has nothing to do with being ‘weak’. He can share anything with his boyfriend and Shane won’t run.
He turns his head a little, their noses brushing in a bunny kiss, “I just…want it to be good.” It’s a tiny admission, something tender and fragile.
And Shane smiles, pressing a kiss to his upper lip, “It will be. My parents are really excited to have you there.” He says it like a promise and Ilya feels his shoulders unlatch from his ears.
He nods, “Okay,” He whispers, then, “You should probably be scared though because David told me that we play the card game Hearts and I have been practicing.”
A soft laugh bubbles up in Shane’s chest, something that Ilya can feel more than hear, “Oh, really?”
Ilya hums, “Will be embarrassing to lose in front of your parents during a holiday. Though I guess this will be nothing new, losing to me—”
“Oh my god,” Shane shakes his head, hooking his fingers underneath Ilya’s chin. “Shut up.”
Ilya smiles, his eyes closing as Shane kisses the corner of his mouth. He intends on deepening the kiss or at least giving a few other pecks, encouraging Shane into the shower but his nose has other plans. There’s a sharp tickle that stings the back of his sinuses, most likely from steam building up in the room. He takes a step back, crinkling his nose, barely turning his head in time to sneeze.
“Bless you,” Shane lets out a soft laugh, his hand touching the top of his curls, “Snuck up on you.”
Ilya grimaces, reaching for a tissue to blow his nose. That did sneak up on him…which is exactly what he’s afraid of.
—
Ilya takes some DayQuil, hoping that’ll squash the worst of it. It manages to dim the headache directly behind his eyes and for the most part, he thinks he’ll be okay? He feels warm but he dresses comfortably for Yuna and David’s house, knowing the heat will be on. He doesn’t think he has a fever. At the most this is an annoying cold that can knock him down for the count after Christmas. There is no way he’s letting it ruin the three days leading up to it. He’s just not.
Especially when Yuna and David are so happy to see him. They greet him with bright smiles and firm hugs, David instantly has a spiked eggnog to place into his hand as they cross the threshold and Yuna gifts him a stocking that has his first initial on it to match theirs hanging from the mantle and that…that definitely has a lump appearing in the back of his throat. He can feel Shane hovering nearby, a soft smile on his face, a kiss pressed to his cheek as Ilya handles the stocking between his fingers like something irreplaceable.
There’s a ton of food to snack on and dinner is incredible (from what Ilya could taste of it every other bite or when he managed to sniffle in a way that didn’t give him completely away) and dessert is baking in the form of a pie in the oven as everyone huddles around the dining room table to play Hearts. Ilya looks at the cards in front of him, putting them together in suits before David starts the game. The goal is to collect the least amount of points and have the lowest card each round. He’s doing pretty well, despite the fogginess threatening to live in his head.
He rubs the side of his nose with his knuckle, putting down a three of diamonds and grinning when Shane rolls his eyes and has to collect the small stack. “I’ll remember this later.”
“Hope so.” Ilya flirts back, sending a kissy face in his direction.
Shane doesn’t say anything but he smirks.
They’ve played four games, Ilya winning twice, David once and Yuna once. Shane looks utterly petulant as he crosses his arms over his chest…he’s not used to losing. Ilya shuffles the cards between his fingers, getting ready to pass them out for another game but then the buzzer goes off in the kitchen. There’s a small break as Yuna gets up to check on the pie.
Ilya takes a sip of his eggnog, the liquid soothing against his sore throat. He runs a hand through his hair, discreetly rubbing his temple for a moment. His headache is back in full force, though he refuses to let it sour his good mood. He does, after all, love to win. He just wishes he could breathe a little easier through his nose. He supposes it’s better to be congested than for his nose to be running, so. It’s fine; he’s fine.
Shane taps his fingers against the table, his gaze playfully narrowing on his dad and Ilya, “I’m convinced that you two are somehow cheating.”
David laughs, “How would we even do that?”
Ilya touches his chest, “Me? I am offended…I told you, I have been practicing.”
David seems to brighten at that, “Oh with the app I texted you?”
Ilya grins, “Yes.”
Shane rolls his eyes but there’s a fondness there that can’t be erased. Yuna brings the pie to the table to cool, sitting down for another game. David keeps snagging the whipped cream and jetting some into his mouth, making Yuna tut and Shane laugh. It’s something so family-coded that Ilya’s chest hurts. He grins, a small chuckle vibrating his chest as Yuna eventually has to stand and playfully wrestle the can from David’s hands before a soft kiss is shared. And it’s so…intimate and warm that Ilya can’t stop himself from glancing at Shane, who is already looking at him, a soft smile on his lips as he thinks the same exact thing.
After the sixth game, Ilya begins to make lazy choices and that just has him losing because he’s having trouble concentrating. The headache has moved to pulse inside his ears, somehow, and he’s sniffly to the point where it’s noticeable. When plates are being cleared, Yuna puts her hand on his shoulder to make sure he’s alright. He assures her that he’s just tired but makes the wrong move of looking up at her to respond. The dining room light above her head, for whatever reason, twinges his sinuses and even though he attempts to stop himself by pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, a sneeze sneaks through.
He manages to bury his face in the crook of his arm, sniffling thickly afterwards. Fuck.
“Oh bless you, dear.” Yuna squeezes his shoulder.
And he’s about to thank her but apparently the universe hates both him and the holiday season because his breath snags in the middle of him talking. He squeezes his eyes shut and sneezes again. And again. God, he’s not sure he can stop. He abruptly gets up, attempting to apologize but trying to stop this reaction all day has caused a chain reaction of hitching. Ilya manages to make it to the bathroom before he bends at the waist from the force of a sneeze, groaning as it lights up the headache he has.
He blindly reaches for a tissue, blowing his nose, seemingly getting a handle on himself after a few moments. There’s a soft knock on the door before Shane opens it and slips inside, leaning back against the wood.
Ilya feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment, his hip pressing into the sink. He sniffles, rubbing the back of his neck, everything he wants to say stuck in the back of his throat. It feels like he’s ruined something vital, like he should have said something at home, like Shane’s upset with him—
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” But that’s not how Shane’s voice sounds. It’s…warm, concerned, it matches the gentle brush of his fingers as he lifts it to thread through Ilya’s curls.
Ilya swallows over a lump that he tries to convince himself is part of his sore throat, “I didn’t want to ruin anything.”
He cups Ilya’s cheek, tipping his chin so that their gazes lock. The bridge of Ilya’s nose stings for a completely different reason as Shane whispers ‘baby’ before, “You wouldn’t have ruined anything.”
Ilya sniffles again, nodding his head, tucking his nose and lips into the palm of Shane’s hand for a moment before he presses a kiss there. He then pulls back and reaches for another tissue, blowing his nose and washing his hands afterwards. God, he really does feel fucking awful. His head is cloudy and both sides of his nose are congested now, a constant tickle hovering high in his sinuses, an aggravating rasp in the back of his throat.
“Do you have a fever?”
Ilya shakes his head, “No, I—my throat is sore, and just—” He covers his face with his hands, pressing the heels into his eyes, “Headache. Nose is annoying and tickly.”
Shane hums lightly, gently prying Ilya’s hands off his face. “That’s the worst.”
He sniffles, another sneeze caught making him hitch. He stutters for a moment before sighing, reaching for another tissue. It’s quiet for a moment, Ilya’s worst thoughts swirling to the forefront of his mind.
“Do they want me to go home?” Because he’d understand if they did. It’s the holiday season and he’s sick; he’s not sure he’d want to be around himself either.
The back of Shane’s hand presses against his forehead, making sure he doesn’t have a fever, “No, they don’t want us going anywhere.” He corrects, “Unless you want to leave—”
“No,” Ilya says too fast, which hurts his throat. He clears it gently, trying not to cough.
Shane nods, pulling his hand away from his face to rest on his hip. He squeezes, both of them lingering a moment. They listen to the muffled sounds of Yuna and David in the other room, talking about desserts, to-go containers and what holiday movie is going to be put on.
Shane offers a small smile, his thumb drawing circles against his side, “Next time just tell me, okay? We’re a team. You and me.”
“Ty i ya.” Ilya repeats before nodding and despite how awful he was feeling, Shane always seems to know how to make it just a bit better.
—
This is the part that Ilya never seems to get used to.
When he comes out of the bathroom, he expects the night to continue with small differences—for Yuna and David to keep their distance, for people to treat him like he’s somehow ruined something, for this holiday to end up feeling like all the others. Like he’s some sort of burden. A mistake.
None of those things happen.
When he sits down on the couch in the living room, David is coming up behind him with a giant-knit blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. He’s bringing him a box of tissues that he retrieved from their storage closet because it’s the Plus-Lotion one, softer for his nose. Yuna is handing over a cup of peppermint tea and an assortment of cold and flu meds he can choose from, if he wants any at all, and asking if he wants a porcupine heated up and—
“What?”
Shane smirks from across the room, hanging Ilya’s stocking up next to his own along the mantle underneath the television, “It’s like one of those stuffed animals that double as a heating-pad. It’s shaped like a porcupine.”
Ilya is interested in this probably more than he should be. He nods up at Yuna and she touches his cheek, “You poor thing. Can we get you anything else?”
Ilya is overwhelmed with emotion, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. He shakes his head, clears his throat, and thanks her before she’s off to find that porcupine to stick in the microwave.
“Think we need some laughs,” David announces, “What about Christmas Vacation?”
Ilya doesn’t think it matters what movie they put on, he’s probably going to fall asleep but he offers Shane’s father a small smile and a nod as he takes another set of cold medicine with his peppermint tea.
Shane sits down next to Ilya, his arm stretching across the back of the couch and behind his shoulders, encouraging him to lean against his chest as David gets the movie on. Ilya shifts, careful with the tea in his hands. He has a few more sips before he sets it on the table, pulling his legs up so he can fully lean into Shane’s body. Yuna comes in with the porcupine a few minutes later, handing it to Shane.
“I like it here,” Shane tugs the blanket back and tucks the porcupine against Ilya’s abdomen, “when I don’t feel well.”
Ilya shudders, the warmth from that mixed with the coziness of the blanket around his shoulders and…Yuna and David talking about the movie that’s starting to play, a Christmas tree tucked into the corner near the window, reflecting the colored lights against the glass of the patio door, a snowglobe of winter weather outside—
Tucked against his boyfriend’s chest. Warm, safe, wanted.
Shane seems to read that emotion directly on his face, pressing a long kiss to his forehead, “They love you,” He says softly, “Like I love you.”
Ilya tucks his face into Shane’s neck, allowing his eyes to flutter closed, memorizing everything around him but especially the way his boyfriend’s body feels against his own, the fingers in his hair, and his lips resting along his temple.
This is the best holiday Ilya’s ever had in a long time.