Shane and Ilya share breakfast. Canada Day festivities ensue. Rosé happens. Svetlana and Rose find themselves in the closet. And Shane and Ilya don't fight.
“Little fox, I’m getting tired of waking up alone because you are stress cleaning,” Ilya sighs. “But I do appreciate the view.”
Shane turns around from his position on the ground, hands and knees digging into the tile, and rolls his eyes.
“Funny. I’m almost done.”
“Almost done, what? Cleaning the air? The caterers are setting up in the kitchen. Why don’t you come watch and make sure they do good job?” Ilya suggests.
And Shane can’t say it doesn’t sound like a good idea. They make their way into the kitchen where the caterers are setting up a breakfast-style buffet. Shane had gotten whatever the top-tier package was, just in case, to make sure everything went perfectly. He stays to the side of the kitchen to keep an eye on it all, not wanting to be in the way, but wanting to see everything as it unfolds. He feels comfortable in the fray of logistics, no matter the topic, watches with a keen eye as table napkins are unfolded, and fruit is prepared in creative designs that no one but Shane will really care about. He breathes a little easier as he watches, getting caught up in the spectacle and farther away from his morning rumination. So, of course, Ilya goes and steps right into the middle of things without so much as an “excuse me”.
Shane wants to stop him, can feel the air building in his chest to do just that, when he gets a little caught up watching him instead. Ilya’s movements are sure, even at the cabin. Shane’s interior design skills left something to be desired, but he had truly organized his home in the perfect way for humane living. Ilya caught on quickly in Montreal. Shane still remembered the first time he watched him make tea–a thing he now regularly stocked in his kitchen. He watched him with the kettle, watched the way his fingers navigated Shane’s kitchen like it was his own. Without thought. Just instinct. Shane had blown him in the breakfast nook for that. And he’s thinking of doing the same now when he remembers his boyfriend’s sexy ultimatum that would surely result in Shane’s untimely, yet welcomed, demise.
Instead, Shane watches Ilya grab a bagel from a bowl of different breads, muffins, and pastries laid out by the caterers. He locates the toaster on the counter to the left of the sink, away from the refrigerator where the blender went–because, duh–and flips the switch down without an ease that makes Shane emotional. Because they’re here now. Here in his cabin, the space that made him feel safest, like he could be a person and breathe without anguish. And Ilya is here making breakfast before the caterers feed everyone, because he can, and because he knows where everything is. It’s this perfect little microcosm of the world Shane is trying to build for himself. With him.
Ilya goes in search of a banana and manages to find a plastic knife that Shane is sure must be from a takeout order months ago. He moves seamlessly within the kitchen, sliding in between caterers and moving platters, fully at home both in his skin and in his environment. Shane hopes that he is. Not in a “speed-run-the-relationship” way, but in a “home-is-us-together” way.
He gets lost in daydreams of summers with more visitors. Hayden and Jackie. The kids…His dad. For some reason, he could see his dad there with them, but not his mom. Not yet. He gets stuck on that, and before Shane knows what’s happening, he’s being steered to the kitchen table against his will, and he doesn’t even get to watch the caterers set up the nut-based milks for the cereal bar. (That was his favorite part.) Instead, Ilya is placing a small plate in front of him, Shane getting a whiff of almond butter and cinnamon, as his boyfriend locks his arms behind his back in some sort of Russian version of “ta-da”.
He stares up at Ilya, dumbfounded.
“Uh… It’s not time for breakfast yet. No one else is awake.”
Ilya nods in understanding, doesn’t argue that Shane is missing the bigger picture in his focus on the details. “You will be hovering whole time…watching everyone else eat, yes? To make sure it all goes according to plan? You eat something now…before riff-raff wakes up.”
He looks down at his plate–because apparently it was his plate– and back to Illya’s expectant gaze, like he’s daring Shane to refuse him. Shane swallows so loudly at the thought of Ilya feeding him that he’s worried the entire house will hear it. He peers over at the caterers like they’ll notice. Because how could anyone not notice that Ilya is trying to feed him?
“You made me breakfast…” He trails off.
“...I made you breakfast. You will eat?”
He doesn’t even answer. Shane grabs one of the slices of bagel and bites into it until there’s almond butter on his nose and banana in his teeth. He realizes there are chia seeds and recognizes the complete macros of the meal before him. Healthy fats. Carbs. Protein and Fiber. The reality of it is so tender that it truly makes him come up short. He has to pause and breathe and chew and breathe… While Ilya stares at him. Not searching. Not inquisitive. Just stares in recognition. As if to say, I am here, and I see you. At seven-thirty in the morning. With a bagel.
“What about you?” Shane asks, working to swallow around the bite of food. And to hide what he knows is the buildup of water in his eyes.
Ilya slips his hand onto the back of Shane’s neck, keeps him from shifting his gaze. Shane presses back into the contact, and they stare at each other as he takes another bite. Without thinking, without speaking. Shane knows intuitively that Ilya won’t answer him until he’s swallowed his food. The thought makes Shane flush, and he reaches for the glass of water on the table in front of him to stop himself from choking. Ilya pretends not to notice.
“You want me to eat too?” Ilya asks, when the food has made its way past his throat.
He nods. “Will you share with me?”
