Roommates With Benefits [BL] Chapter 20: So He Actually Has A Soul?

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I shot upright so fast I almost fell off the couch altogether, my hand flying to my chest as my heart raced, my eyes wide open.

Damien.

He appeared out of nowhere like so sort of ghost, standing a few feet away like a very expensive, very unimpressed ghost who had decided this was the mont to reveal himself.

He looked unfazed. No surprise, no apology for scaring the shit out of . Just that sa expression of curiosity.

Which was new.

If I’m being honest, it was more unsettling than his usual indifference, because that was sothing I knew how to catalog and file away. This? This was an expression I didn’t have a category for yet.

"You’ll ruin your back if you sleep here," he said, tilting his head slightly, scanning like he was assessing a situation rather than a person, running an internal calculation I wasn’t part of.

I blinked at him, once.

Then again, more slowly, because I needed a mont to process that he had just said sothing that wasn’t a rule, a correction, or a one-word dismissal.

"...What?" I replied. Eloquent, right? A real demonstration of my communication skills.

Don’t judge , it had been a long while since I last spoke to him!

He didn’t repeat himself, that wasn’t a service he provided. He just continued looking at , steady and patient like soone accustod to waiting for others to catch up.

I frowned a bit, running a hand through my hair while I processed this. He was not only speaking to without a violation of rules as a prompt, but he was also and let’s be careful with this word, expressing what sounded kind of like concern.

"It’s...uh, it’s not a big deal," I finally said, my voice still rough from the pull of sleep. "I’ve slept in worse places. I’ve slept in spots that would make this couch feel like a five-star hotel. The couch and I will be just fine."

That much was true.

He didn’t respond right away, and I was almost convinced the conversation was over and I could go back to my horizontal state when he stepped a little closer, his posture still relaxed, but his expression doing that thing it sotis does where it looked like it was working through sothing.

"Why do you want to sleep here?" he asked.

The question threw off guard. Not because it was hard to answer, it was basically because I’m tired and the couch was right there and sotis a person just needs a change of scenery without needing to explain themselves — but because it felt like the kind of question that stemd from actual curiosity, rather than calculation.

I hadn’t prepared for that. My whole plan revolved around him not being curious about . This was definitely a deviation from the ga plan.

I stared at him for a mont, recalibrating.

"Why do you care?" I retorted, thinking deflecting with a question was a solid conversational maneuver.

Seed like a fair response, he didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t, directly answering questions was apparently not in his skill set, which, fine. We could just be two people answering questions with questions and getting nowhere.

Instead, he just kept looking at , and I can’t quite explain it, but sothing about the way he did so pulled into awareness of several things all at once.

How I was sitting: Slightly sideways and not really dignified.

How my clothes must look after a full day of flower arrangents, hospital hallways, and instant noodles.

The fact that I was sprawled across his very pricey-looking couch like I belonged there when, by all reasonable asures... I absolutely did not.

I shifted a bit, clearing my throat as I looked away, thinking whatever that eye contact had done to my composure, the best course of action was to end it.

There was a pause. Quiet, but with sothing beneath the surface.

Then, sothing soft hit square in the face.

"Oof!" I jumped again, instinctively catching whatever it was as it fell into my lap, my brain always lagging behind in these interactions with Damien.

A blanket, I stared at it, absorbing its weight across my hands, noticing how it felt different from anything in my own ager collection. Then I looked back up.

He was already turning away, casually slipping his hands into his pockets as if he had done sothing totally unremarkable and saw no reason to linger. No explanation. No acknowledgnt that anything had shifted even slightly.

Like it hadn’t ant anything, like he threw blankets at people all the ti, like it was just another Tuesday.

I frowned slightly, looking back down at the blanket, turning it over in my hands as if I were examining sothing entirely foreign.

It wasn’t cheap... that was imdiately clear. The fabric was soft in the way of things that cost more than they should, thick and substantial, the kind that made your hands feel cared for. When I lifted it a little, I caught a scent, clean, warm, and oddly familiar in a way I identified a mont later and then decided not to ponder too deeply.

It slled like him. And mot in a weird way, don’t get wrong!

Who doesn’t sll their roommates blankets, amirite?

Just in the way of sothing that had been his for so ti, quietly carrying that fact without fanfare.

I glanced back up. He was retreating back to his room, back to whatever corner of the apartnt he occupied when he wasn’t being perplexing to in the living room. Shoulders relaxed and pace unhurried, like whatever had just happened was already behind him, filed under resolved.

"...Okay," I muttered to myself, blinking once at the spot where he had stood as if it might provide so insight he hadn’t shared. "Sure. That’s just... okay."

Slowly, I settled back against the couch, pulling the blanket over myself almost instinctively, the warmth settling around in a way my tired body recognized before my brain could catch on.

For a mont, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling again.

Thinking about it. Because that... that series of events, was new. That was different. The first ti in a week that Damien had done sothing that wasn’t cold, dismissive, or strictly rule-based the first crack in his carefully crafted wall of indifference he had maintained since I showed up.

It hadn’t been warm, exactly. It wasn’t heartwarming friend material. There were no speeches, no softening of expression, no admissions of anything.

But it hadn’t been nothing, either.

And sohow, and this was the thought that might keep up at night, which felt unfair given I lay on a very comfy couch with a very nice blanket... it was more confusing than anything else he’d done up to this point. Nothing I could categorize. Nothing to file away and forget about.

I let out a slow exhale, shifting slightly under the blanket as my eyes drifted closed again, exhaustion finally making its case now that I had sothing soft to sink into and my brain had sothing genuinely baffling to mull over, instead of the usual low-grade existential fatigue.

"First he gives rules," I whispered to the ceiling, my voice barely a murmur, quiet enough for alone. "Then he gives blankets so I wouldn’t be uncomfortable."

A small, helpless laugh escaped before I could decide if it was genuinely funny or not.

"Make up your mind, man," I muttered.

The ceiling offered no response.The silence settled back around again, but it felt different in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Lighter, maybe, or just less pointed, like the air in a room alters after sothing happens, even if it’s sothing small.

Or maybe I was just tired enough that my perception had softened at the edges.

Either way, as sleep finally started to bring under, slow and inevitable, one thought surfaced just long enough to latch on before everything went quiet.

If breaking the rules was the only ti he talked to , and he apparently threw blankets at people when he was feeling sothing close to human—

Then maybe, just maybe—

I should start breaking them more often.

I smiled, a terrible plan...but I didn’t care anymore. I was tired of him pretending I didn’t exist.

I decided that I was going to annoy him, get right under his skin...until he broke and he had no choice but, to pay attention to .

Let the gas begin.

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𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯’𝔰 𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰

what oliver thinks he’s going to do: arrgh! I hate him so much, I’m going to make his life hell for looking down on !😡

Vs.

what oliver’s actually doing: I hate you... but look at . React to . Notice 🥺