Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]-Chapter 225: Routine, Interrupted

The morning unfolded softly—pale gold spilling across the floor, brushing against tangled sheets and half-remembered dreams.

Noel stirred first, the familiar weight of Luca’s arm draped across his waist, the faint warmth of breath against the back of his neck.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

He just listened—to the quiet rhythm of Luca’s breathing, to the heartbeat of a home that had somehow become theirs.

He turned slightly, eyes finding Luca’s face—still heavy with sleep, hair messy in every direction, lips parted in that unguarded way that only happened when he forgot the world.

Noel reached up, brushed a strand of hair from Luca’s forehead, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

"Morning," Luca mumbled, voice gravelly, not yet awake.

"You’re awake," Noel murmured back, amused.

"Barely," Luca said, eyes still closed. "But I could feel you staring. Creepy."

Noel rolled his eyes, standing up from the bed. "I wasn’t staring."

"You were definitely staring," Luca said, stretching lazily, the blanket slipping halfway down his chest. "Don’t worry, I get it. I’m stunning in the morning."

"You look like a disaster," Noel said, reaching for his shirt.

"Hot disaster," Luca corrected, grinning into the pillow.

Noel tried not to smile. "You’re going to be late if you don’t move."

Luca groaned dramatically, dragging himself upright. "Five more minutes. I need emotional preparation for another day of capitalism."

Noel turned toward him, holding out a mug of coffee. "Here’s your motivation."

Luca blinked, then smiled, taking it with both hands. "You spoil me."

"I’m keeping you functional," Noel replied, sitting beside him to tie his tie.

Luca watched him quietly, the grin softening into something gentler. "You don’t have to do that, you know."

"I know," Noel said, fingers moving deftly. "But you’ll spend twenty minutes fighting with it otherwise."

Luca tilted his head, teasing but low. "You like taking care of me."

Noel’s hands stilled for half a second before he met Luca’s eyes. "Maybe I do."

Something shifted in the air—slow, unhurried.

Luca’s gaze dropped briefly to Noel’s mouth, but he didn’t move closer.

He just smiled—that quiet, content kind of smile that didn’t need to mean more than it did.

"Then I’ll make sure I deserve it," he murmured.

Noel looked away first, clearing his throat. "Finish your coffee before it gets cold."

"Yes, sir." Luca saluted lazily, taking a sip, then winced. "Still too hot."

"Patience," Noel said, standing to grab his jacket. "It’s a skill."

"Not my strongest one," Luca admitted, setting the cup down and rising to follow him.

Their movements around each other were easy—practiced.

Noel adjusted his sleeve cuffs; Luca slipped his bag over his shoulder.

The cat circled their legs like it owned the place.

At the door, Luca leaned against the frame, watching Noel slip on his shoes. "Hey," he said softly.

Noel glanced up. "What?"

"Don’t work too hard today."

"Same goes for you," Noel said, opening the door.

Luca grinned. "Impossible. I’m presenting to eco bottle royalty."

Noel shook his head, but there was that faint curve again at the corner of his mouth—the one he didn’t try to hide anymore.

They stepped out together, the morning light catching them just right—two silhouettes side by side, the day waiting quietly ahead.

As the elevator doors closed, Luca leaned closer, his voice low but steady.

"Let’s both survive today, yeah?"

Noel’s eyes flicked to his. "Yeah."

The elevator hummed to life, carrying them into another day—the soft echo of laughter trailing behind.

The lobby buzzed with the low hum of morning energy—heels clicking, phones ringing, the faint hiss of the espresso machine from the café corner.

Luca and Noel stepped through the glass doors together, side by side but in their own quiet rhythm.

Noel’s expression was calm, work mode already slipping in.

Luca still wore that easy, drowsy grin from the walk.

They crossed the marble floor, greeting a few familiar faces before reaching the elevator.

When the doors slid open, Mr. Max was already inside—sharp suit, polished shoes, and a clipboard in hand.

"Good morning," Noel greeted, polite and steady.

"Morning, Noel. Morning, Luca," Mr. Max replied with that professional warmth he carried like a second skin.

Luca nodded, tone casual but clipped. "Morning, sir."

As the doors closed, the air seemed to tighten. Mr. Max turned toward Noel, flipping through a few pages. "I was just about to send you an email. There’s a new shipment report from the Dubai branch—we’ll go over it together once you’re upstairs."

"Sure," Noel answered, leaning in slightly to take a look. Their shoulders nearly brushed, eyes fixed on the paper as Max pointed out a few figures.

Luca’s jaw ticked. He tried to focus on the floor numbers lighting up, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

His gaze flicked to where Mr. Max’s hand hovered near Noel’s arm, then back to Noel’s focused face.

He clenched his hand in his pocket, pretending to scroll through his phone.

"See here," Max continued, his tone low and direct, "the discrepancy in invoice values—we’ll need to trace that before noon."

Noel nodded. "Got it. I’ll start after I finish the pending file from yesterday."

"Good. You’re efficient, as always," Max said with a faint, approving smile. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

The elevator chimed for the third floor. Luca didn’t even notice until Noel nudged his arm.

"Hey," Noel murmured softly. "It’s your floor."

"Huh—oh, right." He blinked, straightened, and forced a quick smile. "See you at lunch?"

"Yeah," Noel said. "Don’t skip it."

Luca gave a small salute, stepping out as the doors slid shut behind him.

Inside, Max and Noel continued upward in silence, the hum of the elevator filling the gap.

Noel glanced at the reflection in the steel door, catching his own calm face beside Max’s composed one.

He exhaled quietly, already feeling the weight of the day ahead.

The elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor—cool air, muted tones, the faint click of keyboards already at work.

Mr. Max led the way toward his office, papers tucked neatly under his arm, his tone light but focused.

"Let’s start with the invoices," he said, unlocking his glass office door. "I’ve flagged the ones from the export division. They’ve been inconsistent lately."

Noel followed, laptop in hand. "I noticed. I was planning to cross-check them after finishing yesterday’s report."

"That’s good," Max replied, motioning toward the desk beside his. "You’re always one step ahead."

Noel smiled faintly. "Just trying to keep up."

"Don’t undersell yourself." Max set the papers down, leaning against the edge of his desk. "You’ve got an instinct for this work. The others follow process—you read the numbers like they mean something."

Noel let out a quiet chuckle. "Guess I’ve just been here long enough to see patterns."

"Or maybe you’re just naturally sharp," Max countered, voice smooth, almost playful—but not enough to cross the line.

Noel paused at that, his eyes lifting briefly before settling back on his screen.

He knew that tone. Subtle, complimentary, careful.

Max always managed to walk the edge of charm and professionalism—never giving anyone reason to call it anything more.

Still, Noel kept his voice even. "Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure today’s report is done before the meeting."

Max nodded, watching him a moment longer than necessary before stepping closer, standing just behind his chair.

He leaned slightly, pointing at Noel’s screen. "Here—see that shipment reference? It’s duplicated. You’ll want to cross it with the January order."

Noel’s breath hitched for half a second at the nearness—his shoulder brushing Max’s arm as he adjusted the spreadsheet. He stayed composed, though. "Got it," he murmured, scrolling to fix the error.

"Good," Max said, still close enough for his cologne to catch the air between them—something understated, clean, and a little too noticeable in quiet rooms. "You make my job easier, Noel."

Noel’s lips curved faintly, polite but distant. "Just doing mine."

That made Max smile—a small one, genuine, but with something unreadable in it.

He straightened, giving a soft pat to Noel’s chair before stepping away. "I’ll grab us some coffee. You take your time with those numbers."

When he left, the office felt bigger, quieter. Noel exhaled slowly, pushing a hand through his hair.

He knew Max’s manner—how he spoke, how he carried people’s attention like a subtle current.

Still, there was something under it now, a softness that hadn’t been there before.

He shoved the thought aside, refocusing on the report. Work first. Always work first.

Outside the glass wall, Max paused briefly, glancing back through the reflection—watching Noel’s calm focus, the way he leaned slightly forward when he concentrated.

Then he turned away, a faint, thoughtful smile tugging at his mouth before he disappeared down the hall.

The soft click of the door broke the quiet. Mr. Max stepped back in, two cups of coffee in hand, the scent immediately chasing away the sterile chill of the office.

"Here," he said, setting one beside Noel’s laptop. "No sugar, right?"

Noel blinked up, a bit surprised. "You remembered?"

Max chuckled lightly, sliding into his chair. "Of course. You always wince when it’s sweet. Details like that stick with me."

Noel hesitated before replying, fingers brushing the warm paper cup. "Thanks... that’s thoughtful."

"It’s called good management," Max said smoothly, eyes flicking to him with a teasing glint. "Keep the team energized. Make them feel seen."

Noel smirked faintly, typing something into his spreadsheet. "You mean keep them caffeinated."

"That too." Max leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, studying him in that quiet, deliberate way that carried weight. "Though between us, you’re not just anyone on this team. You’ve got drive, Noel. I notice that."

The words lingered—soft, low, a little too warm to be entirely professional.

Noel took a sip of coffee, using the motion as an excuse not to answer immediately. "I just don’t like leaving things halfway done," he said finally.

"That’s rare these days." Max’s gaze softened. "You remind me of myself when I started. Hungry, disciplined... maybe a little too serious for your own good."

Noel smiled politely. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"It is."

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—just charged.

The faint hum of the air conditioner, the muted click of Noel’s keys, the rhythm of two people circling the edges of something neither of them would name.

Max stood and came closer, resting one hand on the back of Noel’s chair as he pointed to a section on the screen. "If you adjust that value here," he murmured, "you’ll see the margin drop by one percent. That’s what we’ll report to the client tomorrow."

His voice was close enough that Noel could feel it—warm, steady, almost coaxing. He nodded, adjusting the cell carefully. "Done."

"Perfect," Max said, voice low. Then, softer: "You really do make this easy."

Noel didn’t look at him. "I try."

Max smiled, but it was quieter now—more personal, like he wanted to say something else but chose restraint instead. "You’ll go far here," he said finally, stepping back. "Just... don’t let anyone slow you down."

Noel paused, glancing at him then, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. "What do you mean?"

Max’s eyes held his for a moment, something unspoken behind the professional calm. "You’ll understand eventually."

And just like that, he turned away, taking his seat again—back to paperwork, back to business.

Noel watched him for a second longer, then returned to his screen, his heartbeat a little louder than it should’ve been for such an ordinary morning.