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Shane is going to lose his mind.
He loves that Ilya has his things here, loves that their lives are finally merging into something that he could only dream of. What was not part of this dream, was leaving Ilya to do the laundry one time and find everything tinted. His undershirts, his underwear, his socks. Pink.
He checks the time, Ilya should be back at his apartment post practice. He hits the facetime button for maximum impact.
Ilya answers, shirtless and damp. The heat in Shane's throat flips somewhat but he tries to keep it together.
‘What nice surprise. Are you not-’
‘Why is everything pink?’
Ilya furrows his brow, but continues playing with his chain. Shane picks up clothing from the blossoming pile next to him, showing off the evidence, wordless but his stare working overtime. Ilya’s lips curl into a sly smile.
‘Colour suits you, Hollander. It's same as blush.’
Shane’s face heats, matching the underwear he holds.
‘Anything else to say? “I'm sorry Shane. I'm an asshole” maybe?’
‘Me? Apologise? Think you have me confused for someone else…’
Shane stares deadpan into the camera, Ilya chuckles but his eyes soften.
‘We can have… what was it ca- make up sex!’ Ilya announces proudly.
‘Fuck off,’ Shane replies with very little bite.
His shoulders loosen as Ilya licks his lips. Shane puts the incriminating garments down and lays back on the bed. Ilya grins knowing he's won this round.
‘Tomorrow. You owe me, asshole.’