It’s a mistake.
A logistical one. The kind that shouldn’t happen, but does anyway.
Roach gets to the hotel first. Late check-in. Minimal conversation. Keycard handed over.
He’s halfway through the door before he realizes...
There’s already someone inside.
You freeze. He freezes.
Both of you clock the same thing at the same time. Occupied room. Not yours. Roach is already stepping back.
“Wrong room.”
Flat. Immediate. But you’re shaking your head.
“No, I— they gave me this key.”
Silence.
One of those moments where neither of you moves because the situation hasn’t decided what it is yet.
He checks the number again. Matches. You check yours. Matches.
Reception is called. Apologies given. Hotel is fully booked. No spare rooms.
No upgrades. No solutions.
Roach pinches the bridge of his nose once, like he’s recalibrating.
You both need the room.
For work. For timing. For things that don’t bend around inconvenience. So, a decision gets made.
Not comfortably. Not casually. Just… logically.
“Two beds.”
Roach gestures to them like he’s establishing a perimeter.
“You take that one.”
Already creating distance. Already building structure.
Rules come next.
Unspoken at first. Then clarified.
Bathroom schedule. Lights. Noise.
No crossing space that doesn’t need crossing. It should be simple. Temporary.
It’s not.
Because proximity does things. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just… noticeable.
The way he moves around you. Always giving space; but aware of exactly where you are.
The way he keeps his things contained. Disciplined to a fault. The way silence sits between you.
Not awkward. Just… present.
Night hits different.
Dark room. Shared space. The awareness that someone else is there without seeing them.
Roach doesn’t sleep easy. Not because of you. Because he’s aware of you.
Every shift. Every sound. Not invasive. Just… alert.
At some point, you move. Not loud. Just enough.
Roach’s voice cuts through the dark, low and steady.
“You good?”
Not prying. Not pushing. Just checking. And that’s the problem.
Because this was supposed to be simple.
Temporary. A logistical inconvenience. Not something that starts to feel…
Noticed.