Chapter Text
Ilya was a good roommate, great even. Shane liked their arrangement. Ilya would get back from his evening classes and unload the dishwasher. He would make whatever disgusting meal he could piece together, while Shane would make his pre-made diet meals.
They would eat their respective meals on the couch while watching an episode of friends, then retire to their rooms for the night. In the morning, before Shane left for his 8am lecture, he’d load the dishwasher and put it on.
The first time Shane had considered Ilya a ‘great’ roommate was freshman year. Shane had gotten the campus cold and was bedridden. He had run a fever, could barely keep anything down, and was either buried under a blanket or under a pile of used tissues.
Ilya had come home from a 9pm lecture with a white plastic bag. It had perked Shane’s ears because it sounded like his favourite Japanese takeout. The one just off campus that tasted close to what his O bāchan had made.
Shane got up, swinging his legs over the edge of the shitty, thin mattress, and hauled his way to the kitchen, blanket drawn around his shoulders. He saw Ilya unpacking the bag, which sure enough was from the restaurant.
The moment Ilya saw Shane, he smiled. “Come, Hollander, sit. Eat while is hot”
Shane watched Ilya set a spoon beside a container of soup. Upon taking a seat at the small table he saw a large tub of miso soup and a plastic container filled with tempura. With a sniffle, Shane opened the miso container, picked up the spoon and began to dig in.
“Thanks, Rozanov. I needed this. Truly man, thanks” He said around a mouthful of tofu and scallions.
Ilya just nodded and sat across from Shane.
“Is nothing,” he said, waving his hand. “I do not want you to be sick, that is all.”
Shane nodded, that was a perfectly good reason to bring someone soup while they were sick. Ilya probably just didn't wanna get sick before finals. Shane was more touched by the fact that Ilya remembered his favourite Japanese spot. Afterall, they had only been roommates for about 3 months. It was nice knowing someone cared about him, especially since his parents were so far away in Ottawa.
Before Shane had the chance to finish eating, he watched Ilya stand up from the table, chair scraping against the floor, hands on the edge of the table. Shane looked up, surprised by the noise cutting through the pleasant silence.
“Going somewhere, Rozanov?” He asked, spoon to his lips. He watched Ilya shake his head.
“No. I will change the bed.”
And he walked away from the table, and headed right towards Shane’s room. Shane’s eyes widened and he set the spoon and soup down, dropping his blanket on the chair to follow Ilya to his room.
“Rozanov, wait, it’s good. You don’t have to do that man.” He rushed out, freezing on the spot.
Rozanov was holding Shane’s trash bin, stuffing his used tissues inside. Shane cringed, already thinking of the kind of bacteria that has been living in those tissues the past week.
“You really don’t need to do that. Oh lord, the germs” Shane shook his head, walking (more like rushing) towards Ilya, who was still picking up tissues.
“Relax, Hollander. I am Russian, Russians do not get sick. Is fact. Biology as you say.” He says, tutting at Shane, looking down at him and gently pushing the smaller man back towards the doorframe.
Shane had always hated how much taller Rozanov was. Even if it was only a few inches, it felt like feet when Ilya looked down at Shane like this.
“Oh come on, I really can’t let you do that Rozanov.” Shane pleads, feeling slightly embarrassed that his roommate was cleaning his room like his mother. In fact, Shane thought, his mother might love Ilya.
He was snapped out of his overthinking by Ilya’s sharp, heavily accented voice.
“Hollander.” He said it like it was a challenge. Like he was challenging Shane to disobey him.
His eyes met Shane’s. Still making direct eye contact with Shane as he stripped the sheets of the tiny, twin-sized mattress. Shane inhaled sharply and looked down, knowing he had lost whatever game Ilya was playing with him.
“If you must, go to my room until I am done. Since you are so freak out” Ilya said, jutting his chin in the direction of his bedroom door across the small hall in the dorm.
Shane thinks his eyes must be bugging out of his head at this point based on the way he's staring at Ilya.
“What-” He asks, coughing at the end of his sentence, head feeling stuffed with cotton. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and takes a wet inhale, feeling mucus rattle his chest. Ilya must have heard it because the next works out of his mouth were,
“Go to room and lie in bed. Sleep” He says lowly, chucking the sheets in the hamper across the room.
Shane groans and sighs, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get through to the stubborn Russian. Instead he turns around, walks back to the kitchen, grabs his blanket off the chair, and heads to Ilya’s room.
He pushes open the door and smiles. It was exactly how he pictured it would be. Various sports posters hung up, even through they weren’t allowed to hang up anything that could rip off the paint.
Shane walks towards the bed, running his fingers along the desk as he passed. Absolutely no dust.
That was one thing Shane liked about having Ilya Rozanov as his roommate. He was impeccably clean, something Shane valued in a man.
A man? In a roommate. Rozanov is my roommate- God what am I on? Shane thinks, climbing into Rozanov’s warm bed, pulling the comforter up to his ears. He sinks into the bed, the tiny twin-size feeling much bigger for some reason. Shane leans onto the side of his nose he can breathe out of, and shuts his eyes. He listens to the quiet sounds of Ilya’s Russian podcast playing from Shane’s room while Ilya cleaned.
Shane noticed that about Ilya. He liked to listen to podcasts while he cleaned, but music while he worked out. Shane also noticed how Ilya would clean things up before Shane even had to ask.
As Shane began to fall asleep, he began to think about what else he noticed about Rozanov.
His eyes, a greenish-blue that looked like the lake that Shane grew up near.
His hair, honey blonde in the light, falling perfectly across his forehead in loose ringlets.
The sharp, smooth edge of his jaw, which was usually set firmly, making the muscles in his neck twitch every so often.
His lips, full and pink, usually pressed into a thin line, except for the times Shane had made Ilya laugh. Where his lips had stretched across his face to reveal a mouth full of pearly teeth.
Shane’s eyes flew open. Why the fuck was he thinking about Rozanov like this. He was his roommate, not even his friend. They had routines, sure, but it was because they were forced to. Right?
Shane closed his eyes again, blaming these thoughts on his fever, willing himself to think about how great of a roommate Ilya Rozanov was.