Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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Shane shook his head and put his phone back down so he could continue working on his essay... although, it was difficult now. He was distracted.

Ilya Rozanov was sort of new in campus. He had transferred from Russia one year ago. In that time, though, he’d managed to become the kind of person everyone talked about, whether they wanted to or not. Shane hadn’t meant to learn so much about him. It had just… happened. Against his will.

He knew Ilya was twenty-one. That he’d moved from Russia, but had apparently lived in Boston for a while before that. That sadly, his mother had passed away, his dad was bald (but rich), and he had a brother somewhere out there in the world.

Oh, and he was a total ladies man. Every girl in campus apparently wanted a chance to brag about being with him. And when they got the chance, they couldn’t stop themselves from spreading the world.

And Shane couldn’t even blame them.

Ilya Rozanov was probably—no, definitely—the hottest guy in all of campus. He was also the best football player in the whole history of Montreal, since nobody else gave a shit about the sport. 

But Shane knew him because him and his group of football friends loved to mess around with the hockey team, usually by going to their games and cheering for the other team. Very loud.

Ilya was the most annoying one of the team, always picking on Shane specifically. He was always looking directly at him like it was some kind of private game between them. 

He was terrible.

But yes, really hot. Like... unbearably hot.

And that was why Shane's mind completely disconnected from the essay and could only think about him and the fact that he now was a contact in his phone. 

It felt important.

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Shane continued with his life. Or at least, he tried to.

He went to class the next day, but he could stop looking at his phone. Just in case Rozanov had texted him again.

He was distracted through every single class, then there was practice.

Practice should be safe. It was familiar, normal and predictable. The rink was where Shane felt the safest and most comfortable…

Except, apparently, he couldn’t even have that.

Because halfway through drills, someone in the stands started clapping. Loud.

Shane didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“The fucking Russian is here,” Hayden growled, looking his way with narrowed eyes, “Probably waiting for the rest of his minions.”

“Ignore it,” he muttered as they reset for another play.

Great advice. Truly inspirational. That was why he was the captain.

But Shane followed his own advice for only three seconds before his eyes betrayed him and flicked toward the stands.

There he was.

Ilya Rozanov, sprawled comfortably across the bleachers like he owned the place, one hand lazily tapping against his knee, the other one near his mouth as he chewed on something. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. If anything, he looked delighted to have been caught.

Their eyes met. Ilya grinned. Shane immediately looked away, nearly tripping over his own skates in the process.

He needed to focus.

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