Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 94: Saturdays Are for Us

The weekend sunlight spilled across the bedroom floor like it had nowhere else to be — warm, golden, lazy.

Emily stood in front of the mirror, one earring already in, the other held between her fingers as she studied her reflection.

Her room smelled faintly of vanilla and citrus, soft and familiar.

She adjusted the strap of her top, glanced at her phone screen.

11:07 AM Lina: "Don’t rush. I’m running fashionably late. Again."

Emily smiled.

Of course she was.

Still, Emily didn’t mind the wait. That was kind of the magic with Lina — she made time stretch in a good way. A little unpredictable, a little slow-burn, but worth every second.

She finished her other earring, then moved to the dresser, spritzing a little perfume onto her wrist.

She hesitated before picking a lip gloss, smirking at her own reflection.

"Not too much," she murmured to herself. "This isn’t prom."

Still, her hands were slightly too careful, her lip gloss just a little too glossy.

She was nervous. Not in a bad way — just in that butterflies dancing under your ribs kind of way.

The kind that only showed up when something mattered.

When someone did.

As she grabbed her bag and checked it for her wallet, lip balm, and a small bottle of Lina’s favorite drink she’d picked up at the café earlier — she paused.

Then smiled again.

That’s what weekends were for, she thought.

Soft mornings, sweet plans, and someone to share them with.

She locked her door, sunlight kissing her shoulders as she headed down the steps into the warm breeze of a perfect day.

The window blinds shifted in the breeze, casting slow-moving stripes of light across the hardwood floor.

Somewhere on the kitchen counter, Lina’s phone buzzed for the third time — a reminder she had, once again, ignored.

She was halfway dressed, a mug of coffee balanced in one hand while she dabbed concealer beneath one eye with the other.

Her hair was pinned in a loose twist, strands slipping out with every turn of her head, and her playlist was louder than it needed to be — something with a beat, something to wake up the bones.

She looked at the mess on her bed — two shirts, a jacket, and a pair of sunglasses she didn’t need but might wear anyway. Typical.

"Okay," she muttered to herself, staring at the pile like it held answers. "Cool, casual, slightly flirty. Not too flirty. She already knows."

But still... her fingers hovered over the black shirt, then the soft gray one, then back.

She shook her head and laughed at herself. Since when did she care this much about what to wear?

Since Emily, that’s when.

Another buzz. This time she checked.

Emily: "Don’t forget, I’m only pretending not to be judging you for being late."

Lina smirked and typed back:

Lina: "Good. Keep pretending. I need 15 more minutes of chaos."

She tossed the phone onto her bed, grabbed the soft gray shirt, tugged it over her head, and stepped into her sneakers.

A quick spritz of something woodsy and warm, a swipe of mascara, and she glanced in the mirror one last time.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was her.

She grabbed her jacket and keys, stuffing her sketchpad into her bag as she slid on her rings.

Then out the door — fast steps down the stairs, headphones in, city breeze against her face.

She was late. Again.

But maybe Emily liked that about her.

And today?

Today was for them.

The usual spot was there — the garden bench near the sketch wall where they’d shared slow moments and quiet glances. But today wasn’t for pencils or pages.

Today was for something else. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Emily was already waiting by the stone path, her hands behind her back, rocking on the balls of her feet.

She looked up the second she heard quick sneakers against gravel.

Lina came into view, slightly breathless from the walk, strands of hair tugged free by the breeze.

"Ten minutes late," Emily said, arms crossed but smiling.

"Seven," Lina corrected. "Fashionably seven."

Emily tilted her head. "Mm. We’re redefining numbers now?"

Lina stepped closer. "Only for you."

There was a pause. Not awkward — just that quiet warmth between people who already knew they didn’t need to rush.

Then Emily stepped forward, pulling something from behind her back.

Lina blinked. "Is that... a picnic bag?"

"I told you," Emily said, trying to sound casual, "today is not about sketching or lectures or anything with a deadline. It’s Saturday. You’re mine."

Lina’s smirk cracked into something softer, a touch of pink touching her cheeks. "Possessive much?"

"You don’t mind."

"No," Lina said, eyes crinkling. "I really don’t."

The park stretched quiet around them, far from the busier paths and weekend noise.

Here, the trees arched wide like old protectors, their leaves trembling gently in the summer breeze.

A soft trail of light spilled through the canopy, dappling the grass in warm, golden patches.

Emily found a spot beneath a tall oak, her hand sweeping the ground with practiced care.

She laid out the blanket with a gentle rustle, smoothing the corners while Lina stood nearby, sunglasses perched in her hair, a curious half-smile tugging at her lips.

"You packed real food," Lina said, watching her unpack the small basket. "You’re serious about this."

"You think I’d take you out and not feed you?" Emily raised an eyebrow. "You wound me."

Lina dropped onto the blanket, limbs loose and easy. "I thought you were bluffing about the picnic."

"You thought wrong."

There were sandwiches wrapped in parchment, a container of sliced fruit, sparkling lemonade in tiny glass bottles, and a paper sleeve holding two still-warm cookies.

Lina picked one up, examining it with fake suspicion. "You brought these? You know I hate these."

Emily just watched, amused, as Lina took a bite.

Emily said, "you’re halfway through it already."

"Shut up," Lina mumbled, cookie still in her mouth.

They ate slowly, quietly, stealing little glances between bites.

There was something unhurried about the way time moved here — as if the world outside had agreed to pause, just for them.

Emily leaned back on her hands, eyes lifted to the sun-stitched sky. "You know, if you weren’t here, I probably would’ve just stayed home and cleaned my inbox."

Lina glanced over. "That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard."

"Worse than your cookie lie?"

"Okay, second saddest."

Emily grinned.

The conversation wandered — from childhood vacations to weird high school memories to the professors they secretly thought were aliens.

Every once in a while, Lina would tip her head toward Emily like she was committing her smile to memory.

Then, midway through a laugh, Lina tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes.

"What?" Emily asked.

"You’ve got something—" Lina leaned closer, finger raised. "Strawberry. Right here."

Emily stilled.

"Fix it, then."

Lina wiped it away gently with her thumb. Her touch lingered a little too long — and when she didn’t pull back, Emily didn’t either.

"Still there?" Emily whispered.

Lina’s eyes flicked to her lips. "Not sure."

Emily leaned in, just enough for their breath to meet in the space between them. "Better double-check."

And Lina did.

It wasn’t a hungry kiss. It was the kind that started slow — a question, not a claim.

But once their lips found rhythm, it deepened — warm, sure, the kind of kiss that made the world feel far away.

When they pulled apart, Lina’s eyes fluttered open.

"Yeah," she murmured, voice soft and teasing. "Think it’s gone now."

Emily looked at her, heart doing flips she’d never admit aloud.

"You’re ridiculous," she said quietly.

"I know," Lina replied, reaching for her hand. "But you still packed me cookies."

Emily didn’t answer. She just squeezed her fingers.

And the breeze carried their laughter up into the trees.

They were walking hand in hand now, Emily’s thumb brushing lightly across the back of Lina’s hand as they strolled past a little rental stand near the park’s edge.

Two rows of vintage-style bikes stood waiting in the sun, their pastel colors faded just enough to feel charming.

Emily stopped. "Oh."

Lina followed her gaze, squinting a little. "What?"

Emily turned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Let’s ride."

Lina blinked. "You mean those?"

"No, I meant let’s steal a car." Emily rolled her eyes playfully. "Yes, those. Come on, it’ll be fun."

Lina looked at the bikes, then at Emily, then back at the bikes.

"Fun is a strong word."

Emily grinned. "You don’t ride?"

"I do... I just don’t trust bikes that look like they were made in the ’80s and painted by pastel-obsessed ghosts."

"That’s oddly specific," Emily laughed. "Are you scared?"

Lina crossed her arms. "No."

Emily stepped closer, voice soft but teasing. "Then prove it."

A beat passed. Then Lina sighed dramatically and reached for her wallet. "You’re lucky I like you."

"I know."

Moments later, they were wobbling down a narrow side path — Lina still getting her balance, Emily already riding ahead then circling back like a show-off.

"Why do you look so comfortable?" Lina called out.

"Because I have balance, coordination, and pure chaos in my heart," Emily replied, coasting by with a smug smile.

Lina narrowed her eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up.

They rode through the quieter side of the park — past tall reeds, shallow streams, and thatched bridges where kids leaned over to throw pebbles into the water.

Lina’s hair came loose as the wind picked up, and Emily, riding just ahead, looked back every so often just to see her smile.

Eventually, they slowed at a hilltop clearing, both breathless but grinning.

Lina set her bike down and collapsed on the grass, arms flung wide, hair tousled.

"I’m going to file a formal complaint," she muttered. "My legs weren’t built for this."

Emily dropped beside her, laughing as she sprawled on her side. "You loved it."

Lina glanced over. "...Maybe."

The wind danced through the grass. The late afternoon sun glowed amber across the city skyline in the distance.

Emily nudged her. "You know you’re kinda cute when you’re slightly winded."

Lina rolled onto her side to face her. "And you’re kind of annoying when you’re right."

Emily smiled. "Still worth it?"

Lina didn’t answer right away. She just reached out, brushed a loose strand of hair behind Emily’s ear, and let her fingers linger at the curve of her cheek.

"Yeah," Lina murmured. "Definitely."

They stayed like that, close, content, the bikes forgotten behind them — just two girls and a sky slowly turning gold.

After the hilltop ride and a few shared breaths under the sky, Emily sat up and said with a grin, "Okay. We’ve earned food. Real food."

Lina groaned, flopping back dramatically. "If I stand, my legs might resign."

Emily stood, offered her hand. "Then I guess I’ll carry you."

Lina blinked up at her. "You wouldn’t."

"I might. But you’d enjoy it too much." Emily smirked.

Lina took her hand, letting herself be pulled to her feet, wincing slightly. "Dinner. But I choose the place."

"Deal."

They sat in a small booth near the window, warm pendant lights glowing overhead, and the gentle clinking of plates around them.

The air was filled with the scent of garlic and roasted vegetables. It was quiet here — away from the student crowd, away from noise.

Their orders were simple — grilled salmon, pasta tossed in olive oil and herbs, and a bottle of lemon-flavored sparkling water.

Lina twirled her fork slowly, eyes drifting to Emily over the rim of her glass. "Today was... different."

Emily tilted her head. "Good different?"

Lina nodded once. "Yeah. I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed to not be in control of every second."

Emily smiled, resting her chin in her hand. "You don’t let go easily, do you?"

Lina exhaled softly. "Not really. I like structure. Order. Knowing what’s coming next."

Emily stirred her pasta. "But feelings don’t work that way."

Lina looked up. Their eyes held.

"No," Lina said. "They don’t."

There was a beat of silence — not uncomfortable, but full.

Emily leaned forward slightly. "Can I ask you something?"

Lina nodded.

"When you’re with me... do you still feel like you need to be guarded?"

Lina hesitated — not because she didn’t know the answer, but because it scared her how quickly the answer came.

"...No," she said finally. "Not with you. That’s the problem."

Emily’s brow furrowed softly. "Why is that a problem?"

"You matter. And people who matter..."

She paused, eyes distant. "They can hurt you."

Emily reached across the table, her hand resting over Lina’s. "I don’t want to be someone you brace yourself against. I want to be someone you lean into."

Lina’s eyes flicked down at their hands, then back to Emily’s face — sincere, steady, open.

Her voice was quieter now. "You’re not like anyone I’ve met."

Emily smiled, just slightly. "Good. I wasn’t planning on being ordinary."

They stayed like that until the plates were cleared, until the last of the water was poured, until the café began to dim for the night crowd.

The campus sidewalks were quiet under the orange streetlamps. The wind had picked up slightly, and Lina tugged her jacket tighter as they walked side by side.

She glanced sideways. "You’re quiet."

"I’m thinking," Emily said.

"About what?"

Emily looked up at the sky. "About how fast time moves when I’m with you."

Lina let out a soft breath. "Is that your way of saying today was good?"

Emily smiled. "It’s my way of saying... I didn’t want it to end."

Lina slowed as they reached her dorm steps. She turned to face Emily, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

"I don’t do this often," she said.

"Dates?"

Lina shook her head. "Opening up."

Emily stepped closer. "Then I’ll be patient."

Lina searched her face for a long moment.

And then — with no hesitation this time — she leaned in and kissed her. A soft, lingering kiss that wasn’t playful or teasing. Just honest.

When they parted, she rested her forehead lightly against Emily’s.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Emily’s voice was steady. "For what?"

"For not rushing me. For not needing me to be perfect."

"You already are," Emily whispered back.

Lina rolled her eyes with a faint smile. "You’re annoying."

Emily grinned. "You like it."

Lina opened the dorm door behind her. "Text me when you get back."

"I will."

Just before she stepped inside, Lina paused, looked back — and smiled like she’d finally exhaled.

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