Chapter Text
Shane’s earliest memory was the day they moved in with the Rozanov family. A silent sayonara to their life of poverty, the trio hustled into a grand mansion that would forever alter their lives. He remembered the Rozanovs waiting for them in the grand foyer, both sons and father dressed in tailored black suits while Mrs. Rozanov wore an elegant silk dress.
Led to a large sitting room, what followed were hushed conversations between both families while the children sat in one corner, supervised by a younger woman presumed to be the nanny. While Shane didn’t remember much else, he recalled every little detail about Ilya Rozanov.
His hair had been even lighter back then, resembling spun gold, glinting almost blindingly under the morning sun. His pale blue eyes never left Shane’s face, narrowed, assessing. Shane had felt so uncomfortable, not used to the unabashed staring.
He hadn’t known a few metres away, his parents had unknowingly led them to their ruin. Ruin was a bit dramatic, but that day, they said goodbye to “normal” life as they became entrapped within the politics of the Russian bratva. Shane’s parents became informants, prized by the Rozanovs, and so the Hollanders were granted the privilege of living under the same roof.
As Shane grew older, he noticed his parents growing more and more weary. Perceptive as he was, Shane knew they were growing sick of this life. The constant fear hanging over their heads, the lack of meaningful connections because they were always expected to be at the beck and call of the mighty Rozanov’s, it was getting old.
When Shane came of age, his parents pushed him to leave, to abandon the Hollander name, to never entangle himself with this lifestyle the way they had. And so, good son that he was, Shane left. Though he couldn’t bring himself to abandon his last name, nor his parents. Instead, he decided to enroll in a university across the country, visiting only when given the green light by his parents.
The day Shane moved into his first year dorm, he had presented. Stressed, homesick, and tired beyond imagination, his first rut hit him like a truck. He didn’t recall much, just vague wisps of emotion, all negative. He knew he would despise his university years then, having never felt more alone in his life.
Time dragged on, until his third year of university, when the unexpected happened. While Ilya and Shane had grown close as children, they drifted apart during their teens as Ilya found himself enraptured by the few benefits of mob life—drugs, women, parties—while Shane distanced himself from anything mob related, knowing he would leave soon.
It had hurt; it was around the same time Shane realized he had developed feelings for Ilya. He resolved to put Ilya and the Rozanovs behind him, and so, he left without a goodbye. His flight was early in the morning, Ilya was probably wasted by then anyways.
He thought he’d rarely see Ilya from then on, perhaps only a passing glance the rare few times he was allowed back home.
He was proven wrong three years later.
—
Sitting in a quiet cafe downtown, Shane sipped on his latte, enjoying the smell of baked goods and coffee that lingered in the air. His best friends Hayden and Rose sat on either side, arguing about something unremarkable, as they tended to do.
Shane had tuned them out when he felt an arm snake around his shoulders, “You’re coming to Sveta’s party tonight, right Shane?”
Avoiding eye contact with both of them, Shane picked at his drink’s plastic lid.
Hayden’s arm tightened, and Shane could hear the pout in his voice when he spoke. “Please Shane, you never come. It’s my birthday soon!”
Shane snorted at that, finally facing his still-pouting best friend. “Your birthday’s in March, Hayd.”
Rose jumped in before he could respond. “Are you too busy for us now?”
Turning his head towards the strawberry blonde, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of guilt as she looked at him with barely concealed sadness. He loved his friends, he just hated the partying scene. It was always a little too overstimulating. Still, they’d been so busy recently, they hadn’t been able to do much as a trio. He missed them.
“Of course not.” Shane gave them both a look before dropping his chin in a nod, “I’ll come.”
Hayden let out a whoop, accidentally drawing the attention of the two other patrons in the cafe. Rose leaned forward to slap his shoulder in reprimand, but the displeasure it was meant to convey was offset by her wide grin. Shane shook his head at their antics.
Hayden started chattering about how fun it would be, pulling out his phone to find some pictures from Svetlana’s last party. Shane couldn’t help but smile, endeared. He felt a prickling of awareness and turned to see Rose staring at him.
Making eye contact, she tilted her head. “You okay?” She asked softly.
Shane smelled a hint of strawberry, even more endeared realizing Rose was releasing soothing pheromones. Rose would do that sometimes, as the only omega in their trio. It helped a lot with Shane’s anxiety, less so with Hayden, who was a beta.
“I’m alright, thanks Rose.” Shane responded just as softly. He’d felt off the past week, as if his subconscious was trying to warn him about something. Shane had written it off, citing it to the stress that came with the busier times of the semester.
Rose let it go, not looking convinced. Beside him, Hayden finally found the pictures he was looking for, tilting his phone towards Shane. It was gonna be a long night.
~.~.
Svetlana’s house was bustling with activity when they arrived, university students half-drunk, littered on the front lawn. Loud, pounding music filtered out the open front door.
Shane was in a tight-fitting white tank top and even tighter jeans, the ones Rose said “perfectly framed his ass”. Hayden had given his own nod of approval, though he wasn’t someone Shane would personally go to for clothing advice.
As the trio entered, it became immediately apparent everyone and their mother had decided to show up. Hayden shouted over the noise, “I’ll grab us some drinks!” before hustling towards the kitchen. Rose grabbed Shane’s hand and pulled him towards the living room.
From there, time seemed to slip by. Shane felt uncomfortable at first, intimately aware of the loud conversation, pounding music, and the occasional unintentional pheromone release surrounding him. After chugging a few of the beers Hayden had brought over, he finally felt himself relaxing.
The trio stayed in their own little corner, dancing together. As night deepened, Hayden and Rose would slip away to socialize with other friends, but neither of them left Shane alone, as if they agreed to take alternate shifts.
At one point, Rose was on her Shane-watching shift and needed to use the bathroom, leaving Shane alone for the first time that night. Shane found he didn’t mind. He was pretty drunk at this point, everything a little soft at the edges.
A little huddle had formed right next to him, and Shane found himself people watching. Two girls next to him were dancing against each other, laughing so hard they had to stop moving every few seconds to catch their breaths. A brunette man next to them had a girl dancing against him and another guy behind him. All three of them looked like they were having the time of their lives.
At this point, Shane was only softly swaying, knowing he was reaching his limit soon. While thinking about the excuse he’d give to Rose once she came back, he felt a presence behind him. This had already happened a few times during the night, so Shane shimmied himself a little closer to the wall, assuming the person wanted to get past him.
Instead, he felt a weight press flush against his back. An arm wrapped around his waist, one warm hand spanning across his stomach. Nearly jumping out of his skin, Shane tried to pull away, but the arm tightened imperceptibly, just enough to keep him from escaping.
Something soft brushed against his ear, and then he felt a slight tickle as the mystery person exhaled out, “Did you miss me, Hollander?”
Ah shit. There was only one person that ever referred to him by his last name. Heart pounding, Shane clenched his eyes shut tightly. This couldn’t be happening. He’d spent three years slowly shedding memories of Ilya, trying to forget the only real relationship he’d had outside of his family.
All it took was a whispered Hollander and the accompanying smell of fresh pine, Ilya’s characteristic scent, for all those carefully repressed feelings to come rushing back.
Panicking now, breaths coming out in quick huffs, Shane used all his energy to yank himself away. Spinning around, his eyes landed on a tall, broad figure, muscles flexed under his tight black tank.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shane couldn’t stop himself, hungrily scanning Ilya’s face. He spotted a single gold hoop hanging from one ear. The same blond curls he remembered fell in soft, defined loops behind his ears. The same bright, blue eyes stared at him with an intensity he’d never received from Ilya before.
“What the fuck, Rozanov?” He hoped his voice contained his heartbreak, conveyed anger and disapproval and confusion instead.
Ilya’s lips were turned up slightly, almost smug. It was pissing Shane the fuck off.
“What, you didn’t hear? I go here now, Hollander.”
Shane’s heart stopped. How the fuck was that even possible? He’d known the Rozanov’s were a little more lax with Ilya, instead grooming Alexei to walk in his father’s footsteps when the time came, but hell would freeze over before they allowed Ilya to abandon his familial responsibilities.
“The Rozanovs let you leave?” Shane questioned, tongue looser now that he was drunk.
Ilya’s eyes immediately sharpened, as if knowing Shane was close to slipping up and revealing something he definitely shouldn’t have in public. Ilya reached out with one hand, knuckles knocking lightly under Shane’s chin, tipping his face slightly upward so that he maintained eye contact.
“Not here, Hollander.” He whispered, hand falling from Shane’s chin to lightly graze his neck. Shane’s hackles immediately rose, not liking another alpha touching him in such a sensitive area. Ilya retracted his hand, albeit slower than Shane would’ve preferred.
“We’re leaving.” Ilya announced, eyes narrowed. “You’re way too fucking drunk right now.”
Who the fuck did this guy think he was? If he thought he could just trapeze back into Shane’s life like it was nothing, he was crazier than Shane thought.
“And who the fuck are you to decide that?” Shane retorted, proud of the fact that none of his words slurred together.
Ilya stepped closer, fresh scent of pine overwhelming Shane for a moment.
He scanned Shane’s face for another second, a mocking smile gracing his lips. “Did you forget Hollander? It hasn’t been that long, has it.” Pouting mockingly, he took another step closer, the tips of their shoes just barely grazing.
Blue eyes narrowing once more, Ilya tightly grabbed his chin. “Last I checked, you’re a Hollander.” Shane narrowed his eyes back, his alpha becoming agitated.
“So what, you fucker?”
Tightening his grip on Shane’s chin, Ilya continued with that mocking smile back in place, “The Rozanovs own the Hollanders. I thought you knew that, Shane.”
Shane could feel the blood draining away from his face.
“Doesn’t matter if you’re halfway across the country,” He started softly, taking in Shane’s features almost hungrily, “Doesn’t matter if you’ve pretended to forget the past three years…”
Ilya’s other hand slowly slipped down, from his shoulder, to his elbow, fingers finally encircling his wrist.
“Pretended to forget me.”
Cold metal suddenly grazed Shane’s wrist. Eyes snapping downwards in confusion, he felt a surge of anger realizing what had just happened.
“You motherfucker,” He shouted, yanking his hand in vain. He was now handcuffed to Rozanov.
“As long as you keep the Hollander name, I own you.”
Ilya yanked Shane forward by his handcuffed wrist, causing him to stumble a little.
“Let’s go, we’re leaving.”