Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 288: Jealousy Looks Good on You

Saturday morning arrived with actual sunlight—the kind that suggested spring had finally decided to commit, warming the apartment enough that Luca kicked off the covers before fully waking.

He opened his eyes to find Noel already awake, lying on his side, watching him with that quiet attention that still made Luca’s stomach flip even after months together.

"Morning," Luca said, voice still rough.

"Morning. You talk in your sleep."

"I do not."

"You do. Something about Noel cat stealing my shoes."

"That sounds accurate. He does steal my shoes."

"He’s a cat. He doesn’t wear shoes." Noel said.

"He’s vindictive. He hides them on purpose."

Noel smiled, reaching over to brush hair from Luca’s forehead. "We should get up. Alex’s thing is at two but we should eat first."

"Okay Luca said, then "But five more minutes."

"You always say that."

"Because I always mean it."

But they both got up anyway, the day’s obligation pulling them from comfortable laziness.

Shower first—Noel while Luca made coffee, then switching, the bathroom still steamy and warm when Luca stepped in, smelling nice.

When he emerged, towel around his waist, Noel was already dressed—dark jeans, a gray henley that fit well, looking put-together without trying.

Luca moved to their shared closet, considering options.

Gallery presentation. Art students. He should make an effort.

He pulled out black jeans the ones that fit particularly well—and a deep blue button-down he usually saved for presentations, rolling the sleeves to his elbows.

"That’s fancy for a Saturday," Noel observed from where he sat on the bed.

"It’s a presentation. Should look presentable."

"You look very presentable."

Something in his tone made Luca turn around. "What?"

"Nothing."

"That’s not your nothing voice. That’s your something voice."

Noel stood, moving closer, expression doing something complicated. "You look really good."

"Thank you?"

"Too good. Other people are going to notice."

"That’s generally how being in public works. People see you."

"I don’t like it." Noel said firmly.

Luca laughed. "You don’t like people seeing me?"

"Not when you look like that." Noel’s hands settled on his waist, possessive but not aggressive. "Maybe you should change."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Partially."

"You’re jealous."

"I’m... aware of how attractive you are. And protective of that information."

"Protective of information. Very romantic."

"You know what I mean."

Luca stepped closer, closing what little distance remained between them. "Are you saying I should only dress like this when it’s just us?"

"Yes."

"That’s ridiculous."

"That’s honest."

"You can’t just keep me hidden away because you don’t want other people to appreciate how I look."

"I can’t," Noel agreed. "But I want to."

Something about the admission the raw honesty of it made Luca’s breath catch.

"You’re being possessive," he said, but his voice lacked any real protest.

"I know."

"It’s kind of hot."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. In a... you care enough to be jealous way. Not in a controlling way."

"There’s a difference."

"Big difference."

Noel pulled him closer, kissing him with more intensity than the moment strictly required, like he was proving something—to himself, to Luca, to the world that wouldn’t see this private claiming.

When they broke apart, both slightly breathless, Luca said, "Still wearing this."

"I know."

"But I appreciate the jealousy."

"Good."

A knock on the door interrupted whatever might have happened next—sharp, familiar, definitely George.

"That’s our cue," Luca said, stepping back to check his reflection one more time.

Noel opened the door to find George looking put-together but casual, hands in his jacket pockets.

"Morning. Ready to support artistic endeavors?"

"As ready as we’ll ever be," Luca said, grabbing his own jacket.

They headed out together, the three of them falling into easy rhythm walking toward campus.

"How’s Alex feeling?" George asked.

"Terrified, probably," Noel said. "Portfolio review is intense."

"At least it’s not just him. Whole department presenting takes pressure off."

"Or adds to it. Comparison is brutal."

"Optimistic as always."

The gallery space was in the arts building’s main hall—high ceilings, excellent natural light, white walls that made everything on display pop with color and contrast.

Already crowded when they arrived, students and faculty and families moving between installations, voices creating a low hum of appreciation and critique.

Alex spotted them immediately, looking stressed but energized, wearing what was clearly his "artistic presentation" outfit—all black, slightly more polished than his usual paint-stained chaos.

"You came!" He said. "Okay. My stuff is in the back corner. Photography series. Please be honest but not brutal."

"We’ll be brutally honest," George said.

"That’s what I’m afraid of."

They followed him through the crowd, passing installations of varying ambition and execution paintings, sculptures, digital media, the collective output of students who’d spent a semester pouring themselves into creative work.

Alex’s section was impressive a photography series exploring urban isolation, each image capturing moments of solitude in crowded spaces.

People alone in subway cars. Single figures in busy intersections. The contrast of loneliness amid constant human presence.

"These are really good," Noel said, studying a particularly striking image of someone reading on a park bench, surrounded by blur of movement.

"You think?"

"I don’t say things I don’t mean."

"These are genuinely excellent," George agreed. "The composition is strong. Message is clear without being heavy-handed."

They spent fifteen minutes examining his work, Alex gradually relaxing as genuine appreciation replaced nervous anxiety.

"Lina’s collection is in the main gallery," he mentioned eventually. "Design showcase. You should check it out."

"We will," Luca said.

They moved through the space, stopping at various installations, the gallery becoming more crowded as afternoon progressed.

Emily found them near a sculpture installation—metal and glass creating something that was either profound or pretentious depending on interpretation.

"Hey. Have you seen Alex’s work?"

"Just came from there," George said. "It’s impressive."

"I haven’t seen Lina’s yet though. Design showcase is this way."

She led them to the main gallery—larger space, better lighting, where fashion and textile design students displayed their semester projects.

Lina’s collection occupied a prominent corner—six pieces ranging from everyday wear to haute couture, each one showcasing her particular aesthetic of blending traditional design with unexpected modern elements.

"Wow," Luca said, genuinely impressed.

The collection was stunning—rich colors, interesting textures, the kind of work that felt both wearable and artistic.

Emily moved closer, examining a particular jacket with intense focus. "The construction on this is incredible. See how she’s layered the fabric? That’s a technique from traditional Japanese design but modernized."

"Actually," Alex said, appearing beside them, "that’s Korean bojagi patchwork. She told me about it—inspired by her grandmother’s quilts."

"I know it’s bojagi," Emily said, tone cooling slightly. "I was simplifying for context."

"Simplifying incorrectly though. The technique matters."

"I understand the technique."

"Do you? Because you just called it Japanese when it’s specifically Korean."

"That was a slip. Obviously I know the difference."

"Obviously."

The word carried weight—skepticism, maybe, or challenge.

"I know her work," Emily said, voice gaining edge. "I supported her through this entire semester. I know what influences she draws from."

"You supported her when you were together. Past tense." Alex crossed his arms. "I’ve been working with her weekly. Collaborating. Understanding her creative process currently."

"Collaboration isn’t the same as relationship."

"Neither is being broken up."

George cleared his throat. "Hey. Maybe we should—"

"She explained every piece to me," Emily continued, ignoring George. "The inspiration, the execution, what she was trying to communicate. I understand her vision."

"Understanding vision isn’t the same as understanding the person."

"And you think you understand the person?" Emily asked.

"Better than someone who let her go because work was more important."

The words landed sharp, the gallery noise seeming to fade around them.

Emily went very still. "That’s not fair."

"But it’s accurate."

"Alex—" Noel started.

"I didn’t let her go," Emily said, voice tight. "She made a choice. I made a choice. Sometimes caring about someone means recognizing when you’re not what they need."

"Or recognizing too late."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Guys," George said more firmly. "People are staring."

They were. Several nearby viewers had noticed the tension, conversations pausing to observe the drama.

"Let’s just look at the art," Luca suggested. "That’s why we’re here."

Emily and Alex both seemed to register their audience simultaneously, stepping back from whatever edge they’d been approaching.

"Right," Emily said, voice carefully controlled. "The art."

"The art," Alex echoed, equally measured.

They moved through the collection with forced civility, both making comments about technique and vision, neither willing to fully back down but both aware enough to avoid escalation.

Luca exchanged glances with Noel and George—all three of them recognizing the complicated dynamics at play but smart enough not to address them publicly.

Eventually Emily excused herself—something about needing air, disappearing toward the exit with George following after a moment.

Alex ran his hand through his hair. "That was..."

"Tense," Noel finished.

"Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t have—she just acts like she still has ownership of Lina’s story and it’s not her place anymore."

"Maybe not," Luca said carefully. "But you both clearly care about her. That complicates things."

"I know. I just..." Alex looked at Lina’s collection again. "It’s complicated."

"Most things worth caring about are."

They stayed another hour, moving through the gallery, supporting other students’ work, carefully avoiding wherever Emily had gone.

Walking home later, Noel said, "That was uncomfortable."

"Very uncomfortable," Luca agreed. "Think they’ll sort it out?"

"Eventually. Or they won’t. Either way, not our problem to solve."

"When did you become so hands-off?"

"When I realized everyone has to figure out their own mess. We can support but we can’t fix."

"Wise."

"Exhausted. There’s a difference."

"Both true."

Back at the apartment, they collapsed on the couch, the day’s social obligation finally complete.

"Your shirt still looks good," Noel observed.

"Still jealous?"

"Still possessive."

"I can live with that."

"Good. Because I’m not planning to change."

Luca shifted closer, letting Noel pull him in, both of them content to exist in their small space away from gallery drama and complicated feelings and everything that existed outside their door.

Sometimes the best part of going out was coming home.