Summary:

“It’s okay. I don’t need anything.” “I am not going to eat in front of you while you have nothing, Hollander,” Ilya scoffs. He plucks a can of cold ginger ale from the top shelf as casually as he can manage and slides it over the island, interrupting Hollander’s fidgeting thumbs. “You must be hungry, yes? It’s been hours since you left hotel. I can make something. Easy.” “Make… what?” he asks warily. Ilya rolls his eyes and tosses a look over his shoulder. “Do not worry. I will find something that works for your special hockey diet,” he teases. He reaches back into the fridge. “Tuna melt okay?” “No,” Hollander says primly. “And it’s a disease. Not a diet.” He pulls his hands out of the cold and turns, blinks. “What?”