Chapter Text
When Ilya awoke next, both the humidifier and light projection had switched themselves off. It was still dark in the room, the only sound coming from his own ragged breathing and the soft breaths that left Shane, who was still laying on his back with one of his arms still draped over Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya’s head rested upon Shane’s middle where he could feel every steady inhale and tender exhale that he made.
Ilya’s own arm was still curled around Shane’s body to steady himself. His nose was still running, frustratingly so as he realized that there was a damp spot on Shane’s shirt, something he should’ve considered when he laid down on top him. Whatever progress the humidifier and decongestants had done the night prior were rapidly fading as the moment that Ilya lifted his head, he felt the now familiar pressure building behind his eyes. He felt like he was sinking up to his eyes, ears full and crackling when to attempted to take in a breath through his nose.
He needed to deal with it before he risked dripping anymore on Shane, who had already been far more patient than Ilya could ever ask him to be. His boyfriend was truly amazing and here Ilya had to come ruining all of his plans because he was sick, and contaminating him with his own bodily fluids. Gross!
Slowly, so not to wake Shane up, Ilya extracted himself from the Canadian’s grasp, thankful that Shane’s arm fell back into the pillow instead of immediately reaching to pull Ilya back. The bed lifted with the change in weight when Ilya stood, the congestion shifting to both nostrils now and leaving him feeling like his head was bobbing in a sea of misery.
He pressed his wrist against his nose to halt anymore drips before extracting himself from the bedroom and tiptoeing down the hallway. Thankfully the bathroom wasn’t far and he was able to slip in without making too much noise. Shane was an incredibly light sleeper and the less noise he could make so not to risk waking him up, the better.
Once the door to the bathroom was closed, he switched on the light and caught his reflection in the mirror. He certainly didn’t look any better than he had yesterday, in fact he may even look worse. Dark circles, black and blue, shadowed his sunken eyes. He looked like one of those creatures that was always getting into the trashcan. What was Shane always calling them? Pandas? No, that didn’t sound right. Raccoons! Yes, he looked like a raccoon with the eye mask.
The rest of his face didn’t look much better. His cheeks were swollen at the top along with the bridge of his nose, no doubt an effect from his irritated sinuses. Skin peeled from the curve of both nostrils, red skin below appearing just as irritated. A sheen of wetness shown against his upper lip, to which Ilya used the side of his hand to mop up as there was no one in here to remind him how disgusting that was beside himself. He was hopelessly pale as ever except for a pinkish hue to his cheeks. Shane would blame it on the fever, Ilya just knew.
Ilya knew that he would only depress himself if he kept staring at his reflection, and managed to tear himself away in favor of reaching for the box of tissues on the back of the toilet. He thanked whoever was listening that the Hollanders had an abundance of tissues as he wasn’t sure what he would do if he was forced to use toilet paper or paper towels. The tissues had lost their softness they once possessed with Ilya wanting to tend to his nose every other second, but they were still better than any of the alternatives. They were certainly better than a rough hockey uniform or a rag. Just the memory of using those during the season caused Ilya to shudder.
Ilya pressed a wad of tissues against his wet nostrils and blew over and over and over again into multiple stacks of tissues until the appendage no longer dripped. All that blowing prompted a fierce buzz to vibrate through, a sound a mix between a whine and a grumble catching in the back of his throat as he forewent the tissues in favor of cupping his hands over his face as they were more stable and could be washed after this whole thing was over.
“Trchs’xgh’hu! HrSH’xght’hue!”
Ilya’s brows pinched together as his feeble attempt to holdback. Although it was only himself and Shane on the ground floor, he didn’t want to risk waking Yuna or David all because he couldn’t control his sinuses. He’d already been an inconvenience enough as it was.
The sneezes completely erased everything Ilya just accomplished in clearing out his nose. Clogged once more, Ilya tried to blow into another round of tissues to find his sinuses far too swollen and irritated to do much good. At least his nose wasn’t actively dripping, though he was sure if he gave it ten minutes or so things would change.
Stubbornly, he washed his hands and reluctantly slipped back out of the bathroom, tissue box left for later use if he needed to retreat here away. He tiptoed back down the hallway with his hand finding the doorknob and turning it. His broad shoulders squeezed through the door and nearly jumped as he found Shane sitting upright in bed, measuring out another dose of decongestant and cough syrup that Yuna found way back in their medicine cabinet earlier that day.
“You’re awake,” Ilya pointed out dumbly, jaw gaped in surprise.
Shane rolled his eyes. “Time for more meds. You sound like you could use them.”
Ilya wasn’t about to argue that the mucus had thinned, which was why he spent almost ten minutes blowing his nose in the bathroom. He supposed thanks to those suppressed sneezes, the congestion was back at full force, thickening his already accented voice and making whatever words he spoke difficult to understand. Shane would never tell Ilya this as it was one of the things that he was actually self-conscious about, but the undertone to his phrase was obvious.
Ilya quickly swiped the back of his wrist under his nose, eyes flickering to the identical medicinal cups measured precisely to the fill line. “I can get my own bedicine,” he flashed, congestion already creeping back in.
Shane’s eyebrows raised only for a moment to Ilya before falling back to the offered medicine. “I know,” he told him patiently. “But I’m up and don’t mind getting it for you.”
“Did dnot bean to wake you,” Ilya continued, furiously swiping the back of his hand against his stuffy nose. It was as though the trip to the bathroom didn’t happen at all.
Shane waved him off. “It’s alright. I really don’t mind. You’d do the same thing for me, right?” A playful smile toyed on Shane’s lips before he gave a small nod back to the small caps of liquid medicine. “Just take ‘em and come here. Do you need any more of the vapor rub? I can make you some tea?”
“Is the biddle of the dnight.”
“I don’t mind—“
“Damnit, Hollander! I said dno!”
The congestion didn’t quite add the forcefulness that Ilya was hoping for, but the slam of his fist on the edge of the nightstand certainly did. The small cups jiggled and the thermometer almost clattered to the floor. Fire burned in Ilya’s feverish gaze as he stared directly at Shane, who looked somewhat stunned at Ilya’s outburst. He didn’t challenge him, instead remained stoic as he could with his eyes trailing downwards back to the medicine.
Ilya composed himself, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he swiped each cup in turn and swallowed them down without complaint. His face twisted in a grimace as the artificially flavored liquid coated his tongue, unable to be tamed with a a few swallows. He briefly considered turning back around and spending the rest of the night on the couch. However, the idea of being propped on his side with his too long legs hanging over the edge did not sound appealing in the slightest. No, he wanted to be beside Shane even if he was furious with him for reasons he couldn’t quite explain and didn’t want to either.
Beyond frustrated, Ilya crawled into bed opposite Shane, covers thrown up to his shoulders, tucked all the way up to his chin. He struggled to contain the shivers that racked his frame, teeth chattering in his mouth, which only threatened to send a jolt through his esophagus and thrust him into another coughing fit. Try as he might he couldn’t stop it, the wet sound scraping against his throat. He didn’t reach for Shane, instead twisted his face deeper into the pillow his head was now propped against, body hunkering down so that he was curled into a fetal position.
The weight beside him settled down, back to him. They weren’t quite touching, but Ilya could feel Shane’s breathing, the expanse of his chest in the slight ridge of his upper back whenever he inhaled. All of Ilya’s instincts told him to swallow his pride and reach back for Shane, yank his arm around his middle and hold him close like he craved. His mind felt as thought it was on autopilot, though he couldn’t stop a harsh sniffle, snorting back a copious amount of mucus.
Behind him, Shane flinched, a subtle shift of his shoulders that sent an icy chill through Ilya’s blood. Disgust at himself both physically and how he’d just snapped at Shane washed over him. A sob threatened to well from his throat, a prickle in the corner of his eyes reminding him just how much he wanted to cry. Emotions that were always forced deep within him floated to the surface, as if one more inconsequential thing might send him over the edge.
“Ilya?”
There it was. The simple use of his name, gentle and concerned from Shane’s lips was all it took for Ilya’s face to crumple into his hand as he began to sob.
Shane immediately propped himself up into a seated position. Ilya could imagine the panic on his face, the widening of those dewy brown brown eyes in the darkness. He hesitated before resting his palm lightly over Ilya’s blanket covered shoulder, Ilya leaning into his touch instead of ripping away like he wanted to.
“Moya lyubov, what’s wrong,” Shane murmured, voice catching, betraying his own anguish at watching Ilya suffering.
Ilya let out a gross half snort, half snuffle as he jammed the heel of his palm under his streaming nose and pulled upwards. “Sorry,” he croaked.
“Hey.” Shane’s voice was soft, yet stern. When he was no longer worried that Ilya was going to throw him off, Shane settled back down beside him with an arm flung around his chest. His fingers fisted in the blanket over Ilya’s body, lips pressed to the back of Ilya’s too warm neck, right where his curls began to blossom. “There’s no need to be sorry. I understand.”
A flash of annoyance rose within Ilya’s throat, which he quickly shoved back down. Shane didn’t deserve anymore of his snippy comments when he’d done nothing but cater to Ilya since they arrived. He’d gotten him his medication, slept with him, held him when he was sneezy and dripping, and Ilya had shouted at him in return. His frustration wasn’t at Shane, but it was the one person he could direct it to as it wasn’t like he could yell at himself. His wired temper was something he was still working on wrangling in, but he felt that was an uphill battle.
“Just feel so…..gross.”
It was an understanding of course but true nonetheless.
Shane kissed up the back of his neck, up his head to the top of his head. “You’re not gross, Ilya. You’re sick and that’s different. It’s not your fault and I know that you’re frustrated with everything. I don’t mind if you take it out on me.”
Ilya’s eyes welled with a fresh stream of tears. Try as he might not to let them fall, two rivers began to stream down his cheeks, cascading down into the hollow of his throat. “Dno,” he began, crooked nose shoved into the pillow to muffle a slew of body wracking coughs that hollowed him out, breath rattling around his ribs.
“Shhhh.” Shane’s hand reached around to tuck a mess of Ilya’s curls behind his ear, pointer finger dropped to stroke Ilya’s cheek, right below his swollen sinuses. “I know, I know. We’re going to head home tomorrow, I promise. We’ll get you some antibiotics that’ll help you feel better.”
Ilya knew what that meant. It meant a doctor’s office and the scent of antiseptic licking at his nostrils. It came with too many questions in English that he didn’t always follow. They might poke and prod him like he was some sort of experiment while he sat there under their scrutiny filled gazes. They would prescribe him pills that he would struggle to take, the large, chalky white pills lodging so far in his throat that he would choke. None of that sounded appealing in the slightest, yet Ilya realized he was in no condition to protest.
“Then we’ll get you home,” Shane continued, Ilya quickly realizing he missed anything Shane said before that. “And you’ll be in our own bed where I can look after you fully. Does that sound like a good compromise?”
“Dno,” Ilya responded with another sullen sniffle.
“It’s for the best, Il. I don’t want this to turn into pneumonia with all that coughing you’ve been doing.”
Ilya hiccuped as the crying finally started to temper down. Thickness caught in his throat when he tried to swallow, ears clogged and eyes swimming in a sea of tears. His head twisted so that his wet cheek pressed against the hand resting against his chest. Shane didn’t shy away from the wetness, allowing Ilya to snuggle against it if that’s what it took to calm him.
“M’sorry for shoutding,” Ilya mumbled when his breath finally started to even out.
“I know.” Shane’s breath was warm on the back of Ilya’s neck, gooseflesh sprouting along the back of his arms. “I know it’s not about me.”
Ilya didn’t trust his raspy words, instead nodded against the pillow and hoped that Shane understood. All the excitement from earlier was ebbing like blood from a gaping wound, retreating back and leaving only bone weary exhaustion in its wake. Ilya feared he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes open for much longer if this kept up. Did he really want to prolong being awake? Absolutely not. Besides, he’d already kept Shane awake for longer than he should especially considering he would have to do all of the driving the next day….or maybe later that day depending on what time of night it was.
Shane mumbled something incoherently as he lifted the hand draped around Ilya’s chest enough to find his eyes, attempting to close them lightly. “Get some sleep. Stop thinking.”
That was an awfully high and mightily thing to come from Shane Hollander, but Ilya didn’t point out the irony in his own words. Instead he attempted to follow his boyfriends instructions and allowed his eyelids to fall heavy, his own hand taking Shane’s to hold him close. Shane’s leg stretched over Ilya’s waist to anchor him further against him as even if Ilya wanted to pull away, he was now unable to. He minded that less than he expected, the comfortable weight of his boyfriend pressed against him a grounding presence.
Although he was still stuffed up beyond compare, he managed to crack open his lips enough for breathing as he finally felt himself drift back into sleep with sounds of Shane’s heartbeat echoing in his clogged ears.