Chapter Text
Ilya thought having to share a Google Calendar with Shane was the stupidest idea ever.
Shane had every single part of his day in there, from his morning run to the shower he took before bed. Every minute looked scheduled, color-coded, and aggressively organized. Ilya only put down things he considered important: therapy appointments, games, and practices. Things that required him to leave the house on time. Which, admittedly, was not always guaranteed.
He was lying in bed now, waiting for Shane to come out of the bathroom, scrolling through the calendar for the next week. Something on Shane’s side caught his eye.
“Shane,” Ilya called, frowning at his phone. “What is an obst— what is your appointment next week for?”
“My optometrist appointment?” Shane asked, stepping out of the bathroom in sleep pants, toweling his hair dry.
“Yes. That. What is that?”
“It’s my eye doctor,” Shane said, climbing into bed and settling back against the pillows. “I go every year.”
“Every year?” Ilya repeated, startled. The team doctor checked his eyes during physicals, sure. But a separate doctor just for eyes?
“Yes,” Shane said patiently. “I have reading glasses, you know this. They check if my prescription’s changed.”
Ilya stared at him. “You need appointment for that?”
“Yeah,” Shane said, amused now. “When I was in high school, I did badly on one of those vision tests. The team doctor sent me to a specialist, an optometrist. They know more about eyes than a general team doctor.”
“So you go there,” Ilya said slowly, “and maybe they give you new glasses.”
“Maybe,” Shane shrugged. “If my prescription changed. I’ll try on frames, pick new ones, they order them.”
Ilya’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “So… like glasses fashion show.”
Shane huffed a laugh. “It’s not a fashion show.”
“You stand in front of mirror and try on many tiny metal frames,” Ilya countered. “It is absolutely fashion show.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s just me trying to find ones that fit.”
Ilya hummed. He liked Shane in his glasses. Had liked them from the first time he’d seen Shane wearing them over a video call years ago, looking unfairly sexy.
“You should get new ones,” Ilya decided.
“I don’t even know if I need new ones.”
“You should get them anyway.”
“That’s not how prescriptions work.”
“Get black ones,” Ilya continued, ignoring him. “Or ones that make you look serious. You look good when you look serious.”
Shane blinked at him. “Ilya.”
“Yes?”
“You already think I look good.”
Ilya rolled onto his side, turning off the lamp. “Obviously.”