Summary:

“Ilya,” Shane says warningly, but he’s too late as the grin unfurls across Ilya’s face. “I said no laughing,” he snaps, glaring at him. “You’re laughing.”

Ilya shakes his head. “Is not at you, sweetheart,” he says, unable and unwilling to stop his beaming. “I am just—happy. To share this with you.” He meets Shane’s eyes. “You are—singularity,” he says, careful with his pronunciation. “My favorite.”

Shane goes red so fast, Ilya worries about his heart for a second.

“I just want to know you,” Shane murmurs, closing his eyes when Ilya lifts his hand up and strokes through his hair. “I miss you when you aren't around, and I want to carry the little bits of you I can.”

OR: Shane has some questions. Ilya always seems to have an answer. (And one time, Ilya has a question, too.)