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Luca considers himself a good student.
A great student, even. He’s not sure his fellow classmates would agree; he can feel the eyerolls behind him every time he raises his hand in class. He can’t help it, though. If he knows the answer and no one else is saying anything, why shouldn’t he raise his hand?
He’s an especially good student in his Russian Prose class.
He didn’t even want to take the class in the first place, but it was the only one that fit into his schedule that satisfied his Intercultural Literacy requirement. He didn’t have any interest in Russia or prose before, but now he looks forward to every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. And that may have something to do with his professor.
Ilya Rozanov, Associate Professor in Russian, is the hottest man Luca has ever seen.
It’s unfair, really. So unfair that Luca has to sit in the front row so he can pay attention to what Professor Rozanov is saying. It’s hard to concentrate on the nuances of translation in Chekhov’s plays when such a specimen of a man is the one talking about it.
Professor Rozanov is everything Luca wishes he was. Smart as a whip and funny, too, with a strong jaw and perfectly gelled curls. When he gets too warm while lecturing, he’ll roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and then Luca can’t focus for the rest of class because he’s too busy ogling the veins in his forearms. Every so often he’ll dress a little more casually, and sometimes Luca catches the glint of a golden chain around the professor’s neck.
Luca actually does the readings. Unheard of.
Despite the amount of reading and the ridiculously long writing assignments, Russian Prose is a beacon of light in comparison to his Exercise Physiology course. Holy boring. Luca has Pavlov-dogged himself into falling asleep every time he hears Professor Hollander’s voice. Not only are his lectures dull, but he’s a tough grader too. How is Luca supposed to do well on tests if Professor Hollander drones on in a way that makes everyone want to tear their hair out? Sometimes he finds himself doing the next week’s readings for Russian Prose before even starting on his physiology homework.
Luca is waiting in line at the campus’ Starbucks with his teammate Troy after a particularly grueling class with Professor Hollander.
“I just can’t. He’s like the equivalent of a white noise machine.”
Troy snorts.
“Dude, you might have to get used to him. He could end up being your advisor for your research seminar,” He counters, which makes Luca groan loudly.
“I couldn’t. Maybe I should just switch my major to Biology.” He’s thought about it before, but he really likes most of the Health Sciences faculty. And he can do the 4+1 program, which means he can play hockey an extra year while getting his MPH. So it all works out. If he has to deal with Professor Hollander to do that, then so be it.
They get their drinks and find a table to sit at. It’s covered with crumbs and dried coffee rings.
“So, Haasy, you coming out tonight?” Troy has already finished half of his cold brew. “It’s Thirsty Wednesday, or whatever.”
“We have an early practice tomorrow,” Luca counters immediately. “And Professor Rozanov is giving a talk later.”
Troy throws his head back and groans dramatically.
“God, you are so gay for this guy.”
Luca’s neck heats up and he looks around to make sure no one heard gay and Professor Rozanov in the same conversation.
“Could you be any louder? And no, I’m not attracted to him. That’s ridiculous. I just like his class, okay?”
Troy raises one eyebrow, but then huffs out a laugh.
“Whatever you say, man.”
They drink their coffee. Luca shares part of his muffin with Troy, which adds to the existing crumbs on the table.
“So, I talked to my friend from my Comms class. Harris.”
Luca nods. He’s well aware of Harris; Troy hasn’t stopped talking about him ever since the start of the semester. The rest of the team doesn’t know, but Troy had opened up to Luca after hearing him offhandedly mention going to Pride one year.
“He said he’d love to take us to that gay bar I was telling you about. We’ve got that away game this weekend, but maybe next weekend?”
“Yeah, I’m in,” Luca replies. God, what is he going to wear? Maybe he shouldn’t worry about that right now. “My Grosi is going to want pictures, though.”
“Your grandma wants pictures of us at the gay bar?”
“Yes! She doesn’t care about the gay part, she’s just more concerned that I don’t have friends.”
They laugh, and eventually Troy heads to class.
Luca attends Professor Rozanov’s lecture later that evening. Okay, it’s not just his talk; he’s on a panel with three other professors to talk about Post-Soviet Relations. But it’s close enough, and Luca wants to be a good student who supports his favorite professor.
He sits in the back of the lecture hall, since there are a lot of other people here. He almost trips while walking up the steps. Jesses. He’s trying to find a free seat when he spots him.
Professor Hollander.
Luca’s body jolts and he averts his gaze. He doesn’t want to speak to his professor right now. Why would he even be here? Maybe he has a side interest in Russia or something, but that feels unlikely. They just had a unit test that Luca is sure he didn’t do so hot on. He can’t face Professor Hollander after that.
Instead, Luca finds a seat in the very top corner, away from Professor Hollander. He keeps looking at the back of his head as the moderator introduces each of the panelists. He might have to stay in his seat until everyone else leaves, lest he’s spotted by Professor Hollander.
His thoughts eventually turn to better things, though, as the panel begins. Professor Rozanov is so smart. He adds a more personal perspective to the conversation that the other International Relations professors don’t have. Luca could literally listen to him talk for hours, about Russia, about paint drying, whatever. He hopes he’ll have room in his schedule next semester to take another class with him.
The room applauds politely at the end of the discussion, though many of them are itching to get out of the building. He loses sight of Professor Hollander, but he thinks that’s for the best. A few people immediately swarm Professor Rozanov, trying to get his attention and presumably talk his ear off. For a moment, Luca wishes no one had any follow up questions so he could talk to Professor Rozanov on his own. Then, he’s hit with the sudden realization that he is being absolutely ridiculous and should leave before his professor sees him.
He gathers up his stuff and beelines out of the lecture hall.
***
Luca tries to go to Professor Rozanov’s office hours whenever he has a question, so he doesn’t take up his time after class.
The World Languages building is peacefully quiet as he climbs the stairs to the third floor. Professor Rozanov’s office is the fourth door to the left; unlike some of the other offices, his door is bare except for a Russian department poster and a picture of a little brown and white dog.
Luca is about to knock when he hears voices inside.
Okay, so there must be another student inside already. No problem. He’ll just take a lap around the building. He walks down the hall and looks at the Japanese department’s bulletin board. There’s only so many times he can read through the majors committee list, so he turns back to go check if Professor Rozanov is available yet.
The door is still closed.
Luca sits down on the bench in the hallway with a huff. He can wait a little longer; his next class isn’t for another hour. He stares at the wall, trying really hard not to eavesdrop on the conversation happening inside. They’re speaking in Russian, and the student laughs warmly. They switch back to English, and Luca can make out a few words like lab and staying late and take care of the dog.
Fifteen more minutes pass. Luca bounces his leg anxiously; should he knock? Should he wait a couple more minutes and then knock? Maybe he should just leave. He can just come back next week.
Luca is about to make his decision when the door opens.
“Text me what you want from the Chinese place and I will order before I leave,” says Professor Rozanov from somewhere inside his office. Luca jumps, startled, and he’s about to stand up when the “student” steps out of the office.
It’s Professor Hollander.
Professor Hollander, who is rarely seen in less than a dress shirt, tie, and slacks, is coming out of Professor Rozanov’s office in jeans and a t-shirt. He’s smiling for God’s sake, his annoyingly handsome face free from the usual furrowed brows and tight-lipped frown.
“Oh! Hi Mister Haas. I didn’t realize you were waiting. He’s all yours.”
Professor Rozanov appears in the doorframe, leaning against the old wood, arms crossed. He’s smirking.
“We will get in touch later, Professor Hollander,” He drawls. Professor Hollander gives him a wave and disappears down the hallway. Weird.
“Come on in, Luca.”
Professor Rozanov’s office is stereotypically academic. The tall, wooden bookshelves overflow with books, in both Russian and English. Some are shoved in between folders and balanced on top of one another. His desk is controlled chaos: stacks of ungraded essays and quizzes are organized by sticky notes with a loose scrawl, the Cyrillic characters blending together. A cup of old coffee sits next to a freshly brewed one. There’s a framed picture of the same dog next to his desktop; the furry blob is sprawled out on what looks like a dock. There are more notes taped to his monitor, but they’ve been written by someone else. The handwriting is too neat to be Professor Rozanov’s. One note reads: Found this in the library and thought you’d might like to read it. It’s signed off with a smiley face.
“Привет, Luca. How can I help you?”
Professor Rozanov leans back in his office chair, crossing his ankle over his thigh. The bottom of his slacks ride up; he’s wearing argyle socks. Luca tries to concentrate on keeping eye contact with the Professor, but even that’s hard because his gaze is naturally intense.
“Um, I just had a question about the next response paper. I’m having trouble understanding this one passage…”
They spend a couple minutes discussing his existing ideas for the paper and where Professor Rozanov thinks he can expand. Luca diligently writes everything down in his notebook.
“How is the season going? Congratulations on your win against UConn. It was good game,” Professor Rozanov says once they finish discussing the essay. He’s fiddling with his pen, twirling it with his long fingers.
Get yourself together, Luca.
“Oh, thanks.” Luca feels his cheeks heat up at the compliment. “It’s a lot of work, but I love playing. The guys are great. You’re a hockey fan?”
Professor Rozanov laughs.
“Of course I am a fan of hockey, I am Russian. And I have lived in Boston for a long time.”
“Right,” Luca mumbles.
“I used to play when I was younger. Wanted to go pro until I got hurt very badly. Then I decided to teach Russian to a bunch of Americans,” Professor Rozanov explains, deadpan.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It is okay. There are many things I like about my job.” Professor Rozanov gestures to the stack of ungraded papers on his desk.
Luca wonders if Professor Hollander even tolerates his job. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like it.
“And your other classes? Not too stressful, I hope.”
Luca can’t help but grimace.
“Most of them are fine. There’s this one class I need for my major that’s…kind of rough. But it’s okay.” Luca thinks about how Professor Hollander was just in here. He can’t say anything more, because anything else would just incriminate him.
Professor Rozanov raises an eyebrow.
“Rough how?”
“Just, like, boring. I don’t know. The professor is a nice guy, but his lectures…”
“Are very bland,” Professor Rozanov finishes for him. “Drag on? Is okay. I know many professors like that.”
Luca relaxes, but decides it’s probably time for him to go before he says anything else. He doesn’t want to keep Professor Rozanov for too long, so he does the awkward dance of hastily gathering up his coat and backpack as quickly as possible. The professor turns back to whatever he was doing on his computer, which turns out to be shopping for dog toys on Chewy.
“Bye, Professor!” Luca squeaks as he slips out the door.
“До скорого, Luca.”
***
Luca is on the bus to Maine for their next game when he comes to terms with the fact that he will not be getting his response paper for Russian Prose done on time.
He really tries not to ask for extensions unless he desperately needs them. With hockey, there’s an expectation he’s going to have to cram for a test or submit a paper at 11:59 PM on the dot. He’s relatively good at time management, especially compared to some of his teammates, but the end of the week caught up to him. Begrudgingly, he opens up the Outlook app on his phone.
Dear Professor Rozanov,
I hope this email finds you well. I was reaching out to ask if it would be possible to have an extension on this week’s response paper? I can get it in by midnight on Monday. I apologize for the inconvenience and understand if this is not possible. Thank you.
Best regards,
Luca Haas
He gets a response in about an hour.
Luca,
Yes
Ilya
Sent from my IPhone
Luca stares at his phone. Does this mean he can call Professor Rozanov by his first name now? That feels weird. Ilya.
Luca nudges Troy, who’s in the seat next to him, to get his attention.
“Hm?” He grunts, taking off his headphones.
“Do you call any of your professors by their first names?” Luca asks. Someone in the back of the bus drops their water bottle, which makes a loud clang. Another person calls them a fucking idiot.
“Only my accounting lecturer,” Troy says after considering it. “But she’s not technically a professor, so it makes sense. Why?”
“Professor Rozanov started signing off his emails with his first name.” Luca lowers his volume, as if just speaking his name will reveal to the entire team and the man himself his sort-of-crush. “Like, do I respond and use his first name? I genuinely can’t imagine calling him anything other than Professor.”
Troy rolls his eyes.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t have a stick up my ass like you do.”
Troy puts his headphones back on and goes back to watching the side of the highway go by. Maybe once he’s done with this class it will be okay, but he thinks he’ll stick with his proper title for now.
Hi Professor Rozanov,
Thanks so much, I really appreciate it!
Best,
Luca
***
After a couple of times rescheduling, they finally make it to that gay bar.
It’s far enough off campus that it hasn’t been categorized as a “college bar,” but Harris insists that Troy can still get in with his fake. Luca is actually 21, thank you very much, he just has a baby face.
Luca walks next to Harris and Troy with his hands shoved into his pockets. Harris is talking about the animal shelter he volunteers at, explaining which dogs he likes the most, even though he insists he doesn’t really have favorites. He could be talking about anything and Troy would still look at him with stars in his eyes.
Luca pushes his glasses up as they approach the front of the bar, actually able to see the Pride flag that hangs above the entrance. He usually takes his glasses off when he goes out; his teammates say that girls aren’t attracted to the nerd look. But Harris had insisted he keep them on, saying it gives him a bashful, boy-next-door vibe. Luca doesn’t totally understand why that would be sexually appealing, but he trusts Harris. Sort of.
As expected for a Friday night, the bar is packed. It’s not as crazy as the clubs the team forces him to go to, so he’s thankful for that. Most of the guys are older but still attractive, which makes Luca feel warm.
“Okay Luca, what’s your type?” Harris asks after they’ve gotten their drinks, finding an empty table for two that they can all squeeze around. “I would love to play matchmaker. I promise I’m good at it.”
He can feel how red his ears are.
“Older,” Troy interrupts. Luca elbows him a little too hard in the side.
“That is not true,” He sputters; he can’t come up with anything else to back up his denial, though.
“Those two over there would be right up your alley, but I think they’re together. Shame.” Harris clicks his tongue. “They’re right behind you, my left.”
Luca whips his head around, less-than-subtle. His stomach drops.
“I am genuinely going to kill myself.”
Professor Rozanov and Professor Hollander sit together at one of the hightop tables. And they are holding hands.
Harris looks horrified as Troy hollers.
“Oh my god! You are one unlucky man, Haas.” When Troy sees the confused look on Harris’ face, he elaborates. “That’s the Russian professor Haas is always wet for. With his physiology professor that he can’t stand.”
Luca wants to curl into a ball and die. He can’t handle this right now.
“I hate seeing my professors in public, too,” Harris says gently. Like he’s trying to make Luca feel better. “They don’t exist outside of school.”
Luca pushes his glasses up and buries his bright-red face in his hands. Fuck his life, actually. He may genuinely die if either of his professors find out he’s here. Notwithstanding the fact that Professor Rozanov is not an eligible bachelor like he hoped, but romantically involved with Professor Hollander. Professor Hollander, who’s totally boring and uncharismatic. Who Luca has complained to Professor Rozanov about before.
Harris gently encourages Luca to keep drinking his beer. He feels like a kicked puppy.
Luca sticks around for a bit, but Troy and Harris start making eyes at each other and he takes that as his cue to leave. Harris apologizes for the less-than-exciting night and promises that next time he’ll find him a cute guy to leave with.
Once he gets back to his dorm after his very sad and very lonely bus ride, Luca opens up his laptop.
He doesn’t pull out his investigative skills that often. It’s kind of creepy how easily he can find someone’s hidden Instagram profile or an article they wrote for their high school newspaper. So, he only does it when absolutely necessary. In dire situations.
Situations like this one.
He knows Professor Rozanov is almost completely anonymous online; he’s gone through that search already. All he could find was an unfinished LinkedIn page, his profile picture still the default outline of a person and his current position the only job listed. What Luca has not tried, however, is following Professor Shane Hollander’s thread.
The immediate results include his faculty profile and his LinkedIn. Professor Hollander’s page is much more put together than his partner’s. He has a professional headshot, a concise yet accomplished bio, and a long Publications section. He combs through his posts quickly; one congratulating his graduate students on their research, another celebrating a departmental award from the university. But none of them mention, or are liked by, Professor Rozanov.
He switches his approach. He opens the university’s Instagram account and starts searching through the followers tab. Nothing convincing comes up by searching shane or shane hollander, but he does find something by just searching the last name.
@yhollander64
Yuna
Mom of two accomplished young men.
The profile picture is of an older woman and, bingo, a man who looks kind of like Professor Hollander. Searching her full name brings him to her Facebook profile. It’s private, but he can still see whenever she has changed her profile or cover photo, so he scrolls for a bit. Mrs. Hollander changes her cover image to a Pride flag every June. It’s sweet, but not what he’s looking for. He’s about to give up once he gets to three years back, but one photo makes his fingers falter over the touchpad.
It’s of Professor Rozanov and Professor Hollander. At their wedding.
It must have been taken during the ceremony; the two are dressed in finely tailored suits, holding hands as the officiant speaks. Both of them are grinning, eyes wet with happy tears. They’re looking at each other with so much love that it makes Luca sick.
He slams his laptop shut, shoves his face into his pillow, and screams.
***
The Hollander-Rozanov residence is quiet on Sundays.
Shane likes their weekend routine. They start the day with household chores, splitting them equally and doing them alongside one another. Shane dusts, Ilya vacuums. Shane wipes down the countertops, Ilya unloads the dishwasher. Shane folds the clean laundry, Ilya puts it away. Then they take Anya out for a nice, long walk through the Common. Ilya insists that she needs to wear her booties if there’s any salt still on the ground; Shane never argues. When they get home, they put her in her crate for a little while they have private time, then settle down on the living room couch to get some grading done.
The space between Ilya’s eyebrows is creased as he flips through the pages of an essay. It’s very cute and makes Shane want to bite him, in a non-creepy way.
Shane’s phone buzzes on the coffee table, the LinkedIn logo popping up on the screen.
Someone viewed your profile! See who and expand your network.
Curious, Shane opens the notification. He doesn’t look at his LinkedIn too often, but he likes being nosy and seeing who is looking at his page. He snorts when the app opens to Luca Haas’ profile, one of the kids from his Exercise Physiology course.
“What is funny?” Ilya asks, looking up from his paper. There are a lot of red marks; is Shane really the harder grader?
“Nothing,” He replies, but decides to elaborate when he sees Ilya waiting expectantly. “You know how LinkedIn notifies you when someone looks at your profile?”
“I have never opened a message from LinkedIn in my life.”
“Well, it does.” Shane turns his phone around. “It looks like I’m his favorite professor now.”
“Impossible!” Ilya leans forward so he can snatch Shane’s phone out of his hand. “He said you are very boring professor. I would agree.”
“Maybe he got sick of talking about Dostoevsky all the time.”
“Never,” Ilya gasps, wounded. “I am this close to convincing him to minor in Russian. Would be good for the department.”
Shane exhales a half-laugh.
“Whatever you say, babe.”
Ilya kicks at Shane’s shin just to annoy him. There’s no power behind it, but Shane nudges him back, turning his attention to the stack of tests in his lap.
He writes a big, blue A next to Luca Haas’ name.