It hadn’t always been clear what was happening.

The way your roommates eyes hardened as he saw you, as if deeming you a threat to some sort of underlying pride, the way he snapped at you the second you displayed the smallest ounce of nonconformity.

Initially you’d assumed Fyodor was merely heavily religious, and spited you for defying his morals.

This was proven wrong the first night you saw him intoxicated. And the first night he came to you, a ranting mess praying for forgiveness.