Chapter Text
“Jesus fucking christ, Shane. I cannot believe you CALI’ed Evidence. Fucking Evidence!” Hayden’s heavy hand clapped Shane on the shoulder, making him jump a bit. Hayden immediately clocked Shane’s tensed shoulders and withdrew his hand, but he didn’t move away from where he’d plopped down next to Shane on the smooth, wooden bench of a picnic table in the grassy area outside the law library. “Sorry bro. I’m just, damn, I’m just so proud of you. Proud to be the best friend of the smartest mother fucker in this godforsaken place!”
Shane looked at Hayden as he shouted the last bit into the warm afternoon air, a genuine grin splitting his face in two. A couple people passing by glanced over at them but no one really paid any mind. Still, Shane wasn’t one to shout his academic achievements from the rooftops. And that was fine, he had Hayden to do that for him.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Shane muttered, unable to stop the small smile spreading across his face in response to his friend’s unabashed glee. Not for this first time that week, Shane felt a warm feeling of gratitude in his stomach. He was lucky to have friends who celebrated his achievements with no trace of resentment, no indication that they felt like Shane’s success took something from their own. The same could not be said for his other peers in law school.
“Yes it definitely is,” JJ responded, sliding into the bench opposite Shane and dropping his enormous patent law textbook on the table with a thud. “Theriault’s final was a beast. I almost started crying halfway through. But you got the only A+. Badass.”
A slight exaggeration from Shane’s most dramatic friend. No, that title probably belonged to Rose. But still, Theriault was known for having complex exams that were designed to make it so you barely had enough time to plan your answer before launching into a 3-hour long essay-sprint. For most students at their law school, the thought was enough to break out into a cold sweat. But for Shane, it made his heart race with excitement. The exams were like puzzles, waiting to be cracked. Shane excelled at pattern recognition, excelled at memorizing rules and then applying them to different factual scenarios. It was why he excelled at law school exams and it was what got him the highest grade in one of the hardest classes they had to take in their three-year stint here.
“Whatever. It’s definitely not as big of a deal as you getting that return offer from Williams McPherson.” Shane smiled as he bumped his shoulder with Hayden’s, a silent apology for jumping at his friend’s perfectly normal show of physical affection moments ago. “That’s huge, dude. Congrats.” Hayden had spent their 2L summer at the tax firm, one of the biggest in the country. And he’d spent the entire summer wearing an indent into their living room floor, pacing back and forth and catastrophizing over every memo he submitted, afraid that this would be the one that fucked up his chances of getting a return offer from the firm after they graduated the following spring. But of course, just like Shane (and JJ, and Jackie) had assured him, Hayden’s work had been impeccable and the firm extended an offer during the first week back to their 3L year.
“You’re gonna accept, right?” JJ inquired, stealing a piece of apple from the open container that sat beside Shane’s laptop.
“Oh yeah, for sure bro. It’s going to be perfect. I’ll be there, Jackie will join her dad’s firm, and their office is just a few blocks away,” Hayden started to get that far away, dreamy look in his eye whenever he talked about his and Jackie’s future plans. The two had started dating only a few weeks into their 1L year and had been inseparable since. “And we’ll get an apartment together downtown, and we’ll–”
“And you’ll get married and have 17 kids, we know man,” JJ finished for him, exchanging a knowing look with Shane.
“Yeah yeah,” Hayden rolled his eyes at his friends, also stealing an apple slice from Shane. Well, there goes my mid-afternoon snack. “Don’t be bitter just because you two have decided to stay single for all of law school.”
“Hey, I object to the use of ‘single.’ I prefer to describe myself as ‘deliberately unattached’,” JJ protested. That was true enough. JJ had no problem finding himself a partner. The problem was that that partner changed every month. “Speaking of,” JJ continued, “is it just me or are the 1Ls looking particularly fine this year?” He gripped the edge of the table and leaned back, his head craning around as if he was checking out all the imaginary first-year law students gathered around them.
“Ew bro, don’t date a 1L. That’s gross.” Hayden scrunched his nose up at their friend in mock disgust.
“It’s not gross! This isn’t high school. Some of them are probably older than us! Look at Bennett, he was practically retirement age during 1L.” That was also true enough. Unlike high school, or even college, class year didn’t necessarily align with age (or maturity) in law school. Plenty of people came to the graduate program after doing something else for a few years after undergrad, or even after working for decades in another field. Eric had been 39 when they’d started together as 1Ls. A little strange, sure, but not unheard of. And it hadn’t prevented Eric from becoming fast friends with Shane, JJ, Hayden, and the rest of their group.
Their group, their weird, hilarious, loving friend group. Shane had never been the most social or outgoing person, which meant throughout his school career he usually had only one or two friends and a few acquaintances. Shane still thought of it as a bit of a miracle that, somehow in law school, in what was supposed to be one of the most competitive and cutthroat environments one could voluntarily place themselves in, he’d managed to make (and keep) such an extraordinary group of close friends. Dependable, affectionate Hayden, who he’d met exactly four minutes after stepping foot into Prospective Student Day a few months before school began, and JJ, energetic and attentive, who the pair met a couple minutes later. Somehow, they’d become a trio without Shane even having to think about it and at JJ’s urging (and Hayden’s glee), when all three decided they were attending this school, they found a place to live together before the start of their first year. Shane had grown up in the bay area and had planned to continue living with his parents in their home about a 30 minute commute from campus, just like he did when he attended undergrad at the same university. But that was decidedly not the vibe, according to JJ, so Shane, despite his (and his mother’s) apprehension, moved in with the two men. And while it took some time to get used to each other’s quirks (yes, Shane does need to spice cabinet to be this organized and no they cannot leave wet towels on the floor in the bathroom), the three soon settled into a comfortable living arrangement that brought Shane’s often-frayed nerves a surprising amount of solace.
And then there were the other three men who Shane considered his close friends, Scott, Carter, and Eric. The three of them also lived together only a few blocks away. They’d all been in the same cohort their first year which meant they took all their basic doctrinal classes together on the same schedule, along with the 50 or so other cohort members. Shane couldn’t recall exactly how it had happened but through the luck of seating arrangements and one singular group assignment, the six of them ended up in a group chat that never shut up since the day it was created. And Shane was glad for it. Scott was affectionately what JJ called the “mom friend” of their group, level-headed, steadfast, and deeply concerned with all of their wellbeings. He was always the one to notice if someone was acting a little off, a little too stressed out, and rally the rest of them to fix it. Carter, along with JJ, was definitely the life of the party, and was usually the first one to corrale the six of them to go out and celebrate their wins (and losses). And Eric was the grounding presence that helped keep them all sane. He’d had a long career in finance before coming to law school, a full life with a wife and a fancy house. The way he tells it, his divorce was a wakeup call to change his life and pursue something he was actually passionate about. Together, the six of them kept each other going through the terrifying gauntlet that was law school, through nausea-inducing cold calls and sleepless nights studying for final exams, through countless summer internship rejections, through petty drama and competition that usually felt like the end of the world when it was happening, and through each other’s countless wins.
And then of course there was Rose. Shane and Rose had met during the first week of law school and, unbeknownst to Shane, Rose decided then and there that Shane was going to be her best friend. And even though it’d taken Shane a couple more months to catch on to that reality (including a few weeks of a disastrous dating attempt before Rose gently informed Shane that maybe he should consider the possibility that he was a little (or a lot) gay), Shane had concluded with a fierce finality that Rose Landry was perhaps the best best friend any guy could ask for. She was warm and patient, even when Shane had panic attacks on her kitchen floor and insisted that he was never going to make it through their first year. She was forthright, unafraid to scold Shane when his anxiety begged him to curl up in a ball and never attend another networking event again. And she was steady, loving Shane unrelentingly through all his neuroticism and particularities (or as she affectionately called them, his Shaneisms). And though she fit seamlessly into Shane’s group of friends, she had her own tight circle as well. Gloria Grey, who was in a notoriously on-again, off-again relationship with Carter, and Jackie Peters, the love of Hayden’s life (his words, but Shane agreed). The three of them lived not far from their campus and the six men frequently invaded their large, modern, luxurious apartment to pregame their nights out (not that Shane did much drinking to begin with, no time for hangovers when the weekends were for preparing for class). And then there were Lisa and Cassie, two more women in their year and friends of Rose (and thereby friends of Shane). The eleven of them, Shane included, were quite the force. Shane had never experienced that before, of having so many friends who were, without exception, extremely happy to see him whenever their paths would cross. And now by their third year, it had gotten to a point where Shane could walk into almost any common space on their campus, the library, the cafes, or the grassy, shade-dappled field dotted with trees and picnic tables where he now sat, and find one of his friends eagerly waving him over to take a seat. It was a surprising feeling every time, overwhelming Shane with a happiness he didn’t have a name for. It made him never want to leave this place.
Shane must’ve zoned out the rest of Hayden and JJ’s conversation because, before he knew it, his phone was vibrating on the table next to him. He dismissed the alarm and stood. “I’ve got class. See you weirdos at home,” he said as he packed up his things.
“What class?” Hayden said. And at the same time JJ objected, “No not home, bar review!” Fuck, Shane had nearly forgotten about bar review, the cheekily-named tradition for law students to gather at a local bar in the evening a couple times a month to commiserate as they drank, a lot.
“Weibe’s Movement Lawyering seminar,” Shane answer, electing to ignore JJ’s mention of the social outing. Shane wasn’t exactly a fan large group gatherings and the first bar review of the semester was sure to be the most crowded it would get.
“I thought you took that last year?”
“Yeah, now I’m his TA.”
“Okay well that means you will have nothing to do after, so bar review, yes?” JJ implored, gazing up at Shane with a pleading look in his eyes. “Please Shane! It’s the last first bar review of the year we’ll ever have together!” Okay, JJ was definitely giving Rose a run for her money.
“I’m still in my suit,” Shane tried, gesturing to the dark blue professional wear he’d been forced to don for a networking event earlier in the day. A networking event where he’d been forced to actually network because it included, among other important people, Shane’s mother. It had been exhausting and Shane’s preferred method to deal with exhausting days was to curl up on the couch under his weighted blanket and watch something narrated by David Attenborough.
“I’m done with class for the day. We’re meeting at the girls’ place before the bar anyway so I’ll bring you different clothes and you can change there,” Hayden supplied unhelpfully.
“Ugh maybe. I’ll text you during our break.” Shane conceded. JJ fist bumped Hayden across the table, knowing that a maybe from Shane Hollander was the closest they were getting to a yes.
Shane walked across campus to his next class, a smile lingering on his face. When they first became friends, Shane had pushed himself to go to these social activities, lest his new friends be put off by the “wet blanket” of it all. But it didn’t take long for them to notice that Shane was not the most comfortable at these things, especially when left to his own devices to socialize with people who, frankly, Shane found infuriating on a good day. So they accommodated him. They stuck together as a group, they never pressured Shane to drink or smoke if he said no the first time (but they always left the offer on the table), and they never gave him too much of a hard time if he decided to stay in. But most importantly, they never stopped inviting him. It soothed a fear that Shane hadn’t had the courage to express to anyone before, that if he kept saying no, if his needs for recharging his internal battery after a grueling day of school were different than other people, he’d be left behind. But no, his friends got him.
Shane’s destination was a short brick building, covered in trellises of winding ivy. Out of all the things he had going on this semester, being Professor Wiebe’s teaching assistant was the thing he was looking forward to the most. Not only was he deeply passionate about the subject and maybe a little enamored by the young Brandon Wiebe (but in an entirely professional way!), Shane had completed this seminar and the required project last year, quite the feat for a second-year student. So Shane knew exactly what he was getting into with this position, knew exactly what to expect.
What Shane was not expecting when he walked into the room, was Ilya fucking Rozanov. When the fuck did he join this class? He was certainly not on the roster Shane had reviewed last night. A last minute add then, typical. Of course Rozanov, laser focused on big law, had put his pro bono requirement off until the last second. Jokes on him. Now he was stuck in what was probably the most time-intensive and involved option for this requirement.
In addition to attending this seminar for three hours every Thursday afternoon to learn the ins and outs of movement lawyering and social justice advocacy from Wiebe and other guest lecturers (plus the reflection papers Shane would be grading after every class), each student would be conducting an independent pro bono project of their own design. They’d need to find an attorney or organization doing pro bono work, partner with them, and then write a substantial paper on a topic in that area of law.
Shane had done this last year by working with a former colleague of Wiebe’s on a project to assist a community group in a nearby rural area with bringing a lawsuit to challenge the construction of a new, enormous distribution center that would have exacerbated the poor conditions in an already overly-polluted community. It’d been exactly in Shane’s wheelhouse, helping people use existing environmental regulations to stop the cycle of environmental racism that, in this particular area, had caused the life expectancy to be 20 years less than that of people living on the north side of town. Shane was immensely proud of the work he got to do as just a second-year law student. It didn’t hurt that it’d help him land a post-grad position at one of the few firms in the area that did public interest environmental work.
But it had also been so, so much work. Shane had spent countless nights pouring over documents, editing motions, and doing legal research. The only reason he’d been able to do it was because he cared so much about the project. How Rozanov was going to find something like that when his only interests seemed to be women, clubs, and increasing shareholder value, Shane had no idea.
Rozanov was sitting in the back row of the small lecture hall, leaning back in his chair with his head tipped back and eyes closed. Jesus Christ, was he sleeping? Of course he’d be sleeping. Known non-reader, Ilya Rozanov. The man who could party all weekend, show up to class Monday morning with sunglasses still on, and flawlessly complete a 15-minute cold call about the statute of frauds in their first-year contracts class. Shane still barely understood the statute of frauds.
Shane considered where he would sit. Typically, TAs sat in the back of the class, observing but not participating in the seminar so they’d have enough context to grade reflection papers and answer any questions students had during his weekly office hours. There were plenty of seats in the back row, it was entirely empty aside from Rozanov, but Shane needed to charge his laptop after hours of using it outside and the only seat next to an outlet was also right next to the man in black. Fuck it.
Shane tried and failed to discreetly slide into the seat next to Rozanov. The other man sat up as Shane sat down, glancing at him with obvious interest. He probably is wondering why you’re sitting next to him like a freak when there are ten other seats available. Shane quickly plugged his laptop charger into the wall, hoping that would make it clear why he’d taken this seat. But when he finished, Rozanov was still staring at him with a confused look.
“Hi. I’m Shane, Shane Hollander. I’m the TA for this class.” God, he was awkward. They’d been going to school together for two years. They had a few mutual friends, Lisa and Cassie were both dating guys Shane knew were in Rozanov’s circle. And then there was Svetlana and Rose. Obviously Rozanov knew his goddamn name.
“Nice to meet you, Shane Hollander,” Rozanov replied. If he felt put off by Shane’s introduction, he didn’t show it.
“Yeah, you too.” His tongue felt cottony. He should’ve refilled his water bottle before coming to class. “You’re friends with Svetlana right?”
“Yes. We live together.” Rozanov wasn’t looking at Shane, he was digging through what looked and sounded like a very messy backpack. Shane’s own backpack was neatly organized and zipped at his feet.
“Right, yeah. My friend Rose, she uh, she mentioned that.” Fucking hell, Hollander. Rose had spent the better part of the summer hooking up with Svetlana Vetrova, her “lesbian awakening” as she called it. And of course Rozanov would know that (the relationship, maybe not the lesbian awakening), so why the hell was Shane saying any of this.
Rozanov didn’t say anything else. There was a beat of silence, then another one. Great. Another fucked introduction. Shane wanted to crawl under the desks all the way back out the door.
“Fancy suit.” Rozanov remarked, now holding the pen he must’ve been looking for. He glanced at Shane, blue eyes traveling up and down as Shane tried not to look startled at the resurrection of the conversation he’d been sure he had murdered through pure awkwardness.
“Oh yeah, there was a networking event earlier. For people interested in post-grad clerkships,” Shane supplied quickly, trying not to trip over his own words. It wasn’t abnormal for students to come to class in business professional-wear. People often had job interviews scheduled during working hours in between classes, or dress rehearsals for competition teams, or networking events, or professional headshots. No, there was no reason for Shane’s face to flush under Rozanov’s piercing gaze and questions about his fancy suit. And it wasn’t even that fancy!
“You are clerking after graduation?” Rozanov questioned, one eyebrow quirking up.
“No no, I just— I’m working at this environmental group. I only went because my mom, she’s a judge, and she was there so…” Shane trailed off. He didn’t love revealing that his mom was a judge. It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about, of course. His mother had an illustrious career as a public defender during Shane’s childhood and when he was in high school, she’d been appointed to the bench. In fact, Shane was immensely proud of her. But there was always that look some people got when he mentioned it, that “ohhh of course you’re a legal nepo baby” look that he hated.
It wasn’t untrue that Shane was privileged, of course he was. He had two parents with professional, high-paying careers that afforded them a more-than-comfortable upper middle class life. And Shane couldn’t deny that having a parent who’d been through law school, who had navigated the legal profession already, was an advantage. Especially for a kid like Shane who sometimes struggled with the social and networking aspects of this career. Who struggled a lot with that, actually.
But Rozanov didn’t get that look. Instead he just hummed softly and nodded. “Right, of course. Makes sense. Being judgy is—what’s the word?” He waved his hand around in the air as if looking for it. “In your blood?” There was that smirk that Shane had seen countless times across lectured halls and crowded bars. But rather than annoy Shane like it did when he saw it from afar, it was casually disarming, like he and Ilya Rozanov were old friends falling into familiar banter
Shane couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at Rozanov’s unabashed teasing. “Wow, you mean genetic?”
“Yes, genetic.” Rozanov nodded appreciatively. And that was it. He didn’t ask what court Shane’s mother worked at, whether she was elected or Article III, or any of the other questions Shane was used to fielding after people heard what his mother did for work. That was the other thing Shane hated about telling people about his mom, the networking. All the fucking networking. People would hear this one thing and then all of a sudden Shane was not their peer anymore, he was a connection, and an opportunity for more connections. It made him feel like he was trapped in a LinkedIn nightmare universe.
Rozanov didn’t ask any questions, didn’t try to bleed Shane for information like an opportunistic leech. He just went back to his notebook. Shane looked down at Rozanov’s side of the desk. He was doodling little stars across the empty space before the lines began on a blank sheet. He drew each one with precision that appeared practiced, and not the easy way with criss crossing lines but with five independent prongs, leaving the space in the middle clear. Shane tried and failed not to be charmed by the way his eyebrows knitted together, like he was really concentrating on what seemed like a throwaway doodle to keep his hands occupied during a boring lecture. Or rather in this case, a boring attempt at conversation by Shane.
Rozanov’s hand stilled for a moment, like he was examining his handiwork on the page, and then glanced up at Shane. Something flitted across his face, almost too quick to catch, something Shane would’ve guessed was almost frustration, before going back to drawing stars. Okay, so Shane was definitely boring him.
“So how long have you known Svetlana?” Shane tried again, hoping talking about his best friend some more would entertain Rozanov. Not that Shane was that concerned with keeping Rozanov entertained. Of course not.
“Since college. We met on the first day of classes, have been best friends ever since.” Rozanov looked up at Shane again when he spoke before turning back to the page, seemingly satisfied with the number of stars he’d drawn. There were probably 20 or so, arranged in a strange pattern across the blank space. Now he was filling them in, meticulously coloring in the hollow space with midnight blue ink. Shane glanced at the pen Rozanov was using. G2 Pilot, 0.7, blue. Nice, those were Shane’s favorite pens too, though he preferred black.
“Oh that’s nice. So you applied here together?” Shane asked. He was acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, Rozanov could tire of their conversation and elect to speak to someone else, or ignore him entirely. It made Shane’s jaw ache, like he was holding on to Rozanov’s attention with his teeth. God, this is why Shane hated networking. He had no idea what to say to make people like him.
“Yes. Her father was my Russian literature professor. I lived with them.” That made sense. From what Shane gathered through the law school gossip grapevine (and Rozanov’s obvious accent), the man had grown up in Russia and came to the states to study as an international student.
“You majored in Russian literature?” Shane asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. Even though there was no specific undergraduate degree required for law school, most students had their bachelor's in some related field, like political science or philosophy. Literature, especially Russian Literature, had to be an outlier in their class.
“Minor,” Rozanov corrected. He was done doodling and now was looking right at Shane, holding his gaze. Okay, Shane changed his mind. He didn’t want Rozanov’s full attention, it felt blinding, like looking right at the sun. “My major was international human rights and global development.”
“Oh!” Now Shane was sure his face betrayed the shock he felt. He’d always assumed Rozanov was, at best, apolitical and at worst, maybe even conservative. He was never at any of the progressive student organizations events Shane and his friends frequented. Wow, he was right. You are judgy, Shane.
“That is surprising to you?” Rozanov asked. The words on their own would’ve made Shane think the other man was annoyed with him, but Rozanov’s lips were quirked up at one end in a smirk again, almost like he was enjoying Shane’s surprise. He looked at Shane like they were sharing an inside joke and not like this was the first conversation the two of them had ever had, even after four whole semesters of shared classes, parties, and friends.
“No, of course not!” Shane said quickly, before reconsidering. Be honest with your thoughts, he remembered his mom telling him. People appreciate sincerity and candor. “Well, a little I guess. I didn’t know you were interested in that stuff.” Shane hoped his expression looked normal and not too judgy.
“I come from a country that does not do so well with human rights. So yes, I am interested.” Rozanov said, still holding Shane’s gaze.
“Right, of course, that makes sense.” Of course it fucking makes sense Shane, he just said it. “So is that what you want to do for this class? A project on international human rights?” Classic, boring Shane. Always bringing the conversation back to schoolwork.
“Yes, I would like to. I was-“ Rozanov hesitated, his gaze leaving Shane for the first time in minutes as he glanced at the wall of windows to their side. “I was supposed to go on a trip this semester, to do fieldwork for my pro bono project. It was all approved and set up, I even had private funding, but the school canceled it at the last minute. Said it was too dangerous.” Rozanov rolled his eyes in a dramatic way that made Shane smile. He finally looked at Shane again. “That’s why I had to sign up for this class,” he finished, still looking right through Shane.
“Yeah well, the school can be full of fuckass bullshit sometimes,” Shane said without thinking. Shit, maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Among themselves, Shane and his friends openly criticized their institution’s neoliberal bent and tendency to prioritize the “big law” of it all, while using the public interest students as underfunded mascots without actually giving their programs the support they needed. Not to mention their school’s refusal to take a stance on any political cause, regardless of how much the students pushed for it. But Shane knew not everyone agreed with this perspective or felt comfortable openly criticizing the institution in charge of handing out their degrees.
But Ilya Rozanov clearly wasn’t one of them. He barked out a laugh at that, grinning at Shane. “Yes, yes you’re right. Did not expect that from you, Mr. Top-Of-Class.”
Shane felt heat rise to his cheeks. But not in the annoyed, violently self-conscious way he did when Hayden had pointed out his academic success earlier. Because Ilya Rozanov was still laughing, not at Shane, but with him. Ilya Rozanov was still looking at Shane and smiling.
But before Shane could say anything else, Professor Wiebe walked in, and class began.