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It’s well past midnight when Shane is dreaming that he’s at a McDonald’s eating a Big Mac with extra pickles, when a kick to his ribs from his baby makes him open his sleepy eyes.
Ilya is pressed up against him from behind, his husband’s arm holding him firmly as if that would keep him from moving, and his head buried in his neck.
He feels the baby move, and Shane lets out a little chuckle as he watches his belly shift slightly with the movement.
“Shh… go back to sleep, it’s too early for you to be awake,” Shane says, as he rubs his belly and gently taps the strange bulge that’s sticking out a little.
He hears Ilya mumble something incoherent into his neck—it might sound like “Are you okay?” but he’s not quite sure.
Turning over at this stage of the pregnancy has become rather… complicated, so he simply coos to him while stroking the base of his neck. It’s the best way to get him back to sleep right away.
When he feels that heavy breathing against his neck again, he resolves to drift back to sleep. They have an interesting day planned for tomorrow, and the last thing he wants is to go shopping for maternity clothes in a bad mood—because that will only lead to him not buying anything—and probably walking out in tears because nothing fits him right.
Shane is really trying to go back to sleep.
Really.
But all he can think about is that greasy burger with extra pickles from his dream. And maybe a large fries. And maybe some nuggets?
On any other occasion, before he had someone kicking him in the ribs, the mere thought of a burger would have made him wince in disgust. But goodness, how badly he wants one right now.
His mouth has been watering nonstop for about twenty minutes now.
And apparently, he’s not the only one craving a Big Mac. He’s one hundred percent sure that the baby wriggling around inside him like a little worm is craving that burger, too.
If anyone asked him what he was doing eating a hamburger at this hour of the night, he’d blame it entirely on his daughter. Sorry, little girl, he thought, we can eat as many hamburgers as you want, I don’t care.
He closes his eyes tightly, hoping that sleep will take hold of his body and that the insane desire will disappear—but it doesn’t.
Another kick makes his eyes snap open, and he accepts his fate with a sigh. He’ll go get that hamburger no matter what.
Shane turns toward Ilya, trying to check the time on the clock on his husband’s nightstand. He groans when he sees it’s 2:35 a.m. and moves as best he can, trying to stand up, performing a couple of acrobatic moves that leave him breathless. Something so simple that twenty-eight weeks ago would have taken him less than a minute now takes him fifteen.
Ilya lets out a groan when he no longer feels his husband’s body pressed against him, and Shane quickly places a pillow there, hoping that will keep him asleep. Ilya can’t sleep without being wrapped up in Shane like an octopus, and while there are times when it feels like having a heating blanket that makes him much hotter—he doesn’t give a damn. He loves feeling Ilya as a protective force, and he loves that Ilya can’t fall asleep unless he’s holding the two most important people in his life.
Shane quickly slips on a pair of sweatpants and decides to keep his flip-flops on. He doesn’t have time to get fully dressed, and it’s three in the morning—no one’s going to care.
“Ugh, I hate you.” He bends down, trying not to lose his balance, as he plants a kiss on Ilya’s forehead. “You can’t look this good while you’re sleeping.”
He’s not sure how long Ilya will stay asleep hugging the pillow, so he decides to leave him a note. His husband isn’t a heavy sleeper, and he knows that sooner rather than later, Ilya will realize the pillow he’s hugging isn’t Shane, and his brain will go into a panic attack. The note will take care of that little problem.
I went to get a burger; I’ll be back soon.
Don’t freak out.
XOXO.
Shane.
He’s about to leave when he realizes he doesn’t have his cell phone or wallet with him. Pregnant brain, he guesses—it’s apparently a pretty serious thing.
He can’t even remember where he last left them, so he has to search everywhere he can think of. He ends up finding his cell phone in the bathroom—why the hell was it in the bathroom?—and there’s no sign of his wallet, so he decides to take Ilya’s. He doesn’t realize that when he takes out the wallet and closes the drawer, the movement causes the note to fall slowly to the floor, landing under their bed and out of his husband’s sight.
Shane quickly googles the address of the nearest 24-hour McDonald’s, and bingo! There’s one just a ten-minute drive away, and he knows how to get there without any trouble. He leaves his cell phone on the living room counter while he looks for his car keys. His pregnancy-fogged brain plays another trick on him, and he leaves the house with only his husband’s wallet and his own car keys.
Once in the car, he realizes the restaurant won’t be crowded on a Wednesday at almost 3 a.m., so it shouldn’t take him more than thirty minutes to get back home.
What’s the worst thing that could happen?
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The first thing Ilya feels when he comes out of his unconscious state is that he’s hugging something very soft. Something very soft that clearly doesn’t have a baby in its belly.
He sits up abruptly, trying to orient himself and remember when Shane got up and placed a pillow in his arms as a substitute. He notices that the clock reads 3:08 a.m., and seeing the bathroom light on, he assumes his husband is in there.
“Sólnyshko, are you in there?” Ilya lets out a sigh of relief—where else would Shane be at this hour if not in the bathroom? He frowns when he gets no response. “Shane?”
Ilya quickly gets out of bed and trots toward the bathroom. His heart skips a beat when he realizes there’s actually no one inside. But someone had left the light on.
He immediately panics.
He starts searching every possible room while shouting his husband’s name. His mind runs wild with the worst-case scenarios, imagining Shane passed out in the laundry room or lying on one of the many staircases after tripping.
Checking the house from top to bottom, he feels on the verge of a panic attack because he doesn't know where his husband is.
When he goes to look for his cell phone in the drawer, he realizes that his wallet—which should be there—is missing. His hands tremble as he dials his husband's number, and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he hears the ringtone coming from the living room.
He quickly goes to get it, and when he turns it on, he realizes that the last thing Shane left open was the Maps app showing a route from their house to… a McDonald’s? Why would his husband go there in the middle of the night?
No, that’s impossible. Someone must have broken into their house and taken him. They also took his wallet, and maybe leaving his cell phone behind was just a ploy to waste his time.
Shit, shit.
Someone had kidnapped his husband. His husband and his daughter.
Oh, he was going to kill someone tonight.
He decides to quickly dial 9-1-1 and demand them to find him because if they don’t do it soon, he feels like he’s going to lose his mind at any moment.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“Someone has taken my husband,” Ilya says frantically. “I—I need…”
“Hey, this is Terry. Please calm down. I need to know your name and your—”
He’s freaking out.
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Terry!” Ilya screams, on the verge of madness. “I’m telling you someone took Shane. S—Someone… my husband—”
“We can help you if you tell us your husband's full name and the last time you heard from him. Did you argue or fight? Was there anything that might have caused your husband to—?”
“No, no, no—you… Oh shit—” The panic he is feeling makes his English sound completely incoherent. He tries again. “My husband isn’t here, do you understand? Shane Hollander. Thirty-five years. Third trimester. He’s not here.”
“I hear you, sir. Please, remain calm.” Ilya is definitely not remaining calm. “You said neither your wallet nor your car keys were there—is there any way your husband might have gone out for some reason?”
Is he really asking that, or is he just an idiot?
“No! Of course not!” Ilya is losing his patience. “Why would he leave the house at this hour? It’s 3 a.m., for fuck’s sake!”
“Please, calm down. You said your husband was pregnant. It’s possible he went out to buy a late-night snack or—”
“No, that’s impossible. Shane would have woken me up.” Or so Ilya thinks. “He hates driving now that he’s so far along in the pregnancy. Please, help me find him—I’m telling you, someone kidnapped him.”
“Believe me, sir, this happens more often than we’d like.” Ilya hears the operator chuckle. “But don’t worry, we’ll find him. I have Shane Hollander, thirty-five years old, twenty-seven weeks of—”
“Twenty-eight. He just turned twenty-eight weeks.”
“Twenty-eight weeks pregnant. Suspected kidnapping and theft of another person’s property.” Ilya can hear the incessant typing. “Are there any signs of a struggle in the house? Any broken locks, clothes or objects scattered about or out of place?”
He begins to look around frantically for signs that someone has been there and realizes that everything looks normal.
“Oh, God…”
“Mr. Rozanov?” the operator says again. “Are there any signs of—?”
“W—What if Shane went out?” Ilya feels fear begin to take hold of him at the thought of his husband and daughter in danger. “What if he tripped and something happened to them? Yebat.” His chest begins to tighten, and his breathing grows faster and faster.
“Don’t go there, sir. It’s possible that—”
“What if someone hurt them? Damn it, I have to go find them. I need—I need…”
“Ilya, can you hear me?”
Only one thought keeps running through his head: his husband, defenseless, away from home. Alone and defenseless.
Alone and defenseless.
Shane, alone and vulnerable, with his baby in his big belly.
“Ilya, please, breathe with me.”
Ilya can’t breathe.
“Please, focus on my voice.”
“I—I… I—I need…”
“Ilya, count on me. Breathe in for four seconds, hold your breath for seven, breathe out for eight.”
Shane, alone and vulnerable. His daughter, alone and vulnerable.
He’s a bad father. He can’t take care of them. He’s a bad father. He’s a bad father. He’s a bad father.
Desperation overwhelms him and forces him to drop the phone as he feels his knees give way.
“Ilya?! Are you there?! Can you hear me?!”
The only thought in his head is Shane, Shane, Shane. About how he’s such a terrible, useless husband that he’d rather have a panic attack first than go out into the streets and look for him.
“Oh, God—”
Terry’s voice sounds distant, and the shortness of breath is starting to get to him because the edges of his vision are beginning to darken and everything around him is starting to spin.
His brain seems to be playing tricks on him because suddenly it creates an illusion of Shane. Shane walking through his door, forgetting a bag of food, and running toward him, kneeling down next to Ilya.
No, Shane, don’t kneel, you’ll be uncomfortable and your knees will hurt.
But the words seem stuck in his throat, and he can only manage a whimpering moan.
Shane’s hands reach forcefully for his face, and he begins desperately repeating that he should breathe with him. Ilya tries—he really does try—but such a simple action seems to take him an eternity.
Damn it, he doesn’t want to see his husband worried.
“That’s it, baby, match my breathing,” Shane says with a note of relief in his voice. “Keep doing exactly that, very good.”
It takes Shane a couple more minutes to get Ilya breathing like a normal person again. And as soon as Ilya feels “normal” again, he doesn’t waste a second wrapping his arms around him with great fervor.
They stay like that for a while, during which Ilya completely forgets that his husband is twenty-eight damn weeks pregnant and that he shouldn’t be kneeling on the floor, hugging his husband in a position that’s clearly uncomfortable for his back.
Shit, Ilya really is a terrible husband.
“Damn it, damn it…” Ilya pulls away from Shane’s body forcefully and hurries to gently lift his husband off the floor. He completely ignores the chaos he caused a few minutes ago because the most important thing on his mind right now is making sure there’s no trace of discomfort left in Shane’s body.
“Ilya?” Shane stops Ilya’s frantic hands, which were searching him for something. “Hey…”
“Where the hell were you?” Ilya says it with a breaking voice, as if he’s about to burst into tears. Oh yeah, Ilya still feels a little on the verge of losing his mind.
“W—What? What are you talking about…? I left you a note.”
“There was no note.”
Shane’s eyes widen comically, and Ilya can’t help but find it less than funny because he’s just gone through the worst twenty minutes of his life.
“Of course there was a note,” Shane mutters. “I left it on your nightstand.”
“Shane, I’m telling you there was no note.” Ilya starts pacing and throwing his hands up in desperation. “Do you really think I’d be like this if there had been some damn note?”
“Ilya—”
“You weren’t there. I couldn’t find you—Shit!” His breathing starts to falter at the memory and the dreadful feeling of waking up and not finding his husband at home. “I thought… I thought something had happened… that you—”
“Oh, baby…”
This time it’s Shane who throws himself forcefully into Ilya’s arms and wraps his arms around him as he begins to repeat a litany of “I’m sorry.” Ilya can’t help but squeeze him a little tightly, as if holding Shane in his arms—safe, at home, and with his baby safe inside him—would erase that bitter, bittersweet memory from his mind and body.
He wants to grab Shane by the shoulders and demand that he tell him where he was, who he was with, what he was doing, and at what point he thought it was a good idea to leave the house and wrap him in a pillow as if that were going to work for more than ten minutes. As if Ilya didn’t recognize the exact way his arms wrap securely around Shane’s body and belly every single night without fail, and how his legs intertwine so that Shane feels comfortable while sleeping and doesn’t get any cramps during the night. As if Ilya’s subconscious didn’t recognize the slightest change in a pattern he’s been perfecting for weeks to keep his husband comfortable for the remainder of the pregnancy.
But none of that matters to Ilya right now because he already has Shane in his arms, and everything else can wait. All he wants now is to hold Shane like this and never lose sight of him for the rest of the pregnancy—or for the rest of their life together. Whatever.
It’s Shane who bursts his bubble in the end. “I was craving something.”
“I’m sorry—” Ilya is completely thrown off balance. “What did you say?”
Shane has the decency to look embarrassed. “I was just craving a Big Mac,” he says quietly. “With extra pickles.”
Ilya is definitely living in a very funny simulation.
And he’s about to lose his mind.
“My love…” Ilya says, taking a few steps away from Shane to look at him closely. “Are you telling me you left the house at this hour to go buy… a Big Mac?”
“I was dreaming I was eating one, and I had a really strong craving.”
A chuckle escapes his lips without warning because he can’t help it. It’s unbelievable.
The chuckle turns into uncontrollable laughter because Ilya can’t believe how absurd it all is—and that Shane was fine the whole time. His sweet, cute, tender, and very pregnant Shane. For a moment, Ilya had felt like he was dying because he didn’t know where Shane was, but now the whole thing seemed so funny to him.
“I can’t believe it—you…” Ilya coughs as his laughter starts to become painful. “You had a craving.”
“I just…”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He approaches Shane again and cups his cheeks, caressing those freckles that seem to glow even brighter now because of the pregnancy. “Moya lyubov, I could have gone to get that damn hamburger.”
“I know, but you looked so peaceful sleeping,” Shane makes a tender face. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”
Oh, his sweet Shane.
Is it too soon to renew our vows? Or is there a way to marry someone twice just because you love him so much?
“I was sleeping peacefully because I was sleeping with you, silly.”
“Yeah, I realize that now.” Shane clicks his tongue.
Ilya just can’t get enough of Shane. He shakes his head as if to say, ‘well then,’ and pulls him close to kiss him intensely. Call him over-the-top, dramatic, and whatever else you want, but for a few minutes he truly believed he’d never be able to kiss those lips again.
Shane lets out a moan against his lips and opens his mouth, allowing Ilya to deepen the kiss and take control however he pleases. Ilya seizes the moment to let go of the fear he’d felt in that passionate kiss and wrap himself up in nothing but Shane, Shane, Shane.
“I can’t believe Terry was right,” Ilya blurts out as he pulls away from his lover’s lips because he needs to breathe.
“Huh? Who’s Terry?”
“Yebat—”
Ilya quickly scans the room with his eyes for his cell phone and finds it lying on the floor. He picks it up and realizes there’s no one on the other end of the line.
“I think he hung up on me,” Ilya says curiously. “Aren’t they supposed to wait until they’re sure everything’s okay before hanging up?”
“I think he heard you laughing your ass off and figured you were fine.”
“So what if someone else was laughing while I was choking and couldn’t breathe?”
Shane playfully punches him in the arm. “Stop being silly.”
Ilya is about to speak when a roar takes them both by surprise.
Shane’s hands quickly go to his stomach as he laughs and tenderly rubs a spot there. Ilya wants to take a picture of the moment, frame it, and hang it all over his house.
“Okay, eat time. I think someone is hungry.”
“It can wait a little while.”
Shane cuts off whatever comment his husband is about to make by taking his hand and dragging him over to the kitchen counter. He quickly grabs the bag of food he’d left behind when he came into the house and pulls Ilya back toward their bedroom. Two important things in each of his hands.
Ilya senses the conversation that’s about to happen, and although he wants to avoid it at all costs, he knows that when Shane sets his mind to something, he doesn’t stop until he gets it. And how he loves that about his husband.
He knows Shane wouldn’t take any chances with his husband’s health—especially his mental health—so as soon as he enters the bedroom, he sets the food aside on the nightstand and focuses on Ilya with those dark chocolate eyes that are his undoing.
“Do you want to talk about what happened out there?”
The truth is, Ilya doesn’t want to, but Shane and his comforting hands caressing his have an invisible power that makes Ilya let out everything that’s tormenting him.
“I got scared,” Ilya says bluntly. “I got really scared. I didn’t know where you were. I couldn’t call you because you forgot your cell phone. And… for a moment—never mind, is silly.”
“Ilya…”
Ilya closes his eyes tightly. “For a moment, I thought I lost you. That I lost you both.”
Shane lets out a pained groan, and the next thing Ilya feels is his husband’s arms wrapping around him again for the thousandth time. Shane covers him with kisses on his forehead, his hair, his lips—over and over and over again.
“I’m sorry, I was stupid and—”
“Don’t call my husband stupid.” Shane silences his words with a kiss. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re not disabled, you can do things on your own. It’s okay.”
“I don’t care.”
“Shane…” Ilya continues to shake his head in protest.
“Ilya…” Shane mimics him, “I’m telling you, I should have warned you. And if I get a craving again at three in the morning—which is very likely to happen, if we’re being honest—I’m going to wake you up, and we’ll go look for food. Together.” Ilya feels Shane’s lips touch his forehead as if they’ve just sealed a silent pact. “Okay?”
“Whatever your majesty desires.”
“Silly,” the softness in his voice melts Ilya’s heart. “Do you think you need to talk this over with Galina?”
Ilya snorts. “Probably.” Ilya settles back down next to Shane because, why not? “I have an appointment scheduled with her next Monday anyway.”
And because Ilya is clinging to Shane like an octopus, he can feel—along with Shane—the little person inside his husband protesting, hungry. She clearly doesn’t give a damn that her dad had a breakdown. She wants her hamburger, for the love of God.
“She’s so impatient,” Shane says with a laugh. He strokes Ilya’s head affectionately with one hand and places the other on the side of his belly where he felt the kick. “She’s definitely your daughter.”
“Ours, ours.”
“Hmm, I’m not so sure…”
“I’m not the one who left his poor husband hugging a flimsy pillow while I went off in search of a hamburger,” Ilya says mockingly.
“Stop being an asshole.”
Ilya lets out an indignant huff, placing both hands on either side of Shane’s belly, as if trying to cover his unborn daughter’s ears.
“Don’t do that, you know she won’t remember this when she’s born.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Anyway, I’m so hungry I could eat you.”
Ilya flashes a crooked Flynn Rider-style smile, and Shane is so, so hungry—for the burger, clearly—that he just gives him a bored look. But Ilya doesn’t lose his composure and genuinely thinks he has a chance right now.
He clearly has a chance—but only after the burger.
Shane has his priorities, and Ilya knows it, but that doesn’t stop him from trying anyway.
“Okay, I know when I lost a battle. You don’t need to give me that look.” Ilya pulls a nugget out of the bag and silently celebrates that they’re still warm. “Open your mouth, my love.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“I did not say it like that at all. I do not know what you’re talking about.”
“Asshole.”
Ilya kisses him on the forehead after feeding him a nugget.
“All yours, moya lyubov.”
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