Eli Huxley notices the details first-broad shoulders, a mouth built for trouble, eyes like they've already solved him.
It's just observation. Data points.
But when the variables spell Leo Cynclair, the conclusion is always the same: dangerous as hel...
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"Print formatting error?" "No." "Gremlin infestation?" "Leo." "Did it smell like flowers before it died?"
Eli looked at him. Just looked. But that was the problem. He was the problem.
Leo had rolled up his sleeves again—sinner. Veins glinted faint blue beneath the surface, subtle as breath. His wrist brushed Eli's when they shifted. Eli short-circuited. Again.
He turned away, eyes locked on the professor's notes. Ethics . Logic trees and moral subroutines. Nothing about emotional sabotage by unbearably hot roommates.
Leo leaned in again, voice lower this time, tickling his logic centers: "You gonna code me a bug report?" Eli whispered back, "You're not a bug. You're a Trojan horse." Leo grinned. "So I'm already inside your system?" Eli didn't answer. He couldn't. His hands were shaking too hard to type.
[SYSTEM LOG: 2025-09-02 | 09:46:38] USER: ELI_HUXLEY INPUT: LECTURE HALL PRESENTATION (ETHICS, PRINT_FAILURE.V2) PROCESS: PUBLICHUMILIATIONPROTOCOL ACTIVATED CONFLICT DETECTED: → DOCUMENTINTEGRITY = NULL → SOCIALMORTIFICATION INDEX: 89% → VARIABLE L_CYNCLAIR: AUDITORY DISTRACTION RESPONSE: // MISSION FAILED: AESTHETIC PRESENTATION // EMOTIONAL SUPPRESSION FAILED AT LINE OF SIGHT // WHY THE HELL IS HIS WRIST DOING THAT TO ME?
🜃 🜂 🜁
Thursday Night – Movie, Chips, and a Slow Unraveling
The first red flag was the lack of keyboard clacking.
Eli paused mid-keystroke, ears twitching toward the ominous silence. The shared dorm room had two states:
Code mode – Eli typing like a caffeinated spider on Adderall.
Chaos mode – Leo, shirtless and barefoot, doing something infuriating with loud music or wet hair.
This—this was neither.
Eli looked up. Leo stood by the desk holding a bag of chips and a box of something.
Dangerous smile. Eyes too bright. "Computer off." Eli blinked. "No." Leo raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't a question."
Eli stared at him like he was a syntax error. "I have three algorithms to debug, two modules to test, and an email chain with my TA—" "And none of them will love you back," Leo cut in. "Now, get your emotionally repressed ass on the bed. We're having a night."
"...A night?" "Movie. Snacks. And this," Leo tossed the box onto Eli's lap.
Eli looked down. "Tonight We're Not Strangers: 250 Cards To Fall In Love, Fight, Or Cry." He looked back up. "Absolutely not."
Leo flopped onto the bed, bare feet tucked under him, like this was already happening. "You agreed to cohabitation. This is part of the social tax. Bonding night."
