Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Rose Landry, Hayden Pike, Wyatt Hayes, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Fluff, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, just a silly little story about them as teachers, Yearning, unintentionally a lot of recs on indigenous kids lit, Based on a True Story, Shane Hollander is So Done

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-10 Words: 3,268 Chapters: 1/1

Louis Loon

Summary

Shane Hollander is a second grade teacher. The students at his school have started to hiss at each other. He just wants to get through his day with as little contact as possible with school librarian Mr. Rozanov.

Featuring dorky Shane, menace Ilya, and some general teacher life shenanigans.

Notes

“All right scholars, it’s finally warm enough for an outdoor recess so let’s start getting ready for that,” Shane announces. Chairs scrape and kids burst into easy chatter, conversations picking up in the middle of where they left off as though they’d just been on pause for the last 75 minute learning block. “I want to see hats and mitts on everyone, -12 is still chilly!” he calls out as he strays into the crowd, assisting seven year olds with zippers and velcro as needed. 

“Mr. Hollander! Help!” a little voice calls out from beneath multiple layers of gear, mitten hands flailing in a futile attempt to uncover their own head.

Shane smiles, gently pulling the student’s hood back over her two big puffs of hair and adjusting her scarf so that it’s no longer blinding her. “Easy there, Thea, you still need to be able to breathe,” he chuckles. 

“Thanks Mr. Hollander!” she calls out behind her as she runs to catch up with her friends. 

It’s been almost a week of indoor recesses as a polar vortex plunged the area into temperatures well below -30 with the wind chill, but fortunately the worst of the deep freeze seems to have passed. For now, anyways. The school board insists on keeping kids inside when it’s lower than -15, which certainly lowers their risk of frostbite but significantly increases Shane’s risk of going fucking crazy so he’s grateful they’re finally outside again. 

“Knock knock Mr. Hollander.” 

“Ah, hello Ms. Landry,” Shane smiles as he looks over to his classroom door. “What can I do you for?” 

“Have your kids been hissing?” Rose asks. 

“Hissing?” 

“My kids have been hissing for the past couple days, I wondered if it was a new thing.” 

Shane wracks his brain. “I don’t think so. Hissing like a snake?” 

“Yeah like hhhsssssss,” she opens her mouth and makes an animalistic sound with the back of her throat. “Like actual hissing,” she giggles. Shane has often thought that Rose is one of those people that was just born to be a teacher. He’s good at his job because he enjoys breaking things down into fundamental blocks for kids to learn and build upon, but Rose has a naturally playful warmth that kids are drawn to and an easy charm that parents just love. 

“It’s probably just the indoor recesses making them crazy,” Shane shakes his head, huffing out a laugh of his own. His glasses slip and he pushes them back up his nose with the back of one of his knuckles. “It’s certainly been driving me wild.” 

“Wild enough to hiss?” 

“Ask me again at the end of the day,” he fondly rolls his eyes. To answer the questioning look she gives, he says “we’re going to the library for our final period.” 

Rose glances up and down the hallway before stepping into his class and scampering over to him. She balls her hands into fists and gives him a few playful punches to the chest. “Are you finally going to ask him? Please say yes, please please please,” she whispers. 

Shane’s already shaking his head. “No, oh my god Rose, there’s nothing to ask!” His whisper matches hers, and he looks to the door too. It’s silly to keep checking, they both know that the echoing hallways would alert them to anyone’s presence long before someone would be visible there. 

“You liiiiiiike him!” she answers in sing-song. 

“He’s a colleague.”

“You wanna kiiiiiissssss him!” 

“Ma’am this is a workplace.” 

“You think he’s prettyyyyyyyyy!” 

“Oh my god you’re worse than the kids.” He gives her a gentle shove, trying to force his blush to recede through willpower alone. 

Rose relents with her teasing, finally returning to her normal (though fortunately still hushed) voice. “Colleagues date all the time, look at Jackie and Hayden! Just ask him out, what’s the worst that could happen?” 

Shane raises his eyebrows, looking at her over the top of his black frames, hoping to communicate how fundamentally stupid that question is.

“Okay sure he could say no, but we know he’s not going to!” She responds to his silence. “Mr. Rozanov likes you, we can all see it!” 

Shane closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, adjusting his glasses again. He does not want to be having this conversation. Rose does not know– cannot know– that Shane doesn’t need to ask out Mr. Rozanov on a date because they already have an… arrangement. An understanding. A meeting of the minds, if you will, after everyone else goes home on Friday nights. It’s been working perfectly well since they began soon after the librarian joined the school last year, and Shane sees no reason to change anything now.

“He does not like me,” Shane drawls, dragging his hands over his face, trying to wipe away his blush. “He teases me endlessly. He gets the children to tease me. The children, Rose.” 

Rose rolls her eyes. “He’s pulling your pigtails because he likes you.”

“You’re not allowed to say that, it equates violence with affection which encourages unhealthy relationship dynamics and particularly impacts young gir–”

“Oh my god shut up! We all attended that PD day, you know what I mean!” Rose huffs. “Being called ‘boring’ by a man whose eyeballs are replaced by cartoon hearts every time he looks at you is hardly violence, Shane.” 

“He told the children that my favourite book is the encyclopedia.” 

“Britannica?” 

“Canadian.” 

“Wow, rude of him to notice your literal home page.” 

“I teach social studies! That doesn’t make it my favourite book!” 

“You always say that your favourite book is whatever you were reading last,” Rose replies with fond impatience. “And since you read the ‘Today In Canadian History’ blurb from that site every day to your class, have you considered that actually he is technically correct?” 

“I–” Shane is saved from having to invent a retort to that devastatingly accurate read by the grace of the bell, and Ms. Landry sneaks out as his students tumble into class all rosy-cheeked from the cold.

“All right scholars, let’s settle down…” 

During his lunch break, Shane joins two of his friends and colleagues in the staff room. 

“Look, we all know that the Minister of Education sucks, but he’s not wrong about the Olympics,” Hayden Pike says to Wyatt Hayes. “It’s good for kids to feel pride in their country! And maybe it’ll get some of them into sports, so many ipad kids these days.” 

“Sports are fine, man, get them into sports, sure,” Wyatt responds. “But the Olympics is just nationalism on steroids, there are literally no critical thinking skills happening, they’re being taught to bleed red and white because why? Because ‘Canada?’ A made-up nationstate among made-up nationstates? It’s totally brainwashing, that’s all I’m saying!” 

“Brainwashing,” Hayden scoffs, “it’s the Olympics dude, it’s not that deep!” 

Shane is quite content to eat his lunch without contributing to this discussion. 

“Rozanov!” Wyatt shouts, as Shane suddenly becomes deeply interested in the texture of his carrot stick. “What are your thoughts on shoving the Olympics down the throats of children? It’s brainwashing, right?” 

“You can’t tell him it’s brainwashing and then expect a neutral opinion!” Hayden huffs. 

Mr. Rozanov pulls out the chair next to Shane at the table, sliding in to join the conversation. Their thighs press together for a moment before Shane quickly shuffles to rearrange himself. 

“I am against shoving anything down children’s throats as a general rule,” he replies smoothly, his stupid deep voice with subtle Russian lilt annoyingly attractive as ever as Shane tries desperately to focus on his food. “All of school is brainwashing though, so really teaching the Olympics is no different.” 

“All of…” Hayden repeats, apparently stunned. “I don’t know what you guys are teaching but I’m not brainwashing children.” 

Shane doesn’t have to look up from his lunch to know that Rozanov is smirking. 

“No no, my apologies,” Rozanov says. “I meant the actual teachers, not counting gym class of course. You just supervise bonus recess, yes? Not much risk of brainwashing during dodgeball.” 

“You’re such an ass,” Hayden scoffs. “I teach health class too, and I’d like to see you try that! There’s a lot of sensitive curriculum that phys.ed. teachers have to cover, not that you would know.” 

“Yes very sensitive, teaching about food triangle–” 

“It’s a food pyramid–”  

“It’s not four dimensional,” Shane's mouth says before his brain can stop him. Ah fuck, now he’s involved. 

“Oh my god, not you too!” Hayden says. 

“I’m just saying, a pyramid has four triangular sides of which we only ever see one on the diagram so technically–”

“See, Hollander agrees with me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Shane can see Rozanov stick out his tongue at Hayden, as though that settles it. 

“You’re both children,” Shane mumbles. 

“Even children can tell the difference between a triangle and a pyramid, Pike is dumber than a kindergartener.” 

“I know the difference between– oh my god why am I even arguing with you, you are the literal worst,” Hayden shakes his head and takes an angry bite out of his sandwich. He chews as though the bread insulted his mother, staring daggers across the table. 

“The food thing is another example of government brainwash–” Wyatt starts before both Pike and Rozanov tell him to shut up. 

Getting the students queued up for the last block of the day, Shane holds his hand up to get their attention. “Finger on my lips,” he acts out each line, “hand on my hips, quiet with my toes, here we go.” They walk in an orderly fashion, each child holding a finger in front of their mouths with a book under their other arm. They each slide their book into the return slot as they enter the library, and organize themselves on the carpet in front of the big comfy chair in the corner of the room. 

“Have you read them A Promise Is A Promise yet?” Mr. Rozanov asks Shane quietly as the students get settled. 

Shane frowns. “No, because I’m not trying to traumatize them??” 

“It’s a classic Canadian book, Hollander.” 

“It’s going to give them nightmares.” 

“I think you need to take another session on teaching Indigenous curriculum, you are sounding very colonizing.” 

Shane huffs, his whisper growing in ferocity. “I include lots of Indigenous curriculum, Rozanov, excuse me for trying not to give my kids nightmares about ice monsters who hunt children!” 

“You are excused,” Rozanov smirks, and Shane wonders how traumatizing it would be for the children to witness an extremely well-deserved homicide. Probably less than that fucking Munsch book, he reckons.

“How about Maple Moon, or The Littlest Sled Dog, or Baseball Bats for Christmas, or literally any other book?” Shane tries to reason in a still-hushed tone. He does not want to be fielding calls from angry parents when their kids can’t sleep for fear of the fucking Qallupilluq creature. 

“Oh my God Hollander, you are so boring,” Rozanov huffs. “Fine, I will read Mwâkwa Talks to the Loon, children will still learn important lesson, no one will have nightmares, and you will show me how grateful you are on Friday after school.” 

Shane can feel the blush creeping across his face, and he purses his lips in an attempt to control it. Before he can say anything in response to that absolutely inappropriate innuendo, Rozanov is walking over to the oblong circle of children and clapping his hands. 

“Okay my giant 8th graders…” Rozanov says, causing a ripple of giggles throughout the group. “Why laughing, are you not my eighth grade class?”

“No, Mr. Rozanov!” they shout in chorus. 

“I am reading you War and Peace today, no?” He pats the enormous Russian tome that lives beside his reading chair for precisely this joke. 

“No, Mr. Rozanov!”

“Well then who are you?” 

“Mr. Hollander’s grade two’s!” they recite all out of sync. 

“Mr. Hollander’s grade two’s? Oh my goodness you are all getting so big! My favourite grade two class!” They are the only second grade class in the school this year and Rozanov sees them every week, but Shane can’t help but smile as he takes his place at the back of the room. 

“Now I have a very special book to read to you today, my favourite grade two’s who I could never forget…” he takes Mwâkwa Talks to the Loon out of the magazine rack beside his chair, and Shane wonders whether that book hadn’t perhaps been the plan all along. If Rozanov only asked about A Promise Is A Promise in order to stress Shane out. He’s kind of an asshole like that. 

When it’s time for the students to pick out their take-home books for the next week, Shane starts moving about the room in order to help where needed. 

“Mr. Hollander what does this say?” Thea asks, holding up an old battered paperback. 

“That says The Hockey Sweater. I used to love this book when I was a kid. I thought it was French, though.” 

“Are they all wearing Habs jerseys?”

“Yes, it’s about a kid who accidentally gets a Leafs sweater instead of the Habs one he wants.”

Thea crumples her face in disapproval. 

“Not a Habs fan?” Shane asks. 

“Montreal sucks.” 

“You can say ‘I don’t like the Canadiens’ without using hurtful language,” Shane reprimands gently.

“Montreal fans are so dumb they probably can’t even count to one,” she replies. 

“Thea–”

“She’s right and she should say so!” Mr. Rozanov says from behind. “Thea you do not want that book, it is so boring. Come, we will find good hockey book together.” The little girl reaches up her hand and Rozanov takes it, leading her over to a display shelf he’d already arranged featuring books for every grade level on hockey history, different teams, famous players, and general stories. From across the room, Shane can see Rozanov crouch and listen intently to whatever it is Thea is saying, nodding along with a serious look on his face. When she’s done talking, he looks over his display and picks up a light blue picture book with a Black character standing proudly with a hockey stick on the cover. Thea looks thrilled. Once again Shane can’t help but find himself enamoured with this absolute dickhead of a man, whose soft heart with children always seems to shine through despite his best efforts to infuriate the adults around him. 

Shane continues his wandering, stopping to help students as needed. His eyes keep finding their way back to the librarian, in his black jeans and dark henley and stupid Adidas runners that look brand new despite being the man's every day indoor shoes. Teachers shouldn’t be allowed to look that good, in Shane’s opinion. It’s rude. It must be torture for the intermediate classes especially; he doesn’t think he would have survived if he had a teacher who looked like that when he was in the hormonal throes of puberty. He barely survives now, as a full adult whose impulses are mostly in check. 

Rozanov is crouched once more, talking holding up two different books for a student to ponder. Shane watches as another student runs over and starts talking to the librarian who turns and… fucking hisses at the interrupter. 

That answers Rose’s question, then. 

Shockingly, the interrupting student responds to the hiss by quietly waiting their turn. When Rozanov is done with the first student, he turns and gives his full attention to the next. 

Once all the students have gone home, Shane heads back to the library. 

“You’ve been teaching the children to hiss.” 

Rozanov looks up from his desk. “Hello Mr. Rozanov, how are you? Oh I am well, thank you for asking, how about you? Did no one teach you manners, Hollander?” 

Shane scoffs. “You’ve been teaching the children to hiss!” he says again, incredulously this time. He’s not going to be lectured about manners by this fucking guy. 

“Eh, kids know what I mean.” Rozanov waves his hand dismissively in the air. 

“They’re hissing at each other and other teachers! Rose asked me earlier if hissing was a new internet thing, the kids are doing it so much!” 

“Oh well if Rose asked you…” he rolls his eyes. 

“Oh my god you are impossible,” Shane huffs. “You can’t hiss at children, I should not have to explain this to you.” 

“Okay so when kid interrupts, I take time out of what I’m already saying to say ‘please do not interrupt’ and then they say ‘but this is important’ and then I say ‘please wait until I am done talking to other student and then we will deal with important thing,’ that’s what you want?” 

“I mean… yeah, pretty much? Is that so hard?” 

“Okay or, I hiss and they wait their turn and everything is fine, which takes way less time and is also funny.” 

“And then they start hissing at each other and other adults, which is not funny at all,” Shane counters. 

Rozanov caps the pen he was writing with when Shane walked in. He gets up from his desk and walks around it, slowly closing the distance between them, maintaining eye contact then whole time. The closer he gets, the warmer the room seems to feel. 

He stops just short of full frontal contact, way too close for plausible deniability, and Shane has to focus to prevent himself from reaching out to close the remaining inch of distance.

Rozanov tilts his head, bringing his face right next to Shane’s ear, his breath warm sending shivers down Shane’s spine and right to his pants. “Is a little funny,” Rozanov whispers. 

Shane groans. “This is a workplace.” 

“Mr. Professional,” Rozanov teases, pulling back to see Shane’s face. 

“Someone has to be,” Shane murmurs. 

“Mr. Do-Gooder.” 

Shane bites his lip. “Shut up.” This should not be hot. 

The back of Rozanov’s knuckles ghost across the front of Shane’s pants, which are feeling tighter by the second.

“Mr. Sanctimonious.”

It’s extremely hot. 

“Mr. Fucking Fuck Me Already, Rozanov,” the Russian says in an unfairly high-pitched whisper, quoting Shane’s own words back at him. “Or is that just on Fridays?” His half-cocked grin is deadly and infuriating.

Shane takes a steadying breath, trying to remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea. He knows there are many. He cannot currently think of a single one. 

“I hate you.” 

“Mm, yes. Hatred.” Rozanov mercifully steps back with a dark chuckle that Shane feels in his groin. “Maybe Friday we study feelings chart,” he points to the library’s Calm Down Corner, with a large poster of different feelings and their associated facial expressions on the wall. “You seem to need review.”

“I know exactly what I’m feeling,” Shane replies through gritted teeth. 

Rozanov’s eyes flick over Shane’s shoulder ever so briefly. “I look forward to hearing all about it, Mr. Hollander,” he says way too casually, clapping a hand on Shane’s shoulder and pushing past him. “Sheila, my love, please let me help you with that!” 

He watches Rozanov jog over to the doorway, where the custodian is trying to open the heavy door while wearing a cast. Shane turns to the window, away from the interaction, willing his pants to return to their normal fit and function. 

He fucking hates this man. He will absolutely be back here at their usual time on Friday. He chooses not to dwell on that particular personal failing. 

Instead, Shane pulls out his phone to text Rose: 

Solved the hissing mystery. You'll never guess.