Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 236: Morning Rush, Silent Hearts

The apartment was too quiet when consciousness crept in no alarm, no birdsong, just the muted hum of traffic filtering through the curtains like a distant warning.

Noel’s eyes opened first, blinking slowly at the ceiling.

His body felt heavy, weighed down by the kind of exhaustion that came from thinking too much and sleeping too little.

For a moment, he just lay there, staring at nothing, the events of yesterday still sitting like stones in his chest.

Then his brain clicked into gear.

What time is it?

He turned his head slightly.

Luca was still asleep beside him, face half-buried in the pillow, breathing deep and even.

The space between them on the bed felt like an ocean.

Noel reached for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

**8:47 AM.**

His heart dropped.

"Shit," he muttered, sitting up so fast the room spun slightly. "Shit, shit, shit."

Luca stirred, his brow furrowing. "Mm... what?"

"Luca, wake up." Noel was already swinging his legs out of bed, panic sharpening his voice. "We’re late."

"What?" Luca’s voice was groggy, thick with sleep. He cracked one eye open, squinting at Noel. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

That did it.

Luca bolted upright, grabbing his phone from the other nightstand. His eyes widened. "Shit."

"Yeah," Noel said, already moving toward the closet, yanking clothes off hangers without really looking at them. "We overslept."

Luca threw the blanket off, stumbling slightly as he stood.

His mind was still foggy, sluggish, weighed down by the sleepless hours he’d spent staring at the wall.

But adrenaline was kicking in now, sharp and relentless.

"How did we—" He stopped himself. Because neither of us slept. That’s how.

But there was no time to say it.

Noel tossed a shirt at him. "Get dressed. Fast."

They moved in a blur—pulling on clothes, searching for socks, bumping into each other in the small space as they scrambled.

The cat watched from the doorway, tail flicking lazily, utterly unbothered by the chaos.

Luca grabbed his pants, hopping on one foot as he pulled them on. "Do we have time for—"

"No," Noel said, buttoning his shirt with quick, practiced motions. "No breakfast. No shower. Nothing."

Luca groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. "Great. I’m going to smell like stress and regret."

"Better than late," Noel muttered, tucking his shirt in. Then he paused, glancing at Luca. "Bathroom. Now. At least brush your teeth."

Luca nodded, already moving.

They ended up shoulder to shoulder at the sink, both reaching for their toothbrushes at the same time.

The mirror reflected two tired faces—shadows under their eyes, hair sticking up in every direction, the remnants of yesterday still clinging to them like fog.

Luca turned on the tap, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush.

Noel did the same, their elbows bumping slightly in the cramped space.

For a moment, they just stood there, brushing in silence, the sound of bristles against teeth filling the small bathroom.

Luca glanced sideways at Noel’s reflection.

He wanted to say something—wanted to ask about yesterday, about Max, about the conversation he’d overheard but didn’t finish.

But his mouth was full of toothpaste, and the clock was ticking, and the words felt too big for the moment.

So he stayed quiet.

Noel, too, kept his eyes down, focused on the sink.

He could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing between them, heavy and suffocating.

We need to talk. We have to talk.

But not now. Not like this.

They rinsed, spat, wiped their mouths with the same towel—still moving in that rhythm that came from months of sharing the same space.

Luca turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway. "Tie," he muttered, looking down at the loose fabric hanging around his neck. "Forgot my—"

"Here." Noel stepped forward without thinking, hands already reaching for the tie.

Luca froze.

Noel’s fingers brushed against his collar, adjusting the fabric gently before looping it into a knot.

His movements were quick, efficient, but there was something careful in the way he worked—like he was handling something fragile.

Luca stood still, barely breathing, eyes fixed somewhere over Noel’s shoulder.

He could feel the warmth of Noel’s hands through the thin fabric of his shirt, could smell the faint scent of his skin—familiar, grounding, safe.

Say something. Just say something.

But he didn’t.

And neither did Noel.

When the knot was finished, Noel’s hands lingered for just a second—fingers resting lightly against Luca’s chest—before he stepped back.

"Done," he said quietly.

Luca’s throat felt tight. "Thanks."

Noel nodded, already turning away to grab his bag. "We need to go. Now."

They left the apartment in a whirlwind—keys, wallets, phones, everything shoved into pockets and bags as they stumbled out the door.

The cat meowed once, indignant at being abandoned without breakfast, but they were already gone. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

The street was busier than usual, the morning rush in full swing.

They walked fast, weaving through the crowd, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they navigated the sidewalk.

Neither of them spoke.

Luca kept his eyes forward, jaw tight, mind racing.

Yesterday’s words still echoed in his head—Max’s voice, low and raw, confessing something Luca had no right to hear.

What did Noel say? Why won’t he tell me?

But there was no time. No space. Just the relentless forward momentum of the day pulling them along.

Beside him, Noel’s thoughts churned just as fast.

He wanted to reach out, wanted to slow down, wanted to stop Luca right there on the sidewalk and ask him what was wrong.

But the clock was ticking, and work was waiting, and the moment slipped away before he could catch it.

The company building loomed ahead, glass and steel gleaming in the morning light.

They pushed through the revolving doors together, the cool air of the lobby hitting them like a splash of cold water.

The reception area was already buzzing—people filing in, voices overlapping, the soft chime of elevators arriving and departing.

Luca slowed slightly as they crossed the marble floor, his eyes flicking toward the elevator bank.

Noel was still beside him, matching his pace, their reflections moving in tandem across the polished surface.

Just say it. Just ask him.

But the words stayed stuck in his throat.

They reached the elevators.

Noel pressed the button, and they waited in silence, surrounded by the hum of morning conversation and the rustle of coats and bags.

The elevator dinged.

The doors slid open.

They stepped inside, standing side by side as the doors closed behind them.

The small space felt suddenly too intimate, too close, the silence pressing down on them like a weight.

Noel reached out, pressing the button for the third floor. Then, after a pause, the fourth.

The elevator began to rise.

Luca stared at the numbers lighting up one by one, his reflection fractured in the steel panel across from him.

He could see Noel standing beside him, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense.

Say something. Anything.

But the elevator was already slowing.

Third floor.

The doors opened.

Luca hesitated for half a second—just long enough for Noel to glance at him, something soft and uncertain flickering in his eyes.

"See you at lunch?" Noel asked quietly.

Luca forced a small smile. "Yeah. Lunch."

He stepped out, the doors beginning to close behind him.

But just before they shut completely, he turned back—catching one last glimpse of Noel standing alone in the elevator, eyes downcast, shoulders sagging slightly.

Then the doors closed.

And Luca was alone.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the silver panel, his chest tight and aching.

What did you say, Noel? What did you say to him?

But the question stayed silent.

And the day began.

The fourth floor was quieter than usual when Noel stepped off the elevator.

The polished glass walls reflected the morning light in sharp, clean lines, and the hum of the air conditioning filled the silence like white noise.

He walked down the corridor toward Max’s office, his bag slung over one shoulder.

His mind was already halfway through the day’s tasks, trying to shake off the fog of exhaustion and the weight of everything left unsaid.

When he reached the office, the door was open.

But Max wasn’t there.

Noel paused in the doorway, scanning the empty room.

The desk was neat as always—folders stacked precisely, a coffee mug sitting cold and forgotten near the edge.

But what caught his attention was the small stack of documents sitting front and center, a handwritten note clipped to the top.

He stepped inside, setting his bag down on the chair as he picked up the note.

Noel,

Had to leave early for meetings with the regional directors. I’ll be back late afternoon. The export compliance reports are on your desk,cross-check the shipment logs with the customs declarations and flag any discrepancies. I’ll review them when I return.

Max

Noel exhaled slowly, setting the note down. Part of him felt relieved.

The office felt lighter without Max’s presence, the air less complicated.

But another part of him the part that kept replaying yesterday’s conversation felt uncertain.

Did he leave early because of me?

He shook his head, pushing the thought away. Don’t overthink it. Just work.

He pulled out the chair, sat down, and opened the first folder.

Numbers, dates, shipment codes—familiar territory.

His fingers moved automatically, flipping through pages, cross-referencing data, his mind falling into the rhythm of the task.

But every now and then, his thoughts drifted.

To Luca. To the way he’d shut down last night. To the silence in the elevator this morning.

Something’s wrong. And I don’t know how to fix it.

Noel paused mid-line, pen hovering over the page.

He stared at the numbers without really seeing them, his mind elsewhere.

Does he know? Did he hear something?

The thought sat heavy in his chest.

He tried to push it aside, tried to focus on the work in front of him, but it kept circling back, persistent and sharp.

Finally, he set the pen down and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his face with both hands.

Okay. Tonight. I’ll talk to him tonight. No more avoiding it.

The decision settled something in him—just slightly, but enough to let him breathe a little easier.

He picked up the pen again, refocusing on the report.

Tonight, he promised himself. We’ll fix this tonight.