Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]
Chapter 60: Drawn Closer

Chapter 60: Drawn Closer

The library greeted them with its usual hush—a space where time felt slightly suspended, as if the walls themselves insisted on quiet.

Noel stepped in first, the automatic doors closing softly behind them.

Rows of tall bookshelves stretched ahead, each aisle tucked with pages and whispers.

The scent of old paper and clean wood drifted faintly in the air.

He didn’t check to see if Luca was following. He just assumed he would—and he was right.

Luca trailed in a few steps behind, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, gaze flicking around like the place was a foreign country he was trying to make sense of.

"This place smells like... responsibility," Luca muttered under his breath.

Noel shot him a dry look but didn’t answer. Instead, he led them toward the back corner near the tall windows—his usual spot.

It was quieter there, mostly students with headphones or deep into their textbooks, and the view overlooked a stretch of trees beyond the campus fence.

He dropped his bag onto the table with the softest thud allowed in the building and sank into one of the chairs.

Luca, after a beat of hesitation, sat across from him—slouching immediately.

Noel pulled out his laptop and notebook, clicking the lid open without looking up. "You can leave whenever you get bored."

Luca stretched his legs out under the table, eyes lazily scanning the room. "I’m not here to read. I’m here to soak in the ambiance."

Noel didn’t respond, but the faintest twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Across from him, Luca leaned his elbows on the table, lowering his voice like a co-conspirator. "You always come here alone?"

Noel raised a brow. "Why?"

"Just wondering who you avoid with all this intense productivity."

Noel looked at him for a moment. "Mostly you."

Luca grinned, pleased. "Then I’m flattered to be invited into the sacred temple."

"You weren’t invited."

"Semantics."

Noel typed for a while, the soft clacking of keys blending into the background hum of pages turning and muffled footsteps.

Luca remained quiet—for once—but his eyes wandered. Every so often, Noel caught him glancing around, or watching him too openly.

Finally, Luca spoke. "You always type that fast, or are you just trying to impress me?"

Noel didn’t look up. "This is me going slow."

Luca leaned forward, propping his chin on one hand, his expression thoughtful. "It’s kinda weird seeing you like this."

"Like what?"

"Focused. Quiet. Serious. Like...professor Noel."

Noel gave a small snort, still typing. "You say that like you’re surprised I have a brain."

"I’m not surprised," Luca said casually. "I’m just used to seeing it used for sarcasm, not spreadsheets."

That earned him a glance. "It’s not a spreadsheet. It’s an outline for my ethics paper."

Luca nodded, then promptly reached out and spun Noel’s notebook toward himself.

"Luca." Noel’s voice held a warning, but not enough heat to stop him.

"I just want to see what genius looks like on paper," Luca said innocently, flipping through a page. "Okay...wow, you write like you’re in a spy movie. These notes are intense."

"You wouldn’t last five minutes in this class."

"I wouldn’t last five minutes in any class," Luca replied with a grin.

Noel rolled his eyes and took the notebook back, closing it gently.

They sat in silence again. But this time, the silence felt softer. Easier.

Luca let out a quiet breath, his voice low. "You really do like it here, huh?"

"I like the quiet," Noel answered simply.

Luca watched him for a second longer. "Yeah. I get that."

His voice had changed—less teasing, more... something else. Something closer to real.

Noel didn’t respond right away. He focused instead on realigning the pages in his binder, even though they were already straight. Then, as if he couldn’t help it:

"Why’d you really come?"

Luca blinked. "I told you."

"You said it felt weird being in the dorm. But you could’ve gone anywhere. Why here?"

There was a beat. A pause where Noel didn’t look up, and Luca didn’t speak.

Then Luca leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

"Because I didn’t want to be alone."

Noel glanced up. The words weren’t dramatic or loud—but they hung in the air like a truth that didn’t need explaining.

"Fair enough," Noel said quietly.

Another silence passed between them, but this one wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like the space had shifted. As if something unspoken had just been understood.

Luca tapped the edge of the table once, then asked, "You wanna take a break? Stretch your legs or something?"

Noel gave a slow nod. "Yeah. Five minutes."

He closed his laptop, standing, and Luca followed him down the aisle of bookshelves, weaving through the maze of silence and spines.

They passed two students whispering over a textbook, a girl asleep with her hoodie pulled over her eyes, and a group huddled near the printers.

Eventually, they ended up in the back, near the oversized windows where the late sun poured in, painting the floor with soft gold.

Luca looked out, hands in his pockets. "You ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t here?"

Noel leaned on the windowsill beside him. "All the time."

"And?"

"I don’t know. Maybe working. Maybe traveling. But whatever it is, I think I’d still find a library."

Luca gave a quiet chuckle. "You and your books."

"You and your drama," Noel countered.

"Balance," Luca said, tapping his fingers once against the glass.

They stood there together, sunlight warming the silence.

Not everything needed to be said.

Luca shifted beside him, his shoulder just barely brushing Noel’s.

Neither of them moved away.

"I meant what I said earlier," Luca said after a long pause. "It felt weird being in the dorm... but not just because it was quiet."

Noel turned slightly, waiting.

"It felt weird," Luca continued, his voice softer now, "because I didn’t hear you."

The words hung there—unguarded, simple, and far too close.

Noel blinked, caught off guard, his heart stumbling in his chest.

Luca wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixed outside, watching sunlight fall across the quad like nothing had just shifted between them.

"You always act like you don’t say much," Luca murmured, "but somehow, it’s noisier when you’re not around."

Noel swallowed. "That doesn’t make any sense."

"It does to me."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was taut—fragile—like a string pulled too tight.

Noel looked away, pretending to study the glass. But his pulse was already loud in his ears.

Luca turned then, slowly, deliberately.

"You ever feel like..." he began, and his voice caught slightly, "like maybe something’s there but you don’t know if it’s just in your head?"

Noel’s throat tightened. "All the time."

Luca exhaled, relieved. "Okay. Good. Because I thought I was going crazy."

"You’re still crazy," Noel muttered, just to keep his voice from shaking.

But he didn’t step back. He didn’t move at all.

And neither did Luca.

They stood there, not touching, not quite breathing, the space between them thinner than it had ever been.

"I don’t know what this is," Luca said finally, his voice barely a whisper now. "But I think about it. About you. More than I should."

Noel’s chest ached. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His hands were clenched at his sides, trying to stay still.

Luca gave a half-smile, eyes flicking to him. "You’re not saying anything. That’s either really bad... or really good."

Noel looked at him then. Really looked.

The light hit Luca’s face just right—softening the usual edge in his expression, making him look impossibly young for a second. Honest. Exposed.

"I’m not saying anything," Noel said, voice low, "because if I do... I might say too much."

Luca’s smile faded slowly, and something more serious replaced it.

"Then maybe... say it."

Noel hesitated.

His heart was pounding, wild and stupid, and the words were right there—burning the back of his throat.

But instead, he said, "Not here."

Luca nodded once, eyes steady. "Okay."

And that was it.

Just a breath of something unsaid, but no less real. No declarations. No contact. Just the weight of everything unspoken, shared like a secret.

They stood there another minute, until the sun slipped behind a cloud.

Then, with nothing more than a glance, Noel stepped away from the window and murmured, "Come on. I’ve got to finish the outline."

Luca followed without question.

But the silence between them had changed.

And so had the space.

The courtyard behind the arts building was mostly empty—just the rustling of leaves overhead, a few students passing through with headphones in or backpacks slung lazily across one shoulder.

Lina sat cross-legged on one of the wide stone benches, tablet propped on her knee, stylus moving in steady, controlled strokes across the screen. Her brows were slightly drawn, lips pressed in quiet focus.

Emily stood a few feet away, sipping from a paper cup and watching the breeze tug gently at the edges of Lina’s jacket.

"You always draw like you’re trying to breathe through it," Emily said quietly.

Lina didn’t look up. "Maybe I am."

Emily walked over, slowly, and sat beside her without another word.

The screen showed the faint lines of a sketch—a figure in motion, posture tense, almost ghostlike. Not fully formed. As if Lina were still deciding who they were.

"Is that someone specific?" Emily asked, tilting her head slightly.

Lina paused, then shook her head. "Not really. Just... a shape that won’t leave."

Emily smiled faintly. "I think that’s called a feeling."

Lina’s hand stilled. Her eyes didn’t move from the screen, but something in her jaw shifted.

She wasn’t always good with words. But drawing had always been her way of telling the truth without saying it out loud.

Emily leaned closer, studying the figure’s expression. "They look like they’re running from something."

"Or toward something," Lina murmured.

Emily’s gaze flicked to her. "Which one are you?"

Lina hesitated.

Then, with a quiet breath, "I don’t know anymore."

A silence settled between them—soft, but not empty.

Emily placed her cup down, watching the way the sunlight hit Lina’s hair. "You’ve been quiet lately."

"I’m always quiet."

"No," Emily said gently. "This is different. You’ve been... holding something in."

Lina’s fingers resumed their sketching, the lines bolder now, more certain. "Maybe I have."

Emily didn’t press her. She simply sat there, letting the silence stay. One of the things Lina liked about her—Emily never filled the quiet just to break it.

"You know," Emily said after a beat, "I like that you never fake things. When you’re happy, it’s real. When you’re not... you don’t pretend."

Lina glanced at her, the barest flick of her eyes.

"You don’t have to be okay all the time," Emily added, softer now. "Not with me."

The stylus slowed in Lina’s hand.

She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t say anything. But she shifted—just slightly—closer.

Emily had leaned back against the bench, one leg tucked beneath her, fingers tracing lazy circles on her cup lid.

Lina was still sketching—more fluid now. The figure on her tablet had changed. It wasn’t running anymore.

It was standing still. Watching something.

She didn’t even realize when her strokes softened, when the lines turned delicate—hair catching wind, eyes drawn wide with a kind of wonder she didn’t usually put on the page.

She didn’t know she was drawing her.

From across the walkway, half-shielded by a row of thin trees and a faculty notice board, Alex stood with his hands in his pockets, pretending he wasn’t watching.

But he was.

He hadn’t meant to stop. He was on his way to the language lab, earbuds in, halfway through a podcast he’d already forgotten the name of.

Then he’d seen them—Lina’s hair catching the breeze, Emily laughing low at something unspoken, the two of them leaning in just enough to make his stomach twist.

He’d paused behind the tree before he even realized it.

He told himself it was just curiosity.

But that wasn’t it.

His eyes settled on Lina—her posture relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen around him in weeks.

Her lips twitching into a half-smile she never wore when they spoke. She was different with Emily—unguarded. Softer. Like something had thawed, and he hadn’t even known she’d frozen over.

And worse—he couldn’t tell if she missed him at all.

Emily said something, and Lina laughed under her breath, the sound light and real. Then Lina looked sideways, and Alex’s breath caught—

—for a second, he thought she’d seen him.

But she didn’t.

She was just looking at Emily.

Alex took a slow step back, the ache in his chest too sharp to ignore now. Something small, stubborn, and angry curled up in his ribs.

He thought about going over. About interrupting. About saying anything that would shift the balance back toward him.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, alone with the wind brushing past his hoodie, watching from a distance like an outsider in a story he used to be part of.

Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

Behind him, the sunlight filtered gently through the leaves. On the bench, Lina kept drawing.

Emily leaned over to glance at the screen and whispered something.

And for the first time in days, Lina didn’t flinch.

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