Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 199: Parallel Mornings

The fourth floor was already alive with quiet motion—the click of keyboards, the soft shuffle of papers, the low hum of conversation in English, Mandarin, and the occasional French phrase that drifted across the space.

Ren was already at his desk, sleeves rolled up, a cup of coffee balanced precariously near his keyboard.

He looked up when Noel stepped in.

"Morning," he said, his grin easy. "You’re early again."

"Habit," Noel replied, setting down his file. "You’ve been here long?"

"Just ten minutes. Trying to get a head start on the new trade reports. I heard we’re doing a case study today."

"Case study?"

Ren nodded. "Something about foreign shipping delays and negotiation responses. Apparently, we’re supposed to analyze how the company handled a real dispute."

Before Noel could reply, the elevator doors opened again.

Jace strolled in—no rush, no apology—tugging at the lanyard around his neck like it was choking him.

"Morning, gentlemen," he said, in a tone that was half-smirk, half-yawn. "Let the glamorous world of paperwork begin."

Ren just rolled his eyes. "Try showing up on time once, maybe it’ll feel less glamorous."

Jace ignored that, dropping his bag beside the nearest chair. "Where’s the boss?"

"In his office," Noel said, glancing toward the frosted glass door at the end of the hall.

Max’s silhouette moved behind it—tall, composed, flipping through a file as he spoke quietly into the phone.

They didn’t wait long.

A few minutes later, Max stepped out, file in hand.

His voice carried easily through the space—smooth, confident.

"Morning, team."

"Morning, sir," they chorused, uneven but respectful.

Max set the folder down on the center table. "Let’s get to work. Today’s focus is crisis response. You’ll be reviewing an internal report from a few years back—a shipment to Singapore that got delayed due to customs issues. The goal is to identify what went wrong and how communication could’ve been improved between our partners abroad."

He opened the file, distributing copies one by one—first to Ren, then Jace, and finally to Noel.

His hand lingered a heartbeat too long as the paper passed between them. "These are summaries from both sides—Infinity Global and the partner company. I want your analysis by noon."

Ren skimmed through his copy already. "So, just find faults in the correspondence?"

"Not just faults," Max said. "Patterns. Tone. Missed cues. You’re training to handle international clients—which means learning when not to take words at face value." He moved toward the whiteboard, uncapping a marker. "A phrase that sounds polite in one language can read as dismissive in another. That’s where a deal can fall apart."

Jace leaned back in his chair, half-smiling. "So basically, translation politics."

"Exactly," Max replied without looking at him. Then, glancing toward Noel, "You studied in both English and Mandarin, didn’t you?"

"Yes," Noel said, not missing the small curl of curiosity in Max’s tone.

"Good," Max said, writing a few key points on the board. "Then you’ll lead the Mandarin side of the analysis later. Ren can handle logistics, Jace—"

"Yeah, yeah," Jace interrupted lightly. "I’ll find the numbers that don’t match."

Max smiled faintly, a flicker of tolerance in his expression. "Perfect."

The instructions wrapped up quickly, the structure of the morning clear.

Papers rustled again.

Ren leaned over his desk, jotting notes already.

Jace flipped his pen between his fingers, pretending to read.

And Noel... Noel focused. Eyes scanning each line, posture upright, professional.

Yet, every so often, he felt it—that almost imperceptible awareness of being watched.

Max’s gaze, quiet and steady, resting on him longer than it should.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t need to.

He just turned another page and said softly, "The tone here shifts halfway. Whoever wrote this got nervous."

Ren glanced over, curious. "You can tell?"

Noel nodded, eyes tracing the paragraph. "The phrasing changes from assertive to apologetic. That’s when they realized the deal was slipping."

From across the room, Max’s voice came—warm, approving.

"Good catch, Noel."

The others barely reacted.

But Noel’s pulse betrayed him, a quick flutter against his ribs before he steadied again.

Just work.

Just another day.

And yet, the way Max said his name—low, deliberate, almost proud—made the ordinary morning feel like something more complicated than it should be.

The second day started differently—less nerves, more noise.

The marketing floor was already buzzing when Luca and Bella walked in, the low chatter of keyboards and laughter mixing with the scent of burnt coffee.

Georgia was by the glass wall, speaking quietly to a senior associate, her clipboard tucked under one arm.

The moment she noticed the interns, she gave a single nod toward their cluster of desks. "Get settled. I’ll brief you in a minute."

Bella leaned close as they passed. "She says that every day. You think she sleeps with that clipboard?"

Luca smirked. "Probably. Or maybe she threatens people with it in her dreams."

Wei Chen and Camille were already there, side by side as always, reviewing a set of mock campaign posters.

Liam sat opposite them, earbuds dangling around his neck, eyes darting between his notes and the laptop screen.

"Morning," Luca said lightly.

"Barely," Liam murmured without looking up.

Bella plopped into her chair. "Somebody’s got Monday energy on a Tuesday."

Before anyone could reply, Georgia’s heels clicked toward them.

She dropped a slim folder onto the table—clean, precise, intimidating. "Morning, team. Today’s focus is presentation prep."

Luca blinked. "Already?"

"Yes," Georgia said, without missing a beat. "You’ll each prepare a short pitch based on yesterday’s product line. I want refined campaigns, not brainstorming chaos. You have until noon."

"Solo?" Camille asked, glancing up.

"Team effort," Georgia said. "But everyone presents a part. Clients expect collaboration, not confusion." She started to turn, then looked back, eyes cutting toward Luca and Bella. "And please—less jokes this time. The product isn’t a punchline."

Bella straightened, mock serious. "Understood, boss."

Georgia gave her a long, unreadable look before walking off.

The moment she disappeared into her office, Bella exhaled dramatically. "She totally likes us."

"Likes hating us," Luca said, flipping the folder open. "Which means we’re doing something right."

Wei Chen shook his head with a quiet smile. "Confidence and delusion are close cousins."

"Yeah," Camille added, "but it’s kind of working for him."

Luca grinned, unbothered. "It always does."

He spread the sheets across the table—clean mockups of their eco-bottle campaign, yesterday’s scribbled chaos now printed, color-coded, and neatly outlined.

The morning sunlight angled across the table, cutting through the tension like a quiet approval.

Luca tapped the one labeled Upgrade Your Sip.

"This one’s got traction," he said. "But we can’t just say it—we need a story behind it. People don’t buy bottles; they buy a feeling."

Bella leaned forward, instantly hooked. "So what’s the feeling?"

"Change," Luca said, his tone softening. "That you’re doing something small that matters. Stylish, sustainable, modern. It’s not guilt marketing—it’s pride marketing."

For once, Liam looked up from his laptop. "That’s... actually solid."

Camille smiled, tapping her stylus against her tablet. "If we frame it like personal empowerment, it could really hit."

Wei Chen nodded thoughtfully. "We could pitch the tagline as self-expression—every color, every bottle represents a different kind of person. A lifestyle, not a product."

"Exactly," Luca said, his voice gaining rhythm. "The visuals could mirror that—people swapping old, dull bottles for these sleek ones, that slow-motion click sound when they close it. Satisfaction, simplicity, ownership."

Bella tapped her pen against her notepad, trying not to smile. "I hate how much I love that."

"Admit it," Luca said, leaning back in his chair. "You’d buy it too."

"Only if the ad features you washing the bottles shirtless," she fired back, smirking.

Liam snorted. "Instant viral hit."

Luca laughed, shaking his head. "You guys are ridiculous."

But the laughter carried a lightness that hadn’t been there before—one that came from shared focus, from the feeling of almost getting it right.

For a brief moment, the floor didn’t feel like a student project under pressure. It felt like a team with momentum.

By the time Georgia came back, the air around them was electric—pens moving, laptops open, ideas flying like sparks.

She stopped at their table, scanning the scene with that calm, unreadable expression.

"Progress?"

Luca looked up. "We think we’ve nailed the emotional angle."

Georgia arched a brow. "Show me."

Bella turned her laptop toward her, running through their slides—quick, clean, confident.

Georgia watched without interrupting, her gaze moving from screen to notes to the faces around the table.

When the presentation ended, silence hung for a moment.

Then Georgia nodded once. "Better. More direction. Less chaos. You’re finding rhythm."

Bella beamed. "So... that’s a compliment?"

Georgia’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "Don’t let it go to your head." She turned to Luca. "And you—good instinct. Keep refining that voice. Clients buy authenticity."

Luca blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—thanks."

When she left again, Bella leaned over, whispering, "See? Future legend and teacher’s pet."

Luca groaned. "Don’t ruin the moment."

But he couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at his lips—one that stayed even as the others turned back to their work, the hum of keyboards and the faint laughter mixing into something that felt a lot like belonging.