Chapter Text
Ilya was having a great year. The classes were shit, but the guys were cool and the teachers blind. When he wasn’t shit talking with Marlow and Connors behind the kitchen, smoking cigarettes, he only had to chirp a sophomore to get everyone's approval. What a bunch of brainless sheep, sometimes. It was comfortable. One of the worst things about Saint Charles was the monthly review to the parents, when the teachers sent the grades and a quick description of the student deportment during the month. Ilya was terrified of what they could send to his father. The colonel wasn’t forgiving. Thankfully, he was good in class, and he did really appreciate the teachers who usually gave it back. The fucking English teacher, the principal, and especially Theriaut hated him though. First of all, they obviously hated his guts for being Russian, and with it, to not be from Saint Charles. Some students had their entire family tree who had been students there. If Comeau made profit of it, hypocritical little bitch towards the teachers who spoiled him, some like Vaughny were kind enough to use their influence for the students. His older brother was already the legend who had convince that the seniors could be allowed to get out once a week for their driving lessons. “Driving lessons”, sure, right. More like two hours of driving, and two hours of shopping for cigarettes, candy, alcohol (Marlow was friends with the cashier), and flirting with the girls.
Ilya couldn’t wait to be allowed to take his driving lessons too. Marlow didn’t know a thing about vodka, and Ilya hadn’t kissed a girl in weeks. And it wasn't at Saint Charles he would find a boy to kiss either. No one there would understand, the place was almost as bad as Russia. At least in Russia people were afraid of being found, but still wanted to love freely. In Saint Charles, it was a sin, and was against all morality, and no one wanted to go that far. Smoking, partying, swearing, getting drunk, that were “acceptable” sins. The frequent sins of young teenage boys. Young teenage boys who wanted to kiss other young teenage boys were not normal. It wasn’t predictable, not part of the usual teenage crisis. It was worse than not having their year, therapy, divorce and even having a baby without marriage. All very big scandals in Saint Charles, for a bunch of different reasons which could be resumed by “that’s not something to be done”.
In the summer, during a party organised by Svetlana, his friend Sasha kissed him and Ilya enjoyed it. They both knew it didn’t mean a thing for their personal feelings, and it was just drunk kissing. However, it was for both of them an enormous secret. Ilya didn’t even like Sasha that much, but he was talented with his tongue.
He knew before that what he was - bisexual. But now he couldn’t just ignore it. He had kissed a boy. He was from an Orthodox family, from a Russian family, and he was trapped to stay for - what ? - maybe his whole life, in this society who didn’t even acknowledge the existence of homosexuality, if it did, to use swears.
Ilya had analysed how people could react to simple signs, like two men holding hands in the street : the ignorants, first of all, quickly unease, looking away, terrorised and paranoid, like scared of the flew, who shared at lot with the "kind", who would not use swears, not always at least, but feel a lot of pity for those who felt “so confused”. These ones usually thought it was something rare, which could be healed, which came probably from very fucked up families. It could never appear in “our society”. The “calm” homophobics will use “hey I’m not a fag” in a laugh, joke about a girl’s pixie cut “is that a boy or a girl ?” and say “I’m not homophobic, I don’t have a phobia !”. They were idiots, playing cool. At least the violent homophobics, these fuckers, were persistent and honest. They described homosexuality as a disgusting thing, their faces transforming in the Grinch in front of a pride flag. For people who hated it gays that much, they thought about it surprisingly a lot.
His father and brother were part of this last category.
And every single time they used swears, Ilya had to have a complete control of his facial traits, to not show how he was tensed suddenly, how he felt frozen, his mind screaming, empty of all thoughts but “they would hate you if they knew.” Well they already hated him, didn’t they ?
At least they weren’t at Saint Charles.
Every time their voices echoed in his head, Ilya would find a way to avoid the little seventh and eight year olds who followed him everywhere , and go higher in the hill behind the castle. “Hill” was an exaggeration, but it was a bit higher than the rest of the property, covered with trees, forbidden to students, and there Ilya could sit a moment, coming back ten minutes later. No one knew where he was, and he couldn’t care less. Sometimes he was late in class, and every one chuckled "Typical Roz !" These idiots hated him and judged him, he knew that.
One day he came back from the hill by another path, towards the hockey rink.
And that’s how he saw Shane Hollander, working hard, skating with the puck with perfect technique. Even from afar he looked angry.
Ilya sat down, watching him for several minutes. When Shane took off his helmet, he was sweating, and his face was still tense. He saw Ilya and exclaimed, pissed : “What the fuck are you doing here Rozanov ?”
Ilya had to admit, Hollander being mad at him was refreshing. No one was trying to get under his skin, like Svetlana would. When everyone was praising him, Hollander made sure his eyes continued to flash lightning towards him. Ilya liked that. And, he had to admit it, Hollander had the funniest cute kitten face when angry.
“Nothing, just passing through. You look angry.”
Hollander analysed him.
“Yeah ? Well I am. Fuck off.”
Ilya hadn’t acknowledged until now that Hollander swore a lot. Actually, he was suspecting him to be impolite only with him. Huh. So he was special to Hollander. Nice.
“Why ?”
“Why do you care ?”
“Curious. Won’t tell, promise.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Come on, Hollander. Promise. I won’t tell anyone, not even Marly.”
He hesitated. And then :
“It’s just stupid.”
Was he pouting ? Under the white light of the big lamps, Ilya could see Shane’s constellation of freckles. He was obviously so pretty.
And then he opened his mouth and quickly :
“Comeau said something that, I don’t know, hurt me. I’m too touchy about some things.”
“Tell me.”
“He said… he said I don’t look people in the eye. When I talk. I didn’t know that. And it’s just, he joked about it with Drapeau, and I felt… I felt like shit. Like, I’m just shy, and so I guess, I just don’t know where to look when talking. I mean I’m already controlling what I’m saying, and trying to understand what’s going on, and trying to have the correct reactions to what people are saying, I… I don’t look people in the eye. Shit, I didn’t look you in the eyes right now. ”
Had Ilya seen Shane do that ? Yes, yes he had. Had he said something about it ? No. You don’t tell someone unease “hey you looked unease.” That’s stupid. Comeau and Drapeau were assholes for not knowing they had to deal with their roommate in the most basic way. Acknowledging that he had a tic or something ? What a bunch of idiots.
“Okay. Who cares ?”
Hollander glanced towards him.
“What ?”
“You don’t have to control everything. You know, where your eyes land when you talk. It’s a detail. You worry too much, Hollander.”
“But I like to have control.”
“It’s not because you don’t control it that you’re in incontrol of your whole life, you can decide to just not care of a detail. And sometimes you will be comfortable enough to look directly into someone's eyes, and sometimes not. Just work on it a few times if you want, I guess. Try with me. ”
“What, to look into your eyes ? That’s just dumb.”
“No it’s not. If you look at me you’ll be enjoying the view of my wonderful eyes, and if you don’t it's your loss.”
Shane looked at him.
“Your eyes are nice.”
And then he stared back at the opposite wall of the rink, in the distance. His profile was really pretty. And… was he blushing ? Shane Hollander ? Well that was... interesting, to say the least.
“Mind if I play with you for a moment ? Promise, I won’t steal your technique. It’s funnier to train with someone than all alone, putting all your anger into the puck.”
Hollander was the only student to play hockey by himself, staying faithful to his daily training, even without his friends, stupid Pike and Boizeau.
An hour later, they had avoided the study session, which was only permitted for hockey captains and co-captains for them to train and work on a strategy. Of course, a hockey captain was usually not using that time to play with the co-captain of the other team.
Both sweating, tired but glad with themselves, they went to the showers.
Ilya finished early, and saw before leaving the room that in front of the shower Hollander was using, pretty boy had put a chair where his clothes were perfectly folded. Ilya stayed two seconds, watching the ugly blue curtain behind which Shane was showering. He left without a word.
They didn’t talk until after the fall vacation. After the accident.