Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 322: A Life We’re Building

Tuesday arrived without ceremony.

No dramatic shift. No big moment.

Just the soft insistence of morning light and the quiet routine of two people learning how to live beside each other in real time.

Luca woke first again, blinking slowly at the ceiling like he was negotiating with the day.

Noel was warm against him, one arm thrown carelessly across Luca’s chest, hair mussed from sleep, breathing slow and even.

Luca didn’t move.

He stayed there, breathing him in, fingers resting lightly at Noel’s waist.

The city was already awake outside—distant horns, the faint rumble of traffic—but in here, the world was still small. Still theirs.

Noel stirred after a while, voice rough with sleep. "You’re staring."

"I’m existing," Luca murmured.

"You’re avoiding."

"I’m appreciating."

Noel’s mouth curved, eyes still half-closed. "Same thing."

Luca kissed his shoulder, unhurried. "Tuesday is rude."

"It’s just a day."

"It’s a day that wants me to leave."

Noel shifted closer for a second, then sighed like someone who understood. His fingers traced a lazy pattern on Luca’s chest before he pulled back.

"Get up," he said gently. "You’ll survive."

Luca made a sound of protest anyway, but he moved. Slowly. Like it cost him something.

They brushed their teeth side by side again, shoulders bumping, Noel tying his hair back while Luca adjusted his cufflinks with sleepy precision.

The morning light caught the edge of the mirror, turning everything soft gold.

Luca glanced over, watching Noel’s reflection—focused, calm, beautiful in that unassuming way that always caught him off guard.

"What?" Noel asked without looking.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

Luca smiled into the mirror. "Just looking."

Noel’s eyes flicked to his, warm and knowing. "You’re going to be late."

"Worth it."

In the kitchen, breakfast was simple. Toast. Coffee. Fruit.

Noel moved around with quiet efficiency, barefoot on the cool tile, the smell of coffee filling the space between them.

Luca leaned against the counter watching him like he was the only calm part of the world.

"You’re going to spoil me," Luca said.

Noel didn’t look up. "Eat."

"Yes, sir."

Noel’s eyes flicked up, amused. "Don’t start."

Luca smiled into his coffee.

They ate without rushing. The kind of morning that didn’t need filling. Just shared.

The light shifted gradually, painting the kitchen walls in softer shades, and for a moment, Luca let himself just be here—present, unhurried, content.

At the door, Luca slipped on his coat, then paused.

Noel stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely, expression soft.

Luca stepped in, kissed him once—brief, warm, familiar.

"I’ll be home."

"I know," Noel murmured.

Luca’s thumb brushed Noel’s jaw like he couldn’t help himself. "Text me."

Noel smiled. "Go."

Luca left.

And Tuesday moved forward.

Work. Hours. The steady adulthood of it all.

Noel spent the day finishing loose ends, answering emails, reading through notes, letting the quiet of the apartment hold him.

He made lunch—leftover pasta reheated with care. Ate it standing by the window, watching the city breathe.

There was something meditative about it, the way life moved in patterns down below.

Luca Jr. appeared at some point, winding between his legs until Noel bent down to scratch behind his ears.

"Just you and me today," Noel murmured.

The cat purred, unbothered by solitude.

By late afternoon, Noel had cycled through three video calls, two compliance reviews, and one tense negotiation over shipping timelines.

His laptop stayed open on the desk, cursor blinking patiently, but his mind had started to drift.

He glanced at his phone.

No messages yet.

He didn’t send one either.

Luca would come home when he came home.

That was enough.

By evening, Luca came back tired in the shoulders, softer in the eyes.

He dropped his bag by the door, shrugged off his coat, and found Noel in the kitchen already halfway through dinner prep.

"You started without me," Luca said, leaning in the doorway.

Noel glanced back. "You’re late."

"Meetings ran long."

"They always do."

Luca stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Noel from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. "Smells good."

"It’s just chicken."

"It’s you cooking it."

Noel’s smile was small. "Flattery won’t get you out of setting the table."

Luca pressed a kiss to his neck. "Worth a try."

Dinner was simple again. Conversation easy. A hand on a knee under the table. A kiss pressed to Noel’s temple while he washed dishes.

Then sleep.

No fireworks.

Just life.

Wednesday came sharper.

The alarm meant something today.

Noel opened his eyes and stayed still for a moment, letting the weight of the morning settle.

Luca’s arm was around him, heavy and warm.

Noel turned his head slightly. "It’s Wednesday."

Luca’s voice was muffled against the pillow. "Don’t say that."

Noel smiled into the sheets. "I have work."

Luca tightened his hold like that could change time. "You just got back."

"I know."

Silence for a beat.

Then Luca, quieter: "I like having you here."

Noel turned carefully, facing him now. His expression wasn’t teasing. Just honest.

"I’ll come back."

Luca’s eyes held his. "You better."

Noel leaned in, kissed him slow. Not dramatic. Just steady reassurance.

"I will."

They got up together.

The apartment filled with movement—showers, steam, the scent of soap, the sound of drawers opening. It felt different this morning.

Not rushed, but purposeful. Like they were both stepping back into the world again.

Noel buttoned his shirt in the mirror while Luca stood behind him, fixing his own tie.

"You’re going to be late," Noel said.

"I’m always on time."

Noel glanced at him. "Because you’re unbearable."

Luca’s mouth curved. "Because I’m excellent."

Breakfast was quicker today. Two mugs. A shared plate.

Noel checked his phone, Luca scanned his schedule, both of them slipping into the rhythm of responsibility.

At the entrance downstairs, the world waited.

The lobby was cool and bright. Luca’s driver stood outside, engine idling.

Noel adjusted his bag strap, exhaling softly.

Luca looked at him, gaze lingering.

"This is... weird," Luca admitted.

"It’s normal," Noel replied.

"It’s you leaving."

Noel’s expression softened. He stepped closer, voice low so the morning couldn’t steal it.

"It’s just Wednesday. Not goodbye."

Luca nodded once, like he needed the reminder.

Then he leaned in, kissed Noel properly this time. Sweet. Certain.

When they pulled apart, Noel’s eyes were warm.

"Go be important," he murmured.

Luca’s thumb brushed his cheek. "Go be brilliant."

Noel’s smile was small but real.

They separated at the steps.

Luca into the car, jacket crisp, posture settling into executive calm.

Noel walking down the sidewalk, blending into the city’s motion again, back into his own life.

Two directions. Same thread.

And even as Luca’s car pulled away, even as Noel disappeared into the morning crowd, the day didn’t feel like distance.

It felt like adulthood. Like building something real.

And coming back to each other at the end of it.

Noel’s pace was unhurried, but purposeful.

The city moved around him in layers—morning traffic, people with coffee cups, the hum of buses pulling up to curbs.

He blended into it easily, like someone who belonged anywhere he stood.

His phone vibrated once.

A short message.

Luca: Don’t let anyone annoy you today.

Noel’s mouth curved as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

As if that was a real concern.

He reached the building just as the lobby clock ticked past eight.

Glass, steel, quiet money.

Not Luca’s company—different name, different floors, different rhythm—but the same corporate pulse. The kind of place where decisions traveled faster than voices.

Security nodded at him. "Morning, Mr. Avery."

"Morning."

The elevator ride up was silent except for the soft chime of numbers climbing.

Noel watched his reflection in the polished metal.

Tailored coat. Calm expression.

The version of him the world recognized.

By the time the doors opened, he was already switched on.

The office floor was bright with early activity. People moved with tablets in hand, conversations clipped and efficient.

"Noel!"

A familiar voice cut through.

Sam—one of the strategy associates—approached with a grin. "Welcome back. Singapore finally let you go?"

Noel’s smile was polite, warm. "Barely."

Sam fell into step beside him. "You’ve got three meetings stacked. And the export compliance team is panicking."

Noel sighed lightly. "So nothing’s changed."

"Not even slightly."

They reached his office.

It wasn’t large in a flashy way, but it was clean, deliberate—glass walls, a wide desk, a world map pinned with color-coded markers. Ports. Routes. Trade corridors.

Noel’s world, drawn in lines.

A nameplate sat neatly at the edge:

NOEL AVERY

Senior International Trade & Strategy Manager

He set his bag down, slid his coat off, and opened his laptop.

The screen filled instantly.

Overnight emails. Singapore time. Europe time. Bangkok time.

Trade never slept.

Sam hovered at the doorway. "The Jakarta shipment—customs is holding it again."

Noel’s fingers were already moving. "Send me the documentation."

"They want revised certificates."

"They always want revised certificates." Noel’s voice stayed calm, but there was steel underneath. "Loop legal in. And tell compliance to stop emailing me in all caps."

Sam laughed. "Yes, boss."

Noel’s phone buzzed again.

This time, a calendar reminder.

10:00 AM — Regional Strategy Review

Of course.

He stood, adjusted his cuff, and stepped out.

The meeting room was already half full when he entered.

People straightened instinctively.

Not because Noel demanded it. Because he carried that quiet authority—the kind that didn’t need volume.

"Morning," he greeted, taking his seat.

A director across the table nodded. "Good to have you back in person, Noel."

"Good to be back," Noel replied smoothly. "Let’s make it worth the flight."

The presentation began.

Charts. Projections. Shipping costs rising like tides.

One manager cleared his throat nervously. "Our Southeast Asia margins are tightening. Singapore recommended—"

Noel lifted a hand slightly. Not rude. Just enough.

"Singapore recommended efficiency," he corrected gently. "Not desperation."

Silence.

Then attention sharpened.

Noel leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table.

"International trade is not guesswork," he continued, voice even. "It’s relationships, timing, and leverage. We don’t rush contracts because we’re uncomfortable with pressure. We outthink the pressure."

Pens moved. Eyes stayed fixed.

He didn’t dominate the room. He steered it.

When the meeting ended, people filed out quieter than they entered.

Sam caught up with him again. "You’re terrifying when you’re calm."

Noel glanced sideways. "That’s just competence."

Sam grinned. "Sure."

Back in his office, Noel finally sat.

For a moment, the glass walls reflected the life he lived now.

Singapore airports. Boardrooms. Cities that changed every month.

And somehow—

A kitchen filled with toast. A cat weaving around ankles. Luca’s arm heavy around his waist.

His phone buzzed again.

This time, he answered.

Noel: First morning back. Nobody collapsed without me.

A reply came almost instantly.

Luca: Proud of you. Come home later.

Noel’s gaze softened.

He typed back:

Noel: Always.

Then he set the phone down, straightened his posture, and turned back to the screen.

The world wanted his attention.

He gave it.

But the warmth of home stayed with him anyway.