Chapter Text
Till had already decided he was going to hate college. Too many people, too much noise, and now he was stuck hauling his suitcase up three flights of stairs because the elevator in his dorm building had been “temporarily out of service” since orientation.
He scowled as he reached the door with the number 307 on it. This was supposed to be his sanctuary–finally, a room to himself. Or so he thought.
He opened the door and immediately froze.
There was a bag on one bed. A duffel bag. Bright red, obnoxiously sporty, with a Till-based keychain that rattled too cheerfully for Till's taste.
And then-
“Till! There you are!”
Ivan leaned out from the bathroom, shirtless, towel around his neck, like this was some dumb coming-of-age sports movie.
“What–no. No, no,” Till said flatly. “Why are you here?”
Ivan grinned–snaggletooth and all–slinging the towel onto the back of a chair. “Same room assignment. Isn't that wild? Roommates, baby. Like fate.”
Till blinked. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You-you said you picked that guy from your track team to room with!”
“Yeah, and then he got waitlisted and I never updated my form. Guess the school decided to surprise me.” He plopped down on the bed across from Till’s. “I’m not complaining. This is gonna be fun.”
Till dropped his bag with a dull thud.
“It’s gonna be hell,” he muttered.
Ivan just kicked his legs up and smirked, “You love me.”
Ivan’s eyes trailed after Till as he started unpacking, watching him aggressively shove his t-shirts into the drawer like they’d wronged him.
“You always dress like you’re about to get sacrificed at a My Chemical Romance concert,” Ivan said, pulling a granola bar out of his bag.
Till shot him a sharp glare over his shoulder. “Says the guy who dresses like a discount cartoon quarterback.”
Ivan held up the granola bar like a peace offering. “Touché. Want one?”
“I’d rather die.”
“Good to know nothing’s changed.” Ivan peeled back the wrapper with a chuckle, flopping onto his bed like he owned the place. Which he kind of did–he had already claimed the left side: shoes kicked off, charger plugged in, soccer ball by the foot of the bed.
Till, on the other hand, was setting up his side with precision. Band posters rolled into a corner. A single black pillow. His laptop already playing some obscure industrial band at low volume.
Ivan crunched into his bar and glanced at him. “So… you didn’t ask to room with anyone either?”
Till didn’t answer right away.
Then, muttering, “Didn’t think I’d have to.”
“Hey, you make it sound like living with me is torture.”
Till gave him a deadpan look. “You’re loud. You breathe loud. You chew like a dog. You’re going to bring girls over, and I’ll be forced to live through it.”
Ivan laughed. “You wound me. I’m not that bad.”
“You called me ‘emo puppy’ for all of middle school.”
“You were an emo puppy.” Ivan grinned. “Still are.”
Till tried not to let the corner of his mouth twitch.
He failed.
And Ivan saw.
But he didn’t say anything. Just laid back with his arms behind his head and said, “This is gonna be a good year.”
Till didn’t respond, but he didn’t correct him either.
Outside, someone was blasting music from a Bluetooth speaker in the courtyard.
Till sighed and tugged on one of his arm warmers.
He had a headache already.
But…
Ivan being here wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened.
Probably.