Summary:

Fuck, he couldn’t let Hollander see him like this. An echo of his fathers voice played in his head, “ты слаб, Ilya.” You are weak. —— Ilya has a hard time accepting help from anyone, especially when he’s sick. Good thing Shane Hollander doesn’t take no for an answer. Ilya arrived at the cottage before Shane. His boyfriend had one more game in the afternoon before he could get there for their long weekend getaway so Ilya had packed for both of them and made the drive himself. It was weird being in the cottage by himself, he thought as he put their bags down and stared out the window admiring the view of the lake. Then his stomach churned and he groaned walking away to sit down heavily on the couch. He’d started to feel…not well this morning but he insisted that Shane go to his game and he’d powered through the long drive to get here. The cold, clean air of the cottage would be good for him, he thought, and anyway it's not like Ilya ever got really ill. Shane was a different story with his weak stomach and frequent migraines that he’d inherited from his mother but Ilya was always healthy. A workhorse, his father had said once. Strong, Capable, Dependable. But maybe, he could just take a little nap now he thought to himself as he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. That way he’d be ready to ravish his boyfriend when he showed up. He woke up hours later to darkness and a pounding in his head. Ilya squinted, grabbing for his phone. It was already six pm. Fuck, Shane would be here soon. It took too much effort to swing his legs off the side of the couch and he swayed as he stood up, holding onto the back of the couch for support. “Blyat,” he cursed under his breath as his head throbbed and his vision blurred dangerously. His stomach lurched and he remembered why he’d woken up in the first place. He rushed to the bathroom and made it just in time to fall to his knees on the tile and puke up his meager lunch. Trembling, he stood up and hastily brushed his teeth with shaking hands. Fuck, he couldn’t let Hollander see him like this. An echo of his fathers voice played in his head, “ты слаб, Ilya.” You are weak. Ilya carefully made his way back to the couch, trying not to irritate his stomach or his head anymore than he already had. He sat perched on the edge of the couch, head in his hands, until he heard a knock on the door. Shane let himself in and Ilya stood up, trying to muster up a proper greeting. “Hi,” he breathed. He must have failed because Shane’s smile faltered and his hands came up to cup Ilya’s cheeks. “Are you feeling okay?” He said, his brow furrowing in concentration like Ilya was another puzzle for him to solve. Ilya pouted at him, “now you say I look bad.” “No, no, not that it’s just…you're really pale, are you sure you're okay?” Ilya sighed, “I was a little sick before, I’m fine now.” Shane looked like he didn’t believe him so Ilya pressed forward, crushing their mouths together and raising one hand to grip the back of Shane’s head, running his fingers through his hair. At the small noise his boyfriend made in response Ilya instantly felt better. He stepped back, pulling them both towards the couch when a sudden sharp pain went through his head. It felt like someone punched him in the skull and Ilya dropped Shane’s hands, swearing and sitting down on the couch as the room spun. “-lya?” Shane was saying, his fingers tugging at where Ilya had his head buried in his hands. “Are you okay?” Shane said. All he could do was shake his head carefully in response. Shane sat down next to him on the couch, rubbing comforting circles on his back until Ilya was able to speak again. “Sorry.” ты слаб “No,” Shane insisted, “don’t be sorry, fuck its my fault, I thought you looked sick this morning and I left anyway.” “I’m-” he started to say before Shane cut him off. “If you say you're fine, I swear to god Ilya.” “Okay,” he muttered, a small smile curling at his lips, “Mr. Nurse.” “Whatever,” Shane huffed, he pressed the back of his hand to Ilya’s forehead and Ilya leaned into it despite himself, the cold felt so good. “You're burning up,” Shane pointed out. Ilya hummed in response. “Okay, let me see what meds we have here,” Shane said, standing up and walking away towards the kitchen. Ilya missed him immediately. He returned a moment later with a glass of water, a handful of little red pills, and a thermometer. “Open,” he said, holding up the thermometer.