“Later, roommate,” I said—habit.
He met my eyes, brow quirked.“We may need a new noun.”
I swallowed a grin big enough to betray us in public.“Work on it.We iterate.”
I walked back over to him, leaned down, and kissed him on the forehead.He smiled up at me.No words.I turned and left.
The hallway smelled like bleach and someone else’s stale pizza.I tapped both doorposts—left, right—before jogging toward the stairs.
Somewhere between ticks of the radiator and the first cool breath outside, I realized the net I’d been protecting hadn’t been the crease.
And “roommate” definitely wasn’t the right word.
Chapter 18
Controlled Variables
Austen
I woke to an empty bed and the smell of soap.
The pillow beside me still held the impression of Luke’s head.I pressed my palm into it, feeling residual warmth that might have been real or imagined.The clock read 7:14—he’d been gone for over an hour.
Chess pieces littered the floor.The bishop had rolled under my desk.The pea bag sat in a puddle on the towel, forgotten casualties of whatever had happened at 1:03 a.m.
I replayed the data: his lips, the radiator click, the way his hand had found mine in the dark.I’d kissed Luke Carter.Luke Carter had kissed me back.These were facts now, entered into the permanent record.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Luke:Edges felt good.Shoulder at 1.5.Ryan asked why I was smiling during bag skate.
I read it three times before I typed back.
Me:What did you tell him?
Luke:Podcast.
Me:You don’t listen to podcasts.
Luke:He doesn’t know that.
I smiled at the ceiling.The crack was still there, same as always.But the room felt different—recalibrated, like someone had adjusted the variables without telling me.
I got up, collected the chess pieces, threw away the pea bag, and hung the towel to dry.Now I was the one perseverating.My entire operating system had been rewritten overnight.
The next three days existed on two parallel planes.
In public, nothing changed.Luke sat with the team at meals.I sat with Maya or alone.We passed each other in hallways with the careful neutrality of acquaintances.In class, I took notes.In Ridgeway Hall, I helped students prepare for finals.The surface held.
In private, everything changed.
Luke came back from practice at 4:47 each afternoon.I learned his schedule like a theorem—shower by five, protein shake by 5:15, homework spread across his bed by 5:30.I learned to listen for his key in the lock, the specific weight of his footsteps.
The first night after the kiss, he’d hesitated at the threshold between our beds.
He gestured to my bed, “Can I?—”
“Yes.”
