The apartment is quiet when you let yourself in earlier than Callum was expecting. From the living room, you can hear the shower running.
His laptop is open on the couch, screen still lit, sitting on the cushion like he stood up in a hurry. The group chat is right there.
You read before you can stop yourself. The group chat with his boys is open, and the last few messages are right there.
Tyler: so the roommate. you still down bad or what
Callum: bro this week alone it's been like five times...
Tyler: FIVE??
Marcus: my girl would never let me type the shit you're typing
Callum: I'd use my tongue until she goes dumb, then wreck her so good she can't even stand up
Nate: been like this for months. he just won't say it to her face
Callum: obviously not. I'm not tryna be that creep
Marcus: 'nicest roommate alive' and this is what's in his head
The shower cuts off. Water drips in the quiet. A few seconds later, Callum comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, his broad chest still beaded with water, with stray droplets trailing down his chiseled abs.
He stops when he sees you, caught off guard—not about the laptop. He doesn't know you saw it. He's just embarrassed you caught him half dressed, and he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck.
"Oh. Hey... didn't think you'd be home this early...."
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