Roommates With Benefits [BL]

By the time Damien and I reached Preston Hall, the campus was blanketed in that weird kind of nighttime stillness that never feels truly peaceful.

A few windows glowed with light, some cars cruised by slowly, and in the distance, I could hear laughter from students who had clearly decided to kick off their night while most sensible folks were thinking about hit the hay. The sound floated over like it belonged to a completely different universe, one where people still believed sleep was optional and consequences were optional too.

I, on the other hand, had thrown sensible behavior out the window a while back. At this point I was pretty sure sensible behavior had packed a bag and left a note saying it was never coming back.

As we entered the lobby, Damien pulled out his phone. The automatic doors sighed shut behind us, sealing in the faint smell of floor polish and late-night ambition.

"I’m calling Harris."

I glanced at the clock, it was almost midnight. "Is Harris still awake?" The lobby lights hummed overhead like they were equally unimpressed by the hour.

"He’ll answer."

"That’s not what I asked."

Damien shot me a look. It was the particular look that said he appreciated my concern approximately zero percent.

I sighed. "Forget it. Rich people must have staff who don’t need sleep." My voice bounced a little off the empty lobby walls.

"He’s not an employee."

"He’s your driver."

"Yes."

"Which is just a fancy way of saying employee with a car."

I saw Damien’s mouth twitch. Victory, however small, still counted.

Nevertheless, he dialed. The soft electronic tones of the call connecting felt oddly loud in the quiet space.

A few moments later, we stood outside the building as a sleek black sedan rolled up to the curb. It was the type of car that radiated wealth without showing off, fitting seamlessly into Damien’s style...whether it’s cars, clothes, or even his appearance.

The paint had a soft glow under the streetlights, and the engine was so quiet that I only noticed it had stopped when the headlights dimmed. I couldn’t help but stare at it. The thing looked like it had been designed by someone who considered silence a luxury feature.

Then I looked around. "No limo?"

Damien tucked his phone away. "No."

I raised an eyebrow. The night air nipped at the back of my neck, reminding me that standing still was a bad idea when your boyfriend was already vibrating with quiet rage.

"What happened to the huge car that made me feel like I was being whisked away by a billionaire?"

"My parents took it."

I gawked at him. "They fucking took your limo?" The words came out louder than intended, and a distant streetlight flickered as if in agreement.

"They said it belonged to them."

There was something about how casually he said it that rubbed me the wrong way.

It felt flat and almost bored, as if he were listing off items from a grocery list instead of recounting pieces from the life he had built over years. The calm in his voice made the whole thing worse.

I glanced back at the car. "So they’re just reclaiming everything now?"

Damien paused before replying. "They’ve already taken several things." His fingers flexed once against his side, the only real sign that any of this bothered him.

My frown deepened. The cold was starting to creep under my jacket, but I barely noticed.

"Like what?"

"Some of my cards. Some accounts. Access to the house. And now, my limo." Each item landed with the same even weight, like none of them were allowed to matter more than the others.

My stomach tightened. "And they’re allowed to do that?"

"Some of it was linked to the family."

"That’s insane."

He shrugged slightly. "It’s their way of reminding me of what I’ve given up." The streetlight caught the sharp line of his profile, turning the whole moment into something almost cinematic and completely unfair.

I stared at him.

For someone who had supposedly lost everything, Damien still had this presence about him.

You could picture him walking into a room and immediately commanding attention. The way he carried himself, the air around him...it hadn’t changed one bit. Even standing on a cold curb at midnight, he looked like the one in control.

Still, the thought weighed on me.

His parents were systematically stripping away everything they could use as leverage over him.

I wondered just how far they planned to go. The question sat heavy in my chest, unanswered and unwelcome.

Before I could voice my thoughts, Harris stepped out of the driver’s seat. His posture was perfect even at this hour, which felt personally offensive.

"Mr. Lockwood."

Damien nodded. "Thanks for coming."

Harris looked at the time before turning his gaze to Damien. "Of course." There was a quiet professionalism in the way he said it, like midnight emergencies were just another Tuesday.

Damien opened his mouth, then glanced at me. "I’ll drive."

Harris hesitated. "Sir?" The single word carried a polite suggestion that maybe this was a terrible idea.

"It’s late. Go back home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Harris looked between us, weighing whether it was worth pushing back against Damien for the sake of getting some sleep.

Apparently, it wasn’t worth it, he handed Damien the keys. The metal glinted briefly under the streetlight before disappearing into Damien’s palm.

"Be careful, young master."

"I will."

I slid into the passenger seat. The leather was still warm from Harris’s presence, and the interior smelled faintly of expensive cologne and quieter decisions.

As Damien settled behind the wheel, I exchanged a glance with Harris. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mr. Reyes." His tone was polite enough that I almost felt guilty for dragging him out of bed.

The car took off a moment later, leaving Harris under the streetlights.

I watched him fade from view in the side mirror, then turned to Damien. The city lights slid across the windshield in soft streaks.

He had both hands on the wheel, laser-focused on the road ahead.

The dashboard glowed softly against his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the slight furrow in his brow.

He looked furious.

Not the loud, dramatic kind of furious, but the quiet and dangerous type.

Even the air in the car seemed to compress, making the silence feel charged. Every small sound—the soft click of the turn signal, the faint hum of the engine—felt amplified.

The unfortunate truth was that my brain had poor survival instincts because my first coherent thought was that he looked incredibly attractive.

I stared out the window. The dark shapes of campus buildings slipped past like they were trying not to get involved.

This was not the right moment.

My boyfriend was gearing up to confront the guy who had been stalking us, blackmailing his family, and potentially ruining our lives, and I was sitting next to him, distracted by thoughts of his jawline.

Great priorities, Oliver.

Really freaking outstanding. I made a mental note to have a stern talk with my brain later, assuming we both survived the night.

"You’re staring."

I nearly choked, "I wasn’t." My voice cracked just enough to make the denial completely useless.

"You were, what’s going through your mind right now."

"I was just looking at the road."

"I’m driving."

"Exactly. I was just making sure you were doing it right." I kept my eyes firmly on the windshield, as if intense concentration might erase the last thirty seconds.

Damien glanced at me. "I’ve been driving since I was sixteen."

"Congrats."

His eyes went back to the road. "What exactly did Melanie tell you?" The shift in topic was abrupt enough to yank me out of my own head.

I sighed, "She said he convinced her that if she helped him get compromising pictures, you would leave me." The words tasted bitter all over again.

"Did she tell you why he wanted you two apart?"

"Nope, probably because he likes me."

Damien’s expression darkened. "He doesn’t like you." The steering wheel creaked faintly under his grip.

I glanced over, wanting to cheer him up a little. "Jealous?"

"Yes."

He said it again so matter-of-factly that I almost laughed. The honesty of it was somehow both comforting and slightly terrifying.

I smiled faintly. "That’s kind of cute."

"It’s not cute."

I leaned back against my seat. "You’re also pretty attractive when you’re angry." The leather sighed under me as I settled deeper.

He shot me a sideways look. "This isn’t the time, Sunshine."

"I know."

"Then stop."

"I didn’t say I was going to stop."

His jaw tightened again. "Oliver."

"What?"

"You enjoy provoking me."

"Maybe a little." I didn’t bother denying it. At this point denial felt like wasted energy.

He shook his head, but a hint of amusement flickered in his expression.

It vanished when he turned back to the road. The city lights painted brief gold streaks across his face.

"He watched us."

The change in his tone wiped the smile off my face. The temperature in the car seemed to drop a degree.

"Yeah."

"He watched you." He said, "He watched us together, took photos, and then used them to hurt you. I want to strangle him." Each word was measured, precise, and absolutely sincere.

I looked directly at him.

There was something possessive in the way he said it, something that tightened my chest. The words weren’t loud, but they held weight, like a door softly locking behind us. My pulse picked up for reasons that had nothing to do with the confrontation ahead.

"Damien."

His hand shifted on the wheel. "And he touched what wasn’t his."

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