The Dean's words are spoken quietly, but Vlad feels like he's been struck deaf. Something snaps inside him, ringing in his ears, and Cherevaty barely manages to keep hold of his folder in his numb hands. He is still looking at Basharov, not averting his gaze, but the image before his eyes is slowly starting to blur.
"Dean Basharov, I don't know how I can comment on something I didn't do." His voice sounds level, and that is the only thing the professor has enough strength for.
The Dean sighs, realizing the full weight of this unpleasant conversation, and slowly walks to his chair.
"Take a seat."
"Thank you, I'll stand," Vlad answers instantly.
He is afraid to even move from the spot where he seems rooted to the floor, because he isn't sure he can take even a single step toward the nearby chair.
"Vladislav Vitalievich," Basharov continues carefully, "I want you to understand: I received a report, and I cannot fail to react. If this is a mistake, we will certainly get to the bottom of it, and I will personally apologize to you for this situation. But right now, I am simply obliged to hear your side."
"I already answered you." Cherevaty desperately tries to maintain outward calm. "I don't understand what you are talking about."
Vlad looks the Dean in the eye and curses himself for lying so brazenly. He understands perfectly well what this is about, but he has no intention of accepting the wording of the accusation.
"I hear you," Marat nods briefly. "I promise we will sort this out, but for the time being, I am forced to suspend you from classes. I hope you understand."
Basharov feels sorry for the guy for some reason. Vlad doesn't strike him as someone capable of something like this, and he reacts to the accusation with restraint. His eyes aren't darting around, he isn't trying to make hysterical excuses, and he behaves exactly as Marat himself would in his place. Cherevaty looks confident in his innocence, and the Dean doesn't like this whole situation with the dubious tip-off at all.
"I understand," Vlad answers without a single emotion. "May I go?"
"Yes."
The professor turns sharply and, without saying goodbye, leaves the office at a brisk pace, never having done what he came for.
Putting a resignation letter on the Dean's desk after such an accusation would be suicide, and Cherevaty understands this perfectly well. Just as he understands that nothing depends on him in this situation anymore. He has only one question in his head, but it seems he already knows the answer.
"Sonya," Vlad lingers at the door and turns to the girl, "do you happen to remember if Oleg Sheps came by yesterday after the fourth period?"
Egorova frowns slightly because Cherevaty looks somehow detached, and his question sounds hollow, like the professor is squeezing every word out of himself.
"He did," she answers carefully, and Vlad immediately chuckles, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "Why?.."
But he no longer hears her question. His temples are crushed by pain, and Cherevaty walks away silently, leaving Sonya in confusion.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Oleg drives to classes absolutely not understanding what to do next. Yesterday's scene in the corridor threw him completely off balance, and Sheps doesn't even know what affected him more.
The fact that Vika drove him to a breakdown once again doesn't surprise Oleg, but the fact that he vented this breakdown out of hopelessness on Vlad, who just happened to be there, simply crushes him morally. Sheps isn't used to showing his weakness. Especially like this. Especially in front of the person whose armor he so desperately wants to break himself. Oleg surrendered in the moment and now simply has no idea how to get back into the game without looking back at his defeat.
And was it a defeat? The fact that Cherevaty not just didn't push him away but kissed him back in a way that Sheps still can't help recalling in every detail, completely turned everything upside down.
Oleg didn't expect it to be so vivid. That someone else's hands would literally leave invisible imprints on his body, which he would feel even waking up the next morning, and that lips which yesterday nearly mauled his own until they bled would be seared into his memory, not allowing him to think of anything else.
Sheps doesn't know who lost more yesterday, but he has absolutely no doubt that it wasn't just him.
Closer to the start of the period, people slowly flock to the faculty. Oleg wanders aimlessly through the corridors while Artem is stuck somewhere in traffic: the weather today is hardly conducive to waiting for his friend at the smoking spot. Sheps is drowning in his thoughts, not even greeting acquaintances passing by occasionally, and doesn't have time to react when he suddenly feels a strong shove in his side and stumbles into an empty classroom.
Cherevaty slams the door shut with a loud bang and grabs him by the lapels, throwing him shoulder-blades-first against the wall, his furious gaze digging into eyes that light up instantly.
"Decided to repeat yesterday?" Oleg smirks, recovering immediately and trying to attack in response to the physical roughness somehow.
"Why the fuck did you do it?" Vlad hisses quietly, through clenched teeth, and Sheps's smirk slides off his face.
"What are you talking about?.."
Oleg frowns, lost because of the unexpected profanity and the way Cherevaty is visibly shaking, seeing him in such a state for the first time.
"You know what!" Vlad shakes him hard, slamming the back of his head against the concrete, and Sheps becomes finally convinced that this definitely doesn't look like their usual game.
"What happened?!" Oleg raises his voice.
Fright flickers in the light eyes, and Cherevaty pushes himself away from him, taking a step back. He is breathing heavily, holding back almost uncontrollable anger with all his might not to kill Sheps right there, but the student looks somehow strange and doesn't look pleased with his brilliant move at all.
The pause drags on, and Oleg doesn't move from his spot, his eyes darting over the face tensed to the limit:
"Explain properly."
Vlad jerks forward, clenching his fists abruptly, and doesn't know himself where he gets the restraint that keeps him from lunging at the student despite his desire.
"Explain?" The voice sounds venomous, and Sheps doesn't like this tone at all. "I thought you would explain to me why I've been accused of sexual harassment."
"What?.." Oleg exhales, stunned.
Dark eyes shine unhealthily, and lips spread into an almost insane grin while the student struggles to digest what he just heard.
"I'm just curious, for what..." Cherevaty continues, chuckling slightly, and Sheps finds these chuckles positively eerie. "Just because I didn't jump into your bed when you wanted it? Is that why you destroy people like this?"
"I had nothing to do with this," Sheps says quietly. "Who accused you anyway?"
"The Dean, who the fuck else!" Vlad breaks into a scream, grabbing his shirt, and falls silent for a few seconds.
Oleg looks at him with horror, but Cherevaty finds it almost amusing: this rich kid is also a great actor.
"Maybe you could at least tell me what to prepare for, for old times' sake?" the professor breaks into nervous laughter. "Will I just get fired, or will I actually be jailed?"
"I didn't tell anyone anything," Sheps articulates firmly.
He is gradually overwhelmed by a mix of widely different emotions. On the one hand, Oleg is scared—scared that Vlad is clearly not himself, scared of the things he is saying, and scared by the realization of the situation. On the other, he is hurt that Cherevaty accuses him of such an act and doesn't seem to plan on listening to his answers. And from somewhere deep inside, a nasty panic rises slowly, and Sheps tries desperately to ignore this most terrible and highly inappropriate feeling right now.
Vlad gradually stops laughing and unclenches his hands, releasing the student. His eyes go empty, and Oleg feels a freezing cold wash over him from that dead gaze in an instant.
"You are such scum..." Cherevaty whispers barely audibly.
"I didn't do it!!!" Sheps explodes, feeling echoes of old pain hit his chest sharply.
"Fuck you," the professor spits out with contempt and heads straight for the door.
"Vlad!.."
Cherevaty flinches, hearing his first name from Oleg for the first time, freezes for half a second, but never turns around, leaving the auditorium quickly and abandoning Sheps on the verge of hysteria.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Oleg unfreezes a few minutes later and looks around raggedly, realizing he is still standing in the empty auditorium. His pulse is still pounding in his temples, making it hard to orient himself in space, and Sheps leans his hand against the wall, trying to take the first steps toward the door.
"You are such scum..."
The phrase echoes in his ears in two different voices and won't let him fully return to reality. Oleg barely remembers what else Sasha said back then, but these specific words are searingly etched into his memory for some reason.
He has been accused of something he didn't do again. And again, no one wanted to listen. Sheps swallows the stupid lump in his throat, walks out into the corridor unsteadily, and immediately bumps into a person, not immediately realizing who is standing in front of him.
"Did you do this?" Vika's voice sounds somehow distant, and Oleg looks up, his unseeing gaze resting on her stony face.
Raidos is sure he understands what she is asking about, so she frowns when no answer follows. Sheps stands before her looking lost, looking somehow through her, not even trying to be snide or snap back, and Vika is even more surprised.
"Oleg?.." she asks gently, touching his shoulder lightly, and the guy flinches immediately, finally focusing his gaze.
"What do you want?"
The question sounds tired, without the usual aggression, albeit with notes of displeasure, but Raidos pulls herself together anyway after a second of confusion, returning to a stern tone.
"Did you set Cherevaty up?"
"What difference does it make what I answer?" Sheps chuckles sadly. "You won't believe me anyway."
Vika sighs deeply, lowering her eyes, and then raises her eyebrows in surprise when Oleg walks away silently, for the first time not turning their conversation into the usual quarrel.
He descends the steps leisurely, heading for the smoking spot, and slowly collects his scattered thoughts. Despite the fact that Vlad hit where it hurts the most, Sheps still realizes it was unconscious. The state in which he saw Cherevaty plunged him into shock almost immediately.
The restrained, refined professor broke down into screaming profanities, sending his colossal self-control to hell, and Oleg was genuinely surprised that he never received a single direct punch. Vlad's hysteria looked terrifying, but what scared Sheps most wasn't the almost instantaneous shift of polar emotions or the unpredictability of the other man's actions, but something else entirely.
Something that seemed painfully familiar, but slipped away from him almost immediately under the influx of his own emotions. Oleg takes a deep drag, wrapping himself tighter in his jacket in an attempt to hide from the raindrops flying under the canopy, and tries to switch completely to Cherevaty's situation, running away from his memories.
The first and main question: who could have done this? Sheps understands that, theoretically speaking, anyone could have seen their kiss at the faculty, but it's unlikely anyone would have cared. Filming a video and using it against a professor for an automatic pass—logical. Trying to blackmail Oleg himself for money with the same video—also logical. But Sheps doesn't understand the benefit of presenting it in such a light. He is sure that seeing harassment in such a mutual kiss is simply impossible, which means it was clearly something personal, someone's overly obvious revenge. But Vlad doesn't look like a person who has enemies at all.
His brain starts kicking into gear, and Oleg immerses himself in this detective mystery in his head with a certain relief, feeling the return of his familiar thrill. He desperately wants to solve this riddle, untangle the knot of suspicions already weaving in his thoughts, in order to throw the evidence in Cherevaty's face at the end and, at least this time, force someone to believe that he really isn't guilty.
"Oh, you're here!" Artem pulls Sheps out of his thoughts. "Why aren't you answering your phone?"
"Sorry," Oleg shrugs, but doesn't even reach for his phone to check the missed calls.
"Heard the news about Vladik?"
Krasnov asks somewhat cheerfully, but is immediately lost in shock when Sheps's expression changes sharply and he grabs him roughly by the jacket.
"Did you do this?" Oleg asks with anger.
"What do you mean?" Artem is completely surprised. "I thought this was your fucked-up plan."
"How did you find out?"
"Dropped by Sonya's for fresh gossip while I was looking for you."
Sheps exhales, seeing his friend is answering sincerely, and lets him go, taking a step back.
"So it wasn't you?" Krasnov asks, still cautious.
"Are you a dumbass?" Oleg snaps, rolling his eyes.
He wonders how many more people are going to ask him this idiotic question today.
"Alright, I get it." Artem raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture, realizing it's better not to anger his friend. "Relax. If he's innocent, they'll sort it out."
Sheps suddenly frowns, making Krasnov tense up even more, replays the last phrase in his head several times, and dives back into his thoughts, assembling a small puzzle in his mind.
That despair, that nervous laughter, that anger and the mad fire in his eyes turning into cold, colorless ash in an instant—Oleg finally recognizes every detail, realizing why Vlad's state seemed so familiar to him. Cherevaty was accused today of something he didn't do, and he reacted exactly the same way Sheps did four years ago.
"What is wrong with you?" Artem is already scared but asks anyway, noticing his friend just zoned out, staring somewhere to the side.
"Nothing," Sheps snaps, annoyed that Krasnov is pestering him with questions at the wrong moment. "Just afraid I'll lose the car to you if he gets fired."
Artem exhales in relief, taking his answer at face value, and lights a cigarette calmly, paying no attention to the fact that Oleg is still standing thoughtfully, rethinking the entire dialogue with Vlad today.
Sheps barely remembers what he went through in those days after his own accusation, but now he recognizes himself in Cherevaty's every gesture, in every pained intonation, and this realization gathers like a sticky lump somewhere inside him. There are people in Oleg's life whom he would wish to experience this nightmare in full measure without any regret, but Vlad is definitely not one of them.
Sheps takes a drag of smoke and thinks that he has to help. Whom exactly—Cherevaty, who didn't deserve such hell, or himself—that doomed guy from the past who had no one to help him—Oleg doesn't want to analyze.
"Don't sweat it..." Krasnov isn't strong on moral support, but judging by his friend's appearance, he decides he should say something. "They'll just scour the faculty cameras, find nothing, and leave your Vladik alone."
Sheps freezes, slowly raising frightened eyes to him, and realizes with horror that in their game, they—it seems, both of them—completely forgot about the most important thing. The cameras.
"Damn it..." Oleg mutters quietly, then abruptly throws the cigarette into the bin and breaks into a run toward the building.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Sheps knocks on the security room door and tries to calm down to look as casual as possible. A chaotic plan has already matured in his head, but right now it hinges on a specific person, and Oleg sincerely hopes to see exactly him behind the door. And, of course, he hopes that the camera recordings haven't ended up on the Dean's desk yet.
The student hears a familiar voice and exhales in relief, entering the office.
The head of security sits at a desk cluttered with several monitors and turns to him, taking a sip of coffee from a branded mug with the university crest.
"Oh, hey there, rich kid!" the man smiles good-naturedly. "What brings you here? Lost your badge again?"
"The badge is fine," Sheps chuckles and sits lazily on the edge of the desk, trying to act as usual. "Kolya, I have a million-dollar favor to ask."
The guard puts down his mug and looks at the student with interest, crossing his arms over his chest. This kid has turned to him for all sorts of trifles more than once: getting a key to a classroom for some stupid prank; blocking Krasnov's pass again to annoy his friend; calling a professor out of an exam claiming a car alarm went off, and many other completely harmless things. This caused Kolya no trouble, but brought in very decent money, so now he waits with anticipation for what Oleg has come to him with this time.
"You're not just a guard, but an operator too," the student smiles slyly. "Tell me, where do we have working cameras at the faculty?"
"The entrance hall and all the classrooms," the guard answers calmly. "Though it's hard to call them 'working'..."
"They don't record?"
"They do. But often into the void." Kolya shrugs. "Servers crash, the network drops, or some other crap happens... And they're only stored for a week. In short, these recordings are a total pain in the ass. And nobody needs them anyway. The last time someone asked to look was two months ago, when Getsati's car got scratched near the entrance."
Sheps listens carefully and relaxes more with every phrase. First, neither yesterday nor today has the Dean's office requested the recordings yet. Second, there are no cameras in the corridors, which means his kiss with Vlad definitely didn't get on video. Oleg is about to exhale completely when he suddenly remembers yesterday's scene after class and today's argument, which took place in the classrooms. If the cameras captured how Cherevaty behaved in both those instances, it will bury him.
"And how often do recordings fail to save?" Sheps asks carefully.
"Why do you need to know?" Kolya smirks, tilting his head slightly to the side.
"Long story short," Oleg gets down to business, "I need the video from all cameras for the last three days, including today, to disappear."
He names this specific timeframe guided by simple logic. Missing recordings for yesterday alone—the day the Dean's office is most interested in—would look suspicious. Deleting video only from specific classrooms, including the one where Vlad teaches, would be doubly suspicious. But presenting it as another massive server failure, which, judging by the guard's words, happens often anyway, seems like a perfectly safe option.
"What the hell did you do?" Kolya asks, frowning suspiciously.
"Nothing criminal," Sheps smiles disarmingly and lowers his voice slightly. "I just don't want to accidentally end up on Pornhub tomorrow."
The guard bursts out laughing and relaxes noticeably, seemingly taking his excuse at face value.
"Have there been problems with recordings like this before?" Oleg still tries to verify the realism of his plan. "Or are they usually fixed quickly?"
"Ha! Quickly?" Kolya laughs even harder. "Sometimes nothing saves for a week here. I monitor the cameras, ensure facility security, and Basharov doesn't give a shit about the rest. By the way, are you sure he cares about your sex marathon?"
"Yeah, looks like we got busted a little yesterday..." Sheps bites his lip, continuing to play his role, although thinking that, in fact, he isn't entirely lying. "Kolya, let's stick to our scheme: you erase the recordings right now, before Basharov comes for them, and pretend I was never here. And in the evening, I'll bring you triple your salary to wherever you say."
The guard raises his eyebrows in surprise because such sums were never discussed in their previous deals, but he has no intention of refusing: the bathroom renovation won't pay for itself.
"Why wait until evening?" he asks. "Laying low?"
Kolya asks purely out of curiosity, but Oleg tenses up immediately. He gets off the desk, trying to squeeze out his usual arrogant smirk, and leans slightly over the seated guard:
"Four times your salary—and you don't ask me any more questions."
"Deal," the guard answers instantly and, without wasting a second, reaches for the mouse to get to work.
Sheps lingers for a couple more minutes, watching Kolya technically fulfill his part of the deal, and then heads back outside more calmly: the main evidence is destroyed, and now he can start the investigation.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Oleg doesn't understand how to construct his line of reasoning. He knows nothing about Cherevaty: neither his relationships with colleagues nor potential conflicts with students, and this leads Sheps to a dead end at the very beginning of his thoughts. He needs at least some lead to push off from the starting point, but Oleg doesn't know where to get it.
He sits in his car near the faculty, watching the occasional passerby through the dense wall of rain, when he suddenly spots a sturdy figure. Levin is walking quickly toward the building, shielding his head from the large drops with a sports jacket, and Sheps catches himself thinking that this is perhaps the very person he can ask at least some questions about Vlad.
"Professor Levin," Oleg peeks into the gym's back room, "good morning."
"Well, at least it's good for someone," Levin grumbles gloomily, changing out of his soaked clothes. "Went to the store, damn it..."
The PE teacher came to the university early on purpose to work on the grading plan, but the day went south practically from the threshold. He habitually dropped by the Dean's office to say hello to an old friend and heard the shocking news.
Maxim doesn't doubt for a second that Vlad was framed. He knows almost nothing about the guy, but he is excellent at reading people, and Cherevaty is clearly not the kind of person against whom such accusations can be leveled.
Levin left Basharov's office with nothing: Marat, even for the sake of friendship, didn't share the details of the situation. Maxim understands his position as Dean, of course, but it brings no joy whatsoever. He desperately wants to understand who could have done this to Vlad and why, but doesn't know where to get information, and Cherevaty himself isn't answering his calls.
"Why aren't you in class?" Levin switches his attention to the student who entered, glad to finally be in dry clothes.
"I'm late," Oleg shrugs unperturbedly. "What's the point now?"
"Fine," Maxim rolls his eyes, realizing it's useless to talk about studies with Sheps. "What did you want?"
"I wanted to ask about our pool tournament," Oleg starts from afar. "Faculty Day is coming up—wanted to ask if it's still on."
"A sacred tradition," the PE teacher chuckles. "As usual, I'll meet you in the finals."
"Are you sure?" Sheps smirks boldly. "I'll definitely be playing, but as for whether it'll be against you..."
"Do you have other candidates?"
"Well..." The student pauses, finally approaching the topic he needs. "For example, I don't know if Vladislav Vitalievich plays pool."
Levin's expression changes abruptly, his slightly narrowed eyes fixing on Oleg. The state in which Maxim saw them both yesterday after classes leads to certain suspicions, and the recent scene right here in the gym steers his thoughts more strongly in a certain direction.
"I'll never believe that such hot news passed you by." The PE teacher's tone becomes stricter, and the next question rips the tightly worn mask off Sheps's face for a few seconds. "What happened between you two yesterday?"
The ill-fated kiss flashes in fragments in Oleg's head, throwing him off balance, but he pulls himself together immediately.
"Decided to pin this on me too?" the student chuckles. "But I wasn't the one who framed him."
"Then who?"
"Good question."
Sheps looks serious now, and it seems to Levin that he was barking up the wrong tree with his accusation. Probably only the freshmen don't know about this rich kid's stunts at the faculty, and even then, only for the first couple of weeks. But Oleg takes immense pride in every one of those stunts and has never denied a single one, and now he makes it clear that the situation with Vlad is not his doing at all.
Oleg, judging by the PE teacher's questions, also becomes finally convinced that the cause of today's problems is not standing before him. Although suspecting Maxim was a failing idea from the start: firstly, Levin seems to have genuinely taken a liking to the young professor, and secondly, acting like this, in an underhanded way, is not his method. Maxim is one of the most straightforward people Sheps knows, and this conversation confirms this trait of his character, now definitely crossing the PE teacher off the list of suspects.
The bell for the break pulls them both out of their thoughts, and Levin sighs deeply, heading for the door:
"I have a class now, need to get the register."
Oleg nods briefly, leaves the back room first, and suddenly turns around, hearing the PE teacher's voice behind him.
"Basharov received the information yesterday late in the afternoon. The person who did this was someone who visited the Dean's office during that period."
Maxim says this so that if Sheps does want to help Vlad, he knows where to start looking. And judging by how the student breaks into a sly smile right after his words, Levin wasn't mistaken in this guess either. He doesn't know what is happening between these two people, but he is sure for a fact that something is indeed happening.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Stepping out of the faculty building, Egorova stops under the canopy and frowns at the terrible weather. She opens her bag, looking down, but doesn't have time to get her umbrella before someone else's opens unexpectedly above her.
"Care to dine in good company?" Oleg asks with a sultry smile.
"And how does this gallant guy inside you get along with your inner hooligan?" the girl chuckles with a sigh.
"Sonechka, you know I'm multifaceted."
He holds the umbrella, walking down the steps with her, and has almost no doubt of a positive answer to his offer. Being at the very "heart" of the faculty, Egorova, by virtue of her character, has become the main source of news from "above" for all the seniors. In the Dean's office, she is an exemplary employee and an indispensable secretary, but outside of it—a person ready to discuss any event of even the slightest significance for hours. And what happened today—Sheps is sure—is already tearing her apart from the inside after these few hours of sitting at her workplace this morning.
"If I don't have to walk through puddles," Sonya nods with a hint at his car, "I agree to any proposal."
Oleg smiles contentedly, opening the passenger door for her, and is already calling his favorite restaurant nearby to book a table.
"How's the workday?" Sheps asks casually while they wait for their order at a table in the corner of the elegant hall. "Probably not as calm as usual today?"
Egorova's eyes light up like she was just given permission to spill everything she wanted to chat about, and Oleg settles more comfortably into the soft chair, listening carefully to the lively monologue.
Sonya says that Cherevaty came "on the carpet" first and left the Dean completely lost. There is enthusiasm in the girl's voice because she is clearly pleased with the unprecedented high drama amidst the work routine, and Sheps even finds it disgusting.
He remembers what he felt at that moment when he first heard his own sentence. Remembers how he literally fell into a stupor after those words and how he looked with hope at Sasha when he was being led out of the apartment by the arms. And if Oleg back then had that hope, however vain, today Vlad didn't even have that.
Egorova continues saying that Basharov apparently decided to build the whole day around compiling character references. He summons professors to him one by one, talking with each for about twenty minutes, and Sonya's head is already spinning from checking against the schedule in attempts to organize the order of appointments so that the educational process suffers minimal losses from this pilgrimage to the Dean's office.
"And are you putting all professors on the list? Or are there exceptions?"
Sheps asks seemingly to maintain the conversation, but he himself understands one simple truth perfectly well: there is no need for the Dean to speak again with the person who brought this news yesterday.
"Everyone," Egorova answers wearily. "Now, after lunch, I'll be calling those on sick leave."
Oleg sighs, realizing that the circle of people to search among has widened with this answer: there are far more students at the faculty than professors.
"Yeah, fun... Listen," he clutches at the last hope while Sonya starts on a beautiful dessert with appetite, "were there many people in the Dean's office yesterday after the fourth period?"
"Same as usual," the girl shrugs, trying to remember. "Almost no one: end of the day, you know. Levin ran in, looking for Cherevaty. Raidos stopped by for a short while. A couple of students. And you."
She chuckles, not thinking at all about why Oleg is asking his questions, and this plays right into the guy's hands.
"But who went in specifically to see Basharov?" Sheps asks a direct question and, seeing a slightly surprised look, leans forward with a sly smirk. He rests his elbows on the table and adds ingratiatingly: "I won't believe you don't know who dropped this 'bomb'."
"Alas," Egorova purses her lips with undisguised annoyance. "Even I am not told that. But only two people went in to see Basharov at the end of the day yesterday: Raidos and your class rep. So, maybe one of them."
She shrugs again and returns to her dessert carelessly, while Oleg leans back in his chair, stunned, his gaze fixed on the ironed tablecloth. It really was revenge, but it wasn't directed at Vlad at all. They were taking revenge on Sheps himself, and now he is absolutely certain who exactly.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Oleg doesn't believe for a second that Vika organized such a setup. Despite all their mutual dislike, he cannot help but admit that Raidos is incapable of such baseness toward an innocent person. Besides, she already tried to defend Vlad from him, just as he defended her. Moreover, if Vika really wanted to hurt Sheps himself, she wouldn't do it through the Dean: she always has Sasha for such moves.
Their morning collision in the corridor confirms his thoughts: Raidos blamed him habitually and did so absolutely sincerely, being sure that Oleg himself was at fault. He knows her too well not to understand that.
Only one option remains in his head, and Sheps wants to be absolutely sure he is thinking in the right direction. He glances impatiently at his watch, and then quickly gets out of the car when Ignatenko walks out from around the corner of the building, heading toward her entrance at a calm pace.
The girl shoots him a brief look with a smirk, and Oleg, barely holding back the rage flaring up sharply inside, blocks her path, forcing her to stop.
"What did he do to you?" Sheps asks in a threatening tone.
"Him? Nothing," Ira breaks into a satisfied smile, not even trying to deny it. "You're smart—you understand everything yourself."
"Are you an idiot?" Oleg raises his voice. "I'm not involved in this situation at all. What's the point?"
"Look in the mirror," she answers with satisfaction.
The guy stands before her, clenching his fists tightly, his eyes shooting bright lightning that perfectly complements the rainy weather, and Ignatenko realizes she guessed right after all. Trying to do something against Sheps himself, as he told her recently, would indeed be stupid: Ira knows that Oleg is not afraid of minor problems and will easily buy his way out of any of them. She wanted to corner him, and yesterday she finally found a brilliant excuse, seeing with her own eyes the perfect target—the one because of whom Sheps is standing here right now in such a state.
"And how does he kiss?" Ignatenko asks with a sly squint and immediately flinches when Oleg lunges forward abruptly, grabbing her arm painfully.
"Listen here." The voice sounds quiet, but terrifying. "On Monday, you go to Basharov and say you made it all up. Or misunderstood. Or..."
"Or I do nothing and simply watch you try your hardest to save your Vladik."
Sheps shakes her, squeezing her forearm harder for a few seconds, and then pushes her away with force, trying not to explode completely. Ira's smirk is nasty, just like the ones on those who once looked him straight in the eye and ruthlessly shifted their blame onto him.
"Don't worry, he won't go to jail," Ignatenko says in a sugary tone. "There's no evidence, so at most—they'll just drag him through interrogations during the investigation, and then probably ask him to write a resignation letter. After all, such a stain on his impeccable reputation..."
She purses her lips feignedly and doesn't even guess that she is hitting the sorest spot. Fragments of memories flash before Oleg's eyes, mixing with what he doesn't want to imagine: a confused and exhausted Vlad, answering humiliating questions for the tenth time and understanding the outcome perfectly well. That very outcome Ira is talking about with rapture right now, because Oleg can hardly imagine how one can save a reputation after that.
He silently takes a step toward the car, turns around, raising a destroying gaze to the girl, and, before driving away, drops barely audibly:
"You're fucked."
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
"Vlad, getting wasted first thing in the morning isn't the answer," Ilya says softly, taking the glass from Cherevaty's hands. "You need to sleep."
"I already slept," Vlad waves him off drunkenly.
"Yeah, after the first bottle..."
Larionov sighs heavily and leans back in the armchair, watching his friend take another swig straight from the bottle.
Cherevaty called him a few hours ago, but Ilya didn't understand a single word. He just understood that something happened. He shuffled the remaining clients for the day to other dates with some difficulty, extending his working hours out of desperation, and rushed over as soon as he was free.
Vlad met him still drunk, even after sleeping, but never gave a proper explanation for what happened. From the disjointed story, most of which was directed at insulting Sheps, Larionov somehow pieced together the core of the problem—the accusation that broke everything.
"Vlad," he tries quietly to get through to the remnants of the other man's consciousness, "I can't help you if I don't know all the details."
"Help?" Cherevaty breaks into laughter. "Too late, Ilyusha. I'm not a professor anymore."
He looks doomed, smiles bitterly, and seems to be trying to process what he has already accepted. And Larionov doesn't understand why this always strong and goal-oriented man gave up so abruptly. Just broke in a single moment, without even trying to fight.
"Why are you drinking?" Ilya asks calmly, peering intently into the empty eyes.
"Are you kidding?" Vlad raises his eyebrows in surprise and chuckles again.
"No. I just want to understand: are you drinking because of the consequences or because of the cause?"
"What do you mean?"
Cherevaty frowns, genuinely not understanding what Larionov is trying to get out of him, and reaches for the alcohol standing on the table again.
"Vlad," Ilya addresses him a bit quieter, "is the problem that you'll get fired, or that it was Oleg who framed you?"
The hand freezes, never bringing the bottle to his lips, and Cherevaty stares forward with an unseeing gaze, giving Larionov the answer to his question without words. Ilya lowers his eyes, propping his head up wearily with his hand, and doesn't know what else to say.
"Leave, please," Vlad whispers, slowly lowering the hand with the alcohol.
He sits tensely, trembling barely noticeably, and continues to stare at a single point. Larionov doesn't want to leave his friend in such a state, but he understands: what Ilya just learned, Cherevaty himself realized just now, and he needs to digest it. No matter how good a psychologist Larionov is, at this stage, he is absolutely powerless.
With a heavy sigh, Ilya rises from the armchair and heads for the exit, suddenly stopping in the doorway.
"I'll stop by tomorrow," he says quietly. "But if tonight you want to..."
"Larionov, get out!!!" Vlad screams, his voice cracking.
The almost full bottle flies toward the door, shattering against the doorframe with a crash, and Cherevaty doesn't even look to see if the shards hit Ilya. He slowly lists to the side, lying down on the sofa, and stops reacting to anything.
Larionov feels genuinely sorry for Vlad: finding yourself in such a situation is a difficult ordeal in itself, but finding yourself in it because of someone you care about is something Cherevaty turned out to be completely unprepared for. Ilya looks at the broken glass scattered at his feet and shifts his gaze to Vlad lying in complete prostration—just as broken as that bottle.
Cherevaty doesn't hear the front door slam and just stares in front of him, replaying Larionov's words in his head. His eyes are open because he is desperately trying to cling to reality so as not to retreat into himself. Vlad doesn't want to fall down there, into the depths where for some reason it hurts, at all.
He understands he'll be fired regardless. Whether Basharov finds any evidence only determines whether Cherevaty needs to look for a new job, or if his life for the next couple of years will be disposed of by entirely different authorities.
What Vlad doesn't understand is something else—Oleg. What happened yesterday that made Sheps decide on such a radical move? Or was this his plan from the very beginning? There, in the corridor, before Oleg broke his own rule and kissed him first, it seemed to Cherevaty that something went wrong.
A completely different person was before him. Not empty. Not a cunning player or an arrogant manipulator, but someone who knows how to feel after all. And it seems that was the person Vlad liked kissing so much. And despite the world collapsing around him, Cherevaty doesn't regret that specific kiss. He hates himself for thinking about it again, but admits to himself that he doesn't regret it one bit.
Vlad only regrets that he was mistaken and didn't realize it in time. That he allowed himself for one minute to believe that something else lay behind the gambling game, and now even strong spirits can't burn out of his head the damn image he invented himself.
The phone lying nearby vibrates quietly for the umpteenth time, and Cherevaty casts a tired glance at the screen: several missed calls and a message.
Oleg Sheps
Pick up the phone, please.
Vlad explodes, springing up from the sofa abruptly, and starts pacing the room like trying to escape what is happening inside him.
Oleg Sheps
I didn't do it.
Cherevaty grabs a glass from the table, downing the remnants of the alcohol, and flinches at a new notification.
Oleg Sheps
Let's talk.
"Damn!!!" Vlad swings with force and smashes the glass against the floor, while Oleg jerks his head up sharply, scanning the windows of the unfamiliar building.
He sits in his car, smoking, not letting the phone out of his hands in the hope that Cherevaty will at least read his messages. Sheps, of course, doesn't believe a reply will come.
He drove home after the talk with Ira and realized he was insanely tired today. Today felt like reliving his most painful memories, then he successfully distracted himself with his investigation, and it seems he used up all his strength on that, of which there was little left after yesterday.
His head was splitting with thoughts, with not knowing what to do next, and Oleg just decided to drive around the city to clear his head somehow. Why he drove to Vlad's place, Sheps doesn't know himself.
He tries to call to calm down either Cherevaty or himself, because he can barely tell them apart in his reflections anymore. Once, Oleg really wanted to hear a simple "everything will be fine," and it seems to him that Vlad needs the same thing right now. He presses the call button again, throwing the cigarette out the slightly open window, while Cherevaty freezes in the middle of the room, his gaze fixed on the phone screen.
Vlad feels his strength abruptly drain away. The explosion of emotions that forced him to jump up and do at least something a few minutes ago drops him back onto the sofa like a shockwave and finally shuts down everything that was tearing him apart inside.
Cherevaty closes his eyes and, for some reason, accepts the incoming call.
"I found out who did it," Sheps says without preamble, realizing Vlad could hang up at any moment.
The fact that he answered at all, Oleg considers something of a miracle.
"Did you look in the mirror?" Cherevaty tries to speak with sarcasm but can't even manage a proper smirk.
He can barely speak at all because his tongue is slurring, either from fatigue or from the amount of alcohol consumed.
"Fuck, it wasn't me..." Sheps exhales exhaustedly. "We were seen."
He suddenly frowns, replaying Vlad's phrase in his head one more time, and leans forward automatically, resting his elbows on the steering wheel.
"Vlad, are you drunk?.."
"If you're calling to gloat, then fuck off," Cherevaty utters quietly, without emotion, trying not to think about the fact that Oleg's voice sounds somehow... caring?..
They both fall silent, and Sheps doesn't understand why Vlad doesn't hang up. And why Cherevaty picked up the phone at all, if not to repeat what he thinks of him again.
Oleg doesn't know what to say. Even today, improvising dialogues with very different people on the go, he instantly found the right words that served his specific goals faithfully, settling into his habitual and practiced roles in which he feels organic, but right now he is simply lost. For the first time in a long while, Sheps is trying to just be himself, and it seems he has completely forgotten how to talk like this. Without masks.
"I don't want you to get fired," he says barely audibly. "And I will sort this out."
Vlad opens his eyes and ends the call because he no longer wants to hear that soothing voice, which strikes deeper with its lies. He turns onto his side, his gaze resting on the back of the sofa, and doesn't want to think about anything anymore.
The downpour outside intensifies, and Oleg jerks his hand angrily, turning off the wipers flickering before his eyes. He looks at the almost solid stream of water pouring down the windshield and feels trapped. It seems to Sheps that whatever he does in this situation, it will get worse—and clearly for both of them, because he also doesn't know how he'll cope if history repeats itself.
Through the noise of the rain, several short honks are heard from the window when Oleg hits the steering wheel desperately out of hopelessness, but Vlad doesn't even blink, reacting absolutely not at all to the sounds from the street. He lies there with the lights on, but before his eyes is absolute darkness. The same kind Sheps sees when he closes his eyelids and drops his head onto his arms folded on the steering wheel, trying to hide from himself.