Summary:

“Where are you going?”

“To the arena, Hollander. We are playing a game in three hours.”

“That’s tomorrow, Rozanov,” Hollander says, smirking like Ilya might be fucking with him and he wants to make sure he’s in on the joke. He looks behind and around him. “Um, can I come inside?”

“Hollander, we have game today. You were here yesterday.”

Hollander is striding toward his kitchen, looking over his shoulder at Ilya like he’s getting tired of the joke. “Very funny. I was in Montreal yesterday, Rozanov.”

“Hollander.” Ilya goes to stand in front of him. Hollander’s eyes flicker up and down his body the way that Ilya usually craves, but is rather unwelcome right now. “Today is Thursday. Game is today. Yesterday, you came to my house. We ate tuna melts, watched Buffalo game. Then, you left.”

“Rozanov, it’s Wednesday morning. And I’ve never been to your house before.”

“Hollander…”

“Look at your phone if you don’t believe me.”

Ilya snorts like a bull and pulls his phone out of his pocket, swipes down on the screen to look at the date.

Wednesday, November 9th.

---

Or: Ilya Rozanov in Groundhog Day!