Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]
Chapter 62: Dear Roommate

Chapter 62: Dear Roommate

The lamp on Noel’s desk hummed faintly, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor and blurred at the edges of his bed.

He sat motionless in his chair, elbows resting on the desk, his phone turned face-up beside his hand.

The message was still unopened.

Noel glanced at the clock.

8:02 PM.

He exhaled through his nose. Quiet. Measured. But the air caught slightly in his chest.

He opened his laptop, if only to distract himself. The screen lit up. His notes from lecture stared back, sterile and untouched.

He stared at the blinking cursor.

Then closed the lid again.

Noel stood, crossed the room, and tugged Luca’s chair out from the desk. Sat there for a second—like maybe being in his space would offer some kind of answer.

His jacket was still draped across the back. It smelled faintly like the cologne Luca always used too much of. Something citrusy. Sharp.

Noel’s hand brushed the fabric, lingering.

8:36 PM.

The sky outside his window had already shifted from deep blue to velvet black. Noel moved again.

Got up. Opened the mini-fridge. Took out a bottle of water. Stared at it. Put it back.

Paced once. Twice. Then sat on his bed, legs crossed, phone in hand again.

Still no reply.

He opened their old messages—not just tonight’s, but the ones from earlier in the week.

"Don’t eat without me."

"Stop pretending you don’t laugh at my jokes."

"You left your charger in my bag again, genius."

A faint smile ghosted over his lips. Then faded.

9:12 PM.

He laid down, finally. But only on top of the blanket. He didn’t even bother changing.

His arm folded behind his head, the other resting across his stomach, phone still clutched loosely in his fingers.

The ceiling above him felt too still. Too quiet.

Now and then, his gaze flicked toward the door. At the handle. At the gap underneath, waiting for the sweep of light from the hallway. Footsteps.

Anything.

But it never came.

10:19 PM.

He sat up again, rubbing his palm across his face. His hair was a mess now—ruffled from lying down, frustration building behind his eyes.

He looked down at his phone.

The message still unread.

Another quiet minute.

Another glance at the door.

And then—

10:47 PM.

The screen lit up.

Incoming call: Luca

Noel blinked, heart kicking. He answered quickly.

"Luca?"

But the voice on the other end wasn’t his.

"Good evening, sir," the man said—firm, official. "This is Officer James, Central District Station. Are you a friend of Luca Smith?"

Noel’s blood ran cold.

"I—I’m his roommate," he said quickly, standing now. "What happened?"

"He’s alright, but he’s currently being held due to an altercation at a club. We need someone to sign for his release. He requested to call you."

Noel’s mind spun, already grabbing for his keys and wallet.

"I’m on my way."

"Noel didn’t even remember locking the door behind him. He only noticed the cold when it slapped his face outside, or the way his fingers trembled too much to fit the key into the ignition on the first try."

Noel’s footsteps echoed against the wet pavement as he crossed the near-empty street, the Central District Police Station standing stark under the buzzing fluorescent sign. Cold air pressed against his skin, but he barely noticed—his hand gripped too tightly around his phone, the last words from the officer still rattling in his head.

"He’s alright."

"Altercation at a club."

"He requested to call you."

He pushed through the glass doors, the warmth inside clashing with the chill he carried.

A tired-looking officer at the front desk looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I got a call. About... someone brought in. Luca Smith."

The officer nodded, flipping through a clipboard. "Name?"

"Noel Avery."

He signed quickly, the pen trembling slightly in his fingers—not from fear exactly, but something sharper. Something hotter.

The kind of worry that builds in silence. The kind that wears the face of anger.

"Have a seat," the officer said. "They’ll bring him out shortly."

Noel didn’t sit.

He leaned against the wall, arms folded tightly across his chest, his jaw set.

The station was too quiet, except for the soft crackle of a radio somewhere behind the counter.

A man in a wrinkled hoodie sat slumped near the exit, muttering to himself. Somewhere down the corridor, a door buzzed and clicked shut.

Noel checked the time.

11:14 PM.

Footsteps.

He looked up.

A younger officer walked out, followed by a familiar figure in a gray hoodie, hands shoved into the front pocket, head down.

Luca.

Noel straightened without thinking.

He expected relief. Or maybe irritation.

But when he saw Luca’s face—scraped just beneath the lip, eyes shadowed, hair messy—something inside him cracked wide open.

Luca looked up at him.

And for once, didn’t smile.

"Hey," he said softly, voice hoarse.

"What the hell happened?" Noel asked.

The officer cleared his throat, handing Noel a short release form and nodding once. "He’s free to go. No charges. Bit of a scuffle, but nothing serious. He got lucky."

Noel didn’t look at him. He just signed, grabbed Luca by the wrist—not hard, but firm—and walked him out through the front doors into the cold night.

Outside – Empty Street

They stood under the streetlight, breath visible in the cold air.

Noel let go of his wrist, stepping back.

"You said you’d wait," he said. Quiet. Not accusing—just... cracked.

Luca rubbed his hand through his hair. "I know."

"You said you’d be there."

"I was," Luca replied. "At first. But then—Jordan called. Said he was at that club down on Fifth, sounded messed up. Said he needed me."

Noel’s hands tightened into fists at his sides.

"And instead of texting me, or saying anything—what? You just disappeared? Got into a fight?"

"It wasn’t like that," Luca said. "Some guy’s girlfriend tried to flirt with me. I told her no. I swear I did. But her idiot boyfriend saw it differently."

"And Jordan?"

"Started mouthing off, like always. Got in the guy’s face. It escalated fast."

"You always let him drag you into things like this?"

Luca looked away. "I didn’t want to go."

"Then why did you?"

There was a pause.

And then Luca said it—barely louder than the wind.

"Because I was already waiting. And it felt too quiet."

Noel blinked.

"What?"

"I was waiting in the room, just like I said. But then time passed, and I kept thinking... stupid stuff. About how maybe I should’ve said something. Or maybe you didn’t care if I was there. Then Jordan called and it felt like... something to drown it out."

Noel stared at him, something sharp flickering in his chest.

"That’s not an excuse."

"I know," Luca said. "But it’s the truth."

The silence stretched between them again. And this time, it wasn’t cold—it was full.

Heavy.

Then Noel turned toward the street. "Let’s go."

Luca nodded, quietly following.

They walked side by side in silence. Not touching. Not speaking. But something had shifted.

Something was coming.

The door shut behind them with a muted thud.

Noel stepped in first, tossing his keys onto the desk with more force than necessary.

The room was dim, the only light still coming from his desk lamp. The silence was immediate—and thick.

Luca lingered near the door, hoodie still on, his hands deep in the pockets.

"Noel..." he tried.

But Noel didn’t turn.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, back turned, eyes fixed on the books piled neatly on his desk—like they could anchor him.

"You want to talk?" Noel asked, finally.

Luca straightened slightly. "Yeah. I do."

"Now?" Noel said, low. "Now that it’s convenient?"

Luca’s brows knit. "That’s not fair."

"No?" Noel faced him fully now, arms folded. "You vanished. Didn’t answer your phone. I sat here for hours, thinking maybe something happened. And it did—just not the kind I expected."

"I tried to explain."

"You shouldn’t have had to. Because you said you’d wait."

Luca opened his mouth, but no words came.

"You always show up just long enough to be missed." Noel muttered, turning away again.

The air in the room tensed.

Then, finally—

"You could’ve texted."

Luca let out a quiet breath. "I know."

"You could’ve said something."

"I didn’t know how."

Noel turned, face calm—but his eyes, sharp. "You didn’t know how to type three words?"

Luca’s jaw tensed. "It wasn’t that simple."

"It is. It was. You said you’d wait. I got back and you weren’t there. You didn’t call. You didn’t answer. I thought—"

He stopped himself. Looked away. Swallowed hard.

"I thought maybe you left."

Luca blinked. "Left?"

Noel didn’t answer. He just shook his head slightly and sat down on the edge of his bed, palms resting flat on his thighs.

Luca crossed the room slowly. "I didn’t leave. I was stupid. But I didn’t—"

He trailed off. "I just didn’t want to sit in silence anymore."

"Why not?"

Luca stared at him. "Because it’s too loud when you’re not here."

Noel’s eyes snapped up to his.

"And tonight?" he asked. "Did fighting some guy in a club fix that for you?"

Luca exhaled, rubbed the back of his neck. "It didn’t fix anything. It made it worse."

Silence pressed between them again

The wind outside picked up—just enough to press against the windows, rattling them slightly.

As Noel reached for his notebook, the breeze from the cracked window stirred the papers on his desk.

A few slipped off the edge—scattering lightly onto the floor.

Luca shifted his weight from one foot to the other, gaze darting toward the floor like it held an answer.

He bent down instinctively, reaching to help.

Noel stood slowly, stepped around his bed, and grabbed the papers that had fallen off the desk.

He didn’t speak, just bent to gather them—his hand moving quickly, like it gave him something to focus on.

One of the sheets fluttered under the desk.

Noel’s hand gripped the edge of the desk, white-knuckled, as if anchoring himself.

Luca moved first, kneeling down. "I’ve got it—"

Noel’s voice caught, too late. "Wait—"

But Luca was already holding it.

He turned the paper over. Then blinked.

There was a second one tucked underneath. He pulled both out.

And froze.

His eyes scanned the first:

"Seriously, how can someone sleep like a baby and still look this cute?"

Then the second, in unmistakable handwriting—creased at the fold, torn at the edge:

"Dear Roommate, Please stop being hot while unconscious.

Sincerely, the guy who’s suffering in silence."

The room went completely still.

Luca’s fingers trembled slightly as he read the words again. Then again. His jaw clenched—like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or break.

Noel’s blood drained from his face.

"Luca," he said, stepping forward, hand outstretched, "just—give those back."

But Luca didn’t move.

His eyes lifted slowly.

"Dear Roommate," he repeated, voice low.

"Please stop being hot?"

Noel didn’t answer.

Luca looked down at the page again, then up at him. Something behind his eyes cracked open.

"What... is this?"

Noel’s throat tightened. He looked away, jaw clenched. "It was nothing. Just stupid. Just—something I wrote when I—"

"When you what?"

Noel didn’t answer.

Luca stepped forward, papers still in hand. "You wrote these about me?"

Noel’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Give them back."

"Why?" Luca asked. "Because you didn’t want me to know? Or because now I do?"

Noel stepped back, face pale. "Because it wasn’t supposed to happen like this."

The words spilled out before he could catch them.

"I wasn’t supposed to feel anything."

Luca didn’t speak. Just stood there, those stupid notes trembling slightly in his hand.

"I tried to ignore it," Noel continued, voice tight. "To convince myself it was just... a phase. A crush. Something I could survive."

Luca swallowed, barely audible. "And now?"

Noel finally looked at him.

His eyes were glassy, mouth trembling slightly. "Now I’m stuck watching you walk into my life every day like you don’t mean everything."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was charged.

Then Luca set the papers down slowly on the desk. Walked over.

Stopped just in front of him.

And whispered—"You should’ve told me sooner."

Noel looked up.

"I didn’t think I was allowed to," he said. "Not with someone like you."

Luca set the papers down slowly on the desk.

He didn’t speak.

His eyes stayed on Noel—unblinking, unreadable—but something inside them flickered. Soft. Sharp. Like he was seeing him for the first time, and somehow had known all along.

Then he moved. One slow step forward.

Noel didn’t back away this time.

He just stood there, still caught in his own confession, lips parted like he might say more but couldn’t.

Luca’s gaze dropped—to Noel’s mouth.

Then rose again.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. His expression was unguarded. Bare.

He reached up—slow, like asking without words—and brushed his knuckles along the edge of Noel’s jaw. Just once. Just enough to feel if he’d flinch.

Noel didn’t.

He just closed his eyes briefly. Then opened them again—wide and full of something that looked a lot like fear and hope tangled together.

The air between them tightened.

Noel’s voice cracked through the quiet, barely above a whisper.

"Luca..."

And that was it.

That was the last word before Luca stepped in fully—close enough that Noel could feel his breath, warm and shaking. Close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.

They stood there for a heartbeat.

Then two.

Staring.

Breathing.

Breaking apart and rebuilding in the same second.

And then—slowly, carefully—Luca leaned in.

Not like someone claiming. But like someone asking.

And when their lips met, it wasn’t a spark—it was a slow, aching burn.

Noel moved into it like instinct, like air, like something he didn’t know he’d been starving for.

Luca’s hand slipped behind his neck, anchoring him gently, as if afraid this moment might vanish if he gripped too tightly.

Noel’s fingers curled into Luca’s shirt, holding on like it meant something.

Because it did.

Because this kiss wasn’t a beginning—it was a breaking point. Every glance. Every tease. Every held breath and unsaid word collapsing into this one, perfect collision.

When they finally pulled back—just barely—it was Noel who whispered, forehead resting lightly against Luca’s:

"I’m terrified."

And Luca, voice rough, eyes soft, whispered back:

"Me too."

But neither of them moved away.

Because for the first time—neither of them wanted to.