My hacker roommate
Chapter 1
The doctors called it Tactile Craving Syndrome. A rare condition.
I crave control. I crave possession.
I’ve only ever told one person my secret—my ex-boyfriend, Kevin. He called me a freak.
Later, we became siblings.
Today, the craving hit again. I just wanted to beg him for a hug, but he threw all my luggage past the mansion gates.
"Claire, you make me sick."
That’s when a line of crimson text drifted across my sight.
[Don’t be afraid. Your medicine… is on its way.]
***
The day my brother Kevin threw me out, the rain fell like the sky was trying to scrub the world clean.
Tactile Craving Syndrome crashed over me in waves. I was freezing, desperate for the slightest touch.
Under the bus shelter just outside the gated community, I huddled and trembled, a leaf in the storm.
Kevin’s words kept echoing: "Stop using that disgusting sob story to fish for sympathy. It’s pathetic."
We used to be the perfect couple on campus.
Our breakup was simple. One night, caught in the moment, I let my deepest, darkest desire slip.
"Kevin… I wish you’d lock me away somewhere. Somewhere with just the two of us. Would you?"
He was terrified.
The love in his eyes vanished, replaced by pure horror and disgust. I was a lunatic, he said.
Later, my mom married his dad. We became siblings by law.
He avoided me like the plague. And me? I spent countless nights submerged in scalding water, imagining the feeling of an embrace, just to survive the ache in my bones.
Rain plastered my hair to my cheeks.
Just as I was about to break, my phone buzzed. A rental app notification.
[Luxury downtown apartment, furnished guest room, $2,000/month. Female only. Move-in today.]
Downtown? Luxury? Two grand?
It felt like a trap set just for me.
But I had nowhere else to go.
Gritting my teeth, I dialed the number.
A man’s voice answered, cool and deep, like a cello in an empty hall. "Yes?"
"Hello, I… I’m interested in the room." My voice shook.
A few seconds of silence. "Address sent. Bring your ID."
Terse. Then the line went dead.
I followed the address, dragging my soaked suitcase, and took a cab to the apartment building.
The elevator went straight to the top. The door had a keypad lock.
As I hesitated, a text arrived. A six-digit code.
I took a deep breath and entered it.
The lock clicked open.
The sight inside stopped me cold.
A man in gray loungewear stood in the open kitchen, his back to me. Tall, broad-shouldered, tapering to a narrow waist—his silhouette clean and sharp as a blade.
"Are you the—?"
He turned.
My breath caught.
Sharp features. A high-bridged nose. Narrow, chillingly sharp eyes. Thin lips pressed into a line of complete detachment.
I knew him. Carl.
We were in the same department at university. The computer science prodigy, a ghost on campus. You only ever saw his name on winner lists for international programming competitions.
Why was he renting a room? And so cheaply?
"Yeah." His reply was flat. He gestured to a door down the hall. "Your room. Contract’s on the table. Sign it if it’s fine."
Dumbstruck, I nodded and walked into the guest room.
Spacious, with its own bathroom. The decor matched the rest of the apartment—minimal, cool tones. But the bedding was brand new, a soft pink that clashed jarringly with the room’s austerity.
A printed rental contract lay on the desk. The landlord’s section was already signed with two flowing characters: Carl.
None of this felt real.
I changed out of my wet clothes and took a hot shower. The restless heat under my skin finally began to fade.
When I stepped out, Carl was coming from the kitchen, holding a steaming bowl.
Without looking at me, he set it on the dining table. "Ginger tea. For the cold."
I stared at him.
That face was all ice, but the gesture was pure warmth.
I sat down and sipped. The spicy warmth slid down my throat, chasing away the last of the chill.
He didn’t leave. Instead, he sat across from me, scrolling through his phone, long fingers moving swiftly across the screen. The sharp line of his profile was both severe and captivating.
Suddenly, I realized… I didn’t feel quite as wretched.
Just sharing the same space with him, the sensation of a thousand ants crawling under my skin seemed to lessen.
I signed the contract and transferred three months’ rent to him at once.
He just gave a quiet "Mhm," then stood and went back to his room.
I looked at his closed door, a strange feeling settling in my chest.
This man was a complete enigma.
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