Chapter Text
It had been raining for three days straight and the air outside was so chilly it was hard to believe it was summer. Inside Shane's cottage was calm and cosy, even if the large windows showed the wet and frankly quite depressing landscape surrounding them. It was a relaxing afternoon for everybody except Ilya. Every creak of the floorboards, every heavy footstep from the living room, sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He sat at the kitchen table, trying to scroll through recipes online, but his eyes kept darting toward the doorway where David was laughing at something Yuna had said. It was a soft, rumbling laugh. A happy laugh. To anyone else, it would probably have been comforting. To Ilya, it was something else. It was the same kind of laugh his father had had right before his mood would turn, the sound a deceptive prelude to a storm. Ilya’s father had been an angry, violent man, but he had had soft moments. There had been happy afternoons when he brought flowers for his wife and recited poems full of admiration and passion, words so strong only a Russian poet could write. Irina had blushed and smiled. She had been so young and beautiful. But Ilya’s father’s mood would soon change and the beautiful flowers would be thrown around the kitchen and Irina’s eyes would fill up with silent tears.
Ilya didn’t realise he had fallen so deep into his memories that he had been staring at nothing for several minutes, when Shane walked into the kitchen. “Are you okay? You look like you were thousands of miles away.”
Ilya forced himself to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was just thinking, moja ljubov.”
Shane leaned against the counter, his expression softening. He loved it, when Ilya called him that. “What were you thinking of? You looked very serious.”
Before Ilya could answer, David yelled from the other room. “Shane, can you give me a hand with the firewood? I want to set up the fireplace.” Ilya’s entire body went rigid. His breath hitched. The request was innocent, the tone casual. David hadn’t actually even shouted, he had just lightly raised his voice so Shane could hear him. But all Ilya heard was a command, an order barked out that expected immediate, perfect compliance. Ilya’s father’s voice echoed in his head: Get over here and do this. Now. And don’t you dare drop a single piece, you lazy boy.
“Yeah, be right there, Dad!” Shane called back, oblivious.
As Shane moved to leave, Ilya leaped up from his seat and grabbed Shane’s wrist. His grip was so strong it almost hurt. “Don’t!” Ilya said, his voice a low, urgent whisper. Shane frowned, looking down at Ilya’s hand and then back at his face.
“Don’t what? Help my dad with wood? It’ll take like two seconds.”
“Just… stay here.” Ilya insisted, his eyes wide and pleading. Shane realised that Ilya was terrified. Of what, Shane didn’t understand.
Ilya was scared for Shane. He didn’t know what David would do if Shane was “too slow” or “did it wrong”. He imagined a sharp word, maybe a backhand that came out of nowhere. He couldn’t let Shane be on the receiving end of that.
“Ilya, what’s wrong? You’re acting really weird.” Shane looked at his boyfriend with open concern.
Ilya didn’t answer, but he dropped Shane’s wrist and wrapped his arms around himself instead. He felt small and exposed, like the scared little boy who went hiding under his bed, when his father opened the vodka bottle.
Ilya could hear David getting up, his steps on the wooden floor. Ilya needed to protect Shane. He needed to protect Yuna, who was still in the living room, blissfully unaware of the danger that was suddenly clear as day to Ilya.
David appeared in the kitchen doorway. He looked slightly confused, looking questioningly at the couple who was standing in the middle of the kitchen. Ilya pulling Shane to stand behind his back.
“Shane? Are you coming?” He asked. His voice was warm and even, like it almost always was, but Ilya didn’t realise that, he was too far gone.
David’s gaze zeroed on Ilya and his friendly expression faltered slightly. He took in Ilya’s defensive posture, the fear in his eyes that Ilya was clearly trying to hide. David wasn’t a stupid man. He’d seen that look before, in the eyes of kids at the community center, where he liked to volunteer at. It was the look of someone thinking they were going to be attacked.
Ilya flinched a little when David looked at him. He couldn’t help it. He braced for impact, for the anger he knew was coming. He was being disrespectful, questioning David’s authority. That was always enough to earn a punishment.
David’s face softened into sadness. He slowly held up his hands, palms out. “Hey. It’s okay. No one’s in trouble.” He said gently.
Shane looked between his father and Ilya, the pieces finally clicking into place. “Oh… Oh, Ilya, baby.” He whispered softly and reached his hand towards Ilya, his fingers gently curling around Ilya’s bicep.
David took a small step into the room, his voice dropping to a careful murmur. “Ilya. Son. Look at me.”
Ilya couldn’t. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could feel the phantom sting of a hand on his cheek. He felt the biting cold against his bare feet from the times his father had thrown him out of the flat and into the snow. He was completely lost in the middle of Shane’s tastefully decorated kitchen.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” David said, his voice thick with an emotion Ilya didn’t understand. It wasn’t anger. It sounded almost like pain. “I’m not going to hurt Shane. I would never, ever hurt either of you. Or Yuna. I promise you.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air between them. “Whatever you’re thinking… whatever you’re scared of… it’s not me. I’m not… whoever you are scared of.”
That last sentence broke through the wall of fear. Ilya’s head snapped up and he finally met David’s eyes. There was no anger there. No disappointment. There was only a deep, aching sadness and empathy. David’s eyes were shiny, like he was holding back tears. The sight of it, the sheer, heartbreaking kindness on this man’s face, made something inside Ilya shatter. A choked sob escaped his throat. “You are not my father.” The pained whisper sounded like someone had torn it from Ilya’s throat.
Shane pulled Ilya into a fierce hug. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Shane was angry at himself for not realising what kind of homelife Ilya had had. Because Shane saw it now. He remembered the way Ilya talked about his father and brother. He saw the ache and pain Ilya carried inside himself.
Ilya buried his face into Shane’s shoulder, the years of pent-up terror and shame finally breaking free. He wasn’t just scared for himself, he had been so terrified for Shane and Yuna, trying to shield them from a monster that only existed in his past.
David stood there for a long moment, his heart aching for the boy who saw a threat in a simple request for help. He quietly backed out of the kitchen, giving them space. Yuna, who had been quietly observing the scene in the kitchen, followed her husband. David went to sit by the cold and empty fireplace. The firewood could wait a little longer. The sound of Ilya’s quiet sobs drifting through the open door. David looked helplessly at Yuna, who seemed to be at a loss for words for once in her life. They both were heartbroken. Heartbroken that a child had been wounded so deeply, that even a safe place like this felt like a trap. Right at that very moment, David knew that he would spend the rest of his life showing Ilya that not all fathers were monsters. Some of them just wanted help with the firewood.