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Shane leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch while his gaze stayed fixed on the floor between his knees.
There sat Ilya on the rug, leaning back against Shane’s legs, clutching Bunny with one hand. Spread across the coffee table in front of him were a few crayons and a half-colored picture. But from where Shane was sitting, it was painfully clear that the nap time was coming.
Ilya had been trying to fill in the same racecar for ten minutes, but his body was betraying him. Every stroke of the crayon was getting sloppier, his clumsy fingers losing their grip as his lashes fluttered. His golden curls were rumpled from where he kept rubbing his tired face against Shane’s knee.
When the orange pencil slipped completely from his grasp and clattered off the edge of the table, Ilya let out a frustrated huff. His bottom lip thrust out into a dramatic pout.
Shane reached down, smoothing over Ilya’s curls with his hand, fingers gently massaging his scalp. Ilya leaned his head back against Shane’s thigh with a small whine, burying his face into the denim.
“Looks like someone is getting sleepy,” Shane murmured softly as his thumb caressed the apple of Ilya’s cheek.
Ilya squirmed, hiding his face further, “No,” he grumbled, “Not tired. Drawing,”
“I know, love. You’ve been working so hard,” Shane agreed, “But I think it’s time we clear the table and get all cozy for a nice nap,”
In Ilya’s fogged-up brain, the suggestion felt like an unfair threat instead of a rest or comfort. He was a big boy making a very important picture, and the thought of being pulled away from his coloring, tucked into bed made everything even worse than it already was.
“No-o,” Ilya whined. He squirmed again, twisting his body around to dig his forehead deeper into Shane’s denim-clad thigh.
He was a big boy. Big boys finished their racecars, and big boys certainly didn’t need to be tucked away for a nap like babies. The contrast between how desperately he wanted to be big and how small his body and brain was actually very overwhelming. He didn’t know how to explain the scary knot tightening in his tummy, so he just held onto the Bunny tighter.
Above him, Shane felt the sudden, rigid tension running through his boy’s frame. He was used to Ilya’s resistance. Even when Ilya tended to slip younger, a stubborn piece of his adult pride managed to crawl there sometimes. Usually, Shane could easily navigate that gentle push-and-pull with a bit of distraction or coaxing. But never before had a simple suggestion of nap caused Ilya to tense up like that.
Shane leaned forward slightly to brush a thumb over the skin of Ilya’s cheek once more, “Look at me for a second, sweet boy,” he coaxed softly, “I know you are a big boy, but your body needs a rest now. Even big boys are having naps, when they are too tired. We’re going to clean up the crayons, and then we can cuddle in our bed,”
That was the breaking point.
“NO!” Ilya shrieked. He whipped around on the rug, his face getting pink and streaked with hot tears, “No nap, Shane!” driven by the sudden surge of frustration, he reached up with a clumsy, trembling arm and shoved the open coloring book with all his might, crumpling the picture in the process. The book slid off the wood and landed face-down on the rug, the crayons flying everywhere.
The force of his own explosion frightened him a bit, yet he couldn’t stop. Big, hot tears poured down his cheeks while his chest heaved with jagged gasps. He felt utterly out of control, small, and consumed by the strom raging inside his tiny mind. Dropping Bunny, he slammed his hands against the wooden table.
Looking down at the tear-stained face and the frantic gasps racking Ilya’s frame, Shane recognized this wasn’t malicious defiance. His boy had simply hit a complete emotional wall and everything was just too much for his tired brain to handle. He quickly slid off the couch and dropped down onto his knees directly next to Ilya and his hands gently wrapped around Ilya’s wrists, keeping him from hitting the table again.
“Hey,” Shane said calmly, but firmly, “Look at me, please,”
Ilya tried to twist his wrists out of Shane’s grip, big tears spilling over his cheeks, but he looked up at Shane.
Seeing those glossy, blue eyes and wet cheeks made Shane’s chest ache a little, but he kept his expression solid. He wasn’t about to start lecturing an exhausted Ilya, but he also wasn’t going to let this kind of behavior slide.
“I know you are upset, love, but throwing things isn’t okay. You can be mad, but I’m not going to let you hurt yourself,” Shane said, leaving no room for argument.
Ilya’s bottom lip wobbled, “No nap!” he insisted, voice cracking into a whine. He gave another tug against Shane’s hand, trying to twist away and hide his face, but Shane’s hand remained around his wrists, “Do not want to!”
He was mad about the nap, mad that his drawing was probably ruined, and furious that his arms were stuck. But underneath all that, he didn’t actually want to fight his Shane. He was just so tired, his head felt so heavy, and his body didn’t know what else to do with all these big emotions except cry.
As the realization that Shane wasn’t backing down set in, Ilya’s body began to shake with a fresh wave of distress. He kicked his feet against the carpet as he tried to pull his arms back. Big, hot tears spilled continuously over his flushed cheeks, as his cries grew louder and much more desperate.
Amidst the chaos of his brain, a sharp spike of guilt cut through the anger. He had thrown his book, he had screamed, and he had been a bad boy to his Shane. He wasn’t mad at Shane anymore; he was terrified that he’d ruined everything, and he couldn’t stop the choking sobs.
Shane felt the exact moment Ilya’s anger shattered into sorrow. He softened his grip on Ilya’s wrists, sliding his hands up to gently cup his tear-drenched cheeks.
“Hey…shh, sweet boy. It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m not mad at you. I’m right here, you’re okay,”
Even with Shane’s warm palm cupping his face, Ilya couldn’t quiet the storm in his head. The soft reassurance floated right past him, drowned out by the echo of his own behavior. Big boys were supposed to listen, big boys didn’t throw fits and scatter their things. And now Shane was going to realize how difficult he was. What if Shane got tired of taking care of him? What if he was too much? The scary, irrational thoughts kept spinning, making his chest heave.
He didn’t pull away from Shane’s touch anymore, but he couldn’t stop crying either. Hot tears kept running over Shane’s thumbs as Ilya’s breath caught up in hitches.
“N-no,” Ilya whimpered, shaking his head against Shane’s hands, “Mean…bad boy,”
Shane’s heart squeezed. He thumbed away the fresh tears. “You’re not bad, love,” he murmured, “You’re my sleepy boy. Nothing you do is going to change that I love you, okay?”
It took a few more shuddering breaths for the words to finally sink in. The knot in Ilya’s tummy slowly loosened and the urge to hold on to his big boy pride evaporated entirely. The emotional exhaustion was also physical now; his eyes burned, his head throbbed, and his body felt too heavy to hold itself. He felt raw, and so small. All he wanted was to be wrapped in Shane’s arms tightly.
Slowly, Ilya pushed himself up on his knees, his tear-blurred eyes pleading as he looked at Shane, “S-Shane…” he choked, “Up, please, Shane. Up,”
Shane didn’t wait another second, the desperation in Ilya’s voice was more than enough, “Come here, sweet boy,” he whispered, shifting his weight so he could lean his back against the front of the couch, and opened his arms for Ilya.
Ilya immediately crawled into his lap, practically collapsing into Shane’s warmth. He buried his wet, blotchy face straight into the crook of Shane’s neck, his body shuddering as he let out a long, trembling sigh. His clumsy fingers tightened around the fabric of Shane’s t-shirt, clinging for dear life, still afraid Shane might suddenly put him back down.
Shane wrapped his arms securely around Ilya’s sobbing body, locking him in a protective embrace. One hand held Ilya tightly against his chest, while the other began a slow, soothing stroke up and down his back.
“Shh…I’m right here,” Shane whispered into Ilya’s hair, resting his chin on top of the boy’s head, “You’re safe, bubba. I’ve got you,”
The heavy sobs were slowly beginning to melt into hiccups, but the tears still kept coming, soaking straight into the cotton of Shane’s t-shirt. Even through the crying, the knot of fear in Ilya’s tummy was finally dissolving. Being held and feeling the rise and fall of Shane’s chest, made him feel safe again.
His hand drifted up, thumb finding his mouth, and his lips automatically closed around as he buried his face deeper into Shane’s neck.
Shane felt the movement immediately. He smoothed a hand over Ilya’s curls, a soft smile touching his lips, “No, sweet boy,” he murmured against his hair, “Let’s not suck on thumbs when we have your paci right here,”
Without disturbing the snug position on his lap, Shane reached with one hand for the pacifier dangling from its clip on Ilya’s sweater. He brought it up, gently pressing the soft teat against Ilya’s lower lip.
Ilya let his thumb slip free and eagerly took the pacifier, latching onto it. While Ilya was busy soothing himself, Shane grabbed Bunny and tucked her right under Ilya’s arm. Ilya curled his fingers tightly around Bunny’s long ear, hugging her closer.
The sucking on the pacifier along with Bunny held tightly finally smoothed out his hitching breaths, the tears drying against his cheeks. The cozy warmth of Shane’s lap and the gentle hand stroking his back made him so heavy, that for a moment he just let his eyes drift shut.
Then, a tiny flicker of leftover guilt tugged at his heart. Ilya shifted slightly, looking up through wet lashes, “S-sorry,” he whispered around his dummy with a tiny hiccup, “I was…bad boy. Shoved book. Screamed at my Shane,”
Shane melted. He leaned down, pressing a long, warm kiss to Ilya’s forehead, “You’re not a bad boy, love,” he reassured him, “You are just tired and got overwhelmed, yeah? I forgive you. Everything is okay,”
Ilya let out a long sigh of relief, his body relaxing even further. The terrible feat that he had ruined everything, or that Shane was angry, finally left. He wasn’t a bad boy, Shane said so. And his Shane never lied to him.
“Tell you what,” Shane began softly, “How about we pick up the crayons and book together, make a nice warm bottle of milk, and then go tuck ourselves into the bed for that nap?”
A little wave of shyness washed over Ilya’s face, but he nodded slowly. The thought of moving around to clean up felt too daunting. His brain was all fuzzy and his eyelids weighed a hundred pounds, and all he wanted was to absorb every last drop of Shane’s comfort before facing the rest of the routine, “Okay…” he mumbled, “...can we cuddle more first? Please?”
Shane couldn’t help the soft huff that escaped his chest. He tightened his arms around Ilya’s frame, pulling him closer, “Of course we can,” he whispered, “As long as you need,”
Ilya hummed contently against Shane’s neck as he nestled deeper into his caregiver, wrapping his arm as far as it would go around Shane’s neck.
They stayed like that on the floor for several long minutes, Shane running his hand up and down Ilya’s back, cooing praise every time Ilya let out a tiny hiccup.
Eventually, a yawn worked its way through Ilya’s body. His jaw stretched so wide that his pacifier popped right out of his mouth, hanging on its clip against Ilya’s sweater.
“Big yawn for my big boy,” Shane murmured fondly before picking up the dummy and pushing it back into Ilya’s mouth, “Alright, love. Let’s get these crayons picked up so we can get you that bottle,”
Ilya didn’t want to leave the warmth of Shane’s lap, but he nodded sleepily. Shane shifted, carefully setting Ilya down on the rough so he was sitting up. They quickly gathered the scattered crayons off the carpet, and in less than a minute, Shane had them all back in their box.
Then, Shane picked up the coloring book, gently running his palm over the creased paper to flatten the racecar picture Ilya had been working on so hard, “Look, good as new,” Shane whispered, kissing Ilya’s temple, “We’re going to set it right here on the table, and as soon as you wake up, we’ll finish coloring it together. Deal?”
“Deal…” Ilya slurred softly, his eyelids drooping.
Shane didn’t make him move. He scooped Ilya up off the rug, lifting him into his arms. Ilya’s head immediately dropped onto Shane’s shoulder, his breath fanning warmly against Shane’s neck.
Carrying him down the hallway and into the bedroom, Shane carefully laid his boy down in the middle of their big bed. He pulled the soft duvet up and tucked Bunny neatly under his arm.
“Stay right here,” he whispered, “I’m going to run to the kitchen and make your bottle. I’ll be back in one second,”
Ilya let out a sleepy, muffled hum around his paci, his eyelids fluttering shut as he snuggled deeper into the pillows. Listening to Shane’s quiet steps heading toward the kitchen, he felt completely bathed in safety. The last lingering sheds of his big-boy pride were long gone. He didn’t care about the unfinished picture, the silly fight, or the scary knot that had been in his tummy. All that mattered was the soft mattress, Bunny’s familiar plush fur, and the scent of Shane on the pillows. He was so warm, and so taken care of.
His brain turned quiet and he didn’t even have the energy to keep his eyes open until Shane came back. With one final, long sigh around his pacifier, Ilya let go completely.
When Shane walked back into the bedroom, holding the warm bottle, he stopped in the doorway with an affectionate smile.
Ilya’s golden curls were scattered across the pillow, his chest rising and falling in deep sleep. The pacifier rested between his lips, Ilya giving it a soft sucks as his finger stayed locked around Bunny’s ear.
Shane softly set the bottle down on the nightstand, deciding the milk could wait. He quietly climbed under the covers, pulling his sleeping baby against his chest, finally letting them both rest.