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There’s high-pitched laughter coming from the yard. 

Shane moves from the kitchen to lean against the patio door, smiling as he watches Ilya scoop three year old Rowan up and into his arms. He’s not sure what the game is, but Ilya is making dinosaur noises, carrying their son upside down by his legs before gently settling him on his back in the grass. 

“Again!” 

“Snova!” Ilya repeats, huffing out a laugh before gathering him up again. He rushes through the yard, Rowan’s laughter emptying into the wind. Ilya roars like a dinosaur and Rowan copies, making Shane’s heart soar in his chest. 

Ilya spots him as he turns away from the lake, grinning at his husband. He walks over to the patio stairs as Shane moves to step down them, feet in the grass. 

“I have caught rare dinosaur.” He turns, Rowan hanging down over Ilya’s shoulder and down his back upside down. Rowan giggles, his shirt spilling over his face. “What should we do with him?” 

Shane hums, pretends to think and then blows a raspberry against Rowan’s belly. Rowan squeals, making Ilya laugh. 

“Exactly what I thought.” Ilya agrees. 

He sets Rowan down gently again, who instantly gets back up. His eyes are bright and wide, curls frizzy with random blades of grass sticking out of them. He hugs around Ilya’s leg and looks up at him. 

“Again.” He insists.

Ilya smiles down at him, affection clear on his face as he runs his hand through his hair, “Snova.” 

—

Sometimes Shane will decide that he needs to clean out closets and sets of clothes that Rowan’s grown out of. It’s the perfect opportunity to take into account what things can be resold or donated and it makes him feel more balanced and in control of the unknown path he’s traveling down with Ilya in being a parent. He boxes up things Rowan’s not wearing anymore, keeping a few pieces as momentos along with baby blankets and tiny socks, and then moves onto his own closet that he shares with Ilya. 

Rowan sits in the corner of the walk-in closet as Shane works, reading one of his books. He points to a page every so often and talks about an animal on there, currently something about jellyfish and sharks. Shane will smile over his shoulder and add commentary like ‘so cool, buddy’ or ‘I didn’t know that’ and Rowan is more than pleased to talk his ear off every single time. 

Shane tugs a small plastic bin out from underneath piles of shoes, popping it open to look inside. He assumes it might be sweaters or something else out of season but it’s…

He grins as he pulls out Ilya’s Boston Raiders jersey tucked alongside Shane’s Metros one. Jesus, he feels so old looking at these, even though it wasn’t too long ago. Long enough, he figures. 

Rowan comes up alongside him, leaning into his leg. Shane brushes his hand through his curls and when he refolds the Metros jersey, Rowan tugs the Boston one over his head. Amusement flutters warmly in Shane’s chest and he crouches so he can help tug Rowan’s small arms through the sleeves. His hair is a mess of frizzy ringlets when his head emerges but…

“Want to go show papa?” 

Rowan grins, turning on his heel, running out of the room with practically a ROZANOV blanket over himself. Shane sticks close behind, making sure he doesn’t trip as he finds Ilya cooking in the kitchen. 

“Paaapaaaa look!” 

Years of practiced reflexes has Ilya turning quickly, wooden spoon abandoned in the pot of sauce he was stirring. There’s a moment in which he just sort of…stares, glancing up and locking eyes with Shane, who is smiling as he leans against the island counter. 

“Looks good, right?” Shane teases, “Think we could get him on the ice soon.” 

A soft laugh is tucked away in Ilya’s chest as he leans down and picks Rowan up into his arms but Shane can see the heavy emotion in his gaze, the words he doesn’t say, the connection he undoubtedly is making to his own father and their relationship with hockey. 

Ilya places a hand on Rowan’s chest, running his thumb over the top of the Raiders logo, “Practically already best in league.” He eventually says, tickling Rowan’s side until their son squirms with laughter to be put down. 

Ilya kisses his forehead before he sets him on the floor, Rowan rushing to grab a toy hockey stick that lights up from his toy chest in the living room. Anya chases the puck around that he moves haphazardly across the floor. Shane and Ilya watch him from the kitchen, a soft smile pulling at his husband’s lips.

Shane leans into him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Ilya draws in a breath, turning his head to look at him, “I will have to show him what strong backhand looks like,” Shane scoffs out a laugh, reaching up to tap Ilya on the cheek, “You can not be trusted.” 

“You’re an asshole,” He whispers against Ilya’s lips, making his husband’s smile radiant, before pulling Shane closer for a kiss. 

—

One of the most beautiful things about Ilya is how expressive he is, he lives in his emotions to the fullest. Shane thinks it stems from the fact that he was told by people like his father and brother that he was weak for showing ‘undesirable’ feelings, that certain things were frowned upon in the imaginary stature they built up of a man. Shane remembers how long it took for Ilya to become comfortable to cry in front of him. Even now, sometimes, he dips his chin to shadow his face before Shane won’t allow him to hide. 

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, Shane thinks, to pretend those emotions don’t exist because he’s learned he should be ashamed of them. 

Ilya never makes their son feel that way. 

It’s been a long day out and about doing different errands that he and Ilya have put off until a Saturday when they’ve had the time—there’s a cafe they wanted to go to, grocery shopping, a farmer’s market, meeting Hayden and family at the park and seeing his parents for dinner. 

Shane can tell the exact moment Rowan begins to become restless and cranky. He’s missed his afternoon nap and starts to crash right when Ilya is paying for the bill, putting his card back into his wallet. It doesn’t take much, just a blue crayon breaking that he was using with David and—

“Uh oh,” Yuna smiles a little knowingly as Rowan hiccups. There’s a soft whine, big tears as he looks down at the broken crayon. “You know Shane, you used to do the same thing when we’d go to the park. You’d collect leaves and then cry when they were blown away.” 

“Thanks, mom.” Shane deadpans and Ilya smirks before setting the pen down, reaching for their son. 

“Okay, is okay,” Ilya settles Rowan on his lap, which is when the crying actually starts. Big gulpfuls of air as he wails, that bone-deep tired sort of sobbing that Shane feels like all parents in the general vicinity can recognize. He draws him close to his chest, rubbing up and down his back, Rowan’s crying muffled against his shoulder. 

Not once does Ilya try to quiet him or worry about the other people around their table who might be staring. Not once does Ilya chastise him or pass him onto Shane because Rowan isn’t quieting down. 

“I know, malen'kiy zhuchok,” He soothes, little beetle, pressing his lips into his curls, “You’re tired. You sound just like daddy when he doesn’t get a nap.” 

Shane narrows his eyes at him, gently flicking Ilya in the back of his neck when he stretches his arm out across the top of his husband’s chair. 

Rowan curls up against Ilya’s chest, grabbing onto his frog stuffed animal that Shane hands to him. Ilya’s begun a slow rocking motion, keeping him close, lulling him to at least close his eyes. Rowan sniffles, hiccuping as his breathing slows down, Ilya leaning down to brush a kiss to his wet cheek. 

And it’s almost exactly how Rowan falls asleep when they get home. Ilya lays down on the couch, positioning Rowan on his chest as they put a Scooby-Doo movie on. It’s barely through the opening credits before Rowan’s out like a light. Ilya doesn’t get up right away to put him to bed, he readjusts his arms to hold him, a gentle and fond expression on his face as he looks down and strokes through his mop of curls. 

Shane’s heart feels so full. 

“Got room for one more?” He asks, hovering near the couch. 

Ilya purses his lips, “If you pay toll.” He touches his fingers to his mouth. 

Shane grins, shaking his head as he leans down to kiss him and carefully puts himself on the other side of his body, tucking himself between Ilya and the couch. His arm stretches overtop of Rowan’s back, Ilya dipping his head down and pressing a few lazy kisses to Shane’s forehead. 

Shane can feel him smiling.