Chapter Text
“Who is that? Guy with freckles?” Ilya asks as his team watches a game before they head off to one of their own. Freckles’ team is absolutely destroying their opponent, and yet he barely looks enthused. He looks a little bored, honestly. But he’s really fucking good regardless, and Ilya is immediately transfixed.
“Huh?” His teammate looks confused. Ilya probably shouldn’t have led with the freckles, but it was the first thing that caught his attention. They’re just so… pretty.
“That guy, with weird spin? Is scary. Makes ball bounce off poor libero’s little arms.” That’s better. He should’ve led with the volleyball of it all.
“Oh, that’s Shane Hollander! I’m surprised you don’t know him. He’s like the best hitter in our age group. They say the nasty spin he puts on the ball is because of his wrists. Hypermobility or something.”
“Hyper—what? What the fuck is that?” English is really annoying, Ilya has come to find out over his stay here.
“Hypermobility, it’s when your joints are super flexible or some shit. So when he hits the ball his wrists go all the way back making it spin really weird. You think you’re gonna get it but then it ricochets right off of you. It’s really cool! People say he’s a little scary though, doesn’t really like talking to people.”
“Hm. Hollander, huh.” Ilya muses as he continues to watch the game with newfound interest.
He’s surprised he didn’t know about Hollander before this too, but now he’s on his radar. This is his first foray into nationals after all, so he doesn’t know much about any of the teams outside his own division. But now he knows to keep an eye on one Shane Hollander, with his pretty freckles and nasty spin.
Ilya thrives as a setter. He likes being in control, likes having talented hitters dancing to his tune. Volleyball is a team sport, so everyone plays a part. But when he’s out there as a setter, he feels like the director. The conductor. It makes him feel powerful, but also useful, contrary to everything else in his life.
He’s in a foreign country, chasing the sport that he loves far away from his imposing father. It was the scariest but best thing he ever did, leaving his country at 16 after applying for a volleyball scholarship overseas. Everything was just shit after his mother died, so he had to get away. It was an ordeal and a half getting his father’s permission to do that, but he was eventually convinced because thankfully, the quality of the school’s volleyball program spoke for itself.
So yeah, he only ever feels a semblance of control over his own life when he’s out on the court.
He imagines what it would be like setting to Shane Hollander and can’t help the smirk that makes its way onto his face. With his perfect sets and Hollander’s perfect hits, they would be unstoppable.
But that’s for the future—for when they inevitably become teammates someday. He’s sure they will. He’s the best setter of their age group, and if Hollander’s the best hitter, then they’ll probably find their way to each other at some point or another. For right now though, Shane Hollander is his enemy and he wants to destroy him.
He’s a little intrigued by him too though, so when the brackets finally match up and he finds himself across the net from the guy, he can’t help but goad him a little. He has some time before the first whistle blows.
“Hey, Hollander.”
“Rozanov,” Shane replies, looking like he’s assessing Ilya. “Why are you talking to me?”
“Ah, you know who I am?” Ilya ignores the question completely, in favor of the far more interesting part of the response he could point out.
“Of course. I keep tabs on all my competition,” Shane says matter-of-factly.
Ilya feels a little spark go up his spine at the thought of Shane Hollander researching him, watching shitty tapes of his games, analyzing his plays. It’s thrilling.
“Hm. No other reason?” He finds himself asking, not entirely sure why he’s suddenly smirking, quirking an eyebrow and basically flirting with his opponent. But there’s a pretty boy in front of him telling him he knows about him, so he can’t really help it.
“No? What else would there be?” Shane responds earnestly, the setter’s flirting going straight over his head. Ilya has the nerve to think it’s cute, so it makes him snort.
“Thought Canadians were supposed to be polite,” he teases.
“I didn’t say anything rude, though.” Ilya fully laughs now, charmed by the straightforwardness and the way Shane’s nose was all scrunched up when he said that, with a cute little pout to boot—like he was genuinely confused because he really didn’t say anything rude. He kind of sees what his teammate meant when he said Shane can be a little socially awkward, but Ilya finds himself liking it.
“You are right, you are right,” he concedes when his giggling dies down. It looks like the game’s about to start, so he gets one more jab in there. “Hey, good luck. You will need it against me, yes?”
“I think I’m gonna be just fine, Rozanov.”
And he did end up being just fine. It was a close game, but Ilya’s team couldn’t adapt fast enough to Shane’s spin. Ilya would be mesmerized if he wasn’t so pissed about getting kicked off his first nationals by some pretty Canadian boy. He still is, deep down.
“Good game.” Ilya offers a hand under the net, which Shane reluctantly takes.
“You too. Maybe less trash talking across the net next time unless you can back it up, though.”
Ilya laughs. This guy really is a lot more interesting than people make him out to be.
“Was not trash talking. Was flirting,” he admits, catching Shane completely off guard.
“Huh?” He sputters. Ilya doesn’t miss the dusting of pink across his cheeks. It’s fucking adorable.
“Will beat you next time, Hollander.” He winks as he walks away, leaving a flustered Shane Hollander behind.
***
The next time he sees Shane is when they’re both invited to a national youth training camp the following year. He’s excited to play some good volleyball with the best players his age. But he’s maybe more excited to get to play with Shane specifically.
It’s not the first time he thinks about Shane since their match, though. He’s done his research this time—watched some of his old games, got his hands on some interviews he did for Volleyball Monthly magazine. From the outside, the guy definitely seems rigid and committed to the grind. But Ilya’s seen those freckled cheeks blush. It makes him want to know what makes the prim and proper Canadian boy tick.
He spends all of his free time at the camp pestering Shane. He doesn’t mean to, but he’s just so cute when he has his nose all scrunched up in annoyance at one of Ilya’s quips. Tormenting Shane might be his new favorite pastime.
But nothing can compare to the moment he finally gets to set for Shane. They don’t get assigned to the same team until a few days into the camp. And Ilya feels fireworks go off when the ball leaves his hands and goes straight to Shane’s waiting palm, slamming it down the other side of the court before anyone can even have a chance to react.
See, he’s watched Shane’s plays and formulated in his head exactly how he would set him the ball once he finally got the chance. So he knows it was perfect.
And everybody else does too, including Shane. The rest of the players look like they’re in awe, but Ilya’s eyes are only on him, awaiting the praise he knows is on the tip of Shane’s tongue.
“That was—” Shane starts.
“Amazing? Perfect? Everything you want from setter and more?” Ilya teases.
“...Adequate,” Shane quips surely to take him down a peg, but Ilya doesn’t miss the slight quirk of his lips as he says it. He’s never used that word himself before, but can glean from Shane’s expression that he’s just trying to tone down how much he liked it.
“I will show you adequate, pretty boy. Again,” Ilya taunts, very satisfied with the shock on Shane’s face at being called pretty.
Yup, pestering Shane Hollander is definitely one of his new favorite things in the world—second only to setting for him.
By the time camp ends, Ilya thinks Shane’s warmed up to him a little bit. Not in an outwardly obvious way; he still doesn’t openly laugh at his jokes or anything. But throughout the course of the week, Ilya has learned to look out for the subtlest changes in Shane’s expression. And he has come to the conclusion that he’s not half as annoyed with Ilya as he pretends to be.
He decides to test this theory by asking the boy to give him his number before they leave.
“And why would I do that?” Shane challenges, but there’s no bite to his voice. Ilya knows he wants to.
“I can give you volleyball tips. Your serve? A little weak,” he teases.
“My serve is not weak—”
“Okay, okay. Relax,” Ilya interjects with a chuckle. “Your serve is good. Great, even. Now give me your number so I can praise serves more over text, yes?”
“Fine,” Shane relents. “But if you annoy me too much, I’m blocking you.”
Ilya pumps his fist in victory, making Shane snort. He hands over his phone and has a few seconds to freely stare at Shane while he’s typing his number in. God, he really is pretty, Ilya thinks.
He’s also glad that Shane has been more willing to go barb for barb with him as they’ve gotten closer during the camp, no longer concerned with having to be polite—even though he wasn’t really doing the best job at that in the first place.
People tend to think Shane is not the most social person in the world, but Ilya has come to learn that he’s just straightforward—earnestly so. And when you get past that exterior, the perceived barbs become more like banter. And Ilya thinks it’s fun to talk to someone like that.
He’s really glad to have made a friend in this training camp. And a really pretty one, at that.
***
Ilya slowly realizes he may not want to just be Shane’s friend though, as Svetlana makes fun of him for having a stupid grin on his face while he stares at his phone.
“Someone’s got a crush,” she teases.
Svetlana has been a really good friend to him, them having hit it off early on being the only two kids in their school that are Russian. He immediately felt comfortable around her, what with not having to speak English with someone for once.
“It’s not a crush, jeez. Just a friend from camp.”
“Oh? The same friend from camp you wouldn’t shut up about once you got back?”
“What? He’s really good at volleyball; of course I talked about him a lot.”
“Ilya, the first thing you said was that he has pretty freckles. That has nothing to do with volleyball.”
Well, she got him there.
“Whatever. I do not have a crush.” Svetlana just raises an eyebrow at him, not buying it for a second.
“Look. I don’t even know if he likes guys, so it wouldn’t matter either way.”
Svetlana’s also the only person who really knows he’s bi. He already doesn’t feel like he belongs, being from a completely different background as everyone else and all. So he doesn’t really feel like giving people more ammunition to ostracize him. Not that he’s particularly picked on or anything; being the star of your school’s volleyball team still has its perks. But it’s always better to be safe than sorry.
“If he’s texting your annoying ass this much, I’d be surprised if he didn’t like you even a little bit.”
Ilya snorts. “Thanks, I guess.”
***
The rest of high school passes by steadily—Ilya finding his groove with his team and being named the best high school setter, the only constants in his life other than volleyball being the texts on his phone and Svetlana teasing him about it.
He finally beats Shane’s team once, at the very end of their high school career, after spending the entirety of it losing to him spectacularly. The championship makes him feel like he’s on top of the world, combined with all the offers he’s receiving to go pro straight out of high school.
And he’s sure Shane’s receiving the same offers—his skill level being as high as it is—even though they surprisingly haven’t really talked about it.
He remembers the feeling of winning against Shane and thinks he would be fine chasing that high again if they end up on different teams. But when he thinks back on what it felt like being on the same side of the court as him, he knows he wants that more.
He finally brings it up as they’re hanging out in person after their final tournament, a rare occurrence for them seeing as they’re from different divisions and have mostly kept up their friendship over text.
“So what offers are you getting? I have many, but I think I will go to Ottawa. Their team is not the best, but I think I can make them the best when I join, yes?”
Shane snorts. “Hm. Humble as ever, I see.”
“What, am I wrong?” He tilts his head and smirks, knowing he’s hot shit and that Shane’s not going to disagree with his objectively factual statement. He might not be one for giving out praises willy-nilly, but he’s also honest to a fault.
“No, you’re right. Their setter’s a mess. You’ll probably get the starting position in no time.”
“Is that a compliment, Hollander? Careful, I might think you like me or something,” Ilya teases.
“Shut up.” Shane rolls his eyes, but Ilya doesn’t miss the fond smile that comes with it. He never does.
“What about you?” He asks after being momentarily distracted just staring at Shane. It’s unfair, really. Ilya can never focus when he’s around, except when they’re on the court. But when they’re just hanging out like this, he finds himself unable to look away.
“Me?” Shane seems hesitant to have the topic directed at him.
“Yes, what team will you join?” He wills himself to stop ogling so he can finally find out where Shane’s going to end up. He’s dying to know if he’s going to spend his rookie season looking forward to beating him, or having the pleasure of setting for him.
“Oh, I’m not…” Shane avoids his gaze. “I’m going to college first. I’ll play for a team there before going pro.”
“College?” Ilya doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but the genuine surprise takes over him for a moment. He clears his throat and adds more calmly, “Why?”
“It’s just practical, I guess.” Shane shrugs. Ilya can’t believe he’s being so nonchalant about this, when he feels like he’s losing the one player he actually looks forward to playing with and against, and the one friend he was already supposed to have in the league.
“But you are good enough to go pro, Hollander. What is the need to be practical?”
“My parents wanted me to have a back-up plan in case I get injured and have to retire early or something—you know, with my hypermobility and all. And I think they’re right.”
Ilya scoffs.
“Do you have a problem?” Shane asks. He’s probably confused as to why Ilya’s reacting so strongly to the news.
“Going to college is waste of talent. You have offers to go pro, yes?”
“Well yes, but—”
“Is waste, then.”
Shane’s face is all scrunched up at this point—and not the good kind. Well, Ilya still thinks it’s cute. But he does look genuinely upset at the way he’s reacting.
So Ilya pulls it back. They rarely get to hang out as it is; it’d be a waste to spend that time picking a fight. Even though the idea of Shane being in school when he could be hitting Ilya’s perfect sets in the pro league makes him want to throw a fit.
He doesn’t want to admit that, though. Feels a little too vulnerable—like it would expose much more than just his desire to play alongside Shane. So he goes for something a little less dramatic. Something lighter, but still true.
“Sorry. I do not mean to be angry. But how can I beat you if you are not even in same league as me?” He makes sure his tone is playful, but still goading, wanting to make the furrow in Shane’s brows go away.
It works, getting a chuckle out of him. “It’s just a few years. I’ll be in the pro league before you know it. Plus, you need a little practice before you go against me again. Consider this me giving you a headstart.”
Ah, yes. Easy banter. Much better to fall back on that instead of acknowledging why Ilya feels strangely abandoned knowing Shane’s not going pro with him, or why he wants to go through his rookie year alongside him so badly.
“A headstart? How charitable, Hollander. Are you forgetting I just beat you in finals?”
“Wow, charitable. When did your English get so good, Rozanov?”
“Shut your idiot face, Hollander.”
They laugh for a bit before letting a comfortable silence settle between them.
“Are you really upset about me going to college, though?” Shane asks gently.
“A little,” Ilya admits honestly before going right back to being a menace. “But you can make it up to me somehow,” he teases, his tone just on the right side of flirty, topping it off with a wink.
He should really be more careful not to accidentally let his little crush slip. But he always flirts with Shane, and it always goes over his head. So he’s gotten comfortable laying it on thick every once in a while.
“Oh yeah? What’d you have in mind?” Ilya thinks he’s hallucinating, because Shane’s voice almost sounds like he’s flirting back. And he never flirts back. He usually just tells Ilya to shut up, or tells him he’s an idiot.
His brain short circuits at the idea of Shane possibly, finally, catching on to his hints. Maybe they can have a little fun while Shane goes off to college after all.
He gets over his little freak out and regains all his bravado, even unashamedly glancing down at Shane’s lips for a split second before looking him right in the eye with a devastating little smirk.
“Is secret. I tell you in due time, college boy.”
And with all that, Ilya’s high school journey comes to an end. He’s walking away with a national championship, a best setter award, countless offers to go pro…
And a best friend he can’t wait to visit in college just to rile him up, and maybe even win his heart while he’s at it.