#head cold

And right on cue, as if his body was out to prove otherwise, Ilya began to cough. He tucked his face into the duvet, curling forward and muffling the hoarse barks with the thick blanket. 

Smoothie abandoned on the counter, Shane went to sit next to Ilya.

“Hey,” he said softly. “That sounds pretty painful.”

“It will pass,” Ilya replied hoarsely as the coughs died down. He rubbed at his nose wearily. “I am fine, Shane.”

“I would feel better if you took something. You're not going to get any rest with a cough like that. There's some DayQuil tablets in the medicine cabinet and -”

“Shane,” Ilya interrupted. “I said I'm fine. You can make me better without stupid whatever you call it orange gel pills.”

He flopped sideways into Shane's lap, nestling his head against Shane's thigh. Shane's fingers went automatically to Ilya's curls, tracing gentle circles against his scalp.

“If I got some cough syrup, would you take that?” Shane asked.

“No, I'm comfy. Don't move.”

“Ilya...”

Hehhh...ehh'TSGHHHT!

Shane flinched as the man in his lap sneezed damply against his thigh and then snorted back a thick sniffle.

“Ilya, we have practice early tomorrow and there's no way I'm sleeping in the same bed as you if you're keeping me awake coughing all night,” Shane said. 

Ilya turned his head and glared up at Shane from under the shelter of the duvet.

“You wouldn't.”

“Oh I absolutely would. I'll sleep in the guest room.”

Ilya cleared his throat with a cough, nuzzling his head against Shane's leg.

“Fine. I will drink your stupid syrup. Why is this country so obsessed with syrup?”

Shane leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Ilya's temple.

“Good. I'm going to get a truly Canadian cough syrup. It'll be a cultural experience for you.” 

“Will you also get ice cream if you're going out?” Ilya asked.

“Ice cream is bad for you when you have a cold. Makes more mucus.”

“That is why I will drink syrup – so that I can have ice cream after,” Ilya retorted.

Shane rolled his eyes as he gently transferred Ilya's head from his thigh to a throw pillow. 

“I will get ice cream. Any other requests?”

“No. Come back quick.”

---

Shane returned with shopping bag in hand to find Ilya still bundled up on the couch, but now with the tissue box resting on his lap and several discarded tissues scattered around the coffee table and floor.

He deposited the bag on the kitchen counter and went into the powder room, grabbing the trash can and passing it over the back of the couch to Ilya.

“I swear, if you get me sick with your gross tissues all over the place, I will exact my revenge when you least expect it.”

“We share a bed, Hollander,” Ilya rasped. “Too late to worry about tissues. I will cough on your pillow.”

“Not after you drink this,” Shane replied, removing a small plastic bottle from the shopping bag. 

Ilya squinted at the label.

“Buckley's?”

“Uniquely Canadian, since 1919,” Shane said as he broke the seal on the bottle cap and dug in the kitchen drawer for a teaspoon. “You can mix it with honey, if you want.”

“I can just drink it,” Ilya said. “Can't be worse than Russian mix of vodka with garlic juice. Should've told you to just buy some garlic.”

Shane quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything as he handed the spoonful of liquid to Ilya.

“I recommend you drink it like a shot,” he advised.

Ilya tipped the spoon into his mouth and swallowed. And then gagged.

“What the fuck is that, Hollander?” he choked out, his eyes starting to water. “Oh my god. Tastes like a rotten pine tree. But also spicy?”

He coughed harshly and reached for a tissue, spitting in to it.

“I hope you bought good ice cream. I will need it to forgot that taste.”

Shane laughed and leaned over, kissing the top of Ilya's head.

“They had an ad campaign for a while that said it tastes like a hockey puck.”

“No,” Ilya replied, still making faces from the taste. “Have tasted a puck. That stuff is worse.”

“But it works,” Shane said. “You already sound less stuffed up.”

“Shane. Focus. Ice cream, please.”

Shane took out the pint of ice cream and grabbed a spoon from the drawer, passing both to Ilya.

“Your reward.”

Ilya reached out and grabbed Shane's hand.