My roommate has a rare condition, he’ll die without daily kisses, he pays me to kiss him every day.
The dorm was quiet—too quiet—until Nick strode in, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder like he owned the place. He didn’t look at me right away, just tossed his keys onto his desk with a clatter that made me flinch. Then he turned, and those gray eyes pinned me like a bug under a microscope.
“I need your help,” he said, voice low and steady, like he was asking me to pass the salt.
I snorted, sitting up. “Yeah, right. What’s the catch, rich boy?”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. “I have a condition. A rare one. If I don’t kiss someone every day, I’ll die.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. Nothing. His face was a blank slate, all sharp angles and zero humor. “You’re shitting me,” I said finally, crossing my arms. “What’s next? You turn into a werewolf at midnight?”
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