Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

𝄞⋆ ݁♪ .
Save me from who I'm supposed to be
So tell me, tell me, tell me what you want from me,
I don't wanna be another social casualty.
(Social casualty)
𝄞⋆ ݁♪ .

Shane liked fitting in. He liked staying in the shadows, looking non-threatening, keeping himself in check.

Always the overachiever, he made up for his lack of outward individuality through his academics. Straight A Student, captain of the school’s hockey team, a jack of all trades when it came to trivia night– Shane Hollander was truly a golden child.

He should’ve been the popular jock, or the social butterfly, or the most sought after afterschool tutor– but, instead– unless he was winning a hockey game– Shane remained… unknown to his peers.

He’d always been like that, and he told himself it was okay. He liked his own little bubble, liked keeping to himself. Ever since he was a child, he’d always struggled talking to other kids his age. Whenever he’d meet someone with the same interests as him, he’d info-dump to an ear-grading extent that the other person would be scared off or bored; whenever he tried to fit in with the other hockey players he’d never know how to jump into their conversations about girls or other overly masculine hobbies. He accepted that he was destined to keep to himself, and that was okay.

Or so he thought.

When he started high school, things became… different.

He went from a small town school to a bustling campus smack in the center of the city. Instead of the same old, copy-paste individual he was used to seeing, he was exposed to countless people from all walks of life. He noticed how people expressed themselves in their own unique way, noticed how people would dress and carry themselves.

There were people out there that stood out and were happy to. They wanted to.

And Shane started feeling the same way too.

Shane wanted to know what it felt like to stand out; he wanted to know what it felt like to be completely oblivious to the snickers and sneers of those who find others odd and just… live.

He really, really wanted to feel confident in his own skin just like those kids.

All he needed was a little shove in the right direction… and by the right person.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི♬⋆.˚♪

Shane took his normal seat on the bus: three rows down on the right-hand side, aka the seat that no one ever sat in because the window was broken and the seat leather had been torn up to smithereens after years of constant wear and tear.

He was one of the first kids onto the bus, having always been the first kid at the bus stop; whether rain or shine, Shane Hollander was up bright and early and certain to be number one no matter what.

It was a comfortable routine: he sat down in the seat, scooted in until his sides brushed the frigid metal interior of the bus, set his backpack next to him, fished out his phone and earbuds, picked a playlist, and sat in comfortable musical bliss until the bus halted to a stop in front of school.

Today was one of those days where Shane didn’t immediately know what he wanted to listen to. He had a diverse library of music, genres spreading across continents and generations of artists. He took a look outside and saw a blanket of warm leaves covering the ground and sparse trees, a reminder that fall was in full bloom. Fall: cozy season, pumpkin late season, red, yellow, orange season.

Okay. I’ll pick the first song I see with red in its album cover.

Well, that plan didn’t last long as the first song Shane saw had a blaring red X across its cover: Social Casualty, 5SOS.

That was perfect. The album came out only last year and it was already one of Shane’s favorites!

Shane fished in his backpack for his cheapy headphones, the kind that one would wear like a headband with extra cushion-y earmuffs. Carefully, he unwound the wire from the body of the headphones, making sure the low-quality wiring wouldn’t break as he did so. As the last bit of wiring was unwound, Shane happily plugged it into his iPod, ducking his head down to put the headphones over his ears and–

“Excuse me?”

Shane froze, hands at eye level and headphones just hovering in front of his face. With wide eyes, he snapped his head around, looking up at… who is that?

It was the coolest person Shane had ever seen… ever.

The boy beside him carried his presence like he knew he was the shit. Face full of confidence, posture strung up straight like a puppet. He glowed.

Dirty-blonde hair with frizzed curls with splotches of black dye scattered across the locks. Piercing blue eyes adorned with smudged shadow. Ripped clothing that somehow looked so effortlessly put together that it looked cool rather than dirty. Arms hugged by spikes and cuffs and studs galore.

Shane practically gaped at the boy, his words stolen from his tongue. He blubbered like a fish, slowly lowering his headphones from their awkward position.

For a moment, neither said anything, the stranger’s neutral face slowly turning a little awkward.

“Erm,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “is anyone sitting next to you?”

What accent is that?

The boy waved his hand in front of Shane’ face. “Hello? You are okay?”

Yeah, more than okay.

“Okay well, um, I sit here okay? You can keep… not talking I guess…” The boy pointed awkwardly to where Shane’s backpack was placed, finally snapping him out of his daze.

“Oh, oh yeah–” Shane sputtered, hastily grabbing his backpack to place it between his legs, “You can sit. Sorry about that, I–”

Shane was immediately cut off as the boy plopped down beside him, throwing his backpack unceremoniously to the ground. Not even sparing Shane a glance, he fisted tangled earbuds from his jean pocket and shoved them into his ears. He then slouched into his seat, groaning one more time, and closed his eyes.

Oh. Right. People as cool as him don’t really talk to me.

Sighing as well, Shane leaned onto the window staring out into the breezy autumn scenery as the bus rumbled from its engine starting. He finally placed his headphones on his head and clicked play.

He has been really liking 5SOS. He was happy, and the awkward interaction slowly faded to the back of Shane’s mind.

I wonder if he likes 5SOS too.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི♬⋆.˚♪

Shane was sitting in his homeroom class three minutes before the bell was supposed to ring. Even Mr. Thieralt wasn’t there yet.

He happily waited in his seat (the one in the front row closest to the window), and as the bell rang across the hall, students finally started piling in.

He watched as cliques and duos and trios filed into the room: arms hooked over friends’ shoulders, lips wide from smiling peers engaging in friendly conversation, voices of companionship and familiarity echoing throughout the room.

All things Shane didn’t have.

And that is okay.

The moment their homeroom teacher sauntered into the room, Shane’s focus zeroed in on the man, not registering anyone else entering the space.

Time ran as everyone took their seats and quieted down. Shane looked to the side of him; he was the only person sitting in the front row as always. Mr. Thieralt’s voice droned on as he welcomed the class. Morning announcements crackled over the intercom. All stuff Shane didn’t care about.

The morning was proceeding as usual, Shane’s mind somewhere in the clouds as everything that was to be expected happened. He was tuned out completely.

Creeeeeaaaak.

His eyes flicked towards the door.

A head was poking through the entrance, black nails grasping the edge of the door.

Oh my god. He’s here.

“Erm… This is homeroom, yes?” the voice mumbled.

“Why it is! Come on in; I was expecting you!”

As the boy shuffled into the room, his shoes shuffling and squeaking over the floor, a sudden hush filled the room. Some girls behind him were giggling, tiny voices trickling in curiosity over the new face. A few jockey boys in the back started snickering, “secretly” making fun of the dude in not-hushed murmuring.

“Class!” Mr. Thieralt smiled, clasping a hand on the boy’s slouched shoulder.

Shane noticed a small… flinch at the sudden impact. But the boy’s suave demeanor never faltered.

“We have a new student today transferring all the way from Russia! Isn’t that cool, guys!?”

No one said shit. Obviously. It was a bunch of teenagers sitting grogglily in a classroom at eight in the morning.

“Wanna introduce yourself?”

The teacher turned to the new student, Shane’s gaze following.

And suddenly, the confident way the guy had held himself started to crack. His fingers darted, looking at nothing, and his fingers began picking at his fraying jeans.

“Oh, um. I can try. English is not so good–”

Those same boys in the back snorted.

What a bunch of fuckers.

But the new student didn’t seem to mind, even going as far as to outwardly roll his eyes at them.

“Is okay though, I try. My name is Ilya. I am from Moscow, but I just move here.” He crossed his arms and flicked his bored gaze toward the teacher.

Eel-ya. Shane was going to remember that name.

“Wonderful! We are so glad to have you, ill-ee-ya. Feel free to take a seat… oh!” Mr. Thieralt suddenly locked eyes with Shane, smile still as bright as ever. “Shane, could you raise your hand?”

Shane’s cheeks flushed a beet red, the sudden attention, though silent, was deafening. Slowly, he raised a hand just high enough that he could be noticed.

The boy’s eyes finally looked over at Shane. They were lidded before, bored out of their mind, but the moment they landed on Shane’s, a curious shimmer gleamed in them.

And then he smirked.

Smirked. At Shane.

Shane wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Why don’t you go sit next to him? And Shane–” the man looked back at him, “How about you show Ilya around today, yeah? You know, Ilya–” he turned back to the other boy, “Shane here is one of our top students! He’ll be the perfect tour guide for you today!”

Oh. My. Fucking. God. SHUT. UP.

“Ahh,” Ilya hummed, eyebrows raising and chin nodding. “Is that so?”

He scoffed, now looking square at Shane, those icy blue eyes staring lasers into him. His smirk grew into a grin, clearly taking pleasure in Shane’s embarrassment. “Then I guess today is my lucky day.”

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི♬⋆.˚♪

Shane and Ilya were told to stay behind after the bell rang.

When all the other kids had shuffled out of the room, Mr. Thieralt gave Shane a rundown of what was expected of him. “Walk Ilya to all his classes and I’ll issue you late passes for all of yours today. I know that’s not necessary because you two virtually have an almost identical schedule– look at you, Ilya-Mister-Smarty-Pants, you’re basically on par with Shane, here!”

“And, Shane, make sure Ilya sits with you at lunch today so that you can get him acquainted with how life is here at this school. Ilya, don’t be afraid to ask Shane any questions, okay? He basically knows this school inside and out.”

While Ilya was busy nodding along to Mr. Thieralt, Shane’s brain was spiraling. This was a nightmare; only in his worst dreams would he fumble himself in front of the coolest guy he’d ever seen, probably looking like an absolute idiot, only for that same guy to be forced to hang out with his sorry ass all day!

Please, ground, swallow me up already.

Stepping into the bustling hall, Shane took a peak at Ilya’s schedule and noticed they had the same first period. Great. He’s practically glued to my hip all day.

He cleared his throat, shoulder brushing against Ilya’s as they walked down the hall. “You have first period Calc AB in 301, and the 300 classrooms are on the second floor. Oh, I should probably tell you about the floors– so the first floor has 100s and 200s as well as the cafeteria, the second has 300s and 400s, and the third has the 500s. The gym will be found next to the cafeteria on the first floor, but since you’re a transfer student gym isn’t required for you to graduate, so you don’t need to worry about that. Unless you’re playing a sport; are you playing a sport–? Ah, wait, sorry, I’m rambling, you don’t gotta tell me–”

“Is okay,” Ilya said cooly, lips still curled in a faint smile. “Is good you talk a lot, yes? That means I have very good tour guide. I will be pro at American highschool very fast.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Shane’s gaze was on the ground, his cheeks a little warm.

“Is no problem, Shanya.”

“Shanya?” he asked, voice suddenly shy.

Ilya chuckled. “Yes, Shanya. You are friend now, yes? I give funny nickname for you.”

“Oh… friends?”

Ilya shrugged. “Yes, I think so. You help me, you are nice boy. Friends.”

Shane smiled. “Okay.”

The rest of the walk to their next class was in comfortable silence, faint grins adorning each of the boys’ lips the whole way there.

Unlike in homeroom, Shane sat towards the back in this class, Ilya plopping down next to him again.

Shane was not in the mood for a lecture today, but luckily for him, the plan for today’s lesson was just a worksheet building off of things they’d learned last week.

Shane began working diligently on the problems, quickly solving for the derivatives of random functions. He was fast at this, and maybe after he could help Ilya. Shane was always one of the first to finish anyway so–

“You are done?”

Ilya’s voice snapped Shane out of his concentration. He looked up, cocking his head. “What?”

“I finished. Too easy. You are done?”

“Oh,” Shane was taken aback. No one had ever finished before him. “I have um, one problem left. I’ll be quick, though, just give me like a minute.”

“Ah, okay. You are very smart, very fast.”

Shane chuckled– borderline giggled– “You literally finished before me.”

“Yes. That is because I know Russian math, Shanya– much better than silly American math.”

“Oh, shut up! Now I feel dumb–”

“Oh no, you are not dumb, you are smart for American school,” Ilya cooed at him, his elbow leaning on Shane’s desk to close the gap between them.

All Shane did in response was scoff and shake his head, quickly finishing the problem in silence as Ilya watched. Finally putting his pencil down, Shane turned in his seat to face Ilya–

Oh. Wow. He’s really close.

Ilya’s face was, at max, a foot away from Shane’s. And for a moment, the two just stared at each other, Shane taking in all of the other’s features.

He noticed the mole on Ilya’s cheek, the way his cupid’s bow allowed his lips to mimic a heart, the way his makeup was smeared on messily but somehow in a neat way. Ilya not only looked cool. He looked really, really pretty.

“I like those.” Ilya suddenly said, pulling Shane from his head.

“Hm?”

“Those,” his finger came up to poke at Shane’s cheeks, “Little dots all over. Веснушки.”

“Oh, those? My freckles? Really?” Shane shook his head, “I’ve never heard anyone say that before. I got made fun of for them when I was a little kid.”

Ilya’s grin dropped to a frown immediately. “What?”

Okay, he definitely said that too loudly, a few heads turning to look at them. Ilya noticed, murmuring a quick apology directed at the teacher, and continued after everyone went back to working on their own thing.

“How? Freckles is pretty, Shanya.” Ilya was pouting now… and his lips looked very soft.

Shane only shrugged. “I don’t know. People thought they were weird. Not many people have them so…”

Ilya scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. People are глупый.”

Even though Shane didn’t know what it meant, the way Ilya spat the word out led him to guess it was an insult. He laughed.

Seeing that Shane was smiling, Ilya grinned too.

“So, anyway– back to your question earlier–”

“I had a question earlier?”

“Yes, in hall, about sport,” Ilya waved his hand around in a flamboyant gesture while rolling his eyes, “To answer: yes, I plan on playing sport. Was very good in Russia.”

“Oh, cool!” Shane brightened, eager to learn more, “What sport?”

“Hockey.”

“Hockey!?”

Okay, maybe Shane said that a little too loudly.

“Shane?” The teacher called out, a stern look on her face. She crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. “You boys better keep it down before I separate you two.”

“S- sorry…!” Shane stuttered. In the corner of his eye, Ilya was puffing his cheeks, clearing trying to hold in his laughter.

Shane didn’t speak until everyone was ignoring them again.

He then whipped around, glaring at Ilya. Or, that’s what he thought he was doing. Apparently, his attempt at a glare was hilarious because Ilya had to double over and bite his knuckles to muffle his laughter.

“Ugh, you’re an asshole–”

“I’m sorry– I’m– pft– sorry…!”

Shane should be mad, but surprisingly, he wasn’t. He felt oddly… endeared. His mind felt blanketed in clouds, his stomach felt giddy with butterflies– a quite unfamiliar feeling.

It took roughly thirty seconds before Ilya was upright again, thumbs roughly wiping away stray tears as he continued to slightly shake in his seat with small chuckles.

“Wooo… that was funny. Anyway– yes, hockey. I play hockey, so I try for hockey team. Why are you so surprised?”

Shane could only gape at him for a moment. Hockey… hockey. Shane’s favorite thing in the world, the thing Shane is grossly knowledgeable on, the thing that literally consumes almost all of the brainspace in Shane’s head. “Well, because–”

“You like hockey, Shanya?”

“Uh…” Be normal, be normal, be normal…! “Y- yeah, I like– really like– hockey.”

“Ah, nice, nice…” Ilya eyed him suspiciously, his gaze forcing Shane’s hands to grow clammy and his throat to bob in anticipation.

Shane continued to smile awkwardly at Ilya with his hands clasped in front of him and in his lap. The other boy eyed him up and down, scanning Shane’s body language. Body fully facing Ilya, posture perfectly straight, entire being still yet vibrating in its seat. Suddenly, the Russian’s eyes widened, and a shit-eatin grin ate his entire face. Giddy realization hit Ilya square in the face and–

“Shanya, you are on hockey team?”

Ilya’s eyes were wide, his hands coming up quick to grasp over Shane’s. Any form of a scowl or scoff was completely erased from his face, and all that was left was absolute sunshine radiating off his body.

The moment Ilya’s palms clasped over Shane’s, his body exploded into a swarm of bees, his limbs buzzing with excitement. He expected himself to flinch, to pull away, but he just– didn’t. Ilya’s hands were warm like a familiar embrace, his skin was rough like worn stick tape. His touch was friendly, welcomed, soothing– and it was causing Shane jitters.

“Shanya!” Ilya’s voice rocked him back to reality, “You are excited because you are on hockey team, yes!?”

Shane could only scoff, a pretty pink dusting his cheeks. He turned away, the sudden embarrassment forcing him to break Ilya’s gaze and turn away. He wanted to answer, but his tongue was bitten silent.

“Ah, I see. You no longer look at me and you turn red like tomato, so answer is obviously yes,” Ilya teased him, causing Shane to flush even deeper.

“Still no talking? Why? You are embarrassed– is it because you are bad player? Is okay, your captain will love me and one day I will be captain and help you become better–”

“What?” Shane scoffed, finally looking at the other boy. He rolled his eyes, almost offended. “Bad player? Ilya, I’m literally the captain–”

“YOU’RE THE CAPTAIN–?”

SLAM! The thwack of a ruler against a wooden desk silenced the entire classroom.

“Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander! If you disrupt this class one more time, I will separate you two!”

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི♬⋆.˚♪

By the time the third period bell rang, Shane was straight out of his seat and hauling ass to Ilya’s classroom. Unfortunately, the two had to part ways after the second period, Ilya having to take a class Shane had already completed his sophomore year.

Shane had told Ilya to wait for him in front of his class so that he could show him the way to the cafeteria.

“Shanya, I know where food place is, we passed it like two times already–”

“Yeah, but, like– I wanna walk you there, okay? So that we don’t lose each other and I can ensure we will sit together. I promise I’ll be quick!”

Was this whole escorting-Ilya-to-all-his-classes-and-other-things thing necessary? No. But Shane… Well, this was Shane’s first true friend. Sure, he had the hockey guys, but he never really clicked with any of them. The closest thing he had to a friend on the team was maybe Hayden, but Hayden was as White-male as a White male could be, so Shane found it hard to be truly authentic with him.

So when Shane was handed this golden opportunity to make a real friend, he couldn’t risk screwing it all up.

Coming up the flight of stairs, Shane couldn’t miss the bundle of golden locks and suave body leaning itself against the wall.

Ilya was staring off into the distance, earbuds in his ears and hands in his pocket. He was nodding slightly along to whatever he was listening to.

As if sensing Shane’s presence, Ilya’s eyes blinked over to where Shane was approaching, his mouth curling into a small smile as he pushed himself off the wall to meet Shane at the top of the stairs. Shane waved at him and Ilya threw him a peace sign.

The two ended up walking down together in comfortable silence, and though the halls were a commotion of footsteps, layered chatter, and incoherent noise, the world had never felt so quiet with Ilya.

Upon learning Ilya had brought his own food (to Shane’s relief; he hated the cafeteria line), Shane led the two of them to a table in the corner of the room that no one ever occupied because it was so out of the way.

Once seated, the two pulled out their lunches– Shane with a plain grey lunch box and Ilya with a crushed up brown paper bag.

“What is it you have?”

Shane had just taken his tupperware out when Ilya spoke, his fingers curled under the lid’s clasps. “Oh, I have a quinoa salad with peanut dressing and chicken breast. It’s really good– has fiber, protein, and healthy fats. I’m on kind of a performance diet thing, so I need to eat well, especially since this is gonna be my first year as captain.”

Shane was smiling up at Ilya, waiting for a response. For a moment, the Russian looked at him kind of… skeptically, eyes drifting down to Shane’s container.

He seemed to have been more focused on Shane’s set-up than Shane’s actual food. The three plastic containers of food, the wooden fork tucked neatly into a square napkin, the pristine, grey lunchbox made me sturdy fabric. He looked at it, then at his own paper bag, then back at Shane’s things.

Fingers tightened against the bag. Just slightly tho. His lip twitched.

Still, he smiled, rolling his eyes. Whatever that was, Ilya buried it immediately. Resting his chin in his palm and leaning forward, he teased again. “What the fuck is a quinoa?”

Shane perked up, laughing. “It’s a type of pseudograin. A lot of people use it in place real grains like rice because those are more carb heavy. Really, it’s actually the seed of a type of plant–”

“So you are eating rabbit food?”

“No I’m not–!”

“You literally just said it come from plant and the word ‘salad’– that is rabbit food, Shanya.”

“Oh, shut up,” he chuckled, finally clicking the lid off his food. “Enough about my food. What’d you bring?”

“Oh, um…” Ilya trailed off, his fingers tearing at the top of his paper bag. “Is not really cool like your food. Kind of boring. And gross.”

Shane noticed the way Ilya’s shoulders suddenly hunched, the way his smile faltered, and the way his eyes drifted away nervously. The air around him suddenly grew uncomfortable; Ilya looked ashamed.

Shane was never the best at comforting people, his lack of ability to read others’ emotions being the root of his troubles, but the last thing he could bear right now was his new friend feeling as if he should be ashamed of himself.

The boy scooted closer, even if it was only an inch or two, and looked at Ilya with wide eyes. “Hey, don’t say that. I’m sure your food is cool too.”

Ilya laughed uncomfortably, a hand coming up to rub his arm. “Is okay Shanya. I am okay with eating not-cool food. You probably will not like; is poor people food–”

“Ilya–”

“You have very fancy meal, yes? Mine is… I don’t know– stupid, maybe, when compare.”

“It’s not stupid, Ilya.” Shane was pouting now, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s okay if your meal doesn’t cost a lot; it’s okay if you don’t have a lot of money. It’s nothing to be ashamed of…”

Ilya still looked unsure, his suddenly pale face searching Shane’s for a sign of teasing or disgust. But when all he could see was Shane’s concerned pout and deep brown eyes, he relaxed a bit, fingers unclasping from the paper.

“Okay,” he sighed, lips curling up slightly, “Only if you insist. I will take out my poor people food and tell you about it too.”

Reaching into the bag, the boy grabbed out a plastic bag and plopped it onto the table. Inside it was five or six little dumplings.

Ilya started talking when I opened the ziplock. “This–” he pinched a little dumpling between his fingers and held it up, “– is pelmeni. Little dough ball with meat inside. Normally, it has good meat inside, but I am poor so only thing I can afford is Spam. So–” he plopped the dumpling in his mouth, talking with it stuffed in his cheek, “– I smash Spam into little tiny pieces and put inside with salt and pepper. That is lunch.”

After he finished talking, he started chewing, only taking one or two bites before gulping it down. “Is not best tasting, but it keep me not hungry. I never learn to cook so… I try and it turn out like this.” He took another piece and swallowed it down.

Shane nodded, making sure to keep his smile present and his voice light. But something unsettling inside him stirred.

Why was Ilya cooking for himself? Why did his parents not teach him how to cook?

Taking advantage of the fact that Ilya was too busy eating to really observe Shane, he took in more of what he saw. The paper bag Ilya was using was stained in grease, holes and tears strewn throughout the thing. It was beyond wrinkled as if it had been sitting balled up at the bottom of a recycling bin for months on end.

How long has Ilya been reusing that bag?

“Do your parents not cook for you?”

That must’ve been the absolute worst thing to ask in that moment.

Immediately, the color drained from Ilya’s face and his body froze as if it’d been caught in a trap. He even stopped chewing, the half-eaten dumping still bulging in his teeth. Dead, hollow eyes flicked to Shane, almost scolding him, how dare you ask me that.

But just as quick as that had happened, Ilya snapped back to life, resuming his movements and continuing to chew. He forced a smile and a chuckle, a hand coming up to pat Shane’s shoulder. “Let’s not talk about family, yes? Not good conversation topic, Shanya.”

“Oh,” Shane deflated, guilt eating him up, “I’m sorry–”

“Shhhhhhhh, no apology. You do nothing wrong. Eat your food, yes? Lunch will end soon.”

The awkwardness was quickly killed after that (thanks to Ilya; he knew how to keep a conversation going really well considering he’d only just begun learning English), and the boys ate and talked about whatever for the rest of lunch.

When the bell rang, Shane quickly packed up his empty container into his lunchbag and threw that into his backpack. Ilya balled up his paper bag with the ziplock inside and stuffed it into one of his backpack’s water bottle holders.

The rest of the day was smooth sailing from there.

Fourth period kept both boys busy. The day Ilya transferred just so happened to be a day of learning all new content. The teacher droned on for 30 minutes about gravimetric analysis, and the rest of class was meant for the students to fill out a worksheet and pre-lab for an upcoming lab day. Ilya and Shane had finished all their work just as the bell rang, leaving the two no time to chat.

In fifth period, they were given free-time… kind of.

They were supposed to be reading The Great Gatsby, but Shane had already read this back in middle school and Ilya was clearly bored out of his mind. Still, Shane pretended to be engaged, keeping his head down and staring with dazed vision at the walls of text and flipping his page whenever he’d hear the shuffling of paper around him.

He used this time to zone out, staring deep into absolutely until–

Tap. A balled up post-it was planted on his desk.

~~~~~~~~~

sooooooooo boring

~~~~~~~~~

Shane scoffed and turned his head, looking at Ilya. The other boy was already looking at him, and the moment the locked eyes, Ilya gave him a dramatic eyeroll before smirking. Shane had to hold back a giggle. He quickly scribbled back, glancing nervously around before reaching over to place the paper back on Ilya’s desk.

~~~~~~~~~

yea lol

~~~~~~~~~

Shane had never passed notes with someone before. He felt giddy– the perfect, golden child was being rebellious! He was breaking classroom rules!

~~~~~~~~~

class will end soon we will be free- per 5 iz easy

~~~~~~~~~

The whole act of passing notes was really making Shane feel giddy, excitement pooling in his stomach.

~~~~~~~~~

yup, can't wait

p.s. I've never passed notes before!

~~~~~~~~~

Upon receiving the paper. Ilya let out a faint snort, quickly bringing a hand up to stop himself from full-on laughing. He took one glance at Shane and smirked, wriggling his eyebrows.

Shane felt himself blush, suddenly embarrassed. Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have written that last bit.

Ilya turned the paper over and continued writing, shortly after flicking a crumpled up post it towards Shane. He barely caught it.

~~~~~~~~~

wow... mr hollander is so perfect he has never passed notes before... now he is naughty boy (owo)

~~~~~~~~~

Shane blushed, blushed hard.

The bell rung immediately after.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི♬⋆.˚♪

Walking out of fifth period, Shane Hollander had died and was reborn as a brand new Shane Hollander.

Friendless, isolated, never once passed a note during class before Shane Hollander. Now, only friend-having, accompanied, passes notes in class Shane Hollander existed.

The two walked side by side, attached by the hip– Shane felt as if he was on cloud nine.

They boarded the bus together, Shane taking his usual spot by the window and Ilya plopping down beside him. Though new, it already felt so normal. The company that Ilya had brought throughout the day had been nothing but pure bliss for Shane. He never realized how lonely he’d been– how his whole life he’d spent it floating around in his own head.

But now, his mind was open, his body was willing, craving, to be in the presence of another. Ilya brought all of that out of him in just one day.

They settled together in comfortable silence, Ilya’s thigh pressing up against Shane’s. Each boy had fished out their ipods and placed them on the knee closest to the other. They remained like that for a bit, unraveling their headphones when Ilya finally spoke.

“I am glad you were my tour guide today.” He said it indifferently, almost as if stating a fact, his entire face neutral with just his lips pursed in concentration of detangling his wires.

“Yeah, I’m glad I was too.”

“Yes, yes, very good. Good idea, Mr. Thieralt,” Ilya, with his headphones untangled, turned to look at Shane with a wide grin plastered across his lips, “Because now I have cool friend too.”

“Oh, god,” Shane scoffed, batting away at the air. “You think I’m cool?”

That last bit came out weaker than Shane wanted. His voice was light with a hint of confusion laced in, his brown eyes wide as he stared disbelievingly at Ilya.

“I mean–” Ilya tilted his head back and forth, “Yes, I think so, yeah. You are cool, Shanya.”

The boy was full on grinning by now, unable to hide the flush darkening his freckles. “I think you’re cool too, Ilya.”

Their faces were so close and Shane hadn’t even realized how closely they’d drifted towards each other. His heart was pounding, his palms littering themselves in a gleeful sweat. He took in Ilya’s face– how his eye makeup was smudged just a little bit more than they had been this morning, how his face was kissed with moles galore, his crooked, imperfect teeth resting inside his perfect smile.

Ilya was the first to pull away, his eyes blinking as if reaching some sort of revelation.

“Shanya, you have Discord?”

Shane pulled back, nodding. “I do, but like, I don’t really– uhm– talk to people there. I’m just on it for hockey discussion servers and other nerdy things… haha.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can be first friend– take Discord friend virginity or something.” He turned on his iPod, finding his notes app, and then giving it to Shane. “Write username. I send you message later.”

Shane took the device, his lips curled in a faint smile as he typed in his user. And a little note.

~~~~~~~~~

< Notes

Shane Discord

Shane: shane_24 #2093

ps. I've never given my Discord to someone before either!

~~~~~~~~~

Shane didn’t miss the way Ilya’s fingers brushed against his as he handed the ipod back.

They both chuckled, Shane booting up his own device and ready to play some music when–

“Hey, Shanya. Do you like Five Seconds of Summer?”

And thus, for the first time ever. Shane didn’t ride the bus with his headphones in. Instead, he shared Ilya’s earbuds with him, the two sitting in comfortable silence, nodding along together to their shared love of music.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི♬⋆.˚♪

Once Ilya and Shane arrived in their neighbourhood, they realized they came from opposite ways.

Meaning they’d have to part right now.

“Well, I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

Ilya cocked his head at that, pouting his lip before shaking his head. “No, no goodbye. You only say goodbye when you do not see each other again. We see each other tomorrow. No goodbye.”

Shane chuckled. “Okay fine. See you later then.”

At that, Ilya nodded, a crooked smirk hitching on his lips. “Yes. See you later, Shanya. I will message.”

And then Ilya turned around, looking over to give Shane one more parting peace sign, and then shuffling away. Despite their growing distance, Shane could still hear the other boy, his plethora of homemade keychains and accessories dangling as he walked away.

After Ilya had gone maybe ten feet, Shane decided to turn around too. His walk home was that far, only having to turn one corner before he made it home.

Stepping inside, Shane was greeted by his mom sitting at the dining table on her laptop. The moment the door creaked open, her eyes flicked upwards, and she gave Shane an endearing look.

“Welcome home, Shane.”

“Hi Mom–” Shane was kicking his shoes off, hurriedly putting his sneakers on the shoe rack. “Mom, can I boot up my PC tonight?”

She cocked an eyebrow at that. “Sure… but why? You only ever use that iPod on school days.”

"Yeah, but, there’s an app I need to access tonight and I don’t have storage for it on the iPod, so it’s only on the computer–”

“Which app?”

“The one I use for my hockey discussions.”

“Shane, it’s not even hockey season and you don’t talk to any of those people in those servers why would you need to–”

Shane doesn’t know what overcame him, but he was eager and needed to check his messages. He blurted out– “Mom! I made a friend today and he said he’d message me. I need to go use it–"

Before this groundbreaking information could fully be comprehended by his mom, Shane rushed up the stairs, throwing his backpack on the ground and slamming his door before turning on the device.

Fingers quickly typed in his password, and as the loading screen blared on for what felt like a million years, his foot tapped impatiently against the floor.

Finally, finally, he was logged in and he clicked the little blue Discord icon. The app blared open and–