Roommates With Benefits [BL]

I woke up with the same nagging thought that had plagued me all night. It was frustrating, considering I had spent most of the hours tossing and turning, desperately trying not to dwell on it.

It seemed my brain had decided that sleep was optional while emotional turmoil was mandatory.

The room was still dim as I opened my eyes, with pale morning light filtering through the curtains and stretching across the floor in thin, gray lines.

For a few seconds, I lay completely still, staring at the ceiling, while the familiar warmth of Damien next to me reminded me of where I was.

His arm was draped around my waist. His breathing was slow and steady, his face half-buried in the pillow, and his hair was a complete mess.

It didn’t seem fair how attractive he looked while sleeping. I found myself watching him longer than I intended, taking in the small details I usually overlooked...the way a strand of hair kept falling across his forehead, the faint crease that lingered between his brows even in sleep.

This was Damien, my boyfriend, the guy who happily turned my life upside down with that fuckass teasing grin.

Who had turned down his inheritance instead of letting me go. The guy whose parents had threatened and hurt him, taking away anything they could still control.

And then that thought came creeping back. If I weren’t here, would they stop?

I hated that thought. It sounded too reasonable.

And I despised how, once it entered my mind, it seemed to settle in. Like it was paying rent.

Like it signed a year-long lease in my head and wasn’t planning on moving out anytime soon.

Damien shifted next to me, his arm tightening slightly around my waist as if, even half-asleep, he sensed where my thoughts were drifting.

"You’ve been staring at me." His voice was rough with sleep.

I blinked, taken aback. "You were awake?"

"Not really."

"Then technically, you don’t know that."

One blue eye opened, looking unimpressed. "I could feel you thinking."

I stared at him. "That’s creepy."

"So is staring at someone while they’re sleeping."

"I wasn’t staring."

"You were."

"I was...just observing."

"That’s just a fancy way of saying you were staring you creep."

I rolled my eyes and tried to turn away, but Damien pulled me back closer before I could get far.

His lips brushed my temple, warm and unhurried. "Morning, babe."

"Morning."

There was something too soft about his tone, something that made that lingering thought in my head feel even heavier. He studied my face for a moment, his eyes still heavy with sleep but far too perceptive. "You didn’t sleep well, why didn’t you?"

"I slept."

"That’s not what I asked."

I shrugged, trying for casual but landing closer to transparent. "I...I was just thinking about my dad."

It wasn’t a complete lie. Dad was always on my mind.

Damien watched me for another second, clearly unconvinced, but instead of pushing it, he leaned in and kissed me. It started off gentle, barely a brush of his lips against mine.

I smiled despite myself, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease just a bit.

"You know this is cheating." I said.

"How?"

"You’re distracting me."

"From what?"

"My thoughts."

"Then it’s working."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Damien leaned in and kissed me again.

This time, I completely forgot what I was going to say. Probably his whole plan.

When he finally pulled back, I stared at him suspiciously, still close enough to feel his breath. "You’re manipulating me."

"Yes."

"At least you’re honest."

"I’ve never lied about my methods."

I snorted. "You totally have."

"Name one." He said as my head went blank almost immediately.

His mouth curled into a small smile, and for a few minutes, everything felt normal and easy.

That was the problem, I could sense the weight beneath it, quiet yet persistent, like background static I couldn’t quite tune out.

We made pancakes for breakfast. Well, Damien made the pancakes.

I just provided moral support and was the first to eat, sitting at the counter with my legs tucked beneath me as the kitchen filled with the warm scent of batter and butter.

"That one is burnt," he said, holding a pancake on his fork and examining the edges with exaggerated skepticism.

"It wasn’t."

"It looks like it should be in jail for arson."

I glanced at it, looking unimpressed. "It’s fine."

"Admit defeat already."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Was that a threat?"

He gave me a slight smile, the kind that usually meant he was winning whatever silent argument we were having.

Still, I ate the pancake anyway.

The kitchen filled with the buttery smell and coffee, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy it.

Damien stood at the stove in a plain shirt with sleeves rolled up, flipping another pancake with too much confidence.

I watched him and felt something twist painfully in my chest.

This was what I wanted, this...us. A simple breakfast. Arguments over pancakes and his hand reaching for mine without a second thought.

The quiet mornings and the hope of a future together.

And suddenly, that future felt frighteningly fragile. Damien had already lost so much because of me. The inheritance, his family’s support and his access to money.

Even the comfortable life he was raised to expect was crumbling piece by piece.

Now he was hunting for jobs. Because of me.

I glanced toward the dining table. His laptop was open. A university student employment page was still up, with several job listings visible. Part-time research assistant.

Library desk assistant. Administrative office worker. Campus tutor. There was also another tab open for the university magazine, next to a page for off-campus student employment.

Just the browser history alone felt like a quiet admission that things had already shifted further than either of us wanted to acknowledge.

I swallowed hard. "You were looking for jobs last night when I was asleep?"

Damien turned off the stove. "Yes."

He plated the pancakes and looked at me, his expression calm in that way that always made me want to shake him. "Because I want options."

I stared at him. He said it so calmly.

Like the notion of working while going to classes wasn’t a huge disruption. Like the ground hadn’t just shifted beneath him.

"What if they don’t give you enough time?" I asked softly.

His expression changed slightly. "For what?"

"Your tuition."

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely. "I’ve already contacted the financial office."

"You did?"

"Yesterday."

"And?"

"They’re reviewing my situation."

I looked down at my plate, suddenly less interested in the pancakes. "What if they won’t help?"

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