Chapter Text
Fuck. Shane’s heart was about to fall out of his ass. He’d failed.
49%. The number, highlighted in red, was burned onto his retinas. Feeling bile rise in his throat, Shane slammed his laptop closed, leaning back in his crappy dorm chair. Pressing his knuckles against his closed eyes, he took in several deep breaths. He’d never failed a class before. Hell, he’d never received a grade below an A.
As a premed student, he couldn’t afford to perform poorly. He hated that this was his first thought, but he genuinely needed the highest GPA possible to qualify for scholarships that would finance his medical school education. He wouldn’t be able to afford tuition otherwise.
Shit. “Come on, Shane. Think.”
He needed a plan. He was good at that. Pulling open the only wooden drawer attached to his dorm-assigned desk, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. Flipping the cap off a stray pen he’d left while doing last night’s problem sets, he began to write.
- Attend the midterm review session.
Midterm review was supposed to happen... glancing at the announcement posted on the class portal, Shane cursed. Shit, in one hour. Okay. It’s cool. He’d make it.
- Talk to Professor Ito during office hours.
If he couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong, he needed to speak to his prof directly. He had attended Professor Ito’s office hours before and the man was kind. It would be okay.
- Find a tutor?
If office hours were a no-go, he would have to find a tutor. He knew the Biology department had drop-in sessions, he’d go and ask around then.
With a plan in place, his heart settled a bit. The sun was dipping over the horizon now, his room bathed more in darkness than in light. Pulling on a clean hoodie, Shane gently pulled the curtains closed before packing his laptop into his backpack. If he left right now, he’d make it to campus in fifteen minutes. He had enough time to grab a coffee and a snack, and then he’d have to walk five minutes from Tim Horton’s to the Biology building. With thirty minutes to spare, he could settle into the front row and set up his notes. Nodding to himself, Shane locked the door behind him. He could do this. He had a plan.
—
“Dude, did you catch what he was saying about non-canonical mTORC1 signalling?” Hayden, Shane’s best friend, nudged him with his elbow, “Am I crazy or did he start talking about alligators?”
Shane rubbed his temples. “Not alligators, Hayden. He was talking about the Gator proteins.” Tilting his head towards his friend, he eyed the IPad sitting in front of the other man. He hadn’t written a single note.
“Also, Gator isn’t involved in non-canonical signalling.”
Hayden levelled an impressed look at him, reaching his closed fist out as if asking for a fist bump. He almost knocked over Shane’s half-finished coffee. “Well damn, you must have aced that midterm, huh?”
Shane pushed his arm away gently. “No, I actually failed.”
Hayden didn’t even pause, reaching out once again to pat him on the shoulder. “It’s okay dude, did you notice how full the lecture hall was? It looks like everyone fucking failed.”
Shane nodded, trying to smile. It really didn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t care if everyone else was failing, he’s the one that needed to perform well.
While he was lost in thought, Hayden had already packed up. “I’m grabbing some dinner, do you want to join? My treat.”
Even miserable, Shane could appreciate the intent. Hayden was clearly trying to cheer him up. He was lucky to have such a caring friend.
“Thanks for the offer Hay, but I was thinking of talking to Dr. Ito.” Packing up, Shane smiled at his friend. “I’ll see you in tomorrow’s class?”
“Sure. But the offer still stands whenever you’re up for it.” Hayden ruffled Shane’s hair, smile widening when his hand was smacked away, “See ya!”
A long line had formed at the front of the lecture hall. An air of confusion lingered and Shane found himself listening in on the conversations around him. A pair of girls stood in front of him, talking quietly about the same application questions that had eaten away at most of his marks.
Pulling out his phone, Shane aimlessly scrolled on Instagram while waiting. It was already nearing 7:30PM. For some reason, this wretched class was also at 8AM. He needed to sleep on time or he wouldn’t retain the little bit of information that was actually penetrating through his skull.
Finally reaching the front of the line, Shane smiled awkwardly as Dr. Ito finished up his conversation with the girls in front of him. In his periphery, he noted that they looked even more confused than before.
Meeting his eyes, Dr. Ito smiled briefly, leaning against the podium. “Mr. Hollander, how may I help you?”
Oh, Dr. Ito actually remembered his name. Fuck, did he remember the shitty grade he’d received? That was a bit embarrassing.
“Hi Dr. Ito. I was hoping you’d clarify question 3 for me? It’s just I…”
—
So that did fuck all for him. No wonder those girls looked confused, Dr. Ito spent ten minutes spewing out transcription factors and enzymes he’d never heard of before. By the time he was done talking, he’d shakily thanked his professor and booked it out of there. His head had only stopped pounding after he’d chugged down a crisp ginger ale from his dorm mini-fridge.
Dr. Ito had mentioned Shane should drop by his office hours near the end of their conversation, probably noting the confusion he’d desperately tried to avoid leaking onto his face. After another confusing 8AM lecture, Shane knew he’d only fall more behind if he didn’t catch up immediately. After a quick nap at noon and two (thankfully easier) classes, Shane was standing in front of BB121, Dr. Ito’s office.
He hated office hours. There was something about sitting with a professor one-on-one in a tiny room that made his anxiety skyrocket. It was entirely too intimate for his liking and he often felt like he missed a social cue or two when their conversation would lull and the sound of silence would linger for too long.
Knocking on the door hesitantly, he half-hoped no one would respond. Instead, a gentle “Come in!” sounded, and Shane reluctantly pushed open the door. Dr. Ito sat behind a messy desk, half-focused on the large desktop in front of him. He had foregone his usual suit for a classic white button up, finally dragging his eyes away to smile at Shane.
“Mr. Hollander! Nice to see you again.” He said, gesturing at the wooden chair across from him.
Shane cleared his throat, pulling off his backpack to sit down. “Nice to see you, too, Dr. Ito.” Unzipping his bag, Shane gently pulled out his laptop from its fabric laptop sleeve, powering it on to open a folder he’d made specifically for office hours.
“Um, I talked with you yesterday, and I think I know what’s confusing me,” Glancing up at his professor, the other man just watched him silently, waiting for him to continue. Shane looked back down at the document he’d opened. “I’m finding it difficult to understand the applications of these pathways.”
Dr. Ito looked thoughtful, but before he could get another word in, a knock sounded at the office door. Shane, having forgotten to close it, turned around to see who had interrupted.
The man at the door, in one word, was stunning. He had tight blond curls and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. His upper lip formed a cupid's bow, the prettiest pink he had ever seen. It was the other man’s eyes that had Shane enraptured more than anything, though they didn’t even spare him a glance. Ice blue, framed by thick, blond lashes.
“Sorry to interrupt. We have problem, Jerry. In the lab.” His deep voice, accented in Russian, reverberated through the room. Shane had to stop himself from shivering.
Dr. Ito’s brows furrowed as he pushed his chair backwards. Gaze bouncing between the two men, his eyes suddenly lit up. “Mr. Rozanov, perfect timing! I’ll drop by the lab, but in the meantime, I’d like you to meet Mr. Hollander.” The man, Rozanov, glanced at Shane, eyebrows raised. Shane awkwardly stood up, belatedly reaching a hand out.
“Hello, um, I’m Shane.”
Rozanov didn’t respond, eyeing the hand he’d extended.
Dr. Ito laughed, gently pushing past Shane. “Mr. Rozanov, no need to be so stiff.” Patting Rozanov’s shoulder, he continued while walking out, “I didn’t do a great job of explaining things from the Biology210 class, take over for me, will you?”
And with that, Shane was left alone with this unknown, yet incredibly attractive man. Noticing he had yet to shake his hand, Shane let his arm fall, both arms now awkwardly bent at his sides. Rozanov sighed, walking past him to sit in Dr. Ito’s seat. Damn, who was he? He’d never sit in a professor’s seat, it felt almost sacrilegious.
Arms crossing over his chest, Shane had to stop himself from staring at the way his biceps bulged.
“What’s the problem?” Rozanov asked, looking bored.
“Um, well, we’re learning about the mTOR signalling pathways,” Coughing lightly, Shane avoided thinking about how unsure he sounded, “and I don’t know, I just keep getting tripped up every time there’s an application-type question?”
Rozanov continued looking at him, expression unchanging. Reaching out to drum his fingers against the desk, he asked, “Can I see what happened on your test?”
Shane paused, staring at the other man. Fuck, he didn’t want him to see how badly he’d screwed up, especially if he worked in Dr. Ito’s lab. Dr. Ito was a very popular genomics professor in their university, highly sought after for internships. It was incredibly competitive landing any sort of position under his supervision. He could only assume the man in front of him was working on his Master’s or PhD thesis, there’s no way he was an undergrad.
The blank expression on Rozanov’s face morphed into one of slight annoyance. “Well? I already know you did shit Hollander, there’s no point hiding it.”
What an asshole. Silently fuming, Shane pulled out his laptop, willing himself not to respond. He needed his help. At this point, he’d take anyone’s help, even a little asshole like Rozanov. Slamming his laptop onto the desk harder than necessary, he bared his 49% in all its glory.
Thankfully, Rozanov didn’t react beyond a raised eyebrow. Scrolling through the uploaded test results, he quickly scanned Shane’s answers before reaching the last section. It was the short answer section. Still not reacting, Rozanov reached the end of the test, gently closing his laptop.
“You really fucked that up, Hollander. You were sleeping during the test or something?”
Oh what a fucking asshole, seriously. Clenching his fists, desperately trying to stop himself from socking the blond asshole, Shane responded, “Obviously not.”
“Well, doesn’t look like it.” Observing Shane intently, he curled his index finger, beckoning him closer. “But, I think I understand the problem.”
Relieved, Shane quickly dragged his chair beside Rozanov’s, waiting for the prodigy to bestow his pearls of wisdom.
“You understand the purpose of mTORC1?”
Shane nodded, “It regulates growth depending on nutrient availability.”
Rozanov rummaged through the papers on Dr. Ito’s desk, finding a blank one. He then took one of his pens and placed the items in front of Shane. “Draw out the insulin-IGF signalling pathway for me.”
Without pausing to think, Shane did, showing Rozanov the diagram. Without even bothering to look it over, the blond took the paper and, maintaining eye-contact with Shane, ripped it slowly in half.
Dumbfounded, Shane could only stare.
Rozanov spoke quietly, “That,” He pointed at the paper he’d destroyed, “Doesn’t matter. I know you know the pathway.”
He paused for a moment, as if making sure Shane understood his message, before continuing, “Every question you got right, it was, how do you say…” Another beat of silence as he thought, “…Knowledge-based.”
Right, he was right. He’d gotten a perfect score on the multiple choice section of the test.
“The reason you are finding the application section hard is because you’ve memorized the pathway without understanding the role of each protein.”
Shane thought for a moment. He knew the ultimate purpose of mTORC1 and he knew the proteins involved in the signalling pathway. But Rozanov was right, he had simply memorized this information. His knowledge was actually very surface level.
Rozanov continued watching him, noting the eureka moment. “Ah, you’re getting it.”
Shane nodded.
“Yes, this is why when Jerry asks what happens if you get rid of the insulin-IGF receptor, you get the answer wrong.” He tapped Shane’s temple lightly. “Because you don’t understand its purpose.”
Wow. While Rozanov was a huge asshole, Shane couldn’t deny he was incredibly helpful. Shane suddenly felt optimistic. Maybe he had a chance at redemption after all.
Grabbing Rozanov’s hand, Shane blurted, “Give me your number!”
Rozanov eyed the spot Shane was holding onto, before pulling his hand away. “Not interested, Hollander.”
Please, was he being serious? “Not like that, Rozanov.” Shane rolled his eyes, “I need your help. I’ll even pay you, please.”
Rozanov snorted at that. “Wow, you’ll even pay me. What a great offer, I couldn’t possibly say no.”
Shit, he wasn’t budging. “Well, what can I offer you? I need the help and unfortunately, you’re the only person that’s gotten through to me.” Shane didn’t even care that he was being brutally honest, at this point. Whatever got him the help he needed, he’d take it.
Rozanov sighed. “You know I’m not a tutor, right?”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine. I need… a model. For my paintings.” Rozanov glanced at him, eyeing him up and down. “You can be my model.”
A strange ask, but Shane couldn’t refuse. A stellar tutor, and he didn’t even have to pay? He’d take it.
“Deal. Now, please give me your number.”
—
Mechanically chewing on his plate of mediocre dining hall pasta, Shane silently scrolled through his Tiktok account, waiting for his friend to join him.
“Hey! There you are, buddy.” Hayden noisily dragged out the wooden chair next to him, carelessly placing his usual bowl of rice and shawarma next to Shane’s plate. Hoodie pulled over his messy brown hair, eyes bloodshot, Shane knew all the signs of a Hayden All-Nighter.
“Hey.” Narrowing his eyes at the man next to him, Shane continued, “Was the stats midterm that bad?”
Hayden lay his head on his arms, looking back in exhaustion. “Man, don’t even ask. You’re lucky this class isn’t required for you.”
Shane hummed in agreement. He hated statistics.
Reaching out to flick Shane’s hand, Hayden continued, “Hey, how’d your talk with Dr. Ito go?”
Hand stinging, Shane retaliated by pinching the skin on Hayden’s arm, causing the other man to let out a small yelp. “It went well, I found a tutor.”
The pout on Hayden’s face slid off as he quickly sat up in excitement. “No shit? Dude, that’s amazing.”
Shane nodded, swallowing another bite. “Yeah, his name is Rozanov or something, Dr. Ito basically forced him to help me.”
Hayden froze for a second. Grabbing Shane’s sleeve, he waited until his friend stopped eating and made confused eye contact with him. “Wait, did you say Rozanov?”
“Yeah. Dude, let go of my arm.”
Hayden stubbornly held on. “Shane. You don’t know?”
“Know what?” Damn, the aftertaste of this pasta sucked. Remind him to never trust campus alfredo sauce again.
“Dude, Rozanov is Ilya! You know, the fourth year prodigy, ten publications under his belt, starting his MD/PhD next year.”
Shane stopped eating, eyeing Hayden in disbelief. No way. He had only heard of the infamous Ilya. He was the only MD/PhD candidate to be accepted from their isolated university in bumfuck nowhere since the 1990s. Only the best of the best were qualified to enter the stream that would ascribe both a medical degree and a PhD to its students, and there hadn’t been many entries from their university in general.
“He agreed to tutor you? He’s busy as fuck, dude. I’ve heard he’s always holed up in his lab.”
Shane didn’t know what to say. He could hardly believe it himself. And the other man hadn’t even asked for monetary compensation, but for Shane to act as his model?
Beginning to shovel spoonfuls of rice into his mouth, Hayden shook his head. “Don’t tell anyone, man, you know how crazy some of these premed gunners are.”
Yeah, he wasn’t about to tell anyone. He could imagine the slander he’d see on Reddit, the absurd speculations that would spread on how exactly he’d managed to convince the Ilya Rozanov to tutor him.
Well, Shane could only count his blessings for now. Feeling his phone vibrate with a new notification, Shane almost laughed at the timing of the text.
Rozanov: Tomorrow, 8PM, at student centre. Your first tutoring session. We go to my apartment at 9PM.
—
Reaching the second floor of the student centre, Shane scanned the booths for a head of blond curls.
“Hello.” Shane said, finding the man in a red booth. Sitting across from him, the cushion beneath him let out a dying wheeze, reminding Shane why he hated sitting here. It was always so crowded too, even at 8PM.
Rozanov dragged his gaze away from his phone, nodding in acknowledgement. “Hollander.”
Shane had to stop himself from staring at the tight, grey turtleneck Rozanov wore, highlighting those washboard abs and huge biceps. Clearing his throat, Shane pulled out his notebook and laptop.
“Let’s begin.”
— —
An hour later, Shane felt tired but optimistic. He was finally able to correct the mistakes he’d made on his midterm. Ilya Rozanov was gifted. He definitely deserved that MD/PhD spot.
“Thanks, Rozanov. I’m finally getting it.” Shane smiled slightly, packing his bag.
Rozanov grunted in response. “S’okay. You’re not an idiot, makes my job easy.”
That was high praise coming from him. Shane smiled more genuinely, grabbing his backpack before taking Rozanov’s as well. The blond had three mysterious bags in his hands, it’s the least Shane could do.
Nodding in thanks, Rozanov tilted his head towards the exit. “Come, my room is pretty close.”
Ten minutes later, they’d arrived. Shane’s cheeks burned, realizing they were in adjacent buildings. Though, reaching Rozanov’s room, he realized his paled in comparison.
Rozanov’s room was far larger, almost an apartment style. He had a small kitchenette in one corner, a bathroom in the other, and a den. Shane hadn’t realized they offered these accommodations to students.
“Wow, your place is nice.” Shane offered, putting their backpacks next to the entrance. Rozanov shrugged noncommittally.
“Want a drink?”
Shane shook his head.
Rozanov inclined his head towards the den. Following him in, Shane noticed it was just a room designated for all his art supplies. Four easels stood in the tiny room, each with a blank canvas. All of his completed paintings were leaned against one wall, only the backsides visible.
In the centre of the room sat an antique settee.
“Alright, Hollander, shirt off.”
A beat of silence. Rozanov raised his eyebrows, as if asking what his problem was.
Whatever. This was a small price to pay for all of Rozanov’s help. Pulling his hoodie off, Shane folded it in half, carefully placing the sweater onto the ground next to the sofa. He hesitantly sat down, not knowing where to place his arms.
The blond watched him throughout the entire ordeal, not commenting.
“Not a model, huh, Hollander?”
“Oh, fuck you, Rozanov.”
Slowly walking towards him, Rozanov stopped once his knees hit the edge of the settee. Pushing gently on Shane’s shoulders, he positioned the other man so that he lay flat on his back.
Taking Shane’s wrist, he pulled his arm over his face so that it covered his eyes, hanging past his head.
“Stay just like that, Hollander.”
And then, he painted.
Shane didn’t know how much time had passed, but he fould himself getting drowsy. Trying to keep himself awake, he began thinking of questions he could ask the elusive man.
“So… when did you get into painting?”
The soft sound of brushstrokes paused for a minute, before picking up again. “Eh, since I was maybe five or six.” He responded, voice hushed.
Oh wow, was this guy perfect or something? What next, did he play professional hockey on the side?
“Ah,” Shane responded, not saying anything more.
Rozanov hummed quietly. “You have any hobbies, Hollander?”
Shane thought for a minute. “I like reading.”
He thought he saw the blond nod in his periphery. “So you’re a nerd, huh?”
“Fuck off,” Shane laughed. The future MD/PhD student was calling him a nerd?
“Hey, hey. Stop laughing, Hollander, you’re ruining my painting.” Shane tried to calm himself down, but the amused tone in the blond’s voice fired up a sudden urge in Shane to see the other man laugh. He didn’t think he’d even seen the other man smile yet. He wanted to see those icy blue eyes soften. Would he have a dimple?
Lost in a daydream, he didn’t notice Rozanov was suddenly beside him again until fingers lightly brushed against his abdomen. Shooting upright, Shane nervously stared at him.
“We’re done, Hollander. Go home.”
—
The ambiguous atmosphere following their first tutoring session left Shane reeling. He had locked himself in his dorm room that night, pondering. After an hour of sitting with his thoughts, he came to the conclusion that he had a small crush on Ilya Rozanov. Who wouldn’t? The man was academically gifted, artistically inclined, and absolutely gorgeous.
In fact, it would be weirder not to be attracted to the other man. Shane just had to reel in his feelings for another month, and once the semester was over, surely they’d go their separate ways and Ilya Rozanov would be another pretty memory.
Two tutoring sessions later, Shane had started questioning whether his original plan was possible. Rozanov, for some reason, had become… flirty.
It was throwing Shane off.
They decided to run through one last round of problem sets before Shane’s final exam. Knocking on Rozanov’s apartment door, Shane held a bag of pastries in one hand as a thank you.
A shirtless Rozanov answered, short-circuiting Shane’s brain. A defined set of abs were in his direct vision and the blond decided to make matters worse by leaning against the doorjamb, emphasizing his thick biceps and veiny arms.
Snapping out of it, Shane tried to discretely wipe his mouth in case he’d somehow drooled. “Rozanov.” Raising his hand, he wiggled the bag of desserts. “For you.”
Rozanov gave him a slow once-over, gaze lingering on his mouth. “Thanks, Shane.”
Fuck.
Walking over to the kitchenette, Shane sat at the small wooden dining table shoved in one corner of the room. Rozanov, or Ilya actually, moved to sit across him, having pulled on a white tank top. He was still distracting, but not nearly as much as before.
“Okay Shane, Jerry has sample test posted, yes?” Rozanov leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
Swallowing thickly, Shane nodded. “You’ll time me?”
“Yes. One hour fifteen minutes. Whenever you’re ready.”
.
He scored an eighty-six percent.
A smile broke across his face as he looked at the scored test Ilya had placed in front of him.
“No shit?”
Ilya looked at him for a beat, before reciprocating with a small smile of his own. Shit, it was blinding.
“No shit. You did good.”
He did good.
Coughing to clear his throat, praying his ears weren’t burning, Shane asked, “You still need me to model for you?”
Ilya stared at him with those ocean blue eyes, gaze falling to his mouth again. “Ah, no, not today.”
Feeling disappointed, Shane just nodded, fingers tangling together on top of the table.
Ilya glanced at them, and as if sensing he was upset, continued, “You need to focus on your exam tomorrow. But, you owe me.”
More than happy to be in debt, Shane felt his energy renew. He stood up with his packed backpack, ready to leave.
“Good luck, Shane.”
“Thanks, Ilya.”
—
Fuck, that exam was brutal. Shane had never wanted to cry after a test as badly as he did right now. He hadn’t even been this gutted taking organic chemistry.
Finding Hayden waiting for him outside the exam hall, he saw the equally devastated look on his friend’s face and decided it was time for a drink.
A week later, Shane’s email pinged with a notification. Biology210 exam results posted.
Heart palpitating, Shane shakily opened his university portal. Clicking on the exam results announcement, he half closed his eyes as he scrolled down to the section with his score. Alright, he could do this. One. Two. One, two, three..
88%. Eighty. Eight. Percent. An A.
Falling against his chair in relief, Shane shamefully felt tears stinging his eyes. He would still qualify for his scholarships. He had done it, and it was all thanks to a certain fourth year prodigy he desperately needed to see in person right this second.
Fifteen minutes later, Shane stood outside Dr. Ito’s office. It was a completely impulsive move, considering finals season was drawing to a close and the number of students on campus had dwindled significantly.
Pulling out his phone to call Ilya, he had almost pressed the green phone icon when he spotted a familiar head of perfect, blond curls. Jogging down the hallway, uncaring how stupid he looked, he crashed into the other man, wrapping his arms around his midriff.
Letting out an oomph, Ilya’s head whipped around, face twisted in anger. Seeing that it was Shane, the anger dissolved as quickly as it had come.
“Fuck, Hollander, what are you doing?”
Head falling into the curve between his shoulder and neck, Shane mumbled unintelligibly.
“What?”
“Call me Shane.”
Ilya’s hands now rested on top of Shane’s. Still confused, he asked, “Shane, what’s going on?”
Shane breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down. “I got an 88% on the final.” Unwrapping his arms from around the other man, he sidestepped him so that they faced each other. “All thanks to you.”
Ilya gave him the biggest smile he’d ever seen, white teeth glinting. “No shit?”
Shane grinned back. “I did good.”
Ilya hummed, gaze softening. “You did. Proud of you.”
Suddenly embarrassed, Shane scratched the back of his ear. “Well, you did say I owe you.” Glancing at the blond, who looked amused now, Shane blurted, “Let me take you out.”
Ilya snorted, though it wasn’t mean-spirited. “You want to take me on a date, Hollander?”
Shane looked at him solemnly. “Yes.”
Ilya stared at him for a beat, eyes warm. Reaching out, he chucked Shane under the chin.
“Okay. Tomorrow, 8PM. Meet me at my apartment.”