Chapter Text
Shane Hollander had learned a long time ago that the universe had a sick sense of humor, but this felt particularly cruel even by cosmic standards.
He sat on the couch in his brother Jackson’s apartment, nursing a ginger ale while his brother and Ilya Rozanov talked about some volleyball tournament from last spring.
Shane was only half listening, mostly focused on not staring at Ilya like some pathetic puppy dog. It was harder than it should have been. Ilya was sprawled in the armchair across from him, all long limbs and casual confidence, his gold cross necklace catching the light every time he moved. His blond curls were messy in that effortless way that probably took him thirty seconds to achieve, and Shane hated how much he noticed these things.
He had been fourteen when he first met Ilya. Jackson had brought him home from university during winter break, this tall Russian guy with an accent that made everything sound either flirtatious or vaguely threatening. Shane had taken one look at him and felt something shift in his chest, something he was still too young to have words for. Now he was nineteen and that feeling had only gotten worse. Significantly worse… catastrophically worse.
“Shane, you are quiet today,” Ilya said suddenly, and Shane’s heart did something stupid in his chest. “You are usually more talkative, no?”
That was a lie. Shane was never talkative around Ilya, but he appreciated the attempt at conversation anyway. He shrugged, fingers fidgeting with the tab on his ginger ale can.
“Just tired.”
“Oh ok, you are just more talkative, is all.?”
Shane did not reply. He was starting at NYU in three weeks. He was supposed to be an adult. He shouldn’t be ignoring people still when they talk to him.
Jackson leaned back on the couch, stretching his arms over his head. He looked disgustingly comfortable in his ratty UMiami hoodie, like he had not spent the last hour complaining about his summer classes. “Speaking of which, Shane, have you figured out your housing situation yet?”
Shane’s stomach dropped. He had been dreading this conversation. “Not really. I am on the waitlist for university housing, but it is not looking great.”
“What do you mean not looking great?”
“I mean I am probably going to end up in some shitty apartment in Queens with three roommates who hate me.” Shane took a long drink of ginger ale, hoping it would calm his nerves. It did not. “It is fine. I will figure it out.”
Jackson frowned, that protective big brother expression settling over his face. Shane loved his brother, truly, but sometimes Jackson treated him like he was made of glass. It had only gotten worse since Shane came out three years ago, like Jackson thought the world was going to be even crueler to him now. Which, fair, but still annoying.
“That is not fine,” Jackson said firmly. “You need somewhere safe. Somewhere close to campus.”
“I know, Jack. I am working on it.”
Ilya had been quiet during this exchange, but now he spoke up. His voice was casual, almost lazy. “You’re starting Freshman year, Shane?”
“Freshman.” Shane confirmed, trying not to blush at the direct attention. He failed. He could feel heat creeping up his neck, which was mortifying because he was wearing a light gray shirt that made every bit of color on his skin incredibly obvious. “Nursing program.”
“Nursing.” Ilya’s mouth curved into something that might have been a smile. It was hard to tell with him. “That is very noble. You will be good at that, I think.”
Shane had no idea what to do with that statement. Was it a compliment? It sounded like a compliment. He settled for a quiet “thanks” and hoped his face was not as red as it felt.
Jackson was staring at Ilya now, and Shane recognized that look. It was Jackson’s problem-solving look, which usually meant Shane’s life was about to get either significantly better or significantly worse. There was rarely an in-between with Jackson.
“Wait,” Jackson said slowly, sitting up straighter. “Ilya, are you still looking for a roommate?”
Shane’s entire body went cold. No, absolutely not. There was no way Jackson was about to suggest what Shane thought he was about to suggest. The universe could not be that cruel.
Ilya tilted his head, considering. “Yes, my old roommate graduated. I have been looking, but most people already have places.”
“Perfect.” Jackson turned to Shane with this bright, proud smile, like he had just solved world hunger. “Shane, why do you not room with Ilya?”
Shane choked on his ginger ale— actually choked. He coughed hard enough that his eyes watered, and when he finally managed to breathe again, both Jackson and Ilya were staring at him with varying degrees of concern.
“You good, bro?” Jackson asked.
“Fine.” Shane’s voice came out strangled. “Wrong pipe.”
Ilya was still watching him, those pale blue eyes assessing in a way that made Shane want to crawl under the couch and die. “You do not like this idea?”
“No, I just…” Shane’s brain was moving too fast and too slow at the same time. He could not room with Ilya, that was insane. It was a total recipe for disaster. He had spent the last five years perfecting the art of being normal around Ilya, and that required very careful distance and a lot of internal screaming. Living with him would destroy all of that.
“I do not want to impose.”
“You would not be imposing,” Ilya said, and he sounded genuine.
“I need roommate anyway. And this way, Jackson does not have to worry about you living with strangers.”
Jackson was nodding enthusiastically now, fully committed to this terrible idea.
“Exactly. Shane, this is perfect. You would be close to campus, you would be with someone I trust, and I would not have to stress about you being in some sketchy place in Queens.”
“I do not know,” Shane said weakly. His heart was hammering in his chest. This was a bad idea. This was possibly the worst idea in the history of ideas. He had been in love with Ilya Rozanov since he was fourteen years old, and now Jackson wanted them to share an apartment?
“Are you sure, Ilya? You do not have to do this just because Jackson suggested it.”
Ilya shrugged, all easy confidence. “Is no problem. I have two bedroom apartment near Washington Square. Rent is not bad if we split. You are quiet, yes? You will not throw loud parties?”
“Definitely not.”
“Then is fine.” Ilya’s lips quirked. “Besides, Jackson would kill me if I let anything bad happen to you. Is good motivation to be responsible roommate.”
Jackson laughed at that, oblivious to the way Shane’s entire world was tilting sideways. “Damn right I would. Shane is off limits, man. I am trusting you here.”
“I understand,” Ilya said, and something in his tone made Shane look up. Their eyes met for half a second before Shane looked away, face burning. “I will take good care of him.”
That should not have sounded like anything other than a normal statement about roommate responsibilities. It should not have made Shane’s stomach flip or his hands shake or his brain spiral into a thousand dangerous directions. But it did, God, it really did.
“Shane?” Jackson was looking at him expectantly. “What do you think?”
What did Shane think? He thought this was a monumentally bad idea. He should say no, should insist on finding somewhere else, should protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak of watching Ilya bring home random hookups while Shane sat in his room and tried not to imagine things he had no right to imagine.
But Jackson was looking at him with so much hope, so much relief, and Shane had never been good at disappointing his brother. And maybe a tiny, stupid part of him wanted this. Wanted to be close to Ilya, even if it hurt. Wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that living together meant something more than convenient housing.
“Okay,” Shane heard himself say. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
Jackson’s face lit up. “Seriously? Shane, this is great. I feel so much better knowing you will be with Ilya.”
Shane managed a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “Yeah. Great.”
Ilya stood up then, unfolding from the chair with that athletic grace that came from years of volleyball. He was so tall. Shane had forgotten, somehow, exactly how tall Ilya was. Six and a half feet of muscle and confidence, and Shane was supposed to live with him. Share a kitchen with him. See him first thing in the morning and last thing at night.
Shane was so fucked.
“I will text you address,” Ilya said, pulling out his phone. “Move in is in two weeks, yes? That gives us time to set up.”
“Sounds good.” Shane’s voice was steady, which felt like a minor miracle. “Thank you, really. I appreciate it.”
Ilya waved a hand dismissively. “Is nothing. Will be good to have roommate who is not annoying.” He shot Jackson a pointed look. “Unlike some people I know.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Jackson said, but he was grinning. “I am a great roommate.”
“You leave your shit everywhere and you eat all the food. You are terrible roommate.”
They fell into easy banter, the kind of comfortable back-and-forth that came from years of friendship. Shane watched them, feeling separate from it somehow. Like he was observing from behind glass. Jackson and Ilya being friends, and Shane being the little brother on the sidelines.
Except now he would not be on the sidelines. He would be in the apartment. In Ilya’s space. And Shane had no idea how he was supposed to survive that.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number with a New York area code.
Unknown: This is Ilya. Here is address: 345 W 4th Street, Apt 6B. Let me know when you want to see place.
Shane saved the number, fingers trembling slightly. He typed out a response.
Shane: Thanks. I’ll let you know.
Three dots appeared immediately, like Ilya was typing something else. They disappeared, reappeared, and disappeared again. Finally, a message came through.
Ilya: Will be good to have you as roommate, Shane.
Shane stared at his phone, reading the message three times. It did not mean anything. It was just Ilya being polite. There was no hidden meaning, no secret subtext. Ilya probably sent the same kind of message to every potential roommate.
But Shane’s heart did not seem to understand that, because it was doing complicated acrobatics in his chest, and his face felt hot again, and he was grateful that Jackson and Ilya had moved on to arguing about some sports thing Shane did not understand.
He locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He had two weeks to mentally prepare himself for living with Ilya Rozanov. Two weeks to build up his defenses, to remind himself that this was just a housing arrangement, nothing more. Two weeks to get his stupid crush under control.
It would be fine.
Across the room, Ilya laughed at something Jackson said, his whole face transforming with it. Shane’s stomach did that stupid flipping thing again.
Two weeks, he told himself firmly. He had two weeks to get his shit together.
It was not going to be enough time.
Later, after Ilya had left and it was just Shane and Jackson in the apartment, Jackson sprawled on the couch and grinned at Shane.
“See? I told you it would work out.”
Shane was in the kitchen, refilling his ginger ale. He kept his voice carefully neutral. “Yeah. You were right.”
“Ilya is a good guy. I know he has a reputation, but he will look out for you.”
Shane’s hand tightened on the can. “What kind of reputation?”
Jackson shrugged, not quite meeting Shane’s eyes. “You know. He goes out a lot and brings people home. He is not really the relationship type.” A pause. “But he would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. I made sure of that.”
Something cold settled in Shane’s chest. Of course Ilya was not the relationship type. Shane had known that, logically, but hearing Jackson say it out loud made it real in a way it had not been before. Ilya hooked up with people…probably a lot of people. Probably people who were nothing like Shane, who were confident and experienced and knew what they were doing.
People who were not hopelessly in love with him.
“I am sure it will be fine,” Shane said, hoping he sounded normal.
Jackson was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “You okay, Shane? You have been weird all day.”
“I am not weird.”
“You are definitely weird. Is it because of the move? Are you nervous about starting at NYU?”
Shane could have said yes. Could have let Jackson think this was just about school, about being in a new city, about normal freshman anxieties. But Jackson knew him too well, and Shane was tired of pretending everything was fine when it very much was not.
“Can I ask you something?” Shane set down his ginger ale and turned to face his brother. “Why did you suggest I room with Ilya?”
Jackson blinked, clearly not expecting that question. “Because you needed a place and he needed a roommate. Why?”
“You could have helped me find somewhere else. You did not have to volunteer your best friend.”
“Shane.” Jackson sat up straighter, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I suggested it because I trust Ilya. I know he will keep you safe. And honestly, it makes me feel better knowing you will have someone looking out for you. Is that okay?”
The genuine concern in Jackson’s voice made Shane’s chest ache. His brother meant well. Jackson always meant well. He just had no idea what he had done.
“Yeah,” Shane said quietly. “It is okay.”
Jackson studied him for another moment, then seemed satisfied. “Good. And hey, maybe you will make some friends through Ilya. Could be good for you.”
Shane highly doubted that Ilya’s friends would be the kind of people Shane wanted to spend time with, but he nodded anyway. “Maybe.”
His phone buzzed again, another text from Ilya.
Ilya: Forgot to mention, I have practice most afternoons. Volleyball. So apartment will be quiet if you need to study.
Shane: That’s good to know. Thanks.
Ilya: You are very polite. Is cute.
Shane almost dropped his phone. He read the message four times, trying to figure out if he was misinterpreting it. Is cute. What did that mean? Was Ilya flirting? No, that was insane. Ilya probably said things like that to everyone. It was probably just his accent making normal statements sound like flirting.
He did not respond. His brain had completely short-circuited.
“Who are you texting?” Jackson asked, craning his neck to see Shane’s phone.
“No one.” Shane shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Just confirming some stuff about the apartment.”
Jackson grinned, completely oblivious to Shane’s internal crisis. “This is going to be great, Shane. I can feel it. You and Ilya are going to get along really well.”
Shane seriously doubted that “getting along” was the problem. The problem was going to be living with someone he wanted desperately to get along with in ways that were absolutely not going to happen.
But he smiled at his brother anyway, because that was what Shane did. He smiled and he agreed and he tried very hard not to want things that were off limits.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I am sure we will.”
His phone buzzed one more time. He waited until Jackson was distracted by his laptop before checking it.
Ilya: Sleep well, Shane. See you soon.
Shane closed his eyes and took a slow, careful breath. Two weeks. He had two weeks until his entire carefully constructed world fell apart.
He was also absolutely terrified.
Mostly, he just felt screwed.