After about an hour of playing with Lily and chatting, I excuse myself to use the bathroom.
"Down the hall, second door on the left," Cecil directs.
"Thanks."
I slip out of the living room and head down the hallway, taking care of business quickly.
On my way back, I hear voices—Dylan and Cecil talking quietly in what sounds like the kitchen.
I'm about to announce my presence when I hear my name.
I freeze.
"Are you sure she doesn't like you?" Dylan is asking. "Sarah, I mean. You seemed very friendly together."
There's a pause, then Cecil's amused voice. "I'm completely sure. We're just friends. Plus, Sarah swings the other way."
My heart stops.
Sarah swings the other way.
Sarah.
Likes.
Girls.
I press my back against the hallway wall, trying to process this information.
Sarah is into girls.
Sarah, my new roommate who I've been desperately trying not to develop feelings for, is into girls.
Sarah, who made me breakfast this morning and blushed when I accidentally hugged her, is into girls.
It's like the universe is actively trying to test my self-control.
Or help me.
I can't decide which.
"Naomi's been really good to her," Cecil continues. "I'm glad they're getting along so well."
"They do seem close already," Dylan observes. "Sarah looks more relaxed than when she first arrived."
"That's Naomi's gift. Making people feel safe and welcome."
I should move. Should go back to the living room before they realize I've been standing here eavesdropping.
But my feet won't cooperate.
Sarah likes girls.
The thought keeps circling in my mind like a mantra.
This doesn't change anything, I tell myself firmly. She still just escaped an abusive situation. She still needs a friend, not a roommate with a crush.
But the knowledge that it's even *possible* makes my heart race.
I force myself to move, heading back to the living room before someone comes looking for me.
When I enter, Keith is leaning forward slightly—moving carefully because apparently he still can't move normally—talking to Sarah.
"So would that be alright with you?" he's asking.
"Oh, that should be completely alright," Sarah says with a smile. "I'd be happy to."
"What should be alright?" I ask, settling back onto the couch.
Sarah turns to me. "Keith, Dylan, and Cecil need to take care of some matters and they asked if we could take care of Lily for a few days."
"Lily-sitting duty?" I look at the kitten, who's currently sprawled across Sarah's lap like she owns her. "Obviously yes. When?"
"Starting tonight, if that works," Cecil says. "We'll be gone for about three days. Is that okay?"
"More than okay," I say immediately. "I love Lily-sitting."
"Thank you," Cecil says, relief clear on his face. "I hate leaving her, but this gathering is important and I can't exactly bring a kitten to a formal celestial event."
"We'll take excellent care of her," Sarah promises. "I love cats."
"I know you will," Cecil says warmly.
We spend another hour with them, and Dylan insists on making us all dinner—something that smells amazing and tastes even better.
"You're an incredible cook," Sarah tells Dylan, and he looks pleased.
"Thank you. It's one of my favorite hobbies."
Keith makes a face. "Meanwhile I burn toast."
"You have other skills," Cecil says diplomatically.
"Name one," Keith challenges.
"You're very good at—" Cecil pauses, clearly trying to think of something that won't make him blush.
Dylan smirks. "Go on, baby. Tell him what he's good at."
Cecil's face goes red. "You're good at making people feel safe," he says firmly, ignoring Dylan's teasing. "And you're a great listener. And you give excellent hugs."
Keith's expression softens. "That's really sweet, beautiful."
"Also you're good at other things," Dylan adds with a meaningful look.
"Dylan," Cecil says warningly.
"What? I'm just saying—"
"Please stop saying."
Sarah and I exchange amused glances while the three of them bicker playfully.
It's sweet, watching them together. The easy affection, the teasing, the obvious love between all three of them.
After dinner, Cecil packs up Lily's things—her food, toys, bed, litter box supplies—and goes over all her care instructions in detail.
"She eats twice a day, morning and evening. She likes to play around 3 PM. She'll try to climb things she can't get down from, so keep an eye on her. She—"
"Cecil," I interrupt gently. "I've cat-sat Lily before. I know her routine."
"I know, I just—" Cecil looks at the kitten fondly. "I worry about her."
"We'll take excellent care of her," Sarah promises again. "I promise."
Cecil nods, visibly trying to relax. "Okay. Thank you. Both of you."
We gather up Lily and all her supplies and head back to my apartment.
Well. Our apartment now.
Sarah is carrying Lily, who's purring contentedly, while I manage the bag of supplies.
"She's so sweet," Sarah says, pressing a kiss to the top of Lily's head. "I can see why Cecil is so protective of her."
"She helped him through some really hard times," I say. "Having something to take care of, something that needed him—it made a difference."
"I can understand that," Sarah says quietly.
We get back to the apartment and set up Lily's things—her bed in the living room, her litter box in the bathroom, her food and water bowls in the kitchen.
Lily immediately starts exploring, sniffing everything, clearly trying to remember the space from her previous visits.
"I'm going to change into something more comfortable," Sarah says. "Oh, could you close the window in my room? It's starting to get cold and I left it open this morning."
"Sure, no problem."
She heads to the bathroom and I head to her room.
I've only been in here once—last night during the tour—and I'm curious what it looks like after a full day of her living here.
I open the door and stop dead.
The room has been completely transformed.
Yesterday it was bare—just furniture and empty walls, generic and impersonal.
Now there's a huge bookshelf against one wall, absolutely packed with books. The spines are mostly dark—blacks, deep reds, navy blues—and I can see titles that confirm she wasn't kidding about the dark romance thing.
Haunting Adeline. Butcher & Blackbird. Den of Vipers.
The furniture has been rearranged. The light pink curtains that came with the room have been replaced with simple black ones.
The bed has white covers with black lettering—I can make out part of a quote now: "She was chaos and beauty intertwined. A tornado of roses from divine."
There are plants on the windowsill and the desk—small succulents and a trailing pothos that adds life to the darker aesthetic.
It's completely different from the girly, pastel aesthetic the room had before.
It's darker, more sophisticated, more her.
The real her, not the sweet innocent face she shows the world.
And then I notice the glasses.
Simple black frames sitting on the nightstand beside a bookmark and what looks like the book she's currently reading.
Sarah wears glasses.
I didn't know that.
She must wear contacts most of the time.
But the image of her reading in bed with those glasses on, curled up under those covers, surrounded by her dark romance books—
My brain immediately starts creating scenarios that definitely do not fit into the "just friends" category.
Sarah reading late at night, glasses sliding down her nose, getting to one of those scenes in her dark romance books—
The possessive hero backing the heroine against a wall.
The claiming. The intensity. The—
No.
Nope.
Not going there.
I quickly close the window and get out of the room before my imagination can run any more wild.
Back in the living room, I take several deep breaths.
Get it together, Naomi.
She needs a friend.
Just a friend.
Even if she does like girls.
Even if there's technically a possibility.
Even if the thought of her reading in bed with glasses on is the most attractive thing I've ever imagined.
Stop it.
I should change into my own pajamas. Create some distance. Give my brain time to calm down.
I head to my room and close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
I can handle a crush. I've had crushes before.
I just need to be cool about it and—
There's something on my nightstand.
A piece of paper that wasn't there this morning.
I move closer and pick it up.
Thank you for letting me stay.
The handwriting is elegant, slanted slightly, done in black ink.
And beside it, drawn with surprising skill, is a black rose.
Not a red rose. Not a pink rose.
A black rose.
Dark and beautiful and unexpected.
Just like the transformation of her room.
Just like her, I'm realizing.
Sarah has been hiding her true character.
Of course she has. When you grow up in an abusive household, you learn to make yourself small. Palatable. Unthreatening.
You hide the dark parts, the intense parts, the parts that might provoke anger or violence.
But this—the black rose, the transformed room, the dark romance books—this is who she really is.
Someone darker. More complex. More interesting than the sweet, innocent face she shows the world.
And I want to know that person.
Want to see all the parts of her she's been hiding.
I sit on my bed, still holding the note, and another thought hits me.
The dark romance books she reads.
The ones with possessive heroes and intense relationships.
The ones where the hero claims the heroine, protects her, owns her in every sense of the word.
What if Sarah doesn't imagine herself as the heroine in those stories?
What if she imagines herself as the hero?
The thought sends heat flooding through me.
Sarah as the possessive one. The intense one. The one doing the claiming instead of being claimed.
Oh god.
I press the note against my chest, my heart racing.
That's—
That's incredibly attractive.
The idea of Sarah with that kind of intensity, that kind of possessiveness, directed at someone she cares about.
Directed at me.
Stop it, brain. Stop it right now.
But I can't stop thinking about it.
Can't stop imagining what it would be like if Sarah let that hidden side of herself show.
If she stopped hiding behind the sweet, innocent facade and let herself be dark and intense and possessive.
I'm in so much trouble.
So. Much. Trouble.
I change into my pajamas on autopilot, my mind still spinning.
I need to calm down. Need to get my thoughts under control before I go back out there and do something stupid like stare at her too obviously.
I take several deep breaths, carefully fold the note and set it in my nightstand drawer—I'm definitely keeping that—and head back to the living room.
Sarah is already there, settled on the couch.
She's changed into comfortable clothes—soft-looking pajama pants and an oversized sweater that makes her look cozy and cute.
And she's wearing the glasses.
The black frames that I just saw on her nightstand.
Of course she is.
Of course the universe decided to test me like this.
"Thanks for closing the window," she says, looking up at me with a soft smile.
"No problem. And thanks for the note. That was really sweet."
Her cheeks flush slightly. "I just—I wanted you to know I appreciate everything."
"The rose was a nice touch," I add, settling on the other end of the couch.
Her flush deepens. "I like drawing. It helps me relax."
"You're really good."
"Thank you."
She picks up a book from the coffee table—must have brought it out earlier—and Lily immediately hops up to join her.
Sarah absently starts scratching Lily behind the ears while opening her book with her other hand.
The picture they make is almost unfairly adorable.
Beautiful girl with glasses, cute kitten, cozy evening atmosphere.
And I know now that underneath that soft exterior is someone darker, more complex, more intense.
Someone who draws black roses and reads dark romance and hides her true self to stay safe.
I'm in so much trouble.
I try to focus on my phone, scrolling through social media mindlessly, but I keep glancing over at her.
She's completely absorbed in her book, occasionally smiling or making small expressions as she reads.
The glasses keep sliding down her nose slightly and she pushes them back up with one finger.
Lily is purring loudly, clearly in heaven with the ear scratches.
And I'm sitting here trying to figure out how I'm supposed to hide my feelings when she looks like that.
When I know what I know now.
When my brain keeps creating scenarios of what it would be like if she stopped hiding.
How long am I supposed to wait before I can tell her how I feel?
Do I even have to wait?
No. Yes. Obviously yes.
She just escaped her father. She's building a new life. She needs stability and friendship.
Not her roommate confessing feelings and potentially making everything awkward.
But the knowledge that she likes girls—that there's even a possibility she might feel the same way someday—makes it so much harder to keep quiet.
And now, knowing that underneath that sweet exterior is someone darker and more intense?
Someone who might want the same kind of possessive, claiming relationship she reads about in her books?
Someone who might not want to be claimed but to do the claiming?
I force myself to look back at my phone before my thoughts can spiral any further.
This is going to be the longest three days of my life.
But maybe—just maybe—these three days will give me a chance to see more of the real Sarah.
The one who draws black roses and reads dark romance and hides her intensity behind a sweet smile.
And maybe, eventually, I'll find the courage to show her that I want to see all of her.
Every dark, intense, complex part.
Because that's the person I'm falling for.
Not the facade. Not the mask she wears to stay safe.
The real Sarah.
Whoever she is beneath all the hiding.
I just have to be patient.
And hope that when she's ready to stop hiding, I'm the one she trusts enough to show the truth to.