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    Summary

    Ilya is minding his own business, fucking Shane Hollander into a hotel mattress, when out of nowhere, he is struck by a thought. Struck, a word he knows from hockey, and it feels like that, like a collision, maybe because it is so abrupt and maybe because it is so stupid.

    I should cook something for him.

     

    (Fighting the urge to show care towards the person you're sleeping with, or: Ilya Rozanov thinks about the tuna melt an extremely normal amount.)

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    3,487
    Chapters:
    1/1
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