The salt and pepper in Ilya's hair doesn't show up as clearly as it does in Shane's. Instead Ilya, despite sometimes admitting to feeling like he has to claw his way to joy and happiness from the bottom of the deepest pit, develops laugh lines.
They start as creases in the corners of his eyes, the natural consequence of David's awful dad jokes, or Yuna's brand negotiation horror stories, or a stellar Cens reunion, or something wild and out of the blue that their toddler says, or a bitchy comment from Shane from their seats in the stands as they watch games rather than play them, or the way Shane's hip now clicks in a comically loud way every time Ilya spreads his legs.
Initially the lines fade away immediately.
Then, as the years go on, they linger, so that Shane gets to look at them and hear the sound of Ilya's laughter in his head for longer and longer. Then, they stop fading, and Shane can see the evidence of every beautiful moment they've had together etched onto his favorite face in the world.
When Ilya finally concedes and says they're not laugh lines anymore - he's officially got wrinkles, Shane beams at him and kisses each one reverently.
"You know me, I would never complain, but what was that for?" Ilya asks and Shane smiles back at him, knowing the lines on his own face largely mirror his husband's.
"Just grateful that I've spent long enough with you to get to see you with wrinkles."
And when Ilya swoops forward and kisses him, it feels every bit as wild and exciting as it did when they were nineteen.
