Chapter Text
December 24th
Ilya sat on the second to last stair to tie his sneakers, listening keenly for any sign of movement upstairs.
Hollander had been in his bedroom for at least the last hour. Ilya tried to convince himself that Shane wasn’t hiding from him up there, that he had pressing matters to attend to. Alphabetizing his bookshelf, folding his socks, or something else boring like that. Ilya couldn’t let himself spiral, couldn’t let himself fall victim to his worst fears. Not yet.
If anyone on earth had ever been a challenge for Ilya Rozanov to read, it was Shane Hollander. In some ways, he was incredibly fucking predictable. He pretty much always did everything Ilya expected him to. But predictable didn’t mean readable. And Shane was so fucking hard to read. In all the ways that mattered.
Sometimes, Ilya could swear he saw a glimmer of hope in the other boy’s eyes. They lingered, for one thing, those warm brown eyes. Ilya found that he was very often the subject of Shane Hollander’s gaze. It had been that way for a while. Which was something Ilya didn’t mind. Not one bit.
Ilya hoped that the time together over the break would maybe force Shane to see him, to truly see him, to see the Ilya with a brain and a heart and a huge, horrible crush on his captain. He thought he was doing a good enough job at showing it, but then again, Shane was impossible. He was like a closed fist, clenched and strained. Nothing could get through.
Ilya wasn’t sure what he expected in the first place. Did he really think Shane Hollander would be inviting him to cuddle up in his bed after two nights of their little arrangement? What was he supposed to do, get on his knees and beg for it? Ultimately, Ilya didn’t really have a ton of experience with this kind of thing, with having an actual crush. He had attraction down to a science, both on the giving and receiving end. Ilya never struggled to pick up a pretty girl, (or occasional boy), if only for one night. As far as feelings were concerned, though, Ilya was a novice.
Having feelings was sort of exhausting.
As he stood from the stairs, he shoved his headphones into his ears, hoping that getting his heart rate up would solve at least a few of his problems. He opened the front door and stepped out into the winter’s chill, hitting play on his music.
He ran aimlessly around Shane’s neighborhood for a while until he headed towards the river. His phone buzzed against his hip, and as he waited for the crosswalk signal, he checked the text. If it was his fucking brother again, he swore to God–
Sveta: how is it going with loverboy?
Ilya scoffed, unable to hold back the grin on his face. Well. At least that was a relief. He tapped Svetlana’s contact and dialed her number. She picked up after one ring.
“That well, huh?”
“Shut up,” Ilya shot back, though it was actually great to hear her voice, even through his shitty drugstore earbuds. The WALK sign was flashing, and Ilya picked his pace back up, breaking into a run once again. “I think I need advice.”
“The fuck you do,” Svetlana replied. “Why do you sound like you’re dying?”
“I’m on a run,” Ilya explained.
“Oh, nice. How is the arctic tundra, by the way?”
“Fucking cold,” Ilya sniffled, feeling the thin air burning in his throat as he spoke. “How’s Florida?”
“Soooo fucking nice,” Svetlana gushed. “I’m sitting by the pool now. Dad and I played some tennis earlier. He’s getting better but I’m still beating him. Tomorrow will be the same. Sunny and seventy-five.”
Ilya remembered Svetlana saying something about her father building her a tennis court at their home in Naples. Her family had bought the Florida house when Ilya and Sveta were teens. Her family still spent most of the year in Moscow, but now they spent the bitter-cold months in sunny Florida. Ilya was only a little jealous.
“Brag a little more, why don’t you,” Ilya huffed, rolling his eyes.
“I can, but I don’t think that’s why you called,” Svetlana fired back.
“Yes, well.” Ilya groaned. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
He could hear her chuckle on the other end of the line. “It’s been two days, Ilya.”
“I feel like he haaaates me,” Ilya whined.
Svetlana scoffed. “I’m sure he doesn’t. Didn’t you text me yesterday that you could feel him staring at your dick in the weightroom?”
“That’s different,” Ilya shook his head. “It’s different if he, you know, likes how I look. I don’t… it’s not like that, I don’t want it to be like that, and you know it.”
“I do, I do,” she responded. “But that’s half the battle, right? I mean. If he wants you–”
“I want him to like me, Sveta,” Ilya interrupted, his feet thundering against the pathway along the river. “Different thing.”
“Alright,” she said, contemplative. “Well, are you being an asshole?”
“I am not,” he retorted. “I am doing nice stuff like taking him out to eat yesterday,” he reminded her, though he'd already recounted the day before via text. “We’re going out to dinner tomorrow, too. For Christmas. And I will pay. Again.”
“That’s good, keep doing that,” Svetlana sounded genuine. “You’re taking initiative, Ilya!”
“Yes, exactly, thank you,” Ilya nodded. “Say more things like that.”
Svetlana laughed. “What else are you doing for Christmas? Does he celebrate?”
“Like, casually. Not religious. But he does the whole thing with his family, Christmas morning, opening presents, blah blah blah.”
“Did you get him a present?”
Ilya groaned. “I was thinking about it. That’s kind of why I called. Would that be weird? Like, I’m trying too hard?”
“You are trying hard, Ilya, that’s the whole point.”
He huffed a laugh. “I guess you are right.”
“Just get him something small, maybe,” Svetlana went on. “Doesn’t have to be big. It’s nice to have something to open.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Just don’t want to be like, I don’t know. Obvious.”
“I thought you did want to be obvious,” Svetlana retorted. “You want him to like you!”
“Yes, but I want him to come up with it on his own!”
“You’re being impossible now.”
“I know,” Ilya sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Ilya could hear Svetlana laughing on the other end of the line.
“I’m honestly kind of impressed,” she started. “You never try this hard to fuck me!”
Ilya let out a laugh too, coming to another crosswalk. He hit the button, the metal cold and unforgiving against his fingers. He was headed back in the direction of home now, with a plan to pass through the Square.
“Well you’re just easy,” Ilya teased.
Svetlana gasped theatrically. “Oh, fuck you, Ilya, I’m hanging up,” she threatened.
“No, don’t go, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ilya followed up with a chuckle. “You know I love you. And you know it’s not the same. I’m not just… trying to fuck him, you know?”
He checked his surroundings, peering over his shoulder, hoping he wasn’t being overheard. He probably sounded pathetic. Though, as he often had to remind himself, speaking in Russian in a place like Cambridge, Massachusetts usually served as a pretty good veil for secrecy.
“Yeah, yeah,” she conceded. “I do know. And don’t worry, I don’t like you like that anyway. Even if your dick makes me see the face of god.”
“Happy to hear it,” Ilya deadpanned. “Okay,” he drew in a deep breath. “I am going to buy him a gift. I just… have to figure out what that gift is.”
“Right,” Svetlana replied. “And with it being four o’clock on Christmas eve, I’m sure your options are endless.”
“I will find something,” Ilya said confidently. “There has to be some shop that’s open.”
“Good luck with that,” Svetlana said. “I mean that genuinely.”
“I know,” Ilya smiled. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now go buy that boy a present.”
“Yes. Thank you. Goodbye,” he added before hanging up.
Most of the shops in Harvard Square were dark inside, closed signs turned over in the windows, shut up for the holiday. Ilya started to panic, feeling like he might have missed his chance. Maybe he could… make something? For Hollander? But that would require buying something to make, and he was out of luck there, too. Maybe a gift card. Probably there would be a Starbucks still open. Or a McDonald’s. Though Shane Hollander hardly seemed like the McDonald’s type.
Ilya was ready to give up all hope when he noticed some folks bustling about with brown paper bags from the Harvard Coop. Would the school store really be open?
He changed course, jogging towards the old building at the heart of Harvard Square, finding the lights still on inside.
“Слава Богу,” he whispered as he pulled open the door, his eyes met with shelf upon shelf of gray and crimson university merchandise.
The only problem was: what the fuck would he get Hollander in there?
Shane was a Harvard senior, he’d been at the school much longer than Ilya. He had enough Harvard gear to sink a ship, probably, after three years on the hockey team. There was no way he needed another stupid sweatshirt, not to mention the ones they got through the athletics department were much more official looking. Some random Harvard gear would be lame and impersonal.
Ilya looked around with increasing desperation, wondering maybe if there was a book Shane might like. He did say something about having taken a Russian lit class, once.
But then that felt too… academic, too forced, and besides: Ilya didn’t want to give Shane a book he hadn’t read himself. That seemed stupid. And the idea of searching through the store to find a book right now was making Ilya nauseous.
Then, he saw them.
Golden-brown teddy bears, fluffy and soft, lined up along the windowsill.
They wore these little cream-colored sweaters, each with different embroidery, some with just the Harvard crest, some indicating a sports team. It made Ilya smile, thinking about giving one to Shane. Such a stupid little thing, useless really, but they were adorable nonetheless. He couldn’t recall having seen one in the house. It seemed like something Hollander would never buy for himself.
That was good enough criteria for a gift, right?
He panned down the row of stuffed bears, looking for a hockey one. As soon as he found one sporting crossed sticks on the chest, he picked it out of the bunch and walked over to the counter to pay. He placed it down and smiled politely at the woman behind the counter. He realized, then, that he was half-sweaty from his run, and probably smelled a little. But if she was offended, she didn’t show it.
“Did you find everything okay?”
“Yes,” Ilya nodded. “Thank you.”
“These guys are so cute,” the woman said as she scanned the price tag on the bear.
“Yes, very cute.” Ilya wiped his nose with his wrist.
“Is it a gift?”
“Yes,” he replied, tamping down a shy smile.
“Would you like a gift receipt?”
“Ah,” Ilya contemplated. Would Hollander really go as far as to return the thing if he didn’t like it? Ilya didn’t really want him to be able to return it. He wanted Hollander to have it. He wanted it sitting in Shane’s room, a little reminder of him. “No, is okay,” Ilya shook his head. “Thank you.”
Once he paid, the woman handed over the brown paper bag with a smile.
“Happy holidays,” she offered, cordially.
“Yes, the same to you too,” Ilya replied.
The bell above the door dinged overhead as he exited. It was dark outside now, properly dark, despite the fact that it was only half-past four o’clock in the afternoon. Ilya hated the way it got so dark so early in the winter. The days were too short. He missed the sunlight.
His stomach grumbled as he started walking back towards Dana Street, and he wondered what they’d have for dinner. Shane had said something about leftovers, hadn’t he? Not that what he cooked for them the night before wasn’t good, but it wasn’t… Well, it wasn’t very fun. They were on vacation, right? And besides, it was sort of a holiday. They should eat something fun.
There was a pizza place close to the house, Ilya thought he recalled seeing. Maybe that could be a fun dinner. Besides, it would be his treat. Sveta said he should keep doing that. It would be considered taking initiative, right?
So he decided he’d pick up pizza on the way home, too.