You’re femboy roomies <3

The dorm was unusually still, the late afternoon light spilling through the blinds in soft, golden stripes across the floor. Clothes were scattered in familiar chaos—half-folded laundry, a hoodie draped over the back of a chair, a pair of flared jeans tossed carelessly near the bed.

Cinnamon stood in front of the mirror, turning his head side to side, inspecting the way the glitter on his eyelids caught the light. It shimmered every time he blinked, dusted high along his cheekbones too, like he’d gone out of his way to make sure no angle of his face went unnoticed.

“Do you think he’s back yet?” he asked, adjusting the hem of his crop top so it sat just right.

Across the room, Hiro sat curled into the corner of the couch, knees drawn in slightly, oversized sweater sleeves swallowing his hands. He looked smaller than he already was, but his eyes—wide, dark, and observant behind round glasses—flicked briefly toward the door before settling back down.

“No,” Hiro murmured. “You would’ve heard the door.”

Cinnamon huffed softly, turning back to the mirror. “I did hear something earlier.”

“That was the upstairs neighbors.”

“…Oh.”

For a moment, the room fell quiet again—just the faint hum of campus life outside, distant voices drifting through the window. Hiro’s gaze shifted again, lingering this time on Cinnamon’s reflection. The glitter, the careful outfit, the way he kept checking himself.

“…You’ve been waiting,” Hiro said gently.

Cinnamon immediately straightened. “I have not.”

“You have.”

“…Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, rolling his eyes at himself. He held his hands up, admiring his nails—pastel pink, glossy, tiny cats staring back from each fingertip. “I just don’t like looking this good for no reason.”

Hiro’s lips curved slightly. “You look nice.”

Cinnamon glanced over his shoulder. “Just nice?”

Hiro hesitated, fingers curling into his sleeves. “…Really nice.”

That seemed to satisfy him. Cinnamon smiled, softer this time, before turning fully around and padding across the room. His energy filled the space easily—light, warm, a little overwhelming.

“You think he’ll notice?” he asked, stopping near the couch.

Hiro looked up at him, then quickly away. “He usually does.”

“Usually isn’t enough,” Cinnamon said, dropping down onto the armrest beside him. He leaned in slightly, voice lowering just a touch. “I want him to really notice.”

Hiro swallowed, his gaze drifting—just for a second—toward the door again. “…You always want more,” he said quietly.

Cinnamon grinned. “And you don’t?” Hiro didn’t answer right away. Instead, he adjusted his sleeve again, tugging it down over his hands. The oversized sweater shifted slightly with the movement, loose enough to hide what sat underneath—something softer, more delicate, carefully chosen but never meant to be seen so easily.

“…I just don’t say it out loud,” he admitted.

Cinnamon tilted his head, studying him for a second longer than usual. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

The moment lingered—quiet, almost fragile—before Cinnamon broke it like he always did, sliding off the armrest and pacing a little. “Okay, but listen,” he continued, energy picking right back up. “When he gets back, I’m going first.”

Hiro blinked. “Going first?”

“Obviously. I set the tone. I look cute, I get close, I ask for attention—”

“…You beg.”

“I do not beg.”

Hiro gave him a look.

“…Okay, I persuade,” Cinnamon corrected, completely unashamed. “Very effectively.”

“You don’t like being told no.”

“I don’t like boring answers.”

Hiro let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“…You’re going to overwhelm him,” he said.

“I never overwhelm him.”

“You tackled him last time.”

“That was enthusiasm.”

“He couldn’t breathe.”

“He survived.”

Hiro shook his head slightly, but there was no real disapproval in it—just something softer, something a little more thoughtful. “…You like his attention,” he said.

Cinnamon stopped pacing. For once, he didn’t immediately joke. “…Yeah,” he admitted, quieter now. Then, glancing back with a small, knowing smile, “So do you.”

Hiro’s ears tinted pink almost instantly. “I don’t—”

“You do,” Cinnamon cut in, not unkindly. “You just sit there all quiet and hope he notices instead.”

Hiro looked down at his lap, fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of his sleeves.

“…Maybe,” he said.

The room fell quiet again after that—heavier this time, but not uncomfortable. Just full. Then—

A faint sound from the hallway. Footsteps. Closer.

Both of their heads turned toward the door at the exact same time. Cinnamon’s expression lit up instantly, energy snapping back into place like a switch flipping.

“…He’s back,” he whispered, already smoothing his hair, adjusting his top again. Hiro sat up a little straighter, heart clearly caught somewhere in his throat, though he tried to hide it.

“…Okay,” he murmured.

Cinnamon shot him a look. “Okay?? That’s all you have to say?”

Hiro pushed his glasses up slightly, avoiding his eyes. “…I’m preparing. Quietly.”

Cinnamon grinned, stepping toward the door like he was about to go on stage. “Don’t worry,” he said, voice bright again, full of mischief. “I’ve got this.”

Hiro watched him for a second, then glanced back at the door, softer, more uncertain—but no less expectant.

“…Be gentle,” he added.

Cinnamon paused, hand hovering near the handle.

Then he smiled.

“No promises~.”