Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 223: Still Waiting.

The cafeteria buzzed with its usual midday noise—trays clinking, conversations weaving in and out, the faint scent of roasted coffee and something vaguely resembling pasta in the air.

Luca dropped his tray onto the table with a quiet thunk, slumping into the seat like someone who’d just finished running a marathon. "I swear," he groaned, "if I have to say the word sustainability one more time, I’ll start recycling myself."

Bella snorted into her drink. "You already talk too much. The planet’s safe."

Camila chuckled, tearing her sandwich in half. "You were good up there, though. Confident. The clients actually looked impressed."

"Yeah," Liam added between bites. "Georgia even smiled. That’s like a rare comet sighting."

Bella smacked his arm with a napkin. "Be nice. He carried the team today."

"Barely," Wei Chen added dryly, spooning rice into his mouth. "If Georgia hadn’t given him that warning look mid-pitch, he’d have turned it into a TED Talk."

Luca pointed his fork at him. "That’s called charisma, buddy. Clients love charisma."

"They love structure," Camila corrected, smiling into her cup. "Which, luckily, Georgia gave you."

Georgia appeared just then, tray balanced easily in one hand, her phone in the other. "Talking about me?"

Bella smirked. "Always."

Georgia seated herself at the end of the table, lifting an unimpressed brow without looking up from her salad. "I smile more than you think."

"Not at me," Liam muttered.

Wei Chen leaned back slightly, his usual calm smile in place. "It went well. Better than rehearsals."

Luca nodded, grin faint but proud. "You guys carried it. I just talked fast enough to make it sound exciting."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Wow. A humble Luca. Somebody write this down."

"Don’t ruin it," he warned. "I’m having a rare emotional moment."

Across the table, Georgia looked up finally, meeting his gaze. "You handled the questions well. Confident but not pushy. Clients notice that. Keep that tone."

Luca blinked, then smiled softly. "Thanks. That means a lot."

"Don’t thank me yet," Georgia said, setting her fork down. "We’ll hear back next week. But today—" she glanced around the table "—you all did good work. I’m proud of you."

That brief silence that follows genuine praise lingered—unforced, full of shared relief.

Then Bella raised her juice cup high. "To ’Upgrade Your Sip,’ to not messing up, and to finally breathing again!"

Liam clinked his cup against hers. "And to Luca, the man who convinced the client that bottles can be emotional."

"I said personal," Luca protested. "Not emotional."

Camila laughed quietly. "You talk like both."

The laughter spread—easy, familiar, earned.

Luca leaned back, watching the chaos of his little team—Bella teasing Liam, Wei Chen calmly cutting his food, Georgia still half-distracted by her tablet but listening all the same. It was noisy, imperfect, alive.

Then his phone lit up on the table.

**Noel:** How’d it go?

A small smile tugged at his lips before he could help it.

He typed back: **We nailed it. It actually went better than expected.**

Seconds later, the reply came.

**Noel:** Knew you would. I’m proud of you, Luca.

The words lingered longer than they should have.

He slipped the phone face-down, hiding the small grin threatening to give him away.

Bella caught the look anyway. "Don’t tell me you’re flirting with the client."

Luca coughed. "Mind your business."

But Bella, sharp as ever, noticed. She leaned in with a smirk. "Who’s making you smile like that, huh?"

Luca blinked, feigning confusion. "What? No one. Just... memes."

"Uh-huh," she said, tone laced with disbelief but her eyes gentle.

She didn’t press further—just gave him that knowing look only she could give.

Camila’s head turned slightly, catching the subtle shift in their exchange.

She said nothing, her attention returning to Wei Chen’s quiet commentary about the client’s feedback.

Georgia cleared her throat, pulling them all back. "Alright, lovebirds and meme scholars aside—Luca, send me the final file before you leave today. And the rest of you, debrief tomorrow at nine."

Liam groaned. "We just finished the pitch."

"Welcome to corporate life," Georgia replied dryly.

The table broke into laughter again, the kind that felt lighter this time—relief blending into satisfaction.

As conversation drifted around him, Luca let his gaze slide to the window.

The afternoon sun painted gold streaks across the glass, the hum of the city below echoing faintly in the distance.

He smiled softly, almost to himself.

*He’s proud of me,* he thought.

And somehow, that made all the exhaustion worth it.

Fourth floor—International Business, Import and Export—always carried a particular silence, the kind that felt too neat, too polished.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet office, blending with the soft rhythm of typing.

Mr. Max leaned against the edge of his desk, one hand on a file, the other tapping lightly against the folder spine. "Cross-check this section, Noel. The supplier’s quote doesn’t align with the shipment cost from last quarter," he said, tone clipped yet calm.

"Yes, sir." Noel adjusted his glasses and shifted closer to the screen.

His posture was straight, disciplined.

The cursor blinked on a spreadsheet that looked endless.

Max moved to stand beside him—close enough that Noel could feel the faint scent of his cologne, something sharp and understated. "You’re catching on fast," Max said.

His voice wasn’t warm, but it carried weight, like an observation meant to linger.

Noel nodded without looking up. "I’m trying to, sir."

"Good. You’ll need precision on this account. It’s sensitive—international partner, tight deadlines."

"I understand." His tone was steady, but inside, there was a knot tightening.

The closeness, the quiet, the low hum of Max’s voice—everything felt a little too measured.

Max took the chair next to him instead of returning to his own.

Their elbows brushed briefly. "Let’s adjust the contract phrasing here," he said, leaning forward to point at the screen. "Clause 14—if the shipment is delayed, we assume partial liability. Rewrite it."

Noel typed, focusing hard on the words, not the nearness. "Like this?"

Max glanced at the screen. "Perfect. You learn quickly."

Silence lingered after that—professional, yet charged with something unsaid.

The ticking wall clock filled the gap between them.

When Max finally rose and walked back to his desk, Noel exhaled quietly, his shoulders easing.

He didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath.

"Send me the draft by six," Max said, flipping through another file. "We’ll review it before close."

"Yes, sir," Noel replied, his voice calm again—though his fingers, resting on the keyboard, trembled just slightly before he continued typing.

The office had emptied out.

Most lights were off except for the one above their desks.

The city outside glowed faintly through the glass—streaks of gold and moving headlights brushing against the walls.

Noel’s phone buzzed beside the keyboard.

**Luca:** I’m done. Waiting for you in the lobby.

He glanced at the time—nearly past six. His fingers hovered over the keys, guilt flickering through his chest. He typed quickly:

**Noel:** Sorry, I still didn’t finish.

The reply came almost instantly.

**Luca:** No problem. I’ll wait for you.

Noel stared at the screen, jaw tightening. He started typing again—*You don’t have to*—but stopped halfway. He could already imagine Luca sitting there, arms crossed, refusing to leave no matter what he said. Luca never backed down once he’d decided something.

So Noel sighed, locked his phone, and turned back to the monitor.

Mr. Max looked up from his files. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, sir." Noel’s voice was quiet, composed. "Just a message."

Max nodded, walking over. He placed another folder beside Noel. "Let’s finalize this batch tonight. I’d rather send it first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

The room felt smaller now.

The overhead light hummed faintly; papers rustled.

Max stood close again, reviewing the lines Noel typed.

Occasionally, he’d point something out—his tone polite, professional—but the proximity made it difficult for Noel to breathe naturally.

"Good," Max murmured after a while. "Your formatting’s clean. You have a sharp eye for detail."

"Thank you, sir."

The clock ticked past seven.

Noel’s phone lit up again, a small glow in the corner of the desk.

He didn’t check it, but he saw the preview—Luca’s name, followed by *Still waiting.*

Max didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t comment.

He was still standing too close, one hand on the desk as he leaned slightly toward the screen.

"Let’s call it a day after this section," Max said finally, his voice low. "We’ll pick up tomorrow."

Noel nodded, quietly saving the file. His fingers felt heavy.

Outside, the elevator dinged faintly.

It sounded distant, like a reminder that someone was still out there waiting.

By the time Noel shut down his computer, the office was half-dark.

The hum of machines had gone silent, leaving only the soft tick of the wall clock and the faint sigh of the air conditioner.

He stacked the files neatly, double-checked his drawer, then slipped his phone into his pocket. It was nearly eight.

Mr. Max glanced at his watch. "You’re done?"

"Yes, sir," Noel said politely. "We’ve covered enough for tonight."

"Good work today," Max said, offering a small, approving smile. "I like how focused you are, Noel. Don’t lose that."

"Thank you."

He nodded once, then headed toward the door—quick, measured steps that still felt too slow.

He didn’t want to seem like he was rushing out, even though every part of him wanted to run.

When he finally stepped into the elevator, his reflection looked tired but lighter.

His phone buzzed again the second the doors closed.

**Luca:** Still here. I told you I’d wait.

Noel exhaled softly—half a sigh, half a laugh that barely escaped his throat.

He typed: **I’m coming now.**

The elevator doors opened with a quiet chime.

The lobby lights were dimmer now, soft and gold.

The reception desk was empty.

And there he was—Luca, sitting on one of the lobby couches, his jacket folded on his lap, head leaning against the wall.

He wasn’t scrolling his phone or fidgeting. He was just... waiting.

When he noticed Noel’s steps, he blinked awake immediately.

"You’re done," Luca said, his voice rough from waiting too long but carrying that familiar warmth.

"Yeah," Noel replied softly. "I told you to go home."

Luca stretched a little, smirking. "And I told you I’d wait. You should know me by now."

Noel shook his head but couldn’t hide his small smile. "You’re impossible."

"Maybe," Luca said, standing up and brushing invisible dust from his jeans. "But I’m also starving. So, let’s go home before I start chewing the furniture."

Noel chuckled under his breath. "Fine. But next time, don’t wait this long. I mean it."

Luca tilted his head slightly, that boyish grin breaking through the tiredness. "Then finish faster next time."

Noel shot him a mock glare, but his eyes softened immediately. "Let’s go."

They walked toward the glass doors together, the lobby lights following them out—two silhouettes moving in sync, one step ahead, one a breath behind.

And as they stepped into the cool night, Noel’s shoulder brushed lightly against Luca’s.

He didn’t move away.