Roommates With Benefits [BL]

The kind of exhaustion that hits after a long shift at The Copper Lantern wasn’t the soft, stretchy kind you get from studying too late or walking across campus in the rain.

It was the heavy, sticky, bone-deep variety that made every step feel like you were dragging an extra person behind you.

Literally a day after losing Joy’s Café, I started at The Copper Lantern. Just the name made me picture some mysterious detective named Jack sitting in a corner, sipping whiskey while waiting for someone to come in and confess to a crime...but like the picture quality was black and white because the movie came out in the 1940s.

But in reality, it was a place with sticky floors, loud music, people bickering over who should buy the next round, and one bathroom door that looked like it had seen better days...with a hinge that squeaked loudly enough to announce everyone who dared to use it.

Still, the pay was better.

That was enough for me to overlook the fact that I had traded making coffee for tired college students to serving drinks to exhausted adults who were somehow more confident but had way less coordination.

My first few shifts involved learning the differences between about forty bottles that all looked pretty much the same to me.

"That’s bourbon," the bartender Marcus, who was training me, said, pointing at one of the bottles.

He had the kind of face that looked like it had been carved out of oak and then left outside for a few decades...weathered, unimpressed, and somehow still amused by everything.

I stared at it, then I glanced at another one.

"And that one’s?"

"Bourbon."

I frowned. "So, they’re both bourbon?"

"Yes."

"Why do we have two?"

He looked at me for a moment like he was reconsidering hiring me. The silence stretched just long enough for me to wonder if I should start packing my imaginary bags.

"Different brands."

I looked at the bottles again and said, "That’s capitalism."

He laughed and replied, "You’re gonna fit in just fine."

Was I? I didn’t even like being around alcohol.

The sound of his laugh was rough, like gravel mixed with cigarette smoke, but it somehow made the bar feel a little less hostile.

Marcus had been behind that bar longer than I’d been alive, judging by the wild stories he had about customers doing things that should probably have landed them in jail.

He once told me about a guy who tried to pay for an entire round with a live goldfish in a plastic bag.

Another time, two women had gotten into a full argument over whose ex was more disappointing, and it ended with someone throwing a shoe.

I still wasn’t sure if that shoe belonged to one of them or if it had simply been available.

He was patient with me, which I really appreciated because I was just one spilled drink away from wanting to jump through the nearest window during my first shift.

Every time I nearly dropped a glass or mixed up the orders, Marcus would just raise one eyebrow and say something like,

"Breathe, kid. The alcohol isn’t going anywhere." It was strangely comforting.

"Don’t call me a kid, Marcus."

Once I settled in, the job wasn’t too bad.

Sure, it was fast-paced, noisy, and exhausting, but at least I could look back at the end of a shift and know I’d earned more than I ever did at the café.

That made a difference.

With Frank still in the hospital and everything else going on, every extra dollar felt like a weight lifted.

Sadly, my mind didn’t get the memo about relaxing.

Even at work, I constantly thought about my dad, Damien, the blackmail photos, the Lockwoods, and the mysterious person who’d somehow followed us closely enough to snap those pictures without us noticing.

It was starting to feel like some evil

person was secretly writing my life like some twisted script.

The kind of script where the main character keeps getting plot twists instead of sleep.

By the end of my shift that evening, my feet were killing me, my shirt smelled faintly of alcohol despite my best efforts, and my brain felt like someone had taken it out, shaken it like a snow globe, and then put it back all askew.

I could still hear the bass from the speakers vibrating in my skull as I clocked out and mumbled a tired goodbye to Marcus, who just nodded like he’d seen this exact brand of exhaustion a thousand times before.

I boarded the bus back to campus and sank into a seat by the window, my whole body grateful for the worn cushion.

The fabric was thin and slightly scratchy, but in that moment it felt like luxury.

The city zipped by in patches of headlights and neon signs, the glass reflecting my worn-out face back at me.

I looked exhausted, not just tired from a long day.

More like, if someone asked me to do basic math right now, I might just lay down in traffic and call it a career change.

I pulled out my phone.

There was a message from Damien.

Damien😈: How was work?

I couldn’t help but smile a bit. Even the simplest message from him managed to cut through the fog.

Me: I survived.

His reply came back almost instantly.

Damien😈: Good, I knew you could do it.

I was still grinning when another notification popped up.

This one wasn’t from Damien.

It was Melanie.

I stared at her name for a few seconds, surprised.

The last time we spoke, she’d shown up at the flower shop crying, apologizing for everything, and then practically sprinted out before I could even get a grasp on what had just happened.

And now here she was, calling me at night, thinking my life wasn’t confusing enough already.

I answered, "Hello?"

There was a brief pause before she said, "Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"It’s Melanie."

"I figured." I tried to keep my voice light, but something in the way she said my name already felt off. "I still have your number saved."

"Oh..." She let out a small, nervous laugh. "Sorry, I know it’s late."

I glanced out the window, watching a streetlight blur past. "It’s fine. Are you okay?"

Another pause.

"I...I need to see you."

My eyebrows knitted together. "Now?"

"Please."

Something in her voice made my smile vanish. "What’s wrong?"

"I can’t explain over the phone."

That made me anxious. The bus hit a pothole, and the jolt did nothing to settle the sudden tightness in my chest.

"What happened?"

"I just need to talk to you."

I rubbed my forehead. "Melanie, you’re kinda freaking me out."

"I’m sorry," she said, sounding like she was holding back tears. "C...can we meet?"

I glanced around the bus, why the heck would she want to meet all of a sudden after months of no contact except for that one time she showed up at the flower shop?

Had something happened to her?

A couple of students were half-asleep a few seats away, completely unaware that my evening was about to take a sharp left turn into Complicated Territory. "Where?"

"The university main park?"

I thought for a moment before agreeing, at least she wasn’t asking to come see her at her dorm. "Okay."

"Thank you."

She hung up, and I stared at my phone.

Great. At this rate, I was going to need a spreadsheet just to keep track of the drama.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!