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Everyone in the cast is used to the specific brand of hyperactivity that is Ilia's. Would have to be, after so many seasons of watching him commit to being Danger Boy. But watching him now—spinning absentmindedly on one foot, flopping down to slide on his bottom and hit the wall—Madison begins to wonder if there's not something more to today than all that.
His entire demeanor is just…off. He's more distracted than normal, when he's always been attentive and polite. Listening well to performance notes and feedback from the rest of the cast, patiently waiting for his cues, etc. But he seems incapable of any of that right now. Can't even tear his eyes away from the fascinating spectacle that his skate laces present.
Madison glances at Evan, looking for, and biting her lip at the confirmation that he's noticing too. Can see how silly and almost loopy he is, when they're in the middle of a serious break.
“And I thi—Ilia, are you listening? This is important,”
The rarity of Ilia Malinin of all people being corrected draws glances his way, and a general furrowing of eyebrows. Madison can almost hear the thought lingering in all of their minds: what on earth is going on?
It's early in the day, and he's already out of it.
“Yef,” Ilia lisps, coming back into formation and nodding his little head contritely. “I'm listenin’,”
He's clearly not listening. At least not for very long. And if Madison didn't know any better, she'd think he was drunk, or experimenting with someone's pain meds.
“Is he…?” Madison shrugs, turning to Evan with the question mirrored back at him all over her own face. Little Ilia is quiet and sweet and usually content to sleep and eat. This person is anything but. This Ilia is shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he's allergic to staying still, and puffing his lips out.
“I think I'm gonna go see if he's alright,” Evan says finally, “He might just have to pee,”
Though fairly certain that's not the sole explanation, Madison nods. Watches Evan skate over and wrap an arm around Ilia's shoulders, keeping him still while not quite appearing to. For the sake of the boy currently trying to blow bubbles out his mouth when he's supposed to be focusing, and because all of their love languages are physical touch. Hugs are common even when big.
And Madison repeats that to herself. When the worry that somebody's going to notice something creeps in. Ilia's headspace is the worst kept secret ever, but he's still sensitive about it. Still hasn't explicitly told anyone but her and Evan, and plans to keep it that way. So a side hug shouldn't be suspicious, but she holds her breath the entire time, while Ilia leans into it and Evan whispers in his ear.
They break for lunch ten minutes later. Ilia allows himself to he tugged along with Madison, and helped with his skates. Technically he doesn't really need her to, but she can't shake the instinct that he's less big than he'd like to think. There's something up, and he doesn't smell like alcohol.
“Here, honey, let me,”
“Thank you, Madi,” he says politely, shaking his too-long bangs out of his eyes like a pony. He lets her help him up, and then guide him down the hall to their waiting room, and finally to the tables. Where the food is already laid out in steaming cartons, water stacked up beside them. Ilia makes a small face at the lack of juice, but sits anyway.
“Are you pouting?” Madison teases, nudging his arm with hers when he doesn't answer.
“‘M not,” he grumbles, but he brightens almost instantly when Evan pulls up a seat and offers him a juice box. Such a baby.
“Mm hm. Drink your sugar water, bug,”
<>
“Madi, I wan’ do a spinnn,” Ilia bats his unfairly long eyelashes up at her from where he sprawls on the ice. He'd fallen on one of his practice jumps and won't pick himself up now, just seems happy to make grabby hands at Madison and whine at her until she relents.
“Ilia, our break’s almost over. You gotta get up,”
He just wrinkles his nose in protest. “No.”
“Yesss,”
“No, ‘m not gonna.”
Madison raises an eyebrow. “Are you gonna throw a tantrum, Ilia?”
It's completely out of character for him, but so is everything else he's been up to. Clearly they're all in uncharted territory here.
“I'm not little!” He says, too loudly in hindsight, as his voice goes echoing around the rink. Embarrassingly so.
“I didn't say you were, honey,” Madison points out, dropping down to sit beside him, “but you're sure acting like something’s up. Are you sure you're not even a teensy bit small?”
Ilia glare up at her now, all traces of childlike joy wiped from his face.
“I'm sure. That's fuzzy feeling and this isn't. 'M just happy,”
Madison pauses for a minute. Chooses her next words very, very carefully.
“Mmh. You don't think this couldn't just be a different kind? Something more silly than usual?” Bigger, anyway. Less babyish and more…toddler.
It hits her then with an all-encompassing, satisfied ‘ohhhh.’ Ilia's in toddler-space. The hyper, bouncing off walls, sugar rush part of his littlespace has finally come out, and he's obviously still unaware.
“I'm not a baby right now,” Ilia tells her, looking more and more uncertain by the minute.
“I know, but maybe you're not, all the time. Maybe your brain won't just stay in babyspace forever,”
Ilia blushes, like he always does when she directly mentions his headspace, and rolls over. He probably hasn't forgotten wanting to spin, but he struggles to his feet and moves away from her. Towards where Evan stands with his back to them, watching the shenanigans on the other end of the rink.
“Eyes up!” He yells, leaping for him a beat later.
Evan turns, eyes finding Ilia and widening in shock.
“Baby—” he catches him, narrowly avoiding falling to the ice and cradling the boy in an awkward princess-carry. Ilia rests neatly in his caregiver’s arms, satisfied smile on his face as Evan begins to laugh.
“What are you doing, Ilia? What if you'd fallen?”
He doesn't mention the damage it could have inflicted on himself, and from the way Ilia shrugs indifferently, he didn't think of it either. They all knew Evan would catch him, knew he wouldn't ever let his little fall if he could help it.
“I didn',” he says calmly, squirming out of the hold a moment later. “You wanna play tackle?”
Whether it's an actual game or something he made up on the spot, Ilia couldn't be more little right now if he tried. And judging from the look written all over Evan's face—he knows it.
“I don't think that's a good idea, little one. You might get hurt,”
“I wouldn'! You'd catch me…”
Evan just smiles, skating closer to Madison and helping her up.
“I'm not sure that's the point of tackle, honey. If you wanna have me hold you, you can just say that “
Holding and pacing with Ilia is Evan's designated job, especially when their boy's not feeling well. But it's obviously not something that Ilia will even consider in his current state, much less initiate.
“No, I wan’ tackle you!”
They go back and forth for a few more minutes; Ilia insisting that what he wants is called tackling, and Evan trying to explain that it's called being held. The jumping part is virtually irrelevant. In the end he lets Ilia launch himself into his arms, and then spins around slowly as he squeals happily.
“More! Do more!” Ilia begs as Evan makes to set him back down.
“You want more? Can you say please?”
They wouldn't ever have gotten baby-Ilia to say more than a few words at a time, but toddler-Ilia is clearly different. He's talkative and so willing to repeat everything that's said to him that when they rejoin the others for rehearsal, his mouth’s still going. Shaping little words and sounds around the saliva he continues to try and blow bubbles with.
“Can you try and stay big for me, bud?”
Madison hears the whisper, and sees distinctly how hard Ilia tries to comply. To suck his little cheeks in and nod bravely up at Evan as they get into position. Normally he wouldn't ever have been asked to do this, but he's never dropped in the middle of practice, either. They've always saved that for nights and weekends and days off. Toddler-Ilia has chosen an odd time to make a first appearance.
“Do you want a piece?”
Amber holds the box out at her, and Madison takes one on habit. Nodding her thanks as she watches Ilia perk up and reach for them. Even the mention of candy has summoned him, and Amber can clearly tell.
“You want one?”
And he nods; skates closer and practically beams when she drops two into his open palm. Strawberry gel explodes into Madison's mouth as she bites through hers, and Ilia giggles a minute later as he does the same.
“It's soft?” He asks, sounding confused and thoroughly delighted at the same time.
“Yeah, they're jelly filled jaw busters. I got strawberry cuz that's all they had,”
Amber's already moving on, distributing candy like she's a fairy, and Ilia is left staring down at his hand in glee.
“Strawberry, Madi,” he informs her, holding out his second piece.
“I see that, honey. You gonna go show Evan?”
She feels slightly bad sending him off, but Evan’ll do a better job at aging him up than she will. He's good at comforting and settling people, even and especially when she's not.
She watches them stand together—Evan holding Ilia against his side when they're not running through choreography, thumb moving up and down against his arm when the boy gets antsy. Never straying more than a few feet away from him unless absolutely necessary.
He'll watch out for Ilia for now. Until they can make it back to the hotel, and then—
Madison forces herself to stop. Technically they don't know if Ilia will stay in this headspace, or if he'll want to do anything besides collapse into bed tonight. Regardless of what she and Evan wish for—and what they've packed for—Ilia will do what Ilia wants to do, when it comes right down to it. She can't change that, nor can Evan.
But it doesn't stop her from thinking about it for the rest of the day. Ilia finally, truly, coming out of his shell. Letting himself heal and his headspace develop, just like she's always wanted, and tried to create a safe environment for. If Ilia can do that—and surely he can, he slipped in the middle of a crowded ice rink for goodness sake—then she'll be satisfied.
That image of Ilia; bright eyed, pink cheeked, giggling and happy despite torturous long work days—it stays with her. Along with the happy glow in her chest whenever she sees his trilling, full-bodied little laugh from across the ice. He's adorable, even when he comes up off the ice and puts his chilly fingertips directly against Evan's bare skin. Madison hears his shouting from where she stands against the board and just about dies.
They pile into the bus at the end of the day, sweaty and muscle sore. The sun's going down already, and casting everything into strange, orangish light. Ilia slips his hand into Madison's as they leave the building, squeezing it tight and swinging them up to knock against his face. He's still not upset or even slightly fussy, something that she always thought impossible for him in littlespace. He's such a sensitive baby, usually.
“You tired?”
He nods. Doesn't say anything, but curls up beside her on the seat and lays his head on her shoulder. Evan passes them, and stops briefly to rumple Ilia's hair.
“Be back soon, bud,” he says encouragingly. Ilia smiles faintly up at him, but doesn't lift his head. He's all tuckered out, and not even the promise of food can rouse him.
Most of the cast naps on the way back to the hotel, Ilia included. All that energy earlier in the day must have tired him thoroughly, because he's out cold the entire way, drooling ever so slightly on Madison's sweater, fingers laced together on his lap. Just like a baby, despite his older headspace.
Part of Madison wonders if he'll still be little later, but another part of her already knows. They probably won't be seeing big-Ilia until tomorrow at least.
“We're here, Ilia.”
He doesn't move.
“Gotta go now, baby. Come on,”
Evan offers to carry him again, but his eyelids are fluttering, and they need him awake for a shower, so in the end they tug him up and walk him between them. Arms around his waist, holding him close as they draw up to the hotel. Ilia drags his feet a bit, still out of it but still so peaceful. Not a hint of distress or sadness in his cloudy blue eyes.
“You can sleep soon, bud,”
They cram into an elevator car with six other cast members, purposefully not mentioning the sleepy, clingy boy between them. The less everyone else knows, the better. And besides, it's not like physical affection is uncommon among them all. It's not suspicious at all.
“Long day tomorrow,” Paul jokes, eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on Ilia's drooping head. On the way he leans into Evan's chest, hand searching for and finding a hand to hold. And Madison can feel the protectiveness swell up inside of her, fighting for the freedom to wrap Ilia up and never let anybody else look at him. Or talk to him. And especially not judge him.
She schools her face into a carefully exhausted mask, while the war continues to be waged on the inside. Between the parts of her that want to shield Ilia from absolutely everything unpleasant, and the other, reasonable side that knows Paul doesn't mean any harm.
“Veryyy long,” Evan agrees with a laugh, somehow timing it exactly right. The doors slide open at their floor, and he stands back, letting the others exit first. Taking the opportunity to adjust his grip on Ilia's hand.
“Come on Ilia. Almost bedtime,”
<>
Ilia insists he can shower alone.
“I be careful,” he tells them, holding his pajamas against his chest and doing absolutely nothing to dispense their theory. That perhaps he's experiencing something unprecedented, and shouldn't be left alone in a bathroom to wash himself, can't be brought home to him. He's physically capable of cleaning himself up, and so, in his mind, there's no reason he shouldn't.
"Do you want Evan to sit with you, sweetheart? Just in case?”
He isn't little, he tells them, and any attempts to babytalk him into agreement falls on deaf ears. Ilia just shakes his head, and finally, to avoid a fight and get him clean, they agree to wait for him. He retreats into the bathroom off their room, and locks the door after himself.
“Think he'll be okay?"
Evan shrugs. Drops to his knees and pulls his bag from under the bed.
“I think he'll do a good enough job, if that's what you're asking. But I don't have a great deal of confidence in his critical thinking skills. At least not in…whatever headspace he's in.”
“Toddler-space,” Madison replies, following him down to the floor. “It's so odd, but he's so cute, you know? So giddy. It's adorable,”
“Like a little puppy,”
“Yeah, exactly,”
Evan pulls a plastic bag out from among his socks, an excited smile already plastered over his face. They hadn't quite decided to bring it, but little-Ilia was too much of a possibility to not, and neither he nor Madison ever gave up their suspicions that Ilia was lying to them. Perhaps unconsciously, but a lie all the same.
And while any bit of inclusion in his headspace is an honor, Ilia's assertion that he was boring never sat right with them. Because he does play with toys—just not often, and not really where they can see him. It's tiny whispered stories to the stuffed animals they've filled their house with, or racing tiny matchbox cars along the table in the cafeteria, or trying to tackle Evan in practice. Almost always a joke, and never too much that they should get suspicious.
But they did. Of course they did.
He was theirs, and they noticed almost everything about him. When he skipped meals, or if he strained a muscle, or was feeling sick and small or any number of ways. They knew; how could they not?
“I like the cows best,” Madison picks one up, cradling its furry body in one hand and dancing it toward the dog Evan holds. They'd both been looking for toys that Ilia was likely to want to play with, and had stumbled across these finally. Tiny, furry animals with period clothing and the most cunning paws Madison had ever seen. They were adorable, and completely, she'd argued, something that Ilia would love.
They were small and compact enough to be stored easily, and not bright and overwhelming for his first time. Because if they'd gone all out and gotten him all the toys they thought he deserved, they'd be lucky if Ilia didn't entirely meltdown.
“But look at the little baby mice,” Evan baby talks right back, despite the fact that Ilia is nowhere to be seen. It's still fun to play with them, even as adults.
“But what about my itty-bitty spotted cow baby?"
She plunks the head of her cow into Evan's mice colony and giggles maniacally when they drop. Her cows are bigger, and miles more competitive than the cats that he tries to rally, and promptly abandons in his haste.
“I present to you the big strong dog—oh come on! That's unfair, they weren't ready!”
Evan attempts to gather his three species back together and loses control again when Madison plows into them. He gasps in mock outrage and pokes the nose of his largest kitten into the bottom of her foot.
“Hey, that's cheating! You know I'm tickli—”
“—What are you doing?”
The water had stopped running, Madison supposes, sometime when they were oohing and aahing over the little creatures. Ilia stands before them, confusion oozing from every pore, swaddled in one of Evan's t-shirts, wet hair flat against his skull. He's in his snoopy bed pants, with mismatched socks pulled haphazardly onto his feet like he'd been in a hurry.
“Hi, buddy,” Evan cooes, holding an arm out. Inviting a hug, which Ilia slowly scoots over to accept.
"Why are you guys on the floor?” He asks as Evan pulls him down onto his lap, letting himself be snuggled in.
“Waitin’ for you,” Evan replies.
Ilia doesn't seem to notice the toys so much as them sitting cross-legged on the carpet. He keeps looking at Madison like she'll have a better explanation, and frowns when all she does is lean over to fix his socks for him.
“Da—Evan, what're you guys doing?" He persists, twisting around to look at him, nose scrunching up like a frustrated kitten.
“Playing, Ilia. Do you wanna see? Me and Madi got these for you,”
His shoulders visibly tense up at the mention of playing.
“No.”
“Are you sure? They're pretty cute…”
Madison shows him one of the cats. The prettiest one, with white stockings on three of its legs, and a silky orange face. Ilia reportedly prefers cats to dogs, but you'd think he despised them from how completely uninterested he looks.
“Isn't it pretty?” Madison prompts, folding down its little collar. They're not sure Ilia will be up to actually playing tonight, but it'll be a start, at least. A good jumping off point.
“Yes,” Ilia returns, burrowing back into Evan's arms even more. Whether because he's cold, or very, very uncomfortable, Madison can't tell. She retracts her arm, though, just in case.
“Do you wanna hold them, Ilia?
Evan picks up one of the kittens as he speaks, holding it within reach for the boy. A pure white one, in a little waistcoat and trousers. If Ilia were a cat, he'd probably be a white one, so it seems fitting.
“I'm not little,” Ilia informs him in return, eyes fixed on the cat like it'll run away if he doesn't. Clearly the toys hold some sort of appeal to him, but he doesn't pick any up. Not yet.
“Alright. But you can still look at them, can't you? Madison and I think they're the cutest thing ever,”
“Besides you,” Madison interjects, playfully poking Ilia in the stomach with one of her cows.
“Stopppp,” he whines. But he's smiling now, and his cheeks are red, and he's kicking his feet in her general direction. So maybe this won't be as impossible as they'd thought.
Maybe toddler-him is just that quick to cheer up. It's a welcome change.
“But they loove you," Evan says, nuzzling the white kitten into Ilia's hair.
“Ev'n, stoppppp, ‘m ticklish,” Ilia catches hold of the cat, trying to jerk it away from him. Evan lets go, and retrieves another cow to make exaggerated chomping noises against the boy's neck.
“It's gonna eat you, Ilia! It's gonna gettttt you!”
“No, it's not! Madi…” Ilia holds his arms out to her, puffing his lips out until he looks like a duck. Toddler-Ilia doesn't seem as inclined to call her ‘mama,’ but he remains a complete mama's boy, anyway, so it's not much different.
“C'mere, honey. Is Evan being mean?”
Ilia clambers out of Evan's lap and shifts to lean against Madison's leg, still clutching his white cat. Obviously he's attached to it now, and doesn't seem to want to let it go.
“Cows don't eat people.” He states solemnly, glaring adorably in Evan's direction.
“Oh really? What do they eat instead?”
Madison musses his bangs slightly, waiting for him to formulate a coherent thought. He's having trouble coming up with words like he always does when little, but this version of him seems more likely to talk anyway. Even when his brain messes things up and he can't manage to be grammatically correct for anything.
“They ea’ gwass, Madi. And sugar,” he over-pronounces the S in sugar, and Madison almost dies.
“Oh. I thought they ate little boys with little cheekies?”
She squishes part of his cheek up and he shrieks, betrayal shimmering in his eyes as she tugs him into her lap. And Evan just about keels over laughing.
“Oh boy, Ilia, she got you! She's gonna eat you!”
Ilia tries to scramble away and gets seized and hauled back immediately. Madison gathers him up in her arms, kicking and squealing the entire time, to playfully nip at his neck and ears. Fingers curling against his ribs until he's gasping and can't stop giggling.
“I'm not food!” He yells finally, hands clamped firmly over his ears. Eyes pleading with Evan to rescue him.
Evan stays where he is.
“But you've got itsy bitty cheekies, don't you? Cuz those are my favorite …”
One more nibble at his neck, and then she stops. Snuggles him under her chin and squeezes tight.
“You're not a cow, Madi,” Ilia protests, pushing her away with weakened muscles. Falling against her chest with a sigh when she stops to press a kiss to his hair. Overdoing it will push him over the edge of a tantrum far too quickly, so she lets him cuddle up to her like he wants. Head drifting down to rest on her shoulder.
So clingy despite his protests.
“I know, lovey. But you're cute enough to eat right up,”
“Not cute,” he mumbles, more of a habit than anything else. Big-Ilia would reply that way too. Especially on the comedown of so many emotions and full-body giggles.
“Cute as a button,” Madison returns. Smiling wider when Evan scoots closer with a lap full of toys, eyes so tender they could melt.
“Do you want a cow, Ilia?” And Ilia accepts it without a word, eyes flicking up to Madison. Carefully examining its tiny ears and nose.
“Got horns?” He looks genuinely puzzled, pointing them out to her and frowning. Like it hadn't ever occurred to him that horns might be naturally occurring, or that otherwise cute cows would possess them.
“Yeah, that one's a bull, honey. Aren't they charming?”
They don't mention carnivorous cows again, and Ilia doesn't either. Just glances down at it again, fingers running over its bright red coat and cravat like he can memorize all the details. It's difficult for him to truly let loose while in his headspace—they've known that since the first—so if all wants to do after his tickle attack is hold his animals and point out things he likes about them, then that's good enough.
More than enough, really.
And he does. Slowly, at first. Assembling little families on his lap, murmuring indistinctly to them, buttoning and unbuttoning their little garments. Madison shows him how to make them dance together, and he pairs them off somewhat shyly until Evan begins to hum for him.
“Now your kitties can waltz, see? They're all dressed for it, aren't they?”
Neither of them are sure Ilia knows exactly what waltzing looks like, but he spins his dogs around so happily that they let it be. He's cute, anyway.
“I like the cows the best,” Madison tells him in a confidential whisper, when dancing had lost some of its appeal. “But I think Evan prefers the mice babies.”
They're arranging them by species on the carpet, laying them down for bed and covered with the sleeve of Madison's sweater. She'd removed it after Ilia had complained about his babies being cold, and needing to, ‘go bed now.’
“I like mice…” Ilia says uncertainly, eyes sliding over to Evan's face like he might be upset. Like perhaps Evan will be hurt at no one sharing his favorite toy.
Evan just smiles. Reaches out and tucks a lock of still damp hair behind Ilia's ear. “Thanks, sweetheart. They're cute, aren't they? Got pink little ears…”
<>
By the next morning, Ilia had still refused to let go of his babies. He carries them into the bathroom with him, and down to breakfast, and onto the bus on the ride to the rink.
Eating is interspersed with high-pitched warbling to his cats about ‘a’mond milk,’ and trying to feed his cows the carrots from his noodles. Evan gently tugs the chopsticks away from the toys, and has to tell him no; he can't feed them. As adorable as they find him, it's still perfect nightmare fuel to imagine getting sauce and vegetable pulp out of the cow's fur.
Ilia pouts the rest of the way through breakfast, but cheers up minimally when Madison offers him a chocolate bar. He can't resist the stuff, but crams it into his bag instead of tearing into it immediately. Little acts of defiance that they're quickly coming to associate with toddler-him.
He also remains quite firmly in his headspace throughout the day, though slightly more aged up than the day before. He's more prone to zoning out now, and accepts Madison's instruction to wear a hat when they hit the ice without any mumbles; a clear improvement to his usual fussiness surrounding clothes.
And he plays. Shyly, at first. Hiding under his blanket when they come to wake him up, making his cats dance while he mumbles his way through a song. Lining them up along the window in the bus, pointing out all the cherry blossoms beside the road. Showing them to Madison and tapping Evan on his shoulder to get him to turn around.
“Has whiskers,” he informs them once, stroking one of the older cats on its spotted face. “Tiny wittle whiskers, Evan,”
“I see that, bud. Very cute,”
He's settled securely into his littlespace, and isn't coming out anytime soon.