CHAPTER 127: BETTER THAN SLEEP

They took their time walking back.

The streets near campus had quieted even more, the breeze curling around lamp posts and ruffling the leaves like a soft exhale.

Noel held onto the pastry bag in one hand, the other still loosely linked with Luca’s. No rush. Just the hush of a slow afternoon.

When they reached the dorm steps, Noel paused at the bottom.

"Kind of weird," he murmured, looking up at the building. "Feels like we left this morning in a different mood."

Luca tilted his head. "We did. You left stressed and caffeine-deprived. Now you’re full of sugar and existential dread. That’s called balance."

Noel laughed, shaking his head. "Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Sarcasm."

"Anytime." Luca bumped his shoulder gently. "Come on, dorm therapy awaits."

Inside, the dorm was still hushed.

The faint hum of vending machines, the distant thud of someone dragging a suitcase.

They climbed the stairs slowly, not really speaking—just the soft rhythm of their shoes on the steps and the occasional creak of an old railing.

At their floor, Noel stopped at their door but didn’t open it right away.

Luca watched him, catching the shift in his eyes—the way he seemed both here and somewhere else.

"Hey," Luca said, nudging him. "You okay?"

Noel turned the key, pushing the door open. "Yeah. Just thinking."

They stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, sunlight filtering in through half-closed blinds.

Some laundry still folded neatly on the bed, Luca’s hoodie draped over the chair, Noel’s shoes near the door. Lived-in, but not chaotic.

Noel dropped the pastry bag on the desk and pulled off his hoodie, tossing it onto the bed. "I might shower again. Just to rinse off the nerves."

"Go for it," Luca said, already kicking off his sneakers. "Need me to scrub your anxiety away?"

Noel shot him a look over his shoulder, amused. "Tempting, but I think I can handle soap and water solo."

Luca smirked. "Suit yourself. I’ll just be over here. Heroically avoiding unpacked laundry."

Noel disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

The water started a few seconds later, muffled but steady.

Luca sat on the edge of the bed, leaned back on his hands.

His gaze drifted to the ceiling, then to Noel’s side of the desk.

Notes still taped above it.

The bathroom door opened again sooner than expected.

Noel stepped out, towel around his neck, shirt clinging slightly from the mist.

Luca looked up. "That was fast. Nerves all washed away?"

Noel ran the towel through his hair, shrugged. "Some of them."

Luca stood, walked over, and without a word, reached up to brush Noel’s damp bangs away from his forehead. Just a simple motion. Quiet. Intimate.

Noel didn’t move. Just let him.

"You’ll be okay," Luca said gently. "Whatever happens Monday."

Noel looked at him, eyes searching for something—but not lost.

"I know," he whispered. "Because I’ve got you."

And Luca, for once, didn’t joke. He just nodded, thumb grazing the edge of Noel’s temple, then dropped his hand.

"Want to nap?" Luca asked, voice lighter.

Noel blinked. "Together?"

Luca grinned. "I mean, unless you’re secretly saving space for an emotional support pillow."

Noel climbed onto the bed without a word, curling onto his side and patting the spot behind him.

Luca slid in behind him, the mattress shifting with his weight. They didn’t speak—just breathed, close and quiet.

Noel’s breathing slowly evened out, and Luca let his own fall in sync.

The world could wait. For now, this—warm, steady, and soft—was enough.

Noel had barely begun to drift when he felt Luca shift behind him—just a subtle lean in, warm breath brushing the curve of his neck.

At first, it was nothing more than closeness. The kind that felt safe. Familiar.

Then Luca’s hand moved, slow and careful, fingers grazing Noel’s waist as he whispered, "You still awake?"

Noel didn’t answer right away. He simply let out a soft, sleepy hum, eyes half-lidded, lips parted just slightly.

Luca took that as a yes. He leaned in further, pressing the faintest kiss to Noel’s shoulder. Then another, higher this time, right beneath his ear.

"You’re gonna keep teasing like that," Noel murmured, voice thick with drowsiness, "I won’t fall asleep."

Luca let out a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. "Not teasing," he said. "Just... appreciating."

Noel shifted, rolling slowly to face him. Their noses nearly brushed. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, met Luca’s with a softness that tugged at something deeper.

Luca’s voice dropped. "Can I kiss you?"

"You’re already kissing me," Noel whispered.

"Not really." Luca’s thumb brushed lightly along Noel’s jaw. "Not how I want to."

Noel didn’t respond with words. He just leaned in, closing the space between them with the gentlest kiss—slow, unhurried, like the world outside had blurred into nothing.

Luca kissed him back, deeper this time. One hand tangled softly in Noel’s damp hair, the other anchored around his back as if afraid letting go would undo everything.

There was no rush. No weight to prove anything. Just warmth. Breath. Lips meeting in that in-between place where silence turned into understanding.

When they finally parted, barely an inch between them, Noel’s voice came out low and a little cracked. "If we keep this up, I’m definitely not napping."

Luca’s smile curved against his cheek. "Then we’ll call it something else."

Noel closed his eyes again, his hand resting over Luca’s chest, feeling the steady beat underneath.

Whatever this was—it was better than sleep.

Elsewhere, across town, the day unfolded differently.

Early Afternoon At Emily’s Room

The room looked like a hurricane had flirted with fashion.

Shirts hung off chair backs, jeans were draped across the bedpost, and a growing mountain of rejected options sat slumped on the floor.

In the middle of it all stood Emily, barefoot, one sock half-on, staring blankly into the open wardrobe like it had personally offended her.

"Ugh," she groaned, tossing a green top onto the bed. "Too soft. Why is everything either a grandma blouse or a try-hard crop?"

From downstairs came a voice—sharp and sing-songy. "Emily! Food is ready"

"I’m coming!" she called back, without moving an inch.

Her stomach grumbled like a protester outside Parliament. She looked at it. "Traitor."

Just then, a knock rapped quickly on her door before it swung open.

A tiny head peeked in—her little brother, Daniel, with a mischievous grin already forming. "Mum says if you don’t come down in five minutes, she’ll serve your food to the dog."

Emily turned, deadpan. "We don’t even have a dog."

Daniel shrugged. "Well, we might after today."

She threw a pillow at him. He cackled and bolted.

Emily shook her head and turned back to the mirror. A groan escaped her lips as she scanned the pile again.

Then came the footsteps.

Heavy. Familiar.

Her mum appeared in the doorway, hands on hips, eyes narrowing at the room like it was a crime scene. "God in heaven, Emily. Are you redecorating or wrestling in here?"

"I’m looking for something to wear," Emily replied, sheepish. "We’re hanging out later."

"Huh? You’re hanging out, so now everyone must starve?"

"I said I’m coming—"

"You’ve been ’coming’ since I put the pot down." Her mum crossed into the room, picked up a hoodie off the bed, sniffed it once, and dropped it again with a look of mild horror. "And wear something decent this time. Not that tiny-skinny thing you wore last week."

"Mum—"

"You heard me." She turned toward the door, still muttering. "One day we’ll invite the president to dinner and you’ll still be upstairs looking for socks."

Emily chuckled, finally reaching for short black gown she hadn’t noticed before.

"Thank you, wardrobe gods," she whispered, pulling it on.

Downstairs, plates clinked and the smell of soup wafted up the staircase like a personal invitation.

Emily grabbed her hair into a lazy bun, stepped over the mess, and headed down.

Daniel didn’t even flinch. "I am doing an exam," he said flatly, still glued to the screen. "Mental health awareness quiz. Very important."

Emily snorted. "That’s code for scrolling through dance challenges and watching people fall off chairs."

Daniel turned to her, raising a brow. "At least I don’t treat the wardrobe like a war zone. You pick clothes like you’re defusing a bomb."

"I’m fashion-forward," Emily replied, scooping rice onto her spoon. "You wouldn’t understand. You’ve been wearing the same shorts for three days."

"They’re comfy!" he shot back. "And they don’t emotionally betray me like your wardrobe apparently does."

Their mum sighed, loudly. "Both of you—eat your food. If you want to insult each other, finish your plate first."

"Tell her to stop first," Daniel said through a mouthful of rice.

"I didn’t start anything—"

"You breathed."

"That’s your problem?"

Their mother’s spoon hit the table with a gentle but final tap. "One more word from either of you, and I will switch off the Wi-Fi for the rest of the week."

Silence.

Utter, holy silence.

Emily looked at Daniel. He looked at her.

Then Daniel, mouth twitching, whispered from the corner of his lips: "You breathed first."

Emily tried not to laugh—but a quiet snort slipped out. She slapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.

Their mother groaned, standing from the table. "I’m not doing this. I’m going to the sitting room. If you like, finish your food. If you like, chew each other."

She disappeared into the hallway, still muttering about her children being God’s trial.

As soon as she was gone, Daniel leaned closer.

"You seriously spent an hour upstairs to wear black."

Emily, still chewing, held up a finger. "This black has layers. It’s minimalist. Effortless."

"Lazy."

"Stylish."

"You look like Wednesday Addams got cast in a perfume ad."

She grabbed a spoonful of soup and flicked a droplet at him.

Daniel yelped, jerking back as it landed on his arm. " I’ll tell Mum!"

Emily grinned wide, unbothered. "Go on. Say I assaulted you with soup."

They both burst into laughter, and for a second, the world felt light—like exams were truly behind them, and the rest of the day held nothing but possibilities.

Just then, Emily’s phone buzzed beside her plate.

She glanced down lazily... then jolted.

2:30 PM.

Her chair scraped back with a sudden squeak, nearly tipping as she stood. "Crap. I need to go get ready."

Daniel blinked. "Didn’t you just spend hours failing to do exactly that?"

"This time I’ll succeed," she said, already halfway out of the dining room. "Watch greatness unfold!"

"Greatness that smells like pepper soup," he called after her.

"Better than gym socks, Dan!"

Her footsteps pounded up the stairs, fading into the creak of her bedroom door swinging open.

A second later, the muffled sounds of drawers opening, clothes rustling, and a groan of frustration echoed faintly through the house again.

Downstairs, Daniel shook his head and muttered into his rice, "And round two begins..."