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    Summary

    Shane yawns, his mouth stretching big and pink even as he tries to hide it behind a fist. “Why are you up?” 

    “For no reason,” Ilya says, and he wishes his English weren’t so clumsy when he’s tired. Shane likes it, says that it reminds him of how Ilya sounded when they first met, and sometimes Ilya feels the same way. Mostly he wishes he dreamed in the language he was speaking when he fell in love. Then, if he were lucky, he could finally stop having this fucking dream.

    Anya trots over and launches herself onto the couch, her tail wagging ever so slightly as she nudges her nose against the side of Ilya’s leg. Shane follows her and says “Off,” stern. Then he sits in the spot that she vacated. “Do you feel okay?” 

    “I just can’t sleep.” 

    “Ilya,” Shane says, “baby. Can I stay up with you?” 

    Language:
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