Chapter Text
The sun was barely breaking over the pale horizon when Shane woke up, pressed securely against Ilya’s chest. He stretched deeply, excitement racing down his spine, and exhilarated wiggles barely contained under the pressure of Ilya’s arm at his waist. Today was supposed to be special! It was a Shane and his Papa day, one of many they’ve had since Shane moved into Ilya’s Ottawa home after signing with the Centaurs. Today was extra, extra special, though, because after Shane and his Papa had the whole morning to play, they were hosting a party tonight with the entire team.
Shane was having a bit of a hard time adjusting to his new life in Ottawa. His falling out with his Montreal team had been devastating for him. He built an entire legacy as a voyager; he brought home three championships for them, had secured a dynasty with them. And they turned their back on him.
But Ilya had been there every step of the way, reminding him that he is everything people say he is. A legend, a guaranteed hall of famer, a king on the ice. Shane wasn’t sure he would have survived those days without Ilya. But the move turned out to be a small blessing in disguise.
Now, he had his Papa with him nearly every single day. He was in the same city as his parents, his hometown, and he was with a team that he didn’t have to be perfect with. He was no longer the driving force behind their victories. Now, he was part of a team for real. And he and Ilya got to host the first party of the season today!
Shane would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. He wanted everything to be right, to be perfect. Really, he just wanted them to like him, to trust him like his old team had, before they knew the real him.
Ilya insisted this team was 100x better than the “Snore-agers” as he called them. And Shane trusted everything Ilya said. So really, he decided, it would probably be ok.
He peeked back at his Papa’s still sleeping form, excitement palpable, as he reached for Sir Dog, before snuggling deeper in Papa’s arms. Shane waited exactly five minutes before twisting around to face his Papa. He looked so peaceful and happy when he slept, and Shane really didn’t want to bother him... He carefully reached up, fingers gently caressing the moles on Papa’s face as he counted them, waiting for Ilya to join him in awake land.
He barely finished counting the spots on one side of his face before a strong hand came up to grip his wrist. “Good morning, Solnyshko, you are awake very early,” Papa said, one eye open and peeking down at Shane.
“Good morning, Papa, it’s awake time now,” Shane rebutted, leaning forward to touch his nose to Ilya’s. Papa just brought his hands down, pulling Shane tighter into his chest and pressing a kiss to his nose.
“No, moya lyubov, it is not. Is our last Saturday off before pre-season, so we need to rest. That means no waking up before the sun does.”
“But Papa,” Shane whined, “the sun is already awake! It’s just hiding a little,” he pouted.
Ilya smiled, half asleep, and tucked Shane’s head into his neck. “Then we will wait until the sun is no longer hiding, da? Is only fair, Papa is still very sleepy,” he murmured, eyes already falling shut again.
Shane’s pouts deepens, resigned to lying there bored out of his mind while his Papa sleeps. Did he not know today was special? Did he forget it was a Shane and his Papa day? Maybe, Shane wondered, if he reminded Papa what today was, he would understand that they had to wake up right this minute. He leaned back from where his face was tucked, and gently poked Papa’s nose.
“Papa,” Shane whispered, “it’s Shane and Papa day, we gotta wake up now, or we won’t have time and we’ll miss it.”
“My love, it is 6 in the morning. The team will not be here until 6 pm tonight. That is twelve hours lyubov, we will have plenty of time. Enough time for Papa to sleep another hour.” Ilya reached up and carded his fingers through his boy's hair. “Be a good boy for Papa, and I promise we will have lots of fun today. You don’t want a sleepy, cranky Papa, huh?”
Shane sat quietly for a moment, considering Papa's words before he decided Papa might be right. He did want Papa to have energy for all the fun things they had planned. “Ok, Papa,” Shane conceded, “we rest a little more. Gotta have energy for play.”
Ilya agreed with a pleased hum, his eyes already fallen shut. Seconds later, he was snoring softly again.
Shane just watched his Papa’s face for a bit, until his snores got louder and a little scary, resembling a lawn mower, noisy and grating.
He wiggled from Papa’s arms, grabbing Sir Dog with him as he went. After completing his morning routine, bathroom first, then toothbrush, and then washing his face, he crept down the stairs into the living room.
~ . ~
Shane tucked Sir Dog and himself into the nest of blankets left over from his and Papa’s movie last night, putting on cartoons and turning the volume down to a light hum. The sun was slowly creeping over the horizon enough to fill the living room with a brilliant, fiery orange glow, and Shane was content to watch its slow ascent into the sky with Sir Dog perched on his lap.
He wished Papa were here. He knew he was only upstairs, but after his struggle with Montreal the last year, it was really hard not to have him around always. Shane tried not to be clingy, but everything about his Papa radiated love and comfort and safety and protection.
He wasn’t the best with words, but he was so thankful that he had Ilya there, and now here with him. Panic attacks in the last year have become a frequent and unwelcome visitor, leaving him shaky and breathless, sweat and tears staining his freckled face. But they’re always manageable because Papa seems to know exactly what to do. He hoped his Papa also considered Shane a safe space as well. Someone he could rely on in the same way when his days got really sad and scary.
With this idea in his mind, Shane decided he would do something really, really nice for Papa while he slept, gathering Sir Dog in his hands and padding into the kitchen on socked feet.
Deciding to make breakfast in bed for Papa was probably not the best idea, since he wasn’t allowed to use the oven or any sharp utensils when he was small, but Shane hoped Papa would understand because it was a present just for him.
He got to work on preparing Papa’s favorite bagel for breakfast, pulling out all the ingredients and wrinkling his nose at the thought of spreading unhealthy Nutella over fatty cream cheese with greasy bacon sandwiched between the bread slices. It made no sense to Shane, but it didn’t have to. It wasn’t for him; it was for his Papa, and he would do anything to make him happy.
He couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face when he brought him breakfast in bed, that
smile that was only for Shane spreading across his sleepy face, slow and sweet like good syrup. Papa would probably pull him in for a soft kiss before eating his surprise with gusto, pleased little hums escaping every few moments.
Shane was so lost in his own mind that he didn’t notice the footsteps coming down the stairs. He had barely reached for the cord to plug in the counter griddle when he felt panicked hands snatch his own away.
“Shane, what are you doing?” Papa asked, alarm and disappointment coloring his words, hands shaking where they held Shane’s. He feels his lip start to quiver as shame burns in his belly. He didn’t want to make Papa upset; he just wanted to help him for once. He tells his Papa this.
“You know you are not allowed to touch hot things when you are so little,” Papa chided sternly.
“I’m sorry Papa, jus’ wanted to do something nice ‘cause you help me so much. Jus’ wanted to be helpful to you, too,” Shane whimpered.
Ilya’s face softened, and he pulled Shane into the circle of his arms. “Lyubov, you do help me. Every single day. Just by being you, and being by my side.” He places a smattering of kisses across Shane’s face before planting a soft peck on his lips. “Thank you for trying to help make breakfast for Papa, but maybe next time, come get me if you want to make food, yes? Will make Papa so happy to help his baby.”
Shane pouted, wiping his nose on his Papa’s t-shirt. “Papa, was s’posed to be a surprise for you. Can’t ask Papa, then it would ruin the surprise,” he whined.
Ilya hums, considering Shane’s words. “Yes, you are right, would definitely ruin the surprise,” he agrees. “How about this? We can leave cooking for Papa and his Solnyshko, and you can make a surprise painting after breakfast. You know how I love your art so much, my baby,” Ilya remarks, punctuating his words with a gentle squeeze around Shane’s waist.
His pout deepens as he watches Papa pull the refrigerator door back open to gather the healthy ingredients for Shane’s own boring breakfast, realizing he had forgotten all about his own food in his eagerness to make Papa’s. Maybe, he decided, it probably was for the best that Papa always help with food prep.
He watched as Papa moved through the kitchen with practiced poise, easily assembling Shane’s breakfast. He handed Shane a spoon and toast so he could carefully help spread some fresh avocado on the bread before taking both of their plates to the breakfast nook and setting them side by side.
Shane always liked to be as physically close as possible to Papa when he was so small, and would eagerly burrow into his bones if he could. He settled instead for sitting at the place Papa set for him and tangled their ankles together side by side.
As he ate, carefully counting every bite and chew he took, he envisioned the art he would make with Papa for their painting time today. Renewed vigor skated up and down his insides. Today was Shane and Papa day, and they had so many fun activities for today. And that included painting with their fingers after breakfast.
Shane has never done painting with fingers before, but he’s so excited, deciding that he would paint a bird to match the tattoo his Papa has. He ate in comfortable silence, listening to Papa softly explain how their next activity would go. They already had the easels set up on the back patio so they could watch the birds and avoid any mess on the inside.
~ . ~
After he had eaten all he could, he watched quietly while Papa cleaned up their plates. He felt himself slipping deeper into his headspace, content to spend the better part of his day quietly following Papa from one activity to the next.
Once the plates were cleaned and all breakfast prep put away, Papa took his hand and guided him back upstairs so he could help Shane out of his cute jammies and into an old shirt that he wouldn’t mind getting messy. He watched in awe as Papa changed swiftly, flitting off to grab one of his sanitized pacifiers and clipping it to his shirt.
His Papa was gazing at him expectantly, and for the first time, Shane noticed that his fingers had inched up to rest just behind his teeth. Papa gently removed his hand before coaxing the soother between his lips instead. Together, they wandered their way back onto the patio where their paint supplies waited for them.
Papa squeezed a couple of different colors onto their palette, showing Shane how to dip his fingers in before dragging them across the canvas. Shane watched closely before dipping his fingers in, too, flinching at the unexpected cold thickness squishing between his fingers.
Okay, so he was not a big fan of that feeling. It was nice to watch his fingers spread the colors carefully across the page, but the more he dipped his fingers into the goop on the tray, the more unpleasant the feeling grew.
Throughout the events of their breakfast, the sun had finally peeked from between the thick Canadian treeline in their backyard and was now beating down over their faces. It was just a little too bright and slightly too warm, Shane feeling sweat dotting his forehead. He ignored both sensations, using his pinky to add a brilliant red eye to his bird painting. Glancing over at Papa, Shane sees a soft smile curving his lips while color explodes across his canvas. He isn’t sure what Papa is painting, but it looks more like an expression than an object. He looked so pleased, seeming completely unbothered by the collection of increasingly overwhelming sensations plaguing Shane.
He wishes he had kept the pacifier in when he started painting, both hands now completely covered with wet colors, unable to place it between his teeth. As he works, his teeth gnawing gently at his bottom lip, he feels a hot drop of sweat tracing a path down the tip of his nose, and without thinking, he reaches up to wipe it away, paint smearing across his nose.
Shane feels hot tears prickle behind his eyes, a frustrated whine escaping from between his lips at the now icky paint sensation on his face. He tries to wipe it away with the back of his hand, but that just smears it further across his features. He feels his breath picking up and tears falling hot and wet and fast now. Everything felt bad, and maybe a little like it wouldn’t feel good again until Papa finished his own art. That could take forever, and Shane only had a few more moments before the slimy and hot and wet sensations became unbearable. He shook his hands out in front of him, unsure of where to place them or how to make this feeling stop.
Through his panic, he feels Papa’s hands grab his own flailing limbs and lower them by his side before reaching for a towel hanging on the easel and wiping his face, gathering sweat and paint and tears in a few expert swipes before wiping at his hands with the other side.
“Oh baby, why you not say you were feeling overwhelmed?” Papa asked, his clean fingers swiping the hair from his sticky forehead.
Shane whines again, leaning forward to tuck his face into Papa’s neck. His breath ghosts across the skin in front of him as he whispers his response, and he feels Papa lean down to catch the words breathed into his flesh. “Didn’ wanna stop Papa, you was having so much fun,” Shane whimpered. Frustration is bubbling in his tummy because nothing is going right today. He couldn’t make Papa’s surprise, and he couldn’t paint his picture, either. He was ruining their special day. Guilt moves in right next to the frustration.
“M sorry, Papa, I don’ wanna ruin our special day,” Shane whispered, but Papa was already shaking his head. “No, my sweet boy, was me. I wasn’t thinking. Papa should have known the paint on your hands would be unpleasant. Next time, if you want to try again, we use gloves, ok?”
Shane nods quietly, plucking his pacifier back into his mouth. Papa grabs his hand and leads him back into the house, leaving their pictures outside to dry in the sun. Inside, Papa washes Shane’s hands properly and shrugs his t-shirt over his head. After gently washing his face and arms, he places a warm kiss onto his nose before dressing him in soft shorts and the Snoopy sweater Papa bought for him way back when they started their dynamic.
He laced his fingers with Shane’s once more, leading them into their room and sitting Shane down on a blanket he had placed on the floor. “We will do puzzles now, okay? Our day doesn’t have to be over; we can still do what we have planned, see?” Shane nodded eagerly, pacifier still nestled firmly in his mouth. Their morning wasn’t over. It wasn’t even lunch time yet. They can still have a Papa and Shane day before the rest of the team arrives. He settles into an easy rhythm of gathering the edges of their puzzle, happy to play with Papa without any expectations of speaking or responding to Papa’s own rambles. He was just there, existing without any weight on his shoulders, and it was perfect.