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There is nothing Ilya loves more than annoying his roommate.
Although sex and hockey are close, nothing truly beats the way Shane Hollander—the said roommate—gets all flushed and pissy whenever he sees Ilya's underwear laying on the ground instead of the laundry basket he specifically bought for their shared space, or when Ilya was too tired from practice to immediately get to washing the dishes, leading Shane to spend the next thirty minutes grumbling to himself as he aggressively scrubs the plates away. (Even when Ilya was totally planning on getting to the chore.)
Ilya truly didn't mean to get on his roommate's nerves from the start by being so incompetent, his mother raised him better than that.
But then one Tuesday morning, just a few weeks after moving in together, an empty beer can Ilya promised he'd throw away exactly 24 minutes earlier rolled towards Shane's foot, and he finally snapped.
“I've been telling you to clean up your shit for days now, and you haven't done anything,” Shane huffed, holding on to the beer can. “What's your fucking deal, Rozanov? Do I have to do everything in this dorm?”
And Ilya was supposed to feel guilty, or embarrassed, or even annoyed. He said he'd throw it away later, what the hell was this guy's problem?
But he didn't. Not when the look on Shane's face was priceless.
Nose flaring. Furrowed eyebrows. A frown on his lips. Flushed cheeks that made his freckles stand out more—god, those freckles.
So instead of apologizing, Ilya only smirks, and it definitely wasn't the reaction Shane was expecting.
“Hollander, did you bring to our dorm your gear from practice? Is like you still have stick up your ass.”
Ilya wished he could replay this moment. This exact moment where Shane's mouth dropped, forming an ‘O’, and his eyes widened ever so slightly at the remark. Yeah, definitely didn't expect this.
“You..” Shane looked around as if he could find an answer to that in Ilya's messy room. He turns, walking away. “Just throw your trash properly, it's not hard.”
Ilya lets out a chuckle, his smirk growing into a victorious grin as his door is slammed shut.
It's a thrill, really. Like an electrifying shiver down Ilya's spine when he finally makes Shane snap and curse at him over uncleaned tables or a messy shared couch. It was such a drastic difference from the Shane Hollander that everyone knows.
The Shane Hollander everyone is familiar with is quiet. Calm. The mediator, for he was the alternate captain during his time on the ice. He didn't have to speak much, not when he had the highest hockey IQ and was arguably the second best player—first being Ilya, the captain. He let his skills do the talking. Shane was even often described as robotic by his fellow teammates, a guy who has a puck in his chest instead of a heart.
It was the same off the ice. He diligently goes to his classes and not only listens, but raises his hand to recite a lot. He made sure to always bring his things he deemed as necessities, some being color coded highlighters, different notebooks for each subject, and a separate planner that was filled each day with details about practices, lunch with his parents, working out at the gym and deadlines. It was disgusting, but also unsurprising how much the professors and most of the students fawn over him.
So to see him lose his demeanor and act like he had actual feelings? Ilya would pay hundreds of money just to see that sight, and a hundred more to be the reason why Shane snapped.
Hence why he gets such a kick out of pushing Shane’s buttons—he gets to do it so easily because they’re roommates, and it’s all for free.
But Ilya’s not laughing anymore, no.
Not when those buttons have suddenly become jammed.
The past week has been hell. Not for Shane Hollander, which is how it often was, but for Ilya Rozanov.
MONDAY — 10:19 P.M.
Practice had ended late, but the deliberation afterwards with the team’s coach had ended later. Ilya was in the middle of walking back to their dorm after being pulled aside for a captain and coach one-on-one talk when he remembered.
блять. Fuck. His dirty clothes.
Shane had already scolded him about his clothes being scattered everywhere across their dorm a few days ago, a thing that’s been a normal occurrence throughout the time they’ve lived together and yet he still hasn’t gotten tired of complaining about it to Ilya over and over again. Ilya, as usual, brushed the nagging off, telling Shane that he'll get to picking them all up soon. And he really did plan on doing that.
Until he forgot to do so.
There was no helping Ilya's case, he'd already used up all of his “busy schedule” excuses for forgetting chores hundreds of times before Shane finally called him out on it not too long ago.
If Shane, who arguably has an even busier schedule could attend all hockey practices, pass his classes with soaring grades, have time for working out, meet his parents once a week for a meal while also still being able to do all his chores for their dorm on time, then Ilya could definitely do such a menial task that is picking up his clothes on the floor.
But that doesn't seem to be the case. It completely slipped his mind. A child could have easily done the job, it wouldn't take days to do so, too.
Ilya could already imagine the endless nagging he'll receive as soon as he opens the door. The thought was as annoying as it was exciting. He wonders what other creative way Shane would call him useless without actually saying the word this time. How he'd look as he tells Ilya, I've told you to clean up your clothes four days ago. Did I check you too hard for you to remember, Rozanov?
The click of the door handle echoes around the quiet dorm room. Too quiet. Ilya goes inside and drops down his bags by the door, which would normally earn him a put your bags in your room, don't leave them there because they'll block the entryway by Shane if he wasn't already nagging him by now.
He wasn't. Where is he?
Putting away his shoes and finally entering, Shane Hollander was nowhere to be found. Along with Ilya's messy clothes that were supposed to be scattered along the couch, chairs, and on the floor.
“Hollander,” Ilya said out loud. He took small, careful steps as he looked around, almost like he was sneaking in. “You are going to murder me?”
The door opens once more, and Ilya internally praises himself for not screaming in surprise. For whatever reason, he actually believed he was about to be murdered.
Going over to their entrance, Shane stood there with a basket filled with their newly washed laundry. Ilya’s laundry, mostly.
Shane blinks at Ilya, eyes then slowly dragging themselves to look down on the bags that blocked his feet from comfortably walking further into their dorm.
Ah, here it comes.
Shane shifts, shoulders rolling themselves backward so he could let the laundry basket sit more comfortably in his arms. “..Mind stepping away so I can get inside?”
Ilya blinks. What?
“What?” Ilya says this time. Shane only gives him a look before gently pushing the bags aside with his foot as he tries to enter. His attempt fails with Ilya still blocking the way.
“Move,” Shane repeats, now growing impatient. “I have to put these away.”
Ilya blinks once more, eyebrows now furrowing. Seriously, what?
It takes a few more seconds before Ilya finally steps aside, letting Shane enter. He stands there, frozen, staring as the other goes to enter his room with their laundry. Ilya doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until Shane closes his door and he could finally let out a relieved sigh.
A beat passes. Then two.
The dorm continued to be silent; Shane didn’t nag Ilya today.
Ilya pulls down his fist in triumph, grinning as he saunters his way over to his own room. Seems like he didn’t need to put those clothes away after all.
It wasn’t anything too surprising. Oftentimes, the two do their laundry together instead of separately because of similar busy schedules. It was convenient. Someone will fold and the other will just get their clothes from the finished pile since they’d already been the one that put them in the washer. Repeat procedure with alternating roles.
And sometimes, there truly were just days where someone would have to do everything. That’s just how it is, it just means one is owed a favor. It certainly has happened throughout the time they’ve been roommates.
Even though Ilya ended up not standing by his word of putting away his dirty clothes, he still went to sleep that night without an ounce of guilt in his body. After all, he heard no complaints from Shane.
The peaceful, no guilt feeling didn’t last very long.
TUESDAY — 09:42 A.M.
It was fun at first, liberating, to not be told off every few minutes. But then it started feeling.. weird.
Ilya had woken up early. Not because he wanted to, he would’ve slept until noon if it weren’t for one of his classes forcing him to pass an assignment before 10 A.M..
He’d just gotten back to their dorm, completely ignoring the dirty dishes he’d placed on the sink an hour ago when he ate breakfast. He’ll wash them later.
Ilya did not, in fact, wash them later.
For the past two hours, he’d been laying down on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he let the TV play some random hockey rerun as background noise. He doesn’t have classes for the rest of the day, so he was taking this time to catch up on rest.
Shane had classes, though. It looks like it, at least. What with all the books and stationary he has in his arms.
He comes out of his room and immediately freezes as he sees the sink. The sink filled with dirty plates and utensils. His eyes then slowly move towards the table and sees the leftover food from earlier’s breakfast. It’s cleaner than the sink, the food being put away neatly at least, but still messy enough to know that someone had just eaten.
Ilya did not notice anything until he suddenly heard the water running not too far from him.
He pulls his phone down and sees the back of his roommate washing the dishes—his dishes, the books Shane had in his arm earlier placed on the now cleaner table.
Ilya could only stare, taking in the sight of Shane silently doing his chore. Why’s he the one washing Ilya’s plates? Did he even eat? Why is he not saying anything?
“Hollander.” Ilya scrambles to stand up, walking towards the kitchen as he drops his phone on the couch. “Was gonna wash those.”
Shane continues to stay silent, staring at his soapy hands scrubbing the plates as if it were the only thing he was allowed to look at. Ilya feels his heart drop.
He looks at the table. The food he’d eaten all kept away now, and there wasn’t a crumb in sight. The only things seen on the furniture were Shane’s stack of books and class materials. He turns. “You have classes?”
“No.” Shane’s voice was scarily calm as he flicked his hands in the sink before putting away the plates in their drying rack. He dries his hands using a cloth before picking up his things and then leaving without saying another word.
Ilya was left standing there in front of the now clean sink and table, staring incredulously at where Shane had just been.
What the fuck was that?
Okay, Ilya gets it. He’s an asshole and a douchebag and actual trash reincarnated as a roommate. He doesn’t do his chores on time—ever, Shane would argue—and he brings his hookups over whenever the dorm is free.
But if Shane is mad at him because of these things then he should say it to Ilya’s face. Granted, he did try all these years, but Ilya gets to fixing his crap when finally told so anyways!
But then he gets careless and forgets the promises he’d made on finally getting his shit together two days later. (Although he technically doesn’t promise anything, because everytime Shane tries to make him do so he only makes a vague grunting noise as a response.)
боже мой. My god. Was Shane finally fed up with Ilya?
Ilya shakes his head, closing his eyes and letting out a huff before flopping back down on the couch. No, he can’t be.
He was most probably just in a bad mood. With all the time he’s spent with Shane, Ilya knows this little quirk of his where he uses cleaning as one way of distracting himself from something. There were countless times where Ilya would just wake up with the whole dorm sparkling, and then seeing Shane aggressively scrub down the bathroom floors as if the tiles had personally offended him. It was a bit scary, especially with the fact that Shane would clean in absolute silence. Ilya knew to act properly during those days.
Yes, this is just one of those days.
Ilya goes back to scrolling on his phone, liking a video of a man with black hair doing a planking till failure challenge.
TUESDAY — 05:07 P.M.
Not that Ilya noticed or anything, but by this time around, Shane would usually be seen in his room studying.
He was not in his room studying.
Ilya hadn’t left the couch since earlier, only standing up to go eat or drink something from the fridge and then laying back down. And every time he does so, his eyes would find their way glancing at the opened door of Shane's room before going back to the couch.
Empty.
He hasn't come back since earlier.
Ilya knows Shane doesn't like studying outside. Too noisy. Too many people. Too many students bringing their schoolwork at places and then pretending to study.
So Ilya knows that as soon as the clock hits four o'clock, Shane would be heard setting up his things on his desk at his room, and then a few minutes later he'd come out wearing his glasses as he tells Ilya don't be too loud. Ilya would always be too busy being taken aback at the sight of black frames resting on Shane's freckled cheeks to respond.
There wasn't any of that today. Where else could Shane be with his books and whatever else he brought earlier? Because he's definitely not studying outside.
Ilya huffs as he opens his phone to check the time. As soon as he does so, the door opens, and Ilya fights himself back from asking where Shane has been. Because they don't do that, minding each other's businesses.
Shane's eyes flicker towards Ilya sprawled lazily on the couch as he enters before heading straight to his room. A hello would've been nice, at least.
Ilya watched him enter his room and then go back out again, now carrying a stuffed backpack. Shane moved swiftly, as if he was being chased. Entering and leaving their dorm in under two minutes. Ilya couldn't even ask where he was going or what was up with the bag.
This scene was usually normal between them. If Shane wasn't busy nagging Ilya or them asking each other who's up for laundry duty, they don't usually talk to each other. Hockey stuff is reserved for when they're in practice, and small talk is basically nonexistent with the two. They're either talking about chores or bickering, usually about chores as well.
But for some weird reason, this feels different. That Shane acting like this doesn't feel like his usual attitude, and something lied underneath.
Once again, Ilya was left there, staring at nothing in particular, confused.
TUESDAY — 10:01 P.M.
Ilya still hasn't left the couch since earlier.
He'd been invited to go and hang out by his friends multiple times throughout the day, but he just couldn't find it in him to go outside.
Even for dinner, he'd just ordered greasy takeout. Shane was usually the one cooking dinner for the both of them—Ilya hates the healthy stuff Shane cooks, but if it meant not doing an extra chore, he'd gladly scarf down those vegetables.
Tonight, though, it was pizza and a big bottle of Coca-Cola for Ilya. By the time he noticed it was already past seven, he gave up on waiting for dinner and ended up just ordering. Something Shane would definitely have judged him silently for if he were here.
He was not.
It's late, where is he?
Not that Ilya was concerned about him, definitely not the reason why he hasn't moved from the couch at all when he usually spent this time getting ready for bed.
He was just thinking about what would happen with the team if the alternate captain suddenly got hurt, or ended up skipping practice because he was outside in the late hours doing god knows what. He wouldn't be able to handle the whole team by himself if Shane wasn't there. Our kids, Ilya would refer to their members whenever he talked about the team with Shane.
So, he waited. A very heavy task that Ilya pushed aside cleaning the table after eating his dinner three hours ago.
It took thirty more minutes before the door opened, revealing the man who Ilya was ready to nag. He remembers the English phrase, the tables have turned.
“Is late,” Ilya calls from the couch, staring at his phone to feign casualness. Ilya notices that Shane didn't have the backpack with him anymore, much like how he no longer carried his books and other school supplies he had when he came back earlier.
“It is,” Shane says, walking inside after putting away his shoes. He stops at seeing the state of the table.
Ilya looks up when he realizes Shane wasn't going to add on to his words. He was met with the sight of Shane putting away his leftover pizza in a container and then throwing away the now empty box, alongside the empty bottle of Coke.
He was cleaning up for Ilya again. Doing his chore in silence again.
Ilya stands up, about to help until he realizes it was already too late, the table now all clean and his leftovers already placed neatly inside the fridge. Like earlier, Shane does not say anything as he leaves Ilya alone.
In Ilya’s defense, he was going to put his trash away. It just slipped his mind when he was too occupied waiting for Shane to get back to their dorm, too busy thinking of what to say when he finally got back. But the whole thing happened so quickly, and the next thing Ilya knows, Shane was already in his room.
Ilya lets out a sigh, choosing to not overthink about whatever the hell is happening with his roommate as he makes his way to his room.
He didn’t look upset, at least. His tone all throughout the day was calm despite him only saying a few words, and he didn’t seem exasperated like he usually does whenever Ilya forgets his chores.
There is no way Shane is mad at Ilya.
WEDNESDAY — 10:10 A.M.
Shane is definitely mad at Ilya.
Ilya was leaning against their kitchen counter, biting on an apple as he scrolled on his phone. A surprising image, as Ilya barely ate anything that was good for him on his own accord. The reason why he suddenly had the urge to do so today was because he accidentally knocked an apple off from their fruit basket when he was rushing for class.
The basket that was bought by Shane because he read an article talking about food cravings. How if you see a certain food a lot, your body will start craving for it on its own. Cue Shane buying a basket and a bunch of fruit to display so they can eat healthier—though it never worked for Ilya, having the opposite effect on him in fact.
Until today.
He remembered what Shane had told him after knocking that apple off, what he told Ilya when they were buying fruit for the basket. If you’re going to keep smoking, at least eat something healthy from time to time.
Ilya remembers teasing Shane about how he actually cares about him. Shane only rolled his eyes and shook his head—fondly, if Ilya remembers correctly. Why he suddenly remembers that memory, Ilya does not know.
But well, Shane seems to be occupying his mind lately anyways.
Ilya was more than halfway done with his apple when Shane leaves his room. He was carrying his laptop, placing it down on their table for the time being so he could get something from their fridge.
“Classes?” Ilya bites on his apple, eyes staring as his roommate bends down to grab a can of ginger ale.
Shane only hums vaguely as he opens the can, closing the door of the fridge with his hip as he glances at Ilya. “Throw that away properly when you’re done. You never do when you eat fruit,” Shane takes a sip.
Ah, so he is still there.
“No,” Ilya smirked, taking another bite. “I will throw wherever I want.”
And because he wanted to push his limits even further, he made sure to chew loudly as he talked. This earns him a scowl from Shane.
Snap at me. Scold me. Say something.
“Do whatever you want,” Shane grumbled as he went to take his laptop. And if Ilya had heard him correctly, he mumbled under his breath, I won’t be here for long anyways.
The door had already closed before Ilya could truly process his words.
WEDNESDAY — 05:19 P.M.
Shane came back to their dorm and then left very quickly once again.
Much like yesterday, the things he had brought with him when he left were nowhere to be found when he returned.
Ilya assumed he stopped by for dinner, or that he was going to catch up on his afternoon studying sessions since he didn’t do it today again, or.. just something. But no, he left as soon as he came, carrying his laptop charger with him.
It’s already been hours, but Ilya can’t stop thinking about Shane’s muttered words earlier. Because what did he mean by that?
Ilya’s been scolded at least three times today for spacing out during classes. Curse the room for already being full by the time he got there so he had no choice but to sit in front.
WEDNESDAY — 08:30 P.M.
Ilya’s had enough of thinking about why Shane is acting so weird.
So, despite it already being a bit late, Ilya’s going to the gym. Nothing beats overthinking than overworking your body. He'll go do some quick workouts while blasting his gym playlist in his earphones to drown out all thoughts related to a certain freckled man.
The only problem is he’s already used most of his gymwear. But that’s alright, because he can just borrow Shanes.
They’ve borrowed each other’s stuff from time to time, but mostly Ilya from Shane. He likes how his clothes are always so soft and smells good all the time. Shane tells him he just washes it properly, but Ilya is convinced he has powers to make all his boring clothes so high quality.
It was almost like a miracle, really. When Shane had started letting Ilya borrow his things. For a guy so meticulous and careful with his things, Ilya had assumed Shane would be greedy. Not let Ilya’s dirty hands touch anything of his.
Perhaps that was another thing with Shane. He has this clear image of being this distant, reserved guy. It was easy for people to assume things. Many incorrect things, Ilya is proven each day he spends living with the man.
Ilya was rummaging through Shane’s closet to borrow something to wear for when he hits the gym—he texted him to ask if he could, though he didn’t wait for a reply to go to his room and closet anyways—when he noticed the lack of clothes inside.
That's when it all hits Ilya.
Was Shane leaving him?
The books and class materials. The packed bags. The laptop and its charger. And now, the clothes?
He's barely been at their dorm lately, too. Was he moving his things elsewhere? Was that the reason why he's also been doing Ilya's chores on his own with no complaints? Because—
It's not like I won't be here for long, anyways.
Ilya stumbles backwards, because ебать, fuck, this can't be.
Ilya had been conspiring what possible reasons there could be to explain Shane's odd behavior this past week. So many possible explanations and yet this specific scenario wasn't part of it.
Shane Hollander? Moving out? Ilya didn't even think that could be a possibility.
They've been roommates for years. They've spent longer time together than most relationships. And sure, Ilya sucks as a roommate, but Shane never got tired of him. Never got actually sick of him. He'd nag and complain but he stays anyway, because Ilya does try his best to change. Be a better roommate.
Wait, had he not been doing that lately? Actually picking up his slack and proving that he's not actually the asshole he—admittedly—painted himself to be?
Clearly not, because Shane's been the one doing everything this past week.
“черт возьми, Holy shit,” Ilya mutters.
Shane is moving out of their dorm.
THURSDAY — 07:59 A.M.
Shane Hollander is moving out. He hasn't explicitly said it, but Ilya's not dumb. All dots are connected, or however the saying goes.
He went over everything last night just to be sure, skipping his gym trip that was supposed to take his mind off Shane to instead think more about him.
It was the reason why he woke up so early, because he barely caught any sleep. But that's fine, because now he's positively sure Shane is leaving after staying up all night piecing the puzzle pieces—again, however the saying goes.
With this newfound revelation, Ilya can devise a plan to make Shane stay.
“I'm gonna go first,” Shane says, putting down his fork and snapping Ilya out of his thoughts.
Right. Him and Shane were eating breakfast together. A surprising scene.
Not because of the actual act of them eating at the same table, but because Ilya woke up early enough to catch Shane before leaving.
Well, not like he fell asleep. He was about to, but then he heard a door open outside and suddenly he was already out of his room, greeting Shane a good morning.
“Ah,” Ilya suddenly stands up before Shane could, body moving on its own. He then goes to grab Shane's plate and utensils, placing them above his. “I will wash.”
Shane blinks, frozen as he stands there. His eyebrows furrow, like the thought of Ilya volunteering to wash the dishes was such a weird concept—and it was. “What?”
Ilya was already placing down the dirty dishes on the sink. “I will wash the dishes,” He says, and he was actually being serious. As Shane leans to get a closer look, he sees Ilya's hand that was holding the sponge all soapy, and then him actually cleaning up the plates.
“What are you—”
“You have morning class, yes? Go shower, Hollander.”
Shane continues to stand there frozen, like something very weird was happening and he wasn't sure what his next course of action should be.
Ilya notices. He turns to look over his shoulder to urge him. “Go,” he says sharply, turning his head to point at the bathroom.
“Oh—uh, okay,” Shane suddenly says, like he'd just been reminded that this was real life and Ilya Rozanov was actually doing his chore without the need to be yelled at to do so. He runs on over to the bathroom, oddly feeling like he has to be in a rush due to Ilya's tone.
As Ilya finishes washing the dishes and putting them on the drying rack, he gets hit with an idea.
What if he shows Shane he can actually do his chores this time? On his own, without being needed to be reminded. Just like what he was doing right now.
Hell, he can even do all of Shane's chores. Just to show him that he can be a good roommate. And then Shane wouldn't have to leave anymore.
Yes, that is the most perfect plan, Ilya thought. He finds himself smirking smugly, nodding as he goes to his room.
“Give me your clothes.”
Shane gives Ilya a look as he dries his hair with a towel. “What?”
“Your clothes,” Ilya shifts the laundry basket filled with his dirty clothes in his arms. “I will wash them.”
Shane looks like he’s convinced someone had abducted Ilya and replaced him with a man that looks exactly like him but is more responsible.
“You will do the laundry?” Shane asks, pulling the towel down to his hands.
“You are acting like I have not done it before,” Ilya rolls his eyes. Great casual acting. “Clothes, Hollander. Give.”
It takes a moment, but Shane eventually goes to his room and comes out with his dirty laundry. He gently places it on top of the pile before pulling away. “Then, I’ll fold th—”
“No,” Ilya cuts Shane off, fixing the clothes in the basket so he’s sure none will fall out. “I will also fold.”
“What?”
Ilya doesn’t look back as he heads outside the door, carrying the laundry like it weighed nothing. “Good luck with class.”
THURSDAY — 12:07 P.M.
Ilya had just finished putting the newly washed laundry away. Shane had texted him he didn’t have to, but Ilya insisted.
His phone suddenly dings. Ah, speaking of the devil.
Ilya looks up from his phone. He was currently in Shane’s room, and he’d just placed the last t-shirt that belonged to Shane in his closet. It was the one with the patch of a white dog with black ears, the one he always wears. Hence why Ilya placed it on top of the pile.
Ilya shoves his phone in his pocket before picking up the now empty basket, standing up to leave Shane’s room when he hears the door open.
“Hollander?” Ilya calls out, stepping outside. “I already put away your clothes in that weird, boring way you like it. Don—”
“Ilya!”
Oh, fuck.
Svetlana—Ilya’s childhood friend from Russia that tagged along with enrolling in the same university as him—is standing in their dorm, grinning as she happily greets Ilya.
Well, she was grinning, until her eyes panned down to the laundry basket in Ilya’s hand. “Что ты делаешь? What are you doing?”
“Sveta,” Ilya says in a tone way that was too obvious he did not want Svetlana here. Not now, at least. “You have no classes?”
“No,” Svetlana sighs, shoulders slumping as he catches Ilya's tone. She turns, walking on over to sit on the couch after gently throwing her purse on it and then grabbing Ilya's hoodie that was slinging off on one armrest. “Thought you would be happy to see me.”
“Don't touch that, I don't like people touching my things,” Ilya snaps quickly as he sets down the laundry basket next to the couch.
Svetlana gives Ilya a look before slowly putting the hoodie back on the armrest. “Но разве это не проблема, если Шейн Холландер так поступит? But it isn't a problem if Shane Hollander does it?”
Ilya rolls his eyes and turns around to wipe down their table. This makes Svetlana even more confused. “Unbelievable,” She scoffs. “We haven't talked in almost a week and this is how you greet me?”
“I’m not in the mood to fuck you, Svetlana,” Ilya snapped back. Harsher than he intended it to be.
Svetlana was also Ilya's fuck buddy. His fuck buddy he hasn’t contacted ever since this whole thing with Shane. Ilya didn’t realize it, really. Mind too much of a mess trying to figure out his ever so complicated roommate.
Shane’s already met her before, because Svetlana would often drop by their dorm unannounced just like what she’s doing right now. And it was fine, because before everything else, she’s Ilya’s close childhood friend. And the visits are usually aligned whenever Shane goes out for some time, anyways.
Though those visits usually end with them hooking up. And Ilya knows Shane knows that’s what happens—that Svetlana drops by to hook up with Ilya. Not that they’d been caught before, but Shane would enter their dorm right when Svetlana was about to leave, and it was obvious what the two had been up to while he was away. After all, messy curls, disheveled clothes and a hickey poking out of a shoulder doesn’t leave much room for other explanations.
Wait, is that one of the reasons why Shane is upset too?
Svetlana frowns. “So just because I stopped by only means I’m here to fuck you?” She stands up, grabbing her purse. “Ты такой придурок, Илья. You're such an asshole, Ilya.”
Ilya immediately turns, grabbing her arm before she could make her way to the doorway. “No, Sveta—”
Ilya sighs, dropping down the rug he’s been using to wipe on the table. “мне жаль. I'm sorry. My mind is..” He lets his hand comb over his hair, sighing once more. “Has been a mess.”
Svetlana sizes him up before sighing too, pulling away from Ilya’s hold to cross her arms. “I know, Ilyushka. Именно поэтому я сюда и приехал. It's the reason why I came here.”
Ilya couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. Svetlana’s always had great intuition, hasn’t she? He wonders how long it would take for her to find out if Ilya ever has a secret relationship. Not too long, most probably.
“You fucked up.”
Ilya immediately straightens up on the couch, head whipping to look at Svetlana stupefied.
They’d been talking for almost an hour now, Ilya sharing everything that has happened starting Monday. He hoped Svetlana would help him, or at least offer some comfort, but Ilya should’ve seen this coming.
“What?” She laughed, finding Ilya’s reaction all too entertaining. “Don’t look at me like that. Ты уже давно ведёшь себя как придурок, и тебя удивляет, что Шейн так себя ведёт?” You've been acting like a dick for ages and you're surprised Shane acts like this?"
Ilya groans, slumping sideways as he rests his head on Svetlana’s shoulder. “Ну и что мне теперь делать? Он уходит из нашего общежития." Well what the fuck do I do now? He's leaving our dorm.”
“Думаю, вам стоит продолжать делать то, что вы делаете сейчас. I don't know, keep doing what you're doing right now I guess." Svetlana sighs, letting her hand play absentmindedly with Ilya’s hair after resting her arm on the back of the couch. “Что еще вам остается делать? What else can you do?”
Ilya frowns, huffing frustratingly. Curse Shane Hollander. Curse him and his eccentricity (albeit being annoyingly endearing at times) and for making Ilya act like this.
Ilya then suddenly stands up, straightening his posture and grabbing the hoodie that hung off the armrest—the same one Svetlana tried to get earlier.
“Куда ты идешь? Where are you going?” Svetlana asks, raising her hand that was just on Ilya’s head.
“Grocery,” Ilya says gruffly, wearing his hoodie and walking off to his room to grab his phone and wallet. “я приготовлю ужин. I will make dinner.”
Svetlana stands up with her purse once Ilya comes back from his room. “Удачи, красавчик. Good luck, handsome,” She hums, kissing Ilya on the cheek. “Try not to get on Shane’s nerves even more, I won’t let you in my place if he changes his mind and kicks you out instead.”
Ilya shakes his head fondly, a small smirk on his face as he watches Svetlana leave while swinging her purse. He writes down a mental note about treating her to something later this week, as an apology for being an asshole earlier and to thank her for listening like the amazing friend Ilya’s always known her to be. And also to thank her in advance because Ilya has the feeling that he actually will start crashing over at hers after Shane has truly changed his mind, kicking him out instead.
THURSDAY — 01:27 P.M.
After searching up healthy dinner for hockey players and scrolling for god knows how long, Ilya finds himself in a grocery store with one hand holding his list of ingredients and the other a shopping basket. He tries not to think about how he’s actually here, buying stuff to cook for him—and mostly for Shane—for dinner later, and not sitting in a classroom listening to his boring professor talk about some topic for a lecture he’s supposed to be in.
Ilya knows how to cook. It may not look like it, because of his history of being such an irresponsible roommate, but he does. Like with their other chores, they take turns. Though whenever Ilya cooks, he usually creates a dish opposite of what Shane does, that is food that usually has little to no nutritional value.
Ilya tells Shane he’ll thank him for making him eat such meals—You need fats and sugar in your body from time to time, Hollander, or else you’ll die because you eat too much like rabbit—but really, Ilya just doesn’t want to eat more vegetables than he has to.
This time, though, Ilya's cooking something healthy. After all, this meal is for Shane. And he knows how strict he gets when it comes to his food.
For tonight's dinner, he settles on something safe, something he's seen Shane eat before. That was another thing with him, about how he doesn't like sudden change or new things in general.
Ilya recalls a moment where he had to get up earlier than usual because his professor moved their lecture in the morning. Something about an emergency and how he has to leave in the afternoon.
Getting out of the shower at six in the morning, Ilya was met with a frowning Shane as soon as he opened the door. And this wasn't his usual, cute pouting one. He seemed genuinely upset.
“I was gonna shower first,” He muttered. Sure enough, Ilya's eyes pan down to his hands and sees Shane holding his towel and clothes.
Ilya looks back up at him, one hand roughly drying his hair. A habit he'd soon come to stop after Shane called him out on it and told him how he was damaging his curls. “Ah, I did not know. Are you late now?”
Shane's mouth opens and then closes a second later. He presses his lips together before speaking again. “I wanted to go shower, but you got to it first. You never do.”
Ilya does not follow. He blinks at Shane, clearly confused.
“I always shower first,” Shane huffs. “What are you even doing awake? You don't have classes this early.”
Ilya tries not to think too much about Shane being familiar with his schedule to notice. “Hollander, you are upset because I made you late?”
Shane purses his lips once more. “I'm not late, but you—you made me wait, when this is usually the time I take my showers. You were already in the bathroom when I was about to go inside.”
“I always shower first,” Shane repeats when he notices Ilya wasn't picking up anything that was being said again. “You shower second.”
“But the bathroom was free, and you did not tell me you wanted to shower.” Ilya’s eyebrows furrowed slightly now, trying to make sense of what was being said.
“But you know I always shower during this time and—” Shane cuts himself off with a sigh, clearly frustrated. “Nevermind,” He mumbled, going inside the bathroom and slamming it shut.
Despite being left dumbfounded, Ilya always made sure he's seen Shane shower first before he does ever since that day.
Finally finding the frozen meat area, Ilya grabs a pack of chicken breast and places it in his basket. He goes to the fruits and vegetables aisles and picks out the ones from his list. He then moves on to his ingredients for his marinade, ticking each one off on his phone as he places them in his basket. Ilya tells himself he'd done this grilled chicken and vegetables dish a bunch of times already, but something about how he's making it for Shane adds a heavy amount of pressure on his shoulders.
Ilya leaves with a paper bag filled with his ingredients, his grocery list all checked out, and a sticky note that had the cashier's number written on it in his back pocket.
He didn't even notice the worker blatantly flirting with him, too busy double checking just to be sure he got everything when the note was slid on over to him. He stuffed it in his pocket when he finally saw it before quickly going back on his phone to text Shane.
THURSDAY — 06:28 P.M.
The smell of grilled chicken partnered with vegetables filled the dorm room, and it smelled good. So good Ilya was almost convinced for a moment to start cooking healthy dishes like this regularly. Keyword almost.
Ilya makes sure to plate everything nicely, table all clean and set up for the both of them. He even makes sure to only pull out the ginger ale now from the fridge, so by the time Shane arrives, the temperature of the drink would be just right.
The door opens right when Ilya had just put his apron away, the pink and frilly kiss the chef one he'd specifically bought to tease Shane when he was told to buy an apron for the both of them.
“Ah, Hollander,” Ilya greets, watching as Shane enters their dorm, clearly confused. It was hard not to immediately smell the food, even harder to not spot the table topped with their meal. “You are just in time.”
“You made dinner?” Shane asks, walking towards Ilya but not sitting just yet. Ilya takes notice of Shane carrying only his phone despite him being out all day.
“Yes, I am not five year old, I know how to cook.” Ilya points to a chair—Shane's usual chair—with his hand. “Sit.”
And Shane does.
Ilya follows, and it was clear that Shane was still a bit confused. He has this look on his face, the one of many Ilya gets to see everyday he practically memorized it. The look of being alert, a million thoughts in his mind as he feels that something is wrong and he should be ready to either fight or run away.
“You cooked.. chicken. With vegetables,” Shane muttered, eyes staring at the food like it was about to grow legs and stand up.
“I know what I cooked, Hollander.” Ilya grabs a plate and his utensils, already grabbing a piece for himself. Acting like this was all too normal, like him not only volunteering to cook dinner, but also creating something healthy, was normal.
Shane watches Ilya before hesitantly reaching to grab some food for him as well. Only when he was in the middle of his third bite did he realize. “Wait, is this why you wanted me to come back early?”
Ilya chewed as he answered. “Did not want dinner to get cold by the time you arrive.”
Shane visibly stops himself from scolding Ilya as he talks with his mouth full. He stares at him before slowly nodding, taking a sip from his ginger ale.
Ilya's visibly satisfied with how his plan went, even making Shane ask what he was so smug about because he was smirking to himself.
Nothing, Ilya says. He watched as Shane ate, watched as his eyes widen ever so slightly each time he took a bite off the chicken, his body's usual reaction when he truly likes his meal. Watched as he finished eating with nothing left on his plate. Nothing at all.
THURSDAY — 06:56 P.M.
Ilya quickly stands up from the table before Shane could. He grabs their dirty plates and utensils, and the scene was all too familiar. “I will wash.”
“Rozanov—”
“And I will also clean,” Ilya cuts Shane off, already making his way to place their dishes in the sink. Shane could not even reply anymore, the harsh sound of the water running and Ilya's scrubbing too loud.
Despite Ilya being turned around, he could sense that Shane was still there. Standing, staring at his back. And he could easily name the look he bets Shane has on his face.
That usual look he has when he's trying to figure something or someone out. He stays perfectly still, not even crossing his arms or anything as he lets his hands hang to his side. His eyebrows are knitted, and there's a frown on his face. His eyes are narrowed, squinting, as if he could figure out the answer if he stares hard enough.
He doesn't, of course. He usually does when it comes to hockey plays whenever he watches reruns, but he usually fails when it comes to people. Even more so if it's Ilya.
Ilya smirks, continuing to scrub the plates.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Ilya could hear a frustrated huff behind him, and then footsteps that suggested walking away right after. Right on cue.
Ilya finishes around thirty minutes later. Every used plate is clean, and the table was spotless. There were barely any leftovers, but even then those are stocked away neatly in air-tight containers in their fridge.
For once, Ilya does not feel like he was a prisoner that was threatened and forced by the police after doing his chore. He feels oddly content, pleased with himself.
FRIDAY — 08:42 A.M.
“Rozanov, let me—”
“Go shower, Hollander. You will be late.”
Shane frowns as he stands there, watching Ilya do the dishes again.
They'd just finished eating breakfast together, and Ilya cooked their food once more. Another healthy dish.
He had woken up way early just to do all these again, and yet Ilya couldn't find it in himself to say he regrets it.
“No, let me—”
“Hollander,” Ilya firmly says, turning his head to look at Shane. “If you do not move now, you will be late to your next class. And then you will return home all pissy because you have been scolded for being late despite being best student—”
“I never said I was the best student.”
“—and you will spend rest of the day grumbling.” Ilya pauses for a second before he continues. “Go.”
And how could Shane say no to that? Not when Ilya's words leave no room for arguments. He sighs before retreating backwards, going away to do as told and finally shower.
By the time Shane leaves the bathroom, Ilya was no longer at the sink. The plates were now all clean of course, meaning Ilya did not just leave his chore midway.
Instead he was seen tying a big black trash bag and then carrying it through the knot. He walks past Shane, making sure he gets it as far as possible because Shane hates it whenever the trash bag touches him.
“What are you doing?” Shane asks, confusion evident on his face once more. He could only watch Ilya pass by, the man moving too fast for him to do anything.
“Taking out trash,” Ilya answers, already putting on his shoes and then opening the door to leave. “Do not lock the door when you leave.”
The door slams shut, and Ilya gets at least three passerbys to comment about how he was the one taking the trash out today and not Shane.
FRIDAY — 07:41 P.M.
The annoying loud sound of a vacuum being used immediately makes Shane's face cringe as soon as he enters the dorm.
It was late. Not very, but late for someone to be cleaning the living room like it was time for spring cleaning.
Ilya doesn't notice Shane entering, of course. Not when the vacuum was so loud it blocked out the noise of their door opening and closing. Only does he realize when Shane unplugs the device, the dorm falling into immediate silence as the noise whirrs down.
“Wh—”
“Rozanov, what the fuck is going on with you?” Shane spits out, plug in his hand. “Are you seriously vacuuming in the middle of the night?”
Ilya straightens up at that. It's been a while since he's been scolded like this, and frankly, he doesn't know how to act. “The living room is messy. And I—”
“No, stop that.” Shane exhales sharply, pulling up a hand to hold his forehead. “You—you've been acting weirdly these past few days. Is something going on?”
Well, so much for his plan.
“First the laundry, and—and then there's the dishes and the food," Shane continues, hand on his forehead now waving around as he listed. “Seriously, what is going on?”
“You act like I've never done these before,” Ilya couldn't help but answer back, frowning.
“You haven't!” Shane's voice grows loud at that. It was obvious he didn't mean to. He forces himself to calm down, despite his hand gripping on tightly to the vacuum's plug like it was a lifeline. “Not as often as this, at least. Rozanov—you would rather die than cook something healthy on your own.”
“You are being dramatic.”
“Rozanov,” Shane says, and Ilya knows that tone. It only ever comes out when Shane's truly upset, like that time with the beer can. Ilya considers going on his knees and begging for forgiveness for a split second as soon as he hears it. “Do you have something to tell me?”
Ilya mutters before he could think properly. “Should be the one asking you that.”
“What was that?”
"I should be the one asking you that!"
Ilya hates how he sees Shane flinch as soon as his words slip out his mouth more aggressively than he meant to.
"What?"
“You! You are the one who has something to tell me!” Ilya should stop. Stop right now before he could continue embarrassing himself by saying things he absolutely should not say.
“What are you—”
“Hollander, I know you are leaving me.”
The room falls into silence, the two of them stunned. Shane by the directness, and Ilya by his own words.
"What?" And this time, Shane asks louder.
“You think I am stupid,” Ilya accuses. He can feel his breathing growing ragged as he inhales and exhales sharply while talking. “You think I do not notice. Do not notice you moving your things away, you doing my chores.”
“I always do your chores—”
“You know what I mean, Hollander,” Ilya snaps, each syllable spoken belligerently. “You leave in the morning with your things and you come back late at night without them. You always study in your room in the afternoon but this week you have not been. You always nag me for not washing my plates or putting my dirty underwear away properly but this week you do not say anything.”
Ilya could feel himself losing control with each word he says, all of them spilling out and he seriously does not mean to. Because now it was all too obvious.
He missed Shane.
Missed hearing him get ready in the morning outside of Ilya's room. Missed him immediately calling out to Ilya from one side of the dorm to leave as soon as he smelled the familiar scent of a lit cigarette. Missed being told to quiet down because Shane was busy studying and Ilya was too busy getting upset over an online game on his phone and his shouting could be heard. Missed being lectured about the importance of all the different steps he does when it comes to laundry despite Ilya only remembering there should only be around five. Missed being forced to eat Shane's healthy cooking and being told to be grateful because him and the meals he makes are Ilya's only source of nutrition in his life. Missed being told to come home at a decent hour and not party out too long, not because he cares about Ilya, definitely not. But because he's a light sleeper and gets easily woken up, and how they have practice the next day so he shouldn't stay out too long. Missed coming back from classes to see Shane busy watching a past game of theirs on the TV and immediately telling Ilya to sit next to him so he can talk about their next strategy and Ilya follows anyways despite being tired because how could he say no with Shane looking so serious?
Ilya wishes he could say all this to Shane. He also makes a promise to himself to never say all this to Shane.
“You are leaving and you are too much of a coward to say it to my face.” Ilya tries not to sound so weak as he says that. He fails, his voice faltering at the last second.
It truly does not help that Shane looks so caught.
Shane presses his lips, taking his time to inhale and then exhale a few seconds later. The next time he speaks, his voice has gone softer.
“I didn't think you'd notice.”
Ilya's heart immediately drops at that. He tries to not sound bitter as he speaks. He fails once more. “So it is true, then? You are leaving?”
“No, I—” Shane lets out a sigh. “Well, yes, but I was planning on telling you soon, anyway.”
Ilya does not know which part he should be more angry about. If it's Shane actually leaving, or Shane not bothering to tell him as soon as possible.
As if Shane could see the immediate panic going on inside Ilya's mind, he scrambles to add. “But I'm not leaving permanently. I was just—okay, Hayden's on vacation right now, right? But he was stupid and accidentally forgot to cancel his payment for his dorm and then he called me and asked if I could stay at his place for a bit so the payment doesn't go to waste and..” Shane trails off, and Ilya, once again, could name that exact expression on his face. It was the one where he felt embarrassed because he feels that he is rambling too much and is not making sense.
“I'm basically dorm-sitting Hayden's place, okay? Only for a few weeks or—I don't know, how long he decides to go on his little honeymoon with Jackie.”
Ilya only stares at Shane silently.
“So this is Pike's fault.”
Shane lets out an exasperated sigh. “Rozanov, no—”
Whatever Shane says next, it doesn't enter Ilya's ears anymore. Because he already got the confirmation he needed.
Shane Hollander was not moving out.
And черт возьми дерьмо, holy fucking shit, if Ilya could not jump up and down in joy at that.
“So you are not changing dorms,” Ilya cuts Shane off mid ramble.
“No, I'm not,” Shane sighed, and if Ilya knew anything about Shane Hollander, he sighed out his words more fondly than usual. Shane's eyes flicker from the ground to Ilya, the edge of his lips tugging upwards ever so slightly. “Were you scared no one's gonna do your chores anymore?”
Ilya was scared Shane was leaving him just like everyone did in his life.
“Yes,” Ilya shrugged, walking closer to Shane to take the vacuum's plug from him. “Now I can go back to leaving my trash everywhere.”
Shane looks at Ilya who doesn't leave despite the plug already being in his hand. “Asshole.”
“You missed me.”
“Mm,” Shane turns away. “Debatable.”
[BONUS!] WEDNESDAY — 9:10 P.M.
It's become a routine now, really. Shane leaves early in the morning and then comes back late in the night.
Except this time, Ilya doesn't hurt his head panicking about what Shane could be doing. Shane also no longer hides the fact that he's moving his things at Hayden's place.
Not that he ever was before, but this time, he tells it to Ilya. Tells him about how the bag he was carrying this time was filled with more clothes, or the reason why he had the vacuum in his hand is because Hayden doesn't have one at his place and he'd like to clean up a bit.
That was another thing that had gone back to normal. They've started speaking to each other again, Shane saying more things instead of giving Ilya the silent treatment like he did last week.
But if Ilya were to take notice of something, he'd definitely mention how they'd started speaking to each other a lot more. More than they'd normally do. Which is quite funny, because they barely spend any time together now that Shane was dorm-sitting. It was almost as if they were catching up and letting all the conversations they want to have play throughout the early morning and late at night, like a long distance relationship despite Shane only being another building away.
Their conversations weren't exactly anything exciting, though. And yet they spend almost hours talking still.
There was a squirrel outside Hayden's window.
Have you tried the coffee from café near the entrance? Is pretty good.
Everyone was sleeping during class today, I think it's because someone threw a party last night and they all came.
I saw what Pike was wearing on his vacation, I think Jackie has been blinded by witchcraft.
We should try out this dish my mom made for dinner later, I'll stop by the grocery store.
And now, as soon as Shane enters their dorm, Ilya once again doesn't hesitate to strike up another conversation.
“Hollander, I noticed something,” He casually quips from the couch. He was watching another hockey rerun on the TV, and judging by his words and the way he seemed to be very focused, Shane thought this was gonna be hockey talk.
Shane puts his shoes away and sets his bags on the side of the couch before sitting down a good distance between him and Ilya. He lets his eyes glue to the screen, trying to figure out what Ilya noticed. “What is it?”
“You are sitting at Pike's dorm, yes?”
“That's not what dorm-sitting means, Rozanov,” Shane turns to look at Ilya once he realizes this was not hockey talk. “But yes, I am staying over at his place. What about it?”
Ilya continues to look at the TV, like hockey was far more interesting than Shane sitting next to him within arm's reach. “But you always come back home at night.”
Shane doesn't reply immediately, and Ilya knows he's trying to process what is trying to be said here. He nods slowly. “.. Yes, I do.”
After a moment, Ilya finally looks away from the TV, now facing Shane. “You can sleep at Pike's dorm if you'd like, but every night you always come back.”
And Ilya notices the exact moment it clicks for Shane. “Oh.”
He turns away, and Ilya resists the urge to gently touch Shane's ear that was growing red. “Well, yeah, I do. I like my bed here better, so.”
“Every dorm has same bed, Hollander.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “I know that, but..”
Ilya lets Shane take his time answering. He'd come to love the short five to ten seconds Shane takes whenever he seriously thinks about what he's gonna say next whenever they talk. It gives Ilya time to shamelessly gaze over every feature Shane has.
“I just..” Shane shrugged, exhaling. “I just like it better here.”
Ilya smirks, now going back to watching the TV. “Then stay here with me.”
“What?”
And Ilya doesn't have to look to know that Shane is confused with his words. Ilya continued, making sure his voice remained casual. “Stay. With me—at ours. You said so, you like it better here.”
“Yeah, but Hayden—”
“Who cares about Pike?” And finally, Ilya turns to look at Shane, who becomes more and more flustered the more words come out of Ilya’s mouth. “Stay.”
And the look on Shane's face was, once again, one that Ilya knew all too well. The face that shows he was clearly holding back, restraining himself even if it was obvious he wanted to just give in.
Shane looks away. “Hayden's money will go to waste.”
“All of Pike's money and furniture could be stolen and I would still not give a shit about him, Hollander.”
Shane lets out a huff, and Ilya knows he's smirking even if he tries not to. Ilya always liked how Shane was secretly entertained by all the different ways Ilya insults his best friend. “All of my things are already there.”
“Then I will help you move them back.”
Shane doesn't answer, the only thing that could be heard in the dorm being the faint voices of the commentators coming from the hockey rerun on the TV.
Ilya turns away, shifting slightly as he moves closer to Shane. It was barely noticeable, though. And he had his arms crossed. The perfect image of being casual.
“I'll talk to Hayden,” Shane finally says. It wasn't a direct yes, but with the way Ilya felt the area of the couch near his leg sink and how he could feel Shane's presence closer than earlier, it might as well be.