thinking about teenage ilya back in russia during the winter wearing a massive puffer jacket and a neck gaiter and big fluffy mits with a hat that covers most of his ears but the bottoms peak out and they’re just a little red. imagining him doing a big dramatic show for sveta like when he wrestled with her on the bed but instead he’s all done up in winter gear and they’re around a fire instead and filled with liquor and laughter that makes their faces redder in the cold. imagining him an hour later slouched back into a chair by the fire with his face mostly buried into the high collar of the coat as he half dozes with a scrunch to his eyebrows like he won’t give into the exhaustion even though he’s hitting the crashing point from the alcohol he, sveta and sasha have been drinking straight from the bottle for hours now. like that’s my son actually