The Roommates: Part 7

The soft morning haze lingered in the dorm room, sunlight bleeding through thin curtains. Warmth clung to the air, sleep, skin, and something sweeter still. Jonas and Rafael stayed tangled longer than they should, reluctant to leave the comfort built between stolen nights and whispered promises.

Their bathroom ritual was chaotic as always, shoulder bumps over toothbrushes, damp towels flung carelessly, steam fogging the mirror. Jonas laughed as Rafael yanked the hot water toward his side of the tiny shower, earning a soap-slicked swipe across the waist in retaliation.

But the moment the dorm door clicked shut behind them, reality crept back in.

Jonas's steps turned restless, cutting across campus with no real destination except the buzzing itch under his skin. His usual route would've taken him straight to the science building, room 204, where his first lecture waited, but something tugged at him. A mix of curiosity, paranoia, and something darker.

He drifted toward the language department, Rafael's territory. A place Jonas never had reason to go. Until now.

The shaded walkway stretched too long, every step heavy with anticipation and dread.

And then he saw him.

Rafael stood near the stairwell, easy and relaxed in a way that made Jonas's throat tighten. But Rafael wasn't alone.

There she was, sun-kissed hair catching the light, denim jacket slung carelessly over her shoulders, and a grin that Jonas instantly hated. Her hand wrapped too easily around Rafael's arm, fingers curling in as though she belonged there.

Jonas froze mid-step.

His breath hitched, chest tightening with something that felt dangerously close to panic. His gaze zeroed in on the way she pressed her chest deliberately against Rafael's arm, her laugh too loud, too rehearsed. Jonas's stomach churned as he watched her fingers trail a little too long, a little too possessively.

Jealousy hit him like a punch to the gut.

His eyes dropped to his own chest, remembering how Rafael's hands had touched him hours earlier, the quiet desperation in their movements, the whispered promises spoken against skin. And now… this?

Was that what Rafael wanted?

Someone bold, someone who didn't hesitate to touch him in broad daylight? Someone who didn't second-guess the way she draped herself over him like a worn-in jacket?

The bitter taste of it rose in Jonas's throat. His jaw clenched tight, fists curling at his sides.

He hated how easily she touched him. Hated the way Rafael didn't seem to pull away fast enough.

But more than anything… he hated how much it hurt.

Jonas forced himself to breathe, to think. But when the girl leaned in close, lips brushing near Rafael's ear, Jonas's restraint frayed at the edges.

For one brief, electric second, Rafael's gaze flicked up and found him, Jonas, standing there, staring like a storm waiting to break. Their eyes locked.

Jonas didn't look away.

The air between them snapped tight. Rafael's expression shifted, just enough for Jonas to catch it, surprise, maybe regret, but then it was gone, smoothed over with indifference as the girl's laugh rang out again.

That was the last straw.

Jonas stepped forward, heart pounding loudly in his ears. He didn't care about consequences or appearances. He only knew one thing: no one else got to stake a claim on Rafael like that.

Before he could make it halfway across the courtyard, Lars appeared beside him, falling into step as if summoned by the tension vibrating off Jonas.

"You alright, man? You look like you're about to kill someone," Lars said, keeping his tone light but wary.

Jonas didn't answer right away. His stare was still pinned on Rafael and the girl, the way they stood too close, the way Rafael didn't shove her off.

"I'm fine," Jonas finally bit out, voice low, hard, dangerous.

Lars raised a brow but didn't push.

Inside, Jonas burned.

Every nerve in his body screamed for action, for release. He wanted Rafael to feel what he felt. He wanted him to remember that last night it was Jonas who Rafael kissed breathless, Jonas whose name he moaned into the dark.

No girl with sunlit hair and fake smiles could erase that.

And Jonas made a silent promise, right there under the morning sun: no one was taking Rafael from him.

Not without a fight.

---

Rafael hadn't planned to stop by Jonas's department.

He told himself it would be quick. Just passing through. A harmless detour before his next class.

But as soon as he stepped into the science building's hallway, that harmless detour turned into a gut-wrenching mistake.

Because there, by the lockers, stood Jonas.

Laughing.

With Lars.

Jonas's hand rested lightly on Lars's arm, casual and easy, as if touching other people like that came naturally to him.

Rafael froze mid-step.

His heart lurched, pounding against his ribs as a sick twist of jealousy coiled low in his stomach.

He watched Jonas throw his head back, laughing at something Lars said, his smile wide and warm and, God, so rare.

Rafael's fists tightened at his sides.

He told himself maybe they were just talking, but the image burned into him: Jonas leaning in just a fraction too close, hand lingering a second too long.

And then Jonas looked up.

Their eyes met.

Jonas didn't flinch. Didn't look guilty.

Instead, he lifted a single brow, slow and deliberate, as if challenging him. Then, almost lazily, Jonas's fingers drifted across his own chest in a small, oddly self-conscious gesture.

Rafael's stomach dropped.

He knew exactly what that was. Jonas had seen.

Jonas had seen the girl earlier, seen the way she clung, the way Rafael hadn't pulled away fast enough. And now… Jonas was retaliating.

Something in Rafael's throat closed tight.

Heat rushed to his face, shame and anger tangling so fast he couldn't separate them.

Without thinking, without another glance, Rafael spun on his heel and stormed off down the hall, footsteps echoing with every frustrated step.

His heart raced, chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed over him.

The jealousy.

The regret.

The raw, undeniable need.

If Jonas wanted to play this game…

Fine.

But Rafael would make sure Jonas knew exactly how dangerous playing with fire could be.

And next time, Rafael swore, there would be no running.

Only burning.