aemulatiio asked: ❝ you don’t look so good. ❞ from shane!
it was about five and a half hours from their home in ottawa to charlevoix. they finally had the time off to go camping, and ilya was excited. he grew up in moscow, then moved to boston. he'd never experienced anything like this before. they had the cottage, which was about as scenic of a place ilya had ever been. this would be fun. they'd rented a cabin for a five day stay and shane had the trip planned out hour by hour.
the change wasn't instant, but it wasn't exactly gradual. he'd been rocking the finger drums on the steering wheel and eating snacks for the first couple of hours. annoying shane with his playlist, insisting that it's driver's choice. a lot of laughing. discussing plans. eventually, he turned the music down a little bit. he turned the air up. his hand that had been resting on top of shane's moved to wipe sweat from his forehead. he started shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat.
it started with just his back. stiff from driving, he figured. but then it radiated into his side. he was a little nauseous. maybe just getting overheated. but shane was zipping his jacket as ilya turned the air up more, struggling to get comfortable. something wasn't right. but there was no fucking way he was ruining this trip.
you don't look so good. no, probably not. and he didn't feel so good, either. normally he'd come back with a comment, something witty or flirty, but instead, ❝ i'm okay. ❞ it doesn't sound believable, even to him. he doesn't realize how hard he's grasping the steering wheel until he loosens his grip a little. his whole body was starting to ache. muscle cramps, not just in his back. his face was flushed. he kept swallowing hard, the snacks threatening to work their way back up.
he changes his mind rather quickly. ❝ i don't know. i was fine. i just... maybe need some air. we can switch. ❞ they're on a back road in the middle of nowhere when he makes the decision to pull over. he puts the car into park and opens the door. it's warmer outside the car than inside, which he hates. the sun is beaming down on him now, too. but it's fresh air. it feels better, for a moment. he swings his legs outside the door so he's half-in, half-out, and stares down at the gravel. his face contorts with pain. ❝ fuck, ❞ he whispers, using his hand to rub at his back. the other hand moves suddenly to cover his mouth. he squeezes his eyes closed and holds in the inevitable. he was just fine.
