Chapter Text
The electronic alarm clock on Shane’s sidetable states simply: “Friday. 06:58”. He stares it down until the numbers switch to fifty nine, and shuts his eyes. As if once he opens them, the time will go backwards.
One more minute and the alarm will go off. One more minute and he will have to get up from his bed and acknowledge the day. Because all Shane’s been doing for the past thirty minutes was denying its inevitable approach, trying to get let back into his dream. He would give everything just to dive into it again, but he is too irritated to let it happen. One more minute and he will have to go to his morning lecture, then wait for Hayden in the library, then try to postpone the absolute death of him by suggesting they go get lunch.. All because Dostoyevski is the topic of today’s Russian literature class.
Shane is very aware of how dramatic he’s being over simply having to sit through an hour and a half of pseudo intellectual chatter. Really, if you are an English major, your entire academic life consists of pseudo intellectual chattering. The problem lies in the complicated, depressing tone of Dostyevski and most other slavic writers, that brought upon Shane a desire to end his life, not enlightenment.
When Hayden demanded, a couple months ago, that Shane join the class with him, there was no getting out of it.
“Shane, please, I know no one there” - Hayden pleaded with him, “Plus, if I show up with a smartass like you, people will think I’m smart by association!”
“Is that the only reason you go to classes?”
But Hayden was persistent: “It could be useful for your degree!”
“Go ask Rose or something!” - Shane groaned.
“I asked her already, she sent me to you!”.
“God, why am I coparenting you with my roommate?”
Shane studies the ceiling, ecstatic about the amount of times he will daydream of committing murder throughout the lecture. Sure, the class added to his credit and was actually interesting on occasion, but Dostoyevski? A sharp melody spreads around his room and he is fast to turn off the alarm. At least he will have two days to recover from all of it. God bless the existence of weekends.
As Shane gets to the kitchen, its tiny perimeter forces him to walk around his roommate, and he reaches for the shelves. The eyes fixated on him do not go unnoticed.
“You slept well.” - Rose stated sarcastically.
“Morning to you too” - he said, jokingly offended, “Do I look that bad?”
“No, just irritated. Did a bug bite you in your sleep or something?”
“Or something” - he said, pensively setting his favorite mug onto the counter. It had a puppy with a hockey helmet drawn on it.
Rose senses that something is wrong a second before you know it yourself. She always makes it bearable somehow. The tragedy of mornings, the hungover headaches, minor and huge issues. She’d make the economical state of the world better if she got her hands on it.
“What? Another one of those dreams?” - she asked curiously.
Shane looked up from the coffee pot he just grabbed, “Get out of my head”
Rose laughed in response, but waited for him to continue.
It’s quite ambiguous every time. Only things persisting were someone’s hand reaching for his own, and a distant universal feeling of pure content. The dream would morph from a light conversation, the subject of which Shane could never recall, to a silent embrace, to then a strange motionless existence. A presence along his side, so secure and warm it reminded him of a sun. He knew the person was there with the assuredness of the first scientists, who claimed the sun would always be. It could be raining, storming even, and yet the feeling wouldn’t leave. Waking up would occasionally compare to fading into a nightmare. As if there, in the depth of his mind was real life, not wherever he’d find his awakened resting body.
“Look, it’s not a big deal. It just pisses me off that my brain is reminding me of how lonely I am even when I'm unconscious. Feels like bullying.”
“Or it’s trying to get you out there!” - she said, suggestively raising her eyebrows, along with her own cup of coffee.
“Yeah, as if that’s gonna happen.” - Shane rolled his eyes, escaping the topic by finding shelter behind the door of their fridge.
Rose was insistent, coming up from the other side, “Tell me one good reason it shouldn’t.”
“I don’t know, because it's not important?” - he mumbled, pretending to search for something on the top shelf.
“Well, your brain certainly disagrees with that, doesn't it?”
Shane closed the unhelpful fridge door, looking at Rose with playful annoyance. “It is too early in the morning for me to dodge your interrogational skills, so I’m gonna go hide in the shower.”
“You know I'm right.” - she giggled in response, “I’m making scrambled eggs, you want some?”
He nodded, “Make it for two.”
Opening his book on the bus to university, Shane suddenly felt personally attacked by his own reading choice. “Sputnik Sweetheart” is not the book for trying to deflect your mind from all that’s tragically romantic.
Who can really distinguish the sea and what’s reflected in it? Or tell the difference between the falling rain and loneliness?
Fucking Murakami, he thought, highlighting the sentense.
After his first lectures he, as per usual, waited for Hayden in the library. The bastard is always late. At least Shane finished the linguistics homework yesterday, and didn’t have to deal with syntaxes while the one thing he’s dreaded since last Friday was rapidly approaching.
“Dude, I'm so sorry, I had to talk to the prof, and..”
“Don’t even worry about it” - Shane cut him off, “Let's just please go get a coffee or something”
“Of course, of course.” - Hayden replied, still a little embarrassed, “Svetlana told me she’s bringing a friend to the lecture today, by the way!”
“Cool, more people” - Shane tried to sound enthusiastic, he really did.
“What’s up, man? I’ll buy you coffee, c’mon!” - Hayden bumped his shoulder into Shane’s, trying to get his friend to lighten up.
“It’s nothing, I'm just.. I’m not very excited about the class today, that’s all.”
Hayden almost stopped in his tracks, groaning “Don’t start your weird beef with russian writers again..”
“The beef I have with Russian writers is a very real, very hard cross to bear, I'll have you know!
“There you go again.” - he shook his head, “Save the big words for the professor, buddy.”
“Whatever. Tell me what’s new in your boring life then.”
And Hayden chewed Shane’s ear off about the date he took his girlfriend Jackie on last weekend. They went to a cooking class together, the two dorks. Shane concluded that dying alone isn’t approaching fast enough for him.
Trying to persuade Hayden to skip didn't work either, he clocked it the minute Shane was making his first attempts. No argument or bribery worked. Hayden would simply cut him off by saying it will be “fun”.
“Fun? Talking about the invention of yapping out of your ass is fun?” - Shane shouted, settling his backpack in front of the auditorium.
A couple of people were already there, giving them a quick nod at their loud arrival.
“You are such a snob sometimes, and you love it” - Hayden said bewildered, “Aren’t you supposed to love that guy? As a Lit major?”
“First of all I reject everything I'm ‘supposed’ to love, I find that offensive to my taste” - he said.
“Khem. Snob” - Hayden replied, smiling at his friend quietly and immediately getting a glare back.
“Second of all I’m not denying that Dostoyevski is ‘detrimental’ ” - he said, pronouncing the last word in a mocking manner, “That he did a lot for literature and philosophy and whatever. I’m just saying I'm still allowed to hate his guts.”
“You hate his guts because his work is popular, or because you don’t understand?”
Startled by an unfamiliar deep voice with a thick slavic accent, Shane took a careful body turn towards it. He caught Svetlana’s expression, that seemed as startled as him, and saw a curly haired man by her side. He quickly realized that he’s been shitting on one of the biggest treasures of Russian culture in front of its descendants.
A curious pair of blue eyes joined by a provocative demeanor was staring Shane down, and he felt like something got his tongue. The man had strong features. Vivid cheekbones with a mole on one of the sides, sharp cupid’s bow formed lips, challenging with each minor move. Dirty blond curls that looked so good Shane started to wonder if the man styles his hair in the mornings. And he was also like.. massive. Shane himself works out quite regularly, but there’s working out, and then there’s having your biceps look flexed even as they rest by your side.
“Excuse me?” - Shane managed to say, as he processed the insulting comment made towards him. He then felt Hayden’s hand on his shoulder, soothing and careful.
“Илья, перестань!” - Svetlana told the stranger in russian, the words hurried and clearly disapproving, “Sorry, Ilya didn’t mean it like that.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, but a knock to the man’s side with an elbow got things stirring quickly.
“Right. Sorry.” - even his apology was prominently mocking, his amused eyes never leaving Shane’s face.
It was clear the tension was ever growing.
“So you’re the newbie Svetlana told me about? I’m Hayden” - the situation needed saving, and he jumped on it by sticking his hand out politely.
“That’s me.” - the man nodded, accepting Hayden’s palm with a polite smile. He then returned to Shane, who was clearly still caught up on the accusation of stupidity made against him, “And you are?”
Shane looked up with all the fight he couldn’t hide in his eyes, “I’m Shane Hollander”.
Fuck, why did he blurt it out like that?
“Wow, with last name? Alright, Hollander” - he chuckled, a low sound falling out of his throat, that Shane would refuse to admit to be affected by. Reaching his hand once again the man stated: “I’m Ilya Rozanov”
It wasn’t a long, scary measuring power handshake. There was no tugging, no battle, only a relatively quick, simple shake. Nothing unusual, just a lingering fade of fingers, dragging across Shane’s upon retrieving, ever so discreetly. Just intense eye contact, supported by an infuriating smirk on Ilya’s arrogant beautiful face.
He is messing with me on purpose, Shane decided, after feeling his cheeks heat up. He couldn’t help but frown, praying that the reaction was barely visible.
There wasn’t much conversation as they were attending to their seats. It was a small space, with only a dozen armchairs of different sorts and a few tables standing around chaotically, as it was previously a kitchen for the university’s staff.
Shane watched as Ilya hopped onto one of the comfy, bigger chairs, Svetlana giggling at the silly move while setting her bag down next to him. He couldn’t help the sore mood he was in. Not only was he about to be tortured in a few moments, he was also incapable of confronting the rude, gorgeous, horrible asshole. Lost deeply in that thought, Shane forgot not to stare, and was soon regretful about it. Ilya’s gaze landed on him, as it naturally happens when you feel someone’s eyes on yourself. Shane’s frown deepened, feeling caught and a bit belittled, but before he could look away that menace of a boy winked at him in the most casual way possible. At that he quickly darts his eyes away, not without being painfully aware of the grin it brings to Rozanov’s face.
“Jesus, what an asshole!” - he exhales quietly, addressing Hayden.
Not receiving a response, Shane looks to his friend expectedly, and is met by the most unamused expression he’s seen on Hayden’s face.
“Right.” - he drags out in a sigh, his demeanor switching to a delighted one as he mutters out: “You are slow.”
Everyone is jumping up his fucking bones today, but it is too late for Shane to reply as the meeting begins.
It is everything he had expected, with a little more detail. The professor had started off with the biography of a poor, but well educated man, whose life was so horrible that his suffering dragged him from one epiphany onto the next one. A death penalty for a political crime the man hadn’t committed, that was interrupted right before it was his turn to be shot. His punishment was then turned into four years in a working camp with army service, showing the people what a merciful leader they had, if he’d forgiven a traitor. Nothing too crazy in the grand scheme of Russian history. A mosquito bite compared to some cases.
Shane couldn’t help himself but shift around in his seat, bored senseless by all the heavy historical baggage. They would get asked occasionally to answer a question or two, but he wasn’t really listening. Right now he was sitting there and slowly coming down from the offence he took outside the class. It started dawning on him that this was not a big deal, and he was fuming about being perceived the wrong way by a random guy. How boyish. Sure, the comment was uncalled for, but who knows what intimidating tactics Ilya Rozanov is practicing.
“Who can tell me, what was Dostoyevski’s greatest weakness?” - the professor asked.
No one was eager to reply. Shane presumed it was one of those situations where the topic is so foreign that people are scared of sounding stupid. He raised his hand reluctantly, and the prof nodded for him to answer.
“I mean, his gambling addiction was a big weakness.” - Shane stated, starting to doubt it a little himself once all the eyes were watching him.
“Correct! He even wrote ‘The Gambler’, which is famously considered one of his self-portraying books. It was very popular in the nineteenth century among the Russian elites to play cards.” - she was about to move on, but quickly added, “Yes, you have a different answer?”
Shane turned around to trace the professor’s gaze. Ilya’s hand was in the air for the first time throughout the lecture.
“Sort of.” - he paused in thought, “Other than gambling he had love. As his weakness.”
That was a surprising answer. Shane didn’t really know what it meant for Dostoyevski, he never really researched his love life. He also chose to ignore the way Ilya’s eyes flickered towards him for a second, right as the teacher began explaining that the answer is a fair, attentive observation.
They moved on to actually discussing the book assigned for today, moving on from the lecturing form, and that’s where Shane completely zoned out. He was listening occasionally, but not very much.
The concept of love as a weakness, of course, isn’t something unfamiliar to Shane. Ophelia descends into madness once Hamlet grows cold towards her, Anna Karenina’s love for Vronski replaces her identity with obsession, Patroclus’s death consumes Achilees so much that he abandons his morals and drowns in rage. Shane has read about so many different shades of a dangerous vulnerability that comes with loving someone, but he realized he never paid much attention to such cases in real life.
Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, chatter all around and a confused look on Hayden’s face.
“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open, man? C’mon.”
Shane quickly stood up, grabbing his bag from the side of his chair. The lecture was apparently over. Hayden was saying something about Raskolnikov, but Shane’s brain focused on a different language. Ilya stood right beside him, propped against one of the tables, talking to Svetlana.
They look good together, he thought unconsciously, and felt a sudden sense of dejection again.
“You were quiet today, Hollander, I was told you are usually show off.” - Ilya said smugly, then curiously looked at Svetlana: “No, a show off, right?”
Svetlana quickly assembled herself, “I have never called you a ‘show off’ for the record, Shane.”
Hayden laughed way too hard at the interaction.
“Jesus, it’s okay, I like to talk when the topic is actually interesting, sue me.” - Shane replied with a smile on his face.
“You are so boring.” - Ilya lets out as he walks towards the exit.
Shane narrows his eyes at Svetlana, who can only give Shane an apologetic look, “I would tell you he’s not always like that, but he is.”
Shane is sitting on Rose’s bed, trying his best to get out of going to a club. It's not that he doesn't enjoy clubbing. The dancing and drinking and dressing up is all incredibly fun, he's just not into the loudness and unnecessary morning headaches. He loves staying in, but the universe had to settle him with someone who considers it a crime.
"You do realize that if all you do throughout college is sit on your ass and study, you'll end up regretting it?" - she asked, opening her big closet. Every time Friday comes along, she tries to get Shane to go out with her. She usually fails.
"That's not fair, I go out!" - he protests. It's not a very honest statement, he rarely goes anywhere other than his classes, gym or cafes. Which is why when Rose turns to him with a pointed look all he can do is accept defeat, lowering his gaze. "Alright, maybe I don't usually go out, but I have a test on Monday that I told you about."
Rose rolls her eyes, and throws another skirt option onto the bed.
"All you do on weekends is study for tests, watch those documentaries about "The greatest hockey players" and then go to sleep. Live a little! You are twenty years old and you refuse to have fun!"
Shane considers it for a second. He was planning on watching a documentary about Ovechkin after finishing his essay today. There was no reason behind watching it other than his love for hockey, of course. Rose knows him well, they’ve lived together for more than a year now, but her reality checks have always made an honest point. Plus having his schedule weaponized against him made Hollander feel predictable. Predictable is boring. He doesn't want to be boring, he isn’t boring. He looks at the pile of clothes Rose plastered around the bed, and asks her with a sigh:
"If I agreed to go out tonight would you let me borrow the sexy see-through shirt?"
She's sorting through all the skirts, "You little shit, you know it's my fav-” - she stops in her tracks, “Wait, actually? Oh my God, I'm gonna call Miles, he's gonna lose his shit!"
Shane smiled and took the shirt out of Rose’s hands, making his way into his bedroom. He heard her exclaim into the phone "We got the nerd!", and raised an eyebrow at her. She sent him an air kiss and grinned, laughing at something Miles had told her.
It never offended him too much, being called a nerd, because he knew people meant it lovingly. He was also very confident that he was not one, and it’s not an accusation he felt was worth fighting against.
As he got dressed Shane glanced around his chest in the mirror, thin black fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. His nipples were quite transparently peaking out, and the defined abs reminded him of the workout he’d assigned himself for tomorrow. Core exercises on a hangover, what a brilliant day it will be, he thought lazily, adjusting the shirt. He was also pleased with how the long sleeve hugged tightly around his arms, showing the muscle.
“Damn, i forget how fucking hot you look in my clothes.” - Rose says, standing in the hallway.
Shane jumps at the sudden voice, but quickly looks back to the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too much? My nipples are out and stuff..”
“Stop pretending to be a nun” - she smiles at him, and then he sees a light in her eyes that he knows could never be overruled. "I have a suggestion”
About ten minutes later Shane was staring at his face in the mirror, instead of his body, trying to get used to the way dark eyeshadow felt on his waterline. He doesn’t wear make up usually, but that was the great thing about having Rose in his life: she brought many new things into it.
“I’m inviting Hayden and Sveta by the way.”
Shane nods, but only registers the comment when Rose is out of the door frame. If Sveta will be there, she might bring her awesome, kind and tactful friend. As if Shane hasn’t had a fantastic day already. She also might not, he decided quickly, and moved those thoughts to the back of his mind.
The club was actually not as bad as Shane had anticipated. It was loud, but he was sure he could stomach it for at least a few hours. As he and Rose made their way towards the bar holding on to each other to not get lost, his eyes lingered around the space, scanning for potential disaster.
“Holy shit, is that really Shane Hollander?” - Miles, of course, had to do this. “Am I dead? Has the world ended?”
Shane shook his head, smiling as he embraced Rose’s classmate in a hug. “Has anyone else showed up already?”
“Oh yeah, Hayden came with his girl, and I'm pretty sure Svetlana is dancing somewhere on the second floor.” - he responded, reaching out for the shots he’d ordered earlier. “She brought a guy with her, crazy handsome. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”
“You mean Ilya?” - Rose smiled curiously, entertained by the idea of her friend not telling the full truth.
“I did not catch his name, but he was really hot and really scary.”
That checks out, Shane thought, grimacing at the words his mind betrayed him with.
“Oh no, baby, don’t frown, you’re handsome too” - Rose poked his cheek.
He tried dodging her finger, and ignored the comment by pointing out the shots: “What's in that?”
“Tequilla.”
As they swallow the liquid, Shane feels the warmth spread around his body so quickly it catches him by surprise. He’s not usually a lightweight, but tonight is very unusual. After a few more drinks and Miles being taken away by an acquaintance from work, Shane looks up onto the second floor. He does so involuntarily, or he tells himself so. Not expecting to see much of anything, or anyone, his gaze drags along the few people standing at the edge of the staircase that led to the dancefloor.
He is quickly narrowing his eyes at the man who is staring at him, and has for what seems to be a while at this point.
Okay what the fuck?
His first instinct, of course, is to flee with all the might he can collect. He mutters something to Rose about the song being “fire” and leads her to the dancefloor. She laughs at the strange behavior, and teases him for the word choice once they put their hands around each other. The music runs through Shane’s intoxicated body, and he forgets to worry about his surroundings. It doesn’t bother him right now that there are so many people, that their sweaty limbs knock on his own quite frequently and sometimes harshly, that the motifs are not at all something he’d ever listen to by himself. He watches Rose shine under the lights, as they swirl and show each other off. Sometimes their friends joke that they’d make the best couple out there if Shane were to be attracted to women. He dreaded those jokes.
Coming out was one of the hardest things Shane has ever had to go through. All the expectations he had for himself and his future were just ruined, once it dawned on him. Gone forever. He always had a clear image of what it should look like. A wife, one or two kids, a stable job that provides for them, a little cottage somewhere a bit outside of Ottawa that they spend a few weeks in during summer.. Being gay meant to Shane that he could never have any of those dreams. When the teenage years came along, he waited and waited for the feelings that all his friends were so eagerly talking about to show up. To sweep him off his feet. He had girlfriends that he was never attracted to, that he regrettably disappointed and upset. It was hard for him to comprehend the reality of it all. He was never homophobic, he was aware there could be a family with gay parents, and didn’t have any issue with it. It was just bizarre to comprehend that this was his reality.
So when someone tells Shane: “Wow, you guys were made for each other, it’s a shame you like dick” in a drunken, smothered attempt at humor.. All he wants is to punch them. Or punch himself. Because deep down he believes it’s a shame too.
“Honey, I want another drink!” - Rose tells him, pulling Shane closer, “Wanna come with?”
He nods, taking her hand.
As they get to the bar Shane quickly realizes there is no escape here. Rozanov was standing with his back to the bar table, looking through the crowd. With him stood Svetlana, Hayden and his girlfriend, Jackie.
They all hugged each other like long lost lovers, everyone so drunk already that the excitement doubled. Rozanov didn’t outwardly greet Shane, from where he stood he only nodded to him, a glimpse of a smile in the corner of his lips. Shane responded the same. He was starting to feel like it’s time to go home. He had successfully taken place between Rose and Hayden, trying to not pay attention to how good Ilya’s arms looked in a black tank top.
“You look pretty.”
Shane wanted to run away the second he heard that stupid russian accent.
“What?” - he asked, turning around.
He didn’t even notice when Ilya had made his way towards him.
Rozanov leaned into Shane’s space a little, before stating slowly: “I said I like your make up, Hollander”.
Shane wasn’t confused. His wasted mind was sure that he was being made fun of. A quick and sobering sensation ran through his blood then, and he could feel the walls rising in front of him, uncontrollably. He directed his eyes right towards Ilya’s.
“Maybe you should’ve put on some as well then, Rozanov.” - the harsh tone in which he’d said that made Ilya physically back away.
Now, the combination of relief and regret that attacked him from all existent sides, that confused Shane.
“We are matching”
Shane looked between them, feeling Ilya’s eyes on his torso. On the see through piece of fabric that was now clinging to his body. The situation was getting out of hand. There is no way Ilya Rozanov is hitting on him. The man is definitely straight, and above all he is definitely an asshole and shouldn’t take place in Shane’s mind.
“We’re both wearing black. And pants.” - Shane responded, slurring his words a little, “Like about seventy percent of men here.”
Ilya smirked at the comment, and was now just looking at Shane silently. That made Shane feel so on display that he knew the color was about to rush to his face.
“And your outfit is boring” - he blurts out, confrontational.
“Ouch. Here I am giving compliments, and you are insulting me.” - Ilya says, and suddenly brushes a piece of hair out of Shane’s face, so casually it aches. “Not fair, Hollander”
“You guys sound ridiculous calling each other by last names!” - Miles appeared out of nowhere, laughing and throwing both his arms around them.
Shane began to wonder what else Miles had taken away from their conversation, other than how they addressed each other.
“Not my cup of tea neither.” - Rozanov exhaled, looking away.
“Either.” - Shane replied. That made Ilya look at him again, with a raised eyebrow. “Not your cup of tea either, and it was your idea”.
“Was not! You’re the one who introduced yourself like I was a cop or something!”
Shane was about to respond, but could only sway to the side, dropping his gaze. All he could let out was a quiet: “You’re an asshole”, to which Ilya cackled.
“Boys, stop fighting.” - Svetlana said, in a feigned strict tone.
“Yes, mother” - Ilya replied, smiling. He then put his hand on Shane’s shoulder, lowering his head a little to catch his eyes. “I’ll bring you water, Hollander.”
Shane felt silly. And a little giddy. He told himself it was the alcohol, and turned back around to the group. Rose was looking at him with a very particular smile. As he rolled his eyes in response, he knew there was no way he was going to get out of the questioning that would occur once they got home.
The rest of the night went by Hollander’s conscience, which made him believe he really did go overboard with the shots. He remembers distantly Ilya approaching him with a glass of water, and only realizes he spilled half of it on himself once they all get outside, and the fabric grows colder in places where the water landed.
When he wakes up with a raging headache and someone else’s shirt on, he is eternally confused. The shirt is a grey, big collection of a deep, woodish masculine cologne mixed with alcohol. He doesn’t remember having that cologne or ever owning that shirt. Overwhelmed by the muffled memories of last night he grabs his phone and opens instagram. He is immediately greeted with a picture of himself in Ilya Rozanov’s hands, being carried with his head resting on the man's shoulder. In the grey shirt.
Scrolling through Rose’s post, the first words leaving his mouth on that beautiful Suturday morning were: “What the fuck!”