Chapter Text
Shane Hollander possessed a very specific talent for not going home.
He didn’t think of it as avoidance. Avoidance implied guilt, fear, or some unresolved emotional issue he didn’t have the time or interest to unpack.
He was just busy.
Busy enough to volunteer for six a.m. ice times and say yes to every extra assignment his professors threw at him until, somewhere between lesson plans and defensive drills, the distance stopped feeling temporary.
And then it got easy.
Toronto was the perfect buffer. Loud, chaotic, and far enough away that no one could show up at his apartment demanding an explanation for missing Sunday dinner three months in a row.
Shane sat at the cheap, slightly wobbly desk shoved into the corner of the living room, staring at a stack of crumpled worksheets.
Twenty-four attempts at third-grade reading comprehension.
He uncapped a red pen, circled a backwards E, and rubbed a hand over his face.
His father would probably have a stroke if he saw this apartment.
Or the worksheets.
Or the fact that Shane was spending his Thursday night grading them instead of doing literally anything remotely Hollander-like.
His phone vibrated against the desk hard enough that he nearly dragged red ink across Sophie Bennett’s spelling test.
Shane glanced down at the screen.
Three missed calls.
All from his mother.
He stared at it for a second before flipping the pen between his fingers and debating whether pretending not to see them would make him a bad son or just a tired one.
Unfortunately, Yuna Hollander had very strong opinions about ignored phone calls.
Bracing himself, he picked up.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, thank god,” Yuna said immediately. “I was about to assume you’d died.”
Shane leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I’m busy, Mom. Not dead.”
“You are always busy, Shane. It is a chronic condition at this point.”
He rolled his eyes at the water-stained ceiling. “It’s because I have my practicum classes, and the kids have their standardized testing next week, and the team has back-to-back games-”
“And it is my birthday next week,” Yuna cut in. “Or had you forgotten?”
Shane sank lower in his chair. “Of course I didn’t forget. I already bought your gift. I was going to mail it-”
“You are not mailing anything,” she replied smoothly. “You are coming home. For the entire week.”
Shane stopped breathing. “A week?”
“Yes, Shane. A week. Everyone’s arriving Monday.”
Everyone.
That alone was enough to make his chest tighten.
“Mom, I really don’t know if I can take a whole week off. I have classes and practice and-”
“You can, and you will,” Yuna said. Then, softer: “We miss you, sweetheart. Please come home.”
Damn it. That always worked.
Shane let out a long, defeated breath, already mourning the loss of his sanity before he even officially agreed to surrender it.
“…Okay. Fine. I’ll come.”
The shift in her tone was immediate.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Your father will be so pleased, and your grandmother is flying in, and oh, you’ll finally get to meet Kip’s new boyfriend.”
Shane frowned slightly, pulling the phone closer to his ear. “Wait. Kip is dating someone? Our Kip?”
“Yes! Scott something. Or Spencer. He’s a lawyer from Boston and your grandmother already approves, so clearly it’s serious.”
Of course she did.
Shane hummed quietly, his gaze drifting across the lived-in disaster of his apartment.
“And,” Yuna continued, her tone suddenly a little too casual, “are you bringing someone?”
Shane froze.
The red pen slipped from his fingers, hitting the desk with a soft clack.
“…What do you mean?”
“Well, a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend,” she added smoothly. “We don’t judge, Shane. Kip is very happy, and that’s what matters. We just want you to be happy too. It’s going to be a long week. Everyone is bringing someone.”
A strange feeling settled heavily in Shane’s stomach.
“Unless there’s no one serious right now?”
Shane stared at the worksheets spread across his desk.
Third-grade spelling tests. Cold coffee. His tiny apartment.
And somewhere in Boston, Kip was apparently arriving with a corporate lawyer.
“I wasn’t planning on bringing anyone,” Shane admitted.
“Oh.”
That one syllable carried enough pity to make him sit up straighter.
“Well,” Yuna said gently, “that’s perfectly alright, sweetheart. I just hate the thought of you spending the entire week alone while everyone else-“
“I have a boyfriend.”
“He’s coming,” Shane interrupted quickly, before she could get any further ahead of him. “With me. For the whole week.”
On the other end of the line, he heard a sharp gasp followed by muffled movement, like Yuna had covered the phone to start telling someone else.
Probably half the house.
“We are so excited to meet him,” Yuna said when she came back. “I cannot believe you kept this from us. What’s his name?”
For one horrible second, Shane’s mind went completely blank.
He looked around the apartment like a name might magically appear somewhere in the mess.
The worksheets scattered across his desk gave him nothing except the names of eight-year-olds, and he refused to tell his family he was dating someone named Kimi Antonelli from third grade.
His gaze kept moving until it landed on the white lab coat draped over the back of the chair.
Rozanov, Ilya.
“…Ilya.”
“Ilya! Oh, wow, that is a beautiful name,” Yuna gasped . “Where is he from? What does he do? How did you meet? Is he a student?”
Shane dragged a hand down his face as he pushed back from the desk a little too quickly, his knee hitting the edge hard enough to hurt.
“I have to go,” he said quickly, already pacing the living room. “I’m late for practice.”
“Shane Hollander, do not hang up on me-”
“I’ll tell you everything when I get there, okay? I promise.”
“Fine,” Yuna said, though she sounded far too delighted to be genuinely annoyed. “But you will tell me everything. And tell Ilya we’re very excited to meet him.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
The second the call ended, Shane let his arm fall to his side.
“…What did I just do?” he muttered.
The lock on the front door clicked.
“What did you do?”
Shane nearly dropped his phone.
Ilya Rozanov stood in the entryway kicking snow off his boots, looking exhausted in that distinctly medical student way. His blond hair was a mess from outside, his cheeks pink from the cold as he shrugged out of his coat and let it fall somewhere near the chair.
He looked unfairly good.
“Why do you look like you just committed a white-collar felony?” Ilya asked as he walked into the kitchen, tossing his coat toward the armchair and missing completely.
He ignored it and reached for the coffee maker instead.
Shane watched him for a second too long before his brain finally caught up with him.
“I told my family I have a boyfriend.”
Ilya paused with a chipped mug halfway to the coffee pot.
“…Okay,” he said slowly, finally turning to look at him. “Do you?”
“No.”
Ilya let out a quiet hum that sounded more amused than surprised. He turned back to the counter, poured himself coffee, and took a long sip before leaning against it.
“Then why did you tell them that you do?”
“I don’t know,” Shane said, already pacing the living room. “I panicked. My mother cornered me. It’s her birthday next week, everyone’s going to be there- I lost my mind.”
Ilya followed him lazily over the rim of his mug. “That sounds like a very serious you problem, Hollander.”
“It is,” Shane shot back, spinning toward him. Then reality caught up with him again and he stopped abruptly in the middle of the room. “…Unless it isn’t.”
Ilya’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“I didn’t even ask you a question yet!”
“You didn’t have to,” Ilya said, watching him over the rim of his coffee mug. “Your body language is a disaster. It’s pretty obvious what’s happening here.”
Shane scowled. “Clear?”
“Impulsive decision under pressure. Immediate regret. Pacing. Elevated heart rate.” Ilya counted lazily on his fingers before taking another sip of coffee. “I learned this in psych.”
Shane stopped in the middle of the rug, momentarily thrown by how fast Ilya got there.
“That was… irritatingly accurate, Rozanov.”
A smug look crossed Ilya’s face. “I know.”
Shane stared at him for a second before dragging a hand through his hair and stepping closer to the kitchen island.
“…Anyway,” he said, exhausted already, “I just need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend for a week. That’s it. Simple acting job.”
Ilya leaned back against the counter. “No.”
“It’s a birthday party.”
“No.”
Shane let out a frustrated breath and dropped both hands onto the counter. “They already know your name.”
“No- What?”
Shane looked away, heat creeping up his neck. “I panicked.”
Ilya straightened slowly, all the amusement draining from his face as he stared at Shane across the kitchen.
“And in that panic,” he said carefully, “you specifically said my name?”
Shane gestured helplessly toward the dining chair. “Your lab coat was right there. What was I supposed to do?”
“Anything else,” Ilya said flatly.
“Look, you’re single, my family is going to love you, and we already know each other. It makes sense.”
Ilya folded his arms across his chest, leaning back slightly against the counter as he looked Shane over with obvious disbelief. “No, it doesn’t.”
“We live together,” Shane insisted. “We know things about each other. We already have a dynamic.”
“We tolerate each other.”
“That’s basically a relationship.”
Something that looked dangerously close to a smile pulled briefly at the corner of Ilya’s mouth before disappearing again.
“And you’re…” Shane continued, gesturing vaguely in his direction, “you.”
Ilya’s eyebrow lifted slowly. “Being attractive is not a valid argument, Shane.”
Shane opened his mouth, closed it again, then let out a frustrated breath as his brain scrambled for literally anything else.
He had one option left.
A terrible one.
“I’ll pay you.”
Ilya blinked once, the sarcasm disappearing from his face so quickly it almost gave Shane hope. “…You’ll what?”
“I’ll pay you,” Shane repeated, straighter this time, like committing harder somehow made this less humiliating. “For the trip. Your time. Pretending to like me in front of my family.”
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Shane knew Ilya needed the money.
Between med school, bartending shifts, and whatever fresh level of exhaustion he dragged home every week, Ilya was basically functioning on caffeine and spite alone.
“…How much?” Ilya asked finally.
Shane answered too quickly. “Whatever you want.”
The corner of Ilya’s mouth twitched as he dragged a hand over his face. “You are going to regret this.”
“Almost certainly.”
“And I am going to enjoy making you suffer for it.”
Relief hit Shane so fast he almost smiled. “So you’re in.”
Ilya sighed, tipping his head back toward the ceiling for a second before looking at him again.
“Fine. I’ll be your fake boyfriend. But only because med school is expensive and I’m tired of serving beer to finance majors every weekend.”
The tension in Shane’s shoulders eased.
“Great. Perfect. Thank you.” He hesitated briefly. “Because we leave in three days.”
Fuck.