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“Come on,” Ilya murmurs now, interrupting Shane’s spiralling thoughts. He tugs on Shane tentatively, shuffling them around until he can steer them towards the bedroom.

He lets go of Shane’s waist when they’re through the threshold. Shane turns to face him helplessly; he can’t think right now. He needs Ilya to do it for him. Ilya’s so good at thinking for him when Shane’s thoughts get too loud.

And they’re not about to have sex, he doesn’t think, but Ilya has that same patient look on his face he gets sometimes as he reaches up to gently press on Shane’s shoulders until he sits at the edge of the bed. Shane feels something in him settle for the first time since they got home and watches Ilya round the bed for the remote. He makes the blinds come down – the only time they’ve done that since Shane tried to the first day – and Shane didn’t realise how much the light was making his temples throb until the room is suddenly dim.

He sniffs and takes a tremulous breath, rubbing at his eyes again. Ilya tosses the remote aside and comes back to him then, standing between Shane’s legs and lifting his hands to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt. He only does it until the shirt is loose enough to slip off over Shane’s head and Shane feels a fresh wave of tears coming as he watches Ilya fold it so carefully and put it on top of the dresser.

When he’s close enough again Shane reaches for him, burying his face in Ilya’s stomach and wrapping his arms around him as tight as he can manage while he tries to remember how to slow his breathing down. Ilya’s hands land in his hair, scratching over his scalp, and Shane sighs.

“I’m not sad,” he says, voice muffled against Ilya’s t-shirt, because he feels like he needs Ilya to understand. This isn’t about him. Or them. So much of him really does feel happy right now. But he also feels so jittery that he’s pretty sure this is some kind of panic attack.

“I know,” Ilya says, so steady and sure. Shane’s own personal lodestone.

“It’s just…”

“A lot for one afternoon?” Ilya fills in, almost amused but not quite. “I know, Shane. It’s okay. You’re okay. You can feel more than one thing about it.”

Shane nods against him, scrunching the back of Ilya’s t-shirt in his hands until the feeling comes back into his fingers. “Will you lie down with me?” he asks after a few minutes. When the tears haven’t exactly stopped but they don’t feel like a never-ending well anymore either.

Ilya steps out of the circle of his arms but it’s only so he can stoop down and kiss the top of Shane’s head before he nods for Shane to lie back.

After Ilya has stripped them both down to their underwear he climbs onto the bed, curling around Shane’s back and wrapping him up in his arms until Shane is totally enveloped. It should feel suffocating; instead, it feels a little like a weighted blanket. It knocks Shane’s breathing into something steady and he finds his head doesn’t hurt quite so much anymore.

Ilya’s hands are still rubbing over whatever parts of Shane he can reach, the paths of his fingers rhythmic enough that it’s easy to focus on.

“I’m glad they know,” Shane says after too long, voice scratchy from crying. He folds his hands over Ilya’s and gives them a squeeze. “I’m glad they know about you.”

“But it was still not how you wanted to tell them,” Ilya guesses lowly, kissing the nape of his neck.

“No,” Shane agrees. Of all the vague ways he’d ever imagined telling his parents, this wasn’t one of them.

It’s still hard to regret the outcome, hard to regret the relief that settles on his shoulders now even if it’s all tangled up with the overwhelming nerves he’s felt all day.

“I think they like you.”

Ilya makes a noise like a scoff. “Of course they do. I am very charming.”

Shane laughs and rolls his eyes and he’s pretty sure that’s the point. “Uh huh.”

He shifts, turning over onto his other side. Ilya dutifully rolls onto his back and Shane rearranges himself until he can use his chest as a pillow, Ilya’s arms around him once again. He can look at him this way, even if it’s at a sort of funny angle.

Ilya stares down at him and asks, “You really think they liked me?”

The first real hint at his own anxiety all day.

It makes Shane smile, makes him reach up until he can touch his thumb and forefinger to Ilya’s cheek. “Of course.”

Ilya smiles back at him, a little shaky, and cards his hand through Shane’s hair again.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Ilya didn’t have to come; he could’ve stayed here. Waited until Shane was finished and had come home, flayed apart, and picked up the pieces. Instead, he’d willingly stepped into the firing line and stayed a steady presence at Shane’s side the entire time.

“We are a team, yes?” Ilya’s hand tightens in his hair, a grounding hold. “We do this together.”

And it’s stupid, the way the idea of them being a team makes Shane heart beat a little harder, but it does. He’s spent his whole career playing against Ilya and he wouldn’t have it any other way. But it’s nice – to imagine it in this instance. Their own little team of two.

“Never heard you say you wanted to be on the same side before,” Shane quips, grinning and biting back a laugh when he can feel Ilya’s exasperated sigh.

He catches Shane’s eye then, looking suddenly serious. “I am always on your side, Hollander.”

Shane blinks, mouth parting. He’s so used to shouldering weight alone. So used to the pressure and the noise and the responsibility that’s plagued him since he was a teenager. He knows Ilya is too. It’s kind of nice to think they might not have to anymore.

“I’m on your side too,” he says, shifting a little to get closer, to press his lips to Ilya’s collarbone. “I love you.”

God, did they really only say that to each other for the first time last night? Shane feels like he’s lived a million lives since then.

“I love you too,” Ilya whispers, palm sweeping over Shane’s back.