[SUMMARY] - Moving in is the easy part. Adjusting to life under the same roof is another story entirely. As you and Choso slowly grow comfortable around each other, one careless mistake threatens to shatter that newfound comfort. Nothing will ever feel quite the same afterward.
[TAGS] - MDNI 18+ ONLY. nudity. dom! reader. Enemies to Lovers. Forced proximity. roommates to lovers. Toxicity. mean reader. loser choso. bullying. tags will be updated as the story progresses. (wc 4.1k)
A life-altering, potentially catastrophic mistake.
At least, that was what your brain had decided sometime around two in the morning, after hours of tossing and turning beneath your blankets while the glow of your phone illuminated the dark bedroom.
Choso was moving in tomorrow.
You glanced at the time displayed at the top of your screen.
Choso was moving in today.
Your stomach twisted strangely at the thought, a messy combination of nerves, excitement, curiosity, and something else you refused to identify.
A very attractive roommate, yes, but still just a roommate.
You had lived with Cami for years without spiraling into an emotional crisis the night before she moved in. Granted, Cami had been your best friend since childhood and didn’t have broad shoulders, tired eyes, or a face that looked like it had been painted by Picasso himself.
That was beside the point.
You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. The apartment was completely silent.
Without Cami’s music playing from the other room or the sound of her laughing loudly on FaceTime at inappropriate hours, every tiny noise seemed amplified. The low hum of the air conditioner. The occasional car passing outside. The soft ticking of the decorative clock hanging above your dresser.
By this time tomorrow, the apartment wouldn’t be silent anymore.
His shoes would be by the door. His belongings would be inside the spare bedroom. His food would be in your refrigerator.
You immediately slapped both hands over your face.
Your voice sounded embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
You weren’t excited because Choso was attractive. You were excited because you would no longer have to pay the full rent alone. That was it.
That was what had your heart beating faster.
You rolled onto your side again and reached for your phone, opening your messages.
Your conversation with Choso was still sitting near the top.
Choso: I should be there around eleven.
You stared at your response. Maybe it looked rude. You had only sent one letter. He might think you were annoyed.
Why did you care if he thought you were annoyed?
You hovered over the keyboard.
You groaned and locked the phone, tossing it onto the pillow beside you.
You never acted like this over men. Men acted like this over you.
You were supposed to be the one keeping other people awake at night. Not lying in bed, rereading messages from some socially awkward guy you bullied into doing your schoolwork.
A socially awkward guy who just happened to be unfairly attractive underneath that hoodie and mask.
You sat up quickly, blankets falling into your lap.
Absolutely not. You weren’t doing this.
You grabbed your phone again and opened Tiffany’s contact.
It rang twice before she answered. The screen filled with darkness. Then movement.
Then Tiffany’s irritated face appeared, partially hidden beneath a satin bonnet.
“Somebody better be dead.”
“I think I made a mistake.”
Her eyes immediately widened.
She pushed herself upright.
She visibly relaxed, dropping back against her pillows.
“Then why are you calling me at two in the morning?”
“Choso is moving in today.”
“I think this might be a bad idea.”
Nothing came out. Tiffany waited.
“Congratulations. You have eyes.”
She adjusted her phone, propping it against something so she could lie back down.
“You need a roommate. He needs somewhere to live. He pays rent. He’s quiet. He does your homework. This sounds like the greatest thing that has ever happened to you.”
“He doesn’t do all my homework.”
You picked at a loose thread on your blanket.
Your hesitation lasted long enough for Tiffany’s expression to shift. Then her eyes slowly widened.
A grin began spreading across her face.
“You called me at two in the morning to discuss a man moving into your apartment.”
“Girl, I saw those pictures.”
Tiffany sat up again, suddenly far more awake than she had been moments earlier.
“You are about to wake up every morning with that man walking around your apartment.”
“He’ll probably stay in his room.”
“Men don’t stay in their rooms.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means eventually he’s going to walk into the kitchen with no shirt on.”
Your mind betrayed you immediately. A brief image flashed through your head.
Choso’s hair messy from sleep. Gray sweatpants sitting low on his hips. Bare chest. Tired eyes.
You quickly pushed the thought away.
“You watch too many movies.”
“And you don’t watch enough.”
“I don’t know. It just does.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You sank back into your pillows, holding the phone above your face.
“What? I’m being honest.”
“You bullied him for two years, and now he’s moving into your apartment. Of course it’s going to be awkward.”
“You made him write your paper.”
“Because you threatened him.”
“I did not threaten him.”
“You are so lucky he’s nice.”
You settled deeper beneath the blankets.
The nervous energy had not disappeared, but talking to Tiffany made it feel slightly less overwhelming.
“I just don’t know how this is supposed to work.”
She began counting on her fingers.
“He moves in. You flirt with him. He falls hopelessly in love with you. You get married. I give a speech at the wedding.”
You laughed so loudly you had to cover your mouth.
“Because I needed emotional support.”
“This is emotional support.”
“No, this is you encouraging terrible decisions.”
“Some terrible decisions are worth making.”
You shook your head, still laughing. Tiffany’s expression softened.
“You’re going to be fine.”
The joking disappeared from her voice.
“He’s quiet, he’s respectful, and he already knows you. You could’ve ended up with some random creep from that website.”
“And if it doesn’t work out, you can figure something else out later.”
“But until then, flirt with him.”
“Wear something cute tomorrow.”
“I always wear something cute.”
“You already picked an outfit, didn’t you?”
“Wear the little pink set!”
“And bend over while he’s carrying boxes!”
You ended the call before she could say anything worse.
The silence returned immediately. You stared at your reflection in the black screen.
Then, against your better judgment, you looked toward the outfit hanging from your closet door.
Pink booty shorts that leave nothing to the imagination.
You would’ve worn it anyway.
You plugged your phone into the charger and slid beneath the blankets once more.
“Just roommates,” you whispered.
This time, the words sounded more like a warning than reassurance.
Choso had packed the same box three times.
The first time, he had placed his textbooks on the bottom and clothes on top.
Then he decided that was inefficient.
The second time, he arranged everything by size.
Then he worried the books would damage the clothes.
Now, he was standing in the middle of his bedroom at three in the morning, staring at the open cardboard box like it had personally offended him.
He removed the textbooks again.
A quiet knock sounded against his partially open door.
The door slowly pushed inward.
His younger brother Yuji stood in the doorway, hair sticking up in several directions.
“It’s three in the morning.”
His brother looked at the nearly empty room.
Several taped boxes were lined neatly against the wall. His desk had been cleared. Most of his clothes were already folded inside a suitcase.
“You’ve been packing all day.”
“So why are you still packing?”
Choso looked down at the box.
His brother’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re moving in with a girl.”
Choso immediately looked toward the hallway.
“Because everyone is asleep.”
He had made the mistake of telling Yuji. Within ten minutes, every person in the house knew he was moving into an apartment with a woman.
The one person he had specifically avoided mentioning.
His brother leaned against the doorframe.
Choso returned his attention to the box.
“It means it doesn’t matter.”
The response came too quickly.
His brother’s grin widened.
Choso sighed and placed another book into the box.
“Does she know you like her?”
“Does she know you’re nervous?”
“Then why have you packed the same box three times?”
The words were delivered innocently, but they landed strangely.
Choso glanced toward the doorway. His brother had already disappeared.
You weren’t exactly nice.
You were demanding. Impatient. Dramatic. Careless with deadlines and somehow always shocked when professors expected you to complete your own work.
You interrupted him during class.
You touched him without permission.
You texted him without a greeting and expected an immediate response.
You had once threatened to tell everyone he cried during a documentary because he refused to give you the answers to a quiz.
Choso lowered himself onto the edge of his bed.
And now he was moving in with you.
He still didn’t fully understand how that had happened.
When he had responded to the listing, he had thought the apartment belonged to a man.
The account used a man’s name. There were no personal photos. The description was straightforward.
Then you walked into the café.
At first, he thought you had followed him there to bother him about the paper.
Then you revealed that the apartment was yours.
Choso rubbed both hands over his face.
He could still remember the exact expression you made when you recognized him.
He didn’t know what came after that.
You had stared at him for so long that he had almost considered putting the mask back on.
He had worn it around you for years.
At first, it had nothing to do with you.
He simply preferred covering his face. It made crowded classrooms easier. It discouraged conversation. People tended to leave him alone.
Then you started talking to him.
You teased him about the mask, the hoodie, his hair, his posture, his handwriting, and nearly everything else you could think of.
By that point, taking it off around you had started to feel impossible.
The longer he wore it, the stranger it would be to remove it.
At least, he hadn’t until you spent the rest of the meeting staring at his face like you were trying to memorize it.
Choso looked around the bedroom.
Most of his life had already been packed into cardboard boxes.
There was no reason to back out.
The apartment was close to campus. The rent was manageable. The room was larger than his current one. He would finally have somewhere quiet to study.
He was not moving because he wanted to be closer to you.
He was not curious about what you were like outside of class.
He was not thinking about the way your expression changed when you realized who he was.
And he definitely had not spent the past several hours wondering what you would be wearing when he arrived.
He grabbed the tape dispenser and sealed the box. The ripping sound echoed through the room.
No more reorganizing. No more thinking.
He would move in, stay out of your way, pay his portion of the rent, and focus on school.
At least, that was what he told himself.
Because the alternative was admitting that living with you made him more nervous than he had felt in years.
And Choso had no intention of admitting that.
The next morning arrived much faster than either of you would have liked.
You had been awake since eight.
Not because Choso was coming over at eleven.
You were simply… preparing.
The apartment had never been this clean.
You’d vacuumed the living room twice, wiped down every countertop, rearranged the throw pillows at least six different times, and even lit one of the expensive vanilla candles Cami insisted smelled “rich.”
You didn’t want him thinking you were trying too hard.
Your eyes drifted toward the clock.
Not that you were counting.
A knock echoed through the apartment.
Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest.
“Relax,” you muttered to yourself.
You smoothed your shirt, checked your reflection in the hallway mirror, fixed a strand of hair that wasn’t even out of place, and finally opened the door.
Choso stood there with two cardboard boxes stacked in his arms and a backpack slung over one shoulder.
Behind him sat an older pickup truck with the bed filled with more boxes.
His brothers stood beside it.
They were both pretty tall, taller than Choso.
One of the brothers leaned toward another.
You pretended not to hear them.
Choso looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
You couldn’t help smiling.
His ears immediately turned pink.
Another covered his mouth to hide a laugh.
He carefully walked inside, setting the boxes just beyond the doorway.
The apartment suddenly felt much smaller.
Not because of the boxes.
Because there was another person in it.
Another brother appeared in the doorway carrying a lamp.
He held his hand out to you.
“I’m Eso, it's nice to meet you”.
You grab his hand firmly and introduce yourself.
The other one approaches you.
Curt, you thought, grabbing his hand.
“So where does Romeo want this?”
Choso nearly dropped the box he was holding; his eyes practically popped out of his face.
“I’m just messing with you.”
You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing.
Apparently Choso’s brothers enjoyed embarrassing him just as much as you did.
Over the next twenty minutes, boxes slowly filled the spare bedroom.
Books, clothes, a desk chair, several storage bins, a small bookshelf, and a ridiculous number of notebooks.
“You own this many textbooks?” you asked.
Choso glanced toward the stack.
“…Most of them were used.”
You reached toward the last remaining box.
“It doesn’t look that heavy.”
His voice remained gentle.
“I just don’t want you to.”
For the first time since meeting him, there wasn’t even the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.
He simply bent down, lifted the box with both hands, and carried it inside like it weighed almost nothing.
Maybe it wasn’t that heavy.
Then you looked at the label.
Maybe it was heavy. Very heavy.
He returned a moment later.
“You didn’t have to do all of them yourself.”
He looked genuinely confused.
“…Because they’re my boxes.”
You weren’t used to people refusing your help.
Most people either accepted immediately or insisted for a few seconds before giving in.
Choso simply… handled it.
Without making a big deal out of it.
One by one, his brothers carried in the last few belongings. After about another half hour, the truck was empty. One brother clapped Choso on the shoulder.
“Call us if you need anything.”
Kechizu looked toward you.
Before you could answer, Eso laughed.
“Actually, he probably needs to survive her.”
You crossed your arms dramatically.
“I’m standing right here.”
It wasn’t a big smile. Barely there, really. But it softened his entire face.
You found yourself smiling too.
Once the truck disappeared down the street, the apartment became quiet again.
A different kind of quiet.
You looked toward him. He looked toward you. Neither of you spoke.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
You clapped your hands together.
His expression became strangely serious.
"No entering eachother's room without permission."
“And if you're gonna let a girl spend the night, give me the courtesy of a warning text.”
“That won't be happening…”
“Yeah, I thought as much.”
You laughed, tucking your hair behind your ear.
He looked away in embarrassment.
“I’ll… stay out of your way.”
He disappeared into his room, quietly closing the door behind him.
You stood in the hallway for another five seconds.
Then immediately texted Tiffany.
The response came almost instantly.
Tiff: IS HE HOT TODAY TOO
You glanced toward his closed bedroom door.
Nearly two hours later, Choso emerged from his room.
You looked up from the couch.
Immediately, your jaw dropped.
His bed had already been made. Books lined the shelves in alphabetical order. His desk was perfectly organized. Even the charging cable on the nightstand had been neatly wrapped.
You slowly turned toward him.
“You’ve been here for two hours.”
“My room still has boxes from when I moved in.”
"You might have more complaints with me as a roommate than I will have with you."
He gives you a sideways glance.
"Anyways, roomie, I'm gonna go to bed, night!"
It had been a week since Choso moved in, and so far everything had been smooth sailing. Your cohabitation with your human dictionary had been dandy so far.
He was a diligent and proactive roommate, no problems yet…
By early evening, neither of you felt like cooking.
You leaned against the kitchen counter.
“I don’t want you paying for me.”
“You are unbelievably stubborn, but fine.”
He sent you his share for his food, and you quickly purchased the ramen with a ten-dollar tip so they would feel motivated to get here faster.
Dinner turned out to be surprisingly easy.
You sat across from each other at the small kitchen table with steaming bowls of noodles between you.
The conversation drifted from classes…
To him finishing your assignment...
To how Choso somehow survived living with all his brothers.
“They definitely embarrassed you.”
You watched him for a second.
He was different outside the classroom. Still quiet. Still awkward.
Like he wasn’t constantly waiting for someone to bother him.
For the first time in two years…
You wondered if maybe you had never actually known Choso Kamo at all.
The first two weeks had passed faster than either of you expected.
Living together slowly became…
Or at least your version of normal.
You left mugs in the sink.
Choso quietly washed them.
You forgot cabinet doors.
You kicked your shoes off wherever you happened to stop walking.
He lined them neatly beside the front door.
You stole one of his granola bars.
The next day you bought him an entire new box.
Every morning, you greeted him with—
Every morning, without fail, he’d pause for half a second before replying—
Sometimes he’d already be studying before sunrise. Sometimes you’d catch him asleep over a textbook.
Once, you draped a blanket over his shoulders before going to bed.
Neither of you mentioned it again.
The apartment stopped feeling like yours. And started feeling like both of yours.
Sometimes you would forget you had a roommate, though, and would still act as if you lived alone.
Sprawling on the couch for an ungodly amount of time, leaving your creams and hair products open on the bathroom sink.
Leaving hair in the shower, accidentally leaving your laundry in the dryer.
But Choso never complained; he just picked up after you.
It was like an angel sent from heaven, your own personal man-servant that worked without pay.
But, little did you know your forgetfulness would be the end of you.
“I need to shower so bad, wash the day.”
Tiff nodded in approval as you walked to the school parking lot.
“Same, this hot weather is brutal.”
“I feel musty all the time.”
It was spring, but it felt like you had been living in the Sahara.
“I’ll call you when I get home.”
You give her air kisses as you climb into the driver's seat of your car.
The first thing you did was crank the AC to full blast.
Driving home was almost automatic, like you hadn't even realized you drove back as you approached the front door.
Choso’s car wasn't here, probably studying.
You unlocked the front door and tossed your shoes to the side.
You tossed your bag on the kitchen counter.
You went into your room, grabbed your robe, and went straight to the bathroom.
You hung it on the door, then turned the shower on full heat.
Shower heat is different from outside heat. One is enjoyable and soothing, while the other makes you want to peel your skin off.
You sighed as the water hit your face.
Relief washed over you as you scrubbed the day away. You always took long showers; you didn't care, though.
You shut the water off, grabbing a towel and some clean panties from the cabinet where you store all your feminine hygiene products.
You hear the front door open; Choso probably just got back.
You lather eos lotion all over your body, making sure not to miss any crevices.
You slip some panties on when suddenly you hear footsteps.
You think nothing of it as you spray on vanilla body spray.
That is, until you hear the door click; then you panic.
You forgot to lock the damn door, and you are stark naked with only panties on.
You turn and rush to try and lock the door, but it's too late; Choso is standing in the doorway, mouth on the ground.
Because your breasts are on full display as well as everything else.
But at least you have panties on… right?
You move to speak, but you are at a loss for words.
What the fuck do you say?
Do you scream, Curse him out?
Well, he beats you to it.
He slams the door in your face.
His voice is practically a squeak.
What are you supposed to do now?
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[A/N] guys don't shoot me😞 i'm sorry it took so long to update but work has been taking up all my time and motivation, and i start school in august so forgive me if updates are slow. But anways hope y'all enjoy😋
also comment if you wanted to be tagged in chp 3 that is coming soon😏
(Tags) @alebrasil0101 @0ph4n1m
