The dorm clock blinked 1:03.I shifted onto my back; he draped half over my chest, head tucked near the bruise he’d iced all week.Comfortable enough.Risky enough.I removed his glasses and sat them on the desk; mine lived somewhere in the gear pile—obstacles for dawn.
I threaded fingers through his, anchored them on my stomach.His breathing synced to mine by degrees.The radiator cycled on, warm against the window glaze.The hallway settled into late-night hush: elevator ding, distant door, nothing else.
I waited for the panic.Instead, there was only the steady proof of his weight against me.
“Luke?”he said into the fabric of my shirt.
“Yeah.”
“Promise me you won’t regret this in the morning.”
“Promise.”I squeezed his hand.
A hum of agreement, then his body relaxed.Twenty seconds later his breaths evened—soft, rhythmic.
I let my eyes close.The math of the day collapsed into simple integers: two bodies, one mattress, zero distance.
I slept.
Morning slapped me with the metallic ring of my phone alarm.I jerked, disoriented, until the warm shape against my side crystallized.Austen blinked up, hair worse than midnight, pillow crease on his cheek.No panic in his eyes, slow awareness.My alarm buzzed again; I silenced it.
“Time?”he croaked.
“Five-forty.”
He processed that, then made to roll away.I tightened my arm.“You’re good.”
“Practice?”
“Starts at six-thirty.Need campus shuttle by six.”My shoulder twinged but held.“We have ten.”
He sat up, rubbing his face.Blanket pooled at his waist; Frost Demons logo distorted across his chest.He caught me staring, color touched his ears.“Still no regrets?”
“None.”I grinned.Couldn’t stop.
He returned the smile.His gaze swept the room.
“You’re thinking,” I said.
“Trying not to overthink this.”His voice was still sandpaper from sleep.“Outcome appears positive.”
“I concur.”
I swung my legs over the side, stood, and stretched.The floor was colder than expected.He followed, toes curling on the rug.
“What’s your morning like?”Austen asked.
“Skate edges.”
“Coffee for you after?”
“I would love that.”My hand hovered at his waist.Habit said stop.New data said don’t.I let my fingers brush his hip through the shirt; he leaned into it.
Quiet intimacy lasted three heartbeats before the radiator clanged, reminding us somebody, somewhere, still existed.We stepped apart, but the distance felt pretend now.
I gathered practice gear, shoulder test—twinge, tolerable.As I laced my runners, he climbed back into my bed.
At the door, I paused.Sun hadn’t climbed yet; the hallway fluorescents flickered half power.I looked back.
