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Shane ran his thumb over Ilya's knuckles, his other hand firmly at the wheel. He hummed along with the song on the radio, which had been turned low the moment he realized Ilya had fallen asleep in the seat beside him.
Shane wanted to admire him. Sleepy Ilya was one of his favourite versions of him: all parted pink lips and lineless face and soft snores. He loved to trace his fingers along Ilya's face while he slept, feeling the soft skin of his cheek and jaw.
Ilya wasn't usually one to sleep on the trip to the cottage, but it had been a long, demanding roadie, and Shane knew he needed it. He himself could have used a nap, but they were almost there, and he could rest once they arrived.
As he pulled into the driveway, Ilya began to stir. Shane put the car into park and shut it off, giving Ilya a moment to wake up properly before kissing him on the cheek and heading to the back to grab their bags.
They'd be here for a week or so, and were expecting David and Yuna that evening for dinner. Shane hoped to watch the game with his mom; Ilya wanted to do a puzzle with David.
Shane slung the two duffels over his shoulders and went to unlock the door. Ilya followed him, feet dragging on the unpaved driveway. They both kicked their shoes off -- Shane much more neatly than Ilya -- and collapsed into the sofa.
They lay in silence for a while, Shane drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, until he heard a small gurgle come from Ilya's stomach. He cracked his eyes open, finding the clock that told him it was much later than when they'd lay down.
"Hungry?" Shane asked. "My parents will be here soon." They both knew that David was bringing enough food to supply a small school for dinner, and Shane couldn't wait. His dad always cooked Ilya's favourite foods, including some from home.
Ilya made a sound in his throat. Shane glanced at him and rearranged his face in concern. "Ilya?" Shane asked, eyebrows knit together at the sight.
In the last few hours, Ilya had grown pale, almost grey. His soft curls were damp with sweat, and his eyes were shut, but the lines at his forehead were more prominent than usual. He had wrapped his arms around his stomach and was breathing slowly and deeply.
"Ilya?" Shane asked again. He reached out to stroke the back of his fingers over Ilya's cheek, finding too much heat there. "Are you sick?"
A non-committal "mmh," was Ilya's only reply. His arms tightened around his stomach and his expression became even more pinched. Shane stood to get a glass of water, filling it under the sink just as Ilya walked stiffly and hurriedly toward the washroom.
Shane brought the glass with him as he followed, getting to the door just in time to be met with the sight and sounds of a very ill partner, knees pressed into the hard tile of the floor.
A sympathetic expression filled Shane's face as he calmly walked to sit cross-legged beside Ilya. He rested his hand on Ilya's lower back despite the dampness of his shirt. Ilya threw up again, panting and groaning. Shane offered him the water, which he used to swish out his mouth.
"How long have you been feeling like this?" Shane asked, his hand now rubbing Ilya's back as he recovered.
"Few hours," Ilya answered, sounding defeated and miserable. Shane pulled him closer into his side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. They sat there for a few more minutes before Ilya decided he was done. He flushed the toilet and allowed himself to be guided to the bedroom.
Shane climbed in first, then pulled the blanket up to Ilya's chin as he followed. Ilya rested his head on Shane's chest, listening to his heartbeat while Shane's soothing fingers drifted through his hair, lulling him to sleep.
...
Ilya awoke to the sound of the doorbell. He lifted his head and sighed, not feeling much better, but both of them had passed out before thinking to text Shane's parents and tell them to wait a day or two before coming over.
He groaned as he stood and stretched, trying to ignore the unease in his stomach. Shane was...still asleep?
Usually he was the lighter sleeper of the two, and the doorbell would certainly have woken him.
Ilya turned and immediately felt his shoulders drop.
Shane looked terrible.
His face was a colour Ilya had never seen on a person before. Pale and a greyish-green he imagined he must have worn earlier. His mouth had fallen open a little while he slept. Ilya pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and closed the door behind himself, hoping to not wake him.
He cursed under his breath and hurried to the door as the doorbell rung again. He hoped desperately it wouldn't wake Shane.
"Ilya!" Yuna exclaimed, too loud, and immediately took him into a hug. "What took you so long?"
Ilya usually loved Yuna's hugs. They felt like what he thought coming home to his Mama would have felt like. Her embrace was warm and she infused it with every ounce of the love she had for him.
Today, it sent his stomach into a fit.
He successfully stifled a small groan at the churning in his stomach, explaining that they'd just been napping. He embraced David with a quick but (he hoped) enthusiastic hug.
He helped them bring in David's endless dishes, trying not to breathe through his nose. The scents still made his mouth water, but this time, it wasn't out of hunger.
"Where's Shane?" David asked as they pulled the last few plates out of the car.
"Resting," Ilya replied. "He looks terrible. Pale. I thought he should sleep."
David gave a sympathetic smile. "Poor kid. We'll see if we can get dinner in him in a bit."
...
Once David and Yuna were settled on the sofa -- the former with a glass of vodka and the latter with a glass of wine -- Ilya went to check on Shane, and to bring him an assortment of medicine. He had painkillers, fever reducers, nausea meds, the works. He opened the door slowly so as to not wake him, but was at Shane's side the moment he realized Shane was no longer asleep.
He was sweaty and shaking, hunched over the trash can that Ilya had never been so grateful he kept lined with a bag. Ilya immediately began running his hand through Shane's hair.
"Get it up," he whispered, "you'll feel better."
Shane's body reacted immediately, lurching over the bin. Ilya pressed a kiss to his hair, swallowing hard and trying again not to breathe through his nose.
When Shane was done, Ilya tied off the bag and replaced it as quickly as he could with another one. His own stomach was turning, but he filled the glass Shane kept at the bedside and brought it back to him, encouraging him to take small sips as he ran his hand up and down Shane's spine.
"Oh, honey," Yuna's voice came from the doorway.
They both looked up to see her and David, arms folded across their chests identically. Ilya had to smile, but it was immediately wiped off his face when Shane discovered he couldn't hold the water down any longer.
...
An hour later, Ilya was sitting at the table with Yuna and David while Shane lay on the sofa, a blanket tucked around him, watching some hockey documentary on the TV. The bin sat pessimistically at the foot of the couch.
Ilya was mostly quiet during dinner. He pushed his food around his plate more than he ate any of it, but with the sounds of Shane retching from the sofa, neither David or Yuna thought much of it.
When he stood, his head spun for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking his plate and sheepishly dumping the rest of his dinner into the compost bin. Any other night, he'd have swallowed down several helpings of everything David made. Tonight...he couldn't stomach it.
They all fit, if a little squished, into the small living space around the television. Shane's head rested in Ilya's lap, miserable but sleepy and comfortable. He had to bend his legs so Yuna could sit at the other end of the couch, while David leaned back in the lounge chair.
"How are you feeling, moya lyubov?" Ilya asked, petting Shane's hair.
"Like shit," Shane replied sleepily.
"Get some sleep, you'll feel better." Ilya leaned down to press a kiss to Shane's temple. He was still warm.
Shane was silent. Ilya thought for a moment that he must have been fighting sleep and, upon being given permission, finally allowed himself to be pulled under.
But then -- "how are you feeling?" Shane mumbled.
Ilya sighed defeatedly. He'd been hoping to avoid this conversation in front of his in-laws.
"I'm okay," he lied.
He could feel Yuna and David's eyes on him.
"I felt pretty bad earlier," he explained. "I'm okay now."
David gave him a small smile, but Yuna's eyes narrowed a fraction. Ilya redirected his attention to Shane, whose mouth had fallen open and gentle snores were escaping.
...
Sometime in the middle of the night, Ilya woke with a familiar feeling at the back of his throat. He desperately shot out of bed and threw himself in front of the toilet, his body rejecting the small amount he'd eaten at dinner. He tried to breathe slowly, to keep himself from waking Shane, but it didn't keep him from throwing up the rest of what he'd eaten. He continued to heave over the toilet even when there was nothing left.
Once he had his body under control, he looked around for the glass to wash his mouth out with water. Shit, they'd taken it to the living room with Shane earlier.
He rose slowly, trying not to upset his stomach any further. Walking past a still-asleep Shane, he tiptoed into the kitchen, filled a glass and washed his mouth out, then took a small, tentative sip.
"Come sit," Yuna's voice from the sofa startled him. He hadn't seen her in the dark. She patted the sofa beside her, and Ilya felt he had no choice but to join her, despite desperately wanting to be back in bed. He had no more food in his stomach to throw up, but he still felt unsettled and miserable. He wanted to curl into Shane and sleep.
"Why are you up so late?" He asked quietly as he sat beside her, resting the water on his knee.
She held up a book, a thumb keeping her page. "Just reading," she said, but Ilya thought he knew her better than that. "How are you feeling, Ilya?"
She knew. She had to.
Ilya sighed.
"Not great."
Yuna made a disapproving sound. "You should be resting if you're sick, Ilya."
"I'm okay. I need to take care of Shane."
Yuna tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.
"You're not okay, Ilya." She leaned in to press her lips to his forehead. "You have a fever."
"I'm okay," Ilya protested again, wincing against a sudden, sharp pain in his stomach. "Really." He knew she had seen through him, maybe heard him being sick in the bathroom. He couldn't just keep repeating that he was okay. That would never convince her.
"Go to bed, Ilyusha. Your body needs rest."
That, he could agree with. He hugged her -- being careful of his stomach -- and retreated to the bedroom to tuck himself in next to Shane, who still didn't move even as Ilya snuggled into his side.
...
The next morning came too soon. Ilya woke to the sound of Shane, sick again in the bathroom. Ilya sighed, trying to ignore the pain that was now in his head as well as his abdomen. He knelt down next to Shane and allowed him to rest his head on Ilya's shoulder.
"Ilya, I feel so bad," Shane groaned. Ilya pressed a kiss to his temple before another wave of nausea hit Shane and he was hunched back over the toilet. Ilya drew soothing circles in his back, holding back his own nausea. His body didn't have any more to give, but suddenly, he was heaving alongside Shane, not even worrying to angle himself over the toilet.
Shane looked somewhat surprised and incredibly upset that Ilya was still sick.
"'M sorry," Ilya said as he got his body under control. "I'm okay."
"Ilya, you don't have to be okay," Shane said in a voice made gravelly by his sickness. "Mum will take care of us."
"'M okay," Ilya said again. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, hand resting on his stomach. Shane, sensing a pause in the war his body was waging on him, leaned back too, pulling Ilya to rest against him, head on his shoulder.
And that's how Yuna and David found them, an hour later, when Yuna came to check on them both. She knew Ilya wasn't well, but at least a sick Shane was compliant. He would take his meds, try to eat and drink a little, rest. Ilya was another story. She knew why, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with.
David began setting up the living room for the two boys. He put a sheet over the sofa and stacked pillows on each end, trash can between them. He sets folded blankets and medicine and water.
Ilya had his arm around Shane's waist as he helped get him to the couch. Shane immediately curled into the pillows, and Ilya took great care in tucking the blanket around him. Ilya then sat down at Shane's feet, pulled them into his lap, and began gently massaging his feet and lower legs. Shane moaned softly and let out a breath. He closed his eyes until David came over with two plates of plain toast, setting them on the table before falling into a chair.
"Mom's just taking some phone calls today," he said. "We're going to stay so we can take care of you boys."
Shane just nodded, but Ilya protested. "It's okay. I can take care of Shane. I've got him."
David smiled sadly at him. "We know you would, Ilya, but we don't want you to have to. We know you're not feeling your best, either."
Ilya shrugged and turned his attention back to Shane's feet. As if to prove his point, he asked, "do you need anything, dorogoy?"
"Maybe Dad could get me a ginger ale?" Came Shane's pathetic little voice.
But before David could stand, Ilya was gently pushing Shane's feet from his lap and standing. He waved away David's and Shane's protests that he needed to rest and brought a glass of ginger ale to Shane. He sat on the floor to help him sip it slowly, handing him some anti-nausea and fever-reducer pills to take with it. Shane tried to convince him to take some, too, but he refused. "I'm okay, malysh."
When Shane was done, Ilya set the glass on the table and picked up a book from the table he knew Shane was reading. He sat on the floor and leaned back against the couch, opened the book to the bookmarked page and began to read aloud softly. His eyes strained to read the tiny words, making his headache worse. Shane began to protest again, saying that Ilya needed rest, but Ilya only continued through his complaints. David stood, gave Ilya a worried look, and left them alone. Shane's hand came to Ilya's hair and he stroked it for a while, his hand slowing gradually until he fell asleep, hand limp.
Ilya couldn't help the fond smile from coming to his lips. He waited a few minutes until Shane was more deeply asleep (his assessment based on the breathing that was developing into soft snores) before slowly and carefully removing Shane's hand and going to the kitchen.
He began chopping up vegetables -- broccoli, carrots, celery, onion -- to put together a soup for Shane. He knew they had some kind of stock somewhere. Ilya hoped that the anti-nausea medication would help him keep something down later, and he figured they'd start simple with a vegetable and chicken soup. The smells of food weren't helping him at that moment --it was making him feel a little queasy -- but it would help Shane later.
"Ilya!" Yuna's voice hissed quietly from the doorway of the guest bedroom. "What are you doing?"
"Making soup for Shane."
"You need to rest, Ilya."
Ilya shook his head and continued chopping. "I need to help Shane feel better," he said.
Yuna sighed. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do." She took the knife from Ilya's trembling hands. "You are going to let me take care of you. You're going to take your medicine and drink your electrolytes. Most importantly, you're going to rest."
"But-"
"However," Yuna continued, "if you agree to take care of yourself, I'll let you take care of Shane. Win-win, for both of us."
Ilya's eyes narrowed, but maybe that was just exhaustion setting in. "What do you propose?"
"You do what I tell you. That means lying down, trying to nap, taking your meds on time. But it also means I'll give you tasks to help Shane out. I'll ask you to get him things, do things for him. Listen, honey," she put a hand on his back and rubbed a little. "I don't want you to feel terrible, and I know it's hard for you to take care of yourself. Let's try a little compromise, okay?"
Ilya nodded and leaned into her shoulder. "Okay."
"Alright. Then let's work on this soup together. But first-" she pulled up a stool for Ilya to sit on before handing him the knife back. When he took the seat and began chopping again, Yuna patted his cheek lovingly.
Yuna began working on the chicken as Ilya works on the vegetables. Shane even woke and began watching some boring show about people buying homes. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the scent of their cooking, and Yuna was commenting on how delicious it will be, but Ilya's stomach was protesting at the smell. He must have turned green, because Yuna told him to go lie on the couch. He tried to protest, but she gave him a pointed look, and he went without another word. He lay down at Shane's feet, head resting on the pillow.
Shane's jaw practically dropped as he looked between Ilya and his mother. "Ilya-? Mom-?" Yuna just shrugged and smiled, while Ilya took deep breaths with a pinched expression. He was grasping desperately at the pillow, as though it was causing his pain.
Shane sat up and moved closer to Ilya. He brought the bin to the couch as Ilya swallowed carefully, holding it out for Ilya to take. He shook his head defiantly.
Shane didn't argue, just held it as he knew Ilya would need it eventually, if the greenish-grey hue of his face and the sweat on his brow were anything to go by. And soon enough, Ilya's body chose for him. He grabbed the bin and pitched forward, vomiting hard into it. His whole body seized with the force. Shane ran his hand up and down his leg soothingly.
"That's it, you'll feel better soon," he said softly.
Yuna came over and set medication on the coffee table. She set her hand lightly on Ilya's shoulder, looked at Shane and, over the sound of Ilya's gagging, gave him instructions.
"When he can keep it down, give him one of each of these. Have him take it with the ginger ale, it should help. If he doesn't want to, remind him that I'm just in the other room. He'll take it." She squeezed Ilya's shoulder and kissed his forehead as he breathed hard through his mouth. Yuna replaced the bin temporarily with a garbage bag, just in case the lapse in his vomiting wasn't as long as she hoped, and took the bin away to clean it.
Shane, feeling marginally better than earlier, pulled Ilya sideways into his chest and slipped his hand into his hair. He lightly moved his fingers through it, making Ilya sigh. The sound was contented enough that Shane knew it must have felt really good, given how he was feeling.
Shane propped his book up on his knee and began to read it aloud. While Ilya didn't have the background to really understand what was happening, Shane thought it might help him sleep, just as it had for him earlier.
And that it did. Minutes later, Ilya's head was tipped heavily against Shane's chest, mouth fallen open. His breaths came steady, slowly turning into the quietest snores rumbling in his chest.
The smallest smile found Shane's lips. He closed his book, slowly leaned back into the couch to get Ilya more horizontal, and closed his eyes as he pressed a kiss to Ilya's curls.