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“I wish you were here right now.” Shane sounded small and tinny through the phone.
“I wish I was too.” Ilya responded in Russian, closing his eyes.
Shane held his phone tightly, wishing more than anything that he was holding Ilya instead. He heard Ilya breath in sharply and shut his eyes as his heart clenched.
“Shane?” A whisper. Not from the phone in his hand but from the staircase in front of him.
Little pieces of snow were melting in Ilya’s hair. Slowly, a drop rolled down his forehead and towards his red-tinged eyes. Shane slipped his phone into his pocket and reached out, swiping the drop away from Ilya’s cold cheek before letting his hand rest against Ilya’s face.
Ilya leaned into the touch, looking at Shane, and Shane, slowly, pulled him closer. Their breaths mixed— Ilya’s catching every few exhales. Their foreheads touched. Ilya’s fingers interlaced with Shane’s and their hands resting on Ilya’s cheek, while Ilya’s other hand pressed against the stairs next to Shane’s head.
“Ilya,” whispered Shane. He felt Ilya nod, once, softly. He was scared that if he moved too fast, or spoke too loud, the moment would shatter and Ilya would be lost to him. He grasped Ilya’s hand tighter and stared at him. Ilya’s mouth was tenser than usual. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual. His chin trembled more than usual. His eyes were wetter than usual.
Shane leaned forwards, and kissed Ilya gently. Ilya’s eyes fell shut, and he leaned into Shane, brushing their noses together.
Ilya pulled them even closer together until they pressed into each other from hips to forehead. This close, Shane could see individual tears as they lost their grip on Ilya’s lashes. One fell, then a second, then Ilya broke their kiss to bury his face in Shane’s neck. He was gasping for air like he’d been underwater, and his hand had started to tremble against Shane’s skin.
All Shane could hear was Ilya’s muffled gasps— the noise of cars outside had vanished. For once in his life, he wasn’t doubting himself, or planning contingencies, or practicing conversations in his head. He knew what to do.
Shane wrapped an arm around Ilya’s back and tugged him up, arranging them so that Shane was lying down with Ilya on top of him, his head pressed into Shaw’s shoulder. Shane’s arms wound around Ilya, holding him tight.
“Ilya, breath. I’m here.” At Shane’s murmur, Ilya turned his head into the crook of Shane’s neck. Their legs were interlaced. In response, Shane leaned his head against Ilya’s, giving him as much shelter as he could.
“Sorry.” Ilya choked out, his accent stronger through his tears. He was clutching Shane with trembling hands.
“No … Ilya, shh.” Shane squeezed tighter. He laced his other hand through Ilya’s hair, gently detangling it until he found Ilya’s neck and cradled it, thumb rubbing back and forth behind, massaging the tense muscles. He hated that Ilya kept apologizing to him, as if he wouldn’t have given anything to have Ilya here in his arms instead of alone in the snow in Moscow. Tears were soaking through his shirt. Shane’s heart clenched, his own breath stuttering.
He may not have understood what Ilya said on the phone, but he’d heard his voice crack. He’d heard the anger, the frustration, the resignation, and the pain underlying everything else. He’d recognized a couple words mixed in but had no desire to try to decode the speech. And now with Ilya back in his arms, Shane had to squeeze him tighter, probably tight enough to be uncomfortable, but Ilya squeezed him tighter in response. Shane desperately wanted to press the care that overwhelmed him out through his hands, and make Ilya understand how loved he is.
One of Ilya’s hands was clutching Shane’s shirt while the other gripped his ribcage. His face twisted against Shane’s neck. Shane tried to keep breathing as deep as he could with Ilya clinging to him with all his strength. Ilya’s breath kept shuddering. Shane rubbed circles into his back. They lied there, Ilya half curled on top of Shane like an animal sheltering from the cold, both of them holding onto the other, and slowly, Ilya started to breathe with Shane.
The light bounced through Ilya’s hair, lightening the wet strands and revealing their original blonde. Shane watched his hand move up and down Ilya’s back. Still they lay there, curled together amongst the harsh angles and peeling paint of the stairwell.
The only time Shane removed his hand from Ilya’s back was to silence his meal and workout alarms. Hayden would just assume Shane had gone for a run, and everyone else seemed to avoid this emergency staircase since Shane hadn’t heard even one footstep nearby the whole time he’d been there. After many minutes of that silence, interrupted only by the occasional car outside and by Ilya sniffing, Shane felt a tickle against his neck as Ilya opened his eyes.
“Shane-“ Ilya inhaled sharply, and his exhale halted, choked and frustrated.
“I’m here.” Shane repeated, mouth nearly touching Ilya’s ear. Letting go of his shirt, Ilya cradled the back of Shane’s head and pressed a gentle kiss against Shane’s neck before sighing and nestling back in. Shane lifted one arm from where it had been wrapped around Ilya’s waist until it looped over his shoulders and Shane could reach his face. He pressed his thumb into the lines of Ilya’s frown and started to smooth them. Turning his head, Ilya pressed his lips against Shane’s thumb. Brushing Shane’s skin with each letter, Ilya mouthed something tenderly, then he tilted his head so he was looking across Shane’s chest and began to trace up and down Shane’s arm. His other hand slid lower to wrap around Shane’s waist.
Shane could now see one side of Ilya’s face and he was relieved to see Ilya’s eyes were much calmer than they had been when he had appeared. Every breath was congested but it was nearly even, instead of shallow and gasping. He was still a mess though, eyes red and swollen, cheeks glistening with tear tracks, and a bit of snot dripping from his nose. Shane kissed his hair.
A couple more minutes passed while they cuddled. Shane’s mind drifted, remembering the other times they’d cuddled and the times they hadn’t. His eighteen year old self would’ve had an aneurism if he’d known what had happened between himself and that cocky Russian kid he’d introduced himself to so many years ago.
“Do you always take phone calls in dirty staircases?” Ilya, voice rough and tired, broke the silence.
“Only yours Ilya, I reserve the nice staircases for my mom.” Shane felt a soft smile on his face as he whispered into Ilya’s hair.
“Ah, Hollander, you better be nice to me. Otherwise I’ll tell the reporters.” Ilya’s smile was audible.
“Oh they would love it. Remember how crazy they went when Scott Hunter and I fought?”
“Yes I remember. I also remember that you looked hot.”
Shane sputtered. “I was in full gear! You couldn’t even see my face.”
“I could see your ass.” Ilya looked up through his eyelashes, watching Shane open and shut his mouth like a goldfish.
“You’re an ass,” Shane finally sputtered
“You love it.” Ilya smirked.
“I do.” Shane smiled, looking down at Ilya who instantly looked away, his smirk freezing then dropping away only to be replaced by a soft, private smile. Shane kissed his forehead again.
“Softie,” Ilya huffed, glancing at Shane’s smile then looking away again. He nestled into Shane’s lap and pinched his arm.
“You want me to call you an ass again so badly, don’t you.”
“What is the thing you people say … when the size is right buy it?”
Shane frowned. “If the shoe fits wear it? I think that’s from an American song or something.”
“Yeah— is silly saying. But correct. I have a very nice ass.”
“You do. Asshole.” Shane poked Ilya’s forehead, but he couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face, and by the looks of it, neither could Ilya. They leaned forwards, bumping their noses together but still managing to kiss. Shane shut his eyes.
When he opened them, Ilya’s weight had vanished, but he could still feel the warmth of Ilya’s lips against his.
In a tunnel in Moscow, Ilya opened his eyes. He could feel the phantom touch of Shane’s lips against his own, and he brushed his fingers over them to try to preserve the feeling. He took a deep breath and turned, walking back to the street, to the funeral. But his steps were much lighter than they had been in weeks, and a smile danced across his face.