Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]
Chapter 48: Borrowed From the Past

Chapter 48: Borrowed From the Past

Luca left the office with a casual goodbye tossed over his shoulder, hands stuffed into his pockets as he made his way out of the building.

The warmth of the late afternoon sun stretched across the pavement, but his mind was elsewhere — still circling Jeff’s words.

When the small things start to matter...

He shook the thought off with a quiet scoff, heading down the familiar street that led back to campus.

By the time he reached the dorm, his strides had slowed, like part of him wasn’t in a hurry to be alone again.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

The usual hum of Noel tapping at his keyboard, the soft clatter of cups or the distant sound of him talking to someone on a call — all of it missing. Luca glanced around. One bed untouched, sheets still neat. Noel’s side.

He dropped his keys on the table, his bag landing with a thud beside it. Then he hovered, eyes moving toward the bathroom door — dark. No light under it.

Luca walked over and opened it.

Empty.

He let out a small breath and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

The silence suddenly felt heavier now. Not that he missed Noel or anything.

Of course not.

He just... noticed.

With a frown, he pulled out his phone and opened their chat, thumb hovering for a second over the keyboard.

"You still at the library?"

He paused, stared at the blinking cursor — then locked the screen and tossed the phone on his bed instead.

"Whatever," he muttered to himself, grabbing a water bottle. "He’s probably just with Lina and Alex."

Still... he didn’t turn on the TV. Or the speaker. Or his laptop.

Just waited.

The silence dragged on.

Luca tapped his bottle against the edge of the table, glancing once more at the screen of his phone. Still no reply.

The message he’d sent a few minutes ago just sat there — delivered, not read.

Noel never left messages hanging. Especially not his. That tiny seen checkmark usually showed up within seconds.

Luca frowned. Then typed again.

"Still alive?"

He waited.

Nothing.

He leaned back on his bed, legs dangling off the side, phone held above his face as he mindlessly scrolled.

A quick refresh of his socials, then another — like somehow it would make the seconds go faster.

A soft ding popped from one of his muted group chats — the old hangout crew from freshman year.

The ones who always knew where the parties were before they were even announced.

Niko: "Tonight’s house party’s lit. Off-campus, Sullivan Ave. Don’t be a ghost, Luca. You coming?"

Another ping.

Jasmine: "Tell him he owes us a shot from last time 👀🍻"

Luca exhaled through his nose, a half smile playing at his lips.

That familiar itch tugged at him — noise, music, distraction. A way to burn time while Noel...

Well, while Noel kept him waiting.

He stared at the phone for a beat, thumb hovering again.

Then he sent a reply.

Luca: "Might pull up. No promises."

He tossed the phone beside him again, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking toward Noel’s empty bed.

A second beat passed. Then he got up, walking to the mirror. A quick run of his hand through his hair. He pulled on a clean shirt, sprayed cologne lightly on his wrist.

Just in case.

But as he turned to grab his phone again, he glanced once more at the unopened message.

Still nothing.

His jaw tightened, but he slipped the phone into his pocket and headed for the door anyway.

"Just a few drinks," he muttered under his breath. "I won’t even stay long."

And with that, the door clicked shut behind him.

The moment Luca stepped through the door, the bass hit him like a pulse — low, heavy, and alive.

Funny how the silence at home felt louder than the chaos here.

The house was packed. Bodies moved in sync with the music, lights flickering in strobes of neon blue and sharp pink.

Someone handed him a red cup almost instantly — unasked, but accepted with a smirk.

"Look who finally showed up," Niko grinned, clapping him on the back.

"I said might pull up," Luca replied, already tipping the drink back.

The alcohol burned just enough to remind him he was still grounded. Still in control.

At first, he lingered on the outskirts. Leaning against the wall. Watching. Laughing at jokes. Making eye contact without letting anyone too close.

The familiar buzz of attention wrapped around him — smiles, waves, more drinks.

But as the minutes slipped into hours, something in him loosened.

Maybe it was the third shot.

Maybe it was the way the music shook the floor beneath him.

Or maybe it was the fact that Noel still hadn’t replied.

So when Jasmine pulled him to the center of the room, he didn’t resist.

"You’ve been boring lately," she teased, wrapping her arm around his. "What happened to the Luca who used to own the floor?"

"Guess he’s been... distracted," he said, his grin crooked.

"Well, undistract yourself."

He did.

He danced.

Not with anyone in particular — just with the beat. Arms up, head back, the kind of movement that didn’t ask permission.

He laughed loud. Spun around with strangers.

Let someone pour tequila into his mouth from the bottle. Someone else tugged him into a wild group selfie.

He let it all happen — the laughter, the fleeting touches, the shots that blurred the lines.

The warm breath of someone whispering his name like they knew it better than he did.

He let the night blur, just a little.

But even as he smiled, even as he swayed, part of him kept flicking back to his phone.

One glance.

Still no message.

Still no Noel.

So he tipped his head back, downed another drink, and shouted over the music:

"Just for tonight."

And then he let himself go.

The room spun in color and sound — laughter, shouts, the pulse of bass that shook the floorboards.

Luca moved with the crowd, not caring where the music tossed him. He laughed against someone’s shoulder, nearly tripped over a beanbag, and kept going — loose and reckless, just as he promised himself.

But as he turned mid-spin, almost colliding into someone—

He froze.

Kian.

They stood inches apart in the crowd, the rest of the room a blur.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Just stared. The flashing lights catching in Kian’s eyes. His jaw clenched. His hand holding a half-full drink, untouched.

"I didn’t think you’d come," Kian finally said, his voice low under the music.

Luca blinked once, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "Neither did I."

Kian stepped back slightly, enough to slide beside him instead of in front. "You’ve been ignoring me."

Luca turned away, looked out toward the crowd like he hadn’t heard him. "I’ve been busy."

"Busy doing what?" Kian asked, a soft challenge in his tone. "Running away from everything you still want?"

Luca didn’t answer.

Kian didn’t wait for an answer. He tipped his cup back, took a sip, then grabbed Luca’s wrist—gentle, but firm—and tugged him away from the writhing center of the room.

They ended up near the back door, where the music was softer and the air didn’t reek of sweat and cheap perfume.

A string of fairy lights lit the porch dimly. Shadows danced against the railing, and the sound of crickets buzzed faint beneath the bass.

Kian handed him a fresh drink, one Luca didn’t ask for but took anyway.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, not looking at each other yet.

Kian was the first to speak. His voice was lower now, calmer.

"You’re different."

Luca gave a soft huff, a laugh without humor. "People change."

"Not overnight."

Luca took a long sip, then another. "Why are you always trying to pull me back into something I already left?"

"Because you didn’t really leave." Kian turned, finally facing him. "You just buried it. Pretended it didn’t matter."

Luca didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened.

"You think I don’t see it?" Kian continued. "You’ve been floating. Doing this thing where you laugh, you party, you flirt... but none of it feels like you anymore."

Luca looked at him now, eyes sharp and unreadable. "And what exactly do you think is me?"

Kian’s gaze softened slightly. "The guy who never had to fake it."

A pause.

A beat.

A flicker of something in Luca’s chest—something old, and maybe still raw.

He let out a low sigh and looked up at the sky, where no stars could be seen above the city haze. "We’re not the same anymore, Kian. That version of me... I don’t even know if I like him."

Kian leaned his elbows on the railing, watching Luca from the corner of his eye. "I liked him."

"I know," Luca murmured. Then quieter, "That was the problem."

Another silence.

The drink was almost warm now. Neither of them touched it.

Kian finally said, "Then why are you here?"

Luca glanced at him, a faint smirk on his lips. "Because I forgot how much I hated house parties."

Kian chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Liar."

Luca leaned back against the railing beside him, their shoulders brushing just slightly. "Maybe."

Kian looked at him again, more carefully now. "You look tired, Luca."

"I am."

They stood in silence for a while. Just the two of them, suspended in the hush between bass drops and memories.

Then Kian tilted his head. "Do you still think about it? Us?"

Luca didn’t answer right away.

But his silence was loud enough.

Did he still think about them?

Of course he did. But some thoughts weren’t safe to say out loud.

Especially not here—especially not with Kian’s eyes fixed on him like they still held every piece of his past.

He took another drink instead. Then another.

Kian didn’t stop him. Just leaned silently against the railing, like he already knew Luca was trying to drink silence into clarity.

The conversation faded for a bit. The cold buzz of alcohol seeped in—warm in his veins, heavy on his tongue.

His laughter came looser now, falling out in small bursts when Kian said something mildly funny.

His head tilted too long toward the sky, like he was chasing stars he couldn’t see.

Another drink. And another.

"I think I’m drunk," Luca admitted finally, slurring just enough for it to be noticeable.

Kian smirked, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "That’s number four. Or five. You’re not even counting anymore, are you?"

Luca giggled—actually giggled, a sound rare and unguarded. "I stopped after the one where you said I used to be real."

"You didn’t like that?"

Luca turned toward him, blinking. "I didn’t say I didn’t like it."

He leaned closer than he probably should’ve, face inches from Kian’s. His breath smelled like lime and something bitter.

"I just didn’t want to remember."

Kian’s throat bobbed.

"Luca..." he said softly.

But Luca was already turning away, swaying slightly as he stood upright, arms spread like he could balance against gravity itself.

"I feel light," he said, grinning as he stumbled toward the edge of the porch. "Is that normal?"

Kian followed, steady and close. "It’s called being wasted."

Luca spun around, arms still out like he was walking a tightrope. "Wasted. Yeah. That sounds about right."

And then—

Suddenly—he stopped.

Looked at Kian. Eyes glazed, but intense. The kind of stare that came from someplace old and buried.

"Did you miss me?" Luca asked.

Kian didn’t answer right away.

Luca stepped closer, closing the distance. "You didn’t fight for me, Kian. You said you loved me but you never fought."

Kian inhaled sharply. "You didn’t give me a chance."

"I waited." Luca’s voice cracked, just slightly. "But not forever."

He stumbled again, but Kian caught him—hands gripping his arms.

Luca didn’t push him away.

Just stood there, dazed and close, breathing hard like it took effort to keep everything in.

"You don’t get to be sad now," he whispered, eyes locked on Kian’s. "You lost your chance."

But Kian didn’t let go.

His grip on Luca’s wrist tightened, not rough, just firm. Pleading. Real.

"Can you give me another chance, Luca?"

The words hung there—so raw, so naked in the silence between them.

For a moment, all Luca could hear was the thud of the music inside, a world too far removed from what was happening in front of him.

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t move either.

So Kian did.

He stepped closer, his hand rising slowly, hesitating only briefly before brushing against Luca’s cheek.

A tentative touch—like asking for permission. When Luca didn’t pull away, Kian leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t urgent. Or aggressive. It was soft. Slow.

A kiss full of questions.

Luca hesitated. His lips moved before his mind did, betraying what he buried. The kiss tasted like a memory—sweet, reckless, and already slipping through his fingers.

Like something too familiar was crawling back into him through that single touch. Something that never quite left.

But then—

His eyes fluttered open mid-kiss, and just like that, the dream shattered.

"I gotta go," Luca said softly, pulling away.

Kian blinked, breath warm and unsteady. "Luca, wait—"

"You’re right. I’m drunk," he muttered, turning away. "I need to... I just need to go."

"You can’t walk back like this," Kian said, following him, trying to stay level even though everything in him felt like it was splintering again. "Let me drop you."

Luca’s steps faltered, still not looking back. "Maybe I’ll call a cab."

Kian reached for his elbow again, gentler this time. "Let me drop you. No strings, no more talking. I promise."

Luca glanced sideways at him—eyes slightly glassy, uncertain. There was a storm inside that expression. But finally... he nodded.

"Okay."

No more words.

They walked to Kian’s car in silence. The city lights blurred in Luca’s vision as they moved, and the air felt heavier now—not from the alcohol, but from the kiss that still lingered on his lips.

A kiss that felt like something borrowed from the past.

Something dangerous.

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