CHAPTER 11: Under the Same Roof

              ✦ 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓 ✦

The stairs creaked softly under my sneakers as I followed Xavier up to the second floor. The weight of my backpack pulled at my shoulders, but I kept my eyes fixed on his back as he carried the heaviest box of my finance books ahead of me like it was nothing.

At the top of the landing, he turned down the left hallway and stopped outside an open door. He pushed it back with his foot, stepped inside, and set the box down near the closet before turning around to face me.

"This is you," Xavier said quietly, his voice dropping to match the stillness of the house. He pointed out toward the hallway. "The bathroom is the second door on the right. Laundry room is at the very end. If you have extra coats or stuff that won't fit in here, the linen closet out there is shared storage. There’s plenty of room."

I stood in the middle of the bedroom, looking at the large window facing the dark backyard, then back at him. The room was nice—way bigger than my old one. "Thanks," I said, the word coming out a little small in the quiet. "For the room. And for carrying that up."

I reached down, instinctively wrapping my arms around the next box on the floor to put it on the top shelf of the closet myself. But before I could even get a good grip on the cardboard, Xavier stepped right into my space.

Without saying a word, his hands slid beneath the box, lifting it right out of my hands.

"Hey, I can get it—" I started, my hands left hovering in the empty air.

"That one goes on the shelf," Xavier said. He didn't offer a long explanation or wait for me to argue. He just stepped over, pushed the closet door fully open, and set the box exactly where it belonged.

He turned back, brushing a stray speck of dust off his black t-shirt, his grey eyes sweeping over the rest of my luggage on the floor. He didn't make a grand speech or try to force a deep conversation. He just gave me a short, steady nod. "Get some sleep, Julian."

"You too," I murmured.

He walked out, his quiet footsteps fading down the hallway until I heard his bedroom door click softly shut.

The next hour passed in a quiet blur of unpacking. My mom knocked gently a little while later, stepping in to smooth down the edges of the new duvet and give me a tight hug that smelled like her wedding perfume. A few minutes after she left, Richard stuck his head in, checking to make sure the room wasn't too cold and reminding me where the extra blankets were.

Eventually, the soft murmur of their voices down the hall died out, and the huge house went completely silent.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the taped boxes by the wall. For the last month, the thought of moving into this house had felt like a nightmare. I had prepared myself for endless tension, awkward arguments, and an exhausting daily battle to keep my distance.

But as I lay back against the pillows, looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling, the heavy ball of anxiety in my chest didn't return. Maybe this won't be as impossible as I thought, I told myself quietly. We're just two adults getting comfortable sharing a roof. That's all this is.

The true test of that theory came at seven-thirty the next morning.

I walked down the stairs in an oversized grey sweatshirt and sweatpants, my hair a messy disaster from sleep. The scent of fresh coffee pulled me straight toward the kitchen, but the moment I stepped through the archway, I froze.

Xavier was already there. He was leaning against the counter, a steaming mug in one hand, completely dressed for the day in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

"Morning," I muttered, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous I probably looked.

"Morning," he replied, his eyes tracking me as I walked over to the coffee maker.

As I reached out to grab a clean mug from the drying rack, Xavier smoothly stepped to the side, his shoulder subtly brushing against mine in the narrow space. It wasn't a hard bump; it was just the natural move of two people trying to move around the same kitchen. I felt the sudden warmth of his arm through my sweatshirt, and my fingers hesitated on the mug handle for a split second before I pulled it down.

"Richard left early. Mom's still asleep," he said quietly. He poured a dash of milk into a small pitcher and slid it across the counter toward me without being asked. He remembered exactly how I took it. "There’s fruit in the bowl. And the bread is fresh."

"Thanks," I said, pouring my coffee. We didn't say anything else, but as we stood there on opposite sides of the island, sipping our drinks in the bright morning sun, the silence felt completely steady. It was the comfortable kind of quiet where you don't feel the need to fill the air with useless small talk.

An hour later, we were in his car, dealing with the morning traffic toward campus. Because our schedules lined up perfectly on Mondays, Richard had suggested we carpool, and neither of us had argued.

When the car pulled up to the curb outside the campus quad, Leo was already standing by the concrete pillars, holding his laptop bag and watching the traffic. The moment I opened the passenger door and stepped out, Leo’s eyes widened slightly as he recognized Xavier’s car.

"See you at five," Xavier said from the driver's seat, his grey eyes holding mine for a beat through the open window before he pulled back into the street.

"Yeah. See you," I called back.

I walked up the concrete steps toward Leo, who was already wearing a massive, insufferable grin. He fell into step beside me the second I reached the top. "Well, well, well. Look at you, getting the VIP chauffeur service. How’s the new living situation treating you?"

I rolled my eyes, pushing past the heavy library doors to hide the slight flush on my cheeks. "It’s practical, Leo. We live in the same house and go to the same place at the same time. It's called efficiency."

"Right, efficiency," Leo chuckled, bumping his shoulder against mine as we walked toward our first lecture block. "Whatever you say, Hart. But you don't look miserable, which means he hasn't thrown you out a window yet. I'm counting that as a win."

By five in the evening, the routine flipped seamlessly. The drive back was just as quiet, the city lights beginning to flicker on against the twilight sky as Xavier drove. When we unlocked the front door of the house, the smell of my mom's dinner was already filling the hallway, instantly making the large, unfamiliar place feel a little more grounded.

Dinner was easy, filled with Richard recounting a hilarious mishap from the venue cleanup and my mom beaming as she passed around extra helpings. Through it all, I noticed the small, unspoken adjustments happening around the table. Whenever I reached for the water pitcher, Xavier’s hand was already lifting it, pouring a glass for me before filling his own.

When dinner was over, I reached down to grab my empty plate to take it to the sink, but a large hand lightly caught the edge of the ceramic before I could lift it.

I looked up. Xavier didn't say it loudly, his voice barely carrying over the sound of Richard laughing at the TV in the next room. "Leave it."

He took the plate right out of my hands, stacked it on top of his own, and walked away toward the kitchen.

We didn't say thank you or you're welcome. We were simply falling back into a pattern where he quietly noticed what I needed, and I unconsciously let him.

Later that night, the house settled into that deep, familiar quiet once again. I was up in my bedroom, kneeling on the floor in front of my low bookshelf, trying to organize the last stack of financial manuals I hadn't finished sorting the night before.

The door was propped open to let the cool breeze from the hallway come in. I lifted a heavy, thick volume on corporate risk models, but as I tried to slide it onto the cramped bottom shelf, the book twisted in my grip. It slipped out of my hands, sliding with a sharp thwack completely behind the heavy wooden desk against the wall.

"Dammit," I muttered under my breath, leaning forward and straining my arm down into the narrow, dark gap between the desk and the wall. My fingers brushed the edge of the cover, but I couldn't quite get a grip on it.

Before I could bend down further or try to shift the heavy desk myself, a shadow fell across the bedroom floor.

A hand reached directly past my shoulder into the narrow gap. Xavier’s broad frame leaned over mine, his arm easily brushing against my side as his longer fingers hooked around the spine of the fallen textbook. With a single, fluid motion, he pulled the heavy manual out of the dark slot and straightened up.

I sat back on my heels, looking up at him as he held the book out to me.

"You still crease the corners when you read," Xavier said softly.

His voice was incredibly low, his grey eyes locked onto mine in the dim light of the bedroom. He pointed a single finger toward the top edge of the cover, where the top page corner was neatly folded down—a bad habit I’d had since elementary school because I could never find a proper bookmark.

I froze, my fingers gripping the textbook as I took it back from him. A sudden, sharp squeeze hit the center of my chest. "You... you remember that?"

Xavier stood there for a long beat, his hands sliding loosely into the pockets of his sweatpants. His jaw relaxed just a fraction, his expression completely unguarded in the quiet space of my room.

"Some things are hard to forget," he said quietly.

Before I could even find the words to reply, he turned around and walked out into the corridor, his quiet footsteps echoing softly until his bedroom door clicked shut down the hall.

I stayed exactly where I was, kneeling on the carpet and holding the heavy textbook against my chest. I looked down at the creased corner of the page, my heart beating a slow, steady rhythm against my ribs. For the first time,the silence left behind in the room di

dn't feel cold or empty.

It just felt familiar…….