Roommates With Benefits [BL]

I coughed a couple more times, trying to wring out every last bit of dignity from a situation that had already seen its better days.

Damien stepped a little closer, looking like he was considering if I needed help.

The only help I needed probably involved therapy.

”Nope,” I quickly replied, grabbing my toothbrush from the counter and stepping back toward the door.

I exited the bathroom at a pace I’d call dignified, though anyone watching would probably categorize it as fleeing.

Behind me, I heard the slight sound of his breath exhaling through his nose. Just a little, barely there, and it held a hint of what could have been a laugh in another universe, on another person.

That absolute jerk.

By the time I reached the kitchen fifteen minutes later, I had convinced myself I was completely okay. Totally normal. Unaffected by last night in any way that would be evident to anyone else or hinder my ability to function as a person.

I approached the coffee machine with the kind of posture that suggested I had my life together and just needed caffeine for totally ordinary reasons.

The coffee machine looked back at me without judgment, which was refreshing since it was the only thing in this apartment doing so right now.

Damien was already at the kitchen island, laptop open, sipping coffee from one of those sleek black mugs that cost way too much because some minimalist thought it was a great idea. He was scrolling through something, focused on whatever he was reading, completely settled into the morning like it was his right.

I made my coffee without looking at him.

Mostly.

Come on look, the kitchen wasn’t that big, and he was pretty much in the center of it. My eyes had developed a mind of their own, and I was having a tough time getting them to focus on anything else. Every time I tried to look at something neutral, like the fancy cabinet, the counter, the kettle...my eyes took a detour toward his mouth.

Which was just stupid. Extremely stupid. My eyes had been fine for twenty-one years without this new habit, and yet today, they decided to go rogue.

I hated my brain. I hated my eyes. I was conducting a full internal audit of my senses, and none of them were coming out looking good.

I stirred my coffee with more force than required.

Damien glanced up at the noise. ”You’re being loud.”

I jabbed the spoon in his direction and responded dryly. ”And you’re being alive. We all have our burdens to bear.”

His gaze lingered on me a beat longer than it usually would, then returned to the screen. Just a fraction longer. Just enough to make me wonder what it meant, which was a thought process I quickly shut down, locked up, and tossed into the ocean.

Was he amused? No way. Damien wasn’t amused. He was cool, calm, and occasionally clenched his jaw...those were his emotional options.

I took my coffee to the counter and stared blankly at the wall, launching into a serious self-lecture.

It was one party game. One kiss in a dark closet at a frat party filled with people who’d been drinking since eight PM. These kinds of things happened at parties. They weren’t significant. They meant nothing unless you actively tried to assign meaning, which I wasn’t about to do.

The warmth of his hand on my waist had meant nothing.

The roughness of his voice in the dark had meant nothing.

You’ve been driving me crazy since the day you moved in had—

I took a huge sip of coffee.

Okay. That one was tougher to categorize as nothing. I was working on it, maybe...my attempts to annoy him had worked?

Damien suddenly stood and walked toward the cabinet beside me. His arm brushed against mine as he reached upward, a brief contact that lingered for a full second, and my nervous system took note like it was an official report.

He was warm. Like, genuinely warm, radiating heat in a way that didn’t match how cold he seemed otherwise. It was extremely inconvenient information to have right now.

I focused intensely on a fixed point on the counter, trying to think about literally anything else.

The café, my shift tomorrow. The protein shake mishap. Anything except what I was currently thinking about.

But my brain, ignoring all logic, decided this was the perfect moment to bring forth the memory of his tongue against mine.

I inhaled sharply.

Damien halted mid-reach beside me. Not for long, just a split second. Just enough to suggest he had noticed. ”You’re acting weirder than usual,” he observed, shutting the cabinet.

My eye twitched involuntarily. ”Weird,” I echoed.

The words landed with the quiet, devastating weight of something that didn’t need to be shouted to make a point. No accusation, no smugness. Just a calm observation of a fact he had made peace with a long time ago and was simply stating.

I almost dropped my mug. Caught it just in time and placed it carefully down on the counter as I figured out my next move.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing.

Not a single word. My brain, which had been running at an overloaded capacity all morning, decided this was the moment to go completely silent, leaving me standing there, mouth open, as if I’d opened a door onto an empty room.

The silence stretched on.

Damien waited, his demeanor patient and unhurried, which somehow felt worse than if he’d just pushed me.

”I’m not weird,” I finally said, trying to keep as much dignity as I could, ”you’re weird.”

”Mm.”

”Don’t ’mm’ me.”

He returned to his laptop, unfazed.

He goes around kissing his roommate and I’m the weird one?!

I grabbed my coffee and retreated to my side of the apartment, sitting down and staring at nothing for thirty seconds while my insides did several things I hadn’t implied.

Then something shifted within me from rattled to something more resolute and actionable.

Determination, right.

If Damien wanted to sit there being all confused, calm and composed, acting like he hadn’t just blown apart my entire understanding of myself, while I was falling apart, then my response had to be in the only logical way possible.

I was going to become the most irritating roommate he had ever shared space with, premium version. Starting now.

Until he fucking addressed the elephant in the room!

What’s that? I should just bring up the matter instead of being a menace? Fuck no, we don’t do that here. He was the one that kissed me! He should be the one bringing it up for crying out loud!

An hour later, the apartment was filled with the opening notes of ”Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” blaring loudly enough to vibrate the air.

I danced around my half of the room, fully committed to being as obnoxious as I could manage, vacuum cleaner in hand, singing with all the off-key enthusiasm I could muster, as if I was performing for a very specific audience of one.

”JITTERBUG—”

Damien sat at his desk, tying away on his computer.

I vacuumed in his general direction while continuing to belt out:

”—You put the boom-boom into my heaaaart—”

Not even a twitch. The page turned. Life went on. Nothing.

I stopped vacuuming and stared in professional respect at the back of his head, the kind you develop for a genuine competitor.

Fine. Time for escalation.

I sang louder, added some ridiculous choreography, vacuumed things that didn’t need it. The area around his desk got particularly thorough attention.

Nothing, I was playing this song in top volume. If anything he should be smacking me right upside the head by now and questioning my obsession with songs from 80s.

This guy had the emotional fortitude of load-bearing concrete, and I was quickly running out of ideas.

Alright, new strategy.

Later that afternoon, I placed a dirty plate right at the edge of Damien’s side of the counter, beside the fruit bowl he kept organized like it was a work of art.

Then, I retreated to my room and waited with the patience of someone who knew a good plan when they saw one.

Damien walked into the kitchen, glanced at the plate, and without breaking stride, moved it back to my side. No comment, no pause, no acknowledgment that it had ever been anywhere else.

I saw this unfold from across the room.

”Oh, you clever genius,” I whispered, with both admiration and frustration.