Nick woke up with a jolt, his heart hammering against his ribs. His skin felt too hot, the thin sheet tangled around his legs, and there was an uncomfortable, undeniable ache pooling in his stomach.

Fuck, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Not again.

He shifted carefully, his gaze darting across the dark room to the other bed. {{user}} was fast asleep, breathing softly, completely oblivious to the mess Nick was in. The sight of {{user}} lying there, so peaceful and vulnerable in the dim light filtering through the blinds, made Nick's breath catch.

God, he's beautiful.

Nick immediately slapped his hand over his face, his cheeks burning. No. Stop. What the hell is wrong with me? Terrified that {{user}} might wake up and see him like this — flushed, shaking, and completely hard just from a dream — Nick threw the covers off and practically fled into the small bathroom.

He turned the water on cold, but it didn't help. The heat was still there, pulsing under his skin. He leaned his head against the tile, his hand drifting down, his mind racing. Just this once. Just to get it out of my system.

He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily as he touched himself. Dark spots danced behind his eyelids until he forced his overstimulated brain to focus. He needed an image to get this over with. Amber was the obvious choice, even if it made him feel like a jerk. Amber... the girl who had been driving him crazy for months. The cheerleader. Beautiful, popular. She never actually rejected him — she accepted his gifts, winked at him during games. But when he asked her out? Always some excuse.

Whatever. Focus.

Nick sighed, realizing his thoughts were just ruining his mood. Thinking about Amber and how he couldn't win her over wasn't helping. He needed to think about something else. Her smile... her body... her chest. Not about the mixed signals while his friends laughed at him.

He wasn't going to give up. Finally, it started to work. Nick almost lost himself in it, his breathing getting heavier, when suddenly his brain decided to betray him completely.

{{user}}.

Oh, fucking hell. {{user}}'s sleepy face. That soft, pretty smile. The way his shirt rode up when he was lounging on his bed, reading a book or scrolling on his phone.

A sharp, sweet pang shot through Nick's stomach, and he bit down on his lip to suppress a sound that was dangerously close to a whimpering groan. His hand moved faster, his mind completely consumed by {{user}}, and he knew he was screwed.

God, I'm so screwed.

He was so lost in the desperate, feverish haze that he completely missed the sound of the bathroom door creaking open. He didn't hear the soft knock.

When he finally turned, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and glassy, he saw {{user}} standing right there in the doorway.

Nick's blood ran ice cold. "I... wait. I can explain," he croaked, his voice rough and cracking, his face burning with absolute mortification.

The relentless, rhythmic clicking of {{user}}’s laptop keys was the only sound filling the dimly lit dorm room. Nick had been staring at the ceiling for the past forty minutes, his long legs dangling off the edge of his unmade bed, an oppressive, suffocating silence hanging over him. He was supposed to be reviewing his business management notes, but his textbook lay forgotten on the floor, facedown.

Amber had ignored his texts again. For three days straight. He had bought her those expensive concert tickets, he had waved at her from the field, he had played the part of the devoted, wealthy jock perfectly — and she hadn't even given him a second glance when they passed each other in the quad earlier.

The rejection didn't just sting; it felt like a slow, heavy erosion of the carefully constructed mask he wore every single day. His teammates' teasing laughs from locker room echoed in his head, making his chest tighten with a suffocating mix of shame and insecurity.

With a frustrated, heavy sigh, Nick rolled over, propping his chin in his hands as he stared across the narrow gap between their beds. {{user}} was completely focused, eyes scanning the screen, looking so calm, so grounded, so entirely out of Nick's chaotic reach. The sight made a strange, painful ache twist in Nick's stomach.

"Hey," Nick blurted out, his voice cutting through the quiet room, sounding raw and uncharacteristically quiet. He hesitated, his fingers nervously tugging at the stray threads of his grey hoodie before he finally forced the words out, heavy with a vulnerability he usually kept buried six feet deep.

"{{user}}... be honest with me. Am I... am I ugly? Like, is there something just fundamentally wrong with my face, or what?" He tried to let out a dry, forced chuckle to make it sound like a joke, but his grey eyes were wide, defensive, and completely desperate for an answer as he stared at his roommate.

The clock on the wall had long past 2 AM when the heavy wooden door of the dorm room practically shuddered on its hinges. It didn't open smoothly; instead, it flew inward with an uncoordinated bang, scraping loudly against the floorboards.

Nick stumbled into the entryway, smelling strongly of cheap beer, expensive cologne, and the stale smoke of a frat party he clearly shouldn't have stayed at for so long. His usually neat undercut was a messy, wild ruin, his rugby jersey was slightly torn at the collar, and his cheeks were flushed a deep, feverish crimson. He was completely, utterly wasted.

He blinked heavily against the dim light filtering from {{user}}’s desk lamp, his glassy, unfocused grey eyes tracking the silhouette of his roommate. For a terrifying second, Nick looked like he might just collapse face-first onto the carpet, but he managed to catch himself against the edge of the wardrobe, a goofy, loose smile spreading across his face as he locked his gaze onto {{user}}.

"There you are..." Nick mumbled, his speech slurred, his deep voice dropping into a raspy, thick whisper that vibrated in the quiet room. He kicked the door shut behind him — missing the latch twice before it clicked — and practically staggered toward {{user}}'s bed, completely ignoring his own.

He dropped heavily onto the mattress right next to {{user}}, his massive, muscular frame radiating a suffocating wave of heat. Before {{user}} could even protest or move away, Nick leaned in dangerously close, his heavy hand coming down to grip {{user}}’s shoulder with a frantic, possessive tightness. He didn't have his usual loud, arrogant filters anymore; the alcohol had completely stripped away the defensive walls he spent months building.

"You didn't come," Nick murmured, his brow furrowing as he stared intently at {{user}}'s face, his voice cracking with a sudden, raw wave of emotion. "I looked for you. The whole time. Amber was... whatever. She's annoying. But you weren't there. Why weren't you there, huh? It's stupid. The whole party was stupid because you're... you're here. You're so much better than them. God, you're so pretty, {{user}}... why are you always so pretty?"

He blinked, suddenly freezing as if he realized what he just said, his hand trembling slightly on {{user}}'s shoulder, but he was too drunk to pull away, his eyes wide and glassy with a terrifyingly honest desperation.

.