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"Shit! Shit shit shit!" Boris fumbled at the door, cursing as he jammed the key into the lock. "Yuriy! Why the fuck do you HAVE to lock the door every time? Who the fuck is going to come in here...?" He slammed the door behind him, carelessly tossing his jacket onto his desk.
Yuriy peered over his textbook at the grumbling boy below him, who was now violently throwing his school books onto his bed, still cursing. "Habit. Sorry..." He leaned over the rail of his bunk, careful to not let his glasses slip. "Why are you in such a bad mood today? Did your chemistry exam not go well?"
"No, it went fine, Ivanov," Boris snapped. "And I am not in a bad mood, I just forgot that hockey is starting today." He shoved a paper at Yuriy's face, but as Yuriy was, well, upside down, he couldn't read any text other than 'PLAY HOCKEY'. Yuriy then took the mildly crumpled paper from his roommate's hands, skimming the content. "So I'll be out for the rest of the afternoon. Don't lock me out this time. Or I'm throwing out your copy of the damn key."
"Okay, okay. I said I was sorry, asshole." Yuriy rolled his eyes, watching with amusement as Boris scrambled to pick up all his equipment. "Don't have too much fun, you might crack an actual smile...!" He called after him, earning a quick middle finger before the door slammed once again. A small thud immediately followed, and Yuriy sighed. How many times was Boris going to knock the note board off the wall? At least it wasn't anything breakable. He learned not to leave anything fragile within the other boy's reach not even a week after they'd moved into this room.
Hopping off the short metal ladder, Yuriy went to straighten up the note board, picking up stray papers here and there as he went. He pinned the hockey flyer to the board, so Boris wouldn't forget the next time they had a meetup. It wasn't a school official club or anything, just a pick-up group some students had formed sometime the previous winter. Boris was apparently Too Aggressive for his secondary school's team, which Yuriy found both surprising and amusing. He had always viewed hockey as a little more violent than other sports, especially at the university level. The university didn't have the funds to maintain a full team, much less a rink to play on. A shame, because Boris was, in Yuriy's mind, a perfect candidate for a uni level hockey team. It would be fun to watch.
"Hm. I wonder where they're skating at?" Yuriy mused, re-reading the flyer as he re-hung up the note board. It was a Thursday, and he'd finished his reading for the next week already... "Maybe I should go watch...they use the little public rink down the road? Huh." Yuriy had gone out to skate a few times already, since the indoor rink opened in mid-October. He was glad he thought to bring his old figure skates with him, although he'd needed to get them sharpened rather badly. "I wonder how late they'll stay open?"
---
Boris skidded to a halt as he reached the locker room doors, nearly barreling into one of the other players. "Shit, sorry Sergei."
"'S fine, Boris. Why're you in such a rush though? We aren't starting for another 30 minutes," the taller boy laughed quietly, watching the expression on Boris' face turn from panic to surprise and then to frustration. "Just go get geared up, you can help me with the equipment." Sergei gave Boris a solid pat on the shoulder, effectively shoving him into the locker room. "They're still cleaning up out there from the kids' team."
"Alright, give me like 5 minutes..." Boris kicked his sneakers off and shrugged his duffel bag onto the floor, with a little more force than necessary. "Wait a second." His bag was normally way heavier. And definitely more beat up. This one was too clean, too well-kept. No safety pins, no missing zippers, no scribbled out curse words in sharpie. "No." He quickly bent down to unzip the bag, and even before he saw the contents, he groaned in disbelief. "GOD FUCKING DAMMIT."
---
Yuriy paled a little, his hand covering his mouth in disbelief. "Oh no..." On the floor was his black duffel bag, the one he stored all his skating junk in. Or it appeared to be. This one was rough on the edges, parts of the bag safety pinned together, the strap tied in at least three places to keep it from falling apart. It also reeked of hockey.
---
"Kuznetsov, are you going to help me or what?" Sergei reappeared in the locker room, leaning one muscular arm against the doorway. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response from the boy collapsed on his knees, head in his hands. "You alright there?"
"No."
"...what's up?"
"I fucked up," Boris sighed, letting his head loll backwards. "I grabbed my roommate's skating shit instead."
"Oh. Uh. Is that...that big of a deal?" Sergei questioned, drawing nearer to Boris, curious as to what was causing such a reaction from his teammate. "I mean, as long as his skates fit you...?"
Boris said nothing, but instead pulled out a pair of immaculately kept pure white and silver figure skates, with neatly tied laces, complete with pale blue and silver blade guards. "Yeah. It's kind of a HUGE PROBLEM."
Sergei nodded, trying not to laugh.
---
Sprinting as fast as he could, wincing every time he felt and unguarded blade dig into his ribs, Yuriy made his way to the ice rink, hoping he could catch Boris before he needed to get on the ice. His roommate was such an idiot. "How could you not know?! Your bag is so goddamn heavy!!" He slowed to a trot as he entered the building, scanning the area for Boris.
A group of small kids was toddling out into the lobby, chattering happily about their practice. "Oh! Are you looking for the locker rooms, sir?" A young boy stopped in front of Yuriy, head tilted slightly to the side. "They're on the right!"
"Yeah...thank you," Yuriy flashed a quick smile, still trying to catch his breath as he rounded the corner. He screeched to a halt as he heard booming laughter, accompanied by an all too familiar shouting. "Oh god. I'm too late..." He tiptoed the rest of the hallway, hoping to not get caught in the conversation at all. Just drop the bag off, and sneak out into the lobby. He could grab his stuff when they started to play.
"Yuriy!" A new, troublesome voice chirped in. Yuriy whipped around, waving at the new arrival to keep quiet. "What's up? I didn't think you'd want to play hockey...?"
"YURIY IVANOV." A shadow seemed to sprout from the floor of the locker room, spreading into the hallway like some kind of menacing demonic entity. Yuriy imagined little swirls of smoke and weepy ghosts would not look out of place at the moment.
"Shit. Thank you, Michael," Yuriy braced himself as he neared the room, already feeling the aura of rage seeping from his roommate, who stomped his way down the hall. "Nice knowing you. And no, I'm not playing hockey. There was just...a mix up." He held up Boris' hockey bag, and no sooner did he extend his arm, did the bag disappear from his hand. Like a falcon snatching a rabbit. "He grabbed my skates instead of his."
"Oh." Michael looked unimpressed, and somewhat upset at Yuriy's dismissal. "Shame. I think it'd be cool if you played. You're super fast, and I'm sure you'd out-maneuver everyone easy," the American shrugged. "Well, it's just a pick-up team, if you change your mind. See ya later~" He winked at Yuriy before disappearing into the locker room.
"Ugh. Spare me," Yuriy groaned, crossing his arms as an icy shiver ran through him. "Uh. Sorry about the mix up, Boris..." He smiled sheepishly, reaching to rub the back of his neck. "Our bags look a little similar, eh? Who'd have thought?"
"Yeah. Whatever," Boris sneered, rolling his eyes. "You seriously figure skate?" Tossing Yuriy's bag back to it's proper owner, he raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting a bit mischievously.
"I used to. What's the problem?"
"Nothing I guess. Fits you, I suppose," he snickered. "Can't see a delicate, fragile thing like you playing hockey. You'd break in two if you got checked into the boards."
"Well I suppose I can't see a brute like you getting more than two centimeters off the ice, so it's fair," Yuriy grinned, settling his bag onto his shoulder. "You'd probably trip on the pick not even a stride out..."
"You little..." Boris raised his fist as if he were ready to strike, but another hand had a firm grip around his wrist.
Sergei sighed, stepping between the two. "Knock it off, Kuznetsov. He did bring your skates. Least you could do is say thank you." The taller blond towered above both of the quarreling roommates, his shadow somehow more intimidating than Boris' had been moments before.
"Thanks," Boris scoffed, rolling his eyes and dropping his hand. Yuriy only nodded with an indifferent hum.
"Well, now that everything is settled, let's get ready for some hockey~!!" Michael just about skipped out of the locker room, playing his hockey stick like a guitar. "Leave the fights for the other team!" He clapped Boris on the back as he strode by, humming cheerfully.
"I hate him. Can we get rid of him," Boris grumbled, brushing off his shoulder like Michael had given him some sort of pathogen. "He's fucking obnoxious."
"Something we can agree on, who knew," Yuriy smirked, watching Boris sulk back into the room to lace up.