Chapter 1: Tears and TikToks

I made my roommate cry.

Honestly, I never thought I'd be the guy who'd do something like that. The room felt way too small all of a sudden, the air thick with the smell of Eli's coconut Suave body wash and the soft hum of the mini fridge, punctuated by the sound of muffled sniffles.

Have you ever seen a guy cry?

It’s not like in the movies, where a guy just stares stoically into the distance and a single tear falls. No, it’s more like that one scene in Friday Night Lights where the quarterback loses the game—messy, raw, and totally real. Eli Whitaker just sat on the bed, blinking hard, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear. After a few seconds, a single tear slid down his cheek. His face was all scrunched up, and he curled into himself like a kid hiding from a thunderstorm—arms wrapped tight, knees pulled close.

Even as the campus heartthrob, Eli somehow managed to look good even while crying. It was honestly unfair. There he was, in his faded Michigan State hoodie, tousled hair and trembling lips, and I couldn’t decide if I should comfort him or apologize again for being such an idiot.

I swallowed nervously, my chest tight and my palms damp, and said as gently as I could, "Hey, man, don’t cry—"

The words came out awkward, too loud in the small dorm. Eli turned his head away, his messy hair forming a soft arc, hiding his face. He ignored me, and I could hear him sniffling faintly. The sound twisted my stomach into knots, like I’d just blown a last-minute free throw.

I was completely at a loss. My brain was stuck on a loop: Did I just ruin everything? Am I a jerk now? How do you fix this?

I rubbed the back of my neck, shifting from foot to foot, glancing at the poster of LeBron dunking on the wall. Wishing the floor would swallow me, I took a deep breath and fidgeted with my phone, desperate for a distraction.

I quickly typed up a post:

[Guys, I made my roommate cry. What do I do now?]

[It really wasn’t on purpose, I was just joking.]

My hands shook as I hit send, hoping for a miracle. Almost instantly, my post blew up with comments—notifications popping, phone buzzing like crazy.

No one pays attention to my serious TikToks, but the moment I post something random, it goes viral. Typical. I could drop a deep think-piece and get two likes, but the internet lives for drama and roommate fails.

With so many people online, surely someone would have useful advice—

[Bro, do you believe they're just friends, or do you believe I’m actually Tom Brady?]

[Apple made Orange cry, and now Banana is supposed to fix it? I'm just a banana, what do I know?]

[Reddit top search: Puppy-eyed boyfriend cries so hard he’s shaking.]

And then there were even wilder comments:

[Whenever my roommate cries, I just kiss him. Works every time.]

[Just kiss him and whisper, 'Save your tears for later.' #lifetips]

Five minutes in, my post already had 70 likes, and a bunch of clown emojis.

What the actual heck!

If I was confused before, now my head felt like it was fizzing with Sprite. My brain was all static, bouncing between panic and complete disbelief, notification sounds still going off in the background.

Tsk. I tossed my phone onto my unmade bed.

Fine, I’ll just face it head-on. I stood up and walked over to Eli. My palms were sweaty, but I tried to look casual—like maybe I had a clue what I was doing, even though my heart was pounding like I was about to take the game-winning shot.

Maybe if I took a selfie with him, asked if he wanted to grab a burger at the dining hall, and offered to treat him to lunch, he’d…forgive me?

Just as I reached out to pat his shoulder, a transparent option box suddenly appeared in front of my eyes, like something straight out of Black Mirror.

[Based on your future video data, here are two recommended options.]

[Option 1: Kiss him. (47.1%)]

[Option 2: Whisper in his ear, "Save your strength to cry later." (49.3%)]

What the…hell?! I’m straight!

I frantically waved my hand, trying to dismiss the options, but some invisible force held my arm in place. I couldn’t move, even though Eli was right in front of me.

I froze. What kind of weird, supernatural nonsense was this? Was I getting punked, or was this some next-level TikTok filter?

My anxiety spiked. My heart raced, sweat prickling down my back. I took two steps back, and new text popped up on the screen:

[Detected no intention to choose. Auto-selecting for you.]

[Option 2: Whisper in his ear, "Save your strength to cry later." (49.3%)]

My body moved on its own, walking stiffly toward Eli. Suddenly, I found myself hugging him, my arms awkwardly tight around his shoulders.

He smelled faintly of coconut—definitely Suave, I remembered seeing the bottle in our shower caddy. The scent was weirdly comforting, but it made my heart pound for reasons I really didn’t want to think about.

While I was distracted, my lips curled into a smile, and I leaned in close to his ear: "Save your strength to cry later."

My voice came out as a breathy whisper. I sounded like a total creep, like some cringey Netflix romcom character.

Almost immediately after I finished speaking, I regained control of my body.

Then I saw Eli’s eyes—

No exaggeration, he was frozen.

He just stared at me, tears caught in his lashes, not even falling. He looked like someone had just paused his favorite show mid-cliffhanger.

A moment later, his entire face turned bright red. His round eyes looked at me, hair falling softly over his forehead. He looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out.

I stammered, "Uh…I…I…"

Suddenly, I remembered my mom’s earnest advice: A man should own up to his actions—no matter how awkward.

If I’m a creep, then I should accept my punishment.

I bent over and apologized, "Dude, that was out of line. I’m sorry."

Eli’s blush deepened, spreading down his neck. He stammered, "You…you…"

I glanced at him, only to see him swallow, looking at me with a hint of hope—

He asked, hesitantly, "Do you…like me?"

I’ve been roommates with Eli for years. There’s no way I’d destroy this brotherly bond—right?

A surge of determination welled up in my chest. I immediately raised three fingers, like I was taking an oath at Boy Scouts:

"I, Carter Brooks, am straight as they come. If I ever have any inappropriate thoughts about you, may I never find a girlfriend in this life!"

Maybe it was my imagination, but as soon as I finished, the color drained from Eli’s face.

He stared at me blankly, disappointment flickering in his eyes like a dying phone screen.

I asked, cautiously, "You’re not mad anymore, right?"

He gave me a side-eye, then shoved a piece of pre-cut watermelon from the dining hall into my mouth. "Eat. It won’t kill you."