"Damn shame the Doll bailed for maternity leave..." Sheps sits on top of the desk, swinging his legs slightly, looking at Artem with a bored expression.
"Tell me about it," Krasnov smirks ruefully. "She was the only reason to drag our asses through traffic for first period. Why the fuck did we even come today?"
"We'll just check out who they sent, then bail in twenty minutes."
Oleg shrugs in response to the disgruntled look and turns toward the door with undisguised interest.
He understands his friend perfectly. They rarely show up at the university, and certainly not for boring lectures. The guys are looking for an excuse. Another pretext to play for high stakes, to feel that rush they both crave—the kind that makes your blood boil.
Sheps is still recovering from that stupid defeat about a week ago, where he lost his watch to Krasnov. Who knew that stylish peacock could actually manage to play a hobo and score the best sleeping spot in Lyublino? They even gave him a pillow! And Oleg lost his favorite Rolex, which he'd just brought back from Bern, and is now desperate for a rematch.
A young guy holding a gray folder enters the auditorium right as the bell rings and closes the door behind him. Artem purses his lips in disappointment, realizing no new reason to attend Statistics has appeared. Sheps, however, raises a thick eyebrow slightly, looking the teacher over, and seems to forget he's still sitting on the desk.
His light eyes roam over the slightly loose black suit and linger on the snow-white turtleneck, hugging the slender torso almost indecently under the unbuttoned jacket.
"Good morning, everyone," the guy begins in a calm voice, leaning his back against the teacher's desk and gesturing for the students to take their seats. "I think you're all aware that Professor Yakubovich has left you due to family circumstances, so I will be teaching your Statistics course for the remainder of the academic year."
He scans the rows and takes a breath, ready to continue his prepared speech and introduce himself, when a figure standing out from the crowd catches his eye. A student in a black shirt and matching jeans is sitting right on top of the desk, radiating absolute arrogance. The brunette's light eyes stand out starkly against his dark look, fixed on him without wavering.
"Young man," the professor addresses Oleg, crossing his arms over his chest. "Would you care to take a seat?"
Sheps hesitates for a few seconds, maintaining eye contact, then silently hops off the desk. Under Artem's surprised gaze, he saunters around the row to take his seat.
"Is acting like this in Statistics just a reflex for you now?" Krasnov asks in a hushed tone as Oleg settles into his chair, leans back, tilts his head slightly, and locks his gaze on the professor again.
"Seems like this subject is cursed," Sheps chuckles.
Artem raises his eyebrows in confusion, but no explanation follows, so he turns his attention back to the welcome speech.
"My name is Cherevaty Vladislav Vitalievich. I want to say right away that—"
"And how old are you, Vladislav Vitalievich?" Oleg interrupts him loudly, emphasizing the patronymic with a hint of mockery.
Cherevaty pushes off the desk and takes a step forward, looking at the insolent student. Outwardly, Vlad's expression doesn't change, but inside, irritation flares up instantly.
He knew that authority had to be earned, and for a young teacher it wasn't easy, but he still hoped such characters wouldn't appear among his students. Or at least not on his very first day at the university.
"Old enough to know that interrupting a professor is unethical," Cherevaty answers just as calmly as before. "Did I answer your question?"
Sheps narrows his eyes slightly and nods silently, breaking into a smirk. The teacher immediately returns to his speech, looking away indifferently, while Oleg replays Cherevaty's unexpected boldness in his head and, for some reason, takes it as a challenge.
He thought his question would fluster the inexperienced teacher, but that didn't happen. Vlad didn't hesitate for a second, and Sheps was even a little disappointed not to see any embarrassment on that pretty face.
"As I was saying," Cherevaty continues. "I want to make it clear right now: I grade solely on knowledge, and without it, you will not be able to pass my exam."
"Well, fuck..." Krasnov whispers discontentedly, turning to Oleg. "Does this mean we actually have to show up?"
"One way or another, we'll have to," Sheps answers, throwing a quick glance at him before locking his eyes on the professor again.
Artem frowns, scrutinizing Vlad, unable to grasp what his friend finds so interesting about him. A young guy, barely older than them, clearly a fresh graduate because he speaks in rehearsed phrases and is afraid to falter, though he tries not to show it. Plus, he speaks quietly, almost putting them to sleep with his voice at fucking nine in the morning.
But that voice makes Oleg run hot. Cherevaty listens to administrative questions, biting his lip slightly, and answers them, his gaze sweeping over every student except him. It's like he is demonstratively ignoring Sheps, and for some reason, Oleg desperately wants to get his attention, but doesn't understand how. And Sheps definitely doesn't want to screw up in front of the whole audience a second time.
Vlad finally moves on to the lecture, pulling the necessary materials from his folder, and then puts on a pair of neat glasses, finally transforming into a boring nerd in Krasnov's eyes.
But Oleg spreads into a predatory smile. Cherevaty explains the new topic with concentration, sometimes stumbling, hastily glancing at the sheets laid out on the desk, and awkwardly adjusting the tight collar of his turtleneck—almost hypnotizing Sheps with every jagged movement.
Oleg greedily catches these notes of vulnerability behind the feigned confidence and can't help imagining how confusedly Vlad would twitch if he were pinned between him and the cold corridor wall.
Cherevaty moves to the last block of the lecture and starts checking his watch more and more often, realizing he won't finish as planned. The burning gaze of the arrogant brunette is impossibly distracting, psychologically crushing him. Vlad desperately tries not to look back, but even in his peripheral vision, he sees: there is no pen in this student's hands, which means not a single word has been written in his notebook.
It even seems to the professor that if the guy continued to interrupt with snide remarks, it would be easier. But the brunette is silent, and Cherevaty can't shake the unsettling feeling inside, even when he turns away to the board.
The end of the lecture is a bit rushed because time is running out, and Vlad needs to fit in the roll call. He takes a seat at the desk, opening the register in front of him, and starts reading out surnames, peering into the faces of his new students.
"Shakov!"
"Here!"
"Shelest!"
"Here!"
"Sheps!"
Silence hangs over the auditorium, and Artem elbows Oleg in the side, but Sheps definitely heard his last name.
Cherevaty looks up, scanning the tiered rows, and checks the list again.
"Is Oleg Sheps present?"
Those light eyes keep staring straight at him, and Vlad suddenly realizes he hasn't heard that insolent voice during the roll call yet. Cherevaty lifts his head from the register, directing his gaze straight at Oleg, who smirks, finally delivering a lazy "Present."
There is no reaction, and Sheps gets slightly angry that Vlad continues the roll call without emotion. Krasnov shoots a mocking look at his friend and jumps up immediately the moment the bell rings in the corridor.
"Going for a smoke?" he asks impatiently, shoving his notebook into a small backpack.
"Let's go," Oleg snaps discontentedly.
They make their way down the auditorium steps in the slow stream of fellow students, and both freeze at the door when the professor's voice sounds from the side:
"Sheps, stay behind for a minute."
Oleg's eyes flare up with fire, while Artem just chuckles, noticing how abruptly his friend has perked up.
"I'll be at the smoking spot," he says slyly and leaves, closing the door behind him.
Sheps takes a few steps toward the desk, studying Vlad's profile up close while the professor removes his glasses. And when, a few moments later, Cherevaty slowly raises a confident gaze to meet his, Oleg swallows hard, trying not to lose his edge. The empty auditorium with the closed door does absolutely nothing to help him compose himself, and Oleg is surprised by just how much the two small moles on the other man's cheek ignite a fire inside him.
"Are you trying to prove something to me?" Vlad seems maddeningly calm again, and Sheps smirks, deciding that the best defense is a good offense.
"Maybe I am."
"And what might that be?" Cherevaty raises his eyebrows indifferently.
Oleg can't read a single emotion on his face, but in his peripheral vision, he notices the professor monotonously tapping a pencil against the desk.
Sheps leans in slightly, stares silently into his eyes for a few seconds, and then, with a playful wiggle of his brows, answers:
"You'll find out..."
Vlad chokes on a breath at such insolence, and Oleg instantly disappears out the door before he can recover. Cherevaty's patience snaps, and the pencil in his hands breaks in half with a loud crack.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
"You're practically glowing," Artem laughs as Sheps walks out to the smoking spot. "Are you gonna hit on every Statistics professor?"
"No," Oleg answers with a smirk, lighting a cigarette. "Just this one."
"What about Yakubovich? Already forgot?"
"This is more interesting."
Sheps answers with a kind of delight, clearly realizing the difference: Olga reacted differently. Or rather, no. Not like that. Olga reacted. She caught every look, answered every smile, got flustered by dirty questions, and gave Oleg exactly what he wanted—emotions. And he didn't need anything more than that.
Cherevaty is different. In the whole hour and a half, Sheps didn't get a drop of what he expected, and that awakened a kind of almost vicious thrill inside. He wants to play this damn game with him, a game where Oleg doesn't understand the rules yet. And in this game, unlike with Yakubovich, he maddeningly wants to take the grand prize.
"You won't pull it off," Krasnov shrugs. "That nerd is bulletproof. He's focused on being a teacher, and your stunts piss him off, they don't turn him on."
Sheps looks at him with a challenge, chin tilted up slightly, and seems to find the perfect pretext for a rematch. To get Cherevaty and rub Artem's nose in it at the same time—that's the best combination there is.
"Wanna bet I'll fuck him before the end of the school year?" he proposes decisively.
"Willing to bet your car?" Artem's eyes light up.
Oleg turns around to look at the car parked right at the entrance, when suddenly he spots Vlad leaving the building. He sweeps his gaze over the long gray coat and feels his throat go instantly dry.
Cherevaty disappears around the corner, and Sheps turns back to Krasnov with a grin, realizing he simply has to get what he wants:
"Deal."
"A Beamer would go nicely with my Rolex," Artem laughs smugly and holds out his hand. "Are you seriously not afraid of losing?"
"I will win," Oleg answers confidently.
He shakes Krasnov's hand, but the car is the last thing on his mind.