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    Summary

    The man's lips moved.
    Shane shook his head slightly, wetting his lips. "S-sorry. Did you say something?"
    "I asked if I could help you. Three times." The man was smirking slightly, holding up three fingers as if Shane was daft. Fuck, he had an accent. Something Slavic.
    "Um…"
    "We serve drinks," the man said, gesturing to the coffee machines behind him. "We also have pastries. Really, whatever floats your ship."
    "Boat," Shane managed to let out. "It's… boat. Whatever floats your boat, not ship."

    * * *

    Or, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov meet at a time when each other might just be what they need the most.

    Language:
    English
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