Vlad pores over the lesson plan for the practical seminars on his laptop screen. His eyes are already stinging slightly even at minimum brightness, but he doesn't want to turn on the lights in the room: he thinks better in the dark.
This particular problem gave the whole group trouble today, and the professor checks the lecture materials for the umpteenth time, trying to figure out what could have been so unclear to the students. For some reason, he feels guilty for failing to explain the topic accessibly. His tired gaze flits to the next line and stumbles upon that very formula, instantly dragging Cherevaty's thoughts far away from Statistics.
Sheps. Vlad had expected anything from him, but not this. Any sharp remark, any words—even profanity—but today's provocation finally showed Cherevaty that boundaries simply do not exist in this game.
A student like that would be snapped up instantly at the Psychology Department. Oleg knew that Vlad wouldn't crack, wouldn't allow himself to be humiliated in front of everyone, so he chose the absolute perfect moment.
Cherevaty is seized by mild panic again. He doesn't understand what to expect from this rich kid next time, and worse, he has absolutely no idea how to avoid it. It is impossible to calculate moves in a chess match when your opponent has almost nothing but Queens on the board, and those Queens can move however they like. Vlad feels like a small, defenseless pawn in this game, but he has no intention of surrendering. He knows that even pawns can deliver checkmate.
The quiet sound of a notification yanks him out of his thoughts, and Cherevaty reaches for his phone, shaking his head slightly. He frowns sharply when he notices the sender's name, and for some reason, he is afraid to open the chat, feeling irritation rising inside.
There isn't a single word in the message. Nothing but a video file. Vlad desperately wants to ignore yet another provocation—and the professor has no doubt that's exactly what it is—but his thumb hits the download button on its own. Cherevaty is a little curious, but mostly, he just doesn't want to miss a single detail in their standoff. He believes that sooner or later, Sheps himself will give him the perfect excuse for a countermove.
The video finally loads, and after a few seconds of watching, Vlad exhales sharply, his mouth falling open in shock.
Oleg is sitting in a small white armchair on the screen. His black shirt is half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and his arrogant eyes have almost merged with the color of his clothes. Sheps is breathing heavily, his dry lips slightly parted; he looks straight into the camera with a faint smirk, and his right shoulder jerks barely noticeably, instantly making it clear exactly what is happening in the video.
Cherevaty sees him only from the waist up, but his brain fills in the blanks with unbuttoned black jeans, creating a complete picture in his mind that Vlad did not want to see. He runs his eyes over the screen disbelievingly, trying to process that Oleg actually sent him this.
The video plays for a few more seconds, and when Sheps bites his lip with a groan, closes his eyes, and slowly throws his head back, Cherevaty instantly snaps back to reality and immediately locks the phone, tossing it onto the desk.
To say Vlad is shocked is an understatement. He leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes with his fingers, not knowing how to react. Cherevaty is as certain that Oleg didn't send this to the wrong chat as he is that Sheps was thinking about him while recording it. And the realization of this fact instantly knocks out the drowsiness that had been weighing on him for the last hour.
He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pulse, gets to his feet, and decides to take a walk in the night courtyard, because he definitely won't be able to fall asleep anytime soon after this stunt of Oleg's.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
"Hey, where's my car?" Artem shouts indignantly from the smoking spot, spotting Oleg approaching the faculty building.
The bell for class rang a few minutes ago, but Sheps isn't hurrying, leisurely walking up the steps to the porch.
"First of all, it's mine," he replies calmly.
"Well, for now," Krasnov smirks. "So where is it? I hope you didn't total it?"
"Relax," Oleg rolls his eyes, lighting a cigarette. "I just parked in the courtyards nearby."
He intentionally didn't leave the car at the entrance like usual. And they are late for Macroeconomics for a reason. Artem, of course, doesn't understand, assuming Sheps just got stuck in the usual traffic, but for Oleg, everything is going according to plan.
He saw immediately that Cherevaty read his message last night, though quite logically, he didn't count on a reply. Sheps doesn't have the slightest doubt inside that Vlad opened the video, even if he probably didn't watch it to the end.
That is enough for Oleg. He is certain that right now, somewhere in a lecture with the second years, the professor is thinking about anything but Statistics. A vivid picture instantly forms before Sheps's eyes: fingers nervously adjusting a turtleneck collar, sleep-deprived eyes darting confusedly around the auditorium, and a stumbling voice trying to deliver a memorized speech on autopilot that keeps slipping from his mind.
Oleg takes a drag on his thin cigarette, unaware that on the third floor, behind a closed door, that is exactly what is happening.
Sheps wants his next move to be just as unexpected as everything that happened yesterday: he will simply disappear for a few days. Vlad won't see his car hidden in the neighboring courtyard, nor him, because Oleg plans to bail on this one and only class today a few minutes before the bell to ensure he doesn't cross paths with Cherevaty in the corridors.
"By the way, I'm having trouble with my visa," Krasnov's voice breaks into his consciousness. "Maybe you can help? Or we won't be flying anywhere this summer."
"Why 'we'?" Sheps chuckles. "I'm definitely flying."
Artem rolls his eyes, pursing his lips slightly, but his friend immediately claps him on the shoulder.
"Come on, just ask your father. What's the problem?"
Oleg genuinely doesn't understand why Krasnov always turns to him for help instead of his parents. Artem feels free, lives almost without thinking about tomorrow, just like him, but sometimes he still gets in his head, thinking his father shouldn't have to clean up his petty messes.
Sheps can't relate. If his parents didn't live abroad, he wouldn't have to fend for himself at all. Oleg constantly manages to create trouble for himself, but thankfully, the connections he has in abundance help resolve all issues. And to Sheps, it's truly strange that Krasnov doesn't seem eager to build such connections.
"Well, I kinda screwed up at the airport last time..." Artem explains. "I paid them off to keep it quiet, but they revoked the visa, like, for good. My father will kill me if he finds out."
"I don't have anyone at the visa office," Sheps shrugs, still chuckling. "I don't usually fuck around at the border."
"Maybe you could ask your brother?"
Krasnov suggests it cautiously, but Oleg explodes instantly:
"Fuck, you know I won't!" He angrily tosses the cigarette butt into the trash can. "I am not asking Sasha for anything. Figure it out yourself."
Sheps spins around abruptly and heads toward the building entrance, while Artem just sighs heavily, following him. Krasnov is still curious about the nature of Oleg's relationship with his older brother, but he never talks about it, just snapping at the slightest mention of the man.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Vlad is terribly sleep-deprived and drove to the university on autopilot. He spent almost the entire night thinking about just how far Sheps has gone and what he's supposed to do about it now.
Cherevaty has no idea how to respond to such a wild provocation, and sincerely hopes that at least today he won't run into Oleg at the faculty. The professor prefers not to think about what will happen at the lecture the day after tomorrow.
"Young blood!" Levin, grinning slightly, waves a hand in front of his face. "Drowning in your statistics?"
Vlad shakes his head, finally noticing his colleague, and holds out his hand to greet him:
"Sorry, lost in thought..."
"What, students driving you up the wall?"
"Why students?" Cherevaty answers instantly, his eyes starting to dart around the staff room in fear. "I just slept badly, trying to gather my thoughts..."
Maxim doesn't buy these excuses, observing Vlad closely with slightly narrowed eyes. The guy in front of him looks lost, clearly trying to hide his nerves, but doing it quite clumsily, stammering as he tries to convince his colleague that he is perfectly fine.
"Alright, alright, don't freak out," Levin cuts him off soothingly. "Drop by the gym after classes."
"Why?"
Cherevaty looks up with a confused gaze and is genuinely surprised by such an offer. Despite his fairly fit physique, he had never been particularly into sports, so he has no idea what Maxim wants from him.
"You'll find out," Levin smiles mysteriously. "I'll share a couple of secrets on how to deal with sleep deprivation."
The last phrase sounds with a hint of sarcasm, and Vlad frowns, but doesn't have time to figure it out: the PE teacher leaves for class, leaving him in mild bewilderment and plunging him back into his thoughts.
Cherevaty feels a rising paranoia. It already seems to him that the reason for his absent-mindedness is written on his forehead, but his brain tries to scream reason, convincing him that Maxim definitely can't know anything. Vlad glances at his watch and hurriedly gets ready for the next lecture, deciding to think about his colleague's offer later.
After the fifth class, Cherevaty's curiosity finally gets the better of him, and he timidly peeks into the empty gym, not fully understanding why he came.
"Oh, I had no doubts!" Levin looks up from the register he's holding while sitting on a bench.
Vlad purses his lips in annoyance, feeling a spike of irritation. Is he really so predictable that absolutely everyone around him can read him?
Maxim tosses him a small stack of clothes and immediately explains:
"Get changed. That suit of yours is totally out of place here." He looks at Cherevaty, who is still rooted to the spot, and sighs deeply. "Look, young blood, let's get one thing straight. Classes are over, and right now, there are just two guys in this gym, and one wants to help the other. I'm no psychologist, and I'm not gonna pry into your soul, but I can show you how to work off those emotions. If you don't need that, you can go home. If you do—the locker room is down the hall to the left."
He buries his nose in the register again, and Vlad nods, more to himself than anyone else, slowly heading off to find the locker room. Go home and drown in his problem again, or try listening to a man who clearly knows what he's talking about? The choice is obvious. Cherevaty is ready to cling to any opportunity to stop thinking about that damn student, even temporarily. So he puts on a loose tank top and matching shorts, returning to the gym just a few minutes later.
"Well, it's not all that bad," Levin says encouragingly, noticing the slight muscle definition on the other man's arms. "Did you work out?"
"I do push-ups sometimes," Vlad shrugs uncertainly, but manages a smile. "I'm no athlete at all..."
"That's fixable," Maxim smiles back and pulls a pair of bright red boxing gloves from behind the bench. "Know how to put these on?"
"I'll figure it out," Cherevaty nods decisively, taking the gear from the PE teacher's hands.
Vlad had never boxed in his life. Except for not missing a chance to test himself on those street arcade punching machines, where he always showed a decent result.
Cherevaty hadn't guessed what Levin would suggest, but he felt his own eyes light up the moment he realized what was about to happen.
He turns the gloves in his hands a bit awkwardly, fumbling with the strap, and Maxim chuckles indulgently, watching his focused face. This guy is clearly not used to giving up, even when inside—Levin can feel it—he is a total mess. He feels a surge of respect for Vlad's persistence and takes a step forward, silently helping him gear up.
"Show me how you punch," Maxim asks, tightening the focus mitts on his own hands.
Cherevaty makes a few sharp movements, but he can tell by Levin's face that it hardly resembles a proper punch. In the next few minutes, he becomes convinced he is indeed facing an excellent teacher: Maxim explains patiently, demonstrates by example, holds his shoulder with his palm to help him feel the right direction of the strike, and not once does he make Vlad feel like a hopeless amateur.
And the PE teacher sees an extremely diligent student before him. The guy listens intently, immediately doing everything he's told, and pays attention even to small details that his charges rarely grasp the first time.
"Is boxing part of the university curriculum?" Cherevaty asks casually.
"No," Maxim chuckles kindly. "But does that mean I couldn't have practiced it?"
Vlad smiles back and suddenly catches himself thinking that he no longer feels the old awkwardness at all. Levin inspires some kind of boundless trust, skillfully erasing professional boundaries between them and making Cherevaty stop feeling out of place in this gym.
"So, ready? Let's give it a try?"
The guy nods decisively and throws the first light punch at the mitt, immediately shooting a glance at Maxim. He wants to know if he got the technique right, but the other man's expression doesn't change.
"Again," Levin says in a stern voice, like switching into coach mode.
He watches Vlad's every movement closely, then stops him with a gesture:
"The technique is on point. But now let's get back to why you came." Maxim looks into the focused eyes opposite him and gently pushes the guy toward the goal. "Give me emotion."
Cherevaty lowers his gaze, taking a deep breath, and gets back into his stance. He hesitates for a few seconds, like trying to resolve himself to do what Levin is urging, but that arrogant smirk flashes in his mind on its own, and Vlad strikes sharply, instantly eliciting visible surprise from Maxim.
Cherevaty wants to call to mind every provocation, every stinging phrase that made him look like a fool in front of the students, but his mind refuses to cooperate completely. For some reason, all Vlad sees is a head thrown back and an exposed neck with slightly damp skin, and ringing in his ears is someone else's ragged breathing instead of the infuriating voice he is desperately trying to recall.
The force behind each punch grows stronger, but Cherevaty is no longer angry at the arrogant rich kid. Vlad is angry at himself. He practically pummels the palms beneath their soft padding, but feels like he can't stop. It's like he's trying to punish himself for letting the student cross the line, and for letting himself get mired in these wild thoughts. But Cherevaty understands perfectly well that he has no control over it.
What was stopping him from pushing these thoughts away? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Vlad knows he should have just laughed off the risky video and forgotten about it until their next meeting, where he could have easily pricked Sheps with a sharp comeback. However, for some reason, his brain stubbornly refuses to associate Oleg with the expensive car bought with daddy's money, nor with his pretentious attitude, nor with his laughable attempts to assert himself at the expense of the teacher's inexperience.
Cherevaty thinks about the black shirt stuck in his mind and, almost in a frenzy, pounds the mitts on Maxim's hands, venting anger at himself mixed with fear.
Vlad is genuinely starting to get scared by the fact that he can't shake the image he saw on his phone screen yesterday. He has absolutely no understanding of what is happening and curses the curiosity that forced him to open the video. Just a few seconds of watching were more than enough to literally drive him crazy, because Cherevaty has no clue how to stop thinking about it.
He feels his arms growing tired from the sharp movements. The punches become weaker, but Vlad isn't at all sure that Levin's plan worked. A nasty weakness spreads through his body, and he really doesn't feel anger or irritation anymore, but the problem in his thoughts hasn't gone anywhere. And that problem is still smirking brazenly before his eyes, finally making Cherevaty feel cornered.
"Well, you surprised me!" Maxim exhales with a hint of admiration as Vlad, trying to catch his breath, begins undoing the straps on his gloves. "Feel better?"
"Partly..." Cherevaty answers honestly, realizing he has no strength left to keep up the facade.
"At least you'll sleep like a log tonight."
Levin laughs, taking the gear from the guy, while Vlad just smiles wearily, hoping the PE teacher is right. He really does want to sleep now, and he thanks Maxim briefly before heading straight to the locker room. Cherevaty sincerely wants to get some sleep at least tonight, because stumbling every few minutes during lectures in front of huge audiences for two days in a row is too big a blow to the professionalism he is striving for.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
The next morning, Vlad wakes up feeling relatively fresh. His upper body is sore after yesterday's activity, but Cherevaty is glad that at least he fell into a deep sleep almost immediately, sparing himself from unnecessary thoughts and dreams.
Vlad sets his mind on a calm day and distances himself from his reflections as much as possible to gather strength and mentally prepare for tomorrow's lecture with the fourth years. He chalks up his state yesterday to the stress of the surprise and general fatigue from his first work week, because there simply can't be any other reasons.
The professor arrives at work fifteen minutes before classes start and walks calmly toward the faculty, running through the topic of the upcoming lecture in his head, but his gaze involuntarily scans the cars parked at the entrance. There is no black BMW among them, and Cherevaty exhales slightly, squaring his shoulders with confidence.
He conducts his lectures calmly and is even pleased that the third years are coping quite well with the problems in the practical seminar, but he catches himself every time he stares blankly out the window, looking at the cars down below.
By the end of the day, Vlad crosses paths in the corridor with Levin, who genuinely asks if he managed to get some sleep and invites him to repeat yesterday's experience if he feels like it. It warms Cherevaty somewhat, but he feels much more stable now and sincerely hopes he won't need the new acquaintance's help anytime soon.
Vlad spends the evening tweaking his materials again, adding answers to the most frequent student questions, his phone lying nearby, prudently turned off. Cherevaty falls asleep with only one thought: tomorrow he will have to face his main problem.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Artem sends Oleg a message: "Where are you?" and frowns when he hears the bell for class, followed immediately by Cherevaty entering the auditorium. The fact that Sheps is late for Statistics is extremely odd to Krasnov, because his friend never repeats his moves, and he has already witnessed a performance like this personally. And Artem finds it hard to believe that Oleg won't show up for this class at all. He stands up, greeting the professor along with the others, and settles comfortably into his chair in anticipation of an interesting show.
Vlad enters the room, immediately shooting a glance at the upper rows, and raises his eyebrows barely noticeably upon seeing the empty seat next to Krasnov. He scans all the students while walking to his desk, trying not to show the nervousness rising instantly inside.
His hopes for a quiet lecture crumble instantly. Cherevaty understands perfectly well that he will have to engage in dialogue with Sheps again when he barges in after the bell, because he definitely has no intention of letting a late student in a second time. That is his rule, and he won't allow it to be broken again, even if he has to push Oleg out of the room by force.
The sensation of another body under his palm instantly flashes in his mind, and Vlad becomes a little less confident in his previous thought.
About fifteen minutes later, Cherevaty almost relaxes, hoping that Sheps simply isn't coming, but a loud knock on the door literally paralyzes him for a few seconds. Vlad cuts himself off mid-sentence, freezes near the desk, swallows nervously, and slowly turns toward the door, feeling his heart pounding frantically.
The door opens slightly, and a pretty young woman, whom the professor seems to have seen in the dean's office, peeks into the auditorium.
"Excuse me, Vladislav Vitalievich, Krasnov is urgently needed by the Deputy Dean."
Cherevaty nods silently, taking a deep breath to calm himself, and dismisses Artem from the class. The student leaves without his things, leaving them on the desk, and Vlad's paranoia attacks his brain with new force.
It seems to him that this isn't a coincidence, but yet another one of Sheps's devious plans, and that Krasnov will return to the auditorium accompanied by his friend. Cherevaty continues the lecture distractedly, struggling to answer questions, unable to shake off the internal tension in this agonizing wait.
When there is a knock on the door again, Vlad flinches violently, dropping the marker from his hands onto the floor, but Artem walks in alone and calmly heads to his seat. The professor follows him with an unreadable gaze and closes his eyes wearily for a second, thinking he has finally lost his mind. The stupid feeling doesn't leave him until the very end of the class, and during the roll call, Cherevaty starts getting even angrier at himself because his voice does crack slightly on the hated surname.
Vlad scrawls a crooked mark for absence in the register and finally realizes he has lost another round. Cherevaty is absolutely certain that Oleg didn't show up on purpose, forcing him to practically shake with fear all this time.
After the class, Vlad heads straight to the gym, but it's empty. He walks quickly down to the staff room and runs into Victoria in the doorway.
"Excuse me..."
"Vladislav, is everything alright?" Raidos looks concerned at her agitated colleague.
"Yes..." Cherevaty answers without looking at her. "Have you seen Maxim?"
"He only had the third period today; he left a long time ago," the woman shrugs, peering into his frowning face. "Maybe I can help?"
"No," Vlad squeezes out a smile, realizing that his internal state is already perfectly visible on the outside. "Everything is fine, thank you. And... excuse me again..."
He walks into the staff room, starting to pack his things quickly, while Victoria shoots him another glance and says goodbye cautiously before disappearing out the door. Cherevaty exhales loudly, leaning his hands on the desk, realizing that the boxing session he had already pinned his hopes on won't happen today.
He gets home not without incident, managing to get into an altercation with the bus driver on the way. For the first time in his life, Vlad regrets that it didn't come to blows, and his own aggression angers him even more, driving his negative emotions into some kind of infinite progression.
Entering his apartment, Cherevaty immediately collapses onto the sofa, feeling insanely tired. His phone beeps quietly, and Vlad purses his lips angrily, wondering who needs something from him now and what for. He looks reluctantly at the screen and sits up abruptly as he reads the notification.
Oleg Sheps
Sorry I missed the lecture. Was busy.
Cherevaty opens the chat, his first instinct being simply to block the contact, but he immediately realizes he just can't leave the third provocation in a row unanswered. Vlad is perfectly aware that this is exactly what Sheps is waiting for, but his fingers are already typing a reply on their own.
Vladik
Busy with what, exactly?
Oleg Sheps
This ;)
Sheps forwards that video again, and Vlad flings the phone away, falling back onto the pillow. He isn't a fan of alcohol, but right now he feels that for the first time in ages, he wants to get impossibly drunk.
Drinking alone is something out of the realm of fantasy for Cherevaty, so without thinking twice, he dials a lifeline number.
"Whoa, hello!" a cheerful voice answers the phone. "How is the newly minted professor doing?"
"The newly minted professor badly wants to go to a bar..."
"Is that so," the person on the other end laughs. "I hear you. Emergency psychological aid is already on its way. I'll text you the address of a decent place right now."
"Thanks, Ilya."
The message with the address arrives almost immediately, and Vlad starts getting ready, hoping that his childhood friend, alcohol, and a lively atmosphere will be able to distract him, at least somehow, from the damn problem named Oleg Sheps.