Episode 10:Not Just Roomates
1362 Words
The next morning—
Everything felt different.
And that was the problem.
—
She woke up first.
Sat up slowly.
Looked around the room.
Same walls.
Same bed.
Same small space.
—
But somehow—
It didn’t feel the same.
—
“…We kissed.”
She covered her face with both hands.
“…We *actually* kissed.”
Her heart started racing again—
Just remembering it.
—
“…Why am I panicking now…”
Because last night—
It felt natural.
Easy.
Right.
—
But now—
In the bright, honest light of morning—
It felt real.
—
“…You’re talking to yourself again.”
She froze.
Slowly lowering her hands.
—
He was awake.
Of course he was.
Lying on his side—
Looking straight at her.
—
“…How long have you been awake?” she asked carefully.
“…Long enough.”
“…That’s not an answer.”
“…Long enough to hear ‘we actually kissed.’”
Her face turned red instantly.
“…You weren’t supposed to hear that!”
“…You said it out loud.”
“…That doesn’t mean you should listen!”
“…That’s exactly what it means.”
—
Silence.
Awkward.
Heavy.
—
“…So,” he said.
“…So.”
Another pause.
—
“…Now what?” she asked.
“…Now we get up.”
“…That’s it?”
“…What did you expect?”
“…I don’t know!”
“…Then we’ll start simple.”
—
He sat up.
Stretching slightly.
Like nothing happened.
Like everything was normal.
—
“…You’re acting weirdly calm,” she said.
“…You’re acting weirdly dramatic.”
“…We kissed!”
“…I noticed.”
“…And you’re just—stretching?!”
“…Do you want me to panic?”
“…Yes! No—wait—just—react properly!”
“…I am reacting properly.”
“…How is this proper?!”
He looked at her.
Then—
Smirked slightly.
—
“…Good morning.”
She blinked.
“…That’s it?!”
“…What else?”
“…Something more!”
“…Like what?”
She opened her mouth—
Then froze.
Because she didn’t actually know what she wanted.
—
“…See?” he said. “You don’t even know.”
“…That’s not the point!”
“…Then what is the point?”
“…The point is—it’s different now!”
“…Yeah.”
“…And?”
“…And we adjust.”
—
He stood up.
Walking toward the small kitchen area.
—
“…Adjust how?” she asked, following him with her eyes.
“…We figure it out.”
“…That’s vague.”
“…That’s honest.”
—
She watched him quietly.
Still processing.
Still trying to catch up.
—
Then—
Without warning—
He turned.
Walked back toward her.
—
“…What—”
He leaned down slightly—
Close.
Not as close as last night.
But enough.
—
“…Good morning,” he repeated.
Softer this time.
—
Her heart skipped.
“…Y-You already said that.”
“…I’m saying it again.”
“…Why?”
“…Because I want to.”
—
She swallowed.
“…You’re doing that thing again.”
“…What thing?”
“…Making my heart go weird.”
“…That’s your problem.”
“…It’s your fault!”
“…Same thing.”
—
She looked away quickly.
“…You’re unfair.”
“…You liked it yesterday.”
“…That was yesterday!”
“…And today?”
She hesitated.
Then quietly—
“…Still.”
—
He smiled.
Just a little.
—
“…Good,” he murmured.
—
She stood there—
Frozen.
Because now—
Even something simple like “good morning”
Didn’t feel simple anymore.
—
—
Later that day—
The awkwardness didn’t disappear.
It multiplied.
—
She was studying.
Or at least—
Trying to.
—
“…You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”
“I’m reading!”
“You haven’t turned it.”
“…I’m thinking deeply.”
“…About the same sentence?”
“…Yes!”
“…Impressive.”
“…Stop watching me!”
“…You’re right in front of me.”
“…Then look somewhere else!”
“…No.”
—
She huffed.
Trying to focus again.
But then—
—
“…Do you always sit this close?” she asked.
“…I always sit here.”
“…No, you don’t!”
“…Yes, I do.”
“…You’re closer.”
“…You’re noticing.”
“…Because it’s obvious!”
“…Then don’t notice.”
“…I can’t!”
—
He leaned slightly closer.
On purpose this time.
—
“…Now it’s obvious,” he said.
Her breath hitched.
“…You’re doing that on purpose.”
“…Yeah.”
“…Why?!”
“…Because I can.”
“…You’re impossible.”
“…You didn’t say stop.”
—
She turned her head away.
But didn’t move.
—
“…You’re not stopping me either,” he added.
“…I’m ignoring you.”
“…Badly.”
—
Silence.
—
Then—
Without thinking—
She reached out.
Grabbing his sleeve.
—
“…Don’t move.”
He blinked.
“…What?”
“…Just—stay there.”
“…You’re the one who told me to move earlier.”
“…I changed my mind.”
“…Again?”
“…Yes!”
—
He looked at her hand.
Still holding him.
—
“…You’re doing it again,” he said quietly.
“…Doing what?”
“…Being clingy.”
“I am not!”
“…You grabbed me.”
“…Because you were distracting me!”
“…So your solution is to hold me?”
“…Yes!”
“…That’s not helping your case.”
“…Stop analyzing everything!”
—
But she didn’t let go.
—
And this time—
He didn’t tease her for it.
Not immediately.
—
“…You know,” he said after a moment,
“…if someone saw us like this—”
“…Don’t finish that sentence.”
“…They’d definitely think—”
“I said don’t finish it!”
“…That we’re a couple.”
Silence.
—
Her grip tightened slightly.
“…We *are*… kind of…”
Her voice got quieter at the end.
—
He stilled.
“…Say that again.”
“…No.”
“…Why not?”
“…Because it sounds weird!”
“…It doesn’t.”
“…It does!”
“…It doesn’t.”
—
He leaned closer again.
—
“…Then what are we?” he asked softly.
Her heart raced.
“…We’re…”
She couldn’t finish.
Because the word felt too big.
Too real.
—
“…See?” he murmured.
“…You’re stuck.”
“…Because you keep making it harder!”
“…I’m making it clearer.”
“…No, you’re not!”
“…Then I will.”
—
He gently turned his arm—
So instead of her holding his sleeve—
Their hands shifted.
—
Fingers brushing.
Sliding.
Then—
Fitting.
—
Her breath caught.
“…You’re—”
“…Fixing it,” he said.
“…Fixing what?”
“…This.”
—
His fingers laced with hers.
—
“…This is clearer.”
Her face turned red again.
“…You didn’t ask.”
“…Would you say no?”
Silence.
—
“…Exactly.”
—
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t deny it.
—
Instead—
She tightened her hold.
Just a little.
—
“…This is distracting,” she whispered.
“…Then let go.”
“…No.”
“…Then deal with it.”
“…You’re the worst.”
“…And you’re still holding my hand.”
“…Because—”
She stopped.
—
“…Because what?” he asked.
She looked at him.
Then away.
Then back again.
—
“…Because I want to.”
—
A small pause.
Then—
“…Good,” he said softly.
—
And just like that—
The awkwardness didn’t disappear.
—
It turned into something else.
Something softer.
Something warmer.
—
Something that felt like
they were learning each other—
all over again.
—
Not as roommates.
—
But as something more.
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