(WELL I COULDNT GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD (part of my wip where Ilya and Shane host Alexei and his daughter at their house while Alexei applies for political asylum in Canada))
Last year on Christmas Eve, Ilya had cried so hard on Yuna and David's couch that Shane had brushed his hair away from his forehead and gave him sips of water like he was blackout drunk. All because of a stupid musical that David had put on the TV.
Time had eased them all into a more comfortable shape. Early on, the four of them struggled to shed their polite, if distant, demeanors with each other. Shane, worrying constantly about making everyone happy, Ilya worrying about being funny and helpful enough to make the Hollanders forget the last decade theyād spent cursing his name, and Yuna and David worrying about Shane grabbing Ilyaās hand and running out the door along with his hard-earned vulnerabilities like a skittish cat.Ā
Now, they could arrive without specifying exactly whenā their presence was expected, but they were equal participants in the making of festivities. Shane went to start preparing mulled wine, something Ilya had tried at a recent barbeque at Boodās and become obsessed with. Meanwhile, Ilya began stacking gifts beneath the tree in the living room.Ā
āThanks for playing elf, kiddo,ā David said when he rose from his task. It had gotten easier, as time went on, to weather these Hollander Christmases. At first, heād spent quite a lot of those days in the bathroom splashing cold water on his face and pinching himself to make sure he wasnāt dreaming. Like a fucking Hallmark card, their lives. A fat pine tree (āDouglas fir, Ilya.ā) laden with ornaments, an anthology of a life that Ilya hadnāt known he was waiting forever to be slotted into, ham roasting in the oven, snow falling outside, a man with gentle hands that looked just like his sonās calling him kiddo. Jesus, he could have choked on it.
āWhat are you watching?ā He asked David, noticing several frozen nuns on the TV screen, hands clasped in prayer.Ā
David chuckled. āYouāve never seen The Sound of Music?ā
Ilya shook his head as a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist, a head resting on his shoulder.Ā
āOh man, I forgot about this movie,ā Shane said. āWe used to watch it during the holidays, like, every year.ā
āShane loved it as a little kid,ā David said, a sly smile growing on his face. āHe used to run around, butt-naked except for a pillowcase on his head, pretending he was one of the sisters.ā
Ilya turned to his husband and winked. āOh Shanya, you would have made a terrible nun.ā
Shane glared at him, but it was undermined by the grin he was mostly failing to hide.Ā
David turned the movie back on and Ilya found himself engrossed over the next several hoursā musical numbers paused and broken up by oven timers and the neighbors coming by to ask if they had any extra eggs. Ilya had a moment of panic thinking he left his meds at homeā they were staying the night at Yuna and Davidās, and while it wouldnāt be the end of the world to run home and grab them, it served as an annoying reminder of all the ways he had to keep on top of his stupid brain that refused to cooperate. He was saved after a moment of digging through his duffle bag by a hand on his shoulder and a plastic baggie shoved into his hands, four of two different pills inside.Ā
āI keep some spares with me,ā Shane said, looking strangely sheepish. Ilya thought about the pros and cons of locking Shane in his parentās guest room with him until morning. He decided against it, mostly because the movie wasn't over yet and he wanted to know if Maria was going to admit her feelings for the Captain.
The Hollanders only made fun of him a little bit when he started, and subsequently didn't really stop, crying during the second act. The love they had for their home, the grief of having to leave it. The bravery to do it, knowing you had the person you loved most in the whole world by your side.
Heās thinking of that night now, after recounting his phone call with Sveta and telling Shane that, yes, he would like to invite his brother and his niece, Alina, to come to Canada and apply for political asylum here.Ā
Shane nods as he talks, listening intently, as always. Ilya spent the long, gray years of his childhood mostly silent. He spoke when spoken to, as was required of him. Teachers adored him, worried for him when he cried every morning when he had to be separated from his motherās arms. He spent the long gray years of his early adulthood intent on being the loudest thing in the room, big brash words, long arms gesticulating, keeping the attention right where he wanted it and nowhere he didnāt. The words didnāt matter, they were all empty, they were all a pantomime. Only one person ever really saw through him at all, only one person ever pushed him to say more, to cut the bullshit and actually say what he meant. Someone who saw the myth of Ilya Rozanov and went searching for the man, instead.
At the end of his rambling proposal, Shane steeples his fingers, elbows on the dinner table.
āOkay? That is all?ā Ilya questions.Ā
Shane shrugs, then fixes him with a long look, dark eyes on his own, unwavering. Then he nods. āI trust you. Are you thinking they would stay with us? I can call the security company, make sure everything is up to date.ā
And then Ilya thinks of Maria, standing in the dark with Captain Von Trapp, blurred watercolor focus, a long road behind them, a longer one ahead of them.Ā
Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good. Indeed, somewhere in Ilyaās wicked, miserable youth, there must have been some act that allowed him this. This life, this man.
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