Roommates With Benefits [BL]
Chapter 165: This Can’t Possibly Go Wrong... Right?

Chapter 165: This Can’t Possibly Go Wrong... Right?

•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•

I had changed my shirt three times.

Not because any of them were dirty, or didn’t fit, or for any logical reason. I just couldn’t figure out if my dad would like me better in blue, gray, or white, even though he’d seen me wear the same five hoodies for three years and had never mentioned them.

Holding both shirts up in front of the mirror, I squinted. "Blue makes me look less sleep-deprived."

"Really?"

I tilted my head. "Probably not. These bags under my eyes are practically permanent."

I glanced over my shoulder.

Damien was leaning against my bedroom door frame, one hand in his pocket, looking like he was watching a really entertaining show. He had been ready for twenty minutes, which felt deeply unfair to me.

I tossed the gray shirt at him, "Help me choose."

He caught it effortlessly and walked over to stand next to me at the mirror. For a moment, he studied the two shirts with the sort of care that suggested he was actually trying to give a real opinion.

Then he held the blue one against my chest.

"This one."

I blinked. "Really?"

"It makes your pretty eyes pop."

His words were so straightforward and sincere that warmth crept into my cheeks before I even realized it was happening. "You answered that really... quick."

"I’ve thought about it before."

"You could’ve kept that to yourself."

"I could have."

"But?"

"I didn’t want to."

With a dramatic sigh, I dropped my arms to my sides. "You flirt at the absolute worst times."

"And yet, you still blush every time."

"I do not blush, I told you. It’s a condition!"

"Well remember to get it checked out at the hospital today." he said, with that smug tone of someone who disagrees but knows they’re already winning.

At this rate I don’t even know why I bickered with him on this things, it just felt right to me...if I didn’t I felt like I would squeal and explode into confetti’s and rainbows whenever he said things like that.

I grabbed the blue shirt again. "Forget it. I’m going with blue."

"I know."

Despite all the nerves swirling in my stomach since I woke up, despite checking the time at least six times in the last twenty minutes and feeling like time was moving at a snail’s pace, I laughed.

The knot in my stomach loosened, just a little, enough to breathe.

Then I glanced at the clock again, and it tightened up all over again because I remembered what today was.

Today was the day Damien would meet my dad.

To be honest, I was so freaking nervous.

Because what if my dad didn’t like Damien? What if the differences in our worlds made everything awkward? My dad had always been protective, especially after his sickness had taken so much from him. Just thinking about that while hoping for his approval had me muttering worries under my breath as I pulled out a simple button-down shirt.

I know I was the one who invited Damien to come with me, but right now...it felt like I had shot myself in the foot.

I had never brought anyone I was with to see my dad. None of my former girlfriends, not even Joey and Maya had met him.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "What if he doesn’t like you?"

Damien looked genuinely confused, like he just stumbled into a gap in logic. "I didn’t think that was a real concern."

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

"You’ve never met him. He can be a lot sometimes."

"You mentioned that."

"When he was healthy, any person who sat next to me for too long got grilled." I plopped down on the edge of my bed, it seemed like the right stance for this conversation. "Once, he made one of my classmates cry."

Damien blinked. "Why?"

"He asked if the girl was interested in me."

"Was she?"

"No."

"Then, why did she cry?"

"Dad just kept asking what her five-year plan was. Wouldn’t drop it. Just kept coming at it from different angles."

Damien laughed...a real, unfiltered laugh that filled the room. "I already like him."

"I’m serious, Damien—"

"So am I."

"This isn’t—" I groaned. "What if it’s awkward? What if he thinks we’re moving too fast? What if he interrogates you about your five-year plan and I have to watch you squirm—"

"I have a very thorough five-year plan."

"That’s not the point—"

"Oliver."

I looked up.

He stepped closer, reaching to smooth a wrinkle from my shirt collar so effortlessly, like it was just a natural thing for him to do. It was the kind of little gesture that could easily go unnoticed, but I noticed every single time.

"I’m not worried about any of that," he said.

"You’re not?"

He shook his head, slow and confident. "I’m just excited to meet the guy who raised you."

Something settled in my chest, warm and unexpected, arriving before I even realized it was coming.

"You really mean that?"

"I do."

He rested his hand on my shoulder, steady. "I know I’ll like him."

"Even if he gives you the ’stay away from my son’ speech?"

"I’ll manage."

"What if he tells you to avoid me altogether?"

"I’ll politely disagree."

"I don’t think that’ll go well with my dad, to be honest."

"We’ll find out together." He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Ready?"

"...No."

"Good. That means you’re taking this seriously."

I stared at him in disbelief. "That’s your idea of comfort?"

"Did it work?"

"...Marginally."

"Good enough."

Our first stop was the grocery store just two blocks from the hospital, part of my routine that had formed without any real thought. It gave me something to do with my hands for the ten minutes before we arrived, familiar items to gather, and a practical way to handle feelings that felt out of control.

The automatic doors swung open with their usual cheerful sound, and I grabbed a basket. Damien fell in step beside me, no need for me to tell him where we were headed, which I decided not to mention.

"You don’t have to buy anything," I said as I headed toward the snack aisle.

"I know."

"I always bring stuff for him everytime I visit."

"I know."

"My dad likes having snacks for the nurses. He feels guilty about the care they give him, so he reciprocates with food."

"I know."

"So—"

"So I’m also buying some. And no, you can’t stop me this time."

I let out a resigned sigh, like I was used to this back-and-forth. "You’re impossible."

"So I’ve heard."

As we moved through the aisle, my hands found familiar items without really having to think, honey-roasted peanuts, butter crackers, orange hard candies, his favorite tea. I’d done this so many times that I found the items more by touch than sight.