Roommates With Benefits [BL]

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The last thing I wanted to hear that morning was that my manager was angry with me.

Given that I had just spent the an afternoon dousing a billionaire in coffee a few days ago, it was probably on me to anticipate this.

But really, I’d been feeling completely fed up with rich people once again as a whole.

Except Damien ofcourse.

Still, standing outside my Manager Bill’s office, hand hovering over the doorknob, I couldn’t help but think about an alternate universe where I just walked away from William Lockwood instead of turning his fancy jacket into a coffee-scented disaster.

Sadly, I didn’t live in that universe.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in." Bill’s voice sounded worn out.

That was never a good sign.

I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind me.

Bill was sitting behind his desk, hands folded in front of him, and his expression told me right away that this wasn’t going to be a chat about me winning employee of the month with a free muffin as a reward.

The office hadn’t changed in the three years I’d been there. Same cramped desk, same old filing cabinet wedged against the wall, and that little fan that sounded like it was struggling for its life every time it turned on.

There was even the same coffee stain at the corner of the desk that I’d been trying not to stare at since my first year, a constant reminder that even Bill wasn’t immune to the messiness of this job.

Noticing all that stuff made my stomach drop.

"Sit down, Oliver."

I pulled out the chair, the legs scraping against the worn linoleum, the sound way louder than it should’ve been in that tiny room.

"so, am I getting fired or...?"

Bill sighed.

That was all I needed to know and I leaned back slowly. "Wow, we really skipped the suspense."

He rubbed a hand over his face. "I’m sorry, Oliver."

I looked at him for a second.

Bill wasn’t a bad manager. In fact, he was one of the few bosses who treated his staff like real people instead of just replaceable furniture slaves.

He was aware of my dad’s situation, knew I was juggling school and two jobs.

He’d covered for me countless times when hospital appointments ran late or I needed to switch shifts.

So seeing him look so uncomfortable hit harder than the firing itself.

"Well this man, William Lockwood called," he said.

Of course he did...because billionaires apparently have nothing better to do than ruin the lives of worn-out college students.

Bill’s voice dropped a notch. "He threatened to take legal action against the café."

I stared at him. "Legal action?"

"He claimed you assaulted him."

"All I did was I throw coffee at him!"

Bill shot me a look, did everything count as assault nowadays?

"Hot coffee," I added, as if the temperature would somehow make my case better.

His eyebrows raised. "Okay, technically, yes, that sounds worse."

"Well, I was angry."

"I figured."

Bill leaned back, the chair creaking underneath him.

"Look, under normal circumstances, I’d have told him to buzz off. You’ve been with us for over three years, you’re one of my best employees, and I’ve never had a serious complaint about you."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, except there was that one complaint about you arguing with a customer."

"He said my latte art was depressing."

Bill sighed, but I could see a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, like the memory was amusing for just a moment.

"William Lockwood isn’t just any customer...he’s a damn billionaire. It blows my mind how you managed to piss off one of those!" he ranted. "He’s influential enough to follow through on his threats. He said he’d sue the café, go after the owner personally, and make sure we’d have a really tough time staying open if we didn’t let you go."

I looked down at my hands, there it was.

The part I’d been dreading.

The part that made my chest feel achingly hollow, I really needed this job.

I needed every paycheck I could get. With tuition, rent, my dad’s medical bills, food, transportation, and a never-ending list of expenses just to stay afloat, losing Joy’s Café wasn’t just a minor hiccup.

It was a massive, inconvenient problem.

I swallowed hard. "So that’s it?"

Bill nodded reluctantly. "I’m sorry, Oliver."

I stared at the desk for several moments.

I could’ve argued. I could’ve told him exactly what William had said. I could’ve explained why I did it. I could’ve defended myself until I lost my voice.

But none of that would change the fact that Bill had a business to protect.

So I just nodded. "Okay."

Bill looked taken aback. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

"You’re not going to fight back, yell at me, break a few things in my office?"

I shrugged, why did people think I was that violent? "Would that help?"

He paused. "No."

"Then I’d rather not waste our time."

For a moment, silence hung between us.

Bill opened a drawer and retrieved a thick envelope, placing it down between us with a kind of solemnity that made everything feel more final.

He slid it in front of me. "This is your final paycheck."

I glanced at the envelope.

"And before you say anything, I want you to know there’s some extra money in there."

I looked up, surprised. "Bill—"

"It’s not charity. Think of it as a thank-you for three years of putting up with this place."

I couldn’t help but smile a bit.

"Three years of putting up with you actually."

He pointed at me. "See? This is exactly why I’ll miss you."

A soft laugh slipped out, though it faded quickly...I picked up the envelope. "Thanks."

"I also called a friend of mine."

I raised an eyebrow.

"He owns a bar downtown and is looking for someone part-time. I told him about you. The pay is better than what you were making here."

My eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. He’s waiting for your call."

Some of the weight in my chest lifted a bit. "Bill, I don’t even know what to say!"

"Just say you’ll call him."

"I’ll call him."

"Good."

He smiled faintly, then his expression softened. "I’m really sorry, Oliver."

This time, I didn’t have a joke ready.

"Me too."

I stood up, holding the envelope close, my eyes wandered around the office one last time as I made my way to the door.

I had spent so much time at Joy’s Café that it had stopped feeling like a job a long time ago.

It had become a place where I met friends.

Where I studied between classes.

Where I vented about money, professors, rent, hospital bills, and the sheer unfairness of living without a trust fund.

It’s where Damien first came into my life, even if back then I was more focused on grumbling about his personality than appreciating how good-looking he was.

Honestly, that’s saying something, considering how good-looking he really is, I opened the door.

"Oliver?"

I turned back as Bill smiled sadly. "Take care of yourself."

I nodded. "You too, sir."

As I stepped back into the café, everything looked exactly as it always had.

Somehow, that made it feel worse.

The espresso machine hissed behind the counter, cups clinked, and someone laughed near the window.

The smell of roasted coffee filled the air, warm and comforting, and for a fleeting moment, I had the ridiculous urge to pretend nothing had happened.

Then Maya caught my eye.

Her expression shifted instantly.

She knew and I didn’t even have to say a word. "Oh, Oliver."

I managed a weak smile. "Don’t."

She walked around the counter anyway, untying her apron as she moved, as if the situation called for immediate, hands-free comfort.

"I swear, if you start crying, I’m going to cry too, and then we’ll both look ridiculous."

"I’m not crying."

"You look like you’re about to."

"I have allergies."

"To being fired?"

"Apparently."

She stared at me for a moment before pulling me in for a hug.

I froze for a second but then hugged her back.

Maya squeezed me tightly, enough to make my ribs complain.

"I’m really going to miss having you here," she murmured.

I swallowed hard. "I’m going to miss working with you too."

"This place is going to be awful without you."

"You say that now."

"I mean it!"

When she let go, her eyes were suspiciously shiny.

I pointed at her. "Hey, don’t cry."

"I’m not crying."

"You totally are."

"Shut up."

A soft laugh escaped me.

A few of the other employees came over to say their goodbyes, drifting from their stations until a small, disorganized crowd formed near the counter, and for the next few minutes, I found myself doing something I hadn’t expected that day.

I said goodbye, bot in a grand way.

Not like some movie character walking away from a life he’s known forever while sad music plays in the background.

It was messier than that.

There were awkward hugs, promises to keep in touch, Maya complaining that no one else knew how to make the caramel macchiatos properly, and one coworker saying he was going to miss watching me insult rude customers under my breath.

Eventually, I stepped outside, the cold air hit my face.

I stood there for a moment, looking through the café’s glass doors, watching the familiar shapes of people moving behind the counter like a scene I was no longer in.

Three years, all gone because I couldn’t keep my temper in check around one very wealthy abusive jerk.

I sighed. "Still worth it, though."

I turned and started walking home.

Damien sensed something was off before I even got my shoes off.

Of course he did.

He was sitting on the couch when I walked in, one leg stretched out and a book in his lap.

He looked up immediately, and as soon as his eyes met mine, his expression shifted, the casual ease from a moment ago replaced by something sharper, more attentive.

"Oliver?"

I dropped my bag by the door. "I’m fine."

He studied me. "That’s usually what you say when you’re not fine." His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Come here."

I walked over, and he took my hand, pulling me down beside him on the couch.

His gaze swept over my face, taking in every detail with the same focus he reserved for contracts and legal disputes.

"What happened?"