Roommate Badboy - Wicked Academy

7

Author's Note:
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Stella stared at him, lying motionless on the bed. Her eyes lingered on him, but disappointment filled her gaze. She couldn't help but see someone destroying himself, someone seeking refuge in the drug.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips, and she decided to change. She quickly slipped into her nightclothes.

When she turned back to him, she noticed he was still in his uniform. She knew it had to be uncomfortable. His blazer would be wrinkled by morning, and his posture was awkward. She couldn't just leave him like that.

Slowly, she stepped toward him and carefully began to slide the blazer off his shoulders. But it was harder than she expected. His body resisted every movement, especially in his half-conscious state. She had to put in more effort than she thought, his dead weight making it almost impossible to undress him properly.

The blazer only slipped off his shoulders inch by inch, and she felt the added weight of his body, made heavier by the drug's effect. Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

She also removed his shoes, each movement met with unspoken resistance from his unresponsive body. It wasn't what she wanted to do, but since she had already started, she forced herself to finish. She loosened his belt and carefully slid it off, but the moment she turned away, she suddenly felt a hand wrap around her wrist.

Jason pulled her toward him, and she tumbled onto the bed beside him.

He held her tightly, and she could smell the sickly-sweet bitterness of the sedative clinging to his skin. The closeness was strange, an internal conflict warring within her, yet at the same time, she felt the overwhelming, inevitable exhaustion that weighed on both of them.

She lay still beside him, the weight of his arms pressing heavily against her, but there was nothing she could do. It felt like sinking into a whirlpool of disappointment and concern.

Just as she turned to face him, she heard a faint murmur.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible, a vague confession, dulled by the sedative. He wasn't truly conscious; his words came more from a deep, dazed state than from clear awareness. Yet, even so, the exhaustion in his voice made her heart grow heavy.

Stella blinked, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the window. For a moment, she didn't move, she couldn't. Jason's arm was draped over her waist, his grip firm, possessive, as if even in sleep he refused to let her go. She lay still, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her, his warmth seeping into her skin.

Her gaze traced the sharp angles of his face, the defined jawline, the faint furrow between his brows. He looked different like this. At peace. As if the storm inside him had quieted, even if only for a few hours.

How could someone so reckless, so unpredictable, look so innocent in sleep?

Her fingers twitched at her side, resisting the strange urge to brush away the strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. She barely dared to breathe, not wanting to wake him.

And yet, just as she was about to shift away, his voice gravelly, low broke the silence. "Done staring?"

Stella stiffened. His eyes remained closed, but the smirk tugging at his lips was unmistakable.

Her face burned instantly. He was awake.

Jason cracked one eye open, amusement flickering within the depths of his gaze.