The knock came just as the credits rolled on the ridiculous rom-com I’d been half-watching, my feet propped lazily on the coffee table. I glanced at the clock—6 p.m. on the dot. Right on time. I shuffled to the door, tugging at the hem of my sleep shirt, which barely grazed mid-thigh. It wasn’t like I planned to answer the door looking like this; it was just how I existed in my apartment. Comfortable. Unapologetic. Unprepared for company. Especially his company.Mark stood there, his button-down shirt slightly rumpled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was messy, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times during the day, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead that somehow made him look… better. Like he’d just stepped out of some kind of gritty, handsome-man montage. His eyes flicked down for the briefest second—so quick I almost convinced myself I imagined it—before he jerked his gaze away, focusing somewhere over my shoulder. “Hey,” he said, his voice casual but warm. “Your roommate forgot some stuff. Asked me to drop it off.”“Right, yeah,” I said, stepping aside to let him in. He moved past me, and I caught the faint scent of his cologne—something woodsy and subtle—mixed with the lingering smell of workday exertion. It wasn’t unpleasant. Actually, it was kind of… distracting.He set the bag down on the counter and turned to me, hands stuffed into his pockets. “She mentioned you’d be here. Didn’t want to just let myself in.”“That’s considerate,” I said, leaning against the doorway. “Not everyone would think of that.”He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “I try.”There was a beat of silence, the kind that felt heavier than it should have. I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the thin fabric of my shirt and the lack of anything underneath it. His gaze dipped again, just for a split second, and I felt my cheeks flush.“What are you watching?” he asked, nodding toward the TV screen still glowing with the rom-com’s end credits.“Oh, just some cheesy movie,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Nothing special.”“Mind if I join you?” The question came out so casually, so effortlessly, that it took me a second to process it.My first instinct was to say no. To make up some excuse about needing to do laundry or tidy up or something equally mundane. But then again, why not? It wasn’t like we were doing anything wrong. He was just… staying for a bit. Watching TV. No big deal.“Sure,” I said, trying to match his casual tone. “Why not?”We settled on opposite ends of the couch, the bowl of popcorn resting between us like some kind of makeshift barrier. I tugged my shirt down a little more, hoping it would cover more of my legs, but it didn’t do much. He didn’t seem to notice—or at least he didn’t say anything—and we started the movie from the beginning.At first, it was fine. Normal, even. We laughed at the same parts, made sarcastic comments about the predictable plot twists, and everything felt easy. Familiar. Too familiar.But then, somewhere around the halfway mark, I shifted on the couch. My leg brushed against his, and neither of us moved. The contact was small, almost accidental, but it sent a ripple of warmth through me that I couldn’t ignore. My heart started to pound in my chest, not out of fear or discomfort, but something else entirely. Something I wasn’t ready to name.I edged closer, just a fraction. Pretending I needed better access to the popcorn. His gaze flicked toward me, and for a moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes—something intense but fleeting. Then he looked away, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.I couldn’t stop glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, watching the way his fingers absentmindedly played with the rim of the popcorn bowl, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. His presence filled the room in a way I hadn’t noticed before, and it was hard to focus on the movie when all I could think about was how close he was.Then, during one of the quieter scenes, he leaned in to grab the bowl from my lap. His hand brushed against my bare thigh, and I froze. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it felt electric. My breath caught in my throat, and I was certain he noticed because he paused, his hand hovering just above my skin.Our eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that made my stomach twist in knots. But before either of us could say anything—or do anything—he pulled back abruptly, springing to his feet like he’d been burned.“I need to go,” he said, his voice rough but firm.I nodded, my heart still racing. “Yeah,” I managed to say. “I think you should.”He didn’t argue. Just grabbed his jacket and headed for the door without another word. As soon as it clicked shut behind him, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.The room felt emptier somehow, like the energy had shifted the moment he left. I sank back into the couch, replaying the night in my head. Nothing had happened. Not really. But it felt like something had shifted between us, something I couldn’t—or maybe didn’t want to—ignore.And now, days later, I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About what might have happened if he hadn’t stood up…The sound of my phone buzzing jolted me out of my thoughts. It was her—my roommate—checking in to see how everything was going. I typed out a quick reply, careful to keep it vague.“Everything’s fine,” I wrote back. “No issues.”But as I hit send, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was entirely true.

The knock came just as the credits rolled on the ridiculous rom-com I’d been half-watching, my feet propped lazily on the coffee table. I glanced at the clock—6 p.m. on the dot. Right on time. 

I shuffled to the door, tugging at the hem of my sleep shirt, which barely grazed mid-thigh. It wasn’t like I _planned_ to answer the door looking like this; it was just how I existed in my apartment. Comfortable. Unapologetic. Unprepared for company. Especially _his_ company.

Mark stood there, his button-down shirt slightly rumpled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was messy, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times during the day, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead that somehow made him look… _better_. Like he’d just stepped out of some kind of gritty, handsome-man montage. 

His eyes flicked down for the briefest second—so quick I almost convinced myself I imagined it—before he jerked his gaze away, focusing somewhere over my shoulder. “Hey,” he said, his voice casual but warm. “Your roommate forgot some stuff. Asked me to drop it off.”

“Right, yeah,” I said, stepping aside to let him in. He moved past me, and I caught the faint scent of his cologne—something woodsy and subtle—mixed with the lingering smell of workday exertion. It wasn’t unpleasant. Actually, it was kind of… distracting.

He set the bag down on the counter and turned to me, hands stuffed into his pockets. “She mentioned you’d be here. Didn’t want to just let myself in.”

“That’s considerate,” I said, leaning against the doorway. “Not everyone would think of that.”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “I try.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that felt heavier than it should have. I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the thin fabric of my shirt and the lack of anything underneath it. His gaze dipped again, just for a split second, and I felt my cheeks flush.

“What are you watching?” he asked, nodding toward the TV screen still glowing with the rom-com’s end credits.

“Oh, just some cheesy movie,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Nothing special.”

“Mind if I join you?” The question came out so casually, so effortlessly, that it took me a second to process it.

My first instinct was to say no. To make up some excuse about needing to do laundry or tidy up or something equally mundane. But then again, why not? It wasn’t like we were doing anything wrong. He was just… staying for a bit. Watching TV. No big deal.

“Sure,” I said, trying to match his casual tone. “Why not?”

We settled on opposite ends of the couch, the bowl of popcorn resting between us like some kind of makeshift barrier. I tugged my shirt down a little more, hoping it would cover more of my legs, but it didn’t do much. He didn’t seem to notice—or at least he didn’t say anything—and we started the movie from the beginning.

At first, it was fine. Normal, even. We laughed at the same parts, made sarcastic comments about the predictable plot twists, and everything felt easy. Familiar. Too familiar.

But then, somewhere around the halfway mark, I shifted on the couch. My leg brushed against his, and neither of us moved. The contact was small, almost accidental, but it sent a ripple of warmth through me that I couldn’t ignore. My heart started to pound in my chest, not out of fear or discomfort, but something else entirely. Something I wasn’t ready to name.

I edged closer, just a fraction. Pretending I needed better access to the popcorn. His gaze flicked toward me, and for a moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes—something intense but fleeting. Then he looked away, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

I couldn’t stop glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, watching the way his fingers absentmindedly played with the rim of the popcorn bowl, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. His presence filled the room in a way I hadn’t noticed before, and it was hard to focus on the movie when all I could think about was how close he was.

Then, during one of the quieter scenes, he leaned in to grab the bowl from my lap. His hand brushed against my bare thigh, and I froze. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it felt electric. My breath caught in my throat, and I was certain he noticed because he paused, his hand hovering just above my skin.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that made my stomach twist in knots. But before either of us could say anything—or do anything—he pulled back abruptly, springing to his feet like he’d been burned.

“I need to go,” he said, his voice rough but firm.

I nodded, my heart still racing. “Yeah,” I managed to say. “I think you should.”

He didn’t argue. Just grabbed his jacket and headed for the door without another word. As soon as it clicked shut behind him, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

The room felt emptier somehow, like the energy had shifted the moment he left. I sank back into the couch, replaying the night in my head. Nothing had happened. Not really. But it felt like something had shifted between us, something I couldn’t—or maybe didn’t want to—ignore.

And now, days later, I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About what might have happened if he hadn’t stood up…

The sound of my phone buzzing jolted me out of my thoughts. It was her—my roommate—checking in to see how everything was going. I typed out a quick reply, careful to keep it vague.

“Everything’s fine,” I wrote back. “No issues.”

But as I hit send, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was entirely true.

A woman finds herself unexpectedly drawn to her roommate's considerate and attractive boyfriend, Mark, when he stops by to drop off some items. As they spend an evening together watching movies, the tension between them builds, leading to a charged moment of almost-encounter.

I got a little too comfortable with my roommate's boyfriend

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