Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 262: Best Christmas, Best Birthday

By the time they left Jordan’s bar, the sun was already setting—that early winter darkness that arrived too soon, turning the city streets golden then purple then blue.

They said their goodbyes at the door—hugs all around, promises to meet up again soon, Bella making Luca promise to invite her to more things, Jordan telling Noel he better come back to the bar more often.

"Thank you," Noel said to all of them. "Seriously. This was perfect."

"Anytime, man," Jordan said. "Happy birthday."

They stepped out into the cold, the temperature having dropped noticeably since afternoon.

Luca pulled his scarf tighter, breath visible in the air.

"That was really nice," Noel said as they started walking. "I wasn’t expecting it."

"That was the point."

"You’re good at surprises."

"I try."

They walked in comfortable silence for a bit, the city around them settling into its holiday evening rhythm—families heading home from visits, restaurants filling up with dinner crowds, lights twinkling in windows.

Luca’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Dad: Merry Christmas, son. What are you doing for dinner?

Luca slowed his pace, typing back.

Luca: Merry Christmas. Nothing planned yet. Why?

The response came almost immediately.

Dad: Come home. I’m making dinner. Bring Noel.

Luca stopped walking entirely.

Noel noticed, turning back. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just..." Luca showed him the phone. "My dad’s inviting us for Christmas dinner."

"Oh." Noel’s expression shifted to something uncertain. "Do you want to go?"

"I don’t know. Do you?"

"It’s your father. If you want to go, I’m fine with it."

Luca’s phone buzzed again.

Dad: Unless you’re too busy with your boyfriend to visit your old man on Christmas. I understand. I’ll just eat alone in this big empty house.

Dad: All alone.

Dad: On Christmas day.

Luca snorted. "He’s guilt-tripping me."

Noel leaned over to read the messages, a smile tugging at his lips. "That’s impressively manipulative."

"He knows what he’s doing." Luca typed back quickly.

Luca: You’re not alone. You have a whole staff.

Dad: They have the day off. I gave everyone time with their families. Unlike my son, who abandoned me.

Luca: I didn’t abandon you. I saw you three days ago.

Dad: Three days is a long time when you’re old and lonely.

Luca: You’re 51 and you play tennis twice a week. You’re not old.

Dad: My heart is old. Heavy with the weight of my son’s neglect.

Luca: Oh my god.

Dad: So? Dinner? 7 PM? I’m making that steak you like.

Luca looked at Noel. "He’s making steak."

"The bribery begins."

"Should we go?"

"Like I said, if you want to." Noel’s expression was genuine. "I don’t mind either way."

Luca considered. His father, alone in that big house on Christmas. Making dinner. Asking—in his own dramatic way—for company.

Luca: Fine. We’ll be there at 7.

Dad: Excellent. See you both soon.

Dad: And tell Noel I said Merry Christmas.

Luca pocketed his phone. "We’re going to my dad’s for dinner."

"Okay."

"You sure you’re fine with this?"

"Luca." Noel stepped closer, taking his hand. "It’s Christmas. Of course I’m fine with it. Plus, I like your dad."

"He likes you too. He’s just... a lot sometimes."

"I can handle a lot."

They adjusted their route, heading toward the residential district where Luca had grown up, where his father still lived in the house that had always been too big for just the two of them.

The walk took about twenty-five minutes.

The neighborhood grew quieter, more spacious—houses set back from the street, gardens even in winter, the kind of area where everyone had money but tried not to be obvious about it.

Luca’s childhood home appeared ahead—a modern two-story house with large windows and clean lines, lights on inside making it look warm and welcoming.

They walked up the front path, and before Luca could even reach for his keys, the door opened.

Mr. Smith stood there—tall, well-built for his age, dressed casually in slacks and a sweater that probably cost more than Luca’s entire wardrobe.

His hair was graying at the temples, distinguished rather than old, and his expression was carefully neutral in that way he had when he was secretly pleased but trying not to show it.

"There you are," he said. "I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind."

"It’s 6:55," Luca pointed out. "We’re early."

"Barely." But he was smiling now, stepping aside to let them in. "Come in, come in. It’s freezing out there."

They entered, the warmth of the house immediately welcoming.

The interior was exactly as Luca remembered—minimalist but comfortable, art on the walls that his father had collected over years, everything expensive but not showy.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Smith," Noel said, removing his jacket.

"Noel. Good to see you." Mr. Smith took their coats, hanging them in the closet. "And stop being so formal. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"At least a few more, apparently."

"Stubborn. I like that." He turned to Luca, and his expression softened in that particular way it only did when looking at his son. "Merry Christmas, Luca."

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

They followed him through to the kitchen—a large, modern space with an island in the center, professional-grade appliances, and the kind of organization that came from having everything exactly where it should be.

"Dinner’s almost ready," Mr. Smith said, moving to check something in the oven. "Steaks are resting, potatoes are finishing up, salad’s in the fridge."

"You cooked?" Luca asked, genuinely surprised.

"I’m capable of cooking."

"Since when?"

"Since always. I just usually choose not to." His father pulled out plates from the cabinet. "But it’s Christmas. Seemed appropriate to make an effort."

"Where’s Uncle Jeff?" Luca asked, noticing the absence of his father’s constant companion.

"With his family. I gave him the holiday off." Mr. Smith glanced over. "Even loyal assistants deserve Christmas with their loved ones."

"That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you."

"I have my moments." He gestured toward the dining room. "Go sit. I’ll bring everything out."

"We can help," Noel offered.

"Absolutely not. You’re guests."

"Dad..."

"Luca." His father’s tone was firm but warm. "Go sit. Let me do this."

They exchanged a look but complied, moving to the dining room where the table was already set—three places, good china, wine glasses, everything formal but not stiff.

Luca pulled out a chair, and Noel sat beside him.

"Your dad seems happy," Noel observed quietly.

"He’s probably just glad I actually showed up."

"No, I mean genuinely happy. Like, relieved."

Before Luca could respond, his father appeared carrying a large platter—perfectly cooked steaks, roasted potatoes with herbs, vegetables that looked too artfully arranged to be accidental.

"Here we go." He set it down, then disappeared back to the kitchen, returning with a salad bowl and a bottle of red wine.

"This looks amazing," Noel said.

"Thank you." Mr. Smith poured wine for all of them, then sat down at the head of the table. "I figured if I was going to guilt my son into visiting, I should at least feed him well."

"You didn’t guilt me," Luca protested.

"’I’ll just eat alone in this big empty house,’" his father quoted back at him, perfectly mimicking his own dramatic texts. "Not guilt at all."

Noel tried to hide his smile behind his wine glass.

"Okay, maybe a little guilt," Luca admitted.

"A father does what he must." Mr. Smith raised his glass. "To Christmas. To family. To having people around to share it with."

They clinked glasses, and the sound was clear and bright in the quiet room.

The food was genuinely excellent—the steak cooked exactly right, the potatoes crispy on the outside and soft inside, everything seasoned perfectly.

"So," Mr. Smith said after a few minutes of eating. "How was your day? Did you do anything special for your birthday, Noel?"

"Actually, yeah." Noel glanced at Luca. "Luca planned some surprises."

"Oh? What kind of surprises?"

"The good kind," Luca said quickly, not wanting to elaborate on the midnight balcony celebration.

His father’s eyes moved between them, noticing something. "What’s that on your hand?"

Luca froze, suddenly very aware of the ring on his finger.

"Is that—" Mr. Smith leaned forward slightly. "Are you wearing matching rings?"

"They’re not engagement rings," Luca said immediately.

"I didn’t ask if they were engagement rings. I asked if they were matching rings."

"They are," Luca confirmed. "Noel gave me one last night."

"For his birthday?"

"And Christmas."

Mr. Smith sat back, considering this information, his expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, a smile appeared genuine, warm, maybe even a little emotional though he’d never admit it.

"That’s nice," he said simply. "Really nice."

"You’re not going to make a big deal about it?" Luca asked, suspicious.

"Would you prefer I make a big deal about it?"

"No."

"Then I won’t." But his father was still smiling. "Though I will say, I’m glad you have each other. That you found someone who makes you happy enough to want to wear a visible reminder of them."

Luca felt his face warm. "Dad—"

"I’m being sincere, not embarrassing. There’s a difference."

"Barely."

They continued eating, the conversation flowing naturally—Mr. Smith asking about work, the internship, plans for after graduation.

He asked Noel about his family, listened attentively when Noel talked about the video call that morning with his parents and grandmother.

"They sound lovely," Mr. Smith said. "You should bring them here sometime. I’d like to meet the people who raised someone my son cares about."

"I’d like that," Noel replied.

"How’s the company treating you both?" Mr. Smith asked, cutting another piece of steak. "I know you’re in different departments, but the work’s good?"

"Really good," Noel said. "Max has been an excellent supervisor. Very clear expectations, good feedback."

"And Georgia’s been great too," Luca added. "Tough, but fair."

"Good. That’s what I like to hear." His father took a sip of wine. "You know, when I found out you were both interning at my company, I made a point not to interfere. Didn’t tell anyone you were my son, didn’t check in on your progress, didn’t ask for special treatment for either of you."

"I know," Luca said. "I appreciated that."

"But I did keep track. Quietly." Mr. Smith’s expression was proud. "Both of you have been doing excellent work. Your supervisors speak highly of you. Max told me Noel’s presentation in Japan was ’exceptionally professional.’ Georgia said Luca’s been ’surprisingly efficient lately.’"

"Surprisingly?" Luca repeated.

"Her words, not mine."

"I’ve always been efficient."

"You’ve always been capable," his father corrected gently. "But efficient? That’s new. Growth looks good on you, son."

Luca didn’t know what to say to that. His father wasn’t usually this openly affectionate, this willing to express pride directly.

"Thank you," he managed finally.

"You’re welcome." Mr. Smith stood, collecting empty plates. "Now, who wants dessert? I didn’t make it, but I ordered from that bakery you like."

"The one with the chocolate cake?" Luca asked hopefully.

"The very same."

While his father disappeared into the kitchen, Luca turned to Noel. "Is this okay."

"Yeah."

"I’m glad we came."

"Me too."

Mr. Smith returned with three slices of rich chocolate cake, setting them down with a flourish.

They ate dessert slowly, conversation drifting to lighter topics—movies they’d seen recently, books they’d read, cat ongoing campaign to destroy every piece of furniture in the apartment.

"You should get him a better scratching post," Mr. Smith suggested. "I’ll send you a link to the one I got for my friend’s cat. Very sturdy."

"You have friends with cats?"

"I have friends, Luca. I’m not completely without social connections."

"Could’ve fooled me."

"Funny." But his father was smiling. "Though I admit, it’s quieter than usual around here lately. Jeff’s been spending more time with his family. The house feels... bigger."

Luca heard what his father wasn’t saying—lonely. The house felt lonely.

"You could get a cat," he suggested. "Or a dog. Company."

"Maybe." Mr. Smith pushed his empty plate aside. "Or maybe I should just guilt my son into visiting more often."

"I can visit more," Luca said. "We both can. If you want."

"I’d like that." His father’s expression was soft. "I know I’m not always the most... expressive person. But I do enjoy your company. Both of you."

"We enjoy yours too," Noel said.

They talked for another hour, finishing the wine, the conversation easy and unhurried.

At some point, Mr. Smith started telling stories about Luca as a child—embarrassing ones, naturally, which Luca protested but secretly didn’t mind.

"Remember when you tried to ’run away’ but only made it to the end of the driveway?" his father asked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I was seven."

"You had a backpack full of cookies and one stuffed animal. Very prepared."

"I thought I was."

"You sat at the end of the driveway for twenty minutes, then came back inside and asked what was for dinner."

Noel was laughing now. "That’s adorable."

"It’s embarrassing," Luca corrected.

"Both can be true."

By the time they finally prepared to leave, it was past ten.

Mr. Smith walked them to the door, helping them into their coats.

"Thank you for coming," he said. "It meant a lot. More than you probably realize."

"Thanks for having us," Luca replied. "And for dinner. It was really good."

"Anytime." His father pulled him into a hug—brief but genuine, the kind of embrace that said everything words didn’t. "Merry Christmas, son. I love you."

Luca’s throat tightened. His father rarely said it out loud, but when he did, it meant everything.

"Love you too, Dad."

Mr. Smith turned to Noel, extending his hand, then seemed to reconsider and pulled him into a hug as well. "Take care of each other. And Noel—happy birthday. I hope it was a good one."

"It was," Noel said. "Thank you."

They stepped out into the cold, waving as Mr. Smith stood in the doorway watching them go.

The walk home was quiet, both of them processing the evening, the unexpected warmth of it.

"Your dad’s really great," Noel said eventually.

"Yeah. He is."

"He loves you a lot."

"I know. He’s just... not always good at showing it."

"He showed it tonight."

"Yeah. He did."

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the city quiet around them, Christmas settling into its peaceful late-night phase.

When they finally reached their apartment, climbing the familiar stairs, unlocking their door, stepping into their space—it felt like completing a circle.

The cat greeted them with his usual dramatic meow, demanding attention and treats in equal measure.

They went through their nighttime routine—changing into comfortable clothes, brushing teeth, Luca stealing Noel’s face cream again despite having his own.

In bed, they gravitated toward each other immediately, exhausted but content.

"Best Christmas?" Luca asked quietly.

"Best Christmas," Noel confirmed. "And best birthday."

"Good." Luca pressed closer. "That was the goal."

"You succeeded."

They lay there in the darkness, hands linked, rings touching, the weight of the day settling over them like a comfortable blanket.

"Thank you," Noel said softly. "For everything today. The party, the watch, the balcony last night. All of it."

"You’re welcome. You deserved it."

"And thank you for sharing your dad with me. That dinner meant a lot."

"He’s your family too now," Luca said. "If you want him to be."

"I do."

Outside, the city was finally quiet. Inside, wrapped in each other and everything they’d built together, they drifted toward sleep.

Tomorrow they’d still have two more days of break.

Still have time to just exist together without obligations.

But for now, this was enough.

This was everything.

Perfect.