Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 270: Perfectly Ordinary

Saturday morning arrived without alarm, sunlight filtering through curtains in soft golden streams, the world quiet and unhurried.

Luca woke slowly, awareness returning in comfortable pieces—warmth, softness, Noel’s steady breathing beside him, the absence of obligation.

No work. No deadlines. Just weekend.

He kept his eyes closed, content to exist in this half-awake state, Noel’s arm heavy across his waist, their legs tangled together beneath the covers.

"You’re awake," Noel murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

"How do you know?"

"Your breathing changed."

"That’s creepy."

"That’s observant."

Luca smiled, finally opening his eyes to find Noel already watching him, hair messy, expression soft and unguarded.

"Morning," Luca said.

"Morning."

They lay there, neither moving, both reluctant to disturb the perfect stillness.

"What time is it?" Luca asked eventually.

Noel glanced toward the nightstand. "Almost ten."

"We slept in."

"We earned it."

"True." Luca shifted closer, pressing his face into Noel’s shoulder. "Let’s stay here forever."

"Forever is a long time."

"I’m willing to commit."

"What about food?"

"Overrated."

"The cat. needs feeding."

"He can wait."

As if summoned by his name, the cat appeared at the foot of the bed, meowing with the particular insistence that meant he was being neglected and this was unacceptable.

"Traitor," Luca muttered. "We were having a moment."

"He’s hungry."

"He’s always hungry."

But the spell was broken.

Noel sat up, stretching, and Luca watched the movement—the way muscles shifted under skin, morning light catching on the silver ring he still wore.

"Stop staring," Noel said without looking at him.

"Can’t help it. You’re distractingly attractive in the morning."

"I look like a disaster in the morning."

"A very cute disaster."

Noel shook his head, but he was smiling as he got out of bed, the cat immediately winding between his legs, leading him toward the kitchen with urgent meows.

Luca stayed in bed a moment longer, listening to the sounds of their morning—Noel talking softly to the cat, kibble hitting the bowl, the coffee maker starting up.

Home sounds. Their sounds.

Eventually he dragged himself up, pulling on sweatpants and one of Noel’s hoodies that had somehow migrated to his.

In the kitchen, Noel was making pancakes again, measuring flour with precision.

"You’re cooking," Luca observed, leaning against the doorframe.

"I’m cooking."

"On a Saturday. When we could have just had cereal."

"Cereal isn’t breakfast."

"It literally is breakfast."

"It’s sad breakfast." Noel cracked an egg into the bowl. "Besides, I wanted to. Cooking relaxes me."

"You’re weird."

"You love me anyway."

"Unfortunately true."

Luca moved behind him, wrapping arms around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. "Can I help?"

"Can you measure ingredients without adding random amounts?"

"Probably not."

"Then no, you can’t help."

"Rude."

But Noel leaned back into him slightly, the gesture saying everything words didn’t.

They stayed like that while the pancakes cooked—Luca holding Noel from behind, both of them swaying slightly to music that wasn’t playing, the morning stretching out lazy and golden around them.

"This is nice," Luca said quietly.

"Yeah."

"No work. No stress."

"Yeah. Just us," Noel said.

When the pancakes were done perfectly round, perfectly golden, so characteristically Noel—they ate at their small table, legs tangled underneath, the newspaper Noel insisted on buying despite everything being digital spread between them.

"What do you want to do today?" Noel asked, reading an article about economic policy that Luca couldn’t care less about.

"This. Exactly this."

"We can’t sit at the table all day."

"Why not?"

"Because that’s not how days work."

"Says who?"

Noel looked up from the paper, expression fond. "You’re particularly difficult this morning."

"I’m particularly comfortable this morning."

"Also difficult."

"Same thing."

After breakfast, they migrated to the couch their default location, the place where most of their actual living happened.

Luca sprawled along its length, head in Noel’s lap, while Noel returned to the book he’d been reading all week.

"What’s happening in your mystery novel?" Luca asked, scrolling through his phone.

"The detective just discovered the murder weapon."

"Exciting."

"It’s moderately interesting."

"You’ve been reading it for a week. If it was actually interesting, you’d have finished by now."

"I’m savoring it."

"You’re bored but too committed to quit."

Noel’s fingers paused in their movement through Luca’s hair. "That’s... possibly accurate."

"I know you."

"Unfortunately."

They existed like that for a while—Noel reading, Luca scrolling, the cat claiming the armrest, the apartment filled with comfortable silence.

Around noon, Luca’s stomach rumbled loudly.

"Hungry?" Noel asked, amusement in his voice.

"Maybe."

"That was definitely hunger."

"Fine. I’m hungry. What should we eat?"

"There’s leftover stir-fry."

"We’ve had that twice already."

"Then what do you suggest?"

Luca thought. "Let’s cook something. Together. Like, actually together."

"You want to cook?"

"I want to try. With supervision."

Noel set his book aside, considering. "Okay. But you have to actually listen to instructions."

"I can do that."

"Can you?"

"Probably."

They moved to the kitchen, Noel pulling up a recipe on his phone pasta with homemade sauce, simple enough that Luca couldn’t completely destroy it, complex enough to feel like an accomplishment.

"You chop vegetables," Noel instructed, setting out tomatoes, onions, garlic. "I’ll start the sauce base."

Luca approached the cutting board with determination. "How small?"

"Dice them. Small pieces."

"Define small."

Noel demonstrated, his knife movements precise and efficient.

Luca attempted to replicate it. His pieces were... less precise. More abstract.

"That’s..." Noel paused diplomatically. "That’s fine. They’ll cook down anyway."

"You’re a terrible liar."

"I’m being supportive."

They worked side by side, Noel gently correcting Luca’s technique, both of them laughing when Luca nearly sent an onion flying off the counter.

"How do you make this look easy?" Luca asked, struggling with garlic.

"Practice. And natural talent."

"Cocky."

"Honest."

The kitchen gradually filled with good smells onions sautéing, garlic releasing its fragrance, tomatoes breaking down into sauce.

"Taste this," Noel said, holding out a wooden spoon.

Luca leaned in, tasting. "That’s really good."

"It needs basil."

"It tastes perfect."

"It needs basil," Noel repeated, adding fresh leaves with the same precision he applied to everything.

He offered the spoon again. "Now taste."

Luca tasted, and okay, yes, it was better.

"Fine. You were right."

"I usually am."

"Don’t get smug."

"Too late."

But Noel was smiling, and Luca couldn’t help pulling him closer, kissing him despite the risk of burning sauce.

"Luca," Noel protested against his mouth. "The stove—"

"Is fine. Kiss me properly."

"I’m cooking—"

"Kiss. Me. Properly."

Noel sighed but complied, one hand still holding the wooden spoon, the other cupping Luca’s face, kissing him slow and sweet and thoroughly.

When they broke apart, both slightly breathless, Noel said, "If the sauce burns, it’s your fault."

"Worth it."

They finished cooking together, the pasta turning out surprisingly well despite Luca’s questionable chopping skills.

They ate on the couch because plates at the table felt too formal for a lazy Saturday, both of them curled up together, the TV playing something neither really watched.

"This is good," Luca said around a mouthful of pasta.

"Don’t talk with your mouth full."

"You’re not my mother."

"Thank god for that."

"Rude."

But they were both smiling, comfortable in the easy back-and-forth that came from knowing each other too well.

After lunch, after cleaning up, they ended up back in bed.

Not sleeping. Just existing there because the bed was comfortable and they could.

Luca lay on his stomach, scrolling through his phone, while Noel sat against the headboard with his laptop, supposedly working on something for school but mostly just browsing.

"We should go out," Luca said eventually. "Get fresh air."

"We got fresh air this morning. Opening the window."

"That doesn’t count."

"Why not?"

"Because we have to actually go outside for it to count."

"That sounds like made-up rules."

"They’re real rules. I’m very knowledgeable about fresh air."

Noel closed his laptop. "Fine. Where do you want to go?"

"I don’t know. Just... somewhere. Walk around. Be in the world."

"Very specific."

"I’m spontaneous."

"You’re indecisive."

"Same thing."

They got dressed in actual clothes jeans, sweaters, jackets warm enough for January cold and headed out into the afternoon.

The city had that weekend energy, people out doing errands or meeting friends, everyone moving slower than weekday pace.

They walked without destination, following streets that interested them, stopping to look at shop windows displaying post-holiday sales.

"Should we get supplies for school?" Noel asked, pausing outside a bookstore. "Notebooks, pens, that kind of thing?"

"Already thinking about school?"

"It starts Monday."

"I know. But it’s Saturday. Can’t we pretend Monday doesn’t exist?"

"Monday always exists."

"You’re very pessimistic about time."

"I’m realistic about time."

"Same—"

"Don’t say it."

Luca grinned but followed Noel into the bookstore anyway.

The smell hit immediately paper and ink and possibility, the particular scent of a place dedicated to words.

Noel moved toward the supply section with purpose while Luca wandered, drawn to the fiction shelves where books promised escape and adventure.

He found Noel ten minutes later, arms full of notebooks and pens, examining a planner with intense focus.

"You’re really committing to this organized student thing," Luca observed.

"Final semester. I want to be prepared."

"You’re always prepared."

"Extra prepared."

Luca grabbed a few notebooks less organized than Noel’s selection but adequate and they paid, stepping back out into the cold afternoon.

"Coffee?" Luca suggested, spotting a café across the street.

"It’s almost four."

"So?"

"Coffee at four means no sleep tonight."

"Live dangerously."

"That’s not what living dangerously means."

But Noel followed him to the café anyway, both of them ordering drinks they didn’t need, sitting at a small table by the window.

"Two days," Noel said, watching people pass outside. "Then everything changes again."

"Back to classes. Finals looming. Graduation after that."

"Then real life."

"This is real life."

"You know what I mean."

Luca reached across the table, taking his hand. "Yeah. I know. But whatever comes next, we’ll figure it out."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

"What if we can’t? Figure it out, I mean. What if real life is too complicated?"

"Then we’ll be complicated together." Luca squeezed his hand. "Stop worrying about things that haven’t happened yet."

"I can’t help it."

"I know. But try. Just for today. Tomorrow you can worry about Monday. But today is Saturday, and we’re here, together, drinking overpriced coffee and being perfectly fine."

Noel smiled—small but genuine. "When did you become so wise?"

"I learned from the best."

"Flattery."

"Truth."

They finished their coffee slowly, talking about nothing and everything, the afternoon light turning golden as the sun began its descent.

Walking home, Luca said, "This was a good day."

"We didn’t do anything."

"Exactly. We didn’t do anything together. That’s the best kind of day."

Back at the apartment, they ordered pizza for dinner becoming a pattern, but patterns were comfortable and settled in for the evening.

Somewhere around nine, curled up together on the couch, Luca Jr. sprawled across both their laps, Noel said, "Tomorrow we should actually prepare for school. Organize our schedules, make sure we have everything we need."

"Tomorrow," Luca agreed. "But not tonight."

"Not tonight," Noel confirmed.

They stayed there until late, eventually migrating to bed, both of them tired in the best way—the exhaustion that came from a day well spent doing nothing important.

In the darkness, Luca whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too," Noel replied, pulling him closer.

"Even when I make you take breaks from work?"

"Especially then."

"Even when—"

"Luca. I love you. All of you. All the time. Stop fishing for reassurance."

"Can’t help it."

"I know." Noel kissed his forehead. "Sleep. Tomorrow we’ll stress about school. Tonight, just sleep."

And wrapped in each other, in the quiet safety of home, they did.