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The first time Ilya noticed it, he didn't think much of it. They had been living together for several months by then, long enough that the novelty of sharing a home had turned into something warmer, something comforting. As time passed, awkward negotiations had given way to a familiar rhythm and routine they both found reassurance in.
Living together had taught Ilya things he never could have learned from years of secret hookups in hotel rooms and stolen weekends when they had finally confessed their love to each other. He had learned that Shane folded towels with the same precision as he did his clothes and became irritated when Ilya would grab one and mess up the stack before it could be properly put away. He had learned that Shane could eat the same breakfast every morning for months without complaint before suddenly deciding that he never wanted to see that particular food again. He had learned that Shane liked their evening routine, disliked spontaneous changes in plans, and felt most at ease when he had all the information needed for a plan in advance.
Likewise, Shane had learned that Ilya left mugs in strange places throughout the house, and that he narrated half of his day aloud as though he had an invisible audience following him around.
Which was why, at first, it didn’t strike Ilya as too odd when Shane started repeating those narrations under his breath, writing it off as an unconscious thing he sometimes did.
Ilya was making coffee one morning when he absentmindedly spoke to himself, "Wakey, wakey.”
A few moments later, while walking toward the living room, Shane quietly echoed, "Wakey, wakey."
The words were spoken so casually that Ilya barely registered them. He glanced up, expecting some kind of response or joke, but Shane appeared entirely absorbed in whatever he was reading on his phone.
The incident slipped from his mind almost immediately.
Until it happened again.
And again.
Over the following weeks, Ilya began noticing a pattern. Certain phrases would linger, would seemingly get stuck in Shane’s brain long after they had originally been spoken.
When Ilya muttered, "Where are my keys?" while searching the apartment, he later heard Shane repeating the exact words under his breath while doing something entirely unrelated.
When Ilya sighed, "This is a nightmare," because he was frustrated about something, Shane ended up saying the same thing hours later while putting away their groceries.
The repetitions were never immediate enough to sound like mockery and never deliberate enough to seem like a joke. They sounded almost absentminded, as though Shane wasn't even fully aware he was doing it.
What made it even more confusing was that the phrases he repeated seemed entirely random and didn’t appear to follow any recognisable pattern.
One evening, Ilya walked into the bedroom to find Shane folding their laundry, something he enjoyed doing because it helped him unwind and relax.
Without noticing Ilya, Shane quietly murmured, "You are brave enough to try.”
Ilya immediately stopped in the doorway, and a complicated feeling settled heavily in his chest because the phrase wasn’t common at all. It was something his mother used to say, something he'd mentioned weeks earlier during a late-night conversation with Shane.
Shane didn't even seem to notice he had said it, but for the first time, something uncomfortable stirred inside of Ilya.
At first, he dismissed the feeling. Then he tried to ignore it.
But once he allowed the feeling, once he allowed the thought, it wouldn’t leave him alone again.
English wasn't his first language. Even after years in North America, traces of his accent remained, and sometimes he phrased things differently than most. Sometimes, and he hated that part the most, he still made mistakes, even though he should know better by now.
Most of the time, Shane seemed to find those things endearing, or at least that’s what Ilya thought.
But what if he didn't?
The thought felt ridiculous.
It still lingered.
People repeated things to make fun of others all the time. People mimicked accents. People copied speech patterns. People laughed at mistakes.
Ilya knew that because he had seen it happen. Because it had happened to him, too.
The more he noticed Shane's repetitions, the more difficult it was becoming to dismiss the possibility entirely.
He carried that thought with him for nearly two weeks before he worked up the courage to ask. They were sitting on the couch after dinner when he finally brought it up. Shane was reading, one leg tucked underneath himself, while Ilya had tried to focus on what was happening on TV until he eventually muted the sound, after all.
Shane immediately looked up, looking confused.
"You okay?"
The concern in his voice almost made Ilya backpedal and tell Shane he was fine.
Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
There was still a brief pause before Ilya continued.
"I noticed that you repeat things I say."
For a moment, Shane simply stared at him. Then he blinked.
"Oh."
The response wasn't defensive. He didn’t sound annoyed - if anything, Shane looked caught off guard, almost embarrassed even. It made Ilya feel slightly bad that he had brought this up.
"It happens a lot," Ilya said carefully.
"I mean, I guess, yeah,” the tips of Shane's ears turned pink, and his voice got unexpectedly quiet.
Ilya hesitated before forcing himself to continue, realising there was no going back now.
"Are you making fun of me?"
The question hung in the air between them, and Shane's reaction was immediate.
"What?"
The question came out sharp and with genuine disbelief.
"Making fun of you?"
Ilya awkwardly shrugged, unsure what to say, how to explain this feeling. He was suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable even.
"You keep copying what I say."
The confusion on Shane's face only became more apparent.
Then.
"Ilya, no."
The answer came so quickly that there wasn't even room for hesitation. Relief washed over Ilya immediately, but Shane still looked upset.
"Why would you think that?"
"Because people do that sometimes."
"To mock someone?"
"Yes."
Shane looked absolutely horrified as he started putting the pieces together.
"I wasn't making fun of you."
"I know."
"Do you?” He asked, then his voice softened, “I would never do that, Ilya.”
The sincerity in his expression made this tight feeling in Ilya's chest finally begin to loosen.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke, then Shane let out a small sigh and looked down at his hands.
"I didn't realise I was doing it that much."
"You didn't?"
"I knew I was doing it sometimes. I just didn’t think anyone would notice.” Shane looked a little flustered now.
“Well, we live together,” Ilya tilted his head, smirking briefly - which made Shane smile - before turning serious again.
"Why do you do it?"
Shane opened his mouth, closed it again, visibly struggling to explain his feelings.
"Sometimes phrases get stuck,” he finally tried, not daring to look up.
"Stuck?"
He tapped the side of his temple, "Yeah, in my head. They feel good. They scratch an itch in there, I guess.”
"Scratch an itch?” Ilya raised an eyebrow, trying to understand.
"I don't know how else to explain it,” Shane looked increasingly frustrated at his inability to make sense of this, when he barely understood it himself.
"So you repeat them?"
"Yeah. I like the way you talk,” Shane fidgeted with his fingers at this admission. It felt weird, to say that out loud, and he wasn’t sure Ilya would understand, or if he would think he was being weird.
"You have good phrases,” the admission was so quiet, Ilya almost missed it. Almost. He couldn't help but smile when he heard it.
"Good phrases?"
"Yes."
"You are stealing my phrases."
The moment the words left his mouth, Shane pointed at him.
"This."
"What?"
"Like that one."
A moment passed between them, then Shane automatically repeated under his breath, "You are stealing my phrases," almost perfectly copying Ilya's pronunciation.
At that, Ilya let out a light-hearted laugh, not teasing, just joyful.
Shane still groaned and dropped his head into his hands, "Oh my God."
By then, however, the last of the tension had disappeared, because seeing Shane like this, so genuinely flustered, Ilya felt reassured that Shane would never make fun of him like that.
Later that night, after Shane had fallen asleep beside him, Ilya found himself still thinking about the conversation.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of him, and he reached for his phone, typing a question into the search engine.
Why do people repeat phrases they hear?
The results appeared almost instantly. As he clicked through article after article, his expression gradually changed from confusion to quiet understanding.
He read about repeated words.
Repeated phrases.
Sounds becoming stuck in someone's head and the urge to repeat them because they felt satisfying.
Echolalia.
So there was a word for it.
His gaze drifted toward Shane, who was curled up next to him, deeply asleep and completely unaware of what Ilya was reading about on his phone.
Ilya did some further digging, looking into what it all meant and why people did this kind of thing.
In the end, he got more answers than he had been looking for, and suddenly he found himself thinking about all the other things he'd learned about Shane over the years.
The routines.
The need to have everything in order.
The way he would spend hours reading about the things that interested him.
The need for predictability.
The way Shane sometimes seemed to experience the world a little differently than everyone else.
It was a possibility – not certainty, and surely not a diagnosis. But it was something, at least.
It was just another part of Shane that he was beginning to understand a little more.
Ilya set his phone aside and reached over to brush his fingers through Shane's hair. Even fast asleep, Shane instinctively leaned into the touch. A soft smile spread across Ilya's face at the familiarity of it all, at the sheer and overwhelming love he was still feeling in Shane’s presence most days.
Whatever would come out of this, Ilya now understood that Shane hadn’t been mocking him – if anything, it had been the exact opposite of that. Apparently, Shane liked listening to him talk so much that pieces of Ilya's voice stayed with him long after their conversations had ended.
The thought made something warm, something soft, settle down inside of Ilya’s chest, and he knew he would make sure Shane would always feel comfortable enough around him to keep showing him his true self.