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The game cut back to commercial. A beer ad flashed across the screen in oversaturated colors, cheering faces Shane barely registered. His attention stayed on the man beside him, stretched halfway across the couch with one leg thrown over the armrest, phone loose in his hand like nothing in the world really concerned him.
“There is a girl here I like very much, her name is Svetlana,” Rozanov said casually.
Shane blinked. “Is she… like your girlfriend or something?”
Ilya turned his head slowly, studying him like he was deciding whether to mess with him or tell the truth. Then he shrugged.
“No. Is not like that. I mean, we fuck sometimes. But that is all. Nothing serious.”
Shane forced himself to look back at the television, at the silent players lining up on the ice, but his heart had started pounding unpleasantly hard against his ribs. Heat crept up his neck, all the way to his ears. He felt it like a burn under his skin and desperately hoped Rozanov was sitting too relaxed to notice.
“She knows everything about hockey,” Ilya went on, his voice lightly amused. “And she likes you.”
Shane looked at him again and saw the corner of Rozanov’s mouth lift.
“Oh yeah?” he said, hoping it sounded neutral.
“Yeah. She keeps telling me. Asking for your number.”
A shrill beep from the kitchen cut through the moment. Ilya straightened abruptly. “Stay. I bring it.”
Shane remained seated, hands clasped together, listening to the clink of plates and cutlery. He used the few seconds to take a slow, steady breath. Why is he telling me this? Rozanov came back with two plates and set them on the coffee table. Melted cheese stretched in long strings. the smell of tuna and toasted bread spread through the room. They ate in silence as the game continued. Shane chewed mechanically, the thoughts running in his head. He really hoped it didn’t show.
“Do you like them?” Ilya asked eventually.
“What—the tuna melts?”
Rozanov snorted. “No. Girls.”
Shane nearly choked, coughed, reached for his beer and took a huge sip before he answered, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“Yeah. Sure.”
It didn’t sound convincing. Rozanov grinned openly into his glass, took a long swallow, deliberately letting Shane squirm.
“You want her number?”
Shane slowly lifted his eyes to him. For a moment everything seemed to freeze. What the hell was Rozanov playing at? The Russian’s pale eyes glittered. It was a challenge. This was all just a game to him. Shane was just a prawn in Rozanovs stupid shenanigans. Shane felt something in him tighten. He wasn’t gonna let Rozanov get away with this. He’d always take on a challenge, no matter how absurd.
“Sure,” he said quietly.
For a split second Ilya’s expression slipped. Just barely. As if he’d never expected Shane to say yes. It almost looked like sadness flashed over his face. But then the smile was back.
“Okay. I ask her.”
Two days later Shane’s phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. When he went to check, he was almost disappointed that it wasn’t a message from Rozanov but from an unknown number.
Unknown: This is Svetlana.
His heart did a stupid little jump. He stared at the screen like the name itself was mocking him. Rozanov had really done it, he’d really connected them. There was no going back now.
Svetlana: Ilya gave me your number.
Shane dragged a hand through his hair and thought about a calm, collected way to answer that text while his heart was pounding in his chest and he felt light-headed. Shane: Nice to hear from you. Almost too formal. But classic Shane. He saved the number before he could change his mind.
Svetlana: I’ll be at the next game in Boston. Maybe a drink after?
She was direct, Shane liked that. Shane nervously chewed on the drawstring of his hoodie. Rozanov would be there. Rozanov would find out. The thought sparked something restless inside him, something he didn’t quite want to name. Jealousy? Revenge? Hope? “Fuck it,” he muttered to himself. He’d go through with it. He wanted Rozanov to see.
Shane: Sure. I’ll make a reservation.
A moment later: Svetlana: This is what I look like, by the way.
A selfie. Shane stared at it. Dark eyes. Wide grin. Perfect skin. Fuck. She was gorgeous. And from what Shane could find about her online, she was also very smart, knew everything about hockey as Rozanov had said, travelled a lot and just seemed like a really cool person. And she was sleeping with Rozanov. He shook his head like he could physically dislodge the thought, put his phone down and turned down the TV.
At the Boston vs Montreal game, Rozanov was different. Not loud. Not smirking. Ice-cold. At the first face-off he slammed his shoulder into Shane, harder than necessary. On the next shift he tangled his skates with his, drove him into the boards until the air was punched out of Shane’s lungs. Shane paused, gasping, and looked after him. Rozanov didn’t look back. Hayden was loudly shouting at him, held back by his teammates. The ref gave Rozanov a warning who didn’t even seem to care. And then there was Svetlana, sitting clearly visible in the front row wearing a Boston Jersey. Her legs were crossed and she looked very concentrated. Shane caught himself flicking his gaze between her and Rozanov. But Rozanov ignored her. Completely. Not once did his eyes wander in her direction. Shane tried not to hink about possible reasons for this behaviour. Maybe he lied about them. Maybe there is more. Maybe he likes her. He hated his thoughts for betraying him. After the game Rozanov vanished immediately. No eye contact during the handshake, no comment about how he’d destroy Shane next time. Shane lingered on the ice longer than he needed to, looking in the direction Rozanov had disappeared.
He thought about texting him. He Didn’t.
Shane parked two streets away from the restaurant. Not because he couldn’t find anything closer—because he needed time. He sat in the car, both hands on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield at the brightly lit façade. He took a deep breath. Get it together. He was wearing a dark shirt Hayden had once picked for him because it made him look “grown-up.” He loved this shirt. It made him feel stylish. It fit like a glove. Now it suddenly felt too tight. He forced himself to get out of the car. Svetlana was already waiting outside. She was wearing a long coat, her dark hair curling losely around her shoulders. Her hands were buried in her pockets. She looked effortlessly cool and like a supermodel. When she saw him her face brightened—not exaggerated, not fake. Friendly.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey.”, he said shyly.
She looked him over, like she was comparing him to something in her head and tilted her head.
“You look different without the helmet.”
Shane laughed nervously. “You too.” She lifted an eyebrow and also started laughing. Shanes nerves calmed down a bit.
“Shall we go inside?”
Inside the restaurant it smelled like seared meat, garlic and chocolate. They were led immediately into a semi-private nook with small candlelit table made from dark wood. Shane recognized the discreet nod from the staff, the subtle shielding. He came here regulary because the food was great and he really enjoyed the atmosphere. Unfortunately there were often paparazzi waiting for him when he went he would leave the restaurant. He wondered if someone was already waiting outside. He almost hoped so. They ordered red wine which was probably a mistake since Shane seldom drank wine – or alcohol in any way – and was not sure how he’d hold up. Svetlana leaned back easily while Shane barely looked at the menu. One, he already knew what he’d order and two, he couldn’t concentrate properly anyway. How was this going to play out?
“So,” she said. “Tell me about you.”
“Me?”
“The real Shane Hollander.”
He blinked. Confused for a moment. “I thought we were talking about hockey.”, he said innocently.
“That’s part of it.” Her eyes glittered. “But not all. I’m curious about who you are off the ice. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Ilya.”
Shanes heart skipped a beat on the mention of Rozanov’s first name. He locked eyes with Svetlana. She seemed genuine and honest and he thought to himself: why not make a new friend? Why be so jealous and mad when she personally had not given him any reason to? So he told her about his parents. School. Hayden Routines. How he couldn’t sleep before big games. She really listened. Nodded. Asked questions. Told him about herself. About her famous father and what she loved about hockey. But also about literature and art. Shane found her very interesting. He had a great time talking to her. She was really nice and clever and funny. He could tell why Rozanov liked her. And somehow—casually, inevitably—Rozanov kept coming up in their conversation even though Shane tried to avoid it.
“Ilya says you’re impossible to read on the ice.”
“He says that?”
They talked about him when they were together. He wondered if Rozanov initiated these conversations of it was Svetlana, just casually checking what his rival was like.
“Mmh-hmm.” Shane’s stomach tightened.
“He also says you can’t take alcohol very well.”
“I wouldn't say it that way.”
“True, though?”
He laughed too loudly which was all the confirmation that was needed. She watched him far too closely. Shane started sweating a little. He didn’t know i fit was the wine ot the temperature of Svetlanas eyes on him. But the longer the evening went on, the more he relaxed. The more he forgot why he’d been nervous. Maybe it had been the wine.
Suddenly, Svetlana asked: “Why do you think he gave you my number?”
Shane froze mid-movement and looked up at her from his plate. “What do you mean?”
“Come on.” She tilted her head. “Ilya doesn’t just hand out numbers.”
Shane took a sip of wine. Far too big. He coughed loudly for some time before he answered.
“No idea.”, he said hoarse.
“Mhm. Are you sure?” Her voice was calm and friendly.
“I… maybe he was trying to be nice.”
Svetlana studied him like she wanted to dissect him—not cruelly, just curious. Then she grinned at him. “Or he wanted to see what would happen.”
Something tightened beneath Shane’s ribs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She only smiled.
When they stepped outside later, the camera flashes blinded him. For a second Shane didn’t know which way was up. People were shouting his name, bright lights everywhere. He stumbled down the sideway. Svetlana automatically grabbed his arm. “Hey.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders, more reflex than strategy. But standing there, pressed close while lightning cracked around them, a thought hit him so hard it stole his breath. Ilya is going to see this. And worse: Part of him wanted him to. Svetlana navigated them to a car waiting in front oft he restaurant. She must’ve called a taxi. Shane remembered that he’d driven here in his own car but he was too far gone to drive now. He told himself he’d pick it up the next day as he entered the cab. Even though the seat was comfortable and the cab was warm, Shane didn’t feel good. Sweat formed on his forehead and he tried frantically to wipe it away. The wine throbbed in his head. Everything seemed to move way too fast. The lights were too bright. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Svetlana glanced at him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” A beat. “No.”
He stared out the window. The city blurred. He couldn’t quite make out the shapes of buildings or street lights which send his brain into a sprial. A thought he’d hidden the whole night kept creeping up on him. Again and again. What if it is not casual between them? For her? What if she wanted to meet the man Rozanov was seeing so frequently?
“Do you love him? Rozanov, I mean.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Svetlana blinked. Then nodded slowly. “Uh, yes.” That was all. No drama. No grand confession. Just the word. It hit him harder than any headline. His stomach revolted.
„Shane, but it’s not like“, he didn’t hear the rest as he yanked the door open. Cold air slammed into him as he threw up. Svetlana told the driver to stop but the driver just swore and kept going. She started arguing with him loudly but Shane barely heard because everything roared.
Later, when she hauled him up the stairs, his head was empty.
Shane woke up alone, feeling like someone was drilling into his skull with a jackhammer. He groaned softly and buried his face in the pillow. His mouth tasted like metal and wine. His jeans dug into his hips when he shifted carefully. The sensation was aggravating. The room spun just enough to make it very clear the night before had been a terrible decision. He turned onto his back and closed his eyes, pressing his cold palms against his forehead. Fragments of his evening with Svetlana surfaced. Wine, bloody meat, asparagus. Flashes. People shouting his name. A warm cab. Svetlana’s hand on his back while he vomited. The word Yes. He squeezed his eyes shut and got up slowly.
He dragged himself into the bathroom, nearly tripping over his own shoes, and stepped into the shower without checking the temperature. Warm water beat down on him, loosening his shoulders a little but not nearly enough. He stayed until his fingers wrinkled and his head finally stopped pounding quite so badly. Afterwards, he put on some sweatpants and a hoodie and drank a gallon of water. Ugh, he needed sugar or salt or both. Anything that wasn’t alcohol. He put on a beanie, took his keys and went outside., The air was cold and sharp. It cut into his lungs and somehow helped. He took a deap breath. The sun was too bright so he put up his hood.
Finally he checked his phone. Four missed calls from his mom. Two texts from Hayden. Instagram notifications. Twitter. And one from Svetlana. He opened the last one first.
Svetlana: Are you okay?
Shane: Yeah. Sorry about last night.
Svetlana: Happens. We could try again sometime. Less wine.
Shane stared at the screen. Try again. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about that. But he also didn’t want to be rude.
Shane: Sure.
Almost immediately: Svetlana: I’ll text you.
Then, he opened Instagram. There they were. Outside the restaurant. Him half leaning over her, arm around her shoulders. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. He looked like he’d been dragged through a storm. A blog caption read: ROZANOV’S EX-GIRLFRIEND MOVES ON? Shane snorted quietly. Right. Rozanov had probably seen this and laughed. Then another thought hit. Shane wanted him to see this. He shoved his phone into his pocket and started walking before the idea could dig in any deeper.
Meanwhile, Ilya Rozanov sat in his hotel room and stared at the photos of Svetlana and Shane leaving the restaurant together. Again. And again. Zoomed in. Swiped them away. Pulled them back. Shane. Svetlana. Too close. Too familiar. His chest felt tight, like someone had jammed something between his ribs and forgotten to remove it. He didn’t know why. Or he kind of knew why but he didn’t want to admit it. He also knew that he ignored Svetlana’s messages. And calls. He knew he couldn’t talk to her right now. He was too emotional, too mad. He wanted tob e cool and collected when he talked to her. Give her no reason to think something bothered him. He put his phone down and groaned at the ceiling, letting his thoughts swirl in his head. This was not casual anymore. He picked the phone up again five minutes later. He had started this. He had given Shane her number. It had been Svetlana’s idea initially but still, he’d asked Shane. His misery was his own fault. So why did it feel like someone had ripped the floor out from under his feet? Like he was falling with no way to stop? He felt like screaming. Instead, he threw the phone onto the bed. Stood up. Sat down again. “Idiot,” he muttered to nobody and put his head into his hands for a moment before packing his suitcase.
A few weeks later, Svetlana knocked at the door of his apartment. As Ilya opened, he look kind of surprised.
„Why didn’t you use your key?“, he asked.
“You haven’t talked to me for weeks. I didn’t know if you even wanted me here.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With ignoring me?” She pushed him aside and entered. Ilya sighed and rolled his eyes before he closed the door.
“Sveta, what do you want? I’m tired.”
“Is this about Shane Hollander?”
His stomach tightened and agony filled his whole body. But he was determined to not let it show.
“No.”, he said coldly.
“Liar.”
“Is he your boyfriend now?”
“And if he is?”
That hit him like a knife. If true, it felt like the ultimate betrayal. Svetlana crossed her arms. He huffed and turned away.
“Then congratulations on bagging the most dramatic midlife crisis in the NHL.”
“Why are you being such an asshole?”
“I’m not”, Ilya said with his voice shaking more than he wanted to as he faced her again, „it ist he truth. He’s boring. He drives a boring car, goes to bed early, has thousand of ugly pillows on the bed.“
Svetlana raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, how do you know what his bed looks like?”
Silence. He was too stunned to speak which didn't happen that often. How would he get out of this mess? Ilya’s throat went dry. A few moments went by before he caught his breath again.
Suddenly, anger flodded his body. Anger at himself for letting himself get too close. For not breaking things off with Shane Hollander. For being foolish enough to set him up with his friend. And now, maybe, they were going out. Together. He couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t want to look at Svetlana right now.
“Get out.”, he hissed. Svetlana stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned and walked out. With a grin he didn’t see.
Ilya sighed and sat down on the sofa. Time passed while he let his thoughts run in his head and tears down his face. When he felt like all emotions had poured out of him, he made the decision to apologize to Svetlana the next morning. Send her a text.
A week later, Ilya finally got a reply.
Sveta <3: If you want to make it up to me, come over and help me with the wardrobe when I'm back in Boston like you promised ages ago. Maybe the week when you're playing Montreal again. Then we'll both be here.
Ilya: Okay.
It was all Ilya managed to write. Even the sheer mention of Montreal made his chest tighten.
Shane arrived too early. Of course he did. That was just who he was. He pulled the hood of his coat tighter around his neck and checked his phone again and again, like Svetlana might cancel if he stared at it long enough. She’d written: A few people are coming over, watching the New York vs Vancouver game. Care to join us while you’re here?
Shane was here because they'd play against Boston the next day. He’d arrived early since his mom wanted to meet with sponsors and set up some deals. He looked at the building he was standing in front of. A few people. Plural. That helped with his nerves. He didn’t have to face her alone. He’d hesitated when she’d asked him to come over. One because he was a bit socially awkward with new people. And two because he wasn’t sure how much Rozanov would come up. And how much oft hat he was able to take. He sighed and rang the bell. Svetlana let him in.
“Hi. Glad you’re here.” She seemed… cheerful. Too cheerful. Like she knew something. A mischevious grin on her face. He took off his shoes and followed her into the living room. The apartment was modern and minimalist with high ceiling and huge windows.
“Nice place.”, he said honestly.
“Thanks. Sit down. Just a sec.” She disappeared toward the kitchen.
The second she was gone, the doorbell rang. Shane sat down. He heard footsteps in the hallway and a low voice, rumbling. It almost sounded familiar. But it couldn’t be- Suddenly, Rozanov stood in the doorway. The look he gave Shane hit like a body check. His eyes wide and unreadable.
“Hollander,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Shane’s heart stuttered. His palms felt damp and he rubbed them on his legs.
“I—Svetlana invited me.”
“Sit down,” Svetlana ordered Ilya.
“No.”, Ilya said angrily.
“Okay.” She inhaled slowly. “Then let’s make this quick.”
Both men stared at her.
“I invited both of you.” Pause. “On purpose.”
Shane felt his heart skip a beat.
“Ilyusha,” Svetlana said gently. “You’re blind.” “
What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Shane is the person you’ve been talking about for years.”
Ilya froze. Shane couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He felt like he might faint any second.
“Bullshit.”, Rozanov hissed.
“Come on, Ilyusha. You know, you can’t fool me. I know about Jane and I know your Jane is sitting right there on my couch.”
Heat flooded Shane’s face. Oh god, they had been found out. What was Svetlana going to do with all this information? Did she call them both here to blackmail them? But she was Rozanovs friend, she wouldn't do that... Shane looked at Rozanov, trying to figure out if he was right or not. But Ilya just stared at the carpet, defeated and embarressed.
Suddenly, Svetlana backed toward the hallway. “You’ve got twenty minutes.”
“What—”, Shane said but she was out the door before he could finish his sentence. The door felt shut, he heard keys jingling. Ilya spun around.
“She’s not actually locking us in.”
Click.
“She’s locking us in.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m going to kill her.”
He went to the balcony and tried pulling the door open. But it was locked. Svetlana never locked this door. This had all been planned.
“That woman is insane.”
Shane hadn’t moved. He was still staring at his hands, heart racing, face flushed, thoughts spinning in his head.
“Hollander.”
Shane looked up. Rozanov was standing in front of him in all his glory. The golden strands of hair falling perfectly onto his forehead, his athletic body filling out his shirt perfectly, his striking eyes piercing through Shane right into his soul.
„Hollander. You are still alive, yes?“
Shane cleared his throat and nodded.
“What is she going to do?”, he asked hoarsely.
„What you mean?“ Shane stood up and took a step towards Rozanov.
„She’s found us out. What is she going to do with all that?“
Ilyas expression suddenly changed from annoyed to amused. The corners of his mouth twitched before he burst out into a laugh. Confused, Shane just stared at him.
„That is not what this is about.“, Rozanov said when he’d calmed down. „She is not bad person. Don’t worry.“
Shane nodded before he asked the inevitable question ;„What is this about then?“ Rozanov let out a long sigh.
„She wants us to talk.“
“Why?”
„Hollander, are you really that slow?“
Suddenly, Shane felt very brave. What had seemed impossible moments ago was now so close he could almost grasp it.
“So, we’re talking then.”, he said.
“About what.”
“About you.”
“About me?”
“About the feelings you seem to have.”
Ilya let out a short, too-loud laugh. “Oh God.”
“Rozanov.”
“Hollander.”
Shane stepped closer and with everything he had in him, let himself say the thing he’d never thought he’d say: “I like you.” Ilya looked at him. He seemed shocked.
“Too much.” His voice shook. “I hate it.” He swallowed. “It’s eating me alive. And I want it to stop.”
Then, silence fell over them. The only sound was a clock ticking somewhere and the muffled traffic outside. Shane looked at the floor. The bravery had left his body again and he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing. Sabotaged the thing they’d had. If Ilya was disgusted now and never wanted to see him again. When he looked up and their eyes met, Ilya moved. He closed the distance between them and kissed him. Hard and desperate. Both hands in Shane’s hair, slamming him against the wall. Shane gasped and Ilya pulled back.
“Right“, Shane whispered, „we can’t do that here.“
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Talk?”
“Yes. Everything. This is…” Ilya breathed hard. His eyes flickered. Shane wanted to pull him close and never let him go.
„Scary?“, he said. Ilya nodded.
“Yes. I’m scared.”
Shane swallowed. “Of what?”
“Of you.” He came so close again, Shane could feel his breath on his skin. Warm and uneven. Like he’d forgotten how to breathe properly. Was it possbile that Ilya Rozanov of all people was nervous? That Shane made him nervous?
“Of me,” Shane echoed quietly. Ilya barely nodded.
“You’re—” He broke off, rubbed his face. “You matter. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
Shane swallowed. “You treat me like a fling.”
“Because that’s easier.”
“And Svetlana?” Ilya grimaced.
“You gave me her number.”
“Da.”
“Why?”
“Because—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Because you always look at me like I’m going to hurt you if I stare too long.”
Shane’s chest tightened. “And you hate that.”
“Da. Is cause I was scared. Terrified. Of what might happen. If i let it. If I came too close.”
“And still—”, Shane began, but couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
“…I couldn’t stop. Thinking about you. And then I was sure. And Sveta was sure.”
Shane stepped closer. “Svetlana said you’ve been talking about me for years.”
Ilya simply looked away. As if he was embarressed, as if Shane caught him. As i fit was the truth. Shanes eyes widened.
“You’re the first person who ever mattered enough to scare me.”, Ilya said.
Shane let out a soft laugh.
“Wow. Big, bad, not-scared-of-anything Rozanov?”
“Fuck you. Not funny.”
“A little.”
Ilya studied him. “Sooo…you going out with Sveta was just fun?“
“Yeah. I think we're gonna be friends.“, Shane said qietly before he added: „I wanted you to see it.”
“I did.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Da.”
Shane’s breath hitched.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled. “Because it hurt me too.”
They stood there like idiots. Two inches too far apart. Ilya reached for his hand. Stopped. Shane reached out too. A soft smile formed on Ilyas face as they intertwined their fingers.
“We should stop pretending then.”, Shane said.
“Pretend what.”
“That it’s just sex.” Shane’s heart hammered in his throat.
“And what is it then.”, Ilya asked, almost shyly. As if he didn't dare to let himself dream that they could be more.
“I don’t know.” Shane was also not yet brave enough to admit what he really wanted. “But not nothing.”
The lock clicked. Both of them turned.
“Oh,” Svetlana said cheerfully from the hallway. “Are you done?”
Ilya scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“No.” She grinned. “Too bad.”
She dropped onto the couch.
The men looked at each other. Still holding hands which Svetlana noticed, of course.
“So, I was right. You were jealous,” Svetlana said to Ilya.
“I was no—”
“Yes you were.”
“Is that true?”, Shane asked as if he still couldn't believe anything they had just said to each other.
“Da.”
„Those paparazzi pics were porbably driving you nuts“, Svetlana added.
“I’m really sorry about that.“, Shane said in Ilyas direction.
„Don’t act like you didn’t want him to see that.“
Shanes face turned beetred.
“Yeah, yeah. I know everything. I think", she turned to Ilya, "he wanted to know if he mattered to you more than what he thought he was. A fuckbuddy."
Ilya swallowed and looked at Shane: “You do.”
Svetlana clapped softly.
“Cute.”
“Ok, could you leave us alone again now?”, Ilya said.
“This is my apartment, Ilyusha.”
“Sveta. Please. We were kinda in the middle of something that you interrupted.”
“I know. I staged this.”
“Clearly.”
She grinned. “Fine. I’m going.” She stood. “You can use the guest room if you want.”
“That’s not—”, Shane started but she was already out the door. „We are not going to do that, are we?“
Ilya grinned at him before he kissed him again. Softly this time, not desperate, not needy. He pushed him towards the guest room.
„Ilya!“
„Hollander, relax for once in your life!“
He closed the door behind them.