Chapter Text
A line of sweat dripped a slow trail down Shane’s spine, tickling him. He ignored it, a steady hand pouring vodka into a shaker, while the other reached for the drink mix he had made earlier that night automatically. A scoop of ice, and he shook the metal shaker, feeling the metal get cold under his fingers. He strained it into a glass, adding an orange peel for garnash because people tipped better when they thought their drinks looked nice.
He added the drink to his tray and smoothly brought it to a table, passing the drinks around with a smile pasted on his face that hadn’t fallen the entire night. He thought if he let it fall once, he wouldn’t be able to muster it back up again. And people tipped better when he smiled.
He left the table, feeling the floor of the bar through the hole in his shoe. He’d had a spare $20 a couple months ago, and should have used it to buy himself new shoes. But he’d bought himself a new shirt instead, because all his old ones were completely threadbare and stained. And people tipped better when he looked nice.
It was the constant algebra of his life. How could he distribute his pitiful earnings to make the most impact?
“Hey are you closing tonight?” Hayden asked when he made it back to the bar.
Shane looked at him suspiciously. “No,” he said. It was his first night off in weeks and he had been achingly looking forward to it.
Hayden’s eyes got wide and pleading. “Would you mind closing for me? Please? It’s Jackie’s birthday tomorrow, and I totally fucked up, I really need to get her gift ready.” Hayden looked ready to get on his knees and beg.
Shane sighed. Every part of his body screamed to say no, to tell Hayden to find someone else. But he thought about the disgusting bar fluids seeping into his socks through the hole in his shoe. And he thought about the semester starting in a week and hundreds of dollars in textbooks he would need to buy. “Yeah, fine. I’ll cover you.” He tried not to feel like he was stepping up to the executioner’s block.
Hayden exhaled in relief. “Oh thank god, buddy, thank you so much. You really have no idea how much I appreciate this, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Shane wanted to be annoyed but Hayden’s eyes were filled with such earnest thanks that he could only laugh.
“Yeah, whatever, I’m only doing it for Jackie. She’s the best you’re ever gonna get, so you better not fuck it up with her.”
Hayden laughed, giving Shane a playful hit on the shoulder. “Hey man, you got that right.”
An hour later, Hayden left when Shane was originally supposed to, saying his goodbyes with several extra “thank you”s thrown Shane’s way. Shane nodded at him, the pasted on smile never slipping. It was midnight, only two hours before the bar closed, only three hours before he could go home if he was quick about his closing duties. The bar was quieter than it had been, most people filtering out. It was a weeknight, and Shane didn’t expect it to get too busy for the rest of the night.
The door opened, pulling in the pleasant smell of an August night. Late summer in Montreal was Shane’s favorite time of year. He looked up, expecting a regular. Weeknights tended to bring the same people in, so Shane usually recognized almost everyone in the bar.
The man who entered was unfamiliar, however. He was tall, and broad-shouldered, and had a commanding presence, like he was used to people paying attention when he entered a room. He walked with long strides to the bar and sank into one of the stools with a surprising amount of grace given his size and that he looked almost as tired as Shane felt.
“Vodka. Best you have. With one ice cube.” His voice was clipped, a Russian accent folding around the words.
“Uh, sure,” Shane said, blushing for a reason he couldn’t quite figure out. He wasn’t actually sure which of their vodkas was the best, but there were a few dusty bottles in the back that he knew were their most expensive. He chose one at random and hoped it was good enough.
He slid the glass, with one ice cube across the bar at the man. He grunted in thanks, picking up the glass and draining it one go. He slammed the glass back on the bar and slid it back to Shane. “Another,” he said, then seemed to remember himself. “Please.”
Shane poured him another.
He watched the man take it, almost expecting him to down it one go again, but he took a single sip and brought the glass back down to the bar, seeming content to sip on this one. He ran a hand through carefully styled curls, leaving them in disarray that softened him.
“Uh, can I have a card?” Shane asked, not sure why he felt so awkward.
The man looked at Shane for the first time, as though surprised he was there. “Of course, sorry,” he muttered, fumbling through his coat for his wallet.
Shane took the card when it was offered, leaving the tab open without asking. It looked like this guy was going to be here a while.
Working at the bar, he was familiar with people drinking alone, but Shane usually tried to strike up some sort of conversation with people sitting at the bar. People tipped better when they liked him, he found. Striking up conversations was never something he excelled at. People were always saying things they didn’t mean or that he didn’t understand. He had come to learn, however, there was a set of rules to interacting with drunk people at the bar. There was a script he could follow, and most of the time, the people were too drunk to care if he wasn’t making eye contact, or if his laugh sounded a little too forced.
“Is it good? The vodka?” He asked after pouring the man a third glass. Their fingers brushed when he handed the glass back, and Shane tried to ignore the spark at the contact.
The man huffed out a laugh. “No.”
“Oh. Sorry, I can get a different–”
“No, all vodka here is bad. Is hard to get good vodka outside of Russia.” The man took another sip, not seeming to mind.
“When did you move?” asked Shane.
“A few years ago,” the man responded vaguely.
“Do you miss it?” Shane asked. He couldn’t imagine leaving Canada. Even the move from Ottawa to Montreal had felt monumental.
The man looked at Shane. His eyes were so intense it sent a shiver down Shane’s spine. “No.”
“Oh.” Well this conversation was going nowhere. Shane felt like, if anything, the man liked him less, now. Luckily, he was saved by another customer, and he quickly busied himself making more drinks.
He brought the drinks to the table, and when he turned around to head back to the bar, he caught the man, head turned, eyes on him. The man’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and Shane felt his cheeks heat. The man didn’t drop his gaze.
“Another?” Shane asked, nodding to the empty vodka glass.
“Please.” The vodka had softened him. When he had entered, he had looked tense, full of sharp angles and stiff muscles. Now, the shoulders under his button-down were sloped over the bar. His hands ran over the worn wood grain softly.
Shane refilled his glass. “My name is Shane, by the way. You can flag me down, if you need a refill.”
“Shane.” The man’s accent curled around the shape of his name. “My name is Ilya.”
“Nice to meet you, Ilya,” Shane replied, his pasted-on smile turning into something more real. Now he was getting somewhere.
Ilya inclined his head. “Sorry if I was rude–earlier. Has been a long day.”
“Oh yeah?” Another great thing about drunk people–most of them were looking for any reason to talk, so Shane really didn’t have to say much to get them going. Though Ilya, despite the fourth glass of vodka he was sipping, was looking remarkably clear-eyed.
“Most people are idiots, I think,” he said, his voice almost thoughtful, as though he were just now coming to that conclusion.
Shane couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat. “What makes you say that?”
Ilya waved a hand dismissively. “Work.”
“What do you do?”
“My–I own several businesses. Here, and some in the States. Few in Russia that I am trying to sell. Mostly my job is to stop stupid men from making stupid decisions with my money.”
Shane, if he was being honest with himself, had no idea what that meant. He was studying medicine specifically so that he didn’t have to learn what it took to run a business.
“That seems–interesting.” He had no idea what else to say.
It seemed to do the trick, though, because Ilya tossed his head back, laughing. “You would have to be very boring to think it was interesting.” Ilya sighed, shrugging. “But I am good at it. And it got me out of Russia.”
Shane nodded as though he understood. Another customer came up to the bar, sparing him from having to come up with a proper response.
The rest of his shift passed in much the same way. A few snatches of conversation with Ilya that left him feeling off-balance, broken up by his other duties. At last call, Ilya closed his tab.
“Goodnight, Shane. Thank you for…talking,” he said, his gaze heavy and intense.
“Goodnight, Ilya,” Shane replied with a smile.
It was only after everyone else had left, when Shane was putting his tips in at the end of the night, that he saw Ilya’s bill. The bill itself was eye-watering, but Ilya had tipped far beyond what was generous, and into the territory of what Shane knew was surely a mistake. A $300 tip on a $120 bill could not have been intentional. Part of him considered trying to chase him down, though he knew Ilya had left over half an hour ago. He would say something if he ever came back, though.
If it wasn’t an accident though…Shane thought about the rent due in a few weeks. Thought about how he couldn’t remember when he had last bought food that wasn’t ramen or rice. If it wasn't an accident, there was a lot that Shane could do with that money.
“Fuck, man, that could have been me!” Hayden said, when Shane told him about Ilya and his tip at their next shared shift, a few days later.
Shane laughed. “Too bad, I earned that, covering for you.”
“Yeah, you did,” Hayden said, voice more serious. “Thanks again, man. I’m really glad it was worth it.”
“No problem, me too.”
“So, who do you think that guy is? Do you think he’s like Bill Gates’ son or something?”
Shane laughed again. “I don’t think you have to be Bill Gates’ son to be able to afford a $300 tip.”
“Yeah but you said he had an energy–”
“He did have an energy–”
“Well now, what the fuck does that mean?”
“I don’t know!” Shane tried to walk away from the conversation by taking the trash out, but Hayden just followed him out. “He just had this…”
“If you say ‘energy,’ I’ll kill you.”
“It just seemed like he was used to people doing what he told them to, you know? Like he was used to being the boss in whatever room he stepped into.” Shane fumbled for his words. He wasn’t quite sure what it was about Ilya that had made him memorable, if he was being honest. But since they had met a few nights ago, Shane found his thoughts drifting back to him more than they should have.
“So like he was someone important,” Hayden supplied, as he helped Shane toss the heavy trash bags into the dumpster behind the bar. “Or the son of someone important.” His eyes were twinkling mischievously.
“You are so annoying,” Shane huffed. The two of them finished their smelly task and turned back to the building before Shane stopped with a gasp.
“Wha–”
“Um, I don’t think you can smoke there,” Shane said, the first words that entered his brain. He hated them the second they left his mouth.
Ilya lifted his eyes to the two of them, standing across the alley in front of the dumpster. He finished lighting his cigarette with a smirk, took a drag, then blew the smoke out. Shane could smell it from where he stood.
“Ok.” Ilya stayed where he was, smoking his cigarette.
“Um. Are you coming in?” Shane wasn’t sure why he had asked that. As if Ilya would come to the bar just to smoke a cigarette in front of their dumpster.
“I will finish my cigarette and I will come in.”
“Ok. Um. See you in there.” Shane said, then hurried in the building, cheeks heating, hoping with everything in him that Ilya hadn’t heard his and Hayden’s conversation before he had turned around.
“Holy shit was that–?” Hayden asked as soon as they were back in the building.
“Yes.”
“Holy shit, Shane you didn’t mention he was so–”
“What?”
“Hot!” Hayden exclaimed, looking at Shane with something new in his eyes that Shane couldn’t quite read.
“Don’t be stupid, I said he had–”
“Yeah yeah, a fucking energy, but Shane, that man is hot. And rich. And he was totally eye-fucking you.”
“What are you talking about?” Shane wished, for the millionth time in his life, that he didn’t blush as easily as he did.
“I mean, I don’t think he looked at me, once. I don’t even think he realized I was there.”
“Hayden, stop being stupid. He’s just a customer. He was just looking at me because I was talking to him.” Shane was saved from having to continue the conversation by entering the main room in the bar and finding several people waiting for drinks. He threw himself into the work with relief, ignoring the looks Hayden kept throwing his way.
A few minutes later, when Ilya entered the bar and sat in a stool directly across from Shane, Shane could feel Hayden’s eyes on him like a physical touch, but still, he ignored it.
“Hey Ilya,” he said. People tipped better when it felt like Shane was their friend. He made it a point to remember small things about all his regulars for that exact reason. He knew all their names. So it wasn’t odd that he remembered Ilya’s. And it wasn’t odd that he wanted Ilya to know that he had remembered it. It wasn’t.
“Hi Shane,” Ilya replied. He looked tired, but his posture relaxed as he sat down. He unbuttoned the top button on his shirt and pulled his tie loose, so it hung low around his neck. And Shane didn’t stare. He didn’t.
“Vodka?” he asked, already reaching for it.
“Yes, some more bad vodka, please.”
Shane poured it for him. “If it’s bad, we have other things, you know.”
Ilya waved a hand. “Even bad vodka is better than anything else.” He punctuated the sentence by taking a sip and making an exaggerated pleased face. “Is the best liquor, no contest.”
Ilya stayed for a while, until the bar had emptied more. Shane was closing alone again, and Hayden had left with a pointed look at Ilya and waggle of his eyebrows. Shane rolled his eyes at him.
“Hey, um when you here last time,” Shane began, washing a glass to give himself somewhere to look, “I think you may have tipped me too much on accident.”
Ilya looked at him over the rim of his glass. “Was not accident.”
“But it was way too much–”
“Was not too much.”
“Ilya–”
“Was good service. I pay good for good service. Is how things are done here, yes?” Ilya arched a thick eyebrow.
“Well, yes, but–”
“Then is no issue.” He said with such finality, that Shane found it impossible to argue. He looked up, meeting Ilya’s eyes for the first time. Heat flared in his stomach at the intensity in Ilya’s gaze.
“Ok,” he said, weakly.
That night, when he left, Shane peaked at the bill and found himself with another $300 tip.
Shane stared at the piece of mail in his hands. His asshole landlord was reaching newly unprecedented levels of assholery. Raising the rent on the shitty studio apartment was diabolical even on its own. But raising it in the middle of the semester when Shane wouldn’t be able to move out because he was neck-deep in assignments he was behind on, because he had to spend every spare second he had working to afford the rent even before it was raised–
Well it was truly unprecedented levels of assholery. An additional $200 a month. He had no idea how he was going to afford it. He was stretched too thin even as it was.
The neat, professional, writing blurred in front of his eyes.
He could do this. He could do this because he had to do this. He would set the heat even lower this winter. He would find a way to cut his grocery costs even lower. There were often events with free food on campus, if he was willing to spend an hour getting lectured about things he didn’t care about. If he could spare an hour between studying and working.
He could do this.
He took a deep shuddering breath and wiped his eyes. He certainly didn’t have time to be crying about it. He had to finish his chemistry lab before he left for work, which he needed to do in less than an hour.
Sitting on his shitty mattress–he had never gotten around to getting a real frame for it–he booted up his old laptop, the sounds of the fans filling the small room. It turned on, let him sign in, then promptly crashed. Shane sighed, turning it on again. It didn’t crash again–luckily. He knew one of these days it would turn off and he wouldn’t be able to turn it back on again. He could only hope that it would survive until after he was finished with school for that.
By the time he had to leave for work he hadn’t gotten nearly far enough in his assignment, but he closed his laptop, resigning himself to another all-nighter.
“Hey Shane, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, JJ.” Shane knew not to take it personally. JJ, the other bartender he and Hayden worked with, was always more blunt than was strictly appropriate.
“You’ve got to get laid, man. My buddy is having a party–”
“I’m really ok, JJ, thanks though.” Shane moved through the motions of the job. Wiping, cleaning, picking up dirty glasses like he was on autopilot. He was just so tired.
Ilya came in around midnight. It has become standard for them. Over the last few weeks, Ilya would come in every couple days around midnight. He drank nothing but the vodka that he complained about, and left outrageous tips every time. And in between things, he and Shane would talk.
“Hey Ilya, how are you doing?” Shane asked when he sat down. The October night air had a slight chill to it, and Ilya pulled a jacket off when he sat down. Shane tried not to notice the way the movement stretched his shirt across his broad shoulders as he did it.
“Fine,” he said, taking a sip of the vodka that Shane had poured for him without being asked. Ilya looked at him. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Shane said. The pasted-on smile was harder to maintain today. His mind kept returning to the letter in his apartment, to his unfinished assignment. He tried not to feel like he was drowning.
Ilya looked at him, his gaze intense as always. “Are you?” His voice had gone so soft, softer than Shane had ever heard it. Soft enough that Shane almost cracked under the pressure of it.
“I–I don’t know,” he said, not sure what else to say. He took a deep breath, finding his smile again. “But I will be. I’ll be okay.”
Ilya said nothing, looking at him. Shane felt like he was being x-rayed. “What’s wrong?”
Shane shook his head. “Nothing, don’t worry about–”
“Shane.”
Shane sighed. “My landlord is raising my rent. And I can’t move because I’m behind on school as it is, because I have to spend all my time here–”
“How much?”
“Uh–What?” It threw Shane off, the directness with which Ilya would ask things.
“How much is raising the rent?”
“$200.” Shane didn’t want to say, but he knew Ilya wouldn’t leave it alone until he had.
Ilya nodded, like something was decided. “I will pay.”
“What?” Shane hadn’t heard him. Clearly. Because it sounded like he had said–
“I will pay. I will come in, and you will give me excellent service, and I will give you tip enough to cover every month.” The set of Ilya’s mouth showed that there was no arguing with him, but Shane tried anyway.
“Ilya, that’s crazy. My rent really isn’t your problem and I would never ask you–”
“You do not ask. You do not have to ask. Your rent is not my problem, but if you are homeless, you cannot give me your excellent service anymore. So I will cover it.”
“Ilya–”
“Don’t try to argue with me, because you could not stop me anyway.” There was something almost like humor in Ilya’s face.
Shane swallowed his words, not wanting to accept, but not seeing another way out of this. “Okay, thank you.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, unable to fully process the full weight that had lifted off his chest. “Thank you, seriously.”
Ilya shrugged. “You help me, I help you. Is simple.”
Shane stared at him. “How do I help you?”
Ilya cracked a smile. “Where else would I get such shitty vodka?” He shook his glass, the ice cube tinkling.
Shane laughed. “I think there are lots of places you could get such shitty vodka.”
“That’s true, but nowhere else are the bartenders this pretty.” Shane felt like one of the cadavers they used in his biology labs–splayed open and pinned under Ilya’s gaze.
“I’m not pretty,” he muttered, crouching down behind the bar to hide his blush.
Ilya laughed.
That night, Shane’s tip was $500. He stood and stared at the number for far longer than he needed to, not quite able to believe that Ilya could solve such a big problem with such ease.
“He called you ‘pretty’?” Hayden exclaimed as they had lunch on campus together the next day. Hayden was also a grad student at McGill, though he was studying engineering where Shane was in medical school.
“Shh, it wasn’t like…flirty–”
“Shane, how do you call someone pretty in a not flirty way?” When Hayden phrased it like that, Shane had to admit it was a hard question to answer. Especially when he was looking at Shane like he had grown a second head.
He shifted uncomfortably. “Like, that’s just his sense of humor, it doesn’t mean he actually thinks I’m pretty.”
“Oh yeah, and he pays your rent because…?” Hayden raised his eyebrows.
“Because he’s a nice guy! Because he can!” Shane avoided Hayden’s eyes. He should never have told Hayden any of this, but he had asked, and if was honest, Shane was still feeling like that whole conversation may have been a dream, and telling someone else about it made it more real, somehow.
“Shane, you sweet, naive, little idiot,” Hayden shook his head, smiling. “I don’t buy Jackie dinner all the time because I’m such a nice guy. I don’t give her flowers just because I can!”
“Well, maybe Ilya is just a better person than you,” Shane replied, primly. He dug into his plate with gusto. Hayden had snuck him into the dining hall by swiping his card and letting Shane slip in behind him. Shane wanted to make the most of it. He had added as many fresh vegetables to his plate as he could fit, and he planned to go back at least another two times.
Hayden scoffed. “No way is that guy a better person than me.” Shane just looked at him pointedly as he crunched on a carrot. “You just wait, one of these days you’ll see he was just trying to get into your pants this whole time.”
“Hayden!”
“And honestly you should let him! It might be good for you! How long has it been since you’ve gotten laid?”
“Hayden!” Shane snapped again, cheeks heating. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Fine, fine,” Hayden replied, putting his hands up in mock surrender. Thankfully he did drop the matter for the rest of lunch.
The colder months moved in, and Shane got more miserable with each passing day. When he pulled his winter boots from the back of the closet he found they were moldy because his shitty apartment had leaked without him realizing. So he was stuck in his sneakers that he had still never gotten around to replacing, so they had a hole in them. He had been getting by with several layers of socks and duct tape, but every night when he got home from work, his toes were stiff and white with cold. And every night it took just a little longer for them to warm up to a normal temperature. It didn’t help that he had to keep his apartment as cold as he could stand it because heat was expensive and there was always something he had to pay for.
But it was fine.
He was fine.
He was keeping it together, and the duct tape on his shoes was really working fine. And his coat was really warmer than it looked, so he was fine.
“Fuck!” he shouted. The word echoed in the silent alley as he took the trash out behind the bar. He had stepped in a half-melted slushy dirty puddle. He had kept telling Theiroult, the bar owner, to change the lightbulb behind the bar, but the cheapskate never had.
The duct tape, and the last few threads holding the sole of his shoe on finally gave up. He looked down, dismayed, as the sole flopped away from his foot, revealing the soaked socks underneath. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive the winter like this.
“Is everything okay?”
Shane almost groaned at the accented voice behind him. Of course Ilya chose this time to come out for a smoke.
“Fine,” Shane said thinly. “Just stepped in a puddle.”
Ilya materialized next to him before Shane could move, putting a large hand on Shane’s shoulder to stabilize him. He frowned as he looked down at the ragged remains of Shane’s shoe. “These are your shoes? You don’t have winter boots?”
Shane sighed, putting his foot gingerly back on the ground. “These are my only shoes,” he said, hot shame rolling through his body. “It’s ok though, I can fix it.” Ilya’s hand was still on his shoulder. It was so warm, the warmest thing Shane had felt in weeks.
“Fix it?” Ilya looked horrified by the concept. “How could you fix it, there is no shoe left to fix!”
Shane sighed again. “It’s fine, Ilya, just go back inside.”
The next day, as Ilya sat down at the bar, he set a bag on the bar in front of him.
“Hey, how are you?” Shane greeted him, glancing at the bag.
“Good,” Ilya smiled, pushing the bag towards Shane. “This is for you.”
“What?” Shane looked from him to the bag, then back to him. “What is it?”
“Open it,” Ilya’s smile grew, pushing the bag closer to Shane.
Apprehensive, Shane peaked into the bag. Inside were two shoeboxes, one bigger than the other, clearly holding a pair of winter boots. He took a deep breath and quickly shook his head, pushing the bag back to Ilya. “No. No way, I can’t accept this.”
Ilya’s face fell so quickly it was almost comical. “Why not?” He pushed the bag back to Shane.
“Because, that’s crazy! You can’t just buy me shoes for no reason.” Shane pushed the bag back to Ilya.
“Is not no reason. The reason is your shoes don’t exist anymore, and you need new ones.” Ilya pushed the bag back to Shane.
“But there’s no need for you to buy them for me. I can figure it out, I always do.” He pushed the bag back to Ilya.
“There is no need for me to buy them for you, but there is a want. I want to buy them for you. Because I want you to be warm and dry.” He pushed the bag back to Shane.
Shane stopped, looking at Ilya. “Why? Why do you care so much?”
Ilya met his gaze levelly. “You don’t think you are worth caring about?”
Something about the way he said it made Shane feel like he had been punched in the stomach. He picked up the towel and wiped the clean bar down just for something to do.
“Take them, please,” Ilya said, his voice soft.
Shane looked up. He swallowed. “Okay,” he said, his voice just as soft.
Ilya’s face lit up in a dazzling smile. “Good.” Shane couldn’t fight his own smile at the sight. It was amazing how much younger Ilya looked when he smiled.
Shane’s phone rang during his shift. He ignored it, in the middle of smiling through a boring story from a drunk customer. He was pretty sure he’d heard this story before, but the details kept shifting so it was hard to tell for sure. He found it was much easier to smile through his shifts on his new shoes. The shoes Ilya had bought him were nice. They were waterproof and warm and had good support. He hadn’t been able to resist looking them up when he got home, and they were each worth several hundred dollars. His chest had gone tight when he saw that, unable to understand why Ilya had bought them for him. He had been wearing them for about a week now, though, and every day he was more grateful for them than the last.
His phone rang again. He ignored it again.
The customer droned on. Ilya, sitting at the bar a few stools down, caught Shane’s eye and smirked.
His phone rang again.
“Sorry, um, I think I have to take this,” Shane said to the customer, pulling out his phone, realizing whoever was calling wasn’t going to just give up. He answered the phone and walked a few steps away from the bar.
“Hello? I’m at work, this had better be important.” He tried not to sound too annoyed, but he didn’t think he was successful.
“Shane? Sorry, but um it kind of is.” The voice on the other end was Rose, his neighbor. They had struck up a friendship when he moved in, both of them struggling students, her in theater school and him in medical school.
“Rose? What’s going on?”
“Shane, um…” she trailed off as though unable to finish her sentence.
“What’s going on?” Shane asked, impatient and a little nervous. He and Rose were friends, but they had never called each other before.
“Shane, your apartment was broken into.” The words left her mouth in a rush.
“What?” The room spun. This couldn’t be real.
“I’m so sorry, they came up the fire escape and broke through the window, I’m so sorry, Shane.” She sounded close to tears.
“What did they take?” Shane asked through stiff lips. He wasn’t sure if he even had anything in his apartment worth taking.
“I’m not sure, a bunch of clothes, it looks like. They punched some holes in the walls. Do you have your laptop with you?”
“Yes,” Shane said, relieved he had class right before his shift and had taken his backpack with him to work.
“Okay, good. That’s good. It doesn’t seem like they took too much, but they really made a mess, they broke all the windows, and trashed the whole place. Shane, I’m so sorry, but I really don’t think you can stay here tonight. Or like. At all. I might move, honestly.”
“Okay. Okay.” Shane said, not sure what else to say. “Okay. I’ll find a place to crash tonight. I’ll see if maybe Hayden’s couch is free.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, stop apologizing,” Shane said woodenly. He felt like he was moving through water. “I have to get back to work, I’ll talk to you later.”
He made his way back to the bar, still feeling like nothing was real. His apartment was in a sketchy part of town, he knew that. He knew this was always going to be a possibility, there were stories of break-ins on his street all the time. He just never thought it would happen to him.
Ilya looked at him oddly. “Is everything okay?”
Shane looked at him without seeing him. He was imagining all his things torn and thrown around his apartment, broken glass everywhere. He felt like he was going to be sick. “My apartment was broken into.”
Ilya reeled back, eyes wide. “What did they take?”
Shane shook his head. “Not sure, my neighbor said maybe some clothes. Thank god I have my laptop here, that’s about the only thing of value that I own, though it’s really not worth much. She said they trashed my apartment though, broke all the windows and punched holes in the walls.” Shane found himself, embarrassingly, fighting back tears. “I’ll have to stay with Hayden, and he’ll let me, I know he will, but his apartment is tiny and he already has four roommates, so they really don’t have space for me, god, I’ll be such a burden–”
“You’ll stay with me.” Ilya’s authoritative voice cut through Shane’s rambling. It wasn’t a question.
“What?”
“I have a spare room. My apartment is big, is no problem.” Ilya shrugged like it meant nothing.
“What? I can’t do that. I’m not doing th–”
“Of course you are. You want to sleep on a couch in your friend’s tiny apartment? I have the space, I don’t mind. It will be…good to have company, I think.” Ilya looked almost shy.
Shane stared at him. “But, you barely know me! This is different from buying me a pair of shoes, Ilya.”
“I have been talking with you at this bar for months,” Ilya said. “I know you well enough. No more arguments. You are done at two, yes? I will send you address. Give me your phone.” Ilya held out a hand.
“Well, the bar closes at two. I’m usually done around three.” Shane stared at the open palm in front of him.
Ilya rolled his eyes. “Okay, so you are done at three. Give me your phone.” He gestured with his fingers impatiently. Shane sighed, then reached into his pocket and placed his phone in Ilya’s hand. As he did, their fingers brushed and Shane tried not to shiver.
Ilya looked at the phone in his hand with a furrowed brow. “It is cracked,” he said, almost mournful.
Shane would have laughed in other circumstances. “Um yeah, I haven’t gotten around to fixing it.”
“Fixing it? Shane, how old is this phone? It still has a keyboard, I didn’t even know they made phones with keyboards anymore.” Ilya handled the phone like it was a foreign object.
“Fuck off, okay. I’m not going to replace it if it still works,” Shane said.
Ilya looked at the phone dubiously, but didn’t fight the matter anymore. He added his contact to the phone and sent himself a text, before handing the phone back to Shane. Shane took it and jammed it back into his pocket, fighting the embarrassment of how everything in his life was always old and shitty and falling apart.
“There, I sent the address. I am a few miles away, not far. Only a few minutes by car.” Ilya replaced his (shiny, perfect, brand new) phone back to his pocket.
“Oh, um. Okay,” Shane said, stomach sinking. He had let his metro card expire earlier in the year when he only had $12 in his bank account. His classes and work were within walking distance to his apartment so he hadn’t needed it. He could pay for the ride separately, it was only a few dollars, but he knew he would need everything he could scrape together to find a new place. “It might be closer to four, then.”
“Why?” Ilya looked around the nearly empty bar. “You have a lot you need to do here?” He raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.
“Um no.” Shane felt his cheeks heat. Again. “I don’t have a car.”
Ilya waved a hand. “I will send car.” Like it was nothing.
Shane sighed. “Ilya–”
“Shane.” Ilya’s voice was low and serious. “I want to help you. Let me help you.”
“But this is…too much,” Shane didn’t know how to say that nobody had ever offered to help him like this before. He hadn’t even known help like this could be offered.
“Is not too much. Not for me.” Ilya glanced at his watch. “I will go now, I will send you car here at three.”
The second Shane closed the bar he called Hayden.
“Shane?” Hayden’s groggy voice came through the speaker. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Um, hi sorry did I wake you up?” Shane asked, then winced. Of course he woke him up, it was two in the morning.
“No, no,” Hayden lied. He was a good friend. “What’s up?” In the background, Shane could hear the muffled voice of Jackie asking who was calling Hayden so late.
“Um, so my apartment got broken into. Tonight. Rose called me while I was at work. And I told Ilya, remember, my regular? Well, I told him, and I was kinda freaking out because I had nowhere to stay. And then he just offered to let me stay at his place? Well, offered isn’t really the right word, more like insisted. So he sent me his address. And he’s going to send a car to the bar after my shift.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit.”
“Okay, say something else, please.”
“Holy shit.”
“Hayden!”
“I’m sorry buddy, this is just a lot, okay? Give me a sec, I just woke up.” Shane heard some sheet rustling. “So you’re going to his apartment? Shane, you know you can always crash here, right? The guys love you!”
“I know, I told him that’s what I would do, but you have so many roommates and your place is so small as is, and I really don’t want to impose, and well, like I said. He didn’t really give me much of a choice.”
“Shane, have you considered the possibility that this guy is like, trying to be your sugar daddy?”
Shane’s breath left him in a huff. “What?”
“I just mean…the buying you things, the huge tips he leaves you, now this. And I mean, the guy is clearly into you, I’m telling you he is taking your clothes off with his eyes every time he looks at you.”
“Hayden, stop being gross,” Shane felt hot, all the sudden. Was that what Ilya was doing?
“Look, man it’s not gross! I’m just saying…he might expect something in return for all his kindness, if you know what I mean. And if you’re cool with that, then more power to you! The guy is hot! I’m just saying be careful.”
Shane was quiet for a long moment. “Do you actually think that’s what this is?”
Hayden sighed. “Look man, I’ll be honest, I have no idea. I’ve never even talked to the guy, he never comes in when you’re not on shift. I just care about you and don’t want to end up in a situation you don’t want to be in.”
“Thanks, Hayden. I appreciate it. Can I send you his address so you know where to find me if…if I need you to?”
“Of course. I’ll check in with you in the morning, okay? Text me anytime, though, I’ll drop everything and come rescue you.” Shane could hear the smile in his voice.
“Okay, thanks.” Shane hung up the phone feeling a bit better, though more conflicted. Was that actually what Ilya wanted? He wanted to have sex with Shane in exchange for buying him things? Shane wasn’t sure if he was necessarily opposed to the idea. He was attracted to Ilya–Hayden was right, he was hot. And he clearly needed financial help. So it seemed like it was a win-win situation.
He hurried through his closing tasks with his mind racing. By the time the car pulled up to the front of the bar Shane was turning off the lights and locking the door. The car was sleek and black.
“Shane Hollander?” The driver asked, rolling down the window.
Shane nodded. “Um, yeah. Are you from Ilya?”
“Sure am!” The driver said, brightly. “Hop in the back.”
“Thanks,” Shane said, sliding into the warm car gratefully.
“I preheated the seats for you,” the driver said, smiling at him through the rearview mirror. “And there’s ginger ale in the door. And water. My name’s Cliff, by the way.”
“Hey Cliff, nice to meet you.” Shane said, feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland. What was this world that Shane had landed into, with drivers that knew his favorite drink and had seat-warmers already on when he entered the car?
“Anywhere you wanna stop before we head to Rozanov’s place? Boss told me to ask.”
Shane furrowed his brow before he remembered Ilya’s last name from his card from the dozens of times he swiped it. It was weird to hear it out loud. “Um, yeah, actually can we stop by my apartment? I just wanna grab some stuff.” He rattled off his address.
“Sure thing.”
The car peeled smoothly away from the curb and set off in the direction of Shane’s apartment. It was close–close enough that Shane walked it almost every day. But as they got closer, it was clear that they were heading into a rougher area of town.
“This the spot?” Cliff asked as he pulled up in front of Shane’s building. The street was littered with garbage and graffiti. Someone was slumped against the wall, not moving.
“Uh, yeah,” Shane said.
“Charming place,” Cliff said lightly. “I’ll be here, take all the time you need.”
“Thanks.” Shane climbed out of the car, cheeks burning. He climbed the stairs to his floor (the elevator had already been broken for years when he moved in) feeling a pit of dread forming in his stomach.
When he reached his apartment, the door was ripped from the hinges almost completely, held on only by a few splinters. He carefully crossed the threshold and had to hold onto the counter to stop his knees from buckling. There were two windows in the apartment, they were both broken completely. Shattered glass coated everything that remained in the apartment, which wasn’t much. Not that there was much to begin with. Holes were busted in the walls, where it looked like they were looking for wiring. They were clearly successful, because torn wires spilled from the walls like intestines. Shane presumed they were looking for copper wire to sell. His blankets were gone, any warm clothing he had was gone. With a twist in his stomach, he saw the new winter boots from Ilya were gone. He was wearing the sneakers, so he at least kept those.
All he really wanted to do was crumble to the floor and cry, but he knew he couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway. He took a breath, steeling his resolve. He grabbed a trash back and threw whatever he could find that was still functional in there. Luckily, the thief had left him most of his underwear. His socks were all gone. The picture of him with his parents was still on the fridge, he grabbed that gratefully, not thinking about what he was going to have to tell them about this. They would worry and try to help, however they could, though Shane knew they really couldn’t afford it.
Having collected everything worth keeping, Shane turned toward the door. He spared the tiny, shitty apartment one last look before he turned the lights off. He would have to come back soon with the cops, he was sure. But he knew he would never be able to live there again.
“Got everything?” Cliff asked when Shane slid back into the car.
“Everything worth getting,” Shane said, looking out the window.
“Alright, back to Rozanov’s? Or did you want to grab food or something? I think Rozanov said he was gonna try and have something there for you.” Cliff peeled away from the curb, clearly relieved to be leaving.
“No, please, I’m just tired.” As Shane said it, he realized it was true. He was tired down to his bones. Tired of fighting, and struggling, and constantly trying to stay one step ahead. He let himself lean back into the warm leather of the seat, and be lulled by Cliff’s smooth driving.
It was a quick drive, but Shane found he had almost drifted off by the time Cliff pulled to a stop.
“Here. Rozanov’s on the fifteenth floor. The doorman knows you’re coming up, just tell him your name,” Cliff said, his voice a tone quieter than it had been all night, like he knew Shane was half-asleep.
“Thanks, Cliff,” Shane said, sliding out of the car.
“No problem, man.”
Shane stood outside the car and blinked up at the building he had been dropped off in front of. It was only then that the unease settled in. It was a joke. It had to be. It had to be some big, elaborate joke at Shane’s expense.
The building was huge, and beautiful. It looked like the sort of building women entered wearing ballgowns and men wore tuxedos. It looked like something from a movie. There was no way anybody actually lived there. There was no way Ilya actually lived there.
“Shane Hollander?”
He blinked at his name, finding himself looking at the doorman. “Um, yes, I’m here for Ilya Rozanov.” He tried not to make the sentence sound like a question.
The doorman nodded. “Come on in. Penthouse on the fifteenth floor, he’s expecting you.” He held the door open for Shane and beckoned him in.
Still feeling like this was some elaborate prank, Shane let himself be led inside, feeling horribly underdressed. He was very aware of the trash bag in his hands, and the tattered backpack on his back. His shoes squeaked against the marble tile as he walked across the lobby.
The elevator was blessedly empty, and he hit the number fifteen, wondering when the camera crew was going to jump out and humiliate him.
“Ah Shane, you made it,” Ilya’s pleased voice welcomed him as he stepped off the elevator. “Come, this way.”
Shane followed Ilya dumbly, looking around. The apartment he entered was so big that calling it an apartment felt like a joke. It was sleek and minimal, dark wood contrasted with light, luxurious furniture. Everything was simple, understated. The quality and elegance left to speak for themselves. Shane was starting to understand that was Ilya’s style. Ilya himself was dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. His feet were bare, and Shane tried not to stare. His curls, usually so tightly controlled, were soft and wispy around his face. He looked so domestic and soft. He looked beautiful.
“Cliff got you here, okay?” Ilya asked.
Shane realized he had yet to say anything. “Um, yes, thank you. Yeah, Cliff was great.”
Ilya smiled, pleased. “Good. Would you like a tour? Your bedroom is this way.”
“Sure, thanks,” Shane tried not to look too overwhelmed. “Your place is…wow. It’s incredible.”
“Yes,” Ilya said, easily. “Is much better than a couch in a tiny apartment with four other men, yes?”
Shane huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, definitely.” He looked at Ilya and found that same intense gaze on him. He cleared his throat. “Um, thank you. Thank you, so much. For everything. You really didn’t need–”
“I told you, is not about need. Is about want,” Ilya interrupted. “I want to help you.”
“Is that all you want?” Shane asked softly, before he could talk himself out of it.
Ilya’s expression flickered, the intensity of his gaze stealing Shane’s breath. “I want many things.” His voice was so low it was almost a growl. “We will start with this.”
The answer wasn’t quite what Shane was looking for, but Ilya had turned away and was already walking down the hall towards one of the bedrooms.
“This will be your room,” he said, flicking on the light. The room was bigger than Shane’s entire apartment had been. The bed was almost bigger than Shane’s entire apartment had been. “There is a bathroom through that door. A closet there. You said most of your clothes were taken, so I had some clothes bought for you. I had to guess the size, so tell me if something is wrong. Tell me if you need anything else. Make a list, and I will get it for you.”
“You–you bought me clothes?” Shane felt like he couldn’t quite process what was happening. Surely this was a dream. Or a joke. Or…something.
“Nothing special, just some things to get you through the next couple days. Like I said, if you’re missing something tell me. Drop your things here, I’ll show you the rest of the apartment.” Shane dropped his bags into the room, and followed Ilya out of the room. Ilya gave orders without checking to make sure they were followed–like he knew they would be.
“Here is the kitchen, I got some food if you are hungry. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got something from everything.” Ilya opened the fridge and Shane saw take-out boxes from what must have been every restaurant in the surrounding area. “Ginger ale?” Ilya pulled out and offered it to Shane.
Shane took it. “How did you know about the ginger ale?” He had thought maybe Cliff had gotten lucky, but this was deliberate.
“Is what you always drink when you are at work,” Ilya said with a shrug, closing the fridge.
“Yeah, but how did you–why did you…” Shane wasn’t even sure what he was trying to ask. “Do you notice everything?”
Ilya looked at him. The foot of space between them suddenly felt both microscopic and infinite. “I notice you.”
Heat pooled in Shane’s stomach as his breath left him. He was stuck, trapped by Ilya’s heated gaze. He remembered what Hayden had said. He took a step forward. Ilya’s breath hitched, and Shane watched his chest move through the thin fabric of his shirt.
He took another step forward. They were inches apart, breathing the same air. Shane slowly reached up and cupped a hand around Ilya’s cheek, thumb swiping at the sharp cheekbone. Shane wondered if it would feel as sharp as it looked, but it didn’t, it felt so soft. Ilya leaned into the touch, his eyes curious on Shane’s.
Shane leaned forward, ready to close the remaining inches between them, when Ilya placed a hand on his chest gently.
“Shane,” he said, softly.
“Ilya,” Shane replied. He leaned back slightly. Was he doing this wrong? Did Ilya want him a different way?
“What are you doing?” Ilya asked.
Shane wanted to laugh. He had thought it was pretty obvious. He thought back to the conversation that started it all, when his rent had increased. “You help me, I help you. Simple, right?” He quoted back to Ilya.
Ilya stepped back, looking like he had been slapped. “And this is…you helping me?”
“Um, well it was supposed to be. Do you want something else?” He cringed inwardly.
“You think I am only helping you for sex?” Ilya’s voice was cold. Colder than Shane had ever heard it.
“Well, no, not only. But I thought it was–I mean it seemed like you were…flirting with me?” Shane trailed off, not sure where this conversation had gone astray. Hayden had made it seem so obvious.
Ilya’s expression suddenly turned predatory. “I was flirting with you,” he said, taking a step closer to Shane. “But not for this. Not so we would fuck while you are tired and sad, and grateful to me. I was flirting with you so that you can imagine all the ways I can make you feel so good, and all the ways you need me to take you. So you can think about me while you touch yourself, and imagine all the ways I am better than your hand. I was flirting with you because you blush so pretty every time I do, and I like to imagine that is the color you will be when you beg for me.” Ilya leaned in, his lips almost brushing Shane’s ear, and Shane could feel heat radiating off him. “When you beg for me to touch you, to suck you, to fuck you. When you beg for me to let you come.”
Ilya leaned back, finding Shane’s eyes with his own. Shane almost whined at the loss, his eyes wide, and his heart beating fast. “I help you, because I want to. And later, we will have sex. Because you want to. Understand?”
“Yes,” the word comes out breathy from Shane’s lips. He thought he would say yes to anything Ilya said in that moment.
“Good.” Ilya nodded, taking another step back. “Now, you will shower. And then you will go to bed. And in the morning, we will have breakfast, and you will go to class and I will go to work. And tomorrow evening, we can talk.”
“Yes.” It was so easy. Ilya gave him instructions. And all he had to do was follow them. Shane felt almost lightheaded. He allowed himself to be led back to his bedroom. Ilya leaned against the doorframe as he watched Shane enter the room.
“Goodnight, Shane,” he said, smiling softly.
“Goodnight, Ilya,” he watched Ilya walk back towards his bedroom. He stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, trying to understand how he had gotten here. Trying to understand how a few sentences had gotten him so hard he could barely think.
He shook himself out of it. Ilya was right–he really needed to shower.