Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 274: In Your Arms, Home Feels Right

Sunday morning arrived soft and quiet, the kind of morning that felt stolen from time—no obligations, no alarms, just the gentle awareness of waking naturally.

Luca opened his eyes to find Noel’s side of the bed empty, sheets cool to the touch.

Kitchen sounds drifted through the apartment—cabinet doors opening, the quiet clink of dishes, water running.

He got up, padding barefoot across the floor, following the smell of something cooking.

Noel stood at the stove, still in his sleep clothes—gray sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, focused on whatever was in the pan.

Luca moved behind him, wrapping arms around his waist, chin hooking over his shoulder.

"Morning," he mumbled against Noel’s neck.

"Morning. You’re up early."

"Bed was empty."

"I was making breakfast."

"I can see that."

Noel continued cooking—scrambled eggs, from what Luca could tell, plus something that smelled like bacon—while Luca stayed attached, arms locked around his waist.

"You’re in my way," Noel said, but there was no heat in it.

"I’m being affectionate."

"You’re being clingy."

"Same thing."

"Not remotely the same thing."

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

"Sunday is for us," Luca said quietly. "No school tomorrow stuff. No planning ahead. Just us."

"We still have to eat."

"Then cook faster."

"I’m cooking at exactly the appropriate speed."

Luca smiled against his shoulder. "You’re very particular about cooking speed."

"I’m thorough about cooking speed."

"Same—"

"Don’t."

They stayed like that while Noel finished—eggs perfectly scrambled, bacon crispy but not burned, toast emerging from the toaster at exactly the right moment.

"Plates," Noel said.

"Can’t reach them like this."

"Then let go."

"Don’t want to."

Noel sighed but it was fond, reaching up himself to grab plates while Luca maintained his grip.

"You’re impossible," Noel said.

"You love me anyway."

"Unfortunately."

They ate at the small table, legs tangled underneath, the morning stretching out lazy and golden.

"What do you want to do today?" Noel asked, taking a bite of toast.

"This. Nothing. Everything. I don’t know."

"Very decisive."

"It’s Sunday. I’m not required to be decisive."

Noel was quiet for a moment, then said, "We should work out."

Luca looked up. "Sorry, what?"

"Exercise. We haven’t been to the gym since before internship."

"There’s a reason for that. The gym is terrible."

"The gym is healthy."

"The gym is full of people who enjoy suffering."

"We’re getting soft."

"I’m perfectly firm, thank you." Luca flexed his arm. "See? Muscle."

Noel reached over, squeezing his bicep with clinical assessment. "Minimal."

"Rude."

"Honest."

"Same thing."

"Definitely not the same thing." But Noel was smiling. "Come on. Just an hour. We’ll feel better."

Luca groaned dramatically but knew he’d already lost. "Fine. But you owe me."

"Owe you what?"

"Haven’t decided yet. I’ll collect later."

"That’s not how debts work."

"That’s exactly how my debts work."

After breakfast, after Luca took an unnecessarily long shower in protest, they changed into workout clothes that felt foreign after months of disuse.

The campus gym was a ten-minute walk, a modern building that always smelled vaguely of rubber and determination.

Sunday morning meant it was relatively empty—a few dedicated students, some faculty members, enough space to not feel crowded.

They claimed a section near the windows, starting with stretches because Noel insisted and Luca’s body immediately reminded him why stretching was necessary.

"I hate this already," Luca said, reaching for his toes.

"We haven’t even started."

"Preemptive hatred."

"You’re very dramatic about exercise."

"I’m appropriately dramatic about exercise."

They moved through a routine—weights, some cardio, Noel correcting Luca’s form with the patience of someone who’d done this before.

"Straighten your back."

"It is straight."

"It’s curved."

"That’s just my natural posture."

"Your natural posture is wrong."

"How can a posture be wrong?"

"Like that. That’s how."

Despite his complaints, Luca found himself settling into it—the rhythm of movement, the satisfaction of effort, Noel beside him making everything more bearable.

Around the forty-minute mark, both of them sweating and tired, Luca caught sight of himself in the mirror.

"Okay," he admitted. "I can see why people do this."

"Because it’s healthy?"

"Because I look good doing it."

Noel glanced over, lips quirking. "You do look good."

"Yeah?"

"Don’t fish for compliments."

"Not fishing. Confirming."

"You look good. Even sweaty and complaining."

"Especially sweaty and complaining."

"I didn’t say especially."

"But you meant it."

They finished their hour, both exhausted but in that good way, muscles pleasantly sore, endorphins making everything feel slightly better.

Walking home, Luca said, "We should do that more often."

"Really?"

"Don’t sound so surprised."

"You literally complained the entire time."

"That’s just my process. Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it."

Back at the apartment, they both headed straight for the shower—together, because separate felt wasteful and also Luca wasn’t ready to let go of the "Sunday is for us" mandate.

The afternoon dissolved into comfortable nothing—both of them on the couch, Luca with his laptop pretending to do reading, Noel actually doing reading, the cat supervising from the armrest.

Around four, Luca’s phone buzzed.

Emily: project meeting tomorrow after class?

Luca: what time

Emily: 3?

George: works for me

Luca: yeah ok

He showed Noel the messages. "Group project starting to ramp up."

"Already?"

"Emily doesn’t believe in slow starts."

"That tracks."

They ordered Chinese food for dinner, ate it while watching something mindless on TV, eventually ending up in bed early because tomorrow meant back to routine.

"Good Sunday" Noel said in the darkness.

"Really good Sunday."

"Even the gym?"

"Even the gym." Luca shifted closer. "You were right. We should do that regularly." 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"Get that in writing."

"Don’t push your luck."

Noel’s laugh was quiet, warm against his hair. "Sleep. Monday comes early."

"Monday always comes early."

"Unfortunately true."

They drifted off, Sunday complete, the week ahead waiting.

Monday morning arrived exactly as predicted—too early, too insistent, the alarm cutting through sleep like violence.

"Why do we do this?" Luca groaned.

"Because education is important."

"Education is overrated."

"You’re very philosophical when you’re tired."

"I’m very honest when I’m tired."

They dragged themselves through the morning routine, both moving slower than necessary, neither quite ready to surrender the weekend.

Walking to campus, the city had that Monday energy—everyone slightly reluctant, coffee shops doing aggressive business, the collective resignation of a new week beginning.

"What’s your day look like?" Noel asked.

"Operations at nine, then free until Strategic Management at eleven. Meeting with Emily and George after that."

"I have back-to-back classes. Won’t be free until three."

"That’s terrible."

"That’s final semester."

They separated at their usual point, Noel heading toward International Business while Luca continued to his own building.

Operations Management was exactly as thrilling as expected—Professor Martinez diving deep into supply chain logistics, everyone taking notes with varying degrees of comprehension.

The two-hour break between classes Luca spent at the library, actually making progress on reading for once, texting Noel periodically with complaints about theoretical frameworks.

Luca: why is everything so theoretical

Noel:because it’s school

Luca: helpful

Noel:accurate

Luca:same thing

Noel: definitely not the same thing

Strategic Management was more engaging—Professor Chen leading a discussion about corporate strategy that actually felt relevant, real-world examples making theory more digestible.

Emily took notes with her usual intensity, George contributed thoughtful comments that showed he’d actually done the reading, and Luca managed to stay engaged despite the post-lunch energy dip.

After class, they claimed their usual study room, spreading out materials for the project.

"Okay," Emily said, pulling up a shared document. "George got us the financial reports. I’ve started the industry analysis. Luca, you’re on competitive positioning."

"Why am I on competitive positioning?"

"Because you’re good at seeing angles. Strategic thinking."

"When did I become good at strategic thinking?"

"Internship," George said. "You’re more focused now. Less scattered."

"I’m not sure that’s a compliment."

"It’s definitely a compliment."

They worked for two hours, falling into a productive rhythm—Emily organizing, George providing data, Luca analyzing patterns none of them had noticed.

"This is actually coming together," Emily said around five, reviewing their progress. "We’re ahead of schedule."

"That’s because you’re aggressively organized," Luca pointed out.

"I’m appropriately organized."

"You color-code your calendar."

"Everyone should color-code their calendar."

"Normal people don’t color-code their calendar."

"Then normal people are disorganized."

George laughed. "I missed this. You two arguing about organization."

"We’re not arguing," Emily said. "We’re discussing."

"Same thing," Luca said.

"Definitely not—" Emily stopped. "You did that on purpose."

"Maybe."

They packed up, Emily heading to an evening seminar, George catching the train home, Luca walking back alone.

The campus was quieter in early evening—students in class or at dinner, the energy different from daytime chaos.

He found Noel in the library where he’d said he’d be, third floor study carrel, surrounded by books about international trade law.

"Hey," Luca said softly.

Noel looked up, immediate softness in his expression. "Hey. Done with your meeting?"

"Yeah. Made good progress apparently. Emily’s pleased, which is basically a miracle."

"That is impressive." Noel closed his laptop. "I’m done here. Want to head home?"

"Please."

They walked through the darkening campus, both tired but satisfied, the kind of tired that came from a productive day.

"How was your afternoon?" Luca asked.

"Long. Three hours of classes straight. My brain is mush."

"Poor baby."

"Don’t mock my suffering."

"I’m not mocking. I’m sympathizing."

"You’re definitely mocking."

"Little bit of both."

Back at the apartment, they fell into their evening routine—changing clothes, making simple dinner, settling on the couch with laptops because homework never really ended.

Around nine, Luca set his computer aside. "I’m done. Can’t read another word."

"I still have fifty pages."

"That sounds terrible."

"It is terrible."

"Want help?"

"Can you read international trade law?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then no, you can’t help."

"I can provide moral support."

"How?"

Luca shifted, lying down with his head in Noel’s lap. "Like this. Moral support through proximity."

"That’s not how moral support works."

"That’s exactly how moral support works."

But Noel’s free hand moved to Luca’s hair, fingers threading through automatically, and they stayed like that—Noel reading, Luca existing as moral support, the apartment quiet around them.

Eventually Noel finished, closing his laptop with relief.

"Done?" Luca asked, eyes closed.

"Finally."

"Bed?"

"Bed."

They went through their nighttime routine, both exhausted, ready for sleep.

In bed, Luca said, "One week down. How many to go?"

"Fourteen, I think. Plus finals."

"Don’t remind me about finals."

"Someone has to think ahead."

"That’s what I have you for."

"To think ahead?"

"Among other things."

Noel pulled him closer. "Sleep. Tomorrow’s Tuesday."

"What’s special about Tuesday?"

"Nothing. That’s the point. Just another day."

"Just another day," Luca echoed.

And wrapped in each other, exhausted but content, they drifted toward sleep.

The semester continuing.

The rhythm established.

Together.

Always together.

Perfect.