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    Summary

    "Fuck you, Rozanov," Shane laughed, his face was flushed from a singular shot, but he could also feel the way his brain was responding to Ilya.

    "Later," Ilya hummed. He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, "What room?"

    Shane gulped, he then followed Ilya and looked around them making sure no one was close enough to hear their conversation.

    "943," Shane squeaked.

    Ilya dropped the pint glass he was holding and flung his head around so fast that Shane thought he may break his neck.

    "What room?" Ilya demanded again.

    "943?" Shane stammered again, this time as a question.

    He pulled the keycard slightly out of pocket to flash Rozanov the numbers written on the front.

    Ilya let out a gorgeous hum and turned his head back forwards, picking up his pint glass of beer and taking a sip.

    "We are in same room," he chuckled.
    /
    Or - It's time for another All-Stars game, and Shane figures this one will be the same as always. He's poorly mistaken when he finds out he won't be sharing his room with Hayden for this tournament.

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