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“Pike, why is Shane Hollander your phone background?” Ilya abruptly asks, staring at the illuminated screen of Hayden’s phone. His eyes burn into the image of Shane—his Shane—smiling with his cheek pressed up against Jackie’s, Hayden’s current girlfriend and presumed future wife.
Hayden pauses, and soon the hockey video game on the T.V is stopped as well. He sets down his own controller, no longer focused on mashing buttons.
“He’s my…friend,” Hayden responds cautiously, hand already reaching to cover his phone screen. He eyes Ilya, eyebrows pinched with the same kind of wary look you always have when a man like Ilya Rozanov is now staring at you like you just stole his girlfriend. Or boyfriend, Hayden was cool like that.
…
“Wait—how the fuck do you know Shane?” Hayden asks back.
Shane Hollander wasn’t the guy you just knew on campus; half of his classes were online for a reason. Hayden only knew three people who were friends with Shane, and one of them was quite literally Hayden himself. Rose and Jackie are the other two human beings Hayden has ever witnessed Shane speak to more than twice.
“Did you say Shane? Which Shane?” JJ suddenly pipes in, returning from the kitchen. He leans over the back of the couch in between where Ilya and Hayden are seated. The family–sized bag of chips he originally meant to bring is forgotten.
Ilya snaps his eyes away from Hayden. “There is only one important Shane. Hollander, you know him?”
“Ah.” JJ swallows, now also somewhat bewildered. “Of course, I know Shane.” He pointedly does not elaborate further. “...How do you guys know Shane?”
The three exchange glances. It feels vaguely like a standoff.
“Why would I not know Shane?” Ilya says vaguely, crossing his arms as he leans back against the arm of the couch. He shrugs like he was not the one pressing so hard about it seconds before.
Hayden scowls. “Don’t try that mysterious Russian bullshit now—how do you know my best friend, Rozanov?”
“Best friend?” JJ scoffs. “No, mon ami, how do you know him?” He points accusingly at Hayden, but then looks between the two on the couch with slight hesitation, like he fears the answer to his next question.
“...Do you both know him like I know him?”
They stare at JJ for that. The silence between them grows, and despite it being a comfortable 24 degrees outside, Hayden feels a drop of sweat drip down his back.
“And, how exactly…do you know Shane?” Ilya says in place of an actual answer. His voice is notably stiff.
There’s a moment of stiff silence. JJ stares at Ilya, and Ilya stares back. The room climbs to an unbearable level as the two just weirdly stare at each other. Was this some stupid European thing that poor ole’ innocent Canadians like Hayden were not aware of? Were the French and Russians interconnected like that?
He glances at JJ, giving him a once-over. Then, he does the same to Ilya.
His eyes catch on the bruising bite mark on Ilya’s neck. The same mark that has gotten Ilya relentlessly teased by their other frat brothers for the past two days, yet Ilya always showed it off like a trophy. He then looks back at JJ, who wears a fitted tank top. Just where the neckline stops, Hayden sees a series of hickies along JJ’s chest peeking out.
When he catches Ilya’s gaze one more time, Hayden is hit with the same sudden realization that was frostily exchanged in the telepathic European asshole mindlink.
Hayden is not an idiot, despite popular belief. Within the fraternity, there have been plenty of crossovers bed–wise. The whole house knows all too well of the night Ilya and Marleau went to Paris. But that didn’t matter because Hayden didn’t know who the “lucky” girl was, nor did he ever want to find out.
But he—regrettably and by total accident—knows of one person who likes to get so mouthy they leave teeth marks and lines of hickies. One, very specific person, whom Hayden knows to have the most horrific taste in men. He knows that person very well.
And it seems like both Ilya and JJ also know him very, very, very well.
“No,” Hayden whispers, too scared to vocalize the idea. Ilya’s face turns into stone, and JJ closes his eyes.
“No, nonoNO!” Hayden shoots up from his spot on the couch, his fingers running through his hair desperately. “Please don’t—seriously? Are we fucking serious right now?”
Ilya grits his teeth, “You are the worst, Pike. First, you cheat on Jackie—”
JJ opens his eyes at that, a look of condemnation already forming. “Hayd, you—”
Hayden splutters, red-faced at the confirmation that all three of them were all fucking the same guy and the concept of him ever cheating on his girlfriend. “Fuck off—both of you—I’m not fucking cheating on Jackie.”
Ilya raises a brow, “Oh, so you are not sleeping with pretty boy with freckles? Or did Jackie finally leave you for something better?”
“Shut the fuck up, Rozanov. He’s my best friend!”
“But you do, want to sleep with him.” JJ throws out. It’s meant to be a question, but the former makes it sound like a statement. Hayden flushes further; he honestly can’t find an appropriate response to that.
He shrugs, a touch aggressive, “Wha—I don’t—I’ve never even—I’m straight! ”
A scoff from the other end of the couch. “Yeah. Okay, Pike. You sound like beginning of cheap gay guy and straight best friend porno.”
Hayden turns back to Ilya, indignant. “Dude—fuck off—aren’t you with that Russian chick anyway!?”
Ilya rolls his eyes. “No, Svetlana has found a new fuckbuddy. Also, she was never my girlfriend.” He points at Hayden, “But you have Jackie in the Instagram bio.”
“I cannot believe this,” JJ says, turning the conversation back to him. “I tell the brotherhood about my attempts to woo mon chéri, and you both go behind my back to—”
“Shane is mon chéri?” Ilya blurts out, butchering the pet name with an obnoxious French accent. “Why is Shane your mon chéri!?”
JJ glares at the Russian, “He was always mon chéri, and why the fuck not?”
“I only wonder what thoughts have led you to think you actually have a chance with мой возлюбленный.”
JJ scowls, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Beautiful Russian name for equally beautiful man. Something unknown to your annoying French language.”
“Fuck you, Hollander loves my French.”
“Ah, but not as much as Russian when he comes untouched on my—”
Hayden lets out a cry of utter despair at the thought of that, and suddenly the conversation escalates, with all three now standing and shouting. Ilya stands tall even as Hayden starts crowding him in, a sharp finger stabbing into the middle of Ilya’s chest.
“Shut up—just shut up, Rozanov! Don’t fucking talk about him like that—”
“I do not want to hear it from the man who dreams of filthy threesomes with his girlfriend and best friend!”
“First off—I so totally do not do that! Secondly—you have literally told us about having four people in your bed—not even including yourself—and what about that time with Marlow and then the time after with Svetlana—”
“That was B.S!”
JJ narrows his eyes. “Bullshit? How is it bullshit when Marly showed us all pictures—”
Ilya shakes his head. “No, no, no. B.S is before Shane. The sex before моя любовь does not count.”
Both Hayden and JJ stare at him incredulously, their anger subsiding in the face of Ilya’s audacity. He shrugs, “I was practically a virgin before him.”
“I just…I really can’t understand this. I mean, seriously—what the fuck could he possibly see in you two?!” Hayden asks, mostly to himself, but both Ilya and JJ’s faces twist in offense.
“What are you trying to say right now—” JJ starts.
“And you are supposedly a better option than us?” Ilya asks mockingly. Hayden glares at him before ultimately nodding. A little pettily too, because of course he fucking was; the other two in the room practically had lists of people they fucked on and off campus. Hayden was pretty sure Ilya actually had a list on his notes app.
“Yeah. I am, because I’m not a fucking manwhore—”
“Oh, do the threesomes not add to the manwhore-ness of it all?” JJ deadpans.
“I haven’t even done that yet!”
“AHAH! So you do want to fuck him!” Ilya yells out. His expression is victorious at first, but then sours at the realization that Hayden, the most limp–dicked in the house, wants to sleep with the shining light of Ilya’s life.
How horrid. Ilya voices the thought to the room.
Before Hayden can lunge at him, the front door opens, and new footsteps enter their living room.
“Dude, what are you guys yelling about?” Bood walks in, a smoothie in his hand, which he noisily slurps at. Beside him stand Troy and Wyatt. The three of them are just now returning from the gym together. “I could hear you guys from outside the house, man—”
“They are trying to take мой возлюбленный away from me—”
“You don’t fucking own him, you asshole—”
“Rozanov and I are sleeping with the same person. Hayden wants to as well, but he is in denial.” JJ puts it bluntly, ignoring the following argument between Ilya and Hayden. Wyatt chokes on his drink while Troy watches Hayden visibly hold himself back from strangling Ilya.
“How the hell did you guys manage that? You three have objectively very different types—well, except for Roz. He likes everything.” Bood says, his eyes darting around.
Hayden abruptly turns around. “Yes, thank you! He’s the fucking worst one here!”
Wyatt furrows his brows. “Wait, don’t you have a girlfriend, Hayd? You cheating on her, man?!”
“You’re an actual dog, Pike,” Troy says, already shaking his head in disappointment.
Ilya barks a mean laugh, while Hayden makes a sound between a dying cat and a groan. “I am telling you, Troy, Pike knows only how to sit and roll over—”
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Hayden spits out. “And I’m not cheating on her, Hayes! I…don’t want to fuck my best friend.”
…Damn it. That didn’t sound as convincing as Hayden hoped it would.
Ilya waves Hayden’s initial comment off. “No, thank you, I am already well-taken care of.”
JJ glares at him for the implications of that. Hayden’s face is now just a shade off from an actual tomato.
“Honestly, that’s kinda impressive—like what is this guy into for him to be into all three of you?” Wyatt’s question is rhetorical, but it still keeps Ilya from getting jumped by JJ and Hayden.
“Again. Not into me—”
“Oh, we are sure of that, Pike, do not worry. But I don’t know what he likes about this one,” Ilya points a thumb at JJ. “But my nine inches of—”
JJ scoffs, “Fuck off, Rozanov, it is not nine—”
“Do you want to check Frenchie? Want to compare?” Ilya snarks, his hands already on the waistband of his shorts. “Do not be hurt when you see why my Shane likes me so much more. Troy, get the measuring tape—”
Troy pauses. “Hold on, who did you just say?” A touch of damning recognition in his voice. He effectively puts a stop to the dick-measuring contest. All heads turn to him.
“This is about Shane? Hollander? That Shane?”
Hayden swallows air and looks like he aged ten years. “Please do not tell me you know Shane like we know Shane.” He has given up on the specifics of using “we” in this context.
Oh, Troy knew Shane Hollander. Troy knew Shane so well, in fact, that he could tell you where Shane was on a random Friday night about one year ago. Troy could also tell you that Shane tastes as sweet as a ginger vodka and likes getting his hair pulled to an almost concerning degree.
He definitely knows Shane Hollander.
Troy looks away, and the answering silence makes JJ throw his hands up in the air. “Merde—so you all have fucked mon chéri?”
Hayden frowns. “Again. Shane isn’t anything of yours—”
“It was like one time before I met Harris—”
“Troy, I cannot believe you! You are supposed to be my best friend, and you go and sleep with my Shane!” Ilya sighs, overly dramatic as he places a hand over his heart. Troy rolls his eyes and ignores the rising heat in his face.
“Shut up, Ilya, it wasn’t anything serious, and I have a fucking boyfriend, if you can remember. And Shane and I are just friends now.”
“Oh, so at first it was only ‘one-time thing,’ and now it is ‘just friends’?”
“Fuck off, dude—”
“Okay, before we start talking about betrayal and whatnot, can Bood and I see an actual picture of him? I need to see who fucked half of the house.” Wyatt cuts in.
They all pull out their phones, exchanging glares before they all show their individual pictures of Shane.
In Hayden’s, Shane is seen laughing on a lunch date with Jackie. In JJ’s, he and Shane are seen sitting together and smiling at the camera. In Troy’s, the image is taken from 0.5, and Shane’s eyes are peering into the camera. Lastly, in Ilya’s, the blonde is seen kissing Shane’s cheek while the latter blushes from head to toe. Both of them are grinning, and Bood admits that this is possibly the cutest he’s ever seen Ilya be in a photo.
But Roz’s apparent lovey-doviness is discarded because Wyatt knows Shane. “Oh, my god—that’s Shane?”
Hayden turns puce. “You know him?”
“How many times are we going to ask that?” JJ mutters.
Ilya rolls his eyes. “Yes, Pike. Apparently, we all know him. Shane is no longer mysterious.”
Bood frowns, honestly feeling slightly left out. He hadn’t had the barest idea of who Shane was aside from the current discussion and photos. He takes a second look at the phones. Huh. Bood sort of gets why they’re all so heated about this one guy. Shane was objectively a cutie.
Hayden turns to point at Bood, “No, just no.” He then turns back to Wyatt. “Please don’t tell me you fucked my best friend, Hayes.”
“Not your best friend. Shane is my future wife.” Ilya interrupts.
Troy nudges him. “That’s a homophobic stereotype, man.”
“How can I be homophobic? I am fucking a man—”
Bood cuts in. “It’s cuz’ you’re calling him your wife—”
“But I am queer—bisexual—whatever!”
“Still, bro, you gotta do better.”
Ilya waves him off, ignoring the conversation in favor of returning his piercing stare onto Wyatt.
Wyatt, now feeling put under a microscope with those crazy blue eyes—seriously, were Roz’s eyes always so blue—splutters. “I didn’t do anything with Shane! I’ve just…seen him, from time to time.”
JJ squints at the other man. “Seen him how?”
“Seen him like Lisa, who I am in a committed and loving relationship with by the way—”
Ilya, Troy, and JJ all glance at Hayden. Hayden throws his hands up.
“—pointed him out at a party, and said he was cute.”
Bood blinks. “So, Lisa fucked Shane?”
“W–What!” Wyatt gawps. “How the hell did you get to that idea? No, she just pointed him out! As I said!”
Bood shrugs. “I mean, maybe this Shane guy also wants to go through the sorority while he’s at it.”
Ilya amusedly huffs at that. The mere idea of Shane near the female body was laughable. The man ate dick for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—and Ilya says that somewhat literally.
“мой возлюбленный is too much like a poor kitten to—”
“Nah, Shane would never—”
“That is not who mon chéri is—”
They all speak at the same time, and abruptly all cut off at the same time. JJ, Ilya, and Hayden exchange looks, each glance growing more withering by the second. Bood and Wyatt sip at their drinks. Troy rolls his eyes again.
Ilya’s eyes land on Hayden. Mainly because Troy was actually his friend, and he liked hating on Hayden more than JJ, honestly.
“You do not know what Shane would or would not do, Pike.” He says snobbishly.
Hayden turns a bright, angry red. “I will throttle you right here and now—”
“Yes, threaten me more, because I am so scared of 5’8 Canadian—”
“You fucking—you know I’m 5’10, you dick—”
JJ turns to Troy.
“Don’t start, man.” Troy sighs. It is too late.
“Really, Barrett? Out of everyone?” JJ says, his voice an odd mix of tragedy and irritation. Their somewhat civil conversation is a stark contrast to the screaming match beside them.
“Again. One-time thing—barely even counts, and also, what do you mean, ‘out of everyone’? Of course, I’d pick Shane, he’s a fucking babe.”
“Yes! Yes, do you not think I know that?!” JJ moans out, a touch away from just collapsing onto his knees. Jeez, he must be really taking this to heart.
“Mon chéri is so beautiful, so pretty, I cannot handle it—”
“Yes. We all know that you cannot handle Shane, Boiziau. You are very unsatisfying.” Ilya cuts into their conversation, rudely ignoring Hayden’s even ruder string of curses that involve Ilya and his manhood and any future of him having children.
JJ’s glare darkens considerably. Ilya only smiles back at him; it's all teeth. Wyatt slightly shivers at the sight; he sees that smile in his nightmares.
A loud yawn interrupts the attempted murder of Ilya Rozanov.
A pair of feet stomp their way down the stairs, and soon Marlow rounds the corner. The bulky man scratches at his chest as he descends, only now waking up despite it being afternoon. Bood, the closet to the stairs and therefore Marlow, sniffs and winces immediately. The smell of alcohol is almost pungent.
“Brother—” Marlow says, referring to Ilya, but then he opens his eyes a bit more, noticing the number of people in the room.
“Brothers,” he nonchalantly corrects, “You won’t believe what happened last night.” Marlow walks into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. Opening a cabinet to grab the cereal, which was Hayden’s, mind you. He obnoxiously shoves a handful of Captain Crunch into his mouth, chewing loudly as he speaks.
“You know how I went out last night? To that club you recommended?”
Ilya nods dutifully. Still a little jarred by the sudden mood change.
“Yeah, and guess what, man, I decided to follow your guys’ thing.”
“Our thing?” Troy asks dryly.
Marlow nods. “Yeah, you know. The whole gay thing.”
Another blanket of silence falls over the house. The only sound in the room was the crunch of stolen cereal.
“Marly. I was joking when I told you to try men.” Ilya finally says, completely dumbfounded by the new turn of events.
“Oh, shit. Well, still a good thing I listened or whatever. As I was saying, I went to the club, right? And I talked up the hottest fucking guy ever.” Marlow sniffs. “Like all respect to you, Roz and the rest of the house, but this guy? Wow. When I say hot, I’m talking hot. I even thought he was a girl for a second.”
“Oh god.” Hayden moans out, a foreboding feeling already forming. He’s on the brink of openly sobbing by this point.
Ilya only shakes his head, scrubbing his face roughly with his hands while muttering: “Боже, пожалуйста, пусть это не окажется правдой.”
“Honestly, I totally regret not bringing him back with me, but I think I got his number!” Marlow continues, as if the last three words didn’t just send Ilya, JJ, and Hayden in a new spiral.
“...What did he look like?” JJ asks for the team, except not really, because said team was now on active suicide watch, except for Troy, who looked more annoyed by everything. He did not understand the horrific heartbreak Ilya and JJ were going through. Hayden doesn’t get it either because Hayden Pike gets nothing.
“He was Asian—”
Hayden feels tears form.
“—dark hair, dark eyes—”
JJ bites his tongue.
“—and he had these freckles—”
Ilya actually screams into his hands. The sound comes out muffled, but the pure despair in it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Marlow pauses, somehow only now noticing the air in the room. His eyes darted among the three before looking towards the others questioningly. “...Did I say something wrong?”
Bood sighs. He claps his fellow frat brother on his back. “Nah, man. Don’t even worry about it.”