Ilya first notices it because he's simping. Shane's standing in the kitchen, the afternoon sun hitting him just right, head tilted back and just chugging down a glass of cold water like he's dying of thirst. Ilya is stupid with want. His eyes trail over Shane's pink lips, the drop of water that runs down to his chin, and the smooth movement of his throat as he gulps, gulps, gulps...
There should be one more gulp.
Ilya cocks his head to the side. Curious. Because he was watching. Watching Shane take four mouthfuls of water. But only three swallows?
Shane lowers the glass and wipes his lips and moves around the kitchen island, heading for the back door to let Anya in. The way he holds his jaw is different. Not something Ilya would have ever in a million years noticed, except he's been watching too intently, and there were only three swallows, and he thinks Shane is holding the water in his mouth?
"Shane," Ilya says, pulling Shane's attention away from the door. He turns to Ilya. Pauses. Swallows.
Shane chuckles. "As soon as I let our daughter in."
Now that Ilya's noticed it, he can't stop seeing it. The way Shane holds water in his mouth. Sometimes swishing it around. Never if they're talking, or if they have something to do or somewhere to be. But just sometimes when he's wandering around the house or sitting watching tv.
They're at the cottage for the summer when Ilya notices the food thing. Not a diet thing, that has been known and well documented in Ilya's mind. No, this is different. It starts with noticing that Shane eats some things very slowly. During the season they're too busy trying to keep muscle on to eat slow, but during the summer they can relax, and Ilya just starts to notice things. A bowl of baby carrots can take all afternoon. A handful of grapes can last 20 or 30 minutes. The last bites of his hot dogs take double or triple the time as his first bites.
But, again, it's only if they're being quiet. If Shane is being left to his own devices and not drawn into conversation with Ilya.
Ilya doesn't start to get answers until they have a movie night, complete with big bowls of popcorn. Within 10 minutes, Ilya's bowl is clean, but Shane's is still half-full. Ilya watches and Shane pulls a single kernel from his bowl. He touches it to his lips and just holds it there, turning it a little. Then he opens and bites one bump off the kernel, leaving the rest intact while he chews and swallows. Then he spins and bites off another piece. Then he finds a sliver of the hard skin that always gets stuck in your teeth, and he pulls that free. There's a lot more chewing happening for that one. Like he's systematically destroying it. Then another bump. Then he puts the rest into his mouth.
He's grabbing for another kernel when he notices Ilya's eyes on him. And Ilya doesn't know what to do, but he's so smitten with his weirdo husband, so he just leans over and kisses his popcorn-mutilating lips and goes back to watching the movie.
Things start clicking into place after this. Ilya starts to notice how Shane chipmunks bites of food in his mouth for dissection. The carrots seem to be split, the core pulled out, each section around it eaten in some particular order that makes sense to Shane. Grapes appear to be skinned and then eaten. Or halved, then skinned, then eaten. The last bites of hot dogs seem to be separated from the bun, and he believes also skinned.
It's absolutely fascinating.
It makes Ilya want to ask. To know. To understand. "Hey, honey, what goes on in your mouth? What is your tongue doing? Can you do that in my mouth? Can you show me what it's like to be a carrot?" But, of course, Ilya can't ask. He's pretty sure if he brings any attention to this, Shane will stop immediately. Or at least overthink himself into a tummy ache.
The rest of Shane's little quirks fall into place on the last day of their hockey camps in Ottawa. They have a celebratory meal at Yuna and David's, and David has pulled out some old photo albums for Ilya to go through. And there's one picture of little Shane, only probably 7 or 8, with his hair combed flat, and a too-big bookbag on his shoulders, staring blankly at the camera before his first day of school for the year. But what catches Ilya's attention is the way Shane's hand is lifted to his face, his pinkie finger extended to touch his lips.
"What are you doing, lyubimyy?"
Yuna is the one who looks over Ilya's shoulder to answer.
"Oh, he's playing with the top of his lip. He used to always do that when he was little, especially if he was nervous. Used to just rub that little peak back and forth. Do you still do that, honey?"
"Not anymore. I'm not a child," Shane says quickly.
But it's already clicked for Ilya. Because he's seen Shane do this.
"Yes you do," Ilya says, "when you're reading."
Ilya doesn't argue. But now a whole host of other little behaviours unlock in his mind. Shane rubbing the string of his hoodie against his lips. Shane tapping the end of a pen to them. Shane holding the collar of his t-shirt along the seam of his lips and pressing them over it.
And Ilya doesn't know what to do with this information. There's nothing he really can do with it. Shane likes things in and around his mouth. And if Ilya mentions it, he'll likely ruin it. So he says nothing. And he watches his husband be adorable as he plays with his lip while reading, and he falls farther in love with this strange, beautiful man.
And maybe, in the summer, he makes a habit of trying to find new and interesting snacks for Shane to take apart.
