Iliya's head hurts enough that part of him wants to completely ignore what everyone's saying, especially Cameron's loud, chipper explanation of how to properly take care of a hangover. He doesn't want to take care of this. He wants to expire in peace. But he has to yank the blanket off his messy hair when Cameron approaches, and mutely accepts the offered breakfast. The nice, inoffensive-smelling breakfast with electrolytes. Iliya rethinks his policy on encouraging roommates.

"Cameron," he grumbles. "Krasiv mŭzh. Obicham te." It's less humiliating to say in Bulgarian, especially if he uses a tone like he's inviting Cameron to fuck off. But Iliya drinks the Gatorade gratefully. Ahh, that's better.