On a day where it's all too much for Ilya – where the memories are too close, the pain too heavy, the world beyond his bed too vast – he expects to find the breaking point. He expects this to be where Shane finds out what a burden it is to love him, the way his father did. The way Alexei did. The way, if he's honest and particularly unkind to himself, his mother did too. He expects this to be where Shane realises how difficult it's going to be to keep choosing him.
But when he asks Ilya what's wrong, and all Ilya can do is shake his head as tears start running down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop them, he doesn't run. He doesn't roll his eyes. He doesn't demand that he get over himself and get on with it.
He holds him close and presses a gentle kiss to his chest, his chin, his temple, and then his lips. He cages Ilya's face in his enormous safe hands and wipes away the tears with a gentle swipe of his thumb. He presses a kiss to his forehead, where it hurts most, and looks him right in the eye without a hint of regret, or disgust, or hatred. He looks at him like he's always looked at him – eyes full of unbridled affection.
"What do you need? What can I do?"
And when Ilya tells him he doesn't know, that that's part of the problem, Shane doesn't get frustrated or annoyed. He just wraps his arms tightly around him until the trembling stops.
The world doesn't need to be more than their bed right now. As long as Shane is in it with him.
