HIS ROOMMATE

I'M NOT LEAVING

CHAPTER 27

ADRIAN’S POV

Marcus. His name burns. My cousin. The guy I called when I didn’t know how to pay the bills, when my parents cut me off for two months. The guy who told me “take care of her, she’s special.”

He knew. The whole time, he knew.

And Valerie knew too.

My phone buzzes. Kai. Again. I don’t answer. Can’t. If I hear her voice I’ll either scream or break down, and I don’t trust myself with either right now.

Two years. Was it all just her killing time until Marcus was ready?

I close my eyes. The ring box is still in my pocket. Still open. Diamond catching the streetlight through the window.

I don’t know who I am without her.

And I’m terrified to find out who I was with her.

KAI’S POV

It’s been two days since the prom incident.

Two days since Adrian drove off and took the light with him.

I’ve called him seventeen times. Counted. He hasn’t picked up once. Voicemail every time. His voice on the greeting sounds like a stranger now — steady, happy, from before he knew about Marcus.

I’ve gone to his house four times. Mrs. Chen lets me in every time, her eyes red and worried. “He won’t come down, Kai,” she whispers, like saying it quieter will make it less true. “He hasn’t eaten. Not since Saturday night.”

Ash tried yesterday. Leo the day before. Mike even brought Adrian’s favorite ramen. We’ve all stood at that door. Pounded. Begged.

Nothing.

No music. No footsteps. Just silence from the other side. The kind of silence that makes your chest tight.

I’m worried. What if he hurt himself? What if that look on his face — empty, broken — was him deciding he was done? The thought hits me and I have to grip the doorframe to stay standing.

I just want to know if he’s okay. That’s all. I don’t need answers. I don’t need him to talk about Valerie or Marcus or the ring. I just need to see him breathe.

Mrs. Chen wrings her hands in the hallway. “He was fine last week,” she says for the hundredth time. “Laughed at breakfast. Now… I don’t know my boy anymore.”

For the sixth time in two days, I’m standing outside his room. Same hallway. Same door. Same knot in my stomach.

I lift my hand. Knock. Soft at first. Then harder.

“Adrian… please open up. Let’s talk about this. Please.”

My voice cracks on the last word. I press my forehead against the cold wood.

“I know you’re in there. I can hear you breathing. I’m not leaving, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Not until I know you’re okay.”

Silence.

Then a sound. Faint. Like a chair scraping. Like someone shifting weight.

My heart jumps. “Adrian? I’m not mad. I’m not here to fix anything. I just… I can’t lose you too. Not like this.”

More silence. Longer this time.

I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, back against it.

“Remember when Edward drugged me?” My voice is barely a whisper, muffled by the wood between us. “He tried to force himself on me, but you saved me. I was so traumatized and I locked myself in here.”

I press my palm flat against the door, like I can reach him through it.

“You sat right here then too. Brought me soup I never ate. But you stayed. You didn’t leave, even when I told you to. I’ll stay now too, just like you did.”

A beat.

Then another.

The lock clicks.

The door opens a crack. Just enough for me to see his eyes.

Red. Hollow. Unshaven. Like he hasn’t slept since Saturday night. Like he’s been staring at the ceiling and counting every mistake he thinks he made.

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me.

And I stare back, holding my breath, afraid that if I breathe too loud he’ll change his mind and slam it shut again.

I slowly stand up. My legs are numb from sitting on the floor, but I don’t wobble. Not now.

He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps staring. Like he’s trying to figure out if I’m real or if he’s hallucinating from hunger and no sleep.

I step closer. One step. Then another. Until I’m right in front of him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t pull me in.

So I hug him. Tight. Arms around his shoulders, face pressed to his chest. He smells like old cologne and no sleep and grief.

“I’m so sorry for everything,” I whisper into his shirt. “You don’t deserve any of this. Not Valerie lying. Not Marcus. Not this.”

For a second he’s still. Rigid. Like he’s forgotten how to be touched without it hurting.

Then I feel it — his arms come up. Slow. Hesitant. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed.

One hand lands on my back. The other tangles in my hair.

He doesn’t cry. Doesn’t speak. He just holds on. Hard. Like I’m the only solid thing left in a world that tilted sideways.

His chest shakes once. Twice. He’s breathing, but it sounds like he’s been drowning for two days and I just pulled him up.

Mrs. Chen’s footsteps fade down the hall. The house goes quiet.

And I stay there. Arms locked around him. Because I remember what it felt like months ago when Edward did that to me — when I locked myself in my room and Adrian sat outside my door all night, talking to me through the wood until I stopped shaking.

This time it’s my turn to not leave.

“I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere… I promise.”

His grip tightens. Like he’s afraid if he lets go, the floor will fall out again. We stay like that for a long time. Long enough for my arms to ache. Long enough for his breathing to even out from drowning to just… hurt.

Before he slowly pulls away. Doesn’t look at me. Just steps back into the room and leaves the door open.

An invitation.

I follow him in.

The room is a mess. Curtains drawn, making everything gray. Clothes thrown on the chair, the floor. A half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand. The bed unmade, sheets twisted like he’s been fighting them for two days. It smells like stale air and grief.

I look around and sigh before turning toward him. He’s leaning against the reading table in his big, spacious room. Shoulders slumped. Eyes on the floor. Still hasn’t said a word.

“You need to shower,” I say, trying for a small smile. Trying to lighten the air without pretending nothing happened. “You stink.”

He huffs. Not a laugh, not yet. But the corner of his mouth twitches. He nods once, slow, and heads to the bathroom without a word. The door closes soft behind him.

The second I hear water start, I get to work.

I strip the sheets. Open the curtains. Let actual light in for the first time since Saturday. Fold his clothes. Pick up the textbooks he threw down after prom night. Wipe down the table. Make the bed fresh, pull the blanket smooth like I used to do for him when he’d pull all-nighters.

When the room stops looking like a place someone gave up in, I head downstairs.

Mrs. Chen is in the kitchen, wringing her hands around a dish towel. Her eyes light up when she sees me. “Is he—?”

“He’s showering,” I cut in gentle. “Can you make him something? Something light. Soup. Toast. Whatever he’ll actually eat.”

She nods fast, already moving. “Thank you, Kai. He listens to you.”

I don’t know if that’s true. But I know he opened the door for me.

I lean against the counter and listen to the water running upstairs. He’s alive. He’s showering. He let me in.

It’s not fixed. It’s not even close. But it’s a start.

The car ride is quiet. Not the heavy, suffocating kind like his mansion. Just… quiet.

I drive. Adrian sits in the passenger seat, staring out the window. He hasn’t said anything since “Can we go somewhere smaller.” He’s got his hoodie pulled up, elbows on his knees, forehead resting against the glass. Watching streets blur past like he’s trying to outrun his own thoughts.

Every red light, I sneak a glance at him. He looks tired. Not sleepy-tired. Soul-tired. Like two days in that big empty house aged him five years.

I turn the radio on low. No lyrics. Just soft instrumental. Something that fills the space without demanding anything from him. He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t turn it off.

TBC