Roommates? Seriously?

The suite door whooshed open with a hiss, revealing a sprawling room so sleek and futuristic, Ren almost mistook it for a set from a sci-fi movie. Chrome edges reflected soft neon lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto an endless ocean under a pink-tinged sky, and two floating beds hovered a foot off the ground.
Kai Virell stood at the entrance, arms folded, looking as though he’d just been asked to share a cage with a stray cat. Ren, still processing the AI’s earlier announcement, tried not to gape too hard.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," Kai muttered.
Ren stepped in hesitantly. "They said... chemistry training. Shared quarters. For bonding."
"Bonding," Kai scoffed. "This is some PR stunt."
Ren’s ears turned red. Not because of Kai’s tone, but because the words shared quarters echoed in his mind with dangerous clarity. The room had one bathroom. One lounging pod. Two beds—close enough to touch hands if they stretched.
Kai dropped his duffel bag onto one bed and turned to Ren. "I snore. You take that one."
Ren blinked. "You snore?"
"No. But you looked like you needed a reason."
Their first night was filled with awkward silences, the hum of soft star-jazz leaking in from the city outside, and Ren’s quiet rustling as he tried to make sense of this ridiculous arrangement. He laid awake, heart pounding from every accidental brush in the narrow kitchenette, every moment Kai’s shirt lifted too high when he stretched.
By the third night, the silence had broken.
"You have a nervous tick," Kai said without looking up from his datapad.
Ren looked up from where he was stringing chord progressions. "What?"
"You hum. When you're thinking. It’s the same tune. The lullaby."
Ren swallowed. "It calms me. My mother used to hum it."
Kai’s eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. "It’s stuck in my head. I dreamed it. As a child."
Their eyes met. The room suddenly felt warmer.
Later that night, Ren came out of the sonic shower in loose sweats, droplets clinging to his collarbone. He found Kai seated on his bed, watching a replay of their training session, jaw tight.
"You dance like a deer in starlight," Kai said.
"...Thanks?"
"It’s not a compliment."
Ren rolled his eyes and turned to go—when Kai grabbed his wrist.
"Wait."
Ren froze. The touch wasn’t rough. It was tentative. Electric.
"Let’s run it together. One more time. I’ll lead."
And in the low light, between beats of music and breaths taken too close, they danced. Kai’s hand on Ren’s waist wasn’t professional. His fingers on Ren’s jaw were steady, soft.
When the track ended, neither moved.
"Do that thing again," Kai said, voice low.
"What thing?"
"The hum."
Ren obliged.
The silence between them vibrated with something new.
Kai leaned in slowly. Too slowly. Giving Ren every chance to move away.
Ren didn’t.
Their lips met. Not explosive, not rushed—just real. Ren felt Kai’s breath hitch. His own heart stuttered.
Kai pulled back. "This is a bad idea."
Ren didn’t let go. "But does it feel wrong?"
Kai’s silence was answer enough.
That night, the shared suite lived up to its name. Clothes were discarded between stolen kisses and hushed gasps. Kai’s body was fire and precision; Ren’s was instinct and emotion. When they finally collapsed onto the bed, limbs tangled, breathing hard, Kai stared at the ceiling and whispered:
"We’re going to ruin each other."
Ren rested his head on Kai’s chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat.
"Then let’s make it a beautiful ruin."
Outside, AquaCelestia glowed like a galaxy brought to earth.
Inside, two boys—two stars—began to orbit each other for real.