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    Summary

    The jeans are snug, made for a model, not the glutes of a hockey player but they go on and the stretch across his crotch is just this side of obscene. He's told the shirt won't be buttoned and as he shrugged it on he's hit with a wave of nostalgia that promptly slams him into jagged rocks.

    Hollander

    The shirt smelled like Hollander.

    Not Hollander's cologne (he doesn't wear any) or his detergent or his shampoo, any of which another person could buy. It smelled like Hollander, a perfect mix of everything that feels like a hug Ilya's not felt in nine months.

    He nearly cried.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    3,495
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    15
    Kudos:
    212
    Bookmarks:
    27
    Hits:
    1,495