Page 4 of Shared by My Roommate

“Seconded,” Sawyer says. “I’m sleeping until my body rejects the mattress.”

“Finn? You got anything? You and Drew usually do your brunch thing on Sundays, right?”

I keep my voice casual. It’s a genuine question, and it also isn’t.

Finn keeps his eyes on the screen as he says, “No. No brunch.” Then he lets out a breath that shudders through his whole body.

“Hey.” I set my beer down on the coffee table and turn toward him. “Are you okay?”

He looks down at the can in his hands as if it might answer for him. I let him take his time, not pushing even when the silence stretches long. Sawyer goes quiet too, watching us.

“No,” Finn says finally. “I’m not.”

“Finn—”

“Drew broke up with me. We had plans tonight, so I drove over there, all packed for the weekend and shit. Like an idiot. And he sat me down and gave me the speech.” Finn’s voice cracks on the last word, but he pushes through it. “The ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ one.”

Heat crawls up the back of my neck. I never liked Drew. From the first time Finn brought him around, something about the guy set my teeth on edge. I bit my tongue for a year because Finn seemed happy, and it wasn’t my call. And this is how it ends.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” I say. “For the record, he never did.”

“Nolan—”

“I’m serious. A year of his excuses and his flaky bullshit and you bending yourself around his schedule, and he can’t even give you a real reason? Fuck that guy. Seriously.”

“I know.” Finn’s laugh is wet and broken. “So why does it hurt this much?”

The first tear slides down his cheek, then the second, and then the dam breaks. His face crumples, and his shoulders pull in. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes like he can hold it back, and a sound comes out of him that I’ve never heard from Finn before.

I move without thinking, closing the space between us, and pull him in. One arm goes around his shoulders, the other hand cups the back of his head, and he comes apart against my chest.

He fists a hand in my t-shirt and sobs into my collarbone, hard, body-shaking sobs, and I just hold on.

“Let it out,” I murmur into his hair. “I’ve got you. Let it out.”

I keep my hand moving in slow circles on his back and murmur things like, you’re okay and I’ve got you and he’s an idiot and you’re going to be fine, Finn. None of it is eloquent, but it doesn’t need to be.

Over the top of Finn’s head, I glance at Sawyer. He’s watching us, his beer frozen halfway to his mouth, his expression giving me nothing.

I know how this looks. Straight guys don’t do this. We punch each other on the shoulder and say, sorry, bro, and pretend that’s the same thing as comfort. It’s a garbage rule written by garbage ideas about what men are allowed to be, and I’ve never once followed it. But I’m aware it exists, and I’m aware Sawyer grew up in a locker room same as I did, where that rule is law.

He’s probably thinking I’m acting gay, but I don’t care. My roommate is upset, and I do what feels right. That’s the whole math, and if Sawyer has a problem with it, that’s on him.

Eventually, Finn’s sobs taper off into hitching breaths, then long, shaky exhales. He sits up and wipes his face with both hands.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m getting your shirt all gross.”

“It’s a ten-dollar shirt. I’ll survive.”

“I need to—” He gestures toward the hallway. “Wash my face.”

“Go.”

He unfolds himself from the couch and makes a beeline for the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him, and then it’s just me and Sawyer. I pick my beer back up, and he picks up his too. Neither of us says anything about what just happened, and the silence sits there for a while.

“Movie?” I say finally. “I’m not ready to call it a night, and I’m definitely not letting Finn go to bed alone with his brain.”

Sawyer checks the time on his phone. He lives in the dorms across campus, and normally around now he’d say it’s late and head out.