Roommates With Benefits [BL]

It has had been three weeks since Melanie had put her number in my hand, that bright smile on her face, all easy and confident, like she thought I’d eventually call or text her and was just giving me time to catch up.

Three weeks since Damien decided it was his life mission to make my life easier in all sorts of ways that were honestly starting to annoy me because it’s way harder to dislike someone when they’re constantly leaving you coffee and making you dinner.

And, most unfortunately, three weeks since that stupid kiss.

Not that I was counting.

Absolutely not counting.

I was just acutely aware of how much time had passed, like any reasonable person might be, with complete, excruciating, minute-by-minute awareness.

Very different. That distinction was crucial. I needed it to be crucial.

At least that’s what I told myself while sitting cross-legged on the couch with my Psychology textbooks open in front of me and about zero actual information making its way into my brain. The words were there, sentences existed, and somewhere on page forty-seven, cognitive science was apparently doing something interesting. But I couldn’t tell you what it was.

The apartment was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the big windows of Preston Hall, casting long, warm golden streaks across the polished floors and the fancy furniture that still looked like it belonged in some lifestyle magazine spread called Living Well While Making Your Roommate Feel Financially Inadequate.

Outside, I could faintly hear the sounds of campus life, voices, footsteps, someone’s music...but in here it was still, warm, and way too comfortable for someone trying to study.

Across the room, Damien sat at the dining table silently scrolling through his phone.

He still looked annoyingly attractive, doing absolutely nothing interesting. One arm rested on the table while he typed, his dark hair a bit tousled from running his fingers through it, and that serious look on his face when he was focused — completely unaware or maybe just unfazed by the fact that I could see him from where I was sitting.

He’d been sitting like that for almost an hour, barely moving or saying anything. Just there, breathing and taking up space like he’d never once wondered if he had permission to do so.

I hated that I paid attention to stuff like that now. The hair, the arm, the jaw, the whole situation of him just chilling twelve feet away doing normal human things.

I used to think Damien was just an asshole. A rich, cold, annoying jerk who happened to be my roommate. Life had been so much simpler back then. Simpler and a whole lot less warm in an irritating way.

My phone buzzed against the couch cushion, I ignored it...it was probably Joey spamming dumb memes and stickers again to get my attention.

It buzzed again. Then again, with the kind of persistence that screams the person on the other end is not doing patience.

I sighed dramatically and reached for it. ”Whoever you are, I hope this is life-changing news.”

The moment I unlocked my screen, I instinctively knew who it was.

Melanie.

Hey Oliver~ It’s been 3 weeks and you still haven’t used my number 😔 A girl might get insecure...

Another message popped up before I even finished reading the first.

Take me out this weekend to make up for it? Coffee? Dinner? Your choice. I promise I’m fun 😉

A third came in almost right after.

Unless you’ve been secretly kidnapped.

In which case, blink twice.

I stared at the messages, and despite myself, I smiled. Which was a bummer because Melanie was genuinely hard not to like, that’s the problem with her. She’s funny, confident, and outgoing in a way that somehow doesn’t tip into being exhausting. She has a knack for making conversations easy, like she just decided it would be effortless and the conversation had no other choice but to comply.

One of those people who walks into a room full of strangers and leaves with twenty new friends, while someone like me stands in the corner practicing what to say before ordering a drink.

Meanwhile, I still get anxious ordering food over the phone.

Life really isn’t fair.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I should probably respond. Normal people respond to cute girls interested in them, right?

Normal people don’t spend three weeks avoiding a pretty girl’s number because they’re quietly going nuts over a roommate who makes them coffee and then stares at them over dinner like he’s solving some problem he hasn’t named yet.

Right? I’m genuinely asking at this point. It had really been a while since I last dated.

A while meaning four years...

My dad’s voice popped into my head just when I didn’t want to hear it, always so sure of himself. ’You’re young, Ollie. Go out. Have fun. Meet people!’

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t living with Damien Lockwood and working two and a half jobs.

I glanced up to him once again because it seemed hhis habit of staring at people had been contagious, Damien still existed. Infuriatingly, consistently, attractively existed, right there at the dining table, doing absolutely nothing I should have been worried about.

The sight dragged everything back up... the kiss, the arguments, the weird truce we’d stumbled into, the coffee every morning, the notes, the way he’d looked standing close to me in the kitchen with laughter in his eyes, his hand near mine over a salt shaker like it was the most natural thing ever.

I groaned and dropped my head against the back of the couch. Then, because I was such a genius...a plan formed in my head.

That’s it! That what I needed, a date!

That was the answer. A date with a cute, funny girl who texted in full sentences and used emojis responsibly. This was normal. This was healthy, it was the kind of simple, uncomplicated thing I needed to remind myself that I was just a normal straight guy living a normal life.

Not someone who had been slowly losing his mind for three weeks over a guy who communicated mostly through sticky notes and teasing jokes.

Yes. That sounded entirely reasonable. I was very convinced by this logic.

I typed back.

Me: Sorry 😅 Life’s been insane lately. Wanna go to the movies this weekend?

The reply came almost immediately.

Melanie🌻: FINALLY. I was starting to think you forgot me.

Saturday?

I couldn’t help but smile. Saturday sounds good.

A string of celebration emojis showed up. They were enthusiastic, clear-cut, and refreshingly easy to interpret, unlike some other forms of communication I’d been subjected to recently.

Cute, dangerously cute. I was still staring at them when a voice interrupted my thoughts.

”Who’s got you grinning like that, Oliver?”

My head snapped up.

Damien hadn’t looked away from his phone. Not once, his eyes stayed glued to the screen, his posture unchanged, one hand still near the keyboard. He looked like someone who casually asked a question with no real interest in the answer.

Yet somehow, he’d known to ask. He’d known without looking.

I narrowed my eyes. ”Are you spying on me?”

”No.”

”Sounds exactly like something a spy would say.”

He let out a small sigh, patient and long-suffering, which might have annoyed me if I weren’t so busy feeling suspicious. ”Who is it?”

And that’s when something hit me, something I genuinely couldn’t believe had taken me this long to figure out.

I sat up straighter; this needed proper posture.

For weeks, I’d been sticking with the theory that Damien had some kind of thing for Melanie. It explained how he’d watched her at the party, the tension radiating off him when she was nearby, and the weird cold vibe he’d had afterward. I had filed it under rich guy has a crush, rich guy is territorial, rich guy is annoying, moving on.

And now here he was, asking about who I was texting. With that studied neutrality that said he was trying really hard to sound like he didn’t care.

I smirked, Interesting.

Very interesting.

”Not that it’s any of your business,” I said, keeping my tone casual, ”but I think I’m about to steal your girl.”