I stare at my ceiling, unable to sleep despite how late it is.
The girls' night was amazing. Sarah is amazing.
And that's the problem.
I roll over, punching my pillow in frustration.
I wasn't supposed to develop feelings for my new roommate on the first night.
That wasn't part of the plan.
The plan was: help Cecil's friend escape an abusive situation, be a good roommate, maybe develop a nice friendship over time.
Not this.
Not lying awake thinking about the way Sarah's face lit up when we talked about books.
Not replaying the sound of her laugh over and over in my mind.
Not remembering how she looked sitting on the couch with that face mask on, so relaxed and comfortable and beautiful.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and check the time.
2:47 AM.
Great.
I should be asleep. I have things to do tomorrow. Normal roommate things. Friendly things.
Not lying here obsessing over my new roommate who I've known for less than twelve hours.
I set my phone down and try closing my eyes again.
But my brain won't shut up.
She has such an innocent face. Sweet. Gentle. Like someone who probably reads wholesome contemporary romance or maybe historical fiction.
And then she casually mentioned she reads dark romance.
The spicy kind.
With possessive heroes and morally gray characters and all the intensity that comes with that genre.
The contrast is fascinating.
It's like finding out that the sweet girl next door has a secret wild side.
And god, that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.
I sit up, giving up on sleep entirely, and reach for my bookshelf.
I have a few dark romance novels tucked away—guilty pleasures I don't usually admit to reading. Laura used to tease me about them mercilessly.
But if Sarah likes them, maybe I should refresh my memory on what exactly these books contain.
I pull one out at random—something with a dark cover and an ambiguous title—and settle back against my pillows.
The story starts innocently enough—a meet-cute between the heroine and the hero who's clearly trouble but in that compelling way.
Some tension, some banter, the building attraction that you know is going to explode eventually.
I'm a few chapters in when I hit *that* scene.
The one where the hero finally snaps after watching the heroine talk to another man.
The one where all that possessive intensity comes pouring out.
The one where he backs her against a wall and tells her exactly who she belongs to before claiming her thoroughly.
I should be focused on the words on the page.
Should be following the story, enjoying the tension and release.
Instead, my mind wanders.
Does Sarah read scenes like this?
Of course she does. She said she loves these books. This is probably exactly the kind of thing she reads.
But what does she look like when she reads them?
Does she blush? Does her breathing pick up? Does she bite her lip when things get particularly intense?
Does she read them late at night like I'm doing now, unable to sleep, getting invested in fictional relationships while thinking about—
I slam the book shut.
This is not helping.
Not helping at all.
If anything, I'm now more awake and more distracted than before.
I'm supposed to be making her feel comfortable and safe, not developing a massive crush on her and imagining what she looks like when she reads steamy romance scenes.
Get it together, Naomi.
She just escaped an abusive situation. She needs stability and friendship and a safe place to figure out her life.
Not her roommate mooning over her and making things weird.
I set the book aside—carefully, like it might explode—and lie back down, determined to sleep.
But my mind keeps drifting back to her.
The way she smiled when I said she wasn't too much.
That genuine, relieved smile like she'd been expecting me to find her annoying or difficult.
The way she got so animated talking about books, her hands moving expressively, her eyes bright.
The way she looked at me sometimes during our conversation, like maybe she was feeling something too—
No.
I'm imagining things.
I'm projecting.
She's just being friendly because I'm being friendly and she's probably relieved to be in a safe space.
That's all.
And I need to be a good friend in return.
That's my goal. Make her comfortable. Make her feel safe. Be the kind of friend she needs right now.
Be supportive and welcoming and absolutely not obviously crushing on her.
Nothing more.
Even if I want it to be more.
Even if I'm already falling for her after one night of face masks and pizza and book discussions.
I close my eyes and force myself to breathe deeply.
In for four, hold for four, out for four.
Tomorrow. I'll be normal tomorrow.
Friendly. Supportive. Not at all obvious about my feelings.
I can do this.
I've hidden feelings before. I can do it again.
Eventually, after what feels like hours of determined deep breathing and mental pep talks, exhaustion wins and I drift off to sleep.
---
The Next Morning
I'm having the best dream.
Something warm and soft pressing against me. Safe. Comfortable. Perfect.
Then someone is shaking me gently.
"Naomi? Are you awake?"
Sarah's voice, tentative and sweet.
I make a grumbling sound that might be words but probably isn't.
"Naomi, it's almost ten. I made breakfast but I wasn't sure if you were a morning person or if I should let you sleep or—"
She's rambling slightly, nervous.
Without thinking, still half-asleep and operating on pure instinct, I reach out and wrap my arms around whoever is closest.
Warm. Soft. Smells good.
They make a surprised squeaking sound that's adorable.
"Good morning," I mumble against what I think is a shoulder, pulling them closer.
There's a moment of frozen silence.
Then Sarah's voice, higher than normal and slightly breathless: "Um. Good morning."
Oh.
Oh no.
I'm hugging Sarah.
I crack one eye open and confirm: yes, I am definitely hugging Sarah, who is perched awkwardly on the edge of my bed, stiff as a board, her face bright red.
I should let go.
I should definitely let go right now.
But she's so warm and she smells like vanilla and something floral and she's soft and—
Stop it, brain.
"Breakfast is ready," Sarah manages, her voice strangled. "I made—um. Food. There's food."
Right. Breakfast. She made breakfast.
That's really sweet actually.
I reluctantly—very reluctantly—release her.
She practically leaps off the bed like it's on fire, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to put distance between us.
"I'll just—I'll be in the kitchen," she says quickly, backing toward the door without looking at me. "Take your time. No rush. Whenever you're ready."
She's trying very hard not to look at me, her face still flushed, and then she's gone.
The door closes and I flop back on my bed and groan into my pillow.
Smooth, Naomi. Real smooth.
Hugging your new roommate who you're definitely not supposed to have feelings for first thing in the morning.
Pulling her close like you have every right to.
Making her so flustered she literally ran away.
Great job.
A+ roommate behavior.
I drag myself out of bed and pull on a hoodie over my pajama tank top.
My phone is on the nightstand and I grab it, needing a distraction from my embarrassment.
I quickly type out a message to Cecil.
"Can I come over later to play with Lily? And bring Sarah?"
His response comes almost immediately.
"Of course! Keith can barely walk so we're not going anywhere. Come whenever."
I stare at that message for a long moment.
Keith can barely walk.
I don't want to know.
Actually, I can guess based on the fact that Cecil, Keith, and Dylan are all together and very much in love.
Good for them.
"Perfect. See you later!"
I put my phone in my hoodie pocket and take a deep breath.
Normal. Friendly. Not weird about the hug.
I can do this.
I head to the kitchen and stop in the doorway.
Sarah has made a full breakfast spread—scrambled eggs that look fluffy and perfect, toast with butter and jam, fresh fruit arranged nicely on a plate, and coffee that smells amazing.
It looks like something from a restaurant.
It smells incredible.
"You made all this?" I ask, genuinely amazed.
Sarah looks up from where she's been rearranging the fruit plate—probably trying to keep her hands busy—and her face is still slightly pink.
"I hope that's okay. I couldn't sleep much and I cook when I'm nervous and I wasn't sure what you liked so I made a little of everything and I know it's probably too much but—"
"Sarah," I interrupt gently, moving into the kitchen. "This is amazing. Thank you."
She relaxes slightly, a small smile appearing. "You're welcome. I just—I wanted to do something nice. Since you're letting me stay here and everything."
"You don't have to thank me with elaborate breakfasts," I say, though I'm definitely not complaining. "But I'm not going to say no to this because it looks incredible."
I sit down and take a bite of the eggs.
Oh my god.
They're perfectly seasoned, fluffy, with just the right amount of butter.
"These are incredible," I say, completely sincere. "Like, restaurant quality. Where did you learn to cook like this?"
"My mom taught me. Before she left." Sarah's expression dims slightly, her smile fading. "Cooking was one of the things we did together. One of the few good memories I have from before everything went wrong."
My chest tightens at the sadness in her voice.
"Well, she taught you well," I say firmly. "Seriously, this is the best breakfast I've had in forever. Maybe ever."
The compliment brings the smile back to her face—smaller this time, but genuine—and I feel absurdly proud of putting it there.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
I keep sneaking glances at her while she's focused on her food.
She's wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup.
And she's still beautiful.
Stop it, I tell myself. Stop staring. Eat your amazing breakfast and be normal.
"So," I say eventually, needing to fill the silence before I do something stupid like stare at her for too long. "I texted Cecil. We can go see him and Lily later if you want."
Sarah's eyes light up immediately. "Really? That would be great. I'd love to see Lily. And I should probably thank Cecil again for everything he did."
"He'll probably tell you to stop thanking him," I say, amused because I know Cecil. "But yeah, we can head over this afternoon."
"Perfect." Sarah pauses, then adds quietly, "It'll be nice to see a familiar face. Everything still feels so surreal, you know? Like I'm going to wake up and be back at my father's house."
"You're not," I say firmly. "You're safe here. This is real. And you're not going back."
She meets my eyes, and there's something vulnerable in her expression. "Thank you. For making me feel welcome. For—everything."
"You don't have to thank me for basic human decency," I say. "But you're welcome."
We finish breakfast and clean up together, falling into an easy rhythm.
Sarah washes, I dry.
She knows where things go now after last night's tour, and we work in comfortable silence punctuated by occasional comments about nothing in particular.
It's nice. Domestic. Easy.
Dangerously easy to imagine this being a regular thing.
Stop it, brain.
"I'm going to get dressed," I say once everything is put away. "Then we can head to Cecil's whenever you're ready."
"Okay. I should probably change too. These are just my pajamas basically."
She heads to her room and I head to mine.
I lean against my closed door and take a deep breath.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Being just friends when all I want is to pull her close and kiss her and—
No.
Focus.
She needs a friend right now. A safe space. Stability.
Not a roommate who can't control her feelings.
I can be that for her.
I will be that for her.
Even if it kills me.
I get dressed quickly—jeans and a comfortable sweater—and braid my hair to keep it out of my face.
When I emerge, Sarah is waiting in the living room.
She's changed into a soft blue sweater that brings out her eyes and makes her look even prettier somehow, and her hair is loose around her shoulders.
She's beautiful.
I'm staring again.
Stop staring.
"Ready?" I ask, forcing my voice to stay normal and casual.
"Ready," she confirms, grabbing her jacket.
We head out of the apartment and toward Cecil's place.
It's a nice day—cool but sunny—and Sarah seems more relaxed than yesterday.
"Thanks again for letting me come with you," she says as we walk. "I know you probably wanted to just visit your friend without dragging your new roommate along."
"I invited you," I point out. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to come."
"Still. I appreciate it."
We fall into comfortable conversation as we walk—talking about nothing important, just getting to know each other better.
She tells me about her favorite coffee shop near campus.
I tell her about the best places to get food late at night.
She mentions she's never been to the botanical gardens downtown.
I immediately insist we have to go together sometime.
It's easy. Natural.
And I'm definitely falling harder with every smile she gives me.
We reach Cecil's apartment building and I lead the way to his floor.
"Have you been here before?" Sarah asks.
"A few times. Lily is the most adorable kitten in existence and I try to visit as often as Cecil will let me."
I knock on the door and wait.
Footsteps approach, and then the door swings open.
Dylan stands there, looking relaxed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair slightly messy.
"Naomi!" he says warmly. "Come in. And you must be Sarah."
"Hi," Sarah says, suddenly shy. "Thank you for having us."
"Of course. Cecil's been looking forward to seeing you both." Dylan steps aside to let us in, then gives me a knowing look. "Fair warning—Keith is moving very slowly today."
I bite back a smile. "I got Cecil's text. Rough night?"
Dylan's smirk is answer enough.
We step inside and I immediately hear Lily meowing from somewhere in the apartment.
"She knows you're here," Dylan says, amused. "She always knows."
Sure enough, Lily comes trotting out from the living room, meowing loudly.
I scoop her up immediately. "Hi, baby! I missed you!"
Lily purrs so loudly it's almost comical, headbutting my chin.
Sarah makes a soft sound. "Oh my god, she's adorable."
"Want to hold her?" I offer.
"Can I?"
I carefully transfer Lily to Sarah's arms, and Lily—who can be picky about strangers—immediately settles in and starts purring.
"She likes you," Dylan observes. "That's a good sign."
Cecil appears from down the hallway, smiling when he sees us.
"Sarah! Naomi! I'm glad you came."
"Thanks for having us," Sarah says, still cradling Lily carefully. "And thank you again for everything yesterday. I don't know how I'll ever—"
"You don't have to thank me," Cecil interrupts gently, exactly like I predicted. "I'm just glad you're safe."
Keith emerges from the same hallway, moving noticeably carefully, and I have to work very hard not to laugh.
"Hi, Naomi. Hi, Sarah," he says, settling very gingerly onto the couch.
"Rough night?" I ask innocently.
Keith's face goes red. "Shut up."
Dylan just smiles, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Cecil rolls his eyes fondly at both of them. "Ignore them. They're ridiculous."
"But you love us anyway," Keith points out.
"Unfortunately," Cecil says, but he's smiling.
Sarah is watching their interaction with a mix of amusement and something that looks like longing.
Probably missing what it's like to have people who love you without conditions.
I make a mental note to make sure she knows she has that now too.
"Coffee?" Dylan offers. "Tea? I just made a fresh pot."
"Coffee would be great," I say.
"Same," Sarah adds.
We settle in the living room—Sarah and I on one couch with Lily between us, Cecil and Keith on the other couch, Dylan in the armchair.
The conversation flows easily—catching up on the past few days, telling Sarah funny stories about Lily's antics, Cecil asking how Sarah's first night went.
"It was really nice," Sarah says, glancing at me with a soft smile. "Naomi made me feel very welcome."
"Good," Cecil says warmly. "I'm glad."
I notice Dylan watching us with an appraising look, like he's figuring something out.
Great.
He's perceptive. Of course he'd notice.
"So Sarah," Dylan says casually. "What are you studying?"
"Law. Same as Cecil."
"That's how we met," Cecil explains. "She had a panic attack during an exam and I helped her through it."
"And then he saved my life by helping me escape my father," Sarah adds quietly.
Keith's expression turns fierce. "You don't have to go back there. Ever. If your father tries anything, you let us know."
"All of us," I add firmly. "You're not alone anymore."
Sarah's eyes get suspiciously bright. "Thank you. All of you."
Lily chooses that moment to climb into Sarah's lap and start kneading, clearly sensing she needs comfort.
"Lily's good at that," Cecil says softly. "Knowing when people need extra affection."
We spend the next hour just talking and playing with Lily, and I watch Sarah gradually relax.
She's smiling more, laughing at Keith's terrible jokes, asking Dylan about his plants, bonding with Cecil over law school horror stories.
And every time she looks at me, my heart does that stupid flip.
I'm in trouble.
So much trouble.
But watching her finally look happy and safe?
Worth it.