Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 96: How Sunday Feels

The café wasn’t busy yet — just a few tables occupied by sleepy students and the soft clink of ceramic cups.

The air smelled like roasted beans, melted cinnamon, and freshly baked pastries.

Jazz hummed low in the background, like the place knew it was Sunday and refused to raise its voice.

Noel held the door open, the sleeves of his oversized gray hoodie hanging past his knuckles.

Luca strolled in behind him in a worn black tee, hair still slightly damp from the quick shower, silver strands catching the sunlight like moonlight trapped in morning.

They didn’t have to say a word — the barista glanced up and gave them a knowing smile.

"Your usual?" she asked Noel.

He nodded, then hesitated. "And... he’ll have the same."

Luca leaned on the counter, amused. "Matching orders now?"

Noel glanced at him. "I wasn’t sure what you wanted."

"So you assumed I’d copy you?" Luca said, teasing.

"You usually do," Noel said dryly, pulling his sleeve down to cover his faint blush.

Luca smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "Fine. But I want a cinnamon roll too."

Noel rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."

They moved to the corner booth — their booth now — tucked under the window where golden sunlight spilled in like warm syrup.

Noel slid in first, settling into the cushions, while Luca sat across from him, stretching his legs until their knees bumped.

The drinks arrived soon after — hot, milky, with tiny foam hearts drawn lazily on top.

Noel stared down at his cup for a moment too long.

Luca noticed. "You are blushing."

"I’m not."

"You’re turning pink over a cup of milk and coffee art," Luca said, grinning.

Noel lifted his cup. "I’m turning pink because it’s hot in here."

"Mmhm." Luca took a sip of his drink, eyes twinkling. "This is nice."

Noel looked up. "What is?"

Luca shrugged, a rare softness settling into his expression. "This. A Sunday morning with you."

Noel’s gaze lingered on him. Then, quiet: "Yeah. It is."

Luca leaned forward, chin resting on his palm. "Wanna do this every Sunday?"

"Come here? Sure."

"No." Luca’s voice lowered a little. "I meant this. Wake up together. Walk to a café. Laugh about stupid things. Just... be with you."

Noel’s chest tightened in the best way.

"I’d like that," he said softly. "Every Sunday. Every day, if you want."

Luca smiled — slow, real — and reached across the table, his fingers brushing Noel’s.

And there it was again: that quiet peace that felt like home.

They lingered in the booth long after their cups had cooled.

Luca had finished his cinnamon roll, lazily picking at the last flakes of pastry on the plate.

Noel sat across from him, eyes still steady on his half-drunk coffee, thumb running idly along the rim of the cup.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Not because there was nothing to say—but because there was nothing they needed to rush.

Luca glanced up. "You’re thinking something."

Noel didn’t deny it. "Just... about how fast this all happened."

Luca leaned back a little. "Regretting it?"

Noel looked at him, serious. "Not for a second."

Luca nodded, gaze softening. "Me neither."

Noel rested his arms on the table, fingers laced together. "You ever think... maybe this was supposed to happen?"

Luca raised an eyebrow. "Fate?"

"I don’t know." Noel gave a small shrug. "Of all the people... all the rooms... it was you. And somehow, that feels right."

Luca smiled, barely. "Guess the universe knows I snore like hell."

Noel huffed a laugh. "You really do."

"I warned you."

They both smiled—gentle, easy.

Luca tilted his head. "Seriously though... I’m glad it’s you. Even when it was confusing. Even when I didn’t know what you felt. You... you made me feel like I wasn’t some mess to fix."

Noel looked at him then, quietly. "Because you’re not. You’re not something broken, Luca. You’re just... human."

The silence settled again—comfortable, intimate.

Luca rubbed his thumb over the table edge. "I think this is the first time I’ve been in something that feels like... rest."

Noel’s voice was soft. "Yeah. Me too."

A moment passed.

Then Luca said, "Come on. Let’s head back. Before I say something even more sentimental and you start crying."

"I’m not the one who gets emotional at coffee art."

Luca snorted. "Okay, I cried once. That heart foam was really well-drawn."

Noel stood, smiling despite himself. "Let’s go, idiot."

They grabbed their phones, left the plates behind, and stepped back into the day—no rush, no pressure. Just them.

The door clicked open.

Luca stepped in first, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly tousled from the breeze. He kicked his shoes off halfway into the room, aiming for the corner but missing.

Noel followed behind, tossing the café’s paper bag into the small bin near the desk. "Your aim’s getting worse."

"I was distracted," Luca said, already collapsing onto the bed like he hadn’t just had caffeine and sugar ten minutes ago.

Noel set his phone down on the desk, glanced over his shoulder. "By what?"

"You." Luca said it so casually, it didn’t land until a beat later.

Noel froze mid-motion. "You can’t just say things like that."

"Why not?" Luca grinned lazily, arms folded behind his head. "You already like me."

Noel rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

"I’m doing laundry later," he said, pretending to change the subject.

Luca groaned. "Why? It’s Sunday. We’re supposed to rest and rot."

"Because your half of the room is a fabric apocalypse," Noel said, nudging a pair of socks out from under the bed with his foot. "And I like clean sheets."

Luca patted the spot beside him. "We could start with a nap. You and your clean sheets can wait."

Noel hesitated.

Then he walked over and sat beside him, leaning back slowly until he was lying shoulder to shoulder with Luca.

They stared at the ceiling for a bit. Nothing dramatic. Just... quiet. Easy.

"I like this," Noel murmured.

Luca turned his head, cheek brushing against Noel’s hair. "Me too."

A long breath passed between them.

Then Luca whispered, "I love you, you know."

Noel didn’t respond right away.

He turned, just slightly—just enough to meet Luca’s eyes.

Noel blinked once—like the words had touched something too deep to answer right away. Then quietly, "I do now."

Their fingers found each other in the space between them.

No fireworks. No music swell.

Just stillness.

And a kind of peace they hadn’t known before.

The sky was a pale blue, the kind that came after a morning —soft, almost washed out.

Clotheslines stretched across the rooftop in lazy rows, clipped with shirts, towels, and hoodies swaying gently in the breeze.

Noel stood barefoot on the warm concrete, sleeves rolled up, silently pinning a gray hoodie beside a pair of faded jeans.

His fingers worked with quiet precision, eyes occasionally squinting against the sunlight.

Behind him, Luca leaned against the railing, phone in hand—not helping, not even pretending to. He was too busy taking pictures.

Click. Another angle.

Click. He zoomed in slightly, catching the curve of Noel’s jaw, the light threading through his hair.

"You’re doing great, by the way," Luca said finally.

Noel didn’t turn. "Wow. The support."

"No, really. You’ve got excellent pinning form. Very... cinematic."

Noel clipped another T-shirt, then looked over his shoulder. "Are you seriously taking photos of me doing laundry?"

"Yep," Luca said without guilt. "This is peak boyfriend material. Raw, domestic, humble. Tumblr would eat it up."

Noel shook his head, a half-smile playing at his lips. "You’re impossible."

Luca stepped closer, still recording little snippets now—shadows on the clothesline, Noel’s hand reaching for a clothespin, the way the sun made his skin glow.

"Why do you like this so much?" Noel asked after a pause, half teasing, half curious.

Luca lowered the phone a little. "Because it’s real. It’s you, relaxed. I don’t know... something about it makes me feel lucky."

Noel didn’t answer right away. He picked up the last damp towel and clipped it neatly, then turned to face him.

"Come here," he said softly.

Luca moved closer, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Noel reached out and gently tugged the collar of his shirt. "Now you help."

Luca smirked. "Bossy."

"Efficient."

They worked side by side for a few quiet minutes—pinning, adjusting, shoulders brushing. Nothing elaborate. Just a rhythm between them, steady and light.

At one point, Luca reached across to clip a shirt, but fumbled and dropped the clothespin. It bounced once, then skidded across the rooftop.

"Smooth," Noel said.

Luca gave a dramatic sigh. "I’m a mess."

Noel chuckled. "And somehow, you make the chaos feel like home."

Luca’s eyes softened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They stood there, shirts swaying above their heads, sun-warm concrete beneath their feet, and for a moment, the whole world narrowed to just the two of them.

Luca looked up at him—eyes soft, not saying anything, but saying enough.

Noel turned, met his gaze for a beat. Then gave a small nod toward the basket of damp clothes at Luca’s feet. "You gonna help or just keep documenting the breeze?"

Luca stood, brushing his palms on his jeans. "Alright, alright. Let it be known_I hereby join the great Sunday laundry movement."

Noel shook his head, smiling under his breath, already walking back to the basket.

And for a while, there was only the soft clatter of clothespins,the rustle of drying cotton, two boys in quiet sync, and a Sunday sun that seemed to slow time just for them."

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