it's okay if it's you | ishman ✓

CH: 20

three months ago, if you’d have told ishan that sharing rooms with shubman is going to put him in an awkward situation, he’d have laughed at your face.

now, he’s just trying his best to ignore the elephant in the room.

the silence is deafening, with shubman staring at ishan and ishan staring at his weather app.

‘can he at least pretend to be subtle?’ ishan mentally groans.

“i know you’re looking at the weather, put it down.”

ishan is almost relieved at the voice cutting through the painful silence. he looks up, keeping his phone aside.

shubman’s face doesn’t give away any particular expression. he’s been like that since returning from the club, still sitting in his borrowed burberry- wait.

“are you wearing my shirt?” 

shubman rolls his eye. “are you revoking my best friend rights?”

so dramatic. ishan sighs. “stop being so pissy. it looks good on you.”

shubman feels a tinge of warmth at the comment. “so she said.”

“it’s mine anyway.”

shubman lets out an amused huff. “who, the shirt or me?”

ishan ignores, saying, “get it dry cleaned for all i care.”

“to erase her touch? is that what you mean?” he’s smiling, the audacity.

ishan gives him a flat look. “im going to slap you.”

shubman shrugs. “not really into that but for you i can-”

ishan stands up, a flush creeping on his nape. “shut up, will you? how much did you drink?” 

“i think i’ve had enough with drinking. cannot afford another hook-up ending up in heartbreak.” shubman says.

“you were doing just fine in the club,” ishan scoffs. “keep it up and you’ll get laid, and finally realize what you’ve been missing.”

shubman glares at him. “you weren’t doing bad either. found a new guy pretty soon, huh?”

ishan looks at him, confused. “who?”

shubman recalls the sight with distaste. that man is probably having the best sleep of his life, knowing he held ishan’s attention for the entire evening.

“that shitty perm guy,” he grumbles.

ishan frowns, then realising. “oh, him. he did have a shitty perm- wait, you think he was hitting on me?”

shubman scowls. “what else? you were hitting on him? do you want me to kill myself?”

ishan can’t help but let out a chuckle. “you are too blunt for your own good.”

shubman clicks his tongue. “he’s not even your type.”

“and what’s my type?” ishan asks, amused.

“tall, hot and shubman.”

ishan snorts. “you are tall, i’ll give you that.”

shubman turns to him. “fucking liar. saying you don’t like this-” he signs towards his own body. “shame on you, baby.”

ishan refrains himself from trailing his eyes down shubman’s chest. ‘don’t be a horny asshole,’ he scolds himself.

“whatever,” he says, looking away. “the guy wasn’t hitting on me anyway.”