Chapter Text
January 2008 – Salt Lake City, UT
The fanned out college acceptance letters sat on the kitchen table proudly, like they were on display. Shane sat with his parents and paternal grandparents at the kitchen table, arms folded and head bowed, sneaking glances at the letters every few seconds, excitement pulsing through him.
“We ask for a special blessing on Shane, Father,” His dad continued with their family prayer, his voice earnest. “And his important upcoming decision. We, again, are so grateful Father, for Shane’s talent and gifts he has been given –”
Shane fidgeted in his seat, the anticipation killing him.
“–and we ask that he be guided to make the most righteous choice, and to choose a school that will push him towards missionary service and a righteous spouse. And we say this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen!” Shane blurted a little too quickly, reaching for the envelopes instantly. His parents exchanged fond, slightly exasperated glances. His grandma pursed her lips.
His dad handed him the envelope from BYU first. Shane almost groaned aloud. He already knew what BYU was going to say, that was the last letter in the pile he cared about.
He ripped in open anyways in a hurry and quickly read the words aloud. “Dear Mr. Hollander– we are pleased to – blah blah – accepted! Full ride!” He tossed the paper back onto the table. “Great! Next!”
Grandma and Grandpa Hollander exchanged disapproving glances. Shane’s mom pushed another letter towards him, her eyes sparkling at his excitement.
“From Wisconsin,” Mom said as Shane began to tear into the paper. “Your, what – second choice? Hm?”
Shane’s eyes scanned the words on the paper hurriedly. “Yeah, second choice. Dear Mr. Hollander– um– we are pleased to – yes!” He put his hand in a fist, pumping the air. “Accepted! Full ride for hockey!”
His mom actually jumped up at that, like she couldn’t contain her excitement. Shane beamed at her. His grandma leaned over to his dad.
“Is this really necessary? If he’s just going to go to BYU before his mission?” Grandma asked. Shane’s dad waved a hand at her, trying to avert the attention to Shane.
Shane chose to ignore her, wanting to save that fun conversation for another day. He’d been waiting for this moment his entire life. Years of practice, missing out on hangouts with friends, split lips and bruises, had led to this moment. And for a moment, he just wanted to pretend he was a regular seventeen-year-old kid that wanted to play hockey in college. For a moment, he could pretend all he had to do was be the best freaking hockey player of all time, instead of the perfect Mormon missionary in a year's time.
His mom, her eyes gleaming with tears, pushed another letter towards him.
“You have so many more to open,” She said, her voice shaking with excitement. She seemed to be more thrilled than Shane. God, he loved her so much. “But I don’t think I can wait. And I don’t think you can either.”
Shane lurched forward, snatching the envelope from her hands. In maroon and gold letters, the words Boston College decorated the front.
His hands shook. The room was silent, except for the sound of paper tearing.
“Dear Mr. Hollander, we are pleased to offer you acceptance to –” He stopped, putting a hand over his eyes, joy bursting. He heard his mother’s chair scrape against the floor and her arms wrapped around him tightly. He kept a hand over his eyes, tears threatening to fall. In seconds, his father’s arms were around him too. “Accepted –” Shane reaffirmed, repeating the words typed onto the paper. “I’m accepted – full ride to play hockey – to Boston College!” He whooped. His parents squeezed tighter.
His first choice.
Across the table, his grandparents exchanged uncertain glances again. “That’s wonderful, dear,” His grandma said, voice tight. “I’m sure that will be a wonderful choice after your mission.”
Shane tried to ignore the drop in his stomach.
____________________
A week later, the excitement began to wane when Shane noticed his father repeating the same ideas as grandma.
“I’m sure they’ll understand! It’s a religious exemption!” His father voiced, placing silverware on the table.
Shane let out a groan. “Dad, that doesn’t always work with a school as great as Boston! Plus, they’ll wonder why I accepted a different full ride to a different school!”
“It’s only for a year!” His dad said, his voice raising slightly. “Just a year! Then your mission, then hockey!”
Shane shut his mouth tight, chewing on his bottom lip, hard. Boys couldn’t leave on their LDS missions until they were nineteen. That left him with a gap year in between graduating high school and leaving for his mission.
I wish so bad I didn’t have to go.
Shane bit his lip harder, shocked at the thought. He knew he had to go. He knew it was what was right, what God wanted from him –
Everyone will hate you forever if you don’t go. No girl will ever want to marry you.
He shook his head openly, trying to eradicate the selfish thoughts from his mind. He should want to go on a mission. He was lucky to get to go.
His dad stared at him and waited for an answer. Shane just shook his head again and turned wordlessly on his heel towards the kitchen. A familiar icy dread settled in his gut and spread quickly to his limbs, making them shake involuntarily. His breath came in short gasps.
This happened, sometimes. A lot of times. Some weeks were bad, some were worse, some were fine. When he couldn’t do it all, it was almost like his body began to shut down. He needed to be the best at hockey, because hockey was what he loved and he was great at it. He needed to get good grades. He needed to get to church early every Sunday to set up the sacrament and bless it. He needed to be at seminary every weekday. He needed to lead the other young men in the ward since he was one of the oldest now. He needed to keep worthy of his temple recommend so he could go on a mission and –
He needed to make sure he liked girls. He had a few more years to start liking girls.
His breath was really gasping once he stumbled into the kitchen, finding his mom standing by the stove.
She looked up at him, and, with the understanding of a mother, clocked instantly what he was feeling.
“Shane,” She said, reaching for him. “What’s wrong?”
Shane shook his head, trying to calm himself with the motion. “Just– just dad. And BYU. And– and–”
“Oh honey, come here–”
He nodded and stepped into her open arms instantly. She got him. Of everyone in the world, Shane always knew his mom would do her best to understand. He couldn’t tell her everything, obviously. That would be too much. But she was always able to calm him somehow. He had been having anxiety and panic attacks for as long as he could remember. His grandma Hollander liked to call them “spiritual battles” because she didn’t believe in anxiety or any mental health stuff. But his mom did, and she’d been proactive about getting Shane some professional help.
When grandma had found out Shane was going to a therapist at the age of fifteen, and was potentially going to put on anxiety medication, she’d thrown a fit.
“What does he need therapy for? Why can’t he just see his bishop?” She had asked his parents in the living room, while Shane listened silently from the hallway. “This is all just the influence of Satan. Are you sure he isn’t looking at pornography? These boys can get it more and more these days.”
Grandpa Hollander’s family was practically LDS church royalty. His father was David Hollander, who had been one of the twelve apostles years ago. His father was James Hollander, and his father was Timothy Hollander, who had been a close personal friend of Brigham Young. Timothy Hollander had had five wives and at least thirty children. The entire Hollander family had always been huge, its members making sure to have as many children as possible to be obedient and fruitful. His grandma herself had eight children of her own.
After Shane had been born, his mother had some health complications that led to her decision to get a hysterectomy. Grandma had been devastated, and rattled off endless stories to Yuna about women who had been falsely told by their doctors that they couldn’t have any more children, but the women had ignored them and had more babies anyways. And they were blessed with larger families because of their faith in the Lord.
Shane’s mom had never seemed to mind having only one child, though. They’d been best friends as long as Shane could remember, and he couldn’t recall one time where his mother had expressed any regret about the number of children she had. She always told Shane that he was all she ever needed.
“It’s okay, honey,” His mom said firmly, holding him tight. “Just breathe. It’s going to be okay.”
Shane heard his dad enter the kitchen, following after Shane. His shoes squeaked in a stop at the sight of Shane and Yuna, and he sighed.
“I’m sorry, bud,” His dad started. “I didn’t mean to – I don’t want you to worry,” Shane pulled back from his mom and turned to see his dad. Yuna kept her hand on Shane’s arm. “It’s your decision at the end of the day. We trust you.”
“We love you,” Yuna said, rubbing his arm. “No matter what.”
They were all three silent. David Hollander looked torn, his face both concerned and overwhelmed. He made a step forward, reaching for Shane.
“Do you think I won’t go on a mission if I go to Boston?” Shane asked quietly.
His father stopped. He and Yuna exchanged glances.
“It’s not – no, bud. It’s not just that. We just – I know your grandparents and the bishop would prefer if you went to a church school first. That’s all.”
Yuna and Shane both stared at him.
David continued. “Our leaders do tell us, Shane, that the influence of Satan is so much more intense right before the mission. He wants to do everything he can to keep you from going.” He stepped forward again, closing the distance between them and placing a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Boston is an amazing school, but it’s a worldly school. There’s going to be all kinds of bad influences. Drinking, parties, girls –”
Shane bit down on his lower lip. Hard.
“I just – we just –” He nodded towards Yuna. She stared back at her husband, impassive. “We want to make sure you keep close to the Church. That’s all.”
There was a shiver of silence. His mother rubbed circles on his arm, but remained silent. She almost always kept quiet during conversations like this, and sometimes Shane wished she would say what she was thinking too. Did she also believe that Shane would forsake his missionary obligation if he didn’t go to BYU?
“Of course I’ll keep close to the Church,” Shane voiced softly, blinking back tears. “It’s everything to me. And I think I could really make it to the NHL if I put in the work, and that will be good for the Church too – if I’m in the NHL and I share my testimony with the fans. This could be such a great thing.”
“I know, kiddo,” His dad assured him. “I know, you’re right. Whatever you choose, I trust you, bud.”
Shane gave him a small smile. Yuna finally relinquished her hold on her son and allowed David to pull him in for a hug. Shane squeezed his dad, the deep pit in his stomach persisting in intensity.
“Plus,” Shane said, his voice muffled in his dad’s shoulder. “It’s Boston. I’ve – I’ve wanted this since I was seven. Since we went to that first game when we were visiting,” His father pulled him back so he could see his face, his eyes gleaming. “I just want to show them what I can do so bad. That way when I have to defer for two years, they hopefully won’t mind as much.”
His dad squeezed his shoulder. “You’re right, bud.” He squeezed harder. “And yeah, oh my heck, it’s Boston College.”
Shane bounced on the balls of his feet, letting himself be excited. His dad was convinced, and if his dad was convinced, grandma and grandpa wouldn’t be too far behind. And then his aunts and his uncles and cousins would understand, and the bishop, and his friends, and no one would think him any less faithful for not going to an LDS school before his mission.
“Boston College,” Shane echoed. They all grinned, the atmosphere in the kitchen lifting. “Oh my heck.”
____________________
August 2008, Boston College, Boston MA
Ilya fucking loved Boston.
He was laying on the vast green lawn outside of his new dormitory, hands behind his head and eyes closed. The August sun shone hot, and felt like a battery charger to Ilya, seeping vitamin D into his veins.
To the left of him, a cluster of freshman girls chatted and giggled. It was over eighty degrees, and they were all in the shortest of shorts and tiny little tops. To the right, two freshman boys worked out together shirtless on the lawn, glancing over at the girls from time to time.
He sighed. “I fucking love it here.” He whispered to himself.
It felt so free. He’d been here for a week, and was entranced by the lack of stifling laws and conservative expectations. While exploring his new campus and city, he saw women wearing all kinds of revealing clothing without a thought, two men holding hands, men kissing in public, women kissing in public.
Fucking amazing.
He’d had three hookups already. Two women, one man. No one batted an eye. No one cared. It was amazing. Boston was amazing. He was free.
At least, for now.
Leaving Russia had been excruciating. His father’s and brother’s disapproval was firm and cold. But they were far away now, across the ocean, and when he was an NHL star someday with his millions they would thank him.
He headed back to his dorm once the sun started setting, buzzing. The vibes on campus so far were great, and so many of his Eagles team members he’d met were warm and welcoming. Several of them were living in the same dormitory hall as Ilya, and his roommate was supposed to be on the team as well.
The hall was noisy and electric when Ilya walked in. Guys were in and out of doors, chatting in the common area, laughing loudly, and messing around. It was Friday night – classes didn’t start until Monday and everyone seemed to be itching to begin making the most of the weekend.
“Rozy!” Called a voice from down the hall. Ilya squinted his eyes, recognizing a few of the guys several doors down.
“Haas!” Ilya called back, hands cupped over his mouth. “Hayes!”
“Let’s go!” Haas hollered back, drawing out the word go. “You coming out tonight?!”
“Fuck yes!” Ilya called back, arriving at his door. “Text me when you’re about to leave!”
His new teammates, Haas and Hayes, were also freshmen and also liked to party. They had so much in common already.
Ilya pushed through the door of his room, aiming to grab his shower stuff. He stopped when he noticed more belongings stacked up in his room, and a boy with his back turned to him unpacking a suitcase.
The new roommate had finally arrived.
At the click of the door shutting, the boy turned quickly, clothes still gripped in his hands. Ilya blinked rapidly at the sight of him, a little dazed at the boy’s features. His roommate stood several inches shorter than himself, and had a face as sweet as a newborn kitten. His hair was a shock of black, and sat swooped up and back from his eyes. Charming freckles scattered his little nose, and his pink lips were in a tight line, like he was thinking hard.
What a cutie, Ilya thought involuntarily.
“Hi,” The boy said, breathless, holding out a hand. “I’m Shane. Hollander.”
Ilya crossed the room and gripped Shane’s hand and looked him in the eyes firmly.
“Ilya.” He replied. “Rozanov.”
Shane beamed. His eyes were bright, earnest. Ilya couldn’t get enough of looking at his face. It was just so pretty.
“You’re on the team, right?” Shane said, their hands still shaking. Ilya held on firmly and squeezed. A light, quick blush colored the tops of Shane’s cheeks.
Adorable.
Ilya tried to rein his thoughts in, not wanting to act so rashly by flirting openly with his new roommate and teammate on their first day of meeting.
He liked that blush though. He kept his grip.
“Da – yes. Centre.”
Shane’s blush deepened. He looked down at their interlocked hands, obviously flustered. “Me too,” He said, voice high.
Ilya dropped his hand and Shane looked relieved. His eyes were still bright and he grinned at Ilya. “It’s great to meet you, I’ve already seen you play some – I’ve been looking at the team roster for months now, just wanting to see how everyone plays and – oh –” Shane blushed deeply again. Ilya was staring, loving Hollander’s babbling. “Sorry, don’t think I’m crazy, please.”
Ilya shook his head and shot Shane a wink. “Is no problem. I don’t mind you stalking me.”
Shane’s eyes widened and he let out a short laugh. He turned back to his suitcase, much to Ilya’s dismay, and continued talking over his shoulder.
“So, you’re from Russia?” Shane asked, piling clothes on his bed and closing his now-empty suitcase. He zipped it and stashed it under the bed, and sat down with a thud where the suitcase had been.
“Da.”
“And da is yes?”
“Da.”
Shane laughed. “Okay. Da.” He kicked his legs against the side of the bed. Ilya took some steps backwards, sitting down on the side of his own bed, facing Shane. “Is this your first time in the States?”
Ilya smiled widely. “Da.”
Shane laughed again. The sound was like music, and the crinkle of Shane’s nose was almost making Ilya feel faint. “Sorry,” Shane said. “Too many yes or no questions.”
“Where are you from?” Ilya asked, leaning back on his hands. His eyes flitted over some of Shane’s belongings that he had already set out. He immediately noticed what looked like a very thick bible on Shane’s desk. It looked well-loved, and was littered with tabs sticking out of the sides. A framed photo also sat on the desk, showing Shane standing between two people that were probably his parents. Behind them was a large, gray building that almost looked like a cathedral or church.
“Salt Lake City. In Utah.” Shane answered.
Ilya furrowed his brow, racking his brain for where he had heard of Salt Lake City before.
“It’s okay,” Shane said, chucking at Ilya’s serious face. “You probably have never heard of Utah.”
“No, no, I think I have,” Ilya said, thinking harder. “Salt Lake – hm –”
Shane tilted his head to the side. “The winter olympics?” He offered. “They were there just a few years ago.”
Ilya perked up. “Yes!” He said, pointing at Shane. “The last winter olympics! I remember, because – because, well, we watched them. Together.” He blinked, thinking of his mother. “And I was so into hockey, even then. And I remember that,” Ilya pointed to the framed picture on Shane’s desk. “Being shown. A lot.”
Shane nodded, his feet still kicking. God, he was adorable. Ilya wondered if he was even aware of it. “Yeah, that’s the Salt Lake Temple. That’s me and my parents, there – in front, ya know –” He trailed off slowly. Ilya stood up and strode over to the desk.
“Temple?” He asked, bending down to look at the picture closer. Shane’s parents gripped him tightly in the photo, clearly very fond of their son. “What is this? Temple?”
“It’s an LDS temple. Or, Mormon. I am. Mormon, I mean.”
Ilya turned from the photo to look at Shane. “Is a Mormon temple? And you are too?”
“Yeah,” Shane clarified, head nodding.
Ilya hummed. “I think I’ve heard of those,” He said, thumbing at the large bible. The Book of Mormon gleamed in gold letters on the side. Ilya pointed at the left side of his chest. “They wear these little tags, yes? And wear white shirts?”
Shane laughed. “Yeah, the missionaries do. But you don’t have to wear those when you’re not a missionary.”
Ilya nodded, plopping down next to Shane on the bed. Shane started at the sudden closeness and scrambled over so Ilya wasn’t practically sitting on him. Ilya faced him, touching their knees together. He couldn’t help it. He was feeling insane, risky, stupid. This Hollander kid was making him feel insane. The pink blush that crept back up Shane’s skin told Ilya that he might not be the only one feeling a little insane.
“Have to,” Ilya said, repeating Shane’s words. “Are there things you do have to do? Or can’t do?”
Shane sucked in a breath, and looked down at their knees touching. Ilya kept his leg in place. “Uh, well, I don’t think there’s anything I have to –”
“Drinking?” Ilya asked.
Shane met Ilya’s eyes and shook his head slightly. “Uh, no. I don’t drink.”
Ilya blew a raspberry. “Boring.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Not really.”
“Very boring, Hollander. Sex?”
Shane flushed bright red at that. “W-what?” His eyes were wide, like he’d never heard the word sex before.
Maybe he hadn’t? Ilya didn’t know much about these Mormon people.
“Sex,” Ilya repeated. “You can’t have sex?”
“Oh – oh,” Shane said, still red. Ilya pressed his knee against Shane’s harder, surprised that Shane didn’t push him away. “No, I can’t have sex. Not until I’m married, ya know.”
They looked at each other and Ilya hummed. Shane’s freckles were so much more prominent than Ilya had noticed from across the room. Up close they were like constellations, stretching across the galaxy of Shane’s nose and under his eyes. Ilya wanted to lick them.
God, what the hell was his issue?
“Shame,” said Ilya, leaning back on his forearms. Shane twisted to keep looking at him. “There are so many hot girls here, Hollander. So many. I’ve been here a week, scoping them out. Perfect asses,” Shane sucked in a little breath at the word asses. Ilya was delighted. Teasing him was so easy. “Perfect tits.”
Shane gaped. “Well, that’s great. I’ll just have to – admire from afar, I suppose.”
Ilya laughed, and Shane grinned back at him, loosening a little. “Da, you suppose. Hot guys too–” Ilya added, just to be a shit. Shane stiffened right back up, and Ilya noticed him grab his lower lip between his teeth and give it a hard bite. “Lots of them. All over.”
Shane kept chewing at his lip, looking down at his hands. “That’s – great.”
“Yes, all great for me,” Ilya said, moving his leg from Shane’s and giving him a light punch on the shoulder. “Lighten up, Mormon boy. You’re out of Utah. World is – ah, what? Is saying? World is –”
“My oyster?” Shane finished, looking up and rolling his eyes again. Bratty. Ilya nodded.
“Da! Yes, Hollander. World is your oyster. Me and some other team members are going out tonight.” He sat up and nudged Shane’s shoulder. “Come with us.”
Shane narrowed his eyes at Ilya. “Going out? Where? You’re eighteen, it’s not like you can go to any bars or anything.”
Ilya stared at him. “Oh Hollander. You cutie. You little Mormon baby.” Shane made a disapproving sound in his throat at that. “You think alcohol only exists in bars?”
Shane sputtered. “Well, no. I know it exists – in other places –”
“Besides, you don’t have to drink to come out,” Ilya said, patting Shane on the back. “Not required. ”
“Well,” Shane said, looking down at his hands again, chewing more at that lower lip. God, he was so uptight. Ilya could just feel it pulsing off of him. “I dunno. I’ve never really been to any – parties or anything like that.”
Ilya stared. “No parties? Ever? This is rule, of your religion?”
Shane chucked slightly. “Not really,” He said. “I don’t know. I guess it’s sort of a rule. We’re not really supposed to be around alcohol or drugs or bad music – stuff like that.”
Ilya gaped at him. “God, Hollander,” Ilya groaned. “This Mormon thing is already such a pain in my ass!”
Shane winced, curling in a little on himself. “Sorry,” He said, his voice soft.
Sudden affection rushed over Ilya. “No, no,” He said immediately. “No sorry needed. So you can’t come out?”
Shane’s shoulders slumped. His body was angled slightly so he was facing Ilya, making their knees bump against each other again. “Yeah, I guess not.” He said dejectedly.
That same affection continued to tug at Ilya’s heart. Seriously, what was wrong with him? The words were out of his mouth before he could even think. “Do you want me to stay here with you?”
Genuine shock crossed Shane’s face. He shook his head quickly. “What? No – no, don’t feel, you don’t have to, we just met,” Shane breathed out a laugh. “You don’t have to feel responsible for me.”
Ilya scoffed. “Not responsible, Hollander. Just being a good friend to my new roommate and teammate. Cannot leave you all alone on your first night at new school, da?”
Shane smiled slowly, his eyes sparkling. “Da,” He answered back. Ilya felt his stomach swoop.
“Da.” He returned. “You’ll see. I’m a great friend.”
____________________
They talked for hours. Their conversation in the dormitory continued while they unpacked the rest of Shane’s things and decorations he had to put on the walls. There was a picture of Jesus that Hollander wanted to put up, which Ilya didn’t mind. Jesus was cool, and the Jesus picture that Hollander had was holding a little lamb. That was fine. Cute. Like Hollander.
He drew the line at the creepy looking old men though.
“Hollander.” Ilya said sharply, holding up a medium sized poster of three old men in suits. “Who the hell are these grandpas?”
Shane crossed the room (which wasn’t far) and snatched the picture from Ilya’s hands. “Don’t.” He said, offering no other explanation.
Ilya tried to look at the poster again. “Who are they?”
Shane set the poster on his desk. “Just – the leaders. In my church. It’s the prophet and his counselors.”
Ilya stared at the old men’s faces. Weird. “Prophet? He wants you to have a picture of him in your room?”
“No – what?” Shane asked, squinting at Ilya like he was insane. “He – he’s just the prophet. It’s stuff that’s important to me.”
Ilya squinted right back. “It’s important to you to have geriatric prophet and his friends on the wall?” He looked at the picture again. They just looked like old guys in suits.
Shane tightened his lips, looking annoyed. Good. The annoyed face was so, so cute. He picked the poster up from the desk. “Is it a dealbreaker?”
Ilya huffed. “Uh. Kinda.”
Shane tried not to smile. “But it’s my favorite picture. Ever.”
Ilya snatched it from his hands. “Is not.”
“Is too!” Said Shane, grabbing for it back. Ilya held him away with one arm, waving the old man poster over them both. He had a few inches in height over Shane and it just made his attraction for him burn harder. His hand closed over Shane’s wrist and he felt a shiver go down his spine.
I need to fucking get it together. Absolutely no feelings for a roommate on day one. What is wrong with me?
Ilya handed the poster back to Shane and let go of his wrist, stepping back to watch him. Shane folded up the poster neatly and tossed it in a desk drawer, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I won’t torture you with the prophet looking at you all night.”
“God,” Ilya said. “Thank you.”
Shane tried again not to smile, obviously finding Ilya funny. That fact made Ilya feel practically lightheaded with happiness. Making Shane laugh was a delight, and he seemed to be able to do it easily. Shane could play uptight all he wanted, but there was something there that seemed amused by Ilya’s antics.
There was a beat of silence while Shane moved on to hanging up some of his clothes in his part of the closet. Ilya watched him, his mind racing.
“What is prophet?” Ilya asked suddenly. “Like, what does he do?”
Shane turned to him, holding a hanger. “Oh, um, well he’s like the leader. Of the LDS church. He’s who talks directly to God.”
Ilya jerked his head back a little at that last statement. “Oh. Directly to God.” He laughed quietly. “That’s – bold.”
Shane tilted his head at Ilya. “Yeah,” He agreed. “It is pretty bold, I guess.”
“So he makes the rules?” Ilya asked.
“Well – not really. God does, you know? And he’s just the one who tells us about them.”
“Oh,” said Ilya, not understanding. “So only he can? Tell you about them?”
“I mean, there’s lots of leaders with priesthood authority to give direction. That’s why the prophet has his counselors, and he has twelve apostles too –”
It was literally like Hollander was speaking a different language. Not only was Ilya trying to keep up with the English, he also had to understand and decipher all of Hollander’s little religious terms.
“Priesthood?” Ilya asked. “Authority?”
Shane was turned fully now. His eyes were earnest, like he was excited about something. “That’s the power of God.”
What? “Okay. So – those men have the power of God authority to – what? Tell you it’s not okay to have sex?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Well, I mean, any worthy man can hold the priesthood. They just have – more authority.”
Ilya’s brain was scrambled. “What – what? Anyone can have power of God? But they have more? So much that they need to go on wall?”
Shane laughed loudly at that. Ilya grinned at him and crossed over to the closet, gripping at the sleeve of Shane’s shirt. Shane smiled a closed lip smile at him.
“There’s just–” Shane paused. “Levels. To the authority. To keep everything organized.” Shane shrugged. “They’re really good guys. I look up to them a lot. They hold a big conference every few months and speak, and it’s really great. I love it.”
“Right,” Ilya said, letting go of Shane’s shirt. “Do you have this priesthood? Can you talk at conference?”
Shane nodded and then stopped himself with a smile. “Yeah, I do have it. The priesthood. I got it when I was twelve.” He chucked. “I don’t think I’m a big enough deal to talk at conference, though.”
“Sad,” Said Ilya, sticking his lower lip out. “Maybe someday.”
At that, Shane looked a little forlorn. “Yeah,” He said. “Maybe.”
He turned and continued hanging up his clothes. Ilya stared at his back, mind racing. He’d never been so fascinated with anyone in his entire life. What an interesting person – Shane Hollander – insanely attractive, hockey playing, golden Mormon boy, stressed, Shane Hollander. Ilya thought he knew pressure from his father and brother and strict motherland. But Hollander, his was a stress that Ilya felt deep sympathy for. Ilya had heard a lot about Hollander before coming to school. He was one of the most anticipated freshman coming onto the team, with more goals and assists in his high school years than any other freshman had in years. He was practically a hockey prodigy. And now, Ilya was finding that Hollander didn’t only have that, but he also had this faith looming over him with seemingly intense pressure as well.
Crazily, Ilya felt like he related to Shane’s pressure, in a way.
“Are you hungry?” He asked Hollander after a couple minutes of silence.
Hollander looked back at him. “I could eat.”
They walked off campus together to a small burger shop on the corner. Shane ordered a burger wrapped in lettuce, which Ilya made gagging noises at, much to Shane’s annoyance.
“You’re going to be hungry,” Ilya told him as they carried their food to a bench. Shane had his lettuce burger and a diet lemonade. Ilya had two cheeseburgers, a Coke, and a large basket of fries. Shane crinkled his nose.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” Ilya told him as they sat. “Don’t ask for any of my fries when you are.”
Shane scoffed. “Trust me, I won’t.”
About ten minutes after Shane finished his lettuce burger, he was picking at Ilya’s unfinished french fries. Ilya pushed them closer to him across the bench. Shane had just asked Ilya if he wanted to come to church with him on Sunday, and Ilya had groaned and said “boring” and asked Shane how often he went to this church.
“Every Sunday.” Shane answered.
Ilya raised his eyebrows. “Every Sunday?”
“Da,” Shane said in a bratty voice, popping a fry in his mouth. “Every Sunday. For three hours.”
Ilya’s mouth hung open. “Three hours? Every Sunday? God, Hollander. Do you need this much help from Jesus? What happens if you don’t go?”
“Nothing,” Shane laughed. “You just don’t get to take the sacrament and learn, I guess.”
“Sacrament?” Ilya asked, what must have been the millionth question about Shane’s very, very odd religion. Ilya was slowly suspecting it was a little bit of a cult, but he kept that to himself. It was weird, but Shane was a cutie patootie so the weirdness was worth it.
“Yeah, like,” Shane grabbed another fry. Ilya stifled a smile. “You know the last supper? With Jesus?”
Ilya nodded. “Yes, I know this. My mother – she grow up very religious.”
“Really? Catholic?”
“Russian orthodox,” Ilya corrected, pulling out his cross from his shirt. “She loved Jesus – my mother –”
Shane looked at the cross and then at Ilya. There was an odd expression on his face. “That’s nice,” Shane said, softly, genuinely.
“Yes,” Ilya continued. “So I know this – last supper. There was a big picture of it in church I went to growing up.”
“Yeah,” Shane nodded. “So, every week at my church we have sacrament, which was like, started with the last supper. With Jesus. We have bread and water blessed by the priesthood and we all take some. To remember Him.”
Ilya nodded. That made sense. It was like communion. Except – “No wine?” He asked.
Shane shook his head. “No wine.”
Ilya smirked. “But Jesus drank wine.”
There was a beat. “Whatever.” Shane said, eating another three fries. Ilya was glad he got a large.
“So you go every week to have bread and water?”
Shane shrugged. “And to go to classes, and stuff.”
“What if you don’t go?”
“I don’t – I mean, I guess you won’t be clean,” Shane said, his teeth finding his lower lip and chomping. “The sacrament makes you clean of your sins.”
“God,” Ilya said, not thinking. “This is genius of Mormon old men. Go to church every week or you will have extra week of sins.” He said in a gruff voice, mimicking an old man. “Is so smart. Good retention.”
Shane huffed and narrowed his eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“Kind of sounds like that.”
“Well, it’s not,” Hollander bit back lamely. He pulled his hand away from the basket of fries he was stealing from Ilya and began picking at his nails, along with continuing to chew at his goddamn lip. Ilya softened, hating the sight of his distress.
“Right,” Ilya said, taking a french fry and discreetly nudging the basket closer to Hollander when he did. He scooted a little closer himself. “Well, it sounds nice, your church.” It really didn’t. “Maybe I’ll come sometime.”
Shane turned his head to look at Ilya, beaming. Ilya’s stomach did that stupid swoop again.
There was something here. It was so, so obvious. They had met just hours ago and instantly made heart eyes at each other. They couldn’t stop talking, laughing, joking, teasing. There were little touches all over the place. Ilya instigated pretty much every touch, but Shane didn’t seem to recoil or seem uncomfortable in any way. He blushed so sweetly instead, even at a hand on his shoulder.
It was obvious. But somehow, Shane seemed oblivious.
Hollander was clearly gay. Or at least bi. It wasn’t an obvious thing to an outsider looking in, and probably wouldn’t even be obvious to their teammates. But it was obvious to Ilya. He’d learned, especially with the expectations of Russia, how to tell if there was a little vibe with another guy. Sasha had given that vibe. Shane gave that vibe – his was like alarm bells in Ilya’s face, making him crazy.
But Shane didn’t know. Or he did, a little. And just bit the shit out of his poor lip if he ever thought about it.
“Come on,” Ilya said to Shane, pulling on his arm softly. Shane obeyed, standing up with Ilya instantly. Ilya looked down at him. It was dark outside now, and Ilya swore he could see actual stars shining in Shane’s eyes.
I’m fucked.
They walked back to their dorm, shoulders bumping occasionally as they went. Shane’s head was down, hands in his pockets. The campus was crazier than usual tonight. It was the Friday before fall semester, and there were all kinds of events and parties going on on campus. Screaming sorority girls waved at the two of them as they passed by. A pair of hot girls in mini skirts, clearly heavily intoxicated, fell into some bushes. Shirtless men with letters painted on their backs ran past them and bumped into Shane, sending him flying into Ilya’s side. Ilya caught him, laughing at the wide-eyed look on Shane’s face.
“Is okay, Hollander,” Ilya yelled to him over music that was blasting from somewhere. He snaked an arm around Hollander’s shoulders, gripping him to his side firmly. Hollander leaned in. “I’ll protect you from all things that are not Mormon.”
They walked like that, looking down at their feet and giggling as they tried to stay shoulder to shoulder and make their legs move at the same time.
The dorm was a lot quieter when they returned. Ilya guessed most of the guys were probably partying somewhere on campus or somewhere else in the city. He checked his phone. It was 9:30.
Something must be seriously wrong with him. How was he heading back home at 9:30 on a Friday night?
He needed to stop this. Hollander was clearly off limits. His faith was obviously very strict and complicated and important to him, and Ilya probably shouldn’t get in the way of that.
Probably.
God, it would be so fun though.
No. Hadn’t he learned from Sasha? Doing bad things was fun in the moment, but the repercussions (like Grigori finding out and beating Ilya within an inch of his life) typically sucked. Ilya didn’t know what Hollander’s home life was like. Maybe he had a Grigori at home waiting to beat him too.
Once they were back in their dorm room, Ilya cleared his throat to get Hollander’s attention.
“I think I might,” Ilya gestured with his head to the outside of their room. “You know. Go find some of the guys.”
“Oh,” Shane said quickly, scrambling himself from out of under Ilya’s arm. For a moment, he looked mortified with himself and picked at his nails. “Oh, right, of course.”
“They’re nice guys – Haas and Hayes. They’re on the team and live here in the hall.” Ilya grabbed his jacket from the closet. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with for a little bit? The promise to protect you still stands.” He raised his eyebrows teasingly at Hollander, who rolled his eyes.
“No, no, it’s fine. Really.” Shane smiled. “You should go hang out. Not be stuck with me.”
Ilya frowned.
“I’ve not been stuck with you,” Ilya said honestly. He decided to keep up the honesty, telling Shane, “You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”
A shy smile lit Shane’s face. “Shut up.”
“Is true. Such cool old man pictures.”
“Shut up,” Shane said again, amused. He reached out to Ilya, probably to push at his shoulder jokingly. But as his arm raised, he stopped himself, like something was whispering in his ear that he shouldn’t, it was too much.
Shane let his arm flop. His fingers found the skin around his nails. “Thanks,” Shane said suddenly, looking nervous. “For, you know – hanging out. Really. It was a hard day.” Shane looked down at his feet, and Ilya thought he heard some emotion in his voice. “Just, saying goodbye to my parents, I know it’s dumb, but they’re just everything to me and I’ve never really been without them much. That’s so pathetic, I know –”
“Hollander,” Ilya voiced, stopping him. “Is okay. Is not bad to miss your family.”
Shane stayed silent, keeping his eyes on the ground. Ilya reached a hand out to cup Shane’s chin and lift his face, but froze briefly. He shouldn’t. He should turn and leave. It was too intimate. It would freak him out.
His arm unfroze before his brain could stop him again, and he was cupping Hollander’s chin in his hand, pulling it up so Ilya’s eyes could meet Shane’s brown ones, all soft and sweet and trusting.
Fuck.
Shane did startle a little at the motion, and blinked rapidly at Ilya’s gaze. But he didn’t squirm away. He didn’t push back. He let Ilya cup his chin between his fingers. Ilya noticed that Shane’s pupils were blown.
Holy. Fuck. He’s gonna kill me.
“Listen,” Ilya said after some silence. “Is very important.”
“Apparently,” said Hollander, snotty. Ilya squeezed his cheeks between his fingers, stopping him from talking.
“Shh. You are brat. Listen. I will go out for a little bit. You will stay here and read your special bible.” Ilya let go of Shane’s face with reluctance, and Shane shot back from him, pretending to be desperately trying to get away. “And I will be back in a few hours. Can’t have you waiting up too late.”
Shane rolled his eyes and flopped down on his bed. “Oh please. Like I care. I’ll be getting a great night’s sleep while you exhaust yourself all night.”
“You don’t care,” Ilya held his chest, wounded. “Devastating. Little Mormon boy won’t be waiting up all night for me.”
Shane groaned in annoyance. “Get outta here–”
“Bye dear,” Ilya answered dramatically. “I promise not to stay out too late.”
“Whatever.”
Ilya left and shut the door behind him, breathing heavy and hating the giddy smile that spread across his face.
Well, it looked like he got along with his new roommate okay.
I’m fucked.
____________________
Church that Sunday felt stifling for Shane.
The air conditioner didn’t seem to be on, his tie was too tight, and he was struggling with nauseating, overwhelming guilt because he could not stop thinking about Ilya Rozanov.
The bishop had come to shake Shane’s hand and ask him to bless the sacrament before the meeting started. Shane had agreed, not wanting to disappoint the bishop on their first meeting, but was reluctant. His thoughts over the last two days definitely hadn’t been in line with the church’s teachings. After meeting Ilya on Friday night, what should have been just a friendly encounter settled into Shane’s innermost thoughts as a forbidden, romantic fantasy. Something he knew he should not entertain. He’d had feelings like this on and off throughout his teenage years, but he’d always been able to brush them off or say a fervent prayer to keep them at bay.
But Ilya’s presence had slammed into him like a bus. His curly hair, his smirk, his green eyes –
Shane sat up taller in the pew, trying to distract his thoughts and keep himself still. He picked at the skin around one of his nails until it bled.
It was fast and testimony meeting this Sunday. There was a girl at the microphone, tears in her voice as she spoke to the congregation.
“I know Joseph Smith restored the true church on the earth today,” The girl said, her voice filled with emotion. “And I know that this is where we can all find true happiness. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen,” Shane said softly, echoing with the rest of the congregation. His stomach was in knots and burned with hunger as well.
Once a month at church there was a fast and testimony meeting. Basically, it was expected that you fasted from food and water for at least 24 hours, and during the meeting anyone could get up and say their testimony about the Church.
Fasting was supposed to be special and sacred. When you fasted, it brought more blessings from God. It was meant to make you think of Him more, and Shane was always taught to pray and ask God for special things when he fasted.
This fast Sunday, Shane was fasting fervently. He was asking for the same thing from God that he’d asked for during the last dozens of fast Sundays of his life. But this time was different. This time felt more real.
Please Heavenly Father, Shane begged, praying in his head with eyes squeezed shut. Please help me to start liking girls.
Please help me to start liking girls.
Please help me to start liking girls.
Please, please, please help me. Please help me.
His arms were crossed tightly, head bowed. Another person got up to give their testimony. A young man, with an eager, confident voice.
“I know this church is true, brothers and sisters. And I know that our Heavenly Father is aware of us, and wants us to stay faithful. It’s hard, but staying faithful, for me has brought me more happiness than I can describe.”
Shane crossed his arms tighter, hating himself as a hot tear escaped from his eye and slid down his cheek. Why couldn’t that be true for him too? Why didn’t God seem to be aware of him? Why couldn’t he have happiness from the Church too?
Please help me Heavenly Father, Shane begged again. Please don’t let me like him any more. Please let me like girls. Please.
Maybe this fast Sunday would be the time the prayer worked.