Chapter Text
Hanoi was not subtle. Shane threw open the doors to the terrace off his hotel room and was assaulted by the din of motorcycles and scooters, mouth watering smells wafting from the street vendors below, and a view of Hoàn Kiếm lake, still tranquility tucked in a city that made Shane feel restless.
He always felt restless on days like this. Jet lag bearing down on him, staring at a shooting schedule a mile long, and they wouldn't even start filming for two days. The rest of the crew would savor these two days, a rare break after their long flight and before weeks of glorious chaos. Shane wouldn't be able to resist unofficial scouting.
Their research had been done months ago, but Rose liked to leave room for flexibility. A restaurant or a market that drew her eye, a local who was charismatic and would make a good entry point for the audience.
She and Shane worked best that way—Shane hyper-preparing as the producer and frequent director, Rose leaning into intuition as the host. If it was anyone else, it would have driven Shane crazy, but he trusted her implicitly.
Shane always thought back to one of their first episodes. They had toured a castle in Tipperary, Ireland with a historian. It was all very informative, threads of context that Shane planned to weave through the episode. When they were driving to their lodging afterwards, Rose spotted a car on the side of the road. Two old men were hunched over the engine with baffled expressions. In moments the production crew was producing jumper cables and Rose had utterly charmed them and was on a first-name basis with Colm and Thomas.
The two men insisted on taking them back to theirs for dinner, and the crew filmed them swapping tall tales and teaching Rose songs in Gaelic.
They never used the footage from the historian.
So Shane trusted Rose to know when to bend, where to find a better story. He was still going to head out into Hanoi and see some of their shooting locations ahead of time.
He pulled out his phone to text the crew. The production was tiny, by most standards, but the bare-bones of it allowed them to be nimble. It also meant that Shane genuinely liked everyone. They had trekked the globe together and loved and bickered like family. Which is why Shane knew the response he'd get.
Shane: Heading out to preview some locations. Anybody want to come with?
Rose: No chance. I'm not leaving my bed for at least 12 hours.
Harris: Same. Rain check for a drink at the hotel bar if I'm feeling human later?
Troy: Yeah, I could do a drink later, I need a nap now.
Cassie: I'm dead to the world, and Meena won't text you back because she is snoring next to me.
***
Shane ambled down twisting streets in the Old Quarter, surveying spots they planned to get b-roll. As he turned the corner, he was hit with the smell of simmering meat, cilantro, and anise. His stomach growled.
There were several restaurants and stalls in the Old Quarter that they had arranged to visit during filming, so Shane pulled up the list and tried to see what was nearest. He tucked himself flat against the plaster facade of a formerly stately mansion, letting the crowds and scooters hum past him while he scrolled his notes.
A laugh jolted him out of concentration. A deep, rumbling laugh that was unmistakable. Shane's eyes snapped, darting up and down the street. In an instant, he spotted him. Golden curls, golden tan. Broad shoulders and a smile that should have been illegal. Shane hadn't seen Ilya Rozanov in nearly a year, and he'd begun to hope that he'd imagined how devastatingly handsome he was.
Shane was distraught to see that Ilya somehow looked better than he remembered, better than his thirst traps that had caused Shane to feverishly block and then unblock him on Instagram numerous times in the past few years. Shane was painfully aware that he looked like jet-lagged garbage right now, the last thing he expected when he left the hotel was that he'd run into Ilya.
Shane's gaze was so fixed on him that he almost missed the bobbing head of russet curls next to him, and Shane's stomach constricted even harder. Svetlana, Ilya's partner in crime, was the one making him laugh. She was pinching his side and tipping her head up to grin at him, and Shane was flooded with memories of a humiliating evening a year ago.
Fuck. The odds of bumping into them in the winding streets of Hanoi felt like a cruel joke. Cowardice gripped Shane as Ilya and Svetlana walked further down the block, drawing nearer. Without thinking twice, he darted around the corner and practically sprinted back to the hotel. His team had the right idea, he'd stay in the hotel tonight. Ilya and Svetlana would move on to the next stop in their current months-long influencer odyssey none the wiser, and Shane could forget this ever happened.
***
“Oh my god, you need to stop,” Svetlana plucked Ilya's phone out of his hand. She didn't even look at the screen, she knew what he'd been staring at for the last half hour.
Ilya had been hunched over their tiny plastic table chain smoking, drinking copious amounts of weak beer, and fervently telling himself that he was imagining things. Shane Hollander wasn't in Hanoi, Ilya had just seen a man whip around a busy street corner who happened to have the same perfect, striking profile. He had been too far away for Ilya to see if he had freckles, so Ilya had pulled up Shane's social media to do some digging and be sure. Shane's Instagram was supremely unhelpful: bland, curated content, nothing recent.
Ilya had begrudgingly looked at Rose's next. If Shane was in Hanoi, Rose Landry must be nearby. But Rose's profile also betrayed nothing, no posts about getting on a plane, no behind-the-scenes shots teasing a new season. For all Ilya knew, they were back in Los Angeles and Ilya's mind was playing tricks on him. Svetlana was right to take his phone.
“Ilyusha” She glared at him. “Maybe it was him, maybe it wasn't. We have other things to focus on. Is this you getting cold feet?”
Ilya sighed. “No, I'm still in.” Svetlana had to twist his arm to agree to this project, and he knew she worried that he'd bolt. Ilya tried to train his mind away from Shane, towards the next couple days ahead of them, when a memory bubbled up.
“Sveta. Let me have my phone for one minute, and then I promise I am all yours.”
She rolled her eyes and handed it back. Ilya tapped through the list of people Shane was following, searching for the name of a friendly man he had met at an event last year. As soon as he opened Harris Drover’s page he felt a tingling in his fingertips. Harris had posted a photo of his suitcase two days ago, laid open and strategically packed. The caption said “living out of this for the next six months.”
And Harris had posted stories. One was of him and his quiet boyfriend, someone Ilya had shaken hands with, but couldn't remember the name of. They were on a plane nineteen hours ago. Seven hours ago Harris posted a very cute photo of him and his boyfriend in robes, eating room service in a luxurious hotel bed.
Ilya's heart stuttered at the last story. A video of hands toasting, the camera rose and panned the hotel bar, swinging to Harris’ boyfriend and…Shane Hollander. Shane Hollander, in the same light blue shirt that Ilya had seen dashing around a street corner a few hours ago. Shane Hollander, a little rumpled, adorably jet-lagged, drinking at a hotel bar that Harris had conveniently tagged. Ilya knew, he just knew what he'd find when he clicked on the location. The back of his neck was buzzing, a bizarre intuition thrumming in him.
The location opened, and Ilya had to bite back a laugh. Shane Hollander was in Hanoi, only a few minutes away from him.
***
Rose let out a yawn that threatened to split her face in two. She and Shane were drinking cà phê sữa đá on the terrace of her suite. Their internal clock was out of whack, it felt like seven pm and they were on their second iced coffee in a valiant effort to power through their second day on local time.
Usually Rose would want to explore by now, get out of the hotel. But Shane had shown up at her door with a somber expression, imploring to stay in for breakfast.
“It looked like you guys had fun last night,” Rose tapped her mouth to cover another yawn. “Harris said the drinks were stiff.”
Shane winced a little as he nodded. He had drank more than usual, wanting to banish the memory of Ilya from his mind. It had the opposite effect, he had gone back to his hotel room and thought about Ilya until he had gotten hard. He'd forced himself to take a cold shower and gone to sleep angry and horny, which was his default emotional state whenever he thought about Ilya.
“Yeah. The bar is nice. Nothing too unique, but you can see tonight if you want make room to fil-”
“I really don't care if we feature the hotel bar in this episode,” Rose rolled her eyes fondly. “I need to know why you look like you saw a ghost. Your hangover can't be that bad.”
Shane sighed and slumped in his chair. He looked down at the street for a moment. Colorful scooters, riders covered with gloves and masks to block out exhaust and dirt, kids wrapped around their parents, all forming throngs of traffic.
“I saw Ilya Rozanov,” Shane said, not looking at her. He heard the hiss, she took the mantle of any grudge he held, and his an on and off grudge with Ilya spanned years now.
“God, what are the fucking odds,” Rose ran a hand through her auburn hair.
“I know. I mean, it's not that shocking I guess. March is a good time to visit, and I'm kind of surprised they haven't done Vietnam before. So many people see Vietnam from a motorcycle.” Shane grimaced.
Ilya and Svetlana had made their mark as beautiful, impulsive, carefree travel influencers. In recent years they had embarked on numerous motorcycle trips. Through the Andes, along the Amalfi coast, across Mexico. They racked up followers who speculated about their relationship and left flame emojis when Ilya and Svetlana posted videos working on their bikes in matching tank tops. In short, it was utterly unsurprising that Ilya and Svetlana were going to traverse the length of Vietnam.
A small voice in the back of his head nagged, wondering why there wasn't any evidence of their trip yet. Shane had stalked both of them this morning, and there weren't any signs of life from the past week.
“Hey, Hanoi is big enough," Rose swept a hand, gesturing to the bustle. “It’s not like we'll run into them. And besides, the itinerary tomorrow is crazy. We won't stay in one spot long enough for them to catch us.”
Shane shivered at the thought of Ilya hunting and catching him, like he was prey. He'd never admit it, but it wasn't an entirely unpleasant thought.
***
“No, absolutely not,” Svetlana practically stamped her foot when Ilya casually brought up the idea of going to a hotel bar that night.
“What? Looks nice. Looks like a place to spend advance check,” Ilya said innocently. “Besides, I am tired of weak beer.”
Svetlana shook her head, seeing straight through him. “Oh, and if we go to this hotel you will not spend the whole night looking for Shane Hollander? Do you plan to bribe the front desk to find his room?”
Ilya wasn't that creepy. Yes, he wanted to position himself somewhere where he might run into Shane. Harris had posted a couple tipsy stories last night, ones that Ilya had fortunately screen recorded, because Harris deleted them later in the sober light of day. Shane had gotten adorably flushed as the night progressed, and to Ilya's fascination, Shane had looked drunk. Ilya didn't pretend to know Shane well, but he never saw him with so much as a light buzz.
Maybe this was what Shane did when he traveled. He blew off steam, finally dropped the vice grip he had in professional settings. But that didn't feel quite right. Ilya would have bet his bike on the fact that Shane had their shooting schedule planned to the minute.
“Fine, we skip the nice bar where there will be glamorous men and women who want to fuck you,” Ilya's last ditch effort was a failure, Svetlana looked unmoved. “Where do you think they might film? We want to avoid doubling up.”
Svetlana frowned, ignoring his flimsy ruse. Shane's show went off the beaten path often, it had been an element that both impressed and riled Ilya. Ilya and Svetlana's niche encroached by the most institutional medium of their field. Other shows wouldn't be a threat for poaching guides or attractions that aligned with Ilya and Sveta's interests. Rose and Shane might stomp all over their opportunities on the other hand.
“Hm. I can guess where they will go tomorrow morning. Will you let it go if we head there? No promises,” Svetlana's steady gaze dared Ilya to flinch. Instead, he struggled to contain his smile.
***
Ilya was not smiling when Svetlana roused him at three in the morning.
“The things I do for you,” she grumbled as she washed her face.
They were sharing a room in Hanoi partly out of habit, partly out of a codependency that neither cared to acknowledge. In the past year, they had shifted away from hooking up. It felt like a natural progression in their friendship, a new chapter as they grew up a little. When they had first settled into their hotel room, Svetlana had crowed that their separate beds finally meant Ilya couldn't steal all the blankets from her.
Ilya put more care into his morning routine than usual, taming his curls and using Svetlana's fancy moisturizer in an attempt to look like he hadn't only gotten two hours of sleep.
Long Biên market was an easy ten minute ride from their hotel, which meant it was about twelve minutes from Shane's hotel. Ilya reveled in the lighter traffic in the early hours of the morning. When they arrived, he was struck with a sense of regret and panic. The market was bustling, vendors hawking produce to wholesalers. It was a din of noise and color, and Ilya wasn't confident that Shane would choose to film in such an uncontrolled environment. Svetlana could read it in his face.
“Trust me. I actually watch the show, remember?”
Ilya had tried to watch episodes here and there, but he didn't like Rose. The feeling seemed to be mutual, so Ilya didn't particularly want to watch an hour of Rose laughing and eating her way across a country.
They ducked into the market, weaving through stalls, when Ilya spotted something that made his heart leap.
“Sveta,” Ilya poked her between the shoulder blades to yank her attention from a stand of fresh fruit.
She followed his gaze and grinned triumphantly. A small cluster of North Americans, a camera, and the man they were chasing down.
Shane looked so serious, brow furrowed as he watched Rose sampling fruit. She was nodding along as a middle-aged Vietnamese man volleyed translations between her and the vendor. Rose looked impossibly put together for four in the morning, and Ilya felt self conscious about his weak attempt to look presentable.
Shane was dressed simply and practically. Dorky dad sneakers, sensible for long days on his feet. A t-shirt made out of some athletic material that probably whisked away sweat. A small backpack. Ilya decided it was probably filled with mosquito spray, sunscreen, water, and a notebook.
Svetlana and Ilya watched until the camera went down, and then she practically skipped up to them, Ilya following with barely disguised excitement and fear.
“What are the odds?” Svetlana chirped. Shane's head whipped around, his eyes landing on Ilya first. Those gorgeous brown eyes that practically had flames shooting out of them. The intensity of his eye contact was too much. Ilya decided to trace his gaze over Shane's cheekbones instead. Stunning freckles, just as he remembered. Darker now, he must have been in the sun recently. Ilya found himself aching to know what Shane had been up to this past year, where he had traveled, if he was seeing anyone.
“Oh hey, Ilya and Svetlana, right?” Harris, sweet, unwittingly helpful Harris, stuck out his hand.
Ilya shook it. “Nice to see you, Harris. I am sorry, we have met but I do not remember your name.” He nodded towards Harris’ boyfriend and heard Shane snort in disbelief. It was rude of Ilya, but in his defense, he had been very distracted the night he had met Harris and his quiet boyfriend.
“I'm Troy. That's Cassie, this is Meena. You've met Shane and Rose. This is Phi, our guide.” Ilya and Svetlana nodded politely, and Ilya tried to ignore the daggers that Shane and Rose were staring at him.
“What brings you here?” Rose piped up.
Svetlana shrugged. “Same thing as usual. Working.”
It was a classic Svetlana lie. Enough broad truth: they traveled for a living, and that had brought them to Vietnam. But the statement obfuscated the truth that Rose was getting at; they were in a market at four in the morning because Sveta was far too patient with her friend who had developed an embarrassing fascination with a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with Ilya.
“Well, we won't keep you,” Shane said curtly. “We're wrapping up here anyway.”
The crew began the motions of packing up, and Ilya felt panic slip into his throat.
“Where are you staying?” As if he wasn't keenly aware. “We should meet up tonight. Get a drink.”
Shane opened his mouth to say no, Ilya saw it on the tip of his pretty tongue. But Harris, Ilya's new favorite person, swooped in.
“That could be fun! Here, give me your number. We're actually going to be filming at a bar in the French Quarter tonight. I'll text when we're wrapping.”
Ilya fished his phone out and pointedly ignored the sigh he heard from Shane.
***
“They're going to steal our ideas, and they're going to post it way before the show airs! I don't want people to think we're copying them,” Shane protested, fuming at Harris.
“Oh my god, chill out. We aren't giving them a copy of the shooting schedule. They saw us at a market plenty of people go to, and they're meeting us at a popular spot to drink. We're hardly giving away any secrets,” Harris groaned.
They had been bickering in the van all morning as they crisscrossed between shooting locations. Troy, as usual, had taken Harris’ side, saying he didn't mind meeting up with Ilya and Svetlana that night. Cassie and Meena rode the fence for now, grumbling that they didn't particularly want to hang out with influencers, but that they doubted Ilya and Svetlana were going to steal their ideas.
As he often felt when they argued, Shane momentarily resented working with two couples. At least he had Rose, who backed him up about 75% of the time. This time, however, she was infuriatingly nonchalant.
“Shane, it'll be fine. I don't want to see that arrogant man any more than you do, but we can just have one drink and leave. And besides, maybe we'll squeeze some information out of them,” Rose slipped her sunglasses on, a cue that she was going to take one of her trademark five minute naps. Her ability to sleep anywhere was a talent Shane envied.
He had to admit that her last point made sense, he was curious. If Ilya and Svetlana had the same itinerary they did, Shane wasn't above shifting the shooting schedule to avoid crossing paths with them.
***
After a long day the camera finally went down. The crew had been filming an interview with a bar owner in the French Quarter. Shane had a good feeling about it, and he was eager to review the footage tomorrow. Troy and Harris packed up the equipment, Rose excused herself to the bathroom to wipe off makeup, and Cassie and Meena ordered a round of drinks with Phi. Shane was rattling out of his body, nerves frayed as he waited for Ilya to arrive.
“Don't go as hard as last night, eh?” Harris handed Shane his drink and toasted him.
Shane knew he was too moody and tense, so he bit back a retort. Shane might have been drunk last night, but he hadn't been the one who had teared up over how beautiful Troy was.
Shane took a sip. The drink was bright, floral, and refreshing. He resisted the urge to chug it when he saw a curly mane towering above the crowd, weaving towards them.
“This place is nice,” Svetlana seemed to be speaking for Ilya often, in the limited interactions they had so far in Hanoi. Shane didn't want to dwell on how cranky that made him. Behind her, Ilya was staring at Shane, challenging Shane to look away. Shane tipped his chin up defiantly. He was practiced, he and Rose often had staring contests on long car rides. A surge of victory coursed through him when Ilya blinked and looked away.
“Sit, sit,” Harris gestured to the chairs to the left of Shane. To his immense relief, Rose emerged through the crowd and sat to Shane's right. She looked exhausted, and Shane knew he'd be able to press her to make an exit after she finished her drink.
“Thank you for inviting us, I know you must be tired,” Svetlana leaned over to speak to Rose. Her Russian accent wasn't as pronounced as Ilya's, but there was a musical lilt to it.
Rose shrugged, manners hanging on by a thread. She hated Ilya on Shane's behalf, her opinion of Svetlana was informed by her proximity to Ilya and the humiliating incident that had firmly cracked Shane's trust with Ilya. But Rose had more at stake professionally, her reputation as a cheerful ambassador for their show, Wandering With Rose Landry, was too important.
“You guys must be tired too, you were also up at four.”
Shane took a sip to suppress a smile. Rose was digging for information, just like she'd promised.
“Hm. We did not do much today, did we, Ilyusha?” Svetlana tilted her head to Ilya, who was uncharacteristically quiet.
“No. I'm sure not as busy as you,” Ilya smirked at Shane. He knew the game they were playing, and this stubborn quartet was going to get nowhere. Shane decided to switch tracks.
“Where are you staying?” Shane asked. He promised himself it was so he knew which part of town to avoid.
“Hotel de l'Opera,” Svetlana supplied. Shane almost choked on his drink. They were only a few minutes away from the hotel the crew was staying in. More importantly, they were staying somewhere nice. Their brand had been all about backpacking, home stays, and hostels until now. Shane narrowed his eyes as Ilya's danced with amusement.
Rose flashed Shane a look, silent agreement that they wouldn't acknowledge they were staying in the same area.
“You are traveling more in Vietnam? Or just Hanoi?” Ilya leaned across Svetlana a bit, encroaching on her space with an ease and comfort that was inescapable.
Shane and Rose exchanged loaded glances. Shane raised an eyebrow, questioning how rude to be. Rose wrinkled her nose, frustration that they couldn't blow off the question. She tugged the corner of her mouth down in concession. Shane turned back, and he was surprised to see Ilya scowling. Maybe their silent conversation had taken longer than Shane thought.
“We're at the start of filming. A couple more stops in Vietnam, and then we go on to the next country.” It was sufficiently vague, and Shane was thrilled to see Ilya's jaw twitch in irritation.
“How about you guys?” Rose seemed to have decided to direct her questions to Svetlana, freezing Ilya out.
“Same. Just got here. More to see in Vietnam. Other countries next.”
A silence fell over the table as the stalemate played out. Shane checked his phone and pretended to be surprised by the time.
“Oh man. I'd better turn in,” his tone wasn't convincing at all, but Rose was a better performer. She nodded enthusiastically, grabbing her purse.
“Same, I'm going to run to the bathroom and I'll meet you outside.”
Shane flagged his other friends attention, nobody else was ready to head back. He avoided making eye contact with Ilya, who he could feel glaring at him. He looked at Svetlana instead.
“Well. Funny running into you guys. Have a great trip.” Shane stood and headed for the door, he couldn't stomach a second longer.
As he started down the twisty staircase to the ground floor he heard the creak of heavy footsteps hurrying to catch up to him. Shane shoved through the door and braced himself outside. Rose would be down in a moment, it would be fine.
“Can I have your number?” Ilya was at his shoulder immediately. Shane squinted at him, this was the last thing he'd expected after Shane's clumsy attempts to be rude.
“No,” Shane said.
Ilya rolled his eyes. “Just your number, Hollander. Not a big deal.”
“No. Why?” Shane cringed at himself, there was no reason to ask that.
“Helpful to have a backup if you block me on Instagram again. Maybe we will be in same town again soon. I would like to see you, especially if you are in better mood.” Ilya's lips curled into a smile that was utterly distracting.
“I won't be, if you're around,” Shane grimaced. It only seemed to amuse Ilya more.
“Come on. You are afraid?” Ilya held out his phone, taunting Shane. Shane stared at it for a moment before grabbing it. He could give Ilya his number and then block him whenever he felt like it. Harmless.
When Shane handed Ilya his phone back he was startled by the expression on Ilya's face. He looked quiet, unguarded, his usual teasing and prodding had evaporated. Shane's heart picked up pace in his chest as he looked into Ilya's hazel eyes. For a second, he remembered how soft Ilya's lips were, how strong his hands felt when they grabbed at Shane's hips.
The moment was broken by Rose bursting through the door.
“Goodnight, Ilya,” Shane said. Rose was yanking open the door of their crew van, and nodded a wordless goodbye towards Ilya.
Ilya swallowed and stared at Shane. “Goodnight, Shane.”
Shane slid in next to Rose, their driver started the engine and peeled away. Shane couldn't help it, he twisted in seat to catch his last glimpse of Ilya. Ilya stood, hands in his pockets, staring at the van until they rounded the corner out of sight.