Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often that Shane got into trouble.

In fact, if you asked anyone in Mir to describe him, the answer would have been almost the same across the board.

He’s a good kid.

Quiet, perhaps. The kind of boy who listened more than he spoke and thought more than he acted.

There were only a handful of time anyone could remember Shane finding himself in real trouble.

And almost all of them had something to do with Ilya Rozanov.

Protecting him had never been a decision Shane consciously made. It simply….happened. He couldn’t help it; it was as natural and instinctive as breathing. If he thought back from the first day he met him, he realized that feeling had always been there.

And for good reason too. Although Mir had welcomed refugees for longer than Shane had been alive, there were some who believed in closing the borders, in shutting others out.

Some argued their food, homes, and opportunities belonged only to those born within the pack. Most kept those opinions behind closed doors, but, every now and then, the resentment slipped through the cracks. Dismissive remarks, lingering stares, cold shoulders.

Shane had never understood it.

As a pup, he had always thought highly of the adults in his life. They were supposed to be older, wiser, and kinder. So he was deeply shocked the first time he was exposed to their ignorance and lack of kindness. He loved Mir, and he had simply assumed everyone else loved it for the same reasons.

Obviously, he had been wrong.

Ilya, for the most part, ignored them.

Whether they genuinely didn’t bother him or he’d simply grown accustomed to pretending they didn’t, Shane wasn’t sure. If someone made a cruel remark, Ilya would continue walking as though he hadn’t heard a thing, his expression unchanged, his shoulders never stiffening.

Shane knew if it didn’t bother Ilya, then logically, it shouldn’t bother him either. After all, he wasn’t even the one being targeted.

And yet every ugly remark seemed to lodge beneath Shane’s skin as though it had been directed at him instead, leaving behind an uncomfortable tightness in his chest and an overwhelming urge to defend someone who’d never once asked for his protection.

Shane had never been good at the reasonable thing. Not when Ilya was involved.

Thankfully, Shane had never needed to worry about that sort of thing at home. His parents had accepted Ilya so quickly and so completely that, after a while, it simply stopped occurring to Shane that there had ever been a time when he wasn’t a permanent fixture at his home.

Ilya wandered into their kitchen often enough that his mother eventually stopped asking whether he planned to stay for dinner on their days off. She simply set out another bowl at the table.

At one point she’d even tried giving him a monthly allowance alongside Shane’s.

Ilya had looked so horrified by the idea, he’d nearly went pale.

“Mrs. Hollander, please, I couldn’t possibly…..”

No amount of insisting had changed his mind. He’d thanked her so earnestly for the thought that Shane’s mother eventually laughed and relented.

Sometimes Shane thinks they prefer Ilya to their own son. Though he didn’t blame his parents. Something about Ilya just drew people to him without them realizing it. People listened when he talked, paused when he walked past, and respected him without him doing anything to earn it.

He even had his own entourage following his every move, treating him as if he was their messiah. Ilya’s minions, as Shane likes to call them.

Clearly, Shane wasn’t the one who wanted to spend time with him. That realization irritated him far more than it probably should have.

Sometimes, late at night, Shane found himself wondering how much easier life would be if Ilya simply moved into the Hollander house.

Svetlana would be leaving soon to start her newlywed life with her mate, Rose, In other words, Ilya would be living alone.

Why couldn’t he just move in with them? was his next thought. He was already there most days anyways. Really, all he’d been doing was sleeping at his house.

But he knew Ilya liked his independence too much. And they couldn’t be together 24/7, that would be absurd. Right? There was already a running joke among their circle that Shane and Ilya were attached to the hip.

Shane had always played along, not thinking much about it.

But every now and then, usually when he found himself wandering the village in search of a familiar head of blonde curls, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was a little too codependent.

—

The first time Shane got into a physical altercation, he was eleven years old.

The morning had begun pleasantly enough.

He had just finished one of his twice-weekly lessons with his primary mentor, a tall alpha woman with broad shoulders and a booming laugh that somehow made every room warmer the moment she entered it. Shane adored those afternoons.

She had an extraordinary gift for making difficult knowledge feel approachable, for meeting him exactly where he was without ever making him feel small for being there. She simply waited, trusting that he would arrive at the answer eventually.

It was a quality Shane appreciated far more than he could put into words.

Especially when compared to his other mentor.

The sharp faced beta with thin patience and thinner lips was always pushing, always prodding. Every lesson with him felt like an examination Shane had somehow failed before even entering the room.

It was obvious that he looked down at on him for his quiet and calm demeanor, insisting proteges should be taking initiative whenever they have the chance, to prove themselves, speak louder, volunteer first, and compete harder than everyone around them.

Shane tried. He really did.

But while other apprentices chased recognition, Shane found himself happiest sitting quietly at his workstation, his fingertips stained an earthy green after hours spent sorting, drying, and cataloging medicinal herbs. The work soothed him in a way conversation rarely did. Plants followed logical, predictable patterns that made sense. Wolves didn’t.

That alone was enough to make plants the easier company.

Because of this, Shane found it difficult to mingle with the rest of the students, always two beats behind on jokes; the threads of conversation moving in directions he couldn’t naturally follow. By the time he understood the joke everyone else was laughing at, they’d already begun talking about something entirely different, leaving him smiling a second too late.

And, if Shane was being completely honest, his interests had always been….selective. Once something settled inside his mind, it tended to occupy every available corner until something else replaced it, and there never seemed to be room for more than one or two things at a time.

And those two limited spaces had already been filled by botany and Ilya.

Despite their conflicting schedules, they met almost every afternoon in the communal dining hall after lessons finished. That day was no exception.

The trouble started there.

Lesson finished, satchel over his shoulder, Shane wandered through the market instead of taking the direct route, hoping to spend the allowance his mother had given him the night before on something sweet they could split after dinner. Maybe honey cakes, if Old Marta hadn’t already sold out. Or those little berry pastries Ilya liked despite Shane insisting they were “too sweet.”

“Heard you got your backside whopped,” a tall boy said, elbowing his companion hard enough to make him stumble. The voice drifted across the marketplace.

The shorter boy shoved him back with an irritated scowl. “Shut up. Like you could’ve fared any better,” the shorter boy retorted.

He turned away, jaw set with wounded pride. There was a large bruise forming on the left side of his face, the kind that would undoubtedly look worse by morning.

Shane’s ears perked almost immediately. Hunter trainees. He always made sure to pay extra attention to anything related to Ilya Rozanov. And anything involving the hunters usually involved Ilya these days.

Lately, it seemed almost impossible for his best friend’s name not to appear whenever people spoke of the exceptionally talented. The elders had begun speaking openly about his future, speculating over what role he might someday hold within the pack.

Shane couldn’t have been prouder.

“He’s freakish,” the shorter boy muttered, still nursing his bruise with the back of his hand. “Not natural,” he spat. “Must be a Rozanov thing.”

“Must be,” the taller one agreed. He kicked at the dirt, shrugging with the casual cruelty of someone who had never been taught to think before speaking.

“Kind of wished he died with the rest of them.”

For a brief second, Shane had been ready to smile, expecting another story about Ilya embarrassing older apprentices during training.

Instead, his heartbeat lurched painfully against his ribs, squeezing so tightly it almost hurt, while something hot and unbearable unfurled inside his chest. The air vanished from his lungs. 

How dare he?!

Shane’s vision blurred around the edges. His chest felt too tight, emotions, anger, sadness, shock crashing over each other threatening to overwhelm him with their intensity.

He blinked furiously, fighting back hot, frustrated tears that he absolutely refused to let fall. Don’t cry. If they don’t fall, they don't count as actual tears. Shane refused to give the bullies the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

There were two of them, both older and larger, and only one of him. And yet the logistics didn’t register to him, only the need to protect.

Ordinarily, he would have noticed those odds immediately.

Ordinarily, he would have thought through every possible consequence before making a move.

He thought of Ilya’s face and the way he always viewed his recklessness with disapproval, his face twisting up in worry whenever Shane hurt himself. Of the quiet sigh he’d let out while patching him up, muttering that Shane needed to stop roaming the forest without him.

He certainly wouldn’t be happy if he were to get into a fight, especially if it was for his sake.

But Shane didn’t care anymore. The knowledge that if he walked away from this moment without doing something, he would carry it with him for the rest of his life —restless and unresolved, turning over and over again.

Before Shane could second-guess himself, he lunged.

--

“He just attacked me for no reason!” the tall kid shouted, venting to anybody who would listen.

Shane glared at him from across the small, tense circle that had formed around them.

The fight had lasted all of two minutes before the surrounding adults rushed in to drag them apart. There was a nasty bruise forming across his cheek that throbbed with every heartbeat. It was already darkening to match the one the shorter wolf got from Rozanov. Serves him right.

“That’s not true and you know it. You know what you said.”

The supervising adult, who he recognized as Maribel, let out a long, weary sigh through her nose. She had the look of someone who had been hoping for a quiet afternoon and had not gotten one.

After the fight had broken apart, the three wolves had bickered for an entire hour, not one willing to relent. Shane knew they were taking up her precious time, but he refused to back down. Not today.

Compared to the large bruise forming on his face, the wolf he attacked only had a faint red mark across his jaw from where Shane’s fist had connected. Shane, meanwhile, had a bruise the size of a small fist settling into his cheekbone.

It couldn’t be helped, it was two vs. one after all.

Here, Shane had been hoping for a fair fight. But as soon as he had landed a punch, both were on him with no time wasted. The shorter boy had joined in without hesitation, grabbing him from behind, while the taller one returned the favor with his fist. There was only so much his untrained self could’ve done in the face of two, older larger wolves.

He hadn’t expected them to grab him though. He probably should’ve. It wasn’t as if they were exactly good people.

“And what did you say exactly?” Maribel asked, folding her arms across her chest as she fixed the taller boy with a measured stare.

The boy’s eyes shifted. His gaze darted toward his friend before returning to Maribel. Guilty. “Nothing…… I was just minding my own business, talking to my friend, when he came flying at me out of nowhere!”

Before Shane could protest, another sound cut through the commotion. Footsteps. And really fast ones too.

He could recognize those footsteps anywhere. Everything is fine now. Ilya’s here.

The realizations settled over him like a warm blanket, drawing an unconscious breath from his lungs before he even realized he’d been holding it.

“Shane!”

Ilya’s voice, frenzied and breathless, cut through the noise. He must have ran the whole way once he heard the news. Ilya came barreling through the crowd with enough momentum that several adults instinctively stepped aside to let him pass.

Ilya's cheeks were flushed red, his chest fell in quick, uneven breaths, and his blond curls stuck up in every possible direction. Ilya probably started getting worried when Shane didn’t show up at their usual time for dinner and went looking for him. 

The relief when he spotted Shane lasted precisely one second before his gaze landed on the bruise. Then his expression went very, very quiet in a way that was somehow worse. Colder.

Ilya crossed the remaining in only a few strides, reaching out to gently cup Shane’s face between both hands. “What happened?”

Uh oh, he was angry. Very angry.

Shane swallowed.

The words those boys had said came back to him. Shane would rather die before he uttered them out loud. Swallowing broken glass sounded infinitely more appealing in comparison. “It’s not a big deal.” He tried for a convincing smile. Which probably wasn’t working by the look of Ilya’s deepening frown.

“Aha.” The taller boy’s voice rang out with the particular triumph of someone who has been waiting for an opening. He leveled a finger at Shane. “You heard him! It was nothing. He attacked me for no reason and should be punished for it.”

Ilya shot a glare so severe it even had Maribel, a grown wolf, choosing her next words carefully. Without saying a word, Ilya stepped sideways until he stood between Shane and the two older wolves, his body acting as a barrier.

“Shane doesn’t start fights.” Ilya said matter-of-fact.

Addressing the offending wolf, “So what did you say, huh,” he spat, his words filled with venom. The question came out flat and cold, stripped of any human-like quality that might have made it easier to answer. The anger radiated off him in a way that was almost physical, every line rigid, held together by a very thin thread of restraint.

Even Shane, who knew Ilya better than anyone, couldn’t quite recognize him. He reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Ilya’s shirt. “It’s okay Ilya. Let’s just go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the taller boy snapped, finding his nerve again. “Not until someone does something about the fact that you hit me —, you fucker!”

Ilya went absolutely still. “What,” he said quietly, “did you just call him?”

The boy gulped, whatever courage he’d managed draining from his face.

“I’m just saying…” he muttered, noticeably less certain than before. “There should be consequences.”

The boy was saved, narrowly, by the approach of a merchant from one of the nearby stalls, a broad-shouldered man with flour on his apron. Shane hadn’t even noticed him, too occupied arguing with the two older boys.

“Excuse me,” the merchant addressed Maribel directly, wiping his hands on a cloth tucked into his belt. “I was close enough to see the whole thing from start to finish. These two here were saying some pretty terrible things about our young friend Ilya here. I’d rather not repeat the words, out of respect, but I will say they were cruel enough that I’m not surprised Hollander reacted the way he did knowing how close they are.”

Silence settled over the gathering.

Maribel glared at the two offenders, who were now looking sheepishly at their shoes. “I think I understand what happened now. I’ll be speaking to both your families tonight. And when I do, you will tell them exactly what you said. Every word. If you leave anything out —” She let the sentence sit unfinished.

Only then did she turn back toward Shane. The sternness softened into something softer, more weary. “Hollander, I appreciate that you wanted to defend your friend. But next time, please come find an adult first. Let us handle it.”

Although Shane agreed with her to keep the peace, he knew it was no use depending on the adults to do anything.

He believed she meant it, maybe. And he believed it too once upon a time. But the adults rarely took their affairs seriously, and often chalked it up to prepubescent immaturity.

Shane thought of Hayden, who had called out a fellow classmate for cheating, only to have his concerns dismissed and brushed aside because “they’re just kids.”

And he hadn’t even counted all the times the townspeople whispered behind Ilya’s back. None of those conversations had ended with consequences.

Today’s fight was different. Now that the fight had been witnessed by multiple people, Maribel couldn’t pretend nothing had happened.

“Of course,” Shane said evenly, nodding his head.

The small crowd dispersed, drifting back toward their interrupted errands, conversations picking up once more.

Shane’s attention immediately found Ilya. He recognized the look on his face immediately; the stillness, the faint crease between his brows, the distant quality of his eyes—a telltale sign that his mind was moving pieces around a board no one else could see.

Shane knew that look. It never meant anything good.

Shane had seen that exact look moments before Ilya challenged older bullies to spar. Before climbing rooftops the adults told them were off limits. Before every terrible idea that somehow ended with both of them getting yelled at.

Unlike Shane, Ilya had a penchant for trouble. “Ilya, don’t.”

Ilya blinked, and the look disappeared beneath his familiar smile. “I’m not doing anything.”

Ilya was lying. He was certain of it. Years of looking after the wolf had honed his instincts. His friend’s life motto was “fist first, talk later,” and Ilya’s never strayed from his life philosophy, not once.

And from the look on Ilya’s face, he wasn’t going to start today.

Ilya simply loved too fiercely. Looking at him like this, cheeks still flushed from running to his aid, that familiar ache flared up in Shane’s chest again.

He thought about everything Ilya had survived. Everything he’d lost. By all rights, life should have left him bitter. And yet his heart was still so warm, so ready to love and protect. He’d somehow remained painfully, stubbornly kind. Always ready with his crass jokes and endless teasing.

Shane admired that more than anything else.

Ilya had shot up over the years, now standing just a little taller than Shane. It was a difference barely worth mentioning, yet it bothered Shane far more than he cared to admit.

And yet, Shane still saw the seven-year-old boy who looked as if he wanted to go somewhere far, far away.

Although he couldn’t do anything about his past, Shane promised that he wouldn't have to go through anything like that again now that he had Shane by his side. 

And Shane certainly had proven that today by protecting his honor, the thought making him smile. Maybe today hadn’t been a complete disaster after all.

Before Shane could reply, Ilya bent his knees and crouched down in front of him, patting his own back to signal to him to hop on.

Shane felt the heat rise in his cheeks immediately. “No, I’m not a child! And my legs work perfectly fine.”

But Ilya waited. Patient.

Shane sighed the way someone who knew when they had already lost and climbed on. Ilya hooked his hands beneath Shane’s knees and stood in one smooth motion as if he weighed nothing, which was, honestly, a little offensive. Shane was on the bigger side compared to wolves his age, so it shouldn’t have been that easy.

Shane’s heart thumped wildly against his chest. It was probably the adrenaline wearing off.

The rhythmic sway of Ilya’s footsteps settled into a steady pace as they left the bustle of the marketplace behind. Instead of taking the main road home, Ilya veered onto one of the quieter trails that curved around the edge of the settlement, where the grass grew taller and the evening air carried the scent of warm earth instead of crowded streets.

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the trees, painting everything in soft amber light.

From this close, Shane could easily inhale Ilya's rich scent. He smelt like a combination of things he couldn't quite place like warm amber smothered at the edges with the smokey heat of a well-loved hearth. A scent that grounded him with every breath. 

The tightness that had lingered stubbornly inside his chest since the fight quietly unraveled.

His attention wandered without permission to a bead of sweat tracing a path down the back of Ilya’s neck until it disappeared inside his shirt. Huh. He didn’t know why he found it as interesting as he did.

“Next time, just ignore them, okay? Ilya said after a while, his voice easy. “I don’t care about them, and I certainly don’t care about what they have to say about me.”

Even though Ilya’s words came out gentle, there was a finality to them. The kind that ended conversations. There were moments, like this, where Ilya’s voice awakened a strange urge inside of him.

A small voice whispered inside his head to simply comply. Agree. Do what Ilya says. Actually, now that he thought about it, he listened to Ilya far more often than he listened to anyone else.

And Shane normally does. Until it concerned Ilya’s wellbeing. Which Ilya, much to his annoyance, cared very little about. When it came to those he loved, Ilya would sacrifice an arm and a leg. He accepted the same sentiment with all the grace of someone who had just been given a life sentence.

Shane huffed. “Well I care.” Because I care about you. Cause you’re my best friend. Cause you’re everything to me.

“I know,” Ilya said quietly. Even he knew not to argue with Shane when he was being stubborn. Nothing could change his mind. And Shane had eleven years under his belt to prove it.

A comfortable silence settled between them. The path curved gently through the outer edge of the settlement. Somewhere farther down the path, insects had begun their evening chorus. Shane relaxed incrementally against Ilya’s shoulder, the events of the day behind him.

“Thank you,” Ilya said. “Even though you didn’t have to….still thank you.”

Shane nodded, feeling a little shy all of a sudden.

“I wished I’d gotten a better punch in,” Shane sighed, regrettably. He touched his cheek from where he got hit and immediately winced when a sharp bolt of pain shot through his body. He will definitely have to think about how he was going to explain this to his parents. He wondered if he could get away with saying he tripped and landed on his own face. “If I was properly trained, I could’ve taken both of those idiots.”

Ilya shook, trying miserably to suppress his laughter. It rumbled through his chest, and Shane could feel every bit of it where he was leaning against him.

“I could.”

“Right, of course.”

“I’m telling you I could.”

“I believe you.”

“Well, I don’t appreciate your tone.”

Another laugh and then, “I can teach you if you want.”

Shane lifted his head from where it had dropped against Ilya’s shoulder and angled himself to look at him. He brought his faces closer, only inches apart, for dramatic effect. “Really?”

Shane watched as Ilya’s face slowly turned red. His eyes darted somewhere to the right as though the surrounding trees had suddenly become fascinating. The change immediately perking Shane’s curiosity. Huh. That was odd.

“What’s wrong with you?” Shane asked.

“Nothing.”

Shane grabbed Ilya’s cheeks with his hand, squishing them together, to face him. “Why are you so red?”

“Do you want me to teach you or not?”

“Are you serious? You promise?”

“Yes.” A beat passed by before he spoke up again. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you.”

The words hung in the air, sweet and warm. And Shane knew they were true, rarely did Ilya deny him anything. If it wasn’t at the expense of Shane’s safety, of course.

Shane settled back against Ilya’s shoulder. His cheek found the familiar warmth, and he let his eyes close, his body and head too rung out to examine the meaning behind his rapidly beating heart.

He shifted slightly, pulling Ilya closer to himself. 

“What should I call you then?” Shane asked, breaking the silence. “Instructor Rozanov?”

A beat passed. “You know I don’t go by that name anymore.”

Shane knew. But he still used it anyway. Because he didn’t want to erase any part of who Ilya was, every part of him was special. The Rozanov name was his legacy, his birthright. It belonged to his family, to the people who had loved him long before Shane ever had the chance.

And it was Shane’s job, as his best friend, to never let that part of himself slip away from him.

“Instructor Rozanov it is then.”

--

The next morning, word traveled through Mir: two wolves had been quietly dismissed from the HTA. No official explanation was ever given.

By midday, another rumor had joined the first. The brief sighting of the boys showed that they were covered in bruises that hadn’t been there the day before. One limped noticeably. The other kept his left arm tucked awkwardly against side, as though lifting it hurt.

The few townsfolk who had mustered the courage to seek out answers from their parents were met with tight smiles and vague, hurried answers before the subject was changed altogether. The very parents who had demanded punishment for Shane’s outburst suddenly had remarkably little to say.

There were whispers. Plenty of speculation. Rumors had it that it was retaliation. But no answers.

Nobody could quite say what had happened. But everyone understood the implicit, underlying message: Don’t mess with Shane Hollander.

And left it at that.

--

When Shane was thirteen, he decided that the people he loved weren’t doing enough to protect their health. And something had to be done about it. He noticed it first during dinner one evening as he surveyed the table. Far too much roasted meat. Far too many sweet desserts. Not nearly enough vegetables.

And some of them, like Hayden, refused to move their bodies at all. It was deeply concerning.

Shane watched them all with increasing alarm, his face cycling through variations of horror and barely concealed disgust. He issued warnings, and cited his sources. Nobody listened.

“You should really eat more greens,” Shane announced one evening, leaning forward across the table with earnestness.

Hayden looked up from his plate with pie shoved into both cheeks. “I did.”

Shane blinked. “When?”

“There was parsley on my potatoes.”

……This was so much worse than he thought.

If they wouldn’t eat properly, Shane reasoned, he would simply have to make them. The solution came to Shane the way most of his solutions did — logical, well-intentioned, and slightly unhinged. I'll just combine all the healthy ingredients into one drink. Something sweet enough to go down easily. Something they would enjoy.

Unfortunately, for them, the honey’s sweetness only made the medicinal herbs lurking underneath even more unbearable, amplifying their bitterness rather than masking it despite Shane’s firm assurance that it was guaranteed to boost their immunity.

His friends, who had long mastered the art of outward agreeableness, had learned this lesson the hard way. As people who loved Shane tended to do. What had once begun as a well-meaning gesture quickly turned into a harrowing experience.

At first, they had all skirted around the idea, making up excuses of all varying shapes and sizes, commitments they couldn’t get out of, sudden ailments, urgent errands. But they had always been far too indulging when it came to Shane. The problem was the eyes. Shane had warm, brown, genuinely earnest eyes that made saying no remarkably difficult.

—

“Ilyaaaaaaa!” Shane’s voice rang across the training grounds, bright and unmistakably excited.

Across the field, Ilya paused mid-swing, lowering his practice sword as he caught sight of him.

Shane was already jogging toward him, practically bouncing on his heels. He specifically planned his arrival on a Tuesday around Ilya’s free time so that he didn’t interrupt his formal training with his instructor.

Shane had spent most of his week buried in one of his volumes, turning page after page, only stopping when he came across an unfamiliar plant. According to the text, it contained a number of benefits: increased immunity, reduced inflammation, improved circulations……

He’d read it twice, then a third time to commit the plant to memory, then closed the book and gone to find his boots.

The forest paths beyond the settlement had taken him further than he’d expected. He had left his station with a single-minded determination to find the small cluster growing between the rocks and damp soil. The task had taken him longer than expected to harvest it properly, but he was finally done.

Hearing Shane’s voice, Ilya turned immediately, lifting a hand in greeting. A few of the other hunters followed suit, some offering easy waves, others smiling faintly at the familiar sight. Over time, the small wolf had become somewhat of a permanent fixture at the training grounds, always appearing between drills and training sessions to keep Ilya company.

When Shane drew closer, the thermos cradled in his hands, Ilya’s expression shifted almost instantly. The color drained from his face.

He went so pale, so fast, that for a brief moment Shane worried something might actually be wrong. Clearly the trainers had been pushing him too hard again.

“Look, it’s a new recipe!” Shane said excitedly. Without waiting for a response, he went on a tangent where he’d found it, how he’d harvested it, what it was good for, the adjustments he’d made this time around, the expected timeline for the benefits to kick in…. The longer he talked, the worse Ilya looked. So much so even Shane began to slow, the excitement in his voice faltering as concern crept in.

“…….Are you okay?” Shane finally asked, tilting his head. “You look really unwell.”

Shane immediately frowned, twisting the lid with ease and pressed the thermos into Ilya’s hands before he could protest. “Quick, Ilya, drink up. You look awful.”

From somewhere behind him, he caught the sound of snickering. Cliff Marlow and J.J. Boiziau were standing a short distance away, shoulders shaking as they tried —and failed— to hide their laughter behind their hands. He recognized them as part of Ilya’s usual circle, the ones who often lingered around Ilya between drills.

Shane paused. He couldn’t quite understand what was so funny.

Oddly enough, he felt like they were laughing at him and Ilya, but that couldn’t be right. But what did he know? Maybe there was a joke he was missing again.

He let it go and looked back at Ilya just in time to see him staring down at thermos like it might offer him a choice in the matter. Shane watched him, expectantly.

After a long, agonizing pause, Ilya exhaled, closed his eyes, and drank. In a few quick gulps, the contents were gone. Then Ilya coughed once into his fist, “Thank you, Shane,” he managed.

Shane’s face lit up instantly. “The nutrients should really help your aching muscles, and the honey ratio is better this time, so that’s why —-

He was cut off mid-sentence by Ilya pulling him in by his waist. In one swift motion, Ilya enveloped him in his embrace. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Shane stiffened for half a second before relaxing into it, blinking in confusion as Ilya’s strong arms settled firmly around his waist.

So warm, was Shane’s first thought. This had been happening more lately. After the incident, it was as if a switch had flipped inside Ilya and never quite flipped back.

Ilya had always been physical, a clap on the back, a playful shove during sparring, a hand ruffling Shane’s hair when he got too worked up at his teasing. Acts of affection weren’t anything new to the two of them, but it still came as a surprise to Shane how frequently Ilya’s hands were on him now. Longer. Closer.

Something had shifted recently, and Shane hadn’t landed on the right word for it yet.

His friends apparently had. Every single one of them wore the same knowing smile whenever it happened.

He felt Ilya settle against him with a big, contented sigh.

“Ilya?” Shane called out to him, still processing. No response. Only a slight tightening of his arms around him.

The front of Shane’s shirt was getting damp from Ilya’s sweat. Not that Shane minded. 

The training grounds carried on as normal, voices, the dull thud of weapons, none of it quite reaching them.

They held each other like that for a while. 

He was dimly aware that his beta mentor was probably going to have a word with him for goofing off —but it didn’t matter much, not right now anyway.

Ilya’s hand came up and patted his head like one does a cat. Shane couldn’t find it in himself to protest, too consumed by the nice sensations. When he unconsciously let out a purr like sound, Ilya snickered into his shoulder. “You’re like a kitty. My little kitty-cat.”

“Gross.” Shane said, with feeling. He was about to extract himself when Ilya brought him right back, forcing an “oomph!” out of his mouth. “Don’t,” Ilya said, and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Shane’s head. “Just a bit longer.”

Something must have happened today, Shane thought. Ilya after a good session was usually loud and loose and grinning in that wide, slightly unhinged way that meant he’d been pushed hard and had loved every second of it. But he guessed even the great Ilya had his off days.

So Shane wiggled deeper into the hug even as he became aware of the fact that everyone was probably seeing them like this.

They probably made a hilarious picture, just embracing each other in the middle of the training grounds. But this was what friends do for each other right? Surely, they’ve comforted their buddy when they were having a rough time. And Ilya had looked really pale, Shane supposed.

“Are you okay?” Shane asked softly. His question was left hanging. “I can make you another drink tomorrow if you want?”

As if a light bulb had turned on, Ilya let go of him instantly, much to his disappointment. He swung his practice sword around with great momentum all signs of weariness gone. “I’m okay! Really! No need to go through all the trouble.”

Warmth clung to Shane even as Ilya released him from his arms. He already missed the closeness.

“It’s really no—” Shane started, just to be cut off.

“No, no seriously.” Ilya said, quickly. He turned his attention to the practice dummy. “I should get back. Important training, yes?”

Disappointment flooded through Shane at those words. He wasn’t ready for their time together to be over yet. “Oh okay.”

He must have let it show on his face, because Ilya glanced back, his expression went soft and fond in that particular way it sometimes did.

Before Shane could leave, Ilya caught him by his arm, reeled him in, and landed a kiss on his cheek with a resounding “mhwa” for dramatic effect. Ilya smacked his palm gently against Shane’s cheek directly on top of the kiss

“See you later,” Ilya said with a handsome grin.

Dazed, Shane could only watch his retreating figure. “See you later,” he whispered mostly to himself.

--

When Shane was fifteen years old, he realized he was in love. With his best friend. Ilya Rozanov.

It happened on an ordinary afternoon.

He was inside Ilya’s cabin, rummaging through his things for something to wear. A large stain sat wetly down the front of his tunic from where he’d spilled his latest recipe all over himself.

Shane’s place felt entirely too far, so he barged into Ilya’s to steal some of his stuff instead. It wasn’t as if Ilya ever minded. That was one thing Shane loved about him. Once he found an outfit that was acceptable, he looked through his drawers next to see if there was anything else he could steal.

A red jewelry case, tucked in the back of the drawer, caught his eye. The kind of thing you put something in when you wanted to keep it safe. Shane picked it up, already curious. Ilya occasionally bought things from the traveling merchants that were genuinely impressive. Shane opened it expecting a necklace or something just as interesting. 

What Shane found was something familiar. A token. His token. The one that he had given to Ilya so many years ago, the one even he had forgotten about. 

He couldn’t believe Ilya still had it.

Shane brought it up when he saw him later that evening. He’d planned to tease Ilya for holding on to it so carefully. Maybe get a laugh out of it and a good memory to talk about during dinner. But then Ilya looked at the token with fondness, and all the words Shane had been preparing dissipated into thin air. 

“When I first arrived here, I felt so alone. It was if everyone wanted to erase my existence. Replace it this whole other person,” Ilya told him with a far away look on his face. “But only you, Shane Hollander, bothered to learn who I was, where I came from.” His eyes moved to Shane’s face. “You just accepted me, all of me.”

Shane’s heart clenched at those words. He hadn’t meant to bring up old wounds, not at all. He’d only wanted to tease him a little. He hadn’t expected the token to mean anything beyond a funny, slightly embarrassing memory.

Shane just remembered how much he wanted Ilya to feel welcomed and at home in Mir. And how much he hoped his gift gave him some comfort.  

“I just—” words failed Shane as it always seemed to do.

Ilya turned his attention to him now, giving him a smile, too fond, too loving, too….much. Shane had to look away as he felt himself tearing up from the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling. If the tears don’t fall, they don't count, he repeated to himself. Otherwise it would just be too humiliating. 

He felt Ilya’s hands come up anyway. Gentle, careful, his thumb brushing away the dampness at the corner of Shane’s eye before it could go anywhere. Their faces were close. Too close. Just a few inches between them, and their lips would touch.

Shane watched Ilya’s beautiful blue green eyes drift from his eyes down to his mouth. Shane had never seen him look as serious as he did now.

Deny it as much as he wanted but Shane wasn’t a naive pup anymore. He didn’t think of Ilya as just his best friend. He was in love with Ilya. Completely. Looking back, he wasn’t sure he’d ever not been.

“Woah, what’s up with you two?”

Shane pulled back so fast he nearly knocked himself off balance. Hayden was sliding his tray onto the bench across from them, looking between the two of them with his eyebrows already halfway up his forehead.

Behind him, Rose was weaving through the crowded dining hall with her own tray, craning her neck to see what had caught Hayden’s attention.

“Nothing,” Shane said. Too fast.

Ilya picked up his fork and said absolutely nothing. Oh my god please say something.

He shifted slightly to create some distance. Ilya, without looking up from his food, shifted with him, closing the gap.

—-

Much to Shane's shock, Rose was not the slightest bit surprised. He thought he was dropping the news of the century, but apparently it had been “so obvious, Shane, come on, you really didn’t know you were in love with him?!”

He had known for approximately two hours.

Apparently everyone else had known for considerably longer.

--

When Shane was seventeen years old, he lost his virginity.

Most people who knew Shane saw the calm, quiet version of him. What they didn’t know was that Shane was a sore loser when it came to games. No one else but Ilya and Shane's small entourage was privy to the fact that he was unnaturally competitive, every fiber in his body screaming at him to win, win, win.

Shane Hollander did not play for fun. He played to win. Every time. No exceptions.

His need to win had gotten so bad to the point Rose no longer wanted to play cards with him anymore. “God, you can be so mean!”

He wasn’t just competing with the living, but also the dead as morbid as that sounds. Every third day, he had the singular goal of scouring the forest for never seen before  plants. The reason? He wanted to set a new Hollander record. 

One of his ancestors had discovered and cataloged over a hundred plants in his lifetime, single-handedly building the foundation of Mir’s entire medicinal era. And Shane wanted to beat him.

Rose had called it weird "cause it's been a million years since then, surely no plant had stayed undiscovered for that long." Hayden had stared at him in silence for a moment and then quietly changed the subject. Ilya had listened to the whole explanation with his arms crossed and a small smile and said, of course you do.

Needless to say, only Ilya would indulge him now. And he never went easy on him either. That was more than apparent from the way he fought. Ilya had a habit of holding back with his opponents, but not with Shane. Shane had always appreciated that, even if it meant eating dirt.

They squared off in the late afternoon, the air carrying the green layered scent of the forest. They never ventured too far, lest they encounter something or someone unsavory. Ilya had his arms loose at his sides, his weight settled back in that deceptively relaxed way that Shane had long since learned to distrust entirely.

Shane moved first. He always moved first. He went low and fast, aiming for Ilya’s center of gravity.

Ilya sidestepped with the unhurried ease of a man who had already calculated his next moves. One large hand caught Shane’s mid-lunge and redirected him, using his own speed against him, and Shane stumbled two steps forward before he spun back around.

Fine.

Shane took a deep breath and reassessed. The thing about fighting Ilya was that strength was simply not something Shane could compete in — Ilya was built on a entirely different scale, having trained since childhood with an intensity that bordered on supernatural. Matching him directly was pointless.

He feigned left, drew Ilya’s weight in that direction, and cut right, landing a hit he felt was one of his better ones. Ilya made a sound that acknowledge it without being particularly troubled by it.

The ground arrived sooner than Shane would have liked.

He was on his back, one arm pinned, before he’d fully processed what had happened. Ilya’s weight settled over him. Shane bucked, looking for leverage, found none, and then felt Ilya’s hand close around his throat.

Not hard. Just there. The pressure enough to make the edges of his breathing short-circuit.

He could feel Ilya’s grin without looking at it. Dirty and a little mean. This was Ilya’s favorite move. He deployed this move with a lip-curled satisfaction that suggested he looked forward to it. The problem was that he had used it far too many times for Shane not to catch on and plan a counter attack. 

Shane furrowed his eyebrows, trying to regain his breath. 

His free hand found the inside of Ilya’s elbow, and pressed there. Not with strength, but with precision and felt Ilya’s grip loosen a little. Rolling his hips to disrupt the balance, he shoved hard enough to create the half-second of space he needed.

The reversal was messy and untrained. But Shane didn’t care.

“Ha! I got you,” Shane hooted, his grin wide. 

Shane had Ilya on his back, pressed into the dirt his thighs straddling either side of him. They were both breathing hard, chests heaving, the late afternoon air sharp in their lungs.

Breathing hard, Ilya grinned up at him. “I let you win. You become very sad" Ilya's face twisting in what he assumed was a crying expression "every time you lose. Is hard to look at.”

“Fuck you,” Shane retorted, planting both hands on Ilya’s chest while his breath came out in pants. “You’re such a liar.”

Even though Shane knew it wasn’t true, he still replayed their fight quietly in his head, noting with careful precision what had worked, what hadn’t, and where he’d gotten lucky. This time, the win had been an extremely close call. Each time they fought, Ilya kept getting stronger, their gap widening the more he spent at the training grounds and Shane at his station. If he didn’t change his approach, the wins were going to stop coming altogether.

Maybe I should’ve joined the HTA too, Shane thought, bitterly. But the life of a herbalist was too tantalizing to resist. He hadn’t chosen it reluctantly. He’d chosen because it was his.

He was still turning this over in his head when he noticed Ilya had gone quiet beneath him.

Ilya’s eyes were moving up and down and up again all over his body. “Comfortable?”

Shane blinked with confusion. What did Ilya mean by that? And what was up with his shit-eating grin?

Then the reality of their situation finally started to dawn on him. Annoyance shifted quickly to embarrassment as he assessed their current position.

From where Shane was situated, it would be easy to reach out, to press his forehead to Ilya’s, to get lost in his eyes. A kiss would be easy. Shane felt the pull of it, strong and aching. Shane doesn’t do any of that.

Cause you’re a coward.

“Not a word.” Shane huffed. “And please do something about your dirty mind.”

Before Shane could get off, he felt firm fingers on either side of his waist digging into him. He hadn’t realized just how dangerously close their regions were to each other until Ilya rubbed them together with a sharp thrust.

Shane yelped in surprise, hands gripping the soft fabric of Ilya’s white shirt to keep from toppling off.

“W-what are you doing?” Shane stuttered, looking at Ilya with wide eyes. He felt a hot flush creep up his cheeks.

“Hold still,” Ilya replied, patience waning thin. The grip on Shane’s waist tightening, bruising, anchoring him right where Ilya wanted him.

Shane looked up and felt his breath hitch; Ilya’s pupils were entirely blown out, an all-consuming black devouring the hues of his eyes. Without another word, Ilya resumed the rocking motion, his heavy frame effectively moving Shane along with him.

“Ilya, wait —” Shane gasped out, his protest dying in his throat as Ilya tilted his hips up again.

“No, Shane. I’m done waiting. I have accepted this, nothing I do will get past that thick head.”

“What?” Shane asked, his mind spinning, confused, and more than a little turned on. What did he mean by that? Did he just call me stupid? The friction was overwhelming. Their cocks were rubbing together in perfect tandem and a fierce, white hot pleasure was building rapidly in his gut without his permission.

He moaned out loud without restraint before he realized the strange needy sound was coming out of him.

“Look at you” Ilya teased, a dark breathless grin breaking across his face.

Shifting his weight, Ilya caught Shane by the hips and flipped him easily onto his back. He slammed his weight down, pinning Shane against the damp earth of the forest floor, and immediately buried his face in the soft skin of Shane’s neck. The sudden bite at his skin drew a long, moan from deep inside. 

As soon as the sound left his lips, Ilya went completely still.

Shane lay there, frozen, his mind racing through a thick haze of heat and confusion. Did I do something wrong? he wondered, panic instantly flaring up in his chest. Did I sound weird? Why did he stop? Even though everything between them had spiraled out of control, Shane knew, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted it. 

Beneath the panic, a cold weight of guilt settled in his stomach. They shouldn’t be doing this. Young wolves were strictly encouraged to wait until they presented at eighteen to engage in activities with their mate. It wasn’t forbidden by law per say, but the older wolves had beaten the warning into their heads time and time again. To rush into the physical side of things before your inner wolf fully woke up was seen as reckless and stupid.

But looking up at Ilya now, all those strict warnings dissolved into nothingness. There was just something about the way Ilya’s weight pressed on his that was so intoxicating.

Shane felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff and had just decided to jump. Now that the momentum of the fall was taking over, he was falling down so fast that it was physically impossible to stop what he was doing even if he tried. Every cell in his body was screaming, begging him to just give in and chase his release.

And Ilya clearly had no intention of stopping either.

Lifting his head, Ilya crashed his lips onto his in hunger. Shane groaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around Ilya’s neck, his fingers yanking into those familiar blonde curls.

Shane felt so good.

The way Ilya’s lips moved against his was so addicting, his tongue coming out to bite his top lip before diving back in to devour him. Shane felt like he could do this all day, completely forgetting about their duties and the rest of the world. But eventually, the strain in his pants became too much to bare. Desperate for even a tiny bit of reprieve, Shane shifted his hips and rocked against Ilya.

The sudden movement had Ilya groaning out loud, a sharp sound that almost made him sound as if he were in pain. He broke the kiss, pulling back just a few inches, his forehead resting against Shane’s as they both panted for air. Shane tried to chase his lips again, but found his cheek instead. 

“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya exhaled, his name coming out more as a plea than anything else. “Do-do you want to?”

Ilya’s looking at him now. His handsome features waiting in anticipation. 

Shane didn’t know exactly what Ilya meant by that, but he knew that if it was Ilya, he’d be more than willing to do anything he asked.

“Yes,” Shane said, breathing in Ilya’s comforting scent. The smell making him a little lightheaded, in a very, very good way.

A profound wave of relief washed over Ilya’s face. He didn’t need to be told twice. With a low, possessive growl that rumbled deep within his chest, Ilya closed the distance. 

--

Shane had always heard of how good sex felt especially from the gossiping young ladies working in the kitchen. He hadn’t meant to listen in on their conversations, but it wasn’t as if they were trying to be quiet either. They would huddle together, whispering details of their escapades with their respective mates, giggling at things they found particularly thrilling. If they were this excited, he remembered thinking it must mean it feels incredible.

Yet, looking at it now, Shane couldn’t see the appeal, not at all.

Furrowing his eyebrows in deep concentration, Ilya dragged his thumb against the tight, sensitive skin where his cock was breaching inch by painful inch.

“Tell me if you want to go slower, okay?” Ilya murmured reassuringly, even though it looked like he was straining to keep his body still. Shane wanted so badly to make it good for him.

Sensing the tension, Ilya grabbed Shane’s cock and gave it a few firm strokes in tandem with each inch he drove inside. The sudden pleasure distracted Shane just enough to open a little more, allowing Ilya to sheath him completely.

Shane reached out his hand, looking for comfort, something to ground him, and Ilya, who’d always been scarily in tune with Shane’s needs, took it in his and gave it a few loving strokes.

“I’m going to move now,” Ilya told him, beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face from the exertion of keeping still. 

“Okay,” Shane whispered, his voice barely a whisper but said with the confidence that Ilya would never do anything to hurt him. 

At first, they took their time so Shane could get used to the new sensations. Ilya did everything he could to make sure that he felt comfortable. He rocked into him impossibly slow, one hand stroking his cock while the other held his hand tightly. 

They kissed slowly, as they reveled in the sensations of having each other so close.

Eventually, the pleasure had Shane pushing back against his thrusts. Shane felt the moment Ilya lose all his composure. But he wasn’t complaining, because the harder Ilya drove into him, the more the deep ache inside him was pacified. He felt Ilya’s mouth latch onto one of his nipples and he couldn't help the high-pitched moan that slipped out of him at the sensation.  

"Fuck, you're so soft inside, so hot." 

As soon as Ilya said those words, he angled his cock just right, deep enough to hit something inside of him that had him gripping onto Ilya’s shoulder. 

"Ilya, oh my god--," Shane moaned, too overwhelmed by pleasure to let out anything other than Ilya's name. 

"You like this?" Ilya panted, staring at him, eyes filled with devotion. 

Shane couldn't imagine how they could possibly be any closer, but now, he knew that they could in a way that he’d never imagined.

Those ladies were right.

Before Shane could even think of covering up the embarrassing sounds, Ilya, as if already anticipating his next move, took his wrists into hands, and pushed them roughly above Shane's head before shoving his cock harder into him. Ilya grinned at him now as if saying, your punishment. 

"Let me hear you. Please," Ilya murmured. "Those noises. They drive me crazy."

Sweat glistened against Ilya's broad shoulders. And he looked so handsome. Even the rhythmic way his gold, cross necklace moved mere inches from his face had Shane in a trance. 

The sound of their breathing grew louder, filling the air with the rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin. 

Shane felt utterly at Ilya's mercy, and yet there was no fear, only belonging. As if this was where he was supposed to be all along. Arching up into him, Shane met every thrust with one of his own. 

“Oh god, Shane,” Ilya groaned, his thrusts becoming borderline frantic. A deep satisfaction simmered in Shane’s stomach knowing that he was the one pleasing him like this. 

Shane watched him, his eyes trained on Ilya's sweat-drenched, beautiful face.

The love he had for Ilya was all-consuming, all encompassing and he couldn’t help but cry as he clutched tightly to the other wolf. “I love you.”

He knew he must’ve looked like a wreck right now with tears dripping down his face and his expression twisted up in pleasure, but Ilya looked down at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world. He brought up his hands to stroke the freckles across his left cheek.

“I love you, Shane, I love you so much,” Ilya said right before they both fell apart. Shane’s back arched sharply as his release hit him hard. His cock jerked, untouched, spilling hot over his stomach as his entire body trembled beneath Ilya’s weight.

He felt Ilya arms wrap around him tightly and a second later, liquid coating his insides, spilling out of him slowly.

Oh my god.

—

“Come on, solnyshko. Let me carry you.”

The unfamiliar word made Shane pause. He wondered what it meant. Judging by the softness in Ilya’s voice, it had be something affectionate. Perhaps it was something Ilya’s old pack used to call each other. He made a mental note to look it up in weathered book he had bought years ago.

“Are you crazy, absolutely not,” Shane swatted away Ilya’s wandering hands. “They’ll know.”

“Shane, they can clearly tell. I smell like you, you smell like me.” Ilya said, with an easy shrug. If anything, he looked entirely too pleased with himself. "There's no hiding this."

Shane opened his mouth to argue before the words died in his throat.

It was true. Somewhere in the middle of everything, Ilya’s warm musk had woven itself with Shane’s own cedar scent. Fortunately, they hadn’t presented yet, so their scents weren’t as powerful as fully matured wolves. Still, anyone with a keen nose would notice if they stood close enough.

And the wolves of Mir noticed everything.

Shane hadn’t been thinking at all, not really. There had only been Ilya. His warmth. His steady hands. The way he’d been so patient, easily maneuvering Shane through every uncertain moment. Afterwards, Ilya had carefully checked him over, his palms gliding gently along his body while he murmured in that deep soothing voice. Does anything hurt?

They’d also spent the better part of the afternoon tangled together beneath the trees. Talking sometimes. Kissing when they felt like it, which turned out to be quite often. Hours passed by like that. And Shane never wanted it to end.

Now, standing at the edge of the forest, the communal area visible in the distance, reality hit him like a bag of rocks.

“I-Ilya! What do we do?” Shane asked panicking, his heart immediately jumping into his throat. He couldn’t have his neighbors, friends, family smelling Ilya’s scent on him. He could already see the knowing smiles, the teasing comments, the gossip spreading before sunset. That would be so embarrassing. He’d never live it down. He’d had to leave Mir and start over.

Ilya only chuckled much to Shane’s annoyance. Still smiling, he leaned down and brushed a quick kiss against Shane’s flushed cheek. “Don’t worry. It will not surprise them.”

He stared into Ilya’s blue eyes questioning. What does that mean? Ilya mouth curved. He had the look of someone enjoying a private joke. “No one has ever believed we were just friends. What future mate would accept this? Us?”

Shane mulled over his words. If he was being honest with himself, they had stopped being just friends a long time ago. Their lives had always been intertwined, every day blending effortlessly into the next until it became impossible to imagine one without the other. Somewhere along the way, they had wandered the line between platonic and something neither of them had been brave enough to name.

Shane had never pushed for a label. He’d convinced himself it was because they did not need one. That they could exist like this forever. Naming it would only ruin things.

But Ilya had shattered that illusion today. And Shane found that he was glad for it.

Because Shane couldn’t imagine sharing him. Still…..he wanted to tease him first, to see his reaction. “Maybe I’ll find someone,” he said with a teasing grin, looking up at him innocently, “and they’d be totally fine with it.”

The light shifted. The sun dipped below the treeline. The warmth seemed to drain from the evening air in the same instant the amusement vanished from Ilya’s face. A flicker of something unmistakably possessive settled behind Ilya's blue green eyes.

Shane gulped as hands tightly gripped his waist, causing him to tumble onto Ilya’s warm chest.

“Try it, Shane. Let’s see what happens when someone tries to touch what’s mine.”