Ilya Rozanov

It had started earlier in the afternoon, subtle enough that Shane didn’t name it at first—just a faint pressure behind his eyes that he assumed was tiredness, maybe dehydration, maybe one of those days where everything felt slightly sharper than it should.

He’d ignored it the way he usually did.

Then Sasha had woken up from her nap.

Eight months old, warm and soft and impossibly determined in the way babies were when they decided they wanted you, specifically. Ilya had been in the kitchen, and Shane had already been sitting on the couch, so it had just… become his turn without anyone needing to say it out loud.

He’d lifted her easily at first, settling her against his chest, her small weight familiar by now in a way that still sometimes surprised him.

She made a small, content sound and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt like she was anchoring herself there.

That was when the headache really shifted.

Not sudden. Not sharp.

Just deeper.

Like something tightening slowly behind his eyes while the rest of the world stayed exactly the same.

Shane adjusted slightly on the couch, keeping Sasha on his chest as she shifted, curious and awake now, her little hands moving with that uncoordinated focus babies had when they were exploring something they liked.

His face, apparently.

She reached up and pressed her palm against his cheek, then his nose, then his mouth, as if trying to understand how it all fit together.

Shane exhaled slowly, blinking a little more than usual.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, because she responded to his voice more than anything else at this age.

Sasha made a small sound back, pleased with herself, and grabbed his lip with surprising precision.

That would normally make him smile.

It didn’t quite land that way tonight.

The pressure behind his eyes pulsed again, slower but heavier now, and he leaned his head back slightly against the couch, trying to find a position that made it less noticeable.

It didn’t help.

Across the room, Ilya looked up from what he was doing.

“You okay?” he asked immediately, like he could hear the shift in Shane’s breathing even without seeing his face.

“I’m fine,” Shane said automatically, but quieter than usual.

Ilya didn’t buy it

He set something down and came closer, taking in the way Shane was holding himself a little too still, the way his eyes kept narrowing slightly even though the room wasn’t bright.

Sasha, meanwhile, was very pleased with her access to Shane’s face and had moved on to carefully patting his cheek like it was a game she understood better than anyone else in the room.

Shane let her.

He always did.

But his fingers tightened slightly around her small back as another wave of pressure rolled behind his eyes, dull and insistent.

“Headache?” Ilya asked, stopping in front of them

Shane hesitated for a second too long before nodding once. “Yeah. It’s there.”

Ilya’s expression changed immediately, softer but more focused “Since when?”

“Earlier,” Shane admitted. “I didn’t think it was anything.”

Sasha chose that moment to grab his nose again, very seriously, like she was testing structural integrity.

Shane blinked slowly.

“Okay,” Ilya said quietly, sitting beside him now. “You should’ve said something.”

“It wasn’t bad,” Shane said, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded now that it had clearly become something more than “not bad.”

The room felt slightly too bright again, even though Ilya hadn’t changed anything. The sound of Sasha’s small movements on his chest felt a little louder than usual, every soft rustle of her clothes and tiny breath more noticeable than it should have been.

Shane shifted carefully, adjusting her so she was still supported but a little more settled against him.

She immediately protested in baby terms—small, confused noises, hands still reaching for his face like she wasn’t done exploring it yet.

“I know,” he murmured to her automatically, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Ilya noticed.

He always noticed.

“Shane,” Ilya said quietly, “give her to me for a bit.”

Shane hesitated.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because the thought of moving too quickly made his head feel heavier already.

But before he could respond, Sasha grabbed his finger and held on tightly like she was making her position very clear.

That, for some reason, almost made it worse.

A faint pressure spike behind his eyes made him close them briefly, and when he opened them again, Ilya had already moved closer.

“Hey,” Ilya said softer now, reading him properly. “It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

Shane exhaled slowly, carefully shifting Sasha into Ilya’s arms.

She protested for exactly half a second before deciding Ilya’s shoulder was also acceptable and settling there instead