Kendra_Storm



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    “Any special someone you’re planning to celebrate the win with?”

    Ilya takes a moment to think. “Ah, my dog, Anya. She is very special to me.” He pauses, then, “So is her pretty pet sitter.”

    Shane’s jaw drops.

    or, shane is anya's dog walker and occasional pet sitter. her owner, on the other hand, makes being professional extremely difficult.

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    03 Feb 2026

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    "You see that?"

    "yea," Ilya breathed, and he absolutely did see that. He'd been seeing that for months now, catching glimpses of Shane across campus, in the library, at the campus coffee shop where Shane always ordered the same thing; green tea. Ilya had maybe (definitely) developed what could only be described as a massive fucking crush, not that he'd admit it to anyone.

    "No one," Jake said, drawing out the words like he was making a dramatic announcement, "has ever bagged Hollander. Not once. The guy's basically allergic to giving anyone below his iq level a chance. But you—" he jabbed a finger into Ilya's chest, "—If anyone could do it, it's you."

    Ilya's alcohol-drawned brain was already latching onto the challenge before Jake even finished. "So what is the bet exactly?"

    "One month. You get Hollander to go out with you, really go out with you like proper dating and I'll give you a thousand bucks."

    It was the most idiotic idea he’s ever heard come out of Jake’s mouth (and that's saying a lot), so like any sane person; Ilya should just say no and move on with his life–

    "Deal."

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    03 Feb 2026

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    Shane Hollander was a man defined by rigor. By structure. By the elegant logic of a system mastered through sheer, unyielding effort. He spoke seven languages, not because they came naturally—though French and English had been a delightful exception—but because he pursued fluency like a grand, intellectual hunt.

    He, however, was failing Russian 301, and the solution was an enforced, peer-led intervention. His required tutor was a junior who knew the language “by osmosis”, and who, Shane knew from the university bulletin and an unfortunate run-in near the campus gym, belonged to the most obnoxious caste on campus: the frat star athletes.

    Ilya fucking Rozanov.

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    03 Feb 2026

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    “I am normal,” says Shane, rearranging his silverware on the table. “And I will pass Logic, ignore Ilya Rozanov, and continue to be normal forever until I die.” When he reaches for Rose’s fork to move it parallel to her plate, she grabs his wrist and gently sets it on the table.

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    30 Jan 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “Fuck you, Rozanov—”

    Ilya takes a step closer. “You would totally hate that, so why ask for it?”

    All of a sudden, Shane’s defensive posture deflates. He makes himself small under Ilya’s hard gaze. His frown disappears, and his elegant cheeks flush a deep shade of red. He avoids Ilya’s eyes like the plague, and his throat visibly struggles to swallow.

    It lasts five seconds before Shane tries to pull himself together, but it’s too late. Ilya catches it immediately, and his annoyance vanishes.

    Realization hits him like a motherfucking truck in the middle of the road.

    “Oh my god, Hollander.” Ilya’s voice is flirty and teasing. He tries not to smirk like a Cheshire cat, but he can’t help it. His cheeks hurt from the enormous, unapologetic smile. “You would totally love it. Right?”

    Language:
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    30 Jan 2026