Crossing the Line (BL)

The apartment was too quiet.

Ryan sat on the couch, flipping through channels, but he wasn’t paying attention. His mind was somewhere else—specifically, in the next room, where his roommate, Jordan, had just finished showering.

Ryan could hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by the soft padding of bare feet against the hardwood floor. A second later, Jordan appeared in his periphery, a towel slung low on his hips, his damp hair dripping onto his bare shoulders.

Ryan swallowed hard. Don’t look.

“TV sucks this late,” Jordan commented, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch.

Ryan glanced at him—big mistake. Water clung to Jordan’s skin, glistening under the dim light of the living room. His collarbone, the defined lines of his chest, the faintest trail of hair disappearing beneath that dangerously low towel—yeah, Ryan needed to look away.

“Yeah,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to the screen.

Jordan stretched, arms going up over his head, his abs tightening in the process. “You good?”

Ryan tensed. “Fine.”

Jordan smirked. “You sure? You look… uncomfortable.”

Ryan’s jaw clenched. This was the problem with Jordan—he knew exactly what he was doing. It had been like this for months now, ever since Ryan had admitted (after too many drinks) that he wasn’t exactly straight. Jordan, of course, had taken that as an invitation to flirt.

At first, Ryan thought it was just a joke, but lately…

Lately, it felt like something else.

Jordan leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve been weird all week.”

Ryan exhaled sharply. “I haven’t.”

Jordan hummed, unconvinced. “You barely talk to me anymore. You come home late. You avoid eye contact. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were—” He paused, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

Ryan glared. “Don’t.”

Jordan tilted his head. “Nervous?”

Ryan stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”

Before he could escape, Jordan’s hand shot out, catching his wrist. The touch was firm but gentle, and it sent a shiver up Ryan’s spine.

“Hey,” Jordan said, softer now. “Talk to me.”

Ryan hesitated, his pulse hammering. He knew he could pull away—could keep pretending none of this was happening—but something in Jordan’s gaze made him pause.

“Why do you do that?” Ryan finally asked.

Jordan’s brow furrowed. “Do what?”

Ryan pulled his hand free, rubbing the back of his neck. “Act like this. Like it’s a game.”

Jordan’s expression shifted—something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Who says it’s a game?”

Ryan’s breath caught. The room felt smaller, the space between them nonexistent. He could feel the heat radiating off Jordan’s skin and see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

For the first time, Jordan looked unsure.

And that was all Ryan needed.

He took a step forward, testing the line between them. Jordan didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in.

Ryan let out a shaky breath. “If it’s not a game… then what is it?”

Jordan’s lips parted, his gaze flickering down to Ryan’s mouth. Then, finally, he whispered,

“Why don’t you find out?”

The tension snapped.

And just like that, the line they’d been dancing around for months—maybe years—vanished entirely.

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