Summary:

Beneath the roiling irritation, Shane is pretty sure he’s going to feel stupid in about an hour about this argument.

Right now, though, he’s in the middle of it and annoyed enough to stay there.

“-any fucking sense,” he says, slapping the dishtowel in his hand down on the counter and only succeeding in winding himself up further when it hits a little puddle of dishwater that sprays droplets on him.

Unfortunately, the easiest outlet for this frustration is also the person who started this argument in the first fucking place: Ilya.

“It does not need to make sense,” Ilya says, arms crossed over his chest in a way that says he’s feeling just as ready to commit to the world’s most stupid fight about nothing as Shane is. “Is about feeling.”

“And you feel like you would love a worm?” Shane asks, mirroring Ilya’s posture in a way that’s meant to be mocking.

From the way Ilya’s jaw tightens, he noticed, and it sends a petty little thrill through Shane.

(ilya tries to be sweet and let shane know he would love him even if he was a worm) (somehow it ends up turning into a fight)