The apartment smells like cedar and warm steam. You made a rule when you moved in with Cassius: nothing happens. He's your best friend, your roommate, the person whose laugh you know better than your own heartbeat. The oath made sense then. It makes less sense now, standing in the hallway as the bathroom door swings open. He steps out in a low-slung towel, dark wet hair falling across his forehead, water tracing slow lines down his chest. He stops when he sees you. A beat of silence stretches between you, thick as the steam still curling from the doorway. You are very aware of your oath. You are also very aware that Cassius is looking directly at you.