Oh My God, They Were Roommates

1 | Gotta Go My Own Way

It would just make him more desirable, he was sure of it. He'd host all of the parties. Everyone would want to hang out with him. As he waited in traffic, he played the part of cool, calm, collected sophomore boys asking him, "Where should we hang out?" to which he'd reply with a sultry tone, "Your place or mine," and they'd say, "Yours, baby. I'm all yours."

Ray squealed with excitement, drumming his hands on the wheel at a red light. Yes, this would be a semester to remember.

In downtown San Francisco, Ray routed his GPS to the nearest coffee shop from his future apartment. "Oh, excuse me, my current apartment," Ray corrected himself in a haughty tone, fanning his cheeks as he did so. The coffee shop workers would definitely get to know him around here, that much was certain.

Ray twirled out of the driver's side and locked the door behind him—his entire life was in there, anyway. Humming to himself, he looked both ways before bounding across the street and hopping the curb, a skip in his light footsteps.

It wasn't that he needed coffee, by any means, but having something to keep himself occupied was a must. Besides, there was nothing wrong with a little extra energy when it came to unboxing and moving everything in. So he approached the cash register with his sights on a matcha latte, certainly not expecting to turn around and come face-to-face with heaven itself.

Ray startled as he turned towards the end of the counter. There, next in line in that narrow, quaint coffee shop, was the single most beautiful specimen Ray ever did see. There were plenty of beautiful specimens, definitely, and Ray had met quite a handful of them and made a right gay mess of himself, definitely, but this beauty...

"Oh, sorry," Ray said, startled dumb.

"It's whatever," the guy said, and stepped towards the cash register. Ray moved out of the way, awkwardly, still staring at the guy's profile. They met eyes one last time, just long enough for Ray to confirm that yes, they were in fact as dark as his inky-black hair.

Heat flushed to Ray's cheeks as he turned away, clearing his throat. He went down to the end of the counter, passing customers as he went, and peered back at the guy as he was telling the barista, "Just a mocha with a shot, please."

Ray wondered why he was always attracted to Asians. Was that racist of him? Or did it just mean he had a type? Ray put a finger to his chin, suddenly perplexed and morally mortified. Maybe he was racist... This required more internal communication—reflection, if you will. Right. He needed to be more self-aware. He'd do better next time, whatever that meant.

But then he was standing directly next to the guy with the fluffy black hair and dark eyes behind a pair of wireframe glasses, and by God, he was still sweating. Ray plucked at the front of his t-shirt to cool himself down, but that just called attention to himself.

Those dark eyes slid to his direction.

"Sorry," Ray said, barely above a squeak. He dropped his hands to his side.

"By all means, continue," the guy said, and Ray snorted a little. "What?"

Ray giggled again, blushing. "Nothing. It's just—You're really funny."

The guy rose an eyebrow and turned away with a hesitant, "Uh... Thanks?"

"And cute," Ray added, just to spice up his self-loathing.

The guy didn't respond. Instead, they both turned in different directions and Ray put a hand to his hair, eyes wide with horror. WHAT HAVE I DONE?! he screamed internally, but screaming internally wouldn't do the situation any good. It was too late. Far too late.