Roommate Roulette: Chapter 2

The scent of honeysuckle and amber grows stronger in the cramped dorm room, like incense slowly unfurling its tendrils despite the open window. Sebastian's nostrils flare as he catches another wave of Lyric's pheromones as she backs toward the bathroom door, her suppressants clearly failing, his pupils dilating until the stormy gray of his irises is nearly swallowed by black. His jaw locks, tendons standing out along his neck as he pretends to organize his textbooks—a task he's been attempting for the past twenty minutes without making any progress.

Down the hall, Lyric locks the bathroom door behind her with trembling fingers, pressing her back against it. She slides down until she's sitting on the cold tile, knees pulled to her chest. The mirror shows her flushed face, copper-red wisps escaping her braid, stuck to her damp neck. Part of her wants to fling the door open and let nature take its course; the other part—the part that came to college with dreams beyond being claimed—digs her nails into her palms until it hurts. The suppressants are fighting a losing battle against her biology, especially in the presence of an Alpha whose scent makes her womb clench with primal recognition.

"So," Riley chirps from her perch on the windowsill, where she's misting her collection of plants with deliberate nonchalance, "is anyone going to acknowledge the pheromone elephant in the room, or should I just keep pretending I don't notice you two circling each other like wolves in heat?"

Sebastian's textbook slams shut with enough force to make both women jump. "I'm going to get coffee," he growls, the words scraping from his throat like they've been dragged across gravel. He strides toward the door, the muscles in his back visibly rigid beneath his thin t-shirt.

"Don't forget your keys," Riley calls after him, tossing the small metal ring with practiced aim. Sebastian snatches them from the air without turning, his reflexes betraying his heightened state.

The moment the door closes behind him, Lyric emerges from the bathroom, her legs unsteady beneath her as she crosses the threshold. She collapses onto her bed, the mattress springs creaking under her sudden weight as she exhales a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The room feels both emptier and more breathable with Sebastian's overwhelming presence gone, though his scent lingers—pine and midnight and something dangerously electric.

"You okay there, Copper Top?" Riley asks, setting down her plant mister to study Lyric with genuine concern. "You look like you're about to either spontaneously combust or melt into a puddle."

"I'm fine," Lyric lies, Pressing her thighs together as a warm slickness spreads between them, her body's traitorous response making her shift uncomfortably against the mattress. Her heat isn't due for another week, but Sebastian's presence is burning through her suppressants like wildfire through dry brush, each molecule of his scent neutralizing the chemicals meant to protect her. "The suppressants just need time to kick in properly," she lies, knowing they're already failing, already overwhelmed by his proximity.

Riley snorts, hopping down from the windowsill to help Lyric unpack. "Honey, no suppressant on the market is going to dampen what's happening between you two. That's some serious fated mate energy you're putting out."

Lyric's hands fly to her face, palms pressed tight over her eyes, fighting the urge to scream into the mattress. Her fear isn't just the animal edge of heat or the way Sebastian's presence tunnels through her every defense; it's the way everyone—her mother, her childhood friends, every teacher who looked at her too long—has always assumed she'd end up: claimed, collared, and erased into someone else's story. She doesn't want to admit it to Riley, or even herself, but the thought of being lost terrifies her more than any hormone surge ever could.

"Don't say that," she blurts out, the words trembling at the edges, raw with an emotion she can't quite name. Her eyes are wide and wet, the gold flecks in her irises almost fever-bright. "I'm not ready for that. I can't be." She struggles to find more words, but they burn on her tongue. "Do you have any idea what happens to Omegas who get claimed in college? They drop out. They disappear into some Alpha's life and never finish their degree." Her voice cracks, the last word spat like a challenge or perhaps a prayer.

She thinks of the stories in the group chats and the cautionary tales whispered in Omega support groups: bright, ambitious girls who show up at freshman orientation, only to vanish midway through the first semester. Some reappear years later, glazed-eyed and pliant, their academic dreams replaced by a different kind of purpose. Most don’t come back at all. Lyric's mother warned her every summer—never trust an Alpha in a confined space, never fall asleep with the door unlocked, never believe that your bond is stronger than your ambition. But no warning or suppressant regimen could have prepared her for the reality of it, the way Sebastian's scent and his deep, haunted eyes make her want things she's spent her entire life denying.

She feels the urge to run—out of the room, out of the city, out of her own skin—but that's not how fate works. The harder she pulls away, the more the universe knots things together. The pressure of the heat cycle, already simmering, spikes again, sharp and merciless, and she wonders if the biology professors who wrote all those textbooks ever factored in the emotional calculus of wanting something you fear.

Riley catches the shift in the air. She sits on the edge of Lyric's bed, careful not to crowd her. "Hey," she says quietly, reaching out but stopping just shy of touching Lyric's shoulder. "You're not going anywhere. Not unless you want to. And if you ever do, I'll help you pack the bug-out bag myself. We'll dye your hair and get you a fake ID and everything." The joke is feeble, but it's enough to draw a jagged laugh from Lyric, who wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"It's not funny," Lyric says, but her voice is softer now, the panic diluted by Riley's steady presence. "I don't want to be a cautionary tale."

"You won't be," Riley says, and this time her confidence is real. "You're too stubborn for that. Besides, Sebastian looks like he might burst a blood vessel just thinking about holding your hand, let alone claiming you."

Lyric lets herself smile—just a little. It's the first time she's felt the tension in her chest release since this all started. She thinks of Sebastian, how he carries himself with so much restraint that it almost hurts to watch. He hasn't made a move or even said anything overt, but his restraint is its own kind of seduction, and she hates how much she notices.

She rolls onto her side, facing Riley. "He's fighting it, too, you know. Maybe more than I am."

"Of course he is," Riley replies. "Alphas like him practically invented self-denial. It's half their personality. The other half is brooding." She tosses a pillow at Lyric, who catches it reflexively, laughter bubbling up despite herself.

They fall into companionable silence, broken only by the distant thud of someone playing music three floors down and the soft, syncopated heartbeat in Lyric’s ears. The room is a strange haven—equal parts sanctuary and crucible—where nothing is decided and everything feels possible. Lyric wonders if it's enough to simply exist in this moment, not claimed or conquered, just a girl on her bed with her best friend and a future that, for the first time in weeks, seems less like a cage and more like an open door.