And They Were Roomates - Randy Jackson Jr.
paring: randy jackson jr. x roomate! bsf! reader
summary: after being in hopelessly in love with your best friend/roomate, you let your friends convince you to try and move on, but someone isn’t too happy with this…
There were a lot of things you knew about Randy Jackson Jr.
You knew he hated mornings, even though he somehow managed to wake up before you every single day.
You knew he always left one cabinet door open in the kitchen, much to your own annoyance.
You knew that whenever he was stressed, he would pace around the apartment with his phone in his hand, scrolling through the same three apps without actually looking at anything.
You knew he liked his coffee too sweet to the point you’d argue it wasn’t even coffee anymore.
You knew that when he was genuinely tired, he became quiet. Not sleepy quiet. The kind of quiet that made you wonder what he was thinking about.
You knew that he had a tendency to become completely enamored with a girl for about three weeks before the relationship mysteriously fell apart, moving onto the next.
And you knew exactly what he sounded like when he brought someone home.
Unfortunately, you knew that last one very well.
You were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when you heard the front door open.
You didn't need to check the time.
It was two in the morning.
You didn't need to hear Randy's voice either.
You could hear the soft laughter of the girl he'd brought home.
You pulled the blanket over your head, as if that would somehow make the walls thicker.
You heard Randy say something that made the girl laugh again.
You rolled over and pressed your face into your pillow.
You had gotten used to it. That was what you told yourself, anyway.
You had gotten used to Randy bringing girls home.
You had gotten used to the quiet conversations in the kitchen the next morning. You had gotten used to seeing someone else's shoes by the front door. You had gotten used to Randy walking into the kitchen with that smug little smile on his face while you stood there making breakfast.
You had gotten used to hearing about the girls.
You had gotten used to hearing just how good he made them feel through the walls.
You had gotten used to pretending you didn't care.
What you had never gotten used to was how much it hurt.
He had never promised you anything. He had never led you on. He had never told you he saw you as anything other than his best friend.
You were the one who had fallen in love with him.
Somewhere between late-night conversations and shared takeout. Somewhere between him falling asleep on your shoulder during movie nights and you being the first person he called when something happened.
You didn't even know when it had happened.
One day, Randy had just been your best friend.
And then, suddenly, he was the person you compared everyone else to.
The problem was that Randy never seemed to notice.
Maybe he just didn't feel the same way.
You had never been brave enough to find out.
You listened to him talk about other girls. You helped him choose outfits for dates. You told him when he was being stupid.
You sat on the couch and watched him scroll through dating apps while he asked you which girl he should message.
And every single time, you smiled and gave him an answer.
And because you were terrified that if you ever said anything, you would lose him.
The next morning, you were sitting at the kitchen counter when Randy walked in.
He was wearing a black T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly messy.
You looked up from your coffee, noticing the dark hickey on his neck.
Your grip on your mug got tighter, barely noticeable. “Morning.”
He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, leaving it open.
You watched him fill it with water.
Randy glanced at you. “Who?”
He frowned slightly. “Good?”
You shrug. “Yeah. I have things to do today. I don't want to trip over someone's shoes.”
“You're the one bringing people home at two in the morning.”
He froze, pausing his movement of taking a drink from his cup. “You were awake?”
You took a sip of your coffee. “No.”
Randy stared at you. You stared back.
His mouth twitched. You're a terrible liar.”
“And you're a terrible roommate.”
And just like that, everything went back to normal.
Everything always went back to normal.
Until the night it didn't.
It had started with your friends dragging you out.
You had spent the majority of the evening sitting at the bar, nursing the same drink while your friends danced around you.
“You look miserable,” your friend said.
You sighed. “I don't want to be here.”
“You never want to be anywhere.”
“Name the last time you went out.”
Your friend pointed at you. “Exactly.”
You rolled your eyes. “I just don't feel like going home with random people.”
“No one said you had to marry them.”
“That's not what I said.”
“You're twenty-something years old, you're single, and you spend every night at home listening to your roommate bring girls home.”
Your face heated. “I do not listen.”
Your friend gave you a look. “You know exactly what I mean.”
The music was loud. The lights were too bright. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to stop waiting.
You didn't want to wait anymore.
You didn't want to go home and hear Randy laughing with another girl. You didn't want to wake up the next morning and pretend it didn't bother you. You didn't want to be the girl who was always there for him while he went through everyone else.
So when a guy approached you at the bar, you let him buy you a drink.
When he made you laugh, you let yourself enjoy it.
And when he asked if you wanted to leave with him, you hesitated.
Then you looked at your friend. She raised her eyebrows. You looked back toward the dance floor.
You didn't think about Randy.
But Randy thought about you.
He had gotten home earlier than usual. He hadn't planned on staying in. He just hadn't felt like going out.
Which was unusual enough that even he didn't understand it.
He made food. Watched half a movie. Checked his phone. You hadn't texted him.
You were out with your friends. He knew that.
Still, by midnight, he found himself glancing at the front door.
By two, he was irritated.
By three, he was sitting on the couch with his phone in his hand.
He stared at it. Then deleted it. He typed another.
He told himself he was only wondering because you were his roommate.
You were supposed to tell each other when you were going to be out late. Except you hadn't.
And now it was almost four in the morning.
Randy sat back against the couch.
He called you. Straight to voicemail.
He frowned. He called again. Still nothing.
By the time you finally came home, the sun was coming up.
You unlocked the front door quietly.
You were expecting the apartment to be dark.
Instead, the living room lamp was on.
Randy was sitting on the couch.
His eyes immediately moved over you.
You were wearing the same clothes from the night before, hair erratic, and makeup smudged.
His jaw tightened. “Where were you?”
“Then why are you asking?”
Randy stood. “I called you.”
“I didn't hear my phone.”
“You didn't think to call me?”
You stared at him. “Why are you acting like I'm your child?”
His expression changed. “I’m not.”
The words came out too quickly. You paused. Randy seemed to realize what he had said.
His expression hardened. “You didn't come home.”
“I didn't realize I needed permission.”
“That isn't what I said.”
“Then what are you saying?”
For years, you had wanted Randy to care. You had wanted him to look at you and realize that you were more than his best friend.
And now, suddenly, he was standing in front of you, angry that you had spent the night with someone else.
You felt something bitter twist in your chest. “I was with someone.”
Randy's face went blank. “What?”
You almost laughed. “Why do you care?”
You rolled your eyes. “Clearly.”
“You didn't ask if I was okay. You asked who.”
You took a breath. “He was nice.”
You continued. “I might see him again.”
His eyes immediately returned to you. “You might?”
You frowned. “Because I want to.”
Randy's expression darkened. “Right.”
You stared at him. “What's that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head. “Forget it.”
You should have. You should have gone to your room. You should have let the conversation end.
Instead, you folded your arms. “No. Say it.”
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then you shrugged. “You know what? I'll just bring him here next time.”
You didn't miss it. The change in his face. The way his eyes flickered toward the hallway.
“You're going to bring him here?”
His expression tightened.
You almost smiled. “Why?”
You stared at him. “Because I live here.”
“That's not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” He opened his mouth.
Randy looked frustrated. You had never seen him so visibly unable to explain himself.
Finally, he looked away. “Whatever.”
You shook your head, annoyed at whatever his problem was. “Goodnight, Randy.”
You walked toward your room.
You stopped. You didn't turn around. “Yeah?”
Then, quietly: “Don't bring him here.”
You turned around. Randy was still standing in the middle of the living room.
You stared at him. “Why?”
So you smiled.Not because anything was funny. Because if you didn't smile, you might cry.
“Goodnight.” Even though the sun was rising above the horizon. You needed a good sleep after that mess of a conversation. If you could even call it that.
And then you went to your room.
You expected Randy to forget about it.
You expected yourself to forget about it.
a/n: my first shot at a randy jackson jr. fic. pls lmk if y’all would want more parts :)
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