Roommates With Benefits [BL]

Chapter 17: Best Roomie Ever

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By the time I got back to Preston Hall, I was so worn out that everything felt like it was running just a beat behind. My brain was barely keeping up with my body, reminding me to do simple things like blink and walk without tripping. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

The walk back to the rich people dorm felt longer than usual, not because the distance had changed, but because the day had stretched thin in ways I couldn’t really explain.

Between the flower shop, the cafe, the hospital, and the weight of my thoughts, I had drained my energy without even realizing it. For the last twenty minutes, I was basically running on fumes, and my body was starting to complain.

I adjusted the crinkly grocery bag in my hand; the cheap pack of instant noodles inside was awkwardly bumping against a couple of last-minute items I’d grabbed. Nothing fancy or impressive...just enough to get me through the week without pretending I had choices, which might as well be my personal motto these days.

I nudged the door open with my shoulder, stepping inside and was immediately reminded, like I needed it—just how out of place I felt here. The hallway was nicer than many of the places I’d lived. Seriously, the floors could probably be worth something.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

It was that kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty, but controlled, like even the silence had its standards and was judging whether I met them.

Then I noticed him.

Damien wasn’t at his desk this time which was a first. He was standing in the living area, holding a pair of dumbbells, lifting them with a slow, deliberate ease that looked way too effortless.

His shirt was a bit damp from the effort, clinging to him in places, and for a brief moment, I mean just a second...I caught myself staring.

Not because he was hot or anything okay?! Again, I’m not gay...but I stared at him because it was impossible not to, like you couldn’t ignore a storm rolling in or a car about to run a red light.

My eyes just decided to collect the info and deliver it without checking with me first.

His muscles shifted with each lift, looking defined in a way that clearly came from hard work, not just good genetics. He had broad shoulders, his posture straight even while moving, and there was something a bit annoying about how effortless it all seemed.

Like working out was just another thing he did without a second thought, alongside being constantly composed and making silence feel like a personal critique.

I blinked, pulling myself back into reality.

Right, not important. Just moving on here.

I stepped inside fully, letting the door close behind me as I shifted the grocery bag and tried to focus on literally anything else.

"Hey," I said, breaking the silence just enough to remind him I existed and had come home.

He didn’t stop or even look my way.

He finished his lift with the same calm precision, lowering the dumbbells and setting them down with a soft thud, like even putting something down had to be done just right.

Then, without glancing at me—

"You’re tracking in dirt," he said flatly. "Shoes off at the door."

I stared at him for a moment.

Then looked down at my shoes, which weren’t pristine but also weren’t part of some environmental disaster.

Back to him.

Just how long was the stick stuck up his ass?! I was dying to know at this rate.

"Nice to see you too, roommate," I shot back, my tone dry as I nudged the door closed properly and kicked off my shoes with a thump that might’ve been a bit louder than necessary.

He didn’t respond, of course not. Acknowledging sarcasm would involve acknowledging me, and we both knew that was a whole thing.

I rolled my eyes just a little and walked past him toward the kitchen, the familiar weight of exhaustion settling deeper into my shoulders as I let out an involuntary yawn.

"Long day?" I muttered to myself instead of to him because asking him felt pointless, and talking to myself had become my coping mechanism.

No answer, shocking. Truly could not have predicted that.

The kitchen lights flickered on softly as I stepped inside; everything gleamed like it had been picked out by someone with real taste in kitchen decor, which was so foreign to me it might as well have been in another language.

I set the grocery bag down on the counter and pulled out the noodles and a few other items, absentmindedly arranging them while I filled a pot with water, trying to remember what it felt like to not be tired.

Came up blank on that last part, but the water went on anyway.

There was something oddly grounding about it. Simple steps, simple process. Water in a pot, pot on the stove, flame doing its job beneath it all. Something I could do without thinking too hard, which was pretty much all I could handle right then.

I turned on the stove, watching the flame flicker to life, the sound of heating water filling the silence like it was arguing for the importance of simple things.

For a moment, it felt almost normal, until I felt it.

That awareness. The prickling sensation that came from not a sound or movement, but from the simple fact of being watched by someone who hadn’t made a sound to announce their presence.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Damien was standing just outside the kitchen area, arms crossed loosely, his expression doing its usual thing of saying absolutely nothing helpful but somehow still communicating something.

His gaze was fixed on me with the intensity of someone conducting a silent assessment they hadn’t been asked to do.

Just watching, not openly judging, because that would require some kind of visible expression...I think. I couldn’t tell for sure. For all I knew he could be a robot.

Just... watching.

I held his gaze for a moment, then turned back to the stove. I was an adult making dinner, and I wasn’t going to get self-conscious just because I was being silently observed.

If he had something to say, he could say it.

I had enough on my plate.

The water began to bubble, the sound growing louder as I tossed in the noodles, stirring them absentmindedly as the familiar smell started to rise, warm and honest in a way I’d made peace with a long time ago, it was cheap, simple and ffective.

And apparently, offensive to Mr. Nepo baby over there.

"That smell is going to linger for days."

I paused mid-stir and set the spoon down carefully on the edge of the pot.

Then slowly turned my head enough to look at him, trying to convey all the tired annoyance that I was feeling, with an edge of genuine amusement despite my best efforts.

"Sorry if my poverty offends your delicate senses," I said, lightening my tone but with a sarcastic edge as I picked the spoon back up and resumed stirring. "I’ll eat it in my designated corner and keep the smell from crossing some invisible border. Very considerate of you to point it out."

His expression didn’t change.

Not even slightly. Not even a flicker. He had the kind of face that looked like it had never been caught off guard, which was both impressive and somehow irritating.

But he was still watching.

There was a brief pause, one that felt heavy, where you could almost hear someone making a decision. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Then...

"There’s food in the fridge," he said, voice quieter now and almost reluctant, which didn’t match anything else about him. Like those words had slipped out before he had a chance to take them back. "Just... don’t touch the left side."

I blinked.

Once and twice, just to make sure I hadn’t misheard.