Chapter Text
Ottawa, Ontario. 2008.
Shane Hollander dislikes many things.
He dislikes his school uniform, the itchy shirt and pants that are too big and the tie that spends all day choking him. He dislikes when his dad makes him turn off hockey to finish his homework. He dislikes when his aunts come over and squish his face and demand hugs and kisses and will not take no for an answer.
More than anything, though, he dislikes when his mom forces him to go greet his new next door neighbours, sending him on his way with a tray full of cookies and a fake, well-practiced smile on his face.
“They have a boy your age,” she had said, as if that makes it any better. “Maybe you can make a friend!” Shane already has a best friend. Two, actually, if you count Rose, but she has a crush on him, and Shane much prefers to spend his time with Hayden. Despite Shane’s reluctance, she sent him on his way, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smoothing out his hair, as if she was nervous to make a good first impression.
Shane stands in front of the door for five minutes before he gathers up enough courage to knock.
It’s not that he’s a wimp. He’s not a wimp. He’s one of the strongest people in his third grade class, and he can hold a plank the longest. He even beats Hayden, who has, like, half a foot of height over him. All this to say, Shane does not like meeting people. He doesn’t like the arbitrary rules and regulations of social interaction - when it’s inappropriate to interrupt, how to detect if someone is being sarcastic, the inability to roll his eyes and walk away from a conversation the moment somebody asks him where in Asia he’s from. No - he has to time his interruptions carefully, wait to see if the crowd laughs, and smile politely as he says I was born here.
So, when he finally brings his fist up to the door and knocks, he’s not quite sure what he’s expecting. A happy family, maybe. Similar to his own. With a well kept mom who cooks dinner every night, and a dad who keeps a spare baseball glove in his closet just in case anyone wants to play catch.
What he’s not expecting as the door creaks open, however, is the instant outburst of yelling, the language foreign to Shane. There’s a deep voice, bellowing over the others, his tone angry in the way that Shane has never heard a father sound like. It makes his breathing rise, but before he can turn on his heel and book it out, the door opens all the way.
There’s a boy in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. His skin is decorated with small moles, like the ones Hayden has on his back, and his hair curls in front of his face like they were delicately placed there. He’s got striking blue eyes, and as they glance from the cookies in Shane’s hands up to meet his own gaze, Shane feels his mouth go dry. He distantly recalls the money he has in his piggy bank at home, and a conversation he had with Hayden two weeks ago, on the first day of school.
“Just ‘cause Rose has a crush on you doesn’t mean you have to like her back,” Hayden whispers, watching as Rose twirls around in front of them and shows them the cartwheels she spent all summer practicing.
“How… how do you know?”
“Know what?”
Shane swallows thickly. “If you like someone. I don’t think I’ve ever had a crush on anyone before.”
Hayden hums, considering. "My brother says you know because you want to spend money on her.”
Shane looks at Rose. He doesn’t particularly want to spend any of his hard earned allowance on her. She gets much more than he does, anyway.
“Shaney!” She calls, throwing her flip flop in his direction. “Watch my back bend!”
Shane rolls the thought over his brain as Rose flops around on the grass. No, he thinks, he’ll keep his money to himself.
“What?” The boy prompts. His voice is deeper than Shane’s is, even deeper than Hayden’s. He clears his throat and carefully shoves the cookies forward.
“Uh. Hi. I’m Shane. Hollander. Uh. I’m next door. 24. That one.” He points for good measure, as if his new neighbour doesn’t know what next door means. “My mom wanted me to bring these over, because we haven’t had new neighbours in, like, ever, because Mrs. Golinsky has been here since, like, they built the house. So we don’t really know what to do when someone moves in, but my mom read online that it’s nice to bring cookies and welcome the new neighbours, so, uh. Here. Cookies.”
The boy blinks.
“Slow - please, I-“ he sighs, frustrated. “Slower. I do not know English very good.”
Shane chews on the inside of his cheek. He thrusts the cookies out again. “Cookies. For you.”
The boy takes a step forward, his bare feet landing on the rough concrete in front of the house, and closes the door behind him. The yelling ceases instantly. At this height, Shane has to look up to him, but it’s okay. He has to look up to a lot of people. His mom keeps telling him he’ll grow soon.
“You bake?” He asks, shocking Shane as he reaches into the container and takes one out of Shane’s hand. He takes a big bite and nods. “Is good.”
“Uh. My mom did.”
“Shane?” He asks, and Shane thinks he quite likes the way his accent wraps around the name. He’s never been too confident in his name, always found it boring. Most of his friends had two or more syllables to their names, or if they were one syllable, it was a cool name, like Rose. Shane has always been boring. He nods his head, and the boy takes another big bite of the cookie before sticking his dirty hand out.
“I am Ilya,” he introduces, and Shane hesitates as he looks at his gross, chocolate covered hand. But it’s impolite to ignore a handshake, and he can just scrub his hands once he’s home. He reaches out and shakes it.
The boy - Ilya - has callused fingers and bruised knuckles. His hand feels rough in Shane’s embrace. He doesn’t ever hold hands with Hayden, because, ew, but sometimes Rose grabs his hand and swings it around when they walk, and her hands are much softer. Shane likes Ilya’s hands more.
“Ilya,” he repeats. It doesn’t sound the same. When the other boy says it, his accent makes it sound proper, like Eel-yah. Shane’s strict English sounds it out like Ill-ee-ah. But Ilya doesn’t seem to mind. He grins, chocolate in his teeth, and pulls his hand back.
“I will take now, yes?” He says, gesturing to the cookies. Shane hands them over, unsure why he feels so nervous letting Ilya walk back into the house, letting him escape. “Thank you. Bye bye.”
“Wait!” Shane calls as Ilya turns and opens the door. “Do you. Uh. Want to come see my house?”
Ilya turns, furrowing his eyebrows. He takes a slow breath and shrugs. “You have more cookies at your house?”
“Probably,” Shane replies. “My mom is in, like, a total baking kick. My dad has to go buy a new bag of flour every week. We don’t even eat it. She brings it to the shelter.”
“Shelter?”
“Yeah, for like, women who were abused. Or something.” Shane shifts his weight from foot to foot. “So?”
Ilya glances back at his door, at the screaming voices inside, before nodding, shifting the cookies over in one hand and reaching out for Shane’s with the other. Shane startles a bit, not expecting to hold the hand of the boy he just met, but he forces himself to relax. Maybe it’s a cultural thing.
He leads Ilya down to his house, toeing the door open and taking his shoes off. Ilya follows suit instantly.
“Smells nice,” he comments, nose in the air. Shane looks down at their interlinked fingers and realizes he can’t notice anything other than the hand wrapped around his.
“Shane? Did you meet them?” His mom calls. Ilya instantly rips his hand away from Shane’s. It goes cold.
“Uh. Yeah. This is-“ he pauses, motioning Ilya to come to the kitchen. “This is Ilya.”
Yuna’s face shifts. She looks Ilya up and down, then breaks out into a polite smile. “Hi! Welcome to the neighbourhood!”
“Hello.”
Yuna wavers slightly. She masks it well. “I was meaning to come by and say hello, but, you know how busy this time of year is. I thought I’d send Shane over to see if you wanted to be friends!”
Shane really doesn’t like when his mom meddles in his social life. She always has an opinion. She thinks that Hayden can be trouble sometimes, that his older brother is a bad influence and warns Shane every time he sleeps there not to drink anything that he gives him. She thinks that he and Rose will get married someday - which, ew - and is always trying to set up dinners with her family where the four of their parents can sit and gab about how nice it would be for them to be together. Rose may have a crush on him, but she doesn’t believe in marriage, and makes it very clear that having a crush on a boy is one thing, but actually marrying one would be a cardinal sin on the female race.
“Yes.” Ilya stands stiffly. Shane clasps his hands together in front of his stomach and gives his mom a look that he hopes translates to you’re embarrassing me, but she clearly doesn’t get it.
“Shane is a great friend to have around. Very dependable. He’s good at sports, too. Best on his hockey team. And he’s smart! He won the science fair three years in a row-“
“Mom!”
“Sorry,” she waves, chuckling a little. “Sorry. I’ll leave you boys to it. Just clean up when you’re done, okay? And no violent games.”
Shane rolls his eyes, grabbing Ilya’s arm and dragging him up to his bedroom. He gestures for Ilya to sit on his bed - even though he didn’t change his clothes - because it’s the polite thing to do. But he can see the specs of dirt along his pants, and it’s making his jaw twitch.
“You take bed,” Ilya says, sitting himself down on Shane’s desk chair. He tries not to let his relief show. “How… uh. How old?”
“I’m eight and three-quarters,” Shane answers, his chin up proudly. He only has three months left until his birthday, and he’s gonna have the best party ever. His mom already promised to rent out the rink for an hour, and even though Rose hates hockey because her brothers make her be the goalie, she’ll do it anyway. Because it’s his birthday. And she has to.
Ilya’s brows twitch in confusion, but he nods. “When is your birthday?”
“December,” he answers. “It’s the best month.”
“Mine, too,” Ilya adds, a smile on his face, like he’s finally found common ground.
“Twinsies,” Shane says, then cringes. He’s never said that before. Ilya’s smile drops.
“I do not know this word.”
Shane feels his cheeks flush. Can he do anything right? “Uh. Like. When two people have something in common. Like twins. Twinsies.”
“Ah, yes,” Ilya nods seriously. “Twinsies.”
He learns a lot about Ilya in the half hour before dinner. He learns that he has an older brother, that his dad is a police officer, that they had to move from a big place called Moscow which gets just as much snow as they do here. He learns that Ilya’s birthday is only five days before his, and that he knows how to skate. He learns that Ilya is good with English, but still struggles a lot, and needs people to talk slowly so he can translate the words in his head, and accepts the offer Shane gives of being his English tutor. He learns that Ilya is going to be joining his class next week, once he’s settled into the house.
“You’re gonna love it,” Shane says, grabbing a picture off the wall. He walks over to Ilya and hands it to him. “That’s me, and Hayden, and that’s Rose next to me. Svetlana is next to her, but she doesn’t really talk to any of us other than Rose. That’s Jackie next to Hayden.”
Ilya’s eyes bug out a bit and Shane frowns.
“It’s okay. I’ll help you learn. I can show you around the school!”
Ilya hands the picture back. He scratches his neck, fiddling with the chain around it. “Yes. That is nice.”
“Shane! Dinner!”
He turns to Ilya, a grin on his face. “Are you gonna eat with us?”
“I should go,” Ilya says quietly. “Uh. Thank you. For picture. And talk. Was nice.”
“Of course! You can come by anytime,” Shane says as they walk out of his bedroom, down the stairs and past where David is setting the table. Ilya tenses next to him, but Shane ignores it. “Well, not, like anytime. I have hockey practice on Wednesdays and our games are usually on Saturdays. But I’ll give you my schedule, and you can see my calendar, so you know when you can come over. Okay?”
“Okay,” Ilya says. It sounds a bit funny, like okey, but Shane doesn’t laugh. It’s rude to laugh at other people. He’s been laughed at plenty, and he doesn’t enjoy it at all.
He walks Ilya out, waving at him as he crosses the street, cookies in hand and body a little less rigid than when he had opened the door for Shane.
“Who was that?”
“New neighbour,” Yuna responds, bringing the crockpot over to the kitchen table and laying it on a cloth. “I heard that they moved because his mother died.”
Shane frowns. He didn’t hear that from everything he learned from Ilya. He sits down at the table and watches his parents talk.
“Such a sad life,” Yuna continues, plating some food up for Shane. “You’ll have to be very nice to him, okay, Shane? And patient. He might not know English.”
Shane’s frown deepens. Ilya knows English just fine. Sure, he made Shane repeat himself a few times, or asked for the definition of twinsies, but from what he gathers, Ilya seems really smart. And pretty. Like Rose, but not as soft as her.
“Okay,” he says instead. He fiddles with the neckline of his shirt and looks up at David. “Ilya had a necklace. It was cool.”
“That’s a cross.”
“Across from where?”
His parents bark out a laugh. Shane blushes down to his chest. He recalls the way he chose not to laugh at Ilya, and feels proud of his choice. He suffers through the rest of the dinner and trudges upstairs, unsure why his heart feels so heavy.
He can’t imagine not having a mom. Sure, his mom drives him nuts sometimes. Always sticking her nose in his business and prying where Shane doesn’t want her to. She’s invasive and strict and has rules that Shane doesn’t agree with, like Rose not being allowed to sleep over when she and Hayden come over. She’s pushy and makes him do his homework even when he’s tired and gets lipstick on his face when she kisses him goodbye.
But she’s his mom.
His mom, who sacrificed everything to stay home and raise him. Who leaves hand written notes in his lunches, who runs her fingers through his hair, who talks him down when he’s having a meltdown. His mom, who fought with doctors to get a diagnosis for him when the meltdowns became too much. Who held his arms tight to his chest like a weighted blanket so he couldn’t rip his hair out or hit his head against the wall. His mom, who, no matter how frustrating she is somedays, no matter how much Shane snaps at her and asks her to just leave him alone, comes to give him a hug and a kiss goodnight.
He feels awful that Ilya doesn’t have that.
Maybe he can share his mom with Ilya. Hayden and Rose both have moms who love them, but his mom has a lot of free time in between volunteering and managing Shane’s hockey team, so she can probably give Ilya some love, too. It wouldn’t be the same as having his own mom there, but it’s something.
At least Ilya has his dad. Shane loves his dad. He’s soft, and quiet, and never raises his voice no matter how angry he is. He’s always the first one to congratulate Shane on an achievement, to ruffle his hair and say I’m so proud of you, kiddo, to tell his family that he needs a minute alone after work so he doesn’t bring his negative emotions home. His dad is awesome, and strong, and everything Shane wants to be some day. He hopes Ilya’s dad is like that, too.
He starts his extensive nighttime routine: he tugs his pajamas on, brushing his teeth and combing through his hair. His parents come to say goodnight, to kiss him on the forehead and tell him to sleep well, while telling him to make sure to put his textbook away tonight and get some rest. He responds to their I love you’s and waits for the door to close before going to do his favourite activity: looking at the stars.
They live in a place with far too much light pollution to actually make out any constellations, but the brightest stars can be seen most nights. The window in his bedroom has a little nook in it where he can sit, and he tugs his Astronomy book into his lap as he climbs up, pulling the curtains up.
After a few minutes of studying the sky, his eyes are dragged away by movement. The curtain in the bedroom directly across from his is pulled up, revealing Ilya, dressed in his own pyjamas and trying to put his stuff away in boxes. Shane watches him for a few minutes, a smile on his face, and puts his book away.
Ilya catches his eye. Shane waves. Ilya waves back.
He decides to add another thing onto his nighttime routine.