Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Power Bottom Shane Hollander, Service Top Ilya Rozanov, First Time, Switching, Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, the mortifying ordeal of having insane sexual chemistry with your archnemesis, shane and all the bad bitches he pulled by being autistic, rival party houses centaurs vs voyageurs, if you see my manifesto on the importance of queer community in here no you didn’t

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of imma make you my (baby)

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-16 Words: 35,872 Chapters: 1/1

i only threw this party 4 u

Summary

“I saw your post,” Rozanov says. “Was very subtle. Very Hollander. I liked it.”

His tone is serious. Serious earnest or serious sarcastic? Shane searches Rozanov’s face for clues and finds none. “Thank you?” Shane says eventually. He’s so confused it comes out as a question.

“You are welcome.” Rozanov takes a drink of his beer. “I am bisexual.”

Shane’s jaw drops. The shock is great enough he doesn’t realize for several seconds. Then he snaps it shut, and tries to find words. “Oh,” is all he can say.”

“Yes,” Rozanov says. He’s looking at Shane, enjoying his reaction. “Oh.”

- 

(Shane comes out. Shane finds out every not-straight man he knows is into him.)

Notes

something has happened to me. i haven’t been this inspired writing-wise in a fandom maybe…. ever. and it’s not showing any signs of slowing down LOL.

this is a combo of TV show characters and book series characters—where there’s overlap, picture the TV show version.

there’s a ton of sideships in this though none of them are featured that heavily. if you want to know, they are: brief shane/troy, brief shane/omcs, troy/harris, bood/cassie, hayden/jackie, rose/svetlana, past referenced ilya/cliff, past referenced shane/rose

“Anything But Clothes,” Hayden suggests.

“No way,” says JJ, “that’s so fucking boring. Come on. Where is the creativity?”

“I’ll ask Chat GPT,” Soren says.

“That’s even worse, man! I’d rather kill myself. Do you think Ilya Rozanov and Zane Boodram are using Chat GPT to plan the next Centauri Street bash right now? They aren’t, and if we’re going to throw a better party than them, we aren’t either. Shane, help me out.”

Shane isn’t listening. Shane is looking at his phone, as he has been for the last thirty minutes, choosing the pictures for his end-of-summer Instagram post. He keeps tapping the select and unselect button on the final photo.

A text from Rose interrupts. you know i love you regardless but at the end of the day i think you’ll be happier if you do it. for whatever that’s worth!

He locks his phone and throws it on the couch. “I need to tell you guys something.”

“If you say CEOs and Office Hoes I’ll kick your ass,” JJ says.

“What? No, it’s not about the party.” Every year for the last two the four of them have lived together, their first night back in the house on Voyageur Avenue has been a discussion about the theme for their first party of the year. With the guys over on Centauri Street upping their party game throughout last year, JJ is taking this year’s inaugural party more seriously than ever.

Shane takes it seriously, too, but he needs to get this off his chest before he loses his nerve. He takes a moment to gather his words, even though he’s run them through so many times in his head he could say them in his sleep. “It’s about me. Before I say it, I want you to know… I’m still the same person I have been for the years you’ve known me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner but I only figured it out not too long ago. I’ve only told like three people.” He laughs awkwardly. “After you guys it’ll be six.”

Hayden, JJ, and Soren are all staring at him. Hayden looks concerned. JJ looks intrigued. Soren just looks confused. “What’s going on, Shane?” Hayden says in his nicest voice.

He rarely uses it on Shane—it’s mostly reserved for Jackie when she’s on her period and Hayden is trying not to accidentally piss her off. “I’m fine. It’s nothing bad. I’m…” Shane takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m… gay.”

Total silence. The words hang in the air. Now all three of Shane’s friends are wearing the same expression: shock. Hayden recovers quickest. “Oh—that’s, oh man, that’s great, buddy! It’s great, right, guys?”

“Of course,” JJ says. He smiles. “Damn, for a sec, I thought you were gonna tell us you have cancer. This is way better!”

“Definitely,” says Soren. “Gay is better than cancer.”

Hayden smacks Soren’s arm. “You can’t say shit like that!”

“What? Why?” Soren says, nonplussed.

“Thanks for telling us, Shane,” Hayden says, back in his nicest voice. He claps Shane on the shoulder, just as he always does.

“Yeah, thanks for listening,” says Shane.

They go back to discussing party themes, and Shane picks his phone up. Again, before his courage can desert him, he selects the final photo he’d been second-guessing, puts it last in the carousel, and posts it.

—-—

The world doesn’t end.

Intellectually, Shane had known it wouldn’t, but still there was a part of him that worried. JJ, Soren, and Hayden didn’t boo him out of the house. When he walks into his first class of the semester the next morning, no one laughs or points at him. He feels silly for thinking that’s a remote possibility. It’s 2026 and he goes to university outside Toronto, after all.

His Instagram post isn’t even that serious. a beautiful summer with people i love was the caption, and the photos are the usual random shit: the yearly camping trip he takes with his parents, a dog wearing sunglasses he saw in downtown Ottawa, a really ugly picture of Rose from when she came to stay for a week, and lastly, a picture of Shane in a pink tank top, standing in front of a rainbow mural that says L'AMOUR, C’EST L'AMOUR. Rose had taken it on her visit, when they’d gone to the Montreal Pride Festival together.

The post hits over two hundred likes in barely 24 hours. That’s not normal for Shane’s posts, though he has around a thousand followers these days. The comments are all the usual, and a bunch of people he half-knows DM him with a saw your post, good for you! type of thing that he just hearts and doesn’t reply to. Astonishingly, everyone he sees is very nice.

But by far the crazier part is seeing the number next to the message icon. 173 people and counting have privately shared it, which means there are at least 173 DM conversations about Shane soft-coming out. To be fair, that’s only a fraction of the 5,000 undergrads at his university—a statistic that should make Shane feel better. It just makes him feel weird.

So it’s weird. But the world doesn’t end.

A week later, JJ declares, “A theme has been chosen. It is… the Wet Gala.”

“The What Gala?” Soren asks, misunderstanding JJ’s accent.

“Not what, wet. Like the Met Gala, but your couture has to look good wet. It’s cool, right? Elevated. Those Centauri Street fuckers have nothing on us.”

“Won’t that be cold?” Shane wants to know.

“It’s going to be like 25 degrees on Friday,” says JJ reasonably. “And we’ll use warm water.”

Shane cobbles together an outfit from an old suit jacket leftover from the Business Casual darty they threw last year, and a pair of fake leather pants Jackie brings as an option for Hayden that Hayden immediately rejects. “She won’t be mad at me if you wear them,” Hayden says when he brings them to Shane’s room down the hall.

“Since when is it my job to make Jackie happy?” Shane says, mostly joking. Hayden’s been dating Jackie since they were both 16, before Shane met him. The two of them have definitely had ups and downs, but no downs serious enough that Shane has worried for the relationship. He thinks them breaking up would be almost as sad as Shane’s own parents breaking up.

“Shane, dude, they’ll look great on you. Honestly, I’m doing you a favor. Don’t you want to catch a baddie tonight? Um, I mean, a—male baddie? A maddie? Is baddie gender-neutral?”

Hayden’s been doing that this the whole week. On the one hand, Shane appreciates the effort. On the other, he sort of wants everything to be the same as it was before, with Hayden and JJ and Soren talking about women and Shane just going oh yeah, totally intermittently. “I think baddie is gender neutral,” Shane says, to end the discussion.

“Okay. Sick. Look, I really am glad you told us,” Hayden says in a quieter voice. “I thought your post was really classy. Says just enough without going overboard. Lots of people here look up to you, and I think a whole bunch more will now. Like you’re really repping who you are. I’m proud of you, man.”

Shane wants to die. He’d done a really good job of not thinking about any of that shit all summer. Student council, the Asian-Canadian student union, the after-school program for kids he volunteers at a couple times a month, all the other random things he’d signed up for his first year and kept doing—not to mention all his actual coursework. During the school year, when his days are scheduled down to the minute, it’s easy to forget he even has a sexuality, let alone that it’s different than all his closest friends he’s known since first year.

But it had been his and Rose’s first summer out to both themselves and each other. Rose had convinced him to go to the Pride Festival, and then they’d gone dancing after, and Shane had made out with two different men at two different gay clubs, and gone home with one, and… yeah. They’d only traded blowjobs, but that was enough. Shane had been wondering if he was gay in practice as well as in theory, and now that he had confirmation, it was hard to imagine going back to business as usual.

As shitty as business as usual had been, though, Shane had at least been used to it. How does he reply when his best friend, who Shane had once carried home over his shoulder when Hayden blacked out at another party, says he’s proud of Shane? “Thanks, Hayd,” he says, and leaves it at that.

“If anyone is shitty to you, tonight or any other night, you tell us, okay? We got your back. Did the Centauri Street guys RSVP? Fuck, if they show up here and Ilya fucking Rozanov says anything out of pocket—”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Shane interrupts. His role when they throw parties is to screen and accept RSVPs via the Voyageur Boyz Instagram. The soft exclusivity is one of the reasons their parties are so fun, and not gross like plenty of the other parties Shane has been dragged to over the years.

He’d seen Zane Boodram had RSVP’d on behalf of himself and his housemates but who knew if that meant they’d come. Shane was familiar with the struggle. If you had standards and liked to have a good time, it was hard to resist showing up to a party you knew would be fun, even if it was thrown by your nemeses. The Voyageur Avenue boys ended up at most Centauri Street parties for that reason.

“I can handle Ilya Rozanov,” Shane says to Hayden.

“JJ would love an excuse to finally fight him,” Hayden says. “If we get to graduation without one of them punching each other, it’ll be a miracle.”

Ilya Rozanov was a known shithead, just like JJ. For English not being Rozanov’s first language, he had a real ability to land a good verbal jab, which pissed JJ off more than an actual punch to the face. The most Rozanov ever did to Shane was make fun of him for being boring and caring too much about school—sort of a roundabout compliment when Shane thought about it.

There had been one Centauri Street party last year, Gatsby themed, where he’d kept calling Shane ‘pretty’. Three or four times throughout the night, whenever they’d crossed paths, he’d said it: Hollander, you are very pretty tonight. And not in the joking way Shane’s friends occasionally said shit like that. As always, Shane had rolled his eyes and brushed it off. That was Rozanov—constantly inventing new ways to confuse, irritate, and enrage.

Fake leather is not pleasant to wear while wet. Shane goes hard on pregaming to distract himself from how nasty the plasticky fabric feels sticking to his thighs. The old house they rent absorbs heat easily during the day and gives it up slowly once the sun sets, so at least it isn’t cold.

Every party, Shane’s a little surprised at how many people he knows. But tonight’s is another thing completely. A Korean-Canadian dude he’s met maybe twice in ACU stuff talks his ear off for like ten minutes about LGBTQ Asian representation. Shane just mmmhs and oh yeahs because he’s too drunk and unqualified for a conversation like that. He escapes to the kitchen to get another drink and runs into Harris Drover.

“Shane!” Harris exclaims. He’s wearing a pretty fabulous glittery rainbow toga-like thing. “How are you?”

“Oh, good, yeah,” Shane says. He likes Harris, and he’s so nice it’s hard not to feel comfortable talking to him, but there’s a part of Shane that feels like Harris knows intrinsically how to be gay in a way Shane never will. It was maybe one of the reasons it’d taken Shane so long to realize he was gay. “Having fun?”

“I am! I’m glad I ran into you. I liked your post.”

Shane remembers—Harris actually DMed him, though in the flood of notifications Shane can’t really recall what exactly he’d said. “Thank you,” Shane says.

“If you ever wanted to come to one of the Queer Student Union meetings, you’d be welcome, just so you know. Or the Gay Straight Alliance. Or when we volunteer at the LGBTQ youth shelter. Or the next party my housemates and I throw. Any or all.”

Harris laughs, so Shane does, too. “Yeah, maybe,” he says. “That’s nice of you to invite me.”

“It’s a standing invite, too, whether you come tomorrow or the day before we graduate,” says Harris.

Shane thanks him again and leaves the kitchen in search of one of his friends. The party’s in full swing by now, jammed with people drinking and having loud conversations over the music. Shane makes sure his expression is friendly as he winds his way through, returning nods and fist bumps as they’re offered.

Their little backyard is not so packed. A couple knots of people chatting are gathered by the back door and then, over to the side near the fence, in the spill of bright light from the nearby street light, Ilya Rozanov is vaping by himself.

Shane suppresses a sigh. At least he’s doing it outside. “You shouldn’t put that shit in your body,” Shane says.

Rozanov glances up. He’s in a gauzy blue shirt and black jeans, and his hair is clearly wet. Good. If the Centauri Street boys are going to come to a Voyageur Avenue boys party, they better be on theme. “Is very calming, Hollander,” Rozanov says. “You should try it.”

He offers the vape to Shane, who just stares at him. Rozanov shrugs and sticks it in his own mouth. “I’ve seen you drop that on the ground and then pick it right back up and use it,” Shane says. It was at that same Gatsby party last year.

“Really? Does not sound like something I would do,” Rozanov says, grinning.

His joking tone just annoys Shane all the more. “Do you have any idea all the heavy metals you’re inhaling? Quit while you still have lungs.”

“Okay, Hollander,” says Rozanov. “I will quit. If you ask nicely.” He inhales deeply and blows a cloud of smoke that smells like cotton candy-scented cigarettes directly at Shane.

Shane nearly gags. “Jesus Christ, fuck off. I’m getting another drink.”

“Yes, nice idea,” Rozanov says, and for some reason he follows Shane into the house, through the mud room to the kitchen, which has emptied out. Beyond the barely-shut door to the living room, someone’s turned up the volume on the experimental DJ set JJ put on their shitty TV.

Rozanov leans against the counter and watches while Shane mixes himself a drink. He doesn’t say anything for a second. Is he expecting Shane to offer to mix him one too? Shane pointedly screws the cap back on the vodka and takes a sip from his Solo cup.

Rozanov just smiles. He snags a bottle of Moosehead and opens it. “I saw your post,” he says.

“Oh,” says Shane. He braces himself. Here it comes.

“Was very subtle. Very Hollander. I liked it.”

His tone is serious. Serious earnest or serious sarcastic? Shane searches Rozanov’s face for clues and finds none. “Thank you?” Shane says eventually. He’s so confused it comes out as a question.

“You are welcome.” Rozanov takes a drink of his beer. “You are gay, right?”

Shane has never been asked flat-out like that. He nods, once.

Rozanov nods back at him, once. “I am bisexual.”

Shane’s jaw drops. The shock is great enough he doesn’t realize for several seconds. Then he snaps it shut, and tries to find words. “Oh,” is all he can say.

“Yes,” Rozanov says. He’s looking at Shane, enjoying his reaction. “Oh.”

Shane is thinking over every single interaction he’s had with Rozanov over the last three years. Many of them suddenly have new possible meanings. “Wow… that’s…” Shane can’t find an adjective. He changes tack. Dropping his voice, he says, “Do people, like, know?”

“The ones who know, know, and the ones who don’t, don’t,” Rozanov says, as if that clarifies anything.

“I’ve never heard about you with people other than women.”

“Yes, well, you were one of the ones who did not know,” Rozanov says. “If you wanted to know, you could have figured it out.”

The fuck is that supposed to mean? Shane’s irritated by this conversation now. “Why are you telling me this?” There’s zero chance Rozanov wants life advice from Shane the way multiple people in his IG DMs do. If there’s a prank angle, Shane doesn’t know what it could be other than pure annoyance.

Rozanov smiles. It spreads across his face. Then, his eyes drop, dragging up Shane’s body from the fake leather pants hugging his thighs, to his exposed chest under the blazer, until finally Rozanov’s gaze lands on his mouth. “No reason,” Rozanov says in a low, sleek voice.

Shane has never heard another person’s voice sound like that. It’s like velvet brushing over skin, seduction in audio form. Shane knows he’s flushing but he doesn’t realize that isn’t all his body is doing until Rozanov looks down again and laughs quietly.

Shane’s growing boner is way too fucking visible in the these pants. Shane blushes harder. “Fuck off,” he says, and turns away.

Rozanov stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Not even a full hand—two fingers. With them, he turns Shane back towards him. His touch is so light. Shane could easily brush him off. He doesn’t. For some reason, he lets Rozanov step in front of him and then nearly into Shane, crowding Shane up against the counter.

“You want me to fuck off, Hollander?” Rozanov says in that same velvet voice, but now he’s right in Shane’s space. Yes, Shane should say. But he’s forgotten how to speak. Rozanov touches him again with those two fingers, this time under Shane’s jaw to tilt his head up.

If he sees amusement in Rozanov’s face, Shane will push him away. There isn’t any, though. Rozanov’s eyes are half-lidded, looking at Shane’s mouth again. Even Shane can interpret that. He closes his eyes and lets Rozanov kiss him.

Had Shane ever thought about what kind of kisser Ilya Rozanov was, he probably would have come up with something like aggressive or maybe sloppy. Once or twice he’s glimpsed Rozanov kissing girls at parties and he’s always looked away as quickly as possible. If he hadn’t, is this what he would have seen?

Rozanov kisses him slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Only when Shane opens his mouth does Rozanov deepen it. He doesn’t touch Shane anywhere else, except those two fingers still under Shane’s jaw, until Shane brings his hands up to the back of Rozanov’s neck to pull him in closer.

Rozanov makes an appreciative mmmh sound into Shane’s mouth. He brushes Shane’s blazer out of the way and strokes his hands over Shane’s hips, and the touch on Shane’s bare skin is electric. Immediately, Shane is fully hard.

Voices, right outside the kitchen door. Shane jerks away so fast he’s on the other side of the room before the door actually opens. “Shane!” It’s JJ, absolutely trashed. He throws himself at Shane, looping his arms around his neck, and Shane barely twists his body in time to avoid JJ’s leg going directly against Shane’s boner. “Where you been, man?” JJ slurs in his ear. “Hiding as usual?”

Over JJ’s shoulder, Shane sees Rozanov barely hiding his laughter behind a hand. “Just getting another drink. You doing okay?” Shane says.

JJ’s turning, though, having heard Rozanov’s laughter. “The fuck you laughing at, Rozanov?” he says. hostile.

“Nothing,” says Rozanov. “Great party. I like the theme. Very… wet.”

“Whatever.” In French to Shane, JJ says, “Is he bothering you?”

If he said yes, Shane wonders if JJ would care how exactly Rozanov was bothering him. He just wanted an excuse to punch him. “No, we’re good. Come on.”

He leads JJ out of the kitchen and back into the living room. The music is thunderous. The middle of the room has turned into a dance party—Bood and Connors, one of the other Centauri Street dudes, are in the middle of it. “We gotta stop letting them kill our vibe,” JJ says, still in French, though they’re clearly doing the opposite. “I hate those guys.”

Shane dares to glance over his shoulder, but if Rozanov is still in the kitchen, he’s not standing where Shane can see him. JJ escapes Shane’s grasp, plunging back into the crowd. For a second, Shane is torn between following him and going back.

“Hey Shane,” says a quiet voice. Shane looks to the side: Troy Barrett has sidled up to lean casually against the wall next to Shane.

“Hey Troy,” Shane says. Troy’s a more recent addition to the Centauri Street house, only moving in at the beginning of last year. He’d been friends with another group of guys initially, but then there’d been some drama Shane hadn’t paid attention to, a falling out, and now wherever Ilya Rozanov and Zane Boodram were, Troy was never far behind. Unlike Rozanov and Bood, though, Shane has barely heard Troy say more than three words at a time.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Troy says. Shane has to lean in to hear him over the pounding music and all the other shouted conversations around them. “Do you wanna get coffee sometime?”

“Coffee?” Shane repeats, confused. Troy nods to confirm. “Uh—sure, of course.” He’s still so off-kilter from Rozanov kissing him, and the loud music, and how intently Troy’s blue eyes are studying him, he can’t think of a reason to say no.

“Cool.” Troy looks pleased. “I’ll DM you. Gonna get out of here before someone calls the cops. Bood turned your music up on purpose.”

He’s immediately gone. “Motherfucker!” Shane pushes through the crowd to the sound system and turns the knob—just in time to hear sirens in the distance.

In under 30 seconds, everyone clears out. Shane finds himself at the window with JJ on one side and Hayden on the other, watching people scatter off into the night. A cop car flashes past, lights on, but it doesn’t stop.

“Damnit, not even for us!” Hayden groans. “Who the fuck turned the music up that loud?”

“Bood,” says Shane. “On purpose, apparently.”

“I’m telling you,” says JJ, “we gotta stop letting them in here! Fucking Rozanov, I can’t stand that guy.”

Other than a couple people smoking out back, no one’s left in the house. JJ keeps up a monologue in French about how much he hates the Centauri Street boys the whole time they’re locking up the house for the night. “Okay, good night, buddy,” Hayden says once they’re upstairs, shoving JJ into his bedroom with two bottles of water. Then he turns to Shane. “Did Rozanov fuck with you?”

“What? No! JJ’s trashed, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Good,” Hayden says. He looks relieved. “Great party. My lady is waiting for me. Night!”

Hayden goes into his room and closes the door, which is good because if the conversation had gone on any longer, Shane’s not sure he could have kept a poker face. It has to be written all over his expression. Ilya Rozanov told me he’s bisexual and then we kissed in the kitchen.

Shane should be conflicted about it. Confused. And he is both those things, a little, but mostly, once he’s in bed and staring up at the ceiling, he feels giddy from how fucking good it had felt.

—-—

troy.barrett
hey
nice party last night. hope the cops didn’t bust it up too bad. :)
Figure Eight on Tuesday?

shanehollander24
hey! no cops. thanks for the heads up. think you saved us!
yeah, Tuesday works! i’m free around 2

Shane’s free for exactly 30 minutes, not including the time it’ll take him to get from class to Figure Eight and then from Figure Eight to his tutoring shift at the library. Hopefully whatever Troy wants to talk about won’t be that involved. He’s waiting outside when Shane shows. “Hey,” he says, and hugs Shane.

Shane has never hugged Troy. He’s never hugged any of the Centauri Street boys before, because why the fuck would he? For the three seconds Troy’s arms are around him, Shane feels paranoid that someone could be watching—someone who will take a photo and DM it to JJ and Hayden and Soren. They hate Troy a little less than the other guys, but Shane would definitely be subjected to an interrogation over why any of the Centauri Street boys were hugging him.

Of course, that wouldn’t compare to what they’d say if they found out how much more than hug Shane did with one of them. “Oh—hey!” Shane says, and pats Troy awkwardly on the back.

“What do you want? It’s on me.”

“What? No, no, no, I can get my own coffee.”

“No, Shane,” Troy says. He puts a hand on Shane’s as Shane fumbles for his wallet. His blue eyes are very serious. “It’s on me.”

What is going on here? Shane’s so thrown, he panics and orders an Americano, even though black coffee makes his stomach hurt. Shane follows Troy over to one of the tables by the front windows—in full view of the street. Shane quickly takes the seat that faces away from the windows. “What’s up?” he says, and sips his too-bitter Americano.

“Not much. Crazy that it’s our last year, right? Who’d’ve thought?”

“That we’d graduate?” Shane is mystified. “Are you having trouble in any of your classes?” Troy’s an economics major, with enough crossover with Shane’s statistics major that if he needed help, Shane probably could.

“What? No. I more mean, like… never mind.” Troy looks down at his latte.

“Okay,” says Shane. He searches for a topic of conversation. “So classes are… good?”

“Yeah. They’re fine. I’m taking prob stats with Pfeiffer this semester.”

“Oh, I took that my first year!”

Shane recounting all of Pfeiffer’s, one of the oldest faculty members in the Economics program, eccentricities and Troy laughing over them and asking questions takes up most of the rest of Shane’s 30 minutes. By the end of it, he still has no idea what the point of this was. “Well, I have to run. I have a shift at the tutoring center.”

“I’m heading to the library! I’ll walk with you.”

They barely even speak, and the whole time Shane keeps glancing at every single person they walk past, checking if Shane recognizes them and if they’re the kind of person to immediately text Hayden and say why did I just see Shane Hollander walking across campus with Troy Barrett? “See you around,” Shane says to Troy when they reach the library and it’s time to part ways.

“Bye, Shane!” Troy says, far too loudly.

Shane compulsively checks his phone throughout his shift, terrified an enraged text from one of the boys will roll in. Nothing comes, though, and JJ and Soren barely look up from playing video games on the couch when Shane gets home. Hayden’s door is closed but Shane can hear music through it, the dad rock stuff Hayden listens to when he’s studying.

Shane needs to do the same. He has a quiz later in the week. He’s set up at his desk, noise-canceling headphones on, and then his phone vibrates.

It’s not JJ, Hayden, or Soren; it’s the person Shane’s been trying his hardest not to think about. Ilya Rozanov, DMing Shane on Instagram. The fuck? Shane opens it, half-expecting it to say ha, I got you, of course I’m not bisexual! Except, would Ilya Rozanov really pretend to be bi and then kiss Shane as a joke? The guy’s a shithead but he’s not evil. Or so Shane thinks.

The message is just a meme from one of those meme accounts. Shane doesn’t follow any of them but JJ’s always reposting them. This one is one of those brightly colored pictures of dolphins diving through a sunset or whatever with text that says life when your vape is fully charged.

That’s what was so important that Rozanov finally messages Shane nearly three days after kissing him in Shane’s own kitchen? Infuriated, Shane replies immediately. Once it’s sent, he realizes how desperate he looks, opening and responding to Rozanov’s DM as soon as it arrives. But it’s too late now.

shanehollander24
that doesn’t even make any fucking sense

rozanovvvvvvv
it makes sense Hollander
want me to explain
you see, there are these things called batteries

shanehollander24
fuck off

rozanovvvvvvv
😔

Shane locks his phone and firmly puts it face down on his desk. He reads three pages of his text book before he realizes that Rozanov responded back to him right away, too. So at least Shane isn’t alone in looking desperate.

His phone buzzes. Shane knows he shouldn’t, but he picks it up.

rozanovvvvvvv
did the cops shut down your party?

shanehollander24
no
no thanks to your housemate
jj's on a rampage. you guys might get barred.

rozanovvvvvvv
oh no. what will we do if we can't go to parties with themes like wearing wet leather pants

shanehollander24
yeah you're barred

rozanovvvvvvv
😔😔😔😔
i want to know one thing

Shane watches the little typing bubbles appear and disappear for a long minute. What could Rozanov be writing that’s taking so long? He has to be toying with Shane. Shane puts his phone down—only to pick it right back up when Rozanov’s message finally comes through.

rozanovvvvvvv
were those your pants?

shanehollander24
no
jackie brought them for hayden

rozanovvvvvvv
ah
you should keep them
save pike from how bad he’d look in them compared to you

Is that supposed to be a compliment? Rozanov is so bad at this. Any giddiness Shane felt is gone. He’s back to the usual emotion he feels around Rozanov: irritation. He throws his phone on his bed and ignores it the rest of the night.

—-—

Rozanov keeps messaging him. Similar shit—memes, non sequiters, and the occasional question as if they’re having an ongoing conversation and Rozanov isn’t just DMing Shane out of the blue. Half the time, if Rozanov catches him in a good frame of mind, Shane replies. The other half, he ignores him.

Centauri Street throws a party a few weeks after the Wet Gala, but JJ and Hayden are still so mad that there’s no way any of them are going. The next day, all their feeds are pictures from it. The theme had been White Lies, and though most of the labels people are wearing are crass and barely funny, the party itself looks fucking awesome. Shane taps through them, until he sees Rozanov’s on one of Jackie’s friend’s Snap story. i’ll quit vaping if you ask nicely.

It pisses Shane off way more than it should. He knew Rozanov was lying, and that’s why he hadn’t asked nicely. It still needles. when you die of the black lung i’ll be laughing, he types out to Rozanov, and then erases it. Way too mean. He can’t let this asshole get to him.

shanehollander24
i knew you were lying

Rozanov replies within minutes.

rozanovvvvvvv
that is good
i was not being subtle
i would be worried about your English comprehension if you thought i was not lying

Jesus Christ, Shane wishes he’d sent the black lung message. He’s thinking about doing it when Rozanov replies again.

rozanovvvvvvv
your mom and dad would not let you come huh

shanehollander24
you think i ask my parents for permission before going to parties?

rozanovvvvvvv
hollander
not your actual parents

He means JJ and Hayden. Fuck. Now Shane feels like even more of a idiot.

shanehollander24
no! we all agreed. what bood did wasn't cool.

rozanovvvvvvv
you mean try to make a boring party more fun?
you should have come. we could have shown you an actual good time. and you could have worn dry clothes.
when is your next one?

shanehollander24
idk. all the guys are gonna be gone next weekend so not then

rozanovvvvvvv
you are going to be home alone?

shanehollander24
yeah

Rozanov doesn’t reply. In fact, he doesn’t message Shane back for several days. On Saturday morning, Shane wakes up to an empty house. Soren’s at to his parents’ in Toronto the way he is most weekends, JJ doing a retreat with some guys from his major, and Hayden and Jackie are off on an anniversary trip. It’s quiet, relaxing, and Shane’s looking forward to actually getting some studying done for once. Maybe if he’s feeling crazy he’ll walk to Figure Eight tomorrow morning and buy a really sugary drink as a reward.

He’s been bunkered down for a few hours after lunch when his phone dings. It’s Rozanov. Shane waffles. If it’s something annoying, does he want Rozanov killing his vibe right now? He’ll check the preview and bail if it looks bad.

rozanovvvvvvv
did you take french?

shanehollander24
in elementary school? yeah

rozanovvvvvvv
right, of course
you are from Quebec
do you have a french dictionary?

Shane checks his bookshelf—he does, probably the same one he’s had since high school.

shanehollander24
yes?

rozanovvvvvvv
let me borrow it?

Does Rosanov seriously have no one else to borrow a French dictionary from? Has he never heard of the internet? They have them at the uni bookstore, and library too.

shanehollander24
what are you going to use it for?

rozanovvvvvvv
hollander, do i need to explain dictionaries to you now too?

shanehollander24
go fuck yourself
fine

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock at Shane’s front door. He barely hears it from upstairs, and only when it happens again does Shane realize what the distant noise is.

Rozanov is standing on the porch in the late afternoon sun. “Hello,” he says when Shane opens the door.

He’s dressed in black jeans and a white t-shirt under a black wool coat against the fall chill. As usual, he has a crooked little smirk on his face. “You need it right now?” Shane asks, nonplussed.

“Badly,” says Rozanov. He smirks wider. “You are busy?”

“Just studying,” says Shane, and steps aside to let Rozanov in. It’s strange to see him stand in the middle of their empty living room, absent the context in which he’s been in their house before. Rozanov turns in a slow circle, taking it in, like he’s having the same thought. Then he looks at Shane and raises an eyebrow.

Shane realizes he’s staring. “It’s in my room,” he says, a little gruffly. Even Rozanov looking at him pisses him off. “This way.”

Shane likes his room, has everything set up the way he prefers it, but suddenly he feels self-conscious once Ilya Rozanov is in it. He’s not really much for decor—all he has up over the bed is a poster from the national park he goes to every summer with his parents. “Minimal. I like it,” Rozanov says.

Shane ignores him. He goes to his bookshelf and pulls the French dictionary off it. “Here.”

Rozanov doesn’t take it. He’s looking at Shane’s bulletin board, on the wall above his desk. It’s mostly class schedules and things like that, but at the bottom Shane pinned some pictures. “These are cute,” says Rozanov. “From the same day as that picture in your post, yes?”

“Yeah.” The only way Rozanov would know that the photos, taken by Rose, are from the day they went to the Montreal Pride Festival is because Shane’s wearing the same pink tank top in them. They’re from much later in the night, when the two of them were trashed, and they’re both smiling and laughing in each picture the way that extremely drunk and happy people do.

“You should have posted this one.” Rozanov is pointing to the last picture. Shane’s leaning against the wall outside the first club they went to, hair messy and a dumb, blissed-out grin on his face. His tank top is pulled off one shoulder. It was after his first dance floor make-out with a guy, and Rose had made fun of him for being a slut and laughed affectionately in his face while taking it. Shane had felt a little bit like a slut, so he hadn’t minded much. “Is much hotter,” says Rozanov.

“I’m not posting a picture like that on Instagram,” Shane says, horrified. “My mom follows me on there.”

Rozanov shoots him an amused look. “And is okay for her to know you are gay but not that you fuck? What does she think gay means?”

“I didn’t—I don’t—shut up,” Shane mutters. He can’t think of a better comeback than that.

“You don’t fuck, Hollander? Want me to explain being gay to you?”

“Want me to explain asexuality to you?” Shane snaps back, finding his words.

Rozanov raises his eyebrows. “You are asexual?”

“No!” Jesus fucking Christ. Shane’s never felt so embarrassed in his life. “I fuck. But you don’t have to fuck to be gay.”

“Fair enough,” says Rozanov. “Is good to know you fuck, though.”

He says it in that velvet voice. Goddamnit. All of a sudden, Shane understands everything. He told Rozanov that he would be home alone this weekend. Rozanov had invented an excuse to come over. Shane had accepted it, then led Rozanov upstairs to his bedroom. And now they were talking about fucking.

Rozanov steps towards him. It’s like the party all over again: he moves slowly, giving Shane plenty of time to move away or tell him to stop. Again, Shane doesn’t. Distantly, he’s aware of a very small part of his brain that’s pleased with this turn of events. Maybe that part of his brain had something to do with orchestrating it.

They kiss. It’s different than before, less syrupy and unreal, and suddenly Shane realizes: he’s never kissed a man sober. He’s aware of all the tiny details he couldn’t absorb before. The slick press of Rozanov’s tongue inside Shane’s mouth. How he smells—like soap—and tastes—sharply minty, like mouthwash.

Fuck, the thought of him brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth before coming over to Shane’s is so fucking hot. Shane fists his hands in Rozanov’s t-shirt and pulls him closer. Rozanov puts his hands on Shane’s waist in return, pulling up his shirt to rub over Shane’s bare skin.

The kissing is good but the touching feels even better—it fizzes over Shane’s body and chases away any lingering nerves. Now he’s only here, surrendering to the arousal rushing through him. He dares to push Rozanov’s coat off his shoulders.

Rozanov allows it to fall and then tugs Shane’s shirt up and off. It lets him run his hands all over Shane’s back and sides, and Shane shivers when he kisses Shane’s neck, too. “Fuck,” Shane groans. He’s getting hard, and starting to think about Rozanov touching him other places. “Take this off.”

He means Rozanov’s t-shirt, but Rozanov goes all the way. Shane does not stare at his dick, not even when Rozanov puts a hand on himself and starts jerking himself off while Shane undresses. His gaze is dark, running all over Shane’s body.

Should this be weird? It isn’t. In fact, it all feels so much easier than Shane ever thought it would. They get on the bed, Rozanov over Shane, and Shane moans into Rozanov’s mouth when their dicks slide together. “Like that?” Rozanov says, doing it again.

Shane nods. Holy shit, he could come from that alone. Above him, Rozanov pulls back to look at his face. He’s just as turned on—Shane can see it clearly in the way he furrows his brow and exhales hard as he grinds their hips together.

It makes Shane think of something else, something he’s fantasized about many times but has not yet done. He shifts so that on Rozanov’s next thrust, his dick slides lower, over Shane’s hole.

“Fuck,” Rozanov says, just as Shane did earlier. “That is what you want?”

Shane doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to talk. If he has to ask for it out loud, his courage might fail. He just spreads his legs, pulling his knees up.

Rozanov watches his face closely as he licks his own thumb and then reaches down. Shane gasps when he drags it around his hole. Even slick with spit, it’s rough, sending a million sensations through the nerve endings Shane’s aware of in detail for the first time. Rozanov rubs leisurely circles over them.

“You want me to fuck you?” Rozanov asks. His eyes pin Shane with their focus. They demand an answer. Shane nods. “Say it, Hollander.”

Shane flushes. “Fuck me,” he grits out. Rozanov is still touching him. Shane can’t think about anything else, he wants it so bad.

“Have you ever?”

His tone is neutral, not judgmental, but still shame wells up in Shane. Why did he have to ask that? Shane almost pushes him off, he doesn’t want to answer. But then Rozanov leans down and kisses him. It’s slow. Almost sweet. Calming. “No,” Shane whispers against his mouth once Rozanov finishes.

Rozanov doesn’t make fun of him. He barely reacts at all. “Okay. You have lube? Condoms?”

Shane has neither. He shakes his head. Rozanov huffs out a laugh. “First time in your life you are not ready for something, hm?”

“Fuck off,” Shane mutters, and Rozanov kisses him again, on the cheek. It’s weirdly affectionate. Then he gets up off the bed.

Crushing disappointment hits Shane so hard it shocks the breath out of him. Rozanov doesn’t see it—he’s putting his clothes back on. “Come on,” he says. “There is a drugstore on Alberta and Vine.”

“What?” Shane says, dumbstruck. Rozanov throws his t-shirt at his face.

And so Shane finds himself in a Shoppers Drug Mart at sunset on a Saturday with Ilya Rozanov. It’s such a wild swerve in how the night was going, Shane feels a little out of it under the harsh fluorescent light. Then he glimpses someone he recognizes from a class last year and that yanks him back into the moment. He slows, letting Rozanov get ahead of him, and pretends to look at the Halloween candy display until he sees Rozanov saunter back up to the self-checkout with a bottle of lube and a box of condoms in hand.

Fuck, he’s not even trying to hide them. Shane slinks outside and stands away from the doors, out of the reach of the street lights, and has a mini panic attack. What is he doing? Is he really going to let Ilya Rozanov fuck him?

Rozanov comes outside, spots Shane, and shakes a little plastic bag at him. “Ready?”

“Could you be more obvious?” Shane hisses. He strides off towards his house.

Rozanov keeps up easily. “Yes. Want me to be?”

“No,” Shane snaps, though he’s pretty sure Rozanov is joking. He doesn’t see anyone he recognizes the rest of the way.

He turns on the living room light when they get back, but not any of the lights upstairs. They undress again, much more businesslike this time.

Shane’s faster. He gets on the bed and lays there on his back, trying not to shiver in the twilight. The nerves have returned. But he’s made up his mind. He wants this, regardless of whether it happens to be with Rozanov.

“Hey.” Rozanov comes to join him, lying to Shane’s side rather than over him again. He rubs a hand over Shane’s belly, above his half-hard dick. “Still want to do this?”

Shane nods. “Yes,” he says, when Rozanov gives him a look.

“Okay. We will go slow.”

Going slow apparently means Rozanov kissing Shane again, so thoroughly Shane starts to wonder if he’s forgotten the end goal. Then Rozanov kisses down Shane’s throat, his chest, and belly, and without warning, takes Shane’s dick in his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Shane spits out, and then clamps a hand over his mouth. He can’t embarrass himself any more than he already has tonight. He presses his lips together and makes no more noise, not when Rozanov starts rubbing his lubed-up fingers over Shane’s hole again, not when Rozanov starts to open him up with those fingers and his mouth, fucking hell, Shane could never have imagined that in a million years. He covers his face with his forearms, sinking his teeth into the muscle.

He manages that way through the rest of prep. “Turn over,” Rozanov says when he deems Shane ready.

That’s much better. Shane can bury his face in his arms more easily like this, focusing on relaxing as the head of Rozanov’s dick presses against and then slowly enters Shane.

Shane stops breathing. Not from pain—there is a shocking lack of that. It’s just such an unfamiliar sensation, his brain can’t make sense of it and still tell his lungs to work. “Fuck,” Shane chokes out, muffled by his arms.

Rozanov stops moving. “Is okay?” Shane nods. “Hollander, come on. Words.”

“Goddamn it, yes, it’s okay, can you move,” Shane snaps. He’s shaking from the stretch and arousal and effort of not making any sound and if Rozanov bails now, Shane will have a meltdown. Rozanov mutters something in Russian, but he starts moving.

Answering the question broke Shane’s self-control. By the time Rozanov’s built up to a real rhythm, Shane’s letting out little moans, like unh, unh, unh, on every thrust. He can’t stop. It feels so good and yet so unlike anything else Shane has ever experienced.

Behind him, Rozanov groans. “Fuck, Hollander.”

He’s enjoying this too. It should have been obvious, but the realization makes Shane lose the last remnants of his composure. He clutches at the sheets and arches his back until Rozanov’s hitting him in exactly the right spot. A ragged “Oh my god,” falls out of his mouth.

“Yes, Hollander,” Rozanov exhales, “take what you want. Fuck.” He continues in Russian breathlessly. Even if he spoke in English, Shane wouldn’t understand—his brain is fully gone now, replaced by pure instinctive need. He’s pushing back onto Rozanov with every thrust, fingers so tight in the sheets he’s pulled them untucked.

“Are you close? Touch yourself.”

Shane is. He tries to, but he overbalances and faceplants on the bed, coordination gone. Rozanov takes pity on him. He hauls Shane up, one arm around his chest, and does it for him, still fucking him.

“Oh my god,” Shane moans loudly, and comes with Ilya Rozanov’s dick up his ass, Ilya Rozanov’s hand jerking him off, and Ilya Rozanov’s mouth sucking a hickey onto his neck. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

—-—

its.harris.babyy
[image sent]
this Friday! if you’re free :) bring whoever

“I need a break,” JJ pronounces on Friday night. “Let’s go to the Mandrake.”

They’re all loafing around in their living room, coming down from a hectic week. Shane’s scrolling Instagram, pretending that he didn’t see a DM from Ilya Rozanov just come in. But he'd read the message preview in half a second: are you going to harris’ party?

“I’m down,” Hayden says. “Boys night?”

“Boys niiiiiight,” Soren whoops. They all look at Shane.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” says Shane, and quits out of Instagram as the boys cheer.

The Mandrake is the local dive bar, and on any given night, it’s filled with loud university students and long-suffering locals unwilling to pay more than $5 for beer. It also has pool tables and dart boards, and the four of them have spent many evenings at either. Tonight, it’s pool, which Shane is usually pretty good at, but he keeps missing.

Hayden laughs when he accidentally sinks the 8 ball. “Dude, what’s happened to you? Get your shit together!”

Shane tries to laugh too. “I’m out of practice.”

That’s not the reason and he knows it. Ever since the weekend, when Rozanov came over, Shane’s felt off. Not in a bad way. That would maybe be easier, if he just felt guilty. Instead, he can’t focus the way he usually can, losing his train of thought halfway through speaking in a discussion section or while tutoring, showing up to a student council meeting ten minutes late when he’s usually early. One of his TAs asked if everything was good, as did Angie, the undergrad student president to Shane’s vice president.

What’s he supposed to say? I got my brains fucked out and now I can’t function? It’s so cliché as to be mortifying. And yet, it’s the truth.

Rozanov had left right after, and they’d DMed a bit through the week, but just the same shit as always. No mention of what had happened or of seeing each other again. Until tonight.

9pm til late, the invite for Harris’ party had said. It’s 9:30 now. As if he can read Shane’s mind, Hayden says, “Any parties tonight?”

JJ and Soren don’t know of anything. “Yeah,” Shane says, because fuck it. “Harris is throwing one.”

“Harris Drover?” asks JJ. “Ah, I mean, I love Harris, but can we go to that? Other than you, Shane, of course.”

“Yes?” says Shane. “He comes to our parties, why can’t we go to his?”

“I can’t go out tonight,” Soren volunteers, “I have to get up early—“

“To drive to Toronto to see your mom, we all know,” Hayden says. “Jackie wants to go out, think Harris would be okay with me and her tagging along with you?”

Harris would have no problem with it. They drop JJ and Soren at home, where Jackie is waiting, and then the three of them walk the six blocks to Harris’ place. It’s further from campus, out of the serious party zone, but it doesn’t seem to matter: the place is packed, people spilling out on the street.

Shane’s never been to one of Harris’ parties before, and his first impression is that he should have the reputation the Voyageur Boyz do. The entire downstairs has been papered with iridescent plastic and silver streamers dangle in every doorway. There’s a disco ball, and colorful lights, and everyone is in neon-colored outfits.

“Was there a theme?” Jackie yells in Shane’s ear over the hyperpop pounding through the sound system. “I’m so underdressed, fuck, I look like a loser!”

“No, you don’t, babe!” Hayden yells back.

All three of them kinda look like losers. Oh well. They get drinks, then Jackie drags Hayden off to dance. Shane circulates, looking for people he knows. Finally, in one of the side rooms, he finds Harris. “Shane!” Harris hugs him unexpectedly. “You came!”

“Oh—yeah! Thank you for the invite. Sorry I’m not dressed to the theme, we decided to come last minute.”

That comes out sounding a little rude, like Shane doesn’t want to be here, but Harris doesn’t seem bothered. He’s beaming at Shane. “Well, I have plenty of neon spandex in my room if you want to borrow anything.” He winks.

Shane sputters. Last weekend opened his eyes more to the euphemisms people use to invite hook-ups, and the way Harris waggles his eyebrows leave no room for misunderstanding. Harris laughs at Shane’s inability to reply. “I’m kidding! You’re not my type, dude. Though I’d totally be down to make sure if you wanted to.”

“Haha, no, of course,” Shane says, which makes no sense. But what does he say to something like that? He downs the rest of his beer in one go.

“Troy Barrett asked me if you were coming.”

“He did?” He also messaged Shane earlier this week and Shane completely forgot to reply. He remembers just now. Fuck. “I should go find him.”

Harris saw him on the front porch last, so Shane goes back through the living room slash dance floor. He catches a glimpse of Jackie and Hayden in the throng, surrounded by several queer couples of all genders making out. They seem perfectly at ease. More than Shane would be, definitely. Then, beyond them, leaning up against the wall, Shane spots Ilya Rozanov.

He’s not kissing someone, but he looks about to. He’s nose to nose with Cliff Marlow—Marley? Shane can’t remember. He’s part of the Centauri Street friend group, though he doesn’t live with them. He and Rozanov are smiling and having what looks like an extremely intimate conversation that’s going to turn into a make-out at any second. Rozanov is winding his finger in the random silver streamer Cliff has looped around his neck.

Shane turns away. He doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want to think about Ilya fucking Rozanov kissing another man on the dance floor at Harris Drover’s awesome party. Shane pushes through the crowd until he gets to the porch and finds Troy, who immediately exclaims, “Shane!” He’s shirtless even though it’s chilly out here, wearing only a pair of neon yellow leggings. They make his eyes look bluer by contrast.

“Hey,” Shane says. It hits him as Troy, clearly drunk, turns completely away from his friends to grin hugely at Shane. Troy didn’t want help with classes. There was nothing he wanted to talk to Shane about. He had asked Shane to coffee as a date.

Shane is such a fucking moron. “How’s your night?” he asks Troy.

“Better now that you’re here,” Troy says, then looks surprised at his own candor.

Shane could fuck him. Like the instructions for a new game unfolding in his hands, he sees how it could go. All he has to do is what Rozanov did to him in his kitchen a few weeks ago. Step closer.

Shane does. Troy’s surprise grows, but then it turns to understanding. He puts his drink down on a nearby window sill, and leans in at the same time as Shane, a hand coming up to hold the back of Shane’s head.

It’s nice. Shane likes it more than any girl he’s ever kissed, that’s for sure. Troy kisses with confidence. His mouth is warm and it tastes fruity, like punch.

“Damn, Troy!” one of Troy’s friends laughs. There’s scattered applause. Shane breaks off, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh my god, Shane Hollander?” that same friend shrieks. It’s some girl Shane doesn’t know.

“Yes?” Shane responds idiotically.

“Fuck off, Gen,” Troy says to her and throws her the finger, which she throws back, laughing. To Shane, quiet, he says, “Wanna get out of here?”

Does he? Shane’s not sure. But he says, “Yeah,” anyway, and lets Troy lead him off the porch by the hand.

Whoever Gen is, Shane hopes she’s more in Harris’ circle than Hayden’s. If word got around that Shane was kissing Troy and then left with him… Troy interrupts this dangerous train of thought by starting to shiver so hard his teeth chatter. “You must be freezing,” Shane says, “here.”

He takes off his jacket and puts it around Troy’s shoulders. Troy shoots him a grateful look. “Thank you. My jacket’s somewhere in Harris’ house. I’ll probably never see it again.”

“Do you go to all his parties?”

Troy nods. “Pretty much. We’ve been friends since our first year even though I was sort of a dick to him before I came out. Sometimes I wonder why he still talks to me.”

“Harris is a really nice person,” Shane agrees. He thinks of what Harris had jokingly said. You’re not my type, dude. He wonders what sort of person Harris’ type actually is.

Troy leads them to the Centauri Street house without Shane realizing. “You wanna come in?” Troy says, catching Shane’s look of trepidation before Shane hides it.

“Yeah,” Shane says again, with the same mixture of feelings. He could fuck Troy. Does he want to?

The house is empty. Troy leads him to the back, where his bedroom is. He shuts the door behind Shane and switches on the bedside lamp. When he straightens and turns back around, Shane is there. He kisses Troy.

It’s still nice. It feels good. Troy puts his hands on Shane’s waist, squeezing a little bit, then slips them under Shane’s sweater. That feels good, too. But it doesn’t set Shane on fire.

Before Shane can decide what he wants to do about it, Troy pulls back. “Sorry. I’m feeling a little weird,” Troy says. “Don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“That’s okay,” Shane says. Relief washes over him. “Let’s stop.”

“Fuck,” Troy says. He steps away and rubs his hands over his face. “You’re so fucking hot, Shane, I can’t believe—there’s something wrong with me.”

“Oh my god, no, Troy, it’s fine,” Shane says, though Troy calling him hot is really nice to hear. “It’s all good. I’m in a weird headspace too.”

“I made you leave the party and everything,” Troy says mournfully. He sits on the edge of his bed.

Shane sits next to him. “I wanted to leave,” he says honestly. If he’d stayed and seen Rozanov kissing that guy… “Wait, Troy, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Is Cliff Marley gay?”

“Cliff Marlow?” Troy frowns, thinking. “I don’t think so. He’s one of those straight guys who always jokes about how he wishes he was gay. I’m pretty sure I heard a story of him and Ilya making out during first year and that’s how Cliff knows he isn’t.” Troy covers his mouth. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so drunk, sorry. I always drink way too much at Harris’ parties. Don’t tell them I told you that.”

“I won’t, don’t worry,” Shane reassures him.

Troy yawns hugely. “Oh, shit, here’s your coat. Thank you, and I’m sorry again.”

Shane takes his coat and his cue to leave. He walks home, thinking hard. Is that what Shane had seen tonight? Two close friends hanging out with nothing sexual between them? Or was it one-sided, with Rozanov into Marlow but not vice versa?

God, that would suck. Shane imagines having feelings for Hayden for a second. It would be awful. Especially if Jackie ever found out. If that’s what’s going on, Shane feels an unexpected pang of sympathy for Rozanov.

—-—

Something has been unlocked in Shane’s brain. The day after his failed hook-up with Troy, he scrolls through his Instagram messages. The same instructions that laid themselves out for him last night apply here. Half these men, the ones who DMed him after his coming-out post or in the time since, are interested in Shane.

Shane replies to a couple he vaguely knows, curious to see what happens. Rozanov’s game has rubbed off on him. It’s the only explanation he can come up with. Speaking of which—he finds his chat with Rozanov.

rozanovvvvvvv
are you going to harris’ party?

shanehollander24
yeah i ended up going but only for a little bit
was dope. i’ve never been to one of harris’ parties before

Shane’s messages stay unread all weekend. It annoys Shane less than it normally would. His sympathetic attitude towards Rozanov is lingering. Whether or not it’s true, the idea of Rozanov secretly harboring unreciprocated feelings for someone humanizes him. Makes it harder to hate him.

rozanovvvvvvv
i will tell you a secret
harris throws the best parties out of anyone

shanehollander24
wow
if bood heard you say that wouldn’t he kick you out?

rozanovvvvvvv
oh no
he said it to me the first time i took him to one

shanehollander24
so all of you guys go to harris’ parties together?

rozanovvvvvvv
yes hollander
my friends are not homophobes

That’s clearly meant to imply Shane’s friends are. Shane, between appointments at the tutoring center, is immediately enraged. But then he remembers JJ’s response at the suggestion of going to a party at Harris’.

That’s not homophobia, though, that’s just not wanting to intrude. They’re Canadian. It’s polite.

shanehollander24
since it seems like most of your friends are secretly queer it’d be pretty fucking weird if they were homophobes

Rozanov had been replying every few minutes but this reply comes in seconds.

rozanovvvvvvv
queer people can be homophobic. is called internal homophobia or whatever. look it up.
and none of my friends are secretly queer. just because you don’t know doesn’t mean is a secret

shanehollander24
ok
sorry

Rozanov doesn’t reply. Shane feels like he fucked up but he doesn’t know precisely how. The difference between what he said and what Rozanov said eludes him. How was Shane supposed to know Rozanov or Troy weren’t straight if they didn’t tell him? Someone like Harris, with pride pins all over his denim jacket, was obviously gay. But not everyone was like Harris. Was this one of those parts of being gay that other gay people knew but Shane didn’t?

Whatever. He’s not going to let Ilya Rozanov make him feel like a shitty queer person. There are as many ways to be queer as there are queer people, Rose had told him once. She was good proof of that—over the summer, she’d stopped calling herself bisexual and just started calling herself “Rosexual”. Because Rose is into what Rose is into. It had been hilarious, but also inspiring.

Shane knows what she’d say: be kind. Stay sexy. And have fun. Those are the words running through his head the rest of the week, as he goes to class, an ACU meeting, plays soccer with elementary schoolers for his volunteer slot at the after-school program. He’s getting another lowkey introvert weekend, which always feels like a luxury: his advisor is going out of town, and she usually asks Shane to dogsit for her, because, as she says, “I know you won’t invite a million people over and trash my nice house.”

She does have a really nice house. Shane’s got no interest in becoming a professor but he’d like a house like this later in his life. Hopefully he can get one without the professor part. It’s only one story but it’s big and rambling, with an epic master bedroom that looks out onto a huge landscaped yard, filled with old trees and a fake pond.

Her dog is a yellow lab named Bertha. Shane takes her for a run first thing on Saturday morning when he gets there and lets himself in. It’s a crisp day, fall on the verge of turning to winter. The sky is a perfect gray-blue. The same color as Ilya Rozanov’s eyes.

What an embarrassing thought. Shane stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Bertha keeps on going, then stops and comes back to him, wagging her tail. Almost without realizing, Shane checks his phone. Rozanov still hasn’t read Shane’s last message.

Fuck this. Shane’s over feeling bad about things he doesn’t understand. He types out a new message. hey. i’m housesitting for my advisor this weekend. come by if you feel like it.

He sends the address and puts his phone away immediately. He takes Bertha over to the park a few blocks away and spends a good hour playing fetch and tug-of-war with her. Between the physical exertion and the sunshine, he’s feeling a lot more settled by the walk back.

Half a block away, he stops once again in the middle of the sidewalk. There, vaping like a chimney as he sits on the front stoop of Shane’s advisor’s house, is Ilya Rozanov.

He’s huddled in his black wool coat, a black beanie pulled low over his curls. By his feet on the ground is his backpack, like he came straight from the library.

Slowly, Shane and Bertha walk towards him. When Rozanov spots them, he pockets the vape and stands. “Hey,” he says. “If I looked at French conjugations for any longer, I was going to shoot myself in the head. So I came.”

“Good,” says Shane. “I’m glad.” It’s true. For the first time in his life, he’s happy to see Ilya Rozanov. Rozanov smiles at him. Not a smirk: a smile. A real one, slightly shy.

So he isn’t mad at Shane. That’s good. The knowledge makes Shane feel positively chipper as he lets them in. “I’m gonna shower real quick, okay? Make yourself comfortable.”

The sweat from the run and playing in the park is drying on his face and body, and Shane won’t be able to think about anything else until he’s clean. Rozanov nods and sits on the couch. Bertha goes to her dog bed by the fireplace and plops into it. Shane checks to make sure she has enough water, then goes to the master bathroom at the back of the house.

It has both a huge tub and a big walk-in shower. Shane turns on the water in the shower to warm up while he undresses. Fuck, he didn’t bring lube or condoms. Did Rozanov think to this time? Is every hook-up of theirs going to start with a trip to Shoppers?

He washes himself thoroughly, paying special attention to a couple areas. He’s almost done when he hears a noise. He turns: Rozanov is in the bathroom doorway. He’s taking off his shirt.

Oh. Shane stands dumbly under the spray of hot water and watches Rozanov strip off the rest of his clothing. Shane had never noticed the gold necklace he wears—a chain and some sort of pendant. Then Rozanov is pushing the glass door of the shower open and comes to join Shane.

Just in that short time, Shane’s gotten hard. But Rozanov is too. His dick presses against Shane’s thigh as they kiss. The dick that has been inside Shane. Fuck.

It looks way too big for it. If Shane had let himself get a good look at it that night, he would have chickened out. All the prep Rozanov had put him through really had been necessary. Rozanov’s hands are gliding over Shane’s back, drifting lower and lower until they’re squeezing his bare ass.

Shane groans. Rozanov laughs softly. He pulls away and, almost in slow motion, goes to his knees.

Shane sucks in a breath. The water has pasted all of Rozanov’s curls to his head, and it makes him look a lot smaller and more vulnerable as he sucks Shane off. But his mouth is hot and wicked. Shane couldn’t be quiet this time if he tried. At least the sound of the shower muffles his moans.

Shane’s close to coming, and then Rozanov pulls off. He pushes his wet hair out of his eyes, blinking up at Shane. With gentle hands, he turns Shane around.

Is he going to fuck Shane? Shane wants that, but they don’t have a condom. And water’s supposed to be bad as lube. Rozanov nudges Shane’s thighs apart and makes him bend over more. Then he buries his face in Shane’s ass.

“Oh, fuck,” Shane moans. He leans his forehead on his hands, braced against the tile. Rozanov rims him relentlessly for several intense minutes, not letting up until Shane comes. Shane stays with his forehead against the cool tile for a moment, regaining his composure, and watches his cum wash away down the drain.

Shane turns. Rozanov has stood and he’s already jerking himself off. Shane’s not about to let that happen. Reciprocity matters. He kneels in front of Rozanov.

“Fuck, Hollander, wait, wait,” Rozanov grunts, but he’s too late—Shane gets in position just in time for Rozanov to come all over his face.

It misses his eyes, thankfully, but some gets in his mouth, open in preparation for blowing Rozanov. The taste is just as bad as the first time Shane experienced it over the summer. He must look grossed out because Rozanov, half-laughing, says, “Sorry. Fuck, I did not expect that. Here.”

He cups his hands, filling them with water for Shane to rinse his mouth with. He brushes the rest off Shane’s skin meticulously. Shane gives his face a quick final wash and then shuts off the shower.

“I can’t believe the hot water didn’t run out,” Shane says as they dry off with huge fluffy towels. “This place must have a crazy big water tank.”

Rozanov laughs. “Of course that is what you are thinking about right now.”

Everything they just did would have been a lot less fun if the water had turned cold, but whatever. Shane goes into the bedroom to change into fresh clothes from the bag he brought with him, then goes back out to the living room. Rozanov, curls starting to reshape themselves as they dry, is sitting on the floor next to Bertha, petting her belly. “Who’s a good girl? You! You are!” He continues in Russian. It’s all the same to Bertha—she loves attention. She and Shane get along fine, but he doesn’t dote on her like this.

Shane sits on the couch. His laptop and data analysis textbook are already on the coffee table; Rozanov’s laptop, Advanced French textbook, and Shane’s French dictionary sit beside it. He must have pulled them out before deciding to join Shane.

Shane realizes something as he looks at his French dictionary. “Is French your major?”

“Hm?” Rozanov looks up from scratching under Bertha’s collar. “No. Is psychology.”

“Then why are you taking French? You’re already bilingual. Doesn’t that satisfy the language requirement?”

“It means I can get a job in Quebec after graduating if I need to.”

“Oh.” Shane realizes, all at once, that he knows next to nothing about Ilya Rozanov. He knows he’s Russian, bisexual, and lives in the house on Centauri Street. Also he likes to party. “You’re going to stay in Canada after graduation?”

“If I can, yes,” says Rozanov.

“You don’t want to go home?”

Rozanov just gives Shane a look. Yeah, okay, the answer to that was implied. Shane rephrases. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

Rozanov sighs. “You ask too many questions.”

It’s funny, Shane had felt the exact same way the first time they fucked. Now the roles are reversed. “Sorry,” he says.

“Is fine.” Rozanov gets up from the floor. “There is food here, or we should go get something?”

Shane’s advisor always tells him to help himself to anything. He rarely does because it feels rude, but today he makes an exception. There’s frozen pizza in the freezer, so he throws that in the oven. He makes a quick salad with stuff from the fridge and pantry.

They eat in the living room, on opposite ends of the couch with textbooks open. Shane’s half-reading about nonparametric methods and, out of the corner of his eye, half-watching Rozanov silently mouth French verbs to himself. He keeps doing it even with his mouth full of pizza.

Are they hanging out? Or are they waiting for an acceptable amount of time between hook-ups? As hot as earlier had been, Shane definitely would feel disappointed if he didn’t get fucked today. The thought has him focusing fully on his textbook and trying not to blush.

“What?” Rozanov is looking at him, frowning.

“Nothing,” says Shane quickly. “You’re talking to yourself.”

“Yes, Hollander, I am learning a new language,” Rozanov says with sarcasm. “Or did you want me to speak louder so you can make fun of my accent?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Shane objects. Well, maybe he would. He probably would have obnoxiously corrected Rozanov’s pronunciation at the very least.

“Right,” Rozanov says dryly. “You are too nice for that. Of course.”

“I am nice,” Shane mutters, aware of how childish he sounds.

“You are nice, yes,” Rozanov says. “To other people.”

Shane really shouldn’t be letting Rozanov get to him like this, but he can’t stop himself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rozanov puts on a voice. “‘Oh, Shane Hollander is such a gentleman. Shane Hollander is undergrad vice president and model citizen. Shane Hollander is nicest guy in the world.’ This is the person everyone sees. You show another side to me.”

Shane slams his textbook closed. “Yeah, I'm only like that to you, because you’re the one who’s mean to me.”

“Okay, we are using this word differently,” Rozanov says. His eyes are blazing with the same anger Shane feels. “To me, is not mean to get on my knees for someone and eat their ass in the shower.”

Horribly, Shane blushes. It’s not fair for Rozanov to talk like that just to win an argument. “You’re—that’s—fuck off,” is all Shane can manage.

Rozanov smirks. “How is building your roster going?” His tone is frigid. “Got a whole list of men who make you come so hard you forget your name? No? Let me know when you do, and if you still think I am mean after.”

Shane goes hot then cold all over. When he doesn’t reply, Rozanov looks back down at his textbook as if the words he’d just said weren’t the equivalent of slapping Shane in the face.

“I can’t believe you,” Shane says. His voice wobbles only a little. Reflexively, he forces the emotions down. “Troy had no right to tell you about that.”

Rozanov’s gaze snaps up. “Troy? What?”

Isn’t that what Rozanov had been referring to? “Troy and I—never mind.” If Troy didn’t in fact tell Rozanov what happened, Shane’s not going to.

Rozanov shuts his books. “You are telling me you and Troy hooked up?”

His eyes are pinning Shane in place again. Helpless, Shane nods—then stops himself and shakes his head, then shrugs. They didn’t, really. Rozanov loses his patience. “Hollander, did you or did you not fuck my housemate?”

“I didn’t.” Shane’s blushing again. “We—we kissed a bit. But…”

It’s too embarrassing to confess, especially after what Rozanov just said. “But?” Rozanov says.

The force of his scrutiny pulls the words unwillingly from Shane. “Neither of us were really that into it. So we stopped.”

Rozanov just looks at him for another moment. Then he exhales, leans back on the couch, and reopens his textbook.

Is that it? Shane’s glad he isn’t making fun of him. But there’s a definite sense of anticlimax. Then Rozanov licks a finger and turns a page with more flourish than necessary. “Fuck you,” Shane says, with no heat whatsoever. Any sign that what he said affected Rozanov is a relief.

“Hollander, I am saying nothing,” Rozanov says lightly. “I am studying French. Tu entends des choses.”

His French accent is actually better than his English accent. For no reason, that pleases Shane. To squash the feeling, he tells Rozanov, “I didn’t forget my name, by the way. When you made me come.”

Rozanov rolls his eyes. “We have only hooked up twice. Give me time.”

It’s part threat, part promise. Heat spreads through Shane again, but it’s slower. Not shame—desire. He stands. “Did you bring stuff?”

Rozanov blinks up at him. Then slowly, he nods. “Good,” says Shane.

He walks to the bedroom without checking if Rozanov is following him. The bedroom is bright with sunlight, pouring in through the huge windows. The trees outside are starting to shed their leaves. Shane feels a kinship with them as he takes off his clothes.

Rozanov shuts the door behind him. While he undresses, Shane takes the nice down comforter off the bed, folds it, and puts it aside. He spreads out a couple towels, pretending that his fingers aren’t trembling in anticipation. Fuck, why does he want it so bad? Shane’s never done drugs but the way movies make it look, how he feels is not far off.

As before, they get in bed with Rozanov over Shane. As before, they kiss. This time, though, Rozanov holds Shane’s face in his hands and strokes his thumbs over Shane’s chin while he kisses him. The sweetness of it is at odds with how Rozanov is grinding their hips together.

“Ugh, holy fuck,” Shane moans. He laces his fingers in Rozanov’s hair, pulling a little. Rozanov kisses him harder and then nips Shane’s bottom lip with his teeth.

“Ow! Fuck,” Shane yelps. It didn’t hurt that much—it was more shocking than anything. Rozanov’s eyes are glittering with amusement at his reaction. “What are you, a fucking animal?”

“Yes,” Rozanov purrs. He buries his face in Shane’s neck, sucking a hickey in the same spot he did last time. “And you like it.”

Damn him. Shane did like it. He’s so hard already. He spreads his legs and puts a hand at the base of Rozanov’s spine, trying to telegraph his need directly into Rozanov’s body.

It works. Rozanov moves down the bed. He pulls Shane’s legs over his shoulders, tilting his hips off the bed slightly. It’s less vulnerable than before, when he’d pushed Shane’s knees all the way up, but it feels far more intimate. Rozanov watches Shane’s face as he coats his hand in lube and gives Shane’s dick a few strokes. Shane moans, letting the pleasure wash over him.

Rozanov doesn’t draw the prep out this time. They both know the goal is to fuck—Rozanov’s fingers and mouth are a means to an end. “Fuck. Yes,” Shane whispers when Rozanov pulls away to put a condom on.

Rozanov stands at the end of the bed. Without warning, he puts his hands around Shane’s hips and hauls Shane towards him. Again he hooks Shane’s legs over his shoulders. Then he lines himself up.

Shane’s heart is racing. Last time he couldn’t see Rozanov’s face for this part. The lower part of it is glistening, wet, from the lube and his own saliva. He’s looking down, watching himself enter Shane, and once the tip is in his jaw drops a little, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Shane groans. It feels different like this, the stretch a little more pronounced. Then Rozanov leans forward, bending Shane’s legs, and Shane gasps. “Holy shit.”

“Good?” Rozanov grunts. He gives a few shallow thrusts that have Shane grabbing at the sheets for something to hold on to. “Hollander—”

“Fuck, oh my god, yes, it feels so good, fuck, please fuck me.” The words burst out of Shane in a torrent. He’s losing control so much earlier than he did last time. He shuts his eyes so that if Rozanov laughs at him, Shane doesn’t have to see it. He can laugh at Shane all he wants as long as he keeps fucking him.

“Hollander,” says Rozanov again, but he sounds as overcome as Shane feels. His hands on Shane’s waist pull Shane down onto his dick on every thrust. He’s so deep inside Shane. It’s even better than last time.

Shane wants to kiss him, wants Rozanov’s tongue in his mouth while his dick is fucking him this good. He opens his eyes. “Come here,” he says.

Rozanov obeys, letting Shane’s legs slip off his shoulders so he doesn’t bend him in half. Shane thinks he could take it. He does yoga sometimes, and he’s always been naturally flexible. He’s never really had a use for it before.

He kisses Rozanov, messy, the lube still on Rozanov’s face smearing all over Shane’s. He’ll be grossed out by it later, but right now it’s just hot. The slick slide of Rozanov’s tongue, just like the slick slide of his dick inside Shane, is exactly what Shane wants.

“Hold on,” Shane gasps after a bit. “I want to try something.”

Rozanov backs off. One at a time, Shane pulls his legs up and hooks them over Rozanov’s shoulders again. “Now come here.”

“Hollander…” Rozanov looks doubtful. He leans down slowly, watching Shane’s face for signs of pain and stopping when he sees something he doesn’t like. “No. Is too much.”

It was a little too much. If Shane was that flexible, he’d be able to suck his own dick. “I can handle it,” Shane tries to argue to both himself and Rozanov.

Rozanov ignores him. He lowers Shane’s legs and pulls out, then reaches over his head. He makes Shane sit up so he can stack three pillows under his back and shoulders. “No need to break yourself.”

They get back in position. Rozanov is right, this is much more comfortable. Now Shane can have everything he wants: Rozanov fucking him so deep it feels like it’s splitting him open, and kissing him just as deeply, his gold pendant sliding around in the hollow of Shane’s throat. Shane makes needy little noises into his mouth. He knows he sounds and looks like a desperate slut, but Rozanov is moaning into Shane’s mouth right back.

“Yes, yes, fuck, Hollander, look at you,” Rozanov is saying, “fucking made for it—”

Shane should hate that. “Holy fuck, you make me feel so good,” he hears himself babble.

Rozanov makes a sound like a growl. “Fucking right. I want to hear you say it, whose dick is going to make you come your brains out?”

The moment he says it, Shane knows it’s about to hit. He’s going to come. “Yours, oh my god, fuck, Rozanov, Ilya, Ilya—”

It’s the longest orgasm he’s ever had. It feels never-ending. Ilya Rozanov fucks him through all of it, never letting up, until finally he comes, too. Shane’s so obliterated he forgets to watch. “Fuck,” he heaves, and covers his face with his hands.

Ilya. He called Rozanov Ilya.

He can’t look at him. Rozanov—Ilya must sense it, because he doesn’t speak. He carefully pulls out and lowers Shane’s legs to the bed. There’s the sound of a tap running, and Shane dares to peek: he can see Ilya at the sink, wetting a washcloth.

It’s good he didn’t let Shane convince him to fuck him folded in half like that—Shane’s low back is definitely sore from what they did do. He pushes himself up to sitting. His stomach is covered in cum, more than he’s ever come before.

“Here.” Ilya is back. Gently, he wipes at the mess with a warm cloth.

“I can do it,” says Shane. His voice is sharper than he means for it to be, but he can’t bear for Ilya to take care of him right now. He takes the washcloth from him. “Thank you,” he says, and tries to sound actually grateful. He doesn’t quite succeed.

Ilya doesn’t reply. He stands there in front of Shane, naked with the used condom still on his flaccid dick, as Shane cleans himself up. When Shane is done, Ilya takes the washcloth back into the bathroom.

While he cleans up, Shane puts his clothes back on. He feels shaky and wrung out, like he ran eight miles in the heat of summer and then had a panic attack. He suddenly realizes how thirsty he is.

Back in the front of the house, Bertha is snoring in her dog bed. Shane refills her water bowl first, then pours himself some from the carafe of filtered water in the fridge. He stares blindly out the window and drinks it.

Footsteps. Ilya, dressed again as well, has come to join him. “I was thirsty,” Shane says inanely, as if he needs to explain why he didn’t sit and wait on the bed for Ilya.

“Me too,” says Ilya. He fills a glass from the sink. Shane doesn’t tell him about the carafe in the fridge. The tap water’s fine to drink, anyway. He pretends to look at the framed watercolor of dancing vegetables on the wall behind Ilya when really he’s looking at Ilya.

Is he going to make fun of Shane? Throw his vulnerability in his face? Or comfort him and ensnare him even further? Was this his plan all along? Fuck Shane so good and so well that he ruins Shane for anyone else?

That last thought isn’t fair. Shane hasn’t really tried to fuck anyone else. There were no sparks with Troy, but there could be with other people. Shane’s DMs are full of willing candidates.

Ilya breaks the silence. “Are you hungry?”

The answer is yes, but Shane says, “No. But you should go get something if you want. I need to study anyway.”

Ilya nods, accepting the dismissal. Thank Christ. If he tried to call him on it—or worse, reassure him—Shane would lose his shit. Could have been in anger or upset, he doesn’t know.

Shane wanders to the front door as Ilya packs up his stuff. “See you around,” Shane says, and opens it for him.

Ilya’s gaze is inscrutable; it sweeps over Shane’s face once, twice. Shane makes sure his expression is blandly positive. He needs to get out of this without shaming himself further so he can then figure out how he actually feels about it.

“Yes. See you,” Ilya says, and leaves. Shane watches him go through the little glass inset at the top of the door. He stands on the street corner for a few moments, looking at his phone and vaping. Then he walks away into the oncoming night.

—-—

Over the next month, Shane goes on four different dates with three different men. He sleeps with three of them, and only doesn’t sleep with the fourth because he has a roommate. That’s the one rule Shane’s made for himself—no roommates. He’s got enough to puzzle out without having to stress over if someone’s going to walk in at any time.

The sex is infuriating. Shane should be familiar with the feeling after hooking up with Ilya Rozanov, the most infuriating person he’s ever met, but sex itself with Ilya isn’t infuriating. It is, Shane now knows for certain, mindblowingly good.

Kyle, the first guy he sleeps with, is absolutely lovely. He tops Shane skillfully after asking what he prefers. His dick is nice and when Kyle comes first, he blows Shane until he comes, too. They exchange numbers but neither of them text after, which bothers Shane not at all.

The second guy, Aaron, Shane had class with once his second year. They’d followed each other on Instagram when they did a presentation together. He’s rougher than Kyle, but not in a way Shane likes. After they fuck, Aaron tells Shane he’s not out because, “it just seems simpler.” Shane makes his excuses and leaves.

The third guy is so mediocre as to be instantly forgettable. It turns out that mediocre sex might be worse than no sex at all. Shane spent his first three years of university mostly celibate other than a few hook-ups with women—the less said about those, the better for everyone—and he never thought of himself as missing out on that much.

If it wasn’t for Ilya Rozanov, Shane probably would be enjoying this phase. He’s always liked perfecting a new skill, and that’s what sex is, right? A skill like anything else. The problem is, Shane now knows what it can feel like at the highest level. To continue the drug comparison, it’s like trying to go clean from meth by taking Tylenol (or so Shane thinks). Maybe, he has been ruined.

It’s made worse by Ilya not messaging him for weeks. Granted Shane doesn’t message him, either. But it still pisses him off. God, this whole situation is fucked.

When Ilya does message him, it’s 3 a.m. on a Friday night. Shane’s drunkenly playing video games with his housemates after a night at the Mandrake, where Shane had beaten all three of them at pool. JJ’s reading his list of possible party themes out to them since they’re overdue to host a good rager.

In the game, Hayden blows Soren and Shane to smithereens with a grenade. “Ha! Take that!”

“I want a rematch,” Soren demands, though it won’t make a difference.

Shane’s already set aside the controller for his phone. He’s too drunk to overthink waiting to read Ilya’s message. He opens it.

It’s some random Instagram post from a bar Shane doesn’t know, a carousel of photos from a party. Shane swipes through them, lost. After looking at a few, he realizes this must be some sort of gay bar. Everyone in the pictures is clearly gay, and they’re all dressed in BDSM-esque attire. They look hot and stylish and confident. Shane feels himself flushing, looking at them.

The specific photo Ilya sent him is of a man in black leather pants, wearing some sort of complicated crisscrossing harness on top. you should get one of these. to wear with your leather pants. i hope you did not give them back to pike.

Shane imagines Ilya sitting on his couch in his house on Centauri Street, drunk with his housemates just like Shane and scrolling through Instagram. Seeing this picture. And then deciding to send it to Shane after not speaking to him for weeks. Like the idea of Shane dressed like that was so hot to Ilya it outweighed any lingering weirdness.

The thought makes Shane feel… powerful. He sits in the feeling for a second, relishing it. He realizes: he has a hold over Ilya, too.

Shane can ruin him back.

“You mean BDSM?” Hayden is saying. Shane locks his phone quickly, glancing around to make sure no one saw.

“No,” JJ replies, “BDSM&M. Like M&Ms, the candy. Everyone dresses up as their favorite candy but kinky.”

Shane laughs. He can’t help it. Suddenly, everything is going his way. The next level of the game has opened up before him. “That’s hilarious. We should do it,” he says.

JJ looks surprised by his support, but he rolls with it. “If Shane’s on board, what do you two have to complain about? Come on. We have a reputation to uphold.”

When JJ starts lecturing about reputations, it’s easier to give in. Hayden and Soren acquiesce and the party’s date is set for next Saturday.

Shane has never been so attentive to the RSVPs. “No Centauri Street,” JJ orders. “We’ve let those guys fuck with us for too long.”

That won’t do. “What if I tell Bood he has to apologize to you personally?”

As Shane knew he would, JJ likes the idea. When Bood RSVPs on Centauri Street’s behalf, Shane lets him know the price of admission. lol it was all in good fun, didn’t mean for it to turn into a big thing! i’ll apologize. no need for jj to get worked up, is Bood’s response.

For a second, Shane wonders what his university experience would have been like if he’d ended up in the house on Centauri Street instead of Voyageur Avenue. He and Hayden had met Shane’s third day on campus and become best friends in no time. Hayden had gotten Shane out of his shell, making him come to parties and meet people. When they talked about where to live their second year, it had been a no brainer.

But if Shane had met Bood, or Ilya, or even their other housemate Connors… what would have happened? Would Shane have become part of their crew instead? Would he have had the confidence to come out sooner? Would he and Ilya have hooked up earlier? If they had, where would they be now?

It’s too much thinking. Shane refocuses. He goes to class and aces his data analysis test. He’s on time to all his extracurriculars. He FaceTimes with Rose to figure out a weekend for her to visit later in the semester. He calls his parents and has a good catch-up with both of them. He buys his outfit for the party online along with a few other things.

The night of, he takes his time getting ready. Shane doesn’t know if Ilya is actually going to come, but he’s already formulating a back-up plan. He looks good enough to end up in more than a couple Snap and IG stories. He just has to make sure one of them is from someone Ilya will definitely see. If it comes down to it, Harris would probably help him without asking too many questions.

“Holy shit!” Harris yelps when he arrives and sees Shane. “You look insane! What the fuck?”

Shane laughs bashfully. JJ, Soren, and Hayden had had similar if more understated reactions. “Good for you, Shane,” Hayden had said nonsensically. Shane’s wearing the leather pants that no one remembers came from Jackie, and a harness that’s a near match for the one in the picture Ilya sent him. “What candy are you supposed to be, though?” Harris asks, eyes narrowing.

Shane is hoping answering that question will get easier as he gets drunker. He points to his abs. “A Kit Kat.”

Harris cracks up. He howls with laughter. “What’s going on over here?” It’s Troy Barrett, dressed in an array of pastels like Harris.

“He’s a fucking Kit Kat because of his abs,” Harris tells him, and Troy laughs too.

“You look great,” Troy says to Shane.

“Thanks.” Shane hasn’t seen Troy since that night, but it isn’t awkward. Especially not when Troy puts his arm around Harris waist.

“We’re Smarties,” Troy says, smiling.

“Cuffed Smarties.” Harris holds up their hands; they’re each wearing one half of a set of pink furry handcuffs.

“I love it,” says Shane. Does that mean what he thinks it means?

Harris goes to get them shots; Shane waits until he’s out of earshot to say to Troy, “So, are you guys…“

Troy nods. He’s practically beaming. “Yeah. We’re together. Honestly I’ve had feelings for him for so long. And, well…” Troy’s smile takes on an apologetic edge, “it took having the chance to hook up with you to make me realize.”

Shane huffs out a laugh. “You’re welcome? Or I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s like—you’re objectively one of the hottest guys on campus. So when I wasn’t into it, it made me actually confront how I felt. Because otherwise you know I wasn’t going to miss a shot like that.”

As it did before, the compliment soothes any sting from Troy’s words. And the sting is minimal as is. “I’m happy for you,” Shane says sincerely.

Harris reappears with tequila shots and they all throw them back. Then Jackie shows up with a bunch of her girlfriends and they all screech over Shane’s outfit and make him do another shot with them. Then Shane’s drafted in to play beer pong with Soren against two of Soren’s friends, which they win. All’s to say, Shane’s pretty fucking drunk by the time the rest of the Centauri Street guys show up.

He sees Bood and Connors through the crowd first, by the front door. Bood is talking earnestly with JJ. JJ’s nodding, and then he and Bood clasp hands and bump shoulders. Good. Nothing more to worry about there. Bood scans the room, spots Shane, and waves, mouthing hell yeah, Hollander as he gestures to Shane’s outfit. Shane smiles and waves back, then methodically searches every single face in Bood’s vicinity.

There. A head of curly blonde hair. His back is to Shane, talking to someone. Turn around. Shane sends the thought to him like an arrow. Turn around and look at me.

It works. Ilya turns. He’s wearing dark brown pants and nothing on top save his gold necklace, his torso covered in shimmering gold body paint to match. His eyes flick around, as if looking for the source of whatever prompted him to turn. Then they land on Shane.

Holy shit. Shane shivers at the intensity of his gaze. It travels over Shane’s whole body, taking in every little detail. Shane watches as Ilya makes the connection between Shane’s outfit and the picture Ilya had sent. Fuck. His mouth forms the word, and though Shane’s too far away and the music’s too loud to hear it in reality, in his head he hears the way Ilya’s voice wraps around the word, caressing it, whispering it like a prayer.

Ilya steps forward, towards Shane. It snaps Shane out of his trance. Fuck, he didn’t think this far. If Ilya touches him in front of all these people, it doesn’t matter if JJ himself is standing beside them: Shane will fold. He will let Ilya do anything to him, then and there.

He flees. Back to the kitchen, where Jackie and Hayden are hanging with their friends. He makes himself a drink with shaking hands and pretends to join the conversation. After a bit they go outside even though it’s fucking freezing. One of Jackie’s friends, Caroline, makes Shane pose for some photos. “Bitch, yes! Yes!” she keeps yelling, as if Shane’s poses aren’t uninspired as fuck.

Just when Shane’s loosening up and starting to have fun with it, Ilya Rozanov pokes his head out the back door. The flash on Caroline’s phone goes off as Ilya spots Shane. “Oooh that one was so sexy!” Caroline says. She shows Shane.

Shane tears his eyes away from Ilya to look. The photo caught Shane’s expression at the perfect—or worst—time, right as he saw Ilya. Shane’s mouth is open and he looks absolutely wanton. Like he’s begging to be fucked.

Ilya is no longer in the doorway—he’s moved off to the side of the house to vape. Shane makes his excuses to Caroline and goes back inside. He feels the weight of Ilya’s stare, still on him, the entire way.

How obvious are they being? Can everyone tell? Shane doesn’t know if the alcohol is making him paranoid, or if it’s the arousal. He needs to stay out of direct light or anyone will be able to see his hard-on in these pants, same as Ilya did all those months ago.

If he disappears too soon, JJ and Hayden will definitely notice. JJ’s holding court in the living room, talking in rapid French with some of his Quebecois friends. Shane gets drawn into it, though when they really get going, even he has trouble keeping up.

JJ’s pretty drunk. Maybe he wouldn’t actually notice Shane’s absence. Shane goes to see if Hayden’s at the same level, and finds him in the dining room, slumped in a chair among a bunch of people Shane doesn’t know. “Hey, you good, dude?”

Hayden looks up at him, a pained expression on his face. “Jackie’s mom made AI photos of what our kids would look like. See?”

He shows Shane an eerie, too-glossy picture of an unreal child who does look exactly like both Hayden and Jackie. “Damn, that’s crazy,” Shane says.

“Fuck. It just made me think about how good a mom Jackie is gonna be,” Hayden says. He’s definitely tearful now. “Like she’s so kind, and thoughtful, but also she doesn’t take any shit—”

“Yeah. Yes, absolutely,” Shane says. He pulls Hayden up and tows him through the house, looking for Jackie. He finds her and Caroline in a corner of the living room by the front door.

“Jackie!” Hayden yells as soon as he sees her, and throws himself at her. “Holy shit, Jackie, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby,” Jackie says, nonplussed. Did he take something? she mouths at Shane.

It’s the AI baby photos, Shane mouths back, and Jackie nods understandingly.

And that’s Hayden sorted. Soren’s smoking weed and talking politics with his friends on the porch, and when they start, they go for hours. So nothing to worry about there. Now Shane just has to find Ilya.

He’s not in the living room, or dining room. He’s not in the kitchen and he’s not out back vaping. There’s a couple people not part of Soren’s group on the porch but neither of them are Ilya. Shane, starting to panic, runs upstairs to check there. But all of them lock their bedroom doors during parties, so there’s no one. To be sure, Shane unlocks his bedroom and checks inside. It’s empty.

Did Ilya leave? That would be insane. Shane’s at the top of the stairs, about to head back down and restart his search, and then the bathroom door, at the foot of the stairs, opens and Ilya emerges. As if he senses him, he looks directly to his left and sees Shane.

For several breaths, they just stare at each other. Then Shane turns around and goes to his bedroom. He unlocks the door and leaves it slightly ajar behind him. He switches on the bedside lamp, sits on the bed. His heart is racing again. His heart had not raced before fucking any of the other men he’s slept with.

The door drifts open. Of course, it’s Ilya. He comes in and shuts it behind him, silent. There’s no need—the bass of the music is pounding through the floor. They could have a screaming match and no one would hear them.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?” Ilya asks. His tone is dead serious.

A shiver of triumph runs through Shane. “Yes,” he says in the same tone. “Lock the door.”

Ilya does so. He comes to stand in front of Shane, just between his knees, looking down at him. Shane leans back on his hands so he can meet his eyes. Then he reaches up to put a hand on the back of Ilya’s neck and bring his mouth down to meet Shane’s.

They fall into bed. Ilya’s pants turn out to be paper thin; Shane can feel how hard he is at once. “Fuck, Hollander, fuck,” Ilya groans.

Hollander. Shane can’t have that. He rakes his hands through Ilya’s hair and devours his mouth with all his skill. He sucks on Ilya’s tongue, and then his thumb when Ilya puts his hand up to touch Shane’s face and runs his fingers over Shane’s bottom lip.

Ilya watches helplessly as Shane pulls his thumb deeper into his mouth, daring Ilya to test his limits. Ilya presses in further, and Shane takes his chance to bite him. “Fuck!” Ilya removes his thumb, replaces it with his own mouth, kissing Shane hard. “You are using my tricks against me?” he says.

If only he knew. Shane flips them, straddling Ilya’s hips. He grinds his ass down on his boner. They’ve never done it with Shane on top. Shane waits to see how Ilya reacts to the idea.

His fingers dig into Shane’s thighs. “Do you have any idea how you look right now?”

Shane thinks of the photo Caroline took of him. “Like what you see?” Ilya’s hands slide upwards to touch over Shane’s chest, tracing the lines of the leather harness.

“You bought this for me?” The question sounds laced with genuine reverence.

Shane shakes his head. “I bought it for me. But you can enjoy the benefits.”

“Holy shit.” It’s a whisper. “Hollander, what happened to you?”

I realized I’d rather be celibate than fuck anyone who’s not you. You make me feel good in a way it seems like no one else can. Is it the same for you? Shane hopes the answers to Ilya’s question, racing through Shane’s mind, can’t be seen on his face. He gets up and strips off his pants. He leaves the harness on—he knows without asking that’s what Ilya wants.

Ilya is on Shane’s wavelength too. He sits up and scoots up the bed, leaning against the headboard. Shane comes back to kneel over him. Ilya’s hands are on him again immediately, smoothing over the skin of Shane’s thighs and hips and back, moving inevitably lower.

Shane drinks in the shock that crosses Ilya’s face as he makes a discovery. “Fuck. Is this…?”

Shane nods. “Another thing I bought for me, that you get to enjoy.”

Ilya is staring up at him, open-mouthed. With his hair mussed and lips swollen from kissing, he looks debauched already. And they’ve barely started. He gently taps the end of the butt plug Shane inserted before he put on the leather pants this evening. He’d tested it out multiple times this week, making sure he could handle it for an extended period of time before tonight.

The shape of it means there’s always a little bit of pressure on his prostate, keeping him on edge, and Ilya tapping on it sends a shockwave through Shane. A soft moan escapes his lips. He holds himself very still as Ilya tugs a tiny bit on it and then lets go. Shane’s body automatically clenches and it settles back into place.

“You are trying to kill me.” Ilya’s voice sounds hollow. Already surrendered to his fate. He touches Shane’s face with his free hand, holding his jaw. He tugs on the plug again and Shane moans again.

Shane needs to get ahold of himself. He has a plan. “Do you want to fuck me?” he breathes.

His hands go to Ilya’s pants, undoing them. Speechless, Ilya nods. Shane licks his own palm and sticks it in to stroke him. It’s Ilya’s turn to moan. His head tips back to thud against the wall.

This is the first time Shane’s touched his dick. He hadn’t realized. But that’s even better. “Yes?” he prompts Ilya, still slowly jerking him off.

Ilya lets out a desperate little laugh. “Yes, fuck, you know I do.”

Shane lets his dick go. He reaches back and puts his fingers over Ilya’s, still on the plug. Together, they grasp it and slowly pull it out of Shane’s body. The emptiness feels stark and sudden. Thankfully Shane has something else to take its place.

He moves forward a little, until he’s just over Ilya’s dick. He uses a hand to rub it over his already slick hole, the head catching on the edge. Ilya is panting hard. His breath is coming in choked off gasps. “Is this what you want?” Shane says. His voice barely shakes. He’s so fucking turned on, it’s taking all his focus to draw this out the way he wants to.

Ilya moans long and loud. “Yes.” His eyes are locked on Shane’s face.

Watching him the whole time, Shane starts to sink down on his dick. Ilya’s eyes flutter closed—and then pop open. “Fuck, Shane, condom! Fuck.”

His hands are immediately under Shane’s thighs, halting hm. He leans over to yank open Shane’s bedside table drawer and rifle through it. “Do you have any? Fuck.”

“Yes, right there.” Shane’s voice is shaky now. He completely forgot. If Ilya hadn’t realized, they would have fucked raw. Ilya could have fucked him raw. The excuse was easy—don’t they both always have safe sex with whoever else they sleep with?—and the upside alluring. He didn’t need to stop them. But he did.

Ilya comes back with a condom—he tears it open and rolls it on in one smooth motion. While he’s at it, he strips his pants fully off and throws them across the room. “Okay, fuck. Jesus Christ. That was not part of your plan, was it?”

He says it light, laughing a little. But Shane’s so overcome with a strange mix of emotions he can’t laugh. Ilya looks up at him. “Shane?”

There it is again. Ilya doesn’t seem to have realized that he said it. It’s what Shane wanted—but he assumed he’d feel only triumph. That’s not what this feels like. His heart is doing something strange in the back of his throat.

Ilya is frowning at him. “Was that your plan?”

“No,” Shane says in a small voice. He clears his throat. Forces it all down. “No. I forgot.”

“How drunk are you?” Ilya says. He’s searching Shane’s face.

“Not that much.” He’s sobered up a lot. He has no real excuse other than being so out of his mind with arousal that he could only think of getting Ilya’s dick in him as soon as possible.

“Okay. Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck no.” Now Shane can laugh. It disperses any weird lingering emotions. He can get this back on track. He takes Ilya’s dick in his hand again. “Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck no,” Ilya says, grinning. He leans up to kiss Shane on the mouth. They do that for a little while Shane jerks him off, enjoying the feeling. Before long, Ilya is panting into his mouth once more. “Fuck, Shane, come on.”

That one hits Shane where he wanted it to: victorious. It makes him willing to give Ilya what he wants. “Okay.” He fits the head of Ilya’s cock against himself and sinks down.

They both groan. Ilya slid into him so easily it’s unreal. Shane adjusts his position, putting his hands on Ilya’s shoulders, and rolls his hips.

Their faces are so close together, Shane can see exactly how much it wrecks Ilya when he starts moving. Jaw dropped, red all over, vein standing out in his forehead. Victorious. It feels almost as good as the sex.

Almost. Fuck, Shane missed this. There’s something about Ilya’s dick that is just right. Even though Shane’s the one doing the work, it doesn’t matter. He lets himself moan, savoring it.

“Holy fuck, you needed it, huh?” Ilya’s brash words are undercut with how hard he’s breathing. His hands are on Shane’s thighs. Not controlling him—just holding him, feeling him move.

“Yes,” Shane says. He’s ready. “Thought about you fucking me all day, when I put the plug in, when I got dressed in this harness, when I saw you come in. Nearly threw myself across the room at you.”

“Oh my god.” Ilya garbles something in Russian. “Shane, holy fuck—”

Shane is really riding him now. He’s so proud of himself for that, too. He doesn’t know how much longer he can last, but he’s pretty sure Ilya is closer. “Almost bent over for you right there in front of everyone,” Shane gasps. It just slips out. He hadn’t planned on telling him that. “Would you have liked that?”

Ilya moans with his full chest, so loudly that if there was anyone upstairs, they would definitely have heard it. Shane doesn’t give a fuck. “Yes, fuck, let them see—let them see how good you take it, so perfect.”

“That’s right.” Shane’s voice is going higher, on the verge of breaking into a moan. He laces his hands in Ilya’s hair again, tight. “You fuck me so good, make me feel so good, so I’m good to you back.”

Ilya doesn’t reply. He clenches his eyes shut and bites his lip. Fuck. “Shane, fuck, I’m not going to last, fuck—”

Oh, sweet, sweet victory. “Come,” Shane commands, and Ilya does. His whole face screws up and he shouts, wordless. Shane slows but keeps moving, working him until the very end and Ilya is shuddering and gasping.

“Oh, fuck,” Ilya says faintly, and drops his head onto Shane’s shoulder.

Shane stops. He’s so hard he’s transcended being turned on. He might never be soft again. But Ilya looks too fucked out to help. Carefully, Shane takes his own dick in his hand.

So quickly, he finds himself scooped up and flipped onto his back, head towards the end of the bed. “No,” Ilya says, already between Shane’s thighs, and he takes Shane’s dick into his mouth and all the way down his throat.

Shane cries out, just as loud as Ilya had. Ilya’s blown him before but never taken him this deep. “God,” Shane chokes out before his voice stops working and he stops breathing, every part of his body focused on Ilya’s mouth sucking him hard and fast.

Then Ilya slips his fingers in to rub against Shane’s prostate and Shane’s coming, breath suddenly sobbing in on a gasp. He comes down Ilya’s throat and Ilya swallows all of it. He doesn’t let up until Shane grabs his hair. “Stop, Ilya, fuck, it’s too much.”

Ilya relents. He pulls off and tips onto his side, lying curled up with his head on Shane’s hip. Shane leaves a hand in his hair. After such intense sex, it’s nice to come down like this—together, but with space to breathe.

Ilya’s shoulders are shaking. For a horrible moment, Shane thinks he’s crying—then he realizes he’s laughing. “Hollander. What the fuck,” he says. He sits up and moves down the bed towards Shane until he’s leaning over him. He dips his head down to kiss Shane.

Shane avoids it. Ilya pulls back, expression immediately falling into worry. But Shane’s done with this dance. He will have what he wants, and this is part of what he wants. If they’re going to have sex like this, they will not call each other by their last names anymore.

“Shane,” Shane says firmly, looking up at Ilya.

Ilya’s expression shifts. At first, to something Shane doesn’t understand. Then into amused fondness, like Ilya’s deciding to indulge him. “Shane,” Ilya says softly. This time, when he leans down to kiss him, Shane lets him.

—-—

Things change.

Not in some crazy huge way. But there’s a feeling that they’ve moved beyond the dance. It’s clear what they’re doing now. They like fucking. They want to continue doing it. So Shane stops thinking about making Ilya wait for a reply. Stops being deeply insulted by his harmless jabs. Stops waiting for Ilya to flip the game and turn on him. It turns out it’s freeing to not overthink every little detail.

The weather turns nasty Thursday, fluctuating between freezing rain and icy snowfall through the night and into the next few days. Everyone bunkers down over the weekend for that reason, staying inside unless it’s absolutely necessary to leave. They crank up the heat at Voyageur Avenue and Shane starts wearing his thick socks at all times of the day, since even with the heat on, the floors are perpetually cold. He’s studying in his room on Monday night, swathed in a blanket, when Ilya messages him.

rozanovvvvvvv
hey
what are you doing

shanehollander24
studying
you?

rozanovvvvvvv
same
but i wish i was not

shanehollander24
no shame in taking a break. it can help your focus.

rozanovvvvvvv
true
what kind of break did you have in mind?

Oh. Right. Shane’s getting better about this sort of thing, but there really does seem to be infinite ways to insinuate you want to hook up with someone without straight up saying it. God, the idea of having sex in a warm bed with Ilya Rozanov while the weather’s like this is so tempting. But Shane actually does need to study.

shanehollander24
i can’t
i have to study

rozanovvvvvvv
you said it yourself, a break helps with focus

shanehollander24
i’m focusing just fine

rozanovvvvvvv
ok, share some of it. since you are such a nice guy.
i will make it worth your while

Fuck. Shane’s so close to breaking. He watches the cursor blink in the empty message box for several long moments, at war with himself.

shanehollander24
i can’t tonight
tomorrow?

rozanovvvvvvv
yes
tomorrow

The weather gets a little bit better on Tuesday. Shane chooses to believe it’s a good omen, the universe blessing his choices. He goes to a lecture, another one, the tutoring center. come any time after 6, Ilya messages him in the late afternoon.

So now Shane’s actually going to fuck someone in the house on Centauri Street. He very, very carefully does not think about how JJ and Hayden would react to this if they ever found out. He pulls his hat low and his puffer’s hood up over top on his walk over, avoiding the street lights.

He’d assumed Ilya would be home alone. Actually, he’d assumed their situations were analogous: that Ilya’s housemates would feel just as betrayed as Shane’s if they found out the two of them were hooking up. Therefore, it’s a huge shock to knock softly on the front door of their house and have Zane Boodram be the one to open it.

“Hollander! What’s up, didn’t know you were coming by.” Bood clasps his hand and pulls him in to bump shoulders, which Shane is completely unprepared for. “Come on in.”

Wrong house, actually! I’m trashed and I don’t know where I am, haha! Shane thinks about making an excuse and fleeing, but then Ilya pops up behind Bood. Shane’s panic must be written all over his face. Ilya says, “Bood. Be nice.”

“Me? The fuck, dude, I just invited him in. Hollander, want something to drink? See, dude?”

“Sure,” Shane says. He has no idea how to act. He feels ambushed. He wants to run. Bood leaves him and Ilya alone in the little foyer between the front door and inner door to the rest of the house, which closes behind him. “The fuck?” Shane hisses. “You told all your housemates about us?”

Ilya frowns. “No. I did not tell them anything.”

“Aren’t they going to figure it out pretty fucking quick when you lead me through your living room and up to your bedroom?” Shane’s so hot with shame at the idea of it. “Why else would I come over? What are they gonna think?”

Ilya looks angry now too. “Maybe that we are friends. Is that so bad?”

Shane flounders, unable to think of a response. It would be horrible if Hayden and JJ thought he was friends with Ilya Rozanov. It wouldn’t be as bad as fucking him, but it would still be bad. “Well—”

Ilya interrupts him. “They will clear out soon anyway. Troy is always at Harris’ these days, Bood stays over at Cassie’s on Tuesdays, and Connors and Luca will probably go to the library. Everyone is tired of being shut in after the shitty weather. And even if they were here, they would not care. You think in a house of four men we only fuck when no one else is around?”

“Obviously not,” Shane shoots back. “But this is different!”

“How?” Ilya demands. “Sorry, I did not know this was a huge bad secret no one can know anything about. If that is how you feel, I guess good to understand that now.”

“It’s not like that! If my housemates found out—”

Ilya laughs, disbelieving. “You are going to let your homophobic housemates dictate who you fuck?”

“Don’t,” Shane snaps, “fucking call them that. They aren’t. They hate all of your guys’ guts. And they think you hate us too!”

“No one here hates you and your housemates, Hollander,” Ilya says coldly. “We think is a fun joke to pretend we are rivals. But no one actually cares. The only people who care are your housemates.”

“Oh.” Shane falls quiet. The fight goes out of him as he absorbs this information. He leans against the wall by the door.

Ilya goes on. “Yes, Bood has even mentioned several times that he thinks you are a nice guy. Of course I have told him is all an act and you are very mean. But he says if you are mean to me I must deserve it.”

Ilya is smiling a tiny bit as he tells this little story. He knows it’ll please Shane. Shane fights against letting it dissolve the last of his furious panic. “You do deserve it,” Shane says.

“I know,” says Ilya, and smirks. He turns to open the inner door. “So you are coming in?”

Shane is, though he still feels a little jumpy. Connors and the fifth housemate that Shane doesn’t know, Luca, are sitting at the table on the far side of the living room, finishing up dinner. “Hey, Hollander!” Connors calls. “How fucking cold is it out there? I’m dreading the walk to the library.”

“It’s pretty bad. But better than yesterday.” Shane hangs his puffer on one of the overloaded hooks by the front door and sits on one of the overstuffed couches at Ilya’s gesture.

Bood emerges from the kitchen with multiple steaming mugs in his hands. “Toddies up, boys!” He distributes them to a flurry of thanks.

After this many years, Shane can manage beer with relative ease, and liquor if it’s buried in other flavors. Sipping Bood’s hot toddy is the first time he’s actually found himself enjoying alcohol. The whiskey is a medicinal note weaving through honey and lemon and a hint of cinnamon.

“I’m Shane, by the way,” Shane says to Luca, when none of the other guys introduce them.

“I know,” says Luca, and then turns beet red. Shane’s never seen someone blush that hard. “I mean, yes. I am Luca Haas.” He has a light, vaguely European accent.

“Shit, sorry. I did not know you had not met,” Ilya says. He’s sitting on the other end of the couch a respectable distance from Shane. “Luca is our mascot.”

“Your what?” Shane says, confused.

“He doesn’t live here, but he’s here all the time,” Connors says. He claps Luca on the shoulder.

“We’re always collecting strays,” Bood says. “Troy. Luca.”

“Gotcha,” Shane says, though he still doesn’t understand.

“Yes,” says Ilya, “I met Luca at one of Harris’ parties last year, where he—”

“Don’t tell that story again, please,” Luca moans. He covers his face with his hands.

Ilya continues, unabashed. “Where he drunkenly told me he was gay and—”

“Okay!” Luca says loudly. He stands up. “I am going to the library! Does anyone else want to go to the library!”

The other boys laugh, but not unkindly. It’s affectionate. “I’ll catch up with you,” Connors tells him, “gonna finish my food first.”

Luca gathers his things and goes out into the cold. Shane ventures to ask a question. “So, like, all of you guys are…”

“Queer?” Bood finishes for him when Shane trails off. He doesn’t look offended. “I guess. I’m not much for labels. Me and Cassie have been together so long I don’t really know what my sexuality is other than them. When they started identifying as nonbinary last year, it was just like, okay, cool. You’re you, I love you, let’s keep doing this forever regardless.”

“That’s great,” Shane says. He’s learning so much information that he never expected tonight. He’s met Cassie once or twice but didn’t know any of that about their gender identity. He remembers them cutting their hair really short sometime last year.

“And I’m only into big femmes who won’t give me the time of day,” Connors says cheerfully. He scrapes the last of his dinner off his plate. “I’m consistent.”

That made absolutely no sense; Connors is a mustached man. Wouldn’t that make him straight? “Got it,” Shane says anyway. He sees Ilya hide a smile at his response. He must be enjoying Shane’s confusion, the asshole.

Connors stands and drains the rest of his toddy. “Okay, I’m out of here.” He and Bood pack up their stuff and go, one shortly after another.

Ilya starts laughing, as if he was holding it in the entire time Connors and Bood were leaving. “Shut up,” Shane says. He’s probably beet red just like Luca was. “You’re such a dick.”

“Shane,” Ilya says, eyes glittering with mirth, “Connors is trans.”

“What!?” Shane yelps. Oh, god. Immediately he runs through every single thing he said and how horribly it came off. “Are you being serious?!”

Ilya nods. “Is okay. You did not say anything bad. Just dumb. We will have a good laugh about it later. Shane Hollander, gay man who thinks every other person in the world is cis and straight.”

“I hate you.” Shane throws his arms over his face and sinks back into the couch. “Oh my fucking god, I can’t believe this! How am I supposed to know any of this shit?”

“No one expects you to.” Ilya’s tone is warm. Great, he’s pitying Shane, world’s worst gay. Shane almost preferred it when he was laughing. “But maybe start by not assuming everyone is straight. Then, maybe, you will start noticing things.”

Shane nods, arms still over his face. The worst of the embarrassment is passing. “Tell him I’m sorry. Please.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for.”

Shane drops his arms. Ilya is facing him, leaning so the side of his head rests against the back of the couch. He’s smiling. There’s a little bit of amusement at Shane’s expense, but also some fondness. For a few moments, they just look at each other.

“Want to see my room?” Ilya says, casual.

“Sure,” Shane says, equally casual.

He follows Ilya upstairs. It seems like only Troy’s room is on the first floor. There’s a few closed doors at the top of the staircase—Ilya leads him to the rearmost one. His room is big, looking out on the large but desolate yard of icy, bare-branched trees. His room is warmly lit by a couple lamps. It’s also freezing.

“What the fuck?” Shane says. He’s about to start shivering. “You guys too broke to have the heat on up here?”

“No. Just always coldest in my room. But I am Russian, so whatever. Here.” He switches on a couple space heaters. Then he snags a fleece blanket from the foot of his bed and wraps it around Shane. “For until it warms up.”

That makes sense—they can’t exactly fuck if they’re both too cold to take their clothes off. Ilya sits at his desk and Shane sits on the end of his bed.

Something’s bothering Shane. “My housemates aren’t homophobic. By the way.”

Ilya sighs. “Okay. Whatever you say. I am sorry I said that.”

“They’re not,” Shane insists. He doesn’t know why, but it’s important to him that Ilya understand this. “They were super cool when I came out to them. They’re great friends.”

“Mmhmm.” Ilya studies him. “When was that?”

“At the beginning of the year, right before I posted that picture. I wanted them to hear it from me.”

“And what did they say?”

Shane thinks. “JJ said he was worried I was going to say I had cancer.”

Ilya huffs out a laugh. “Great.”

“As a joke! I don’t know, they were like, thanks for telling us and that was it.”

“And you have never spoken about it again?”

Again, Shane has to think. “Hayden told me he thought my post was classy. That I was repping who I am. And that he was proud of me.”

Ilya’s mouth has twisted up like he tasted something sour. “Don’t fucking say that was homophobic, it was nice,” Shane orders. He’s on the verge of getting actually pissed off.

“Is hard for me to say,” Ilya says, pained, “but is not bad. I am glad he said those things. And the others?”

Shane pulls the blanket tighter around himself. He doesn’t want to answer. “They’re great friends,” he insists again. He knows how flimsy it sounds, to repeat himself. “Just… not everyone wants to talk about that stuff. It doesn’t make them homophobic.”

Ilya doesn’t reply. He just gazes at Shane for a few moments. When the silence stretches into something he can’t bear, Shane speaks again. “Not all of us were lucky to stumble into the coolest queer friend group that they fit perfectly into.” His tone is too brittle. He hates the defensivenes welling up inside him.

“I know,” Ilya says quietly after another pause. “I am very lucky.”

Shane sniffs. His nose is running from the heater’s dry air blasting directly at him. It’s making his eyes feel weird and gritty too. He swallows hard.

“Are you cold?” Ilya asks.

“No. It’s better,” Shane says.

“Okay.” Ilya smiles a little. Quirks his eyebrows. “Is warmest under the covers. If you want to.”

It’s like Shane’s little fantasy. They undress and get into Ilya’s bed, warmed up nicely by one of the heaters. Ilya pulls the blankets up over their heads, which Shane wasn’t expecting. But the moment he does it, it’s like a dark little cocoon of heat blossoms into being around them. “Oh,” Shane says.

“Okay?” Ilya’s voice asks in the darkness. His hand touches Shane’s upper arm and Shane shivers. He moves in closer towards Ilya, searching for him.

He finds his head, then his face, then his mouth. “Yes, okay,” Shane murmurs against his lips, and kisses him.

Ilya’s arms go around him and he pulls Shane to his chest. It’s hard to get the angle right like this, so Shane pushes him onto his back, laying over top of him. “Mmmmh, yes,” Ilya hums into his mouth. He’s got his hands cupping Shane’s jaw so he can mesh their mouths together the way he wants them.

It’s so hot in the midst of all the cold, so soft in contrast to the iciness of the outdoors, Shane completely gets lost in it. Ilya kisses hungrily, like it’s all he’s thinking about. Soon Shane’s forgotten anything else as well. So much so that when Ilya’s hands start to drift lower, he’s surprised to realize he’s hard.

Ilya feels it. He starts to sit up. “No, no,” Shane says, and pushes him back down.

Ilya lets out a surprised laugh. “You don’t want to fuck?”

“I do,” Shane says. Obviously. “Not yet.” He doesn’t want to lose this: Ilya, holding his face. Ilya, slowly stroking his tongue with his own. Even the smallest brush of his lips on Shane’s is sending shivers through Shane’s body. He’s never cared much for kissing one way or another. But like all things with Ilya, he’s learning how good it can be when done right.

At some point, they start moving against each other. Their legs are intertwined, Shane’s thigh between Ilya’s, and there’s plenty to grind on. “Shane,” Ilya whispers. The drag of his dick against the Shane’s skin is a mimic of his lips on Shane’s.

He keeps kissing Shane but his hands go lower again to cup Shane’s ass, kneading it. Shane groans. He wants it, but also needs to know, “Why are you so obsessed with my ass?”

“Don’t know, why are you so obsessed with my dick?” Ilya kisses him again before he can reply and Shane makes an annoyed sound into it.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Shane says.

“Your ass? Yes, I love it.” The blankets have gotten pushed down off their faces so Shane can see the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Shane decides to kiss him instead of deigning to reply to that. But it’s getting harder to not think about Ilya fucking him, especially when Ilya pulls Shane’s thigh up, bending his knee. Now, after sticking his fingers in Shane’s mouth to wet them, he can reach down and start rubbing them over Shane’s hole with torturous slowness and just enough pressure.

Shane has to pause in kissing. “Fuck,” he groans into the crook of Ilya’s neck.

“You want?” Ilya breathes in his ear.

“Mmh. But stay up here.”

Ilya moves away to get the lube and a condom, but comes back quickly. With Shane still laying half on top of Ilya, knee still bent, Ilya slowly fingers him open while Shane buries his hands in his hair and kisses him again and again.

He half-expects Ilya to flip them once Shane’s ready, and fuck him like that. Not that Shane’s opposed. Instead, with the condom on, Ilya shifts just enough so that he can push into Shane like this. He doesn’t even move right away, content to make out with Shane, slipping deeper and deeper inside with little nudges of his hips.

“Ilya, fuck,” Shane whispers. He’s trembling, overwhelmed with the simplicity. Yet it still feels so good.

“Is okay?” Ilya asks him. He cups the back of Shane’s head with a hand, kisses his cheek, giving Shane’s oversensitive mouth a break. His other arm winds around Shane’s waist to guide their bodies into a slow rhythm. Shane whines. He searches out Ilya’s lips again, desperate for it as Ilya increases the pace.

Every time they have sex is different. But there’s something about this, the closeness, the kissing, the slower pace, that makes it feel like another thing entirely. It’s not about wringing so much pleasure from each other that they’re left wrecked and speechless. Shane doesn’t know what it is about. Only that he wants it to last as long as possible.

Time slows. Shane forgets about the world outside of Ilya’s bed and body and mouth. When it hits, his orgasm takes him by surprise. It shudders through him suddenly, and he comes in between their bodies. Ilya pulls out when it turns to overstimulation and Shane starts whimpering. He keeps one hand on Shane’s waist while he jerks off with the other.

They keep kissing. Shane’s cum grows tacky on their skin. He should feel disgusted but he can’t imagine tearing himself away to clean up. Finally, Ilya groans. “Fuck, I have to take this condom off. I will be back.”

Shane gets to stay in the nice cozy bed while Ilya goes to the bathroom in the hall. The washcloth he brings is warm, and Ilya pushes down the blankets so he can wipe the cum and lube off Shane’s body.

Why are you so sweet to me? The question comes to Shane as he watches Ilya’s curly blonde head bent over his task. He never could have imagined something like this when Ilya kissed him in his kitchen the first week of the semester. It’s a side of Ilya that would have seemed laughable, impossible.

“Okay?” Ilya asks him. He must have felt Shane’s eyes on him.

“Yeah,” Shane says. “Thank you.”

He should get up. He should get dressed and go home, back to his responsibilities. He doesn’t want to, especially not when Ilya gets back in bed beside him. “Is snowing again,” he says.

“Fuck, really? Ugh.” The beginning of winter is always a rough adjustment. It’s going to be even worse leaving here for his own cold, empty bedroom.

“Yeah. Looked bad.” Ilya rolls on to his side. He nuzzles his face into Shane’s cheek. “You can stay. If you want.”

Shane has to close his eyes. His desire to stay is so overwhelming he feels dizzy. “I can’t,” he says.

“Why not?” Ilya murmurs. He’s pressing small kisses to Shane’s jaw.

Why can’t he? There are reasons. Shane can’t think of them. “I need…”

He forgets what he was going to say when Ilya brings a hand up to draw little circles around one of Shane’s nipples. “I don’t think you do,” Ilya says. His voice is hypnotic. “We can have morning sex. Have you ever?”

Shane hasn’t. He sees it in his mind: falling asleep with Ilya. Waking up to kiss him. Having sex again in their warm little bubble, safe from the morning’s chilliness.

If Shane lets himself do that, he will never leave. He’ll become a permanent resident of Ilya Rozanov’s bed, and he will make sure Ilya stays there with him. He’ll think about nothing else ever again. It will turn his desire into a full-blown addiction.

In a monumental feat of self-control, Shane sits up. “No. I really do have to study.”

Ilya sits up as well, more slowly. “Okay. All good.”

They both dress and go back downstairs. Ilya waits beside him in the foyer while Shane puts on his coat and shoes. He straightens up. What does one even say after an evening like this? “Thank you for inviting me over.”

“Thank you for coming,” Ilya says. Then he takes Shane by the hips, pressing him against the wall by the front door, and kisses him.

It almost breaks Shane’s resolve. He kisses back, just as urgently. When Ilya pulls away, they’re both breathing hard. “To keep you warm on your walk home,” Ilya says, low.

Shane can only nod. He leaves, out into the cold. The icy snow is like little daggers on his exposed skin. He barely feels it.

—-—

Maybe Shane avoided full-blown addiction. But whatever he’s experiencing now is not much better. If thinking about him nearly every moment of every day wasn’t enough, he starts fucking dreaming about Ilya. These extended, lurid near-hallucinations that Shane wakes from completely disoriented and painfully aroused.

That night, after they have sex at Centauri Street, he’s not surprised. But it happens again later in the week, and then again over the weekend. The after-school program he volunteers with has a mini sports camp on Saturday and Sunday, so it’s not like he has time to scratch the itch either.

He could see Ilya at 10 p.m. after he finishes for the day, but Shane doesn’t want quick, exhausted sex when his head’s all over the place. He’s having enough trouble focusing as is. That would just make it worse. And right now, each time they’ve had sex is like a perfect and unique jewel in his memory. He can’t risk tainting that.

Ilya is not of the same mindset. In Shane’s messages, he’s practically feral. The third time in a week Shane has to tell him he can’t come over, Shane sends a screenshot of his calendar to prove he’s not making shit up.

rozanovvvvvvv
jesus christ. that cannot be real.
why are you so busy

shanehollander24
i do a lot of stuff
everything’s kinda happening at once rn
it’ll get better soon

rozanovvvvvvv
don’t be busy on Saturday
we are having a darty since is supposed to be a little nicer

shanehollander24
oh so it’s gonna be at freezing instead of below freezing?

rozanovvvvvvv
no
is going to be 2 degrees above freezing

shanehollander24
well in that case
oh fuck i forgot, my friend is coming to visit that weekend

rozanovvvvvvv
are they cool? if they are cool you can bring them. if they are a loser you can’t.

shanehollander24
she’s cool! she’s cooler than me

rozanovvvvvvv
great
she can come and you can stay home

shanehollander24
great
i can catch up on some sleep

They’d been messaging on Instagram, but Shane’s Snapchat dings a notification from Ilya. He’s not prepared for what he sees when he opens it: Ilya’s hand, gripping his obviously erect dick through his sweatpants.

Shane’s mouth goes dry. Instantly, he’s so hard he can’t see straight. Thank god he was at home at his desk with no one else around. He gets up to go lay on his bed.

shanehollander24
fuck you

rozanovvvvvvv
oh you want to come to the party now?
aren’t you going to give me something back

shanehollander24
no
knowing you you’d figure out how to screenshot it

rozanovvvvvvv
i would never
if i did you have permission to kill me

shanehollander24
i’d kill you with or without your permission

Shane’s been rubbing himself through his pants during this exchange. Experimentally, he opens the Snapchat camera. But the lighting is bad and the angle looks ugly. He shifts around on his bed until he’s perpendicular and the lamplight hits him better. Then he pushes his pants down so only his underwear can be seen.

Wait, what is he doing? Ilya will certainly accept a dick pic, but there’s something else he’d like even better. The vision comes to Shane. He undresses. He lays on his stomach, angles the camera over his shoulder so the swell of his ass is just visible, and takes the picture. He sends it to Ilya before he can overthink it.

rozanovvvvvvv
holy fuck
i need to see you
come over

Shane groans. He rolls over so he can jerk himself off in earnest. He has to be at the library in ten minutes to meet classmates to work on a project due tomorrow. In that moment, if he could bend space and time to be in Ilya’s bed for just one hour, he would.

shanehollander24
i can’t

rozanovvvvvvv
fuck shane
are you touching yourself

shanehollander24
yes

rozanovvvvvvv
me too

Shane imagines it, Ilya jacking off with one hand and texting Shane with the other. Just like Shane is doing. Fuck, it’s so hot. With that image in his mind, he comes quickly.

shanehollander24
fuck

rozanovvvvvvv
yeah
get your shit together so we can see each other

shanehollander24
i know i know
soon

Unfortunately, Shane’s schedule doesn’t unfuck itself soon. That was the reason Rose had made plans to visit this weekend—it was supposed to be after things calmed down and Shane could actually hang. Usually they visit each other once or twice a semester, since Rose’s university is only half a day’s drive away. Fuck, Shane has so much to tell her.

He hasn’t mentioned Ilya to her once. He’s been too entrenched in not speaking about it to anyone. She might be a little angry with him for that, he’s realizing now. I have something I want to tell you about when you’re here, he texts her to get ahead of it.

bitch!! what is it? she text back in moments. did you meet someone??

How does she know? But also, it’s not like he and Ilya met, per se. They’ve known each other for more than three years now. it’s just easier to talk about in person, he replies.

Three days later, when Rose pulls up outside the Voyageur Avenue house in her little two-door Honda, the first thing she says upon seeing Shane is, “You have some explaining to do.”

Shane laughs and hugs her. Rose hugs him back but only briefly. “Seriously! How can you keep me in suspense like that?”

“Sorry,” says Shane. “You know how bad I am at texting.”

It’s too convenient an excuse. Rose gives him a look. “Okay, well, let’s get some lunch and you can start at the beginning.”

They go to Tony’s, the 24-hour diner by the river a few kilometres away. Shane suggests it, knowing Rose will be down, but also because there’s less of a chance he’ll see anyone he knows there. They get through the usual small talk while they wait for their food. Then, when Shane’s pancakes and Rose’s waffles come, Shane takes a deep breath. “So there’s this guy.”

Rose is such a good listener. It’s one of the main reasons they’d become friends and then started dating in high school. Shane had liked her so much immediately and felt so comfortable around her so quickly, he’d mistaken it for attraction. After five months of mostly chaste dating, they’d finally tried to hook up after a party. It had not gone well and they’d promptly broken up but, completely due to Rose’s insistence, stayed close friends.

Shane was the first person Rose had told about being bisexual, the summer before their third year of university. And then six months later, Shane had called her from the bathroom during a Voyageur Avenue rager, after yet another failed make-out with a girl, and said, I think I might be gay.

Rose had laughed so hard Shane stopped being upset over the disaster that was his life and started being upset with her for not taking him seriously. Babe, I honestly thought you figured that out in high school, she’d said to him.

He should have, and yet he hadn’t. But he’d gotten there in the end.

It’s such a relief to tell someone about Ilya, even with some of the more explicit details left out. Shane didn’t realize how much was waiting to spill out. “Wait, hold on,” she interrupts at the pre-BDSM&M party section of the story, “he didn’t text you for three weeks after having sex?”

“Yeah.”

“And is the end of the story that you’re no longer seeing this guy, or you are? Because, babe, that does not endear him to me.”

Oddly enough, Shane finds himself defending Ilya’s semi-ghosting of him. “Well, it’s not like I texted him either. And I was the one who got weird and made him leave.”

“Yeah, you got weird because you had super fucking intense sex! He should have checked on you!”

Shane thinks back to that day. It feels so long ago now. He remembers how Ilya had tried to clean him up and Shane had snapped at him. How Ilya had tried to suggest eating dinner together and Shane had promptly shut it down. He didn’t tell Rose about either of those things. They feel too intimate to verbalize. “Maybe,” says Shane.

Rose waves a hand. “Please continue. I’m invested now.”

He picks up the story. She interrupts one more time. “You forgot a condom?”

“Yeah, he’s the one who remembered it.”

“Uh-huh.” Rose doesn’t look convinced. Shane goes on. Her eyebrows rise when Shane gets to the part about Ilya’s housemates being home when he went over but she says nothing.

“What?” Shane says, nettled. Clearly he’s telling this story wrong if Rose is disliking Ilya more and more as it goes on. He’d expected it would be the opposite, the way it was for Shane.

“Nothing,” Rose says. “What happened next?”

She’s quiet the rest of the story, which makes Shane nervous. “What,” he says again, more forcefully.

“Nothing! I’m glad you’ve found someone you can have fun with. You deserve it.”

Shane feels a little put out. “Thanks. I mean, yeah. We’re having fun.” It sounds wrong as he says it. Reductive. Yes, Shane more than enjoys the sex. But it’s not about having fun. It’s about…

He comes up short. He has no idea. “Well, you’re doing it right by my standards,” Rose says. “You’re being kind, staying sexy, and having fun. Good job, babe.” She smiles at him and some of Shane’s anxiety goes away.

They go back to Voyageur Avenue and hang out there until the rest of Shane’s housemates get home for the evening. Rose is showing Hayden and Shane pictures of the cat she and her roommate adopted but are hiding from her landlady when JJ, the last one to arrive, bursts in. “You guys are not gonna fucking believe what I just—oh, hey Rose!”

Whatever JJ was going to tell them is paused while Rose gets up to hug JJ hello. All Shane’s housemates know and like Rose, but as Shane watches JJ ask Rose how she’s been and then avidly listen to her answer, Shane realizes JJ might actually have a crush on her. He’d never noticed before.

Niceties over, JJ goes back to his news. “Okay, so. I was at Gabriel’s, right, and he’s friends with this guy Lucas—Luca? The Swiss kid who hangs out with those Centauri Street fucks.”

“Right,” says Shane. Apprehension is mounting inside of him. Wherever this is going, it isn’t good.

“So Gabriel plays rugby with him. And he told me that they were all drinking last week and Luca let it slip that, at the beginning of the semester, after Shane posted that picture, he and his asshole friends made a bet to see which of them could hook up with Shane first.”

“What?!” Hayden exclaims, flabbergasted. “Like Ilya Rozanov? And Bood?”

“Doesn’t Bood have a girlfriend?” Soren asks in confusion. “And Rozanov is straight.”

“I guess not,” JJ says in disgust. “Obviously they didn’t count on Shane not falling for their tricks. But how fucking gross is that?”

Rose looked over at Shane the moment Hayden said Ilya’s name, and she’s still looking at him. “Shane…” she says quietly.

Shane knows he’s turned horribly red. He hasn’t felt this excruciating mixture of deep shame and humiiation in a long time. “It’s pretty gross,” he says. It’s all he can come up with. What does his face look like? Can everyone see what he’s thinking? What is he thinking? His mind is racing but none of the thoughts are sticking.

“That’s really fucked,” says Hayden, “like really, really fucked. I didn’t think they were like that. I mean, maybe Rozanov. But Connors and Bood are good guys.”

“Troy Barrett is kind of a weirdo,” Soren adds.

“They’re all weirdos,” JJ says firmly. “Did they mess with you, Shane? God, I’m gonna fucking kill them.”

Shane shakes his head. “I’m—No. They didn’t. I had no idea.”

JJ is pacing back and forth in front of them. “Imagine them coming to our house and conniving to like—seduce you, or whatever. Disgusting. Makes me sick.”

He’s getting more and more agitated. Hayden catches Shane’s eye. He speaks up. “Look, it’s not cool, but nothing happened, right, Shane?” Shane shakes his head again. “So no need to lose our shit over it.”

“Fine,” JJ grumbles. “But if I see Ilya Rozanov, it’s on sight.”

Hayden sighs. “Please don’t fight Ilya Rozanov over stupid shit he said. If Shane wants to fight him, he can.”

JJ looks at Shane expectantly, like he’s hoping Shane will invite JJ along on an Ilya Rozanov ass-kicking mission. “No,” Shane says. He can’t do this anymore. “I’m gonna… Rose?”

“Yeah. I need to change and then let’s get dinner?”

A chorus of agreement from Shane’s housemates. He and Rose go upstairs to Shane’s room, where Rose closes the door behind them. “Shane…” she starts.

There’s so much pity in her voice. “Don’t,” Shane says. He sits on his bed, facing away from her. He feels shaky. He still can’t form a coherent thought.

“Do you think it’s true?” Rose asks cautiously. She comes to sit beside Shane.

“Why would Luca lie?” Shane can’t figure it out. Why would anyone lie about something like that?

God, the first time he and Ilya had sex was here in Shane’s bed. Was that his plan the whole time? When Shane went to Centauri Street, were they all laughing in his face and he had no idea? Was everything actually just an extended con that Shane fell for hook, line, and sinker?

“Oh my god,” Shane says. He’s going to be sick, or have a panic attack, or both. He bends over and puts his head between his knees.

“Oh, Shane,” Rose murmurs sympathetically. She rubs over his back as he takes deep breaths. “Want me to kill him for you? Say the word.”

She’s trying to make him laugh. Shane forces out an unsteady chuckle for her. “Maybe. Fuck, I’m supposed to go to his party tomorrow. I told him we’d both be there.”

“Who cares what you told him? You don’t have to go. You can do anything you want. You can block him and never speak to him again.”

The thought of never speaking to Ilya again stabs through Shane with shocking agony. He can’t do that without first trying to get some answers. “I should talk to him.”

“Okay. Wanna text him? Or! Should we dress you up like the smokeshow you are and go to this party tomorrow and see what he has to say for himself?”

“The second one.” It’s a nice idea. It makes Shane feel less powerless. If he needs to, he can make Ilya feel humiliated and ashamed, just like he has made Shane feel.

“Great.” Rose clasps her hands and rubs them together. “I haven’t gotten to pick your outfit in a long time.”

They go to The Mandrake for dinner but mostly drinking. Shane gets drunk as quickly as possible and still beats everyone except Rose at pool because she’s a fucking pool shark. JJ begs her to play him and she annihilates him as well. He does not look sad about it.

Later, when he and Rose are lying in Shane’s bed, drunkenly gossiping before falling asleep, he asks Rose if she noticed. “Oh, yeah. JJ’s been into me since the first time I visited you and met him,” she says.

“What, really!?”

“Duh, Shane. Don’t you remember how long he talked about how he’d never seen someone with natural red hair this color before?”

Shane does remember, but, “I just thought he thought your hair was pretty. It is pretty, you know.”

Rose cackles. “I love the way your mind works.”

Shane does not share the same love of his mind, especially not right now. In the morning, hungover, the humiliation returns full-force. It brings with it a horrendous clarity. Every nice thing Ilya ever did to him, every time he ever made Shane feel good, looks like a cynical act of manipulation. And Shane looks like the most naive, lust-blind idiot in human history. If Ilya did all of that simply to win, Shane is going to fucking kill him. He won’t need JJ’s help.

There is no theme to the darty even though, usually, Centauri Street parties are themed just like Voyageur Avenue parties are. Ilya didn’t mention a reason. Maybe there’s one in the half-dozen unread messages Shane has from him. He’s not going to look. It’s like he’s put a mental wall between himself and Ilya, and it won’t be coming down until Shane knows what to believe.

“Perfect. Gorgeous,” Rose says, looking over Shane’s shoulder in the mirror. She’d found some sweater of his he never wore in the back of his closet. It was nice cotton, black, and what Shane would call too tight but Rose called sexy as fuck. She put him in black jeans as well, with a red flannel-lined chore coat on top. Then she’d fussed over his hair until his bangs fell over his forehead in a specific way.

He looks good: serious, yet hot. He looks like himself, he realizes. The best version. Rose has always been good at bringing that out of him.

“Thank you,” Shane says. Rose grins and hugs him from behind.

“Let’s go teach this asshole a lesson,” she says.

Downstairs, Hayden, Soren, and JJ are all hanging out in different parts of the living room and kitchen. Hayden, sitting on the couch, looks up. “Wow, you guys look nice. Where are you going?”

Fuck. Shane didn’t think this part through. “A darty,” he says. “Rose wanted to go.”

“Yeah, parties at my uni suck,” Rose says, backing Shane up immediately. “Wanted to see what all the hype was about.”

“What, and you weren’t gonna tell us?” That’s JJ, coming out of the dining room with a bowl of cereal in his hands. “We’ll go with you. Where’s it at?”

“Um…” How the fuck is Shane going to get out of this? “Okay. So. Look. It’s at Centauri S—“

JJ cuts him off. “Hold on, you’re going to a party there? After what we just found out? Or, wait! Are you going over there to kick Rozanov’s ass?”

“Maybe,” Rose says easily. It’s like their dynamic all the way back to high school—when lying was required, Shane stepped back and let Rose say whatever she wanted. “Might just sow a little chaos. Secretly flush all their booze down the toilet. Put pepper in their milk. You know.”

“You’re a fucking genius,” JJ says. “Oh my god, let’s go. This will be so good.”

“It does sound kinda fun,” Hayden says. He’s smiling. Shane tries to smile back at him and pretend he’s excited for some petty revenge.

Soren pipes up from the kitchen. “It does but I gotta go—”

“To Toronto to see your mom,” Hayden and JJ say as one. Hayden continues. “It’s fine, dude.”

“Okay,” says Rose to JJ and Hayden, “but this is a secret mission, guys, you got it? No one act shitty and tip them off. We have to go in, sleuth, and then convene to figure out what we’re doing. All without anyone noticing.”

“Absolutely,” Hayden says.

“Whatever you say,” JJ vows.

Rose and Shane wait on the porch while JJ and Hayden dress. “Sorry,” she says quietly. “I had to improvise. Couldn’t figure out a way to get them to stay home once you said it was a darty.”

“I should have lied and said we were going to brunch or something,” Shane sighs. As usual, he’s in a disaster of his own making.

It is a nicer day, cold without it biting through, and moderately sunny. Perfect darty weather, Shane thinks bitterly. If not for what JJ told them last night, Shane would be heading to Centauri Street with Rose, filled with eager thoughts of seeing Ilya in person for the first time in almost two weeks.

They can hear the music spilling from the house as they approach. Shane’s palms are sweating when he raises a hand to knock on the door. Maybe Bood will answer, and Shane will have another minute to get his shit together. But he’s not that lucky. Ilya opens the door.

“Hi,” Ilya says, and smiles. He looks so happy to see Shane that Shane forgets he’s mad for a moment. Then Ilya sees who’s with Shane and his expression shifts. Not to annoyance, but definitely a more muted smile. “You brought the gang.”

“Hi! I’m Rose.” Rose sticks out a hand. “Shane’s friend from high school. I’m visiting this weekend.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ilya’s smile for Rose at least looks genuine. “Pike. Boiziau”

“Rozanov,” Hayden says, and he sounds about as nice as he would be normally. JJ just jerks his chin up in a silent greeting.

“Come in.” They all go into the house. The inner door is open, and there are people scattered throughout the living room, but, “Most people are out in the back. We have a fire going,” Ilya tells them. “Drinks are in the kitchen. Bood’s homemade spiked cider is in the pot on the stove.”

“Oh, hell yes,” Rose says. She goes and JJ follows her; Hayden wanders towards the back door to check out the fire.

Leaving Shane and Ilya alone in the little foyer. Just like the last time Shane was here. Except these circumstances are astonishingly different. “You brought your housemates?” Ilya says. He sounds amused but also nonplussed.

“They were hanging downstairs when Rose and I were leaving. We couldn’t shake them.”

Shane thinks he did a pretty good job of sounding normal, but immediately Ilya frowns at him. “Is something wrong?”

Here it is. “I don’t know,” Shane says. The inner door is open, and everyone in the living room can see them talking, though the music’s loud enough to drown out their quiet words. Does he want to do this now?

“Did something happen?”

“Sort of,” Shane says, and Ilya makes a sound of frustration.

“Shane. What is going on?” he asks in a low voice, but JJ and Rose are already coming out of the kitchen.

“Okay, I gotta say, Bood knows how to make a beverage,” JJ says. He‘s cheerful for being in the Centauri Street house. Maybe it’s a side effect of being near Rose.

Rose hands Shane a steaming styrofoam cup that smells like apples and cinnamon. “We’re gonna go out to the fire, wanna come?” she says to Shane. Did you get answers? her eyes are asking.

Not yet, Shane sends back. “Yeah, let’s.”

Ilya doesn’t follow them. “They have three kinds of pepper,” JJ says in a stage whisper. “I checked for later.”

There are a good amount of people outside, though not as many as the usual Centauri Street party. As Shane looks around, he realizes that it’s mostly their close friends, with a handful of other people. Shane recognizes nearly everyone.

More importantly, he likes pretty much all of them, too. “Shane!” Harris is waving at him. He and Troy are sitting cuddled up on a bench by the fire pit.

Shane goes to say hi, trailed by Rose and JJ. He introduces her to both of them. “We were wondering where you were,” Harris says to Shane. “I’m glad you made it.”

That’s not a good thing for JJ to hear. Luckily, he’s not paying attention. “We’re here now,” Shane says lamely.

They sit and catch up on whatever—Shane barely hears the conversation. He sees the moment Ilya comes outside, and then pretends he wasn’t looking. A stunningly beautiful woman is with him, someone Shane has never seen before. She has medium skin and a huge head of curly hair. “Wow, who’s that?” Rose murmurs for only Shane to hear. “Okay if I go introduce myself?”

Shane huffs out a laugh. Rose reacts similarly to a straight man when she sees a pretty girl. All other thoughts go out of her head. “Yeah, go.”

Rose is off like a shot. JJ had been staring into the fire, but his head jerks up when she goes, and he gets up to follow.

“Wow, JJ’s obsessed with your friend,” Harris says once he’s gone.

“I’ve been noticing,” says Shane.

“But she’s not into him, right?” says Troy. His eyes have been tracking them across the yard, where Rose is now talking to the unknown woman, JJ standing awkwardly at her side.

“No,” says Shane. “She doesn’t really date men anymore.”

“Nice,” says Troy, which makes Harris laugh.

They’re so sweet together. They just fit, in the way that Shane’s parents or Jackie and Hayden do. Even as the three of them keep talking, Shane’s aware of how they’re a pair and Shane, in his chair across from them, is alone.

He’s not usually like this. He’s never cared about being single before. His head is such a fucking mess. He keeps scanning the area for Ilya before remembering he shouldn’t. The latest time he does it, Ilya’s on the far side of the fire, talking with Connors and Luca. They’re talking animatedly and Ilya is gesturing, vape in hand. His eyes are sparkling as he laughs.

God, this fucking sucks. Shane tries to find the self-righteous anger he felt this morning, the anger that had him feeling like he could end Ilya Rozanov with his bare hands. It’s dissipated like smoke.

And Shane finished his cider, so he has no drink. He goes to get a refill. The living room is empty, everyone now outside. Shane ladles more cider into his cup and gives himself a minute in the silence.

“Shane.”

Of course, it’s Ilya. He must have seen Shane go inside and followed him. “Hey.” Shane’s tone is flat. Unfriendly.

“Can you please tell me what is going on?” When Shane doesn’t answer, Ilya says, “I can tell you are mad and I don’t understand why. Did I do something?”

Slowly, Shane nods. Ilya swallows, accepting it like a bitter pill. “Okay. Okay, so tell me what I did. And I will fix it.”

Ilya’s face is doing that thing where his focus is so intense, so fixed on Shane, Shane has no choice but to answer. “Luca let it slip. About your bet.”

Shane waits for Ilya to scoff and deny it. But he just looks confused. “Bet? What bet?”

Is he going to make Shane say it? “From when I came out.”

Ilya shakes his head, mystified. “What are you talking about?”

Either he’s telling the truth or he’s the best liar Shane’s ever seen. Shane wants so, so badly for it to be the first one. “You forgot about it?”

“Shane,” Ilya says, speaking quickly, “tell me what you are talking about right now. Please.”

“The bet you made with your housemates.” Shane forces the words out. “About who could hook up with me first.”

Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up. And then his expression blanks out. He remembered something. “So it is true,” Shane says savagely. God, he is such a fucking idiot.

“No,” Ilya says, “no, Shane, there was never a bet. We would never do that.”

“But there was something! Don’t fucking lie to me right now, if you lie I’m never going to speak to you again.”

He let himself get too loud; they both look towards the doorway, through which the yard is visible. Ilya looks back at Shane. “Can we go upstairs? No one will hear us there. I can explain everything. I promise, it was not like that.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Shane says. The risk of Shane folding if they’re alone in Ilya’s bedroom is too great.

“Please,” Ilya says.

He puts a hand on Shane’s arm. Shane shakes it off. All it’s taken for him to find his anger is a reminder of his own weakness. He snarls, “Are you fucking insane? If I go upstairs with you right now and anyone sees, what the fuck are people going to think? God, you really just want to ruin my fucking life, don’t you.”

“Shane,” Ilya says, and now his voice is desperate.

“No,” Shane says with finality, and leaves the kitchen.

He goes back outside, searching for Rose immediately. She’s still talking to that girl, so Shane goes over. “Shane, this is Svetlana,” Rose says. “She’s a friend of Ilya’s from Russia!”

“Hi,” Svetlana says, offering her hand.

Shane shakes it. “Nice to meet you,” he says automatically.

“And you. Shane, right?”

“Yeah.” How did she know that? From Rose, or from Ilya? “You’re visiting from Russia?”

“Oh, no, from Boston! That’s where I live.”

“Svetlana dropped out of university to start her own company,” Rose says. She practically has hearts in her eyes. Shane pretends to listen to Svetlana talk about her fintech start-up. He doesn’t hear a single word.

He could go home. But if he did, Rose would leave with him, no matter how much he told her to stay. And she’s clearly invested in talking to this girl. If something good can come out of this disaster of a weekend, maybe Shane won’t feel quite so awful.

So he sucks it up. When Rose and Svetlana start flirting a bit too much for an audience, Shane goes to find someone else to talk to. He chats with Troy about classes for a little while, then meets Troy’s friend Gen, who grew up not too far from Shane in Quebec. He and Hayden play pong against Troy and Harris and lose.

The whole time, out of the corner of his eye, Shane keeps catching glimpses of Ilya glancing at him. It’s like a tragic mirror of the BDSM&M party, where Ilya’s eyes on him had a physical weight. But that had been fun and erotic. A sort of foreplay. Today, every time Shane stops himself from meeting his gaze, he just feels sad and confused.

The sun sets. Bood breaks out the barbecue he’d apparently been smoking and everyone loads up a plate. It gets cold enough that the party, much smaller now, shifts to inside. “So what’s the deal, we doing this?” JJ whispers to Shane and Rose in a private moment in the kitchen.

“Still formulating a plan, I think,” Rose says. “Shane?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some ideas,” Shane says, though he’s got exactly zero answers and even fewer ideas for revenge.

“Okay, I gotta see this through so I’m sticking it out,” JJ tells them. “These guys seem so normal. They must be real psychopaths to hide some shit like that. Fuckers.”

The party has turned to a group hang. Now it’s just the Centauri Street guys, their respective partners, Svetlana, Shane, Rose, Hayden and JJ. No one comments on Hayden and JJ still being there. Hayden’s doing a pretty good job of fitting in—he’s randomly hit it off with Cassie, Bood’s partner. Shane thinks he saw them and Bood smoking a joint by the smoker earlier, which likely has something to do with it.

“Okay!” Svetlana says loudly once everyone’s done eating and the plates have been cleared. “It’s time for a drinking game.”

Half the group groan; the other half cheer. “What kind of drinking games do they play in Russia?” asks Rose.

“In Russia, we don’t play games. We just drink,” Ilya says.

“Exactly,” Svetlana says. “We will play the classic.” She brandishes an empty vodka bottle. “Spin the bottle!”

More groans and cheers—a few more cheers than last time. There’s a flurry of activity as the table is cleared out of the way and everyone moves to sit on the floor in a circle. Shane ends up with Harris on one side and Rose on the other. Svetlana sets the bottle in the middle, looking directly at Rose.

Seeing such a public game of seduction play out right in front of him would be fun, were Shane not in such a miserable state of mind. In that alternate reality where he didn’t know what he knows, he imagines sitting here beside Ilya. Not being obvious—just close, so they can laugh together about Rose and Svetlana, and maybe brush knees and occasionally shoulders.

Instead, Ilya is sitting across from Shane. Staring at him. As Svetlana explains the rules—you have to kiss whoever the bottle lands on, and either the spinner or the spinnee can take a shot to get out of it—Shane tries to not to look back. He can’t. Like magnets, his eyes rise to meet to Ilya’s deadly serious gray-blue gaze.

Was it all a lie? Do you feel anything for me at all? Or was it all some sick fucking game? Shane tries to send his thoughts to Ilya the way he did the night of the BDSM&M party. It doesn’t work. Ilya just shakes his head mutely, but Shane doesn’t know which question he’s denying.

Svetlana spins first. Either she cheated in a way Shane can’t tell or she’s just incredibly good at this, because it lands on Rose. Svetlana pauses to see if Rose will take the shot, though everyone present knows she won’t. Sure enough. Rose shakes back her hair and closes her eyes. Svetlana crawls across the circle, cups Rose’s face in a hand, and kisses her. Bood whistles—Harris catcalls—and most everyone else applauds. Shane catches the tail end of Ilya smiling fondly.

Bood, next to Svetlana, spins. It lands on Harris, who Bood plants a big, wet kiss on, both of them laughing like crazy. Cassie gets Hayden, and takes the shot. “No offense,” they say.

“None taken,” Hayden says fervently. Shane knows he’s imagining Jackie’s face if she ever heard of Hayden kissing someone at a party. “You know what, I’m gonna preemptively take a shot and not even spin.”

He gets booed, but no one forces it. It’s not that kind of group. Were it Voyageur Avenue, Hayden would have gotten made fun of so hard.

Luca’s turn. It lands on Shane. “Oh, shit,” Connors laughs—drunk, not unkind. Luca looks at Shane, eyes wide in astonishment, and then at Ilya, beside him. But Ilya is still looking at Shane.

“Give me the shot,” Luca says. He throws it back when Svetlana passes it over.

“Chicken,” Bood chuckles. “Shane’s not gonna hurt you, Luca.”

JJ, who after Svetlana kissed Rose had subsided into drunken silence, perks up. He catches Shane’s eye and subtly mimes a punch—clearly, he thinks that’s a good plan. Trick one of the guys into getting up in his space so he can sock them.

Is Shane angry enough to hit Ilya Rozanov? Here, in his house, in front of all his closest friends? He doubts it. But then the chance Ilya spins the bottle and it lands on Shane is extremely low.

It’s Ilya’s turn. Shane watches the bottle spin, whirling slower and slower until it stops—on Shane.

Ilya, up on his knees to spin, sits back. Like Svetlana did, he waits to see what Shane will do.

Shane looks at him. Ilya quirks his eyebrows just slightly. A challenge. What do you want, Hollander? Shane can hear it in Ilya’s voice in his mind, clear as day, as if Ilya had spoken the question aloud.

His eyes hold Shane in their sway. Shane forgets they’re surrounded by people. He forgets the reasons he shouldn’t. He forgets that he’s angry, upset, hurt possibly beyond repair. The only thing in his mind is the answer to Ilya’s silent question.

Despite it all, he still wants Ilya. With an intensity that Shane is tired of denying—whether it’s to himself, or to others.

He doesn’t reach for the shot. He waits. Seeing his decision, Ilya moves forward slowly. Like he always does, he gives Shane plenty of time to change his mind. When he gets close enough that his breath ghosts over Shane’s lips, Shane lets his eyes drift shut. And Ilya, as he did all those months ago in Shane’s kitchen, kisses him softly. Gently. Sweetly. And barely, just enough that Ilya alone can tell, Shane kisses him back.

Shane’s field of vision had narrowed so entirely down to Ilya, he forgets anyone else is there until the cheering starts. The moment between him and Ilya, which felt like ages but was only seconds, breaks. Ilya pulls back. He’s smiling, a barely restrained smile of pure happiness. There is no false edge to it whatsoever.

If you lied to me, I will end your life. Ilya sobers, like that thought of Shane’s reached him. He nods, once.

Around them, everyone is laughing and talking. Harris pounds Shane on the back. “Good for you,” he says in Shane’s ear. Shane smiles and tries to laugh it off, like letting Ilya Rozanov kiss him in a drinking game is no big thing.

“You okay?” Rose says to him, low, on his other side. “Couldn’t quite tell what was going on there.”

“Yeah,” Shane says, and then does what he’s dreading: he looks over at Hayden and then JJ.

Hayden looks completely confused. What just happened? he mouths to Shane.

JJ, conversely, is looking at Ilya with an expression of pure hatred. “The fuck is wrong with you, Rozanov?” he says loudly.

All the air goes out of the room. It’s suddenly silent. Ilya looks at JJ like he forgot he was there. “Me?” Ilya says with exaggerated surprise.

Fuck. He’s going to make everything worse. Shane sees it coming. But panic steals his words and he can’t think of what to say to stop things before they spiral.

JJ’s chest is swelling with anger. “You think it’s cool to mess with our friend? Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Is a game, Boiziau,” Ilya laughs. “Did you miss when Svetlana explained the rules?”

“Our friend who you know is gay. And that all of you motherfuckers,” here JJ gestures to all the Centauri Street guys, “conspired to humiliate. It’s fucking disgusting.”

“What?” Bood says. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Yeah, Luca spilled the beans.” At the mention of his name, Luca shrinks in terror. “You guys made a bet about who could hook up with Shane first after he came out, like the bunch of weirdo homophobic assholes that you are.”

An angry murmur runs through the group. “Hold the fuck up, man,” Connors says. Troy shifts angrily, frowning. “I don’t know what Luca said, but that’s not true.”

“I did not say that!” Luca says. “I never would. It is not true. I said… well. It does not matter.”

“It sort of matters,” Hayden puts in. “Look, we get it, jokes are made among friends, people say things they don’t mean.” He points at Ilya. “But if you kissed Shane just to win a bet, that’s a shitty thing to do. And as a straight man, it’s homophobic.”

Ilya looks between JJ and Hayden as if they’re both insane. “I don’t know where this story of a bet came from. Is not true. And also…” He turns the full weight of his furious gaze on Hayden, who wilts a little under it. Shane almost feels bad for him. “I am not straight.”

JJ laughs nastily. “Yeah, right, okay.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Troy says suddenly. His tone is dripping with barely restrained fury. “What the fuck would you know about anyone’s sexuality?”

“Troy,” Harris says quietly, putting a hand on Troy’s thigh.

“You’re telling me Ilya Rozanov isn’t straight? You guys think you can just lie in our faces?” JJ looks around at everyone, but no one is on his side.

He looks at Shane, who’s been watching this entire scene play out, certain that it’s not real. He can’t believe it’s actually this much of a disaster. In his worst imaginings, JJ and Hayden berated him in the privacy of their own home. To have it all hashed out in front of everyone—it can’t be happening.

“Look,” Bood says, clearly deciding to step in and calm everything down. “No one is obligated to share their sexuality with you.”

“Right, but whatever actually happened or didn’t with this bet, it changes the context,” says Hayden. He clears his throat and looks at Ilya, who is still shooting daggers at him. “So you’re not… straight?”

“Like I said the first time,” Ilya says with perfect clarity, “I am not.”

“Me either,” says Connors. “For the record.”

“I don’t care much for labels,” says Bood.

“Personally I’m gay,” says Harris, and it breaks some of the tension, getting a few chuckles.

“Why would you keep that a secret?” JJ demands of Ilya. “It’s so shady, just really fucking weird.”

Ilya’s hackles go back up. “Is not a secret. You did not ask,” he points out.

“I’m not gonna just ask someone if they’re gay! That’d be fucking rude!” JJ sputters.

“I see,” Ilya says very evenly. “Is rude to ask me if I am gay, but is not rude to accuse me of something horrible I did not do and then call me a liar after assuming I am straight. I understand now.”

JJ shoots up to standing. Ilya follows suit equally quickly. Directly in his face, JJ nearly shouts, “That’s not what I’m fucking saying and you know it, man—”

Hayden and Bood stand at the same time—Hayden gets between Ilya and JJ first. “Okay, everyone take it down at least three levels right now. JJ, apologize.”

“I’ll apologize if he does,” JJ snarls.

Ilya rolls his eyes. “To be clear, I am apologizing for not coming out to you? Since you are taking it so well right now.”

“Not helpful,” Hayden says. “Look, can you—wait, Shane, you good?”

Shane’s feet have taken him out of the living room before he knows it’s happening. The panic attack hits just as he makes it through the front door. Alone in the clear, freezing night, he bends in half and fights to breathe, choking on nothing.

The terror flooding through him is that of a small animal stuck in the sight of an apex predator. He’s never had a panic attack this bad. Maybe he’s dying.

“Shane, Shane, hey.” It’s Rose. She crouches beside him. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Panic attack,” Shane grits out.

“Okay.” To someone inside, she calls, “Can you grab our jackets please?”

“Yeah, here.” It’s Harris’ voice. “Is he okay? Fuck, that was intense.”

“I think he will be. Can you keep everyone inside, give us some space?”

“On it.”

“Shane.” Rose is talking to him again. “Here, let’s sit.”

She makes Shane sit on the top step and puts his coat around his shoulders. She sits a little away from him, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he shakes. There is nothing he can do except let it run its course. His face is freezing in the cold, tears turning to ice.

“Fuck,” he gasps when he can speak. He wipes his face on a sleeve. “Did they kill each other?”

“Ilya and JJ? No. Fucking idiots.” Rose’s tone is disgusted. “For his sake, I hope JJ is blacked out. Otherwise there’s no excuse for being that much of a dick.”

She doesn’t say anything about Ilya. “You hate him,” Shane says.

“Who, JJ?”

“No,” says Shane.

“Ah.” Rose takes a deep breath. “I’m not sure why he thought it was a good idea to kiss you in front of everyone when it was clear you were mad at him.”

Shane shakes his head. “I wanted him to,” he says, quiet, then, in a whisper, “Rose. Fuck. I like him so much.”

He almost has another panic attack once the words are out. Everything is such a mess. It’s not the time to have a realization like this. But as horrible as it is, it’s true.

Rose just puts her arm around him and leans her head on his shoulder. She says nothing.

“Shane.”

Ilya’s voice, from inside. “Not now, dude,” Harris tells him. “Give him some space.”

“If he wants space, he can tell me himself,” Ilya asserts. “Shane?”

“Do you wanna talk to him?” Rose asks Shane in an undertone. “You can wait if you want. Tomorrow, or another day.”

Even after what he just realized, Shane’s not sure he’s up to it. And yet, it has to happen. Better now than later. Shane needs the truth. He nods.

Rose gets up and goes inside. “Give me a couple minutes,” she says to Ilya. “Gonna clear everyone out so you can have privacy.”

“Thank you,” Ilya says, relief clear in his voice.

“It’s not for you. It’s for Shane. Okay, party people!”

Her voice fades out as she gets deeper into the living room. There are footsteps on the porch behind Shane, but Ilya doesn’t come to sit beside him. He must be waiting until everyone is gone.

Everyone starts filing past in their shoes and coats. “Going to the Mandrake,” Rose announces to no one in particular. “Text if you need anything,” she says to Shane, low.

“Hey.” Hayden pauses in front of Shane. He’s got an arm around JJ, whose head is lolling on Hayden’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that got so out of hand. JJ’s gone. I’m sure he’ll be pretty fucking sorry in the morning. Um…”

Hayden’s eyes jump between Shane and Ilya, still behind him. Very quietly, Hayden says, “Clearly I have no idea what’s going on, but. Are you sure you want to talk to this guy? Even if he wasn’t fucking with you, you don’t owe him anything.”

“It’s okay,” Shane says, purely to make Hayden leave. “I’m good. Get JJ home.”

“Okay. Call if you need me.”

Finally, they’re all gone. When they’re out of sight, Shane stands and faces Ilya.

Ilya is smiling. He’s trying to hide it, but it’s there. The same smile of pure happiness. Then he sees the tear tracks on Shane’s face and it disappears. “Are you okay?” he says.

“No.” Shane wants to laugh. What a fucking question. “Obviously I’m not fucking okay.”

“Sorry. Obviously. Let’s go inside.”

They go in. Ilya sits on the couch arm rest. Shane stands across from him, arms crossed. “Why did you antagonize JJ like that?” Shane demands.

Ilya’s brow wrinkles. “You are mad at me about that? He was a total fucking dick. Like he cares if I am homophobic, he only cares that his pride is insulted.”

It’s true. It just makes Shane angrier. “So you made it worse by talking to him like that?”

“Fine,” Ilya says. “I am sorry. I am not proud of it. But, well, was a hard day for me, too.”

His expression is flinty, daring Shane to argue it. So of course Shane does. “The situation was definitely helped by you almost socking him in the face.”

“Shane, he was about to hit me! You expect me to just take that?!”

“Yes! No! Fuck, I have no fucking idea!” Shane shouts. He doesn’t even know why he’s fixating on this when Ilya is right.

“How about we talk about why you are actually so mad at me?” Ilya says in a more reasonable voice.

Him acting like he’s the sensible one just pisses Shane off more. “Yeah, why don’t we talk about it. So there was or wasn’t a bet?”

“There was not,” Ilya says vehemently. “There was—okay. There was a conversation. Me, and Troy, and Luca. We were here, at home. And Luca says, I think Shane Hollander just came out. Because he saw your post.”

“Okay, and?” says Shane, impatient.

“So we all look, and discuss. I say, I’ve been waiting for this moment for three years. Troy says, not if I get there first.” Ilya is watching Shane very carefully as he says all this in an extremely matter-of-fact tone, like he’s worried about how Shane will react. Shane keeps his face blank.

Ilya continues. “I say, Troy Barrett, fucking stay away from Shane Hollander. What I don’t say is that Troy is obviously in love with Harris, but has not realized it yet. So even more reason for him to stay away. Luca says, I always thought he was cute. So I say to Luca, if you go after Hollander, I will end you. Luca is smart, so he listens to me.”

Here, Ilya smiles a tiny bit. Shane doesn’t smile back. Ilya turns serious again. “Right. Anyway. Troy holds out his hand and he says, may the best man win. I shake his hand and say, I am the best man, and I will win. And that’s the end of the story. Everything else, you were there for.”

Ilya folds his arms across his chest, waiting. Shane takes his time processing. It definitely changes how he feels about several things. There’s embarrassment at Ilya apparently suspecting Shane wasn’t straight before Shane knew himself. He sees Ilya’s forwardness at the Wet Gala in a whole new light. And many things after that.

In fact, it makes it look like Ilya laid a trap, and Shane walked right into it. The righteous fury mounts again. “So you wanted to beat Troy,” Shane says.

Ilya throws his hands up. “That is what you got from all of that? Troy, Luca, who fucking cares who else, I knew someone would get to you first. I am telling you it was going to be me.”

“But why?” Shane bursts out. “Just to say you did it? The first guy on campus to fuck Shane Hollander. Well, congratulations, you did it! You won! You thought I was gay, and you were right! You wanted to fuck me, and you did! And, by the way, I’m sure you’re fucking proud about being right about my shitty friends, too. Great day for you all around and really, really fucking awful one for me.”

Shane’s voice breaks on the last word. He turns away, covering his face with his hands. He is not going to cry. He would rather die than do that in front of Ilya Rozanov right now. He has to maintain one shred of his dignity.

“Shane.” Ilya touches his arm and Shane jerks out of his reach.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he snaps. His voice wobbles. “You don’t get to touch me when you’re the reason—I’m—feeling—like—this.” He can’t keep it in any longer. The tears have hit and he’s full-on crying, chest heaving, making speaking impossible.

“Shane.” Ilya sounds agonized. He’s standing right there at Shane’s elbow. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I fucking hate you,” Shane sobs. “Goddamnit. Why did you do this to me?”

Why did you deceive me? Why did you open my eyes to so many things I didn’t want to see? Why did you ruin me for anyone else and make me fall for you and then break my heart? The question encompasses all of the above and more beside. Like he hears them all, Ilya says again, “I’m sorry.” There are tears in his voice, too.

He puts his hand on Shane’s arm again. Shane should shake him off, but he can’t. The reality is he wants to let himself be comforted by Ilya so badly. Ilya must be able to sense it, because when Shane, still crying, doesn’t move, he tentatively pulls him into his arms.

Shane goes, unresisting. He buries his face in Ilya’s chest. “I hate you,” he cries.

There’s no heat to it, no substance behind the words, but still Ilya whispers, “I know. I’m sorry,” He presses his lips to Shane’s hair. He murmurs Russian words Shane doesn’t understand and sways them back and forth as Shane cries himself out.

Ilya goes from holding him while he cries to just holding him. When Shane realizes, he pulls away. Ilya lets him go immediately. “I need some water,” Shane says, and goes to the kitchen.

He pours himself a glass from the sink and downs it. It helps. His face is still hot from all the emotion. He splashes cold water on it and mops it all off.

Ilya is sitting on the arm rest again when Shane comes out. Shane resumes his position across from him. “I will call Troy,” Ilya says.

Shane blinks at him. “What? Why?”

“So he can tell you about the same conversation. I am not saying it right. Maybe he remembers better.”

Shane wavers. “Okay. Fine.”

Ilya whips out his phone and dials. He puts it on speaker. “Troy,” he says the moment Troy picks up. “You remember the conversation we had at the beginning of the year, when Luca showed us Shane’s post?”

“Yeah, we were just talking about that.” There’s noise in the background, but it’s receding, like Troy is looking for somewhere quiet in the Mandrake to talk. “We figured out the misunderstanding. Luca told his rugby buddy he would bet on Shane liking you over me.” Troy laughs. “Can’t say I blame him. And somehow that turned into it being a bet.”

“What did we say? Do you remember?”

“In that conversation? Fuck, it was ages ago. Um… you told me to stay the fuck away from Shane. I remember that. I knew you’d always had a thing for him but I didn’t realize you’d had a crush on him for years until Harris and I talked about it way later.”

That goes through Shane like an electric shock. A crush? For years? Ilya keeps his eyes focused on his phone, though he shifts on the couch as if uncomfortable. “What else?” Ilya says.

“We shook on it and I said, ‘May the best man win.’ And you said, ‘I am the best man for him, so I will win.’ Right?”

Now Ilya looks at Shane. “Yes,” he says. “That is right. Thanks, Troy.”

“No problem. Is everything good? Are—”

Ilya hangs up. He puts his phone away. “Did that help?”

Shane’s torn between feeling annoyed and feeling overwhelmed with relief. “You left out some important things.”

“I forgot. Or I guess I thought they were implied.” Ilya says it lightly, like this is no big deal. But it’s a huge fucking deal. In fact, it changes everything.

“That you had a crush on me for years before you even knew I was gay? No,” Shane says softly. “It wasn’t implied.”

“Who didn’t?” Ilya says, and smiles. “I was right, yes? After you came out, everyone was after you.”

“Yes,” Shane acknowledges.

“Is like I said.” Ilya’s eyes are fixed on Shane’s face. “It was going to be me. I am sorry if you are hurt. But I would do it all over again, the exact same way, Shane. If it gets me you.”

What can Shane even say to that? There are no words. Shane just gazes at Ilya, his heart full of feelings too big to verbalize. “Well, then,” he tries, and fails.

He moves forward. Ilya opens his arms and Shane goes into them again, and kisses him.

Ilya kisses him back, mouth desperate. It should be a time for slow, romantic kissing but they’re both too worked up from the fighting, the emotions, and before that, the several weeks of separation. Quickly, they’re clutching at each other, yanking at each other’s clothes, Shane trying to crawl into Ilya’s lap. “Hold on, hold on,” Ilya gasps. “We can’t fuck in here. Upstairs?”

“Yes,” Shane says, and Ilya doesn’t wait, just picks Shane up, hands under his thighs, and carries him towards the staircase. “Holy shit!” Shane yelps. “Put me down, you show off!” Grinning, Ilya takes him all the way to the foot of the stairs, just to prove he can.

They race up hand in hand. Ilya’s room is freezing, as usual. He makes the rounds of turning on his space heaters. Shane gives him five seconds before he pounces on him again.

It’s ironic that, after two weeks of refusing to have rushed sex, that’s exactly what they have now. But the need flooding through Shane can’t be denied. Part of him is still convinced none of this is happening—that reality broke downstairs, after Ilya kissed him in front of everyone—and he will come back to himself, still betrayed and brokenhearted, any moment.

He moans, loud, when Ilya pushes in after the bare minimum of prep. The edge of pain, of too-muchness, is exactly right, though. “Ilya,” he gasps.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” Ilya groans.

So did Shane, but still he says, laughing, “You saw me two weeks ago.”

Ilya shakes his head. His face is so open, full of trust. “And you think that is enough? I would see you every day if you let me.”

“Oh.” Once again, Shane can’t think of what to say. Ilya’s been holding back, giving Shane time to adjust, but Shane doesn’t want that. He wraps his legs around Ilya’s waist. “Show me how much you missed me.”

Ilya accepts the challenge. He presses their foreheads together and they pant into each other’s mouths between kisses as Ilya fucks him with intention. Shane can’t believe he almost lost this. He feels delirious with so much pleasure coming on the heels of so much anguish.

Neither of them last long. When Shane gets close, Ilya wedges a hand between them to jerk him off so they can come together. After, Ilya moves to pull out, but Shane locks his legs around him again.

“Stay,” he says, shy but determined. “Just for a little.”

Ilya looks at him, bemused. But he obliges. He cups the side of Shane’s face in a hand and kisses him slowly. Shane kisses back, combing his fingers through Ilya’s hair.

It’s real. Shane still doesn’t quite understand how, but it is. Not only did Ilya not deceive him, and not only was Shane not an idiot for trusting him, but they’re…

“Ilya,” Shane murmurs. Ilya hm?s into Shane’s throat, which he’s kissing. “Are you my boyfriend?”

He needs to make sure they’re on the same page. Ilya pulls back to look him. He’s smiling. “Is that what you want?”

“I asked first,” says Shane.

“But you heard how I feel already.” Ilya kisses Shane’s face. “Is your turn to say.”

Shane closes his eyes. He lets the feeling of Ilya’s sweet, affectionate kisses lull him into a place where the words can finally come out. “I like you so much.”

Ilya kisses his mouth. “And?”

“And I want you to be my boyfriend,” Shane whispers.

Ilya kisses him again, deeper. “Good,” he says. “Then that is what we are.”

They kiss for a bit longer, and then Shane allows Ilya to get up in order to clean them. When he’s done, they cuddle in Ilya’s bed together, Shane on his back with Ilya curled around him, an arm thrown over his chest.

Shane’s thinking back over the events of the day. “I don’t hate you. By the way.”

It’s obvious, but he feels like he should say it. Ilya exhales a laugh. “I know. You say things you do not mean when you are upset and overwhelmed.”

He does? Shane considers this new information about himself. “Sorry,” he says eventually.

Ilya’s hand, which had been rubbing little circles on Shane’s hip, squeezes briefly. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

Something else comes to Shane. “What did you mean, when you said you were the best man for me?”

That same hand moves lower to rest on the top of Shane’s ass. “You know.”

“You meant you could fuck me better than anyone else?” Shane persists.

“Can’t I?” Ilya says. His voice brims with confidence.

Shane’s not going to indulge his ego. “So it was just about sex?”

Ilya sighs. But he says, “At first. I did not think you liked me at all. I knew that I could make you feel good anyway, if you let me.”

“Why, though?” Shane knows he’s fixating on this unnecessarily. He’s not sure what he’s after.

“Because is what you deserve,” Ilya says plainly. “You deserve nice and good things.”

For the third time in a night, Shane is pulled up short by the simple honesty of Ilya’s words. It’s like, now that his heart is open to Shane, he’s letting him see all of it.

“Don’t you deserve nice and good things too?” Shane says. “Doesn’t anyone?”

“Yes,” Ilya says. “But I did not have a crush on anyone. I had a crush on you. And if you ask me why, I am going to make you get out of bed and go look in the mirror.”

Shane laughs at that. “Sorry for all the questions.”

“At a certain point, feels like you just want to hear how hot I think you are,” Ilya says dryly. “Which I will tell you more often since you like it so much.”

That’s embarrassing. Shane hadn’t realized how good Ilya was at seeing right through him to things Shane himself is not aware of. “You’re hot, too,” Shane mutters, to divert the conversation away from himself.

“Oh, go on,” Ilya purrs. He hooks a hand under Shane’s knee and pulls him onto his side, leg over Ilya’s hip, so they’re now face to face. Ilya is wearing a satisfied smile.

“You know you are,” Shane says.

“Is nice to hear it, yes? Or do only you get to be praised in this relationship.”

Relationship. The word prompts the same shiver of excitement as Ilya’s hands on his skin, stroking slowly. “You know how much I like it when you fuck me,” Shane says.

“I noticed.”

Ilya’s hand finds Shane’s dick, which is on its way to being hard again. “You’re always so sweet to me in bed,” Shane says, a little breathily. He has to focus to keep talking. “I never understood why. But then out of bed you never baby me. You always push me.”

“And you like that?” Ilya asks.

Shane nods. “I felt really stupid and scared sometimes, when I thought you were mad at me for things I didn’t understand. But I was really trying.”

“I know you were,” Ilya says in a deeply serious voice. He kisses Shane, leaving off touching him to pull him in close. Shane moves away when Ilya tries to go back to jerking him off.

“I wanna blow you,” Shane says. He’s never gotten to. It’s time to rectify that.

Ilya’s eyes darken. “Fuck yes.”

The blankets get thrown back. It’s warm enough in Ilya’s room now that Shane doesn’t feel cold at all as he kneels between Ilya’s legs. Or maybe that’s from the heat of Ilya’s gaze on him.

If he’s going to look at Shane like that, Shane’s going to make it worth his while. He bends over to take Ilya in his mouth, still on his knees, which makes his back arch and his bare ass stick up in the air.

Ilya groans. “Shane, goddamn.” His hands pet over Shane’s head, smoothing his hair out of the way.

Shane knows he’s not the most experienced at blowjobs but he can make up for it in enthusiasm. None of it is feigned. It’s its own kind of power, feeling Ilya get harder and harder in his mouth, hearing him swear in Russian and exhale Shane’s name in the same breath.

Ilya tugs on his hair when he’s close, but Shane ignores him. He’s ready this time, taking Ilya a little deeper so that when he gasps, “Fuck,” and comes down Shane’s throat, Shane swallows with only a hint of the taste hitting his tongue.

He makes sure to get every last drop. “Oh, my god,” Ilya says, voice shaking. “I can’t believe you have never done that to me before.”

Shane crawls up the bed, glowing with pride. Ilya grabs him and kisses him, then flips them to return the favor. His mouth is relentless and Shane comes in minutes, fingers tangled in Ilya’s hair.

A nice side effect of that kind of sex is tidiness; they don’t need to get out of bed to clean up or dispose of any used condoms. Instead, they can make out lazily, tangled in the sheets and each other. Like the last time they were in Ilya’s bed together, Shane forgets about everything outside of it.

A distant sound brings him back. The front door closing downstairs, and faint voices and chatter filtering up to them. “Ugh,” Shane groans. He doesn’t want to think about other people or the real world. “Is Svetlana supposed to crash with you? Should I go?”

“Let me look at my phone.”

They both do. Shane has a million unread messages—he checks only the ones from Rose. assuming no news is good news! she sent an hour ago. FYI Bood is staying with Cassie tonight and said Svetlana (and me lololololol) can stay in his room. that man is a real wlw supporter. 🫡

“Rose says she and Svetlana are staying in Bood’s room,” Shane tells Ilya.

“Svetlana said, too. Okay, good. Is nice of him.”

“Worked out nicely that Svetlana visited the same time as Rose,” Shane says. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“I did not know. She surprised me.”

There’s something in the way he says it that has Shane putting his phone on the bedside table and fixing him with a look. “How do you two know each other again?”

Ilya heaves a deep sigh. He throws his phone aside. “We grew up together.”

“Uh-huh. And you were just friends?”

“You are asking me questions knowing they will make you mad,” Ilya points out, but Shane waits silently until he caves and says, “No. Never anything serious. But yes. We used to sleep together. Not in a while.”

“How long is a while?” Shane asks.

“At least a year. Shane, she is my only friend from Russia, the only person I talk to from that time in my life.”

“Does she regularly show up to surprise you?” Shane wants to know.

“Occasionally.” Ilya studies Shane’s face, then makes a decision. “When I saw her this morning, when she arrived, I told her nothing can happen. Because of you.”

Speechless yet again. Shane has to get himself under control. He keeps digging and digging, searching for signs that Ilya doesn’t actually feel about Shane the way he says he does, only to be knocked on his ass. “Okay,” Shane says, shamefaced. “Sorry.”

“Come here.” Shane goes to him and Ilya engulfs him in a hug. “Enough of this, okay? I will tell you anything you want to hear. But not if you are always looking for a reason not to believe me.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane says again, more heartfelt. “Everything happened so fast. I feel like I can’t catch up.”

“I know.” Ilya kisses his forehead. “Give it time.”

Shane stays the night. They don’t discuss it further. When he balks at using Ilya’s toothbrush, Ilya laughs at him but finds an unopened spare in the cupboard for him. He gives Shane a pair of sweats to sleep in, which Shane accepts only because, as convenient as it would be to sleep naked, it’s far too cold.

They kiss until they fall asleep. When they both wake just before dawn, the air outside their cave of blankets frigid, they curl into each other again. Kissing leads to sex, so naturally that Shane thinks it’s one of his dreams right up to the moment Ilya gasps Shane’s name in his ear as he comes.

They drift back to sleep, wound together. The next time Shane opens his eyes, it’s still fucking cold, but it’s full daylight. He checks his phone: just past noon.

He’s starving. “Ilya,” he says, nudging him. “I’m hungry.”

Ilya, facedown in a pillow, grumbles sleepy Russian nonsense. “Let’s get something to eat,” Shane insists.

“I have something you can eat,” Ilya mumbles, and then yelps when Shane hits him with a pillow. “I meant Bood’s leftover barbecue!”

The house is empty other than Rose and Svetlana sitting on the couch together, sharing a blanket as they look at their phones. “There they are!” Rose says.

“We were thinking of getting breakfast at Tony’s. You both want to come?” Ilya says.

They do. The four of them squeeze into Rose’s car and drive over to the diner, which is bustling. Once sat in a corner booth, Shane has to fight against his awkwardness. He’s across from Svetlana, Ilya’s childhood friend that Ilya used to hook up with, dressed in Ilya’s clothes. Is this going to be weird?

It isn’t. Svetlana is funny and nice, charming like Ilya, who’s clearly also on his best behavior in order to make a good impression on Rose. As Svetlana tells them a hilarious story about a meeting she had with an idiotic venture capitalist in New York last week, Shane realizes Rose is definitely wearing clothing borrowed from Svetlana. There’s no way she’d be caught in a sweater that color red otherwise.

After, they drop Ilya and Svetlana back at Centauri Street. Rose gets out to say her goodbyes to Svetlana; in the cramped backseat of her little car, Shane does the same to Ilya. “We’ll see each other soon,” Shane laughs when Ilya won’t stop kissing him.

“When?” Ilya says. “Tonight?”

Shane thinks. “I need to talk to my housemates. Tomorrow?”

Ilya nods. “Call me after. If you want to talk.”

“Okay. Wait.” Shane has a realization. “I don’t have your number.”

“Ilya, are you coming with us? What are you guys laughing about?” Rose sticks her head back in the car to Shane and Ilya dissolved into laughter.

They exchange numbers. Ilya kisses Shane one more time. Then Rose drives herself and Shane the two blocks to Voyageur Avenue and parks outside the house. “So,” she says.

“Yeah,” says Shane.

It’s their turn to burst into laughter together. “What a fucking weekend, huh?” Rose says. It’s her most eventful visit by far. “Okay, I have an hour before I need to get on the road. You go first.”

What a fucking weekend indeed. The impossible bubble of it lasts through Shane telling Rose everything, this time making sure to include the details that cast Ilya in a more positive—and truthful—light. Then he listens to how Rose and Svetlana played pool until the Mandrake closed, and then made out outside, and then hooked up in Bood’s bed (they washed the sheets in the morning, Rose is quick to emphasize). “I might go visit her in Boston over New Year’s,” Rose tells him.

Shane is nearly as happy for her as he is for himself. He hugs her tightly, when it’s time to say goodbye. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here,” he says.

“You would have been fine,” Rose assures him. “Trust yourself a little bit more, okay?”

A novel thought. The bubble doesn’t quite pop as Rose drives away, but it does deflate. Because Shane has to go inside his house and face whoever’s there.

The living room is empty. Shane could go up to his room and close the door, but it will only prolong the inevitable. He knocks on JJ’s then Hayden’s bedroom doors, one after another, and steps back.

Hayden opens first. “Shane! Hey. Are you—everything okay?”

“Yeah. Can we talk? Is JJ here?”

“Of course. Yeah, I think so.”

JJ opens his door—he looks as hungover as Shane’s ever seen him, red-eyed and sallow beneath his tan. “Hey! You’re back. Look, I wanna say—”

“Hold on one sec. Can we go downstairs?”

Both guys follow Shane down to the living room. They sit on the couch side by side and Shane sits on one of the footstools across from them. He feels sort of like a parent about to mete out punishment to his children. It’s a funny image. He’ll have to tell Ilya that later, he’ll enjoy it.

JJ tries to speak again. “Shane—”

“I need to tell you guys something first,” Shane interrupts. Otherwise, JJ might take back any contrite words. And Shane has no reason to lie anymore, and less obligation to spare anyone’s pride. “There’s no easy way to say this. Ilya Rozanov and I have been hooking up since the beginning of the semester. It’s a long and complicated story but we’re officially together now. As of last night.”

Hayden and JJ stare at him blankly. In slow motion, Hayden’s jaw drops. “Are you being serious?” Hayden asks. Shane nods. “Holy—the whole semester?!” Again, Shane nods. “Okay. Wow. But—even if the bet thing was a misunderstanding… Shane, you fucking hate him. Don’t you?”

“I used to,” Shane says, “but not anymore. Of course.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Hayden says faintly.

“And you didn’t tell us because you thought we’d be mad at you,” JJ says.

Shane just shrugs, like yeah, obviously. He’s not sure how either of them could argue that.

They don’t try. “Yeah,” says JJ. “I get that. Okay, look, I’m not gonna pretend like I understand but it’s not for me to understand. I’m sorry about yesterday. I was out of line.”

“So you weren’t blacked out,” Shane says, to be clear. He’s willing to accept the apology, since it seems sincerely offered, but he wants to know exactly what he’s forgiving.

JJ shakes his head miserably. “Not blacked out. Just a fucking dick.”

“Yeah,” says Shane. “You were. Do something like that again and that’ll be it.

Three months ago, Shane never would have had the guts to say something like that to anyone. But maybe it’s a side of him that’s been there the whole time, brought to light under Ilya’s influence. JJ nods, accepting Shane’s words. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Hayden jumps in. “Really, dude.”

Shane’s feeling magnanimous enough to throw him a bone. “I know you were trying to defend me.”

“Trying being the key word there,” Hayden mutters. “Sorry we’re so bad at… everything. But I’m gonna keep trying.”

“Me, too,” says JJ.

“And if being a good friend means becoming friends with Rozanov now that you guys are together, I guess I’ll give that a try, too.”

JJ pauses. He looks like he might be sick. But he says, “Me, too,” again.

Shane has to laugh at the look on his face. After a moment, JJ and Hayden laugh, too. It’s weak but grows as they sit there together. If Shane wanted to punish them, making them become friends with Ilya might just be the way to do it.

It’s the longest feelings-centric conversation they’ve had in the years they’ve known each other. JJ and Hayden each give Shane a quick hug and then they all disperse, talked out. JJ to his room. Hayden to Jackie’s. And Shane…

Shane takes a quick shower. He changes into clothes of his own, putting Ilya’s in his laundry to do before returning them. Then he throws a bunch of shit in his backpack and, even though he said he wouldn’t, he goes to see his fucking boyfriend, because he can and he wants to.

Connors lets him in. “Sup, dude. He’s upstairs.” In his room, Ilya is cross-legged on his bed, wearing headphones as he types on his laptop. He puts everything aside immediately when he looks up and sees Shane. “Hi! I thought—” Whatever he thought is cut off by Shane launching himself into his arms.

One day, will Shane no longer feel amazed that this is real? He’s like a child with no object permanence. He saw Ilya mere hours ago. And yet, the sight of Ilya now fills him with a euphoria matched only by the euphoria of touching him.

All his lingering anxieties about the conversation with JJ and Hayden, gone just like that. Ilya laughs softly in his ear, gathering Shane to his chest. “Missed me that bad, huh?”

“Yes,” Shane says. He buries his face in Ilya’s—in his boyfriend’s neck and breathes.

“How did it go?” Ilya asks him.

“As well as can be expected. They both apologized. I think it’ll be okay.”

“If they are half-decent guys, it will be. For the record, I think Pike is. Boiziau, I am not sure. But maybe he can surprise me.”

Shane sits back. “Did you just say something fair and maybe even a little nice about my housemates?”

“Of course not.” Ilya grins. “You are hearing things.”

Shane kisses him. He’s done talking about his housemates. “Did you need to study?” he asks Ilya. He should make sure before he escalates things.

Without looking, Ilya shoves his laptop and books onto the bedside table. “I need a break, actually. To help my focus.”

In the space of 24 hours, they’ve doubled the number of times they’ve had sex. As time goes on, those initial hook-ups will get further and further away. And yet Shane doesn’t think they’ll ever feel less special. In a way, they were building blocks—the foundation for the relationship they’re now going to construct on top.

They’re really doing this. That aspect hadn’t quite sunk in. Not only is Ilya Shane’s boyfriend now—if this lasts the way Shane wants it to, he will factor into every important decision Shane’s going to make moving forward.

The thought has Shane feeling shuddery with emotion. Ilya had been kissing his cheek while he fingered Shane open but he stops when Shane sucks in a trembling breath. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

Shane shakes his head. “No. I’m just so happy.”

Ilya coos over him. He kisses away the few tears that fall. Shane rolls them over so he can be on top, bent forward to keep kissing Ilya. Will this lose its splendor with time as well? Shane hopes not. He thinks he could kiss Ilya a million more times, across a million more lifetimes, enjoy his body in a million more after that, and never get tired of it.

After, coming down in Ilya’s arms, Shane has one of those moments. He’s had a couple the last few months, where something unlocked and he saw a level to the game previously hidden to him. Except, it’s not about a game this time—it’s about his and Ilya’s relationship.

This time, like a prophecy, he sees their future.

Not shit like where they’ll live, or what jobs they’ll have. With certainty, Shane just knows—a future, one where they’re happy and together, is out there. If they want it.

“Hey.” Ilya cups his face. His thumb smooths away any residual tracks Shane’s tears left. “Good?”

“Yes,” says Shane. “Better than good.” He doesn’t say anything to Ilya about his realization. It would sound crazy, but also, there’s no need. When he thinks about it, he knows how serious this is for Ilya, too. It’s been obvious maybe since the first time Ilya kissed him.

“What are you smiling about?” Ilya asks him, laughing a little.

“Just happy,” says Shane. Ilya himself said it. Shane deserves nice and good things. Like Shane had said back, so does Ilya.

And, as Ilya kisses him softly, Shane thinks a future together would be a pretty nice and good thing to have. One he now intends to make sure they get.