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Zee had become an expert in makingkhaginasince they were twenty and Ishir had bought his own place in Minneapolis. It was Ishir’s favourite breakfast food, easy scrambled eggs with tomatoes, onions, coriander, and other spices that made their apartment smell like home.
“Thanks, man,” Ishir said as they sat down. “Can’t remember that last time someone cooked for me.”
“Your parents literally cooked for you all summer. Your mom would literally not stop going to your apartment with stuff,” Zee pointed out, mouth full.
“Okay, that doesn’t count.”
“Also, we get takeaway, like literally every day.”
“You know what? You’re right. I take my thanks back. You suck.”
Zee laughed. “Nah, I know you’re useless in the kitchen. Your mom said she was making me an honorary Pakistani because Ivalue their traditions. Unlike you, bro.Yousuck.”
“Just because you managed not to fuck up thekarela—”
“The fact that you thought it used watermelon—”
“Okay, we are not bringing up that story again. I was achild.” Nobody would blame him if he stabbed Zee with a fork.Nobody.
“Literally sixteen years old.”
“And I didn’t think it was a watermelon, just, like, a normal melon,” Ishir cut in as Zee tried to talk. “Shut up.”
“We need to find you a house Alpha who can cook for you and keep you alive.”
Ishir snorted. “Yeah, they’re lining out the door to get with a closeted NHL player.”
“Oh, come on. I bet they are. Not that you ever tell me anything about it,” Zee grumbled.
Ishir let himself react to that. Ishir shared almost every part of himself with Zee, but he couldn’t imagine sitting there and telling Zee about the last Alpha who’d fucked him. The very idea made him want to curl up and hide.
Not that Zee would be disgusted or react weirdly. It was just…he didn’t want that image in Zee’s head. Not when Ishir had always wanted—
There was no point in thinking about that.
Luckily, Zee moved the conversation along. “We need to go grocery shopping. We haven’t cooked a single proper meal since I came here. It’s getting embarrassing. You wanna go in a couple hours?”
“I’m hanging with Bergy, but we can go tomorrow?”
There was a slight, odd pause. By the time Ishir looked up from his plate, nothing seemed out of place. Zee nodded. “Sure, that works.”
Ishir had thought of inviting Zee along, but he wanted some time to make sure his old D partner wasn’t feeling weird about the changes to the roster.
Zee and Bergy would bond eventually. It just hadn’t happened quite yet.
**********
“Yo,” Bergy greeted as he opened the door. He lived in a spacious brownstone with his fiancée, although Ishir knew she was away at the moment on a work trip.
“Hey.” Ishir took his shoes off and crouched down to greet Bergy’s ancient dog. It was a bichon frise or, as Ishir liked to call the breed, an old-white-lady dog. His fur was thin, showing his hard, pink body underneath, the underside of his eyes wet and a little crusted.
It had been Astrid’s—Bergy’s fiancée’s—dog first, but Bergy doted on him like a child.
“You are so ugly,” Ishir cooed sweetly.
Bergy shoved him with his foot, making Ishir topple sideways with a squawk. “Ow.”
“Do not insult Bamse.”
