Chapter Text
It’s a couple of days later and the house just feels wrong.
Ilya stands in the kitchen, staring at the coffee machine like it might tell him something useful if he waits long enough. He’s already poured the water in. Already added grounds. He forgot to turn it on.
“Hey.” Shane says gently from the doorway.
“Fuck.” Ilya flinches. “Sorry. Thinking.”
“Yeah,” Shane says. “Me too.”
Shane looks better than he did in the hospital. There’s colour back in his face and his movements are steadier, but there’s a stiffness to him now like he’s hyper-aware of his own body, cataloging every sensation before it can surprise him again.
He’s dressed already. Clean jeans and a sweater he’s worn a thousand times, but he keeps adjusting it, tugging at the sleeves, rolling them up and then back down.
“You look good.” Ilya says. “Very handsome. Doctor will be impressed.”
“Shut up.” Shane snorts, then sombers. His eyes flick to Ilya’s face, searching. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Ilya lies automatically.
Shane raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, no.” Ilya sighs. “But I am functioning.”
“Good.” Shane says. “That makes one of us.”
They stand there for a moment, close but not touching. Outside, a car passes. Somewhere a dog barks. The world continues its irritating insistence on normalcy.
“I keep thinking.” Shane says quietly. “That they’re going to say it’s… small, or that they can just take it out and that’ll be it.”
Ilya nods. He has thought this too. Has built entire alternate futures on it.
“And then I think they won’t.” Shane continues. “And then I feel stupid for hoping.”
“Hope is not stupid.” Ilya steps closer, rests his forehead briefly against Shane’s.“You can have as much as you want.”
“What if it’s bad?”
“Then it is bad.” Ilya says. “And then we deal with it.”
“We?” Shane pulls back just enough to look at him.
“Yes.” Ilya says, without hesitation. “This is very much we situation.”
Shane swallows, nods once. He reaches for Ilya’s hand, laces their fingers together like it’s instinct now, like he’s done it his whole life.
“Okay.” Shane says. “Okay. Let’s go before I chicken out.”
———
The hospital feels different when you walk in instead of being rushed.
Shane’s parents are already waiting outside the office when they arrive. Yuna hugs Shane first, David nods at Ilya before pulling him into a brief, solid embrace that makes Ilya’s throat tighten unexpectedly.
“You holding up?” He asks.
“Yes.” Ilya nods. “Mostly.”
It’s not a lie. Not exactly.
They’re ushered into a small consultation room a few minutes later. Chairs arranged in a half-circle. A desk with a computer monitor turned deliberately away from them.
Dr Kent comes in holding a folder. Same calm face. Same careful voice.
“How have you been feeling since you were discharged?” He asks, looking at Shane.
“Um. A little dizzy sometimes. Especially when I stand up too fast.” Shane glances at Ilya, then back at the doctor. “But otherwise… okay, I think.”
“Any more headaches? Nausea?”
“Not like before.” Shane says. “Just… pressure, sometimes.”
“Okay. That’s helpful. We have the full results from the scans now.” Dr. Kent continues. “And I want to start with the most important part.”
Ilya’s heart slams hard enough he swears it could break through his chest.
“The tumor is benign.” The doctor says. “It’s not cancerous.”
The room exhales all at once.
“Okay.” Shane says quietly. “Okay.”
“But.” Dr. Kent adds gently, and Ilya hates that word immediately. “It is still something we need to address. Because of its size and location, we’re recommending surgical removal.”
Surgery.
“Remove.” Ilya says, just to hear it out loud. “You take it out.”
“Yes.” Dr. Kent says. “A neurosurgical team would remove as much of the tumor as safely possible. Given Shane’s age and overall health, we expect a good outcome.”
“When?” Ilya asks. “How soon?”
“Within the next few weeks.” The doctor says. “This isn’t something we want to rush blindly, but it’s also not something we want to delay.”
“What are risks?” Ilya asks. “I mean…risks for… brain things. Memory. Movement.”
“Those are good questions. The risks depend on the exact location, which the neurosurgeon will go over in detail. Potential complications can include—”
He lists them calmly. Too calmly. Speech difficulties. Weakness. Infection. Seizures.
“Will he be—” Ilya starts, then stops. “Will he be same after? Like… himself.”
Shane’s head snaps toward him.
“That’s always our goal. There may be a rehabilitation period, but we don’t expect personality changes.”
Ilya lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“How long hospital?” He asks. “After surgery.”
“Usually a few days.” The doctor says. “Longer if there are complications.”
Shane nods slowly, trying to take in what the doctor is saying. Ilya reaches over without thinking, rests his hand on Shane’s forearm.
“So.” Yuna says. “Next steps?”
The doctor outlines them. Referrals, consultations, scheduling. Words like planning and timeline and team. It all feels unreal and intensely real at the same time.
By the time they leave the room, Ilya’s head is spinning. But one thing is clear.
Shane is not dying today.
Not ever, if Ilya has his way.
———
As if Ilya’s week can’t get any worse, Hayden Pike shows up the next afternoon.
Shane is on the couch, half-reclined with a blanket over his legs, pretending to watch something he hasn’t been following for the last ten minutes.
“I’ll get it.” Ilya says automatically.
“You don’t have to—”
Too late. Ilya opens the door to find Hayden standing on the porch.
“Hey-“
His expression freezes.
He looks back at Ilya. Then past him again to Shane.
“…Why the fuck is Ilya Rozanov at your house?” He asks.
“Hello, Pike.” Ilya says bluntly.
“What?” Hayden snaps, already stepping forward like the answer might be hiding inside the living room. “Why are you here?”
“Hayden.” Shane pushes himself upright on the couch with a groan. “Hey.”
“Jesus! Okay, you look like shit.” Hayden says immediately, worry overriding confusion for half a second. He crosses the room, stopping short when he notices the blanket, the way Shane moves carefully. “What happened to you?”
“Sit down.” Ilya says
“Why is he telling me to sit down?”
“Hayden.” Shane said. “Please, sit down.”
Hayden does, perching on the edge of the armchair like he’s ready to bolt at any moment.
“Okay.” Hayden says. “Start talking. Preferably with the part where your arch rival invaded your house.”
“I am guest.” Ilya states.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Hayden replies without looking at him.
“I had a seizure.” Shane says. Direct. No warm up.
“What?” Hayden’s expression shifts instantly.
“Ilya was here.” Shane continues. “He called 911. I was in the hospital for a few days.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was out of it.” Shane says quietly. “And then things got… complicated.”
“Okay.” Hayden swallows. “But that still doesn’t explain why he was here..why he’s still here?”
The room goes quiet.
Shane looks at him, a silent check in. Ilya nods once.
“Ilya and I are together.”
“Together…” Hayden says slowly. “Together like—”
“Dating,” Shane says.
“No, you’re not.”
“We are.” Ilya interrupts.
“Again, I didn’t ask you.” Hayden’s gaze snaps to him.
“Hayden.” Shane says, warning in his voice now.
“You’re serious.” Hayden looks back at Shane, searching his face for the punchline.
“Yes.”
“How long?” Hayden asks.
“A while.”
“So let me get this straight.” Hayden leans back in the chair, runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve been secretly dating Ilya fucking Rozanov—”
“Language.” Shane mutters automatically.
“—you had a seizure, ended up in the hospital, and I find out about both because I show up unannounced like an idiot?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Are you okay?” Hayden exhales hard, presses his palms to his knees.
“I will be.” Shane nods. “I need surgery.”
“What?”
“A tumor.” Shane says quickly. “They’re taking it out.”
Hayden’s jaw tightens. He nods once, then stands abruptly and crosses the room, pulling Shane into a hug that’s too tight and not apologetic at all.
“You asshole,” Hayden mutters into his shoulder. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Sorry.” Shane huffs out a laugh.
Hayden pulls back and turns to Ilya. He looks him up and down slowly.
“If you hurt him.” Hayden says. “I will end you.”
“Fair.” Ilya nods.
“God. This is so weird.”
“Yes.” Ilya agrees. “Very.”
“You’re serious about him?”
“Yes.” Ilya answers without hesitation.
“Jesus.” Hayden drops back into the chair. “I come over to check on my best friend and find out he’s dating his nemesis and has brain surgery scheduled.”
“Welcome to my week.” Shane smiles faintly.
“You better let me help.” He says. “Both of you. I’m not leaving you alone with this.”
“Okay.” Shane says softly.
They talk for a while before Hayden leaves, with another bone crushing hug and a promise he’d check in every few days.
“I’m so tired.” Shane exhales like he’s been holding it in since Hayden arrived.
“Okay.” Ilya says immediately. “We go lie down.”
Shane pushes himself up from the couch and makes it exactly two steps before his balance goes sideways. Ilya is there before he can fall with a firm arm around Shane’s waist.
“Sorry.” Shane mutters.
“Stop apologizing,” Ilya says gently. “You are allowed to need help.”
They move slowly down the hallway, Shane leaning more heavily with every step. Ilya adjusts without comment, keeps him upright, keeps him moving.
Ilya sits him on the edge of the bed first. Shane’s hands tremble where they rest on his thighs.
“Okay.” Ilya says softly. “Sit. Breathe.”
Shane nods, staring at the floor. He swallows once. Then again.
“I hate this.” He says quietly.
“I know.”
Ilya helps him out of his sweater, slow and careful, like Shane might crack if he moves too fast. When Shane lies back, Ilya pulls the covers up, tucks them around him, then hesitates.
“Stay.” Shane says suddenly.
Ilya doesn’t even pretend to consider it. He kicks off his shoes and sits on the bed beside him, then shifts until he’s lying down too, close enough that Shane can feel him breathing.
“I’m really scared.” Shane says. “I keep thinking about them opening my head and… not fixing it. Or me not waking up. Or waking up wrong.”
Ilya’s chest tightens painfully. He turns onto his side, faces Shane fully. He cups Shane’s cheek, thumb brushing under his eye.
“I know.” He says softly. “I am scared too.”
“You’re not supposed to say that.”
“Yes.” Ilya says. “I am. Because you are not alone in it.”
Shane’s eyes glisten, tears spilling over despite his effort to hold them back. He presses his forehead into Ilya’s chest like he’s run out of strength to stay upright.
“I don’t want to die.” Shane whispers.
“You are not dying.” Ilya says, steady even though his own heart is racing. “You are sick. And they are going to help you. And I will be here every step.”
“Promise you won’t leave.”
“I promise.” Ilya says immediately. No hesitation. “I am not going anywhere. Not tomorrow. Not after surgery. Not ever, if you will have me.”
“Okay.” Shane nods against his chest, tears soaking into the fabric. “Okay.”
They stay like that for a long time. Eventually, Shane’s breathing slows. His grip loosens just a little, exhaustion finally winning.
Ilya keeps his arms around him anyway.
He watches the ceiling darken as evening creeps in, one thought repeating in his head.
You will not face this alone.