Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]
Chapter 53: The Version I Can’t Find

Chapter 53: The Version I Can’t Find

The restaurant stood tall on the edge of campus — sleek glass windows, potted palms by the entrance, and a dark green awning that screamed we’re fancier than you think.

Luca held the door open with one hand, gesturing for Noel and Jordan to step in first.

A quiet chime followed them as they entered, the cool blast of air-conditioning brushing against their cheeks.

Inside, the space hummed softly — not loud, not too quiet. Just enough chatter and clinking silverware to drown thoughts, but not enough to ignore the way Jordan kept glancing between them like he was watching something unfold.

They were seated at a booth tucked by the window. Plush cushions, white napkins folded like fans.

Luca slid in beside Jordan, and Noel sat across from them. A waitress appeared, all polite smiles and tidy bun.

"Water for everyone to start?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Noel replied. Luca nodded too.

Jordan didn’t even glance at the menu. "Tell me you guys are getting the seafood pasta. If not, I’ll be forced to judge you both silently."

Luca smirked. "I’m getting a steak. Judge all you want."

"You would," Jordan sighed, dramatic.

Noel didn’t say much — just skimmed the menu, though he kept catching glimpses of Luca in the reflection of the window behind Jordan.

He looked relaxed, but his fingers tapped softly on the table — a beat Noel recognized. A small, unconscious habit. Nervousness, maybe.

Jordan leaned forward, chin resting on his knuckles. "So. Roommates, huh? How’s that going?"

Luca gave a sideways glance. "It’s... peaceful."

Jordan turned to Noel, eyes playful. "Peaceful? Really? I thought you’d say chaotic. He’s impossible to live with, right?"

Noel raised an eyebrow, a slow smile playing on his lips. "Not exactly."

Jordan tilted his head. "Oh?"

Noel gave a casual shrug. "He snores sometimes, but nothing that’ll send me to therapy."

Luca laughed, dropping his face into his hand. "You’re making that up."

"Nope," Noel said, sipping from his water. "That weird night after you drank too much, you sounded like a dying bird."

"Et tu, Noel?" Luca groaned.

Jordan watched them — eyes narrowing slightly, but amused. "You two are weird."

"Better than boring," Luca said smoothly.

The waitress returned for their orders, and once she left again, the table fell into a calm lull.

Luca looked out the window briefly, the late sunlight casting a golden hue on his face.

Jordan stretched his arms over the backrest. "So, Noel. Do you party?"

Noel blinked. "Not really."

Luca smirked into his glass. "Told you."

Jordan grinned. "Well, you’re missing out. But I get it. You’re the balanced one. Luca always needs someone to reel him back."

Noel didn’t answer right away.

He just let his eyes settle on Luca — the way his gaze dropped at that comment, maybe a flicker of guilt in his posture. Maybe something more.

Noel leaned back. "Maybe."

Jordan didn’t notice the weight behind the word.

But Luca did.

The plates arrived one by one — sizzling steak for Luca, creamy seafood pasta for Jordan, and grilled chicken with couscous for Noel.

The conversation had mellowed into small laughter and quiet chewing, the kind that only came with shared comfort.

Jordan, midway through twirling a forkful of pasta, pulled out his phone lazily.

"No offense," he muttered to no one, "but this place has no vibe on Instagram."

Luca rolled his eyes. "Because it’s a restaurant, not a rooftop club."

Jordan snorted, thumb scrolling, but then his movement froze.

He squinted at the screen, then slowly turned it toward Luca across the table.

"Kian tagged you last night?" His voice shifted — playful gone, something sharper sliding in. "Again?"

Luca didn’t look.

Noel’s eyes flicked up from his plate, sensing the sudden drop in temperature.

"I didn’t ask him to," Luca said flatly.

"Still," Jordan muttered, leaning back with his phone pressed to his chest. "You were with him? Luca, again? After all that crap he pulled?"

Luca finally looked up — not defensive, but tired. "He didn’t pull anything last night. He gave me a ride back."

Jordan’s brows lifted. "Oh, great. Because that makes him suddenly decent?"

"Jordan—"

"No. Sorry." Jordan dropped his fork, not loud but enough to rattle the mood. "You don’t get to keep letting him slither in and pretend it’s harmless.

He messed with your head for months. You remember how he left you at that party last spring? How you came home wrecked?"

Luca stiffened. Noel blinked, gaze quietly locked on him now.

"I remember," Luca said softly.

Jordan shook his head. "You never act like it."

"I didn’t plan to see him," Luca muttered, the words half-apology, half-defense. And maybe that was the worst part—that it hadn’t taken planning at all.

Just a weak moment and an open door. "He was just there. I was drunk. He offered a ride. That’s it."

Jordan leaned in, voice lower. "But he tagged you. Again. You think that’s random? Kian doesn’t move without motive, you know that."

Noel stayed silent. He felt like an outsider to the argument, but his chest tightened anyway. Not just at the name, but at the way Luca suddenly wouldn’t meet his eyes.

"I didn’t reply to his message today," Luca said, quieter now. "What more do you want?"

Jordan didn’t answer. Just sighed and sat back, eyes narrowing at the untouched drink beside him.

Then he glanced at Noel. "Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to blow up your peaceful lunch."

Noel shook his head slowly. "It’s fine."

He looked at Luca again — who was staring out the window now, fork in hand, unmoving.

Jordan watched him too, then said, more gently this time, "You deserve better friends, you know."

And somehow, for reasons Luca couldn’t explain, his eyes flicked back to Noel.

And lingered.

The door of the restaurant swung open, and the afternoon light spilled in, warm and honeyed.

Luca stepped out first, pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, his expression unreadable.

Jordan followed with an exaggerated stretch, groaning like he’d just run a marathon instead of finished a meal.

Noel came last, the door clicking shut behind him, soft conversation and cutlery fading into the background.

The sidewalk buzzed faintly with passing students, cars humming by on the main road.

But for a moment, the three of them stood in a quiet pocket just outside the entrance, wrapped in that post-meal stillness.

Jordan exhaled hard. "Man, I needed that. Haven’t had real food in two days."

"You literally just posted sushi on your story last night," Luca said dryly.

"That doesn’t count. That was hangover food." Jordan grinned, nudging him with an elbow. "This was proper — no one throwing up beside me, no glitter on the seats."

Luca cracked a smile, small but real. Noel watched it, and for the first time since they sat down, something in him softened.

Jordan checked his phone again. "Alright, I should dip. Got rehearsal in twenty."

He turned to Noel, sticking out a hand. "Good meeting you finally. You’ve got the patience of a saint, living with this one."

Noel gave a small chuckle, shook his hand. "I try."

Jordan pulled Luca into a one-armed hug — quick, but firm. "Text me if Kian pulls any more crap. Seriously."

Luca nodded once, avoiding eye contact.

Then Jordan threw a casual wave and disappeared into the crowd, his voice already rising on the phone with someone else.

Now just the two of them.

The breeze picked up. Luca glanced sideways, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about all that."

Noel’s gaze didn’t waver. "You don’t need to explain."

Luca faltered. "I kind of do."

Because that calm—that refusal to interrogate him—felt worse than yelling ever could.

He just... showed up last night. I didn’t go there to see him."

"I believe you."

That surprised Luca a little — the steadiness in Noel’s voice. The way he didn’t pull away.

They started walking together without needing to agree on it. Side by side, their steps falling into an unspoken rhythm.

A few beats of quiet passed. Then—

"Did you see the photo?" Luca asked, eyes ahead.

Noel hesitated. "Yeah."

Another pause.

Luca let out a slow breath. "It was just a moment. A mistake, maybe. Not something I’m proud of."

Noel didn’t answer right away. Then he said, quietly, "You don’t owe me explanations."

"But I still want to give them," Luca said, voice low.

They reached the edge of the street where the sun hit stronger, glinting off passing windshields. Noel stopped there, turning slightly to face him.

His expression was hard to read — part guarded, part something else Luca couldn’t name.

"Let’s head back," Noel said finally.

Luca gave a small nod. "Yeah. Okay."

But as they turned, walking side by side again, Luca glanced over once more.

And saw it — the way Noel’s fingers twitched slightly by his side, like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t.

Luca didn’t press.

But he noticed.

And for once, he didn’t brush it off.

By the time they reached the dorm gates, the sun had dipped just past the rooftops, bathing the campus in a soft gold hue.

The breeze had mellowed into something gentle, like a breath held between words.

Luca unlocked the door first and held it open.

Noel walked in without speaking, the familiar scent of their shared room grounding him — faint laundry, the trace of Luca’s cologne, the ghost of morning coffee still lingering in the air.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Luca toed off his shoes, shrugged out of his jacket. "You want tea or anything?"

Noel shook his head. "I’m good."

But he didn’t move toward his desk. Or his bed.

Instead, he lingered by the window, fingers brushing the edge of the curtain like it helped him focus.

His reflection wavered against the glass, and behind it, Luca moved about — kettle on, cupboard open, a soft clink of mugs.

"You don’t have to walk on eggshells," Noel said quietly, eyes still outside.

Luca glanced over. "I’m not."

"You are. And it’s weird. Just be—whatever version of you you want to be."

"I’m trying." Luca’s voice was lower now. "But sometimes I don’t know which version that is."

Noel finally turned, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "Then figure it out before someone else does it for you."

Luca met his eyes across the room. For a moment, nothing moved.

Then the kettle whistled — sharp, breaking the tension.

Luca turned away to switch it off.

Noel moved to his bed and sat down, stretching his legs. "I’m not mad, by the way," he said, more gently.

Luca poured the water slowly. "You should be."

"I’m not." He looked at him, this time with something softer in his expression. "But I am tired of watching you burn yourself down."

Luca paused, halfway to his bed with a mug in hand. "That’s dramatic."

"You say that like it’s not true."

He didn’t reply. Just handed Noel the mug, even though he hadn’t asked for one.

Noel took it anyway.

They sat in silence for a while. Steam curled between them like a fragile truce.

Outside, the sky deepened from amber to dusk, and something unspoken settled — not resolution, but recognition.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," Luca said finally.

"Neither do I," Noel murmured.

But they stayed there — not talking, not fighting — just existing in the same space, slowly learning what it meant to share more than just a room.

More than just the quiet.

Maybe something else entirely.