Chapter Text
The first time Ilya saw Shane Hollander, he was in his element. A last-minute goal had been the saving grace during one of the final college league Cup qualifiers, allowing their average-on-a-good-day team to finally finish a season in the upper half of the points table. The young man looked drenched and beaten, but the smile plastered across his face as he embraced his teammates in one giant huddle told Ilya all he needed to know. Shane Hollander was really making a name for himself, and he was exactly where he wanted to be.
North American universities absolutely loved their sports, and UOttawa was no exception. The seats were almost completely full of students from all disciplines, gathered to watch their pride-and-joy team try to make some history. The feeling was electric, the noise levels quickly reaching deafening levels, and young men started banging on the backs of chairs and hollering loud enough to be heard across the rink. Ilya loved the vibe; it was totally different from how the sport was treated back home. Winning was expected, so celebrations were never usually in order.
Although Ilya had long since fallen out of love with the sport, he still found himself spending his free nights watching them play, or, if he was really bored or needed a change of scenery, watching them practice. The environment seemed to bring him comfort, a nostalgia that wasn’t haunted by bad memories. He had no desire to join them, that chapter closing along with the lid of his mother's casket, but he did enjoy the proximity and the energy, and it helped that Sveta would take any excuse to watch a game, especially one that didn’t cost a hundred dollars or more for a decent seat.
Sveta was clapping and hollering along with the rest of the supporters. The prospect of having a winning team, a fire that had dwindled into glowing ashes, was reignited once more with this win. She always loved supporting underdog teams. Ilya knew from the abundance of strategy and analysis talks they had had that Svetlana Vetrova valued talent over notoriety.
Ilya? Well, he valued Shane Hollander. Watching him play reminded him that hockey was not all bad and that it was nice to see someone deserving of success seem to inch closer towards it. Though Ilya would never admit it out loud, he enjoyed watching Hollander play more than anyone else on the team.
“He has so much potential, don’t you think?” Sveta mused to him, not once taking her eyes off the crowd of players celebrating.
Ilya hummed. He knew exactly who she was talking about, since she always mentioned him in the best kind of light. “Hollander? Yes, could maybe even play semi-pro if he fixes that backhand.”
At that, Sveta fixes him with a knowing look. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, my dear?”
There was a part of him that thought that perhaps she was right, but he tucked that thought away quickly. Hollander was talented and, as far as Ilya was concerned, quite successful in both athletics and academics. Ilya knew that Shane was in the same Introduction to Human Physiology class during the first semester, and he repeatedly saw the man score higher on every class test than Ilya and his rusty English could hope for. Okay, maybe he did feel a hint of jealousy, but it was overshadowed by his own ego, which could never confess to such a thing.
“Me? No. I’m serious. He will make a great tier one coach one day,” Ilya couldn’t help but smirk at his own statement.
His snark was met with an eye roll before she continued her celebration, but Ilya could tell that Sveta knew he thought that Hollander was talented, even if he refused to say it out loud.
Folding his arms, Ilya leaned back and really took in the scene. A lot of students, especially those within the athletics union, were present tonight, and everyone was eagerly chatting or cheering as the crowds began to slowly filter out from the cramped arena seating. There were others from the team who were grouped together, heading towards what Ilya presumed was the locker room, whilst some were discussing things with their coach.
Hollander was talking to another player, Pike. Their conversation was comfortable, punctuated by said player slinging an arm over Hollander’s shoulders to steer him towards the gate. He was sure Hollander was happy, the team’s golden boy inching them ever closer to a victory that could potentially interest the right people.
But Ilya couldn’t help but notice the look of … trepidation that Hollander had. Something which was unusual to see. Ilya had spent enough time watching the man play to know exactly what kind of expressions he would wear, and this one was definitely new.
In hindsight, it would make sense as to why Hollander looked almost frightened as he left the ice that night. Ilya explained away the expression with the upcoming semester final exams that were looming, or even the heavy weight being placed upon Hollander’s shoulders now that they had made the playoffs. But none of those excuses could even touch upon the real reasoning.
Because that game ended up being Shane Hollander’s last.
It wasn’t unusual for someone to miss one class or practice session; university students were not immortal beings immune to illness, especially given the close proximity and poor diet. It was inevitable that someone got sick. But Hollander was a notorious stickler for practice, so much like the rest of the team, Ilya expected him to show up that night. He took his usual seat at the back of the bench, notebook in hand, as he reviewed his cell biology notes for the upcoming exam. Occasionally, he would peer up to see what the players were doing, drills or practicing passes, some even working on footwork. But after a good half an hour, Ilya realized that their captain wasn’t present, which was most unusual.
On alternating days, Ilya would usually see Shane at the community gym. They never interacted, of course, Shane seemed to focus a lot more on conditioning exercises, whilst Ilya was just trying to lift heavy shit in the weight room. But they occasionally would make eye contact and give each other a knowing nod as they passed like ships in the night in the locker room. But this entire week, Ilya had been disappointed to find that Shane had not once been at the gym at the same time as him. Another alarm triggered in his mind.
It became hot gossip amongst the athletics union, and, by proxy, the rest of the students at UOttawa. Hollander had missed a practice, then two, then he ended up missing a whole game. Some said he’d cracked under pressure; others countered that he was saving his energy for later games in the playoffs. Ilya wasn’t really sure what to believe, but he heard about it all from Sveta and the guy with whom he shared a dorm kitchen, named Cliff.
“It’s weird, man, that guy was so anal about never missing a single sesh, but now he’s like barely there, people haven’t even seen him in the gym,” Cliff had said, rather dramatically too, as he tossed yet another coffee crisp pop into his mouth.
Ilya shouldn’t really have cared about it; he didn’t even really know Hollander, and quite frankly, it was none of his business. But he couldn’t help but feel curious as to why the college star player had suddenly vanished from the earth, even going so far as to miss some of his compulsory classes. Not that Ilya was paying that much attention, it was just that he had noticed that Shane hadn’t sat in his usual front row spot of the large new auditorium in the life sciences building, just like he usually would. For someone as studious as Shane, missing just one class was noticeable, but to miss two, including a review session before the final unit exam, was practically impossible to comprehend.
In the end, the team lost the next few games, and with it the dream of bringing the glory home. Shane was nowhere to be seen during the last game, not even on the bench. The more he thought about it, the stranger the situation became. To Sveta, he pretended to be disappointed by the loss, but deep down, he knew he was disappointed that he didn’t get to see and feel the energy of a good player doing what they do best: dominating the game.
An even smaller sliver within himself just missed seeing Hollander altogether. The man was not bad to look at by any means, and he enjoyed the way he captained his team, with a gentle, knowing hand rather than brute force. It spoke volumes about Hollander’s character, a popular player who had never had a bad word spoken about him, not even bad rumours.
He was on track to greatness, potentially even being drafted. So why would he disappear so suddenly?
Ilya just had to know.
Winter break had been exactly as boring as Ilya had anticipated, especially since he had not made the long journey back east for the Christmas season. He had told his father some half-assed excuse about extra-credit assignments he needed to complete, and Papa had, of course, bought it, probably thrilled not to have to shell out a small fortune to fly his youngest son home. He had transferred a few hundred dollars to Ilya and told him to try to buy himself something half-decent for Christmas dinner, though he made snide comments about the state of North American food. Ilya couldn’t fault him for that, saying his thanks and ending the call as swiftly as he could.
He spent some of his free time partying, mostly hanging out with the other international students who didn’t go home for the holidays. It was fun, for the most part, but when he would wake up alone, feeling shitty and hungover, it began to suck. There were no extra-credit assignments for him to even do, so he mostly just read, switching between Russian and English books as he tucked away in the corner of some cafe near campus with a half-decent brew and comfortable seating.
He’d selected his classes for this semester before the start of the year, so he knew what to anticipate. Right now, he was trying to decide whether to push to complete pre-med courses or veer off into sports medicine or physiotherapy. He knew which one his father wanted him to do, but he was tired of doing what the old man wanted. There was still time for him to decide, though, as most of the pre-med courses overlapped with the prerequisites for physiotherapy, anyway.
Hence, human genetics.
The class was in the same auditorium hall as the Introduction to Human Physiology class, so Ilya was content in knowing that his previous seat would suffice. He was probably actually going to have to pay attention to this one, since it stretched further than his high-school level knowledge of genetics with the stupid pea plants, and he needed to get a decent grade in the off chance that he decided to go down the pre-med route. So he packed well: laptop, pen, and a fresh notebook for scribbling, Gatorade, and his phone on do not disturb until further notice.
The last class had had enough space that most people did not have to sit right next to each other; he was pretty sure it would be the same this time.
Or, he was sure until Shane Hollander walked in, pointedly walked past his usual, unofficial seat and quietly took one of the seats on the same row as Ilya, just one empty seat left between them. Ilya was a little bit star-struck. He hadn’t seen Hollander since that fateful game last semester, where he made that awesome last-minute goal and then ghosted everyone. So, to be so close to him was surprising, to say the least. It was like seeing a dog walk around on its hind legs.
Ilya did not interact with him directly, though. Except to pass the attendance sheet to Shane, who took it from him with a gentle thanks. But that did not stop Ilya from stealing more than a few glances at the man as he furrowed his eyebrows and took notes like crazy.
He couldn’t help it; Hollander seemed as focused on this class as he was on his hockey, which was an insane statement to make given that the other had totally ditched his hockey with no reasoning. There must have been a reason; there was no way that Hollander would just give it up for nothing. The not knowing was killing Ilya; he was enjoying his time, living his hockey life vicariously through Hollander, and it almost felt as if he were owed an explanation, even though it was really none of his business.
He hoped that the other had not noticed his staring, as he realized he was doing it a lot when he saw Hollander skip through two slides on the different components of DNA. shaking his head as it would physically shake Hollander out of his brain, he hunched over to catch up as fast as he could while still keeping his cursive legible.
When class was over, most people booked it out as fast as they could, but whilst Ilya was saving his files to the right folder, he saw Hollander stay put. He didn't want to stare, nor try to start a conversation, but he did notice the way that Hollander seemed to make pained noises as he leaned to pull up his backpack, knocking his half-open pencil case onto the auditorium floor in the process.
“Ah, fuck,”
Ilya couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. In all of the times he had watched the Sabretooths play, he had not once heard Shane Hollander swear, not even at his most frustrated. It was almost alien to hear those words come from his mouth.
Shane didn’t even make an effort to try to grab his stuff; he just sighed and stretched his back. Ilya could see the wincing expression once more.
Was Hollander injured?
Effortlessly, Ilya leaned over to swat at the loose pens and pencils before grabbing the case and closing it all up, handing it over to Shane like it was nothing. Hollander received it gently; perhaps he perceived Ilya’s act as an offering or an opening.
An olive branch.
“Thanks, I was uh, definitely going to struggle for that one.” Shane sheepishly placed the case back into the bag before zipping it tight.
Ilya watched the action closely, trying to decipher what kind of injury would force Hollander out. “Is nothing, you good?”
Ilya watched as Shane swallowed, nervously, it seemed. The other man seemed to view the question open-endedly, just as Ilya hoped. Maybe Ilya’s curiosity would be cured once and for all with a quick explanation.
“Yep, all good, thanks,” he nodded, slowly standing before giving Ilya a small wave and heading in the direction of the door, walking almost normally. Almost.
The interaction plagued Ilya for the rest of the afternoon, before petering off in the evening. Sveta had texted him some bullshit gossip about another international student that had overtaken his interest, so he had ended up on a call to her whilst he did random odd-jobs around his dorm, tidying up and such. They conversed in Russian, something which brought Ilya a lot of comfort. He folded clothes as he listened to Sveta rant about a particular point, neatly balancing them on the empty bed on the other side of the dorm, which had become his unofficial organizing space.
He had been lucky, really. A lot of international students ended up rooming alone, usually because if you could afford to go to school abroad, you could afford a single occupancy dorm. Ilya’s room was nice; it was one of the larger double rooms, with a private bathroom and beds that were obscured by large desks, creating the illusion of privacy. Ilya’s original roommate had dropped out fairly quickly, and they were never replaced, so he was lucky to have had the whole place to himself, which was fantastic for his sex life.
Midway through the call, he checked his school email because he was expecting a list of possible project titles for the genetics class and wanted to stake his claim early. As he reloaded the page, he noticed a new email.
BCC: [email protected]
Subject: Human Genetics assignments
Dear Class,
Attached, you will find a list of pairings for the upcoming genetics and inheritance project for this semester. This project will feature a written research component and a lab to collect data. It is important that you read the rubric and attend all of the mandatory lab classes, as this project will be worth 40% of your final grade.
I have also included a reading list so that you will be well acquainted with the source material.
Looking forward to seeing you all on Thursday morning.
Professor Maiden
At that point, Ilya stopped reading. Group work was the absolute bane of his existence, and he totally missed the professor mentioning this in the earlier lecture, probably too distracted by Shane Hollander’s stupid, adorable eyebrows scrunching up as he made notes. “Blyat…”
Sveta stopped mid-sentence. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed. “Nothing, just some group work I have to do.”
“Ugh, I hate that. Why do they always do that? I always end up with the laziest people, too. Who is in your group?”
“I’m just looking now, I swear to God if it is some fucking- oh.”
There were a few moments of silence before Sveta spoke once more, “Ilya?”
Ilya closed the PDF before opening it once more, like he had imagined what he had seen.
“Ilya, is it that bad? You could probably ask for a swap-”
“No, no, not bad. Opposite. Very fucking good, actually.” his last words echoed with a laugh.
Sveta practically purred on the other end of the line. “Is it Rose Landry? She got a full hundred percent in the physiology class.”
Ilya even shook his head. “No, it’s Shane fucking Hollander.” his shocked reaction was genuine. Shane had a way better command of the English language than Ilya did, and, quite frankly, the guy was a responsible genius; being paired with him was comparable to winning the draft lottery.
It also gave him an amazing opportunity to satisfy his curiosity, one he would be stupid to pass up.