Roommates With Benefits [BL]

•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•

For a while, we just lay there like ragdolls.

His fingers were lazily running through my hair, slow and absent-minded, the kind of gentle, unhurried touch that made the whole world feel smaller and safer at the same time. The light in the room was dim except for a soft glow coming from the bedside lamp, casting a warm hue over the sheets, the nightstand, and the pile of clothes strewn around, like remnants of questionable choices we had made. One of his expensive shirts was draped over the back of the chair like it had given up on life. My jeans were somehow half under the bed. I didn’t even want to know where my socks had ended up.

Honestly, I was exhausted. And not your regular kind of tired. This was the deep kind of tired that seeps into your bones, making you feel pleasantly heavy, as if someone had finally unplugged that part of my brain that constantly worries about everything that could go wrong. The kind of tired that makes your limbs feel like they belong to someone else, someone who’s finally allowed to stop performing.

I wasn’t dwelling on the Lockwoods, the blackmail, the photos, the contract, the inheritance Damien had given up, or the mystery person determined to complicate our lives.

Heck, I wasn’t even thinking about school, which is pretty insane since I had about seventeen assignments I’d been pretending didn’t exist. At this point the assignments were basically theoretical. They existed in the same way unicorns did—people claimed they were real, but I’d never seen one up close and personal.

Instead, my thoughts were all about Damien. The way he was holding me like he had nowhere else to be, his body relaxed and vulnerable as if he thought no one was watching closely enough to notice.

His arm was securely around my waist, his thumb occasionally brushing against my side in these tiny, almost unconscious strokes.

His breathing had slowed down, and the tension that had been lingering in his shoulders for days seemed to have vanished. It was weirdly intimate, watching someone who usually looked like he could intimidate a boardroom with a single raised eyebrow look this soft.

I tilted my head to look up at him. His eyes were closed, his hair a complete mess, and it made me smile.

There was something so fucking satisfying about seeing Damien Lockwood... the guy who typically embodied expensive suits and perfect posture, with that intimidating silence and ridiculous good looks, looking like he just lost a battle with a pillow, with his hair sticking up in all directions and not caring at all. One stubborn strand was pointing straight up like it had ambitions of becoming a satellite dish.

I reached up to tuck a piece of hair away from his forehead, and he opened his eyes immediately. I froze as he looked down at me.

"What?" he asked, voice still rough with sleep.

"Nothing," I replied quickly.

"You were staring."

"I wasn’t."

"You were."

"Okay fine, I was admiring."

His lips curled up slightly. "Admiring what?"

I paused, considering my response before being honest. "You."

His expression softened, that gentle look in his eyes still had the power to completely unravel me. I immediately regretted being so sincere.

"So don’t make it weird."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "I wasn’t going to, baby."

He kissed the top of my head. I sank back against him, desperately trying to ignore how warm my face felt. Traitorous cheeks. Always giving me away.

We stayed in that position for a few more minutes before Damien shifted slightly, the mattress dipping as he reached over to the nightstand.

I lifted my head. "What are you doing?"

"Wait," he said, still reaching, the sheet sliding down his chest in a way that was honestly unfair at this hour.

I watched as he leaned over and picked up a small black box that I hadn’t noticed earlier, tucked behind the lamp like it had been waiting for the right moment. The box looked expensive. Of course it did. Damien didn’t do anything halfway, including apparently hiding gifts behind bedside lamps like a dramatic raccoon.

I frowned. "What is that?"

"Something I was supposed to give you."

My eyebrows shot up. "That sounds suspicious."

He ignored my comment, of course. Damien turned back toward me, holding the box between us, the velvet catching the light from the lamp.

"I was going to give this to you on the island."

My expression shifted immediately. "The island?"

He nodded. "Before everything happened with your father."

Something tightened inside my chest. I remembered that night so vividly... the dinner we barely touched, the candles, the ocean behind us, and the words I had tried so hard to gather the courage to say, just before the phone call that changed everything. The air had smelled like salt and expensive cologne and the kind of possibility that felt almost dangerous.

"You had this the whole time?" I asked.

"Yes."

I stared at the box. "Why didn’t you give it to me when we got back?"

His eyebrows lifted. "Because your father was in surgery, Oliver."

"Oh... Right. That’s a very reasonable answer," I said as I cleared my throat.

"Well, obviously."

Damien’s mouth twitched. "You sound disappointed."

"I’m not."

"You are."

I narrowed my eyes. "You’re getting dangerously comfortable making fun of me."

"I’ve always been comfortable making fun of you."

He opened the box, and my breath caught for a moment. Inside was a necklace.

It wasn’t flashy, which surprised me. It was elegant, simple, and clearly expensive without screaming it.

A fine gold chain rested against the dark velvet, the metal warm-toned and understated, holding a small pendant that sparkled softly whenever Damien moved it. The pendant itself was a clean, solid gold disc, slightly thicker than a coin, with a subtle brushed finish that caught the lamp light in quiet flashes rather than blinding ones. Engraved across the front in delicate, precise lettering was a single initial—mine—small enough that you’d only notice if you were looking closely. It was the kind of piece that didn’t demand attention but somehow held it anyway. The kind of jewelry a man could wear without feeling like he was dressed for a red carpet, yet still somehow managed to look like it cost more than my entire semester’s tuition.

I found myself staring, then looked at him and back at the necklace.

"Damien," I said quietly.

"I know."

"You didn’t have to buy me this."

"I wanted to."

"It’s expensive, you’ve already done more than enough for me."

"That’s not a reason to hold back from giving it to you."

"It is when I’m the one receiving it."

His expression turned playful. "You’re trying really hard to pretend you’re not impressed."

I looked away, my ears burning. Damien chuckled softly. "I love watching you pretend you don’t care about things when you care too much."

"I care about things normally."

He shook his head, still smiling. Then he lifted the necklace from the box, the gold chain sliding easily through his fingers, catching the light like liquid.

"Turn around," he said.

I did, feeling the cool metal brush against my neck before his fingers gently fastened the clasp, his knuckles grazing my skin and sending an unnecessary shiver down my spine. The chain settled against my collarbone with a soft, familiar weight, the pendant resting right over my sternum like it already knew where it belonged.

His touch lingered for a moment before he moved back around to face me, brushing lightly over the pendant with the pad of his thumb.

"It suits you."