Oleg spends the entire weekend like in a trance. He tries to come up with some kind of plan, but there are no ideas in his head, just an emptiness that drives him deeper into depression, pulling him back to past events. Sheps digs through his phone's contact list, hoping to latch onto at least some of his influential connections, but he doesn't know what to ask for.
The camera recordings are destroyed; based on Ignatenko's words, the Dean won't be able to find any other evidence, which means a criminal case won't be opened against Vlad. But Cherevaty is unlikely to be very happy about that in this situation. If so many people knew about the scandalous news in the first few hours, Oleg is afraid to even imagine how the faculty will be buzzing on Monday.
He remembers what Sonya said, and that weighs on him even more. In the Dean's cursed office all of Friday and, probably, for the next couple of days, they will be discussing Cherevaty. They will examine him under a microscope, analyzing his every move. Basharov plans to talk to every professor, and that sounds awful because after such conversations, Vlad's reputation will be ground to dust regardless of the outcome. It seems to Sheps that by the end of these inquiries, even Levin will start to doubt.
Oleg also keeps trying to understand at what point their game collapsed, what triggered this earthquake that shook the board in an instant, scattering all the pieces on the floor. He knows it won't help, but he keeps digging through his thoughts anyway, like trying to justify himself. Sheps doesn't want to think about the fact that he pushed Cherevaty into the abyss himself and, failing to keep his balance, flew in right after him.
On Monday, Oleg arrives at the faculty almost an hour before the first class. He sits in his car, sipping hot coffee to wake up, although it's more like self-hypnosis at this point: Sheps can't remember the last time he slept properly. His tired eyes monotonously follow the professors slowly flocking to the faculty, but Oleg is waiting for only one. He desperately hopes to intercept Vlad outside before classes and talk properly, but he doesn't appear even five minutes before the bell, confusing Sheps completely.
"I was starting to think you wouldn't show," Artem says, greeting his friend with a familiar gesture already in the hall.
"Why's that?" Oleg asks without interest, slowly heading toward the auditorium.
"You weren't at the smoking spot," Krasnov shrugs. "And you didn't answer my texts all weekend."
"If I didn't answer, it means I couldn't," Sheps cuts him off briefly.
Artem frowns, noting to himself that his friend is acting completely out of character, but he doesn't understand the reason. And while he has gotten used to Oleg's constant mood swings over the last few weeks, this confusion and bitterness are something new. Sheps has become like a little turtle: hiding in his tough shell, closing himself off from everyone, and biting painfully when anyone tries to simply knock on his house. But even in that house, it seems he's not very comfortable at all.
"Are you okay?.." Krasnov asks carefully. "You look like shit."
"Tyom, just fuck off, okay?"
He says it with a sigh, throwing an exhausted look at his friend, and sincerely hopes that will be enough, because he has neither the strength nor the desire to talk. Artem silently takes a seat at the desk and drops his questioning, feeling not a drop of offense. Something is clearly wrong with Oleg, and Krasnov understands perfectly well that this quiet phrase is the mildest thing his friend could have said in such a situation.
A couple of minutes after the bell, the door finally opens, and Sheps stares in confusion at the Deputy Dean entering the auditorium.
"Don't stand up," Getsati says calmly, gesturing like waving off the students, and walks to the desk. "I will be conducting your Statistics lecture today."
"Where is Cherevaty?"
Oleg asks loudly, without ceremony, and Konstantin sighs barely noticeably, cursing Friday's scandal once again. Not only did he have to come in for the first period, although his classes never start before the third, but he also got Sheps's stream, which Getsati never wanted to teach.
"Vladislav Vitalievich will be replaced by other professors for some time," Konstantin answers succinctly and immediately moves on to the lecture.
"He's been suspended," Artem adds barely audibly and is genuinely surprised by Oleg's shocked look.
For some reason, Krasnov was sure that if anyone knew, Sheps would definitely be aware of this fact, but in the next second, he realizes he was mistaken. Oleg sweeps his things off the desk in one motion, stuffing them into his bag, and dashes down the auditorium steps at a fast pace.
"Sheps, I didnt dismiss you," Getsati's stern voice catches up to the student already at the door.
"And I didn't ask to be dismissed," Oleg snaps on the move, not even turning toward the professor. The latter just rolls his eyes wearily at the rudeness, deep down glad that the potential source of irritation self-eliminated at the very beginning of the class.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Ilya sends his fourth message, sitting on the steps in Cherevaty's stairwell. On Saturday, Vlad never opened the door, didn't answer a single call, and Larionov gave him space to be alone with himself. On Sunday, Ilya limited himself to just two messages, after which he realized it was still too early to visit that day either.
Ilyusha
How are you?
Vlad
Bad.
Ilyusha
I'll come by tonight.
Vlad
No.
The fact that Cherevaty at least stopped ignoring him was undoubtedly a good sign, but the answers themselves didn't please Larionov at all. And the issue wasn't that Vlad felt bad—Ilya understood that himself. He was alarmed that Cherevaty admitted it. Simply, without preamble or the usual attempts to put on a brave face, he said in plain text how he felt. And Larionov realized this was the edge: the always secretive Vlad was drowning in himself, and he didn't have a drop of strength or desire to hide it. That's why Ilya is desperately trying to break through the invisible wall today, understanding that his friend simply must be pulled out, or this will end badly.
But Cherevaty hasn't opened the door for about half an hour. Larionov sees that his every message is instantly marked as read, but receives no answer, with every minute understanding less and less which tactic to choose.
Ilyusha
We won't talk, I promise. Just open the door.
He clings to another option because he just wants to get into the damn apartment and make sure Vlad is okay, at least physically. The two check marks on the screen turn blue again, and Ilya sighs heavily when, after several minutes, he still doesn't hear a single step behind the door.
Eventually, he gets up from the steps and decides to take a walk around the courtyard, hoping the fresh air will give him new ideas, because the cold, empty stairwell isn't helping him think actively at all; on the contrary, it only makes him worry more about his friend's condition.
Larionov walks outside and immediately tenses up, his eyes landing on Sheps. Ilya had only seen him once, at the bar, but from the expensive car the guy is leaning against while smoking, he realizes it's him—the very person because of whom his best friend is falling to pieces several floors above.
Oleg needs information. He wants to know what exactly the Dean told Vlad: what is already known, what Basharov plans to do, whether he even said how and what specific information got to the Dean's office. Sheps doesn't know what to latch onto to even start acting, and this feeling of helplessness is killing him. He is terrified that he is once again forced to just watch everything collapse around him.
Oleg also thinks about what it must be like for Cherevaty to sit at home right now, knowing someone else is teaching his lectures at the faculty. For some reason, he didn't even think that suspension is absolutely logical in such a situation. It seems Sheps has completely lost all his rational thinking skills in the last few days, and this makes him feel weak. And being weak is terrifying.
And also Oleg is lying. He knows he won't get any answers from Vlad, and he knows he doesn't know how to sympathize with people. Sheps bolted from the lecture on autopilot and didn't look for any excuses. He came just because he felt that right now, he wants to be here. And that is what truly scares him.
"Oleg, if I'm not mistaken?" Larionov approaches him decisively, peering intently into his eyes.
"Are we acquainted?"
Sheps arches an eyebrow, taking another drag, and doesn't understand why he has aroused such interest from this stranger.
"I've heard about you," Ilya answers coldly. "What are you doing here?"
Oleg really doesn't like this tone, and he frowns, slowly starting to get irritated:
"Who are you, anyway?"
"Vlad's friend."
Light eyes light up, and Sheps immediately changes his attitude toward the stranger. This is exactly who he needs right now, because upon getting out of the car, Oleg realized he knows neither the floor nor the apartment number, and ringing every door in the building in search of the right one isn't the best idea.
"I need to talk to him," Sheps finally answers the previous question, immediately following up with his own. "You wouldn't know his apartment number, would you?"
Ilya is genuinely surprised by such audacity but shows none of it outwardly. Oleg's manipulator mode switched on abruptly, and Larionov just smirks internally because he can read every emotion. The pensiveness, confusion, and dejection with which Sheps was glancing at the windows before their conversation began were sharply pushed deep down, replaced by a defensive reaction at the first phrases. And now Oleg, apparently, decided that Ilya would be thrown off by the direct pressure from the abrupt change in the dialogue's focus.
"He won't talk to you," Larionov says evenly, closely watching the reaction to his words.
Sheps's lips twitch for a second, immediately spreading into a smirk, but that micro-expression is enough for Ilya to see past the mask.
"Did you decide that because he won't talk to you?"
Oleg knows where to strike: if Vlad wasn't trying to shut his friend out, he wouldn't be standing here right now, but would be beside him.
"Do you really think that after what you did, he'll talk to you?" Larionov continues to press on the same thing that just caused an uncontrolled impulse in Sheps. "Trust me, I know him better."
But the tactic abruptly stops working. Oleg smirks somewhat smugly, narrows his eyes slightly, and, pushing off the car with his hands, takes a step forward.
"Are you sure? Because after what happened, he already answered my call."
Ilya raises his eyebrows at what he heard, and Sheps confirms that he was right in his thoughts. The other man's confusion perfectly proves it: his influence on Vlad surprises even his close friend, and the realization of this seeps pleasantly right under his skin.
If Larionov weren't a psychologist, he would never in his life have believed this was true. But Oleg's eyes are practically screaming how much he is enjoying this fact, and Ilya doesn't have the slightest doubt: this is the absolute, genuine triumph of a manipulator proud of his work.
A thought sharply enters his head, and Larionov latches onto it, quickly running through possible scenarios in his mind. Letting Sheps go to Cherevaty right now is cruel. It means nothing but adding to Vlad more pain, throwing him into a cage with the most dangerous predator. But that's on one hand.
And on the other—it means shaking Cherevaty up, forcing him to explode with a whole palette of strong feelings and yanking him out of the apathy he has fallen into and doesn't want to get out of, not allowing himself to be helped. Ilya is not a fan of shock therapy, but it seems it's the only thing that works on Vlad. And right now, standing before him is the one who can actually implement the boldest plan to save his friend.
"Apartment twenty-seven," Larionov blurts out without explanation, surprising Oleg now. "You can count the floors yourself."
He walks away immediately to show that this was his decision, not Sheps's victory, but after a few steps, he turns around and is genuinely surprised again by the sight.
Oleg isn't walking into the building with a confident gait and isn't looking after him, happy to have gotten his way. Sheps lights another cigarette, leaning back against the car, and stares with an unseeing gaze somewhere to the side, returning to that same state Ilya saw him in when he first came outside. And it is this image that interests Larionov the most, because everything Vlad said about Oleg doesn't line up at all with the guy Sheps is hiding under his skillful mask.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
About twenty minutes pass after the last message, and Vlad hopes Ilya has finally left. The phone, its screen refusing to go dark, lies on the table, and Cherevaty glances at the open chat only when he reaches for his glass again, because he doesn't want to hear the notification sound. Vlad understands that Larionov wants to help, but every message just reminds him of how deep he is burying himself, and he doesn't want to acknowledge this at all. It's easier to think that someone else is doing this to him.
Cherevaty imagines what's happening at the faculty and just waits for them to come for him. Not to help or pull him out from where he sees no exit, but just to end everything, to execute the sentence and finally free him from the agonizing wait for his execution. A persistent ringing of the doorbell bursts into his consciousness, and he realizes it isn't Ilya.
Larionov rang briefly, abruptly, like just letting him know he was there, but now someone is decisively pressing the button outside the door, not removing their hand, and it seems to Vlad that his wait is over—now everything will end for good.
Oleg hears the click of the lock, exhales in relief, but the door doesn't open, so he frowns, turning the handle himself. Sheps still doesn't know what to say: from everything spinning in his head, he couldn't choose the right words.
The sight makes Oleg even more lost. The stench of stale alcohol hits his nose, shards of glass are visible on the living room floor, and Cherevaty, it seems, didn't even look who he was opening the door for. The slumped figure, swaying slightly, shuffles down the hall back to the room, and Sheps is overcome with a kind of despair.
"Vlad..."
Cherevaty freezes mid-step and slowly turns around, and Oleg's gaze locks on the almost glassy eyes, making him realize with horror that Vlad is drunk. At fucking ten in the morning on a Monday, he sees anyone in front of him, but definitely not the ambitious professor he once started his game with.
"You?.."
Vlad asks hollowly, not surprised, not angry, just looking at Sheps standing in the doorway, and Sheps suddenly explodes at this total indifference. Some part of him, already used to the adrenaline, the flashing eyes, and the inevitable vivid reaction, switches on in an instant, forcing Oleg to act immediately. To do anything, but get his source of vital emotions back right here, right now.
He decisively slams the door and walks unceremoniously into the living room, intentionally bumping Cherevaty with his shoulder. An almost-empty bottle of cognac is on the table, and Sheps grabs it along with a glass, heading quickly to the kitchen.
"Put that back," Vlad tries to command, with notes of irritation.
The fact that this person, who destroyed his life, is now acting like he owns the place in his own home makes Cherevaty, for the first time in days, feel a slowly rising anger inside.
"You let me in yourself," Oleg cuts him off roughly.
He heard some emotion in Vlad's voice and now desperately clings to it, trying to provoke further.
Sheps understands he is taking a risk. Understands that Cherevaty could "shut down" at any moment, not finding the strength to fight, but he still pours the alcohol into the sink, giving Vlad a significant look. No reaction. Oleg pulls a new string.
"You can finish this." He helpfully holds out the glass with the remaining cognac and smirks in satisfaction when Cherevaty snatches it from his hand and angrily hurls it to the floor, flinching at the sound of shattering glass.
The method is working. Sheps feels a colossal rush of energy and darts back to the living room, hearing Vlad follow right behind. Lecture materials are in a neat pile on the desk, and Oleg hopes this will work too. He picks up a few sheets, scans the contents, and looks up at Cherevaty with an arrogant gaze.
"You won't need these anymore," he says harshly and, not breaking eye contact, demonstratively tears the papers.
And Vlad feels like they are tearing him apart. Methodically and cruelly cutting him in two, one part suffocating from pain and humiliation, and the other screaming deafeningly that he can submit to anyone, just not this person. And this part seems to push Cherevaty in the back, forcing him to grab Sheps firmly by the front of his shirt.
"That's not for you to decide," he seethes through clenched teeth and gets even angrier when the other's lips spread into that nasty smirk again.
"Are you still capable of deciding anything yourself?"
Oleg revels in this rage, which he finally managed to reach, and, it seems, for the first time in all these days, starts to feel alive, seeing Vlad come alive too.
And Cherevaty is panicking. Standing before him is the one who openly declares that he literally controls him—his life, his work, his emotions, but his drunk brain faintly whispers that they are too close, and Vlad gets lost in what he feels.
He desperately wants to prove that Sheps is wrong, that he is not a controlled puppet, and that Oleg, despite everything, didn't manage to break him completely. Cherevaty looks into the burning eyes and tries to think up anything Sheps wouldn't expect. Vlad simply must make Oleg believe that he is not so predictable and that Sheps does not have absolute power over him.
They stare at each other silently for a few more seconds, and Cherevaty gives in to some internal impulse, not even having time to think, not understanding that he has unconsciously chosen the perfect option. Because Oleg truly expected anything but Vlad suddenly yanking him closer and smashing his lips against his own.
Sheps shuts down instantly. He simply drops out of the newly restarted game and doesn't want to think about who won this round. Vlad kisses imperiously, holds him tightly, not letting him pull away, and Oleg stops thinking straight from the extreme arousal, which burns away all other feelings like napalm.
And Cherevaty ignites right along with him. His body flares up instantly, and his inner demons only egg him on, forcing him to show his strength exactly as he has long wanted, just as Vlad had imagined so many times.
He breaks away from the kiss, looks into the clouded eyes with a victorious gaze, and yanks Sheps's hair with a sharp tug, forcing his head back. Teeth bite painfully into the skin on the exposed neck, and Oleg closes his eyes, almost suffocating from his skyrocketing pulse and from how sweet this pain feels.
He doesn't resist the palpable pressure of the other man's body and takes a few steps back, concentrating only on how Cherevaty is literally marking him with his lips, leaving bright marks on his blazing skin. Sheps loses his balance from a strong push and falls backward onto the sofa, immediately feeling a deep kiss again, one he simply cannot help but return.
Vlad pins his hands above his head, pressing his wrists firmly into the upholstery, and simply melts from the feeling of total control, which, it seems, he has never felt as strongly as he does now. Beneath him is a helpless and immobilized Oleg. The very manipulator who had played with him for a weeks like a cat with a small, defenseless mouse, at this moment, cannot do anything, cannot speak, cannot even breathe properly, because Cherevaty pulls away for just a moment, tugging on his lip with his teeth, and kisses him greedily again.
Goosebumps rise on Sheps's skin from Vlad's every action. He feels impossibly weak, realizing that Cherevaty manages to control even the air that is no longer enough in his lungs, but this weakness spreads through his veins like a pleasant poison. Oleg is completely in another person's power, and for the first time in his life, this power brings him nothing but impossible pleasure. Sheps isn't scared or hurt, and instead of escaping or attacking in response, he wants only one thing—for Vlad not to stop and to continue this torture for as long as possible, pushing them both harder toward what they have been heading for so long.
Cherevaty's free hand reaches for Oleg's belt, impatiently unfastening his jeans, and unconsciously moves his hips, already imagining how in just a minute he will finally secure his position, but suddenly freezes.
Sheps arches up from his movement, pressing his chest more firmly against the other's, and moans directly into the kiss, because that was the limit. That touch, even through the fabric, shot through his body like a current and made him reveal just how much Oleg was enjoying what was happening.
And Vlad suddenly understands exactly that. He blindly believed he was punishing his main enemy, that he was doing what he wanted, but Sheps's moan made it clear: he is enjoying what Cherevaty considered his revenge, flipping the roles once again.
Vlad realizes he is no longer surrendering to himself, not to his darkest desires. He is surrendering right now to the one who completely trampled him a few days ago, and who has now come to finally get what he started his entire ruthless game for. And not letting Oleg dance on his bones is the only thing Cherevaty can still do.
He breaks the kiss abruptly, pushing off Sheps's chest with his hands, and stands up, looking contemptuously into the bewildered eyes:
"Get out of here."
The voice sounds harsh, and it's the last thing Vlad has the strength for, because his body is trembling helplessly, desperately wanting to continue.
"Are you serious right now?.." Oleg exhales in disbelief.
He doesn't even have the strength to get up and just continues to lie on the sofa, his heavy breathing filling the silence that hangs in the room. Sheps doesn't understand what happened. He suspects some switch flipped in Cherevaty, but he doesn't want to believe it.
"Stop thinking," he whispers barely audibly, trying to bring back what they both were just going crazy from. "Just take what you want."
And Vlad snaps. But not at all in the way Oleg had hoped, because he hears in that last phrase yet another—and the most brilliant—manipulation. Sheps is pressing on his desire, forcing Cherevaty to continue doing the main thing—giving pleasure to him. And that is the last thing Vlad wants right now.
He grabs Oleg's arm, yanking him to his feet, and pushes him toward the corridor with all his strength:
"I said, get out!!!"
Sheps nearly falls, immediately turns around, and sees nothing but hatred in the dark eyes anymore. It's useless. Whatever Oleg does now, he will get nothing but aggression, which Cherevaty clearly won't channel in the right direction. Sheps chuckles in astonishment and simply leaves silently to avoid provoking a fight.
The door slams shut, and Oleg doesn't sit, but almost collapses onto the steps, leaning his back against the cold wall in the hope of cooling down at least a little. He doesn't doubt for a second that Vlad is also dying from this interruption at the worst possible moment.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Sheps comes to his senses about an hour later, still sitting in his car in the same spot—outside Cherevaty's building. He is surprised by his own thoughts, but Oleg isn't angry at Vlad. He understands him.
Cherevaty is being thrown from one extreme to the other, and it's obviously due to stress. And among these extremes, Sheps latches onto only one: today, he saw the real Vlad. Not the one who lives by the book and boxes himself into a framework, but the one hiding inside—a beast, locked in a cage by Cherevaty himself and his rules for life.
Even in the most absurd situation, when Oleg looks like the world's biggest asshole in Vlad's eyes, he still wants him so badly that he can't hold back, and this desire unleashes his true self. The one who wants to win, who tolerates no boundaries, and who thinks of nothing, plowing straight toward his goal. He is strong, confident, insanely domineering, and simply unpredictable, and Sheps realizes that for him, this is the most desirable and necessary thing. This is what he was looking for.
Oleg wants this beast for himself. In every sense. Because he understands that only next to him and only under his power does he feel alive. Feels like himself.
And right now, Cherevaty is clearly on the verge of killing this part of himself, which, as he sees it, is breaking his life, and Sheps cannot allow that to happen. And the first thing he must do is find a way out and solve the main problem. He finally finds new strength within himself and starts the engine, heading back to the faculty.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
"Professor Levin!"
Oleg bursts into the gym, paying no attention to the second-years engrossed in a game of volleyball.
"I have a class," Levin spreads his hands in annoyance, not even bothering to ask why Sheps himself isn't in his own classes. "Come back in half an hour."
"This is urgent," Oleg insists, not moving from the spot.
Maxim rolls his eyes and, warning his students, follows him out of the gym.
Sheps needs an idea. At least some thought from the outside, because his own have run out. The brain that actively kicked into gear after the meeting with Vlad generated almost a dozen options, but none of them will help in the situation Oleg is diligently trying to fix. And it is this realization that brought him here—to the only person Sheps can consider an ally in this war against the entire system.
"I need your help," he says without preamble, as soon as Levin closes the gym door. "It concerns Cherevaty."
Maxim nods silently in response and listens intently, because he has hit a dead end himself. He spent Saturday fishing with Marat because Basharov wanted a distraction from what had happened on his turf and to gather strength before continuing the investigation. Levin carefully tried to find out details, but never learned the accuser's name. He just found out that one of the students reported several instances of "harassment," without even naming a victim.
Marat admitted that he himself doesn't understand what to look for. There are no camera recordings because they weren't recording due to another glitch, and finding other evidence is practically impossible. Basharov is simply forced to discuss this incident with every professor while Getsati gathers a character reference from Cherevaty's previous university, but the Dean has absolutely no idea how it will all end.
On Sunday, Maxim decided to consult a high school classmate who works in the police. After brief deliberation, his old friend suggested one and only one way out: if it's a lie, the only thing that can fully exonerate the accused is direct evidence of slander and the motive of the person who framed him. But where to get this evidence, Levin has no idea.
"I know who framed him," Oleg reveals. "But this person has no intention of fixing anything."
Sheps doesn't name the name, and Maxim doesn't ask. First, the guy surely has his reasons, and second, it wouldn't help him anyway. In this situation, Levin is powerless.
Oleg doesn't have time to continue before Maxim himself tells him everything he managed to find out.
"And where do we get this evidence if it doesn't exist?" Sheps asks, almost resignedly.
"Sometimes it appears out of nowhere."
Levin shrugs casually, but looks at him with a hint, and Sheps raises his eyebrows as he understands what he's talking about. Is the professor really suggesting him to forge evidence to clear Vlad? And while for Oleg in his world this isn't something extraordinary, for Maxim, this is surely a last-ditch move.
But Levin really wants to help Cherevaty. He wants to achieve justice and pull the guy out of the mud he was undeservedly dragged through, but he has neither the money nor the connections to pull something like this off. But Sheps, standing before him, does. And although Maxim never would have thought this person would agree to help someone just like that, right now he sees exactly this moment. Perhaps Oleg does have some gain in this situation, but it seems to Levin that this isn't the most important thing right now.
"I see you understood," the PE teacher says quietly. "But I never told you this."
Sheps nods briefly and leaves immediately, and Maxim can only hope that the rich kid will manage to bring this small, but extremely important, plan to life.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
First, Oleg regrets not recording his conversation with Ira on his phone, but remembering its details, he immediately dismisses the thought. Proving that Ignatenko framed Vlad would be possible, of course, but the details of their relationship, which were explicitly mentioned in that dialogue, would bury Cherevaty even deeper.
Sheps replays this in his head, taking a drag on his cigarette, and finally admits what he has been brushing off all this time—he is to blame. Not directly, but still, he himself was the reason that led them both to this point. And it seems Vlad isn't so wrong in thinking that Oleg ruined his life.
But Sheps didn't want this at all. Truly, he can barely remember what he started his game with, because today's encounter with Vlad completely shifted all priorities. Faint bruises are visible on his wrists from the tight grip, but Oleg remembers that those strong hands weren't drowning him, but pulling him up from the bottom of that deep apathy he had lived in for many years. Roughly, yes, but also in the most effective way possible. In a way no one else could. And Sheps is simply afraid of falling back down now, which is exactly what will happen if he doesn't find a way to pull out his savior.
Forge evidence. What? And how? He needs to come up with a logical motive for Ira, to frame it as revenge against Cherevaty himself, but Oleg has no idea what reason one could have to take revenge on a normal professor.
Failed him on an exam? The exam period hasn't happened yet. Graded unfairly on practical seminars? Bullshit. Both because Vlad doesn't do that, and because Ignatenko's grades in Statistics are impeccable.
Sheps replays Ira's true motive in his head one more time and suddenly finds what he was looking for. There it is! It was lying on the surface all this time while Oleg was unsuccessfully digging somewhere deep. The most logical and predictable thing a girl like her could do—take revenge for rejection. The exact same reason Cherevaty convinced himself of when he decided that Sheps himself was behind the accusation.
And now, when Oleg figured out what needed to be done, the second problem became even more acute. The most reliable way is to fake a chat history, but Sheps, as luck would have it, doesn't know a single person who could pull this off, and turning to strangers is too risky, first and foremost—for Vlad.
A thought flies into his consciousness, and Oleg flinches, dropping the burnt-out cigarette from his hands. He does know one person, after all. Someone who really can do anything. Someone who has almost limitless resources. Someone Sheps isn't ready to ask for anything, because it's tantamount to suicide.
It's already getting dark outside, but Oleg continues to sit on the bench near his building, contemplating what just a few days ago he would never have considered as a possible option.
He has no other ideas, nor time to look for them. The longer the investigation drags on, the harder it will be to exonerate Vlad in the eyes of his colleagues. And if Cherevaty himself continues to be in the same state Sheps saw him in today, then after a while, there will be no one left to pull out. Vlad is almost completely broken, and Oleg understands this. And he also understands that if Cherevaty breaks like this, it will destroy him too.
Sheps reaches into his pocket for a new cigarette, but the smoke almost makes him nauseous. Although, maybe it's the fear making him nauseous, gathering like a nasty lump somewhere in his throat. He cornered himself with a whole chain of events and now sees no other way out except the one he desperately doesn't want to take.
Besides, he has no guarantees that it will work. Most likely, he'll just be told to fuck off with his completely absurd request, but Oleg feels he doesn't have the right not to try. Not so much for Vlad's sake, as for his own.
He slowly gets up from the bench and shuffles to his car, deciding to at least drive to the right place and figure out there whether he is ready to look his greatest pain in the eye.
The car parks near a tall building, but Sheps doesn't hurry to get out. He doesn't know how to start the conversation or how to act, and besides, he isn't even sure he'll go through with it. He smokes again and again, already starting to cough, his eyes darting nervously around the car interior, trying to find something, anything, to calm the rising panic.
His gaze falls on the mirror and immediately latches onto the dark marks on his neck, which instantly plunge Oleg back into this morning. A pleasant fire flares up inside, partially burning away his indecision, and he clings to this kaleidoscope of emotions like a life raft, which—he wants to believe—can keep him afloat.
The car door opens, and Sheps heads into the building in a daze. He walks up to the fourteenth floor, ignoring all eight elevators. Oleg monotonously counts every step on the way to the execution block, drilling his eyes into his polished-to-a-shine shoes, and finally stops at the right door.
Is he ready for the biggest humiliation of his life? No.
Is he ready to die morally in order to feel alive again in the end? Yes.
After everything that has happened, there are no pieces left on the board, and to get back in the game, Sheps puts his queen into play.
He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, turns the handle, and enters the office, immediately meeting an icy gaze of blue eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Sasha asks with contempt.
"I need your help."