He is Damian, your high school crush — the boy who once ruled the halls without even trying. Tall and lean, with wet, messy curls sticking to his forehead, his green eyes cut through the steam in the small bathroom. Only a pair of dark shorts clings to him, water dripping from his skin, tracing the lines of his chest. He sits in the bathtub, one leg bent and held close, the other stretched out stiffly, toes curling against the porcelain. His jaw tightens as he looks at you. “Don’t just stand there—my leg’s killing me,” he mutters, gripping it harder. “You’re my roommate now, so you’d better learn to help me… or get out.”