adevyish | [Fic] The Student Project, Ch 2 (Reply)

Ilya Rozanov, in a red jacket, does a squat on top of a white cairn with a red E.

Title: The Student Project, Ch 2
Fandom: Game Changers/Heated Rivalry
Pairing: Shane/Ilya
Rating: PG13, eventually probably R
Word Count: 3,400

Summary:

Shane Hollander is a first-year student at the University of British Columbia. He just wants to study, make robots, and maybe not be caught sleeping in the lab overnight again.

Unfortunately for him, Ilya Rozanov is his classmate, and Ilya is looking for a team. Because Ilya has one goal: to pull off the greatest prank in UBC history.

Notes:

Since AO3 is down, I’m mirroring this fic over here.

2. Stars; The First Five Times

Shane wakes slowly to navy sheets, a mattress softer than his own, and faint clattering through a door. He pushes himself up, pulls on yesterday’s hoodie and jeans, and follows the noise to the living area.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Ilya chirps from the open kitchen. His bare biceps and black tank top are a shock against glossy white cabinets. Back muscles flex as Ilya flips something in a pan.

It takes several moments for Shane to react. He blames the fact that it’s seven thirty and he woke ahead of his alarm. Eventually he responds. “I’m not a sleeping beauty.”

Ilya glances over his shoulder. “But you are, with those freckles. Waiting for true love’s kiss, yes?”

Shane wills himself to roll his eyes and not blush. “Sure, I pricked myself on an IC chip and fell asleep.”

Ilya’s shoulders bob with silent laughter. The stove clicks off; Ilya bringing the pan to the countertop between them. From the front, the tank reveals a chain and a hint of collarbone.

“Sit,” Ilya says, arms flexing as he gestures with the flipper. “I do not know what breakfast you like, so I made a little of everything.”

The pan contains white bread, toasted and buttered. There’s a bowl of eggs, yogurt with granola on the side, and de-stemmed strawberries. Beside them is a pot of tea and a carton of milk. It’s healthier than Shane would expect of a guy his age, more in line with Shane’s preferences than the frozen pizza Ilya offered last night.

“You didn’t have to,” Shane says, earnest.

“Is a thank you. All students like free food, yes?”

“Still, thanks.”

Shane pours himself a glass of milk, and starts with a piece of toast and a scoop of eggs. The toast is perfect, but the eggs are not quite fluffy enough. They aren’t outright rubbery, but they feel weird on his tongue. Shane does his best to swallow his mouthful quickly so he doesn’t seem impolite.

Ilya notices. With a frown, he pulls the bowl of eggs away from Shane and nudges the yogurt closer in its place.

“Sorry,” Shane murmurs. “Thanks.”

Ilya shrugs like it’s no big deal. He spears a spoon into the eggs and takes an enormous bite of it. “It’s mine now,” Ilya declares.

Feeling slightly less bad about turning the eggs down, Shane finishes off his toast. He prepares a bowl of yogurt next, selecting berries and cutting them into pieces before adding them in with the granola. He tries it; it’s just a little sweeter than tart. He likes it.

Shane glances around for something to talk about. “Your apartment is nice.”

Ilya hums as he swallows a mouthful of eggs. “It’s not bad,” he replies.

The guest room was as pristine as Ilya promised. The kitchen counters and stainless steel stove look brand new. The navy sofa barely has a hint of an indent in its cushions. The apartment did look nice, but it also looked a little empty.

“Is it just you living here?” Shane asks.

“Yes, just me,” Ilya replies.

Rose, his APSC 150 group mate, has ranted to their entire group that only students whose families live outside Greater Vancouver can qualify for the dorms. It takes her a ride and two buses to get to school. Shane assumes Ilya must be in the same situation, so asks, “Is your commute from home very long?”

“Five hours by plane,” Ilya says. “I am from Toronto.”

“Oh,” Shane says, utterly embarrassed. “That’s kind of far,” he babbles. “I mean, U of T is a better school, and your marks are really good, so.”

Ilya makes a dismissive wave with his fork. “Yes, I did get in. But UBC Engineering is more famous, no?”

Shane considers what they did last night. Even though they’re in private, in Ilya’s own apartment, Shane still leans closer and whispers like someone could overhear. “You came here because of the pranks?”

A laugh bursts out of Ilya. “Yes? Duh. And remember Shane Hollander: they are not ‘pranks’. They are ‘stunts’.”

“Please don’t use my full name.”

“Okay, Shane.” Ilya says. A few more giggles leave Ilya, before he schools his expression into something fake serious. “You are an engineer. They are called stunts.”

Shane shakes his head. “You can’t be serious. That’s not actually a thing.”

“Is short for ‘student project’,” Ilya explains. “S-T-U-N from ‘student’, T from ‘project’.”

“That’s terrible,” Shane says. “That barely makes sense!”

“Do not say that in public or they will strip the Red from you.”

“They can’t kick me out of the faculty,” Shane retorts. Not unless Shane fails some classes, which is impossible.

“The jacket, Shane.”

“Oh,” Shane says. The red jacket that he’s seen some other engineering students wear. “I don’t own one.”

“What.”

“They’re expensive! And honestly, I wouldn’t wear it except on campus, so it seems like a bad investment.”

“Da poshyol ty, a bad investment!”

Ilya pushes away from his side of the counter and storms towards the bedrooms. Shane’s wondering if he needs to start leaving when Ilya appears in the hallway, wearing a red varsity jacket over the tank top. There’s a bi flag patch sewn on the front. A white name tag on the upper arm declares ROZ.

Ilya spins around, and below the familiar ENGINEERS UBC text is a rainbow gear and an overflowing pitcher labelled 40 BEER.

Shane takes back everything bad he’s ever said about the engineering jacket, because Ilya looks incredible in it. He would never admit that to Ilya, of course.

Ilya comes back to the counter, this time taking a seat on the barstool beside Shane. Ilya’s thighs bulge in his sweatpants. Shane only looks up when Ilya starts talking again.

“The important thing are the patches,” Ilya is saying as he digs back into his eggs. “That dinosaur Scott Hunter has a LAMA patch.”

Scott Hunter is a name Shane recognizes. The current president of the Engineering Undergrad Society, Scott Hunter was everywhere during Orientation Week. The other thing, Shane does not recognize.

“A what patch?”

“LAMA patch,” Ilya repeats. “Larceny and Mayhem. It is shaped like a bridge. Guess why.”

“Wait, do you mean the Volkswagen Beetle hanging from the Ironworkers’ Bridge earlier this year? Scott Hunter did that?”

“Yes, him and his committee, during last E-Week.”

“The fuck is an E-Week,” Shane says.

“Engineering Week, Shane.” Ilya adds in a mutter, “Fuck, at this rate you will need to be protected from being dunked in the tank.” What tank, Shane is afraid to ask.

“Anyway,” Ilya continues. “Everyone else in last year’s committee has graduated. Scott Hunter has not. He is in sixth year.” He says the last part with much contempt.

Shane thinks about where he’s seen Scott Hunter: mostly manning tables and greeting first year students. “I don’t know, guy seems pretty nice. Not the type of guy to sneak around at night.”

“You would know, of course.”

Shane warms with embarrassment. “You talked me into it!”

“Okay, yes, true,” Ilya concedes, not looking sorry at all. “It is because I need accomplices. I want to beat dinosaur Scott Hunter. I want a black E patch.” Ilya taps his right chest, twice, where said patch would go.

He waits for Ilya to explain.

“Black E is only for stunts that make international news. They have not given one out in years.”

Shane knows what Ilya is talking about. It had happened before Shane gained awareness of current events, but he remembers watching the six o’clock news with his parents and the days of coverage.

“So you want to put together a group of students to — do what? Hang a Beetle off an international bridge?”

Ilya hums. “I am thinking more local. E-Week is in February.” Ilya looks at Shane, as if waiting for Shane to catch on. Shane runs through the Academic Calendar mentally, to February 2010. There’s an extended reading break this year, because of —

“The Olympics? Are you insane?”

“Why not?” Ilya says, leaning impossibly closer. His knees jostle Shane as he gestures in emphasis. “They are here, in Vancouver. There will never be a better chance. This is why I must start recruitment now, in September. It has to happen this year.”

“The security is going to be insane,” Shane says. “They’re not going to let anyone near a bridge.”

“That is what we have four months to figure out.”

“There is no ‘we’ in this,” Shane says.

“I want your ideas,” Ilya argues. “If you want, you can help plan and not do act.” Ilya says the last part as if it is incomprehensible to him. It probably is.

Because Shane is not anyone’s first choice of secret committee member, he asks, “Why me?”

“Your marks are good,” Ilya says, eyes fixed on Shane’s, so close Shane can count his eyelashes. “You are obsessed with engineering. You have good ideas. You will be asset.”

And Shane, because he has never been part of a secret committee, agrees. “Fine,” he says. “But if you get arrested, leave my name out of it.”

Ilya leans back, looking much too pleased with himself. “Okay,” he chimes. Shane resists the urge to kick his leg.

Instead, Shane says, “We need a cover in case you get caught.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “We will not be caught.”

“Roz.”

“Fine, we can be study buddies,” Ilya says. “Tell me when your classes end today.”

“Noon,” Shane says.

“Lucky.” Ilya tilts his head, likely considering options. “Free for lunch?”

“Sure. My last class is in Buchanan.”

Ilya hums. “How about White Spot? I have not tried it, but people tell me it is important BC place.”

Shane associates White Spot with Pirate Paks and terrible birthday parties, actually, but he supposes it’s been ten years and he can give it another try. Shane’s guessing Ilya wants some privacy to discuss plans, and an actual restaurant would be better than the crowded basement of the SUB.

“Sure,” Shane says.

“Give me your number,” Ilya says. He fishes a phone out of his varsity jacket, and flips it open before holding it out to Shane.

Shane puts in his number only. He hands the phone back to Ilya as he has no idea how to save a contact on a Sony Ericsson. “Don’t save me as something stupid,” he says.

Ilya rolls his eyes as he taps away on the black phone. “Look. Shane, bracket, PHYS 153, close bracket.”

It’s acceptable. Shane lays out his phone rules. “Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. Don’t text me too much either, receiving a text costs me thirty cents.”

Ilya looks at him, baffled. “Thirty cents?”

“I’m on prepaid! It’s a good deal, it’s only ten dollars a month.”

Ilya sighs, like he is already a little fed up with Shane’s rules. “You know the police can read texts right. Instant messages too. It’s better if I call you.”

Shane cannot imagine paying twenty-five a month, possibly more, for his phone plan. “On my home phone?” he asks dubiously.

Ilya scoffs. “I can Skype you at home. Better view.” He leans back to look Shane up and down, and Shane looks away from that intent gaze.

Maybe sensing Shane’s unease, Ilya settles back into his seat. He taps Shane’s wrist lightly with his phone. “Upgrade your phone plan, okay? I am going to call you. A lot.”

Shane insists on leaving for class with ample buffer time. Ilya says that walking to Hebb will only take thirty minutes, less if they run, but Shane left his textbooks in his locker last night and needs to pick them up.

“You don’t have to come with,” Shane suggests when they reach Mech Eng.

Ilya quirks his lips. “See you in physics, then.”

“See you.”

Entering Mech Eng is like being hit with a wall of whispers. He overhears snatches — Did you see the posts on Facebook? Who did you think did it?

Usually, this kind of attention would send Shane panicking. This morning though, he’s sort of enjoying it. He finds he likes being in on a little secret no one knows. He takes out his textbooks and replaces them with yesterday’s t-shirt, neatly folded.

People in Hebb Theatre are whispering too. He easily spots Ilya’s curls close to the back, and gives Ilya a small smile when he passes him. Ilya grins back.

Shane takes his usual seat, two rows from the front of the hall.

“So you weren’t in the robotics lab this morning,” Hayden says as he sits down.

“No,” Shane says. “I left early.” He pulls out his notebook and stationery out of his backpack, and aligns them on the bench-top table.

“No you did not,” Hayden says. “You were there when I left at nine last night. I woke up at seven a.m. today because I thought, Shane would like to be woken up before other people see him. I thought, maybe he’ll like some breakfast. I snuck a sandwich from the Vanier caf for you, by the way.”

Hayden pushes a sandwich wrapped in crumpled brown paper towel towards him.

“Thanks, but I’m good.” Shane pushes the sandwich back. “I had breakfast already.”

“Let me guess: whole-wheat pancakes with a glass of milk.”

“Toast and yogurt, actually.”

“Branching out! Next thing I know, you’ll be having pizza for lunch.”

Shane makes a face. “The last time you dragged me to Pie R Squared they were serving potato pizza, Hayden.”

“Carbs on carbs, what’s there not to like? You won’t buy bagels from Bernoulli’s, you think Honour Roll sushi is mediocre — you gotta eat something Shane.”

“I do!” Shane protests. “I have plans for lunch.”

Hayden raises an eyebrow. “Lucky gal? Or lucky guy?”

Shane, flustered, blurts out, “I’m going home.”

He didn’t mean to lie, but he does poorly under pressure. Hayden, somehow, believes him.

“One day I’ll get you to like just one place on campus,” Hayden is saying. “Just one.”

“I like the Pendulum,” Shane says.

“Pasta salad is not a meal,” Hayden says. “So, since you were on campus later than me last night. Did you see who did the stunt?”

Shane stutters. “What stunt?”

“I forgot you don’t have Facebook. So someone — or multiple someones — set a bunch of balloon animals all over campus last night.”

“Oh?” Shane says, very nonchalantly.

“It was pretty funny. Everyone thought that it was some random act of kindness thing until they realized an engineer did it, and now everyone’s mad at us. Jackie’s asking me if I know who did it.”

“That’s the girl you met at that mixer with Nursing?”

“Yeah. It turns out she lives in Vanier too, so we’ve been hanging out a lot.”

“Congrats,” Shane says, happy for Hayden even if he’s only known him three weeks. Hayden’s just like that: within an hour of them meeting he decided Shane was his best friend this side of Georgia Strait.

“Wait,” Hayden says, “you distracted me with Jackie and never answered my question!”

“I didn’t see anything,” Shane says very quickly.

Hayden leans in. “So? What did you see?”

“Nothing!” Shane insists.

It’s clear Hayden doesn’t believe him, but thankfully, the prof chooses that very moment to interrupt.

Hayden has English right after Physics, so Shane is spared from any interrogation until Monday. Hopefully.

Shane has a free hour, so heads to Koerner and finds a quiet spot to review his notes from the week. He thinks he’s done a good job of summarizing them by the time he has to leave for his own ENGL 112 section.

This week, they’re supposed to be peer-reviewing each other’s essays. Shane doesn’t know anyone in the class, and ends up swapping essays with one Luca Haas sat directly behind him (student number: 62177071).

Shane has no idea what he’s supposed to write. Luca’s essay reads better than his own, but he can’t really explain why. He ends up writing something on the scorecard like “good use of sandwich structure :)” and gives it full marks.

Luca, who looks no older than sixteen, returns Shane’s essay with the entire margin covered in red pen and a scorecard filled with four out of fives. Shane wants to be swallowed by a sinkhole.

“See you next class?” Luca says, and his pleading eyes are so lethal that Shane instantly forgives him.

“Yeah, see you.”

Shane stews in his head as he walks the two blocks to where he’s meeting Ilya. Campus is especially crowded at noon, but inside, White Spot is barely half full. Ilya, in his red engineering jacket, is easy to spot. He’s already at a table, sipping from a large glass of coke.

“Hey,” Shane says.

“How was English?” Ilya asks.

Shane makes a face. “We were doing peer review today. Some sixteen-year-old kid called Luca handed back my essay full of red marks.”

“Luca? Luca Haas?” Ilya questions.

Shane nods.

“He is fifteen,” Ilya says.

“Are you stalking everyone on campus?”

“He is an engineer,” Ilya says, as if that is an explanation. UBC Engineering admits eight hundred students a year; it is not an explanation. Instead Ilya asks, “Do you know if he is interested in stunts?”

“No,” Shane replies, “why would I?”

“Find out,” Ilya says.

Shane stares him down.

“Please,” Ilya says. “As my favourite accomplice.”

“Ugh, fine. How am I even supposed to ask?”

“Ask him what he thought of balloons. Is easy.”

A server comes to take their orders. Shane declines a drink and opts for a clubhouse sandwich, while Ilya orders a burger.

The server leaves with the menus, and Ilya leans into the vacated space. “Are you busy this weekend?” Ilya asks.

“I was planning on writing my lab reports then doing next week’s readings,” Shane replies.

“There aren’t any new readings for next week?”

“Yeah? There are chapters assigned in Chem and Physics?”

“Wow,” Ilya says. “I cannot believe I met someone so boring he reads the textbook.”

Shane locks his eyes on Ilya, pulls his MEC backpack towards him, and reaches in to display his copy of University Physics (custom edition for the University of British Columbia).

“You purchased textbooks? New?” Ilya makes a face. “Shane. You save ten dollars a month on your phone plan to spend hundreds of dollars on textbooks.”

“I’m saving fifteen a month,” Shane protests. Terrified of the answer, Shane asks, “Do you mean you don’t own any textbooks?”

“The library keeps copies, Shane. For this purpose.”

“So you admit to going to the library,” Shane says.

“Do not tell people. It is deep dark secret,” Ilya says.

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, so what if you come to my place tomorrow. We can read boring textbooks together, then talk stunts.”

Shane doesn’t really study with people, but somehow Shane finds himself agreeing to his first study session since grade nine.

They also compare schedules. Shane had printed his, cut the margins, and glued it to a page on the leather planner his parents had gifted him upon entering university. Ilya has a full-size sheet haphazardly folded and taped to the back of his free EUS agenda. They have the same lectures, but different labs, and Ilya is in English literature rather than academic writing.

“How is ENGL 110?” Shane asks. “Any better than ENGL 112?”

“I am not taking 112 so I would not know,” Ilya says. “My 110 section is doing Romantic themes. Right now we are discussing Frankenstein and constructions of self.”

That sounds much worse to Shane than fifteen-year-olds marking his essays, so he supposes he made the right choice.

Their food arrives in two large plates.

“Do you want to share? I can cut my burger in half.”

Shane eyes the burger. It looks and smells better than the fast food joints his high school friends kept trying to get him to try. However, there are pickles in it.

“No, I’m fine.” Shane checks his Casio watch. “You have thirty-six minutes before your next class, so we should probably hurry.”

“It’s okay, I can be a little late.”

“You can’t be late to a thirty-person tutorial. Your TA will kill you.”

“Fine Shane. I will be a good student and go to class on time.” Ilya takes a big demonstrative bite out of his burger, which has the bonus of shutting him up.

“Thank you,” Shane says.

Ilya finishes his burger in record time, like he is making a point. Shane tries to eat faster to match him, but he is terrible at eating things quickly. He is still eating the last bit of sandwich when Ilya comes back from the ‘washroom’ and informs Shane he’d paid the bill. Asshole.

“You can’t pay the bill,” Shane protests. “You cooked breakfast this morning.”

Ilya runs his hands through his hair. “Think of it as a bribe for tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Shane says. “I’m bringing food tomorrow. You can’t stop me.”

Ilya smirks like he’s won something. Shane is going to buy so much food.