Roommates With Benefits [BL]

Chapter 41: Explaining Everything But My Emotions

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Damien’s gaze lingered on me for another second before he looked away first.

Not in annoyance, but not coldly either.

He just... turned away quietly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he stared somewhere toward the kitchen instead of at me.

And suddenly I knew he wasn’t going to answer.

I frowned slightly, irritation bubbling up again at the familiar silence. Seriously, this guy treated conversations like they physically pained him. One second he was pinning me down with those intense blue eyes like I was the only thing in the room, and the next he was acting like he’d signed a legal agreement with himself not to communicate properly.

I waited anyway.

The silence stretched long enough that even I started getting uncomfortable with it.

Eventually I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.

Well... at least we were actually having a conversation this time. That alone felt groundbreaking enough. I probably shouldn’t push my luck before Mr. Human Iceberg decided to retreat back into his natural habitat permanently.

Something flickered across his expression...not quite amusement, not quite embarrassment, but that rare mix you get when both feelings collide for a moment before retreating. It lasted just a couple of seconds and then vanished.

Then, quietly, with the weight of someone who carefully chooses their words:

"I’m sorry."

Huh...?

The words hit me so unexpectedly that my brain went blank for a second. Just white noise where a reaction should have been.

Because Damien Lockwood apologizing wasn’t something I had prepared for. It didn’t fit any of the scenarios I’d run in my mind over the past few weeks. He had come into this moment and offered a genuine, straightforward apology, leaving me utterly unprepared for a response.

"You’re apologizing," I said. Not a question, just a confirmation of what my ears had registered.

His expression flattened a bit. "Yes."

"No, I heard you, I just—" I blinked. Cutting myself not knowing what to say.

He paused, weighing whether to argue, ultimately deciding against it.

"I’m sorry for how I acted," he said again, steadier this time, as if he’d found solid ground to stand on. "It was misleading. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome."

And the frustrating part was that his tone was completely sincere. No hidden meanings or escape routes embedded in the wording. Just the words, sitting there plainly, carrying their weight.

I was at a loss.

Angry Damien was familiar territory. Cold Damien had a manual I’d memorized over the weeks. Even the playful Damien, who had shown up unannounced that evening, had a vibe I could navigate.

But this version... awkward, honest, his guard down...it was totally uncharted territory, and I was left without a compass.

I shifted against my desk, suddenly aware of things around me that hadn’t demanded attention just minutes prior. The soft hum of the fridge. The rain beginning to patter against the windows outside, irregular and gentle. The faint scent of his cologne in the air, which had lingered all evening and was now far more noticeable than it should’ve been.

And then there was the fact that he was still looking at me.

Damien hesitated for a split second and then asked quietly:

"Can we start over?"

The question landed softly, which was incredibly inconvenient.

I had built an entire structure of feelings about him over the past few weeks, and here he was, with just four words that threatened to remodel everything. freёwebnoѵel.com

The worst part, the frustratingly endearing part was the slight way he tilted his head when he said it. Just a little. Barely noticeable. It was a small, involuntary gesture from someone who actually cared about my answer and hadn’t managed to mask it.

My heartbeat shouldn’t have reacted the way it did. That was personal, and I wasn’t about to analyze it.

I hated the strange stupid effects this guy had on me...it confused me to no end.

"What about you?" As I searched for a response, he asked, quieter than before. "Do you really hate me, Oliver?"

The hell?

All coherent thoughts vanished at once.

Because...no. I didn’t really hate him, I never really did.

That was the truth, plain and simple, cut clear through everything else. I didn’t hate him. I had never truly hated him. Sure, I’d been confused by him, frustrated with him, drawn to him in ways I still didn’t fully understand, kept awake at night by him, driven to scribble silly notes on his rules list. But actual hatred had never been the issue, and standing there now, I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

What I despised was the confusion. The uncertainty of where I stood. The feeling of being an unwelcome presence in a shared space. The way one kiss in a dark closet had opened up a world of feelings I didn’t have the words for and hadn’t stopped feeling since.

Also what I truly couldn’t stand was how affected I was because of him, while it seemed like he didn’t even give a shit about my broke ass.

But I never truly hated him.

Never him.

And somehow we’d both spent weeks erecting walls against a feeling that didn’t exist on either side, making us...let’s be honest–

Emotionally constipated idiots.

Both of us.

Partners in a misunderstanding that neither of us had dared to clarify.

I opened my mouth, closed it, and then opened it again.

My brain, having pinpointed the truthful answer, was now engaged in fierce debate about whether to voice it, and the arguments were heated and unresolved.

I would rather fucking eat glass than admit that out loud though...

"I..." I began, stepping off a cliff and realizing it mid-leap. "I need to study."

Absolutely brilliant. A true masterpiece of bravery by yours truly.

I turned around with enough urgency to qualify as a retreat, nearly knocking my hip against the chair, recovering with an imaginary dignity, and making it back to my side of the room purely on instinct.

Behind me, silence stretched for a breath. Then, calm and even:

"Okay."

Just that. One word.

I sat down and yanked my textbook open, pouring all my energy into appearing completely fine and making a rational decision.

Why did he sound like that?

Not angry. Not cold. Just, at ease, but with a different kind of ease than I was used to, and I was going to stop analyzing it immediately and focus on macroeconomic theory, which was why I was there in the first place.

I stared at the page.

Words sat there, arranged in sentences, carrying meaning. I read the same sentence three times. By the third time, I still couldn’t say what it meant.

Because my mind had other priorities, apparently. I thought you hated me. I’m sorry. Can we start over? Do you really hate me? All those thoughts looped in my head like notifications I couldn’t dismiss, warm and persistent, not helpful at all for studying.

I pressed both palms flat against the page.

Get it together, Reyes! Goddamnit!

It was just one conversation and teople have conversations, normal conversations. This is just a conversation.

You are a person who just had a conversation and is now going to study...

My brain replayed his voice saying can we start over with the barely contained vulnerability that he almost managed to hide.

I put my forehead on the textbook.

Fuck, this problem had no business being so difficult to deal with!