Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 191: Subtitles & Off-Key Songs

Luca scraped the last bit of omelette from the plate, sighing like he’d just completed a heroic quest. "And thus ends the saga of the Great Breakfast."

He pushed back his chair with exaggerated exhaustion.

Noel raised an eyebrow. "You cooked it. I ate it. Balance demands you handle the dishes."

"Balance is overrated," Luca said, stacking the plates anyway and carrying them to the sink. "Besides, the true artist never cleans his canvas."

Noel followed, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. "Convenient philosophy."

Luca flicked on the tap, water rushing steady.

He glanced sideways, catching Noel’s gaze. "You’re just going to stand there and supervise?"

"Quality control."

"Oh, right," Luca muttered, foaming the sponge. "Because the fate of mankind rests on whether I rinse properly."

Noel didn’t answer, just shifted closer until his shoulder brushed against Luca’s.

Quiet, subtle, like it happened by accident.

Luca stilled for half a beat, then smiled at the sink.

"Careful," Luca said, his voice lighter. "Stand here too long and you might get roped into drying."

Noel picked up the towel from the rack. "Already ahead of you."

That startled a laugh out of Luca, low and bright.

He handed over the first dripping plate. "Look at us_domestic legends."

"Don’t get carried away," Noel said, but there was no sharpness in it.

Only that even tone Luca had started learning to read, the one that softened around the edges when Noel wasn’t paying attention.

Luca smirked, rinsing another plate. "Fine, fine. I’ll save the victory speech for when we tackle laundry."

"God forbid," Noel murmured.

They fell into a rhythm: Luca washing, Noel drying, hands brushing now and then as plates changed from one to the other.

No rush, no noise beyond water and soft clinks, just the quiet weight of being side by side.

At one point, Luca hummed under his breath, some off-key melody that wasn’t really a song at all.

Noel didn’t comment, but he lingered a second longer each time their fingers touched.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was theirs.

The last dish clicked into place on the rack.

Luca wiped his damp hands on a towel, then drifted toward the couch with an exaggerated sigh of accomplishment.

He dropped onto the cushions, sprawling like he’d just run a marathon.

"Noel," he called, patting the seat beside him. "Come here."

Noel lingered in the kitchen doorway, arms folded. "We still have laundry."

Luca groaned, tipping his head back. "Later. Laundry isn’t going anywhere. But right now..." He patted the cushion again, gentler this time. "I just want us here. Together. That’s more important than socks."

Noel’s brow arched. "That’s debatable."

"Not even close," Luca shot back with a grin. "I win this argument by default."

There was a pause before Noel walked over, slow but steady.

He sat down, careful at first, until Luca shifted closer, brushing shoulders.

Without a word, Noel leaned against him, his head finding Luca’s shoulder like it belonged there.

Luca stilled, letting the moment breathe. Then he reached for the remote. "Movie?"

"Fine," Noel murmured, eyes half-closed already.

Luca scrolled through the endless list, humming under his breath. "Action?"

"No."

"Romance?"

"Definitely not."

Luca laughed. "You’re impossible. What then?"

"Something with subtitles."

"Subtitles? That’s not a genre," Luca said, scandalized.

"It narrows the options," Noel replied, deadpan.

Luca turned his head slightly, smirking down at him. "You’re just trying to make me read."

Noel didn’t deny it.

"Alright," Luca said, flipping past another option. "But if we end up watching a three-hour art film about goats on a hillside, I’m blaming you."

Noel’s lips twitched, the faintest smile threatening to appear. "I’ll take the blame."

Luca chuckled, shaking his head as he settled on something halfway between their tastes.

The TV glow washed over them, soft and flickering, but Luca barely noticed.

What mattered was the steady weight of Noel’s head on his shoulder, the quiet rise and fall of his breathing, the way the argument had dissolved into this—just the two of them, side by side, warm and unhurried.

The opening credits rolled, music swelling low through the speakers.

Noel shifted, almost imperceptibly at first, before settling fully against Luca’s chest.

Luca adjusted instantly, one arm wrapping around him, holding him there like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"You’re comfortable," Noel murmured, his voice low, almost blending with the soundtrack.

"That’s the idea," Luca said, chin brushing Noel’s hair. "Premium seating. No ticket required."

Noel let out a faint hum, not quite a laugh but close enough.

His hand rested on Luca’s shirt, fingers idly pressing at the fabric as if testing its steadiness.

On-screen, two characters were already bickering in subtitles.

Luca squinted. "You realize I’m going to miss half of this trying to keep up with the reading, right?"

"That’s your fault," Noel said without looking up.

"My fault?" Luca scoffed. "You’re the one who demanded subtitles."

"You need practice."

"Practice for what, exactly? Reading? I’m literate, thank you very much."

Noel’s lips twitched, eyes still fixed on the screen. "Debatable."

Luca gave a scandalized gasp. "Wow. Harsh critique from someone currently using me as a pillow."

"Pillows don’t talk this much," Noel muttered, but the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him.

Luca’s laugh rumbled under his chest, the sound vibrating where Noel rested.

He pressed his arm more securely around him. "Lucky for you, this pillow comes with commentary. Deluxe package."

"Return policy still applies," Noel said, deadpan.

"Too late," Luca countered, brushing his thumb lazily across Noel’s shoulder. "No returns. All sales final."

Noel shifted again, closer this time, until the rhythm of their breaths synced in the quiet.

The movie played on, subtitles flashing, but neither of them seemed in a hurry to follow it closely.

The banter slowed, softer now, more like a whisper stitched into the hum of the TV, and beneath it all was that steady warmth of simply being—together, unhurried, exactly where they wanted to be.

Ten minutes in, Noel let out a quiet sigh, his cheek still pressed to Luca’s chest.

His eyes lingered on the screen a moment longer before he said, almost lazily, "This is boring."

Luca tilted his head down at him. "Boring? Excuse you, this is cinema."

"It’s slow," Noel replied, not lifting his gaze. "And you’re not even following the subtitles."

"That’s because someone’s head is blocking half the screen," Luca shot back, tightening his arm playfully around him. "Not naming names, but... Moon-shaped problem, right here."

Noel ignored the jab, finally sitting up just enough to glance at him. "Let’s watch something else. Music videos."

Luca blinked. "Music videos? You’re ditching high art for three-minute dance numbers?"

"Better than this," Noel said simply.

"You wound me." Luca pressed a hand to his chest like he’d been mortally offended. "Here I was, trying to expand my cultural horizons, and you want to drag me back into pop choreography land."

Noel’s mouth curved, just faintly. "You like it."

"I like you," Luca corrected, squinting at him. "The videos? Debatable."

Noel leaned back into him, casual as ever. "Then watch them with me."

Luca groaned dramatically but reached for the remote anyway. "Unbelievable. You’ve turned my living room into MTV circa 2005."

"Stop complaining," Noel said, fingers brushing Luca’s sleeve.

Luca grinned despite himself as the TV flipped to a music channel, neon lights and beats filling the room. "Fine. But only if we rate the outfits. I get full veto power."

Noel settled against him again, eyes already fixed on the flashing screen. "Agreed. As long as you don’t sing along."

"Babe," Luca said with mock seriousness, "I was born to sing along."

Noel groaned, but the faint shake of his shoulders betrayed a laugh he was trying_and failing_to hide.

And just like that, the room filled with music, Luca’s off-key humming slipping in between Noel’s quieter chuckles, the movie long forgotten.

The first video was all neon and choreography, dancers moving in perfect sync across a rain-slicked street.

Luca immediately pointed at the screen. "Okay, but those jackets? Iconic. Ten out of ten."

"The pants are terrible," Noel countered without missing a beat.

"Excuse me?" Luca twisted to look at him properly. "Those are leather pants. Leather. That’s automatically cool."

"They look uncomfortable," Noel said flatly.

"Fashion is pain," Luca declared with mock solemnity. "You wouldn’t understand."

Noel’s response was to press his face against Luca’s shoulder, hiding what might have been a smile.

His hand found Luca’s, fingers threading together without fanfare, just settling there like they’d always belonged.

The next video started_something upbeat with a ridiculous amount of glitter.

Luca started swaying slightly, pulling Noel with him. "See? This is quality entertainment. Art."

"This is noise," Noel murmured, but he didn’t pull away.

If anything, he leaned closer, letting himself be moved by Luca’s gentle rhythm.

"Noise you’re tolerating," Luca pointed out smugly. "Because you love me."

Noel didn’t answer. But his grip tightened, just slightly, and that was answer enough.

Outside, the afternoon stretched on.

Inside, they stayed exactly where they were—tangled together on the couch, arguing about outfits and singing off-key, the rest of the world forgotten.

Just them, warm and content, exactly as it should be.