By day, my straight roommate and I are sworn enemies.
By night, I secretly write slash fanfiction about the two of us.
[He slowly closed his eyes, his soft lips pressing against mine…]
That very night, in my dreams, we reenacted the exact scene from my story.
Later, I discovered that whatever I wrote, I would dream about that night.
I became addicted to it, losing myself in the fantasies until there was no turning back.
Still, I always made sure to maintain a sense of propriety, never daring to go too far or truly offend him.
Until one day, I finally plucked up the courage to reach out and touch my roommate in the dream.
The next morning, the look in his eyes when he turned to me was dark and unreadable.
“What’s the point of just dreaming?” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward him.
It turned out that I wasn’t the only one; he had been having those dreams too.
