Dear Roommate Please Stop Being Hot [BL]
Chapter 121: What We Carry, What We Let Go

Chapter 121: What We Carry, What We Let Go

The breeze teased its way through the garden trees, rustling leaves like secrets passed between branches.

Lina sat cross-legged on the grass, her sketchbook open beside her, though her focus was entirely on the chips Emily had handed her minutes earlier.

"These?" Lina took another bite, holding up the pack. "You really do know how to buy my silence."

Emily laughed, easing down beside her and stretching out her legs. "You’ve been quiet since I showed up. I figured a little bribery might do the trick."

Lina nudged her shoulder, a soft grin slipping through. "It worked. Don’t let it go to your head."

A comfortable quiet settled between them—filled with unspoken things, soft light, and the kind of peace that didn’t ask questions.

Until footsteps crunched gently on the path.

Not hurried. Not hesitant.

Simply... there.

Lina glanced up.

Alex.

He walked toward the Art Department building, a sketch roll tucked under his arm, sleeves pushed casually to his elbows. He looked like he belonged there—like nothing had changed.

He didn’t look like he planned to stop.

But he did.

"Hey," he said, standing a few feet away, his gaze shifting between the two of them.

Lina straightened, suddenly all too aware of the snack wrapper crackling in her hand. "Hey."

Emily remained quiet, her eyes moving from Lina to Alex—steady, unreadable.

Alex scratched the back of his neck. "Didn’t know you two hung out over here."

Lina shrugged lightly. "It’s quiet. Nice."

A faint smile ghosted over his lips. "Looks like you’re doing okay."

Lina met his gaze, unflinching. "Trying to."

A pause hung in the air—not quite awkward, but edged with old weight. A pause that remembered things neither of them said anymore.

"I was heading to the studio," Alex said, motioning vaguely toward the building behind them.

Lina nodded. "Hope they’re gentle with you."

He huffed a soft laugh. "They never are." Then he glanced at Emily. "Hey."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Hey."

It wasn’t cold. But it wasn’t warm either.

Lina gave a quiet nod. "Good luck."

"Thanks." He hesitated, then added, a little softer, "You too."

His eyes lingered—just long enough to feel it—then he nodded again and moved on.

Emily watched until he disappeared..

Lina reached into the snack bag, pulled out a chip, but didn’t eat it.

"You okay?" Emily asked gently.

"Yeah," Lina said. Then, after a beat, "It’s just strange. Seeing him like nothing ever happened."

Emily didn’t respond with words. She simply reached over and took her hand, her thumb tracing slow circles against her skin.

And finally, Lina ate the chip.

The warmth of Emily’s hand didn’t go away—not even after the chip was gone.

Lina let their fingers rest together, her gaze fixed on a patch of clover nearby as if it held answers.

The garden was quieter now. Even the breeze had softened.

Lina tilted her head, eyes tracing the sky through the tangle of leaves above. "Do you think people really move on?" Her voice wasn’t bitter. Just thoughtful. "Or do we just... learn how to carry it better?"

Emily didn’t rush to answer. She watched a butterfly dip past, then turned to her. "Maybe both," she said softly. "Maybe we never fully drop it—we just stop letting it hurt the same way."

Lina exhaled, a sound between agreement and release. "He looked like he was doing fine."

"You sounded fine, too," Emily said, squeezing her hand gently.

Lina gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Oscar-worthy."

Emily looked over at her, eyes warm but steady. "You don’t have to be okay with it all. Not right away."

Lina glanced down at their joined hands. "Then I’m here. With you. And it feels easier to breathe."

Emily didn’t say anything. She just leaned closer, resting her head gently against Lina’s shoulder.

Her weight against Lina’s shoulder was light, but it grounded her more than anything else had all day.

Lina stayed still for a moment, then shifted, resting her cheek lightly against Emily’s hair.

"I used to think he knew me better than anyone," she said quietly.

Emily didn’t flinch. "He probably did. Back then."

"But now?"

Emily turned to face her fully. "Now... he hesitated to sit next to you."

That made something tighten and release in Lina’s chest all at once.

She let out a breath. "You’re not going to say ’you deserve better,’ are you?"

Emily leaned back on her elbows, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "You already know you do. I don’t need to say it."

Silence again. But this one felt different. Lighter.

The wind picked up, scattering a few loose pages from Lina’s sketchbook. Emily reached for them before they flew too far.

Lina watched her—watched the way Emily handled even the messiest gust with calm fingers and quiet care.

"Why do you always show up when I need you?"

Emily glanced up, playful. "I could ask you the same thing."

Lina’s smile was tired but genuine. "No, really. I mean it."

Emily held her gaze, then said softly, "Because you let me."

And somehow, that was the answer Lina didn’t know she’d needed.

The sun had begun to dip, casting soft amber across the campus paths.

The kind of light that made the world feel a little slower, a little closer.

Lina closed her sketchbook, slipping it under her arm as they stood together, Emily brushing grass from her jeans with an easy sweep.

"Come on," Emily said lightly. "I’ll walk you back."

Lina didn’t argue. She never did when it came to Emily.

And so they started down the quiet pathway, the breeze threading between them like it knew their rhythm.

Their steps fell into sync without trying.

"Did you finish that short story assignment yet?" Emily asked, her hands tucked into her pockets.

"Don’t remind me," Lina groaned. "I wrote the first paragraph, then immediately decided I hated all of it."

Emily smiled. "That sounds productive."

"It’s called creative suffering."

They laughed together—soft but real.

Emily glanced sideways. "What’s it about? Or is that classified until you win the literature prize?"

"It’s about a girl who stays too long in the wrong place," Lina said, then after a pause, "But I think I want to change it. Make her leave."

Emily’s voice was gentle. "Sounds like she’s figuring things out."

"She’s trying." Lina tilted her head, thoughtful. "She’s scared to leave, but more scared of staying."

Emily nodded. "Sometimes that’s enough."

Their steps slowed as the dorm building came into view, bathed in the golden hush of the evening.

Lina looked at her. "Thanks for walking with me."

Emily shrugged softly. "Thanks for letting me."

They stopped just beneath the stairs. For a second, neither of them moved.

"I always feel a little less heavy after being with you," Lina said, not quite looking at her.

Emily leaned against the rail, one hand resting lightly on it. "Maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit. Maybe you’re the one doing the heavy lifting."

Lina looked up, eyes steady. "I don’t want this to change."

Emily smiled, small but steady. "Then it won’t."

Lina didn’t go inside just yet.

Not until the light shifted a little deeper and the silence felt like it had said all it needed to.

Only then did she finally step up, pausing at the door. "Night, Em."

Emily’s voice followed her, warm and sure. "Night, Lina."

And even after the door shut, that voice stayed with her.

The dorm was quiet now. Outside the window, campus lights shimmered faintly, casting long shadows that reached across the floor and up the walls like waves.

Inside, the only sound was the soft hum of the fan spinning gently overhead.

Noel had already taken his shower. He sat cross-legged on the bed, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel.

His black vest clung a little to his skin, the fabric still catching the cool air.

His eyes were low-lidded, heavy with the weight of the day, but he stayed upright, waiting.

The bathroom door opened with a light click. Luca stepped out barefoot, steam rolling behind him before it faded into the cooler room air. A towel hung loose around his neck, droplets still tracing down his bare chest.

He didn’t say anything as he crossed the room. Just moved quietly, brushing his teeth with slow strokes like he didn’t want to break the stillness between them.

Noel glanced over, watching him without comment. It was new, this version of Luca—calmer, more present. No pushback. No delay.

After a moment, Luca finished, spat, rinsed, then tossed the hand towel back onto the hook.

The mirror caught a quick glimpse of his face—wet hair, flushed cheeks, something gentler resting behind his eyes.

He turned and padded over, then climbed onto the bed beside Noel like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Their legs brushed. Skin to skin.

Noel didn’t shift away.

Luca reached for the towel in Noel’s hand, fingers brushing his. Without a word, he took over, dabbing gently at Noel’s still-damp hair, his movements quiet, unhurried.

"You tired?" Luca murmured.

Noel’s lips parted slightly. He nodded, but instead of words, a soft yawn escaped him, stretching into the silence.

Luca chuckled low in his throat. "Guess that’s a yes."

The towel moved slowly, sweeping the moisture from Noel’s hairline, then toward the nape of his neck. Noel stayed still, eyes drifting shut.

"You didn’t wait for me tonight," Noel mumbled sleepily.

"You always tell me to hurry," Luca said, lips curving. "So I hurried."

Noel cracked one eye open, a faint, approving smile tugging at his lips. "Good."

Luca finished drying and let the towel drop beside the pillow. He stayed close though—close enough that Noel could feel the heat of his bare shoulder near his own.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Luca leaned back on one elbow, watching Noel through the soft dark.

"You proud of me today?" he asked quietly.

Noel’s lashes fluttered.

"I saw you," he said. "Helping George. Actually focused."

"Trying to be better," Luca murmured, his voice almost a whisper now. "Especially when it’s just us."

Noel turned his face slightly, gaze soft. "It’s not just when we’re alone, Luca. You are better."

Luca blinked once—slow, thoughtful—then gave a nod that was more felt than seen in the dim light.

They shifted gently, easing down together until both were stretched beneath the shared blanket.

Luca turned onto his side, one arm curled beneath the pillow, his breath warm against Noel’s shoulder.

"You okay like this?" Luca asked, voice low.

Noel didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he reached behind him, fingers brushing over Luca’s hand and settling there.

Luca stilled... then smiled softly.

Outside, the world kept turning. But here, in the dim hush of the room, it felt like it could stop for a while—and they wouldn’t mind.

The room had settled into stillness. Only the faint rustle of the bedsheet moved as they lay side by side, the night pressing in softly around them.

Luca’s breath came slow and steady now, but his eyes were still open, flickering faintly in the dark.

He tilted his head just slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "You warm enough?"

A pause.

Then a single word from Noel, thick with sleep: "Mm-hmm."

Luca smiled.

He let his head rest properly on the pillow now, muscles finally beginning to ease. "Good," he murmured, letting the word linger in the hush between them.

A beat passed. Then another.

Just as Luca closed his eyes, ready to drift off, he felt Noel shift beside him. A soft exhale. The warmth of an arm sliding around his waist.

Then Noel pulled him in, tight. No hesitation.

Luca’s breath caught.

And just when he thought Noel had already fallen asleep, he felt the brush of lips close to his collarbone—then a whisper, low and drowsy:

"Night, Luca."

Luca’s smile deepened, quiet and full.

He said nothing. Just let himself be held, safe in the hush of Noel’s arms.

And slowly, gently, they both drifted off, tangled in the kind of silence that didn’t need words to feel full.