Work Text:
“Hey,” a voice says, and Ilya looks up, his hands clutching the warm cup of tea for comfort. There are too many people at this international orientation event, too much buzz happening in English. Ilya wants out, but he also doesn’t want to go back to the cold dorm. “You’re the freshman from Russia, right?”
Ilya didn’t come to college hoping to make friends. He never imagined someone would even bother to talk to him, given the whole cold Russian act and all that, but here’s this guy in almost a—fringe, is that what they call it—wearing a fuzzy quarter-zip standing over him.
Ilya just stares. There’s a twinkle in this man’s eye. A youthful optimism that Ilya has never found in his own self. Why does he want to keep staring? He ignores the feeling, and does the opposite. He looks down at his cup, as if American peppermint tea is the most interesting thing that’s happened.
“I’m Shane Hollander, I’m a freshman too,” the guy says. He continues to stand over Ilya’s chair but Ilya can tell from the corner of his eye that the guy is fumbling around in his position, wondering if he should sit. All the seats at the round table Ilya has chosen for this international orientation event are empty. No one has wanted to sit next to him this whole event, but this guy doesn’t seem fazed. He takes a seat. Of all the ones free at the table, he takes the one next to Ilya. “I’m from Canada.”
“Canada barely international,” Ilya says. “Canada basically US. Why’re you here?”
The guy laughs.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Shane says. “I’m bad at guessing that kind of thing. Are you? Joking, I mean?”
“No, Russians do not do this,” Ilya says.
“You’re telling me that in all of Russia,” Shane says. “Not a single person has a sense of humor?”
Ilya looks up from his tea. Shane’s head is leaning to the left, his eyes still glistening, bouncing around with questions.
Ilya doesn’t say anything.
“I’m going to go grab some food, actually,” Shane says. “You want anything? Cold cuts? Bread and cheese?”
Ilya doesn’t say anything again. He notices Shane's legs under his shorts. Why does he wear a long sleeve sweater and shorts? It's fall in Boston and this is a weird outfit. But he can't help but look at the legs. And then he sees that Shane is wearing neon yellow songs with smiley faces on them. Ilya hates how endearing he finds this.
Shane looks at him for a second, hesitates and walks away. When he comes back, he carries a paper plate in each hand, each full of all of the finger food at the event—grapes and brie and jam and three different types of cheese and salami and pepperoni and a green vegetable Ilya can’t name.
“I just figured you’d like something in here,” Shane says. “I’d love to be your friend.”
“No, no need for friends,” Ilya said, shaking his head. He looks at Shane, looks at the plate. Then he reaches for a grape and tosses it into his mouth. Shane grins.
____________
Ilya doesn’t see Shane for the next few weeks. He spends most of his time alone, sometimes he goes to English tutoring at the library, and very few nights he hangs out with his roommate Carter and plays video games with him. Ilya enjoys this more than he thinks he would because the American guy curses a lot during the games, and it’s a good way for Ilya to learn English.
One day he walks past an auditorium when he hears singing. The voice seems familiar so he pops in. A guy sits on stage at the piano, singing—Shane, Ilya immediately recognizes and pulls back from the room, but still watches through a tiny gap at the door. The room is dark. Shane’s profile is visible through a lone spotlight that’s turned on over Shane’s head.
Shane sings a song Ilya is unfamiliar with, his voice soulful and melodic. It sounded like a sad song. Ilya can’t hear the words fully through the cracks, but Shane sounds sad, like he’s singing a heartbreak song, and feeling all the words.
Shane has no awareness of his surroundings, Ilya realizes, and so he pops into the room again. Even from afar, he can see Shane’s long fingers, He wonders if Shane still wears the smiley face socks.
Ilya walks away, but the song stays stuck in his head all day.
He doesn’t see Shane for the rest of the semester.
__________________
It turns out they have Econ together the next semester.
“Ilya, right?” Shane says, when he walks into the class and marches on over to Ilya confidently. Ilya had seen him walk through the door and immediately looked down, careful not to stare. But he had been aware of Shane’s movements the whole time.
Ilya nods. He doesn't understand the feeling that overcomes his body. Is it excitement? Is it nervousness? Is he... remotely pleased to see Hollander?
Shane sits down next to him.
“How’ve you been man?” Shane asks. “Long time. I never see you at the international club’s events.”
“I don’t go,” Ilya says. “Busy.”
“Are you doing any clubs?” Shane asks. “I’m in jazz band and club hockey.”
Ilya's ears perk up at the sound of hockey. He wants to tell Shane that his dad had been a hockey player. That since he was a kid, his dad had expected him to play hockey as well, to represent Russia. But Ilya wanted to go to university. Ilya wanted to figure out a different plan. He wanted to start a tutoring business or a therapy practice or something that would feel like he was helping kids who struggled with their families and wanted to leave their country.
“Not yet,” Ilya says. “Plan to rush a frat.”
Shane nods.
“Oh, that’s surprising,” Shane says.
“Why?” Ilya asks. “You want me to be sad artist like you?”
Ilya immediately regrets this. Shane doesn’t know what Ilya saw. He doesn’t know Ilya thinks about the singing every day, that he wishes he could have walked in further, that he could have sat on the bench next to Shane and watched him play. That he wishes he could stop Shane every time he spotted him on campus and asked him to hang out.
Luckily, Shane doesn’t take much notice of the comment.
“Nah, man, nothing like that,” Shane says. “The frat guys here seem like assholes, you don’t really seem that type.”
“You think you’re expert on me?” Ilya asks.
“No,” Shane says. “But maybe I’d like to be.”
The professor comes in at this moment. Ilya is thankful. There’s no way he can excuse the blush that’s coming over his face right now. Russians do not do this.
“Don’t be gay, Hollander,” Ilya says, under his breath.
“But that’s what I am,” Shane responds with a smirk.
Ilya doesn’t pay attention to the demand and supply lecture after that. He just keeps staring at the veins that pop out of Shane’s hand every time he types to take notes.
After class, Shane looks at him.
“Do you want to get coffee?” Shane asks. “I’m pretty free the rest of the day. And I know a really great place right by campus.”
“You come out to me,” Ilya says. “And now you ask me out?”
“Something like that,” Shane says. “We can also just be friends.”
Ilya thinks about it for a second.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay to a date or okay to friends?” Shane asks.
“I told you that first day, Hollander,” Ilya says. “I have no need for friends. Now, lead the way to this coffee.”