I woke up to the sound of breathing.

Not mine.

Deeper. Slower. Steady.

My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I forgot where I was. The ceiling above me wasn’t my childhood bedroom. The walls were unfamiliar. The faint scent of cologne and clean laundry filled the air. My back was cold. My legs tangled in too-thin sheets.

And behind me, the source of the breathing shifted.

Oh god.

Jace was in my bed.

Or I was in his.

Either way, we were sharing space. One mattress. One pillow. One long, sleepless night after his teasing had left me staring at the wall, wired and wrecked, trying not to imagine what it would feel like if he reached over and—

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

I froze.

I could feel the heat of his chest just behind me. We weren’t touching, not really, but it was close. So close I could feel the rhythm of his breathing press into my spine. So close I could smell the faint scent of his skin—citrusy, clean, and maddening.

“You sleep quiet,” he added, as if we’d done this a hundred times before. “Barely moved all night.”

“I—I didn’t know you—”

“I came in around three,” he said. “Didn’t wanna wake you. You looked peaceful. Figured you wouldn’t mind if I climbed in.”

Climbed in? I turned slightly, my voice low and panicked. “This is my bed.”

“It was,” he said with a lazy grin. “Now it’s our bed.”

My jaw dropped. “What happened to rules?”

“Rule four,” he said, stretching beside me, muscles flexing. “Beds are meant to be shared. You didn’t call dibs last night. That’s on you.”

“That’s not how this works!”

He rolled onto his back, arms behind his head, bare chest on full display in the morning light streaming through the blinds. My mouth went dry.

“Relax,” he said, smirking without even looking at me. “I kept to my side. Barely touched you.”

Barely was doing a lot of heavy lifting.

I scrambled out of bed, dragging the sheet with me like it was armor.

He laughed softly. “You’re cute in the morning, you know that?”

“I’m not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This!” I motioned to the bed. To him. To my blatant arousal tucked under the edge of the sheet. “This roommate-turned—whatever—thing. You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to tease me like this.”

His smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened.

“You’re really worked up, shy boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then stop acting like it.”

I turned, heat crawling up my neck. This was insane. I barely knew him. And yet he was under my skin like a splinter I couldn’t pull out. Dangerous. Too charming for his own good. And he knew it.

I headed for the closet to grab clothes and escape to the bathroom.

He called after me. “Rule five!”

I paused, hand on the doorknob. “What now?”

“Always come back.”

I looked over my shoulder, and the way he was watching me—eyes low, mouth curved, like I was the first person to ever confuse him—sent a jolt straight through my chest.

“I didn’t say I was leaving,” I said quietly.

He didn’t reply. Just smirked and tucked one arm behind his head, watching me walk out like he’d already won something.

---

The cold water didn’t help this time.

No matter how long I stood under the spray, his voice was in my head. His smirk burned behind my eyelids. His scent still clung to my skin like a promise I didn’t know how to ignore.

When I returned, towel around my shoulders, Jace was gone. A note sat on his pillow, scrawled in messy handwriting.

“Gym. Back later. Don’t hog all the bed. —J”

I stared at it, heart thudding.

Why did he act like we were already something?

I pulled on jeans and a plain T-shirt, grabbed my sketchpad, and escaped to the campus courtyard. I needed to clear my head. I needed to draw. Drawing always helped. Lines didn’t lie. Paper didn’t flirt.

But even as I tried to sketch the twisting vines along the stone archways, my fingers itched to draw something else—someone else.

His jawline. His eyes. The shape of his lips when he smirked.

I slammed the pad shut.

---

That night, he came back from the gym shirtless, towel slung around his neck, chest glistening slightly with sweat.

“You should’ve come with me,” he said casually. “I could use a spotter.”

I tried not to stare at the way his shorts hung low on his hips.

“No thanks.”

He pulled open the mini-fridge and grabbed a water bottle, cracking it open with one hand. “You always this uptight?”

“I just like personal space.”

“Then you’re at the wrong school,” he teased. “Especially with me.”

He moved to sit on his bed—our bed now, apparently—and tossed his towel over the chair.

Then he turned to me, more serious.

“Okay, real talk.”

I looked up from my sketchpad warily. “What?”

He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “You’re clearly not like the other guys I’ve roomed with. You don’t party. You don’t talk much. You blush when I breathe near you.”

I flushed. “That’s not—”

He raised a brow. “Am I wrong?”

I said nothing.

He continued, voice softer. “I’m not trying to mess with you. I’m just... being myself. You can tell me to stop if I’m pushing too hard.”

I stared at him. This was... new. The teasing was gone. He looked genuine.

“I’m not used to people like you,” I said finally.

“Like me?”

“Confident. Flirty. Comfortable in your own skin.”

He smiled faintly. “Took me a long time to get there. You think I was always this smooth?”

“Yeah, actually.”

He laughed. “Nah. I was a mess my first year. Couldn’t even talk to a guy without freaking out. Then I met someone who made me feel seen. And I swore I’d do the same for someone else.”

I swallowed. “Is that what you’re doing?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

My breath caught.

He stood and walked over slowly, kneeling in front of me like a prayer.

“I won’t touch you,” he said, voice low. “Not unless you ask me to.”

I didn’t move.

“Just say the word, Luca. One word.”

I couldn’t speak.

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no.

He smiled like he understood the difference.

Then he stood, grabbed his towel, and headed for the shower.

And I sat there, heart pounding, skin burning, wondering just how many rules I was willing to break.

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore.

It wasn’t the new mattress or the constant buzz of college life. It was the boy in the other bed—or rather, the other side of the same bed. Jace Carter had a way of getting under your skin without even touching you. And when he did touch you—accidentally, casually, always with that half-smile—it was impossible to forget.

I laid on my back that night, arms stiff at my sides, staring up at the ceiling as Jace hummed along to the low music playing from his headphones. He was only a few inches away, stretched out shirtless on his side, scrolling through his phone, bare feet hanging off the end of the bed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Can’t sleep again?” he asked without looking at me.

I blinked. “How do you know?”

“You breathe different when you’re faking it.”

I sighed. “You’re very observant.”

He chuckled, then rolled onto his stomach, resting his cheek on his folded arms. “Want me to put on rain sounds or something? Or do you want to cuddle?”

I shot him a look. “You are impossible.”

“And yet, you still share a bed with me every night.” He grinned. “You could’ve asked for a transfer, you know.”

“I did. They said the dorms are full.”

“Right,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Totally out of your control.”

I looked away, cheeks burning. I had emailed housing. But I never hit send.

He shifted closer, until the warmth of his body seeped into mine. Not touching. Just… hovering. I could smell the clean soap on his skin. Could feel the heat radiating off him. My body was painfully aware of how little space was left between us.

“You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I whispered. “I’m scared of… me.”

He didn’t respond right away. And for once, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt honest.

After a moment, he spoke again. “You know, I’ve had a lot of roommates. Some were cool. Some were assholes. None of them looked at me like you do.”

I swallowed. “How do I look at you?”

“Like I’m the edge of a cliff.”

I turned my head. “And you want me to jump?”

He looked straight into my eyes. “No. I want you to pull me down with you.”

The air shifted. Everything slowed.

I didn’t even realize my hand had moved until it brushed his knuckles between us. Just a light touch. Barely there. But his eyes darkened.

He leaned in, just slightly. His breath was warm against my cheek.

“Rule six,” he whispered. “If you touch me, even once… I get to touch you back.”

My lips parted. “Is that a threat?”

He smirked. “It’s a promise.”

My pulse thundered. “What if I say no?”

“You won’t,” he said simply. “But you could. And I’d stop. You know that, right?”

I nodded, heart beating so loud I was sure he could hear it.

Then I turned away, pulling the blanket over my head like that would save me.

He laughed softly, but didn’t press. Didn’t touch me again.

Still, I didn’t sleep.

---

The next morning, I woke to the soft rustle of fabric and the low clink of something metal.

I cracked one eye open.

Jace stood shirtless at the closet, towel around his waist, pulling on jeans. His back muscles flexed as he moved, golden in the soft morning light. His waistband dipped dangerously low as he reached for a clean shirt.

And of course, he caught me staring.

He grinned over his shoulder. “Morning, creeper.”

I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, you definitely were.” I heard the smirk in his voice. “Next time, just ask me to take longer.”

I threw a pillow at him, but he dodged it easily.

“Breakfast?” he asked, pulling on a hoodie. “I’ve got a class at ten, but we’ve got time.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Liar. You skipped dinner last night too. C’mon. You can sketch your toast or whatever artsy thing you do.”

He was teasing, but I couldn’t help the tiny smile that broke through.

“Fine. But I’m paying.”

He raised a brow. “Cute and stubborn. Dangerous combo.”

---

We sat in the corner booth of a tiny café just off campus. It was quiet—dim lighting, black coffee, and the smell of sugar and cinnamon in the air. Jace ordered pancakes with extra syrup. I got a plain bagel and a latte.

He watched me draw the steam curling from my cup with mild amusement.

“You really love that sketchpad, huh?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense when everything else feels… too much.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned back in the booth. “Ever draw me?”

My hand froze mid-line.

“I—uh—I…”

He smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I glared at him. “You’re ridiculously full of yourself.”

“Not my fault I’m inspiring.”

I fought a smile. He wasn’t wrong.

---

That night, something shifted again.

We were both in bed, lights off, only the glow of my desk lamp bathing the room in soft gold. I was curled up against the wall, sketchpad open, drawing lines without looking.

Jace was lying beside me, propped up on one elbow, watching my hand move.

“You’re good,” he said. “Like, actually good.”

“Thanks.”

He reached over and gently took the pencil from my hand. His fingers brushed mine. Warm. Steady. My breath hitched.

“I want you to draw me.”

“I already have,” I said softly.

He tilted his head. “I mean now. Like this. With you watching.”

My throat dried.

He reached for the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.

Then he lay back on the bed, one arm folded under his head, chest rising and falling slowly.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll hold still.”

I stared at him.

At the lines of his collarbones. The smooth planes of his chest. The faint trail of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband.

My hand moved on instinct. Pencil. Paper. Shadow and light.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t smirk. Just watched me with those eyes—curious, unguarded, intense.

I didn’t realize how close I’d leaned until my knee brushed his.

I froze.

He looked up at me. “Luca.”

My name on his lips sounded like a dare.

I swallowed. “Yes?”

“Rule seven,” he whispered. “If you start something, you’d better be ready to finish it.”

My breath caught. “I didn’t start anything.”

He reached up slowly, hand brushing my cheek, fingers trailing down my jaw.

“You did the second you walked into this room.”

Then he leaned up—just a little—and kissed me.

Soft. Slow. A breath, not a storm.

I didn’t move.

Not away. Not toward.

He pulled back, eyes searching mine. “Too much?”

I shook my head.

“Want me to stop?”

I didn’t speak.

Because no—I didn’t want him to stop.

But I was scared of what it meant if he didn’t.

He reached for my hand, gently lacing our fingers together. His thumb brushed my knuckles, grounding me.

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he said. “I’m not here to use you. Or break you.”

I looked at him.

“You’re already breaking me,” I whispered.

His eyes softened. “Then let me put you back together.”