Chapter Text
Your relationship with your housemate was...non-existent. Despite living in the same house and attending the same university for almost two years, you knew absolutely nothing about him. You know his name, and you were fairly certain he was studying a science of some sort, but other than that, zip, nada.
The closest thing the two of you ever have to a conversation is a short meeting of eyes on occasion. Often when he passes the couch onto the way to the kitchen, or on his way out of the bathroom to let you in. The both of you eat in your rooms and politely arrange at be out of the house if the other is inviting a friend over. It was like a, very quiet, mutual respect.
Essentially, intangible.
One winter afternoon, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, catching up on some reading you hadn't been able to do during the semester, when he pokes his head through your door. Eyes firm, brow furrowed.
"Groceries?"
You think for a second, adjusting your reading glasses "milk and eggs."
"Type?"
"Full cream, free range."
He nods, "Back in 20"
Then he's gone and you go back to reading. Though you find the words harder to focus on after Jotaro's abrupt interruption.
You are used to these curt exchanges, but the house has been feeling so empty as of late. Jotaro isn't an amazing conversationalist and you aren't much better.
Things used to be less awkward. There used to be three of you.
A gentle Russian exchange student named Polina had been the reason you moved out of home in the first place. She needed a place to stay and didn't want to live alone in a country where no one spoke her language. You happen to be half Russian and fluent in the language, it made sense that you live together.
Though the two of you were never really friends, you bonded over the shared language and you were sure your father would be happy to know you were keeping your Russian sharp while away from home. His Japanese was shaky at best, your mother's Russian was perfect. That was the main language you spoke at home.
The only reason Jotaro moved in as well, was because he could speak English. Japanese was technically Polina's third language, English her second. So if no one else could speak Russian, English would do. Despite his standoffish nature, jotaro fit the book. But now. Without sweet, talkative Polina. The house was silent.
With a sigh, you pulled your guitar up onto the bed with you, idly plucking the stings. Anything to fill the silence. You didn't play much when Jotaro was home, partially because you knew he didn't like noise, but more so because you were still just learning and weren't actually very good. It was going to be three more months before the two of you went back to studying, hopefully you'd be able to play a few songs by then.
the creak of the front door opening startled you slightly, looking up at the clock on your desk, you realised it had been exactly 20 minutes. That, was one thing you knew about your housemate. If he said he'd be back in 20, he'd be back in 20.
You could hear him coming up the stairs. And his head peeked through your doorway again
"I Put them in the fridge."
you look up from the guitar your fingers are shakily strumming, "thanks."
He hovers in the doorway for too long.
"Need something?"
"You can't afford the rent."
You blink up at him, surprised, "sorry?"
He sighed and tipped his head slightly. You can tell he's been avoiding the subject, "we're paying for the empty room. You can't afford it."
You noticed the clear wording he used. You can't afford it. His Grandfather is a rich businessman or something and his dad...you can't remember what he does, but it makes money. Your mother is a freelance accountant and your dad writes (mostly) unpopular novels that are only ever published in Russia. You work at the supermarket. He's right.
"We need a new housemate."
You nod, "Do you want to help look?"
He looks at you thoughtfully for a second. He clearly wants to say no.
"We can look over dinner." You find yourself saying, "I'll cook."
His brow furrows. But he does eventually nod.
"I'm going out for a smoke."
Your nose crinkles, at least he does it outside now. You used to light scented candles to mask the smell, but he'd always blow them out. One day you reached a silent compromise. No candles, he smokes outside.
You nod, "I'll see you downstairs."
Jotaro finally leaves your doorway.
Standing from the bed, you gently lean your guitar again the wall and slip on a pair of socks to keep your feet warm on the tiles downstairs. When you leave the room you can see Jotaro through the glass door down the hall. He's leaning against the railing, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. It looks like he'll be out there for a while.
You feel a little bit guilty for making him stand out there in the cold like that. But the feeling passes quickly and you head down the stairs.
While the house you are staying in is fairly old, it has a sort of rustic charm. There are a few new editions, like the glass door to the balcony up top and most of the kitchen, but otherwise it looks much the way it would have back in the sixties. All wood panelling and shag carpets. The kitchen has new white tiles and a granite countertop. Neither of which would have been in the house to begin with. It's...cosy. Switching on the radio you have set up on the kitchen counter, you get to cooking. While you wouldn't call it one of your skill, your food was always at least passable.
You felt that convincing Jotaro to have anything more than a few sentences with you would be hard, not that you very all that keen to talk to him either. You were passive by nature. Hopefully whatever you cooked up would be enough to keep the both of you motivated for at least half an hour. Being a university student on minimum wage, you didn't really have a refined pallet. Usually dinner consisted of a bowl of rice or a few slices of toast. Sometimes instant ramen when your life is really heading down the drain.
Jotaro however...he cooked, really well. You'd never tasted any of his food, but he would often be cooking while you sat on the couch, just barely absorbing the evening's soaps. It always smelled really good. One time you swear you saw him walking past with a bowl of fresh ratatouille and he just nodded at you and continued up the stairs.
Standing in the kitchen, you felt completely out of your element. Surely he would be coming back inside sometime soon, and though you were really regretting your offer to cook. You had to sort out this housemate situation sooner rather than later. Usually when you had friends over you'd cook a beef stroganoff. Your great-grandmother's recipe and also the one meal you managed to get just right every time. But that takes two hours just to soften, and you'd need at least a kilo of beef! With a defeated sigh, you realised there was one option. Spaghetti it was.
***
Just as you were rifling through the pantry and smelling the green herbs Jotaro kept to figure out which one was the basil, you hear the door upstairs open. Smelling wasn't working. So you grabbed the first leaf you saw and took a bite. Definitely basil, thank god. Dinner was already sitting on the table. The pasta was overdone and the sauce was sloppy, but it would suffice.
Delicately placing some of the basil on top to make it look slightly presentable, you slid into one of the chairs. Just as you did so. Jotaro came down the stairs, the smell of smoke hit you as he reached the bottom. Your nose crinkles.
"Sorry." He says. You aren't sure he means it.
You nod. It's all you can manage.
"Dinner is done." You begin, shuffling the pile of newspapers on the table, "if you sit over here with me, we can flip through these while we eat"
"Mm." He says. Walking around the table and sitting down next to you. His chair creaks. Jotaro is a big guy, you've never really take much notice until he sat down with you. Your shoulders are almost touching, how does he sit on the train? how does he sit on a plane?
"Just...uh" you stammer, gesturing to the food, "grab a bowl or whatever. There's water if you want it."
Jotaro nods and starts eating. You look at him out the corner of your eye, trying to gauge some sort of reaction. Nothing. You assume this means the food is okay.
His eyes meet yours, he is in the midst of eating spaghetti. You stare at each other for a few seconds, he swallows.
"Are we gonna...?"
You blink, "oh! Yep, sure."
Flipping through one of the newspapers, you manage to find a list of other students looking for housing. Each person has a brief description and a contact number next to a small picture of their face. At least four of the people list themselves as 'party goers'. Jotaro bristles when you suggest any of them, loud people seem to be a big no-no.
"Oh!" You say, pointing to a man named Hitoshi in the newspaper, "he's studying the same bachelor as me!"
Jotaro leans over and reads his description before giving you a sideways glance. He says nothing. You frown, "something wrong?"
"Didn't know you studied that."
You huff, "is there an issue?"
"No."
"What do you study anyway, is it any better?"
"Marine Biology."
He stands up, pushing his empty bowl away, "If you like that guy, call him. Stop overreacting."
You almost do something you are sure would be considered overreacting. But he stopped at the base of the stairs, just barely looking at you over his shoulder.
"Thanks for dinner."
Then he is gone.