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Ilya doesn’t notice it at first.
That’s the thing that gets him later, the part that replays in his head like a glitching tape. There should have been a moment. A snag, a shift, the faint metallic tch of a chain giving up. Something.
But there’s nothing.
Just a normal day. Coffee gone cold on the counter. Shane saying something from the other room that Ilya half-listens to. The quiet rhythm of existing.
He reaches up, absentminded, fingers brushing the hollow of his throat—
—and finds skin.
He pauses.
It’s not panic yet. Not even concern. Just confusion, like walking into a room and forgetting why you’re there.
He presses his fingers there again. Slower this time. Searching.
Nothing.
“…no.”
It comes out soft. Disbelieving. Like the word itself might fix it.
He checks again, more urgently now, fingertips dragging across his collarbone. Maybe it slipped to the back. Maybe it’s twisted. Maybe—
Nothing.
The world tilts.
“No, no, no—”
Now it’s louder. Sharper. He’s already moving, already pulling at his shirt, shaking it out like the necklace might just… fall free. Like it’s been hiding. Like it’s a joke.
It isn’t.
“Ilya?”
Shane’s voice floats in from the hallway, casual at first. Then closer. “What—”
“It’s gone.”
That stops him.
“What?”
“My—” Ilya gestures wildly at his throat, breath coming faster now, chest rising and falling like he’s sprinted miles. “It’s gone, Shane.”
There’s a beat.
Shane steps closer. Sees it. Really sees it.
Ilya never takes it off.
“…okay,” Shane says carefully, like approaching a wild animal that might bolt. “Okay, it’s fine. It’s here somewhere.”
“No, it’s not fine.” The words crack. “It’s not— I didn’t take it off, I didn’t—”
His hands are shaking now. Properly shaking. He’s already turning away, scanning the room like the necklace might be sitting out in the open, obvious, mocking.
“It has to be here,” Shane says, moving faster now too, scanning surfaces. Table. Couch. Floor. “Think. When did you last—”
“I don’t know!” Ilya snaps, voice breaking on the last word. “I don’t know, I don’t— I always have it, I always—”
His breath stutters.
Oh.
Oh, this is bad.
Because it’s not just a necklace. It’s not just metal and a chain and a small worn crucifix.
It’s hers.
And suddenly he’s not in the living room anymore. He’s somewhere smaller. Colder. His mother’s hands fastening it around his neck, her voice soft and firm all at once.
You keep this. Always.
He presses a hand to his mouth.
“What if it’s gone,” he whispers.
Shane’s head snaps up. “It’s not gone.”
“What if it is?” Ilya’s voice climbs, panic bleeding through every syllable. “What if I dropped it outside, what if it’s in the street, what if someone—”
“It’s not,” Shane says, firmer now. “We’ll find it.”
But Ilya’s already spiraling.
“I can’t lose it,” he says, over and over, like a mantra breaking apart. “I can’t lose it, I can’t—”
He’s moving now. Fast. Too fast. Checking places that don’t make sense. Opening drawers, slamming them shut. Dropping to his knees to look under furniture, breath hitching hard enough it sounds painful.
Shane follows, trying to keep up, trying to ground him.
“Hey—hey, look at me—”
“I should check the sink,” Ilya blurts, scrambling up. “What if it went down the drain—”
“It didn’t go down the drain.”
“You don’t know that—”
“Ilya—”
“I should take it apart.” His voice is getting wild now, eyes bright with something too close to terror. “We can take it apart, I can— I know how, I’ll just—”
Shane grabs his shoulders.
“Ilya.”
It lands. Barely.
They stare at each other. Ilya’s breathing is ragged, uneven, like he’s fighting for air that won’t come.
“It’s here,” Shane says again, softer now. “We’ll find it. I promise.”
Ilya swallows, but his eyes are glassy. Unconvinced.
“…what if we don’t?”
That’s the crack. The real one.
Shane doesn’t answer. He just squeezes his shoulders once and lets go.
“Then we keep looking,” he says. “Everywhere.”
They do.
Everywhere.
The apartment turns inside out. Cushions flung aside. Rugs dragged back. Pockets checked, rechecked, checked again like the necklace might magically appear if they just believe hard enough.
Ilya gets worse before he gets better.
Or… he doesn’t get better. He just gets quieter.
Which is worse.
Because the frantic energy burns out into something sharper. Colder. Focused in a way that’s almost frightening.
“I’ll check the bathroom again,” he mutters, already moving.
“You already did.”
“I’ll check again.”
He does. Twice.
Then he’s in the kitchen, staring at the sink like it’s personally offended him.
“I can take the pipes apart.”
“Ilya—”
“I can.” His voice is flat now. Determined in a way that makes Shane uneasy. “It’s not difficult.”
“It’s not in the pipes.”
“You don’t know that.”
Shane exhales slowly. Runs a hand through his hair.
“…we’re not dismantling the plumbing.”
Ilya looks like he might argue. Like he might actually do it anyway.
Instead, he turns away sharply, pacing now.
“I could—” he starts, then stops, then starts again. “If it’s outside— if it fell when we were at the lake, I could— I could call someone, there are teams, right? Divers—”
“Ilya.”
“—it’s not even that deep, I could—”
“Ilya!”
That stops him.
He freezes, shoulders tense, breath caught halfway in.
Shane softens immediately.
“It’s not in the lake,” he says, gentler now. “You had it when we got back. I remember.”
That… lands.
A little.
Ilya’s shoulders drop a fraction. His breathing stutters.
“…you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Silence stretches.
Then Ilya nods once. Sharp. Resolute.
“Then it’s here.”
“Yeah.”
“We just haven’t found it yet.”
“Exactly.”
Another beat.
And then Shane turns, crouches, and looks under the bed.
There it is.
Of course it is.
Half-hidden in shadow, the chain glinting faintly like it’s been waiting to be discovered, the crucifix tucked just out of immediate sight.
Shane just… stares at it for a second.
Relief hits him first. Fast and bright.
Then something softer.
He reaches in, fingers brushing the cool metal, and pulls it free.
“Ilya—”
He doesn’t even finish.
Ilya’s there instantly, like he teleported.
“What—what—”
Shane holds it up.
For a second, Ilya doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
Then—
“Oh my god.”
It comes out in a rush, a broken exhale that turns into something dangerously close to a sob. He grabs it with both hands, like it might disappear again if he isn’t careful, clutching it so tightly his knuckles go white.
“Oh my god, oh my god—”
His knees buckle.
Shane catches him automatically, one arm wrapping around his back as Ilya folds in on himself, pressing the necklace to his chest like he’s trying to fuse it back into his skin.
“It’s okay,” Shane murmurs, already pulling him closer. “It’s okay, you’ve got it.”
Ilya shakes his head, even as tears spill over.
“I thought I lost it,” he chokes out. “I thought I— I thought it was gone—”
“I know.”
“I can’t—” His voice breaks completely now. “I can’t lose this, Shane, I can’t—”
“You didn’t,” Shane says softly, steady as gravity. “You didn’t.”
That’s what undoes him.
The adrenaline crashes. Hard.
He clings to Shane, shaking now, breath hitching in uneven bursts, the necklace still clenched in his fist like an anchor.
Shane just holds him.
No rushing. No fixing. Just there.
“It’s okay,” he repeats, quieter this time, like a lullaby. “It’s okay.”
The evening melts into something softer.
Slower.
Ilya ends up curled against Shane on the couch, exhaustion dragging at him, eyes puffy and red but finally calm. The necklace is back where it belongs, though the broken chain hangs loose, a problem for later.
Every now and then, his fingers drift up, checking.
Still there.
Still there.
Still there.
Shane notices every time.
Doesn’t comment. Just lets it happen.
At some point, Ilya mutters, “This can’t happen again.”
There’s a dangerous sort of conviction in it. The kind that suggests he’s already planning something elaborate. Possibly unhinged.
Shane huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Let’s avoid the plumbing teardown sequel.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
A pause.
Then Ilya shifts, reaching blindly for his phone. Unlocks it. Starts typing with the kind of focus usually reserved for tactical operations.
Shane leans over slightly.
“…what are you doing?”
Ilya doesn’t look up.
“Research.”
“For…?”
He turns the screen just enough.
Search results flood the display.
"unbreakable necklace chains" "strongest metal chain for daily wear" "can you weld a necklace permanently" "military grade chain durability"
Shane snorts.
“Military grade?”
Ilya finally glances at him, completely deadpan.
“I am not going through that again.”
There’s a beat.
Then Shane grins, soft and a little fond and a little helpless.
“Yeah,” he says, settling back, pulling Ilya closer. “Fair.”
Ilya relaxes into him, just a fraction.
His hand drifts up again. Brushes the crucifix.
Still there.
This time, he doesn’t check twice.