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The first thing Shane noticed after the sex was over, was that Ilya was staring again.
His room was dim, lit only by the weak orange glow of a desk lamp shoved into the corner, its light catching on carelessly discarded clothes and Ilya's unmade bed. Shane stood near the door, tugging his shirt back on, fingers clumsier than he'd want them to be.
"Leaving already?" Ilya asked lazily, and there was a rustling of sheets.
Shane swallowed. "It’s late."
"It was late an hour ago. Stay, Hollander."
Shane paused with his hand on the door, casting a brief glance over to the bed. Ilya was propped up on one elbow, curls in a mess, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.
For a fleeting moment, Shane considered it. The thought came unbidden, like it always did when he was near Ilya. Crossing the room, pressing his mouth to that sharp line at Ilya’s collarbone and their bodies fitting together; something stupid like that. The memory of the faint scent of Ilya’s hair and the way his pulse thrummed against Shane’s chest felt warped, like it wasn't even meant to exist.
Even if the temptation lingered, all sickeningly sweet, he couldn't. He shook his head, forcing himself to pull the door open.
"Goodnight, Rozanov."
The door shut behind him before Ilya could answer.
The hallway outside was a stark difference to the warmth between their bodies just moments ago; cold and way too bright. Shane walked fast under the florescent lights, like if he slowed down even a little he might turn back and do something he'd regret.
He can't remember the exact date anymore, tries his best to forget, but it'd been long enough that his body reacted to Ilya before his brain had time to catch up, before common sense could intervene and remind him of all the reasons this was a bad idea.
Long enough, apparently, to fall for him in a way that felt inevitable and completely fucking irreversible.
Being anything more than acquaintances with him already felt like crossing a line he shouldn't — because Ilya Rozanov had a reputation, and it wasn’t whispered so much as openly discussed. Ilya had never bothered to keep his personality hidden behind some sort of good-guy front, his name all over the rumours that traveled quickly through campus.
But Shane doesn't blame them, not when he knows why they talk.
Ilya was devastatingly attractive in a way that seemed unfair, and that in itself already made the girls (and some of the guys) across campus notice him much more than they should. He hadn’t admitted that the idea of Ilya touching someone else made his stomach twist in a way that felt both humiliating and deeply unfair — knowing that the boy who made him ache in so many ways was a magnet to everyone else, but for a few stolen moments in the dark, had been his entirely.
"This is just," he’d said months ago, "just curiousity."
"Ok." Ilya had leaned against Shane’s desk like he belonged there, fingers idly tracing the edge of a notebook. "So, do you want to fuck, or no?"
They played on the same team, which meant there was never any real distance between them to begin with.
From the first Ilya joined the college's hockey team, Shane started noticing him in a way that went way beyond a captain's responsibility towards his teammates. What he refused to articulate even in the privacy of his own head, however, was how Ilya was slowly drawing him into an orbit he couldn't pull himself out of.
Shane had never thought about sleeping with a guy before, not before Ilya.
The first time it happened wasn’t planned, nor was it romantic either.
It was late, well past midnight, after a practice for an upcoming friendly had stretched out hours past the time he intended. Shane was still in the locker room, sitting on the bench replaying mistakes in his head the way he always did, when he realized he wasn’t alone.
Ilya was still there, towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water from his damp hair catching the light like tiny sparks along his collarbone and shoulders. Shane's eyes traced the way the muscles in Ilya's arms flexed, starting to feel light-headed at the faint scent of soap and something else in the air — maybe the combination of awe and desire that had no business being there in a college bathroom at midnight.
"Keep staring. I don't mind." Ilya said suddenly, tilting his head.
Shane tried to look away, embarrased. “I— what? No, I’m not.”
Ilya's smirk deepened, taking a deliberate step closer, his eyes not leaving Shane’s. “Hmm, liar.”
He leaned casually against the locker opposite Shane, crossing his arms.
“I know what else you are staring at."
His eyes flicked down before meeting Shane's gaze again, as if daring him to deny it. Shane’s chest tightened, every instinct screaming that Ilya knew exactly where his thoughts had wandered, and maybe, just maybe, how much he liked it
“Rozanov, this is such a bad idea,” he managed, voice barely more than a whisper.
Ilya’s gaze was unflinching as it traced Shane’s lips. “There is no one else here, no?”
And just like that, Shane felt the last threads of his resolve fray.
When Ilya’s lips were finally on his, it felt like a prayer and a vow at the same time. Shane’s chest tightened, his fingers clinging to Ilya's neck as all reason fled and he felt himself finally, terrifyingly unravel.
Shane’s chest was heaving when they broke apart, and he pressed his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of a body that was about to become achingly familiar. Ilya’s hand lingered on his side, thumb brushing along Shane’s hip, and he leaned in close.
"Have you been in my room before?"
Afterward, they were careful.
Ilya was honest, at least. He didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t. He never gave Shane rosy promises of romance and affection that felt too out of character for whatever this was, if anything at all.
Shane wasn't.
And now, sitting alone in his room with his phone lighting up with messages from a certain someone, Shane knew when he'd fucked up.
No, not when they started sleeping together — it was when he started wanting more than they should have ever been, and knowing deep down that asking for it might mean losing whatever they had entirely.
If he kept showing up every time Ilya wanted him, he would only sink deeper into something that was always one-sided and doomed. Ilya would barely notice even if he backed off like this, because someone like him always had options, people lining up to fill the space Shane had left.
This was the right thing to do, yet it felt like he was breaking his own heart on purpose.
DO NOT TEXT
You come over tonight?
DO NOT TEXT
Ignoring me now
I'm hurt, Hollander
DO NOT TEXT
Something wrong?
DO NOT TEXT
Fine then
"Shane! Shane Hollander?"
Shit.
He'd recognise that accent anywhere.Shit. If he just kept walking, maybe he could pretend he didn't hear her, and maybe she would leave him alone. The last thing he needed was some semblance of Ilya still haunting his life when he'd tried his best to make a clean break. He knew how close they were, and no doubt would she try and pry something out of him.
Shane had only tried to disappear into the crowd of students behind him when a hand landed on his shoulder from behind. "I'm offended, Shane. If Ilya has upset you, I understand. But me?"
"Svetlana. Hi." He tried to fumble for something neutral to say. "I wasn't ignoring you, I mean, not really." He forced a laugh, hoping to diffuse the tension.
She gave him a suspicious look, but leaned just a fraction closer to him so that he could smell the faint trace of her perfume. "Ilya says you have been ignoring him. It is bothering him, you know?"
Bothering him? Yeah, right. Bet he's slept with everyone on his floor by now.
Shane swallowed, resisting the urge to just retort his thoughts out loud. "I'm just, really busy these days. Like really. I have to get to class." His voice comes out strained, rather than an attempt to sound casual.
Svetlana’s brow furrowed slightly, not accusingly, but in a way that made him feel like she could see right through him. Shane takes his chance and quickly brushes past her with a muttered bye. Thank God.
The party was a blur of movement and noise, the kind of chaos that Shane usually avoided, but now he'd lost Hayden under the lights. It wasn't his fault, really, he was just trying to drag Shane out of a slump that he'd created for himself. It had took enough convincing for him to actually show up (“I'm not a chicken, Hayden”) and now he was beginning to remember why he didn't want to in the first place.
He kept his hands in his pockets, eyes flicking everywhere desperately in search of Hayden.
And then he froze.
Ilya.
Leaning casually against the wall near the bar, a girl was pressed close to him, her head tilted back in laughter Shane couldn’t hear over the music. Ilya’s attention didn’t seem fixed entirely on her — he was hardly glancing her direction — but the effect of seeing someone else in his orbit so intimately, was immediate. Shane’s chest felt too tight to breathe properly, and for the first time, he realized just how suffocating seeing Ilya with someone else could be.
He wanted to turn and disappear into the crowd, but his legs betrayed him, frozen by the unfairness of it all.
By now, Ilya had shifted, brushing the girl aside with a casual flick of his hand, like he was redirecting attention without effort. His eyes found Shane’s almost immediately, and the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips seemed to fade. Shane walked away as fast as he possibly could, shoving through the crowd of people, trying to ignore the echo of Ilya’s laugh in the music. He had no claim, none whatsoever, on Ilya's attention, so who was he to expect Ilya to pine for him like a lovesick boyfriend?
Just as he turned down a narrow hallway, perhaps leading to the bathrooms, a hand grabbed his arm from behind. Shane didn't even need to look.
He whipped around instinctively, ready to snap at Ilya, shove him away, but for a heartbeat he couldn't bring himself to do anything. Ilya standing alone in a narrow hallway, attention narrowed to just him, hand still warm and solid around Shane’s arm. This felt dangerously intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex.
“What the hell are you doing?” Shane managed, voice tight.
Ilya didn’t answer, only grabbed him more firmly, guiding him so they were pressed close together. "You've been busy, yes? Too busy to reply, not too busy to come here?"
Fuck. How could Svetlana tell on him?
Shane tried to step back, but Ilya’s grip was strong, and for once he couldn’t wrestle control. “Go away,” he said, voice breaking. “I can’t— this —”
"Why are you like this?"
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The music from the party bled through the walls in a distant thrum. Out here, time had stalled just long enough to let everything Shane had been avoiding crash down on him at once.
Ilya was the one who broke the silence.
“Are you going to tell me what I did?” he asked, voice low in a way that was almost worse than if he’d been angry.
Shane let out a short, humorless laugh, finally yanking his arm free. “You didn’t do anything,” he said, and the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
Ilya’s expression tightened. “Then why are you ignoring me?”
“Because I knew this was going to happen,” Shane snapped, the words coming out sharper than he’d intended. “I told myself I could handle it and I was wrong.”
Ilya took a step closer again, undeterred. “Handle what?” he pressed. “Fucking? Talking? You disappearing?”
Shane shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it.” He cut himself off as he finally met Ilya’s eyes again. “You don’t look at this the same way I do.”
“You think I would chase you around like this if it was nothing?” Ilya asked, incredulous, and there was no teasing in his voice.
Shane’s throat tightened. “You don’t exactly give people reasons to think otherwise.”
“You decided I couldn’t want more.”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to be stupid enough to hope, Rozanov.”
When Ilya finally spoke again, his voice was stripped of its edge. “You should have told me.”
Shane laughed weakly, shaking his head. “And what? Let you throw me aside and hurt you more? I can’t do that. I won’t.”
Ilya opened his mouth, then closed it again. Shane took that hesitation as confirmation, as proof of everything he’d been afraid of.
“Yeah,” Shane said softly. “That’s what I thought.”
Before Ilya could stop him, before he could say anything else that might make this harder, Shane turned and walked away down the corridor.
He didn’t look back.
Shane stood frozen for a moment outside the dorm a few afternoons later, the winter sun soft but bright, making the snow around the campus glint.
DO NOT TEXT
What time are you free?
He almost didn’t want to reply — he didn't have to, not when he'd been ignoring Ilya for weeks now. Part of him still believed Ilya only wanted him to fall back into the familiar rhythm of their arrangement, and Shane hated himself for how tempting that still was. It would be so simple to give in when his body remembered Ilya far too well, his heartstrings tugged in that way whenever Ilya so much as glanced at him.
If he answered, he risked reopening something he wasn’t sure he could survive twice.
DO NOT TEXT
Answer
Please?
If he didn’t, he’d spend the rest of his life wondering what Ilya would have said.
In 20 mins
Why?
The reply came faster than Shane expected, like Ilya had been waiting with his phone already in hand.
DO NOT TEXT
Come downstairs when you're done.
Exactly twenty minutes later, stepping out of the building, Shane froze.
Ilya was waiting right there on the sidewalk, helmet tucked under one arm, leather jacket zipped up against the cold. The jacket fit him like it had been made for him, creasing naturally at the elbows and shoulders, collar turned up just enough to frame his jaw. A motorbike was parked just behind him, metal catching the winter light in muted flashes. He looked entirely out of place and perfectly at home all at once.
Ilya looked up when Shane stepped out of the building. Something like surprise flickered across his face, before he smoothed it away and leaned back against the bike as if he hadn’t been watching the doors at all.
“You took your time.”
Shane snorted despite himself. “I was studying, Rozanov. You know, like a normal student?”
Ilya’s eyes warm with amusement. “Mm. I forget you pretend to be responsible.”
“Someone has to,” Shane shot back, though his gaze drifted helplessly again, to the motorbike parked just behind him. “What is this?”
Ilya followed his line of sight, then shrugged with infuriating ease. “Get on.”
“No,” Shane said immediately, folding his arms. “Absolutely not.”
Ilya lifted a brow. “You do not even know where we are going.”
“I don’t need to,” Shane replied. “That thing is a death trap. And I’ve never been on a motorbike in my entire life.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Ilya said. “You’ll be fine.”
“That’s what people say right before someone ends up in the ER.”
“Nothing will happen to you when I’m here.”
Shane stared at him, thrown, like Ilya had said something reckless instead of something devastatingly sincere.
“Don’t say things like that,” Shane muttered, looking away.
“Why?”
Shane scoffed weakly, already losing the fight. He exhaled, resigned, and held out his hand. “Give me the helmet.”
Ilya’s grin was bright with victory. “I knew you would listen, eventually.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Shane warned as he took the helmet and slipped it on, the padding muffling the world just slightly. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”
Ilya laughed as he swung onto the bike with practiced ease and patted the seat behind him. “Then hold on.”
Shane hesitated only a second before climbing on, his hands hovering in useless uncertainty at his sides, painfully aware of how close they were without actually touching.
“You know,” Ilya suddenly said, a little too casually. “this is very funny to me.”
Shane frowned. “What is?”
Ilya glanced back over his shoulder, eyes flicking pointedly to where Shane’s hands were very deliberately not touching him. “You are suddenly afraid to touch me?”
“No.” Shane snapped.
Ilya hummed, unconvinced. “Mm. Strange. I remember you touching me just fine the last time we—.”
Shane’s face went hot instantly, immediately cutting. “That is not— that’s not the same thing.”
Ilya laughed. "You let me fuck you, but you are afraid to hold my waist?"
"You—" Shane said, glancing around hurriedly. "I'm not."
“Then?”
Shane cursed under his breath as he finally reached forward, gripping the back of Ilya’s jacket like it was a hard fought compromise.
“Not there,” Ilya said, infuriatingly patient. “Here.”
Before Shane could respond, Ilya reached back and caught his wrist, guiding his hand and placing it firmly at his waist. His other hand followed a second later, settling Shane’s grip properly. The contact pulled him closer, his chest brushing Ilya’s back, the distance between them dissolving despite every effort to keep it intact.
Shane swallowed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed easily.
“Shut up.”
Ilya leaned back just enough to make the closeness unmistakable. “Hold on,” he said, voice dropping. “Unless you trust me not to let you fall.”
The bike surged forward, the sound of the engine vibrating up through his legs and spine. Instinctively, he leaned in closer, fingers tightening in the leather at Ilya’s waist as the road unfurled ahead of them. He could've swore he heard Ilya laugh.
Cold air tore past them, biting at Shane’s cheeks and creeping down the collar of his jacket. Shane could feel how completely at ease Ilya seemed navigating the narrow streets and widening roads alike. It was infuriating, and oddly calming, all at once.
They left the campus behind quickly, familiar brick buildings and snow-dusted paths blurring into streaks of light and shadow. Streetlamps cast warm pools of light over the concrete, flashing rhythmically across Ilya’s hands on the handlebars.
“Relax, Hollander,” Ilya said suddenly, voice just loud enough.
“I'm concentrating on not falling off,” Shane shot back, though the words were swallowed by the wind.
“You trust me so little.”
“This is me trusting you,” Shane said, tightening his grip another notch. “Any more and I’d be unconscious.”
“Mm.” Ilya hummed.
There was something intimate about it, something like closeness without pretense. His was chest pressed to Ilya’s back, hands steady at his waist. It felt different from the dark, tangled closeness of bedsheets and hurried kisses. Against his better judgment, he rested his forehead briefly against Ilya’s shoulder, the leather cool beneath his cheek.
Ilya didn’t comment on it. He just rode on, steady and sure, carrying Shane with him toward wherever it was he’d decided to take them.
The lake stretched before them like a mirror as the sky descended into gold and rose. Snow-covered pines framed the clearing, and Shane’s shoes crunched softly against the ground as he stepped closer, though he didn’t move away from Ilya when he moved beside him. Their shoulders brushed, and Shane felt the familiar warmth that always seemed to radiate from Ilya, even when the sun was fading.
“I didn't know a place like this existed so close to campus,” Shane admitted, tilting his head to watch the light shimmer on the water.
Ilya glanced at him, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I found it by accident. Got lost during a ride. I knew I would bring someone here, sometime.”
“Someone?” Shane echoed, heart hammering. “You haven't been here with anyone else?”
Ilya turned fully toward him, shaking his head no, the light catching faint sparks in the flecks of his iris. “No.” he admitted, “But I have always wanted to bring you.”
Shane blinked, trying to process the words. "So does that mean—?"
“Yes.” Ilya said softly, stepping even closer.
Shane blinked, trying to process the words. “You—?” His voice was barely a whisper, disbelief mixing with hope. "You're not fucking with me, are you?"
Ilya raised an eyebrow, though his eyes were full of affection. "Accusing me of lying?"
“I’ve been trying not to feel anything. I’ve been trying to—” Shane stopped, swallowed, exhaled slowly. “—I’ve been trying not to fall for you, Ilya.”
Ilya’s eyes softened, the faintest crease of his brow forming. “Shane.” he murmured. “I'm not good with feelings. I'm trying, you know. I wanted to try for you. I always have.”
Shane felt heat prick at his ears, heart threatening to explode. “You never made it obvious.” he muttered.
“Sorry.” Ilya said, grin tugging at his lips, “But it has always been different. With you, I mean. It's been different since you.” He reached out, tentative, and brushed Shane’s hair back from his forehead, thumb grazing along his temple.
“Then have you, with, you know, other people?” Shane asked, voice barely audible.
Ilya nodded, eyes fixed on Shane’s. “No. Not since you. You’re the only one I wanted after that.” His words stumbled slightly, and Shane’s chest ached at the vulnerability he’d never expected from the guy who seemed untouchable to everyone else.
“I didn’t think you could be serious,” Shane smiled letting his hands hover near Ilya’s waist without fully touching, afraid to break the fragile moment. “Not like, like this.”
Ilya’s grin softened, and he leaned in just enough to rest his forehead against Shane’s. “I am,” he said quietly. “Serious. With you. Only you.” His breath mingled with Shane’s. “I want you to know how I feel. I want to know how you feel, too.”
Shane let out a shaky laugh, leaning into Ilya’s body. “I think I’ve always been waiting for you to say that.” His hands finally moved, bracing lightly against Ilya’s chest, fingers tracing the edge of the leather jacket.
“You can hold me if you want,” Ilya murmured, voice low, almost teasing again. “Unless you are afraid again?”
Shane rolled his eyes, heart hammering, but leaned in, closing the small distance between them. “Shut up,” he whispered, though his lips found Ilya’s in an unhurried, gentle kiss, soft enough to make the world fall away. Ilya responded immediately, hand sliding around Shane’s waist, fingers pressing just a little.
When they pulled back, Shane’s chest rose and fell quickly, warmth spreading through him like sunlight after winter. “So, now what?” he asked, voice breathless.
“Whatever you want,” Ilya said, eyes shining, thumb brushing across Shane’s jawline. “You and me.”
Shane laughed softly and leaned fully into him, pressing a long, slow kiss to Ilya’s shoulder, then back to his lips. The kiss was deeper and warmer this time, letting the moment stretch infinitely. Shane let himself finally fall, fully, completely into Ilya, into them, into the possibility of something real.
“I’m all yours if you want me,” Shane whispered against Ilya’s lips, and Ilya’s hands tightened around his waist, a soft laugh escaping him.
“You already are,” Ilya replied. “I’m never letting you go.”