Lines We don't Cross

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore.

It wasn’t the new mattress or the constant buzz of college life. It was the boy in the other bed—or rather, the other side of the same bed. Jace Carter had a way of getting under your skin without even touching you. And when he did touch you—accidentally, casually, always with that half-smile—it was impossible to forget.

I laid on my back that night, arms stiff at my sides, staring up at the ceiling as Jace hummed along to the low music playing from his headphones. He was only a few inches away, stretched out shirtless on his side, scrolling through his phone, bare feet hanging off the end of the bed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Can’t sleep again?” he asked without looking at me.

I blinked. “How do you know?”

“You breathe different when you’re faking it.”

I sighed. “You’re very observant.”

He chuckled, then rolled onto his stomach, resting his cheek on his folded arms. “Want me to put on rain sounds or something? Or do you want to cuddle?”

I shot him a look. “You are impossible.”

“And yet, you still share a bed with me every night.” He grinned. “You could’ve asked for a transfer, you know.”

“I did. They said the dorms are full.”

“Right,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Totally out of your control.”

I looked away, cheeks burning. I had emailed housing. But I never hit send.

He shifted closer, until the warmth of his body seeped into mine. Not touching. Just… hovering. I could smell the clean soap on his skin. Could feel the heat radiating off him. My body was painfully aware of how little space was left between us.

“You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I whispered. “I’m scared of… me.”

He didn’t respond right away. And for once, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt honest.

After a moment, he spoke again. “You know, I’ve had a lot of roommates. Some were cool. Some were assholes. None of them looked at me like you do.”

I swallowed. “How do I look at you?”

“Like I’m the edge of a cliff.”

I turned my head. “And you want me to jump?”

He looked straight into my eyes. “No. I want you to pull me down with you.”

The air shifted. Everything slowed.

I didn’t even realize my hand had moved until it brushed his knuckles between us. Just a light touch. Barely there. But his eyes darkened.

He leaned in, just slightly. His breath was warm against my cheek.

“Rule six,” he whispered. “If you touch me, even once… I get to touch you back.”

My lips parted. “Is that a threat?”

He smirked. “It’s a promise.”

My pulse thundered. “What if I say no?”

“You won’t,” he said simply. “But you could. And I’d stop. You know that, right?”

I nodded, heart beating so loud I was sure he could hear it.

Then I turned away, pulling the blanket over my head like that would save me.

He laughed softly, but didn’t press. Didn’t touch me again.

Still, I didn’t sleep.

---

The next morning, I woke to the soft rustle of fabric and the low clink of something metal.

I cracked one eye open.

Jace stood shirtless at the closet, towel around his waist, pulling on jeans. His back muscles flexed as he moved, golden in the soft morning light. His waistband dipped dangerously low as he reached for a clean shirt.

And of course, he caught me staring.

He grinned over his shoulder. “Morning, creeper.”

I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, you definitely were.” I heard the smirk in his voice. “Next time, just ask me to take longer.”

I threw a pillow at him, but he dodged it easily.

“Breakfast?” he asked, pulling on a hoodie. “I’ve got a class at ten, but we’ve got time.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Liar. You skipped dinner last night too. C’mon. You can sketch your toast or whatever artsy thing you do.”

He was teasing, but I couldn’t help the tiny smile that broke through.

“Fine. But I’m paying.”

He raised a brow. “Cute and stubborn. Dangerous combo.”

---

We sat in the corner booth of a tiny café just off campus. It was quiet—dim lighting, black coffee, and the smell of sugar and cinnamon in the air. Jace ordered pancakes with extra syrup. I got a plain bagel and a latte.

He watched me draw the steam curling from my cup with mild amusement.

“You really love that sketchpad, huh?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense when everything else feels… too much.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned back in the booth. “Ever draw me?”

My hand froze mid-line.

“I—uh—I…”

He smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I glared at him. “You’re ridiculously full of yourself.”

“Not my fault I’m inspiring.”

I fought a smile. He wasn’t wrong.

---

That night, something shifted again.

We were both in bed, lights off, only the glow of my desk lamp bathing the room in soft gold. I was curled up against the wall, sketchpad open, drawing lines without looking.

Jace was lying beside me, propped up on one elbow, watching my hand move.

“You’re good,” he said. “Like, actually good.”

“Thanks.”

He reached over and gently took the pencil from my hand. His fingers brushed mine. Warm. Steady. My breath hitched.

“I want you to draw me.”

“I already have,” I said softly.

He tilted his head. “I mean now. Like this. With you watching.”

My throat dried.

He reached for the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.

Then he lay back on the bed, one arm folded under his head, chest rising and falling slowly.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll hold still.”

I stared at him.

At the lines of his collarbones. The smooth planes of his chest. The faint trail of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband.

My hand moved on instinct. Pencil. Paper. Shadow and light.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t smirk. Just watched me with those eyes—curious, unguarded, intense.

I didn’t realize how close I’d leaned until my knee brushed his.

I froze.

He looked up at me. “Luca.”

My name on his lips sounded like a dare.

I swallowed. “Yes?”

“Rule seven,” he whispered. “If you start something, you’d better be ready to finish it.”

My breath caught. “I didn’t start anything.”

He reached up slowly, hand brushing my cheek, fingers trailing down my jaw.

“You did the second you walked into this room.”

Then he leaned up—just a little—and kissed me.

Soft. Slow. A breath, not a storm.

I didn’t move.

Not away. Not toward.

He pulled back, eyes searching mine. “Too much?”

I shook my head.

“Want me to stop?”

I didn’t speak.

Because no—I didn’t want him to stop.

But I was scared of what it meant if he didn’t.

He reached for my hand, gently lacing our fingers together. His thumb brushed my knuckles, grounding me.

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he said. “I’m not here to use you. Or break you.”

I looked at him.

“You’re already breaking me,” I whispered.

His eyes softened. “Then let me put you back together.”