I have a series of vignettes for you and the 6XLya lovers out there. This is getting into the less sexy side and more the love and care of a 6XL partner side. Because I agree with you that their life is beautiful and wonderful and full of love, but also not even our favorite Russian Bear can escape all the consequences of being so big forever. Here is the first one that came to me in prose. (Let me know if you'd prefer for me to post and tag you to reblog, vs dropping these in your Ask box)
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Shane lay awake in their bed next to Ilya. Listening and counting. Feeling the rhythm and rumble of Ilya’s breath in his big chest. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s late. He was woken up by the sound of Ilya’s snoring and breathing again. He suspects the unevenness of the pattern had triggered his brain to wake up and pay attention.
Ilya’s snores, which had become a fixture of their nighttimes many many pounds ago, had gotten less steady recently. The most recent weight gain seemed to have pushed him over some invisible line neither of them knew was there. Now Shane is hyper aware of the sounds emanating from the massive outline of his husband next to him in the dark.
He watches the movement of his husband’s chest and belly going up and down in time with his breaths. Shane listens carefully as Ilya’s sleep deepens and his snores transition from robust and loud to shallow and soft. The snoring sound and the air flow producing it gets thinner and thinner until it fades out entirely. Like a decaying sine wave that diminishes to nothing.
Silence. The worst silence. Stillness. Too much stillness.
Shane begins to count in his head. Like counting the seconds between the flash of lightning and the clap of thunder to gauge how far away you are from the incoming thunderstorm. How close is it this time? Are we in danger? Did I remember to close the windows? How bad is it going to be tonight?
One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand
The silence stretches interminably
Four, one thousand, five, one thousand
Shane starts to hold his own breath involuntarily.
Six, one thousand, seven, one thousand
This is going on too long
Right as Shane is reaching a hand out towards Ilya’s shoulder, Ilya suddenly gasps, jerks his head back, and sucks in a shuddering inhale. Shane lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Ilya coughs a little and takes several extra deep breaths, still sound asleep, before settling back into his typical snoring rhythm. Shane listens to the sound of Ila’s breath. He watches his large chest rise and fall. He takes in all of the evidence of Ilya’s continued existence next to him. Shane snuggles back into place next to his husband’s large, soft, side and tries to relax. He can’t. He’s not sure if sleep will come for him tonight.
Shane is warm and feels his eyelids start drooping when he hears Ilya’s breathing starting to taper off again. Each breath less convincing than the one before it.
Like waves ebbing out with the tide, Ilya’s breath fades away into nothingness again.
This time it only takes five seconds until Ilya gasps and chokes and coughs for air.
The time after that was six seconds, then seven again, then eight. That was a bad one.
A few rounds after that Shane nudges Ilya in the shoulder before it gets to 10 seconds. Ilya barely stirs. Resumes breathing but doesn’t wake up.
What if he never wakes up. What if one of these nights his breathing slowly fades out, stops, and never restarts?
Shane’s nervous system continues to fray as this cycle repeats over and over all night. This wasn't the first night this has happened, but it was the worst one Shane can remember.
When Ilya wakes up in the morning he finds Shane lying next to him staring at the ceiling with dark circles under his eyes.
He looks at Shane, “Sweetheart, are you ok? What’s wrong?”
“It’s time for you to get a CPAP”
Wowww what a gift in my inbox! Ilya’s CPAP Supporters of the world rejoice… it’s here.
I have a headcanon that Shane usually sleeps like the dead under the right circumstances, so that would make it all the more terrifying for him to think that he might just… sleep through it. Of course he’d keep himself up. And Ilya doesn’t even realize his sleep quality has been leaving something to be desired until he’s actually getting enough oxygen all night and his SSRIs are suddenly pulling their weight again. I love them. Thank you!
Also, you’re welcome to send them here or post them yourself— I’m sure I’ll see and love and reblog them regardless! there’s more than enough big Ilya to go around.
