Chapter Text
Shane has been sitting in this Economics lecture for ten minutes and he’s fucking lost.
Granted, most of it is his fault. He slept through his alarm, which means he showed up fifteen minutes late to the lecture hall, which also means he embarrassed himself in front of basically everyone by inadvertently interrupting the professor when he opened the door. His favorite seat – fifth row on the right, against the wall – had already been taken, and that definitely added insult to injury.
So for the past ten minutes he’s been trying his best to catch up, even though he’s so fucking bad at Economics that ‘his best’ literally means nothing. He has to pass this class to graduate, so he sucks it up and squints at the board.
“It’s minus, not plus.”
Shane looks up from where he’s scribbling, and is met with blonde curls and blue – green? – eyes. Whoever just spoke to him also has a mole on his cheek that Shane can’t stop staring at. He probably spends way longer than is acceptable staring at this man, until he realizes he still hasn’t replied.
“Sorry, what ?”
His classmate looks down in the direction of Shane’s notes, and puts his finger on the last line, “Here. Is supposed to be minus.” He has a strong accent – Russian? Maybe just Slavic? –, Shane notes, and it sounds really nice.
What would also sound really nice is not failing this class, you idiot. Focus.
He looks up again at the board, then down at his notes and– “Fuck, you’re right,”– scratches out the formula to re-write it properly.
“Thanks a lot…uh–”
“Ilya. Rozanov. But just Ilya is fine.” The other man – Ilya – smiles at him. His cheeks are tinted with a hinge of pink and Shane thinks it looks really good on him. “I noticed you missed big part of the lecture. Do you want my notes? My handwriting is not very good but…”
Ilya slides his notebook to him, and Shane could fucking kiss him. The notes are a bit messy, and they don’t have any of the structure Shane likes to put in his, but they’re really thorough. All important concepts and formulas are highlighted in bright yellow, and there is everything he’s missed from the start of the lecture.
He goes to grab the notebook but Ilya stops him, “Only if you tell me your name too.” Shane feels like an idiot for forgetting to introduce himself in return.
“Fuck sorry, that was really rude. I’m Shane.”
Ilya smiles at him and lets go of the notebook, “Here you go Shane. You can keep it for the rest of the lecture, I have extra paper with me.”
“I owe you my life, Ilya, thanks again.”
Shane makes sure to fill all the gaps in his notes, be it from today’s lecture or the ones before. He still tries to pay attention to class, so he alternates between what’s currently on the board and Ilya’s notes. He deduces quite fast that Ilya must either major in Economics, or be really fucking smart – it’s probably a mix of both –, because his notes include self-created examples, as well as little messages to himself to do extra research on some concepts that weren’t expanded on. Shane finds it very endearing.
He’s all caught up within twenty minutes of high-speed scribbling, and it’s all thanks to Ilya, who, Shane thinks, gains nothing from helping him. Shane feels a little bad, because he doesn’t know how to repay Ilya for his kindness. He tries coming up with ideas but ultimately draws a blank, so he settles on writing his phone number on the corner of Ilya’s page, with an added ‘Let’s be friends, I owe you one now :-)’
— • 𝚺 • —
? : hello
? : this is shane right?
? : its ilya from econ
Shane : Hi Ilya :-)
Ilya : hi shane))
Ilya : you dont owe me anything btw
Ilya : was very glad to help
Shane : You’re too nice, but that’s not how it works!!
Shane : What’s your coffee order? I’ll bring one to you for the next econ lecture
Ilya : you really dont have to
Shane : Ilya.
Ilya : icde americnao
Ilya : fuck
Ilya : iced americano***
Shane : Thanks!
— • 𝚺 • —
That next lecture doesn’t happen because it gets cancelled the next week – something about their professor attending a seminar out of the city.
Shane, very stubbornly, asks Ilya to join him for coffee during that time. It’s way too early for a coffee meetup, and Shane hates himself a little when he has to drag himself out of bed, but he is a man of his word.
They end up at this coffee place not too far from campus, and Shane treats Ilya to an iced americano, and himself to a cappuccino. They sit in a corner, next to the window, and they talk about everything and nothing.
“So tell me how a polite Canadian boy like you–Ilya points at him–ended up in Boston University?”
Shane takes a sip of his coffee, “Well, I had heard their hockey team is very good.”
Usually most people laugh when he says that. Ilya doesn’t. He keeps fiddling with the corner of his napkin like he’s been doing the last few minutes, and he hums, “Did it live up to your expectations?”
“Oh yeah, everyone’s great.”
“I’m sure they’re not as great as you, Shane.” Ilya locks eyes with him, and Shane’s breath gets stuck in his throat for a second.
“That’s– You’re just being nice,” He looks outside for a moment, “You’ve never even seen me play. I’m… okay.” Ilya shakes his head at that.
“I used to play too. A long time ago.”
“No way, you’re kidding!”
Ilya laughs and nods. He plays with the condensation on his glass, and adds “I was around twelve when I stopped, I think. My mother was convinced I’d make it to the KHL, be huge hockey star.” The ice clinks in his glass as he drinks. When he puts the glass down, he’s not smiling as wide, “But my father wanted me to aim for something more…standard? more safe– safer, maybe. And I like econ, so.”
Shane is pretty sure there’s a story there, but he doesn’t press. “Well, you’re always welcome at the rink if you wanna come by to try again. I’ll even lend you my gear.”
“Da, maybe.” Ilya smiles.
They keep talking after that, about their respective majors, about professors they can’t stand, and other non-university related things, and it’s fun.
At some point, someone drops their spoon and it rattles quite loudly, and it’s stupid and not funny at all, but their eyes cross and they just burst out laughing together.
Ilya has someplace to be, so they have to leave sooner than Shane would have liked, but they agree on seeing each other again outside of class, and to keep texting in the meantime.
Shane has never been happier to have shown up late to class.
(In the evening, Shane’s phone chimes :
Ilya : Shane Hollander Boston University Best Goals Compilation [watch on YouTube]
Ilya : what the fuck shane theyre saying nhl needs you in comments and you said you were just “okay”???????
Shane feels heat come up to his cheeks and sends back :
Shane : ^^ Sorry
Ilya : no sorries accepted mister hollander
Ilya : i want to see you play
Ilya : when is next game
Shane laughs and texts Ilya the details of their next home game.)
— • 𝚺 • —
Shane : Hi Ilya, I hope I’m not bothering you right now. I just wanted to know what answer you found on question 3c of the assignment? I think I fucked up somewhere
Ilya : [assignment3-final2.pdf]
Shane : Wow thanks!
Shane : Are you sure I can copy off of you like that? I feel bad
Ilya : yes
Ilya : is yours
Shane : What do you mean?
Ilya : assignment
Ilya : you can use everything
Ilya : i wrote it for you
Ilya : i wrote different one for myself
Shane : I could fucking kiss you right now, you keep saving my life
Shane : Thanks a lot I’ll pay you back tenfold, promise!
Ilya : yuore wlecome)))
— • 𝚺 • —
Hayden sits down at his cubicle, right next to Shane’s, and takes his jersey off. “Hey man, the boys wanna try this new bar that opened, you’d be down to join after this?” He’s a little out of breath, the way they all tend to be after practice.
Shane looks up, skate lace still in hand, and shakes his head, “Sorry Hayd, I promised Ilya we’d hang after practice.” He lets his skates fall to the floor and starts working at the straps of his gear.
“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Rozanov of all people…”
Shane chuckles, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shane, he’s an asshole! A grade-A asshole!” Hayden lets go of his laces and turns to him, “I can’t believe that this is news to you, by the way. You’ve been hanging out with this guy for like–”
“Four months.”
“–basically ages, and you never realized that he’s– the way he is?” Hayden almost looks as concerned as he sounds, and Shane really doesn’t know where this is coming from.
“I don’t know Hayd, he’s been really nice to me,” he shrugs, “We have stuff in common, it’s always fun to hang with him, and he even does my econ assignments without me asking, which I still think is over the top but–”
“Ilya Rozanov does your what?” Hayden says this loud enough that several guys in the locker room turn to them. Shane smiles sheepishly and they return to their business.
He’s a bit quieter when he replies “Did I really never tell you that? It’s the second time that I ask him for help on an assignment question and instead of helping me he just… does the whole thing for me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m really not. Look.” Shane takes out his phone, opens it on his and Ilya’s text conversations, and scrolls up long enough to see the ‘Assignment4-ShaneVer.pdf’ file attachment. Hayden looks like he can’t believe his eyes.
“I can’t believe my eyes.” Well.
“His assignments are always really well written too.” Shane smiles.
Hayden looks up from Shane’s phone, “Shane, the man that is – and I can’t stress this enough – writing your economics assignments for you, refused to do his part in our sociology paper, and when he tried to buy me a coffee to apologize, he left without fucking paying.”
There’s a beat of silence. And Shane bursts out laughing.
— • 𝚺 • —
Shane feels like he’s going to die.
His throat is parched no matter how much water he drinks, he hasn’t breathed through both nostrils in forever, and he’s already forgotten how it feels to not be sick.
He’s been sleeping weird, and feeling even weirder, and he hasn’t been to practice or to class for half a week now.
His phone chimes. Shane groans – he forgot to put his phone on silent and his head fucking hurts – but he still grabs it from the nightstand. It’s from Ilya, and it’s…an email.
from: [email protected]
object: notes
hello shane
i took notes for you today. i tried color coding them like i see you do. if it sucks im sorry i will redo tomorrow
get better fast pls lecture is very boring without you
ilya
attached: [econ_notes_for_shanya.pdf]
Shane desperately wants to open the file, but his head is already pounding from staring at the screen. He makes a note to thank Ilya when he feels more alive, puts his phone on silent, and goes back to sleep.
Way later, when he’s passed the worst of his flu, Shane opens Ilya's email again. He wonders if his name in the title is a typo, or just a weird nickname – he’s never heard Ilya call him that – as he loads the PDF file.
Ilya was not joking. Everything is structured exactly as Shane likes it, with neat legible handwriting, which lets him believe that Ilya took his time to write the notes as cleanly as possible for Shane. Did he take his time writing them during the lecture? Or maybe he wrote his usual messy notes, and wrote them all over again for Shane from his bedroom? How did he even know how Shane liked his notes? Did he steal glances at them from next to him in class, and memorized it in case Shane ever got sick?
Shane looks some more; all the difficult topics have an extra explanation under them, and Ilya’s gone through the trouble of creating examples with hockey terminology to make it easier for Shane to understand. There are seven full pages of handwritten notes basically tailored for him.
Shane’s stomach feels funny. He hopes he’s not getting sick again.
— • 𝚺 • —
Ilya : [Assignment5-ShanyaVersion.pdf]
Shane : I didn’t even say anything about the assignment!!!
Ilya : i had time
Ilya : you dont want my help? :(
Shane : That’s not what I mean, I’m really grateful Ilya
Shane : But I’ll never pass the final if you keep doing my assignments for me…
Ilya : hm
Ilya : i see
Ilya : i help you study then
Ilya : like tutor
Shane : Really? You’d help me?
Ilya : of course shane
Ilya : when you are free we meet
Ilya : and i help you
Shane : Is Saturday okay for you? Around 3-ish?
Shane : Hayden’s gone for the weekend so I have the place for myself
Shane : We could hang out after
Ilya : staurday
Ilya : just us?
Shane : Yeah!
Ilya : fcuk
Shane : Does it not work for you? :-(
Ilya : no its pefrect))))))
Ilya : i will come :)
— • 𝚺 • —
Shane bangs his head on his desk, “Fuck, I still don’t get it.”
He feels Ilya’s hand at his back. “It’s okay, we try again.” His voice is low and quiet, and he seems very apologetic.
Shane feels like a fucking idiot. He’s pretty sure that they could go at it for three days straight and this chapter would still make no sense in the end. His forehead still glued to his desk, he shakes his head, “This subject hates me, Ilya. I’m gonna fail so bad.”
“Maybe you were right,” Ilya hums, “I did not help by writing your assignments, I think. I might have… hm…” He snaps as he’s searching for the right word, and Shane knows exactly what he means.
He turns his head, so at least he gets to see Ilya while he’s sulking. “Spoiled me?”
Ilya smiles so hard he’s practically beaming, “Yes, very much so.”
“It isn’t so bad.” Shane gives a look at the hand still rubbing small circles between his shoulders. Shane isn’t a very touchy person, but Ilya definitely is, and he appreciates it every time.
“Definitely too spoiled.” Ilya laughs, and takes his hand off him. Shane protests, and Ilya shakes his head, “Come on, moy malen’kiy uchonyy, we have problems to solve.”
Shane reluctantly lifts his head back up, and starts looking for the pencil he swore he left near his notebook, “You know, I like when you do that.”
“When I do what?” Ilya hands him the pencil in question.
“Make up weird nicknames for me. What was it this time? ‘My–”
“–little scientist’.” Shane raises an eyebrow at this one.
“I feel like you’re trying to make fun of me.”
Ilya points a finger to himself. He can barely hide his smile, “Me? I would never do that, Hollander.”
“Don’t– don’t call me that please,” It comes out without ever meaning to. Shane then realizes how awful that sounds. “Sorry, it just– it sounds like we’re not close at all. That’s what the guys on the team call me. And it feels strange coming from you, I guess.” He flips his notebook to the first page of the chapter again, “Forget it, it’s stupid. Let’s just go again.”
“No, it’s cute. You don’t like me sounding like your teammates ‘cause you know I’m a million times more fun. I like it.” Ilya has that mischievous glint in his eyes, and Shane’s stomach is doing the thing again. It’s been doing that even more often in Ilya’s presence, lately.
“Here he goes,” Shane rolls his eyes, trying his best to conceal his smile – he’s probably doing an awful job. “Can we just…y’know, get back to it?”
A hand comes to close his notebook. “I changed my mind. Let’s take a break, Shane.”
There’s something about the way Ilya says Shane’s name. Of course, his accent plays a part, and Shane likes the small ways in which Ilya’s pronunciation differs from everyone else’s. In reality, it’s mostly the fact that Ilya says his name like he cherishes being allowed to, the fact that Ilya has never called his name with anything but pure kindness and adoration (Shane is pretty sure that’s not going to change), and the fact that he is the only one that makes it sound so special.
Shane’s phone buzzes. It’s at the very end of his desk, closer to Ilya than him, “Can you check for me?”
Ilya reaches for Shane’s phone, and he sees the exact moment Ilya’s eyes roll. “Pike.”
Shane chuckles, and holds his hand out so Ilya can give him the phone. “Be nice, Ilya.” He chuckles as he checks the content of Hayden’s text – nothing that he can’t reply to later. Ilya doesn’t say anything back and rolls his eyes some more, which Shane guesses is the most diplomatic he’s going to get. He puts his phone down and leans his elbows on the desk so he can face Ilya.
“You know… Hayden told me something really funny a while ago.”
“Not surprising coming from Pike, he’s basically clown major.” Ilya’s eyes are gonna stay stuck like that if he keeps rolling them, Shane thinks.
He tries not to laugh, but it escapes him anyway, “It was kind of about that actually.”
“About what? Him being professional idiot?”
Shane shakes his head, “No, about you being…I don’t want to say ‘mean’, but almost-mean to him. Or basically anyone.”
Ilya’s been staring him in the eyes for a few moments; Shane still doesn’t know which color they are, and he’s been very determined to find out. Shane’s eyes come down to land on Ilya’s lips (he definitely knows what color they are, and he doesn’t even need to look some more but–) so he catches when Ilya pouts.
“It’s not true, I’m very nice to you Shane.”
It’s Shane’s turn to roll his eyes, “Anyone that isn’t me.”
A strand of his hair falls in front of his eye. He thinks of moving it himself, but he already knows–
Ilya’s own hand comes up and gently pushes the strand to the side. Definitely spoiled. He gently caresses the side of his head, and smiles, “Yes, because they’re not you.”
Shane’s face feels hot and he’s pretty sure it shows. “That’s what I mean Ilya…You’ve been so nice to me this whole time and it doesn’t seem like… something you do.”
Ilya’s hand comes down to land at his nape, and he gently plays with the short hairs there. Shane doesn’t feel like he can keep looking at Ilya like this. He tries turning his head, but the hand at his neck doesn’t let him. Ilya’s eyes are too blue and too green but not enough at the same time and he still can’t figure it out. His stomach feels weird, and he can feel his heart in his ribcage and it all makes no sense.
“Of course I would be nice to you Shanya, I like you.”
It’s the first time Ilya’s ever called him that. He really doesn’t want him to stop. He wants to hear it everyday and he wants Ilya to never call him ‘Shane’ again, and he doesn’t know how to fucking say that, so he doesn’t.
“Sure, but there’s gotta be other people you like too.”
“Eh,"–Ilya pretends to think about it–"no.” The sun is casting golden rays through the window, and Ilya’s hair looks even more blonde like that.
“Really? No else that you like beside me?” Shane thinks this whole conversation is very ridiculous, and Ilya might be a little insane. He also wants Ilya to say ‘no Shane, you’re my favorite person in the whole world and no one else compares’. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him.
“No one else I like enough to flirt with, yes.”
Shane freezes. All of his thoughts come to a stop, except– Ilya’s hand is very warm, and I’m pretty sure his eyes are blue.
“...What? What do you mean?”
Ilya sees the confusion in Shane’s eyes, which seems to also make him confused. The hand at Shane’s nape leaves, and he hates it. “What do you mean ‘What do I mean’?”
Shane’s voice is smaller than he aims for, “...You’ve been flirting with me?”
Ilya shifts in his seat and crosses his arms. His face catches the sun and They’re definitely green. “Yes Shane, I thought you knew this.” Ilya looks away.
“What?! No, I thought you were just… really nice to me.” Look at me again, I want to know. I need to find out if they’re green or blue, and you’re not looking at me and I hate it.
Ilya rubs his nose with his thumb, “Yes. Because I like you. So I do nice things for you. Which also counts as flirting I’m pretty sure.”
“Ilya, you wrote all my assignments!” Shane wants to add That’s how you flirt with people?! but he can’t say that word out loud again. He also doesn’t want to imagine Ilya doing that for other people – does that make him selfish?
Ilya looks back at him, arms still crossed, “Of course I wrote all your assignments Shane, you have crazy freckles and there was nothing else I could do!”
“That doesn’t even make sense!” Shane gets up from his chair. Ilya is being insane and his eyes are too blue to be green, and he can’t think.
Ilya also gets up. He doesn’t start pacing like Shane does, but leans against the desk. He looks pretty offended – as offended as he can ever get in Shane’s presence, which is not a lot. “Yes it does, you would not understand.”
“You’ve never asked me on a date.” Shane’s so confused.
Ilya looks at him like he’s grown two heads, “We go for coffee at least once a week,” Shane wants to object, Ilya doesn’t let him “and I’ve paid every time except the first one.”
Shane stops in his tracks, and it all comes to him in bits and pieces. “...Fuck, you’re right,” he looks up at Ilya, who now wears a very satisfied smile, “...and you call me pretty nicknames in russian…” Shane feels so fucking stupid. “...and you go to all our home games, with my jersey on…” Ilya does one, then two steps towards Shane. “...and you even know how I like my class notes taken so you can write them for me when I can’t…” Ilya stops in front of Shane and his lips are the perfect shade of pink. “...you’ve totally been flirting with me, oh my God.”
A hand grabs his tentatively, and another comes up to his cheek.
“Yes Shane, I have. Can I kiss you now?”
Shane still doesn’t know what color Ilya’s eyes are. He also really couldn’t give a fuck right now.
“Please kiss me.”
Ilya leans towards him, and their lips meet, just once. It’s very chaste, and it feels really nice, but Shane is surprised. He’s about to say something, when–
“Fuck.”
Ilya’s lips touch his again, and they don’t separate. Ilya kisses him like he’s never wanted to do this with anyone else. Shane squeaks – he’s so fucking embarassed – when Ilya’s hand grabs him by the waist, and then Ilya’s tongue is in his mouth. Shane grabs Ilya by the nape, and his hair feels so fucking good against his fingers, and he can’t help but moan into Ilya’s mouth when he feels Ilya bite on his bottom lip. Their hands go all over each other, they kiss and they kiss and they kiss, and Shane realizes it’s all he’s ever wanted.
Ilya walks backwards with his lips attached to Shane’s neck, and his stomach does the thing again, and Shane realizes that all this time he’s been having fucking butterflies. He’s been having butterflies because he just really really fucking likes Ilya.
Ilya turns them so Shane is propped against his desk, and he can feel both of their notes crumpling under his weight, but Ilya is sucking on his tongue and he feels like he’s floating so he decides he doesn’t care.
When Ilya puts his hand down next to Shane, and he hears the sound of paper ripping, he starts feeling a little bit bad.
“Ilya, the notes–”
Ilya breathes into his mouth, “It’s okay, malysh.” He goes back to kissing him with an inch of his life, and Shane really wants to get back to hearing Ilya moan against his ear, but–
“We really shouldn’t– fuck, get distracted.”
Ilya kisses and licks against his bottom lip, “We can still kiss and learn, don’t worry, it will be–", he presses a kiss on the corner of Shane’s lips "–very effective.”
Shane nods along. Ilya leans down to kiss him again, but Shane stops him with a hand on his chest.
“And for the record,” he looks into Ilya’s eyes, “I like you too.”
Ilya laughs.
“I know, Shane.”
— • 𝚺 • —
Shanya : I don’t know if you saw but the grades are up for econ!!
Ilyusha : fuck
Ilyusha : lemme check
Ilyusha : what did you get moya lyubov
Shanya : you first
Ilyusha : i got an A)))
Ilyusha : but i want to know yours
Shanya : That’s great Ilya!!
Shanya : I got a B and I still don’t know how that happened
Ilyusha : I KNEW YOUD DO IT MALYSH
Ilyusha : my boyfriend is the smartest
Shanya : It’s all thanks to you baby
Shanya : But also…
Shanya : Do you remember what you promised if I got anything over a C?
Shanya : What you said you’d let me do yesterday.
Ilyusha : fcuk
Ilyusha : where is pike
Shanya : At Jackie’s for the whole weekend :)
Ilyusha : fuckkkk
Ilyusha : you at home shanya?
Shanya : [photo.jpg] The bed feels really empty without you :(
The picture isn’t even anything indecent – just Shane laying in bed, showing the empty half and sadly pawing at the second pillow.
And yet–
Ilyusha : gospodi
Ilyusha : give me fitfeen muinutes
Ilyusha : fuck that
Ilyusha : be there in ten
Ilyusha : i loveoyu
Shane laughs.
Shane : I love you too <3