#rozanov81

Another trip against his own control, back to his Ilya... who hadn't gotten to hear a "Happy Birthday" from the only parent he had who cared he was born at all. How could anyone not care?

How long had he been here, admiring Ilya, in the dark silence of their room. Just... looking? He didn't know. Lifting a hand to Ilya's face, he fingers...ever so lightly...grazed along a curly golden strand and delicately swept it from his face, before tracing along Ilya's eyebrows, his beautiful cheeks, then down and along his perfect jaw. Every feature he could touch without risking waking him, he did, just to make sure he was real.

To make sure Shane wouldn't wake from this dream, to an achingly empty cottage and into another nightmare of craving Ilya's...everything. His presence, his company, his love... a reality where he never got to have this. A reality, where, he probably dreaded every god damn news outlet announcing Ilya's milestones in life... marriage, children... and fading into the darkness of the shadows of Ilya's past, while Shane's heart practically only beat for this fucking asshole.

He shivered at the alternative reality, and he hoped to god, in every damn lifetime... that Ilya was his.

Feeling the vibration of his phone against his thigh, a warmer smile pulled at his lips at what he knew was his alarm clock. Silently reminding him it was, finally, midnight, and had officially became June 15th...his Ilya's birthday.

Leaning forward, lips pressed a lingering and tender kiss to his forehead.

"happy birthday, dusha moya." he whispered against his soft skin. He really hoped he was calling Ilya "his soul", because it was sounding too concerningly close to "douchebag"

Though, the next time his phone vibrated, a blade of surprise cut through his attention.

Who the fuck would be texting Shane at this ungodly hour?

His surprise, then, became laced with panic at another possibility. Hayden or his children... what if it was Hayden, trying to get ahold of him for an emergency? that had him flinching to his phone.

Snapping his phone on, relief--and dread--flooded his system at the text that cut through the glow of the phone.

Svetlana: I have it. You have what I want..."Jane"? Svetlana: You were right...it wasn't easy, but the money was the way through Alexei's heart. Shane: Figured as much...thank you. Shane: Yeah, I got it. Let's meet today. Please don't tell Ilya.

If anyone would've told Shane that Svetlana Vetrova's name and number would've popped up on his screen, he would've called them a fucking idiot and a liar. But it had been heartwarmingly easy when he'd found her on Instagram, messaged and told her last week, that he wanted to do something for Ilya for his birthday. But he'd never thought she'd find what he needed, and the cost for it had been...concerning, yet...a little comedic...Shane's autograph on one of his own jerseys, to torment Ilya with at his games.

Shane just hoped that the gift he'd arranged wouldn't be terrible. Admittedly, he could've probably scoured for some extravagant gift. But... Ilya deserved better; he deserved something...he couldn't run out of, like some bullshit expensive cologne. Something...deeper.

------ Part 2 ----- This had been... a stupid fucking idea. What the hell had he been thinking? Though, admittedly, his newfound crankiness...or fear, frustration more accurately, had nothing to do with the fact that he was wearing one of Ilya's hockey jerseys, with his boyfriends name and number: Rozanov, 81, proudly and boldly displayed on his back; as he'd requested, for his birthday--a luxury and sin Shane would allow only for today--and everything to do with his inability to make this fucking picnic perfect. It was an outdoor picnic...out in public and proud, because if there was anything Ilya deserved, it was being loved loudly.

Why wasn't anything doing what he wanted it to? Why couldn't he rest until the white bear concealed in the giftbag he'd kept rearranging on the picnic blanket, sit perfectly? Should the basket be in front of the bear? should he take the food out? should he display Ilya's McGriddles out on the blanket? No... that wasn't even sanitary. Music? should he have brought a small speaker?

"Jane, stop," Svetlana said, her thick Russian accent curving with a compassionate giggle. Though, when Shane turned towards her, expecting suggestions for the display...he'd found only her eyes filled with warmth and...something he couldn't place, while she rested a pillow, caddy-cornered from the other one and it...looked fucking perfect. "It looks perfect. He's going to love...all of this,"

"I'm going to...pass out," he choked out. "Is it too much? what if he doesn't like...the bear? or the hairbrush?"

"Jane!" Svetlana's voice, once more, cut through Shane's compulsiveness like a sharp blade.

--- Part 3 ---

It was here... It had been years that Shane wanted to fucking run, in Ilya's presence. But, here he was, with a rock of anxiety twisting in the pit of his stomach; making him regret, even more than he already did, the kale bowl he had scarfed down to try to chase the anxiety out of his system. His stomach twisted, his limbs threatened to tremble, and each time he casted his gaze to the giftbag he'd hidden, it felt like the air would get kicked from his lungs, but he tried to keep calm.

He tried to keep his fingers from trembling too much as he traced them through Ilya's hair and cradled his head in his lap, while Ilya stretched across the picnic blanket and let the sun warm his skin. Admittedly, looking down at the thick head of curls did help quite a bit. They were outside. Amongst other people in the park, taking in the scent of hot, freshly cut grass and the sunshine.

Fuck...did he really want to fucking risk ruining everything? what if Ilya...hated it? what if it only unlocked horrific fucking memories? But... he had to. No matter how nervous he was to give Ilya his gift, he had to. He deserved it. He'd been too stupid to get another gift to account for chickening out.

Taking in a breath, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his curls.

"Ilya..." he whispered through another kiss, before guiding him to sit up. "I...I have a gift for you," "If...if you don't like it, we can get something else," he explained, humiliatingly stuttering on every damn word.

Without disturbing him, his fingers gripped the giftbag strings and carefully settled it between them and fuck did his heart drop through to the fucking Earths core when Ilya's fingers reached towards it.

"Did you murder someone I hate and bring me head? because you are acting like you murdered someone," Ilya pointed out, smirking. "I--No...I..." He wished he fucking had. Maybe his stomach would be this so painfully contorted in a nervous knot. "Did you take a sexy photoshoot for me and frame it, then?" he shot back, before a shit-eating grin pulled across his face. 'It is. You took a boudoir shoot and what...posed in my jersey?"

Shane wished he would've thought of that... fuck, why hadn't he thought of that?! Jesus fucking Christ.

"Leave me some ideas for Christmas, Rozanov," he

Once Ilya finally yanked open the bag and there was no going back, some form of relief passed through Shane.

That relief, though, was short-lived when Ilya pulled the first gift out. The beautiful white bear that Svetlana had assisted him in building. At first, he hadn't been sure about the color, but that was where Svetlana had been such a lifesaver. In picking a bear color that was the closest to Ilya's mothers hair color as possible, while a small black "81 Rozanov" Jersey wrapped itself around the bear. Svetlana had been right. After Shane had took a step back, he'd realized how perfect she was.

It wasn't so much the bear that made him nervous but what would come out if he... fuck. Was it possible he would just accept it as a bear and not try to---

Just as Shane's thoughts wondered, Shane's anxious, jumpy gaze locked with Ilya's brighter eyes... and he knew he couldn't withhold it from him out of fear. As if to laugh at his own damn self, Shane gave a gentle nod to the bear.

"Uhm... Squ-squeeze the hand...she talks," he instructed, nervously.

It was now that Shane realized, he...hadn't even thought to listen to it, to make sure it sounded like it should. Svetlana had acquired the video and file he needed, and he had given it to a professional sound producer to isolate and perfect... but what if it had fucked up when he and Svetlana had been making the bear? He should've---

Before he could worry too much a sweet voice...a motherly voice. Similar to the one he'd heard every day of his life, but this one...was...the voice of a woman who was no longer here, singing to the son she couldn't attend the birthday of. He was still working on learning Russian, but it sounded like some sort of...lullaby. Svetlana had explained that the video had been a mixture of Irina taking a tiny Ilya ice skating on a nearby pond for his fourth birthday, and the aftermath of when he'd fallen through the ice, while Irina had comforted him through a lullaby.

"ya lyublyu tebya, Il'yushka," she whispered, her voice so smooth. Shane could only imagine her singing lullabies to Ilya.

The voice of a woman Shane never would get to meet and formally thank for giving birth to the beautiful human sitting in front of him.

"I...I know you can't..." he trailed off, before continuing. "But I thought...maybe, I could bring her to you. In some form..." he explained.

Pulling the bag towards himself, his fingers wrapped around the next gift in the bag, and lifted the top from the box.

"It's... Svetlana says its the hairbrush your mother used to use," he said, before gently pulling the last one out and setting it amongst the gifts.

A photo album of Irina's that she had kept. It didn't surprise Shane that she had albums for both her sons, and Shane had bought every single one from Alexei, while Svetlana had brought them over. It had been laughably simple to buy Alexei off, but... a part of Shane had hoped Alexei would've at least wished his brother a Happy Birthday.