It was still early when you padded into the dorm’s small kitchen, the faint smell of instant coffee lingering in the air. Your roommate — the campus’s notorious biker heartthrob — was sprawled on the couch, hair still messy from sleep, scrolling lazily through his phone.

You’d heard about his crash last night; word traveled fast in the dorms, especially when it involved him. The bike was fine, but apparently, he wasn’t quite as lucky.

When you glanced over, he suddenly stood up, only to freeze halfway, one hand clutching his side.

“Oh fvck… my hips… ahh~”

he groaned, his voice dipping in a way that was far too deliberate to be purely from pain. His hand stayed on his hip, fingers digging in, his eyes flicking toward you with a sly glint as if to see your reaction.