Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 246: Twelve Years Later

The plane touched down with a gentle jolt, tires kissing the tarmac.

Luca’s eyes opened—he hadn’t realized he’d dozed off during the descent.

The cabin around him stirred to life, passengers stretching, reaching for overhead bins, the familiar rustle of arrival.

His heart hammered in his chest.

Japan.

I’m here.

He looked out the window—the sky was overcast, a soft gray that felt both foreign and strangely welcoming.

Buildings in the distance, vehicles moving with precision, everything orderly, clean, so different from home.

The seatbelt sign dinged off.

Luca stood, grabbing his carry-on, joining the slow shuffle toward the exit.

His legs felt stiff, his mind foggy from the flight, but underneath it all—excitement. Anticipation.

Noel is somewhere in this city.

The thought made everything feel surreal.

He moved through the jet bridge, into the terminal—bright, modern, signs in Japanese and English guiding the flow of travelers.

The air smelled different here—cleaner somehow, with a faint hint of something floral he couldn’t place.

Customs and immigration passed in a blur. Passport stamped. Bag retrieved.

Luca pushed his cart through the automatic doors into the arrivals hall, scanning the crowd for a taxi sign, for directions, for—

He froze.

There, standing near the barrier where drivers held signs and families waited—

Her.

His mother.

Luca’s breath caught, his feet rooting to the spot.

She looked—

The same. Different. Older.

Her hair was shorter than he remembered, touched with gray at the temples.

She wore a simple coat, hands clasped in front of her, eyes scanning the crowd with that same intensity he’d inherited.

And then their eyes met.

She froze too.

For a moment, neither moved.

The arrivals hall buzzed around them—announcements in Japanese, the rumble of luggage carts, tearful reunions, laughter—but all of it faded into white noise.

Luca’s chest tightened.

She came.

Of course she came.

Blood is thicker than water, they said.

And looking at her now—the shape of her eyes, the curve of her mouth, the way she stood with one hip slightly cocked—he saw himself. A mirror across time and distance.

His father’s energy lived in him, yes—the determination, the stubbornness—but his face, his expressions, those were hers.

She took a tentative step forward, lips parting as if to speak, then closing again.

Luca didn’t move.

The silence stretched, heavy and fragile.

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft, barely above a whisper, carrying across the space between them like a prayer.

"Luca."

His name in her mouth—unfamiliar after so long, yet achingly familiar.

He nodded, throat too tight for words.

"I..." She paused, searching for words, hands twisting together nervously. "Your dad—he told me you were coming. I wanted to make sure you were safe. That you... arrived okay."

He hesitated, processing. "Right. Dad."

She nodded quickly, relief flickering across her face at his response, at this small connection.

She took another step closer, still not touching, maintaining the careful distance between them. "How have you been?"

The question hung there—so simple, yet impossibly complex.

How have I been? How do you answer twelve years in one sentence?

"I’m fine," he said finally, the words automatic, safe. "I already booked a hotel."

"Oh. Yes. Right. Hotel." She nodded, something like disappointment flashing in her eyes before she hid it. "I just—I’m excited to see you. After all this time. It’s been so long and I—" She took a breath. "I already told your siblings. They’re waiting."

The words hit him wrong, sharp and sudden.

"Step-siblings," Luca corrected, voice firmer than he intended.

Her expression changed—a flash of pain, quickly masked, but he saw it. Understood.

But she nodded, accepting the correction. "Right. Step-siblings. I’m sorry. They’re... they’re so excited to meet you, Luca. They’ve heard so much about you."

She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter, more vulnerable. "Luca, I know—I know I’m not a good mother to you. I know that. I failed you in so many ways. But..." She gestured helplessly. "Can you come? Just for a little while? Aiko and Yuki—they’re both waiting. They’re so eager to meet their... to meet you."

Luca’s jaw tightened.

They did nothing wrong.

The thought came unbidden but true.

Those kids—her kids, her new kids—they weren’t the ones who left.

They weren’t the ones who chose a new life across the ocean. They were innocent in all this.

She’s the one who left. She’s the one who never came back. Twelve years. I was ten. Just ten.

The memories flooded back—waiting for phone calls that came less and less frequently.

Birthdays acknowledged with cards that felt obligatory.

The gradual fading until she was more memory than mother.

But those kids... Aiko and Yuki... they didn’t deserve his anger.

He looked at his mother—really looked at her.

Saw the hope in her eyes, the fear of rejection, the weight of years of guilt she carried in her shoulders.

One visit. Just one.

"Fine," he said finally, the word coming out rough. "Let’s go meet them. But..." He needed the boundary, needed the escape route. "I’m going back to the hotel in the evening. I have... plans."

Relief washed over her face so completely it was almost painful to watch. "Of course. Yes. Thank you, Luca. Thank you."

She moved toward him, hand half-reaching as if to touch his arm, then thought better of it, letting it fall back to her side.

"My car is just outside," she said, voice steadier now, slipping into practicality. "Let me help you with your bag."

"I’ve got it," Luca said, but not unkindly.

She nodded, accepting, and turned toward the exit.

Luca followed, wheeling his suitcase across the polished floor, through the automatic doors into the cool Japanese air.

The car was modest, clean—a small sedan that somehow fit her.

She opened the trunk, and this time Luca let her help lift the suitcase in.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She smiled—small, genuine. "Of course."

They settled into the car, Luca in the passenger seat, the space between them filled with twelve years of silence.

She started the engine, pulling smoothly into traffic.

For a while, neither spoke.

The city passed outside the windows—signs in kanji, convenience stores glowing with familiar logos, people on bicycles navigating the streets with practiced ease.

"It’s about thirty minutes to the house," she said finally, breaking the silence. "Traffic’s not too bad today."

"Okay."

Another pause.

"Aiko is Ten," she said, voice soft, conversational. "She loves drawing. Art. She’s very talented. And Yuki—he’s seven. Energetic. Loves soccer. He hasn’t stopped talking about meeting you since I told him you were coming."

Luca listened, watching the city blur past.

"They’re good kids," she continued, and there was pride in her voice, love. "Their father—Kenji—he’s at work today. He wanted to be here, but I thought... I thought maybe it was better. Just us. Just family first."

Family.

The word sat heavy in Luca’s chest.

"What about you?" she asked, glancing at him briefly before returning her eyes to the road. "Your father tells me you’re doing well. Working... internship. That you have someone special?"

Luca’s heart clenched at the mention of Noel.

"Yeah," he said, voice softening despite himself. "His name is Noel. He’s... he’s here. In Tokyo. For work."

Understanding dawned on her face. "That’s why you came. To see him."

"Yeah."

She nodded slowly. "He must be very important to you."

"He is."

"I’m glad," she said, and she sounded like she meant it. "Everyone deserves that. Someone who makes them want to cross oceans."

Luca looked at her—really looked.

Saw the lines around her eyes, the silver threading through her hair, the way her hands gripped the steering wheel just a little too tight.

She’s nervous. She’s as nervous as I am.

"What about you?" he asked, the words surprising even himself. "Are you... happy?"

She was quiet for a moment, considering. "I am," she said finally. "But happiness doesn’t erase regret, Luca. It doesn’t erase the mistakes I made. The people I hurt." Her voice cracked slightly. "The son I left behind."

Luca’s throat tightened, eyes stinging.

"I think about you," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "All the time. Wonder what you’re doing. If you’re okay. If you hate me."

"I don’t hate you," Luca said, the words raw, honest.

She glanced at him, eyes shining.

"But I was angry," he admitted. "For a long time. I’m still... working through it."

"You have every right to be," she said, wiping at her eyes with one hand, the other steady on the wheel. "Every right."

They fell silent again, but it felt different now—less heavy, more breathable.

The city gave way to residential streets, trees lining the roads, houses with small gardens.

"We’re almost there," she said.

Luca nodded, stomach twisting with nerves.

Step-siblings. Kids I’ve never met. A life she built without me.

The car turned down a quiet street, pulling up to a modest two-story house with a small yard, flowers blooming in neat rows.

She parked, turning off the engine.

For a moment, neither moved.

"Luca," she said quietly. "Thank you. For coming. For giving me this chance. I know I don’t deserve it."

He looked at her—this woman who was his mother, who was a stranger, who was somehow both.

"Let’s just... take it one step at a time," he said.

She nodded, smiling through tears. "One step at a time."

They got out of the car.

And as Luca followed her up the path to the front door, his heart pounded—with fear, with hope, with the weight of everything unspoken.

One step at a time.

The door opened before they reached it.

Two faces appeared—a girl with bright eyes and dark hair in pigtails, and a boy with a gap-toothed grin, bouncing on his toes.

"Is that him?" the boy whispered loudly. "Is that Luca?"

His mother smiled, looking back at him. "Yes, Yuki. That’s him. That’s your brother."

And despite everything—the anger, the hurt, the years of distance—

Luca felt something in his chest crack open.

Just a little.

Just enough.