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The ice only truly leaves Ilya in his sleep.
Shane waits for Ilya’s breathing to deepen, for that moment when the limbs twined around his will finally relax.
The room is dark and quiet. Shane rests on his side, in a tangle of sheets. He is listening so intently, he can hear voices murmuring in the room next to theirs. Then the heat kicks on, a steady, building hiss which annoys him.
He leans his head back into Ilya, angling his neck so that Ilya is breathing right into his ear.
It is such a beautiful sound. So rhythmic. Peaceful. Like an instrumental piece of music. Like a song.
Shane shuts his eyes. He is glad Ilya is not awake enough to look into them, to guess at the tender direction of his thoughts. He imagines what he might say, how he might try to explain to Ilya why he treasures his breathing. Why he is transfixed by the soft sounds that reassure him the one he loves is there and alive.
It wouldn’t matter how well he explained it. Ilya would mock him anyway.
That’s when he hears it. The change he’s been waiting for. The breaths in his ear come slower, exhalations more exaggerated, warmth cocooning his ear. He feels Ilya’s arms loosen just slightly around him. Tension leaving his muscles. His stomach pressing and retreating against Shane’s back.
Shane’s arms are partway crossed, cradling Ilya’s to his chest. He lets his hands drift up to Ilya’s wrists. Quietly, softly, he twines their fingers together. He holds Ilya’s hand and feels him breathe and savors the thawed blanket of his sleeping.
When Ilya’s eyes open, the ice will return.
But, for now, Shane can relish his uncharacteristically gentle embrace.