Chapter Text
Shane watched through the window of his parents’ car as the shadows of Boston buildings turned into the shadows of Massachusetts forest. Although Winchester was only 20 minutes outside of downtown, it felt much further. For a while, trees, the winding road, and the occasional other car were the only things the Hollanders could see. Soon, they were passing by rows of picturesque New England houses. They drove down Winchester’s Main Street, passing restaurants, salons, bookstores, and real estate agencies, all housed in red brick buildings. Shane recognized some of them from research he’d done on the area. The excitement that had been simmering in his chest throughout the summer started to boil. Shane had been thinking of nothing but Winchester Arts Conservatory for months. He was almost there.
The trunk and most of the backseat of David Hollander’s old Subaru was taken up with everything Shane thought he’d need at college. Most of his clothes, his toiletries, new bedding, pictures of his family, a few kitchen implements, and less than half of his books. He’d toured the dorms, and the bookshelf provided wouldn’t be big enough for his book collection, especially since he had to share it.
The rest of Shane’s books and clothes, as well as childhood toys and keepsakes, were at his parents’ new house in Boston. He’d gotten used to the idea of his parents not living in his childhood home as they’d packed all their belongings into boxes and driven down from Ottawa. The Hollanders had been in their new house nearly a month, and Shane was almost used to it. It had been hard to settle in when he knew he wouldn't be there long.
Shane’s thoughts were interrupted when David turned a corner, and the campus of Winchester Arts Conservatory spread out before them. It was relatively small, but there was plenty of open lawn between the old, red brick buildings. Shane silently named every building he could see.
Loveage School of Music, Lavorre School of Visual Arts, Linetti School of Dance…
The Anthony Fell Theatrical Complex.
The excitement in Shane’s stomach boiled higher. The four buildings that made up the Fell Theatrical Complex would be where Shane took most of his classes over the next four years. There was the Goulding School of Design, the McCrary School of Musical Theatre, the Bonnett School of Performance, and, foremost in Shane’s mind, the Angela Allen School of Shakespearean Performance. He let out an honest to God giggle as they drew closer. His parents grinned at him in the rearview mirror, but Shane was too excited to feel embarrassed.
David parked in the visitor parking lot, dodging students and their parents laden with boxes and bins. Shane hopped out as soon as the car was in park. He quickly spotted a dark red canopy with a small crowd surrounding it. The top of it read “Information” in large, white letters. Shane made a beeline for it.
“Shane, wait!” his mother called.
Shane turned to see his parents struggling to catch up with him. He waited a moment for them, then continued his trek to the information table. He joined the throng around it and waited patiently for a space at the front to clear.
“Next!” said a young woman standing behind the table. Shane stepped forward.
“Name?” she said, smiling brightly at him.
“Shane Hollander,” he said quickly. He realized he was rocking back and forth on his heels. He made himself stand still.
The young woman scanned down a list on her clipboard, then drew a line across it in yellow highlighter.
“Alright, Shane!” she said brightly. She grabbed a campus map from a stack and spread it out on the table in front of her. She grabbed a pen and pointed with it as she spoke. “You’re in Meadows Building 1, room B.” She circled a rectangle on the map. “Your orientation group will be meeting in the Allen building, room 1410.” She circled a square on the map, then wrote 1410 inside. “Also called Ophelia Hall.” She smiled again and handed Shane the map. She then dug through a box of tiny manila envelopes and handed him one that said M1B, SH.
“Here’s your room key,” she said. “Any questions?”
“Nope,” he said.
“Awesome!” she said. “Welcome to Winchester Arts.”
Shane thanked her quickly, then wove through the crowd back to his parents.
“Let’s go!” he said, already halfway back to the car.
Shane tapped his foot as he waited for his dad to unlock the car. He, Yuna, and David grabbed as many boxes of his belongings as they could comfortably carry. When they were ready, Shane said, “This way!” and took off.
As he led his parents across campus, Shane took in the sights he’d been staring at pictures of for months. The grounds looked idyllic in photos, but were even more beautiful in person. It was a muggy August afternoon, but a breeze cooled the sweat on Shane’s forehead. The trees were tall and verdant, casting shade on the surrounding lawns. Shane imagined he’d be able to see it all better when the campus wasn’t so crowded. He saw other first years bent over maps, laden with lamps, duvets, and laundry baskets. Other, older students were laughing together under trees and on benches. A couple of guys threw a football on an open patch of grass. Others were writing in notebooks, looking up occasionally and staring into space. Shane didn’t linger, heading for the building he’d be living in that year.
Shane’s stride only faltered for one moment, when the sun caught a head of golden curls as their owner disappeared around a building. Ilya Rozanov, he thought suddenly, and his heart skipped a beat. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Rozanov, a Russian prodigy, had no reason to be in Winchester, Massachusetts. Shane turned back toward the residential halls.
Meadows Building 1 was the first of a row of four identical buildings. It was rectangular, concrete and two stories tall. Its walls were lined with evenly spaced, square windows. It lacked the character of many of the other buildings on campus, but it did have a small stained glass panel at the top of its dark wood front door.
Shane made his way up the two concrete steps in front of the door, brushing past a tall, dark skinned boy.
“Pardon,” the other boy said, smiling widely at him.
“C’est pas grave,” Shane replied, smiling back.
The other guy took a couple more steps, then stopped. He turned back to Shane with a surprised grin on his face.
“Parles-tu français?” he said.
“Evidemment,” said Shane.
“Fuck yeah, bro!” the other guy said in English. He spoke with a Quebecois accent. He held his hand out to Shane, then pulled him into a hug when he took it. “I’m J.J.” he said.
“Shane.”
“Where you from?” said J.J.
“Ottawa.”
“Montreal, bro!”
“Hell yeah,” said Shane, grinning.
“I gotta go get some shit, but I’ll see you later!” J.J. said, running off.
David and Yuna caught up to the bottom step of the first Meadows building.
“Find your room yet?” said David.
“Not yet,” said Shane. “Just met a guy from Montreal.”
“That’s great, sweetie!” said Yuna. “You’re gonna fit in here no problem.”
Shane smiled, then walked through the front door.
The entryway was paneled in dark wood, with a cork notice board on the right wall and mailboxes set into the left. A staircase on the left led to the upper floor.The hallway was more dark wood, with a dark red carpet stretching the length of the hall. Shane could see one door on either side of the hall, an open space in the middle, then two more doors at the end of the hall. Shane glanced at the door on his left, seeing a brass “A” screwed onto the door. The door on the right was open. Shane looked closer and saw a brass “B”. He poked his head through the door.
It opened into a small kitchen with dark wood cabinets and linoleum floors and counters. Two wooden stools were tucked under a small kitchen island. Beyond that, Shane could see a small living area with faded beige carpet and a beat up green loveseat. The carving on the dark brown coffee table was a little ornate for the simple space, but it was scuffed enough to make up for it. A large, dark wood bookshelf sat against the far wall. The walls were covered in cream, floral wallpaper.
The door on the right was open, and Shane could hear voices coming through it.
“Hello?” he called.
A tall, thin boy with light brown hair stepped through the door. His face split into a wide smile at the sight of Shane.
“Hey!” he said. “You my roommate?”
“I think so,” said Shane, smiling back at him.
“Hell yeah, dude!” he stuck his hand out. “I’m Hayden.”
“Shane,” said Shane, shaking Hayden’s hand. He turned around to see his parents hovering in the doorway.
Shane waved them in.
“These are my parents,” he said.
“Hi!” said Hayden, shaking David and Yuna’s hands.
A middle-aged blonde woman stepped through the door Hayden had come through.
“And this is my mom,” Hayden said.
Hayden’s mom stepped forward to introduce herself. Suddenly, Shane became aware of how he was surrounded on all sides. His parents pressed close behind him, Hayden and his mom in front of him. He began to feel light headed. His breaths became shallower. He reached out blindly and grabbed his mom’s wrist. She took the hint immediately.
“Is this the bedroom?” Yuna asked, pointing toward the room Hayden and his mom had stepped out of.
“Yeah!” said Hayden. He and his mom stepped back to show the Hollanders more of the apartment.
As the rest of the group moved into the other room, Shane stood at the kitchen counter and took a few deep breaths. He rolled his head and shrugged his shoulders, proving to his body that he wasn’t trapped, he could move freely. When his heart rate had slowed, Shane followed his new roommate into their shared room.
The walls were dark green, with chips of white showing through the paint. The carpet was short and rough, a nondescript dark grey. There was a single window across from the door, covered by cheap blinds that were bent in a couple of places. One single bed sat against either wall, the one on the right already covered in stuff Shane assumed was Hayden’s. The closet was directly to the right of the door, full of empty hangers.
“Hope you don’t mind I took this side,” said Hayden, gesturing to the bed he’d claimed.
“Totally fine,” said Shane, setting the stuff he was carrying on the left bed.
“Honey,” said Yuna. “I've got to touch base with the rest of the faculty before orientation. I'll see you there, ok?”
“Are you a professor?” asked Hayden.
“Yes,” Yuna said, smiling.
“What do you teach?” asked Hayden's mom.
Yuna glanced at Shane. He shrugged. They were going to know soon enough anyway.
“I'll be teaching some classes on Shakespeare's texts,” said Yuna.
Hayden's eyes widened.
“That's why the name Hollander sounded familiar!” he said. “I've seen it on my class list!”
“You're studying Shakespeare, too?” asked Shane.
“Yeah,” said Hayden, grinning. “I think most of the guys on this floor are.”
“Cool,” said Shane.
“I really do have to go,” said Yuna. “But I'll see you all at orientation.”
Yuna ducked out. David left a couple minutes later, saying he'd get more of Shane's stuff from the car. Hayden's mom left to check in at her hotel, and Shane and Hayden were left to unpack.
“This is honestly way nicer than I thought the dorms would be,” said Hayden as he hung up his shirts. “Our own kitchen and living room? I thought I'd have to live off of ramen.”
“And our own bathroom,” added Shane, unfolding his sheets. “No waiting half naked in the hallway for the shower to open up.”
They continued unpacking and chatting amicably until the light coming through their window turned golden. Shane could hear his dad in the other room, unpacking his books. He made a mental note to reorganize them later.
David stuck his head through the door.
“We should start walking over to orientation,” he said, tapping his watch.
“Mind if I walk with you guys?” said Hayden. “I'm supposed to meet my mom there.”
“Let's go,” said Shane.
The two Hollanders and Hayden stepped into the hallway. Shayne insisted on locking the door despite Hayden's protests that they didn't need to. As Shane fumbled with his key, the door across the hall from them opened, and a young woman stepped out. She was tall and slender, with light brown skin and thick, curly brown hair. Shane didn't usually pay much attention to beautiful women, but this girl was exceptionally gorgeous. She turned and called something into the apartment behind her. Shane realized she was speaking Russian. A deep, male voice called something back in the same language. The woman laughed, then closed the door behind her. When she turned and found the three men watching her curiously, she gave them a quick smile.
“Hello,” she said. When her eyes landed on Shane, she froze for a moment, then her smile widened. She ducked her head, and Shane could have sworn she giggled. Before he had a chance to say something, the girl had gone out the front door.
“Damn,” Hayden said under his breath.
“Guess that neighbor has a girlfriend,” said Shane, finally locking the door successfully.
“A hot girlfriend,” Hayden muttered, bumping Shane’s shoulder with his own. Shane gave a weak chuckle in return.
The three men set off across campus. The already idyllic campus looked almost unreal in the light of the setting sun. Beams of sunlight, interrupted by buildings and trees, made it look like some kind of divine being was making their presence known.
Shane, David, and Hayden joined the flood of students heading toward the Theatre Complex, then split off with the steam heading for the Allen building. It was red brick, like most of the buildings on campus, though it resembled a castle more than the others did. It was tall and square, with turrets on each of its corners, and a single spire sticking up from the middle of the roof. A clock looked out from four sides of the center tower. Shane grinned up at the building. A picture of it had been hanging on his bedroom wall for nearly a year.
Hayden's mom met them at the entrance, and the four of them stepped into the cool interior of the Allen building. The floor was dark wood, and the walls were covered in dark green wallpaper. As their group followed the signs for first year orientation, Shane admired the photos and posters of past productions that were hung on the walls. He imagined his own face hanging alongside them.
When they arrived at room 1410, a small table was set up outside the door. A solidly built man with curly blond hair, blue eyes, and a bright smile sat behind it. Shane would guess that he was in his early thirties. He wore a short sleeved button down shirt with a repeating pattern of superhero symbols. On his chest was a nametag with “Wyatt Hayes” scrawled on it in sharpie. Matching nametags and pens were spread out on the table in front of him.
“Hey, guys!” Hayes said. “Welcome to orientation. Go ahead and take a nametag, then find yourselves a seat inside!”
Shane bent over the table and wrote “Shane Hollander” on a blank nametag. He peeled it from its backing and stuck it on his shirt. He felt a jolt of embarrassment when he glanced at Hayden's nametag, which simply read “Hayden”. It was too late to change it now.
Room 1410 reminded Shane of a movie theater, windowless, the lighting low and warm. The empty seats were folded and upholstered in a coarse, dark red fabric. They were in four curved rows, coming up from the small, black stage at the bottom of the room. The front of the stage was lit, where a long table was set up with chairs behind it. In these chairs sat the faculty.
Shane spotted his mom at once, sitting at one end of the table. She glanced up at him and smiled. He waved at her. To her left sat a large man with thinning brown hair. He had his eyes on the door, and he smiled serenely when Shane made eye contact with him. Next to him was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap over his bald head. He was scanning the room and occasionally glancing down at a paper in front of him. At the end of the table was an empty seat.
Hayden led the rest of their group to the middle of a row near the back. Shane sat and took the opportunity to examine his fellow students. He saw a thin, brown-skinned boy laughing with the heavyset, blonde boy next to him. After a moment, he realized the thinner boy was wearing eye makeup. He glanced away quickly and saw a pretty girl with long, strawberry blonde hair. She caught him staring and flashed him a kind smile. Shane returned what he hoped was a smile and not a grimace. He saw J.J. seated between a man and woman who had to be his parents. When he spotted him, J.J. grinned and waved. Shane raised a hand in return. Sitting in the back row of the hall off to the right was the girl they’d seen coming out of their neighbor's dorm. She was sitting alone, several seats away from anybody else. She kept glancing at the door and checking her phone, as though she were waiting for someone. Suddenly, her eyes caught Shane’s. She grinned. Shane gave a tight smile in return, then looked away. He didn’t understand why the girl kept looking at him like that. The look wasn’t unkind, but it unsettled him a bit. He felt like she knew something he didn’t.
Shane looked back at the door in time to see Hayes walking through it. He gently shut the door, then made his way to the empty seat on stage. As soon as he sat, the bald man stood and the chatter in the hall died down.
“Welcome, everybody,” he began, his deep, even voice carrying easily throughout the hall. “To Winchester Arts Academy. If you’re in this room, it’s because you’re hoping to join our illustrious Shakespeare program.”
A ripple of excited chatter spread through the assembled students.
“My name is Gilbert Theriault, I’m head of the program,” the man continued. He sounded somewhat bored. “My colleagues will have their own piece to say at some point during the evening, so I’ll let them introduce themselves. A few housekeeping items–”
The door at the back of the hall opened suddenly. The room turned as one to look at the newcomer.
In the doorway stood Ilya Rozanov.
Shane’s heart dropped into his shoes.
It was unmistakably him. The same blonde curly hair, a bit longer than it had been when he’d played Prince Hal. The same square jaw and broad shoulders. The beauty mark in the center of his left cheek.
Ilya Rozanov was in Winchester, Massachusetts.
Rozanov scanned the room quickly. He stopped when he made eye contact with Shane.
An expression passed over Rozanov’s face that looked almost like recognition. Shane quickly dropped his eyes and turned back to the stage.
“As I was saying,” said Theriault, looking unimpressed.
Shane didn’t hear anything else Theriault said over the buzzing in his ears. Ilya Rozanov was at his first year orientation. The boy whose voice had calmed his anxiety countless times over the past several months. Probably the most attractive man Shane had ever seen. He was here.
Shane caught movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced toward it. Rozanov was sitting down next to the girl from across the hall. They whispered for a moment and the girl grinned before they both turned to pay attention to Theriault. Rozanov shifted in his seat, and Shane caught a glimpse of a nametag stuck to the front of his shirt. It looked like it had “Ilya” scrawled on it.
Several things clicked at once in Shane’s head. The glimpse of golden curls he’d seen earlier. The male voice speaking Russian across the hall. Ilya Rozanov sitting here in room 1410, wearing a nametag identical to his own.
Ilya Rozanov was a student, here, at Winchester. In the Shakespeare program.
And he was Shane’s fucking neighbor.
– ♥ –
Ilya was exhausted.
It had been nearly 30 hours since he’d boarded a plane in Moscow, and he had hardly slept since then. He should’ve been able to sleep in the hotel during their over 10 hour layover in Istanbul, but he couldn’t quiet his brain for more than a couple of hours. He knew a video that would likely soothe him enough to sleep, but he was sharing the room with Svetlana. He felt a little bad keeping the video a secret from her. They normally shared everything. But for a reason he couldn’t quite name, Ilya wanted to keep this for himself, at least for now.
Consequently, Ilya arrived at Winchester Arts Conservatory running on two hours of restless sleep and a ridiculous amount of caffeine. The rideshare dropped him and Svetlana off in a parking lot swarming with students and their families. They stepped out of the car and dragged their luggage out of the trunk.
Svetlana pointed at the red canopy with “Information” written on it. Ilya followed her to it. Both of them gave their names and were shown where their dorms were on campus maps. They compared their maps once they stepped out of the crowd around the information tent.
“Let’s see my dorm first,” Svetlana said. “Then yours.”
Ilya agreed. He was too tired to do more than follow her instructions.
They lugged their suitcases across the picturesque campus. It had been difficult for Ilya to choose what was worth packing. What from his old life in Russia would fit into his new life in Massachusetts? He’d stood in front of his closet, tempted to leave everything behind and buy a whole new wardrobe once he got here. But Svetlana had been right when she’d pointed out how expensive that would be. Ilya’s scholarship covered tuition and living expenses, but it didn’t stretch much further than that. Svetlana’s father was willing to help, but Ilya was determined not to take more than he already had. He had let Sveta’s family pay for his travel because he’d had no other way out of Russia, but accepting charity made his skin crawl.
They arrived at the Reid building, where Svetlana would be living that year. Ilya barely registered going up the front steps, stepping through the entryway, and Svetlana unlocking a door with a brass “A” on it. When they stepped through the door, Ilya did register the beautiful woman unloading bags of groceries in the kitchen. She was short and thin, struggling to place a box of cereal on a high shelf. She had shoulder length light red hair. She turned around when Ilya and Svetlana came in. She had plush lips, a button nose, and big blue eyes. Her face broke into a dazzling smile.
“Hey!” she said. She pointed at Svetlana. “I’m guessing you’re my new roommate?”
“You guess right,” Svetlana said, smiling back. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Svetlana.”
“Rose,” the other girl said, shaking Sveta’s hand. She glanced curiously at Ilya.
“This is Ilya,” Svetlana said. “He is an old friend.”
“Hi,” said Ilya, offering his own hand.
Rose smiled at him and shook his hand. Hers was small and warm. Svetlana started to explore the apartment.
“Nice to meet you, Ilya,” she said. “Are you going to be a student here too?”
“Yes,” he said. He scrambled to think of something witty to say, but his mind was too sluggish.
“What program?”
“Shakespeare,” he said.
“Me too!” said Rose. She sounded genuinely excited.
“We should be seeing a lot of each other, then,” said Ilya. He gave her what he hoped was a charming smile.
“Ilya!” called Svetlana.
“Hm?”
Svetlana poked her head out the door Ilya guessed led to her bedroom. She switched to Russian.
“Stop trying to fuck my roommate before I've even had a conversation with her.”
Ilya glared at her. She grinned back.
The two of them unpacked a few of Svetlana’s essentials, chatting to Rose as they did. With how little sleep he’d gotten, Ilya didn’t trust himself to be flirtatious without coming on too strong, so he stuck to being friendly. After about an hour, they bid Rose goodbye and went to find Ilya’s dorm.
Thankfully, it wasn’t too far. The Meadows building looked much the same as the Reid building. Ilya’s room was the first on the left, also with a brass “A” affixed to it. As he came up to the door and took his key out of its little envelope, Ilya heard loud voices and music coming from behind it. He exchanged an intrigued look with Svetlana, then opened the door.
Inside was chaos. Clothes, books, and knick knacks were spread across every surface. Music was playing loudly through a phone on the counter. A short, dark-skinned woman was standing in the kitchen, examining the cabinets and yelling in what sounded like French. A man kept popping his head out of the bathroom and shouting short responses to the woman. When he spotted Ilya and Svetlana, he smiled, waved them in, and yelled “J.J.!”
A tall boy around Ilya’s age stepped out of the bedroom. He had light brown skin and short, curly hair. His face broke into a huge smile when his eyes landed on Ilya and Svetlana.
“Hey!” he said. He pointed at Svetlana. “You are my new roommate, yes?”
She grinned at him. “If only,” she said.
“Oh!” J.J. said in exaggerated disappointment. He turned to Ilya. “Must be you, then. I’m J.J. Boiziau” He stuck his hand out.
“Ilya Rozanov,” said Ilya, taking the proffered hand.
“Come in, man!” J.J. said, gesturing to the rest of the apartment. “Sorry for the mess. It won’t always be this bad.”
He introduced Ilya and Svetlana to his parents, then cleared enough of his stuff so that Ilya could start to put his things away. J.J. had already claimed the right bed, so Ilya took the left.
The group unpacked in companionable chaos. The Boiziau family was very friendly, asking Ilya and Svetlana questions about themselves. None of them seemed to notice the music still playing and spoke loudly over it. Ilya liked them all immensely. J.J. stepped out at one point to go get more of his stuff out of his parents’ car.
“You are so beautiful,” said Mrs. Boiziau, stepping up to Svetlana and taking her hands.
“Thank you,” said Svetlana, smiling graciously. “Maybe as beautiful as you one day.”
“Mm, smart too!” said Mr. Boiziau from the next room.
They all laughed.
“You are lucky boy,” Mrs. Boiziau said, pointing at Ilya.
He and Svetlana exchanged a smirk.
“He wishes he was so lucky,” said Svetlana.
“Oh!” said Mrs. Boiziau. “You are not together?”
“Nope,” said Ilya.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I have… how does it go, cheri? When you assume?”
“You make an ass of you and me,” Mr. Boiziau said.
Svetlana laughed in delight.
“A common mistake,” she said.
“Well,” said Mrs. Boiziau, slowly. “My son is a very nice boy.”
Svetlana raised an eyebrow at Ilya.
“You fuck my roommate, I fuck yours?” she said in Russian.
Ilya shook his head fondly at her.
J.J. came back soon after that, laden with plastic bags.
“I met another Canadian!” he announced to his parents.
“Oh?” said his mother.
“He lives in this building,” said J.J. “Shane from Ottawa.”
Ilya’s heart skipped a beat.
“Shane what?” he said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“I don’t know,” said J.J. “I didn’t ask. You know a Shane from Ottawa?”
Ilya inwardly cursed himself. He couldn’t say no without looking crazy, but if he said yes, he’d have to explain how he knew Shane Hollander.
Except this Shane from Ottawa couldn’t be Shane Hollander. It would be too weird for the boy Ilya had been crushing on from afar to be at his school.
Crushing, he thought. He hadn’t really thought of what he’d been feeling in those terms before, but he supposed it was accurate. Ilya had known for a few years that he was bisexual. He didn’t often act on his attraction to men, given how dangerous it could be in Russia. But he supposed there was no harm in having a crush on a random Canadian actor he’d never meet.
Unless that Canadian actor was somehow in Winchester, Massachusetts.
Ilya realized he’d taken too long to answer J.J.’s question.
“Uh,” he said lamely. “Sort of.”
Svetlana raised her eyebrows at him.
“From online,” he said, shrugging.
J.J. dropped the subject, turning to put away more of his stuff. Ilya turned to hang up some of his clothes, avoiding Svetlana’s questioning stare.
As soon as J.J. and his parents left for orientation, Svetlana whirled on him.
“Who is Shane from Ottawa?” she said in Russian.
“Nobody,” said Ilya, also switching to his native language.
“You’re blushing.”
“Not true! I have never blushed.”
Svetlana grabbed the shirt he was holding out of his hands.
“Talk,” she said.
Ilya sighed.
“There is a video I watch to learn English,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Is an actor in Ottawa named Shane. But probably it is not the same person.”
He pulled up the video and held his phone out to Svetlana. She snatched it from him and let him take his shirt back. Ilya turned to hang it up, not really wanting to see Sveta’s expression.
“You watch this to learn English?” she said doubtfully.
“Yes.”
“Not to look at the hot guy playing Romeo?”
“Ok, give it back now,” Ilya said, reaching for his phone. Svetlana held it out of his reach.
Svetlana was one of two people who knew about Ilya’s sexuality. Since they were children, Svetlana had meant safety. So, when she’d walked in on him kissing a boy in a prop closet, Ilya was neither surprised nor scared. She’d accepted this piece of him like she’d accepted every other piece of him he’d futilely tried to hide from her. He was glad she knew, but in some moments, it was annoying. This was one of those moments.
“Give,” said Ilya, holding his hand out for his phone.
“Very mean,” Sveta said, pretending to pout. “Keeping such a pretty boy all to yourself.”
Ilya simply held out his hand and stared at her.
“Fine,” she said, sighing. She placed Ilya’s phone back in his hand. “We need to go to orientation anyway.”
“You go,” said Ilya, pocketing his phone. “I will catch up once I’m done.” He gestured at the few shirts still in his suitcase.
“You will be late,” said Svetlana.
“They need time to dewrinkle,” said Ilya. “I don’t have an iron here.”
Svetlana sighed, heading for the front door. Ilya heard it open.
“I’ll save you a seat,” she called. “And keep an eye out for your pretty boy.”
“Fuck off!” Ilya called back.
He heard her laugh as she shut the door.
Ilya sank onto his bed and buried his face in his hands. He breathed in his first moment of quiet solitude since Svetlana had woken up that morning. He took out his phone. The video of Shane Hollander was still up, paused on a close up of his face. Ilya let himself look at it for a moment, then opened up the texts he’d been ignoring for the past few hours.
They were from his older brother, Alexei. There were a few pictures of what looked to be a party in his shitty little apartment. One of Alexei’s friends snorting coke. A half-dressed woman passed out on the couch. Another woman licking Alexei’s neck while he grinned lewdly. Underneath were a few texts.
enjo amrica baby brothr
ur fucking fagot school
fuckig cokcsucker
dad si pissed
fcking wastee if space
Ilya closed his eyes and breathed. He tried to wrestle the fury and pain boiling beneath his skin, but it wouldn’t subside. He wanted to lash out, hurl his phone across the room or punch the wall. But he knew he couldn’t afford to fix anything he broke. He looked wildly around his bedroom, desperate for some kind of outlet. He spotted his pillow. He picked it up, pressed it to his face, and screamed. It was wild and raw, a wounded animal’s scream. When he put the pillow down, Ilya felt slightly light-headed. He breathed deeply, inhaling the slightly musty smell of a room that hasn’t been lived in for months. He took comfort in its unfamiliarity.
Home can’t touch you here.
Ilya took a few more deep breaths before he forced himself to stand up, put his phone in his pocket, and walk out the door.
The campus was mostly empty, Ilya one of a few stragglers that were also late for their orientations. The setting sun lit everything in gold.
Ilya recognized the Angela Allen Shakespeare building from a distance. Its shape had been burned into his mind from how often he lurked on the Winchester Arts website. The hallways inside were deserted, but Ilya followed signs to a room with a table set up outside of it. The chair behind it was empty and the door was closed. Ilya quickly grabbed a name tag and scrawled his name on it. He stuck it onto his shirt as he opened the heavy wooden door. It opened with a creak.
A dozen faces turned to him as Ilya stepped through the door. He gave a sheepish nod to the man on stage who had obviously been in the middle of speaking. He cast his eyes around the room, looking for Svetlana and the seat she’d promised to save for him. Ilya met the eyes of someone else in the crowd, and his heart stopped.
It was Shane Hollander.
Same smooth black hair, soft brown eyes, and beautiful face. Ilya thought Hollander might look as shocked as he felt. Ilya forced his eyes to move past the boy whose voice had lulled him to sleep for months. He spotted Svetlana at the edge of the room and moved quickly to sit by her.
She leaned in and whispered into Ilya’s ear.
“Great first impression,” she said.
“You know I like to make an entrance,” said Ilya.
“Did you see that Shane from Ottawa is here?”
Ilya shushed her and Svetlana giggled. He glanced toward Hollander and found he was already looking at him. Hollander dropped his eyes quickly, turning back to the stage. Ilya tried in vain to focus on his new professors as they gave important information for the coming school year. His whole body was buzzing.
His harmless, unattainable crush was here. In the flesh, in the same room. At orientation for the same program as Ilya. The realization slowly dawned that Ilya was staring down the barrel of prolonged contact with Shane Hollander. They would be sharing classrooms, stages, dressing rooms. Ilya chanced another glance at Hollander. He wasn’t looking his way this time. His eyes were fixed on the stage, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He was even more gorgeous in person.
Ilya snapped his eyes back to the stage. Hollander, he decided, was off limits. Ilya couldn’t risk getting involved with him. He couldn’t make a mess, couldn’t jeopardize his chance of escape. He couldn’t risk an affair with his male classmate, not while his passport still relied on the Russian government.
His traitorous eyes flicked back to Hollander. Their eyes met. Ilya’s heart leapt into his throat.
He was so fucked.