Chapter Text
September 16, 2025
Stanford University
Northern California
Shane Hollander had made a terrible mistake.
At least that was what his brain told him while he stood in front of Florence Moore Hall with one giant suitcase, one backpack, one yoga mat hanging awkwardly from his shoulder, and enough anxiety inside his chest to power the entire state of California.
The California sun was too bright.
The palm trees were too tall.
The students were too loud.
And Stanford University looked less like a school and more like the kind of place rich superheroes secretly trained before saving the world.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “You are fine. Totally fine.”
A group of students walked past him laughing.
One of them looked at him.
Shane immediately looked away.
Fantastic start.
He took a deep breath and stared at the building again.
Florence Moore Hall. His dormitory.
His home for the next year.
Possibly the place where he would embarrass himself every single day until graduation.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
MOM.
Shane answered immediately.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Shane! Did you get there safely?” Yuna Hollander asked at once.
Her voice instantly made him feel less alone.
“Yeah.”
“Did you eat?”
“…Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
Shane sighed softly. “I had a granola bar.”
“That is not food.”
“It literally is food.”
“In prison, maybe.”
Despite himself, Shane smiled a little.
David Hollander appeared on speaker. “Proud of you, kid.”
And just like that, Shane felt something painful squeeze his chest.
Because he missed them already. Which was ridiculous.
“I’ll call tomorrow.” Shane said quietly.
“You better,” Yuna replied. “And make friends!”
Shane almost laughed.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You know me.”
“I know you’re wonderful. Other people should know too.”
His throat tightened a little.
Sometimes his mother spoke about him like he was easy to love.
Shane hoped someday somebody else would think so too.
After saying goodbye, he stood there another minute before finally dragging his suitcase toward the entrance.
Students and parents crowded the hallways. Doors slammed constantly. Somebody somewhere was already playing loud music.
Shane hated loud music.
A guy carrying a mini fridge nearly crashed into him.
“Sorry, bro!”
Shane nodded awkwardly.
His room number was 281.
Second floor.
Double room.
Double room.
The words repeated inside his head like a warning alarm.
He had never shared a room with anyone before.
What if his roommate hated him?
What if he snored?
What if he was one of those people who talked all the time?
What if he brought girls over constantly?
What if…
The door to Room 281 was slightly open.
Shane froze.
Okay.
This was it.
He could do this. Probably. Maybe.
He carefully pushed the door open.
And immediately forgot how breathing worked.
A tall man stood near the window unpacking clothes from a suitcase.
No. Not a man. A Greek god.
That was the only possible explanation.
The guy turned around at the sound of the door opening.
Curly light brown hair.
Bright blue eyes.
Tall enough to block the sun.
Wide shoulders.
Gray Stanford T-shirt stretched across his chest.
Shane’s soul quietly left his body.
The stranger blinked once.
Then smiled.
“Hey.”
Oh no.
His voice was deep too.
This was unfair.
Shane opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
The guy leaned against the desk, amused already.
“You are roommate, yes?”
Accent. Russian accent.
Shane was going to die.
“Yes.” he croaked.
Fantastic. Very cool.
Amazing social skills.
The stranger grinned wider and walked over, holding out a hand.
“Ilya Rozanov.”
Shane stared at the hand for one second too long before shaking it.
Warm. Large. Strong.
His brain helpfully noticed every detail.
“I’m Shane.”
“Shane…” Ilya repeated slowly.
The way he said it sounded unfairly nice.
“Good name.”
Shane immediately turned pink. Wonderful.
Ten seconds inside the dorm and he was already blushing in front of a beautiful stranger.
Ilya noticed. Obviously.
His mouth twitched.
Cute.
He thought the freshman was cute immediately.
Small freckles across the nose.
Warm brown eyes.
Dark messy hair.
Nervous little movements.
And the blush.
Jesus Christ, the blush.
Ilya had seen many pretty people before.
Stanford was full of pretty people.
But something about Shane felt different.
Softer. Real.
Like touching sunlight.
Shane quickly looked around the room to avoid eye contact.
The room itself was actually nice.
Two beds. Two desks.
A window overlooking the courtyard.
Bookshelves. A tiny fridge.
One side already looked lived in.
Ilya’s side.
A few posters. A laptop covered in stickers.
Shane’s side looked painfully empty.
“You can take whichever drawers you want,” Ilya said. “I not care.”
“Okay.”
Awkward silence.
Shane started unpacking immediately because unpacking was easier than existing.
He folded clothes carefully. Arranged books by size.
Placed his economics textbooks in exact order.
Behind him, Ilya watched curiously.
“You always organize like this?”
Shane paused.
“Uh. Yes.”
“You make books military.”
Shane glanced back nervously.
Was that criticism?
But Ilya was laughing. Not mean laughing. Warm laughing.
“I like it,” Ilya added. “My things look disaster.”
That was true.
His side already looked like a small tornado had visited.
Shane smiled before he could stop himself.
Ilya noticed that too. Interesting.
The shy boy smiled rarely, but when he did, his entire face changed.
Dangerous, very dangerous.
“So,” Ilya said, sitting backward on his chair, “you freshman?”
“Yeah.”
“What major?”
“Economics.”
“Ooo.” Ilya nodded seriously. “So you become rich and save me later.”
Shane snorted quietly.
It escaped accidentally.
Ilya pointed at him dramatically.
“There! I make you laugh already. We become best friends.”
Shane nearly dropped a stack of shirts.
Best friends?
They had known each other for four minutes, but somehow the sentence made warmth spread through his chest.
“I’m not very good at making friends.” Shane admitted softly.
Ilya tilted his head.
“Why?”
Because people think I’m weird.
Because I never know when to speak.
Because conversations are confusing.
Because sometimes I say the wrong thing.
Because I’m easier in theory than in real life.
Shane shrugged instead.
“I don’t know.”
Ilya studied him for a moment.
Then he stood suddenly.
“You hungry?”
“What?”
“We go eat.”
“Oh. You don’t have to…”
“I know,” Ilya interrupted. “But if you faint from starvation in room, paperwork maybe annoying.”
Shane laughed again.
That seemed to please Ilya far too much.
Twenty minutes later they walked across campus together.
Shane tried very hard not to stare at his roommate.
Unfortunately, his eyes were traitors.
Ilya walked with easy confidence, hands in pockets, greeting random people every thirty seconds.
“Roz!”
“Hey, man!”
“Good summer?”
“Too hot,” Ilya complained dramatically to one group. “Russia colder. America trying cook me alive.”
The girls laughed instantly. Of course they did.
Shane looked away.
Naturally everybody liked him.
How could they not?
Meanwhile Shane felt nervous ordering food from cashiers.
The dining hall was crowded and loud. Too loud.
Voices bounced everywhere. Plates clattered. Music played somewhere.
Shane’s shoulders slowly tightened.
Ilya noticed almost immediately.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Lie. Ilya could tell.
But instead of making a big deal about it, he casually guided them toward a quieter corner table near the window.
The simple gesture made Shane blink.
Most people never noticed when he got overwhelmed.
“You like Stanford so far?” Ilya asked while opening a soda can.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“It’s big.”
“Yes. Very observant.”
Shane rolled his eyes slightly.
“I meant socially.”
“Ah.” Ilya leaned back. “Stanford people scary sometimes.”
“You think so too?”
“Of course. Everybody here either genius or future billionaire.”
He pointed at himself proudly.
“I am both.”
Shane laughed into his ginger ale.
“There it is again,” Ilya said. “You should laugh more.”
Shane looked down at his drink.
Nobody had ever said that before.
The conversation became easier after that.
Not effortless exactly, but easier.
Ilya talked enough for both of them.
About classes. About California. About accidentally setting off a microwave fire last year.
“I become campus legend.”
“You almost burned down a building.”
Ilya shrugged proudly. “Talent.”
Shane smiled into his drink again.
God. This was dangerous.
He had known this man less than two hours and already his stomach did weird little flips whenever Ilya smiled at him.
This was exactly why having an attractive roommate was terrible.
Especially when you were secretly gay.
Especially when your roommate looked like he belonged on magazine covers.
Especially when he was nice.
Nice was the worst part.
Hot people were supposed to be mean.
It was easier that way.
After dinner they walked back slowly through campus while the evening sun painted everything gold.
Students sat on the grass. Music drifted from open windows.
Somewhere nearby, people were throwing a frisbee.
Stanford felt alive.
Shane wondered if he could ever belong here.
“You think too much.” Ilya suddenly said.
Shane blinked. “What?”
“You make this face.” Ilya pointed at him. “Like little stressed professor.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
Shane frowned automatically.
Ilya burst out laughing.
“There! Again!”
Shane hated how much he liked that laugh.
Back in the dorm room, Shane finally relaxed enough to unpack the rest of his things.
He placed a framed family photo on the desk carefully.
Yuna smiling brightly. David pretending not to smile. Shane between them.
Ilya glanced at the picture.
“You close with parents?”
“Very.”
“Good.”
Something in Ilya’s voice changed slightly. Quieter.
Shane noticed but didn’t ask.
They continued unpacking together.
Hours later the room settled into nighttime quiet. Well. Sort of quiet.
Somebody down the hall screamed “WOOOOO!” for no reason.
Another person played drums badly.
College students were strange creatures.
Shane changed into sweatpants and an old T-shirt before sitting on his bed with a book.
Across the room, Ilya stretched lazily after changing clothes.
Shane looked up accidentally.
And immediately regretted having eyes.
Gray sweatpants. Broad chest. Messy curls.
What cruel god invented attractive men?
Ilya caught him staring.
Shane nearly died.
“You read economics book before classes even start?” Ilya asked casually.
Shane looked down too fast.
“It’s relaxing.”
“You are biggest nerd I ever meet.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“It is affectionate.”
Shane tried hiding his smile again. Failed.
Ilya watched him for another second before climbing into bed.
The lights dimmed.
Outside, distant music still echoed through campus.
Shane stared at the ceiling.
This was real. He was really here. Stanford University.
New life. New people.
And one unbelievably attractive roommate sleeping ten feet away.
Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.
His life was officially over.
“Shane?”
His heart jumped.
“Yeah?”
“You snore?”
“…No.”
“Good. I maybe punch you accidentally.”
Shane snorted.
“You wouldn’t.”
“True. You look fragile.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“We see.”
Silence settled again.
Then…
“Goodnight, Shane.”
The way Ilya said his name again made something warm curl inside his chest.
“Goodnight.”
Shane closed his eyes.
For the first time since arriving at Stanford, he felt maybe things would be okay.
Maybe.
Unfortunately, his brain chose that exact moment to remember one very important detail.
He had to survive an entire year sharing a tiny room with Ilya Rozanov.
And judging from the way his stupid heart already reacted whenever the Russian smiled at him… Shane was in very serious trouble.
Shane discovered very quickly that Stanford students did not believe in silence.
At all.
It was only his third day on campus, yet he had already witnessed:
- a guy riding a skateboard while playing violin,
- two girls arguing about quantum physics at seven in the morning,
- somebody dressed as a banana entering the dining hall like this was completely normal behaviour,
- and a shirtless student climbing a tree for reasons nobody explained.
Stanford was less of a university and more of a very expensive fever dream.
Shane sat cross-legged on his bed with noise-cancelling headphones on while trying to read the introduction chapter of Microeconomics Theory.
Trying being the important word.
Because across the room, Ilya Rozanov was singing terribly.
Very terribly. Painfully terribly.
“You know,” Shane said without looking up, “most people pay money to make music sound better.”
Ilya gasped dramatically from his desk chair.
“You insult Russian culture.”
“I insult your singing.”
“Same thing.”
Shane finally looked up.
Ilya sat sideways in his chair wearing gray shorts and a Stanford hoodie, spinning a pen between his fingers while pretending to take notes.
Pretending.
Because every five seconds he got distracted and started talking again.
“How you read so much?” Ilya asked. “We not even have classes yet.”
“I like reading.”
“You read textbook voluntarily. This is psychological problem.”
“You spent twenty minutes yesterday watching hockey fights on YouTube.”
“Yes.” Ilya nodded proudly. “Educational.”
Shane rolled his eyes.
It had become easier talking to him during the past few days.
Not effortless.
Shane still overthought every sentence before speaking.
Still worried about sounding strange.
Still felt nervous whenever eye contact lasted too long.
But Ilya made conversations feel less dangerous somehow.
Maybe because he talked enough for both of them.
Or maybe because whenever Shane paused too long, Ilya simply waited instead of making things awkward.
That was rare. Very rare.
Most people rushed to fill silence immediately.
Ilya didn’t.
A sudden loud knock exploded against the dorm door.
Shane jumped so hard he nearly dropped his book.
“Jesus Christ.” he muttered.
Ilya burst out laughing.
“You scare easy.”
“You people knock like the FBI.”
Another knock followed immediately.
Then shouting.
“BAND RUN!”
“LET’S GOOOO!”
Music echoed faintly somewhere outside.
Shane froze.
Oh no. No no no.
He remembered reading about this during orientation.
The Stanford Band Run.
Hundreds of students running around campus at night following the marching band.
Crowds. Noise. Social interaction.
Basically every nightmare combined into one event.
Ilya stood instantly.
“Oh, this fun.”
Shane already shook his head.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Ilya blinked at him.
“You not going?”
“I think I’d rather throw myself into traffic.”
Ilya stared for one second.
Then laughed so hard he bent forward.
Shane frowned.
“That wasn’t a joke.”
“I know,” Ilya wheezed. “That why funny.”
The knocking continued.
“ROZANOV! HOLLANDER!”
Ilya shouted back toward the door, “ONE MINUTE!”
Then he turned to Shane again.
“You should come.”
“I absolutely should not.”
“Why?”
Shane gestured vaguely at everything.
“People.”
“Yes. Stanford has people. Very shocking.”
“There are going to be too many people.”
“Maybe.”
“And loud music.”
“Yes.”
“And dancing.”
“Probably.”
“And strangers.”
Ilya crossed his arms.
“You sound like old man complaining about neighbourhood children.”
Shane buried his face briefly into his hands.
“Please go without me.”
Instead of answering immediately, Ilya leaned against the desk and studied him carefully.
Not mocking. Not annoyed.
Just… watching.
“You scared?” he asked finally.
Shane hated how accurately he asked that question.
“…A little.”
Ilya’s expression softened slightly.
Then he grinned again.
“Good news. I very charming. I protect you from social interaction.”
“That is literally impossible.”
“You hide behind me like emotional support animal.”
Shane snorted despite himself.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The confidence in that answer made Shane’s stomach weirdly warm.
Outside, music suddenly became louder.
Trumpets. Drums. Students yelling.
The entire building seemed alive.
Ilya grabbed his Stanford jacket from the chair.
“Come on.”
“Ilya…”
“One hour.”
“I don’t…”
“If terrible, we leave.”
Shane hesitated.
Every instinct screamed stay in room.
Stay safe. Stay quiet.
But another part of him - the tiny dangerous part slowly waking up since arriving here - wanted to know what it would feel like to actually participate.
To belong somewhere.
And unfortunately, Ilya was standing there smiling at him like joining the chaos together was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Fine.” Shane muttered finally.
Ilya threw both arms into the air dramatically.
“YES.”
“You’re being weird.”
“I am celebrating victory.”
“You convinced one introvert to leave his room. Calm down.”
“Impossible.”
Before Shane could protest further, Ilya opened the door.
The hallway was madness.
Students flooded everywhere wearing Stanford shirts and ridiculous accessories.
Someone already carried glow sticks.
Another guy wore a Viking helmet.
Why?
Nobody knew.
“Roz!” a tall student shouted. “You coming?”
“Yes!” Ilya pointed at Shane proudly. “I bring freshman!”
The guy grinned at Shane.
“Good luck surviving.”
Shane immediately regretted every decision leading to this moment.
Outside, the night air buzzed with excitement.
The marching band stood near the courtyard blasting loud chaotic music while students gathered around cheering.
Shane instinctively stepped closer to Ilya.
Not intentionally.
His body just decided tall Russian roommate equals safety.
Ilya noticed immediately.
But instead of teasing him, he casually moved slightly so Shane stayed shielded from the crowd.
Again, such a small thing. Again, Shane noticed.
“You okay?” Ilya asked quietly.
“A little overwhelmed.”
“Normal. Stanford students insane.”
“That’s comforting.”
The band suddenly exploded into motion.
Music crashed through the night.
Students screamed excitedly and started running after them.
Shane stared in horror.
“They’re actually doing it.”
“Yes!” Ilya grabbed his wrist suddenly. “Come on!”
Electricity shot up Shane’s arm.
Oh.
His brain completely short-circuited for one terrible second.
Then they were running.
Well. Ilya was running.
Shane was trying not to die.
The band charged through campus like a musical hurricane while hundreds of students followed behind dancing and yelling.
At first Shane felt ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
But slowly, something strange happened.
He started laughing. Actual laughing. Not polite small laughs. Real laughter.
Because the entire thing was absurd.
One trombone player nearly crashed into a fountain.
Someone handed Shane glow sticks for no reason.
Ilya danced badly beside him while shouting lyrics to songs he clearly did not know.
“You dance like drunk moose!” Shane yelled over the music.
Ilya looked offended.
“Russian elegance!”
“That is not elegance!”
“This discrimination.”
Shane laughed harder.
God.
He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this light.
The band stopped outside another dorm building where more students joined the crowd.
The music changed again.
People jumped around wildly.
Shane stayed near the edge watching everything with wide eyes.
Ilya appeared beside him carrying two sodas somehow.
“How you feeling, freshman?”
Shane accepted the can automatically.
“…Good.”
Ilya smiled instantly.
“See? I am genius.”
“You’re lucky.”
“No. Very handsome.”
“That has nothing to do with anything.”
“It helps.”
Shane rolled his eyes again.
He was starting to do that constantly around Ilya.
Unfortunately, Ilya seemed to enjoy it.
They kept following the band across campus.
At one point the crowd surged suddenly and Shane stumbled sideways.
A hand immediately settled against his back steadying him. Ilya.
Warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“You good?”
“Yeah.”
The hand stayed there one extra second before moving away.
Shane absolutely did not think about that for the next twenty minutes. Definitely not.
Near White Plaza, students formed a huge dancing circle around the band.
Ilya immediately looked interested. Shane looked terrified.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You dance with me.”
“I physically can’t.”
“You physically standing. Good start.”
Before Shane escaped, Ilya grabbed both his wrists and pulled him toward the crowd.
Shane nearly died on the spot.
“Ilya…”
“Relax!”
“I don’t know how to dance!”
“Neither does anybody here!”
That was technically true.
Most students looked completely insane, but somehow that made things easier.
Nobody cared how anyone looked. People were just… having fun.
Ilya spun Shane once badly and Shane stumbled directly into his chest.
Shane’s face burned.
Ilya’s expression shifted slightly too. Something unreadable.
Then he smirked again.
“You survive social event. I proud.”
“Barely.”
“But still alive.”
“Debatable.”
Hours passed surprisingly fast.
The campus glowed under string lights and moving crowds.
Shane even started speaking occasionally when random students talked to them.
Small answers. Short conversations.
But still. Progress.
Around midnight they finally escaped the chaos and started walking back toward Florence Moore Hall.
The campus had become quieter now. Only distant music remained.
Shane’s legs hurt.
His social battery was completely dead.
But underneath the exhaustion was something warm and unfamiliar. Happiness.
“You were right.” he admitted quietly.
Ilya looked victorious immediately.
“Obviously.”
“I still think this entire university is insane though.”
“Yes.” Ilya nodded. “But now you insane too.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Too late.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a while.
Not awkward silence. Comfortable silence.
That realization alone surprised Shane.
Usually silence around new people felt sharp and stressful.
With Ilya it often felt easy.
Near the dorm entrance, they passed a couple kissing against the wall.
Shane immediately looked away.
Unfortunately, his stupid brain instantly imagined kissing Ilya instead.
Absolutely unacceptable. Terrible. Illegal.
He walked faster.
“You cold?” Ilya asked.
“What?”
“You suddenly walk like hunted man.”
“I’m fine.”
Suspicious blue eyes studied him.
Shane focused very hard on the sidewalk.
Back inside their room, the quiet felt almost shocking after the chaos outside.
Shane dropped onto his bed dramatically.
“I may never leave this room again.”
Ilya laughed while pulling off his hoodie.
“You say this every day.”
“And every day I mean it.”
“You had fun though.”
Shane smiled tiredly at the ceiling.
“…Yeah.”
Ilya watched him for a moment, then smiled too.
Good.
Because honestly?
The entire night had been worth it just to hear Shane laugh like that.
Usually the freshman carried himself carefully, like someone always expecting to take up too much space.
But tonight, there had been moments when Shane forgot to overthink.
Moments when he looked bright and open and happy.
Ilya liked those moments too much already.
Dangerous, very dangerous.
Shane sat up slowly.
“I should sleep.”
“Yes. You look emotionally exhausted.”
“I am emotionally exhausted.”
While Shane searched through his drawer for pyjamas, Ilya stretched lazily near his own bed.
His shirt lifted slightly. Visible abs.
Shane immediately looked at the wall.
Wonderful. Fantastic. Perfect.
He was doomed.
“You okay?” Ilya asked.
“Yes.”
“You sound aggressive.”
“I’m tired.”
“Ah.”
Shane changed quickly and climbed under his blanket before he accidentally embarrassed himself further.
The room darkened again.
Outside, distant cheering still echoed faintly through campus.
“Ilya?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks.”
A pause.
“For what?”
“For making me go tonight.”
Silence stretched softly between them.
Then…
“You smile different now.”
Shane blinked in the darkness.
“What does that mean?”
“You looked sad when first came here.” Ilya’s voice sounded quieter than usual. “Now less sad.”
Something about hearing that made Shane’s chest ache unexpectedly.
Because nobody usually noticed things like that.
And somehow Ilya noticed everything.
“You notice too much.” Shane murmured.
A soft laugh came from across the room.
“And you think too much.”
Probably true.
Shane rolled onto his side facing the wall.
He could still feel the energy of the night buzzing under his skin.
The music. The lights.
Ilya’s hand grabbing his wrist.
Ilya’s laugh beside him.
Ilya smiling at him like he actually mattered.
That last thought was the dangerous one.
Because Shane knew himself.
And he knew exactly how this story usually ended for boys like him.
Fall for a straight guy. Get heartbroken.
Pretend everything was fine afterward.
Classic disaster.
Except…
As Shane slowly drifted toward sleep, one final thought slipped quietly into his mind.
Ilya had held his waist a little longer than necessary tonight.
And Shane couldn’t stop wondering if maybe… just maybe… Ilya noticed that too.