Work Text:
Ilya Rozanov was no stranger to the dark cloud of depression. In fact he remembered the first time he noticed that overhanging cloud, he was five years old when he noticed that his mother hadn't been getting up in the morning the way she normally did. Mama never locked the door to keep Ilya or Alexei out like Papa did, so the curly haired boy had waddled his way into the room with a huge smile on his face as he tackled Irina. “Mama! Mama up!” She always had a smile on her face when she was around just her boys even on her worst days.
At age twelve, Ilya found out how that storm cloud could destroy the most beautiful flower. He remembered rushing into his mother's room trying to surprise her with breakfast in bed when he noticed the limp arm hanging off the edge. “Mama? Mama?” He dropped the tray on the floor as he rushed over. Ilya shook her gently and sobbed with his head on her chest for at least twenty minutes before going to find his father.
Things were going great in Ilya's life, he had a loving partner with a supportive family who treated him well and he still had his talent for hockey but the dark shadow of depression had finally taken over, He was trying to push Shane away whenever the other had offered his unconditional love. He went about it like the way he had been taught, which was to bottle everything up and pretend that he wasn't struggling because men don't struggle, especially not with something as weak as depression.
Today was different. He had the house to himself for the day and had laid in bed for the majority of the day before finally getting up to take a shower that he had forgotten to take for the third day in a row. Ilya looked in the mirror and almost felt nauseous at the sight of himself. He had seen the sunken eyes, matted hair and a frown many times before although not on himself. He was looking at his mother in the mirror and then his brain immediately flashed to the scene of his mother's lifeless body on the bed.
Ilya let out a deep guttural sob as he curled in on himself like a little boy. “Я скучаю по тебе, мама.” He held onto the cross as if that would make sure the message had gotten to her. He knew he needed to get help before Shane would be greeted by the same traumatizing sight.