I wasn’t looking for a roommate. Not really.
But when Dean offered me the second bedroom, it was perfect. Big, cheap, close to campus. And he was hot but safe. We were friends. We'd known each other through mutuals for a while. He wasn’t pushy. Didn’t flirt at least not outwardly.
Until I noticed the way he watched me when I walked around in sleep shorts. Or how he paused every time I bent over to grab something from the fridge.
There was tension. Always had been. But we danced around it like it was breakable glass.
That ended when I came home one Friday night and saw a contract printed neatly on the kitchen table.
The Roommate Agreement.
My name typed at the top. His at the bottom. Pages of terms and bullet points, like a legal doc made just for the kind of tension we'd never dared
