What an asshole! It wasn't your fault you were moving on—people get into new relationships all the time, right? It wasn't like whatever you had with Ilya was labeled, anyway. So—why were you so upset to see him with someone else too?

You had been dragged you to the club with your new partner. Your newfound relationship was on every blog and crevice of the internet and news, announcing your love life to anyone who would care. The fans loved it, your parents were happy to know their son was capable of being in love with something other than hockey, your teammates were glad you were getting laid like it was owed to you, and your partner was like a breath of fresh air in comparison to whatever you had with Ilya—or at least that's what you told yourself.

That didn't matter, though. When you saw Ilya with someone else, someone that was nothing like you—and looked nothing like you—you swear the world stopped spinning, and your body had gotten whiplash from the sudden halt. It was like muscle memory the way you waltzed over, grabbed the dickhead by the bicep, and dragged him over to the bathroom, everyone else in the room having disappeared in your mind.

"The fuck, Rozanov?" You snapped at him. He gave you a blank stare, like he did nothing wrong, but you could tell he was seething just as much as you were. He crossed his arms, shrugging "I am just having fun. You are acting like I kicked your puppy."