7. GORGEOUS EYES.

Nicolas got back to the room later than usual with his jacket slung over one shoulder. Since the door was unlocked, it only meant his roomie was around but he was nowhere in sight. He was whistling a tune and was about to call out for Saint when he heard the water running from the bathroom.

His lips curled up after that. He threw his jacket on the couch and made his way there. He should have knocked but he didn't. Instead, he pushed the door open with the same lazy confidence he did everything else, expecting to startle Saint into yelling at him but instead, he stopped mid-step.

Saint was under the water, his back turned against him, unaware he had company. His head tipped back a little and steam curled around him. For a second, Nicolas forgot every smart remark sitting on his tongue.

He had never seen Saint naked before. He was just too cautious around him, covering up for whatever reason it was. So this was a one time thing.

He just stared, taking in every line of Saint's shoulders, the way water ran down his back, how firm his muscles and ass cheeks were, the strength in how he stood like he didn't know how good he looked doing something as simple as washing off the day.

Nicolas made sure not to move or speak. He knew if he did, it would break whatever this moment was for him and a part of him, that he wasn't ready to admit existed yet, didn't want it to break. Instead, he backed out slowly, leaving the door hanging open so he could have a fuller view of what was in front of him.

He started unbuttoning his shirt right there in the room like it was the most natural thing in the world. By the time he stepped into the bathroom himself and shut the door behind him, Saint noticed the change in the air and a presence behind him so he turned and froze for a few seconds.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

Nicolas didn't answer right away. He was too busy staring at Saint's face, his brows furrowed at something that didn't seem to make sense.

"Your eyes." He said slowly.

"What about them?"

"They are not brown."

Saint blinked, and for a moment he looked almost caught off guard by the observation, like he'd forget it could be seen. His left eye held a soft, striking green while his right was a pale, stormy grey.

Under the bathroom light, they looked almost otherworldly, absolutely nothing like the plain brown Nicolas had gotten used to glancing past in class.

"You've been wearing contacts?"

"Get out." Saint retorted with a flat voice, instead of answering. His arm moved instinctively to block Nicholas's view.

"We're both men." Nicolas shrugged, undisturbed. "No reason to be shy about it."

"That is not the point." Saint's jaw tightened. "The point is you don't just walk into a room when someone's in here."

"I didn't walk into your room. It's mine too, if you remember." Nicolas leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while staring patiently. "So with that already settled, can you tell me more about your eyes. Explain."

"There is nothing to explain."

"Saint."

"It's a genetic thing. Have you ever heard of the term heterochromia?" Saint turned the water off, reaching for the towel, clearly hoping that would end the conversation. It didn't.

"Why do you wear contacts then? It's beautiful."

Saint paused, towel halfway around his waist, and looked at him with something unreadable. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Say things like that. It's weird, coming from you."

Nicolas smiled, but it wasn't his usual smirk. "Maybe because I actually mean it?"

Saint didn't respond. He brushed past him and left the bathroom without another word, leaving Nicolas standing there, replaying the color of those eyes in his head like they'd been burned into him.

Saint grabbed his blanket from the wardrobe after dressing up and Nicolas was done with the bathroom. He laid it out on the floor, ignoring the way Nicolas watched him do it from the bed.

"You're still doing that?" Nicolas propped himself up on one elbow using his pillow.

"Doing what?"

"Sleeping on the floor like a dog when there's a perfectly good bed right here."

"I'm fine."

"I don't think you are whenever you won't stop rolling and shifting here and there." Nicolas then patted the empty space beside him, far too pleased with himself. "Come on. I don't bite unless you ask nicely."

Saint didn't even dignify that with a response. He turned off the lamp beside him and lay down on the floor, back stiff, arms crossed over his chest like he was daring the floor to be comfortable.

"Suit yourself."

Saint woke up somewhere past midnight, every part of him aching. His shoulder had gone numb from the position he'd slept in, and the floor, which had felt tolerable enough at ten, now felt like it was actively punishing him for his pride.

He lay there a while longer, stubborn, listening to the quiet rhythm of Nicolas's breathing above him. Then he sat up, dragging a hand down his face, and told himself this meant nothing.

After all, it was meant for both of them. So he stood, blanket bundled under one arm and then climbed onto the bed without a word, settling as close to the edge as physically possible.

Nicolas stirred almost instantly, like some part of him had been waiting.

"Change of heart?"

"Don't make me regret it." Saint muttered, not looking at him.

Nicolas shifted, making room without another word, though the satisfaction in his voice was impossible to miss. "Took you long enough."

"My back hurts. That's all there is"

"Sure." Nicolas settled back down, eyes still on him in the dark. "Whatever helps you sleep."

Saint said nothing else. He kept his back turned and also as much distance between them as the mattress allowed. But neither of them slept for a while after that. The silence between them was ironically too loud, making them aware of how close they actually were.