Chapter 21: Phase 1: Annoy The Hell Out The Roommate
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He flipped another page.
"Honestly, that would explain the personality," I noted thoughtfully.
Nothing. Not even a twitch, damn I might as well have been talking to the wall. I stared at him a moment longer, genuinely astounded, before letting out a soft snort.
"You know what your issue is?" I asked, as if I had been invited to share.
Still nothing, which I took as a green light.
"You’ve got that whole mysterious cold guy persona," I gestured vaguely in his direction. "The silence, the sharp jawline and the total lack of warmth. Very curated. I respect the consistency, but I think it’s a terrible idea."
That got the tiniest pause.
Just a fraction of a second where the page didn’t flip when it probably should have. But I caught it, because I’d been watching him like a hawk.
Yeah! Victory. Small, but it was better than nothing. I pointed at him like I was having a breakthrough in court.
"See? Exactly that, that pause. Some guys think being emotionally unavailable makes them attractive, like if they say less than ten words a day, people will find them intriguing. And look, I get it; it works on some folks. It’s a strategy. I’m not saying it’s not."
Damien’s expression stayed completely blank, which just fueled my fire.
"I’ve had enough dating experience since high school to say it gets old fast," I went on, definitely speaking from firsthand experience. "People like a little communication, eye contact that doesn’t feel threatening, and occasionally looking like they enjoy being alive. Revolutionary ideas, right?"
Another page turned.
Honestly, talking to him felt like arguing with a lavish wall. An impeccably maintained, incredibly impressive, and utterly unresponsive wall that somehow managed to make page-turning feel pointed.
I tilted my head slightly, studying him like a piece of confusing modern art.
"Wait," I said slowly, a new thought rolling in as it gained momentum. "Do you even have a girlfriend?"
No answer, I blinked once. Then I let the silence confirm what my instincts were already telling me. I laughed so hard, tears came out of my eyes.
God, the silence really had driven me insane!
"Oh my God, you don’t," I breathed, less as an accusation and more as a logical conclusion. "You truly don’t."
"..."
"I can totally see why," I added, cheerfully.
Nothing, not even a glare. Just his unwavering focus on that textbook, as if I were mere background noise he had tuned out completely.
Which somehow made it worse, because at least a glare would mean he was engaged.
I stared at him a moment longer, filing away the absence of reaction, before letting out a long, dramatic sigh and flopping backward onto my bed like I was performing for an audience who had decided to ignore me.
"This is unbelievable," I muttered toward the ceiling, arms wide open. "I’m literally talking to a wall. A wall with better furniture than mine and zero interest in recognizing that other humans exist. This is my life now."
And then, like a brick wall falling down, it hit me.
Not suddenly. Not with any grand clarity. It was more like an annoyance creeping in until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
He wasn’t quiet because he didn’t know how to engage with people. He wasn’t sitting there oblivious to our potential conversation.
He was doing this purposely.
Deliberately, actively, and with a level of awareness I could only describe as practiced efficiency. He had chosen, in real time, to engage only on a basic level, and he was doing it so consistently that it had to be intentional. You don’t maintain this kind of selective hearing by mistake. This was a skill he’d honed and was using against me.
I turned my head slightly, examining the side of his face as he kept reading like none of this mattered, as if I wasn’t lying just a few feet away narrating my own unraveling.
"Oh," I said quietly to myself, as the picture fell into place.
That absolute jerk.
I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling a new surge of determination.
Fine. If this was how he wanted to play—if silence was his weapon and indifference his shield, then I could absolutely step it up. When motivated, I can become the biggest nuisance of someone’s day. Not something I flaunt, but definitely a card I have up my sleeve.
The thought pumped me up more than it probably should have, considering I’d been tired just moments before.
I pushed myself off the bed and strolled toward the kitchen with exaggerated nonchalance, my footsteps intentionally loud, knowing full well that in this kind of silence, every sound travels.
Good. Let it echo.
I flung open the fridge with more flair than necessary, the seal popping as I peered inside like I was surveying a very important landscape.
"Wow," I announced dramatically to the room, channeling a nature documentary voice, "I’m opening the fridge now. Just going to stand here and look at things. Very publicly. In our shared kitchen."
No answer from across the room.
I grabbed a bottle of water, holding it up like I was inspecting a rare artifact.
"Wow I sure hope no one stops me when I start messing with stuff that isn’t mine," I added cheerfully, unscrewing the cap. "Living on the edge over here!"
Page flip.
I leaned against the fridge door, embracing the idea that this was my kitchen too, actually, and I would act like it.
"Oh look," I continued, gesturing vaguely to myself with the water bottle. "I’m also breathing very loud. Is that in the rules? Should I check? I feel like I should check. Don’t want to find out there’s a breathing amendment I missed."
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The man had the self-control of a locked vault.
I shook my head, trying to display disappointment in a way that made it clear I had expected more, and grabbed some instant noodles from the cabinet with a bit more cabinet-door drama than required.
"You know, for someone so rich, you’d think you’d invest in a personality," I said casually, filling the kettle with water. "Just one, entry-level. Doesn’t even have to be impressive. I would settle for a mood."
Silence.
I glanced over at him while placing the kettle on the base, and that’s when I noticed it. Tiny. Almost undetectable to anyone who hadn’t spent the last week unintentionally observing his habits out of sheer boredom.
His hand paused for half a second before turning the page.
Not long, not dramatically. Just enough for me to catch it.
I blinked, then slowly, privately, smiled to myself, a little smile you give when you stumble upon something unexpected but pleasantly surprising.
So, he was listening. He was sitting there in his perfectly orchestrated silence, flipping pages with precision, and he was actually hearing every word I said and choosing to ignore it on purpose.
Which meant I wasn’t just background noise.
Which meant I was getting through.
The realization hit me like a shot of energy, the kind that comes without warning and often leads to unexpected places.
"Oh no," I whispered, setting down the kettle with exaggerated seriousness, dropping my voice to a low pitch as if I were delivering bad news. "I think I’m developing feelings for my emotionally constipated roommate!"
This time, Damien’s eyes slowly lifted from the page.
Not much. Just enough to show a reaction...a flat, icy stare that could’ve dropped the temperature in the room by a few degrees. A look that said so many things all at once, none of them friendly.
I burst out laughing without meaning to, the kind of laugh that comes from somewhere genuine rather than an act. It surprised even me with how quickly it bubbled out.
"There you are again!" I said brightly, pointing at him like he’d just confirmed my suspicions. "Look at this, Damien! Bonding! This is what it looks like when two people connect. Take notes, bro."
"It isn’t," he replied flatly, his tone as warm as a bill from your utility company.
I gasped, hand to my chest.
"Two responses in one day," I exclaimed, like I was witnessing something miraculous. "Damien, we’re making progress. I’m going to mark this down in my calendar. I’ll remember where I was when it happened."
He held my gaze for one more long, unimpressed second before refocusing on his book like he was closing a tab he never intended to open.
I watched him for a moment longer, my laughter quieting into a soft smile that I didn’t even try to hide.
Because beneath all that meticulous coldness, under the rules, the indifference, and the page-flipping punctuation, tiny cracks were starting to show.
Little ones, the kind you only catch if you’re paying attention. A half-second pause. A lifted gaze. Two whole words spoken in the same evening.
But still, there were cracks and cracks, from my experience, tend to grow. I turned my attention back to my noodles, humming to myself as the kettle heated up, feeling genuinely entertained for the first time in a week.
Honestly? This was far more entertaining than I’d ever expected.
