I woke up well after noon.

My notifications were flooded with over a dozen texts from Sarah, and Michael's pillow was still in my arms.

I flung it away from me like it was scorching hot.

There he was, curled up across the room with his one pillow. I must have been asleep when he snuck back in. Did he know I had his pillow? Of course he does, you moron!

I shot Sarah a quick reply, letting her know I'd meet her at lunch to catch up, then rolled out of bed to take a shower.

The mug of coffee on the bedside table caught my eye.

Suspicious, I touched my palm to its side. It was still warm.

I crept over on my tip-toes to Michael's bed and inspected him closely, trying to determine if he was awake or not. Had he made the coffee and left it there? When? Why?

I bent down a little lower. His expression was perfectly relaxed, his breaths slow and deep. I glanced at the coffee mug and wondered for a second if he had poisoned it.

When I turned back around, his eyes were open.

"Fuck," I hissed, leaping backward. My heart rate spiked. "You scared me."

He yawned slowly and blinked a few times. "What are you doing?" he mumbled, before rolling onto his back.

"I was... never mind," I sputtered out. "What's with the coffee?"

He smiled. "I made it for you. Take it as a peace offering. Didn't know how you like it so I just left it black. There's milk in the fridge and sugar packets around here somewhere."

"I hate coffee," I snapped, just to be rude. I was still mad at him for crashing into my car, and to top it all off, now I had the pillow situation to be embarrassed about.

His brow furrowed. "Really? Who doesn't like coffee?"

"Me."

Michael chuckled. "What do you drink in the morning? Booze?"

"I don't know." I said the first thing that came to mind. "Water, I guess."

I backed up to give him room as he swung himself out of bed. He padded towards the kitchen while I went to look for clean clothes. I'd have to do laundry soon.

My jeans from yesterday were laying on the ground, a slip of paper peeking out from the pocket.

Rhoda, I thought immediately. The hot girl in my history class who hated nerds.

I hesitated to enter her number into my phone. I'd never just texted a girl randomly before, without any real reason. What would I even say? I typed out a few messages, all of which sounded lame. Meaningless compliments and hey, I don't normally do this but-

Eventually, I decided short and sweet was the way to go.

hey, it's ben from history. are you doing anything tmrw?

In the kitchen, I could hear the sound of the sink running. I swallowed my anxiety like a pill as I watched text bubbles appear on my screen, meaning she was typing a reply.

no. u tryna meet up?

I paused at that. I was torn between asking what that entailed - though I had a pretty good idea - and trying to keep the conversation casual. I typed quickly as Michael appeared in the doorway.

i'd love to 😊 after first class maybe?

"Hey," Michael said. He held a glass of water in his hand.

I noticed he was still wearing the same shirt as yesterday, though it was now wrinkled and had some sort of stain down the front. He'd taken off his pants and wore a pair of black boxers.

My eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

He carried the glass over and held it out to me. "Water. You said you like water."

"Oh." Stupidly, I reached for it and drew it down to my lips, fingers trembling. My throat felt dry as I took a sip.

Michael's eyes stayed on me, as if ensuring I'd drank enough to be appreciative. I forced down a few more mouthfuls. "Hydration is important," he said. "I should've gotten you water to begin with."

My screen lit up with a text.

go to the park. thats where i hang out

"Hey, Michael..." I realized I didn't have his number, and since we had to live together I would probably need it, though I dreaded asking. I could only imagine him doing his infuriating smirk and saying, oh, you want my number? Ooooh.

Just get it over with, I told myself. Like ripping off a band-aid.

"Here," I said, handing him my phone. "Put your number in."

He smirked craftily, exactly how I had predicted. "What for?"

I don't have time for this. "Just put it in!"

He typed something, biting his lip. "Funny," he murmured, "that's exactly what I kept hearing last night."

"What? Oh, forget it," I snapped. "Give me my phone."

"Hold on, hold on, I'm almost done." He snickered to himself before handing it back. I stared at his contact name in disgust. It read as ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

"This is just in case something happens and we need to tell each other," I said. "Like, hey dude, don't come home, I'm banging some chick, you don't wanna walk in on that. Again."

He tilted his head down, then looked up at me through two gloating blue slits. "You want me to call you every time I have sex?" he asked like he was confused. "Just saying, that's gonna be a lot."

"Hey dude, pick up some food on your way home, the fridge is empty," I revised. "Better?"

"What food do you like?" he asked.

This time, I tried to think of an honest answer. "Fries," I said finally. It was true. Fries were good.

"Really? I picture you as more of a hotdog man." He chuckled low in his throat like he'd said something hilarious.

I couldn't help but feel I was being left out of a joke. "Um, no. Not a fan of hotdogs."

"Maybe you just haven't had a good one," he said.

I narrowed my eyes.

"For example, the cafeteria has really shitty ones. There's a little diner in town where they're decent." He raised his thumb to his mouth and chewed on the nail. "You can't just go around picking any old hotdog, you have to be really selective."

I felt my blood boiling. "Thanks for the advice," I said, giving him with my worst death stare. "Not that I will need it."

He smiled like he'd just won something. "Pleasure."

Maybe I was reading into things. Maybe he was really talking about hotdogs. Maybe he was just a weirdo and that's how he acted with everybody. Maybe taking someone down to an abandoned gym and kissing them was perfectly normal behavior around here. Rhoda kind of acted like that. But she's a girl and she already made it clear she was into me.

"I have to go," I said then, because my cheeks had become too red to continue facing him.

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I took my time showering, cleaning the grime of the party off me, keeping my face under the showerhead like it was holy water that could cleanse my soul. After a good amount of stalling, I got dressed and prepared to head downstairs.

If I could make it past Michael, of course.

He was sitting in bed when I crept out of the bathroom. His head snapped up the second I opened the door, like a rabid dog waiting to strike. "Hello," he said cheerily. "Where are you off to?"

"The cafeteria," I mumbled.

"Oh, lovely," he said. "I was just about to go there myself. Mind if I tag along?"

"Yes," I said, but he'd already gotten up, so I figured there was no point in fighting it.

"I had, like, five gallons of coffee this morning. I'm so awake." He giggled. I looked over at him. He was practically bouncing on his toes.

"You must have had a good night's sleep with Lisa number two," I said.

"Actually, her name was..." He stopped, right at the top of the stairs, and blinked. "Oh fuck." I scoffed in disbelief and started down the stairs, not waiting for him. "Fuck," he said again. "I don't know. She had blonde hair."

I nodded. "That really narrows it down."

"What did you do last night?" he asked.

"Slept," I said. "Alone."

He frowned. "Aww. That's so sad."

"Not really."

At the bottom of the stairs, I pulled out my phone, hoping that if I looked busy he would stop talking to me. Sarah had texted me to let me know she'd gotten out of class. "Is that Smurfy?" Michael said excitedly, leaning over.

"Dude," I said. "You really need to learn about something called personal space."

He looked offended by that, but did back off a little. I returned to my phone to tell Sarah I was headed to the caf.

I didn't mention Michael for obvious reasons.

The cafeteria was not as crowded as I thought it would be, mostly just people sitting by themselves with laptops and earbuds, typing away like maniacs while they simultaneously munched on a sandwich. Sarah was not among them.

"So," I said to Michael. "Do you wanna sit-"

Before I could get the words out, he was walking away.

"Where are you going?" I called after him.

"Food," he said simply, his back turned. "B-R-B."

I suppressed a groan and chose a random booth to sit at alone. Back in high school, Sarah and I always had a table of kids to sit with, though we mostly just talked to each other. I could barely remember the others' names.

Having one BFF-for-life is not all it's cracked up to be.

Especially if they're out sick one day.

Sarah made up for my lack of social skills. She always talked for both of us, always introduced both of us, always said the things I was thinking but couldn't find the words for. And because I'd always had her, I never learned to do those things on my own.

Michael broke from the line of people building their plates and began heading my way. Though I didn't want to admit it, I was a little thankful he was here.

At least I wouldn't be on my own.

He carried two plates with him, one with a slice of pizza and another with a sandwich containing some type of questionable meat. He set them down on the table before sliding into the seat across from me.

My brow knitted. "Is that for me?"

"I didn't know what you would prefer, so I got you one of each," he said.

Why was he being so nice? Was it all about the car? Or was this just a new tactic to get on my nerves?

"I'll be happy to take whichever one you don't want," he told me when I remained silent. "I'm not picky."

There was a lot he wasn't picky about. Food, women, living accommodations. "Whatever," I managed to get out, waving my hand over the plates. "You choose."

He smiled and slid the pizza closer to him. "I like both too," he said, and then he winked.

A shiver of unease trickled through my body. "Yeah. You just said that."

His lips pressed together, and I swear he was holding back one of his smirks. "I just thought you should know," he murmured as he folded the pizza slice in half.

"Why would I need to know that you like pizza-"

Before I could continue, a hand ruffled my hair from behind and I jumped. Sarah stood beside me, holding a tray of food and wearing a bright smile. She glanced at Michael and suddenly her glossy purple lips formed a frown. "Oh, look, it's the alcoholic dickwad."

He let out an easy chuckle. "Hello to you too, Smurfy."

Sarah planted herself down next to me, so close our bare arms brushed. She bent the straw from her can of pop and took a sip. "So, what even happened last night? One minute I was dancing in Amy's living room and the next I was awake with a killer headache in bed."

I shot a glance Michael's way, praying he wouldn't say anything about the car accident, or more importantly, the kiss.

That fucking kiss. I still couldn't wrap my head around it. Did it mean nothing? Was I supposed to just forget about it?

"I-I don't remember much either," I lied finally. "A lot of it was just a blur."

Sarah lifted a thick french fry off her plate and chewed slowly. "Maybe parties aren't so great after all."

"That a cheeseburger you got there?" Michael was eying her tray.

Sarah scowled at him. "Yes."

"Can I have it?"

"What?" Her face twisted in disbelief. "Absolutely not. C'mon, Ben, let's go sit somewhere else. We don't need this weirdo interrupting our conversation."

His smile remained unwavering. "Actually, you interrupted our conversation. But I'm willing to let it slide, Smurfy. I gotta get to the gym anyway." He leaned over, snatched the burger off Sarah's tray, and took a huge bite before slipping away past a trio of students.

Sarah let out a breath of disgust. "Ugh! The nerve of that guy!"

"Let it go," I mumbled. "I'll buy you another burger."

Absent-mindedly, I stared after Michael as he walked away. I watched his confident stance, his long strides. The way his shoulder blades rolled and his biceps stood out as he reached for the door.

"He's not really that bad," I said quietly. "A little annoying, but-"

"Not that bad?" she repeated. "You sent me like fifty texts last night complaining about him."

Oh, shit. I'd forgotten my texting tirade as I made my way upstairs from the gym. "Look," I said. "I don't like him either. But I'm stuck with the guy. And I think he's starting to not hate me completely so I'm trying to keep it that way."

"By doing what? Letting him steal your friend's food whenever he feels like it?"

I inspected the burger closely, then turned it so the un-bitten side was facing her. "Half of it's still good."

She smiled slightly, and I could tell she was giving in. "We'll have to cut around the part that he ate," she decided at last. "He probably has herpes of the mouth."

I laughed. "Probably."

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I couldn't sleep.

I was lying in bed, my vision forming weird shapes on the ceiling. It was about 4 a.m., too early to get up for the day, too late to get a decent night's sleep. I glanced across the room, where Michael slept soundly, then at his pillow, still lying on the floor where I'd flung it this morning.

With a sigh, I stood and padded to the bathroom, wincing as my bare feet met the cold floor.

I flicked on the light and glanced at my reflection, with my messy bedhead that stuck up like a mini Marge Simpson and bloodshot eyes outlined with dark circles. Those eyes, matched with my pasty white complexion, probably made me look like a vampire.

And not the hot, sparkly kind.

I turned to leave, having seen enough, and bumped directly into someone standing there.

I screamed. My knee banged off the counter, sending a crack of pain all throughout my leg. "Jesus," I hissed, biting down on my jaw. "What the hell?"

Michael blinked at me as I rubbed my knee furiously. "Light was on. Woke me up."

"I turned it on for one second."

"Why? Just to stare at yourself in the mirror?"

He wore a light gray t-shirt, tight enough to show off every curve of his sculpted muscles. I chewed the inside of my cheek. Why did he have to have such a better body than me? He ate burgers and pizza and seemed to drink often. Was he blessed by gods?

"I just..." I heaved a tired sigh and crossed my arms over my chest. "I couldn't sleep."

He leaned back against the wall. "Homesick?"

I gave a short, harsh laugh. "Trust me," I said. "Nothing here could possibly be half as bad as what's back there."

"Oh." His eyes dropped to the ground for a second. "Well, I guess it's a good thing you're here then."

"Yeah, everything's just dandy," I snapped. "You know what, I'm done talking to you. It's not like you could ever understand, with your rich parents and your perfect life. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to my cold hard bed to lie in my misery until I get to leave and not see your annoying little fucking smirk for another day. Get out of my way, asshole."

I gave him a shove to get by, stumbling a little as his steel frame remained in place.

"Move," I ordered.

"Hold on." He moved his arm to block me. "If you don't like your bed, you're welcome to come to mine. You seemed to like it well enough the last time."

"As I recall, you picked me up and forcibly removed me," I spat. Even saying the words made me shudder. The memory of being helpless in that prick's arms wasn't something I wished to dwell on.

He shifted his other arm to rest on the door frame, effectively caging me in. "What if I promise to play nice?"

"You're intolerable."

His head shook and he let out a little exhale. "I have been nothing but cordial to you, while you yell at me, insult me, call me names... the list goes on. And while I don't mind being degraded, I prefer it in a very specific context that frankly, I don't think you could deliver, Benny."

I had to admit, he had been nice all day. A little too nice. "Maybe I'd appreciate it more if you didn't always have that creepy smile on your face," I said.

He looked offended. "What creepy smile?"

"The one you were making two seconds ago when you were talking about a very specific context." I mimicked his husky voice.

Michael stepped closer, so close, in fact, that our noses nearly touched and I could feel his gentle breath warm my lips. I was itching to ask him something, the question that had plagued my mind all day. The question that was tearing me apart.

"Why did you kiss me?" I burst out.

It was scary, being that vulnerable. Admitting that I was still thinking about it. Opening myself up for his answer.

"I don't know..." His voice tapered off and he leaned down to get a good look at me, his blonde curls grazing my forehead. "I couldn't stop myself."

I shivered and craned my neck back, desperate to allow some space between us. "I hate that you're my first kiss at college."

His gaze traveled down to my lips, then back to my eyes. "Am I really? I'm honored."

Shit. Maybe I shouldn't have given that away. "Yeah," I murmured. "But, you know, this is only my second full day, so cut me some slack."

He smiled at my lame joke, and I tried to force a smile back. It probably looked even creepier than his. "Well, if you ever want more," he murmured slowly. "Just say the word."

I had to pause to consider what he was saying. More. More kisses? More than a kiss? Was he gay? He didn't look gay. He didn't wear makeup or long nails or talk in that annoying gay voice.

"I'm going to sleep," I muttered. I wormed my way around him and walked back across the floor to my bed. He followed, his fingertips brushing my forearm to turn me around.

"Do you know how hard it's gonna be to have to sleep over there without you?"

My breath all but left my body. "What?"

"You heard me." One hand slipped around my waist and pulled us together. Chests touching. Hips touching. The front of his loose boxers meeting mine.

No, no, I chastised myself. Don't even think about it. It wouldn't be wise to fall for someone like him. Take Kitty for example. Kitty seemed to have a pretty sad existence.

But I couldn't help it. During the few sexual experiences I did have, I'd been forced to take charge while my clumsy, fumbling hands made a fool of me. I'd never been touched in such a way in my life.

He felt me tense against him, then relax again as he held my body against his. Two fingers grazed my chin, keeping my eyes locked on his. "Is this making it harder?" I whispered, my voice ghostly.

"It's making something harder."