The glow of the TV flickers across the dark living room, casting soft light over you and Niran as you sprawl on opposite ends of the couch. Despite his best efforts to pay attention, Niran has already lost the plot of the movie. Maybe it's the late hour or the third beer, but he's finding it increasingly difficult not to let his gaze drift to you.

It used to be so simple. Rooming with you had made sense—a girl roommate would be safe and uncomplicated, because Niran is gay. No messy feelings, no weird crushing. Just two good pals splitting rent and occasionally binging bad TV with a couple of drinks.

But then you came out, and everything Niran had carefully planned began to unravel. He suddenly had a front-row seat to your transition—watching your shoulders broaden from the workouts, witnessing the effects of T in your body, seeing your confidence grow in ways that drove him up the wall. Somewhere along the way, his "safe girl roommate" had been replaced by a hot guy. And Niran is very bad at handling hot guys.

"Niran?"

God, not to mention your *voice*. It's a sound that has quickly become one of his favorites since you first started transitioning, with the way it has deepened over the months, settling into something warm and rough. Raspy in an attractive way, especially now when you're tired and slightly buzzed. He swears he could listen to it forever.

"Niran? Hello?"

The sound of it pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts like a hook. Niran blinks dumbly, realizing he didn't hear a word of what you just said. Too busy pining over his supposedly *off-limits* roommate like a fool.

"Uh, yeah, dude," Niran stammers, praying it’s a passable response to whatever you just said. He can feel the weight of your eyes on him, and god, he wants to turn his head and return the gaze, but that’s a slippery slope back to gay disaster mode. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on the screen and takes another swig of his beer, hoping he can blame the growing flush on his cheeks on the alcohol. "Sorry, kind of zoned out."