All Chapters of More Than Roommates : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Alex~Morning comes andI wake up with Seth’s knee tucked between mine and his hand curved around my waist, his thumb pressed against the seam of my shirt like he fell asleep mid-touch.I turn a little. His eyebrows twitch like he felt the universe shift.“Five more minutes,” he mutters, already losing the fight with consciousness.“You said that ten minutes ago,” I whisper.“Lies,” he says into my shoulder. “I just opened my eyes two seconds ago.”He definitely didn’t but he finally pushes himself up, rubbing his face with both hands, and the room goes cold without him. He swings his legs off the bed and sits there for a while, stretching his shoulders. I watch quietly, and something inside me warms the same way it did yesterday morning, like the sight of him doing normal human things shouldn’t feel this intimate but it does.He stands and reaches for his hoodie my hoodie, actually. The gray one that used to fall past my hips until he stretched it out of shape.I raise a brow. “Serio

I wake up alone. Not the empty kind. Not the sharp, disorienting kind where my chest tightens before I’m fully conscious. Just quiet. Seth’s side of the bed is already neat. Not hotel-made, not precise, but pulled together in the way he does when he’s leaving early and doesn’t want to come back to chaos. His pillow is propped against the headboard, his hoodie folded over the chair instead of tossed where it usually ends up. The room smells like citrus and fabric softener and that faint trace of his deodorant that never quite disappears. For a second, I lie there anyway, eyes half-closed, letting my body catch up. Letting it register the absence without reacting to it. My arm stretches out automatically, fingers brushing cool sheets where his warmth has already faded. Then I notice the desk. Something is different. I push myself upright and squint toward it, still foggy. There’s a basket sitting right in the middle, like it’s always been there and I just forgot. Small, wo

Jordan~ Sleep doesn’t come the way it’s supposed to. I don’t toss and turn, I just lie there, eyes open, listening to the radiator knock like it’s trying to say something and failing. At some point, my phone lights up again. I don’t reach for it right away. When I do, it’s not Alex this time. It’s an email. From: Exhibition Committee Subject: Final-Year Installation Walkthrough Schedule I sit up. The room feels colder instantly, like my body noticed before my brain did. I open it. Dates. Time slots. My name listed second from the top, right under someone whose work has been in two galleries already. Walkthrough: Mandatory. I read it twice, then a third time slower. This isn’t feedback. This isn’t suggestion. This is presentation. I swing my legs out of bed and stand there for a moment, phone still in my hand, grounding myself in the fact that the floor is solid and I’m not about to fall through it. I cross the room and open my laptop again. The

Alex~The kettle’s been screaming for a while before I realize it’s not going to stop on its own.I’m on the floor, back against the couch, laptop balanced on my thighs, staring at the same cut in my timeline I’ve been nudging back and forth for ten minutes without changing anything. When the sound finally cuts through, it feels like it’s calling me out.“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing myself up.The kitchen light is already on. Seth must’ve left it that way when he came in from practice earlier, shoes kicked off too close to the door, gym bag slumped against the wall like it gave up halfway. The place smells faintly like sweat and detergent and whatever cheap soap he uses when he showers too fast.I turn the kettle off and pour the water that has been boiling too long. The mug’s already on the counter. I don’t remember putting it there.Seth’s in the bedroom, door half open. I can hear him moving around, drawers opening and closing, the low thud of something getting dropped and not picked

AlexBy the time I get to the auditorium, the chairs are already halfway set up, metal legs screeching against the floor every time someone adjusts one an inch too far left. It smells like dust and burnt coffee and whatever cleaning solution Facilities uses when they’re trying to pretend a room is new again.I stop just inside the doors and stand there longer than I need to.The screen at the front is still blank. Someone is fiddling with the projector, tapping it like it’s a stubborn animal. A mic squeals, cuts out, squeals again. And a couple people laugh.This is it, I think.This is the moment where the thing stops being mine.Three days ago, it was still a timeline on my laptop, waveforms stacked like a city skyline, color grades I kept nudging warmer, cooler, warmer again because I couldn’t decide what honesty looked like in saturation. Three days ago, it lived in my headphones and in the quiet hum of my room at two in the morning.Now it’s… this.Folding chairs, a podium and