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...
Eli's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. He rebooted. "One movie. Three questions. Max." "Done. I'm picking the movie." Leo grinned like a cat about to knock over every metaphorical glass Eli owned.
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30 Minutes Later
The screen glowed faintly in the background—some artsy horror flick Leo claimed was "an allegory for intimacy and repression." Of course it was. The guy probably thought cereal was metaphorical.
Eli sat on the bed, cross-legged, a pillow like a shield in his lap. Leo sprawled next to him, one arm draped behind Eli but not on him. Just close enough to feel.
Leo reached into the question box. "Alright. Warm-up round."
He read aloud: "What's a memory you keep to yourself because you don't know how to explain it?"
Eli hesitated. Then, quietly: "The way my mom used to code. She'd talk to the screen. Not like a programmer. Like a witch. Like it was alive."
"I didn't think I'd ever have this," Eli murmured, eyes flicking toward the movie screen, not Leo. "Quiet. With someone."
Leo turned, eyes gentler than Eli expected. "That's not weird. That's kind of beautiful."
"Yeah, well. She died before I could ask if the magic ever worked."
Silence. Not awkward. Just... full.
Leo didn't push. He just passed the next card. "What do you notice about people that they don't notice about themselves?"
Eli side-eyed him. "You flinch when people compliment your art."
Leo froze, chip halfway to mouth. "Excuse me?"
"You do." Eli didn't blink. "Like your nervous system short-circuits when someone takes you seriously."
Leo blinked. Like someone had pulled a thread he'd been hiding. Then scoffed. "Wow. Okay. Psychoanalysis, table for two."
Later That Night The movie had ended, forgotten. They were on the floor now—backs against the foot of the bed, legs tangled in a mess of hoodie strings and chip crumbs. The question box sat between them like some mischievous oracle.
Eli had felt it all movie—Leo's thigh warm beside his, a low hum of something hovering between comfort and danger. His heartbeat thudded in 4/4 time, un-synced from the film's eerie score.
Leo held the final card, waving it like a tarot pulled from a very chaotic deck. "Last one. Swear." Eli gave a lazy, skeptical blink. "You've said that four cards ago." "This time it's true." Leo cleared his throat, read it aloud: "What's something you want from me but haven't said?"
He looked over like he expected an answer. Eli didn't flinch, just locked eyes and gave him the deadpan firewall: "Pass." Leo smirked. "Coward." "You picked the question. You answer."
That gave Leo pause. His grin twitched smaller, more real. "Fine. I want..." He looked at Eli a second too long.
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Then shrugged, breezy, obnoxiously casual: "...to see what your hair looks like when you don't care about how it looks."
Eli blinked. "I don't care." Leo let out a delighted scoff. "You use product." "I do not." "Volumizing mousse, top shelf, next to the anxiety meds." Eli folded his arms, jaw tightening. "It's for humidity control." "Sure it is, Rapunzel."
Eli looked like he was deciding between murder and moving dorms.
"You're incredibly annoying."
Leo's fingers brushed Eli's knee. Casual. Stupidly casual. Like he hadn't just turned Eli's entire limb into static.
"Yeah, but you're still sitting next to me."
That shut him up.
[SYSTEM LOG: 2025-09-02 | 20:47:33] USER: ELI_HUXLEY INPUT: CARD_QUESTION.EXE ("WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME BUT HAVEN'T SAID?") PROCESS: TRUTHFILTER ENGAGED CONFLICT DETECTED: → VARIABLE LEO_TOUCH_PROXIMITY = 7CM → HEARTBEAT SPIKE: 114BPM → KNEE CONTACT = VOLTAGE++ RESPONSE: // UNDECLARED DESIRE: ACCESS DENIED // FILE "SKINHUNGER.TXT" REQUESTED... ACCESS BLOCKED
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They sat in it for a beat. The air buzzed with something unsaid, but not quite intimate—just irritating in the kind of way that sticks under the skin like a splinter.
Leo tossed the empty box onto the bed. "Anyway. Bonding achieved. You may now return to pretending you don't like me." Eli stood up without a word. Picked up his laptop. Walked over to the desk. Leo watched him for a second, then grinned at the back of his head. "Night, Huxley." Eli didn't answer. But he didn't correct the smirk tugging at his mouth either.
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Friday Morning – Dream Fragments and Domestic Chaos
Eli sat up too fast. Regretted it instantly.
Leo, already shirtless (of course), raided the mini fridge.
"Morning, sunshine," he said without turning. "You grind your teeth when you sleep. Like, aggressively." Eli blinked. "Excuse me?" Leo turned, holding a half-eaten granola bar in one hand and a yogurt in the other. "I'm just saying. You sound like you're trying to chew through your own trauma." "I wasn't aware you moonlighted as a sleep study technician." Leo grinned. "You talk in your sleep, too." That stopped Eli cold. "No, I don't." "Yeah, you do." "What did I say?" Leo licked yogurt off the foil lid. "Wouldn't you like to know." Eli glared. "I will kill you." "Sure, but you'll have to brush your teeth first. Your murder breath is, like, next level."
Eli grabbed his toiletries and stormed to the bathroom, muttering something about "legal grounds for eviction." But his ears were pink. Leo waited until the door clicked shut. Then smiled. Low and smug.
[SYSTEM LOG: 2025-09-03 | 07:44:11] USER: ELI_HUXLEY INPUT: ROOMMATE AUDACITY DETECTED PROCESS: DEFENSIVE SUBROUTINE "TOTALLYFINE.EXE" INITIATED CONFLICT DETECTED: → DREAM MEMORY LOOP: LEO'S VOICE / GRANOLA / NO SHIRT → FACIAL HEAT: EARS++ → THOUGHT SUPPRESSION FAILURE AT 3.2S RESPONSE: // NEW PROTOCOL REQUESTED: EMOTIONAL LOCKDOWN // IGNORE. DEFLECT. REPRESS. // ...WHAT DID I SAY?
[SYSTEM LOG: 2025-09-03 | 08:11:08] USER: ELI_HUXLEY COMPATIBILITY UPDATE: → SYSTEM.PERCENTAGE: 0.7% → 1.4% RESPONSE: // MINOR SPIKE DETECTED // REASSESSING... WHY DOES THIS FEEL LIKE A BUG I DON'T WANT TO FIX?
Don't forget to ⭐️ this story + drop a comment if your heart's already glitching in Eli's code—or if Leo's smirk deserves its own firewall.
