Roommates With Benefits [BL]

The party was already pretty wild before the game even started, but it somehow cranked up a notch when this clearly drunk frat guy decided to climb onto the coffee table, clutching a half-empty vodka bottle like he was about to make a big announcement.

He had that reckless energy of someone who had made a handful of questionable choices that night and was fully committed to making a lot more.

The music was blasting so loudly that it felt like the floor was vibrating, with people packed into the living room, drinks in hand, laughing a bit too loudly and nearly tripping over each other every few moments.

The whole place reeked of booze, perfume, sweat, and expensive cologne, all swirling together in the air like some kind of fog that had given up trying to be anything else. Honestly, if someone lit a match in there, the entire building would probably go up in flames before anyone even had a chance to react.

I was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, carefully balancing my drink, while Melanie was beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed now and then whenever someone bumped into the circle around us.

The carpet felt questionable under my jeans, but I didn’t bother to investigate. The Christmas lights strung around the room, for reasons that made no sense for the season, cast a warm, slightly surreal glow over everything.

But honestly? I wasn’t really focused on that.

All I could think about was Melanie. And that felt right, given the mood and the conversation we were having. She kept smiling at me in a way that clearly showed she was having a good time, which was more than I could say about most of my recent social exchanges.

Alright, fine. I was noticing both things.

The frat guy was waving the vodka bottle around, pointing him at everyone like he was some kind of royalty, and for a brief moment I really worried about the coffee table’s structural integrity.

”Alright, listen up!” he shouted over the music, his voice practiced and loud enough to grab everyone’s attention.

Instantly, the room erupted, as if a switch had been flipped. People screamed. Someone next to me nearly spilled their drink but saved it at the last second.

The frat guy grinned, looking like a guy who had just found his calling. ”Alright, here’s how it works for the people who live under a rock!” he proclaimed, gesturing dramatically toward a nearby closet, which someone had somehow decorated with more Christmas lights, for reasons that were lost on everyone. ”You spin the bottle, and two people go into the closet. You do whatever you want in there for seven minutes!”

The crowd cheered wildly, clearly invested in this.

”No backing out, no chickening out,” he continued, waving the bottle around while I watched with genuine concern for anyone standing too close. ”Rules are rules!”

He threw his arms up like a champion who had just won a title.

”LET’S GET SPICY!”

The room erupted again in noise, screams, whistles, and someone in the back banging an empty cup like they were in a marching band. I laughed nervously into my drink along with everyone else, trying to convince myself I wasn’t worried.

What if I have to make up with a girl I barely knew? That’d be pretty fucking awkward.

This was just another of those ridiculous college games people survived. Slightly embarrassing, but harmless. A normal part of college life that I had somehow skipped by spending my Friday nights cleaning tables and crunching numbers.

It was probably fine.

Hopefully fine.

I decided to stop thinking about it, believing it would all turn out okay.

The game progressed quickly. Someone spun the bottle first, and the whole circle leaned in, shouting at the spinning glass as if their enthusiasm could sway the outcome.

The bottle landed on a brunette girl and a tall guy, who looked like he could easily play a sport at a pro level. The crowd went wild, and the pair laughed as they headed toward the closet, bombarded with cheers and advice that ranged from encouraging to downright alarming.

”DON’T WASTE THE SEVEN MINUTES!”

”MAKE GOOD DECISIONS!”

”OR BAD ONES!”

”IF YOU CUM IN THERE, YOU BETTER CLEAN IT UP!”

Seven minutes later, they emerged giggling looking like they just escaped a tornado, the girl leaning on the guy for support, and the room welcomed them back like heroes.

”Oh my God,” I muttered under my breath.

Melanie, sitting beside me, laughed easily. ”You’re scared.”

”I’m observant,” I shot back, trying to keep my dignity intact. ”Completely different thing.”

Another round kicked off with heavily two blushing girls, and this pair came out of the closet looking like they had just shared an intense discussion about agricultural economics, avoiding eye contact as the crowd passed judgment mercilessly.

”BORING!”

”Y’ALL DIDN’T EVEN KISS?”

”WHAT A WASTE OF ELECTRICITY!”

I couldn’t help but laugh despite myself, while Joey, who had taken to sitting on the floor almost toppled over, laughing so hard. He was having the time of his life, while I was struggling to navigate my own feelings.

Honestly, the alcohol was helping, creating a buffer between me and everything I was usually aware of. The music, the noise, the strange calm the Christmas lights brought, and Melanie’s occasional glances my way and all of it was persuading my nerves to settle down.

I glanced at Melanie again.

She caught my eye and smiled at me with a light blush on her cheeks making her look ten times more beautiful, relaxed and direct, not pretending she hadn’t noticed.

This was a dangerous moment, I realized. I was fully aware of it and still choosing to be close, which spoke volumes about my emotional state tonight.

A small, selfish part of me was quietly hoping the bottle would land on us. Not for anything complicated, but because she was warm, funny, and looking at me like I mattered, which was more than I could say for any other interaction I’d had recently.

Then, of course, fate...always a joker when it came to my life, decided to intervene.

”Oliver! Your turn!”

Someone shoved the bottle toward me with a flourish I certainly hadn’t asked for. My stomach flipped involuntarily. ”Oh shit.”

The crowd cheered louder, leaning in as if they could smell the drama brewing.

”DO IT!”

”SPIN IT!”

”GET SOME, BARISTA BOY!”

I scanned the circle, trying to find a way out, but everyone was just too excited. ”First of all,” I called out while waving my drink around, ”I hate every single one of you equally. I want that on the record!”

That only made them laugh harder, just as I had predicted. No relief there.

Melanie leaned closer. I caught the faint scent of vanilla again. ”You’ll survive,” she said, cheerfully, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

”Famous last words,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

I picked up the bottle and gave it a long, skeptical look, as if trying to communicate with it. It seemed to understand our unspoken agreement:

Please land on Melanie. Please, please, please, please! I’m asking sincerely.

I spun the bottle. It twirled under the shifting lights, while the room leaned in, collectively shouting, as if they had collectively decided this was the most important event happening anywhere in the universe.

Round and round it went, catching the light each time it turned, and my heart raced in a way I was choosing to blame on the alcohol.

The bottle slowed, turned once more, twice. And then it finally stopped.

Right in front of Damien Lockwood.