Heated rivalry 5 · Y/n story by @sora

The automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Sora stepped into the terminal. The air smelled of stale coffee and jet fuel, a strange cocktail that clung to her like a second skin.

Ilya Rozanov

There she is.

His voice carried across the terminal, low and steady. He moved toward her, weaving through the crowd with long, confident strides.

Ilya Rozanov

stopping in front of her You look terrible.

A familiar greeting. He used to say the same thing when she'd come home from school with scraped knees and tear-stained cheeks.

Ilya Rozanov

reaching out and pulling her into a rough hug Idiot. You're not allowed to do that again.