Work Text:
One
Shane tries not to be annoyed as he slips through the stacks and finds someone at his usual table.
But goddamn it this is his study spot.
He’d stumbled across this table about three months ago, tucked away in the corner of the sixth floor of the library. It’s in the depths of the European History section, which is surprisingly expansive for a North American University library, and means that there’s very few passers by or even other library users that venture near this corner. The corner itself isn’t lit by the horrible usual fluorescent lighting either, but a soft glow just bright enough that Shane doesn’t strain his eyes.
In short, it’s perfect for peace & quiet and putting his head down to study undisturbed.
Until now.
The desk is a little rectangle, big enough for two really, and as if to prove it has two chairs at either end, both with plugs. At least the intruder isn’t in Shane’s usual chair, and has earphones in as he reads through a thick textbook, frowning down at the page.
He glances up as Shane settles in his seat, hazel eyes meeting Shane’s for a brief second before he looks away.
The stranger is beautiful, even though he looks like he’s not slept in a couple of days, dark blond stubble matching the buzzcut of his hair, bags under his eyes that almost look like bruising.
Shane cracks open his laptop and textbook, slides his glasses on as he prepares to get through the reading for his lectures next week, and only surfaces from making notes as the stranger gets up… over an hour later, Shane realises, as he glances at the time at the bottom of his screen.
The stranger nods at him when Shane glances up and Shane automatically nods back, but that’s the end of their interaction and Shane wonders if he’ll ever see him again.
Two
The answer to that is a yes, as Shane turns up to his table two days later to find the stranger there again, looking slightly better but still a little tired as he types frantically at a laptop. For all that he’s typing faster than the speed of light, his fingers are quiet on the keyboard and Shane secretly appreciates it as he takes his seat again and pulls out his own. He finds it distracting to study with music in his ears, as so many of his peers do, so the quiet rhythmic tap-clack of the stranger's keyboard being quiet and smooth enough it fades into background noise is more than a relief.
They study in silence together for a couple of hours, and Shane finishes the re-write of his essay in good time and is the first to leave today.
He nods to the stranger who glances up as Shane packs his bag, gets a nod in return, and thinks he doesn’t mind having someone else in this space with him, if the vibes stay like this.
Three
The next time Shane turns up the table is empty, and he tries not to feel lonely as he takes his seat and cracks out his laptop.
He’s got a stupid group presentation to do in a few weeks, so is cracking on with his designated areas of research when the stranger turns up, looking worse for wear again in an oversized hoodie with the hood up, sweatpants and sneakers. Even so, he’s practically silent as he sets his things out, pulls out his laptop and starts typing without a single glance at Shane.
The quiet hiss of a can breaks the silence a few minutes later and Shane sees the stranger practically chugging an energy drink, frowning at the can as if he hates the taste of it. He whispers "sorry" when he spots Shane watching him and Shane shrugs, dropping his gaze back to his laptop fast enough it almost gives him whiplash. Shane reminds himself it’s not his place to judge, and the stranger is clearly judging his own tastes a little anyway as the grimace continues to contort that beautiful face as he finishes his drink, and returns to his notes.
Four
The next time the stranger is already there, but fifteen minutes after Shane's arrival he’s frowning as he rifles through his bag, slumping with a quiet sigh whenever he can’t find what he’s looking for.
“You okay?” Shane ventures to whisper, and the other man almost whips his face up towards him, looking surprised as if he’d forgotten Shane was there.
“Forgot my charger,” he admits, voice low and accented and kinda hot. Shane internally shakes himself.
“Here,” Shane unplugs his laptop, offers the cord out. “Does this work for yours?”
The stranger’s eyes widen but he accepts the thin black wire, and heavy relief crosses his face as he plugs it in and his laptop makes a happy little beep.
“You do not need?” he asks Shane.
“I’m fully charged, I’ll be fine for a couple of hours,” Shane reassures him.
“Thank you.”
Shane nods, turns back to his laptop, and they don’t speak again until the stranger whispers "thank you" again as he leaves, placing the cord delicately on the table between them.
Five
The fifth time they meet at what Shane’s coming to think of as their table, rather than his, the stranger smiles at him for the first time, and Shane realises he’s in trouble.
The expression lights up the stranger’s face, hazel eyes glowing, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. He’s in a soft grey jersey sweatshirt today, and Shane’s fingers itch to stroke over the fabric, wonders how firm the very-firm-looking chest is really underneath.
He smiles back as he takes his seat, and watches as the stranger slides two chocolate bars into the middle of the table.
“You want? As thanks for lending me cable,” the man whispers.
Shane’s not really a huge fan of sweet things, but he can’t find it in him to say no. He takes the plain dark chocolate bar with a quiet thanks and tucks it in his bag for later.
The stranger looks pleased that Shane’s accepted his offering, and they return to studying in silence, tucking his headphones back into his ears as Shane sinks into the soft background hush of the library itself.
Six
The sixth time Shane turns up, the stranger never shows at all.
He tries not to worry, or to feel like he’s been left alone or abandoned. He focuses on studying, but after the tenth time reading the same sentence and not taking in a single word he gives the afternoon up as a bad job and goes home.
Seven, Eight, Nine
The seventh, eighth and ninth times Shane is, again, alone.
He hadn’t realised that even when quiet, there was a vibrancy that the stranger had given with his mere presence, and the loss of it echoes louder than Shane could have ever imagined. He tries not to regret never saying anything more to the stranger.
Ten
He expects to be alone again on the tenth time, but he turns up to find the stranger there. He’s also asleep, head resting on one forearm, holding a textbook open.
He looks exhausted, bags under his eyes darker than a bruise, the hollow of his cheeks deeper than they had been before, yet still so beautiful Shane can barely look at him for longer than a few seconds.
Shane’s as silent as he can be, cracks open his laptop and continues with his reading for his seminar tomorrow. He can’t stop from regularly glancing over at the stranger, though, who continues to sleep, almost unnervingly still.
At least, until he jerks awake as Shane packs up, trying to be quiet but something must have alerted the stranger. He checks his phone and hisses a quiet fuck, shoves his things in his bag and practically sprints into the stacks.
Shane watches him go, hopes he’s okay.
He turns back to scan the table, and that’s when he spots the little notebook under the table, clearly dropped in haste.
It’s fallen open to a random page in the middle, and as Shane picks it up he sees two columns of words on each page, one in English and the other some form or cyrillic, though Shane isn’t sure which language it would be. He flicks to the front and back pages, checks the inside of the cover but there’s no name or details that will help him find its owner, so instead he tucks it carefully into the inner pocket of his bag, intent on returning it whenever he sees the stranger next.
+One
The next time he sees the stranger, it’s not at their table in the library.
Shane’s just finished his tutoring session for the afternoon in the quieter cafe on campus and is debating whether or not to get himself another coffee and stay here to read, or to go elsewhere. He’s in the comfier booths at the back, has a plug for his laptop and he does like the loose-leaf tea here, so staying is more tempting, especially when he glances up and sees the rain falling heavily outside.
He leaves his textbook cracked on the table and grabs his wallet. The cafe has slowly become busier until all other tables are occupied, many other students also trying to escape the rain, but he’s got a sightline from the counter to the table, so he risks leaving his laptop and bag as he steps up to the counter.
As he does, the door opens and his stranger walks in, dark red hoodie soaked through with the rain and clinging to his shoulders. He doesn’t look quite as tired as last time, the bags under his eyes shrunk from suitcase-sized to that of a carrier bag, and he looks surprised to see Shane but offers him a familiar smile.
Shane smiles back, is pleased that there’s no-one between them in the queue.
“Is weird,” the stranger greets as he steps up next to Shane, “seeing you outside the library.”
Shane laughs in agreement, stomach fluttering. “I, um, have something of yours, I think,” he says, “a notebook? I think you left it behind last week.”
“Shit. Blue, small?” Shane nods. “I have been looking everywhere for that.”
“It’s in my bag. You, uh, you’d be welcome to join me,” Shane offers, glancing back outside at the rain and then at the packed tables around them, “if you’d planned on sitting in?”
“Yes, if you do not mind,” the stranger agrees, smile still soft on his face and so fucking pretty.
“Not at all.”
They order their drinks and the stranger insists on paying for both, as repayment for Shane returning his notebook shortly. Shane doesn’t ignore the fact that the stranger has provided two things now, in return for tiny favours, and makes a note to pay him back again, somehow.
The stranger follows Shane over to his table, slides into the soft chair and Shane closes his laptop, ignores how much closer the other man feels in this setting, close enough to touch, compared to the width and quiet of the library table.
“So, um-”
“Ilya,” Ilya says, eyebrows surprised as if he’s only just realised they’d never introduced themselves. “Rozanov. Third year psychiatry student.”
“Shane Hollander,” Shane replies. “Third year economics and history major.”
“Is very nice to meet you, Shane,” Ilya’s smile is soft, almost intimate and Shane feels a new flutter in his belly he’s never felt before.
He digs in his bag, passes over Ilya’s notebook and notes the other man sag in relief.
“Is my vocab log,” he explains, tells Shane that the trickier vocab he doesn’t use often enough in reading is written down in there for future reference, as he works on getting his degree in his second language.
Shane nods, and that launches a whole line of questions about where Ilya’s from (Russia), why he’d come to Canada (mostly to get out of Russia), and why psychiatry (his mother had depression, and Ilya wants to do what he can to ease other people’s suffering). Shane replies to Ilya’s questions in return, and it’s so fucking easy. Ilya listens so intently, almost with his entire body, asks insightful questions even as they’re teasing and prodding more often than not. He’s funny, and Shane’s not laughed this much with a stranger in… probably forever.
Underlying their entire conversation is the quiet push-and-pull of ‘do you? Are you? Would you?’, the silent answer of their mutual attraction slowly becoming visible as they continue to speak, body language mirroring each other until they're leaning in close over the table, empty cups pushed to one side.
Before he knows it the staff are coming over and asking them to wrap it up as they’re preparing to close, and Shane realises it’s past six pm.
They pack up and leave, rain thankfully dimmed down to a minor drizzle that feels almost nice after the warmth of the cafe.
“So, ah,” Ilya rocks on his heels next to Shane, still so beautiful with the lights shining out from the cafe illuminating the sharp planes of his face. “What are you doing now?”
Shane’s pulse starts to race. “No real plans,” he admits, “Why?”
“I was thinking, um. Would you want to get dinner?”
“...Like a date?”
“If you want,” Ilya nods, fingers shoved in the front pocket of his hoody, and Shane can’t stop his smile.
“I’d love that,” he agrees, nodding maybe too quickly.
Ilya smiles back, like the sun on a summer’s afternoon, and Shane could bask in the warmth of it for years if Ilya would let him.
He flushes as Ilya holds out a hand in invitation, but doesn’t hesitate to lift his hand forward, slide his fingers between Ilya’s, the fit of their palms perfect.
They walk down the street together in silence, but it’s comfortable, almost soothing, taking Shane back to the hours they’d spent together in their spot in the library, studying. He glances up at Ilya, gets a soft smile back and squeezes his hand, more pleased than ever that his stranger had found his secret library study spot.