“Wanna keep it?”
Greg was speaking about the discarded rubber, right between my feet.
"Jeez… no thank you." I asked.
Is that also a common thing to do?
I mean… that thing has been in my ass, even though I had it cleaned thoughtfully, I still as pretty new to all this and didn’t want to keep a used condom around. What did he want me to do with it anyway?
Drink the cum inside?
That sounded messed up.
I mean, yeah, I had already kept his cum-filled boxers around my mouth, but this was way too much for me.
Greg didn’t wait for my answer, he stepped out of my room, his heavy steps echoing in the living room.
"That was good."
His eyes drifted away for a second.
We were both sitting on the couch, watching some rugby on the TV (I was barely paying attention honestly). He was spreading his rugby-man legs so his left knee was rubbing me a bit. I, on the other and was a bit on the side, trying to avoid pressure (my ass still hurt a bit too much at the moment).
Of course, he knew how his fat cock had just stretched me. He didn’t comment but I could feel how he somehow was happy about the whole situation.
While I was recovering in my bedroom, Greg had been preparing dinner for us: some rice and oven-cooked vegetables. Honestly, very good (even better because I didn’t have to cook tonight). We were eating in silence at first, me not knowing where to begin. I kinda wanted to talk about Adrien, but I guessed he was a bit preoccupied with the match tomorrow, so I tried going that way instead:
“Thanks for preparing all this man.”
He nodded, eyes on the screen.
“Tell me if you need anything. I know tomorrow is an important day.”
He smirked:
“Well, you already took me up the ass. Gotta thank you for that by the way.”
In a sense, he was right.
But the sheer nonchalance of it all was so weird to me.
“You liked it.”
He turned to me, clearly lost:
“Mmh, I mean… you saw the fucking rubber right?”
“Yeah…” I hesitated. “But cumming doesn’t mean you always have a fun time. I guess.”
In my past experiences, this hadn’t been always the case anyway.
Greg seemed pretty sure though:
"Oh trust me bro, I wouldn’t cum.” Then he cut the sound of the TV. “Hey. I didn’t go too far, right?”
“No.” I quickly answered. “Well… don’t think I’m ready to take you fully. But that was good.”
“Yeah. I felt u cumming back there. Pretty hot.” He commented, a small grin growing on his lips.
As I was washing the dishes, Greg helped me drying them with a cloth, right next to me. There was something unexpectedly sincere and intimate about that moment.
"Tomorrow. Don't be late."
"The match?"
"The match. 2 p.m. "
His expression became serious, almost comically serious.
"I want people in the stands."
"You'll have people in the stands."
"You specifically."
I laughed.
"That's a lot of pressure."
"Damn right it is."
He crossed his arms, letting me finish the last plate and tapping on my back with his huge hand:
"If we win, that will be thanks to you man."
"Hm? That's not how sports work."
"That's exactly how sports work. Motivation."
I rolled my eyes. Greg finally grinned:
"Stade entrance opens an hour before kickoff," he continued. "Don't show up at the last minute."
"Got it."
"And wear something warm."
"It's September, Greg. It’s still pretty warm."
"Don’t want you to catch cold or anything."
“Sure.”
He nodded as though he'd just delivered profound wisdom, then he headed toward his room.
"Night, Steph."
The words were quieter than usual. Before I could answer, he was already gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly I was alone.
I stared at the ceiling.
My room felt different somehow.
Messier.
Smaller.
Maybe that was just exhaustion.
I had to change the sheets (again, yeah). A bit annoying, especially since the marks left by my pleasure seemed to have really stained the fabric.
I reached for the book on my nightstand and opened it.
Ancient political structures of. A chapter I'd already read twice. I made it through three paragraphs before realizing I hadn't understood a single sentence.
I dropped the book onto my chest. Greg’s smell was still lingering on my skin and in my room.
Do I need another shower?
Probably.
Do I have the energy?
Absolutely not.
I’ll clean up tomorrow.
Fuck, that giant is like marking his territory now.
With a groan, I dragged myself out of bed and started my usual routine. Shower first. Then the bathroom. Then the small pilgrimage to the kitchen that every student eventually performed in search of caffeine.
The apartment was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. Greg's door was already wide open. Same for Julien.
Of course.
Those guys probably considered sleeping past eight o'clock a personal failure.
Training I guess... who knew.
The only closed door in the apartment was Adrien's.
I poured myself a coffee and started making my toasts, looking at the door from time to time. The closed door seemed to occupy more and more space in the apartment.
About half my coffee, I'd run out of excuses: I carried my mug to the hallway, stared at the wood for a second, before knocking.
A brief silence, but then, I heard someone clearing his throat before answering:
"Come in."
No hesitation. No irritation and no pretending to be asleep.
I pushed the door open a bit anxious.
The room was dim despite the late morning sunlight. The blinds were mostly closed, allowing narrow strips of gold to cut across the walls. Adrien was lying on top of the bed-covers, wearing some black boxer shorts.
One arm folded behind his head, the other elbow resting over his eyes. He hadn't even turned toward me.
I stepped inside quietly and closed the door behind me. The familiar smell of the room greeted me, as well as something a bit foul.
I crossed the room on tiptoe and sat carefully on the edge of the mattress. For a while, neither of us spoke, I simply watched him: his chest rising and falling slowly, the sunlight painting bright lines across his dark curls.
It took me some time, but I clearly saw the glint of dried tears close to his eyes.
Eventually, he sighed, then, without moving his arm from his eyes:
"Yeah."
Silence.
"I know."
Another sigh.
"It's time, right?"
I swallowed:
"Yeah."
Adrien nodded almost imperceptibly.
Then I found myself speaking before I could overthink it:
"I really need to talk to you, Adrien. Serious."
His arm remained over his face.
"I know."
"It hurts."
That finally made him go completely still.
I stared at my hands, they were almost shaking:
"It hurts seeing you like this."
My throat tightened.
"You look miserable, Adrien."
He didn't answer.
"And the worst part is..." I laughed weakly. "I don't know what to do."
Adrien finally lowered his elbow. The sunlight caught his eyes: there were dark circles beneath them. His expression wasn't angry, he didn’t dare looking at me though.
"I keep thinking if I say the right thing, or ask the right question, or just stay around enough. I want to help you. But you need to open up."
I shook my head.
"I know you're suffering."
My voice had become almost a whisper.
"But I don’t why."
Adrien reached out for my thigh, squeezing it slightly:
Slowly.
“I’m sorry man.”
He looked heartbreakingly tired. For a long moment he simply looked at me.
Really looked at me.
Then he gave a small, sad smile, the kind that made me wish he hadn't smiled at all.
"Steph..."
He rubbed his hand over my knee:
"Sorry for putting you through all this."
“I’m not looking for apologies, Adrien. I know you’re sorry. Ever since we... had sex in that bathroom, you’ve looked sorry all the time.”
His eyes immediately darted away from mine.
“Because I ran away. Remember?”
A nervous laugh escaped me :
“Of course I remember. That scene’s been playing in my head on repeat. I feel so guilty about it.”
“You shouldn’t.” His hand slid a little higher along my thigh. “We both messed up. I never should’ve left like that. And I definitely shouldn’t have shut myself away afterward.”
I moved a little closer to him on the bed:
“Adrien, this isn’t just shutting yourself away. You’re isolating yourself. Completely. The others haven’t had a real conversation with you in a week. They’re worried too. You’re never in the common areas anymore. You avoid all of us. Worse, you stay in this room twenty-four seven, and you seem...” I hesitated. “Look, I don’t want to start making stupid assumptions, but you’re obviously not okay.”
Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.
Without even thinking about it, I placed my hand over his.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I haven’t left the apartment since Wednesday night.”
My stomach dropped.
So I’d been right: he’d practically barricaded himself in here. Ever since our first time together.
“But... what about your classes? Your job?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.
“I took a few days off. On Thursday, I couldn’t even bring myself to get up. I couldn’t leave the bed.”
He sighed and pushed himself upright against the large pillow behind him.
“Truth is...” He swallowed. “I relapsed.”
I let him continue, my chest tightening for him.
“It’s almost worse than the day she left me. I still can’t handle the breakup.” He wiped at his eyes. “And I don’t understand what’s happening to me with you.”
Wait.
What did that mean?
“You’re still in love with your ex. Célia, right?”
He nodded, staring up toward the ceiling.
“But... I know that. You told me when we cleared out her things in my room, remember?”
Another nod.
“I just didn’t realize you were still this in love. This much.”
A distant smile crossed his face.
“It’s hard loving someone who doesn’t love you anymore. You can feel when it’s become one-sided.” He paused. “In the end, it wasn’t really love anymore. It was closer to attachment, I guess.”
For the first time, he looked directly at me:
“And then you showed up.”
There seemed to be a hundred things hidden inside that simple sentence. A hundred meanings, a hundred possibilities.
I could tell he wanted to keep talking, but something was stopping him. Fear, maybe. Or maybe he simply couldn’t find the words.
Then an impulse hit me.
A sudden need to get him out of this room.
“Adrien. Get up.”
He blinked at me, confused, his eyes still wet.
“Get up. We’re going for a walk.”
I helped him get dressed.
He’d run out of clean underwear, so I handed him a fresh pair of boxers and some clean socks. I ordered him to do laundry when we got back, and he nodded, looking almost embarrassed.
He just needed a little push.
Just enough to get him moving again.
When we finally left the apartment and started wandering toward campus, he quickly complained that his head hurt.
I pressed the back of my hand against his forehead, checking for a fever.
Nothing.
“Idiot,” he muttered, brushing my hand away. “You know exactly what it is.”
He looked weak.
Not physically weak, exactly.
Drained.
So I steered my exhausted roommate toward a place I hadn’t had the chance to visit yet, but that felt perfect for the occasion.
An old stone structure set a little apart from the rest of campus, where students often came to eat lunch.
On the way, I bought us both sandwiches and something to drink.
Adrien watched me with a small, genuine smile as I fussed over him.
“Wait… I think I’ve been there multiple times before.” He said, while scanning the area. Those are the Arènes de Lutèce, right?”
I nodded, excited to finally see them properly:
“Exactly. Built around the first century A.D, when Paris was still called Lutetia ”
My answer gave Adrien a chuckle:
“Of course, you would know this area’s history. That’s your whole subject of studies.”
“No exactly, but yeah. Pretty much my period. This place is fascinating.”
We settled on the lower stone steps.
The sun was growing warmer now, and the fresh air seemed to be doing him some good.
“Enjoy your meal, man,” I said, unwrapping my sandwich. “Eat.”
The order caught him off guard, but after a moment he obeyed and took a bite.
“Is it true people actually fought in here?”
I smiled:
“Yeah. Real fights. Though maybe not quite the way movies make it look.”
Adrien glanced around the site.
“It feels smaller than I imagined.”
“Well… this one is kind of special. But you could fit around fifteen thousand spectators in here.”
“Fifteen thousand?”
“Yep. Not Colosseum levels, but still a lot.”
Adrien looked around again, trying to imagine it:
“So gladiators?”
“Sometimes. Animal hunts too. Public spectacles. Performances.”
“Romans sure love entertainment.”
“By the way.” I kept going. “We’re sitting right were the elite roman citizens would be.
“There's assigned seating?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
That seemed to catch his attention.
“Roman society was obsessed with hierarchy. The closer you were to the arena, the higher your status.”
Adrien nodded slowly:
“Better view I guess. Like VIP seats.”
“Exactly. Local officials, wealthy citizens, important people.”
“What about women?”
“The further up you went, the lower your social rank tended to be.”
I pointed toward the upper rows:
“Women were often seated separately, usually higher up than male citizens.”
That didn’t seem to surprise him:
“Yeah. Of course.”
Around us, students chatted, ate lunch, and lounged on steps where Romans had once gathered centuries before.
“Guess some things never change,” he murmured.
I glanced sideways at him.
He wasn't crying anymore, for the first time all morning, he seemed more present. More grounded.
I took the opportunity:
“Are you coming to Greg’s match with me this afternoon?”
Still chewing, Adrien gave me an uncertain look:
“Hmm, I guess yeah.”
“You know it would make him really happy.” I nudged him lightly with my elbow. “And I think you’d enjoy it too.”
“Hm. I’m not exactly a rugby fan. I told him I’d be there.” He looked away. “That was a month ago. Now... I’m not so sure anymore. Too much has happened.”
Fair point.
A lot had happened.
“We’re not far from the stadium anyway. Stay with me and we’ll go together afterward. Come on.”
Adrien thought about it, running a hand through his dark curls.
“Man,” I pressed. “What would you do back at the apartment all alone anyway?”
“I could have some sleep. Recover. Work a bit. I don’t know.”
“No. You’re gonna stick with me today. Cave mode is over.”
Adrien glanced at me, still a bit unsure, but with a sincere smile lightening his pale face:
“Thank you Steph.”
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