shane mimics things. not all the time, but a lot of the time, mostly when they’re alone. it’s one thing on the ever evolving list of things that ilya rozanov finds endearing about his boyfriend. shane mimics bird calls at the cottage- not just the loons but always and especially the loons- and he mimics the goal horn after he scores on the ice and repeats commentary back to the announcers under his breath while watching tape. he even mimics the little songs the washer and dryer sing when their cycles are done. above all else though he mimics ilya. he recognizes it immediately the first time shane is complaining to him about dishes, the little missing articles in his sentences like “is not hard, ilya!” and “mug is dirty so put in washer.” ilya really wants to chirp him for it but he just looks so earnest and flushed with frustration, how could ilya refuse? so he rinses his coffee mug, puts it upside down in the dishwasher and presses a kiss to shane’s temple and files the interaction away for later. from there the mimicking only got more frequent and more pronounced, so much so that ilya thinks shane must be doing it on purpose.
one day when they happen to be in the same city at the same time and shane says something just devastatingly canadian, ilya thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to get him back. he repeats shane’s words but with an extra layer of maple syrup on top just to drive the point home. he grins at him and waits but shane doesn’t laugh. he pauses the smoothie he’s making for himself, frozen strawberry in hand and just stares at ilya for awhile.
“i’ve been echoing you haven’t i?” shane says and his voice is so blank it makes ilya stand up straight where he was leaning on the counter before.
“if echo is what you call it, yes. you steal my accent.”
“oh.” shane nods and plunks the strawberry into the blender and turns it on without giving the ‘loud noise’ warning he usually does. he stares at the white yogurt and ice, watching it all crunch together and go pink. shane watches the blender and ilya watches him and niether of them say anything when he pours his drink into his glass and walks away.
it’s been a few hours now and shane isn’t exactly ignoring ilya. he still lets ilya press up against him on the couch and runs his fingers through his hair while he types stupid boring emails on his laptop. but he isn’t talking. and it’s not a good silence. it’s not a silence that says ‘i’m happy and content so there’s nothing to say’ or even ‘i’m overwhelmed can we just sit and not talk for awhile.’ it’s a thick, heavy silence that says ‘i shouldn’t have talked at all and now i don’t know how to talk again.’ it makes ilya feel sick to his stomach that he unintentionally made his boyfriend so sad.
ilya props his chin up on shane’s shoulder, he weighs his words carefully before deciding on “you can’t help it can you? your echo?”
shane shakes his head and says “no” and then “yes” and then “i don’t know, sometimes?” he rubs his eyes behind his glasses and it would be adorable if it wasn’t a clear sign of distress.
ilya nudges his nose against shane’s long since healed collar bone to say, ‘tell me how it works.’
shane sighs but it’s more out of loving exasperation than real upset so ilya knows he’s on the right track. shane moves his laptop from his lap to the nearby coffee table and ilya doesn’t wait for permission before replacing it with himself. ilya would give just about anything for shane to look up at him.
“i can help it if i focus really hard but it’s like holding in a sneeze.” shane drums his fingers on ilya’s ribs and ilya hums in return, “i try to stop but then things echo around in my head.” he stops for a second and ilya knows to wait for him to continue “i don’t want to make fun of you. i’m not trying to. i really like how you talk, your voice, how you make things sound- i don’t know.”
finally, ilya leaps at the chance to lighten the mood, “my voice is very sexy- shame we cannot all be russian, some of us have to be boring.”
“oh fuck off.” shane shoves him away but he’s smiling just a little at the corners of his mouth and he’s finally looking up at ilya with those brown eyes. ‘there you are.’
“mm no, don’t think so.” iyla takes his chin and kisses him eagerly on the lips, “you like me.” then he bites him on his cheek, “you want to sound like best hockey player ever.”
“you asshole,” shane counterintuitively pulls him closer so their noses bump, “you’re ruining my english. i’ve worked hard on it, you know?”
“poor shane, so sad.”
after quite awhile and quite a few kisses later ilya is back in his spot again, nose tucked in crook of shane’s neck. the silence around them is the light comfortable kind.
“you don’t actually think i sound like that right? the thing you did?”
“no shane, i don’t think you say ‘eh’.”
