Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]
Chapter 54: Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot

Chapter 54: Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot

The silence lingered between them long after the mugs cooled.

Outside, the sky had dimmed to a pale navy, and the room felt smaller somehow — not in a suffocating way, but in the way things feel when they’re just the two of you, and the rest of the world forgets to exist.

Luca broke the quiet first, voice low and casual. "I’m gonna take a shower."

Noel only nodded without looking up.

The soft patter of Luca’s footsteps padded to the bathroom, the faint creak of the door swinging shut, followed by the muffled rush of water behind it.

Noel sat still for a moment, eyes fixed on the page in front of him, but he wasn’t reading. He was just... breathing. Steadying.

Trying not to think about how the steam curled under the crack of the door.

Or how it smelled faintly of Luca’s shampoo. Or how the echo of Luca’s voice still felt like it lived in the walls.

By the time the door opened again, Noel had pulled himself together and sat at his desk, notes spread before him, highlighter cap already bitten off.

He looked up only briefly — just enough to see Luca walk out, towel draped around his neck, hair damp and messy like he hadn’t bothered to dry it properly.

Luca wore a clean shirt, black and slightly oversized, sleeves rolled up, and sweatpants that hung just low enough to draw attention without meaning to.

"Studying?" Luca asked, rubbing a towel through his hair.

"Trying," Noel replied, his voice a bit drier than he intended.

Luca glanced around, then pulled the empty chair beside Noel — the one usually used for tossing jackets or forgotten bags — and sat without asking.

The chair creaked faintly under his weight.

Noel gave him a look. "You’re going to distract me."

"I’ll be quiet."

"You never are."

Luca smirked, leaning back a little, letting his leg brush lightly against Noel’s under the table. "I’ll try."

Noel returned his gaze to the page, but the words were starting to blur again. It didn’t help that he could feel Luca’s shoulder just inches from his.

Or that every time Luca shifted, the faint scent of soap and skin caught in the air.

"So what is it today?" Luca asked in a hushed tone, peeking at the notes. "International business?"

"Trade agreements."

"Sounds sexy."

"Try saying that with a straight face."

Luca grinned. "I just did."

Noel shook his head, biting back a smile. "You said you’d be quiet."

"I’m physically incapable."

"Then sit somewhere else."

"Make me."

Noel turned, eyes locking with his. Their faces were close — too close — and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Luca looked at him, eyes softer now, playful edge dimmed. "You focus better when I’m around."

"Who told you that lie?"

"You’re not pushing me away."

Noel didn’t have a good comeback for that. He looked back at the paper and circled something he didn’t need to.

Luca leaned a little closer. "I can help, if you want."

"You don’t know anything about this."

"I can pretend."

Noel exhaled sharply. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here I am."

And there he stayed.

Close enough for his arm to brush Noel’s from time to time. Quiet enough to let Noel study, even if his presence made it harder. Warmer. Stranger. Comforting.

Noel didn’t tell him to leave.

He didn’t want to.

Noel tried.

He really tried.

But Luca’s presence was like static — always there in the corner of his awareness, tugging at his focus every time he managed to anchor it.

"You know," Luca started again, voice soft and just slightly teasing, "if international business was taught by someone who looked like you, I might’ve actually paid attention."

Noel didn’t look up. "That’s your third interruption in ten minutes."

"I’m just appreciating the view."

"Appreciate it silently."

Luca hummed in thought. "Is that what you do when I’m not looking? Sit here and admire me while I sleep?"

Noel set his pen down, turning his head slowly. "If you say one more word, I’m duct-taping your mouth."

Luca grinned like it was the best compliment he’d ever received. "Kinky."

Noel sighed and leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable."

Luca only leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, chin in his palm, watching him like he was the real entertainment. "I like annoying you."

"I know."

"I think you secretly like it."

Noel flicked his pen at him. "I think you like hearing your own voice."

"You’re not wrong." Luca leaned a little closer, voice dropping as he smirked. "But I like your voice better."

Noel froze for just half a second — a tiny, involuntary glitch in his calm — before returning to his notes with exaggerated focus.

Luca chuckled, victorious.

But the conversation began to fade. His teasing comments grew fewer, the intervals stretching longer. Eventually, there was a silence Noel didn’t expect.

He glanced to the side.

Luca’s head had dropped slightly, his lashes resting heavy against his cheek. He was slouched in the chair now, arms loosely folded, mouth parted just barely.

His hair, still slightly damp, curled faintly against his forehead.

He looked younger like this. Softer. Like the armor he wore so easily in daylight had quietly slipped off while he wasn’t paying attention.

Noel let his gaze linger.

Just for a second longer than necessary.

He stayed perfectly still, words lodged in the quiet air.

He just sat there, listening to the gentle rhythm of Luca’s breath in the quiet room, trying to ignore the way his chest felt a little too full — like something unsaid was pressing just beneath the surface.

Minutes slipped past, the sound of Luca’s breath like background music. Finally, Noel moved — slow, deliberate — reaching for the blanket folded draped over the back of the bed.

He stood, quiet, and laid it gently across Luca’s lap and chest, careful not to wake him.

He hovered for a moment after that — studying the boy who never shut up, now finally silent.

Noel whispered, so low he wasn’t even sure if it was out loud: "You’re so loud when you’re awake. But it’s when you’re quiet that you get to me."

Then he returned to his seat.

This time, he didn’t study.

He just sat there, pen unmoving, watching the boy in the chair sleep like the quiet was starting to mean more than the noise ever did.

Noel didn’t mean to keep staring.

He really didn’t.

But Luca made it impossible not to.

His head had tilted a bit to the side now, resting more comfortably against the back of the chair, mouth parted just slightly.

A curl of damp hair clung to his forehead, chest rising in a rhythm so quiet, it disarmed Noel more than any smile ever had.

Noel’s eyes trailed from the faint curl of his lashes to the sharp edge of his jaw.

The way his fingers, relaxed now, twitched slightly like he was dreaming of something mischievous.

And the worst part? He was still hot. Even while asleep.

"Seriously..." Noel murmured under his breath.

Noel picked up his pen again, determined to focus.

But a moment later...

He reached for a page in his notebook, tore a small corner off, scribbled quickly, and dropped it without a second glance.

Stop being hot.

Another glance. Another sigh.

Another torn scrap of paper.

I’m trying to study, not develop a crisis.

He tried again. "Stop being hot when you sleep." Tear. Drop.

"Seriously, how can someone sleep like a baby and still look like this?" Tear. Drop.

It kept going. A trail of crushed confessions and rants growing on the floor like tiny fallen secrets.

He looked at Luca again.

A quiet groan.

Another piece, messier this time.

Dear Roommate, Please stop being hot while unconscious. Sincerely, the guy who’s suffering in silence.

He dropped it.

Then another.

"You really don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?" he whispered, barely audible, not expecting a reply.

Luca shifted in his sleep, lips parting slightly, but didn’t wake.

Noel exhaled softly, eyes growing heavier.

He didn’t fight it this time. Didn’t reach for his pen. Didn’t tear another page.

He just laid his head on the table, still facing Luca.

Still smiling.

Soon there was a trail of torn notes littered across the floor near Luca’s chair like the tragic remains of Noel’s resistance.

He pressed the back of his hand against his own forehead. "You’re ridiculous," he whispered to himself, a small, breathy laugh escaping.

And then he smiled.

Wide, soft, helpless.

Like something was blooming in his chest, completely out of his control.

He dropped his pen and sighed into his hand, lips tugging in a helpless smile.

He tried to bite it down, but it only made him laugh quietly to himself — like he’d been caught in some beautiful, infuriating trap.

His cheek rested against his notebook, eyes still—still—fixed on the boy across from him.

"I’m so screwed," he whispered to no one.

Noel smiled again, slower this time. His lashes fluttered once. Twice.

Then he was asleep too — slumped over the table, his body tilted slightly toward Luca, his breathing syncing unconsciously with the boy who stole the quiet and filled it with chaos.

And warmth.

And maybe something more.

And like that — in the soft, golden hush of the room — he fell asleep, side by side with the boy who’d unknowingly taken up more space in his heart than he ever planned to give.

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