Chapter Text
Ilya Rozanov was already in a foul mood when he heard it.
He was coming from his statistics class, something stupid that the university required him to take, although he didn’t understand why. He had told his stats professor this when she pulled him aside after class today. He was getting a degree in English for Christ’s sake. He didn’t need to know about a fuck ass p-value.
She had been gentle with him about it, at least. “If you want to play professional hockey, Ilya, people are always going to be talking about your stats. You know this. Wouldn’t it be nice to understand them?”
Ilya didn’t really see how this applied. Shots on goal was how many times the goalie went into defensive position or the puck hit the back of the net. There was no p-value. There was no complicated math. But he had grumbled and said he would come in for office hours if he still didn’t understand. She had deemed this satisfactory, and let him go.
In truth, Ilya didn’t really care about going to University. He went because his mother had told him to make something of himself, and he would be damned if he let her down. He had chosen English because his mother used to read him novels as he was falling asleep. He didn’t remember now what they were about. But he remembered that her voice was soft and her hands around him were warm. He remembered that she would create whole worlds for him, worlds that were better than his cold house in Moscow. It only made sense then, that he would read more stories for her. That he would make sense of the complicated stories and maybe then he could make sense of his own.
University was also a good excuse to get out of Russia. And it let him play hockey. All around, a win really.
He was cutting through the library on his way home when he heard the loudest alarm blaring. The girl walking next to him physically flinched. He’d seen the Wizard of Oz once, when he was high with Marley. It sounded like the one at the beginning, when the tornado was coming. Shit, did they have tornados in Michigan?
It took a second for him to realize that the alarm was now saying something. Jesus Christ. He pulled out his headphones and listened.
“Shelter in place. Avoid windows. Shelter in place. Avoid windows.”
Fuck it really was a tornado. They really did get those in Michigan.
Next to him, the girl pulled out her cell phone. He watched all the color drain out of her face. She too must have never seen a tornado. She looked up at him and whispered “is this real?”
Ilya felt his own phone buzzing. He noticed everyone around them was moving now. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as the girl next to him was grabbing his arm. Ilya just stared at her. What the fuck? “Come on!” she hissed.
As she pulled him into the stairwell, he looked down at his phone. The text alert must have gone out campus wide. They did this sometimes, making sure their alarm systems worked and their communications were accurate. Ilya knew because they always sent 800 emails about it the week before to remind them they were testing. He tried to remember if he had seen any emails this past week. Not that it really mattered. He was in it now.
He lost the girl in the stairwell. There were too many bodies, and he felt annoyed. If he was going to die in a tornado, it certainly wouldn’t be stuck in a stairwell with these people. Besides, weren’t you supposed to stand in a doorway or something? Fucking America and their natural disasters. In Moscow, you worried about ice and snow. In Michigan, they had that too. But now they had tornados, and weird flies in the summer, and…
Ilya read the campus alert text message. And then he read it again just to make sure. And then a third time. He felt like his brain was made of quicksand, and the words were swirling down before he could process them. Was this real?
He took the stairs two at a time. The top of the library would have a better view point. Not great, but better than here. Avoid windows. He would, he told himself. He just wanted to see first, and then he would.
He slipped out of the stairwell on the top floor. The library was quiet now. The normal chatter and buzz of students had been hushed. He slinked over to the window and watched. A few people were running into the nearest building. Otherwise, he had never seen the campus this dead.
He cursed under his breath and pulled open the study room door to the left of him. He slipped in the study room and pulled the door shut gently behind him. He closed his eyes for a minute, leaning up against the door, and reminded himself to breathe. Everything would be fine. Everything would be fine, right?
When he looked up, he saw the other man sitting at the round table, textbook open, notebooks spread everywhere, and laptop open. Shane fucking Hollander. Because of course the universe was subjecting him to this today. Other than the day his mother died, Ilya was pretty sure this was shaping up to be one of the worst days of his life. Another circle of hell.
Hollander hadn’t noticed him yet. Of course not. He had his military grade noise canceling headphones in and was looking down at what was probably another textbook in his lap. Was he fucking serious? Ilya wanted to roll his eyes. But then he remembered the situation and Jesus did he even know? Ilya took a step towards him, and Hollander’s eyes snapped up. He pulled the headphones out of his ear and said “what the fu-”
Ilya had never moved so fast in his life. He pressed his hand over Hollander’s mouth and tried to communicate wordlessly that Hollander should shut up, which of course, did not work. Hollander bit him and he flinched, pulling his hand away.
“What the fuck?!” Hollander hissed at him. Ilya didn’t trust himself to speak yet. Instead, he grabbed Hollander’s phone and pushed it across the table.
***
Physics II was kicking Shane’s ass. He knew enough to know that if he didn’t really sit and focus, he was going to get his ass kicked harder. And so he found himself in the library on a Thursday when his morning class let out early, and planned to spend the rest of the afternoon holed up until he didn’t feel that way anymore. Or until hockey practice started. Whichever came first.
Shane knew he didn’t need the physiology degree. Most of the guys on the team were majoring in business or communications. But he also knew that his health wasn’t a guarantee and that he couldn’t play pro-hockey forever. Besides, it made sense to study the human body. Shane figured if he knew how the body worked, he could make himself a better player. And while his health wasn’t a guarantee, he was going to be sure his place in the NHL draft would be.
Soft beats flowed through his headphones as Shane loaded the latest physics assignment on his computer. He had the physical textbook open on the table, and his notes on his left. He was going to get this. He set an alarm on his phone to make sure he’d have enough time to get ready for practice, and pulled his calculator out and onto his lap. Ok. Let’s get to work.
Shane worked hard at everything he did. He had his mother’s work ethic engrained in him from a very young age. Being good was fine, but it wasn’t enough. Being the best was the only satisfactory outcome. And while he was selected as the captain this year over Rozanov (the rumor was the coaches hoped Shane’s calm and no-nonsense attitude could rub off on some of the younger players, and besides, he was one hell of a playmaker), he knew his spot on the first line depended on him being the best. Being the meant putting in the extra hours on the rink. It meant going the extra mile. It meant sitting in the fucking library to get a decent grade in a difficult class.
Shane didn’t notice when the door opened. He only saw Rozanov when he started walking towards him. What the fuck? He was already a dick on the ice, he had to antagonize Shane in the library too?
Shane was annoyed. He was almost done and he was in the zone, and here came Rozanov just to fuck with him. Shane glared at him and pulled out his headphones.
“What the fu-”
Rozanov covered Shane’s mouth quickly. Shane tried not to gag. He knew Rozanov did not give a fuck about germs. Shane wasn’t really sure what Rozanov cared about, but he knew that much. At the moment though, Rozanov didn’t look like he was trying to fuck with Shane about germs. His eyes looked wild and panicked. He was gesturing wildly, but Shane had no idea what the gestures meant. Was he serious? Shane couldn’t believe this. Whatever prank this was was not funny. Shane glared at him again. And then he bit him.
Shane tried not to think about the germs. Instead, he glared up at Rozanoz, who had put his pointer finger over his mouth and shushed Shane. What. the. Fuck?!
“What the fuck?!” Shane whispered to him. This isn’t funny. Fuck off.
Rozanov picked up Shane’s phone. He handed it to him wordlessly and then steadied his hands on the table. He was breathing a little hard, and he still looked panicked.
Shane glanced down at his phone. The university alert was his first notification.
“!Alert Michigan!
Emergency: Armed, dangerous person on or near campus. Go inside now; avoid windows. alertmichigan.mich.edu”
And then everything went black.