1 – 1 of 1 Work in Yuna is there to take good care of him
- Yuna is there to take good care of him ×
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When Shane suspects Ilya has the flu but he's away for a game, he calls upon his mother to make sure Ilya is well taken care of in his absence. ___ “I’m sorry I thought you were mama,” Ilya quickly said on top of her words, still unwilling to meet her eye. So this was where the majority of the silence stemmed from, then. Shame. She immediately sat back down, plate forgotten. Even with his head angled downwards, she did not miss the red flush on his cheeks and chin. YUNA “Hey, sweetheart. Isn’t the game beginning in two hours? What’s up?” Yuna huffed quietly into the receiver of her phone, amused, as she watched David mercilessly throw snow off of the roof of their car with a shovel. He caught her watching through the kitchen window, sent her a gloved thumbs-up, and continued to sweep it from the windshield as if he had a vendetta against the wintertime. “Mom— hi,” Shane’s voice was tinny and obscured on the other line, as it always was whenever he was so far away, but this time even more-so when combined with the noise of what must have been the locker room. Shane rarely ever called this soon before a game; his priorities often more-so aligned with keeping his teammates in check and completing pre- game interviews, not placating his nervous mother. Something was amiss, and she had a nagging feeling it was serious. “Is something wrong?” She asked, unable to contain it. She heard him sigh. That was never a good start. Somewhere near him, a teammate shrieked something incoherent. But she patiently waited him out as he tried to find the words. “It’s— Lily,” he finally said, clearly frustrated. Her heart ached. She hated that he needed to be so careful with his words when around anyone he knew personally. She hated that he couldn’t be open and honest and carefree. She hated that all of the men he surrounded himself with got to talk openly about their wives and girlfriends and children, and he was relegated to a code- word like an obsessive middle schooler. But she steeled that anger for another time. “She’s sick, I think. Since I’m all the way over here for another twenty-four hours at least, I was hoping you might be able to… check up on her.” The ‘her’ was strained. Yuna nodded gratuitously, despite the fact that her son couldn’t see her. “Of course. Of course I will. Do you know specifically what’s wrong?” “Flu, I think. H—she won’t tell me. She mentioned not feeling well a few hours ago, and I haven’t heard anything since,” then, quieter, more nervous: “she would never ask for help, but I know she needs it. She wouldn’t have mentioned anything if it wasn’t bad.” Yuna Hollander did not know her son’s boyfriend quite well just yet. He had only recently fully transitioned to living in Ottawa, and therefore only just becoming a common occurrence in their lives— perhaps even more common than her own son. She had had him over plenty of times with Shane by his side, but only a handful of times by himself: almost always to watch Shane’s games. While so much was obscured in shrouded ambiguity, though, she did know one thing for certain: that Ilya Rozanov seemed to be a very stubborn man. And that Shane himself would never reach out, asking for her help on his behalf, if he didn’t think he needed it. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she decided. “I’ll send you updates, but focus on the game for now, okay?” Shane snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Text me, please.” “Of course, honey. I love you.” “Love you too.” ____ Ilya’s new-construction mansion in Ottawa, purchased with Yuna’s amateur but enthusiastic real-estate guidance, was imposing beneath the newly-fallen snow: large and dark and glassy. David had managed to free Yuna’s car by the time she’d gathered a bag of groceries and medication, and she was not particularly cautious on her speedy drive over. She did not bother with knocking. There was no doorbell, and the house was sprawling; she doubted Ilya would notice if she walked right in if he was in one of the back bedrooms. She put in the code Shane had given her and noisy kicked off her shoes to announce her presence, but it sparked no reaction from the silent, open-floor living space. She placed her shopping bags on the counter and continued down the hall, knocking on the large door she remembered leading to the master bedroom when she had last been given a tour by the realtor, months ago. “Ilya? It’s Yuna,” she called, forcefully. There was no answer. Suddenly nervous, her hand shook, just barely, on the handle. “I’m coming in.” The room was dark, save for the meager light coming from a lamp on the dresser. It smelled stale and musky, like a teenage boy’s room when left unattended and uncleaned for too long. It was not messy, though— but eerily empty, as though nobody lived there. No clothing, no photos, no decorations besides the essential bedroom furniture. The only sign of life was a curled-up lump on the bed, facing away from the door. Yuna walked over, crouching down beside the bed near Ilya’s sleeping face. His expression, though slack and peaceful, was marred by the pallor of his skin and the unsettling, uneven pattern of his breathing. She slowly reached up to comb a hand through his hair, and nearly yanked her fingers back when she found it soaking wet, heat radiating from his skull. When she had first become a mother, pregnant with Shane, she was mortified that she would have to do things like this: take care of gross, feverish bodies, change diapers. But when she held him in her arms for the first time, it was as though his body became an extension of hers, and that fear dissipated into only small queasiness during episodes of sickness. Though Ilya was not hers by nature, she felt that same unyielding courage in the face of just how gross his damp, sticky skin felt. She quickly yanked the mound of blankets and quilts atop him down to his hips to cool him down, pressing a hand to his back. His tee-shirt was soaked through with sweat. When she then felt his neck, the temperature there was no better. “Ilya,” Yuna, though a calm person in most situations, felt the tightening in her voice. Why hadn’t he woken up by now, with all of this prodding? His skin was hotter than she’d ever felt
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,579
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- Files:
- 1
- AO3:
- #80197161