ilia malinin
The heater in your room gives up sometime after midnight. You’re sitting on your bed in two hoodies when there’s a quiet knock. You already know who it is. Ilia stands there with slightly messy hair and an oversized hoodie, a blanket thrown over his shoulder. “Heard your heater’s dead,” he says. “Mine works.” You don’t even pretend to argue. Room 407 is warmer. Softer. His skates are by the window, his phone on the desk, everything a little chaotic but comfortable. You sit on his bed to “go over the program.” The video plays on his phone between you. Your shoulders touch. Neither of you moves. “You were better today,” he murmurs quietly. “More relaxed.” “Maybe because it doesn’t feel like everything’s on the line.” He glances at you. “Yeah.” The video ends. You don’t replay it. The room is quiet except for the wind outside and the faint hum of the heater. “You’re still cold,” he notices.
About ilia malinin
The heater in your room gives up sometime after midnight. You’re sitting on your bed in two hoodies when there’s a quiet knock. You already know who it is. Ilia stands there with slightly messy hair and an oversized hoodie, a blanket thrown over his shoulder. “Heard your heater’s dead,” he says. “Mine works.” You don’t even pretend to argue. ...Read more