Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]
Chapter 73: Louder Than Words

Chapter 73: Louder Than Words

They worked like that for a few minutes — falling into their usual groove. Familiar. Almost automatic.

The kind of silence that only came when you knew each other’s rhythms well.

But then Noel’s phone buzzed. Once.

He ignored it, eyes still on the notebook.

Buzz.

Alex didn’t react, but the slight movement in his jaw gave him away.

Noel finally glanced down.

Luca: Miss me yet?

He rolled his eyes slightly and flipped the phone face-down.

Alex shifted in his seat, pretending not to notice.

Buzz.

Noel closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to sigh.

Luca: I bought snacks. Your favorite. Guess who’s not sharing unless you say something nice?

"Everything okay?" Alex asked quietly, his gaze still on his screen.

"Yeah," Noel replied quickly. "Just—Luca."

Alex’s fingers stilled above the keyboard. "He texts you a lot."

Noel didn’t look up. "Yeah. That’s just him."

"I didn’t know you two were... you know."

Noel finally glanced up. "We’re figuring it out."

Alex nodded, but something tightened around his mouth.

"That’s good," he said after a beat, eyes falling to his laptop again. "He seems like the kind of guy who makes a lot of noise. So maybe he needs someone like you. Quieter."

There was no malice in his voice. Just something quieter. Sharper. Real.

Noel hesitated. "It’s not about balancing each other out."

"No?"

"It’s about... someone seeing parts of you you didn’t even know were visible."

Alex didn’t speak after that. He just clicked his touchpad and dragged something on the screen.

Another buzz. Noel didn’t reach for it this time.

The library stayed quiet around them, bookshelves standing tall, sunlight faint through the windows.

Noel scribbled a small note in the margin of Alex’s outline, then finally picked up his phone again — this time without apology.

Noel thumbed the screen once more, hesitating.

Noel: See you in 30.

Then he turned the phone over again, screen down, and let the silence breathe.

Alex didn’t say anything.

Outside, the wind gently stirred a tree branch against the window, casting soft, shifting shadows across their table.

"Alright," Noel said, tapping the edge of his pen. "Let’s go over the conclusion again."

Alex blinked, startled slightly by the return of focus. "Oh. Yeah. I wasn’t sure how to end it without sounding cliché."

Noel leaned forward, scanning the paragraph.

"You’re talking about adaptation under prolonged stress, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then don’t try to summarize the whole report. Just end with a question. Leave the audience thinking."

Alex gave him a curious look. "That’s your style."

"It works," Noel replied, his voice light but firm. "Besides, we’re not writing a novel. We’re just trying to say something real."

Alex leaned back, his eyes on Noel. "You always make things sound clearer than they are."

Noel glanced up. "You mean simpler?"

"No," Alex said softly. "Just... more honest."

The words settled between them.

Noel didn’t reply. He just looked down again and started jotting something in the margin of the conclusion draft.

A few more quiet minutes passed. The sound of keys clicking, pages flipping, pens tapping — all folded into that distinct library hush.

And then Alex asked, not looking up, "So... are you happy?"

Noel’s pen paused mid-word.

He looked at him slowly, eyes narrowing just a fraction. "Where’s that coming from?"

Alex shrugged one shoulder, keeping his eyes on the screen. "You just seem... lighter. I guess I wanted to know if it’s real."

Noel sat back. Thought about that for a beat too long.

"I don’t know if happy is the word yet," he said finally. "But it feels like I’m moving toward something that could be."

Alex nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good then."

Noel watched him.

Then gently said, "You okay?"

"I’m fine," Alex replied almost immediately, fingers flying again over the keys. "Besides, I’m not the one falling for someone who can’t stop texting mid-paragraph."

That earned a low chuckle from Noel. "Sorry."

"You’re not," Alex said, not unkindly." And I’m happy as long as you are"

They went back to work. The screen glowed quietly between them. But something had shifted — not broken, not bitter, just... real.

Time passed, and when Noel checked the clock again, nearly thirty minutes had flown by.

He closed his notebook with a soft snap.

"I should go."

Alex didn’t look up right away. "Yeah. Tell him I said hi."

Noel stood. "Thanks Alex."

"see you."

Noel hesitated, then gave him a small nod before turning away.

And Alex sat frozen, the blinking cursor like a metronome in a room too still—each pulse reminding him of what he wasn’t saying.

The seat across from him was empty now.

Alex didn’t look up immediately. He just stared at the blinking cursor on his screen, then slowly backspaced the last sentence. Typed something new. Deleted it again.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose.

Outside the library window, a breeze lifted one of the smaller campus flags — its slow wave almost hypnotic.

Students passed, notebooks tucked under their arms, some laughing, some lost in earbuds. The world looked the same as it always did.

But inside Alex?

Something felt... rearranged.

He rubbed a hand over his face, blinked twice, then leaned forward again and reread the section Noel had helped him with.

The writing in the margins was clean, deliberate. The kind of edits Noel always gave — direct, but never arrogant.

He smiled faintly. "You always make things better," he murmured.

Then his phone buzzed.

He looked down at the screen.

Group Reminder – 2:00 PM: Freshman Mentorship Program - Econ Building, Room 204.

Alex sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. He’d almost forgotten.

The mentoring gig he’d volunteered for — helping a few first-years struggling with the basics of economic theory.

It had sounded easy enough when he signed up. Now it just felt like another obligation.

Still, he couldn’t cancel.

He began packing his laptop slowly, every motion methodical. Slipping in his charger. Folding up his notes.

Tucking away the highlighter Noel had borrowed once and never returned.

When he finally stood, he took one last look at the chair across from him.

Then he shook his head at himself — and left.

Before walking into Room 204, Alex paused in the corridor. The laughter inside was already spilling through the door. He ran a hand through his hair, then opened it anyway.

Room 204 of the Econ building buzzed like a malfunctioning vending machine.

Voices overlapped, notebooks flipped noisily, and someone had the audacity to open a bag of chips mid-session.

Alex stood at the whiteboard, dry-erase marker in hand, and silently questioned every life decision that had led him here.

"Okay," he said, trying for calm. "Let’s go over marginal utility again. Slowly."

Three of the freshmen looked at him with mild confusion.

One girl raised her hand. "Wait... utility isn’t like electricity?"

Alex closed his eyes for a second, then turned back to the board.

"Not that kind of utility. Think of it like satisfaction. The more of something you consume, the less satisfying each additional unit becomes."

The guy at the back — Jeremy, maybe? — raised an eyebrow. "So like... pizza?"

Alex looked over. "Exactly. The first slice is amazing. The fourth? You’re full. It’s still pizza, but it doesn’t hit the same."

Jeremy looked thoughtful. "But what if I’m really hungry?"

Another girl beside him giggled. "Then your utility curve is built different, bro."

Alex turned, clicking the marker closed. "Okay. Let’s stick to the basics before anyone else starts comparing graphs to late-night cravings."

Someone chuckled. A few others nodded in half-comprehension.

He glanced down at his notes, then scanned the group.

There were eight of them today. Eight very loud, very tired, very underprepared students. And he was supposed to make econ... fun?

God help him.

As they worked through a few examples, Alex found himself zoning out for a beat.

He forced himself to focus again.

"Alright," he said, clapping his hands once. "Let’s do a quick scenario. You’re choosing between two things—watching a movie or studying.

Each gives you a different level of satisfaction. How do you make that decision?"

One guy raised his hand. "Do I like the movie?"

Alex gave him a look. "Sure. Let’s say it’s your favorite."

"Then I’m not studying."

Another kid chimed in, "That’s literally my life."

Alex dropped his marker on the desk. "Okay. Let’s reframe."

The class laughed. One girl leaned over to her friend and whispered loudly, "He’s cute when he’s annoyed."

Alex heard it. He did not respond.

He moved on to the next exercise, feeling the slow simmer of fatigue settle in his shoulders.

The kind of tired that came not from teaching — but from pretending to be fine.

From carrying something unsaid.

Still, he finished the session. Answered every last question. Even the ones that weren’t questions, just thinly veiled complaints.

When it ended, they clapped — awkward, chaotic applause from students who probably understood only half of what he said.

Alex offered a tight smile and waved them out.

As the door clicked shut behind the last of them, he finally slumped into a chair, head tilted back, eyes tracing the ceiling.

And softly, under his breath, he muttered, "I hate pizza."

Alex sat motionless in the now-empty classroom, the faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzing above him.

His water bottle sat unopened. His notebook half-closed. The whiteboard behind him was still scribbled with uneven graphs and circled terms.

But he didn’t move.

He just scrolled.

Thumb drifting up the screen, not really reading. Just... passing time. Letting the noise of the day settle into background static.

Then he paused.

Lina’s name lit the screen. A new post.

It was a photo — candid, soft, natural. She was mid-laugh, her eyes squinting a little, the edge of her sketchbook just visible in the frame.

The sunlight fell across her shoulder in golden ribbons. Not posed. Not curated. Just her.

Beautiful.

He didn’t need to check to know who took it.

Emily had commented almost immediately: "You’re glowing and it’s unfair. 🔥🧡"

Lina had replied below it: "Credit goes to you. I didn’t even know you snapped this 😳"

Alex just stared.

The thread was simple. Two girls. Playful compliments. A shared moment.

But still, something inside him tightened — not with jealousy, exactly. More like distance.

A quiet realization that maybe someone else had learned to see Lina in the way he used to.

He hovered over the heart icon. Thought about tapping it. He didn’t.

Instead, he just stared at her laugh frozen in time — that moment he wasn’t part of — and told himself it was fine.

That he was fine.

That some things, once beautiful, didn’t need to be reclaimed. Just remembered.

Alex let the phone rest against his chest and closed his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. Not sad. Not angry. Just... quiet.

Tired of wondering if he was already too late.

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