Roommates With Benefits [BL]

When I finally made it to Joy’s Café, I was twenty-three minutes late and carrying enough guilt to last me a week.

As I walked in, the little bell above the door chimed cheerfully, blissfully unaware of my shame, and the familiar warm smell of coffee and pastries wrapped around me. It felt comforting, like a favorite old sweater, until I remembered I was late.

My manager was at the counter, giving me a look.

Oh? Of all days to be around at work, my boss chooses to come at the one day I came late.

He glanced at the clock above the espresso machine, then turned his gaze to me with the kind of patient resignation that comes from dealing with the same disappointment more than once.

”...Morning?” I attempted.

”Oliver.”

”Yes?”

”What time does your shift start?”

”...Nine?”

”And what time is it now?”

I looked at the clock even though I already knew. It was like I needed a moment to let it all sink in. ”...Nine twenty-three?”

He sighed. ”I’m starting to think your alarm clock has something against me.”

”I can explain.”

”Honestly, I’m almost scared to hear it.”

”Traffic.”

”You walk here.”

”...It was very slow traffic. Congestion. You know, pedestrian issues.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he’d heard it all before and wasn’t shocked by any of it. ”Get behind the register before the morning crowd decides they need their caffeine like it’s life or death.”

”On it!”

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but wonder why my manager looked at me weird.

I tied my apron around my waist, silently thanking whatever forces were out there for keeping my job. The café was buzzing with activity, people lined up to the door, the espresso machine working non-stop, and the chatter of those who needed coffee right this instant. I jumped straight into the flow of it: orders, names, milk, trays, repeat. It was that kind of shift that you just get carried along with, leaving no room to think about anything else.

Which, you know, was fine.

Still, every time I bent to grab a cup or reached for the espresso machine, a warm ache reminded me of Damien’s presence, how he had completely taken me apart and then put me back together. I did my best to shake it off, putting on my best customer-service smile as I moved around the counter, hoping it looked somewhat graceful.

I didn’t have to think about anything else.

But oddly enough, I felt a bit stiff. Not enough to slow me down...just an awareness of my muscles whenever I reached for something on the top shelf or turned a bit too quickly. My shoulders, to be specific. My neck.

I blamed how I slept. Damien’s shoulder was cozy, but not exactly the best thing for a good night’s sleep.

He was like a warm, ridiculously handsome weighted blanket, but with zero idea of personal space.

Focus, Oliver.

”Large caramel latte for Ethan!”

”Coming!”

The morning zipped by as busy mornings do, in a blur of repetitive tasks and the automatic skills you develop when you’ve done something enough times that your hands move before your brain even catches up.

I was doing fine, I was efficient, I was a functioning barista.

Now and then, someone shot me an odd look.

Not a rude one, more like a look that had something behind it. An older lady waiting for her drink smiled at me in a way that felt personal, like she knew something about me that I didn’t.

A fellow college student did a double-take, then quickly focused on his phone.

I figured I must have syrup on my shirt or maybe my hair was doing something weird. These things happen.

By early afternoon, the rush had died down, leaving the café in that nice post-bustle calm where everyone could finally relax, and the espresso machine got a breather. Maya leaned against the counter with her iced coffee, looking exhausted, as if she’d been waiting for this break for hours.

”If one more person asks for their coffee extra extra extra hot,” she said, ”I might just send them to the back to use the industrial equipment and wish them luck.”

”You’d get four stars for ambiance and one for safety hazards.”

”Totally worth it.” She took a long sip, then looked at me pausing. Her expression shifted from the relaxed end-of-rush vibe to something more focused. ”...Oliver?”

”Hmm?”

”What are those on your neck?”

Suddenly she straightened so fast, I thought she might fall over. Her eyes were wide, fixated on my neck with an expression of pure shock and delight.

‎

I frowned. ”My neck?”

”Hold still.”

”Why?”

”Just do it.”

This was concerning. I held still.

Maya put her coffee down and walked around the counter with the intensity of someone who had spotted something and planned to investigate. She stood in front of me, her eyes fixed on my neck.

They widened, then widened some more.

Then her jaw dropped, the kind of cartoonish drop that happens when something exceeds expectations.

”Oh my God!”

”What?”

She pointed. ”Are those hickeys?”

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach.

”...Excuse me?”

”Hickeys, Oliver.”

”What hickeys—”

‎I blinked, momentarily confused, and instinctively touched the side of my neck. My fingers brushed over sensitive spots I hadn’t noticed during my rushed morning routine, and a wave of horror washed over me

”You have—” she leaned in, and I could see her lips moving as she counted. ”One... two...”

”Oh fuck...”

”Three...”

”Maya—”

”Four...”

”Maya!”

”Five?!”

Before I even realized what was happening, my hands flew up to my neck, fingers pressing down in disbelief as the deep red of mortification flushed my face entirely.

”No way!”

”There is absolutely a way.”

”There is no—”

”Oliver.” She looked at me like she was presenting evidence. ”I have two eyes and proper lighting.”

”I’ve been serving customers all morning,” I said, realizing just how ridiculous that sounded about two seconds after I said it.

”You certainly have!”

”Oh my God—”

”No wonder that woman kept smiling at you.”

I stared at her. ”Which woman?”

”The older lady, table four. She said, ’Young love looks good on you, dear.’”

”...I thought she was complimenting my customer service.”

Maya burst into genuine, helpless laughter, leaning against the counter, slightly bent at the waist. ”I can’t breathe! I absolutely can’t breathe right now!”

”I’ve been walking around like this all morning?”

I groaned, slumping against the counter and tugging at my shirt collar in a hopeless attempt to cover up.

It hardly reached high enough, and the movement just reminded me again of the soreness in my lower body.

”I’m going to kill him,” I muttered, half to myself and half to Maya.