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Shane awoke already feeling odd. The light filtering in through the curtains fell right into his face. His eyes strained just from opening. So, he closed them again and rubbed his face for a second. When he turned, he found an empty spot where Ilya used to be.
He reached for it and found it cold. His… whatever Ilya was to him now… must have gotten up a while ago.
It was another twenty minutes before Shane got up himself.
The man stiffly wandered into the kitchen, quiet as a mouse.
Ilya was there only a few feet away, making coffee. The machine whirred as it poured the dark brown liquid into the mug below. Another one stood off to the side, already full.
Shane gravitated towards him automatically.
“Morning, Solnyshko,” he said, sliding the second mug over to him.
Shane only gave him a tight-lipped smile and a small nod as he accepted the drink. Then, he went to the fridge to get out the creamer.
Ilya didn’t follow him. Instead, he just observed.
And Shane did not want to be perceived at the moment. His partner’s (partner? Yes? Maybe?) gaze felt heavy, but not necessarily unwelcome, but just a little too much. So, Hollander kept his head down as he walked to the nearest counter to complete his coffee. The coffee turned a shade of milk chocolate. Then, still without making eye contact, he walked over and handed the creamer to Ilya.
“Thank you,” the blond said, still watching him carefully as he took it and finished making his own coffee. Turning to put the creamer back into the fridge, he asked, “What would you like for breakfast? I can make.”
Shane pursed his lips and tilted his head before giving him a shrug.
“Okay,” Ilya accepted. “I choose.” He pointed at him. “But do not complain.”
The dark-haired man rolled his eyes. That, at least, felt normal.
Ilya turned back to the counter, pulling out a pan, eggs, and bread. This was something simple and safe. You couldn’t really go wrong with it (unless you happen to burn the eggs, which Shane may have done once or twice).
Shane watched him, leaning against the opposite counter and cradling his mug between both hands. The warmth helped, but the caffeine? He’d have to see later. Sometimes, the organic compound had little to no effect on his silly little brain. Other times (even rarer) it’d make him sleepy. He hoped it would work this time.
Talking still felt… out of reach. It was like there was a step missing between thinking and doing, and he didn’t feel like searching for it.
The stove clicked softly as Ilya lowered the stove heat and turned towards him again.
“You’re quiet,” the man said after a moment, turning to face him again.
Shane looked him in the eyes, then glanced away again. He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.
Ilya took a second to absorb the information. “Okay.” His voice was softer this time.
And that was it. There wasn’t any push, ‘why’s or ‘are you okay’s. He just accepted it and gave him space.
Shane hid a genuine smile under his coffee mug as he took a slow sip and let himself exist in it.
The rest of the morning continued in much of the same manner. They passed the salt, pepper, paprika, and butter between themselves wordlessly. It was a similar story when they actually sat down on opposite ends of the table.
When they had finished and brought their dishes to the sink, Ilya moved to wash them, but Shane got in his way. Rozanov gave him the second questioning glance of the day. In response, Hollander gestured to himself and then to the dishes.
Ilya raised his hands open-palmed and walked away.
An hour later - when Shane had showered, brushed his teeth and felt fully refreshed - he found his partner on the couch, scrolling through social media. The Canadian approached from behind, leaning over the furniture and resting folded arms on Ilya’s shoulders.
“Hi,” he muttered into his partner’s ear.
“Hello, kotik,” Ilya replied, leaning into him. “Feeling better?”
Shane nodded, pressing his cheek into Ilya’s skin and gave a small, “Mmhmm.”
“Good.”
Ilya didn’t move away, but he didn't turn around either. He let Shane stay draped over him.
Shane exhaled slowly against his shoulder.
“I wasn’t…” he started, then stopped. The words came easier now, but they weren’t automatic. Not yet.
Ilya patiently waited anyway.
Shane shifted, pressing his cheek more firmly into him, as he said, “I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“I know,” Ilya replied immediately.
Shane went still for a second at that. Then, quieter, “I just- I couldn’t talk.”
Ilya hummed softly, as if filing the notion away into a brain space where it made sense, instead of questioning it.
“Does it happen often?” he asked after a moment.
Shane shrugged against him. “Sometimes.”
The pause that followed was careful and considering.
“Is it…” Ilya tilted his head slightly, searching for the right shape of the question. “Bad? When it happens?”
Now, it was Shane’s turn to think through his answer, one that was harder to explain. He swallowed. Then, he pulled back just enough to rest his chin on Ilya’s shoulder, staring vaguely at the wall across the room.
“Not bad,” Shane told him slowly. “Just… everything’s too much, or too-” He frowned, waving a hand around in a vague gesture. “Not lined up right.”
Ilya nodded as he processed.
“And talking is…” he prompted gently.
“Too many steps,” Hollander said, a little more certain now. “Like- I know what I want to say. It just doesn’t… go.”
Rozanov tilted his head. “Like bad connection?”
Shane let out a small laugh against his shoulder. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Ilya finally turned his head to glance at him. Shane moved his arms to rest on the top of the couch cushions.
“You do not have to keep performing around me,” he said, gesturing vaguely to his partner.
Shane’s mouth tugs at the corner. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” The ghost of a smile appeared on Ilya’s lips, but only for a second. “Though, please signal something to me before I try to interact with you? Let me help.” There was something light in his tone, but it still held serious weight.
Shane’s expression softened.
“Alright,” he replied quietly. Snuggling closer if it was possible. “Sorry for not saying anything sooner. I just didn’t feel like explaining it this morning.”
“Is not something you need to apologize for. Is okay. I figured.”
“And for the record, you already help by being here and allowing me to just exist.” Feeling heat on his face and a slight uncomfortability, Shane gave him a quick peck on the cheek and walked away.
Ilya reached for him, but he was too late.
“Wait! Come back here!” The man shouted as he got to his feet and went after him, phone forgotten.
Shane was halfway down the hall, moving quickly but not quite running. Ilya didn’t rush. Instead, he just closed the distance calmly, giving Shane room to decide.
The dark-haired man glanced back, a grin flickering across his face before he turned the corner and slowed. That was all the encouragement Ilya needed.
Shane had stopped near the bedroom doorway. His shoulders still held tension, but his breathing was even. Ilya reached out gently, fingertips brushing Shane’s wrist.
“Caught you,” Ilya said quietly, the small smile returning to tug at his lips. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I’m here.”
Shane huffed out a quiet laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed immediately, stepping in to wrap his arms around his waist.
Shane leaned into him, cheeks still flushed. He wondered what would happen if he tried to bolt again. Ilya’s arms didn’t necessarily have a tight grip. The man would probably still chase him and try to pin him down somewhere. It’d probably be fun. Staying here was probably nice too, though.
Meanwhile, Rozanov stood there with eyes filled with things Shane couldn’t quite describe. Adoration was present, but there was something a tad bit more serious underneath.
“What?” Shane asked, already smiling.
Ilya didn’t answer right away. Instead, his Adam's Apple bobbed and his eyes darted around different parts of Shane’s face. Then, he inched closer.
“You ran away,” he said, quieter now.
Shane’s breath hitched, just slightly. “… I might have gotten a bit overwhelmed.”
“Overwhelmed, is that your way of saying embarrassed?” The blond teased with a lifted brow. His hands moved higher around his back. “I mean, look at you, you are red like tomato.”
“Yeah?” Shane replied. “Well, you turned me into one.”
“Oh?” Ilya asked. He inched closer if at all possible. A smirk plastered itself on his face.
Shane took a step back on instinct, taking Rozanov with him. The movement only seemed to encourage him. The blond removed his hand from his waist and raised it to hold Shane’s jaw. His thumb brushed along the edge.
“You are okay, though?” Ilya questioned.
Hollander nodded first but then quietly replied, “Yeah.”
“Good. Let me return affection this time?” He requested.
Shane opened his mouth, then closed it again. “…Okay,” he allowed.
“Okay,” Ilya echoed, leaning in.
That’s when he kissed him properly. It was deliberate, certain, steady, and warm. Shane’s soft hum slipped out before he even realized it. The sound vibrated gently against Ilya’s lips. He melted into the kiss almost instantly. The tension in his body began to ease.
His hand came up on its own. His fingers curled into the fabric of Ilya’s shirt, anchoring himself there as he leaned in. They shifted. The next few kisses deepened into something slower.
When Ilya finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Their foreheads brushed together.
“Better?” Ilya asked quietly.
“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Shane answered.
They lingered there, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Then, Hollander leaned in again, resting his chin in the crook of Rozanov’s neck, moving his hands to circle around his partner’s midsection. Ilya’s hands wrapped tighter around him in response.
Shane found himself smiling again.