Roomies in Arms - Part 4

Hey everyone, then its back to the states after a trip to England in Roomies Before Arms.

-------------Sebastian’s POV------------

The scent of something burning yanked me from a half dream/nightmare about Victorian fox hunting and espresso machines. At first, I thought it was metaphorical—a spiritual warning. But no. Actual smoke, acrid and tangy, accompanied by the sizzling death-rattle of a nonstick pan being assaulted without supervision.

I stumbled into the kitchen in my dressing gown to find Lex standing over the stove, poking what might’ve once been an egg with a plastic fork.

“Oh good,” I said. “We’ve decided to gas ourselves before the semester starts. How efficient.”

Lex didn’t look up. “I like mine crispy.”

“That’s not crispy,” I said, grabbing my kettle and plugging it in. “That’s arson.”

Behind us, there was a shuffle and a laugh, and then Nick and Jax appeared in nothing but boxers and bed hair, looking disgustingly well-rested.

“Morning, roomies,” Jax grinned, grabbing a protein bar from the counter and tossing it to Nick. “Lex, are you trying to cook or kill us?”

“He’s assaulting an egg,” I said, measuring out exactly one teaspoon of loose leaf Earl Grey.

Lex gave me a sidelong look. “Alright, Dowager Countess, let’s not get snippy before your first cup.”

I ignored him. My kettle began to hum.

Nick raised an eyebrow as he opened the fridge. “So, you and Asher… you’ve known each other long?”

The air stiffened, ever so slightly. I focused very intently on steeping my tea.

“We went to school together,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “In England.”

Jax leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Boarding school?”

I nodded. “Yes. I told you guys yesterday. We… became mates, I suppose. Shared a few classes. Tea breaks. That sort of thing.”

Lex slid a charred egg corpse onto a paper towel and chewed dramatically. “Tea breaks,” he repeated. “That’s gay code for boning, right?”

I nearly dropped my teaspoon.

“Oh dear, no. It’s not—it wasn’t—like that. We were mates. Friends. Acquainted, really. And I had to return to the States rather suddenly. Family matters.”

Lex grinned. “Mmhmm.”

Jax tried not to laugh. “You’re blushing.”

“I am absolutely not.”

“You totally are,” Nick said.

“Stop speaking so loudly,” I muttered, retreating with my tea in hand like it was a shield. “I’m going to enjoy this in solitude. In my room. While I do my bed.”

Lex called after me, sing-song, “Don’t forget to fluff your throw pillows, Lady Chatterley.”

I shut the door with gentle dignity.

And then proceeded to fluff my throw pillows.

Twice.

◆◆◆

I was just adjusting the cuffs of my cardigan and debating whether or not to iron my jeans when a knock came at the door.

I opened it, and there he was.

Asher.

Coffee in hand, stylish as ever, but effortless. His hair looked stupidly good for morning, and he had that same half-smirk that used to get him out of all kinds of trouble back at Eton.

“Oh,” I said. “Hello. I was just about to head out. Appointment. I’m off to see the Programme Administrator to find my Academic Tutor — get registered and all that.”

Asher smiled, a little amused. “Right. Here, it’s the Academic Advisor at the Registrar’s Office. Bit more American, bit less Hogwarts. They do a mini orientation for spring transfers — helpful, if a little painfully upbeat—it’s a bit hidden, and no offense, but you look like you’d ask a statue for directions before admitting you’re lost.”

“I wouldn’t dream of bothering a statue,” I muttered, grabbing my folder.

We stepped outside. The air was sharp and bright, still clinging to that early-semester chill. We walked in companionable silence for a bit, until Asher glanced over.

“You seemed surprised to see me yesterday,” he said casually. “Walked into a broom closet.”

I winced. “Yes, well. I didn’t expect to see you here of all places. Last I heard, Oxford was the plan.”

He gave a little snort. “That was my parents’ plan. I had other ideas.”

I nodded. “And did those ideas include moving in next door and forming a seemingly rogue quartet?”

Asher grinned. “Something like that.”

We walked a bit further before he added, “You got summoned home after the tape?”

“Yes. The tape. The Ambassador’s daughter. Bryson’s... moment of cinematic fame.” I rolled my eyes. “Papa insisted on a united front. Pulled me out of Eton just as I was actually starting to like it…

I eventually graduated from my tenth boarding school just outside New York. After that, I started at Columbia—but the whole Ivy League thing never really suited me. I didn’t fit in. Story of my life, right? Then Dad wanted me to transfer to Walton after Columbia. Somehow, I convinced him to let me come here instead. He called it “character-building.”

Asher nodded slowly. “And your brother?”

“Still radioactive,” I said crisply. “And thus, Father’s eyes have swiveled squarely onto me. It’s thrilling, really. Like being handed a live grenade and asked to juggle.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Still dramatic.”

“And you?” I asked, a little too quickly.

He gave a soft laugh. Attended uni here from the start. Bit of culture shock, but I liked the freedom. Found a rhythm.”

“Ah.”

“Last summer I backpacked through Europe with some mates — crazy trip.. Surprisingly good for the soul. That’s the ABCD lot, the ones next door.”

“Fitting name.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Sophomore year, I met Nick and Jax, moved in with the guys. Then this semester... you.”

I glanced at him. “Coincidence?”

He looked at me sidelong, a glint in his eye. “Fate, maybe. You always did have terrible timing.”

I flushed. “Yes, well. Better late than never.”

We arrived at the building.

The building loomed ahead — Registrar’s Office, austere and square.

Asher nodded toward it. “There’s your stop. Academic Advisor’s office is through the glass doors, second left. You’ll get a packet, maps, your ID photo — smile nicely.”

“I’ll try.”

He hesitated, then stepped forward, arms open in that casual, princely way of his. “Nice seeing you, Seb.”

I let him hug me.

It was brief. Warm. And yet…

“I’m glad you didn’t run off with the circus,” he said against my ear. “But I wish you’d stayed in touch.”

Before I could respond, he pulled back.

“That’s life,” he added with a shrug, already turning. “See you around.”

And then he was walking away, coffee in hand, disappearing into the morning sun.