Chapter Text
The room was quiet in the way only frat house bedrooms ever were.
A bass reduced to a dull, distant thumping pulse. Obnoxious laughter muffled behind drywall followed by a faint collective cheer, and flashing lights that seeped under the bedroom door.
Ilya lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head whilst the other massaged his chest. Eyes lazily gazed onto the water stained ceiling as he waited for his breath to even out. He liked the ceiling better than eye contact right now. It asked nothing of him and didn’t remind him of the emptiness he always felt after this was all over.
Beside him, Darian shifted, the mattress dipping as he rolled onto his side. He traced lazy, absent patterns along Ilya’s arm with two fingers, like he was sketching something only he could see. His touch wasn’t affectionate. It was idle. Possessive in the way someone might rest a hand on a book they weren’t finished.
“You’re thinking,” Darian said lightly, tucking his face closer to Ilya’s shoulder. The taller man did not lean into the gesture but instead shrugged.
“I’m breathing.”
“And those two things are usually done seperately?”
Ilya turned his head slightly. Darian was propped on one elbow now, looking less composed than he did downstairs an hour ago. His hair messier, his lips swelled slightly and cheeks more blushed by their latest activity than the four cans of white claw could achieve. He always lost a little of his carefully polished image up here. Ilya didn’t really care, but there was a sense of pride in taking this bastard down a notch.
“You get quiet after,” Darian continued, dragging his fingertip down Ilya’s sternum, then back up again. The touch was unhurried, almost absentminded. His nail grazed lightly over skin that was still warm, still sensitive, like he was testing whether Ilya would react. Ilya’s eyes followed the movement and met his lazily before replying.
“You get chatty.”
The dark haired man laughed and slapped his chest lightly, the sound soft against the heavy air of the room.
“I’m stimulating.”
Ilya rolled his eyes, shifting slightly on the mattress, the sheets pulling tight over his hip.
“You’re loud.”
Darian’s mouth curved, but his eyes didn’t fully follow. He shifted closer instead of away, thigh brushing Ilya’s as if he hadn’t noticed. The contact lingered. Too intentional to be accidental.
He wasn’t leaving.
Interesting.
“You don’t usually linger,” Ilya hummed with a raised brow. He stretched the other arm above his head like he was entirely unbothered, though his gaze stayed sharp.
Darian reached across him towards his discarded shirt from the edge of the bed, his forearm sliding briefly over Ilya’s stomach, before grabbing his phone out of the flannel pocket and flopping back onto the bed. The mattress bounced once under the shift in weight.
Ilya watched as he scrolled through his notifications, thumb moving lazily. The screen lit up his face in the dim room, blue light catching on his cheekbones. He was clearly not reading any of them even though Ilya could see he had a string of missed calls and messages stacking one after the other.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Oh? Are we Mr. Popular now?”
Darian hummed as he continued to scroll, expression carefully neutral. “I’ve always been popular.”
Ilya squinted as he properly looked at his phone, leaning slightly over him without asking permission. He didn’t care if it was rude, something weird was happening. The contact name was repetitive.
“Uh huh, well I would believe if messages weren’t all from ‘S’.”
Darian’s thumb paused for half a second before continuing its idle movement.
“Why are you looking at my phone?”
“Why are you acting so weird? We’re done here, yet you don’t leave.” Ilya sat up as he said it, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He frowned as his eyes searched the unlit ground for his pants.
“Are you jealous?”
Ilya let out a short disbelieving laugh as he stood and pulled up his discarded underwear.
“Hah! I am tired, and I know all you want to do is talk, talk, talk. And now you won’t leave which means all we do is talk, talk, talk and all I want to smoke, piss, sleep.” He tugged the waistband up and twisted them once with finality.
“You can do that with me here.” Darian rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow again, watching him dress like it was a show put on just for him.
Ilya’s features twisted in confusion.
“With you here— what the hell is going on? Why act all different?” Ilya asked pointedly. He gestured to the floor as the bass continued to thud faintly through it. “This is usually time to go, da?”
Darian placed head back on the pillow and smirked up at him.
“What if I just wanted to spend time with you?”
Ilya stopped mid step and stared at him with comedically wide eyes.
“Please don’t ever joke again.”
Darian laughed, the sound low and unbothered as he sat up, letting his feet drop to the floor. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You are. Also I feel bad for ‘S’, you are ignoring them to annoy person you already fucked. Why?” Ilya pulled his shirt over his head, fabric catching briefly at his shoulders before falling into place. He pointed vaguely toward the glowing phone still in Darian’s hand. “Please don’t tell me I am cause of this mess.”
Darian ignored that, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling beside him. He let his phone rest against his chest, screen finally dimming as the room slipped back into low light. The bass below vibrated faintly through the mattress.
Ilya sighed before lying back down on the bed.
“I am sorry” He said, grimacing as he recounted his previous words. “When I am tired, my English sucks and I am asshole.”
Darian nodded at his words silently as he pretended to continue to scroll. Ilya went back to staring at the ceiling, thinking about who he could bum a smoke off once Darian had decided to finish this charade. Maybe Svetlana had come, she always kept one handy like that.
He’ll probably end up crashing at her place anyways.
“There’s someone,” Darian said, casual as flipping a page.
Ilya didn’t react immediately. He adjusted his arm behind his head, gaze still fixed upward. “There’s always someone.”
“No,” Darian said. “Someone.”
That pulled Ilya’s attention properly.
He turned his head, studying him. Darian was watching his phone like it held the answer to a midterm.
“You’re bored already?” Ilya asked.
The brunette rolled his eyes and shifted onto his side again, facing him. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.” Ilya shrugged.
“I just thought I’d mention it.”
“Why?”
Darian’s thumb resumed their idle scrolling, but slower now. “You hate when I have options.”
“I do not.”
“You get competitive.”
“Why are you fucking more people than I am? I’m hotter, makes no sense.”
The smaller man snorted and shut his phone.
“Of course.”
Darian’s hand reached over to slide down to Ilya’s waist, then back up. Ilya could tell he was trying to disguise his restless energy as absent-mindedness.
“He’s new,” Darian said, not stopping his movements or meeting Ilya’s eyes. “Well. New to this.”
Ilya’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Closeted,” Darian clarified, pushing himself up so he was half hovering over him. “Very.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“Yes” Darian hummed as he began placing kisses along Ilya’s jawline.
“Then why?” The blonde asked, placing a hand on the back of the brunette’s head when he didn’t answer initially.
Darian shrugged, shifting so they faced each other once more. One knee pressed into the mattress between Ilya’s legs. “He’s great on paper.”
“Meaning?”
“Smart. Disciplined. Obsessively polite.” A faint smile. “Hot, heartbroken, and emotionally fucked. Also no clue on how to initiate any sort of intimacy.”
Ilya let out a quiet breath through his nose. “You love projects.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes. You do.”
Darian reached up and brushed his thumb along Ilya’s jaw, like he was adjusting something out of place. “I’m the first guy he’s been with,” he said, almost lazily.
Ilya snorted.
“That explains terrible intimacy,” he said.
“It’s not terrible” Darian corrected quickly. “It would be hard for it to be terrible with his face and body.” He shifted again, sitting back on his heels now, creating some space between them but keeping his gaze heated. “It’s just… hesitant.”
“So fix it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
Ilya pushed himself up onto his elbows, then into a seated position, already losing interest in the conversation.
Whoever this guy was, Ilya felt bad for him. Darian is an attractive man, but he can be extremely thoughtless, and at times, cruel. He would mention men in his life to Ilya, laughing at their inadequacies as he would continue to compliment Ilya’s lack of. The blue eyed man never entertained it but instead he continued to ignore it until Darian seemed to learn to stop.
Until now that is.
“Who?” he asked.
Darian watched him for a moment too long.
“Shane.”
Ilya’s brow barely moved, the name skimmed past his thoughts without catching anything. He reached down for his shirt on the floor, fingers grazing fabric but not lifting it yet.
“Shane?”
“Shane Hollandar.”
His hand stilled.
The name fully landed this time.
Shane Hollandar.
The mattress shifted as Ilya’s weight changed, his spine straightened without him meaning to.
The memories didn’t come in order but in flashes. Fluorescent library lights reflecting in delicate brown eyes. The quiet scrape of chair legs as knees grazed shyly. The faint scent of mint gum. The way Shane would lean over a page too intensely, jaw tight in concentration. The careful precision he applied when holding a pencil, like they might break if he pressed too hard.
Kind smiles with blushed cheeks glittered in freckles.
“You know him?” Darian asked as he reached for his shirt this time and pulled it loosely over his shoulders without buttoning it. “I mean, I assume you would considering he’s the campus darling. You know, hockey league champion, frat president and all that.”
Ilya’s gaze flicked up, sharp again. He watched the smug smile on the other man’s face as he listed off all the titles that clearly made Shane a trophy.
He felt sick.
“No,” Ilya said automatically.
And way too quickly.
Darian tilted his head in interest, watching the way Ilya’s jaw flexed once before settling. The blue eyed man averted his gaze before it gave him away.
“He was in Russian lit,” Ilya added, smoother now. He swung his legs off the bed and reached for his jeans once more. “First year.”
He stood as he said it, stepping into them with more force than necessary. The denim caught briefly at his heel before he slid them up, fingers clumsy as he buttoned.
Across the room, Darian leaned back against the headboard, studying him openly now.
Ilya bent to retrieve his jumper from the floor, giving himself a second with his face angled away. His fingers tightened slightly in the fabric before he pulled it over his head.
“And?” Darian pressed.
Ilya shrugged, attempting to feign ignorance.
“And he was bad.”
Darian smiled faintly as he watched Ilya fasten his watch. “Funny. He said you’re the reason he passed.”
Ilya’s fingers paused briefly before meeting his eyes.
“He said that?” He asked, and immediately cringed at the lilt in his voice.
He prayed Darian didn’t catch it, but the smirk that grew on the other man’s face told him he did.
“Mhmm, said you were the reason he wasn’t “banned from hockey’” Darian said, making small air quotes. “A very impressive feat.”
Ilya straightened slowly as he struggled to form his thoughts at the statement. “I am good at teaching.”
“No,” Darian countered, closing the distance between them. His hand pressed against Ilya’s chest as he looked up at him through his lashes. “You excel at it.”
“You’re suggesting something” Ilya said cautiously.
The other man brought his face closer until there was barely space between them. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
Darian’s hand came up, smoothing the collar of Ilya’s shirt where it hung open. “He’s tense,” he said quietly. “Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s doing everything wrong when he touches me.”
“Sounds accurate.” Ilya murmured.
“And you,” Darian continued, eyes flicking up, “have a very good history at getting through to him.”
Ilya’s jaw tightened.
“That was academic,” he hissed. Darian’s gaze darted across his face, studying his reaction.
“Was it?”
“Yes.” Ilya snapped, the defensiveness in his voice made the other pause slightly. Ilya turned towards the door but the smaller man grabbed his arm gently.
“Rozanov, he trusts you.” Ilya scoffed at his words, shaking his head as he reached to remove Darian’s hand.
“I barely interacted with him.”
Darian’s eyes narrowed as his grip tightened.
“You tutored him for two semesters.” He shot back. “And you’re telling me you barely know him?”
“Correct” Ilya nodded, turning his attention back to Darian’s hand and tugging at it. “Can you please let go now?”
Darian rolled his eyes before letting go. Ilya hunched over as he reached for his belongings still sitting on the dresser beside the bed and began to pocket them. A silence stretched between them as he completed the action.
“I thought maybe you could help,” Darian said finally. “I thought you would be happy I finally found someone.”
“Stop.” Ilya replied flatly, standing up at full height once more. “You find someone every two weeks, and then you leave them when they don’t like sharing.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not.”
“I care about Shane.” Darian confessed, pouting at Ilya’s unimpressed expression. “I’m serious! I want to be with him.”
Ilya barked a disbelieving laugh.
“Oh you want to be with him?” He said shot back “And yet you have sex with me and begin suggesting some bullshit-“
“I’m suggesting,” Darian cut in smoothly, “that you’re very skilled.”
“At?”
“Teaching.” A short silence hung in the air before the brunette continued. “Specially, at teaching Shane.”
Ilya stepped away, picking up his jacket from the chair near the door. “No.”
Darian blinked, then followed him across the room. “You wouldn’t even consider it?”
“No.”
“He’s nervous.”
“Not my problem.”
“I want to explore. Like we do” Darian’s mouth curved faintly. “Everytime I ask him to take control, he just freezes.”
Ilya’s jaw clenched as his eyes twitched in irritation.
“Not everyone is into it” he said, voice thick with reproach. He recounted Shane’s pedantic brain panicking at the idea of facing a situation he couldn’t control. The thought of him facing another made Ilya uncomfortable. “Don’t be cruel and just talk to him.”
“But that’s the thing, he wants to be into it” Darian explained, growing more impatient as he realised the conversation wasn’t going in the way he had hoped. “He wants me to be happy.“
“Still selfish and still not my problem.”
“You could make it not a problem.”
“No.”
Darian moved in front of him, blocking the door casually, not aggressively. “You wouldn’t even have to do much. Just… guide.”
“I am not conducting a workshop.”
Darian laughed softly. “God, you’d be so good at it.”
“No.” Ilya tried to move Darian but the other man grabbed his hand before he could do so.
“He agreed, you know.”
That made Ilya still.
“What?”
Darian’s expression stayed neutral. “I floated the idea.”
“And?” He asked quietly, not trusting his voice at that moment.
“He didn’t say no.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“He agreed,” Darian said, firmer this time. “He wants to try.”
Ilya searched his face.
“He wants to try?” Ilya asked, voice laced in disbelief. His mind was unable to comprehend what was being insinuated. “With me?”
Darian adjusted one of his cuffs slowly, buying half a second. “Well yeah, he knows it has to be someone experienced,” he said, averting his gaze. “Someone I trust.”
Ilya looked down at his hands, running his thumb over his wrist slowly.
Annotated margins in messy handwriting came to mind. Carefully curated study spaces late at night. Brown eyes that lit with pride when told they got another answer correct.
“He admires you,” Darian added softly. Ilya mouth quirked faintly as he met his eyes.
“Not anymore.”
“He talks about you like you changed his life.”
Ilya bit the sides of his mouth before responding quietly. “If he agreed..” Ilya said started and then immediately stopped himself.
Darian didn’t interrupt him. He just watched him, waiting for Ilya to finish.
Ilya didn’t have to, the silence did the rest.
“You’re smiling,” Darian observed. Ilya quickly schooled his expression and turned away.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
The larger man ran a hand through his hair and rolled his head back.
“This is a bad idea,” he sighed, closing his eyes.
“It’s an interesting one.” Darian argued, already smiling again.
Ilya stared at the door like he could see through it, past the hallway, past the stairs, past two full years.
Shane agreed.
“This is not emotional,” Ilya said.
“Of course not.”
“No complications.”
“Obviously.”
“No expectations.”
“God forbid.” Darian laughs “I’m doing this to lock him down, this happens on my terms too.”
Despite the knot in his stomach, all he can focus on is the fact Shane wants to see him again.
Even if it’s for something as shallow as this, even if the thought of the setting its in makes Ilya want to throw himself off a bridge, it’s worth it.
He pursed his lips before nodding.
“We can try it one time,” Ilya said finally. “On Shane’s terms.”
Darian’s smile was victorious. “One time.”
“If it’s awkward, I leave.”
“Fine.”
“If he panics, I leave.”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Ilya grabbed the doorknob but didn’t open it yet.
“When,” he asked, voice low.
“I’ll text you.”
Of course he would.
Ilya opened the door. The hallway noise rushed back in, loud and careless.
“You’re sure he agreed,” Ilya said without turning around.
“Yes,” Darian replied easily.
Ilya nodded resolutely and stepped out.
The bass downstairs hit harder now. Someone shouted his name; he ignored it. He moved through the crowd automatically, barely registering faces.
Shane.
Outside, the cold night air cut clean through the heat clinging to his skin. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and started walking.
Shane.
He hadn’t spoken to him since the end of first year. Since things had shifted. Since—
He stopped that thought before it finished forming.
Ilya’s expression didn’t change, but something inside him had already softened. A quiet and private and dangerously close feeling seeped through his body.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, one word populated his latest notification.
‘Tomorrow’