Roommates With Benefits [BL] Chapter 13: Know Your Place

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The mory didn’t end where I wanted it to.

Instead, it lingered, stretching just a bit longer than necessary, as if my brain decided I hadn’t had enough embarrassnt for one lifeti and needed a full replay of the whole thing in high definition just at the ti where I actually needed sleep.

I was still on the floor when the silence broke.

But with the sharp, amused scoff of soone who had probably never worried about consequences, soone who clearly hadn’t ever been in a situation where consequences applied to them personally.

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

The voice didn’t belong to him.

It ca from behind him, one of the guys at the sa table, soone I vaguely recognized from campus, like you recognize people who always seem to hang around where you don’t belong.

He was dressed just as well and just as effortlessly expensive, leaning back in his chair like the whole situation was more amusing than inconvenient. Like I had tripped just for his entertainnt and he was oddly grateful for it.

Another guy laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he looked over, as if I had personally offended him just by existing in the sa space.

"You just spilled coffee on him," the second guy added like I wasn’t aware of it, his tone dripping with disbelief that felt way over the top for what had just happened. "Do you even know how much that shirt costs, dumbass?"

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to get up properly this ti, my hands shaking slightly as I brushed them against my apron without thinking. I had no idea how much that shirt cost, but I suspected the number would make feel pretty sick.

"I’m really, really sorry," I repeated, the words coming out softer this ti but still urgent. "It...it was an accident; I didn’t see the floor was wet. I can fix it—"

"Fix it?" the first guy interrupted, now sitting up straighter, clearly invested in this situation as if he had nowhere better to be. "How exactly do you plan to fix that?"

I glanced at the stain again, my stomach tightening as I realized it looked worse now, having settled into the fabric and spreading in that slow, determined way that coffee always did when it wanted to inflict maximum damage.

"It’s just coffee," I said carefully, trying to keep my voice steady even as nearby tables began shifting their attention toward us like a slow tide. "If you take off the shirt, I can wash it properly. It should co out. You don’t have to—"

"You want him to take off his shirt?" the second guy interrupted, eyebrows raised like I had just proposed sothing from a completely different universe.

I frowned, the apology still stuck in my chest but starting to mix with sothing else. Sothing with sharper edges, just because they were the Elites of the university didn’t an I had to bend over and kiss their asses.

"I’m trying to help," I replied, my tone firr this ti. "You don’t have to be so rude about it."

That was a mistake.

I realized it the mont the words flew out. I watched them dart into the world, knowing there was no taking them back.

The first guy leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting from amusent to sothing sharper, more deliberate. The entertainnt had transitioned into sothing far more intentional.

"Do you know who you’re talking to?!" he thundered.

You’d think he was the one I spilled coffee on.

I held his gaze for a mont, sothing in stiffening despite the situation, a stubbornness that was deeply inconvenient.

"I know I spilled coffee on him," I gestured vaguely toward Damien, who still hadn’t said a word and appeared to be existing at a level above all this. "And I’m apologizing for it."

The second guy let out a short laugh, shaking his head again as he looked at his friend like we were sharing a private joke where I was the punchline.

"This is unbelievable," he muttered. "He’s arguing now."

"I’m not arguing," I said, though at this point it sure sounded like I was, even to myself. "I said I’m sorry and I said I’d fix it. You don’t have to act like I committed a cri. You don’t have to be disrespectful."

"Respect?" the first guy echoed, the word sounding almost foreign coming from him, like I’d spoken it in a language he’d never learned and had no interest in. "You think you get to talk about respect right now?"

I felt my jaw tighten. "Respect cos to those who earn it," I shot back before I could stop myself.

There was a pause, a brief one, but long enough for to realize I had officially crossed whatever invisible line existed between "apologizing employee" and "problem." Long enough to think, Oliver, what an absolute idiot.

The second guy’s expression hardened imdiately, the amusent disappearing like it had never been there.

"Yeah, that’s not how this works," he said flatly. "You don’t get to talk like that and just walk away."

"We should call the manager," the first one added, already reaching for his phone with the practiced ease of soone who had made that exact threat before and seen it work. "Let’s see how long he keeps his job after this."

My chest tightened, my earlier frustration giving way just enough to let reality settle in with all its inconvenient weight. The job, the bills, my dad. The specific and non-negotiable reasons I could not afford to be brave right now.

"I said I’m sorry," I repeated, quieter now but still firm. "I’ll pay for it if it’s completely ruined."

That was when he finally moved.

Damien.

Up until that point, he had just been standing there, watching with a steady gaze that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Not bored, not engaged, just present, like soone who had already assessed the situation and was waiting for it to resolve itself.

Like a judge who hadn’t yet decided whether the case was worth his ti.

But now he shifted slightly, enough to draw attention back to him, and the air around us adjusted accordingly, like it always did around people who were used to being the most significant presence in any room.

"Leave it," he said.

The words weren’t loud, but they cut through the tension imdiately, clean and final.

The first guy paused, glancing at him as if he needed confirmation that he’d heard right.

"But—"

"I said leave it."

There was sothing in his tone this ti. Not anger, not even irritation. Just a sense of finality, the kind that didn’t co from volu but from the absolute certainty that he would not repeat himself.

The phone lowered slowly.

The tension didn’t vanish, but it shifted, turning into sothing quieter, simring just beneath the surface without boiling over. The two guys exchanged glances but didn’t say anything further. Apparently, that was what passed for compliance in their world.

I exhaled slowly, my shoulders dropping just slightly as the imdiate fear of being fired faded into the distance, even if the embarrassnt stayed firmly in place.

"I’ll still pay for it," I added, glancing at the stain before looking back at him. "If the stain doesn’t co out."

For the first ti, his expression changed not much, but just enough to register as sothing other than completely neutral.

A slight shift in his mouth, sothing that might have been a scoff if it had been more effortful, like the complete version wasn’t worth his energy.

"Like you can afford it," he said.

The words landed clean. No hesitation. No softness around the edges. Just a cold statent of fact delivered with the casual ease of soone who had never once had to think about whether they could afford sothing.

Yikes...okay, then.