Too Close For Comfort

I’m watching a N*****x series, but it’s impossible to concentrate. My roommate and his friends are out in the living room, talking loudly about sex. The kind of talk no one should ever have to hear, especially not this close to their bedroom.

“God, I’m so horny right now. I need a blow job,” says Carter, one of Fox’s friends. They all burst out laughing.

Their voices are obnoxiously loud, and I can’t block out the vulgarity, no matter how hard I try. I glance at the clock on my laptop. It’s after 8 p.m. Didn’t Fox say he was throwing a party? Sounds like it’s already started, just with a smaller crowd.

“Unlike us, Fox is always getting his dick wrapped in different lips. Fuck, I’m jealous,” Carter says again, and another round of laughter follows.

I’ve had enough. I want to leave, but where would I even go? The only people I’ve connected with so far are Landon, Nat, and Leanne, and I don’t know where any of them live. Besides, I’m not much for going out. My room is my safe space, and I’ve always preferred my own company over the chaos of a party.

“What makes you think I’ve fucked anyone recently?” Fox finally speaks.

“Oh, come on. You were with Nicki this morning before class. Everyone knows you’re a slut, Fox,” Blaze chimes in.

At least Fox hasn’t brought anyone home yet. His room is right across from mine, and if he ever does, I’ll hear everything.

“Did you bring her here? Nicki?” Carter asks.

“Hell no,” Fox replies. “I’ve got this annoying weirdo as a roommate. I don’t think I can bring anyone over anymore.”

“Wait, you’ve got a roommate?” Blaze asks, his voice tinged with a faint British accent.

“Yeah. Freshman. Idiot,” Fox says, and I angrily shut my laptop. Does he realize I can hear every word?

“Why would you get a freshman roommate? And from what you’ve said, he must be a total wimp,” Carter says.

Carter whines like he’s been slapped. “What? I’m just saying, he’s probably a child.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Blaze says.

“Mr. William brought him in yesterday,” Fox continues. “I didn’t have a choice. The rent’s paid, so now I’m stuck with him. You probably saw him earlier today. He’s that blonde kid who sat with that dark girl and that faggot.”

“Landon?” Blaze asks.

“Yeah.”

“So what, your roommate’s a faggot too?” Carter asks.

I clench my phone, trying to ignore them. I should just go to the library or find anywhere else to study.

“I don’t know, man, and I don’t care,” Fox says, his voice dropping slightly. “That Landon kid’s too much, always flaunting his gay shit. It’s disgusting.”

“Why do you care what your roommate thinks anyway?” Carter pushes.

“I don’t give a fuck what he thinks,” Fox snaps. “What’s wrong with you, Carter?”

“Calm down, I’m just saying—”

“Shut up, Carter,” Blaze interrupts. “It’s called decency.”

Carter snorts. “Fox doesn’t even have that,” Carter jokes and the group laughs like idiots.

I’m tired of listening to them, but I can’t help noticing something—Fox didn’t say anything about me being gay. For that, at least, I’m grateful.

“What’s up with the party tonight?” Carter slurs. “Aren’t you getting ready?”

Fox groans. “Tell me you didn’t invite people.”

“Just a few hot sorority girls. You know, a party without girls is like—”

“Shut up, Carter,” Blaze says. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Carter, I told you this party is just for the soccer team and maybe their girlfriends,” Fox sounds stressed.

“You bringing your girlfriend?” Blaze asks.

Fox snorts. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Stacey and I are just hooking up.”

I zone out their conversation and check my phone. A message from Leanne pops up.

LEANNE: you up for some studying tonight?

Thank God. An excuse to leave this apartment.

ME: what kind of studying?

LEANNE: the kind where people read books. I’m not taking you to an orgy, i promise. It’s a literature club. you’ll love it.

Finally, a way out. I reply:

ME: sure. what time?

LEANNE: I’m on my way to your apartment right now. So get your ass out of bed.

ME: you don’t even know where i live.

LEANNE: true. Text me your address and ill pick you up, asap. I’m on my way now. Get your ass out of bed. Ps, i don’t own a car, so we are walking.

I chuckle and get dressed quickly—a blue sweatshirt and dark jeans. I fix my hair and adjust my glasses before grabbing my backpack and heading out of my room. Time to face Fox and his jock friends.

The living room is a wreck—an explosion of empty beer bottles, half-eaten snacks, and cigarette smoke clinging to the air like a curse. The bass from the speaker vibrates through the walls, and the air feels thick, heavy with sweat, expensive cologne, and chaos.

Then he appears.

Fox Wilder strides out of the kitchen, shirtless, a cigarette hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth and a bottle of water clutched in one hand. His sweatpants—light gray and hanging way too low—hug his hips in a way that feels almost illegal. The defined V of his lower abs leads right into the waistband, drawing my gaze before I can stop myself.

He looks like sin dipped in sunlight—like he was carved from marble by artists who got a little too obsessed. Every inch of him is lean, sculpted, and infuriatingly perfect. Not a trace of fat, just taut, milky skin stretched over hard muscle. His abs flex subtly as he moves, like he knows he’s being watched—and maybe he does.

I’m staring again.

God, why do I keep doing that?

I tear my gaze away, heat crawling up the back of my neck. My pulse is racing, and not from the secondhand smoke or the chaos around me. I mutter a curse under my breath and head straight for the door.

As I reach the door, I hear Carter’s voice behind me.

“That your roommate?”

I don’t stick around for Fox’s answer.

I don’t want to know what he’ll say about me in front of his friends.

Or worse—how accurate it might be.

Down the curb, I spot Leanne waving, her usual bright smile lighting up her face. I exhale, feeling an unexpected wave of relief at the sight of her. Something about Leanne makes everything feel a little less overwhelming.

“Fancy place you’ve got, Cam,” she says as we fall into step toward campus. “What are you, a politician’s son or something?”

“Scholarship,” I say with a small smile, adjusting the strap on my backpack.

She raises a brow. “Damn. Impressive. How’d you land a place like that? I heard Fox Wilder lives somewhere around there too.”

I hesitate. Right. I never told her.

“He’s my roommate,” I say, almost reluctantly.

Leanne stops dead in her tracks, her boots scraping against the pavement. “You’re joking. Fox Wilder—that guy—is your roommate?”

“Yep.”

She blinks at me, then breaks into a wide grin. “Okay, plot twist. Maybe the universe is shipping you two.”

I roll my eyes. “Fox is straight.”

She nudges me with her elbow. “So if he wasn’t straight, you’d be into him?”

My grip tightens on my backpack strap. The answer should be simple. But my brain flashes to the sight of him shirtless in the kitchen, cigarette between his lips, abs like a damn Calvin Klein ad…

I swallow. “I don’t want Fox,” I say flatly. “I don’t really want anyone, honestly.”

Leanne’s teasing fades into something softer. “Oh. First crush trauma?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “His name was Bryson. Back in high school. Let’s just say it ended with me being outed and humiliated. Haven’t exactly rushed into romance since.”

She nods, looping her arm through mine. “For what it’s worth, there’s nothing wrong with being single. Honestly, relationships are so overrated these days.”

We walk in silence for a few beats, the crisp sound of leaves crunching beneath our shoes.

“So…” she begins, kicking a dry leaf out of her way, “what were you up to before I texted?”

“Watching N*****x,” I say. “Trying to stay out of the apartment. Fox and his buddies are planning a party tonight.”

Leanne groans. “Ugh, you poor thing. His parties are chaos. Like, legendary levels of wild. Good luck getting any sleep.”

“I’m not planning on being there,” I say. “Fox already told me to stay in my room and not ruin his party.”

She stops again, brows raised. “He told you that?”

I nod.

Leanne shakes her head in disbelief. “God, he’s such an asshole.”

We reach the classroom where the literature club meets, and to my surprise, it’s… cozy. Soft lighting, worn armchairs, shelves lined with well-loved books. It smells faintly of old paper and cinnamon tea—like a safe space I didn’t know I needed.

Leanne introduces me to the club’s leader, Ms. Hopkins, a woman in her forties with kind eyes, thick-rimmed glasses, and a voice made for audiobooks. She smiles warmly at me and says, “Welcome. Why don’t you introduce yourself, sweetheart?”

So I do.

And then somehow, I end up talking. Really talking. We go around sharing our favorite novels, and I surprise even myself by chiming in—tentatively at first, then with more confidence. There’s something soothing about being surrounded by people who care more about character arcs than keg stands.

By the time we wrap up, it’s past ten.

“Thanks for coming,” Leanne says as we step out into the cool night. “You looked like you needed that.”

“I did,” I admit. “It was nice.”

We part ways with a wave, and I make my way home, hoping Fox’s party has died down. It’s late enough. Surely things have mellowed out by now.

But the second I open the door, that hope dies a quick and painful death.

The apartment is a battlefield. Music pounds through the walls like a second heartbeat, too loud and too fast. The air is thick with smoke and the stench of cheap beer. People are everywhere—dancing, shouting, grinding, and making out like the apocalypse is coming.

I barely get through the living room without getting stepped on or groped.

All I want is my bed. Solitude. Silence.

But when I push open my bedroom door—I freeze.

There’s a couple on my bed. Naked. Having sex.

My bed.

“What the hell?!” I shout, eyes wide, voice shaking with disbelief and rage. “Get out of my room!”

They barely react at first, like I’m the rude one. So I snatch their clothes off the floor and throw them. “Now!”

They scramble, laughing as they fumble with zippers and buttons as if this is some kind of joke. I turn away, disgusted. I can’t even look at them.

The second they’re gone, I slam the door shut, rip the sheets off my bed, and stuff them angrily into the hamper like they personally betrayed me. After replacing them with fresh linens, I collapse onto the mattress, pulling a pillow over my head to try and muffle the music and shouting.

I need to move out.

Tomorrow.

I can’t do this anymore.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Dad.

I hit “silence” without a second thought. I don’t have the energy for another lecture. Not tonight.

Eventually, after what feels like hours of trying to ignore the pounding music and the occasional scream-laugh from the hallway, I drift off.

***

I wake to sunlight bleeding through the blinds.

No music. No voices. Just silence.

Thank God.

I shift slightly, stretching—but something holds me in place.

Arms.

Strong arms, wrapped securely around my waist. A firm chest pressed against my back. Slow, steady breaths warming the back of my neck.

What the—

My eyes snap open. I lift the edge of the comforter and glance down.

A bare arm. Porcelain skin. Faint scars. Veins.

Him.

I turn my head slowly, pulse roaring in my ears.

Lying next to me—face relaxed, lashes dark against his cheek—is Fox Wilder.

Fox. In my bed. Holding me.

And for one terrifying, dizzying second, I wonder if I’m still asleep.