The Roommates: Part 2

Time slipped by in unspoken glances and stolen rituals, the kind of moments that threaded themselves into muscle memory without either of them realizing. One semester vanished like mist at dawn, gone before they could name it, yet lingering in the fibers of everything they touched. It had started with shared space, shared schedules, shared silences after class. But somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about the room. Or the textbooks. Or the convenience of two people coexisting.

It was about each other now.

And they both knew it. Knew it like you know when the rain is about to fall, quiet, inevitable, heavy. They never said a word, but the truth clung to them in every charged pause, every glance that held just a fraction too long. It hummed between them, low and dangerous, like something alive.

Jonas had memorized Rafael without trying. The way he tied his towel low and loose on his hips after a shower, water still dripping down his spine. The crease in his brow when he read too long, like the words whispered secrets meant only for him. The soft, involuntary groan when he stretched in the morning, that sound haunted Jonas, nested somewhere in the back of his skull, playing on loop. He didn’t just notice Rafael anymore. He anticipated him. Could tell by the rhythm of footsteps in the hallway what kind of day it had been, whether Rafael would come in tired and quiet or charged and talkative.

And Rafael? He wasn’t any better.

He could smell Jonas before he stepped inside, warm cologne, laundry detergent, the faintest trace of sleep. He noticed the shift in scent when Jonas swapped colognes, noticed the temperature of the room change when Jonas peeled off his shirt, even if Rafael’s back was turned. He’d wait until Jonas left for class, then find a hoodie discarded in the hamper. Pressed it to his face like it was sacred. Breathed in so deep it hurt his chest.

It was an obsession. Delicious. Addictive. A kind of madness that felt too precise to be accidental.

Rafael had an old shirt of Jonas’s, soft and worn, the one Jonas always wore when storms rolled in, the fabric stretched and the logo faded almost to nothing. Rafael had claimed it quietly, told himself Jonas wouldn’t miss it. He wore it to sleep sometimes, pretending it was for comfort, not because it smelled like a night that never quite happened.

And Jonas? He’d tucked a pair of Rafael’s briefs into his pillowcase one afternoon, claiming it was a mix-up in the laundry. That lie held even less weight than the fabric itself, but neither of them called it out.

They sat across from each other every night, books opened, laptops humming, the ritual of studying. But it wasn’t about the pages. It was about pretending. Pretending not to notice the way Jonas’s knee would graze Rafael’s under the desk. Pretending Rafael didn’t glance up every few seconds to catch a profile that had long since become more familiar than his own. Pretending the breathless pauses, the swallowed sighs, the flushing cheeks were just coincidence.

They were obsessed.

Madly. Quietly. Dangerously.

But the line between them remained untouched. Sacred. Not out of disinterest, but because crossing it meant risking the one thing they couldn’t bear to lose.

Not yet.

The dorm felt colder this time. Jonas stood at the doorway, suitcase in hand, the creak of the hinges slicing through silence like a memory. Everything looked the same, same beds, same curtains, same clutter, but nothing felt the same. It had been only three weeks since they said goodbye for the break, but Jonas swore it aged him. Silence had never felt this loud. Absence had never felt this present.

He glanced around. No sign of Rafael.

He set his bag down by the foot of his bed, exhaled through his nose, a small, controlled breath, the kind you take when you’re trying not to say something you shouldn’t. He wouldn’t admit it. Not aloud. Maybe not even to himself. But he missed him.

God, he missed him.

Not just Rafael’s voice or the way he made a mess of his side of the room. It was the smaller things, the curl of his hair at the nape of his neck when it was damp. The half-folded shirts he never bothered to put away. The way he sighed in his sleep like he was dreaming of something just out of reach. Jonas had cataloged those details like a prayer. Like a map back to something that didn’t technically exist.

He unpacked slowly, carefully, trying not to check the door every two minutes. Trying not to imagine the sound of footsteps. The turn of a knob.

But then, it happened.

That sound. That quiet metallic click of the door handle turning. The soft thud of a bag brushing the frame.

Jonas froze.

Rafael stepped in, dragging his duffel behind him, his hair a little longer, sun catching on his skin, a new tan blooming across his collarbone. He looked... different. Like time had passed and taken its toll in subtle ways. He looked up.

Their eyes met.

Just a moment. A breath.

"Hey," Rafael said, the voice was lower than usual.

Jonas nodded, masking everything with casual ease. "Hey."

The silence that followed stretched and stretched, not awkward, but taut. Like a thread pulled just shy of breaking, humming under the strain.

Rafael tossed his bag onto the bed, moving around the room with a false ease, like he hadn’t spent every night replaying this exact return. He didn’t say it, but Jonas could feel it: the ache, the hunger, the magnetic pull between them that hadn’t dulled one bit.

Jonas turned toward his drawers, hiding the small, traitorous smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"I, uh... grabbed coffee on the way back. Want anything later?" Rafael asked, casual, like he hadn’t just walked into the only place he still felt real.

"I'm good," Jonas replied, pretending he hadn’t just inhaled the scent that clung to Rafael like a second skin.

It was always like this. A quiet war. A careful hunger. Like trying to hold fire without burning.

The ache hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown sharper, more patient.

But still, they kept their distance. Told themselves nothing had changed. Nothing had happened. Even though both of them carried the other's absence like a bruise, tender, undeniable.

A new semester began.

A new dance unfolded.

The thread between them just got tighter.

And it wouldn’t hold forever.