Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]
Chapter 79: Coffee, Notes, and You

Chapter 79: Coffee, Notes, and You

The door clicked softly behind them as they stepped inside the dorm, the faint hum of the building settling around them like a quiet welcome.

Noel yawned, rubbing the corner of his eye. "I’m so tired... I might fall asleep standing." His voice was low, heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only comes after a long, slow walk filled with unspoken things.

Luca smiled, watching him carefully. "Do you want to take a shower first? Wash off the day?"

Noel hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. You go after me, okay?"

Luca shrugged but nodded, his smile lingering. "Alright, you go first."

Noel shuffled toward the bathroom, the soft padding of his footsteps fading behind the closing door.

Left alone, Luca leaned against the doorframe, a quiet smile spreading as he thought back on their walk—the way Noel’s hand had found his, the gentle brush of fingers, the shy but steady moments that made everything feel new and right.

He glanced down at his own hands, folding and unfolding fingers, as if testing the memory of their touch.

Minutes passed.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Noel appeared, hair damp and skin still flushed from the warm water. His eyes were softer now, calmer, but still carrying that tired edge.

"Your turn," Noel said with a teasing smile, though his voice was thick with sleep.

Luca chuckled quietly, stepping toward the bathroom.

"Oh, and don’t fall asleep in there," Noel added, voice light but laced with care.

Luca caught his gaze, the faintest sparkle of amusement flickering between them.

"No promises," he whispered before the door closed gently behind him.

And when luca stepped out of the bathroom, the warmth of the shower still lingering on his skin.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of Noel’s desk lamp casting soft shadows across the small space.

Noel lay stretched across his bed, eyes half-closed but still alert enough to glance at Luca. "You done?" he murmured, voice heavy with sleep.

Luca didn’t move toward his own bed. Instead, he crossed the room quietly and lowered himself onto the edge of Noel’s.

His fingers ran through his hair in a slow, restless gesture. Then, soft and tentative, he asked, "Can I... hug you tonight?"

Noel blinked, hesitating. "This bed’s barely big enough for one, Luca. Two might be... a problem." His tone was gentle, almost playful, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Luca smiled, leaning just a little closer. "You’re warm," he whispered. "I just want to cuddle. No pressure."

A pause. Noel shifted, the space between them narrowing, the soft rustle of the bedsheet the only sound.

Finally, Noel made room.

Luca slipped beneath the covers and lay beside him, arm reaching out to wrap around Noel’s waist. Noel responded instinctively, his own arm curling around Luca’s back.

They settled, breathing syncing quietly in the small space.

"Good night," Noel said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good night," Luca echoed, the warmth of the embrace folding around them like a promise.

And in that tiny bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, they drifted into sleep—safe, quiet, and close.

By the time morning arrived, soft sunlight bled through the blinds, dusting the empty bed with a familiar warmth—the kind Luca hadn’t felt in months.

Luca stirred slightly, still half-curled against the part of the bed Noel had filled hours ago.

The sheets were warm. Still carried the soft scent of him—mint, laundry soap, something faintly sweet.

For the first time in a long time, sleep had come easy. Deep. Comfortable. The kind of rest that settled into his bones.

A satisfied groan escaped him as he stretched, limbs tangled in warmth. But when he blinked at the ceiling and noticed the empty side of the bed, the smile on his lips faded just a touch.

But then he saw it—the small paper resting beside a steaming cup on his desk.

Luca blinked again, this time more awake. He sat up, the sheet falling from his chest as he leaned forward to read:

’You looked too peaceful to wake. Figured you could use the extra sleep.

Coffee’s just how you like it. See you later, Dear Roommate.

Luca just stared at the note, then slowly—helplessly—grinned.

A wide, ridiculous grin that stretched across his face like someone had flipped a switch inside him.

He picked up the cup, took a sip—still warm, perfectly sweetened—and pressed the note lightly against his lips.

"God, I’m so gone," he murmured, voice rough from sleep.

He leaned back in his chair, the note still in hand, and stared at it like it held the answers to everything.

Maybe it didn’t. But it was enough.

Enough to make his heart do that dumb flutter thing again. Enough to make getting up actually feel like something to look forward to.

He tucked the note into his journal like it was something sacred. Then took another sip of coffee, still smiling like an idiot.

The lecture hall buzzed softly with the low hum of the projector fan and the occasional shuffle of papers.

Noel sat near the middle row, eyes narrowed at the slide the professor had just flipped to — a complex chart with trend shifts and data points stretching across five years.

He leaned forward, elbow on the desk, chin resting against his knuckles.

"...so when you apply this model to last year’s economic data, you’ll start to notice the market correlation diverges around—"

Click.

Another slide.

Noel’s pen moved automatically, notes clean and sharp. He liked mornings like this. Quiet, focused. His mind didn’t wander when it had something to chase.

But then...

Bzzzt.

A soft vibration against the wooden desk. His phone lit up beside his notebook.

Luca :"I woke up smiling like a fool. This is your fault."

"I drank the coffee. Almost kissed the cup. Hope you’re proud of your crime."

Noel’s breath hitched — just for a second — and the smallest tug of a smile betrayed him.

He lowered his head, like checking the phone didn’t matter, but his fingers had already tilted the screen toward him.

A second message popped up.

"Also... coffee was perfect. You’re perfect. That’s it. No follow-up."

Noel stared at the message. His lips twitched. He shook his head—half in disbelief, half in delight. The corners of his mouth refused to stay neutral.

Then he typed back under the desk, fingers swift and quiet:

"You’re ridiculous. And late. I left 40 minutes ago."

"Also you snore. A little."

The dots appeared immediately.

Luca: is typing...

Then:

"Only when I’m dreaming about you."

Noel pressed his lips together, fought a smile, and shook his head as he returned to his notes.

His heart was absolutely not cooperating.

The professor pointed to a section of the chart.

Noel tried to focus again. Tried to recenter.

But his phone buzzed once more.

This time, no words. Just a photo.

Luca, half-dressed, coffee in hand, bed still unmade behind him — a sleepy, smug grin on his face like he’d just won something.

Noel turned his phone face-down.

And smiled anyway.

Noel set the phone aside, screen down this time. The corners of his lips still fought to stay neutral, but his eyes found the projector again.

"...we’ve established that applying the Porter Five Forces Model to post-pandemic market behavior gives us a clearer picture of supply chain volatility," the professor said, pacing gently at the front, pointer tapping the edge of a diagram.

A few heads nodded.

Noel clicked his pen and underlined a key term in his notes: Market Entry Threat – low due to high capital investment post-2020.

"Now," the professor continued, "let’s think critically. If the bargaining power of buyers increases—say, due to improved access to alternative suppliers—what happens to the competitive rivalry?"

A hand went up two rows in front.

"It intensifies?" the student offered.

"Exactly," the professor nodded. "Price wars, promotional strategies, customer loyalty programs — all tools to fight for attention in a saturated space. And what does that mean for the smaller firms?"

Noel’s hand rose this time.

"They’ll struggle to keep up unless they differentiate," he said clearly.

The professor pointed at him with a nod. "Good. They either carve out a niche or get swallowed."

The class murmured. Some scribbled. Some yawned.

Noel leaned back slightly, tapping the end of his pen against his desk in rhythm with the professor’s steps.

"But here’s where it gets interesting," the professor went on, walking to the whiteboard.

"If differentiation becomes the survival tactic, innovation isn’t just an advantage — it’s a necessity.

Which brings us to our next topic: strategic innovation. Turn to page 142."

Noel flipped the page, eyes scanning the bolded section:

"Strategic Innovation: Reinventing value to disrupt the market instead of competing within its constraints."

He underlined it twice.

Then, despite himself, he glanced at his phone.

Still face-down.

Still burning a quiet heat in his chest.

Still worth smiling about.

He exhaled — not annoyed, not distracted. Just full.

Then turned back to the page and kept writing.

The classroom lights brightened slightly as the projector flicked off. Chairs shifted. Pens clicked shut.

The professor closed his laptop with a gentle snap and offered a parting nod.

"That’s it for today. Review the case study examples before next session, and we’ll break into teams next week."

Noel gathered his notes swiftly but methodically, tucking them into his folder and slipping it into his satchel.

His fingers hovered over his phone briefly — no new message — before he stood, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

As he stepped into the hallway, he nearly bumped into George.

"Hey," George said, taking a quick step back. "Didn’t see you in front."

"Yeah," Noel nodded politely. "Was up early. Wanted a front seat before the back-row yawns started."

George smirked. "Right. You heading out?"

Noel shifted his grip on the bag strap. "Library."

George chuckled. "Figures. You always disappear into books when you’re smiling like that."

Noel blinked. Smiling? He hadn’t noticed.

George nodded

Noel offered a small wave and continued down the corridor.

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