Chapter Text
By year three of college, dorm move-in day has kinda lost its magic.
Your fingertips are greasy as you scroll Instagram with your pinky, a long-forgotten grilled cheese sitting half eaten on a scratched-up ceramic plate. As is customary for this dining hall, fancifully dubbed “Coral Cove,” the bread is charred to the point of being borderline inedible. You can already feel the consequences of your meal choice bubbling up in your stomach.
Tapping through Instagram stories, you see the move-in day posts of your friends and classmates interspersed among ads that pass by so fast you don’t even register what they were for. Eventually, you click onto the story of your roommate from last year. It’s a video of her new room, decorated with the exact same bedsheets and posters you’d spent hours spacing out staring at. You have the audio off, because God forbid you be the person who watches things out loud in a public space, but the frantic way the camera is moving communicates her excitement well enough.
Well, whatever. You’re happy she’s happy. Even if she’s rooming with girls you never got along with that didn’t seem like real friends. Living in a sorority house was her choice and ultimately should not have you as ticked off as it does.
Anyways, you should move on. You’ve got a new roommate now, even if all you know about her is her name and school email.
You use your pinky to tap into the search bar, clicking on the first account that pops up in your recent searches. You’ve checked it so many times over the past week that it’s practically reflex. The account loads in and it’s still privated, nothing but a blurry profile picture and graduation year in bio. You have absolutely no read on her. Even the username, julesx40, gives you no information. The only clue that you have the right person are the three mutual followers between the two of you.
The rational and normal thing to do would have been to reach out to this Jules person the day you got the roommate assignment email, but you’d instead decided to wait to see if she’d message you first so you could figure out what her vibe was. Unfortunately, she never did. Either she had the exact same plan or simply did not care enough to contact you.
Ah, the consequences of your own actions. You’ve been sitting in the dining hall for over an hour in hopes that she’d move in while you were out. It’s past 2pm. You’ve lingered here on your phone for so long that you’ve definitely passed the threshold from seeming cool and mysterious to just looking lonely and pathetic. It’s time to toss the grilled cheese and face your fears of awkwardness.
You reload your email one more time, just in case she sent something extremely last minute, but all that appears is a stream of school newsletters that you really should get around to unsubscribing from. Welp. Pocketing your phone, you bring the used plate to the drop off and finally wash the grease off your hands. Surely Jules has arrived by now.
Though the dorm you’re in this year is a deal further from main campus than the ones you stayed in the first two years, it’s considerably nicer. The rooms you and the rest of your grade were crammed into during freshman and sophomore year always smelled a little funky and the air conditioning unit never worked quite right. This new one was actually built within the last decade and had lighting that didn’t make your room look like the inside of a Cheesecake Factory. High living, by your standards.
Your nerves when you unlock the door to your shared room prove to be for naught. Jules’ side of the room is still completely empty, contrasting your fully decorated and meticulously organized half. You had moved in as soon and as fast as possible. Clearly, she has a different personality type.
The room is configured to have one bed next to the door with the other one further in, the latter of which you claimed. Hopefully Jules prefers the closer one and you don’t instantly piss her off. You flop onto your mattress over the covers, not wanting to have to remake your bed, and unlock your phone to return to your usual routine as you wait.
The next time you check the clock, it’s somehow 3 and there’s still no sign of her. Time flies when you’re rotting in bed. Begrudgingly, you find it in yourself to get up and traverse the three foot walk to your desk. You should at least be productive.
Booting up your computer to check class syllabuses - syllabi? - you’re focused on deciphering a very confusingly worded explanation of how absences work when you hear the buzz of a keycard scanning into the door. A jolt zaps through your body and you sit up straight. That’s her. Make a good first impression. She’s gonna be living with you for the next nine months. Make a good first impression.
The door fully swings open and your mouth runs dry.
She’s cool. And hot. The first thing you notice are the tattoos, starting at her neck and running down both arms. Her midriff, exposed by the black crop top she’s wearing, is covered in body art too. Combined with dark makeup and a gold nose ring, she’s already intimidating you and she hasn’t even spoken.
The two of you couldn’t be more different.
“Hey.” She doesn’t introduce herself, just eyes you up and down quickly while propping the door open with her hip. “Is it cool if my dad helps me bring stuff in?”
Even her voice is cool. Damn. You look back at your side of the room, suddenly feeling childish with your bright color scheme and video game decorations. It would be a bad look to say no or leave, though, as much as you want to. You clear your throat to regain your ability to speak. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Thanks.” She leans out the door and nods to someone out of view, then moves to the side so they can enter.
When you see the man that steps through the doorway, you forget how to breathe.
Tall, lanky, pale, and with a jawline that could scratch diamond, Jules’ dad is downright sexy. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt that exposes the tattoos covering his arms. Like father, like daughter, it seems. His tattoos are more scattered, not quite a sleeve, but they extend up his neck the same way hers do.
You’re staring. You’re definitely staring, but you can’t help it. You’ve never seen an older man that looks this good.
He gives you a small nod in greeting and you manage a nervous smile back. You really hope it came across as normal and regular and didn’t reveal the turmoil raging throughout your body and mind. Surely not.
His focus quickly turns to his daughter and you painstakingly pull your gaze back to the syllabus, which suddenly is a lot less interesting. You slowly scroll through the PDF, pretending to read it, but you can’t process a single word with how loud your heart hammers in your head. The finest man you’ve ever seen is in your room and is the father of the girl you’re supposed to live with. Lord. Why must God give you His toughest battles?
Jules and her dad get to work bringing bags in from the hallway, plopping them around her side of the bedroom. They’re mostly quiet, only speaking when he asks Jules where she wants something to go. It faintly occurs to you that you should’ve graciously excused yourself to give them space as soon as they arrived. You’d been too stunned to think that far ahead. Now you’re left to awkwardly pretend to be doing something important, an illusion which seems to be working given how softly they’re talking to avoid distracting you. In reality, your ears are craned to hear every word.
A few minutes pass, and you eventually hear her dad tell her that he’s going to go back to the car to get what remains. From what you can tell, his voice is pretty. Silky and authoritative. The kind that makes you want to get on your knees.
Woah. No. You press your lips together and try to shove that thought far down. He’s your roommate’s hot dad that you’ll probably never see again. You have absolutely no business thirsting after him.
The next thing he says is significantly quieter. Despite the menacing appearance, the way he talks to his daughter is gentle. “Did you introduce yourself?”
Oops. Yeah, you shouldn’t be hearing this. You’re trying so hard to stealthily look at him out of the corner of your eye that your sclera is starting to hurt.
Jules glares at her father, evidently aware that he did not ask that quietly enough. “Not yet,” she hisses, though that’s still audible to you too.
“Manners.” he says back to her, voice stern and yet soft enough that you almost miss the word.
Jules rolls her eyes. Despite her annoyance, she follows his instructions.
“Hey.”
You fully look up from your computer, acting as if you just realized that the attention had shifted to you and you haven’t been acutely aware of everything happening in the room for the past five minutes. You hope your mask of innocence is convincing.
“Sorry about that.” Jules is facing you, one palm extended in greeting. “I’m Jules.”
“It’s fine,” You stand and introduce yourself in return, taking her hand. She maintains eye contact with you as you shake. The proximity makes you realize that she has the prettiest green eyes. God, the genes in this family are incredible. “Are you a third year?”
She nods. “Yeah, I transferred, so this is all new.”
You’re about to ask more to keep the conversation going when her dad steps forward. Like Jules did, he extends his hand for you to shake. Their similarities are already really cute.
“Hello. I’m Jules’ father.”
You probably take a beat extra to place your palm in his, brain lagging on account of being this close to him. His eyes are such a light brown that they almost appear gold.
His hand is cold, but his grip is firm. You lay on the politeness. “It’s nice to meet you, mister…?”
“Midas is fine.”
Woah. Like the king? That's a sick name. “Midas,” you repeat. “It’s nice to meet you.” Ugh, you sound like you’re glitching. It’s hard to think or talk straight when someone this inconceivably attractive is standing in front of you.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Something flutters inside of you at that. The way he holds and conducts himself is so proper, like chivalry isn’t buried six feet under. “I’ll be back.” It’s a struggle not to watch him walk out the door, but his daughter is standing right there, looking at you. You have to be normal.
“Where’d you transfer from?” you ask Jules, forcing casualness into the way you speak. You return to your place at your desk but angle yourself toward her.
“Some tiny school.” She unzips one bag, pulling out purple and black bedsheets. “You’ve never heard of it.”
“Try me.”
Jules stops what she’s doing to look at you. “Authority.” Damn. She was right. You haven’t the faintest idea what that is. You shrug, and she raises her eyebrows at you as if to say see? She turns back to the bed to pull her fitted sheet over the lower corners. “It was an engineering school.”
“Oh.” She’s so fucking cool. Being this cool shouldn’t even be humanly possible. “You’re an engineering major?”
“Yes sirrr.” Jules draws out the last syllable, somehow sounding both proud and annoyed. You can’t tell which is right.
“That’s in-” You’re cut off by Jules cursing as the fitted sheet snaps out of where she’d tucked it, forcing her to crawl on the mattress and redo the whole process. “That’s intense.”
She hums in acknowledgement. “What about you?”
“Business.”
Jules laughs at that, so sudden and out her nose that she tries to disguise it as a cough.
You bite the inside of your mouth. You’ve heard enough jokes about business being a fake major to last you a lifetime and you really don’t want to hear it from the woman you’re spending the next nine months living with.
When she speaks, you can hear her smiling. “My dad would like you.”
Oh. That’s not what you expected.
Your fight to prevent the heat that rises to your cheeks is futile. It’s very fortunate that she isn’t facing you. “Why?” you ask, keeping your voice level and not letting on how much that means to you.
“He’s…” she hesitates. “… a business kinda guy.”
You don’t really understand, but you're not going to press her on it. You should also probably move the topic away from her dad for your own sanity. “Is there anything I can help with? I can leave the room if you’d rather-”
“Nah, it’s fine.” Jules fluffs her pillows and then sits cross-legged on her bed to talk to you. “You’re a third year too?”
“Yeah, been here the whole time. I’m so sick of the dining hall food.” You snap your fingers as a piece of advice occurs to you. “If they’re serving fish, don’t eat it.”
Jules laughs again, and this time you see the way the smile blossoms on her face. “Noted. Thank you.”
You give her a mock salute. “Just looking out for your safety.”
She smiles at you. Gosh, she’s pretty. Her concealer is light enough that you can make out the natural freckles that dust her cheeks. “Could I get your number?”
“Yeah, of course.” You slide out of your chair and walk over to her, pulling out your messenger app while she does the same. It’s while you’re trading contact information that Midas returns. Jules had wedged a wrench into the gap between the door and the floor to keep it propped open, so neither of you have to move to let him in. You’re not sure if being warned of his arrival would have helped or worsened the intensity at which your heart rate increases at seeing him again.
Midas doesn’t say anything about the two of you having hit it off, but you look up to see him watching with what you think is an expression of approval. It’s hard to tell - he doesn’t seem to be a visibly emotional person. You give him a soft smile and a hi. He inclines his head toward you in return.
“Thanks, Dad.” Jules gets off her bed to sort through the new bags, leaving you to slip back to your side of the room. You don’t feel the need to pretend to work now that you’re more comfortable with her. Midas helps her unpack toiletries and organize them on the shelf while you craft a starting text to Jules.
“What’s your Instagram?” you ask, even though you fully already know what it is.
“Uh, it’s julesx40. Four zero, forty. All one word.” Jules kicks a drawer closed, then watches as it miraculously slides back open.
You take the time to type her username in full to make it seem like it wasn’t the first thing that appeared in the search bar. Finally, you can press the follow request button on the familiar profile, then click on your mutual followers. “You know Skye?”
Jules kicks the drawer closed again, hard enough that it clicks and doesn’t reopen. “Yeah, from summer camp. How do you know her?”
“I think, like, a party two years ago,” you answer, then quickly add, “I’m not in that scene anymore, though.” You’re looking dead at Midas to gauge his approval, but he doesn’t noticeably react.
“Damn. Small world.”
“Jules,” Midas speaks, beckoning her over to him. Jules throws one last glance your way and you take that as your cue to give them whatever semblance of privacy is possible in such a small room.
This time, you actually can’t hear what they’re saying. You’re really trying not to care, but at one point they simultaneously look over their shoulders at you and you know you’re the subject of the conversation. That’s discomforting.
After a minute, they break and Jules goes back to unpacking. Midas is the one to approach you. You’re unconsciously staring at his crossed arms to admire his tattoos before your eyes flick up to meet his.
If he notices the way you ogle him, he gives no indication. The next words out of his mouth throw you for the biggest loop imaginable. “May I treat you to dinner?”
You balk. There’s no way he just- oh, God. No, he didn’t. You’re a fucking freak for even letting the notion that he was asking in a one-on-one way cross your mind. He means to take you and Jules out together as housewarming (dormwarming?) gift. You’re an absolute fucking freak.
“That would be amazing,” you recover. No way are you going to pass up an opportunity to eat food that isn’t from the dining hall, even if it means being in close proximity to the man that makes you feel like you’re having your very first middle school crush. “Where?”
“Butter Barn,” Jules answers instantly. It seems like the location was more her choice than his. Based on the way Midas holds himself, you would expect him to suggest a steakhouse or something far beyond the price range of any ordinary college student, not the late night breakfast chain.
Midas lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. Your read on their preferences is probably right. “If that is alright with you.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” You’re maybe overdoing it in attempting to appeal to him, but hopefully it’s within the bounds of “nervously talking to a friend’s dad” and not “desperately trying to hit on a man twice your age.” You’re pretty sure you’re only doing the first. Any instance of flirtation is purely accidental.
Midas rotates his arm to look at the fancy watch he has clasped around his wrist. “I have matters to attend to at the moment, but I can pick you both up at a quarter to six.”
Jules rolls her eyes again. You get the sense that she does that around her dad a lot. “Just say five forty-five.”
He doesn’t. Midas walks over to where Jules is hanging up her assortment of shirts, turning her to face him. He presses a quick kiss to her forehead. “Be good.”
“Okay.” Jules puts one hand on Midas’ upper arm to separate the two of them. Her next words are hushed. “Love you.”
Midas brings her in for a hug and you hear an equally hushed “love you too.” And with that, your new roommate’s absolute DILF of a father is gone.
Is it socially acceptable to tell your new roommate that her dad is a DILF? Probably not. Scratch the “probably,” it’s definitely not. As chill as Jules is, there’s no way that’s gonna fly.
“Sorry, my dad’s kind of a lot.”
“Not at all,” you lie. “He’s cool.”
She scoffs. “That is not the word I’d use.” You hm questioningly, but Jules shakes her head. It’s pretty clear that she doesn’t want to get into it now. “Also, if you don’t feel comfortable going out with us today, I can let him know.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ve never had Butter Barn.”
Jules’ mouth drops open. “You’ve got to be joking.”
♡
In contrast with your initial impression of her, Jules is surprisingly easy to talk to. The tough guy front she puts on melts away to reveal someone really sweet and really funny. Her humor has a mean streak to it, and you’re undoubtedly very different people, but the approximately two hours you have together until Midas comes back whiz by.
About five minutes ahead of the designated time, Jules’ phone vibrates and she flips it over to check. “My dad is almost here.”
“Oh. Nice.” You look down at the school hoodie and baggy pants you’d put on this morning. “Should I change?”
Jules waves the idea away. “It’s Butter Barn. You’re fine.”
Sure, but you also want to look nice. You tell yourself your desire to dress up is just because you’re going out and not because you want to look good in front of her father. “I’m gonna change. Is it okay if I just do it here?”
“Yeah, do you want me to leave or-”
“No, I don’t mind.” You rifle through your closet, picking out a medium-length skirt. Cute, but not obscene. You step into it and pull it up to your waist, then take your pants off under the coverage. “Do you care about changing in the room?”
“Nah, dude. I think all my friends have seen me naked at this point.”
You cough in surprise. “Sorry?” you eek out.
Jules gestures down her chest. “I literally have full body tattoos.”
Right. That totally explains it. “Those are really, really cool, by the way,” you compliment her, pulling on high socks so you won’t freeze in the night cold.
“Thanks. It was one of my decisions my dad was actually down with.”
You blink at the mention of Midas, realizing you could use this as an opportunity to learn about him. “How come he has so many tattoos? Isn’t he, like, forty-something?”
“Yeah, but tattoos don’t disappear with age.” She crosses her arms and you feel silly for asking. “I get what you mean, though.”
“No, cause like, he’s so polite and formal but he looks like that.”
Jules stares at you. “Don’t tell me you think my dad is hot.”
You cough even more, burying your face in the crook of your elbow to hide your expression. “NO!” you practically shriek, hoping you made it sound like the notion is preposterous to you. “No.”
“Okay, good. That would be really fucking weird.” Jules is still eyeing you suspiciously. You might not be the first one of her friends to take an interest in Midas. Mercifully, her phone buzzes again, distracting from her wariness. “My dad’s at the pick-up spot. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” You cringe as soon as the words leave your mouth and Jules laughs at you.
You put your sneakers on as she does the same, scooping your phone, wallet, and keycard into a small shoulder bag. You’re not going to let the two of you get locked out on the very first day. Jules, now wearing an oversized hoodie over her crop top, holds the door open for you and lets it swing closed once you’re out. “Automatic lock?”
“Yeah,” you confirm. Your footsteps clunk rhythmically down the stairs as she follows. “Me and my roommate got locked out five times in our first year. It was awful.”
“Yikes.” Jules nods at you in thanks for holding open the entrance door to the dorm. Even with how punk she presents, she still retains Midas’s politeness.
It’s pretty out. The sun is at golden hour, casting an orange underglow onto the cumulonimbus clouds to be west. There’s a light breeze in the air that jostles the leaves around the two of you, creating a pleasant ambiance while you walk to Midas’s car. You can appreciate the good weather in this area while it lasts.
The black car with tinted windows that’s sitting in the roundabout looks to be your ride. “That’s him.” Jules confirms.
You and Jules get in from the right. She goes for the passenger door, gesturing for you to get in the back. The door, thankfully, is already unlocked, saving you from having to uncomfortably fumble with the handle.
You duck into the car, coming face to face with Midas’ side profile. He takes your breath away all over again. How perfectly defined his facial structure is should be illegal. “Hi, thank you so much.”
“Of course.” Midas turns the key in the ignition, starting the car engine. You and Jules shut your doors almost simultaneously, but he waits to start driving, watching to make sure you both have buckled in. It’s only once the click of the seatbelt is heard that he pulls away from the curb.
“Dad, can I play music?”
Midas taps the Bluetooth on the car’s screen display. “Not too loud.”
Jules busies herself with connecting to the speakers and pulling up a song, leaving you and Midas to have a conversation. Fortunately, he starts it. “Where are you from?”
“Salty Springs,” you answer. “Jules told me you guys are up by Pleasant?”
Midas quickly glances over at Jules. “We are.”
The music kicks in, some floaty, slow song that you wouldn’t have guessed she’d be into. Jules adjusts the volume so it’s just barely audible over the sound of the car. “Was everything good today?” She directs the question at Midas.
“It went smoothly.” is his answer. You don’t know exactly what they’re talking about, but it’s probably none of your business. You take the reprieve from being social to look around.
The black leather seats are spotless, making the car look like it’s brand new. It smells new too. The way you’re arranged has you directly behind Jules, meaning you can’t see her face but you have a clear view of Midas’. You should’ve realized the results of this layout sooner. He’s focused on driving, though, enabling you to admire him without being noticed.
It’s almost frustrating how immaculate his car is. You have no way of learning anything about him from looking back here, other than the fact that he might be a clean-freak.
The car is illuminated in red as a traffic light switches over, forcing Midas to take a rougher stop than usual. It sends a small ball of white fur rolling out from under the driver’s seat, which prompts you to let out a tiny shriek.
Once you’re past your initial surprise, you blink to get a grasp on what you’re seeing. “Is there a stuffed animal back here?”
Jules gasps and whirls around in her seat. “OHM?”
You have no clue what the noise she just made was meant to be. “What?”
“Where is he?” She asks. You point to the underside of the driver’s seat. “Can you reach him?”
“Uh, I think.” You bend down, taking care not to stretch the seatbelt so fast that it locks you in place. It’s a struggle, but eventually your fingers snag on the soft fur and you’re able to pull the stuffed animal free.
It has a few specks of black cloth clinging to its fur, but it's otherwise unharmed. It’s gray and a little funky-looking. Jules extends her hand back for you to pass it to her.
“Dad! I can’t believe you were going to leave Ohm behind!” she admonishes, playing up the level of offense she’s taking.
The light changes back to green. “It must have fallen,” Midas says, voice indifferent. Jules huffs.
The car continues on. The GPS on the screen says the destination is only three more minutes away, so it really is strange that you’ve never been when it’s one of the few places close to campus.
Without registering it, you’ve been alternating between looking at Midas straight on and through the rearview mirror. At one point, his gold eyes meet yours in the reflection and you gulp, letting your eyes casually wander away as if him catching you staring was pure coincidence.
Midas says your name, instantly bringing your attention right back to him. “Do you drive?”
“I can, but I don’t have a car here,” you explain. “Parking is too expensive.”
“You get along fine without it?”
“I mean, sort of, but I usually go out with friends that have cars,” you answer truthfully.
Jules clicks her tongue. “See? You should let me take the Bear.”
“Maybe next semester.” Midas flicks on the turn signal, the ticking almost aligning with the beat of the new song that starts playing. It’s something more upbeat and Jules quickly skips it. Your guess is that she’s curating the songs based on what her dad would approve of.
You’re not sure if Midas is a good driver or if the car just runs really smoothly - you haven’t been paying attention to the road at all, too distracted by his face and maintaining a conversation. Either way, you pull into the Butter Barn parking lot a minute ahead of the GPS’ prediction.
Midas pulls ahead of an open parking space, shifting gears to back up. Oh God. He’s gonna do the thing.
He does the thing. One hand on the back of the passenger seat headrest, Midas looks over his shoulder, peering through the rear window to make sure he’s properly aligned. You swallow again and try to look anywhere else. He’d actually see you watching him this time.
He pulls off the head-out parking easily and sets the car into park, removing his keys and shutting it off with practiced movements. The door locks click open and you quickly unbuckle as the father-daughter duo in front do the same.
Jules acts calm when she steps out of the car, but the way her hands fidget betray her excitement.
The glass door lets out a little jingle when Midas pulls it open, revealing a restaurant that’s about half full. Western-style music plays through the overhead speakers. The host, wearing a cowboy hat and denim jeans, seats your party at a square table with four chairs.
Jules takes the seat to your right, Midas sitting across from you. This is likely the arrangement that makes the most sense, but it again means you’re sitting in full view of The DILF™. You pull the menu in front of your face to hide your eyes.
As you flip through it, you realize that this franchise is committed to the whole wild west thing. Every item is American food set against a wooden background. You half expect the waiters to start speaking with cowboy accents.
Jules taps you, scooting her chair closer. “You should get a drink.”
“Ah, I’d feel bad… ” you trail off, looking to Midas in hopes that he understands you.
“Order as much as you’d like.”
Well then. You won’t completely indulge yourself - that would be rude - but you’ll get a thing or two more than you’d usually allow. “Thank you.”
“You have to try the Flowberry Fizz Lemonade.” Jules flips to the drinks page of the menu for you, tapping on the picture of a bubbly blue and purple concoction.
“Okay, I’ll trust you.” Mentally, you tally up six dollars, not wanting to go beyond $25 on your total. Most of the items are within that range, save for the steaks, so you search the breakfast combos page for something that jumps out at you. A $14 variety platter would be a good choice.
“What are you ordering?” you ask Jules.
She folds her menu to show you a photo of a tantalizing stack of pancakes. “It’s what they’re famous for. You can try some of mine.”
You scan the menu for a minute longer until the waiter returns to your table to ask if you’re ready to order. You all look around at each other and, since no one protests, Jules starts. “Could I get Uncle Mancake’s Pancakes?”
“Two stack or four stack?”
“Four.” Jules answers confidently. The waiter writes her order down on his notepad and turns to you.
“I’ll have the…” you pause, hating the next words that have to come out of your mouth. “... the Foot-Tapping Hoedown, please.”
“How would you like your eggs?”
A small part of you tells you that it would be really funny to say “fertilized,” but you could never have the balls to do that. “Scrambled.”
The waiter takes the menu off your hands and looks to Midas. You’re really hoping he has to say one of those ridiculous menu item names like you and Jules just did.
Midas folds his menu closed. “The number three, please.”
Oh, that is so not fair. The waiter doesn’t even ask a follow up question, just takes the last menu and walks away.
Midas leans against the table on his forearms, fingers clasped together. Twin shark tattoos run down both his wrists. The dark ink stands out against his pale skin. You really want a breakdown of each of his tattoos. How far do they go? Do they wrap around his waist just like Jules’ do? What does he look like underneath his layer of clothes? It’s like a mystery you’re dying to solve. “So you’re a third year?”
“Yes.” You sit up straight in your chair. You didn’t fully register the question he asked you, too caught up in your thoughts, but you hope that was the right answer. You feel like you’re being interviewed. In some sense of the word, maybe you are.
“How do you like the school?”
“It’s good. The teachers are good.” Oooo. Big vocabulary you’ve got going for you. “The food isn’t great, but it’s hard to find anywhere that it is. There’s a lot of school events, too.”
“Oh, fuck.” Jules scrambles to pull out her phone. “I forgot, there’s a transfer student thing I’m supposed to go to that starts at seven.”
“We have time,” Midas says coolly, like he’d known she had it and planned accordingly. She wrinkles her nose at her dad but puts her phone away without checking the clock.
You think you’re starting to get them, to get him.
Midas likes being in control. That’s why he’s so unexpressive, why it feels impossible to say no to him.
Jules hates being controlled. They seem to have a loving relationship, but there’s this underlying friction beneath every interaction, like being around each other is a mutual test of patience.
So as a friend to Jules, it should be concerning that your first thought after noticing Midas’ desire for control is wishing that he would control you. As he lifts his glass of water to his lips, gold eyes watching you over the rim, it faintly occurs to you that maybe he already is.
♡
Jules was right about the Flowberry Fizz Lemonade. You’d come back here just to drink the artificially fruity beverage again.
The only notable thing that happened during the dinner was when your shoe accidentally bumped against Midas’ and he didn’t immediately retract. You’re definitely not going to overthink that interaction later.
The food itself was decent - not life changing, but you get the appeal. Midas pays the bill so discreetly that you don’t realize it happened until he’s asking if you’re ready to go. You’re on track to get back to campus nearly in perfect time for Jules’ transfer student assembly, give or take a couple minutes.
Having learned your lesson from earlier, you sit behind Midas in the car so you and Jules can more comfortably talk. She’s explaining that Butter Barn was a childhood favorite of hers and that her high school friend group had gone there as a post-prom celebration. Her hands absentmindedly fiddle with her owl plushy’s wings as she reminisces. Her habits are really endearing. You wouldn’t be surprised if she brings a girl back to the room within her first month here.
Midas takes the route to south campus, opting to drop Jules off first so she isn’t late before he returns you to the dorm. As soon as this was suggested, you realized it meant being in the car alone with Midas. Your offer to get out with Jules and walk back was instantly shut down.
Midas and Jules hug goodbye over the center console, exchanging “love you”s and “stay safe”s. You stare out the window to give them privacy during their parting.
“I’ll see you later.” Jules waves to you from outside the car. She turns to leave, then does a full 360 whip back around. “Wait. Can you bring Ohm in?”
The infamous plushy has been carefully propped up in the passenger seat as if it’s sentient. “Yes, I will.”
“Okay, thanks. See you.” Jules slams the passenger door closed and walks away for real this time.
Midas is quiet for a moment, watching her go. You do the same for the sake of making sure she’s got the right building. She stops to read the overhead sign, then quickly enters the hall, never looking back over her shoulder.
Midas doesn’t show any emotion, he never really seems to, but he must feel a little sad at having to part from his daughter. Her previous school was a commuter college, so she was still living at home. This is her first extended away from home.
You give him a moment, prepared for a completely silent car ride back if he needs it. Instead, he asks “Would you like to come to the front?” and your whole world shatters.
It doesn’t actually, but the way your heart does a cartwheel is disproportionate to the normalcy of the situation. Your initial reaction is to decline, but you stop yourself. It would be weirder to sit in the backseat as if you’re taking an Uber than to make the effort to move to the passenger seat.
You manage a “sure” and clamber out of the car, walking around the back to the passenger side. Opening the door, Ohm sits in the passenger seat as if challenging you to move him.
Midas grips Ohm by the head and you half expect him to throw it into the backseat, but he just holds the plushy and waits for you to sit. Once you do, he passes Ohm back to you.
“Take care of it,” he tells you, and you’re ready to jump through fire if it means his orders are followed.
“Yes sir.”
You only intend to be copying Jules’ way of speaking, but it comes out very different when you say it. Less funny and charming and more… flirty. You really hope he doesn’t take it like that. He’ll give you a “you don’t need to call me sir” and any undertone of flirtation would fly out the window.
Midas doesn’t say anything.
You’re not sure if that’s better or worse than getting told off.
You look down, wanting to avoid any eye contact with him. You hadn’t noticed when you were sitting in the backseat, but now that you’re within his eyeline, you’re hyperaware of how your skirt rides up your legs when you’re sat, further exposing the skin of your thighs.
You’re sitting there, knees pressed together with your roommate’s plushy in your lap, and you don’t think your body has ever burned up this much in your entire life.
There’s something in the fact that you know it’s wrong. Knowing how much older he is than you, knowing that he’s your roommate’s dad, knowing that absolutely nothing could or should ever happen between the two of you. He wouldn’t be interested, anyways. He probably has a lovely wife that just happened to never get brought up and a wedding ring he coincidentally forgot to wear today.
So you’re definitely jumping to conclusions when you see him glance down at your exposed legs. And it definitely doesn’t mean anything when his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows right after.
It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, even though it probably should. Instead, the possibility that this intensely sexy man that’s double your age might find you physically attractive turns you on more than anything.
You squeeze your thighs closer together.
“Thank you for the ride,” you say, just to have something to say. You mean it, of course - walking from lower to upper campus is a drag - but you’re also still in the sucking-up phase with him.
“Of course.”
“And thank you again for dinner.”
Midas’ thumb brushes against the steering wheel. “I hope it was to your tastes.”
There are so many “taste”-related dirty jokes you could make, all of which would be highly inappropriate for the situation. You restrain yourself. “The theming is fun. I get why Jules likes it so much.”
He hms in response. Well, that conversation is dead. You stare out the window as shadows of trees fly past.
Midas drives the winding street up to your dorm and you really are grateful for the ride saving you from having to walk it, even though it means you’re sitting through the most painful one-sided sexual tension imaginable. Can sexual tension be one-sided? You don’t know what else to call what you’re feeling. Sitting next to him makes it feel like the car heater is on full blast when, in reality, it isn’t even on.
You sneak a glance over at Midas. He has one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. His fingers tap out a rhythm even though no music is playing.
“When are you driving back home?” you ask to fill the silence.
“Six A.M.”
“That’s early. I’m not going to be awake by then.”
Midas doesn’t acknowledge what you said, making you thing you fucked up somehow. Or that he can read your mind and knows every depraved thought you’ve had over the course of the past hour.
Damn him and his pretty face and his pretty hair and his pretty eyes and his pretty tattoos. You should be better than this. You should have more self control. You’re mature enough to not be gushing over merely interacting with someone you find hot.
In your head, you’re rehearsing what to say next like an actor running lines. Should you make a joke? Reference something from earlier in the night? Ask him some bland, easy question just to keep conversation going?
Before you can open your mouth to use a lot of words to say absolutely nothing, Midas pulls over to the side of the road. Technically, he can park here, but you’re still a ways away from the dorm drop-off spot. You feel adrenaline rush through your body. Have you been caught? Is he gonna tell you that he’s disgusted with you and doesn’t want you anywhere near his daughter and make you walk the rest of the way back? Maybe he’s a murderer and you’re about to be his next victim. Confronted with that possibility, this feels a lot less sexy.
Midas puts the car into park. “Can I trust you?”
“Of course,” you respond instantly, because you’re a goddamn fool.
“Good.” Midas leans over the center console so the top half of his body is facing you. He’s close. So close. You don’t know where to look. Your gaze darts over his lips, his chin, his hair, the tattoos on his neck, anywhere but his eyes. You don’t want to confront the way your heart races from direct eye contact with him. You don’t want to confront the fact that it’s racing right now anyway.
“Jules…” he begins, and your eyes flick up to meet his. A fatal mistake. You can’t look away. “... she’s been through a lot.”
His voice is so gentle. So caring. So unlike what you’d expect of someone that appears as intimidating as he does. The dichotomy makes you more interested in him.
You nod to make it clear that you’re listening because you don’t trust yourself enough to speak now.
“I need you to be a good friend to her.”
Your heart breaks. Midas cares about his daughter so much. It’s so sweet. He’s telling you - no, practically ordering you to be her friend. For him.
“I can do that,” you say, nodding vigorously to show your determination.
“Good.” He leans back, away from you, breaking that breathless connection you felt from being so close to him. You sink back in your seat as he starts driving again. You should be sitting up straight to look good and polite and mature, but your mind is too busy cataloging every inch of his face to memory to allot any brain power to posture.
It’s not long before Midas pulls into the roundabout closest to your dorm. You check yourself to make sure you’ve got everything - your purse, your phone, and Ohm - and put on a tooth-rottingly sweet smile for him.
“Thank you so much for everything,” You put your hand over your heart for extra effect, to show him how much you mean it. Unlocking the door, you step out but don’t shut it behind you just yet. “Have a good night.”
“You as well.”
“Drive safe.” You’re stalling, dragging this out much longer than necessary just to really hammer in how grateful you are and how nice of a person you can be.
Midas raises his hand in goodbye to you. That’s your indication to shut the door and step away from the car.
You watch the car’s tail lights as he drives away, watching until he turns a corner and you can’t see anything anymore. The chill of the night air makes you realize the extent of how hot being in that car with him made you. It’s like stepping out of a warm shower into a bathroom that’s had the blower running.
You skip on your way back to the dorm. You can’t help it. You’re positively giddy, high on sugar and a successful interaction with a hot guy. Hopping around and gripping a plushy, you feel like a little kid.
You feel like a little kid. You slow your steps, walking normally once you get to the dorm entrance. No, that’s not right. You can’t be a little kid. That would make things weird. You need to be mature. Worthy of being looked at by him. For some reason, the years he has on you feel more tempting than repulsive, as if there’s some sort of status to be earned by saying you fucked a sexy forty-something year old. Which you’re not going to do, obviously. Because he’s your roommate’s dad. And forty-something years old.
That’s not going to stop you from thinking about it, though.