Roommates With Benefits [BL]

The next few days that passed felt like a surreal mix of hospital hallways, vending machine coffee, endless paperwork, and so much waiting that I seriously considered developing a second personality...one to handle the anxiety and the other to deal with everything else.

It seemed like hospitals had their own sense of time.

Five minutes could stretch out like three hours while waiting for a doctor, and yet an entire afternoon could vanish in the blink of an eye as I sat beside my father’s bed listening to the machines beep and the nurses coming and going quietly.

I hated it.

Every single second, but at least my dad was still alive.

That became my mantra whenever my thoughts drifted to darker places. Medical staff was monitoring him, and doctors were creating a treatment plan. They were even discussing a date for surgery.

Those were good things, however small and fragile they felt, and I clung to them like someone holding on to a railing on a boat that looked like it might sink any moment.

I had to keep my focus on the positives because if I let myself think about everything that could go wrong, I was pretty sure my mind would just turn off, leaving me there in that uncomfortable plastic chair, all alone.

Damien, on the other hand, seemed to have decided that panicking was a waste of energy.

While I sat for hours glaring at those hospital doors like they were somehow to blame, he somehow found time to talk to doctors, handle paperwork, deal with financial matters, take calls, and even make sure I ate something that didn’t come from a vending machine...all without breaking a sweat.

I still didn’t understand how he pulled it off.

One afternoon, I watched him standing by the hospital window, phone pressed to his ear, dressed in a dark sweater and black pants, looking completely at ease while discussing paperwork with someone.

He appeared so composed. Meanwhile, I was sitting next to my dad, eating a sandwich that tasted like what someone would imagine bread should taste like if they were explaining it to a cardboard box.

When Damien finally ended his call and came over, his eyes fell right on the sandwich in my hand. ”You haven’t finished eating.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. ”Are you keeping tabs on my sandwich consumption now?”

”I’m keeping tabs on whether you’re eating.”

”That’s basically the same.”

”No, it isn’t.”

”It feels the same.”

Damien ignored my retort and handed me the water bottle sitting beside me without another word.

”Drink.”

I stared at him. ”Do you enjoy bossing me around?”

”Yes, actually.”

At least he was honest.

I gave up and took the bottle.

Frank watched us with a look that could only be described as amusement, his eyes flicking between us like he was watching a tennis match that he had no intention of breaking up.

”You two are so strange.”

I turned back to him. ”We’re not strange.”

Damien joined me on the couch. ”We’re normal.”

Frank looked between us. ”Sure.”

Hearing him say it, that one skeptical word carrying the same tone he’d used on me since I was twelve, made me smile.

For the first time since that phone call on the island, things didn’t feel impossibly difficult. Sure, there were still scary parts ahead.

A surgery loomed over us, and risks I didn’t want to think about were still there.

But there was this too, my dad joking around.

Somehow, those normal moments made me feel like the world hadn’t completely gone off the rails.

When we finally got back to Preston Hall that evening, I was so drained I barely remembered the drive.

As soon as we entered, I dropped my bag by the door and flopped onto the couch, sinking deep into the cushions as if they owed me something.

Damien closed the door and looked at me. ”Take your shoes off.”

I gave him a look from the couch.

”You’re really committed to ruining my fun, huh?”

”You’ve had those shoes on since this morning.”

”They’re comfortable.”

”They’re disgusting.”

I glanced down at them, they weren’t disgusting.

Just...emotionally exhausted, much like their owner. With a dramatic sigh, I kicked them off, one landing softly near the coffee table.

The other almost hit Damien.

He caught it with ease, barely seeming interrupted, I gawked at him and he matched my stare. ”Don’t.”

”I wasn’t going to say anything.”

”You were thinking it.”

”I was.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little.

Damien tossed the shoe beside the other and headed for the kitchen. ”You need to eat.”

”I already ate.”

”You ate half a sandwich.”

”It was a pretty hefty half.”

”Oliver.”

I groaned. ”I know.”

He disappeared into the kitchen.

In a few minutes, I heard cabinets opening and something sizzling, the aroma drifting out slowly enough that my stomach took notice.

I stayed put on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

For the first time all day, there wasn’t a machine beeping next to me. No nurse walking past. No doctor appearing with an update that twisted my stomach into a knot.

Just the quiet sounds of our dorm.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, something warm was resting on my shoulder.

”Oliver.”

I groaned. ”No.”

”You need to eat.”

”I’m sleeping.”

”I noticed.”

”Then why are you waking me up?”

”Because you’re sleeping sitting up.”

”People can do that.”

”Not comfortably.”

Damien was quiet for a second, the kind of quiet where I knew he was deciding to ignore what I’d just said.

Then I felt his hand slip under my arm.

”What are you doing?”

”Moving you.”

”Where?”

”Somewhere you won’t wake up with a broken neck.”

Before I could properly protest, he pulled me close and shifted me until I was lying against him, the move smooth and practiced, like he’d done this before many times.

My head rested on his chest.

I blinked. ”You know, normal people usually just wake their worn-out partners up and tell them to go to bed.”

Damien glanced down at me with a smile. ”You complain too much.”

”That’s because you give me plenty of reason.”

His mouth twitched and I smiled, for a while, we sat in silence and I could hear his heartbeat beneath my ear.

”I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I whispered.

Damien’s hand halted its movements through my hair. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, the words slipping out before I thought about it.

He looked down at me. ”You don’t have to think about that.”

”I know, but...”

I swallowed. ”Thank you still.”

His expression softened, he didn’t answer right away. Then his fingers began moving gently through my hair again, slow and unhurried.

”You don’t have to thank me.”

”Well, I’m going to anyway.”

”You can thank me by sleeping.”

I grinned against his chest. ”Very romantic.”

”I’m quite romantic.”

His hand stopped for a moment.

A tiny silence stretched out, longer than it probably was. The days rolled on like that...not easy, exactly, just doable.

Frank’s evaluations kept going, and every new test seemed to inch us closer to surgery. The doctors were cautiously optimistic, which I figured meant please don’t celebrate yet, we’re professionals and don’t want to jinx anything.

But I took the optimism anyway.

I’ll take optimism wherever I can.