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28.ROOMMATE NUMBER 4
*⋆｡˚𖦹࣪˖ ִֶָ⋆｡°✩
THE
new room in the fourth stage was surprisingly nice—much bigger than the previous two since it now had to fit a grand total of five people. This time, instead of a floor mattress, you had an actual bed with an actual nightstand, and you couldn't be happier. After a quick shower, you walk into the room to start getting ready for bed, only to see everyone doing their own thing.
Nagi was playing a game on his phone, Barou was smoothing his sheets, Chigiri was blow-drying his hair and Isagi was trying to get everyone's attention to no avail. Barou picked up a pair of socks in one hand and a damp towel in the other, "Hey, shitheads! Which one of you bums left your socks inside out?! And who decided to throw a wet towel on the floor?!"
Chigiri gives him a tepid glance, hairdryer still in hand, "Oh, the socks are mine. I'll deal with them after I've finished drying my hair."
"Towels mine, but since you got it, put it in the wash for me," Nagi rolls onto his back lazily, eyes still focused on the blaring screen that you think is far too close to his face. You hope it falls on his face.
"I'm a king, not a maid. Pick up your laundry before I lose my patience!" Barou snaps with his signature tic-mark, snarling at the two boys lazing about.
"Busy."
"What a hassle."
You saunter over to your bed, sitting cross-legged on the cotton sheet covers—picking up a jelly-like cream and smoothing open the jar. While you apply some to your face, you look over at Barou, "If you leave it in my laundry basket, I'll wash them when I have time."
He scrunches up his nose at you, "No! These lazy shits need to learn to not leave their trash everywhere! If you keep picking it up for them, they'll become the most disgusting adults known to mankind!" He's red from anger at this point, so you decide not to argue with him about how that's your job.
Nagi's black-hole-like eyes peek up from where he lays down and his phone falls onto the bed when he gets up—his badly hunched posture waddling over to your bed, "[name], can you do that thing with the creams again?"
He flops onto your bed when he speaks, laying on his back with his head near your crossed legs. You place the thing you were using back on your nightstand, and with a shrug, you say, "Okay. But only if you start picking up after yourself."
He puffs his cheeks out, "Fine, whatever." And with his uncertain promise, you have a feeling he's lying—but something about him feels so easy to spoil. You almost laugh at him when you see the look of utter peace that falls over his features when you start rubbing cream into his forehead, and the way he almost unconsciously leans into your touch. "Don't fall asleep now, Nagi."
